Like all haunted house stories, this took place right after I moved in. Cliché, right? My wife and I saved up enough money from our rental to finally put down on a house of our own. So we moved in and everything seemed right...at first.
It wasn’t until later that I realized there were warning signs. The seller seemed really anxious to close, and we were offered a much cheaper price than we expected for the space we got. While there was a moment of doubt, we brushed it off as some weird circumstance that ended in a great deal for us.
How could we possibly pass that up?
The strange occurrences were small at first. I would be up late watching TV and swore I heard something. I’d pause the show and make out what sounded like dragging noises. After investigating, I wouldn’t find anything. Even stranger was that no matter where I walked in the house, the noise always sounded the same distance away. When I focused on it, I noticed the particular noise was rhythmic.
Tap, tap...sliiiiiiide.
It was like that every single time. My wife never heard it, it was only me. None of us believe in ghosts, mind you. But as I said before it was a small thing, so I brushed it off.
One night, I woke up in a startle. I listened intently but could hear nothing. I decided to grab a late night snack from the kitchen since I was awake anyway.
Halfway down the hall, I heard something. This time, it sounded like dirt being sifted und. I knelt down and swore that the sound was louder. Before I knew it, I had my ear pressed to the hardwood floor, listening intently.
Schht, schht.....sccchhhhhhh...
I jumped up from the floor. It was that same pattern of noises, but this time it sounded like someone in the dirt. Trying to ignore the chills washing over me, I took a step towards the kitchen when…
…something grabbed my ankle.
I fell forward, almost busting my chin on the floor.
“What the...”
Flipping over, I turned to face my assailant, but there was no one behind me. I brushed it off and chalked it up to poor balance from a sleep-hangover. My wife got a good chuckle out of that one.
After that, the house began to feel.....heavier. It was this weight over me that would come and go. This was accompanied by feeling cold no matter how much we turned up the heat, and this was the middle of the summer. Even stranger, the cold seemed to only be in certain spots, particularly on the floor itself. I liked to walk around barefoot no matter what time of year it was, but it was even too cold for me.
Another night, I woke up again. My ears stood at attention, but couldn’t hear any evidence of what woke me up. I got up just like before, except I never made it to the kitchen.
I only made if halfway down our hall before I suddenly felt a horrible pain in my right leg. I had to limp to keep moving, then my other leg was wracked with a wave of pain. It was so bad I found myself face down on the ground, writhing in agony.
Then I heard it again…that awful succession of noises.
Tap, tap....sliiiiiide.
The sliding sound was coming from the hardwood floor this time, not from underneath. And the sound was getting closer and closer until...
I watched in horror as a hand came around the corner in front of me. It was soon joined by another, and they tugged at the floor. My heart hammered in my chest as a person slowly came into view.
It was a woman with long black hair, her disheveled clothing smeared with dirt and hanging off in shreds. Her mouth was crudely stitched shut. She looked up at me with empty, lost eyes and I instantly felt a lifetime of pain and misery. It took my breath away, and I had to focus on my breathing to keep myself from fainting.
Tap, tap....sliiiiiide.
That awful sound repeated as she grabbed the floor and pulled herself towards me. I was in a terrified trance, eyes locked with her as she slowly closed the distance. I could now see that she dragged herself because her legs were horribly mangled. A low moan emanated from her throat, sending ice through my veins.
Her very presence seemed to drain me, and I couldn’t move no matter how hard I tried. She made this awful gurgling sound as she got within arm’s reach. In seconds, her face was right up to mine. I tried to scream, but couldn’t make any sound.
Then...I woke up.
“AAAAHHhhh!” I shouted as I sprang up in bed.
My wife tried to console me, but it did very little. I’d never had a dream that felt so real before. Shaking, I walked out into the hallway where I had collapsed in my dream. I put a hand on the floor, expecting it to be freezing cold as usual.
But it was warm...
“Honey?” I felt the soft hand of my wife touch my shoulder.
“What’s going on? You look white as a sheet.”
“I’m okay...I just...”
On the floor in front me, I noticed the faint trace of fingernail marks.
“Was that there before?” My wife inquired.
“I’m...I’m not sure.”
“Let’s go back to bed. We’ll talk more about it tomorrow.”
I tried to hold back my stubborn expression, but she still saw it.
“C’mon, you need to rest.”
With an exasperated exhale, I went back to bed with the strange occurrence replaying incessantly in my brain.
In the morning, I told my wife about all the strange experiences. To my shock she actually believed me.
“What do you want to do, then?” She asked.
“Well...I have a theory I want to check out.”
“Theory of what?”
“Well, let’s just say that ghosts exist, and there are certain reasons why they haunt certain places. If that is true then...I think there could be a body in our crawlspace.”
“What, are you crazy?”
“I know how it sounds, but what would it hurt to look?”
“You really think there’s something down there?”
“More someone, but I’m not sure to be honest. Hopefully I can get a confirmation either way it goes.”
That afternoon, I found myself standing at the door to our crawlspace. It felt ridiculous, but so many details pointed to it. The sounds and cold spots were all related to the floor. The ghastly woman’s clothes were smeared with dirt. It was obscure, but it was all I had to go on.
I had to pry the door open with a crowbar, but I managed after a minute or two. A wave of unnatural cold air blasted me, so strong that I had to throw on a coat just to stop from shivering so badly.
I clicked on my flashlight, illuminating the eerie underbelly of our home. The dirt sifted under my feet as I crouch-walked around. After hearing it, it only confirmed what I thought I heard from under the floor.
Expecting to see more, I was almost disappointed that the crawlspace was completely bare. Not believing it entirely, I shined my light around more. The back part of the crawlspace led to concrete and it was there that I noticed one section of the wall looked different than the rest.
Hands quivering, I pushed against the section of concrete and felt it shift under the pressure. It continued to wobble around in place the more I pushed. Holding my flashlight between my teeth, I had to use both hands to pry the piece away from the wall. To my astonishment, it pulled away very easily. It was no coincidence that the section of wall fit the hole exactly, like a puzzle piece.
After leaning the piece of concrete against the wall, I found that the concrete was covering a door with a padlock.
There’s no way anything good is behind this...
Minutes later, I returned to the mysterious door with a pair of bolt cutters. I debated whether or not I’d go in. There was no reason I shouldn’t satisfy my curiosity, because if there wasn’t anything then great, but if there was something terrible, I’d simply have to deal with it. Either way, I had to know.
I clipped the metal bar off the lock and it thudded softly to the dirt floor. Taking in a deep breath, I dared to aim my beam down the opening. The crawlspace extended much further into the house, and I had a good guess where it led. I now had to crawl on my hands and knees as a knot of dread formed in my stomach.
“You always tell people not to do this in movies, why are you doing this now??!” I chastised myself.
I knew all too well how stupid this was but the part of my brain that can’t look away from a car wreck pushed me to carry along regardless.
It was difficult to navigate with the flashlight and crawl. A mild claustrophobia settled in that pushed me along with a sense of urgency. The temperature couldn’t have been any more than a meatlocker. My hands shook despite my thick jacket. Eventually, I came to a dead end.
Is this all?
I stopped for a moment and checked around with my light some more, hoping a more thorough search would bear some fruit. Yet, there was nothing.
Sighing in frustration, I decided that perhaps I was losing my mind and was just having really vivid dreams after all. How could I have been so stupid?
I made it halfway across the hidden area when I felt my legs suddenly give out. They weren’t tired or sore before this. It was as if they stopped working of their own volition. I attempted to cry out, but my mouth felt as if some force held it closed.
Just like a stitched mouth...
One of the few things I could move was my neck and I turned to the side to see...
…a tuft of a blanket?
Due to the narrow space, I must have missed it. I slowly reached for it with all the internal alarms in my body going off at once. Ignoring the warning, I pulled the cloth back to reveal a skeletal hand.
In this moment of revulsion, something turned on my motor skills again as I regained control of my legs, crawling out of there as quickly as I could muster. Heaving, I stumbled out of the crawlspace and instantly felt the rise in temperature. I sat on the porch and stayed there as I called the police and explained the situation.
It turns out that one of the previous owners of the home was a major suspect in the disappearance of a young lady fifteen years ago. There wasn’t enough evidence to conduct a home search so they were never able to find the body. And what they found was something I wish I had never known.
From examining the body, they found that her captor had broken both of her legs so she couldn’t escape and sewn her mouth shut to keep her from screaming. It was hard to tell how long she’d been locked down there before she died, but they hypothesized it was a month or two. The cause of death was unclear. This was clearly enough to pursue the former owner.
When they picked him up, the guy tried to play the ignorance card, pretending as if he didn’t know what house they were referring to. This of course made it even more suspicious.
Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything concrete enough to tie him to her death...until they searched his current home. Blueprints of the home showed that the crawlspace was supposed to end ten feet where the concrete wall was. No contractors were hired to do any work on the home, so someone had personally busted it up and created the door going further in. The last part of it was the padlock on the door.
When the police searched the man’s home, they found a shoebox full of seemingly innocent keepsakes. Among the keepsakes were some heirlooms, pictures of close family members, and a key. As suspected, the key matched the padlock to the crawlspace door. It was apparently enough to make him crack. It wasn’t long before he confessed to the kidnapping and murder, albeit without a hint of remorse. Turns out the bastard kept the key as a sick trophy.
They even questioned him about other possible victims since this was a trait commonly shared by serial killers. He denied it, but the police couldn’t feel any truth from it. If anything they knew that they solved one case, put a guilty man behind bars, and put a family at peace. Justice was served and he was locked away for the rest of his miserable life. Poetic justice, if you ask me. The poor girl’s parents buried her remains on a family plot.
After all this, we had serious doubts about staying in the home. Knowing something this egregious happened in our home was almost unbearable. I can’t tell you how much we cried when we heard the story of what happened to that poor girl. We were on the brink of selling the house for about a week, but one night changed all that.
I woke up from a dream, one so vivid yet it somehow escaped my thoughts like a fistful of sand. There was a strange feeling in my gut as if something was going to happen.
It was neither good nor bad, just....strange.
After drinking a small glass of milk, I meandered down the hall and stopped in my tracks. A woman stood in front of me, half-transparent with a bluish luminescence. I felt as if I knew her, although I didn’t recognize her appearance at all. She smiled, and I instantly knew who she was. Compared to her previous horrific manifestation, the woman was almost unrecognizable.
Never speaking, she motioned to her legs and I saw that they were in perfect condition. In a mild state of shock, I managed to form a smile. She beamed even wider and ran her fingers across her lips, pointing out her lack of stitches. A blanket of warmth wrapped around me, and I couldn’t resist the salty tears that streamed down my face.
Right before she waved goodbye, a voice spoke within my mind.
"It’s over now. Thank you..."
She faded away, and for the first time since we moved into that house, all hints of the oppressive energy dissipated. That was the last time I ever saw her.
It’s been 30 years now, and we’re still in that house to this day...
May she continue to rest in peace...

Like all haunted house stories, this took place right after I moved in. Cliché, right? My wife and I saved up enough money from our rental to finally put down on a house of our own. So we moved in and everything seemed right...at first.
It wasn’t until later that I realized there were warning signs. The seller seemed really anxious to close, and we were offered a much cheaper price than we expected for the space we got. While there was a moment of doubt, we brushed it off as some weird circumstance that ended in a great deal for us.
How could we possibly pass that up?
The strange occurrences were small at first. I would be up late watching TV and swore I heard something. I’d pause the show and make out what sounded like dragging noises. After investigating, I wouldn’t find anything. Even stranger was that no matter where I walked in the house, the noise always sounded the same distance away. When I focused on it, I noticed the particular noise was rhythmic.
Tap, tap...sliiiiiiide.
It was like that every single time. My wife never heard it, it was only me. None of us believe in ghosts, mind you. But as I said before it was a small thing, so I brushed it off.
One night, I woke up in a startle. I listened intently but could hear nothing. I decided to grab a late night snack from the kitchen since I was awake anyway.
Halfway down the hall, I heard something. This time, it sounded like dirt being sifted und. I knelt down and swore that the sound was louder. Before I knew it, I had my ear pressed to the hardwood floor, listening intently.
Schht, schht.....sccchhhhhhh...
I jumped up from the floor. It was that same pattern of noises, but this time it sounded like someone in the dirt. Trying to ignore the chills washing over me, I took a step towards the kitchen when…
…something grabbed my ankle.
I fell forward, almost busting my chin on the floor.
“What the...”
Flipping over, I turned to face my assailant, but there was no one behind me. I brushed it off and chalked it up to poor balance from a sleep-hangover. My wife got a good chuckle out of that one.
After that, the house began to feel.....heavier. It was this weight over me that would come and go. This was accompanied by feeling cold no matter how much we turned up the heat, and this was the middle of the summer. Even stranger, the cold seemed to only be in certain spots, particularly on the floor itself. I liked to walk around barefoot no matter what time of year it was, but it was even too cold for me.
Another night, I woke up again. My ears stood at attention, but couldn’t hear any evidence of what woke me up. I got up just like before, except I never made it to the kitchen.
I only made if halfway down our hall before I suddenly felt a horrible pain in my right leg. I had to limp to keep moving, then my other leg was wracked with a wave of pain. It was so bad I found myself face down on the ground, writhing in agony.
Then I heard it again…that awful succession of noises.
Tap, tap....sliiiiiide.
The sliding sound was coming from the hardwood floor this time, not from underneath. And the sound was getting closer and closer until...
I watched in horror as a hand came around the corner in front of me. It was soon joined by another, and they tugged at the floor. My heart hammered in my chest as a person slowly came into view.
It was a woman with long black hair, her disheveled clothing smeared with dirt and hanging off in shreds. Her mouth was crudely stitched shut. She looked up at me with empty, lost eyes and I instantly felt a lifetime of pain and misery. It took my breath away, and I had to focus on my breathing to keep myself from fainting.
Tap, tap....sliiiiiide.
That awful sound repeated as she grabbed the floor and pulled herself towards me. I was in a terrified trance, eyes locked with her as she slowly closed the distance. I could now see that she dragged herself because her legs were horribly mangled. A low moan emanated from her throat, sending ice through my veins.
Her very presence seemed to drain me, and I couldn’t move no matter how hard I tried. She made this awful gurgling sound as she got within arm’s reach. In seconds, her face was right up to mine. I tried to scream, but couldn’t make any sound.
Then...I woke up.
“AAAAHHhhh!” I shouted as I sprang up in bed.
My wife tried to console me, but it did very little. I’d never had a dream that felt so real before. Shaking, I walked out into the hallway where I had collapsed in my dream. I put a hand on the floor, expecting it to be freezing cold as usual.
But it was warm...
“Honey?” I felt the soft hand of my wife touch my shoulder.
“What’s going on? You look white as a sheet.”
“I’m okay...I just...”
On the floor in front me, I noticed the faint trace of fingernail marks.
“Was that there before?” My wife inquired.
“I’m...I’m not sure.”
“Let’s go back to bed. We’ll talk more about it tomorrow.”
I tried to hold back my stubborn expression, but she still saw it.
“C’mon, you need to rest.”
With an exasperated exhale, I went back to bed with the strange occurrence replaying incessantly in my brain.
In the morning, I told my wife about all the strange experiences. To my shock she actually believed me.
“What do you want to do, then?” She asked.
“Well...I have a theory I want to check out.”
“Theory of what?”
“Well, let’s just say that ghosts exist, and there are certain reasons why they haunt certain places. If that is true then...I think there could be a body in our crawlspace.”
“What, are you crazy?”
“I know how it sounds, but what would it hurt to look?”
“You really think there’s something down there?”
“More someone, but I’m not sure to be honest. Hopefully I can get a confirmation either way it goes.”
That afternoon, I found myself standing at the door to our crawlspace. It felt ridiculous, but so many details pointed to it. The sounds and cold spots were all related to the floor. The ghastly woman’s clothes were smeared with dirt. It was obscure, but it was all I had to go on.
I had to pry the door open with a crowbar, but I managed after a minute or two. A wave of unnatural cold air blasted me, so strong that I had to throw on a coat just to stop from shivering so badly.
I clicked on my flashlight, illuminating the eerie underbelly of our home. The dirt sifted under my feet as I crouch-walked around. After hearing it, it only confirmed what I thought I heard from under the floor.
Expecting to see more, I was almost disappointed that the crawlspace was completely bare. Not believing it entirely, I shined my light around more. The back part of the crawlspace led to concrete and it was there that I noticed one section of the wall looked different than the rest.
Hands quivering, I pushed against the section of concrete and felt it shift under the pressure. It continued to wobble around in place the more I pushed. Holding my flashlight between my teeth, I had to use both hands to pry the piece away from the wall. To my astonishment, it pulled away very easily. It was no coincidence that the section of wall fit the hole exactly, like a puzzle piece.
After leaning the piece of concrete against the wall, I found that the concrete was covering a door with a padlock.
There’s no way anything good is behind this...
Minutes later, I returned to the mysterious door with a pair of bolt cutters. I debated whether or not I’d go in. There was no reason I shouldn’t satisfy my curiosity, because if there wasn’t anything then great, but if there was something terrible, I’d simply have to deal with it. Either way, I had to know.
I clipped the metal bar off the lock and it thudded softly to the dirt floor. Taking in a deep breath, I dared to aim my beam down the opening. The crawlspace extended much further into the house, and I had a good guess where it led. I now had to crawl on my hands and knees as a knot of dread formed in my stomach.
“You always tell people not to do this in movies, why are you doing this now??!” I chastised myself.
I knew all too well how stupid this was but the part of my brain that can’t look away from a car wreck pushed me to carry along regardless.
It was difficult to navigate with the flashlight and crawl. A mild claustrophobia settled in that pushed me along with a sense of urgency. The temperature couldn’t have been any more than a meatlocker. My hands shook despite my thick jacket. Eventually, I came to a dead end.
Is this all?
I stopped for a moment and checked around with my light some more, hoping a more thorough search would bear some fruit. Yet, there was nothing.
Sighing in frustration, I decided that perhaps I was losing my mind and was just having really vivid dreams after all. How could I have been so stupid?
I made it halfway across the hidden area when I felt my legs suddenly give out. They weren’t tired or sore before this. It was as if they stopped working of their own volition. I attempted to cry out, but my mouth felt as if some force held it closed.
Just like a stitched mouth...
One of the few things I could move was my neck and I turned to the side to see...
…a tuft of a blanket?
Due to the narrow space, I must have missed it. I slowly reached for it with all the internal alarms in my body going off at once. Ignoring the warning, I pulled the cloth back to reveal a skeletal hand.
In this moment of revulsion, something turned on my motor skills again as I regained control of my legs, crawling out of there as quickly as I could muster. Heaving, I stumbled out of the crawlspace and instantly felt the rise in temperature. I sat on the porch and stayed there as I called the police and explained the situation.
It turns out that one of the previous owners of the home was a major suspect in the disappearance of a young lady fifteen years ago. There wasn’t enough evidence to conduct a home search so they were never able to find the body. And what they found was something I wish I had never known.
From examining the body, they found that her captor had broken both of her legs so she couldn’t escape and sewn her mouth shut to keep her from screaming. It was hard to tell how long she’d been locked down there before she died, but they hypothesized it was a month or two. The cause of death was unclear. This was clearly enough to pursue the former owner.
When they picked him up, the guy tried to play the ignorance card, pretending as if he didn’t know what house they were referring to. This of course made it even more suspicious.
Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything concrete enough to tie him to her death...until they searched his current home. Blueprints of the home showed that the crawlspace was supposed to end ten feet where the concrete wall was. No contractors were hired to do any work on the home, so someone had personally busted it up and created the door going further in. The last part of it was the padlock on the door.
When the police searched the man’s home, they found a shoebox full of seemingly innocent keepsakes. Among the keepsakes were some heirlooms, pictures of close family members, and a key. As suspected, the key matched the padlock to the crawlspace door. It was apparently enough to make him crack. It wasn’t long before he confessed to the kidnapping and murder, albeit without a hint of remorse. Turns out the bastard kept the key as a sick trophy.
They even questioned him about other possible victims since this was a trait commonly shared by serial killers. He denied it, but the police couldn’t feel any truth from it. If anything they knew that they solved one case, put a guilty man behind bars, and put a family at peace. Justice was served and he was locked away for the rest of his miserable life. Poetic justice, if you ask me. The poor girl’s parents buried her remains on a family plot.
After all this, we had serious doubts about staying in the home. Knowing something this egregious happened in our home was almost unbearable. I can’t tell you how much we cried when we heard the story of what happened to that poor girl. We were on the brink of selling the house for about a week, but one night changed all that.
I woke up from a dream, one so vivid yet it somehow escaped my thoughts like a fistful of sand. There was a strange feeling in my gut as if something was going to happen.
It was neither good nor bad, just....strange.
After drinking a small glass of milk, I meandered down the hall and stopped in my tracks. A woman stood in front of me, half-transparent with a bluish luminescence. I felt as if I knew her, although I didn’t recognize her appearance at all. She smiled, and I instantly knew who she was. Compared to her previous horrific manifestation, the woman was almost unrecognizable.
Never speaking, she motioned to her legs and I saw that they were in perfect condition. In a mild state of shock, I managed to form a smile. She beamed even wider and ran her fingers across her lips, pointing out her lack of stitches. A blanket of warmth wrapped around me, and I couldn’t resist the salty tears that streamed down my face.
Right before she waved goodbye, a voice spoke within my mind.
"It’s over now. Thank you..."
She faded away, and for the first time since we moved into that house, all hints of the oppressive energy dissipated. That was the last time I ever saw her.
It’s been 30 years now, and we’re still in that house to this day...
May she continue to rest in peace...

