Crocheted bed dolls

See title

Really looking to crochet a little Amish doll. Anyone have a pattern or able to find a video? I haven’t been able to find anything that I don’t have to pay for and I just don’t trust sites wanting paid for a pattern

My toddler rocks back and forth on her knees and hands with her bottom in the air while sleeping and rubs the top of her head on the bed. She will do this all throughout the night every night and after naps. She wakes up with matted hair every time she goes to sleep or nap. I don’t know what to do anymore as I’m so tired of detangling knots and matting every time she sleeps. Will she stop this behavior at some point and I just need to wait it out? It’s been happening for a over a year now since we stopped with the pacifier. She goes to bed with two dolls a pillow and a blanket for comfort.

when I was in my junior year of high school, I started having really terrible, violent dreams of SA and physical abuse. I'm still not sure what that was about, I had them everyday for a month or so before I decided to go to my school's counselor, who I visited often to help calm me down during meltdowns. I told her I was having these dreams, and made sure to tell her I was safe at home, no one was actually hurting me, I was just having these really scary dreams.
And the next day she filed a report that my dad was abusing me sexually. He literally wasn't, I had never told her that, but somehow in her mind lying to CPS about my dad being abusive (he was, emotionally, verbally, and physically when I turned 18) was the best option. What she didn't fucking realize was that there was no proof to back it up, meaning she turned me into a liar.
Everyone thought I had lied to get attention. My dad still holds it over my head today, and I'm so scared of him trying to ruin my life. The woman who told me to use the doll to point to where he had touched me, I just pointed to my butt and said he spanked me as a kid, anything just to try and smooth it over. But it was all for nothing- they thought I was so abused I was trying to save him. It was a fucking nightmare, my dad wouldn't let me go to school for the rest of the week, he took me out of the school play 4 days before our second set of shows, and basically made me a prisoner in his house. I couldn't really even leave my bed, if he came into my room while I was doing anything but laying in bed, he would yell and tell me to stop, I had no right to do anything.
Why did the school counselor fucking lie? She made my life hell, and I fucking told her when I finally came back to school. I told her 'you ruined my life, you made my life so much harder. everyone hates me now because of you lying'.
It's like, what, 1 out of 5 afab people get assaulted in their life? I hope and pray everyday it never happens to me because it's on my permanent record that I 'lied' about assault, what if I get SA'd and no one fucking believes me?? I hate my fucking life

