Genital skin tags do not usually cause symptoms. When they do, symptoms can include:
Pain and irritation from rubbing on clothing
Soreness from being scratched
Bleeding from being scratched
Pain from being twisted
If a skin tag becomes twisted, it may develop a blood clot beneath it that can be painful.
Skin tags may develop as early as in your 20s. Most people stop getting new ones after age 70.
It can be fairly simple to tell the difference between skin tags and warts.
Skin tags
Skin tags start out as a small, soft bump on the skin. They develop into an extended piece of skin. A skin tag is rooted to the skin’s surface by a thin stalk.
Skin tags are fast-growing. They average 2mm to 5mm in size. They can sometimes grow larger, up to a few centimeters.1
Skin tags stop growing when they reach their maximum size. They don't tend to change over time.
Skin tags start as skin-colored. Later, they may change to a dark brown color.
Warts
Warts are usually skin-colored, brown, or pink.
They sit flush against your skin.
Warts are flat or bumpy.
The warts themselves are not cancerous. They can signal an infection or virus, though, such as human papillomavirus (HPV). HPV can lead to the development of certain cancers, so you should always have warts that appear in the genital area evaluated by a healthcare provider.2
HPV warts can crop up and disappear over time. They may reappear in another spot. Sometimes clusters of several warts will form, which may look like cauliflower.

Did anyone experience a change in their hair from the bleeding/anemia? If so, did it get any better after treatment?
It seems silly to me to even ask this because there were so many other changes in my body and I know everyone has their own issues that worry them in this journey. I started having really bad bleeding last year, and I thought it was just perimenopausal bleeding so I didn't seek treatment right away. I had super heavy bleeding, giant clots and spotting in between.
My anemia was off the charts, I was always freezing and had pale gums and fingertips. Sometimes it got so bad that I got winded very easily and could barely stand. By the time I got to the doctor, I had a big mass that they initially thought was on my cervix but turned out to by in my uterus. Long story short, I had fibroids and cysts that resulted in a full hysterectomy.
Prior to the severe bleeding, for my entire life into my 50s I've always had extremely thick and wavy hair. Once the heavy bleeding started and got really bad, my hair started falling out at the root. All of the hair around my face seemed like it broke off halfway and overall my hair became so thin and frizzy. I am about 7 weeks post op and I can tell that my anemia is resolving (now having hot flashes right in time for summer🫤) but I'm still losing hair.
Did anyone else have this experience from their blood loss? If so, how did you resolve it and how long did it take? My doctor seemed to think it was from low iron and not from hormonal changes. Thank you for reading.

Was hoping for a clean 100 souls but have 75 instead. Maybe the last 25 can be filled with other DM's/Party's ideas/adventures. I like something unfinished, honestly.
There's some obvious influence/thievery from OSR heavy hitters in here but I've attempted to keep it at a minimum just to inch my way to a clean 75 since 100 is proving troublesome. And honestly I've forgotten where some of these stolen/restructured ideas have come from. Feel free to credit link any so others can know their great works.
(e.g. P. Stuart, D. Selle, Coins and Scrolls, Goblin Punch, Vivien Feasson, S. Princess, Z. Cox/B. Brown, B. Milton, L. Rejec, P. Nilsson)
I doubt all the aforementioned are present in this list but I just wanna cover bases and/or call out incredible minds and effort in the hobby who I've really enjoyed. Call out any unlisted if you please. Credit where credit is due.
Edit: Whoof, formatting again
Edit 2: Cant change some numeration here it seems. Sub-traits are counted as independent entries. Italicized and emboldened sub-traits to help differentiate.
The Stilletto of The Imperator Scum (Trident)
On an (un)natural 20, consume a soul randomly from the table activating its effect, removing it from the table permanently
On a (un)natural 1, the target dies immediately and is resurrected as an undead. Pores on its body explode with rapid growth fungus and it’s health, and spell slots if applicable, are restored to their maximums. Their soul then becomes one with The Stiletto and is added to the table.
Soul of the…:

1. Ardent Giant - +2d6 dmg. to your attacks towards the target. Change the weather to which you desire
2. Befouler - target fucking stinks, if within 15ft Con. Sav 12 every round to keep from vomiting.
3. Gnarled Oak - that target lives the life of a tree in an instant. Witnessing love of child and pet. They see the first kiss of young love with the tip of the blade within their trunk declaring theirs eternal. They bear the burden of parenthood, choked with a child’s swing. The same swing their groom or bride will swing on, in remembrance, decades later. A generation of someones else’s life wears on them in the span of seconds. T
   1. Take 1d4 dmg. from the blade
   2. -2 Wis. as the dog pisses on them (1min duration)
   3. 3d8 dmg. as their branches are cut for a treehouse
   4. They will fall asleep in winter temperatures unable to wake up
   5. As long as their corpse touches soil they will resurrect in unspecified time
   6. If the target is killed within a city (soil or not) they will die sobbing with such penetrating sobbing. Within a mile radius, it lowers all CHA and WIS scores within range by 2 for 24hrs.
4. Devil - the target’s eyes wash with color and your reflection is upside down. They provide you a contract/offer that is too good to pass up. You literally can’t resist it but it’s also a really great deal. Other than the fact that your soul is lost at failure of completion. Unless the killing blow dealt to the Devil is holy damage, they arrive at The Nine Hells to bide their time before they continue their cursed bargains upon the mortal realm.
5. Claviger - The target is compelled to open the nearest door. If not the door, then box/barrel, chest, bag, pocket. Consume their next action. If the object doesn't open, spend each preceding action until it does.
6. Scion of the Slithering Soil - the target embodies the nameless soul of a god-fearing priest of Mi-Shao-Shur. Dedicated fully to Serpentine Ascension by committing acts of gratuitous depravity. They become a beacon for the resurrection of Mi-Shao-Shur by consuming their own flesh, restoring their health to its maximum. Revealing underneath their now-true serpentine forms. Their intelligence increases by 4 and from their mouths can cast the Poison Spray cantrip. The target can now communicate with nearby creatures and convince them to do their bidding.
7. Exploding Toad - target explodes. Dex Sav 13 or take 5d6 fire dmg.
8. Dwarf - target becomes one. Genderless. Immune to all compulsions that play on a desire for sex. No sexual organs. Instead of urinating you excrete waste through sweating, explaining the odor.
9. Tahlia - the target’s soul becomes trapped on the most worthless item on their person that isn’t a weapon or armor. Their body begins to thrash and scream mindlessly. Bodies are full of life and feelings but suffer the penultimate separation anxiety from the soul. The terrified shell will attempt to consume the item worth most to someone nearby with supernatural capacity. If they do so, your item is lost forever and the target becomes whole once more, restoring full health.
10. PorteBasin Filler - Nothing satiates the target’s desire to serve, will seek out more and more challenging tasks for such a talented valet
11. Abhorrer - target is unable to be targeted with any malice. The hate within you boils still but physically you are unable to be anything but be cordial and polite to the target. The creature knows every law and obeys them. It will use the law (if there is any) to destroy you.
12. Cannibal Critic - target is no longer able to communicate in normal language. Of their cursed race the target can only howl bestial war cries of generic criticism. And hastily consume flesh. Successfully answering a question can cause the target to pause and grunt in reflection before screaming another random question.
    1. WHAT’S THE MESSAGE
    2. WHAT DOES IT MEAN
    3. IS IT IRONIC
    4. IS IT KITSCH
    5. DON’T YOU FIND IT PROBLEMATIC
13. Dragonborn - If the dmg. dealt is to a non-dragonborn creature then the creature takes dmg. from their innate breath weapon, held within glands of which no non-dragonborn is prepared. 6d6 acid and poison dmg as their insides boil with draconic bile.
14. Gargoyle - FUCK BIIIIIRRRRRRRRDSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
15. Duergar - roll a d2 to Enlarge/Reduce target. Acquire sensitivity to sunlight regardless.
16. Untermensch - the target’s muscles atrophy and their mind begins to falter as all of their ability scores reduce to 8. If one of their scores is less than 8 it does not rise to 8. Apply a -2 mod. to every dice rolled. The only thing of which they can be relied upon is to either fail or clumsily execute every task.
17. Drow - target adheres to a woman’s word almost unwillingly and acquires sensitivity to sunlight. Incessantly mutters consequence for someone under their breath for whom they despise.
18. Githzerai - target casts Plane Shift unwittingly on self.
19. Bedlam Bird - The target knows when it is being looked at. The target loses all alliances and registers as “Evil” to spells and senses that detect such. It is compelled to commit pranks that are utterly fucked.
20. Wizard - Your weapon moves through the air at your exact command. Gains Antimagic Susceptibility. Lasts 2 min.
21. Azer - The target’s head ignites, it’s skull a torchlight shining bright light in a 15ft radius and dim light for an additional 10ft. It cannot be put out with water. The target takes 1d8 per round for 3 rounds.
22. Banshee - the target casts Wail. All within 30 ft. (including target) Con sav 13 or drop to 0 HP. On a success 3d6 psychic dmg. After the Wail, the target goes mute as their vocal cords are stretched to leather and can only emit a poor whine if exhaustion.
23. Androsphinx - The target’s body explodes and from within erupts a Heroes’ Feast. The depleted carcass turning into a gorgeous royal table spread.
24. Basilisk - Bestowed upon the target is a basilisk’s Petrifying Gaze.
25. Revenant - The target will rise as a Revenant 48 hrs after it’s death for the one who killed it.
26. Cat - The target has to be killed 8 more times.
27. Eigengrau - The target loses all memories from the last 24 hours
28. Zoanthrop - Target strips naked. Immune to all mind altering effects.
29. Wizard Hunter - Do you cast spells? You’re FUCKED.
30. Wild Magic Sorcerer - Roll 3 times on the Wild Magic table. All within 60ft radius are affected by the wild magic emanating from the target
31. Unseen Servant - Target turns invisible. Acts upon every command you give to it flawlessly. Limited only by its ability scores (they don’t change). Loses ability to speak or think for itself. Will not be around whenever you wake up from your next period of sleep.
32. Nabassu - target acquires a soul stealing gaze, anyone to look at the target must make a DC 16 Cha saving throw or reduce its maximum hit points by 13 permanently
33. Giant Squid - the target, upon this successful attack and when panicked or fleeing, squirts copious amounts of ink from their eyes, nose and mouth. Mixed with blood because that’s not supposed to happen, 1d8 dmg. with each use
34. Werewolf - the target shreds their outer layer of skin revealing blood soaked fur underneath, taking the form of a werewolf and using a werewolf’s stats, with their skin they also shed any physical and mental conditions
35. Gazer - the target gains the Gazer’s ability to mimic any simple sounds of speech in any language, with the target’s weak eyes it casts Dazing Ray and Fear Ray on itself and collapses into a depressive slump on the floor, screaming in fear in the last voice it heard, unable to flee
36. Virgin - the target becomes the crucial object in the ritual of the nearest carnal, gluttonous, murderous or heretical cult for their petty god, monster or demon of chosen worship. What will their death summon?
37. Nupperibo - the target acquires an insatiable hunger consuming any organic material within reach and easy enough to chew if no living opponent is within 30 ft. If the target attacks or is attacked by a living mortal then it can track that opponent flawlessly as it hungers for its flesh. Greater meals or death will cause it to leave you alone
38. Phoenix - the target explodes and each creature within 60ft must make a DC20 dex save, taking 4d10 fire damage on a failed save, or half as much on a successful one. The explosion destroys the target's body and leaves behind an egg shaped cinder that weighs 5 pounds. The cinder is lukewarm seeing as the target isn’t an actual phoenix. It is not immune to anything seeing as the target isn’t an actual phoenix. After 1d6 days, it hatches into an infant of whatever race the target was.
39. Oblex - target becomes amorphous if it isn’t already. Unfamiliar with it’s new form the target slumps into a pile of ooze unable to move, eat or breathe.
40. Gauth - the target begins to float into the air uncontrollably. With fewer eyes than the Gauth the target is blessed with only Pushing Ray and Sleep Ray, both of which it casts on itself, as it floats snoring into the clouds
41. Bullywug - the target becomes so repulsive that nature itself will reward you for its demise. If or when the target is killed you are healed to your maximum and your Con. increases by 1. It will be difficult though, because the target can talk to frogs and loves lording their power over you and has absolutely no shame. They immediately give themselves a shitty title that means nothing and will love talking about how every swamp ever is theirs to rule. Oh and they fucking reek, if you get within 10ft you’ll vomit automatically and uncontrollably
42. Hivemind - the target’s spinal cord vibrates and emits pheromones to call any swarming creatures (rats, insects, birds, etc.) nearby into a frenzy causing them to fall into chaotic bloodlust and whomever the target chooses
43. Modron - the target loses all mercy and remorse and will fight for their current objective even putting their own lives at risk. The target becomes immune to mind-affecting, emotion-affecting, and magic that draws upon the Positive Energy or the Negative Energy plane. You could quell its pursuit if something with 4 sides or more was able to give orders for it to stop.
44. Obliviax - you must make a con. save (DC 12) or else the target eats your memory of the last 24hrs and heals for d20+4 health. If you fail, you also lose 1 spell slot if you have one to lose and forget 1 spell randomly, if you know any, each for 24 hours. If you save they still heal as all they have to eat are things that you know but forgot you knew, like that play you really liked that one time
45. Strandvaskaren - the target is infected with the soul of one who drowned at sea but the waters preserved him in the inch worm gap between life and death and they float neither alive nor dead. The target feels heavy, cold, lungs weak, aware but able to move. The pressure of uncharted waters sits heavy on their chest and their strength is reduced by half rounded down.
46. Impartial Anima - the target solely relies on a pair of wolf bone dice (or another pair of dice if those go missing) to tell them how to make decisions. 1-10 is a no or negative response. 11-20 is a yes or positive response.
47. Adventuring Party - the target grows a magnificent mustache as steel armor sprouts from their skin and their hands glow with arcane magicks. Their pockets grow fat with religious symbols as a toddler’s diaper would when it’s stomach is upset. Or when it’s angry. Or even flirty. You sense a celestial presence hover over them as they grip their newly found sword and bow they are obviously skilled at using. You thought you had a fair amount of gold to possibly bribe them with but you realize you walk with a lighter step and at their feet your valuable currency lies in a burlap sack
48. Seraphim - the target knows nothing but their own feelings and nothing worth nothing ever came out of a book. The only true things, now, are feelings. Anyone who attempts to attack it must save or hesitate in it’s presence. The environment around the target begins to convert into things beautiful and pure. Roll d4
49. All metal within 50ft turns to gold
50. The target bleeds from sacred stigmata and the blood turns to rose petals as it falls
51. Grows wings and if already winged they are instead, actually, held aloft by a flock of doves
52. They lose their clothing and double in size as their skin turns alabaster white and they wear only a ribbon
53. Animated Barrel - the target attempts to grapple the nearest opponent and once successful begins to throw itself against walls, down stairs and out windows; enjoying the process. The target takes half damage while the opponent grappled takes double.
54. Panther - the target speaks all languages and becomes evil (if not already), honorable and utterly merciless. Will chat up it’s victims or give them a head start before murdering them.
55. Djinn - the target is imprisoned in the nearest vessel and must do their best to fulfill 3 requests for the one who frees them. They are given no additional power to accomplish this.
56. Barnyard Chimera - the target's head bends backwards horrifically making room for it to grow the heads of a cow, pig and goat. It grows the tails of a goose that spews blinding shit. When killed it splits open, spilling out 3d6 featherless, bloody chickens with red eyes and sharp talons. It runs on malformed horse legs speaking but only repetitious mindless phrases. "How about that weather, huh?" "Well, let's finish up and then have supper." "Aw hell, she's coming out breech."
57. Psychopomp - the target will become a guide/beacon for one of the hostile souls devoured by The Imperator Scum resurrecting it and freeing it from the trident.
58. Bell Dragger - the target is imbued with the soul of a wronged martyr. Their eyes go sickly white and they walk on their hands and knees dragging them to bloody stumps. Solely focused on the path to the afterlife, they will forever crawl until they find it. But Bell Draggers are both the summoners and chariot horses for death’s arrival. She will arrive soon.
59. Watch Lark - the target blooms a random amount of additional eyes all across their face above the nose. They can see through thick foliage and thin walls and all attacks have disadvantage on them as they always see you coming. Disadvantage against being blinded.
60. Remorhaz - the target’s stomach bubbles a heated secretion that spills from their mouth. The heat from both their mouth and body is strong enough to melt any nonmagical metals. 2d20 dmg. for every turn spent within 5ft of them. The bile is useful to alchemists in making heat related magical items. The target also becomes highly resistant to magic.
61. Arolohnso, Petty God of Labyrinths - the target using 3 fingers on each hand encircles themself drawing angular, snaking lines in the soil around them. Creating an elaborate maze of which they are the end. The borders drawn become invisible, impenetrable walls that protect them from all things but protect the target of their wrath from nothing. To reach the target, and make them vulnerable, you must draw a line through their maze solving it.
62. White Lion - the target becomes a Queen/King of a fallen kingdom. No serfs nor servants to pretend to care for them. They’re safer now than they’ve ever been (at least from the dangers of someone else’s hands). Their name and legend and royal blood is all lost to a land that has no gods nor masters any longer. Roll for effect:
63. They take their life as all of their worth was found in their property. Either by claw, royal dagger or casting themselves off a cliff or into the ocean, etc.
64. Their crimes as Queen/King are unforgivable and heirs to the wronged will appear behind the target and murder them in cold blood
65. The conquering challenger to their name/bloodline appears and disembowels them splashing you with their old, freshly-poor blood. They are an unpersuadable antagonist and the target is a pathetic remnants of a now dead kingdom
66. You are the new Queen/King. To a country side, people and riches unknown. When you find your kingdom your blood will lead you to wine and fresh fruit. The throne will be warm for your arrival. The target feels their royal blood leave them and they become desperate to drink it fresh from your veins to maintain their deific right. Their hostility is doubled.
67. The Whisperer - Trees whisper. The noise is low, tectonic, incomprehensible. Dial tone static bleeding through the vines of the deepest holts and groves. Spirits dance and gather around antler crowned gods who rule the brazen forest. Soft sounds bloom to life. Elves who hear this music sing to it wringing melodies from the resonances of the treesong. The target collapses into a sobbing heap. They are being wrung dry (poetically) from the beauty of the woodsong. When you’ve obtained comprehension of such extravagant, egoless harmonies what petty life squabble is worth donating your energy towards? The target cares not for your childish conflict any longer. They are possessed by the inability to remember the words to such an old song. One they recognize but do not remember. You can’t help them. They are no ally but no enemy. Pain cures all curses of the mind, though. Do not fetter them with continuing aggression lest you help them lose their place. If so, their hostility will quadruple.
68. Brave Explorer - the target has a distaste for the beaten path. So much so that it is unable to repeat any action, starting from this effect, becoming more and more unpredictable over time.
69. Leper - the target’s flesh becomes warped and scaly becoming an offense to your gaze. You can barely look upon them without vomiting on yourself. Unwilling to project your bile in any direction less it crosses your gaze once more. The Target gains expertise on stealth checks both active and passive. DC 14 Con save to resist puking at the sight of them. Once you succeed a check, remain immune to their image for 24 hrs.
70. Antithetical Spirit - the target’s emotional attachment for the world and its inhabitants become reversed to their present disposition. Do they hate you? Now they love you. Do they want to kill you? Now they want to fuck you. Do they want to eliminate everything you love and make you watch? Now they will kill everything you love in tribute to your limitless beauty and knowledge. Careful how you treat people.
71. Chadwick - the target is just...un-fucking-bearable to listen to. When they say your name it feels dirty afterwards and you just want to wash your parent’s mouths after the fact. They go on about bird calls as if they don’t have to take a breath to keep going. The target becomes an energy vampire and drains you of any optimism you have for the day and all you want is for this goon to go back to their home to watch the paint dry and not inform you of the oxygen reacting to the resin causing polymerisation of the paint leading to it’s lack of sheen once it’s settled. The rage in you is that equal to a Berserker and you gain the Frenzy trait. But you also suffer the effects of the Slow spell until you save on a Wis DC 15 at the start of your turn or kill the target.
72. Johann Smiff - the target immediately becomes a stranger to you and anyone who can see them. Their face and identity are so familiar and on the tip of your tongue but sooner to become dismissed as deja vu then remembered. They know who they are. But they are a face in the crowd before anything else to you. The one you knew them to be still exists in your mind but it is certainly not the target. The effect will wear off after the next long rest.
73. Bay Dolphin - saltwater, freshwater, the target can breathe in either and requires one or the other to do so at all. The target remains highly intelligent, as dolphins are, and retains it’s motor skills and muscle memory. The target will rush to find itself a suitable environment to be able to breathe once more, as a blowhole begins to peer open upon their scalp, but will be able to do so without panic for several minutes. Once they get into the water their constitution and dexterity both become 20 and they are immune to fear.
74. Atticus Aurelius - the target is imbued with the soul of a famed gladiator from several eras passed. Skilled with any weapon as Atticus was, the target becomes proficient with all physical weapons (improvised or not). Able to command the applause of an audience at the drop of his helmet. If a crowd surrounds you (of any humanoid, undead/constructs or not) the target can command them to boo you and your allies causing you to suffer from the effects of Bane. Or they may cheer the target applying the effects of Bless. No saves. If the audience is unsatisfied at a poor showing or cheating habits their boos and riot will suppress you further applying the effects of Slow. Put on an absolute banger of a show with flourish and skill and their cheers will apply the effects of Haste. No saves.
75. Jäegerjog - the target’s soul becomes the one born to die at your hand. Sewn into the never ending tapestry of time it is their fate to perish by your influence alone. They know it though you may not. They also know everything about you and they have advantage against you in every aspect as you suffer disadvantage in every reflective aspect. They also can’t be killed by anyone but you.
76. Dracolich - the target becomes an unwilling phylactery of an ancient Dracolich. Watch the skies…
77. Rook - the target and all who can see them become one within The Parliament. Each individual is now on trial and must provide a story to be judged by their peers. As the anecdotes unfold more and more blackbirds will arrive and encircle the lot of you to listen in. At the DM’s discretion the one who told the least captivating tale will be pecked to death by the encircling birds, and attacked by any affected N/PC, for 15d10 dmg before they flutter off. No save can be made less you reveal yourself as an outsider and ally yourself with the guilty. (WIS DC 14 for the most rebellious of you). Any shiny trinkets you can throw within the circle will decrease the DC by 1.
78. Nymph - the target becomes a beacon of inequitable beauty. Their form becomes statuesque to each individual who gaze upon them. Their desire to fight dissipates and they become concerned only with judging others for their beauty. Weak in the knees to the target’s newly bestowed sex appeal, you unwillingly confess to them which part of yourself you hate the most. Confused by their Nymph aura, though they are none. Whoever they take pity on most reduces their CHA score by 1. The target then runs away, believing the mere presence of such filthy, struggling adventurers despoils their presence just by being near. The air of death and rot on you is more present than it’s ever been. You cannot help but stay on your knees as you watch them flee. You are free from their hold once they leave your sight.
79. Übermensch - the target can perform any action perfectly with mathematical efficiency. Consider every one of their ability scores and rolls a 20 without the proficiency modifier. The target lacks heart and chaos in their soul from this point forward. They can execute all required of them perfectly. There is no surprise in their execution. They will always perform at maximum potential except in the dealings of art. They can be taught, certainly, but without thorough guidance all of their CHA rolls equate to zero regardless of modifiers.
80. Star-Crossed Lover - a soul torn asunder, the target becomes one half of a harmonious pairing that will bring light and love into this world. A larger piece of the puzzle than you are at this moment. The union of the target and their mysterious lover are victims, but vital players, in a blood feud. Their death(s) will shift the tide in a grand conflict unseen...
81. Woodland Eidolon - the target's eyes become ovaled and protrude subtly from their head as a nervous fawn’s would. Their skin molts and grows fine ivory hairs as they shiver and freeze. Unblinking. Shallow sharp breaths. A spirit of the woods stands before you and you have the span of a blink to claim your kill or else they are lost to legends told around the campfire once more. Their DEX Skill becomes 20 and all DEX checks and saves are criticals made with advantage. They can outrun your magical influence and know when you’re going to act before you do. But….if the stars are aligned and you land the killing blow (any successful attack is a killing blow)...their trophy will bring you gifts of which you only dreamed
82. Antlers - netted in a spider’s web wet with morning dew, the glistening beads and weave act as a dream catcher for the most malicious nightmares protecting you from magical influence as you sleep
83. Pelt - it warms you as a campfire would and as long as you are blanketed by it you are immune to cold and your health regenerates for 4 for every round of combat it’s equipped
84. Horn - left lying in the dirt it is a sign of something terrible and conquering walking the grounds, an obelisk of bone that prevents predators and ambushes alike within a mile radius. But if you are caught carrying it you are seen as a dishonorable scavenger and your name will be besmirched within the wilds. The pheromones from it act as a subtle aphrodisiac amongst humanoids (not including undead/constructs) and you have prof. in CHA checks
85. Scrimshaw - an ivory tusk from a Mother Walvis decorated with a sailor’s tale of his time on the seas. The carvings are half finished leaving most of the tusk bare. All stories have an ending and this sailor’s is now yours to tell. This tusk will bring you a boat when you have none. All you must do is find shore. It will also allow you to hold your breath for up to an hour.
86. Broken Night - the target becomes bored by all they know well. Any extraordinary item they have on their person that they are well acquainted with will equal the value of trash immediately. If they know you well, then their pursuit of you, or risk thereof diminishes entirely. They will respond to threats accordingly but otherwise would prefer something strange and rare to busy themselves. Especially if it is of a teasing nature. If they hold something of interest to you then they are always willing to trade for a more interesting object. Or even a story perhaps.
87. Neogi - A Neogi can smother a weak mind with some ease. The target’s mind becomes weak. Prey for any who have the ambition to use it for their own bidding until the body collapses. The target becomes cowardice prey. If so inclined, you’re welcome to impose your will upon them. Though so can everyone else. The blank-canvas-welcome of their mindscape has too much potential to pass up. Greedy minds can sniff out the glove-fit of their embryonic potential like a shark for blood. Who says no to a soft body that asks for it?

I'm a 35 year old female who's lived in the central US for my entire life. I am white and a little hispanic. Currently I am 5' 2" and 195#. Old labs and a current medication list are listed towards the bottom. Here is links to my latest labs:
(Blood Panel) https://ibb.co/SXvgqHC (Blood Panel) https://ibb.co/GtWbsp4 (Blood Panel) https://ibb.co/ChTxZPm (Blood Panel) https://ibb.co/6gCqzKf (Blood Panel) https://ibb.co/QdhfYk1 (Blood Panel) https://ibb.co/YhbYb9V (Blood Panel) https://ibb.co/Lk6qVbD (Blood Panel) https://ibb.co/nMzXXhX (Blood Panel) https://ibb.co/RyBjshf
(Food Sensitivity) https://ibb.co/Hx59BwT (Food Sensitivity) https://ibb.co/DbqLz82
(Stool) https://ibb.co/L5wfmj1 (Stool) https://ibb.co/8sY18Qr (Stool) https://ibb.co/3SH3rqG (Stool) https://ibb.co/cb5c1tM (Stool) https://ibb.co/VwDkgWJ
(Dexcom) https://ibb.co/0VyT3Qh
The images are of a blood panel, food sensitivity, and stool sample I had done mid May 2024. I also included a shot from my Dexcom to illustrate the hypoglycemia episodes I experience. In that picture I had eaten a few saltine crackers with peanut butter and went outside to do yard work, my BS spiked at 214 and dropped to 40 within 30 minutes.
So here what's been going on... tell me what you think is wrong with my body?
I was a normal weight until the age of 17 when I gave birth to my first child. I went from 130# to 170# during my first pregnancy. After my first pregnancy I was put on Depo for birth control and diagnosed with OCD and anxiety that was treated with an SSRI and something else for a year. My weight stayed between 170# and 190# until I graduated college and got married around the age of 22. I chose to go hard on cognitive therapy and nutrition/exercise during this time and was able to function without medication. At 23 I gave birth to my second child and stayed at 180# my entire pregnancy. Both pregnancies were healthy and I had uneventful vaginal deliveries. The first with an epidural and second without even an IV. After my second pregnancy I was put back on Depo and diagnosed with PPD that was treated with a few SSRls over the course of a few years. My weight was 215#-240# for several years after. At the age of 28 l was divorced, did the whole 30 diet, got off Depo and onto oral contraceptives, and went down to 170# and have stayed between 170# and 200# since. It was also at this time I started to noticing the flow inconsistencies with my menstruation. It started becoming shorter and lighter.
I can count on one hand the times I was sick in my 20's. I don't drink much. If I do it’s one tequila sunrise a month when we go to the steak house for dinner. I smoked cigarettes off and on between the ages of 12 and 32 (approx 10 years total between those ages as I quit several times). I haven't had a cigarette in 20 months. I have occasionally used cannabis to help with anxiety and sleeping throughout my life. Overall I sleep well and am mildly physically active. I workout a few times a week… do hot yoga and I don't have a desk job or sit a lot through out the day. I have operated in fight or flight from birth until about the age of 33. I experienced a lot of physical abuse as a child and emotional abuse my whole adolescent and most of my adult life. I have had no contact with most of my family since I was put in foster care at 16. I've worked with the same counselor since then. At this point in my life, my ADHD and anxiety can be debilitating about once a year but I am set up for success (support system, solid coping techniques) so it's a day or so ordeal I can recover from it within a week... it could be so much worse. My eating is a wreck and always has been since I was 8 and my step dad force fed me for hours as a punishment several times a week. I am in a healthy relationship now. My two kids are great. My ex husband and I coparent wonderfully. I own my own business and work 20 hours a week and it's very low stress. We're financially well and I have been for awhile.
I have an aunt who had ovarian cancer but has been in remission for 20 years. My grandma (maternal) is passing from breast cancer as I type. My family has a long history of hypothyroidism and hyperthyroidism so every year I would have a panel done to check.
I was told in November of 2019 (30yo) everything was "in range" and sent on my way. At this time, I started noticing my menstrual cycles were becoming infrequent in addition to the change in flow. I would go 2 months without a period and then have it every 10-20 days for 3 months and then back to nothing. I was having all the typical physical and emotional symptoms but I wouldn't bleed most of the time. If anything happened it was brown discharge or minimal spotting. My PCP changed my oral contraceptive prescription. This cycle, or lack thereot, continues to this day.
March 3rd of 2020 (30yo) I went to the doctor for a sudden onset of vertigo, vision change, and extreme fatigue. My A1C was 9.3 and was put on Metformin and given the diagnosis of T2 Diabetes.
March 23rd of 2020 I was found unresponsive and admitted to the hospital with Acute DKA (suspected underlying T1 Diabetes), Metabolic Acidosis (no history of overdose or toxic ingestion), Acute Metabolic Encephalopathy, and Acute Renal Failure (secondary to ATN). I woke up from my coma 5 days later. I went home 2 days after that with fast and long-lasting insulin and was told to do the sliding scale and eat 30-50 carbs at each meal. The 4 endocrinologists couldn't decide whether I was T1 or T2.
There was no testing for Covid or antibodies at this time but I have my suspicions and no way to prove them.
Within a week at home, I started experiencing hypoglycemia. My endos told me to eat more carbs and continue with the insulin. Long story short, I thought the "take insulin, eat carbs, go hypo, eat carbs to increase BS, take more insulin, carbs, hypo, and so on" cycle was ridiculous and exhausting. I told my doctors this and I was told I have diabetes so I needed to continue on insulin. Without their blessing I cut down my insulin until I eventually wasn't taking any within a month of being discharged from the hospital and my hypoglycemia stopped and I was able to regulate with diet B and exercise. I have tried to take insulin like they want several times but I don't tolerate it and go low. I have developed bad eating habits centered around trying to keep my blood sugar up. I have not used insulin since with the exception of the 2 times when l've gotten sick and my blood sugar spiked (300) and I inject 10 units of long lasting insulin once (1 day) and it returned to normal. My PCP put me on Trulicity 3.5. I didn't mind this initially because I felt it curbed my apatite. Now, I worry it's also contributing to my hypoglycemia and pancreas malfunction (my body over releasing insulin late...?).
In 2021, I started seeking other opinions about what was going on with my body since no one could give me a solid diagnosis. I quickly learned "in range" doesn't mean "all is good" which was a bummer to find out after all this time because things are bad. My diet isn't consistent on account of not knowing when I'll be low.
One doctor said I might have type 1 diabetes. One accused me of drinking drain-o. Another said I probably have type 2. One said I should eat only rice for 2 weeks and clear up my inflammation. One said I had an auto immune disease but it's impossible to know which one and therefore pointless to explore. One said my testosterone was low and I had hypothyroidism and put me on BioTe pellets and NP thyroid. One said I have reactive hypoglycemia. And the latest is pancreatic insufficiency.
I'd love to know what you see and think. As I've shared, I have plenty of healthy professionals watching over me and all can at least agree whats going on with me is odd. I'm an open book and tried to include as much relevant information as possible. Also, I was diagnosed with ADHD in 2022.
MEDICATIONS: I have changed what l'm taking since I received these last labs (pictures in comments, not listed below) so this medication list isn't reflected on the labs. I was taking NP Thyroid, iron, Methyl B, and fiber when they were drawn.
Current: (No birth control - I thought maybe the extra estrogen was effecting liver function so l'm using basal thermometer now to see if it helps), Trulicity 3.5/weekly, Magnesium Citrate 1,200mg/daily, D3, 950mg/Daily, Stinging Nettle Root 250mg/ Daily, L-Theanine, 200mg/Daily, Allergy pill, Adderall, 20mg/Daily, and Oregano Oil Tincture and Woodworm (unsure of exact dosage to settle on yet - this is new).
LABS: I have a lot of lab readings. I took one from each year or whenever I had it done since 2020 and compiled it below.
Estradiol 4/5/24: 181.73 2/7/24: 363.57 2/1/22: 28.3
Testosterone 4/5/24: 61 2/7/24: 33 - 125mg testosterone pellet insertion on 2/14/24. 7/7/22:154 *post-pellet labs 2/1/22: 23 *pre-pellet labs.
FSH 4/5/24: 2.3 2/7/24: 2.1 4/6/22: 5.9
TSH 4/5/24: 1.756 2/7/24: 2.455 6/7/23: .383 7/7/22: 1.006 6/22/21: 2.174 3/2/20: 1.921
Free T4 4/5/24: .98 2/7/24: 1.17
TOTAL T4 2/1/22: 14.1 7/7/22: 12.5
Free T3 4/5/24: 319.54 2/7/24: 330.44
TPO 4/5/24: .4 2/7/24: .4
WBC 4/5/24: 7.9 2/7/24: 7.4 6/7/23: 7.8 8/29/22: 10.2 12/2/21: 11 3/24/20: 8.3
RBC 4/5/24: 4.51 2/7/24: 4.76 6/7/23: 4.95 12/2/21: 4.95 3/25/20: 3.03
Hemoglobin 4/5/24: 13.3 2/7/24: 13.9 6/7/23: 14 8/29/22: 14.4 12/2/21: 14.5 3/24/20: 9.8
Hematocrit 4/5/24: 38.7% 2/7/24: 41% 6/7/23: 42.4% 9/29/22: 43.1 12/2/21: 42.8 3/26/20: 25.5%
MCV 4/5/24: 85.7 2/7/24: 86.2 6/7/23: 85.7 8/29/22: 86.1 12/2/21: 86.4 3/24/20: 85.1
MCH 4/5/24: 29.6 2/7/24: 29.1 6/7/23: 28.3 8/29/22: 28.8 12/2/21: 29.2 3/25/20: 28.8
MCHC 4/5/24: 34.5 2/7/24: 33.8 6/7/23: 33.1 8/29/22: 33.4 12/2/21: 33.9 3/24/20: 33.9
RDW 4/5/24: 13% 2/7/24:13.2% 6/7/23: 13% 8/29/22: 12.6$ 12/2/21: 13% 3/24/20: 17.2%
Platelet Count 4/5/24: 249 2/7/24: 273 6/7/23: 258 12/2/21: 242 8/29/22: 278 3/24/20: 122
Automated Abs Neutrophil Cnt 4/5/24: 4.8 2/7/24: 4.8 6/7/23: 5.7 8/29/22: 7.5 12/2/21: 7.7 3/24/20: 9.6
Lymphocytes Absolute 4/5/24: 2.6 2/7/24: 2.1 6/7/23: 1.8 8/29/22: 2.1 12/2/21: 2.9 3/24/20: 0.3
Monocytes Absolute 4/5/24: 0.3 2/7/24: 0.3 6/7/23: 0.2 8/29/22: 0.4 12/2/21: 0.3 3/24/20: 0.9
Eosinophils Absolute 4/5/24: 0.1 2/7/24: 0.1 6/7/23: 0 8/29/22: 0.1 12/2/21: 0.1 3/24/20: 0
Basophils Absolute 4/5/24: 0 2/7/24: 0 6/7/23: 0 8/29/22: 0 12/2/21: 0.1 3/24/20: 0
Neutrophil% 4/5/24: 61.5% 2/7/24: 65.3% 6/7/23: 73.2% 8/29/22: 74% 12/2/21:69.6% 3/24/20: 88.6%
Lymph% 4/5/24: 32.5% 2/7/24: 28% 6/7/23: 23% 8/29/22: 20.4% 12/2/21: 26% 3/24/20: 3.2%
Monocytes 4/5/24: 4.5% 2/7/24: 4.6% 6/7/23: 2.8% 8/29/22: 3.9% 12/2/21: 2.8% 3/24/20: 8%
Eosinophils 4/5/24: 1% 2/7/24: 1.5% 6/7/23: 0.6% 8/29/22: 1.3 12/2/21: 1.1% 3/24/20: 0%
Basophils 4/5/24: 0.5% 2/7/24: 0.6% 6/7/23: 0.4% 8/29/22: 0.4% 12/2/21: 0.5% 3/24/20: 0.2%
Sodium 4/5/24: 140 2/7/24: 140 6/7/23: 140 8/29/22: 141 12/15/21: 140 3/28/20: 145
Potassium 4/5/24: 3.7 2/7/24: 4.2 6/7/23: 4.1 8/29/22: 4.3 12/15/21: 4.5 3/28/20: 3.2
Chloride 4/5/24: 109 2/7/24: 108 6/7/23: 105 8/29/22: 107 12/15/21: 109 3/28/20: 111
CO2 4/5/24: 27 2/7/24: 28 6/7/23: 26 8/29/22: 27 12/15/21: 26 3/28/20: 25
Anion Gap 4/5/24: 4 2/7/24: 4 6/7/23: 9 8/29/22: 7 12/15/21: 5 3/28/20: 9
Glucose 4/5/24: 129 2/7/24: 113 6/7/23: 174 8/29/22: 148 12/15/21: 145 3/28/20: 137
BUN 4/5/24: 10 2/7/24: 10 6/7/23: 10 8/29/22: 11 12/15/21: 11 3/28/20: 27
Creatinine 4/5/24: 0.89 2/7/24: 0.97 6/7/23: 1.07 8/29/22: 0.95 12/15/21: 0.9 3/28/20: 3.47
BUN/Creatinine Ratio 4/5/24: 11 2/7/24: 10 6/7/23: 9 8/29/22: 12 12/15/21: 12 3/28/20: 8
Calcium 4/5/24: 8.7 2/7/24: 8.8 6/7/23: 10 8/29/22: 8.6 12/15/21: 9.1 3/28/20: 8.4
V B12 4/5/24: 363 2/7/24: 274 8/29/22: 466 2/1/22: 371
A1C 2/7/24: 5.4 12/8/23: 5.5 5/19/22: 5.3 7/29/20: 5.5 3/2/20: 9.3
VD25 4/5/24: 29 2/7/24: 26 8/29/22: 64