Like all haunted house stories, this took place right after I moved in. Cliché, right? My wife and I saved up enough money from our rental to finally put down on a house of our own. So we moved in and everything seemed right...at first.
It wasn’t until later that I realized there were warning signs. The seller seemed really anxious to close, and we were offered a much cheaper price than we expected for the space we got. While there was a moment of doubt, we brushed it off as some weird circumstance that ended in a great deal for us.
How could we possibly pass that up?
The strange occurrences were small at first. I would be up late watching TV and swore I heard something. I’d pause the show and make out what sounded like dragging noises. After investigating, I wouldn’t find anything. Even stranger was that no matter where I walked in the house, the noise always sounded the same distance away. When I focused on it, I noticed the particular noise was rhythmic.
Tap, tap...sliiiiiiide.
It was like that every single time. My wife never heard it, it was only me. None of us believe in ghosts, mind you. But as I said before it was a small thing, so I brushed it off.
One night, I woke up in a startle. I listened intently but could hear nothing. I decided to grab a late night snack from the kitchen since I was awake anyway.
Halfway down the hall, I heard something. This time, it sounded like dirt being sifted und. I knelt down and swore that the sound was louder. Before I knew it, I had my ear pressed to the hardwood floor, listening intently.
Schht, schht.....sccchhhhhhh...
I jumped up from the floor. It was that same pattern of noises, but this time it sounded like someone in the dirt. Trying to ignore the chills washing over me, I took a step towards the kitchen when…
…something grabbed my ankle.
I fell forward, almost busting my chin on the floor.
“What the...”
Flipping over, I turned to face my assailant, but there was no one behind me. I brushed it off and chalked it up to poor balance from a sleep-hangover. My wife got a good chuckle out of that one.
After that, the house began to feel.....heavier. It was this weight over me that would come and go. This was accompanied by feeling cold no matter how much we turned up the heat, and this was the middle of the summer. Even stranger, the cold seemed to only be in certain spots, particularly on the floor itself. I liked to walk around barefoot no matter what time of year it was, but it was even too cold for me.
Another night, I woke up again. My ears stood at attention, but couldn’t hear any evidence of what woke me up. I got up just like before, except I never made it to the kitchen.
I only made if halfway down our hall before I suddenly felt a horrible pain in my right leg. I had to limp to keep moving, then my other leg was wracked with a wave of pain. It was so bad I found myself face down on the ground, writhing in agony.
Then I heard it again…that awful succession of noises.
Tap, tap....sliiiiiide.
The sliding sound was coming from the hardwood floor this time, not from underneath. And the sound was getting closer and closer until...
I watched in horror as a hand came around the corner in front of me. It was soon joined by another, and they tugged at the floor. My heart hammered in my chest as a person slowly came into view.
It was a woman with long black hair, her disheveled clothing smeared with dirt and hanging off in shreds. Her mouth was crudely stitched shut. She looked up at me with empty, lost eyes and I instantly felt a lifetime of pain and misery. It took my breath away, and I had to focus on my breathing to keep myself from fainting.
Tap, tap....sliiiiiide.
That awful sound repeated as she grabbed the floor and pulled herself towards me. I was in a terrified trance, eyes locked with her as she slowly closed the distance. I could now see that she dragged herself because her legs were horribly mangled. A low moan emanated from her throat, sending ice through my veins.
Her very presence seemed to drain me, and I couldn’t move no matter how hard I tried. She made this awful gurgling sound as she got within arm’s reach. In seconds, her face was right up to mine. I tried to scream, but couldn’t make any sound.
Then...I woke up.
“AAAAHHhhh!” I shouted as I sprang up in bed.
My wife tried to console me, but it did very little. I’d never had a dream that felt so real before. Shaking, I walked out into the hallway where I had collapsed in my dream. I put a hand on the floor, expecting it to be freezing cold as usual.
But it was warm...
“Honey?” I felt the soft hand of my wife touch my shoulder.
“What’s going on? You look white as a sheet.”
“I’m okay...I just...”
On the floor in front me, I noticed the faint trace of fingernail marks.
“Was that there before?” My wife inquired.
“I’m...I’m not sure.”
“Let’s go back to bed. We’ll talk more about it tomorrow.”
I tried to hold back my stubborn expression, but she still saw it.
“C’mon, you need to rest.”
With an exasperated exhale, I went back to bed with the strange occurrence replaying incessantly in my brain.
In the morning, I told my wife about all the strange experiences. To my shock she actually believed me.
“What do you want to do, then?” She asked.
“Well...I have a theory I want to check out.”
“Theory of what?”
“Well, let’s just say that ghosts exist, and there are certain reasons why they haunt certain places. If that is true then...I think there could be a body in our crawlspace.”
“What, are you crazy?”
“I know how it sounds, but what would it hurt to look?”
“You really think there’s something down there?”
“More someone, but I’m not sure to be honest. Hopefully I can get a confirmation either way it goes.”
That afternoon, I found myself standing at the door to our crawlspace. It felt ridiculous, but so many details pointed to it. The sounds and cold spots were all related to the floor. The ghastly woman’s clothes were smeared with dirt. It was obscure, but it was all I had to go on.
I had to pry the door open with a crowbar, but I managed after a minute or two. A wave of unnatural cold air blasted me, so strong that I had to throw on a coat just to stop from shivering so badly.
I clicked on my flashlight, illuminating the eerie underbelly of our home. The dirt sifted under my feet as I crouch-walked around. After hearing it, it only confirmed what I thought I heard from under the floor.
Expecting to see more, I was almost disappointed that the crawlspace was completely bare. Not believing it entirely, I shined my light around more. The back part of the crawlspace led to concrete and it was there that I noticed one section of the wall looked different than the rest.
Hands quivering, I pushed against the section of concrete and felt it shift under the pressure. It continued to wobble around in place the more I pushed. Holding my flashlight between my teeth, I had to use both hands to pry the piece away from the wall. To my astonishment, it pulled away very easily. It was no coincidence that the section of wall fit the hole exactly, like a puzzle piece.
After leaning the piece of concrete against the wall, I found that the concrete was covering a door with a padlock.
There’s no way anything good is behind this...
Minutes later, I returned to the mysterious door with a pair of bolt cutters. I debated whether or not I’d go in. There was no reason I shouldn’t satisfy my curiosity, because if there wasn’t anything then great, but if there was something terrible, I’d simply have to deal with it. Either way, I had to know.
I clipped the metal bar off the lock and it thudded softly to the dirt floor. Taking in a deep breath, I dared to aim my beam down the opening. The crawlspace extended much further into the house, and I had a good guess where it led. I now had to crawl on my hands and knees as a knot of dread formed in my stomach.
“You always tell people not to do this in movies, why are you doing this now??!” I chastised myself.
I knew all too well how stupid this was but the part of my brain that can’t look away from a car wreck pushed me to carry along regardless.
It was difficult to navigate with the flashlight and crawl. A mild claustrophobia settled in that pushed me along with a sense of urgency. The temperature couldn’t have been any more than a meatlocker. My hands shook despite my thick jacket. Eventually, I came to a dead end.
Is this all?
I stopped for a moment and checked around with my light some more, hoping a more thorough search would bear some fruit. Yet, there was nothing.
Sighing in frustration, I decided that perhaps I was losing my mind and was just having really vivid dreams after all. How could I have been so stupid?
I made it halfway across the hidden area when I felt my legs suddenly give out. They weren’t tired or sore before this. It was as if they stopped working of their own volition. I attempted to cry out, but my mouth felt as if some force held it closed.
Just like a stitched mouth...
One of the few things I could move was my neck and I turned to the side to see...
…a tuft of a blanket?
Due to the narrow space, I must have missed it. I slowly reached for it with all the internal alarms in my body going off at once. Ignoring the warning, I pulled the cloth back to reveal a skeletal hand.
In this moment of revulsion, something turned on my motor skills again as I regained control of my legs, crawling out of there as quickly as I could muster. Heaving, I stumbled out of the crawlspace and instantly felt the rise in temperature. I sat on the porch and stayed there as I called the police and explained the situation.
It turns out that one of the previous owners of the home was a major suspect in the disappearance of a young lady fifteen years ago. There wasn’t enough evidence to conduct a home search so they were never able to find the body. And what they found was something I wish I had never known.
From examining the body, they found that her captor had broken both of her legs so she couldn’t escape and sewn her mouth shut to keep her from screaming. It was hard to tell how long she’d been locked down there before she died, but they hypothesized it was a month or two. The cause of death was unclear. This was clearly enough to pursue the former owner.
When they picked him up, the guy tried to play the ignorance card, pretending as if he didn’t know what house they were referring to. This of course made it even more suspicious.
Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything concrete enough to tie him to her death...until they searched his current home. Blueprints of the home showed that the crawlspace was supposed to end ten feet where the concrete wall was. No contractors were hired to do any work on the home, so someone had personally busted it up and created the door going further in. The last part of it was the padlock on the door.
When the police searched the man’s home, they found a shoebox full of seemingly innocent keepsakes. Among the keepsakes were some heirlooms, pictures of close family members, and a key. As suspected, the key matched the padlock to the crawlspace door. It was apparently enough to make him crack. It wasn’t long before he confessed to the kidnapping and murder, albeit without a hint of remorse. Turns out the bastard kept the key as a sick trophy.
They even questioned him about other possible victims since this was a trait commonly shared by serial killers. He denied it, but the police couldn’t feel any truth from it. If anything they knew that they solved one case, put a guilty man behind bars, and put a family at peace. Justice was served and he was locked away for the rest of his miserable life. Poetic justice, if you ask me. The poor girl’s parents buried her remains on a family plot.
After all this, we had serious doubts about staying in the home. Knowing something this egregious happened in our home was almost unbearable. I can’t tell you how much we cried when we heard the story of what happened to that poor girl. We were on the brink of selling the house for about a week, but one night changed all that.
I woke up from a dream, one so vivid yet it somehow escaped my thoughts like a fistful of sand. There was a strange feeling in my gut as if something was going to happen.
It was neither good nor bad, just....strange.
After drinking a small glass of milk, I meandered down the hall and stopped in my tracks. A woman stood in front of me, half-transparent with a bluish luminescence. I felt as if I knew her, although I didn’t recognize her appearance at all. She smiled, and I instantly knew who she was. Compared to her previous horrific manifestation, the woman was almost unrecognizable.
Never speaking, she motioned to her legs and I saw that they were in perfect condition. In a mild state of shock, I managed to form a smile. She beamed even wider and ran her fingers across her lips, pointing out her lack of stitches. A blanket of warmth wrapped around me, and I couldn’t resist the salty tears that streamed down my face.
Right before she waved goodbye, a voice spoke within my mind.
"It’s over now. Thank you..."
She faded away, and for the first time since we moved into that house, all hints of the oppressive energy dissipated. That was the last time I ever saw her.
It’s been 30 years now, and we’re still in that house to this day...
May she continue to rest in peace...

Like all haunted house stories, this took place right after I moved in. Cliché, right? My wife and I saved up enough money from our rental to finally put down on a house of our own. So we moved in and everything seemed right...at first.
It wasn’t until later that I realized there were warning signs. The seller seemed really anxious to close, and we were offered a much cheaper price than we expected for the space we got. While there was a moment of doubt, we brushed it off as some weird circumstance that ended in a great deal for us.
How could we possibly pass that up?
The strange occurrences were small at first. I would be up late watching TV and swore I heard something. I’d pause the show and make out what sounded like dragging noises. After investigating, I wouldn’t find anything. Even stranger was that no matter where I walked in the house, the noise always sounded the same distance away. When I focused on it, I noticed the particular noise was rhythmic.
Tap, tap...sliiiiiiide.
It was like that every single time. My wife never heard it, it was only me. None of us believe in ghosts, mind you. But as I said before it was a small thing, so I brushed it off.
One night, I woke up in a startle. I listened intently but could hear nothing. I decided to grab a late night snack from the kitchen since I was awake anyway.
Halfway down the hall, I heard something. This time, it sounded like dirt being sifted und. I knelt down and swore that the sound was louder. Before I knew it, I had my ear pressed to the hardwood floor, listening intently.
Schht, schht.....sccchhhhhhh...
I jumped up from the floor. It was that same pattern of noises, but this time it sounded like someone in the dirt. Trying to ignore the chills washing over me, I took a step towards the kitchen when…
…something grabbed my ankle.
I fell forward, almost busting my chin on the floor.
“What the...”
Flipping over, I turned to face my assailant, but there was no one behind me. I brushed it off and chalked it up to poor balance from a sleep-hangover. My wife got a good chuckle out of that one.
After that, the house began to feel.....heavier. It was this weight over me that would come and go. This was accompanied by feeling cold no matter how much we turned up the heat, and this was the middle of the sumer. Even stranger, the cold seemed to only be in certain spots, particularly on the floor itself. I liked to walk around barefoot no matter what time of year it was, but it was even too cold for me.
Another night, I woke up again. My ears stood at attention, but couldn’t hear any evidence of what woke me up. I got up just like before, except I never made it to the kitchen.
I only made if halfway down our hall before I suddenly felt a horrible pain in my right leg. I had to limp to keep moving, then my other leg was wracked with a wave of pain. It was so bad I found myself face down on the ground, writhing in agony.
Then I heard it again…that awful succession of noises.
Tap, tap....sliiiiiide.
The sliding sound was coming from the hardwood floor this time, not from underneath. And the sound was getting closer and closer until...
I watched in horror as a hand came around the corner in front of me. It was soon joined by another, and they tugged at the floor. My heart hammered in my chest as a person slowly came into view.
It was a woman with long black hair, her disheveled clothing smeared with dirt and hanging off in shreds. Her mouth was crudely stitched shut. She looked up at me with empty, lost eyes and I instantly felt a lifetime of pain and misery. It took my breath away, and I had to focus on my breathing to keep myself from fainting.
Tap, tap....sliiiiiide.
That awful sound repeated as she grabbed the floor and pulled herself towards me. I was in a terrified trance, eyes locked with her as she slowly closed the distance. I could now see that she dragged herself because her legs were horribly mangled. A low moan emanated from her throat, sending ice through my veins.
Her very presence seemed to drain me, and I couldn’t move no matter how hard I tried. She made this awful gurgling sound as she got within arm’s reach. In seconds, her face was right up to mine. I tried to scream, but couldn’t make any sound.
Then...I woke up.
“AAAAHHhhh!” I shouted as I sprang up in bed.
My wife tried to console me, but it did very little. I’d never had a dream that felt so real before. Shaking, I walked out into the hallway where I had collapsed in my dream. I put a hand on the floor, expecting it to be freezing cold as usual.
But it was warm...
“Honey?” I felt the soft hand of my wife touch my shoulder.
“What’s going on? You look white as a sheet.”
“I’m okay...I just...”
On the floor in front me, I noticed the faint trace of fingernail marks.
“Was that there before?” My wife inquired.
“I’m...I’m not sure.”
“Let’s go back to bed. We’ll talk more about it tomorrow.”
I tried to hold back my stubborn expression, but she still saw it.
“C’mon, you need to rest.”
With an exasperated exhale, I went back to bed with the strange occurrence replaying incessantly in my brain.
In the morning, I told my wife about all the strange experiences. To my shock she actually believed me.
“What do you want to do, then?” She asked.
“Well...I have a theory I want to check out.”
“Theory of what?”
“Well, let’s just say that ghosts exist, and there are certain reasons why they haunt certain places. If that is true then...I think there could be a body in our crawlspace.”
“What, are you crazy?”
“I know how it sounds, but what would it hurt to look?”
“You really think there’s something down there?”
“More someone, but I’m not sure to be honest. Hopefully I can get a confirmation either way it goes.”
That afternoon, I found myself standing at the door to our crawlspace. It felt ridiculous, but so many details pointed to it. The sounds and cold spots were all related to the floor. The ghastly woman’s clothes were smeared with dirt. It was obscure, but it was all I had to go on.
I had to pry the door open with a crowbar, but I managed after a minute or two. A wave of unnatural cold air blasted me, so strong that I had to throw on a coat just to stop from shivering so badly.
I clicked on my flashlight, illuminating the eerie underbelly of our home. The dirt sifted under my feet as I crouch-walked around. After hearing it, it only confirmed what I thought I heard from under the floor.
Expecting to see more, I was almost disappointed that the crawlspace was completely bare. Not believing it entirely, I shined my light around more. The back part of the crawlspace led to concrete and it was there that I noticed one section of the wall looked different than the rest.
Hands quivering, I pushed against the section of concrete and felt it shift under the pressure. It continued to wobble around in place the more I pushed. Holding my flashlight between my teeth, I had to use both hands to pry the piece away from the wall. To my astonishment, it pulled away very easily. It was no coincidence that the section of wall fit the hole exactly, like a puzzle piece.
After leaning the piece of concrete against the wall, I found that the concrete was covering a door with a padlock.
There’s no way anything good is behind this...
Minutes later, I returned to the mysterious door with a pair of bolt cutters. I debated whether or not I’d go in. There was no reason I shouldn’t satisfy my curiosity, because if there wasn’t anything then great, but if there was something terrible, I’d simply have to deal with it. Either way, I had to know.
I clipped the metal bar off the lock and it thudded softly to the dirt floor. Taking in a deep breath, I dared to aim my beam down the opening. The crawlspace extended much further into the house, and I had a good guess where it led. I now had to crawl on my hands and knees as a knot of dread formed in my stomach.
“You always tell people not to do this in movies, why are you doing this now??!” I chastised myself.
I knew all too well how stupid this was but the part of my brain that can’t look away from a car wreck pushed me to carry along regardless.
It was difficult to navigate with the flashlight and crawl. A mild claustrophobia settled in that pushed me along with a sense of urgency. The temperature couldn’t have been any more than a meatlocker. My hands shook despite my thick jacket. Eventually, I came to a dead end.
Is this all?
I stopped for a moment and checked around with my light some more, hoping a more thorough search would bear some fruit. Yet, there was nothing.
Sighing in frustration, I decided that perhaps I was losing my mind and was just having really vivid dreams after all. How could I have been so stupid?
I made it halfway across the hidden area when I felt my legs suddenly give out. They weren’t tired or sore before this. It was as if they stopped working of their own volition. I attempted to cry out, but my mouth felt as if some force held it closed.
Just like a stitched mouth...
One of the few things I could move was my neck and I turned to the side to see...
…a tuft of a blanket?
Due to the narrow space, I must have missed it. I slowly reached for it with all the internal alarms in my body going off at once. Ignoring the warning, I pulled the cloth back to reveal a skeletal hand.
In this moment of revulsion, something turned on my motor skills again as I regained control of my legs, crawling out of there as quickly as I could muster. Heaving, I stumbled out of the crawlspace and instantly felt the rise in temperature. I sat on the porch and stayed there as I called the police and explained the situation.
It turns out that one of the previous owners of the home was a major suspect in the disappearance of a young lady fifteen years ago. There wasn’t enough evidence to conduct a home search so they were never able to find the body. And what they found was something I wish I had never known.
From examining the body, they found that her captor had broken both of her legs so she couldn’t escape and sewn her mouth shut to keep her from screaming. It was hard to tell how long she’d been locked down there before she died, but they hypothesized it was a month or two. The cause of death was unclear. This was clearly enough to pursue the former owner.
When they picked him up, the guy tried to play the ignorance card, pretending as if he didn’t know what house they were referring to. This of course made it even more suspicious.
Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything concrete enough to tie him to her death...until they searched his current home. Blueprints of the home showed that the crawlspace was supposed to end ten feet where the concrete wall was. No contractors were hired to do any work on the home, so someone had personally busted it up and created the door going further in. The last part of it was the padlock on the door.
When the police searched the man’s home, they found a shoebox full of seemingly innocent keepsakes. Among the keepsakes were some heirlooms, pictures of close family members, and a key. As suspected, the key matched the padlock to the crawlspace door. It was apparently enough to make him crack. It wasn’t long before he confessed to the kidnapping and murder, albeit without a hint of remorse. Turns out the bastard kept the key as a sick trophy.
They even questioned him about other possible victims since this was a trait commonly shared by serial killers. He denied it, but the police couldn’t feel any truth from it. If anything they knew that they solved one case, put a guilty man behind bars, and put a family at peace. Justice was served and he was locked away for the rest of his miserable life. Poetic justice, if you ask me. The poor girl’s parents buried her remains on a family plot.
After all this, we had serious doubts about staying in the home. Knowing something this egregious happened in our home was almost unbearable. I can’t tell you how much we cried when we heard the story of what happened to that poor girl. We were on the brink of selling the house for about a week, but one night changed all that.
I woke up from a dream, one so vivid yet it somehow escaped my thoughts like a fistful of sand. There was a strange feeling in my gut as if something was going to happen.
It was neither good nor bad, just....strange.
After drinking a small glass of milk, I meandered down the hall and stopped in my tracks. A woman stood in front of me, half-transparent with a bluish luminescence. I felt as if I knew her, although I didn’t recognize her appearance at all. She smiled, and I instantly knew who she was. Compared to her previous horrific manifestation, the woman was almost unrecognizable.
Never speaking, she motioned to her legs and I saw that they were in perfect condition. In a mild state of shock, I managed to form a smile. She beamed even wider and ran her fingers across her lips, pointing out her lack of stitches. A blanket of warmth wrapped around me, and I couldn’t resist the salty tears that streamed down my face.
Right before she waved goodbye, a voice spoke within my mind.
"It’s over now. Thank you..."
She faded away, and for the first time since we moved into that house, all hints of the oppressive energy dissipated. That was the last time I ever saw her.
It’s been 30 years now, and we’re still in that house to this day...
May she continue to rest in peace...

So, a couple of weeks ago, I posted my success story about healing from vulvodynia/pudendal neuralgia using mind body syndrome healing techniques. I got a lot of messages and comments asking a multitude of questions, so I decided to make a post about it.
My Symptoms;

• Burning at entrance of vagina
  
• Burning with urination
  
• Itching around labia
  
• Tailbone pain
  
• Odd nerve sensations around vulva; i.e. tingling, odd pressure around urethra and clit, cold sensations, hot sensations, pulsing, stinging, and sandpaper like feeling.
  

My symptoms kicked off with an initial insult. I had a UTI which led to a YI due to antibiotics, and when I used 3-Day Monistat, crap hit the fan. I had a terrible allergic reaction to the medication, even though I had used it many times in the past, this time I actually sustained chemical burns from it. This led to constant burning pain and PFD for a little over 8 months before I came across TMS, Tension Myositis Syndrome. I learned that our brains are the epicenter for relaying pain messages from our bodies. When we hold our hand over a hot stove, our nerve fibers send a message to our brains to move our hand before we cause damage to ourselves. Pain is a danger signal that let's us know that something is going on and to either move away or take it easy before we get hurt. Pain does not always mean there is something horribly wrong with our bodies. Like when you get a papercut, It's such a small injury but it hurts really bad.
However, sometimes that danger signal can be left in the "on" position and cause pain to become chronic. Our brains can learn pain as it can learn anything else, and unfortunately this is how chronic pain begins.
For example: I had a bad reaction to monistat. I went to a doctor who was not empathetic in the slightest about my pain, blamed me for it, and continued to misdiagnose me with a STD that I did not have. Within this visit I understood 2 things: She doesn't know what happened to me, and she's blaming me for "doing this to myself". It wasn't until 5 doctors later that anyone actually listened to me and suggested that I had chemical burns. By this point, I had constant burning, extreme fear and despair over my symptoms, I was spiraling. Sadly, the fear and attention I was feeding my symptoms had made my pain chronic. I was traumatized by this experience as well, which I held that stress and fear in my pelvic floor, causing it to involuntarily tense up and lead to tight muscles which caused oxygen deprivation to the area and resulted in pain. So, emotional upset > tense muscles > cut off oxygen/blow flow to pelvic floor > pain. See how emotions can affect pain? The more anxious and scared I got, the worse my pain became and I started to develop more symptoms over time which caused more anxiety and more pain. It was a vicious cycle.
How did I heal? I came across TMS by accident and at first I shrugged my nose at the concept, but then I began to notice weird things. My pain would flare in mornings, go away during the day and come back at night. My pain was inconsistent and sometimes be a 3/10 and others be a 10/10. I also had a breakdown moment and scream and cried until I felt "empty" like all the repressed emotions I had finally spilled out of me, and I was pain free for a week after. I also had a 9-da book cure after reading Alan Gordon's book. From this, I learned that my pain stemmed from my fear surrounding my symptoms long after my vulva healed from the chemical burns because my brain learned and memorized that sensation. My brain also associated that sensation with my fear and anxiety, so anytime I got anxious or scared, it would flare up my symptoms. Through TMS healing techniques, I ended up losing my fear of symptoms. I started viewing them as a protective guard dog because they cropped up when I was fearful or anxious and wanted to warn/protect me. I stopped paying attention to them, slowly got back to exercising, sitting for a few minutes at a time, and wearing pants to prove to my brain that I was safe and okay. When a flare would come about, I met it with compassion and understanding, and utilized somatic tracking. Eventually over time and with gentle exposure therapy and somatic tracking, I healed. I had to retrain my nervous system and brain to not expect pain when I did certain activities because after a while my brain perceived danger with things like sitting, touch, and even urinating.
Tension myositis syndrome (TMS), also known as tension myoneural syndrome or mindbody syndrome, is a condition that causes physical symptoms that are not due to structural abnormalities. TMS is caused by emotional tension that signals the brain to reduce blood flow to the body, which can lead to oxygen deprivation and pain.
A good example of a mind body pain cycle would be phantom limb syndrome when a person can lose a limb and their brain sees that missing limb and will cause a pain response due to that missing limb. So amputees will swear that they can still feel their missing limb. The pain is very real and it’s because our brains are in full control of our pain response.
How do we know if our pain is brain/nervous system/TMS related? I will tell you.
Here are some questions to think about as structural pain behaves differently then neuroplastic (TMS) pain/brain pain:

• Have you had test after test and everything always turns out normal?
  
• Has structural causes been ruled out?
  
• Do your symptoms move around (You get an itch on your pelvic floor, then your glute then your leg?
  
