Sealing railroad ties

Recently started fixing all the issue my truck aquired while the GF drove it during the winter. I've come up on quite a strange situation. The front differential was missing a bolt on the lower driver side bracket and the top bolt was missing the nut and barley hanging on in the upper bracket. So I replaced the bolts. I also replaced a few more parts on the driver's side. I replaced the CV axle (torn boot), replaced the differential bearing and seal. Anyways after that I had new tie rods (inner outer both sides), both lower ball joints, and an alignment done. No luck this thumping (on the passenger side) while turning left at medium speed still occured. Anyways the CV axle on the passenger side is pretty much new (less than 5k miles) so I'm torn between a few possibilities causing this issue. CV axle binding, bad passenger side differential bearing, internal fault in the differential, upper ball joints (less likely as they're also relatively new and test good). Any input is appreciated. Also as a side note it has a rough country 2-3 inch lift kit installed. Another side note shocks have less than 25k miles on them.

In the United States, only people who have experienced domestic violence, human trafficking, or transgender people can have a name change record sealed. Having it sealed means it is not a public record that anyone can view. Only the police can view it with a warrant.
The problem many people face is being abused, harassed, stalked, threatened, etc. and are unable to prove this in court. Sometimes abuse/stalking victims are unable to gather evidence. Without being able to prove in court that they are in danger, they are unable to have the name change record sealed. If an abuser has your name, they can search for you on a people finder website and find out where you live or work. This puts many lives in danger. Even if they get a P.O. box to hide their address or a service to reroute their mail, these boxes and services cost money that people sometimes can't afford to keep for the rest of their life to protect themselves. These people should be allowed to legally change their name without being required to prove they are in danger. "I'm afraid" should be the only thing they should have to say.
People who have faced extreme public embarrassment/humiliation either on their own or at the hands of a covert narcissist's smear campaign, bullies, etc., should also have the ability to legally change their name and have the record sealed simply because they want to for peace of mind. They should not have to provide a reason. [Trigger warning] Situations like this can often lead to someone taking their own life. I believe that we need more mercy and compassion in the world and should set laws (in the United States, but also other countries) to help encourage people with unfortunate background to re-enter society and pursue a life of peace as a normal, contributing member of society.
With all the technology we have today that allow the police to find a wanted criminal, it is extremely unlikely that this would be abused by people running from the law. Technology such as, Cameras in stores and on streets, biometrics, stingray tech, satellite, GPS trackers in cell phones and cars, digital credit/debit history showing location of withdraws and purchases, etc. All of this makes it virtually impossible to hide from the police, and especially the government, even if someone legally changed their name and had the public record sealed so it was no longer public. All previous crimes committed are tied to your social security number and fingerprints, not your name. Currently, to get your name legally changed, you have to provide a fingerprint as well as other information to recieve a background check. This background check includes criminal past and credit bureau check to see if you owe money to anyone.
With all of this in mind...why can't we legally change our name and have the record sealed without having to provide a reason??? We are not asking to hide from the police. Just regular, unofficial people who have no societal authority over other people. An old name is no longer a part of your identity, which means it should not be publicly tied to you. It is a part of your personal history. Unless you signed a contract, signing over your name or likeness to a person or company like some people do for advertising purposes, this would be the only reason they would have any legal claim to your old name. Even matters of "public interest" or "public concern" only go so far. If a group of people said they were concerned for your health, "show us your medical records", does that mean you have to show them your medical records? No. There are plenty of things the public can be concerned with but that doesn't give them the legal authority to know everything about you.
I want Name Change Laws to change in this country (the United States) and around the world to make it easier for people to escape abuse as well as grow and change as a person after facing public shame and humiliation.
Thank you for reading. Please let me know your thoughts. And let's get people talking about this!

Inspired by Solomon VK's Faufreluche posts.

D20	This staristocrat's badge of office
1	is a golden diadem which projects a hologram of Old Sol from its highest tine, as well as the rest of Man's Cradle-System orbiting about it.
2	is a hideous diamondoid mask made in the image of an alien demi-god from whom their esteemed house claims descent.
3	is an auroran magneto-cloth cape which flares with the oscillations of subtle fields.
4	is a porous meteoric amulet that echoes with the music of the spheres.
5	is a blade of enchained magnetic monopoles channeling ouroboric tangles of plasma - ever-glowing, their patterned glows expressing the cyclical yet self-degrading nature of the cosmos, able to cut through all but the most unnaturally enforced materials.
6	is a scepter containing a degenerate micro-verse within its topping globe.
7	is a battered helmet pulled from the suit of one of the first humans to reach outer space.
8	is a battle standard bearing the heraldry of their family, and topped with the head of a lion, preserved and animated to roaring unlife by cybernetic tubes woven through its flesh and bone.
9	is a halo of abstract mathematics, written directly on the fabric of space-time rather than mere matter.
10	is a pauldron of fused silicon, the remains of an artificial intelligence which almost overcame humanity.
11	is a dilating-lens lantern of an indestructible, orange-green alloy - fully unleashed, its actinic brilliance can guide in a ship from high orbit.
12	is a vial of their own, genetically-perfected blood, crystallized into a ruby-like gem.
13	is a crown of golden rings hovering about each other, each engraved with the zodiac of a different solar system.
14	is a famous artifact of Earth preserved within a temporal stasis-orb.
15	is a set of infrasonic pan pipes that can manipulate the minds of men and machine alike.
16	is a holy book written by the first settler of their world, in an eclectic script unreadable by anyone yet living.
17	is a shield with a brazen, hypercubic boss and a rippling purplish forcefield about.
18	is a labrys bearing edges honed to subatomic sharpness with whetstones hewn from the preternaturally dense heart of a collapsed star.
19	is a bowl holding a fractal bonzai grafted with branches of every fruit-bearing tree of humanity's homeworld.
20	is the head-sized smaragdine egg of some voidborne beast, the inevitable hatching of which is said to herald the end of the universe.

D20	This staristocrat's holdings
1	lie under a dimming sun, weakened by its fusion-harvest which forms the foundation of the staristocrat's wealth.
2	contain no life-bearing worlds, its population sustained only by technocratic hydro-pneumatic despotism.
3	bear the glassy-green sheen and asymmetrical mutations left by ancient nuclear war.
4	are mineral-rich but poor in organics and water, expending most of their export-wealth on life-giving imports just to survive.
5	produce a unique and inimitable spice, and are thus coveted by an extra-solar rival.
6	are either watery or gaseous, with dry, solid ground an unimaginable luxury - the populace living on great rafts or aerostats.
7	have recently absorbed a mass of refugees fleeing a black swan xeno-threat.
8	were enclosed from the common space of comet-cowboys, who plague it with their raids to this day.
9	are nestled among the ruins of an extinct alien civilization, probed only gently for fear of waking their automatic guardians.
10	are slowly but surely having their life-giving atmospheres stripped away by the rapacious solar wind of their red gigantism-suffering sun.
11	are deliberately kept ignorant of the wider galactic community to reduce their capacity to revolt, and so that the ruling class can portray themselves as deific through their technological capabilities.
12	are undergoing a long and delicate process of terraforming which structures cultural and religious cycles around these artificial seasons and critical thresholds.
13	are overgrown with a police state only nominally under the staristocrat's authority, and the computational bureaucracy that's arisen to process all their surveillance.
14	are infamous for their permissiveness, and abound in every sort of vice.
15	are torn apart on a planetary scale for the sake of resource-harvest and industry, and what unruptured ground exists is blanketed in choking smog outside sealed habitats.
16	were recently seized from a treasonous vassal and bestowed upon this staristocrat - the old holder's sympathizers still lurk within the population, evading the claws of inquisition.
17	exist mostly fictitiously, as moving shell-games of companies and titles.
18	are centered on an ecumenopolis with some roads paved with stones hewn before humanity's ancestors came down from the trees - its corners hide occultic dens of our darkest imaginings.
19	are generally scorching, deserts or liquid hells, their structures mirrored and extending tubes of heat exchanges and radiators like a seraphim wings.
20	are verdant in all forms of life - none go hungry, yet many are eaten, and a clan of masked physicians go about the populace to rebuke the tides of plague.

D20	This staristocrat is attended by
1	a harem of genetically-engineered Willendorfian Venuses, bearing a continuous stream of heirs who will duel over the matter of their inheritance in the arena of their crèche.
2	artful historians hunchbent over data-tablets, preserving every moment and detail of the staristocrat's life in imperishable crystalline records.
3	nigh-invisible bodyguards swaddled in light-bending metamaterial cloaks, heat haze auras ready to strike down any offense against their master.
4	clanking cyborg-knights - behind their cuirasses are tanks preserving the most loyal and chivalrous parts of their mortal brains.
5	slaves bearing explosive collars - the tribute of many conquered worlds.
6	a squadron of musclebound eunuch-janissaries raised from childhood with size- and strength-stimulating hormones and non-stop brainwashing.
7	clones of themself educated according to various traditions as diverse yet biologically-partial advisors.
8	the cryogenically-preserved heads of their forefathers, which sometimes dispense shivering, crackling counsel.
9	hovering laser-turrets fitted with targeting algorithms able to anticipate their master's desire to kill before it's consciously felt.
10	an enormous parrot with impeccable skill at mimicry, whose mind has been overwritten with every song recorded by humanity up until the time of its creation.
11	a pair of titanic wolfdogs, with metallic teeth that could rend apart a tank and hides that have turned aside artillery-shells.
12	the plush animatronic companion of their childhood, its digital personality updated to be a competent advisor.
13	a caste of butlers who've served their family for generations, bred like pedigreed dogs.
14	a choir singing their praises, the choir's lungs replaced with cybernetic jet-intakes slatted between ribs, so that they might sing unceasing.
15	a former whipping boy, their oldest friend, bearing the delicate scars of tremendously sophisticated tortures.
16	tumbling jesters dressed in patchworks of impossible colours captured from the coronas of half-real suns.
17	technotheologic angels dancing through the air on wings of incandescent blazons.
18	abductees from primitive worlds fitted with neural implants which make them believe they are simply in an extended dream.
19	a team of chefs who can prepare the delicacies of a dozen worlds, never repeating the same twice in their master's lifetime.
20	grey masters of anagathic science, whisper-arguing over the injections and ointments that will quicken them a while longer.

