Tongue and the back of the throat swollen

My (36 female) roommates (28 male) dog (8-10 female) is an active sleeper, with those cute muffled barks and leg twitches. I know this; I have known the dog for about 5 years, I have known my roommate for about 7 years. Today she was sleeping and her legs starting trembling and twitching in a rapid repeatative manner, quicker and more dramatically than usual. I used to have an epileptic dog and have worked as a vet tech assistant so I have seen plenty of dog seizures; that is what this looked like, just more mild. The dog has also been showing strange behavior around dinner time for a few days eating only half her food, which I alerted him to yesterday. So when she started trembling I connected the issues in my head and thought maybe she has eaten something toxic or is having some sort of medical episode. He was working from home, sitting nearish to me with the dog in between us. I said partly to myself just thinking out loud, partly to him, "Is she just dreaming or is she having an issue?" He barely glanced up and said "She is just dreaming." I can't remember what I said but it was something along the lines of "Um, are you sure?" In a concerned but relatively collected and quiet tone and I began to get up to check on her, he lept up in a panic to check on her and shook her awake before I had a chance to go around and look at her. She was just sleeping. He immediately popped off with a comment about how I need to stop scaring him for no reason. I left the room cause his reaction kind of pissed me off and I didn't want to get in a fight over it. Later I brought up that I did not bring up the eating thing for no reason and her weirdness about food has been escalating for a few weeks and now she is eating a weirdly small portion; which I think is important to note cause food issues can be a sign of a real problem. He turned it into a conversation about how I alarmed him. We went back and forth a bit, then he ultimately said that the way I addressed the issue was something along the lines of inconsiderate and reckless, the actual word he used is on the tip of my tongue. I feel that take is a bit extreme given that I was only showing concern for his pet and all this happened in a matter of seconds which at the time I thought might be an emergency. I feel like speaking up when you are perceiving a potential emergency is a normal thing that people do. The way he sees it that is going over the line and disruptive of his work and mental well-being and I just don't get it. Which of us is being unreasonable here?
TLDR: I was concerned about my roommates dog, the dog was fine, the roommate was pissed at me for alarming him for no reason.

The next few hours were the happiest of Annabeth‘s life.
She and Percy sat next to each other, close. “I’m never going to make this easy for you, Seaweed Brain. Get used to it.” Percy leaned in so close Annabeth felt like the ocean wind was caressing her cheek. As he kissed her with those salty, beautiful lips, a voice from the bush screamed. “FINALLY!!!” Lily yelled, bursting out from the bush along with the rest of the campers. She, Grover, and Clarisse led the mob. “Lily-what?” Percy said confusedly. Lily squealed. “Dude, this has been my OTP for, like, 5 years! Ever since I saw you two in the underworld, I knew you’d be perfect for each other! All of us have been waiting so long for you two finally kiss, and here we are!“ Lily said triumphantly. Two and a half minutes later, Percy and Annabeth were being carried towards the canoe lake. “Seriously?” He said, looking down at Lily. “You know I can breathe underwater, right?” He whispered. “Yeah. Why do you think I gave Clarisse the idea, bozo?” She muttered under her breath. Percy grinned gratefully. He didn’t even mind when the two of them were chucked in the warm water. However, he also noticed a ten dollar bill float down to one of the nereids, and he could’ve sworn he‘d seen Grover slip it into the lake.
Weeks later, Lily had left camp to “get help” to build all the new cabins. She wasn’t expected back for the next few weeks, a month at least. One day, during the construction, a dark hooded stranger strolled up to camp. The apollo campers noticed, and shouted for Percy. The stranger was followed by an army of ancient skeletons. “Soldiers of Kronos. They’re back for revenge.” Percy murmured to Will Solace as he prepped his siblings, the archers, to launch their arrows. Will looked at Percy worriedly. “You don’t think it could be Lily, back with her help?” Will asked. Percy frowned. “No. Not even Lily could summon that many. It would kill her.Just as the arrows launched the stranger raised their hands. The arrows rose higher and higher into the air, before exploding into daisies. All oldest campers dropped their weapons and ran down the valley. Will Solace dropped his medkit, Annabeth left her dagger, and even Clarisse La Rue dropped her spear and walked away. “What…?” Percy murmured. He ran down the hill, sword drawn, and brought it to meet the cloaked figured’s drawn blade. They whirled and partied with ease. They knocked Percy’s sword to the floor, landed a boot flat in his chest which sent him flying to the ground, and pressed their sword to his throat. They slowly lowered their hood to reveal wavy hair tied back in a ponytail, and shocking bright green eyes. Percy took his twin‘s extended hand and she pulled him to his feet. “Not bad, Percy.” She grinned. Percy gaped at the giant army behind her. “Lily-how..” Lily glanced behind her and laughed softly. She sheathed her blade, back in dagger form, and said “Well, my father suddenly seemed very interested in helping the camp when I told him he’d be getting his own cabin. To be honest, we should’ve had more cabins before this. So good on you, Percy.” Percy felt his face flush bright pink. He shrugged awkwardly. “We’ll, y’know, just doing whats right.” He said. Lily grinned, and together with Annabeth and Will, they climbed the peak of Half Blood Hill. “Race you to the bottom!“ Lily yelled, lied down, and rolled down the hill. The others followed until they all lay panting at the bottom of the hill. “I love you, Wise Girl.” Percy whispered in Annabeth’s ear. “I love you too, Seaweed Brain.” She said quietly, and kissed him.

