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weather, web, website, wedding, week, weekend, weekly, weigh, weight, welcome, welfare, well, west, western, wet, what, whatever, wheel, when, whenever, where, whereas, whether, which, while, whisper, white, who, whole, whom, whose, why, wide, widely, widespread, wife, wild, wildlife, will, willing, win, wind, window, wine, wing, winner, winter, wipe, wire, wisdom, wise, wish, with, withdraw, within, without, witness, woman, wonder, wonderful, wood, wooden, word, work, worker, working, workout, workplace, works, workshop, world, worried, worry, worth, would, wound, wrap, write, writer, writing, wrong, yard, yeah, year, yell, yellow, yes, yesterday, yet, yield, you, young, your, yours, yourself, youth, zone.

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.

I was with him April 20th, the Saturday evening before, as he had come to my house about thirty minutes away and picked me up so that we could both motivate one another (me to study for my LSATs, him to finish the paper he had due for his anatomy and physiology class that was due Sunday night by midnight - his final paper before receiving his master's degree). He had been clean for a month and his stupid fucking drug dealer HAD to call right when he was getting off my exit. Of course I begged him not to buy anything, but I knew it wasn't going to work. The only wonderful time was when it was obviously wearing off him, and we were going to sleep together, and cuddled up in one another's arms. I could have never EVER expected that when he woke up that Sunday morning (he played piano amazingly well, and at one point got a gig playing for a small church close to him every Sunday for an hour). He ended up just keeping it and I think worked there about fifteen years altogether.
But yeah, never could have expected that I would wake up, not to my alarm (I guess he'd turned that off, we had both set our alarms so that it would be less likely that both of us would sleep through our own alarms or both accidentally turn them off) but to a loud banging sound coming from the bathroom. I sat up in the bed really fast and looked over to see he had just emerged from the small part of the bathroom (where just the toilet and shower were) and through the door where the bathroom cabinet, sinks, mirror, etc., where. The bang I heard was him hitting his head on the counter as he apparently took a fatal amount and lost the ability to stand. I managed to get him into a side position and must have grabbed three, four, huge bath towels, kept cleaning up all of the vomit he was throwing up... kept shoving my fingers into his mouth and into his nostrils to make sure everything was clear so that he wouldn't choke on it/his airways were clear to breathe.
The only thing I did not count on was not knowing that Narcan is only a one-use spray. He had two bottles of it in his medicine cabinet, and obviously with the amount of drugs he had in his main closet (as well as syringes and other paraphernalia) I didn't want to call 911 immediately before trying the Narcan, given that would have completely ruined his life. He would have been arrested and I'd honestly be surprised if he got anything less than trafficking, he had so much. :( So I tried with the one bottle and wasn't getting it to work at first (I knew I was supposed to spray it up his nose) so then I "tested" it (again, idiotic, but he had NOT shown me nor told me it was only one spray and that was it, and I'd been away from drugs for SO LONG) and once it sprayed, I couldn't understand why it wouldn't work again when I kept trying to spray it up his nose.
Obviously had I known that it was only one-spray use, I would have immediately grabbed the second bottle and not "tested it" outside his nose. But I just thought something was wrong with it, and I started freaking out thinking he was getting less responsive (initially when I told him, "squeeze my hand if you're still with me, please, please, stay with me" - he squeezed, and TIGHT, too - so I knew that it wasn't a fluke). But yeah, it was becoming more obvious that time was running out. I called 911 immediately then and I couldn't even remember the house number (even though I'd lived with him at that house at one point for 3-4 years). I literally had to leave him for a minute (which I was so upset to do even for a moment) and check the mail on the fridge). I still had hopes that he might make it through when the paramedics brought him out hooked up to a respirator. I was terrified I was going to see a blanket draped over him or something.
But then after the police conducted their investigation and cleared me of any wrongdoing or criminal activity (thank GOD I was clean then, I cannot even imagine what it would have been like to have been arrested after just witnessing that horror; 2 1/2 hours of questioning was enough and I was completely drained) they then told me he was gone. That he had made it to the hospital, but was only there a few minutes before they called it. I'm just completely devastated, shocked, numb, angry, alone. It's only been three weeks but he was "my person", you know? We were supposed to go to Prague together in September for our anniversary/late birthday celebrations/late graduation celebrations. We had so much planned and now, nothing. His family hasn't reached out to me at all yet. I don't know what they think, because we hadn't dated for a few years there, and only started taking again in April 2023 (so, a year). He relapsed in December 2023/January 2024 on NYE. Unfortunately I was still with my now-ex (who I'd told many times I didn't want to be with anymore, we weren't on the same page, I'd told him this for probably at the least a year before my first ex came back into my life, so it was ridiculous for him to blame him) so I couldn't see the love of my life the way I'd wanted to so badly.
Now I'm wondering if I'll even be able to go to the memorial his family is having on the 25th, or if my final goodbye to him will always be on that bathroom floor, three weeks ago as of today.
I'm so freaking lonely and don't have any good "friends" who actually care enough to check up on me. If anyone who is experiencing similar shit wants someone to talk to, I'd love to text with a couple or a few people who get what I'm going through on a lot of levels. Just DM me. Honestly, I don't care if you're male, female, how old you are (well, providing you're not a minor)... as long as your intentions are good and you just want someone who understands your pain, that's what matters to me. Love to you all and fuck these stupid drugs for taking away people who should have been here with us until we grew old together.

Modernising support for independent living: the health and disability green paper - PIP consultation
The government announced significant proposed changes to PIP and are now consulting on their proposal.
The consultation will be open for 12 weeks and you are invited to share your views. The findings of the consultation, which closes on Tuesday 23 July, will inform future reforms.
How to respond -
Read the 'Modernising support for independent living: the health and disability' green paper so you understand the proposed changes and then respond online via the form.
If you are unable to use the online form email [consultation.modernisingsupport@DWP.GOV.UK](mailto:consultation.modernisingsupport@DWP.GOV.UK) or respond by post, please mark your correspondence ‘Modernising Support: The Health and Disability Green Paper’ and send to:
Disability and Health Support Directorate Department for Work and Pensions Level 2 Caxton House Tothill Street London SW1H 9NA
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Work and Pensions Select Committee has called on the National Audit Office (NAO) to investigate problems with the carer's allowance system
Committee chair says investigation merited given the scale of the problem, the cost to the taxpayer of a system that fails to prevent or rectify overpayments, and the lack of progress being made to address the issue.
Last month, Carers UK called for the wholescale reform of carers' benefits - following reports of claimants who have earned above the earnings limit while claiming carer's allowance being pursued for large overpayments and, in some cases, prosecuted for fraud - and the government confirmed that the DWP has issued almost 100,000 civil penalties in respect of overpaid carer's allowance over the last four years amounting to almost £5 million.
With the Chair of the Work and Pensions Select Committee Stephen Timms having said in a debate in Westminster Hall on 29 April 2024 that the DWP has 'done nothing' to stop carers building up huge overpayments despite knowing what people are earning, he has now written to Gareth Davies, NAO Comptroller and Auditor General, to say -

'This year we have held two evidence-sessions on carer’s allowance, in part looking at progress made since the NAO’s 2019 investigation report into this matter and our predecessor’s report. That evidence, alongside correspondence last year with the Department and information provided in response to parliamentary questions (see, for example, recent PQ responses, UINs 23249, 23251, 23252 and 23253), has led the Committee to conclude that problems remain with carer’s allowance. We appreciate the NAO has limited resources, but we think a further investigation is merited, given the scale of the problem, the lack of progress made since 2019 and the cost to the taxpayer of a system that fails to prevent or rectify overpayments.'

Mr Timms' letter to Gareth Davies, NAO Comptroller and Auditor General is available from parliament.uk
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DWP has confirmed that it plans to begin notifying employment and support (ESA) claimants of their move to universal credit in September 2024
Department says however that its delivery approach and timelines will be informed by detailed planning and engagement with stakeholders.
With the government having recently announced an acceleration of the 'Move to UC' for income-related ESA claimants, in the latest issue of its LA Welfare Direct newsletter the DWP says that, while its delivery approach and timelines will be informed by detailed planning and engagement with stakeholders -

'... our current planning assumption is that we would begin notifying this group in September 2024, with the aim of notifying everyone to make the move by December 2025.'

Note: the DWP also provided an update on its Move to UC communications campaign that launched in March 2024 -

'The campaign aims to tackle claimant fear and anxiety about moving to universal credit, using the headline ‘Keep things smooth by making the move to Universal Credit’. Advertising also signposts to www.gov.uk/ucmove, which is a new website containing supportive information, real life case studies and advice on how to prepare for the move.'

LA Welfare Direct 5/2024 is available from gov.uk
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Government has confirmed that the Work and Health Programme (WHP) will continue to be delivered until July 2026
Update follows news that the programme is being 'quietly scrapped' to be replaced by elements of the government's new Back to Work Plan.
While the WHP was originally scheduled to stop taking all referrals at the end of October 2022, the DWP extended the deadline for the Disability and Early Access Groups (people who may need support to move into employment and are in one of several priority groups, for example homeless, ex-armed forces, care leavers, and refugees) to autumn 2024.
However, reports in the media last month said that the programme is being 'quietly scrapped' - to be replaced by elements of the government's new Back to Work Plan including Restart - and Maximus, who deliver the WHP in parts of the country on behalf of the DWP, said that as a result of the ending of the programme -

'This is the first time for a long time that ... there is no specialist disability provision in place for people who require it, from November of this year.'

However, responding to a parliamentary written question, Work and Pensions Minister Mims Davies confirmed that, while the DWP plans to deliver a range of other support to put in place an 'offer' to a broader range of disabled people -

'The Work and Health Programme will continue to be delivered until July 2026 [and] further announcements on the programme will be made in due course.'

For more information, see Written question: Work and Health Programme from parliament.uk
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Government announced the 15 areas that will trial its new WorkWell integrated health and work advice service from October 2024
Joint DWP and Department of Health and Social Care programme will connect almost 60,000 people to local support services so they can get the 'tailored help they need to stay in or return to work.'
As part of the government’s plan to get people with health conditions back to work - that also includes proposed changes to personal independence payment entitlement rules, reform of the fit note process, and boosting support programmes such as NHS Talking Therapies - the new £64 million WorkWell pilot will deliver -

'... joined-up work and health support [that] will connect 59,000 people ... to local support services including physiotherapy and counselling so they can get the tailored help they need to stay in or return to work.'

Providing further details, the government confirmed that WorkWell is a voluntary service and that participants do not need to be claiming any government benefits. After self-referring, or being referred through their GP, employer or the community sector, people will receive personalised support from a Work and Health Coach to understand their current health and social barriers to work and draw up a plan to help overcome them. Work and Health Coaches will also -

• provide advice on workplace adjustments, such as flexible working or adaptive technology;
• facilitate conversations with employers on health needs; and
• provide access to local services such as physiotherapy, employment advice and counselling.

In addition, the government confirms that it is also rolling out 'fit note trailblazers' in some of the WorkWell pilot areas to ensure people who request a fit note have a work and health 'conversation' and are signposted to local employment support services so they can remain in work -

'The trailblazers will trial better ways of triaging, signposting, and supporting people looking to receive a fit note and will be used to test a transformed process to help prevent people with long-term health conditions falling out of work, including referral to support through their local WorkWell service.'

The 15 pilot areas - that will each decide the exact support to be made available that’s best suited to the needs of their local area - are -

• Birmingham and Solihull
• Black Country
• Bristol, North Somerset and South Gloucestershire
• Cambridgeshire and Peterborough
• Cornwall and the Isles of Scilly
• Coventry and Warwickshire
• Frimley
• Herefordshire and Worcestershire
• Greater Manchester
• Lancashire and South Cumbria
• Leicester, Leicestershire and Rutland
• North Central London
• North West London
• South Yorkshire
• Surrey Heartlands

With the pilots covering a third of Integrated Care Boards across England, the government advises that the success of the testing phase will inform the possible future rollout of a national WorkWell service.
Announcing the pilot areas in a written statement in Parliament, Work and Pensions Secretary Mel Stride said -

'Good work is good for people’s physical and mental health, wellbeing and resilience. We want to make sure more people can reap these benefits by getting the timely health and employment advice and support they need to remain in work or return quickly... WorkWell will remove existing silos between work and health to improve work outcomes, for the benefit of individuals, communities and the economy... The reforms will be brought together by testing a new fit note process in some WorkWell pilot areas to offer better triage, signposting and support to those who need it. This will mean more people have easy and rapid access to specialised work and health support to help them stay in or get back to work. WorkWell has employment at its heart; integrating work and health services locally to improve health outcomes, reduce health disparities, and help people get timely access to the support they need to return to and remain in work.'

For more information, see New £64 million plan to help people stay in work from gov.uk
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Lords Committee criticises ‘inexplicable’ lack of data evaluating previous Administrative Earnings Threshold increases in light of new regulations that implement a further increase this month
A House of Lords Committee has criticised the ‘inexplicable’ lack of data evaluating previous increases in the Administrative Earnings Limit (AET) in September 2022 and January 2023 in light of new regulations that implement a further increase of the threshold from 13 May 2024.
With the DWP having refused to delay or slow down the implementation of a third increase in the AET in universal credit this month - as recommended by the Social Security Advisory Committee (SSAC) to give the Department more time ‘to build the evidence base’ for the changes - the Secondary Legislation Scrutiny Committee of the House of Lords has drawn the new regulations to the 'special attention of the House' on the ground that -

'… the explanatory material laid in support provides insufficient information to gain a clear understanding about the instrument’s policy objective and intended implementation.'

In particular, the Committee highlights that –

'At paragraph 5.24 of the Explanatory Memorandum (EM) to this latest instrument, DWP states that evaluations of the previous increases to the AET are ‘currently ongoing.’ We find the lack of data inexplicable, since [the then Minister of Employment] Mr Opperman’s letter said that 'earnings increases will take around 6-9 months to materialise', and the two preceding instruments took effect in September 2022 and January 2023 respectively. We intend to seek oral evidence from the Minister on this point.'

The Committee also restates the conclusion from its report on the January 2023 AET increase - that without proper evaluation of the impact of previous increases, further legislation is 'premature' - and adds that the SSAC's report on this third increase follows similar lines. For example, the Committee highlights the SSAC's recommendation that the Department needs to present more information about the impact of the changes on vulnerable claimants -

'While DWP states in its response to SSAC that there is guidance to inform work coaches of the available easements and support paths for all customers with complex circumstances, Parliament may wish to have information on how often these mechanisms have been used in the last two years. It would also be useful to have information on how many claimants have successfully increased their earnings and how many have ceased to claim universal credit or moved into sickness benefits.'

The Committee adds that -

'We intend to seek oral evidence from the Minister to provide more information on the wider impacts of this initiative, better to inform the House.'

For more information, see Drawn to the special attention of the House: Universal Credit (Administrative Earnings Threshold) (Amendment) Regulations) 2024 from parliament.uk
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DWP launches a new digital service to allow disabled people to apply for Access to Work grants online
Digitisation of process further modernises the programme and will make it easier to apply for help, says DWP Minister.
The DWP says that it is making the funding for help with workplace adjustments available through the gov.uk website for the first time as part of its wider commitment to improve the lives of disabled people in the workplace. The DWP adds that it anticipates that, as a result, the customer experience will be a lot easier and more efficient, with no difference in the information requested from the department.
Introducing the new service, Minister for Disabled People, Health and Work, Mims Davies, said -

'Access to Work helps thousands of disabled people and those returning to work who are sick by giving them and their employers the resources to help introduce suitable workplace adjustments. Digitisation of Access to Work further modernises the programme to make it easier to apply for grants or claim payments.'

NB - this announcement on 8th May follows the government having recently confirmed that there were almost 30,000 people waiting for a decision on their Access to Work application in March 2024.
For more information, see DWP's Access to Work applications go digital from gov.uk
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DWP is undertaking research to explore options for enabling appointees to complete personal independence allowance (PIP) forms online
Evidence sought from local authorities, charities and support organisations to better understand appointees’ current processes and difficulties.
In the latest issue of its LA Welfare Direct newsletter, the DWP says -

'We are ... looking to conduct some research to better understand appointees’ current processes and difficulties. The intention of this research is to inform future design of the online service. The research will include speaking to appointees from local authorities, charities, support organisations or similar; rather than those acting personally (for example, for a friend or relative). Therefore, if you have acted as an appointee for PIP in this capacity for one or more applicants within the past 12 months, then we would really appreciate talking to you.

To help in collecting evidence, the Department has launched a PIP Appointees user research survey that is open until 31 May 2024.
LA Welfare Direct 5/2024 is available from gov.uk
Note: earlier this year, the DWP advised the Work and Pensions Committee as part of the Committee's inquiry into safeguarding vulnerable claimants, that it is building a digital solution to 'strengthen and improve' its appointee system.
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While Restart Scheme provides tailored support for some participants it is less able to help those with physical or severe mental health conditions, the long-term unemployed and the more highly skilled
Evaluation of the scheme also reports mixed views about the value of mandatory participation, and presents clear evidence that the administrative process of mandation did not work effectively.
Launched in June 2021 with the aim of providing up to 12 months of support to people who are long-term unemployed to help them return to work, the Restart Scheme was established in response to the Covid-19 pandemic, with £2.9 billion of funding announced in November 2020. However, this cost estimate was reduced to around £1.7 billion following the DWP's reassessment of expected demand for the programme to be around 0.7 million people, far lower than original projections.
The new report published on 9th May, The Evaluation of the Restart Scheme, sets out a wide range of evidence from surveys of participants and Restart providers, and case study research with Jobcentre Plus staff, participants, Restart providers, employers, and wider stakeholders.
Findings in relation to the effectiveness of the scheme and recommendations for future delivery of employment support include -
Participant outcomes
The report highlights that participants have achieved positive outcomes both in terms of sustainable employment outcomes and wider outcomes (including well-being, qualifications, proximity to the labour market and job-searching skills), with those with a more consistent work history, women, those with a child aged under 19, those with English as a second language and those with higher qualifications more likely to gain employment.
However, the report also finds that -

• those with health conditions or caring responsibilities (such as caring for someone with a health condition, disability, or an older person) are less likely to achieve an employment outcome;
• while nearly two-thirds (64 per cent) of participants found the Scheme useful, findings from the survey suggest that participants with higher qualifications, those who had worked more since leaving school and the self-employed are less likely to find it useful; and
• while a greater proportion of Restart participants are in work than non-participants, similar proportions of participants and non-participants are claiming universal credit, suggesting that the outcomes achieved from participating in the programme are not always sufficient to move eligible participants off universal credit.

Wider findings
Among the report’s wider findings are that -

• referral volumes are generally lower than expected and participants are presenting with higher needs and more substantial barriers than anticipated;
• providers are concerned about what they see as high levels of ‘unsuitable’ referrals;
• the referral process generally works well after some initial challenges but there is some evidence of a lack of clarity on the part of both Jobcentre Plus and providers, particularly over which participants should be referred to which programme of support;
• participants’ relationship with their Restart Employment Advisor is a key determinant in participant experience, with poorer outcomes reported where they feel their needs are not understood, or that their advisor does not have the skills needed to help them;
• while there is some evidence of tailoring for individual participants - such as to help with childcare needs or for those with transport barriers - the scheme is less able to help those with physical health conditions or more severe mental health conditions, the longer-term unemployed (generally more than two years) and the more highly skilled;
• there is less evidence of providers designing or tailoring their support service in accordance with the local labour market;
• communication between Jobcentre Plus and providers is important in determining participant experience;
• there is mixed evidence on whether mandation is effective for encouraging engagement, with some providers and Jobcentre Plus seeing it as essential, while others are much less sure of its value; and
• there is clear evidence that the administrative process of mandation has not worked effectively, with providers not generally understanding the process, finding it time-consuming, and having to wait a long time for responses from Jobcentre Plus.

Considerations for future delivery
Going forward, the report sets out key lessons to be learnt from the research findings and issues that the DWP should give further consideration to, including -

• whether more targeted referral criteria in future programmes would allow for more effective support;
• how people with health needs are supported within future employment support provision;
• the effective management of the end-to-end mandation process;
• the effectiveness of Customer Service Standards and performance management to ensure future programmes deliver a minimum service standard to all participants;
• how guidance on referral criteria is communicated to Jobcentre Plus and providers;
• how the more highly skilled or those with specialist qualifications can be supported;
• sharing good practice in how to recruit, train, and retain Employment Advisors with providers; and
• how to encourage good communication between Jobcentre Plus and providers, and between providers and employers.

For more information, see The Evaluation of the Restart Scheme from gov.uk
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Scotland - Scottish Parliament consents to UK Parliament legislating for DWP’s new powers to access claimants’ bank account data on its behalf
Social Justice Minister says providing legislative consent ‘allows us to maintain the Agency Agreements for the delivery of social security payments in Scotland and safeguard the important work that Social Security Scotland does’.
The Scottish Parliament has agreed that the UK Parliament can consider the social security bank spying measures within the Data Protection and Digital Information Bill on its behalf.
In preparation for a debate in the Scottish Parliament on a 'legislative consent motion' on the Bill - that provides (or refuses) consent for the UK Parliament to pass legislation on a devolved issue over which the devolved government has legislative authority - the Social Justice and Social Security Committee reported on the Scottish Government's position in relation to powers proposed by the Bill including the power to require information for social security purposes.
Note: Clause 131 and Schedule 11 of the Bill require third parties throughout the UK, such as banks, to provide information on accounts they hold linked to those in receipt of social security benefits.
The Committee confirmed that -

'The Scottish Government is recommending legislative consent to the social security measures … because – the implications are 'theoretical' only and unlikely to be applied to devolved benefits; and if refusing consent led to DWP ending Agency Agreements that would put case transfer at risk.'

