Title: None (suggestions welcome) Genre: Sci-fi Word count: 2694 Feedback desired: general impression
Chapter 1: The boy and his mother
1.1 The farm
Hagr stood at the edge of the farm, his gaze fixed on the vast expanse of Zandarius stretching out before him. The sky above was a canvas of swirling purples and blues streaked with the faint glow of distant stars. A cool breeze whispered through the air, carrying with it the enticing scent of Heyla flowers.
With a sigh, Hagr set down his mechanic wheelbarrow, the last of his chores for the day completed. He began to make his way back towards the farm, his footsteps crunching softly against the rocky terrain. As he passed through the pink and green garden, the aroma of his mother's porridge drifted towards him, tempting his hunger.
Despite eating the same meal every day, Hagr's stomach grumbled with anticipation. The suuka porridge was all he needed right now, its warm, comforting embrace promising to chase away the chill of the evening.
Arriving at the farm, Hagr took in the familiar sight of their plascrete igloo. Half of the structure was comprised of little octagon windows, through which the warm glow of a fire emanated from the chimney. It was home, humble yet comforting in its simplicity.
Entering the igloo, Hagr found his mother, Altha, bustling about the kitchen, preparing dinner. "Hagr, dear, could you set the table?" she called out, her voice gentle yet firm. Hagr nodded, a small smile playing at his lips as he arranged the mismatched dishes in their usual places. Each plate was different, yet they always ended up in the same spot, a testament to the routines of their daily life.
Once the table was set, Hagr ignited the moonlamp, casting a soft yellow glow across the igloo walls. Altha emerged from the kitchen, carrying a steaming pot of suuka porridge. "Careful, Hagr," she warned as she placed the pot on the table. "It's hot." Hagr nodded as he heard this many times before, his mouth watering at the sight and smell of the hearty meal before him. They ate in silence, the only sound of the clinking of spoons against bowls as they savored each mouthful.
After a moment, Hagr broke the silence, his voice tinged with curiosity. "Do you ever wonder what's beyond Zandarius, Mumu?" he asked. Altha hesitated, her expression guarded. "I don't know, Hagr," she replied softly. "But we have everything we need right here on the farm." Though disappointed by her response, Hagr nodded in understanding. Perhaps someday they would have the chance to explore together. Altha caught his eye and winked, a small glimmer of hope in her gaze.
As they finished their meal, Hagr and Altha moved to the small kitchen area to wash the dishes. The kitchen was cluttered yet cozy, with shelves overflowing with pots, pans, and utensils. Beyond the kitchen, the interior of the igloo was a snug retreat from the harshness of the outside world. A small cupboard, crafted from Zandarius rare Bennam wood, stood in one corner, its doors closed tight to conceal its overflowing contents. Nearby, a plush couch with pillows offered a comfortable spot to relax after a long day's work. Opposite the couch, a large hammock hung from the ceiling. Above it, a smaller hammock swayed gently in the breeze, providing a cozy nest for Hagr during the night. Every inch of space was utilized to its fullest, creating a sense of warmth and intimacy within the cramped confines of the igloo.
As the hour grew late, Altha reminded Hagr of their upcoming journey to Kihar. With a yawn, Hagr climbed into his hammock, gazing up at the stars through the little octagon windows above. "Goodnight, Hagr," Altha whispered, her voice soft in the quiet of the night. "Goodnight, Mumu," Hagr replied, his eyes closing as sleep overtook him. And with that, he drifted off, thoughts of tomorrow's journey fading into the comforting embrace of dreams.
1.2 The Trip
Hagr awoke to the gentle light filtering through the little octagon windows of their igloo. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he glanced around and noticed that his mother's hammock was empty. Mu-mu?" he called out, but there was no response.
Curiosity piqued, Hagr peered outside and spotted his mother tending to the kikkamoos, their pig-like creatures with reptilian legs and Fluffy tails. With a swift motion, he leaped out of bed, his movements practiced from years of experience. After quickly dressing himself, he hurried outside, calling out to his mother. "Altha!" he yelled, using her full name in his urgency. His mother turned towards him with a warm smile. "Haggie!" she called back, using his pet name.
Hagr wasted no time and dashed off to fetch Tsjoopa, their trusty mechanical unicycle cart already loaded with goods for trade. As he returned with the cart, he found his mother waiting back at the farm. "Ready to go, Hagr?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. "Absolutely!" Hagr exclaimed, brimming with energy. And so, they set off on their journey to Kihar, the nearest town for trading.
The road ahead seemed endless, traversing through vast and barren plains broken only by occasional patches of vegetation. Sparse woods flanked the roadside, offering concealment but little wildlife, a testament to Zandarius' unforgiving environment.
After a few hours of travel, they finally reached a landmark known as the Sharp Knives, a crossroad marked by sharp rocks jutting out of the ground. "We’re here, the Sharp Knives," Altha remarked, her gaze sweeping over the rugged terrain. "We're halfway there, Hagr." Hagr nodded, his eyes scanning the horizon. "Already? Time flies when you're in good company." A mischievous glint sparkled in Altha's eyes as she reached into the cart. "Speaking of good company, I brought something special for our halfway mark." Hagr's interest was piqued. "What is it?" With a dramatic flourish, Altha revealed a small container of sosuuka, a sweeter version of yesterday's porridge. "Sosuuka!" Hagr exclaimed, trying to sound enthusiastic despite his familiarity with the dish. Altha chuckled at his feigned excitement. "I thought it might be a nice treat for our journey." Hagr grinned, playing along. "Absolutely! Thanks, best mumu on Zandarius." Lost in thought, Altha gazed into the distance, her attention drawn to the gathering ominous clouds on the horizon, a harbinger of stormy weather to come. "We might have some rough weather ahead," Altha remarked, her voice tinged with concern. Hagr glanced up at the darkening sky. "Should we stop and wait it out?" Altha shook her head. "We need to keep moving. We can't afford to delay our journey." Guess we'll have to save the view for another time," Hagr sighed, reluctantly agreeing with Altha's decision while she nodded in understanding. "But, after all," Hagr declared, puffing out his chest with a hint of pride, "at ten years old, I'm practically a grown man! I can handle anything, even eating sosuuka on the way without spilling a drop." Altha burst into laughter at his boast. "Sosuuka without spilling? I'd sooner believe kikkamoos could fly!" Hagr joined in her laughter, the sound echoing across the desolate landscape as they continued on their journey to Kihar.
1.3 Arrival in Kihar
As Hagr and Altha approached Kihar, the plascrete town sprawled out before them, its streets winding like intricate mazes through the heart of the city. In stark contrast to the barren landscape of Zandarius, Kihar was a vibrant tapestry of life, with lush vegetation adorning every corner. Hagr’s eyes roamed over the cityscape, taking in the sight of the bustling alleys and the constant mist of smoke that hung in the air. Despite having visited many times before, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of awe at the bustling energy of the tradetown.
As they ventured deeper into the heart of the city, the tantalizing aroma of food mingled with the sounds of chatter and laughter, tempting Hagr's senses and reminding him of the porridge-filled days back on their farm. Finally, they reached the local market, a bustling hub of activity where traders hawked their wares amidst the thick scent of spices and exotic foods. "First stop, Old Taramor's," Altha announced, her voice carrying above the din of the market. Hagr's thoughts drifted to Taramor, the old, grumpy trader who had been a fixture in Kihar for as long as he could remember. Despite his rough exterior, Taramor was one of the few honest traders left in the city, and Hagr had always respected him for it. "Sounds good to me," Hagr replied, his tone positive.
As they approached Old Taramor’s, Altha hopped off the Tsjoopa and turned to Hagr. "Hagr, could you fetch a crate of Heyla bottles from the back of the cart?" she asked. Hagr nodded silently, already moving to comply.