To be honest, I wasn't sure that the Advice sub would let me post this there so I'm posting it here because it's so fucked up. And it didn't seem right for Let's Not Meet, either. But I do need advice, because I feel I'm losing my fucking mind.
So I (30F) have always been very close to my cousin (30F), let's call her Angela. Because we're the same age, our parents (my mom and her father are siblings) went through all the same stages with us and as such, we were more or less raised like siblings due to how much time our families spent together.
We even had homes in the country in the same township, which is where I think this happened. And I can't really tell my family this because it will make me sound legitimately crazy. And some part of me even doubts this memory, but at the same time I know in my heart that it's true. It's a complicated feeling, and this memory was brought to light last week when my suspicion I've had for years was more or less confirmed.
One winter, sixteen years ago, when Angela and I were both fourteen, both of our families were at our cottages, a twenty minute drive from each other. Angela and her little brother (my cousin, let's call him James) parents (my aunt and uncle) were going skiing one morning, and I wanted to go too. So I spent the night at their cottage, like I often did when we all went up north.
Angela's bedroom had two single beds in it, and James' room was down the hall. The whole house was open concept, so the hall from Angela's room to James' room did not have walls, but rather was bordered by two railings over which you could see down into the main floor, the open concept living and dining rooms.
James is four years younger than us, and when he was 10, he was such a typical little boy/little brother, it's almost cartoonish to look back on. Like, I'm talking *constantly* bothering us, putting a stink bomb on a remote control car that he would sneak into our rooms, trying to read Angela's diary when we weren't in her bedroom, just all the stuff. But never anything cruel or out of the ordinary or sinister, just a massive handful.
The basement of James and Angela's cottage was filled with storage and old toys, and sometimes (on the rare occasion) that we'd willingly play with James, we'd all go down to the basement and try to freak each other out. Anyway, one of the toys in the basement was your typical Raggedy-Ann doll from the 60s or something. I think it belonged to my uncle when he was a kid and then Angela when she was a baby. Her name was Trilly. I forget who named it. Anyway, I have vague memories of playing with it when we were much younger and pretending it was our third cousin or our little daughter. But since then she'd sat in storage in the basement.
But, what great nightmare material! Right?! A creepy, limp, smiling doll. So the night I stayed over, before we went skiing in the morning, James, Angela and I were up to our playing in the basement, and I remember we tried to freak James out by pretending Trilly was alive or something like that. Whatever. Game over, we all had dinner with the parents, then watched a movie as a family and went to bed. James to his room and Angela and me to Angela's room.
Now this is the thing. Angela and I still joke about this night, and she remembers it just like I do, which is why I sort of wrote off my hypothesis until last week. That night, in the middle of the night, I started tossing and turning. I woke up and could tell that Angela was stirring as well. One of us said to the other, "are you awake?" and the other said "yes," and we realized that we both couldn't sleep or were woken up by the same thing or were both just feeling restless. But then, at the other end of her room, Trilly was sitting in the fucking desk chair.
I think it was Angela who pointed it out. We saw a shadow, thinking it was a person, freaked out, and then relaxed briefly when we saw it was just the doll. But then we got freaked out all over again and were like, "why the FUCK is this FUCKING doll in your room!?!?", murderously standing up and going over to it to pick it up and throw it in James' room and pound the living Christ out of him.
We turn on all the lights, turn on the hall light, stomp down the hall into his room and turn on his lights, and see he's not in his bed. We then go downstairs (my aunt and uncle's room was on the main floor), Trilly still in Angela's hands, and hear my aunt and James in the washroom. Turns out James had been sick for the last few hours and my aunt had been up all night with him as he was throwing up in the washroom. And when we saw the scene we immediately could tell that James had nothing to do with Trilly. Like, it was just one of those really believable situations where we could tell James truly had no idea what was going on. We even felt bad for him. And, to top it off, when we told him the story in the morning it scared him so much that he didn't go into the basement for like a year. Anyway, it just seemed really sincere.
So Angela and I went back up to her room and we were like, "are we *sure* we didn't bring this up here last night? Are we sure? We must have." Anyway, while we were really freaked, we figured that it was explainable. We knew the doll obviously didn't walk itself upstairs like it was some horror movie. But, because we were fourteen and all for the drama (and I remember us having the "better safe than sorry" mindset) we called her dog upstairs (Bella, a poorly behaved black poodle). We started playing tug-of-war with Bella, using Trilly as the toy, and eventually Bella ripped her to shreds.
Anyway, funny memory, making the dog rip up the doll, we laughed and thought we were tough and cool, then we went back to bed.
The next morning, instead of all of us going skiing, it was just Me, Angela, and my Uncle, because James stayed home with my aunt on account of his stomach flu. But when we woke up, Angela was acting weird. Nothing too noteable, just really bizarrely quiet as she moved around her room to get her clothes out of her drawers and get changed. She didn't, like, acknowledge me in her room. I said something like "morning" when she didn't acknowledge me, and she looked at me and then turned back to her drawers and kept getting changed.
And she was looking around weirdly, I remember that too. Almost like she'd misplaced something, but a little more dazed than that. Just moving strangely. Then she went downstairs without saying anything to me at all. I thought maybe she was just super groggy... but it still felt really weird.
When I went downstairs, she was standing at the island in the kitchen buttering toast that my uncle had put in for us. I distinctly remember walking up beside her and the toaster, pulling a piece of toast out of it, putting it on the plate that had been set out for me, and when I dipped the knife into the container of butter, Angela smacked my hand away, hard, and looked at me and snapped, "what are you doing? Don't take things that aren't yours". I was shocked. It honestly felt like being struck in the face. She'd never spoken to me like that before, and even though we were like siblings, I still felt that kind of mortifying embarrassment you feel when someone calls you out on misbehaving, even though I wasn't doing anything wrong; but it *was* her family's butter and bread? I don't know. That's what I remember thinking. But it was awkward and weird and I just said, "um, what?" and then she didn't say anything, just kept buttering her toast, and I mumbled some apology.
The three of us then drove to the ski hill and, I kid you not, Angela and I didn't speak the whole way there. I had no idea what was up, but I didn't want to ask with her dad in the car.
Then when we got to the ski hill, we went skiing just the two of us and on the chairlift during the first run I mustered up the courage to say "Hey, did I do something wrong? I feel like you're really mad at me or something". And she turned to look at me and was confused. Not friendly, not warm, not reassuring, but confused. It was almost as if I was a stranger and she looked at me as if to say, "sorry, who are you? why are you talking to me?"
And she responded in a formal way: "Sorry, I have no idea what you're talking about". The distance in her voice was really eerie, and I started to think maybe this had to do with the doll incident the night before and either she was trying to extend the prank, and she was the one who had put the doll on the chair, OR she felt guilty that we ruined this family doll and she resented me for being a part of it. Anyway, when we got to the top of the hill, she skied down quickly and didn't wait for me to go back up again, and we ended up skiing separately.
I felt awkward and embarrassed like I'd done something wrong. I ended up skiing with my uncle who asked me what was up with us, and I just said I didn't know. Then after our day of skiing, he dropped me off at my family's cottage and continued on home with Angela.
For the rest of that whole school year (we were in ninth grade), Angela and I didn't really speak. It was really sad. We were like sisters before, but better because we weren't actually sisters, but cousins, and so we were like best friends that were related. Seriously, we were really close. And it really messed me up, I felt like she just ghosted me. I would text her and call her house but she was always "fine" or "with Jessica" (her best friend). I chalked it up to her just outgrowing me, and it really fucking sucked. But, to be honest, it was so jarring and such a stark shift that I was more confused than hurt. I talked to my mom about it and she explained to me how rough it can be to be a teenage girl.
But that following summer, we were up at our cottages again, and our family had a barbecue and invited over my aunt and uncle and Angela and James. I had seen Angela at family things a couple of times since and she would just kind of ignore me and spend the whole time texting, which is what I expected this time.
Sure enough, that's what happened for the first bit of the barbecue. But then when the food was ready, she came up beside me as we were dressing our hamburgers at the condiment table and said, "oh my god, remember that night we got Bella to ruin Trilly?" and I was so shocked by her friendly tone, by her acting as though she were picking up a conversation we just were having, that I just stared at her and said, "yeah, that was crazy". And she said, "yeah, so funny. Anyway, how've you been?" again, really different and formal. I almost couldn't get past how altered her tone was, like we'd never even met. In fact she seemed so sprightly and kind that I thought she was mocking me.
And our relationship since that barbecue carried on just like that. She started talking to me more, but I'd reference inside jokes or ways we used to be or things we used to do and she never really latched on to any of them. I was caught between thinking she'd outgrown me and thinking she was like embarrassed of our closeness before or something and was trying to move on. I talked to my mom about this, and again got the speech about how teenage girls can be really cruel/strange sometimes.
So until we were about 22, we were like that. Nice to each other, talking sometimes, not that close, and I learned to not try and act like we were all close or that we had been close. I talked to my friends about it too and they said it was normal for friendships to change like that. But something felt off about this. I started to honestly feel crazy for hanging on to this "before" memory of Angela so much.
Then when we were 22, we grew apart. This time, it was mutual and natural. I moved cities, and she got engaged and became a real estate agent and we just had nothing to talk about. It was gradual and I didn't notice it much. Which brings us to eight years later, just last week.
I was travelling in Iceland. I had to be there (very randomly) for a conference/workshop I was leading for work, and turned it into a vacation. Rented a car, decided I was going to drive across the island after the conference was over and stay on the east part and explore a bit.
Day four of my seven-day long road trip. It's mid-afternoon, I'm hungry. I've been driving for three hours and have come across no sign of civilization at all, and it was fifty miles to the next town. But then, voila! A little gas station/general store/cafe! Perfect!
Ah, fuck. I literally can't believe I'm writing this. It makes me sound fucking crazy. But here I go.
I park in the little three-car parking lot. I get out of my car, step onto the gravel, the sky is white, expansive, there are mountains everywhere around me, fields, sheep. The air is fresh. Seriously middle of nowhere. I walk up the wooden rickety steps and push open the door and hear the door chimes go. A man walks out from the back room and greets me, and the place is cute. There's a little handwritten menu above the cash register and I asked him in my pathetic Icelandic/English mix if I could have the gravlax toast. He's very friendly and kind and says yes, asks if I want a coffee, I say yes please, blah blah, he rings me up at the cash register, and I go and sit at the one table they have and wait for my food.
I look around - it's mostly a fishing supplies store with some general groceries. The man opens the door to the room from which he came, the kitchen I suppose, and says the order to the lady in the back who looks like she's doing some prep cooking. Immediately I stop. It's freaking Angela!!!! Or I thought it was.
Now, remember, I hadn't seen Angela in about eight years. Since her dad passed away when we were twenty-three, and because I'd moved cities, we just had no reason to really see each other especially after growing so far apart.
So, like, OH MY GOD, it's Angela! She's working at a random little general store in middle-of-nowhere Iceland! But wait, I thought. No. This is obviously not-fucking-Angela. Angela is a real estate agent in my hometown. I'd obviously know if she lived in Iceland lol. Right? I don't really use social media but the odd time I do, she'll pop up here and there. But I guess not enough for me to *confirm* she still lived in my hometown.
But anyway, she looked enough like Angela that I went right up to the cash register and rang the little bell and the guy came back out and when he opened the door I was able to get another look at her, and my heart skidded. A chill spread across my crown. It was one hundred percent Angela. Like, my full-on cousin. So, looking over the guys' shoulder, RIGHT AT ANGELA, I smile and say, "Angela!! Oh my god!!" and before she could respond, the door shut again.
And the guy at the cash smiled really big, a nice, friendly, smile and he looked surprised as well, and pointed back over his shoulder and then at me, as if to say, "you two know each other?!" which confirmed for me that her name was Angela, because he seemed really delighted at the coincidence. Expecting her to emerge from the kitchen, I walked around to behind the cash register (the invitation was implied by the guy) and he put his arm back to open the door for me, or for Angela, whom we both expected to be making her way over to me, too.
When he opened the door, she was head-down again, chopping vegetables. I walked through the door and said, "Angela? Angela!" smiling, thinking she hadn't seen me yet or realized who I was, all context considered. She looked up at me, and then quickly, as though avoiding my eyes, looked down. "Hey", she said, quietly, at the cutting board.
WHAT THE FUCK WAS GOING ON? Before I could ask anything, she said, "I'm really sorry, okay?"
What?
She repeated herself and then continued: "I'm really sorry okay? But we can't talk".
I actually, like, had no clue what was happening. I was looking into the eyes of my cousin whom I hadn't seen in forever in some random fucking shack in Iceland and she was acting skittish and afraid. I opened my mouth to protest and she said, "I need you to leave," then she called the guy's name and said something to him in Icelandic. She can speak Icelandic??!
The guy came in, his demeanour totally different. Almost like he was a bouncer. He gestured to my coffee and toast that were ready to go, took them in his hands and ushered me out of the kitchen and I could tell I no longer was welcome. Either I wasn't welcome or I was in danger, or both. It felt more like the former. And I don't think the guy had any idea what was going on, either. I think she must have said something to him like "I don't know this person, this person is crazy" or something. That's how he was acting toward me.
I got in my car, I drove five minutes down the road, and pulled over. I miraculously had service and I called my mom and told her everything. She kind of just laughed at me and was like "Many-Patient2894, that obviously wasn't Angela". And joked about me making some poor Icelandic woman feel extremely weird. But based off the guy's reaction when I said her name, her name was Angela, and the way she spoke to me and said sorry and said we couldn't talk, like, she knew me too. I told my mom all of this and I sounded fucking crazy and she just was basically like, "Haha, yeah, weird". I think she thinks I was making up the part about the apology.
I told all of my friends this, when I was still in Iceland, and they all reacted like my mom did. At this point, I had four days left in the country, and I kept wanting to return to the cafe/general store. But I didn't. I started to think maybe the woman thought I was someone else. But then I kept coming back to, but wait, this person was Angela. Her name, her body, her face, like I just didn't know what to do.
This brings me to two days ago, the day before yesterday, when I returned to Canada, where I live. It's eight o'clock in the morning and I'm on my way to work. In my car. Just picked up a coffee. Exhausted. Not thinking about Angela at all. Thinking about my laundry, my bills, what I'm going to make for dinner. The traffic is bad and it's a miserable day outside.
My phone dings. It's a random number. The text reads: "Hey! It's Angela! How was your trip?"
Haven't heard from her in eight years (except for our run-in in Iceland, if indeed it was one). No "how have you been??", no "I miss you!!" no "long time no talk/see!". I also hadn't posted anything about my trip on social media. Unless you were a friend of mine, you didn't know I was there.
I immediately call my mom, who follows Angela on Instagram, and ask her to look at her profile. Sure enough, Angela (not at all to my mother's surprise), is posting stories of the bachelorette party she's at in Miami. She's, like, not at all in Iceland.
I have no idea what's going on. And the way Angela/the woman spoke to me in the cafe had the cadence and softness that Angela had, and in my memory, lost, starting the morning of the skiing after the incident with Trilly and the dog. For some reason I'm fully back there in my memory now, realizing that that was the first morning of "the new Angela", the one that seemed to have no emotional memory of me at all. Like, the Iceland Angela seemed more like the "before" Angela.
I haven't replied to the text. I have no idea if it was bachelorette party Miami Angela or Iceland Angela that sent me the message, the area code is from neither Angela's hometown or Iceland.
I need advice, I have no idea what to do or who to talk to. Do I reply to the text? What do I say? I feel like the real Angela is fucking trapped in Iceland or something and has been for a long time. Or I don't even know. I have no idea what to do.