D20	This staristocrat's court
1	is entertained by a vapourous alien intelligence which takes possession of lesser courtiers through a fanciful hookah.
2	has its lesser members partially memory-wiped when they attend it - able to recall their skills, yet unable to remember much of their own identities, and so how to apply those skills for personal benefit.
3	is deliberately, performatively humble, held in barns and suchlike.
4	is overlooked by a cine-dome showing stars, moons, and constellations in fortuitous alignments.
5	is addicted to novelty, and constantly seeks new performances and grotesques.
6	is made up nepotistically of their siblings who did not win the contest to inherit the throne.
7	are waited on hand and foot by fragile ceramic robots imprinted with the tightly-enchained engrams of political criminals.
8	takes place entirely remotely - members are provided radio-devices with frequencies that trigger voice-like vibrations in great bells this staristocrat is in the constant presence of.
9	were at first ironically and now legitimately entranced by a bloody cult of sacrifice and agonies.
10	has been forced to accept elected representatives from among the populace by a revolt - to the grumblings of those who attained their positions through inheritance.
11	is wracked by a scandal involving mistresses overspending from public coffers.
12	is perpetually-wrapped in augmented-reality projections of mythic mimesis.
13	is burrowed among the roots of the biggest mountain of their throne-world, so that it could survive all but the most devastating attacks.
14	are all accompanied by a member of an order of courtesan-assassins implanted with acid-glands in case their charge shows overt disloyalty.
15	solve disputes among themselves with duels, and drill daily with various weapons and fighting styles.
16	is held within a hollow pyramid, with this staristocrat at the top point and many stairs and levels filtering petitioners between them and the entrance at the base.
17	is largely taken over by a conspiracy to poison this staristocrat, and even the uninvolved have begun to circle like vultures.
18	is a ring of stone thrones built to scale with the renown of the one who sits upon them - this staristocrat themself sits like a small child on a throne fit for giants - their seneschal on a stool.
19	is held around a colosseum, where gladiators and vicious alien beasts fight for their amusement and haruspexies.
20	is itinerant, a grand airship which hovers above the realms of hosting vavasours.

D20	This staristocrat's noble flaw
1	is hubris - they believe they can become like God by funding breakneck scientific process.
2	is bravery - they will fight to the last in the face of overwhelming odds, even if better options present themselves.
3	is honour - their thinking is rigid and totally un-utilitarian.
4	is generousity - they give without thinking, disrupting economies and fostering dependence with their largesse.
5	is parental love - they spoil their children on a terrible, cosmic scale.
6	is a thirst for justice - a continent has burned due to their need for a punishment fitting a truly awful crime.
7	is filial piety - their increasingly-senile dowager-mother has them tied around her bony finger.
8	is tolerance - they've cultivated cosmopolitan communities, yet failed to confront division and rising extremism.
9	is an aesthetic sense that is souring into decadence.
10	is persistence - they are a dogged obsessive.
11	is realpolitik - they've alienated possible allies with ruthlessness.
12	is faith - they lean often into outright zealotry.
13	is cautiousness - they often dive into outright paranoia.
14	is competitiveness - they're innovative, but often only in the tortures applied to defeated rivals.
15	is cleanliness - they have advanced to a purgative germaphobia.
16	is contentment - they have come to peace with all things, even if others demand their action.
17	is honesty - they will never lie, even if it benefits them and their people.
18	is is humility - they are overly-convinced of their own incapacity.
19	is romantic love - their spouse manipulates them to their knowledge yet total acquiescence.
20	is imagination - their fancies often end up unproductive or outright destructive.

Hey guys! Looking to sell these single issues but if you have any questions just ask!
Imgur only allows 50 images but if you need additional photos or of any specific book just let me know. Time stamp on CGC book and anything over $100.

Dark Knight Returns #1-4 First Prints - $250 OBO
Batman #125 Alex Ross 2022 SDCC Variant SIGNED $99
Detective Comics #1063 Yoshitaka Amano Card Stock 1:25 Variant - $60
Invaders by Zdarsky #1-12 - $35
Spider-Man Life Story #1-6 First Prints - $40
Spider-Man Spiders Shadow by Zdarsky #1-5 - $40
Secret War #1-4 - $25
Spider-Man Edge of Spiderverse/ Captain America - Iron Man Felipe Massafera Variants (2 set) - $50
Skulldigger & Skull Boy by Lemire #1-6 - $45
Transformers Beast Wars 1:10 - $25
Samurai Doggy #1 - $10
Spider-Man #2 J Scott Campbell 1:50 Variant HTF - $70
Transformers ‘84 1:25 & 1:10 #1-2 - $25
Batman Beyond the White Knight #1-7 - $40
Captain America Sentinel of Liberty Cover Variant/Incentive Lot - $40
Captain America Sentinel of Liberty Momoko Variants - $30
Spider-Man Cover Variant Lot - $45
Captain Carter #1 - $16
Last Ronin Lost Years #1 Deadoto Variant - $12
Ghost Cage #1-3 - $15
Power Rangers Universe #1 Goni Montes (Red Ranger) Variant - $60
Strange Adventures by Tom King #1-12 - $30
Captain America #25 + variant (first Sam Wilson as Captain America) - $25
Marvel Civil War Lot (main issues + tie ins) - $150
Justice League Last Ride #1-7 by Zdarsky - $25
Star Wars Obi Wan Set (origin of Black Krrsantan) - $20
Eternals by Neil Gaiman #1-7 - $25
Jurassic League #1-7 + Incentive Variants - $45
Captain America Reborn #1-6 - $25
Flash Rebirth by Geoff Johns #1-6 - $30
Star Wars Obi Wan #1 Virgin by EM Gist (signed and remarked + COA) - $70
Captain America #1 Variant by Ryan Meinerding CGC 9.8 - $70
Dark Knight Returns III Master Race Dell Otto Variants - $45
Secret Empire Omega Variant by Michael Turner B&W - $35
Blade Runner 2019 #1-12 - $35
Blade Runner 2029 #1-11 - $40
Blade Runner Origins #1-9 - $25

(Full Blade Runner Set for $90)

Marvel 2 in 1 by Zdarsky #1-12 - $35
Radio Spaceman #1-2 - $10
JLA Tower of Babel #43-46 - $20
Justice #1-12 - $40
Earth X #0-8 + Spidey Special - $35
Alex Ross Variant Lot - $75
Fantastic Four #1 Homage by Alex Ross - $99
Justice of Society #1 - $10
Marvels X #1-6 - $20
Fantastic Four #243 Galactus Cover - $15
Ghost Rider Variant Lot - $75
Ghost Rider Brisson Run #1-7 - $20
Ghost Rider Heavens on Fire #1-6 - $20
Pulp by Brubaker HC - $10
Afterlift TPB by Zdarsky - $10
Batman Curse of the White Knight HC Sealed - $25
Batman White Knight HC Deluxe - $25
Captain America Mondo Print (UNFRAMED) - $60

https://imgur.com/a/IIR3zrZ

Controversial opinion: I wish that Yamato had gotten Oden's second sword, and Zoro got Enma in a different way.
I know why Oda wanted Hiyori to pass Enma to Zoro, but I felt like it was a cheap way for Zoro to receive his third sword. It always came off as her trying to assuage a brat from throwing a temper tantrum by giving up her dad's sword. I know I'm using very harsh descriptions, but that's how the scene always came off to me.
I love the ways he received his other swords, which were very fitting for those specific journey beats: He inherits Wado to honor his first rival; he happens up Kitetsu, who tests his mettle and willpower; he duels Ryuma for Shusui. That's why Enma - potentially his final sword of the series - should have carried more weight or meaning, like:

Option A: Enma is a powerful sword that got sealed away somewhere by Oden. Hiyori takes Zoro to find Enma, only for King to swing in and snatch it up. So Zoro fights King for Enma at Onigashima, making the scene with the Grim Reaper represent his ultimate test to conquer Enma.
- King couldn't conquer Enma, but Zoro does, and that's why he earns the right not only to wield Enma, but claim himself as the King of Hell. It could tie into how King willingly views himself as Kaido's underling, whereas Zoro is Luffy's right-hand man, BUT still independent.
Option B: Enma is made from scratch during Wano. Maybe they find and use seastone OR some ultra secret, super-special material, and Sukiyaki forges Enma right before the raid.
- This establishes Zoro forging his own path, doing things his own way in becoming the World's Greatest Swordsman, with a sword that's not burdened or tied to any history except his own.
- Meanwhile, the Grim Reaper scene is tied to Kitetsu, since that's supposed to be a cursed katana that tries to kill its wielder. Why not call back to the curse?

As for Yamato--I think I like the idea of him getting Oden's second sword (not Enma, some other name) because it legitimizes his fanatical devotion to Oden's will. He casts aside the club, the weapon of Kaido, and takes up Oden's sword, symbolizing him as the new protector of Wano and the Kozukis.
And if you're wondering when he would have time to receive Oden's sword...well, the simple answer is that Kaido held onto it as a trophy. While everybody's running around in Onigashima, they find the sword, and Yamato uses it to protect Momonosuke (after geeking out over it).
(the more complex answer is that I wish Yamato had been the prisoner at Udon, and Kawamatsu had been an Orochi lackey turned Red Scabbard to contrast Kanjuro's betrayal. That means Yamato would have met Hiyori as a kid, they could have bonded, and Yamato could have wanted to become her protector, which is why he wanted to be Oden so badly. And when Kaido heard about that, he locked Yamato up, and that's why Hiyori ends up going to Denijro and becoming the oiran, because she lost her protector. So Yamato getting Oden's second sword is him fulfilling his promise to Hiyori by protecting her and Momonosuke. Sorry, just had to throw out more opinions for some of the decisions made for the Wano arc!!)

