Disappearing four patch

Hodadenon: The Last One Left and the Chestnut Tree
Long ago a boy and his uncle lived together in an elm bark lodge.
The boy’s name was Hodadenon, which means “The Last One Left.”
All of the rest of his family had disappeared over the years and it was thought they had been killed by those who were ‘otgont’, possessed of wicked powers.
Each morning the uncle would feed Hodadenon and then go out of the lodge to hunt, leaving the boy by himself. Each evening he would return, again feed the boy, and then go to sleep.
One day Hodadenon was playing by himself in the lodge.
He began to think. “Enh,” he said, “why is it that I never see my uncle eat?”
Then he took a bone awl and made a small hole in the deerskin he used as a blanket each night.
“Tonight,” said Hodadenon, “I shall see what happens after we go to bed.”
That evening as always the uncle returned. He fed the boy and told him to go to sleep. Hodadenon lay down on one side of the fire and on the other side the uncle lay down on his couch, which was made of saplings and covered with many animal skins.
Pulling the deerskin over his head, Hodadenon pretended to sleep, but he could still see his uncle through the small hole he had made.
After a time, the uncle stood up and went over to the fire.
“Hodadenon,” said the uncle in a soft voice, but the boy did not answer.
Three times more the uncle called his name, but Hodadenon still pretended to sleep. Coming closer to the fire, the uncle blew very hard into it.
Sparks flew out, landing on the boy’s legs.
“Hodadenon,” said the uncle, “be careful. You are going to be burned.”
But even though some of the sparks fell on his bare skin and burned him Hodadenon did not move.
“Nyoh,” said the uncle, “the boy is indeed asleep.”
He went over to his couch and removed the skins.
He lifted off the top of the couch and took out a box made of birch bark.
All of this Hodadenon watched through the hole in his blanket.
Opening the box made of birch bark, the uncle took out a small pot.
It was so small that it fit easily in the palm of his hand.
From inside the pot he took out another object which the boy could not clearly see though it looked to be smaller than an acorn.
Using a little knife, the uncle scraped tiny shavings from the thing into the pot.
Then, putting the tiny pot over the fire, he blew on it and sang this song:
Grow, pot, grow in size
Grow, pot, grow in size
And as Hodadenon watched, the pot grew in size as the uncle sang his song and blew on it. Finally the pot was as large as a normal cooking pot and the odour of something delicious came from it.
Before long the food was ready and the uncle ate it all.
When he was through, he blew once more on the pot and sang this song:
Shrink, pot, shrink in size
Shrink, pot, shrink in size
And once again the pot became small enough to hold in the palm of his hand.
Replacing the thing he had scraped in the tiny pot, Hodadenon’s uncle replaced the pot in the birch bark box and again hid everything in the secret compartment under his couch. Then he went to sleep.
The next morning, as always, the uncle went out hunting and left the boy alone in the lodge. For a time Hodadenon played around the lodge.
He shot his small bow and arrow at a target and did other things, but the song his uncle sang to the pot kept going through his head.
Finally he could stand it no longer.
“My uncle will be back soon from his hunting,” he said. “He will be very hungry. I should prepare a meal for him.”
Hodadenon went over to his uncle’s couch, pulled off the skins and opened the compartment.
Taking out the box of birch bark, he opened it and found the tiny pot.
Within it was half of a small dry nut.
“So this is my uncle’s food,” said Hodadenon, “but it is almost gone.
If I want to make enough for him to eat, I must use it all.
I am sure he can get more.” So Hodadenon took a knife and scraped all that was left of the nut into the tiny pot.
Then, placing the pot over the fire, he blew on it and sang:
Grow, pot, grow in size
Grow, pot, grow in size
Sure enough, just as it had done for his uncle, the pot became larger.
Now it was the size of a normal cooking pot and it was boiling and boiling.
But Hodadenon was not satisfied, “surely my uncle will be more hungry than this when he comes home.
I must make more.”
Then he blew on the pot and again sang:
Grow, pot, grow in size
Grow, pot, grow in size
Now the pot was so large and bubbling so fast that Hodadenon had to stretch to stir the contents, which smelled very good indeed.
“Neh,” said Hodadenon, “this isn’t enough. What if my uncle wishes to share this good food with me.
After all, he will be grateful that I prepared it.
I must make more.”
So, once more, he blew on the kettle and sang the song.
Again the pot grew and now it was so large that Hodadenon had to stand on top of his uncle’s couch and use a canoe paddle to stir the contents, but he was so excited that he did not want to stop.
“This is almost enough for us,” he said, “but what if we should have visitors?
We should have enough to offer them as well.”
So, for a fourth time, Hodadenon blew on the pot and sang the magic song.
The pot grew so big that Hodadenon had to get out of the lodge because it filled the whole place from side to side! It was so big that the only way the boy could stir it was by taking a long pole up to the roof and reaching down to stir it through the smoke hole!
When Hodadenon’s uncle came back from hunting, the first thing he saw was the pudding bubbling out of the door of the lodge.
He heard someone singing above him and looked up.
There was Hodadenon, swinging his legs in the smoke hole, still stirring the pudding and singing happily:
What a good cook I am
What a good cook I am
We all will eat well now
What a good cook I am
“Nephew,” called the old man, “come down from there.
What you have done has killed me.”
Then Hodadenon’s uncle blew on the pot through the door of the lodge and sang the song to make it grow small.
When it was down to the size it had been at the beginning, he entered the lodge, lay down on his couch and began to weep.
Hodadenon, who had come down from the smoke hole, walked over to where the old man lay.
“Uncle,” said Hodadenon, “what is wrong?”
“Hodadenon,” said the uncle, “you have used up all of the only food I can eat.
Now I will starve to death.
This is why I never allowed you to see me eat.
I knew that you would do this.”
“Uncle,” said the boy, “things can’t be that bad.
Just go and get another of those little nuts.”
“Neh,” said the uncle, “that is the kind of food called a chestnut.
Long ago, though it was very dangerous, I obtained that one.
All these years I have eaten it and it would have lasted for many more.
Now I am too old to get another one.”
“Wah-ah,” said Hodadenon, “this is my doing.
I shall go and bring back many chestnuts.”
“It is not possible,” said the old man.
“The way is long and guarded by many terrible creatures.
Others of your family have gone there but none have ever returned.”
Yet Hodadenon would not give up. Finally the uncle agreed to tell him the way.
“Go straight to the north, the uncle said. “There you will find a narrow path.
At its first turn it is guarded by two great rattle snakes, slaves to the evil ones who own the chestnut trees.
No one can get past them.”
“But what if I do, Uncle?” asked Hodadenon.
If anyone by good luck passes the great snakes, he will next encounter two huge hears.
They guard a passageway between the rocks.
They too are slaves of the evil ones.
They will tear apart anyone who tries to pass.
“Further on down the path are two giant Panthers which leap upon anyone who attempts to get by them. Hodadeno, it cannot be done.”
“Is that all, Uncle?” Hodadenon said.
“Is it not enough?” said the old man.
“Neh, that is only the beginning. Next is the place where the chestnut trees grow.
There live the seven sisters who own the trees.
All of them are strong in ‘otgont’ power.
If anyone comes to steal the chestnuts, they run from their long lodge and beat the person to death with their clubs.
No one can hope to go undetected, for a flayed human skin hangs in the top of a tree looking down on the chestnut grove and it sings a warning when anyone comes close.”
“Nyah-weh, Uncle,” said Hodadenon, “I thank you for your good advice.
Now I must he on my way. I shall return with the food you need if all goes well.”
Taking two sticks, he tied them together and placed them standing near the fire.
“Watch these sticks, Uncle,” said the boy. “If all is well with me they will not move, but if I am killed they will break apart.”
Now Hodadenon set out on his way.
He went straight to the north and found a narrow path.
“This must be the road my uncle told me of,” said Hodadenon. “It looks easy enough to travel.”
The boy continued along and soon the path began to twist and wind.
Ahead, it turned sharply to the left. Hodadenon stopped, crept off the path, went through the trees, and peered out cautiously.
There on either side of the path, were two great rattlesnakes, coiled and ready to strike.
“Uncle,” said Hodadenon, “you know this road well.” He went and caught two chipmunks. Holding one in each hand he again began to walk the path.
When he came to the two rattlesnakes he threw a chipmunk into the mouth of each before they could strike him.
“Tca,” he said, “you seem to be in need of food.
Now I have given you that which you should hunt for yourselves.
Hawenio, our Creator, did not make any of his beings to be slaves. Go from this place.”
As soon as he finished speaking, the two rattlesnakes uncoiled and crawled off in different directions, leaving the road unguarded as Hodadenon went along his way.
Meanwhile, back at the lodge, the two tied sticks which had been quivering now stood still as Hodadenon’s uncle watched them intently.
Now the path entered a rocky place.
Again Hodadenon left the trail to scout ahead.
There, where the way dipped between two big boulders, were a pair of giant bears, crouched and ready to tear apart anybody who tried to go by.
“Uncle,” said Hodadenon, “you have travelled this road before.”
He climbed a tree where he heard the buzzing of many bees, pulled out two combs of honey and went back onto the path.
When he came to the bears, he hurled the combs of honey into their mouths before they could grab him.
“Hunh,” the boy said, “it looks to me as if you were hungry.
Now I have given you that which you like best of all.
The one who gave us breath, Hawenio, did not make us to be the slaves of anyone.
Go from this place.”
At his words, the two bears turned and went away,each in a different direction as Hodadenon continued down the trail.
Meanwhile, back at the uncle’s lodge, the two tied sticks stopped quivering and Hodadenon’s uncle breathed a sigh of relief.
Now the path entered a deep forest and wound between large trees.
Leaving the trail, Hodadenon crept along till he could see the place where two huge panthers, eyes glowing like green flames, hid behind a pair of giant pines on either side of the path.
“Uncle,” Hodadenon said, “you remember your travels well.”
Taking his bow and arrows, he killed two deer.
Carrying them over his shoulders, he went down the trail once more.
Before the panthers could leap upon him, he threw each of them a deer.
“Ee-yah,” he said, “I see that you were in need of food.
Now I have given you that which you are supposed to hunt.
Know that the one who gave us strength to walk around, Hawenio, did not intend that any living creature should serve another as a slave.
Go from this place.”
In two different directions away into the trees slunk the panthers and the boy continued along his way.
Meanwhile, back at the lodge, the two sticks which had been shaking as if struck by a strong wind once more stood still as Hodadenon’s uncle watched them.
The path in front of Hodadenon was very straight and wide. It looked to have been travelled by many feet.
The boy listened very carefully and soon he began to hear a very faint song coming from the treetops.
Crawling forward through the brush, he peered up and saw the one who was singing.
It was the skin of a woman tied in the top of a tree.
This was her song:
Gi-nu, gi-nu, gi-nu
I am the one who sees all,
I see you
The song was very soft.
Hodadenon could barely hear it, but he knew it would grow loud indeed if she caught a glimpse of him.
Below her was a grove of trees.
They were covered with a fruit which had burrs all over it.
These, Hodadenon knew, must be the chestnuts.
Beyond the skin woman and the trees was a great pile of human bones and just to the other side of them was the long lodge of the seven witches.
“Tcu,” said Hodadenon, “now I shall need some help.”
Going to a basswood tree, he peeled a long strip of bark.
With a burned stick and the juice of berries, he decorated the piece of bark until it looked just like a long wampum belt.
Slinging it over his shoulder, he knelt down and tapped four times on the earth.
“My friend,” he said, “I am in need of help.”
Up out of the ground poked the nose and then the head of a female mole.
“Nyoh, Hodadenon! How can I help you?” asked the mole.
“Grandmother,” said the boy, “if I make myself very small, will you carry me under the earth with you?”
“That’s too easy,” said the mole. “Let’s go!”
Then Hodadenon began to rub himself with his hands.
As he did so he grew smaller and smaller until he was small enough to travel with the mole under the earth.
Down into the ground they went, coming up beneath the very tree where the Skin Woman was swaying back and forth.
Once again Hodadenon rubbed himself with his hands until he was back to normal.
Then he called up to Skin Woman.
“Sister,” he called, “I have seen you first.
Do not tell the others I am here and I will give you this fine belt of wampum.”
“Wah-ah!” said Skin Woman, “I did not see you, Hodadenon.
Give me the belt and I will not warn them you are here.”
Hodadenon tossed the belt up to Skin Woman.
She put it on and immediately it wrapped itself so tightly about her she could not speak. Under the tree, Hodadenon quickly filled his pouch with chestnuts.
Then, making himself small once more, he called for his friend, Mole, to take him back under the earth.
Up in the tree, Skin Woman finally got her breath. She began to sing:
Gi-nu, gi-nu, gi-nu
Someone has bribed me
I cannot say who
Out from the long lodge ran the seven witches.
Each of them carried a long club.
They ran to the place where Skin Woman hung, but they saw no one.
“Someone has been here,” said one of the witches.
“Some of our chestnuts are gone,” said another.
“Skin Woman,” said a third witch, “you are our slave.
Speak and tell us who has been here.”
But Skin Woman did not answer the question.
All she did was swing back and forth in the wind, singing this song:
Gi-nu, gi-nu, gi-nu
I’ve been given a wampum belt
Shining and new
“You are a fool,” said another of the witches.
“That is only the bark from a tree.”
“It must have been The Last One Left.” said the fifth witch, “the boy whose uncle stole from us long ago.”
“If he comes back,” said the sixth witch, “we will catch him and kill him.”
“Nyoh,” said the last witch, “now we must punish our slave.”
She took her club and struck Skin Woman a heavy blow.
Each of the others did the same.
Then the seven witches went back into the long lodge, leaving the Skin Woman covered with bruises, but still singing softly of her fine new belt of wampum.
Meanwhile, back in the lodge of Hodadenon’s uncle, the two sticks had fallen over on the floor.
Picking them up and standing them upright once more, the old man watched them with great concern.
From his hiding place in the earth, Hodadenon had listened to all that was said by the seven sisters. “It is not right,” he said “that those terrible creatures should go on like this.
Friend Mole, we must go back there.”
The mole dove deeper into the earth.
She carried Hodadenon under the long lodge and came up beneath the couch where the sisters slept.
There, tied to a string of sinew, were seven hearts.
Quick as a spark leaping from the fire, Hodadenon grabbed the string of hearts and ran from the lodge.
Seeing him, the seven witches grabbed their clubs and gave chase.
Now back in the lodge of Hodadenon’s uncle the two sticks fell over once more.
The old man was so disheartened that he did not stand them up again.
He lay there staring at them, certain that his nephew would now never return alive.
From the top of her tree, Skin Woman sang as the seven witches chased Hodadenon:
Gi-nu, gi-nu, gi-nu
Hodadenon has your hearts
This will be the end of you
Now the first witch had almost caught up with the boy and raised her club to strike him.
As she did so, Hodadenon squeezed one of the hearts on the sinew string and the witch fell dead.
Now the second witch was about to strike.
Again Hodadenon squeezed a heart and the second witch died also.
In the end, he had squeezed all seven of the hearts and all seven of the evil sisters had fallen dead.
Climbing to the top of the tree, Hodadenon cut loose the cords which held Skin Woman.
He brought her down and placed her on top of the pile of human bones.
Then he began to push against a great dead hickory tree which was near the pile.
“Get yourselves up, my relatives!” he shouted. “A tree is about to fall on you!”
Immediately Skin Woman and all of the people whose bones were piled there leaped up and came back to life.
Skin Woman was, indeed, the sister of Hodadenon.
Long ago the evil witches had caught her and the others of his family whose bones lay in that pile.
There before him were his parents, his brothers, and all his relations.
All were very happy to be alive and thanked the boy again and again.
Taking the chestnuts from the ground, Hodadenon passed them out to all his relatives.
“Plant these all over,” he said. “Food will be shared with everyone from now on.”
Finally, his pouch filled with chestnuts, Hodadenon went back to the lodge of his uncle.
The old man lay there on his couch, thin as a skeleton, his eyes fixed on the two tied sticks.
“Uncle,” said Hodadenon, “I have returned.”
The old man jumped up and embraced the nephew.
To this day he still sits in that lodge, making chestnut pudding in his pot.
And from that time on, the chestnuts, like all the other good things given to us by Hawenio, our Creator, no longer belong to just one family, no matter how powerful they are, but are shared by all.

Well, Hi all! again! 4Th Wall here, I figured since I just got power back, I might as well play some catch up on both series. Hope you enjoy this episode!!
Yup, I fucked that up. This is a repost with the correct Episode number, LOL! It's been a while since I've done that.
First, Previous, Next (Patreon)
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Benjamin smiled, watching the girls skip ahead of him. Today was a testing day of sorts for him. Unwilling to release firearms into this world haphazardly, yet unwilling to go without them as a backup; he had pulled from one of his sister’s favorite video games. He had “melted down” his bowie knife, repurposing the metal to be used in his latest creation. The final product rode on his hip like a short sword, but Ben was satisfied in the design when the vast majority of the people he passed ignored it as just another adventurer’s blade. Benjamin hoped, that with the existence of Majik, that he would be able to pass off any… peculiarities... as the realm of the supernatural.

The three of them arrived at the tailor’s establishment, and the girls were met with a customary indifference that seemed to present itself when a slave’s “master” was present. The moment Benjamin entered, the seamstress ceased to pay attention to the girls, and instead addressed him directly, “Ah, The Forgemaster’s Protégé. What can I do for you this day.” She said cooly, bowing slightly in welcome. “I’m here commission some clothing for these two, a reward for good service.” Benjamin began. It was technically true; the success of the forge had afforded him much more coin than a mere apprentice could have made. Qort had taken him on as a true partner, and Benjamin earned enough to comfortably afford to cloth his “slaves” in whatever he chose.

Some stigma’s remained however, and the seamstress seemed to glare sideways at the girls as they perused the fabrics adorning the walls. “Is that wise? A slave could lose her place with such gifts.” she asked, her polite tone barely hiding her disapproval. Benjamin sighed internally, ‘oh for fucks sake’ he groaned in his own mind before putting on facad, “I find that proper reward, afforded on the right servant can result in” he paused, projecting a smug expression and blatantly looking the girls up and down. “a profound dedication to their duties” he finished with a satisfied smile as the seamstress covered her mouth with a hand to hide a smile of her own. The gambit worked, and the Seamstress was obviously satisfied that the “Aereesen slave whores” were being properly “used”. “Ah, I understand. What did you have in mind for them.” She practically moaned back at Benjamin. ‘This hag needs a good pounding….’ Benjamin’s inner monologue threatened to crack his facade, “That’s the fun part, my good lady. It’s their choice. The surprise is half the excitement.” He chuckled.