I’ve always been really into ghost stories, or urban legends in general. The White Lady, haunted dolls, vampires, black eyed children, that kind of stuff. I know that, today, people my age aren’t big fans of that kind of horror anymore, preferring it things like the Backrooms, analog horror, all the new kinds of scary media. Honestly, I get it, things do need to evolve, and when we see everything that’s happening in the world, it’s understandable that a good old ghost story don’t do the job anymore.

Still, the “old fashioned” horror (it’s not that old, but things move fast on the internet) is always my jam. I grew up watching youtubers investigating haunted places, ghost hunting, with all their accessories, EMF meters, their little radio thing that they use to listen to radio frequencies so that they can hear any interference, their antenna that beeps when something approaches it, voice recorders, special flashlights, and let me tell you that all this, it was doing it for me.

So, since my, probably 7 years, I dreamt of doing these things myself. Of course, I tried everything a young boy is able to do, like Ouija or stupidly walking around my house with my phone filming, hoping that some random deceased person with unfinished business will show up to, I don’t know, have a chat. I wish I could say that other people’s judgement doesn’t affect me, but that would be a lie, so, going in to high school, I had to socially tone down my interest for those things in order to have friends. None of my friends and classmates knew about my persisting passion for ghosts and creepy stories.

I realize that keeping this such a secret is a bit ridiculous, especially approaching my 18^th birthday, but, you know, it would be even weirder to reveal it after hiding it for almost 6 years like it was something super taboo. So here I was, I started hiding my passion at 12 to avoid other’s judging it, and I’m now still hiding it at 17 to avoid others judging the fact that I hid it… A bit pathetic I got to admit.

Anyway, everything started a few days ago. I have an art history class at school and the teacher really likes to give us big works of research. This time, he had a new idea, the whole class will be divided into groups of two, and each group will receive a building from our city that the teacher had choose for his architectural and artistic interests, and we’ll have to give it a visit and write an analysis on the different things we’ll notice and link it to what we saw in class. Since all the buildings were not public places, he had asked the authorization of every property’s owner.

Honestly, this could have been worse. This actually sounded kinda cool to do. Now, what I was concerned about was who will be my partner. Obviously, I was hoping for one of my friends. After explaining the rules and exact instructions for the work, he started to announce the groups. I was waiting to hear my name, anxious, as all my friends were slowly starting to be put into their groups.

“Joshua!” The teacher said (yeah that’s my name). “You will be with…” I was holding on to my chair. “… Elizabeth!”

I turned to Elizabeth, and we looked at each other. Neither one of us seemed excited. It wasn’t a terrible pair, I thought to myself, I just didn’t know what to think of it exactly. Elizabeth was a pretty popular girl, not that I was an outcast or anything, but she was still way more popular than me. I didn’t know much more about her, despite the fact that we were in the same class since my first year of high school, but it looked like she was going to be an okay partner.

The teacher then gave us our building. I won’t reveal the real name of what he gave us so I’ll call it “Guaraldi’s Street 22”. Apparently, it was a pretty old house that had somewhat of an historic value to it. The teacher gave us some information so we wouldn’t stumble there without any prior knowledge. The owner was an old woman who had always lived there. She was apparently very glad to open her doors to young students and was ready to answer any questions we could have. He warned us that she had a weak audition and that we would have to speak loudly. The teacher then recommended us to do a little bit of research before going there, so we could already have some idea of where we were entering.

I then found myself in front of Elizabeth. I think the last time we even talked to each other was months ago when she was distributing a test to the class and that I said “Thanks”, so, yeah, not a lot of background. I noticed, and I don’t know why it took me so long, I guess I never paid much attention to her, that she was dressed in kind of an old style, she wore some clearly used dungarees. The date the teacher had scheduled for our visit was on Sunday, and we were Thursday.

“So, hum, I guess, we can both do research on our side, and we’ll meet, maybe at lunch break tomorrow to get on the same page. Is that good for you?” She asked me.

“Yeah, that’s good, we can do that.”

“Okay, then, see you tomorrow.” She said.

“See you.”

On that she turned her feet and left for her break. The rest of the day went by and I got back home. As usual, my mom wasn’t there, she often has to work late as she’s a single mom to me and my little sister Rosa. I ate my diner and went to my room. I opened my computer to start my research. It wasn’t hard to find information, even though things were repeating themselves a lot: “so much historical meaning for the city”, “a perfect example of “art-deco” architecture”, “a house filled with stories”. There was a lot of talk by local medias about it, but not much actual facts.

It was so weak, that I had to go to page 2 of the search results on google, or, as I like to call them, “the abyss of the internet” (I’m exaggerating a bit, but it’s not often that you have to go there).
Then, something caught my eyes. It was a forum about paranormal experiences, and the address was mentioned on a post. I immediately clicked on it and read the whole thing. It wasn’t exactly the most thrilling story I’ve read, but here’s what it basically said.

Apparently, the owner opened the house as a cottage during the summer, and the person posting was narrating what he experienced during his passage there. He described a very special and kinda suffocating vibe that was apparently all around the house, and the feeling of being observed all the time. He also talked about hearing voices at random moments. They were brief but often mentioned his name. The end of his testimony talked about his last night, when he said he saw a little child with no facial expression in front of his bed, who slowly started to climb into it and grabbed his legs, trying to pull him outside of his bed. The poster said he eventually succeeded to push the kid away, despite his unreal strength, and that the boy ended up running out of the room, laughing. When he spoke to the owner about it the next morning, she said that it must have been his imagination playing tricks on him, as she didn’t believe in paranormal and that nothing similar ever happened to her.

This wasn’t much, it could have been a complete lie, but I would be lying if I said it didn’t peak my curiosity. The story was as basic as it could be, but it was so specific for it to happen in that place, which was absolutely not famous, and even less for any paranormal events. I kept that in the back of my mind and continued my research, but I didn’t find much more, so I went to sleep.

As I was lying in my bed, I was thinking. What if the person who posted his story said the truth. This was the first time I was going to enter somewhere that old and charged with history, this could be the perfect place for my first ghost-hunt. But of course, I was going for school and won’t be alone, plus, it’s not really respectful to the owner, who kindly opened the doors of her family house to us. And even if I wanted to, I’d be constantly with Elizabeth, so, it was not really an option. I looked at the EMF meter I received for a birthday on my shelf and thought to myself that this would be for another time.

The next day, as planned, I met with Elizabeth at lunch break. We started to share the results of our research, where I did not include the post from the forum for obvious reasons. We talked a bit before coming to a clear conclusion.

“Yeah, the thing is, we have the same exact stuff, there isn’t much interesting infos to be found online, except very surface level stuff.” She said.

“Yes, I think we should prepare the questions we want to ask the owner instead.” I answered.

“You’re right, do you think you can have yours for Sunday?”

“Yeah, no problem.”

We exchanged a bit more and eventually went back to class.

On Saturday, I prepared a few questions to ask the owner.

Then came today, Sunday. The meeting was planned at 11AM. I woke up normally, took a breakfast, got dressed, everything. Before leaving my room, I took one last look at the room and I saw my EMF meter. It was like he was begging me to take him. I grabbed it and left. I didn’t know if I would actually use it, but I had it. It had an option where instead of lighting the small lamps he was vibrating, so I activated that and put it in my pocket.

I arrived at the house and Elizabeth was already waiting for me. We knocked and we could hear the owner walking towards the door saying “Yes, yes, just a second.” She opened and she looked like the sweetest thing ever. She was short and had a naturally kind face. We could see that she was clearly dressed and make up for the occasion. She welcomed us and let us in happily. The hallway was very pretty, I understood why our teacher got us this house, it was indeed very interesting. The walls were covered with paintings and old pictures, mostly portraits. On everyone of these, the people had a very serious look, but that’s not unusual for old pictures.

We walked to the living room where she served us tea and we sat together.

“So, I think you have some questions for me?” She asked. You could see that she was very glad to talk. “Don’t be shy, I’m open.”

Elizabeth started to ask her first question then I did, and we could ask her everything.

The house was her family’s for many generations, but it hadn’t always been theirs. All the persons in the hallway, paintings or pictures, were previous habitants of the house, and they went as far as the 15th century, so, yeah, it was all pretty old. She said they could only know the identity of some of the first generations but that a lot of the people were non identified. She answered a lot of other questions regarding the architectural and artistic heritage of the building, and she was surprisingly very interesting to listen to. Her enthusiasm and kindness were contagious, and we both couldn’t help but ask more questions.

Eventually, we arrived to the end of our list, and it was time for us to visit, take notes, analyze, all that. She asked us not to touch anything, as a lot of things had a lot of value, but let us wander free in the house. She said she’ll be making cookies for when we’ll be done. Elizabeth and I found ourselves alone in the living room and finished our tea.

“God,… She’s adorable.” Said Elizabeth with a smile.

