The garage door shut with a groan behind us, closing us in the gloom of the single bulb hanging over the car.
Mother took a drag off her cigarette and sighed as she exhaled, the smoke filled the cabin of the Ford and stung my eyes.
“You really disappointed me today, Julianne," she tapped her cigarette in the ashtray below the dash, "you embarrassed me in front of the other mothers at the Ice Cream Social, shoveling down seconds and thirds like a pig. I thought I raised you better than that.”
She took another drag, daintily holding the cigarette between her perfectly manicured fingers.
“I'm going to have to tell your brother about this," she continued, “he'll have to come up with a punishment fit for a pig."
I felt my stomach drop. My kid brother, Thomas, was only six, but could be exceptionally cruel. Mother seemed to encourage him and was deferring to him more and more frequently for how the house was run, especially concerning my upbringing.
"Mother, please, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to embarrass you. I'm sorry I was a pig and ate so much ice cream. I promise I won't do it again, I'll never eat any ice cream again," I was pleading with stone, unyielding.
“Hush your mouth. Go to your room and wait for Thomas," she put out the cigarette and got out of the car, I had no choice but to follow.
It felt like walking to the gallows as I stepped inside the house and headed towards the stairs to go to my room. Thomas had grown fond recently of physical punishment, he obviously delighted in Mother whipping me with a belt or, recently, Mother had allowed him to start beating me with a wooden spoon. He would squeal and giggle like a normal child watching bubbles in the wind while I screamed. I was dreading whatever was going to happen tonight, I chastised myself for eating that ice cream, I should have known she would show up. My sins were always laid bare.
Down the hall, I could hear Thomas watching television in the den. I only got to watch TV for half an hour on Saturday morning and new episodes of Happy Days with Mother and Thomas. Thomas got to watch all the TV he wanted. He could listen to the radio and turntable as much as he wanted, as loud as he wanted. Thomas had an entire room just for his toys.
I entered my bedroom, it was a space I occupied, but it didn't feel like mine. Mother kept it spartan, white walls and white bedspread. A crucifix over the bed and a painting of Jesus over the door. I had my desk and chair and a dresser with some of the porcelain dolls Daddy gave me before he died that Mother let me keep. That was it.
I placed my book bag down and sat on my bed, waiting for Thomas. It was a while, sitting there with nothing but my own thoughts and staring at the open door. I felt humiliated, I was almost thirteen and my entire life was dictated by my brother. Mother kept the house in constant lockdown to keep Thomas a secret. No outsiders were allowed in. I couldn't have friends because she was afraid I would mention him or sneak a friend in to gawk at my brother and tease him for being different.
I would never make fun of him, I was terrified of him. Terrified of what he was and what he was becoming.
Eventually I heard his heavy footsteps coming up the stairs and I felt my heart start beating faster and my palms began to sweat. I kneaded my skirt in my hands, trying to calm myself and dry my palms. His slow arrhythmic footsteps came down the hall and I watched him as he entered the room.
I couldn't help but internally recoil at his appearance, even though I'd known him since he was born, I could never adjust to how unnatural he appeared. Thomas had been born at home and had never seen a doctor, but he was obviously unwell.
He was six years old and was barely over two feet tall, but very squat and wide. His skin was thick and gray, the whites of his beady eyes were yellow and his hair was wispy and white like an old man's, spreading out like a halo around his gargoyle face. A slight odor of decomposition hung about him, it reminded me faintly of garbage cans on a hot summer day. I hated when Mother made me help him with a bath, his skin felt like old brittle leather that flaked onto my clothes in gray flecks. His body was dense like concrete, I could barely lift him into the tub. Picking him up forced his hair into my face where that smell of rot would fill my nose, causing me to gag, silently, so as not to offend him and draw any ire from him or Mother.
Today, Thomas was wearing bib overalls with a red and green striped sweater underneath, reminding me of a grotesque doll.
“Mama says you acted like a piggy today at the ice cream social,” he spoke up to me in his unsettlingly high pitched, yet raspy voice, like a child that smoked as much as Mother, "you need to come down for dinner right now for your punishment for embarrassing Mama."
He turned and walked back down the stairs and I had no choice but to follow his toddling form downstairs to the dining table. We entered the kitchen and the table was placed with two settings. Mother was already seated and Thomas clambered up into his booster seat at his normal spot next to Mother. She took a drag off her cigarette and motioned vaguely to the floor without even looking at me.
Neatly situated on the linoleum was my dinner, not on a plate, but directly on the floor. A pork chop, scoop of mashed potatoes, and a small pile of peas. No utensils, either.
Thomas giggled with glee upon seeing my face.
“You have Mama's permission now to eat like a piggy, now. No hands! Piggies just use their face!” He stood up in his chair and reached out for Mother’s ash tray and flung it out over my meal, peppering my dinner with cigarette ash and butts.
"Oops! Piggies don't mind trash though, do they, Mama?” he giggled and the sound filled me with rage.
"No, they don't,” Mother replied coolly while maneuvering her ashtray back in place and carefully putting out her cigarette before saying prayer.
As angry as I was, I got down on my hands and knees and did my best at eating what I could without using my hands. I knew if I refused, it would be far worse. The whole meal, Thomas made pig noises and would reach down and poke me with his fork, making comments about what a fat piggy I was and how he wished he could roast and eat me. I doubted Mother would even object if he actually did kill me and eat me.
Gagging my way through another bite of ashy pork chop, I felt a warm splat over my head and heard Thomas giggling. I reached up and felt he had dumped mashed potatoes into my hair.
Choking down tears, I asked Mother if I could clean the floor and bathe. She rolled her eyes and excused me to clear the table for them as well while she changed Thomas into his pajamas. Picking him up, she walked out of the room and Thomas stuck his putrid little purple tongue out at me before they made it out the kitchen door.
I silently cried while I cleared the table and washed the dinner dishes. Tears splashed down as I mopped up the mess from my food on the floor. I hated how awful Thomas was. I hated how they treated me. Ever since Daddy died and Thomas showed up, I was their punching bag. I missed Daddy so much.
Mother was kinder then, too. She was still severe, but Dad kept her tempered. After he died, there was a change that came over her. I was only six, so I didn't remember her too much from before, but I did remember her gushing on and on when she was pregnant with Thomas. How the baby was a gift from Our Heavenly Father, that it was going to complete our broken family.
My sixth birthday happened right after Daddy died and I remember sitting on the patio crying while the house was full of people after the funeral, normally he would have gotten me a new doll and a chocolate bar, instead I was forgotten. No doll. No chocolate. Just funeral potatoes and a house full of cigarette smoke from the adults.
Nobody remembered. The closest thing I got was my dad's sister, Aunt Judy, sitting next to me on the patio step for a few minutes of comfortable silence before giving my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. I don't think she knew her brother was memorialized on my birthday. Next year, Thomas was born the day before my birthday, so it was completely eclipsed as Mother had just birthed her new love into the world…
I stopped mid mop as a lightbulb finally went off. I had never put much thought into the dates before.
Thomas was born a full year after Daddy died. He couldn't be his dad. Who was Thomas’ actual father?
Washing mashed potatoes out of my hair that evening, I ran over and over the timeline. No matter how I parsed it out, Thomas was only my half brother. Going to bed that night, I kept myself awake, going over and over again to make sure. I couldn't remember any men being around at that time, but that didn't mean much. Adults can easily hide things from children. Tension began throbbing through my head and I felt queasy. Mother had always known all of my secrets, able to sniff them out like a bloodhound out or using Thomas to spy. Now I had one of Mother's secrets and I didn't know what to do with it.
First I wanted to confirm it, but it would mean snooping, which was difficult in a house that was rarely left empty. I would have to try finding Mother's calendar book or journal to see if she mentioned any dates or men.
But when could I attempt such a daring maneuver? Thomas hardly left the house. As proud as Mother was of him, she was very cognizant and protective of his differences and didn't want to draw attention to herself or Thomas like that. Mother herself had few social engagements throughout the week and mostly stayed home to watch her golden child.
I finally decided I would take the risk and fake sick on Tuesday, grocery day, so I could stay home from school while she went shopping. All Thomas did all day was watch TV downstairs, so that should give me about an hour to look through her room for clues. I decided to tuck my head down, try to behave as best as I could to avoid their wrath, and wait for Tuesday.
That weekend limped along agonizingly slow. Thomas was in a fine mood and was constantly seeking out a reason to poke me, punch me, slap me… he'd laugh while calling me a piggy with his off-putting wide mouth. I tried to mostly stay in my room and it seemed like neither of them cared.
School on Monday was a relief, but my anxiety ramped up. The consequences would be dire if Mother caught on that I was faking sick to stay home. I didn't even want to imagine how off the leash she'd let my half-brother become in his punishment for that level of insubordination.
I stayed up all night, my stomach was in knots, but I was committed to my plan. Throughout the night, I screamed as hard as I could into my pillow. Screamed until my throat was raw and I could barely talk. It felt cathartic in a way. When it was close to school time, I put on my heaviest flannel pajamas and began doing jumping jacks until my face was flushed and my scalp was soaked with sweat.
Looking in the bathroom mirror before heading down to talk to Mother, I thought I looked pretty convincing, my skin was flushed and sweaty, my eyes had circles under them from lack of sleep, and my voice croaked like a frog.
Heading downstairs, Mother was already feeding Thomas breakfast. I hesitantly stepped into the kitchen and stood there awkwardly for a second, pawing with my pajamas to keep my nerves steady until she noticed my presence and looked up.
“Why aren't you dressed, Julianne?"
"I don't feel well. My throat hurts and my tummy hurts.” My voice graveled out more than I was expecting, I really had hurt my throat.
She strode over to me and placed a cool hand on my sweaty brow.
"You do feel warm. Take an aspirin from the medicine cabinet and go lay back down. I'll check on you later," with that she turned back and walked over to Thomas, who was frozen in place, glaring at me over a forkful of scrambled eggs. The sharp glint of malice in his beady eyes made me shiver before I shuffled out of the kitchen.
I laid in bed, trying my best to look miserable until I eventually heard the faint sound of the television playing in the den as Thomas settled in for his normal daytime routine and the garage door opened as Mother headed to the grocery store. I bounded out of bed and watched the car back out of our driveway and head up the street.
My heart began to pound as I tiptoed down the hall to Mother's bedroom, a place I rarely even caught a glimpse of, let alone entered. I very slowly opened the door, taking great care to not make any noise to alert Thomas downstairs that I was out of bed.
Creeping into the butter yellow room, I could feel my heartbeat pounding in my skull, this was the naughtiest thing I had ever done by far. I stepped onto the rug to help disguise my footsteps and slowly made my way past the brass bed and towards her desk. My hands shook as I opened the top drawer, I pawed through rapidly and found nothing. I checked the next drawer down and again found nothing of interest, just stationary and envelopes.
Finally, the bottom drawer was what I was looking for, a stack of journals from the past decade. I flipped through, trying to find entries relevant to when Daddy died and who Mother slept with afterwards.
I've never fully recovered from what I read.
July 6, 1968
Edgar died today. Car accident. I cannot believe this is real. My light, my life, my anchor... Dr. Benson gave me a sedative at the hospital and I feel so tired. So very, very tired. Why has my Lord forsaken me so?
July 9, 1968
I feel like I am in a very bad dream, I feel numb and disconnected. All the consolation and pity from everyone makes me feel sick. After the memorial, it took everything in me to not break dishes and to scream at everyone to get out of my house. Julianne was moping about crying and I wanted to throw her out, too.
If I hadn't seen my dear Edgar's body in the hospital and held his urn in my own hands, I wouldn't believe he was really gone. I still don't entirely believe it.
I have prayed to God every night asking him to show me why he took my husband from me and I have gotten no answer.
I skimmed over the next few months, as it was more or less similar sentiments repeated night after night. I finally got to an entry that caught my eye.
September 17, 1968
My battle with my faith has been fraught the past few months, but Hallelujah! I feel I can see the Lord again in all his glory and might, for he has given me a way to reconnect to my Edgar!
I was thinking about the night Julianne was born, right in this very home, it was a difficult birth and she struggled to breathe at first. Ingrid, my midwife, made a comment to me that if the baby had failed to wake up on her own, that Ingrid had ways to make sure she would have made it.
I remember asking if it was a medical methodology and she made it clear to me that in certain circumstances, it was a mystical property she used to bring the air of life into a struggling baby's lungs. She gently alluded to being a practicing member of the dark arts. At the time, I felt quite scandalized to have someone like that in my God fearing home. Now I see her as the answer to my prayers! My angel!
On a whim, I called her and asked if she still practiced such techniques. She hesitantly confirmed that she did. I asked, if she could turn breath into the lungs of a child without, could she turn breath into a child that did not exist? Could she magick into existence another child of my beloved Edgar? She told me she had to do some research and she'd be back in touch.
Ingrid just called back after a few hours and said there was a spell she found, but it was dangerous and might have unpleasant results. I said, yes, of course! I trust my Lord and I believe he sent this woman of blessed magick to me for this purpose.
She says we will have to do it soon, in a few days during the new moon. She has a potion to brew, but it is happening! Praise God!
September 23, 1968
The ceremony was last night, and Ingrid believes it was a success, but we will have to wait. It did not take long, only an hour or two. Ingrid lit my bedroom with many beeswax candles and she had me drink a thick and bitter tea that caused me to become quite relaxed and foggy.
From my inner thigh, she cut me and collected my blood in a chalice, with which she mixed quite a lot of Edgar's ashes and other ingredients which I could not glean from my supine position and groggy wits. Ingrid began to chant, calling upon a higher power, as I pleaded with my Lord to let this work. To give me any piece of my Edgar back. She came to the bed and worked the paste between my legs into my womanly chamber, which was very uncomfortable, but manageable with the numbing effects of the tea.
She continued to sit with me and chant, her hand placed over my womb, until she decided at which time it was complete. She left and I fell into a deep sleep. When I woke up this morning, I felt quite uncomfortable, my body ached and when I used the restroom, a yellow fluid like pus poured out of me, but no sign of any ashes or blood, which gives me hope it was absorbed into my womb.
November 3, 1968
Praise be to our Lord, Ingrid just confirmed for me that I am with child, I had been hoping so, I had not gotten my cycle in October, but I wasn't sure if that was because of the discharge like pus that was still coming. She told me that was common with this spell and a side effect that would stop after the baby came.
I feel like I am floating on air, for the first time since Edgar left, I feel-
I suddenly became very aware of the feeling of eyes on the back of my head. I had become too engrossed in what was written before me and I had lost track of my surroundings. Very slowly, I turned around and my heart began pounding again as I saw Thomas standing in the doorway holding his wooden spoon in one hand. How had I not heard him?
He pointed at me with his empty hand and screamed, just a pure guttural screech from somewhere deep inside his disgusting little body. He charged at me from across the room, his horrible feet thumping solidly along the rug. He began beating my legs ruthlessly with the spoon, causing my legs to buckle. I crashed down to my knees in front of him, and he began lashing at my face, pulling my hair with one hand while wailing away at my head with the spoon.
I had dropped the journal I was holding and was desperately trying to get a hand on the spoon or push him away. All I could hear was him screaming. My arms flailed and I reached around on Mother's desk and grabbed onto the first thing I found and sank it into Thomas’ neck.
The end of Mother's gold letter opener protruded under his jaw. He went silent and he looked at me with utter shock. He dropped the spoon and collapsed on the ground, clutching at his neck as his thick black blood oozed out from his wound, letting out a stupendous odor of rot that filled the room. He didn't really say anything or make any noise. He just twitched for a moment and I saw his eyes glaze over.
In shock, I stood over his little body for a moment and I watched as he seemed to mummify in just a few minutes, like an ash person from Pompeii dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt. Even his blood that looked like shiny oil a second ago became like potting soil on Mother's rug. Reaching out to touch his hand, it crumbled away like sand.
Panic ran through me like a rabbit caught in a snare. Not knowing what to do, I ran. I ran down the hall, changed my clothes, put an extra change of clothes in my backpack and the last doll Daddy had ever given me and I ran. Mother would absolutely never forgive me and I was genuinely afraid she would kill me in retaliation for taking her beloved Thomas away from her. Her precious gift from God. My feet flew over the pavement and took me away from that house.
I called my Aunt Judy from a payphone outside the five & dime, and told her Mother had kicked me out and asked if I could stay with her. She had always had a strained relationship with my mother and it didn't take much convincing that she had kicked out her “only” child. Only Mother, Ingrid, and I ever knew about Thomas.
She gave me a home and took care of me. She never beat me or humiliated me. Even with her love, I was far from okay. For years I would close my eyes and hear Thomas scream, then the sudden silence. I'd see him fumbling at his neck and turning to ash. But I would also remember all the ways he would hurt me and how bad he was becoming. I could never talk to anyone about it, especially not the silent relief I felt I refused to admit to myself. Over time, however, Thomas' screams became a whisper and his silence faded into dust in my mind.
I moved on with my life. I went to college and became a photojournalist, getting to travel the world and watch history unfold. By choice, I never married, but was quite blessed with many beautiful friendships for companionship over the decades. I found balance in my life and a sense of happiness, if not peace. I never could quite stomach mashed potatoes again, though, they always taste ashy to me.
Mother never made any attempts to reach out to me or find me, at least that I'm aware of. Ten years ago, I was contacted by a hospital and they said my mother had been admitted earlier after falling and was about to pass, so she must have kept some tabs on me to know my phone number for her emergency contacts. Apparently she had collapsed in the driveway and a neighbor called an ambulance. I got there and her only words to me were, “take care of him," as she placed a locket in my hand. I opened the locket, Jesus was on one side, Thomas on the other. I didn't say anything to her, just held her frail old hand with nicotine stained nails until she passed in the night. My mother was gone and I felt nothing except a vague sense of relief.
When I got to her house, it was like a time capsule. Other than a newer television, it was just like it was when I'd fled so many years ago. The smell of tobacco smoke hung like incense in the air. It felt oppressive, like a tomb.
I wandered the house in a bit of a daze. The one place I didn't want to go was upstairs. I didn't want to see my old room, or Thomas' room, or Mother's. Putting it off, I went to fix myself some supper, realizing I hadn't eaten in almost a day. I took a pause when I opened the fridge and saw a baby bottle on a shelf. Silently praying she had been babysitting for a neighbor, I fixed myself some toast with sardines and sat eating in the den watching TV. It had been almost forty years and it still felt rebellious not eating at the table and watching TV without permission.
My eyes grew heavy and I finally mustered up the gumption to head upstairs to go to bed. The stairs creaked in a familiar way under my feet and I was taken back to the feeling of dread hearing either Mother or Thomas climbing up. My old room was at the top of the stairs, I saw the door was nailed shut and had rambling quotes about Judas copied from the Bible in my mother's handwriting taped to the door. I sighed gently and turned from the door to head down the hallway, deciding Mother's room was probably the best place to sleep.
I passed by Thomas’ toy room and I heard a murmur from the room. I stopped, curiosity got the best of me and I entered. In Thomas' old toy room was a crib with joyful clown sheets. Dread swelled up inside me as I heard more murmurs and saw the sheets move. Approaching slowly, I peaked under the sheet and gasped.
Tucked inside was what looked like a baby gargoyle, gray and papery looking. Pus leaked out of its milky, bulbous eyes. I pulled back the blanket and saw it had no legs and its arms bent back, like wings on a bird. It was wearing just a cloth diaper, overflowing with tarry looking stool that took my breath away with its pungency, it smelled like Thomas’ blood, but somehow worse. My heart broke for this poor creature, Lord only knows how many years it has been in this crib suffering from its unholy existence.
So this is who Mother had wanted me to take care of…
Not knowing what else to do, I gently scooped him up. Like Thomas, he was shockingly heavy for how small his body was. Placing him on the changing table, I cleaned him and rewrapped his bottom in a clean diaper cloth. It was difficult, he fussed tremendously, crying and flopping around as much as his flipper-like arms would allow. I tried wiping off his oozing eyes and he snapped his mouth, which I saw was full of disturbingly square yellow teeth, trying to bite me. I carried him to the kitchen and rocked him while I heated up his bottle and he became furious with me, almost barking like a dog when my hand would get near his face.
He settled a bit as he fed, but he would still sometimes suddenly spit out the bottle and attempt to bite me. I laid him back in his crib, this abomination in a clown sheet, and I walked down the hall to Mother's room letting out a long sigh.
Combing through my mother's journals in the early hours of the morning, it looked like she tried the ceremony again shortly after Thomas died, but she either lacked Ingrid’s help or didn't have enough of my father's ashes left. Something went terribly wrong. She was vaguer than she had been about Thomas’ conception, but I suspect she had used some of Thomas' remains. The resulting birth she named Isaac.
Mother's journals told a sad tale of her and Isaac's suffering. She never mentioned me, but lamented the loss of Thomas and Dad relentlessly. She was hyper protective of Isaac, as that was all she had left. If her world had been small before, it became microscopic after he entered her life, requiring nearly constant care. According to Mother, he was blind and colicky, sometimes going years at a time without sleeping through the night. She had breast fed him for years, but she had to stop after he grew teeth and began biting her intentionally and feeding on her blood.
I spent a lot of time over the next few days pondering what to do. I had to get her estate in order, she had left me the house, in an obvious attempt to get me to continue caretaking for Isaac, but I didn't want it. I had my own cozy home an hour away from here, filled with happy memories and my possessions acquired traveling the world. Mother's home had a heavy energy I couldn't shake. Her and Thomas were both gone, but the memories of the scoldings and beatings hung in every corner, like cobwebs that would never sweep away.
So, I fed Isaac and kept him clean and tried to keep him company, although he seemed to hate me passionately. I took care of him, all the while thinking about what I was going to do. After a week, I felt resolute in what had to be done.
Gathering up all of Mother's journals in a tote, I made my way to Isaac and picked him up and carried everything to the living room.
The ancient logs in the fireplace meant for display ignited instantly. One by one, I fed the journals into the fire, burning away years of my mother's consuming sorrow. Isaac fussed and moaned next to me the entire time. When the last pages shimmered away into lacy ash, I took a throw pillow off the couch and gently cradled Isaac in my other arm. It didn't take long before he stopped struggling and I felt his little body relax after decades of suffering.
I gently wrapped up a bundle in a clown sheet and placed it in the fire. It burned furiously, like the paper in my mother's journals, and was soon gone. Nothing but ashes and embers.
“Don't worry, Mother,” I said purely for my own sake, "I took care of Isaac for you."
And finally, I felt at peace.