(I am SO sorry for the needed lengthy) Back Story & Context Leading To My Decision:
I (33F) have 1 sibling, “Sam” (38F). Although we share the same parents, our childhood & the way we were treated was incredibly different. Mainly because Sam had always been favored & treated far better than me. A fact that Sam refuses to acknowledge to this day.
Before & after my parents got married, it was agreed upon that they would not have children, until one day my mother “Susan” (66F) came up with the bright idea that if she gave her parents (“Norma & Gene”) a grand-baby they would finally love her. She went off the pill without telling my father, got pregnant, then had Sam. To no one’s surprise, Susan hated being a mom. So she would ship Sam across the country to Norma & Gene’s constantly, so much so, they saw her as THEIR child. And they showered her with love that Susan never even got a taste of. This led to Susan being aggressively jealous & resentful of her child.
Years later, my dad was tricked again into having me to “save their marriage.” They divorced when I was 3. All Sam ever knew from Susan was neglect, emotional & mental abuse from Susan, which only became worse when she could use “favoring” me as another way to hurt Sam. This was NOT a secret in my family, resulting in maltreatment towards me (either subconsciously or intentionally).
Abuse toward Sam turned physical. My father was given full custody of her when I was 8, and I was left with Susan for the next 2 years until she decided she wanted to move to San Francisco because she “deserved” a more glamorous life. I do not remember the years living with Susan, but recently one of my closest friends (of 25 years) said to me I practically lived at her house & she barely interacted with Susan throughout the entirety of our friendship.
To make up for Susan being an awful parent, Norma & Gene would dote on Sam & shell out a lot of $$$ to give her a very nice life (let me know if you want me to give a list of examples in an update), compare this to me when I barley received a kind word. They offered me money ONCE in my early 20’s to pay off my credit card debt I accrued in college as I had to pay all my own bills while working full time (I have been working since I was 15) and going to school full time. I am the only one in the family who worked in college, yet I am still the only one to graduate with honors. I accepted with the condition it would come out of my “inheritance.” I have never asked or been offered money since. I have paid for ALL my own bills since I left home @ 18 years old.
Despite the obvious disparities and constant hurt they put me through, I was an active member of the family who mainly kept her mouth shut. I attended family events unless I could not afford to go, I sent holiday gifts, called between 1-2x per month for an 1 hour+ phone call in which I most often bit my tongue unless it was to defend Sam as Norma did not agree with her parenting.
Something to note, in May 2021 my father had an accident that would lead to his passing in December 2021. The disagreements & Sam’s nastiness toward me after the accident and then his death further strained our relationship.
Fast forward to March 2023. An explosive incident at Susan’s home in front of me she screamed at my sister to the point of Sam sobbing in ear shot of her 3 young kids, husband, and my step father resulted in me cutting ties with Susan for good. To be fair, she screamed in my face “I don’t want a relationship with you” with Sam as a witness. I made the family aware of my decision, and everyone, including Norma agreed to respect my decision.
By August 2023, my physical health that had been on a rapid decline since 2019 including 18 out of 23 (78%) of my spinal discs deteriorating without a known cause had become unbearable to manage + time I had to take off because of migraines & doctor’s appointments, I had to quit my corporate desk job. I had enough money saved to tide me over for some time, but as any US adult in their 20’s & 30’s know, it’s been rough the past few years, add in physical disabilities & limited mobility + regular migraines, I was running low on money & needed help. So at the end of December, at the encouragement & insistence of my aunt Elizabeth (Susan’s sister) who I had become quite close with over the past few years, I went to Norma & Gene to ask for a LOAN. They had donated $25,000 to Sam’s place of worship on her behalf a few months prior, offered to buy Sam & her husband a house the year prior, paid for Elizabeth’s bills & expensive lifestyle for the last year when she was soul searching on what line of work she wanted to do next, this was after putting a down payment on Elizabeth’s new $470,000 condo + $70,000 of renovations it needed, not to mention the literal hundreds of thousands of dollars that they have given Susan over the years just to pay off her credit card debt (none of which is coming out of their inheritance might I add) she assured me they would absolutely loan their granddaughter with serious health issues money. Elizabeth would talk to them personally about it, just to seal the deal while Sam would help me find cheaper alternatives to my current necessities such as Medicaid.
I make the request, and to my surprise they are more than happy to help me with a loan. But one week later & their phone calls with Susan, they say by email they “love me but cannot continue to financially support my poor decisions.” I call Elizabeth who says, it was not in her best interest to talk to them about helping me as I am “worthless to this family and society while being disabled.” Then adds that she will not let her “mental health deteriorate just to emotionally support me.” I then immediately reach out to Sam who does not even have the guts to talk by phone only text, and says she called Susan to explain my circumstance but “wasn’t going to argue or pick a fight” to help me and that she is sorry that that she “can't show up for me the way I want her to because she needs to maintain her own mental health, relationships and boundaries.” She also threw in that I have “made up this narrative in my head” that they treat her & I different, that she is treated better.
That day I fully cut contact with Norma, Gene, and Elizabeth. I told them they will not be hearing from me again, and I will not be attending theirs or Susan’s funeral. And I stopped speaking with Sam for the time being. Ironically, what led us to speaking was last month (April 20224) I had begun working on an article about going No Contact with family members. I asked if I could discuss her childhood abuse in a few sentences as part of the article. She agreed and offered to give me quotes. I accepted then interviewed her. From there we began rebuilding our relationship.
Then last Wednesday, (May 8), Norma passes. I do not attend the funeral that happened on Friday, May 10. My two cousins who I have become very close with in the last 6 months understood why, and supported my decision. But even though I did not go, I continually checked in with them & Sam to ensure they were okay. Not once from Wednesday to yesterday (Tuesday) did Sam reply to a single message. As I am concerned about this, I reached out yesterday morning. She replied in the afternoon. I was incredibly hurt by her very lengthy message. Here are 2 excerpts that led me to full NC.

“Your perspective on the situation was clear, you werent coming to be with the family and you arent grieving [Norma’s] death at least in the conventional sense. I had to be the one to answer from most of the family why you werent there, it was incredibly awkward and uncomfortable for me.”
“Since late January/Early February things have already been really strained between us. I know that most that comes from my point of view and actions were really hurtful to you. I hate that I hurt you and Its been difficult for me to reconcile that I can't show up for you the way you want me to while also maintaining my own mental health, relationships and boundaries.”

She continually says that she cannot show up for me the way I need without affecting her mental health or crossing boundaries, and I am not someone that would ever want to hinder someone else’s life by my presence or cause inner turmoil by associating with me. I let her know this and said I will stop trying to cultivate a relationship and I will step away for good. I said it as kind as possible, taking an hour to craft a message that can only be seen as kind. I told her if she responds I will not be reading it.
I work very hard to stay positive as it’s just me to lean on. When there is something eating at me emotionally, it will drain my energy & have me spiral until it is resolved. I did not want to waste another week feeling hurt. But with that said, AITA for cutting ties at this time & not waiting?

To celebrate the centenary of Mishima's birth, Penguin will be releasing a collection of 14 of his stories that haven't been published in English before. The UK release date is January 16, 2025. Here's the description from Penguin's site:

"A writer is seized by apocalyptic visions; a voyeuristic marquis commits a brutal act; and a trio of beatniks dance to modern jazz in the ruins of an abandoned church. A new selection of 14 of Yukio Mishima's best short stories from the 1960s - his final decade - Voices of the Fallen Heroes offers a unique glimpse into the mind of one of Japan’s greatest writers. In the title story, ‘Voices of the Fallen Heroes’, a séance brings forth the spirits of young officers in the Imperial Army and the kamikaze pilots of World War II, who decry the Emperor and mourn Japan’s modern decline. In another, Mishima recounts the true story of the time a deranged fan broke into his home at dawn, insisting on meeting the author and imploring him to ‘tell the truth’. Elsewhere, a beautiful youth achieves eternal life through violent murder, and an ill-matched couple seal their fate with a pack of cards, tangled in the web of time and unfulfilled desire. Available in English for the first time, and carefully selected by a team of expert translators, these captivating stories serve as the perfect introduction to Mishima's work, on the 100th anniversary of his birth."

