Pre pyloric stomach inflammation

Heyo, 26F from South Australia here, suffer from Endometriosis, Adenomyosis, PCOS, Vaginismus, Vulvodynia, Fibromyalgia and Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. I've been on a wild ride of emotions this past week, thought the curious turn of events might entertain someone!
I was booked in for an Endoscopy/Colonoscopy last Thursday the 9th of May, and booked for a Laparoscopy, Hysteroscopy, Cystoscopy & Endo Excision (possible laparoscopic hysterectomy also depending on development/progression of Adenomyosis) on Monday the 13th of May.
I imagine there's quite a few uterus having people in this group that have had to go through the increasingly grotesque waterfall of hell that is colonoscopy prep. Not surprisingly this was stupidly painful due to the Endometriosis surrounding my bowels and the Adenomyosis deciding to flare - also the fact that I didn't absorb my pill properly because of the 'clean out'. The pain from this alone was just horrific and by the time I walked into the hospital to be admitted for day surgery I was doubled over and in tears from the pain. A gentleman in a walker actually moved chairs so I could sit down asap so I must have looked a right mess.
Had the scopes done, woke up from the sedation and pretty quickly ended up crying and wailing in the fetal position from the pain. The hospital pharmacy took 45 minutes to get me any pain relief because "people don't normally have this reaction to a colonoscopy/endoscopy" - a lot of people don't have Endo & cysts around the affected area, mate. I figured it was all just Endo/Adeno flare from the scopes pushing things about.
Once on top of the pain, I was told there was very little found in the scopes, some inflammation in my stomach (gastritis) which has been biopsied just in case, but luckily no indication of Endo being inside the bowels & stomach. Got released that day, told there might be some minor rectal bleeding and some 'gassy' feelings. Mum drove me home (live 2 hours away from the hospital that they did the procedure). The next few days were interesting. Increasing stomach pain and twisting/writing feeling all through my abdomen, plus severe rectal pain, pretty inline with regular old Endo.
About 4:00pm on Friday afternoon, I received a phone call from the hospital that had my laparoscopy booked for Monday - they have no anesthetist available. The next available date with my surgeon is the 8th of July. I have spent weeks preparing myself for this operation, booking time off work, prepping meals, organizing contractors to replace me at work for recovery, organizing accomodation closer to the hospital, organising house sitters, pet sitters, my partner and parents booking time off work and accomodation to be near me and help me. I was ropable, I was so upset and beside myself. Felt hopeless and like I'd never get help or relief, it will just keep getting postponed and no one cares, since when do 26 year old women need to be able to walk and function anyway?? Plus have a possible POTS diagnosis on its way that needs to wait till after the operation.
The pain and rectal bleeding got worse over the weekend, I was getting nervous and nearly passing out from the spasming pain. Thought maybe it was constipation but no. I was taken along to the doctor yesterday for an interesting update. Because the Endometriosis on the outside of my bowels & colon is so prevalent that it's basically 'tacked' and stuck the outside of the colon together, so every time the colonoscope went around a corner, I was left with tiny little splits in the innermost layer of my colon. Hence the pain and bleeding.
This means, had I gone in for my laparoscopy on Monday, apparently they would have done initial incisions and camera insertion, seen all the inflammation and refused to do the operation, likely meaning I would be back on another 12-24 month wait list. Now I have 7 weeks to let things heal before having the bigger operation. Spending the remainder of this week under my electric heated throw rug with the cats.
Something I thought was the worst thing in the world 3 days ago, is now a massive relief. God this disease and it's comorbidities are a fucking rollercoaster!

I had a Watson Fundoplication on May 7th. Here’s what the pre-op, day of operation, and first week looked like.
Pre-op: My surgeon is big on taking things from other specialties and applying them to this procedure. Due to this he has all patients do a liver shrinking diet. I’ll be honest and say I didn’t think I was going to do it at first until I watched a video showing how impactful it can be. It’s a super restrictive diet, I lost 10 lbs in 7 days, but it paid off.
Day of operation: I had the Watson Fundoplication due to a previously known swallowing issue. It was done robotically. I have 6 incisions; one right below my sternum and five straight across my stomach. I was also enrolled in a study for a new mesh. The results so far sound promising.
I woke up in a lot of pain, but they gave me medication and within an hour I was eating pudding without issue or pain. By hour 2 I was walking and shortly after I was sent home. At home I had no issue with pain and honestly felt great. I couldn’t explain it, but everything finally felt like it was in the right spot. In fact as soon as the pain was managed, this was the first thing I said.
Days 1-2: my pain was managed well and things were going great. Had some diaphragm pain, but nothing major. I was off all pain meds, with the exception of ibuprofen within 36 hours. I was bloated, but walking, gas-x, and peppermint tea was a lifesaver. Another note, get an airplane pillow… another lifesaver.
Day 3: everything was going great until out of nowhere the infamous laparoscopic pain hit. It came out of no where and I could not seem to get away from it. It really only lasted about 24 hours, but it was by far the worst day. I still have some shoulder pain, but that is mainly due to the stitches in my diaphragm.
Day 4 to present: things have gotten better each day. I am able to move more each day. I am beyond tired of the liquid diet, but it is what it is.
Things I have learned. Thicker liquids are easier than water type liquids. Warmer is easier than colder. If you are gonna have soup, make sure it is well blended. East very slow. This was the hardest one for me, but it’s getting better.
If you have any questions let me know and I will do my best to get back to you. I am horrible at these things, but I’ll make an effort.

I had a Watson Fundoplication on May 7th. Here’s what the pre-op, day of operation, and first week looked like.
Pre-op: My surgeon is big on taking things from other specialties and applying them to this procedure. Due to this he has all patients do a liver shrinking diet. I’ll be honest and say I didn’t think I was going to do it at first until I watched a video showing how impactful it can be. It’s a super restrictive diet, I lost 10 lbs in 7 days, but it paid off.
Day of operation: I had the Watson Fundoplication due to a previously known swallowing issue. It was done robotically. I have 6 incisions; one right below my sternum and five straight across my stomach. I was also enrolled in a study for a new mesh. The results so far sound promising.
I woke up in a lot of pain, but they gave me medication and within an hour I was eating pudding without issue or pain. By hour 2 I was walking and shortly after I was sent home. At home I had no issue with pain and honestly felt great. I couldn’t explain it, but everything finally felt like it was in the right spot. In fact as soon as the pain was managed, this was the first thing I said.
Days 1-2: my pain was managed well and things were going great. Had some diaphragm pain, but nothing major. I was off all pain meds, with the exception of ibuprofen within 36 hours. I was bloated, but walking, gas-x, and peppermint tea was a lifesaver. Another note, get an airplane pillow… another lifesaver.
Day 3: everything was going great until out of nowhere the infamous laparoscopic pain hit. It came out of no where and I could not seem to get away from it. It really only lasted about 24 hours, but it was by far the worst day. I still have some shoulder pain, but that is mainly due to the stitches in my diaphragm.
Day 4 to present: things have gotten better each day. I am able to move more each day. I am beyond tired of the liquid diet, but it is what it is.
Things I have learned. Thicker liquids are easier than water type liquids. Warmer is easier than colder. If you are gonna have soup, make sure it is well blended. East very slow. This was the hardest one for me, but it’s getting better.
If you have any questions let me know and I will do my best to get back to you. I am horrible at these things, but I’ll make an effort.

Yesterday I went to the ER because I started vomiting and had severe pain in my stomach ( like close to child birth I’ve had since having children) I was dizzy disoriented heart palpitations shaking chills sweating and then cold.
So they did a scan and I have enterocolitis. They wanted to keep me overnight but I told them I couldn’t because of childcare… they gave me IV antibiotics and prescription antibiotics.
I understand that it’s inflammation of both large and small intestines but everything I read online is so confusing? Is it really that serious? Could this turn into something permanent? Can it go away without antibiotics? Pretty much give me all the info I need or should know to recover the best way possible
Also, I had the stomach bug 2 weeks ago and over the weekend I ate gluten ( which I’m sensitive to) and they think it’s because of that. But I think it was a reaction to a new supplement I started that day bc I eat gluten here and there and never have a reaction like this?
Age :31 Weight: 205 Gender: female Nonsmoking Not pregnant

I feel like this is like my millionth time posting but I’m honestly curious. My partners family that we live with (7 people in total) all had the stomach bug, (me and my partner haven’t caught it) which I think started about 2 weeks ago exactly tomorrow with his mom, then 2 days after that on Saturday/ Saturday night, his niece and dad, then the day next day Sunday one of his brothers, then the next day Monday, his older brother, then Tuesday, his other brother, then the next day his oldest brothers wife. All different symptoms, better within 12-24 hours. The bathrooms/surfaces have been bleached and Microban’d twice. And no one else has gotten sick since. My partner shared food with his brother (the one that was sick last Tuesday) last Thursday and then they shared a snack last Friday (both things that I was LIVID at him for) and not to mention he hasn’t been as careful as I have been pre and post cleaning and he’s been completely fine. My question is, when the hell can I RELAX regarding us possibly still catching it? I haven’t been able to eat comfortably and have been left with crippling anxiety. I only feel stable at night when it’s time for bed and I feel safe in our room.

Hi pals
So today is the day for me! I'm currently sitting in the bed in the waiting room before I go in. I'm both scared and excited - my life is about to take a huge turn for the better!
As part of my pre-op check-in, I was asked if I wanted to keep my cut out stomach?! I was probably way more excited than most when the nurse asked because I had figured it was just going to be disposed of! I of course said yes because how many people get to take their stomach home in a bag lmao. Seriously though, my intention is to bury it with my 8 month old son's placenta thats just hanging out in our freezer.
I havent seen anyone else in this sub mention it, but did anyone else keep their cut stomach?! What did you do with it? Keen to hear your stories!
Edit: I should mention I'm in New Zealand!

Age: 28 Sex: Female Diagnoses: coeliac disease, osteopenia, asthma, ADHD, sliding hiatal hernia, depression/anxiety/C-PTSD. Suspected vasculitis due to previous lower limb swelling and leg rash followed by kidney pain & inflammation but never confirmed after steroids resolved issue. Supplements: vit d, calcium, biotin/collagen, magnesium, folic acid Medications: fostair & ventolin
The issue: For years I’ve experienced persistent joint pain, but particularly in my knees, wrists, ankles and elbows. Pretty much everything I’ve ever done, even as a kid, has involved some level of tolerance of pain. I used to put this down to normal pain but as an adult it’s become so severe I can sometimes not engage in normal activities. For example, I went on a bike ride today and have been in excruciating pain since, persistent knee locking & crunching/clicking, wrists crunching and in pain, hands stuck in ‘claw mode’/trigger finger. I’ve fared even worse than my mother who did the same ride and is awaiting a double knee replacement because of chronic arthritis. Had several cases of joints getting ‘stuck’ and mild dislocations. Ankles regularly roll while walking normally. Been referred to physiotherapist four times, physio does usual checks and notes substantial hypermobility but nothing else unusual with knees. Suggests rehab exercises but these invariably make the knee worse. Both physio and GP agree that the issue is not caused by osteopenia as this is controlled well and the issues pre-date the DEXA that showed osteopenia (including before historic scans showing bone density in normal range). Neither currently have any idea and keep suggesting new exercises which do not improve symptoms. Relying on consistent re-referral until I find the right answer to be honest.
I feel like this is starting to ruin my life. I love being active and have trained for years in powerlifting, also do aerial sports, climbing, etc. used to run but found it too painful and had to stop. I feel like these activities are becoming harder to enjoy and I’m tired of having to give up things I love for something I don’t even understand. Other issues are well controlled (Coeliac markers and blood tests are within normal range).
Other ongoing issues: - urinary incontinence (urgency and leakage) - notably irregular menstrual cycle - neuropathy - extreme fatigue (I usually have to nap 1-2 times a day) - general unexplained cramps & pain

This is my first time fostering. I was given a beautiful long haired black and white kitty. She has been a sweetheart but the rescue has been very…weird.
First, they gave her to me with poop all over her underside/stomach, her butt, her tail and some on her back. She was matted in random places. I didn’t notice this until I got home because they handed her to me in a crate and then gave me very basic info. I have a resident cat; the information was useless.
So I called, texted, and emailed them to let them know the circumstances. Why was she allowed to leave the rescue like this? They said she got straight off a 14 hour drive to the rescue a couple hours before I picked her up..
Poor thing was so uncomfortable it was depressing. They told me to take her back to the rescue on Friday… mind you it was Saturday when they told me this. So they wanted me to wait almost a week to get her clean and made sure to mention that if I got her groomed myself, they would not reimburse me.
At this point I felt so bad I just bit the bullet and got her cleaned. It was NOT cheap..
Anyways fast forward to today. She had jelly like diarrhea with a concerning amount of blood all over my kitchen floor. And the first couple days I had her, she pooped all over the bathroom floor multiple times. I believe she has severe inflammation. I let them know this; they directed me to their vet — who is overseas at the moment :/
So I texted the vet who told me to give her canned pumpkin and stop giving her wet food. Cool. But then I proceeded to tell her that the kitty is incredibly underweight and is eating anything she lays eyes on (I’m feeding her lots of food every meal). She has even jumped on my counter to rip through her dry food.
I mentioned that I don’t want to free feed her..The vet responded “Definitely free feed adult cats”
Huh??? Every vet I’ve been to with my resident kitty has advised against this. I don’t know if I want to foster with this place anymore.
Yes, I am new to fostering but I am almost 99% percent sure that this is not how this was supposed to go. Very confused.
What do you think?

