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

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

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

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

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

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

For thousands of years, and to this day, Christians of various kinds have tried to demonstrate the truth of Christianity by claiming that Jesus was prophesied about specifically in the Hebrew Scriptures. It is argued that Jesus fulfilled these prophecies about the Messiah in the OT and, therefore, is the promised one. Only Jesus could've fulfilled these Messianic prophecies, so they say. Additionally, Christian theology, building off the NT paradigm of quoting the OT, has claimed that the OT looks forward to the founding of Christianity and the formation of the Church.
What this post will argue is that this is anachronistic and that Christians are incorrect in their claims about the OT. The OT prophets do not look forward to a supposed Messiah figure who would arrive hundreds of years later in 1st century Roman Palestine or that this Messiah figure would crucified and raised from the dead. Nor do they prophesy the establishment of the Christian religion. Instead, the OT looks forward to an imminent, glorious, material restoration of ancient Israel meant to happen in their day, not centuries later when Christianity was founded. Nor is the OT looking forward to supposed events that have yet to happen, like the second coming of Jesus or a future restoration of the land of Israel. These were supposed to happen in ancient Israel but did not occur.
Before I begin, I would like to say that this is the consensus of biblical scholars and historians. This is not just my opinion or the opinion of secular skeptics. All critical scholars of the OT, including Jews, Christians, and non-religious ones, agree that OT needs to be understood in its ancient Israelite context. They agree that these texts and oracles are not about Jesus or the Church. If you want to read an excellent scholarly resource, I highly recommend John J. Collins, Introduction to the Hebrew Bible, 2018. He is a leading OT scholar at Yale and a Roman Catholic. The New Oxford Annotated Study Bible is also a beneficial resource, giving a critical scholarly introduction and notes to the Hebrew Bible.
For this post, I will look at some of the principal prophetic literature of the OT. I cannot analyze every single relevant passage.

Isaiah

The Book of Isaiah is among the most popular books in ancient Judaism and Christianity. I could be wrong, but I believe it is the most cited book in the NT after Psalms. This is relevant to this discussion because Christians cite many passages in Isaiah, believing them to be predictions about Jesus. This precedent is set in the NT, for example, in Matthew's or Luke's gospel. However, Jesus/Christianity is not prophesied in the book. Instead, Isaiah predicts the imminent restoration of the Kingdom of Israel and the gathering of the twelve tribes.
Let's examine Isaiah 7:14, a passage often misconstrued as a prophecy about Jesus. In reality, it's not a prophecy about the Messiah at all. The passage states, 'Therefore the Lord himself will give you a sign. Look, the young woman is with child and shall bear a son and shall name him Immanuel.' This is not about a virgin giving a miraculous birth. The word used here is 'almah ', which simply means young woman. If Isaiah intended to convey that this woman was a virgin, there was a word for that, 'betulah '. Matthew's use of the Greek translation of Isaiah 7:14, which is a mistranslation of the Hebrew, as a prophecy about Jesus's virgin birth is a misinterpretation. The context of Isaiah 7 is an oracle of consolation given to King Ahaz, promising him a sign through the birth of a son that Jerusalem will be preserved from the Assyrian crisis.
'For before the child knows how to refuse the evil and choose the good, the land before whose two kings you are in dread will be deserted. The Lord will bring on you and on your people and on your ancestral house such days as have not come since the day that Ephraim departed from Judah—the king of Assyria. On that day the Lord will whistle for the fly that is at the sources of the streams of Egypt and for the bee that is in the land of Assyria. And they will all come and settle in the steep ravines and in the clefts of the rocks and on all the thornbushes and on all the watering holes. On that day the Lord will shave with a razor hired beyond the River—with the king of Assyria—the head and the hair of the feet, and it will take off the beard as well.'
So, Isaiah 7:14 refers to the Assyrian crisis in the 8th century BCE and the preservation of Jerusalem, not events that occurred hundreds of years later. Matthew's misquotation of the OT is a clear example of misinterpretation. It's quite ironic and even amusing that the most famous and well-known prophecy about Jesus's virgin birth, cited every year at Christmas, is quite literally not about that. This highlights the importance of understanding the historical context and the original intent of the texts.
There is a cluster of oracles in Isaiah 9-11 that Christians cite as a prophecy about Jesus. But when we look at the context of Isaiah 7-12, we see that these are about the restoration of Zion and the re-establishment of a Davidic king who would rule in the ancient Near East in Israel, not in 1st-century Judea.
Let's look at some of the famous passages.
'For a child has been born for us, a son given to us; authority rests upon his shoulders, and he is named Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. Great will be his authority, and there shall be endless peace for the throne of David and his kingdom. He will establish and uphold it with justice and with righteousness from this time onward and forevermore. The zeal of the Lord of hosts will do this.' 9:6-7
This is not a prophecy about Jesus. The text presupposes that this son is already born and will fulfill this vision in Isaiah's day. Again, the passages surrounding this one set the historical context for fulfillment in the ANE. This Davidic King would preside over the physical restoration of a united Kingdom of Israel and the unification of the twelve tribes.
'On that day, the remnant of Israel and the survivors of the house of Jacob will no longer lean on the one who struck them but will lean on the Lord, the Holy One of Israel, in truth. A remnant will return, the remnant of Jacob, to the mighty God. For though your people, O Israel, were like the sand of the sea, only a remnant of them will return.' 10:20-22
'On that day, the root of Jesse shall stand as a signal to the peoples; the nations shall inquire of him, and his dwelling shall be glorious. On that day, the Lord will again raise his hand to recover the remnant that is left of his people from Assyria, from Egypt, from Pathros, from Cush, from Elam, from Shinar, from Hamath, and from the coastlands of the sea.' 11:10-11
The King, through Yahweh, on that day will also,
'raise a signal for the nations and will assemble the outcasts of Israel and gather the dispersed of Judah from the four corners of the earth. ¹³ The jealousy of Ephraim shall depart; the hostility of Judah shall be cut off; Ephraim shall not be jealous of Judah, and Judah shall not be hostile toward Ephraim. ¹⁴ But they shall swoop down on the backs of the Philistines in the west; together, they shall plunder the people of the east. They shall put forth their hand against Edom and Moab, and the Ammonites shall obey them.'
So, it's clear what these oracles were intending to describe. Isaiah predicted that after the Assyrian crisis of the 8th century BCE, Yahweh would raise up a Davidic ruler who would preside over a literal Israelite Kingdom that would become the dominant power of the ANE. This was expected to happen in the ancient world, but it did not occur. The historical context of Jesus and the first-century Church is not the fulfillment of these oracles. These oracles are failed. Isaiah's vision of an eternal, glorious Israelite Kingdom did not come to pass.

Jeremiah

There are two passages in Jeremiah I would like to discuss.
Jeremiah 29:10 promises that after 70 years, the Jews will return from the Babylonian exile, and God will restore Israel to its former glory.
'For thus says the Lord: Only when Babylon’s seventy years are completed will I visit you, and I will fulfill to you my promise and bring you back to this place. For surely I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, plans for your welfare and not for harm, to give you a future with hope. Then, when you call upon me and come and pray to me, I will hear you. When you search for me, you will find me; if you seek me with all your heart, I will let you find me, says the Lord, and I will restore your fortunes and gather you from all the nations and all the places where I have driven you, says the Lord, and I will bring you back to the place from which I sent you into exile.'
This never happened historically. Yes, some of the Judeans in exile did return to Israel. Israel was rebuilt with the help of the Persians. But, this was not the glorious restoration predicted by the prophets. Israel would continue to be dominated by foreign powers until the establishment of the secular state of Israel in 1948, which, of course, has no relevance to this ancient oracle. Further, while some Judeans did return, this promise of a gathering of Jews from all the nations did not happen. After the Assyrian and Babylonian conquests, Jews have remained permanently dispersed in the diaspora. This is another failed oracle. It cannot be interpreted exegetically as being fulfilled in the 1st century with Jesus and Christianity.
More famously, however, is Jeremiah's prediction of the establishment of a 'New Covenant.' (31:31) Christians see this New Covenant as being fulfilled in the Church, and indeed, the New Testament frequently refers to the New Covenant being fulfilled in the Christian community and Jesus's work. However, the historical context of this passage is surrounded by a cluster of oracles in chapters 30-31 that were meant to be a consolation to ancient Israel. The passage itself is clear that this is not talking about Christianity or events hundreds of years later, but is a word of consolation to Jews who experienced the Babylonian conquest:
'The days are surely coming, says the Lord, when I will make a new covenant with the house of Israel and the house of Judah.' 31:31
What is the context?
'At that time, says the Lord, I will be the God of all the families of Israel, and they shall be my people.' 31:1
'The days are surely coming, says the Lord, when the city shall be rebuilt for the Lord from the tower of Hananel to the Corner Gate. And the measuring line shall go out farther, straight to the hill Gareb, and shall then turn to Goah. The whole valley of the dead bodies and the ashes and all the fields as far as the Wadi Kidron, to the corner of the Horse Gate toward the east, shall be sacred to the Lord. It shall never again be uprooted or overthrown.' 31:38-40
'For the days are surely coming, says the Lord, when I will restore the fortunes of my people, Israel and Judah, says the Lord, and I will bring them back to the land that I gave to their ancestors, and they shall take possession of it' 30:3
Then, it is clear what prophesy about the New Covenant means. It's about the imminent restoration of the ancient Kingdom of Israel and its ascent into power and glory. Again, these oracles remained unfulfilled and precisely falsified.

Micah

There is one famous passage in Micah 5, quoted in Matthew and frequently cited by Christians as "proof" that Jesus's birth location was prophesied about hundreds of years prior. The idea that Jesus was born in Bethlehem is, of course, historically dubious. Matthew and Luke's accounts are contradictory and rife with historical problems. Mark and John assume Jesus has always been a native of Nazareth (Mk 6:2-3, Jn 1:46, 7:42). It seems then that Matthew and Luke invented their passages about Jesus being born in Bethlehem to give him more Davidic status. But this is beside the point, even if Jesus was born in Bethlehem. It is not a fulfillment of this passage.
'But you, O Bethlehem of Ephrathah, who is one of the little clans of Judah, from you shall come forth for me one who is to rule in Israel, whose origin is from of old, from ancient days.' 5:2
What is the historical context of this oracle? Again, the context of the chapter and the book is Israel's restoration and the Israelite kingdom's imminent establishment.
'Then, the remnant of Jacob, surrounded by many peoples, shall be like dew from the Lord, like showers on the grass, which do not depend upon people or wait for any mortal. ⁸ And among the nations the remnant of Jacob, surrounded by many peoples, shall be like a lion among the animals of the forest, like a young lion among the flocks of sheep, which, when it goes through, treads down and tears in pieces, with no one to deliver. ⁹ Your hand shall be lifted up over your adversaries, and all your enemies shall be cut off.'
On that day, says the Lord, I will cut off your horses from among you and will destroy your chariots; ¹¹ and I will cut off the cities of your land and destroy all your strongholds; ¹² and I will cut off sorceries from your hand, and you shall have no more soothsayers; ¹³ and I will cut off your images and your pillars from among you, and you shall bow down no more to the work of your hands; ¹⁴ and I will uproot your sacred poles^\)^g\) from among you and destroy your towns. ¹⁵ And in anger and wrath I will execute vengeance on the nations that did not obey.
What about this future King? Again, I find it amusing that Christians cite this text to show that Jesus fulfilled it. It shows they have not read and understood the historical context of the oracle. The text goes on to say that this King will conquer the land of Assyria, the land of Nimrod.
Micah 5:5–6
'When the Assyrians come into our land and tread upon our soil, we will raise against them seven shepherds and eight rulers. They shall rule the land of Assyria with the sword and the land of Nimrod with the drawn sword; he shall rescue us from the Assyrians if they come into our land or tread within our border.'

Conclusion

I've, of course, been very selective. There are many more examples of this that could've been pulled from. I hope you will see what I've briefly tried to show. The Prophets of the OT predicted that in their own time, they would see the salvation of Yahweh as their God. A Davidic King would be raised, and Israel would be restored to glory after the Assyrian crisis in the case of Isaiah or the Babylonian crisis in the case of Jeremiah and Micah. The same goes for the other prophets. My thesis, then, is that historically understood, not only did these oracles fail in their prediction, but they are demonstrably not about events in 1st century Roman Palestine or the wider Greco-Roman world. They're not about establishing the Church or a dying and rising messiah figure who brings spiritual salvation. Yes, the NT does interpret passages in the OT as being fulfilled in Jesus. But they are taken out of their historical context. The NT and early Christians were not novel in this practice. This was standard Jewish exegesis of the OT. Because Christians and Jews believed that the OT writings were sacred scripture that couldn't be wrong, they reinterpreted them in the light of their situations. The Essenes at Qumran, like the early Christians, also thought that their community and Teacher of Righteousness was the fulfillment of the bible prophecy, and the Rabbis in the Rabbinic literature frequently apply ancient scripture to their community.

Hey yall. I've been reading a lot here for a long while, so in an effort of self-care I measured myself and bought the only semi-accessible bra I could based on the calculator recommendations: Glamorise Women's Magiclift Original Support Bra Wirefree #1000 in 56I
I've only worn shapeless sports bras for most of my life, and when I did wear a fitted bra - it was mostly just 'the largest one I can find' kind of thinking without any real measurements. So usually DD, sometimes DDD? But almost never actual cups, just the soft wireless. So I can't really give a lot of historical what worked/didn't work. But nothing ever worked.
However, this bra is not right (I did follow all the instructions on scoop + swoop which have been great!):

• Here are my pictures (NSFW bra pics, you know the drill): https://vgy.me/album/2tlRQoga
• there's no support (I know there is no wire and it is soft cups, but my tissue is very soft/malleable so it really feels like it's not doing a thing besides being uncomfortable)
• the straps are tightened to as short as they can be and they're still expanding to the ends of my shoulder (not necessarily falling off, but definitely needing to adjust)
• breasts themselves feel okay in the cups, fabric (of the cups at least, not the straps) feels good and like it's an okay shape?
• gore (I think that's what its called?) is 3-4 inches off my chest when sitting and from what I read that's not right
• I have a picture where I 'pull up' the bra a good 2-3 inches and its more what I want in something fitted...again, my straps are as short as I can get them and I've tried to pull the back down but it rides up again etc.
• while the band is definitely tucked right at the junction of my breast and chest fold, the fabric folds over and scrunches up inside the fold. Also uncomfortable.
• the worst part: its basically living in my armpit. I can deal with everything else knowing I am an extreme outlier of size, but not that. I feel like I want to take scissors to cut off a good 2-3 inches of fabric along my sides

Pictures (NSFW): https://vgy.me/album/2tlRQoga
My Measurements:

• Loose Underbust: 57.5
• Snug Underbust: 56
• Tight Underbust: 54
• Standing Bust: 64.5
• Leaning Bust: 66
• Lying Bust: 63.5

Calculator Recs:

• 56G/GG in UK sizing
• 56I/J in standard US sizing
• 130G/GG in Ewa Michalak in 145 D / DD
• 34H/HH in standard Australian/NZ sizing
• 130L in standard EU sizing

Shape is something I'm still struggling to understand terminology of, but I definitely think I am wide set, my first instinct was shallow - but I'm probably at least slightly projected, and have very soft and malleable tissue. Probably once I lose more weight I will go down in band and cup size, but that's for another day.
From all of my reading, I suspect I am not going to like the more full coverage bras (that seem to have more of an issue with the fabric riding up into the armpit). Also I know this is a long shot, but I really hate the super wide/thick straps that so many plus bras seem to suffer from (maybe all mainstream bras, idk - just have experience with the 'plus size' ones).
Bras I've found as possibilities, but please feel free to share more - I have looked and looked and looked for options:

• Ulla Dessous - Carmen Bra (UK 56G) - I feel like this might be more full coverage (I associate this with 'stifling', but I've never had a good bra so I am an open vessel)
• Elizabeth Valentine - their calculator (I know) recommended 56F in Lily, their sizes seem unusual (56AAAA?) which is why I used theirs to see. None of the ones on their site show 56F, though. I don't really like any of them, but willing to give them a go I guess.
• Ewa Michalak comes up a lot in the bratabase (love) - this seems most promising, but despite bratabase and the measurements calc showing 130G, Ewa's calc spit out 140 DD / E (I know we shouldn't use brand calculators, but I read that Ewa's is particular so). Anyway, I didn't look too much at all the types - but they look promising so hopefully something there?

I hope I included enough to work with - please let me know any follow up thoughts + questions! Thank yall for being so supportive and helpful. Maybe I'll find something that makes me feel a little better about myself sometimes ♥

Initial PSA: I am still excited about the product I am getting. The Dell U4025QW monitor is beautiful and I can’t wait to use it, but Dell doesn’t seem to want me to use it.
The story: 1 week ago I buy the monitor, a 40 inch ultra wide 5k at 120fps, amazing color coverage, etc. The shipping was fast (partially because I paid for express shipping) and I couldn’t wait to unbox it. Get it unboxed and setup and plugged in - no power. Called Dell support who tried a couple things and said it will have to be replaced so they create a support ticket and promise me that everything will be expedited since it’s under warranty and they feel terrible about the problem. Don’t hear back until the next day.
The next day: Dell asks for some info via email for verification, typical ticket stuff whatever. I am then informed I have 2 options for the exchange - either return the monitor wait for them to process it, and then they will send me a new one… or put my credit card down again for the full cost of the monitor and they will send it right away expedited. Keep in mind this is a $2000 monitor so I’m a little peeved that I have to put that money down again but whatever should be fast and it could take forever for the other method. Well about 20 minutes ago I find out that Dell has created a shipping label; the expedited delivery being 2 and a half weeks from now….. 2 AND A HALF WEEKS IN 2024. Again keep in mind I paid for expedited shipping, now have $4000 less in my bank account (yes $2000 of which will be refunded, but not until I get the new monitor, return the old one, and then wait for them to process the old one). HOW TF IS THIS LEGAL?!
I called them and was bounced around by 3 agents, all of which either didn’t want to deal with me or thought that they couldn’t handle the case. I was finally told that I need to wait for the team handling the case to call me back. I’m beyond words right now at how awful this is. When you buy a flagship product and get this kind of service what is one supposed to do but never choose to go through this company again?
Honestly does anyone have any suggestions? Like what can I do?

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.