It's great to see a new publication to tie in with the 100th anniversary. Along with the recent string of other new translations, I hope there are still more to come that take advantage of next year's event.
https://www.penguin.co.uk/books/463882/voices-of-the-fallen-heroes-by-mishima-yukio/9780241723609

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

The players have been made aware of this, and have agreed. This is not meant to be a discussion of railroading.
Each player, some in groups, have had, or will have a private session leading up to the official start. They all start in the same place, against their will. Each character has something unique about them, or valuable, that would be appealing to slave traders. A very popular line of work in this part of the world. With undead being pretty much eradicated, cheap labor had to come from elsewhere. The party are more special than cheap labor.
A orc who wanted to escape the violence of his people and live peacefully. The reputation of his kin follows him everywhere.
An elvish princess, a rare thing in a world where there's around 500 elves left.
A bounty hunter, apart of a very well known clan, who possesses many trade secrets and tools. Many want their revenge.
A pair of twins who stumbled upon artifacts they shouldn't have. Otherworldly powers, and an unfair debt owed.
This corner of the world attracts many tourists for the same reason LA or Vegas does. There is endless opportunity for those willing to work for it, or a life of luxury for those who can afford it. Streets are filled with gambling, and exotics imports from all over the world. Gladiator style areas however is what brings in the most. Warriors from all over to come to show off their strength, willingly or not. For slave traders, this is where the money is. A fighter who can put on a show is a very valuable thing, and why 3/5 of the characters start off as prisoners.
The orc, elf, and bounty hunter are from across the region. Kidnapped for purposes that will be revealed later to them, backstory elements coming into play that made them desirable and worth the risk. The twins are apart of the gang who takes them, but they are not involved with this part. They simple are muscle, and smuggle drugs around for the gang. Session 1 is the first time the twins meet the other side of the business, and it's not for a promotion.
The session starts with the twins arriving to the hideout. Located at an old mining operation in the middle of the desert, it has been fortified and turned into something more. The old gates reinforced to create an area, and the entrance into the mines a jail. Deeper inside has been turned into a temple of Anubis, the prominate god of the area, but not all is what it seems. The twins are brought here to witness a fight. An elf druid, one traveling with the elf princess at the time of her capture is in the area trying to talk an owlbear out of eating with with little success. He wild shapes into a small bird in an attempt to escape, only to be shot out of the sky immediately by a guard with a long rifle. His death is quick, and gruesome as the owlbear does its thing to the prone man.
Afterwards, the twins are escorted inside. Past the jail, into the deeper chambers where they meet their boss. A Dwarvish women who immediately comes across as disliking them. She wants to test the twins loyalty, and this is when the characters are all brought together. The other 3 characters are brought into the room. One by one they are shot by the boss, and brought back by a cleric of Anubis, leaving only the twins left standing. This is just a showing of how she's willing to get her hands dirty, cause the twins want something that belongs to her.
The twins last big job was a heist. They needed to retrieve a silver jewelry box, and they had one rule. Under no circumstances is that box opened. Well, it was, but not willingly. The jewelry box contained a scale of a mercury dragon - dragons are rare, god-like beings here, and a scale like this is akin to an artifact rarity magic item. This Mercury dragon just happens to be the patron of the brother now, as the scale absorbed into him, through no choice or fault of his own. The boss wanted this power to herself, and upon retrieving the box, it didn't appear to be opened. Imagine her disappointment when she found it was empty. The brother was the only one alone with the box.
The sister is presented a deal. Kill her brother, right here, right now. Prove her loyalty without question or they both die. This is the first major decision the players are able to make now. If she pulls the trigger, or not. The boss isn't stupid. The gun handed to the sister isn't loaded. It's simply a test. If both siblings are to be shot, or just the one. The ending is largely the same.
Bleeding out on the ground, the sister, and newly revived party members witness the corpse of the brother forcibly raised from the dead to answer questions. The location of the item in the box. If his sister knew he stole it. Is he still loyal. - my ruling of Speak with Dead is they don't have to answer, but if they do, the answer must not be a lie. He will be brought back, but his answers will determine later interactions. Now, the sister. Every player in the game will have moments in the spotlight. I decided to start with her, as it made most sense, and given the twins background, they will be key members to the party next chapter. She still has the empty gun. If she knows its empty or not will change a few small details. She too is a warlock, and this is the signing of her pact with the Hexblade.
Her interpretation of this place is her own to make. She awakes in a void, and although she is still herself here, she is consumed by nothingness. No pain, no sound, no feeling at all. Not even a heartbeat. Here she meets an entity. A "shadow" that mimics her every movement. It even shifts slightly, becoming a silhouette of herself. When she touches it, it is an overwhelming sense of feeling. Fireworks going off at the tip of her fingertips. The warmth of her blood becoming as hot as the sun, but somehow feels comforting compared to the nothingness shes felt for all this time. Outside seconds have past. Here, it could have been years, or seconds. Impossible to tell. But with this touch she hears a voice reach out to her. "Squeeze". She's back in the room, vision blurry as her life fades. Gun raised, aimed at her boss, who doesn't fear an empty gun. Only, it's no longer empty. This is her new pact weapon. It functions as a gun, but she can choose to shoot normal bullets or eldritch blast from it.
Their escape comes soon after. The hideout is attacked by a Sand Stalker - a purple-worm like creature. Other captives save them, and the campaigns first chapter begins here. They are in the middle of the desert, very limited supplies, uncertain where exactly they are. Few npc trying to get to the capital city to find help. The twins, bounty hunter, and other npc know that everyone who bares the mark of the clan will have bounties out on them, to be returned to their owners. The world in now open to them, as they learn how to free themselves of this debt one way or another.
The slave contract is as good as a deal with a devil. Legally binding, and magical in nature. Each master / house has its own distinct mark to show ownership. Once the debt is paid off, the mark will fade on its own. Their starting debt is 10k gp each. It is meant to be ridiculous. The bounty on a slave is always 10% of their total debt. So, 1k gp to return them if they job is put out, and it will be. If captured the reward money is added to the debt they owe, making it 11k gp now. The system is designed to be nearly impossible to be free.
In the main city there are several patrons willing to help them for one reason or another. Old contacts of the twins and bounty hunter in the party are expected to be called upon. There's multiple escapes from the city I have ready, and I am looking forward to what they come up with. I don't expect them to ever pay off their debt. The main story will later being them back here, when they're ready to take on the challenges of the city in full, and save the world. Standard stuff.
This is a new attempt at an intro. Throwing them into the fire with a clear goal. A long "cinematic" before giving them full control. They all know the stakes, and are in a position of "our chances are better together" apposed from the classic meeting in the tavern and dealing with rats.
Every character has elements from their backstory that matter here, and will drastically effect the campaign going forward. They had all known the basics of the intro, and details where they started prior to making characters. Changes were made to my plans based on their characters, incorporating them into it one way or another. There were always slavers, and they were always going to die. The twins backstories are the only ones from this region and they provided me a lot to work with, and ability to tie them into the scenario.
The boss killing and betraying the twins is a detail I think is very important. The other characters may see them as enemies, so by doing it this way they have common enemies and no secrets about it. Only the sister is not in debt, giving her a few special privilege's while in the city. All the players know each other, have played in other games together, and know what's expected. I am trying to make the party's coming together seem natural by immediately giving them a common problem and no one else to turn to. [BG3 SPOILERS] as the mindflayer parasites provided the main cast common problems, and Out of the Abyss first chapter being major influences. There are many other politics involved also, some sub plots that will come up later that tie to this, and a lot of world lore involved giving insight to why this region functions like this.

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

I don't really know why I'm writing this ... I think it's because I've tried to explain it to my uncle but all he said is that I should get my addiction under control and stop forgetting to take my meds.
I can't blame him. You see... I have a history. I've lost it in the past , twice actually. I'm not here to talk about it , but I think it's important to lay this down first. So you can understand.

I've been told something's wrong with my brain, maybe I was born this way, maybe I've been through too much. That my mother was an addict, she'd cut ties with her family for 10 years when she had me. That where she had been and who my father was, is was very unclear. She was part of a community in the forgotten part of the nearest big city when she died. I was there when it happened.
My uncle Sean and Aunt Maggie became my guardians just before my 5th birthday and I'm still with him 20 years later. Maggie left the ranch a few weeks ago after an amicable divorce, I never understood why they were together anyway she was always working somewhere, traveling a lot. I was closer to him and his sturdy way of life.

When I first arrived at the ranch, I was in a bad shape. I got better thanks to him but when I reached thirteen, all the memories from my early childhood suddenly came back. I started having flashbacks. My memories came back, but they came back wrong.

I had been told that my mother had died of an untreated infection. Yet in my dreams, I saw her , again and again , in a pool of blood. An then... Then it came. The... Thing. I won't describe it. It kind of triggers something in me that I really don't need right now.

I've been told that what happened next was so traumatic that my brain made up a monster, a fiction , to make sense of what I was seeing and not processing.
This ... Thing started obsessing me and during my early teenage years I focused all my energy on finding what it was and proving it happened. That a monster did kill and mutilated my mother. My nightmares were so bad that I stopped sleeping. I drank so much energy drinks that I ended up in the hospital twice with severe dehydration.

Thankfully, I got better. I started working more and more with my uncle's horses. I think it's why he employed me, he saw how manual work and caring for the animals helped. I even got my first girlfriend around my 17th year. I was prom king. Who would have thought?
But then... She had a cheerleading accident. In front of me. And I lost it again. I won't go into details but she broke her neck during half-time and once again... The way she fell, folded and screamed. I couldn't process. It was IT. It'd shapeshifted to get to her. I'm ashamed of it but I became violent. Looking for it franticly. Screaming non sense and talking made up words. I had to be sedated. She made it alive, but she never wanted to see me again. I was accused by pretty much everyone to make the accident all about myself. And they were kind of right....

Now you know how I came to be the " crazy" guy. I have a bit of a drinking problem too to be honest... You see I never went back to high school. I started working full time at the ranch when I came by, and sometimes, it gets lonely. It's not rare to find me passed out in the hay in the early morning in the summer. And what can I tell you... I know I shouldn't. I know it's "bad" . But I love those nights. I put music , cuddle with my dog and just look at the cold bright stars, drinking beer until they start spinning.

It's because of this bad habit that I realized something was wrong with the horses. You see, contrary to the movies, horses are pretty silent. They don't neigh unless you separate them from their best mate or bring food. And that night... The night it all started. They wouldn't stop. I could hear them galloping and snorting. I wondered if there was a stray dog but they were used to dogs. I was a bit worried. Horses get stupid when they are afraid and we had a big show coming, it wasn't the time so sprain a leg. What really troubled me was my dog. He seemed ... Weird.
Max was a pit mix my uncle had rescued when I was 15. He only woke when I got up and walked a bit to look at the paddocks. That's when I realised the moon behind me. It was huge, and red. I wondered if I had ever seen it so close and so red before. I looked at Max The white of his eyes showed and he started whining. I had never heard him make this noise. Ever.