The seamstress openly smiled at him this time before nodding and stepping over to the two girls. Benjamin breathed a sigh of relief as she seemed to treat them at least marginally more warmly. The old racist bag didn’t need to know that Benjamin was secretly building a small nest egg for his girls, or that his sending them out to do errands for him was how he was teaching them about money, value, and the application of Mathematics. She also didn’t need to know that the full Cutlery set that she had purchased last week had been made by Vi’s own hand as her first full solo commission set. Benjamin had stamped his “mark” on them, because slaves were not allowed to own anything, including their own work; but Vi had begun with raw steel and finished with one of the finest cooking knife sets he had seen in this world or his.

Benjamin settled onto a bench outside, using the excuse of wanting to enjoy the morning air to afford his girls some privacy. Now that Viola and Valtrya were eating a healthy diet, and the right calorie amount; they had blossomed into absolute bombshells. Their hair had recovered, and both sported long flowing locks that boasted a silky satin black color and texture that betrayed hints of deep royal purple. The color reminded Benjamin of one of those expensive custom car paints that changed color depending on the lighting.

Their skin recovered almost as quickly as their hair. The sickly, scabbed look was quickly replaced with the same satin quality as their hair to the touch, but with a light grey coloring that almost seemed to tease the edge of hinting at a greyish purple. A dense pattern of Small freckles of the same dark, almost royal, purple as the highlights in their hair frolicked on both girl’s cheeks, and down the sides of their necks. Because of their early lack of understanding on modestly, Ben knew that those freckles traveled much further. The sad truth was that Benjamin understood fully why Aereesen’s were the prize of slavers and brothels, and he silently prayed that he could give them enough self-worth and skill to have a better life than that, once he got them out of the Principality.

A door’s soft creaking broke Benjamin from his thoughts as the two sisters stepped out smiling, “Get everything you need?” he asked standing as the three of them departed the establishment. Val nodded vigorously, and Vi smiled as she spoke, “I think so, but I had to practically beg the woman to stop showing us lingerie… what did you tell her?” Benjamin felt his cheeks heat as he responded, “What I had to. The old hag doesn’t get enough at home. It’s not my fault that your ‘enthusiasm’ is in the forge and your studies, not between the sheets. I didn’t lie to her, I just let her draw her own conclusions, sorry.”

Vi’s eyes twinkled for a second, “Oh,” She smirked, “Thaaat’s why she broke out the silk. Some of her options were..” She blatantly bit her lip at Benjamin. “You didn’t…” He asked in shock, and Vi lifted up on her tippy toes to brush her lips against his ear, “Not telling” she purred, setting Bens senses on fire. She backed up a step, openly smirking at his beet red face. “But your expression is adorable… My Lord” She stated the last two words with a deep sultry tone, knowing that Ben couldn’t scold her in public before taking his hand, “May we visit the bazar next? Val saw some jewelry she wanted to look at.” Benjamin gave her a pointed look, that turned into a smile as she beamed at him, “Ok, sounds good. I need to pick up some food for the week.”

It was later that afternoon when the three of them left the bazar. They found Jukha waiting on the bench in front of their home. “Jukha! How are you!” Benjamin called, clasping the Orc’s hand firmly as the girls rushed inside to put up their purchases. Jukha reciprocated, if somewhat stiffly, to the strange to him gesture. “Benjamin, it is good to see you well.” His tone stopped Ben in his tracks, “What is it. Is your wife, ok?”
Jukha shook his head, “Vilora is well, but I have been tasked with finding you.” He said carefully, “The slaver, the one you dueled for those two,” he nodded to Vi and Val as they stepped back out of the building, “The Heir of The Romoregin house is here. He has lodged an official demand for satisfaction, and he brought a champion.”

Benjamin stiffened, “Another duel? You said an ‘official demand’… what happens if I refuse.” Jukha winced at Ben’s tone, “It is an archaic practice of my people, rarely remembered, and even more rarely demanded. You cannot deny a satisfaction claim, but should you prevail, no further claims can be made upon your person. I am sorry Benjamin, but if you flee or refuse, your life is forfeit; and your property goes to the claimant.” Jukha looked pointedly at Viola and Valtrya. “The young puke has put me in danger as well, if I do not deliver you and them to the duel, I can be detained. If they torture me….” Benjamin’s eyes widened before hardening in understanding. “Jukha…” He turned to find Viola standing next to him, with his musket in one arm and his ammunition bag in the other, and sighed, “Fuck”. He loaded his musket with a single roundball cartridge this time, unwilling to fire buck and ball in the town streets. He pealed the ball out of the paper wading after pouring the poweder, reaching into his haversack to retrieve a small round patch made of pillow ticking. Jukha looked on in mild fascination as Benjamin spit on the cloth patch before wrapping the ball in it and ramming the whole thing down the barrel. It wasn’t much, but it reduce windage, ensuring at least reasonable enough accuracy from the smoothbore to keep from hitting innocent bystanders. It would also virtually eliminate blow-by, upping the chamber pressure and giving him a little more velocity. “I’m ready.”

The four of them entered the small city square to be met with Qort and three Org guards. These soldiers wore different insignia that Benjamin had been taught were the mark of the capital. “Beenjaymen Shayfe” one of them butchered his name, “I am.” Ben nodded firmly, the other guard nodded, “And your two slaves, good. Has Jukha informed you of the proceedings.” Benjamin scowled, “A legalized way to attempt a revenge killing? Yea, I’ve been told.” Ben didn’t bother to hide his vitriol, “So I have to kill a motherfucker for defending myself from his father?”

“Not quite. The Heir has brought a champion. The rules are simple, all forms of combat are allowed” The first guard began as the second one began chaining the wrists of Viola and Valtrya. Benjamin began to move before thinking, only to be held back by Jukha, “Peace albino. They must do this. Fighting them will cause a forfeit.” Benjamin looked at the terrified faces of the two girls. He forced himself to calm down outwardly, but Benjamin could feel the rage building. He had worked so hard to save those two, to get them out.. now some snot nosed brat was going to try to kill him because his father didn’t know when to fuck off. Benjamin stepped out from around the guards. The “heir” was a young Durr. Ben had no frame of reference for age, but the Heir was substantially shorter, and his facial tentacles were almost mere buds. Beside him stood a crimson colossus, the same species as the Hunter he had shot saving Jukha. He was taller than that female, and was wearing plate armor, gilded in silver. He hefted a great sword of some kind and smiled openly at Benjamin. It was not a pleasant expression. “Ah, so You’re the puke I’ll be cleaning from my blade. I am Krastorin. Come here, pale one, I’ll make it quick.”

Benjamin looked him over, subtly shifting into a shooting stance but keeping his musket looking like he was resting the butt of a spear on the ground. “You look accomplished, what makes you do the bidding of the boy.” He asked, blatant scorn on his tone. The Young Durr flinched, his small tentacle buds writhing violently. “H’Dare Yee!” he bellowed, voice cracking with the strain of fury, “Aye’ll ‘ave Yee Head on Me’Wall!!”
Benjamin ignored him, focusing on the Hellirine. The man looked back at the boy with a raised eyebrow, “The young puke promised me one of those.” He pointed at Vi and Val, who had reverted to their former trembling submissive postures that Ben had met them in. “It appears that they are as well kept as claimed. I look forward to sampling them.” He leered. Benjamin looked over at the Young Durr and found his face a mixture of relief and anger. ‘Ah, lied about daddy’s slaves.’ He turned to the soldier standing next to him, “Is the duel on?” he growled.

“Combatants! Begin!” was the Soldiers response, and the crimson mercenary lifted his sword from his shoulders advancing forward with a long confident stride, “at last, let’s get this over wi..” a clap of thunder echo’d through the Feral wood, and most of the crowd cried out in surprise as Benjamin disappeared, seemingly behind a bubble of fire, and brimstone. The single round ball ignored the mercenary’s plate armor. Punching straight through as the soft lead mushroomed out into a ragged disk that measured almost an inch and a half. The mangled projectile, still travelling at almost half the speed of sound, eviscerated the chest cavity of the Mercenary before blowing a one foot wide hole out of the crimson man’s back. The exit wound missed Krastorin’s spine by an inch, but it didn’t matter. The projectile embedded itself into a post, thankfully missing any bystanders by mere inches in some cases. The Young Durr, who was standing just behind and to the side of his champion, was screaming as he pawed at the bits of pale yellow blood, bones, and fragments of internal organs now covering him from head to toe.

Benjamin handed the smoking musket to Jukha, drawing his short sword and walking over to a sputtering, choking, and coughing Krastorin. The Hellirine lay face down on the ground, having fallen that way from the momentum of his initial advance. The back of Benjamins mind was sickly amused as he remembered the old Hollywood trope of bullets throwing people backward, and a pinch of regret sparked in his soul as his opponent death rattled. He stepped up to the Heir, resting the blade against his neck, “Are we done here. Be a better man than your father and learn when to save your own life.” The Young Durr froze, staring up at him in abject terror for several moments as a puddle formed at his feet. Benjamin opened his mouth to speak again when the boy simply passed out, falling into the puddle of his own mess as his mind refused to stay conscious.

Benjamin turned to walk back towards Jukha and the girls. “Unchain them.” Benjamin’s tone could have frozen a raging forge’s inferno. To his surprise, two of the soldiers drew their weapons on him, “You need to come with us. All Touched must be registered with...” Benjamin pointed his short sword at the one talking… and pulled the trigger. The percussion revolver built into the hilt of the short sword was zero’d using a notch Benjamin cut into the crossguard, and the tip of the curved blade as a crude set of open sights. The barrel of the revolver lay along one side of the blade, and was rifled. The speaking soldier orc’s took the smaller pistol round through the forehead, exploding the back of his skull in a cone of dark green and grey mist. The exit wound showered his companion in bits of bone and brains. Benjamin’s thumb found the hammer, and four satisfying clicks echo’d in the stunned silence, “HEAR ME!” He growled, “I, am touched by the Gods. I posses the power to end any life I choose using the power of Hell itself!” ‘if I have to show them a gun, might as well throw them off the trail’ “The violence of the raging volcano obeys my very fingertips.” His revolvesword bucked a second time as another soldier orc made a move to rush him. The smaller pistol round still punched through the orcs armor and out the back, but only left him screaming on the ground. Benjamin re-cocked, and leveled his weapon at the orc holding the chains to Val and Vi. “Now, release them.” This last remaining Orc did as asked, before gathering up his screaming companion as the girls rushed to Benjamin, he pulled them close, whispering, “I’m sorry we wont be able to pick up your dresses.”

The three of them packed up that night. Qort had understood, knowing all too well what the Principality would do to acquire a Touched of Benjamins ability. “Stay safe my friend. I pray our paths cross again.” Jukha snuck them out of the village that night, using his wagon to get them to his home. They stayed a week, laying low while they planned their next move. The girls spent their time learning recipes from Jukha’s wife, and ben took the time to unwind a bit. Jukha and He went on a hunt, and Benjamin was given a run down on the flora and fauna of the Feral wood. The two of them brought back a pair of Stags, and the three women cooked them a feast.

“Dinner’s ready!!” called Viola, setting the last of the sides on the table as the dutch oven roasted meat was brought off of the stove top. It was a simple yet elegant meal. Stag, potatoes, some kind of Kale style vegetable that Benjamin had never seen before. Soon enough, everyone at the table was leaning back, as full as they could make themselves. “So, pinkskin,” Jukha asked, “Where do you plan on going. I wouldn’t mind you staying with me. I could use another hunter, but I suspect that they would notice the extra product I brought to the village.”

Benjamin Hummed, “The Maridian Combine. Qort told me that they banned slavery over a century ago, the girls have learned so much already. It would be easy to find jobs for them.” Vi and Val drooped slightly but hid it well. Jukha noticed it but said nothing. “A good choice, their boarders are well guarded, you would need to free them before you cross, or end up in a dungeon yourself.”

“Good point, I can write up a simple writ of freedom. Something I can sign and give to them.” Benjamin nodded, “I can get started on that to…” he paused as a hand fell on his. He looked to see Viola staring at him, fighting back tears, “Hey, what’s wrong. You will be free…” Jukha nodded slowly and stood. “love,” he said to Vilora, “I need some help with the livestock” The Farie met his eyes in unspoken understanding, fluttering out the front door with Jukha.

“Vi, what’s wrong.” Benjamin asked gently.

“No… go… Val… stay…” Both of them turned to Valtrya in shock. She was trembling, “I wont..leave.”

“You speak?” Benjamin looked in shock, but Viola spoke next, “Benjamin, we don’t want to leave. We want to stay, with you. I…” She paused. Ben sighed, “I want you to stay too.” He said, finally admitting it to himself, “But I can’t own you. It’s killing me that you are my property.” He reached up and wiped a tear from Vi’s eyes, “You are so much more than property. I feel evil, every day that I wake up knowing that I could do anything I wanted to you, or worse, die and have someone else hurt you for the fun of it.” Benjamin bowed his head. Viola reached out, lifting his chin to look into his eyes, “Then come with us.” She whispered as Val stood up and stepped around the table, “yes.. You, come.” She wrapped herself around Ben from the side leaning in until she was resting her head against his shoulder, “I’m… staying.. with you.” she said softly. Viola nodded, “Benjamin, how old do you think we are.”

Ben looked at her in confusion, “I have no idea, I’ve always assumed you were teenagers. 13-14 years old for Val, maybe 16 for you, but that was when you were skin and bones.” He admitted.

Viola’s eyes widened in understanding. “You did not want to bed us because you thought us children.” Benjamin nodded slowly, answering. “And forcing sex on a child is the worst kind of crime on my world”. Viola and Valtrya looked at each other, before Vi spoke. “Ben, my sister will turn one hundred and three in a fortnight. I just had my one hundred and fifteenth birthday last week.” She leaned in, pressing her lips to Bens as she kissed him passionately for a moment. “We are no children,” Viola paused as Valtrya leaned in, kissing Ben lightly on the neck, “You are not forcing us to do anything, but leave.” Viola whispered as she began to close in to a surprised Benjamin for another kiss.

The door to the cabin flew open violently, and the girls pulled back to a more modest distance. Jukha walked in, carrying a panting Vilora. “What happened.” Ben asked hurriedly, hoping he wasn’t blushing as hard as the heat on his cheeks suggested. Vilora waved a hand as Jukha set her down in her chair, “The Vin… My sisters… they reached out… They wish to meet…” The Farie gathered herself, “They also sent a warning. We must leave, tonight… hunters.”
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
If you made it this far, I very much appreciate it. I hope you enjoyed the episode! If you believe I have earned it, I have a Patreon that is two episodes ahead of the free releases for this series. I hope you feel taking a look is worth it. Either way, come hang out in the comments. Everyone's welcome! I've discovered Im a bit of a "warts and all" poster, so even critical comments are welcome. Hell, You might even teach me something (it happens more than I'd like to admit).
I have heard people off and on reference Royal road, So I am going to give it another shot. I'll be adding the Royal Road link from now on. If you like reading over there, It is on the same schedule as here. I would greatly appreciate a like/review/comment if you feel so inclined. Thank you again for stopping by.
First, Previous, Next (Patreon) Royal Road