In addition, the Committee set out the Scottish Government's reasons for considering the implications for devolved benefits as 'theoretical' -

• full rollout of the information-seeking powers will not occur until Agency Agreements for devolved benefits have ended; and
• the initial focus is on universal credit, with no intention to use the powers for devolved Agency Agreement benefits.

On the legislative consent motion debated in the Scottish Parliament, Cabinet Secretary for Social Justice Shirley-Anne Somerville reiterated the government's position on the social security measures in the Bill, saying -

'... agreement with clause 131 of the bill, regarding the power to provide information for social security purposes, would allow us to maintain the Agency Agreements for the delivery of social security payments in Scotland and safeguard the important work that Social Security Scotland does.'

Following the debate, MSPs agreed to pass the motion without a vote -

'That the Parliament agrees that the relevant provisions in the Data Protection and Digital Information Bill, introduced in the House of Commons on 8 March 2023 and subsequently amended, so far as these matters fall within the legislative competence of the Scottish Parliament should be considered by the UK Parliament.'

The Official Report of the meeting of Parliament: 9 May 2024 is available from parliament.scot
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Location: Just on the border of Nebraska and Kansas, smack dab in the Center of America.
While Vault-Tec is primarily relying on the old world government for the restoration of America, there may come a time when the relationship between Vault-Tec personnel and the government becomes a little more … “rocky”. Or, the old government might become completely defunct, and thus unable to assist with America’s recovery.
To that end, Vault-Tec will need a military might of its own, to pick up the pieces. Should we move forward with the construction of Vault 50, it will be built to accommodate a larger population compared to standard sized Vaults, and they will receive shipments of Vault Security gear that should be enough to arm 50% of the Vault’s population at Max Capacity, and, depending on our time table for when the bombs finally drop, a second shipment of Vault Security gear is to be sent that’ll allow Vault 50’s population to be armed in its entirety.
What’s more, the Vault is to receive additional munitions and weaponry that Security normally doesn’t have available to them. A couple suits of T-51b Power Armor, painted and branded with Vault-Tec’s logo, is set to arrive with a Mr. Gutsy unit, leading a squad of 4 military issue Assaultrons. They have additional programming that makes them more inclined to be loyal towards the Vault and it’s standing “council”, rather than the US of A. Similar to the Power Armor, they’ll have a paint coating and logo representing Vault-Tec. We’ll also send Six Eyebots equipped with basic laser weaponry, but they’ll have the more standard look in case of discovery, as they are to be used for long range scouting missions to observe events taking place across America. Particularly if the government finds them, we don’t want them being linked back to a Vault-Tec experiment. At a glance, they should look like the same model they use. If we can receive the funding, getting a hanger and Vertibird installed could prove beneficial.
Speaking of the Council - they’re key to this Vault’s experiment. Like standard Vaults, an Overseer will be assigned to run things - however, they’ll have an additional set of leaders that act as the Overseer’s cabinet or council. Council members include the Head of Security, the Chief Scientist, the Chief Engineer, the Head of Education, and the Head Doctor, effectively giving all branches of Vault Life a say in procedure.
Every generation, the new Overseer will send Eyebots out into the wasteland, and record events that transpire across post nuclear America. Significant settlements and post war factions found by the Eyebots will be recorded on a tactical map.
If he or she doesn’t like what they see and feel the old government is not doing so hot, they can hold a “vote of no confidence”. If the majority agrees, plans to erect a new nation ran entirely by executives of Vault-Tec, with its various Overseers acting as local governing bodies, will go into effect.
The Vault 50 G.E.C.K will be used to create a surface base outside of the Vault, and be used as a the new capital and center of operations for Vault-Tec.
Vault 50 Security will be turned into a wartime militia, and send troops out to any neighboring Vaults in order to bring them into the fold. If an experiment is being conducted, they are to assist by any means necessary. If the Vault resist joining the new Vault-Tec ran state, their Overseer is to be removed from power, and replaced by someone more friendly to the Vault 50 initiative.
Once the local area is secure, they are to move to Vaults storing and preserving key pre-war personnel, such as the executives in Vault 31 and the brains of geniuses that are being stored in Vault 0, and ensure their safety, either moving them to Vault 50 or reinforcing the area. Executive authority is to be handed over from Vault 50 staff to the highest ranking Vault-Tec official.
As a precaution, the Vote of No Confidence policy cannot be enacted until the mandatory shelter period is over.
If the No Confidence Policy doesn’t come into effect, a secondary experiment serving the first will take place. Every Vault-Tec citizen 16 years of age will have two years of military training, and then a mandatory two years of service on the security staff before being reallocated to where they best serve the Vault.
The pledge of allegiance to Vault 50 will be a mandatory classroom and social event activity, for the goals of creating a population that’s obscenely patriotic towards Vault-Tec. Signs of deviation are to be reprimanded, and signs of rebellion or disdain against Vault 50 is to be eliminated. Throughout their years of education, loyalty test will be had as a means to find potential troublemakers and true patriots.
The Science & Medicine branches of Vault 50 are to be constantly working towards the goal of creating a new type of Super Soldier, using citizens with unusually high loyalty scores as test subjects. Drugs, Gene Modification, and Cybernetic enhancements are the main methods we’re looking at. The results we’re looking for is a Super Soldier that still looks and acts human, and can put on a suit of power armor. If the experiment is successful, we’ll be able to slowly build a legion of shock troopers Vault-Tec can use to establish its new nation.

Hi! I’m a FTM due in August and my first shower is coming up in three weeks! I’m having three showers (one in my hometown, a co-ed one where I live now, and one with coworkers) and in total, there will be about 140 invites sent out. People are already starting to buy things, so I want to make sure I have all my bases covered, but I also don’t want to keep anything on the registry that’s a waste of money or impractical. Also please let me know if there’s anything on this list that’s unsafe! I did my best to do thorough research, but I feel like there were so many things to choose and think about! For reference, we live in the Midwest, so we have all four seasons, and we’re not finding out baby’s gender until birth. I will admit, I’m easily swayed by aesthetics and anxiety-based marketing, and I’m also a big planner, so I like feeling prepared, but I am well aware, this list feels like a lot. Please give me all the advice you have!
Already Gifted: • Uppababy Cruz V2 & Bassinet • Uppababy Bassinet Stand • Nuna Pipa Car Seat Ring Adapter • Munchkin Spring 2-in-1 Bouncer Rocker • Hatch Rest 2nd Gen • Quince Mongolian Cashmere Nursing Cover • Organic Cotton Crib Sheets x2 • Restoration Hardware Crib • Lalo Bath Tub • Ubbi Weighted Wipes Dispenser • Jellycat Lamb Security Blanket • Jellycat Bunny • Boon Trove Manual Breast Pump • Sophie La Girafe Teething Ring • Our Little Library • Lovevery Sensory Strands • DermaFrida Bath Brush • Philips Avent Pacifiers x2 • Comfy Cubs Pacifier Clips • DoHonest Baby Car Camera • Cozy Baby Insulated Car Seat Cover • Ollie Swaddle • Munchkin Changing Pad • PB Kids Changing Topper
Purchased Ourselves (mostly secondhand): • Yogasleep Rohm • Newton Crib Mattresss • Newton Waterproof Mattress Pad • PB Kids Crib Skirt • Maxi-Cosi Swift Playard • Lands End Canvas Tote (diaper bag) • Puj Flyte Sink Bath • PB Kids Hooded Towel • Burt’s Bees Changing Pad Cover x3 • Kissy Kissy Baby Blanket • Snuggle Me Nursing Pillow • Snuggle Me Nursing Pillow Cover • Lalo First Bites Starter Kit • Lalo Suction Plate • Lalo The Bib x2 • Philips Avent Natural Glass Bottles x4 • Motif Duo Breast Pump (insurance) • Lansinoh Breast Pump (insurance) • Lovevery Play Gym • Colugo On The Go Organizer • Love to Dream Swaddle • Halo Sleep Sack • Assorted High-Quality Baby Clothes (all thrifted — mostly onesies, footies, converter gowns, and cardigans for layering)
Baby Gear: • Nuna Pipa RX Car Seat (will be gifted by aunt) • Maxi-Cosi Magellan LiftFit Convertible Car Seat • Maxi-Cosi Moa 8-in-1 High Chair • Wildbird Aerial Carrier • Solly Baby Wrap • Momcozy Stroller Fan • Accmor Stroller Cup Holder • Uppababy Stroller Snack Tray • Uppababy Bassinet Mattress Cover
Diapering: • Ubbi Diaper Pail • Ubbi On The Go Gift Set • Diaper Caddy • Cloud Island Changing Pad Liners, Set of 3 • Water Wipes 9-Pack x4 • Costco Huggies Newborn + Size 1 Combo Pack x1 • Costco Huggies Size 1 Diapers x3 • Costco Huggies Size 2 Diapers x4 • Green Sprouts Wet Dry Bag • Ubbi Diaper Sacks 200ct • Poo-Pourri Diaper Pail Spray • Triple Paste Diaper Rash Ointment • Mustela Sprayable Diaper Rash Cream • Bumco Spatula
Feeding: • WeeSprouts 12-pack Glass Food Storage Containers • Beaba First Stage Feeding Spoon Set
Bath: • Mustela Newborn Arrival Gift Set • KeaBabies Brush and Comb Set • Ubbi Spout Cover • Skip Hop Bath Rinser • Comfy Cubs Muslin Washcloths
Nursery: • PB Kids Organic Crib Sheet x2 • Pure Enrichment Humidifier • Pure Enrichment Air Purifier • Brightroom 6-Cube Organizer • Brightroom Water Hyacinth Milk Crate x3 • Kids Hangers x15 • Songnomics Laundry Hamper • Dimmable Wall Sconces
Clothing: • Green Sprouts Bibs 5-pack x2 • Green Sprouts Swim and Sun Bucket Hat
Health and Wellness: • Socub Silicone Teether • Ezpz Oral Development Teether • Frida Baby Mobile Medicine Cabinet • Frida Baby Breathe Easy Kit • Frida Baby Electric Nail File • Frida Baby Windi 10pc • Frida Baby 3-in-1 Picker • Mustela Moisturizing Multi-Purpose Balm • Babyganics After Bite Soothing Itch Stick • Think Baby Mineral Sunscreen • BioGaia Probiotic Baby Drops • Botao Fluoride-Free Baby Toothpaste • Baby Banana Infant Teething Brush • Mommy’s Bliss Gripe Water • Mommy’s Bliss Little Gums Soothing Massage Gel • Dr. Talbots Chamomile Soothing Tablets • Tylenol Infant Pain Reliever • Ddrops Baby Vitamin D Organic Liquid Drops • LifeVac Home Kit
Postpartum Supplies: • Tucks Hemorrhoidal Pads 100ct • Lansinoh Stay Dry Nursing Pads 100ct • Rael Organic Disposable Underwear • Lansinoh Postpartum Essentials Kit • Motherlove Organic Sitz Bath Spray • Silverettes Nursing Cups • Traditional Medicinals Mother’s Milk Herbal Tea • Earth Mama Nipple Butter
Cleaning: • Bissell Little Green Carpet Cleaner • Puracy Baby Stain Remover • Puracy Baby Laundry Detergent • OXO Tot Bottle Brush
Keepsakes: • Silver Baby Cup • Silver Baptism Frame • Silver St. Christopher Baby Pin • Reed & Barton Silver Birthday Candleholder Set • Jefferies Socks Crochet Booties

(April 1st, 2022) i was mentally down in the dumps one night with no marijuana or alcohol, no money to go buy anything. I impulsively wanted to get high. I searched through the medicine cabinets in the built in bar in my basement where the medications are located and discovered Dramamine. Note that this was my first time, i am a light weight 110 pound female who only has had experience with alcohol, Xanax, marijuana, LSD, and shrooms. I read in the past that you can get high off the ingredients in this stuff so i went with it. i had no idea how many to take so i did my research and decided to take 20 pills as a starter. It wasn’t a full bottle, 2 pills were left. For some odd reason i decided to take the last 2 totalling up to 22 pills. An hour passes by and i start to feel a little stoned like you would when high off of marijuana. The only things i noticed in that first hour is clear spiders crawling on my blanket, causing me to flinch and try to squish them. Although i have a huge fear of spiders and bugs, it all seemed normal and i wasn’t scared. The spiders would crawl from under my bed scattering the floor up the walls to the corners and then vanish. Moving and talking felt impossible and slow, i felt like i was a robot. The room started to flicker and next thing i know I’m being pulled out on a stretcher into an ambulance in my driveway. My dad told me he woke up to a bang and walked into my room and found me having a seizure on the floor covered in vomit and that the flickering hallucination meant i was having a brain shut down. Their were 2 EMS people in the ambulance with me trying to keep my arms down but i kept lifting them up for some reason so i was restrained and confused on why i couldn’t move my arms. When i was settled in a hospital bed, i saw my sister and my dog on the bed with me and said “hey I’m sorry” to them with excitement. My dad looked at me like i was crazy and told me my dog and sister are at home asleep at the house. This was strange and creepy to me because i felt completely sober. I wasn’t convinced that i was hallucinating whatsoever. It all looked and felt so real and vivid. I then was scrolling through my phone to text my sister (i thought) before my dad asked what I’m doing and i said texting my sister and he said my phone is at home, i look down at my hands and their is no phone. After about 20 minutes of waiting for nurses to switch out my IV, i saw 3 dogs walking in a straight line passing by under the curtain, the 3rd dog on a mini wheel chair. I said to my dad, “did you see those dogs?” He shook his head no. Even though i could only see a few inches below the curtain, i saw dog feet along with the dogs shadows and shadows of the tails wagging through the curtain and the wheels of the wheel chair as they followed each other. That hallucination felt so vivid and i was convinced it was real as i argued with my dad as he said there were no dogs. I don’t remember the next couple hours of the night but when i woke up knowing for sure i was sober, i was still convinced the dog hallucination was real. I was released that following day followed with a bad headache and body aches from the convulsions. I never touched Dramamine ever again, along with any other substances. I strong advise you do not do this, it’s different for everybody and not worth it.
-Bryce

This happened about 5 years ago, so some details are a bit blurry, but I remember most of what happened.
About 5 years ago, I had some major anger issues caused by other undiagnosed mental issues (I'm okay now and am properly medicated). I ended up slamming my door, which caused my mirror to break and slice my left leg open. Stupid mistake, I know. I've learned since then. I ended up going to the hospital to get about 48 stitches. I had to miss a couple of days of school because the doctor told me to take it easy for 48 hours. When I finally went back to school, I had crutches because I couldn't put any weight on the injured leg at all. I got an elevator key and needed people to help me with my books.
I kept pain meds with the nurse because, again, 48 stitches. She never liked me for some reason, so when I went to get half a pill during lunch, she refused to give it to me. Here's how the exchange went.
N: You don't need any meds. You're fine.
Me: No, I do need them. I'm in a lot of pain.
N: Stop faking and go back to lunch. Oh, and leave your crutches here. You don't need them.
I was in a lot of pain, so I was already not in a good mood, so this really pissed me off.
Me: Do your damn job and give me my meds, then I'll go back. I have an ungodly amount of stitches in my leg, and I'm already upset enough without you being rude.
N: How do I know you're actually injured? You could just have a bandage around your leg.
Me: You want proof?
N: Yes.
Without hesitation, I untied the gauze on my leg, removed the gauze pad, and showed her my stitched wound. All the color drained from her face, and she looked like she was going to throw up.
Me: Is this good enough for you?
After a moment, she silently unlocked her medicine cabinet and handed me my pain killer bottle (which was literally just extra-strength ibuprofen, not opioids, so I have no idea why she was so protective of it).
N: Take your pill and go back to lunch.
I smiled at her as sweetly as possible.
Me: Oh, I can't go back now! My bandages aren't sterile anymore, so I need to change them.
I had brought extra bandages just in case, so this was no big deal. She still looked nauseous at this point, so I changed my bandages as slowly as I could, making sure she got a good look at my leg the entire time.
I only had to go back to her office twice during my recovery, but each time, she didn't hesitate to give me my medication. I saw her when I went to return my elevator key, and she avoided eye contact with me.
She wasn't working there the following year, luckily.

AITA for not caring about my boyfriends grandmas medicine he’s been fighting with me for over 2 days about a medicine cabinet but other people are in charge of her care and stuff so should I be concerned with it too? Mind you I’d be told I’d kill her and I’m not even wanted here where I’m currently living 🙄 plus I’m raising our 3 kids practically alone plus clean everything up from her mess to his plus my dogs all by myself and dealing with a situation on top of all of this with our oldest child. Who’s currently having behavioral issues and her own struggles at this time. So I’m mine as well say a single mom of 4 doing everything for all 7 of us and I’m exhausted depressed I have no support system no friends and I’m a total wreck trying to figure out life as I’m a young mom of 6 kids it’s a lot and I’m constantly stressed. I cry 90% of the time cause I have no one to vent too my whole family sucks