Entering the shop, they found Taramor snoozing behind his counter, the cluttered shelves and dusty displays a testament to his lack of care for his surroundings. Altha hesitated, reluctant to disturb the old trader, but time was of the essence. "Taramor," she whispered, her voice barely audible. No response. Again, a bit louder this time “Taramor”. Still no response. Growing impatient, Hagr couldn't help but raise his voice. "Taramor!" Startled awake, Taramor shot upright, his eyes wide with surprise. "What the hell's going on?" he grumbled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Oh, it's just you two," he muttered, recognizing Altha and Hagr. Altha gestured to Hagr to take a look around while she spoke with Taramor. Hagr nodded and wandered through the cluttered shelves, his curiosity piqued by the assortment of strange and exotic items on display. In the background, a television played the news, and the volume turned low but still audible. A news reporter's voice cut through the air, reporting on the recent assassination of a high-ranking official. The military had already neutralized one suspect, but two others were still at large. The camera footage showed two figures cloaked in dark red and black, their faces obscured. Zooming in on one of the suspects, the reporter noted a tattoo of a three-headed monster on their neck, linking them to the notorious syndicate known as the Three-Headed Beast. "People are urged to remain vigilant," the reporter concluded, "and to report any sightings of the suspects to the authorities." "Hagr," Altha called out, pulling him from his thoughts. Quickly, he set down a strange-looking coffee maker he had been inspecting and hurried over to join them.
Outside, Hagr turned to his mother, concern etched on his face. "How did the trade go?" Altha hesitated before answering, her tone guarded. "It wasn't as successful as we had hoped, but we'll manage." Trying to sound confident, Hagr responded, "No need to worry, Mumu. We'll make it work."
As they made their way back through the bustling market, Hagr glanced at his mother. " Can we get some Uja skewers now?" Altha smiled warmly. "Absolutely, Hagr. Let’s grab some delicious Uja," she said, turning on their trusty, albeit rusty, Tsjoopa.
1.4 No place like home
As Altha and Hagr made their way home in the fading light, a bird soared above them, its silhouette dark against the dusky sky. They were nearing their farmstead, the exhausting trip almost at an end. Hagr turned to Altha, his curiosity piqued. “What is coffee?” he asked, stumbling over the unfamiliar word. Altha pondered for a moment before responding, “I’ve heard of it. It’s some sort of black drink. Similar to Puggatree juice, they say it gives you energy.” Hagr wrinkled his nose in distaste. He had never been fond of Puggatree juice, finding its thick texture and slimy consistency unappealing. With a shake of his head, he decided he didn’t want to try coffee after all.
As they chatted, unaware of the figure watching them from afar, the landscape growing darker with each passing moment, they finally arrived at the farm.
Altha unloaded the traded goods from the Tsjoopa, and with a nod to Hagr, she motioned for him to stow it away in the barn. Hagr complied, placing the Tsjoopa in the barn, where sturdy plascrete walls and reinforced wooden beams protected it from the harsh winds. With the task done, he made his way back to the igloo. As he approached, he noticed that the interior was unusually dark, the comforting glow of the moonlamp absent. With a sense of unease gnawing at him, he entered cautiously.
To his horror, he found himself face to face with a cloaked figure in dark black and red, his alien eyes glowing with an otherworldly light. Before he could react, he spotted his mother on the floor, tears streaming down her face, with another figure standing over her, a scarred human face, and a sinister three-headed beast tattoo on his neck. “Mumu!” Hagr screamed in terror. The figure with glowing eyes uttered incomprehensible words, while the scarred man cursed, "We can't leave any witnesses, Deskva.” Altha whispered urgently, "Hagr, stay calm. Everything will be fine." Hagr looked at his mother in disbelief, his heart pounding in his chest. "What's going to happen?" his voice trembled with fear. The scarred human scoffed, "We can sell the boy on the black market, but the woman? She's too old to bother selling. Not worth the hassle, Des." With brute force, Deskva grabbed Hagr, who fought against his captor with all his might. "Please, let me go!" Hagr pleaded, his voice desperate as he struggled against Deskva's grip. As Hagr cast a desperate glance at his mother, tears welling in his eyes, the scarred man turned his attention to Altha, deeming her of no value. Without hesitation, he drew his pistol, aimed, and fired, the shot piercing through Altha’s skull with a sickening thud echoing through the silent igloo. Hagr’s world shattered as he watched his mother fall, tears blurring his vision, bile rising in his throat. Before he could comprehend what was happening, a brutal blow to his head sent him spiraling into darkness.

male, M28, non smoker.
Hey, I'm writing for my family member to help look for answers since they are very hard to get.
About 3months ago my family member (I'll call him Jim) felt sick - almost like a basic flu with symptoms - cough, sore throat, runny nose 37.1°C fever. After a couple of days the cough and sore throat dissappeared, but the runny nose stayed and also a upper face pains appeared. Was given antibiotics.
After a couple of weeks of this - same fever 37°C 'ish got worried ant started not to sleep (panic attacks). This went on for weeks and Jim started to feel weak even tho he was active - walking 10k steps a day.
After a month from the beggining another thing appeared - pain in the testicles, was very hard to move because of a sharp pain, went to the doctor - found something like an infection and was given antibiotics. After them it kinda dissapeared, but would come on every once in a while. Worries came in at this point so Jim was doing every test he could get his hands on - x-rays, mrt, crb, overall blood tests - everything came up as healthy.
Jim thought that this would dissapear by itself, but he was not getting better, although symptoms are not that critical - the everyday feel is very weak, head is dizzy all the time and doctors are not helping by saying it's an psychological disorder. At the time Jim did a antibody test - found 600 sars-cov2 antibodys when the norm is 20-30, also mycoplasma pneumonia 170 which goes well with a subtle pain in the left rib are, norm is also 20-30 and was given antibiotics and is currently on the course - but at the third day - still dizzy and still feeling weak.
Any suspections, I would be very very thankful. I can clear some things up if needed since everything is very hard to explain, but the main thing is that he is feeling weak and demolished when he used to be very energetic and a maximalist. Again, thank you for reeplys.

Hi. First, all of this was caused by my state of depression from dealing with a severe ear condition that has been ruining my life, which I've talked about in hyperacusis. However, I understand and accept that this is still entirely my fault.
I have had asthma for most of my life and have been in relatively decent control of it. But recently I’ve been exposed to airborne mold. This has happened before, when the first time I had forgotten a tied-up grocery bag of food in my closet, and by the time I’d thrown it out, it had mold inside, with lots of moisture inside and out. Otherwise, there were absolutely no stains or visible mold anywhere to be seen, so I know that it was only airborne mold, plus the air was thicker with a particular smell. It lasted for a month and a half, since I had no idea what to do, and eventually lead to mold allergies that started after a month; dry mouth, sore throat, congestion, runny nose, sneezing, dark phlegm, eye gunk, dry cough, and ruining my voice. The worst of it was how badly it affected my asthma, with shortness of breath and tight chest that kept getting worse.
I forgot the square footage of the room, maybe roughly 700, but I guess it’s medium-sized. I also live in central Florida, where it’s very hot and humid. Plus, I have carpeted floors that it must have probably seeped into. I tried airing the room out by opening the window for a long time, and even circulating the air with two big fans, spraying with Lysol, getting an air purifier, and trying two different dehumidifiers, but nothing worked. And now I can't leave my window open because of loud cars passing by, or have loud machines like noisy dehumidifiers, because of my ear condition.
At that time, I had a service done to treat it, and all my allergy symptoms completely went away, and my asthma got a little better. Now there is airborne mold once again, for nearly two months this time, because of another bag I had tied up with a small amount of food left from dinner I didn’t finish from the rare time I’d lost my appetite. Even though the amount of mold inside the bag was much smaller this time, the airborne mold is still in my room and affecting me. While the allergy symptoms are a lot tamer, my asthma is still getting the worst of it again, with my breath getting shorter and chest feeling tighter almost every day now, especially with having my inhaler being the only thing left to take, since I can’t afford my Spiriva Respimat and Advair Diskus without insurance, which is what helped a lot more last time.
The mold treatment service is 600 dollars, and since I can’t work in person because of my ear condition, along with struggling to find a remote job online, I have no way of affording it again at the moment.
Is it possible for me to be able to take care of this myself? And how can I treat my asthma from mold exposure? At least with helping the shortness of breath and tight chest.

