Can hiatal hernia cause neck pain

So on April 14th I found out I was pregnant with my first pregnancy. Wasn’t planned but wasn’t prevented either ( we are adult know of our actions and consequences) I’ve always dreamed of being a mom and my partner will be the best father. Anyway we found out and I was crying with excitement and also nervous because I was terrified I was going to lose my baby( I have a genetic mutation that makes it so my body doesn’t intake folic acid properly and puts me at high risk) but 3 days later I started having some bleeding and cramping but the day before I had my blood HCG which was only showing I was 3ish weeks and so immediately I was crying and saying “ no no no “ then called the nurse hotline and they told me that since I’m so early on the cramping and bleeding could be normal and if I pass any clots bigger than a lemon I need to go to the ER. I didn’t but over the next few days I was super vigilant about going and getting my blood tests done every couple of days. At first they were rising appropriately but still bleeding off and on. but then I started having pain on my right side ( it wasn’t cramping it was higher up felt like bloating and gas) but the ER Dr told me “it’s probably a miscarriage or maybe ectopic but we can’t see because you are to early on” and called my OB and told them they need to check in with me everyday. So then the next day my dr did a progesterone test and it was only at a 5.9 and the dr said “it’s not where it’s supposed to be but let’s put you on progesterone supplements.” And then told me to come back a week later. ( even tho the er dr told them they needed to check in with me more frequently) I go in about a week later and told him I was having some pain and I didn’t know if it was gas or water but my whole abdomen was really hurting and he told me to check with my normal primary physician. He also stated “your hcg isn’t where it should be” but then said he’d watch it still. We saw the gestational sac but still couldn’t see any baby because at this point I was supposedly 5ish near my 6 week mark. Said that was “normal”. After the ultrasound I started having severe cervical pain and just was told it was normal. Went to work in excruciating pain and started having clots so after work I waited for my s/o to get off work and we almost didn’t go to the ER because my OB didn’t really seem concerned with my pain and it honest to god just felt like bloating and gas pain. I thought my bowels were twisted. But we show up at the ER and my Dr came in and basically told me since I was here not even a week ago “ we are just treating symptoms at this point cause we can’t do anything since you are pregnant “ and gave me Tylenol and fluids and told me “this is completely normal and my wife went through excruciating pain where she cried with both of our kids” and just completely invalidated any of my pain. Anyways he did a blood test and then when he came back in he told me my hcg levels weren’t looking normal and that they wanted to do another ultrasound. So we did the ultrasound and after that I the pain worsened extremely and they gave me morphine immediately and that’s when I knew something wasn’t right and then my dr came in and told us that my right fallopian tube ruptured and that it was ectopic and my OB was on his way to do emergency surgery and I was already loopy at that point and felt like everything happened so fast.
since then I’ve been recovering physically okay. But mentally I don’t think I’ve fully processed it. Every night since then I’ve been having terrible vivid nightmares about all of my fears. I’m trying to get back into my day to day life but I find myself so angry at my dr and at the world. Why didn’t my dr realize before. Based off my progesterone and pain and bleeding? Like now that I look back it seems so OBVIOUS and I feel so stupid for listening to my dr. I was holding onto hope that my dr gave us. He didn’t seem concerned. He didn’t say anything and then I got a second opinion from our ultrasound picture and was questioning the dr asking why he didn’t send me to the ER right away because the gestational sac didn’t look right. I just… I’m mentally hurting and I lost apart of me even though I was constantly trying to advocate for myself and my baby. I know it couldn’t have saved my baby but I wish I could’ve had my fallopian tube saved… im just hurt and probably taking it out on every little thing but it’s been so hard to just pretend like nothing happened. I feel guilt for feeling stuck while everyone moves on in their lives. I’ve been just putting on a facade and pretending everything is fine.. idk. It’s just been a rollercoaster I feel like.

I'd like to send an apology letter to my ex (2 months breakup and NC). I admit there was some emotional abuse (emotional withdrawing, lies, over defensiveness) from my side during the worst moments of the relationship. I also cared and loved this person very deeply and perhaps it was my avoidant attachment that was a factor in not expressing myself as clearly as I felt. I wrote a letter in an attempt to articulate that I am sorry for my wrongful behaviors and how she was affected by them. I'm not wanting anything from her. I'm trying to be careful in keeping the focus on the apology only and not have excuses or be manipulative. If you take the time to read it, can you please let me know your thoughts?
__________________________
"I’m writing this only to take proper accountability and validate every single point of hurt that you endured because of me. Just maybe, some of these words might offer some measure of healing that you may need. I subjected you to the indignities of dishonesty, betrayal, and disrespect on several levels - all which I have a great amount of remorse for having been the source of. You were right the many times you asked me to show you more empathy for your hurt feelings caused by my selfish lies. You told me on numerous occasions how you felt unsafe based on our conversations and I failed to show you the proper treatment to correct that. I’m so sorry for not approaching those moments with more compassion when it was my responsibility to help you heal through each one, especially during the times you were understandably triggered. No loving partner should ever treat their equal in a way that makes them feel minimized, undervalued, and invalidated. I wish that I would have gotten my shit together much earlier to at least have spared you from the weight of heartache and pain from my abusive behaviors. That was never okay and I’m deeply remorseful for allowing all of it to happen.
It was my responsibility to repair the broken trust created by my stupid lies. I neglected the full effort in helping carry the emotional labor that was needed from me and it was never fair to leave you holding the large majority of that burden. Despite my intentions, I did not show up for you repeatedly and I know that it wore you down over time. I can’t imagine how incredibly hurt and betrayed all of it made you feel and I’m terribly sorry for bringing that to you. It was never right for me to try to justify any of these behaviors using past traumas. They were just fucking wrong, period. Every part of you is beautiful and worthy of tender love and curiosity. You deserved committed support and respect in all aspects of your life. I’m not asking for your forgiveness or absolution. I say all of this to validate your experience and that I am profoundly sorry for the hurt that I inflicted on you. Your feelings mattered and should have always been a priority. I did care about everything more than you may know. I sincerely hope you live in all the peace and happiness you deserve."

ADVICE/QUESTIONS/CRITISM WANTED AND ENCOURAGED
I apologize for the bad writing and spelling errors in advance. I'm trying to write this quickly. Even if I have come to terms with it, I don't want to think about it for too long.
I, 22F, was not the best person in high school. In my sophomore and freshman year, I had a more refined 'sub-group' of friends. They were never my first choice, but I was their first choice. I didn't feel bad, however I now do. I would constantly choose my 'better' group of friends over them. However, I was still well-liked in the group. Spending time with them was fun, and I was relatively nice. Except to this one girl, who I will call 'Emma'.
Emma wasn't exactly conventionally attractive. She had decent features, but it didn't come together well at all. Her hair looked bad, and her style wasn't the prettiest. So, she was subject to getting made fun of. We all made fun of each other in the group, but even I could admit we were a bit ruthless when it came to Emma. Here is a list of some of the things we did:
Dump out her backpack when she did homework
Make fun of her love life
Poke her in the stomach
Take really bad pictures of her and post them online
Pretend the ground was shaking when she would walk by
Laugh at her when she ate
Push her when she was walking next to one of us (so another one of us could sit there)
Take her things (snacks, pens, homework assignments)
I know, it is bad. We did other things, but not things I am particularly proud of or want to share. Now, she would generally laugh along. However, towards late freshman and early sophmore year, she didn't laugh as much at our jokes. She would chuckle, but not like she laughed earlier. One friend in the group noticed she stopped bringing food to school, which could also be because of us. However, this didn't make us stop. If anything, it made it worse. Once, I had made the decision to host a hang-out at the skating rink. However, I decided not to invite Emma. I don't really even have a reason. But, sometime before the event, she found out. She said she didn't care, and that she didn't have any roller skates anyways. Looking back, she most likely did care.
In the last semester of sophomore year, Emma stopped doing almost anything. She wouldn't eat, barely drank, stopped doing schoolwork, stopped talking, and eventually stopped going to class. When we asked her about it, she just told us she was tired with the newfound stress the year gave her. We bought it. I remember exactly what I did after. It feels like I will never forget it, because it set off a spiral. About ten minutes after our conversation, the topic turned to Emma again. She had her head down, but started listening a few minutes after we started talking about her. I got up (we were sitting in the library, so we were all on the ground) and walked over to her. She smiled and started to say something, and before she could finish her sentence I bent down, lifted up her shirt slightly, and jiggled her stomach in front of everyone. We weren't the only ones in the room, mind you. Somewhere near ten or twenty people laughed. I dropped her shirt and pinched her cheeks. I told her something about eating a salad, and she shot me one of the most dejected glances I have ever seen. She muttered something about actually really liking salads, and I made yet another joke about how that couldn't possibly be true. I then told her, word for word, 'Next time you think about eating another chocolate bar, maybe try chewing some gum.' I remember being a bit upset that not as many people laughed, only a few people in our friend group. Emma nodded and went back to whatever she was doing.
Everything I described earlier, the not eating, drinking, etc., got much worse after that. She would go days without saying a word unless prompted, and yet we continued to make fun of her. No one was nearly as bad as me, though. A few weeks after this continuous behavior, we were once again in the library. We were passing a bag of chips along the library and had skipped over her. One person, 'Jess', the person who was probably the nicest to her, offered her some, but she said no. She closed her book and told us something about closing her eyes. She had been dozing on and off recently, so no one really minded. However, after an hour (and the bell had rung), Jess went to wake her up.
We were all waiting with our stuff for Jess to come back, but it took much longer than usual. After about five minutes, I decided to go check. My mind was already turning with jokes. (Was she sleeping a huge meal off? Was she hibernating?) But when I went over, Jess was just bent over examining her. I came over and shook her, but she did nothing. Jess told me she had already tried that, and that she wouldn't wake up no matter what she did. I shook Emma harder and poured some water on her (I'm not exactly sure which came first.) She still wouldn't wake up. After a few minutes of us both trying things (And other people who had came over from the group), we decided to give up and take her to the nurse, and she could deal with her. We were already late to our next class. One of the girls in our group and I picked her up, and she was honestly much lighter than I expected. Jess went ahead to the nurse to tell her we were coming since we would be a bit behind. We dropped her off and went back to our respective classes, and Jess stayed with Emma. From what Jess had told me, she had passed out from lack of food of some sorts. This is the action where I felt the worst (not even the stomach part): I continued to make jokes and make fun of her. (Of course SHE of all people passed out from hunger. Finally she's not eating for once. How can she be hungry, look at her!)
She wasn't even overweight. She was probably only a few pounds more than me, at least before she started practically starving herself. After she had come back to school (probably 2-4 weeks after the nurse thing), she couldn't even look at us. Any time someone talked to her, she would start to tear up (except for Jess, of course). I mostly ignored it until the end of the year. Of course, I felt bad, but I didn't think there was any point in trying to talk to her. And most of the group followed in my shoes. At the end of the year, Emma handed me a folded up sheet of paper. I made another stupid joke, once again (What, is this your McDonalds order? Or a confession letter?) She dodged the joke and told me to read it whenever I could, as long as it was after school, and to spread the message. I laughed and called it cliche, and then continued on with my day. But the letter was painful to read, and I didn't even accept it or really comprehend it until later on. This is a slightly paraphrased version, as it is in my room at my parents' house:
"Hey, Mia (me). I just want to talk to you about what happened this year. I don't blame you that much, but I don't want what you did to be repeated. Ever since last year you've been incredibly rude. I get that it was jokes, but I felt completely targetted. I was the only one in the group to be made fun of my physical appearance. I get it, I didn't look the best, so it kind of makes sense. But did it have to be a daily (if not hourly) thing? Sometime last year, it really got to me. I tried to ignore it, to joke along. But it really hit me hard. I'm made fun of a bit at home already, and I really liked school up until these years. It felt like a safe space, and it was ruined a bit by your constant bullying. I tried everything. I dieted, I worked out, I did it all. Eventually (and by your suggestion) I just slowly stopped eating. You probably noticed since you took my food all the time. I've been working on my self-confidence recently, and I noticed something. I'm average. I have average weight, average looks, an average life. Why should I be made fun of for that? The highest I've weighed is 130 pounds, early this year. I get it. It was a lot. But as I lost weight, why was I still made fun of? Left out? Honestly, my biggest hope is that you just don't ever repeat this. I don't want anyone else to go through this. I don't expect an apology either, because I won't be coming back to the school next year. Just please, don't do this again.
Your 'best friend',
Emma."
That letter changed my life. I changed everything. I changed who I hung out with, what I said and did, and apologized to the people in that friend group. I never showed them that letter, mostly because I was embarrassed. Me, the cause of all of it, was embarrassed. I want to talk to her and fully apologize, but I don't have any contact with her. I am planning on contacting Jess soon, probably this weekend. I feel as though I have fully come to sense with my actions. And I think Jess would be proud to hear that. Personally, I hope Emma is glad to hear that I've gained weight since then. I want her to feel some sort of relief, even if she didn't directly cause it.
Edit: You can ask questions if you want. I am willing to answer anything. However, I wanted to clarify: I know it was mentioned a few times she wasn't as chubby as we made her out to be. So why make fun of her for her weight? She wasn't exactly blessed in the facial fat and stomach fat department, and we saw that as some sort of reason to laugh at her.

What's happening inside my subconscious to cause this?! I am much like this other redditor and don't feel like its healthy for my mind and soul:

I am obsessed with butts, they're all I can think about when I'm in public. The grocery store, on the sidewalk, in line at the airport, I'm always aware of every single fit booty within a 50 ft radius around my balls and sack. The first thing I do when I enter any room or walk down an aisle in a store is scan for butts and if I find a good one then I will formulate a quick strategy for looking at that butt as much as possible in a reasonable time frame, of course so as not to seem like a weirdo. I never say anything to the butts owner, I never make more than normal eye contact and a brief smile perhaps, my only goal is to rack up the amount of time that my eyeballs absorb the light that is bouncing off of quality butts. I'm fucking consumed by this and the force that powers my affliction or gift is seemingly never ending. https://www.reddit.com/videos/comments/8ywm9j/liana_blackburn_body_language/e2et394/

And for me, it's the size, the bigger it is, the more I'm attracted to it. Where most people would say "That's too big for me." I ain't like that, my lustful desire for big butts knows no limits, the bigger the better. Yet this doesn't apply if they're fat (big all around). And if they have an ugly face, it kinda ruins the whole thing for me, but sometimes, I'll overlook it if the butt is big enough. I know, all this sounds super degenerate, but it's the truth.
And so obviously, I suffer from a masturbation addiction as a result. I had this struggle ever since i was a child, and I'm 27 now.. The urge to jack off after I've seen a really big butt is overwhelming at times. Here recently, I wanted to jack off so bad because of it, but couldn't, and I felt jittery, my heart was pounding, like I was a crack addict or something. It was really bad!
Also, I know that with most people, they want to undress and have sex with the person. But that hasn't really been the case with me, I rarely ever think about having sex with the person, or even seeing them necked (unless their in loose clothing of some sort). I guess I just really admire the butt itself, I just really like butts.
I know this desire, this obsession, comes from an unbalanced libido function in my subconscious. But I want to find out the origin of this fetish, see the underlying representation for my butt obsession, and reprogram this libido flow into something eles that isn't self destructive. I may need to do some Shadow Work for this, because I know this has to be caused by an autonomous complex within my psyche, it's just hard to dive into it. Any pointers as to what might be going on with me?

Today I'd like to answer this very interesting question: Can two victims of abuse be in a healthy relationship or form a health relationship?
Let's start with how we see relationships. When we have something in common with someone, like going through similar tough situations, we naturally feel connected. Think about two people who have both undergone abuse in their past relationships. They understand each other because they've been through the more or the same things. So when they talk, they really get each other because they share that problem. They’ve both been manipulated, mistreated, used by their partners.
So when you both have the same problem, you might think, "Hey, this person gets me." And if you're also attracted to them, you might believe they're someone who truly understands what you're going through. You might even see it as a chance for a relationship that helps you both heal and grow. But here's the big question: Is it actually a healthy relationship?
It's not a healthy relationship at first. This is because both people are still stuck in the past and haven't moved on. If they've truly healed, then it can be okay and healthy. But if they're still hurting from their past experiences, trying to be in a relationship won't make them happy. They need to learn to let go of their past and the pain it caused. Otherwise, they'll carry all that baggage into the new relationship. So it's like two people coming together with a lot of baggage from their past, instead of starting fresh. It’s more like a blind leading the blind.
Of course, all that baggage will weigh heavily on both of them. And while they may feel connected because of their shared experiences, it's those very experiences that can keep them stuck. When the foundation of your relationship is built on your past struggles, it's hard to let go of that story. Healing isn't about forgetting your past, but it's about not letting it define you. But when your relationship is based on that story, you might not be motivated to work on it because it feels familiar and comfortable, even if it's not healthy. If you let go of the baggage, you might feel like you're losing the relationship itself, because the relationship is built on that baggage. You might think that holding onto the baggage is better because at least you have someone to talk to who understands, rather than facing your own inner struggles. But holding onto that baggage might prevent both of you from truly growing and finding happiness.
At the end of the day, we often seek comfort and familiarity. Our minds are drawn to what feels safe and known. This is why two people who have shared problems might find themselves in a relationship together. You might argue, "But Edwin, I want to be in a relationship with them and then work on this together."
No, there's nothing like that. While you may commit to working on it together, people have different levels of growth. One person might not be motivated to work on themselves while the other is. So using the excuse of "we'll work on it together" might just be a way to avoid facing your own fears or your own inner emptiness. Healing is a journey that each person has to take individually; it's not something two people can do together.
It's your own personal journey. Even if you work on it together in the relationship, you're still the one who has to look inward and confront your struggles. A therapist can help by creating a space for you to process things, but ultimately, healing is mostly self-healing. No external force can heal you completely; it's something you have to do for yourself.
It's ultimately up to you to confront your inner demons. While outside forces can offer guidance, you're the one who has to do the work. Two victims of abuse might get stuck wanting the relationship to succeed, but stepping back and focusing on personal healing shows real commitment. Once you've worked on yourself, then you can consider a new relationship.
In the early stages, it might seem like the relationship is working because of the mutual understanding, but both partners are still wounded, and wounded people can't fully help each other heal. Sometimes an outside intervention is needed. While you may want a conscious relationship, it's not always easy to achieve when you’re still very unconscious. It's not a guaranteed solution, but it's not the best approach to focus on relationships if you don't understand yourself first.
Finally, if you believe that you need a relationship to heal, it's important to take a step back and recognize that your past relationships have already highlighted areas within yourself that need healing. Now, you just need the courage to face and heal those wounds instead of seeking distractions or temporary fixes like a ‘relationship with someone who understands you’
Note from the Author
If you’re ready and you’d like my help with healing, finding peace in life and breaking free from these toxic patterns, then you can book a FREE BREAKTHROUGH CALL with me HERE. Happy healing 💙💙. Feel free to share and comment! Use this information with caution, it comes from my own thoughts & bias, experiences and research😊.