• Do your symptoms come and go? (They are better in the morning but worse at night/vice versa; they happen before your menstrual cycle but are better during your menstrual cycle; they seem to vanish when you're distracted or on vacation, etc.)
  
• Do your symptoms seem to vanish when you're sick or have something else going on in your body?
  
• Are your symptoms inconsistent? Is the pain 1/10 sometimes but then they're 7/10 at other times? Do they change location?
  
• Do you have other possible mindbody syndromes like stress headaches, IBS, anxiety?
  
• Does your pain ebb and flow with your emotional state?
  
• Did the symptoms start out of nowhere? You just woke up with them one day?
  
• Did they start with a physical injury but you did not heal within the expected amount of time? (6 weeks to 3 months)
  
• Are doctors unable to find a cause for your pain?
  

These are things that are indicative of mindbody syndrome/TMS. Structural pain does not behave in the way described above. I am going to include some learning resources as one cannot heal from TMS without educating themselves about pain science and TMS. This is not a magic pill, it does take work. But! You can heal from this. Once you begin to unlearn the pain, it will fade. Once you take away the "I'm sick" or "I'm broken" narrative and replace it with empowerment, the pain will fade. If you deprive the pain of fear and attention, IT WILL FADE. You will heal. I did and you can too!
I hope that this post helps you! I really truly do and I apologize for it's length. I want you to recover. It doesn't matter if you've been in pain for 6 months or 15 years, you CAN heal and I don't want you to give up or lose hope about that. You can use these techniques and this knowledge for virtually any chronic pain condition as it can also help in pain management. I wish you an easy road to recovery.
Here are some resources to help teach about TMS and how to heal from it... Bare with me. This comes from my research of over a year.
TMS Healing Books:
Alan Gordon's The Way Out
Unlearn Your Pain
Headache In the Pelvis
Pain science:
Brain Creates Pain
Predictive Coding
How To Determine Cause of Chronic Pain
How To Reverse Chronic Pain
Lorimer Moseley - Why Things Hurt
Pain, the brain and your amazing protectometer - Lorimer Moseley
Success Stories:
Vulvodynia Success Story
Vulvodynia Success Story 2
Pelvic Pain Healed
Pelvic Pain Pudendal Neuralgia
Pudendal Neuralgia
Pelvic Pain (PN) Healed
Psychotherapy for Chronic Pain
Menda Health (Takes Insurance in CA)
Somatic Tracking For Chronic Pain and Symptoms

So my boyfriend and I have been dating for about a year now, but he’s been deployed for 8 months. He’s been leaving me on read for over a week even though I haven’t done anything wrong. We are both in the military, but I wasn’t deployed due to child birth. Now for context he’s allowed to have his phone and he has plenty of time to respond throughout the day as he usually does, but this isn’t the first time he hasn’t respond for an extended period of time. I’ve assured him that I’m not cheating and I’ve shared my location with him and bought security cameras and installed them on both doors and in the living room, kitchen, and my bedroom so there’s footage from almost every room in the house besides inside the bathrooms. He has me send him a picture of me in bed before I go to sleep and text him when I wake up in the morning as well as telling him when I’m leaving and where I’m going. I’m aware that this is very controlling behavior and he’s expressed that he’s a very jealous man before we started dating which I didn’t mind at first, but now it’s getting to be too much with him not texting me for a week up to a month at a time. He’s constantly accusing me of cheating even though he can see everything I’m doing because when I’m not at work I’m in the cameras views at home always unless I’m going to the bathroom or showering. I don’t want to think that he’s projecting onto me if it’s the case that he’s cheating, but he always puts the blame on me if I say anything. He knows I have past trauma from being ignored as a punishment and I’ve expressed how deeply it hurts me on many occasions as well as every other trauma I have. I mostly just needed someone to talk to, but I’m also wondering if I’m overreacting to wanting something as simple as my partners attention even just a few minutes a day

Hey Sacramento!
I've been seeing a lot of chatter about breed-specific legislation (BSL) and pit bulls lately in this subreddit and its a regular cycle. Sacramento prides itself on being an inclusive and humane community, and given our focus on animal control and the number of shelters that work diligently with the public, animal rescue, and veterinary organizations, I wanted to share some solid facts and expert opinions from well-reputed institutions. This will help clear up the common misconceptions. I will not use or recommend anyone use sources that spread misinformation but I will go into one of the significant bad actors in the public sphere.
Additionally, I wanted to broadcast some local volunteer opportunities and programs that the SPCA and Sacramento (and shelters like Bradshaw) are putting on to encourage healthy animal ownership in our community.
If uninterested in the topic, or only interested in causing flame wars please do not comment. I would like to entertain a healthy community driven discussion here where we can attempt to answer questions and share information for people that are on the fence or are interested in learning more.
Why is this a problem? Why should I care?

Bradshaw Animal Shelter takes in 280 animals weekly

Think about that for a moment. 280 weekly. Do you know what happens when you cannot find homes for 1120 animals at a shelter with space for roughly 200 animals (and 400 fosters) total at any given time? They are euthanized, mostly.

645 dogs were euthanized by Bradshaw in 2023.

Currently Bradshaw has 79 dogs on site available for adoption, 26 of which are pit breeds, or roughly 32%.
Now think about this: The Sacramento SPCA and shelters like Bradshaw are so desperate to rehome pits that are being judged for nothing other than existing (with no prior history of aggression or violence) they are giving them away discounted with full kits and vaccinations and sometimes even with training and free vet care for a year. But nobody wants them. Why is that? Healthy, loving, sentient creatures that think and feel things are being euthanized by the literal thousands monthly EVERYWHERE, because of misinformation. Doesn't that seem evil?

1. Ineffectiveness: Studies and expert opinions consistently show that BSL does not reduce dog bite incidents. Instead, it diverts resources away from effective measures, such as educating the public on responsible pet ownership and enforcing existing animal control laws.
   
2. Unfair Targeting: BSL unfairly targets specific breeds, leading to discrimination against responsible owners and well-behaved dogs. Many loving pets are banned, rehomed, or euthanized simply because of their breed, not their behavior.
   
3. Wasted Resources: Implementing and enforcing BSL is costly. These resources could be better spent on community programs that promote responsible pet ownership, proper training, and socialization of all dogs.
   
4. Public Safety: By focusing on breed rather than behavior, BSL fails to address the real issues that contribute to dog bites, such as irresponsible ownership, lack of training, and poor socialization. Effective legislation should target these factors to genuinely improve public safety.
   
5. Community Impact: Supporting BSL goes against these values, fostering unnecessary fear and misunderstanding among residents. By advocating for breed-neutral laws and responsible pet ownership, we can create a safer, more compassionate community for both people and pets.
   
6. Volunteer and Support Opportunities: Engaging with local shelters and organizations through volunteering and support can make a significant difference. Programs run by organizations like the Sacramento SPCA offer education, training, and resources that help reduce incidents of dog bites and promote safe, responsible pet ownership.
   

The big myths:

• That banning certain breeds, like pit bulls, can reduce dog bite incidents.
• That pit bulls are inherently more aggressive than other breeds.
• That breed-specific legislation makes communities safer.
• That pit bulls have "locking jaws" making them more dangerous.
• That visual identification of a dog’s breed is reliable.
• That pit bulls are responsible for the majority of dog bite incidents.

The facts:

• Responsible pet ownership, education about dog behavior, and robust enforcement of animal control laws are far more effective in creating safe communities. Let’s focus on promoting these solutions instead of unfairly targeting specific breeds!
• Pit Bulls Are Not Inherently Dangerous: American Temperament Test Society: Studies by the American Temperament Test Society show that pit bulls score well on temperament tests, often outperforming many other breeds in terms of stability and tolerance.
• Owner Behavior Is Crucial: Research indicates that a dog's behavior is heavily influenced by the owner's actions. Dogs that are well-trained, socialized, and cared for are less likely to display aggressive behavior. The AVMA highlights that owner responsibility is key to preventing dog bites. Additionally please see the "why breed legislation is not the answer" banner after the content.
• Effective Legislation Focuses on Behavior: Laws that focus on the behavior of individual dogs and the responsibilities of owners, rather than breed, have been shown to be more effective in reducing dog bite incidents. The ASPCA supports breed-neutral laws that hold all dog owners accountable..
• Education and Community Programs Work: Community education programs that teach responsible pet ownership and dog bite prevention can significantly reduce incidents. The CDC supports educational initiatives as a means to improve community safety.
• Proper Training and Socialization: Dogs that receive proper training and socialization from an early age are less likely to develop behavioral issues. Positive reinforcement training methods are particularly effective in promoting good behavior in all breeds. American Kennel Club: https://www.akc.org/expert-advice/news/issue-analysis-breed-specific-legislation/

By focusing on these facts and supporting evidence-based solutions, we can create safer communities without unfairly targeting specific breeds. Let's work together to promote responsible pet ownership and effective legislation.
How did we get here:
Unfortunately, there are many bad actors spreading misinformation and have been since the early to mid 90s. But I would like to focus on a single one that has a significant presence on Reddit: Dogbites.org. Their founder runs the subreddit banpitbulls. Visit it so you can understand what an issue it is. Read about the owner and what a cook she is and has zero education or credentials in the field., and read for yourself why the subreddit and its data should not be taken seriously. Additionally here is a chatgpt generated summary of why its just basically hate bait:

Dogsbite.org, a website that claims to offer reliable data on dog attacks, especially from breeds like pit bulls, has been heavily criticized for its methodologies and conclusions. Several sources highlight significant issues with the data and approach used by Dogsbite.org, making it a controversial and potentially dangerous resource.
Firstly, Dogsbite.org often relies on media reports to compile its data. This method is problematic because media coverage tends to be biased towards sensational stories, often misidentifying dog breeds and focusing disproportionately on attacks involving pit bulls. This selective reporting skews the statistics, making certain breeds appear more dangerous than they might actually be. The CDC itself has acknowledged that media reports are not a reliable source for accurate breed-specific data due to this bias (NoPitBullBans.com).
Furthermore, the term "pit bull" does not refer to a specific breed but rather a type that encompasses multiple breeds and their mixes. This broad categorization leads to inconsistencies and inaccuracies in reporting and data collection. Dogsbite.org's failure to differentiate between specific breeds and the generalized "pit bull type" dogs exacerbates these inaccuracies, contributing to a misleading portrayal of the breed's danger (EthicsAlarms.com).
Critics also argue that Dogsbite.org's data often disregards critical factors such as the circumstances of the attacks, the treatment of the dogs, and the responsibility of the owners. Factors like abuse, neglect, and lack of socialization are crucial in understanding aggressive behavior in dogs but are frequently overlooked in the site's reports. This omission results in an incomplete and potentially biased picture of why dog attacks occur (PitBullMyth.com).
In summary, Dogsbite.org's data and conclusions have been widely debunked for their reliance on biased media reports, improper classification of dog breeds, and neglect of important contextual factors. These flaws can lead to misguided breed-specific legislation and policies that unfairly target certain breeds while ignoring the real issues behind dog attacks, such as owner responsibility and dog treatment (EthicsAlarms.com, NoPitBullBans.com).

Additionally:

• Over the past few decades, a number of high-profile dog attacks received extensive media coverage. These incidents often involved specific breeds, particularly pit bulls, leading to widespread fear and concern among the public. The media's focus on these breeds has contributed to their negative reputation. Misinformation and Stereotyping:
• Misinformation about certain breeds, such as the myth of pit bulls having "locking jaws" or being inherently more aggressive, has fueled public fear and prejudice. This misinformation often spreads quickly and is difficult to correct, contributing to the stigma against these breeds. Legislative Response:
• In response to public concern, many municipalities and states implemented BSL as a way to address fears about dog attacks. These laws were often enacted without sufficient evidence or understanding of their effectiveness, focusing on the breed rather than the behavior of individual dogs and their owners. Lack of Education:
• A general lack of public education about dog behavior, responsible pet ownership, and the actual factors that contribute to dog bites has perpetuated misconceptions. Without proper education, communities may support measures that seem straightforward, like BSL, without realizing their ineffectiveness. Cultural Factors:
• In some communities, certain breeds are associated with negative cultural stereotypes. This can include assumptions about the types of people who own these dogs and their lifestyles. These cultural biases further entrench the fear and discrimination against specific breeds. Political Pressure:
• Politicians and community leaders sometimes feel pressured to take swift action in response to public outcry over dog attacks. BSL can appear to be a decisive measure, even though it does not address the root causes of the problem and often lacks support from animal behavior experts.

How you can help:

• Get Involved with Local Organizations: Volunteer with or support local animal shelters and rescue organizations. Many of these groups provide education and resources to help prevent dog bites and promote the well-being of all dogs. For example, the Sacramento SPCA advocates for breed neutral legislation and regularly puts on community outreach events to try to sway public opinion.

The Sacramento SPCA is proud to be part of a collaboration between local shelters, rescues and businesses for a Pit Bull advocacy insert that recently appeared in the Sacramento News & Review. Learn more about the breed history, discrimination both the dog and owners face, as well as difficulties in identifying “Is this a Pit Bull?”

• Join communities that propagate healthy data driven and research backed headlines*
• https://www.reddit.com/dogs is a fantastic and healthy community of data driven dog ownership and societal practices for a healthy and safe society of animal lovers. They regularly share research and promote positive ownership and animal practices. [You can read more about the community here.](https://www.reddit.com/dogs/wiki/rules)
  

  Blatant Misinformation on breeds/breed groups are not tolerated. This can include, but is not limited to: sensationalized fear mongering, sharing of dog attack videos and articles, pushing agendas of pro or anti-breed subs, stating that specific breeds require firm training in the form of dominance or punishment based training or that certain breeds do not learn from 'typical' methods. https://www.avma.org/resources/pet-owners/why-breed-specific-legislation-not-answer https://www.avma.org/resources-tools/literature-reviews/dog-bite-risk-and-prevention-role-breed Users who demean, shame or mock others for their choice of breed(s) may be banned based off the infraction. While we understand some breed mixes may not be reputably bred, this does not mean that the owners > must be shamed for having them. Aim to educate without judgment or damnation.
  

• Advocate for Breed-Neutral Laws: Support legislation that focuses on the behavior of individual dogs and their owners, rather than targeting specific breeds. Contact your local representatives and express your support for breed-neutral policies.
  
• Promote Responsible Pet Ownership: Encourage and educate others about the importance of proper training, socialization, and care for all dogs. Share resources and information on how to be a responsible pet owner.
  
• Participate in Community Programs: Join or organize community programs that teach dog bite prevention and responsible pet ownership. These programs can be instrumental in reducing incidents and improving public safety. Volunteer at shelters, donate supplies and money to them.
  
• Foster and Adopt Responsibly: If you’re considering adding a dog to your family, consider adopting from a shelter. Make sure you’re prepared to provide the training, socialization, and care that your new pet will need.
  
• Spread the Word: Use your voice to dispel myths and share accurate information about pit bulls and other breeds. Social media, community meetings, and conversations with friends and neighbors are great ways to spread awareness. Do not promote misinformation. Rely on sources from scientists and professionals that are backed by research.
  

Sources
Bradshaw Animal Shelter Statistics:
https://animalcare.saccounty.gov/Documents/Statistics/ShelterAnimalCount_April2024.pdf Bradshaw Shelter Animal Count 2023:
https://animalcare.saccounty.gov/Documents/Statistics/Shelter%20Animals%20Count%20-%202023.pdf American Temperament Test Society:
http://atts.org/breed-statistics/statistics-page1/ AVMA on Dog Bite Prevention:
https://www.avma.org/resources-tools/pet-owners/dog-bite-prevention#:~:text=Be%20a%20responsible%20pet%20owner.&text=If%20you%20have%20a%20fenced,these%20procedures%20with%20your%20veterinarian. ASPCA Position on Breed-Specific Legislation:
https://www.aspca.org/about-us/aspca-policy-and-position-statements/position-statement-breed-specific-legislation CDC on Pet Safety:
https://www.cdc.gov/healthy-pets/about/dogs.html?CDC_AAref_Val=https://www.cdc.gov/healthypets/pets/dogs.html American Kennel Club on Training Pit Bulls:
https://www.akc.org/expert-advice/news/issue-analysis-breed-specific-legislation/ The Truth Behind Dogsbite.org:
https://btoellner.typepad.com/kcdogblog/2010/03/the-truth-behind-dogsbiteorg.html Discrediting Dogsbite.org on Reddit:
https://www.reddit.com/BanPitBulls/comments/9h3w5x/dogsbiteorg_discredited/ University of Georgia Veterinary Teaching Hospital:
https://vet.uga.edu/pit-bull-myths/ Journal of Applied Animal Welfare Science on Breed Identification:
https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/abs/10.1080/10888705.2013.856018 Sacramento SPCA Community Outreach Events:
https://www.sspca.org/blog-post/voice-voiceless dogs Community Rules:
https://www.reddit.com/dogs/wiki/rules#wiki_breed_misinformation_and_hate AVMA on Why Breed-Specific Legislation is Not the Answer:
https://www.avma.org/resources/pet-owners/why-breed-specific-legislation-not-answer AVMA on Dog Bite Risk and Prevention:
https://www.avma.org/resources-tools/literature-reviews/dog-bite-risk-and-prevention-role-breed Volunteer and Foster Opportunities in Sacramento:
https://animalcare.saccounty.gov/HelptheAnimals/Pages/Volunteer.aspx Adopt from a Shelter:
https://animalcare.saccounty.gov/HelptheAnimals/Pages/Volunteering-and-Fostering.aspx
Further research:
https://jsmcah.org/index.php/jasv/article/view/6 https://avmajournals.avma.org/view/journals/javma/243/12/javma.243.12.1726.xml https://www.avma.org/resources-tools/literature-reviews/dog-bite-risk-and-prevention-role-breed https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/abs/pii/S0165587618305950?via%3Dihub https://embarkvet.com/resources/top-dog-breed-by-state/ https://embarkvet.com/resources/most-common-dog-breed-ancestry/ https://www.avma.org/sites/default/files/resources/javma_000915_fatalattacks.pdf https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S109002331500310X https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/full/10.1111/j.1469-7580.2008.01042.x
Chat GPT helped me write this.

Session 0 "Intake": https://www.reddit.com/DeltaGreenRPG/comments/1d0l92x/impossible_landscapes_session_0/
Session 1 "The Apartment": https://www.reddit.com/DeltaGreenRPG/comments/1d2sjua/impossible_landscapes_session_1_the_apartment/
Operation ALICE, New York, 1995
The Roster (Player/Character)
Lea (she/her): Jules Gradkowska - Agent MIRANDA. Journalist - research and human intelligence.
Iain (he/him): Ralph Bevis - Agent MILHOUSE. Academic - history and occult specialist.
Quinn (he/him): Richard Delapore - Agent MAVERICK. FBI Special Agent - criminal and forensic expert and the official 'face' of the investigation.
Phil (he/him): Jean Duvall - Agent MAIN. US Navy Master Chief Petty Officer - operational security specialist.
Duncan (he/him): Jake Little - Agent MALATESTA. Civilian contractor - computer and electronic specialist with a side line in hacking.
Rob_sothoth (he/him) - Handler. The arbiter of the world: the good, the bad and that which cannot and should not be named.
Background: The Agents of M-Cell are tasked with investigating the apartment of Abigail Wright. Missing since June, Delta Green has reason to suspect para-natural involvement. Their orders are simple: catalogue the apartment and remove anything deemed suspect for destruction.
Despite heavy changes made, full spoiler warning for Impossible Landscapes.