I lost a root canal crown and I need my tooth pulled. I’m gonna get it done soon but my dentist said it won’t harm me if I keep it in there for a little bit since my tooth is dead. But I’ve noticed pain and a sore throat and also a running nose? Could this be from the dead tooth?

25M, 125lbs, 5’9, moderately active, don’t smoke/drink, 2-4 cups of coffee daily Medications: Flovent, abuterol, Allegra most days, Benadryl occasionally Medical HX: silent asthma (for dust allergies), reguka, allergies (mostly dust mites for severe symptoms), Fam history: DAD- psoriasis, acid reflux Mom- Idiopathic ventricular arrhythmia (went into cardiac arrest once), small stroke from unknown cause (heart healthy, potentially the irregular contractions)
Okay, so I went to an urgent care because I was having asthma problems and ran out of my rescue inhaler, and I have to wait till mid June for my allergy appointment. I also noticed my right lymph node was swollen and frankly it might be considered “hard” lol. Anyways I had my medicine but I started getting chest pain while breathing in and hiccuping. I went back for that in the last week, and it had been 2-3 weeks since my last appointment at least. The last doctor told me I probably just had a viral infection, but when I went back this time the lymph node softer but still pretty swollen and firm. My left lymph node was bigger before my last appointment but it went down and it’s still down. Now the doctor gave me medicine for heartburn and I think that’s what it is, after the feeling has moved a couple days and it’s always cured by drinking water and gets worse when doing things that make acid reflux worse. My problem is that it has been nearly 3/4 of the time burning, and even after taking a PPI it still burns some while laying on my back (I tried differently). I have a doctors appointment in a week, but I was concerned due to the persistence and how often the reflux has been happening. It’s pretty painful but not like unbearable. I wanted to know what level of consistency or severity should I just go to the ER for? I don’t want to wait until I’m bleeding out honestly. I searched it up some and it seems like I definitely need to get help, but I’m not sure whether to wait for doctor or just go to ER now. The weird part is the pain started 3 days ago and I’d never had it that bad or for that long before. Idk why all of a sudden it’s long and persistent. I didn’t think it happened that way for my family, and I was concerned that the frequency might cause serious damage if it doesn’t have time to heal or rest. Can someone help me get an idea of when I should go to he ER? The urgent care already did what they could, but they weren’t sure if acid reflux was the problem. Should I go back there in the meantime?
I’ve also been having episodic allergy and immune problems. Achy and stuff fingers in morning, dry mouth in morning, red spots on knuckles, stomach ache/slowing of stomach, stuffy nose, loss of smell, occasionally skin burn feeling, and asthma. The thing is usually those things were correlated with the amount of dust allergens I had in my apartment, but now they seem to be just happening. The asthma is relatively controlled now but I was using my inhaler a few times a day a week or two ago. But usually the asthma happens first and then other symptoms come on. This feels like the inflammation is just doing separate from the dust allergens. Also I’ve gotten those falling asleep jerks that wake me before I completely sleep, and I believe sometimes they make me move and sometimes I don’t move that much but I feel like I did. Recently my prostate has also been twitching during those and sometimes before being partially asleep, and it’s hard to pee so I thin t might be swollen. I’ll feel an urge to bee but then I have to push super hard to get it out. Then sometimes I just have to pee super duper fast. You can Dm me for advice too, I just really don’t want to have anything happen to me. I personally wouldn’t care that much, but I just couldn’t imagine leaving my partner alone. So I just want to take it seriously, I could never imagine leaving my partner behind. That woulf be one of the most painful things I could ever ezpwrience.

The pain was the worst thing`Dominick Mason had ever known…and he knew what it felt like to die. It felt like his brain was in a blender, being chopped to liquid for a Jeffery Dahmer smoothie and though it seemed melodramatic, he imagined he could feel himself losing brain cells by the minute. The sun, Merrick told him, would not burn him, but it would decay him faster, so sleep or rest during the day. With the sick, throbbing agony in the center of his brain, however, that was impossible. He spent most of the day curled up on his side, hugging his knees, and moaning. He had flashbacks to dying in his apartment, and that made things even worse. The room became too small, too close, the air too stale. His heart, filled with the blood of last night’s meal, pounded in his chest, and he went from slightly chilly to hot and feverish as blood was forced through his circulatory system. It mixed with the embalming fluid and left him feeling full and constipated. He didn’t want to get up, but he also didn’t want to go on lying there. He was the definition of miserable.
Before long, the pain became too great and he got up to pace, pressing his hands to the sides of his head and gritting his teeth. Merrick, who slept very little if at all, sat in his chair and watched, trying his best to talk him through it. “It’ll be over soon,” Merrick said. “The pain receptors in your brain are the first to go. When they burn out, you won’t feel anything.”
“When?” Dom asked, his voice raising with the tide of pain.
“A couple days?”
“A couple days???”
“The pain will lessen gradually,” Merrick said, “this is the worst of it.”
Dom believed that this was, indeed, the worst of it, but he doubted it would lessen gradually. For the rest of the day, the pain got worse and worse until every light blinded him, every sound turned his stomach, and the smell of anything made his gorge rise. The cloying smell of the embalming fluid, the light but unmistakable odor of dead flesh, and the scent of stale blood sitting in decomposing stomachs made him want to vomit, but he was afraid to. He didn’t think he could handle the sight of blood rushing from his mouth and splattering the floor. He still possessed enough of his facilities, he believed, to go insane.
Pain has a way of darkening one’s mood, and by the time the sun began to set, Dom was in the most sour mood possible. Even Merrick’s calm, fatherly voice was beginning to get on his nerves. When he took the oath to him the day before (or was it the day before that?), he turned his faith and trust over to Merrick entirely. He was finally accepted, included, finally had the love and fellowship that, in the pit of his soul, he had always wanted. Merrick understood him, Merrick was kind to him.
But deep down, Dom realized that he didn’t fully trust him. He said that his brain didn’t rot because he was “lucky.” That sounded like some bullshit to Dom. Why wasn’t Joe a blithering idiot too? Was he lucky as well? Did lightning strike in the same place twice? In life, people had done nothing but hurt and lie to Dom. Why would death be any different? He thought back to the strange liquid that always seemed to leak from Merrick’s nose, and Joe’s. He thought it was embalming fluid, but it never leaked from his own nose, or from anyone else’s. He tried to tell himself that it was far too soon to judge, but once he began to doubt something, his mind raced away. He felt a twinge of guilt, as Merrick had done absolutely nothing to deserve his doubt, but goddamn it, his head was on fire and he wanted it to stop. Anything to make it stop.
Just after sundown, the music began as Club Vlad opened for the night. It throbbed in the center of Dom’s head and made him want to claw his eyes out. When it became too much for him, he slipped away and stumbled into the sultry summer night. He came out in the alley running behind the club, clutching his head and breathing through bared teeth. He staggered, bumped into a metal trash can, and roared at the top of his lungs, as if he could purge himself of the pain by screaming.. His voice echoed and came back to him, making the pain worse.
Merrick was lying. He knew it. People always lied to him. His brain was rotting and PEOPLE WERE LYING! Flashing with anger, he slammed his fist into the brick wall of a Chinese restaurant. He barely felt anything so he did it again and again until his hand was lumpy and shaking. He sat heavily on the ground and pressed his hands to his head. It felt like maggots were burrowing into his brain, and he was suddenly terrified that they really were. He needed to stop this awful pain, but how?
An idea came to him.
The funeral home.
Maybe there was something there.
He was on his feet and lumbering there before the thought had even finished reverberating through his mind. It was a long shot, but he was desperate. On the way there, he stuck to the shadows, staying out of the light cast by the streetlamps and avoiding people. When he passed them, he kept his head down. When he reached the funeral home, he went to the back door where he and Jessie had gone the other day. He tried it, and it opened.