This is my first hand account as the youngest of 3 daughters, with a loving, hardworking mom but lazy, narcissistic dad with anger management issues. It's going to be a long story, basically my whole life story, because I feel that sharing some of my experiences growing up, may help bring more context to the situation I'm in today. I'm also a certified banana (non-Chinese speaking Chinese), and do identify as a ABC: American Born Chinese.
Growing up, I wasn't really allowed to go out from my house except for friends' birthday parties, and to go to school (obviously). My dad was a sales manager, and my mom ran a retail shop selling bags up till I was in secondary school, after which she stopped to be a full time housewife. Honestly, I don't even know how she juggled all the responsibilities while I was in primary school, because she did all the cooking, cleaning, grocery shopping, and even took time to dress my sisters and me and help us with homework and studying, and spend time with us on weekends (which I now understand how precious weekends are as a working adult). Basically, my freedom was heavily restricted, and I learnt at a young age how to keep myself entertained and appreciate my own company (which did make me depressed sometimes to be honest, until I learnt to accept, appreciate, and love myself for me when I got much older).
My parents were always yelling when I was home from school, especially at night. I used to try to ignore it by focusing on studying, thinking that if I worked hard enough, I would be able to make a living on my own and things would be better then (yes, I was only in primary school when I thought these things). I recall now that I used to think that no one loved me, that I was so much younger than my sisters (8 years from the oldest, and 6 years from the second) because I was an accident and unwanted. I was a naughty child, used to run around the house and draw on the table legs with color pencils. My mom used to cane me to discipline me when I misbehaved, but I still loved her. Looking back, I realise I honestly have a lot to thank her for - that it does feel like she single-handedly raised me and my sisters.
I was never given any allowance, never bought any new toys or clothes or shoes, because everything I needed would be handed down from my sisters. I would resent this for most of my childhood of course, until I got old enough to understand this was to be frugal. But looking back, it went deeper than that - my mom wasn't really able to spend money without my dad's consent. So everything went through him - and he would never allow us to spend money unless it was really a necessity, or unless it was something HE wanted. And what he was most interested in at the time I was growing up, was tech stuff. TVs, surround sound speakers with subwoofers, iMacs and all. Now this, he would spend money on. But my mom, I don't recall seeing her buy things for herself much to be honest. He did buy us a lot of pirated computer games - but usually he'd try to pick something that was more educational - and I think he only did it because he was buying pirated VCDs anyway.
Side question: How common is it to get your first handphone at 18yo (Nokia, the model you could drop from the roof and still would work), if you were born in the 1990s? I feel like it was definitely earlier than my older sisters, but the reason for this is because I was selected for National Service, and my parents wanted to stay in contact with me so they got me a handphone (which ironically was confiscated at the camp and only returned to you on weekends, and signal at my camp was almost non-existent). I feel like in comparison with many of my friends, I was super late in getting a handphone and had a lot to make up for to catch up in understanding.
Fast-forwarding to secondary school - my dad would usually always be angry about something at home. Maybe he woke up late for work and blamed my mom for it. Maybe I didn't get good enough grades - even if I got 100, he'd somehow always find a way to say that I could have gotten higher (yes I know that sounds stupid but he honestly used to say these things, because I would almost consistently get 100 for English and Maths - yes I am a nerd). Or maybe it would just be the way we answered his questions. He has this pattern where if he asked you a question, and he didn't like your answer, he'd pretend he didn't hear it, and ask you again, almost in the exact same phrasing he did the first time. And he'd do it again. And again. And eventually when you run out of patience and answer him shortly, he'd burst out in anger, with his default phrase: "You don't know how to talk to people.". "You talk nicer to strangers, better than your own father.". For a long time, hearing these words being repeatedly yelled, screamed at you, by a loud, angry, male voice, did two things to me. One, I used to almost believe that I didn't know how to talk to people, that I WAS the problem, and not him. Two, till today, hearing raised male voices still scares and distresses me, I get nervous and really tense - which doesn't help because that's how Hokkien and Hakka sounds to me when people are just saying hello! (yea it doesn't sound like anything to me because I'm a banana).
I recall a time on a weekend, when I had woken up early to watch morning cartoons, and my dad was angry about something - my sister had been busy applying for university, and I think he didn't like that she didn't want to be a medical doctor - she was more interested in math or vet sciences. He had been yelling at her, and then proceeded to walk over to where I was sitting on the floor in front of the TV, stand over in front of me, bend down, and scream at my face saying "get out, get out of this house now!" - I swear I saw spit fly when he yelled at me. I was so afraid, so freaked out, that I later asked my mom if she thought one of the nice aunties from church would take me in if he really kicked me out.
How did I survive all this? I didn't even realise I was doing it, but I would try to spend as much free time as I could with friends - we'd talk on the phone for HOURS after school (mind you this was before we had cordless landline phones, so I would sit at the stairs, with my ear glued to the phone), and when I finally got to Form 6, I'd hang out after school with friends with cars, to malls, to the movies, to lunch, and my mom would sneak me some spare cash from her groceries budget so I could have a good time with friends. I had some really good friends that would sponsor me food/snacks too, whom I'll forever be indebted to, because no matter how cheap it was back then, it was still their allowance they were spending on a friend that couldn't pay them back.
Around this time, my dad lost his job - the management had changed, but if I recall how he was about his job, I don't think he was meeting his work KPIs as a sales manager either to be honest - and he was sacked. He fought it in court, and won money from it. This will become significant later on, but let's move on first.
Fast-forward to my turn to enter university, and I couldn't get in to medicine. I had tried, believe me - thinking that I liked biology enough, and that if I didn't, I could learn to love it - that my dad would love me more and treat me better if I did what he wanted, and go into medicine. But I couldn't make it - no scholarships wouldn't take me with my STPM 3.75 CGPA, not even for dentistry, because the competition was too tough with limited placements. I recall, my dad had opened a Maybank Yippie account under my name, and he applied to earn the rewards the bank offered for getting certain grades from PMR, SPM and STPM. When we got it, it went promptly into his own bank account under the justification that I didn't have my own bank account and he'd keep it for me until I did. Bro, you were controlling my Yippie account, and you had to close it once I finished STPM. You could have just opened an account immediately after that for me, but you didn't. That makes no sense, but ok, take it if that makes you happy.
I recall when I was applying to university through the UPU platform, I asked him for his advice, and he yelled at me to figure it out on my own. I wasn't sure what I could do honestly, because the whole time in secondary school, I only knew that he wanted me to go into medicine - I had no other frame of reference. My mom asked around among the neighbors, and found out that engineering was also a good field, and I did enjoy physics a lot more than biology, so I went into that. And my dad? Never did he once check on me - on what I was applying for, about school fees, nothing. My mom suggested I apply for PTPTN, that if I graduated with first class honors, I could convert it into a full scholarship, so I did that after exhausting all the other available scholarship options.
I think it was only in 2nd year of university that he found out I took Biomedical Engineering, and then he took an interest because there was some correlation to medicine - more on rehab science, but hey, I was taking classes in the attached hospital, so he was interested. Then he started to "show off" to relatives whenever they asked about it during CNY gatherings.
Anyway I think I've completely lost focus, so I'm gonna fast-forward. Today, I'm working a stable full-time job at a company I love working at - the people here are great and so supportive, and most of my social circle is from here today, with the exception of some close school friends I still keep in contact with.
Full lockdown in MCO was super tough for me. Being at home with my dad's constant yelling and anger issues, I seriously considered many times once lockdown was lifted, about moving out. I mentioned it to my mom, but she would always advise me not to, that it was too much financial strain on me and it wasn't safe to live by myself (you know, single girl, alone). Eventually, I realised, with lockdown lifted, I could escape our home, by going to the office. So I did. And I realised, that my mom was the more pitiful one because she couldn't escape as a full time housewife because my dad would restrict her freedom too - both inside and outside of the house. And for some reason, she accepted it. She clearly wasn't happy about it, but whenever I'd complain about my issues at home with her, her advice would be to not let it affect me and go out when I could. Honestly, I always wanted to ask her why she didn't just divorce my dad, but I was always too afraid to ask. So I let it be.
There were times when work was stressful, and because I had made work my escape from home, it was a toxic cycle for me, so much so that I had a few mental breakdowns at work, and did consider ending my life. But I got through it eventually after seeking counseling and talking to friends about my issues.
Have I mentioned my dad is a hoarder? He still has old VCRs of shows recorded from laser discs and satellite TV which we haven't touched in 20+ years, and probably will never use again. He still has an old Amiga computer in the storeroom that he never intends to set up, and also doesn't intend to sell - he just doesn't want to throw it away. Old pill boxes, old batteries - he insists to keep because he thinks he'll either need them again, or be able to use them somehow. Basically, the old house is so full of his junk that he's collected since I was young, that there's no space for the rest of us to really live. We're just, guests in his house, that have beds, places to put our clothes, and have to cook, clean, grocery shop, and pay for all the utilities, his car insurance, medical insurance, house insurance, and also give him an allowance. He complains about our cleaning too, even though he wouldn't ever clean himself. I found out from my sisters recently that he actually did complain about us not paying rent some time back, and this was AFTER they were already giving him a generous allowance every month (I had only just finished uni or started working? so they didn't tell me this). And he would continue to complain about this even after we started to pay for utilities and groceries. So eventually, they stopped giving him an allowance.
Another incident I want to share is about the family car. So we used to have a really old Proton Wira that we used as the family car since I was in primary school. About 20 years later, we still used it and it was the only available car I could take to drive to work. It wasn't very well maintained, but it got you from A to B, so for my first car, I wasn't complaining. Until, the gearbox started to have problems. I would send it to service many times, change the gearbox many times, and still, the gears would slip while driving - could be on a flat road while accelerating, and what especially worried me was when I was going up ramps or slopes, like when exiting basement parking, I had to have my hand on the handbrake at all times incase I started to fall backwards because I wasn't sure I could switch from accelerator to brake pedal quick enough. I told my dad about it every time, but he would just tell me off, saying I wasn't driving properly, and that there was nothing wrong with the car. I endured it for a couple years, until finally one day, I realised just how dangerous it was when I was leaving the parking with cars behind me, and I DID have to use pull the handbrake. So one day, I had enough, and I bought myself my own car with my own money. And guess what? When I went back home with it, what did my dad do? He yelled at me. Like on a scale of 1 to 10, he was 15. And then he yelled at my cousin who helped me to buy the car. He wasn't upset that I had gotten one without his consent, or that maybe I hadn't gotten the best deal on the car, no nothing like that. He was only upset, because I had spent my own money on myself, and that he insisted the old family car was perfectly fine. Well guess what? Eventually, he gave up on the car too, and asked *cough*forced*cough my cousin to buy it off from him, and apparently en route to the shop on the highway, the car broke down and had to be towed. And my dad never said a THING about it, ever. Makes me so mad just thinking about how selfish and irresponsible he was being, and how lucky I was that I had decided to get a car on my own. He was only curious about one thing - he asked me if I had gotten a bank loan for the car. I told him I borrowed money from my boss - when actually I had gotten a loan from my sister.
We're getting closer to present day, bear with me.
Last month, my house was being painted, with some other fixes being done like changing the roof gutters and house gate which were severely rusted over the 30+ years we lived in the house, never having been maintained ever since we moved in. It was actually my oldest sister's idea, being the "bread-winner" ever since my dad entered "forced retirement". She felt like it was a nice gesture and she had saved money to do it. She let my dad to pick the contractor so he'd be satisfied with the quality of the work, and that's when all hell broke loose.
From the day we agreed to the quotation (which was a really hefty sum), my dad wasn't happy about anything. He was always criticising the price, the quality of the materials, the workmanship of the painter and workmen, and even nitpicked that the contractor had "daddy issues". Funnily enough, it's my dad that has "daddy issues" himself because he likes to play the victim card after all these years saying that his father abandoning his family when he was young screwed him up. I'm sorry he went through that, but seriously, you're doing well now, and you're 66 fucking years old, could you grow up? Sorry, I digress. Honestly, my dad would just find ANYTHING to complain about, and he'd be angry and loud about it. Worse one I think was when he kept having the idea that the contractor should throw in some freebies for him, like hey, could you also paint this window for me, or fix this door for me, for free. Like as if materials are free and workmanship doesn't cost time and effort? I swear it's almost as if he's never worked a hard day's work in his life... Which I find contradicting considering how stingy he is with money...
The painting and house fixes took around 3 weeks in total - including power washing all the old paint off the walls, putting a few coats of primer, painting, and all the metal work. Also considering this was during puasa which was tough for the workers, and the weather was blistering hot in the afternoon and then heavy rain in the evenings. Through the whole thing, my sisters and I were busy at work, so who was left to manage at home were my parents. Or rather I should say, my mom. Because all my dad did, from day 1, is yell at the contractor. Saying he's not doing a good job, that he's so calculative because he wouldn't throw in some freebies like painting the window when we didn't ask for it in the quotation, or changing the color when he didn't like it, etc etc. Lies, they were all lies. The contractor knew exactly what he was doing, and it was really good work. We were all really happy with it. So my mom had to be peacemaker, try to calm down my dad, and apologize to the contractor on the side. Which is exhausting, because my dad was literally yelling in his face all the time! And he would eventually take it out on my mom because obviously it was no secret she was defending the contractor. I'm honestly super shocked he would act this way to a stranger. All my life he's always been so careful to only show his nasty side to us at home, and be charming outside to strangers. I guess being the "customer" went to his head?
All this took a really heavy toll on my mom. She's 64yo, and it was stressing her out so much to have my dad throwing his temper around all the time. If he didn't get his way with the contractor, he'd take it out on her. When I was home on weekends or before going to work in the mornings, she'd tell me how things were going, and they were just getting from bad to worse. She was getting more and more frail, more tired, losing her appetite, and not being able to sleep too.
Around 1-2 weeks in, realising things were getting way way out of control (who am I kidding, when was anything in my life with my dad ever in control? lol) - more importantly, my mom was suffering horribly from it - I reminded her that I considered a few times before about moving out. And that in the end, I decided not to only because she advised me not to. That I could escape to my office, but she couldn't, and that with my working hours and escapism, I hardly spent any time at home except to sleep (sometimes even choosing to shower at the office). So what was the point if she wasn't going to move out with me? So I stayed. But I told her this time, forget about financial worries, about anything else - and consider if she needs to get out of this situation. It's not worth being stuck in this at the cost of her own mental well being. I told her all this, to know these are options she could consider for herself, and left it at that. A couple days later, I went for an overseas trip with friends, and honestly, didn't think much of it.
A week later, I came back, and things felt the same. The painting was done, the gate was being installed, and the end of the hell seemed to be really close, like 1-2 days before everything would be completed. Another week later, I'm having lunch with my sisters and mom at home (dad not there because he had the habit of sleeping till 2pm ever since he "retired"). And I did NOT expect them to tell me they had all decided to move out, to leave my dad.
I was surprised, happy (like really happy), and also confused. So they explained that the turning point had come during the week that I was away, my dad's temper had gotten so bad, that he had almost hit my mom when he was yelling at her and the contractor outside the house. Luckily the contractor stepped in to stop him, and he snapped out of it, but it was enough to make my mom realise that after all these years, he is really never going to change, and that he could one day hurt her when no one else was around. Apparently, there were times before that she had mentioned his attitude & anger problems to him and threatened to leave him, and he promised to change, but then he would quickly forget it and go back to his usual ways. And other times, when he couldn't get the response he wanted from her, he would take it out on my sisters and I by yelling at us. She would always tell me when I was growing up that people don't change unless they want to, and don't ever get into a relationship with a guy thinking I can fix or change him. Funny that she would give me that advice, but herself still be hoping for my dad to change.
So, after telling them I fully supported the idea (basically I said I had been waiting a long time for them to decide to move out lols), we started looking for places to rent. And this is where I really have to thank God, because everything just fell into place. I mean there were some hiccups along the way, but within 2 weeks we managed to find a great place to move to within our rental budget with an awesome landlord. Then my dad announced he was going on an overseas trip around the time we would get the keys to move in. Honestly, we had considered trying to pack everything while he was sleeping and moving it under his nose, or considering the possibility of asking the police for help to move out in case my dad tried to stop us physically. But none of that had to happen, because he went for a trip, and we had basically a week to pack and move out. And with the help of many friends, we did it. We moved out, for the first time after 30+ years (40 for my mom).
Living apart from my dad, able to control our own lives and living space... We have never been happier as a family. I don't have my own room, I still share with my sister, but it honestly doesn't matter, because we can wake up every morning without worrying about the next temper tantrum or yelling match, or accidentally upsetting my dad about anything. It's so peaceful, and I look forward to going home after work now, rather than staying longer at the office. I no longer have to live under constant threat of being blamed from something wrong in the house. Yes, this is also something my dad does a lot, blame all of us for things getting spoiled in the house, even if it's obviously from wear and tear over the years. Like, the air-conditioner leaking, he would say was because we were folding clothes in the room which created a lot of fluff and clogged up air vents causing it to leak. Or, a power bank not working so well anymore, according to him was because I used it wrongly, and not because the charge just doesn't hold so well after degrading over the years.
The simplest things - being able to have a desk to work at when I want to work from home or play computer games, and having a cabinet in the kitchen to put my coffee gear instead of having to always wash, dry, and pack them up into paper bags. Or something even simpler - being able to accidentally leave a light on in a room and not be scolded for it like I had just killed someone... These are joys I get to experience now because we no longer live under the control of my dad.
Now, it's been 2 weeks since my dad returned from his trip to find an empty house (we only took our stuff, his stuff is still all there), and a letter explaining we had moved out because we couldn't stand to stay there anymore, and not to contact us because we need our space. He tried calling us but frankly, I think we were all either afraid to pick up just to be yelled at, or just not willing to be subjected to his manipulation anymore after experiencing peace of mind without him, so none of us picked up. He tried texting the family group then, and it surprised me he didn't act angry, but rather said he was shocked and expected to be able to live the rest of his life with us, that we would take care of him in his old age, that we should have pity on him because he's not young and came back unwell from his trip, that he had to sleep on the floor at the airport in Dubai. He said he wanted another chance to improve on his 'flaws', saying he loves us and would never do anything to hurt us, asking my mom to come back, that he knows he made a lot of mistakes, but that he's always lived his life for the benefit of us. Then, he asks us to continue paying for the utilities. Followed by saying "he knows we don't talk about it, but he never recovered from the suffering he endured at church" - which is total bullshit by the way, because he never suffered at church... what happens is what he always does - he alienates people or doesn't like it when people do things differently from him, and is super sensitive when people don't compliment or praise him for his works. So what he does eventually, is he leaves that church, and then finds another one. Anyway, he then continues in his messages with even more sappy words like he misses us, he's so lost without us, when he wakes up he's so full of fear, that that's why he's so unhappy and angry all the time, he needs us, that he's never had to be independent all his life, he's not eating well, not sleeping well, don't block him, please just let him meet us one more time, just let him hear our voices, just to say hello... OMG I wanna puke just reading all this... So much of it is so cringe, like he's NEVER spoken like that to us ever, and in the middle of it asks for money? And for the past, I don't know, 15 years at least, he's either always yelling at us that we don't know how to talk to people properly, or that we shouldn't talk to him. And now, he says he misses our voices? GAG.
Then this week... he pays me a visit to my office. Shows up at lunch time, and asks to see me. It was a really big shock to see him just standing there, smiling at me like as if I should be happy to see him? Honestly, I did expect it to happen, because my office is the nearest to his house, and probably the easiest to get to compared to my sisters' workplaces. But still, thinking it and seeing it were two different things, and I was just praying that he wouldn't be desperate enough to really do it and that I was just being paranoid. So seeing him in my office, I was instantly on edge, thinking he was going to make a scene at my office, and asked some colleagues to help keep an eye out for me while I went to talk to him. And he basically repeated the same things he's been sending in text to me. He started crying, and trying to show me how frail he was because he wasn't eating well, said he hoped I could take him out for a meal, saying he's only been eating all the leftovers - which honestly, is kind of suspicious because we didn't have that many leftovers to begin with, and we had purposely restocked the house with bread, biscuits, tuna which we knew he knew how to eat on his own - so maybe he was referring to that... Said he was worried about his finances, that his eyesight wasn't good, his knees weren't good, how was he going to clean the house on his own. Then he tries to change the topic for some reason, by saying he was surprised he was allowed into the office building and that the guard had given him some package to bring up as well when he said he was coming to my floor... It was weird and creepy and gave me a really unsettled, disturbed feeling throughout the whole experience. I was so tense and nervous that I couldn't bear to talk to him without crossing my arms in front of me the whole time. And I kept explaining to him, that there was no point in him trying to justify and explain himself to me - that it all just sounded like excuses to me, that 30 years of doing the same damn thing over and over to us was enough and that we were never ever going back to his house, whether it was to visit or moving back in - none of that was going to happen. But with his constant crying and pleading, I did start to feel really sorry for him.
I mean, even in the week when we were moving out, I felt guilty about it, knowing he wasn't going to be happy and was going to have a hard time once we left him. But the alternative was to do nothing about our situation, which wasn't a viable option either. Continuing to live with him was basically just saying, this is it, this is our lives, we're going to die with this being the extent of our lives. And I was NOT going to let that happen. My mom did NOT deserve to die in that house with that tyrant controlling every aspect of her life, sucking the joy and energy from her like a leech, like a freaking Dementor from Harry Potter. But anyway, yea, his pleading got to me, I did pity him and felt sorry for him, so I told him, please leave, I'll unblock him on my phone so he can call and message me, but I won't promise anything else except to pass on what he has said to my sisters and mom. He kept saying please, he can't wait too long, please just come to the house to talk to him, he needs us, etc. Took me a few times to convince him he's not going to get anything else out of me and eventually he left.
I was so on edge after that, I realised my hands were cold and shaking, and I didn't have much appetite for lunch by then. Thankfully I have many caring and supportive colleague who knew about the situation and they helped talk to me about it and it calmed me down. I talked to my sisters and mom that night after work, and they shared with me some of their experiences that I wasn't aware of from when I was a baby or when I wasn't at home. Which made me realise... he may have been trying to manipulate me earlier. Apparently, he has on several occasions, told my mom he regretted marrying her, that he would have been better off letting his mom to find him a wife instead. He had told my sister (the middle child) that he regretted having us as children. Told her to get out of the house too. And always told us that he had lots of money, that money was no object, whenever we told him we didn't want to spend on something he was asking for because we couldn't afford it. Which is conflicting isn't it, because if YOU have the money, then why not buy it yourself instead of trying to convince us to buy it for you? My sister had also asked him before why he was so angry, why he was yelling, and he would respond that he wasn't angry and that he was just like that, and he wouldn't change. I think the one story that really hit me though, was when my oldest sister said, she remembered when she was younger, maybe around kindergarten or primary school - she was holding me as a baby, and I was crying, and she was trying to comfort me. And my dad was playing really loud music at the time, and mom was busy with house chores, and she said she just remembered feeling like something wasn't right, and thinking why was it like this. It hit me then... that this had been going on for YEARS, like from before I was born, probably from the moment my mom had married him, and everything he had been saying were lies. Maybe he meant some of it, because he knew now that we weren't afraid to leave, that we could and would and did leave, that for that he was probably sorry for yelling at us. That all his threats to tell us to get out, while he probably thought would give him control over us at the time, had eventually now come back to bite him in the ass now that we were older and didn't depend on him anymore.
So, today, at this moment, I am sitting at my new desk, in my nice new home, writing this out because, my logical brain KNOWS that we have done the right thing. That my dad, the whole situation with him and how he treats the people around him, his entire behavior, is a classic red flag, textbook case. But despite knowing this, in my heart, in my emotional brain, I feel bad about it. Not enough to want to reach out to him and respond to his requests. But enough that I feel guilt when I'm happy about our new life, like I shouldn't feel this great when he's feeling bad. That my happiness now has come as his expense now. And yes, although I have been angry at him enough to wish him dead many many times over in the past, I think my compassion somehow makes me feel like it's not right to inflict suffering on others for my own sake. But logically, am I really "inflicting" suffering on him? Is it my fault he doesn't know how to be happy with his own life? Just because I was born as his child, doesn't mean I owe him anything, that I'm responsible to make him feel good, does it? Yes, I'm Asian, and Christian, and both of these teach us to respect our elders and take care of our parents. But it can't be at the expense of my own happiness and emotional well-being.
I don't know if I'll ever get into a relationship with someone. I'm 31 years old this year, and I have never been in a romantic relationship. I've had crushes, gone out a couple times for movies or meals, but it's never gone beyond just being casual acquaintances or friends. And I have zero interest in putting myself out there on online dating platforms, or going out to meet new people for the purpose of finding someone. I don't know if it's because of my experience with my dad, that deep down I'm so traumatised that I don't even want to consider putting myself in a situation that could become how it was with my mom and dad. I've seen other people have healthy marriages with loving family bonds, where the father is useful, caring, stable, dependable, and supportive. But I think I'm really afraid that I'm that person that attracts the wrong sort, you know? There's a saying right? That you marry men who are like our fathers? Yes, good relationships exist, but they're what other people get, and since I'm not a good judge of character and easily gullible, it can't possibly happen for me. And while thinking that does make me sad, I also know that maybe it's just better to stay single, so that I'll never be hurt again. Like, the risk isn't worth the potential reward.
Anyway, I hope someone does read this in the entirety, and lets me know what they think about the whole situation that is my life, and also especially my current situation. If there's any advice you could share with me, do you think I'm being too harsh? I do get triggered by my message tones, call tones, and even the office door bell these days, because every time, I'm just reminded that my dad is trying to plead with us to come back, and I'm just so tired of his manipulation and gaslighting and general emotional abuse. And I feel like this is probably more common than I think, and if you can relate to this while you're reading it, I hope you find the courage get out of the bad situation you're in and find your happiness too. If you're in a similar situation, although I have guilty feelings about it, I know it's important to take care of your own well-being, and I hope this helps you to know that you're not alone.