As per usual, dude was plastered by lunch time…. I wasn’t very hungry so I ate a hotdog, marine guy had downed 3-4 dogs + a couple deviled eggs when I got the text book flick to the ear and the “let’s wrestle”. At which point I begrudgingly got up took my shirt off and went out into the grass. I immediately pulled guard and baited him with the “cmon man half your job is done I’m already on the ground 😉” keep in mind my family doesn’t know I train or compete.
Rules were first tap wins, I already knew I didn’t wanna tap this guy…. i wanted him to puke. A bit of scuffling nothing crazy fancy and I end up in mount and got pretty comfortable there. Eventually grabbed a gift wrap and sunk my chest onto the elbow got low mount and started trying to push my hips through him. But I wanted to leave enough room for him to think there was still an escape so he would continue moving. Got a little bored, moved to S mount and finished with a armbar was a solid HIGH INTENSITY (for him) 6m round.
He got up, took a sip from this solo cup filled with PBR and immediately upchucked 3hrs worth of beer and boiled hot dogs into the flower garden. Grandad stepped outside, pointed at the puke on the roses and told him to “put it in his pocket” 👍🏼

You look around until you see a small animal looking at you. It looks like a cross between a lion and a unicorn. It's a bit smaller than a standard house cat. So small, you're not even afraid of it. It's actually cute. Looks like a pokemon.
"Yeah, you. Come here." Her voice is friendly and childlike. You walk over to her and ask what she wants. She tells you that her name is Phoebe, she's a demon, and that she will grant you wishes if you feed her.
You ask her what she wants. She asks for a house cat with a broken neck. You protest, but she tells you the reward will be worth it. Reluctantly, you accept.
Your neighbor's cat is always pooping on your property. You stepped in cat poop this morning. You catch the little bugger, but you let it go. You're not a killer.
Unfortunately, while running away from you, the cat gets hit by a car, is flung a good 50 feet, and is then struck by another car coming from the opposite direction.
Phoebe happily trots over and starts devouring what's left of the poor kitty. You ask about your reward, and she asks you what you want. You ask for a million dollars, but she only gives you $10,000, saying you "didn't do it right."
The money instantly appears in your bank account and you go on a shopping spree. The next day, you wake to Phoebe standing in your windowsill. She's a little bigger now. About the size of a small dog.
She asks you to bring her a dog with all its legs cut off. You're sickened by the request, but given the reward earlier, you consider it. You ask her if it can be a stray. She says it has to be a pet, saying that she "doesn't eat worthless meat."
With your stomach turning, you oblige. After the deed is done, you ask for ten million dollars out of sheer frustration. To your surprise, she gives you 20 million because she says she "likes how eager you were to accomplish your task."
You immediately purchase a large home, a nice car, and some new clothes to replace your blood soaked ones. You have a nightmare that night about what you did to that dog, but it's interrupted by Phoebe.
She's now about the size of a medium sized dog. She asks you to bring her a human finger. You couldn't possibly do that. You offer one of your own, but she refuses, saying that you're "worth so much more whole."
Once again, you reluctantly agree. You find a sleeping homeless man and, using a cigar clipper, quickly snip off his pinky finger. The man screams in pain as you run off with the severed digit.
In your haste to get away, you run right in front of a dump truck and get wrapped around the tires. You die instantly with your guts on display for all to see. That is, until Phoebe comes by, accepts her gift, and puts you back together like humpty dumpty.
You ask for a hundred million dollars, but she refuses, saying that you being resurrected was your reward as she "thought that's what you would have wanted."
You're angry, but there isn't anything you can do, so you just go home. The next day, Phoebe wakes you again. She's the size of a black bear. She asks you for a severed human head.
This time, you put your foot down. No way in hell you're going that far. Even with Phoebe's promises of a worthwhile reward, you stand your ground. You're not killing anyone.
Disappointed, Phoebe takes a few steps forward, getting uncomfortably close. "Well, I guess I'll just have to find something else to eat, hmm?" she says, looking you dead in the eyes.
Your heart drops and you start to shake. You should have known you'd get burned playing with fire. "Wait!" you shout. You agree to get her a severed head, but you don't even believe yourself.
Phoebe pauses for a moment. "Okie dokie, then. See ya soon," she says as she trots off. You leave the house, but don't even make it off the porch. You're frozen in fear. You still haven't stopped shaking.
You look to your right. Phoebe's standing on your roof, staring directly at you. You walk to your car and drive off.
What now? Do you try to run and hide? Perhaps you're in too deep and you'll just comply? Or maybe you're feeling daring and will try to kill Phoebe?
What will you do?