“Yes, she’s so sweet, I wasn’t expecting that.” I said.

“Let’s, maybe start with there.” She said, pointing to the room besides us.

We got up and entered it. The walls were covered by huge bookshelves. Elizabeth started to take notes, looking at the room, and I started inspecting the books. There was probably a more than a thousand books, and some of them looked super old. I read the titles of some of them, and the least I could say was that it needed to be rearranged. “Cooking Asian Food”, “Harry Potter and The Half Blood Prince”, some old book with the title erased, and even a CD in the middle, it was a bit random.

We eventually moved on to the hallway. It was a bit oppressing with all those eyes who seemed to observe us. Elizabeth did mention how it felt a bit weird and we started to take notes again. At some point, my look stopped on one painting at the back of the hall. It was a young lady, dressed classically, maybe a bit poorly even, for someone who would have lived there. She was kinda pretty, if I’m being honest. But the reason why it caught my eyes was that it was the only one who was smiling. All the other people represented looked dead serious, but her, she smiled. A sweet, even caring and warm smile. I noticed that it seemed like she was staring at me. Of course, a lot of paintings give that same impression, but it was more intense on her.

My heart skipped a beat. I was sure that I just saw her winked to me. I let out a gasp. I was convinced she winked at me. The vibe went from slightly oppressive to extremely heavy. Then we both heard it.

“Elizabeth.”

An unrecognizable voice had just whispered. Elizabeth turned to me.

“Did you say that?” She asked.

“Elizabeth.”

A younger voice this time. We were facing each other, so we knew it couldn’t be one of us this time, and the owner was in the kitchen. Elizabeth’s eyes opened wide and she slowly walked towards me.

“Elizabeth.”

She jumped.

“WHAT THE… fuck?” I let out. We were looking around us.

“Joshua, I don’t like this…”

“Yeah, me neither.”

We were frozen in place, with all the paintings looking right to us.

“Elizabeth.”

That time it was a deep voice, and it came from behind us. We turned. Slowly, all the faces of the paintings and pictures started to clearly move. They were opening their eyes wide and opening their mouths, maintaining their serious, and now even melancholic look.

“Holy shit, holy shit, what the fuck is that, what is it!” Elizabeth was mumbling, panicking as I was starting to breathe faster.

All the people started to say her name together on repeat: “Elizabeth, Elizabeth, Elizabeth…” I turned my head to the painting of the young lady from earlier, and she was the only one that wasn’t moving, still the same smile, she looked at peace.

I don’t remember exactly what I was whispering at that moment, but we were both freaking out.

We heard some scratching noise. Long, dirty hands with sharp nails, almost inhumans, were piercing the pictures and paintings. The eyes of the people were becoming all black, and their jaws were opening more than humanly possible as they kept on repeating her name. The hands were all getting closer from us. We were now touching one another, completely surrounded by those hands. Then, they moved way faster and a lot of them got their nails right into Elizabeth’s skin and pierced it while descending all over her body.

She screamed loudly out of pain. It was a terrifying scream. All the hands got to their pictures and back inside of it while closing what they pierced. Soon, the pictures and paintings were back to normal, but Elizabeth was bleeding from all over her body and was on the floor, crying. I got to her level and tried as much as possible to reassure her, but I wasn’t very effective as I was myself in shock and terrified.
We heard the owner walk towards us.

“What’s happening to you two? I heard screams, are you okay?”

She entered the hallway and saw the scene. She looked completely shocked.

“But what happened?” She asked.

Both of us were unable to answer to her, we had no idea what to say that wouldn’t make us sound crazy, so we just looked at her with whatever faces we were making at that moment. She didn’t wait long and went to take a first aid kid. She sat down and put some bandages all over Elizabeth, as I was reflecting on what happened. When she was done, we both wanted to leave, so we said that we had what we needed for now. She looked sorry and packed some cookies for each of us. As we opened the door to leave, she articulated one last phrase.

“I hope you’ll come back.” She had a look and a tone of sadness. We got out and were now on the street.

We both looked at each other. She was covered in bands, like she got into a huge fight. I started to speak but she lifted her hand.

“Not today. Another one.” She said. “I’ll see you at school.” And she left.

I got on my way too and gave one last look to the house. The old owner was watching me from her window, and I couldn’t tell what her expression was.

I was too tired so I ignored it and went back to my house.

I’m posting this now that I’m back at home. I have no news of Elizabeth, but she did add me on Instagram, so…

I have no idea what I should do now, I have so many questions, so, if anyone has any theories, I’ll take it. I’m also open to questions of course…

If I'm posting and rambling too much y'all ignore me. I've just found such community here and it's so helpful.
So, I know a lot of the advice I see in this thread and from AA folks (I don't attend currently but I think it's super helpful!) is that you need to have hobbies. I have an abundance of those. I have never been short on hobbies, I write, paint, read, crochet, am really into movies, I cook, draw, color, love board games and puzzles.
...but somehow when I get the urge to drink I can't... Distract myself? The urge is so strong and overwhelming that the idea of doing any of that stuff just seems annoying to me. Most of the time I just sit around until I'm tired enough to lay down. I have a lot of trouble sleeping as I have had chronic insomnia all of my life. So I lay in bed until it gets too late to reasonably go get anything to drink (but I'm surrounded by 24hr options anyway) and I just...am mad. I get so annoyed and irritated when I decide I want a drink. Which is most days. And I usually don't drink. But how are y'all doing all this stuff? Did you have to wait until later into your sobriety to care about doing any of it?
I don't know how to say what I want to say. Just that when I get that urge, I get so MAD that I "can't" drink that I waste a lot of time doing just nothing. There's so many projects I could be catching up on, books I could be finishing faster than I am (I do read pretty consistently) and movies I could be watching. But I just don't want to do any of it.
The people closest to me tell me they can tell when I'm craving a drink because I won't "commit" to anything. I won't engage in social activities, I won't get started on my crochet or reading in the evenings, I won't even start a movie. It just feels impossible and paralyzing in those moments.
How do I stop wasting so much time thinking about drinking even when I'm not? Does the obsessiveness go away in time? Is it actually time wasted even if I'm not drinking? Because it really feels like it when I COULD be doing anything else. I'm tired of scrolling through social media not even really seeing anything passing on my screen because I'm thinking about alcohol and how I can't have any.
Anyway, idk if this made any sense at all...but thanks for listening y'all.