Inside, he bounced off the walls like a pinball, knocking over an end table and tearing at the flesh of his head, pulling it away in long, gray strips. He panted like a wild animal, his body a raging tempest of emotions. It was reaching a crescendo, he thought, his brain was about to go supernova. The world dimmed, things got really echoy. The young man he’d picked the embalming fluid up from was there, looking scared.
Flashing, Dom grabbed him by his shirt and slammed him against the wall, knocking a painting of a flowery field to the carpet. Everything seemed to go in slow mo. “How does Merrick keep his brain from rotting?” Dom heard himself demanding from far away. “How does he keep the pain away?”
The man trembled. “I-I-”
Dom slammed him again. “Tell me or I’ll make you like me.”
“No!” the man wailed. He shook his head from side to side, his eyes wet with fear.
“How?”
“He-He uses a solution,” the man stammered. “Some kind of special thing. It preserves his brain. That’s all I know.”
An idea occurred to Dom.
Holding the man by the back of his neck, Dom dragged him into the embalming room and pushed him against the table. His head felt like it was swelling. Hot, screaming, getting ready to explode. He looked around, found the embalming machine, and grabbed the hose. There was a sharp tip on it so that you could jam it into a body. He held it in his hand, hesitating for just a moment before pressing it to his temple. The man watched in horror as Dom slowly shoved the tip into his head. It tore his flesh, broke through his skull, and sank into his brain. He felt no pain, only pressure, but cried out anyway. His eyes rolled up into his head and a shudder went through his body.
“Turn it on!” he yelled.
“That’s not what he -”
“TURN IT ON!”
Starting, the man turned the machine on. Cold embalming fluid squirted directly into Dom’s brain. Almost at once, the pain began to ebb away, replaced only by a fuzzy sense of numbness. His knees buckled and he sank to the floor, looking for all the world like an addict taking a hit of his favorite substance after a long and trying day. Fluid leaked from his nose, ears, and eyes and dripped down the back of his throat.
The man waited for a long time, then turned the machine off.
The pain was gone.
At least for now.
“Tell me again,” Dom said.
The man did. Merrick used a special preserving agent to keep his brain intact. Joe, the man suspected, got it as well. So Merrick had lied to him.
Dom felt betrayed.
And angry.
Leaving the man (Dom realized that he didn’t even know his name), he walked back to Club Vlad, his hands fisted in his pockets. All his life, he had been hurt, lied to, and ignored. All his life, people had done wrong to him. And all those years, he just took it.
He resolved not to be so accepting in death.
At last, he was going to stop being a sniveling little bitch and stand up for himself.
When he reached Club Vlad, he slammed through the back door and took the stairs two at a time. At the top, he called out Merrick’s name. The old man was sitting in his chair, being attended to by Jessie and Matt. He looked startled when Dom came in. “You lied to me,” Dom said, stalking over to his benefactor.
“What are you talking about?” Merrick asked, doing his best to sound innocent.
“You lied to me!” Dom screamed. He bent over and got so close to Merrick’s face that he could have kissed him. “You told me there was no way to save my brain, but that’s not true. You’re pumping your head full of shit and letting the rest of us rot.”
A dark shadow flickered across Merrick’s face. “Watch your tone when you talk to me,” he said. His voice was low, menacing.
“Fuck you,” Dom said. “I should k -”
Suddenly, Dom was being grabbed from behind and yanked back, an arm around his neck. He cried out in alarm as Joe swung him around and slammed him face first into the wall. He heard his nose crunch, felt his teeth shatter. Next, Joe wrestled him to the glitter-sprinkled floor and wedged his knee between his shoulder blades.
Merrick watched with a sneer of disgust, his hands gripping the arms of his chair. He wheeled himself over, Jessie holding his IV stand steady and following behind. “Listen, you son of a bitch,” Merrick said, “you’re lucky to be a part of this family.”
Cold fear filled the pit of Dom’s stomach, yet he wouldn’t back down, couldn’t back down. He had lived his entire life like a mouse in a burrow, he wasn’t about to live his entire death the same way.
“Fuck your family,” he said defiantly. “And fuck you.”
Merrick’s face darkened and he sat back in his chair. He looked at Jessie and nodded. She went away and came back a moment later holding something in her hand. Dom’s eyes widened when he saw what it was.
A wooden stake, one end honed to a razor point.
Why they had one of those lying around, Dom didn’t know; it’d be like Superman keeping a piece of kryptonite on the mantle over the fireplace. Merrick directed Max and Matt to hold Dom’s arms down/ Joe pivoted, kneeling on his head now so that Dom’s back was exposed. Dom’s heart slammed with terror and tremors raced through his body.
“Is this what you want, Dominick?” Merrick asked. “To die? To truly die?”
Dom swallowed hard. No, it wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted to live, to love, to have a family one day. He wanted a happy, normal life, the life TV and social media had been promising him since he was a little boy.
But all of that went out the window the night he died in his little apartment. There was no life anymore, just a grotesque parody of life. What was there for him other than death? Clinging desperately onto life for decades like Merrick? Stuffing himself full of embalming fluid and moth balls? Grinding for one more minute just so he could sit hooked up to a machine?
Dom spoke.
“What?” Merrick asked, not having heard.
Dom licked his lips. “Just fucking do it.”
For a moment, nothing happened. Expectation hung in the air. Finally, breaking the tension, Merrick nodded to Jessie. Kneeling down, she brought the stake up, and Dom closed his eyes.
This was it.
He braced himself for death.
Jessie brought the stake down just as a shot rang out, deafening in the small space. Her head whipped back, embalming fluid, skull fragments, and gray, sickly pieces of brain showering from the back of her head. She flopped back and landed on the floor with a sickening thud.
A woman cop, her black uniform in stark contrast to the burning white light, stood in the doorway to the hall, her gun drawn. Everyone did, indeed, freeze, more out of surprise than respect for authority. They all looked at her, their dead mouths agape, resembling children who’d been caught doing something wrong.
“Everyone on the ground!” she barked.
No one knew what to do. They hadn’t expected to be raided by the police so had not prepared. She jerked her gun and everyone instinctively flinched. “On the ground!” she repeated. To Max: “You too, bone boy.”
The first one to react was Joe. He sprang at her like a big, undead frog. She brought the gun around and fired, but he was already crashing into her. The shot went wild and struck the IV bag next to Merrick; he ducked and let out a sound of fear. The others rushed her, and Dom got quickly to his feet. Jessie lay on the floor, her mouth open in a silent scream and her bony fingers frantically examining the ragged hole in the center of her forehead. For a moment, he was frozen; everything was happening too fast. Then, when Merrick saw him and cried, “Stop him!, he came alive. Jessie tried to grab at his leg, but he kicked her hand away and stomped on it like it was a giant spider. On the other side of the room, Matt, Joe, and Max had forced the cop to the ground. Perhaps excited by all the action, perhaps just hungry, they began to tear her apart. She howled in pain, and the last thing Dom saw before he fled was her open, blood-filled mouth. Her eyes were filled with pain…with terror.
After that, Dom ran.
***
When the interloper was dead, Merrick directed Joe and Matt to dispose of the body. “Get rid of it,” he said wearily and rubbed his temples, “make sure it isn’t found.”
They rolled her into a carpet from the office, and the way her feet stuck out may have been comical under other circumstances.
Goddamn it, this was bad. Merrick’s entire philosophy rested on avoiding detection. He had done well in that regard. Whereas other vampires had attacked their villages and gotten themselves dug from the ground and staked, he had made it four decades. He never shat where he ate, and there is no bigger turd than killing a cop. They might dawdle on all the boys who’d gone missing - taken because their blood was stronger and more robust than the blood of girls - but they would not take a cop dying lightly at all.
Merrick owned various businesses around the country. He and the others would simply move on. Tomorrow night, they would disappear into the night. They had done it before and they would likely do it again. Once things were settled at their new base of operations, he would have Joe killed for all the trouble he’d caused.
And Dom?
Let him go.
The little rat wouldn’t last a month on his own.
“Jessie?”
Jessie sat against the wall, gazing into space.
“Jessi…start packing. We’re leaving tomorrow.”
She didn’t move, didn’t seem to hear. The shot had all but lobotomized her.