Chapter 1 People are so…. Social. I grew up in a small town in Arizona and I’ve always loved the peace and quiet. But as I aged, graduating high school and spending a restless summer trying to divine what a broke carpenters son could do with his life (and probably drinking and smoking too much.) the small town gossip really started to wear on me. I’ve never been a social butterfly, preferring to mind my own business and let others mind theirs. But in a small town that’s a luxury you can’t afford. Everyone there has watched you mature from a scrawny kid with a stutter to a quiet but confident young man and, as such, feel that they have some obligation to be sure that your life is going to go in the right direction. There’s only so many questions a 19 year old can take about a lack of college and girlfriends. Only so many conversations following the familiar lines of “well you know, college is there to prove to employers you can show up at the same time and place for 4 years.” Or “don’t rush it, I found my wife when I finally gave up on looking!” Or, most aggravating “God works in mysterious ways!” (No shit Barbara, he’s an unknowable, omnipotent entity and you sell Sephora.(Don’t you have a bland youth group sermon to give?) I guess this is my way of explaining why I left my hometown so hastily the beautiful autumn after graduation. My folks were pleased to see I was going to “find myself.” As my mother so romantically put it. They hoped I’d find some kind of inspiration out on life’s grand highway. My dad chuckled, his eyes full of memories from the days he was young and free, a youthful joy that even 25 years in construction couldn’t dampen. “Go sow your wild oats son! Just remember you’ll reap them in the end.” He said, a mischievousness that was rare for him lightening the words. That is how I came to be here, in Golden Meadow, Louisiana. “Arizona plates? Well ain’t you a long way from home?” The deep southern drawl, by now familiar to me after a week of driving through Louisiana, cut through a perfectly quiet morning. Great. A socialite. Why did I have to choose the south for this roadtrip? I forced a polite smile and turned to face dreaded small talk as I began pumping my gas. “That’s right!” As I spoke I sized up my new best friend. A short, profusely sweating man stood before me. He must have been about 5’ 5”, well below my respectable height of 6’. His hair, greasy but trimmed nicely, his sheriffs hat…. Fuck. This is a cop. “Sheriff E. Gore, pleased to meet you!” He drawled again, his accent, I noted, more Texas than Cajun. He extended a sweaty hand, which I took as a good sign. (The law usually isn’t so friendly to suspicious people.) I shook his hand, surprised by the strength that this somewhat rotund sheriff had, his grip strong but measured. I returned his introduction. “David Lawrence.” “What brings you down to our little town son?” I took a deliberate look around before I answered, my gaze sweeping over the small gas station, the almost empty street, the abandoned buildings, a liquor store and a dilapidated dollar general. “Just passing through.” It probably wouldn’t take long, I thought to myself. I could see most of town from where I was. My gaze returned to Sheriff Gore, and I realized he was staring at me hard, gauging me for something. “I’m on a bit of a roadtrip.” I added, trying to remove his focus from my arms. “Well built aren’t ya?” The Sheriff said. Jesus, what a way to start a conversation with a stranger. I forced through the awkwardness. “Yessir.” Forced grin, wishing my gas would pump faster. “I try to stay active.” The Sheriff’s attentive gaze and fixed smile never strayed from me. “How nice! You know, you should stick around town awhile, we’ve got lots to offer!” I decided to myself that I didn’t like the Sheriff, my earlier thought that he likely wasn’t suspicious since he was so friendly now giving way to the feeling that he was too friendly. I gritted my teeth. “I really would, but I’m trying to make it to New Orleans.” I said, maintaining my politely measured tone. I had no interest in staying in this town. “That’s such a shame.” The Sheriff said, his voice betraying disappointment. “It’s a lovely town, it really is.” I was saved from my own awkward response to his too-friendly, begging statement by his radio crackling loudly from his cruiser, parked outside the gas station convenience store. The words, unintelligible to me, evidently made sense to Gore, as he swung around and strolled back to his cruiser. He was oddly quick for a guy of his stature. “Well, good luck on the road Lawrence.” He shouted over his shoulder as he left. “Be careful on the roads and come visit us again real soon!” I shook off the bile-like aftertaste of Gore’s stare and went back to doing what I do best. Minding my own damn business. I wouldn’t be in town long. What I’d told the Sheriff was true. I was headed to New Orleans. My red ‘69 mustang and I were scheduled to enjoy a beautiful city, far from the normal tourist season, here in early October. The food, the music, the bars, all promised to be excellent and uncrowded, allowing a drifting 19 year old a place to breathe and make decisions. Maybe I’d find some work and stay awhile. Or I’d stay a week and then continue “Dave’s Grand Tour” as I’d taken to calling my trip. The idea of Dave’s Grand Tour was simple; find a place that speaks to me. I had no interest in college, as I’d found during high school that an enterprising young man could make a good bit of money just by taking opportunities when they come. I’d worked at a county fair, for the railroad and for local farmers and ranchers and I had found that there were lots of ways to make money. And I didn’t want to tie myself to a career. After all, my dad had built a pretty great life doing carpentry, something that didn’t take much time to learn. (Of course I’d already learned, from helping him.) I contemplated these things as I pulled out of the filling station and back onto the road. Not much farther to New Orleans. As I drove through town, past a small town mechanic, a diner and a tidy row of houses, I almost felt bad for leaving. This town was clearly dying. Empty buildings, boarded windows and beat up cars told the story of a town in decline. The coastal fishing village was picturesque though, and its people were friendly and polite. With the exception of Sheriff E. Gore. What the hell was that guys prob.. I was tore from my thoughts as the unmistakable sound of a popped tire hissed above the growl of my car. “Shit.” I muttered, pulling over to assess the damage. The damage, as it turned out, was extensive and likely expensive. The ‘stang was equipped with beautiful whitewall tires, painstakingly sourced by my grandfather during the restoration I had helped him with during his final years. Cancer is a bitch, especially when you’re 72. He had handled it well though, and had the car (as well as some of his savings) to me when he passed. Grandma had gone ahead of him some years before. I reiterate, cancer is a bitch. And now my beautiful car was down two tires, both passenger side whitewalls punctured by a myriad of screws and nails. I stared in disbelief. Wandering back down the road I found their source, an overturned coffee tin which was clearly some tradesman’s “spare shit” bin. Shaking my head and muttering expletives I strolled back to my car. Of course I had a spare in the trunk, and all the tools to change a tire, but who carts a second spare tire around? Still muttering words I could never let my mother hear, I searched on my phone for the number to the mechanic I had passed, finding an oddly polished website. JP’s machine and tire shop had someone tech savvy on the payroll. And they were punctual. Less than 15 minutes later I was standing on the concrete shop floor, watching JP himself remove my tires. “Lord, you’ve had some bad luck!” He boomed. I’d decided I liked JP. He was a big man, with a tanned face and forearms, betraying many days spent on the sun-soaked waters of the bay. “How in gods name did you manage to get this many holes in such nice tires?” I laughed. “I’m Gods strongest soldier I guess.” JP roared out a laugh. Laughter came easy to him it seemed. “There’s good news and bad news.” He said, awhile later. I’d quietly sat in a comfy chair in the shops waiting area, reading, while he focused on his work. “What’s the bad news?” I asked. “You’ve got to wait two days for new tires.” JP replied. I’d figured as much. What kind of small town auto shop would have whitewalls for a 1969 mustang just lying around. “Good news is, I got you a helluva deal on them. Buddy of mine runs a classics restoration shop in Orleans. He’ll send a truck to deliver your tires, but he’s short handed, thus the wait.” This was excellent (and intriguing) news. I’d expected the wait to be much longer, and the cost to be higher. As JP broke down my bill, explaining the pricing, I couldn’t help but feel pretty lucky, all things considered. I paid JP (thank you Grandpa) and wandered out into the Golden Meadow sunshine, my backpack slung over my shoulder.
Chapter 2 It was a damn fine evening on the bayou. I was paddling along between small islands overgrown with thick river reeds, in a kayak I’d rented from a local fishing guide named Sam. I’d spent the afternoon fishing from the kayak, with a breakdown rod I kept in my backpack. Now, as the sun was sinking low, turning the water orange and pink in the dying light, I paddled gently back to town. As I made it to the dock where Sam had told me to leave the kayak (very trusting fellow, Sam was) I heard faint music. It grew louder as I came closer to the dock. A myriad of fishing vessels, speedboats and jet skis obscured it as I drew close. But as I tied the kayak in place at Sam’s dock, I made out the lyrics. I recognized the song. Brown Haired Blue Eyed Baby, by JD Clayton. Excellent song. That was when I saw her. Standing on a tall fishing boat at the next dock over. She. Was. Breathtaking. With dark brown hair and a deep tan, she looked to be about my age. She was coiling a rope, faced away from me, singing along to the music. I suddenly realized I was staring, not saying anything, and she had no idea I was there. Realizing that this could be a bad look for me, I cast my eyes downward and dropped my backpack onto the dock, letting it fall heavily. I glanced up as she swung around, pretending I hadn’t seen her until now. “Oh, hey!” I said, a bit too loudly. After a pause she returned the greeting somewhat cautiously. “Hey.” Words failed me. She had turned to face me now and I saw her eyes for the first time. They were a vivid blue, that reflected the light from the water, even as the sun sank. I had a sudden burst of confidence, thinking to myself that worst case scenario, e.g. rejection, I could always just leave in two days and never see her again. “Hey, listen, this might be a little too bold, but you are incredibly pretty.” I said, the words rushing from my mouth. She seemed shocked, and for a second I thought she was disgusted. Then her cheeks flushed and I realized she was blushing. I pushed on. “Sorry, sorry, that was probably a little too much, I’m so..” she cut me off with a laugh. Damn, even her laugh was cute. “It’s okay!” She exclaimed, breathlessly. “you just surprised me, that’s all.” I smiled broadly. She returned the smile. “I’m Dave.” I said, somewhat sheepishly. Extending a hand upwards to her perch on the boat. Still smiling she took it and said “I’m Emmy Lou.” Emmy Lou and I ended up talking for almost an hour as the sun disappeared and the moon shone brightly upon us. She told me about her life, growing up a local in this small town, working on one of Sam’s guide boats. I told her about Arizona, the summer I spent restoring my mustang (I mostly just wanted her to know I had a cool car), and all about Dave’s Grand Tour. She was sweet, a good listener, but she seemed tough, a girl who knew how to handle herself, even at 18. She was still living with her parents, saving up to move out. “Where will you go?” I asked her. “When you move out I mean.” She shrugged. “I don’t know. Haven’t really thought that far ahead. Maybe to Texas? I’ve always wanted to be a cowgirl.” I grinned. “You’d certainly make a good one.” I replied. “And what exactly is that supposed to mean?” She exclaimed in a joking manner. Her and I had fallen into a rhythm of teasing and joking very easily. I laughed as I replied in protest, “No, no, I didn’t mean it like that! You just seem to be naturally good at most things you try.” She blushed again. It was almost a familiar sight to me now. She broke eye contact. She generally had to be the first one to do so, since I seemed to be frozen every time I looked in her eyes. “Listen.” She said, standing up. “This has been a lot of fun, but I’ve gotta get home. My folks will be worried.” I stood as well. “Oh, alright.” I couldn’t hide my disappointment. “Hey, I’ll be around town tomorrow, since my tires won’t be in. Maybe I could see you around?” She looked down at her toes and said quietly “I’d like that.” We wished each other good night and went our separate ways, her to her parents place and me to a quiet motel room near the mechanic, a 20 minute walk away. I was almost to the motel when the light flashed across me. It was a flashlight beam, coming from the sidewalk in front of me. I froze. “Well hey there son!” Came a long southern drawl. “Decided to stay in town after all?” For some reason, the Sheriffs voice made my skin crawl. What made it worse was him shining the light in my face. It made it impossible to see him. I squinted hard. “Hey Sheriff. Yeah I’m in town for a couple days more.” Before I could continue (ask him to stop blinding me) he jumped in. “Now what’s held you up young fella. Car trouble?” He said. I paused. There was something about the way he asked the question that I didn’t like. Like he already knew the answer. “Yeah, how did you..” “Oh damn me!” He interrupted, not acknowledging my question at all. “I forgot!” He finally stopped shining the light in my eyes. (Hallelujah.) As my eyes readjusted to the dimly lit sidewalk, the flashlight now pointing down, the sheriff said “This here’s Mr. Wellers.” A deep new voice, clearly articulated “Hello Mr. Lawrence, the Sheriffs told me a lot about you.” I raised my eyes to meet this newcomers and was startled. In stark contrast to the Sheriff, Mr. Wellers was tall, well built and spoke with no accent. He had brown eyes, perfectly trimmed and combed blonde hair and was wearing… a lab coat? I blinked, my brain trying to process. All I could think to say was “Mister? Not….. doctor?” I thought it might be an offensive question at first, as the Sheriff looked at me reproachably and Mr. Wellers cast his eyes downward as if embarrassed. “I uhhhhh… used to be. My license was revoked.” Wow. There’s a rabbit hole I don’t need to go down within seconds of meeting this man. “Oh I’m so sorry” I said lamely. “That sucks.” “You’re damn right it does.” Growled out Gore. He seemed more offended over my apparent faux pa than his friend. “He was my personal doctor for many years. He’s a damned fine doctor too!” “E.” Mr. Wellers said quietly. “It’s alright.” This interaction had passed into the realm of the surreal. I had no idea why these two were out alone together after dark, and frankly I didn’t want to know. (Once again, minding my own business.) “Right… well it was good to see you, and nice meet you Dr. I mean… Mr. Wellers.” I cringed at my own words. God, just let me out of this conversation. “And a pleasure meeting you as well young man!” Said Mr. Wellers. I felt bad. He seemed like such a normal, reasonable guy when compared to Gore. “By the way.” His deep voice rang out again as I moved down the street. “What’s your blood type?” My brain malfunctioned. “My… uhm… what?” I struggled for words. “Blood type!” He exclaimed. Seeing the confusion in my eyes he elaborated. “We’re having a blood drive tomorrow.” (Oh hallelujah lord, thank god this guy doesn’t want to steal my blood.) “we could really use all we can get, you know. Being in a remote place like Golden Meadows it’s important we have a little extra on hand.” His tone put me at rest once more. “I’m O negative.” I said. “Universal donor. If I’ve got time tomorrow I’ll stop by.” I said it mostly to placate him and get out of the conversation faster. But his tone as he thanked me profusely, as well as the obvious gratitude in his doe brown eyes made me actually want to go help. I resolved myself to actually stop by and donate tomorrow. Might as well right? Not like I’ve got anything else to do. I finally made it to my hotel room and by the time I was cleaned up and in bed I had almost forgotten about the awkward demeanor of the pair. Although the Sheriff still made me hellishly uncomfortable. He had a way of staring at you like you were a snack he was about to eat. I shuddered, decided not to think about that anymore and rolled over, thinking of Emmy Lou and the possibilities of tomorrow.
Chapter 3 I was having some difficulty finding Emmy. I’d been down to the dock, had breakfast at the cafe, wandered the town and even hung out in the bait and tackle shop Sam run in conjunction with his guide business. No sign of her. I was checking out an enormous tarpon mounted above some fly rods when Sam’s voice floated over to me. “She’s out on the boat.” I heard the mirth in his voice and turned to face him. He was behind the counter, tying a huge streamer, round glasses perched precariously on the end of his long nose. He was an older man, maybe 50, with a bald head, strong hands and several old school tattoos, harkening back to his days in the navy. He looked over his glasses at me, his heavy eyebrows raised and a cheeky smile on his face. “She didn’t stop talking about you until they left.” He said. “Oh.” I blushed heavily. Looking back it must have been pretty obvious that I wasn’t there for hooks or spinning lures. “When will she be back?” I said, deciding not to hide my true motives. “Sunset.” He said. “Maybe sooner if they catch a big bait of red drum.” I nodded. “Thank you.” I said, and I meant it. I had been going crazy, cursing myself for not getting her number at least. But now my hope was restored. She’d be back. And then I could see her again. I headed towards the door. “Hey kid.” Sam called. I turned back to him. He had his glasses in his hand now, and he was looking at me with his full attention. “Yes sir?” “Don’t hurt her. She’s an angel and we’re all pretty protective of her.” I nodded. Sam was surely referring to his crew of fishermen and guides, a tough group of seamen, some of whom I’d met yesterday while they were gearing up for the afternoon. I definitely didn’t want to get on their bad side. Now it was Sam’s turn to nod. “Good.” Was all he said as he turned back to his work. I wandered back down the boardwalk into town, wondering how I would kill the long hours until sunset, when I saw the Sheriffs squad car. It was parked outside the small town hospital, and suddenly I remembered our awkward conversation last night. The blood drive! There’s a good way to kill an afternoon in the quietest town on the planet. I strolled across to the hospital, and walked through the sliding doors (the only set in town.) “Mr. Lawrence!” Mr. Wellers greeted me enthusiastically. “Glad to see you my boy!” People in this town sure get familiar fast. “Hey Mr. Wellers, where do I go for the blood drive?” The once-doctor directed me to his exam room. “I’ll just need to give you a checkup, make sure you’re in good shape to donate.” It seemed odd that he had an exam room, since he had no medical license. Come to think of it, I’ve never heard of getting a checkup before blood donation, but I shrugged it off as another oddity of Golden Meadows. Weird Sheriff, too-friendly strangers and the most beautiful girl (I believed.) in the south. This town was a trip. Mr. Wellers was talkative as he took my blood pressure, temperature, stared down my throat and peered into my eyes and ears, writing notes on his clipboard as he spoke. “You’re in damn fine health young man.” I knew I was. Years of physical activity and decent genetics (thanks dad.) kept me strong and healthy. I rarely got sick, played football through high school and never seemed bothered by sweltering Arizona heat, something that had benefited me greatly in the humid southern states. Mr. Wellers asked questions about all of these things. He seemed genuinely interested and I got the feeling he was asking more for his own curiosity than any official reason. “Well son,” he was saying now. “You’re the picture of health.” “Thanks.” I replied. “So where do I go to donate.” “Actually,” he said, a bit too quickly. “We’ve had a lot of donations today, far more than expected.” “Oh, so you don’t want me to donate?” I was confused. He’d made it seem like they seriously needed more donations. I brushed it off. Over-selling a problem did make sense. Sometimes it was the only way to get things done in a small town. “No no, we’d still love for you to donate!” He said, once again speaking quickly. “Just give me some time to make my preparations! He smiled, kindly. “Alright… “ I said, at a loss. This seemed so weird, I was beginning to get a bad feeling. Were Mr. Wellers motivations entirely… pure? He seemed to be trying to achieve something with his interactions with me, although I wasn’t sure what. “Well, I guess I’ll stop by later then.” I said, my voice laden with confusion. Mr. Wellers pretended not to notice, uttering vague complacencies as he sent me on my way. I stepped back out of the hospital, vaguely wondering why I hadn’t seen a single living soul inside besides Mr. Wellers. The reception desk had been empty since I came in, the intercom was quiet and I saw no nurses, doctors or patients. I’m starting to really hate the emptiness of this town. I wonder if my tires had come in…
Chapter 4 After a snack from the convenience store and a stop by JP’s to see my car I was wandering town again, aimlessly. The sheriff had driven past twice, smiling at me through his squad car window unblinkingly. I wondered what had happened to him in his life for his social behavior to be so odd. Maybe he had a bad childhood or was raised by an alligator or something. That would explain the toothy smiles and the never-blinking at least. It was about 2 o’clock. JP had assured me my tires would be in tomorrow, which suited me okay. I was almost hesitant to leave, since Emmy Lou was still in town and good lord knows I had an interest in her. Goodness she was fine. I was walking down the street, not really paying attention to anything going on, listening to in thoughts of Emmy. Her hair, her eyes, her walk, she walked… right behind me and tapped me on the shoulder. “Hey Dave!” I spun around, my mind returning guiltily from the gutter. “Emmy! Sam said you wouldn’t be off the boat until sundown!” “We limited out. What can I say, I’m just that good.” she spread her arms in a kind of proud shrug, a sarcastic-cocky smile on her face. I smiled too. She had that effect on me. “Hey, I realized I never got your number!” She looked surprised. “You want it?” Now I was surprised. “I… yeah, I really do. I mean, I think you’re great and I don’t want to lose contact when I…” the air around us suddenly felt heavier. I was suddenly nervous. Had I misjudged her interest? Did she see me as some passerby, a very temporary friend? A smile cautiously returned to her face. “You can have my number.” She said. “But if you move back to Arizona forever I’m not going to text you back.” Thank god. I thought I’d totally dropped the bag. “Deal.” I said, smiling once more. Emmy and I spent the afternoon talking as we saw the meager sights in town. We had an ice cream at the cafe, (rocky road for me, strawberry for her.) stopped by the mechanic (I really wanted to show off the car.) and then wandered out to the towns hiking path. Half a mile down the coast, down a dirt road, it was a great spot to be alone. I was promising Emmy a proper date once my car was running and she was laughing at me. “Sonic is not a real date.” She said through giggles. “Sonic is the perfect date. It’s like going to a restaurant but you don’t have to see any people.” I replied, playing up my anti-socialism to seem quirky, and praying it was working. As we reached the trailhead I heard the now familiar sound of the Sheriffs car on the road behind us. He wasn’t smiling this time. He watched us as we silently walked onto the trail. “Jesus, this dude is everywhere.” I muttered, as the trees began to obscure him from view. Emmys brow furrowed. (God she looked cute when she did that.) “What do you mean? He just sits at the cafe usually.” She said. “Wait, what?” Now my brow furrowed. “I’ve seen him all over town today. It’s like he’s following me.” “Maybe he thinks you’re trouble.” She teased. I shook my head. “Maybe. He’s been weirdly polite to me ever since we met.” Emmy shrugged. “Southern charm I guess. He’s a weird guy.” “Yeah he is. It feels like he’s” I made my voice as provocative as I could. “Checking me out.” I mocked a sexy stance. Emmy thought I was hilarious. She laughed and slapped my chest gently, her hand resting against me. Suddenly the air was heavy again. Her cheeks turned red but her hand stayed on my chest. My hands rested comfortably on her hips. This is as close as we’d been. Our eyes locked, her bright blue meeting my gentle brown. We stood there for a long time.
Chapter 5 The best part of road-tripping? Besides actually tripping, as I’d done in White Sands, New Mexico and a secluded beach in Texas. Sleeping in. My hotel room was perfect. I’d spent a lot of nights on Dave’s Grand Tour camping under the stars and it was amazing. But it wasn’t better than sleeping until noon on a thick mattress with the A/C blasting. I couldn’t have asked for a better night’s rest to end my trip in Golden Meadows. As I walked down to JP’s shop I reflected on the small towns impact on me. I was happy. JP was sitting in a rocking chair with his shop doors wide open. My car was next to him, four whitewall tires underneath. “Wondered when you’d be by.” Boomed JP. “Truck came this morning, she’s all ready for you.” His broad grin rippled across his face as he watched me inspect his work approvingly. “Thanks JP, this is amazing.” He nodded graciously as I tossed my backpack in the trunk. “Hey JP?” He noted my tone become more business-like and focused his eyes on me seriously. “Yessir?” He asked, his curiosity apparent. “That friend, the one with the restoration shop. Is he hiring?” JP’s eyebrows shot skyward. “Well son, I believe he is. You looking for work?” I nodded. “I’m thinking about settling down somewhere in the area, staying for a while.” JP grinned broadly again, his eyes betraying a secret. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with little miss Emmy Lou would it?” I blushed heavily. JP had watched Emmy and I as I showed her my car, explaining all the places I’d repaired and restored. He’d been grinning then too. “Well” JP’s voice returned to business and his eyebrows returned to their resting place. “Based on what I’ve seen of your work.” He gestured to the mustang. “I’d be willing to put in a good word with him.” “Thanks JP. I really do appreciate it.” And I did. The point of Dave’s Grand Tour was to find a place I could call home. And it was beginning to seem that I’d found it. I was on the road now, headed to New Orleans. JP had set up an interview for me with his friend and I was hopeful that it would work out. I’d been on the road about an hour, listening to music and texting Emmy, (don’t text and drive kids.) when I got the call. A blocked number. I didn’t answer the first three. But I finally decided it wasn’t scammers or something when the fourth call came, seconds after I’d sent the third to voicemail. “Hello?” I said. “Hello there Lawrence.” Came the Sheriffs voice, low and dripping with anger. “I have someone here who wants to talk to you.” “What the… what’s this all” I was cut off by Emmy’s voice. “Dave? Dave?!” There was panic in her tone and she sounded like she’d been crying. The brakes on the mustang squealed as my muscles responded on their own. I had turned around and was flying back to Golden Meadows as fast as the thought crossed my mind. “What is this?” I yelled. “Emmy what’s happening?!” Gores voice came crackling through the phone. “Meet me at Mr. Wellers office. Sundown.” And the line clicked off before I could answer. What was happening? “Oh god, oh god.” I said shakily as I pushed the mustang to new speeds. What was happening? What did the Sheriff want? Why did he have Emmy Lou?!
Chapter 6 GRAPHIC CONTENT. GRAPHIC CONTENT. DO NOT READ IF SQUEAMISH. I WARNED YOU. That was the longest drive of my life. I’d driven from Arizona to Louisiana, crossed Texas end to end in that car, but this drive was the worst. I was panicking. My tires slid easily as I gunned the engine, turning into the hospital parking lot. I stopped right in front of the doors and left the engine running as I sprinted headlong through them, barely giving them time to open. “GORE!” I yelled as I stepped into the lobby. “GORE WHAT DO YOU WANT?!” The lights were off, the air desperately still as I spun, looking every direction. Gore showed himself. He looked smug, his service pistol pressed against Emmys temple, her arm locked in his vice-like left hand. “There you are boy.” His thick accent dripped venom. “I didn’t find the perfect specimen just to let it slip away.” My mind reeled. Specimen? What was happening? And why did he have Emmy? What WAS this? Before I could collect my thoughts he spoke again, Emmy shaking in his grip, wordless, staring at me helplessly. “There’s a rag on the counter. Put it over your mouth and breathe in.” “What?” Why are you doing this?!” I said, the air in my lungs seemingly not enough to yell. “DO IT.” The Sheriff screamed, his face turning red. “DO IT OR I WILL SHOOT HER, SHOOT YOU AND HAUL YOUR LIFELESS BODY TO THE O.R.” His voice shook with rage, every syllable seeming to enrage him further. “Okay! Okay, I’ll do it.” I walked to the counter, my hands up, palms forward. I took the rag, placed it over my mouth and nose and breathed deeply. “Wake up Lawrence!” Came a singsong voice, breaking through my sleeping mind. “Waaaake upppp.” My eyelids were heavy. So heavy. I forced them up. Blue eyes stared down at me. Was that… Mr. Wellers? I tried to sit up, tried to speak, tried to move. I couldn’t. Mr. Wellers looked overjoyed. “Ahh the serum worked! Total paralysis, with a fully functioning mind!” His eyes. What was wrong with his eyes? Were they always… “I bet you’re wondering what’s happening to you.” Mr. Wellers said, his tone jovial. “You see Dave, I didn’t lie, we do desperately need donations. Just not blood.” He was holding… my eyes struggled to focus on the shining silver tool. A scalpel? “No no, we need far more precious donations.” A searing pain shot across my chest. Was he cutting into me?! He was staring at my chest as his hands worked, out of my view. The pain was unbearable. I couldn’t move, couldn’t scream, couldn’t even tense my body against the pain. Instead, my mind screamed, the searing feeling of a cold blade tracing below my ribs blocking all thought. “You know, I started the practice of organ transplants.” I heard Wellers speak as if underwater. “That was long before even your parents were born.” The cutting subsided, leaving a sharp ache that made me pray I’d black out. “I’ve been replacing parts as they get wore out ever since. A kidney here, a hand there. Much like you do with that car of yours.” His eyes met mine. Why were they… “of course, I need constant donations for this lifestyle.” He was speaking so calmly. “And you’ve got some shiny parts in here.” My stomach. What was he doing? “Like this lovely one here!” I felt a tugging sensation in my gut and Wellers voice faded away. Those eyes. My last thought made me wish I was dead. Those eyes. They weren’t his. They were Emmy’s. I don’t know how long it was before I awoke. But when I did I could move. I was in a stupor. All I saw were blurs. My body seemed to move on its own accord. I heard crying. I smelt something. Sweat. My mind was not working, but on some deep level my consciousness took hold. Sweaty pig. The thought slid across my delirious mind as my arms made contact with something solid but pliable. My lower consciousness took hold and I felt it give way beneath my strength. My hands felt wet. How odd. A voice. What a calming voice that is. Too bad. Such a shame. The thoughts slid across my mind, meaning nothing as my arms went about their task, levering some thing against something else. There was quite a bit of resistance. I felt it give way and a scream rippled across my absent mind. Hope I’m not breaking anything important. Another strange thought. Not mine. Whose? Why were my hands so wet? My chest too. What’s going…. I woke up for the second time. This time I could move and think both. Emmy Lou was beside my bed. I was in a hospital room. She was sleeping, a mask covering her eyes from the midday sun streaming through a window. I… remembered. “Emmy!” I yelled, tears coming to my eyes. I tried to stand but was held down by searing pain. Emmy rushed to my side, the mask still on her face. Wait. Not a mask. A bandage. “What happened?” I said, tears rolling down my face as I remembered everything that had happened. “Emmy? What happened?” She didn’t say anything. She was crying too, but no tears would come.
Epilogue That’s the story. What I can remember of it anyways. The cops told me the rest later. Mr. Wellers and Sheriff Gore had kidnapped Emmy and I. We were held in the hospital for days as everyone in town searched the river for our bodies. My mustang had been found submerged off the dock, and everyone thought Emmy and I were together in it. Her parents had cursed my name to a wordless ocean, screaming at the man who took their daughter, all while going to church with the Sheriff there to console them. The cops found us when Emmy Lou stumbled out into the street, screaming and blind. It had taken her hours to find her way out of the hospital. It’s hard to navigate when you can’t see. I had to hear the rest of the story from her. After our kidnapping they had operated on her. Removing her eyes, a third of her blood and one of her kidneys. Then they went to work on me. I’m still not entirely sure what they took from me. Everything seems to still be intact, my body healing from the meaningless surgeries well. Emmy says she pretended to pass out after hearing my screaming stop. The sheriff, receiving instructions from Wellers had then tried to move her to a different room. She managed to slip away from him, while blind and run to where she’d heard my screams. She found me, and a syringe. In a moment of madness she stabbed the syringe into my shoulder and empty its contents into me, hoping to kill me and end my suffering. Turns out the syringe had a potent mix of drugs, including pure adrenaline. The restraints that held me tore like paper. According to Emmy, all she heard from then on was me humming a tuneless song and Wellers and E. Gore screaming. She made her way out of the room and started trying to find the exit to the hospital. When she finally made it out and Sam called the state police they found me in the operating room, standing above the broken bodies of the malicious pair, humming and swaying back and forth. Yep, they tazed the shit out of me. When they noticed my injuries they rushed me to an actual hospital where I was remained for a week as my body worked through the drugs, the surgery recovery and the concussion I got after the cops tazed me and I fell into a medicine cabinet. Didn’t feel a thing. (Thank you drugs.) All of this happened five years ago. I wrote this story under the direction of my therapist. She thinks I need to let go. But I can’t. I found a record of Dr. Wellers license revocation. Only problem, it’s from the 1850s. I tried to learn anything I could about either Dr. Wellers or Sheriff E. Gore, but they were ghostlike. I can’t get over the questions I have. Questions like, why? And how? The police think they were selling organs on the black market, but I know what I saw. Wellers was wearing Emmy’s eyes. That’s why she’s blind. The cops don’t believe me, and in my drug stupor I destroyed any evidence there might have been. There wasn’t much left of either of my tormentors. I’m gonna stop writing now. These memories are painful. They are the reason I have a blind wife, a guilty conscience and a deeply scarred chest that’s painful to see in the mirror. They are the reason my hand bones are crooked, broken against a thick skull. I have many unanswered questions, and now I’m building a life on unsteady ground. But that’s enough now. I’m late for my meeting. I’ve got a client who wants me to restore a 78’ impala and then I have to pick Emmy up from her art studio. I hope my story helps someone out there. But for me, it just hurts.
Credits: The idea for the monster that is Wellers came from an episode of supernatural where they fight an organ stealing ancient doctor. This is also kind of an adaptation of the story of Frankensteins monster, with Dave playing the part of the monster at the end. I also leaned heavily on other creepy storys told on creepcast and I hope I didn’t step on any toes doing so. This is my first time writing something like this and I enjoyed it a lot, even if you guys don’t. Thank you for reading!