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Session 2 "Futures Past" (June 7th, 2024)
New York: Wednesday, August 9th, 1995
05:00am - 2:30pm, EST
Following the first day of investigation, Agent MAIN is the first to wake. An early-riser after years in the military, he leaves a note for Marsha. The two will meet again, of course. Arriving at work, he gets chatting to some Navy mechanics about the little weird diagram on the napkin. About the best answer he gets (after a successful check), is that one of them remembers seeing something like a clockwork giraffe as an attraction in South America. Studying it on that basis, MAIN concludes it's an artist's attempt at design because he can't see a way for this to work or even what it might really be for. He also checks in with USN and asks a friend to track down some vintage US Arms gear (he noted the serial numbers on the radio and dud-grenade). Not being from the same branch of service (and a failed check), it will take somewhere between 24-48 hours. (I decided US Armed Forces would probably be better at digitizing records, he'll get something either way).
MAVERICK isn't far behind MAIN, starting his day as usual being one of the first into the FBI NYC Field Office. As far as the FBI is concerned, he's on the Wright case now it's in their jurisdiction. Unprepared to wait for the prints to be matched (failed check on Bureaucracy), he instead does it himself (successful Forensics check). Abigail was never arrested, but her father handed in a hairbrush she kept at his and his wife's home. The prints match. It took MAVERICK a little time (it was a close pass), because part of a second, unidentified print obscured one of Abigail's, He can discount himself and the team, and likely anyone in law enforcement as he assumed they would've gone gloved.
Next, he follows up on Art Life and makes a call. He gets on the phone with Cynthia LeChance and in the course of their conversation is able to intuit there's something she's unsure or hesitant about. Being the honest-to-goodness, earnest Agent Cooper type, MAVERICK is able to organise a lunch meeting with her as part of follow up. He doesn't have many questions, he assures Cynthia and it'll be on the FBI's dime. She agrees to meet at 12pm.
(It's worth mentioning I ruled there was no reason MARCUS (Case Officer, M-Cell) or the Agents themselves wouldn't have or be able to obtain pagers they could use to stay in contact. Definitely an incidental expense as far as I am concerned.)
MILHOUSE, after his morning run to campus, follows up on his research from the previous day. He identifies the Ars Goetia and learns there's an 18th century copy in the special collections. Luckily for him, he's able to get about an hour with the book. The book contains the names of some 72 demons, their associated heraldry and symbols which they must "pay allegiance to." The book also contains the supposed means of summoning said entities, but MILHOUSE's time is over before he can get much further into it.
He's the first to arrive at the apartment, late morning/early afternoon (roughly around MAVERICK's planned lunch interview). At the coffeeshop, he's treated to a free beverage by Marsha, who thanks him for bringing his friend in the other day. Sadly, by the time MAIN arrives, her shift is over.
MIRANDA lies awake, watching the minutes tick by until about five minutes before she'd usually be walking into the Village Voice's office before making a call. She's really sorry, but she'll have to take a personal day, but does her best to reassure her editor she's still on for the grill party on Saturday. Of more immediate concern is the missing demonic symbol she is unable to locate. The polaroid she snapped is still in her possession, but she can find no trace of the symbol drawn on its piece of brown wrapping paper anywhere in her apartment. Nor can she find any evidence her home was broken into (she has the right skills to determine that for...reasons).
She makes a quick call to her criminal contact, Hugo. It's been less than 24 hours, but she wants to just follow up to perhaps create a sense of urgency. Hugo says he might have a couple of people on the hook, but it would help if he had more to work with than just "weird and esoteric." MIRANDA will be in touch. Before heading to Kips Bay, she decides to follow up on trying to locate the cab and its driver she photographed the other day; the driver looking down the barrel of the camera at her.
It takes her most of the morning, but MIRANDA locates the garage and office. Mostly making calls asking about a cab outside Abigail's address the previous day. She knows the time, more or less. She finds a schlubby office manager who stonewalls her until money changes hands. MIRANDA gets a name and the cabbie's usual pick up and route. Guy likes to work around the Port Authority Terminal most days, she can probably find him there. She doesn't want to go alone and makes her way to the Macallistar where she expects to find the others.
A night owl and late to wake by nature, MALATESTA hits snooze on his alarm maybe only twice today. Packing up the weird crystal in a ziplock bag stowed in his backpack, he takes himself to the Mercury Gallery. He's got an angle he wants to try and it works, if not quite in the way he perhaps expected.
The gallery owner, Santiago, isn't sure what to make of the skater-grunge kid who rolls into his gallery, but he's not exactly out of place and to be truthful, his story is almost too outlandish not to be true. Through a combination of good roleplay and an opposed check, MALATESTA explains a "dude he's working for" heard about Abigail's exhibition and wanted to know if there were any paintings of hers left unsold.
As it turns out, there are. Santiago explains they're not the cream of the crop: "Most of the others were more abstract and, I would say, exemplary. She did well, especially for an artist in New York. The one or two I have left are a bit more...prosaic."
At about this time, MAVERICK makes his meeting with Cynthia. He's not hard to miss; there is no reality in which he was not a Federal Agent and Cynthia easily marks him across the street. She takes him to a small Italian bistro where she usually has lunch and begins talking. This is what MAVERICK is good at; getting people to talk. Everyone wants to, after all; it's about letting them and knowing where to push and where not.
Cynthia explains how weird the Macallistar has been for her to manage. The building has never been filled to capacity as far she can recall and those units which were occupied never remained so for very long.
MAVERICK: "Did you know Abigail?"
Cynthia: "Not really. I met her once or twice. Went with her and her dad to view the apartment." She smiles. "He was worried about her having a ground floor unit in the city, but it was the one she wanted. Never any complaints from her or from other tenants about her. Then...the rent stopped."
MAVERICK: "Yeah, we saw that."
Cynthia: "No. You don't understand. The rent stopped. No one in the building has been paying rent since March this year."
MAVERICK: "What does that mean?"
Cynthia is nervous. MAVERICK picks up she's worried she might be in trouble and he reassures her she isn't. Far from it, in fact.
Across town, MALATESTA is shown one of Abigail's unsold paintings. Santiago unveils it; a landscape, the frame longer than it is tall. A park, with a city-skyline in the background. In the centre, a statue. There are people. Some gathered in a crowd, others walking in various directions. MALATESTA feels uneasy. Then he sees them: five figures gathered in the shadows of the statue around a sixth, seated on a bench. Merely brushstrokes, details and faces indistinct. One may be a woman. Another appears to be holding a skateboard.
Santiago, distant as MALATESTA gave the painting his full attention, becomes clear again.
"See what I mean? Like something you'd see in a doctor's office."
"Yeah." MALATESTA passes a SAN check, but still takes one.
He was there just yesterday.
This was exhibited in November of last year (1994).
He tries and fails to argue Santiago down on the price and is very unaware that the gallery owner is hitting on him. Wrapping the painting, MALATESTA asks if Santiago can check on where some of the other paintings might have ended up or ask around about Abigail in general. Since it means they will meet again, Santiago is all too happy to oblige and hands MALATESTA a business card, writing his own number on the back.
MALATESTA: "Cool, man. I'll be in touch with the deets."
Santiago: "Sure...the deets." (I think it pained him to say that word)
Before leaving, he lets go something Abigail mentioned during the exhibition. While unable to recall the name, he thinks she said she got her inspiration from a book of some sort. He thinks the name might have been something French.
Across their lunch table, Cynthia explains she thinks Art Life upper management are content to wait for eviction notices to be served to the remaining tenants.
Cynthia: "I think even if everyone paid what they owe and next month's, management wouldn't change their mind."
MAVERICK: "Why?"
Cynthia: "I think they want to renovate the building. Getting everyone out lets them do that. Spruce it up, hike the rent...I lie awake at night wondering if that's legal. I've never evicted a whole building."
MAVERICK: "One of my colleagues bumped into one of Abigail's neighbours. Mr. Post, Lewis Post I think. Same story with him?"
Cynthia: "Yeah, same as the rest. More or less."
MAVERICK: "More or less?"
Cynthia: "He called me the end of March this year, said he'd be late on the rent, but not to worry and then he started asking me about the building."
MAVERICK: "And you did?"
Cynthia: "Yeah, but I wish I hadn't."
She names a few books she picked up, as Lewis wanted more than just what Art Life had on the Macallistar. MAVERICK wonders why, but she explains Lewis was nice and she was curious herself.
"It's a weird building. Always made me feel...off, being there. I can't remember the last time I went in person."
MAVERICK: "What did you learn? I have the architect's name. Daribondi."
Cynthia: "Asa. Asa Daribondi. The Macallistar was built in 1921. He designed it. He...there was a fire at his office on Mott Street in 1950 and he disappeared. He...he was a murderer, Agent Delapore. They found a child's body on the premises. After that, I stopped looking into it."
There's a long silence. The MAVERICK asks her for keys to the unoccupied apartments. He tells her a story about how when he started out in the Bureau, he was involved in a missing person's case. A little girl and in the end, they found her hiding in her treehouse.
Cynthia: "You think Abigail's still in the building? In one of the empty units?"
MAVERICK: "I don't know, but I can't discount it. I don't think she was in a normative state of mind before she disappeared."
Cynthia considers things. The plates are cleared and the coffee served.
Cynthia reaches into her handbag and removes something. "If management don't care about the building, I don't see why I should either." She hands him a master key. "Don't lose this and borrow it for...give it back to me when you're done."
True to his word, MAVERICK pays the bill.
"I hope you find her, her find something to maybe help. She was nice."
MAVERICK and Cynthia say their goodbyes and he heads to Kips Bay.
In the interim, MIRANDA has joined MILHOUSE and MAIN in the coffeeshop, with MALATESTA arriving with weird painting in tow not long before MAVERICK's arrival.
Unable to contain his excitement, MALATESTA nearly unveils the painting right then and there.
MALATESTA: "You won't believe-"
MIRANDA: "Let's not talk about this here."
MALATESTA: "No, I know, but-"
Coffeeshop patrons are giving the table weird looks.
MIRANDA: "Let's not talk about this here."
MALATESTA: "I was jus-"
MIRANDA: "Let's not talk about this here."
Some of the people are frowning, scowling almost.
MILHOUSE (to the other patrons): "Sorry. Sorry."
MAVERICK arrives not long after and the team reconvenes in the apartment to share what they've learned and determine any plans.
Unable to contain himself, MALATESTA reveals the painting. Everyone except MAIN passes the SAN check for the realisation of what it depicts. MAIN takes 4 SAN loss and does not project. Closing in on his breaking point, MAIN is confused and unable to fully process what's going on and throws himself into another search of the apartment.
MIRANDA is concerned about further exposure to the para-natural and wonders if there is anything they can do to take care. All they can do is be cautious.
MAVERICK wants to make a sweep of the empty apartments in the building. MILHOUSE agrees to partner up with him on that front.
MALATESTA and MIRANDA remain with MAIN in Abigail's apartment to conduct a further search. The three who remain received a +20% bonus to their search rolls and all pass as MAVERICK & MILHOUSE leave to check the building (They can make rolls in the apartment on their return).
They exit the apartment at 2:30pm.
Within, MALATESTA, MAIN & MAVERICK find the following:
A rent receipt with Abigail's name, undated and signature unreadable.
A page of typed script which appears to be a play Abigail was writing. Several names are mentioned: Michelle, Mark & Thomas. Michelle is the first name of one of Abigail's neighbours, right?
A plane ticket in the name of Michael Witwer from Las Vegas to Boston, dated June 6th, 2015.

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Dorchester House, 2015
Dr. Dallon: "Must've been a fake? What with the date and all."
MAVERICK: "Must have been."

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Post-Mortem
Five players going in different directions was a little tough to juggle, but they were happy with the pace of play and I made sure everyone had something to do.
I knew we weren't going to get through an entire in-game day about an hour in and I should've taken a bit more time to line up what everyone wanted to do at the end of the previous session, but everyone still had fun. Lea put it well: it feels like there's a dam with information gathering against it and it's going to burst.
With four out of the five players having children, I took a short aside during MAVERICK's rp with Cynthia to do a table check. I know the players and they know me and I handled it in the right way as far as they were concerned.
Two sessions in and MAIN is the first character to close on his BP, being 3 or 4 (one bad roll) away from his first disorder. I appreciate this and his reasons for not projecting make sense, in-character. We'll see how that pans out.
Our next session is TBD due to life stuff and until then, be seeing you.

Okay this post might be a little controversial but let me know your thoughts on this take whether you disagree or agree.
*Please do not downvote just because you disagree. I am all for open discussion and communication and I’m not anchored to my views.
This issue around marriage is far more nuanced than it seems. From my experience, many men these days are hesitant to commit to something serious like marriage because they can't afford to support a family financially, which isn't entirely their fault given today’s economy. So with that said, this post is under this assumption (which may or may not be the case for all men).
Back then, women had to marry men to have basic things like credit cards and housing, but that's no longer the case. So I wonder, were women of the past simply settling for whatever man was willing to marry them? And is it wrong to not necessarily want this for ourselves in today’s society when we don’t have to settle in order to obtain these basic necessities?
Men undoubtedly had it easier when women had fewer rights - it was almost like women were interchangeable aside from looks, with the only expectation being to maintain an attractive figure.
Nowadays, I struggle to see the value in marrying a man until they are willing to adapt to the current societal norms. It feels like women have adapted and progressed in society while many men remain stuck in a 1950s mindset with an unwarranted superiority complex over women. It's extremely off-putting and actually quite annoying.
Women have their own careers, hobbies and means to support themselves now. So while men are delaying marriage/family until they are financially sound, they simultaneously fail to realize that simply providing financially is no longer enough (yet the ones who do provide financially often arrogantly remind you of it during conflicts, as if we didn’t give up our right to do so).
Ultimately, it is evident that women crave authentic human connection - someone who truly knows them, accepts them, and meets them emotionally and spiritually, not just physically or materially. A relationship grounded in mutual understanding, care, and growth should be highly valued in modern society over financial stability.
If men continue believing money is their sole marital value, I fear the value of marriage and relationships may become obsolete because:
1) The economy makes it difficult for the average man to fully financially support a family alone.
2) Money alone is insufficient - women now have independent lives they've built while waiting for men to become financially stable. Convincing them to give that up just due to a man's fragile ego is a tough sell.
I believe a lot of women are actually willing to take the financial risk by giving up their careers (that they worked just as hard for) for marriage and family, but the amount of men who are openly against alimony and child support if things just don’t workout is alarming. It’s unlikely any person is able to come back to their career after being jobless for 10+ years. And yes this is negatively assuming divorce is inevitable, but doesn’t a marriage seem more likely to fail if the man's only contribution is money? Especially when women have their own personalities and perspectives now, increasing potential for clashes.
Men seem to be seriously lagging in adapting to today's world. You could argue women have turned to OnlyFans for money instead of marriage, which while I disagree with, is understandable given how lucrative it can be - not helping men's case. And men don't get much blame for society's role in making sex so profitable.
The sad part is, I believe many women AND men still want marriage and family. But it seems none of us are on the same page.
With that said, why are women berated for not wanting to settle when we don’t have to? And why are men unwilling to adapt or compromise by actually valuing women for who they are for the sake of marriage and family? Which option seems more fair; and is there room for compromise?

Previous part: 8.99.
​
One thing that I'm not getting here is why Vanessa is even a part of Vanny or Glitchtrap's situation since Double-V is true. When I originally thought up Double-V, I was originally thinking that Vanessa and Vanny were two different people and/or were sharing the role of "Vanny".
It's just one of them was more willing than the other to be a part of Glitcthtrap's machinations than the other. I didn't put too much thought into it, but it was something I wanted to look for until that Security Team revelation came about.
But now I'm left with this puzzle piece called Vanessa that I'm not quite sure what to do with now that I know that Vanny is an entirely separate person from her.
She has to be involved with Vanny and Gltichtrap somehow. Maybe the therapy tapes will help.

• CD 1-Therapist: — but a routine check of your online history has revealed that you spend quite a bit of time with someone in an encrypted conversation. We have transcripts, and I’ve read them, but it’s not clear what you’re talking about in these conversations. I can’t make sense of it. You must be getting something from these that I’m not getting. Right? Who are you talking to in these?

These are all things that would've pointed toward Glitchtrap if I didn't know better. So it's someone else doing this? Why and why her?

• CD 5-Therapist: — Apparently, the IT department has put together a pretty lengthy report chronicling non-job-related communications that have been coming to your computer. — what bothers me about what I read is that the messages you're getting seem very manipulative in nature. —You know who I'm talking about. What you might not know is that this person who's been sending you messages has been hacking into your personal files too.
• CD 5-Vanessa: Lots of people know more than I do. Sometimes I need to listen.

So Vanessa knows who's doing this to her. But she's been refusing to listen to them before and is now being worn down by the spamming messages sent to her. But the fact that she doesn't react to the news that they are digging into her personal life is very concerning!
Also, after going through Vanny's secret dialogue in Help Wanted, Vanessa's overall demeanor in both Security Breach and the Retro Cds clashes hard with Vanny's in both games. Where Vanny sounds and reads eager and nervous, Vanessa is defiant and reluctant with depressed undertones.
Is Vanessa really infected with Glitchtrap?
Yet now that I'm thinking about it, Glitchtrap has no need to do this as him sitting through Vanessa's therapy session with her would give him this info if she was infected. Who's ever doing this doesn't much about her, but would very much like to. Is it Vanny or Gregory...
Wait, hold on. Vanessa's first therapist mentioned that messages were encrypted and couldn't make out what the conversation was about. But the second therapist can understand these messages to know that they're manipulative in nature. Are these two different messengers?!
" I’ve read them, but it’s not clear what you’re talking about in these conversations**.** I can’t make sense of it. You must be getting something from these that I’m not getting." - The first Therapist
"but what bothers me about what I read is that the messages you're getting seem very manipulative in nature." - The second Therapist
What changed? Hmm... What exactly is an encrypted conversation? Maybe explaining that will help.
Encrypted text messaging is a method of secure communication that converts your messages into code. This means that only the recipient with the correct decryption key can read it. - Google
That sounds like what the first Therapist is referring to, but she mentions that they got the transcripts for it. Does that mean that got the code or the decryption key to read it? No, she says transcripts, which means the code itself.
But whatever the first Therapist saw in that transcript was legible enough to read and comprehend. This means the conversation wasn't in computer coding that would require someone in the tech field to decipher it, but just ordinary talk that's hard to understand what it's about.
Okay, that clears things up, they're still the same messenger.

• CD 11-Therapist: So, on your breaks, it looks like you were shopping for a costume. you purchased some fake fur material.
• CD 11- Vanessa: I can't talk about this. He said he would always be watching. He could be here or there or anywhere in between.
• CD 11-Therapist: No, that's not what I mean. You can't just ignore an issue. You have to face your memory of the experiences and process them so you can let it go. So you don't get triggered anymore. you can use this sort of self-dialogue to release these things
• CD 11-Vanessa: I don't like doing that.

This one conversation right here throws everything about Double-V out of whack. Why is Vanessa buying fake fur material? And for the very first time, we know the gender of who's messaging her along that he said that he would always be watching her.
Again the "he" here, and the "he will always be watching" part allude to Glitchtrap at first glance. And again, it can't be him because he should be within Vanessa since they merged in Help Wanted! Even if you dismissed the ending I proposed for Vanny and went with the ending where she gets locked up by Glitchtrap, it still wouldn't be him messaging her about watching here because he would be in her body!
And like I already said before, Vanessa has shown no memory problems or bodily control problems, which would've suggested Glitchtrap's control. No, this means that Gregory is doing all of this.
But why is he going after Vanessa? Geez, It's been a while since I even thought about his past before Security Breach. I forgot how much of a black hole of questions he is, regarding the lore. I'll give my updated thoughts about him after the Double-V revelation later.
For now, after going through all of Gregory's dialogue in Security Breach. It looks like he's not quite aware of the ongoings within the Pizzaplex and is shocked by the level of security can employ later in the night. There may actually be a hint of his hacker background in his dialogue if you squint. And Gregory has absolutely no idea what the rabbit laddy's name is until he gets to Fazerblast.
As for Gregory's involvement with Vanessa... Huh, that's weird. Gregory doesn't say Vanessa's name even once in Security Breach. Matter of fact, after the beginning sequence where Vanessa confronts Freddy about him, Gregory just stops talking about or even mentioning her for the rest of the game. This includes the confrontation that leads to her locking him up in Lost and Found and after it...
No matter how you slice it, Gregory's silence about her is super loud with alarm bells. Sure, he dismisses her as working with Vanny in the beginning, but it shouldn't mean that she should be an afterthought to him! Like, Gregory only talks about or mentions "the rabbit lady" after the beginning of the game.
In fact, if we were to rank every important character that Gregory talks about or mentions in his dialogue for Security Breach from most to least, it would look like this.

1. Freddy - 33 times
2. Vanny - 6 times
3. Chica - 6 times
4. Roxy - 4 times
5. Monty - 3 times
6. Moon - 3 times
7. Vanessa - 3 times
8. Burntrap - 1 time

That's absurd! Especially since she's the only other human worker in the Pizzaplex, besides Vanny, who encounters and confronts him. Like, he doesn't even try to communicate with her at all during the entire game!
Even when discovering Vanny's hideout in Fazerblast and Freddy suggests that Vanny is Vanessa due to deduceing Vanny's name being a combination of Vanessa + Bunny, Gregory remains silent about it! No, "Oh maybe you're right." or "That sounds too simple to be right", but instead there's no response to what might be the identity of your pursuer!
It's like he doesn't want to talk about her...
He knows her, he has to know Vanessa! Yet, he said, "I don't know who she is, but she's trying to get me!" to Freddy. Is he lying? No, he just knows about her.

• CD 14-Therapist: —They report that they've caught you on camera, or at least it appears to be you. — Well the techs are convinced that you've hacked into their system many times. — the electronics you like? I saw in your file that you have developed software programs that talk to you and repeat phrases, right? The program asks you questions and prompts you for responses. It's kind of like your own self therapy, isn't it? Another way of talking to yourself to work things out, right? When I saw some of your recent encrypted conversation logs, that's what I thought I was looking at. It felt like I was watching someone go back and forth in their own head, but the text found something that's different than that. When I read what they found, at first I thought I was looking at more examples of you just talking with yourself. Then I realized it was different. When I study this, it sounds like there is someone else responding to you. Who is it?

This is either hinting towards Gregory talking directly to Vanessa or Glitchtrap. But something that confuses me is why the therapist has or even be able to see Gregory's encrypted conversation logs?
I'll admit that I'm ignorant about therapy, but should your therapist have access to stuff you created outside of therapy? Unless Gregory created the program on a computer in therapy. It could explain how he's gotten access to Vanessa's files. But I'll drop that talk for now.
Something that's being made clear to me now is that Vanessa is not as connected to the villains as Gregory is, as she's more surprised by the changing of therapist than he is. In fact, Gregory knows why the therapists are disappearing, knows exactly when the therapists do something that would cause them to disappear, and doesn't seem upset when they show up mangled and dead.
But more than anything, Gregory knew Vanny long before Security Breach started. There's no reason why Gregory would know Vanny has enough control over the Pizzaplex to cut off Freddy from the network, in just one encounter. If anything, he should have assumed she was some weirdo stranger in the Pizzaplex that the security and the police needed to take care of.
But he already knew that Vanny had power in the Pizzaplex, maybe not the full scope, but enough to know that if she and he ever came into conflict with one another that ended with her wanting to hurt him then he needed to get out of the Pizzaplex.
Funnily enough, this actually lines up with the first-ever trailer for Security Breach, where Vanny says: "Gregory, I may have lost my temper earlier. But it was just a glitch!" Which implies they talking neutrally before whatever made Vanny lose her temper." Again, I'm not using this as evidence as it's been cut, instead, I'm suggesting that the idea might have merit.

• CD-Therapist: — I have this still shot the techs pulled from the security footage that recorded you in the pizzaplex. That's you, isn't it? I know this image is distorted but I think it looks like you. And you're not alone here. You're talking to someone, or something. it's hard to tell. What are those things? They almost look like rabbit ears. What? You find that amusing? Well I guess it is.

I had always flipped-flopped between the mysterious person being either Glamrock Bonnie or Vanny. Both are connected to Glitchtrap, so either would fit here as Glitchtrap wouldn't be captured by a camera. But with the new evidence I've discovered, Vanny fits as Gregory's mysterious rabbit correspondent in the Pizzaplex.
But what about Vanessa? Is Gregory hacking into her files or is it Vanny and Glitchtrap? Or perhaps Gregory is hacking into her files on behalf of Glitchtrap and Vanny. Either way, Vanessa is getting dragged into Gregory and the Villian's group chat.
Speaking of the therapy, if we take into account the Retro-CD's numbering system the first two numbers are the patient ID number, and the last two numbers are the number of times both Gregory and Vanessa have been to therapy, then we can uncover some invaluable information.
Gregory has been in therapy longer than Vanessa and he was also in therapy before her too. But combining this CD's numbering system with a theory from the Talesbook story, GGY, that Gregory only goes to therapy on Sunday. Then Gregory has been going to therapy for a year and a half.
And if Vanessa is following the weekly therapy session pattern, then she's only been going to it for a little more than half a year. This means she started her therapy just about after Gregory hit his half-year mark for therapy. In addition to all that, Vanessa stopped going to therapy once she was transferred to a new location and never met the fourth and final therapist of the CDs.
Just something you all should keep in mind.
But Gregory definitely knows about her at the very least. That knowledge, I guess, is the reason why he's so shocked to see her face under Vanny's mask in the "To The Rooftop" ending. He knows that Vanessa and Vanny are two different people, but doesn't know that they look alike because he never encountered Vanny before Security Breach without her mask or costume.
On the subject of costumes, I still got no answer for Vanessa's purchase of fake animal fur or what's even happening with her now.
To be honest, this would be so simple and easy if Vanessa was just Vanny. But like as I have shown many times before in both this series and the previous one, simple and easy answers are not always the correct ones.
So, instead of looking for signs of the villain's goal with Vanessa in the lore. Let's look at the similarities and differences between the double Vs.
Vanessa's characteristics are.

• Depressed
• Has anxiety issues
• Tired (It's something that has been mentioned by the first and third therapists in CD-1 and CD-10. But seems to have more to do with the messages she's getting than how she usually is.)
• Likes the blue sky
• Likes to sit outside and read
• Watchful about her calorie intake
• Likes flowers or at least the sweet smell of them
• Doesn't like dark basements
• Oh, and hates kids

Vanny's characteristics are.