This is my first time fostering. I was given a beautiful long haired black and white kitty. She has been a sweetheart but the rescue has been very…weird.
First, they gave her to me with poop all over her underside/stomach, her butt, her tail and some on her back. She was matted in random places. I didn’t notice this until I got home because they handed her to me in a crate and then gave me very basic info. I have a resident cat; the information was useless.
So I called, texted, and emailed them to let them know the circumstances. Why was she allowed to leave the rescue like this? They said she got straight off a 14 hour drive to the rescue a couple hours before I picked her up..
Poor thing was so uncomfortable it was depressing. They told me to take her back to the rescue on Friday… mind you it was Saturday when they told me this. So they wanted me to wait almost a week to get her clean and made sure to mention that if I got her groomed myself, they would not reimburse me.
At this point I felt so bad I just bit the bullet and got her cleaned. It was NOT cheap..
Anyways fast forward to today. She had jelly like diarrhea with a concerning amount of blood all over my kitchen floor. And the first couple days I had her, she pooped all over the bathroom floor multiple times. I believe she has severe inflammation. I let them know this; they directed me to their vet — who is overseas at the moment :/
So I texted the vet who told me to give her canned pumpkin and stop giving her wet food. Cool. But then I proceeded to tell her that the kitty is incredibly underweight and is eating anything she lays eyes on (I’m feeding her lots of food every meal). She has even jumped on my counter to rip through her dry food.
I mentioned that I don’t want to free feed her..The vet responded “Definitely free feed adult cats”
Huh??? Every vet I’ve been to with my resident kitty has advised against this. I don’t know if I want to foster with this place anymore.
Yes, I am new to fostering but I am almost 99% percent sure that this is not how this was supposed to go. Very confused.
What do you think?

Hey all!
Curious for the two cents from those here. I recently was given Pantoprazole by my doctor to see if it affects my stomach issues if it's GERD (which manifests as constant belching, some breathing issues and minor reflux in the throat). I'm finding it's lead to a reduction of those symptoms but not a complete elimination of them. I'm curious if anyone else here has tried this medication and what your experience of GERD was pre and post the meds?

Its finally my turn to share my experience! Hopefully mine is unlike most peoples cuz it ended up being laparoscopic turned abdominal so im pretty cut up.
My surgeon was pretty sure she could do it laparoscopically and I agreed to try. She said she was almost done and would have been able to do it but i started losing too much blood so she pivoted for my safety.
I was firm that I wanted to keep my cervix which i knew would present challenges during the surgery too.
I just remember waking up after surgery to the friendly anesthesiologist saying “you’re surgyry is all done!” I was also SO COLD and they immediately piled blankets on me.
I was under for about 4 hours so i was super groggy. My family came to see me for a short time but i was fading in and out of sleep. I vaguely remember being told that they ended up having to do the abdominal incision and feeling sad about that. I know its gonna be a rough recovery.
The first night in the hospital was rough. They were pumping me full of meds anytime i asked tho. I also had a cath in which i was super worried about. I just felt like i had to pee and kept asking how i can pee and people kept telling me i was already peeing. They took it out the next day which i thought would hurt but it was fine. I had no issues peeing on my own.
I ate a lil bit of everything they brought me. The nurse said i should eat like i have the flu which made sense to me. I also sipped water all day.
In the afternoon i was able to get up and walk around. I did alot of strength training pre op which really helped me. As of now i can get up more or less on my own. I changed clothes by myself this morning and can go to the bathroom by myself.
They wouldn’t let me leave the hospital until i passed gas which took a while. I ended up staying another night and passed gas in the morning (very small like letting one slip in church) but still counted!
I sat at the table when i got home and passed a few more. Then i was able to slowly go upstairs and take a nap.
In the hospital, They kept offering me oxi but i only took it on the first night so far. It made me feel dizzy and nauseous. Been sticking to alternating Tylenol and Motrin and stool softeners galore! I havent had a bm yet but it makes sense since I’ve eaten so little.
The pain is pretty much non existent as long as im lying still. But the pain my uterus caused me is gone! No more leg cramps or back aches. I dont feel like my stomach is full of rocks. Everyone seems to have a hard time with the gas and while it can but uncomfortable i still feel less bloated than i did before surgery!

My mom passed away in April and I’m really trying to make sense of it. I’d never seen her sick a day in my life, unless you count her sensitive stomach and treatment for high blood pressure. Then she was gone as soon as we got her a proper diagnosis. It sounds like Mesenteric Ischemia is very easy to miss, and I was frantically looking for posts about it while she was in the hospital. So I thought I’d share this.
Mom started getting sick around Thanksgiving. By mid-December it was bad enough that she could not travel for Christmas. She thought she had a stomach virus and said she didn’t have the energy to pack or drive and didn’t trust her stomach for a 3 hour drive. She started eating smaller meals to manage the virus.
Mid-February was her first ER visit. She was admitted & stayed 2 nights. Diagnosis was severe dehydration. Her white blood cell count was high, liver and kidneys ‘wacky’. She was nauseated, lethargic, foggy brain. CT examined her head, “every organ”. They did an ultrasound and told her it was not an organ. She was eating full meals by the time she was released.
One of the doctors at the ER asked her why she was there. He really treated her as though she was overreacting, and likely made her hesitate to seek care any more urgently, despite her decline.
After release she was told her blood sugar levels were high. She was diagnosed with hypokalemia (low potassium). She started working on a pre-diabetic diet but remained nauseated.
Mid-March a CT scan showed hiatal hernia and infection of some kind. She was dehydrated again. She hired someone for at-home IV treatments. She was drinking bone broth and drinks with electrolytes. A stool sample showed good results & her dr scheduled more blood tests. She had lost 25-30 lbs by this point.
Her dr scheduled an upper GI and colonoscopy for May 1st to look for ulcers, hernia. Blood test confirmed elevated white blood cells are caused by an infection and they’ve ruled out cancer.
April 1 – Dr told her she had stomach ulcers. After colonoscopy and endoscopy the dr is worried about blood flow to stomach. After a CT scan, she is referred to a vascular surgeon. They will do an ultrasound and consultation.
April 9 – Biopsies from colonoscopy are clear. Dr diagnosed clogged arteries around the stomach. Mesenteric Ischemia diagnosis. Scheduled an appointment to insert stents or look to bypass surgery.
April 10 – Admitted to ER for failure to thrive. TPN set up for nutrition. Plan is to build up her strength for the surgery.
April 13 – Dr ordered Xray to check for a possible bowel obstruction, lactic acid test to look for dead tissue / sepsis, hemoglobin test to check for internal bleeding. Mom has upper GI pain & cannot control her bowels. Very weak, unable to get up & down from bed on her own.
April 14 – Bowel obstruction found, ordering another x ray before deciding how to proceed. Backing off meals but keeping TPN, in order to let her stomach rest. (she was barely touching her food at all). Since bloodwork looks ok they think it could resolve itself.
April 15 – Dr says vitals are good, sugar levels are good. Surgery delayed, not because she is too weak but because she seems better. (I think this info was relayed to me wrong). They assured us waiting will not cause permanent damage to organs or tissue. Blood flow “looks better” and they “aren’t even sure it’s a blockage” now. Mom was able to do PT and OT but was extremely weak after. Surgeon impressed with cognition.
April 16 – Mom was in a lot of pain, and they thought it was from the PT & OT exertion. CT scan came back once again confirming the bowel obstruction. Intestines are dilated. Keeping TPN, antibiotics added to IV. Ordered another CT scan & fasting (other than TPN). Blood pressure was up & down all day. Feet swelling for the first time. Abdomen expanding to a degree my cousin noticed from her bedside.
April 17 –In the middle of the night she became unresponsive. Dr found her stomach full of blood. Her esophagus tore where it meets her stomach due to weak tissue. Her stomach was full of blood. She’s too weak for stents or bypass and will not regain strength without that. Dr thinks at this point her body is infected from bowel perforations & cannot heal

I just remembered that I did one of those 3 months ago, and since my 6 month anniversary is tomorrow, I thought I'd do another update. Dose: 250mg IM every 2 weeks, changed to every 3 weeks a month ago and will be starting with Nebido at the end of the month.
voice: My voice pretty much passes as (teen) male now! I don't really get misgendered anymore (at least so far, which might have been luck), but I don't really pass for my actual age either.
body hair: it's everywhere lol. Pre T, I could grow visible hair on my lower arms and legs plus a barely visible stomach trail. Now I've got leg hair on my entire legs, stomach hair, and some hair on my chest, shoulders and back. Facial hair progress hasn't gotten any further than the famous dirt stache & some light chin hair, but I'll take what I can get, especially this early on!
body shape: My neck has gotten wider and my hands are more masculine (veins / tendons more visible). The hands are honestly my biggest reason for gender euphoria rn, I've always liked my hands and i love looking at them now!
I also feel like my waist has gotten wider but can't really tell bc I didn't take many shirtless pics pre T.
Unfortunately, my hormonal acne which was already pretty bad at 3 months, continued to get worse and led to some other health issues that I'm still dealing with. I'm on accutane and it has helped somewhat, but I'll definitely keep scars forever and the acne does impact my life a fair amount. that being said, passing as a guy and feeling happy with everything else about my body makes the pain worth it.
[For anyone less far along in their transition, don't worry too much about the acne thing though. my case is very severe, most people do NOT get it as bad as I did !!]

Hey all,
I'm about 3 months into my journey of going gluten free (I'm not celiac as I've been tested), and I just had labs. I've been on biologic treatment for over 5 years, so I have to have frequent lab monitoring.
I've never had CRP and sed rate in the normal range UNTIL THIS SET OF LABS. I am like totally floored. I know inflammation from gluten can definitely be a thing, but is it normal to see possible results actually in lab work?
I'm excited but also like, "What? Really?" I'm still having some not so great stomach days, and overall, I feel I can sustain being GF, and I knew I wanted to see what it did to my labs, but I wasn't expecting this much improvement.
Note: My bioligics or treatment regiment for my disease has not changed otherwise. Yes, I will also talk to my rheumi about this.