I (25 NB) met my friend (26 NB) at work, we have the same position at work and usually end up paired with each other. We get along great and have a lot of similar interests. I’ve given them rides home from work a lot cause we live near each other, and I thought we’d developed a strong friendship. They’ve worked at the company a little longer than I have, I’ve been working there since August. We’ve only been friends really since Januaryish when I got promoted.
Anyways they kept requesting we hang out together outside of work, I didn’t see this as odd because we’ve hung out together outside of work as a friend group, I have many friends at my job and we usually do group outings or parties, so it wasn’t odd to me that they wanted to hang out. The day they wanted to go out, none of my roommates were available to go with. 2 out of 3 of my roommates (25 M, 23 F and 25 M) work at the same business. So I went with them on my own, they seemed ecstatic that it was just the 2 of us. I picked them up and we initially just planned to go to the mall. We walked around, talked, bought stuff and eventually had lunch.
They kept staring at me which I found awkward but figured because we’re both autistic that I was uncomfortable with the eye contact or they just happen to make a lot of eye contact. They also keep walking really close to me and “accidentally” bumping my hand. After the mall they still wanted to hang out so we went to the thrift store and had a lot of fun making fun of the silly knick knacks, we both love Fallout New Vegas so they were looking for a jacket that looked like Benny Geckos from the game.
After that they still wanted to keep hanging out, at this point I was pretty tired but figured we were having fun. It’s hard for me to say no, and I use a cane for chronic pain so I usually need to take a frequent number of breaks which we hadn’t done yet but they hadn’t picked up that I was tired yet. I was having fun and at this point they did apologize about keeping me out for so long, I said it’s ok because I like long friendship hangout days, which is not a lie, my body just doesn’t enjoy it as much.
Next we went to get boba and they bought me a drink, at this point they had paid for none of my stuff, we split the food earlier and I lightheartedly threatened them to not spend money on me. When we were in the boba shop, they once again kept staring and moving their hand towards mine. I deterred this because it made me uncomfortable by talking with my hands which I usually do anyways. They were nice and listened to me infodump to them about tmnt (tmnts my special interest) but still continued their staring. I kept getting in my head that they were just being nice and I was ruining things thinking that they had ulterior motives.
I forgot to mention that they have a boyfriend (27 M), but they had offhandingly mentioned that they were poly. We then went to a gaming shop to look at dnd and pathfinder stuff, I had to pee incredibly badly at this point but they ignored my subtle pleas to leave, which understandably was my fault as I said I could hold it at the boba shop.
At this point I’m exhausted and in a lot of pain so I suggested we end our hang out after finding a bathroom. They still insisted on hanging out longer so I suggested they come to my apartment cause at this point I’d run out of stuff for us to do. This is where things got a bit uncomfy. My roommates were all home at this point but all left briefly to go pick up food. My roommate who I share a room with requested I don’t bring my friend into our room while she was in there, but gave me the go ahead to show them our room once she and my other roommates left to get their food.
I like showing my friends my collections whenever they come over so I saw no inappropriate reason to do the same. I have some Dnd, Fallout and Tmnt stuff I wanted to show them. I did my normal showing off my stuff thing. At some point I walked them over to my desk to show them my figurines, my desk is in a corner by my closet and bed so you can only go up to it from 1 side, I talked for a bit and noticed I was cornered. I have past trauma and hate being cornered, I kept making attempts to hint that I wanted to get out of the corner but they stayed firmly in place, even leaning with their hand on my desk to further block me in which I thought was strange.
Eventually I manage to slip by them by saying I wanted to show them my shelf on the opposite side of the room. The shelf is lower and next to my bed so I sit down to point things out. They then ask if they can sit down as well. I say yes and they proceed to sit down directly next to me, our thighs are touching firmly and they lean in on my bed with their arm behind me. I’m once again cornered and panicked now. I have a thing with my thighs where I HATE anyone touching them, it causes a violent reaction, my brain screams at me to bite, punch or claw anyone who touches them, I feel sick and absolutely enraged whenever it happens. I’ve been SAed in the past but even before that I had that reaction, my therapist says it might be a trauma response from childhood that I don’t remember.
I didn’t want to hurt them and luckily I have the violent outbursts completely under control so I just stiffened up and internalized the rage while trying to steady my breathing. They obviously know nothing about my trauma because we haven’t been friends for very long. So I continue talking about my 2003 rerelease tmnt figures and let them continue to touch me while trying not to cry.
Luckily my roommates return, and I immediately get up and leave my room to greet them. At this point I’m incredibly uncomfortable and wanted them out. But I felt bad if I suddenly kicked them out and I also was their ride. We decided to watch a movie in the living room, I sat in the couch corner and they decided to lay down on the rest of the couch while leaning up near me. One of my roommates picked up on the vibe and decided to join us for the movie, the other two sat at the table where you can still see the tv to eat their food since there was no room on the couch.
I decided to crochet during the movie to help ease my nerves. Every once in a while during the movie I could see them staring at me. Once the movie was over I offered to take them home. When I dropped them off they asked if they could hug me, I gave them a nervous sure, when they hugged me they put their nose into the crook of my neck which gave me the ick.
I’m not sure if it’s just me but I hate whenever I want a friend or just want to hang out with a friend and they turn it into something more without asking me! I’ve been notoriously “manic pixie dream girled” my entire life and I’m sick of it. If you want to go out with me just make your intentions known and ask me on a date! I wouldn’t have said yes but I think they knew that and felt the need to trick me instead.
I’m also incredibly turned off by the fact that their boyfriend just had surgery for appendicitis and is also about to have top surgery this week too and instead of caring for him they’re trying to get into my pants.
The whole situation feels icky and I’m so sad cause I thought I found a cool friend. They’re trying to get me to hang out with them again (even though their boyfriend is having top surgery) and I told them I have therapy and college dumpster diving on my days off this week and they’re trying to get me to work around those.
I just want some advice, am I in the wrong for feeling weird around them now or should I see how this plays out. I usually stick to dating women and other nonbinary people so they’re technically in the range of people I can potentially be attracted to but idk. I haven’t been interested in dating a lot lately cause I’ve been working through my trauma in therapy for the past year. My roommates also thought the whole situation was strange and uncomfortable. My roommate also asked if she had ever done anything like that to make me uncomfortable (she’s also amab like my friend), I reassured her she had never done that and that I feel very safe with her.

During the mid 90s, we lived in a townhouse in West Edmonton Village that was definitely haunted. My husband, young daughter and myself all had experiences during our 3 years there.
Our daughter, who was 9 or 10 at the time, would hear a little girl talking to her while she was alone in the basement sometimes...asking to play with her. She and her best friend once saw her doll swing move on its own down there. They came flying up the stairs, freaked right out. lol She also saw a man walking from our computer room past her bedroom door into the hallway when my husband wasn't home. We'd often wake up to find her sleeping beside our bed on the floor because she'd be awakened by kids laughing and talking in her room during the night.
My husband would often hear me calling for him only to realize that I was at the rec center swimming or at the gym with our daughter. His work things would be moved around on him all the time, too. To this day, he still refuses to believe in anything paranormal...until I remind him of that place, then he just changes the subject. LOL
A bunch of little things happened around me at first. I saw the phone cord swinging in the hallway a couple of times when I was the only one home and no windows were open. One time I went to the cornerstore across the street leaving the door unlocked because I couldn't find my keys only to come back to the door being locked. I had to go back to the store to call my husband to see if he could come home from work with the key. When I got back...the freaking door was mysteriously unlocked again!
The most terrifying thing, though, happened on a weekday morning when I was home alone and still reading in bed at about 9am. All of a sudden, I heard a young girl screaming, crying and banging on our front door. I freaked out, thinking it was our daughter, and ran down the stairs...taking two or more steps at a time. As soon as I unlocked the door and swung it open, the screaming stopped. There was no one there! I ran out into cul de sac and NOBODY was anywhere around the street! I sat on the front step until my adrenaline subsided wondering what the hell had just happened....I was so confused.
I was definitely happy when my husband was transferred out of town a few months later. We've had other paranormal occurences over the years, but nothing as crazy as when we lived there.