• Loves Pizza, especially pepperoni (Huh, no wonder she likes Chica)
• Absolutely, does not care about her calorie intake or a healthy diet (Seriously, Girl has gone full gamer mode with the amount of Fizzy Faz, straw drinks, and pizza boxes in areas with her presence in them)
• Hobbies in painting or graffiti
• Likes or used to like Glitchtrap or maybe William Afton (I talk about this in the secret ending)
• Loves Fazbear Entertainment (Vanny uses red spray paint in Ruin and has drawn two hearts on the FAZ ENT. Logo in the main Lobby)
• Likes Toy Chica
• Likes the Daycare Attendant (She seems to be fond of Moon more)
• Likes to read, or at least, read about the World History of Fazbear Entertainment
• Likes Flowers, a specific species of them(that I can't determine right now)
• Likes summer
• Is a mechanic or roboticist or both (She making something in Ruin Fazerblast and has turned Ruin Monty into her lapdog among other things)
• Super lazy (This one may or may not be true, but unless there's a good reason why she refuses to clean up her room in Fazer Blast, this is staying right here as far as I'm concerned)

Wow, I did not realize we already knew this much about Vanny just from the environment storytelling of the games until I listed them!
Anyway, as you can see, there are some very similar likes between the two and very stark differences in traits as well. I'm not about to list them to save word space, but instead, I want to answer a question. Could Vanessa still be Vanny despite their differences? This isn't so much for me, but for the people who believe Vanny = Vanessa despite my Double-V evidence.
At first, I thought there might've been a chance for that as they both like flowers, to read, and enjoy the outside, or at least the summer in Vanny's case. But now, after listing everything out they're just too different to say they're the same.
Even if we say that Vanny's love of pizza, general bad diet, and trashy room is the result of Vanessa coping with her depression and her situation with Glitchtrap and that her graffiti is the by-product of therapy, along with her interest in growing flowers. That doesn't negate the fact that in Ruin when given the chance to express her anxiety, Vanny doesn't take it.
If you don't know, on the wall where Vanny drew her face next to a slice of pizza in the main lobby near the Superstar Daycare entrance, there is a painted graph. The artist who made the graph also wrote on the right side of it; "TAG YOURSELF".
On all four sides of the graph, the artist made the furthest sides of them represent something. The top Y-axis is Wizard, the bottom Y-axis is Cedar the left X-axis is Filled with a word that ends in a y, and the right X-axis is Filled with anxiety.
What this graph is showing, or what the artist trying to convey with it, is that each of the four points represents not quite the opposite thing but the furthest thing from each other. Of which, Vanny decided to tag herself on the furthest left X-axis, not the right.
This tells us that Vanny feels the furthest thing from anxiety. Something Vanessa, no matter if she's under Glitchtrap's control or not, would be constantly feeling as she suffers from it.
As for what she's feeling, I don't know, the word on the left graph is unreadable and covered by Vanny's face to make it almost impossible to decipher. But what I do know without a doubt, is that Vanny and Vanessa are indeed, two different people with some common likes and polar opposite traits.
So after everything I've talked about in the last three? four? However many parts I've been going over Double-V, what is the best possible answer for the "To The Rooftop" ending stinger. Why do Vanny and Vanessa look alike?
I tried, I really did. I looked for as much possible evidence for anything that doesn't just make me give up and say "She's a Fazgoo clone!" or "She's a robot!"
If Vanny was a stranger who mimicked Vanessa's face, then that's cool and horrifying, but only where it concerns Vanessa herself. (The horrifying part, not the cool part.) It doesn't give us reasons why she would do it in the first place or a way to connect it to the greater lore and Glitchtrap, besides she's a human Mimic. Basically, it lacks motivation from everyone in the Villian party.
So it leaves me with no other conclusion except for one.
Back when the marketing for Security Breach was building up to its release. Steel Wool released four old Freddy cartoon episodes on their YouTube channel. Each episode hides a teaser image for the lore, including a character from the games with words, along with a character stinger at the end.
The last carton, which is the most distorted one, just so happened to include Vanessa as the hidden teaser, and Vanny as the character stinger at the end. And before you all jump the gun, previous episodes have already established that the hidden character teasers have no correlation to the ending Character stinger.
Now, the words in the Vanessa teaser image are quite interesting. It includes "Test and Rat" in the upper right corner, "Pool" in the bottom left corner, and "Bleak Reactant".
Test and Rat could be Test rat or Laboratory rat (Lab rat) as in the species of rat that are bred and kept for scientific research. Lab rat here can also be referring to Vanessa being a lab rat for the villain's experiment for something.
Using that explanation, "Pool" would then mean group or pool of people, which means number of people available for an organization or group to use. So Pool would mean that Vanessa was chosen out of all the Fazbear employees or people in general to be used for the experiment.
This leaves us with Bleak Reactant, which the definition of reactant is a substance that takes part in and experiences change during a reaction, while the definition of bleak could mean lacking vegetation (an area of land), dreary (a room), miserable(the weather), or unfavorable (outcome.)
All of this together means that Vanessa was chosen by the villains out of a group of people to be used for an experiment. An experiment of a change in Vanessa that predicted an unfavorable outcome for the villains.
Vanessa was going to be the next Vanny or maybe something else.
That gives a reason why the villains were so interested in her, why she would be shopping for a costume, why she would be at the Pizzaplex, and why she would be still connected to the villains when someone else is Vanny.
But the reason she was chosen in the first place, why her out of a group of people that might've included Gregory in it too, is because the one who chose her was her own twin sister.
If anyone remembers my only Ruin theory then you would remember my mentioning of Glitchtrap's and Vanny's conversation from Scott's website from a Security Breach poster.
Glitchtrap: "Stay the course."
Vanny: "I will."
Glitchtrap: "Focus on my voice."
Vanny: "I will."
Glitchtrap: "Don't let anyone lead you astray."
Vanny: “I won't.”
Glitchtrap: "Have you selected one?"
Vanny: "I have."
In my theory, I proposed that Gregory was the one that Vanny mentioned selecting here. But now, with all the revelations and new information gained, I believe Vanessa works better here. Vanny would've chosen someone for an experiment that she personally knew of or gotten to know, and who better than her own sibling that she grew up with.
Remember, Vanny is just starting out in her following of Glitchtrap. So would be new to the whole evil thing. And most of the time, the people close to you are the ones that would most likely commit a crime against you.
As for the twin sister thing, it actually didn't come from the "To The Rooftop" ending, but a discussion from the GTlive stream where Mat hosted a little get-together with some of the FNAF YouTuber theorists after Security Breach. There, John Fuhnaff suggested the idea for it from the VR Sisters boss from the Security Breach game Scott made when Security Breach got delayed again.
It's something that I saw some merit in after I discovered the Vanny ≠ Vanessa and after disproving in my head that Vanny wasn't Tape Girl either. The best part of the twin sister thing is that there's no need to throw out all that we know from Vanessa's therapy sessions as they both share the divorced parent's backstory.
As for which is the order twin between the two, I believe Vanessa is the oldest since it makes sense that her father would use the oldest to testify against their mother as she would better understand his instructions. Plus it provides a potential grudge from Vanny to Vanessa for what happened to their mother and a misguided parental affection for Glitchtrap. Unless Vanny's just a fangirl of William Afton, which could be the case.
Also, this means that the reason Vanessa looks the way she does in "To The Rooftop" end credits is because she looking at her dead sister. Oof, I realized that this also means she would've been the one who finds what's left of her in the "Disassemble Vanny" ending too. No wonder Faz Ent. is temporarily closed if they find that one employee is disassembled and the other one is having a mental breakdown from it in the morning.
But what about the "Redemption" ending? We know that by beating PQ3 both Glitchtrap and Vanny are defeated in it. What happens to her then? Where did she go? Hmm... I'm not sure.
What happens when someone is unmerged after being merged for a long time? Unlike Vanessa, we know that Vanny lives in the Pizzaplex. Even by Ruin and Help Wanted 2, she's still living in the building despite its condition so she probably needs time to think and process what happened to her and what's she done. Oh, and therapy. And a house.
But I think that just about wraps everything up for— Wait, HW2's Candy Cadet story! I forgot all about it! I know some people mentioned that the second story had to do with Vanessa, Gregory, and Gltichtrap. Let me skim through that real quick for clues.
Oh. Oh, that's really interesting... But it along with the Jeremy and the Memory dolls can wait until after next time. Sorry for the little to no pictures, I needed space to fit everything in one post and wanted to get everything about Double-V out of the way before I go on hiatus.
Don't worry it has nothing to do with burnout. It won't be too long either, though knowing my track record when saying that, you probably don't believe me.
Truth is, I've been severely neglecting my YouTube channel, and should really start catching up the YouTube version of my series with the online version. Plus, I've got more "Prove it!" to work on.
But most important of all, my birthday is coming up, and I don't want to work, think, or have anything to do with my FNAF stuff on that day. So! Feel free to read and become full with these last few Parts until I come back with more.

The View from Oregon – 292
Re: The Epistemic Risks of Flawed Science
Friday 07 June 2024
Dear Friends,
In last week’s newsletter I introduced the concept of epistemic enclaves to characterize the knowledge regimes of distinct communities. The idea of epistemic enclaves follows straight-forwardly from an appreciation of the constructed character of human knowledge. Different communities construct their knowledge in different ways, and so find themselves with distinct but overlapping epistemic regimes. Since scientific knowledge is the most objective form of knowledge that human beings have formulated, we hesitate to see the scientific community as a community with its own distinctive knowledge regime, but we need to see this as a matter of degree. Scientific knowledge is certainly more objective than most folk knowledge regimes, but it isn’t absolutely objective. Even within science, as is widely recognized, there are disciplines that we characterize as “hard” sciences that seem to possess a greater degree of objectivity, and “soft” sciences with a lower degree of objectivity.
Scientists have done their utmost since the scientific revolution to distance themselves from the philosophy that was the womb in which science was conceived and brought to term. As part of this campaign for the independence of the epistemic enclave of science, Plato has been a particular target, and his otherworldly philosophy has been seen as antithetical to scientific knowledge. Nevertheless, the concept of knowledge implicitly held by many scientists is essentially Platonic. I am going to call the Platonic conception of knowledge that conception holding that (true, genuine) knowledge is eternal and unchanging. Scientists aren’t likely to use these descriptors, but presuppositions have a way of transcending language.
One can make any number of compromises between naturalism and the Platonic conception of knowledge that will allow one to conceal (from oneself, if not also from others) the Platonic character of knowledge that is being presupposed. For example, one might hold that the process of scientific discovery is a long, uncertain, and rocky road, with many setbacks, but the implication is that it does eventually lead to genuine knowledge (also known as “settled science”). I could call this the teleological cope: scientific knowledge ultimately converges on eternal and unchanging knowledge (i.e., the Platonic conception of knowledge), even if this convergence is inevitably and perhaps also indefinitely delayed. Thus one is not claiming that current scientific concepts and theories are timeless and unchanging, but they are converging on timeless and unchanging knowledge. The second part is the quiet part that you’re not supposed to say aloud. The teleological cope is a concession to the contingency that is central to naturalism, but it is only a limited concession, and it only satisfies an inquiry that is willing to be satisfied by half measures.
In the previous newsletter I said that epistemic enclaves are not only about bare facts, but as much about facts that are bearers of meanings and values. This enters quite directly into history, and can lead to radically different accounts of the same event or set of events. (The long-debated scientificity of history provides us with a test case of a knowledge regime that can make claims to objectivity, but which is all-too-often subjected to pressures that deviate from ideal scientific standards of objectivity.) All history must select the evidence from which it draws to construct its narrative. The principle of the selection of relevant evidence is, of course, the Achilles’ heel for objectivity. Since we must select evidence, we select on the basis of the value of that evidence to a historical account, and this is an axiological judgment, and not a judgment about the legitimacy of the evidence or the objectivity of the facts concerned. It is entirely possible, even if not ever realized in fact, that two historians (or any two individuals giving an account of some episode) might weigh the importance of facts so differently that they come away from one and the same milieu with two disjoint sets of facts, and each constructs a narrative of the episode in which there are no facts in common.
This is, or would be, a particularly radical outcome. As I said above, this might not ever happen in fact, but we cannot exclude the possibility, and what is true of history is true of other sciences, including the hard sciences. The sciences select the evidence they will use in formulating a theory, which is the point of the anecdote related by Eugene Wigner as quoted in newsletter 282. Part of the value of a scientific research program is that it aligns the scientific community (or the greater part of the scientific community), and this alignment extends to what will be considered relevant evidence and what will not be considered relevant evidence. There are other alignments that also serve to constrain what we value as relevant evidence. As human beings, we have human experience in common, and we might call this the human alignment, which consists of a complex network of cognitive biases and shared evolutionary psychology that tends to unconsciously coordinate our experience, making it possible to agree upon much that might otherwise be elusive.
The ultimate alignment would be a science of science that entailed precise quantitative and axiological constraints for evidence. If there were a science of science, then we might very well argue that science is converging on absolute knowledge (without this being a teleological cope), that science can be “settled” once an area of knowledge has been exhausted, that the growth of scientific knowledge can be programmatic and therefore automated, and so on. We cannot rule out the automated pursuit of science, but science at its present state of conceptual development means that automated science would not be absolute knowledge or ultimate science. The kind of science we might program a machine to pursue wouldn’t be a perfect or universal science, but only one more permutation of the possible pathways for science, as though machines already constituted their own machine civilization and that machine civilization was another cultural-historical type to add to Danilevsky’s list of cultural-historical types.
Undertaking science in a framework defined by personalities, blindspots, idiosyncratic insight, and adherence to a political narrative entails what we can call epistemic risk. Epistemic risk can take the form of falling afoul of a powerful personality (or being too close to them and losing one’s autonomy), failing to see relevant evidence due to a blindspot (or becoming aware of the blindspots of others, and thus falling afoul of the research community), failing to possess the requisite insight to make a scientific discovery (or having an unwelcome insight that runs counter to the prevailing scientific research program), or being so captured by a political narrative that knowledge growth stagnates (or running afoul a political narrative by attempting to pursue a scientific research program counter to the narrative). Epistemic risk only enters into science because there is no science of science. If scientific discovery were an exhaustively theorized activity, the continuation of which can be generated by an algorithm, there would be no epistemic risk involved.
It remains to be said that, even if we possessed a science of science, we could not be assured of its uniform deployment. The formulation of an adequate science of science would only present the possibility of reforming science, but not the reform itself, which latter would be an historical process distinct from the ideal end state of mature scientific knowledge attained (i.e., the convergence of scientific knowledge upon the Platonic conception of knowledge). We can easily see that this historical process of the deployment of a science of science would be riddled with dangers. A science of science, if acted upon, would collapse epistemic enclaves. Indeed, the ability of such a discipline to collapse epistemic enclaves would immediately be perceived as a threat, and those in power within given epistemic enclaves would act to counter this threat.
In the long run, possession of a science of science would greatly expand scientific knowledge, and insofar as scientific knowledge can be the source of technologies that can be engineered into industries, a society adopting and acting upon a science of science would eventually come to dominate militarily and economically, and in the anarchic nation-state system, this kind of power is the only real currency. However, there is a great gap—perhaps even a yawning chasm—between the rudiments of a science of science being formulated, and a mature science of science deciding the fates of nation-states. This is a process that could unfold over hundreds or thousands of years—a period of time sufficient that any number of other events or historical processes might unfold, either to derail the unfolding of a science of science, to bring about an untimely end to human civilization, or to suggest alternative ideals as the proper alignment for human civilization.
In many blog posts and essays I have offered possible definitions of what would constitute a properly scientific civilization (for example, “Pathways into the Deep Future,” “The Role of Science in Enlightenment Universalism,” and “The Infinite telos of Reason: Edmund Husserl and Scientific Civilization”). Given my analysis of the institutional structure of civilization, the obvious answer to this question is that a properly scientific civilization is a civilization that has science as its central project. However, these reflections on the nature of science and the possibility of a science of science point to a further complexity.
If science in its present state of development, i.e., science that falls short of the ideal of scientific knowledge, were to be installed as the central project of a civilization, such a civilization could be as flawed in its pursuit of scientific knowledge as is Enlightenment era civilization. In such an eventuality we would experience the founder effect at the scale of civilization: the new civilization would be based only on the science that founded it, and would likely exclude a more comprehensive conception of science, perhaps on principle, as scientific variants might appear to a scientific establishment as forms of heresy. I can think of at least four obvious permutation of this problem:

1. A scientific civilization would inevitably be as flawed and as limited as any non-scientific civilization (where a non-scientific civilization is understood to be a civilization that does not have science in some form as its central project), because it would be based on flawed and imperfect science.
2. No civilization would be prepared to install science as its central project unless or until it had developed and deployed a mature science of science (scientific maturity comes first).
3. No civilization would be capable of developing and deploying a mature science of science unless and until it had installed science as its central project (a scientific central project comes first).
4. The process of science acceding to the institution of civilizational central project would be integral with and inseparable from the development of a science of science; no civilization would be capable of formulating a science of science unless it were in the process of installing science as its central project, and vice versa (scientific maturity and a scientific central project are parallel and linked).

There are probably many other possibilities, and many possible variations on these themes. The limited schematization I have employed above implies, for example, the possibilities of the development of a mature science of science without the appearance of a properly scientific civilization, the appearance of a properly scientific civilization (if it could be called such) without the development of a mature science of science, or an initial development toward both scientific maturity and a scientific central project that stagnates or is derailed before it can come to fruition.
Best wishes,
Nick
PS—After five months and 70 videos, I now have more than 400 subscribers to my Youtube channel, Today in Philosophy of History. (On Spotify I have 20 subscribers for the podcast edition.) In my most recent video on Isaiah Berlin I have departed significantly from mere exposition and have been more open about presenting my own interpretation of history. Of course, I have developed my own views in many episodes, for example, with Kant and especially in my episode on Giovanni Gentile, but most of what I have presented is expository with occasional comment and pointing out implications. But to keep things interesting—for myself primarily, but also, I hope, for the edification of my listeners—I will probably expand on my own interpretations at the expense of pure exposition.
What makes one episode more popular than another is utterly inscrutable to me. For example, my episode on Jacob Burckhardt has more than a thousand views, but my episode on Franciscus Patricius has fewer than twenty views—two orders of magnitude difference in viewership. I didn’t really have all that much to say about Burckhardt, and I have had misgivings about that episode in particular. I may record an addendum, or revisit Burckhardt next year (fate willing), since I have thought of a novel way to approach Burckhardt’s attitude to philosophy of history.
I am outlining two further series that I hope to begin recording sometime soon. I have previously mentioned (in a PS to newsletter 287) the series to be called “Case Studies in Civilization.” The other series I am outlining is “The Good Life in Historical Perspective” (obviously this is a working title and I would like to come up with something catchier). This latter series won’t be as open-ended as “Today in Philosophy of History” and “Case Studies in Civilization,” to both of which I can just keep adding episodes. “The Good Life in Historical Perspective” will take up the idea of the good life as it appears in the philosophy of classical antiquity and will examine how this has changed over time. Is the good life possible in all societies, or only in some? Is the good life the same in all societies? The finite scope of the series in set by the limitation imposed by the idea of the good life itself, and its iteration over known history, possibly with some speculation on the future of the good life. This series will give me a framework to talk about things I have long had on my mind, like medieval Scholastic interpretations of Aristotle’s ethics and Montaigne’s distinctive approach to the good life during a time when Europe was riven by religious wars.

Newsletter link:

https://mailchi.mp/b23eec0eaf27/the-view-from-oregon-292
​

Introduction to Internal Family Systems (IFS)

Internal Family Systems (IFS) is a therapeutic approach that views the mind as composed of multiple parts, each with its own roles, emotions, and perspectives. These parts can be seen as different facets of our personality. IFS helps individuals heal by addressing and harmonizing these parts. Here’s an overview of some key parts in IFS, what they might look like when damaged, and how they appear when healed.

Key Terms

1. Exiled Part: This part holds painful memories and emotions, often related to trauma. It is "exiled" because it carries burdens that the rest of the system wants to avoid.
2. Highly Suspicious Part: This part is extremely wary and mistrustful of others, constantly on guard to protect against betrayal or harm.
3. Recruiter Part: This part is always seeking an unconditionally loving figure, often driven by a deep need for love and acceptance that might have been missing earlier in life.
4. Self-Destructive Part: This part engages in harmful behaviors as a way to cope with overwhelming emotions or to punish itself.
5. Critic Part: This part is highly critical of oneself, often leading to feelings of low self-worth and anxiety.
6. Caretaker Part: This part prioritizes taking care of others at the expense of its own needs, often leading to burnout and resentment.

Healing in IFS

In IFS therapy, the goal is to heal these parts by addressing their burdens and helping them transform into healthier roles. Here’s a comparison of how these parts might look when they are damaged versus when they are healed:

Comparison Table

Part	Damaged Part Description	Healed Part Description
Exiled Part	Holds deep shame and unworthiness due to childhood trauma, leading to isolation and depression.	Has processed its trauma, feels worthy and accepted, and can engage in relationships without fear.
Highly Suspicious Part	Extremely mistrustful, always on high alert for betrayal or harm, causing social withdrawal and hypervigilance.	Is now discerning rather than mistrustful, engages with others while maintaining healthy boundaries, and is open to forming trusting relationships.
Recruiter Part	Constantly searches for an unconditionally loving parent figure, leading to dependency and fear of abandonment.	Recognizes its own capacity for self-love, seeks connections from a place of confidence and self-sufficiency.
Self-Destructive Part	Engages in harmful behaviors (e.g., substance abuse, self-harm) to cope with emotions or self-punish.	Finds healthier ways to cope with emotions, such as creative expression or physical activities, and no longer feels the need to harm itself.
Critic Part	Highly critical and judgmental of the self, causing low self-esteem and anxiety.	Acts as a constructive guide, offering balanced and encouraging feedback that improves self-awareness without damaging self-worth.
Caretaker Part	Overextends to care for others at its own expense, leading to burnout and resentment.	Balances caring for others with self-care, sets healthy boundaries, and ensures its own needs are also met.

Conclusion

IFS therapy aims to create an internal environment where all parts can coexist harmoniously. By healing the burdens carried by each part, individuals can achieve a more balanced, resilient, and fulfilling life. This process involves transforming rigid and extreme roles into adaptive and supportive ones, guided by the core compassionate Self.

Introduction to Internal Family Systems (IFS)

Internal Family Systems (IFS) is a therapeutic approach that views the mind as composed of multiple parts, each with its own roles, emotions, and perspectives. These parts can be seen as different facets of our personality. IFS helps individuals heal by addressing and harmonizing these parts. Here’s an overview of some key parts in IFS, what they might look like when damaged, and how they appear when healed.

Key Terms

1. Exiled Part: This part holds painful memories and emotions, often related to trauma. It is "exiled" because it carries burdens that the rest of the system wants to avoid.
2. Highly Suspicious Part: This part is extremely wary and mistrustful of others, constantly on guard to protect against betrayal or harm.
3. Recruiter Part: This part is always seeking an unconditionally loving figure, often driven by a deep need for love and acceptance that might have been missing earlier in life.
4. Self-Destructive Part: This part engages in harmful behaviors as a way to cope with overwhelming emotions or to punish itself.
5. Critic Part: This part is highly critical of oneself, often leading to feelings of low self-worth and anxiety.
6. Caretaker Part: This part prioritizes taking care of others at the expense of its own needs, often leading to burnout and resentment.

Healing in IFS

In IFS therapy, the goal is to heal these parts by addressing their burdens and helping them transform into healthier roles. Here’s a comparison of how these parts might look when they are damaged versus when they are healed:

Comparison Table

Part	Damaged Part Description	Healed Part Description
Exiled Part	Holds deep shame and unworthiness due to childhood trauma, leading to isolation and depression.	Has processed its trauma, feels worthy and accepted, and can engage in relationships without fear.
Highly Suspicious Part	Extremely mistrustful, always on high alert for betrayal or harm, causing social withdrawal and hypervigilance.	Is now discerning rather than mistrustful, engages with others while maintaining healthy boundaries, and is open to forming trusting relationships.
Recruiter Part	Constantly searches for an unconditionally loving parent figure, leading to dependency and fear of abandonment.	Recognizes its own capacity for self-love, seeks connections from a place of confidence and self-sufficiency.
Self-Destructive Part	Engages in harmful behaviors (e.g., substance abuse, self-harm) to cope with emotions or self-punish.	Finds healthier ways to cope with emotions, such as creative expression or physical activities, and no longer feels the need to harm itself.
Critic Part	Highly critical and judgmental of the self, causing low self-esteem and anxiety.	Acts as a constructive guide, offering balanced and encouraging feedback that improves self-awareness without damaging self-worth.
Caretaker Part	Overextends to care for others at its own expense, leading to burnout and resentment.	Balances caring for others with self-care, sets healthy boundaries, and ensures its own needs are also met.

Conclusion

IFS therapy aims to create an internal environment where all parts can coexist harmoniously. By healing the burdens carried by each part, individuals can achieve a more balanced, resilient, and fulfilling life. This process involves transforming rigid and extreme roles into adaptive and supportive ones, guided by the core compassionate Self.

Introduction to Internal Family Systems (IFS)

Internal Family Systems (IFS) is a therapeutic approach that views the mind as composed of multiple parts, each with its own roles, emotions, and perspectives. These parts can be seen as different facets of our personality. IFS helps individuals heal by addressing and harmonizing these parts. Here’s an overview of some key parts in IFS, what they might look like when damaged, and how they appear when healed.