54 years old / USA / California
12/23: PSA 4.5 - Doctor said to wait and retest, but I immediately asked for an MRI. I have no known family history of PC, but a lot of breast/ovarian/cervical/colorectal cancers on my mother's side
01/24: I paid for 2 retests without informing my doctor, and both came back at 3.02!!!!. I still wanted to do an MRI.
02/24: MRI - 2 lesions - low risk.
02/24: Biopsy - 2/19 positive (both positive were from one of two lesions) - Gleason 3+4 - - decipher score 0.48 - intermediate risk.
03/24: Talked to several doctors from Europe, the University of Michigan, and the Bay Area. Decided to have RALP at a hospital 5 minutes from home.
I am very active, but used March and April to condition myself as much as possible in the gym and doing 2-hour hikes, 3-4 days a week.
Waking up from anesthesia has always been hard for me, even after small procedures. I have hard time standing up and it messes up my stomach.
Day ZERO: Woke up after surgery feeling well, ate a good piece of meat and veggies, and went for a walk in the evening. Stomach was bloated and gave me bad cramps, I could not take a decent breath, because of the gasses pushing my diaphragm up. When I tried to sit up at night I almost fainted
Day ONE: Discharge? Not so fast. Fainted trying to sit up in bed (hemoglobin was dropping 10, 9,, 8). Blood pressure under 100 (I usually have it at 115/60). Doctors did not think it was serious.
Day TWO: Hemoglobin still dropping (<7). First blood transfusion (hemoglobin improved initially but then dropped to pre-transfusion level). Blood pressure started improving. I had to duct tape a crack on the Foley tube to stop it from leaking. Nurses and doctors were aware if the leaks, but nobody offered replacement.
Day THREE: Second blood transfusion and still dealing with annoying Foley tube leaks.
Day FOUR: Stable. Doctor considered removing the Foley catheter but decided to keep me one more day in the hospital.
Day FIVE: Bladder CT scan showed no leaks from the bladder and no fluids in the lower abdomen (not sure where the lost blood went). The catheter was removed, and I was sent home.
At least I came home without a catheter.
Six days of breathing air-conditioned hospital air gave me bad headaches. All of the balconies with beautiful views were locked for "safety" reasons, while torturing people who just want a breath of fresh air.
I can't imagine dealing with the catheter issues and pain at home, so in some ways, I was happy to stay longer in the hospital.
I'd recommend on insisting to stay in the hospital 2 nights.
I am waiting for the histopathology results.

I (41M) and my girlfriend (39F) have been dating for almost 2 years. We each have children from previous marriages and work very hard to have a blended family with the kids even though we don’t live in the same house. I specifically spend quite a bit of time with her and her kids when I do not have my own as she has 60/40 custody while I have 50/50. In the time we have been together, I have grown to not only love her but love her 3 daughters (ages 7, 6, and 3) as well. We do everything from daily outings, play games, read bedtime stories, snuggle on the couch, etc. Girlfriend’s Ex husband has been diagnosed with Bipolar and has had several hospital emissions, wrecked vehicle, erratic behavior, manic episodes, in our time together due to not taking his medication and drinking alcohol during the times he is on it. This has resulted in court ordered, visitation restrictions, orders of protection, etc. along the way. Mid last year, girlfriend’s middle child came forward and told a very graphic and detailed story about her father sneaking into her bed in the middle of the night. Putting his hands down her pants and touching her inappropriately. Attorneys, Police, DCFS, everyone was called. To date, many more stories have come out from her, and her youngest involving sexual molestation, that frankly would make your stomach turn. Their stories are always filled with inconsolable tears, shaking, etc. The detail they can provide is incredible. It is heart breaking but the legal system does not seem very willing to help. Fairly recently, bodily fluids were observed on the middle child’s pajamas one morning after returning from their father’s house. After a trip to the hospital and another police report, the pants were tested for fluids. They came back “not enough sample to determine validity.” The girls have told these and many more stories to me, their grandparents, their teachers, their therapists, the police, and even their friends at school. All are so disgusting I cannot even begin to recap them and beyond anything a 6- and 3-year-old could ever conjure up themselves as a lie. DCFS has been called at least 4 times by these different people, police reports filled, we hired a GAL to speak for the kids in court. Not a single person has done anything. We are almost at the 1-year mark. The GAL has yet to speak to anyone involved, DCFS has a pending case but has not talked to anyone, the police have an open investigation, but nothing is coming of it. Their father is unwilling to speak to the police for their investigation despite their attempts. For the last few months, their father has had supervised visitation pending the results of the pajamas. That supervisor was his sister (despite our outward objections in court) and things have continued to happen because she leaves the kids alone with their dad when she is supposed to be watching. Or he has access to them in the middle of the night when no one is awake. On Tuesday we had a court date as the father’s attorney filed to reinstate his full parental rights because the pants came back inconclusive. The judge told us that because there was no physical evidence there was nothing he was going to do and he gave him his parenting time back, with unsupervised overnights! He said that he was not going to take away his rights. We have another court date set for a few months out, but these girls can’t wait that long. The sexual abuse continues and now he has full access to them. Who can we turn to that will help protect these kids from this monster? No one is doing anything to help. We are told that, everyone plays along to get along in the legal system so no one is going to fight. There must be some way to protect 3 innocent girls from someone who is sexually molesting and abusing them, when they don’t have a say in the legal system because of their ages. The judge will not hear what they have to say because they are too young, and he is not going to take their word over their father. The judge made it a point yesterday to say that Judicial Bias does not apply in this case if we don’t like his ruling because we agreed in pre-trial to accept his verdict. Current Attorney – No help, GAL – No help, DCFS – No help, Judge – No help. Police – Not yet. Where do we turn? We have tried to find a new attorney but have been unsuccessful as most will not even talk to us because we are currently represented. Please give us some direction. Today is the first night they must go back to their dads, and it has been exceptionally difficult. Uncontrolled tears and outward fear on their faces.