~First~
Not Exactly Hidden
The sound of old bones creaking is the result of him finally sitting down and straightening a little. He twists his cane around and gently presses the head into the torso of the woman that just tried to sneak up on him. “Really now, we don’t have that kind of relationship, you can talk to me like a normal person.”
“I understand Daiju-San, I just want to inform you that I’m going to watch your conversation.” Madam Stepanova says as she forces away his cane with surprising force. Or perhaps not so surprising, she’s been out into the wider galaxy once already, it would not surprise him in the slightest if she was already doing something to restore herself the vigour and power of her youth.
“I doubt your old boyfriend is going to be where my grandson has ended up. No doubt he’s stirring up trouble in that very British way of his.” Koga Daiju, father of Koga Daigo, grandfather of Koga Daiki and Koga Daini remarks and his cane is pushed back into him with enough force to slide him down the plush leather of the couch somewhat. He pulls his cane back and she sits down next to him.
“Do you remember when we were both assigned to stop the deviant?” She asks and he chuckles.
“Yes. To be honest I knew he was hiding among the sumo-wrestlers I just figured it would be impossible for him not to get thrown out by the larger men. I had a lot of... how do you say it? Egg on my face? Yes, a lot of egg on my face when I learned that day how quickly he makes friends.”
“So it was your fault.”
“Yours as well, you could have told me the man could charm anyone.”
“There was a language barrier a mile wide and a cultural barrier at least twice it’s size! It shouldn’t have been possible!” Madam Stepanova says before growling. “Not that he didn’t pull that sort of nonsense off on the regular. We didn’t speak much afterwards, but I understand you received additional orders to let him go?”
“He uncovered a source of corruption and quite literally cut it out while fighting off the effects of deliberately improper fugu. After that it was determined that he would either no longer be a problem, or was not a priority problem any longer as he was departing and there was quite the mess he had revealed.” Daiju says before turning a pointed look to Madam Stepanova. “Of course, it’s not like YOU weren’t a massive problem to deal with as well. While I understand that weapon smugglers dealing with certain cults in our country were indeed an issue for us both, random buildings imploding with the dissected corpses of your enemies inside lead to quite a few sleepless nights.”
“Oh, you mean like what you gave my division when high ranking administrators were panicking at the sight of their own shadows, insistent that they were being stared at through them?”
“I fail to see how Gaijin superstitions are my fault.” Daiju notes with a warm smile.
“And I fail to see how the poor building practices of your country are mine.” Madam Stepanova replies primly. After about a minute they both smirk and look away.
“I’m going to call my grandson now. If you’re going to listen in, then I request a lack of commentary.”
“Since when have I been the type to give commentary?”
“Age, youth and I assume Axiom as well, all change people.”
“Like how you became a voyeur in your old age.”
“I simply lack a reason to avoid appreciating the lovelier side of things. Beauty is to be appreciated after all.” He says as he leans back a little and uses his cane to bang on a few buttons. A holographic interface shows itself and he spends about a minute slowly pecking at the long sequence of numbers for his boy. “Now then, mind your manners Madam.”
His teasing only earns a light scoffing before the screen lights up. Daiju moves quickly to make sure he adjusts his glasses at the exact same time Daiki does. His grandson pauses and so does he. Moves to the side and Daiji mimics the movement. Including several more shifts until Daiki holds up a hand and there is fire within it.
“Still learning to do that.”
“Grandfather! You’re alive!”
“Yes, when my time came I went to the western countries so I could challenge their reaper to go rather than chess. He wasn’t too practised with it, so I bought enough time to escape.” Daiju says and Daiki raises a skeptical eyebrow.
“So I can expect you soon then?” Daiki asks.
“Sooner than you think.”
“That does not help.” Daiki replies.
“It’s all you need.” Daiju says with a fond smile before nodding. “Now, how is this village you’ve told me about?”
“Our population has ballooned lately. There are many children underfoot.”
“You scoundrel! Tell me everything!”
“Not like that!”
“And much of my interest is now gone.”
“Even if I tell you it involves a blood feud centuries old with two noble houses butchering each other down into poverty even as they interbreed and turn from merely murderers to kinslayers in the process?” Daiki asks and Madam Stepanova leans a little closer at that revelation. “Grandfather.”
“Yes?” Daiju asks.
“I will never call that evil creature grandmother.” Daiki states and Madam Stepenova cackles at that.
“Grandson! Surely you understand I have better taste than that!” Daiju protests.
“Yes, but I also know that at your age, senility can be a thing.” Daiki says in a regretful tone and Daiju puts a hand to his chest as if wounded.
“My own blood! Turning on me!”
“I am merely concerned for your health grandfather. If your mind is so far gone as to woo so wicked a witch then there is so very little I can do for you. Little more than perhaps a mercifully swift...” Daiki says solemnly and Madam Stepanova cackles again even as she stands up and leaves the room.
“Put the knife down young man, or I’ll find a way to thump you from here.” The very amused Daiju says and is met with the much younger version of his smile from Daiki. “She’s gone now, well done.”
“Thank you.” Daiki says. “Now as to what bloated the village, our mutual friend Vernon, on his sappy romantic way, stepped into the middle of a centuries old blood feud and things got interesting in a hurry. Many of the details can be skipped, but the Forest Kami decided that the feud was a foul thing and intervened. As I am bound to it as it is bound to me I became part of it, and now the children of both the Barlis and Harkul clans are living as one group here. Forced to intermingle.”
“That’s... that’s one way of doing it!” Daiju says after a moment of consideration.
“It gets better.”
“Please continue.”
“Part of the way the families made war with each other was taking advantage of how rare and valuable men are.”
“Kidnapping?”
“Indeed.”
“Oh! And it led to the interbreeding. Quite literally one family with two names and an increasingly pointless feud... Oh! Tell me that there were some members who were known by different names to both sides and they were forced to try and fight themselves.”
“Not quite that crazy. Just a lot of stupid. The children still get into fights with each other across Barlis and Harkul lines... or rather they try. The Forest is powerful and ever watching. Any attempt to hurt each other just fails.”
“Fails how?” Daiju asks and suddenly Daiki is a few inches to the left without moving. “Shunshin?”
“Something like that. It’s called woodwalking and since they’re in the woods, they’re subject to it.”
“Woodwalking?”
“Teleportation is well known the galaxy over. But woodwalking is unique. It cares not for distance, it cares not for energy. It’s sensation is unique to those that understand how to feel for it, and it always leads back to The Forest in some manner.”
“This feel for Axiom. Can you teach it? From this distance?”
“Oh? Has the master become the student?”
“In the end a Master is merely the best student. And this student always seeks to learn.” Daiju says fondly.
“Very well, everyone Undaunted had a basic guidance. But... get comfortable.”
“Already done.”
“Good. Then turn your eye inwards. You’re already IN the Axiom. It surrounds you, it has merged with you. With every part of your clothing, with the cane in your hands. Your skin, your hair, your bones and muscles and organs. All of it. The gravity returning distracted you with the sensation of your muscles needing to work again, but there is something new. Something that you’ve been fooled into thinking is normal. Something that feels old, but is new.” Daiki explains
“And it is nowhere specific?” Daiju asks.
“It is everywhere, in everything.”
“In everything...” Daiju notes as he closes his eyes and feels. “It responds to thought?”
“It does, words and gestures can help but are not needed.” Daiki says and Daiju nods before suddenly moving his arms in gestures. After the third there is a brief flicker of flame which he catches. He holds onto the fire and brings it in front of his face before gently blowing on it. The flames grow and dance within his hand as a smile crosses his face.
“I believe I have found it.” Daiju says as he has the fire shrink and then dance along the back of his knuckles.
“Well... damn.”
“Oh come now grandson. I’ve just told you that I’ve learned to learn. And I’ve spent three of your lifetimes learning how to better learn.” Daiju notes before he catches the tiny rolling fireball and crushes it into a wisp of smoke.
He then breathes a small tongue of flame into his hand and nods as it responds just as eagerly. “This will make setting things on fire much easier. Thank you grandson.”
“I’m still a little annoyed you had so easy a time with it. I needed to have someone directly hand me khutha to get it.” Daiki says.
“Well as they say, youth is wasted on the young.”
“And wisdom is lost on the old.”
“Hey now, no turning my smug superiority around like that. Respect your elders boy!”
“You’re not an elder out here grandfather. Oh no, outside of Cruel Space you’re an irresponsibly young parent who sired an equally irresponsibly young parent.” Daiki says wagging a finger at him. “For shame grandfather! Siring a family so young!”
“Young he calls it...” Daiju says with a very amused smile. “Well, if I’m such a bad influence then I’m sure you’d to chastise me in person.”
“Yes, get over to Serbow as quickly as possible you’re on Genin training duties.”
“Oh no! However will I survive teaching children how to move and think and observe their surroundings! To think of my own grandson turning one of my favourite things into a punishment! The deviousness of it all!” Daiju keeps his tone so devoid of sarcasm in his comment it actually loops around to being sarcastic again.
“That’s what you get. You will be placed in a mountain village hidden beneath the branches of a mighty forest, surrounded by snot nosed students on all sides, forced to eat freshly hunted game and harvested crops on the daily and made to show your secrets!”
“Oh no! Mercy please!” Daiju is no longer able to keep the amusement or sarcasm from his tone and both Koga devolve into a half snickering laugh.
“I missed you grandfather!”
“I missed you as well my boy!” Daiju replies with a bright and earnest smile. “I really did fear I wouldn’t get the chance to speak with you again.”
“I...”
“No no. Just listen.” Daiju says and Daiki quiets down. “Do not feel ashamed that you chose the stars. What you did was courageous and necessary, bold moves are required to find new and better things. There is no shame in that boldness. I am proud of you, as is your father and mother and sister. Our family is blessed to have so brave and dutiful a child.”
“Thank you.”
“Good. Now that that’s out of the way, back to the topic! I was worried I would never get the chance to speak with you again! It was strange that I always got on better with you than with your father or mother. Or my own siblings. Strange minds think alike do they not?”
“Oh they certainly do, especially when they hear the call of...” Daiki says before clasping his hands together in a mudra and smoke erupts around him. Daiju starts to laugh even as Daiki reveals he is now hanging from the ceiling. “Ninja!”
“I’ll show you the call of ninja boy!” Daiju says through the laughter.
“No call of Ninja. Not call of Ninja Boy.” Daiki ‘corrects’ him and there’s a huff from Daiju.
“Is that the level of humour you’re going for? Something that simple?”
“Simple is effective.” Daiki says. “Making things more complicated is just asking for trouble.”
“True, but speaking of complication how difficult is it to master that trick where the elderly reinforce themselves to be stronger?”
“Just will the power through yourself for a basic enhancement. It usually helps as practice to think about a great hero or champion you want to emulate. Batman is a popular pick when The Undaunted were just learning how to do so.”
“I see. So if I simply focus on how...” Daiju begins to ask before he suddenly sits up straighter and gives his cane an expert twirl. “Ah! I’m twenty five again! If you’ll excuse me, I need make an old woman pull out her hair in frustration.”
“Try not to blow up the ship grandfather.”
“I’ll get to an escape pod first, I assure you.”
“Oh no!”
“Oh yes!”
~First~ Last

Im 19M, and my tonsils have a bunch of white spots on them and are extremely swollen. I can’t eat solid foods as they can’t go down my throat. I tested positive for strep when they sent it off to the lab. This is my 3rd time since January that I’ve had strep. The first 2 times I took penicillin and felt 100% better within 1-2 days. Now, I was on cephalex for 2 days, but my dr gave me Cefdinir as he said it’s stronger. 4 days later and still no change it’s actually gotten harder to eat. Should I ask for a steroid?
I also have crohns disease, but don’t think this has anything to do with it, I’ve always had pretty big tonsils.

Background information - I'm a 22 y/o female, 5'7, approx 200 lbs, im not on any medications, I do smoke cannabis and nicotine, no medical issues besides asthma and my mental health diagnosis
About an hour ago I got what I believed was a sore throat. Figured it was from allergies. Over the hour, it progressively got worse so I checked my mouth and there is some sort of growth beside / wedged under my tongue, near the back of my mouth, kind of by my molars. It's pretty painful when I talk, swallow, eat etc. Is this a canker sore? Leaving a photo in the comments below

Detective Pierce and his colleague Morrison walked down the dark hall to the interrogation room where Seminarian Crawford Rossi awaited them.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Crawford Rossi." Pierce greeted as he walked inside taking a seat.

Rossi cradled a foam coffee cup in his hands looking up at them with dark circles under his eyes "Good evening." he mumbled.

"I want to talk to you about what happened to Father Pesci." Pierce began opening a case file he brought with him.

"Father Pesci..." Rossi spoke softly keeping his head down before looking at both detectives "He wasn't a bad man."

Morrison nods in understanding “We just need to hear your side of the story.”

Rossi’s shoulders went lax, and he leaned back looking up at the dim light hanging above them.

“It was the day before Easter Sunday. We were setting things up and there was this weird box among the decorations.” he began rubbing his hands together and looked back at the detectives.

“A weird box?” Pierce questioned.

Rossi nods “I know it seems strange but…” he paused biting his bottom lip “This box didn’t belong to the church. When I took it to Father Pesci, he said it was probably donated by someone.”

Morrison nodded and jotted down notes in his notepad “What did this box look like?”

The Seminarian began describing to them the box he had found. It was a medium ornate box the baby blue and white polka dot wrapping paper was weathered as if it had been left in the sun all day. The white ribbon was frayed and splotched with tiny specks of red. The box felt so heavy in his hands.

“Did you ever open this box?” Pierce asked.

Rossi shook his head “N-no it felt wrong.”

“So, an old gift felt wrong to you?” Morrison scoffed shaking his head.

“Since it was unopened” Rossi wrung his hands together “I put it in Father Pesci’s office that morning and by the evening it was open” the Seminarian paused looking up at the detectives.

“What of Father Pesci?” Pierce questioned “What did he find inside that box?”

Rossi sat back in his chair rubbing his hands onto his pants “He was in the corner of his office mumbling to himself and the box…” he took a deep breath and exhaled “Oozed a brownish red onto his desk.”

During the service that evening Father Pesci will have murdered an entire congregation. Their heads placed onto their laps and hands wired together in prayer. Pesci himself disappeared after leaving symbols written in blood all over the walls behind the podium. The gift box was missing and nowhere to be found along with one of the hearses.