Hanggang kailan? Hanggang kailan ka mag m-move on? Alam ko gusto mo siya i message kahit mag iisang taon na tomorrow when you broke up with her to fix yourself.
Inayos mo ba sarili mo? Hindi diba? Instead, na distract ka. Pero sige iintindihin ko pa rin kasi nawalan ka ng mahal mo sa buhay. Sige..
Alam ko I'm being harsh sayo, at alam ko naman how you've done your best to survive those moments when you thought na di mo na kaya..
Ilang beses..Ilang beses kita nakita na halos ilang buwan ka nagkulong sa kwarto kasi you can't roam around sa sarili mong pamamahay dahil every inch of the house reminds you of your Father. How it felt like napagsakluban ka ng langit at lupa sa sobrang sakit, lungkot, dilim, lamig, at you curl yourself up just for comfort. Actually, sa sobrang sakit, minsan, natutulala ka na lang kasi you were so lost. Ilang beses mo sinubukan uminom, lumabas, at magliwaliw. Pero walang nangyari. You always end up crying every night just to make yourself asleep. How you felt you were alone dahil wala ka na ngang sunshine and you had plans for your life and father. Pero wala. Ayun.
At alam ko hanggang ngayon masakit. Kasi hinarap mo mag isa yun hanggang ngayon ng ikaw lang. At yes, thank you to those few friends and even your ex suitor who made you laugh and even accompany you anywhere. I am grateful. Thankful na dumating sila sa buhay ko kasi kahit papaano naibsan yung sakit. Kasi nararamdaman ko na di na ako nag iisa.
Tinulungan nila ko noong mga panahong I felt alone. When I had no one during my darkest time. Dahil rin sa kanila nakayanan ko unti unti mag open up and process myself.
At! You shouldn't associate that dark event in your life with your ex. Kasi you were there during her difficult times, but she wasn't? Girl, nakipaghiwalay ka remember? Also, wag mo na imessage pwede ba? Baka may bago na rin siya at masaya na siya. Respetuhin mo siya at yung partner nya. Kaya just speak out loud na lang your thoughts, and your feelings here.
Remember, she did her best to be by your side but she respected pa rin your decision. Wag ka magpadala sa galit sa mga nangyari. Sinubukan nya diba? Yung kumustahin ka every now and then. How she checks up on you and madr you feel na andyan lang sila ng mom nya.
Girl, she was there. She was there sa paraan na kaya at alam niya. Let go of that hatred, bitterness, and comparison. Let go of that pain.
Sobrang naging mabuti siya sayo. Mag iisang taon na and yung sakit na lang na she inflicted ang naaalala mo. How about the good ones? At parang wala kang pain na nainflict rin sa kanya ah? Minahal mo ng sobra yung tao. Alam ko na andyan pa rin yung child in you that saw her beauty as a person. As a human. Remember and tap into those moments.
How selfless and responsible she is sa mga mahal nya sa buhay. How she makes sure na you are comfortable, safe, and even busog at masaya! How she hugs you soo tight every time na magkikita kayo at uuwi ka sa kanila. Yung pag weekends, lalabas kayo kahit sa loob lang nung subdivision, walking lang with aki, o would try new food. O di kaya would stay indoor, manonood ng Jijitsu Kaisen or Demon slayer or HIMYM! Or maglalaro ng Assassins Creed Origins.
How she pushed you to be better. How she believed in you. How she would cook for you lalo na pag breakfast bago ka pumasok sa work, clean the house, and send you tons of flying kisses and I love you's as you head out sa work.
The late night catch up after work, the chismisans, the samgyup, yung food trips, the coffees, the travels together, the slow walking and watching the sunset together. Yung pagtambay sa labas sa gabi to talk about life and your future plans together... Most especially, the slow dance when given a chance to just be intimate kahit saglit lang after a looong week after work. I'll never do any slow dance with anyone again. Will never say "Good night, mahal koo. Sweet dreams and sleep tight". Kahit kanino never ko nabuo yang Good night. Sweet dreams and sleep tight, kasi ikaw lang naaalala ko at sayo ko na lang huling sasabihin yan..
Ang bilis ng panahon. Napakabilis ng panahon.. Now it feels like all of these were just a beautiful dream..
So, hanggang kailan ako mag l-let go? Hanggang kailan ako mag h-heal? It's been a year... Hindi ko alam. Hindi ko alam. How I wish I can dictate myself, especially my brain, my body, and my heart to heal immediately. It's been a year but I'm still crying from everything.. Ang hirap kasi akala ko pag ikaw yung nag let go, madali mag move on. Hindi pa rin pala. Ang sakit pa rin.. Masakit pa rin na hanggang ngayon, siya pa rin nakikita ko to end up with..
I'm sorry self. I'll do my best. I promise I'll do my best. For now, let me embrace the process. This pain that I'm feeling right now. I'll bounce back. I will. Alam ko nakaya ko naman dati to be alone and love myself ng sobra. Nakayanan ko naman tumayo uli after yung first dark episode ko, kakayanin ko uli promise. Just give me time, self. Just give me time.. I'll be okay. It will be okay. Everything will be fine. Soon, it will be all right.

“Ready to make history, baby?”
I looked over toward Sheila as she stood on the gangplank leading up to The Burger. I still couldn’t believe she named our research ship ‘The Burger’... emotional relevance be damned.
“It's not exactly history,” I corrected.
“Oh come on! If your survey is right, this trench might run even deeper than the Challenger Deep, and you’re gonna be the first person to explore it! How is that not exciting?”
“Might be deeper, we only have a limited amount of topological data. And even if it is deeper, we’re talking only a few hundred feet at most, it’s really not that im-”
Sheila silenced me with a kiss.
“Nerd.” She teased, and I found myself too flustered to reply. After five years of marriage, she still could leave me speechless with just a kiss. God… how did someone like me end up with a woman like that?
Then again, how did someone like me end up where I was in general? It was honestly a little overwhelming. Standing on the dock, getting ready to board that ship and join the ranks of Jacques Piccard and James Cameron (yes, that James Cameron) as one of the few people to take a manned submersible down to the deepest parts of the ocean. And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little scared too. Diving down that deep could easily be a one way trip if even the slightest thing went wrong. My submarine would be experiencing between 600 to 1100 atmospheres of pressure and while we’d tested it over and over again to make sure it would actually be up for the challenge, there was still a lingering iota of doubt in the back of my mind. All that needed to go wrong was one little thing, and that would be it for me.
The scariest part is that I probably wouldn’t even know what had happened… I’d simply be gone… and Sheila would be alone. The thought of that caused a momentary spike of panic in my chest that almost made me want to call this whole thing off.
Almost.
But, then I felt her hand close around mine. I looked up into her bright blue eyes, and saw her gentle smile.
“You’re gonna be okay, hun,” She promised. “You and your team have been running the numbers, right? It’s gonna go just fine!”
I nodded slowly.
“It’s gonna go fine…” I repeated, before she leaned in to kiss me, and gently pulled me by the wrist up onto the deck of the Burger.
She was probably right.
It probably would be fine.
Probably…
The trench I’d be exploring was a fairly recent discovery, located south of Greenland, in a vast stretch of water situated directly between Newfoundland and Iceland. It’d been uncovered during a topological survey in the area, and my team had taken an interest in investigating it further. At minimum, it was believed to descend to about 35,000 feet deep (over 10,000 meters), although the current theory was that it might have run even deeper. Determining the exact depth of the yet unnamed chasm was just one of the intents of our dive. The rest was studying the organisms that might be found down there, and how they might have differed from the ones found in other deep ocean trenches (some variation being expected given the isolated environment they were developing in.)
I had to admit, it would be exciting to see what new life might have developed in a place such as this, especially if it ran even deeper than our predictions… and that excitement was enough to make me chase the fear of the risks out of my mind, even if it was only briefly. While Sheila went to make sure we were ready to embark, I caught myself wandering out toward the rear of the ship where my submarine, The Tempura, waited for me. Did this submarine deserve a better name than The Tempura? Probably. But, this was my project, so I got to name it and since Burger was already taken, Tempura was the next best name I had. I liked to think that the subs namesake might approve… if she hadn’t died fifteen years ago. Shrimp don’t live very long.
As the ship began to depart, I caught myself reminiscing on how I’d ended up here… it really was all because of those damn shrimp, wasn’t it? Well… maybe not all because of the shrimp. But they were certainly part of it. Back when I was a lot younger, I never really gave much of a shit about anything at all. I guess I did have a thing for the ocean… the great, romantic vastness of it. The sense of adventure that it beckoned with. The endless mysteries that lay within its dark depths. I used to read about it all the time when I was a kid and I especially loved the classic adventures: Verne’s 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea, and Melville’s Moby Dick… but that love was just confined to my books. I didn’t really have any interest in actually going out and seeing the ocean. Hell, the idea of going to a beach and standing in the sun with my toes in the sand seemed miserable to me. I was happier (although calling myself happy might’ve been a little disingenuous) alone in my room, enjoying the company of books as opposed to people.
Then came the shrimp.
One of my online friends kept them as a hobby. He used to post pictures of his tanks all the time, and I always thought they looked kinda cool. He said that if I was interested in them, I should try keeping some for myself, and during a particularly bad bout of depression, I figured that maybe it might be worth a shot. So, I bought a cheap tank and some cheap decorations, bought myself some shrimp… and promptly watched them die over the next few weeks. That… that bothered me. I don’t know why but… it really bothered me. I’m still not entirely sure how to describe what it was that I was feeling. Guilt? Defeat? Shame? Here I was, trying to set up a habitat for these creatures just to have something to do to keep the suicidal ideation at bay, and I’d failed almost right out of the gate.
Was I just that bad? Was I just that much of a failure? Was this just going to go to shit just like everything else in my life did, because I was just such an abysmal piece of shit who barely deserved the life she had? Had I just not tried hard enough? Was I too apathetic? What had happened? What went wrong?
It bothered me.
It bothered me enough that I made up my mind to just dump the remaining shrimp down the toilet and toss everything. Forget about it. Move on. End of story. But… that wasn’t fair, was it? The shrimp didn’t all deserve to die just because I couldn’t be bothered, did they? Sure, they were just shrimp, but they were alive too, just like me. They deserved to be alive.
I owed it to them to try and keep them alive, didn’t I?
So… I didn’t dump the shrimp.
Instead, I started doing some reading. Started looking into what I was doing wrong and how to do it all better. I actually got really into it and a few months later, I had a nice planted tank. Looking back, it was amateur shit… but it made me happy. I’d even picked out names for my two favorite shrimp. Burger and Tempura. They’d been the last survivors of my original batch, and they were the ones I ended up caring about the most. Caring for Burger and Tempura gave me a purpose. It became an obsession… and that little obsession drove me to finally start turning my life around.
Like I said, shrimp don’t live for very long. Burger and Tempura were long dead by the time I graduated with a degree in Marine Biology. But they were the ones who inspired me to finally get my life in order. Hell, the shrimp were half the reason that I met Sheila. She was something of an aquarium fanatic too… we’d met on a forum, and gotten to talking. I found out that she just so happened to be studying Marine Biology at another school, and we bonded pretty quickly after that. After graduation, I moved to California to be with her and after that, the rest is history. She was my rock. She was the one who always pushed me to be the best possible version of myself… and I loved her more than I ever knew I could love someone.
A glance back at the shore, fading into the distance tore me out of my reminiscing, and I shifted my focus to the present, going over The Tempura to perform some quick checks. My colleagues and I would be checking and rechecking the submarine over the next two days as we made our way toward the dive spot. Considering the danger that descending that deep posed, I didn’t want to take a single unnecessary risk.
I had too much to live for, after all.
***
The day of the dive, I couldn’t notice how excited the rest of the crew seemed… well… Sheila’s usual crew seemed excited. I guess to them, this was just another research expedition, no different than the ones Sheila usually took this ship out on. Lately her research had been focused on the analysis and study of whale calls. Her recent voyages had involved following their pods, recording their calls and playing them back to see how the whales reacted. It was fascinating stuff, but my research was admittedly a lot different than that.
My obsession had drawn me to the denizens of the deep sea. I’d used The Burger for expeditions before, although none of them had been on quite the same scale as this one. Up until today, the most ambitious thing I’d done was send down unmanned submersibles with cameras. Those submersibles had typically returned. We had lost a few early on due to technical glitches, but the past few years had been blissfully uneventful. Logically, this dive would probably be uneventful as well. But it was still hard to get the jitters out of my head.
My team and I did the final checks necessary to make sure that The Tempura was good to go, before setting up the crane to begin lifting it up. In less than an hour, I’d be inside of that thing, descending to the darkest depths of the ocean.
It didn’t feel real.
I felt Sheila’s hand on my shoulder, and looked over at her.
“Moment of truth, huh?” She asked. She probably meant it to sound encouraging, but it just sounded ominous.
“Moment of truth…” I replied.
“You’re gonna be okay, honey. I know you will.”
She reached out to gently squeeze my hand and gave me a reassuring smile that I meekly returned.
“Yeah, it’s gonna be okay,” I agreed, although there was an element of a lie in it. Statistically, yes. It probably WOULD be okay. But there was that lingering anxiety in the back of my mind that just wouldn’t go away. I looked quietly out at the submarine before me and couldn’t shake the thought that it sort of looked like a giant coffin. Unconsciously, I found myself squeezing Sheila’s hand tighter than normal. She just held me close and pressed a kiss to the top of my head, before gently rubbing my back.
“You’ll be okay,” She promised.
“Dr. Jenner, we’re ready for you.” I heard one of my colleagues say.
Moment of truth.
I took one last look at Sheila, and gave her a quick kiss on the lips for luck. She smiled at me, and I smiled back anxiously at her before heading over toward the submarine.
The crew helped me enter the cockpit and get myself situated inside. The cockpit of the Tempura was fairly cramped and not particularly comfortable. Space and comfort aren’t really luxuries you can afford in a submarine like this. The instruments I needed took up a lot of space, leaving little room for me in there… and I am not a very big person.
Once I was inside, they sealed the hatch. Then the diagnostics checks began.
“Grayson, can you hear us in there?” I heard Sheila say through the radio.
“Loud and clear,” I replied.
“Great. We’ll keep in constant radio contact, just to monitor the signal. In the meanwhile, how’s everything looking in there?”
“Green across the board so far,” I said, although I hadn’t finished running all my final checks yet. Ultimately, nothing was out of place.
This submarine was as good to go as it was going to get.
“I’m all good in here,” I said once I was done. “You can drop me when you’re ready.”
“You got it, honey. Let’s get you in the water, run one final round of tests and start lowering you down.”
A short while later, I felt the submarine begin to move as the crane lifted it off the deck and lowered it into the water. The Tempura honestly resembled its namesake in a way, being long and cigar shaped, only vertically oriented instead of horizontally oriented. We’d admittedly taken more than a few design cues from James Cameron’s Deepsea Challenger. Why fix what isn’t broken, after all?
Once I was in the water, a 1000 pound releasable ballast weight would cause the submarine to sink. Releasing that weight was also my ticket back to the surface, and I could either trigger it from inside the cockpit, or, in the event that the release failed for any reason, it would trigger automatically after roughly 12 hours of exposure to salt water.
Ideally, this would be the first of a number of dives I’d be undertaking… and if all went according to plan, the Tempura could be the first of many similar submarines that would allow other researchers to safely and effectively descend to extreme depths. If all went well, this could be a massive leap forward for researchers like me, allowing us to better explore the deepest depths of the Hadal Zone and learn all we could about the ecosystems down there via direct observation.
If all went well.
If.
Through the viewport, I watched as I was lowered into the ocean. A few of the other crew members had donned diving gear to escort me down, and after they did their final checks and I did mine, we were fully ready to go.
“All’s green across the board,” I said into the radio. “You can start my descent.”
“I hear you, honey,” Sheila replied. “We’re letting you go. Have fun down there.”
“Yeah, I’ll try…” I said quietly as finally, my submarine began its descent.
I took a deep breath, and told myself again that everything would go fine. We had checked everything on this submarine. We’d tested it rigorously. I wouldn’t have allowed myself to set foot inside of it if I hadn’t personally assured that it was safe. But anxiety never really goes away, does it? The crew couldn’t accompany me far. After only a few meters, they fell behind me as I sank deeper and deeper into the infinite, empty blue of the ocean. Soon after, the tether was released.
I was officially on my own.
“60 feet,” I heard Sheila say over the radio. “How are you doing in there?”
“Good,” I replied. “Doing… doing good.”
The submarine continued to descend. Through the viewport, I could see a few stray fish, but nothing particularly eye catching. I almost felt alone down there… almost…
“120 feet…” Sheila said.
“Still doing good,” I replied.
The descent continued, as the waters slowly grew darker and darker.
“400 feet…”
Everything around me just kept getting darker and darker. Only a fraction of the light from the sun ever reached these depths… and I’d be lying if I said that darkness didn’t feel a little… oppressive.
“800 feet… still feeling good?”
“Yeah, still feeling good…” I said, although it was a bit of a lie. If anything, I was second guessing all of this, but I wasn’t about to say that out loud.
“1000 feet… still good?”
“Still good…” I murmured. “I hear you loud and clear.”
Deeper… deeper… deeper.
“1500 feet…”
Three miles. I was three miles away from home. Three miles away from Sheila.
“2000 feet…”
Still a ways to go.
“3000 feet…”
By this point, it was fully dark outside of my cockpit. Outside, all I could see was inky darkness. Even the submarine’s lights didn’t really cut through it. And the kicker? Relatively speaking, I wasn’t that deep. Fishing trawlers reached deeper than this. Better to conserve power until I was at the bottom. My descent continued.
“6000 feet… still good?”
“Still good…”
The check ins were becoming less frequent. My descent still continued… deeper… deeper… deeper. By now, I’d entered the Hadal Zone. But there was still so much deeper o go.
“8000 feet…”
This was past the depths that most whales would dive to… and I still had a ways to go.
“10,000 feet.”
This was close to where the ocean floor usually bottomed out… and yet there was still so much further to go. No. I was really only a third of the way there. How long had it been?Not much had happened beyond my descent and a few sightings out of my viewport, but time had been passing. A glance at my watch confirmed it’d been almost an hour since I’d started to sink… and I knew I wasn’t even close to the bottom yet. The submarine continued to descend, sinking ever deeper as I dropped into an infinite darkness that few had ever dared to witness.
“15,000 feet.”
This check in came later than the others. At this point, Sheila and the crew must have figured that no news was good news, and they were right. I just continued to sink peacefully, down into the crushing depths of the ocean.
These were the depths that one might normally find deep sea fish… and yet I was going somewhere even deeper than that.
“20,000 feet…”
So close…
I continued to sink.
“25,000 feet.”
Soon… and finally…
“30,000 feet. You still doing alright, honey?”
“Yeah… yeah, I’m doing good,” I assured her. I was so close…
By this point, my real work had begun. I’d engaged the lights and begun documenting what little I could see using the on board cameras. Granted, there wasn’t much life at these depths and what little there was, was scarcely documented. Most of what was down here consisted of invertebrates and microscopic life that seemed to float past my viewport.
The light seemed to draw a few creatures in search of food. Small, hardy things that resembled shrimp.
“How’s it looking, Grayson?”
“Dark,” I said, half joking. “We’ve got some life… shrimp. They’re translucent. Can’t get a great look at them… but we’ll see what the cameras pick up.”
“They’ve recognized you as a friend,” Sheila said. I could almost see the smile on her lips as she said it.
“Yeah…” I replied, “Tempura sent them a message, told them I’d be down. How am I looking on depth?”
“35,000 feet… you seeing a bottom yet?”
“No… not that I would until I was there.”
“Damn… how deep does this go?”
“It can’t go that deep…” I murmured, although I really wasn’t so sure about that.
The submarine continued to sink…
36,000 feet…
37,000 feet…
38,000 feet… and then finally, just past the 39,000 foot mark, I finally saw solid ground below me.
Looking through my viewport, I could see a familiar dark brown diatomaceous sludge, covering the seafloor. Microscopic life, likely similar to what had been observed in other deep sea trenches, such as the Challenger Deep.
I needed to gather a sample.
As my submarine reached the bottom, I extended the mechanical arms, pressed flat against the surface of the Tempura, and opened the collection port near the bottom of the ship. Slowly, I sifted some of the sludge into the port. My disturbance of the seafloor kicked up a cloud of the microbial colony, and I could’ve sworn I saw something wiggling through the debris. A pale, white thing, perhaps some sort of sea cucumber? I hastily angled my submarines camera to try and catch a glimpse of it, before returning to my collection. Even in this forlorn place, there was still so much to see! And here I was… completely forgetting my fear as the excitement took hold of me! Few people had ever been down to these unfathomable depths… and yet here I was.
It didn’t feel real but it was! I had reached the deepest part of the ocean!
“How’s it going down there?” I heard Sheila ask. Her voice was a little garbled. The connection down here was faltering.
“It’s beautiful…” I said. “I can’t wait for you to see it!”
“I’ll bet…”
“I’m going to do a sweep of the area, see what samples I can gather,” I said. “What’s my time right now?”
“Three hours. You’ve got nine before your connection to the weight deteriorates and you start to ascend.”
“I’ll make the most of it,” I said. The plan was only to stay down there for six hours, and I didn’t want to push that limit. Life support would only last me for so long, and one little error was all it would take for the ungodly pressure down here to crush me.
I began to move the submarine. Mobility was limited. This thing wasn’t built to travel far. But I still had some limited movement. I recorded all that I could, filming the shrimp that investigated my light, and the things that slithered and crawled through the muck, likely feeding on the carpet of single celled organisms that populated these depths.
The first two hours were… well… I hesitate to call them uneventful, they were actually very fascinating, but little of note happened beyond my recording of a few specimens.
Midway through the third hour though, as I was reaching one of the rock walls of the abyss, I noticed something just above the edge of my viewport swimming away from the light. I could’ve sworn I saw slender, pale tentacles of some sort. Was that a squid? Were there squid down this deep? I wasn’t aware of any species of known squid who could reach these depths… but in this unknown place, what use was the known?
I moved my light and my camera to try and catch another glimpse of it, but whatever it was, it seemed to be gone. Maybe I’d see another one. I still had plenty of time.
“You made a noise. What’d you see?” Sheila asked.
“Something big… I think,” I said.
“Down there? Like a fish?”
“Squid. You wouldn’t find any vertebrates down this deep… the pressure would crush their bones.”
“Jeez…”
I didn’t reply to that, still searching for the thing I’d seen. I shone my light up along the walls of the chasm and angled my camera up as far as it would go. I could see a few volcanic vents, spewing dark clouds into the darkness, and more diatoms. But not much else. Strange invertebrates crawled along the walls. Small creatures, no bigger than an inch long. Related to isopods, perhaps? If I could collect one as a sample, I would have… although taking any of those back to the surface would surely kill them. They were built to live under the impossible pressure of these depths. Taking them to the surface would rip them apart.
I went back to my research, and it wasn’t long until I saw something in the darkness, just on the edge of where my flashlight reached. Trailing white tendrils, snaking their way through the darkness. My eyes narrowed as I moved the submarine forward, trying to catch whatever it was in the light. I saw the shape move, its body turning… I saw its tendrils unfurling. Whatever this was, it was big. It was almost as big as The Tempura… although it was also slender. If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve thought I was looking at some sort of floating debris, but this far down? No. And debris wouldn’t move like that.
This had to be a deepsea squid… or perhaps some other type of cephalopod? Something that preyed upon the various invertebrates down here, perhaps? It seemed to float, just out of sight for a bit, as I tried to get closer. I angled up my light to get a better look at it. The light seemed to shine through it, like some sort of ghost… but I did manage to get a look at it.
Although that look…
That single look made me freeze up.
This things slender tendrils certainly resembled a cephalopod of some sort, but the rest of it… the rest of it looked like something else entirely. Its body was thin, emaciated and translucent, yet despite that it still had characteristics that almost seemed… human. It wasn’t human! Not by any stretch of imagination, but the resemblance was there. It almost reminded me of an exhibit I’d seen in a museum once, depicting a preserved, fully removed human nervous system. I could see a similar shape in its translucent body. Its head seemed almost human as well… albeit with no eyes, and a lamprey like mouth I could only describe as fleshy yet crablike.
Still, despite having no eyes I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was looking at me. And that was when I felt something hit the submarine.
I felt a sudden jolt of panic in my chest. For a moment, I thought that the pressure had started to crush me, but no… no, everything was still fine. Something had just hit me. But what? It didn’t take long before I got my answer.
Another pale creature floated past my viewport, swirling gracefully in the cold dark waters. I watched it for a moment with wide eyes, before noticing its ‘head’ turning slightly toward me. Then, almost instantly, it launched itself at the submarine, darting toward me with blinding speed.
I heard a distinct THUD as its body collided with me, and I could see its pale tendrils pressing against the viewport, twisting and writhing violently. It was trying to attack me. The first creature that I’d seen lunged as well, pounding on my submarine with another THUD. And moments later, I could hear more impacts against the hull. There were more of them… and they did not like having me down there.
“What’s going on?” Sheila asked.
“Somebody doesn’t like me…” I said. “One of the animals down here… some kind of squid, it’s just started attacking the hull.”
“How bad is the damage?”
“Not sure… could be nothing, could be-”
I felt the submarine shake as I tried to move it. The thrusters that pushed me forward weren't responding. Had something gotten caught in it? One of the creatures perhaps?
“Grayson?!” Sheila asked.
“Lost propulsion…” I said. “Fuck… I can’t move.”
“Then drop the weight and come up!”
“No, it’s fine, there’s no other damage, I can still use the port and starboard thrusters to-”
“Grayson!”
I paused. There was genuine panic in her voice… enough to make me realize that even if these things stood little chance of actually breaching the hull, taking the risk would be a fatal mistake.
“I’m on my way up…” I finally said, before reaching out to disengage the ballast weights.
Immediately, I felt myself beginning to rise, although the tentacles clinging to my viewport didn’t disappear.
“We’ve got you…” Sheila said. “Rising up to 38,000 feet.”
The submarine continued to rise, but the creatures clinging to me went nowhere. In fact… I was sure I could see more of them. More pale shapes coming up through the darkness, and these ones filled me with dread. I thought I had been looking at some sort of eerie undiscovered life. But seeing what was coming up toward me now… I knew that I was looking at so much more. The creatures swimming up toward me through the darkness carried weapons… makeshift stone spears and daggers. Primitive tools… but tools all the same.
Signs that these were more than just undiscovered animals.
Much. Much more.
The word: ‘Mermaids’ crossed through my mind, but these were something far different than the ones I’d heard of in folklore. These looked like they’d swam out of the depths of hell itself. Boneless pale tendrils reached for me… and they were getting closer. The pale shapes reached my submarine as I rose higher. I kept praying to whatever God may be listening that the dropping pressure would force them off. The air in a submarine is pressurized, so during normal operation, there should have been no danger of decompression sickness for me.
For them… well… normally I’d feel a little guilty about subjecting an undiscovered species of deep sea mermaids to the horrors of the Bends. But given my circumstances, I didn’t have a lot of other options.
They didn’t let go, though.
They should have. But they didn’t.
What were these things?
I saw a splayed hand press against my viewport. Or… it somewhat resembled a hand. It had suckers on it, like a tentacle and the ‘fingers’ curled open like tentacles. The creature crawled over my viewport, clinging to The Tempura as it rose, and I could see the folds of its crablike mouth opening and pressing against the glass. I could see some sort of bile rising up through its translucent throat, before it secreted it all over my viewport. Was it trying to digest me? Was that how these things fed? How strong were its stomach acids? Were they strong enough to-
The window cracked.
My heart skipped a beat.
“No… no, no no…”
“Grayson, what’s wrong?!”
“They cracked the window… S-Sheila they… oh God… oh fuck, they just…”
“THEY DID WHAT?”
“It’s secreting some sort of enzyme… it’s on the window, it’s… FUCK… I’m gonna die… I’m gonna die… I’m gonna die…”
“You’re not gonna die, baby! Just… just keep ascending, okay? You’re at 30,000 feet… just keep going…”
I nodded, and kept on rising, although the question of whether or not the rest of the creatures were trying to digest the other parts of my submarine floated through my mind. How much damage could The Tempura take before it imploded? How much longer did I have? The submarine still continued to rise… 25,000 feet… almost halfway home… almost… almost.
The creature outside of my viewport slithered along the glass, searching for a better area to try and digest. Past him, I noticed a few of his companions dropping off. Maybe the change in pressure finally was getting to them?
From the corner of my eye, I suddenly noticed a flashing light. A warning. The hydraulics on one of the Tempura’s arms were shot… what else was damaged?
I checked my oxygen levels. 32%.
I should’ve had at least 14 hours of air. I’d only been down there for about 6 hours… I shouldn’t have been this low.
31%.
No… no, no, no, no… they’d damaged the air tanks!
30%.
29%
“20,000 feet!” Sheila said. “You still with me, baby?”
“Y-yeah…” I said. I didn’t mention my air situation. I didn’t need to worry her further.
The submarine continued its ascent.
15,000 feet.
24%. I was running out of time.
The creatures still clung to the Tempura. How had the pressure change not killed them yet? My oxygen was dropping faster than before. I was hemorrhaging air. Another crack formed across my viewport. I let out a little, involuntary gasp before trying to force myself to stop hyperventilating.
“Grayson, what was that?”
“I-it’s fine…” I stammered, “It’s fine!”
“Grayson what the hell is going on down there?!”
“They’re still on the submarine… they’re still…” I paused, looking at my oxygen levels. “19%...”
“19% of what? Grayson what’s going on!”
I paused.
18%.
“Air… I’m… I’m losing air…”
“That’s fine, you’re going to make it!” She said, although I heard her voice cracking a little. “You’re gonna make it!”
I didn’t answer.
12,000 feet.
11,000 feet…
My oxygen level continued to drop.
15%.
14%.
12%.
9,000 feet.
The creatures still clung to me, as the submarine continued to rise. The one on my viewport was still there, slowly crawling along the glass again. I stared into its eyeless face and swore I was looking at the face of my killer.
7,000 feet…
Oxygen had dropped to 9%. It dropped to 8% before I even got to 6,000 feet. I was going to die here…
The viewport cracked again and I squeezed my eyes shut. The submarine rocked. I was sure one of the thrusters had been damaged. My ascent slowed.
“Grayson, what’s going on?”
“I’m sorry Sheila…”
Another crack spread across my viewport.
“I’m… I’m not making it back up…”
“YES YOU ARE!”
“I’m sorry…” The tears started to come as the reality of my death became clearer and clearer… this was it.
“YOU’RE COMING BACK UP, YOU HEAR ME! GODDAMNIT, I’LL BRING YOU BACK UP!”
“I love you…”
That creatures face pressed against the glass. It vomited more of its stomach acid onto the cracked glass, and I wondered if this might finally be what broke it. Part of me hoped it would be… the one good thing about dying this deep was that at least I’d die quickly. My suffering would be over. Then, the creature suddenly pulled back, twisting and writhing violently. I saw other shapes moving past it in the water, other ‘mermaids’ that had been clinging to the submarine.
Something was agitating them.
Something was scaring them off.
Then I heard it, over the radio… whale songs.
“What the hell…?”
“Grayson, are you still there?!”
“I… they’re finally breaking off. Sheila, what did you do?”
“I’m broadcasting some of the orca recordings we’ve been using. Are they still clinging to you?”
“No! They’re backing off! I… whatever you’re doing, keep doing it!”
The submarine kept rising.
5,000 feet.
4,000 feet.
4% oxygen.
I could still do this, right?
The submarine continued to rise.
3%.
3,000 feet.
2,000 feet.
2%.
1,000 feet… so close… I was so close…
I could almost see the surface through my viewport, rushing up toward me. I tried not to breathe. Tried not to move. All I did was hope.
500 feet.
I closed my eyes.
“Grayson we have your signal, we’re coming to pick you up!”
Sheila’s voice sounded so far away as my submarine finally breached the surface of the water… and with the last of my strength, I pulled the emergency release on the hatch, and threw it open, taking in lungful after lungful of fresh salty air.
I didn’t dare so much as touch the water beneath me… but I was topside again, and in the distance, I could see The Burger!
“We see you!” Sheila said, “We’ve got you baby… we’ve got you…”
“I see you too…” I said through the tears. “Thank you… thank you…” I didn’t have any words left in me after that.
As soon as I was back on the ship, I collapsed into Sheila’s arms, breaking down into tears as I clung to her, terrified that at any moment, some sort of unspoken other shoe would drop and I’d lose her all over again.
“Shh… it’s alright baby… I’ve got you… you’re safe… you’re safe…” I felt her fingers running through my hair and I knew that what she said was true.
I was home.
I was safe.
***
I left my colleagues to review the data that the Tempura gathered during its short expedition. As far as I know, they haven’t published anything. I have a few ideas as to why, but I’ll keep those to myself. Let’s just say that some people would rather this information not become public.
I have a feeling that the Tempura may not be diving again for some time, if ever. I will confess that I do consider that a bit of a shame. Despite everything… I would consider it a success. It endured far more stressful conditions than I had expected, and from what I heard, required fewer repairs than I’d thought it would. But, even if it was approved for another dive, it wouldn’t be me piloting it. No. I will never be setting foot inside of that machine again, nor will I ever be returning to what my colleagues have been quietly referring to as ‘The Jenner Trench’.
I can’t.
Every night, I wake up crying after dreaming of pale shapes outside of my cracked viewport, clinging to Sheila and sobbing. I can’t put myself in that situation again.
I can’t.
Instead, I think I’m going to spend the next few years on solid ground. There’s a teaching position available at a local university. I think that might be the best place for me right now. Who knows, maybe I can help some other deadbeat discover a passion for marine biology.
After everything, my love for the sea remains unchanged… I’m just a little more wary of it, these days.