Okay, I’m gonna level with you. Focusing on current events is just getting a little too fucking heavy. I’m no closer to answers than I was a month ago, none of us can sleep through a full night without waking up shaking and drenched in sweat, and there are some new downright bizarre phenomena cropping up that I just don’t have it in me to allot my energy to at the moment.
So, for today’s installment (and then also for the next one) I’m gonna tell you another good ol’ fun-for-the-whole-family pool story. Yep, you heard that right—welcome to our first bonafide two-parter.
This was quite a while ago. My measure of time is all off by a year now, but I feel fairly confident in chalking it up to post-first pool story, pre-ouija board fiasco—so however long ago that’s been now.
It was a weird, rare night, in that Matt was out. Not an unheard of occurrence, but it’s fairly anomalous, and it certainly puts the rest of us on slightly higher alert.
Obviously, he always tells us to call him at the first sign of some shit going down and to use our best judgment to determine whether it’s serious enough to lock up and head out. Better safe than sorry and all that. The night in question was no exception to the rule.
Overall, though, things were mostly quiet. Alice was in, as was I, as was Wiley. We do a lot of congregating, but we do a lot of work, too, and this night, we were all in our respective areas, doing our respective jobs.
I was in my not-office mending a finicky Shakespeare anthology, Alice was watching the desk while working on cataloging a truckload of new donations, and Wiley was replacing several lightbulbs that had all decided to call it quits after our most recent power outage (this one due to a flash-flood).
It was calm to an almost uncharacteristic degree. There was a relatively steady flow of patrons in and out of the building—I could hear Alice greeting them and wishing them a good evening—but as far as anomalous activity, there was none.
It does happen, on rare occasion, that we make it through a full night without any goings on, but there’s almost always at least the odd disembodied voice or two.
We should’ve known better than to trust a meteor shower.
See, there’s just something about natural anomalies. Not just the ones that knock our power out, either, although those are clearly included. Blizzards, thunderstorms, hail and tornados and earthquakes and all your run-of-the-mill destructive shit, sure. But the things of beauty, too. Rainbows. Eclipses, lunar or solar. And you think full moons hit emergency rooms hard? Try this fucking place.
It was just that a meteor shower wasn’t one we’d dealt with before. Does that mean we shouldn’t have known better? Fuck no. Obviously not. But perhaps our collective greatest fault is that we still have some semblance of hope.
Wiley wanted to look at it from the roof. Kid never fucking wants to do anything, and they were set to climb up and camp out alone. I couldn’t not entertain such an innocent, youthful whim.
Our roof access doesn’t have stairs—just a ladder—so Alice couldn’t accompany us, which I felt shitty about, but she assured me it was perfectly fine with her.
“The world decided I didn’t need functional legs so I could never be peer pressured into leaving the ground,” she quipped. “I’m not into heights. But y’all have fun up there. Somebody needs to be here for the patrons anyway.”
Fair and fair. So Wiley and I gathered up an armful of blankets and one of Matt’s trusty camping lanterns and headed out to scale the building.
Wiley went up ahead of me. That was my first mistake.
Really, they aren’t that much younger than I am. Maybe four or five years, and I’m too close to thirty for comfort now. But there’s something about them, even as far as they’ve come, that makes it impossible for me not to do everything in my power to protect them. I think Matt feels the same way. Maybe most of us do.
Anyway, that’s why I immediately started cursing myself when they reached the top of the ladder, pulled their way up and over the ledge of the roof, and said, “...Whoa.”
My second mistake was not immediately telling them to turn around and start climbing right the fuck back down.
I knew exactly what that tone of voice meant. But something in me just kicked into hyperdrive and I…had to see it. Whatever it was, I had to see it for myself.
“Don’t move,” I said, and then, “What is it?”
But by that point, I was at the top, too. I hoisted myself over the ledge and was met with…
…Water.
It was everywhere. Extending in every direction. There was no edge in sight—not even a horizon line. Just vast, dark water as far as the eye could see.
“Okay. This is not—let’s go.”
“Yeah,” Wiley agreed, a little breathless.
I’m sure you’ll be downright shocked to learn that, when we turned around, the ladder was gone.
The edge of the rooftop was, too.
The thing that surprised me, really, was that it wasn’t as though we were standing on some sort of island. We were somehow in the water all of a sudden, up to our waists, neither of us having taken a single step.
“Fucking…shit. Jesus. Adam?”
“We’re fine,” was my default response, because my anxiety override kicks in like a motherfucker as soon as someone else is more openly afraid than I am. “It’s okay, let’s just—let’s think for a second. Maybe it’s just, like, an illusion or something.”
“Okay,” Wiley said. “Maybe we should…try moving?”
“Yeah. Yeah, we’ll bump the ledge and then we can just feel for the ladder. Good idea.”
Wiley and I shared a look, wordlessly nodding to one another, and stepped forward in unison.
Maybe I misspoke before, when I said we weren’t on a platform. It was just that our platform wasn’t above the water. Now, though, there was nothing.
It felt, almost, like the stomach-turning sensation of missing a step walking up a staircase. The only difference was that there was no moment-too-late connection.
We plummeted.
There wasn’t any difference in temperature beneath the surface, which was, in a way, more disorienting than the water itself. The mental recalibration that typically comes with plunging into a cool lake or, adversely, a heated pool wasn’t allotted an opportunity to take place. It felt, for most intents and purposes, the same as being in the air, just that I couldn’t breathe.
It was heavy, too. The weightlessness water tends to embody was null; I immediately abandoned everything I’d been carrying, clawing my way upward frantically enough that it would’ve been mortifying, I’m sure, had anyone witnessed it.
Wiley resurfaced at the same moment I did—empty handed as well, I noted—coughing a little but not to the extent that I was worried they were choking. “Next idea?” they asked, pushing their wet hair back from their face, dark, damp lashes obscuring their eyes.
“Let’s get back on the…” I started, but trailed off when I raised my head.
A couple hundred yards out from us, there was a ship. It was a dark, hulking thing, with tattered sails and something indistinguishable affixed to the bow, glittering and glinting in the moonlight.
Wiley spun around to face it, drifting back slightly when their gaze landed parallel to mine. “What the fuck is that?” they demanded, legs kicking haphazardly beneath the water to keep them in place.
“Maybe it’s…good,” I said. I knew better than that and I knew Wiley did, too, but I said it anyway. “Maybe someone will help.”
They didn’t even humor me with a response to that bullshit.
Now, at this point in the story, maybe you’re thinking being suddenly surrounded by water and watching as an ominous ship approached us with absolutely nowhere to go and no way to escape doesn’t feel quite enough like imminent condemnation. To which I say to you: not to worry. Because the next realization we came to was that the platform we’d been standing on previously had suddenly ceased to exist.
“Shit,” Wiley said. “Shit, shit, shit. Adam.”
“I know,” I said. “It’s fine. We’re fine. We just—we’re gonna—follow me.”
I don’t know. I don’t know what the fuck possessed me to swim toward the Obvious Death Ship. I guess just that there wasn’t anything else save for open water anywhere so it essentially felt like our options were paddle around until we were exhausted and drown or face a quicker, simpler demise.
“You better have a fucking plan, bro,” Wiley intoned from behind me, which I chivalrously pretended not to hear, because I did not, in fact, have a fucking plan.
The closer we drew to the vessel, the more unbelievably monstrous it appeared to become. It loomed above us, casting a shadow over everything in its direct path, and the sinking in my stomach almost convinced me to turn around. Almost.
But then something curled around my ankle. It was slick and strong, and there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that whatever it was could’ve pulled me under and eaten me alive in a fraction of a second.
Luckily for me, it wasn’t interested. It let go as quickly as it had latched on, almost as though it was simply using me as a handrail to move itself along. Still, though, the knowledge that it was there was all the motivation I needed to push forward ever faster. I didn’t say anything—didn’t want to add more fuel to Wiley’s panicked fire—just picked up my pace and swam up to their side.
“There’s a ladder,” they informed me, raising a hand and pointing toward the back half of the ship.
Indeed, there was a ladder. It was a tattered, worn thing, comprised of old, fraying rope and rotting, untreated wooden boards, but it looked composed enough that I figured we could likely make it up if we were swift.
“Bet,” I said. “Let’s go.”
We went.
Up close, the ladder appeared even shoddier than it had when we’d first seen it. I reached out of the water and wrapped my fingers around the rope at the bottom, giving it a hearty tug. To my slight surprise, it held fast.
“I think we’re good,” I told Wiley. “I’ll go up first and tell you what I see.”
“Be careful,” they said, but didn’t protest, just backed up enough for me to get the leverage I needed to hoist myself onto the bottom board.
I climbed warily, overly conscious of every creak of the wood bowing beneath my weight, every groan of the fibers of rope under my hands, but made it without incident to the top.
Once there, I grabbed onto the ship’s edge, lifting my gaze to take in whatever lie before me.
It was…nothing. I mean, it was a ship, obviously. But there wasn’t anything on board. No apparent crew nor cargo nor even a captain manning the helm. Granted, I couldn’t see perfectly, but the moon shone brightly enough that I was fairly confident in my observation that the deck was devoid of anything but its own shiplap floor.
“Hello?” I called, because I wasn’t about to beckon Wiley up if some fucked shit was going to pop out of nowhere the second we made a sound.
Nothing responded. Nothing moved. The ship rocked gently on the impossible water, as silent and vacant as it had been a moment before.
“Good?” Wiley questioned nervously from below me.
“Yeah,” I told them, easing myself off the ladder and down into the confines of the vessel. “Come on.”
They did so tenuously but still more swiftly than I had, climbing aboard and landing next to me with a dampened thunk.
We allowed ourselves the briefest of moments to catch our breath, silently rejoicing in the small win that was having found solace from the pool itself. Not that we had any idea what to do or where to go from here, but at the very least, we weren’t drowning.
“Okay,” I said, clearing the unease from my throat. “I don’t know what good trying to steer this thing would do us—there’s nothing but water no matter where we go. But maybe there’s something here somewhere that’ll help us figure out how to get back. So I think we just…start looking around?”
Wiley nodded. “Cool. Split halves, front and back?”
Nooo, Adam, don’t split up! Never split up! I know. I can literally hear you screaming it at me. And actually, for once in my life, I considered that something might be a horrible fucking idea before acting on it.
But then I saw something.
As I turned back to respond, Wiley’s eyes shimmered, dancing in the moonlight.
They were silver and mercurial, with no pupils or whites in sight.
Whatever had come back up from underwater, it was not my coworker.
I swallowed, forcing my expression to remain as neutral as I was able and praying whatever was standing in front of me didn’t notice I’d caught on. My entire body was instantaneously covered in chills, in a way that I understood to have the same purpose as a dog’s hackles rising. “Sounds good,” I said. “I’ll take the front.”
I headed in the opposite direction of the thing wearing Wiley’s face (at a pace that I hoped didn’t appear hurried but one that would remove me in a timely manner from the vicinity) and didn’t stop until I’d reached the front of the ship, breathing heavily and attempting to slow my reeling mind.
I didn’t know what to tackle first. I didn’t know where Wiley was, or if they were anywhere—if they were even still alive. I didn’t know what my next move should be. I didn’t know what I was looking for or where I might find it.
It’s rare that I feel utterly hopeless, to the degree that I genuinely contemplate just sitting down and giving up, but in this instance, I thought long and hard about how easy it would be to succumb. I’d let the unthinkable happen. Wiley was gone. No one else had been here with them—there was no one else to blame. Just me. Only me.
…You’ll be glad to know that the self-pity didn’t last long. Embarrassing, honestly.
If I was the only one here, it meant I was the only shot they had at making it out alive. Our version of ‘innocent until proven guilty’ had always been ‘alive until proven dead’ and I wasn’t about to turn my back on the insane streak of luck we’d had up until this point. Not a single one of our lives had been lost, and we’d been in the midst of some absolute shitstorms. There was no reason to believe that right now, tonight, was an outlier. I couldn’t lie down like a sick dog and wonder if Wiley was still out there somewhere, suffering until the bitter, bloody end. I had to find them. By whatever means necessary, as long as it took, I had to find them.
I pushed off the railing before me and spun on my heel, eyes flitting back and forth to assess my options as efficiently as possible, and after a moment, I registered that fitted flush against the large front mast, there was a door.
It was only a sliver, thin and not particularly extraordinary in height, but there was a handle carved roughly into its right side and a set of rust-riddled hinges on its left.
I took about half a second to weigh my options and then reached for it, curling my fingers around the handle and giving it a generous tug.
The hinges, unsurprisingly, complained, but not loudly and not for long. The door gave way with little resistance, and opened up to my worst fucking nightmare.
A set of stairs, descending into blackness.
I mean, I guess if I’m being fair, my first pool encounter had featured a staircase leading to the pool rather than away from it, but I didn’t feel like there could possibly be good news awaiting me below deck of a ship where I’d just encountered a fucking mimic.
Still, though, there was a niggling insistence in my brain (not that kind, come on) that it was my only lead on finding Wiley if they were, in fact, somewhere on board. So I cast one last glance over my shoulder and stepped into the dark, letting the door fall closed behind me.
It smelled different, instantly, from the open air above. Mustier, which was to be expected, but also almost sweet somehow. I tried, unsuccessfully, to shove my true-crime-podcast-addled brain’s helpful reminder that the scent of human death is said to be sweet into a mental lockbox and put my hand to the wall, easing tentatively down to the second step.
The visibility wasn’t just low—it was practically zero. If you’ve ever been on a cave tour and had a guide cut the lights and instruct you to lift your hand to your face to demonstrate the complete absence of light, it was nearly that intense. The placing of both feet on each concurrent stair was an arduous, calculated process, but finally, after approximately one (1) century, I reached flat ground. I still couldn’t see, and there was no definitive way to tell whether I was standing on the floor or just a landing without thoroughly feeling out the space around me, so I reluctantly departed from the wall, scooting my feet in small, tentative motions and keeping both arms partially outstretched before me.
After a (l o n g) moment, I determined that either this was the world’s largest landing or I’d made it all the way down. I had no idea whether I was in a singular, enormous room, or if there were individual cabins, or if I was about to run face-first into the grim fucking reaper.
And then I turned to my left.
There was a light.
It was so, so faint. Flickering. Barely discernible, its warm, gentle glow ever so shyly illuminating the cracks around what appeared to be another closed door.
Being the only visible thing in my line of sight, in any direction, it emitted the aura of both a beacon and an omen.
I headed towards it.
I was about half afraid I was stuck in a horror movie situation where no matter how long I walked it would never grow any closer, but fortunately, that didn’t seem to be the case. I actually gained on it more quickly than I felt I should have for the speed I was moving, but I wasn’t going to complain about reaching the end of the nothingness in commendable time.
I ran my fingertips along the edge of the door and, sure enough, there was a carved-in handle, just like the last.
It opened just as effortlessly, and yellow candlelight rolled dimly out to greet me, lapping at my waterlogged clothes.
“Please,” came a quiet, terrified voice from inside the room. “Please don’t. I don’t know what you want, or–or what you are, but please don’t—”
“...Wiley?”
Rather than calming, the voice’s state of alarm rose to a level bordering on full-blown panic as I took a step into the space. “Please,” the voice begged. There wasn’t anyone visible from my current vantage point, but I could hear it clearly enough to feel fairly confident that the person attached to it—the person who either had to be Wiley or yet another duplicate of them—was close. “Why are you doing this?”
This was a cabin, I thought, or perhaps a study of some sort, with a rotting wooden desk and a decaying leather chair both covered in a flurry of loose, browned book pages and a thick layer of dust. There were candles littering several surfaces, placed in what appeared not to be any intentional manner. Directly to my right, there was a shelf; its back faced me and the odd placement led me to imagine that it may have been employed to block the door at some time.
It was also, I would have just about bet, the source of the voice.
I nudged a couple of planks and a broken amber bottle out of the way with the toe of my shoe, rounding the shelf to find a crumpled, bloodied Wiley, restrained to the floor by a thick, coarse rope fixed expertly to a bolted tie and holding their bound hands up to shield their face.
“Jesus fuck,” I said. “What happened to you?”
Slowly, they lifted their head. “...Adam?”
Realization dawned on me, and I felt my stomach sink. “Look at me,” I told them. “Look at my eyes.”
They did, their own bloodshot and watery and inherently human, and I watched their shoulders deflate, the defense and terror draining from their form. “There’s someone…something…down here. Or, I guess it still is, anyway. I don’t know where it went, but I don’t wanna be here when it comes back.”
I nodded. “It look like me?”
Wiley nodded back.
“Yeah, there’s one of you upstairs. Not real sure what we’re supposed to do about them, but one thing at a time. Let’s get you up from there.”
It was a struggle, disentangling Wiley from the heavy, abrasive leads coccooning their body, but we got there eventually, and throughout the entirety of the arduous process they gave me the rundown on how, when we’d parted from the solace of the platform, something had instantaneously latched onto them, dragging them down deeper and deeper until their ears popped and their head felt like it was going to explode. They said they’d been knocked out by the pressure, and that when they’d come to, already tied in place and coughing up lungfuls of water, “I” had been standing over them, wielding a large net hook and no mercy.
“I knew it wasn’t you, obviously,” they said, “but I didn’t know where you actually were or if something had, like. Hijacked your body? I don’t know. Anyway, let’s get the fuck out of here.”
We grabbed a couple of candles (the majority had simply been melted into place atop whatever surface they’d adorned, but there was a small collection fitted into slightly-too-small brass holders) and got the fuck out.
Being able to see so little in the space around us was almost more disorienting than the pitch darkness I’d been feeling my way through before. It felt as though we were in a fragile, wavering bubble of reality and nothing existed outside of it.
“Wish I’d been awake coming down here,” Wiley remarked. “Guess I still wouldn’t have seen shit, though.”
“I could…maybe get us back upstairs?” I considered, with little to no confidence. “But I don’t really know what good it would do us. Nowhere to go. Maybe we just…look around down here for a bit? See if we can find anything useful?”
“Yeah, okay,” Wiley assented. “But we’ve gotta be quiet. I don’t want that thing to hear us.”
I certainly couldn’t argue with that.
We wandered hesitantly through the dark, shielding the flames of our candles with cupped palms and praying we wouldn’t misstep. We made it some unsubstantiated quantity of time without incident, but softly, after seconds or minutes or hours, we heard a light rustling from the shadow veiled corridor to our right, and Wiley pulled me into the nearest open room in the opposite direction.
Flattening our backs to the wall, we listened intently as footsteps echoed faintly behind us, cyclically growing closer and then further away again for several moments before disappearing altogether.
I let out a breath I hadn’t known I was holding and uncovered my candle, easing the door of the room to a gentle, silent close. The contents of this one were different from that of the last in that there practically weren’t any. It wasn’t just that it was tidier; there was a chest shoved against the wall nearest us and a leatherbound book of some sort lying in the center of the floor, but otherwise the space was vacant.
Wiley moved first, crouching next to the journal and lifting it from the ground, a cloud of dust rising in the wake of their breath. I knelt down beside them, offering my candlelight so they could discard theirs and open the cover.
Beneath which there was a box.
It was a plain, unadorned wooden rectangle, nestled into the carved-out central pages of the book, and we learned upon extracting it that there was no lock or latch, just a seam indicating the lid’s separation from the body.
I don’t need to spell the whole situation out for you. There was a key in the box. The key opened, you guessed it: the chest. Inside the chest, there were piles of gold and jewels beyond your wildest imagination. We’re rich now. The end.
Nah, JK. But the key in the box did open the chest, in which there was, A) a pair of peeling, pleather driving gloves, and B)...
I felt my heart skip.
A bicycle chain.
I’m not going to get into the nuances of that right now, or maybe ever. But for the purposes of dramatic flair, just know that it was incredibly, pointedly relevant to me, on a level so personal it sucker punched the air straight out of my lungs.
“No,” Wiley said, staggering back a step. “Uh-uh. Nope.”
I put together, then, that the gloves must have been their ticket item. “It’s okay,” I said, on autopilot, because it was not. “There’s something—something’s carved into the bottom of this thing.” Pushing past the reaction every fiber of my being had to the sensation of the frigid metal against my skin, I shoved both the chain and the gloves to the side and could scarcely make out a host of crudely scrawled letters in the wavering light of my half-gone candle.
“What is it?” Wiley asked, making no move to come nearer again.
“Though your…hand…? Heart. Though your heart does pound and knees grow…weak,” I deciphered slowly, “Rid yourself by your… That doesn’t make any sense. Shouldn’t it be of? It says ‘rid yourself by your fear’ and…something. Drain the…clin… No. Drink. Drain the drink.”
“Rid yourself by your fear and drain the drink,” Wiley repeated analytically. “The hell does that mean? Is this shit telling us to kill ourselves with the—oh. Oh. Fuck.”
I was not following. “...I’m not following,” I said.
“It is.” Wiley returned to my side, squatting down and nudging me out of the way with their shoulder to peer warily into the trunk. “It’s telling us to kill ourselves, but not these selves. We’re supposed to use…those…to kill our fuckin’ doppelgangers, or whatever they are. That’s how we get rid of the water.”
“Oh,” I echoed. “Fuck.”
We marinated for a moment in silence before Wiley sighed, resigned, and lifted the gloves from the chest, closing their eyes and pulling the fabric snugly over their hands. “Let’s get to work.”