“I’m sure the entire event has been quite traumatic for you. Since you were the one to find the service in such a grim state” said Pierce giving Rossi a knowing smile trying to give the man some comfort.

“Detectives” the Seminarian began licking his lips “Will you be able to find the father before he hurts more people?” he leaned forward looking them both in the eyes.

“Of course we’ll find him.” Morrison was confident.

Pierce wanted to relay the same energy but according to the reports they had gotten back the hearse that Father Pesci had taken was found abandoned in the next town. Which means from there the possessed Pesci walked the rest of the way to his destination.

He did however have an idea where the Father was heading. There was an older case where a clown was attending a child’s birthday party. Or what was supposed to be. When the professional entertainer got to the house he was greeted by a cult. This cult did unspeakable things to this man using him in a ritual for whatever god they worshipped. Then placed his head into the very box that he had brought the birthday cake in.

A medium box with baby blue wrapping paper with white polka dots and a white ribbon on top.

A possessed Father Pesci was heading to the place where it all started. The place where that thing that now wore him like a suit was brought into this world. Pierce looked over at Morrison who furrowed his brow.

“Thank you, Mr. Crawford Rossi we will contact, you when we find Father Pesci.” Pierce assured him who nodded anxiously looking around before getting up to leave the room.

Rossi solemnly nodded getting up from his chair. As he walked to the door to exit the interrogation room he looked back at Morrison and Pierce. “There was something else I need to mention” he spoke low making the detectives to strain their ears to listen “Before I found Father Pesci he was talking to someone. A voice I never heard before, but it filled me full of dread.”

“Why are you telling us this now?” inquired Morrison
Rossi held his hands in front of him in a silent prayer “Because I don’t think I should have heard what they were talking about.”

Pierce scratched his chin “Can you tell us what was said?”

Rossi shook his head “No…no if I do. IT will come for me next.”

The ‘it’ he was referring to must have been whatever had possessed Father Pesci. He left the room leaving both detectives to go over the information they had gathered. Morrison flipped through his notes and clicked his tongue.

“What are we even supposed to do with any of this?” he scoffed motioning to the notepad in his hand.

“Don’t worry we have plenty of information to go off. Besides I know where we will find Father Pesci and hopefully, we will arrive in time.” answered Pierce who stood up first and headed to the door.

Morrison scratched his head following behind his coworker “I sure hope you’re right.”

Honestly even Pierce himself hoped he was right too because they had a long car ride ahead of them and had to make sure they brought the proper equipment with them. They had a Priest to exercise after all.

I am hoping to get some advice or hear some similar experiences here to see if this is normal with ME/CFS. I had a Covid infection in Feb of 2023, no major symptoms at the time. In early April I started having itchy, burning lungs, the lymph nodes on my neck were visibly swollen and I was tired and sleeping all the time as if I took a bunch of sedatives.
Over the past year now these symptoms haven’t improved. My family Dr sent me for neck ultrasounds when my neck was swollen, ordered bloodwork (to rule out cancer) and I also got a neck CT. I was later referred to a specialist who went over everything and suggested I may have ME/CFS.
My question for this community is whether when flaring up it’s normal to get swollen lymph nodes in the neck and feeling like you’re coming down with the flu (but no fever or actual infection). It seems to be perplexing my family dr that the lymph nodes will go down but then swell back up and be quite sore for days at a time. At the the same time I usually feel quite tired and it causes me a lot of stress. Essentially once a week sometimes for days I feel quite ill, especially if I walked to much or was stressed out.
Is there a reason this happens despite everything else being ruled out? My guess is the body thinks or has a remnant of a virus that is being repeatedly activated and so the immune system flares up despite there not being anything there. How many others here experienced this?

I used to walk with her, now I walk alone. We used to marvel at the beautiful houses together, now I look down at my feet. Each home we pass, a grain of salt in the wound, each house a reminder of what I lost. Even though it hurts, I still find myself continuing our walks. Sometimes pain is good. It reminds us that we are still living. I’d rather feel the pain of her passing, than not feel her at all.
She’s alive when I walk. She’s the shadow that strolls behind. Though I can’t see her, I can feel her. Her presence is like a windbreaker draped across my shoulders in an especially violent storm. The pain isn’t gone but it’s bearable when I’m moving. I can’t speak to her, but she’s there. When I trip over a root, a hand steadies me. When I veer off course, I feel a gentle nudge.
And every day I end up in front of the same abandoned house on Jackson Street.
A grand home, at least at one point it must’ve been. The windows are boarded closed. The door is locked. Beware trespasser signs are strewn haphazardly across the tangled mess of the once impressive lawn.
I feel her presence strongest here. It is almost tangible, as if she’s hiding behind a thin curtain. I call her, yet she never answers. I reach for her, yet I can never lay hands on her. It is here on my journey where my emotions get the best of me. Every day I come, every day I cry.
The neighbors look at me with trepidation, but long gone are my days of caring what others think. I stand there an old man, face in my hands and weep for the woman I lost. Let them think what they want, but my Lenore was worth every tear.
I feel a tap on my shoulder and look up to see the front door of the house swing wide. Light pours out of it, and there she is, my Lenore. I rush towards her and the gaping maw, towards the woman I’ve lost. The woman who heard my cries. The one who has returned for me.
As I barrel forward through the brambles and overgrown weeds, I hardly am aware of the scrapes and cuts. Nor does it bother me that I trip over a hidden bottle and go tumbling face first in the dirt. I sling myself forward with the stamina of a much younger man.
And then, I am there, standing in touching distance from her. She’s got the same strawberry blonde hair that always left me breathless. It’s wrapped in a French braid with a daisy tucked behind her left ear. She looks younger by nearly twenty years since the last time I've seen her. Her nose and cheeks are dusted with a fine layer of freckles.
I begin to giggle like a schoolboy as I remember I once tried to count them. Twenty-three was the highest I got before I found my mouth on hers. And suddenly I have an inappropriate urge to pull her close and continue the kiss in front of God and all the neighbors.
Shortly before I do just that, she vanishes, leaving me standing in the front door alone once more. I look around the hallway and notice it’s fully furnished. There is no dust or decay. The parlor is in perfect condition. Even more surprising, I hear someone playing the piano. It’s Fur Elise and I could recognize that sound anywhere. Lenore was playing it the day she died.
A writhing anger fills me at this thought. I don't want to think of that day. The day the sun stopped shining. The day my life was uprooted and tossed carelessly in the trash. I try my best to tune that cursed melody out of my mind, but it fights me tooth and nail at every turn. It refuses to depart like a troublesome guest unwilling to take a hint. Even still, I find my feet moving towards the sound.
The Turkish rug leading down the hall looks familiar, the pattern of the wolf howling at the moon, the picture of the ship sailing in rough seas. I know it. I walk forward, no longer in control over my own body. Instead, everything begins to flash in front of me like a movie. I know on the other side of the door is a set of stairs that leads to the great room.
Still, I don’t remember, I can’t remember. They threaten to come back, but I don’t let them. I don’t want to remember. A feeling of unease bubbles to the surface, bringing with it a queasy gurgling in the pit of my stomach. I feel my lunch begin to squirm its way back up, burning my throat and causing a tingling sensation deep in my nasal cavity.
I know all my efforts are fruitless. The memories will come back. The dam I built to hold them at bay has already begun to crack. It will crumble soon. I know enough to know that I don't want to know, yet the details of that day are fuzzy. With each step closer to the door they come into focus. And as my hand reaches for the gilded doorknob, all goes black.
I’m back.
Oh God have mercy on me, I’m back to the day my wife died.
I come to this conclusion even as my own traitorous hand throws wide the hallway door. I fight for control. I do everything in my power to not see. My eyes fling wide, and I look to see the back of my sweet Lenore’s head, the damned daisy still perched behind her ear. She’s playing and she doesn’t know I’ve arrived.
I know what is coming but I don’t want to. Yet those damned feet, those mutinous mother fuckers keep pushing me forward. First up one step then two, before I even know it, I’ve scaled half of them. Now I can see her back, she’s in a flowery dress with what looks to be hummingbirds sucking at the honey. Fur Elise is ramping up, and the song is nearing its climax.
And then I see it. Him to be precise. He’s lounging in my chair, drinking my whiskey, with his shirt partially unbuttoned. I take it all in. My brain makes the connections. Rage, white-hot fills me once more. I look to the left and then the right, and that’s when I see my cavalry saber hanging on the wall for decoration.
I remember the outcome, yet I can’t force myself to let go of its hilt. My hand turns white from grasping it so hard. There’s nothing I can do to lessen my grip. I see myself marching up behind her sword held high in one hand.
Fur Elise climaxes as my arm swings. I strike her left shoulder blade and with a discordant whine the music stops altogether. Inwardly I scream. I curse my God’s damned temper. I watch as she slumps out of her chair.
Without a second glance, I am charging the man just beginning to look up from his comfortable spot in my seat. My blade penetrates his right abdomen, he lets out one shriek before my second swing catches him directly in the throat.
I am appalled at the blood spurting from his nearly decapitated neck. My hands are scarlet, I feel wet stickiness oozing down my face. Yet I can’t control my own limbs as they swing and swing and swing, chopping the man into kindling. I try to close my eyes, but they won’t, so I see his hand go flying. I watch as his innards come bubbling out of his abdomen. I split his head like a grape and watch as his brain matter leaks out to the floor.
To my dismay, I hear a gurgling sound coming from behind me. I turn knowing what I’ll see but powerless to stop it. I look to see Lenore’s face towards me trying to speak. Blood bubbles drizzling out of the side of her mouth. I don’t need to hear the words to know what she is trying to say. “Please, no more.”
Pity fills my heart, and my own eyes refuse to cry. “Please don’t do this,” I scream at myself in vain. I watch as I slowly move towards my former wife letting the blade carve a wicked groove into the marble floor. With no mercy my arm swings the blade up once then twice then three times, and all goes black.
Finally, I regain control of my limbs and body. I look up to see a vandalized great hall with a nasty groove in the marble floor, and there my chopped wife lying on the floor looking up at me with dead yet still very much alive eyes.
I see the monstrosity of my late wife clamber to her feet. Her left eye slides out of its socket running like egg yolk down her face. Black pustule blood leaks from her wounds. Her right eye locks with mine and in a slobbering wet noise she says, “I will never let you forget what you did here. Jail wasn’t enough for you. You didn’t stay your hand, so even in your Alzheimer’s I won't let you forget. Same time tomorrow, honey?
johnwestrick.com