I’m a 35 year old female who’s lived in the central US for my entire life. I am white and a little hispanic. Currently I am 5’ 2” and 195#. Old labs and a current medication list is listed towards the bottom. Here’s what’s been going on… tell me what you think is wrong with my body?
I was a normal weight until the age of 17 when I gave birth to my first child. I went from 130# to 170# during my first pregnancy. Post 1st pregnancy I was put on Depo, diagnosed with OCD and anxiety, was put on an SSRI and something else for a year and stayed between 170# and 190# until I graduated college and got married around age 22. I chose to go hard on cognitive therapy and nutrition/exercise during this time and was able to function without medication. At that point I gave birth to my second child (23yo) and stayed at 180# my entire pregnancy. Both pregnancies were healthy and I had uneventful vaginal deliveries - first with an epidural and second without even an IV in. Post 2nd pregnancy, I was diagnosed with PPD and put on a few SSRIs over the course of a few years and put back on Depo. My weight was 215#-240# for several years. At the age of 28 I was divorced, did the whole 30 diet, got off Depo and onto oral contraceptives, and went down to 170# and have stayed between 170# and 200# since. It was also at this time I started to noticing the flow inconsistencies with my menstruation. It started becoming less and less heavy.
I can count on one hand the times I was sick in my 20’s. I don’t really drink - I have one tequila sunrise a month when we go to the steak house for dinner. I smoked cigarettes off and on between the ages of 12 and 32 (approx 10 years total between those ages as I quit several times). I haven’t had a cigarette in 20 months. I have occasionally used cannabis to help with anxiety and sleeping through out my life. Overall I sleep well and am mildly physically active - I workout a few times a week, do hot yoga and don’t have a desk job or sit a lot through out the day. I have operated in fight or flight from birth until about the age of 33. I experienced a lot of physical abuse as a child and emotional abuse my whole adolescent and most of my adult life. I have had no contact with most of my family since I was put in foster care at 16. I’ve worked with the same counselor since then. At this point in my life, my ADHD and anxiety can be debilitating about once a year but I am set up for success (support system, solid coping techniques) so it’s a day or so ordeal I can recover from it within a week… it could be so much worse. My eating is a wreck and always has been since I was 8 and my step dad force fed me for hours as a punishment. I am in a healthy relationship now. My two kids are great. My ex husband and I coparent wonderfully. I own my own business and work 20 hours a week and it’s very low stress. We’re financially well and I have been for awhile.
I have an aunt who has ovarian cancer but has been in the mission for 20 years. My grandma (maternal) is passing from breast cancer as we speak. My family has a long history of hypothyroidism and hyperthyroidism so every year I would have a panel done. I was told in November of 2019 (30yo) everything was “in range” and sent on my way. At this time, I started noticing my menstrual cycles were becoming infrequent in addition to the change in flow. I would go 2 months without and then have it every 10-20 days for 3 months and then back to nothing. I was having all the typical physical and emotional symptoms except when it would happen, but I wouldn’t bleed most of the time, only brown discharge or minimal spotting. My PCP changed my oral contraceptive prescription. This cycle, or lack thereof, continues to this day.
March 3rd of 2020 (30yo) I went to the doctor for a sudden onset of vertigo, vision change, and extreme fatigue. My A1C was 9.3 and was put on Metformin and given the diagnosis of T2 Diabetes.
March 23rd of 2020 I was found unresponsive and admitted to the hospital with Acute DKA (suspected underlying T1 Diabetes), Metabolic Acidosis (no history of overdose or toxic ingestion), Acute Metabolic Encephalopathy, and Acute Renal Failure (secondary to ATN). I woke up from my coma 5 days later. I went home 2 days after that with fast and long-lasting insulin and was told to do the sliding scale and eat 30-50 carbs at each meal. The 4 endocrinologists couldn’t decide whether I was T1 or T2.
There was no testing for Covid or antibodies at this time.
Within a week at home, I started experiencing hypoglycemia. They told me to eat more carbs and continue with the insulin. Long story short, I thought the "take insulin, eat carbs, go hypo, eat carbs to increase BS, take more insulin so I can eat the required carbs, go hypo again and so on" cycle was ridiculous and exhausting. I told my doctors this and I was told I have diabetes so I needed to continue on insulin. Without their blessing I cut down my insulin until I eventually wasn't taking any within a month of being discharged from the hospital. I have tried to take insulin like they want several times but I don’t tolerate it and constantly go hypo and have developed bad eating habits centered around trying to keep my blood sugar up. I do not use insulin, with the exception of the 2 times I’ve gotten sick and my blood sugar has spiked (300) and I inject 10 units of long lasting insulin once (1 day) and it returns to normal. My PCP put me on Trulicity 3.5. I didn’t mind this initially because I felt it curbed my apatite. Now, I worry it’s also contributing to my hypoglycemia and pancreas malfunction (…?).
In 2021, I started seeking out alternative takes on what was going on with my body since no one could give me a solid diagnosis. And I quickly learned “in range” doesn’t mean “all is good” which was a bummer to find out after all this time. My diet isn’t consistent on account of not knowing when I’ll be low.
One doctor said I might have type 1 diabetes. One accused me of drinking drain-o. Another said I probably have type 2. One said I should eat only rice for 2 weeks and clear up my inflammation. One said I had an auto immune disease but it’s impossible to know which one and therefore pointless to explore. One said my testosterone was low and I had hypothyroidism and put me on BioTe pellets and NP thyroid. One said I have reactive hypoglycemia. And the latest, pancreatic insufficiency.
I’d love to know what you see and think. As I’ve shared, I have plenty of healthy professionals watching me and all can at least agree whats going on with me is odd. I’m an open book and tried to include as much relevant information as possible. Also, I was diagnosed with ADHD in 2022.
MEDICATIONS: I have changed what I’m taking since I received these last labs (pictured, not listed below) so this medication list isn’t reflected on the labs. I was taking NP Thyroid, iron, Methyl B, and fiber.
Current: (No birth control - I thought maybe the extra estrogen was effecting liver function so I’m using basal thermometer now to see if it helps) Trulicity 3.5/weekly Magnesium Citrate, 1,200mg/daily D3, 950mg/Daily Stinging Nettle Root, 250mg/Daily L-Theanine, 200mg/Daily Allergy pill Adderall, 20mg/Daily Oregano Oil Tincture and Woodworm (unsure of exact dosage to settle on yet - this is new)
LABS: I have a lot of lab readings. I took one from each year or whenever I had it done since 2020 and compiled it below. The images are of a blood panel, food sensitivity, and stool sample I had done mid May 2024. I also included a shot from my Dexcom to illustrate the hypoglycemia episodes I experience. In that picture I had eaten a few saltine crackers with peanut butter and went outside to do yard work, my BS spiked at 214 and dropped to 40 within 30 minutes.
Estradiol 4/5/24: 181.73 2/7/24: 363.57 2/1/22: 28.3
Testosterone 4/5/24: 61 - *post pellet labs 2/7/24: 33 - *pre-pellet labs. 125mg testosterone pellet insertion on 2/14 7/7/22:154 *post-pellet labs 2/1/22: 23 *pre-pellet labs
FSH 4/5/24: 2.3 2/7/24: 2.1 4/6/22: 5.9
TSH 4/5/24: 1.756 2/7/24: 2.455 6/7/23: .383 7/7/22: 1.006 6/22/21: 2.174 3/2/20: 1.921
Free T4 4/5/24: .98 2/7/24: 1.17
TOTAL T4 2/1/22: 14.1 7/7/22: 12.5
Free T3 4/5/24: 319.54 2/7/24: 330.44
TPO 4/5/24: .4 2/7/24: .4
WBC 4/5/24: 7.9 2/7/24: 7.4 6/7/23: 7.8 8/29/22: 10.2 12/2/21: 11 3/24/20: 8.3
RBC 4/5/24: 4.51 2/7/24: 4.76 6/7/23: 4.95 12/2/21: 4.95 3/25/20: 3.03
Hemoglobin 4/5/24: 13.3 2/7/24: 13.9 6/7/23: 14 8/29/22: 14.4 12/2/21: 14.5 3/24/20: 9.8
Hematocrit 4/5/24: 38.7% 2/7/24: 41% 6/7/23: 42.4% 9/29/22: 43.1 12/2/21: 42.8 3/26/20: 25.5%
MCV 4/5/24: 85.7 2/7/24: 86.2 6/7/23: 85.7 8/29/22: 86.1 12/2/21: 86.4 3/24/20: 85.1
MCH 4/5/24: 29.6 2/7/24: 29.1 6/7/23: 28.3 8/29/22: 28.8 12/2/21: 29.2 3/25/20: 28.8
MCHC 4/5/24: 34.5 2/7/24: 33.8 6/7/23: 33.1 8/29/22: 33.4 12/2/21: 33.9 3/24/20: 33.9
RDW 4/5/24: 13% 2/7/24:13.2% 6/7/23: 13% 8/29/22: 12.6$ 12/2/21: 13% 3/24/20: 17.2%
Platelet Count 4/5/24: 249 2/7/24: 273 6/7/23: 258 12/2/21: 242 8/29/22: 278 3/24/20: 122
Automated Abs Neutrophil Cnt 4/5/24: 4.8 2/7/24: 4.8 6/7/23: 5.7 8/29/22: 7.5 12/2/21: 7.7 3/24/20: 9.6
Lymphocytes Absolute 4/5/24: 2.6 2/7/24: 2.1 6/7/23: 1.8 8/29/22: 2.1 12/2/21: 2.9 3/24/20: 0.3
Monocytes Absolute 4/5/24: 0.3 2/7/24: 0.3 6/7/23: 0.2 8/29/22: 0.4 12/2/21: 0.3 3/24/20: 0.9
Eosinophils Absolute 4/5/24: 0.1 2/7/24: 0.1 6/7/23: 0 8/29/22: 0.1 12/2/21: 0.1 3/24/20: 0
Basophils Absolute 4/5/24: 0 2/7/24: 0 6/7/23: 0 8/29/22: 0 12/2/21: 0.1 3/24/20: 0
Neutrophil% 4/5/24: 61.5% 2/7/24: 65.3% 6/7/23: 73.2% 8/29/22: 74% 12/2/21:69.6% 3/24/20: 88.6%
Lymph% 4/5/24: 32.5% 2/7/24: 28% 6/7/23: 23% 8/29/22: 20.4% 12/2/21: 26% 3/24/20: 3.2%
Monocytes 4/5/24: 4.5% 2/7/24: 4.6% 6/7/23: 2.8% 8/29/22: 3.9% 12/2/21: 2.8% 3/24/20: 8%
Eosinophils 4/5/24: 1% 2/7/24: 1.5% 6/7/23: 0.6% 8/29/22: 1.3 12/2/21: 1.1% 3/24/20: 0%
Basophils 4/5/24: 0.5% 2/7/24: 0.6% 6/7/23: 0.4% 8/29/22: 0.4% 12/2/21: 0.5% 3/24/20: 0.2%
Sodium 4/5/24: 140 2/7/24: 140 6/7/23: 140 8/29/22: 141 12/15/21: 140 3/28/20: 145
Potassium 4/5/24: 3.7 2/7/24: 4.2 6/7/23: 4.1 8/29/22: 4.3 12/15/21: 4.5 3/28/20: 3.2
Chloride 4/5/24: 109 2/7/24: 108 6/7/23: 105 8/29/22: 107 12/15/21: 109 3/28/20: 111
CO2 4/5/24: 27 2/7/24: 28 6/7/23: 26 8/29/22: 27 12/15/21: 26 3/28/20: 25
Anion Gap 4/5/24: 4 2/7/24: 4 6/7/23: 9 8/29/22: 7 12/15/21: 5 3/28/20: 9
Glucose 4/5/24: 129 2/7/24: 113 6/7/23: 174 8/29/22: 148 12/15/21: 145 3/28/20: 137
BUN 4/5/24: 10 2/7/24: 10 6/7/23: 10 8/29/22: 11 12/15/21: 11 3/28/20: 27
Creatinine 4/5/24: 0.89 2/7/24: 0.97 6/7/23: 1.07 8/29/22: 0.95 12/15/21: 0.9 3/28/20: 3.47
BUN/Creatinine Ratio 4/5/24: 11 2/7/24: 10 6/7/23: 9 8/29/22: 12 12/15/21: 12 3/28/20: 8
Calcium 4/5/24: 8.7 2/7/24: 8.8 6/7/23: 10 8/29/22: 8.6 12/15/21: 9.1 3/28/20: 8.4
V B12 4/5/24: 363 2/7/24: 274 8/29/22: 466 2/1/22: 371
A1C 2/7/24: 5.4 12/8/23: 5.5 5/19/22: 5.3 7/29/20: 5.5 3/2/20: 9.3
VD25 4/5/24: 29 2/7/24: 26 8/29/22: 64

Ten minutes into graduation, my friends were already dead.
Ten elephants.
I was soaking wet, my dress glued to me.
Nine elephants.
Forcing myself into a run, I tripped over my heels.
Eight elephants.
Fuck.
Seven elephants.
There was no point in counting, but counting felt normal.
Six elephants.
Counting felt like I was going to escape.
Five elephants.
Survive.
Noah’s blood painted my face.
He still felt alive, warm, swimming in my vision. I could still see cruel silver being plunged into his chest, rivulets of red pooling down his lips and chin.
Four elephants.
Noah told me to run, so here I was…
Three elephants.
Running.
Forcing myself to breathe, I swiped blood from my eyes.
Two elephants.
Twisting around, I scanned the empty school hallway for movement.
One elephant.
Annalise’s brains dripped down my face.
I was picking pieces of her skull from my hair, tiny pearly splinters stuck to me.
Annalise was sucked down the pool drain, her body mincemeat on my dress.
Her grisly remains were floating on the surface, painting illuminated water in a striking, almost breathtaking red.
Noah was sliced apart right in front of me.
They were dead.
Slamming my fists into each classroom, my shriek caught between my teeth.
Help me.
The lights were off, which meant she was close.
Reaching the end of the hallway, I could hear laughter and familiar whoops coming from the auditorium.
The class of 2015 were graduating and I was going to fucking die.
The main entrance was locked, barricaded from the outside.
Taking two steps back, I slipped out of my heels, kicking them off.
The classroom at the end of the hall was open, spilling warm light that coaxed me forward, hypnotised by the illusion of safety. With no choice, I staggered toward it and pushed the door open.
Stepping directly into warm entrails squelching between my bare toes, I had to bite back a cry. Mari hung upside down above me, her body swaying back and forth, strung up like meat to the slaughter. The girl had been gutted straight through her designer Diana mini, her glistening remains sparkling under unearthly light. Mari’s eyes were still open, lips parted as if to warn me.
For a dizzying moment, I was paralysed.
A door banged shut, running footsteps, heavy panting breaths.
“Fuck!” a familiar accent cried out.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
I could hear him slamming his hands into classroom doors.
“I need… I need help!”
The voice should have been comforting, but I was already seeing an opportunity to hide myself.
Swallowing barf, I leapt over glistening red entrails and dropped onto my hands and knees, crawling under a desk, gagging my own panting breaths.
The door swung open, and I buried my head in my arms, risking a peek.
Isaac Redfield stumbled through the door, immediately falling to his knees, his head buried between his legs.
He was sobbing, choking on breaths suffocating him. Issac looked helpless, hopeless, before his gaze caught mine.
I thought Isaac was dead.
The last time I saw him, he was being violently dragged into the janitor's closet. I could see where he'd narrowly missed being butchered, a gaping hole ripped straight through his suit jacket.
He was covered in the remnants of Noah, grisly scarlet turning him into more of a canvas than human, thick brown hair hanging in wide, almost unseeing eyes barely penetrating mine.
Isaac pressed a finger to his lips, his voice bleeding into a shaky breath.
”Don't… say… a… fucking word”.
The door opened, two familiar boots stomping through.
Issac twisted around, forcing himself to unsteady feet.
I could only see her slick black shoes.
The woman pivoted on her heel and started towards Isaac.
“Ahh, fuck,” his hiss broke out into a sob.
I watched him do a little dance backward in an attempt to distance himself. But he was just backing into a corner, staggering over himself.
His hand shot out, blindly grasping for a weapon, a chair leg, but her boots continued, stomping towards him.
Isaac tried to throw himself past her, but she was so fast, reaching out and grabbing the boy by his neck, her fingers pulverising. His arms flew up to peel her hands from his throat, but she was choking him. When Issac’s arms went limp, she slammed him into the window, and my body coaxed me to move, to run. Isaac was half conscious, spluttering blood, his head hanging.
Run.
But I couldn't.
I watched, my hand suffocating my screams, as she lifted him into the air, his feet dangling, his breaths coming out in choking pants. I saw the silver glint of her knife, and then the streak of scarlet painting the wall behind him.
I heard the exact moment the blade went in.
Isaac’s panting breaths became wet gurgles, his dangling legs going limp.
The slow stemming puddle of red accumulating across marble snapped something in my mind. I forgot how to run, to move my legs, to even breathe.
When Isaac’s body hit the ground with a meaty smack, I shuffled back, but the scarlet pool followed me running wet and warm under my fingers. I could see where his throat had been slashed open.
Isaac’s head was turned at an angle, his dead eyes staring directly at me.
I was trying to feel for a pulse when the desk I was hiding under was kicked aside. There she was when I dared lift my head. The woman in the black suit.
She resembled a shadow with a human face, dark blonde hair pulled into a ponytail, brandishing a pinstripe suit.
I watched her brutally murder my friends, one by one, no mercy, no I'm sorry, or even an explanation.
She butchered Annalise in the swimming pool, gutting Noah and Mari, and now Isaac.
Her expression was vacant. There was no motivation behind her killing them.
If there was, she would have worn the face of a psychotic serial killer, thirsty to spill blood.
She would have laughed as they ran, revelled in their fear and the startling inevitably of their own demise.
But she didn't.
Instead, the woman in the black suit stalked after them. She never stopped, never faltered, until they were all dead.
Until their breaths were thinning, their blood staining her hands.
The woman did not smile when she wrapped her hands around the curve of my neck and slammed me against the wall.
I saw stars going supernova, trying to suck in oxygen, her relentless grip tightening.
Black spots speckled my vision, and I was half aware of the ice-cold prick of silver sinking into my flesh. She was slow. Slow enough for me to count each of my lingering breaths, watching my own blood soak the front of my dress.
When she dropped me, I landed on my stomach. But there was no pain.
It felt like dreaming, choking on words that wouldn't come out.
Weird, I thought, my eyes flickering.
I counted ceiling tiles, dizzily, a slow spreading darkness pricking at the corners of my vision.
Last time, Isaac died first in the swimming pool.
Noah managed to stab the bitch in the back, only for her to chase him to the main entrance, gutting him on the spot.
The woman in the black suit loomed over me, while I focused on breathing.
Only for her to deliver one last fuck you blow to my head.
My vision contorted, and I sunk into the ground.
Straight into oblivion.
That spat me back out.
“Bonnie!”
I was numb to my mother’s voice.
I used to wake up screaming, my hands around my throat clawing for wounds that were no longer there.
Now I was somewhere between acceptance and losing my fucking mind.
For a while, I didn't move, lying on my back and considering suicide.
I never had the guts to actually go through with it though.
Being murdered is one thing, but actually doing it yourself is another.
“Bonnie!” Mom’s voice was louder, and I mocked her words.
“Get up! Sweetie, I made your favorite! Chocolate chip pancakes!”
I paused, counting elephants.
I had mastered the ability to perfectly mimic her tone.
“And don't forget to thank Mrs Benson for that beautiful dress! You know she really wants you to attend graduation!”
Mom was right. I couldn't afford a decent dress, so my teacher offered.
But after being hacked apart, drowned, bisected, choked, and having my throat slit in different variations, I can't say I was thrilled to wear it. The dress was ruined every time, reduced to tatters clinging to me.
Rolling over in bed, I pulled my phone from my nightstand.
Always the exact same notification illuminating my home screen.
GRADUATION DAY!! :)”
I fucking hated that notification.
Unknown number flashed up on screen.
“Hello?” I mumbled.
“How'd you die this time?”
Isaac Redfield's voice was muffled slightly. I think he was brushing his teeth.
“My throat was slit,” I said. “You?”
“You should know,” I heard him spit. “I mean, you did watch me fucking die.”
“That wasn't my choice.”
He spat again. “Does the woman in the black suit seem….familiar to you?”
I wasn't sure if he was screwing with me.
“Yes.” I said, dryly.
“No, not like that,” Isaac groaned. “I mean, don't you, like, recognise her? I swear I've seen this woman before.”
Squeezing my eyes shut, I revelled in the slow passage of time.
7am to 8am was my favourite part of the day. I used to freak out, trying to leave town and find the best hiding place. Now, I just lay down and vibed.
There was something both terrifying and yet weirdly peaceful about knowing whatever happened, I was going to die.
“Dude, I've definitely seen her.”
I rolled onto my face. “Is that before she started brutally killing you in a never ending groundhog day, or after?”
Isaac paused, and I buried my head into my pillow. “Um, both?”
“Both?”
He was either going crazy or onto something.
I wasn't counting on the latter.
Isssc’s deaths were the most brutal. I wouldn't be surprised if the trauma had knocked something loose in his brain.
“Yeah.” his laugh was nervous, more of a splutter. Throughout our situationship, I had come to know his laughs well.
I knew his fake laugh, his trying not to cry laugh, his trying not to laugh laugh. I even knew his I’m losing my fucking mind, I'm going to die laugh.
But I didn't know his real laugh.
“Does that sound crazy, or…?”
Instead of answering him, I ended the call.
At breakfast, I could still taste my own blood.
Mom hovered over me, blonde streaks of hair hanging in her face.
Dressed in her fluffy pink bathrobe, my mother should have been a comfort.
However, I was yet to forget the seventh loop when I broke apart and told her about what was happening.
Mom immediately called the doctor, convinced I was having a psychotic break.
He said there was nothing wrong with me and let me go to school.
Where I was murdered.
Again.
That time, she didn't kill us individually, instead forcing us on to our knees and bleeding us out, one by one. I think I became desensitised to death, to everything, when I was forced to watch Mari choke on her own screams, her head forced forwards, a blade brutally protruding through her.
*Don't forget to thank Mrs Benson for the dress, honey,” Mom said, refilling my juice.
I nodded, struggling to swallow pancake mush.
A sudden knock on the door woke me up.
That wasn't supposed to happen.
For a moment, I was frozen, my hands squeezing around my glass, before a familiar head of brown curls appeared.
Isaac Redfield, barely awake, still in his pyjamas.
Following suit, Mari Cliffe and Annalise Chatham.
Isaac went directly into the refrigerator hunting for food. Annalise took an uncertain seat at the table, and Mari stood with her arms folded, her wide, frenzied eyes drinking in my kitchen.
Isaac Redfield was the British exchange student who nobody could understand at first, his accent rocketing him up the high school hierarchy. The guy was also known for dealing candy, and getting into unnecessary arguments with teachers. Alongside Isaac, Mari Cliffe, captain of the girl’s soccer team, and Annalise Chatham, our school’s version of horse girl, were unlikely friends.
They used to be strangers, kids I’d pass in the hallway.
After being brutally killed together in a never ending graduation day cycle, we had become surprisingly close.
When we were hiding in the janitor's closet, Isaac spilled to us that he hated the idea of college.
He wanted to travel the world.
Mari was crushing on one of her teammates.
Annalise actually hated horses.
Isaac was secretly scared of Bill Nye.
I had a thing for clowns I wasn't going to go into.
It started as a confessions thing, four strangers pouring our hearts out to each other.
We shared theories.
Isssc was convinced we were actually dead, and this was hell.
Mari suggested we were in some kind of prank show.
I voiced my theory, which was, yeah, we were dead. I was sure we had died on graduation day, and this was fate’s way of giving us companions in the great beyond. Still though, I wasn't sure why fate wanted us to be brutally killed.
Then, there was the mystery of our killer.
The woman in the black suit, our own personal angel of death.
“Morning,” Isaac greeted me with a sleepy smile, running his hands through his hair. He ignored my Mom’s wide eyes. “Thanks for leaving me to die.”
I thought back to him crouched in front of me, his face splattered in Noah, index pressed to his lips. Don't move.
“You told me not to move.” I said through a mouthful of pancakes.
Issac’s lips curled. “Yeah, because I was expecting you to move your ass.”
The boy helped himself to my pancakes, shovelling them down with maple syrup.
I wasn't used to the others actually coming to my house. That never happened. We either met up at school, or were killed before we even saw each other. I knew Isaac was secretly pissed.
It wasn't the first time I had thrown him under the bus. Still, I was yet to forget him ‘accidentally’ drowning me nine graduation days ago.
He said it was an accident, but I definitely felt him shove my head under the water so he could make a run for it.
“There wasn't enough room under the desk,” I told him pointedly, gesturing to my mother, who I think was still trying to register three strangers walking into her kitchen unannounced. Mom had been vocal about me finding friends since freshman year, but I don't think she was expecting these friends.
Mari was well known around town, our girl’s soccer team dominating the local gazette.
Annalise’s father was the principal of our school. She was also the 2014 pageant winner.
Isaac was more infamous, especially for his ‘candy’.
“What?” Isaac shrugged, shooting my Mom a grin. “It's not like she's going to remember me, anyway.” he offered her a two fingered salute, “Sup, Mrs Haverford.”
To prove his point, Isaac straightened up, grabbed my phone, and threw it in the microwave.
Mari chucked a banana at his head.
“We get it.” she said with an eye roll.
“You don't need to resort to blowing things up every single time.”
Isaac responded with stubborn British noises, but she was right.
On our third graduation day, Isaac thought we could kill the woman in the black suit by blowing her up with science equipment.
Instead, he blew himself up, leaving the rest of us to her mercy.
Mom seemed to snap out of it, her smile broadening.
“Oh! You didn't tell me you were bringing friends over!” Mom immediately entered mother mode.
“Do you kids want breakfast?” she asked them, her voice high, almost shrill.
Narrowly avoiding my mother pulling out baby pictures, I coaxed her out of the kitchen. The last thing she said, before I shut the door on her face, was, “Don't forget to thank Mrs Benson for the–”
When we were alone, Mari took centre stage, hoisting herself onto the counter.
The girl was a natural leader, so of course she was our spokesperson.
Mari absently ran her hands through strawberry blonde hair.
“We tried your idea,” she nodded to a sick looking Annalise. “We tried running, and that crazy bitch still got us.”
Annalise wrapped her arms around herself, avoiding Mari’s gaze. “It was a suggestion. I didn't think she was that fast.”
“I still think she's a sleeper agent,” Isaac muttered into his glass of juice.
Mari raised a brow. “Okay, but why would a sleeper agent go after five random high school students?”
He shrugged, his lips curving into a smile.
“Maybe it was an order.”
He dragged out the latter word, so it sounded more like, “Ordahhhhhhhh.”
“But who made the order?” Annalise spoke up.
I nodded. “The government, or the shadow government don't go after high school kids.”
Isaac leaned forward, comfortably resting his chin on his fist. “Soo, what do we do now? If we can't beat whatever this thing is, what do we do?”
Die.
That is what we did.
For ten consecutive graduation days.
I woke up. I ate breakfast (pancakes and orange juice), I went to school, and I was murdered.
I was hacked apart, burned alive, drowned, impaled, and beheaded.
And nothing worked.
Our plans to run failed.
We tried to get to the roof, but she was always there waiting for us.
The latest loop, I was actually hopeful.
Isssc’s plan to lure her to the downstairs gym was going well, and it was the first time I'd survived past 3pm.
It was an adrenaline rush. 3pm had never looked so fucking beautiful.
The plan was simple.
Annalise, Mari and me standing in plain sight the whole time, and Isaac luring our killer to the downstairs gym.
When I got the confirmation text that Issac had trapped the woman in the closet, the three of us continued our plan, which was to set off the fire alarm, and alert the police of the intruder.
Informing the police was impossible initially, because she was always one thousand steps ahead of the five of us.
But Isaac had captured her.
We were in the clear.
That's what I thought.
When we pushed through the doors into the gym, however, Isaac’s cry froze me in place.
“It's a–”
His voice collapsed into panicked muffle screaming.
I took two steps, before I saw his figure running towards me.
Behind him, the woman in the black suit.
Another stumbled step, and he was being dragged back, a hand over his mouth. I didn't think our killer had enough intelligence to turn our own plan back on us, transforming Isaac into a lure for us.
I could see the apology in his frenzied eyes before she sliced her knife through his skull. I didn't even get a chance to mourn him. Isssc flopped onto the ground, rivulets of red pooling down his face. For a second, I was transfixed, hypnotised, by what she had done to him. The back of his head spewed blood like a geyser, a gaping hole splitting the back of his skull open.
I couldn't move, already wanting to surrender.
I shuffled back on my hands, already screaming, wailing like an animal.
10.
I counted elephants, just like my mother told me.
9.
My gaze was glued to Isaac, whose body was still twitching.
8.
His glassy eyes, scarlet trails running down his face.
7.
The woman was fast, waiting for me to try and run.
6.
5
4.

I was on my knees, and the door was so far away.