The newest cat in the house will not stop jumping up on the counters and won't stop stealing food, just like the title says. She has stolen food out of a hot pan while waiting for it to cool off before putting it into containers for the fridge, and stolen before a second helping could get dished out. She steals bread, individually wrapped little snacks in a dish, literally anything. Their feeders (plural) goes off multiple times a day and she's normally the first one in there to eat. She would eat the dog food it she wasn't locked out of the room while they eat. I'm at my wits end, nearly to the point of telling my wife the cat will have to be an outside cat if we can't stop her from getting into everything.
Note: she's orange, not sure how many braincells are rattling around in there

The Hanging Tree By John Westrick

The ball streaked towards little Jimmy Hanson, covering the distance uncomfortably fast. The scrawny boy two sizes too small with the aviator glasses, cringed out of the way. It landed directly where he had been standing, and like that the game ended.
“Damnit Jimmy, you're supposed to catch the ball not hide from it!” a fat kid with a glove on one hand cried.
A skinny boy with glasses turned from the pitcher's mound to look at Jimmy disdain clearly visible on his face, “This is the third run you’ve allowed, and you wonder why we never let you play with us. You’re dog shit! Actually, I apologize to all loads of shit out there, you’re even more useless. I’d prefer to have Roger Morris on our team and he can’t see a damn thing with those bug eyes.”
An easy-going boy with blonde shaggy hair and a confident smile strolled up to Jimmy, extending his hand to assist, and said, “Here let me help you up. After all, you're the best player on our team. MVP hands down. Come on boys, give him a cheer!”
The boys chanted Jimmy’s name in a mocking parade of triumph.
“I don’t need your help, David,” said Jimmy.
Dirt smeared and face growing hot, the embarrassed boy attempted to climb to his feet. The hand extended to help, struck lightning-fast, catching the smaller boy squarely in the chest. With a groan of pain, the dirty boy hit the ground for the second time that afternoon.
“Well, if I knew you liked to eat dirt so much, I never would’ve offered to help,” said David, a wolfish smile forming on the landscape of his face.
A chorus of cruel laughter echoed all around.
“I hate you David Baxly,” said the wheezing boy.
David looked at Jimmy with disgust, giving him a savage kick to his left kidney. “Why don’t you do us all a favor and die. I doubt even your family would miss you.”
The rest of the boys walked away leaving the bleeding Jimmy whimpering on the ground.
No longer crying from pain but seething anger, slowly he began to crawl to his feet. “I wish I could go somewhere else. Just pick up and move and never have to see those shitheads ever again,” said Jimmy speaking to no one in particular.
It was thoughts of revenge that occupied his mind, half-baked plans, he didn't have the courage to act upon. No matter, it wasn’t revenge he truly sought, but a friend. The idea of having people look at him and truly see him. Humiliation for David Baxly was just an added bonus.
The bloody boy was still fantasizing about these things, when he found himself staring at the intersection of Jackson and main street in the sleepy town of Brookhollow, Tennessee. Brookhollow is like many rural towns, so tiny that it doesn’t even appear on the map. There are 876 residents in the tight-knit community, according to the 2008 census. Main street boasts one general store, a gas station, the town hall, and Debbie’s Diner.
It was on the outside of the later building that he saw the missing sign of Jack Dunkin, a 12-year-old boy from a neighboring town a few miles to the west. Jack was from Polk, a slightly larger town and known rival to Brookhollow. Even though Jack was in the same grade as Jimmy, they had never met.
Jimmy looked at the picture and saw that the boy had been missing for nearly 3 months. He wondered how his mom would react if he was missing that long; he reached the conclusion that she probably wouldn’t even notice. Ever since she took that job at Debbie’s to pay for the remainder of her husband’s gambling debts, she was hardly even home.
She was gone when he woke and didn't come back too well after he was asleep. The only time Jimmy had any communication with Laura Hanson was on Sundays. Even this small exposure was tainted by the bone deep exhaustion. She may have been present, even so, she wasn't there. Laura wakes, eats, drinks, uses the bathroom; yet she isn't really living. She reminded the boy of those cheesy horror movies they sometimes play late at night. The walking dead.
As little as his interaction with Laura, at least she still lived in the ramshackle motorhome right off the main highway. His dad, if he even still qualified to be called that, left some time back, draining the joint bank account and leaving the two of them penniless. Jimmy didn’t even know where he stayed, let alone had a phone number for the bastard. A few years back he received a postcard from him. He was shelled up in some two-bit motel in the thriving city of Las Vegas. On the back of the card was a charming little note, it said, “Jimmy, I wish you could see the city. Maybe you could come out and visit. I’d love for you to come and hang with my friends. Ps. Could you have your mom send me some money, I’m in a little bit of trouble here.
This led to his first real fight with his mom. He was adamant on going and meeting his father, thinking that if he got to know him he could change him. Bring him back. His mom wanted nothing to do with the man, nor did she want her son to be hurt again. The argument got heated and words were exchanged. In the end, he stayed, but some things chafe over time. Things were never quite the same.
If the boy was honest with himself, he would have to admit there is no one in his life. He has no friends in school, there is no one waiting for him at home, and he is not a part of any extracurricular activities. He goes to school, comes home, does his homework, makes dinner for his mom, and goes to bed. It has never occurred to him that he is lonely, the fact is he has never known anything else.
Jimmy doesn’t actually live in Brookhollow, his house is about two miles north up highway 29. He lives outside of the school’s jurisdiction, so he is unable to take the bus. He walks to school every day. The walk is peaceful and he actually looks forward to it. The boy possesses an overactive imagination and gets lost in his fantasies. A little less today, his ribs ache with every step. But not even this inconvenience can ruin the solitary 2-mile trek back home. He makes no turns, highway 29 is main street. All he needs to do is walk straight and he will arrive at his house.
But he is not walking in rural Tennessee anymore. He is a pioneer exploring the Great Frontier. Native Americans and wolves stalk him at night, he must be aware of the dangers that lie beyond every turn. He can see his way through any situation with the help of his trusty companion and best friend, One-eyed Pete. Pete used to be an outlaw that robbed and cheated people, but changed his ways when Jimmy saved him from being hung on the hanging tree.
A shutter runs through his body every time he remembers the hanging tree. It’s the largest oak he had ever seen. He loves to climb trees but would never dream of climbing that one. It is twisted, not a single leaf on its branches. If evil was ever a location, it would be at the heart of that gnarled tree. Jimmy doesn’t like to think about it. It always seems to ruin his mood. Poison his mind. His fantasies always turn darker when he thinks of the oak.
Suddenly he is aware of exactly how alone he is. A full mile out from the safety of the town. No one is nearby. It’s just him, the trees, and his own tormented imagination. He wishes he wouldn’t have thought of that tree. He wishes he had a dad to pick him up from school, but there is no rescue for him. In Jimmy’s experience, heroes only exist in the story books.
“The hanging tree is in your mind, Jimmy, it isn't real,” he tells himself over and over as if to ward away evil. And why not? For that tree is most definitely evil, the hideous villain in an insidious plot.
In the primal portion of his mind, he senses danger. The same skittish feeling the antelope experiences shortly before the concealed lion pounces and feasts on flesh.
“Trees don’t eat little boys,” murmurs the frightened boy.
“Maybe so, yet that oak could hardly be classified in the same league as other trees,” responds his own treasonous thoughts.
The boy's mind splinters; warring factions jockeying for supremacy. Paranoia seizes him, inky black hands clawing the air out of his lungs. A young boy unaware of the inward mutiny happening amidst his own wits, completely left to his own demented imagination. Yet, the stakes of this adventure are a great deal higher than any he has yet to experience.
His mother was fond of telling him, “What you think, you become.”
A truly awful thought slinks into his mind unbidden. What if the stories his mind conjures could gain reality too? The thought overwhelms the boy. His eyes shift back and forth searching for threats. Jimmy’s senses are keen to his surroundings. Every twig snapping, a creature stalking. Every bush rustling, a hungry beast ready to devour. Yet, the petty fears of a child's tormented mind pales to the unearthly wrongness of the hanging tree.
“What if mom is right?” says the concerned boy to the emptiness. At this unwelcome thought the boy slams his eyes closed in a futile attempt to banish the horrific idea.
“The hanging tree isn’t real,” says Jimmy, knowing in his heart this isn’t true. In the back of his mind, the boy is certain that the moment he opens his eyes, he will see it. He will see the strands of rope dangling from the gnarled branches. He will smell the smell of decaying bodies. He will hear the creak of rope swaying gently in the cool breeze.
The boy doubles his efforts in a vain attempt to keep his eyes closed. He sees red due to the strain he is putting on his muscles. He hears the steady pulse of his blood rushing in his head. The boy also understands that all this effort is for naught. He must open his eyes at some point. Jealousy creeps into the boy’s heart. Envy for the man born without sight. For the boy understands the moment he sees, there will be no coming back.
The moment has come.
Jimmy can no longer keep his eyes shut. Seconds before his eyes fling open, he feels the gentle touch of someone's hand on his shoulder. This touch startles him, and the boy throws wide his eyes.
Sure enough a few hundred yards in front of him, stands the abomination. A lone tree on the top of a bald, scarred hill. Not a living thing to be seen. No vegetation growing on the hill, no squirrels scuttling about, just a great oak, standing; an obscene gesture to the god of this world. The only fruit of this tree the decaying flesh of dead men, and likewise, the only cup the curdled blood of those hanging. A final meal set for the boy, an unholy communion.
The hand, whose was it? Was it even human? The little boy left visibly shaking at the touch of the unknown. Is this death? The icy grip of the Reaper himself here to harvest with his scythe. No marriage, no children, not knowing the pleasures of true friendship. Life cut short, a lamentable state of affairs.
It was in this line of thought, where true courage was mustered. A strength measured not by the size of his muscles or the amount one could lift, but the more impressive type, the type quantified in the amount of shit one can wade. Identified in the amount of crap hands dealt without bowing out altogether. Young Jimmy Hanson did the unthinkable, he turned and faced death looking it in the eyes.
Eyes, yes, but death perhaps not. It was no titan of horror, nor was it the poster child of demented evil. Child it was, but this boy was familiar. Not anyone from his class, yet he knew the boy. In a moment of clarity, he recognized him. It was the missing kid, Jack Dunkin.
He looked identical to the poster on the side of Debbie’s Diner. He wore the same black and white Van’s tee shirt, ripped blue jeans, and some tattered Nike tennis shoes. The thoroughly terrified Jimmy stood staring at the missing boy, mouth ajar.
Jack with an easy-going grin plastered on his face, said, “It's about time, someone comes looking for me. I've been waiting for you Jimmy, far too long.”
With an audible click the boy shut his gaping mouth and responded, “Ja- Jack, you've been missing for nearly three months. Have you been out here all along? Are you alone? Are you hurt?” Jimmy fired these questions in rapid succession, growing more suspicious with each word.
“I’ve been right here, waiting for you to come and play with me. You see, I am like you. I never had anyone to play with either. Now you are here, and you must stay with me,” said the bigger boy with a smile on his face.
Jimmy’s mind quieted, for the first time in his life he saw himself clearly. A boy with no friends, no father, hardly a mother, bullied every day, and no way of escape. Clarity revealed the harsh truth. A day had not gone by that he wasn’t lonely. There was no one in his life. There was no life for him.
The undersized boy looked at the other with longing in his eyes. He thirsted for a friend, like a man lost at sea. He hungered for companionship, like a man stuck in the wilderness. It wasn’t just a desire; he was desperate for a friend. If the bigger boy would leave, Jimmy felt as if his soul would tear in half. His heart would shatter into a thousand pieces unable to be put back together. The boys' eyes were a mirror reflecting the same sad truth, they understood each other. Both had lived, and neither had anyone to share it with.
The boys bound by shared hardships grasped onto each other refusing to let go. The combined burden of loneliness lessened by two backs, instead of one.
With few words exchanged, the two of them created soul ties. Not the ties of lovers, but of lifelong friends. The type one dies for. The rare type of friendship that most people never form in their entire life. It was rich. It was wholesome. Jimmy felt as if his life was complete. The one thing he always desired truly fulfilled.
Jack grabbed the smaller boy’s hand and guided him towards the tree.
Jimmy, not wanting to get anywhere near that monstrosity, tried to pull back.
“Don’t worry. The tree is a good place. It will take us to a new land filled with boys and girls just like you and I. No David’s or bullies like him,” said a smiling Jack.
“How did you know about David? You’ve been missing all this time,” said a concerned looking Jimmy.
“Jimmy, I hear whispers. My friends tell me things. They will tell you secrets too. If you want to be friends with me, that is.” The bigger boy looked down at his ragged shoes. He looked so pitiful and Jimmy was so starved for companionship, how could he not follow the boy.
Jack led the two of them to the scarred trunk of the tree. Here he let go of Jimmy’s hand, telling the boy, “Do exactly what I do.”
Jimmy’s fear bottled up deep in his guts. He felt as if he was going to explode. The tree was sinister and twisted. Evil through and through. Yet, the little boy had never had a friend. He was not willing to throw that away so easily.
Jack walked to the lowest hanging branch. He reached up and grabbed one of the dangling nooses. He wrapped it around his neck and looked at Jimmy. “Don’t worry, no pain is felt. The hanging tree is magic. You’ll close your eyes on this world, and wake up in a better place with me and all of my friends,” said a smiling Jack.
“Ja-Jack, I don’t think I can do this. It seems dangerous. I need to go back home soon. My mom will be waiting for me,” said a terrified Jimmy.
A heartbroken Jack looked at the smaller boy and said, “Jimmy, I can’t believe you would lie to me. Your mom isn’t home and she wouldn’t even notice that you are missing. Come with me. I am the only one who cares for you.”
Tears streaming down the smaller boy’s face, he responded, “Please don’t make me do it! This place frightens me. Can’t you just come home with me?”
“No! This world despises people like you and me. We weren’t made for it. We were made for the hanging tree. This is where you belong,” snarled the bigger boy.
Jimmy, eyes still running, reached with trembling hands for the dangling noose. He seized it. With one final glance at his friend, the little boy placed the loop around his neck. Immediately the noose drew tight. It felt as if the tree was hauling him up by it. The boy kicked and squirmed. Trying to shout for help, but his airflow was cut off. He managed to make a choking noise, then with one final twitch all was still. Still as the glassy surface of a lake on a spring day.
Little Jimmy Hanson had finally made a friend.
The two boys remained dangling together, gently swaying in the stale autumn breeze.