Key Terms

1. Exiled Part: This part holds painful memories and emotions, often related to trauma. It is "exiled" because it carries burdens that the rest of the system wants to avoid.
2. Highly Suspicious Part: This part is extremely wary and mistrustful of others, constantly on guard to protect against betrayal or harm.
3. Recruiter Part: This part is always seeking an unconditionally loving figure, often driven by a deep need for love and acceptance that might have been missing earlier in life.
4. Self-Destructive Part: This part engages in harmful behaviors as a way to cope with overwhelming emotions or to punish itself.
5. Critic Part: This part is highly critical of oneself, often leading to feelings of low self-worth and anxiety.
6. Caretaker Part: This part prioritizes taking care of others at the expense of its own needs, often leading to burnout and resentment.

Healing in IFS

In IFS therapy, the goal is to heal these parts by addressing their burdens and helping them transform into healthier roles. Here’s a comparison of how these parts might look when they are damaged versus when they are healed:

Comparison Table

Part	Damaged Part Description	Healed Part Description
Exiled Part	Holds deep shame and unworthiness due to childhood trauma, leading to isolation and depression.	Has processed its trauma, feels worthy and accepted, and can engage in relationships without fear.
Highly Suspicious Part	Extremely mistrustful, always on high alert for betrayal or harm, causing social withdrawal and hypervigilance.	Is now discerning rather than mistrustful, engages with others while maintaining healthy boundaries, and is open to forming trusting relationships.
Recruiter Part	Constantly searches for an unconditionally loving parent figure, leading to dependency and fear of abandonment.	Recognizes its own capacity for self-love, seeks connections from a place of confidence and self-sufficiency.
Self-Destructive Part	Engages in harmful behaviors (e.g., substance abuse, self-harm) to cope with emotions or self-punish.	Finds healthier ways to cope with emotions, such as creative expression or physical activities, and no longer feels the need to harm itself.
Critic Part	Highly critical and judgmental of the self, causing low self-esteem and anxiety.	Acts as a constructive guide, offering balanced and encouraging feedback that improves self-awareness without damaging self-worth.
Caretaker Part	Overextends to care for others at its own expense, leading to burnout and resentment.	Balances caring for others with self-care, sets healthy boundaries, and ensures its own needs are also met.

Conclusion

IFS therapy aims to create an internal environment where all parts can coexist harmoniously. By healing the burdens carried by each part, individuals can achieve a more balanced, resilient, and fulfilling life. This process involves transforming rigid and extreme roles into adaptive and supportive ones, guided by the core compassionate Self.

You can read Part 1 here.

Interlude: Two Promises

Japanese	Romaji	English
あなたしか見えないの	anata shika mienai no	I can only see you.
あなたしか見えないの	anata shika mienai no	I can only see you.
なんであなたしか見えないの？	nande anata shika mienai no?	...why can I only see you?

Feeling absolutely terrible, Subject A remarks without much thought, “You have everything that everyone else doesn’t have.” (The emphasis is the author’s, and is used in mostly the same way throughout the book when Subject A uses みんな “everyone” to refer to the five versions of her friend.) The moment those words leave her mouth, Subject A immediately realizes that she is blaming Four again as well as the fruitlessness of doing so. She is disappointed in herself for saying it. However, of course, Four doesn’t know the other versions of herself and thinks “everyone” refers to the people around them in this world, so she starts listing her own faults. Regretting what she said, Subject A apologizes and tells Four to disregard those words.
Subject A personally considers talking about other worlds to be taboo, but she ends up doing it again. “I still haven’t been to that beach,” she mutters, referring to a promise she made with Three to go together. It has been Four’s world for so long, Subject A hasn’t had the chance to meet Three. Four comments that she and her classmates had also talked about wanting to go to the beach, but she had to take on some student committee work. Hearing Four’s promise leaves a bad taste in Subject A’s mouth.

あたしもきみと海に行くって、約束したんだけどな。 皆あなたを愛している。 皆あなたばかりを求める。 みんなあなたとおんなじなのに。 なんであなたしか見えないの？
Even though I also promised to go to the beach with you [Three, while also seeing Three and Four as the same person]. Everyone loves you. Everyone wants only you. Even though everyone else [the versions other than Four] is the same person as you. Why can I/everyone only see you? (p. 80, emphasis is the author’s)

Chorus 2: Catchy

Japanese	Romaji	English
あなたしか見えないの	anata shika mienai no	I can only see you.
蠱毒巣食った呪ひ言	kodoku sukutta noroigoto	Words cursed in a venomous pit.[1]
此方は気にせずお幸せに	kochira wa ki ni sezu oshiawase ni	(*) Please be happy and don't worry about me.
嗚呼、堕ちていく	aa, ochite iku	Aah, I'm falling in...

(Note from original translator) [1] The wording used here is really interesting- "蠱毒" is a method of making poison where many venomous animals are trapped in a single vessel and are forced to eat each other until a single survivor emerges.
Subject A calls Four キャッチー (“catchy”). Both of them aren’t really sure what that means. Subject A thinks she was being cynical or sarcastic saying that. Four guesses that it means “popular” or “well-received”. It’s very clear that 呪ひ言 (noroigoto, curse) here refers to the word “catchy” itself. It’s referenced in the song Catchy !? here:

唯、何時かのあの子の呪いが / 焼き付いている It’s just, at some point that girl’s curse / Was etched into my brain… (TL by teary eyes, with edits by khattikeri and Violet)

And in the chapter linked to Catchy !? as well:

何時しかわたしに「呪いの言葉」を贈ったあの子。 That girl who, at some point, gifted me [Four] the “curse”. (p. 14) [TL Note: The first-person pronoun わたし is used exclusively by Four. The speaker in this chapter is the one who chooses between the versions, and whose first-person pronoun is recorded only as ■.]

Adding on to the original song translator Kaz’s note [1], 蠱毒 (kodoku) is an ancient poisonous magic with some recorded use in Japan’s Nara period (710-784 or 794) and appearing in Japanese folklore. r-906 also uses the classical Japanese_rule) writing style 呪ひ言 as opposed to modern 呪い言. These probably emphasize that Subject A’s emotions towards Four, the other versions and the person choosing between them have been brewing for a long time.
I also saw a Japanese comment on the song noting that 蠱毒巣食った is a homophone of 孤独救った (kodoku sukutta, "saved from loneliness"). Subject A does complain during narration about feeling lonely because there’s no way she could tell anyone about the five worlds and five versions of her friend (p. 65), so dropping those cryptic comments to Four about "everyone else" and calling her "catchy" could be a way of alleviating her loneliness, even if done unconsciously, or even if only for a little while.
Staring straight into Four’s eyes, Subject A adds that even though Four always receives lots of attention from everyone, she strives to and manages to respond to all the attention. Subject A begins to say, “Even if I didn’t exist, you…” probably intending to say Four wouldn’t be any less happier. This is linked to the third line of the lyrics, which uses unnaturally formal or polite words as Subject A puts a barrier between the two of them again.

Chorus 3: Consolation

Japanese	Romaji	English
あなたしか見えないの	anata shika mienai no	I can only see you.
有象無象のひとりなら	uzoumuzou no hitori nara	(*) Since I’m just another face in the crowd,
あなたの「特別」に成れたのね！	anata no "tokubetsu" ni nareta no ne!	(*) I’ve become "special" to you!
嗚呼、素敵だわ	aa, suteki da wa	(*) Aah, isn’t that wonderful?
クセになっちゃうわ	kuse ni nacchau wa	Oh, I could get addicted to this.
目も当てられないわ	me mo aterarenai wa	I can't stand watching this.

Four interrupts by joking, “Oh, what’s this? So you’re jealous? How adorable!” and pats Subject A’s head. For the first time today, Subject A bursts out laughing. It reminds Four of how the two of them used to play around. Four consoles Subject A,

「大丈夫だよ。自分がいなくても、なんて言わないで。確かにわたし結構友達多い自覚はあるし、色々と頼られたりするけど、みんな等しく友達なんだから。もちろんきみもね」 “It’s okay. Don’t say things like ‘even if you didn’t exist’. Certainly I know that I have quite a lot of friends, and they depend on me in many ways, but it’s because everyone is equally precious to me as friends. You too, of course.” (p. 81)

Subject A thinks about Four’s words.

数年前の切なる願いは叶わなかった。やはりそうだった。 あなたにとって全ての友達は等しく「特別」なのだ。あたしも含めて。 だからこんなどうしようもないあたしも見離さず会いに来てくれたんでしょう？
My fervent wish from years ago [to be “special” to you] didn’t come true. Just as I thought. After all, all your friends are equally “special” to you. Including me. That’s why, even though I’m so hopeless, you didn’t abandon me and came to meet me, right? (p. 82)

Subject A realizes that although she isn’t more important as a friend than others, she's still extremely precious to Four. The last line in the text above suggests that she's grateful and happy about that. Nonetheless, she feels hopelessly pathetic and lonely due to her wish not coming true and having wrongfully blamed and resented Four.
目も当てられない literally describes “something one cannot look at”, and is usually used to refer to a tragedy or disaster that one cannot endure watching. In this case, like how Subject A can’t stand watching herself. On the other hand, in line with the literal meaning, as Four invites Subject A to come to her classroom whenever she likes, promises to talk more with her and leaves, Subject A also thinks that Four is dazzling (眩しい, p. 83). In other words, so bright that Subject A can’t look at her.

ああ、なんて眩しいのだろう。 この一点のかげりもない清らかな眩しさはまるで―― Ah, how dazzling. This clear, dazzling brightness, without so much as a single shadow, is just like― (p. 83)

It's not stated explicitly, but due to the repeated use of the phrase 一点のかげりもない, it's clear that Subject A compares Four to the full moon with a completely unobstructed view.

一点のかげりもない満月は、眩しすぎて少し苦手だ。 The full moon, not obscured by even a single cloud, is so dazzling it's slightly difficult to bear. (p. 68)

I don't know what disliking the bright full moon is supposed to say about Subject A. It could just be that Subject A hadn't made up with Four at the time of p. 68, and the full moon reminds Subject A of her. The slideshow-like paper in the music video does state that Four's motif is the full moon. The other versions' motifs are other phases of the moon.

Miscellaneous Thoughts

The English title diaLOG is a pun using the Japanese title. 会話 (kaiwa) means "dialogue" in the sense of "conversation" while 記録 (kiroku) means "log" in the sense of "record". By the way, "dialogue" and "dialog" are different spellings of the same word, but "dialogue" is the preferred spelling when used to mean "conversation" in both British and American English, whereas "dialog" is used primarily in computing contexts like in "dialog box".
I mentioned this as a reply to a comment on Part 1, but it seems strange to me that Four specifically is depicted to scribble over the projector showing the other versions of herself while laughing and delighted at herself in the music video. Four is just a version that gets chosen and doesn't know that the other versions exist. Subject A did blame Four in the past though, so maybe the scene is showing what Subject A used to think.
Hatsune Miku is the main vocal playing the role of Subject A, while the five CeVIO AI Musical Isotopes sing the backup vocals and act as the five versions. COKO harmonizes and sings backup almost throughout all choruses/sabi, taking on the biggest role both in terms of duration and importance. In contrast, KAFU, SEKAI, RIME and HARU only get two or three lines to sing, so COKO outshines her fellow Musical Isotopes just like Four outshines her other versions.

Afterword

Thank you for reading my longwinded analysis! I love the song and book. Maybe too much, since I lost sleep one night hyperfixating on this song and how it relates to the book, so this has been my way of getting it out of my system.
Again, feel free to comment your own thoughts, including your own interpretations and parts you want clarified.

BLUF (Bottom Line Up Front): There’s been drama and the main developer of the HA Unifi Protect integration has been booted out. There’s currently no one stepping up to take over. You need to either stop updating Unifi Protect (so that an update doesn’t break your HA integration), or take measures to switch over to that developers (now unofficial) integration.
Long Version:
(I’m gonna try and save my opinions till the end and avoid editorializing)
If you remember, the (formerly) main developer for the Unifi Protect Integration has strong feelings for Ubiquiti’s decision to require Unifi cloud access to enable local Smart detections. As an attempted protest/raise awareness, he submitted a pull request to the main HA branch that intentionally broke smart detection integration. If accepted, that would have meant all users of HA that use this integration and that feature would have had it stop working. The HA staff did not approve that pull request.
A few months following, he submitted a pull request that simply changed the license to ‘Business Source License” instead of an MIT open-source license. Please read his reasoning at that link.
In response, HA removed his access to the HA official github for the integration and removed his account as the maintainer of it. They forked his library at the point before the license was changed, and no one has really stepped up to take place as the official maintainer, so it’s left in a state of limbo.
I asked for some clarification on what that meant on an issue report, and he replied. The reply was quickly deleted by HA staff, but I have a copy saved. I think it’s worth reading so i will post it at the end.
He has continued to work on new features and bug fixes on his personal git repository. If you want to switch to it, you will have to manually install his version of Unifi Protect integration. This has been no such development on the official version.
My Opinion:
First, let me say I’d tried to capture these events as an outsider to the best of my ability. And I’ve tried to interpret them with my somewhat rookie understanding of the nuances of open-source collaborative development at this scale. So please forgive and feel free to correct anything. I just think this series of events and how it will impact the users of this code need to laid out in one place.
AngellusMortis was dead right about Ubiquiti requiring cloud access for local smart detections to be enabled. That’s a misstep by Ubiquiti’s commitment to staying 100% local (if the user wanted) and they have not addressed that when it’s called out. However, I will admit he can also get short/spicy when answering issues on github with his integration, and his actions with the pull requests and license change were extreme. I wish there were more attempts at working this out with more middle ground before this forking became inevitable, as the only people that suffer when an OSS repo is forked for drama are the end users.
However he seems to be a very good programmer (put the best way possible from an end user), and any programmer that shares code like this must also be credited for being generous. I owe him a beer and a steak dinner if I ever meet him in real life, as a large part of my home automation relies on it. For example:

• Protect Doorbell person detects and doorbell rings trigger custom sounds on all my Alexa speakers just like Ring doorbells do. (One of the earliest things i did with HA years ago)
• All my existing external lights will turn on/off with smart person detections on my external G5 bullet cameras as if they were motion lights (but better, precision control on when lights are triggered thanks to zone masks).
• The mechanical chime on my doorbell automatically gets disabled or re-enabled depending on if the Sonos speaker in my 1yr-old's room is playing lullabies during nap time. AKA, the doorbell goes into “do not disturb” mode so it only buzzes our phones for stupid UPS deliveries instead of waking the baby. This automation alone has made the wife so happy she pretty much has given me a hall pass to buy any more/new ubiquiti/automation products I want.

And that was all possible to AngellusMortis work.
His reply to me that was deleted:

I would find it surprising if the core integration is ever updated again. And if it is, it will only ever be for the most basic of support. I really doubt there will ever be impactful new features added as I have been doing. Things like the Media Source, sensodoor lock support (RIP), exposing the event thumbnails for notifications, and many others. There is a sub-50 line PR that adds a feature I kept overlooking by accident that has been sitting for literally over a month. HA does not give a shit about this integration enough to approve the CI run so it can be merged. It is because the members of the org do not give a shit about security cameras inside of HA since it does not fit into their view of what Home Assistant should be used for. It is also why the video player for HA is fundamentally broken for security cameras and has been for literally years.
They are choosing to segment the integration and force someone to pick it up, which is unlikely to every happen. The license specifically allows usage in HA. It just has to be my code, as it was written. With no fork. This is a growing problem with the open-source world. More and more companies and groups, in this case Naba Casa, want to reap all of the benefits from open-source projects without any rules or restrictions. Open-source absolutism is what I call it. OSI and anyone that always calls for open-source absolutism just conveniently ignore the time and effort people put into open source. Usually for their own benefit and profit. Look at the story of Elasticsearch and AWS.
It is still open source. You can still do whatever you want with it, you just cannot intentionally cut me out of a project that I have contributed 95% of the code to and I want to retain the right to be able to restrict its usage for projects that cause me stress or too much additional work. HA is perfectly okay with rejecting contributions anytime they do not want to take on the additional burden of work a feature would cause them. But since it is the "the largest open-source project in the world" they can just go "lol, then fork us" and say fuck you to anything else who wants the same rights.
In this case, Nabu Casa employees want to come into my code and dictate terms to how I write and manage it all because they refuse to come up with alternative solutions. The only solutions proposed are almost always "contribute something better". Of course, they will just deny anything that does not fit into their limited view of what "home users" want, even if actual users show them that they are wrong (5th highest feature request of all time).
Okay, you do not like something my library is doing, that I have intentionally added to handle support issues for Home Assistant because Home Assistant Github and support fucking sucks. Guess what? It is on you to make a better working solution. Not me. Of course, when I make these complaints, I am ignored or gaslit about it. When the burden of dealing with literally hundreds of people making the same fucking support issue over and over again makes me a bit hostile, no wants even think to offer to help. Or make support suck ass for suck a large project. Or let me link to my own documentation and support. When I change the license because of it, HA decides to keep ignoring the situation and pretend like nothing is wrong. Of course, there is the double-standard when Nabu Casa employees want to do the same thing, and for the same reason. They do not want to deal with the support that will be generated by the project being used in the manner that it is.
I have always been very open about how shitty HA treats their contributors. Not everyone works full time on open-source or are employed by Nabu Casa so they can continue to do so. There is a reason why once an integration "loses" a codeowner it stops getting features and just breaks. And new people will choose to make a HACS integration instead of trying to update or maintain the core one. Because of the rules, micromanaging and bullshit. Code reviews for style issues, or performance issues are great. But if you want to decide to use a part of Home Assistant in a way that they do not like, you will just be alienated, ignored or kicked out. If you do not fucking like people accessing hass.data directly, then make a real API and stop putting burden of your mine trap of rules on contributors. Contributors that write software because they find it fun and want to make something cool. Not be your fucking code monkeys or support bitches. Of course, once again, HA will also choose to block custom integrations that do things they do not like or cause additional support burden on them, but you are never allowed to try to make things easier for you as a contributor.

​

I don’t have authorization to share this story, so some of the details will be missing. I’ve tried for the last quarter-century to convince the government to declassify the study files, but these days they don’t even acknowledge I was ever an employee.
My involvement began at twenty, way back in 1997 (I’ll spare you the math — I’m forty-seven). At the time, I was suffering from interminable lucid dreams. You might consider this a gift rather than a curse. Who doesn’t want to control their dream environments? Your subconscious grants you godhood for a brief snatch of time, when the membrane dividing the conscious and unconscious thins to a permeable boundary.
Only, mine extended far beyond the average length. Most experience a few minutes in which to indulge themselves, mostly spent flying, fornicating, or otherwise just meandering in awe. By the time I was a preteen, mine had sprawled across entire nights, subsuming every slumbering moment under lucidity.
You’d think a pubescent boy would know how to busy himself with such a sandbox, but after hour upon hour, night after night, month after month infused with these cosmic powers, I became despondent. Because of the curious time dilation that takes place within a lucid dream, most of my life took place in the lonely confines of my own subconscious. Waking life took on a surreal film and I struggled to engage.
Over the course of my teen years, I tried everything, from valerian root to psychotropics and transcendental meditation. Nothing stemmed the lucidity.
In my sophomore year of college, at the behest of my parents, I enrolled in a sleep study, which involved spending a night at a facility with about a thousand wires attached to my scalp and body. Not exactly the ideal circumstances for a good night’s rest, and yet I still managed to slip quickly into a state of deep sleep. I spent the hours in my false kingdom, populated with my own wild imaginings. A gilded cage for a feckless demigod.
I’ll never forget the look on the attendant’s face when he woke me up the following morning, as if I’d been revealed to him as an alien. Of course, he wasn’t permitted to share the results, so I waited two weeks before I could see the doctor. When I finally sat down with her, she very gently related to me that my brain waves exceeded her expertise — as well as every one of her colleagues.
However, my abnormal mind qualified me to participate in an advanced sleep study involving top scientists in the field. They sought twenty volunteers for their work. Without recourse and desperate to solve my sleep problem, I signed on the dotted line.
I had no idea what I’d just committed myself to.
The initial phase of the “study” involved a month at a desert facility in the remote New Mexican wilderness. I came only with a duffel full of clothes and a couple summer reads to finish before the fall semester. Cell phones were not widely adopted back in ‘97, to the facilitators’ benefit. Had their participants been in contact with the outside world, there surely would have been an information breach.
Despite the ominous location and the facility’s uninviting brutalism, it began with predictable and nonthreatening sleep observance. The uncomfortable helmet of wires was affixed to my scalp for the duration of my sleep, offering the stern researchers a glimpse at my atypical brain. In the mornings, they offered little more than half-hearted smiles and assurances that I was providing them “invaluable data.”
The changeup came during my second stay, when they presented the study subjects with the Pod. It was a hollow metal egg, essentially, that we were told to sleep in. Only, when I drifted off inside the confines of the Pod, my dreams began to mirror the outside world. Instead of visiting my imagined kingdom, I found myself hovering above the silver egg where my unconscious body lay. The shock of it startled me awake and it took the researchers the better part of an hour to calm me back down.
It was then that they finally revealed their intentions. The project sought to explore the connection between lucid dreamers and OBEs — out of body experiences. They believed that if they amplified certain brain waves within the lucid dreamer, they could induce such incorporeal mental projections. Despite the excitement of a new frontier for science and human experience, I rejected their aims, expressing my distrust and fear. In response to my hesitancy, they gently reminded me that I had signed certain documents which entitled them to my time. The tacit message, of course, was that I’d essentially become their prisoner.
Nevertheless, it behooved them to play nice. In exchange for my assistance, they promised they would also alleviate the dissociative effect of my lucid dreams with a drug cocktail they’d been assembling. Carrot and stick.
So we entered the Targeting Phase. Now that we had established OBEs as scientific fact with a series of basic tests that involved projectors reading notes in adjacent rooms, it was time for the next step. The researchers instructed us to stretch our abilities, reaching out into space. This was how I visited each of the planets in our solar system, learned of the submarine species beneath the ice sheets of Europa, the defunct alien outpost on Pluto, and, when my projection achieved intergalactic range, the advanced interstellar empires of the Andromeda galaxy.
But the researchers were conspicuously disinterested in these discoveries, logging them with the same dispassionate nonchalance as a report of a Jupiter storm.
During my third stay at the facility, the researchers held briefings on targets of interest — various points in distant space they wanted their projectors to visit. By then, we’d grown so accustomed to the practice of sending our consciousness at speeds vastly exceeding light into deep space that none of the volunteers questioned the mission.
At first, they sent us to various star clusters, dust clouds, black holes, interested whether we found alien presence in the vicinity. But I had the suspicion these were merely test runs to hone our accuracy in preparation for a more important target.
When they proposed a mission to the Boötes Void, there was an appreciable shift in tone. Despite performing all the same routine, I sensed a greater importance around this particular target.
I had my suspicions confirmed one night when the screams from the neighboring Pod severed my connection with NGC 1300, returning my perception to my body with an alarming jolt. I rose out of my egg to see a host of researchers crowding around the woman I knew only as Participant Twelve, since they barred us from sharing personally identifying information. She sat up in her Pod, eyes squeezed halfway out of her skull as though prodded from the inside. “It’s there!” she cried. “It’s there and it sees me! Oh God, it sees me!”
“What saw her?” I enquired. “Where did she go?”
None of the researchers paid me any attention, but P-14, scrubbing sleep from his eyes, answered, “Twelve was first to visit the supervoid.”
“God, he sees me and he won’t let go!”
Suddenly, her body went rigid, then convulsed. The researchers hauled her out of the Pod and carried her off to the medical wing. We never saw her again. Whenever we asked about her, the facilitators scolded us for seeking personal information. We weren’t trying to identify her. We just wanted to know if she was alright. If we were going to be alright.
They sent the projectors one at a time to the void, though each one came back having missed their target. That, of course, was a lie. They had intentionally misfired. We’d all heard what happened to P-12 and that scared the hell out of everyone.
When my turn came, the researchers warned they would punish me if I failed to accomplish my task. They knew I was more than capable, had shown myself to be a reliable projector for them, much to my chagrin.
As I dozed off, employing the tactics we had developed over the course of the program (which I will abstain from relaying to you, as it might engender an undesirable response from the study’s facilitators), I targeted a star system found on the border between the Ursa Major Supercluster and the Boötes Void.
As my consciousness materialized in the vacuum of space, I felt an ineffable sense of dread. As if experiencing the collective fear of a thousand vast, intergalactic empires crying out into oblivion. No, for oblivion. It’s difficult now to express, as when I hovered there on the verge of that immense nothing, I was joined with something, a consciousness much larger than my own. A sort of bubble enveloping the Boötes Void, a cognitive shield, a mental warning sign cautioning me not to trespass.
There was some communication that transpired between my own consciousness and that of the dome encasing the dark. In summary, I was told that within the void lurked an incomprehensible evil — or what I now translate as evil, because I think at the time the sensation of language transcended human invention, which lacked sufficient vocabulary to describe what occupied the Boötes Void.
There are seventy-three galaxies inside the supervoid, of which sixty have been discovered by earthbound astronomers. Each one of them is a facsimile of another, a replica. Among them is a perfect recreation of the Milky Way, complete with all its lifeforms. I was given this bit of information by the mind that enfolded the void. When asked for what purpose and by whom, it explained, “Its motives exceed your comprehension.”
At the conclusion of our dialogue, I peered into the darkness and sensed a great eye peeling open, holding me in its malicious gaze. Before I shrank away, I felt it reaching out for me, inviting me to stay.
I returned with enough material to spare me the researchers’ rebuke. They conducted three more expeditions to the Boötes Void, each using another participant, each ending as disastrously as Participant Twelve.
The last visitor returned mute, with black eyes. Within days, he lost all his hair, teeth, finger- and toenails. He refused to eat and spent his final hours using the keyboard he’d been given to communicate with to write a single line ad infinitum. “He is the prince who ate the king and all his subjects will invert themselves for all eternity.”
He died one night in his Pod when its wiring short circuited and plunged the entire facility into a fifteen-hour blackout.
The participants were sent home the following day and to my knowledge the facility closed down. The program dissolved and I received a meager compensation for my time as a projector. Two years later, after raising a stink, I received a prescription for a medication specially delivered to my local pharmacy that did finally put an end to my lucid dreams.
But in their place, I have nightmares, and lately they’ve gotten worse. Of a great eye’s malevolent gaze, watching, tirelessly watching. I have the terrible feeling that whatever we discovered in the Boötes Void wants now to ensnare us, and I fear it will, first in dreams, then for eternity. Which is why I’m telling you this now, because the government refuses to warn you. If you dream of a dark god reaching out for you, hide yourself.
Because he longs to invert you for all eternity.