Hey everyone, new to this sub but I need to vent. My mum was diagnosed with stage 4 oropharyngeal cancer in September and had 6 weeks of radiotherapy ending just before Christmas. She has a slew of health problems due to both genetics and many years of heavy alcoholism so radiotherapy was the least risky treatment, and it was really hard on her. Ever since November her face and neck have been so swollen she can barely talk, she can't swallow anything and has to be fed via an NG tube, she's in constant severe pain and can barely breathe sometimes.
Recently she had a CT scan and they said there was too much swelling to tell if it was still in her neck but confirmed it wasn't in the lymph nodes anymore. She then had an endoscopy where they said it looked promising, and I was trying not to get my hopes up but we really thought that maybe the cancer was actually gone and all the swelling etc she has was just side effects of the treatment that would eventually fade, and maybe she'd be able to have a relatively normal life again!! But no, today she had surgery for a biopsy and the cancer is still there, if anything it's grown in her neck and is spreading up into her face. They can't do anything except immunotherapy, which they're hoping will slow things down a bit but ultimately this is it.
I sort of feel like I'm floating, like this isn't real? I feel some sort of weird relief in the certainty, like instead of constantly wondering if she can recover at least we have an answer now, and can prepare for it. Does that make sense? I obviously feel upset, despite everything mum put me through in the past I truly love her more than anyone else on the planet, I don't want her last moments to be in pain. What's breaking me is that she can't even talk right now, will I ever even be able to have a conversation with her again?? We only started recovering our relationship over the last few years, I was actually looking forward to sharing big life experiences with my mum and being by her side and I just feel like it's so, so unfair. And I'm also like, what am I meant to do?? Do I just carry on with life like normal? Do I move back in with my parents? What's even a normal reaction in this situation?? I also just feel kind of frustrated, don't get me wrong i LOVE the NHS and me and all my family would be long gone without it but it feels like we've been told so many different things and had such high hopes this whole time, nevermind having to wait so long for certain appointments.. I appreciate everything the doctors have done but I think i'm justified in feeling a bit angry
Sorry for the long post, not expecting anyone to reply to this or anything this is purely a vent. If anyone else is in a similar situation though then all my love to u ❤️