I didn’t do it. I didn’! I didn’t! I’m no murderer, no, listen! I will tell you your a killer. You do not believe me? Even for a moment? But little is my own sentence even a concern for me, the freedom in society has little left to offer me. Grief and horror are all that fill my mind, the only residents remaining in my home. And you’d expect it to be such an oppressing grief. But no, no, no…it is much more the horror. It is much more the intense fear, the great disgusting and evil works that wait for me in the dark. The grizzly voice that reassures me of fate in its worst forms. It is here now. Cackling at its maniacal work. I hear it. What are you worth wretch! You’ll burn all your years and infinite more! But forgive me, my anger is difficult to suppress against my enemy. He lingers still. A lover of deception however, would be a fool in his own craft to reveal his intentions. Thus, would be a fool to reveal their own horrid form. Therefore, relinquish some of your repulsion of me, so that you may have at least some possibility of belief in what I say. I understand the situation I’m in, but why should I refrain from telling the truth simply because it is unlikely you will believe me? Especially when you condemn me? Listen then!
I was watching television, and my roommate was out the entirety of this night. My family remained in Los Angeles during this time, so they are not making any affect on what occurred. But you want me to tell of my roommate? I am telling you! You ask about the murderer, so you must listen to all I know of him. It was in the most ordinary of circumstances and activity when such a striking and alarming voice pierced the room. The TV was quiet, and I lounged about with dull mind. When I heard someone call for my name from down the hall, whom which I couldn’t see since the door was closed, I of course simply responded, “Yeah?” This was the very first of the remarkable experiences I began to have. I realized what had just occurred. I was home alone, so who could be calling to me from my own room? Well I suspected then my roommate. But I had trouble reconciling the voice I heard with that of my roommate. It had such an eerie tone to it. Almost as if it were teasing me. Yet, it was such a convincing and deceptive call, that the mocking tone it had was almost imperceivable. As if maybe this creepy inflection was a result of my own nerves or unfamiliarity with the event.
Regardless of it’s true nature, this odd quality roused my attention. Was I indeed not alone? But then it must be my roommate, since it was my name. I could not get over the gross friendly tone it called to me with. It’s as if it was bragging about knowing my name. I froze for a moment with the TV playing, listening for another call. “Javier” a woman's voice called out gently and compassionately. But such disgusting compassion did it call out. It seems it couldn’t itself disguise just the slightest hint of malevolence that just snuck under the tone. Or perhaps it meant to say it how it did. But it terrified me. I reasoned it must be somebody I know. But I couldn’t bear the action of getting up looking around. I was simply frozen, wishing not to move and cause myself to miss out on hearing more by making a racket myself. it didn’t even come from behind the door, it was as if it was somewhere far away. Yet it was so clear and punctual in volume.
This left me more at unease and helpless to find a solution. This time I did not respond. I greatly regretted responding the first time. I only paused the TV and looked about myself anxiously, dreading that something would speak again. After many moments of silence, I compromised to rest from my alert. And as the words spoke drifted deeper into the past, the simple abnormality of them caused them to resist their place in my mind as credibly existing. Though it happened not long ago that same hour, I questioned if I did indeed hear a call out for my name in such a mysterious and ugly tone as I had. This was just before the most morbid of calls occurred. It spoke to my name again, “Would you come, Javier?” But such terror came over me in that delicately rude and friendly tone which it spoke to me in. The suspense and anticipation for the call was intensely surmised to a realization as my heart began a sprint. This voice was not just a woman's, it was my sister. How incredibly unlikely she would be here, unannounced and somehow in my home without my knowledge. I still held intense fear, for you must understand the uncanny sense from this call. It was as if someone was inciting their vocals and tone to imitate or mock a human. It seemed not as if they were doing an impression of my sister—no, for it sounded exactly like my sister—but instead it seemed as if they attempted an impression of a human. Such a perfect quality, yet just so slightly imperfect that I may subconsciously perceive something wasn’t quite genuine in this call. I darted my perceptions across the room wide eyed. I quickly looked about myself, checking behind me multiple times.
Now, the following details not only enhance the unbelievable notions of my current situation, but may in fact completely discredit me in even speaking about them. But you must hear it! I implore you to imagine this! It is the truth—all of what I say is. For the night I heard her—my sister that is—speak to me in my own apartment, was the same night, as I learned weeks later, is the same night she had died. Sophia, that is her name, had killed herself.
Many nights passed like this when I was alone. I was tormented by calls with no direction or location. I shuddered at creepy voices beckoning in the dark. Sometimes, even in daylight, things spoke to me while I was alone. Unrelenting and disturbing voices within my home. Now, you may presume at this moment I am clearly schizophrenic. Indeed, I too had this notion. I seeked a psychiatrist during this time, to which medicine was prescribed and an indefinite period of shipping as well. But I perceived far too many REAL things. Yes, these could be hallucinations, but you couldn’t possibly have that conclusion if you hear what else this has done to me.
It happened after many terrible nights that I heard of my sister’s death. I was very shocked at first. But sadness was not next door, grief did not have time to move in. Instead, a realization taunted and teased my peace. I would hear her tonight, speaking to me. You may not imagine the dread that filled my day. I went to work and back home as a zombie. The tasks and conversations passed me by as dreams. I was incredibly absent and void of presence in my own life. My head spun before it comprehended any purpose of grief and despair. When I returned home I found myself double, triple checking that the lights were on and the blinds shut. Even though these things were clearly in my sight. I also locked doors and called my roommate to make sure he was home. I begged and pleaded with him, but he only brushed me off telling me he can't ditch his shift. I paced back and forth within the rooms pitching the plan to myself to have a hotel room. I eventually settled on this as it brought peace to me. And that night passed, at least before I slept, how I hoped. My sister did not speak to me from the darkness. But woe had not stopped its intention upon me that night.
I managed to fall asleep. In my dreams that night, I was visited with a vivid nightmare. I stood in my childhood home waiting at the door with a bat in my hand, standing between my sister and the entrance. I had this feeling that something bad was going to happen, and that I had to protect her, though nothing in particular was occurring. Then, with a gentle creek, a clawed hand reached and pushed the front door gently open. A demonically horned monstrosity stepped into the room. Its hooves clopped upon the wood floor. I intended to combat it, but my muscles took no command from me, and I swung the bat as if I was in molasses. It lunged with a deep roar to my sister, digging its hands into her stomach and viciously tearing it open with ease. It dug through her chest cavity as a dog digs holes in the dirt, spewing and tossing guts and organs out slashed and mutilated. I stood helpless and disgusted, until it turned towards me. It dropped my sister to the ground like a doll it no longer wanted to play with. It approached and grasped me tightly, growling a deep animalistic anger, its stature looming over me. It took its claw and dug it into its own eye, slicing it and tearing it open. It leaned over me, inches from my face. I screamed in horror. Black blood seeped and dripped from its swollen socket into my mouth. I struggled ferociously but the blood continuously poured from its eye into me.
I awoke sweating in pitch black, feeling Intense fear in myself. As a child that had not had their night light. I was terrified of the thought of something being in the darkness. I knew I was awake, and I was in a hotel in the middle of the night, but my heart started racing in irrational fear. I didn’t even have the courage to lift my head and look about the room to satiate the tormenting curiosity in the mystery of a possible supernatural visitor. But, I did. There was a demon sitting on the chair. A darker than dark silhouette of someone sitting hunched, looking at me. It was a shadow. But I knew, even then, this was a devil. I felt it. The blood in my skin fell away. I was mortified; in absolute terror. I stared unmoving with my heart beating out of my chest at this figure.
I slowly began to hold disdain for it. It did not move, it did not speak. But, I was beginning to be relieved of my fear. Instead, it was replaced with hate. Burning, mean hate. I hated it. No, I abhorred it. I was angry. The most intense rage fell upon me. I stood up from my bed, looking about the darkness. I stomped and clenched my fists. Captured in the most ridiculous delusion of fury, I began yelling and thrashing my room. I broke vases and electronics. I smashed the TV to the ground. I bit and gnawed at the chair leg which the thing sat on. I flipped the mattress and kicked doors off their hinges. I scratched and tore pillows like a feline. I was filled with so much hate and anger. I remained like this until hotel staff came to subdue me. Which, at their arrival, the feeling subsided suddenly.
I now was plagued daily by these voices, and nightly by this demon. The visits were not as dramatic as the first, but still, It watched me from different places in the dark each time. All it did was sit there. Weeks passed like this, I lost tremendous amounts of sleep attending to fruitless solutions and avoidances. Either I slept not a wink the night and evaded my tormentor, save for the voices if I’m alone, or I had to face my tormentor in the midst of night with a bravery I did not possess, awoken by various nightmares or visions designed for me that night.
But this is merely his entrance, I must now speak of the acquaintance he made with me. It was another terrible midnight where I stared at it, in whichever spot it had chose for the night, contemplating the nature of such a gross presence and its effect on me. When, filled with a ridiculous exhaustion and exhasperation, I called out to it, “What do you want!” I saw a slight twitch in its head, which struck me with more surprise than fear, although I had both. “Do you know me?” It spoke in a low and growled voice. It had such a tone of malevolence and mocking speech, it even felt as if it spoke condescendingly, as if I was a child it was reducing to. “No.” I said, my breath failing me. “I knew your sister.” The demon stated with a snicker, which developed into a chuckle, then an intense and hearty laugh. He wailed and howled in laughter even, he sounded insane. Such a disgusting sound it was to hear its voice in the darkness so pleased with itself. It confused and frustrated me in fear greatly, and it became so loud and went on for so long I couldn’t stand it. “Shut up!” I yelled finally. It stopped laughing immediately. “But you know Javier, you know me too.” It spoke very seriously. I stared in bewilderment. “You’re guilty! You’re guilty! You love murder! Haha! You love yourself! You stroke huh?” The demon spoke without relent and enjoyed his own hilarity. “What the fuck?” I said in a trembled whisper. “Yea, you hate clothes, you little pathetic bitch.” It cackled.
I was roused again with the most extreme and unimaginable anger. I yelled my defense at him. He grew in laughter. I screamed any kind of profanity and slur I could think of at his station, and he only grew in volume with me. This went on until I finally arrived at my king accusation, which was finally enough to have it stir, “You’re a failure of creation!” He was silent for a moment. “What is it you know of creation?” It spoke with such a terrible and tremendous tone. “Are you worth any more than me? You’re subject to death the same. I’m a connoisseur of freedoms, yet, what are you? You are a slave of fear, scared of your own desires. And, even more so, subject to me.. As much as a mouse loses its life to the metal spring when it grabs cheese, so do you spoil by me.” “You speak nonsense!” I retorted “You’re very stupid, it’s difficult for you to grasp.”
Then, without much more deliberation, it simply began roaring with the most horrific and inhumane noises. It began screeching—it screeched with blood curdling yells and sorrow. It screamed as if it was lit on fire. At once, in the shadows, it began clawing at its own face. I heard sounds of ripping and tearing—with noises as if pounds of deli meat were slammed onto the cutting board. This was accompanied by an intense and putrid smell of rot, and I began weeping. This experience was more than I could bare, and I couldn’t describe to u what was unnaturally filled in my mind. This night felt as if i was never going to escape the moment, like the present moment was my eternity. This sight annoyed me to my soul for what seemed like hours, and I even conjectured to myself that this torture was eternal.
But soon, he did indeed cease. A gentle glow of orange illuminated the end of my bed. He stood before me, tall and with elegance in the light. He was skinned, his jaw dislocated, his face scratched bare and raw so that no features were pertruding. He was completely nude, with hooves and fur patches among his disfigured appearances. He wore this boldly with shame, yet, overcame it with overwhelming pride.
Such beauty it was to admire his stature. I could not help but gaze with wonder and pleasure. I must have admired him for a while, perhaps even hours. I became mad with lust for him, such a delicious sight he was! I should give up my other fruitless endeavors of life if I could just have the delight to taste him.
But just as I settled on my prospective bliss, my roommate entered the room. His yell of terror attacked my ears, interrupting us. Why scream? Why that hideous look on his face? What was he so scared of? What possessed him to be worthy of beholding any sort of indignation upon my beautiful companion? A little worm—that ugly little leech that dared breath the same air as us. “Get rid of it.” The demon told me, but I hardly needed a command to conceive of my goal.
Oh, what fun I had! It was like the first fresh sip of lemonade on a summer day! Like the sunshine that seeps through window seals—like the birds chirping in the dewy mornings. Like the adrenaline of a rollercoaster—the tickle of a drop. Like the intoxication that gives you belief of so much confidence. And to feel it on my hands? It was the joy of a child when he smashes his fingers into the moist sand—that innocent satisfaction of destroying a castle. Like the excitement of opening your favorite bag of chips—grabbing the ends and pulling the plastic with might until bursts open with goodies; yes, that’s what it was like for me to stick my thumbs deep into his eye sockets, and pull to open—if only I could. It was such, as when I bit down on his throat with all my might and sipped. It was indeed so, when I scratched and clawed till my nails came off, opening his chest and pulling at ribs like discarded hot wings, ripping at organs and intestines, pulling of nails, bending fingers two loops around, snapping his arms, smashing his head with my foot—but again my happiness was destroyed. For my companion had fled the scene, and he was no longer present. At once, I recovered some coherence and realized the tragedy of what I had done. How would I hide this? How could I discard of blood evidence all over me? How was he going to chip in on rent in this condition? I obviously had not calculated all the required considerations before doing such a thing. I was enraged by the black magic possessed by the demon, stupid, tricky, evil thing. So you see, it was his fault.