Okay, I’m gonna level with you. Focusing on current events is just getting a little too fucking heavy. I’m no closer to answers than I was a month ago, none of us can sleep through a full night without waking up shaking and drenched in sweat, and there are some new downright bizarre phenomena cropping up that I just don’t have it in me to allot my energy to at the moment.
So, for today’s installment (and then also for the next one) I’m gonna tell you another good ol’ fun-for-the-whole-family pool story. Yep, you heard that right—welcome to our first bonafide two-parter.
This was quite a while ago. My measure of time is all off by a year now, but I feel fairly confident in chalking it up to post-first pool story, pre-ouija board fiasco—so however long ago that’s been now.
It was a weird, rare night, in that Matt was out. Not an unheard of occurrence, but it’s fairly anomalous, and it certainly puts the rest of us on slightly higher alert.
Obviously, he always tells us to call him at the first sign of some shit going down and to use our best judgment to determine whether it’s serious enough to lock up and head out. Better safe than sorry and all that. The night in question was no exception to the rule.
Overall, though, things were mostly quiet. Alice was in, as was I, as was Wiley. We do a lot of congregating, but we do a lot of work, too, and this night, we were all in our respective areas, doing our respective jobs.
I was in my not-office mending a finicky Shakespeare anthology, Alice was watching the desk while working on cataloging a truckload of new donations, and Wiley was replacing several lightbulbs that had all decided to call it quits after our most recent power outage (this one due to a flash-flood).
It was calm to an almost uncharacteristic degree. There was a relatively steady flow of patrons in and out of the building—I could hear Alice greeting them and wishing them a good evening—but as far as anomalous activity, there was none.
It does happen, on rare occasion, that we make it through a full night without any goings on, but there’s almost always at least the odd disembodied voice or two.
We should’ve known better than to trust a meteor shower.
See, there’s just something about natural anomalies. Not just the ones that knock our power out, either, although those are clearly included. Blizzards, thunderstorms, hail and tornados and earthquakes and all your run-of-the-mill destructive shit, sure. But the things of beauty, too. Rainbows. Eclipses, lunar or solar. And you think full moons hit emergency rooms hard? Try this fucking place.
It was just that a meteor shower wasn’t one we’d dealt with before. Does that mean we shouldn’t have known better? Fuck no. Obviously not. But perhaps our collective greatest fault is that we still have some semblance of hope.
Wiley wanted to look at it from the roof. Kid never fucking wants to do anything, and they were set to climb up and camp out alone. I couldn’t not entertain such an innocent, youthful whim.
Our roof access doesn’t have stairs—just a ladder—so Alice couldn’t accompany us, which I felt shitty about, but she assured me it was perfectly fine with her.
“The world decided I didn’t need functional legs so I could never be peer pressured into leaving the ground,” she quipped. “I’m not into heights. But y’all have fun up there. Somebody needs to be here for the patrons anyway.”
Fair and fair. So Wiley and I gathered up an armful of blankets and one of Matt’s trusty camping lanterns and headed out to scale the building.
Wiley went up ahead of me. That was my first mistake.
Really, they aren’t that much younger than I am. Maybe four or five years, and I’m too close to thirty for comfort now. But there’s something about them, even as far as they’ve come, that makes it impossible for me not to do everything in my power to protect them. I think Matt feels the same way. Maybe most of us do.
Anyway, that’s why I immediately started cursing myself when they reached the top of the ladder, pulled their way up and over the ledge of the roof, and said, “...Whoa.”
My second mistake was not immediately telling them to turn around and start climbing right the fuck back down.
I knew exactly what that tone of voice meant. But something in me just kicked into hyperdrive and I…had to see it. Whatever it was, I had to see it for myself.
“Don’t move,” I said, and then, “What is it?”
But by that point, I was at the top, too. I hoisted myself over the ledge and was met with…
…Water.
It was everywhere. Extending in every direction. There was no edge in sight—not even a horizon line. Just vast, dark water as far as the eye could see.
“Okay. This is not—let’s go.”
“Yeah,” Wiley agreed, a little breathless.
I’m sure you’ll be downright shocked to learn that, when we turned around, the ladder was gone.
The edge of the rooftop was, too.
The thing that surprised me, really, was that it wasn’t as though we were standing on some sort of island. We were somehow in the water all of a sudden, up to our waists, neither of us having taken a single step.
“Fucking…shit. Jesus. Adam?”
“We’re fine,” was my default response, because my anxiety override kicks in like a motherfucker as soon as someone else is more openly afraid than I am. “It’s okay, let’s just—let’s think for a second. Maybe it’s just, like, an illusion or something.”
“Okay,” Wiley said. “Maybe we should…try moving?”
“Yeah. Yeah, we’ll bump the ledge and then we can just feel for the ladder. Good idea.”
Wiley and I shared a look, wordlessly nodding to one another, and stepped forward in unison.
Maybe I misspoke before, when I said we weren’t on a platform. It was just that our platform wasn’t above the water. Now, though, there was nothing.
It felt, almost, like the stomach-turning sensation of missing a step walking up a staircase. The only difference was that there was no moment-too-late connection.
We plummeted.
There wasn’t any difference in temperature beneath the surface, which was, in a way, more disorienting than the water itself. The mental recalibration that typically comes with plunging into a cool lake or, adversely, a heated pool wasn’t allotted an opportunity to take place. It felt, for most intents and purposes, the same as being in the air, just that I couldn’t breathe.
It was heavy, too. The weightlessness water tends to embody was null; I immediately abandoned everything I’d been carrying, clawing my way upward frantically enough that it would’ve been mortifying, I’m sure, had anyone witnessed it.
Wiley resurfaced at the same moment I did—empty handed as well, I noted—coughing a little but not to the extent that I was worried they were choking. “Next idea?” they asked, pushing their wet hair back from their face, dark, damp lashes obscuring their eyes.
“Let’s get back on the…” I started, but trailed off when I raised my head.
A couple hundred yards out from us, there was a ship. It was a dark, hulking thing, with tattered sails and something indistinguishable affixed to the bow, glittering and glinting in the moonlight.
Wiley spun around to face it, drifting back slightly when their gaze landed parallel to mine. “What the fuck is that?” they demanded, legs kicking haphazardly beneath the water to keep them in place.
“Maybe it’s…good,” I said. I knew better than that and I knew Wiley did, too, but I said it anyway. “Maybe someone will help.”
They didn’t even humor me with a response to that bullshit.
Now, at this point in the story, maybe you’re thinking being suddenly surrounded by water and watching as an ominous ship approached us with absolutely nowhere to go and no way to escape doesn’t feel quite enough like imminent condemnation. To which I say to you: not to worry. Because the next realization we came to was that the platform we’d been standing on previously had suddenly ceased to exist.
“Shit,” Wiley said. “Shit, shit, shit. Adam.”
“I know,” I said. “It’s fine. We’re fine. We just—we’re gonna—follow me.”
I don’t know. I don’t know what the fuck possessed me to swim toward the Obvious Death Ship. I guess just that there wasn’t anything else save for open water anywhere so it essentially felt like our options were paddle around until we were exhausted and drown or face a quicker, simpler demise.
“You better have a fucking plan, bro,” Wiley intoned from behind me, which I chivalrously pretended not to hear, because I did not, in fact, have a fucking plan.
The closer we drew to the vessel, the more unbelievably monstrous it appeared to become. It loomed above us, casting a shadow over everything in its direct path, and the sinking in my stomach almost convinced me to turn around. Almost.
But then something curled around my ankle. It was slick and strong, and there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that whatever it was could’ve pulled me under and eaten me alive in a fraction of a second.
Luckily for me, it wasn’t interested. It let go as quickly as it had latched on, almost as though it was simply using me as a handrail to move itself along. Still, though, the knowledge that it was there was all the motivation I needed to push forward ever faster. I didn’t say anything—didn’t want to add more fuel to Wiley’s panicked fire—just picked up my pace and swam up to their side.
“There’s a ladder,” they informed me, raising a hand and pointing toward the back half of the ship.
Indeed, there was a ladder. It was a tattered, worn thing, comprised of old, fraying rope and rotting, untreated wooden boards, but it looked composed enough that I figured we could likely make it up if we were swift.
“Bet,” I said. “Let’s go.”
We went.
Up close, the ladder appeared even shoddier than it had when we’d first seen it. I reached out of the water and wrapped my fingers around the rope at the bottom, giving it a hearty tug. To my slight surprise, it held fast.
“I think we’re good,” I told Wiley. “I’ll go up first and tell you what I see.”
“Be careful,” they said, but didn’t protest, just backed up enough for me to get the leverage I needed to hoist myself onto the bottom board.
I climbed warily, overly conscious of every creak of the wood bowing beneath my weight, every groan of the fibers of rope under my hands, but made it without incident to the top.
Once there, I grabbed onto the ship’s edge, lifting my gaze to take in whatever lie before me.
It was…nothing. I mean, it was a ship, obviously. But there wasn’t anything on board. No apparent crew nor cargo nor even a captain manning the helm. Granted, I couldn’t see perfectly, but the moon shone brightly enough that I was fairly confident in my observation that the deck was devoid of anything but its own shiplap floor.
“Hello?” I called, because I wasn’t about to beckon Wiley up if some fucked shit was going to pop out of nowhere the second we made a sound.
Nothing responded. Nothing moved. The ship rocked gently on the impossible water, as silent and vacant as it had been a moment before.
“Good?” Wiley questioned nervously from below me.
“Yeah,” I told them, easing myself off the ladder and down into the confines of the vessel. “Come on.”
They did so tenuously but still more swiftly than I had, climbing aboard and landing next to me with a dampened thunk.
We allowed ourselves the briefest of moments to catch our breath, silently rejoicing in the small win that was having found solace from the pool itself. Not that we had any idea what to do or where to go from here, but at the very least, we weren’t drowning.
“Okay,” I said, clearing the unease from my throat. “I don’t know what good trying to steer this thing would do us—there’s nothing but water no matter where we go. But maybe there’s something here somewhere that’ll help us figure out how to get back. So I think we just…start looking around?”
Wiley nodded. “Cool. Split halves, front and back?”
Nooo, Adam, don’t split up! Never split up! I know. I can literally hear you screaming it at me. And actually, for once in my life, I considered that something might be a horrible fucking idea before acting on it.
But then I saw something.
As I turned back to respond, Wiley’s eyes shimmered, dancing in the moonlight.
They were silver and mercurial, with no pupils or whites in sight.
Whatever had come back up from underwater, it was not my coworker.
I swallowed, forcing my expression to remain as neutral as I was able and praying whatever was standing in front of me didn’t notice I’d caught on. My entire body was instantaneously covered in chills, in a way that I understood to have the same purpose as a dog’s hackles rising. “Sounds good,” I said. “I’ll take the front.”
I headed in the opposite direction of the thing wearing Wiley’s face (at a pace that I hoped didn’t appear hurried but one that would remove me in a timely manner from the vicinity) and didn’t stop until I’d reached the front of the ship, breathing heavily and attempting to slow my reeling mind.
I didn’t know what to tackle first. I didn’t know where Wiley was, or if they were anywhere—if they were even still alive. I didn’t know what my next move should be. I didn’t know what I was looking for or where I might find it.
It’s rare that I feel utterly hopeless, to the degree that I genuinely contemplate just sitting down and giving up, but in this instance, I thought long and hard about how easy it would be to succumb. I’d let the unthinkable happen. Wiley was gone. No one else had been here with them—there was no one else to blame. Just me. Only me.
…You’ll be glad to know that the self-pity didn’t last long. Embarrassing, honestly.
If I was the only one here, it meant I was the only shot they had at making it out alive. Our version of ‘innocent until proven guilty’ had always been ‘alive until proven dead’ and I wasn’t about to turn my back on the insane streak of luck we’d had up until this point. Not a single one of our lives had been lost, and we’d been in the midst of some absolute shitstorms. There was no reason to believe that right now, tonight, was an outlier. I couldn’t lie down like a sick dog and wonder if Wiley was still out there somewhere, suffering until the bitter, bloody end. I had to find them. By whatever means necessary, as long as it took, I had to find them.
I pushed off the railing before me and spun on my heel, eyes flitting back and forth to assess my options as efficiently as possible, and after a moment, I registered that fitted flush against the large front mast, there was a door.
It was only a sliver, thin and not particularly extraordinary in height, but there was a handle carved roughly into its right side and a set of rust-riddled hinges on its left.
I took about half a second to weigh my options and then reached for it, curling my fingers around the handle and giving it a generous tug.
The hinges, unsurprisingly, complained, but not loudly and not for long. The door gave way with little resistance, and opened up to my worst fucking nightmare.
A set of stairs, descending into blackness.
I mean, I guess if I’m being fair, my first pool encounter had featured a staircase leading to the pool rather than away from it, but I didn’t feel like there could possibly be good news awaiting me below deck of a ship where I’d just encountered a fucking mimic.
Still, though, there was a niggling insistence in my brain (not that kind, come on) that it was my only lead on finding Wiley if they were, in fact, somewhere on board. So I cast one last glance over my shoulder and stepped into the dark, letting the door fall closed behind me.
It smelled different, instantly, from the open air above. Mustier, which was to be expected, but also almost sweet somehow. I tried, unsuccessfully, to shove my true-crime-podcast-addled brain’s helpful reminder that the scent of human death is said to be sweet into a mental lockbox and put my hand to the wall, easing tentatively down to the second step.
The visibility wasn’t just low—it was practically zero. If you’ve ever been on a cave tour and had a guide cut the lights and instruct you to lift your hand to your face to demonstrate the complete absence of light, it was nearly that intense. The placing of both feet on each concurrent stair was an arduous, calculated process, but finally, after approximately one (1) century, I reached flat ground. I still couldn’t see, and there was no definitive way to tell whether I was standing on the floor or just a landing without thoroughly feeling out the space around me, so I reluctantly departed from the wall, scooting my feet in small, tentative motions and keeping both arms partially outstretched before me.
After a (l o n g) moment, I determined that either this was the world’s largest landing or I’d made it all the way down. I had no idea whether I was in a singular, enormous room, or if there were individual cabins, or if I was about to run face-first into the grim fucking reaper.
And then I turned to my left.
There was a light.
It was so, so faint. Flickering. Barely discernible, its warm, gentle glow ever so shyly illuminating the cracks around what appeared to be another closed door.
Being the only visible thing in my line of sight, in any direction, it emitted the aura of both a beacon and an omen.
I headed towards it.
I was about half afraid I was stuck in a horror movie situation where no matter how long I walked it would never grow any closer, but fortunately, that didn’t seem to be the case. I actually gained on it more quickly than I felt I should have for the speed I was moving, but I wasn’t going to complain about reaching the end of the nothingness in commendable time.
I ran my fingertips along the edge of the door and, sure enough, there was a carved-in handle, just like the last.
It opened just as effortlessly, and yellow candlelight rolled dimly out to greet me, lapping at my waterlogged clothes.
“Please,” came a quiet, terrified voice from inside the room. “Please don’t. I don’t know what you want, or–or what you are, but please don’t—”
“...Wiley?”
Rather than calming, the voice’s state of alarm rose to a level bordering on full-blown panic as I took a step into the space. “Please,” the voice begged. There wasn’t anyone visible from my current vantage point, but I could hear it clearly enough to feel fairly confident that the person attached to it—the person who either had to be Wiley or yet another duplicate of them—was close. “Why are you doing this?”
This was a cabin, I thought, or perhaps a study of some sort, with a rotting wooden desk and a decaying leather chair both covered in a flurry of loose, browned book pages and a thick layer of dust. There were candles littering several surfaces, placed in what appeared not to be any intentional manner. Directly to my right, there was a shelf; its back faced me and the odd placement led me to imagine that it may have been employed to block the door at some time.
It was also, I would have just about bet, the source of the voice.
I nudged a couple of planks and a broken amber bottle out of the way with the toe of my shoe, rounding the shelf to find a crumpled, bloodied Wiley, restrained to the floor by a thick, coarse rope fixed expertly to a bolted tie and holding their bound hands up to shield their face.
“Jesus fuck,” I said. “What happened to you?”
Slowly, they lifted their head. “...Adam?”
Realization dawned on me, and I felt my stomach sink. “Look at me,” I told them. “Look at my eyes.”
They did, their own bloodshot and watery and inherently human, and I watched their shoulders deflate, the defense and terror draining from their form. “There’s someone…something…down here. Or, I guess it still is, anyway. I don’t know where it went, but I don’t wanna be here when it comes back.”
I nodded. “It look like me?”
Wiley nodded back.
“Yeah, there’s one of you upstairs. Not real sure what we’re supposed to do about them, but one thing at a time. Let’s get you up from there.”
It was a struggle, disentangling Wiley from the heavy, abrasive leads coccooning their body, but we got there eventually, and throughout the entirety of the arduous process they gave me the rundown on how, when we’d parted from the solace of the platform, something had instantaneously latched onto them, dragging them down deeper and deeper until their ears popped and their head felt like it was going to explode. They said they’d been knocked out by the pressure, and that when they’d come to, already tied in place and coughing up lungfuls of water, “I” had been standing over them, wielding a large net hook and no mercy.
“I knew it wasn’t you, obviously,” they said, “but I didn’t know where you actually were or if something had, like. Hijacked your body? I don’t know. Anyway, let’s get the fuck out of here.”
We grabbed a couple of candles (the majority had simply been melted into place atop whatever surface they’d adorned, but there was a small collection fitted into slightly-too-small brass holders) and got the fuck out.
Being able to see so little in the space around us was almost more disorienting than the pitch darkness I’d been feeling my way through before. It felt as though we were in a fragile, wavering bubble of reality and nothing existed outside of it.
“Wish I’d been awake coming down here,” Wiley remarked. “Guess I still wouldn’t have seen shit, though.”
“I could…maybe get us back upstairs?” I considered, with little to no confidence. “But I don’t really know what good it would do us. Nowhere to go. Maybe we just…look around down here for a bit? See if we can find anything useful?”
“Yeah, okay,” Wiley assented. “But we’ve gotta be quiet. I don’t want that thing to hear us.”
I certainly couldn’t argue with that.
We wandered hesitantly through the dark, shielding the flames of our candles with cupped palms and praying we wouldn’t misstep. We made it some unsubstantiated quantity of time without incident, but softly, after seconds or minutes or hours, we heard a light rustling from the shadow veiled corridor to our right, and Wiley pulled me into the nearest open room in the opposite direction.
Flattening our backs to the wall, we listened intently as footsteps echoed faintly behind us, cyclically growing closer and then further away again for several moments before disappearing altogether.
I let out a breath I hadn’t known I was holding and uncovered my candle, easing the door of the room to a gentle, silent close. The contents of this one were different from that of the last in that there practically weren’t any. It wasn’t just that it was tidier; there was a chest shoved against the wall nearest us and a leatherbound book of some sort lying in the center of the floor, but otherwise the space was vacant.
Wiley moved first, crouching next to the journal and lifting it from the ground, a cloud of dust rising in the wake of their breath. I knelt down beside them, offering my candlelight so they could discard theirs and open the cover.
Beneath which there was a box.
It was a plain, unadorned wooden rectangle, nestled into the carved-out central pages of the book, and we learned upon extracting it that there was no lock or latch, just a seam indicating the lid’s separation from the body.
I don’t need to spell the whole situation out for you. There was a key in the box. The key opened, you guessed it: the chest. Inside the chest, there were piles of gold and jewels beyond your wildest imagination. We’re rich now. The end.
Nah, JK. But the key in the box did open the chest, in which there was, A) a pair of peeling, pleather driving gloves, and B)...
I felt my heart skip.
A bicycle chain.
I’m not going to get into the nuances of that right now, or maybe ever. But for the purposes of dramatic flair, just know that it was incredibly, pointedly relevant to me, on a level so personal it sucker punched the air straight out of my lungs.
“No,” Wiley said, staggering back a step. “Uh-uh. Nope.”
I put together, then, that the gloves must have been their ticket item. “It’s okay,” I said, on autopilot, because it was not. “There’s something—something’s carved into the bottom of this thing.” Pushing past the reaction every fiber of my being had to the sensation of the frigid metal against my skin, I shoved both the chain and the gloves to the side and could scarcely make out a host of crudely scrawled letters in the wavering light of my half-gone candle.
“What is it?” Wiley asked, making no move to come nearer again.
“Though your…hand…? Heart. Though your heart does pound and knees grow…weak,” I deciphered slowly, “Rid yourself by your… That doesn’t make any sense. Shouldn’t it be of? It says ‘rid yourself by your fear’ and…something. Drain the…clin… No. Drink. Drain the drink.”
“Rid yourself by your fear and drain the drink,” Wiley repeated analytically. “The hell does that mean? Is this shit telling us to kill ourselves with the—oh. Oh. Fuck.”
I was not following. “...I’m not following,” I said.
“It is.” Wiley returned to my side, squatting down and nudging me out of the way with their shoulder to peer warily into the trunk. “It’s telling us to kill ourselves, but not these selves. We’re supposed to use…those…to kill our fuckin’ doppelgangers, or whatever they are. That’s how we get rid of the water.”
“Oh,” I echoed. “Fuck.”
We marinated for a moment in silence before Wiley sighed, resigned, and lifted the gloves from the chest, closing their eyes and pulling the fabric snugly over their hands. “Let’s get to work.”