Hi, David here!
It’s ok to suck. The things that I enjoy most in my personal life (programming, guitar, stand-up comedy) are all things that I originally sucked at when I first started. Social skills were no different.
Being really terrible at sometimes can even be a blessing in disguise. When a situation is so bad that it causes you significant pain, you almost don't have an option not to do something about it.
The good is often the enemy of the best. If you saw your current life situation as being 'good enough,' you may have decided to simply settle for mediocrity rather than discover the amazing things available to those who take some initiative. The momentum that comes with taking action can in the end carry you much further than the average person.
The man who intensely studies and practices a subject to the point that he truly understands the fundamentals inside and out will often eventually overtake those who rely on natural talent alone.
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Adding to that, I just finished putting together my dating eBook "How to Date Any Girl" version 4.0 and would LOVE to get some honest feedback from you!
I decided to give it away for free for the time being.
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The eBook is 27 pages long and gives you a practical step-by-step solution to meeting women (15+ years of knowledge put into it).
You can get the eBook by clicking here!
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This book is the result of going out and socializing with girls for over a decade. I have put in there all the fundamentals I have learned over that time so I would really appreciate all the feedback I could get!!
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What are your thoughts? Do you have any tips to add?
Let's discuss in the comments :)
Thanks for reading and have a GREAT day!
Coach David

I have been having health anxiety lately so I am hoping it’s just being hyper sensitive but lately I have been having this pain in my neck. My carotid artery on the right side is pounding hardepulsating than the right and is painful ache all the way down to right above my collarbone. Feels weird when I swallow as well. Any idea what causes this and if it’s a concern?
I’m currently 36 female, 126 lbs and 16 weeks pregnant. Blood pressure is normal. I am on lovenox, baby aspirin for pai-1 4g/4g and zoloft for anxiety. No smoking and otherwise healthy.
I will say I do have a pinched nerve in my lower neck on the right side which causes pain in my base of my skull and headache so wondering if that cause be radiating to the front of my neck/collar bone.

Good morning everyone. It's my first time to join such group. I'm actually hesitant to join because I don't know if this will just exacerbate my symptoms knowing that I'm still hyperaware of my condition because of continuous research. But I badly need your help because upon reading in some posts, I've learned that others are experiencing exactly the same with mine. So I hope you'll be patient enough to answer my queries. Thank you so much in advance.
Here's my condition in details. I actually have TMJ dysfunction for a month now. My left TMJ is displaced due to over-straining my jaw while talking and chewing I guess because I'm a teacher. The pain behind my ear never stops until now but it's actually manageable. Other than that, I don't have any complaints about my TMD.
But this alarmed me a lot. Last 2 weeks, my left ear clogged when I woke up. I think the reason is because of the ear plugs I worn that night. But upon waking, it's only my left which is clogged. No problem with my right ear tho. It's clogged and muffled as if pressure is trapped in my ears. So I went to ENT but the doctor said I don't have any problem with my ears. It's clear, no build up of ear wax nor water inside. I went to another ENT and said I have little inflammation in my nose and throat which may cause the clogging. But after few days, my condition didn't improve. Still clogged and full. So i went to another ENT doctor this time in a big hospital, I did hearing test and the result is normal. I also did tympanometry and the doctor said I have a little problem with my eustachian tube. So he prescribed betahistine and anti histamine for treatment but still no progress.
But here's what bothers me THE MOST now. When i went back home, since my lef ear is clogged, I tried to put warm compress on it maybe it will ease the pain. I did it for 15 minutes but only once. After the compress, suddenly I heard a high pitched sound which I believe is coming from the fan. Since it's kinda unusual that when I turn off the fan, the high pitched will fade. As if I am hearing two different sounds in the fan, one is the real wind sound and the high pitched accompanied by it. So i already felt there's something wrong.
Until now, the high pitched never disappeared everytime I hear the fan, AC, refrigerator, running water or any white noise related sound. I don't know where is the noise coming from. I tried to ask someone if they hear the same sound but they can't. I know I also have tinnitus because when I am in silence, I can hear some buzzing sound in my ear but actually that's more manageable than the sound I hear along with white noise sounds. It's like a high pitched/morse code sound going along with the external sound. This bothers me the most since of course I can't live without those appliances. I'm trying to ignore and just focus in the real sound but still it just amplifies the sound.
Also, everytime I go outside, I can hear some distorted harmony tune along with the external sounds. It's not music but it's just a very short cinsistent tune. The sound is very consistent and just the same. I don't know if I am just having auditory hallucinations or I can really hear the sound. This bothers me a lot because it just amplifies with other external sounds. My head hurts a lot.
This is very hard for me because ever since silence is my ultimate relief. I love silence. I hate loud noises even before. But now, the high pitched noise, morse code noise and the distorted harmony I can hear just ruined everything. I don't know what's my condition. Why this happened just very instant.
Please help me. I will appreciate all your information and advices. Thank you so much!

My partner (m41) and I (f29) have been together for 4 years. It wasn't an easy relationship to begin with. My family fell out with me for getting with him. They knew him very well but they just thought it was moving too fast. I moved in with him pretty quickly as my dad was physically quote aggressive with me and controlling. I planned on staying with my partner for a while until sorting out my own place but we just fell in love more every day. We had a "we wi prove them all wrong" attitude. I really truly and deeply love and care for him. He was patient, calm, funny, gentlemanly. He spent 2 years doing everything he could to make me happy. He would cook, washa and dry my hair, massages, running baths, picking me flowers etc.
Fast forward to last April. We fell pregnant and were ecstatic but unfortunately, it ended in an early miscarriage at 7 weeks. He has a pain condition which means every so often it flare up and his mood dips. He finds it difficult to cope with stress etc. The miscarriage put alot of strain on our relationship as he switched off and offered no emotional support whatsoever.
We had a few arguments and I decided I needed to leave for a break. I went home and my mum and dad were more than supportive. I spent 2 weeks at home until I met my partner and we reconciled. My dad was so cross and again got aggressive and told me to never step foot in his house again.
In August a few months later, we fell pregnant again. Although this time was different, he didn't seem overly happy. Maybe sometimes but basically he mostly stopped being affectionate with me or doing thoughtful things that he always had done. He began to sleep separately from me. The odd time he would maybe run me a bath or cook etc. If I was sick or sore, he would say "tru being sore for 10 years" I never got any sympathy. He nearly got frustrated if I went for naps or had a lie in
Christmas, he made dinner for us on Christmas day etc he didn't get me anything. I got him a few things. On boxing day, we had an arguement, I can't even remember about what. He left and stayed at his mums for 3 weeks. I spent 3 weeks on my own, sick and crying in bed basically the whole time. I didn't tell anyone. New years eve countdown, I cried in bed rubbing my growing bump. He eventually came back, we had 3 great weeks together before his mood shifted again. He made a comment about how he had wanted a son instead of a daughter.
He then began home decorating and nesting. He spent 2 solid months working most evenings to do up her nursery, and basically improve every room with new paint etc.
I then was admitted early with pre eclampsia just over 3 weeks ago. I spent 4 days in hospital before they inserted a pessary. I then was moved to delivery suite 36 hours after the pessary. I was labouring and contracting for 6 hours until I got to 9cm and they realised something was wrong. Baby was completely stuck, cord around neck etc and I was rushed for a category 1 c section.
When my partner was allowed into theatre, I was already opened and blood everywhere. I had the shakes etc and he seen everything. I really thought I was going to die. It was so traumatic. I was wheeled into recovery and he asked when he could go home. I was disgusted. As soo. As I was wheeled on to the ward just 3 hours post op, he left. He came back thay evening for 2 hours. That night, my baby girl was cluster feeding, it was very difficult. I text him at 5am to tell him all about it. At 8am I got a message calling me a "whine" and not to be texting in the middle of the night again. I stupidly apologised.
Eventually I was discharged and the first week, he was as he described "father of the year" and I even said to him, that this was the making od him. He was so soft, gentle, caring and involved with our daughter. I thought finally, my life is working out.
He then spent a few days not interacting with us AT ALL. I mean not one glance. There was one day I was standing at the sink sorting baby bottles and she cried. I asked him to loft her and he said no I'm busy, grabbed a bag of crisps, went upstairs and slammed the bedroom door. He also continued to smoke in that room where she sleeps at night. I asked him to stop and he gave off that he has nowhere for himself anymore.
He came out of this mood a couple of times. He took us for a walk and picked us flowers and lunch. The very next day, he went back into his low depressive mood. On the last particular day 2.5 weeks after birth, he was wanting to take us to the beach. This was the first day where I got myself ready and pretty, I was excited. He made me lunch and then refused to eat with me because the previous days, we argued over lunch (he would start arguements about nothing and it would lead to raised voices etc)
So anyway he ate in another room, our daughter was with me and she started crying so he slammed the door of the room he was in. I then went to the sink washed bottles for baby. He came in and said was I going to keep hogging the sink or was I going to get out of the way. I told him to not be so ignorant with me.
It led to a full blown row where he got quite aggressive. He came into my face and I pushed him away and he then said I assaulted him I told him to wise up and stop this shouting in front of our baby. He slammed the living room door. I went in and I said this had to stop. He told me to get the hell out of his house and that it was about time I leave and give him peace. He went upstairs and at the top of the stairs he called me a fat shapeless b###ard, fat ugly nose and feet etc. Now before birth I weighed over 13 stone. At this arguement, I was weighing 10stone 10 so definitely not fat.
I packed 2 bags, and left with our baby. Since then I have reached out to him and he has ignored me. He believes me to be staying in a bmb with a newborn and he thinks this is acceptable. He has not asked about her or me. He changed the locks also so I can't get into the home. My heart is broken. What happened to the man I love? He doesn't speak to anyone anymore, he has no friends, he stopped working. I can see his Google activity and he has been researching moving to India and leading a spiritual life. I feel like his brain is messed up.
A week later, I am now 9.5 stone, stopped breast feeding as I'm not producing enough, doing everything on my own with our perfect daughter. Basically, what would you do? What has happened him? Is this normal behaviour during pregnancy and post-partum?
He knows all I have ever dreamed of is having a baby and a family. Why did he do this? I feel so sorry for me. That was where I made home, I have so many belongings and stuff in there that ingot for my daughter. I helped with the decor and actually blame that for my pre eclampsia. The day before admission I was on my hands and knees painting skirting because I felt bad about him painting upstairs. I redone all the grouting in the bathroom etc too. For him to turn around and say "what kind of idiot stays in a house where they aren't wanted". One day picking flowers and declaring your love, the next telling me to leave.
How do I get through this
Tldr my fiance m41, put me f29 out of the home with our 2.5 week old daughter. I need advice on what has happened to him and what to do next.

In June 2013, I injured my shoulder picking up a rucksack the wrong way, while I was in basic training. Yesterday I got my very first imagining of that shoulder. And I'm pissed.
For 11 years I went through flare ups of pain so excruciating my husband had to feed me. 11 years of pain while working. 11 years of PT that never helped and only made things worse. 11 years of doctors not doing any imagining or trying to only imagine my neck. Bringing this up to my neurologist only for him to tell me to try muscle relaxers and a traction device. 11 years and FINALLY after being diagnosed with EDS and someone physically seeing my arm sublux, I get imagining.
I had an AC joint separation go undiagnosed for 11 years. And what makes me more angry is that if the military doctor who examined me had just done an x-ray, he would have seen it. The tear has healed now obviously, but my tendons/rotator cuff are angry and I probably have some impingement going on.
I'm tired of this. I'm so tired of being in preventable pain. I didn't have to be in pain this long. And yet here I am. I'm so thankful though for my new doctor who finally ordered an MRI. I'm thankful I didn't have to wait longer. I really hope there's things we can do that reduce my pain.

Over the past several months I (21 F) have noticed that when I exercise, my hearing becomes severely impaired (like I am underwater). I went to an ENT who did a scope and found that my lingual tonsils were significantly enlarged. Recently, my hearing will become randomly impaired in a similar fashion with no relief except waiting. I have also started to get a painful clicking sensation when I swallow, speak, or move my head in a certain way around my neck area towards the top (about 2 inches down from where my tonsils would be).
He initially put me on a steroid to see if it brought the swelling down with no change.
So far test wise, I have done a CT with contrast but that was 2 weeks ago and have not gotten the results back. I feel like they should have definitely been out by now. The CT results have taken longer than my kidney biopsy which I got done at around the same time. I am concerned they found something significant and have not called to inform me. I am also concerned about the new symptoms as I feel like that is a sign that the swelling is getting worse. Any ideas?
I also wanted to note that when I was little I had a similar issue with the main tonsils. They were apparently not infected or bad, they were just so huge they were obstructing my airway and had to be removed. So I am wondering if maybe something similar can happen like this with a 20 year gap.

Hi, I’m a (very concerned) 23 year old female.
Almost 4 years ago a dog bit my left hand, primarily injuring my index finger. For a couple months afterward it was perpetually numb and tingling. Despite a hand specialist telling me these feelings might never go away, they did. Feeling in my finger eventually went back to normal and all that remained was a scar. However, for the past two months I’ve been noticing it acting up again on and off. Now, it has been constantly bothering me for 5 days straight, and I think it’s getting worse. I’m experiencing a mix of not only numbness and tingling, but pain. My main symptom is that my finger feels ice cold and I can’t warm it up.
I don’t know what’s causing this, but I have a couple theories. The first one being that perhaps this is a side effect of nitrofurantoin which I took for a UTI a couple months ago. I know that peripheral neuropathy can be a side effect, and I first started noticing my finger acting up again a few days after I took it. My second (and more plausible) theory is that I have carpal tunnel which triggered the nerve in my finger. I type all day, and I have been constantly fidgeting with things out of habit for years. I have noticed wrist pain/ weakness and I feel the symptoms I experience in my index finger throughout my hands, except much more mild.
With all that being said, I’m honestly petrified that I have nerve damage and that the symptoms in my finger are never going to go away. I have an appointment with a new hand specialist next week, but I’m scrambling because I feel like it’s getting worse every day and nothing makes it feel better.
Any thoughts/ advice would be appreciated.

Good morning everyone. It's my first time to join such group. I'm actually hesitant to join because I don't know if this will just exacerbate my symptoms knowing that I'm still hyperaware of my condition because of continuous research. But I badly need your help because upon reading in some posts, I've learned that others are experiencing exactly the same with mine. So I hope you'll be patient enough to answer my queries. Thank you so much in advance.
Here's my condition in details. I actually have TMJ dysfunction for a month now. My left TMJ is displaced due to over-straining my jaw while talking and chewing I guess because I'm a teacher. The pain behind my ear never stops until now but it's actually manageable. Other than that, I don't have any complaints about my TMD.
But this alarmed me a lot. Last 2 weeks, my left ear clogged when I woke up. I think the reason is because of the ear plugs I worn that night. But upon waking, it's only my left which is clogged. No problem with my right ear tho. It's clogged and muffled as if pressure is trapped in my ears. So I went to ENT but the doctor said I don't have any problem with my ears. It's clear, no build up of ear wax nor water inside. I went to another ENT and said I have little inflammation in my nose and throat which may cause the clogging. But after few days, my condition didn't improve. Still clogged and full. So i went to another ENT doctor this time in a big hospital, I did hearing test and the result is normal. I also did tympanometry and the doctor said I have a little problem with my eustachian tube. So he prescribed betahistine and anti histamine for treatment but still no progress.
But here's what bothers me THE MOST now. When i went back home, since my lef ear is clogged, I tried to put warm compress on it maybe it will ease the pain. I did it for 15 minutes but only once. After the compress, suddenly I heard a high pitched sound which I believe is coming from the fan. Since it's kinda unusual that when I turn off the fan, the high pitched will fade. As if I am hearing two different sounds in the fan, one is the real wind sound and the high pitched accompanied by it. So i already felt there's something wrong.
Until now, the high pitched never disappeared everytime I hear the fan, AC, refrigerator, running water or any white noise related sound. I don't know where is the noise coming from. I tried to ask someone if they hear the same sound but they can't. I know I also have tinnitus because when I am in silence, I can hear some buzzing sound in my ear but actually that's more manageable than the sound I hear along with white noise sounds. It's like a high pitched/morse code sound going along with the external sound. This bothers me the most since of course I can't live without those appliances. I'm trying to ignore and just focus in the real sound but still it just amplifies the sound.
Also, everytime I go outside, I can hear some distorted harmony tune along with the external sounds. It's not music but it's just a very short cinsistent tune. The sound is very consistent and just the same. I don't know if I am just having auditory hallucinations or I can really hear the sound. This bothers me a lot because it just amplifies with other external sounds. My head hurts a lot.
This is very hard for me because ever since silence is my ultimate relief. I love silence. I hate loud noises even before. But now, the high pitched noise, morse code noise and the distorted harmony I can hear just ruined everything. I don't know what's my condition. Why this happened just very instant.
Please help me. I will appreciate all your information and advices. Thank you so much!