This one is actually fairly simple, I promise. In fact, this killer was born because I saw a comment in the main DBD sub that said only three of the 36 available killers were listed as "easy," so I decided to challenge myself to make one that could also be rated as "easy," with a simple power.
I've been struggling with figuring out how to do an idea I've wanted to make for a while, a killer whose touch was the most dangerous thing about them; I have in my mind the image of a killer who only has to put a single finger against a prop to break it, owing to some cursed touch they have. I went the route of decay and rot for a while, thinking up stuff a la Phage the Untouchable from MtG, then I pondered tapping into a really niche hit with Quachil Uttaus, the Treader in the Dust, a minor eldritch entity from the Cthulhu Mythos, but that one will likely be saved for a more complex take on the same idea. Don't yell at me when I basically post the same killer twice, but one with more bells and whistles.
I eventually settled on a gender-reversed take on King Midas, as I also have a sore lack of female killers in my fanmade roster (I have more genderless nightmare monsters than women). I believe in unhinged lady's rights, and so from that comes the Avarice. I only have a rough grasp on her overall appearance, but I know her left arm has been dramatically altered; her skin is solid gold, but not in a beautiful, elegant way; it's more like she dipped her arm in a molten vat and pulled it back out before it could fully incinerate her. Body horror as Entity thorns and spines jut from below the flesh, the thorns also transmuted into gold. Her body is run through by veins that pulse precious metal throughout her form. Gemstones grow like tumors and warts on her corrupt arm and rarely across her body, including one on the back of her left hand which looks more like an eye than anything else. Her left eye has been completely replaced by a bloody gemstone.
Despite what appears to be a grievous and horrid transformation, she has an air of playfulness in what she does. Her wall-breaking animation is her spinning her hand around before giving the wall a single, gentle poke with a single finger. She gently flicks generators to damage them. Her pallet break animation is grabbing the thing and sinking her fingers into it, letting her power shatter it. About the only thing that isn't playful is her stun animation, in which she's absolutely furious, where she growls and hisses, the sound joined by a chorus from the living jewelry she wears. Whenever she interacts destructively with a prop, veins of corrupt gold and silver boil across the surface she's touching until it breaks.
110% speed. 32 meter terror radius. Medium height (Pig height)
--Power: Gilded Transmutation. Pressing the ability button causes the Avarice to hold her cursed hand forward and begin to laugh. She laughs continuously for the 8 seconds she remains in her 'transmutation stance,' signaling all nearby survivors that the power is in play. While Transmutation is active, the Avarice moves 5% faster, and she can end the ability early to perform a special lunging attack which follows the logic of a normal M1 lunge. If she strikes a dropped pallet or breakable wall with the lunge, the impediment is destroyed after 0.80 seconds by her curse.
Upon striking a survivor, that survivor gains their sprint burst as if they had been damaged, and is afflicted with Golden Death. After 60 seconds pass, if the survivor is reduced to the dying state through any means, or if the survivor is struck with Gilded Transmutation a second time, the survivor is wracked with pain and screams as golden tendrils slither across their bodies and engulf them until they're a Gilt Statue. 7 seconds after becoming a statue, sacrifice progress begins as if the survivor had been hooked. If the survivor was on top of a prop, inside a locker, mid-vault, in midair, or otherwise not in contact with the ground when their timer ran out, the survivor staggers towards the nearest empty patch of ground that is at least 2 meters from any interactible props before transforming.
Anti-camp measures affect survivors transmuted gilt statues; they can break free of the transmutation at any stage if the Avarice spends too long within 16 meters of them. A survivor that dies from the transmutation is claimed by the Entity and pulled into the ground. Another survivor can free a transmuted survivor by taking 3 seconds to pull at the gruesome metal enough to free the trapped victim's limbs, after which they free themselves.
After hitting a survivor with Gilded Transmutation, the Avarice is slowed by 30% and cannot attack for 2.5 seconds as she giggles to herself. If she hits a pallet or wall, she is slowed by 15% and cannot attack for 1.5 seconds as she brushes wood scraps off her hand. If she impacts terrain or obstacles with her lunge, or misses completely, she is slowed by 20% and cannot attack for 2 seconds as she rages impotently. Gilded Transmutation has a cooldown of 35 seconds.
--Passive: Golden Rings. Four special rings mold themselves from the Fog at the beginning of the trial. Survivors can see the auras of these rings if they're within 24 meters of one, or from any distance if they're affected with Golden Death.
A survivor can stand over a ring and pick it up as if it were an item, wearing it on their right hand. A special icon pops up on their portrait (visible to other survivors, but not the killer) to show they have a ring. A survivor with a ring on has a band on their right hand which visibly glimmers every now and again when the survivor is in chase.
A survivor wearing a ring that is struck by Gilded Transmutation loses a health state, and their ring is destroyed, but they are not affected by Golden Death. A survivor affected by Golden Death who picks up a ring is locked in place for 2.5 seconds as the ring counteracts and ends the curse, then crumbles away. A survivor who is wearing a ring can slip it onto the finger of a transmuted survivor, which frees them in 0.75 seconds and destroys the ring. A ring on a survivor's finger is destroyed if they're reduced to the dying state or otherwise grabbed.
Rings take 45 seconds to respawn, and will attempt to respawn at least 32 meters from any survivor.
See? Simple! Sort of. ... Okay, this is logically probably a medium-difficulty killer, but in my head it's no more hard to grasp than Legion; you do a special lunge attack that either damages survivors (if they have a ring) or curses them (if they don't) and clears obstacles super quickly. The auto-hook mechanic returns again, as well, but this time it requires a special prop to end it early!
The primary tactics here are to either hit someone with the curse and then force them to scamper off and find a ring, which means they aren't doing gens; hit someone with the curse and then chase them for 30 seconds until the cooldown is done, then hit them again to instantly transmute them; OR hit them with the curse, then down them with two basic attacks to transmute them, using the transmutation to swiftly break obstacles in your path.
ADD-ONS
COMMON

1. Tarnished Silver: Golden rings respawn 5 seconds faster, and Golden Death takes 5 seconds longer to trigger. Double the bloodpoint reward for score events with Gilded Transmutation.
2. Golden File: The Avarice remains in her transmutation stance for 1 additional second.
3. Shattered Earrings: The Avarice moves 2% faster while in her transmutation stance.
4. Cracked Sapphire: The cooldown for hitting terrain or missing Gilded Transmutation is reduced by 0.5 seconds.

UNCOMMON

1. Gilt Hooks: The lunge distance of Gilded Transmutation is increased by 40%.
2. Polishing Rag: Gilded Transmutation's cooldown is reduced by 4 seconds.
3. Transmuted Lead: Golden Death triggers 5 seconds sooner, and the grace period is 1 second shorter.
4. Twisted Necklace: The Avarice moves 4% faster while in her transmutation stance.
5. Slag Pile: Golden rings take 5 more seconds to respawn and will attempt to spawn 4 meters further from survivors.

RARE

1. Greed's Toll: A survivor that performs a conspicuous action within 10 seconds of being unhooked becomes affected by Golden Death.
2. Gilt Scraps: The Avarice remains in her transmutation stance for 3 additional seconds.
3. Gnarled Rings: The Avarice moves 6% faster while in her transmutation stance.
4. Old Jewelry Box: Damaging a healthy survivor with a basic attack while they're wearing a golden ring destroys the ring.
5. Perfectly-Cut Ruby: Gilded Transmutation's cooldown is reduced by 8 seconds.

VERY RARE

1. Twisted Jewelry Box: The cooldown animations for Gilded Transmutation are all 0.5 seconds shorter. Reduces the speed penalty the Avarice suffers while in her cooldown animation by 5%.
2. Thorn Ring: The Avarice moves 5% faster while in her transmutation stance, and her transmutation stance lasts 3 additional seconds.
3. Weight of Gilt: Whenever a survivor becomes affected by Golden Death or is fully transmuted, all other survivors within 32 meters of that survivor become incapacitated for 5 seconds.
4. Appraisal Lens: Survivors outside the Avarice's terror radius cannot move their cameras completely off the aura of the nearest transmuted survivor.

IRIDESCENT

1. Iridescent Diamond: Breaking a pallet or wall does not end Gilded Transmutation, though it still forces the Avarice into her cooldown animation.
2. Malignant Gem Tumor: If you are further than 32 meters from a transmuted survivor, other survivors which free that transmuted survivor without using a ring are affected by Golden Death.

PERKS
Ravenous Want: It doesn't matter what it is or what it does; if someone wants it, you want it more. This perk activates while you're within 8 meters of an item on the ground or a chest and remains active for 4 seconds after leaving this radius. While this perk is active, the cooldown for your successful basic attacks is reduced by 24%.
Terrifying Rage: The sound you unleash when you're pained is so shockingly inhuman that anyone nearby is filled with supernatural fear. Whenever you are stunned through any means, all survivors within 18 meters of you become incapacitated for 5 seconds. Then, Terrifying Rage goes on cooldown for 20 seconds.
ALTERNATE: Affects all survivors in your terror radius, but the cooldown is 45 seconds.
Hex: Webs of Gold: An insidious sloth twines itself over those who find themselves seduced by greed, making it hard to concentrate on what truly matters. Whenever a survivor opens a chest, sabotages a gook, picks up a non-killer item, or cleanses any totem while this Hex stands, they become cursed for 20 seconds. While cursed by this Hex, they suffer a 14% penalty to repair and healing speeds. When this Hex totem is cleansed, the survivor who cleansed it is cursed for 35 seconds.

Written 5/8/2024- updates attached below

I tried posting this on kendrick almost a week ago and it got no response, I messaged the mods to ask about Karma restrictions or account age requirements and they never replied. I made a new account and it was the same issue, but I found out last night I wasn’t fully banned, so I figured I’d throw it up and see if anyone finds it valuable. It’s written for people who have no prior knowledge of the rap game/music business. I don’t have to go as hard on obscuring names this time. One of the influencers I mentioned in my last post is known for doxxing and threatening violence against people who mention the many contradictions in their stories. (Sorry for any typos/mistakes I want to go to bed.)
Origins
I believe the current Drake and Kendrick Lamar beef is either completely or partially fabricated by certain industry leaders or the parties involved in an effort to distract from something bigger going down behind the scenes. If you were an influential label owner facing major accusations, and you needed to deflect media attention from yourself, recreating one of the most defining moments in rap history during the social media era would be a way to do it. It also wouldn’t hurt that two of the biggest rappers in the world were already sending shots at each other in their music for years prior. The public consensus is they are simply two famous rappers who hate each other and fighting over the spot for the top like in the 90’s. Only people who were directly involved could paint a more cohesive picture of the whole story. Even when all the cards drop, there is a good chance the average person won’t be able to find direct sources on their own and will continue to support their favorite artists and dismiss any evidence of their crimes like the drizzy subreddit or Ak fans.

As I said the beef between Kendrick and Drake has been brewing in the background for years, with both rappers sending shots and sneak dissing each other over the course of at least 8 years. The most agreed upon origin story is the first diss was the 2016 Big Sean and Kendrick collaboration, “Control,” and Drake responded with, “The Language”. Things stayed relatively lighthearted for a while and both were intentionally vague for many years. Before I go deep into the Kendrick and Drake stuff, it’s really important to examine some of Drake’s prior beefs because they add a ton of context to my theory. In my opinion Kendrick and Co. started scheming all of this some time around Mid 2020-Mid 2022, well after the whole Pusha T beef had transitioned into the Kanye beef.

What exactly started the beef is debatable, but at the time many attributed it to rumors of Drake pursuing Ye’s ex Amber Rose. Unfortunately the timeline isn’t 100 percent clear, and if I included every detail this would be at least 200+ pages so I’ll stick with the important stuff. The ultimate outcome of the Pusha T battle in 2018 was the revelation of Drake’s son Adidon that he had previously been hiding from the world along with getting Ye directly involved in the beef.

Here are some more examples of Drake antagonizing Ye and of him trying to use women as pawns to get material for his diss tracks. The Drake line, “Yeah, I probably go link to Yeezy, I need me some Jesus, but as soon as I start confessin' my sins, he wouldn't believe us," could be a reference to sleeping with Kim Kardashian, trying to double down on his threats to harm him or his family, or it could be a double entendre. Another example is using the name Kiki in another song, which was apparently one of Kim’s nicknames. Some other possible examples include the theories he may have tried the same thing with Kendrick’s wife Whitney around 2020-2021 in an attempt to use as ammo against Kendrick, which I’ll go into later. I don’t listen to much of either artist's music, but there are probably many of other examples in Drake’s catalogue that I’m leaving out. There is also his song Omerta released in 2019, which I'll go into below.

“Your baby mother call me when she lonely My tailor see me twice a week, he like my homie Forever grateful, forever thankful Diamond necklace, but she wears it on her ankle”

(Probably referring to Kim Kardashian since she had a few pictures with her wearing diamond ankle bracelets and was trying to make it into a trend.

“I plan to buy your most personal belongings when they up for auction”

(There were various rumors floating around for a while that Drake was blackmailing Ye with something and he was fighting to keep it from the public. I thought about it and this line might be referencing a sex tape with Kim or her little sister who me was very touch before she turned 18. In 2022 there was a whole storyline on Kim’s show where Ye flies to LA to prevent her second sex tape from being released.)

West Hollywood, know my presence is menacing
Cosa Nostra, shady dealings
Racketeering, the syndicate got they hand in plenty things The things that we've done to protect the name are unsettling But no regrets, though, the name'll echo Years later, none greater
Death to a coward and a traitor, that's just in my nature, yeah
(Drake and Ye both frequented the Delilah Nightclub located in West Hollywood and lived closeby on the same street for a while.)
"I don't carry cash 'cause the money is digital
It's the American Expresser, the debt collector"

(Sounds a lot more like it could be crypto to launder or send large amounts of ill gotten gains. It started becoming mainstream around them)

"Last year, niggas really feel like they rode on me
Last year, niggas got hot 'cause they told on me
I'm 'bout to call the bluff of anybody the fold on me"

These lines stood out because they could be referring to Ye telling the public about Drake's alleged threats a couple months before the songs release. This happened not long after the release of Sicko mode which was towards the end of 2018 as well. Ye was discussing the incident on Twitter and reached out to Drake and Travis to talk to him in private. In the next set of tweets Kanye publicly accused Drake of threatening him and his family in a major way. Surprisingly Ye seemed genuinely scared and amongst his, “crazy rants,” some of the stuff he said makes a ton of sense in hindsight. This also the beginning of his second serious public struggles with Bipolar disorder after being committed in 2016 shortly after an on stage rant where he calls out Jay Z for selling out and says he's afraid he might kill him.. As someone who shares the same diagnosis, I have a pretty good understanding of mania and psychosis and firmly believe that it's important not to write people off right away due to their mental illness. Some of my most thoughtful, creative, and productive periods were inspired by mania. Industry bigwigs have also been using mental illness to discredit influential black celebrities and visionaries going back decades, but it really picked up in the 80’s.

Dave Chappelle has gone into this a lot in the past and claims he experienced something similar before he quit show business and dipped to Africa. Their stories have a lot of interesting parallels if you’re familiar or curious. I remember he actually visited Ye at his house in Wyoming after he was reported to have had a, "mental breakdown," during his presidential run in 2020 thus marking his third breakown in six years.. The reason I put it in quotes is because it happened right after he publicly accused Kim of cheating and delivered his legendary speech on abortion. Dave went as far as going on live tv and telling the public he wasn’t crazy, he was just really struggling because he was the only one at the time fighting against the narrative, which can often be a suicide mission or a ticket to obscurity. These are three examples of someone speaking up and being deemed crazy, two years later came the nazi stuff and I'm sure we'll have plenty in store for 2024.

This is just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the very common pattern of artists dying or having their careers destroyed either after they try to leave their label or threaten to reveal industry secrets. A few more interesting industry connections I made in my research include the connections between:

T.U.G. records and J Cole's independent label Dreamville are both managed by Interscope Records, whose parent company is Universal Music Group.

Universal Music Group also hac Drake's label OvO label as well as Ye and Kendrick's old labels on their roster before they left to form their own independent labels in 2022 (around the same time the disses between Kendrick and Drake started escalating). Finally Bad Boy Records, which is owned by Diddy, and Motown Records who own Diddy's other R&B label Love Records, are also both owned by Universal. This means every label I mention is currently or was previously owned by Universal Music Group.

Ye tried for years to get out of his contract with Defjam, which happens to be ran by Jay Z who is known to be a close associate of Diddy. Jay would always used his money and power to fight against it. Ye even spoke out publicly on a few occasions, including when he said Jay Z was trying to kill him during one of his concerts. My theory is after years of getting nowhere and having his reputation skewered, in 2022 Ye finally said, "Fuck it," and dropped all the anti- Semetic stuff intentionally in a successful attempt to force his label to into using their morality clause, which requires labels to drop an artist if they're accused of any major controversy that could hurt the label’s profits. For the fourth time in four years the media reported he was having a breakdown. Even though they tried to punish him by cutting off all of his sources of income and freezing his accounts he still managed to bounce back pretty quickly. It was often reported how much he was losing, but it rarely discussed how he still was filthy rich in spite of the retrictions. His label wanted to discourage other artists from trying the same thing. My theory is he might have bought Kim or Kylie's alleged sex tape and used it for his own leverage. For Kendrick, his transition to his independent label ApLang went a lot smoother, but he had to split ownership of his new label with the previous manager owner Dave Free. Sadly it's still difficult for new or more niche artists to establish themselves without the some help.

He may be a lot of things but Ye isn’t dumb just because he has a mood disorder and the guys at the top know this, which is why I think he has really played up his diagnosis when it benefitted him. He’s still one of the most talented musicians in the game and I really think he sees his bipolar like a superpower as he says. It’s like his own invisibility cloak. He can go off his meds for a little, make an album after staying up for 72 hours, go on a “psychotic” twitter rant dropping facts throughout, then start up again once he makes enough news headlines. I think it’s worth noting the first divorce rumors in 2020 coincided with Ye’s abortion speech during his presidential run and the cheating accusations. that led to him dropping out and moving to Wyoming, and a couple months ago in February 2024 he was committed again.

The point I’m making is bipolar is complex, but pretty manageable especially if you have a ton of money to find meds that work for you and a good doctor and can keep substance abuse and stress at a manageable level. I think Ye is smart enough to know this, but it’s just safer for him to really play up the mental issues in the media. He’s proven he can literally say whatever he wants after getting cancelled and the average person is just going to write it off as psycho babble. While bias in health care is a sad fact of society, if you can use it to your advantage I say go for it. It might’ve just kept the microscope off of him long enough to plan his attack.

Ye v. Drake: Quotes of 2018
(Start of the beef, drake threats, and suspicion towards Kardashian family. )

“ It’s not about rap. It’s about family. We have to be close as a family and never let these people infiltrate just for radio spins”

“We need to show the world that people can talk without people ending up dead or in jail.”

”This is a man speaking to a man that has been placed in the program to fuck with Kanye West head and set me up“

”See when you care about your family you don’t let no man push you to do nothing that could risk your freedom“

These first four tweets by Ye were all in reference to perceived threats made by Drake after their beef escalated circa 2018. He began speaking on the industry and talking more about his psych hospital commitment two years prior and how he thought they were going to kill him. It's pretty obvious how the whole thing was planned by the sketchy doctor who called it in and his physical trainer who has a ton of connections to weird shit involving his celebrity clients.

I found interesting that Ye might not have been the first major league rapper whose life Drake threatened. During a similar period of mental illness the up and coming rapper XXXtentacion accused Drake of stealing his flow and dissed him a few times. Not long after he made a post online saying if he dies, it was Drake who did it. There are tons of conspiracies online, but none of the evidence is strong enough to draw a definitive connection. Also while it maybe be coincidental, Kendrick’s latest album Mr Morale also painted the picture that Kendrick was dealing with some serious personal issues. Some lines throughout the album may have been used to bait Drake into escalating, but it wasn’t until The Weekend, Future, and Metro Booming dropped, “We Don’t Trust You,” then Drake and J. Cole dropped, “First Person Shooter,” which was followed a couple days later with, “Like That,” where Kendrick started the chain of events that has led us to today.

Kanye vs. Drake: Quotes of 2020

Summary: Ye runs for president and gets suppressed for saying what very well could be the truth and was immediately deemed insane by the media. Kim did a couple interviews and everything he said was immediatly false. There is almost guarenteed to be some sketchy shit going down revolving her and her family. Ye was absolutely terrified of her keeping the kids away from him and it seems like there are still efforts being made to this day to paint a certain image of him for ulterior motives.

Below are six more quotes from a fan taking a deep dive into his 2020 tweets courtesy of u/ thehatstore42069 on Yeezy
”NORTHY I AM GOING TO WAR AND PUTTING MY LIFE ON THE LINE AND IF I AM MURDERED DON’T EVER LET WHITE MEDIA TELL YOU I WASNT A GOOD MAN,” West, 43, wrote in the tweet, adding, “WHEN PEOPLE THREATEN TO TAKE YOU OUT OF MY LIFE JUST KNOW I LOVE YOU”

"I need a public apology from J Cole and Drake to start with immediately... I'm Nat Turner... I'm fighting for us."