I looked at my phone. It was quarter to three. I took a pitchfork to be safe and walked toward the clubhouse. We kept a shotgun there in a locker. The horses kept going crazy and max's tail was stiff. I was walking fast but carefully in the darkness when the music reached me. A chant. A low chant. I kind of felt it too... Like a ... vibration.
It was coming from the yearlings field near the forest patch, on the opposite direction of the clubhouse. My horse was in this field. I backtracked immediately and rushed toward the sound as I dialled my uncle. Off course he didn't answer. He didn't live on the property anymore but a few miles away. I left a message, whispering. " I'm at the stable, something weird ‘s happening. I think they're people messing with horses I'm going to see. I think you should come , I don't know...Call me back.". The weird chant buzzed in the background, louder, as if more people had joined. I saw the glow of the fire before I passed the last building. It rose , under the bloody moonlight. Dark figures circled around it. Slowly. The horses seemed to have retreated at the other end of the pasture and I was relieved. Until I saw it. The figure at the centre of this dark carousel. " What the f are those creeps doing" escaped my lips.
blazing fury filled me , like a white iron like a white hot blade blinding me . "HEYYYY" I screamed at the top of lungs. " WHAT ARE YOU DOING !? ". The figures stopped and turn toward me. I was running now , my knuckles going white around the pitchfork's stick. Max was growling. A deep growl. His hair high upon his backbone. The figure, still pretty far did not move. I could see their heavy hooded cloaks. " what kind of sick pricks are those " I muttered. " HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY" I screamed again, louder than I ever thought I could scream. And then I saw him. Gun.
Gun was my uncle's favourite horse. His old stallion's spitting image. The young horse was lying in front of the fire behind the intruders.
"WHAT DID YOU DO! I'M CALLING THE COPS!!!!". I stopped and was dialling when a figure detached itself from the group and advanced. It seemed to ... float? It moved toward Max and I... so silently.
The burning rage in veins turned cold , and heavy. I opened my mouth but nothing crossed my lips. Suddenly, Max jumped. He growled in a way I hope to never hear any dog do again. A desperate, furious growl. A life or death sound. A war cry... His warm blood spattered on my face. He... Honestly I don't know what happened at that moment. Something lied bloody on the ground but I couldn't even have told that it used to be a dog, even less Max. Acid tears filled my eyes as I realized my mouth was still open. I was tasting him.
I wanted to scream, to run, to just get swallowed by the earth and yet I did nothing at all but stare at the floating silhouette. It was so tall. " Come, my child". " We were waiting for you, we knew you'd come, Your father told us you'd be here when we'd call".
I heard those words, but I wouldn't be able to tell you anything about the thing who spoke them. I say thing because it didn't have a voice. It... Buzzed. Like... a cello.
Suddenly... I floated too. Panick seized me. Like a trapped raccoon in my
chest it dug its claws, scratching furiously my closed throat.
" Your father said you were ready. We will prepare you." I was now in front of the crackling blaze. the other figures circling me. Smiling Men and woman welcomed me. On their faces they all wore a similar mark. a cross covering their eyes horizontally, and their nose and mouth vertically. Their hands... Their hands were still dripping with gun's inside. Gun... Was ... opened.
" A necessary sacrificed" whispered a woman, still smiling. " I know you liked him very much... I'm sorry..." " I could have taken yours, but I knew you wouldn't have forgiven me'. Her voice. .." Aunt Maggie?' I croaked. Her eyes shone with a mad light. " Gosh do you look like your mother tonight... She'd be so proud. Her baby boy..." .
The tall figure made a gesture and I spined and found myself looking at the sky. I thought I'd fallen but... I wasn't touching the ground...
My aunt continued speaking." She was just like you the first time ... So... naive, so afraid.. She was only 16! That was our mistake you see, she wasn't ready for her destiny yet when she joined us... That's why we waited for you."
The chant , the low buzzing chant rose once again. The people around me started walking in a circle around me. I was just above Gun's body.
One, by one, they buried they hands in the belly of the horse and traced the cross on my face. I sealed my lips as tight as I could as the warm blood covered my face. Through the blood and tears I recognize faces. A nurse from the hospital. A teacher. The coffeeshop barista. My psychiatrist... I closed my eyes.
It was a nightmare. It couldn't be anything but a nightmare.
Yet the smell of the horse's inside and the crackling fire still reached me as they started ripping my clothes off.
" This is not real" I whispered. " This is not real, this is not real THIS IS NOT real" I screamed weakly.
'Oh , My dear I'm so sorry ' whispered my aunt. I should have told you earlier... But Dr Carter said it was better to let you grow up a bit first. He said it help you keep the secrets if you were afraid of them. I'm sure you don't feel this way, but it was an honour to watch your mother ascend the way she did. Her agony was the most beautiful thing she could have hoped for. You were supposed to ascend with her but she ruined it". " Slut" groaned a middle aged woman before spitting on the floor.
" She was my best friend you know... I thought I knew her. I thought I could trust her. But she lied to me."
"You see, we know you are his son. But... She wasn't a virgin when she was honoured."
She smiled. " It doesn't matter how cruelly she tricked us. You can help us find the perfect girl."
One by one, each member traced a symbol on my skin.
" You're so handsome... He'll be so glad. The perfect boy. The perfect vessel."
"It's almost time, Prepare" hissed the tall figure.
" You're going to give him his heir, the one ruler among the realms. You see he can't travel here whenever but you're an anchor my love. Each generation he choses an anchor until he finds one who'll give him THE son, the one who'll die for his freedom. Our freedom."
"QUIET SLAVE AND KNEEL" shrieked the tall figure.
She kneeled right near me, and whispered " You're...". I heard a slash. Aunt Maggie’s face slid horizontally. Her eyes followed me as the upper part of the face slid slowly toward the ground.
" HAIL THE PRINCE".
A chant, colder and louder than never before rose with the crackling flames toward the moon.
" Iä! Shub-Niggurath! The Black Goat of the Woods with a Thousand Young! » chanted the disciples."
Frozen, I watched the blazing sky above and saw a door. A perfect wooden door , in the sky. It slowly cracked open as the crowd turn to hysterics and the chant turned to mad screams.
"MY SOOOOOOOON" The whole earth seemed to split open under the weight of the sound coming from the perfect rectangle of empty darkness in the sky.
And then... I saw... I saw what I had tried to forget for twenty-years. I saw those split red eyes and their evil glare. I saw the iron hooves at the end of too many legs. I saw the tentacles who fled my mother with their thousand beaks. Everything all at once, I saw it shift, from an odious form to a more loathsome one. I burned in a way I'll never be able to describe.
I woke up two weeks ago in the nearest hospital. I was found on the ground, surrounded by the yearlings, the corpse of gun and some remains of Max. My uncle explained to me that I had found a bear feasting on Gun, that Max must have attacked it and I'd fainted or been knocked out trying to scare it away. Laying lifeless had saved me. I didn't speak of what I saw at the hospital. I knew better now. I've tried to explain to my uncle why I had to move out to the big city. That I had a mission now. That I had never been crazy and that I shouldn't have been afraid.
I know now that I'm blessed. You see he thinks I'm just having another episode, that it’s a "manic" episode and I should go back to the clinic, but I know better now. I am special. I am. And he can be too. Anyway... He'll be whether he joins or not. You'll all be. Because he is coming. He 'll bless us all. Because you see, I know I can find her and I'll give him the perfect door. A door to let him in. A door to let all of him in. He'll honour us all, all at once.
" Iä! Shub-Niggurath! The Black Goat of the Woods with a Thousand Young! »

When Annika woke up, she found herself floating inside her apartment. Her now abandoned apartment. She walked out of the apartment where she used to live and saw the calendar. Three years have passed and it is now 2024. She then saw a mysterious woman surrounded by the darkness and walked over to her. She introduced herself as Iris.
"What happened to me?" she asked. Iris pondered for a moment before saying, "Well, you have been dead for a long time since you were murdered by your son."
"Oh," she said, the sadness forming on her face. "But don't worry, there is one way for you to reach the afterlife," Iris said to her. "You need to confront the ones who have mistreated you and banish them back to hell."
"But how would I do that?"
She took out some string and two jars with the names of her former husband and son. "Your son was killed when he tried to murder his therapist, yes?" he inquired. Annika was confused, but she nodded anyway.
"Well, all you have to do is tie up your son with the string and say the words, 'I banish thee to this jar!' three times and then use these bottle caps to seal him away so that he can never come out," she explained. "Are you willing to take on this momentous task?"
Annika nodded and Iris smiled. "Good. Now bring me the impure souls of your husband and son and make sure to keep them properly sealed."
Once the woman left, Annika began her quest to find the malevolent spirits of the one who used her to get what he wanted and the one who killed her. As she continued, Annika noticed red eyes peering down on her. She tried to keep walking, but the eyes continued to follow her and the next thing she knew, someone lunged at her.
It was the ghost of her son, Benedikt Dorfmann as he tried to strangle his mother screaming, "I HATE YOU, MOM! I HATE YOU!" Annika knew she had to do something before he ended her afterlife.
Soon, she found something she could use a weapon(the crowbar)and she bashed Benedikt's head with it and soon, he fell unconscious immediately. This gave her enough time to open the jar and say the magic words, "I banish thee. I banish thee. I banish thee." The spirit was then pulled all the way into the jar and Annika sealed the jar really tight. Whew. She thought with a sigh of relief. One down, one left to go.
As she packed up her things, Annika sensed a drop in the temperature. She picked up the pace and looked around to see if there was any sign of Hendrik, her former husband. Then, she saw a tall man with dark brown hair and red eyes. She began to back away, but the man continued to follow her.
Just as Annika was about to run, the man began to run after her. In his pursuit, he yelled, "ANNIKA! WHY DID YOU LEAVE ME! WHY DID YOU LEAVE ME!" Annika refused to look back and just kept running for miles and miles until she found herself backed into a corner.
"You were supposed to love me!" he screamed at her, the anger bubbling in his vocal cords. "Why won't you love me anymore!?" Annika took a deep breath and said in a low voice, "You think I would love you again after what you did to my first love? You took all of that away from me and you should be ashamed of yourself for it."
Hendrik pleaded for forgiveness, but it was too little too late as Annika took out the last jar and said the words, "I banish thee! I banish thee! I BANISH THEE!"
In that moment, Hendrik found himself getting dragged into the bottle and he could not only see all of the horrible things he did, but also the sins his ancestors committed from his great uncle Stefan murdering the girls in his mansion to his great-great grandfather beating up one of the Jews during the Nazi era. He continued to scream until he was forced into the jar and Annika sealed it shut.
Later, as Annika gave the jars back to Iris, she smiled back at the woman who helped her and soon, a bald-headed man in black robes came to take the souls away back to hell before vanishing in the darkness. A flight of stairs then appeared before them and together, Annika took Iris' hand as they ascended to heaven.