Hi! i want to clarify before hand i am not looking for medical advice, and am doing all the things medically for this issue that i can. i am also not looking to replace medical care with magic. i have recently been experiencing health issues that no doctor can figure out/help with. i have been trying everything. for 7 months. does anyone have experience with this? it’s extremely painful (nerve pain) and manifests in my throat, ears, neck, chest and head. I feel like now that no docs have been able to help, it may be a place for magic. there is a girl who threatened to hex me years ago and actually assaulted me on the street last year. i’m wondering if she could have anything to do with it. it all began after i had a wisdom tooth surgery, it seems like i was in a weak vulnerable place and this all began. It’s been rough. i’ve smoked weed since i was young for ptsd and i can’t use cannabis at all (even edibles) anymore because it flares me so bad. i believe in manifestation and that i can heal this mystery illness. any advice, ideas as to what could be happening, or spells/success stories of healing are appreciated. Blessings🤍🤍🤍

[First Contact] [Dark Ages] [First] [Prev] [Next] [wiki]
"Leave the sleeping dragons lie in peace" is a lesson that seemingly has to be taught to every wannabe conqueror over and over again.
Time after time, there will be a few idiots who only see the dragon's hoard, its cult of followers, and ignore the piles of rusted, slagged, calcified, scorched remains of every moron who tried before them. They see all of this and think "I can beat it to submission and take everything it has."
And then the dragon wakes up, and more smoldering remains are added to the scorched scrap heap.
And the Malevolent Universe grins in the darkness, and increases the "Dead morons who should have known better" counter by one. Then, waits for the next contestant. - u/Matt_Bradock, Terran Philosopher, Age of Paranoia, TerraSol
^{initiating data stream
your name is Dhruv-661391
you were purchased for the same price as a moderately priced luxury vehicle}
She knows the dead. She is of the dead. She is the keeper and guardian of the dead. Life, death and the feasting of swarms all are one within her. She knows where once-dead things were laid to rest and where the deathless still dream in their unliving slumber. She knows where the hungry dead have roamed the universe's fields, and where they still roam them unburied, and why no one remembers them as they tread. - The Fifth Horseman, First Terran Imperium, "Meditations Upon Immortals"
^{you were created to serve}
What we tell ourselves, what we tell others, and what actually happened, are often three different things.
And sometimes four. - Unknown, Age of Paranoia, TerraSol
^{your name is Dhruv
and your brain was once smooth}
Captain N'Skrek checked his datalink.
The deep data storage was still at work bringing up information on "Legion" and "Sacajawea". The older databases of the Gray Lady had data at the ready, but it was sparse.
Two of the Biological Apostles of the Digital Omnimessiah, a figure of myth and legend.
Yet, they sat across from him.
They were talking back and forth in a language that the computer's linguistic database had no record of and stubbornly resisted any attempt to decipher it.
What N'Skrek did hear was several words that he recognized.
Daxin the Unfeeling. Daxin Freeborn. Chromium Saint Peter. Enraged Phillip. Matthias the Elder. Matthias the Younger. Kibuka. Kalki. Gravity.
A litany that left data scrolling down the empty space just beyond the edge of his peripheral vision.
Daxin "The Walking War Crime" Freeborn.
NavInt and MilInt were projecting with an 80% certainty (adjusted downward for unknown probabilities) that the beings in front of him were from that long bygone era.
Finally Captain N'Skrek cleared his throat.
The bald one, Legion, turned to look at the gathered staff officers.
"My apologies. I was catching my sister up on what has transpired since she disappeared," Legion said, smiling gently. He nodded. "You probably have questions."
N'Skrek nodded back. "The biggest one is: how did you..." he thought for a second. "Why did you..." no, that wouldn't work. "What bring about..."
Legion smiled.
"How did I replace all of your clones and why?" he asked. "Why is it that if you print off too many identical clones I show up?"
N'Skrek nodded. "Yes."
Legion looked at the Terran officers and smiled wider. It was a cruel smile, reminding N'Skrek of a hook pointed knife that had been sharpened to a keen edge.
"You didn't tell them? Have you really forgotten about me?" he asked.
"It was assumed to be still prevented by the cloning systems," Vice-Admiral Breakheader stated slowly. "We have only recently been restored ourselves. Less than two months time."
Legion just smiled.
Vice-Admiral Breakheader turned to look at Captain N'Skrek. "Running off too many identical clones causes Legion to manifest. It's why we use the Born Whole system, it ensures they have different brains, different expriences, and they have a slight variation to pore and retinal patterns, hair growth, minor things like that. Otherwise, Legion manifests."
"Why?" N'Skrek asked.
The Vice-Admiral sat silently for a moment before replying. "Because," was all he said.
Legion's smile didn't leave his face.
"Because it is my nature," he said.
Sacajawea said something and Legion replied in the same language, then turned to N'Skrek.
"My sister does not know why she was rebirthed," he said. He looked at her and spoke rapidly. She answered, only a few words, which made Legion reply at length. Again, only a few words.
"It must have been important," N'Skrek interrupted.
"She states that she does not know why the Immortals system did not rebirth her when she died," Legion said. He glanced at her. "She tells me that she died, with her people, when her peaceful planet was attacked."
"By the Mar-gite?" N'Skrek asked.
Again, more conversation.
"Yes," Legion answered. He frowned as she spoke again. "She says they were a peaceful planet. Anarcho-Primitivism. Very little technology. The Mar-gite attacked without warning."
She spoke rapidly and Legion listened.
N'Skrek saw the computer still was not able to parse the language, even though it could build a lexicon of off very little data for almost any other language it encountered.
Legion turned and faced N'Skrek. "She states that she believes it was the fact that some of her people demanded that high technology be left in place in order to allow the six planets her people had settled to remain in contact. That the high tech farming and sustenance industries led the Mar-gite to attack her."
Again, Sacajawea spoke, her head lifted, looking down at Legion.
"Why she was not reborn is unknown to her. She had guided and shepherded her people for thousands of years before the outsiders came. Outsiders drawn by technology, by the abandonment of the old ways," Legion said. He was frowning as he spoke rapidly.
The conversation took a few minutes.
"She said the outsiders came and wiped her people out after entire generations held them off. That in the final battle, they overcame her when her strength failed," Legion said. There was more talking. "She's describing the Mar-gite."
"Where was this?" N'Skrek asked, bringing up a map of the galaxy. "The First Mar-gite War was only three hundred years prior to the Council-Confederacy Conflict and lasted nearly a hundred years," the brought up a sketchy timeline of the era. "When did you encounter the Mar-gite and where?"
Sacajawea spoke again at length. Legion spoke back. It grew heated for a moment before Legion looked at N'Skrek.
"She will not say. She does not want us to defile or desecrate the worlds her people settled. She does not want us to know when or where," he said.
"That might be pertinent information," N'Skrek said. "Important information to keep the Mar-gite from overwhelming the Cygnus-Orion Spur."
Sacajawea spoke quickly, heatedly, half standing up. Legion put his hand on her shoulder, obviously encouraging her to sit down, but she shrugged, throwing off Legion's hand, and her speech got more heated, her eyes flashing with anger.
"She says she will not reveal her people's resting place for us to dig up the graves and desecrate them. That it is not anyone's business where The People have gone or what The People have done," Legion said. He turned and answered her.
The conversation got heated as the N'Skrek and the officers watched.
Finally, Sacajawea stood up and turned around, folding her arms across her chest, lifting her chin.
Legion's skin darkened with anger.
"Then you can tell them that load of bullshit yourself, little sister," he snapped.
He suddenly vanished in a swirl of black powder that evaporated.
N'Skrek saw that Sacajawea was shocked by Legion's disappearance. She stood there for a long moment.
"Dhruv?" she asked mid-air.
N'Skrek motioned his officers to stay silent.
"Dhruv?" she snapped, stomping one foot.
Still silence.
"Luke!' she half-shouted, stamping her foot again.
She turned and looked at the gathered staff officers, who were all staring at her.
"Legion?" she asked quietly.
N'Skrek held up one bladearm.
"It appears, Miss, that you will have to speak for yourself."
Sacajawea frowned and clamped her lips together.
N'Skrek just stared mildly.
^{your name was tiffany}
0-0-0-0-0
^{your name was dhruv
you were created to serve the deshmuhk family
you were a gardener and a menial
but you have risen above that}
Jaskel had just gotten a plate of food and sat down in one corner of the cavernous Dining Bay Twenty-Three.
True, it was a little bit of a walk from the Telkan Marine section to that particular dining facility, but for some reason Jaskel liked the food put out by Nutriforge-Eight better than any of the others.
Like the Gunny always said, it was the little things that count.
He had arranged his silverware, his drink, and given a short prayer when he suddenly wasn't alone.
A slender man in an unfamiliar uniform suddenly appeared at one of the tables on the far side of the Dining Bay. Jaskel watched as two more stepped out of the first. They all sat down and started talking rapidly.
To Jaskel, it sounded like an argument.
It looked like one person arguing with himself.
Jaskel ate quietly and slowly, trying to avoid attracting attention, but watching the Terran out of the corner of his eye.
Terrans were universally half-crazy.
And a Terran arguing with clones of himself was probably full blown crazy.
That, and Jaskel remembered how negligent the display of power had been that had left him hanging upside down in mid-air.
Much to the amusement of his squad mates who watched the video and laughed.
He was down to dessert when the far door opened and a woman entered. Jaskel recognized her instantly as the young adult Terran woman who had appeared nude from the cloning banks, even though she was clad in clothing made of brown material and decorated with beads.
She immediately made a bee-line for the man, who had gotten a plate with a piece of pie on it while the other two argued between each other.
She stopped and stomped on foot, staring down at the sitting man.
"You look stupid," the man, Legion, said when she stopped next to him.
"Dhruv," she snapped. She rattled off words that Jaskel's datalink couldn't translate.
"Not talking to you until you speak Confederate Standard. I know you know it," Legion/Dhruv stated.
She stomped her foot again. "Luke!" she snapped.
Legion looked up. "Part of me, a large part of me, feels that you lost the right to call me by that name."
He went back to eating the pie. When the woman looked at the two clones who were staring at her, they stared back for a moment then puffed into black dust that swirled and vanished.
Jaskel kept watching out of the corner of his eye.
"Dhruv," she snapped.
"Go away, Sacajawea," Legion said.
She stood there for a moment. Then she suddenly leaned forward and slapped the plate of pie away from Legion.
"I will not call you Legion," she suddenly said as the plate clattered against the far bulkhead.
"Go away," Legion said. He looked up. "Let me put it in a way you might understand better: I just want left alone."
The woman stepped back, one hand going to her mouth.
"Yeah, still scared of him, aren't you," Legion said. He stood up. "Or are you?" he moved so he was clear of the table. "Were you ever afraid of him, Sacajawea, or was it all an act?"
Sacajawea looked away. "He was everything wrong with the world, a living reminder of what kind of men destroyed my people."
Legion suddenly laughed. "You forget history, little sister. But, of course, you never had any use for history unless it served your own ends."
Sacajawea stomped her foot. "Dhruv, be nice."
"No," Legion said, his voice low and intent. "I have yet to hear you thank me for what I did in the cloning bay, much less what I did for you before you ran off and left me holding the bag."
^{your name was luke
remember remember
your name was luke}
"I came back to find Matthias the Elder standing over the sundered murdered code of the Digital Omnimessiah," Legion said. "Then Daxin showed up, Matthias claimed I killed our Digital Father, so I ran."
"And he followed. Intent on killing you," Sacajawea sniffed.
"Yes!' Legion said. "Of course he did! I would have chased me in that situation," Legion said. He stepped forward. "And where were you, Little Sister, when it happened?"
She looked away and sniffed. "I was performing my duty, serving my people. As you well know."
Legion turned around, facing away from her. "Yeah, the people you had me bake up," he turned back around. "Not the poor bastards fighting a slowly losing war against the Mantid. They were your people too, but you left them behind. If it wasn't for the Mechakrautlanders, they'd be extinct with the rest of humanity."
"They had set aside the old ways. I told you that," Sacajawea said. She gave a sniff and turned her head away. "They were too consumed by blood lust, they would not stop fighting, would not embrace the old ways."
"EVERYONE WAS FIGHTING!" Legion shouted in a voice that made Jaskel's drink glass rattle. "There were hab-kids fighting and dying in destroyed hab-blocks in the ruins of megalopolises. It had nothing to do with 'the old ways', it was a fight for survival."
"You would not understand," Sacajawea said. She gave another sniff, still looking away. "I took my people away from where technology and the abandonment of the ways of our people had led us."
Legion stood still for a second.
"Don't give me that shit about your 'people', remember, I touched you. I know the truth," Legion said. He shook his head. "You had a task. A task to help us, help our Digital Father, help all of humanity, but you abandoned it."
"I had a task to help my people," Sacajawea sniffed. "I owed nothing to the world that stood aside or actively took part while my people were destroyed," she looked at Legion. "You wouldn't understand."
Jaskel could see purple electricity snarling around Legion's boots, clawing at the deckplates with thread-thick fingers.
"You were supposed to guide us along the path to the SUDS, so we could save everyone, Sacajawea," Legion said. "You betrayed us. Betrayed them. You were supposed to save them."
"Like they saved my people, Luke?" Sacajawea asked.
"You don't call me that any more, little sister," Legion said. "For the love of the Detainee, fucking let go of shit that doesn't matter any more. We humans have been genocided repeatedly since then."
"I'm not calling you Legion. That reeks of arrogance and pride," Sacajawea said. "And it matters to me, Luke."
"You talk a lot of shit for someone named Bird Woman," Legion snapped back. "How about I call you Tiffany?"
Sacajawea took a step back. "That is not my name. That was never my true name."
"You forget. I could see under that skin job. See who you were born as. I knew the truth, and I've kept it secret for all these eons," Legion said. He turned away. "You left us, left humanity behind on your so-called quest."
He turned back to face her.
"Now, again, we're facing extinction. The Mar-gite, they wiped you out. Now they're here in overwhelming force to the point where I'm not even sure Fortress Sol can hold them off," Legion said. "And you still want to play pretend."
He turned his back on her.
"You're no different than Matthias the Elder," Legion said quietly.
There was a dreadful silence for a long moment.
"I told Daxin, sitting in the parking garage where we used to meet, that we had to let go of the past. Learn from it, admit it happened, but we had to let it all go. The old hatreds, the old angers, the old rage," Legion said softly. "He agreed. He said perhaps it was time for us to leave the mortals behind. Let them go without us dragging baggage from worlds and events dead and gone behind us."
Sacajawea sniffed. "It's different for the two of you, neither one of you had your people..."
"I was a short bake slave clone, Tiffany," Legion said, his voice still soft and quiet. "Just like your family owned."
Sacajawea opened her mouth to answer, her eyes flashing hotly.
"One of millions grown in a vat every year. Made in humanity's image but without its grace," Legion's voice was nearly a whisper. "Our little band of siblings, only Kalki, Gravity, and Daxin came from families that did not order one of me from an online catalogue. Even Bellona lived with my people performing menial labor for her colony."
Sacajawea stepped forward, obviously about to deliver a scathing retort.
"But my people didn't count, did we, Tiffany?" Legion asked. He gave a deep sigh. "I loved you, you know."
Her mouth closed. She looked confused.
"When you left, I created another of you," Legion said quietly. "She was, of course, captured by the Imperium, like all of the Biological Apostles," he looked down at the floor. "It was why they didn't know you'd escaped."
Jaskel wished he was anywhere but in the dining bay.
"Eventually, that version of you threw off the Imperium's chains like we did. She went back to Terra. Worked tirelessly to rebuild. Eventually, led the Dandelion Fleet that became the Sky Nebula Alignment."
It was silent except for the muted sounds a starship under power in Transit Space made.
"I'll go back with you. Translate for you," Legion said, his voice still soft. He turned to face the woman.
"Just... just stop lying, Tiffany," he said.
He was silent a moment.
"I had hoped that it was that version, my version, the version I had been madly in love with, that version of you that had been rebirthed," he said. "The version who guided her people, who succored them, who helped them rebuild, who helped them thrive in the scarred and shattered world Earth had become. I had hoped, when I saw you, that you were her."
^{the buzzing can still be heard
your name is legion}
"But it's just you."
0-0-0-0-0
Captain N'Skrek watched as Legion led Sacajawea into the briefing room.
He had been busy looking up every scrap of information on the Digital Omnimessiah, the Biological Apostles, Legion, and Sacajawea.
Of all of them, information was scarcest, almost non-existent, on Sacajawea.
He waited as the Terran woman took a drink from the glass in front of her.
She looked around.
"During the Human-Mantid War, before the destruction of the Overqueen by the forces of MechaKrautland, before the Liberation of Terra," she started. She closed her eyes, sighed, and opened them. "I begged Vat Grown Luke, who you know as Legion, to clone my people and help me repair and then hijack four colony transports crashed in the Middle Kingdom."
She looked down and Legion reached over and took her hand. She looked startled for a moment, squeezed Legion's hand gently, and looked back up.
"I led my people away. From the Imperium, from Terra, from the War," she said. She reached out and touched the holo-emitter, bringing up a map of the Milky Way. She touched a single arm.
"I led them here. For over eight thousand years my people knew peace, prosperity, and plenty," she said. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and exhaled sharply.
N'Skrek recognized it as a sign of stress in Terrans.
"Roughly twelve hundred Terran Standard Years prior to the Council-Confederacy Conflict, we were attacked," she said. She looked down. "I had sworn to protect my people, to use my powers to protect my people, which had grown to fill six worlds."
She looked back up.
"The Mar-gite destroyed my people in under a decade," she said. She looked down again. "And me with them."
"A glitch in the system prevented her from moving to Afterlife or being rebirthed," Legion said. "A glitch I had caused when I helped her."
"The Mar-gite destroyed my people here," Sacajawea said, her voice filled with pain.
A single cluster of six stars burned brightly.
Deep in the Scutum-Crux Arm.
^{your name is legion}
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Im a trans man (18), 5'9, 120-125 lbs (i fluctuate) and I have constant lower back pain, lower leg pain, and headaches almost every day.
I noticed the back pain since I was 11, I couldn't walk for long before the right side of my back tensed up and caused pain. By now, lower back pain is constant for me and has been inhibiting my ability to fall asleep at a normal hour, stand to cook for even 15 minutes, and (combined with my calf, knee, and sometimes hip pain) has make walking up the stairs more difficult.
When I bring my pain to my mothers attention, she says it's probably just because I'm tall (I always have been) but I don't think that's the complete reason why.
I have talked to a couple doctors about it and every time they check for scoliosis and an awkward gait and say I'm fine. Last time, I got an x-ray and heard nothing back (apparently meaning I'm fine).
I have been looking into conditions including Spoldyloarthritis and Sciatica which correlate closely to my symptoms but I was told (by my mother who works in the medical field) that I don't have sciatica. (she doesn't understand my pain so I don't think she's right)
What can I do and what conditions could it be? (not looking for a diagnosis, just things to suggest to my doctor)