Would like to know how the following violates the scary personal experience rule:
I don’t have authorization to share this story, so some of the details will be missing. I’ve tried for the last quarter-century to convince the government to declassify the study files, but these days they don’t even acknowledge I was ever an employee.
My involvement began at twenty, way back in 1997 (I’ll spare you the math — I’m forty-seven). At the time, I was suffering from interminable lucid dreams. You might consider this a gift rather than a curse. Who doesn’t want to control their dream environments? Your subconscious grants you godhood for a brief snatch of time, when the membrane dividing the conscious and unconscious thins to a permeable boundary.
Only, mine extended far beyond the average length. Most experience a few minutes in which to indulge themselves, mostly spent flying, fornicating, or otherwise just meandering in awe. By the time I was a preteen, mine had sprawled across entire nights, subsuming every slumbering moment under lucidity.
You’d think a pubescent boy would know how to busy himself with such a sandbox, but after hour upon hour, night after night, month after month infused with these cosmic powers, I became despondent. Because of the curious time dilation that takes place within a lucid dream, most of my life took place in the lonely confines of my own subconscious. Waking life took on a surreal film and I struggled to engage.
Over the course of my teen years, I tried everything, from valerian root to psychotropics and transcendental meditation. Nothing stemmed the lucidity.
In my sophomore year of college, at the behest of my parents, I enrolled in a sleep study, which involved spending a night at a facility with about a thousand wires attached to my scalp and body. Not exactly the ideal circumstances for a good night’s rest, and yet I still managed to slip quickly into a state of deep sleep. I spent the hours in my false kingdom, populated with my own wild imaginings. A gilded cage for a feckless demigod.
I’ll never forget the look on the attendant’s face when he woke me up the following morning, as if I’d been revealed to him as an alien. Of course, he wasn’t permitted to share the results, so I waited two weeks before I could see the doctor. When I finally sat down with her, she very gently related to me that my brain waves exceeded her expertise — as well as every one of her colleagues.
However, my abnormal mind qualified me to participate in an advanced sleep study involving top scientists in the field. They sought twenty volunteers for their work. Without recourse and desperate to solve my sleep problem, I signed on the dotted line.
I had no idea what I’d just committed myself to.
The initial phase of the “study” involved a month at a desert facility in the remote New Mexican wilderness. I came only with a duffel full of clothes and a couple summer reads to finish before the fall semester. Cell phones were not widely adopted back in ‘97, to the facilitators’ benefit. Had their participants been in contact with the outside world, there surely would have been an information breach.
Despite the ominous location and the facility’s uninviting brutalism, it began with predictable and nonthreatening sleep observance. The uncomfortable helmet of wires was affixed to my scalp for the duration of my sleep, offering the stern researchers a glimpse at my atypical brain. In the mornings, they offered little more than half-hearted smiles and assurances that I was providing them “invaluable data.”
The changeup came during my second stay, when they presented the study subjects with the Pod. It was a hollow metal egg, essentially, that we were told to sleep in. Only, when I drifted off inside the confines of the Pod, my dreams began to mirror the outside world. Instead of visiting my imagined kingdom, I found myself hovering above the silver egg where my unconscious body lay. The shock of it startled me awake and it took the researchers the better part of an hour to calm me back down.
It was then that they finally revealed their intentions. The project sought to explore the connection between lucid dreamers and OBEs — out of body experiences. They believed that if they amplified certain brain waves within the lucid dreamer, they could induce such incorporeal mental projections. Despite the excitement of a new frontier for science and human experience, I rejected their aims, expressing my distrust and fear. In response to my hesitancy, they gently reminded me that I had signed certain documents which entitled them to my time. The tacit message, of course, was that I’d essentially become their prisoner.
Nevertheless, it behooved them to play nice. In exchange for my assistance, they promised they would also alleviate the dissociative effect of my lucid dreams with a drug cocktail they’d been assembling. Carrot and stick.
So we entered the Targeting Phase. Now that we had established OBEs as scientific fact with a series of basic tests that involved projectors reading notes in adjacent rooms, it was time for the next step. The researchers instructed us to stretch our abilities, reaching out into space. This was how I visited each of the planets in our solar system, learned of the submarine species beneath the ice sheets of Europa, the defunct alien outpost on Pluto, and, when my projection achieved intergalactic range, the advanced interstellar empires of the Andromeda galaxy.
But the researchers were conspicuously disinterested in these discoveries, logging them with the same dispassionate nonchalance as a report of a Jupiter storm.
During my third stay at the facility, the researchers held briefings on targets of interest — various points in distant space they wanted their projectors to visit. By then, we’d grown so accustomed to the practice of sending our consciousness at speeds vastly exceeding light into deep space that none of the volunteers questioned the mission.
At first, they sent us to various star clusters, dust clouds, black holes, interested whether we found alien presence in the vicinity. But I had the suspicion these were merely test runs to hone our accuracy in preparation for a more important target.
When they proposed a mission to the Boötes Void, there was an appreciable shift in tone. Despite performing all the same routine, I sensed a greater importance around this particular target.
I had my suspicions confirmed one night when the screams from the neighboring Pod severed my connection with NGC 1300, returning my perception to my body with an alarming jolt. I rose out of my egg to see a host of researchers crowding around the woman I knew only as Participant Twelve, since they barred us from sharing personally identifying information. She sat up in her Pod, eyes squeezed halfway out of her skull as though prodded from the inside. “It’s there!” she cried. “It’s there and it sees me! Oh God, it sees me!”
“What saw her?” I enquired. “Where did she go?”
None of the researchers paid me any attention, but P-14, scrubbing sleep from his eyes, answered, “Twelve was first to visit the supervoid.”
“God, he sees me and he won’t let go!”
Suddenly, her body went rigid, then convulsed. The researchers hauled her out of the Pod and carried her off to the medical wing. We never saw her again. Whenever we asked about her, the facilitators scolded us for seeking personal information. We weren’t trying to identify her. We just wanted to know if she was alright. If we were going to be alright.
They sent the projectors one at a time to the void, though each one came back having missed their target. That, of course, was a lie. They had intentionally misfired. We’d all heard what happened to P-12 and that scared the hell out of everyone.
When my turn came, the researchers warned they would punish me if I failed to accomplish my task. They knew I was more than capable, had shown myself to be a reliable projector for them, much to my chagrin.
As I dozed off, employing the tactics we had developed over the course of the program (which I will abstain from relaying to you, as it might engender an undesirable response from the study’s facilitators), I targeted a star system found on the border between the Ursa Major Supercluster and the Boötes Void.
As my consciousness materialized in the vacuum of space, I felt an ineffable sense of dread. As if experiencing the collective fear of a thousand vast, intergalactic empires crying out into oblivion. No, for oblivion. It’s difficult now to express, as when I hovered there on the verge of that immense nothing, I was joined with something, a consciousness much larger than my own. A sort of bubble enveloping the Boötes Void, a cognitive shield, a mental warning sign cautioning me not to trespass.
There was some communication that transpired between my own consciousness and that of the dome encasing the dark. In summary, I was told that within the void lurked an incomprehensible evil — or what I now translate as evil, because I think at the time the sensation of language transcended human invention, which lacked sufficient vocabulary to describe what occupied the Boötes Void.
There are seventy-three galaxies inside the supervoid, of which sixty have been discovered by earthbound astronomers. Each one of them is a facsimile of another, a replica. Among them is a perfect recreation of the Milky Way, complete with all its lifeforms. I was given this bit of information by the mind that enfolded the void. When asked for what purpose and by whom, it explained, “Its motives exceed your comprehension.”
At the conclusion of our dialogue, I peered into the darkness and sensed a great eye peeling open, holding me in its malicious gaze. Before I shrank away, I felt it reaching out for me, inviting me to stay.
I returned with enough material to spare me the researchers’ rebuke. They conducted three more expeditions to the Boötes Void, each using another participant, each ending as disastrously as Participant Twelve.
The last visitor returned mute, with black eyes. Within days, he lost all his hair, teeth, finger- and toenails. He refused to eat and spent his final hours using the keyboard he’d been given to communicate with to write a single line ad infinitum. “He is the prince who ate the king and all his subjects will invert themselves for all eternity.”
He died one night in his Pod when its wiring short circuited and plunged the entire facility into a fifteen-hour blackout.
The participants were sent home the following day and to my knowledge the facility closed down. The program dissolved and I received a meager compensation for my time as a projector. Two years later, after raising a stink, I received a prescription for a medication specially delivered to my local pharmacy that did finally put an end to my lucid dreams.
But in their place, I have nightmares, and lately they’ve gotten worse. Of a great eye’s malevolent gaze, watching, tirelessly watching. I have the terrible feeling that whatever we discovered in the Boötes Void wants now to ensnare us, and I fear it will, first in dreams, then for eternity. Which is why I’m telling you this now, because the government refuses to warn you. If you dream of a dark god reaching out for you, hide yourself.
Because he longs to invert you for all eternity.

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Two items — a crystal ball, and a green leather-bound notebook — sat benignly and idly atop of the black-robed professor’s desk.
The camera lingered on them, giving them what most may see as an undeserved moment in the spotlight.
But to those that knew, to the parties invested in this controversy, this little pause and dramatic zoom-in was accompanied by a hair-raising excitement… along with an untempered nervousness for what was to come.
It definitely caused the investigative duo on the other side of the screen some pause for thought; prompting them to stand intently, pondering both the orb and the notebook.
Ilunor, as far as I could tell, was entranced by the green notebook in particular. Though it wasn’t a trance born out of any positive emotion, but instead, one of abject horror.
“Recommended Reading Materials for the Studious Student.” Sorecar announced with a steady breath, prompting Ilunor to visibly flinch in his seat, as the man reached a finger over to point at the hand-scrawled title of the leather-bound notebook. That finger soon found itself carefully manipulating its pages, opening the cover first, before turning over the internal dust-cover to reveal letters and symbols written in High Nexian, but arranged in a manner the EVI simply could not translate.
“Error: Unable to Translate. Cause: Unrecognized and/or unintelligible organization of local script-forms.”
Yet despite this, it seemed as if both Sorecar and the Apprentice were able to draw something from its otherwise senseless pages. As despite being written haphazardly, with letters and pictograms arranged in no meaningful order, they were able to still draw meaning where the EVI couldn’t.
“Within these pages lie materials for the studious student. Materials are to be found within The Library, and are to be retrieved with great haste. May you make swift work of their contents, and may those after you find only ash in your wake. Seek, unlearn, and remove from the grip of the eternal entity, that which was once a gift but is now a curse. Seek, unlearn, and remove; with the fires of your passion, oh studious student.” Sorecar read aloud, managing to read something verbatim from the nonsensical pages of the book.
Ilunor’s eyes were practically glazed over at this point, as he began bringing his cape over across his chest, tucking his legs towards his chin in the process.
“This is it.” The apprentice announced with a half-cracked smile. “Please, keep going. I’m certain your skills of appraisal far exceed my own, Professor.”
Sorecar obliged by flipping the page, turning over to two pages of complete gibberish, once again watermarked by the EVI’s error message; but proving no challenge at all for the ever-inquisitive professor.
“Section One, A Tainted Reality: A Wretched Collection of Historical Affidavits During the Reconciliation and Reformation of Otherwise Lost Realities.” Sorecar paused, before turning towards the apprentice. “It lists an entire section’s worth of books, in titles held within spatial positions with reference to their potentialities within the ever-evolving library.”
Thacea’s features visibly flinched at that revelation, but similar to the apprentice in the footage, she refused to comment. At least not for now. Her eyes however betrayed a look of mild distress, which subsided somewhat as the apprentice urged the armorer to continue.
Which he did, as he flipped from page to page across the relatively small notebook, only pausing to read in between what he interpreted to be different sections and ‘chapters’.
“Section Two. The Unspoken War and the Treacherous Alliance.”
“Section Three. All surviving works from Alaroy Rital.”
The apprentice cocked her head, as if trying to recall some familiarity in that name. “Alaroy Rital.” She repeated. “I don’t recall hearing of such a name before.”
“Well his full name, as far as I recall, and vastly aided by the book is as follows: Alaroy Rital, Lord-Mayor of the Township of the Two Rivers, Slayer of the Dragon of the Grey Canyon, Repeller of the Tainted Blight of the Orsin, Liberator of the Aether, and Grand Master of the Elusian Guild Hall of Adventurers.” Sorecar responded succinctly, prompting the apprentice to once more clench her eyes shut in deep thought, before finally letting out a sigh of defeat.
“The name is both familiar yet foreign at the same time.” She finally admitted.
“As far as I recall, and mind you, my memory of those years are far from perfect… the man was a local hero of sorts. Though his record was besmirched by some controversy or another.” Sorecar offered, prompting the apprentice to finally shrug, giving up on this particular subject matter entirely.
“There are more sections, yes?”
“Correct.”
“Then let’s move on.”
Sorecar nodded promptly at that, flipping the pages over until he hit the next section.
“Section Four. A Sordid Account of the Most Bizarre of Newrealmer Arrivals: A Death By Harmonization and the Ensuing Investigation.”
That immediately got my attention, causing me to jolt forwards, prompting the armor to quickly follow as it automatically switched from the currently active in-armor-postural-readjustment mode, and back into its active configuration.
“Section Five. The Unfortunate Procedures Against Unruly Realms and the Instances in Which Such Procedures Were Incurred.”
The armorer paused after that, not necessarily due to its contents, but as if puzzled by what lay ahead in the next few final pages. In fact, he flipped back and forth between the pages soon after that, treading and retreading what were effectively the last five pages of the book. “There is an appendix which includes titles not covered by these sections, however it will take some time to read through them.”
“That’s enough for now, professor.” The apprentice offered, prompting the man to quickly pull back, closing the notebook with an unsatisfying thump. “We have our glowing wand.” The apprentice surmised. “The oeuvre of works which are no doubt the subject of this grand controversy. Now all we need to find is the contract which ties everything together.”
“I’m assuming you haven’t forgotten about our second item of interest?” Sorecar gestured towards the crystal ball.
“Of course not, professor. However, the fact we’ve found that book implies that we must be close to its dependent article.” The apprentice responded with a renewed sense of urgency, as she began using that same ornate magnifying glass in an attempt to further pick apart each and every nook and cranny of Mal’tory’s desk.
Part of me wanted to make some joke about how this was every unpaid intern’s dream, to be rummaging through your boss’ stuff.
But that part of me was completely buried underneath the confusion and dread that came with the revelations from within that little green book.
I… honestly didn’t know what I was expecting, but I felt like I’d been suckerpunched, with the wind being knocked right out of me from the implications of exactly what had been selectively purged from the library.
It was a struggle to process it all, which more or less made me dull out the more eccentric aspects of the apprentice’s investigation; as she unlocked drawer after drawer, pulling out pile after pile of magical nicknacks and more documents than what was possible from that finite amount of space.
Sorecar was clearly of the same opinion as the rest of us right now however, as he continued obsessing over the book, his hands once more trailing over to inspect its cryptic pages. The man seemed transfixed on the second and third sections in particular, though his featureless visor made it difficult to really pin down what his reactions were.
Yet throughout all of this, it was clear the reactions on the homefront were much, much more animated, as Ilunor was just about ready to pass out from the stress, and Thacea seemed about ready to burst at the seams if her featureless facade was of any indication.
“That was the book.” Ilunor finally chimed out, just as the narration through the recording had died down during the more tepid phase of the apprentice’s investigation. “I know it.”
“I thought your memories when it came to the whole Mal’tory book burning situation was lost, Ilunor?” Thalmin countered.
“It was. I mean, it still is. But I remember parts of that room. I vaguely recall the emergence of a book that I was forced to…” The Vunerian trailed off, as if struggling to piece together words.
“... to sign?” Thalmin offered in a surprisingly helpful tone which stood at odds with how he earlier regarded the Vunerian.
“No. No you imbecil-” The Vunerian paused, realizing his misstep as he backtracked from what would’ve otherwise been an expected response. “That wasn’t a book of binding. It’s not comparable to the yearbook, if that was where your assumptions were leading to, Prince Thalmin.” Ilunor clarified, gripping the armrests of his seat tight between his fingers.
It was about this point in time that I expected Thacea to chime in, to elaborate on the nature of the book with her encyclopedic knowledge on seemingly every aspect of the magical world.
But she didn’t.
Instead, her eyes remained practically glued to the screen, as I realized that whatever had been revealed thus far had hit much, much harder than I could’ve imagined.
Ilunor, as if taking note of this silence, elected to fill in for Thacea. “The book… is an adjacent artifact. It is, as the apprentice has noted, an eclectic oeuvre of works, a list if you will, to be bound to and referenced by a contract and a spell of binding. The book itself isn’t the binding agent, moreso the reference material by which the contract is hinged upon.”
“So what’s with the illegible text? Are they ciphers or some magical equivalent of it?” I gestured once more at the bird’s eye view offered by the drone, and the pages of indecipherable text currently beneath Sorecar’s hands.
“Those are anchor runes, earthrelamer.” Ilunor answered with a frustrated sigh. “It is frustrating to see them for what they are not. Frankly, it’s as if your sight-seers and memory-shards were designed to mimic the world as it is seen through the eyes of a particularly weak-fielded commoner.” The Vunerian went off, venting his frustrations through a rant before finally calming down. “But I digress. Those runes are referred to as anchors for a reason. For tethered to them are akin to pages of text to be openly read and deciphered within the manastreams. Granted, this form of writing is not common; moreso used for the purposes of contracts and other such magical binds.”
“And on the topic of contracts. I’m assuming that the contract… your contract, is what the Apprentice is currently rummaging for?” I gestured towards the screen once more, at the apprentice who was now buried ankle-deep in piles upon piles of books, documents, and an assortment of scrolls that criss-crossed across the room’s mahogany and carpeted floors.
“Unless she’s a complete nitwit, then I’d imagine so, yes.” Ilunor responded with his signature cattiness. “In any case, the fact she’s even trying proves that she’s barely above a fool anyways.” The Vunerian shrugged. “And before you ask, earthrealmer, let me preempt your question. The contract, at least on the professor’s end, has more than likely suffered the same fate as my own. Namely, its existence is more than certain to be dubious at best. What the apprentice will surely find will be nothing more than ash at the bottom of that bottomless drawer. Which… given its sheer size and scale, and the potential inhabitants within its limitless confines, will more than likely result in even ash being difficult if not impossible to find.”
There was… more than one point I wanted to raise with Ilunor’s statements. However, before I could address any of them, the elf in question finally spoke up once more; now surrounded by an entire archive’s worth of documents and nicknacks.
“Nothing.” Larial spoke with a sullen breath, taking a moment to steady herself as she made a point of not sitting on Mal’tory’s chair. “At least nothing that’s relevant to our case.” She continued, resting her palms flat against the green suede of the desk.
“Were you really expecting anything different, Apprentice?” Sorecar countered, having since moved from pondering the pages of the book to now pondering the depths of the crystal ball.
“I’d assumed the damage to the man hadn’t been so severe.” Larial admitted, alluding to something else that drew all of our collective attention. “When I first saw him in the healing ward… he looked… intact. You couldn’t even tell there was anything wrong with him.”
“And yet they called you of all people, to aid in the ritual.” The armorer surmised, with a tone of voice that now more resembled that of a fully fledged Academy Professor. His happy go lucky persona had subsided completely, at least for now, as he addressed Larial in a manner more akin to what I’d expected of the Dean. “You have been around the Academy for long enough to understand that calling upon the aid of apprentices is unprecedented. Which means that despite how things may seem on the surface, that lurking beneath the seemingly calm waters, is a hydrostorm of epic proportions.”
“This entire situation is unprecedented, professor.” Larial countered meekly. “But you are correct. It… must have been desperate if they required the aid of apprentices. I just… cannot fathom the fact that the professors must have…” The apprentice trailed off, her face scrunching up and breaking eye contact with the armorer as if too skittish to broach the next point.
Sorecar didn’t reply, nor did he complete her sentence for her, simply allowing her to recuperate and reorganize her thoughts herself.
“... brought the man back from the brink.” She managed out, offering what was in effect a euphemism that didn’t seem to sit right with the armorer, if his immediate head cock was of any indication.
“That is the only way you can explain the complete loss of a contract.” Sorecar reasoned. “You were hoping to find it, despite knowing well that it, amongst the rest of his contracts, have more than likely gone up in flames.” It was around that point that he walked around behind the desk, and reached down into the drawer the apprentice had been searching in. His arm sank impossibly deep, deeper than what should have been physically possible inside of that small and limited space. After a few moments, the man finally brought his hand back up, holding within it what appeared to be fine specks of ash that he allowed to filter back down into the dark depths of the seemingly bottomless drawer. “And there you have it — ash. Most of it has no doubt already been consumed by the bottom-feeders. However, what remains is enough to account for what is perhaps more contracts than most would form in their lives.”
The man stood back up soon after, before once more taking his place at the front of the desk.
“Well, I believe that answers our prior speculations on Auris Ping’s potential relations, contractual or otherwise, with Professor Mal’tory.” Thalmin growled out, punctuating the moment of silence within the footage; which soon continued with a resonant sigh from the apprentice.
“I guess, in a way, I was trying to find the contract not so much because of my assigned task, but because I wanted to perhaps prove to myself that the situation wasn’t as dire as my intuition leads me to believe. The loss of all these contracts can only mean one thing.” Larial paused, once more trying to find the strength inside of her to face whatever facts were self-evident in this case. “The man was lost.” She finally managed out through a shaky breath. “His soul must have departed from his mortal coil. And yet…”
“... and yet he remains.” Sorecar surmised.
“They must have re-tethered it before I arrived that night.” The apprentice shot back. “But I felt nothing different when they asked me to aid in the mana-channeling processes. This whole situation is just…” She sighed, prompting Sorecar to cock his head.
“Unprecedented?”
“Yes.” The apprentice once more admitted, sinking her face into her hands and taking a moment to process it all, more or less falling into the same camp all of us were currently in. “Moreover, it brings up a very disturbing question.”
“Which is?”
“If his soul was truly untethered, even for a split second… how exactly were they able to retether it? Or more specifically, through what means are they using to permanently retether his soul to his mortal coil?”
This question seemed to cause some level of concern from Sorecar, as his answer soon demonstrated. “There are… ways of doing so that aren’t exclusive to being spellbound to armor.” The man offered under a dour breath. “Especially if the body is… fresh, in a manner of speaking. Though it requires the use of-” He stopped, halting himself from going down what was clearly a darkening path. “I apologize for prompting this rather… dark and dreary subject matter, Apprentice.” Sorecar offered, as that empathetic, kinder side of him returned without much prompting.
“It’s quite alright. It… it needed to be said, if we are to complete this investigation with any degree of professionalism.” The apprentice concluded with a small smile. “Whatever the case may be, it is clear that we are unable to procure the contract through which the perpetrator of the library’s burning was bound. We have, however, undeniable proof of Professor Mal’tory’s involvement with the scandal.” She pointed at the green notebook. “And of course, a potential interloper who may or may not have been a part of this conspiracy; thereby expanding this from a mere Academy matter, to one which could implicate others beyond its walls.” She pointed at the crystal ball. “Have you discovered anything from your observations thus far, Professor?” The apprentice inquired, prompting the man to nod, as he knelt down to eye-level, pondering the orb from desk-height.
“The inherent limitations of the Echovale make it so that it’s near impossible to transcribe anything following the cessation of a communique.” Sorecar began. “Though of course, you knew this, and hoped that because I am perhaps one of the greatest armorers to have ever lived, that I would be able to aid in this impossible endeavor, hmm?” The armorer’s tone of voice had more or less resumed that flighty, happy-go-lucky one I knew him for.
The apprentice, hearing this, could only smile awkwardly in response. “I wouldn’t have put it that… bluntly, professor. But I do indeed have faith in your ability to make the impossible, well… probable, at the least.”
“Hmph! Well, I couldn’t pin a face or a name, but I was able to pin a definite location if that helps.” The man offered.
“Any stray piece of information will help tremendously, professor.”
“The Crownlands.” He answered without a hint of hesitation, prompting the Apprentice to raise both of her brows up high.
“That’s as far as I am able to draw from the residual echoes within the vale.” He tapped at the ball, generating a series of satisfying clinks in the process.
“So the man wasn’t acting alone. Or rather, perhaps he was consulting someone.” The apprentice pondered. “Then again, that final communique could very well be with Lord Lartia—” The apprentice paused, before placing both palms softly across her throat. “—may his soul rest in peaceful slumber.” Following another moment of silence, the apprentice’s hands soon shifted towards the ball. “In any case, if it isn’t Lord Lartia, then who could it possibly be? Maybe we should…” The apprentice suddenly stopped; as if realizing the dangers of diving any deeper into this growing conspiracy. “No.” She quickly corrected herself. “Whatever the case may be, this is probably now completely out of my purview. I was assigned to collect any evidence I deemed to be relevant to recent happenings, and I believe this should suffice.”
“Whatever you believe is best, apprentice.” Sorecar acquiesced, prompting the apprentice to slowly, but surely, pack the archive’s worth of documents, books, and scrolls all back into the drawer using nothing but telekinetic spells.
This left just the crystal ball, and the little green book, both of which the apprentice promptly pocketed into a small pouch, before placing it somewhere beneath her cloak.
“Though on that note…” Sorecar began, pointing towards the apprentice’s cloak. “If I may ask, how do you plan on divvying up these finite pieces of evidence?”
This caught the apprentice off-guard, as her mouth opened, but no response came through.
“Moreover, are you even obligated to hand in this evidence? Or are you only expected to write a report to all parties involved?” Sorecar continued, pressing the matter further, causing the apprentice to stop mid-stride. “Because if primary evidence isn’t explicitly required, might I offer my services as a master forger?” The man spoke with a hint of mischievousness, the duality of the word perhaps translating equally well despite the language barrier.
“I may need to contact my superiors to ask if a… copy will be satisfactory to their needs. I believe not, but… we shall see. In any case, I am due to submit the evidence along with my report no later than the end of next week. As such, this should give me ample time to organize my findings, which is especially convenient given the roster of duties I am expected to cover over the next few days.” The apprentice took a moment to pinch the bridge of her nose, halting her rambles as she steadied herself with a sigh. “But I digress, I believe I will take you up on that offer, Professor Pliska.”
“It would be my pleasure to welcome you into my domain, apprentice.”
The rest of the footage consisted of small talk between the pair, with nothing in particular standing out as the topics being addressed soon turned from high-stakes espionage, and back into faculty banter.
Yet despite that, none of us broke the silence that now dominated the boring trip back. Not even as the footage came to a complete stop, and there was nothing more left to play.
I leaned back against the armor, eliciting a series of creaks from the couch below me, echoing across the high-ceilinged room and disrupting the tentative peace that came with this ominous silence.
“This explains… a lot.” Thalmin offered, finally breaking the silence with a tentative tone of voice. “It explains your contract, and its abrupt cessation.” He continued, turning towards Ilunor. “It explains Mal’tory, or at least, his current lack of public appearances. And it reveals to us exactly what he was trying to hide from you, Emma.” The lupinor eventually turned towards me. “And I think the sections of the library, selectively pruned, are self-explanatory as well.”
“Section four, and section five, at least.” I replied shortly thereafter. “I have no idea who or what Alaroy Rital has to hide in section three, and don’t even get me started on section two, let alone section one.” It was at that point that I turned towards Thacea, who let out a sharp exhale upon me bringing up section one.
“The removal of all information relevant to… and I quote — Tainted Realities — speaks volumes to the inherent fears of the Nexus. Though I know not what specifically they may fear from your discovery of its deep and now-lost lore.” Thacea offered through a pensive gaze. “There are many rumors, legends that come with the phrase Tainted Reality. Though most are mythical; epics of long lost eras that dwell between the blurry line that exists between history and legend. Perhaps the records within the library were pieces of irrefutable evidence that would’ve shed light on this nebulous subject matter. But even so… that begs the question… why? Why would they hide what is effectively a non-issue when it comes to your discovery of its lore? Taint, and more specifically, the concept of a Tainted Reality, is something that is inconsequential in the contemporary world. Its history, even if it proves to be true, is neither a disruptive political element, nor a practical tool for war, that could be used in countering the Nexus.” The avinor’s explanations were clear, concise, and yet they belied something personal that she clearly wasn’t broaching.
And I wasn’t about to dig either, not when this topic very clearly hit close to home for her.
“This leaves the second subject matter then.” I offered, giving the avinor an off-ramp towards a potentially more palatable topic.
“The Unspoken War and the Treacherous Alliance?”
“Correct.” I nodded.
“That… I have no knowledge of.” The avinor admitted, prompting me to turn to both the lupinor and the Vunerian for answers.
“Don’t look at me, earthrealmer, I’m the one who lost all memories on the subject, remember?” Ilunor countered.
“I’m afraid I’m as in the dark as you are on this one, Emma.” Thalmin replied with a loud huff, leaving me with perhaps more questions than answers at this point.
“Right then.” I nodded. “Well, regardless, as disquieting, confusing, and disturbing as these revelations have been, they are exactly that — revelations.” I took a moment to stand up, resting both hands on my hips, as if adopting Ilunor’s more theatrical approach to things. “We started today off with no intel on Mal’tory, with no idea how we were going to complete The Library’s Seekership questline, and no knowledge on exactly where we stood in this game. We’re ending today off with a firm grasp on exactly what we need to do, what exactly was scorched in the library, and a tentative understanding on Mal’tory’s fate. I’d say that’s an incredible step forward, even if the answers we now have are leading to even more questions.”
“Reality is often filled with disturbing truths, but only when we acknowledge them, can we act to change them.” Thacea offered.
“Here here!” Thalmin reaffirmed through a firm stomp, standing up tall and ready.
“While certain revelations come as disappointments… namely the survival of Professor Mal’tory… it is indeed somewhat satisfying to hear that the man is at the very least suffering for his actions.” The little thing spoke maliciously, as he too stood up. This prompted a look of worry to form amidst all three of us, but instead of reacting accordingly, he instead displayed an expression of confusion. “What? The man was a monster! He actively antagonized not only me, but this entire group! Surely you also feel at least some sense of satisfaction at the consequences of his actions catching up to him!”
“The delight in an enemy’s defeat, best comes from the resistance of the blade against his body. Not from the suffering incurred from happenstance.” Thalmin countered, whilst Thacea and I refused to entertain that line of thought, as I quickly placed a palm across my forehead, bonking it once again in the process.
“Right, well, here’s the game plan. We now have a clear target to complete our first objective — the notebook. We grab that, hand it in to the library, and presto, we accomplish the Seekership questline. Now comes the difficult part… how exactly do we do that?” I turned to the group, as offers and suggestions finally came flying in.
“Take advantage of your life debt?” Ilunor offered.
“I wouldn’t take advantage of that card just yet, Ilunor. Not if we have other options.” Thacea countered.
“What if we steal it?” Thalmin proposed.
“Thievery isn’t a diplomatic approach, Thalmin.” Thacea shot back with a glare.
“Well, Emma here was able to grapple her way, through manaless means, across the outside of the castle towards the apprentice whilst she was in the medical wing. I’m sure we can pull something else off in a similar capacity!” The lupinor countered.
“No, Thalmin. As much as I would like to try, I believe it might be best if we try a more diplomatic approach.” I offered, prompting the three to cock their heads.
“We could just ask, right?”
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(Author’s Note: And there we have it! The first step towards the completion of the Library's questline! We've found exactly what we were looking for, the list of books that were ordered to be put to the dragon flame by Mal'tory. With that being said however, a new series of questions arises... exactly why were these books targeted in particular? Moreover, what exactly was lost as a result? These questions and more will continue to linger in the back the gangs' minds as we push forward! Especially as we now find ourselves in the midst of another conundrum, exactly how are we going to get the book to the library! Regardless, this is still a massive step forward, and one that will surely bring Emma and Ilunor closer towards addressing the first phase of their intertwined fates with the library! I hope you guys enjoy! :D The next Two Chapters are already up on Patreon if you guys are interested in getting early access to future chapters!)
[If you guys want to help support me and these stories, here's my ko-fi ! And my Patreon for early chapter releases (Chapter 84 and Chapter 85 of this story is already out on there!)]