Hey Tea Exchange! It's Tea Cluttering Time. Moving…reducing. Teawares post to follow.
My teas are properly stored. Will quote CONUS, PPGS.
Please Comment before Chat or DM and kindly include your Zip Code. Thank you!
Proof & Verification - See Tea Headers
SHENG

The Phoenix Collection 2001 Yiwu Qiamu #5417 15g $4

10g $3
Bitterleaf Teas

Dragon Blood 2015 Spring Lin Cang Zi Juan - Raw Purple Tea 20g $20

~~3. Hummingbird 2013 Spring Jingle Mai One Coin available approx. +-8.5g with wrapper. $9~~ sold
PENDING 4. Drink Me 2020 Nanmo Raw Puer Three Dragon Balls $8
PENDING 5. Charmed 2020 Lincang Raw Puer Three Dragon Balls $8
PENDING 6. Spring 2018 Outlier - Two Dragon Balls $6 or $3 each
PENDING 7. 2018 Plum Beauty Gold 2018 Mengsong Raw Puer One Dragon Ball $4

Farmerleaf Spring 2018 Mengku Ba Nuo 16g $10

Yunnan Sourcing

Aromatic Bamboo Species Raw Pu-erh Tea "Xiang Zhu" 50 grams Bamboo Stick $15
Mang Fei Mountain "Mandala Mushroom" Raw Pu-erh Tea Tuo 25g $8

PENDING 11. Da Xue Shan Raw Pu-erh Tea Dragon Ball Rolled Pu'er Three Dragon Balls $9

2001 Gu Pu'er "Yin Hao Tuo" Raw Pu-erh Tea 50 Gram Tuo $34
2000 Bu Lang Mountain "Mushroom Tuo" Raw Pu-erh Tea 10g $8.50

White2Tea 14. 2017 Swine Dog 8g $10 15. 2018 Swine Dog 6g $6
SHOU
White2Tea
PENDING 16. 2020 Camphornought One Dragon Ball $2
PENDING 17. 2020 Prosbloom Two Dragon Balls $3
Yunnan Sourcing

2020 Jingmai Mountain Ripe Puerh Cake 25g sealed $8
2019 Tie Guo Li Super Mini Coins Three Coins approx 25g with wrapper $4
2011 Mengku Grade 3 Ripe Mini Three Mini Touchas approx 18g with paper $2.50

FU

Yunnan Sourcing 2019 Gao Jia Shan "Golden Prosperity Pig Cometh" Fu Zhuan Tea ~~110g partial brick $12~~ Sold

40g chunk $4.50
30g $3.50
30g $3.50
OOLONG TEAS
What-Cha
PENDING 22. China Fujian hangping Light Shui Xian Cake Two cakes/faerie pillows 18.8g with wrapper $5
PENDING 23. Vietnam 'RED BUFFALO' Oolong Tea 14g $3
PENDING 24. China FUJIAN BRANDY Oolong Tea 10g $3

Taiwan 2003 AGED GREEN HEART Oolong Tea 17g $8

Silk Road Teas

Anxi Oolong 2019 - 10g $3

PENDING 2017 - 11g $3
PENDING 2019 - 20g $6

Magnolia Blossom Fragrance Yu Lan Xiang Oolong 15g $6

PENDING 15g $6
Bitterleaf Teas

Nectar Top Shelf Nectar 2019 Spring Milan... (pink label) - 10g $15

~~29. Ducktale 2019 Spring Yashixiang Dancong Wulong (teal/gray label) 14g $9~~ Sold

Nectar 2019 Spring Milanxiang Dancong Wulong - (purple label) 12g $5
Make it Rain 2019 Spring Aofuhou Dancong Wulong with Tin 50 gram sealed pouch $50

PENDING 30 gram pouch $25

DECORATIVE CAKE Dragon with Ball Big Red Robe Tea Cake approx. 100g $16

GREEN TEAS
What-Cha

Korea Jukro Jungjak Semi-Wild Green Tea 50g sealed envelope $25 excellent tea, sampled the remainder of an earlier order and it’s just as delicious as when i first purchased it.
Two Hills Emerald Green Tea ( iirc this is organic) 15g - $2 15g - $2
Mystery Roasted Tea - from a Tea Shop A quality tea, I just don’t do roasted. 14g - $3
Numi - Organic Green Jasmine 5 Sealed Sachets - $2 5 Sealed Sachets - $2
Choice - Organic Reishi Matcha 5 Sealed Sachets - $3 5 Sealed Sachets - $3
Hyley’s - Green Tea Pomegranate Garcinia Cambogia 5 Sealed Sachets - $3
Choice - Organic Premium Japanese Green 5 Paper Sachets (stored separately in ziplocks) - $2

WHITE TEAS
Bitterleaf Teas

Skinny Dip 2019 Spring Simao White Tea a nice chunk of cake in the packet 22g $5
2016 Little Mountain Fuding Shoumei White Tea 36g $8

BLACK TEAS
Dobra - Ashland

Lychee Black Tea 23g - $3

20g - $3
PENDING 43. Nilgiri Shiva - 19g $3

Vanilla Black Tea - 18g $2
Silk Road Teas Yunnan Black 20g - $4

15g - $3

TeaVivre Non-Pareil Yunnan Dian Hong Ancient Wild Tree 15g - $3

10g - $2

What-Cha Mi-Xiang Honey Black 35g - $6

PENDING 48. Young Mountain Tea Company - Kuman 18g - $3

Unsmoked Lapsang Souchong - 20g $2
Republic of Tea British Breakfast 45 tea bags $8

HERBALS

Taylors Organic Chamomile Sealed Tea Bags Five -$1
Choice Organic Chamomile Paper Wrapper Five - $1
Buddha Teas Passion Flower Sealed Tea Bags Five - $2

Edit: adding
MYLAR STORAGE
Yunnan Sourcing Tea Storage Bags

Kraft Mylar Zip Tall Stand Up Pouches 15 count $4.25
Kraft Mylar Zip Tall Stand Up Pouches Square 5 count $1.75

Thank you!