Damn it.
Joe backed the van up to the back door of Club Vlad, and then helped Matt carry the carpet-rolled body down the stairs. They loaded it in and closed the back doors. Together, they drove around looking for a place to dump it. Merrick wanted it to go unfound, but Joe doubted there was anywhere isolated enough in the city. On a whim, he drove to Washington Park, a vast expanse of green trees and shadows. There was a large pond there. It seemed the best option. They were leaving tomorrow anyway, so did it really matter?
Joe backed the van to a railing overlooking the dark water and put it in park. He and Matt got out, fetched the body, and carried it to the railing. They lifted and heaved it over. It splashed. Thus, they rid themselves of Vanessa Rodregiez.
***
Bruce sat anxiously up in his easy chair and waited for his cell to ring.
Parked in front of the TV by warm lamplight, a beer wedged between his legs, he’d been watching the 11’o’clock news when the phone rang. He picked it up and it was Vanessa. “Hey,” she said, “I think I found our body?”
“Which one?” Bruce asked and took a drink. “We have a lot of those these days.”
“Dominick Mason.”
Bruce sat forward in his chair. “Dead Dom? Where?”
“He just came out of a funeral home, ironically enough.”
“That sounds about right,” Bruce said. “Where are you now?”
“I’m following him east on Central.”
“Are you sure it’s him?” Bruce asked.
“I think so, but I’m not sure. I’ll call you back when I’m done.”
Bruce sat the phone aside and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
At some point, he fell asleep sitting up, his head lulled to one side and his mouth open. He snorted himself awake, rubbed his eyes, and sat up. He checked his phone and was perturbed to see that it was past 2am.
Vanessa hadn’t called.
He dialed her number and let the phone ring until it went to voicemail. Sighing, he ended the call, then waited a few minutes and called again.
Still no answer.
It was possible she had forgotten. Maybe the guy turned out to not be Dead Dom after all. She followed some random guy around, realized it, and that was that. Hell, she was probably too embarrassed to call and tell him about it.
Something told him that wasn’t right, however.
There was something else going on here.
Something…darker.
Just before 3am, his phone rang. He snatched it off the end table next to the chair and answered it. It was Burt, the night sargent. “Rodriguez is missing,” he said simply.
Bruce’s heart sank. “Missing?”
“Yeah, she hasn’t checked in for hours and she isn’t answering calls.”
“I’m on my way,”
Bruce tore through the house, pulling on his uniform, socks, and shoes in less time than it took a Daytona 500 pit crew to service a car. In ten minutes he was speeding down 787, the Albany skyline rising in the distance. As he hurried to the station, he thought back to his last conversation with Vanessa. She’d found Dom the Dead Man, the “corpse” who’d scared Ed Harris out of a 20 year career. Despite all their talk about vampires and the living dead, Bruce didn’t believe it, not really. Even so, he was sure that Dominick Mason had done something to Vanessa.
He checked in at the station before doing anything else. They had triangulated Vanessa’s last known location via cell towers. Cops were already out searching the streets for her. Bruce went out as well, intending to start from her last known position and work his way east on Central. The closest funeral home was Tebbutt and Frederick on Central. There was also Lasak & Gigliotti on North Allen Street. Bruce didn’t know which one Vanessa had seen Dom come out of, so he checked both.
Both were deserted at this hour.
Undeterred, Bruce drove up and down Central Ave. At one point, he noticed a shape in an alleyway that looked human. He hit the brakes, jumped out, and pointed his gun at it. “Freeze!”
An old wino stepped out of the darkness. “Alright, you got me,” he said, hands up. “I started COVID. It was an accident, I swear.”
Bruce sighed and put his gun away.
For two more hours, Bruce searched the streets of Albany for Vanessa. At 4am, he spotted a squad car abandoned in the rear parking lot of an abandoned gas station on lower Lark Street. He called it in and the desk sergeant confirmed that it was the one Vanessa had signed out that night.
Still there was no sign of Vanessa herself.
Just after dawn, as the city came alive and CDTA buses began lumbering up and down the streets, Bruce got a call on his cell. “A jogger found a body in Washington Park.”
Bruce was in his personal car. He had no bubble light, no siren. Even so, he sped through the streets like he did, blowing through red lights and stop signs with little care to himself or anyone else. When he got to Washington Park, he found an army cops by the pond, the scene cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape. He slammed on the brakes, threw open the door, and jumped out without even turning off the engine.
The body was rolled up in a carpet and lying on the bank. Two beat cops unrolled it at Bruce’s direction. “We should wait for -” one of them started, but Bruce cut him off.
“Do it.”
They compiled, and at the carpet’s center, like a rotten cream filling, was the body of Vanessa Rodregiuez. Her head was tilted to one side, her eyes wide and staring. Her throat had been mangled and ripped away, her head nearly severed. Even in the black and red mess, Bruce could make out the teeth marks and puncture wounds. They may have looked like something else to anyone else who saw them, but he knew, in that moment, what they were dealing with.
A sharp pang of horror sliced through him, and his knees went weak.
“Jesus Christ,” one of the beat cops drew.
Bruce fell to, rather than knelt on, one knee. He bent over the body, a mixture of horror and grief welling his throat. He wanted to reach out, to comfort her in death, but he stayed his hand. Instead, he visually examined the body. She had bruises on her face, defensive wounds on her hands, and her gun was gone. Whoever had attacked her, she put up a fight.
Something glinted on her pants.
“What’s that?” one of the cops asked.
“I dunno,” the other replied, “but it’s all over the carpet.”
Indeed, there were glinty little specks all over it, winking like mocking eyes. Nice work, eh? We really fucked her up, didn’t we? Wink wink.
“It looks like…”
The other cop cut him off. “Glitter.”
Bruce flashed back to his visit to Club Vlad the other day.
There had been glitter everywhere.
Bruce stood up.
He had work to do.
***
Instead of going back to the station to start his shift, Bruce went to Lowes. There, he bought a mallet, a gas can, and a dozen sticks of wood. An employee in a blue vest used a machine to sharpen them to a wicked point and he took his purchases to the car. Next, he drove over to the Mobil station and filled the gas can. He was so hellbent on revenge that he sprang for premium, the good stuff. No expense shall be spared.
His final stop was at a Catholic church. He filled a canteen with holy water from the marble font by the door, then swiped a crucifix from the wall. He stopped by the station, went inside, and grabbed a black duffle bag with POLICE written across the front in yellow. He opened the gun cabinet in his office, took out a shotgun, and loaded it with shells. He grabbed a handful from the box and stuffed them into his pocket.
He was just finishing up when Bertha came in. “There you are,” she spat, “I’ve waited long enough for you to do something. I demand -”
Bruce shoved the duffle bag into her arms. “Make yourself useful.”
“What?” she demanded.
“We’re going to get your granddaughter,” Bruice lied. Kind of.
Bertha’s demeanor changed. “Good. It’s about time. I was starting to think you were a complete incompetent.”
Bruce didn’t answer. Outside, he plucked the bag out of Bertha’s hands and tossed it into the backseat. He slipped behind the wheel and Bertha sat in the passenger seat. “Where are we going?” she asked.
“Club Vlad,” Bruce said and started the engine.
“I want all of them arrested.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Bruce said.
She barked orders the entire way there. Bruce was so deep in his thoughts that he barely heard her. The image of Vanessa’s ruined throat and terror-twisted face haunted him, and he felt a lump forming in his throat. Hot tears filled his eyes but he blinked them back and forced himself to calm down.
I’ll cry when I’m done killing, he thought.
A few minutes later, he pulled to the curb in front of Club Vlad. It was a hot and sunny day and the place seemed even more ominous because of it. The windows were black, the front cast in perpetual shadows by the old marquee from when it used to be a theater. The place was surely closed, but Bruce could hear music still playing from inside, some techno dance bullshit. “Alright,” he said, “let’s go.”
Getting out, he slung the dufflebag over his shoulder and carried the shotgun, the canteen full of holy water clasped to his belt. Bertha carried the gas can, looking confused. “Why do we need this?” she asked.