My friend (23f), we’ll call her Jenny, has been taking care of her grandma (79f), Mary, for over a year now and her family barely offers her any support. Mary is on oxygen and has some serious mental health problems that she refuses to get checked. She is lucid enough to refuse but she has become increasingly hostile and depressed in her old age. In the past, Mary has referred to Jenny as her “ex-granddaughter” several times because she feels she does not care about her and thinks she is betraying her when she talks about her to her aunt (65f), Lynn, whom she also refers to as her “ex-daughter.” Jenny’s father (52m), Matt, lives across the country with his wife (52f), Gene, and only cares about the money he’ll get when Mary passes.
Some context: Mary lived alone in a small townhouse for many years and wanted to move 3 hours away to a tiny home by her sisters. Jenny and her family helped move her, but not long after leaving, she became very depressed and very angry with her sisters and her kids for abandoning her in a place she “did not want to be.” When she moved out, Jenny and I (24f) moved into her home and began paying rent to her aunt, as we could not live anywhere else due to her dog and not being able to afford anything else.
After lengthy discussions within her family, Matt decided to move her across the country to live with him and Gene. Their family warned Matt that she may be a lot to handle as she has become a handful in her old age, and he had not been around her for several years, only speaking on the phone. Jenny took a week off of work to drive with Matt across the country for her to fly back home.
In the time that she was there, Matt and Gene renovated their kitchen with Mary’s social security checks and, once completed, Matt began complaining of her nagging and yelling and always got into arguments with her over small things. She had thought she made a friend on TikTok, but he turned out to be a scammer. He got some money from her before anyone caught on and they soon took her iPad and blocked him, along with putting a parental lock so she wouldn’t do something like that again. Mary started noticing she couldn’t do very much like she used to and Matt told her that “maybe he’s doing it.” She was very concerned as she wasn’t aware someone could do that, and anything that went wrong with any of her devices, she blamed “him.” Her iPad, the TV, her oxygen tank, her hearing aids, etc. She could not comprehend that it was her own doing and placed blame anywhere that was not herself.
After a few months, Matt said he was done and wanted to send her back to find a place near Jenny and Lynn. Jenny planned on flying to get her and taking a train home, since Mary is on oxygen and cannot fly. About a week before she left, Matt said he changed his mind and that he wanted Mary to stay. Jenny and I decided to go together since she already had the time off to visit them. Jenny explained to her dad that she cannot keep requesting off time and that if he wanted to have her stay, that she would stay for good. Not long after that, Lynn and Jenny’s brother (22m) moved 3 hours away from Jenny.
The following summer, I moved across the country to work a seasonal job. And Matt decided he was going to have Mary’s sister drive her back home to live with Jenny as she now had a vacant room with me gone. I had been the previous summer and I wanted Jenny to come with me, as I was roadtripping a couple of states away. She stayed for a few days and went back home, only to find out that Mary was arriving there that evening. She had no time to decompress after her flight before Mary was there full time.
Mary and Jenny had always butted heads, but now she had this idea there was a man in all of their electronic devices and would constantly call the police and ask Jenny to take her to the station to report him. One time, the police showed up and Jenny asked if he could explain that there was no one in her things. He took time out of his day to explain that it was not possible for someone to do the things she thinks are happening and she seemed to understand; for a day.
Mary and Jenny are always arguing and Mary is usually screaming at her devices for him to get off them. Mary has said if Jenny doesn’t take her to the police station, she’d call and report her for elderly abuse. Once, Jenny asked what she wanted for dinner and Mary responded, “Two bullets, one for me and one for you.”
Jenny has taken care of Mary as much as possible, but with several pets and a full time job, she comes home from work exhausted just to start her second job of taking care of Mary. She has asked Matt and Lynn is to help make her doctors appointments and that they had to pay any medical bills that Mary’s insurance did not cover, as she was taking on the burden of being her caretaker. However, Matt has always left it to Lynn to take care of and Lynn always dragged her feet when it came to making appointments, which then resulted in Mary becoming frustrated with Jenny, blaming her for not taking care of her.
Recently, Lynn and Matt have decided they want to sell the townhouse and move the two of them into another home, as the space is too small for the both of them. Jenny was for the idea and Lynn told her they wanted to move within a few months, so Jenny began to scramble to get their house packed up for showing. Jenny quickly became overwhelmed, as they have 2 dogs and 6 cats living with them, so the house was never clean. Jenny would spend hours cleaning and packing every chance she got. They moved things that were not needed into a storage unit that Lynn had, which Lynn had not cleared out. Lynn always told Jenny she would come down one day, so Jenny made sure to get that time off, only for Lynn to change her mind and decide to come down at a later date. This happened for months.
Today, Lynn called Jenny and told her that Matt wants to take Mary back and have her live in the basement and that they will renovate it for her to live full time. Mary is not very mobile and requires a wheelchair most times and a walker to get around the house. Jenny does not think that is very wise because there is no bathroom in the basement and no kitchen, therefore Mary would have to go up and down the stairs often, which is not possible for her. Then, a few hours later, Gene texted Jenny and asked if they were aware of what Matt and Lynn were discussing. Then Gene said that they were planning on pushing off them moving for another year. Jenny was livid, not only because she had been spending months packing the house per her families request to move ASAP, but because she had spoken to both Matt and Lynn earlier and neither one of them told her this.
Jenny doesn’t understand what to do in this situation, as she cannot afford to move out on her own and she feels like a pawn in her own family. Matt is ready for Mary to pass so he can claim his inheritance, which is wrapped up in the house Jenny and Mary live in, and Jenny is afraid that once she is gone, there is nothing stopping Matt from selling the house out from under her and leaving her homeless.
Jenny is hoping to keep her relationship well with her family and tries not to cause any waves, but I believe it is more damaging keeping all of her anger inside. What should she do?

I am at the end of a long TW career and no matter how I try to explain what I do, I always get the same look as when I try and tell my dog a joke. You are at a social event and some one asks what do you do. The tile sounds interesting so that ask what does the work involve. At that point you start to lose them. You physically feel their boredom. After enough times doing this you learn to change the topic so they can leave without feeling like they are running away from a soul sucking vortex.
My wife barely understands what I do but can explain it to others. My adult child have no idea. I finally figure out to say Technical Editor. For some reason people are able to wrap their minds around that.
Anyone else experience this? Anyone have a good explanation?

Hi all,
12 year old female chihuahua/dachshund mix, 12 pounds, (neutered), living in Bay Area.
My dog's tail has been permanently down since the afternoon of Friday, May 3. It's usually up. I noticed it happen right around the time I was thinking of taking her for her walk. She had been wagging her tail just before. No accident or big event to cause it. It's different from the tail down she normally does when she's scared or anxious (in those cases it's very wrapped down with her tail between her legs), but it seems more like she's lost the ability to lift her tail back up. It's almost like there's a little kink at the base of her tail. She does not seem to be in any pain when I manipulate her tail. She still gets excited and wags her tail but it's just permanently hanging down.
Playtime energy levels are about the same, still wants to play tug of war with her toys, will run and jump around chasing after toys. The 2 biggest differences we can see are on her walks (1) every couple of feet she will stand completely still on her walks and not want to walk anywhere, but also doesn't seem like she wants to go back home (2) her pooping stance has changed. She usually tucks her pelvis under in like a rounded squat like posture to poop but now she barely squats, almost just stays standing with her tail still hanging down, and her poops just fall out. Poops are much smaller than usual, but thankfully she is still pooping.
Any thoughts? Appreciate your help!

timestamp: https://imgur.com/a/urwLv0k
Paypal FF, zelle, venmo. More pics upon request. Not looking for trades unless TV is skewed in my favor!!! Please be patient with shipping as I work 12's

• Kac skyscraper mount - shows some signs of wear but in good shape overall $230
  
• MK12 MOD H URX4 upper - "cloneish" build of this - will probably regret getting rid of this but don't see myself buying a can for it in the near future. Received in trade, previous owner said the barrel has ~200 rounds through, all other parts were either new or low salt. I never put rounds through it, details are as follows
  
  • Cerro Forge Keyhole upper
  • KAC URX 4 13”
  • Bison Armory 16” SPR, bead blasted, bedded/shimmed by D.Wilson
  • MK12 gas block, Allen Engineering CollaBrake
  • Work done by D.Wilson: assembly and URX install, brake timed and installed with Rocksett, added knurled gas block screws, receiver face lapped, barrel feedramps polished, barrel shimmed and bedded to receiver, totaling ~$180 (not to mention the time/hassle spent hunting down parts). Asking what it was originally listed for - $945
• Block II upper - received in trade, in excellent shape overall. Previous owner said he put a maximum of ~200 rounds $720
  
  • FDE DD RIS II
  • Daniel Defense 14.5″ 5.56 Hammer-Forged Midlength Barrel w/ Pre-Drilled & Pinned Gas Block (this specific setup).
  • SFMB P/W
  • BCM upper receiver w/ enhanced dust cover pending local sale, will accept backup dibs
• SF4P NSN marked, brand new. Have rocksett tube, I MAY have one shim kit, not guaranteed though. Prioritizing selling these TOGETHER first for $240. If nobody bites I will part them for $125ea
  
• NiB BCG takeoff from upper off here. Previous owner is 99% sure it's a NEMO BCG, said ~500 rounds $70
  
• looking to sell locally in the south FL Palm Beach County area. LBT wheeled load-out bag. Really sick bomb-proof bag, it is BIG, measures approx 31x23x14. NSW issued, older model (back from LBT's golden era). Easily fits several rifles, helmets, plate carriers, etc. Similar newest revision from LBT retails for around $500-600. Shows some signs of use and has dog hair etc but good shape overall. $70, $50 if you are willing to meet within 10 mins of me because I'm lazy. I've gotten a few quotes for users from the previous listing and they were all $60-110 - if you are willing to cover fees and have this shipped wrapped in heavy duty trashbags we can work something out
  

I saw my dog stoopin for a poopin and wandered over with my flimsy little bag. My fingers were greeted with stone cold shit and not the warm caress I was expecting. As my mind shifted to accept this new reality I realised I had a choice. Do I complete the deed or back out? Wanting nothing more than to nope out of there, I realise I have a moral obligation to see this through. I clasp and pull… using the tried and tested grass grab method and wrap my fingers round the devils ice cream. Now I’m home and have washed my hands 3 times. I feel so wrong about what I did but I don’t know why. My dogs sh*t I’d much the same as any dog shit but that doesn’t change how I feel about it

Decant Reviews Part II: The Revenge! This batch came to me from the most excellent u/Hype_Moments, who thoughtfully reached out to me to inform me of his services after I expressed dismay at my inability to obtain samples directly from Montagne. The decants arrived promptly and packaged securely enough to withstand a nuclear blast! I also appreciate the attention to detail when it comes to labeling: matching Montagne's font and including the notes makes the sampling process feel very deluxe. Great experience, would order again!
On to the fragrances. Unless stated otherwise, I have not smelled the inspiration fragrances, so I am judging these on their own merit. For your reference, I typically prefer unisex fragrances, but I decided to roll the dice and included three feminine scents this time. I'm 29, and I work in both office and classroom environments. Let's get into it!
Eau Vanille: This one is not for everyone, but it's definitely for me. The rich, deep vanilla combined with the guiac wood and incense smells like going to mass at a grand Cathedral. Sophisticated, solemn, mysterious. I imagine that Notre Dame smells like this on Good Friday. Honestly, it kind of reminds me of my confirmation. I swear, the oil the bishop puts on your (greasy, 13-year-old) forehead smells a lot like this. That said, I love this because it reminds me of a positive moment in my faith formation, but it may evoke complex or negative reactions in others. The incense calms down after a couple of hours, which allows the vanilla to shine. Definitely not too sweet, and reads straightforwardly unisex to me. If you're a vanilla-lover looking for something a bit different with some oomph, this could be for you. Maybe not the best choice for the heat of summer, but I will be looking to purchase the full bottle come autumn. Would wear to my arch-rival's funeral.
Strawberry Milk: The wildcard of the bunch. I did not think I was going to like this because I thought it was going to be extremely juvenile and sickly sweet. I ordered it out of pure curiosity after hearing about the ungodly sums folks were shelling out to get their hands on a bottle. While it's definitely a sweet gourmand, it's not syrupy sweet. It's kind of fruity and powdery and just a bit herbal. There's something in here that comes off a little minty to my nose, which is baffling considering the notes. I'm not getting anything particularly strawberry-like, though. Maybe a hint of something lactonic, like malted milk powder, and a burnt-sugar note that could be caramel. Very wearable if you like sweet scents. Not obtrusive, kind of like if you gave a your-skin-but-better scent some moxie. Certainly not your typical celebrity scent. I could see a lot of women liking this. The longevity wasn't the best on this one, though: I think I got about four hours out of it. I'm not personally in love with it, but I'm glad I tried it.
Pink Rose Exclusif: Good Lord, y'all. This THE hot girl perfume. The most attractive woman you can think of probably wears this. It's a really beautiful, sweet, creamy, powdery rose wrapped in a veil of incense and supported by vanilla and woody notes in the base. There's some fruitiness in there too, particularly in the opening. Despite the powderiness and incense, it's quite edible smelling; like a fruity sponge cake that's also drenched in rose syrup, served immediately after the Confirmation service (callback!). I recognize this scent because I have encountered it in the wild on women wearing Delina Exclusif or its dupes, and it definitely... affects me, shall we say. This will turn heads for sure. It also lasts forever with excellent projection. I put on 3 sprays, wore it all day, went to sleep, and then my pillow and sheets smelled like Pink Rose Exclusif for DAYS, just from coming into contact with my arm. You absolutely do not need much of this. As much as I love it, I'm on the fence about whether to buy it, because I'm not sure how often I would actually wear it. It's a little more femme than my personal style usually calls for, imo. Plus, I'm not sure I want all the attention this would garner. That said, it's a 10/10 frag, I'd go for it today if I were single and ready to mingle. UPDATE: After writing this review, I got the opportunity to test the OG in-store, and I can confirm that this is a 1 to 1 dupe. I don't detect any difference whatsoever. Nice work, Montagne!
Pink Rose: This one humbled me. I had already tried the Exclusif version, and figured this was the more wearable, daytime version. I did my normal application (1 spray each on wrists & inner elbows, 2 sprays on the neck, 1 on the front of my shirt) and then headed to the office. When my coworker told me I smelled good from 6 feet away, I knew I had overdone it. I was smelling this all day long, from the 8:30 AM application until bed time. And not just little whiffs here and there, I'm talking constant presence in my olfactory organ. A little distracting, if I'm honest. Luckily, it's a beautiful fragrance. Florals are hit or miss for me, but I have a soft spot for rose. Whereas the Exclusif smells like rose dessert, this smells like a living rose growing fresh and vibrant in the garden. The litchi and rhubarb bring in a little sharpness, and there's a green accord in there that's really refreshing. This is rose done in a modern, interesting way, and I dig it. Feminine, but in a way that feels manageable for my typical presentation. Despite my initial blunder, I do think it's more every-day wearable than its sister as long as you are conservative with your application. Will buy for sure, and probably sooner rather than later.
Carnal Gray Extrait: In a word: exquisite. This smells like being wealthy, well-traveled, and the hottest person at the function. Charisma in a bottle. Effortlessly sexy without being provocative. It's well blended, but not linear. We start with a spicy, herbaceous opening; you get the cardamom right away, with some sweet green undertones. Then, a beautiful dry down. It becomes more powdery with a bit sweetness thanks to iris, tonka, and vanilla. The woodiness from cedar and sandalwood and earthiness from vetiver and patchouli keep it from going gourmand, and the result is something deep, dark, and complex. Perfect for special occasions where you want to dress to impress, this would be the ultimate companion to a well-tailored suit or a fancy cocktail dress. Apparently folks are somewhat divided on whether Gris Charnel Extrait leans feminine or masculine, but to me, CGE is perfectly unisex. Great performance; three sprays lasts me all day with moderate projection. This is my favorite fragrance from Montagne so far, and in the running for my favorite fragrance of all time. It's probably not the best choice for the hot, humid summer that's coming my way, but I don't even care, this is going to the top of the queue. 12/10, I am writing in my will that I want this sprayed on me before I go in the casket.
Brooklyn Jazz: At last, a fragrance that I can compare to its inspiration! I have smelled and fallen in love with Maison Margiela's Jazz Club, and was super excited to see how the wallet-friendly version from Montagne stacks up. Indeed, it's a very close match. We have a nice peppery opening that gives way to boozy, rum tobacco heaven. It's not in the notes, but this definitely comes off leathery to my nose. It smells like sitting in a leather armchair, sipping on dark liquor, and smoking... some kind of tobacco product. I want to say a pipe rather than a cigar, but neither is my vice of choice, so I can't be sure. Either way, old school badass. Think Ron Swanson in Duke Silver mode. If anything, there is perhaps more of an herbal accord here that I didn't notice in Jazz Club, but that could be due to the translation from EDT to EDP. Masculine leaning, but still suitable for ladies who appreciate smokey scents. Altogether, a lovely warm and cozy scent. Decent longevity, but the projection could be better (maybe needs maceration). I do like it, but I'm more motivated to get my hands on Carnal Gray Extrait and Eau Vanille, both of which are certainly different, but occupy a similar region of the fragrance family tree. I may pick it up after I make it through the summer.
Thanks for reading my reviews! And special thank-yous to both u/Hype-Moments and u/AyybrahamLmaocoln for supplying this community with decants and saving us from the anxiety of blind-buying. Let me know if you have any recommendations for my next decant order, particularly more masculine scents that are good for summer; I want my collection to have a little of everything. What do y'all think of Afternoon Dive and Torino 2021? That's all, over and out.