“Just breathe, honey.” Mom used to tell me.
“Keep counting elephants.”
Mari’s scream rattled in my ears.
I remember ice cold arms wrapping around my waist, the sensation of something sharp. I didn't feel the pain, only wet warmth running down my face. It felt like rain. Annalise’s crying was enough of an anchor, but my vision was already going foggy. I wasn't sure where the fatal wound was, though I guessed it was my head, just like Isaac.
The woman in the black suit floated in front of me like a spectre.
Once again, her fingers wrapped around my neck, swinging me like a toy.
“Bonnie!”
I was aware of Mari’s thundering footsteps coming toward me.
Suddenly, pain.
Pain like I had never felt, pain that puppeteered my body, wrenching my head back, my lips forming an O.
Part of me could still feel it, the blade digging deep into my skull.
She twisted it, and I screeched, my mouth full of pancake mush.
Again, this time clockwise, and I felt my body go numb, my head hanging.
I could hear the sound of my skull splintering apart.
The woman in the black suit didn't just want to kill us.
She wanted to make us fucking suffer.
Reality contorted, and I was back in bed at home, screeching into my pillows before my body could hit the gym floor.
I think that was when I started to lose my mind.
I began to distance myself from the others, like we were strangers again.
The woman in the black suit hunted me down to the girls bathroom where I was hiding, drowning me in the toilet bowl.
Then, she came straight into my house when I refused to go to school, suffocating me with my stuffed rabbit.
Luckily, Isaac and Mari forced their way in.
Isaac was stabbed in the stomach, and Mari, impaled by a fucking hairbrush.
I had no idea you could be impaled by a hairbrush.
Isaac’s lifeless body dropped onto mine.
His expression almost made me laugh, like he was mid eyeroll.
Hysteria crept up my throat, days, months, years, centuries, of the same fucking day finally catching up to me.
I was shrieking with laughter when I was bludgeoned straight through the mouth.
“Bonnie!”
7am.
This time, I rolled onto my side, spewing up the taste of blood.
"Get up! I made your favorite! Chocolate chip pancakes… “
Mom’s voice felt and sounded like nails on a chalkboard.
Swiping stale barf from my chin, I took one look at my graduation dress and burst out laughing. Then I tore the thing to shreds, stuffing the tattered remains in my bedroom drawer.
Mom appeared when she wasn't supposed to, hovering in my doorway.
In her hands was a laundry basket, but looking inside, it was filled with flour and eggs.
Mom’s smile was wide. I wondered if she was having a mental breakdown.
“Bonnie, did you remember to say thank you to Mrs Benson–”
I cut her off, swallowing a shriek. “For the dress,” I said. “Yep. I’m going to.”
That day, I stepped into school wearing a curtain and crocks.
“That's not a good idea,” Isaac stood behind me, wearing his usual tux.
His smile was weak. I think he'd stopped with the fake optimism.
Now, I was seeing the real him.
Real Isaac was kind of an asshole, but real subtle about it.
“Do you really want to die wearing a curtain? How are you going to run?”
I glimpsed a knife stuck in his belt. “Are you planning on being the hero?”
“Nope.” he shot me a sickly smile. “It's to defend myself.”
Four hours later, the two of us were sprinting down the hallway.
I wielded Isaac’s knife, Isaac stumbling with a head injury I didn't dare look at.
Issac narrowly missed drowning, managing to claw his way out of the pool. I didn't see him hit his head on the side when our killer threw herself on top of him, but I did hear the sickening crack of his face hitting stone tiles, all of the breath being violently knocked from his lungs in a strangled, “Oomph!”
She tried to drag him into the water, only for him to kick her in the face.
Mari was dead, half of her torso in the swimming pool.
Annalise was hiding, but I didn't have hope for her.
“You said we might be able to drown her!” Isaac, soaking wet and pissed, tried each classroom door, with all of them being locked as usual. He twisted around to me, his lips set in a silent cry.
His head was bleeding, bad, a scary looking gash in his forehead.
I was watching a single thick rivulet running down his face when he shoved me.
“Why did you push me into the pool?”
It was payback.
For him drowning me 176 Graduation days earlier.
“You falling into the pool was a distraction.” was all I could choke out.
He didn't believe me. I could tell by his eyes, twitching lips trying not to smile.
“You have a really bad head injury,” I whispered, tugging him into a power walk.
I realized the guy had some serious confusion when Issac laughed.
“I know,” he slurred, “I feel kinda…dizzy.”
I thought he was going to burst out laughing again, when familiar stomping boots brought us both to a sobering halt.
Issac slammed his hand over his mouth, his eyes widening. He slowly moved the two of us back, his clammy fingers entangling with mine. “Fuck,” he muffle whispered. “Did she hear us?”
When the booted footsteps got louder, we had our answer.
Pushing Isaac into the next open classroom, I catapulted myself into a sprint, cold hands suddenly gripping my shoulders and tugging me backwards.
“Shhh. It's me.”
Noah Locke.
He distanced himself after being sliced apart right in front of us. Noah was the quiet kid, a short and stocky boy with reddish hair and glasses. I wanted to ask where the hell he'd been, when I glimpsed the kitchen knife in his fist.
Noah’s smile was sickly. “Do you trust me?”
He pulled us into a classroom, quietly shutting the door behind him.
Isaac’s cries followed us, and I resisted covering my ears.
“I'm sorry,” Noah said, before slitting my throat.
This time, it was fast.
I fell.
Down.
Down.
Down.
I waited for Mom’s voice to wake me up, but when consciousness did come over me, I wasn't in bed. I had zero idea where I was, only the sensation that I was floating. Opening my eyes, I was inside a glass tank, suffocating in a thick goo-like substance, my hair spread out around me in a halo.
When I panicked, my body jerking awake, warm hands wrapped around me, pulling me out.
I hit open air, my lungs expanding, and I hacked up blood streaked water.
Noah helped me sit, the two of us leaning against my tank.
He was soaking wet, his skin glistening with that foul smelling solution.
I took a second to drink in my surroundings.
A large room filled with human-sized tanks.
Reaching to the back of my neck, I gingerly prodded at what felt like an incision. I stood up slowly, my gaze already finding the tank next to mine.
Mari.
The girl was suspended in water, her eyes closed, lips parted peacefully.
“They tried to escape a while ago,” Noah murmured, his gaze glued to another tank.
Isaac.
His cheeks were a sickly pallid colour, eyes closed. There was something attached to the back of his head.
“But they're in the school,” I managed to get out. “I was just with Isaac!”
“You were with a null version of Isaac,” Noah didn't look at me. “The one who kept leading you to your death, even if it seemed accidental. He was playing you.” he buried his head in his knees.
“The real Isaac figured this wasn't real a long time ago.”
“Real Isaac?”
“Yeah. The one you've been with is more of a copy of him,” Noah sighed, leaning his head against Mari’s tank.
He spat out slime, adjusting his glasses.
“Think of him more as a shell, empty of his mind. This Isaac follows orders like an NPC. He had the guy’s memories and traits, but he was just a program.”
Too much information at once.
“I don't understand.”
Noah tipped his back, groaning. “You don't need to.”
He got to his feet. His eyes were dark, hollowed out caverns I couldn't recognise. “I'm sorry,” Noah said again, wrapping his hands around my neck and pinning me into one of the tanks.
Just like the woman in the black suit, Noah pressed enough pressure for me to suffer.
When he slammed my head against the tank, I felt my body shut down.
I could still feel him, his fingers squeezing the life out of me.
Darkness came soon after.
Swirling oblivion that swallowed me up, and then spat me out.
This time, I spluttered awake, cuffed to a bed inside a white room.
Surrounding me were fifteen gurney like beds.
“I don't know how deep we are,” Noah’s voice startled me.
The boy stood over me, this time dressed in shorts and t-shirt.
“What?” I tried to jump up, but I was strapped down.
“Miss Benson.” his voice broke. “She didn't want us to graduate, so she put us under.” he swiped at his eyes, gulping down sobs. Noah slumped down onto my bed. “I thought I could wake us up by killing ourselves instead, but we’re stuck.” I noticed the scalpel in his hand.
“The last thing Isaac told me was that we had to get back to the surface.”
He squeezed his eyes shut. “But I don't know how deep this thing goes.”
Tugging against the velcro straps pinning me down, I held my breath.
“Deep?”
“Yeah.” he spluttered. “We’re pretty far under.”
With a heavy breath, he drew the blade across his own throat with just enough precision to keep himself breathing.
Deep red spotted the blanket, and the boy broke down.
“I can't wake us up,” Isaac whispered, grabbing a pillow and pinning me to the bed. I tried to shove him off of me, but he put all of weight onto me, laughing.
“Do you hear me, Isaac?” His hysterical cry followed me into the dark.
“I can't fucking wake us up!”
Death didn't feel like death at this point.
Like drowning, and then finding the surface.
Only to be pulled back into suffocating depths.
Plunging through nothing, empty space with no bottom, no surface.
Endless nothing that expanded, continuing.
Noah’s sobs collapsed into white noise and I felt my writhing limbs go still.
Once again, I waited for my Mom’s voice.
For Graduation Day.
Instead, I awoke with a shriek, strapped to a chair, my hands bound to Noah’s.
“I'm sorry for suffocating you with a pillow.”
He didn't sound apologetic.
This time, we were inside a glass building.
Above us, the sky was pitch dark.
“Where are we?”
“I have no idea,” Noah muttered. “I've never been this far.”
My gaze followed an odd looking bird through the skylight. “Meaning?”
“Meaning, she always takes me back to the start,” he said. “Graduation Day.”
Noah got free easily, tearing himself from his restraints.
The knots around my wrists were impossible. “So, you've been here before?”
“No.” he stumbled. “Isaac has.”
The boy dropped onto his hands and knees, picking up a single shard of glass.
“Isaac said he found a room with a skylight,” Noah murmured, sliding the point between his fingers. His gaze found the ceiling. “Then he went deeper, and his consciousness never came back to us. Mrs Benson sent a mindless fucking copy in his place.”
He got to his feet, the shard clenched in his fist.
“So, if I'm right… Isaac woke up, and Mrs Benson must have restrained the real him.” Noah stepped in front of me.
“And… like Isaac, we will wake up…” His frenzied eyes found mine. “Right?”
I wasn't thrilled with the idea of dying again, but anything to wake myself up.
“Do it.”
He nodded, and I felt the prick of the blade spike my skin.
“Wait.”
Noah stepped back, cocking his head. “What?”
“Why would Mrs Benson do this?” I demanded. “She didn't want us to graduate school, so she did all of this?”
Noah shrugged, playing with the shard between his fingers. “Why else would she do this?”
He pressed the shard into my neck.
“Wait.” I hissed out.
Noah’s frown was patient. “What now?”
“What if this is the real world?” I whispered. “We’ll be killing ourselves. For real.”
Noah’s lips pricked slightly. “Does this world look real to you?”
Before I could reply, he slashed my throat open.
I waited for the reset.
For the sensation of blankets wrapped around my head, and my mother’s voice.
Instead, my body was stiff, my eyes glued shut.
“Bonnie Haverford?” the voice was a low murmur. “Honey, can you hear me?”
There was something stuck in my arm, a sharp, cruel thing pinning me down.
“I did say she was awake, but nobody believed me.”
The British accent was almost a fucking melody.
Prying my eyes open, a figure was looming over me. It was a woman with a kind face, her expression soothing.
A paramedic.
I couldn't make out what the tag on her uniform said, though.
Around me, I could see my classmates wrapped in blankets being escorted to the door. There were fifteen or so futuristic looking pods, and I was lying in one, a plastic mask suffocating my mouth. Isaac stood next to the paramedic, a wary smile on his mouth.
The guy had a scary bandage wrapped around his head.
“Bonnie, right?”
This version of him didn't remember getting to know me.
Isaac pulled me to a sitting position, ignoring the paramedic’s sharp hiss of, “Please leave her where she is!”
A man dressed in white tried to throw a blanket around him, and he shrugged it off.
“I'm fine,” Issac muttered, gingerly prodding his head wound. “I won't be if you keep asking if I'm okay. Jeez.”
Ignoring the adults, he wandered over to the pod in front of me and pulled a half conscious Noah to unsteady feet.
Noah staggered, half lidded eyes finding mine. His smile was sickly.
It worked.
The two of them hugged, Isaac burying his head in the crook of the boy’s shoulder.
I wanted to talk to Noah, but the paramedic seemed pretty insistent that I stayed still so she could check me over.
I was barely aware of my surroundings when I was crawling into the back of an ambulance.
Reality felt wrong, like I was still stuck, still reliving the same day over and over.
But my town was real.
I dazedly watched traffic flying by, the sky darkening.
Time was moving forward again.
The world resumed, and graduation day had been and gone.
14 days to be exact.
Mrs Benson had us trapped for 14 days, and yet to me, it felt like a century.
Mom was at the station, immediately pulling me into a hug.
She put me under house arrest for a week, sentencing me to my room.
According to Mom, our teacher turned herself in.
Apparently, forcing her students into a slasher movie simulator was ‘tugging at her heart’.
I spent most of the summer lying in bed watching Disney movies.
Mom made me breakfast. Eggs and soldiers, just like when I was a little kid.
I was absently dipping my toast soldiers in egg, when she dropped an envelope in front of me. “If you want to testify, sweetie,” Mom had resorted to using her baby voice again, “But remember, you don't have to. It's your choice…”
Mom’s voice faded when I picked up the envelope, opening it up.
My name was printed on the front.
EINOOB DROFREVAH.
I blinked. “They printed my name upside down.”
Mom was behind me, frying more eggs.
“Hmm?”
In the time it took for the envelope to slip from my hand, I was only aware of one thing.
The woman in the black suit was standing in the doorway, her fingers wrapped around an axe. Noah was in front of me one minute, his eyes wide, lips parted in a scream. “It's not–”
The woman was quick to grab him, one hand going over his mouth, the other pressing the blade to his adam’s apple.
Real.
In one singular jerking movement, the boy’s blood was splattering my face, clouding my vision.
The woman in the black suit did not kill me.
She picked Noah up, threw him over her shoulder, and walked away.
“Did you remember to thank me for buying your graduation dress?” Mom asked, handing me a plate of fried eggs.
Her voice, though, felt too close.
Warm breath tickling my cheeks.
“Bonnie, are you listening to me? Did you remember to thank me, sweetheart?”
Reality was far more cruel than dream.
Reality was being unable to move, unable to breathe. It was like coming up for air, but at the same time, I was drowning. The real world was so cold, and yet warm wetness dripped down my chin. I was strapped to a metal table, something plastic lodged down my throat.
Through blurry vision, I could see my body.
I could see that my hair was so much longer, almost down to my stomach.
But there was something wrong.
Prickles of ice slithered down my spine, curls of panic setting my body into fight or flight.
At first, I thought I was in the emergency room.
Except this place didn't have doors.
The walls were sickly green, a bunker transformed into a sicko’s dungeon.
My body resembled a pin cushion, or a little girl’s idea of a doll.
When my eyes found my stomach that was barely being held together by fresh stitches, my mind started to come apart.
Noah was wrong.
Everything that has happened to me, to us, was real.
Being beheaded, ripped apart, sliced into.
Mrs Benson was just good at putting us back together.
My arms were skeletal, wires protruding into my veins.
I could see where I had been cut open, my paper thin hospital gown stained scarlet.
I couldn't count elephants.
Across the room, beds lined the walls.
On them was what was left of my classmates, mangled flesh still strapped down. Some of them had been cut into, severed apart, while others were attached to tubes, wires sticking into their spine and the back of their heads.
The floor was stained, writhing body parts and slithering entrails dried into yellowing tiles.
In the corner of my eye, Mari’s head was hanging open, the pinkish grey of her brain visible through the pearly white of her skull. She was still alive, still twitching in her restraints, plastic tubes full of fluid being fed directly into her head. When a thin river of red slid down her temple, I averted my gaze.
Barf was already in my mouth, splashing into my mask.
Annalise had tubes stuck to her, one eye scooped out, her pretty face mutilated.
Issac.
He was covered with a white sheet, a startling smear of scarlet where his head was supposed to be.
I could see his wrists still strapped down.
Mrs Benson stood in my line of vision, though I did see Isaac’s fingers curl slightly.
My teacher didn't speak when I shrieked through my mask, straining against velcro straps.
Mrs Benson’s smile was the one I used to like.
She lit up our classroom, like sunshine.
“Why don't we count elephants together, hmm?”
I found myself nodding, trusting the sunshine smile.
“One.”
Mrs Benson straightened up.
“Two.”
She strode over to Noah’s bed, replacing his blood soaked pillow with a fresh one, adjusting the tube in his mouth and planting a kiss on his forehead. I could see red dots marked across his skin, circled around his eyes.
“Three.” I found myself saying with her, my thoughts dancing.
Mrs Benson turned to me, her lips breaking out into a grin.
“That's right! Count with me, Bonnie.”
I closed my eyes, swimming in the drugs filling my body.
I was being pulled back down.
Down.
Down.
Down.
Four.
Five.
Six.
Seven.
Eight.
Nine…
Sinking through the ground, colours flashed in my eyes.
“Bonnie!”
Mom’s voice startled me awake, a raw cry choking through my lips.
Graduation Day was the same.
Mom made me breakfast.
Pancakes and orange juice.
I went to school wearing my graduation dress.
Isaac walked straight past me, running to catch up with his friends.
Mari ignored my attempt to call out for her.
Annalise ducked her head, hurrying to empty out her locker.
“Hello.”
Noah was standing behind me.
I could have cried.
But when I turned to talk to him, to tell him we were still trapped, his smile was wide, eyes glassy. In his arms was our yearbook. He handed me a pen.
“Do you mind signing it?” Noah chuckled. “I've got everyone but you.”
He opened it up onto the first page.
“It's Noah, by the way!”
Behind him, I glimpsed a familiar shadow, a woman striding towards me.
The lights above flickered, and I could already taste blood in my mouth. Noah didn't even flinch when I dropped the yearbook and stumbled into a run.
His smile was vacant, empty.
Just like he said.
An NPC.
I was already running for my life, and he kept talking to thin air.
When the woman in the black suit sprinted past him, his smile broadened.
“And you are?”

*WARNING - this is gonna be a very long post. I also provide a lot of anecdotal recommendations and advice based on my experience and what my CRS told me, but I am not a doctor, so do not take the information I provide as medical advice. *
I’ve been here a long time, and this post is an updated version of one I made several months ago. I feel obligated to give back and report on how things are going for me so that maybe I can help someone else on their journey like so many others have helped me on mine.
I’ve made other posts on this sub, but here is a detailed rundown of my journey:

Beginning of August 2023 -

• Had a gnarly bm at work, and of course the tp they have there is literal sandpaper. I like to make sure I’m spotless Down Under so I absolutely annihilated my butthole in an effort to achieve sparkly cleanliness. I immediately knew I overdid it cuz of how bad my bh was stinging but I figured it would clear up in a day or two.

I have learned a valuable lesson from this and I cannot stress this enough: DON’T MAKE THIS MISTAKE. USE WET WIPES AND A BIDET. Standard tp is VERY unforgiving, and actually pretty gross if you think about it; you're just smearing stuff around. If you do use tp, don’t aggressively rub, gently dab.

• A few days pass and the pain worsens. I have another bm, lots of blood but relief. I’m unsettled but move on with my day. My instincts were telling me something didn't seem right but I wanted to see if time would heal me.
  
• I notice some little pus spots in the following days when I dab with tp, which immediately put me on high alert. I'd never experienced anything like this before. I looked back there with a mirror and saw a little pimple looking thing very close to my anal opening. I’m alarmed but decide to give it another couple days to see if it went away on it’s own. Spoiler alert: it didn’t.
  
• I go to local urgent care, and as is the trend in this sub, I get misdiagnosed with having an ingrown hair and given antibiotics. Also told to do sitz baths and hot compresses to help it drain. The meds helped shrink the pimple and it went nearly flat, but after the course was finished, that “pimple” came back with a vengeance and turned into a proper abscess. It filled up and abscessed over the course of about two days.
  
• Woke up for work and had trouble walking and sitting. I immediately knew what was up thanks to having thoroughly explored this sub by this point, and educated myself on what I likely had going on. The urgent care had told me to follow up with general surgery if I had continued problems, but l knew to go right to a specialist. Thankfully my insurance doesn’t require referrals. Through an insane amount of luck and perhaps some divine intervention, I was able to see a CRS the same day I woke up with the abscess. Bedside I&D with local anesthetic, and it hurt BAD. Immediately relieved of abscess pain though. CRS checked for fistula at this time too, but did not see anything. I was hopeful the I&D would be the end of this for me. (Spoiler alert x2: it wasn’t.)
  

September to October 2023 -

• Went in for follow up with CRS at two weeks from I&D. Still having minimal pus and blood drainage, so I’d been keeping gauze tucked between my cheeks all this time. I was hoping against hope I was just healing slowly. He took one quick look and immediately decided that things didn’t seem right. Gave me the option of EUA with possible fistulotomy vs. seton placement OR I could try to live with things. I decided on surgery knowing the quicker you tackle fistula, the better. I didn’t want it getting worse or risk branching off. Scheduled for surgery end of October ‘23. I was devastated this wasn’t over with, and kept thinking about putting things off til I had more savings and better insurance next year - but I eventually made my peace with things. I didn’t want to suffer any longer than I already had. Health and happiness is WAY more important than money.
  
• I&D site never healed properly during entire wait time. Abscessed again twice, burst on it’s own. Kept it draining with sitz baths and religiously kept it cleaned. Lived with gauze between my cheeks 24/7. Constant drainage of blood and/or pus (yellow, green, brown). Carried my “butt kit” everywhere, which was a pack of baby wipes, some 4x4” gauze sponges, and a handheld bidet. One of my biggest recommendations is investing in a portable bidet for cleaning up after bm’s in public, get one off Amazon! LIFESAVER.
  
• The worst part of the interim between that follow up and my surgery date was honestly the waiting. Not knowing how bad it actually was back there, seeing various amount of drainage every day, varying levels of pain, the frustration of how much time it takes to clean myself up after bm’s. The mental aspect of this condition is truly debilitating. PLEASE make sure to take care of yourself and be kind to yourself as best you can. Make sure you have a support network you can talk to. Do things you enjoy. And for the love of all things, DON’T doom scroll this sub or the internet at large. Although it helped me educate myself and the positive stories were reassuring, I definitely messed up my mental state getting worked up over worst case scenarios.
  

October 27, 2023 -

• Surgery day! Everything went SUPER well, I could not be more thankful for my outcome. CRS was so chill and kind, answered all my Qs pre and post op. Woke up to find out it was a very superficial fistula, barely any sphincter involved, and got a fistulotomy! (CPT Code 46270). CRS said specifically that as far as depth of cutting required, “only a few sheets of paper” deep. I’m feeling quite good. Bleeding of course, but not terrible. Was prescribed narcotic pain meds but haven’t used them yet. Pain 1/10 for now.

October 28, 2023 -

• Still feeling decent, but I can feel the soreness intensifying today. I reckon it’ll be even worse by tomorrow, but we shall see. Bleeding continues but seems lighter. Spent nearly all day sleeping yesterday when I got home from the hospital, and I plan on relaxing in bed all day today as well. Making sure to keep pressure off the booty so I’m laying on my sides or angling onto one of my butt cheeks if I’m on my back.

October 31, 2023 -

• Happy Halloween! Still hangin’ in there. Drainage is about the same volume wise, but it’s more pink and clear-ish fluid than blood now. Had my first bm’s today. (I typically poop every 2-3 days so I wasn’t too stressed about how long it’s been since surgery day.)
  
• It definitely sucked and I was a bit backed up, so my first bm was a bit hard and on the smaller side. Pain was maybe 4/10 during and right after passage, and gradually subsided within an hour to a 1/10. Minor bleeding. Took milk of magnesia in the morning to encourage a proper bm, which I finally passed in the afternoon. This one was a bigger bm and hurt quite a bit more, 6/10, lingering pain afterwards that gradually decreased to a 2/10. Used handheld bidet to clean up, NO tp whatsoever. Dabbed with a wet wipe to make sure I was clean. Took an extra long sitz bath (15min) right afterwards which really helped calm the pain.
  
• As far as what my pain feels like, it’s a combination of stinging and soreness, mostly an achy sore feeling though. Post bm, it’s radiating from my butthole out into my buttcheeks and toward my tailbone a bit. I have a very high pain tolerance so it’s manageable. I’ve been sticking to Tylenol.
  

I still have no idea what the actual wound looks like, I have zero interest in finding out right now lol.

November 6th, 2023 -

• I am now officially a week and some change out from my fistulotomy. The past week definitely had it’s ups and downs both physically and mentally.
  
• I did wind up taking one of my narcotic pain meds on day 4 and 5 due to lingering pains from a bm. Pain started subsiding a bit by later in day 5 and into day 6, but intensified a little on day 7-8. BMs still hurt quite a bit but not nearly as awful as the first one post op. Warm soapy sitz baths have been my absolute best friend to help with any pains back there. I also have a detachable shower head for further rinsing and cleaning after all of my sitz baths.
  
• Drainage overall seems to be reducing, and I’m seeing less blood. There’s a bit of a light yellow goopy substance mixed with the blood when I check my gauze now. I’m not worried about it as it does not smell and seems to be a normal part of the healing process for fistulotomy wounds according to my research. Obviously my CRS will have the final say. My follow up appt is on the 16th.
  
• I walked around for a few hours at a local bacon festival with family yesterday, which was some much-needed fun, but I definitely went a bit overboard with walking and was a tad sore afterward. Very manageable pain though. I will definitely regret eating the amount of bacon that I did but YOLO.
  
• I try not to allow myself to think too much about all this, but it’s still hard contending with the feeling that my body betrayed me and the healing process will be long and not linear. I keep reminding myself that this is a journey, not a race, which helps recenter my mindset.
  

8.5 weeks to 11 weeks post op -

I have my last follow up with my CRS at 8.5 weeks. He's surprised I'm still not fully healed, but not concerned. He said it could take "a few more weeks" and drainage is to be expected as long as there is any kind of wound. He released me from his care.
A couple weeks later, I had a scare where I randomly had a quarter-sized blotch of pure blood on my gauze. A nervous wreck, I call my CRS and was told that it's highly unusual for bleeding this far out from surgery, but not cause for worry unless it got worse and/or did not stop bleeding. I was given the choice to wait it out or head in for an appointment - I chose to wait and see. I didn't bleed like that again and I moved on.
I assume that the surgery site had healed into a shallow fissure at this point and it opened up.

5 months post op -

• Generally feeling good, but still have very light spotting of yellow drainage. It is not constant. I continue to take at least one sitz bath daily with a little epsom salt in water as hot as I can safely tolerate. I rinse off in the shower afterward. I still occasionally tuck gauze between my cheeks to monitor drainage and keep things dry.

Present Day, 7 months 1 week from Surgery -

I still feel wary declaring this, but I can say with reasonable confidence that I have completed my healing journey.
I stopped using gauze entirely around the 5.5 month mark and checked drainage levels by gently dabbing with tp after restroom visits. I think I completely stopped seeing the little yellow drainage dots at 6 months.
I also had a very strange incident on the opposite side from my surgery site at 6 months; while washing in the shower, I felt 3 lima-bean sized lumps in my inner cheek tissue that felt a bit tender, and an overall firmness that was not present on my other cheek. I freaked out at first, but decided to take the "wait and see" approach. Those lumps did eventually disappear over the course of about 3 weeks, and I still have no idea what they were. I had been doing a lot of physical work at odd angles and sitting on flat hard ground prior to this, so I think I maybe strained a muscle back there and maybe had some fatty tissue buildup??
That aside, my anus still occasionally feels "odd" and I experience what I assume are nerve pinches from the scar tissue, but I feel great and am living my life more or less like I was before this all happened to me - with some habit changes.
I still use my portable bidet when I need to use the bathroom in a public place, and do not go anywhere without said bidet and a pack of wet wipes.
If I'm at home, I always hop in the shower and wash after a bm so I know I'm sparkling clean back there. I don't think I'll ever shake the need to do this. The trauma from this experience is Too Real. I'm still nervous to get back on my bicycle, but I think I can safely do so if I choose to.
I cannot stress this enough - trust your body and trust the healing process. It is unlikely to be linear, and even if your doctor gives you a healing timeline, it probably will not be accurate.
Some people are lucky and actually heal quickly, but others could take closer to a year - it depends on SO many factors. I had a super fast and super simple fistulotomy, and it took all 7 of these months to feel back to normal. So, don't lose hope if it's taking you longer to heal. Be kind to yourself, give yourself grace, and live your life as fully as you can.
I can't tell you what exactly happened, but some kind of switch in my brain flipped at about the 4 month mark and I just stopped getting myself so worked up over this. No more obsessing, no more doom scrolling. I refused to go back to my CRS unless I literally had another abscess in my ass - which thankfully did not happen.
If a setback happened, I just shrugged and kept going. I was SO tired of letting this thing rule my life. I didn't stop caring for myself, but I sure stopped letting my anxiety get the better of me.
I have learned a lot from from this experience. Namely that it's important to separate reasonable amounts of caution and care from unreasonable obsessing. I'm anxious by nature and have a TON of health anxiety, so this was incredibly difficult for me to overcome.
Obviously, if something is clearly wrong, go back to your CRS - but getting riled up over every single minor setback isn't worth the stress and anxiety, and patience truly is a virtue.
I’ve added some extra notes below in case anyone finds them helpful.

Diet, Hygiene, and More -

• I’ll admit that my appetite was horrible for the duration of me dealing with this condition. I didn’t eat much and did a LOT of fasting because I was afraid of having bm’s. I highly recommend not doing this to yourself. I felt fatigued constantly.
  
• Post-op diet is high fiber and generally healthful. CRS said I could resume my normal diet immediately, minus spicy food and alcohol. I’m making the personal choice to eat healthier on my own. I’m eating a lot of soups, whole grain toast, plain skyr yogurt with granola and mixed fruits, bananas, apples, etc. Basically anything easy to digest but also full of nutrients.
  
• Colace stool softener is great and I highly recommend using it pre and post op! Milk of Magnesia is also very good to help get post-op bowels moving.
  
• Make sure you keep your butt super clean and dry at all times pre AND post op. Change your gauze every time you use the bathroom. I would wash back there every night with my removable shower head and some gentle castile soap (I use Dr. Bronner’s brand). Make sure whatever soap you use is UNSCENTED, soaps with scents in them could cause unnecessary irritation.
  
• I started using Calmoseptine ointment with approval from my CRS around the 10-15 week mark (I don't remember when exactly I started, only that I waited until I was confident I'd finished the bulk of my healing). It's nice for creating a moisture barrier as well as helping with discomfort, but it's very messy/sticky, so be aware of this!
  
• For those wondering, I completely abstained from sex until I reached the 4 month post op milestone. It was partly to make sure I was well-healed, but I also had a horrendous self-image and felt anything but sexy all this time. I'm incredibly grateful to my partner for giving me so much patience, it was incredibly hard for both of us.
  

I (44m) had two large hemorrhoidal columns excised about 6.5 weeks ago, with both internal and external involvement. I’d dealt with symptoms for about 20 years, with increasingly frequent episodes of external swelling, which caused pain and discomfort, followed by bright red stools with obvious chunks of blood clots. The bleeding started and became more frequent over the last 1-2 years. Even when external swelling wasn’t present, the external hemorrhoid tissue was substantial, making good hygiene increasingly difficult.
Because of my long history with hemorrhoid disease, I was advised by both my PCP and my colorectal surgeon that even with lifestyle changes, I would still be predisposed to recurrence. I decided to go through with the surgery, in spite of reading some horror stories online, including in this subreddit, because there were enough success stories to give me confidence that the surgery would most likely improve my quality of life. And it has.
Was the pain bad at times, during the first 1-2 weeks? Absolutely. But was it manageable? 100% yes. I was definitely not in constant pain. The first few days the gelfoam soaked in Exparel packed in my butt, along with all the injections at the site, do wonders. The worst pain I felt was during and following my first poo, on day 4. I was loading up on fiber and stool softeners for the first three days, but they weren’t breaking through the Oxycodone-induced constipation, so I increased my Miralax dosing. My poor, wounded, angry anus was not ready to let anything through, but eventually my colon won. The poo itself was soft, fortunately, but it was substantial, and it happened so quickly and forcefully that I had excruciating anal spasms for hours afterward. Even with sitz baths, Oxycodone, ibuprofen, and tylenol. Nothing touched the pain, except time. A muscle relaxer might’ve helped, but I wasn’t prescribed any, and didn’t find the ones I had for a previous injury until days later.
For the first 2-3 weeks, I was mostly fine unless I was pooping or had recently pooped. The consistency of the poop, and how much straining was necessary, made all the difference in how the rest of my day went. Fiber, fiber, fiber. I’ve found that about 4 tsp of Konsyl per day, split between lunch and dinner (I don’t eat breakfast), is my sweet spot. That’s about 20g per day, plus another 10-20g I’m getting from my diet, so 30-40g/day.
There are tons of great post-op recovery posts in this subreddit, so I don’t want to repeat too much of what you can find in those, but did want to address a couple of questions that I had trouble finding answers to before my surgery.
Can you recover without help if you live alone? I was able to. I’m a fit, pretty active, and very independent guy. Other than having a family member sit with me for an hour or two after I got home from the procedure, I was alone for my recovery. Stock up on groceries and easy to prep food in the week before the surgery. If you have friends/family who can drop meals off for you, take advantage of it. Get groceries or meals delivered. Etc. It’s 100% do-able. Just rest and let your body heal.
Can you take care of kids during your recovery? I have 50/50 custody of my elementary school aged child, and was fortunate that their mom was able to keep them my entire first week of recovery. I could’ve done things around the house for them if needed, but I was on Oxycodone for the first 4 days straight, and intermittently for the first 6 days, so I would not have been able to drive them anywhere. Because of that, it would have been hard for them to stay with me. It was helpful not to have anyone else to take care of other than myself.
When can you go back to work? I took three weeks off. I initially planned for two weeks off from my desk job, and then added a week because my bathroom routine was still so unpredictable and intensive that it wouldn’t have been practical for me to be at work. If I worked from home it might’ve been do-able, but I don’t.
Am I completely healed at 6.5 weeks? No, not completely. Leakage is my number one residual issue right now. I’m still wearing a thin panty-liner 24/7. The leakage is primarily that clear, funky/fishy-smelling mucosa, but I will also have some brown mixed in the hours after a poo. I’ve read from others here that this may continue for 2-3 months. I also have some residual skin tags that may still shrink some. My colorectal surgeon discussed the possibility of removing them later on if they continue to bother me, but cautioned that he can’t guarantee “a perfect butthole” because the scarring from skin tag removal may result in more skin tags. I feel like they’re smaller than they were last week, so hopefully it’s just an ongoing healing process.
It has been a long road, but it goes by fast, and is definitely manageable. I’m 100% glad I did it. Even with the residual issues, my quality of life is better than it was 2 months ago. I see light at the end of the tunnel. If you’re having major or chronic issues, definitely consider surgery if your doctor says you’re a candidate. At my post-op appointment, my surgeon said he typically doesn’t recommend surgery for hemorrhoidal disease, but with my presentation, he thought I made the right decision.