“We’re burning the place down.”
Bertha blinked in surprise…then an evil grin carved across her face. “That’ll show the bastards.”
Unlike last time, the door was locked. Bruce used the butt of the shotgun to break the glass, then reached inside and unlocked the door, being careful not to cut himself. This was the point of no return. What he had in mind would probably get him kicked off the force or even thrown in jail - and we all know how tough jail can be for a former barnaclehead. The memory of Vanessa’s contorted face pushed him on, however.
He’d suffer any consequences he needed to just so long as he got the sons of bitches who did this to her.
Inside, the club was cool and cave-like. Strobe lights flashed, on and off, black and white, dazzling Bruce’s eyes. The bartender was at his station, cleaning up from the night before. When he saw Bruce and Bertha come in, he started. Bruce pointed the shotgun at him. “Don’t fucking move,” he commanded.
The bartender hesitated, then reached for something under the bar.
The shotgun kicked in Bruce’s hands, and the bartender flew back, turning as he crashed into the barback. Bottles, glasses, and mugs crashed to the floor along with the bartender. Bruce racked the gun, and the shell flew out. He moved low and fast now, expecting to be swarmed by vampires, living thugs who worked for vampires, or vampire thugs who worked for themselves.
Though the shot had been like thunder, no one came.
Bruce had no idea where to go, but he imagined that vampires were naturally gravitate to the lowest part of the building. Was there a basement? Shit, he should have looked up the building plans at city hall. Damn, this is what happens when you go off half-cocked. He searched around a bit, opening doors and sweeping the rooms beyond with the shotgun. He found no basement, only stairs leading up. “Stay close,” he said to Bertha.
In the lead, Bruce crept up the stairs, the flashlight on the shotgun providing a cone of clean, white light. At the top of the stairs, he went right, and came to an office and a store room. Backtracking, and bumping into a bungling Bertha, he went into the next room. It was large and open with a vaulted ceiling, almost like a ballroom. Here the same strobe lights throbbed on and off, making him dizzy. Was this to dazzle prospective vampire hunters?
Either way, this was the place. Bodies lay strewn across the floor, some curled up on their sides and others in the classic vampire pose: Flat on their backs with their hands laced over their chests. In the center, like the sun to the planets, Merrick Garvis lay slumped back in his wheelchair, his neck exposed for any potential assassin to come and cut. Not that it would kill him. At least Bruce didn’t think it would.
“They’re all dead,” Bertha whispered. She looked around and gasped. “There’s Jessie.”
Jessie lay on her back, her hands folded on her chest. She had a ragged bullet hole in the center of her forehead. “Oh, God,” Bertha wavered, “someone shot her.”
He hoped it was Vanessa. And he hoped it fucking hurt.
Looking around, Bruce couldn’t find Dominick Mason. Was he the one who killed Vanessa? Was it a group effort? He wanted the little son of a bitch bad, but it looked like he’d have to go on without him. They didn’t have much time.
Unshouldering the duffle bag, he knelt down and rummaged around. “Start splashing that gas on the bodies,” he said.
“But -”
“Just do it,” he snapped.
There must have been a harder edge in his voice than normal, because Bertha jumped and did as she was told. She upended the can and began to splash gasoline onto the sleeping forms, the smell of it acrid and strong.
Taking out a stake and the mallet, Bruce went over to Merrick and knelt down. He gripped the stake in one hand and placed it firmly against Merrick’s chest. He brought the mallet up and hesitated, the gravity of what he was doing finally reaching him. What if he was wrong? What if -
Merrick’s head whipped up and their eyes locked.
Too late.
Bruce brought the mallet down as hard as he could. The stake drove deep into Merrick’s heart, and the vampire let out a howling screech that rang through the chamber like the cry of a banshee. His bony fingers clawed at the stake and his head whipped from side to side, his back arching and his robe coming open. In the quick strobe pattern, Bruce was shocked to see that his body was little more than a wood frame, chicken wire, and cotton balls. His blacked heart was hidden behind a screen of mesh that the stake had easily torn through. It throbbed, seemingly in time with the strobe lights, and Merrick let out another wail.
Bertha screamed, and Bruce jumped to his feet.
The vampires, drawn by their master’s cries of distress, were rising to their feet. Two, four, six of them, pale and ethereal like ghosts in a gothic mansion. They came toward Merrick, and Bruice fell back a step. The old man had gone still and lay slumped to one side, his eyes open and his mouth slack, embalming fluid leaking from the corner of his lips. Jessie bent over him and touched his face. Though she moved like a zombie, with no human emotion, Bruce was crazily sure that it was a touch of tenderness and love. Merrick didn’t stir.
He was dead.
Jessie looked at him. Yellow liquid leaked from her eyes like tears. Instead of attacking him, she turned on her grandmother and slammed her against the wall. Bertha screamed and dropped the can. It landed on its side, its contents sloshing out onto the floor. A man that resembled the pictures Bruce had seen of Joe Rossi only deader rushed him, slamming into him and knocking the shotgun aside. It hit the floor and skidded away. Joe grabbed Bruce around the throat and squeezed. Still the lights flashed, off and on, off and on. The walls thrummed with the mechanized beat of dance music, pierced only by Bertha’s screams as Jessie ripped out her throat.
Joe leaned in, his fangs wicked and glowing in the light. Bruce clawed at the monster’s face, tearing away strips of dead flesh. Joe turned his head to the side, and Bruce kneed him in the groin. Even dead, getting kicked in the balls hurt like hell, apparently. Joe’s grip loosened and Bruce was able to shove him off. Bruce unclasped the canteen and frantically screwed the cap off as Joe recovered. Joe sprang at him again, and Bruce splashed him in the face.
A sound like sizzling meat filled the air, and Joe screamed at the top of his lungs. He pressed his hands to his face and danced around the room, his skin liquifying and oozing between his fingers. The others were coming now, led by a terrible skeletal thing. Bruce scooped the shotgun off the floor, brought it around, and fired. The blast hit the thing dead center, tearing it literally in half. The top half flew back, an all too human look of surprise on its face, and the bottom half fell over with a wet thud. Another vampire came at, and Bruce slammed it across the face with the butt of the gun. He heard its jaw crack, saw teeth flying.
Bertha lay dead on the floor, Jessie bent over her. The smell of Bertha’s blood attracted the others, who seemed to forget about Bruce, Merrick, and everything else. Joe was on his knees, wailing in pain, and the skeletal thing was pulling itself toward Bertha. A feeding frenzy broke out as vampires fought to get a piece of her the way piglets might fight over their mother’s teat. Bruce watched in a mixture of horror and fascination, but recovered himself. He grabbed the gas can from the floor and dumped the rest of its contents on Merrick’s body, the feeding vampires’ backs, and the floor, using the last of it to make a little trail to the door. He tossed the can aside, bent down, and stuck a match.
A huge, fiery whump filled the room, and fire streaked along the trail. The vampires all went up in a huge ball of flames, and fire shot up Merrick’s body, catching his robe, his hair, and the wooden frame that had kept him semi upright for God knows how long. Letting out inhuman screams, the vampires broke from Bertha’s corpse. One stumbled around, bounced off the wall, and fell; another toddled toward Bruce before falling to its knees. The half skeleton kept drinking from Bertha’s neck even as it burned.
The heat was enormous, baking. Bruce backed away, and the last thing he saw before smoke obscured his vision was Merrick Garvis.
He was literally melting.
***
Dominick Mason tried to go home, but he no longer had a home. All of his worldly possessions sat on the sidewalk in front of his building, discarded coldly as easily. His key didn’t work in his door and there was a FOR RENT sign on it. Why would it be any other way? He was dead. Sooner or later, everyone forgets you when you’re dead, and all the things you held so dear wind up in the trash. It was a hard pill to swallow, but most people aren’t around to see it after they die.
He was.
From his building, he walked east toward Washington Park. In the distance, thick, black smoke billowed into the air, and sirens rose. He barely noticed and wouldn’t have cared even if he did. No more rubbernecking for him. That was for the living.