I'm pretty sure I'm going to be dead in the next 24 hours.
Whether that's the Costella family, or whatever this is, I'm not sure.
The police are taking forever, and part of me knows they're either refusing to believe me, or RC got them too.
I'm holed up on our school bus, so I've got nothing better to do.
I want to tell you about my team.
We met in our sophomore year.
Strangers standing outside the club room.
Levi was the freckled brunette who wouldn't stop talking about Game of Thrones.
Sunny, a pretty redhead, told him to shut up.
Tom, a sandy blonde, nodding his head to music corked in his ears.
I just wanted to be part of a club, and get away from my overbearing mother.
I won't say it was a perfect start. Our school was lacking in funding, so anyone could join, which made us more of a Quiz Club. I had some serious anxiety, so I stayed on the sidelines for a while, watching, rather than taking part.
It's not like we actually talked to each other initially. The first few weeks, we played Jeopardy, and attempted to find more members to cement us as an official Academic Decathlon club.
Unfortunately, though, it was just the four of us.
Which made it extremely hard for us to be taken seriously.
According to Google, Academic Decathlon teams were made up of nine members, placed by their GPA.
Our principal laughed at us, but he did let us become official.
Which was out of pity, I assumed.
The club was assembled, and we started meeting up after school.
Sort of.
Sunny barely showed up, and Levi didn't take anything seriously, preferring to spend the time telling us about his weird family turf-war.
Our principal dumped us in a tiny classroom with a resident rat living under the floorboards.
There was barely enough room to move, and the four of us crammed together for three hours was less than appealing.
Still, though, I wanted to be part of a club.
I had grown up with parents who were obsessed with board games, so I was pretty good at general knowledge questions. Our club room was too small for anything else but three desks (Sunny and I shared one) and a whiteboard we had to shove through the door.
But, again, we didn't start as an Academic club.
It was more akin to Story Time Club.
Arriving late on my third day, armed with quiz cards from home, I found Tom and Sunny completely mesmerised by Levi’s storytelling skills, drowned in shadow.
They didn't even turn the lights on.
I strictly remember squeezing next to Sunny, and hearing the words, “But there was so much blood all over the floor, and my Mom told me to go upstairs and hide under the bed…”
Sitting in front of them was Levi, perched on a desk, his legs swinging, a whiteboard marker between his teeth.
Sometimes he'd get up, and illustrate parts of his story.
It sucked that his drawings were all stick people.
I won't go into full details of his life, but Levi grew up as part of a family who had… interesting methods of making a living. I had seen the guy’s father multiple times when we hung out at his place, and, yeah, my friend’s family definitely had Soprano vibes.
Levi’s Draw My Life was nothing to do with the club, but it did bring us closer.
Even if, at that point, I was considering leaving.
But it's not like it was easy to walk away from these guys. It's like finding your soulmates. Levi wasn't the only one with an interesting life. Sunny Lang was an ex kpop trainee, who was kicked out for being too fat, which led her to develop a severe eating disorder, and a hatred for her own body.
Sunny explained her family were originally from Boston, her mother growing up in Korea.
She signed up for an idol agency focusing on creating a new girl group, and had gotten all the way to the final stages, before being kicked for her weight. Sunny told us her story with a smile, though there was a hollowness in her eyes I couldn't ignore. The other girls were judgemental bullies, and the idol diet and brutal regime almost killed her.
Sunny lived in a tiny apartment with 9 girls, who would tear each other apart for a chance to debut. Sunny said all the other girls debuted, and when we (not so patiently) asked for names, she shrugged, admitting she signed an NDA that prevented her spilling the beans.
What she did say, was the K-pop idol is a product, not a person– and are made and moulded into a product.
She had zero interest in throwing her humanity away to become a manufactured doll.
So, one of us was the son of an underground family, and the other was an ex idol.
Tom was an aspiring horror writer with a famous older step-brother.
His story times were usually, That one time I went to the Met Gala.
When it was my turn to reveal my story, I told them the only interesting thing about me.
I could smell when something bad was going to happen.
They laughed, but I was being serious.
When I was a kid, I smelled my mother’s brain tumor.
I remember it smelled like curdled milk.
I asked Mom why her head smelled of mouldy milk, and Mom laughed and said it was her shampoo.
It was actually a grade two tumor growing inside her brain.
Thankfully, the tumour was found quickly and removed.
Growing older, I became sensitive to smell. The little girl choking on the bus smelled of singed wood, and the old man crossing the road stunk of gasoline.
In the fourth grade, my classmate Alex Castor smelled of lemons all morning.
I sat behind him, choking on the stink all the way through class.
Ever since I met him, Alex had always smelled… off.
It was a distinct smell I could never understand, and as the days and months and years went by, that smell morphed into a subtle orangey musk that was so strong I had to cover my mouth and nose. Then, he smelled like lemons.
During Recess, I watched Alex fall off of the jungle gym, straight onto his head.
Alex Castor was dead before the paramedics arrived, my panicked teacher attempting CPR when his brains were leaking out of his ears.
The school claimed it was an accident, but Alex would have been fine if the jungle gym wasn't built on solid concrete.
I told my team members this, and Levi was sceptical.
“You can smell bad things?” He said, his lips curved around his milkshake straw. In the early days, we hung out in the local bar. It's not like we were allowed inside, but Levi could get us in anywhere.
I was squeezed between Tom and Sunny, while Levi took the seat opposite us. I couldn't help noticing our waitress was insisting on free milkshake refills, her frantic eyes glued to Levi.
I had zero idea why. Levi Costella was about as intimidating as a fruit fly.
Wearing a white shirt with a popped collar, a leather jacket thrown over the top, Levi was giving rebellious Harvard student, rather than son of a crime family.
Leaning forward, he raised a brow, clearly not believing me.
“So, you're like a stink psychic?”
I shrugged, sipping my own shake.
“Sure.”
I wasn't planning on telling him the club room smelled off on our first day.
Once we actually started the club, Levi surprised us as the smartest member, and getting to know him further, I came to the realization his family were infamous in our town.
However, his parents hid it well. Lucy and Michael Costella were the owners of a popular ramen store in our town, hiding under the facade of two successful business owners. The Costella’s were an attractive family.
Lucy was a sophisticated brunette with a lipstick smile, Michael, a handsome fluffy haired man who looked like he modelled glasses.
The two were fiercely protective over their youngest son, not so casually reminding us behind grinning smiles, that if anything happened to Levi, we would automatically be involved in the family.
I mean, they did laugh and say, “We’re joking! Look at your little faces!” when Sunny went deathly pale. But there was definitely truth behind their words.
Being Levi’s friend was… challenging at first.
Tom and I were in his room studying for finals, and an alarm went off, flooding Levi’s room in red light.
I had zero idea where it was coming from, but it locked all the doors and windows, forcing the Costella residence into temporary lockdown. Levi didn't seem fazed, casually mentioning his parents were taking care of it.
He had a whiteboard set up in his room, and was standing in front of it, cramming all of our textbook notes into one easily digestible drawing.
Levi wasn't just smart.
He was Ivy League smart, so we had struck gold with him.
His family were questionable, and yes, sometimes I did fear for my life, but as the more time we spent at his house, the Costella household became a second home. We got used to the alarms.
I just brought along ear plugs.
I wish I was writing this post about Levi’s family, and sure, they are a factor in what is going on right now, but I want to preface this by saying the events below involve the 2024 scholastic decathlon final in our town with the school’s listed:
Starbrook High School.
Ratcliffe High School.
Please note, the incident that took place last night was immediately covered up, and all phone footage was destroyed. Our town is mostly out of the way, and does not show up on Google searches.
We also have our own version of the academic decathlon, which is a more town-level competition, due to lacking funds. The four of us were desperate to start competing with our schools.
So, we started taking things a little more seriously.
We got a coach.
Mr Hanes, who was hesitant at first.
In his words, “You will hate me as your coach.”
He started by recruiting more members, announcing, “If you want to be taken seriously as an actual club, then I'll be taking the reins from now on.”
He did, and with our teachers guidance (and sometimes brutal honesty), we reached a level where we could start competing with other school’s in town. Now, none of us knew this, but Mr Hanes was obsessed with winning.
So, club meetings were twisted into two hour study sessions with no talking, followed by Mr Hanes Jeaprody, which was Jeaprody, without the actual fun.
We were quizzed multiple times, answer cards and practise questions quite literally thrown directly in our faces.
I hate to admit this (I really hate to admit this) but Mr Hanes’s tactics worked. Sure, we had been mildly brainwashed by our slightly unhinged coach, but with Levi Costella, we destroyed our competitors. Like I said, our town held their own version of the academic scholastic decathlon, but it was pretty much the same, with some changes.
Ten subjects. Language and Literature, Math, Social Science, Economics, Art, Music, Interview, Speech, and Essay.
Unlike the official Decathlon, ours was more like a game show, with the ability to be knocked out if a team member answers a question wrong. Whoever answers the most questions correctly wins. Team meet ups were either tests, study sessions, or quizzing each other.
Which leads me to last night.
The finals were held in the reigning champions, Ratcliffe High School’s, auditorium.
And we were about to win our town’s Scholastic Decathlon 2024 Championships.
Well…I was knocked out in the music section. Standing next to my coach who I was sure was going to asphyxiate from excitement, I could smell the sudden potent stink of lemon. I tried to ignore it at first, but the more questions my team were answering correctly, the smell got worse, suffocating my senses.
This wasn't just lemon. The stink was like a burning, singing smell trickling into my nose and the back of my throat.
It was stronger than what Alex smelled like.
This was suffocating, drowning my thoughts.
“Are you okay, Cassandra?”
Mr Hanes nudged me when a Ratcliffe girl was struggling to answer a question, only for Sunny to jump in with the answer. “You look quite pale.”
I nodded, forcing a smile.
My gaze was on the Ratcliffe coach, a scary looking blonde woman, whispering in one of her student’s ears.
The Ratcliffe kid freaked me out. He was way too tall, dark blonde hair, and bulging eyes I swear were not blinking.
His gaze was glued to Levi, who wore a smug grin.
There was a smaller girl next to the Ratcliffe kid, a Macbook balanced on her knee. Every so often, he leaned into her, the two of them in deep conversation.
“I'm just nervous.”
I jumped when Ratcliffe scored a point, their side erupting into cheers.
During the break, we had a mini team meeting.
Sunny rushed to the bathroom to freshen up, and I noticed a Ratcliffe girl with a bouncing ponytail following her.
Ignoring our coach’s speech, I joined the two girls in the corridor, that lemony scent hanging thick in the air.
I caught them in an awkward position.
The Ratcliffe girl had her fingers pinched between the material of Sunny’s dark blue shirt bearing our school’s name.
Sunny looked confused, her lips parted like she was going to yell.
Ponytail dropped her hand, suddenly, with a nervous laugh. “Oh! I'm so, so, sorry,” she gushed. “You had, like, the biggest spider crawling on your back.”
Sunny caught my eye, shooting me a reassuring smile.
“Thanks.” She made sure to keep her distance. “Uh, where's your bathroom?”
The Ratcliffe girl nodded down the hallway. “It's just down there. I'm going there too if you want me to show you?”
Sunny motioned for me to go back to the auditorium. “Uh, sure! That'd be great!”
I did try to follow them, only for Sunny to cough loudly.
I took the hint, reluctantly heading back into the auditorium.
My team was hyping each other up, Levi in the centre, sweating through his team shirt. He ran a trembling hand through his hair. “I can't do this,” He groaned. “Ratcliffe High is known to play dirty, man. They're unbeatable.”
“In what way do they play dirty?” I asked, joining them.
Levi gulped down water, shrugging.
“I dunno! They're already trying to distract me with the stink eye.” The boy narrowed his eyes at a grinning Ratcliffe kid who, after noticing our stares, jumped to his feet, waving at us.
“Hey guys!”
“That's Harry Cartwright, the son of the Cartwright family who tried to kill my parents in the third grade.” Levi mockingly waved back. “As you can see, their kid is a fucking sociopath.”
Huh. I wasn't expecting the smiley kid to be the mobster’s son.
Harry Cartwright was not what I expected.
Unlike his team members, he was the only one in casual clothing, a short sleeved white shirt and jeans, a pair of sunglasses perched on top of his head.
Tom went pale.
“Fuck.” He hissed. “He’s one of you? Then those bastards will have a reason to play dirty, right?”
Levi shrugged, averting his gaze. It was the first time I saw his eyes darken, like he was subtly telling the boy to back off.
“The Cartwright’s have been trying to buy our land for a while,” he muttered. “I wouldn't put it past them to use the Decathlon as a way to attack.”
“Attack?!” April, another member of our team, hissed. “Like, attack attack?”
Mr Hanes grabbed the boy, resting his hands on Levi’s shoulders. “Ignore them,” he said. “Hey. Look at me.”
Levi did, raising a brow.
“You're losing that spark in your eye, young man.”
“Spark?”
Our coach nodded. “Look at me, kid.”
Levi rolled his eyes. “I am looking at you, Mr Hanes.”
The man was shaking. I was guessing his whole career (or coaching career) was on the line.
“They know they're losing, Mr Costella.”