"the utmost respect for all brothers" and said "we need to link and respect each other... no more dissing each other on labels we don't own"

"Ye is constantly trying to tell people that his family does not have his or his kids best interests at heart. He goes on to list others, linking them together with the thinking emoji. These people include rap artist Drake and Larsa Pippen, wife of Scottie Pippe. Kim K is goddaughter to Pippen's daughter, showing how close the families actually are. All of these families that associate with Ye through Kardashian connections, as well as Drake, have been accused of the same thing Kris has. EVERY SINGLE ONE of these people have mixed race children that are groomed from a young age to fuck around with celebrities so the parents can remain famous. Drake on numerous occasions has been accused of grooming girls and then getting handsy on their 18th birthday.”

“These labels want their artists to make them money and they dont care about anything else. When Kanye says things like this in an attempt to expose him, the first thing they wanna do is drug him up and put him back in the studio.”
“Righteous indignation is typically a reactive emotion of anger over mistreatment, insult, or malice of another. It is akin to what is called the sense of injustice. This is how they keep the black man down. Keep people outraged about trivial things and distract them from the real issues in the world. The real problems in the industry. If you tell people enough times that they are unequal or discriminated against they start to believe it. Drug them when they step out of line and toss them aside when the checks run out. Ye is realizing he is pawn in a bigger game, and now that he has all these roots in the game such as Yeezy or the Gap or his music, too many people cant risk (Afford) a Ye who speaks his mind.”
(End of quotes)

Amongst the twitter rant, Ye warned about the predatory nature of record deals and discussed trying to get out of his own deal, and said again how his life may be in danger if it wasn’t already and was doing anything he could to protect his kids. The most fascinating part to me though is the public call to arms he made to Drake, J Cole, and Kendrick on twitter. After inviting them to all link up, he said, “It’s time to get free, we will not argue amongst each other while some guy we don’t know in Europe is getting paid and putting that money in a hedge fund.” I believe if Ye was able to pull off this meeting, there is an ever so slight chance that all four artists might be working together to take down a greater enemy. Weirdly there have been times throughout the last couple years where these supposed enemies were photographed together being friendly or praise each other in interviews, then out of no where the disses would start flying again.

To wrap things up I want to share my a few of my theories about the Drake/Kanye beef

A. Everything is exactly as it seems and the beef is over. Ye let his mental illness ruin his life and career so Drake simply picked another target after Ye stopped putting out disses. All of these connections are just a coincidence and all of this was choreographed to boost Drake and Kendrick’s music sales and possibly distract people from the Diddy trial and possibly the complicated geopolitical issues currently facing the U.S.

C. There is also the possibility that all four rappers are in cahoots and Drake’s dirt isn’t as extreme as people are theorizing, at least in comparison to the rest of the business. This could explain why everything has played out like a movie and how they were able to predict each other’s moves so well. This could either mean they’re all just trying to boost their sales or they’re all trying to take down the “slave masters,” as Ye calls them, and change the dynamic of the music industry in favor of the artist.

D. They may be trying to help their friends in the industry who are being abused or in shitty contracts. I know a lot of famous rappers have done a lot of collaborations with Jhene Aiko and Anderson Paak, who were both signed to T.U.G. records which I mentioned above in the connections to Universal Music Group. Considering they are both frequent collaborators with all of the artists involved on both sides, it’s not unlikely they may have played some part in influencing the takedown.

T.U.G was started by Chris Stokes with his partner Ketrina Askew. Back in the early to mid 90’s were gaining popularity attracting lots of young up and coming talent. They often collaborated with Diddy and his associates. In the 2000’s Raz B from the boy band B2K claimed he was molested by Stokes and his friend Marques Houston, then quickly retracted his claims. Years later he came forward again and said we was bribed into silence and that the rest of the victims were bribed with hush money and had another singer corroborate his story and they came forward together to level the accusations. After some of his former B2K members made fun of him for his claims and accused it of being a shakedown, Raz B revealed Stokes and Houston had preyed a lot of the children associated with the label including at least one of the former bandmates and paid them off.

I thought it was worth noting that the second whistleblower named Quindon Tarver died young in a car crash after mentioning his abuse again a few years prior. He seems to have left the industry not long after the incidents occurred and has few credits to his name. To this day Raz B is still trying to get his justice, while Stokes and his partner Askew, who was also involved in the abuse are still running the label to this day. Askew also has a ton of lawsuits, accusing her of using shady tactics to try to foreclose on houses. (Don’t quote me if a lawyer wants to take a look just google her full name), and has been tied to a ton of LLCs, similar to Drake. This is a good example of a shitty record deal, but I'm sure they have countless other friends in the industry who have even worse. While they were never convicted even Chris Stokes' wife confirmed it to be true.

E. The theory I personally think fits the narrative best and is the most realistic conspiracy is that Kendrick and possibly J. Cole went to the meeting, but not Drake due to his close relationship with Lucian Grange, the president of Drake’s label. Silence often speaks louder than words and this could explain why Kendrick was so ruthless and put so much effort into finding dirt on Drake. Ye, Cole, and Kendrick co-writing would be like the rap allstar team and if J. Cole wasn’t involved, it would also answer the question of whether or not he baited Drake into the battle by asking him to feature. I don’t think Drake is really their primary target though, which would explain letting him off easy. Compared to his bosses and their bosses he’s a small fish. If you take the big guys down you stand a better chance of landing a bigger blow on their operation.

Another really interesting connection is Kendrick and Ye were both signed under Universal Music Group and they both got out of their deals around couple months apart in 2022. As we speak U.M.G’s CEO Lucian Grange, who is often acccused of giving Drake special treatment, is facing charges related to sex trafficking by no other than P Diddy. This could very well explain the timing of it all. The craziest timeline would be Diddy masterminding all of this and using his connections to get it done and all the allegations are bullshit. The guy does seem pretty confident all things considered and constantly posts himself in his Batman costume which could mean he’s a vigilante.

It seems like there's a slight religious angle as well. (Ye and Diddy are both very vocal advocates of Christianity and Drake and Lucian Grange are both Jewish.) Obviously this is a reach, but they’ve been saying rap music was specifically promoted by mostly white label owners in the 80’s to help in the ongoing effort to expedite the systematic oppression of those living in black neighborhoods and the destruction of their family systems. Apparently it was an intentional decision to heavily promote rappers that promoted the very things that were destroying their neighborhoods. (So people know I'm and atheist and have zero agenda, I just thought it was interesting, please stay away from anything antisemitic. War is wrong on both sides.)

*** If my favorite theory is true, there is a possibility the Kendrick and Ye are going after Drake due to their mutual disdain for him and because he’s got a ton of power to dominate the charts and hog the radio airtime like Meek Mill and OG Maco claimed years ago. Even him dropping a record the same day as you could really fuck your album sales up. I’m also sure some of the many rumors throughout the years have had a least some truth and he will most likely snitch to avoid cell block one. I think that Drake could have been instructed to instigate this whole mess in order to draw attention away from the UMG charges brought about by Diddy. Or on the other hand it could be that Kendrick, Ye, and possibly Cole, may have had intel that Drake was going to be involved in the Diddy trial and are just gonna let the receipts show themselves. It might not have been the original plan, but they’ve already accomplished their mission of humiliating him, assuring he couldn’t use his influence to slide through the cracks, and taking over the throne.

Please take everything I say with a grain of salt I have no connection to this world or lifestyle. Regardless I believe all of the knowledge above does a pretty solid job at painting a picture of what may have let up to this and what may have been the source.
——————————-
More details found the last couple days…

Drake and Diddy Connections+Coincidences

Drake- In the P Diddy wig video from 2016 he talks about going to party with Drake, Cash, and The Weeknd in Toronto. Drake is also one of Birdman’s protégées who is known for being a predator and is rumored to have used label artists to lure young women.

Travis Scott- Interview where he comes out and says Diddy tried to lure him. Still has a long history of associating with him, video of him running from Diddy, his connection to Ruby Rose while underage.

Tim Westwood- Diddy had connections with sex offender Tim Westwood who also inspired the Drake song, “Westwood”. They also both were victims of drive by shootings along with The Weekend and they were all facing some type of allegations.

T.I.- Also has been associate with Diddy through the years, in 2021 his kid died and 11 women can forward at the same time to accuse him and his wife of drugging and assaulting them. Clearly someone wanted to fuck his life up. Possibly due to him getting arrested so many times for wild shit and people wondering how he continued to get away with it shining a light on how powerful industry lawyers are. He also had recently talked about having a gynecologist check to see if his daughter is still a Virgin, which sounds like it could have been an industrty secret. Could have been because he worried about someone trying to take advantage of her to get to him? Regardless that shit is fucking insane.

50 Cent- Has been saying pretty much the same thing as Travis Scott and has trolled Diddy for most of his career. It came out that his wife was a sex worker who was possibly recruited Diddy to help ruin his career. It sort of worked, which raises the question if 50 Cent is the only victim.

Ray J- Him and his sister worked with T.U.G. records when they were very young. Chris Stokes in the nineties who had connections with Diddy. He has been involved in a lot of sex scandals and allegedly may have played a part in Whitney Houston's death. (Which is also allegedly connected to Michael Jackson's death and both were deemed suspicious and happened during their final tours when their masters (song rights), became more valuable than their lives. Sony Records and Tommy Motolla, who also abused Mariah Carey when she was trying to start her career. These are just a few of the alleged examples of labels taking out musicians when they were worth more dead, another is the signing of high risk artists and requiring them to get life insurance so they can profit beyond releasing all their posthumous records. Also the ever so common story of the rising star artist that die at 21 after their first album or two.

He also partied with Diddy in Vegas with along Floyd Mayweather and a bunch of other famous industry people and athletes.

Tory Lanez- Tons of blackmail, also was signed by Interscope under UMG. got sent to prison for ten years after trying to leave his label. Also history of SA and and other allegations of violence towards women.

French Montana- On Diddy's label, close with Rick and Khaled, tons of drug and sexual assault allegations, also dated a Kardashian. Generally grimy.

DJ Khaled- Diddy said he could get anything in Miami, either referring to drugs or women, could explain his connections and lack of any notable talent. (New update, he was one of the first to promote Chris Alvarez’s instagram not long after he turned 18).

Rick Ross- Diddy said some weird shit about him and licked his lips and kissed him at a show. Ross is also signed to Bad Boy under Diddy. He ended up getting involved in the current feud and spamming social media nonstop dissing and threatening Drake.

A lot of the back and forth was both of them threatening to release dirt on each other. One strange coincidence I found was Drake recently trolled Ross about the 20 million dollar renovation to his home on Star island, where Diddy is currently residing. It’s rumored back in the day that P Diddy was caught in a room full of rich guys on ecstasy possibly at the beginning stages of a gay orgy. Drake also mentioned in the same tweets about Rick Ross that Birdman owned a house on the island and asked Rick Ross why he didn’t help him out.

Considering Ross is so sketchy and Drake claims the house isn’t that big, that’s a ridiculous amount of money. He may be covering up evidence, or creating tunnels in his house to escape if shit pops off and Drake might know what’s good. Interestingly enough Ross is very close with French Montana and also signed to Bad. He said his beef was related to something involving French, and Drake’s tweet popped up the same day the info came out concerning the Chris Alvarez stuff.

The famous line from U.O.E.N.O.

Meek Mill- “OG Maco called himself defending his friend Quentin Miller by substantiating the ghostwriting claims and agreeing with Meek. He hit up Twitter saying, "Some of us been knew. Meek just put it in the air. Sucks to have to compete with 6 n****s and get compared to”

Meek mill also had a short beef with Drake, some disses included lines referring to TI’s homie pissing on Drake at the movie theater, which is also interesting considering the current case against him. He also dropped a line saying Diddy almost got a domestic charge when he smacked Drake, which could either be saying that Drake is like a woman, or saying he was Drake’s boyfriend/sugar daddy.
( If you made it to the end comment with the number 8)
I thought it was interesting how the beef just kind of disappeared and even Meek said it didn’t seem genuine. Considering the allegations against Meek in the Diddy trial, and his rumored affair with Kim contributing to ending Kanye’s marriage, Meek Mill definitely did some dirt on him.

“Niggas frauds I told the truth, don't ask me shit
All this industry fake enemy and rap shit”

“Money make a sucker that told look trill again”

One of the many chapters in Drake's history in which he is seen paying his way out of trouble and starting beefs randomly.
“Now when that shit went down with Chris, you wrote a check”
This line is referring to Chris brown beef, another beef that was lost to time. All I can remember off the top was someone throwing a champagne bottle at the other’s entourage.

Ty Dolla $ign- Huge feature artist, close with Ye. Grew up in the industry and talks about growing up on the road and being in the studio with his dad and Rick James who was should have already been in prison for life for dragging, torturing, and S assaulting multiple women and children throughout his career and was himself a victim of the industry. May be part of Ye's motivation, considering their recent close working relationship.
The end.
Courtesy of,
The Randomest Moniker

I've been trying out a TENS unit from Auvon and it has worked very well for me. I have the four-channel model they offer, but the two-channel model is on sale through Amazon:
https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07D58V8LD/ref=ox_sc_saved_title_7
Note: their packs of TENS patches/pads are also very affordable and work well for me.