When I was three years old I was in a really bad car accident. I didn't know it at the time, but that singular event would come to define everything about my life moving forward. What I remember about the accident is mostly a collage of backdated comments I was able to reel out of my father in the following years. He was driving me and my mom in his old '91 Chevy Tahoe through the twisting backroads of Southern Illinois, weaving his way through the gnarled branches of oak trees which interlocked into a braided ceiling overhead. A fog had rolled in, giving the impression that we were driving through a cloudy tube. Everything was simultaneously bright and opaque. I didn't mind though, as I was in the back seat working on a coloring book. My mom was in the front, talking with my dad or turning around to entertain my completed pictures.
Although I was of the age where my memory was just beginning to mature, I still recall two things very clearly from the accident. First was the sensation of breaking. I remember feeling the way a plate must feel to be dropped: weightless at first, then suddenly meeting a much larger, more solid object—the air popped like a firecracker, and the entirety of my body shattered into hundreds of fractals. And then I remember a hand. It was my dad's hand pulling me from the wreck.
I ended up hospitalized for weeks after the crash. My mom was less lucky. The impact had killed her instantly.
As I've alluded to, I was young, and at the time I didn't fully understand the implications of what had happened. I knew something was missing, but it was like a word on the tip of my tongue, or the forgotten vanilla in a cherished cake recipe—coloring my experience, but not the whole of it. Not like my dad. For him, it was the whole fucking cake. He had somehow made it out with only a few scratches. I'm sure he had a really bad case of survivor's guilt, and frankly, looking back, I wouldn't have blamed him if he slumped into despair and spent his days drinking away his sorrow. But he wasn't that type of man. He got help. It took him years before he was able to recall anything that happened that morning, and most of it is still repressed, but he shared with me what he could. Or at least that's what I had thought.
My dad was a Middle School teacher since before I was born, and he kept his job until very recently. As a result, we didn't have much by way of resources. I grew up on Disney Channel and TV dinners for the most part, but I didn't mind. When I became of school age, his job actually made caring for me pretty convenient. Since our Elementary and Middle schools were connected, he was able to drive me there and back each day.
It was around third or fourth grade that I realized I was different. I didn't understand the other children or even the adults most of the time. They would say things then immediately change their mind, or they would talk about something and in the next breath forget its existence entirely. I remember one day at lunch, I had just gotten my tray of hot food and sat down with some friends. One of the kids, Alex, was talking about a stuffed bird he had won for getting first place in Mr. Curtis's pop-up math competition. We were all admiring its blue wings and white belly and sharp black beak and beady eyes. I left mid-conversation to get a chocolate milk. When I came back, I asked to see the bird again, and Alex said "what bird?" I was perplexed. "The bird—the bluejay you were just showing us." I remember all of the other kids looking at me like I was crazy. I figured they were all playing a trick on me, so I got up and went over to Alex's seat and crouched down, looking under the table, then I sprung up and tried to open his lunchbox. "What are you doing!?" he yelled. I felt so confused and embarrassed that I ran to the bathroom to cry.
And then there was another time a group of kids were laughing about a joke one of the girls, Taylor, had made about our homeroom teacher's face looking like a seal. I knew it was mean, but at the time I just wanted to fit in so I played along, but when I made a comment about her resemblance to the semi-aquatic animal, they all looked at me confused. "What are you talking about? We never said that…"
These misattributions kept happening, and it led to me being ostracized from most of the little childish cliques that popped up. I developed a quasi-standoffish temperament which I used as a shield against a chaotic world that I didn't understand. My dad eventually had me tested for ASD (Autism Spectrum Disorder), but I passed the test. He asked if I wanted to move to a different town with different schoolmates, thinking that perhaps I was getting bullied, but I told him it was fine. Somewhere deep down I felt like no matter where I went, this problem would follow me.
You may think that I was simply coping with the absence of my mom, and while I'm sure that her absence has left certain holes in my life, kindly, no, that wasn't what was happening. You see, at first I didn't notice the instances of what I'll call "blinking". I simply thought that I was misremembering things: objects, words, events. They were all little things anyway. A bird, a joke, my pencil box. It wasn't until sixth grade that I realized the magnitude of the phenomenon.
I was in my dad's 6th grade Social Studies class and we had just been assigned our "Ancient Civilizations" project which involved creating a diorama of our chosen civilization and presenting its features to the class. My friend at the time, Claire, had taken my first choice of Ancient Rome (which we had a heated argument about at lunch), so I was left with Ancient Egypt. At the time, all I pictured for Egypt was a plate of sand. However, my dad and I went through some illustrated history books and pictures on the internet and he really built up the project for me.
Over the course of a couple months, he helped me shape three pyramids out of small wooden planks and a bunch of tan clay. We placed them in the center of a giant square shoebox lid which served as the container for the diorama. Then he bought some small wooden mannequin puppets and we dressed them up in cloth clothes (mostly kilts and tunics) and colored their eyes, mouths, and hair. We added a few obelisks and some small box-huts which were collected into a little village around the Nile. Finally, we added a light glaze of glue where we felt would be necessary and then covered the whole project with golden glitter.
As we worked on each part of the diorama, my dad helped me understand what we were adding and why it was important to Ancient Egypt. I loved the way he talked about history. He spun everything into a miraculous story. To this day, I don't think I've ever had a teacher who came close to his level of charisma and creativity. As a result, I became really proud of my diorama. I memorized all the little details and rehearsed my speech in front of the mirror for hours leading up to the last couple weeks of class. And then, two days before I was supposed to give my presentation, everything fell apart.
First, I need to apologize for deceiving you about an aspect of my story. I thought it might help you to understand what I was going through at the time. What I'm about to tell you is going to sound insane. I get that. But please hear me out. The truth is that I was never assigned to present on Ancient Egypt; everything else about Clair taking my first pick and dad helping me with the whole project and my excitement leading up to the presentation was all true, but it wasn't a project on Ancient Egypt, it was a project on Ancient Sidovan, which was a civilization located on the eighth continent called "Catalan" (the same name as the spoken language, but unrelated) which was due West of Australia in the Indian Ocean.
I know this sounds incredible, and if you want to believe it's all in my head, I get that, but I remember clearly all sorts of facts about it: the Malagasy, the same people who populated Madagascar, were the first peoples to discover Catalan and settle it. However, about five hundred years later, Indian ships would arrive and create the civilization known as Sidovan. A pidgin language formed between the indigenous population and new arriving Indians called "Hiesa" (pronounced: Hai-E-suh or Hai-ʔ-suh). Catalan had a warm climate with plenty of natural resources, but Sidovan had a dense enough population to require agricultural production. They grew rice, grain, sugarcane, vegetables, and even tobacco.
I remembered all of these facts and more. My diorama reflected the main features of the Sidovan civilization. And then two days before my presentation, I woke up and my diorama was entirely different. The hilly grasslands were traded out for sandy dunes. The Hindu statues and stone palaces became clay pyramids and large spear-like pillars. And everything was covered with the ickiest yellow glitter I had ever seen. Tears stung my eyes as I trampled over to my dad's room and banged on his door. "Dad! What did you do!?" I yelled.
"Honey?" He responded, rushing over to the base of the stairs. "What's wrong?"
"The diorama. It's ruined!"
"It's what?" he asked and ran up the stairs, leading me to my room. He looked over it for a few seconds, checking to see if everything was intact, then said, "I don't see it, honey. Where is it ruined?"
I was completely dumb-struck. What did he mean he didn't see it? "All of it!" I shouted. "The whole thing is wrong. Where's the grass and the stone buildings and the lady with the four arms and the elephants? Where is my project!?"
My dad looked at me in silence. "Lauren, baby, what civilization do you think you were working on?"
"Ancient Sidovan, of course! We've been working on this for months now! Dad, please tell me you remember."
He knelt down and put his hands on my shoulders. "Honey, your project was on Ancient Egypt. There is no Ancient Sidovan."
"Y-you're lying." I protested. "Books, you have books. On your bookshelf."
He took me into his study and showed me all of his books. None of them were on Ancient Sidovan. He even turned on his computer and typed in the name of the civilization, but all that came up was a near match "Sidon". I remember feeling the sudden urge to puke. My entire body felt like it was pumping battery acid instead of blood. "I—I don't," I started but suddenly my head felt very light, and I fainted.
When I woke up, I was in the hospital. I had lost consciousness for over half an hour, enough time for my dad to call 9-1-1 and have the ambulance transport me to the nearest ER. They ran all sorts of tests on me, but they all came back fine. After a couple hours of IV fluids and monitoring, they released me with my dad.
I ended up skipping the rest of school that week. My dad didn't make me present my diorama. In fact, he never brought the subject up again. Part of me was glad. I just wanted to forget the whole thing ever happened. But another part of me couldn't move past what was clearly the most absurd thing to ever happen to me. About a week after the incident, I tried to broach the subject, but when I asked my dad about it, he didn't seem to remember our conversation at all. He said I had fallen ill and that's why I needed to go to the ER and miss class. I felt like I was going crazy. If I was older, I probably would have voluntarily checked myself into a psychiatric ward. But I was young and helpless and alone, and I decided that if I just ignored the changes well enough, I could still get along. This proved difficult though, as the blinking would only exacerbate in the coming months.
Up until the time of the project, I hadn't been able to directly observe the phenomenon. It was always in retrospect that things disappeared. It was during the summer after sixth grade that this changed. I still remember the first time it happened. I had just gotten out of the shower and was drying my hair in front of the mirror. After it was dried, I threw on my clothes then went to tie my hair up in a ponytail, but as I went to set the elastic tie, I felt its weight dissipate in my hand. I gasped and held my hand out. The circular black band was gone.
Fast forward to seventh grade and the blinking had spiraled out of control. Reflecting back on it, most people would probably have assumed I was drinking psilocybin-infused water, as the delusions were somewhat consistent with psychedelic phenomena: except these distortions were real (at least they felt that way to me).
I'd wake up and grab the box of Special K but end up eating Cheerios. The McDonalds logo would look yellow and red one day, but purple and black the next. I'd be watching a show, and then a different show, and then a different one. It was as if the entire universe was a Christmas tree with millions of lights, and the lights kept shifting hues randomly, faster and faster, and I was the only one who could see their changing colors. I remember one night my dad made spaghetti for dinner and we went out onto the porch to eat it. While we were sitting, I saw our neighbor's house, a two story townhome, blink and become a single story bungalow. I gasped, and my dad asked what was wrong, but when I tried to explain he just gave me a strange look. For him, no matter what changed, the world was "always that way". While for me, it didn't have "a way".
The situation peaked when Clair, that friend I mentioned before, disappeared. I texted her (my dad had bought me a BlackBerry at the beginning of summer break) but didn't get a response. When I asked her other friends if they knew where she was, I got the usual "what are you talking about?" look. I knew right away what had happened, even though I didn't want to believe it. I went to the teacher and asked if there was a Clair in our class. She said "no". I broke down in front of everyone. I couldn't take it anymore. I ran out of school. The lady at the front desk tried to stop me, but I just barrelled past her. I kept running until I got to a big park across the street and bawled my eyes out until the police arrived and escorted me home. When they tried asking me what was wrong, I didn't say anything. There was literally nothing I could say that they would understand.