Mr. Winslow accused my mother of stealing his dead wife’s jewelry.
I explained it was impossible. He was welcome to search the tiny apartment I shared with my mother and aunt, he could look wherever he wanted.
“We share a tiny space,” I said. “We barely have enough room for our clothes. I don’t even know where she would hide jewelry.”
I was worried we would lose him as a client. Which would suck because cleaning his house was basically the majority of our rent cheque. But a week later he found the pearl necklace, it had somehow travelled down to his basement.
“I’m still missing the gold bangle though,” he said. “And some earrings.”
I told him I was sorry, but I had no idea. If my mom or aunt found it on their next clean, I promised they would let him know right away.
He hummed and hawed. There might’ve been a week where he hired a different maid service, but eventually he called back, asking if he could hire all three of us on-site again.
I thanked him profusely. I told him we’d keep an eye out for the missing valuables.
***
On our drive over, I had my mom and aunt practice the apology we would give him in English. Even though we didn’t steal anything, I explained we should still say sorry.
“Why?” My aunt asked. “That’s so stupid.”
“Everyone apologizes for everything in Canada. Just trust me. He will want it.”
“We need the work,” my mom said.
For a second my aunt revved up to say something else, but then let it go. We did need the work.
When we arrived, Mr. Winslow was on a phone call, watching his two large goldendoodles play in the front yard. He waved, then gestured to the front door. My mom and aunt gave small bows and carried their cleaning supplies inside.
Before I could enter, he put the phone behind his ear and approached me.
“Ida, hi. Good to see you again. Listen, don't worry about the jewelry. Water under the bridge. Hey. I’m leaving in an hour or so, and I won’t be back until late tonight. I’m wondering if you’d be interested in dog-sitting? You’ve been around Toto and Kipper. What do you think? I’d really appreciate the help.”
I never liked the way he looked at me. It was always too close, and it lingered for too long. My aunt may have been right in that he hired us back just to see me again, but I ignored the thought.
“And don’t worry, I can cover your cab back. My usual walker is just out on holiday. You can help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge. How does six hundred sound?”
I looked at his house and imagined if I would be comfortable there. Alone at night.
“I’ll make it seven-hundred. I know it's last minute. I just hate leaving them alone. Plus Toto has his medicine. You would do me a real solid.”
My apron needed adjusting so I put down my bucket. I focused on the polyester knot, keeping my gaze away from his. I really didn’t want to be doing this, but my aunt would call me stupid for refusing easy money. And frankly, so would I.
“I had plans, but I’m willing to give them up.” I said with a straight face. “Eight hundred and it’s a done deal.”
He paused for a second, observing me scrupulously. Then he found his usual, smarmy half-smile. “You’re a life saver, you know that? An Angel.”
His hand gripped my shoulder. Then patted it twice.
***
Both my mom and aunt were pleased about the extra cash, they said I deserved to make extra for all the bookkeeping I do. But they also both voiced their concerns for safety. They said they could stay with me if I wanted.
“Safety? Mamãe I’m just watching two dogs.”
My mom wiped a caked red stain off his counter. An old wine spill. “Yes, but so late in his house? You’re not worried he might … I don’t know …”
Might what? Exploit me?
I met his groundskeeper once, another immigrant contractor. Except the groundskeeper was being paid far less, because he never properly negotiated. Mr. Winslow was certainly capable of exploiting people when he wanted to, and I’m sure he would try the same on my family.
But I was different. I’d gone to school in Banniver, and I knew the little maneuvers played by the so-called “progressive people in North America.”
And Winslow knew it too.
He didn’t realize a Canadian-raised daughter organized her mom’s cleaning service. Or that she would show up on the first day as a statement. That statement being: You can’t get away with mistreating these old Brazilian women. And you certainly can’t swindle them out of the going rates in his neighborhood. I’m onto you.
I had asserted myself with this Mr. Winslow, and felt confident that I could stand my ground if he tried any bullshit.
“Mamãe I’m not worried about him. Really, I’m not. He’s a pushover.”
***
6:00PM rolled around, it was just me and the goldendoodles.
My mom and aunt were back at home, watching low-res soaps on a Macbook, but they said if I encountered anything strange—a sound, a smell, an unexpected car in the driveway—to give them a call right away.
“Mamãe, its two dogs. I’ll be fine.”
“Just keep your phone close Ida. Your auntie has sensed things in that house. Unpleasant things.”
I forgot to mention my aunt thinks of herself as an amateur medium. In the village she grew up in, she claimed she could sometimes see people who were recently deceased.
But I never really believed her. Mostly because it was also my auntie’s idea to charge families who wanted to forward messages to the very same people who were recently deceased.
“Okay mamãe, whatever you say. I’ll phone you if I get scared.”
“That house has a history Ida, you could feel it in the walls. The outside too.”
It sure does. A history of being owned by a wealthy prick.
***
The sun slinked below the overcast horizon like a dying lantern. It got dark much faster than I expected.
I kept all the lights on, and played with the dogs a bit, trying to encourage them to try piss on the shag rug. Neither did. They mostly wanted naps.
I tried napping for a bit too, but the leather couch felt like it was made of rock. I just couldn’t get comfortable.
Eventually I made myself dinner—some pasta that had been bought from Whole Foods—and ate it while scrolling on my phone.
I was just about done, ready to take my dirty plate in the sink when I first heard it.
The first explosion.
It came from the basement. A vibrating KAPOW that rattled the windows and chandelier on my floor. It sounded like someone had set off a cherry bomb.
What the hell?
I turned to the dogs who were just as scared as I was. They came whimpering with tails between their legs.
Could a pipe have burst or something?
I looked at the basement door, an area we were not instructed to clean, and then heard another explosion.
Vases shook. A painting went tilted. It sounded louder. Like full grade firework. I had lived in Rio de Janeiro, by Prianha beach, where they often launched celebratory fireworks. This was just as deafening.
I didn’t want to go down to the basement. In fact, I sat by the front door.
Both dogs huddled around me.
***
Twenty minutes passed. It had been quiet.
Out of pride I refused to call my mom—I didn’t want to admit I was scared. Instead, I spent the time going through all the rational answers in my head that could explain away the noise. Plumbing, terrorism, teen pranks … hot springs?
There were hot springs all over West Bann.
Obviously, some kind of pent-up geyser had lay dormant for a while, and it was now suddenly unleashing a ton of energy below Mr. Winslow’s house. To distract myself, I Wikipedia’d the history of West Banniver, and satisfied this theory.
During the 1850’s gold rush, West Banniver saw rapid settlement as a mining town. The proliferation of mine shafts soon led to a discovery of underground hot springs. Mayfield Briggs Ltd which was the first company to seize the opportunity as a tourist attraction…
That’s all it was. A hot spring releasing a buildup of pressure.
Then a third explosion came.
It was so loud and violent that the door to the basement flew open. I fell to the ground and covered my head as several books went flying off nearby shelves.
The dogs yipped and barked like crazy. They stood in front of me, guarding against an unseen force. A voice shrieked from the basement.
“HELP!!! HELLLLP!”
Rivets shot through my hands and knees. I was frozen to the floor.
“PLEEEEEEASE!”
It had the high-pitched desperation of someone whose life was about to end. I raised my head and listened closely to hear haggard, dusty coughing. It sounded like an old man’s cough. It echoed through the basement and into the living room. Between coughs the man continued to plead for his life.
HELLLLP!”
I had no idea who it could be or how he got down there.
Before I could think, one of the dogs shot past me, bolting down the basement steps, barking ferociously.
“Kipper!”
I tried to grab the loose leash, but I could only hold the collar of his sibling. “Kipper come back here!”
“HELLO?” The voice from below seemed to recognize my presence. “PLEASE, YOU’VE GOT TO HELP!”
I was now upright, breathing as fast as Toto was panting. I tied Toto to the thick rails on the stairs. I had to save the other dog.
Instinctually I grabbed my phone, slipped an AirPod in one ear, and dialed my mother without even looking at the screen.
“Mãe. There’s … something terrible is happening.”
My mother was suitably confused. Even more so when she heard the screaming of the man downstairs as his voice echoed in the living room. It was a cry of immense, awful pain.
After two slower, more detailed explanations of what I just heard, my mother told me to call the fire department. “Poke your head through the basement, see what’s happening. Then call the fire department.”
That made sense to me. I inched my way to the basement entrance and tried to see past the doorway. It was complete darkness. There was no light switch.
I turned the torch on my phone, and my aunt’s voice came blaring. “Get out of there Ida! I am telling you, there is darkness in that house!”
As I illuminated the dusty wooden stairs, I saw that they only lead only to more pitch black. Yup, plenty of darkness here.
There was some phone-wrestling. My mother came back on. “What is it? What did you see?”
“Don’t encourage her! Get her to leave!” my auntie yelled in the background.
I told them to pipe down because I could suddenly hear the gentle whimpering at the base of the stairs. The dog sounded close.
“Kipper come! This way! Follow my voice!”
I went down a few steps further, expecting the basement floor to appear any second, but there were only more wooden steps. How long was this staircase?
“Kipper?”
There was a flat, cold wall on my left, and no guard rail to speak of. I stepped down each step very carefully to maintain my balance, sliding my hand along the wall.
Then the wall disappeared. I flew forward.
***
I woke up lying face-first on rocky floor. My phone was cracked next to me. My mother was crying in my ear. “Ida! Ida! Oh my god! Ida!”
I looked up to see I was not at the bottom of someone’s basement. There were lights all above me. Lanterns. They were illuminating a cavernous, rocky chamber that led to many tunnels with train tracks and wooden carts. I was in the opening of a massive underground mine.
I coughed, and gave out a weak “… what?”
“Ida is that you? Are you… brrzzzzz” My mom’s voice faded.
Before I could reply, I saw the crooked form of a man in tan coveralls, shaking the immobile body of another person in coveralls next to him. In fact, there was a small row of half a dozen miners all slumped against a blasted rock wall. There were bits of granite, wood, rope, and what looked like entrails splattered all throughout.
“Oh the cruelty …” the one, standing miner said. He went from body to body and jostled each of his coworkers. “Must I find you all like this … every time?”
I crawled up to a half-standing pose and tried to see the face of the hunched over survivor.
My heart dropped.
He had no face.
The explosion which must have killed some of friends had also blasted away this man’s entire sternum, neck and skull. The miner wasn’t hunched over or leaning away with his head, he just simply … had no head.
And up there, floating right in the middle of where his face should be, were a set of eyeballs, glistening under the yellow lights.
The eyes turned to me. “Oh. Why hello. Hello there.”
Terrified, I rose to complete standing and opened both my palms in a show of total deference. “I don’t know. I don’t know who you are or what this is.”
The headless miner walked toward me. I noticed he carried a pickaxe in his right arm. He gestured with his left to where his ear would be.
“I’m sorry I can’t hear you. Had an accident.”
Despite him having no head, his voice still came from where his mouth would be. There was an earnestness in his speech, it might have had something to do with his very old-timey accent, but I still felt like he was trying to be friendly.
“Another batch of faulty dynamite. Everyone’s dead. But what else is new.”
He brought his left palm to his face, perhaps to wipe away tears, but instead his hand travelled through his nonexistent head to scratch a small portion of his back.
“Been dead for many years I’m afraid. But I’ve kept busy. Been a good man. Worked very hard for the boss upstairs.”
He gestured upwards with the pickaxe. I looked up, and out in the distance, I saw a large, ancient, set of wooden stairs that I must have fallen from. They extended far up into the mine’s ceiling and kept going.
“He’s gotten good ore from me. Good, shining, golden ore. I have a knack for it you see. The same knack that killed me so many years ago. It's probably what’s still keeping me around though.”
He came closer. I could see he had brown irises, with one of the cataracts deteriorating into milky white haze. The eyes stared at me, unblinking.
“Because I’m not done, see. This mine isn’t empty. I know there’s more gold. Much more. And it’s not all for the boss. No, I’m keeping some to myself. Don’t tell him, but I’ve been stashing a large deposit for myself. It can’t all be his of course. It’s my mine after all. Half these tunnels were dug entirely by me. So of course I deserve some. It’s only natural.”
I lifted my hand and pointed at the staircase behind him. I mouthed very big, obvious words. “I have to go back. I’m going back up those stairs.”
He shifted his body. His two eyes turned in the air as if they were still inside an invisible skull. I saw nerve endings at the back undulate and twist.
“Yes, that is the only way up.”
My heart was in my throat. At least I found some form of communication. I gestured to knee height and nervously asked if he had seen a “large, shaggy dog.”
“Ah yes. I’ve seen the pooches. They come down here sometimes. When the booms don’t scare em that is. Hahah.”
I gave a thumbs up. It felt like a ridiculous interaction with a ghost, or zombie or whatever this was, but at least it was working.
“I think I saw his little tail run over that way. They like the smell of the mineral spring.”
I turned behind to see the long tunnel he was pointing at. It was dimly lit by a chain of smaller lanterns.
I thought I saw a flutter of movement, and I would have kept looking further if it wasn’t for my aunt’s voice that suddenly exploded in my ear. “Brrrzt … Ida! If you can hear us, we are calling the police to your location. Help is coming soon! … ”
I winced and stepped back—which saved my life. I just so happened to step right out of the way of a pickaxe. It sparked the ground.
I gasped and stared at the headless miner. His eyes were shimmering with a dark focus, staring directly at mine.
“Oh I’ll help you find the dog. I’ll help you find whatever you want. But I’ll need those clean new eyes of yours first.”
He swung at my head. I ducked. He went for the backswing. I ran.
Stupidly, I ran in the opposite direction of the stairs. I ran straight into the long tunnel lined with dim lanterns.
But I couldn’t turn around. I had no idea how quick he could move. And the speed of his pickaxe felt supernatural.
The tunnel was narrow, and lined with wooden tracks, I had to skip-run-jump over the panels with immense precision to make sure I didn’t trip. Behind me, his voice chased.
“Go ahead. Run. I know where these all lead.”
I ignored the words and kept going. The tunnel bent left, then right, then left again. I ignored several exits before the tunnel spat me out into an open, cavernous room filled with dozens and dozens of minecarts.
I investigated the room for anything useful. A far opposite wall appeared to be the site of the latest digging, loose rock lay everywhere.
There was a small mineshaft holding a chained up cart. And something in the cart shimmered…
It was gold.
And not just ore either. There were bars, coins, medallions, and jewelry. Mrs. Winslow’s bangles were right on top.
I ran to the cart furthest from the entrance and ducked behind it, breathing heavily, coughing from all the dust.
The headless man emerged from the tunnel, pickaxe raised and scanning where I could have hid. “I may not be able to hear you. But I can follow footprints pretty easily hah. I know you’re in here.”
He grabbed the closest minecart available and pushed it into the tunnel entrance. With an immense show of strength, he lifted and dislodged the cart off the track, cramming it sideways, creating a massive obstacle.
I was sealed inside.
Trying to stay absolutely still, I coughed through my teeth. Lungs burning. My mom’s voice came through.
“Brrzzztt… The police should be there! I told them you were in danger! They said they sent a unit over. Maybe they broke down the front door?”
I looked up at the mine shaft next to me. If it did connect to the surface upstairs, this was my only chance.
I gave a couple good yells. “HEEEEELP!!! DOWN HERE!! HELP!”
I don’t know if it did any good, but it was better than nothing. I turned to see if the miner had heard anything.
He hadn't.
The pickaxe tapped and clanged awkwardly around minecart after minecart.
I had a bigger advantage than I thought.
Although the miner had two floating eyeballs, only the left one was really capable of seeing anything.
So I kept my distance and watched where he was going, always staying behind.
As he limped and peered around minecarts, I was able to evade him, move from behind rock piles and other carts, careful not to leave a trail in the rock dust.
It was all going well until I heard a familiar panting.
“Oh look. If it isn’t precious.”
The dog had managed to jump over the miner’s blockade. It must have heard my yells. Surprisingly, Kipper was unafraid of the headless villain, and even approached him to receive pets.
“Now why don’t you go say hello to our other friend here huh? I know she's here somewhere.”
No. Kipper. Please. Don’t.
The dog started sniffing. Within seconds he found my scent. Kipper skipped towards me like Lassie and excitedly licked my face.
“Aww there we are. Now isn’t that a good boy?”
I stood up and stared at the filthy, ash-stained coveralls. Despite the lack of teeth, I could sense a menacing grin where the mouth should be.
He wasn't going to lose sight of me now. I had nowhere to go.
So I did the thing my auntie said worked on all spirits. I fell to my knees and prayed.
“Please. I only came here for work. I’m too young to die. Let me go and I won't tell anyone that you're here.”
He stood over me. Both of his pupils started to quiver. In just a few seconds, his eyes were swimming excitedly within the space of his head.
I took off the only valuable I had. A gold necklace with a miniature version of Christ the Redeemer. A gift I had received as a teen in Rio. I held it out in my shaking hands.
“Please. Take it. Take everything.”
Suddenly both the eyeballs stared forward again, entranced by the gold.
“Well look at that. How generous. How generous of her. We should reward generosity shouldn’t we?”
***
It was hard for me to describe to the police officer how exactly I got out, because I have no idea.
The fiery pain where my eyes used to be overwhelmed my entire reality for hours. All I wanted was for it to stop.
They found me half inside a dumbwaiter bleeding to death from the gouges in my face.
I was taken to the hospital, where I would spend the next four weeks recovering.
The police did not in fact storm the house like my mom said. They waited outside for the homeowner to return. But when they heard my screams coming from the top floor, they broke the back door and eventually came to my rescue.
I’m told they did a thorough investigation but could not find any of the things I described.
The basement door led into a regular basement. It was filled with old furniture, unused decor, and paint cans. No Mine.
The dumbwaiter was also just a dumbwaiter. It wasn’t some mine shaft, and it didn’t lead any deeper than the basement. Nothing special.
There were definitely hot springs close by, but nothing close enough to damage Mr. Winslow's property. And there was an old, depleted gold mine not far away either, but it was completely abandoned, closed off, and nowhere near as big as the one I had described.
***
The police, paramedics and doctors all thought my story was some hallucination. That I had been on drugs or had some mental breakdown (even though they couldn’t find anything in me other than small traces of weed.)
Thankfully, my mother and aunt believed me. They believed every word. My aunt is the one who encouraged me to make this post, so others could hear my story.
I know it was real.
I know it was.
And Mr. Winslow is fully aware of the mine’s existence.
Putting the dots together, I realized it was likely the source of his wealth. Winslow had some control over that one headless miner down there.
Did Winslow intentionally entrap me? Was he trying to get the miner a new set of eyes? Or was it all an unfortunate accident?
I might never know.
But what I do know is that Mr. Winslow has been paying for our rent ever since the accident.
He feels “terrible about the situation” and “can’t possibly imagine” what I’ve been through.
But he knows what happened.
He knows if I really pushed, If I really forced the police, or some private investigator to look into it—they would uncover something awful. Something really really bad.
“Anything you need. Anything at all. I will cover it, Ida.” He said. “You helped me out, protected my dogs, and I will never forget it.”
He’s offered to pay for the rest of my University schooling. And once my face heals up, he’s even offered to cover for some very expensive, experimental eye-transplant. We’ll see how that goes.
“You and your family will live comfortably from now on. You’ll want for nothing. Tell me exactly what you need, And you’ll get it.”
So I told him I'd like my necklace back. It was an heirloom. I said I lost it somewhere in his house.
A few days later, he returned with the usual smug, half-crooked smirk in his voice. He brought the necklace back in a box, pretending he had bought me a new one. Except it felt exactly like my old one.
It was all shined up, completely buffed of scratches, but it weighed the same. It was my old one for sure.
When my mom saw it she asked, “did it always have it? This dedication?”
As far as I remembered, the backside of the tiny Christ the Redeemer was always plain. I fingered its shape in my hands.
“What dedication?”
The new little divots caught my nails. There was writing that was definitely not there before.
My mom described it as a curly, serif font. Like a gift for a lover.
~ You’re an angel ~
~ W ~