Cigarettes and rebellion have always gone hand-in-hand, and in an age of cigarette packet-sized health warnings, now more than ever, smoking a fag says: 'I do not give a fuck.' But if Brandon Flowers is hoping to strike a seditious pose by sparking up at the start of the interview, it's not going according to plan. The Killers' frontman is on all fours rooting through the junk that carpets the anteroom at the band's rehearsal space. "Has anyone seen my lighter?" he asks, rocking back on his heels. The question hangs in the air while Brandon cocks his head, waiting for an answer like a meerkat listening for a predator. Twenty-five years old and with a delicate bone structure, there's something almost dainty about him. Receiving no response, he returns to his search. "Oh, Jeez," he sighs. "I had it just a minute ago."
It's a scene that emphatically does not suggest a rebel without a cause. The mess isn't helping. The Killers' HQ - an industrial unit sandwiched between a construction supplier and the offices of a housing development just off Dean Martin Drive in West Las Vegas - is ankle-deep in designer clothing. A Dior Homme suit lies crumpled by the door; there's a pile of shoes topped like a sundae by a pair of Marc Jacobs trainers; and anyone wishing to enter the shoebox room the band use as an office must negotiate a mountain of discarded jeans. Many items are identifiable as coming from the wardrobe of Hot Fuss, The Killers' hugely successful 2004 debut album - triple platinum in the UK with two weeks at Number One and five million sold worldwide. Look! There are the shirts, ties and suit jackets they wore when they thrilled Glastonbury 2005 with indie rock anthems Mr Brightside and Somebody Told Me. That was the crowning moment of a two-and-a-half year tour that finally concluded in October of last year. It seems that after playing that final date in Miami, they returned to Vegas and shrugged off their image onto the floor of this bland white box.
Now a fine layer of dust covers the dead clothes. The Killers have no further use for white tuxedos on their second album, Sam's Town. Today, Brandon wears a black polo shirt, black pin-stripe waistcoat, black jeans and black boots. Where there used to be a layer of foundation, there is now a beard - an untrimmed beard at that. Dave Keuning (30, guitar), Mark Stoermer (29, bass) and Ronnie Vannucci (29, drums) all echo Brandon's black ensemble. Ronnie has added Aviator shades and a handlebar moustache for a dash of motorcycle cop, Dave's frizzy bubble of hair gives him a Marc Bolan-ish air, and there's something very teenage about Mark's scuffed Vans.
Short of walking around wearing sandwich boards saying, "Our new record is a bit heavier than the last one," The Killers couldn't hope to communicate that message more effectively. And they have gained some musical girth on Sam's Town. The pop hooks that made Hot Fuss so irresistible survive intact - see the ringing guitar riffs on first single When You Were Young - but there's a newfound punchiness, coupled with an epic sweep. The minor-to-major uplifts on Bones are fabulously dramatic, the coda to Why Do I Keep Counting? thrillingly intense. Comparisons to Bruce Springsteen have been made. If they overstate the case a little, they are at leaset qualitatively accurate. The Killers are back and this time it's serious - they've got the bootlace ties to prove it.
"Hey, it says here that Springsteen's headlining Glastonbury next year," shouts Ronnie, who's flicking through the NME. He nods sagely at the page without looking up.
"Really?" asks Dave, nicknamed Crazy Dave on account of his alledgedly volatile nature.
"The Boss is headlining one night, we're playing second on the bill the next night and Kylie's headlining the Sunday," says Brandon, charging like a bull through Michael Eavis' as-yet-unannounced line-up with what subsequently proves to be a characteristic gaucheness.
But that lighter is proving elusive. This being America, none of the people hurrying to-and-fro prepping the world for the release of Sam's Town smokes. Manager Robert Reynolds - Bobby Rey to the band - barks into his mobile, booking his band onto eye-wateringly demanding tours. "We're going to make a lot of money," he cackles to himself before switching calls to make a series of stern pronouncements on legal matters. Dave, Mark and Ronnie disappear for a jam session. Artwork is approved, B-sides are decided on and schedules are hammered out.
"I can't find it," Brandon says, finally. But he's not going to be denied the opportunity to underline The Killers reinvention with a puff of smoke. "Let's go to the gas station. I'll have to buy one. It's too busy to talk here anyway."
+
Brandon's black (of course) Volkswagen Touraeg four-wheel drive is barrelling down West Flamingo Road into town. "I was a bell boy there," he says, pointing out of the driver's window at the stucco facade of the Gold Coast casino. "I was working there when we were signed."
Coming from Las Vegas, it is perhaps inevitable that casinos play a big part in The Killers' story; not only is Sam's Town named after one, it was recorded in one, too.
The band began writing songs while on the road with Hot Fuss, turning up early for soundchecks to run through new ideas. On a trip home to Vegas, George Maloof, a hotelier known for cultivating famous friends, invited them to record the album in the new studio he'd built at The Palms, his flagship hotel-cum-gambling den. When the tour finished in October 2005, they returned to Vegas and spent five month finessing the songs they'd sketched out on the road. Then, in February, they decampled to the third floor studio at The Palms and recorded Sam's Town over 11 weeks.
Producer Flood (U2, Depeche Mode) encouraged them to experiment. They overdubbed, fiddled with synthesizers and played with new equipment. It took them five weeks to get the backing vocals right. The band sang the harmonies, then double-tracked them four times. The end result recalls Queen wondering, "Is this is the real life? Is this just fantasy?" When Ronnie, a trained classical percussionist, brought some kettledrums down, eyebrows were raised; but the fabulously bombastic coda on Why Do I Keep Counting? vindicates his indulgence.
"That's kind of the Ben Hur of the album," he says. He's not wrong. Sam's Town is a record on an epic scale. "Yeah, it has drama," he continues. "But, at the same time, I think it's a little more exposed than Hot Fuss. It's a little more naked. Last time it was about a lot of fictional things." By "fictional", Ronnie means that Hot Fuss wore its predominantly British influences for all to see. Brandon's taste in music is rabidly Anglophile - he constantly references The Smiths, The Cure and Joy Division - and it showed. By contrast, Sam's Town is an unequivocally American record. The lyrical imagery is pure American dream - cars, girls, wide-open spaces and escaping to a better life. "We're burning down the highway skyline/On the back of a hurricane that started turning/When you were young," sings Brandon on When You Were Young. That's the basis of the Springsteen comparisons then, though the lack of pathos more closely recalls another blue-collar rocker from New Jersey - Jon Bon Jovi.
The phrase "this town" recurs throughout the album, and it's always receding into the distance as The Killers escape to a new life. "This town was made for passing through/I never did get along with everybody else," sings Brandon on This River Is Wild. On Read My Mind he "never really gave up on breaking out of this two-star town", while on the title track he offers something of an explanation: "Nobody ever had a dream round here."
"With the first record, there was this feeling that there was this world out there that we didn't know," says Mark later in the day. Before The Killers, he studied philosophy: now he's their quiet one. "We wanted to get out and away from this and be somewhere else. We hadn't had a lot of experience - hadn't travelled much - then we were gone for three years. We didn't sit down and say that we wanted to make a record about how we're glad to be home, but that's what happened naturally."
It's not an angsty record. The Killers have already escaped with Hot Fuss, and, having done so, they view the experience fondly now they're back. There's a mistiness to Brandon's eyes as he explains how the album got it's name.
"Sam's Town is a casino on the edge of Vegas," he says. "I grew up in Henderson, which is out on the way to the Hoover Dam. My mom and dad lived in a trailer park, and my dad used to hitchhike up and down Boulder Highway, which is the only way you could get to Vegas. Sam's Town was the first thing you saw on your way in to town. So, when you're driving down Boulder Highway from Henderson, I always thought you finally knew you were getting somewhere when you saw Sam's Town. It was kind of like a beacon."
"It's not a completely American album," contines Brandon. "We still have our English influence, but we're also from the Wild West. Somehow we've managed to unify all that on this album. it's just such a perfect resemblence of what we are."
At the petrol station, Brandon rummages through the glove box looking for change to buy a lighter. "This is a great album," he says, pointing at Highway Companion, the latest from iconic American rocker Tom Petty. "I've always been a big fan of his. He's such a great American artist."
Yes, Brandon: we get the point.
+
When Brandon finally lights his cigarette, he smokes it awkwardly, like a child mimicking something he's seen the grown-ups doing. However, when he cheerfully admits that, "I feel the same mentally as I did when I was 12," it's not a knowing nod to the fact that he sometimes behaves like a loveably precocious child, but a reference to an unusually comprehensive grounding in pop music at an early age.
When Brandon sings about "this town", he doesn't mean Las Vegas. He means Nephi, Utah or Henderson, Nevada, where he spent his childhood. His parents are Mormon and he is the youngest of six children. "I was a surprise," he says. "I've got a 42-year-old sister." If he was issues about his "surprise" status, he chooses to gloss over them. "It turned out perfect because my brother was a teenager when I was a kid," he says. "He would bring home things like Rattle And Hum by U2 and I would watch it. I remember he bought Live In Dallas by Morrissey. It was always him watching these things, or his door was shut and you'd hear The Head On The Door by The Cure blasting through the house and rattling the walls."
The Killers were formed when Brandon answered an advert Dave had placed in a local paper in late 2002. Dave cited Oasis as a big influence; Brandon had seen them play recently and responded; and, as Dave has said in previous interviews: "He was the only person to reply to my ad who wasn't a complete freak." However, the band was born in Brandon's brothers bedroom.
"His room was like a shrine," enthuses Brandon. "It was a holy place. I wish I could show you a picture of it. It was covered in posters. There'd be a big picture of Elvis wearing a bow tie that just said 'The Smiths' [the artwork for The Smiths 1987 single Shoplifters Of The World Unite]. You had The Cure wearing face paint [the artwork to The Cure's 1985 single In Between Days] - all that kind of stuff. I remember Morrissey being on the cover of the NME, with the halo [from 1985] - stuff like that. You just wanted to know about these people 'cause they were so cool. My brother seemed like such a cool person. But he was a teenager, so he wasn't going to be that nice to me, a kid."
Brandon was fascinated by his brother's collection of music, magazines and posters, but he was denied access to them - officially, at least. "I would sneak in," he says. "I knew he'd be angry if he found out, but I would go in as soon as he left the house." For a long time Brandon was too scared to actually play anything. "That didn't come 'til later. I just used to go in there because I liked it. Then I got to the point where I'd actually take a tape out and put it in. It took more guts to do that."
It was a life-changing moment. "I was ten and the first song I played was Sing Your Life by Morrissey. I remember dancing about to it."
The lyrics to Sing Your Life include the lines, "Sing your life/Just walk right up to the microphone/And name all the things that you love/All the things that you loathe." It's intriguing to wonder what Morrissey makes of the neophyte he inspired with these lines.
Eventually, Brandon inherited his brother's tape collection. "It was around the same time CDs started coming out in a big way. He started buying CDs and gave me his tapes. And that was it: it took off from there. I got a hundred of the best albums - all the New Order, all the Morrissey, all The Smiths, The Beatles. I started buying posters. I went to see The Cure in concert. It was just kind of a continuation of my brother. And it was nice because, though my parents were strict, they were already used to it from him. There was no, 'My dad doesn't understand me,' or any of that kind of stuff. My mum likes The Smiths."
Brandon was 13 and his favourite band was late-'70s/early-'80s American new wavers The Cars, and particularly their jaw-droppingly catchy 1979 single Just What I Needed.
"I wouldn't exist without that song," he says. "That was the one. I remember driving around with my mum when I was 13, and we're living in Nephi - a really small town - and I felt so cool when I put that song on. Like: 'I have something that none of these kids I'm going to middle school with tomorrow have.' That excitement is what music's about, isn't it? That's why I understand the mentality of people that don't like us because we've sold so many records. I used to like it when no one else knew about a band. So I get that - I do."
+
Brandon's first band was called Blush Response. It was never going to work out. Not because he refused to move to Los Angeles with them, but because he is utterly - comically - shameless. He's given to making outrageously boastful statements like: "It's not like the '60s, '70s and '80s now. There are only a few bands around that are really good, that just do it. I mean, there's what, five or six of us?"
For the record, in Brandon's estimation, those bands are Franz Ferdinand, Razorlight, The Strokes, The White Stripes, Yeah Yeah Yeahs and, of course, The Killers.
"I don't want people to think I'm lumping myself with other people just to make us sound cool," he says. Really? It sort of sounds like you are. But he just steamrolls through it. "Yeah, but you know what I mean," he says, grinning at his own cheekiness. He's so disgracefully forward you can't help but laugh along with him - Oh you are awful, Brandon! But joking aside, The Killers are the most commercially successful of all the bands he mentions.
Later, back at the rehearsal space, the band run through Sam's Town at deafening volume in preparation for the forthcoming tour - first the US, then the world. The infectious, almost contagious, chorus of When You Were Young sounds fabulous, as do the U2-like guitars and Twin Peaks synths of Read My Mind. Meanwhile, Smile Like You Mean It and Somebody Told Me benefit from the newfound harder edge.
They somewhat heavy-handedly underline the new direction by playing Paranoid by Black Sabbath and Get It On by T Rex. That's the thing: The Killers are not a subtle band. Their songs are like a wet kiss from a girl who's a bit too drunk. They are big and brash, and not everyone loves them for it. Mr Brightside and Somebody Told Me might go down as well at hip nightclubs as they do on the festival circuit, but the DJs play them with the same guilty look they wear when playing a pop record.
"I hate that," says Brandon. "Like writing a song you can hum somehow cheapens it? It makes me think of this quote by Morrissey. Everybody knows how he read Oscar Wilde, Keats and Yates when he was growing up and that he wanted to be a writer. He was talking to this journalist who asked why he hadn't become a writer, and Morrissey said: 'What I do is more powerful than what you do because I can write down these words and you get it to a melody. How can you beat that?' I'm of the same opinion. I don't understand why a good melody that's memorable is a bad thing."
Being dismissed as pop particular aggrieves Ronnie. "When we first came out we got compared to Duran Duran all the time. Jesus Christ! We got a keyboard player now all of a sudden he's Nick Rhodes! Come on!"
"The people who criticise us for being too poppy don't get it," agrees Mark. "I think that's the problem with a lot of rock music. People are afraid to write a song any more. Either that or they can't. And that attitude hurts music in general. The best bands ever have all written great songs. You can still do it and do it intelligently and it can be original. This isn't a studio creation with a producer writing these songs for us. We're not Avril Lavigne, or something like that. We're a real band writing real songs, just like a punk band would do, except that we write pop songs."
You get the impression that The Killers knack for showboating pop hooks that border on vulgar is inextricably tied up with the brazen side of Brandon's personality. But while his ebullient charisma, not to mention the songs themselves, mitigates his outrageousness, there is a less attractive side to his ego. He has a combative streak. He can't resist taking pot shots at emo bands, notably Fall Out Boy, whith whom The Killers share an A&R man.
Has he heard how many emo kids it takes to change a light bulb? "No." None. They just sit in the dark and cry. It's a full 30 seconds before he stops laughing. When he does he admits: "Yeah, we've had problems with other bands. You know, when you walk in the room it's like..." He whistles the theme to The Good, The Bad And The Ugly. "We're like gangs."
And while the other members of the band are diplomatic on the subject of Brandon, you don't have to read too deeply between the lines to conclude that there have been internal issues, too.
"Some people will think Brandon's the big genius," says Dave, visibly bridling. "There are songs, such as Why Do I Keep Counting?, where he's written every note. But there are others, like When You Were Young, that were more of a collaboration - like Mr Brightside, where I had some of the music and Brandon came up with the lyrics. We always have arguments about who wrote what. The truth is that we all help in that process."
When asked how success affected them, Ronnie says: "There were certain things that needed adjusting. When you're on tour for two years, people can get a little needy. It doesn't help that you're surrounded by yes men and everybody's working for you. At times we've had to say, 'Who do you think you are?' to people. No one wears the trousers, but some people would like to. I think if it wasn't for the people in the band kicking each other in the ass... Let's just say there was some ass-kickin'."
It doesn't take a genius to work out whose ass needed kicking most often.
+
It's the following day and The Killers are back at their rehearsal space. The topic of discussion is what to wear in the video for Bones, the second single. It's a big deal: the director is Tim Burton. "I feel like Frank Sinatra when I sing it," announces Brandon. "With maybe a little bit of Morrissey and a little bit of Elvis, too."
Of course he does. But if securing the services of Tim Burton tells you one thing, it's that The Killers are about to get even bigger, perhaps even make the leap to the same level as Coldplay et al. Already stars, they are about to become superstars. Brandon can hardly wait.
"Do you know that Rolling Stone didn't want to put us on the cover last time," he says indignantly. "They didn't think we were stars. We sold five million albums! What more do they want from a band?"
Whatever was required, Brandon would be happy to do most things. "I'll do stuff that some people don't want to do, 'cause I want people to hear the music," he says. However, even he has limits. "The Rolling Stone thing made the record label think: 'What can we do to make them stars?' If I go on vacation with my wife, do they have to send somebody to be there to take pictures of me? Is that how you become a star? I don't want that. I walked down the red carpet one time and I realised I don't like it. But you don't have to walk down the red carpet for people to hear your music. We do still have some of that indie blood running through our veins."
He heads off at a tangent: "When you walk around Liverpool, you think of The Beatles, or you go to Manchester and you think of The Smiths or Oasis. I want you to come to Las Vegas and think of Sam's Town. And I think we've started to capture that, which is a truer version of The Killers, 'cause that's where we're from."
He pauses.
"I used to live across the street from Sam's Town. Maybe it'll be like our Abbey Road where people go to take pictures."
Is that what he'd like?
"I wouldn't mind it," he says, desperately hoping it will come true.
He puts a cigarette between his lips, looks down at his trouser pockets and pats them in search of the lighter he bought yesterday.
"Hey, I don't suppose you've got one?"

About seven months ago I got put in a psych ward I spent four months there after that I went to the uk and I was playing in a punk rock band every day I missed her it just I know i can’t go back i randomly disappear for seven months and I think she deserves someone better someone mentally stable I wish I was normal so i could be with her but I know I shouldn’t I was her Russian man and she was my pretty girl I miss her smile the way she would tell me she loved me I remember she was teaching me English for three years it was so good then so stuff happened I don’t want to go in to detail but i got put in a psych ward I got back to the USA about 6 days ago and i really want to go to her tell her i love her so much but I know I shouldn’t because she will cuddle me but I know she deserves someone normal honestly I think she might think I’m dead not sure but everything feels like a chore even waking up I just want my pretty girl back but it’s better for her if I stay gone

Gold Rush rewatch thoughts, observations, and questions. I currently have finished rewatching the first two seasons.
I’m a long time lurker but this is my first post. So let me apologize in advance for any formatting issues or any other posting errors. This is going to be long.
Dorsey: He seemed like a fish out of water. Which is apparently exactly what he was, a man with no manual labor experience. He made mistakes, no doubt about it. Yet he also seems like the whipping boy, everything was his fault.
I mean Dorsey says something about a kid leaving food out. The result: Todd jumps him. Let’s all forget about the bear that was just in camp because of that food.
They also should have given him more time to figure out the gold table. It’s new tech to all of them but Jack wants to blow it up from the start. I’m guessing Jack hated it because if Dorsey was doing the clean up Jack wouldn’t be able to skim gold off the top.
And now a question. If they were all such great friends why was Dorsey forced to live in a tent or in the back of a truck? I mean give the man a space on the floor of a campeRV.
Harness: I’m going to say this at the beginning. Harness’s little honeymoon in season 2 shouldn’t have happened. That being said he’s the man busting his ass in both seasons to get Todd’s trash equipment running.
S1, Harness is doing massive amounts of welding and rebuilding alone in extreme pain while out of his pain meds. Of course I doubt it happened that way. I’ve been clean for four years after becoming addicted following my own back issues. I know what withdrawal is like, there’s no way Harness did that work as he was suffering withdrawal.
In S2 Jack announces he’s a morphine addict himself. Which leads me to believe he was sharing with Harness on the down low. What wouldn’t Jack do for his gold hunger. He shares and Harness fixes the wash plant. After all, no guts no glory.
S2, Harness is the whipping boy. He’s blamed by everybody for not reaching the 100oz goal. It’s all his fault. He only fixed little blue. The wash plant that Todd didn’t even have until weeks into the season. They didn’t have a claim for weeks & didn’t start mining until half way through the season yet it’s Harness’s fault the goal was missed.
Okay Harness and the other’s did trash the gold room. Yet I can’t help but think Thurber was so pissed about all the others wanting to help with the final cleanup was because it meant he and Jack couldn’t skim off the top.
Fred: Okay he’s not a people person. But he was the man with the experience and the man sent in by the claim owner. The whole crew should have shut up, swallowed their pride, and followed Fred’s suggestions. Maybe then their S1 gold take wouldn’t have been so embarrassing.
Fred did nothing wrong taking the porcupine creek claim. He is NOT a claim jumper. Should the original owner Earl have been happy with his royalties on 14.64 ounces of gold? Was it Fred’s fault Todd didn’t make his lease payment during the off season thus losing the claim? Todd didn’t uphold his end of the claim contract and so Earl was legally able to sell.
I’m starting to see a pattern, a Hoffman screwed up but blames someone else. Anybody else seeing the same pattern?
Parker’s Mom: Yes she could have followed through with her threat to shut Parker down in S2. But it would have been incredibly stupid. She knew it and we the audience knew it. She was never going to follow through. Destroy her 17 year old son’s dream and destroy their relationship. Perhaps forever. When Parker turned 18 he would have disappeared to mine, likely going no contact. At least I believe his desire to mine was that strong.
This has gotten away from me, so I’m going to end it. For now, maybe.