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MNS Oengro

“How’s the fuel status of the Oengro?” Grionc asked.
Vastae, eyes glued to his console, replied without hesitation. “We have just enough blink fuel for one jump, but we aren’t going anywhere once we get to the other side without a refueling ship.”
“One blink is all we need. And if the Oengro is good to go, the other, smaller ships should be fine too then,” Grionc responded, bringing up the system map on screen with her paws. “Four minutes to blink limit. Have the ship’s crew secure themselves for the blink and get ready for shift change to execute post-blink procedures when we arrive.”
“Yes, High Fleet Commander,” Vastae acknowledged with a brisk nod.
Suddenly, three quarters of the sensor readings on her sensor board disappeared, and the fidelity on the remaining took a nose-dive in accuracy. A low murmur ran through the sensor stations, which she waved away with a paw. “No need to panic. It looks like our friends jumped before we did, as arranged. Our sensors are on their own for now.”
Vastae swallowed hard. “Are you certain about this plan, High Fleet Commander?” Vastae asked nervously. “Not that I don’t trust what Sphinx— Speinfoent cooked up, but this is a last-minute plan modification we haven’t rehearsed. And with our fuel situation, we only get one chance here.”
Grionc put a calm smile on her face. “Remember that exercise we did with the Grass Eaters a while back?”
“Which one?”

4 months ago

“Since it’s New Years, it’s time to have some fun,” Mark announced with a grin to Grionc and the rest of the curious bridge crew. “I’m going to show you guys a fun teambuilding exercise we did on Terra.”
“Teambuilding exercise?” Grionc asked suspiciously.
Mark didn’t let her skepticism color his enthusiasm. “Well, I’m not sure how much teambuilding it does, but it is fun. And I have never seen aliens do it. In fact, this might be the first time this has ever been done outside of Sol!”
“Fine, fine. What are we doing?” she relented.
“This exercise is what we call the trust fall.”
“The trust fall?” Grionc repeated. “It’s about building trust? Like trust in your crew?”
Mark nodded vigorously. “It’s supposed to. I’m not sure if it truly works, but it truly is fun. You and I can demonstrate for the crew.”
Grionc sighed. “Sure. What do I do?”
“Come stand over here,” Mark pointed to a spot on the floor, and then stood in front of her with his back to her. “What I’m going to do is I’m going cross my arms… like this… and on the count of three, I’m going to fall backwards, and you have to catch me when I do.”
“Huh. That seems dangerous. What happens to you if I don’t catch you?” Grionc asked, mild concern creeping into her voice.
“Traumatic brain injury, probably. Something similar for your species too, I assume,” Mark shrugged nonchalantly. “But don’t worry about that. We have good medical facilities on the Nile, and you will catch me. That is the point of the exercise. Alright, you ready?”
Sensing his insistence, Grionc sighed and held her paws out, bracing herself. “Ready.”
“One, two, three…” Mark did as he described, crossing his arms, and falling backwards into Grionc’s outstretched arms. She grunted with slight effort as she intercepted his fall and then gently lowered him onto the ground, “Oomph. Huh. You Terrans are lighter than you look.”
“Yeah, my bones are nano-grafted,” Mark grinned, bounced up to full height, and circled around her back. “Okay, now it’s your turn.”
Grionc crossed her arms and held her breath for a moment. “One, two…”
She didn’t move. A few seconds later, she let go of her held breath. “I can’t.”
“What? Why not?”
Grionc muttered excuses. “No, it’s just— my tail— our balance mechanisms are different, I can’t just fall backwards on purpose—”
Mark insisted. “It’s not that difficult. Just let go. Don’t worry. I’m right here. I promise I’ll catch you.”
She held her breath once again, psyching herself up for a few more moments.
“One, two… doh, I can’t.”
Mark lightly patted her on the shoulder. “That’s okay… don’t worry… Hey, Speinfoent, come over here and give her a light shove. Alright, on the count of three. One, two—”
“Oh, no. Don’t you dare! No! Don’t touch— Yowwwwwww!”
Grionc continued, “And now… we fall. And we trust that our new friends will be there to catch us.”