Mr. Winslow accused my mother of stealing his dead wife’s jewelry.
I explained it was impossible. He was welcome to search the tiny apartment I shared with my mother and aunt, he could look wherever he wanted.
“We share a tiny space,” I said. “We barely have enough room for our clothes. I don’t even know where she would hide jewelry.”
I was worried we would lose him as a client. Which would suck because cleaning his house was basically the majority of our rent cheque. But a week later he found the pearl necklace, it had somehow travelled down to his basement.
“I’m still missing the gold bangle though,” he said. “And some earrings.”
I told him I was sorry, but I had no idea. If my mom or aunt found it on their next clean, I promised they would let him know right away.
He hummed and hawed. There might’ve been a week where he hired a different maid service, but eventually he called back, asking if he could hire all three of us on-site again.
I thanked him profusely. I told him we’d keep an eye out for the missing valuables.
***
On our drive over, I had my mom and aunt practice the apology we would give him in English. Even though we didn’t steal anything, I explained we should still say sorry.
“Why?” My aunt asked. “That’s so stupid.”
“Everyone apologizes for everything in Canada. Just trust me. He will want it.”
“We need the work,” my mom said.
For a second my aunt revved up to say something else, but then let it go. We did need the work.
When we arrived, Mr. Winslow was on a phone call, watching his two large goldendoodles play in the front yard. He waved, then gestured to the front door. My mom and aunt gave small bows and carried their cleaning supplies inside.
Before I could enter, he put the phone behind his ear and approached me.
“Ida, hi. Good to see you again. Listen, don't worry about the jewelry. Water under the bridge. Hey. I’m leaving in an hour or so, and I won’t be back until late tonight. I’m wondering if you’d be interested in dog-sitting? You’ve been around Toto and Kipper. What do you think? I’d really appreciate the help.”
I never liked the way he looked at me. It was always too close, and it lingered for too long. My aunt may have been right in that he hired us back just to see me again, but I ignored the thought.
“And don’t worry, I can cover your cab back. My usual walker is just out on holiday. You can help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge. How does six hundred sound?”
I looked at his house and imagined if I would be comfortable there. Alone at night.
“I’ll make it seven-hundred. I know it's last minute. I just hate leaving them alone. Plus Toto has his medicine. You would do me a real solid.”
My apron needed adjusting so I put down my bucket. I focused on the polyester knot, keeping my gaze away from his. I really didn’t want to be doing this, but my aunt would call me stupid for refusing easy money. And frankly, so would I.
“I had plans, but I’m willing to give them up.” I said with a straight face. “Eight hundred and it’s a done deal.”
He paused for a second, observing me scrupulously. Then he found his usual, smarmy half-smile. “You’re a life saver, you know that? An Angel.”
His hand gripped my shoulder. Then patted it twice.
***
Both my mom and aunt were pleased about the extra cash, they said I deserved to make extra for all the bookkeeping I do. But they also both voiced their concerns for safety. They said they could stay with me if I wanted.
“Safety? Mamãe I’m just watching two dogs.”
My mom wiped a caked red stain off his counter. An old wine spill. “Yes, but so late in his house? You’re not worried he might … I don’t know …”
Might what? Exploit me?
I met his groundskeeper once, another immigrant contractor. Except the groundskeeper was being paid far less, because he never properly negotiated. Mr. Winslow was certainly capable of exploiting people when he wanted to, and I’m sure he would try the same on my family.
But I was different. I’d gone to school in Banniver, and I knew the little maneuvers played by the so-called “progressive people in North America.”
And Winslow knew it too.
He didn’t realize a Canadian-raised daughter organized her mom’s cleaning service. Or that she would show up on the first day as a statement. That statement being: You can’t get away with mistreating these old Brazilian women. And you certainly can’t swindle them out of the going rates in his neighborhood. I’m onto you.
I had asserted myself with this Mr. Winslow, and felt confident that I could stand my ground if he tried any bullshit.
“Mamãe I’m not worried about him. Really, I’m not. He’s a pushover.”
***
6:00PM rolled around, it was just me and the goldendoodles.
My mom and aunt were back at home, watching low-res soaps on a Macbook, but they said if I encountered anything strange—a sound, a smell, an unexpected car in the driveway—to give them a call right away.
“Mamãe, its two dogs. I’ll be fine.”
“Just keep your phone close Ida. Your auntie has sensed things in that house. Unpleasant things.”
I forgot to mention my aunt thinks of herself as an amateur medium. In the village she grew up in, she claimed she could sometimes see people who were recently deceased.
But I never really believed her. Mostly because it was also my auntie’s idea to charge families who wanted to forward messages to the very same people who were recently deceased.
“Okay mamãe, whatever you say. I’ll phone you if I get scared.”
“That house has a history Ida, you could feel it in the walls. The outside too.”
It sure does. A history of being owned by a wealthy prick.
***
The sun slinked below the overcast horizon like a dying lantern. It got dark much faster than I expected.
I kept all the lights on, and played with the dogs a bit, trying to encourage them to try piss on the shag rug. Neither did. They mostly wanted naps.
I tried napping for a bit too, but the leather couch felt like it was made of rock. I just couldn’t get comfortable.
Eventually I made myself dinner—some pasta that had been bought from Whole Foods—and ate it while scrolling on my phone.
I was just about done, ready to take my dirty plate in the sink when I first heard it.
The first explosion.
It came from the basement. A vibrating KAPOW that rattled the windows and chandelier on my floor. It sounded like someone had set off a cherry bomb.
What the hell?
I turned to the dogs who were just as scared as I was. They came whimpering with tails between their legs.
Could a pipe have burst or something?
I looked at the basement door, an area we were not instructed to clean, and then heard another explosion.
Vases shook. A painting went tilted. It sounded louder. Like full grade firework. I had lived in Rio de Janeiro, by Prianha beach, where they often launched celebratory fireworks. This was just as deafening.
I didn’t want to go down to the basement. In fact, I sat by the front door.
Both dogs huddled around me.
***
Twenty minutes passed. It had been quiet.
Out of pride I refused to call my mom—I didn’t want to admit I was scared. Instead, I spent the time going through all the rational answers in my head that could explain away the noise. Plumbing, terrorism, teen pranks … hot springs?
There were hot springs all over West Bann.
Obviously, some kind of pent-up geyser had lay dormant for a while, and it was now suddenly unleashing a ton of energy below Mr. Winslow’s house. To distract myself, I Wikipedia’d the history of West Banniver, and satisfied this theory.
During the 1850’s gold rush, West Banniver saw rapid settlement as a mining town. The proliferation of mine shafts soon led to a discovery of underground hot springs. Mayfield Briggs Ltd which was the first company to seize the opportunity as a tourist attraction…
That’s all it was. A hot spring releasing a buildup of pressure.
Then a third explosion came.
It was so loud and violent that the door to the basement flew open. I fell to the ground and covered my head as several books went flying off nearby shelves.
The dogs yipped and barked like crazy. They stood in front of me, guarding against an unseen force. A voice shrieked from the basement.
“HELP!!! HELLLLP!”
Rivets shot through my hands and knees. I was frozen to the floor.
“PLEEEEEEASE!”
It had the high-pitched desperation of someone whose life was about to end. I raised my head and listened closely to hear haggard, dusty coughing. It sounded like an old man’s cough. It echoed through the basement and into the living room. Between coughs the man continued to plead for his life.
HELLLLP!”
I had no idea who it could be or how he got down there.
Before I could think, one of the dogs shot past me, bolting down the basement steps, barking ferociously.
“Kipper!”
I tried to grab the loose leash, but I could only hold the collar of his sibling. “Kipper come back here!”
“HELLO?” The voice from below seemed to recognize my presence. “PLEASE, YOU’VE GOT TO HELP!”
I was now upright, breathing as fast as Toto was panting. I tied Toto to the thick rails on the stairs. I had to save the other dog.
Instinctually I grabbed my phone, slipped an AirPod in one ear, and dialed my mother without even looking at the screen.
“Mãe. There’s … something terrible is happening.”
My mother was suitably confused. Even more so when she heard the screaming of the man downstairs as his voice echoed in the living room. It was a cry of immense, awful pain.
After two slower, more detailed explanations of what I just heard, my mother told me to call the fire department. “Poke your head through the basement, see what’s happening. Then call the fire department.”
That made sense to me. I inched my way to the basement entrance and tried to see past the doorway. It was complete darkness. There was no light switch.
I turned the torch on my phone, and my aunt’s voice came blaring. “Get out of there Ida! I am telling you, there is darkness in that house!”
As I illuminated the dusty wooden stairs, I saw that they only lead only to more pitch black. Yup, plenty of darkness here.
There was some phone-wrestling. My mother came back on. “What is it? What did you see?”
“Don’t encourage her! Get her to leave!” my auntie yelled in the background.
I told them to pipe down because I could suddenly hear the gentle whimpering at the base of the stairs. The dog sounded close.
“Kipper come! This way! Follow my voice!”
I went down a few steps further, expecting the basement floor to appear any second, but there were only more wooden steps. How long was this staircase?
“Kipper?”
There was a flat, cold wall on my left, and no guard rail to speak of. I stepped down each step very carefully to maintain my balance, sliding my hand along the wall.
Then the wall disappeared. I flew forward.
***
I woke up lying face-first on rocky floor. My phone was cracked next to me. My mother was crying in my ear. “Ida! Ida! Oh my god! Ida!”
I looked up to see I was not at the bottom of someone’s basement. There were lights all above me. Lanterns. They were illuminating a cavernous, rocky chamber that led to many tunnels with train tracks and wooden carts. I was in the opening of a massive underground mine.
I coughed, and gave out a weak “… what?”
“Ida is that you? Are you… brrzzzzz” My mom’s voice faded.
Before I could reply, I saw the crooked form of a man in tan coveralls, shaking the immobile body of another person in coveralls next to him. In fact, there was a small row of half a dozen miners all slumped against a blasted rock wall. There were bits of granite, wood, rope, and what looked like entrails splattered all throughout.
“Oh the cruelty …” the one, standing miner said. He went from body to body and jostled each of his coworkers. “Must I find you all like this … every time?”
I crawled up to a half-standing pose and tried to see the face of the hunched over survivor.
My heart dropped.
He had no face.
The explosion which must have killed some of friends had also blasted away this man’s entire sternum, neck and skull. The miner wasn’t hunched over or leaning away with his head, he just simply … had no head.
And up there, floating right in the middle of where his face should be, were a set of eyeballs, glistening under the yellow lights.
The eyes turned to me. “Oh. Why hello. Hello there.”
Terrified, I rose to complete standing and opened both my palms in a show of total deference. “I don’t know. I don’t know who you are or what this is.”
The headless miner walked toward me. I noticed he carried a pickaxe in his right arm. He gestured with his left to where his ear would be.
“I’m sorry I can’t hear you. Had an accident.”
Despite him having no head, his voice still came from where his mouth would be. There was an earnestness in his speech, it might have had something to do with his very old-timey accent, but I still felt like he was trying to be friendly.
“Another batch of faulty dynamite. Everyone’s dead. But what else is new.”
He brought his left palm to his face, perhaps to wipe away tears, but instead his hand travelled through his nonexistent head to scratch a small portion of his back.
“Been dead for many years I’m afraid. But I’ve kept busy. Been a good man. Worked very hard for the boss upstairs.”
He gestured upwards with the pickaxe. I looked up, and out in the distance, I saw a large, ancient, set of wooden stairs that I must have fallen from. They extended far up into the mine’s ceiling and kept going.
“He’s gotten good ore from me. Good, shining, golden ore. I have a knack for it you see. The same knack that killed me so many years ago. It's probably what’s still keeping me around though.”
He came closer. I could see he had brown irises, with one of the cataracts deteriorating into milky white haze. The eyes stared at me, unblinking.
“Because I’m not done, see. This mine isn’t empty. I know there’s more gold. Much more. And it’s not all for the boss. No, I’m keeping some to myself. Don’t tell him, but I’ve been stashing a large deposit for myself. It can’t all be his of course. It’s my mine after all. Half these tunnels were dug entirely by me. So of course I deserve some. It’s only natural.”
I lifted my hand and pointed at the staircase behind him. I mouthed very big, obvious words. “I have to go back. I’m going back up those stairs.”
He shifted his body. His two eyes turned in the air as if they were still inside an invisible skull. I saw nerve endings at the back undulate and twist.
“Yes, that is the only way up.”
My heart was in my throat. At least I found some form of communication. I gestured to knee height and nervously asked if he had seen a “large, shaggy dog.”
“Ah yes. I’ve seen the pooches. They come down here sometimes. When the booms don’t scare em that is. Hahah.”
I gave a thumbs up. It felt like a ridiculous interaction with a ghost, or zombie or whatever this was, but at least it was working.
“I think I saw his little tail run over that way. They like the smell of the mineral spring.”
I turned behind to see the long tunnel he was pointing at. It was dimly lit by a chain of smaller lanterns.
I thought I saw a flutter of movement, and I would have kept looking further if it wasn’t for my aunt’s voice that suddenly exploded in my ear. “Brrrzt … Ida! If you can hear us, we are calling the police to your location. Help is coming soon! … ”
I winced and stepped back—which saved my life. I just so happened to step right out of the way of a pickaxe. It sparked the ground.
I gasped and stared at the headless miner. His eyes were shimmering with a dark focus, staring directly at mine.
“Oh I’ll help you find the dog. I’ll help you find whatever you want. But I’ll need those clean new eyes of yours first.”
He swung at my head. I ducked. He went for the backswing. I ran.
Stupidly, I ran in the opposite direction of the stairs. I ran straight into the long tunnel lined with dim lanterns.
But I couldn’t turn around. I had no idea how quick he could move. And the speed of his pickaxe felt supernatural.
The tunnel was narrow, and lined with wooden tracks, I had to skip-run-jump over the panels with immense precision to make sure I didn’t trip. Behind me, his voice chased.
“Go ahead. Run. I know where these all lead.”
I ignored the words and kept going. The tunnel bent left, then right, then left again. I ignored several exits before the tunnel spat me out into an open, cavernous room filled with dozens and dozens of minecarts.
I investigated the room for anything useful. A far opposite wall appeared to be the site of the latest digging, loose rock lay everywhere.
There was a small mineshaft holding a chained up cart. And something in the cart shimmered…
It was gold.
And not just ore either. There were bars, coins, medallions, and jewelry. Mrs. Winslow’s bangles were right on top.
I ran to the cart furthest from the entrance and ducked behind it, breathing heavily, coughing from all the dust.
The headless man emerged from the tunnel, pickaxe raised and scanning where I could have hid. “I may not be able to hear you. But I can follow footprints pretty easily hah. I know you’re in here.”
He grabbed the closest minecart available and pushed it into the tunnel entrance. With an immense show of strength, he lifted and dislodged the cart off the track, cramming it sideways, creating a massive obstacle.
I was sealed inside.
Trying to stay absolutely still, I coughed through my teeth. Lungs burning. My mom’s voice came through.
“Brrzzztt… The police should be there! I told them you were in danger! They said they sent a unit over. Maybe they broke down the front door?”
I looked up at the mine shaft next to me. If it did connect to the surface upstairs, this was my only chance.
I gave a couple good yells. “HEEEEELP!!! DOWN HERE!! HELP!”
I don’t know if it did any good, but it was better than nothing. I turned to see if the miner had heard anything.
He hadn't.
The pickaxe tapped and clanged awkwardly around minecart after minecart.
I had a bigger advantage than I thought.
Although the miner had two floating eyeballs, only the left one was really capable of seeing anything.
So I kept my distance and watched where he was going, always staying behind.
As he limped and peered around minecarts, I was able to evade him, move from behind rock piles and other carts, careful not to leave a trail in the rock dust.
It was all going well until I heard a familiar panting.
“Oh look. If it isn’t precious.”
The dog had managed to jump over the miner’s blockade. It must have heard my yells. Surprisingly, Kipper was unafraid of the headless villain, and even approached him to receive pets.
“Now why don’t you go say hello to our other friend here huh? I know she's here somewhere.”
No. Kipper. Please. Don’t.
The dog started sniffing. Within seconds he found my scent. Kipper skipped towards me like Lassie and excitedly licked my face.
“Aww there we are. Now isn’t that a good boy?”
I stood up and stared at the filthy, ash-stained coveralls. Despite the lack of teeth, I could sense a menacing grin where the mouth should be.
He wasn't going to lose sight of me now. I had nowhere to go.
So I did the thing my auntie said worked on all spirits. I fell to my knees and prayed.
“Please. I only came here for work. I’m too young to die. Let me go and I won't tell anyone that you're here.”
He stood over me. Both of his pupils started to quiver. In just a few seconds, his eyes were swimming excitedly within the space of his head.
I took off the only valuable I had. A gold necklace with a miniature version of Christ the Redeemer. A gift I had received as a teen in Rio. I held it out in my shaking hands.
“Please. Take it. Take everything.”
Suddenly both the eyeballs stared forward again, entranced by the gold.
“Well look at that. How generous. How generous of her. We should reward generosity shouldn’t we?”
***
It was hard for me to describe to the police officer how exactly I got out, because I have no idea.
The fiery pain where my eyes used to be overwhelmed my entire reality for hours. All I wanted was for it to stop.
They found me half inside a dumbwaiter bleeding to death from the gouges in my face.
I was taken to the hospital, where I would spend the next four weeks recovering.
The police did not in fact storm the house like my mom said. They waited outside for the homeowner to return. But when they heard my screams coming from the top floor, they broke the back door and eventually came to my rescue.
I’m told they did a thorough investigation but could not find any of the things I described.
The basement door led into a regular basement. It was filled with old furniture, unused decor, and paint cans. No Mine.
The dumbwaiter was also just a dumbwaiter. It wasn’t some mine shaft, and it didn’t lead any deeper than the basement. Nothing special.
There were definitely hot springs close by, but nothing close enough to damage Mr. Winslow's property. And there was an old, depleted gold mine not far away either, but it was completely abandoned, closed off, and nowhere near as big as the one I had described.
***
The police, paramedics and doctors all thought my story was some hallucination. That I had been on drugs or had some mental breakdown (even though they couldn’t find anything in me other than small traces of weed.)
Thankfully, my mother and aunt believed me. They believed every word. My aunt is the one who encouraged me to make this post, so others could hear my story.
I know it was real.
I know it was.
And Mr. Winslow is fully aware of the mine’s existence.
Putting the dots together, I realized it was likely the source of his wealth. Winslow had some control over that one headless miner down there.
Did Winslow intentionally entrap me? Was he trying to get the miner a new set of eyes? Or was it all an unfortunate accident?
I might never know.
But what I do know is that Mr. Winslow has been paying for our rent ever since the accident.
He feels “terrible about the situation” and “can’t possibly imagine” what I’ve been through.
But he knows what happened.
He knows if I really pushed, If I really forced the police, or some private investigator to look into it—they would uncover something awful. Something really really bad.
“Anything you need. Anything at all. I will cover it, Ida.” He said. “You helped me out, protected my dogs, and I will never forget it.”
He’s offered to pay for the rest of my University schooling. And once my face heals up, he’s even offered to cover for some very expensive, experimental eye-transplant. We’ll see how that goes.
“You and your family will live comfortably from now on. You’ll want for nothing. Tell me exactly what you need, And you’ll get it.”
So I told him I'd like my necklace back. It was an heirloom. I said I lost it somewhere in his house.
A few days later, he returned with the usual smug, half-crooked smirk in his voice. He brought the necklace back in a box, pretending he had bought me a new one. Except it felt exactly like my old one.
It was all shined up, completely buffed of scratches, but it weighed the same. It was my old one for sure.
When my mom saw it she asked, “did it always have it? This dedication?”
As far as I remembered, the backside of the tiny Christ the Redeemer was always plain. I fingered its shape in my hands.
“What dedication?”
The new little divots caught my nails. There was writing that was definitely not there before.
My mom described it as a curly, serif font. Like a gift for a lover.
~ You’re an angel ~
~ W ~