Do you live in an old house? Does it creak at night? Mine does.
My mum always said that it’s the house settling, resting its tired bones before another long day of two kids smashing it to pieces. It isn't.
We lived in a small two bed house near the river in the worst part of town. Despite our ten year age difference I had to share a room with my sister, but it was mostly okay, save for our nightly argument about the hall light. My sister wanted the door left ajar so her bed was bathed in artificial light, but I needed total darkness.
Sophie is the precious rainbow baby so she gets her way obviously. If I moan I'm told that most girls my age have already left for University, so my options are to suck it up or move out.
So I hide under my covers like a baby, but it doesn’t help as I know it’s out there, watching me with those red eyes. I can’t remember when I first saw it, but I know it wasn’t in the old place - the smelly flat above a chip shop, so I think it’s always been here, in this house.
At first I thought I was dreaming, or maybe just seeing things when the shadows twitched so I’d sit up and rub my eyes, only to find it had gone. I guess it grew bolder, once it knew my parents would just send me back to bed without bothering to check my room.
It doesn’t bother to hide anymore or pretend to be anything other than it is. I think he feeds off my fear, the hat man. It hasn’t harmed me yet, as far as I know anyway, but I’d know it was evil even without the glowing demonic eyes or sharp teeth.
My sister doesn’t see it. She’s been awake once or twice while it was in the room but she just carries on doom scrolling Tiktok while muttering about her crazy sister. She has nightmares every night though, has done since the first night, but she won’t talk about them. My parents have talked about taking her to a psychologist but NHS waiting lists are a thing and we don’t have the money for private.
My dad isn’t around much, he kept his old job hours away so only comes home at the weekend. He didn’t want to move either, but my grandmother had a stroke and mum said she was moving with or without him. All they do these days is argue so he has zero tolerance for my complaints, all he really does is stare at the television or chain smoke in the garden.
It is nice being closer to the city and its many distractions but none of us like the house. The pipes scream whenever we turn on the taps and only three radiators work, but none of it really matters I suppose compared to the hat man.
There’s actually more than one shadow person here. I’ve seen them all over the house but only the hat man seems obsessed with me. He should get a job or something.
I did some reading on ley lines and roads of the dead and I think the creaking sound is a door opening between worlds as I only ever see them after I hear it. Unfortunately none of my research suggested a way to stop the crossing. I know they’re attracted to negativity but if Relate can’t stop my parents constantly fighting I don’t see how I can.
I tried ignoring the hat man. I tried asking him what he wanted from me but all he did was stare. I’m not religious and while prayer obviously irritated him, it didn’t drive him away either. Turning the lights off meant I couldn’t see him, but I knew he was still there. I tried holy water on the walls but that just made my mum start screaming about damp and that didn’t work either.
I woke up at 3am one night to find him on the ceiling above me, staring down with hate in his eyes. He dropped on top of me like a shroud and I screamed the house down as I felt an awful pressure all over my body. Mum wasn't impressed but Sophie didn't seem surprised, which worried me.
I think the hat man needs fear. Maybe he can convert it into energy as that night was the first time he seemed to have any real substance. I felt him, I could smell the awful dank mustiness of him and I had scratches on my arms where he’d held me down. But how could I stop being afraid of a monster?
I know others have seen these shadow people too. No one knows exactly where they come from or what they want, but almost everyone agreed that they’re evil and mean us harm. I didn’t know what to do. No one would listen to me, I was forced to lie there in the light every single night while we stared at each other and with each one that passed he seemed to get more angry.
On Wednesday night when I went up to bed it wasn’t there and I fell asleep waiting for him to make an appearance. I woke up sometime in the middle of the night and heard an awful voice whispering something. Sophie mumbled in return, as though answering a question. I tried waking her of course but in the end I must have fallen back to sleep.
The next night I tried bribing her with hot cocoa, asking her what she remembered about the previous night. She was odd and furtive, like she was hiding something and I didn’t like how she watched me when I went to wash up the mugs.
She got in trouble at school that day which was a surprise, she’s normally a model pupil. She wouldn’t play with her friends and all she wanted to do was sit in the front room and draw pictures, using a lot of black felt tips. When my mum asked to see Sophie started screaming and tore them all up which meant in another historic event, she was sent to our room. As she climbed up the stairs she turned and smiled at me over her shoulder and there was something of the hat man in it.
By the time bedtime arrived all seemed normal again. My sister ate her dinner and had her bath, even asking for a story, which she hadn’t done for a while. When I went to bed a few hours later the hat man wasn’t there but when I woke in the middle of the night my sister was hiding under her duvet watching me - I’m almost sure I saw a glimmer of red.
After that my sister became devious and mean - she pinched other children in school so often a letter was sent home. The school hamster went missing and Sophie was the main suspect, having been seen lingering around the cage at break. My mum tried talking, shouting and finally took to her bed with a bottle of wine. I noticed my dad had stopped calling home during the week. Last time he came back his coat smelled like perfume, though no one mentioned it.
The next night I woke up to see Sophie lying under her bed and when she smiled at me her teeth were too long. My mother’s door was locked so I went downstairs and could hear Sophie scuttling about on the floors for most of the night. Close to dawn I screamed as I felt something sharp stab into my leg. My sweet little sister had stabbed me with a pair of scissors.
Thankfully they were too big for her to handle properly so the wound wasn’t as bad as it could have been. That time she did see a doctor though and she wasn’t home for a few days while they assessed her. I slept well. The hat man wasn’t there and for the first time I felt safe. When my sister came home again it was decided that we wouldn’t share a room anymore.
That first night I woke curled up on the lumpy sofa to find her standing in the corner of the living room. My mother responded to my cries for once and my sister was taken back to her room, the sharp knife returned to the kitchen drawer. The next morning my dad was home and the kitchen had been child proofed again like it was when Sophie was a toddler. I heard him screaming at my mum and later that day he left again, that time with a suitcase. He wasn't wearing his wedding ring.
My sister went away for a while and when she came home for a second time she was nothing like she was. She drew her pictures with black felt tips or just stared at the television screen until my mother brought in her medicine. She hasn’t said a single word to me since she stabbed me with those scissors, but she watched me a lot, like a cat with a mouse.
I sofa surf a lot these days, and stay with friends as much as I can. I can’t keep a job as I don’t sleep and keep making mistakes. My mother spends most evenings with a bottle of wine and my sister can usually be found under her bed scratching at the floorboards or cackling to herself. She’s stopped leaving the hallway light on at night and closes her bedroom door. Sometimes I hear whispering.
The house still creaks every night, more often now. Yesterday I think I saw another hat man in the living room, it had a different shape and the eyes looked more yellow than red. There must be more than one of them out there.
I hear scratching a lot, even during the day and there are strange smells that no one can explain. Sometimes there’s tapping on the walls. We have dead birds in the garden most mornings and flies throng around the windows whether they're open or closed. My mother used fly paper at first, but doesn't bother anymore as they just come back the next day.
I heard something calling my name earlier from the basement. It was my voice.
I don’t have anywhere else to sleep tonight. I’ve worn out my welcome at most places and the car got repossessed earlier today. The local police aren’t too kind to the homeless either. Mum hasn't come home from work. The locks are still on the kitchen cabinet and I’ve put a chair in front of the door.
There are a lot more shadow people tonight - more than I’ve ever seen before. I don't like that.
I’m scanning the room when my eyes catch on a pack of my dad’s cigarettes. Something about it bothers me and I can’t figure out what.
I’ve just realised that there used to be a lighter beside it, didn’t there? I’d better go check, but I’m going to post this first as a warning to others.
I think they wait to be noticed in the dark. They travel in groups. They like old houses but will linger anywhere with small children. They’re more powerful in some places, but they grow stronger if you’re afraid. I think they’re like those other things I read about once - the things you’re not supposed to name because you call them to you. I think once you know about them, about the doorways they travel through, you’re at risk. But the risk is never zero. They're there anyway, you just don't see them yet.
Sleep in the dark. Avoid looking into mirrors at night. Stay away from anywhere where shadows group together, like under beds.
Most of all ignore the creaks.

Hello my name is August... I am 16 years old. I want to disappear. I know some people might be like "oh why your so young". I'll tell you why.
My first suicidal thoughts was in 5th grade. I had this "bully" (air quotes beacuse I kinda feel like I was equally mean). I would threaten to kill myself. I dont know why I would do that. But I've always felt that's the way out.
I startes to self harm at 10/11. I used to use thumb tacks. Then at 13 I started to use razors I was so very scared of the blood. I started to like the bleeding around 15. And at the beginning of 2024 at 16 years old I was cutting deep enough to need stitches. I ended up getting clean for two months then I relapsed last Friday.
I was sexually abused by my mom's husband. I was also assualted and raped by people. It hurt me and it made me more suicidal. The sexual abuse started at 8 years old until I was 13. Even at 16 I still get harassed or sexually assualted.
My first suicide attempt.. I was around 13/14 and I had taken pills. I was sent to the hospital after having to call the cops on myself for a overdose. I ended up attempted many more times. I ended up myself in 5 mental health hospitals/ behavioral hospitals.
At 16 I started to smoke weed a lot more. Slowly realizing it wasn't enough. I ended up taking anxiety meds with smoking. It makes me feel really tired but also very good. I still currently do this.
Here recently I've been struggling a lot more. I've been wanting to do other things been looking in people's medicine cabinets trying to find something to take my mind off of everything. I've been failing classes barley even showing up. I've just been wanting to sleep. It's starting to hurt more and more and I'm scared because 2007-2024 doesn't sound long enough.. Im scared to die but it feels like I'm dying.. I don't know what to do.

We see bidding questions so often and this is a skill that will make or break you.
Overall bidding is simple but you need to know how long specific tasks take, and that comes with experience.
The steps I use.

1. Look job over, anything bigger than a toilet install should be done in person.

Take notes, pictures, get reference material from client, make sketches, measure twice.

1. Design for most jobs I do this on paper, at least the rough, while talking to the client so I can get immediate feedback, make sure we are on the same page.
   
2. After getting the design approval make a material list, make it as complete as possible, include fasteners and hardware.
   
3. Got your favorite big box app and put everything in a shopping cart, add taxes etc... then add 10% for all the stuff you missed figured wrong.
   