ZNS 2228

“They’ve blinked,” the computer officer reported.
“Did we catch their blink vector?” Skvanu asked urgently.
“Calculating… got it! We triangulated their blink vector and probable destination! Entering it into our fleet navigation computers,” she responded, paws flying over the controls.
“How long before we can execute the blink?” Skvanu pressed.
“Two minutes before we hit the limit ourselves,” she replied, not looking up.
“Good, get the crews ready and start the countdown. I want to blink the millisecond we are clear of the system limit. And get all systems ready for what’s on the other side. They almost definitely have an ambush waiting for us. I’m guessing that’s where the remaining nine or so squadrons of Sixth Fleet are waiting for us,” Skvanu said confidently. “Twelve Lesser Predator squadrons to twenty-six of ours. Doesn’t matter how many upgrades they have, we will defeat them, especially since the first three will be within railgun range. Get those gunnery crews and point defense computers ready.”
“Blinking in seventy seconds,” she announced. “Sixty-five seconds—” Suddenly, she stood up, “Eight Whiskers, our FTL communications are open again! Both Datsot and Gruccud have just responded to our last message!”
Skvanu spun around to face her. “That makes sense. Whatever device they used to stop our communications must have been on one of the ships that just blinked out. Is there any priority intelligence from either?”
“Yes! Datsot has an emergency transmission for us. It’s from Ten Whiskers Ditvish!”
“What is it?” Skvanu asked, his voice serious.
She began to read. “Lesser Predators have entered Datsot system in force. Nine squadrons spotted so far. They may attempt to engage our garrison force there… His guidance is that we return immediately to trap these aggressor ships, but leaves the decision up to you…”
Skvanu absorbed the information with shock. If those ships are really in Datsot, they must not be on the other side of wherever the Oengro is blinking. And with that context, this now smelled exactly like a planned trap.
He thought out loud. “This must be what the Lesser Predators planned from the start. If we chase, we have no idea what they have on the other side. There may be refueling ships. They may have already gotten away. By the Prophecy, they may even be sacrificing three squadrons to get us to blink through a singularity or anomaly. But wait… If we return to Datsot immediately, we might catch those squadrons split from the rest of their ships and cripple their fleet!”
Having made up his mind, he shouted urgently at the navigation station, “Navigation, hold the blink!”
“Halting the blink procedures.”
“A handful of ships have already completed the blink!” the computer officer reported, almost in a panic.
“Cease blink procedures! Fleet-wide, cease the blink!”
The order went out immediately, and it was a testament to the discipline of the Znosian Navy that most squadrons managed to stop the countdown just seconds before it went through.
“How many ships went through?” Skvanu asked urgently.
“We managed to stop most of our ships, Eight Whiskers. Only five combat ships from Squadron 6 went through.”
He sighed in relief. “Only the Prophecy can help them now… Turn us around. Let’s get back to Datsot.”

TRNS Nile

“I think we are in sufficiently deep space,” Captain Gregor Guerrero said to his crew. “Drop us out.”
“Yes, captain. Emergency drop-out in five… four… three… two… one… now.”
The ship shuddered and creaked as the emergency-stop was activated. The blink engine wound down, forcing the ship back into normal space.
Gregor turned to his navigation officer. “How far from Plaunsollib did we travel, in regular space?”
“Two months on their Alcubierre drives if they combat burn with all their fuel. Four if they plan on stopping,” she replied immediately. “They’d be going too fast to aerobrake anyway.”
“Good,” Guerrero said, gluing his eyes to his sensor board. Ships in FTL are difficult to detect, even on gravidar, but the state-of-the-art technology on the Nile gave them a few seconds of warning.
A few seconds later, the sensor officer’s voice cut through the tense silence. “I’ve spotted the Puppers in blink! All of them, tight formation. They’ll pass us in about fifteen seconds.”
Guerrero nodded his pleasure. “Good, let them pass. Tell me when they’re out of range.”
The seconds ticked by. “Ten… five… they’ve passed our position… and now they’re out of range.”
“Now, switch on the blink disruption field,” he ordered.
The hum of the ship’s ambient noise went up an octave, signaling maximum power drain as the ship’s thirstiest system kicked in.
Gregor looked at his information panel. “Full emissions control. EMCOM Alpha. Deploy the FTL jammer drone and then shut off our engines. If things go well, we’re about to be joined by half the fucking Bunny Navy in a minute.”
“Aye, Captain. EMCOM Alpha.” The rest of the crew nodded, working their controls with practiced competence.
“Jammer drone out. You think they’ve got wild weasels, captain?”
“Unlikely, but we take no chances. If they don’t…” He shrugged. “… we’ll just get our drone back later.”
A tense minute passed, then the sensor officer reported, “Captain, Znosian ships spotted on gravidar! Two… three… five in total… They’ve just been forced out of blink.”
“Five squadrons?”
“No, Captain, five ships.”
Gregor furrowed his brow, surprised, and took another glance at his console. “Only five ships?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Alright, keep the disruption field up, and analyze the drive signatures on them. Maybe one of them is this Skvanu guy we’re supposed to hit,” he speculated hopefully.
After half an hour, Guerrero finally called it quits. “No more guests are showing up. Looks like they must have wizened up at the last moment.”
“Aye, sir,” the executive officer said, shaking her head in disappointment as well. “It was a good plan. Could have stranded their whole fleet out here.”
“Well, bad luck— these things happen in war, Lieutenant. Don’t worry. We’ll get them next time. How are the guests we did get doing?”
“Out of blink fuel, as expected. They’ve been dumping cargo in an organized fashion. I think they’re planning to see if they can reach Plaunsollib with their subspace drives in a reasonable amount of time and call triple A.” Then, she asked, “Where do you think the rest run off to?”
“Probably Datsot,” Guerrero guessed. “Phone Sphinx and tell him he’s probably got the whole shit storm heading his way, ETA about a couple days. Get the estimates to him.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now, we just need to silence the witnesses so we can use this trick again. Bridge to CIC: let’s keep it simple. One Kestrel for each of the targets. We’ll swiss-cheese them with railguns after. Just in case.”
“Aye, Captain. We’re not dropping off those TRO drones here, are we?”
“Nah. Too much work. No one is finding these guys ever again anyway.”

MNS Trassau

“I just got off a call with the Nile,” Loenda announced. “Looks like the Grass Eaters have discovered our ruse in the other system. The main enemy fleet is heading our way right this second.”
Speinfoent sighed, and suggested, “If we burn closer for just half a day more—”
“No more,” Loenda declared. “We are already risking nine squadrons coming this far into the Datsot system limit.”
“Alright,” Speinfoent agreed reluctantly. “We can still give them a present they won’t forget any time soon.”
“That, we will. That we will.” Loenda turned to her console. “All ships in Battlegroup 2, dump your payloads as quietly as you can. Then wait half an hour to change your vector and make your way to the system blink limit.”
“Yes, Battlegroup Commander.”

ZNS 1841

“Ten Whiskers, the Lesser Predators are turning around,” the computer officer declared, doing her best to hide her relief.
“What? Where are they heading now?” Ditvish asked, confounded.
“Towards the shortest path to the system blink limit, I think.”
“That’s it? They’re just leaving now?”
“Combat computer speculates that they might have seen that Eight Whiskers Skvanu is heading back to Datsot, so they are breaking off the attack,” the officer offered.
“That’s… not very Lesser Predator of them, but very logical,” he admitted. “They must have realized their plan failed and are now cutting their losses.”
He didn’t mention that his fleet was the one that came out behind, losing yet another precious supply convoy and then sending the whole combat fleet on a wild predator chase for nothing. That State Security goon might start to become a problem if he didn’t spin this well in his after-action report.
A few hours later, a foreboding feeling coloring his mood, he ordered, “Sensors, boost our radars towards where they changed vectors. I want to check to see if they dropped any drones or traps.”
“Yes, Ten Whiskers.”
The 1841 boosted its radar towards the direction, blaring out signals on maximum strength and—
“Incoming… missiles? Ten Whiskers, many missiles! Dozens! Over a hundred! They’re well within our minimum abort range!”
“By the Prophecy!” Ditvish exclaimed. “All ships, execute combat burn away from them! Countermeasures and fire counter-missiles, at the ready! Track those missiles!”
Fortunately, the garrison fleet was still in high readiness from before. Their engines were ready to light up to full acceleration immediately.
Unfortunately, the missiles were already close. In desperation, his ships began dumping their entire loads of radar chaffs and flares into space behind them as they maneuvered away from the threat. Counter-missiles sped out of their tubes towards their rear, relying on their motherships’ sensors and radars to find the tiny alien missiles for them to engage.
Quietly gliding through space towards the enemy on inertia inherited from their motherships was the sizable swarm of Terran-made missiles. Obsolete for military purpose in Sol but still produced for the civilian and gray market, they were an easy addition on the TRO’s shopping list. Vast quantities of them had found their way into various shell corporations and dead drops all over Sol, then onto hastily constructed exterior pylons on Sixth Fleet ships.
While they were indeed several times outside of the maximum effective range of the Znosian ships at launch, missiles technically did have unlimited ballistic ranges in space — if their enemies were not moving and they did not need to constantly fire their thrusters to adjust course. Relying on a short first burn and then inertia, they flew most of the way towards the stationary enemy fleet completely undetected. By the time they were spotted, it was too late; the Znosians were well within their effective ranges.
Their intelligence chips might not have been super-Terran state-of-the-art computers, but the Pigeons had no problem realizing that they were discovered. They had been tracking the enemy targets using passive infrared sensors that did not alert enemy threat sensors to their presence. But the second that the targets started dropping flares to blind them, they activated their primitive late twenty-first century radars and homed in onto the priority targets they’d been given. Their main thrusters began their burns, adjusting their vectors to intercept the now-finally-moving enemy ships.
Then, they saw the incoming counter-missiles — fired by the enemies sporadically, obviously in panic.
The makers of the Pigeons might not have bothered to include next-generation electronic dazzlers on them, but penetration aid on missiles had been standard in Terran warfare for a century. They littered the space they were in with chaff and their own bright flares, coordinating with the other missiles in the area with short range laser communication to ensure that none in the swarm would confuse or disrupt each other.
The Znosian counter-missiles were certainly confused and disrupted though. Many veered off into phantom signals. Some lucky ones did manage to find their targets. When a few of their comrades dropped off their impromptu mesh net, the Pigeons constantly corresponded with laser communications to re-prioritize their targeting.
At the top of the list was the fattest, easiest target of them all: the enemy flagship 1841.
Seconds before impact, the missiles finalized their targets, and they spent every drop and fume of their remaining fuel on terminal maneuvers.
The Znosians’ close in weapons systems had milliseconds to engage the incoming threats. They performed admirably… for trying to deal with this unknown alien threat for the first time. A couple dozen more missiles were plucked out of space, but it was not enough.
Not nearly.
The rest slipped through the net.
Miraculously, the 1841 managed to survive initially. Despite it being the primary focus of the Pigeon mob, the other ships did their best to shield its most vital components in its rear with their own point defense. And the Pigeons — like most missiles of its era — were loaded with just enough firepower to destroy much smaller Terran ships. The larger hulls of the Znosian ships gave their obsolete mid-century intelligence chips a slightly more interesting exercise in module identification and targeting.
The massive Thorn-class battleship took fourteen hits to varying systems that the missiles visually identified as “that looks pretty important” on their final approach: its primary missile and gun tubes were trashed, venting atmosphere to space in those compartments. A proximity hit near the stern took out four of its eight massive main thrusters and several system modules at the rear of the ship. And perhaps worst of all, one Pigeon managed to zero in on its vulnerable front bridge, the explosion emptying its contents and occupants into vacuum.
Luckily for Ten Whiskers Ditvish, none of them hit the armored flag bridge where he was in the belly of the ship, vindicating the Znosian Navy’s practice of separating the two for redundancy.
Nonetheless, Ditvish fell to the ground as the simultaneous impacts temporarily overloaded the inertial compensators and shook the ship to its core. Sparks flew around him, and he smelled a pungent stink as the automated fire suppression systems kicked in to save as much as they possibly could.
He slowly climbed to his feet and looked at the scene around him. A sensor officer was spraying foam at a small fire with a handheld device, successfully extinguishing it in seconds. Several other of his crew were recovering and returning to their stations with remarkable calm. After all, they were elite, well-trained spacers and officers of the Znosian Navy.
Ditvish did the same, propping himself back into his command chair with slight effort. He operated his console in a concussed daze. One glance at the status board told him that the 1841 was a write-off. It wasn’t going to be combat effective ever again. At least its life pod systems were working, and he watched in relief as dozens then hundreds of crew members in the damaged sections of the ship climbed into theirs and ejected into the relative safety of vacuum.
He checked up on the other ships: several others were hit. Six had outright detonated: no survivors nor signals came from them. Two were irreparably damaged, their remaining crews also abandoning their ships in an orderly fashion. And another six had visible fires or scorch marks on their damaged hulls, but those crews were still valiantly fighting to keep their ships alive.
Ditvish noticed that the missile didn’t go for all his ships, just the ones on the outer edge on his sensor board— wait, the missiles—
To his horror, several more dozen missiles they’d detected were still active, and they were going for—
He looked at his computer officer’s station and yelled, “We have to warn them!”
She yelled something back at him, but he realized that he couldn’t hear her. Hitting the floor must have injured his hearing organs. He yelled again, hoping that she could still hear. “Warn the orbital support fleet! The logistics and fire support ships! Evasive maneuvers and take cover in the atmosphere!”
Her lips moved again. He got out of his chair and stumbled over to her in a daze, trying to hear what she was saying.
She was saying something.
It must be important.
“… not reach them. Our communication array… destroyed! Ten Whiskers, we need to get… We don’t have much time!”
Ditvish finally understood her from reading her lips. He didn’t respond. Just numbly watched the planetary battlemap of Datsot on the main screen.
It didn’t take long. They were completely defenseless.
The remaining missiles plucked every last orbital fire support and logistics transport ship out of the skies of Datsot. Most detonated; a few left behind trails of black smoke as they sank uncontrollably towards the planet’s surface.
Then, Ditvish’s hind legs gave out and he crumpled onto the bridge floor.
He was dimly aware of one of his subordinates dragging him towards the bridge escape pod as he blacked out.

MNS Trassau

“Don’t worry, Speinfoent,” Loenda said, putting her paws around the junior commander looking glumly at the image of Datsot retreating from their view as the rest of the bridge cheered the better-than-anticipated success of the raid. “We’ll come back, and next time, we’re coming back for everything.”
“That we will, Loenda. That we will.”

Meta

There is no research that shows the effectiveness of trust falls for building trust in a team and plenty of research showing that falling backwards from a full standing position without adequate bracing or padding can lead to serious brain, spinal, and back injuries.
Coercion or retaliation against Malgeir employees who refuse to participate in trust fall exercises may be considered investigable or actionable violations of workplace safety regulations by the Republic Office of Occupational Safety or anti-discrimination regulations by the Office of Equal Opportunity.
Whistleblowers are entitled to up to 25% of monetary penalties recovered. If you see something, say something.
Previous
Chapter 53: Apostasy

A friend of mine started playing Fates for the first time, so once again I got bitten by the “complaining about Fates” bug. In particular, watching chapter 18 of Conquest again after so many years really got me going, and while the general consensus I’ve seen online about this chapters writing was negative, I wasn’t that satisfied by any of the overviews of it I read. I decided to give it a shot myself.
Dissecting why something doesn’t work is fun and all, but I think it’s also important to be constructive which is why I wanted to rewrite this chapter alongside my criticisms. I really do think there’s a lot of potential here that could have been the highlight of the entire story, and so I’d love to try my hand rewriting this chapter to be what it could have been rather than what we got. I have most of it done already, but Reddit only has so many characters before it cuts you off and this post is plenty long enough as is, so I’ll save that for another part coming up soon. This will be part 1, explaining what the chapter is and elaborating on my issues with it, while part 2 will be rewriting it along with my thought process and explanations.
Recap: https://fireemblem.fandom.com/wiki/Black_%26_White/Script
Corrin and Co are traveling when they decide to rest for the night at the nation of Izumo. They are greeted by Izana, the archduke of the kingdom, who seems to be a real goofball. After introducing himself, the levity is ended when it’s revealed the entire Hoshidan family has been invited here as well! Before any swords can be undrawn, Izana tells both parties that the kingdom has a strict neutrality pact neither of them can violate.
The scene cuts to later, where Ryoma enters Corrin and Xanders room to talk with them. Xander and Ryoma’s argument is cut short when Ryoma is dragged off by Nohrians. Turns out “Izana” is actually a Nohrian mage named Zola, who disguised himself to trick the Hoshidan royal family into a trap. Corrin and Xander don’t approve of such dishonorable methods to win, however, and fight to rescue their captives with Xander saying “we’ll win this war with honor or die trying”. After Leo kills Zola, the game cuts to later where we see Nohrians and Hoshidans alike having a meal, much to the delight of the real Izuma, who turns out is exactly as bizarre as the fake impression. Xander and Ryoma confirm with eachother that their fight will continue as usual, but Corrin states that no matter what happens they’re grateful they got to see both families eating together even if it’s not under the best circumstances, and the chapter ends with them saying they’ll revel in this feeling.
So on paper, I think this chapter is a great idea. Despite being at war, when one family is at the total mercy of the other, they lend a hand instead of kicking them while they’re down. This highlights how the two nations could accomplish so much together if only they weren’t at war with eachother. If utilized well, this could have been a great “eye of the tornado scene” emphasizing how tragic it is that these two families who share so much in common are forced by fate to fight eachother, making it all the more sorrowful when that’s brought to it’s conclusion through bloodshed. This would also encourage Conquest players to buy Birthright in a natural and subtle way as well now that they’ve had a nice sample of the other side. Of course, I don’t think this chapter was utilized well, and after reading the script again I believe it boils down to three major problems.
-Problem 1: The Lack of Worldbuilding Causes the Conflict to be Driven by Contrivances.
This is one of the many instances where the lack of fleshing out the world and it’s rules out really hampers the weight of the scenes. Unlike Awakening where there was a general cause-and-effect outlining the level structure, all of the Fates routes are much more individual and self-contained when it comes to chapters. This means the game has to really stretch itself to justify this elaborate setup being brought up and solved in one single chapter of regular length, and it’s very apparent when you write out the summary of events here.
Corrin and his army are just walking by when they happen upon the capital of the country. Corrin decides this would be a great place to rest for the night at and are instantly welcomed by its leader, who is also the only person in the game of that country. The entire Hoshidan family also just happen to bump into us because they coincidently came here at roughly the same time, with somehow neither party noticing the other until they were staring at eachother in the same room.
The only thing we know about this new nation we’ve never seen or heard about before is that it’s a peace-loving land with some sort of neutrality pact which means the two nations can’t fight here. What is the importance of this place that would entice all the Hoshidan royals to come over for a banquet in the middle of their country being invaded? Never explained. What exactly is this pact and what power does Izuno have to enforce it, if any? Never explained. Xander, prince of a nation at war and frontline general, has never heard of it. How does Garon or Iago never figure out or look into what happened here, considering the royals walked through their trap unharmed and everybody in charge of the trap vanished? Never brought up.
How many times here was this supposedly major event dependent on coincidences, seemingly important details left completely unexplained, and characters not knowing things that should be basic information of the world they live in? Things like all this quickly build up and make the world feel small scale and artificial, as if nothing truly exists until it’s in the peripheral vision of main characters. In a vacuum, this could all be excusable if the main meat of the chapter was just so dense and important that they just want a convenient excuse to delve into it. But about that…
-Problem 2: Nothing happens, either character-wise or plot-wise.
This is the only scene in both Birthright and Conquest where all eight of the royal families are together in one spot, and they’re unable to fight eachother. What a brilliant idea! How many great scenes could you come up with from this setup alone? How many directions could this move towards?