Part 1
Chicago, 2016. Flinn Gerald is doing his best to make it in the city. Born in Selma, Alabama, he has spent his entire life trying to escape the ever tightening grasp of his small town. But alas, he made it out and is adapting to life in the big city. With a big fancy corporate job, an endless supply of friends, an apartment with a stunning view of the lake, and great distance from his family, what more could he need? Well, there is a lot more (or less) that he needs, but of course that is a story for later.
On a typical Tuesday night at a bar, the regulars crowd in. Flinn is late, as usual, as he stayed late at work (again), but on his arrival, the cheers and hugs from all the friends make everyone forget of the regular inconvenience. Conversation ensued, starting with all the boring finance jargon, but as the drinks flowed, so did the conversation, moving away from work and more into life. This is what everyone preferred.
“Another round, anyone?” asked Raheem, enthusiastically. After a murmur of concurrence, he stood up to make his way up to the bar. “Flinn, care to lend a hand?”
Raheem Bartlett was Flinn’s college roommate and the first person he met outside of his hometown. The pair hit it off instantly despite having wildly different backgrounds. Even in their freshman year, the engineer and the finance major would get into all sorts of trouble together, but eventually they leveled out. Six years later, they still have each other’s backs just like day one.
The pair made their way up to the bar and waited to get the bartender's attention. “What's up with you, bro?” asked Raheem. “You’ve been seeming a bit off.”
“Oh, ya know. Work, life, everything kinda happens so fast. Work has been busy as of late, and the hours long.”
Seeming displeased by this answer, Raheem stared back in concern.
“Really, I’m fine… just long hours.”
“Back in school you’d pull back to back all-nighters and then still make it to a morning class. I find it hard to believe that the mighty Flinn would be so setback by ‘long hours’.”
Flinn took a moment to ponder, staring down at the bar covered in various stamps and postcards beneath the epoxy surface. “I guess, ya know, it's not all it was cracked up to be. I guess I had expected more.” Flinn had mostly dropped his accent, but occasionally it would still slip out.
Despite coming from a long line of mill workers (mostly paper) and farm hands who never ventured further than the Dallas county line, Flinn yearned to leave his small town and conquer the world from a young age. Coming from the poorest county in Alabama, his family always squashed his dreams, labeling them as impossible. But Flinn knew better. Or, at least he knew he could do better. Graduating top of his class a year early and winning a full-ride scholarship to Northwestern University, he had proved everyone wrong and set his own path. The path he was told was impossible became his reality.
“More what?”
“Nothing, really. I mean, what more is there? This is what I always wanted, right? The stable job in the city, never having to worry about money. It’s great, and I couldn’t be more grateful, but… something is missing. Doing the same thing day after day staring at a screen, moving clients money around. I… just hoped it would be more fulfilling, especially after all it took to get here.”
Before he could finish his thought, the bartender came up to take their order: another round for the table, plus a round of shots, plus two more shots.
“What am I saying, really?” added Flinn. “I shouldn’t be complaining. Look at where I am now compared to six years ago. So much has changed. My home, friends, even my diet. I just feel a bit off. Like I need something more to do..
“I get it, bro. Adjusting to your new life can be rough. Enjoy it for a minute or two.” Raheem slides a shot in front of Flinn. “Here, take this.”
Tuesday had become fairly consistent to this point for this group of misfits: Raheem and his girlfriend Amy; Jack; Jasper, from Flinn’s firm, and his wife Max; and of course, Flinn. For nearly two years, these six have been meeting at O’Malley’s every Tuesday night for drinks and trivia. Some nights are more wild than others, but Tuesday has become the staple of the week among them.
Drinks flowed pretty regularly and heavy over the next few hours as the clock approached the end of day. Still going round for round on alternating tabs, the useless debates began to heat up.
“You can’t seriously think Wicker Park is the best neighborhood outside the Loop. Y’all need to get out more,” said Flinn.
“Bro it’s obviously Wicker Park,” argued Raheem.” Right on the blue line, getting to O’Hare is insanely easy, plus you can’t find better music in the city. Besides, Wicker Park has Davenport’s.”
“No one ever says Wicker Park,” adds Jack. “Have you ever heard someone say Wicker Park before?”
“Dude, but you can obviously get to O’Hare from anywhere in the city,” said Flinn
“Sure, but beats walking through that dumb Block 37 Center transfer like you and your red line. No transfer is the way to go, plus the blue line gets you right to the center of the loop.”
“So does every other L line as long as ya don’t mind walking a few blocks!”
“You’re both wrong,” adds Max. “Neither matters because Midway is better anyways.”
“Woah!” the whole table murmurs, sharing shocked looks as if she just confessed to a crime. Flinn rolled his eyes at this notion.
“Who flies out of Midway?” asks Raheem.
“What? Less people, cheaper flights, and more space. Why wouldn’t I fly out of Midway?” said Max.
“Wait, wait, that aside,” interrupts Raheem, “can we go back to the fact that Jasper thinks Sheffield is the best neighborhood? I feel like we moved past that too quickly.”
The debate rages on for many more minutes, until Flinn, seemingly out of nowhere, had enough.
“Can y’all just shut the fuck up! Why does it even matter?” Everyone’s glance quickly shot over to Flinn as a deafening silence overtook the table. Everyone pondered how to respond, and couldn’t seem to find an answer. This behavior from Flinn was unexpected, nay, unheard of. Flinn was the most level headed amongst them by far. Not even Raheem, his best friend of six years, had ever seen him get angry, let alone over an inconsequential friendly argument. “I…” Not even Flinn knew what to say next. “I’m going to go home. Long day tomorrow.” Already on his feet, he quickly walked away from the table and out the door.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The walk home was fairly brisk, but Flinn had grown fond of the cold. He tucked his hands into his coat pocket and hunched his shoulders forward, only looking down at the pavement ignoring the mostly asleep but still wide awake city surrounding him. His thoughts ran wild and near out of control. Of course, his intoxication did not help with clarity, but the inner dialogue was deafening. Not even he knew what was bothering him, but he was obviously bothered, deeply. He made a fool of himself in a way he never had before, and right now he felt he did not recognize himself. Surely some sleep will help, right?
He slowly made his way down the steps to the platform, carefully watching each step as to not fall, to wait for his train. He posted up against a pillar and stared off onto the dark, empty tracks. What has gotten into me? He did his best to calm his racing, wasted mind searching for some legibility amongst his thoughts.
Once he finally got home, he slumped down on the couch and scarfed down some week-old sushi he found in the fridge. He turned on some old documentary and was asleep before he knew it.
Suddenly, he was woken up by his phone ringing. It usually does not ring this time of night and was less than thrilled to be woken, so he let it keep ringing. It stopped after a couple of seconds, and he glanced down at the screen:
Mama
(2) missed calls
Dad
(1) missed call
Now concerned, he calls his mom back in a hurry. “Hello?”
“Flinn? Your grandfather, he’s dead.”
Part 2
The wet air engulfed Flinn’s face as he stepped out the airport doors into a warm February day. Six years had passed since he smelled the Alabama air. Even after all this time, it still smells just as he had remembered as if not even a day had passed. The drive to Selma was another ninety minutes, and despite having five days to mentally prepare himself for his arrival, it was not nearly enough time. He had not seen or spoken to anyone from his town, not even family, since he left early that August morning all those years ago. He left everything behind to start his new life. The life so many told him to not start, that he needed to stay. He left anyway and never looked back.
That was, until now. He had little choice in this regard. He knew he would have to make his return someday, but he knew not when nor for what. But today was that day. Flinn and his grandfather (Pops) had always been close. If anyone had been supportive of him, it’d have been Pops, but he was a man of little words. Even when he could talk, he hardly chose to. He was a great listener, and not just because he could not speak. He showed he was engaged and listening no matter what Flinn had to say. At times, he felt Pops was the only one who understood him as if he had been just like him before, but no one would ever talk about his past. All Flinn knew is Pops lost his tongue after a failed lynching.
The familiarity of the scenery zipping past was bittersweet. He had not realized how much he missed the rolling hills and thick forests beneath the unforgiving southern sky. He kept his head pressed against the cool glass of the car window even through the constant bumps in the road. He couldn’t look away. So many memories happened here, and the closer he got, the more plentiful the memories became, and the more potent they were, and the more painful they’d become.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As the dust settled behind him, he stood on the driveway staring at his childhood home still unsure how to process his emotions. It was all so overwhelming. He was thinking everything at once. He took a deep breath, rolled back his shoulders, and swallowed. He reached for the door handle, hesitating slightly, and took a step in. One foot, and then the next.
“Martin!” Flinn smiled as his old friend and childhood dog rushed towards him without hesitation. He knelt down and embraced him as Martin excitedly rustled through his arms seemingly showing more energy than he had in years.
He walked down the hall and around the corner into the living room. There, both drawn to the large television like moths to a flame, he saw his parents sitting beside one another on the couch watching some daytime program with their backs to him. They seemed to pay no notice to the commotion at the front door nor the loud creaking footsteps he took along the old wooden floors. They knew he was there; they just chose to ignore him. He walked into view to greet them. "Mama, dad." His father smiled slightly but caught himself and refrained.
Mama kept a straight face, but seemed to be fighting tears."Howard, help Flinn with his bags, dear."
“No, it's alright, I know where to take them,” said Flinn. “How are y’all?”
“Service is tomorrow at eleven down at the ole First Baptist Church. Make sure to wear something nice.”
“Alright, mama. I’ll... I’ll see you at dinner.”
“Whole family is coming tonight. Dinner is served at...”
“At seven, I got it, just as always.”
“It’s good to see you, kid.” said his dad. “Let me know if you need anything”
He did not expect things to go like that, not that he knew what to expect. He had hoped time would have been more forgiving. Perhaps leaving unannounced in the middle of the night was not the best plan, but at the time he felt as if he had no other choice. Everyone knew he was leaving. That was no secret and had not been for years before any plan had actually been set into motion. No one knew the date or time, except for Pops, of course, but he’d never tell. Of course he wanted everyone to know. He wanted everyone to be proud of him, but it was too big of a risk and commendations were too much to expect. Besides, Mama always had her schemes, and had she known, she would have found a way to stop him.
Not much had changed since he’d been here last. The old wood paneling still lined nearly all the walls, crack in some spots, replaced in others, but all coated by decades of cigarette soot. On the walls were a combination of family portraits from over the years and cheap artwork found at the flea market. Old green furniture, too many house plants to count, and a tacky themed kitchen, it was all still the same.
His childhood bedroom, however, was much different. Hardly even recognizable, what was once his bedroom was now a storage room filled with endless shelves and boxes. He set his things on the lonely cot in the corner, sat down, and took it all in.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Not realizing he had drifted off, Flinn awoke and looked at the clock. 6:55. Convenient. He sat up and brushed his hair down with his hand as he suspected it was sticking up in the usual way. He rubbed his eyes and made his way to the dining room. The whole family was there, probably about twenty people or so, all scattered about throughout the kitchen, dining room, and living room engaged in various conversations. His nana, aunt, and Mama were cooking away putting the final touches on the large meal.
“Well if it isn’t this fucker…” said a familiar voice to his left, laughing. Flinn looked over to see his cousin who’s just a year younger than him.
“DeAndre, how are you?”
“Never thought I’d see you again, even since you left. Thought maybe you ‘ood be dead.”
“Nah,” Flinn laughed. “Still very much alive.”
“I can see dat. Wearin’ your fancy suit and all.”
“Yeah I’ve been doing pretty well. Work has been… good. I have a great job at a finance firm in Chicago. Everything has been… Good. Yeah, good. How about you?”
“Now you ain’t goin’ city on us, are you?”
Flinn laughed. “I think I might already be.”
Just as dinner was finishing up, a line started to form and people found a seat wherever they could, be it at the table, on the couch, near the counter, or outside.
“Flinn!” his dad called out. “I saved ya a seat here at the table, kid.”
Flinn took his seat right next to his dad which positioned him right across from Mama. The table could sit eight, and the seats filled in pretty quickly so he was lucky to get one. Besides his sister, all of the oldest family members took the other four chairs.
The dinner itself was mostly uneventful, except for the food of course which was extraordinary. Flinn had not eaten Mama’s cooking, or anything like it in six years. The southern food in Chicago was alright, but nothing like what you can get down here, and no restaurant is going to have the same quality and taste as a home-cooked meal. By God, he had not realized how much he needed this. It was almost healing, like a part of his soul had been lost and he found it once again. The last week had been incredibly overwhelming, and last Saturday he never foresaw being here now, but he was glad he was, regardless of the looming tension. All the stress from work and life back home in Chicago was now all gone. All he had to worry about was… oh yeah, the family drama. The dreaded interactions, what he had suppressed for so long, that had kept him up at night for years. All those long nights doing homework or anything else beside sleeping. They had not been by choice but rather necessity. He would have slept more if he could, and some of those nights he really needed to, but instead was kept motivated by the pain. The pain of knowing no matter what he did, no matter how successful in life he became, he would never be good enough for his family, good enough for Mama, because he left them.
If there ever was a time to clear his conscience and get everything out of the way, it would be today, or at least over the next couple of days. When else would he have the chance? Not that any of this had been planned, and his therapist would probably advise against it. She did not even know he was here. What would she have to say? Avoiding conflict has always been his choice. He has always been quiet, never been at the center of drama, but some things need to be said. Just, maybe not by him. If he waited long enough, perhaps they would come up on their own. So he decided to wait, but he knew time was limited and he could not wait forever.
“Mama, could you pass the butter?”
Mama just stared back at him. “Get ya own damn buttah, since ya can do everything else on ya own.”
Flinn stands up and reaches for the butter. “I can do everything myself, and I have. I hope you’re proud, Mama.”
“Proud? What do I have to be proud of?”
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe my job, my degree, everything I have been able to do to build a good life for myself.”
“I don hear anything worthy of praise.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Mama.”
“Oh, so now you’re sorry? You could’ve fooled me. Is that how you felt when you left? Unbelievable.”
“I left because I had no other choice.”
“Oh don go lyin’ to me now. You did have a choice. You had a choice and you chose to leave us. You didn’t say goodbye, and you were just gone in the mornin’.”
“If I had not just left, you would’ve stopped me.”
“Cause you ain’t got no reason to go nowhere.”
“I had plenty of reasons to want to leave, and not because of you. I’ve always had dreams, Mama, ya know that. I’ve always been bigger than just this town.”
“Oh, so now you’re too good for us, city boy? Huh? I don wanna hear no more of it.”
“It wasn’t about that, Mama. Look at all I’ve been able to do.”
“I ain’t see nothin’. You never call and you never visit. How am I supposed to know what you been doin’?”
“I thought you didn’t want me coming around any more?”
“Well, you’ve got that right. Glad to see you still have some brains left.”
“Well excuse me. Maybe it's best if I leave again. Sorry I ain’t make you proud, Mama.” Flinn got up and left the table.
Part 3
Just as the early light began to peak through the blinds, Flinn was woken up by a firm knock at his door. “Flinn, may I come in? It's Uncle Terrence.”
Flinn sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Yep, come in.”
“How are you this morning, kid? Ya know, she’ll never admit it, but ya Mama missed ya.”
“I find it hard to believe.” Deep down Flinn knew it was true, but she was hard as a rock, and arrogant. She would always find a way to be right, even when she knew she was wrong, and she would never let you know she knew she was wrong.
“Well, we’re all proud of you, kid.” Flinn hated when Terrence and everyone called him kid. “Just wish yoo’d come around and see us every once in a while. I know ya busy with all the big city stuff and all.”
“I thought no one wanted anything to do with me any more?”
“At first, maybe, but I miss ya, kid. Ya know who missed ya most of all?”
“Pops?”
“Yes, of course. He always wanted to know about ya, every time I’d come round. He couldn’t call, but always wanted me to.”
“I should have called.”
“I think everyone wanted to call, but as time went on, it became harder and harder to push that button. It was already so hard at first, and only got harder.”
“I thought about everyone a lot, especially at first. Leaving was really hard, and I almost didn’t, but I always wanted more. I didn’t want to spend my whole life in this town, and if I had not left when I did I probably never would have. But it was still hard. I wanted to go home so many times, but I convinced myself no one wanted me here no more or that y’all would’ve said ‘I told ya so’ or sum bullshit. No one wanted me around any more and I had left, so I was stuck on the path I chose. And I’m happy, and I’ve done so much, but it’s never been easy.”
“Pops was a lot like you when he was your age. Set on leaving as quickly as he could. Things were different back then, not that they are any better now, but Hank... my brother… Pops, was just like you.”
“What changed?”
“Well, he never did. Just no one talks about it anymore. After what happened on that day, they blamed his behavior. Said he should’ve played it safe and he’d still have his tongue.”
“No one has ever told me the story.”
“And they won’t. It changed the whole family.”
“But you’ll tell me?”
“Only if you promise not to tell. I don need an earful from ya Mama.”
“I promise.”
“Hank couldn’t be confined to Selma, just like you. He joined the army right out of high school, and after he was done in Lebanon, he didn’t go straight home.”
“Where did he go?”
“Everywhere but here. He used the small amount of money he got from the army and went anywhere that would let him in. Across Europe, parts of Asia, Northern Africa, even parts of South America. Of course, a young black man traveling by himself at the time was challenging, but Hank could hold his own pretty well. He still ran into all sorts of trouble. He spent more nights in jail than he would have liked, but he would have done it all again if he could.”
“What happened when he got back?”
“He was much different, but for the better. He couldn’t wait to get back out there again. He had confidence like I had never seen before. That’s what got him in trouble not too long after.”
“How’d he lose his tongue? I’m guessing that is what changed everything.”
“When he got back, he got involved with a girl, I think her name was Susan. She was the mayor’s daughter. They snuck around for a while. Their relationship was not acceptable, especially to her father. If he found out, Hank would be in a lot of trouble, and of course eventually he did find out. He spent about a month in jail in just awful conditions even for the time. They didn’t have anything to hold him on so eventually they had to let him go. About a week after he got out, he was walking downtown and some guys grabbed him. He took him out to a field and tried to lynch him. Luckily, they failed and he survived, but they took his tongue as a warning. He was never the same after that. All of his confidence was gone, and of course he couldn’t speak no more.”
Flinn did not know how to respond. It all made sense now: why the family so desperately wanted him to stay, why they were so hurt by him leaving, and why they’d feared who he was becoming. They were all traumatized and wanted to protect him. They did not want him to suffer the same fate as Pops.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The funeral itself was fairly uneventful and went nearly as perfectly as expected. The church filled in with hardly any empty seats, tears were shed, and speeches were given. Pops touched the lives of almost everyone he met, and they came to show it. After the service was the reception, and yet again, the food was spectacular. Everyone got along just fine today and there was no more residual drama, at least for now. Today was Pops’ day.
After the reception, the family gathered back at Mama’s house for the reading of the will. Pops did not have many possessions, at least not of monetary value, but what he did have was meaningful in other ways. He was very clear on who he wanted to give off, and handpicked what would be most substantial to each person.
Everyone gathered around much as they did at dinner, and the lawyer began his reading:
I, Hank Gerald, a resident in the City of Selma, County of Dallas, State of Alabama, being of sound mind, not acting under duress or undue influence, and fully understanding the nature and extent of all my property and of this disposition thereof, hereby make, publish, and declare this document to be my Last Will and Testament, and hereby absolutely revoke any and all other wills and amendments previously made by me.
The reading went on for some time as there were many beneficiaries. Flinn began to daydream about what could be left for him. Flinn was not a very sentimental person, so trinkets and heirlooms paid him little interest. Perhaps his car, or maybe money. Something that will be useful to him.
To my dear brother, Terrence, I leave my 1964 Pontiac GTO and all tools and parts associated and necessary with/for the running and upkeep of the vehicle.
The further down the list he went, less was given, but this is to be expected. As the end of the list neared, Flinn began to wonder what would be left for him if anything at all. The will had been in order of age, to this point, so he should be up soon.
To my Granddaughter, Nia,...
Nia? She's younger than me… Flinn thought.
I leave her my grandmother’s locket containing a picture of my Grandfather before he left for the Great War. She looked at it everyday to keep the memory of him alive until he eventually returned to her alive.
How could he skip me? Perhaps I should have called, or never left. Flinn got lost in his own thoughts and barely paid attention to the rest of the will. He and Pops were so close, and he never imagined he would be taken out of the will. But that is my own fault, afterall. I left, and I never even care to call. He died, and I never even said goodbye.
Just as Flinn began to accept the consequences of his actions, they got to the last beneficiary listed in the will:
Finally, to my oldest Grandson, Flinn, who is more and more like me than I ever could have wished to have been, I leave my journal. I hope whenever you need the motivation, you read it to find the meaning you are looking for in life.
Part 4
Flinn sat at his desk unable to focus. It was fairly slow for a Friday, but he still had work to do. After a chaotic weekend back home in Alabama, he was ready to settle back into his monotonous routine. The experience had been healing in some regards, but still left a lot unanswered. What did he mean by finding the meaning in life? Flinn wondered as he flipped through the endless pages of Pops’ journal, all filled with endless recounts, drawings, symbols, and pictures from his travels, just as he had since Monday. The journal consumed his whole attention, and nothing else seemed important enough to focus on. He had even ditched his friends all week which he never does.
He is supposed to meet Raheem for drinks tonight, but now he is wondering if he even wants to go. There is just too much in his head right now. He just wants to be alone. 12:37. The clock is moving too slowly. Flinn clears his calendar for the rest of the day and decides to go home.
At home, he still finds himself flipping through the pages of the journal, not even reading them but just looking at them. Again and again, he flips through until he has enough. He drops the journal on his lap and stares off into the distance at the gorgeous view of Lake Michigan. The endless city and skyline take up most of the horizon until it just stops, cut off by the endless ocean-like lake. He stares at it for quite a while until something catches his eye. He has seen this before. Well, of course he has. He lives here and this is his view everyday. But he knows he has seen it somewhere else.
He picks the journal back up and flips through in a hurry. There it is. He holds the journal up to the window to show a matching two-page drawing of this exact view. Well, not exact. It is a slightly different angle, but it was close enough. Pops was here. He would have loved visiting. I should have invited him. This made Flinn sad, and he threw the journal down on the table in frustration.
Just then, that is when he noticed it. There was a page sticking out from the journal, but it was not like the rest. The page was white and pristine, aside from a few wrinkles, as if it was new, whereas the rest of the journal showed its age. He rushed over to grab it. He opened it to find a letter, addressed to him:
Grandson, When you left, I knew that you would accomplish everything you set out to do. I also knew, however, you would find yourself lost someday, returning home for answers. I was hoping I’d be able to give you those answers myself, but as time goes on that seems less likely. I too found myself lost, and I knew not why. I had gone and seen the world, and it changed me, but I was still not fulfilled. I came home still looking for the answers, and it took a while, but eventually I did find them.
Through this journal, I hope to share my findings so that you too, when you are lost, find the answers you seek. Whenever you are ready, follow my journey and the clues I have left for you. Go out and see the world, just as I did. You will find that what you want from life is less than what you expect.
I hope the experiences you have are less harsh than my own, but still be careful. The world has changed a lot, but still not enough. But don’t skip ahead for the meaning may be lost. Take only one step at a time, and when it comes time to take the next step, it will reveal itself.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Seven o’clock rolls around and Flinn walks into the bar to meet Raheem. He hasn’t seen Raheem, or anyone else from the group, since last Tuesday when he had his outburst. He begins by telling the story of the events of this last weekend, but leaves out the parts about Pops’ past.
"Pops left me a hidden letter.”
“What do you mean?” asked Raheem.
“Like in his journal, I found a hidden letter. It was addressed to me.”
“What did it say, bro?”
“He says he was a lot like me when he was my age. He wants me to go where he went and learn what he did.”
“In Alabama?”
“No, everywhere but there. He wants me to start in Western Europe and follow his clues around the world.”
“He traveled?”
“A lot, apparently. I never knew. He was in the army, and after he got out, he traveled… everywhere, basically.”
“Why did no one tell you?”
“They wanted to keep me safe, I guess.
"They wanted to keep the whole family safe after what happened to him.”
“What do you mean, bro. What happened?”
“I can’t talk about it, but it doesn’t matter now anyways. I’m living a different life now.” Flinn never shared much about his past or his family with anyone, not even Raheem. It has always been a mystery. This was the most he had ever shared with him.
“Well, are you going to go?”
“No, I can’t. I have work. It took too much to get here. I can’t just give it away.”
“It’ll still be here when you get back, bro.”
“If only it was that simple.”
“It can be. You have money saved up. Chicago isn’t going anywhere. We’re not going anywhere. Plus, you’ve always talked about traveling more. Why don’t you take some time to do it.”
“I suppose, but I like my life here.”
“If you don’t do it now, when will you? You’ve taken a leap before, why not take another one. You’re smart, you’ll land on your feet, bro. Besides, your grandfather thought it was important enough to not only give you his journal, but hide you a letter for you to find when you needed it most. Maybe now is when you needed it most. You’re way too stressed at work anyways, and I can tell you’ve been off for a while now. Perhaps some change could give you what you need.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
On Monday morning, when Flinn gets to work, he walked straight to his boss's office. He turned in his letter of resignation.
Two weeks later, he took the red line to the blue line to O’Hare. Journal in hand, he boarded a flight to Dublin.