I (25 NB) met my friend (26 NB) at work, we have the same position at work and usually end up paired with each other. We get along great and have a lot of similar interests. I’ve given them rides home from work a lot cause we live near each other, and I thought we’d developed a strong friendship. They’ve worked at the company a little longer than I have, I’ve been working there since August. We’ve only been friends really since Januaryish when I got promoted.
Anyways they kept requesting we hang out together outside of work, I didn’t see this as odd because we’ve hung out together outside of work as a friend group, I have many friends at my job and we usually do group outings or parties, so it wasn’t odd to me that they wanted to hang out. The day they wanted to go out, none of my roommates were available to go with. 2 out of 3 of my roommates (25 M, 23 F and 25 M) work at the same business. So I went with them on my own, they seemed ecstatic that it was just the 2 of us. I picked them up and we initially just planned to go to the mall. We walked around, talked, bought stuff and eventually had lunch.
They kept staring at me which I found awkward but figured because we’re both autistic that I was uncomfortable with the eye contact or they just happen to make a lot of eye contact. They also keep walking really close to me and “accidentally” bumping my hand. After the mall they still wanted to hang out so we went to the thrift store and had a lot of fun making fun of the silly knick knacks, we both love Fallout New Vegas so they were looking for a jacket that looked like Benny Geckos from the game.
After that they still wanted to keep hanging out, at this point I was pretty tired but figured we were having fun. It’s hard for me to say no, and I use a cane for chronic pain so I usually need to take a frequent number of breaks which we hadn’t done yet but they hadn’t picked up that I was tired yet. I was having fun and at this point they did apologize about keeping me out for so long, I said it’s ok because I like long friendship hangout days, which is not a lie, my body just doesn’t enjoy it as much.
Next we went to get boba and they bought me a drink, at this point they had paid for none of my stuff, we split the food earlier and I lightheartedly threatened them to not spend money on me. When we were in the boba shop, they once again kept staring and moving their hand towards mine. I deterred this because it made me uncomfortable by talking with my hands which I usually do anyways. They were nice and listened to me infodump to them about tmnt (tmnts my special interest) but still continued their staring. I kept getting in my head that they were just being nice and I was ruining things thinking that they had ulterior motives.
I forgot to mention that they have a boyfriend (27 M), but they had offhandingly mentioned that they were poly. We then went to a gaming shop to look at dnd and pathfinder stuff, I had to pee incredibly badly at this point but they ignored my subtle pleas to leave, which understandably was my fault as I said I could hold it at the boba shop.
At this point I’m exhausted and in a lot of pain so I suggested we end our hang out after finding a bathroom. They still insisted on hanging out longer so I suggested they come to my apartment cause at this point I’d run out of stuff for us to do. This is where things got a bit uncomfy. My roommates were all home at this point but all left briefly to go pick up food. My roommate who I share a room with requested I don’t bring my friend into our room while she was in there, but gave me the go ahead to show them our room once she and my other roommates left to get their food.
I like showing my friends my collections whenever they come over so I saw no inappropriate reason to do the same. I have some Dnd, Fallout and Tmnt stuff I wanted to show them. I did my normal showing off my stuff thing. At some point I walked them over to my desk to show them my figurines, my desk is in a corner by my closet and bed so you can only go up to it from 1 side, I talked for a bit and noticed I was cornered. I have past trauma and hate being cornered, I kept making attempts to hint that I wanted to get out of the corner but they stayed firmly in place, even leaning with their hand on my desk to further block me in which I thought was strange.
Eventually I manage to slip by them by saying I wanted to show them my shelf on the opposite side of the room. The shelf is lower and next to my bed so I sit down to point things out. They then ask if they can sit down as well. I say yes and they proceed to sit down directly next to me, our thighs are touching firmly and they lean in on my bed with their arm behind me. I’m once again cornered and panicked now. I have a thing with my thighs where I HATE anyone touching them, it causes a violent reaction, my brain screams at me to bite, punch or claw anyone who touches them, I feel sick and absolutely enraged whenever it happens. I’ve been SAed in the past but even before that I had that reaction, my therapist says it might be a trauma response from childhood that I don’t remember.
I didn’t want to hurt them and luckily I have the violent outbursts completely under control so I just stiffened up and internalized the rage while trying to steady my breathing. They obviously know nothing about my trauma because we haven’t been friends for very long. So I continue talking about my 2003 rerelease tmnt figures and let them continue to touch me while trying not to cry.
Luckily my roommates return, and I immediately get up and leave my room to greet them. At this point I’m incredibly uncomfortable and wanted them out. But I felt bad if I suddenly kicked them out and I also was their ride. We decided to watch a movie in the living room, I sat in the couch corner and they decided to lay down on the rest of the couch while leaning up near me. One of my roommates picked up on the vibe and decided to join us for the movie, the other two sat at the table where you can still see the tv to eat their food since there was no room on the couch.
I decided to crochet during the movie to help ease my nerves. Every once in a while during the movie I could see them staring at me. Once the movie was over I offered to take them home. When I dropped them off they asked if they could hug me, I gave them a nervous sure, when they hugged me they put their nose into the crook of my neck which gave me the ick.
I’m not sure if it’s just me but I hate whenever I want a friend or just want to hang out with a friend and they turn it into something more without asking me! I’ve been notoriously “manic pixie dream girled” my entire life and I’m sick of it. If you want to go out with me just make your intentions known and ask me on a date! I wouldn’t have said yes but I think they knew that and felt the need to trick me instead.
I’m also incredibly turned off by the fact that their boyfriend just had surgery for appendicitis and is also about to have top surgery this week too and instead of caring for him they’re trying to get into my pants.
The whole situation feels icky and I’m so sad cause I thought I found a cool friend. They’re trying to get me to hang out with them again (even though their boyfriend is having top surgery) and I told them I have therapy and college dumpster diving on my days off this week and they’re trying to get me to work around those.
I just want some advice, am I in the wrong for feeling weird around them now or should I see how this plays out. I usually stick to dating women and other nonbinary people so they’re technically in the range of people I can potentially be attracted to but idk. I haven’t been interested in dating a lot lately cause I’ve been working through my trauma in therapy for the past year. My roommates also thought the whole situation was strange and uncomfortable. My roommate also asked if she had ever done anything like that to make me uncomfortable (she’s also amab like my friend), I reassured her she had never done that and that I feel very safe with her.

My husband surprised me and I was really happy with my first mother's day. His first father's day was last year since we have a May baby. However she was pretty young and I didn't have much energy. I got him his first "Dad" t-shirt and put some baby foot prints on a father's day card for him.
Sunday I got breakfast in bed and he bought me a crochet starter kit I had mentioned wanting. He also left for work later than normal eventhough he had work that day and being early/on-time is super important to him. Like he gets antsy if he's a few minutes "late" and I hug him for more than a nano second.
I know it doesn't sound like much but my husband always forgets stuff like this and while I did remind him about a month prior to avoid any resentment I'm really happy with what he did.
However, I don't know what to do for him now.