The pain that had plagued him so the previous day came back, only less this time. Maybe he was imagining it, but it was getting harder to think. Not that he cared, really. What was there to think about anyway? How he had no one to mourn or miss him? How he died and not one single person, except for maybe his mother, cared, or even noticed? How he had done nothing with his life? Even to the women he’d slept with, what was he? Just another dating app hookup. They probably didn’t even remember his name.
Merrick had been right about one thing. Death was easy. It was life that was hard…life that hurt.
With that in mind, Dominick made his way to Washington Park. It was a vast and deep place with many small caves and thickets. Kids played on the playground, their cries of laughter scenting the still air. It had grown cloudy and began to rain. Still, smoke poured into the sky in the direction of Club Vlad. Dom didn’t wish ill on Merrick and the others, didn’t hope it was them burning. He didn’t care anymore. Not about them, not about anyone. For better or worse (and he would argue it was worse), his life was over. His time came days ago, he just missed the boat.
Picking out an isolated little area, Dom sat against a tree with his legs splayed out in front of him. He titled his head back and closed his eyes. Yes, thinking was hard now. His mind felt sluggish, cold. He was thirsty…so, so thirsty, but he ignored it.
Slowly, the bugs found him. Flies buzzed around him and laid their eggs in his skin. Beetles scuttled over him, followed by worms.
Next, it was the birds. They ate out his eyes and nibbled at his blue, bloated skin.
The animals came last.
Their appetites were bigger.
And they left little remaining of poor, outcast Dominick Mason.
***
That night, Bruce sat alone in his little trailer, a bottle of whiskey wedged between his legs and unshed tears in his eyes. He stared at his reflection in the darkened TV set and took long swallows from the bottle. He planned to drink until he forgot or passed out, whichever came first. He tried to not think about Vanessa, but in his addled state, he couldn’t control himself, and began to cry. When that storm passed, like the others before it, he chugged from the bottle.
As distant church bells clanged the hour - midnight - a feeble knock came at the door. Bruce took another drink and it came again. Getting up, he stumbled, nearly fell, and gripped the bottle tightly. He didn’t want to lose one precious drop.
Again, the knock.
“I’m coming,” Bruce slurred. He staggered to the door and fought with the lock. He was dizzy and seeing double.
When he got it, he opened the door.
The bottle dropped from his hand and clanked onto the floor.
Vanessa, clad in a puke green hospital gown, stood on the step, her hands pressed to her chest and a look of anguish on her milk white face. Her head tilted to one side, the wounds on her neck cleaned but open, gaping. Her dark eyes shone with tears. “I’m dead,” she said.
Breaking down in tears, she collapsed against him and they sank to the floor. She was cold and smelled. Bruce wrapped his arms around her and held her to his chest anyway. “Shhh, it’s alright,” he said drunkenly. “Hey, it’s alright.
“I’m dead,” she repeated, and her voice broke. “I don’t want to die.”
Bruce held her close, trying to warm her icy skin. He didn’t know what to say, so he cried with her.
“You’re safe now,” he said, “it’s going to be okay.”
“I want blood,” she said and sobbed harder, “I want to hurt people.”
“Shhh,” Bruce said again. “It’s okay.”
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a utility knife. He flicked the blade across his wrist and searing pain shot up his arm. “Here,” he said and offered her his blood, “drink this.”
He did this without care and without thought. She needed him, and one barnaclehead always backs up another.
Vanessa hesitated, looking from his face to the oozing blood, unsure.
“Go ahead,” he told her.
Vanessa brought his wrist to her mouth.
And began to drink.

As the last orange light of day drained from the sky, the living dead in Club Vlad rose. Max the skeleton and Jessie the…not skeleton…sewed up the gaping Y-shaped incision on Dom’s chest under Merrick’s direct supervision. Dom sat there, feeling nothing, thinking nothing. He’d woken with a headache and a feeling of cold, and even now, he could feel the dull throb above his left eye. It felt like someone was tearing his brain apart with a fork. He had told Merrick, and Merrick had nodded sadly. “Is my brain rotting?”
“Most likely,” Merrick had said.
There was a certain peace in the idea of losing his cursed humanity. As Merrick had said, he would feel no pain, know no quandaries. He would live only for the night and for his master. On the other hand, watching someone like Matt sit and stare into the distance, drool coursing down his chin and nothing happening behind his dead eyes, scared Dom. He didn’t want to be a braindead idiot. He didn’t care about keeping his emotions, he just wanted to function.
Like Merrick.
There wasn’t much he could do, however. He was dead and that was the end of it.
Once Dom was patched up and dressed in a pair of jeans and a hoodie, Merrick called his children before him. “I have done my best to love and protect all of you,” he began. “Jessie, you were miserable with your grandmother, were you not?”
“Yes,” Jessie said tonelessly.
“You were depressed, bipolar, and cut yourself. Now you’re happy.”
“Yes,” she replied again.
“Joe, you were a two bit nobody staring down a ten year stretch in jail.”
“Yes.” Thin yellow liquid dripped from his nose.
“But now you are free.”
“Yes.”
“You appreciate what I’ve done for you.”
“Yes.”
Merrick flashed then, slamming his fist onto the arm of his wheelchair. “Then why do you keep fucking up? The police were here earlier. They have messages between you and Jessie. I told both of you to delete those. Then I find out that you bit someone and turned them despite my orders. We have an endless supply of blood here but you still went off on your own. How many are there?”
“Just one,” Joe said.
“Are you being honest with me?”
“Yes.”
Merrick sagged back in his chair, looking somehow older. “Joe, take Matt and go to her. Bring her back here before she causes any more problems. God alone knows how many people she’s changed. Too many vampires without a father will bring heat on us, and you know what happens in that case? We get pieces of wood shoved in our chests.”
Turning to Dom, Merrick said, “I have a job for you and Jessie. We’re nearly out of embalming fluid. You haven’t had your first dose and the rest of us are starting to get ripe as well. I have a contact at a funeral home. He texted earlier that the order he placed on my behalf has come in. I want you to pick it up and to pay him.”
Dom had never been picked for anything in his whole life. No one had ever wanted him on their team and no one had ever placed their trust in him the way Merrick was now. He was honored, proud, and would do anything to not let Merrick down.
“That cop who came here might be a problem,” Merrick went on. “We may have to deal with him, but we’ll leave that for another night. In any case, I want this place cleaned from top to bottom. If the police come, I want them to see nothing out of the ordinary.”
Now that everyone had their marching orders, they dispersed. Merrick handed Dom an evelope stuffed with cash, and Dom slipped it into the pocket of his hoodie. The other team - Joe and Matt - left, while the remaining vampires began tidying up.
A fleet of vehicles waited in the parking lot behind Club Vlad. Dom and Jessie took a black pedo van with no back windows. They drove in silence, the radio off. Dom did not want to hear music, nor did he wish to speak to Jessie. Their kinship was one of blood and circumstance, not one of words and emotions. He had no questions for her and wished to answer none of his own. The only thoughts he had were of the mission ahead and of the growing pain in his skull. He thought of the staring stupid Matt, of the decayed Max, and a shiver went down his spine.
What was left of his humanity recoiled at the idea of becoming like them.
The pain grew hotter, more intense. He forced it away and focused on driving.
The funeral home was on North Allen Street, next to a restaurant called Pepperjack’s. A tall, white house with dark shutters and a sign out front, it looked like a quiet, peaceful place. “Pull around back,” Jessie said.
Dom pulled the van around back and parked under a balcony, killing the headlights. They got out and went to the back door, Jessie in the lead. He assumed that she had done this before and that the seller would recognize her. She knocked, and a few moments later, the door opened. A youngish man with a shaved head appeared, wearing an apron and gloves. He saw them and tensed a little. Dom could smell, rather than sense, his fear, and his throat panged with thirst. “Come on,” the man said quickly. He stepped aside and allowed them to enter. Dom noticed that he walked behind them, wary of putting his back to them. “Do you have the money?”
“Do you have our order?” Jessie countered.