Okay, I’m gonna level with you. Focusing on current events is just getting a little too fucking heavy. I’m no closer to answers than I was a month ago, none of us can sleep through a full night without waking up shaking and drenched in sweat, and there are some new downright bizarre phenomena cropping up that I just don’t have it in me to allot my energy to at the moment.
So, for today’s installment (and then also for the next one) I’m gonna tell you another good ol’ fun-for-the-whole-family pool story. Yep, you heard that right—welcome to our first bonafide two-parter.
This was quite a while ago. My measure of time is all off by a year now, but I feel fairly confident in chalking it up to post-first pool story, pre-ouija board fiasco—so however long ago that’s been now.
It was a weird, rare night, in that Matt was out. Not an unheard of occurrence, but it’s fairly anomalous, and it certainly puts the rest of us on slightly higher alert.
Obviously, he always tells us to call him at the first sign of some shit going down and to use our best judgment to determine whether it’s serious enough to lock up and head out. Better safe than sorry and all that. The night in question was no exception to the rule.
Overall, though, things were mostly quiet. Alice was in, as was I, as was Wiley. We do a lot of congregating, but we do a lot of work, too, and this night, we were all in our respective areas, doing our respective jobs.
I was in my not-office mending a finicky Shakespeare anthology, Alice was watching the desk while working on cataloging a truckload of new donations, and Wiley was replacing several lightbulbs that had all decided to call it quits after our most recent power outage (this one due to a flash-flood).
It was calm to an almost uncharacteristic degree. There was a relatively steady flow of patrons in and out of the building—I could hear Alice greeting them and wishing them a good evening—but as far as anomalous activity, there was none.
It does happen, on rare occasion, that we make it through a full night without any goings on, but there’s almost always at least the odd disembodied voice or two.
We should’ve known better than to trust a meteor shower.
See, there’s just something about natural anomalies. Not just the ones that knock our power out, either, although those are clearly included. Blizzards, thunderstorms, hail and tornados and earthquakes and all your run-of-the-mill destructive shit, sure. But the things of beauty, too. Rainbows. Eclipses, lunar or solar. And you think full moons hit emergency rooms hard? Try this fucking place.
It was just that a meteor shower wasn’t one we’d dealt with before. Does that mean we shouldn’t have known better? Fuck no. Obviously not. But perhaps our collective greatest fault is that we still have some semblance of hope.
Wiley wanted to look at it from the roof. Kid never fucking wants to do anything, and they were set to climb up and camp out alone. I couldn’t not entertain such an innocent, youthful whim.
Our roof access doesn’t have stairs—just a ladder—so Alice couldn’t accompany us, which I felt shitty about, but she assured me it was perfectly fine with her.
“The world decided I didn’t need functional legs so I could never be peer pressured into leaving the ground,” she quipped. “I’m not into heights. But y’all have fun up there. Somebody needs to be here for the patrons anyway.”
Fair and fair. So Wiley and I gathered up an armful of blankets and one of Matt’s trusty camping lanterns and headed out to scale the building.
Wiley went up ahead of me. That was my first mistake.
Really, they aren’t that much younger than I am. Maybe four or five years, and I’m too close to thirty for comfort now. But there’s something about them, even as far as they’ve come, that makes it impossible for me not to do everything in my power to protect them. I think Matt feels the same way. Maybe most of us do.
Anyway, that’s why I immediately started cursing myself when they reached the top of the ladder, pulled their way up and over the ledge of the roof, and said, “...Whoa.”
My second mistake was not immediately telling them to turn around and start climbing right the fuck back down.
I knew exactly what that tone of voice meant. But something in me just kicked into hyperdrive and I…had to see it. Whatever it was, I had to see it for myself.
“Don’t move,” I said, and then, “What is it?”
But by that point, I was at the top, too. I hoisted myself over the ledge and was met with…
…Water.
It was everywhere. Extending in every direction. There was no edge in sight—not even a horizon line. Just vast, dark water as far as the eye could see.
“Okay. This is not—let’s go.”
“Yeah,” Wiley agreed, a little breathless.
I’m sure you’ll be downright shocked to learn that, when we turned around, the ladder was gone.
The edge of the rooftop was, too.
The thing that surprised me, really, was that it wasn’t as though we were standing on some sort of island. We were somehow in the water all of a sudden, up to our waists, neither of us having taken a single step.
“Fucking…shit. Jesus. Adam?”
“We’re fine,” was my default response, because my anxiety override kicks in like a motherfucker as soon as someone else is more openly afraid than I am. “It’s okay, let’s just—let’s think for a second. Maybe it’s just, like, an illusion or something.”
“Okay,” Wiley said. “Maybe we should…try moving?”
“Yeah. Yeah, we’ll bump the ledge and then we can just feel for the ladder. Good idea.”
Wiley and I shared a look, wordlessly nodding to one another, and stepped forward in unison.
Maybe I misspoke before, when I said we weren’t on a platform. It was just that our platform wasn’t above the water. Now, though, there was nothing.
It felt, almost, like the stomach-turning sensation of missing a step walking up a staircase. The only difference was that there was no moment-too-late connection.
We plummeted.
There wasn’t any difference in temperature beneath the surface, which was, in a way, more disorienting than the water itself. The mental recalibration that typically comes with plunging into a cool lake or, adversely, a heated pool wasn’t allotted an opportunity to take place. It felt, for most intents and purposes, the same as being in the air, just that I couldn’t breathe.
It was heavy, too. The weightlessness water tends to embody was null; I immediately abandoned everything I’d been carrying, clawing my way upward frantically enough that it would’ve been mortifying, I’m sure, had anyone witnessed it.
Wiley resurfaced at the same moment I did—empty handed as well, I noted—coughing a little but not to the extent that I was worried they were choking. “Next idea?” they asked, pushing their wet hair back from their face, dark, damp lashes obscuring their eyes.
“Let’s get back on the…” I started, but trailed off when I raised my head.
A couple hundred yards out from us, there was a ship. It was a dark, hulking thing, with tattered sails and something indistinguishable affixed to the bow, glittering and glinting in the moonlight.
Wiley spun around to face it, drifting back slightly when their gaze landed parallel to mine. “What the fuck is that?” they demanded, legs kicking haphazardly beneath the water to keep them in place.
“Maybe it’s…good,” I said. I knew better than that and I knew Wiley did, too, but I said it anyway. “Maybe someone will help.”
They didn’t even humor me with a response to that bullshit.
Now, at this point in the story, maybe you’re thinking being suddenly surrounded by water and watching as an ominous ship approached us with absolutely nowhere to go and no way to escape doesn’t feel quite enough like imminent condemnation. To which I say to you: not to worry. Because the next realization we came to was that the platform we’d been standing on previously had suddenly ceased to exist.
“Shit,” Wiley said. “Shit, shit, shit. Adam.”
“I know,” I said. “It’s fine. We’re fine. We just—we’re gonna—follow me.”
I don’t know. I don’t know what the fuck possessed me to swim toward the Obvious Death Ship. I guess just that there wasn’t anything else save for open water anywhere so it essentially felt like our options were paddle around until we were exhausted and drown or face a quicker, simpler demise.
“You better have a fucking plan, bro,” Wiley intoned from behind me, which I chivalrously pretended not to hear, because I did not, in fact, have a fucking plan.
The closer we drew to the vessel, the more unbelievably monstrous it appeared to become. It loomed above us, casting a shadow over everything in its direct path, and the sinking in my stomach almost convinced me to turn around. Almost.
But then something curled around my ankle. It was slick and strong, and there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that whatever it was could’ve pulled me under and eaten me alive in a fraction of a second.
Luckily for me, it wasn’t interested. It let go as quickly as it had latched on, almost as though it was simply using me as a handrail to move itself along. Still, though, the knowledge that it was there was all the motivation I needed to push forward ever faster. I didn’t say anything—didn’t want to add more fuel to Wiley’s panicked fire—just picked up my pace and swam up to their side.
“There’s a ladder,” they informed me, raising a hand and pointing toward the back half of the ship.
Indeed, there was a ladder. It was a tattered, worn thing, comprised of old, fraying rope and rotting, untreated wooden boards, but it looked composed enough that I figured we could likely make it up if we were swift.
“Bet,” I said. “Let’s go.”
We went.
Up close, the ladder appeared even shoddier than it had when we’d first seen it. I reached out of the water and wrapped my fingers around the rope at the bottom, giving it a hearty tug. To my slight surprise, it held fast.
“I think we’re good,” I told Wiley. “I’ll go up first and tell you what I see.”
“Be careful,” they said, but didn’t protest, just backed up enough for me to get the leverage I needed to hoist myself onto the bottom board.
I climbed warily, overly conscious of every creak of the wood bowing beneath my weight, every groan of the fibers of rope under my hands, but made it without incident to the top.
Once there, I grabbed onto the ship’s edge, lifting my gaze to take in whatever lie before me.
It was…nothing. I mean, it was a ship, obviously. But there wasn’t anything on board. No apparent crew nor cargo nor even a captain manning the helm. Granted, I couldn’t see perfectly, but the moon shone brightly enough that I was fairly confident in my observation that the deck was devoid of anything but its own shiplap floor.
“Hello?” I called, because I wasn’t about to beckon Wiley up if some fucked shit was going to pop out of nowhere the second we made a sound.
Nothing responded. Nothing moved. The ship rocked gently on the impossible water, as silent and vacant as it had been a moment before.
“Good?” Wiley questioned nervously from below me.
“Yeah,” I told them, easing myself off the ladder and down into the confines of the vessel. “Come on.”
They did so tenuously but still more swiftly than I had, climbing aboard and landing next to me with a dampened thunk.
We allowed ourselves the briefest of moments to catch our breath, silently rejoicing in the small win that was having found solace from the pool itself. Not that we had any idea what to do or where to go from here, but at the very least, we weren’t drowning.
“Okay,” I said, clearing the unease from my throat. “I don’t know what good trying to steer this thing would do us—there’s nothing but water no matter where we go. But maybe there’s something here somewhere that’ll help us figure out how to get back. So I think we just…start looking around?”
Wiley nodded. “Cool. Split halves, front and back?”
Nooo, Adam, don’t split up! Never split up! I know. I can literally hear you screaming it at me. And actually, for once in my life, I considered that something might be a horrible fucking idea before acting on it.
But then I saw something.
As I turned back to respond, Wiley’s eyes shimmered, dancing in the moonlight.
They were silver and mercurial, with no pupils or whites in sight.
Whatever had come back up from underwater, it was not my coworker.
I swallowed, forcing my expression to remain as neutral as I was able and praying whatever was standing in front of me didn’t notice I’d caught on. My entire body was instantaneously covered in chills, in a way that I understood to have the same purpose as a dog’s hackles rising. “Sounds good,” I said. “I’ll take the front.”