First Previous
Peering down into the now exposed cavern, I wondered what was in there and consequently how I would even get down there. Ordering my marauder to back up a bit so that they would not fall though or anything of the sort, I began floating back up to the surface before blipping over to the factory and more specifically the modification station. Flipping through the menu screen, I quickly whipped up a modification to my crabs so that they would have a searchlight sitting on their claw arm so that they would not have such a hard time seeing the mines. Drifting back over to the mining outpost, I began ordering for the on site construction crew to begin constructing the new lights onto a few volunteers. As they began the process of constructing the modifications for my crabs, I began gathering up a few flight capable drones from the factory since I doubt that my hounds and ants would have a very good time climbing down a eighty plus degree slope down to the bottom.
Perhaps I should have a few of the hornets have some of the searchlights as well. Certainly couldn’t hurt to have some extra lights. Thankfully at the factory there was a much more sizable spider drone presence so my hornets were equipped with the searchlights quickly enough and were able to reach the mining outpost just about when my crabs got theirs as well. Ordering my drones to begin venturing down into the mineshaft, I was finally able to properly see down in the mines although I suppose I had not turelly needed to. I wonder if this would help the rest of my drones ability to mine out ores. The lack of light surely hasn’t stopped them so I guess they probably can see better down here that I could. As we ventured through the mineshaft, I took the time to look around and found that the tunnels which had been carved out looked to have many small patches missing, presumably where they had found valuable ores and the like. Before long we reached the opening to the cavern which looked to be somewhat expanded by the marauders sub drone harvesters.
Ordering my newly equipped crabs to use their search lights in order to light up the cavern a little bit, I was able to quickly enough make out the forms of what had to be organic life which was rather surprising. Squinting my eyes, I was able to see the vague forms of large fungus-like shapes covering the entirety of the rather large cavern like a warping forest which seemed to be perfectly fine with growing on every available surface. Looking over to my hornets and vultures who had volunteered to take a look, I ordered them, along with the harvesters from the marauder, to begin flying down and begin looking around the area. Switching my perspective over to one of my hornets equipped with the searchlights, I watched as they began to descend down to the bottom of the cavern and where the dozens and dozens of tree sized mushrooms and fungus sprouted out from the ground and created a canopy of sorts.
As we descended, I was able to see that every available spot on the surface of the floor was absolutely covered in moss and fungus which had taken root in whatever rocky soil which they could find. As we continued to look around the cavern, one of my hornets seemed to have managed to spot some sort of constructs near the far end of the cavern and soon enough the hornet which I was watching through linked up with the rest of my force as they moved towards the buildings. As they approached the structures, I was able to make out the general shape of the buildings which looked to be rather squat with the occasional second floor which I took as a sign that they were either rather small or there was more underground. With the help of the searchlights, I was also able to see that the constructs seemed to be absolutely infested with the fungus and moss along with a large amount of other dark growths which stretched out from the insides of the building.
Huh, maybe this is where all the fungus had come from. Perhaps it’s a research building that’s focused on botany or something. Floating down to ground level with the rest of my drones, I ordered one of my hornets to open the doors leading into the building proper which they promptly did so by firing their spike launcher into the joints of the door which caused it to be blown off its hinges. A bit overkill but hey, I’m not complaining. Sending a couple drones into the breach to make sure that there were not any hostile contacts in the building, I made sure to have the rest of my drones on high alert for any signs of activity as something about this place was making my nerves stand on end. Upon the confirmation of no hostile contacts present, I ordered the rest of my drones to enter the building as well, minus a couple of hornets I decided to leave guarding the entrance while the rest of us began making our way through the maze of corridors.
Entering into the building, I saw that the place looked to be just as abandoned as all the other buildings in the city, however this place seemed to not even be touched by ferals and the like looking for shelter. Sure everything looked to be messed up but I could not see a single trace of activity in the rooms as we moved through the corridors methodically, keeping our spike launchers at the ready at all times. Entering a research room of some sort, I saw a large amount of glass containers which looked to have at one point helped strange plants and funguses although most of which had died long ago whenever this place was abandoned to its fate. I guess this helps confirm that this place was some sort of research building focused on plants and stuff. As we continued to make our way throughout the building, my drones and I found more and more of the black tendrils which covered the ground and were familiar in some way, however I could not place my finger on it.
Eventually after looking through a handful more rooms filled to the brim with plant specimens, my drones and I encountered a stairwell leading both down into the underground and upwards to the second floor. I made note that the downwards stairwell had a larger than usual amount of the black tendrils which snaked out from the stairwell before infesting the rest of the building. Deciding that I did not wish to go down there, I sent about half of my force down while I and the rest of my drones went up the stairs and checked out the second floor where there were noticeably less tendrils. As my hornets clambered up the stairs, noticeably avoiding the black vine like tendrils whenever possible, I noticed that there seemed to be some artificial light coming from above which was strange, I would have assumed that all the power had been disabled for these ruins.
Moving closer to the source of the light, we eventually entered what looked to be a control room with a large amount of screens and control panels, most of which were entirely deactivated and in some cases destroyed outright. All except for one which seemed to be a simple control panel with a large amount of lights associated with various sections of the compound like the power generators and various research rooms. Looking around, I eventually found a key stating which faintly blinking meant what and quickly began transcribing each of the dim lights which were still finding enough power to give off a noticeable glow. First to gain my attention was the power generators which were flashing a red light stating that they were completely down, however looking at the auxiliary power systems, they were glowing a faint yellow which stated that they were still at least partially functioning. Guess that explains where this thing is pulling the power from, the pitance that it is.
Continuing down the line of blinking lights, I see that most if not all of the systems making up the building and a few of the other, much smaller, buildings surrounding this one seemed to be more or less non-functional which should be expected given that this place had been abandoned for at least a couple decades. As I reached a few lights noted as containment units and found that most were deactivated or destroyed, I received a few messages from my drones I had sent downwards stating that they had found something that I should probably have a look at. Slipping out of the hornet I was currently in and transferring over to one of the hornets down stairs before coming face to face with what they had found. Floating around, suspended by some sort of force field was a disgustingly large bulbous black clump of flesh with faint blue marks and bulbs dotting around its body. Why in the seven hells does this place have a rot specimen? Sigh, I guess this explains where all the power which the still functioning generators is being pumped into. At least it hadn’t gotten out of its containment, that would make this ten times wors- … waaait a minute.
Looking down to the ground where the black tendrils snaked across the floor leading to two other containment units which were worryingly not activated and had two, thankfully smaller, iterations of the rot simply laying there, as if hibernating. Shit! Alright maybe if we back up slowly they won’t notice our presence. It was then the two rot clumps and their many tendrils began pulsating before marks and bulbs on their body began to glow a faint blue and some began to move. Alright, change of plans. Everyone RUN! My drones were quick to obey as they powered on their wings and bolted for the stairwell as the tendrils began writhing as if searching for my drones. One even lurched out and grabbed one of my hornets as they attempted to escape the building, dragging the poor drone to the ground and more tendrils moved in to help keep down my struggling troops who fought valiantly which thankfully diverted tendrils which were dangerously close to my other drones to quickly flew up the stairs and out of the building.
A few tendrils attempted to stop our escape however my hornets quickly fired their launchers and pinned those to the walls of the building and my harvester sub drones proved to be rather effective as they cut right through the rot tendrils that got close. Taking to the skies as quickly as they could, I could see that the rest of my drones seemed to have managed to get out unmolested by the rot tendrils which were definitely not as numerous as the ones underground and they were now covering the rest of my drones retreat as they fired their launchers and cut down any tendrils which got close. Linking up with the rest of my drones, my various hornets quickly turned their own spike launchers to bare against the tendrils, managing to land a few shots before I ordered them to fall back as one of the rot tendrils lashed out and nearly swatted another one of my hornets out of the sky which I decided was too close for comfort.
Turning around as we flew back to the mines and the rest of my drones, I watched as the far side of the cavern where the facility was began to pulse blue as the rot emerged from its slumber and began moving through the fungus forest. I have no idea how the rot works but given that they’re fleshy, I suspect that letting them feast off of the mushrooms is probably going to bite me in the ass later. Slipping out of the hornets as the flew back to the outpost, I began scrambling to assemble as many fire beetles as I could from all of my territories as they had been proven to be one of my best anti-rot drones meaning they would be instrumental in fending off those things from escaping the cavern. As it would turn out, I was rather lacking in the fire beetle department as I could only assemble about a dozen of them which means that I would have to wait a bit before I could start deploying them en masse.
Deciding to make the process as quick as possible, I began ordering for the construction of fire beetles from every available small drone works in my territory but it would still take a while for them to all fabricate and be transported over here, especially from places like the warehouse outpost and the newer outposts near the front lines. While I waited, I continued to watch as the rot began infesting the cavern with reckless abandon and from where my crab was standing, I could see as one after another the large fungus trees toppled over to be consumed by the rot. As the fungal forest was being consumed by the now fully awakened rot, I began wondering whether or not they would be able to use their newly acquired food supplies to create more of the damned tendrils or even more rot clusters. At least there’s only two, maybe three, of them down there. Hopefully my fire beetles will be able to burn the forest down before the rot gets a chance to eat all of it.
Speaking of which, my drones, a few of the suicidal drones had arrived from the factory and were already making their way down the mine shaft over to my position. Once they arrived, I gestured to a few of my hornets who quickly picked up the four fire beetles before flying down to the base of the cavern before placing the fire beetles amidst the fungal forest which they promptly began burning down to the ground. Hopefully they would be able to burn down at least half of the mushroom tree before the rot could eat it or to my beetles for that matter. Watching as the cavern began to glow a bright reddish orange, I decided to check up on the rest of my territory as I waited for more of my beetles to finish being fabricated and transported over to the mining outpost. Deciding to check on my forces in Ping’s territory first, I drifted over to the outpost that my forces had helped Ping take back which was now returning to what I was guessing was its full capacity.
Checking up on my drones which I had managed to rescue from enemy territory, I found that most had been repaired back to functionality and were now going about their duties which mostly revolved around helping out Pings drones with the various patrols or, if my spiders deemed them unfit, working to assist with the movement of supplies around the outpost along with some light salvaging. A fair amount of my veteran drones had been sent back to whatever force I had taken the form, mostly the force at Churn’s front line with the occasional drone working in pseudo retirement which garrison or mine work afforded them. After all, they were likely needed more at Churn's front line where active fighting was still occurring on a regular basis rather than in Ping’s territory where the corrupted AI was being pushed back as Ping got their feet under themselves as they began pumping out drones and defenses.
Checking up on the outpost which Churn had lent me, I found that the enemy force had begun moving back into the now destroyed production hub however not in any significant numbers as the outpost was likely deemed to be not worth the effort of putting a large garrison there. The forces present were likely only there to inform them if I was making moves to attack more of their territory so that they could make the proper adjustments. Thankfully this newly established enemy garrison could not stop my stealth hounds as they occasionally sent back a member or two of their number to inform me of what was going on in enemy territory. In Coopers stead, one of the next most senior drone which happened to be an ant had been receiving the most recent of reports from the stealth hounds which mostly consisted with random enemy movements and caravans which did not really affect me given that I was not willing to start sending out my force to being taking the fight to the next enemy stronghold, at least not while my forces in Ping were still criminally understaffed and my resource stocks were at a minimum.
Perhaps once things stabilize and more resources become available I will begin tasking my force with attacking however until then I was content to sit around on the defense. The thought of constructing more stealth hounds until I could start having them raid caravans briefly flittered across my mind but I quickly cut that off and stored it in my head for later use once the whole situation with the rot back in the mines is resolved. Speaking of which, as I finished reading through reports and stamping away thoughts of pressing the attack while my supply lines were strained, I received the message stating that the first batch of fire beetles were now finished construction and were beginning to be collected by the subway system and would soon be delivered to the mining outpost. Good, the longer I wait, the more dangerous those things will probably become. Hopefully my beetles will be able to handle whatever they encounter down there.
Floating back over to the mining outpost and down to the cavern entrance, I could see that the initial four fire beetles had done a good job at burning down what they could as I was able to easily see that well over half of the forest had been light ablaze as the fungal trees caught fire and whatever moisture the mushrooms had were quickly evaporated. Regardless, the rot still continued to feast upon the biomass that they could get their tendrils on and from where I was watching I could easily see that nearly a quarter of the fungal forest had been completely taken over and infested with rot puss as the area where the rot had infected began glowing blue as their residue began to take place and fester. Hopefully the fires will also be able to burn some of the rot along with the mushroom trees before the rest of my beetles arrive and with some luck take down whatever is left. But for now I watched the flames as they spread and burned down everything in its path.
Next
Sorry it’s late, I had to GM a bit of DnD which took priority over finishing up and posting this.

I'll start by saying this is my first time playing Rimworld in years, also the first time experiencing the first two DLC's and the first time I've gone with Randy. For serious veterans of the game there's probably nothing too exciting here.
Despite not having played in ages we've made it 6 years in and for the most part haven't had any real major challenges. The hardest of the new challenges up to now was the mechanoid clusters with high shields but knowing a few simple tricks like using smoke launchers to approach and take out turrets made them relatively easy. To be clear I am playing normal difficulty with only some QOL mods so I didn't expect anything too insane outside of what Randy might do.
So the 1st of Septobor, 5506, rolls around. It starts with a solar flare and half of my colony getting sleeping sickness, no biggie. Then comes a tribal breaching raid. They break in through the wall, we are prepared on the other side and easily handle them, there are some injuries but nothing major and we gather ourselves as the day comes to an end.
On the 2nd another half of the colony gets gut worms, annoying but we've got plenty of medicine and a couple great medics so no worries. Before we can begin to deal with that another tribal raid, but this one is larger than I was prepared for with around 50 tribals and we haven't even had time to carry the previous bodies out or begin patching the hole they made.
I remember we picked up a triple rocket launcher at some point. Bautista, our best shooter, grabs it and heads out to meet them halfway in hopes of putting an early end to things. They aren't nearly as clumped as would be ideal, but we have no time and have to take the shot. Three rockets out, they all hit but disappointingly only three of them are downed. We quickly retreat to the base's newly made entrance and prepare for them. I figure if our two melee fighters can hold the line we should be able to down enough tribals to cause them to flee.
Despite our front lines best efforts, they don't last long and the tribals start pushing into our first row of assault rifles. It's starting to look bad, and then Randy decides this would be a great time for another breach raid, this time with mechs. The panic sets in. we're already weakened and still battling the tribals, I know it's now or never and we have to pull out all the stops.
I remember that Bautista has psy powers that we haven't really taken advantage of. Most of the powers he's gotten aren't great, but I decide to try vertigo pulse on the remaining tribals. I didn't expect much but it did seem to help sway the battle and we were able to turn the tide on the tribals and convince them to flee. Despite that victory, half of our team is in need of rescue, most of the remaining half is in shambles mentally and physically, and we have a much bigger problem still marching towards us.
Of those still standing one is carrying an insanity lance, and another has a device that can create a tornado. They both run to inject some go juice before running out to intercept the fast approaching threat. We are able to cause the termite and centipede to go berserk. Not knowing what to expect we call in the tornado. It wreaks some havoc on them but then turns towards our base and barely misses our hospital where half our team now lies.
The most dangerous of the mechs are dealt with, but there are still lancers, scythers and pikeman. They approach the north wall above our hospital and continue with their intent to breach. With only a handful of capable fighters left I assume this is it, and only then do I realize Bautista has a permit that can be used to call in trooper squad. I acquire th permit only to realize he has to be able to walk to actually use it. With luck he heals up just in time to call in four light troopers for aid.
They rush out to deal with mechs in the most haphazard way and we realize they will not last long. Marta picks up the Zeushammer Doug had dropped and the few remaining shooters follow behind. Though the troopers were clearly suicidal, they caused enough of a distraction to allow us to finish off the remaining mechs.
Amazingly we had survived, all were being tended to but then the true tragedy struck. Elsie was bleeding out rapidly, Garza would have been able to save her had she been taken to the hospital, but our damn elephant who's not allowed in the hospital was hauling her across the base to a new barracks project we had yet forbid them from.
I now know what Randy is truly capable of, but more than anything I surprised myself in handling this poorly dealt hand. I know for those that are used to the highest difficulties this is nowhere near the level of insanity Rimworld can throw at you, but for me it's the hardest and most nail biting situation that I've had to deal with. Sorry for the long post, just had to share this scarring yet exhilarating experience.

I couldn’t care today. I tried. I watched myself fuck up, mistake after mistake again. The hours wasted away, disappearing by me, and I let them. I was defeated today, before the day ever began. Angry and violent and violet.
We’re cracking jokes and makin’ light, passing around comments about thriving in stress, in chaos, and opening up loopholes to bend inside. “Yes, but you love it” they say. As though this chaos and turbulence were something someone survived on rather instead, simply a mechanism of survival.
I’m stuck here again, forced to deal with my loneliness and neuroticism and pretending I’m alright. But every step I take is fake, another mask held up to the light. And I force myself through another day and force myself to put down another fight, and I seal away every impulsive action, every real thought, every broken promise and true desire and no matter how far I come… I’m on a simulated treadmill, stuck in front of a greenscreen played by my mind.
Can you please just stop trying so hard. I’m tired of feeling guilty, cause I lost all the care I once had. I let it all go. And I’m tired of pretending I’m not broken, standing in front of you, fooling you into believing it’s still worth the fight when all I’m ever doing is picking up pieces and gluing and patching and spray painting cracks in this foundation.
Distraction, distractions, distraction, I’m all out of distractions. And all that is left is some falsehood created making myself believe I could make it. Fake it till you make it. My skin, the walls, the colors in my room, my hair and clothes, the cups and plates and tiny silverware. I’m sick of it all and it’s place.
Don’t talk to me anymore, I don’t want to respond. I’m tired of acting like I have anything left to say. How shitty of me, to say too little to late but stay by your side because I’ve settled for something more than hate.
Too much time was wasted while I waved goodbye to dreams, too much time was wasted and I found other means. And now we talk of cutting back and making do so you can chase something too. But you wasted me away and I can’t sit here with nothings else but you. Still, I give it all, I compromise, sacrifice my truths and in the end, after it all, you still center on you.
I’m tired of being well, of being on, for another’s sake. Tired of always keeping the peace and playing it safe. I shed my layers, and shed my share of tears, I’ve lived in guilt for so long I don’t know how confidence tastes. I’m outgrown, overgrown, living past all stages of resentment, with nothing left to barter or bargain. But there’s too much grief for acceptance. Spent a lifetime hoping to help others and you all finally convinced me it was wasteful.
Here I am again, knowing I’m not okay, and though I’m sure someone would try to tell me otherwise, there’s nothing left to say. Because the hours escape me, and the minutes linger, and there is nothing I could really do. Anyways. I’ll still wake up tomorrow, and I’ll wish it wasn’t another day, and I’ll try my best to make it work, even though I gave up so many yesterdays. And inevitably you’ll remind me, every chance that I try to make it better, why I’m so defeated today.
"Slow down" they say, "take time, sleep and relax and play". But they never take a moment to see how the resting gets in the way. I’m done, don’t want this anymore, but it’s all idle threats, meaningless words rolling of shoulders cause, you know, don’t have the energy anymore.