So sorry in advance for the long post. I just need to get this out.
TW for talk of suicide and depression
If you’re my partner and you see this - please don’t read this. I promise you are a wonderful support but I know my venting hurts you because you want to fix things and you can’t.
I feel such immense grief and rage. I don’t even know where to begin, so I guess I’ll start at the start of this “health journey”. When I was 16, I became incredibly ill. I was vomiting all the time, exhausted to the point of sleeping 14 hours a day from the time I got home from school til just before I had to leave for the bus. I don’t remember much from this time period because of the brain fog and genuinely don’t know how I passed my classes. I was gaining a lot of weight, too, and hadn’t had a menstrual cycle in 6 months, and was so so depressed. My mom ignored the health issues because she thought I was just being dramatic (there is much deeper context with the issues there but it comes down to I am now NC as an adult), but when I said I needed to see a doctor for my depression she did. My then-family doctor was wonderful and listened, and to be safe decided to run some blood tests though I hadn’t described to her my physical symptoms aside from the oversleeping I attributed to depression. I was diagnosed with autoimmune thyroid disease, or Hashimoto’s. I started medication and my symptoms improved though some things, like the weight gain, never reversed.
I ended up going into remission for a time and no longer needed the HRT. But when I was around 20/21, I started having health problems again. I started experiencing numbness and tingling in both my hands and wrists, which I thought was from repetitive movement working as a cashier, though the symptoms only appeared about 6 months into that job and in hindsight it probably isn’t normal to develop that quickly that way. But I ignored it because I didn’t think it was serious as it was “just” carpal tunnel, and began wearing wrist splints regularly. I did not ask my doctor, as during this time I was having difficulties hearing at work and the hearing test I requested came back normal and I was dismissed and I didn’t want to reinforce the belief I have unreasonable worries about non-issues - later, I learned this was actually an auditory processing issue, which was never brought up by any medical professional I saw as a possible cause.
In 2020, when I was 24, I began experiencing the same autoimmune symptoms I had when I was first sick at the age of 16. I fell asleep at work which had never happened before and it worried me. I went to the ER on recommendation of Telehealth, where the doctor didn’t believe my symptoms and ordered just an EKG that came back normal. He told me I didn’t fall asleep/pass out while actively working, and simply “took a nap” and it’s normal. Follow-up with my GP after was unsuccessful, until I pushed for thyroid testing. I was found to no longer be in remission and put back on HRT, and once again my symptoms improved but did not resolve.
At the same time, and for the year or so that followed, I experienced extreme digestive health issues. I had visible yellowing of the skin, very dark under eye circles, issues with itchy and red patches of skin, and was passing undigested food and eventually became obviously malnourished as a result. I had what seemed to be a kidney stone that passed before I could get in for the ultrasound so it couldn’t be confirmed. I alternated between constipation and diarrhea, and always felt pain. My GP told me it was “probably just IBS” and had me do an elimination diet (twice) that did not work. He dismissed my concerns telling me I’m fine, until I sent a novel of my symptoms and saying I know he thinks I’m a hypochondriac but I am unwell and need to be looked at. The liver tests I pushed for came back normal. He offered to test me for Celiac but advised against it due to the cost of the blood test, so I didn’t. He did, however, refer me for a colonoscopy but the pandemic made this severely delayed. During the wait, I found some relief of my symptoms by cutting out gluten and dairy from my diet, and the yellowing of my skin and dark circles went away as did, eventually, the skin patches my doctor insisted was “just eczema”. I was off of gluten for a full year when I had my colonoscopy in fall 2022, the results came back normal and that doctor reiterated that it is “probably just IBS”. I learned later that I should have been consuming gluten for at least 3 months prior in order for it to be an effective test for Celiac, and my doctor failed to tell me this.
In early 2022, the joint pain had become frequent enough and painful enough in the knuckles where my hands meet my fingers, and in my wrists with definite carpal tunnel in both wrists as well, that I went to my GP. However, he is busy, and it’s often easier to book an appt with his assistant who is able to assess many conditions. At this time I also believed he would be more likely to listen and take me seriously. I went to the appt, described the nerve and joint pain issues. I had an exam where he confirmed bilateral carpal tunnel and arthritis in my hands. He said no testing was needed. I pushed back, stating that I am only 25 and there is no normal reason for the inflammation, and I have Hashimoto’s which has very high comorbidity with RA and I was concerned due to the fact the inflammation was symmetrical. I was dismissed, told the only test that could be done is an x-ray which was pointless as all it would do is confirm the presence of arthritis which he already confirmed with the exam. He told me to keep wearing wrist splints, keep taking ibuprofen and acetaminophen for the inflammation and pain, told me taking them was risk-free, and told me to come back when the redness and swelling of my joints got worse. I didn’t feel comfortable going to my GP for fear of being marked further as a problem patient, and assumed he would tell me the same information his assistant had based on my experiences with him and the fact his assistant is his staff that sees many of his patients.
My depression worsened during these years, coming to a head in early 2023 when I attempted. I did not succeed due to a mistake I made, fortunately. I was hospitalized for a time, where I was finally officially diagnosed with PTSD and CPTSD. And for the first time, a doctor asked if I suspected I’m neurodivergent. I was assessed and diagnosed with ADHD, which explained a significant amount of non-health related issues, though it also explained some like my KP and teenage cystic acne as they are common comorbidities. It’s important to note that I have a younger sibling that was diagnosed with ADHD as a child, and I was viewed as the “normal” child and any issues were dismissed as my sibling had higher support needs and was the priority and I was always viewed as simply being overdramatic and wanting attention. I was told the cause of my depression was trauma, including childhood trauma, as well as 26 years of undiagnosed and unmanaged ADHD I had been forced to deal with on my own. I was told I had done the best I could but they were not surprised it reached the point it did, as sadly the mental health system in Ontario is not what it should be and often people do not receive help until they’re long past the point of needing it. And for many, it’s too late. I am fortunate that it wasn’t too late for me, I’m fortunate I survived.
Prior to my stay at the hospital, I had gotten to the point of needing to take ibuprofen daily for the inflammation. When disclosing my medical history and medications, I was asked if I had received a formal diagnosis for my arthritis and what tests had been performed. I told them I had been assessed for and diagnosed with arthritis, but that no tests were performed. It was clear they did not believe me, and I wasn’t provided ibuprofen during my stay. They did not follow-up with my GP regarding the arthritis either, though to be fair I was in the psych ward and non urgent physical ailments were not their concern.
Now we get to 2024. It’s a jump, but I don’t feel anything between is significant. I do not go a day without pain, and havent for 3 months. The pain has now reached every joint in my body, I feel fatigued and foggy, I feel horrible all the time and have had 3 UTIs since February. The last one reached my kidneys rapidly, and coincided with the worst full-body arthritis flare of my life - this was 2 weeks ago. I woke up every 2 hours sobbing in agony because my body and knees in particular were so warm and painful and stiff. For a full day I was unable to get out of bed and ran a low grade fever with chills I assumed were due to the infection but now I’m not so sure. Since then, I have been in constant pain though not as severe as then. My knee and hip pain keep me up at night, and/or wake me up often due to the pain and stiffness. Regardless of my larger joints, my hands and wrists always hurt now. I feel ill in the way I did with my Hashimoto’s. Ibuprofen and acetaminophen aren’t doing anything anymore, and I rely on cannabis for relief which isn’t always suitable. My partner got me a topical ointment that has been incredibly but isn’t affordable enough to be sustainable with how much of it I need in one go, and I need to use it sparingly when I absolutely need it. Despite not feeling that my joints are red and swollen enough to go back (because I see them every day and they look normal because they always look like that), I stuck with my plan to see my GP. I first tried to book in February, but only saw him this week.
I described all the physical symptoms asking about my lower leg/ankle swelling and to have my thyroid levels checked for potential med increase need, and I described my joint issues. He assessed my hands, and told me my knuckles are red and swollen. I’ve realized after in research and really looking at my hands that the top knuckle on one of my fingers has a lump on it, albeit a very small one. He immediately said he is testing me for RA with blood work, and in my research I’ve confirmed the req form is thorough, and also includes urinalysis and an EKG. However he told me for the inflammation marker test to go for it when it’s at its worst, and with my work schedule I can’t, and I’ve waited so long for this I refuse. I’m going for it as soon as I can. I’ve waited so long to be listened to and believed. And as many as half of people with RA test negative on the blood tests so I’ll end up needing imaging tests anyway either way and I want this process to be as fast as possible. Even if it’s not RA, I need them to figure out what’s wrong with me and give me the appropriate treatment. He was alarmed and visibly displeased to hear that I had seen his assistant 2 years ago for an assessment - though I forgot to mention to him that that appointment was also for bilateral carpal tunnel (which I now know is an early sign of RA due to compression of nerves). It wasn’t explicitly stated but it was clear that I should have been tested 2 years ago. And wasn’t.
I’m tired of being in pain. I’m tired of being sick. I’m just plain tired. I feel so failed by the system that’s supposed to care for us. I’m so frustrated with people insisting that doctors are all-knowing and infallible and if they tell you you’re fine, you are. I’ve been fighting for years to be heard and have only been left to feel like I’m losing my mind and imagining these problems and am just overdramatic after all. I feel vindicated that I was right all along, but it’s too little too late. RA is a progressive disease, and the earlier it’s diagnosed and aggressively treated the better. I’ve had at minimum 2 years of progression that cannot be undone. The damage can’t be reversed. I am angry and devastated. The grief is so f*king immense.
I’m 27. I don’t know what my future looks like anymore and that scares me. I’m worried about the damage this disease has done to my internal organs. I worry having kids is no longer an option for me, due to my health. I worry that my physical capabilities will continue to deteriorate. I am so angry that I’ve been written off as an anxious hypochondriac when I knew something was wrong.
Diagnosis of an autoimmune disease or any illness really, apparently doesn’t negate medical misogyny and ageism. Advocating for yourself doesn’t go anywhere when you’ve been labelled crazy and a problem patient. The most it’s gotten me is my doctor “offering” to send my files if I wanted to switch to a different GP, which I can’t with the GP shortage. I have to live with the lifelong consequences of doctors failing me. And it f*king sucks.