5 figure out your labor.
6.add everything up and send it to your client for approval.
I'll do a easy example that I just did today.
Client contacted me and requested a bid on a new toilet, vanity and medicine cabinet. They had already picked out what they wanted and sent me links from Home Depot. Along with several pictures of the existing bath.
I made a appointment to stop by before they left for work this morning.
Scope of work.
Demo, remove existing toilet, vanity, wall mounted medicine cabinet.
Repair drywall as needed.
No floor repair, existing tile fully under vanity.
Paint, set toilet, install freestanding vanity w/included sink top, install medicine cabinet.
Replace outlet and switch covers.
Recaulk tub/shower with light almond color
Now this is for my use only not sent to client Materials list. Labor 20 minutes client interaction. 1hr shopping . 2.5 hours drive time . 2hrs demo/disposal of debris . 2hrs drywall . 1.5hrs prime, paint. 20 minutes install toilet. 1hr vanity, plumbing . 20 minutes medicine cabinet . 30 minutes caulking . 1hr clean up. 1hr misc.
What I send to the client is:
Scope of work .
List of exact products (in this case the exact toilet, vanity and medicine cabinet) model numbers, colors and pictures as needed. They don't need to know what brand of caulk I used just the color.
Total for labor and materials.
Payment break out. ie.. 25%at end of first day or materials when delivered. Completion payments as needed. Balance due within 72 hours of completion.
Print 2 copies you sign one and give it to the client have them sign the other for your records.
Anything beyond what is in the scope of work gets a change order in writing.
Yes, you will screw up your labor but you will start to figure it out or you will be working for someone else.
In my example I have 10.5 hours listed and we will assume that I expect $100 an hour, so that makes my labor $1050.00
If I run over by 3 hours my rate dropped to $78.00 an hour, not going to kill me.
Edited for formatting

Chapter 1 People are so…. Social. I grew up in a small town in Arizona and I’ve always loved the peace and quiet. But as I aged, graduating high school and spending a restless summer trying to divine what a broke carpenters son could do with his life (and probably drinking and smoking too much.) the small town gossip really started to wear on me. I’ve never been a social butterfly, preferring to mind my own business and let others mind theirs. But in a small town that’s a luxury you can’t afford. Everyone there has watched you mature from a scrawny kid with a stutter to a quiet but confident young man and, as such, feel that they have some obligation to be sure that your life is going to go in the right direction. There’s only so many questions a 19 year old can take about a lack of college and girlfriends. Only so many conversations following the familiar lines of “well you know, college is there to prove to employers you can show up at the same time and place for 4 years.” Or “don’t rush it, I found my wife when I finally gave up on looking!” Or, most aggravating “God works in mysterious ways!” (No shit Barbara, he’s an unknowable, omnipotent entity and you sell Sephora.(Don’t you have a bland youth group sermon to give?) I guess this is my way of explaining why I left my hometown so hastily the beautiful autumn after graduation. My folks were pleased to see I was going to “find myself.” As my mother so romantically put it. They hoped I’d find some kind of inspiration out on life’s grand highway. My dad chuckled, his eyes full of memories from the days he was young and free, a youthful joy that even 25 years in construction couldn’t dampen. “Go sow your wild oats son! Just remember you’ll reap them in the end.” He said, a mischievousness that was rare for him lightening the words. That is how I came to be here, in Golden Meadow, Louisiana. “Arizona plates? Well ain’t you a long way from home?” The deep southern drawl, by now familiar to me after a week of driving through Louisiana, cut through a perfectly quiet morning. Great. A socialite. Why did I have to choose the south for this roadtrip? I forced a polite smile and turned to face dreaded small talk as I began pumping my gas. “That’s right!” As I spoke I sized up my new best friend. A short, profusely sweating man stood before me. He must have been about 5’ 5”, well below my respectable height of 6’. His hair, greasy but trimmed nicely, his sheriffs hat…. Fuck. This is a cop. “Sheriff E. Gore, pleased to meet you!” He drawled again, his accent, I noted, more Texas than Cajun. He extended a sweaty hand, which I took as a good sign. (The law usually isn’t so friendly to suspicious people.) I shook his hand, surprised by the strength that this somewhat rotund sheriff had, his grip strong but measured. I returned his introduction. “David Lawrence.” “What brings you down to our little town son?” I took a deliberate look around before I answered, my gaze sweeping over the small gas station, the almost empty street, the abandoned buildings, a liquor store and a dilapidated dollar general. “Just passing through.” It probably wouldn’t take long, I thought to myself. I could see most of town from where I was. My gaze returned to Sheriff Gore, and I realized he was staring at me hard, gauging me for something. “I’m on a bit of a roadtrip.” I added, trying to remove his focus from my arms. “Well built aren’t ya?” The Sheriff said. Jesus, what a way to start a conversation with a stranger. I forced through the awkwardness. “Yessir.” Forced grin, wishing my gas would pump faster. “I try to stay active.” The Sheriff’s attentive gaze and fixed smile never strayed from me. “How nice! You know, you should stick around town awhile, we’ve got lots to offer!” I decided to myself that I didn’t like the Sheriff, my earlier thought that he likely wasn’t suspicious since he was so friendly now giving way to the feeling that he was too friendly. I gritted my teeth. “I really would, but I’m trying to make it to New Orleans.” I said, maintaining my politely measured tone. I had no interest in staying in this town. “That’s such a shame.” The Sheriff said, his voice betraying disappointment. “It’s a lovely town, it really is.” I was saved from my own awkward response to his too-friendly, begging statement by his radio crackling loudly from his cruiser, parked outside the gas station convenience store. The words, unintelligible to me, evidently made sense to Gore, as he swung around and strolled back to his cruiser. He was oddly quick for a guy of his stature. “Well, good luck on the road Lawrence.” He shouted over his shoulder as he left. “Be careful on the roads and come visit us again real soon!” I shook off the bile-like aftertaste of Gore’s stare and went back to doing what I do best. Minding my own damn business. I wouldn’t be in town long. What I’d told the Sheriff was true. I was headed to New Orleans. My red ‘69 mustang and I were scheduled to enjoy a beautiful city, far from the normal tourist season, here in early October. The food, the music, the bars, all promised to be excellent and uncrowded, allowing a drifting 19 year old a place to breathe and make decisions. Maybe I’d find some work and stay awhile. Or I’d stay a week and then continue “Dave’s Grand Tour” as I’d taken to calling my trip. The idea of Dave’s Grand Tour was simple; find a place that speaks to me. I had no interest in college, as I’d found during high school that an enterprising young man could make a good bit of money just by taking opportunities when they come. I’d worked at a county fair, for the railroad and for local farmers and ranchers and I had found that there were lots of ways to make money. And I didn’t want to tie myself to a career. After all, my dad had built a pretty great life doing carpentry, something that didn’t take much time to learn. (Of course I’d already learned, from helping him.) I contemplated these things as I pulled out of the filling station and back onto the road. Not much farther to New Orleans. As I drove through town, past a small town mechanic, a diner and a tidy row of houses, I almost felt bad for leaving. This town was clearly dying. Empty buildings, boarded windows and beat up cars told the story of a town in decline. The coastal fishing village was picturesque though, and its people were friendly and polite. With the exception of Sheriff E. Gore. What the hell was that guys prob.. I was tore from my thoughts as the unmistakable sound of a popped tire hissed above the growl of my car. “Shit.” I muttered, pulling over to assess the damage. The damage, as it turned out, was extensive and likely expensive. The ‘stang was equipped with beautiful whitewall tires, painstakingly sourced by my grandfather during the restoration I had helped him with during his final years. Cancer is a bitch, especially when you’re 72. He had handled it well though, and had the car (as well as some of his savings) to me when he passed. Grandma had gone ahead of him some years before. I reiterate, cancer is a bitch. And now my beautiful car was down two tires, both passenger side whitewalls punctured by a myriad of screws and nails. I stared in disbelief. Wandering back down the road I found their source, an overturned coffee tin which was clearly some tradesman’s “spare shit” bin. Shaking my head and muttering expletives I strolled back to my car. Of course I had a spare in the trunk, and all the tools to change a tire, but who carts a second spare tire around? Still muttering words I could never let my mother hear, I searched on my phone for the number to the mechanic I had passed, finding an oddly polished website. JP’s machine and tire shop had someone tech savvy on the payroll. And they were punctual. Less than 15 minutes later I was standing on the concrete shop floor, watching JP himself remove my tires. “Lord, you’ve had some bad luck!” He boomed. I’d decided I liked JP. He was a big man, with a tanned face and forearms, betraying many days spent on the sun-soaked waters of the bay. “How in gods name did you manage to get this many holes in such nice tires?” I laughed. “I’m Gods strongest soldier I guess.” JP roared out a laugh. Laughter came easy to him it seemed. “There’s good news and bad news.” He said, awhile later. I’d quietly sat in a comfy chair in the shops waiting area, reading, while he focused on his work. “What’s the bad news?” I asked. “You’ve got to wait two days for new tires.” JP replied. I’d figured as much. What kind of small town auto shop would have whitewalls for a 1969 mustang just lying around. “Good news is, I got you a helluva deal on them. Buddy of mine runs a classics restoration shop in Orleans. He’ll send a truck to deliver your tires, but he’s short handed, thus the wait.” This was excellent (and intriguing) news. I’d expected the wait to be much longer, and the cost to be higher. As JP broke down my bill, explaining the pricing, I couldn’t help but feel pretty lucky, all things considered. I paid JP (thank you Grandpa) and wandered out into the Golden Meadow sunshine, my backpack slung over my shoulder.
Chapter 2 It was a damn fine evening on the bayou. I was paddling along between small islands overgrown with thick river reeds, in a kayak I’d rented from a local fishing guide named Sam. I’d spent the afternoon fishing from the kayak, with a breakdown rod I kept in my backpack. Now, as the sun was sinking low, turning the water orange and pink in the dying light, I paddled gently back to town. As I made it to the dock where Sam had told me to leave the kayak (very trusting fellow, Sam was) I heard faint music. It grew louder as I came closer to the dock. A myriad of fishing vessels, speedboats and jet skis obscured it as I drew close. But as I tied the kayak in place at Sam’s dock, I made out the lyrics. I recognized the song. Brown Haired Blue Eyed Baby, by JD Clayton. Excellent song. That was when I saw her. Standing on a tall fishing boat at the next dock over. She. Was. Breathtaking. With dark brown hair and a deep tan, she looked to be about my age. She was coiling a rope, faced away from me, singing along to the music. I suddenly realized I was staring, not saying anything, and she had no idea I was there. Realizing that this could be a bad look for me, I cast my eyes downward and dropped my backpack onto the dock, letting it fall heavily. I glanced up as she swung around, pretending I hadn’t seen her until now. “Oh, hey!” I said, a bit too loudly. After a pause she returned the greeting somewhat cautiously. “Hey.” Words failed me. She had turned to face me now and I saw her eyes for the first time. They were a vivid blue, that reflected the light from the water, even as the sun sank. I had a sudden burst of confidence, thinking to myself that worst case scenario, e.g. rejection, I could always just leave in two days and never see her again. “Hey, listen, this might be a little too bold, but you are incredibly pretty.” I said, the words rushing from my mouth. She seemed shocked, and for a second I thought she was disgusted. Then her cheeks flushed and I realized she was blushing. I pushed on. “Sorry, sorry, that was probably a little too much, I’m so..” she cut me off with a laugh. Damn, even her laugh was cute. “It’s okay!” She exclaimed, breathlessly. “you just surprised me, that’s all.” I smiled broadly. She returned the smile. “I’m Dave.” I said, somewhat sheepishly. Extending a hand upwards to her perch on the boat. Still smiling she took it and said “I’m Emmy Lou.” Emmy Lou and I ended up talking for almost an hour as the sun disappeared and the moon shone brightly upon us. She told me about her life, growing up a local in this small town, working on one of Sam’s guide boats. I told her about Arizona, the summer I spent restoring my mustang (I mostly just wanted her to know I had a cool car), and all about Dave’s Grand Tour. She was sweet, a good listener, but she seemed tough, a girl who knew how to handle herself, even at 18. She was still living with her parents, saving up to move out. “Where will you go?” I asked her. “When you move out I mean.” She shrugged. “I don’t know. Haven’t really thought that far ahead. Maybe to Texas? I’ve always wanted to be a cowgirl.” I grinned. “You’d certainly make a good one.” I replied. “And what exactly is that supposed to mean?” She exclaimed in a joking manner. Her and I had fallen into a rhythm of teasing and joking very easily. I laughed as I replied in protest, “No, no, I didn’t mean it like that! You just seem to be naturally good at most things you try.” She blushed again. It was almost a familiar sight to me now. She broke eye contact. She generally had to be the first one to do so, since I seemed to be frozen every time I looked in her eyes. “Listen.” She said, standing up. “This has been a lot of fun, but I’ve gotta get home. My folks will be worried.” I stood as well. “Oh, alright.” I couldn’t hide my disappointment. “Hey, I’ll be around town tomorrow, since my tires won’t be in. Maybe I could see you around?” She looked down at her toes and said quietly “I’d like that.” We wished each other good night and went our separate ways, her to her parents place and me to a quiet motel room near the mechanic, a 20 minute walk away. I was almost to the motel when the light flashed across me. It was a flashlight beam, coming from the sidewalk in front of me. I froze. “Well hey there son!” Came a long southern drawl. “Decided to stay in town after all?” For some reason, the Sheriffs voice made my skin crawl. What made it worse was him shining the light in my face. It made it impossible to see him. I squinted hard. “Hey Sheriff. Yeah I’m in town for a couple days more.” Before I could continue (ask him to stop blinding me) he jumped in. “Now what’s held you up young fella. Car trouble?” He said. I paused. There was something about the way he asked the question that I didn’t like. Like he already knew the answer. “Yeah, how did you..” “Oh damn me!” He interrupted, not acknowledging my question at all. “I forgot!” He finally stopped shining the light in my eyes. (Hallelujah.) As my eyes readjusted to the dimly lit sidewalk, the flashlight now pointing down, the sheriff said “This here’s Mr. Wellers.” A deep new voice, clearly articulated “Hello Mr. Lawrence, the Sheriffs told me a lot about you.” I raised my eyes to meet this newcomers and was startled. In stark contrast to the Sheriff, Mr. Wellers was tall, well built and spoke with no accent. He had brown eyes, perfectly trimmed and combed blonde hair and was wearing… a lab coat? I blinked, my brain trying to process. All I could think to say was “Mister? Not….. doctor?” I thought it might be an offensive question at first, as the Sheriff looked at me reproachably and Mr. Wellers cast his eyes downward as if embarrassed. “I uhhhhh… used to be. My license was revoked.” Wow. There’s a rabbit hole I don’t need to go down within seconds of meeting this man. “Oh I’m so sorry” I said lamely. “That sucks.” “You’re damn right it does.” Growled out Gore. He seemed more offended over my apparent faux pa than his friend. “He was my personal doctor for many years. He’s a damned fine doctor too!” “E.” Mr. Wellers said quietly. “It’s alright.” This interaction had passed into the realm of the surreal. I had no idea why these two were out alone together after dark, and frankly I didn’t want to know. (Once again, minding my own business.) “Right… well it was good to see you, and nice meet you Dr. I mean… Mr. Wellers.” I cringed at my own words. God, just let me out of this conversation. “And a pleasure meeting you as well young man!” Said Mr. Wellers. I felt bad. He seemed like such a normal, reasonable guy when compared to Gore. “By the way.” His deep voice rang out again as I moved down the street. “What’s your blood type?” My brain malfunctioned. “My… uhm… what?” I struggled for words. “Blood type!” He exclaimed. Seeing the confusion in my eyes he elaborated. “We’re having a blood drive tomorrow.” (Oh hallelujah lord, thank god this guy doesn’t want to steal my blood.) “we could really use all we can get, you know. Being in a remote place like Golden Meadows it’s important we have a little extra on hand.” His tone put me at rest once more. “I’m O negative.” I said. “Universal donor. If I’ve got time tomorrow I’ll stop by.” I said it mostly to placate him and get out of the conversation faster. But his tone as he thanked me profusely, as well as the obvious gratitude in his doe brown eyes made me actually want to go help. I resolved myself to actually stop by and donate tomorrow. Might as well right? Not like I’ve got anything else to do. I finally made it to my hotel room and by the time I was cleaned up and in bed I had almost forgotten about the awkward demeanor of the pair. Although the Sheriff still made me hellishly uncomfortable. He had a way of staring at you like you were a snack he was about to eat. I shuddered, decided not to think about that anymore and rolled over, thinking of Emmy Lou and the possibilities of tomorrow.
Chapter 3 I was having some difficulty finding Emmy. I’d been down to the dock, had breakfast at the cafe, wandered the town and even hung out in the bait and tackle shop Sam run in conjunction with his guide business. No sign of her. I was checking out an enormous tarpon mounted above some fly rods when Sam’s voice floated over to me. “She’s out on the boat.” I heard the mirth in his voice and turned to face him. He was behind the counter, tying a huge streamer, round glasses perched precariously on the end of his long nose. He was an older man, maybe 50, with a bald head, strong hands and several old school tattoos, harkening back to his days in the navy. He looked over his glasses at me, his heavy eyebrows raised and a cheeky smile on his face. “She didn’t stop talking about you until they left.” He said. “Oh.” I blushed heavily. Looking back it must have been pretty obvious that I wasn’t there for hooks or spinning lures. “When will she be back?” I said, deciding not to hide my true motives. “Sunset.” He said. “Maybe sooner if they catch a big bait of red drum.” I nodded. “Thank you.” I said, and I meant it. I had been going crazy, cursing myself for not getting her number at least. But now my hope was restored. She’d be back. And then I could see her again. I headed towards the door. “Hey kid.” Sam called. I turned back to him. He had his glasses in his hand now, and he was looking at me with his full attention. “Yes sir?” “Don’t hurt her. She’s an angel and we’re all pretty protective of her.” I nodded. Sam was surely referring to his crew of fishermen and guides, a tough group of seamen, some of whom I’d met yesterday while they were gearing up for the afternoon. I definitely didn’t want to get on their bad side. Now it was Sam’s turn to nod. “Good.” Was all he said as he turned back to his work. I wandered back down the boardwalk into town, wondering how I would kill the long hours until sunset, when I saw the Sheriffs squad car. It was parked outside the small town hospital, and suddenly I remembered our awkward conversation last night. The blood drive! There’s a good way to kill an afternoon in the quietest town on the planet. I strolled across to the hospital, and walked through the sliding doors (the only set in town.) “Mr. Lawrence!” Mr. Wellers greeted me enthusiastically. “Glad to see you my boy!” People in this town sure get familiar fast. “Hey Mr. Wellers, where do I go for the blood drive?” The once-doctor directed me to his exam room. “I’ll just need to give you a checkup, make sure you’re in good shape to donate.” It seemed odd that he had an exam room, since he had no medical license. Come to think of it, I’ve never heard of getting a checkup before blood donation, but I shrugged it off as another oddity of Golden Meadows. Weird Sheriff, too-friendly strangers and the most beautiful girl (I believed.) in the south. This town was a trip. Mr. Wellers was talkative as he took my blood pressure, temperature, stared down my throat and peered into my eyes and ears, writing notes on his clipboard as he spoke. “You’re in damn fine health young man.” I knew I was. Years of physical activity and decent genetics (thanks dad.) kept me strong and healthy. I rarely got sick, played football through high school and never seemed bothered by sweltering Arizona heat, something that had benefited me greatly in the humid southern states. Mr. Wellers asked questions about all of these things. He seemed genuinely interested and I got the feeling he was asking more for his own curiosity than any official reason. “Well son,” he was saying now. “You’re the picture of health.” “Thanks.” I replied. “So where do I go to donate.” “Actually,” he said, a bit too quickly. “We’ve had a lot of donations today, far more than expected.” “Oh, so you don’t want me to donate?” I was confused. He’d made it seem like they seriously needed more donations. I brushed it off. Over-selling a problem did make sense. Sometimes it was the only way to get things done in a small town. “No no, we’d still love for you to donate!” He said, once again speaking quickly. “Just give me some time to make my preparations! He smiled, kindly. “Alright… “ I said, at a loss. This seemed so weird, I was beginning to get a bad feeling. Were Mr. Wellers motivations entirely… pure? He seemed to be trying to achieve something with his interactions with me, although I wasn’t sure what. “Well, I guess I’ll stop by later then.” I said, my voice laden with confusion. Mr. Wellers pretended not to notice, uttering vague complacencies as he sent me on my way. I stepped back out of the hospital, vaguely wondering why I hadn’t seen a single living soul inside besides Mr. Wellers. The reception desk had been empty since I came in, the intercom was quiet and I saw no nurses, doctors or patients. I’m starting to really hate the emptiness of this town. I wonder if my tires had come in…
Chapter 4 After a snack from the convenience store and a stop by JP’s to see my car I was wandering town again, aimlessly. The sheriff had driven past twice, smiling at me through his squad car window unblinkingly. I wondered what had happened to him in his life for his social behavior to be so odd. Maybe he had a bad childhood or was raised by an alligator or something. That would explain the toothy smiles and the never-blinking at least. It was about 2 o’clock. JP had assured me my tires would be in tomorrow, which suited me okay. I was almost hesitant to leave, since Emmy Lou was still in town and good lord knows I had an interest in her. Goodness she was fine. I was walking down the street, not really paying attention to anything going on, listening to in thoughts of Emmy. Her hair, her eyes, her walk, she walked… right behind me and tapped me on the shoulder. “Hey Dave!” I spun around, my mind returning guiltily from the gutter. “Emmy! Sam said you wouldn’t be off the boat until sundown!” “We limited out. What can I say, I’m just that good.” she spread her arms in a kind of proud shrug, a sarcastic-cocky smile on her face. I smiled too. She had that effect on me. “Hey, I realized I never got your number!” She looked surprised. “You want it?” Now I was surprised. “I… yeah, I really do. I mean, I think you’re great and I don’t want to lose contact when I…” the air around us suddenly felt heavier. I was suddenly nervous. Had I misjudged her interest? Did she see me as some passerby, a very temporary friend? A smile cautiously returned to her face. “You can have my number.” She said. “But if you move back to Arizona forever I’m not going to text you back.” Thank god. I thought I’d totally dropped the bag. “Deal.” I said, smiling once more. Emmy and I spent the afternoon talking as we saw the meager sights in town. We had an ice cream at the cafe, (rocky road for me, strawberry for her.) stopped by the mechanic (I really wanted to show off the car.) and then wandered out to the towns hiking path. Half a mile down the coast, down a dirt road, it was a great spot to be alone. I was promising Emmy a proper date once my car was running and she was laughing at me. “Sonic is not a real date.” She said through giggles. “Sonic is the perfect date. It’s like going to a restaurant but you don’t have to see any people.” I replied, playing up my anti-socialism to seem quirky, and praying it was working. As we reached the trailhead I heard the now familiar sound of the Sheriffs car on the road behind us. He wasn’t smiling this time. He watched us as we silently walked onto the trail. “Jesus, this dude is everywhere.” I muttered, as the trees began to obscure him from view. Emmys brow furrowed. (God she looked cute when she did that.) “What do you mean? He just sits at the cafe usually.” She said. “Wait, what?” Now my brow furrowed. “I’ve seen him all over town today. It’s like he’s following me.” “Maybe he thinks you’re trouble.” She teased. I shook my head. “Maybe. He’s been weirdly polite to me ever since we met.” Emmy shrugged. “Southern charm I guess. He’s a weird guy.” “Yeah he is. It feels like he’s” I made my voice as provocative as I could. “Checking me out.” I mocked a sexy stance. Emmy thought I was hilarious. She laughed and slapped my chest gently, her hand resting against me. Suddenly the air was heavy again. Her cheeks turned red but her hand stayed on my chest. My hands rested comfortably on her hips. This is as close as we’d been. Our eyes locked, her bright blue meeting my gentle brown. We stood there for a long time.
Chapter 5 The best part of road-tripping? Besides actually tripping, as I’d done in White Sands, New Mexico and a secluded beach in Texas. Sleeping in. My hotel room was perfect. I’d spent a lot of nights on Dave’s Grand Tour camping under the stars and it was amazing. But it wasn’t better than sleeping until noon on a thick mattress with the A/C blasting. I couldn’t have asked for a better night’s rest to end my trip in Golden Meadows. As I walked down to JP’s shop I reflected on the small towns impact on me. I was happy. JP was sitting in a rocking chair with his shop doors wide open. My car was next to him, four whitewall tires underneath. “Wondered when you’d be by.” Boomed JP. “Truck came this morning, she’s all ready for you.” His broad grin rippled across his face as he watched me inspect his work approvingly. “Thanks JP, this is amazing.” He nodded graciously as I tossed my backpack in the trunk. “Hey JP?” He noted my tone become more business-like and focused his eyes on me seriously. “Yessir?” He asked, his curiosity apparent. “That friend, the one with the restoration shop. Is he hiring?” JP’s eyebrows shot skyward. “Well son, I believe he is. You looking for work?” I nodded. “I’m thinking about settling down somewhere in the area, staying for a while.” JP grinned broadly again, his eyes betraying a secret. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with little miss Emmy Lou would it?” I blushed heavily. JP had watched Emmy and I as I showed her my car, explaining all the places I’d repaired and restored. He’d been grinning then too. “Well” JP’s voice returned to business and his eyebrows returned to their resting place. “Based on what I’ve seen of your work.” He gestured to the mustang. “I’d be willing to put in a good word with him.” “Thanks JP. I really do appreciate it.” And I did. The point of Dave’s Grand Tour was to find a place I could call home. And it was beginning to seem that I’d found it. I was on the road now, headed to New Orleans. JP had set up an interview for me with his friend and I was hopeful that it would work out. I’d been on the road about an hour, listening to music and texting Emmy, (don’t text and drive kids.) when I got the call. A blocked number. I didn’t answer the first three. But I finally decided it wasn’t scammers or something when the fourth call came, seconds after I’d sent the third to voicemail. “Hello?” I said. “Hello there Lawrence.” Came the Sheriffs voice, low and dripping with anger. “I have someone here who wants to talk to you.” “What the… what’s this all” I was cut off by Emmy’s voice. “Dave? Dave?!” There was panic in her tone and she sounded like she’d been crying. The brakes on the mustang squealed as my muscles responded on their own. I had turned around and was flying back to Golden Meadows as fast as the thought crossed my mind. “What is this?” I yelled. “Emmy what’s happening?!” Gores voice came crackling through the phone. “Meet me at Mr. Wellers office. Sundown.” And the line clicked off before I could answer. What was happening? “Oh god, oh god.” I said shakily as I pushed the mustang to new speeds. What was happening? What did the Sheriff want? Why did he have Emmy Lou?!
Chapter 6 GRAPHIC CONTENT. GRAPHIC CONTENT. DO NOT READ IF SQUEAMISH. I WARNED YOU. That was the longest drive of my life. I’d driven from Arizona to Louisiana, crossed Texas end to end in that car, but this drive was the worst. I was panicking. My tires slid easily as I gunned the engine, turning into the hospital parking lot. I stopped right in front of the doors and left the engine running as I sprinted headlong through them, barely giving them time to open. “GORE!” I yelled as I stepped into the lobby. “GORE WHAT DO YOU WANT?!” The lights were off, the air desperately still as I spun, looking every direction. Gore showed himself. He looked smug, his service pistol pressed against Emmys temple, her arm locked in his vice-like left hand. “There you are boy.” His thick accent dripped venom. “I didn’t find the perfect specimen just to let it slip away.” My mind reeled. Specimen? What was happening? And why did he have Emmy? What WAS this? Before I could collect my thoughts he spoke again, Emmy shaking in his grip, wordless, staring at me helplessly. “There’s a rag on the counter. Put it over your mouth and breathe in.” “What?” Why are you doing this?!” I said, the air in my lungs seemingly not enough to yell. “DO IT.” The Sheriff screamed, his face turning red. “DO IT OR I WILL SHOOT HER, SHOOT YOU AND HAUL YOUR LIFELESS BODY TO THE O.R.” His voice shook with rage, every syllable seeming to enrage him further. “Okay! Okay, I’ll do it.” I walked to the counter, my hands up, palms forward. I took the rag, placed it over my mouth and nose and breathed deeply. “Wake up Lawrence!” Came a singsong voice, breaking through my sleeping mind. “Waaaake upppp.” My eyelids were heavy. So heavy. I forced them up. Blue eyes stared down at me. Was that… Mr. Wellers? I tried to sit up, tried to speak, tried to move. I couldn’t. Mr. Wellers looked overjoyed. “Ahh the serum worked! Total paralysis, with a fully functioning mind!” His eyes. What was wrong with his eyes? Were they always… “I bet you’re wondering what’s happening to you.” Mr. Wellers said, his tone jovial. “You see Dave, I didn’t lie, we do desperately need donations. Just not blood.” He was holding… my eyes struggled to focus on the shining silver tool. A scalpel? “No no, we need far more precious donations.” A searing pain shot across my chest. Was he cutting into me?! He was staring at my chest as his hands worked, out of my view. The pain was unbearable. I couldn’t move, couldn’t scream, couldn’t even tense my body against the pain. Instead, my mind screamed, the searing feeling of a cold blade tracing below my ribs blocking all thought. “You know, I started the practice of organ transplants.” I heard Wellers speak as if underwater. “That was long before even your parents were born.” The cutting subsided, leaving a sharp ache that made me pray I’d black out. “I’ve been replacing parts as they get wore out ever since. A kidney here, a hand there. Much like you do with that car of yours.” His eyes met mine. Why were they… “of course, I need constant donations for this lifestyle.” He was speaking so calmly. “And you’ve got some shiny parts in here.” My stomach. What was he doing? “Like this lovely one here!” I felt a tugging sensation in my gut and Wellers voice faded away. Those eyes. My last thought made me wish I was dead. Those eyes. They weren’t his. They were Emmy’s. I don’t know how long it was before I awoke. But when I did I could move. I was in a stupor. All I saw were blurs. My body seemed to move on its own accord. I heard crying. I smelt something. Sweat. My mind was not working, but on some deep level my consciousness took hold. Sweaty pig. The thought slid across my delirious mind as my arms made contact with something solid but pliable. My lower consciousness took hold and I felt it give way beneath my strength. My hands felt wet. How odd. A voice. What a calming voice that is. Too bad. Such a shame. The thoughts slid across my mind, meaning nothing as my arms went about their task, levering some thing against something else. There was quite a bit of resistance. I felt it give way and a scream rippled across my absent mind. Hope I’m not breaking anything important. Another strange thought. Not mine. Whose? Why were my hands so wet? My chest too. What’s going…. I woke up for the second time. This time I could move and think both. Emmy Lou was beside my bed. I was in a hospital room. She was sleeping, a mask covering her eyes from the midday sun streaming through a window. I… remembered. “Emmy!” I yelled, tears coming to my eyes. I tried to stand but was held down by searing pain. Emmy rushed to my side, the mask still on her face. Wait. Not a mask. A bandage. “What happened?” I said, tears rolling down my face as I remembered everything that had happened. “Emmy? What happened?” She didn’t say anything. She was crying too, but no tears would come.
Epilogue That’s the story. What I can remember of it anyways. The cops told me the rest later. Mr. Wellers and Sheriff Gore had kidnapped Emmy and I. We were held in the hospital for days as everyone in town searched the river for our bodies. My mustang had been found submerged off the dock, and everyone thought Emmy and I were together in it. Her parents had cursed my name to a wordless ocean, screaming at the man who took their daughter, all while going to church with the Sheriff there to console them. The cops found us when Emmy Lou stumbled out into the street, screaming and blind. It had taken her hours to find her way out of the hospital. It’s hard to navigate when you can’t see. I had to hear the rest of the story from her. After our kidnapping they had operated on her. Removing her eyes, a third of her blood and one of her kidneys. Then they went to work on me. I’m still not entirely sure what they took from me. Everything seems to still be intact, my body healing from the meaningless surgeries well. Emmy says she pretended to pass out after hearing my screaming stop. The sheriff, receiving instructions from Wellers had then tried to move her to a different room. She managed to slip away from him, while blind and run to where she’d heard my screams. She found me, and a syringe. In a moment of madness she stabbed the syringe into my shoulder and empty its contents into me, hoping to kill me and end my suffering. Turns out the syringe had a potent mix of drugs, including pure adrenaline. The restraints that held me tore like paper. According to Emmy, all she heard from then on was me humming a tuneless song and Wellers and E. Gore screaming. She made her way out of the room and started trying to find the exit to the hospital. When she finally made it out and Sam called the state police they found me in the operating room, standing above the broken bodies of the malicious pair, humming and swaying back and forth. Yep, they tazed the shit out of me. When they noticed my injuries they rushed me to an actual hospital where I was remained for a week as my body worked through the drugs, the surgery recovery and the concussion I got after the cops tazed me and I fell into a medicine cabinet. Didn’t feel a thing. (Thank you drugs.) All of this happened five years ago. I wrote this story under the direction of my therapist. She thinks I need to let go. But I can’t. I found a record of Dr. Wellers license revocation. Only problem, it’s from the 1850s. I tried to learn anything I could about either Dr. Wellers or Sheriff E. Gore, but they were ghostlike. I can’t get over the questions I have. Questions like, why? And how? The police think they were selling organs on the black market, but I know what I saw. Wellers was wearing Emmy’s eyes. That’s why she’s blind. The cops don’t believe me, and in my drug stupor I destroyed any evidence there might have been. There wasn’t much left of either of my tormentors. I’m gonna stop writing now. These memories are painful. They are the reason I have a blind wife, a guilty conscience and a deeply scarred chest that’s painful to see in the mirror. They are the reason my hand bones are crooked, broken against a thick skull. I have many unanswered questions, and now I’m building a life on unsteady ground. But that’s enough now. I’m late for my meeting. I’ve got a client who wants me to restore a 78’ impala and then I have to pick Emmy up from her art studio. I hope my story helps someone out there. But for me, it just hurts.
Credits: The idea for the monster that is Wellers came from an episode of supernatural where they fight an organ stealing ancient doctor. This is also kind of an adaptation of the story of Frankensteins monster, with Dave playing the part of the monster at the end. I also leaned heavily on other creepy storys told on creepcast and I hope I didn’t step on any toes doing so. This is my first time writing something like this and I enjoyed it a lot, even if you guys don’t. Thank you for reading!