Game Name: District of Dreams
System: Changeling: the Dreaming 20th Anniversary Edition
Any homebrews?: I'm not planning for anything
Proposed Time Slot: Friday nights, 8PM to 12 AM EST, first season in January 2025
Expected Season Length: 10 episodes, with multiple seasons planned.
Cast Size: PCs: 4 minimum, 5 Maximum. SPCs… maybe, as needed.
Format: Podcast, art will be commissioned.
Game Description:

January 2024, somewhere on Theodore Roosevelt Island, Washington D.C.

The low level hum of busy conversation mingles with the clinking of glasses and the rustle of papers and parchments as the Parliament of Dreams sits in recess between the latest rounds of debates. A pocket of representatives from Houses Ailil and Danaan argue amongst themselves over the most recent request from the Duchy of Steel for donations of glamour to bolster their dwindling balefires. Across the room, a commoner representative from the House of Concordia pleads her case before a group of skeptical sidhe nobility on whether or not non-noble representatives should be allowed to detain those nobles suspected of breaking the Escheat until they could be investigated, questioned (and presumably punished) by their peers.
Boggan servers move among the clusters of chatting representatives and lobbyists, and a band of clurichan and eshu musicians sit in a corner weaving a quiet tune, using the parliament’s ancient cantrips to help keep conversations from carrying too far or becoming overwhelmed by neighboring talk. An eruption of surprised cries cuts through the din for just a moment, as a chubby raccoon leaps from the shoulder of an autumn sidhe, its arms filled to bursting with finger sandwiches and a large pastry in its mouth. People step back in mingled confusion and alarm as it tears a path through the crowds, chased by a boggan wielding a suspiciously empty but still crumb-smudged serving platter over his head like a weapon of war.
Just another day in the Parliament of Dreams, Ellen Rynson thinks as she lets out a bored sigh and looks out the window at the trees surrounding the building and, beyond them, the waters of the Potomac River. In the distance she can just see the white gleam of the Lincoln Memorial thanks to the clear, cold January sky outside the windows. She’s just considering packing up her things and heading out for the day, reasoning that nothing interesting is likely to happen today, despite what her lead from that House Beaumayn said. For all their cryptic insistence that the auguries pointed toward something big happening that day she would want to be present for, so far there had been only more of the same.
Pleading commoners, bickering nobility, and precious little progress in any one direction. Honestly, the raccoon pookah stealing people’s lunch had been the most interesting thing to happen in three days. She had a mortal job to get back to, articles waiting on her to write them. Injustices needing exposure, lost causes needing bolstering and support from empathetic readers. Those were situations she could influence, people she could make a difference for. But here? This place? It wouldn’t ever change, so far as she could see. The High King was infuriatingly detached, insisting all was well when baelfires across Concordia were sputtering and threatening to die out as the autumn world fell into further division and discord, and prodigals like vampires and technology-loving mages became further entrenched, warping the autumn world and smothering its dreamers with ruthless, uncaring precision.
She turns, reaching for the strap of her messenger bag just as the room plunges into a tense, eerie silence. Vacant stares on the faces of the musicians, several figures in the crowed begin to speak in unison, their voices raised like a choral cry, discordant harmonies overriding the cantrips woven into the building’s stones and lifting, filling the air around and above the confused, worried looking members of parliament and those joining them.
A boggin server, her skin a wrinkled nut brown’s head is thrown back, and her voice lifts in harmony to a sidhe knight Ellen couldn’t remember the name of, who spoke in tandem with a knocker who moments earlier had been leveling an an expletive laced, but impassioned argument for glamour donations to the hard hitting rust belt states, raw, thick glamour pulsing through the room in ways most within hadn’t felt in years, if ever.
”In twilight of a gilded reign, As shadows dance and whispers feign, The high one's light shall dim and fade, By fate's cruel hand, a debt is paid.
A sword of legend, lost in night, Its gleam obscured from mortal sight, By treachery or destiny, In absence, a lost legacy.
Heart of stone and marble spire, Where power's grasp need not expire, Legends from forgotten days, Rouse the dream from ancient haze.
The crownless stand with eyes of fire, As chaos fuels their heart's desire, Old bonds shall break, new pacts be sworn, As heroes rise and hope is born.
When echoes of the past resound, And ancient dreams again are found, The veil 'twixt worlds shall thin and tear, Beware the time, and all take care.
For in the wake of shadow's call, The fate of kingdoms rise and fall, And from the mists of timeless lore, The once and future dream restore.”
The magic releases, the raw glamour subsiding rapidly and leaving Ellen feeling unsteady on her feet, her head swimming like she’s had too much to drink. Instinct drives her to haul her bag up, her opposite hand already pulling a pen from where it's tucked behind her ear to begin scribbling what she can remember of the prophecy onto a piece of paper. An alarmed whisper begins to ripple through the room, occasionally punctuated by exclamations of concern and fear. People were too shocked to manage to be too rowdy, and the musicians were all coming out of what seemed like a daze.
That is when a booming voice breaks through the crowd once more as a large blue skinned troll stands in the doorway, his cheeks already wet with tears.

”The High King is dead. Long live the High Queen.”

Welcome to Washington D.C. in the modern nights. The seat of power for Concordia and the United States alike, the Parliament of Dreams has recently experienced an extreme shift, with the dreaming whisking the buildings of Concordia’s government from New York City to the District for reasons unknown. Our story will take place in the wake of High King David Ardry’s death, and the resulting political fallout. As this seismic event rocks Concordia to its core, kithain - noble and commoner alike - must navigate a dangerous reoccurrence of events thought left behind at the end of The Evanescence in the 1990s. Multiple claimants to the throne step forward, noble houses begin to draw lines in the sand and insist their own members are worthy of the seat, and in dark corners there are whispers about new forms of government and tearing down the structures of power.
And to top it all off, the Dreaming acts in mysterious and erratic ways, setting events in motion that worry everyone about the stability of their world.
As a Changeling, you still live in a World of Darkness, but you dream of a different world altogether - a world of monsters and knights and troubadours, a world powered by the creativity of dreamers the world over, a world that has its shadows, but those shadows are cast by the fires of creativity itself...and if you are smart enough and lucky enough, you can make your dreams manifest.
All that being said, please do not come to me with a ready-made character concept - I will ignore it and it will even be points against you if you try to use that to sell me on picking you for the game. Come to me ready to sell yourself as a player. I’m far more interested in making sure I get a good mix of personalities and to be sure that my players all fit the kind of play style I’m going for. Characters will come later, when we sit down as a group to build out our motley and figure out how each individual character fits with the others and as part of the whole.
Other Information:
Mood: Hope in the face of uncertainty and tragedy, a hero’s call to adventure
Inspirational Sources: The Lord of the Rings, Labyrinth, Neverwhere, The West Wing, The Crown
Tone:

"I wish it need not have happened in my time," said Frodo.
"So do I," said Gandalf, "and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us."

Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6CcKUOfmkFYded8xc3lBIp?si=2a8573a0393b4e59
Trigger Warnings: (Fantasy) Racism, Classism, Harm to Animals, (nonphysical) Harm to Children, Mental Illness, Violence, Political themes
How to Apply: Fill out this form. https://forms.gle/gqPzgjWHnctHMdHG6

Yo Reddit- it’s been a crazy last few weeks and I wanted to start out by saying RIP to Jim Simons the GOAT. I’m continuing a series of posts sharing my experience getting started with automated trading. I haven’t had the availability I’d originally thought I would to dedicate to these posts, but I hope this is helpful information, and I’d encourage anyone starting out to go through my posts to learn about how to test your ideas and prepare for live trading.
In my last post, I walked through some different brokerage options and how to automate logging into your account. Since then, TD-Ameritrade has shut down their API but they’ve opened up access to the very similar Schwab API. With this in mind, I’d add Schwab to the list of brokerages to consider for automated trading, and I also want to shout out schwab-py which is a promising new library for Schwab.
In addition, I wanted to make a soft announcement about my etrade client, wetrade, which is in prerelease as of this post. You can check out wetrade by taking a look at the github or the documentation. I’ll plan to announce wetrade in a reddit post soon, but it can be our secret until then.
In this post, I’m going to talk about exception handling, logging, and deployment.

Part 6: Starting to trade in the real world

Planning for expected issues

When building automated trading systems, you need to plan for every possible issue that may come up. Because it’s unlikely that you’ll be able to predict every single issue ahead of time, I’d recommend running new systems or strategies at the lowest volume possible (often trading individual shares) for several months when starting out. That said, a lot of this stuff is possible to predict and worth accounting for ahead of time.
Trading issues
Sometimes you’ll run into issues placing new orders with your brokerage. This often happens during extreme volatility. For E-Trade, I’ve had to accommodate for a generic message stating the order has failed to process, and for a message indicating a price is unavailable for the security. In both cases, I chose to resend the order after waiting 1 sec. I’ve also used the same handling to accommodate an additional message for updating an order while a previous order update is still being processed.
If you’re using stop or stop limit orders to purchase volatile stocks, you eventually may run into a situation where you try to buy below the current price or sell above the current price which will cause your order to get rejected by the brokerage. I’ve often handled this scenario by converting my order to a market order, but this may not make sense for you depending on what you’re trying to achieve.
Server issues
Unfortunately most of the issues you’ll need to accommodate are computer errors. Even if these things happen infrequently, you’ll need handling so your system can run uninterrupted.
Some common errors include timeouts, reset connections, and messages indicating that the server or endpoint is unavailable. You can resolve most of these issues by retrying your requests, but since things move quickly in markets, you may want to change the plan if too much time has passed.
It’s also possible that you’ll run into an api rate limit issue if you’re making too many requests in a short time period. This is likely only to come up when you’re making a very high volume of requests, and you’ll need to throttle your requests in order to run under the rate limit. If this is not practical (for example when trading multiple brokerage accounts on the same user account), I recommend creating multiple user accounts if possible.
Another challenge is handling a disconnected user session. Some brokerages will log out of your account if you accidentally log into another device (or randomly for no apparent reason), and this can be very problematic if your system is running during a live trading session. Depending on the API, you may have access to a refresh token endpoint. If not, or if it doesn't work, you may need to automate logging in again when disconnected.
By the way, I’ve built in handling for all of this stuff and more in wetrade, and I think one big advantage of open source trading software is that it can help ‘crowdsource’ these exceptions, some of which are rare and may come up only once in a few thousand trades.

Keeping track of everything with logs and reporting

Even with a lot of experience and preparation, it may not be possible to plan for every possible exception that you’ll run into and it’s important to handle errors gracefully. In places where you possibly anticipate running into an error, it’s helpful to log your exceptions so you can track down unexpected issues. In addition, as long as we’re letting computers trade for us, we should log important events too so we can keep track of what’s happening.
Examples of non-error-related events to log include placing, canceling, and updating orders. Additionally, you likely want to log when orders are executed and may want to include other updates such as your current balance or position. You also may want to log events specific to your strategy. For example, if you are tracking the price of a security, you may want to log certain price changes and corresponding actions taken by your program.
For my personal trading, I’m aggregating activity from all of my accounts into Google Cloud Logging which makes it easy to collect, filter and review logs. This allows me to view only a single account at a time or filter activity to only look at errors, web requests, or user messages. I also generate html reports at the end of each day which summarize the activity for each account over the previous trading session. These reports help me digest the performance of the given trading strategy while the logs provide more of a record of what the program was doing.

Setting everything up

I recommend deploying trading applications (and other software) using Docker since it makes everything portable and easy to manage. Initially, I set up cloud deployment using an AWS lambda function that ran each morning to spin up an EC2 instance, install docker, and pull/run my images (with another script to tear the server down at the end of the day). This was reliable and pretty inexpensive, but I’ve since decided to deploy on a local docker host so that I can retain docker logs which hold on to the stdout history for each of your containers.
It’s also fairly easy to deploy a persistent docker host (in EC2 for example) and run your containers on a scheduled job on your server. If you utilize webhooks and need a persistent address, this may be the way to go. The best deployment for you really depends on your system, and you can switch between different types of deployment without too much effort using docker.
Docker usage is probably too much to cover in the remainder of this post, but I’ve included a primer in the wetrade documentation which demonstrates how to dockerize a python application. If you’re using another language, the process will be very similar but your entry point obviously won’t be a python file.

What’s next?

I’ve chatted with several members of algotrading over the past few months and it’s been fun and interesting to connect with different people from the community. One pattern I’ve noticed is that a lot of people are trading futures (mostly with IBKR), and I’m considering building a wetrade-esque futures trading library but don’t love IBKR’s API. For now, I’m going to continue to build out wetrade and prepare for an official launch soon. I’d encourage everyone to check it out and reach out with comments, questions, and feature requests.