If anyone wanted to know my experience with Misoprostol. There is context about blood!
I was given the option to pill or D&C. 10w4 and baby measuring 6w with no heart beat. Me and hubby and doctor agreed on pill being less invasive and would be better since I wouldn’t have to go under for D&C. I also preferred not to have any surgery unless needed to and no risk of infection. Doctor did warn that mentally and physically the pill would be harder since there will be blood involved and I would see it and feel more pain too.
Went to pharmacy right away and got the pill. Took first dose at 7pm. Put 4 tablets into my mouth and let it melt for 15 minutes and then swallowed it. Started cramping and slight bleeding around 8pm and napped while watching TV. Hubby woke me up around 10pm. I did feel nauseous and threw up a bit of my dinner and had diarrhea. Stomach was cramping more than usual periods but I have a pretty strong pain tolerance.
Took second dose at 11pm - 4 tablets melting for 15 minutes and swallowed.
I bled… A LOTTTTTT! I wore overnight pad, period underwear and black biker shorts. (Didn’t want to get my other pjs or pants dirty). Went to bed and started bleeding and there were blood clots. Blood clots are different sizes and one was the about the size of a lime (that’s apparently normal). It was a weird experience. It feels like the blood GUSHES out of you…. like imagine a water ballon just kind of popping inside your vagina. I did not expect that but every time I felt it.. I ran to the bathroom. It got all over the overnight pad, period underwear and even to my shorts. Typically even my heaviest period won’t go through the period underwear without wearing pad on my heaviest flow days.. so that might paint a better picture how much blood there was.
This happened at 12:30am. I changed my pad, new underwear, new shorts. Went back to sleep. Then happened again at 1:45am. Changed again and even showered because so much blood was around my thighs. Then again at 4am, changed and showered. Then again at 7am.
Doctor said if I bled through 2 overnight pads in 1 hour twice (aka 4 pads in 2 hours) to go to the ER. I felt like I bled through only one per hour so I was safe.
Through it all, I went through quite some pads, underwear, shorts and showers. Glad I had 6 period underwear.
I had diarrhea and just felt dizzy. Might be from the loss of blood. Made sure I drank lots of water in between waking up and bathroom cleans.
I did have heavy bleeding for 2 days and then just felt like a regular period after for the next 5-6 days. Still spotting a bit with brown discharge 2 weeks out now.
Hope this helps!! Reach out to me if you have any questions or if you want to chat. Stay strong if you’re reading this and going through this. You’re not alone ❤️

At one point in my life, I nearly lost my sanity. The madness started off as a nightmare, then it leaked into my days.
At first, it was quiet and slow, like the daddy long-leg spider spinning its web in the corner of the ceiling. Then, with a few seconds between each one, water droplets dripped from the faucet into the sink. Each drop rang the same flat, dead note, echoing throughout the apartment. The wallpaper had turned increasingly yellow with every drop, but not a vibrant yellow. Rather, it was sickly and jaundiced, like a dying canary with its feathers falling off.
There was a tear as well. A loose sliver of wallpaper flapped back and forth as the wind blew in through an opened window. It reminded me of the way fatty, loose, and wrinkled skin jiggles within an old woman's armpit. The flap of wallpaper hid something, resembling a head. It lacked eyes, mouth, or nose—just the veiled impression of a head. But before I could get a good look, I was torn from the mystery by the screech of my alarm clock.
I went into the kitchen to find that yesterday’s delivery of bread had gone bad. The nightmare had eaten it from the inside out, leaving nothing but black crumbs for me to scrounge from the floor. When I opened the fridge door, an odor assaulted my nostrils. All the beverages had gone sour, the eggs were cracked, and the greens had browned and withered. With a sigh of defeat, I closed the fridge door. I would have to buy new groceries. But that would mean leaving this apartment, going outside.
Outside.
Out into the world, with all its chaos.
That was where the nightmare wanted me to go. But I wasn't ready, not yet. I couldn't just walk out my front door. It wasn't that easy. Going outside required preparation, and even thinking about the process of getting ready made my head throb. My chest started to ache, as if all the air had been squeezed out of my lungs. I sat in the kitchen, motionless, only listening to the noise of eight spindly legs as they incessantly worked toward some unknown goal.
The spider had spun its web across the ceiling, and the light danced upon it, its long, pale fingers plucking the strings. In an odd way, I couldn't help but marvel at its beauty as it shimmered. It resonated with the muted buzz of trapped insects, mummified victims awaiting their demise in Saran wrap. I could feel their suffocation as the air was squeezed from their lungs. Their frantic movements came to an abrupt halt as the spider reeled them closer.
A silent panic enveloped the walls, and its deathly yellow tinge cast a darker hue than congealed mustard over everything around it.
Like the fading bathroom light, which glowed in a murky gold that shimmered weakly now and then, my reflection in the mirror appeared as a featureless black shape. Cold drops traced over my closed eyelids, the bridge of my nose, my lips, my chin, and cheeks. One of my molars was loose in my mouth, and I lazily flicked it with the tip of my tongue while the rest remained firm and pearly white. There was no pain, only the dread of unlocking the front door, weighing heavily on my stomach.
How did it all start? How did it come to this? There was a time in my life when I didn't feel this unending sickness, this terrible sense of foreboding. There was a time when nightmares confined themselves to my sleep, and sometimes I didn't dream at all. In those innocent days, I had a job, a dull, dead-end office job with my own cubicle. It was a white, square space, and I was just one of a hundred dull, white-collared office drones in identical cubicles. Faceless, uniformed, synchronized. That's what I remembered from the old days.
I sat there, looking at papers stacked in rows that reached such towering heights they seemed to stretch into infinity. Just gazing up at them would strain my neck, their sheer magnitude bearing an intimidating resemblance to the frieze of Roman columns. It brought to mind arched ceilings adorned with intricately carved animal faces and mythical gods entwined in vines. It served as a reminder of just how small and insignificant one could feel, like an ant that could easily be squished beneath the toe of one of those carved deities.
Yet, in my cubicle, there was no beautiful artwork to behold. Instead, my gaze was met with an endless, nauseating expanse of blinding, bright whiteness. The fluorescent lights overhead forced my irises to shrink to the size of a grain. The towering stack of paperwork loomed over me, trembling with every touch, as if threatening to crumble into a million pieces. As the electric fan above blew in my direction, one lone piece of paper teetered on the edge, inching its way over and descending like a delicate feather, finally landing right in front of me.
The page before me remained blank, serving as a mere surface for my coffee mug. Suddenly, I found myself unable to lift the pen, unable to write. All I could manage was to shift uncomfortably in my chair as my left leg trembled uncontrollably. The fluorescent lights above grew increasingly brighter, their heat intensifying as if licking at the back of my neck.
I felt overwhelmed in the vast expanse of cubicles, lost amidst the faceless crowd where everyone consumed the same sandwich and salad, where our dreams blended together into a monotonous haze. In this world, each one of us bore monosyllabic names and identical haircuts.
In an abrupt act, I dropped the pen and abandoned my desk. In the blink of an eye, I found myself outside, perched on the ledge of the 49th floor of the building. The wind jeered at me with a malicious force, while the city and its inhabitants below appeared smaller than ants. Leaning against the building, most people would tremble at such dizzying heights. However, I calmly observed the birds soaring by, vanishing into the clouds as they drifted across the vast expanse of the blue sky, akin to white caps crashing against rugged rocks on a distant shore. I stood at the precipice, poised to leap into the vast unknown, longing to finally awaken from this torment.
Yet, I did not.
Instead, I found myself returning to my desk once more. My coffee mug, bearing a small crack at the bottom, bled onto the blank page, leaving behind a peculiar mark. It almost resembled the shape of a head, faceless and haunting, with invisible eyes that seemed to follow me relentlessly. Though I crumpled up that sheet of paper and discarded it, its presence lingered. As I sat at the desk, absentmindedly rolling the pen between my fingers, its shadow loomed over me, breathing down my neck, prickling my skin and hair like nettles.
The paperwork continued to mount, growing higher and higher, causing the Roman columns to tremble and sway unsteadily. Under its weight, the desk's joints creaked and shuddered. My shoulders ached, worn down by the relentless gaze of the faceless presence. The once-bright light above me became blinding, making the ink from my pen seemingly vanish from the white page.
As the pen slipped from my trembling hand and fell to the floor, the colonnade collapsed, its destruction drowned out by a cacophony of shuffling papers, ringing phones, and the mocking chatter of the wall clock ticking away. I ran down the hallway, propelled by a surge of desperation, bolted through the emergency door, and descended 49 flights of stairs with reckless abandon.
For eight months, I could not bring myself to return to that suffocating cubicle. I imagined it sitting there, empty and abandoned, with only traces of my work lingering stubbornly, like weathered remnants of ancient Rome's walls and columns. I remained stagnant, caught between the past and the future, unable to move backward or forward. Instead, I remained anchored to this apartment, gripped by an inexplicable fear that constricted my lungs and relentlessly throbbed in my heart.
In this little studio, I believed I was safe, if only for a fleeting moment. But now, I could no longer divert my gaze as the nightmare crept out from within the walls, causing the lights to flicker and devouring my food from the inside out.
But still, I couldn't bring myself to step outside, not today. The sky appeared too yellow, too sickly. Perhaps tomorrow would offer a better opportunity. The outside air seemed tainted, unfit to breathe on this particular day. There was something amiss, something poisonous lingering in the atmosphere. Its taste lingered in my mouth, reminiscent of chewing on cotton balls soaked in stale mustard. No amount of milk or vodka could wash it away. It clung to my tongue, playfully flicking against a dangling nerve of one of my teeth.
I vigorously brushed my tongue with a toothbrush, scrubbing until its pristine white coat turned crimson. I winced as I rinsed it with hot water, hoping to alleviate the sensation. Yet, the taste persisted, stubbornly clinging to the tip of my tongue.
Like a horrible itch.
Burning.
Stinging.
Pinching pain.
A glorious red ring with a yellow gem.
I tried to pinch it between my thumb and forefinger, and tears welled up in my eyes. The stinging pain radiated from the tip of my tongue, spreading through my entire being. Yet, it remained, gleaming at me like an ugly sun smirking behind a shroud of smog. The wind persistently blew through the flap in the wallpaper, seeping in through the window. I could sense the presence lurking behind it, fixating its gaze upon me.
As I locked eyes with it, I stood frozen in place. My mouth hung open as the impossible unfolded before me.
It formed a smile without lips and let out a laugh. The sound was flat and dissonant, akin to the incessant drip of water from that wretched loose faucet, slithering down the sink's throat. That same corroded throat into which I had gagged and expelled blood and bile from my stomach. I felt as though all the blood had drained from my face. With trepidation, I raised my eyes to the dirty mirror above the sink. Reflecting back at me was nothing but a husk, a ghost of my former self.
But upon closer inspection, I noticed a change. It crept along at a sluggish, excruciating pace. It began with the whites of my eyes, now tinged with yellow. Yellow. And my pupils were as pitch-black and vacant as a sinkhole. My teeth, too, were misaligned and yellow-ish brown. I had neglected to brush them for weeks, perhaps months, to the point where a layer of plaque had encrusted their surface and wedged between them.
The tooth at the back could no longer find its place. I tapped it once more with the tip of my tongue, feeling its jagged edge scrape against the tender yellow sore. And then it dislodged, bouncing around in my mouth. In sheer disgust, I spat it out. The blood marked a trail to the sinkhole, dangerously close to its edge. I ran my tongue over the remaining teeth, sensing them shift in their positions. Soon, one after another, they cracked and fell, and the little red dots swirled and twirled along with them in the sink. Only a few teeth stubbornly clung to the front, refusing to let go.
You look so ugly. I remembered those words. A colleague had once said them to me during lunch.
"And you look like smeared shit," I shot back. We sat in the corner of the cafeteria, hunched over our sandwiches and coffee. That lipless, smiling joker told me to calm down, claiming they didn't mean it. Oh, how the others laughed. I couldn't bring myself to look any of them in the face.
Weren't we supposed to be friends? Friends who winked and smiled as they plunged knives into your gut, watching your insides spill onto the floor. Friends who pretended to sympathize as they picked up your organs, attempting to put them back, telling you it was just a joke. All wounds heal, they said. But this scar remained hidden beneath my clothes. I was the punchline of the jokes friends liked to share.
When lunch ended, everyone returned to their cubicles. Everyone except me. I sneaked away for a quick trip to the restroom. It was then that I began to feel the tooth move. I flicked it with my tongue.
Flick. Flick.
As all of this came to me, I couldn't even stand to look my reflection in the eye. At least, not without feeling the urge to destroy it, shattering every remaining shard of glass into the sink. The thing behind the wallpaper smiled wider, revealing a row of straight white teeth held together by browning gums. Its deep chuckle resonated throughout the apartment, grating against my skin and pinching my nerves. With every ounce of my dwindling strength, I clenched my fists.
Don't laugh at me.
Don't.
Laugh.
I pushed away the dangling piece of wallpaper and came face to face with it. Straight white teeth. Wide white eyes. Look how it mocked me. Sneered at me. What did it want from me? Why had it intruded into my world?
"Go back! Look at everything you've taken from me. Please, just let me have this day!" I pleaded.
It said nothing in response. Its smile only widened, stretching across the wall and tearing new lines through the wallpaper. The wood snapped and cracked. The nails and joints creaked from within. The wall heaved in and out like someone dying from laughter, gasping for air in desperate suffocation.
Stop laughing.
I took hold of the fluttering piece and traveled along the wall, crushing it in my clenched fist. It felt strange in my hand, warm and soft, almost like dry human skin. The thing's smile now appeared strained, as if it were attempting to endure some hidden anguish. Despite its pride, it couldn't let me hear its soft squeaks of pain. But the more I ripped away, the deeper I dug my fingers into its soft tissue, the tighter it clenched its teeth. With each tightening grip, it began to bleed, its blood seeping under my fingernails. Tears welled up in its eyes.
Nowhere inside me was there an ounce of pity for it. I felt nothing. Seething contempt was all that remained within me. I tore away at every inch of its skin, dismantling it from one end to the other until there was nothing left but its fragile bones. Its discarded skin littered the floor, staining the carpet with its blood. Cockroaches scurried in and out of its empty sockets, while termites nibbled at the wood in its final dying breaths. Just as I began to turn away, I noticed something at the center. Stuck between its ribs was a dead canary. The bird's color had faded to gray, its lifeless body consumed from the inside out, its remaining insides shriveled to crumbs.
I cooled myself down with a handful of freezing water from the faucet. When I opened my eyes, I no longer saw the featureless black shape staring back at me. My teeth were intact. The bubble on my tongue had burst, oozing its yellow pus. Its taste was sour, like mustard churning in expired milk.
The faucet continued to leak.
I realized I had forgotten to properly wash my hands. My fingernails were caked with blood and grime. I reasoned that I could do it later, perhaps before I went grocery shopping. You see, I could do everything later.
But right now, all I wanted was sleep.

Hi everyone,
So long story short I already have hormonal imbalances with my Hyperthyroidism (Graves). So Went with a CopperIUD (Mona Lisa). Almost passed out when then put it back in December 2023.
Since then I have been bleeding between my period especially having brown discharge and my period lasts 8 days on average since the Copper IUD.
I have almost constant cramps and during ovulation.
Went to see my endocrinologist and said that we should do an echo to remove endometriosis suspicions and ovaries cysts.
She prescribed also bunch of tests including CA 125 and when I googled it… i freaked out.
Have you been experiencing similar symptoms?

Chapter Two
The next day, the balding man and his female companion ate breakfast and discussed what he had seen. The woman’s mouth had tightened into a thin line, but she had said nothing as they repacked their bags and headed toward the town square.
A small market had opened near the inn, once the sun had cleared the tree line, and the villagers milled about trading goods for food and haggling over the price of eggs. The minstrel, who had vacated his straw bed at the first light of day, was nowhere to be seen.
They found him on the other side of the market, not so out of the way of shoppers he wouldn’t be noticed, but wisely not in their midst where he would be bumped and jostled.
He had placed his hat on the ground in front of him for people to toss coins in and so far, had managed to gather three coppers and one silver. A productive morning compared to how he had left the tavern the night before. A small group of children had gathered around him, clapping along as he tapped a foot for time.
“Sing about Biddy!” one of the children yelled. The minstrel smiled and the tune immediately changed.

Biddy the harpy was
Flap-mouthed and frothy
Just a tiny bit saucy
Like too much gravy
On devil-poached eggs…
Her feathers were musty
Tangled and dusty
And the tweak of her beak
Twisted just so

Now being a harpy
She wasn’t quite sharp
Her wit was as brilliant
As an old rusted penny
But talented she was
At spitting at bugs
And weaving doilies
Out of prickers and slugs

One hideous day
When the clouds were just bitter
And the rain decided to fall
A backwards patter-pitter
The harpies assembled
At the great harpy nest
And voted by claw
Which harpy was best

But Biddy was stupid
And forgot to arrive
So the harpies rejected her
And cast her away
Then Biddy was forced
To pluck all of her feathers
And that is the tale
Of Biddy’s demise

The children laughed in delight as the musician made faces and gestured wildly along with the nonsensical song. A few of their parents wandered over and tossed more coppers into his hat as payment for entertaining their children. The minstrel dipped his head in acknowledgment. He was a glorified babysitter. But money was money, and his pride did not feed his stomach.
The bald man and woman watched for a bit, before moving off to do their own shopping. Now was not the time for conversations.
By the noon hour the market thinned out for the day. Vendors packed up their remaining goods and shoppers headed home to get out of the midday heat. The minstrel gathered the coins out of his hat and placed them in a small pouch on his belt. He meandered over to a bread stand which had a few rolls left. He bought two and pocketed one, which he intended to save for dinner.
The bald man and woman waited until he was settled, then approached him.
“You’re very entertaining,” the woman began as a means of greeting. The man looked up in surprise. Most people did not stop to chat.
“Yes, well my talents have never failed among my younger audiences.” He bit into the roll and chewed slowly, trying to make his meager meal last as long as possible.
“Are children’s songs and fairy tales the only things you know?” She continued. It was bait and the woman knew it. She had been watching him long enough to know he was a skilled musician.
A spark suddenly appeared in the young man’s eyes. “Singer, writer, storyteller, collector of folklore and a musician. I’m a trained entertainer. For copper, I will sing you of our greatest heroes or for several, I will write you ballads that will make your heart bleed.”
The bald man reached into his pocket and pulled out a copper. He tossed it to the young man. “Do you know any tales about the sign of the red stars.”
“The red stars? Those are dark magic tales. Grownups don’t usually ask me to tell them fairytales.”
The woman smiled. “Humor us. Do you know anything about that legend?”
The minstrel scratched his head, thinking. “Mind you, I don’t make it a habit of memorizing dark magic. Brings bad luck.” The bald man grunted.
“Let me see,” the young man picked up his lute and strummed a bit, trying to find the chords that would prompt his memory.
“We don’t need you to sing it to us,” the bald man said a bit gruffly.
The musician kept strumming. “It’s how I remember. Everything is tied into music for me. Life, breath, memory. To find the information you want, I must find the right vibrations, the right part that was in my mind when I heard it.”
His fingers tripped across the strings, moving down the neck of the lute. He paused, twisted a peg, kept going. A lower sound this time. Back and forth, back and forth he his hands moved, until at last he began to chant:

One star, then two stars.
Two stars to start.
Where one star is a warning, on two stars remark.
The third star of Ignis sees Duhmös arise.
Mesor will follow
Unless the demon bull dies -
When the first star arises
Then two souls depart
Four must be bonded to find Althea’s golden heart
Regret begets courage
Virtue beats fear
What was once must be again
Before the Bosyrrus appear

The minstrel finished his recitation, pleased with himself for remembering it all. The bald man turned to the woman. "That's different from what we've heard."
“What was once must be again…” the woman repeated quietly to herself. “Althea’s golden heart…” She drummed her fingers against her lips. “Thank you, musician. Have you heard anything else like that?”
“Call me Geige. And I’m afraid that is all I have heard about the red stars. Now, if you want to hear more about the Bosyrrus, I can tell you stories for days.”
“Bosyrrus? What is that?” The bald man asked.
“The personal armies of Mesor, the Reaper King of the Third Age. Nasty business. Brutal warriors who –“ Geige paused looking in confusion at the young woman. “Is she… okay?”
The bald man turned toward his companion, who was no longer paying attention to the two men. She had turned her face toward the sun and stood as if transfixed, her hands moving as if conducting an unseen orchestra.
“She’s fine.” The bald man sighed with resignation.
“What is she doing?”
“Listening to the echoes.”
“What echoes, I don’t hear anyth-”
“The echoes of time. She’s listening to the echoes of time,” the bald man cut him off. He hated this part. The confusion, the questions, the...
“She’s a Time Seer,” Geige stated factually, surprising the bald man. It was rare that anyone knew what a time seer was these days.
“Yeah. She is. And yes, they’re rare. No, she can’t talk to your dead aunt in the past or anyone else for that matter.” He was going to shut down that bit of nonsense before it got going.
Geige raised an eyebrow. “Get that a lot?” The bald man grunted again. Geige watched as the young woman’s hands continued to swirl around her. “What is she doing with her hands?”
“Concentrating. Or filtering. I guess it’s like how you said you use that hunk of wood and strings to access your memory. She uses her hands to help listen for the echoes, and not the rest.”
“The rest?”
“The rest of time I guess,” he answered. “She says it leaves echoes. She sorts through them for what she wants.” It was the bald man's turn to look at Geige questioningly. "I thought you knew what a Time Seer was."
“I’ve never seen a Time Seer work before.” Geige admitted.
“That’s ‘cause she’s the last,” the bald man said bluntly and folded his arms across his chest, marking the end of the conversation.
Geige contemplated that bit of information. Time Seers had always been rare, but was she really the last one? A snippet of a memory, of a time when the Seers and magicians had been culled from the land tugged at the edge of his mind. Geige noted it but did not dare play on his lute for fear of interrupting the trance.
Finally, the trance ended. The woman turned to them. Her cloak hood had slipped back and Geige could now see her face easily. Round cheeks and bright brown eyes peered out from a mess of honey brown hair. She smiled and then gently sank to the ground.
The bald man was with her instantly, pulling a flask from somewhere on his belt. He passed her the flask, and she took a deep drink before handing it back. There was a long period of silence, while the two men waited for her to get her bearings.
“I’m good now, thank you Alvi,” she finally said addressing her companion by name. Alvi hesitated, then tucked the flask back into his belt. “I think we should be on our way,” she said rising slowly to her feet. “Thank you, Geige. You’ve were very helpful.”
“You’re welcome, Miss…?”
“Iris. My name is Iris,” she brushed a hand over the dust on her cloak. “I’m afraid we Seers are so rare; we only go by our first names now.”
“I don’t suppose there are many seers named Iris either,” Geige joked.
“No, I’m the only one,” she smiled, and Geige thought he heard sadness in the statement.
Geige followed Iris and Alvi to the edge of the village, which wasn’t far. Iris thanked him again, but Alvi said nothing. The two departed, and as Geige watched them walk away, he had the sense that he had been a key clicking into a very important lock.


Geige walked back toward the inn plucking the strings of his lute thoughtfully. A few people wandered by, but the shoppers had gone on home to start their afternoon chores. The few merchants with shops nearby kept their doors open and encouraged him to play, as it was a nice change from the normal monotony of the blacksmith’s hammer clanking. But they weren’t paying, and he stopped after a while. If the bread wasn’t free, neither was his music.
It was too warm for playing anyway he decided. Geige settled into the shade of a nearby tree and counted the money in his coin purse. Five marks and the bronze decus Alvi had given him. A pitiful sum for a pitiful man.
He stared at the coins for a long moment; memories of a more comfortable time came to him. He thought of Alvi and Iris, the Time Seer. They had paid him well for that one small bit of information. Why?
A flash of insight. He repeated the words he had given them. Then repeated them again. And as understanding settled on him, Geige found he couldn’t move fast enough. He gathered his lute, tucked it into its satchel and darted into the inn. A little while later he emerged again, another bag slung over his shoulder. He hurried down the road after Alvi and Iris, hoping they had gone straight and would therefore be easy to find.
They had. He caught side of them and hailed them with a wave. Alvi and Iris turned in surprise and watched with some amusement as the young man jogged toward them, his lute and bag bouncing awkwardly with each stride.
“Take… me… with… you…” Geige gasped as he slowed to a stop before them, a hand planted firmly to his side which was now screaming in protest. Besides being underfed, he was woefully out of shape.
“What do we need of a starving musician?” Alvi asked, as if he had read Geige’s mind.
Geige braced his hands on his knees, certain his heart was coming out of his chest. “Background music. Every traveler needs background music.”
Alvi scowled and said bluntly, “Your music wasn’t that good.”
Iris frowned at her friend. “I think what Alvi means is that we can’t afford to pay you for your entertainment. Our means are very limited.”
“I don’t want payment,” Geige lightly wheezed, finally catching his breath.
“Then what do you want?” Alvi demanded.
“You’re searching for the heart of Althea aren’t you?” A look passed between Iris and Alvi. Geige noted it. “It’s why you asked me about the sign of the red stars. You need to find out if you can change your future. Well, I do too. Want to know if I can change my future, I mean.”
Iris looked at him steadily. “Time in the future isn’t set.”
“No,” he met her gaze, desperate. “But certain paths can be avoided if one knows a part of the map. Isn’t that information worth finding?” Please, please take me. “Besides, I think I know where to find her and it would be far safer if we were traveling together.”
Alvi grunted. The musician had a point. He said to Iris, “He’s not wrong. We’d travel safer with another.” She nodded in agreement, “A guide would make our journey easier.”
“I have my own food,” Geige said, twisting to show them the other bag hanging next to his lute, as if this detail would seal the deal.
There was a little hesitation, but then Iris said “Alright. Come with us. But please don’t play any music, we’re not looking to draw attention to ourselves here.”
A too-wide smile of delight spread across Geige’s face, emphasizing the thinness of his face. “As you wish, my lady. I shall only walk and talk at the same time.”
Alvi grunted again, not pleased by the promise. He was not a fan of small talk. “So which way do you suggest we go, musician?”
Geige pointed down the road the way they were headed. “That way for now. We go west.”