In 1945, the United States underwent Operation Paperclip which gave over 1,600 German scientists, engineers and technicians sanctuary and absolution of their crimes in exchange for the continuation of their research.
In 1953 those same individuals came up with and executed MK Ultra, an illegal human experiment that used its citizens (targeting schools, hospitals and prisons) as test subjects.
In 1954 the Plum Island was turned into a research center for diseases.
In 1975 the first documented case of Lyme disease occurred. Rumored to have escaped Plum Island.
In 2005 the DHS announced that all the work done at Plum Island would be continued in Kansas. Not just the center of the continental United States, but also home to crops seen in grocery stores all over the country.
The following is a true story.
Getting into work, one of the first things I do is check my mail. I’ve been a reporter for years and have amassed fans who like to write in and give me leads. Most of the time these leads don't amount to much (Sometimes I wonder if people send me things because of my apophenia and they are trying to get me off their scent), but every once in a while I strike gold.
I had been working at Whisper Alley Echos for a few months by the time I got my first lead. The package I got was small and when I opened it I saw a DVD that had the words “play me” written in black marker on it. Not knowing what was on it, I waited until I got home to put it on. Not just because I didnt know what was on it, but I was also busy working on a different project about how everyone in a nearby town just went missing. The official story is that they all went on vacation or went to visit a relative and decided to stay. I dont know about you, but I found that suspicious.
After getting home and shifting gears to get into the movie mood (popcorn, blinds pulled, etc…) I popped the DVD in and began watching.
There were dozens of different videos to pick from, some ranging from a minute to half an hour. Instead of picking one at random, I just played them in order. After all, all their titles were dates and times and I didnt want to miss anything that might make sense later.
The first video featured a tardigrade, at the time I didnt know what it was, but the scientist doing the voice over described it as being a microscopic animal as well as being extremely resilient. This went on for several minutes and for a moment it felt as though I was watching a nature documentary instead of something given to me by a government whistleblower.
The next few videos featured footage of the tardigrades being given something called “BB-F828” and the changes it caused.
The voiceover talked about how a tardigrade (this time he called them water bears and the two terms were interchangeable from this point on) was showing signs of several thousand generations of evolution in only a few days. Even though I know nothing about science, I could see that the thing on the television was not the same animal that was shown in the first video.
While they were never “cute”, at least they never looked like predators, but after a few videos I saw that the tardigrades were covered in what appeared to be padding. In a later video this padding would change into being chitin-like armor.
The last video was filmed two months after the water bears were given BB-F828 and in it the scientists could see them even without a microscope.
The next morning I went into work and started writing on my computer, copying notes from my small notebook. However by the time I started the second draft, Andrea, the office secretary, dropped a letter off at my desk.
It was the first time I got a letter about an “inside scoop” two days in a row.
The letter said that they were the ones who sent the DVD and if I wanted to know more I would have to go to The Rats Skeleton (a bar that used to be a speakeasy during prohibition. Because of this the place feels as though its a front for a comic book villain. The owners have leaned into this and did everything they could to reinforce this feeling with sparse lighting and everything that isn't red velvet on the walls being painted black) at a specific time.
Usually I wouldn't go meet strangers after getting an anonymous letter that tells me to come alone, but its a small town and I didn't have much going on that particular Thursday.
Parking behind the Merc (short for mercantile, where most of the grocery and general shopping is done in town), I descended the stairs and made my way to the back of the bar. There I found a woman that didnt look like she slept in days. Since no one else was in that back area I figured she must have been the person I was there to see.
“Hey, I’m Daniel West. Am I—”
“Sit” the woman said, motioning across from her. I sat down and asked her for her name but she didn’t want to answer me and when i asked for it a second time she claimed it was Jane, but there is no doubt that was not her real name.
“What made you reach out, Jane?”
“You saw the video?”
I nodded. “Yup.”
“And?”
“I have a lot of questions” I answered.
“Figured you would” Jane said. “Ask.”
“Well, first” I said, my journalistic inexperience showing as I went through my pocket notebook. “Who are you and why do you know all this?”
“Name isnt important” Jane answered. “Let me start from the beginning. We thought we were working on human survivability” Jane answered. “I thought that I was working for some company that had a government contract. That might be true, it might not be. Either way lots of money and resources have been put into this.”
“I saw the video” I answered. “What exactly was it that I was watching?”
Janes eyes were frantic as she looked at the stairs behind me. When I turned around to see what she was looking at I saw a local descending the steps and approach the bar. She only answered my question when she was convinced that the man wasn't eavesdropping, still, she spoke in whispers.
“We were working on human survivability.”
“You said that. What does that mean?”
“Exactly what it sounds like. Consider we civilize mars and the long term effects from the static radiation there. Or another planet that demands thicker bones because of increased gravity? Evolution might give us those things eventually but what if we need it now? In this generation?”
“So you made super humans?”
Jane was annoyed and slapped the table. No one was around to hear or see her but I still looked around anyways.
“We didn’t work on humans. We piggybacked off of some other countries' genetic research and made some breakthroughs of our own. When—-“
“Other countries?” I interrupted instead of letting her talk.
“Yeah” Jane said with a shrug. “Some countries aren’t tied down by the same code of ethics as ours.”
“That’s why you got a hold of me? To tell—-“
“We were working on small parts. At first individual genes, building from that success we went on to more complex organisms. Eventually, hopefully, test on humans.”
“But you never made it that far?”
“No” Jane said, taking a sip from her glass. “We tested BB-F828 on other things, building up towards human testing.”
“Okay, like what?”
Jane inhaled through her nose and looked at me as though she wasnt sure if I could be trusted. Then she sighed when she realized it was too late not to trust me, she had already went too far to turn back. “What do you think has the best chance of not only surviving a planet wide disaster, but also thrive in it?”
“Cockroaches” I answered.
Jane nodded. “Sure. Lots of people would agree with you, however that wouldn't be the best pick.”
“Oh? Then what would be?”
“Rats.”
I laughed.
“They are tough and can thrive anywhere. Even before BB-F828 they are smarter than roaches, plus rats have a complicated social hierarchy, similar to humans. Remember, I didn't just say survive. I said thrive.”
“So you tested all this on rats?”
Jane nodded. “We did.”
I waited for Jane to continue, but thanks to her staring off into space due to lack of sleep, she waited longer.
“What happened?”
Janes eyes drifted back at me, she was running on fumes. “Huh? Oh, yeah. Rats, right?” she asked while pulling a folder out from the seat next to her. She set it on the table and slid it over to me. “Here, take a peek.”
I opened it, expecting redacted pages of ‘evidence’ and while I got some of that, it was the photos that drew my attention the most. At first the photos were individual rats and a designated number they received instead of a name.
“How many rats did you experiment—” I started, but my voice trailed off when I came across a photo of the one rat with unique markings on its back now appearing to be bred for a war on pleasant dreams. Its eyes were pearly gray, teeth became tusks, its whiskers were thick and barbed. According to the scale it was on when the second photo was taken it weighed twenty nine point four kilos.
“A few hundred?” Jane answered, though it was obvious that it was just a guess. “They were paired off and put in different environments to see how they adapt.”
“Why would you pair them off?”
“I think it was to see if some would branch out and become their own species” Jane answered as she checked her watch. Seeing the time she sped up. “See, when something with BB-F828 finds itself in a desert, it might adapt to the point that it grows a hump like a camel. Or grow gills if they are in the ocean. The original purpose was for human survivability on other planets. We thought if we could discover how the adaptations work, and it could be repeated exactly the same over and over again, we could do something for humans. After all you wouldn't want anything unexpected to happen when you're in the middle of growing another set of arms or a dorsal fin, right?”Jane said. “But to do this we needed lots of subjects and all in their own environments. Each one had their own surprises, after all, evolution is random. Favors some things over others. One species can branch out to be dozens or hundreds. Thousands with enough time and environmental factors. When the tardigrades started displaying more predatory behavior we thought it was due to the change in diet and the increase in protein, but now we think its due to the rapid change. It drives them insane. All of this was surprising, but none as surprising as the ‘dirt rats’.”
“Wait. They are all insane? Also, dirt rats?” I asked, flipping the photo over to show the next one. This one revealed what I thought was a bear, but when I was about to flip it over to look at the next one I noticed its teeth. Thats when I noticed that it was a huge, muscular rat.
“Six breeding pairs, all kept in an empty pool full of dirt. They weren't given enough room to get out of the dirt, so they had to adapt to living in it. Anyways, because they are in the dirt its harder to keep track of what they are doing. Because of that, by the time we discovered that they had burrowed their way out of the facility it was too late. They were gone.”
“Gone? What do you mean?”
“Escaped,” Jane whispered. “And they are growing.”
“Growing?”
“Last I heard, they were nearly sixty feet but we honestly don't know. It's not like we can compare them to anything else.”
“Sixty feet?” I laughed. “Someone would have saw them by—”
“Underground” Jane said with a shake of her head. “They are underground. I know it's hard to believe, but how else can you explain those earthquakes in Chicago? New York?”
“Are you saying there are giant rats under those cities?”
“I am saying they aren't rats anymore. They are something else entirely. I am saying six breeding pairs might not sound like a lot, but rats reproduce so quickly it's terrifying. I am saying that they are so big and there are so many of them that they are causing those earthquakes. I am saying that due to their size they burn off lots of calories and some have evolved to hibernating.”
“Why hibernation?”
“No idea, but when they wake up they are going to be very hungry. Ravenous.”
“Any idea when that might be?” I asked.
Jane shrugged. “Some already have. We just covered it up.”
It might have been my apophenia talking, but with that statement I started seeing the bigger picture and asked Jane about the town that went missing (The story I was working on before her DVD reached me). Jane gave me the politician's answer, saying something without actually saying something, and that was enough to confirm that I was indeed on the right track.
Unfortunately Jane and I did not speak for much longer, she got a call that freaked her out and she took off. Before she left she took the folder and the pictures I was still going through. I haven't seen or heard from her since and have dropped the story about the disappearances that have secretly been plaguing our country.
WAE

In 1945, the United States underwent Operation Paperclip which gave over 1,600 German scientists, engineers and technicians sanctuary and absolution of their crimes in exchange for the continuation of their research.
In 1953 those same individuals came up with and executed MK Ultra, an illegal human experiment that used its citizens (targeting schools, hospitals and prisons) as test subjects.
In 1954 the Plum Island was turned into a research center for diseases.
In 1975 the first documented case of Lyme disease occurred. Rumored to have escaped Plum Island.
In 2005 the DHS announced that all the work done at Plum Island would be continued in Kansas. Not just the center of the continental United States, but also home to crops seen in grocery stores all over the country.
The following is a true story.
Getting into work, one of the first things I do is check my mail. I’ve been a reporter for years and have amassed fans who like to write in and give me leads. Most of the time these leads don't amount to much (Sometimes I wonder if people send me things because of my apophenia and they are trying to get me off their scent), but every once in a while I strike gold.
I had been working at Whisper Alley Echos for a few months by the time I got my first lead. The package I got was small and when I opened it I saw a DVD that had the words “play me” written in black marker on it. Not knowing what was on it, I waited until I got home to put it on. Not just because I didnt know what was on it, but I was also busy working on a different project about how everyone in a nearby town just went missing. The official story is that they all went on vacation or went to visit a relative and decided to stay. I dont know about you, but I found that suspicious.
After getting home and shifting gears to get into the movie mood (popcorn, blinds pulled, etc…) I popped the DVD in and began watching.
There were dozens of different videos to pick from, some ranging from a minute to half an hour. Instead of picking one at random, I just played them in order. After all, all their titles were dates and times and I didnt want to miss anything that might make sense later.
The first video featured a tardigrade, at the time I didnt know what it was, but the scientist doing the voice over described it as being a microscopic animal as well as being extremely resilient. This went on for several minutes and for a moment it felt as though I was watching a nature documentary instead of something given to me by a government whistleblower.
The next few videos featured footage of the tardigrades being given something called “BB-F828” and the changes it caused.
The voiceover talked about how a tardigrade (this time he called them water bears and the two terms were interchangeable from this point on) was showing signs of several thousand generations of evolution in only a few days. Even though I know nothing about science, I could see that the thing on the television was not the same animal that was shown in the first video.
While they were never “cute”, at least they never looked like predators, but after a few videos I saw that the tardigrades were covered in what appeared to be padding. In a later video this padding would change into being chitin-like armor.
The last video was filmed two months after the water bears were given BB-F828 and in it the scientists could see them even without a microscope.
The next morning I went into work and started writing on my computer, copying notes from my small notebook. However by the time I started the second draft, Andrea, the office secretary, dropped a letter off at my desk.
It was the first time I got a letter about an “inside scoop” two days in a row.
The letter said that they were the ones who sent the DVD and if I wanted to know more I would have to go to The Rats Skeleton (a bar that used to be a speakeasy during prohibition. Because of this the place feels as though its a front for a comic book villain. The owners have leaned into this and did everything they could to reinforce this feeling with sparse lighting and everything that isn't red velvet on the walls being painted black) at a specific time.
Usually I wouldn't go meet strangers after getting an anonymous letter that tells me to come alone, but its a small town and I didn't have much going on that particular Thursday.
Parking behind the Merc (short for mercantile, where most of the grocery and general shopping is done in town), I descended the stairs and made my way to the back of the bar. There I found a woman that didnt look like she slept in days. Since no one else was in that back area I figured she must have been the person I was there to see.
“Hey, I’m Daniel West. Am I—”
“Sit” the woman said, motioning across from her. I sat down and asked her for her name but she didn’t want to answer me and when i asked for it a second time she claimed it was Jane, but there is no doubt that was not her real name.
“What made you reach out, Jane?”
“You saw the video?”
I nodded. “Yup.”
“And?”
“I have a lot of questions” I answered.
“Figured you would” Jane said. “Ask.”
“Well, first” I said, my journalistic inexperience showing as I went through my pocket notebook. “Who are you and why do you know all this?”
“Name isnt important” Jane answered. “Let me start from the beginning. We thought we were working on human survivability” Jane answered. “I thought that I was working for some company that had a government contract. That might be true, it might not be. Either way lots of money and resources have been put into this.”
“I saw the video” I answered. “What exactly was it that I was watching?”
Janes eyes were frantic as she looked at the stairs behind me. When I turned around to see what she was looking at I saw a local descending the steps and approach the bar. She only answered my question when she was convinced that the man wasn't eavesdropping, still, she spoke in whispers.
“We were working on human survivability.”
“You said that. What does that mean?”
“Exactly what it sounds like. Consider we civilize mars and the long term effects from the static radiation there. Or another planet that demands thicker bones because of increased gravity? Evolution might give us those things eventually but what if we need it now? In this generation?”
“So you made super humans?”
Jane was annoyed and slapped the table. No one was around to hear or see her but I still looked around anyways.
“We didn’t work on humans. We piggybacked off of some other countries' genetic research and made some breakthroughs of our own. When—-“
“Other countries?” I interrupted instead of letting her talk.
“Yeah” Jane said with a shrug. “Some countries aren’t tied down by the same code of ethics as ours.”
“That’s why you got a hold of me? To tell—-“
“We were working on small parts. At first individual genes, building from that success we went on to more complex organisms. Eventually, hopefully, test on humans.”
“But you never made it that far?”
“No” Jane said, taking a sip from her glass. “We tested BB-F828 on other things, building up towards human testing.”
“Okay, like what?”
Jane inhaled through her nose and looked at me as though she wasnt sure if I could be trusted. Then she sighed when she realized it was too late not to trust me, she had already went too far to turn back. “What do you think has the best chance of not only surviving a planet wide disaster, but also thrive in it?”
“Cockroaches” I answered.
Jane nodded. “Sure. Lots of people would agree with you, however that wouldn't be the best pick.”
“Oh? Then what would be?”
“Rats.”
I laughed.
“They are tough and can thrive anywhere. Even before BB-F828 they are smarter than roaches, plus rats have a complicated social hierarchy, similar to humans. Remember, I didn't just say survive. I said thrive.”
“So you tested all this on rats?”
Jane nodded. “We did.”
I waited for Jane to continue, but thanks to her staring off into space due to lack of sleep, she waited longer.
“What happened?”
Janes eyes drifted back at me, she was running on fumes. “Huh? Oh, yeah. Rats, right?” she asked while pulling a folder out from the seat next to her. She set it on the table and slid it over to me. “Here, take a peek.”
I opened it, expecting redacted pages of ‘evidence’ and while I got some of that, it was the photos that drew my attention the most. At first the photos were individual rats and a designated number they received instead of a name.
“How many rats did you experiment—” I started, but my voice trailed off when I came across a photo of the one rat with unique markings on its back now appearing to be bred for a war on pleasant dreams. Its eyes were pearly gray, teeth became tusks, its whiskers were thick and barbed. According to the scale it was on when the second photo was taken it weighed twenty nine point four kilos.
“A few hundred?” Jane answered, though it was obvious that it was just a guess. “They were paired off and put in different environments to see how they adapt.”
“Why would you pair them off?”
“I think it was to see if some would branch out and become their own species” Jane answered as she checked her watch. Seeing the time she sped up. “See, when something with BB-F828 finds itself in a desert, it might adapt to the point that it grows a hump like a camel. Or grow gills if they are in the ocean. The original purpose was for human survivability on other planets. We thought if we could discover how the adaptations work, and it could be repeated exactly the same over and over again, we could do something for humans. After all you wouldn't want anything unexpected to happen when you're in the middle of growing another set of arms or a dorsal fin, right?”Jane said. “But to do this we needed lots of subjects and all in their own environments. Each one had their own surprises, after all, evolution is random. Favors some things over others. One species can branch out to be dozens or hundreds. Thousands with enough time and environmental factors. When the tardigrades started displaying more predatory behavior we thought it was due to the change in diet and the increase in protein, but now we think its due to the rapid change. It drives them insane. All of this was surprising, but none as surprising as the ‘dirt rats’.”
“Wait. They are all insane? Also, dirt rats?” I asked, flipping the photo over to show the next one. This one revealed what I thought was a bear, but when I was about to flip it over to look at the next one I noticed its teeth. Thats when I noticed that it was a huge, muscular rat.
“Six breeding pairs, all kept in an empty pool full of dirt. They weren't given enough room to get out of the dirt, so they had to adapt to living in it. Anyways, because they are in the dirt its harder to keep track of what they are doing. Because of that, by the time we discovered that they had burrowed their way out of the facility it was too late. They were gone.”
“Gone? What do you mean?”
“Escaped,” Jane whispered. “And they are growing.”
“Growing?”
“Last I heard, they were nearly sixty feet but we honestly don't know. It's not like we can compare them to anything else.”
“Sixty feet?” I laughed. “Someone would have saw them by—”
“Underground” Jane said with a shake of her head. “They are underground. I know it's hard to believe, but how else can you explain those earthquakes in Chicago? New York?”
“Are you saying there are giant rats under those cities?”
“I am saying they aren't rats anymore. They are something else entirely. I am saying six breeding pairs might not sound like a lot, but rats reproduce so quickly it's terrifying. I am saying that they are so big and there are so many of them that they are causing those earthquakes. I am saying that due to their size they burn off lots of calories and some have evolved to hibernating.”
“Why hibernation?”
“No idea, but when they wake up they are going to be very hungry. Ravenous.”
“Any idea when that might be?” I asked.
Jane shrugged. “Some already have. We just covered it up.”
It might have been my apophenia talking, but with that statement I started seeing the bigger picture and asked Jane about the town that went missing (The story I was working on before her DVD reached me). Jane gave me the politician's answer, saying something without actually saying something, and that was enough to confirm that I was indeed on the right track.
Unfortunately Jane and I did not speak for much longer, she got a call that freaked her out and she took off. Before she left she took the folder and the pictures I was still going through. I haven't seen or heard from her since and have dropped the story about the disappearances that have secretly been plaguing our country.
WAE