Mr. Winslow accused my mother of stealing his dead wife’s jewelry.
I explained it was impossible. He was welcome to search the tiny apartment I shared with my mother and aunt, he could look wherever he wanted.
“We share a tiny space,” I said. “We barely have enough room for our clothes. I don’t even know where she would hide jewelry.”
I was worried we would lose him as a client. Which would suck because cleaning his house was basically the majority of our rent cheque. But a week later he found the pearl necklace, it had somehow travelled down to his basement.
“I’m still missing the gold bangle though,” he said. “And some earrings.”
I told him I was sorry, but I had no idea. If my mom or aunt found it on their next clean, I promised they would let him know right away.
He hummed and hawed. There might’ve been a week where he hired a different maid service, but eventually he called back, asking if he could hire all three of us on-site again.
I thanked him profusely. I told him we’d keep an eye out for the missing valuables.
***
On our drive over, I had my mom and aunt practice the apology we would give him in English. Even though we didn’t steal anything, I explained we should still say sorry.
“Why?” My aunt asked. “That’s so stupid.”
“Everyone apologizes for everything in Canada. Just trust me. He will want it.”
“We need the work,” my mom said.
For a second my aunt revved up to say something else, but then let it go. We did need the work.
When we arrived, Mr. Winslow was on a phone call, watching his two large goldendoodles play in the front yard. He waved, then gestured to the front door. My mom and aunt gave small bows and carried their cleaning supplies inside.
Before I could enter, he put the phone behind his ear and approached me.
“Ida, hi. Good to see you again. Listen, don't worry about the jewelry. Water under the bridge. Hey. I’m leaving in an hour or so, and I won’t be back until late tonight. I’m wondering if you’d be interested in dog-sitting? You’ve been around Toto and Kipper. What do you think? I’d really appreciate the help.”
I never liked the way he looked at me. It was always too close, and it lingered for too long. My aunt may have been right in that he hired us back just to see me again, but I ignored the thought.
“And don’t worry, I can cover your cab back. My usual walker is just out on holiday. You can help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge. How does six hundred sound?”
I looked at his house and imagined if I would be comfortable there. Alone at night.
“I’ll make it seven-hundred. I know it's last minute. I just hate leaving them alone. Plus Toto has his medicine. You would do me a real solid.”
My apron needed adjusting so I put down my bucket. I focused on the polyester knot, keeping my gaze away from his. I really didn’t want to be doing this, but my aunt would call me stupid for refusing easy money. And frankly, so would I.
“I had plans, but I’m willing to give them up.” I said with a straight face. “Eight hundred and it’s a done deal.”
He paused for a second, observing me scrupulously. Then he found his usual, smarmy half-smile. “You’re a life saver, you know that? An Angel.”
His hand gripped my shoulder. Then patted it twice.
***
Both my mom and aunt were pleased about the extra cash, they said I deserved to make extra for all the bookkeeping I do. But they also both voiced their concerns for safety. They said they could stay with me if I wanted.
“Safety? Mamãe I’m just watching two dogs.”
My mom wiped a caked red stain off his counter. An old wine spill. “Yes, but so late in his house? You’re not worried he might … I don’t know …”
Might what? Exploit me?
I met his groundskeeper once, another immigrant contractor. Except the groundskeeper was being paid far less, because he never properly negotiated. Mr. Winslow was certainly capable of exploiting people when he wanted to, and I’m sure he would try the same on my family.
But I was different. I’d gone to school in Banniver, and I knew the little maneuvers played by the so-called “progressive people in North America.”
And Winslow knew it too.
He didn’t realize a Canadian-raised daughter organized her mom’s cleaning service. Or that she would show up on the first day as a statement. That statement being: You can’t get away with mistreating these old Brazilian women. And you certainly can’t swindle them out of the going rates in his neighborhood. I’m onto you.
I had asserted myself with this Mr. Winslow, and felt confident that I could stand my ground if he tried any bullshit.
“Mamãe I’m not worried about him. Really, I’m not. He’s a pushover.”
***
6:00PM rolled around, it was just me and the goldendoodles.
My mom and aunt were back at home, watching low-res soaps on a Macbook, but they said if I encountered anything strange—a sound, a smell, an unexpected car in the driveway—to give them a call right away.
“Mamãe, its two dogs. I’ll be fine.”
“Just keep your phone close Ida. Your auntie has sensed things in that house. Unpleasant things.”
I forgot to mention my aunt thinks of herself as an amateur medium. In the village she grew up in, she claimed she could sometimes see people who were recently deceased.
But I never really believed her. Mostly because it was also my auntie’s idea to charge families who wanted to forward messages to the very same people who were recently deceased.
“Okay mamãe, whatever you say. I’ll phone you if I get scared.”
“That house has a history Ida, you could feel it in the walls. The outside too.”
It sure does. A history of being owned by a wealthy prick.
***
The sun slinked below the overcast horizon like a dying lantern. It got dark much faster than I expected.
I kept all the lights on, and played with the dogs a bit, trying to encourage them to try piss on the shag rug. Neither did. They mostly wanted naps.
I tried napping for a bit too, but the leather couch felt like it was made of rock. I just couldn’t get comfortable.
Eventually I made myself dinner—some pasta that had been bought from Whole Foods—and ate it while scrolling on my phone.
I was just about done, ready to take my dirty plate in the sink when I first heard it.
The first explosion.
It came from the basement. A vibrating KAPOW that rattled the windows and chandelier on my floor. It sounded like someone had set off a cherry bomb.
What the hell?
I turned to the dogs who were just as scared as I was. They came whimpering with tails between their legs.
Could a pipe have burst or something?
I looked at the basement door, an area we were not instructed to clean, and then heard another explosion.
Vases shook. A painting went tilted. It sounded louder. Like full grade firework. I had lived in Rio de Janeiro, by Prianha beach, where they often launched celebratory fireworks. This was just as deafening.
I didn’t want to go down to the basement. In fact, I sat by the front door.
Both dogs huddled around me.
***
Twenty minutes passed. It had been quiet.
Out of pride I refused to call my mom—I didn’t want to admit I was scared. Instead, I spent the time going through all the rational answers in my head that could explain away the noise. Plumbing, terrorism, teen pranks … hot springs?
There were hot springs all over West Bann.
Obviously, some kind of pent-up geyser had lay dormant for a while, and it was now suddenly unleashing a ton of energy below Mr. Winslow’s house. To distract myself, I Wikipedia’d the history of West Banniver, and satisfied this theory.
During the 1850’s gold rush, West Banniver saw rapid settlement as a mining town. The proliferation of mine shafts soon led to a discovery of underground hot springs. Mayfield Briggs Ltd which was the first company to seize the opportunity as a tourist attraction…
That’s all it was. A hot spring releasing a buildup of pressure.
Then a third explosion came.
It was so loud and violent that the door to the basement flew open. I fell to the ground and covered my head as several books went flying off nearby shelves.
The dogs yipped and barked like crazy. They stood in front of me, guarding against an unseen force. A voice shrieked from the basement.
“HELP!!! HELLLLP!”
Rivets shot through my hands and knees. I was frozen to the floor.
“PLEEEEEEASE!”
It had the high-pitched desperation of someone whose life was about to end. I raised my head and listened closely to hear haggard, dusty coughing. It sounded like an old man’s cough. It echoed through the basement and into the living room. Between coughs the man continued to plead for his life.
HELLLLP!”
I had no idea who it could be or how he got down there.
Before I could think, one of the dogs shot past me, bolting down the basement steps, barking ferociously.
“Kipper!”
I tried to grab the loose leash, but I could only hold the collar of his sibling. “Kipper come back here!”
“HELLO?” The voice from below seemed to recognize my presence. “PLEASE, YOU’VE GOT TO HELP!”
I was now upright, breathing as fast as Toto was panting. I tied Toto to the thick rails on the stairs. I had to save the other dog.
Instinctually I grabbed my phone, slipped an AirPod in one ear, and dialed my mother without even looking at the screen.
“Mãe. There’s … something terrible is happening.”
My mother was suitably confused. Even more so when she heard the screaming of the man downstairs as his voice echoed in the living room. It was a cry of immense, awful pain.
After two slower, more detailed explanations of what I just heard, my mother told me to call the fire department. “Poke your head through the basement, see what’s happening. Then call the fire department.”
That made sense to me. I inched my way to the basement entrance and tried to see past the doorway. It was complete darkness. There was no light switch.
I turned the torch on my phone, and my aunt’s voice came blaring. “Get out of there Ida! I am telling you, there is darkness in that house!”
As I illuminated the dusty wooden stairs, I saw that they only lead only to more pitch black. Yup, plenty of darkness here.
There was some phone-wrestling. My mother came back on. “What is it? What did you see?”
“Don’t encourage her! Get her to leave!” my auntie yelled in the background.
I told them to pipe down because I could suddenly hear the gentle whimpering at the base of the stairs. The dog sounded close.
“Kipper come! This way! Follow my voice!”
I went down a few steps further, expecting the basement floor to appear any second, but there were only more wooden steps. How long was this staircase?
“Kipper?”
There was a flat, cold wall on my left, and no guard rail to speak of. I stepped down each step very carefully to maintain my balance, sliding my hand along the wall.
Then the wall disappeared. I flew forward.
***
I woke up lying face-first on rocky floor. My phone was cracked next to me. My mother was crying in my ear. “Ida! Ida! Oh my god! Ida!”
I looked up to see I was not at the bottom of someone’s basement. There were lights all above me. Lanterns. They were illuminating a cavernous, rocky chamber that led to many tunnels with train tracks and wooden carts. I was in the opening of a massive underground mine.
I coughed, and gave out a weak “… what?”
“Ida is that you? Are you… brrzzzzz” My mom’s voice faded.
Before I could reply, I saw the crooked form of a man in tan coveralls, shaking the immobile body of another person in coveralls next to him. In fact, there was a small row of half a dozen miners all slumped against a blasted rock wall. There were bits of granite, wood, rope, and what looked like entrails splattered all throughout.
“Oh the cruelty …” the one, standing miner said. He went from body to body and jostled each of his coworkers. “Must I find you all like this … every time?”
I crawled up to a half-standing pose and tried to see the face of the hunched over survivor.
My heart dropped.
He had no face.
The explosion which must have killed some of friends had also blasted away this man’s entire sternum, neck and skull. The miner wasn’t hunched over or leaning away with his head, he just simply … had no head.
And up there, floating right in the middle of where his face should be, were a set of eyeballs, glistening under the yellow lights.
The eyes turned to me. “Oh. Why hello. Hello there.”
Terrified, I rose to complete standing and opened both my palms in a show of total deference. “I don’t know. I don’t know who you are or what this is.”
The headless miner walked toward me. I noticed he carried a pickaxe in his right arm. He gestured with his left to where his ear would be.
“I’m sorry I can’t hear you. Had an accident.”
Despite him having no head, his voice still came from where his mouth would be. There was an earnestness in his speech, it might have had something to do with his very old-timey accent, but I still felt like he was trying to be friendly.
“Another batch of faulty dynamite. Everyone’s dead. But what else is new.”
He brought his left palm to his face, perhaps to wipe away tears, but instead his hand travelled through his nonexistent head to scratch a small portion of his back.
“Been dead for many years I’m afraid. But I’ve kept busy. Been a good man. Worked very hard for the boss upstairs.”
He gestured upwards with the pickaxe. I looked up, and out in the distance, I saw a large, ancient, set of wooden stairs that I must have fallen from. They extended far up into the mine’s ceiling and kept going.
“He’s gotten good ore from me. Good, shining, golden ore. I have a knack for it you see. The same knack that killed me so many years ago. It's probably what’s still keeping me around though.”
He came closer. I could see he had brown irises, with one of the cataracts deteriorating into milky white haze. The eyes stared at me, unblinking.
“Because I’m not done, see. This mine isn’t empty. I know there’s more gold. Much more. And it’s not all for the boss. No, I’m keeping some to myself. Don’t tell him, but I’ve been stashing a large deposit for myself. It can’t all be his of course. It’s my mine after all. Half these tunnels were dug entirely by me. So of course I deserve some. It’s only natural.”
I lifted my hand and pointed at the staircase behind him. I mouthed very big, obvious words. “I have to go back. I’m going back up those stairs.”
He shifted his body. His two eyes turned in the air as if they were still inside an invisible skull. I saw nerve endings at the back undulate and twist.
“Yes, that is the only way up.”
My heart was in my throat. At least I found some form of communication. I gestured to knee height and nervously asked if he had seen a “large, shaggy dog.”
“Ah yes. I’ve seen the pooches. They come down here sometimes. When the booms don’t scare em that is. Hahah.”
I gave a thumbs up. It felt like a ridiculous interaction with a ghost, or zombie or whatever this was, but at least it was working.
“I think I saw his little tail run over that way. They like the smell of the mineral spring.”
I turned behind to see the long tunnel he was pointing at. It was dimly lit by a chain of smaller lanterns.
I thought I saw a flutter of movement, and I would have kept looking further if it wasn’t for my aunt’s voice that suddenly exploded in my ear. “Brrrzt … Ida! If you can hear us, we are calling the police to your location. Help is coming soon! … ”
I winced and stepped back—which saved my life. I just so happened to step right out of the way of a pickaxe. It sparked the ground.
I gasped and stared at the headless miner. His eyes were shimmering with a dark focus, staring directly at mine.
“Oh I’ll help you find the dog. I’ll help you find whatever you want. But I’ll need those clean new eyes of yours first.”
He swung at my head. I ducked. He went for the backswing. I ran.
Stupidly, I ran in the opposite direction of the stairs. I ran straight into the long tunnel lined with dim lanterns.
But I couldn’t turn around. I had no idea how quick he could move. And the speed of his pickaxe felt supernatural.
The tunnel was narrow, and lined with wooden tracks, I had to skip-run-jump over the panels with immense precision to make sure I didn’t trip. Behind me, his voice chased.
“Go ahead. Run. I know where these all lead.”
I ignored the words and kept going. The tunnel bent left, then right, then left again. I ignored several exits before the tunnel spat me out into an open, cavernous room filled with dozens and dozens of minecarts.
I investigated the room for anything useful. A far opposite wall appeared to be the site of the latest digging, loose rock lay everywhere.
There was a small mineshaft holding a chained up cart. And something in the cart shimmered…
It was gold.
And not just ore either. There were bars, coins, medallions, and jewelry. Mrs. Winslow’s bangles were right on top.
I ran to the cart furthest from the entrance and ducked behind it, breathing heavily, coughing from all the dust.
The headless man emerged from the tunnel, pickaxe raised and scanning where I could have hid. “I may not be able to hear you. But I can follow footprints pretty easily hah. I know you’re in here.”
He grabbed the closest minecart available and pushed it into the tunnel entrance. With an immense show of strength, he lifted and dislodged the cart off the track, cramming it sideways, creating a massive obstacle.
I was sealed inside.
Trying to stay absolutely still, I coughed through my teeth. Lungs burning. My mom’s voice came through.
“Brrzzztt… The police should be there! I told them you were in danger! They said they sent a unit over. Maybe they broke down the front door?”
I looked up at the mine shaft next to me. If it did connect to the surface upstairs, this was my only chance.
I gave a couple good yells. “HEEEEELP!!! DOWN HERE!! HELP!”
I don’t know if it did any good, but it was better than nothing. I turned to see if the miner had heard anything.
He hadn't.
The pickaxe tapped and clanged awkwardly around minecart after minecart.
I had a bigger advantage than I thought.
Although the miner had two floating eyeballs, only the left one was really capable of seeing anything.
So I kept my distance and watched where he was going, always staying behind.
As he limped and peered around minecarts, I was able to evade him, move from behind rock piles and other carts, careful not to leave a trail in the rock dust.
It was all going well until I heard a familiar panting.
“Oh look. If it isn’t precious.”
The dog had managed to jump over the miner’s blockade. It must have heard my yells. Surprisingly, Kipper was unafraid of the headless villain, and even approached him to receive pets.
“Now why don’t you go say hello to our other friend here huh? I know she's here somewhere.”
No. Kipper. Please. Don’t.
The dog started sniffing. Within seconds he found my scent. Kipper skipped towards me like Lassie and excitedly licked my face.
“Aww there we are. Now isn’t that a good boy?”
I stood up and stared at the filthy, ash-stained coveralls. Despite the lack of teeth, I could sense a menacing grin where the mouth should be.
He wasn't going to lose sight of me now. I had nowhere to go.
So I did the thing my auntie said worked on all spirits. I fell to my knees and prayed.
“Please. I only came here for work. I’m too young to die. Let me go and I won't tell anyone that you're here.”
He stood over me. Both of his pupils started to quiver. In just a few seconds, his eyes were swimming excitedly within the space of his head.
I took off the only valuable I had. A gold necklace with a miniature version of Christ the Redeemer. A gift I had received as a teen in Rio. I held it out in my shaking hands.
“Please. Take it. Take everything.”
Suddenly both the eyeballs stared forward again, entranced by the gold.
“Well look at that. How generous. How generous of her. We should reward generosity shouldn’t we?”
***
It was hard for me to describe to the police officer how exactly I got out, because I have no idea.
The fiery pain where my eyes used to be overwhelmed my entire reality for hours. All I wanted was for it to stop.
They found me half inside a dumbwaiter bleeding to death from the gouges in my face.
I was taken to the hospital, where I would spend the next four weeks recovering.
The police did not in fact storm the house like my mom said. They waited outside for the homeowner to return. But when they heard my screams coming from the top floor, they broke the back door and eventually came to my rescue.
I’m told they did a thorough investigation but could not find any of the things I described.
The basement door led into a regular basement. It was filled with old furniture, unused decor, and paint cans. No Mine.
The dumbwaiter was also just a dumbwaiter. It wasn’t some mine shaft, and it didn’t lead any deeper than the basement. Nothing special.
There were definitely hot springs close by, but nothing close enough to damage Mr. Winslow's property. And there was an old, depleted gold mine not far away either, but it was completely abandoned, closed off, and nowhere near as big as the one I had described.
***
The police, paramedics and doctors all thought my story was some hallucination. That I had been on drugs or had some mental breakdown (even though they couldn’t find anything in me other than small traces of weed.)
Thankfully, my mother and aunt believed me. They believed every word. My aunt is the one who encouraged me to make this post, so others could hear my story.
I know it was real.
I know it was.
And Mr. Winslow is fully aware of the mine’s existence.
Putting the dots together, I realized it was likely the source of his wealth. Winslow had some control over that one headless miner down there.
Did Winslow intentionally entrap me? Was he trying to get the miner a new set of eyes? Or was it all an unfortunate accident?
I might never know.
But what I do know is that Mr. Winslow has been paying for our rent ever since the accident.
He feels “terrible about the situation” and “can’t possibly imagine” what I’ve been through.
But he knows what happened.
He knows if I really pushed, If I really forced the police, or some private investigator to look into it—they would uncover something awful. Something really really bad.
“Anything you need. Anything at all. I will cover it, Ida.” He said. “You helped me out, protected my dogs, and I will never forget it.”
He’s offered to pay for the rest of my University schooling. And once my face heals up, he’s even offered to cover for some very expensive, experimental eye-transplant. We’ll see how that goes.
“You and your family will live comfortably from now on. You’ll want for nothing. Tell me exactly what you need, And you’ll get it.”
So I told him I'd like my necklace back. It was an heirloom. I said I lost it somewhere in his house.
A few days later, he returned with the usual smug, half-crooked smirk in his voice. He brought the necklace back in a box, pretending he had bought me a new one. Except it felt exactly like my old one.
It was all shined up, completely buffed of scratches, but it weighed the same. It was my old one for sure.
When my mom saw it she asked, “did it always have it? This dedication?”
As far as I remembered, the backside of the tiny Christ the Redeemer was always plain. I fingered its shape in my hands.
“What dedication?”
The new little divots caught my nails. There was writing that was definitely not there before.
My mom described it as a curly, serif font. Like a gift for a lover.
~ You’re an angel ~
~ W ~