Not many kids can say they have a superhero for a father.
My Dad was an amazing man. He was the coolest person in the world.
Known as our town’s superhero, he used his newfound powers to bring down evil villains who threatened to take over.
Nobody knew how he and a number of others acquired their abilities.
There were rumours of a chemical explosion in the powerplant.
Some people even believed my Dad was from a different planet, while others were convinced it was natural human evolution. My Dad could shoot lasers out of his eyes, and he was super strong.
When I was seven years old, he single-handedly stopped The Cerebral Drainer, a psychopath with a vacuum like power who took the lives of ten innocent people, sucking out their brains in broad daylight. Dad saved a child live on local TV, swooping down from the sky and telling the panicking crowd everything is going to be okay. Then when I was twelve, Dad took down Rat Face, a villain who filled the streets with disease ridden rodents.
My Dad was our town’s superhero, and in exchange for keeping his secret from the rest of the world, he protected all of us.
He was the best superhero (and father) by day, and family-man and loving husband by night. I was Millie Myers, a completely ordinary high school girl, and daughter of Star-man.
It wasn't out of the ordinary for the press to be swarming our door when I got home from school.
Pushing through the crowd of my Dad’s adoring fans, I flashed my perfect smile at the cameras.
As Star-man’s daughter, I was yet to reveal my power to the town.
I could tell they were gunning for it, their wide and frenzied eyes raking me up and down.
The older I was getting, the less patient the town was. Dad told them in a press conference that I was just a late bloomer. Channel 7 news was waiting for me at our front door, immediately sticking a microphone in my face. I was told not to talk to the press. I was tired, and the cameras were hurting my eyes.
The anchorwoman, Heather Carlisle, was already yelling in my face.
“Millie Myers! Is it true your father is currently interrogating the son of the infamous villain, Six-Eyes?”
Six Eyes was the opposite of my father.
Dad strived to protect our town and everyone in it.
Six Eyes, who was famous for the mutation that came with his ability, sought to destroy it. It was almost a year since he had brainwashed the Mayor and almost taken control of our tiny town.
Dad did manage to apprehend him, only for Six Eyes to break out of prison two weeks later.
His eighteen year old son, Cartwright, wanted nothing to do with him. He had even legally changed his name to get as far away from his father as possible.
The boy was only in town for a few weeks, on vacation from college.
However, over the last few days, my father had reasons to believe Six-Eyes was in contact with his estranged son.
So, he planned to question the kid on his Dad’s whereabouts.
I twisted around, maintaining a wide smile. “No comment.” I told the cameras.
The anchorwoman nodded slowly, thrusting her microphone further into my face. I had to hold back a sneeze. “But your father is interrogating him now, correct? Millie, can you tell us what… techniques he is using?” She demanded, her expression riddled with excitement.
She was trying to get me to spill or trip over what I was saying so my words could be taken out of context.
But I was already heavily media trained not to say a thing. I couldn't say the same for when I was a little younger.
I blindly told the press a lot of things I regret.
Dad didn't get mad easily, but his smile did start to slightly falter when I told Channel 7 our family's business.
Shutting the press down, I shook my head, making sure to stretch my lips into a big, cheesy grin. Just like my Dad told me. I cleared my throat.
“Rest assured, Cartwright is in good hands, I can promise you all that.”
I nodded at the crowd, making direct eye contact with each of them. Dad said if I wanted the crowd to believe my earnest words, I had to look into each and every eye, and mean it. That's what I did.
“As we all know, the son of Six Eyes is not a bad person, and we should not blame him for his father’s crimes. I cannot speak for my Dad, but I can assure you, he will find the villain Six Eyes.”
I held my breath, pausing for just enough time for the crowd to register my words.
“And bring him to justice.”
When I turned to open my door, the spell was broken, more questions thrown at me.
“Millie, is it true you have not inherited your father’s abilities?”
Someone else screamed in my face, and I choked down a yell.
“Millie Myers, can you tell us more about your father’s interrogation?!”
I shrugged. “I don't know. He's just talking to him.”
“Millie!” A wide eyed redhead followed me, stumbling over my mother’s rose garden.
When he carelessly stamped on a blooming rose, I resisted the urge to shove him back. He looked like an ammateur, a college kid, maybe, armed with just his iPhone and a dream.
The guy got close.
Too close for comfort, swiping at my jacket.
His breath was just coffee and cigarettes. “Are you aware of the photos floating around of you and Kai Hendrix, the son of Oculus? Can you confirm that you are in a relationship?”
A younger woman threw herself in front of him.
“Miss Myers, is there a reason why your brother does not come outside–”
Ignoring them, I opened the door, stepped inside our house, and slammed it behind me. Once inside, I let myself breathe, dropping my backpack and pulling off my jacket. There was a folded square of paper tucked into my pocket.
I pulled it out and ripped it into pieces. There were exactly 1,370 tally marks carved into our front door. With a rusty nail, I scratched another tally, crossing a group of four. 1,371 days.
Kicking off my shoes, I strode into the downstairs living room.
“I'm home.” I told my twin brother.
Ethan Myers was born three minutes after me. We weren't classed as identical twins, but Mom was convinced we were.
Both of us had thick brown hair, bearing our mother’s soft features. While I kept mine in a strict ponytail, Ethan’s had grown out lighter and curlier than mine, hanging in dark eyes. Ethan was the Myers twin who was not in the town’s spotlight.
My brother was in his usual place, sitting on the couch, knees pressed to his chest, half lidded eyes glued to the corpse of our TV. The screen had been hollowed out a long time ago. I skipped into the kitchen and filled a glass of orange juice, took a quick sip, and headed over to my brother, pressing the drink to his lips.
Ethan didn't respond for a moment, before his lazy eyes rolled to me, life erupting into his expression. He gulped it down, juice trickling down his chin.
When I withdrew the glass, he shot me a grateful smile. I winced when he straightened up, the sound of jingling metal sending me stumbling back.
“Thanks, Mills.”
He held up his right hand, just like when we were little kids. “High five?”
I ignored his childlike grin, hollowed out eyes penetrating right through me.
Ethan was never looking at me. He was always looking over my shoulder. But when I followed his gaze, there was nothing there. I ruffled his hair, resisting the urge to wrap my arms around him.
But I had to keep my distance.
I stepped back, my gaze trailing the ceiling. “Where's Dad?”
Ethan’s eyes travelled back to the TV, his lips pricking into a smile.
“Basement.” He said. “Daddy is interrogating the villain’s son.”
I nodded, pulling my Switch from my bag and dropping it into his lap.
It used to be Ethan’s. In fact, he had carved his initials into the back. “You can play with this, you know." I forced out, trying to stop my hands from trembling.
“You don't have to keep…” I turned to the shattered TV screen, my heart catapulting into my mouth. Ethan didn't look at me, his gaze boring into the TV.
He didn't respond, so I headed towards the basement door.
But not before my brother let out a hysterical giggle.
When I turned to him, Ethan was seventeen years old, laughing at invisible cartoons.
“Do you expect me to play with no fucking hands?”
I didn't, or couldn't, reply.
“Hey, Millie?” Ethan hummed, when I pulled open the basement door.
The chill that followed set my nerve endings on fire. My brother’s voice was deeper, no longer the childish giggle I'd gotten used to. In the corner of my eye, his head turned towards me. Standing on the threshold for a fraction of a second, I think part of me wondered if Ethan’s mind had pieced itself back together.
“Mom wants juice too.”
My twin’s voice was suddenly so small. “Can you get her some?”
I pretended not to hear him, skipping down to the basement, ignoring how cold each step was, the ingrained red dried into concrete. The best part of my day was visiting my father while he was working. I held my breath, easing my way down each step. “Hey, Dad?” I called, easing myself through the dark.
I always made sure to announce my presence. “Daddy.” I pulled my lips into the biggest, cheesiest smile. “I'm home.”
“Pumpkin!” Dad’s voice echoed from the bottom of the stairs. “How's my favorite girl doing?”
Moving further down the stairs, I could hear screaming.
Wailing.
Sobbing.
There were specific rules I had to abide by when stepping inside the basement.
I had to be extra quiet if my father was doing superhero business. Over the years, though, Dad had relaxed the rules a little. When I pushed through the plastic sheeting, Daddy had already opened up the boy’s head. It's not like I was surprised. He'd moved away from the interrogation stage a long time ago.
Star-man stood in a simple suit and tie, a white coat draped over.
My father was young for his age, dark brown hair and pale features.
Cartwright didn't look so good, lying on his back, his half lidded gaze glued to the ceiling.
I could see sharp red spilled across the floor and the bed he was strapped to.
Star-man loomed over him, cradling the boy’s jerking head between blood slicked gloves. The closer I got, I could see the exposed meat of the boy’s brain leaking from the pearly white of his skull.
Closer.
Cartwright's body was quaking, his wrists straining against velcro straps.
My father’s fingers gently stroked across the pink of his brain, tiny sparks of electricity bleeding from his index. Star-man's grin widened, and I watched the villain’s son writhing under his touch.
I could see the tiny sparks of electricity running from Dad’s fingers, forcing his victim into submission. The villain’s son’s eyes rolled back, a wet sounding sob escaping his lips. He was still conscious, and could feel everything.
Star-man lifted his head, his eyes finding me.
“Sweetie! How was school?”
He let go of Cartwright's head, delicately changing his gloves for brand new clinical white ones. “Your teacher called about a certain test you have been trying to avoid.” Dad tutted, swiping his bloody hands on his coat.
When Cartwright tried to wrench from the bed, he knocked the kid back down with a laugh. “Millie, I did say, there will be consequences if you flunk your tests.”
He gestured for me to come closer with a blood drenched glove, and I did.
Star-man prodded a single finger into the raw flesh of Cartwright's brain, and the boy screamed, writhing, blood running thick from his nose. “Do I need to take your phone away, hmm? How about the school trip to New York? Millie, I don't have to sign the permission slip.” He turned back to the villain’s son, hanging over the boy with a laugh.
“What do you think?” He cleared his throat.
When Dad nodded at me, I laughed too. “Young Mr Cartwright, the human brain does not have nerves, so I don't know why you're screaming. It is quite embarrassing for a boy of your age.”
He slapped the boy’s cheek playfully, and Cartwright wailed.
1,400 days, I thought, watching my father torture the teenage boy.
1,400 days since Star-man walked into our house, burned down our door, and announced himself as our new father.
I was thirteen years old in middle school.
Ethan and I were watching TV in the living room, and there he was.
Star-man, with his signature grin, standing between the melted remnants of our front door.
Stella, our little sister, squeaked in delight.
“Star-man!” She jumped off of the couch.
Ethan gently dragged her back, holding her to his chest.
“Hey, Mom?” He yelled, his voice shaking.
“There's someone at the door.”
Star-man chuckled, taking a step inside our hallway.
“Oh, no, I'm not here for your mother.”
1,400 days since he murdered our mother, lasering her head cleanly from her shoulders when she threw herself in front of us and begged him to take her.
There was wet warmth running across the concrete floor. I barely noticed, hopping over it.
1,400 days since Star-man burned our little sister alive in front of our eyes.
Star-man didn't want three children.
He wanted two.
1,400 days since our father nailed wooden planks over the door, announcing Ethan and I as his legacies.
Ethan started to spiral. He tried to escape out his bedroom window, and then more dangerously, jumping off of the roof of our house, and that just made our father angry. He burned a hole in the TV, and then hollowed out the screen.
Star-man just wanted a son and a daughter. That's what he told my brother.
He could not procreate because of the mutation causing his ability. But he had always wanted children.
Star-man promised us he was going to be the best father anyone would ask for.
And he was.
100 days after murdering our mother and sister, Ethan and I were plunged into the town’s spotlight.
“These are my children!” Star-man told a crowd of flashing cameras.
He wrapped his arms around the two of us, pulling us closer.
*“Ladies and gentlemen, I would like you to meet Millie and Ethan Myers from my first marriage.”
Star-man addressed the crowd with earnest eyes.
“I know what you're thinking, and no, these two are little rascals,” he ruffled our hair a little too hard, and I made sure to laugh and smile and not cry. “Millie and Ethan do not share my abilities.”
His lips spread into a grin.
“Yet.”
That word had been hanging over me since the press-conference.
Yet.
Presently, Dad was crawling in my head again.
Smile, Millie!.
I did, smiling so much, blood pooled from my lips.
Dad promised neither of us would be sad again. We wouldn't fear him or anything else. In fact, we were going to be happy, smiling, perfect children forever, his shining legacies he would dangle in front of the town on our eighteenth birthday.
It was his birthday present to us, and I was so excited.
The closer I was getting to my father, I could sense him fashioning my smile, wider and wider, until I couldn't breathe.
He didn't care that I was bleeding.
That my eyes were stinging.
All he cared about was that I loved him as my father.
“Come here, Millie.”
I forced myself forwards, swallowing vomit filling the back of my mouth.
If I screamed, I would end up like my brother. Ethan was on a permanent time out until his 18th birthday. Star-man was yet to forgive my twin trying to stab him at Thanksgiving dinner. Dad said Ethan’s mental state was puberty, but I was more akin to believing it was a mixture of trauma, as well as our father’s attempt to poison my brother with powers at fourteen years old which almost killed him. Dad was smart enough to stop the procedure before he killed his only son.
I blinked, my legs buckling, footsteps faltering.
Sometimes I think I can pull away from his influence.
“Millie Myers.” Dad hummed, skimming his finger across a variety of scalpels. Cartwright watched him feverishly. “Don't make me ask again, Pumpkiiiiin.”
Still.
I felt my thoughts start to melt away, replaced with artificial happiness choking me. Our father was the best Dad in the whole world. I wouldn't ask for any other father, and I didn't even miss my mother!
With that thought slamming into me, I skipped over to my father with a grin.
Around him were rejects, corpses piled to the ceiling, limbs and heads and torso’s contorted and merged into one mass of gore.
Human’s he attempted to turn into minions.
But there were also successful villains.
The Cerebral Drainer, and Rat Face had been ripped apart and put back together again. Dad was saving them for a quiet day. The Myers basement was my father’s workshop. When I joined his side, he ran his fingers over Cartwright's skull.
I was surprised when the villain’s son let out a sudden, hysterical giggle, his eyes rolling to pearly whites. “What are you doing to him?” I asked, intrigued, running my hands over the boy’s restraints. This time, Cartwright's body contorted into an arch, maniacal laughter escaping his lips.
When his back slammed into metal, the ground rumbled.
“Now, what is funny, hmm?” Star-man asked in a low hum.
The boy responded by spitting in his face, shrieking with giggles.
Dad cleared his throat, swiping blood from his cheek.
“That's not funny.”
I was keenly aware of several instruments dangling above my head.
Cartwright's body jolted, and they hit the ground.
Dad turned his attention to me. “What is your nightmare of a brother doing, young lady?”
His words shattered part of his influence.
I felt my breath start to quicken, my heart starting to pound.
Fear.
Ethan hadn't moved in days, weeks, months.
Glued to that one seat, caught inside his own delusion.
Ethan was watching TV when Mom’s brains were splattered across the walls.
He was watching TV when our little sister’s flesh bubbled into the living room carpet.
“Ethan is watching TV.” I hummed, “What are you doing to the villain’s son?” I pointed to the boy’s contorting fingers. They turned clockwise, straining under harsh velcro straps.
Cartwright was trying to twist off my head like a bottletop. I was lucky to have my father’s protection.
Dad shot me a grin. “Well, you see, Millie.” He said, shoving the hysterical boy back onto the bed. Madness. I saw it in his eyes, igniting every part of his face, running through his nerve endings.
That is what made a villain, what we all saw on the local news.
It was the loss of humanity, logic quite literally burned from the brain stem.
Complete, unbridled euphoria, accepting insanity.
I had already seen this exact look.
The Cerebral Drainer’s psychotic grin.
Rat Face’s all too familiar and horrific chittering laugh.
Six Eyes’s Alice In Wonderland smile.
Dad rocked the boy’s head back and forth. Cartwright giggled along, his gaze finding nothing, penetrating nothing. His hands went limp, and he gave up trying to yank my brain from my skull. “We can't have heroes without villains, can we?”
I reached out, poking the boy in the face.
“So, he's like his father?”
Dad almost looked like a proud father. “Oh, no, honey, he's better than his father. He's already setting an example.” Starman nudged me playfully. “Your father would not exist without the bad guys,” he said, tracing a finger over the boy’s cheek. “We’re just lucky we have a town full of naive fuck-wits.”
Cartwright laughed harder. Hard enough to send him toppling off of the bed with a wet, meaty sounding smack.
I was partially aware of my body reacting. My breaths quickened, a thick slime creeping up my throat. I think I stepped back. I think I almost screamed.
I forgot his head was hanging open, half of his brains leaking out.
But I don't think Cartwright needed a brain anymore.
Whatever was left of it was blackened, thick, poisoned streaks running up down what had been healthy pink and grey.
My Dad scooped him up, and plonked him back onto ice cold steel.
His evil laugh was fake, manufactured, programmed directly into his mind.
Part of me wondered if this was his father’s fate too.
Six Eyes.
Was he a result of my father’s experiments?
The crazy thing is, the more I want to scream, my chest heaving, fear starting to gnaw away at me, the stronger my father’s influence is. The villain’s son was stitched back up with not even a hair out of place and thrown into the back with the other finished minions.
If he recovered well, Cartwright, son of Six Eyes, would be going on a town rampage very soon.
Well, he was the villain’s son after all.
Instead of screaming, I smiled.
Dad taught me everything about cutting up humans. Human brains were so easy to manipulate.
Because humans were bad.
The people like my Dad were better.
I grabbed a scalpel, sticking it into Cartwright's hand.
His whimper of pain collapsing into hysterical laughter didn't give me hope.
If he reacted positively to a blade going through his skin, he wasn't worth saving.
Once that thought crossed my mind, however, I REALLY LOVED MY DAD.
The mental declaration almost sent me to my knees.
“Go upstairs and do your homework.” Dad said, wheeling Cartwright into the back room. “I'll be upstairs to cook dinner in ten minutes.”
“Sure, dad.”
His influence was like a wire wrapped around my throat.
Squeezing.
“Oh, and Millie?”
I didn't turn around. “Yes?”
“Chocolate or strawberry for your birthday cake?”
I froze, my smile stretching right across my face.
He knew my answer. Dad baked us a cake 4 hours after I trashed the slimy remnants of my little sister. Star-man forced me to peel my sister from the carpet and dump her in a trash bag.
I could still smell her charred flesh hanging in the air.
Star-man made a giant chocolate cake and frosting.
He made us eat every single morsel.
Every bite was agonising.
“Chocolate, Daddy.” I said, swallowing my lunch.
Dad chuckled, and somewhere in the back, Cartwright started laughing.
Starting as quiet giggles, they became full on guffaws.
Star-man ignored him.
“That's right, Princess.”
I nodded, heading back up the stairs.
Greeting my brother, I cranked the Alexa to full volume.
I always listen to music when I'm doing my homework.
Filling a glass of water, I held it to Ethan’s lips with three fingers.
Ethan downed it in three gulps, and then nodded in one single motion.
Star-man may be a highly intelligent psychopath, but he is yet to notice my brother is not as brain dead as he thinks.
Yes, he still watches TV.
But he's also thinking.
Dad is under the impression my twin doesn't need to be under his control.
But Ethan has been planning.
And slowly, over days, weeks, months, he has been putting together our escape plan.
It has been 1,400 days since Ethan and I tried to escape our father.
1,370 days since we started to scratch our days of captivity into the door.
10 days until we turn eighteen.
Four days until we get the fuck out of here.

Synopsis: Markus is summoned from Earth by evil beings looking for a 'weak and primitive' creature to use as sacrificial entertainment. What they got instead was a human. Immediately after arriving, Markus awakens to an ability so rare, so powerful that it makes every god on Firellia desperate to recruit him as their new champion.
Learning to control his innate mastery over mana, Markus will devour the very essence of any monster, demon, or god that dares get in his way, determined to never lose his freedom again.
——
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Well, that could’ve gone worse.
Maxen wasn’t a crack dealer. What he did end up being was a brothel owner. He found Markus’ power interesting, and hoped to use his ability to transfer mana to invigorate his workers with incredible energy, ensuring they could continue to see clients, perform shows, and generally be available near enough twenty-four hours a day for as long as humanly possible.
As Markus understood it, the most valued courtesans were in such high demand that it actually behooved Maxen to limit their availability. Something about retaining their exclusivity.
It was the dozens upon hundreds of lower-ranked workers he owned that he wished to see working twenty-four seven, insisting that such a life would be more than splendid for any of his employees, for they ‘did so enjoy working for him’, and ‘endless work would only mean endless fulfillment’ for any of them.
Markus wasn’t so sure about that. He turned Maxen down, but not before hearing his offer. Mainly because Maxen had led with it:
After he’d finished training in the necessary method to transfer energy between subjects, he would’ve been contracted to appear at the brothel every evening to take mana from livestock and distribute it to workers.
Transferring energy itself wasn’t something that was outside the reach of regular magicians, Maxen had explained. But it was difficult to do properly. Too often, botched mana transfers resulted in either the subject of the transfer, the source of the mana, or the middleman enacting the exchange having some issue that screwed everything else up.
Load a person with too much mana and the effects could be catastrophic. Take too much away and similar issues could occur. Then, beyond quantity were the matter of types and grades. Regular magicians only had a limited understanding of these.
That was why the Innate Trait of Mana Manipulation was so desirable to Maxen. The ability to properly portion mana in exact grades and percentiles and transfer it smoothly from multiple subjects to multiple recipients over and over again without failing was something not even the most practiced magician could do without a decent chance of failure.
It was something that, with practice, Markus should be able to do effortlessly.
And for a couple hours of mana transferring a night, every night, Maxen was willing to offer Markus what seemed to be a ton of benefit. A hundred gold a night, an amulet with a thirty mile range that would open a portal to the brothel whenever Markus needed it, and beyond that, he’d also offered something called a ‘boon’.
This boon was a fragment of a godly power, one which would allow Markus to persuade people of things more easily, as well as mitigate hostilities between Markus and creatures with a lesser Spirit attribute than him.
It sounded tempting, but ultimately the costs outweighed the benefits. This was only cemented by the fifty year contract Maxen had in mind.
“If you’re unwilling, then you are unwilling. It is a shame. Your life in Firrelia could’ve been a rather fortuitous one, unfettered with worries.”
Markus was pretty sure he could get hired as a bartender or florist here and some monster or other would still come along to try and murder him within the week. The prospect of a worry-free life on Firrelia sounded like lunacy at this point, and he’d only been here a single day.
He refrained from saying as much, but Maxen seemed surprised when Markus turned him down.
He was at least pleasant about it. He spent almost the entire meeting between them combing his long, pristine hair. At a point, he conjured a piece of meat from seemingly nowhere and fed it to the helldog, who leapt up in excitement the moment it smelled the freshly cooked beef.
Markus was ashamed to say his stomach rumbled. He felt more ashamed to say that he’d been struggling to sit upright for most of this meeting.
“Have you named this one yet?” Maxen asked as the dog graciously accepted its meal, gnawing and ripping at it against the floor as he spoke. “I’m surprised you’ve managed to tame such a beast. Whoever sent her must’ve employed a rather sloppy spell of frenzy, but to manage to tame such a creature is impressive still.”
“Any idea who sent it?” Markus felt disarmed around Maxen. He’d struggled more than he should’ve to reject his offer. It was like his presence alone was so calming and innocuous that Markus almost wanted to take his honeyed words about these endlessly devoted workers to be true, even if his heart told him the concept was inherently twisted.
“I would be remiss to share even conjecture on that, I’m afraid” Maxen said, his tone serious. “I am a neutral party. I work to ensure as much. I do not make enemies with my fellow deities, no matter how they might like to play at war.”
Markus coughed once more, bringing a hand up to his mouth. He touched his forehead and felt sweat. “Well, can you tell me anything that might help?”
“Yes. I can tell you that you absolutely stink of mana.” His voice turned more stern, almost like that of a parent. “If you continue to hold so much power within you, you will die. Every minute, you increase the chances of Toxicosis taking hold.”
Shit, he’s right. I haven’t worked to get the mana out of my body since I last fought, and I still have way too much swirling around in me. No wonder I feel so fucked right now. Not like Randall mentioned shit about it to me, either, and I was hardly thinking straight after everything that happened with him.
Markus sighed. “I don’t know what to do about it. I’ve been trying to keep my mana under control by putting more points into my Spirit, but still…”
“Try this.”
With that, Maxen tossed him a small, purple stone. It looked like an amethyst.
“These stones are excellent at containing mana. They have other uses, too, but I haven’t more time to explain them. I appreciate you meeting with me.”
With that, he tossed over two more. The three stones landed before Markus’ feet with a slight clatter, though none of them looked to crack in any way.
“Wait. Wh-why would you…”
“Call it payment for an entertaining fight yesterday. Imagine it beats whatever you earnt for it down here, if anything.” Maxen shrugged. “Call it a retainer for future services, if you will. I imagine you’ll be of some use to me in future, assuming you leave this place soon.”
“I already told you I don’t wanna work for you…” Markus felt terrible pushing away what looked to actually be a valuable gift, but he wasn’t gonna take anything that bound him to anything. That had trouble written all over it. Last thing he needed was to be indebted to a god.
“Fine. Just call it a tip. No strings attached.” With that, he stood, and with a single flick of his wrist, spruced up the entire cell, the blood and plate shards disappearing from view, the floors and walls of the cell taking on a sheen they’d likely not had since construction.
“Why do any of this for me?” Markus asked, voice catching a little. “I refused your offer.”
“My virtue is Service. You looked as if you required some. What does it hurt me to part ways with a few stones? I have so many more.”
“Kinda feels like you’re throwing a dog a bone,” Markus murmured, staring down at the stones.
“What an odd thing to say.” Maxen phased through the bars of the cage, going to make his leave, then turned to face him once more.
“You’re not a dog. You’re a person.” He blinked, looking as if he were trying to parse the idiom once more. “And those are simply stones.”
With that, Maxen took his leave.
Markus found himself simply holding the stones for a few minutes, a chill in the air, his chest heaving as he tried to reconcile everything that had happened up until now.
These gems… they were the result of the only positive interaction he’d had since his arrival. Their deep purple was captivating, and while staring at them helped to anchor him in the moment, in this crazy reality he’d now found himself a part of, he only noticed his hand was shaking when he heard them begin clacking together.
Gently, delicately, he settled the three stones onto the floor, and put his face into his hands.
Markus felt tired. He’d gotten a few hours of sleep. He’d had to fight for his life no less than three times in the last twenty-four hours. To say that he felt tired was an understatement. He felt insane. It had taken that small shred of humanity, of normalcy in the face of this new hell to realise just how different everything now was.
And it had come from what was likely another evil god. Or at the very least, one he was almost sure he couldn’t consider to be ‘good’. He was more than skeptical of Maxen, but even so, the affirmmation he’d given Markus without even meaning to was so much more than anything anyone else had done for him since getting here that it had almost broken the shell blanketing his emotions entirely.
This was a horrible place. He didn’t want to be here. His body ached, his shoulder still missing some flesh, his throat was sore, his hand was still singed, his entire body felt partially numb from the exertion that Mana Poisoning was bringing about within him.
This was hard. Maybe too hard. He told himself it didn’t matter. Nothing was coming to save him, after all. If he wanted to survive this situation, he had to rely on himself, he knew it.
There would be more gods. They might torture him more. Strip even more away from him. He had nine more fights to get through if he couldn’t find another way out, and he wasn’t sure he’d last that long.
His resolve would have to be stronger than that. Even if there was no way out, even if his life was doomed to this, even if he couldn’t clearly see the path through his misty, tired, crying eyes, he would have to be stronger. Stronger than his enemies. Stronger than Drathok. Stronger than even the mightiest god in here.
Markus felt a stillness come about him. A quiet intensity that blotted out his doubts and strangled his worries. Something inside of him told him to keep fighting, and its incessant voice couldn’t be quelled by any one niggling fear or paltry concern.
None of that mattered anymore. Only his escape. From this cell, from this fate, from sitting under the thumb of every wretched deity that called Firrelia home. He’d do whatever he had to to thrive, to progress, to carve his way towards his future.
He felt a lick against his arm, alongside an alarming brush of flame.
He barely flinched. Instead, he leaned into the hellhound’s face and petted it, finding that the flames around the dog’s face receded further the more he pressed his hand against the dog’s fur. It understood how not to hurt, or at least to avoid doing so.
“Hey,” Markus spoke to the helldog, touching its ear, which immediately perked up. “I still haven’t given you a name yet, have I?”
It was some solidarity in the darkness, some hope in this forgotten place, to see how calm and friendly this creature seemed in the face of it. It’d warmed up to him so quickly.
Markus wiped his face, inhaling sharply through his nose as he did. He blinked himself to focus, turning to look at the happy, lion-sized nightmare beast, a smile upon his face.
“How about Ember? Do you like that name?” He tried to push his hand further into her fur as he went, but burnt himself a little. If anything, she seemed to be glowing hotter than before.
“...does that mean you like it, or you hate it?”
She licked his hand where it burnt.
Markus laughed, holding his hands up. Was he imagining the intent here? Who knew.
“Well, it’s decided. If there’s no objections, I’ll call you Ember until further notice.”
Ember barked, flames leaping outward from her body, then ran in a circle. Then she laid down a short distance from Markus’ feet.
To think this thing was sent to kill me just hours ago… that ‘kill’ command must’ve been pretty damn powerful to force this creature to change so drastically. She seems practically harmless right now, if you ignore the fact she’s permanently on fire. Well, that and the size.
The thought cheered Markus up a bit. He hadn’t expected he’d wind up in here with a companion of any sort. While he was hardly glad he’d condemned the creature to be stuck in a cell with him, it was nice to at least have some friendly company.
“Don’t worry, I’ll get you out too.”
Ember’s ear twitched, but she didn’t react otherwise.
Still, Markus believed he could do it. He’d stopped them from tearing each other apart, after all. He’d killed that horrible monster, too. A god had been willing pay him a hundred gold pieces a DAY for his services. That had to be more than most people made a month here, surely?
Things were fine. For a person being constantly pushed to the brink of death, they were great, in fact.
And why had he been sitting around feeling so lethargic anyways? He still had everything to fight for. He still had so many tools he could use, and much more to learn. All he’d been doing was amassing more means to survive with each trial he’d been through, and the best thing he could do right now was find a means to store his mana and get his body back in check, just like Maxen had told him to.
Markus grabbed one of the stones and used [Identify] on it.
[Essence Stone. Grade: ?. A purple stone used to power magical objects and bolster arcane spells and rituals, able to be filled with various types of mana. Consumable.]
Consumable? Did that mean he could… eat it?
Worry about that later. Try putting mana in the thing first.
[Current Mana Capacity: 205%. View breakdown? Y/N.]
“Breakdown?.. Yeah. Show me.”
[Stored mana by Grade:]
[G Grade Frost Mana: 12%]
[F Grade Spirit Mana: 46%]
[E Grade Spirit Mana: 18%]
[E Grade Flame Mana: 7%]
[D Grade Mystic Mana: 16%]
[D Grade Blood Mana: 30%]
[D Grade Flame Mana: 11%]
[D Grade Life Mana: 34%.]
[C Grade Life Mana: 22%]
[A Grade Divine Mana: 9%]
Wow, that was a lot… was that everything he’d generated that he hadn’t used already? He’d already used up all of the Shock and Flame Mana he’d received from Drathok in his first fight, and then from what that creature ended up giving him, he’d blown all of that Frost Mana between training his cyro skills and fighting off Ember. He was still generating more from the core he’d devoured… but it was a really low grade. It didn’t do much.
There were multiple mana types Markus still didn’t understand the uses or applications of, but the one that perplexed him most on the list was the Mystic Mana. He’d had it since his first fight, he was sure, but when had he absorbed it? When he’d been teleported here, maybe? Who knew what it did?
That didn’t matter right now. What mattered was storing away the right kinds of mana so that he didn’t run too low on the ones that might be useful to him.
…this was difficult. He didn’t want to be without useful things, but he could only store so much.
He still had 15 skill points to spend, courtesy of his fight with Ember. He decided to distribute those before making any solid decisions.
[Name: Markus Brown]
[Class: Otherworlder (Earth) (Tier: Novice 10)]
[Health: 303/395]
[Mana: 832/1090]
[Strength: 48 (+30)]
[Agility: 52 (+30)]
[Arcana: 6]
[Constitution: 60 (+30)]
[Spirit: 45]
[???: 0]
[For each ten points in Spirit, you have been awarded a free point to spend on Arcana or Constitution per level. You have 8 free points available.]
4 free points per level just for having a high Spirit score? Markus had almost completely forgotten about that. That brought the total he had to spend up by over 50%, and considering he’d been planning to raise his Arcana anyways, this had worked out great for him.
Markus knew he needed 10 Arcana if he wanted to unlock Paths and rank up his skills. He remembered as much since both the [Frost Mastery] and [Regeneration] skills had reached high enough ranks to open themselves up to Path access. He still had no clue what paths did, but he figured they had to be important enough to warrant the increase.
Four free points went into Arcana, leaving him with four more free points to spend. Constitution seemed like a safe bet, but he was curious to see what future Arcana breakpoints did… He decided to hold off on committing the rest of his free points until he had some idea of what a Path actually was.
That being said, he immediately dumped 5 of his 15 regular points into Spirit, bringing it up to 50. Higher mana capacity, more free points every level, more mental resilience, better growth… what wasn’t to like?
Well, if you ignored the caveat of Spirit also increasing Markus’ mana generation.
That’d be fine. He’d just put all his mana in stones! No problem.
Speaking of which, now that he’d increased his capacity, time to do just that.
Increasing his Spirit score had ticked his mana total over to nearly 1200. It felt nice to have a four digit mana score now, it was almost triple what he’d had available level 1. The amount of mana he held in his body right now was enough to give him mana poisoning, but likely would’ve been 500% of his capacity a day ago, and who knew how much damage that would’ve done to him then?
One thing he knew for sure was that through trials and tribulations, he’d definitely grown, and the tasks that had been put in front of him were hardly easy ones.
It was as he was transferring mana to the first stone, mainly focussing on moving the excess F Grade Spirit Mana out of his body, that he saw a new notification pop up, one he’d never seen before.
[Mana Manipulation: 1 >> 2. Your Mana Capacity has increased from 1190 to 1390. Your passive Growth has increased. Empower skill unlocked. Manifest skill unlocked.]
[Mana Manipulation will sometimes give a unique option in the advancement of future skills and traits.]
Wait… he’d levelled Mana Manipulation?
This was great! It’d increased his capacity by so much! Not to mention two new skills, he really hoped they were something he’d find helpful down here.
By the time Markus was done shifting and moving the mana in his body, his remaining reserves looked like this:
[G Grade Frost Mana: 2%]
[F Grade Spirit Mana: 2%]
[E Grade Spirit Mana: 10%]
[E Grade Flame Mana: 5%]
[D Grade Blood Mana: 15%]
[D Grade Flame Mana: 9%]
[C Grade Life Mana: 18%]
[A Grade Divine Mana: 7%]
Some of these percentages had gone down due to his capacity increasing, but the main change had been moving most of the Frost and Spirit Mana out of his body, seeing as he still generated those, and keeping the more potent Spirit Mana in case he needed it. He’d also put all of the Mystic Mana within its own stone, which had taken on a black sheen. For some reason, he couldn’t mix it into the same stone as other elements.
That said, other mana types didn’t seem to have that restriction. He’d dumped a good portion of Blood and Life Mana into the same Essence Stone as the one he’d put his Frost and Spirit into, and the stone still seemed to be capable of holding yet more. The way it shone in the darkness of the cell was noticeable, its shifting colours crazy and kaleidoscopic.
Now that he’d done as much, his body feeling more than relieved from his mana being drained and his Overcharge promptly ending, Markus stood, pacing around the cell as he came to finally discover what the hell a Path was, pulling up a list of his skills and passives.
[Cyromancy: 3. Mastery awakens at 10.]
[Frost Mastery: 5. Awaken a Path?]
[Regeneration: 8. Awaken a Path?]
[Pyrokinesis: 1. Mastery awakens at 10.]
[Glaive Mastery: 3. Mastery awakens at 10.]
[Evasion: 3. Mastery awakens at 10.]
[Empower: 1. Path awakens at 5.]
[Manifest: 1. Path awakens at 5.]
[Diplomacy: 1. Mastery awakens at 10.]
[Mana Manipulation: 2. Evolution awakens at 5.]
[Frost Resistance: I.]
[Freeze I/II resistance.]
Markus hovered Frost Mastery and selected ‘yes’, and a list of options appeared before him.
[You may now awaken a Basic Path for Frost Mastery. You are able to hold up to four different Paths at one time. You may forget, combine, or evolve previous Paths in order to learn more. Paths unlock new skills, as well as new features and passives, allowing skills to grow much more powerful or gain unique effects.]
[Basic Frost Mastery Paths are as follows:] [Please choose one from the following options:]
[Freeze Lance: A martial skill which allows the user to imbue their weapon attacks with ice during combat. Landing successive blows will inflict Freeze I upon opponents. This ability requires 30 Frost and 20 Spirit Mana to cast and lasts for thirty seconds. Freeze Lance can be upcasted with higher Mana Grades to inflict higher levels of Freeze.]
[Frost Barrier: A passive skill which allows the user to reduce damage taken from physical strikes by 5-70% depending on Mana Grade used, with G Grade Mana offering a 5% reduction and S Grade offering a 70% reduction. Damage reduction is halved versus elemental damage, and nullified versus Flame Mana. Frost Barrier can be actively channelled whilst grappling an enemy to slow their movements for a short time, or inflict Freeze when used with higher Mana Grades.]
Below these two were a third option, the writing carrying a faint white-blue sheen.
[(Mana Manipulation) Frozen Tomb, G Grade: A continuous channel ability that allows ice to flow out from around you, affecting terrain and slowing enemies within at a cost of 2 Spirit and 2 Frost Mana per second. While stood within the frozen terrain, you may spend 15-30 Frost Mana and 15-30 Spirit Mana to spawn 3-6 icicles which will seek to impale opponents, inflicting Freeze I and Bleed I alongside damage. Enemies stood within Frozen Tomb for over a minute will be inflicted with Freeze II, compounding to Freeze III after 3 minutes. Enemies that die within Frozen Tomb will be devoured, their Mana Cores automatically being absorbed.]
This was difficult. Frozen Tomb sounded really, really strong, but equally expensive. Was it the best thing to go for here, or was Markus better off taking the simpler and much more straightforward Freeze Lance ability?
//
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A/N: Hey! Thanks for reading! Decision's already been made in the next chapter, of course, but I'm curious what you'd pick here. Also curious what you think of Maxen! Let me know, I love reading you guys' thoughts!
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Not many kids can say they have a superhero for a father.
My Dad was an amazing man. He was the coolest person in the world.
Known as our town’s superhero, he used his newfound powers to bring down evil villains who threatened to take over.
Nobody knew how he and a number of others acquired their abilities.
There were rumours of a chemical explosion in the powerplant.
Some people even believed my Dad was from a different planet, while others were convinced it was natural human evolution. My Dad could shoot lasers out of his eyes, and he was super strong.
When I was seven years old, he single-handedly stopped The Cerebral Drainer, a psychopath with a vacuum like power who took the lives of ten innocent people, sucking out their brains in broad daylight. Dad saved a child live on local TV, swooping down from the sky and telling the panicking crowd everything is going to be okay. Then when I was twelve, Dad took down Rat Face, a villain who filled the streets with disease ridden rodents.
My Dad was our town’s superhero, and in exchange for keeping his secret from the rest of the world, he protected all of us.
He was the best superhero (and father) by day, and family-man and loving husband by night. I was Millie Myers, a completely ordinary high school girl, and daughter of Star-man.
It wasn't out of the ordinary for the press to be swarming our door when I got home from school.
Pushing through the crowd of my Dad’s adoring fans, I flashed my perfect smile at the cameras.
As Star-man’s daughter, I was yet to reveal my power to the town.
I could tell they were gunning for it, their wide and frenzied eyes raking me up and down.
The older I was getting, the less patient the town was. Dad told them in a press conference that I was just a late bloomer. Channel 7 news was waiting for me at our front door, immediately sticking a microphone in my face. I was told not to talk to the press. I was tired, and the cameras were hurting my eyes.
The anchorwoman, Heather Carlisle, was already yelling in my face.
“Millie Myers! Is it true your father is currently interrogating the son of the infamous villain, Six-Eyes?”
Six Eyes was the opposite of my father.
Dad strived to protect our town and everyone in it.
Six Eyes, who was famous for the mutation that came with his ability, sought to destroy it. It was almost a year since he had brainwashed the Mayor and almost taken control of our tiny town.
Dad did manage to apprehend him, only for Six Eyes to break out of prison two weeks later.
His eighteen year old son, Cartwright, wanted nothing to do with him. He had even legally changed his name to get as far away from his father as possible.
The boy was only in town for a few weeks, on vacation from college.
However, over the last few days, my father had reasons to believe Six-Eyes was in contact with his estranged son.
So, he planned to question the kid on his Dad’s whereabouts.
I twisted around, maintaining a wide smile. “No comment.” I told the cameras.
The anchorwoman nodded slowly, thrusting her microphone further into my face. I had to hold back a sneeze. “But your father is interrogating him now, correct? Millie, can you tell us what… techniques he is using?” She demanded, her expression riddled with excitement.
She was trying to get me to spill or trip over what I was saying so my words could be taken out of context.
But I was already heavily media trained not to say a thing. I couldn't say the same for when I was a little younger.
I blindly told the press a lot of things I regret.
Dad didn't get mad easily, but his smile did start to slightly falter when I told Channel 7 our family's business.
Shutting the press down, I shook my head, making sure to stretch my lips into a big, cheesy grin. Just like my Dad told me. I cleared my throat.
“Rest assured, Cartwright is in good hands, I can promise you all that.”
I nodded at the crowd, making direct eye contact with each of them. Dad said if I wanted the crowd to believe my earnest words, I had to look into each and every eye, and mean it. That's what I did.
“As we all know, the son of Six Eyes is not a bad person, and we should not blame him for his father’s crimes. I cannot speak for my Dad, but I can assure you, he will find the villain Six Eyes.”
I held my breath, pausing for just enough time for the crowd to register my words.
“And bring him to justice.”
When I turned to open my door, the spell was broken, more questions thrown at me.
“Millie, is it true you have not inherited your father’s abilities?”
Someone else screamed in my face, and I choked down a yell.
“Millie Myers, can you tell us more about your father’s interrogation?!”
I shrugged. “I don't know. He's just talking to him.”
“Millie!” A wide eyed redhead followed me, stumbling over my mother’s rose garden.
When he carelessly stamped on a blooming rose, I resisted the urge to shove him back. He looked like an ammateur, a college kid, maybe, armed with just his iPhone and a dream.
The guy got close.
Too close for comfort, swiping at my jacket.
His breath was just coffee and cigarettes. “Are you aware of the photos floating around of you and Kai Hendrix, the son of Oculus? Can you confirm that you are in a relationship?”
A younger woman threw herself in front of him.
“Miss Myers, is there a reason why your brother does not come outside–”
Ignoring them, I opened the door, stepped inside our house, and slammed it behind me. Once inside, I let myself breathe, dropping my backpack and pulling off my jacket. There was a folded square of paper tucked into my pocket.
I pulled it out and ripped it into pieces. There were exactly 1,370 tally marks carved into our front door. With a rusty nail, I scratched another tally, crossing a group of four. 1,371 days.
Kicking off my shoes, I strode into the downstairs living room.
“I'm home.” I told my twin brother.
Ethan Myers was born three minutes after me. We weren't classed as identical twins, but Mom was convinced we were.
Both of us had thick brown hair, bearing our mother’s soft features. While I kept mine in a strict ponytail, Ethan’s had grown out lighter and curlier than mine, hanging in dark eyes. Ethan was the Myers twin who was not in the town’s spotlight.
My brother was in his usual place, sitting on the couch, knees pressed to his chest, half lidded eyes glued to the corpse of our TV. The screen had been hollowed out a long time ago. I skipped into the kitchen and filled a glass of orange juice, took a quick sip, and headed over to my brother, pressing the drink to his lips.
Ethan didn't respond for a moment, before his lazy eyes rolled to me, life erupting into his expression. He gulped it down, juice trickling down his chin.
When I withdrew the glass, he shot me a grateful smile. I winced when he straightened up, the sound of jingling metal sending me stumbling back.
“Thanks, Mills.”
He held up his right hand, just like when we were little kids. “High five?”
I ignored his childlike grin, hollowed out eyes penetrating right through me.
Ethan was never looking at me. He was always looking over my shoulder. But when I followed his gaze, there was nothing there. I ruffled his hair, resisting the urge to wrap my arms around him.
But I had to keep my distance.
I stepped back, my gaze trailing the ceiling. “Where's Dad?”
Ethan’s eyes travelled back to the TV, his lips pricking into a smile.
“Basement.” He said. “Daddy is interrogating the villain’s son.”
I nodded, pulling my Switch from my bag and dropping it into his lap.
It used to be Ethan’s. In fact, he had carved his initials into the back. “You can play with this, you know." I forced out, trying to stop my hands from trembling.
“You don't have to keep…” I turned to the shattered TV screen, my heart catapulting into my mouth. Ethan didn't look at me, his gaze boring into the TV.
He didn't respond, so I headed towards the basement door.
But not before my brother let out a hysterical giggle.
When I turned to him, Ethan was seventeen years old, laughing at invisible cartoons.
“Do you expect me to play with no fucking hands?”
I didn't, or couldn't, reply.
“Hey, Millie?” Ethan hummed, when I pulled open the basement door.
The chill that followed set my nerve endings on fire. My brother’s voice was deeper, no longer the childish giggle I'd gotten used to. In the corner of my eye, his head turned towards me. Standing on the threshold for a fraction of a second, I think part of me wondered if Ethan’s mind had pieced itself back together.
“Mom wants juice too.”
My twin’s voice was suddenly so small. “Can you get her some?”
I pretended not to hear him, skipping down to the basement, ignoring how cold each step was, the ingrained red dried into concrete. The best part of my day was visiting my father while he was working. I held my breath, easing my way down each step. “Hey, Dad?” I called, easing myself through the dark.
I always made sure to announce my presence. “Daddy.” I pulled my lips into the biggest, cheesiest smile. “I'm home.”
“Pumpkin!” Dad’s voice echoed from the bottom of the stairs. “How's my favorite girl doing?”
Moving further down the stairs, I could hear screaming.
Wailing.
Sobbing.
There were specific rules I had to abide by when stepping inside the basement.
I had to be extra quiet if my father was doing superhero business. Over the years, though, Dad had relaxed the rules a little. When I pushed through the plastic sheeting, Daddy had already opened up the boy’s head. It's not like I was surprised. He'd moved away from the interrogation stage a long time ago.
Star-man stood in a simple suit and tie, a white coat draped over.
My father was young for his age, dark brown hair and pale features.
Cartwright didn't look so good, lying on his back, his half lidded gaze glued to the ceiling.
I could see sharp red spilled across the floor and the bed he was strapped to.
Star-man loomed over him, cradling the boy’s jerking head between blood slicked gloves. The closer I got, I could see the exposed meat of the boy’s brain leaking from the pearly white of his skull.
Closer.
Cartwright's body was quaking, his wrists straining against velcro straps.
My father’s fingers gently stroked across the pink of his brain, tiny sparks of electricity bleeding from his index. Star-man's grin widened, and I watched the villain’s son writhing under his touch.
I could see the tiny sparks of electricity running from Dad’s fingers, forcing his victim into submission. The villain’s son’s eyes rolled back, a wet sounding sob escaping his lips. He was still conscious, and could feel everything.
Star-man lifted his head, his eyes finding me.
“Sweetie! How was school?”
He let go of Cartwright's head, delicately changing his gloves for brand new clinical white ones. “Your teacher called about a certain test you have been trying to avoid.” Dad tutted, swiping his bloody hands on his coat.
When Cartwright tried to wrench from the bed, he knocked the kid back down with a laugh. “Millie, I did say, there will be consequences if you flunk your tests.”
He gestured for me to come closer with a blood drenched glove, and I did.
Star-man prodded a single finger into the raw flesh of Cartwright's brain, and the boy screamed, writhing, blood running thick from his nose. “Do I need to take your phone away, hmm? How about the school trip to New York? Millie, I don't have to sign the permission slip.” He turned back to the villain’s son, hanging over the boy with a laugh.
“What do you think?” He cleared his throat.
When Dad nodded at me, I laughed too. “Young Mr Cartwright, the human brain does not have nerves, so I don't know why you're screaming. It is quite embarrassing for a boy of your age.”
He slapped the boy’s cheek playfully, and Cartwright wailed.
1,400 days, I thought, watching my father torture the teenage boy.
1,400 days since Star-man walked into our house, burned down our door, and announced himself as our new father.
I was thirteen years old in middle school.
Ethan and I were watching TV in the living room, and there he was.
Star-man, with his signature grin, standing between the melted remnants of our front door.
Stella, our little sister, squeaked in delight.
“Star-man!” She jumped off of the couch.
Ethan gently dragged her back, holding her to his chest.
“Hey, Mom?” He yelled, his voice shaking.
“There's someone at the door.”
Star-man chuckled, taking a step inside our hallway.
“Oh, no, I'm not here for your mother.”
1,400 days since he murdered our mother, lasering her head cleanly from her shoulders when she threw herself in front of us and begged him to take her.
There was wet warmth running across the concrete floor. I barely noticed, hopping over it.
1,400 days since Star-man burned our little sister alive in front of our eyes.
Star-man didn't want three children.
He wanted two.
1,400 days since our father nailed wooden planks over the door, announcing Ethan and I as his legacies.
Ethan started to spiral. He tried to escape out his bedroom window, and then more dangerously, jumping off of the roof of our house, and that just made our father angry. He burned a hole in the TV, and then hollowed out the screen.
Star-man just wanted a son and a daughter. That's what he told my brother.
He could not procreate because of the mutation causing his ability. But he had always wanted children.
Star-man promised us he was going to be the best father anyone would ask for.
And he was.
100 days after murdering our mother and sister, Ethan and I were plunged into the town’s spotlight.
“These are my children!” Star-man told a crowd of flashing cameras.
He wrapped his arms around the two of us, pulling us closer.
*“Ladies and gentlemen, I would like you to meet Millie and Ethan Myers from my first marriage.”
Star-man addressed the crowd with earnest eyes.
“I know what you're thinking, and no, these two are little rascals,” he ruffled our hair a little too hard, and I made sure to laugh and smile and not cry. “Millie and Ethan do not share my abilities.”
His lips spread into a grin.
“Yet.”
That word had been hanging over me since the press-conference.
Yet.
Presently, Dad was crawling in my head again.
Smile, Millie!.
I did, smiling so much, blood pooled from my lips.
Dad promised neither of us would be sad again. We wouldn't fear him or anything else. In fact, we were going to be happy, smiling, perfect children forever, his shining legacies he would dangle in front of the town on our eighteenth birthday.
It was his birthday present to us, and I was so excited.
The closer I was getting to my father, I could sense him fashioning my smile, wider and wider, until I couldn't breathe.
He didn't care that I was bleeding.
That my eyes were stinging.
All he cared about was that I loved him as my father.
“Come here, Millie.”
I forced myself forwards, swallowing vomit filling the back of my mouth.
If I screamed, I would end up like my brother. Ethan was on a permanent time out until his 18th birthday. Star-man was yet to forgive my twin trying to stab him at Thanksgiving dinner. Dad said Ethan’s mental state was puberty, but I was more akin to believing it was a mixture of trauma, as well as our father’s attempt to poison my brother with powers at fourteen years old which almost killed him. Dad was smart enough to stop the procedure before he killed his only son.
I blinked, my legs buckling, footsteps faltering.
Sometimes I think I can pull away from his influence.
“Millie Myers.” Dad hummed, skimming his finger across a variety of scalpels. Cartwright watched him feverishly. “Don't make me ask again, Pumpkiiiiin.”
Still.
I felt my thoughts start to melt away, replaced with artificial happiness choking me. Our father was the best Dad in the whole world. I wouldn't ask for any other father, and I didn't even miss my mother!
With that thought slamming into me, I skipped over to my father with a grin.
Around him were rejects, corpses piled to the ceiling, limbs and heads and torso’s contorted and merged into one mass of gore.
Human’s he attempted to turn into minions.
But there were also successful villains.
The Cerebral Drainer, and Rat Face had been ripped apart and put back together again. Dad was saving them for a quiet day. The Myers basement was my father’s workshop. When I joined his side, he ran his fingers over Cartwright's skull.
I was surprised when the villain’s son let out a sudden, hysterical giggle, his eyes rolling to pearly whites. “What are you doing to him?” I asked, intrigued, running my hands over the boy’s restraints. This time, Cartwright's body contorted into an arch, maniacal laughter escaping his lips.
When his back slammed into metal, the ground rumbled.
“Now, what is funny, hmm?” Star-man asked in a low hum.
The boy responded by spitting in his face, shrieking with giggles.
Dad cleared his throat, swiping blood from his cheek.
“That's not funny.”
I was keenly aware of several instruments dangling above my head.
Cartwright's body jolted, and they hit the ground.
Dad turned his attention to me. “What is your nightmare of a brother doing, young lady?”
His words shattered part of his influence.
I felt my breath start to quicken, my heart starting to pound.
Fear.
Ethan hadn't moved in days, weeks, months.
Glued to that one seat, caught inside his own delusion.
Ethan was watching TV when Mom’s brains were splattered across the walls.
He was watching TV when our little sister’s flesh bubbled into the living room carpet.
“Ethan is watching TV.” I hummed, “What are you doing to the villain’s son?” I pointed to the boy’s contorting fingers. They turned clockwise, straining under harsh velcro straps.
Cartwright was trying to twist off my head like a bottletop. I was lucky to have my father’s protection.
Dad shot me a grin. “Well, you see, Millie.” He said, shoving the hysterical boy back onto the bed. Madness. I saw it in his eyes, igniting every part of his face, running through his nerve endings.
That is what made a villain, what we all saw on the local news.
It was the loss of humanity, logic quite literally burned from the brain stem.
Complete, unbridled euphoria, accepting insanity.
I had already seen this exact look.
The Cerebral Drainer’s psychotic grin.
Rat Face’s all too familiar and horrific chittering laugh.
Six Eyes’s Alice In Wonderland smile.
Dad rocked the boy’s head back and forth. Cartwright giggled along, his gaze finding nothing, penetrating nothing. His hands went limp, and he gave up trying to yank my brain from my skull. “We can't have heroes without villains, can we?”
I reached out, poking the boy in the face.
“So, he's like his father?”
Dad almost looked like a proud father. “Oh, no, honey, he's better than his father. He's already setting an example.” Starman nudged me playfully. “Your father would not exist without the bad guys,” he said, tracing a finger over the boy’s cheek. “We’re just lucky we have a town full of naive fuck-wits.”
Cartwright laughed harder. Hard enough to send him toppling off of the bed with a wet, meaty sounding smack.
I was partially aware of my body reacting. My breaths quickened, a thick slime creeping up my throat. I think I stepped back. I think I almost screamed.
I forgot his head was hanging open, half of his brains leaking out.
But I don't think Cartwright needed a brain anymore.
Whatever was left of it was blackened, thick, poisoned streaks running up down what had been healthy pink and grey.
My Dad scooped him up, and plonked him back onto ice cold steel.
His evil laugh was fake, manufactured, programmed directly into his mind.
Part of me wondered if this was his father’s fate too.
Six Eyes.
Was he a result of my father’s experiments?
The crazy thing is, the more I want to scream, my chest heaving, fear starting to gnaw away at me, the stronger my father’s influence is. The villain’s son was stitched back up with not even a hair out of place and thrown into the back with the other finished minions.
If he recovered well, Cartwright, son of Six Eyes, would be going on a town rampage very soon.
Well, he was the villain’s son after all.
Instead of screaming, I smiled.
Dad taught me everything about cutting up humans. Human brains were so easy to manipulate.
Because humans were bad.
The people like my Dad were better.
I grabbed a scalpel, sticking it into Cartwright's hand.
His whimper of pain collapsing into hysterical laughter didn't give me hope.
If he reacted positively to a blade going through his skin, he wasn't worth saving.
Once that thought crossed my mind, however, I REALLY LOVED MY DAD.
The mental declaration almost sent me to my knees.
“Go upstairs and do your homework.” Dad said, wheeling Cartwright into the back room. “I'll be upstairs to cook dinner in ten minutes.”
“Sure, dad.”
His influence was like a wire wrapped around my throat.
Squeezing.
“Oh, and Millie?”
I didn't turn around. “Yes?”
“Chocolate or strawberry for your birthday cake?”
I froze, my smile stretching right across my face.
He knew my answer. Dad baked us a cake 4 hours after I trashed the slimy remnants of my little sister. Star-man forced me to peel my sister from the carpet and dump her in a trash bag.
I could still smell her charred flesh hanging in the air.
Star-man made a giant chocolate cake and frosting.
He made us eat every single morsel.
Every bite was agonising.
“Chocolate, Daddy.” I said, swallowing my lunch.
Dad chuckled, and somewhere in the back, Cartwright started laughing.
Starting as quiet giggles, they became full on guffaws.
Star-man ignored him.
“That's right, Princess.”
I nodded, heading back up the stairs.
Greeting my brother, I cranked the Alexa to full volume.
I always listen to music when I'm doing my homework.
Filling a glass of water, I held it to Ethan’s lips with three fingers.
Ethan downed it in three gulps, and then nodded in one single motion.
Star-man may be a highly intelligent psychopath, but he is yet to notice my brother is not as brain dead as he thinks.
Yes, he still watches TV.
But he's also thinking.
Dad is under the impression my twin doesn't need to be under his control.
But Ethan has been planning.
And slowly, over days, weeks, months, he has been putting together our escape plan.
It has been 1,400 days since Ethan and I tried to escape our father.
1,370 days since we started to scratch our days of captivity into the door.
10 days until we turn eighteen.
Four days until we get the fuck out of here.