-The families bonding over their memories with Corrin (X)
-Calling eachother out for uncool actions, like Ryoma refusing to help Elise or Nohr siccing monsters on farming villages (X)
-Working together to defeat some threat they’d have trouble taking down on their own (X)
-Some cultural exchange (X)
-Some melancholy scene where, even if there’s a lot of resentment, they acknowledge how this may be the last time they ever get to have a meal with Corrin. (Somewhat?)
-Corrin sits down and has a mature conversation with his birth family elaborating on their choice to stay with Nohr (X)
-Some negotiation or debate between the two families about the future of their countries relationship, successful or not (X)
-Corrin being formally declared by the Hoshidan royals as a Nohrian, officially cutting them out of the family (X)

So what does Conquest do with this prompt? It does the unexpected route where all of them but Ryoma are shuffled out as soon as they’re introduced, captured offscreen, rescued offscreen, most of their dinner is offscreen, finishing their meal and leaving is offscreen, all of them sans Ryoma have barely any dialog, and none of them are even present in any of the CG’s.
We actually start off strong, Ryoma and Xander naturally puff out their chest and don’t get along when they’re in the same room, but seem to calm down when Corrin elaborates on how similar they are to eachother. But the game is so eager to get to fighting that it drags Ryoma away kicking and screaming before he even gets to share what he had to say to Corrin, let alone explore what having common ground means to the two of them.
1) I understand this is the Nohrian route so it makes sense the focus is mostly on them, but Takumi only gets three lines here, one of which is “…” Hinoka also only gets three lines, which I think is still more than she got in Birthright, and two of those lines are “You!” and “What are you doing here?”. Sakura lucks out as she’s the only sibling on either side who has anything to say whatsoever when Corrin says they’re grateful they could share another meal with the Hoshidans. That’s a start, but the fact remains Ryoma is the only sibling in the chapter whose remotely relevant, the rest could be omitted and nothing would change. They are only here to be damsels in distress heightening the stakes of defeating the local bad guy rather than providing any character development, checking up on how they are doing without Corrin and Azura, comparing and contrasting their differences between their counterparts, sharing any new information about them, foreshadowing Takumi’s possession, any notable interactions with their counterparts, etc. But no, nothing happens.
2) I also understand this is a video game and they don’t have all the time in the world before the next fight has to happen, yet Conquest is oddly completely uninterested in it’s own set-up. Zola, a minor chapter boss introduced and killed in this chapter, has more screentime and relevance here than any of the siblings, something you’d think would be the actual meat of the chapter they’d want to delve into.
The implications and weight of two dueling nations and families obligated to pause their fighting and dine with eachother could easily take up two or even three chapters as a pivotal arc, yet it’s completely blazed through as if the game considered it a cute novelty rather than a potential life-changing or history-changing moment. Simply put, it’s wasted potential, as if to say “Oh both of the two families meeting in a game about choosing between mutually exclusive families? Eh whatever.”
I wanna stick with just this chapter and not rewrite a good chunk of the entire story, but I can’t stress enough that in any other game this chapter would be the plot-defining moment paving the new way forward rather than chapter 15’s “we’ll expose Garon as a monster by helping him invade an innocent people.”
Neither of the two families are fighting because they outright want to, this isn’t a war about irreconcilable differences or mutually exclusive goals, the only reason for any conflict whatsoever as far as the game has shown us is that the guy in charge of Nohr is a sociopath who threatens to kill his own children at the drop of a hat. Sure, they probably won’t hold hands singing kumbaya after one extended conversation with eachother, but when all of them are in a truce far away from Garon’s authority having a meal together, nothing significant comes out of it plot-wise?
In fact, at the end of the day what significance happened here at all?

• -We learned about a new country, but we know very little about it and (other than Izama potentially joining the party later) absolutely none of it will be relevant after this chapter anyways.
• -Well, maybe this place is just set dressing so we have an excuse to meet up with our siblings again, but then nobody has any meaningful interactions, new info to share, planning ahead, or character development resulting from sharing scenes with them.
• -Then is the primary focus supposed to be on how this situation affects the Nohrian family? The antagonist and the conflict he brings is introduced and quickly solved without any consequences, with all the siblings instantly in agreement about stopping him. They don’t really talk amongst eachother about their feelings or how to go forward.

If there’s no juicy character interactions or exploration, and no setting up future events, then presumably the point of this big moment of Corrin and Xander leaping to save their enemies was made to show off that despite working in the same army, our heroes are indeed better than the swarms of war criminals under Nohr’s name we’ve seen and would never tolerate such things under normal circumstances. They’ve talked the talk about disagreeing with their father’s cruel methods, now here’s proof they’ll walk the walk, aren’t they such noble people? The way this is done however, opens up another can of worms…
-Problem 3: Protags come off as dicks
While our heroes are indeed more likeable and moral than blatant monsters like Garon and Hans, liking peace and disliking war crimes is not enough of a reason for a pat on the back. Our protags might not be burning villages for fun, but it’s difficult to take their proclaimed goal of peace seriously considering both the context of working for people who DO burn villages for fun and they way they handle themselves when presented with an opportunity to work on this supposed goal.
Corrin and Azura

• This is not seeing things under the worst possible interpretation to be a stick in the mud, Nohr is indeed invading Hoshido for no apparent reason and leaving war crimes wherever it’s armies go. Everybody in the building is aware of this to some extent.
  
• Azura and Corrin’s grand plan to expose Garon as a slime monster to his family indeed involves directly helping Garon conquer Hoshido, which they acknowledge will bring destruction and suffering that the nation and royal family have done nothing to deserve.
  
• Corrin and Azura are indeed presented with a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity here to sit down behind closed doors and communicate anything, just anything significant at all, to the royal family that still seems to value them, but our heroes don’t even try or seem to acknowledge that. Corrin doesn’t have any interactions with them that last more than a sentence or two, and Azura is never acknowledged nor speaks to them.
  
• And yet despite, all this, both Corrin and Azura are quite pleased with the turn of events here, with Corrin acknowledging they’ll “probably try to kill eachother next time they see eachother” but that they’ll “revel in this feeling.”
  

Azura in particular is problematic here. During Odovakar 's excellent overview of the problems with Fates writing, he goes into detail about how Azura’s line about “this is all quite heartwarming. We're like one big family...albeit, a dysfunctional one.” in particular comes off as incredibly tone deaf and tasteless given the circumstances of Azura and Corrin marching on one family’s homeland for the sake of the other family. What I think was also worth noting is the context leading up to that line…

Sakura: I was just, um...th-thinking...it's really nice to finally see you again. I'm glad you... I'm glad you f-found a way to be happy... Corrin: Sakura... I'm happy to see you too. Sakura: R-really? You mean it?! Oh, Corrin! Elise: HMPH! Back off, you! He/She's my brothesister! MINE! Sakura: Ah! I'm s-sorry! Corrin: Elise! Mind your manners, little one. Elise: But she's trying to take you away from me... She's my archnemesis

Whether intentional or not, this is actually a very clever microcosm of the family’s conflict acted out by the youngest and most innocent among them who probably weren’t even born when the conflict started. The Hoshidan loves their sibling, but their time with Corrin is interrupted by the Nohrian shoving them away and declaring Corrin for themselves. This is a great way to challenge our protags to some introspection about themselves.

Azura: Heehee! Corrin: Azura? Did you just...giggle?

Instead, Azura just finds this a real knee-slapper. I understand maybe this is just meant to be a cute image of imoutos fighting over oni-chan Corrin and nothing more, but the context makes it very hard to swallow the narrative’s insistence that all this is “heartwarming” as Azura puts it. Keep in mind that all the Hoshidan nobles are sitting at the same table watching all this. Do you think Ryoma also finds it funny that his little sister is scared off and declared an archnemesis by the daughter of the man who killed his father in cold blood? Do you think Hinoka also thinks it's like one big dysfunctional family when Corrin is preparing to march on her homeland with an army?
I get it, I totally know what they were going for, and in a vacuum it could be a great line making for a properly bittersweet moment. “Even if the two are at eachothers throats and the future is bleak, me and Azura are grateful we get to have at least one big normal dinner together like a real family.”
But the future is bleak because of Corrin and Azura participating in an invasion, the families are at eachothers throats partially because Corrin and Azura haven’t accomplished anything to reform Nohr. If anything, Corrin should feel great shame here. Elise just unintentionally reenacted the history between the nations where Nohr was clearly in the wrong, and Corrin is sitting directly across and staring at the family who’ve done nothing wrong to him yet are going to be hurt because of Corrin’s decision. Grateful they could spend time with them again? Maybe. But cheerful and laughing?

ProZD: D-did an alien write this game? blows gently

But at least Corrin doesn’t show outright contempt for the family they’re screwing over…
Xander and Leo

Xander: Corrin! There's no need to insult me like that. I could not possibly be anything like this sorry excuse for a prince. … Xander: We will win with honor or die trying. Come, Corrin. Let us go set free our sworn enemy. … Corrin: Heh, sorry... It's just that you and Ryoma really are so much alike. If you weren't on opposite sides of a war, I think you could have been great friends. Xander: Yeesh... Do me a favor and keep that nonsense in your head where it belongs. … Xander (to Ryoma): We only acted as Nohrian royals should. When we leave this place, you'll be nothing but an enemy to be defeated once more.

Okay, but why? Ryoma is not the one Xander overheard laughing to himself about how much he’s going to make Corrin suffer. How are the Hoshidan royals “nothing but enemies to be defeated” here when they’re just trying to defend their homeland from somebody who assassinated their king at a peace meeting? Where is all this contempt from Xander coming from?
It’s perfectly understandable he doesn’t get along super well with Ryoma because of the tensions between their nations, that makes sense, but I see no reason for why Xander is making several petty insults to his face unprompted, let alone so nonchalant and even somewhat eager to get back to waging a war Xander himself calls “a senseless war of greed and madness” in the epilogue.
He doesn’t treat his own people much better this chapter, declaring Zola and his henchmen as “traitors” to be “dealt with” for their dishonorable methods when ironically Zola taking over the country by disguising himself as the archduke is actually one of the least evil and self-destructive things we’ve seen the kingdom do so far. It must be emphasized that every sibling was in the same room watching Garon demand Xander kill Corrin if he interferes with killing POWs for his amusement, and half of them were in the same room when Garon ordered his henchmen to murder every singer they can find in a neutral country. So a few hundred or thousand innocent people, most of whom would presumably be young woman, murdered to snuff out potential assassins. Or Garon directly ordering the deaths of unarmed civilians in chapter 13 with Hans relaying “Villagers are just soldiers who haven’t picked up a sword yet.”
Xander talks a big game in this chapter about how “we’ll win this war with honor or die trying”, but how do you honorably win a war when your nation is constantly and openly rushing to pointless overkill brutality like this at every turn? What moral high ground does this country have that Xander is so determined to preserve he kills loyal soldiers over what he sees as sullying it, when at no point in the game does the influence of Nohr ever do anything but make life significantly worse? His sudden fervor towards doing the right thing is completely contrasted later on when Xander is the one telling Corrin there’s no justice to be found in war and you just gotta do what you gotta do rather than what’s morally right, in response to Corrin being upset the Nohrian army is killing woman and children who looked at them funny.

“Justice is an illusion, a fairy tale…Letting innocents die is a tragedy, but so is letting the chance for peace slip away. This is war. There is no such thing as a clean win when lives are on the line.”

“Justice is just a fairy tale, innocent people getting screwed over is something we have to accept in war because there’s no such thing as a clean win! But also we better win this senseless war of greed and madness with honor or die trying!”

• If “justice is an illusion”, how is killing Nohrian soldiers to free people who are apparently “nothing but enemies to be defeated” so you can fight them later on terms you prefer, directly prolonging a war which will lead to much more deaths on both sides, for the benefit of Nohr? By Xanders own logic, is this not letting the chance for peace slip away since there’s no such thing as a clean win? Forget Garon and Iago, I’m confident the citizens back home whose loved ones got conscripted would be the ones demanding his head if they found out about this. A very charitable interpretation is that ending the war this specific way will cause more chaos and fighting in the long-term compared to if they conquered and oppressed an innocent nation fair and square, but that’s nowhere to be found in the script whatsoever.
  
• If Xander believes in “We’ll win this war with honor or die trying”, why is he still following Garon? Garon is winning the war in part thanks to honorless and extreme acts of cruelty like blackmailing the Ice Tribe or making an example out of Scarlet’s body, yet instead of taking action against him like he does with Zola, Xander is instead the most loyal sibling to him to the point Corrin decides the best way to get him on his side is to expose Garon as a literal slime monster? Where’s Xander’s zeal of “Come Corrin, let’s go save our sworn enemies” when his father orders Hans is go through killing injured and surrendering foes who were promised they be spared? Where’s his conviction shown here about “not letting treachery go unpunished” when his father outright says he couldn’t care less about the welfare of his people and he’ll just kill anybody who complains to make an example?
  

I understand one might get the impression I’m going off topic or selectively picking and choosing quotes here from all over the game, but no matter how you look at it Xanders beliefs, morality, and priorities are just all over the place depending on what the plot needs him to do. This means not only is his motivation for helping his enemies here faulty no matter how you look at it, but it also makes the extreme lengths he goes to do so, killing his own subjects who won him victory on a silver platter because it wasn’t a “proper” victory, come off as baselessly self-righteous at best and outright cruel at worst.
I’m sure the game would assure us Zola and all his mooks are terrible people who had it coming, but the issue is no matter how virtuous you portray Xander and creepy you portray Zola, Xander is still directly managing the war for a megalomaniac and helping him achieve his goals in spite of his long history of open sadism and public crimes that make Zola look like a saint. By ignoring the clear root cause of Nohr's dishonor while going this hard against random goon's participating in dishonor, instead of being a gallant preserver of morals, he comes off like a bully who selectively picks and choices punishment.
On the topic of punishment, it particularly rubs me the wrong way how Leo just casually mercs Zola at the end, keep in mind Birthright confirms for all his faults he actually isn’t a complete monster like Garon and dies trying to help the protag.

Leo (smiling portrait): You’d probably rather die than live with the shame, correct? In that case…
Zola: Eek! No, please! M-m-milord... I was wrong! S-so wrong! I have seen the error of my ways! P-please...spare my unworthy life!!
Leo (still smiling): Make peace with it, Zola. Perhaps on the other side you will find forgiveness.

Leo makes a fair argument that the stakes are too high and Zola can’t be trusted not to snitch, but this is bit sadistic, no? One of the most powerful people in the country is smug and sarcastic as he’s getting ready to execute somebody whose bleeding on the ground begging for his life and genuinely confused as to why we’re upset with him. I know the intent of “I was wrong! I have the seen the error of my ways!” is supposed to be him saying whatever Leo wants to hear to weasel out of punishment, but that’s exactly the thing, he’s fully cooperating and doing everything he can to appease this guy. And then he’s just killed like a dog without trial or final words, presumably using the spell that skewers you with tree branches.
Didn’t the game use killing defeated foes like this to establish Garon as a bloodthirsty monster? Why is Corrin just standing there watching this happen? This exact same scenario in Birthright has them jump to spare Zola, but here their disapproval is very meek and only voiced after the deed is already done. It’s still apparently too much for Leo though, who chastises Corrin for being “too soft…I envy your innocence.” And then he declares the matter settled on their behalf.
I’m sure this scene was meant to show off Leo’s pragmatism and strategy skills, but it just makes him look like a sociopath and Corrin look spineless. And that’s the biggest issue with this chapter to me, more than the plot being driven by contrivances that aren’t explained or the lack of any character development or interesting scenes taking advantage of the setup, the actions and dialog of our protags don’t match the noble heroes the narrative insists they are:

• Corrin is openly enjoying spending time with innocent people they’re throwing under the bus so Corrin won’t have to risk their relationship with the Nohrian siblings by directly fighting Garon. They then clearly disapprove of Leo executing a surrendering foe begging for mercy but stand idle watching it happen.
• Azura sits directly across her former family who’ve been very negatively impacted by her decisions and actions, and will continue to be so in the future, yet she’s giggling about the conflict and doesn’t seem to be taking the fact that her two families might kill each other seriously.
• Xander insults Ryoma as a sorry excuse for a prince, and afterwards kills his own subjects to prolong a war of aggression so it can be won the way he personally wants it to be won.
• Leo seems to be having a good time killing somebody who’s surrendered and begging for his life. He then chides Corrin for being “too soft” when they wish that didn’t have to happen.
• And again, for no apparent reason, neither Corrin or Azura do the bare minimum to clue to the Hoshidans about what’s going on or even have a meaningful conversation with them despite claiming to care for them. This is the golden opportunity they were hoping for, yet they apparently spend the entire dinner instead talking to eachother about how happy they themselves are.

These are not the actions of heroic characters.
Summary: Overall, this is a very bizarre chapter. It feels like something meaningful happens here at first glance, your brain sees what’s going on and knows that this is supposed to be a huge moment. Peaceful music playing, a very well-drawn CG of dozens of individual units, liberating a country from Nohrian control, Corrin and Azura are happy and say some lines that sound like they should be deep and impactful.
But when you step back and analyze the bigger picture and context, you find that more or less embodies all of Fates writing, both good and bad. It has a brilliant premise that gets your mind going, excellent presentation to accompany it, and some individual scenes or dialogue in a vacuum are very welcome. If you’re a casual player who just wants context for your favorite characters fighting, it’s easy to feel satisfied at first glance and move on thanks to those factors, especially since the gameplay and MyCastle are very fun. At the same time, there’s no denying the severe flaws that hamper the experience.
Despite being the hyped-up main draw of the chapter, our exciting premise that opens so many doors is almost completely neglected in favor of (once again) exposition on meaningless settings and characters that aren’t relevant anywhere else and also reminding us how evil Nohr is, to the point the chapter title is Black and White. The context makes it very difficult to take the plight of our heroes seriously due to their lack of action (both before and in the present) to achieve their proclaimed goal despite ample opportunity, the proaction they do have being unnecessarily extreme and self-serving, and a narrative that insists they are in the right at every turn despite the results clearly showing us otherwise. There’s definitely bits and pieces of something great buried in all this teasing us, otherwise I wouldn’t be interested enough to write this much all these years later, but as is it’s just a mess. An enjoyable mess, but a mess all the same.

But what do you guys think of Conquest Chapter 18: Black and White? Do you also consider it a wreck, or was there something positive here you believed I missed? What would you like to see in a potential rewrite of it?

Hey y’all, sit with me through this:
Bought a house less than a year ago, advertised as having the metal roof completely redone/resealed two months before sale.
LOL. Liars.
I have, in the last 6 months, encountered no less than EIGHT (8) leaks, one bad enough it flooded my kitchen. I keep sealing them just to have more crop up.
Obviously I need to completely re-seal my roof because this is getting ridiculous.
However. I’m juuuust a tiny bit poor (female, low-level government employee, single income household). So my brother and my dad and I will be doing it ourselves. Don’t worry, they know how to use tools and stuff.
This is where the mad genius comes into play: roof sealant. Since I need to re-do my roof entirely, I’d like to change the color from red to green. I have a few ideas below and please tell me if they’ll work or if I’m a nut. I’ll list them in order of cheapest to most expensive options (aka the order I’d prefer to do them in).