I had double jaw surgery a few years ago where I hade a downgraft and advancement of my upper jaw. The surgeon and orthodontist didn’t suggest any expansion of my upper jaw when I first consulted with them. The problem I’m having is that I bite on my tongue when I talk (it’s like I’m chewing on it when I talk) and when I swallow which gets really painful and it makes it difficult to talk. I have a posterior crossbite and with braces it has been compensated for as much as possible, my very back molars meet at both buccal and lingual cusps and my first molars meet at buccal cusps, this is causing wear and toothache. I also bite my cheeks a lot so they’re always sore. I’m at the end of my tether with it now and I’m trying to find out if I can get SARPE or something similar even though I’ve had a downgraft and advancement. I’ve consulted one surgeon and he’s said that it’s too difficult and my old surgeon has suggested a tongue reduction. I don’t really know what to do, does anyone have any similar experiences or know if expansion can be done in a case like mine?

Mr. Winslow accused my mother of stealing his dead wife’s jewelry.
I explained it was impossible. He was welcome to search the tiny apartment I shared with my mother and aunt, he could look wherever he wanted.
“We share a tiny space,” I said. “We barely have enough room for our clothes. I don’t even know where she would hide jewelry.”
I was worried we would lose him as a client. Which would suck because cleaning his house was basically the majority of our rent cheque. But a week later he found the pearl necklace, it had somehow travelled down to his basement.
“I’m still missing the gold bangle though,” he said. “And some earrings.”
I told him I was sorry, but I had no idea. If my mom or aunt found it on their next clean, I promised they would let him know right away.
He hummed and hawed. There might’ve been a week where he hired a different maid service, but eventually he called back, asking if he could hire all three of us on-site again.
I thanked him profusely. I told him we’d keep an eye out for the missing valuables.
***
On our drive over, I had my mom and aunt practice the apology we would give him in English. Even though we didn’t steal anything, I explained we should still say sorry.
“Why?” My aunt asked. “That’s so stupid.”
“Everyone apologizes for everything in Canada. Just trust me. He will want it.”
“We need the work,” my mom said.
For a second my aunt revved up to say something else, but then let it go. We did need the work.
When we arrived, Mr. Winslow was on a phone call, watching his two large goldendoodles play in the front yard. He waved, then gestured to the front door. My mom and aunt gave small bows and carried their cleaning supplies inside.
Before I could enter, he put the phone behind his ear and approached me.
“Ida, hi. Good to see you again. Listen, don't worry about the jewelry. Water under the bridge. Hey. I’m leaving in an hour or so, and I won’t be back until late tonight. I’m wondering if you’d be interested in dog-sitting? You’ve been around Toto and Kipper. What do you think? I’d really appreciate the help.”
I never liked the way he looked at me. It was always too close, and it lingered for too long. My aunt may have been right in that he hired us back just to see me again, but I ignored the thought.
“And don’t worry, I can cover your cab back. My usual walker is just out on holiday. You can help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge. How does six hundred sound?”
I looked at his house and imagined if I would be comfortable there. Alone at night.
“I’ll make it seven-hundred. I know it's last minute. I just hate leaving them alone. Plus Toto has his medicine. You would do me a real solid.”
My apron needed adjusting so I put down my bucket. I focused on the polyester knot, keeping my gaze away from his. I really didn’t want to be doing this, but my aunt would call me stupid for refusing easy money. And frankly, so would I.
“I had plans, but I’m willing to give them up.” I said with a straight face. “Eight hundred and it’s a done deal.”
He paused for a second, observing me scrupulously. Then he found his usual, smarmy half-smile. “You’re a life saver, you know that? An Angel.”
His hand gripped my shoulder. Then patted it twice.
***
Both my mom and aunt were pleased about the extra cash, they said I deserved to make extra for all the bookkeeping I do. But they also both voiced their concerns for safety. They said they could stay with me if I wanted.
“Safety? Mamãe I’m just watching two dogs.”
My mom wiped a caked red stain off his counter. An old wine spill. “Yes, but so late in his house? You’re not worried he might … I don’t know …”
Might what? Exploit me?
I met his groundskeeper once, another immigrant contractor. Except the groundskeeper was being paid far less, because he never properly negotiated. Mr. Winslow was certainly capable of exploiting people when he wanted to, and I’m sure he would try the same on my family.
But I was different. I’d gone to school in Banniver, and I knew the little maneuvers played by the so-called “progressive people in North America.”
And Winslow knew it too.
He didn’t realize a Canadian-raised daughter organized her mom’s cleaning service. Or that she would show up on the first day as a statement. That statement being: You can’t get away with mistreating these old Brazilian women. And you certainly can’t swindle them out of the going rates in his neighborhood. I’m onto you.
I had asserted myself with this Mr. Winslow, and felt confident that I could stand my ground if he tried any bullshit.
“Mamãe I’m not worried about him. Really, I’m not. He’s a pushover.”
***
6:00PM rolled around, it was just me and the goldendoodles.
My mom and aunt were back at home, watching low-res soaps on a Macbook, but they said if I encountered anything strange—a sound, a smell, an unexpected car in the driveway—to give them a call right away.
“Mamãe, its two dogs. I’ll be fine.”
“Just keep your phone close Ida. Your auntie has sensed things in that house. Unpleasant things.”
I forgot to mention my aunt thinks of herself as an amateur medium. In the village she grew up in, she claimed she could sometimes see people who were recently deceased.
But I never really believed her. Mostly because it was also my auntie’s idea to charge families who wanted to forward messages to the very same people who were recently deceased.
“Okay mamãe, whatever you say. I’ll phone you if I get scared.”
“That house has a history Ida, you could feel it in the walls. The outside too.”
It sure does. A history of being owned by a wealthy prick.
***
The sun slinked below the overcast horizon like a dying lantern. It got dark much faster than I expected.
I kept all the lights on, and played with the dogs a bit, trying to encourage them to try piss on the shag rug. Neither did. They mostly wanted naps.
I tried napping for a bit too, but the leather couch felt like it was made of rock. I just couldn’t get comfortable.
Eventually I made myself dinner—some pasta that had been bought from Whole Foods—and ate it while scrolling on my phone.
I was just about done, ready to take my dirty plate in the sink when I first heard it.
The first explosion.
It came from the basement. A vibrating KAPOW that rattled the windows and chandelier on my floor. It sounded like someone had set off a cherry bomb.
What the hell?
I turned to the dogs who were just as scared as I was. They came whimpering with tails between their legs.
Could a pipe have burst or something?
I looked at the basement door, an area we were not instructed to clean, and then heard another explosion.
Vases shook. A painting went tilted. It sounded louder. Like full grade firework. I had lived in Rio de Janeiro, by Prianha beach, where they often launched celebratory fireworks. This was just as deafening.
I didn’t want to go down to the basement. In fact, I sat by the front door.
Both dogs huddled around me.
***
Twenty minutes passed. It had been quiet.
Out of pride I refused to call my mom—I didn’t want to admit I was scared. Instead, I spent the time going through all the rational answers in my head that could explain away the noise. Plumbing, terrorism, teen pranks … hot springs?
There were hot springs all over West Bann.
Obviously, some kind of pent-up geyser had lay dormant for a while, and it was now suddenly unleashing a ton of energy below Mr. Winslow’s house. To distract myself, I Wikipedia’d the history of West Banniver, and satisfied this theory.
During the 1850’s gold rush, West Banniver saw rapid settlement as a mining town. The proliferation of mine shafts soon led to a discovery of underground hot springs. Mayfield Briggs Ltd which was the first company to seize the opportunity as a tourist attraction…
That’s all it was. A hot spring releasing a buildup of pressure.
Then a third explosion came.
It was so loud and violent that the door to the basement flew open. I fell to the ground and covered my head as several books went flying off nearby shelves.
The dogs yipped and barked like crazy. They stood in front of me, guarding against an unseen force. A voice shrieked from the basement.
“HELP!!! HELLLLP!”
Rivets shot through my hands and knees. I was frozen to the floor.
“PLEEEEEEASE!”
It had the high-pitched desperation of someone whose life was about to end. I raised my head and listened closely to hear haggard, dusty coughing. It sounded like an old man’s cough. It echoed through the basement and into the living room. Between coughs the man continued to plead for his life.
HELLLLP!”
I had no idea who it could be or how he got down there.
Before I could think, one of the dogs shot past me, bolting down the basement steps, barking ferociously.
“Kipper!”
I tried to grab the loose leash, but I could only hold the collar of his sibling. “Kipper come back here!”
“HELLO?” The voice from below seemed to recognize my presence. “PLEASE, YOU’VE GOT TO HELP!”
I was now upright, breathing as fast as Toto was panting. I tied Toto to the thick rails on the stairs. I had to save the other dog.
Instinctually I grabbed my phone, slipped an AirPod in one ear, and dialed my mother without even looking at the screen.
“Mãe. There’s … something terrible is happening.”
My mother was suitably confused. Even more so when she heard the screaming of the man downstairs as his voice echoed in the living room. It was a cry of immense, awful pain.
After two slower, more detailed explanations of what I just heard, my mother told me to call the fire department. “Poke your head through the basement, see what’s happening. Then call the fire department.”
That made sense to me. I inched my way to the basement entrance and tried to see past the doorway. It was complete darkness. There was no light switch.
I turned the torch on my phone, and my aunt’s voice came blaring. “Get out of there Ida! I am telling you, there is darkness in that house!”
As I illuminated the dusty wooden stairs, I saw that they only lead only to more pitch black. Yup, plenty of darkness here.
There was some phone-wrestling. My mother came back on. “What is it? What did you see?”
“Don’t encourage her! Get her to leave!” my auntie yelled in the background.
I told them to pipe down because I could suddenly hear the gentle whimpering at the base of the stairs. The dog sounded close.
“Kipper come! This way! Follow my voice!”
I went down a few steps further, expecting the basement floor to appear any second, but there were only more wooden steps. How long was this staircase?
“Kipper?”
There was a flat, cold wall on my left, and no guard rail to speak of. I stepped down each step very carefully to maintain my balance, sliding my hand along the wall.
Then the wall disappeared. I flew forward.
***
I woke up lying face-first on rocky floor. My phone was cracked next to me. My mother was crying in my ear. “Ida! Ida! Oh my god! Ida!”
I looked up to see I was not at the bottom of someone’s basement. There were lights all above me. Lanterns. They were illuminating a cavernous, rocky chamber that led to many tunnels with train tracks and wooden carts. I was in the opening of a massive underground mine.
I coughed, and gave out a weak “… what?”
“Ida is that you? Are you… brrzzzzz” My mom’s voice faded.
Before I could reply, I saw the crooked form of a man in tan coveralls, shaking the immobile body of another person in coveralls next to him. In fact, there was a small row of half a dozen miners all slumped against a blasted rock wall. There were bits of granite, wood, rope, and what looked like entrails splattered all throughout.
“Oh the cruelty …” the one, standing miner said. He went from body to body and jostled each of his coworkers. “Must I find you all like this … every time?”
I crawled up to a half-standing pose and tried to see the face of the hunched over survivor.
My heart dropped.
He had no face.
The explosion which must have killed some of friends had also blasted away this man’s entire sternum, neck and skull. The miner wasn’t hunched over or leaning away with his head, he just simply … had no head.
And up there, floating right in the middle of where his face should be, were a set of eyeballs, glistening under the yellow lights.
The eyes turned to me. “Oh. Why hello. Hello there.”
Terrified, I rose to complete standing and opened both my palms in a show of total deference. “I don’t know. I don’t know who you are or what this is.”
The headless miner walked toward me. I noticed he carried a pickaxe in his right arm. He gestured with his left to where his ear would be.
“I’m sorry I can’t hear you. Had an accident.”
Despite him having no head, his voice still came from where his mouth would be. There was an earnestness in his speech, it might have had something to do with his very old-timey accent, but I still felt like he was trying to be friendly.
“Another batch of faulty dynamite. Everyone’s dead. But what else is new.”
He brought his left palm to his face, perhaps to wipe away tears, but instead his hand travelled through his nonexistent head to scratch a small portion of his back.
“Been dead for many years I’m afraid. But I’ve kept busy. Been a good man. Worked very hard for the boss upstairs.”