A little over a month ago I tested positive for chlamydia. Thankfully I was having symptoms (bladder pressure, burning, bleeding) I took 1000 G azithromycin and then took 5 days of doxycycline just to be safe. At the time of my testing I also tested positive for BV. I have had recurrent BV for years (5+) but have never take any antibiotics for it just suppositories which have kept it at bay. I was prescribed flagyl (oral) and about half way through my full dose started to get brown discharge. I was told this was normal and it would go away - it didn’t. I proceeded to have brown discharge for weeks which then eventually turned into whole pieces of clots and tissue accompanied by the brown discharge. Had my period, figured that would flush out any reminents - it didn’t. Once the period was over like clockwork the tissue, coffee grind like discharge was back. It would fluctuate between heavy and light and one week it fully went away and I finally had white discharge again. That lasted about 4 days went to the bathroom and had blood in my underwear and for a week now I have dealt with daily brown stuff. I wouldn’t even call it discharge as there’s clots coming out of me but they’re nearly black in color. And there’s tissue in the mix as well always. What could this be? I’ve never had any issues like this prior to having chlamydia / treating my BV. Anyone go through something similar?!

Good day! Please take note of the dates while reading. And before everything else, I grew up in a really conservative family with little to no knowledge about sex education. Please bear with me. I am Female (22)
FEBRUARY, not sexually active but i missed my period. I don't know why. I just assumed that it was because I had a lot of sleepless nights during that time because of thesis.
MARCH 29, I had my period. Still not sexually active.
APRIL 6, I had sex with my boyfriend. Condoms did not break, we're safe. HOWEVER, I was giving him a BJ, and my hands were obviously touching his penis with precum and my saliva on it, i put condoms on him and I fingered myself. The room was extremely cold, I was kind of sure my hands were dry because I had to lick it before fingering myself. I don't know how long the duration was between those events. The finger freaked me out a lot.
MAY 1, 33 days after my previous cycle, I got my period. I was stressing out about it but I was thankful I had my period. I had a fever at that time, I could not get out of bed during the second day of my period and i think I still have fever after that but I was more productive (my brother and grandma was sick before me). It was a period and not spotting/implantation bleeding because it filled pads, the consistency was not watery, its color was red to brown leading to its end, it got blood clots on it, and it lasted for 4-6 days. HOWEVER, it was unlike my usual flow. I used to have REALLY heavy flow during my first two days to the point that I have to change pads every after 2 hours and I soak my undies with period blood if I fail to do so. But during this cycle, the first day was not that heavy, second day was heavy enough to fill 2 whole pads, third day, had moderate flow, and then I used pantiliner for the rest of the remaining days.
AFTER MY PERIOD, I felt the need to urinate a lot. I also feel bloated. I was still stressing out because I am still scared. The thought of being pregnant scares me so much to the point that I could not eat properly, i feel full as soon as I eat, I wake up in the middle of my sleep extremely anxious that I google symptoms that get me more nervous, and I'm having lots of anxiety attacks. I was like this for the entirety of the whole month (MAY).
had
MAY 18, I ovulated. I tracked using cervical mucus.
MAY 20, My breasts felt sore like how my breasts would feel before my period. It scared me so much.
MAY 30, I had my period 28 days in my cycle. I thought I would not have my period until June or it won't come at all due to the stress I experienced that month. Just like my previous cycle, the period came with severe cramping, bleeding was heavy to fill pads, it got blood clots, on it, and it lasted for 6 days. I even got a residual blood clot at day 5 where the flow was really light and I was using a pantiliner.
AFTER MY PERIOD, I once again felt like I had the urge to urinate more frequently and my discharge was white and kind of creamy. Also, my lower stomach feels full/bloated. I am also constipated. My dad had to massage my stomach to where he felt a lump at the left side of my stomach (beside my umbilical cord) and my upper stomach was really hard. He made me drink ginger tea until now.
Now, my questions are:
-Is there a chance that I might be pregnant even after going through two whole cycles
-What might be the cause of my flow that was not like my usual SUPER heavy flow
-Is it normal to urinate a lot after period and to experience bloating after period

6G
Carinda Barnes' brown eyes were slitted. "I freakin hate you!" She hissed like an angry cat.
Roy Barnes, her husband tried not to flinch. "Cari baby that's just the pain talkin'. You don't really mean that." When the words left his mouth, well, Roy wished he could've grabbed them and tossed the stupid thing he said in the trash. But he couldn't and had to endure the blazing glare from his pregnant wife.
"You said that the shot wouldn't affect our baby. You got the jab like the little sheep you are. Now, you've made me one too," Carinda husked out. Her normally pretty face was a scrunched-up mask of hatred and contempt. All slitted eyes and bared teeth like a predator ready to strike.
Roy sighed and then turned to the nurse. "Can you give her something more for the pain?"
The nurse shook her head. "She's at the maximum dosage. You should leave so she can calm down."
He nodded. For a moment he thought about saying something comforting to Carinda but one glance at her hateful face sent a chill down his back. An image of her leaping off of the hospital bed and tearing out his throat with her hands filled his mind. She kept her nails short but her hands were strong. No, he decided, it was time to wait outside in the lounge and hope everything would turn out right.
While Roy sat in the empty lounge, he thought about how things had been getting strange. A few months before they went to the hospital, he had heard music and weird tones coming from Carinda's swollen belly. It wasn't gas. Not for the last time he wondered what was going on.
"Mr. Barnes?" The doctor said.
"What?" Roy said as he looked up.
The doctor was holding a bag with a small cell phone inside.
"Mr. Barnes, can you shed some light on this?"
Again Roy looked at the phone. He tried to wonder where it came from. Carinda's phone was larger like his. "Where did you get that?"
The doctor sighed. "It was found inside your wife. Thank goodness, the phone just caused some minor complications but we were able to deal with them. Do you have an idea?"
Roy shook his head. "No, I don't." It felt like he was in a Twilight Zone episode. For a moment, he expected to see Rod Serling show up. Maybe Rod could give him a cigarette. Roy could use one even though he had quit some time ago.
"This is very unusual. There is a medical condition in which people eat inedible things but the phone was found in your wife's womb along with your son. The nurse said that he was holding it when he was delivered," The doctor said.
A nurse walked up to the doctor and they whispered to each other for a few moments.
This made a chill run down Roy's back. He just knew something was wrong or headed that way. "What's going on?"
Again the doctor looked at the bag and its contents. "It seems that your son is crying for his phone. The nurses can't get him to stop."
The lights flickered in the lounge then they shone dimly. Dark shadows crept in from the edges of the room
Everyone looked up.
For some reason, Roy felt like something nasty was peering in at him from the windows that faced the parking lot. He kept his eyes locked on the doctor. It seemed like a very good idea not to look outside.
"Um, doctor, what should I do?" The nurse asked.
Roy wondered why they didn't react to what he felt. They were facing the parking lot.
The nurse's brown eyes were wide and filled with fear over her green mask.
"Fine, give the child the phone and see what happens. Make sure it's sanitized first," The doctor said.
Again he wondered why no one saw anything. Roy frowned. "What's going on?"
The doctor shrugged.
The nurse rushed off with the phone.
A few moments later, the lights went back to their normal brightness.
Roy slowly turned his head and glanced out the window. Whatever he had felt before was gone. "What the hell," He said before putting his head in his hands.
Several hours later, near dawn, a nurse woke him up.
"What?" Roy asked while looking around before focusing on the woman in front of him.
"We're going to keep your wife and son under observation for a few more days. We just want to make sure they're both healthy," The nurse said.
"It's the phone isn't it?" Roy asked.
A moment passed then the nurse nodded. "Yes, to be honest, Doctor Ramis has doubts and wants to be sure. How did the phone get into your wife?"
Roy shrugged. "I don't know. When I met Carinda, she told me she had a troubled past but she never gave me any details and I didn't want to be nosy."
The nurse nodded. "I understand. I'll tell the doctor what you said. Please go home and get some real rest. The coffee here is so bad they also use it in Gitmo. We always go to the cafe down the block."
Roy nodded. "Thanks."
The nurse turned and walked away.
Then it hit Roy. "I got a son!" He managed not to yell in the hospital lobby. Barely.
After waiting several days, this should've been a perfect moment. Finally, he was holding his new son. His heart expanded so much, he feared it was going to burst out of his chest. But the strange music from his son's phone ruined the moment. He wasn't using it at the time but just looking at the phone sent a chill down Roy's back. Regretfully he gave his son back to Carinda.
She searched his face for answers. "It's the phone, isn't it?"
Roy just looked away.
Several moments passed.
"Why?" Roy asked.
Carinda looked at her son trying to ignore the phone. "Hey, no problem. Once we get home, I have some ideas."
"How about we talk a bit before you try anything?" Roy asked.
"Why?"
"Well, the nurses took Justin's phone away, and even in the waiting room, I felt something weird-"
Carinda interrupted Roy. "What?" Her eyes narrowed.
Roy shook his head. "I don't know. Even the doctor and the nurse were afraid."
"What things?" Carinda's voice rose.
"It was quick and all I know was, I was scared. Very scared. It was like being at the edge of a cliff so close, a sneeze would make me fall. Please, Cari, we need to be careful," Roy said.
Carinda jerked her head and sighed. "Fine, I'll talk to you before I do anything about the phone."
A moment of silence passed before Carinda and Roy went about the day's affairs.
The weeks and months flew by in a blur as Carinda and Roy adjusted to their son. He was very energetic. Also, they noticed that Justin wouldn't let them see him use the phone. If Roy tried to look over Justin's shoulder, he would just stop doing whatever he was doing and hide the screen. Sometimes he would frown too. After a few moments, Roy would leave Justin alone.
While Roy tried to ignore Justin's strange relationship with his phone, Carinda was another matter. She was always trying to experiment with separating Justin from the device. All it would take was a chill down Roy's back and the lights flickering in the kitchen or the living room and he knew that something was wrong.
"Cari you have to stop fussing with the phone," Roy said one afternoon when the lights went out and again dread made him not look out the window.
Carinda frowned and then glared at him. "Why are you so comfortable about this? Our son has a creepy connection with his phone. It's not right. We need to find a way to get that thing away from him or Justin will never have a normal life!"
Roy nodded. "I get what you're saying but I don't want to make things worse."
"Have you ever looked at the screen? I tried and I just zoned out. It's not right. I even tried to take a picture of the logo on the back and my phone crashed. Where did Justin's phone come from?" Carinda asked.
Roy sighed. "You."
Carinda's eyes narrowed like she wanted to send him some stinkeye but she looked away. "Yeah, that's right."
"Cari, honey is there something you're not telling me? You always tell me that you had a troubled childhood," Roy said.
Carinda shook her head as tears started to flow down her cheeks. "I can't. Not now."
Seeing his wife cry felt like a punch to the gut. Roy looked down then back up. "I'm sorry. Will be in the living room. When you're ready, let me know what you want for dinner."
Carinda nodded and sniffled.
Roy slunk out of their bedroom while his thoughts churned around the mystery of Justin's phone. Maybe I should smash the damned thing, he thought. Fear arose in his mind. What if that made things worse? The memory of what happened in the hospital was still very fresh in his mind. With a small shake of his head, he pushed the troubling thoughts back.
Several days later, Emma Brighton, the new babysitter strode up the walkway.
Carinda frowned. Emma had plenty of good reviews online and some of the neighbors recommended her. She wouldn't have any problems with Justin. Well, except for the phone. Carinda's eyes narrowed. It was always that damned thing. Fantasies of throwing it outside or dumping it in the sink so the trash compactor could give it a good chewing filled her mind. Then she remembered seeing fear in her husband's eyes and the uneasiness she felt when the lights flickered for no reason. "That damn phone," Carinda whispered. as she walked to the kitchen door to meet Emma.
Emma's no-nonsense attitude made Carinda think of a combination of Mary Poppins and a marine drill sergeant. A person who would handle defusing a bomb and a messy diaper with aplomb. Maybe even both at the same time while having a steely-eyed thousand-yard stare. "I've seen things, terrible things...," Ms. Mary Drill Sargent would say. Carinda almost giggled.
Ms. Brighton fixed Carinda with a gaze that would've worked with a sniper rifle as well as a busy mother. "Does your son, Justin have any quirks that I should be aware of?"
All of Carinda's good humor melted away like ice cream under a blazing sun. For a few moments, things had felt normal now, not so much. "Um, he has a cellphone."
Emma's eyes narrowed like she had seen a possible threat incoming. "A cellphone? Why would such a young child have one?"
Carinda felt cowed. It felt like explaining how she messed up to an authority figure. The truth was just too strange to say. Heck, she wasn't ready to tell her husband yet. "Well, um, Justin got attached to one of my husband's old phones. We haven't had the time to do anything about it." She smiled a little.
Emma nodded and didn't smile. "I won't bother you with my thoughts about technology. Don't worry, your son will be weaned off of his unhealthy fascination."
A small chill ran down Carinda's back. Later on, she would understand why her misgivings were correct. "No problem. Thank you."
Several moments later they discussed details and finally, Emma got up and left. She would be at the house at eight am sharp.
Again Carinda had a quick thought that maybe she had made a mistake but she pushed that thought away to focus on getting ready for work the next day.
It was an hour after lunch when Roy grimaced at the figures in the latest status report. Other than a few small issues things were okay. Something else hung over him causing a feeling of dread like steel-grey cloudy skies. No, it didn't feel quite like that. To Roy, it felt like that Greek guy who had the sword over his head. He looked around like what was bothering him could be seen in his cubicle. There were the usual piles of printouts, nothing that would cause concern.
"Roy, check out the sky in the south," Amanda from the cubicle next to him said.
"Why?" Roy replied.
"It's kinda dark. I wonder if we're getting one of those pop-up storms. It's kinda late in the year for that. We usually get those on hot and steamy days," Amanda said.
Roy stood up and peered over the wall of his cubicle. Coal-black clouds were gathering over an area in the south. A chill raced down his back. Their house was in that direction. "Crap!"
"Yeah, right! I don't know if I should stay here until the storm ends or not. It might not even be near my house," Amanda said.
Roy on the other hand knew just like he would take another breath that the center of the storm was right over his house. The problem was deciding what to do. Should he call Carinda and warn her to get Justin out of the house? Or maybe he should call her to get Justin's phone first? He was also quite sure that the no-nonsense sitter did something with the phone. Other questions started to crowd his mind when his phone rang.
It was Carinda. "Roy, the babysitter called. She started screaming. Then she stopped. You gotta get to Justin and see what's going on!"
More dread flowed down Roy's back like an ice cube shower. Deep down he knew that Emma wasn't going to deal with the phone situation right but optimism won out. "I'm leaving now," Roy said.
Carinda hung up.
Roy looked around for his jacket and yelled at Amanda. "I'm having a personal emergency at home. Tell the boss I'll make up the lost time tomorrow."
"No problem, hope everything is alright at home," Amanda said while still banging away at her keyboard. She didn't even look up at him.
It didn't take Roy long to rush through the building and get to his car. All sorts of terrible thoughts swirled through his mind like plastic bags in a gale. Only one thought managed to stick. He had to ask Carinda about her childhood. Justin and his phone weren't natural things. Roy doubted that a diet high in minerals and vitamins could create a cell phone inside one's womb. That goes twice for vaccines.
As he drove towards his home, the feeling of impending disaster increased. One time he looked up at the sky but it felt like there was something in the sky using the clouds as cover. Maybe it would expose itself to him like a stripper. A bit of nasty here and maybe some disgusting there. Roy was quite sure he didn't want to see so he kept his eyes on the road. The side and rear view mirrors showed enough of the sky and he dreaded to look at them.
A block away from his house, something sharp scraped across the roof of his car. Roy was quite sure it wasn't a tree branch. He knew what it was but continuing that train of thought was too frightening.
It was as dark as midnight when Roy returned home. He frowned. There should be a light on somewhere if someone were home. The windows were unlit like the house had been abandoned.
That was a bad sign. Roy looked around to see if Carinda had arrived. Nope, with another glance around, he approached the door.
Inside, it was quiet except for Justin's fitful screams. That sent a chill down Roy's back. Where was the babysitter? "Miss. Brighton, Emma?" There was no reply. After checking the living room, he found a disquieting sight. A shattered hammer lay next to Justin's cell phone. Roy averted his eyes from the swirling mix of strange colors on the screen. There were some not in a regular rainbow. He would examine the hammer later but first Justin had to get his phone.
The phone felt slick and greasy but Roy barely kept a firm grasp on it. The last thing he needed was to drop the phone though he doubted that it would break. A hammer and the missing babysitter couldn't make a dent but maybe there would be consequences anyway. With a shake of his head, Roy pushed that thought away.
When Justin got his phone, he gave Roy a small smile. The atmosphere of dread started to lighten up like the sky outside.
A car pulled up in the driveway.
Roy sighed. At last, Carinda was home and maybe he would get some answers. When Roy was approaching her in the driveway, an invisible force pushed him so hard he fell back on his behind.
Something large fell between Carinda and Roy with a wet and meaty splash.
Roy looked down at himself and noticed that there was no blood near or on him.
Carinda on the other hand was covered from head to toe. She just stood there, brown eyes wide with shock while blood slid down her face.
Roy flicked his glance at the pile of gore in front of him. He had an idea who it was but he wasn't going to look closer. "Carinda, are you alright?"
Several moments passed.
Sirens sounded in the distance while the dark clouds faded away. Warm golden sunlight bathed the area.
Finally, she nodded slowly.
Some time later an ambulance and a cop car rolled up.
By then, Roy had managed to get most of the blood off of Carinda's face with a towel he got from inside the house.
The two cops wasted no time walking up to Roy and Carinda. One was a short brunette and the other one was a taller medium-sized man. "I'm Officer Grant and that's Office McHenry," The male cop said then pointed to his partner.
McHenry stepped closer to Carinda and Roy. "Are you okay?"
Several moments before Carinda nodded slowly.
"Do you know what happened here?" Officer Grant asked.
Time seemed to slow down as Roy thought of a good answer. The pure truth wouldn't work. He was quite sure of that. There was no way a cop would've accepted the explanation that their son had a cursed phone. Skimping on some details might be the way to go, Roy thought. "I got a call from my wife saying something was wrong with the babysitter."
"Something wrong with the babysitter?" Officer McHenry said while his eyes narrowed a bit.
"Um, um, yeah. She was screaming," Carinda said.
"What did she say?" Officer McHenry asked.
"I don't know. She seemed very scared. I couldn't understand her because she talked too fast. Do you want to check my phone?" Carinda said.
One of the paramedics walked close to the bleeding mass and looked at it. He took several steps before turning his head and vomiting in the grass.
A grimace crossed Officer Grant's face. "We'll need both of your phones and I want to have a medic check you out just in case."
Another paramedic walked up to Carinda and took her to the back of the ambulance while Roy followed. After checking out Carinda and Roy he nodded at Officer McHenry.
He strode up to Roy and Carinda.
"Are we in trouble officer?" Roy asked.
A moment passed.
"For now, no. I'll give you my card and if you remember more, call me. Don't leave town for a few days while we tie up loose ends," Officer McHenry said.
Roy wondered if he should ask more questions but then maybe he would have to answer questions he couldn't handle. But one question lingered in his mind. "Officer, how did you get here so fast?"
Carinda frowned.
Officer Grant walked up. "Well, we had gotten a call from Dispatch about someone screaming in your home then later on we got a call about a body falling out of the sky."
Roy nodded.
"Don't worry it seems that you're in the clear for now but we'll contact you if the situation changes. I suggest that both of you get some rest," Officer McHenry said.
By the time the body was put in several bags and wheeled into the coroner's van, it was late. Since Carinda and Roy had work the next day, they just had a quick quiet dinner and then it was off to bed.
Roy lay in bed and fought off exhaustion so he could ask Carinda about the phone. Maybe it wasn't the best time but he wanted to know. Just a few sentences, not a novel or even a paragraph. "Cari, can you tell me what you know about Justin's phone?"
Carinda was facing away from Roy so he couldn't see her face. Several moments passed. "Now?"
"I can't sleep anymore wondering what's going on," Roy replied. Doubt filled his mind. Maybe this wasn't the best time.
More moments passed.
Carinda sighed. "My parents were weird cultists and they gave me to something when I was a teenager. Then the child, um, Justin would come later," She sniffled.
For a moment, Roy considered not asking for more information but he wanted more. "What type of cult? I ask in case they come back for you."
Sniffles came from the other side of the bed. "No, they won't bother us. Justin is, is." Carinda cried in large wracking sobs that shook the bed.
Roy put his arm on her waist and waited until she stopped crying. Even though he wanted to know more regret needled him.
It took a while before they fell asleep.