Hi all, I explored some subreddit like BeardTalk and beards, A lot of people there are struggling to find the best beard trimmer. So, I decided to create a list of best beard trimmers so you can make groom your beard they way you want. I did a lot of research, read a lot of reviews and discussions by users and experts too. After reading all that for days this is the list I've come up with:

1. Philips Norelco Multigroom Series 7000 MG7750
2. Wahl Aqua Blade 9899
3. Wahl Peanut 8655

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Philips Norelco Multigroom MG7750

The Philips Norelco MG7750 has almost everything we could ask for in a beard trimmer. Its motor offers just the right amount of power—enough to make quick work of thick hair, but not so much that a slight slip will remove a large section of a beard or mustache. Its design feels great in the hand, and it saves space because it can stand upright on a countertop or in a medicine cabinet. The MG7750 is an all-purpose beard, hair, and body trimmer; it includes 14 guide combs, trimmer heads in three widths, a small foil shaver head, and a nose hair trimmer. In our tests, it ran for five hours on one charge. The steel blades are designed to be self-sharpening, no oiling needed. The sole downside is that its stainless steel body makes it relatively heavy and thus less portable than the Philips Norelco MG3750
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Wahl Aqua Blade 9899

The Wahl Aqua Blade 9899 has the power and versatility of our previous runner-up pick, the Wahl Lithium Ion+ Stainless Steel Trimmer 9818, but with a larger, more secure grip that makes precise trimming easier and helps prevent slipups that can accidentally remove large chunks of a beard or mustache. That bigger grip also makes the Aqua Blade feel less buzzy in the hand. Like the Lithium Ion+, the Aqua Blade has a more powerful motor than most people need and also works as a hair and body trimmer. It comes with 12 guide combs, a detail trimmer head, a shaver head, and a nose hair trimmer. The fine-pitch steel blades with ground teeth require a couple of drops of oil every month.
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Wahl Peanut 8655

If you want a reliable tool that can cut thick hair down to a stubble—and you don’t mind wrangling a power cord—we recommend the Wahl Peanut 8655. This less expensive yet powerful trimmer has been our corded pick for seven years running, beating everything we’ve tested it against in terms of cutting power, durability, and closeness of trim. It’s stronger than any cordless trimmer we’ve tried, yet it’s lighter, smaller, more maneuverable, and easier to maintain than other pro trimmers and clippers, which tend toward tanklike construction.