He gestured upwards with the pickaxe. I looked up, and out in the distance, I saw a large, ancient, set of wooden stairs that I must have fallen from. They extended far up into the mine’s ceiling and kept going.
“He’s gotten good ore from me. Good, shining, golden ore. I have a knack for it you see. The same knack that killed me so many years ago. It's probably what’s still keeping me around though.”
He came closer. I could see he had brown irises, with one of the cataracts deteriorating into milky white haze. The eyes stared at me, unblinking.
“Because I’m not done, see. This mine isn’t empty. I know there’s more gold. Much more. And it’s not all for the boss. No, I’m keeping some to myself. Don’t tell him, but I’ve been stashing a large deposit for myself. It can’t all be his of course. It’s my mine after all. Half these tunnels were dug entirely by me. So of course I deserve some. It’s only natural.”
I lifted my hand and pointed at the staircase behind him. I mouthed very big, obvious words. “I have to go back. I’m going back up those stairs.”
He shifted his body. His two eyes turned in the air as if they were still inside an invisible skull. I saw nerve endings at the back undulate and twist.
“Yes, that is the only way up.”
My heart was in my throat. At least I found some form of communication. I gestured to knee height and nervously asked if he had seen a “large, shaggy dog.”
“Ah yes. I’ve seen the pooches. They come down here sometimes. When the booms don’t scare em that is. Hahah.”
I gave a thumbs up. It felt like a ridiculous interaction with a ghost, or zombie or whatever this was, but at least it was working.
“I think I saw his little tail run over that way. They like the smell of the mineral spring.”
I turned behind to see the long tunnel he was pointing at. It was dimly lit by a chain of smaller lanterns.
I thought I saw a flutter of movement, and I would have kept looking further if it wasn’t for my aunt’s voice that suddenly exploded in my ear. “Brrrzt … Ida! If you can hear us, we are calling the police to your location. Help is coming soon! … ”
I winced and stepped back—which saved my life. I just so happened to step right out of the way of a pickaxe. It sparked the ground.
I gasped and stared at the headless miner. His eyes were shimmering with a dark focus, staring directly at mine.
“Oh I’ll help you find the dog. I’ll help you find whatever you want. But I’ll need those clean new eyes of yours first.”
He swung at my head. I ducked. He went for the backswing. I ran.
Stupidly, I ran in the opposite direction of the stairs. I ran straight into the long tunnel lined with dim lanterns.
But I couldn’t turn around. I had no idea how quick he could move. And the speed of his pickaxe felt supernatural.
The tunnel was narrow, and lined with wooden tracks, I had to skip-run-jump over the panels with immense precision to make sure I didn’t trip. Behind me, his voice chased.
“Go ahead. Run. I know where these all lead.”
I ignored the words and kept going. The tunnel bent left, then right, then left again. I ignored several exits before the tunnel spat me out into an open, cavernous room filled with dozens and dozens of minecarts.
I investigated the room for anything useful. A far opposite wall appeared to be the site of the latest digging, loose rock lay everywhere.
There was a small mineshaft holding a chained up cart. And something in the cart shimmered…
It was gold.
And not just ore either. There were bars, coins, medallions, and jewelry. Mrs. Winslow’s bangles were right on top.
I ran to the cart furthest from the entrance and ducked behind it, breathing heavily, coughing from all the dust.
The headless man emerged from the tunnel, pickaxe raised and scanning where I could have hid. “I may not be able to hear you. But I can follow footprints pretty easily hah. I know you’re in here.”
He grabbed the closest minecart available and pushed it into the tunnel entrance. With an immense show of strength, he lifted and dislodged the cart off the track, cramming it sideways, creating a massive obstacle.
I was sealed inside.
Trying to stay absolutely still, I coughed through my teeth. Lungs burning. My mom’s voice came through.
“Brrzzztt… The police should be there! I told them you were in danger! They said they sent a unit over. Maybe they broke down the front door?”
I looked up at the mine shaft next to me. If it did connect to the surface upstairs, this was my only chance.
I gave a couple good yells. “HEEEEELP!!! DOWN HERE!! HELP!”
I don’t know if it did any good, but it was better than nothing. I turned to see if the miner had heard anything.
He hadn't.
The pickaxe tapped and clanged awkwardly around minecart after minecart.
I had a bigger advantage than I thought.
Although the miner had two floating eyeballs, only the left one was really capable of seeing anything.
So I kept my distance and watched where he was going, always staying behind.
As he limped and peered around minecarts, I was able to evade him, move from behind rock piles and other carts, careful not to leave a trail in the rock dust.
It was all going well until I heard a familiar panting.
“Oh look. If it isn’t precious.”
The dog had managed to jump over the miner’s blockade. It must have heard my yells. Surprisingly, Kipper was unafraid of the headless villain, and even approached him to receive pets.
“Now why don’t you go say hello to our other friend here huh? I know she's here somewhere.”
No. Kipper. Please. Don’t.
The dog started sniffing. Within seconds he found my scent. Kipper skipped towards me like Lassie and excitedly licked my face.
“Aww there we are. Now isn’t that a good boy?”
I stood up and stared at the filthy, ash-stained coveralls. Despite the lack of teeth, I could sense a menacing grin where the mouth should be.
He wasn't going to lose sight of me now. I had nowhere to go.
So I did the thing my auntie said worked on all spirits. I fell to my knees and prayed.
“Please. I only came here for work. I’m too young to die. Let me go and I won't tell anyone that you're here.”
He stood over me. Both of his pupils started to quiver. In just a few seconds, his eyes were swimming excitedly within the space of his head.
I took off the only valuable I had. A gold necklace with a miniature version of Christ the Redeemer. A gift I had received as a teen in Rio. I held it out in my shaking hands.
“Please. Take it. Take everything.”
Suddenly both the eyeballs stared forward again, entranced by the gold.
“Well look at that. How generous. How generous of her. We should reward generosity shouldn’t we?”
***
It was hard for me to describe to the police officer how exactly I got out, because I have no idea.
The fiery pain where my eyes used to be overwhelmed my entire reality for hours. All I wanted was for it to stop.
They found me half inside a dumbwaiter bleeding to death from the gouges in my face.
I was taken to the hospital, where I would spend the next four weeks recovering.
The police did not in fact storm the house like my mom said. They waited outside for the homeowner to return. But when they heard my screams coming from the top floor, they broke the back door and eventually came to my rescue.
I’m told they did a thorough investigation but could not find any of the things I described.
The basement door led into a regular basement. It was filled with old furniture, unused decor, and paint cans. No Mine.
The dumbwaiter was also just a dumbwaiter. It wasn’t some mine shaft, and it didn’t lead any deeper than the basement. Nothing special.
There were definitely hot springs close by, but nothing close enough to damage Mr. Winslow's property. And there was an old, depleted gold mine not far away either, but it was completely abandoned, closed off, and nowhere near as big as the one I had described.
***
The police, paramedics and doctors all thought my story was some hallucination. That I had been on drugs or had some mental breakdown (even though they couldn’t find anything in me other than small traces of weed.)
Thankfully, my mother and aunt believed me. They believed every word. My aunt is the one who encouraged me to make this post, so others could hear my story.
I know it was real.
I know it was.
And Mr. Winslow is fully aware of the mine’s existence.
Putting the dots together, I realized it was likely the source of his wealth. Winslow had some control over that one headless miner down there.
Did Winslow intentionally entrap me? Was he trying to get the miner a new set of eyes? Or was it all an unfortunate accident?
I might never know.
But what I do know is that Mr. Winslow has been paying for our rent ever since the accident.
He feels “terrible about the situation” and “can’t possibly imagine” what I’ve been through.
But he knows what happened.
He knows if I really pushed, If I really forced the police, or some private investigator to look into it—they would uncover something awful. Something really really bad.
“Anything you need. Anything at all. I will cover it, Ida.” He said. “You helped me out, protected my dogs, and I will never forget it.”
He’s offered to pay for the rest of my University schooling. And once my face heals up, he’s even offered to cover for some very expensive, experimental eye-transplant. We’ll see how that goes.
“You and your family will live comfortably from now on. You’ll want for nothing. Tell me exactly what you need, And you’ll get it.”
So I told him I'd like my necklace back. It was an heirloom. I said I lost it somewhere in his house.
A few days later, he returned with the usual smug, half-crooked smirk in his voice. He brought the necklace back in a box, pretending he had bought me a new one. Except it felt exactly like my old one.
It was all shined up, completely buffed of scratches, but it weighed the same. It was my old one for sure.
When my mom saw it she asked, “did it always have it? This dedication?”
As far as I remembered, the backside of the tiny Christ the Redeemer was always plain. I fingered its shape in my hands.
“What dedication?”
The new little divots caught my nails. There was writing that was definitely not there before.
My mom described it as a curly, serif font. Like a gift for a lover.
~ You’re an angel ~
~ W ~

How do you get help? how do you get surgery? how do you get MRI, CT scan? How do you get pain meds? How do you get medical assistance in dying (asking for a friend) I'm from canada.
I've been on tramadol gabapentin and flexeril for awhile now. They were helping a bit before I built up a tolerance, and then they helped minimally. So I tried quitting the tramadol because I didn't like the idea of taking something that barely helps, when it has so many side effects and potentially lifelong consequences. I havent been able to stop the 2 pills a day. I just feel it helps a bit with my mood, which is plummeting. My doctor told me he will increase my gabapentin (by 4 pills a day) and thats all he could do. He said he wasnt going to refill my tramadol because "I don't think it's helping you," but it actually helps more than the gabapentin does. The gabapentin makes me so tired and stupid, I kinda hate it. But even with these meds the pain is debilitating. Today my landlady did an inspection and my house was ok except the walls had scribbles and stuff on them and she said "It's not normal to let your kids scribble on the walls" I didn't say anything to her. But it really, really hurts to wash the walls, to bend over, to wrestle with my two kids 24/7 to prevent them from stuff like that all the time. My walls are neglected because it fucking hurts so badly to lift my arms, anything that causes my neck to tense up. I do walk a lot, but that doesn't require bending, twisting, turning or getting up fast. I'm pretty skinny too, so it isn't a weight thing.I think people see me being skinny and having strong legs and being 25 and they think it can't be that bad. It fucking is. Most days I can barely get out of bed. And it doesn't matter who I beg. I've tried going to the ER, they are monsters. My doctor is so hard to get an appt with, my next appt is the 19th of june and that was the soonest and no one cares that I'm suffering, my life is being stolen, my life is too painful to live and there's no help. Every single night there's only a cold dead silence and the realization that I will probably be in pain the rest of my life and that it will only get worse. I'll watch all my passions slowly slip away as I'm crushed beneath the weight of piling responsibilities and failures because I didn't have the energy to live in this much pain. I'm not even a good mother most of the time because I'm doing it all alone. I get scared sometimes when the pain gets really bad because it feels like I'm not even there. It feels like I might pass out or dissociate and if something happens to me my kids have no one. I can't live like this for another month, I don't want to. Every day is like torture and yes I've gone to the ER, as I've said they are all monsters. They watch me moaning in pain and barely able to look ahead of me (during a flare-up) and they don't care. I've been waiting months for a CT scan, had emergency dental surgeries, had evaluations at pain clinic. They said they suspect TN or DDD in my neck or my nerves being pushed on because of my neck and jaw injuries. Recnelty it has all gotten much worse and I may have been exposed to HIV I don't know why it would suddenly get worse, but it has always steadily gotten worse. If you feel my neck it clicks constantly and has all these awful lumps that click and send shooting pain down my arms. But the key takeaway is, none of the doctors listen. They don't hear me. He acts as if what I said, I didn't say. "The gabapentin isn't working, the tramadol helps for about an hour then I'm just waiting to take the next dose as the pain returns full force after this 2-3 hours has elapsed. Ketoralac seems to work much better than anything."
"I can give you ketoralac, but I won't because it's too expensive." But... I don't fucking care doctor I'd pay my whole cheque just to get the fuck out of this pain don't you see I'm desperate? No, no, no, no. This world is full of psychopaths and the sooner I leave it the better.