Hanes shook the boy, squeezing his shoulders. “You are being positive and Ratcliffe doesn't like that. They want you to be nervous. They want to make you second guess yourself and lose confidence. Don't let them get into your head.” he smiled, giving the boy a playful shove. “Kick their asses.”
“Exactly!”
I didn't realize Sunny was back from the bathroom.
The faint smell of lemons had followed her. I noticed a wet patch on her shirt collar, though she was quick to smile at me, admitting she'd spilled water down herself. Sunny wrapped her arms around Levi, squeezing him into a hug.
She hung on for a little too long, Tom dragging her away with a laugh. “Good luck, all right?” she backed away, ruffling his hair. “We’ve got this!”
When I hugged Levi good luck too, I had to resist covering my nose.
The smell of lemon was unbearable, just like fourth grade Alex.
But it wasn't as potent as earlier.
I vaguely remembered the smell starting to fade once Alex’s body was being carted away on a stretcher.
Following my captain through the crowd, I was right. The smell was less suffocating. Before he went back to the stage, I grabbed the back of his shirt.
The material was soaking wet.
“How are you so wet?” I said, swiping my hands on my shirt.
“Huh?”
I shook my head. “Never mind. Do you remember what I told you in sophomore year?”
Levi settled me with a confident, but nervous smile. “Thaaaat you're scared of clowns?”
“No. I mean the boy who smelled of lemons.” I gritted out.
Levi surprised me with a laugh. “What are you talking about?”
Something ice cold trickled down my spine.
Levi did know what I was talking about. He brought up my stink sense a day earlier in front of his parents, and I had to cover his mouth to shut him up.
Leaning close, I whispered in his ear. “You stink of rotten lemons.”
He nodded slowly, pulling away. “Uh… thanks?”
I bit back a hiss of frustration. “No, you don't understand what I'm saying–”
“Starbrooke High School,” The host announced. “Can all members please return to the stage.”
Levi held up his hand for a high five.
“Can we do this later?” He winked. “I'm kinda busy carrying this spelling-bee on my back right now.”
I nodded shakily, high fiving him, and letting him jump back onto the stage.
Before his words hit like a tidal wave, ice cold water slammed into me.
Spelling Bee?
Slowly making my way back to the stands, Levi’s mistake was circling around my head. He did win a spelling bee, but that was in middle school.
Thankfully, the smell of lemons was gone when I returned to my seat.
Mr Hanes handed me a soda. “Chill out, Cassandera, it's just a game.”
He could talk. The guy was on his fifth coffee.
Mr Hanes was not chilled out in the slightest.
Surprisingly, the event went well. I was half expecting my team to be crushed by the rafters, or caught in a blaze started in the crowd. But we were doing well. No, we were winning.
Reaching the climaxing round, Sunny choked against a smug Ratcliffe boy, joining me on the sidelines.
Levi answered the next question with a confident smile.
We were winning, but Ratcliffe could still catch up with a miracle.
The second to last question was to Ratcliffe, and it was general knowledge.
”Where on the human body would one find the *orbit?*
I knew the answer, and so did Levi, his lips breaking out into a smile when the Ratcliffe boy was hesitating, eyes wide.
Our school’s buzzer went off, Levi slamming his hand down.
Bzzz!
The host turned to our team. “Starbrooke, can I have your answer?”
Levi nodded, shooting our team a victory grin.
“It's…!“ He opened his mouth to answer, his jaw slackening suddenly.
The boy’s shoulders slumped.
“Uh… “
“Um…”
“Huhhhhh…”
Levi inclined his head, blinking, his eyes glazing over. There was a sudden, hollow vacancy that sent chills down my spine. It was like someone had reached into his skull, and yanked out his brain, leaving a shell in his place.
To my confusion, our team captain frowned at his buzzer like he'd never seen one before. He pressed it, exploding into child-like giggles.
Bzzz!
The audience laughed along nervously.
Tom nudged me. “What the fuck is he doing?”
Bzzz Bzzz Bzzz!
Levi’s entire body was slumped, his hand slamming down on the buzzer.
I caught something pooling down his chin.
“Is he… drooling?” I whispered.
Mr Hanes looked mildly horrified. “Has he been drinking?
“Levi?” Tom spluttered. “Drinking?!"
Whatever we were watching, however, was definitely influenced by… something.
Bzz. Bzz. Bzz. Bzz. Bzz!
“Young man, that is not a toy!”
The host wasn't amused. “Starbrooke High School, I need an answer from you,” He nodded to Levi, who was pressing the buzzer, his smile growing.
“Once again,” The host backed away, like Levi was contagious. “Where on the human body would one find the Orbit?”
Levi cocked his head, lips parted.
His gaze found the overhead lights, and he winced, his lips curling into a frown.
“Starbrooke High School!”
Levi jumped, tipping his head back and blowing a raspberry. “Palm tree?”
The audience laughed, and I started feeling nauseous.
Across from us, I could see the twist of a smirk on the Ratcliffe coach’s lips.
Bzzz! Levi slammed the buzzer again giggling.
“Starbrooke High School, if your team member continues to act like this, I will be forced to disqualify all members.”
Our captain stopped, gaze glued to the host, his hand creeping towards the buzzer, like it was a big red button.
The audience loved it, laughing like they were watching a sitcom.
“He wouldn't.” Tom whisper-shrieked.
The auditorium was silent for a moment, awaiting Starbrooke’s response.
Levi stuck out his tongue, slamming his hand down.
Bzzz! Bzzz! Bzzz! Bzzz! Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz–
When Tom dragged Levi away from his podium, a Ratcliffe girl hit her buzzer.
“Starbrooke High School, you are disqualified,” the host announced. “Ratcliffe High School, do you have an answer?”
It was Ponytail who nodded with a grin.
“The answer is the eye socket! The Orbit is part of the eye socket!”
“That is the correct answer.” The host was distracted, his eyes glued to Levi.
“Ratcliffe High School wins.”
Levi jumped when the Ratcliffe wide erupted into cheers.
His eyes were wide, clinging onto the buzzer for comfort.
Next to me, our coach looked like he was going to faint.
I barely noticed Ratcliffe’s victory, too busy watching our team captain, who was Harvard bound, tipping his head back and smiling at the ceiling like a new-born baby. Tom dragged the stumbling boy over to me, his mouth twisted.
“This was Ratcliffe, right?” He hissed, shaking our captain, who was struggling, squirming in his grip.
“Did they put something in his drink?!” He prodded Levi. “Hey! What did they do to you?!”
Still, though, drugging his drink didn't make sense.
Levi never left the auditorium, and kept his water bottle with him the whole time.
How did they even manage to slip something into his drink in the first place?
Did I smell our competitors drugging him?
Sure, intentionally inebriating my teammate was morally wrong and illegal, but why could I smell lemon?
“I doubt it was Ratcliffe.” Sunny squeezed next to me. “I've been watching them. They're harmless.”
“Then how the fuck do we explain this to his parents?!” Tom whispered, grappling with Levi, who was fighting to get back to the buzzer.
When Tom let go of him, he dropped onto the floor, crawling over to his podium. It was like watching a child.
Who was determined to piss off the adults.
Levi jumped back to instead feet, his gaze was glued to the host, a smile curved on his lips, when he slammed the buzzer again.
Bzzz!
“Someone, please remove the Starbrooke boy from the stage!”
I was embarrassed, our whole team ducking our heads as our captain was forcibly removed from the podium.
Mr Hanes grabbed Levi, pulling him off of the stage.
I expected our coach to be mad at him, but I think the teacher was more worried, a phone pressed to his ear while he forced the boy into a sitting position.
No, I don't think it's influence from alcohol, I could hear his conversation.
Levi kept trying to get up, mesmerised by the buzzer. The teacher was firm but gentle. “Hey. Sit down, all right? Keep still.” He went back to his phone call, gently prying Levi’s eyes open.
From what I can see, there's nothing wrong. He's just kind of…
Mr Hanes swiped his own hands on his jeans. ... wet?
Team Ratcliffe came over to rub it in our faces, though I was still tuned into our coach’s hissed whispering.
Water? No, I don't think it's water. It smells… no, I haven't told his parents…
“You guys did awesome!” Ponytail's voice was sugary sweet. Too sugary.
She held the 2024 trophy, bearing a satisfied smile. I noticed the Ratcliffe members were surrounding Harry, like guards.
“Better luck next time, okay?” She held out her hand, her eyes twinkling.
“No hard feelings?”
“Control your dog.” Harry said, amused eyes flicking to Levi, who was once again sprinting back to the fucking buzzer. His eyes had visibly darkened, lips curled into a triumphant smile.
Harry Cartwright was watching Mr Hanes chase our team captain like it was his own personal entertainment.
I had to look away before I died of second hand embarrassment.
“What did you put in his drink?” Tom demanded. “Weed? Edibles?” the boy attempted to shove Harry, only to be pushed back. “What the fuck did you do to him?”
Harry’s smile didn't waver. “Like I said. Control your mut.”
When the Ratcliffe team walked away, our red faced coach struggling with Levi, who was behaving progressively more erratically, informed us we were longer welcome inside the school.
Tom suggested calling an ambulance, but our coach was hesitant.
We all knew who Levi’s family were.
On the way out, Tom matched my stride. He was frowning at our team captain struggling to walk.
The way he was acting was already eyebrow raising.
But walking at an angle and being unable to stand up straight was worrying.
“I don't think they drugged his drink.” Tom muttered.
We pushed through the doors out of the school, and I revelled in the cool night air grazing my cheek. “If they did, he would be acting out of it, right? So, what's the deal with him acting like–”
“A child.” I finished for him.
“Yeah.” Tom leaned closer. “Do you think this has something to do with their turf war?”
I slapped at a bug creeping across my cheek.
Levi fell over again, this time bursting into giggles.
“Almost definitely.”
Levi was right about Ratcliffe playing dirty. I didn't realize how dirty until we were on the losers bus home. Levi was in the seat next to me, and the kid hadn't moved since we left Ratcliffe, his eyes wide, lips pulled into a dazed grin.
Bzzz!
The noise startled me from slumber. I was drooling, my head pressed against the window. Outside, the sky was pitch dark, and squinting through the glass, I couldn't get a bearing on where we were. I thought I was hearing things, but when I sat up, I heard it again.
Bzzz!
It was close.
Leaning over the boy, I glimpsed a smear of scarlet on his headrest.
I choked on my next words.
“Tom.”
Tom was in front of me, listening to music.
He didn't reply, his head of dark blonde curls nodding to the beat.
“Levi.” I managed to get out. I prodded him, and his head lolled into his shoulder. “Hey. Can you… sit up?”
Bzzz! Bzzz!
When the boy didn't move, I gently grabbed his shoulders and pulled him forward myself, something contracting in my stomach.
I don't know how long it takes for your mind to fully register something, but my body was already reacting.
Levi’s seat was infested with bugs, eating their way through the upholstery. I was aware of my body moving back. I threw up, instantly, screaming into my hand.
The back of my best friend's skull resembled a deflated soccer ball, what was left of his brain leaking from his skull where a swarm of skittering bugs chewed their way through brain tissue, metallic legs scratching the curved, pearly white of the base if his skull.
Levi’s head hung, his body flopping into mine.
But his eyes were still open, lips still stretched into a smile.
Blood ran in thick rivulets from his nose and ears.
Bzzz!
I could see them, black writhing dots alive in his eyes, wriggling movement under his skin.
“Tom!”
I jumped up, stumbling into the aisle, my stomach heaving.
And it was only when I was on my knees, swiping bile from my lips, when I realized the others weren't reacting.
Tom wasn't moving.
I pulled an Airpod out of his ear, a long, slithering string of pink attached to the end.
There was a stray bug skittering across his hand, his face starting to twitch and writhe.
Moving back, I checked myself over, my hands shaking.
Head.
Shoulders.
Hair.
Clawing through it, my breath was stuck in my throat.
Arms.
Legs.
Feet.
Mr Hanes was slumped against the window, a reddish froth bubbling from his mouth.
Sunny.
I started towards the back of the bus, but all I had to see was her bowed head, half of her skull chewed through.
Sunny was in a far more deteriorated state, her face had been ripped through, a skeletal smile glinting in the dim.
The thick black smear on the window next to her was moving.
When I screamed for the driver to stop the bus, he ignored me.
If anything, he stamped on the gas.
I moved forward to shake him, before glimpsing a bug creeping down his face.
Calling 911, the operator laughed at me.
“Bugs are eating your friends.” He said. “Do you know the penalty for calling with bullshit pranks?”
The bus didn't stop, so I stayed at the front, while the bugs took over the back, eating through my teammates.
After four hours, I risked leaning over the seat next to Tom to check on Levi.
They were eating him.
Chewing all the way through skin, muscle and bone.
I tried to stop the bus, but the driver’s hands were tightly wrapped around the wheel.
Another hour, and blood was seeping down the aisle, crawling with bugs.
Levi was gone, and in his place, a buzzing skittering pile of bugs, that I thought were going to move to a second victim, maybe burrowing into the seats.
But, no.
These things began to tremble, replicating.
Building.
Slowly, nothing became static, and static became muscle.
Then bone.
Then flesh.
When a body began to slowly form, moulded from the dead boy, I stumbled back.
These things weren't eating Levi Costella.
They were rewriting him.
…
Edit: I'm still on the bus. I'm 99.9% sure that I'm infected with whatever this thing is. I can't stop fucking itching.
I keep picking them off me but they won't stop. This bus isn't going to stop until I'm like the others.
…
Edit 2:
I can feel them chewing into my skull. They're in my ears. I keep spitting them out. Please, someone get them off of me. Help me. I don't want to die at 17.
Edit 3:
Still alive. Still breathing. Maybe they're leaving me alone????? I think I'm okay. There is a pile of bugs at my feet, but they're crawling off of me.
Edit 4:
Levi really wants to go home. Like, he just told me he REALLY wants to go home. He's got a gift for his parents.
~~Edit 5 :) ~~
Levi is next to me right now, an odd smile on his face.
The bugs are not finished building him yet, but he'll be ready soon.
We will be ready soon.
Your son says hello! He is a wonderful boy, is he not?
Mr and Mrs Costella, I cannot wait for you to meet him.
He is our greatest achievement, and rest assured, you will give us what we want.
Warm regards.
The Cartwright's.