That night I prayed to God for the first time. My dad wasn't a religious man. He went to Catholic church with my mom when she was alive, but after she died he never went back. Still, I knew how to pray, even if I never did it. I copied some of the people I saw praying in movies and interlocked my fingers and knelt down on my bed, stuffing my head into a pillow. "Dear God," I said, "Please, please, please help me." I told Him about my struggles and asked Him to make them stop. I spent an hour saying the same things over and over again. And when I was finished, my little body was so tired, I fell right to sleep.
I knew something was different the second I opened my eyelids. I didn't only feel relieved, but I felt… embraced. I felt like someone was watching over me. I felt like I wasn't alone. I moved through my day with cautious apprehension. I didn't want to get my hopes up only to be let down. But to my surprise, the blinking had stopped. At least I couldn't remember any of the inconsistencies, and to me, that was a win. I began to pray regularly, and the more I did, the more I could feel the sense that someone was looking out for me. It was like I was getting a big hug from some cosmic force that loved me and wanted me to be happy.
I made it a habit to pray regularly. I asked my dad if he could take me to a church, and he agreed to take me to St. Mark's, the same church that he and my mom used to attend. Over time, I realized that the actual church services weren't as important to me as the praying. For whatever reason, there was something about praying that was like a glue for my brain, holding the entire universe together. As I got older, I considered that maybe it wasn't that the changes were no longer happening, but that I simply didn't see them anymore. In other words, maybe I was just becoming like everyone else. Either way, I didn't mind.
In my teenage years, I got into mindfulness meditation. I thought that I'd want to go into religious studies and become a theologian, so I started to learn about Eastern traditions in addition to Christianity. I joined a bunch of different school clubs to meet kids of different faiths: Judaism, Hinduism, Buddhism, Islam. I tried to find a common thread which linked them all and would explain what happened to me as a child. The metaphors of Heaven and Hell, Good and Evil, the Taoist Yin and Yang—duality. Every religion seemed to speak about a way of being that would lead to a better place. In some cases that better place was a physical future existence, and in others it was merely being in contact with the perfection of nature or the present. Metaphorically, the teachings could explain what I had gone through in a kind of loose way, but there were no explicit statements about my condition.
***
I want to fast forward to why I've decided to write about this now. To give you an idea of where I'm at, I'm now 25 and working on finishing my MA in Computational Linguistics. I know that's a bit of a switch from what I was thinking when I was a teenager, but I really only interested in religion because of the value praying afforded me as a child. I didn't actually have much interest in the subject, itself. After my first year of college, I changed to an English major, which ultimately led to me taking a linguistics class and enjoying it so much that I switched tracks in my Junior year. Considering the state of the world, I thought minoring in Computer Science might help me financially in the future, so I ended up charting a path which I figured might lead to something like developing translation software.
Anyway, everything was going fine until a few weeks ago. I was out at an all-night diner with a few of my friends from the program. There was Jeremy, Martin, Bella, Jordan, and Macy. We had been working on a group project together involving modeling construction grammars by generating primitive 3D structures using C# and running the code through a game engine (it's a bit weird, but essentially we were trying to create a multidimensional model for language using a similar but more advanced concept than other LLMs), and just had a breakthrough. It was 2AM though and not a brain cell existed between the six of us, so instead we focused on a different problem: Macy's ongoing breakup with her semi-long distance trucker boyfriend. We tried to explain why Mike wasn't going to work out as we ordered a round of milkshakes and waited for the lone overnight kitchen worker to scoop out three balls of ice cream from the Deans carton for each of us, blend it, then have the server deliver the vintage diner glasses on a plastic tray.
I dug into my thick strawberry shake with a spoon. It was delicious. I kept eating but focused back on the conversation. I remember feeling something odd about one of the scoops, but I was so entrenched in Macy's story that I didn't notice the metal shard in my ice cream until I felt it against my lip. "P-tuh" I spat out the shard and ice cream all in one motion, then covered my mouth which I was sure was bleeding. The silver blade was probably as large as my thumb, and it had two jagged edges, as if it was fastened for the purpose of causing damage. "What the fuck!" I yelled.
Everyone at the table turned to see what was the matter. "Hey, Lauren, you okay?"
I spoke through a covered mouth, using my free hand to point at the table. "That was in my—"
But it was gone.
"In your… shake? Was something in your shake?" asked Jeremy.
I froze. In that moment, the stories of my childhood that I had only remembered as faint nightmares came back in a wave of crushing terror. How could I have been so stupid to think they would simply vanish forever? No, this isn't the same thing, I thought. But deep down, I knew it was. I drew my hand away from my lips and saw that it was dry—no blood. When I looked back up, all of the blood in my veins went cold. My friends were… smiling at me. Their lips were elastic like taffy, stretching to reveal their teeth. I could feel them radiating malevolence, as if the only thing holding them back from picking up their utensils and stabbing me to death was some thinly veiled force field. The moment lasted for what felt like half a minute, then Jordan said two words which made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
"Found you"
The words ricocheted in my now adrenaline powered skull. But just as he spoke them, the world blinked and my friends were back. Bella reached out and grabbed my hand. I pulled away, but when I saw her concerned expression, I relented.
"Sorry, guys, I think I'm going to have to call it." I said.
"You sure, L?" asked Jordan. "You look like you just saw a ghost."
"Yeah, thanks, but I just…" I stumbled for a lie, but when one wouldn't come, Martin stood up and said he'd walk me out to my car.
"Thanks," I said as I got into my little 2015 Jetta. "It's just been a long day."
"No problem, Lauren. You know, if there's ever anything—"
"I know," I said but didn't mean. Some things just couldn't be shared.
I drove for about five minutes before stopping at a gas station. I pulled in and parked near the back. Then I interlocked my fingers and prayed for half an hour. I apologized for not taking my praying seriously and asked to once again be granted peace. Unlike my younger years, I also drifted into other avenues of thought. I imagined my mom. I pictured the whole arc of my life, all of the little decisions that led me to where I was. I cried for a long time. I felt like that little girl again reaching out for help. I still felt so lost, so out of control; there were so many things missing, and I was so confused.
I decided then to take a trip back home and visit my dad who was now working as a private tutor. He made enough prepping affluent students for the ACT and SAT that he could spend his free time pursuing his real passions: reading and writing. When I arrived at his doorstep that weekend, he greeted me with open arms. "How are you, kiddo? It's been, what? A year or so?"
It was actually more like two years, but I didn't tell him. I just smiled and nodded.
"Well, come in."
The house was almost exactly how I remembered it. Linoleum floors, beige walls, a few scattered pictures, the scent of camomile. Everything minimalist. There was a quaintness, a prettiness to the way everything seemed to be well kept and in a perfect place. From the cherry wood chairs we'd sit in to eat, to the cream-colored loveseat. I felt at home.
I spent the drive thinking of what I would talk to my dad about, but ultimately I wasn't sure what I'd say. I loved my dad, but I think growing up it was easy to see him as naive. After all, arguably the most important episodes of my childhood were completely unknown to him. In that way, I kind of loved him from a distance. Maybe losing my mom also played into that. Maybe I just had trust issues. And after what happened at the diner… Luckily there hadn't been any blinks since.
I stayed for a couple days and he showed me around some of the different coffee shops where he'd tutor kids or write some of his stories. I met some of his friends, mostly other retired or part-time teachers who were in a similar place in life. I was happy for him. Then, on Sunday, he made me my favorite meal growing up: homemade carbonara pasta with chicken and broccoli. The sauce had a few different cheeses, butter, olive oil, and a raw egg yolk. It was the perfect blend of creamy, savory, and sweet. After we ate, he cracked open a scrapbook of some old photos and other clippings he had put together.
We reminisced about the past and laughed whenever I'd cover up one of my awkward pictures. He brought up some stories from school that I had forgotten, naming some teachers that I hadn't thought about in years. Apparently I had started at the end, because as I moved to the other end of the book, I kept getting younger and younger. I flipped to the last pages and noticed a couple pictures of my mom that made my heart sink.
"She was beautiful, wasn't she?" said my dad.
"Mmm," I agreed.
I flipped to the last page and saw a collage of newspaper clippings. One of them was related to the accident. It was headlined: "Two Survive Head-On Collision". After a cursory glance at the text, I noticed something odd. It said, "Both the husband and child, a three year old girl, sustained life-threatening wounds. The husband was found unconscious on the scene. The girl was found twenty meters away from the vehicle, crying." I swallowed, trying to remember back to what happened that day. The feeling of crashing, of the world slowing down, then breaking, returned. And then there was a hand. My dad's hand. Or was it? If he was unconscious, who pulled me out of that wreck?
I looked up at my dad. He was smiling.
I shot up and started backing up slowly toward the door. "No, not you, too. What is this? What's happening? Who are you?"
My dad, or whatever was controlling him, laughed."Oh, Lauren, Lauren, Lauren. You know who we are." he purred as he stood up. He lifted his hands and the lights began to flicker then bend in a way which shouldn't have been possible. Dark figures began to propagate from the shadows along the walls. The pictures nailed there began to blink out of existence. I turned to run toward the door but the handle was gone. Glass shards materialized all around me and swarmed like locusts. Certain I was going to die, I dropped down on my knees and once again turned to prayer, this time asking God to directly intervene and save me.
Everything went quiet.
"Honey? Are you okay?"
I didn't trust his voice. I knew if I opened my eyes, I'd see that awful smile. He was just toying with me. "It's not you," I said in between muttered prayers. "I know it's not you."
"Honey," my dad said, closer. I felt his arms wrap around me. This was it, I was going to be suffocated. I waited for the inevitable crushing weight of my chest collapsing. I waited to break all over again.
"I would never hurt you, Lauren. I love you more than anything in the whole world."
I burst out in tears. "No, it's not you, I know it's not you. You don't exist!"
My dad's weight dissipated. I opened my eyes and saw that he was no longer there. "Dad?" I called aloud. "Dad? Where did you go?"
I checked all over the house, but there was no trace of him. There were still pictures of him all over the house, so I knew he hadn't blinked out of existence like everything else, but somehow he was missing.
***
I left the house and got a room at a hotel, where I am now. I'm sure at this point that whatever is happening to me is no longer random. Something out there is actively trying to hunt me. Maybe it has been my whole life, but only now it can see me—however weird that sounds. If that's right, then God has been on my side trying to protect me from this demon or monster or devil or whatever it is. Regardless, the methods I was using when I was younger are not going to cut it anymore. I already posted my story in several other small circles and have gotten one reply. A man who goes by the name "Trent" (apparently it's an alias). He said that he has some insight into my "condition" and can offer help if I want it. I'm planning on meeting with him tomorrow. I'm not sure if it's a good idea, but at this point I need answers. I can keep you updated with my progress if that interests you, and to anyone who knows anything about what's happening to me, please… I could really use your help.
***
I was just about to post this when Trent sent another message. This is what it says:
Trent: We can do the \*** at **** O'clock. Also, if what you're telling me is true, your mother may still be alive.*

RailroadSpikes

Game Recap: Oklahoma City Thunder vs. Dallas Mavericks - May 18, 2024

Introduction

Pre-Game Odds and Predictions

First Half: A Tale of Two Quarters

Third Quarter: The Mavericks Pull Away

Fourth Quarter: A Thunderous Comeback

Final Minutes: A Nail-Biting Finish

Post-Game Analysis

Bookmakers' Predictions: A Close Call

Conclusion

References