I headed in the opposite direction of the thing wearing Wiley’s face (at a pace that I hoped didn’t appear hurried but one that would remove me in a timely manner from the vicinity) and didn’t stop until I’d reached the front of the ship, breathing heavily and attempting to slow my reeling mind.
I didn’t know what to tackle first. I didn’t know where Wiley was, or if they were anywhere—if they were even still alive. I didn’t know what my next move should be. I didn’t know what I was looking for or where I might find it.
It’s rare that I feel utterly hopeless, to the degree that I genuinely contemplate just sitting down and giving up, but in this instance, I thought long and hard about how easy it would be to succumb. I’d let the unthinkable happen. Wiley was gone. No one else had been here with them—there was no one else to blame. Just me. Only me.
…You’ll be glad to know that the self-pity didn’t last long. Embarrassing, honestly.
If I was the only one here, it meant I was the only shot they had at making it out alive. Our version of ‘innocent until proven guilty’ had always been ‘alive until proven dead’ and I wasn’t about to turn my back on the insane streak of luck we’d had up until this point. Not a single one of our lives had been lost, and we’d been in the midst of some absolute shitstorms. There was no reason to believe that right now, tonight, was an outlier. I couldn’t lie down like a sick dog and wonder if Wiley was still out there somewhere, suffering until the bitter, bloody end. I had to find them. By whatever means necessary, as long as it took, I had to find them.
I pushed off the railing before me and spun on my heel, eyes flitting back and forth to assess my options as efficiently as possible, and after a moment, I registered that fitted flush against the large front mast, there was a door.
It was only a sliver, thin and not particularly extraordinary in height, but there was a handle carved roughly into its right side and a set of rust-riddled hinges on its left.
I took about half a second to weigh my options and then reached for it, curling my fingers around the handle and giving it a generous tug.
The hinges, unsurprisingly, complained, but not loudly and not for long. The door gave way with little resistance, and opened up to my worst fucking nightmare.
A set of stairs, descending into blackness.
I mean, I guess if I’m being fair, my first pool encounter had featured a staircase leading to the pool rather than away from it, but I didn’t feel like there could possibly be good news awaiting me below deck of a ship where I’d just encountered a fucking mimic.
Still, though, there was a niggling insistence in my brain (not that kind, come on) that it was my only lead on finding Wiley if they were, in fact, somewhere on board. So I cast one last glance over my shoulder and stepped into the dark, letting the door fall closed behind me.
It smelled different, instantly, from the open air above. Mustier, which was to be expected, but also almost sweet somehow. I tried, unsuccessfully, to shove my true-crime-podcast-addled brain’s helpful reminder that the scent of human death is said to be sweet into a mental lockbox and put my hand to the wall, easing tentatively down to the second step.
The visibility wasn’t just low—it was practically zero. If you’ve ever been on a cave tour and had a guide cut the lights and instruct you to lift your hand to your face to demonstrate the complete absence of light, it was nearly that intense. The placing of both feet on each concurrent stair was an arduous, calculated process, but finally, after approximately one (1) century, I reached flat ground. I still couldn’t see, and there was no definitive way to tell whether I was standing on the floor or just a landing without thoroughly feeling out the space around me, so I reluctantly departed from the wall, scooting my feet in small, tentative motions and keeping both arms partially outstretched before me.
After a (l o n g) moment, I determined that either this was the world’s largest landing or I’d made it all the way down. I had no idea whether I was in a singular, enormous room, or if there were individual cabins, or if I was about to run face-first into the grim fucking reaper.
And then I turned to my left.
There was a light.
It was so, so faint. Flickering. Barely discernible, its warm, gentle glow ever so shyly illuminating the cracks around what appeared to be another closed door.
Being the only visible thing in my line of sight, in any direction, it emitted the aura of both a beacon and an omen.
I headed towards it.
I was about half afraid I was stuck in a horror movie situation where no matter how long I walked it would never grow any closer, but fortunately, that didn’t seem to be the case. I actually gained on it more quickly than I felt I should have for the speed I was moving, but I wasn’t going to complain about reaching the end of the nothingness in commendable time.
I ran my fingertips along the edge of the door and, sure enough, there was a carved-in handle, just like the last.
It opened just as effortlessly, and yellow candlelight rolled dimly out to greet me, lapping at my waterlogged clothes.
“Please,” came a quiet, terrified voice from inside the room. “Please don’t. I don’t know what you want, or–or what you are, but please don’t—”
“...Wiley?”
Rather than calming, the voice’s state of alarm rose to a level bordering on full-blown panic as I took a step into the space. “Please,” the voice begged. There wasn’t anyone visible from my current vantage point, but I could hear it clearly enough to feel fairly confident that the person attached to it—the person who either had to be Wiley or yet another duplicate of them—was close. “Why are you doing this?”
This was a cabin, I thought, or perhaps a study of some sort, with a rotting wooden desk and a decaying leather chair both covered in a flurry of loose, browned book pages and a thick layer of dust. There were candles littering several surfaces, placed in what appeared not to be any intentional manner. Directly to my right, there was a shelf; its back faced me and the odd placement led me to imagine that it may have been employed to block the door at some time.
It was also, I would have just about bet, the source of the voice.
I nudged a couple of planks and a broken amber bottle out of the way with the toe of my shoe, rounding the shelf to find a crumpled, bloodied Wiley, restrained to the floor by a thick, coarse rope fixed expertly to a bolted tie and holding their bound hands up to shield their face.
“Jesus fuck,” I said. “What happened to you?”
Slowly, they lifted their head. “...Adam?”
Realization dawned on me, and I felt my stomach sink. “Look at me,” I told them. “Look at my eyes.”
They did, their own bloodshot and watery and inherently human, and I watched their shoulders deflate, the defense and terror draining from their form. “There’s someone…something…down here. Or, I guess it still is, anyway. I don’t know where it went, but I don’t wanna be here when it comes back.”
I nodded. “It look like me?”
Wiley nodded back.
“Yeah, there’s one of you upstairs. Not real sure what we’re supposed to do about them, but one thing at a time. Let’s get you up from there.”
It was a struggle, disentangling Wiley from the heavy, abrasive leads coccooning their body, but we got there eventually, and throughout the entirety of the arduous process they gave me the rundown on how, when we’d parted from the solace of the platform, something had instantaneously latched onto them, dragging them down deeper and deeper until their ears popped and their head felt like it was going to explode. They said they’d been knocked out by the pressure, and that when they’d come to, already tied in place and coughing up lungfuls of water, “I” had been standing over them, wielding a large net hook and no mercy.
“I knew it wasn’t you, obviously,” they said, “but I didn’t know where you actually were or if something had, like. Hijacked your body? I don’t know. Anyway, let’s get the fuck out of here.”
We grabbed a couple of candles (the majority had simply been melted into place atop whatever surface they’d adorned, but there was a small collection fitted into slightly-too-small brass holders) and got the fuck out.
Being able to see so little in the space around us was almost more disorienting than the pitch darkness I’d been feeling my way through before. It felt as though we were in a fragile, wavering bubble of reality and nothing existed outside of it.
“Wish I’d been awake coming down here,” Wiley remarked. “Guess I still wouldn’t have seen shit, though.”
“I could…maybe get us back upstairs?” I considered, with little to no confidence. “But I don’t really know what good it would do us. Nowhere to go. Maybe we just…look around down here for a bit? See if we can find anything useful?”
“Yeah, okay,” Wiley assented. “But we’ve gotta be quiet. I don’t want that thing to hear us.”
I certainly couldn’t argue with that.
We wandered hesitantly through the dark, shielding the flames of our candles with cupped palms and praying we wouldn’t misstep. We made it some unsubstantiated quantity of time without incident, but softly, after seconds or minutes or hours, we heard a light rustling from the shadow veiled corridor to our right, and Wiley pulled me into the nearest open room in the opposite direction.
Flattening our backs to the wall, we listened intently as footsteps echoed faintly behind us, cyclically growing closer and then further away again for several moments before disappearing altogether.
I let out a breath I hadn’t known I was holding and uncovered my candle, easing the door of the room to a gentle, silent close. The contents of this one were different from that of the last in that there practically weren’t any. It wasn’t just that it was tidier; there was a chest shoved against the wall nearest us and a leatherbound book of some sort lying in the center of the floor, but otherwise the space was vacant.
Wiley moved first, crouching next to the journal and lifting it from the ground, a cloud of dust rising in the wake of their breath. I knelt down beside them, offering my candlelight so they could discard theirs and open the cover.
Beneath which there was a box.
It was a plain, unadorned wooden rectangle, nestled into the carved-out central pages of the book, and we learned upon extracting it that there was no lock or latch, just a seam indicating the lid’s separation from the body.
I don’t need to spell the whole situation out for you. There was a key in the box. The key opened, you guessed it: the chest. Inside the chest, there were piles of gold and jewels beyond your wildest imagination. We’re rich now. The end.
Nah, JK. But the key in the box did open the chest, in which there was, A) a pair of peeling, pleather driving gloves, and B)...
I felt my heart skip.
A bicycle chain.
I’m not going to get into the nuances of that right now, or maybe ever. But for the purposes of dramatic flair, just know that it was incredibly, pointedly relevant to me, on a level so personal it sucker punched the air straight out of my lungs.
“No,” Wiley said, staggering back a step. “Uh-uh. Nope.”
I put together, then, that the gloves must have been their ticket item. “It’s okay,” I said, on autopilot, because it was not. “There’s something—something’s carved into the bottom of this thing.” Pushing past the reaction every fiber of my being had to the sensation of the frigid metal against my skin, I shoved both the chain and the gloves to the side and could scarcely make out a host of crudely scrawled letters in the wavering light of my half-gone candle.
“What is it?” Wiley asked, making no move to come nearer again.
“Though your…hand…? Heart. Though your heart does pound and knees grow…weak,” I deciphered slowly, “Rid yourself by your… That doesn’t make any sense. Shouldn’t it be of? It says ‘rid yourself by *your fear’ and…*something. Drain the…clin… No. Drink. Drain the drink.”
“Rid yourself by your fear and drain the drink,” Wiley repeated analytically. “The hell does that mean? Is this shit telling us to kill ourselves with the—oh. Oh. Fuck.”
I was not following. “...I’m not following,” I said.
“It is.” Wiley returned to my side, squatting down and nudging me out of the way with their shoulder to peer warily into the trunk. “It’s telling us to kill ourselves, but not these selves. We’re supposed to use…*those…*to kill our fuckin’ doppelgangers, or whatever they are. That’s how we get rid of the water.”
“Oh,” I echoed. “Fuck.”
We marinated for a moment in silence before Wiley sighed, resigned, and lifted the gloves from the chest, closing their eyes and pulling the fabric snugly over their hands. “Let’s get to work.”