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So I work for a wrap shop and we have to somewhat disassemble the vehicle to prep it. I took the handles off and the back door handle off and now I can't get it open. Pulling the piece that opens it inside the handle hole does nothing and can't access the inside handle because it's been converted to a dog grooming van and the whole rear of the inside is sealed off.
What do?

I have an 8 year old neutered male cat who currently weighs about 16 pounds. He's a healthy weight, just a big cat (see cat tax.) No serious health conditions in his past besides a urinary blockage that was caught very early and treated. Unsure how relevant this is because I think it's common, but I do know that he's inbred.
About 3 months ago we started noticing intermittent hissing, maybe once a week, when walking on uneven/squishy surfaces like our mattress, or getting up from a laying position in a certain way. One night while playing, my boyfriend lost his footing and fell, and it spooked kitty so he bolted into our hall closet. This exacerbated what I assume was a developing condition. He immediately started limping and was hissing at his left hind leg specifically after pretty much any movement. He spent the rest of the evening yowling in pain and was constantly trying to get comfortable, it was awful. The next morning he was much better, but we managed to get in at his regular vet.
They took x-rays and there was nothing obvious on them that would be causing the pain. However, there were abnormalities in both of his knees. Pictures here plus cat tax. Full x-ray and one with the abnormality circled. There is one in both knees, same spot. Our vet said we could send them to the specialist radiologists to see if they know what they are, and she said she'd do some research herself. Neither of those options yielded anything conclusive. She said it "could be" arthritis and sent us on our way with pain meds just in case.
My boyfriend's mom works at a specialist orthopedic vet clinic and she had us come in for a second opinion. They work mostly with dogs and we were really just there as a favor, but the vet there did a thorough exam and wanted us to come back in a few weeks for a follow up exam. He also had bloodwork done there and there was nothing of note.
Since his initial visits, he has been back to "normal." One or two ouchie hisses in the week following those visits but none since then. We have done our best to limit running/jumping play. We got stairs for him to get him up to our bed, he uses them to go up but still jumps down. We put pool noodles across our main hallway for him to walk across and get more range of motion in his back legs, as recommended by the orthopedic vet. He is happy, eating and drinking, peeing and pooping.
We went back to the orthopedic vet a couple of weeks ago where the vet told us she did a ton of research for us and looked at his x-rays a bunch, and in her opinion she thinks there are partial tears in both ACLs. She examined him again and said what she felt still supports that theory. She told us that the abnormalities in his x-rays could be bone fragments or osteophytes, which is common with an ACL tear. She highly suggests surgery, and said that's the only way to know for sure if that's what's going on.
After we got that news, I emailed our regular vet to run it by her and see if she had advice on next steps. They said they had a surgeon who would sometimes come to their office to do consultations and that they'd get back to me with available times.
They called me back last week and these are our options:

• Wait until June 8th when the surgeon may be there next. They seemed to think I wouldn't want to wait that long, so maybe I just don't understand the magnitude of the situation?
• Schedule the consultation with the surgeon at his office (which is 3 hours away.) And apparently the way he does things is to do a consultation and immediately follow it with the surgery on the same day. This is confusing to us and feels like a huge commitment.
• Refer us to a local university clinic, but she said it would be a "boat load of money."

Another option I'm adding is to call around to other clinics to see if we can do a consult somewhere else. But according to the orthopedic vet, this is "very rare" in cats and I guess I figured this group would be a better first step.
I am feeling really lost and confused here. And it's hard to wrap my mind around it because he's acting like his normal self, he doesn't seem to be in pain but I know animals are good at hiding it. I feel like I just want a very qualified person, a surgeon, to examine him to confirm if they feel what the orthopedic vet who isn't all that familiar with cats felt.

Name :「Back To Life」
Namesake : "Back To Life" by Mystery Skulls / "Bring Me To Life" by Evanescence
Localised name :「Bring To Life」
Appearance :「Back To Life」is a tall and slender armless Stand, looking like what could be best described as a massive stalk with a head. Being 3,6 meters tall, its whole body seems wrapped in multiple layers of light green, light brown and golden yellow cloth, looking like leaves during spring and autumn. The outer layer goes up to where its ears would be and forms a tall collar behind its head. It also sports a yellow diamond shape at the center of its body, encased between four brown diagonal stripes joining together before reaching the top and the bottom of the layer then joining once more to circle on the collar and the feet. Speaking of, no feet at all, just a few small root-like tentacles spewing from underneath the cloth, allowing it to slowly crawl. Its mint green head is bulbous and veiny, covered with different alien-looking flowers but its face presents the biggest one, a massive flower made of crystals of various shapes, sizes and shades of yellow, with a red cristal globe right at the center. He often wobbles on itself as a stalk would in the wind.
Activation :「Back To Life」's ability activate once vegetation comes into contact with it's user's blood.
Ability :「Back To Life」grants its user's blood the ability to make plants and seeds grow at a tremendous rate once shed on it. Just a few drops are enough to transform a daisy into a large version of itself, able to destroy the ground with its new powerful roots. The bigger the original plant, the more the user has to shed blood for it to grow : a drop for a weed seed to completely mature, a half-liter for tree sappling, several liters to transform a full grown tree into the new Hyperion, etc. Since the user can't obviously dispense that much blood,「Back To Life」can also transfer that ability to any human blood that has been mixed with a bit of the user's, though the effect is divided by a factor of five, both in terms of power and quantity needed.
Weaknesses : the user of「Back To Life」doesn't have control over the plant itself, just its growth, meaning he can well get trapped by his own attacks. Moreover, those are still plants, so the needs for water, soil, sun, etc, are still mandatory, though increased since they're now bigger. Thus, the grown plants have practically zero chances of survival on a long period.
Stats :
Power : E for the Stand / ranging from D to B depending on what hits you (between a bunch of thorns and a massive root, there's a bit of variation in damage) Speed : D for the Stand / ranging from D to B depending on the type of plant and the volume/concentration of blood used Range : C (the plants don't really expand horizontally but can still reach a good 10 meters if given the occasion) Durability : D (boy, is「Back To Life」fragile ! Imagine punching a massive lanky veggie wrap standing upright) Precision : D (as mentioned, he doesn't control in which directions the plants grow) Potential : B (still a fair amount of possible use despite the other restrictions)
Inspiration: there are so many characters with power over plantlife : the Sadida race from the games DOFUS and WAKFU, Admiral Ryokugyu from One Piece, Poison Ivy and Swamp Thing from DC, Shindo from Area D, John Steinbeck from Bungou Stray Dogs, etc. Some give life and energy to those plants by literally giving their life or energy so I took it in that direction and thought about the idea of sprinkling them with blood instead of water. There's not much else for this one really.

Link to original nosleep post:
https://www.reddit.com/nosleep/comments/1arh0e8/has_anyone_heard_of_the_maze_below_the/
I don't know exactly how it happened.
Everything was going great. It was Valentine's Day. My wife had just left for work. And I had just put the second batch of her favorite cookies in the oven for when she returned home.
The only catch is, after I put them in the oven...
...I completely forgot that it was Valentine's Day.
Maybe I was distracted by all my work calls.
Maybe I'm just getting old.
All that matters is, when I emerged from my home office a little while later...
...The entire kitchen had gone up in flames...
...And a few hours later...
...My entire house had burnt to the ground.
—
When my wife finally got home, after racing back from work, it immediately didn't matter to her that it was Valentine's Day anymore.
She was just glad that I was alive.
"Are you okay?" She asked, tears in her eyes, as she ran over to me, as I stood outside, shivering, wrapped in a blanket beside a fire truck.
"Yeah I'll be ok. Can't say the same for the house." I joked, gesturing to the destroyed building.
We both looked over at our home of nearly ten years, as firefighters put out the last of its smoking embers.
She couldn't help but laugh. "Were you able to salvage anything?"
"Oh!" I replied, before reaching into the pocket of my sweatshirt and pulling out a large, sealed plastic bag full of cookies. "Forgot to tell you. I was able to grab the first batch on the way out."
"Aww." She said.
"Want one?" I offered, reaching to open the bag, but she stopped me.
"No, I don't have an appetite right now, after all this. But maybe later."
"No worries." I said, putting the bag of cookies back into my sweatshirt pocket.
"What now?" She asked.
"Hotel I guess?" I proposed.
"Well we could stay with my mom, but that's a two hour drive. After this, that sounds like a lot."
That's when a firefighter overheard us, and interjected.
"Sorry to eavesdrop, but if you don't have anywhere to go. I've got a spare bedroom at my house, down by the harbor. If you're too tired to drive tonight." He offered, with a sympathetic look on his face.
"Thanks, I really appreciate that." I replied, "But we couldn't. It's a really kind gesture, though. Seriously."
"Thank you though, it means a lot." My wife added.
"Oh, of course." The firefighter replied, "No pressure at all. Just with you here like this, I wouldn't have been able to sleep tonight knowing I didn't offer."
He turned away, took a few steps, and then doubled back. "You sure? It really would be no bother to me at all."
My wife and I each looked at each other, exhausted.
"I suppose it beats paying for a hotel." I reasoned.
"Or a two hour drive." My wife said.
—
A couple hours later, we were sitting in the firefighter's kitchen, eating a dinner that he had made for us.
"Seriously though, we'll forever be in your debt for this." I said, slurping pasta.
"Are you kidding?" The firefighter replied, as he did the same. "After what you've gone through today, it's the least I could do."
"You really saved us a long drive to my mom's place." My wife said, after taking a bite.
"Can I ask you a question, though?" The firefighter asked, putting his fork down.
"Of course." I replied.
"What was it about me, that earned your trust?" He continued.
"Our trust?" My wife asked.
"Yeah, like was it the uniform? Or my charm?" He said.
"Uh, I don't know. Why?" She replied.
"Just curious what exactly lowered your guard enough to come back with me, to my house. A stranger's house." The firefighter continued.
I couldn't tell if he was joking, or was looking for a straight answer. So I went with the latter. "Uh, maybe a combination of both? But if I had to pick one. Maybe the uniform? Everyone trusts a firefighter."
"Really? Thank you! That's what I thought, but the others, they all said it was my charm, and I’m really starting to think that the uniform alone really seals the deal." He said.
"The others?" I asked.
"Yeah, the others. Downstairs." The firefighter replied.
"I'm sorry, I'm not following. There's other people downstairs?" My wife asked.
"Yeah, like you." He said nonchalantly.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Like people I found, in desperate situations, like yours, that needed help." The firefighter explained.
"And... what are they doing down there?" I added.
"Oh, there's a whole dungeon down there." He said, with a completely straight face.
"A... dungeon?" I asked.
"Yeah, like with torture devices, and a maze and everything. It's actually really cool, do you want to see it?" He offered.
My wife and I both looked at each other, then back at the firefighter...
...And suddenly burst out laughing…
...As he, too, began to roar with laughter.
Eventually, the laughing subsided, and the kitchen got awkwardly quiet, so I tried to change the subject. "Anyways, great pasta sauce. Is that cumin in there?”
But he ignored me, and picked up right where he left off. "No, but seriously, you've gotta check it out. Like literally, you have no choice."
I just played along, hoping he would change the subject. "Yeah, yeah, okay, fine, fine, we'll check it out. After dinner."
But he wouldn't let it go. "No. Now." He commanded, his facing turning from jovial to menacing.
The joke was growing old, and starting to get a bit creepy, so I stood up from my seat and gestured for my wife to get up. "Come on, let's go."
"Go? I'm afraid that's not possible." The firefighter replied, "The doors and windows are locked from the inside out, and only I can open them."
That's when I decided that he had crossed the line, so I puffed up my chest, and started to move closer to him in a threatening fashion.
"Dude, seriously? I'm a firefighter. I'm in the best shape of my life. And you, no offense, look like you don't even work out."
I couldn’t help but take offense, but I still thought he was joking, so I just smiled back nervously.
"Oh, and I've got an ax." He added, removing a firefighter's ax from under the table and holding it up before us.
He was not joking.
Seeing the weapon, my wife jumped up from her seat, and we both ran to the door, only to find it locked from the inside, just as he had told us.
"Told you."
—
A few minutes later, we were standing at the foot of his basement, having just descended a rickety flight of stairs.
The firefighter must have noticed me walking nervously down them, as he had followed behind us.
"Oh, please excuse the stairs." He apologized, "I really need to get them replaced. But with all of the construction I've been doing in the dungeon and all, they just haven't been a priority."
I didn't know what to think of any of it. I was just hoping it would end.
But it didn't.
"Ok, so here's how it works." The firefighter began, pointing his ax toward the entrance to what, literally, looked like a dungeon. "I'm gonna give you a five minute head start, during which time I'd suggest you run as fast as you can. Now, at the end of the maze, there is an exit. And if you make it there, I promise I'll let you out. But for full transparency, no one has ever made it that far. Cause, you know, they don't know the maze, and I designed it, so I kinda have the upper hand. But maybe you'll be the first?"
My wife and I just stared at each other with a look of horror, as it became clear that this was actually happening.
"Anyways, you're gonna see a lot of fucked up shit in there. People are gonna beg and plead for you to take them with you. But whatever you do, do not give in. I know in the moment you're gonna want to do the right thing but, trust me, based on how it's gone in the past, they're just gonna slow you down, and you're gonna need every second you can get." He then turned to us, as if to make sure we were listening, and asked, "Got it?"
To which I, unsure of what to say, just replied, "Uh... yeah.".
That's when he pulled out a stopwatch, put his thumb to the start button...
"Ok ready... get set.... go!"
...And clicked it.
I looked over at my wife, whose eyes had grown wide with fear...
...And, without hesitation, grabbed her by the hand, darting off with her into the dungeon.
—
Five minutes later, we were running through the maze below the firefighter's house, uncertain of our exact progress but confident that we had made it pretty far into its depths, when we stumbled onto a man, locked up in a cage, his body emaciated from what must have been starvation.
"Help me!" He called out, "Take me with you!"
My wife stopped for a moment, a look of sadness in her eyes, and began to reach out to him, but I intercepted her hand and led her past him, further into the maze.
"We have to keep going!" I called out.
"I feel terrible leaving another behind." She replied.
He wasn't the first we'd seen. In fact, in just that previous five minutes alone, we'd encountered many of the countless others that the firefighter was referring to, and what seemed like a hundred unspeakable horrors.
But we had stayed strong and forged ahead, and as a result, I felt like we were getting close to the end of the maze.
"We're no use to them unless we get out of this place, and call for help." I assured her.
"You're right." She replied.
"We must be getting close to the exit."
"If there even is one."
She had a point. There was a possibility that the firefighter had lied to us, and there was no exit at the end of the maze.
But there was something about the way that he talked, something so honest and direct, that made me think there actually was a way out at the end. And the more I thought about it, I was confident that without an actual exit, for us to potentially reach, there'd be no fun in the game that he'd created for himself.
"Trust me." I said.
"I trust you." My wife replied.
That's when we heard it. The unsettling sound of someone whistling, coming from behind us in the maze, and approaching quickly.
"Run!" My wife said, her sense of hopelessness now transforming into one of survival.
—
By the time we finally made it to the end of the maze, the firefighter had caught up to us, still whistling. But when he turned the corner and saw us, standing at the door, tugging at its locked doorknob, he dropped his shoulders. "Aw, man. Seriously?"
I tried to bring myself to speak, but my body was frozen in fear.
Finally, I let out the words, "Seriously, what?"
"You beat me to the exit. You're the first ones to do it." He said.
He started running over to us, ax still in hand, as I closed my eyes, bracing for impact and fearing the worst...
...But rather than feel pain, I felt...
...A hug. A gentle, warm, embrace...
...Before I opened my eyes and saw him hug my wife as well.
"Congratulations! That is no easy feat." The firefighter said, "I mean, that is one disturbing, and distracting place. Luck was on your side. Wait, no, sorry, I shouldn't assume luck. You did make it to the end so skill must have been a factor. I don't want to take that away from you."
My wife and I just stood there, waiting for him to get to the point.
"So, um..." My wife said, gesturing to the door. "Do we still get to leave?"
"Get to leave? Get to leave? How dare you!" He said, in a serious tone… before cracking a smile and patting us both on the back, "I'm just fucking with you, of course you get to leave! I am a man of my word, and you did play by the rules and win."
The firefighter walked over to the door, removed a key ring full of keys from his pocket, and began rummaging through it, "Let's see here..."
Until he finally picked one and held it up.
"...There it is!" The firefighter continued, "But can you imagine if I forgot the key ring upstairs and had to go all the way back through that maze?" He said with a chuckle, opening the door from the basement into his backyard.
My wife and I both looked outside, into the darkness, and immediately started walking towards the exit, before the firefighter put his hand out and said. "Not so fast. I said I'm a man of my word, and I am. I told you earlier that if you made it to the exit, I'd let you out. However..."
I suddenly realized there was a caveat.
"...There's one slight caveat." He continued, "When I do let you out, there just so happens to be two dogs out there, that I keep extremely hungry for this very occasion. So when you get out there, I just want to warn you, it's highly probable that'll tear you both apart. Actually, scratch that, it’s one hundred percent probable.”
Between the fire and the maze, my wife and I were both so exhausted, that we both looked at each other, nodded in agreement, and walked out into the backyard, ready to accept our fate.
Then, we looked back at the firefighter, who said, "What? Don't look at me like that? I can't just be letting people escape from here so they can go and tell the cops about this place. Anyways, it's been fun. And sorry I had to make an already bad day even worse. On Valentine's Day no less. Anyways, goodbye."
And like that...
...He slammed the door behind him, leaving us out there in the backyard, standing there in the dark.
—
A few minutes later…
…We suddenly heard the sound of dogs growling.
And as my eyes adjusted to the light, sure enough, I saw two sickly pitbulls, drooling and howling as they approached us, hunched over, and ready to attack…
...Until it hit me...
...The Valentine's Day cookies!
Without hesitation, I reached into my sweatshirt pocket and removed the plastic bag of cookies that I had offered my wife when we were standing outside our burning home, just a few hours earlier. To be precise, the first batch of the very cookies that had set said home ablaze, thus setting off a chain of events that led us to that very moment.
As the dogs got closer and closer, I carefully, and quietly unzipped the plastic bag, turned it upside down, and dropped the cookies on the ground...
...And like that, as soon as the dogs got a whiff of the cookies, they charged over to them and started devouring and fighting over them, in the process completely forgetting about my wife and I.
Together, we slowly walked past the pitbulls, turned around, and backed away slowly, until we eventually reached the fence at the far end of the backyard and, one by one, my wife going first, hopped the fence and ran to safety.
—
Later that night, while we sat in the police station, waiting to tell them everything, my wife, still in a daze from what had happened, asked, "What flavor were they?"
"Huh?" I replied, still in a daze of my own.
"The cookies. What flavor were they?"
"Your favorite of course. Peanut butter and chocolate chips."
"Fuck."
"You know, when I saved that first batch from the house. I was like, if these things are gonna burn my house down, we've at least gotta taste them. But you never got to."
"It's the thought that counts."
"I suppose so."
"Happy Valentine's Day." She said.
"Happy Valentine's Day." I replied.
And then, we both leaned in, and kissed, in a way we hadn’t done in years. Like when we first met, over a decade ago.
We may not have had a home anymore. Or any faith left in humanity. But we had each other. And sometimes, that's enough.
That was last night, and today, while the police hopefully raid that motherfucker's house, you better believe that I'm gonna be at my mother-in-law's place, baking another batch of those cookies.