6G
Carinda Barnes' brown eyes were slitted. "I freakin hate you!" She hissed like an angry cat.
Roy Barnes, her husband tried not to flinch. "Cari baby that's just the pain talkin'. You don't really mean that." When the words left his mouth, well, Roy wished he could've grabbed them and tossed the stupid thing he said in the trash. But he couldn't and had to endure the blazing glare from his pregnant wife.
"You said that the shot wouldn't affect our baby. You got the jab like the little sheep you are. Now, you've made me one too," Carinda husked out. Her normally pretty face was a scrunched-up mask of hatred and contempt. All slitted eyes and bared teeth like a predator ready to strike.
Roy sighed and then turned to the nurse. "Can you give her something more for the pain?"
The nurse shook her head. "She's at the maximum dosage. You should leave so she can calm down."
He nodded. For a moment he thought about saying something comforting to Carinda but one glance at her hateful face sent a chill down his back. An image of her leaping off of the hospital bed and tearing out his throat with her hands filled his mind. She kept her nails short but her hands were strong. No, he decided, it was time to wait outside in the lounge and hope everything would turn out right.
While Roy sat in the empty lounge, he thought about how things had been getting strange. A few months before they went to the hospital, he had heard music and weird tones coming from Carinda's swollen belly. It wasn't gas. Not for the last time he wondered what was going on.
"Mr. Barnes?" The doctor said.
"What?" Roy said as he looked up.
The doctor was holding a bag with a small cell phone inside.
"Mr. Barnes, can you shed some light on this?"
Again Roy looked at the phone. He tried to wonder where it came from. Carinda's phone was larger like his. "Where did you get that?"
The doctor sighed. "It was found inside your wife. Thank goodness, the phone just caused some minor complications but we were able to deal with them. Do you have an idea?"
Roy shook his head. "No, I don't." It felt like he was in a Twilight Zone episode. For a moment, he expected to see Rod Serling show up. Maybe Rod could give him a cigarette. Roy could use one even though he had quit some time ago.
"This is very unusual. There is a medical condition in which people eat inedible things but the phone was found in your wife's womb along with your son. The nurse said that he was holding it when he was delivered," The doctor said.
A nurse walked up to the doctor and they whispered to each other for a few moments.
This made a chill run down Roy's back. He just knew something was wrong or headed that way. "What's going on?"
Again the doctor looked at the bag and its contents. "It seems that your son is crying for his phone. The nurses can't get him to stop."
The lights flickered in the lounge then they shone dimly. Dark shadows crept in from the edges of the room
Everyone looked up.
For some reason, Roy felt like something nasty was peering in at him from the windows that faced the parking lot. He kept his eyes locked on the doctor. It seemed like a very good idea not to look outside.
"Um, doctor, what should I do?" The nurse asked.
Roy wondered why they didn't react to what he felt. They were facing the parking lot.
The nurse's brown eyes were wide and filled with fear over her green mask.
"Fine, give the child the phone and see what happens. Make sure it's sanitized first," The doctor said.
Again he wondered why no one saw anything. Roy frowned. "What's going on?"
The doctor shrugged.
The nurse rushed off with the phone.
A few moments later, the lights went back to their normal brightness.
Roy slowly turned his head and glanced out the window. Whatever he had felt before was gone. "What the hell," He said before putting his head in his hands.
Several hours later, near dawn, a nurse woke him up.
"What?" Roy asked while looking around before focusing on the woman in front of him.
"We're going to keep your wife and son under observation for a few more days. We just want to make sure they're both healthy," The nurse said.
"It's the phone isn't it?" Roy asked.
A moment passed then the nurse nodded. "Yes, to be honest, Doctor Ramis has doubts and wants to be sure. How did the phone get into your wife?"
Roy shrugged. "I don't know. When I met Carinda, she told me she had a troubled past but she never gave me any details and I didn't want to be nosy."
The nurse nodded. "I understand. I'll tell the doctor what you said. Please go home and get some real rest. The coffee here is so bad they also use it in Gitmo. We always go to the cafe down the block."
Roy nodded. "Thanks."
The nurse turned and walked away.
Then it hit Roy. "I got a son!" He managed not to yell in the hospital lobby. Barely.
After waiting several days, this should've been a perfect moment. Finally, he was holding his new son. His heart expanded so much, he feared it was going to burst out of his chest. But the strange music from his son's phone ruined the moment. He wasn't using it at the time but just looking at the phone sent a chill down Roy's back. Regretfully he gave his son back to Carinda.
She searched his face for answers. "It's the phone, isn't it?"
Roy just looked away.
Several moments passed.
"Why?" Roy asked.
Carinda looked at her son trying to ignore the phone. "Hey, no problem. Once we get home, I have some ideas."
"How about we talk a bit before you try anything?" Roy asked.
"Why?"
"Well, the nurses took Justin's phone away, and even in the waiting room, I felt something weird-"
Carinda interrupted Roy. "What?" Her eyes narrowed.
Roy shook his head. "I don't know. Even the doctor and the nurse were afraid."
"What things?" Carinda's voice rose.
"It was quick and all I know was, I was scared. Very scared. It was like being at the edge of a cliff so close, a sneeze would make me fall. Please, Cari, we need to be careful," Roy said.
Carinda jerked her head and sighed. "Fine, I'll talk to you before I do anything about the phone."
A moment of silence passed before Carinda and Roy went about the day's affairs.
The weeks and months flew by in a blur as Carinda and Roy adjusted to their son. He was very energetic. Also, they noticed that Justin wouldn't let them see him use the phone. If Roy tried to look over Justin's shoulder, he would just stop doing whatever he was doing and hide the screen. Sometimes he would frown too. After a few moments, Roy would leave Justin alone.
While Roy tried to ignore Justin's strange relationship with his phone, Carinda was another matter. She was always trying to experiment with separating Justin from the device. All it would take was a chill down Roy's back and the lights flickering in the kitchen or the living room and he knew that something was wrong.
"Cari you have to stop fussing with the phone," Roy said one afternoon when the lights went out and again dread made him not look out the window.
Carinda frowned and then glared at him. "Why are you so comfortable about this? Our son has a creepy connection with his phone. It's not right. We need to find a way to get that thing away from him or Justin will never have a normal life!"
Roy nodded. "I get what you're saying but I don't want to make things worse."
"Have you ever looked at the screen? I tried and I just zoned out. It's not right. I even tried to take a picture of the logo on the back and my phone crashed. Where did Justin's phone come from?" Carinda asked.
Roy sighed. "You."
Carinda's eyes narrowed like she wanted to send him some stinkeye but she looked away. "Yeah, that's right."
"Cari, honey is there something you're not telling me? You always tell me that you had a troubled childhood," Roy said.
Carinda shook her head as tears started to flow down her cheeks. "I can't. Not now."
Seeing his wife cry felt like a punch to the gut. Roy looked down then back up. "I'm sorry. Will be in the living room. When you're ready, let me know what you want for dinner."
Carinda nodded and sniffled.
Roy slunk out of their bedroom while his thoughts churned around the mystery of Justin's phone. Maybe I should smash the damned thing, he thought. Fear arose in his mind. What if that made things worse? The memory of what happened in the hospital was still very fresh in his mind. With a small shake of his head, he pushed the troubling thoughts back.
Several days later, Emma Brighton, the new babysitter strode up the walkway.
Carinda frowned. Emma had plenty of good reviews online and some of the neighbors recommended her. She wouldn't have any problems with Justin. Well, except for the phone. Carinda's eyes narrowed. It was always that damned thing. Fantasies of throwing it outside or dumping it in the sink so the trash compactor could give it a good chewing filled her mind. Then she remembered seeing fear in her husband's eyes and the uneasiness she felt when the lights flickered for no reason. "That damn phone," Carinda whispered. as she walked to the kitchen door to meet Emma.
Emma's no-nonsense attitude made Carinda think of a combination of Mary Poppins and a marine drill sergeant. A person who would handle defusing a bomb and a messy diaper with aplomb. Maybe even both at the same time while having a steely-eyed thousand-yard stare. "I've seen things, terrible things...," Ms. Mary Drill Sargent would say. Carinda almost giggled.
Ms. Brighton fixed Carinda with a gaze that would've worked with a sniper rifle as well as a busy mother. "Does your son, Justin have any quirks that I should be aware of?"
All of Carinda's good humor melted away like ice cream under a blazing sun. For a few moments, things had felt normal now, not so much. "Um, he has a cellphone."
Emma's eyes narrowed like she had seen a possible threat incoming. "A cellphone? Why would such a young child have one?"
Carinda felt cowed. It felt like explaining how she messed up to an authority figure. The truth was just too strange to say. Heck, she wasn't ready to tell her husband yet. "Well, um, Justin got attached to one of my husband's old phones. We haven't had the time to do anything about it." She smiled a little.
Emma nodded and didn't smile. "I won't bother you with my thoughts about technology. Don't worry, your son will be weaned off of his unhealthy fascination."
A small chill ran down Carinda's back. Later on, she would understand why her misgivings were correct. "No problem. Thank you."
Several moments later they discussed details and finally, Emma got up and left. She would be at the house at eight am sharp.
Again Carinda had a quick thought that maybe she had made a mistake but she pushed that thought away to focus on getting ready for work the next day.
It was an hour after lunch when Roy grimaced at the figures in the latest status report. Other than a few small issues things were okay. Something else hung over him causing a feeling of dread like steel-grey cloudy skies. No, it didn't feel quite like that. To Roy, it felt like that Greek guy who had the sword over his head. He looked around like what was bothering him could be seen in his cubicle. There were the usual piles of printouts, nothing that would cause concern.
"Roy, check out the sky in the south," Amanda from the cubicle next to him said.
"Why?" Roy replied.
"It's kinda dark. I wonder if we're getting one of those pop-up storms. It's kinda late in the year for that. We usually get those on hot and steamy days," Amanda said.
Roy stood up and peered over the wall of his cubicle. Coal-black clouds were gathering over an area in the south. A chill raced down his back. Their house was in that direction. "Crap!"
"Yeah, right! I don't know if I should stay here until the storm ends or not. It might not even be near my house," Amanda said.
Roy on the other hand knew just like he would take another breath that the center of the storm was right over his house. The problem was deciding what to do. Should he call Carinda and warn her to get Justin out of the house? Or maybe he should call her to get Justin's phone first? He was also quite sure that the no-nonsense sitter did something with the phone. Other questions started to crowd his mind when his phone rang.
It was Carinda. "Roy, the babysitter called. She started screaming. Then she stopped. You gotta get to Justin and see what's going on!"
More dread flowed down Roy's back like an ice cube shower. Deep down he knew that Emma wasn't going to deal with the phone situation right but optimism won out. "I'm leaving now," Roy said.
Carinda hung up.
Roy looked around for his jacket and yelled at Amanda. "I'm having a personal emergency at home. Tell the boss I'll make up the lost time tomorrow."
"No problem, hope everything is alright at home," Amanda said while still banging away at her keyboard. She didn't even look up at him.
It didn't take Roy long to rush through the building and get to his car. All sorts of terrible thoughts swirled through his mind like plastic bags in a gale. Only one thought managed to stick. He had to ask Carinda about her childhood. Justin and his phone weren't natural things. Roy doubted that a diet high in minerals and vitamins could create a cell phone inside one's womb. That goes twice for vaccines.
As he drove towards his home, the feeling of impending disaster increased. One time he looked up at the sky but it felt like there was something in the sky using the clouds as cover. Maybe it would expose itself to him like a stripper. A bit of nasty here and maybe some disgusting there. Roy was quite sure he didn't want to see so he kept his eyes on the road. The side and rearview mirrors showed enough of the sky and he dreaded to look at them.
A block away from his house, something sharp scraped across the roof of his car. Roy was quite sure it wasn't a tree branch. He knew what it was but continuing that train of thought was too frightening.
It was as dark as midnight when Roy returned home. He frowned. There should be a light on somewhere if someone were home. The windows were unlit like the house had been abandoned.
That was a bad sign. Roy looked around to see if Carinda had arrived. Nope, with another glance around, he approached the door.
Inside, it was quiet except for Justin's fitful screams. That sent a chill down Roy's back. Where was the babysitter? "Miss. Brighton, Emma?" There was no reply. After checking the living room, he found a disquieting sight. A shattered hammer lay next to Justin's cell phone. Roy averted his eyes from the swirling mix of strange colors on the screen. There were some not in a regular rainbow. He would examine the hammer later but first Justin had to get his phone.
The phone felt slick and greasy but Roy barely kept a firm grasp on it. The last thing he needed was to drop the phone though he doubted that it would break. A hammer and the missing babysitter couldn't make a dent but maybe there would be consequences anyway. With a shake of his head, Roy pushed that thought away.
When Justin got his phone, he gave Roy a small smile. The atmosphere of dread started to lighten up like the sky outside.
A car pulled up in the driveway.
Roy sighed. At last, Carinda was home and maybe he would get some answers. When Roy was approaching her in the driveway, an invisible force pushed him so hard he fell back on his behind.
Something large fell between Carinda and Roy with a wet and meaty splash.
Roy looked down at himself and noticed that there was no blood near or on him.
Carinda on the other hand was covered from head to toe. She just stood there, brown eyes wide with shock while blood slid down her face.
Roy flicked his glance at the pile of gore in front of him. He had an idea who it was but he wasn't going to look closer. "Carinda, are you alright?"
Several moments passed.
Sirens sounded in the distance while the dark clouds faded away. Warm golden sunlight bathed the area.
Finally, she nodded slowly.
Some time later an ambulance and a cop car rolled up.
By then, Roy had managed to get most of the blood off of Carinda's face with a towel he got from inside the house.
The two cops wasted no time walking up to Roy and Carinda. One was a short brunette and the other one was a taller medium-sized man. "I'm Officer Grant and that's Office McHenry," The male cop said then pointed to his partner.
McHenry stepped closer to Carinda and Roy. "Are you okay?"
Several moments before Carinda nodded slowly.
"Do you know what happened here?" Officer Grant asked.
Time seemed to slow down as Roy thought of a good answer. The pure truth wouldn't work. He was quite sure of that. There was no way a cop would've accepted the explanation that their son had a cursed phone. Skimping on some details might be the way to go, Roy thought. "I got a call from my wife saying something was wrong with the babysitter."
"Something wrong with the babysitter?" Officer McHenry said while his eyes narrowed a bit.
"Um, um, yeah. She was screaming," Carinda said.
"What did she say?" Officer McHenry asked.
"I don't know. She seemed very scared. I couldn't understand her because she talked too fast. Do you want to check my phone?" Carinda said.
One of the paramedics walked close to the bleeding mass and looked at it. He took several steps before turning his head and vomiting in the grass.
A grimace crossed Officer Grant's face. "We'll need both of your phones and I want to have a medic check you out just in case."
Another paramedic walked up to Carinda and took her to the back of the ambulance while Roy followed. After checking out Carinda and Roy he nodded at Officer McHenry.
He strode up to Roy and Carinda.
"Are we in trouble officer?" Roy asked.
A moment passed.
"For now, no. I'll give you my card and if you remember more, call me. Don't leave town for a few days while we tie up loose ends," Officer McHenry said.
Roy wondered if he should ask more questions but then maybe he would have to answer questions he couldn't handle. But one question lingered in his mind. "Officer, how did you get here so fast?"
Carinda frowned.
Officer Grant walked up. "Well, we had gotten a call from Dispatch about someone screaming in your home then later on we got a call about a body falling out of the sky."
Roy nodded.
"Don't worry it seems that you're in the clear for now but we'll contact you if the situation changes. I suggest that both of you get some rest," Officer McHenry said.
By the time the body was put in several bags and wheeled into the coroner's van, it was late. Since Carinda and Roy had work the next day, they just had a quick quiet dinner and then it was off to bed.
Roy lay in bed and fought off exhaustion so he could ask Carinda about the phone. Maybe it wasn't the best time but he wanted to know. Just a few sentences, not a novel or even a paragraph. "Cari, can you tell me what you know about Justin's phone?"
Carinda was facing away from Roy so he couldn't see her face. Several moments passed. "Now?"
"I can't sleep anymore wondering what's going on," Roy replied. Doubt filled his mind. Maybe this wasn't the best time.
More moments passed.
Carinda sighed. "My parents were weird cultists and they gave me to something when I was a teenager. Then the child, um, Justin would come later," She sniffled.
For a moment, Roy considered not asking for more information but he wanted more. "What type of cult? I ask in case they come back for you."
Sniffles came from the other side of the bed. "No, they won't bother us. Justin is, is." Carinda cried in large wracking sobs that shook the bed.
Roy put his arm on her waist and waited until she stopped crying. Even though he wanted to know more regret needled him.
It took a while before they fell asleep.

Not many kids can say they have a superhero for a father.
My Dad was an amazing man. He was the coolest person in the world.
Known as our town’s superhero, he used his newfound powers to bring down evil villains who threatened to take over.
Nobody knew how he and a number of others acquired their abilities.
There were rumours of a chemical explosion in the powerplant.
Some people even believed my Dad was from a different planet, while others were convinced it was natural human evolution. My Dad could shoot lasers out of his eyes, and he was super strong.
When I was seven years old, he single-handedly stopped The Cerebral Drainer, a psychopath with a vacuum like power who took the lives of ten innocent people, sucking out their brains in broad daylight. Dad saved a child live on local TV, swooping down from the sky and telling the panicking crowd everything is going to be okay. Then when I was twelve, Dad took down Rat Face, a villain who filled the streets with disease ridden rodents.
My Dad was our town’s superhero, and in exchange for keeping his secret from the rest of the world, he protected all of us.
He was the best superhero (and father) by day, and family-man and loving husband by night. I was Millie Myers, a completely ordinary high school girl, and daughter of Star-man.
It wasn't out of the ordinary for the press to be swarming our door when I got home from school.
Pushing through the crowd of my Dad’s adoring fans, I flashed my perfect smile at the cameras.
As Star-man’s daughter, I was yet to reveal my power to the town.
I could tell they were gunning for it, their wide and frenzied eyes raking me up and down.
The older I was getting, the less patient the town was. Dad told them in a press conference that I was just a late bloomer. Channel 7 news was waiting for me at our front door, immediately sticking a microphone in my face. I was told not to talk to the press. I was tired, and the cameras were hurting my eyes.
The anchorwoman, Heather Carlisle, was already yelling in my face.
“Millie Myers! Is it true your father is currently interrogating the son of the infamous villain, Six-Eyes?”
Six Eyes was the opposite of my father.
Dad strived to protect our town and everyone in it.
Six Eyes, who was famous for the mutation that came with his ability, sought to destroy it. It was almost a year since he had brainwashed the Mayor and almost taken control of our tiny town.
Dad did manage to apprehend him, only for Six Eyes to break out of prison two weeks later.
His eighteen year old son, Cartwright, wanted nothing to do with him. He had even legally changed his name to get as far away from his father as possible.
The boy was only in town for a few weeks, on vacation from college.
However, over the last few days, my father had reasons to believe Six-Eyes was in contact with his estranged son.
So, he planned to question the kid on his Dad’s whereabouts.
I twisted around, maintaining a wide smile. “No comment.” I told the cameras.
The anchorwoman nodded slowly, thrusting her microphone further into my face. I had to hold back a sneeze. “But your father is interrogating him now, correct? Millie, can you tell us what… techniques he is using?” She demanded, her expression riddled with excitement.
She was trying to get me to spill or trip over what I was saying so my words could be taken out of context.
But I was already heavily media trained not to say a thing. I couldn't say the same for when I was a little younger.
I blindly told the press a lot of things I regret.
Dad didn't get mad easily, but his smile did start to slightly falter when I told Channel 7 our family's business.
Shutting the press down, I shook my head, making sure to stretch my lips into a big, cheesy grin. Just like my Dad told me. I cleared my throat.
“Rest assured, Cartwright is in good hands, I can promise you all that.”
I nodded at the crowd, making direct eye contact with each of them. Dad said if I wanted the crowd to believe my earnest words, I had to look into each and every eye, and mean it. That's what I did.
“As we all know, the son of Six Eyes is not a bad person, and we should not blame him for his father’s crimes. I cannot speak for my Dad, but I can assure you, he will find the villain Six Eyes.”
I held my breath, pausing for just enough time for the crowd to register my words.
“And bring him to justice.”
When I turned to open my door, the spell was broken, more questions thrown at me.
“Millie, is it true you have not inherited your father’s abilities?”
Someone else screamed in my face, and I choked down a yell.
“Millie Myers, can you tell us more about your father’s interrogation?!”
I shrugged. “I don't know. He's just talking to him.”
“Millie!” A wide eyed redhead followed me, stumbling over my mother’s rose garden.
When he carelessly stamped on a blooming rose, I resisted the urge to shove him back. He looked like an ammateur, a college kid, maybe, armed with just his iPhone and a dream.
The guy got close.
Too close for comfort, swiping at my jacket.
His breath was just coffee and cigarettes. “Are you aware of the photos floating around of you and Kai Hendrix, the son of Oculus? Can you confirm that you are in a relationship?”
A younger woman threw herself in front of him.
“Miss Myers, is there a reason why your brother does not come outside–”
Ignoring them, I opened the door, stepped inside our house, and slammed it behind me. Once inside, I let myself breathe, dropping my backpack and pulling off my jacket. There was a folded square of paper tucked into my pocket.
I pulled it out and ripped it into pieces. There were exactly 1,370 tally marks carved into our front door. With a rusty nail, I scratched another tally, crossing a group of four. 1,371 days.
Kicking off my shoes, I strode into the downstairs living room.
“I'm home.” I told my twin brother.
Ethan Myers was born three minutes after me. We weren't classed as identical twins, but Mom was convinced we were.
Both of us had thick brown hair, bearing our mother’s soft features. While I kept mine in a strict ponytail, Ethan’s had grown out lighter and curlier than mine, hanging in dark eyes. Ethan was the Myers twin who was not in the town’s spotlight.
My brother was in his usual place, sitting on the couch, knees pressed to his chest, half lidded eyes glued to the corpse of our TV. The screen had been hollowed out a long time ago. I skipped into the kitchen and filled a glass of orange juice, took a quick sip, and headed over to my brother, pressing the drink to his lips.
Ethan didn't respond for a moment, before his lazy eyes rolled to me, life erupting into his expression. He gulped it down, juice trickling down his chin.
When I withdrew the glass, he shot me a grateful smile. I winced when he straightened up, the sound of jingling metal sending me stumbling back.
“Thanks, Mills.”
He held up his right hand, just like when we were little kids. “High five?”
I ignored his childlike grin, hollowed out eyes penetrating right through me.
Ethan was never looking at me. He was always looking over my shoulder. But when I followed his gaze, there was nothing there. I ruffled his hair, resisting the urge to wrap my arms around him.
But I had to keep my distance.
I stepped back, my gaze trailing the ceiling. “Where's Dad?”
Ethan’s eyes travelled back to the TV, his lips pricking into a smile.
“Basement.” He said. “Daddy is interrogating the villain’s son.”
I nodded, pulling my Switch from my bag and dropping it into his lap.
It used to be Ethan’s. In fact, he had carved his initials into the back. “You can play with this, you know." I forced out, trying to stop my hands from trembling.
“You don't have to keep…” I turned to the shattered TV screen, my heart catapulting into my mouth. Ethan didn't look at me, his gaze boring into the TV.
He didn't respond, so I headed towards the basement door.
But not before my brother let out a hysterical giggle.
When I turned to him, Ethan was seventeen years old, laughing at invisible cartoons.
“Do you expect me to play with no fucking hands?”
I didn't, or couldn't, reply.
“Hey, Millie?” Ethan hummed, when I pulled open the basement door.
The chill that followed set my nerve endings on fire. My brother’s voice was deeper, no longer the childish giggle I'd gotten used to. In the corner of my eye, his head turned towards me. Standing on the threshold for a fraction of a second, I think part of me wondered if Ethan’s mind had pieced itself back together.
“Mom wants juice too.”
My twin’s voice was suddenly so small. “Can you get her some?”
I pretended not to hear him, skipping down to the basement, ignoring how cold each step was, the ingrained red dried into concrete. The best part of my day was visiting my father while he was working. I held my breath, easing my way down each step. “Hey, Dad?” I called, easing myself through the dark.
I always made sure to announce my presence. “Daddy.” I pulled my lips into the biggest, cheesiest smile. “I'm home.”
“Pumpkin!” Dad’s voice echoed from the bottom of the stairs. “How's my favorite girl doing?”
Moving further down the stairs, I could hear screaming.
Wailing.
Sobbing.
There were specific rules I had to abide by when stepping inside the basement.
I had to be extra quiet if my father was doing superhero business. Over the years, though, Dad had relaxed the rules a little. When I pushed through the plastic sheeting, Daddy had already opened up the boy’s head. It's not like I was surprised. He'd moved away from the interrogation stage a long time ago.
Star-man stood in a simple suit and tie, a white coat draped over.
My father was young for his age, dark brown hair and pale features.
Cartwright didn't look so good, lying on his back, his half lidded gaze glued to the ceiling.
I could see sharp red spilled across the floor and the bed he was strapped to.
Star-man loomed over him, cradling the boy’s jerking head between blood slicked gloves. The closer I got, I could see the exposed meat of the boy’s brain leaking from the pearly white of his skull.
Closer.
Cartwright's body was quaking, his wrists straining against velcro straps.
My father’s fingers gently stroked across the pink of his brain, tiny sparks of electricity bleeding from his index. Star-man's grin widened, and I watched the villain’s son writhing under his touch.
I could see the tiny sparks of electricity running from Dad’s fingers, forcing his victim into submission. The villain’s son’s eyes rolled back, a wet sounding sob escaping his lips. He was still conscious, and could feel everything.
Star-man lifted his head, his eyes finding me.
“Sweetie! How was school?”
He let go of Cartwright's head, delicately changing his gloves for brand new clinical white ones. “Your teacher called about a certain test you have been trying to avoid.” Dad tutted, swiping his bloody hands on his coat.
When Cartwright tried to wrench from the bed, he knocked the kid back down with a laugh. “Millie, I did say, there will be consequences if you flunk your tests.”
He gestured for me to come closer with a blood drenched glove, and I did.
Star-man prodded a single finger into the raw flesh of Cartwright's brain, and the boy screamed, writhing, blood running thick from his nose. “Do I need to take your phone away, hmm? How about the school trip to New York? Millie, I don't have to sign the permission slip.” He turned back to the villain’s son, hanging over the boy with a laugh.
“What do you think?” He cleared his throat.
When Dad nodded at me, I laughed too. “Young Mr Cartwright, the human brain does not have nerves, so I don't know why you're screaming. It is quite embarrassing for a boy of your age.”
He slapped the boy’s cheek playfully, and Cartwright wailed.
1,400 days, I thought, watching my father torture the teenage boy.
1,400 days since Star-man walked into our house, burned down our door, and announced himself as our new father.
I was thirteen years old in middle school.
Ethan and I were watching TV in the living room, and there he was.
Star-man, with his signature grin, standing between the melted remnants of our front door.
Stella, our little sister, squeaked in delight.
“Star-man!” She jumped off of the couch.
Ethan gently dragged her back, holding her to his chest.
“Hey, Mom?” He yelled, his voice shaking.
“There's someone at the door.”
Star-man chuckled, taking a step inside our hallway.
“Oh, no, I'm not here for your mother.”
1,400 days since he murdered our mother, lasering her head cleanly from her shoulders when she threw herself in front of us and begged him to take her.
There was wet warmth running across the concrete floor. I barely noticed, hopping over it.
1,400 days since Star-man burned our little sister alive in front of our eyes.
Star-man didn't want three children.
He wanted two.
1,400 days since our father nailed wooden planks over the door, announcing Ethan and I as his legacies.
Ethan started to spiral. He tried to escape out his bedroom window, and then more dangerously, jumping off of the roof of our house, and that just made our father angry. He burned a hole in the TV, and then hollowed out the screen.
Star-man just wanted a son and a daughter. That's what he told my brother.
He could not procreate because of the mutation causing his ability. But he had always wanted children.
Star-man promised us he was going to be the best father anyone would ask for.
And he was.
100 days after murdering our mother and sister, Ethan and I were plunged into the town’s spotlight.
“These are my children!” Star-man told a crowd of flashing cameras.
He wrapped his arms around the two of us, pulling us closer.
*“Ladies and gentlemen, I would like you to meet Millie and Ethan Myers from my first marriage.”
Star-man addressed the crowd with earnest eyes.
“I know what you're thinking, and no, these two are little rascals,” he ruffled our hair a little too hard, and I made sure to laugh and smile and not cry. “Millie and Ethan do not share my abilities.”
His lips spread into a grin.
“Yet.”
That word had been hanging over me since the press-conference.
Yet.
Presently, Dad was crawling in my head again.
Smile, Millie!.
I did, smiling so much, blood pooled from my lips.
Dad promised neither of us would be sad again. We wouldn't fear him or anything else. In fact, we were going to be happy, smiling, perfect children forever, his shining legacies he would dangle in front of the town on our eighteenth birthday.
It was his birthday present to us, and I was so excited.
The closer I was getting to my father, I could sense him fashioning my smile, wider and wider, until I couldn't breathe.
He didn't care that I was bleeding.
That my eyes were stinging.
All he cared about was that I loved him as my father.
“Come here, Millie.”
I forced myself forwards, swallowing vomit filling the back of my mouth.
If I screamed, I would end up like my brother. Ethan was on a permanent time out until his 18th birthday. Star-man was yet to forgive my twin trying to stab him at Thanksgiving dinner. Dad said Ethan’s mental state was puberty, but I was more akin to believing it was a mixture of trauma, as well as our father’s attempt to poison my brother with powers at fourteen years old which almost killed him. Dad was smart enough to stop the procedure before he killed his only son.
I blinked, my legs buckling, footsteps faltering.
Sometimes I think I can pull away from his influence.
“Millie Myers.” Dad hummed, skimming his finger across a variety of scalpels. Cartwright watched him feverishly. “Don't make me ask again, Pumpkiiiiin.”
Still.
I felt my thoughts start to melt away, replaced with artificial happiness choking me. Our father was the best Dad in the whole world. I wouldn't ask for any other father, and I didn't even miss my mother!
With that thought slamming into me, I skipped over to my father with a grin.
Around him were rejects, corpses piled to the ceiling, limbs and heads and torso’s contorted and merged into one mass of gore.
Human’s he attempted to turn into minions.
But there were also successful villains.
The Cerebral Drainer, and Rat Face had been ripped apart and put back together again. Dad was saving them for a quiet day. The Myers basement was my father’s workshop. When I joined his side, he ran his fingers over Cartwright's skull.
I was surprised when the villain’s son let out a sudden, hysterical giggle, his eyes rolling to pearly whites. “What are you doing to him?” I asked, intrigued, running my hands over the boy’s restraints. This time, Cartwright's body contorted into an arch, maniacal laughter escaping his lips.
When his back slammed into metal, the ground rumbled.
“Now, what is funny, hmm?” Star-man asked in a low hum.
The boy responded by spitting in his face, shrieking with giggles.
Dad cleared his throat, swiping blood from his cheek.
“That's not funny.”
I was keenly aware of several instruments dangling above my head.
Cartwright's body jolted, and they hit the ground.
Dad turned his attention to me. “What is your nightmare of a brother doing, young lady?”
His words shattered part of his influence.
I felt my breath start to quicken, my heart starting to pound.
Fear.
Ethan hadn't moved in days, weeks, months.
Glued to that one seat, caught inside his own delusion.
Ethan was watching TV when Mom’s brains were splattered across the walls.
He was watching TV when our little sister’s flesh bubbled into the living room carpet.
“Ethan is watching TV.” I hummed, “What are you doing to the villain’s son?” I pointed to the boy’s contorting fingers. They turned clockwise, straining under harsh velcro straps.
Cartwright was trying to twist off my head like a bottletop. I was lucky to have my father’s protection.
Dad shot me a grin. “Well, you see, Millie.” He said, shoving the hysterical boy back onto the bed. Madness. I saw it in his eyes, igniting every part of his face, running through his nerve endings.
That is what made a villain, what we all saw on the local news.
It was the loss of humanity, logic quite literally burned from the brain stem.
Complete, unbridled euphoria, accepting insanity.
I had already seen this exact look.
The Cerebral Drainer’s psychotic grin.
Rat Face’s all too familiar and horrific chittering laugh.
Six Eyes’s Alice In Wonderland smile.
Dad rocked the boy’s head back and forth. Cartwright giggled along, his gaze finding nothing, penetrating nothing. His hands went limp, and he gave up trying to yank my brain from my skull. “We can't have heroes without villains, can we?”
I reached out, poking the boy in the face.
“So, he's like his father?”
Dad almost looked like a proud father. “Oh, no, honey, he's better than his father. He's already setting an example.” Starman nudged me playfully. “Your father would not exist without the bad guys,” he said, tracing a finger over the boy’s cheek. “We’re just lucky we have a town full of naive fuck-wits.”
Cartwright laughed harder. Hard enough to send him toppling off of the bed with a wet, meaty sounding smack.
I was partially aware of my body reacting. My breaths quickened, a thick slime creeping up my throat. I think I stepped back. I think I almost screamed.
I forgot his head was hanging open, half of his brains leaking out.
But I don't think Cartwright needed a brain anymore.
Whatever was left of it was blackened, thick, poisoned streaks running up down what had been healthy pink and grey.
My Dad scooped him up, and plonked him back onto ice cold steel.
His evil laugh was fake, manufactured, programmed directly into his mind.
Part of me wondered if this was his father’s fate too.
Six Eyes.
Was he a result of my father’s experiments?
The crazy thing is, the more I want to scream, my chest heaving, fear starting to gnaw away at me, the stronger my father’s influence is. The villain’s son was stitched back up with not even a hair out of place and thrown into the back with the other finished minions.
If he recovered well, Cartwright, son of Six Eyes, would be going on a town rampage very soon.
Well, he was the villain’s son after all.
Instead of screaming, I smiled.
Dad taught me everything about cutting up humans. Human brains were so easy to manipulate.
Because humans were bad.
The people like my Dad were better.
I grabbed a scalpel, sticking it into Cartwright's hand.
His whimper of pain collapsing into hysterical laughter didn't give me hope.
If he reacted positively to a blade going through his skin, he wasn't worth saving.
Once that thought crossed my mind, however, I REALLY LOVED MY DAD.
The mental declaration almost sent me to my knees.
“Go upstairs and do your homework.” Dad said, wheeling Cartwright into the back room. “I'll be upstairs to cook dinner in ten minutes.”
“Sure, dad.”
His influence was like a wire wrapped around my throat.
Squeezing.
“Oh, and Millie?”
I didn't turn around. “Yes?”
“Chocolate or strawberry for your birthday cake?”
I froze, my smile stretching right across my face.
He knew my answer. Dad baked us a cake 4 hours after I trashed the slimy remnants of my little sister. Star-man forced me to peel my sister from the carpet and dump her in a trash bag.
I could still smell her charred flesh hanging in the air.
Star-man made a giant chocolate cake and frosting.
He made us eat every single morsel.
Every bite was agonising.
“Chocolate, Daddy.” I said, swallowing my lunch.
Dad chuckled, and somewhere in the back, Cartwright started laughing.
Starting as quiet giggles, they became full on guffaws.
Star-man ignored him.
“That's right, Princess.”
I nodded, heading back up the stairs.
Greeting my brother, I cranked the Alexa to full volume.
I always listen to music when I'm doing my homework.
Filling a glass of water, I held it to Ethan’s lips with three fingers.
Ethan downed it in three gulps, and then nodded in one single motion.
Star-man may be a highly intelligent psychopath, but he is yet to notice my brother is not as brain dead as he thinks.
Yes, he still watches TV.
But he's also thinking.
Dad is under the impression my twin doesn't need to be under his control.
But Ethan has been planning.
And slowly, over days, weeks, months, he has been putting together our escape plan.
It has been 1,400 days since Ethan and I tried to escape our father.
1,370 days since we started to scratch our days of captivity into the door.
10 days until we turn eighteen.
Four days until we get the fuck out of here.