1. Find a green roof paint and paint the metal roof everywhere except in a two-inch border around all screw holes/joints, then do a green silicone sealant (GACO) on those areas in thiiiick coats.
   
2. Do the whole roof in an ACRYLIC elastomeric in green.
   
3. Do the whole roof in an acrylic elastomeric in green and then go over seams and screw holes with silicone (GACO) in green.
   
4. Do the whole roof in GACO and cry into my ramen for the next year.
   
5. Marry a millionaire and forget I even lived in a fixer upper in a low income area (listen. It’s not my first choice, but it’s valid, right?)
   

So all you good ole blue collar boys, help a gal out? Please. I’m dying.
Sincerely, I’m wet and not in a good way.

I [F 24] was in a relationship with my [M 23] ex for almost eight months. I spent months, pushing him to better himself and to change things, but he refused. We’ve been having issues about his addiction and his behavior around my family. After almost eight months, I had enough and I met with him near the beach to break it off. For context I had brain surgery when I was eighteen. I have a twelve inch scar in the back of my head where a large piece of my skull is missing in place of that piece. I have a duraplasty. This means if I get hit in the back of my head, it will kill me. For some reason during the process of our break up while we were having a conversation in my car, he thought that it was acceptable to put his hand behind my head while arguing and yelling at me and blaming me for the relationship issues and the break up. I was paralyzed with fear. I didn’t know what else to say other than “yes” “you’re right” “OK”. For context throughout our relationship there have been many instances where he is very rough with me and that he’s hurt me accidentally and it’s almost if he doesn’t know his own strength. He has been well aware of the fact that I had brain surgery where the Duraplasty He has been well aware of the fact that I had brain surgery where the duraplasty is and if I get hit, I will die. Understandably so after this conversation and after him throwing my disability placard at me I left I went home. I told my family. I told my leaders at church and thankfully, we have officers that work at our church who recommended that I go get a police report and a restraining order. I got the police report. I tried to get the restraining order the court refused. I should also mention he is an employee of the city we live in. Asking if I’m an asshole is because he texted me recently claiming that he was sorry and he didn’t mean to hurt me in anyway and that he’s sorry the relationship ended this way and that I was right. Well, I sent him to hell I sent him a long text telling him how I don’t believe him that I want him to stay away from me that he terrified me and caused flashbacks. He’s trying to become a cop in the fall. And I feel like an ahole for getting a police report and trying to get a restraining order against him because it might have a hindrance on his career. And I understand why everyone around me tells me not to feel bad because someone like that shouldn’t be on the street. I feel somewhat responsible if his career is tarnished or terminated because of this behavior. I don’t really know how to feel. The only thing I hope for is that if he God forbid were to get into another relationship, he would not to treat another woman like this. In this instance, I think my only saving grace was that he knows that I carry pew pews because he was seething with anger at the fact that I want to break up with him but he didn’t go any further than attempting to intimidate me into staying with him.
So did I do the right thing? Should I get the report removed?
How do I move on with the guilt?

Previous
​
So, if you’re just joining us, I work at a haunted zoo now. Since I’ve gotten some rest, it feels like I’ve got my head on straight, at least, so I’d like to continue where I left off.
I sat on the floor in the office after meeting the ghost until I’d settled my rattled mind (and realized I’d forgotten to ask her name, how rude is that?). I took a deep breath and got up off the floor. Walking over and falling into the rolling chair in front of the large screen of camera views, when I brought up the camera that covered the area in which I’d spotted her, she was still there, and it seemed she hadn’t moved an inch.
Sitting there, at a loss, I continued to watch her. The ghost hung around for another five minutes or so, appearing to look at a few things off-screen, though I’m not sure what. Then she walked off into the forest and left the view of the cameras. I wasn’t sure if she vanished into the ether or if she’d gone looking into the trees to look for something.
But that wasn’t the end of the job interview, so let me jump back there. It continued into what kind of animals the zoo had, with Andrew asking me how much experience I had with dangerous animals.
I took a moment to consider the question. “So, ah…I’ve been going hunting and fishing with a neighbor since I was sixteen,” I told him. “We always have to keep an eye out for gators, bears, and hogs. Then there’s snakes, of course…snapping turtles… Since I’ve lived here my whole life and been aiming for a job with wildlife for a long time, I know a lot about the animals in Arkansas in general. But good advice for all of the above is avoid them, so I’ve had encounters, but I don’t know if you’d say I have experience with them.”
“That’s fine,” Andrew said, nodding. “That’s an answer I’m satisfied with. Now, the ghost was the appetizer, Ripley; here’s the main course. To start with, the pay isn’t twenty-five an hour. It’s fifty.”
Staring in shock for a moment, I asked, “Are you serious?”
“Yeah. But that’d be weird to post online considering what applicants think we need, so I halved it.”
“That’s… Okay, why?”
“The animals are already here. You just can’t see them.”
I stared at him for a long moment, some disbelief worming its way into my expression, before saying, “Sorry, what?”
“There’s a chance you’d naturally never see them, or at least some of them,” he continued casually. “It depends on both your genetics and how long you stay on the job. I can naturally see six of them, but that’s it. Suzanne can see all of them, and more. Some are what people would label demons or ghosts. Or magic. Mostly you’d call them cryptids. The ghost was just a warm-up; I mentioned her first because it never takes more than a week to see her if you work the night shift. If you manage to handle her okay, soon you’ll be able to see the animals too. The more time you spend on the grounds, for weird reasons,” he said, wiggling his fingers in the direction of the back door, “the more you’ll be able to see.”
“So, this…this is a zoo for cryptids,” I echoed slowly. He nodded once, waiting to find out what kind of reaction I would have. I gestured vaguely around the room. “If this is a hidden camera show, will you cut me a check for showing up and participating?”
Andrew coughed out a chuckle and shook his head. “No joke. There are a ton of stories out there that have been written to death, pulverized until they’re not the Grimm stories of old and instead they’re Disney films. A lot of those stories come from what some humans have seen. There are dozens of other worlds pressed up against ours, and occasionally things come through by accident. If they’re smart, they’ll lay low and then make their way back when they can. If not, they become local folklore until someone helps them back. I’m just from London, but Suzanne is from somewhere else. She hires people like us for this zoo. Humans.”
Sighing, I shook my head. “That makes no sense. Why would she hire a muggle for a magic zoo?”
Andrew burst out laughing at that, and then waited to gather himself before he continued. “Fair point, but this is less about magic and more about animals, and you’re missing some information that will explain it. First of all, if I misjudge an employee, and they think they can make bank by outing the endangered and valuable animals we have, it’s easy to relocate the zoo.”
“Because magic?” I asked.
“Exactly,” he replied, ignoring the thread of skepticism in my tone. “That means it isn’t the end of the world if that happened, though it is a pain in the arse. But second…let me ask you a question. Speaking of reality shows, say the Discovery Channel put out a call to replace Steve Irwin when he passed. Imagine they had a line out the door,” he said with a gesture, “of people who thought they had the skill and natural talent to replace him, to take on everything he’d been doing his whole life. How many do you reckon would lose an arm, a leg, or their life, by the end of the day?”
My lips parted in surprise and I narrowed my eyes at him. “You’re saying people from…wherever…they’re just as dumb as humans, but they’re worse, because they actually think they can handle these things.”
Andrew pointed the pen at me. “Things. Exactly. You called them things. Suzanne and her friends grew up with them and would call them animals. These animals have dispositions and temperaments that we’ve studied for as long as there have been scientists. Where Suzanne’s from, they know the weaknesses of these animals, and also they’re in enclosures here, even if you and I can’t see the walls because they’re invisible things called ‘wards’. If I hire someone who’s got magic on top of all that, they’ll have almost no instinctive fear.
“Everything here is nocturnal, and every one of them is a hunter. Some of these things? Humans see them and they pass out. Not that I want you passing out, but I need someone who is scared of these things, who knows to stay out of the enclosures no matter what. Not someone who thinks they can train them to do tricks, who gets close enough for them to grab a mouthful of hair and drown them. Once, we had a night shift manager injured, and once killed, because they didn’t take these animals seriously enough.”
Thinking back to the Sea World orca incident I knew he’d been referencing, I remembered wondering how someone at that level of her profession could be so careless as I watched the video on YouTube. It made sense when he explained it like that. I hesitated before mentally throwing my hands up and going all in. “So, why put this place here, then? If they’re endangered and also dangerous, why have a zoo at all instead of just a small reserve?”
He pursed his lips, looking disappointed in me. “Ripley. You know that already. You already said as much.”
Thinking back through our conversation, I said, “The rich humans who pay top dollar to see supernatural animals.”
“Not humans,” he told me. “But people, yes, and they are rich, and they’re making donations and spending their money on a ticket here because everything we have is endangered.”
“So…”
I just let my voice trail off and my mind started to drift. Andrew remained silent, letting me do so. There’s that thing people say, ‘I believe that you believe it,’ which is just a kinder way of saying, ‘Bullshit.’ Parents say it about closet monsters. Psychologists say it to people who say they’ve been abducted and probed by aliens. I wanted to say it to Andrew.
But I also wanted a job. If it meant working overnight at an empty zoo, that was fine. When it came down to it, especially when I took the tone of our conversation into account, this was a zoo specifically focused on preserving endangered ‘animals’, and it was allegedly doing important work. Also, if this turned out to be the real deal and I started seeing the animals, I would deal with it, just like I would deal with an enclosure that had a lion or tiger or gorilla. If it came with a ghost and invisible creatures, I really didn’t see what the difference was, if I couldn’t go in the enclosures either way.
On that note, I’d like you to imagine a kid who looks at a roller coaster, watching everyone screaming and grinning as they go up and down and all around and they’re like, ‘Heck, I could do that! That looks like a blast!’
Then they get on, the first drop hits, and they realize they’ve made a terrible mistake.
“All right,” I sighed. “I can’t say I’m going to turn down a job just because it’s going to be scary. Especially not one with this paycheck.”
Andrew smiled. “Awesome. There’s an adjustment process for anyone working here, similar to a dog that gets adopted, actually. I know the general guidelines of, ‘three days, three weeks, three months’ in terms of milestones, until they finally feel they’re where they’re supposed to be,” he told me, “and you can think of your time here along those lines. I really think you’re a great fit, and once you reach the milestone of working here for three months, I’ll officially consider you our new night shift guard. And I hope you’ll stay with us for many years.”
I nodded and smiled at the flattery of an employer wanting me to work a great job for them for a long time. I’d never had a dog, but those milestones were well-known among anyone who knew animals, especially dogs. The first three days, the dog is getting to know its new digs, exploring, and decompressing. At three weeks, they’ve gotten used to their environment and are starting to get comfortable with their surroundings and the routines of the humans they live with. By three months, they know the rules and follow them, they trust you, and they feel they are where they’re meant to be. I could only hope to be so lucky.
I saw the ghost two days ago and she has yet to make another appearance (for those who are curious, I asked, and her name is Leila), and I still hadn’t seen any animals. I did hear one, though, I feel compelled to note. A growling roar sounded from the lake on occasion, echoing across the vast zoo, sending a shiver down my spine. Whatever that animal was, it sounded gigantic.
Andrew said there was apparently a group that wanted to visit for a birthday and they were offering a huge donation, so he let me know they were making an exception and that this group would be walking through the park that night. That meant I’d be watching people watching animals that, as far as I could tell, weren’t there.
It was anticlimactic. Even the three people who came for the tour just looked like people, not like aliens or something eldritch from another dimension, and I stayed in the security office the whole time. Andrew was the one giving the tour. I watched them spend about five minutes at each enclosure, the hour or so that they were there passing without incident. It was clear that they were able to see all the animals, though, since they motioned excitedly at each enclosure and spoke to Andrew, who presumably answered any questions they had.
If they could see the animals, that was that. There was still that niggle in the back of my head, from my twenty-three years of life never encountering anything like ghosts or cryptids, telling me that this was ridiculous. Waiting for someone to knock on the door, a camera mounted on their shoulder, to tell me that it was a big joke and they wanted to see how long I’d play along. But from all I saw, this was a real place with real, invisible animals.
I do carry a taser and pepper spray in my capacity as a security guard. Though it isn’t for the animals, since they’re in the enclosures; they’re actually for the rare instance of a break-in. Andrew mentioned that it had happened several times it the past, someone trying to steal an animal in the hopes of selling it on the black market. They’d been successful before, but apparently my predecessor Roger was good at his job, and mostly they left in handcuffs.
I’ll be honest, I’m not a huge fan of confrontation, but my job was to call Andrew and then confront the person, not kick their ass. That’s what the police were for, or rather, the people Andrew would call in lieu of police in certain situations.
Fifty bucks an hour. That’s the key here.
Andrew hadn’t set up direct deposit, since he was sticking with a strategy of waiting to see if I’d continue to work there once I found out myself dealing with the animals (I’ve decided I am going to just call them animals). Instead, I got an old-fashioned check after my shift every Friday. The number on the first check was delightful. I went out that evening and had a big dinner at the local diner, order my most expensive favorites on the menu and a big slice of pie for dessert.
When it came to the paychecks in general, though, I had this weird feeling of not wanting to tell my dad and brother about the fact that it was actually $50/hr. I previously mentioned that my dad, his name’s Nathan if you’re curious, works at a local grocery store. Our town has a couple food franchises, but I think its size is just short of whatever threshold Walmart uses to decide where to open. He earns $14/hr. and that’s after the tiny raises he’s gotten over the past thirteen years.
That’s not to say he’d feel bad about not making as much as me. On the contrary, he would be ecstatic for me and really proud. But, like me, he’d be suspicious. That hourly rate was the biggest hint that this was more than just a private zoo for cryptids. And as soon as that fat check cleared without problems, my dad wouldn’t be satisfied with reassurances; he’d want to come visit the zoo and look around.
I’d told him it’s a private preservation with scheduled (expensive) visits only and that it had only eleven animals, so he’d been appeased by me brushing off the idea of a visit. Also, I took a few photos of my workplace; one of the security room, one of me sitting in my chair, one photo of the many screens I watched, and a selfie where I was feigning sleep out of boredom, slouched in my chair with my mouth open in a faux snore. That let him feel like he knew where I was and what I was doing, and that I was safe.
But if I told him I was making double what he thought, my father would practically order me to quit. No job was worth my safety, he’d tell me. I was quite of the opposite opinion, however, considering how crucial any and all conservation efforts were these days. Especially with the steep extinction levels due to humans competing with other animals for space, not to mention climate change. Working in any job that helped preserve species and keep ecosystems in balance, or put them back in balance, was so important.
Then again, my father would also point out something I had realized right away: the fact was that I was working with endangered species that were not from Earth. I wasn’t helping my planet. To be honest, though…that didn’t matter to me. Especially after that talk with Andrew about why he hired a human for this job, I figured whichever dimension these animals came from had the equivalent of us, razing forests to the ground, clouding the planet with pollution, and leaving the animals with no avenue of recourse when yet more land was taken from them.
I really do hope to keep working here for a long time, though, and not just because of the money. I can’t help it; I want to know what these things were, and I want to work with them, to do the job of a zookeeper. The same way you go up to the chain-link fence to get close to a carnivore on the other side who thinks you’d make a nice afternoon snack. You just want to be closer to them, to experience that incredible, daunting feeling of being in their presence.
Unsurprisingly, it wasn’t long before I got what I wanted.
The day after we had the tour go through, I was doing my sweep when I saw the ghost again. She was sitting on a small boulder in the same area I’d seen her the first time, looking identical, blood covering the front of her slashed shirt, the wounds visible underneath. I stopped and stood there for a moment before I decided to raise my hand in a small wave.
The young woman cocked her head at me and raised a hand in the air in an imitation of my gesture, her expression showing a bit of curiosity.
She was low-key, seemingly not concerned with my presence, looking at me as a novel phenomenon in her world. I wondered what that world consisted of. Was she always here, sometimes visible and sometimes not? Or did she have another world next to ours, in the ether, where she left everything in this world behind and floated in her disembodied form? Did she still feel emotions? Was that really curiosity on her face, or was I projecting? Did she feel happiness? Fear? Did she have the option of moving on, or was she stuck here?
Many questions that I might never get the answers to. And that was assuming Andrew knew the answers, since I’d never met Suzanne Cooper and he hadn’t even mentioned that possibility. This place was clearly her baby, but I’m sure running it was a lot of work. Plus, if she was rich enough to own it, she was rich enough to have other businesses and charities to run.
When it comes to the enclosures, they’re all wrapped by a barrier of some kind, though never one that seems adequate. There was not a single place with the ugly metal weavings of a chain-link fence, and no stretches of circular razor wire. Instead, there are nice fences. Black iron, or wrought steel fencing in a similar style to the one circling the perimeter of the zoo, just shorter and with different patterns. Or a spaced picket fence, the wood stained in some tone of brown, or a split two-rail fence. As if to say, ‘This is the border of your enclosure, but we’re just letting you know out of courtesy.’
When I started to pass enclosure number seven last night, a young woman’s voice spoke, “Hello.”
I startled, unaware that I hadn’t been alone. “Oh. Hi,” I said, staring at her standing a few yards in.
She had been next to a large tree and I hadn’t seen her. This enclosure was behind a picket fence, and she walked through the large area of wild grasses and flowers that stretched across the other side of the fence. There were fewer tall grasses closer to the fence, which I guessed was because it had been tromped down by her regular pacing along it when there were visitors, or if she wanted to see the various enclosures of the zoo. Her sudden appearance was a bit weird, considering I had been expecting to see a cryptid and instead I was looking at, it seemed, an attractive Asian woman.
She wore a black kimono, the soft silk robe draped gently over her body, with beautiful patterns of cherry blossoms, more so over her left side, and red and blue birds with their wings spread. A sash wrapped around her abdomen, she wore socks and sandals on her feet, and her hair was up in those rolls that gave volume to the style.
I was no expert on any fashion, much less that of another country, so I just assumed it was all traditional Japanese clothing. Most likely, the visitors who came liked to see a certain time-honored style and that’s what she stuck with. Or maybe she played on stereotypes. That would be amusing.
“I’m Yui. It’s nice to meet you,” she spoke, arriving at the border of the fence and holding out a hand for me to shake.
I’d been standing about three yards away from her, and I’ll be honest, muscle memory tried to kick in. But I only made it two steps, my hand starting to rise, before I froze, the hand falling limply at my side. “Nice to meet you, too,” I answered, my voice quiet.
Damn. I wonder how many times that honey trap works back where she comes from.
The pleasant look on her face faded, and she lowered her hand. “You won’t shake hands with me? Isn’t that rude?”
“I mean, I kind of like my hand where it is. You know, attached to me.”
Her demure smile widened into something more amused. “I would never do something so revolting.”
Looking her up and down, as if more visual information would give me more knowledge of what she was, I asked her, “What would you do?”
“I would be less wasteful,” she said softly.
A finger of ice trailed down my spine, and I had the sudden image in my head of her grabbing my outstretched hand in an iron grip and yanking me over the fence, leaving me to sprawl on the ground. Then killing and consuming me efficiently, without a single careless step, the same way humans slaughtered pigs, using everything from the hog but the squeal. I was struck with a shiver at the idea of her consuming everything from me but my screams.
Slowly, I took one step further down the path, then another. Just as I got to a walking pace, though, I realized the woman had started walking too, in the same direction. I’d have eventually gotten to the end of her enclosure and keep going, leaving her behind, but she spoke up. “Are you leaving?”
I came to a stop, meeting her gaze again. “My job is to walk the zoo every hour. Then I’ll get back to the security room and stay there until my next walk.”
“Have you met the others yet?”
I hesitated before saying, “Just Leila.”
She blinked languidly. “That means nobody welcomed you here.”
“Andrew did.”
She didn’t reply to that. Instead, she slowly started to lean forward, and I flinched backward a few steps further as I saw insect legs start curling out from her back.
No. Not insect. Arachnid.
The eight legs ended in small ‘paws’ with tiny claws, a layer of hairs covering the leg from top to bottom, like any typical tarantula. I took two more slow steps back and my mouth went dry as the jointed legs just kept lengthening, until they were large enough to lever her off the ground.
My gaze had been on the spider legs, but my heart skipped a beat as I realized her human legs had melded together and turned into a bulging abdomen. Her skin was shifting to a carapace, eventually all the way up to her shoulders and down her arms, her fingers elongating and her nails stretching to claws. From there down, her body was that of a pale tarantula with pedipalps the size of my arms and piercing fangs in her jaws that looked like they could take my head off.
There was a moment, my vision blurring, where I was worried that I might piss myself. The part of my brain that still had its humor intact in that moment told me that I should keep an emergency set of clothes in my car, or at the very least, start wearing Depends to work.
“I show you my true form,” she said softly, her voice now raspy like an eighty-year-old after a lifelong smoking habit. “Welcome to Suzanne Cooper’s zoo. The night shift guard for many years was Roger, before he retired and the zoo moved, and I miss him dearly. What should I call you?”
I choked on my words. There was no way my throat was going to cooperate enough for me to clearly get a sentence out. Instead, I realized my legs had taken control of the situation themselves, unsatisfied with my conscious brain’s decision to stand and stare, taking steps backward. I backed up a yard, then five yards, then ten.
My mind focused on the fact that spiders don’t waste anything, and pictured my demise. I’d be wrapped in a cocoon, killed, and made nice and mushy before she had me for dinner.
The whole time, my brain was a frenzied mess, my pupils were probably the size of dimes, and I was staring at that tiny, pathetic fence between her and me. There was so much adrenaline pumping through my body that I felt like my bones were vibrating. The fence was, to my eyes, the only thing between us. The only thing keeping her from tackling and killing me. My only hope was that she’d do it quickly.
But she didn’t move. As I absorbed her innocent, polite words, the look on her face was calm, and I wondered if this was typically the way a conversation went before she devoured her prey. I wondered how many people she’d eaten. Not humans, not people from Earth, but the ones from where she came from. The fact that she doesn’t scare the shit out of those people means they’re staggeringly dumber than humans.
Finally, I rounded a corner, both relieved at having her out of my sight and worried that she would take that moment to come find me. When she’d been within eyeshot, I had at least known where she was and could run in the other direction. But I didn’t hear the sound of faint footsteps moving rapidly toward me. All was quiet, in that deep, smothering way that only an empty business in the middle of the night in small town America could be.
My hands trembling, I barely paid attention to anything but the confirmation that my surroundings were free of the colossal spider as I finally got back to the door. Grabbing the handle and letting my eyes dart around for about ten seconds and my ears prick for the slightest sound, I finally swiped my key card across the pad and went inside, shutting the door behind me and engaging the backup deadbolt.
Maybe that was why they had decided on keycards. If I was running from something and panicking, using an actual key or inserting the card like at a hotel would keep me from getting to safety considering my hands were shaking enough to mix a margarita.
Walking over to my chair, I fell into it, letting my body flush itself of terror as I looked up at the cameras. There she was, still in arachnid form, exactly where I’d left her behind that rinky-dink fence, casually looking around and slowly pacing back and forth. I stared at her as my racing heart gradually slowed, and a minute or so later she turned on her eight legs and walked back into the trees.
Whatever invisible fences the enclosures have apparently work, which is nice, because I wasn’t keen on getting killed by one of the creatures here. And that’s what brings me here, spilling out everything that’s happened so far. Because nearly passing out from terror isn’t something I wanted to deal with at work, obviously, but I keep going over what she did in my head again and again, and I feel like I reacted like a child who spotted a wolf spider on their bed. I started to worry for my overactive sense of self-preservation, at least in my capacity as an employee here.
The spider didn’t even try to hurt me, and so I was feeling a bit foolish. Even annoyed, actually, at the fact that I’d freaked out so hard and took off instead of trying to engage in at least basic conversation. I got the sense that she wasn’t at human-level intelligence, but I was never going to be able to hold any level of conversation with an alligator.
Sure, she did mention that she wouldn’t be so crass as to yank off my hand because she’d rather just have my entire corpse, but wouldn’t a wolf do the same if it was hungry? Wouldn’t any carnivore? Actually, they probably would’ve been satisfied with one of my hands. The fear here was from the fact that she turned into a giant spider. If she’d turned into Clifford, I would’ve reacted the same way, if not better than, meeting Leila.
With that, I decided I’m staying on the job. Considering how frustrated I can get with foolish people, it’s a bit hypocritical, and I’m being a bit of an idiot. But…there are definitely wards keeping them in their enclosures. Also, I signed up for creatures for another dimension, whether or not I believed in them at the time, and I will not let encountering my first one in an objectively boring way be the reason I quit.
The money is a factor, I’ll grant you. Of course it is. And I can’t spend it if I’m dead, but all signs point to surviving as long as I don’t do anything dumb. Also, yes, I’ll admit there’s a not-so-little voice in the back of my head that’s desperate to know what else is here. I never thought I’d do something like this, but finding out these things are real, I honestly do want to learn more about them.
Still, though, I decided to call Andrew at the end of my shift to ask if the pepper spray and taser I carried worked on a certain spider, as well as the other animals I’d yet to meet.
​
Previous
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/storiesbykaren