So first my dog got an allergy from one disinfectant and that became a little severe after she started scratching herself. We immediately took her to get where the vet gave her 5 injections daily to dry the wound as it was unable to do so itself. Then I started wrapping the wound and applying disinfectant at home as well. Now the wound dried out but suddenly it opens up a little (becomes a little red) again. She's not stopping licking herself. I try to stop her whenever I can but sometimes even I'm unable to stop her. Now apart from those two wounds, I'm seeing a new sort of wound where she's having a bump full of idk but it pops and blood comes out and it dries down when I apply antiseptic but then again it comes back again. I've taken her to get but they've just given her and antiseptic to clean the wound and told me to keep it clean and try to wrap it as much as you can buy again my dog doesn't let it be on her for more than 2-3 hours. I still keep running after her trying to wrap it again and again. I'm so worried about her. What do I do? Even if the wounds heal, the coat is not coming back quickly enough to hide the wound. Instead she opens it again much quickly. Give me some tips to follow at home to heal her back to new like before apart from vet. That I'm doing frequently anyway.

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Upon the tallest silo of Fleapit's foundries, a duel was about to break out that would determine the fate of the entire Underkingdom.
Marcus often recalled tales of such duels in the books he loved to peruse as a child – fanciful stories of men and women going off to conquer fantastical realms and slaying dragons or witch covens after proclaiming the inherent purity of the human spirit.
Such tales rouse the hearts of young men. They become the same young men who run off to wars thinking that mass combat will afford them the same kind of moral superiority.
For Marcus - a man trapped in an ugly rendition of one such world - such superiority was a luxury he would never have. Heroes are supposed to bandy words with demons. They are supposed to show their valor in righteous battle.
But the battle that unfolded atop Fleapit's highest point was not honorable. It was not righteous.
Instead, one armored rat brought his vicious halberd to bear against two humanoid snake-hybrids, and the strikes they made were to kill, not to entertain their spectator.
First, the youngling threw Marcus aside and leaped directly for Festicus. The ratman anticipated the attack, shifting his weight to his right to sidestep and cleave the snake-woman from belly to breast. The attack was one of pure, raw strength, but it was one burdened by the heaviness of the creature's weapon. In the moment of impact the young Yokun twirled and slashed at the ratman's exposed neck, her blade coming away with his crimson blood gleaming along its edge.
He staggered, dropping to his knees just in time for the Matron to came at him with her mercy strike.
A strike that he met with his bare teeth.
His head jerked up. His mouth opened in a snarl, and Marcus saw his fangs clamp down on the blade as it entered its throat. The Matron's eyes narrowed as she tried to free the blade, watching the ratman's gums fill with gushing blood as the Wakizashi's edge nicked his tongue. Then, in her moment of pure confusion, his halberd swept the Yokun elder's feet.
"Sister!"
Festicus smirked as he felt movement behind him – the youngling spinning in a deadly pirouette that struck for his armored spine. The blessings of He-Who-Festers was with the ratman on this day, for the Yokun's blade merely pierced the outer layer of his armored hide and ripped the metal pieces away, letting them fall in a hail of iron that rained down on the spectators watching the small snippets of the battle they could see below.
The ratman thrust the pole of his weapon back to knock against the ribs of the youngling and push her almost straight off the silo's precarious platform to join the bloody mess that was her sister below.
"MMMHMMM!" Marcus wheezed from his position, still gagged. He couldn't help it. This fight was showing him just how skilled the Marrow rat truly was. And it was telling him that his spirit was still loyal to his Shai-Alud after all.
As Festicus turned to hack away at the thin leathers of young Yeeva's chest, the Matron regained her footing. She sent a flurry of blows angled down at the ratman's armpit joints that struck faster than Marcus's eyes could follow. All he saw, when he blinked, was that Festicus was reeling back, his mouth, elbows, and arms all bleeding profusely, coating the dark metal of the silo in his life fluids.
The Matron brought her youngblood back up to her knees, and both of them angled their blades at the mauled rat before them.
"Sire..Marcus," Festicus groaned, drawing his eyes towards the human huddled at the edge of the bloody platform.
With a single twist of his claws he ripped through Marcus's gag and the human heaved a wail of release.
"Festicus," he said, trying to maintain his commanding tone. "Stand. Down."
"I would listen to your monkey friend," the Matron spat through her smiling lips. "You face two Sisters of the House of Whispers, little cretin. We have slain more of your kind than you can count."
Festicus rose steadily, using his halberd to push up from the floor of the platform as the two Yokun circled, both picking their target that would end the miserable ratman's life.
"Clan Marrow…" he wheezed. "Never…back…down."
He turned to Marcus abruptly after coughing a torrent of dark crimson.
"I will be living…to see…those cannons," he sputtered as he brought his halberd back up, holding it across his chest straight backed and regal, like some Arabian prince's honor guard. "In the name of Clan and King…I will be living…to see…our victory!"
Both women's blades flashed through the air, trailing arcs of brilliant light as they curved to bring death upon the beleaguered ratman.
And the eyes of the rat flew to Marcus's as he swept up his halberd to meet the Matron's strike at his right flank.
The Wakizashi of the youngling flew to cleave through his ribcage to the left, and it would have done so if she had merely followed through.
Instead, Marcus watched as her arm writhed like it had a will of its own. She dropped her weapon and it slid across the platform while she screamed in agony – an animal scream that pierced not only the air, but the ears of her Sister who was taken off balance by the sudden change in her companion's demeanor.
And that opening was all Festicus needed cut right into her waist.
She opened her mouth in a gasp, arms flying to dislodge the blade while the ratman that held it grit his teeth and pushed through her scaled skin with all the force left in his hulking frame.
"SHAAAAAA-HAH!"
Marcus watched awestruck as the Matron's torso was cleaved clean through. Her legs flopped beneath the purple-soaked blade of Festicus's halberd while the rest of her body spun in the air, crumbled, and fell back to the platform in a heap of twitching limbs.
"SISTER!" Yeeva screamed, her arms still gyrating with a life of their own as Festicus collapsed to one knee, seeing the ghostly form of someone familiar appear just over the lip of the platform's north face.
"By…the Unclean…" he wheezed. "Could you not be coming…a little…more early?"
The hooded rat man that had his eyes trained on the twitching Yokun before him twisted his face into a smile.
"A Gloomrava of Glumrot isssss coming exxxxxactly when he issssss needing to."
"Look out!"
The shout came from Marcus as his eyes flew to the still spasming Yokun Matron's body. In a macabre display of pure, uncanny willpower, her fingers wrapped round her blade and sent it spinning towards the tiny legs of the newly arrived priest, drawing a cry of agony from him that sounded more like the shrill wailing of the undead than the pained voice of a rat.
Festicus watched his Brother go down and made to rise again to finish off the last female, but this time the Yokun youngling was faster – spurned on by the death of her senior.
She met Festicus' sweeping strike with such fury that the ratman was sent staggering back, and, holding the blade of her Matron in her hand, got the other around the ratman's throat and held him down, her nails penetrating deep into his neck and drawing tiny trickles of blood that traveled through her scaled veins.
"Miserable, scaleless swine!" she railed, pushing her Wakizashi closer and closer to the ratman's face, watching the life in his eyes and strength in his arms gradually fade away to nothing. "Vlitark take the Matriarch! You all die here and now!"
Festicus's arms began to give way. The power to even bite back at the vengeance-filled face of the snake was going – it was draining away like the rest of his blood. It seemed he would have to be satisfied with slaying one of them. An honor most of his Clan would still respect him for, even if it had to be in death…
But before he closed his eyes he saw the Yokra's go wide. He saw the passionate fires of fury die away on her scaled features and then felt the wet spew of her blood that had just spurted from beneath her chest. Both ratman and Yokun looked down to see where her discarded Wakizashi had just penetrated her lower abdomen and, as the blade was twisted, Yeeva finally fell to the side.
And revealed the human standing above her who had just stabbed her in the back.
Festicus wanted to laugh then more than any other time in his life. But, try as he might, all he could manage was a slight smile.
"You truly…are…having the soul…of a rat," he wheezed.
And as Marcus bent down to check the vitals of the ratman, discovering, too late, that there was nothing more to be done, Festicus of Clan Marrow closed his eyes and left the world of the Underkingdom behind.
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