This is a book I started writing in like 2021 and stopped working on until recently. I'd love some feedback on whether I should continue with it or not, please let me know what you think.
Also keep in mind this is a first draft, and I am no Stephen King.
Intro/Chapter One

I walked down the alabaster hall, fluorescent lights flickering as I approach the exit. It’d been nine months since I’ve seen the outside of the compound, I knew life would never be the same but I had to try to live to some amount of normalcy again. I’d already gathered my belongings from the security room at the northwest of the building. I had stayed in a less invasive portion of the building, living alongside people who had a mental breakdown much like they claimed I suffered, or people that never had sanity, to begin with. Sometimes I could hear the screams and threats to the staff from some of the more, let's say unstable residents of the clinic. I played the psychiatrist's game of sanity. I had to, there was no other option. No one would ever believe what really happened. At first, I’d used my limited computer time to research the haunted woods of Colorado. But I soon learned that only fed into my so-called insanity. Walking down the bland hallway, I thought about my research. There had been reports, but that’s all they were. The old myths and tales had mostly been in eastern Canada and the regions of the great plane, nothing stating that IT lived as far west as my encounter. I laughed to myself, calling it, IT when I knew what it really was now. I knew fairly early, but naming the beast IT left out enough context that people assumed I was talking about a wildlife incident. By playing charades like this long enough I was able to buy my freedom to the sane world. “This is it, Mr. Patel. You’ve come a long way, and..” I cut off the mental institution’s nurse by grabbing my belongings from him that he so kindly offered to carry for me. In reality, he snatched them up as soon as I’d checked them out from security. He pushed the door open, and the bright morning autumn light temporarily blinded me. I could see them standing at the end of the walkway, red and yellow leaves dancing across the ground as I slowly made my way towards my spouse and our daughter, golden hair shining in the light. 

Chapter one: The silent drive.

Markus made his way down the Rocky Mountains, slowly creeping along in his old Jeep Wrangler as the snow crunched beneath the chains. Only a few more hours and he’d reach his destination, a cold dark cabin in the wooded mountains of Colorado. He remembered going there maybe twice as a child, but since his father's heart failure he hadn’t really had contact with that side of the family. As the engine hummed along the mountain, he was on all but autopilot. Thirty-two years old and this is where life had landed him. Marital separation, no real career, no real family outside of the one he’d created with his wife and daughter. Had it really been that long since his father's passing? His so-called father was ten years and change older than he was now when he died of heart failure, but Markus supposed that’s what happens when you have genetic heart failure and you spent your life drinking and smoking. No one was really surprised when he passed, some had even been prepared for it. As for his mother's side, he never knew his grandparents and had only met his Aunt once or twice. Jen or Jenna? Jessica? Markus shook his head, “Focus Markus. Focus. Ice, snow, mountain. Pay attention.” It’d been a long drive and an even longer week. Markus couldn’t blame Elizabeth for wanting a separation. He hadn’t been great to her the last few years. He’d taken his failures and problems out on her. He was borderline abusive, he’d never hit her, but lord sometimes she made it so damn hard. He’d already felt like a failure, he didn’t need her pointing it out. He never really decided what to do with his life, sure he fell in love young, and had a beautiful daughter but there was still a hole missing out of his life. He never really could put his finger on it, was it a career he never decided on, dropping out of high school, falling out with his mother? The list could go on and on. He reached the old two-bedroom cabin just a few hours before dusk. The old, decrepit building hadn’t had visitors in more than a couple of years. The last person he knew of staying there was his father's mother, Gina. Grandma G made more of an effort to include him in the family than his father had, even going as far as to write birthday letters to him and have his father sign them as a child. After she disappeared, the cabin gained shared ownership by his father and siblings. The cabin was the last known place she had been, but there was no evidence of foul play. She was never found, even after the search parties and wildlife rangers had searched for days. But just like her father, no one was astounded she went missing. Dementia had really been setting in, even though no one thought it would be near bad enough for her to wander out into the woods by herself. Markus walked up to the front door, unlocking it using the key stuck under a fake rock next to the withered “Home sweet home” welcome mat. He could barely make out the words of the old piece of hemp, he wasn’t sure why it bothered him so bad. He was sure the only reason this old log hadn’t been broken into was due to the remote location. A thirty-minute drive to the closest grocery outlet, if you can even call it that, was the closest thing around. Markus practically walked into the door, expecting it to swing open. Between the ancient wood of the door and the ungreased hinges, It wouldn’t budge. He pulled up on the handle and pushed with his shoulder muttering, “Son of…” before the hinges gave way and he crashed onto the floor. He felt like laying on the cold, dusted ground forever. Just giving up and withering away like the old mat outside. “This is fine, just dandy. Go get me a beer already,” he said to no one in particular. He rose and brushed the floor dust from his old worn jeans, making his way to the ivory light switch. He stood in darkness, growing increasingly frustrated as he flicked the lifeless switch up and down. “That’s the problem with the old houses,” Markus said to the empty air. He walked out the front and around the north side of the old cabin, continuing along the side as he ran his fingers down the old wood until he reached the meter-main combo panel outside. He was less than shocked but still displeased to see the fuses had blown. “Where did they keep that box of fuses?” He quizzed himself. Eventually, Markus found them in a wood crate on the top shelf of the shed, which wasn’t in any better shape than the living quarters. The eight-by-five wood structure barely stood by itself anymore. The old window panes cracked and 

spiderwebbed, paint peeling and a few shingles slightly flapping in the wind.

Markus threw his last bag on the dining room table like a teenager coming home from the first week of school. It was a relief to finally be at the spine-chilling old cabin, with power on and belongings inside. The fire crackling in the stone hearth gave more light to the interior than the old yellow light bulbs. So far the only thing to go right had been the log left in the fireplace, Markus was even close to the corner of his lip raising when he saw the dry kindle ready to be lit. The sun would be setting soon, and if he wanted Devil's water before the natural light had completely dwindled he’d have to leave very soon. He was thirsty as if he had been stuck in the Southern Utah desert all his life. Except the only way to quench the thirst was to down ten or eleven bottles of cheap beer, just enough to remember the night before in the morning. Markus had learned his limited, twelve or thirteen drinks and he’d lose his dinner, fourteen or fifteen and he’d lose his ability to recall the events that followed. He’d never really been a fan of liquor, his favorite was “mid-shelf” beer. Markus grabbed his fluffy blue coat and headed out to the Jeep. 

Chapter two: The Warning.
The Jeep pulled up to John’s Gas and Grocery, the decades-old building was little more than a glorified Grocery outlet and petrol pumps that had to be from the mid-eighties. He braved the cold, pulling the collar of the well-used coat against the wind. A stereotypical ding-dong sounded when he opened the door, boots squelching on the false tile flooring. He nodded to the old man at the register, who merely looked up from a leather-bound book. Markus knew exactly what he needed, he grabbed a cart for all the essentials: three cases of beer, one box of twinkies, one box of ding-dongs, and his favorite, Oatmeal cream pies which he’d grabbed several boxes of. He grabbed the fattiest meat the small store had as well, the ancient old remedy of greasy food for hangovers.

He approached the register, “five bundles of kindle too, please.” The old Native American simply stared at him for a moment too long. “Awful lot of junk food for a camping trip in the snow, don’t you think?” Markus replied politely, “I’m staying at my family's cabin over the ridge on Fendore Drive for a few weeks, you’ll probably see me a few more times.”Mmm,” The old man hummed. “John Raymond,” said the old man in a raspy voice, sticking out his hand. Markus accepted the handshake, “Mark,” he replied. The old man wasn’t satisfied with that answer, tilting his head forward slightly and raising his bushy eyebrows. “Markus Patel. Friends called me Mark,” he had said with disinterest in sharing his full name. “Good strong handshake, says a lot about a man. Strong, yet caring and sensitive. No?” John asked quizzically. “If only that were true,” Markus said just loud enough to hear. John slid the items across the scanner, hardly taking an eye off Markus. “You ought to be careful around these trees. ‘Specially at night, wild animals and whatnot.” John warned Markus, almost winking at the end of his sentence. Markus wondered what exactly this old Ute was getting onto. “And what not?” 

“Some believe these woods are cursed. Call it a witch, or a demon. I’ve heard people talkin’. When you live as long as I do, you hear things spread around.” John almost seemed cautious about his words. Markus wanted to pry more, “And what do you believe, Mr. Raymond?” John Raymond petted an imaginary beard, “I believe that these woods are dangerous, ‘specially after dark. Be safe out there.”
“Well I appreciate the warning, but I don’t really believe in the whole ‘bigfoot’ thing,” Markus intercepted, using his fingers to quote bigfoot. “Have a good night, Mr. Raymond.”

Markus could feel the old man's eyes on him as he made his way back to the Jeep parked out front. After setting his delicious treasures on the passenger seat, Markus plucked five bundles of wood from the stack in front of the windows of the store. He felt unnerved, looking into the blackness beyond the store's light bleeding from the parking lot and beyond the pumps. He scoffed, feeling stupid for letting an old man's warnings get to him. “No such thing as Bigfoot,” Markus mumbled as he slammed his Jeep’s trunk shut. By the time Markus got to the turnpike that eventually led to the old dirt path, it had grown dark. The still night air had something whimsical about it. The pines were blanketed in a layer of untouched white powder, the only impressions in the snow beside his tire tracks were the occasional deer print. As serene as the woods were, only lit by moonlight reflecting off the frozen ground, Markus still felt somewhat uneasy. The old man named John had gotten to him to some amount, but Markus would never admit that, not even to himself. 

He pulled the now ticking Jeep up to the creepy old wood structure, as close as he could to the entrance. The light barely bled through the old dirty windows, giving the cabin a haunted look. Markus wondered to himself why he ever wanted to come out to this frozen wasteland, he only had fleeting memories of this place but when Elizabeth asked for a separation, this was the first place that came to mind. He wasn’t sure why, but the thought made him feel uneasy. Markus sat in the Jeep as it grew colder without the climate control on, wondering how this had ever happened. When they married, he was a happy young man with the world in front of him. Somewhere along the way, he grew into a bitter developing drunk. Maybe it was the torment of work, every job he had seemed to be worse than the last, his most recent job working as a grunt at a well-known manufacturing plant had proven to be the worst so far. Not only did he not have companionship with his fellow workers, but they also belittle him. They refused training and would treat him like a dog that had peed on the living room rug. He was tired of being belittled and tired of his rock bottom life.

The first thing Markus did upon entering the Cabin was crack a still cold beer, and opening a package of twinkies. After almost swallowing a Twinkie full, he finally had the strive to throw a log into the fireplace and bring warmth to the room. 

Markus cursed himself after forgetting to open the flu, the room beginning to fill with the foggy appearance of smoke. Though it didn’t bother him enough to forget about his T.V. Dinner he felt as though that was one more thing he failed at. As if the great being in the sky was keeping a tally of every little mistake he’d made, and punished him tenfold.
“One, three, five, six, seven…” Markus quietly counted the empty bottles stacking up around the chair which sat next to the warm fireplace. “A reckon I’ve earned one more, or a few,” he told the walls, as he raised a bottle in salute to himself. The next thing he remembers was waking up in the shallow cot, rolling over to see the time on his cellphone which was little more than a clock in the wilderness. “3:30.” The words rattled out of his mouth like a mummy. As soon as he lay his head back on the pillow, the world spun around him and he heaved himself out of bed, making a beeline for the bathroom, narrowly making it to the toilet before projectile vomiting violently. The unpleasant mix of preservative pastry treats and cheap alcohol filled his taste buds as they had two hours earlier. Markus awoke on the cold hard ground of the bathroom sometime later, the sun just starting to peek over the trees of the late winter morning. There was an uneasy stillness in the air, something that felt like watching a car come barreling towards you while you sat in your still parked car, time seemed to slow moments before the collision.

Using the dwindling strength that was left, shaking from low blood sugar and an empty stomach, Markus pulled himself up using the sink. He stared at himself through a dirty mirror, his brown hair in a mop and stubble growing steadily on his face. He looked like death, with dark circles under his blue eyes. He always used to keep his hair short and neat, always clean-shaven except for the weekends when he could finally cut loose and not worry about a professional-looking demeanor. Bent over the short sink ached his back, probably from sleeping on the ground he noted mentally. Standing up straight and stretching his stiff back, cracking like a bullwhip. His hairline met the top of the mirror, he wasn’t intensely tall but six foot two was enough to miss the sight of his moppy hair in the reflective glass. 

Markus made his way out to his bag, still sitting on the dining room table. Fumbling with the zipper, he pulled out a bottle of over-the-counter painkillers, Dry swallowing a few. The small bundle of soft pine he had put in the fireplace before losing consciousness had burned out hours ago, the dead cold of the Colorado winter eating away the coals. Markus wondered how cold it must be in the old building, he could almost see his breath, so he figured it had to have been close to thirty-two. The firewood he had bought wasn’t lasting long, it’d probably had something to do with the low-grade softwood it had been cut out of. He remembered the four years of woodshop he’d taken in high school, Markus’s mind started to wander in his hungover state. “That table wouldn’t be so wobbly if they’d use a biscuit joint for the legs. It’s probably from some long-ago closed IKEA, nothing but cheap screws holding it together. If Elizabeth ends up wanting a full-blown divorce, she doesn’t get my table. Best thing I ever made. African walnut, curly maple..waterfall Bubinga. Now that was a work of art. No metal holding it together, just glue and its weight from the hand-carved joints.”
Once coming back to reality, Markus decided he’d better go out and cut some fresh wood. He’d seen an old ax in the shed, he’d cut enough to last the whole winter and stack it up on the side of the cabin. He was determined to exert physical effort now and not have to later. The ax had to have been from the sixties or seventies, it was practically ancient. The old steel was slightly rusted and the handle, a hardwood with a slight curve, he figured it was probably from a German manufacturer. At some distant point, he’d been in love with making knives. He used his woodworking skills to make handles for the full tang blades. “Always full tang, anything less is cheap garbage,” his metal shop teacher’s voice rang in his ears. Those were the days when life was simple. The biggest worry he had was how he was going to play hooky so he could go up Rock Canyon with his buddies. They’d studied the Canyon, after all, it was where prolific serial killer Ted Bundy killed some of his victims.

Markus had been chopping old trees for about three hours, sweat dripping down his brow despite the biting cold, every so often stopping to bite his tongue and breathe so he didn’t lose the remaining contents of his stomach. Maybe he didn’t have the stamina to chop a year's worth of wood after all, but all he needed was enough to last him the time he spent here and he was determined. 

Swinging the sharp heavy tool at a diagonal angle once, twice, three times more and the tree fell. “Finally!” He screamed, It must have been forty-five minutes since he worked on this pine.
Blood-curdling screams of a young woman, maybe in her mid-twenties, Markus swung around with the ax clutched to his chest, ready to chop for his own life. Slowly and cautiously striding forward, scanning the trees for any sign of duress Markus made his way into the shaded forest. He came upon a sight, something brown crumpled on the frozen earth. The closer he got, the more sense it made. White antlers blended with the backdrop of snow, invisible from a distance. Blood soaked the white powder around the unmoving beast, it was a brutal sight Markus had only seen in nature documentaries. Using the head of the ax, Markus turned to the head of the murdered deer, its throat ripped out clean. Blood still poured from the open wound, staining the fur a sickly onyx. “Cougar..” Markus carefully scanned his surroundings, before setting his eyes back on the buck. He’d never been hunting, but it was on his bucket list. He’d always wanted a nice rack to hang up on his office wall when he finally had enough money to buy a house with an office. He took a mental note to come back later with a saw and collect the bounty, approximately fifty feet due northeast of the Cabin.

Returning to the Cabin felt like a desolate trip through a never ending frozen waste land, What couldn’t have been more than ten or fifteen minutes felt like days. 

Pulling the wet, dirty boots off brought relief. “Now all I need is a ding-dong and a beer. Maybe I should start some fire up before I settle in though,” the words rang through the empty cabin. Markus told himself he didn’t know what the purpose of him talking to himself was, but deep down in his still beating heart he knew. He knew it was the only thing keeping him sane, keeping him from losing his mind and running out into the trees only to be eaten by some unseen beast. Absentmindedly throwing the last of his gas station wood into the hearth, his thoughts continued to wonder about the growing insanity inside his mind's eye. His voice echoed in his own head, ‘Could this be what happened to Gina? Coming out to get some R and R and losing her mind, or what was left of it at least? All this stress I'm carrying, could I lose my mind?’
Throwing a match on the kindling, flame burst to life, light dancing on the dark corners of the Cabin. The uneasy feeling had steadily been growing, something dark, something mysterious, something...Unknown.
Chapter Three: The visitor
“Come out Markie. Come out to me baby,” Elizabeth’s voice rang out, echoing from all around. Markus was blankly facing his bedroom door, but quickly turned in all directions looking for the voice. His eyes searched frantically, scanning everywhere until he saw a dark shape beyond the living room window, standing in the frozen earth with arms outstretched. Nothing but a silhouette in the dark, Markus ran for the front door to meet with the dark shape that couldn’t possibly be her. The harder he ran the further to the front door became, pushing his physical limits until his lungs felt like molten rock. If you could just get there, just hold his dear Eliza, everything would be alright. He could come home, make pancakes for her and their beautiful little Judy as small flakes of snow fell outside. He could find a new job that paid more and gave him more time at home with them...He could make things alright.
The door slowly opened, letting in the cold night air, just as it gently touched the wall, coming to full dilation he almost flew from the building, falling on his hands and knees, the icy ground scratching up his hands and knees. The pain was irrelevant, he had to get to his Eliza at all costs. He looked up, her white nightgown shining in the moonlight. Standing in front of him was what looked like his beloved wife, but it wasn’t Elizabeth. It was some misformed specter, something unnatural and mutated from a personal hell. He stared, looking at the grotesque representation of his wife, her nose had been chewed off, leaving nothing but a bloody nasal cavity, bits of cartilage and skin hanging off of it. Her right iris seemed to be stuck in the corner of her eye, trying to come to focus in front of her, red and bloody. Her skin was an ashy gray, withered and rotten from decades gone past. Her white gown made the skin of the creature look more off color than it probably was. The smell of death and rotten meat filled his nostrils. The false Elizabeth reached out her hand to caress his cheek, “Come home Markie, “ Blood and bile pouring from her mouth, “Come home,” A dark, devilish voice seemed to slither out of her mouth past the blood, the black liquid covering her white night gown in the moonlight. The voice that was hers and not hers at all the same time, rattled his brain, making him feel an internal earthquake in his head. Her outstretched fingers looked like gray rotten carrots, wrinkled past the point of recognition, the knuckles sticking out of the flesh like giant tumors, fingernails that had more of a resemblance to claws than actual nails. Slowly, the creature's Icy cold fingers gently make contact with his face, gently brushing his cheek.
Markus sat up in his cot screaming, soaking with sweat as if he’d gone swimming. Savagely scanning the room, he wiped the sweat from his eyes. It had been a dream, some awful rendition of his mind. Markus bent his knees up, resting his forehead on them and wrapping his arms around everything, he stayed in an upright fetal position until the first signs of light breached the windows. Convinced he’d never sleep again, he stumbled out into the living area and straight to the coffee maker he’d brought.
Markus sat in his lawn chair perched on the porch, sipping coffee in the cold, still morning. He hadn’t noticed the small white animal camouflaged in the snow until the caffeine had taken hold and he was able to clear his eyes of the night's salty sweat from constantly rubbing them. Curiously, he arose and approached the small crumpled fluff on the ground. “Peter cotton tail would be wise to stay out of Mr. McGregor’s garden. The cougar might catch you,” Markus said to the small rabbit who lay dead on the ice. He picked it up by the back foot, wishing for some good luck but somehow knowing he was far from it. The bloody fur stuck to the morning freeze, making a sick ripping sound as he pulled it upwards. “Lord..” Markus mumbled as the animal slowly spun by its foot. Whatever had gotten the little thing has disemboweled it, using scalpel and surgeon-like precision to cut from the jugular down the length of the body. Markus could see the entrails still intact, thanks to the freezing temperatures everything had hardened in place overnight. Crusted and Frozen blood hung onto the rabbit like a tick, even as Markus gently walked deep into the tree line. Tossing the dead animal into a bush some ten feet away, it landed with a solid thud. Markus returned to the crime scene, frozen blood still staining the white earth. “What kind of animal kills a rabbit like this and just leaves it? It had to have been that cougar, and something spooked it off. Right? Yeah, that’s it. Maybe something bigger, like a bear.” Markus knew he was lying to himself but just to be sure, he searched the area for tracks. Hopeful in finding giant cat prints, he found nothing but his own. There wasn’t even a sign of rabbit tracks, a phenomenon completely unnatural, however Markus chalked it up to sleep exhaustion and too much alcohol the night before. That was the only explanation.

Grabbing the keys off the table and making his way to his Jeep, Markus put the keys in the ignition, the metal beast jolting to life. He worried the tires would be frozen to the ground, but even if they were the vehicle moved with ease, rolling down the tree lined path towards John’s Gas and Grocery. Sometime later he arrived at the failed attempt at a gas-n-shop store. Markus jumped at the store’s bell as he pushed the door open, the owner John staring at him with interest as to why the living dead person who mysteriously drifted into town almost a week prior was stumbling through his door. “Friend, are you still living?” Markus blankly stared at the Native man, for the first time taking in the person he’d made contact with. Markus abscently thought, ‘This man is ancient. How old could he possibly be?” 

John, growing tired of the blank expression on Markus’s face, told him to come near. Markus did what he was told, nearing the wrinkled leathery face of the old man. “What have you seen?” John asked Markus, studying his copper features. “Uhm...What?” Markus stammered. ‘Brilliant, show the old man your intelligence level like you didn’t get past the eight grade,’ Markus thought to himself, admittingly a little harsh on himself.
“In the forrest. Have you seen anything?” John’s eyes seemed to pierce Markus’s soul. “I mean, the was a dead buck, and then this morning the was a dead rabbit.” Markus replied, as if he were on some wildlife observation trip. “You’re holding out on me, young man,” John said with an eir of scolding. Markus chuckled, “Young man? John i’m thirty-two.”
“And to me you’ll always be a young man. So what of the trees?”
Markus felt as though John was attempting to take him under his wing as a new born robin. “I heard a woman scream in the woods, while I was chopping kindle. Figured it must have been a cougar,” Markus said. “Mmmm,” John hummed. “Come for more cheep beer than?”
Markus was borderline offended, “What of it? I could drive into town if you’d like, buy my drinks there.”
“You are welcome to do as you please, Mark. I was talking about getting something a little nicer though. I could swing by after I close up, bring some food and something to drink that settles a little easier than off brand beer. Be around at 8:30?”
“Woah, whats the occasion?” Markus teased the old man, wondering if John thought they were long lost friends.
“No occasion, I knew Gina. I’d like to come see the old place, if you’d be alike to that.”
“How’d you know I was related to Gina?” Markus asked narrowing his eyes suspiciously.
“I have lived in this town for sixty-five years. I remember when that Cabin was built, a matter of fact I worked at the hardware store when your grands’ would come in for supplies. I was only fourteen or fifteen at the time. After the town started to dry up in the seventies, the store shut her doors for good.” John seemed to stare into the distance, reminiscing about years gone past.
Markus seemed somewhat surprised, “I had no idea there was anything more than your store out here. What happened to the town?”
“Well a combination of things make the town die, they were supposed to build a sub-highway that came right through here. After they decided to move it south, travelers stopped coming through this way. Thats the reason I tell every traveler that comes through here.”
Markus Mused, “So what else killed the town, and why is your store still here?”
“Well I get just enough people come through to keep my doors open, usually old timers like myself that know a short cut around the city. That or people looking for a true backwoods adventure. I always tell them to move on, this isn’t the kind of place they want to spend the night, It can be hostile you know.”
“I see. But you only answered one of my questions.” Markus seemed to be prying for something John was pretending wasn’t there.
“As I said Mark, these woods can be hostile. As you’ve seen, theres things in these woods you don’t want to cross. Some travelers listen, some don’t, and some aren’t again seen after they leave these door.”
“Ah, I see. You’re going to kill me then,” Markus said with a wink. John chuckled, “I haven’t quite made up my mind on that.”
“Well in that case, i’ll take fifteen on the pump,” Markus smiled for the first time in a long time, he thought it may have been weeks, maybe even months since he had really smiled.

Markus and John sat on the cold patio, sipping on some exceptionally smooth whiskey John had brought, and seemed eager to share. “So,” Markus said, shifting in his seat to face John while fluffing up against his coat. “How’d you know I was related to Gina?” 

“Well Mark, as I said I’ve been around a long time. This little ol’ cabin is the only residence in the area so there was some buzz around town when your grands decided to build.”
Markus seemed puzzled, this seemed like prime real estate. “Why hasn’t anyone else ever build here?”
“Many have tried and have failed. You can still find abandoned materials or sometimes foundation if you look hard enough in the right places. How Gina and Frank ever got this place built and habitibal is nothing short of a miracle.”
Markus seemed slightly confused, and he wondered if it was because of lack of knowledge or the healthy buzz he was gaining from the top shelf alcohol. “So all these people just abandoned their properties? It couldn’t be the winters, I mean it’s bitter cold out here but not uninhabitable. The summers are probably quite pleasant...The wild life? No, they say Bears and Cougars would just as well leave you alone. Maybe it was economic hardship, and they bared through long enough to finally get it completely built.” Markus seemed to be using vocal deductive reasoning at this point, rather than for conversation.
“As I said, some believe these woods to be cursed. But as I recall, you don’t believe in Bigfoot. Isn’t that right?” John seemed to tease Mark who felt like he was gently swaying with the breeze. John didn’t seemed to be phased by the liquor at all though, it made Markus wonder if he was a lightweight after all.
“Right, I don’t believe because there isn’t such thing.” Markus said, with an eir of matter-of-fact. “Mmmm,” John mummed again. “But you believe in Gigantopithicus, no?”
Markus stammered, “Giganto-what-icus? John, this alcohol is weighing on me, you’re gonna have to make sense.”
John smiled warmly, “Gigantopithicus. It was a large ape-like animal that went extinct a few thousand years ago, native to the same area’s people claim to see Bigfoot. Do you think it’s possible a small population survived extinction? Or perhaps stories of the beasts when they existed amongs men survived through generations of story telling. What do you think, Mark?” Markus stared at John, peicing together what he said. It actually made sense to him though, if there had really been a gigantic ape like creature that roamed the earth, wouldn’t either option be possible?
“Or perhaps the werewolf, who some speculate originated by what’s known as ‘werewolf syndrome.’ A normal man, like you and I, but he grows hair on every inch of his body, catches something like rabies and makes him go, well, rabid.” John seemed like he was trying to get a point across, Markus just didn’t know what.
“So you’re trying to tell me, I giant ape and a rabid hairy guy are running around out here?” Markus said, confusion marking his tipsy face.
“I think you missing the point son, the point is every myth has an origin. Some are more real than you’d like they could be.” John started to grow serious.

They sat for sometime however, pondering on what was said. Eventually John broke the silence, “I wasn’t part of the search party for Gina.” John said, sorrow aging his face even further. 

“Me neither,” Markus said, taking another drink. The cold liquid burning down his throat, making him feel a foux warmth.
“I knew they wouldn’t find her, Markus. They never find the lost in these woods. Why didn’t you come to aid?” John asked.
“I know I should have. It would have been the right thing to do, and Gina deserved it. I guess the reason isn’t because of her, I’m resentful to the rest of her family.” Markus started to grow cold, starting from his soul.
“You know, family is all we have. It may be worth making amends before it’s too late.”
Markus thought about these words from John, he was right. Not about his fathers side of the family but about the family he’s created with Elizabeth and Judy. Elizabeth, Markus visibly shivered, remembering his dream.
“You’re right. But are they still family if they pretend like you don’t exist? And then the only time you do exist is when you’re the butt of their joke? I’m sorry, I just don’t believe they’re anything more than a gene pool to me. But Elizabeth and Judy, they’re what matters.” Markus could feel the anger bubbling up inside him, remembering going to Gina’s and Noah, his uncle, telling the then eight year old Markus to sit down and shut the hell up or so help him. Then there was the time at the family Christmas party he sat on the outskirts of the room, ignored by all, he hadn’t even wanted to go but his mother thought it was important for him to try and exist to that side of the family. Another stretch of awkward silence followed, both men pretended like it didn’t exist by sipping on their liquor.

What broke the silence was the slightest sound of a twig snap, it would have been an invisible noise if it weren’t for the silence. John’s eyes snapped in that direction, immediately breaking into a cold sweat. “It’s alright John, it’s probably just a rabbit or something. No such thing as Bigfoot, remember?” Markus smiled, trying to lighten the sudden heaviness in the air. 

“Yes, you’re right. Jumpy I suppose,” John said, sitting back into his seat, and rocking himself forward into a standing position. “I best be getting on my way,” John said, eager to exit.
Markus seemed confused, “Are you sure? Your company has been really nice, and I could use my friends right now.”
“I’ll come back in a few days, probably sometime in the morning…” John trailed off, staring into the tree line.
Chapter Four: Hunting

Markus woke up in an upright sweat, his eyes looking around widely. The blinding white light was peaking its way through the old floral curtains, hurting his eyes. Something had woken him up in a startle. Was it a dream? Was he still in the cabin? Had his wife wanted to separate? Yes, Markus told himself. It’s all real, as badly as he wanted all of it to be a bad dream, this was reality. 

BANG BANG.
Within a split second, Markus was on the floor reaching under the bed, pulling out a long black case. He hadn’t seen the gun case but he knew his grandmother well enough to know that there was a rifle or perhaps a shotgun under the bed and a handgun, most likely a 40. In the closet or nightstand.
He fumbled with the zipper, KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. Someone was pounding at the door of the cabin, he through the cover of the case open and pulled out a B.R.O AR-15 and a full magazine. Even in his impending doom, all he could think was, “Dang. Grammy is packing full heat.” Even while he loaded the weapon he mused at the beautiful firearm. Blacked out, pistol grip with a combo laser and X20 scope. Markus had shot a gun a few times but had never really been hunting before. His mind glimpsed back to his teenage years when a friend had taken him out to their farm and shot doves with a 12 gauge. He got so frustrated, it seemed impossible to shoot those tiny birds while twenty feet in the air, making emergency serpentine maneuvers.

Markus pulled the rifle up to his shoulder and looked down the sights, past the scope. He figured in close quarters like this the scope wouldn’t do much good, even though it’d probably mess with his aim not looking down the barrel straight. 

“Hellooo? Is anybody home?” It was a man's voice, but not very deep. Almost as though it never dropped from his teenage years. Markus pointed straight at the door but kept his finger off the trigger, hovering just outside of it just in case. “This is private property and you’re trespassing, I am armed and ready to defend myself,” Markus yelled back sternly. The door shut ever so slightly, and the man calmly replied, “I mean no harm, my name is Carry. My wife and I were out hunting for elk and we got lost tracking one. We just need to be pointed in the direction of town. Please.”
Markus took a deep breath and exhaled, lowering the rifle. He walked over to the door and opened it, in the doorway stood a man, no taller than five foot nine, dressed in designer winter gear, and a woman behind him, meeting the same standards only slightly shorter. She was pretty, long blonde hair well taken care of, and probably a whole pallet of makeup on. The man had a five o’clock shadow, but Markus could tell he was usually clean-shaven. Markus could only think, you have GOT to be kidding me.

“It’s got to be fifteen degrees out here, come on in and I’ll make some coffee. I can take you into town after I dress,” Markus said as he opened the door so the out-of-place couple could enter. He threw some wood into the fireplace and dropped a match, it seemed to ignite instantaneously. The strange couple sat in front of the fire, warming their hands with a cup of cheap coffee. Markus couldn’t believe these people, they were about as “yuppy” as they come. What kind of people wear designer outdoor clothing and a sportsman Rolex on a hunting trip, and how on earth did they end up this far from the closest habited building?