I don't really have anyone to talk to about this, so I'm just kind of here to vent.
I'm pretty sure that I've had anxiety for as long as I can remember. I recall being as young as 4 or 5 years old and experiencing major existential crises that turned into breakdowns. I was scared a lot, slept on my parents' bedroom floor a lot. Feelings of death and doom have always kept me up at night. There was one bout when I was about 14 where I spent around 3 months sleeping in my parents' room until they got us a family dog to keep me company in my own room at night. I was generally always able to keep busy and had a very active social life. I was always the funny one, outgoing, had lots of friends, and nobody knew what I was dealing with when I was alone. I was able to distract myself by keeping a busy social life, playing sports, studying, focusing on my hobbies. My anxieties were always brushed under the rug by both me and my family members, we all just thought I was quirky and would get over it. We never addressed my issues as "anxiety" or any kind of mental health issue.
I'm older now (31F) and my anxiety has snowballed to the point where I don't know what to do or how to be truly happy anymore. Any second I'm left alone with my own thoughts, it's darkness. My friends and family wouldn't know I'm struggling because being with them, socializing, doing activities are what tend to keep me sane and my mind off the stress of it all, so I probably appear happy. When I'm distracted and with my loved ones it's like I'm taking a break from my mind and I can finally take a breath.
I've always had an overwhelming fear of death. I'm terrified of dying and I'm terrified of my loved ones dying. With this comes extreme health anxiety, which has resulted in ER visits, being probed, having my blood drawn, being hooked up to IVs. When I think that something is wrong with me health-wise, it's all consuming. The blood rushes from my face and I panic, cry, and shut down until it's resolved. It could be something as simple as a lump in my throat or back pain. Simple things that come along with aging send me into a spiral and no matter how hard I try to tell myself "it's just your anxiety" it doesn't help. This constant stress tends to cause me physical symptoms which is like a vicious cycle when it comes to health anxiety. I've experienced shortness of breath, the feeling that my throat is closing (apparently this is called globus), tension everywhere, ice pick headaches, constipation, blurred vision, fatigue, chest pains, numbness, dry mouth. To name a few.
At this point, any time spent alone without a distraction is unbearable. I don't remember the last time I actually relaxed without my mind going crazy. It's starting to bleed into my relationships at this point, I get these compulsions where I can't stop engaging in what my therapist called "checking behavior". I am constantly asking my husband if he thinks I'm dying, then when he reassures me I'll move onto asking my mom, then I'll move onto my best friends, and then my other best friends. It's like I lose all self control and become to convinced that whatever this issue is will FINALLY be the thing that kills me, so everyone needs to listen. It got to the point where my mother begged me to consider medication because I was causing her so much stress, so I just stopped talking about it. Stopped checking (with people, I still google everything), stopped talking about my feelings, and now I just feel like I'm so mentally exhausted and miserable all the time that I don't find joy in the things I used to anymore. It's like a cloud of darkness over me all the time, with a looming feeling of doom in the back of my mind 24/7. I don't even know if I'm scared of death anymore, I just don't feel anything.
I sought conselling last year and spoke with a therapist for the first time, and it felt nice at first, but after 4 or 5 sessions I felt like I couldn't truly open up to them. Maybe I need to try a new one.
If I was being honest with my therapist I would have told them that I feel doomed. My partner wants to have kids and I've always wanted children, but there's a voice telling me that I'll die soon so what's the point. I would never harm myself, I just feel like something bad will happen to me. At night when I'm trying to sleep I sometimes imagine myself dead and in a morgue, and the thoughts won't leave my brain until I grab my phone and start scrolling TikTok. I sometimes have moments where I look at my husband and see a stranger and feel like I'm in an alternate universe. I'm not sure what that's about.
I feel like there's a chemical imbalance in my brain that can only be fixed with medication, but I'm terrifired of going on meds. Talking about my feelings isn't helping me, and anything a therapist can tell me or any CBT methods won't work. I felt like I already knew what my therapist was going to say before they said it, I could finish their sentences, I had the answers to all of their questions. I know what exercises I need to do to help myself and it doesn't matter. Nothing helps.
Anyway, that felt nice to write. I'm not sure what's going on with me, if it's anxiety, depression, both. I was diagnosed with PCOS last year and apparently depression and anxiety can be a symptom, so maybe that's where it comes from. Not really sure where to go from here, but I don't think I can take feeling like this anymore. I am mentally exhausted. Should I try medication?
Thanks for reading.