When I was ten, I formed a junior detective squad.
Mom bought me the entire box set of What's New Scooby Doo, and I was inspired to start my very own detective gang. I held auditions outside the gymnasium at recess (serious enquiries only) after a number of kids tried to apply for the role of Scooby Doo despite me reiterating I was not interested in playing make believe.
When I was laughed at in class, I made posters strictly asking for SERIOUS wannabe detectives, even going as far as using my Mom’s printer to make flyers, sticking them all over the school.
Auditions were simple. I asked them to solve a simple riddle.
Whoever impressed me got to sign their name down, and I’d get back to them.
I spent three days sifting through kids who definitely had charm, but they lacked the intelligence of a junior detective. Most kids were only auditioning to make fun of me, anyway.
Still, though, I didn't give up.
My flyers had five requirements:
1). You had to be smart.
2). You were not allowed to be a scaredy cat.
3). You had to accept your inevitable death at the hands of our town’s evil villains.
4). You had to have a fully registered driving licence (I quickly changed this to a bike).
5). You cannot have a criminal record.
(I later scribbled this one out, writing over it. *“You cannot have any tardies.”
Narrowing the applicants down to three kids, all of whom failed to share my enthusiasm for solving cases. The kids I picked didn't even know how to make plans, and when I invited them to my house, they stole my Mom’s necklace.
I didn't even need to solve the mystery of who stole Mom’s necklace. The girl was wearing it at school. I punched her in the face, and was immediately sent to the principal’s office. When I was being given the mother all lectures, the door quietly opened, a head peeking through.
It was Ben Callows, a freckly kid with overgrown brown hair hanging in his eyes. Ben really needed a haircut.
He was always wearing the exact same baseball cap, and I found myself wondering if it was permanently glued to his head, stuck on top of unruly brown curls practically matted to his forehead.
In class, Ben was also known as Bloody Ben. In the second grade, the boy had a nosebleed in the middle of a spelling test, bleeding all over his paper.
It's not like he didn't try and detach himself from the name.
Ben brought in Digimon cards, so kids would call him Digimon Ben instead.
Then he “accidentally” spilled yoghurt down his shirt in hopes we would call him Yoghurt Ben. But no. The kids in our class were relentless in reminding him of his name. No matter what he did, he was still Bloody Ben, and when anything related to blood came up in class, fifteen pairs of eyes would swivel to him, like he had invented the concept of bleeding.
I feared the nickname would follow him to junior high.
Ben didn't wait to be let in. He didn't even knock, striding in with his arms folded. Over the years, Bloody Ben, had definitely soured his personality.
He smiled rarely, and when he did smile, someone was falling over or hurting themselves.
Which definitely strengthened the claims of him being a sociopath.
The rumor mill was churning, with the latest claiming Bloody Ben killed his cat. That wasn't true. Ben’s cat was seventeen with cancer, and that was why he was sobbing all the way through reading time.
According to Ellie Daly, however, Ben had killed and dissected his kitty, and buried her in his Mom’s flowers.
Now, my principal did not like being interrupted, especially when she was in the middle of screaming at me.
Principal Marrow was old old (like, thirty, in my ten year old mind) stick thin like a pencil, and always wore the same stained sweater.
She used to be pretty, but I was convinced she had kissed a frog and been cursed. After our old principal suffered a stroke, she stepped in as a temporary replacement, and since becoming principal, had banned my favorite book series, colored shoe laces, and hamburger helper, even officiating a uniform.
(vomit green shorts and a tee, and plain white sneakers).
Kids were convinced she was a witch, and I kind of believed it.
Principal Marrow’s whole existence was built on sucking the fun out of school.
I was already reprimanded for my mystery gang flyers.
Her office smelled of peppermint and she was definitely sneaking sips of whisky in her coffee cup. I could see the bottle sticking out of the trash.
She straightened up, folding her arms across her chest, squinty eyes narrowing at the boy. I had spent the whole time she was lecturing me trying not to cry, my fists bunched in my lap.
I took the distraction as the perfect opportunity to swipe at my eyes, allowing myself to breathe.
Ben Callows was her victim now.
I was right. The woman's voice was like a thunderclap in my ears.
“You better have a good reason for not knocking, young man.”
Ben wasn't fazed by her tone. “You took my Switch two weeks ago,” he said, “I want it back, or I’m telling my Mom.”
At first, I thought I'd misheard him.
No, I was pretty sure he'd threatened our principal.
I swore I heard all of the breath sucked from the room.
“I'm sorry,” Principal Marrow cleared her throat. Her soft tone was dangerous.
She wasn't being nice. The lady was about to explode.
I could see visible veins straining in her temples, her right eye twitching.
It was straight out of a cartoon.
“Did you forget something, Ben?”
Ben sighed, like she was inconveniencing him.
He held out his hand. “Please can I have my Switch back? It counts as stolen property. Give it back, or I'm telling my Mom.”
The kid put so much emphasis on the word please, I couldn't resist a smile.
I think our principal was too shocked to get angry.
“Get out.” She said, firmly. “I don't have your gaming device.”
“It's in your drawer.” Ben nodded to her desk, “Under your divorce papers and the restraining order ordered by Jake Willow, the seventeen year old boy you've been having math ‘tutoring sessions’ with.” He quoted the air, his gaze lazily rolling to me. “Tutoring”
Principal Marrow went deathly pale, her eyes darkening.
“Benjamin Callows–”
“The school already knows about the restraining order, but your uncle is the head of the Board of Education, so all you get is a slap on the wrist and a warning to leave the boy alone."
Ben continued, and I found myself mesmerised by his words. He was a natural, his expression stoic, mouth curved with satisfaction that wasn't quite a smile. “However.” He held up his phone, pulling it away at the exact moment the teacher attempted to grab it. “You were outside Jake Willow’s house at 6:12am, drunk, and trying to climb through his window, which, I think violates the restraining order, does it not?”
Ben pretended to think real hard, his gaze flicking to the ceiling.
“I mean, I'm just a kid, right?” His mouth curled into the hint of a smirk
“What do I know, huh?”
Principal Marrow’s expression twisted, her lip wobbling.
“Mr Callows, remove yourself from my office, or I am calling your father.”
Leaning comfortably against the door, Ben’s lip twitched.
“Why? Are you planning on telling my Dad about your relations with a teenage boy, or will I have to tell him instead?”
I was enthralled, and fully disgusted, making a move to inch away from the woman.
“But it doesn't end there.” Ben continued. He straightened up, taking slow, intimidating steps towards the woman's desk. “You don't even want Jake, do you? Because, once upon a time, you were in love with his father. Jason Willow. You despised him for rejecting you, so you decided to defile his son.” Ben leaned over the principal’s desk, slipping his hand into the drawer, and pulling out his switch.
Painfully slowly.
She stood there, speechless, her shoulders trembling.
Ben smiled, and I found myself liking it.
“Thank you!” He said, waving the console in her face. Ben mimed locking his mouth and throwing away the key.
“My lips are sealed.”
Ben’s half lidded eyes found mine. “Are ya coming, Panda?”
I forgot my own nickname.
Panda.
I wore my Mom’s eyeliner because I thought it looked cool.
It did not.
Finding my breath, I snapped out of it.
Jumping up, I followed him out of the office, and when the two of us were safely on the hallway, I burst into hysterical giggles. “How did you know all of that?!” I whisper- shrieked.
Ben surprised me with a splutter. “Wait. You believed me?”
Something very cold trickled down my spine.
I stopped walking. “You lied?”
He shrugged. “I had a dig around her office before she caught me a few days ago,” Ben swung his arms, a smile curling on his mouth. “There's no restraining order, but there is prescription anti-psychosis medicine, and an extremely detailed story on her laptop about a teachestudent romance, which I presume is a self insert.”
Ben shot me a sickly grin. “The school refused to make her condition public.”
He prodded at his own cotton shirt embroidered with the school emblem.
“Why do you think she's made all these dumb rules? The woman is a certified Looney Tune.”
I nodded slowly. “Wait. What about Jake and his dad?”
“I made them up.”
I choked out a laugh. “And… the video?”
Ben walked faster, pulling out his phone and shoving it in my face. The video was real. Principal Marrow was walking around in circles, draped in her nightgown. “It's her own house,” he explained. “She locked herself out.”
Nodding slowly, I was in awe. Bloody Ben was kind of fucking amazing.
“But the restraining order isn't real.”
Ben raised a brow, coming to an abrupt halt. It was his smile that cemented his place in my gang. His lack of empathy for a woman he had gaslit into being a disgusting human being. Ben Callows wasn't exactly what I was looking for, but he fascinated me. Maybe for the wrong reasons. “Her filing cabinets are filled with tinned cat food, Panda,” he said with an exaggerated sigh, “I’m not psychic, but I thiiiiink we’ll be okay.”
I turned to him, unable to stop myself jumping up and down with excitement.
“Will you be my first?!”
Ben inclined his head. “Will I be your what?”
I shook my head. “Sorry. I mean, will you join my mystery gang?”
The boy’s eyes lit up, and I shoved him playfully.
“To solve real cases,” I corrected myself. “Not make them up.”
Ben wore a real, proper smile. But there was something in his eyes, a darkness that was so hollow and polluted and wrong, I pretended not to see it for the sake of his smarts and intellect. “Well, if you insist, sure!” Ben held out his hand, and I shook it. I'll be your first.”
We found our second member, who was, ironically, looking for her glasses under the table in class. Lucy Prescott, the quiet girl, was born to be with us.
The class eraser went missing, and she found it in the blink of an eye.
When questioned, Lucy’s face turned as red as her hair. “I asked everyone in the class and followed the clues to the last person who had it,” she pointed to Chase Simpson. “Which was Chase, who was throwing it at Marcus Calvin.”
Twisting around in my chair, I aimed to get Ben’s attention. But he was already looking at me, chin resting on his fist, eyes ignited with excitement.
The two of us cornered Lucy after class, and when she motioned for us to get back, I dragged Ben (who was a little too excited) to my side.
Lucy looked mildly horrified when I said, dangerous cases, though her expression pricked with intrigue.
She agreed, her gaze lingering on Ben, cheeks smouldering.
Our last two members were a surprise.
Violet Evergreen was what you would call popular on the middle school hierarchy. Not just because her mother was the mayor, but because Violet could get away with murder. The girl refused to wear the school uniform, coloring a single purple streak in her hair to cement herself as the it girl.
She was also one of the girls who started the Bloody Ben rumor.
Ben, Lucy, and I were sitting on the grass during recess, trying to come up with a name for our detective service, when Violet came storming over, hands planted on her hips. She was copying how her mother held herself during town meetings.
“What are you doing?” Violet demanded.
Lucy opened her mouth to answer, Ben nudging her to shut up.
“Making a mystery gang.” I told her. “Why?”
Violet inclined her head. “Oh.” She folded her arms. “Well, can I join?”
Ben stood up, stepping in front of the girl. Violet didn't move, stubbornly standing her ground. “Sure.” Ben flashed a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. He stepped closer to her, his smile widening. “If you can pass the test.”
Violet’s lip curled. She took a single step back. “What kind of test?”
Ben nodded to me. “Meet us at the swimming pool at 8pm.”
To my surprise, Violet nodded. “Do I need to bring anything?”
“Nope!”
8pm. The four of us met outside the local swimming pool.
Violet was already on the other side of the fence, waving.
“Hey guys!”
I noticed Ben’s expression, his eyes darkening, lip curling.
Still though, he maintained positivity, vaulting over the fence.
“You made it!”
I followed him, helping Lucy, who was immediately freaking out. I didn't blame her. The pool looked cold and dark, a hollow oblivion carved into the ground.
Ben and Violet stood on the edge, the two of them shoulder to shoulder.
Violet Evergreen was braver than I thought.
Standing with her arms at her sides, Violet's hands clenched into fists.
“What's the test?” Violet said, her gaze glued to bleeding black depths.
“I don't know,” Ben murmured, his voice teetering on a giggle. He leaned forwards, arms spread out. “I didn't think you'd actually come meet us.”
Violet hummed, stretching out her leg, teasing it across the surface. “Was that the test?”
The boy leaned back. I caught the glint of a grin under the floodlights. “Nah.”
Before I knew what was happening, he shoved Violet into the pool. The girl didn't scream or shriek, she just hit the surface, sinking into pitch dark nothing.
“Sink or swim,” Ben said in a low murmur, when Violet’s head bobbed under water. I could see her shadow under the surface, imagining the freezing cold depths pulling her down.
“Drown, and you can't join us.”
It was so quiet, suddenly. The three of us staring into rippling water.
A minute passed, and my tummy started to twist.
“Fuck.” Ben’s expression stayed stoic. I wasn't expecting him to say a bad word.
He cocked his head. “I thought she could swim.”
I hit him, holding in a cry. “You need to get our parents!”
But he didn't listen to me, taking a single step, and dropping into the pool.
I fell to my knees, scanning the water.
Lucy was crying. “Are they dead?!” she shrieked.
“Shhh!” I was watching two shadows lingering under the water.
Violet broke through. I expected her to be crying, but her expression was unwavering. She was silent. I thought the splashing underneath her was her legs trying and struggling to tread water, before Lucy shoved me. Hard.
“Panda! What do we do?!”
Looking closer, Violet was perfectly still, her gaze on the sky.
While she shoved Ben under the water, drowning him.
Violet’s eyes sparkled, and somehow, I knew she belonged in my gang.
Her gaze found mine, glinting with that darkness, that poisonous streak I found myself drawn to. It was a starving, insatiable need to understand a fractured mind. Know your enemy.
“Do you want to see if Ben’s a witch?” Violet asked me, her tone something else entirely. This girl did not make sense, using barely her finger to drown Ben Callows. I knew she was wrong.
I knew there was something loose, something unlocked and unbridled and drowning inside her mind and heart.
But I wanted more of her. I wanted Violet Evergreen in my detective gang.
I think that is why I stood there, frozen.
When the thrashing stopped, Ben broke through.
He wasn't coughing or spluttering, his head inclined. “You didn't drown.”
Violet climbed out of the pool, offering her hand. “And you're not a witch.”
He declined her hand, taking the steps instead.
I asked Violet in a shaky voice. I was trembling with terror, but I was excited.
Exhilarated.
“Violet, will you join my gang?”
She didn't answer me until we were sharing hot cocoa in my house.
I told Mom we fell in the pool, and she believed me. I should have told her that my friends were sociopaths, and I was kind of maybe in love. Violet sipped her cocoa, nodding with a smile I didn't recognise. Violet never smiled at school.
Well, she did. But it was always the prick of a cruel smirk.
I don't think her smile was genuine, but she was definitely enjoying herself.
Our last member came to us, instead of finding him.
Jules Howell, a straggly brunette pushed his way in front of me in the lunch line. I didn't really know the kid.
He sat at the back of the classroom and slept through most of class. I did like his accent though.
Jules had moved from Melbourne in the second grade. He didn't talk much.
When he did, I found myself enveloped in his voice, which sounded like water to me, a bleeding cadence to his tone.
Jules piled his plate with fries, smiling widely at the lunch ladies.
“I saw you last night.” He murmured through that perfectly moulded grin.
“Saw me where?”
“At the pool,” Jules said. “You, Bloody Ben, Violet Evergreen, and that Lucy girl. You were doing a suiciding pact.”
“That's not what we were doing.” I said, “What's a suiciding pact?”
“When you kill yourself together.” Jules said. “I saw it in a scary movie my Mom was watching.”
I grabbed a fork. “We weren't doing that.”
His eyes were strange when I took the time to notice them. The excited gleam had fizzled out. Jules’s hands tightened around his tray. “Then what were you doing?”
I didn't reply, making my way over to our usual table. Ben was already waving me over, Violet and Lucy holding up the flyers we were making.
THE REDBLOOD DETECTIVES.”
Do YOU need our help? We can find/solve anything! Contact us on the number below. (We take donations!)
When I bothered turning around, Jules was lost in the crowd of kids.
We were on our first official case, searching for Mrs Lake’s missing mail, when Jules appeared seemingly out of nowhere. And with him, a golden retriever puppy he introduced as Arlo.
It took a dog jumping up at them for Violet and Ben to find their real smiles, their real selves slowly seeping through these facades they had built around themselves. Ben dropped to a crouch, ruffling the dog's ears, his smile faint.
“Who's a good boy?” He chuckled.
Arlo didn't move, tail wagging, eyes bright.
Ben motioned the dog towards him, but Arlo stayed put.
Jules joined us…quietly.
I don't remember asking him, or even him asking me.
He just became part of us, side by side with Arlo.
We soon came to quickly realize that our town was boring.
There were no monsters or thieves, or soul sucking demons. No criminals or serial killers. Not even one missing person. We did, however, get calls about missing cats. I turned eleven years old, patiently waiting for a murder or a kid going missing. But there was nothing.
All we did was chase cats, and the occasional dog. Maybe a budgie if we were lucky. Twelve years old, our detective club became a joke.
The five of us (and Arlo hiding under the table) were trying to pinpoint Mrs Tracy's lost hamster, when three girls came over, dumping their soda all over us.
We watched crime shows for inspiration on catching killers.
Ben’s favorite crime was one that happened in the 80’s in our town.
2 girls murdered.
Their intestines stuffed into envelopes and mailed to family members.
“That's what we should be solving,” he told me one night, “Not missing cats.”
Thirteen years old, we lay in Violet’s backyard under the cruel glare of the summer sun. We called it working and didn't like to admit it was hanging out, or that we were even friends. However.
That didn't stop us growing closer.
Even if it wasn't quite the way I’d expected.
I proposed a plan, standing up, wobbling a little off balance.
“I've got it.” I said, my voice kinda slurry from Violet’s special summer cocktail, which was just random alcoholic beverages we found, thrown into a blender, and diluted with water.
The town wasn't taking us seriously.
So, we were going to make our own mysteries.
I ordered a full-scale assault on our small town. One that they could not ignore. Ben stamped on Mrs Mason’s flowers, and Lucy threw mud pies at people's cars. Jules trashed the high school gym, and Violet and I spray painted threats and warnings on every store window. Now, this did cause panic, but also an official curfew.
Thirty minutes before curfew, we met in our usual spot, deep in the forest near the lake. Ben yelled at me when I was three minutes late. He was real passionate about finding a real mystery.
“You're late.” Ben was sitting on a rock waving a stick in Arlo’s face.
The dog still wasn't going near him, whining softly.
I took my place, muttering an apology. “I had to lie to my Mom.”
Violet, sitting with her legs crossed, idly digging her manicure into the dirt, suggested we buy mannequins and masquerade them as dead bodies, hanging them from the school rafters.
Lucy, who had slowly grown out of her shell, becoming a lot more outspoken, nudged her. “That's a stupid idea.”
The girl groaned, leaning into her. “Urgh. You're right.”
Jules was the only energetic one, standing on the tireswing.
He jumped down, definitely twisting his ankle.
But his smile only widened, kind of like he enjoyed being in pain.
“Why don't we pretend to be kidnapped?” He said, pulling the hood of his sweatshirt over blondish curls growing out. Jules did a dramatic spin, his eyes shining. “We can ‘go missing’ for like a week, and then when our parents are really scared, we can turn up, and tell them we escaped a kidnapping.” His lips split into a grin.
“And then we solve our own kidnapping!”
Ben awkwardly patted Arlos head, only for the dog to pull away with a snort.
“I like it,” he murmured. “I'm in.”
Jules’s idea was stupid.
But.
It was worth a shot.
The five of us agreed to meet the morning after with enough food and supplies for a week. Then we were going to hike to the next town, and hide out for a week. It was an almost perfect plan, using ourselves as victims of our own mystery.
Packing as much as I could, I kissed my mother goodbye (I told her my pack was for a picnic) and set off to the rendezvous we agreed on.
When I arrived, I was the first one there. I checked and re-checked my pack.
I waited ten minutes, unable to contain my excitement.
Then 20 minutes.
It was getting kind of cold.
One hour.
I sat on a rock for enough time to watch the sky change color.
When the clouds were orange, I stood up and stumbled back home. They had gone without me. Mom lectured me when I got home, and I stuck to the plan of pretending my friends had gone missing, even if I they had betrayed me.
Ben said he'd text me when he arrived at the redervous. I at least expected him to text an explanation, but there was nothing. I was in the dark, and after three days of nothing, our town finally began to take us seriously.
“Our children have been kidnapped!” The adults were screaming.
Mom was crying in the kitchen, praying to a god I knew she didn't believe in that I wasn't taken next. I was interviewed and stuck with the exact same story I came up with when I was with the others. Our plan was to return after a week, claiming to be locked up in a dark room with a masked man.
I told my Mother and the other parents that I didn't know where my friends were, repeating the same thing over and over again until I was tongue tied.
“I saw them the day before they went missing, and… yes, everything seemed okay.” I slowly sipped my glass of milk provided, looking the sheriff directly in the eyes.
“No, I didn't notice anything suspicious, sheriff. Yes, I'm sure, sir. No, they didn't tell me anything.”
It was Ben’s mother who shattered my mask.
“Did I know about… what?” I whispered.
Something warm filled the back of my mouth, foul tasting milk erupting up my throat. I leaned forward, trying to look Mrs Callows in the eye. “No, I… I didn't know about Ben’s…condition.”
Mrs Callows was screaming at me about her son’s troubled past when I barfed all over myself, my eyes burning.
In the privacy of my own room, I sobbed until I couldn't breathe.
I tried to tell Mom, but we had come so close.
One more day, and the others would be back.
But that day came. I sat cross legged at our usual spot, which was now covered in police tape. I waited for their thudding footsteps, their laughter congratulating each other for coming up with a great plan. I waited, my face buried in my knees, for my friends.
It was dark when my phone vibrated, and I'd fallen asleep.
I wasn't scared, forcing myself to my feet.
“Where are you?” Mom yelled down the phone.
“Coming home now.” I muttered.
“Sorry.” I paused, holding my breath against a cry. “Mom.” I broke down, forcing my fist into my mouth to hide my squeak. “Mommy, did they come back?”
Mom didn't reply for a moment.
“I'm so sorry, baby.” She whispered, ending the call.
I took my time walking home that night.
There were no stars in the sky.
When a hand clamped over my mouth, I could smell him.
When he dragged me back, stabbing a kitchen knife into my throat, I stared at the sky and looked for stars. His arms were warm around me, violently pulling me into the back of a pickup truck. The pickup truck he'd said he was bringing.
It was his grandfather's, and he could just about drive it.
Hitting the backseat, my body was numb, my thoughts in a whirlwind.
The pickup flew forwards, and I remembered how to move.
I rolled off the seat, my hands pinned behind my back.
Twisting around, blinking in the dim, I could feel something warm, something seeping across upholstery seats. Blood.
It was everywhere, sticky on my hands and wet on my face when I struggled to get up. I was lying in someone's blood.
A scream clawed its way out of my throat.
The pickup flew over a pothole, and something dropped off the seat.
Arlo’s leash.
I screamed again, this time his name gritted between my teeth.
I didn't stop screaming until the jerking movement stopped. The doors opened, pale light hitting me in the face.
Flashlight. Warm arms wrapped around me, pulling me from the car, and then, pulling me by my hair, into our old tree house. It was always our secret place, our saving grace on the edge of town.
The flickering candlelight caught me off guard, illuminating my surroundings.
Two bodies slumped over each other, lying in stemming red.
I felt suffocated, like I was going to die. I screamed, and that warm hand cradled my mouth again, gagging my cries.
Violet and Jules.
There was something wrong with them. And it was only when I forced myself to look closer, when I realized their insides had been carved out, heart, stomach, everything, pulled out.
There was paper on the floor.
No, not paper. Envelopes.
Envelopes stuffed with gore, bright red leaking through white.
Shuffling back, my brain was too slow to react, while my body was trying to vault to my feet, only to be violently pulled back by my ponytail.
I felt his fingers twining around my hair, revelling in my screams.
With another tug, my head was forced forwards.
Orange candlelight felt almost homely, this time lighting up a third body.
Lying on their back, curled up, pooling scarlet dried into the floorboards, their wrists restricted with duct-tape.
I could feel blood underneath me, sticky, a congealing paste.
“Do you know what happened on October 3rd, 1987, in our town?”
Lucy Prescott stood over me, her arms folded across her chest.
I managed to shake my head, when she grabbed Ben’s legs, dragging him under the candlelight. I dazedly watched her stroke the blade of a carving knife, the teeth already stained scarlet. “The intestine murders.” Lucy hummed, tracing the knife down the floorboards.
“A man murdered two high school girls, carving out their insides and sending their pieces to their loved ones.”
Lucy's eyes found mine, ignited in a familiar gleam. I saw it in Principal Marrow’s office. Then the swimming pool. The cafeteria. “It was the sheriff's only murder case, Panda. Ever since then, our town has been boring. There's no mysteries to solve. Nothing to find.”
The girl jumped to her feet, retrieving a blood stained envelope.
She held it up, a smile curved on her lips. The girl turned around, and I heard a horrific squelching sound. Lucy held up a bright red sausage, ripped into it, and slipped it into the white paper.
“But I can change that.” she said, in a giggle.
“I can create a real serial killer, who we can hunt down together.”
Lucy stabbed the blade into the floor, laughing.
“Or! I can bring a fan-favorite back! I can bring the intestine killer back from the dead!”
Her gaze flicked to the others. “There are casualties, of course. The story is, I was kidnapped with Ben, Violet, and Jules. The scary intestine killer killed them, and I managed to get away.”
Lucy shuffled over to me, her eyes wide. “Then! He came back and struck again!”
With those words, she shoved me onto my back.
“First he took Violet,” Lucy hummed, tracing the blade down my shirt.
“Then… Jules.” I squeezed my eyes shut, pulling at the restraints around my wrists. “Then Ben.” her breath tickled my cheek. “And finally… Panda.”
Lucy lifted the knife, and I accepted my death.
Until a low rumble in my ears.
Shouting.
Thundering footsteps, followed by the pitter-patter of paws.
“Lucy!” The sheriff was screaming, and the girl stumbled to her feet, the knife slipping from her fingers. Lucy stumbled, tripping over Ben’s body.
“He got away!” she shrieked. “He…he killed them! Oh, god, please help me!”
I don't think Lucy even realised the traces she'd left behind.
The blood slick on her fingers, her manic, grinning smile full of mania.
I was looking for stars when an officer crouched over me.
I couldn't understand what she was saying.
Her voice was white noise.
“Rachel? Hey, try and sit up, honey. You Mom is on her way.”
Instead of listening to her, I curled into myself.
My gaze found Arlo sticking his nose in Ben’s hair, trying to nudge the boy awake.
I didn't fully register the next few days.
They went by in a confusing blur.
Part of me tried to eat, and spent hours with my head pressed against the toilet seat.
I could still see the slithering, scarlet remains of my friends every time I closed my eyes. There was so much red, soaked in that hunting orange light.
Blood that I could still see, a starless sky that stretched on forever.
Weeks went by.
Then months.
I think I turned 14. I wasn't sure. I didn't feel alive anymore.
I stood at my friend’s funerals with a single rose I dropped into their casket.
Violet’s mother was quick to cover the whole thing up.
Lucy's plan didn't work after all.
Our town’s murder cases stayed stagnant at one.
It's been four years since my friends were murdered by our ’Velma’.
Now, at seventeen, Mom asked if I wanted to visit Lucy in juvie.
I'm not even upset or angry anymore.
I want to know why.
Ben picked me up. Arlo was at his side, wagging his tail.
Ben was…different. He'd dumped his baseball cap and gotten a haircut, swapping his old wardrobe of drab colors for an attempt at changing style.
That day, he looked awkward in a short sleeved tee and shorts.
At school, Ben is no longer Bloody Ben.
Now, he is Survivor Ben.
I’m still Panda.
Every time I was with him, I felt like my soul was being sucked out.
Guilt so deep, so fucking painful, I lost my breath.
I live knowing that I immediately assumed it was him that day.
Ben was barely alive when I found him. Lucy had started to carve into him before remembering she needed me.
After admitting it to him, his lips formed a small smile.
“Can I tell you a secret?” He said to me, at sixteen.
"Yeah?"
Whatever he was going to say, Ben never told me.
Presently, I nodded at the dog’s new collar.
“Peppa Pig themed?”
The boy shrugged, ruffling Arlo’s ears. “FYI, he chose it.”
“It's cute.” I said. “Very… chic.”
We didn't speak the whole ride, but Ben did entangle his hand in mine.
We spent half an hour outside the detention centre. I was panicking, and Ben was trying to hide that he was panicking. In the end, we joined hands, and strode through the doors together.
Lucy greeted us with a wide smile. Just as psychotic.
The orange jumpsuit suited her, though I had zero idea why.
“Hey Arlo!” she giggled at the dog, and Ben pulled the pup onto his lap.
“Ben.” She sighed. “I wish I got to finish you. I would have loved to solve the mystery of your gutted corpse.”
Ben’s smile was wry. “Nice to see you too.”
Behind a glass screen, I asked Lucy one simple question.
“Why?”
Lucy didn't reply. Or she did, but it was just nonsensical bullshit.
But there was one thing she said has stuck with me, chilling me to the core.
I am fucking terrified of Lucy. Of what's she's done, and what she's capable of doing.
It was a throwaway line, and I don't even think Ben noticed.
Or he did, and was in denial.
Lucy's smile was wide, her eyes empty pools of nothing.
The exact same glint in Ben’s eyes.
Jules’s eyes.
Violet’s eyes.
Like something was gnawing away at their psyche, twisting and contorting it, filling them with darkness, poison, that was so vast, so endless, I had craved it as a child. I still don't know what it is.
But I'm going to find it.
Lucy's laugh was shrill, and next to me, Ben didn't move a muscle.
“I don't even wear glasses!”

Thankfully I’ve been clear since last year but I decided to check in on this year’s warriors so I’m here again with a thought.
I AM NOT A MEDICAL PROFESSIONAL
It is my understanding that this is caused by some genetic mutation in our nerves. This makes me wonder if anyone has experimented with any sort of nerve pain medication and if it provides any relief. I know it’s not a common med to have in the average medicine cabinet but those who do I think this could be a good idea?
Does anyone have any thoughts on this or have experimented with this?