Hi all! First off, I will say my partner is great and has always been very supportive - BUT he just doesn’t really seem to get what I’m going through and can’t understand why I’m often “tired” or “feeling unwell”.
Some back story - I was diagnosed in 2022 after my first flare while pregnant. I started my 5-ASA oral and suppositories right away and shortly after my child was born, this was a strange time because the medication was starting to work and I was no longer pregnant so I felt SO much better which seemed great, but I have never been able to feel “pre-pregnancy good”. I was weaning off my suppositories when I had another flare last year, had a colonoscopy and ended up on a round of prednisone. Since then I have been moderately good, but I still get a lot of stomach pain, nausea, fatigue and bathroom trips. It’s no where near where it was 2 years ago and I’ve read through some other people’s experiences and I have mild to moderate flares at worst but it’s still hard being a new mom who just went back to work and still struggling with it. I have a regular round of bloodwork and fecal calprotectin sample to do this week and haven’t been feeling the best so am feeling extra nervous.
Now, my partner - like I said he tries his best. He works full time and takes care of me and our child in the best way he knows how but often if I tell him I don’t feel good and I need to lay down he just doesn’t get it. He asks me questions like “why am I not feeling good?” or he says “you are always sick” and it’s like he has just forgotten that I have a chronic illness that still hasn’t gone into 100% remission. When I first got diagnosed he did some reading here and elsewhere online but I think that because a lot of people have it worse then I do and I tend to go through phases of feeling good he thinks that it’s not really a big deal? It almost feels like he thinks I’m making up my symptoms that are the more invisible like fatigue and stomach pain and nausea. I’ve asked him to try doing some more reading and education and have offered to help but he hasn’t.
I’m not really sure what I’m hoping for from here but maybe some one else has had similar experiences and can offer advice?

I've spent the past few months trying to "overcome" my pessimist, antinatalist, miserable-prickist leanings - and I have failed. The reality is that the negative conditions of being a human body are unassailable by an attitude or dispositional adjustment. I cannot "Affirm life! Woo! Life's grand! Will to power! Rebel!" my way out of starvation, hypothermia, dehydration, injury, or death - the pre-theoretical misery of which will directly impose its negative value on me. Affirm (or deny) life all you like - if you don't struggle to secure your bodily needs, you will have negative value, abject suffering, and eventual death inflicted upon you. Being a human body entails dealing with structural 'negativities' (biological need, sickness, aging, death, etc), which cannot be overcome via attitude/psychological/dispositional adjustments. This proves the pessimists case - human embodiment is largely a negative condition. Anyone who doubts just need sit down and do nothing to have the point proven - bodily needs/pain will soon arise, eventually becoming lethal. The negative value of which will force you to act in mitigation of them. There's a deeply negative structure to being a human body. No amount of optimist cope fills your stomach - starvation is stance-independent.