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

Hi all, longtime lurker, first time poster using a throwaway account.
I (f28) and my BF (32M, I'll call him Billy) have been together for 3 years now. He and I are complete opposites. He's always been into fishing, sports, cars, basically all the typical "boy stuff" while I'm more into films/TV shows, books, and crocheting. We are not the type of people anyone would ever really expect to go out, but we've always just clicked. Billy always says I help him slow down and enjoy things besides physical activity and he's helped me go from hating the gym to actually looking forward to my weekly workouts.
For me, I love all film from your snobby film festival to your crappy action movie, I just like to watch a good story. Billy never saw the point of going to film festivals before and he doesn't always enjoy it but if I ask for him to go to one with me he will. He's developed a love of noir films because of this! The same for him and his hobbies (I've come to realize that Monster Truck Rallys are actually really fun), but I've never gone fishing with him before.
Last weekend, I went with him and his friend Jake because he wanted to show me a little and since I'd never gone I thought it would be fun. Now he and Jake have fishing trips that can last a day to and entire week and that's all they'll do. They assured me the trip would only be 3 - 5 hours max. I agreed because I thought it would be fine and at most it would take up the morning.
Well, that is not what happened. We ended up being out on the lake from 5am to 3pm. I did have fun, for the first couple of hours, but it just wasn't my thing and I tried to be involved as best I could but by the time I thought we would be leaving rolled around, we didn't. I don't think Billy meant for it to go so long, but I know Jake did because he pulled out a fully packed lunch for us when the plan had been to go to a diner that was about a 20 minute drive away. I should have said something then, but I've never good at voicing when I'm exhausted or have had enough, so I didn't.
Billy was really having a good time and I didn't want to make him feel bad, so I went to grab my book I brought with me only for Jake to say it had fallen out in the car and he didn't think I'd want it (we were in a boat so I couldn't go back for it). Again, I should have said something here but I'm a push over and just didn't. I ended up reading on my phone mostly and I took pictures when they asked when they caught their fish.
By the time we were leaving, I was exhausted from the heat and really bored. Later, when Billy asked me if I'd go with him again I told him I would for a shorter trip I just didn't like being out there all day like he does. He didn't seem upset and when we went to bed he even asked me about the next film festival that would be in the area next month.
I thought everything was fine. I had one miserable day but overall it wasn't bad, but then Jake texted me and said he didn't appreciate my attitude during the trip. He also said he thought it was disrepectful of me to bring a book in the first place and that if I wanted to stay with Billy I needed to be more interested in his hobbies.
Now I'm just wondering if I messed up here. Should I have been more enthustic? Am I the asshole?

Hello all, it's me again and I'm once again asking for help with some mods.
Basically I tried my best to get a new version of Skyrim as best as I could without the need of Dyndolod since I've had nothing but issues with it so far.
Now anyways I have mods that don't require Dyndo as far as I'm aware. I just have some issues with hair being 2D and or looking like a roughly played with Barbie doll.
The same can be said for the rough spun tunic and some bed textures as well which I assume are a fur mod which I can't pin point.
My other issue is the khajiit all have invisible faces besides their teeth and eyes. Orcs have no teeth at all and I assumed it was an issue with Bijin and High Poly Head, but I am unsure.
I assumed as well that it may be the XMP Physics for the clothing as well since some clothing is invisible, but I cannot for the life of me narrow it down.
Any help would greatly be appreciated and I'm also attaching a link for what I'm talking about.
Some scary stuff lmao.
If you need my load order or anything I can try to get it as well if someone could walk me through it.
I have no error files or issues besides random crashes when I load into cities.
https://imgur.com/a/Idnfex0

Hello Everyone. This is 100% a true story.
I thought this would be a good story to share here as it deals with getting petty revenge on someone who was being transphobic and a horrible person. This is a long story but the ending is worth it.
This story takes place back in 2020 and was just reminded of it by one of my best Friends lets call her "Hannah". Hannah and I had a mutual friend, lets call him Zack. I at the time was just starting to come out as trans. This plays a part later.
Zack and I were friends after I meet him throw an EX, the EX was a good man but I am the type of person that does not do well being friends with EXs but was trying because this EX was a good person. This in the end also I keep talking to Zack and at time thought he was a good guy.
Anyway it was late in fall when Zack brought up moving into together due to I was having a hard time with my family and only had a dorm to live in. During this time he also brought up that he had a friend, Hannah, that was also looking for a place to live as her home life was not great either. I said I would have to her first before I said yes to anything. Hannah was on the same page as me and wanted to meet me first too.
So one day Invited them both over to the dorm I was living in, as if anything went wrong the College I was at had great police (had meet many of them during the time I was at college) this made me feel safer meeting new people. Hannah and Zack came over and me and Hannah hit it off well to the point you would have thought we had been friends for years. There were many times her and I would hang out without Zack, which he never liked. Red flag right there. Due to this I started to see the cracks in Zack's shell.
He was very passive of Hannah to almost boyfriend level. Which got worries after I came out as Transgender. Red flag number 2. He would also try to one up me and say things underhanded about me being trans. Now I am a huge werewolf geek and the underhanded things would be like "I will never be an alpha" or shit like that. Now I never called myself an alpha or anything like that. He also said that I would never have a man's mindsight. I never told Hannah any of this because I wanted to stay her friend and do to my trust problems thought she would take his side so that is all my fault.
One night I was talking to Hannah not sharing everything but told her Zack was pissing me off. She had known him longer then I did. She said that it could be do to his religious background and that could be why he was being a ass. That is when she opened up to me about something.
Turned out they where Friends with benefits. Zack was always wanting to make things more then that but Hannah had been hurt bad by an EX, like almost killed. So she did not trust getting back into any relationship. But felt she was safe with him and thought of slowly building up to a relationship. However she also spilled all the tea on him in bed, and I mean all the TEA!
So lets jump forward a few months to Hannah's Birthday. Zack wanted to host it the first night and then she would spend the next night with me. Hannah was going a hard time with family during this time so we planned a Birthday weekend for her. Turns out Zack invited her over for night before so she would be over one night without me so they could be the Birthday *GIGGITYY*. Well as many people know there is something that happens to most women once a month. Yes, Hannah was on her period. To her defense she did not know what Zack was planning for the night she thought he was just being nice because she got into a fight with her family.
So the next day comes around and they pick me up as I did not have a car. Everything seemed off as Hannah's mood was not normal. I wanted to ask what was up but also thought it was because of the fight with her family so I just wanted to make her happy. The day goes on and we are playing her fav video game. She went to bed early which I thought was odd as the two of us are night owls. I asked Zack what was going on. He said nothing but I could tell he was lying but dropped it.
The next day we get to mail in our city as planned and well Zack was doing something and it was just Hannah and I alone. That is when she told me what was going on between them. Apparently Zack was mad because Hannah did not SLEEP with her the night before I showed up. I was pissed, but then she keep going and he keep pushing and begging for it. to the point that when she said she was on her period he just said "THEY COULD PUT A TOWEL DOWN".
That was it for me I was done playing nice to Zack and started to think of ways to tell him how much of a pig he was. I am the type of person where three stracks your out. Hannah and I are huge nerds and you could say she is some where between punk and goth. So we told Zack we where going to Spencer's. Zack said he was going to go to another store as he hated this store. You see in the frount of Spencer's is a nerd, punk and goth best dream, as for the back of the store is full of sex toys and other adult themed things. Knowing this I told Hannah to pick out something she wanted for her birthday anything, and I would get it for her.
Well Hannah was looking at new pricings and wallets I headed to the back of the store to get some goodies for Zack. I payed for the stuff all without Hannah knowing. Best part the store has black bags that you can't see throw due to the things they sell. After I walked up to Hannah and I bought the things she wanted all to her protest. So she told me she would by lunch witch I agreed too because as friends we hate to feel like we are using each other even on holidays.
We left the store and went to the food court and ordered food. Once we sat down Hannah texted Zack where we were. That is when she looked at the large bag I had gotten and she asked me what I had gotten. I handed the bag and told her it was for Zack. The grin on her face was the best thing that I have seen. You see Hannah is also a very petty person and she very much approved of what I had gotten for Zack.
Zack showed up some time later and we planned to go back to his house so she could her car and her stuff to come to my place for the night. That is when the "gift" was given to Zack. I was putting Hannah's stuff in her car for her and wish I could have seen his face when he first opened bag.
You see when I am hurt I get petty but if you upset someone close to me I get PETTY. In the bag he found a large bag of candy and a few lollypop DICKS. But it gets better, I also got him a female blow up doll. There was also two cards. the first said "Congrats on your new girlfriend" which I signed alone and the other said "suck a mountain of dicks" which we both signed.
The next thing I know Hannah is walking out with the biggest grin on her face. With him storming after her when he saw me he said I was just mad that I would never be a "true man". Hannah turned on her heels but before she could do anything I yelled back "he would never be bigger then my pinky finger". He looked so mad and red. Hannah got in her car, we drove off and never looked back.
This may have been to far but I regret nothing.
Hannah says it was the best birthday gift anyone has ever gotten her due to his face he made when he saw all his new goodies. Hannah and I are still great friends to this day and know we have each others backs on anything.

hi! i'm new to crochet and reddit so pls be kind! i am having trouble trying to translate a pattern so if someone could explain it to me that would be awesome! ok here's what it says

1. Ch 3, sl st to any st on the first leg (does not count as a st) sc into thr same st you sl st into, 5sc, inc, 6sc, 3sc in front of chain [42]
   
2. 3sc, inc 2sc, inc 4sc, inc, 2sc, inc, 3sc, inc, sc, inc, 3sc, inc, 2sc, inc, 4sc, inc, 2sc, inc, 3sc, inc sc, inc [54]
   

after that i can make sense of what it wants me to do, this part of that pattern is trying to tell me how to join two pre made legs and crochet the butt of the doll i'm making.
p,,,