This is a crossover fanfiction between original fiction titles: Nature of Predators by SpacePaladin15 and The Last Angel by Proximal Flame respectively. All credit and rights reserved goes to them for making such amazing science fiction settings that I wanted to put this together.
You can read The Last Angel here: Be warned, it's decently long, and at its third installment so far. I highly suggest reading it before reading this, or this story will not make sense.

Otherwise, enjoy the story! Thanks again to u/jesterra54 and u/skais01 for beta and checking of work!
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Memory transcription subject: Governor Tarva of the Venlil Republic
Date [standardized human time]: October 22, 2136
The reveal of the Arxur's assistance of Earth was a unsettling, but mostly overlooked note to add to the headlines filling news sites today on Venlil Prime.
UNKNOWN SHIP DEVASTATES FEDERATION FLEET ABOVE EARTH, HUMANITY LIVES
While the ship wasn't currently unknown to us, given the UN's report, General Kam had advised that it would be better left unspoken of what capabilities we did know, so as to not worry the populace. "Leave causing panic to the humans" he said. But I heard the worries and anxious rumors throughout both social media and verbal conversations...
"That ship destroyed an ENTIRE fleet!?"
"Oh Protector, please tell me its not an Arxur vessel..."
"Why don't we know more?"
I couldn't help but feel for my people. I came to disagree with Kam's advice more and more, as I wished desperately to allay their fears of it being an Arxur superweapon, or that it was going to destroy us soon, or other similar worries.
Are you so sure yourself, Tarva? Even the UN government is scared of it, and it supposedly was made by a future Humanity...
I tried not to focus on that pang of paranoia. I just hoped soon enough the UN would make a statement on the Nemesis already. As I accompanied Noah to the UN's remembrance speech today, I did my best to scan for the feelings worn on peoples faces. The Venlil were unsettled as before, but the human refugees were an odder story altogether.
They were devastated, and scared as well as us Venlil were. But on top of it, I could see a common face worn of confusion. The information disambiguation hadn't made its way to Venlil Prime like it had Earth, and as such they were as much in the dark as the public here was. I could only imagine their uncertainty, knowing their race was likely saved by something they had no idea about.
Noah spoke out of nowhere. "I feel for the refugees here. Forced to an unfamiliar place, so unofficially hostile to them, and now they learn of Nemesis like this? I'd be as confused as them in their place." He checked his suit, attending to shift it so slightly as to make him look better in it. "I also can't imagine your opponents didn't run the whole ball with their existence here, too. Are we taxing you harshly, Tarva?"
I gripped his hand tighter. "No, Noah. While there are those that want you off-planet, I will not let them kick you off. I'll fight for you, no matter the cost."
"Seems like anywhere we go, we cause a fight some way or another. Pops always said space was our ticket to a better future, yet all we seem to cause is trouble for merely existing."
"Noah, its not your people's fault we're afraid of you. The Arxur are to blame for that, and we're at fault for holding it against you. What happened to Earth was not your doing, you tried your best, and it just was not convincing enough for millennia of cultural momentum."
He smiled at that, a muted, but still genuine smile. "Thank you Tarva. I'm glad you see the best in us, even when we don't."
I continued to scan the crowd, looking for the sight of Meier. He always seemed alight in diplomacy whenever he was around, it was a strength of his, outshining the room like that. I could only hope he was doing okay in the current state of Earth. The last time we talked, he seemed very tired, very...frustrated with everything.
But I was glad to see him in some his element soon after, amongst a group of dignitaries from other Federation species. He seemed to be listening to a Mazic diplomat, one I remembered by the name of Cupo. Sadly, however, despite Meier's attempt, it seems the conversation was not on a good track.
"-they're a menace to the rest of the galaxy, and you just let them in, not so soon after this ship blindsided an entire Federation fleet out of nowhere!?"
Meier dejectedly sighed. "Cupo, I thought I already told you, when the Arxur showed up, we had no capability to tell them to take a hike. They were ten-thousand strong and we barely managed several hundred ships left. That they even engaged in dialogue rather than just subjugation was a surprise to me."
"That doesn't make much sense either, Elias Meier. Since when do the Arxur play merciful? You're not telling us something here, and it curls my trunk in knots. How can we trust you when you can't even give us the details on what that ship is, or why the Arxur even showed up in its stead?"
The Mazic was not interested in Meier's friendly act, not giving any room for benefit of the doubt. The other diplomats crowded around began to mumble in agreement, as Meier stood there, formulating some response.
"What we do know about the ship and the Arxur, we'll clear up publically later in this event. But neither were expected by us, you have to believe me. Humanity is just as confused as you all are on the results of that battle, and-"
Cupo interrupted this time, clearly not willing to hear an explanation out. "You're running out of trust, Human. We think you ought to be given a chance; as the empathy studies show, you're not the Arxur. But associating with them as you are, with little transparency is not doing you favors with us, and if you want further association with us, you'd best cut ties with those monsters sooner, rather than later." The Mazic's ears hung in displeasure, and I could sense the nervousness in Meier as he stood down one of the races in the room far bigger than he was. Whether Cupo knew it or not, Meier was intimidated by his presence, and was trying to keep it cool to some degree. "We'll at most help with the Gojid refugees at the moment, as they've suffered both of your kind, but beyond that, consider it on hold until that problem is resolved."
They walked away, and some of the alien crowd amongst them followed. The only ones still sticking around seemed to be a Yotul diplomat, a Nevok, and a Fissan. The latter two stuck obviously to discuss more trade details, seeking to cut the other off from Earth to a degree in hopes of exploiting the system, but the Yotul was a surprise. I didn't even realize they had sent one this way.
Given the relatively new uplift of their world, I didn't imagine the Yotul having much stake or spread throughout the galaxy, so how did humanity...?
Meier turned to him. "Ah...Ambassador Laulo, I'm sorry you had to see that. We're...not doing so hot in the grand scheme of things, and some relations are boiling over as a result."
Laulo enthusiastically shook his head in denial. "No, it's okay! I understand the feeling of that persecution, even if it's for a different reason. Feels like the galaxy kicking you while you're already down."
"I appreciate any help we can get in regards to this. You're one of the very few races left that's pledged some sense of unconditional aid. I promise, with all I have in my power, I'll try and return the favor-Tarva!" Elias noticed my presence at last. "I...uh, how long have you been standing there?..."
"Long enough to hear most of it. I'm sorry the more neutral species aren't helping any, Meier. But that's not why I'm here, specifically. We need to talk about the human refugees."
Meier looked at me funny with that statement, as if he wasn't expecting something out of me. "I see...I hope it's not anything too bad, is it?"
I silently cringed at the exact words. Noah filled in the details in my stead. "Meier, the refugees here are seeing images of Earth, of those not too horribly in shock to do anything, there's been an uptick in suicides...a massive uptick. They aren't aware of the full story, due to the Venlil government's reluctance to publish the report sent here publicly. This remembrance speech better give the people here a semblance of peace, of stability, because there's an extreme lack of morale left in the camps."
Meier grimaced and scanned the crowd, glancing at the humans that were here. I assume he too could see how dejected many were, how many seemed at the end of their rope, coming here for the slightest hint of hope left in their lives at the news. They would need some good news, or there was a chance some wouldn't be here tomorrow.
I felt for them. They didn't deserve this, and our intentional censor of the details, so that Meier could deliver the news likely didn't help with the rates.
"I get that Noah. I really do. What happened at Earth was a tragedy, and the death toll is nearly 800 million. You could likely gather a group of ten or so humans from anywhere, and one of them lost someone close to them. I'll...do my best to raise their spirits, there's plenty to talk about here. The alien diplomats just aren't making this easy..." Meier gestured to the clearly forming bloc of neutral species dignitaries that gathered in the room. They did not seem to want to talk further on any support of Earth until some demands were met, mostly on why things were kept so information-blackout heavy at first. The speech would have to be twofold, at raising human refugees' spirits, and at convincing some of the touchy species to support Earth.
His work was cut out for him.
"Did you wish for any assistance on that front, Meier?" Noah offered. His kindness shone through even in the depths of despair that wore
itself on humanity currently. His soul was purely sweet and kind, regardless of his predator disposition, I so deeply respected that about him.
They began to talk shop, Noah mentioning his current experiences with human refugees upon Venlil Prime, and what topics Meier ought to add on and hit on in his speech. As rushed of advice as it was, Meier seemed determined to fit it in somehow, but I knew he had a silver tongue, his capability to navigate and convince was downright bewildering, present company excepted of course. Nothing would get those species over his diet anytime soon, so I could only hope he could appeal to their empathy as another sentient in this case.
I believed in them. If anyone could turn the state of the galaxy around, it would be these two.
Memory transcription subject: Dorian Abder, Commons Member of Parliament
Date [standardized human time]: October 22, 2136
I sat on my desk, watching out the window of my office at the Westminster Palace, reminiscing on the sad scene outside. Another body under cloth cover, wheeled out on a stretcher from a home surrounded by paramedics. Another swept up in despair, seeing the state of our beautiful planet, of our populace, so brutally scarred, enough to take their own life.
How many was it, so far? Nearly a half-percent suicide rate for every hundred thousand in England? More than eight times the highest resting rate in our entire history. And we were hardly hit in comparison to the rest of the world...how are they doing if it's this bad here?
I leaned back in my chair, back cracking in old age, forcing myself away from the scene outside. I tried to not think about it, just tried to focus again on my work. On the coordination efforts with the UN, the Arxur, and any other races seeking to help. But it was a mountain of work ahead, a peak of papers I could barely see myself climbing in an entire week, let alone the mere day it was handed down here.
We've all lost someone. Not a single soul hasn't been touched by the Federation's bombing.
I thought about how the targeting of cities took. How they focused so heavily on Africa and Asia, the most booming corridors of population on Earth. How they erased 78 cities from existence before their fleet was devastated by The Sword. They weren't aiming to cripple humanity, on industrial depots and power plants, but to exterminate us. They aimed for the most populated cities first, before taking potshots at what remained.
Being put to the death by The Sword serves them right, they deserved judgement by that blade for what they had done.
Or, rather, the Nemesis, as reports had given us. A human ship, but not quite our humanity. A time traveler conveniently sent here by accident, saving us from extinction. An AI piloted ship that sought now to reunite with Earth having defended us. Given what remained of our Guardian Angel, I sought to do everything I could to make their welcome home a celebration, for they defended humanity in our darkest hour.
I recalled my journeys around the globe as a younger man. How my endless wanderlust took me to every corner of the globe in the wake of the Satellite Wars. How the global power vacuum led to so much relief efforts, as the less-touched nations finally had room to breathe, the canopy of carefully controlled superpowers no longer eating up their light needed to grow. How African countries like South Africa and Niger found themselves expanding to match the designation of First World. How beautiful the Seychelles were to see in person.
How my volunteering in the UN's Unfurled Umbrella Initiatives after the Treaty of Shanghai took me to the partially collapsed countries amidst Asia. How Tokyo, despite its immense infrastructure failure, dragged itself back to a powerhouse of a city, as Japan built for itself after so long. How China's government reformed into a Republic after the post-war coups, and how Taiwan finally opened its heart more to them for it. How Beijing found itself all the stronger for adversity.
How the South and Central Americas found themselves no longer under the impressive hand of the United States' geopolitical influence. How the first Diaspora vessels took off from Argentina, seeking to establish a government sentenced only to the annals of history on Earth upon the distant surfaces of Mars. How they were so determined to prove the world wrong on its presuppositions of how a place should be ruled, free of the influence of bullying countries. And how their dream led to the now Martian Collective.
I thought of all the other places the UN took me. Of Cairo, and its deep connection to our most prominent civilization of the ancient past. Of Istanbul, to see the beauty of mixing Christian and Islamic influence over centuries of swapping hands. Of the stunning ports of Singapore, an industrial powerhouse of a nation, so tightly packed into one single city. Of the stunning silver forest of skyscrapers that was New York City, still kicking even after the devastation of the Satellite Wars. Mumbai, Baghdad, Lagos, Mogadishu, Guadalajara, Rio De Janeiro, Berlin. How I drank in all the beauty and magnificent history and culture of the world, and was all the fuller a person for it. These and so many more.
I thought of the honey farmer I met by the Saigon River; how Châu Được's family had kept the traditional job going for so long, and divinely sweet their harvest was they shared with me. I thought of Dari Qazi, how the humble Afghani-borne man had found himself at the forefront of a secular revolution in Pakistan, reaching unrivaled progress not seen since the 1980's. I remembered the ambitious young woman in Monterrey, Mexico, who talked to me of her dreams to build spaceships for the Diaspora program, how she wished dearly she could leave a mark on history, and how now her name was on the finest rockets of the age.
All gone. Dust on the wind. Atomized debris now. Their homes, their families, their history gone, according to reports of which cities have evaporated to bedrock.
Thousands of years of history, erased in moments by antimatter over Rome. Los Angeles was reduced to the basin it was built on those long years ago in America. Cape Town's hard fought for progress from humble beginnings to the most populous and prosperous city in all of Africa, wiped from the record in an instant. Seven-hundred and eighty million dead in the span of an hour.
All those years spent, traveling around the world, drinking in the sights, to know they will never return. To know they are gone and buried, snuffed out by a bloody cruel universe, filled with utterly contemptible aliens. A deep voice spoke inside me on a loop, constantly asking an enraging question.
"Did it all mean nothing to you, Dorian?"
There was only one answer I considered giving to that accusation. To the monsters that took so many lives and homes from humanity, merely for having the gall to eat differently. What answered back blistered with hatred, yet kept frigidly focused.
"It meant everything to me."
Something clicked inside; the Federation wouldn't get away with this. We deserved justice. I rustled through my desk drawers, looking for old contacts from my political days. The stacks of papers on my desk could wait, this was more important. I needed to make some calls. Humanity deserved better, and I knew just how we could get it. But it would require a far more coordinated effort than just me. No, it needed a movement.
The galaxy will hear us. One way or another, we deserve justice. And we have just the circumstances to deliver it...
Memory transcription subject: Governor Tarva of the Venlil Republic
Date [standardized human time]: October 22, 2136
"-the sting of these days will someday pass. Maybe not in the near future, maybe not even in our lifetime, but we will one day no longer feel his pain, this suffering. Until that day comes, we will not go gently into that dark night, we will live on, mourn our dead, defend those still living, and make humanity known to the galaxy that it will not roll over when faced with such hostility. To those who support us even now, I thank you deeply to the core, and ask for a moment of silence to those lost both above and on Earth...to those who would stand with the Federation, who did so cruelly act upon us, we urge you to reconsider, and turn away, for we bring not a olive branch, but a sword. Those species governments that did this will not get away with this, and those who stood aside and watched...either choose a side, or be labeled on one for your inaction. Thank you."
Meier finished his speech with that, and some applause was heard from human refugees amidst the crowd, but a majority remained mostly quiet, in remembrance of the lives lost. A good majority of the dignitaries from the Federation neutral races had already left by this point, so the pointed message at the end likely missed them personally, even if they listen in later. It was a good speech, but it felt...infused with something that was clearly not Meier's normal calm. It was like seeing a side I had never seen with him before, not rant-angry, but mad nevertheless, hidden behind a veneer of diplomatic politeness.
Noah put it in terms I thought best as Meier walked off stage. "You're a bit more of a firebrand than I thought Meier, but nevertheless a good speech! I'm glad you tied in what advice I could give for the refugees here so smoothly."
Meier smiled at that, a cathartic smile that spoke of being proud of what he delivered just a moment ago. I could only imagine he was aching with tension over the pain of so much loss of life, it was only fair that he be angry at the galaxy at large for it, and make it heard.
"Thank you, Noah. I sincerely mean every word of it. The Federation must not escape scot-free for what they have done, and already now at home we're preparing to bring the fight back to them." He looked at me. "We'll...obviously not go as far as the Federation did, but I speak for everyone in that humanity is not happy, and it shows. Even the refugees that came here looking a mere instant from giving up seem a bit resolved now to that goal. I just wish more were on our side to start...I never wanted war, but the galaxy's forcing it."
"I'm so sorry, Meier. My deepest sympathies for how the galaxy has treated you and yours. Despite the hiccups recently, I guarantee we'll still remain close allies; humanity deserves nothing less."
The remainder of the species in the remembrance assembly started to funnel out; it was mostly just humans and Venlil at this point, but a few stuck around. The Yotul ambassador, Laulo, was an obvious one amongst the stragglers, clearly meaning to talk with Meier and us further. As the room became more and more empty he walked over to us once again.
"Meier! Your speech was wonderful, full of spice and vigor, yet calming all the same. It was like a call to arms while smoking spiritwood. The Federation stragglers hopefully will reconsider!"
I felt a little weirded out by his choice of focus in the speech on The Federation, rather than humanity, but I responded in Meier's stead positively: "Yes, Meier's an expert in political and social matters. Anyways, what did you want? You seem to be just hanging around, waiting for a moment here."
"Ah...yes, about that..." Ambassador Laulo nervously tugged at his uniform. "I was sent here initially just in good faith for humanity, as we knew what it must've felt like for the Federation to bully you so immensely. But this second visit, to the gala itself...we actually want to propose something to Humanity and the Venlil, but I wanted to wait for Federation sympathizing eyes and ears to be far away from here first."
He looked somewhat desperate, but resolved. "We're planning on breaking off from the Federation. Their influence on our planet is awful, given what they've done to us during the uplift. They seek to repress our culture, they constantly call us backward, and primitive, hardly capable of thinking for our own in this galaxy. We're tired of it, but we still are partially relying on their technological development to get to this point, and we don't have a proper fleet made. Your space is closest to ours, and we hoped-"
Meier finished "-that'd we begin our war fronting towards Leirn first? Free your people from the Federation? I'll gladly bring it up with our military advisors. You helped us, we help you back."
Laulo sighed in relief at that, a huge weight taken off their shoulders. "T-thank you. Thank you so much for this. Leirn has sought to be free of their grasp ever since we learned their intentions were not pure. You've been the first species to actually care to some degree, and were our only hope out of this mess."
"Don't thank us just yet. If you'd like to get in contact with our military, I can set you up with some Generals and your government as a liason for the war. You can coordinate anything on your side of the bargain to us through them, and make this smoother." Meier handed him a card, and waved over a human attendant of his to Laulo. She talked with him as the two walked away, and Meier remained.
Noah turned to me, a warm hand scruffing my fur. "I know the state of things doesn't look too great, love, but it could be so much worse. We'll make due with what we can get, and hopefully the galaxy will be a better place for it. Don't worry, all will be well someday."
I believed him. Who wouldn't believe in humanity?
First Prev Next (soon)