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.”

When I was leaving the house this morning, I found a moth right under my front door (an inch inside the house, under the door in the small space between the bottom of it and the floor), it was upside down and I know the door had been opened and closed multiple times right before I found it so the poor guy was probably pretty shaken up (the gap wasn't small enough to crush or seriously hurt it, but it definitely got hit/bumped each time). I tried gently picking it up and putting it back outside, and when it was in my hand it had its tongue all the way out like it was trying to find something. It also seemed quite lethargic. I was about to leave the house but turned around because it clicked for me that it might've been thirsty. I had my water bottle with me (if it matters, it was bottled vapor distilled water w/ electrolytes, unopened), so I opened it up and just got a drop on my finger that I extended to the moth and it very happily put its tongue back out and started drinking it. It totally seemed to perk up and be energetic after drinking. I gave it a bit more before I left and poured a bit out in a little dip in the ledge I set it on in case it needed more. Does it matter that it wasn't sugar water? I know I probably know more than the average person about moths but I'm unsure about their diets/what they can and can't have. I know it doesn't really matter at this point because I can't go back and change what I did, but I just want to check if I did the right thing or not for future reference. Thank you :)
(Also, I live in the Phoenix metropolitan area in Arizona. I don't know if it's really relevant to my post, but I do see that the rules say to include location.)

Hello,
Around a week ago, I got a cold sore which is a fairly normal thing for me and happens every few months. I did my normal routine of using Abreva and whatnot and it started healing.
After a few days, I realized that the left side of my throat was pretty sore (and only the left side). I thought it was maybe tonsil stones giving me issues as I suffer from those, but it'd never felt like this before. About a day after the throat was hurting, the gums around my back top molar became very sensitive. It hurts to chew (not the tooth, just the gums) and if I touch it with my finger or brush it. I tried flossing around it and did get a tiny bit of blood when flossing behind the tooth itself where are isn't another tooth touching it.
Strangely, my first cold sore did heal but another one popped up which has never happened before. I thought all of these were unrelated, but now I'm wondering if the cold sore/herpes can possibly cause these other issues or whether possibly the gums and throat are connected, but it's just weird timing for the cold sore as well.
My dentist can't get me in for weeks, and I obviously don't want to take risks regarding my teeth/gums. I've been rinsing my mouth with salt water rinses and some "mouth sore" specific rinses as well.
I have posted a picture here showing the red spot near my tooth. My throat looks normal and the cold sore is just a normal cold sore. https://imgur.com/a/rhQOq6C

For context I (F24) and my boyfriend (M23) live together and have been together about 2 years. I used to love his body scent and would snuggle up even right after his games, albeit he was kind of salty (like literally the salt from his sweat) when I went for a kiss.
Flash forward to now. His breath to me smells like rotting trash or tonsillitis. It affects me every day. It's so horrible that I feel myself gagging though I try my best not to. At first I tried asking him to find tonsil stones and that it was totally normal if he did and to just remove them or gargle salt water or mouthwash. He said he couldn't find any. He has tried tongue scrapers also. The smell did not go away. I smell the mint but then also the bad breath when we test it. This is RIGHT after brushing his teeth at night. Sometimes he will tell me something and I can't concentrate and I have to tell him his breath stinks and cover my nose and ask him to repeat. I also get worried that his coworkers would not want to talk to him. He then stops holding my hand and stands a few feet from me. I got annoyed because I didn't tell to dramatically be so far away while walking together - just that he should note his breath is smelly as he would be talking with people at work and it wouldn't look good. I suggested going to the doctor's because it could be a cavity or a digestive issue that we can't solve on our own with just brushing our teeth regularly. He then brings up how he went to the dentist and they said he was fine in an annoyed tone.
Also TMI but during intimate time, I cannot come as his breath stinks so much I cannot even get halfway there. The thought of his breath even makes me lose all mood. And it turns me off thinking of his smelly breath kissing me. I can't really kiss him without holding my breath now. It has been months of this (like 4-5 months, and recently with me just being more direct and unable to handle it in the past 2 months).
I am also up late several night (like I heard the garbage trucks at 2 am, and recently 3 am) because when he falls asleep he snores heavily and his breath blows right onto me and it stinks so badly. I try putting the covers over me, but sometimes he farts and it smells so bad I wake up. And if I suggest sleeping separately then it's like we are in a fight.
His response towards the beginning was more proactive but now he gets annoyed and says I don't know how to fix it. I went to the dentist already. I suggested maybe it's post nosal drip as he snores and needs to blow his nose from allergies - it could be that. But he just says he doesn't know what to do when I've told him all these other reasons that it could be stemming from to go to a different doctor.
I told him if he doesn't go to an ear nose throat doctor or get it resolved by the end of July I would reconsider our relationship because I felt that my needs and concerns were not heard and that I felt I needed to put a boundary down on how much I had to put up with. I don't feel comfortable in my own room, or kissing him, or anything more intimate. This is been affecting and it sounds so silly. I understand it is his body but this has seriously been affecting my mood, my sleep, and overall wellbeing.
So AITAH? And also, any ideas on how to fix it? Am I being unreasonable??

My daughter is 7 yo, she’s 47” tall and weighs around 47 lbs. she has a history of asthma, and seasonal allergies. Currently she’s taking Flovent (2 puffs once daily), Flonase and prn Zyrtec.
A little back story on her. Shes has instances of random bouts of hives (often with no discernible cause.) Her last bout of hives, she had a plain turkey sandwich with just mayo and turkey from a local sandwich shop. 30 mins later, she was complaining of joint and tummy pain. I had her relax on the couch and 30 mins after that when I took her to bed, she had full body hives and a swollen face/mouth. She ended up vomiting once and it was a large amount. It took to doses of Benadryl to calm the hives. She also later reported that during this episode she had chest tightness and a scratchy throat. We were told this was a mild anaphylactic reaction.
Fast forward to present day. Sunday she had scrambled eggs for breakfast and 20 mins later she told me she was itchy and was started to break out in hives. Gave her Benadryl and hives went away and she was fine. The next morning she woke up with another head to toe itchy rash. I got in touch with her allergist and she told me to give her 10mg of Zyrtec morning and night and to update her the following morning. Yesterday she still had the rash and was complaining of joint pain in her knee and ankle. She was sent home from school because she was limping. Her allergist wanted to see her in person. We took her in yesterday and she said the rash definitely looked like hives but she’s perplexed as to what is going on with her. She has no other symptoms (no signs of illness, no fever). Shes thinking serum sickness but she doesn’t totally fit that picture. She told us she wanted to do some research and would get back to us today, but to continue the Zyrtec. My daughter woke up this morning with a worsening rash and was much more itchy today.
We’ve literally changed nothing about her diet or laundry detergent or skin/hair products. Also no new medications. She’s been tested for environmental allergies and was positive for a certain tree and rabbits. Neither of her 2 allergists that she’s seen have felt compelled to food test or any other blood tests. I’d love some other opinions! Here is a photo of her back rash. It’s also located on her face, neck, chest, and some on her legs