[First Contact] [Dark Ages] [First] [Prev] [Next] [wiki]
"Leave the sleeping dragons lie in peace" is a lesson that seemingly has to be taught to every wannabe conqueror over and over again.
Time after time, there will be a few idiots who only see the dragon's hoard, its cult of followers, and ignore the piles of rusted, slagged, calcified, scorched remains of every moron who tried before them. They see all of this and think "I can beat it to submission and take everything it has."
And then the dragon wakes up, and more smoldering remains are added to the scorched scrap heap.
And the Malevolent Universe grins in the darkness, and increases the "Dead morons who should have known better" counter by one. Then, waits for the next contestant. - u/Matt_Bradock, Terran Philosopher, Age of Paranoia, TerraSol
^{initiating data stream
your name is Dhruv-661391
you were purchased for the same price as a moderately priced luxury vehicle}
She knows the dead. She is of the dead. She is the keeper and guardian of the dead. Life, death and the feasting of swarms all are one within her. She knows where once-dead things were laid to rest and where the deathless still dream in their unliving slumber. She knows where the hungry dead have roamed the universe's fields, and where they still roam them unburied, and why no one remembers them as they tread. - The Fifth Horseman, First Terran Imperium, "Meditations Upon Immortals"
^{you were created to serve}
What we tell ourselves, what we tell others, and what actually happened, are often three different things.
And sometimes four. - Unknown, Age of Paranoia, TerraSol
^{your name is Dhruv
and your brain was once smooth}
Captain N'Skrek checked his datalink.
The deep data storage was still at work bringing up information on "Legion" and "Sacajawea". The older databases of the Gray Lady had data at the ready, but it was sparse.
Two of the Biological Apostles of the Digital Omnimessiah, a figure of myth and legend.
Yet, they sat across from him.
They were talking back and forth in a language that the computer's linguistic database had no record of and stubbornly resisted any attempt to decipher it.
What N'Skrek did hear was several words that he recognized.
Daxin the Unfeeling. Daxin Freeborn. Chromium Saint Peter. Enraged Phillip. Matthias the Elder. Matthias the Younger. Kibuka. Kalki. Gravity.
A litany that left data scrolling down the empty space just beyond the edge of his peripheral vision.
Daxin "The Walking War Crime" Freeborn.
NavInt and MilInt were projecting with an 80% certainty (adjusted downward for unknown probabilities) that the beings in front of him were from that long bygone era.
Finally Captain N'Skrek cleared his throat.
The bald one, Legion, turned to look at the gathered staff officers.
"My apologies. I was catching my sister up on what has transpired since she disappeared," Legion said, smiling gently. He nodded. "You probably have questions."
N'Skrek nodded back. "The biggest one is: how did you..." he thought for a second. "Why did you..." no, that wouldn't work. "What bring about..."
Legion smiled.
"How did I replace all of your clones and why?" he asked. "Why is it that if you print off too many identical clones I show up?"
N'Skrek nodded. "Yes."
Legion looked at the Terran officers and smiled wider. It was a cruel smile, reminding N'Skrek of a hook pointed knife that had been sharpened to a keen edge.
"You didn't tell them? Have you really forgotten about me?" he asked.
"It was assumed to be still prevented by the cloning systems," Vice-Admiral Breakheader stated slowly. "We have only recently been restored ourselves. Less than two months time."
Legion just smiled.
Vice-Admiral Breakheader turned to look at Captain N'Skrek. "Running off too many identical clones causes Legion to manifest. It's why we use the Born Whole system, it ensures they have different brains, different expriences, and they have a slight variation to pore and retinal patterns, hair growth, minor things like that. Otherwise, Legion manifests."
"Why?" N'Skrek asked.
The Vice-Admiral sat silently for a moment before replying. "Because," was all he said.
Legion's smile didn't leave his face.
"Because it is my nature," he said.
Sacajawea said something and Legion replied in the same language, then turned to N'Skrek.
"My sister does not know why she was rebirthed," he said. He looked at her and spoke rapidly. She answered, only a few words, which made Legion reply at length. Again, only a few words.
"It must have been important," N'Skrek interrupted.
"She states that she does not know why the Immortals system did not rebirth her when she died," Legion said. He glanced at her. "She tells me that she died, with her people, when her peaceful planet was attacked."
"By the Mar-gite?" N'Skrek asked.
Again, more conversation.
"Yes," Legion answered. He frowned as she spoke again. "She says they were a peaceful planet. Anarcho-Primitivism. Very little technology. The Mar-gite attacked without warning."
She spoke rapidly and Legion listened.
N'Skrek saw the computer still was not able to parse the language, even though it could build a lexicon of off very little data for almost any other language it encountered.
Legion turned and faced N'Skrek. "She states that she believes it was the fact that some of her people demanded that high technology be left in place in order to allow the six planets her people had settled to remain in contact. That the high tech farming and sustenance industries led the Mar-gite to attack her."
Again, Sacajawea spoke, her head lifted, looking down at Legion.
"Why she was not reborn is unknown to her. She had guided and shepherded her people for thousands of years before the outsiders came. Outsiders drawn by technology, by the abandonment of the old ways," Legion said. He was frowning as he spoke rapidly.
The conversation took a few minutes.
"She said the outsiders came and wiped her people out after entire generations held them off. That in the final battle, they overcame her when her strength failed," Legion said. There was more talking. "She's describing the Mar-gite."
"Where was this?" N'Skrek asked, bringing up a map of the galaxy. "The First Mar-gite War was only three hundred years prior to the Council-Confederacy Conflict and lasted nearly a hundred years," the brought up a sketchy timeline of the era. "When did you encounter the Mar-gite and where?"
Sacajawea spoke again at length. Legion spoke back. It grew heated for a moment before Legion looked at N'Skrek.
"She will not say. She does not want us to defile or desecrate the worlds her people settled. She does not want us to know when or where," he said.
"That might be pertinent information," N'Skrek said. "Important information to keep the Mar-gite from overwhelming the Cygnus-Orion Spur."
Sacajawea spoke quickly, heatedly, half standing up. Legion put his hand on her shoulder, obviously encouraging her to sit down, but she shrugged, throwing off Legion's hand, and her speech got more heated, her eyes flashing with anger.
"She says she will not reveal her people's resting place for us to dig up the graves and desecrate them. That it is not anyone's business where The People have gone or what The People have done," Legion said. He turned and answered her.
The conversation got heated as the N'Skrek and the officers watched.
Finally, Sacajawea stood up and turned around, folding her arms across her chest, lifting her chin.
Legion's skin darkened with anger.
"Then you can tell them that load of bullshit yourself, little sister," he snapped.
He suddenly vanished in a swirl of black powder that evaporated.
N'Skrek saw that Sacajawea was shocked by Legion's disappearance. She stood there for a long moment.
"Dhruv?" she asked mid-air.
N'Skrek motioned his officers to stay silent.
"Dhruv?" she snapped, stomping one foot.
Still silence.
"Luke!' she half-shouted, stamping her foot again.
She turned and looked at the gathered staff officers, who were all staring at her.
"Legion?" she asked quietly.
N'Skrek held up one bladearm.
"It appears, Miss, that you will have to speak for yourself."
Sacajawea frowned and clamped her lips together.
N'Skrek just stared mildly.
^{your name was tiffany}
0-0-0-0-0
^{your name was dhruv
you were created to serve the deshmuhk family
you were a gardener and a menial
but you have risen above that}
Jaskel had just gotten a plate of food and sat down in one corner of the cavernous Dining Bay Twenty-Three.
True, it was a little bit of a walk from the Telkan Marine section to that particular dining facility, but for some reason Jaskel liked the food put out by Nutriforge-Eight better than any of the others.
Like the Gunny always said, it was the little things that count.
He had arranged his silverware, his drink, and given a short prayer when he suddenly wasn't alone.
A slender man in an unfamiliar uniform suddenly appeared at one of the tables on the far side of the Dining Bay. Jaskel watched as two more stepped out of the first. They all sat down and started talking rapidly.
To Jaskel, it sounded like an argument.
It looked like one person arguing with himself.
Jaskel ate quietly and slowly, trying to avoid attracting attention, but watching the Terran out of the corner of his eye.
Terrans were universally half-crazy.
And a Terran arguing with clones of himself was probably full blown crazy.
That, and Jaskel remembered how negligent the display of power had been that had left him hanging upside down in mid-air.
Much to the amusement of his squad mates who watched the video and laughed.
He was down to dessert when the far door opened and a woman entered. Jaskel recognized her instantly as the young adult Terran woman who had appeared nude from the cloning banks, even though she was clad in clothing made of brown material and decorated with beads.
She immediately made a bee-line for the man, who had gotten a plate with a piece of pie on it while the other two argued between each other.
She stopped and stomped on foot, staring down at the sitting man.
"You look stupid," the man, Legion, said when she stopped next to him.
"Dhruv," she snapped. She rattled off words that Jaskel's datalink couldn't translate.
"Not talking to you until you speak Confederate Standard. I know you know it," Legion/Dhruv stated.
She stomped her foot again. "Luke!" she snapped.
Legion looked up. "Part of me, a large part of me, feels that you lost the right to call me by that name."
He went back to eating the pie. When the woman looked at the two clones who were staring at her, they stared back for a moment then puffed into black dust that swirled and vanished.
Jaskel kept watching out of the corner of his eye.
"Dhruv," she snapped.
"Go away, Sacajawea," Legion said.
She stood there for a moment. Then she suddenly leaned forward and slapped the plate of pie away from Legion.
"I will not call you Legion," she suddenly said as the plate clattered against the far bulkhead.
"Go away," Legion said. He looked up. "Let me put it in a way you might understand better: I just want left alone."
The woman stepped back, one hand going to her mouth.
"Yeah, still scared of him, aren't you," Legion said. He stood up. "Or are you?" he moved so he was clear of the table. "Were you ever afraid of him, Sacajawea, or was it all an act?"
Sacajawea looked away. "He was everything wrong with the world, a living reminder of what kind of men destroyed my people."
Legion suddenly laughed. "You forget history, little sister. But, of course, you never had any use for history unless it served your own ends."
Sacajawea stomped her foot. "Dhruv, be nice."
"No," Legion said, his voice low and intent. "I have yet to hear you thank me for what I did in the cloning bay, much less what I did for you before you ran off and left me holding the bag."
^{your name was luke
remember remember
your name was luke}
"I came back to find Matthias the Elder standing over the sundered murdered code of the Digital Omnimessiah," Legion said. "Then Daxin showed up, Matthias claimed I killed our Digital Father, so I ran."
"And he followed. Intent on killing you," Sacajawea sniffed.
"Yes!' Legion said. "Of course he did! I would have chased me in that situation," Legion said. He stepped forward. "And where were you, Little Sister, when it happened?"
She looked away and sniffed. "I was performing my duty, serving my people. As you well know."
Legion turned around, facing away from her. "Yeah, the people you had me bake up," he turned back around. "Not the poor bastards fighting a slowly losing war against the Mantid. They were your people too, but you left them behind. If it wasn't for the Mechakrautlanders, they'd be extinct with the rest of humanity."
"They had set aside the old ways. I told you that," Sacajawea said. She gave a sniff and turned her head away. "They were too consumed by blood lust, they would not stop fighting, would not embrace the old ways."
"EVERYONE WAS FIGHTING!" Legion shouted in a voice that made Jaskel's drink glass rattle. "There were hab-kids fighting and dying in destroyed hab-blocks in the ruins of megalopolises. It had nothing to do with 'the old ways', it was a fight for survival."
"You would not understand," Sacajawea said. She gave another sniff, still looking away. "I took my people away from where technology and the abandonment of the ways of our people had led us."
Legion stood still for a second.
"Don't give me that shit about your 'people', remember, I touched you. I know the truth," Legion said. He shook his head. "You had a task. A task to help us, help our Digital Father, help all of humanity, but you abandoned it."
"I had a task to help my people," Sacajawea sniffed. "I owed nothing to the world that stood aside or actively took part while my people were destroyed," she looked at Legion. "You wouldn't understand."
Jaskel could see purple electricity snarling around Legion's boots, clawing at the deckplates with thread-thick fingers.
"You were supposed to guide us along the path to the SUDS, so we could save everyone, Sacajawea," Legion said. "You betrayed us. Betrayed them. You were supposed to save them."
"Like they saved my people, Luke?" Sacajawea asked.
"You don't call me that any more, little sister," Legion said. "For the love of the Detainee, fucking let go of shit that doesn't matter any more. We humans have been genocided repeatedly since then."
"I'm not calling you Legion. That reeks of arrogance and pride," Sacajawea said. "And it matters to me, Luke."
"You talk a lot of shit for someone named Bird Woman," Legion snapped back. "How about I call you Tiffany?"
Sacajawea took a step back. "That is not my name. That was never my true name."
"You forget. I could see under that skin job. See who you were born as. I knew the truth, and I've kept it secret for all these eons," Legion said. He turned away. "You left us, left humanity behind on your so-called quest."
He turned back to face her.
"Now, again, we're facing extinction. The Mar-gite, they wiped you out. Now they're here in overwhelming force to the point where I'm not even sure Fortress Sol can hold them off," Legion said. "And you still want to play pretend."
He turned his back on her.
"You're no different than Matthias the Elder," Legion said quietly.
There was a dreadful silence for a long moment.
"I told Daxin, sitting in the parking garage where we used to meet, that we had to let go of the past. Learn from it, admit it happened, but we had to let it all go. The old hatreds, the old angers, the old rage," Legion said softly. "He agreed. He said perhaps it was time for us to leave the mortals behind. Let them go without us dragging baggage from worlds and events dead and gone behind us."
Sacajawea sniffed. "It's different for the two of you, neither one of you had your people..."
"I was a short bake slave clone, Tiffany," Legion said, his voice still soft and quiet. "Just like your family owned."
Sacajawea opened her mouth to answer, her eyes flashing hotly.
"One of millions grown in a vat every year. Made in humanity's image but without its grace," Legion's voice was nearly a whisper. "Our little band of siblings, only Kalki, Gravity, and Daxin came from families that did not order one of me from an online catalogue. Even Bellona lived with my people performing menial labor for her colony."
Sacajawea stepped forward, obviously about to deliver a scathing retort.
"But my people didn't count, did we, Tiffany?" Legion asked. He gave a deep sigh. "I loved you, you know."
Her mouth closed. She looked confused.
"When you left, I created another of you," Legion said quietly. "She was, of course, captured by the Imperium, like all of the Biological Apostles," he looked down at the floor. "It was why they didn't know you'd escaped."
Jaskel wished he was anywhere but in the dining bay.
"Eventually, that version of you threw off the Imperium's chains like we did. She went back to Terra. Worked tirelessly to rebuild. Eventually, led the Dandelion Fleet that became the Sky Nebula Alignment."
It was silent except for the muted sounds a starship under power in Transit Space made.
"I'll go back with you. Translate for you," Legion said, his voice still soft. He turned to face the woman.
"Just... just stop lying, Tiffany," he said.
He was silent a moment.
"I had hoped that it was that version, my version, the version I had been madly in love with, that version of you that had been rebirthed," he said. "The version who guided her people, who succored them, who helped them rebuild, who helped them thrive in the scarred and shattered world Earth had become. I had hoped, when I saw you, that you were her."
^{the buzzing can still be heard
your name is legion}
"But it's just you."
0-0-0-0-0
Captain N'Skrek watched as Legion led Sacajawea into the briefing room.
He had been busy looking up every scrap of information on the Digital Omnimessiah, the Biological Apostles, Legion, and Sacajawea.
Of all of them, information was scarcest, almost non-existent, on Sacajawea.
He waited as the Terran woman took a drink from the glass in front of her.
She looked around.
"During the Human-Mantid War, before the destruction of the Overqueen by the forces of MechaKrautland, before the Liberation of Terra," she started. She closed her eyes, sighed, and opened them. "I begged Vat Grown Luke, who you know as Legion, to clone my people and help me repair and then hijack four colony transports crashed in the Middle Kingdom."
She looked down and Legion reached over and took her hand. She looked startled for a moment, squeezed Legion's hand gently, and looked back up.
"I led my people away. From the Imperium, from Terra, from the War," she said. She reached out and touched the holo-emitter, bringing up a map of the Milky Way. She touched a single arm.
"I led them here. For over eight thousand years my people knew peace, prosperity, and plenty," she said. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and exhaled sharply.
N'Skrek recognized it as a sign of stress in Terrans.
"Roughly twelve hundred Terran Standard Years prior to the Council-Confederacy Conflict, we were attacked," she said. She looked down. "I had sworn to protect my people, to use my powers to protect my people, which had grown to fill six worlds."
She looked back up.
"The Mar-gite destroyed my people in under a decade," she said. She looked down again. "And me with them."
"A glitch in the system prevented her from moving to Afterlife or being rebirthed," Legion said. "A glitch I had caused when I helped her."
"The Mar-gite destroyed my people here," Sacajawea said, her voice filled with pain.
A single cluster of six stars burned brightly.
Deep in the Scutum-Crux Arm.
^{your name is legion}
[First Contact] [Dark Ages] [First] [Prev] [Next] [wiki]

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

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

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

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