Originally for SEUS: Mad Libs XIII
Argent Silvertoe cycled through the monitors, making sure that the cameras had a view of every inch on his volcanic lair. It wouldn't do to miss the big moment, whichever trap it was that finally got her.
Behind him, his butler said, "Sir, I really must protest this plan. I could fetch your rifle from the safe and you could shoot her the moment she disembarked onto the island. It would be effective, and swift enough that you would be done in time for dinner, to enjoy your victorious whiskey in peace."
"I could, Aiden," Silvertoe agreed, turning in his chair to face him. "But what good would that do?"
"Sir?"
"Do you remember the plane?"
The butler leveled a glare at Silvertoe, which he ignored. "Yes, I do. I clearly remember Miss Tie defenestrating you mid-flight."
"Exactly!" Silvertoe exclaimed. "And of course there was that time in Berlin. Bad enough to drop a building on someone, but did she have to use my own building to add insult to injury?"
Aiden sighed. "Sir, I still fail to see why any of this means you can't simply shoot her. Indeed, it seems killing her quickly, and more importantly at range, ought to be the goal."
"It's the disrespect!" Silvertoe gestured vaguely. "I can shoot anyone. But when someone has burned down your arsonist robots, or axed your deforestation operation, their death requires a more... personal touch. One with as much irony as Agent Tie has inflicted on me."
A look of defeated enlightenment crossed Aiden's face, as if he'd figured out some mystery and been deeply disappointed by what he found. "Ah. That is why so many of these... contraptions have ropes."
"Yes! I'm going to-"
"Tie up Miss Tie. Yes sir, I understood."
"It's brilliant! It's ironic! It's a worthy end to my most persistent foe. And the pit of serpents is close enough to ropes to count! The piranhas aren't thematically appropriate, I'll admit, but they were on discount."
The butler cleared his throat. "Alternatively, you could tie her up after you shoot her."
"Aiden, where's your sense of artistry?"
"Sir, your connivances never succeed. I know this is your preferred pastime, but I fear that you indulge in sweet temptation for a cost."
Silvertoe spun back to his monitors. "Never mind, she's here!"
A figure came into view of the entrance's camera, and Silvertoe leaned forward. His voice boomed from the speakers scattered throughout the volcanic tunnels. "Tie. Bo Tie." The figure leapt and looked around, and Silvertoe cackled. "I congratulate you on finding my lair, but I won't be so easy to capture. I'm hidden deep inside, and you'll never get past my traps!"
His butler was polite enough to wait for him to turn off the sound before speaking. "Sir, please, at least let me bring your guns here, so you can shoot her when- if she gets past the traps."
"My traps never fail!"
Aiden lifted an incredulous eyebrow, and Silvertoe suddenly found the monitors fascinating again. "Now, let's see which trap she's heading toward first. She's nearing the crossroads, and she's going to pick the- What?"
Silvertoe almost climbed out of his chair to peer more closely at the screen. "Is that... cake?"
"Yes sir, with a selection of hors d'ourves."
Slowly, Silvertoe nodded. "Respectable. I'm glad to see you taking an interest in the villainous side of things. I wouldn't have personally picked poison, but-."
"No sir, they are not poisoned." For the first time in the twenty years Silvertoe had known Aiden, he dropped his formal mask to massage his temples. "I just felt a certain comradeship with Miss Tie. Dealing with the traps from the other side, as it were."
Silvertoe paused. "...Fair, I suppose. I guess this has been more stressful for you than I thought. Tell you what, after I've done away with Bo Tie, I promise I'll shoot the next victim."
"Thank you, sir. Much appreciated."
Silvertoe raised a finger to silence him and turned up the volume. Agent Tie was still looking at the table of assorted snacks, and the microphone could just barely pick up her whisper. "Why am I afraid to eat this slice of cake? Better safe than sorry."
She tipped the table over. The cake splattered. The deviled eggs rolled away. The bruschetta bites wobbled to a stop like coins carelessly cast to the floor. Agent Tie's boot heel ground the cake further to mush as she moved into the lair, and Silvertoe winced, chancing a glance to see how his butler would take this culinary heresy.
Aiden stood straight and blank-faced as his work was defiled, but his eye was twitching. After a long pause, he said, "Please do shoot the next foe, sir. But drop this one into the volcano."

My (29F) husband (40M) wants to sell our family home. What do I do?
Hi Reddit,
I'm in need of some advice regarding my current marital situation and the potential sale of our home. To give you the full picture, I'll start from the beginning. Apologies for the length, but I feel all the details are necessary to understand the context.
I (29F) met my husband (40M) on Tinder four years ago. We dated for about eight months when my family had an opportunity to purchase a property. My then-boyfriend was also looking to be involved in a business deal of that sort, and he was interested in having his name on the property as well. My father supported this, seeing as how my boyfriend was a physician with a good income, and saw this as a way to bring him closer to our family. The opportunity came quickly, and we all signed the contract to purchase the house.
Trouble began shortly after this. My boyfriend requested that only he and I be on the title of the house, removing the rest of my family, as he saw a future with us and envisioned it as our potential family home. My father was very pleased to hear this and supported it, so we obliged. During this time, the property had increased in value, and I requested the other family members be paid off so we could buy out their shares. My boyfriend declined, feeling it was unfair.
To skim over some details, here are the highlights of the construction: My boyfriend paid more for the down payment than we initially realized would be required. Because of this, he paid no further construction costs. The construction proceeded with debt from my family until the construction loans came through. My family paid for the construction, and my father built the house for us without charging for his management services. My father was displeased with my boyfriend’s behavior and required him to pay more money for the construction due to inflation and the COVID shutdown. My boyfriend declined, and my mother and I secretly took out a line of credit to front the construction costs to my father, pretending it was from my boyfriend. Eventually, as we got the construction loans on a rolling basis after meeting construction milestones, my mother’s line of credit was paid off.
During this time, my family and I wondered why my boyfriend had not proposed. I decided that if he hadn't proposed by a certain time, I would leave him. Fortunately, he did propose on Valentine’s Day 2022. By spring of 2022, construction was coming to an end, and it was time for us to settle into the house. My fiancé felt uncomfortable with how much money he had put into the house and was worried I could leave him and make a profit. I promised him I wouldn’t leave him, but it wasn’t enough. He said he would believe me if I had a child with him, otherwise women would leave men if there were no ties. I told him I would have a child with him right when we got married. He suggested I come off birth control, as it takes months for a woman’s cycle to normalize after being on birth control for many years. I promised him I would come off birth control.
Coming off birth control was more stressful than I realized. I was very hormonal, breaking out, and felt unlike myself. This contributed to my fiancé and I fighting more than usual. In one particularly heated fight, I told him I would go back on birth control and even purchased the pills, but he told me he would break up with me if I did because he wanted to get to know the real me. I conceded, and then something switched in me and I became excited at the possibility of having a baby. I started tracking my cycle and figuring out my ovulation days. I shared this with my fiancé, and on one of those days, we got pregnant. I didn’t find out until the end of summer 2022. When I did find out, I told my fiancé and suggested we should probably get married.
My fiancé's first response was that we should wait to see if the baby sticks, and if it does, then we can plan a marriage but he wanted to wait until February 2023. I was very disappointed and angry and yelled at him. I felt alone and overwhelmed by the thought of having an illegitimate child. After discussing potentially getting an abortion, potentially breaking up, and potentially selling the house, I talked my fiancé into keeping the baby and getting married. He also wanted to keep the baby but was afraid of our situation. After many fights about when to have the wedding, we finally decided on December 2022. At that point, I was four months pregnant. During this time, my fiancé and I had major arguments that therapy couldn’t even remedy. We would yell at each other, slam doors, I would cry, and he would hold himself up in a room for hours. We had nice moments too, but they were heavily clouded over by the bad.
Finally, we got married, and things were good for a while. But then we faced some marital problems. My husband kept separate accounts and managed the finances himself. We had a joint credit card where I could pay for expenses without being questioned. He made all of the major investment decisions and major purchases. If I tried to disagree or speak up, he would get upset because this was not the submissive wife I had promised him I would be. I made significantly less money than him but lived a good lifestyle, buying almost anything I wanted within reason. Coming from a traditional family, I was upset that finances were kept separate. And so it continued that my husband would invest tens of thousands of dollars into our house so that his family from out of town would visit. We live in Vancouver, Canada, but his family is from Ottawa. In hopes of luring his youngest sister (of four) to Vancouver, my husband would make any modification to the house that his youngest sister showed the slightest interest in. This included a hot tub on the rooftop, a media system in the basement, a movie projector, and much more. After said sister got married, she made it clear that she would not move to Vancouver. Then a switch happened in my husband, and he suddenly wanted to sell the house.
Meanwhile, during all this time, I had my baby, and my husband and I were still fighting more than ever. I felt no support from him, and he felt drained by his work, our fights, and being away from his family. Recently, for the past three months, he has been consistently pushing for the sale of our house. This is where my dilemma lies. I am afraid to sell this house because my husband has kept finances separate, and the mortgage on this house has been serving as a way for me to feel secure. My husband contributes a monthly amount on a regular basis. He could have forced a sale in the past but didn’t, instead paying into the monthly mortgage on top of other bills. Now, he is considering forcing the sale of our house, but I am upset that he is citing financing as the issue when I have been begging him to save money instead of spending (his response is that $200,000 does not affect a $2M mortgage, and that he now feels burnt out and wants to retire sooner and live passively). If I agree to sell, I feel unstable about moving from our home given that my husband and I fight so frequently, and I am left alone to take care of the child. It is also worth noting that my parents live right across the street and come over frequently to help with the child, or I would go over to seek their help. My husband says that he feels abandoned and uncomfortable frequently because of our proximity to my parents, but I feel it’s only been helpful because there have been times when I felt truly alone, and my parents were my only solace and support. My husband would ignore me for days, especially when I was postpartum and vulnerable. My parents now see my husband as someone who doesn’t put his wife and child first. My husband says that the massive mortgage we have is too stressful for him, and he can’t take that burden. I am sad that my husband will not consider keeping this house for another three years so that I can get comfortable with the idea of selling the house and that potentially I and my family can all move to Ottawa so that we can allow my husband to be closer to his family. My husband says that he’s tired of the mortgage and feeling forced to work and missing out on spending time with our daughter (his job is very high stress).
I don’t know what to do at this point, Reddit. I’m currently on extended maternity leave, but it ends in six months. My husband and I will have to come to an agreement about the house, otherwise, it is likely that he will force the sale of the house even if I’m not ready to move. I’ve consistently felt rushed and overlooked in this relationship. I am tired of being the small voice that does not impact decision-making. My husband is now being nice to me and trying to show me a good time, but I see it as him turning on his charming mode so that I can say yes to the sale of this house. I’m not sure what to do. Our fights and disagreements are so bad and the marriage feels like doom sometimes (never any physical violence). I sometimes questions even staying with him, but I worry for my daughter. I’m afraid of her being an only child of divorce; I imagine it’ll be lonely and emotionally traumatizing. He is a good father to her, even though he is cold (but civil) with me.
Any advice would be greatly appreciated.
TL;DR:
I need advice. I met my husband four years ago, and we bought a house together with my family's help. Financial disputes caused issues. Despite getting married and having a baby, we fight often. My husband handles our finances separately, spent a lot on the house, but now wants to sell it. I feel insecure about selling because the mortgage is like an investment to me, and also I rely on my parents, who live nearby, for help with our child. My husband feels stressed by the mortgage and feels homesick for his family 3000km away. I feel overlooked in decision-making and am unsure whether to agree to the sale, or to stand my ground and not sell. Sometimes I question staying in the marriage for my daughter’s sake, or is it better give up on this unhappy marriage.

Hey Reddit fam,
So, it’s been quite a journey since I met my first love eight years ago. Thought I’d share the rollercoaster ride with you all.
Back in high school (Grade 10 for the newbies), I crossed paths with this dude who was basically the golden boy of our batch. He was the valedictorian, responsible, a total genius, competitive as hell, and laser-focused on his goals. And then there was me—yeah, I was kinda popular for my looks, held my own academically, but let's be real, not on his level.
Anyway, despite my high walls, this guy somehow got under my skin. For the first time ever, I let someone in, spilled all my secrets, trusted a guy, and yeah, dropped my guard. Classic rookie move, right?
But then one day, he just goes MIA. Ghosted me like I was never even a blip on his radar. Cue the heartache and the endless nights of overthinking. Finally, I bit the bullet and confronted him. His excuse? Studies were his numero uno priority and he couldn’t afford any distractions. Typical, right?
He apologized, promised we’d reconnect when the timing was better, yada yada. But let me tell you, no apology can erase the self-doubt and the questioning of my worth that followed.
Fast forward to last week. Guess who I bump into? Yep, Mr. First Love himself. And would you believe it? He’s shooting me those same old googly eyes, asking how life's been treating me.
Well, here’s the plot twist—he finds out I’m happily hitched now. Married to someone who didn’t see me as a nuisance but as his partner in crime, someone who lifted me up when I was down and helped me grow. We’ve been through thick and thin, just like I always imagined doing with Mr. MIA.
Lesson learned, folks: if it’s not meant to be, it won’t be. He might’ve been my first heartbreak, but he sure as hell ain’t the one that got away.
Thanks for letting me vent, Reddit. Remember, there’s always a silver lining, even in heartbreak. Stay strong out there! ✌️❤️