“Yes,” the man said, “I’m really risking my neck for this. They don’t just give embalming fluid away, you know. They keep track of it and if they realize I’m over ordering, someone from the state’s going to come down here and check.”
He led them into an embalming room. Three boxes sat on a table. Dom gave the man his money, and he and Jessie carried the boxes outside, loading them into the van. The whole time they were there, the man was edgy, like he was afraid they were going to attack him. Dom would be a liar if he said that the hot smell of the man’s blood didn’t excite him. Perhaps once his brain rotted away, he wouldn’t be able to control himself, but for now, he could.
A lightning bolt of pain shot through his head and he nearly dropped the last box onto the ground.
Once the man was paid, Dom and Jessie drove back to Club Vlad. In fifteen minutes, they were drinking side by side from two passed out partygoers, their reward for a job well done.
Meanwhile, across the city, Joe and Matt weren’t doing as well. They were standing outside of Heather’s apartment. Joe, slightly annoyed (anger being another emotion vampires could feel, along with fear) pounded on the door. He knew she was in there; he could smell the putrid odor of decay. “Let us in,” he said. “We won’t hurt you.”
Joe could barely remember changing her. He didn’t mean to, it just…happened. Like an unwanted pregnancy. You can bite someone as much as you want and drink as much as you want, but if you take too much at once and they die, you get the vampire equivalent of a baby. Joe liked the hunt. It was exciting. Having his meals brought to him Club Vlad didn’t arouse the same level of excitement. It was like shooting an animal tied to a tree. Or hiring a prostitute instead of wooing someone. No real satisfaction to it.
That was probably his greatest downfall. He had lured Jessie the same way, though Merrick was indeed interested in rescuing her from her grandmother. People you have saved obey just as well as people with no brains.
He felt fluid on his upper lip and sniffed. “Come on, let us in,” he said.
No response.
He looked at Matt and nodded to the door. Together, they rammed their shoulders against it. It shook in its frame. They were both dead and weak, but modern American architecture is even weaker, and the door eventually slammed open. The apartment beyond was dark, messy, and reeked of death. They searched high and low, and eventually found Heather huddled in a corner, trying to hide. She was naked save for a pair of panties, her body bloated and beginning to turn black. Her skin hung from her frame and her eyes were filled with blood and fear. It was a wonder no one had called the police yet. The smell was overpowering. “We’re here to help,” he said. “You have to come with us.”
She shook her head and trembled. Maybe she remembered that he was the one who did this to her. Maybe her memories had rotted away. Those were usually the first to go. Then your emotions, then your personality. Finally, your capacity for higher reasoning. “I’m sorry I did this to you,” he said. That was a lie. He was not remorseful. Nor was he proud, for that matter. It just happened. Like rain. “But I want to help you. We can fix you.”
No amount of coaxing or conjoling could induce her to move. Joe weighed his options. He doubted anyone would call the cops even if they heard the door coming down - people who lived in places like this rarely called the cops, which helped Joe and his cause immensely. Even so, there was the possibility. Every minute they spent here was a minute that something could go wrong, and Joe had a lot to lose.
So, too, did Merrick.
Giving up, Joe took out his cellphone and called Merrick. “She refuses to come,” he said simply.
The line was quiet for a moment, then Merrick’s voice came back. Cold. Calculating. “Then do what you must.”
That was the go ahead.
Hanging up, Joe looked around the apartment and found a wooden chair in the kitchen. He lifted it over his head and slammed it on the counter, shattering it into a million pieces. He selected the longest, sharpest, and sturdiest looking one. He went back into the room and directed Matt to hold her down. She fought, kicked, and spat, but she was weaker than even they were. They had been embalmed. She hadn’t.
Matt pinned her hands above her head and Joe straddled her. Animal terror filled her eyes and she whipped her head from side to side. Joe lifted the makeshift stake with both hands, and brought it down as hard as he could, driving it deep into her heart. Her eyes bulged from their sockets and a high, otherworldly scream ripped from her throat. She bucked, thrashed, and kicked her feet. Her resistance began to ebb away until she was twitching…until she was still.
Heather from OKCupid was dead.
Truly dead.
Joe couldn’t help wondering what it was like.
Pulling the stake out, he tossed it aside and got to his feet, Matt doing likewise. A soul petrifying scream might be cause for even the tightest of lips to start talking. “Let’s go,” he said. And together, he and Matt fled, leaving the poor, dead body of Heather behind.
***
As it turned out, one of Heather’s neighbors did call the cops. At 10;13pm, Vanessa Rodregiez arrived with two patrolmen and found the front door of Apartment 237 knocked down. Guns drawn, they entered, Vanessa at the head. The first thing she noticed was the smell. It jammed itself into her nostrils, shoved its tongue down her throat, and violated her - all without even buying her dinner first.
Vanessa hadn’t been at this as long as her buddy Bruce had, but she knew a dead, rotting body when she smelled one. They searched the premises, and sure enough, they found a vic in the bedroom, lying in the gap between the bed and the wall; it looked like the former had been moved, perhaps in a struggle. Vanessa knelt down to check the vic’s pulse, but stopped.
There was no need.
The vic - who looked like a female but could have been an overweight male - hadn’t had a pulse in a very long time.
Examining the body, Vanessa found a wound in the chest, just above the heart. Black, stinking goo leaked from it, and Vanessa gagged. She fisted her hand to her mouth, retched, and then ran for the kitchen sink. Her partner for the night, Jim Walsh, stared down at the stiff before him, and his face turned a sickly shade of green. He avoided puking because he didn’t nose fuck the wound like Vanessa had, but he wasted no time in getting out there, dry heaving in the hallway where the air was somewhat fresh.
After leaving her lunch in the sink, Vanessa radioed back to headquarters, and before long, the place was crawling with cops. The assistant medical examiner - who had taken over after Ed Harris quit the previous night - knelt over the body and studied it. A solidly built black man with a mustache, his name was Leon and he knew death just as well as his old boss, so when he said the vic had been dead nearly two weeks, Vanessa accepted it.
That begged the question: Who broke in and screamed just now? A relative? The caller clearly heard screaming and peeked out her door to see two males fleeing on foot. Maybe they found the vic and freaked out? Or maybe they were the killers returning to the scene of the crime. After all, the vic had clearly been murdered.
In fact, they found a likely murder weapon. A long sliver of wood soaked in black goo. Blood turns black after a while, but there was something different about this stuff. “What is it?” Vanessa asked Leon.
“I’m not sure,” Leon said and pulled off a pair of Latex gloves he’d donned to examine the vic, “could be blood or…”
“Or what?” Vanessa asked.
“Or something,” Leon said. “Give me a few hours.”
And a few hours it was. Just before 1am, Leon called Vanessa at her desk. “I think you should come down here,” he said.
Fifteen minutes later, Vanessa stood over Leon as he pulled the vic’s chest open with a pair of tweezers. “That’s the heart,” he said, “whoever stabbed her scored a direct hit, but this…this is what concerns me.”
He prodded a furry lump with the tip of his scalpel.
“What is it?” Vanessa asked.
“I don’t know,” he said, “it looks like mold.”
That word - mold - triggered a memory in her brain. “Ed said something about mold last night. He found it in -”
“The Mason boy,” Leon finished.
“Yeah. The one who got up and ran off.”
Leon turned away from Vanessa and looked at the dead woman - for it was a woman. Vanessa got the impression that he didn’t want her to see his expression. “I’ve known Ed ten years. I know something happened last night, but a stiff getting up and walking off? I thought he was confused. Now…I don’t know. That makes two bodies in 24 hours. And get this. The chest wound? It was done post-mortem. I can’t find a cause of death anywhere. Except maybe blood loss but it’s hard to tell at this point. And speaking of blood…”
“What?” Vanessa asked quickly.
“When I opened her stomach up, a whole shit load of blood spilled out. And a lot of it was a lot fresher than she is.”
Vanessa furrowed her brow in confusion. “You mean…?”
“It’s not hers,” Leon said. “I can’t be 100 percent sure until I run tests, but I’d put money on it.”
Vanessa’s head spun with information both new and old. You know that full, heavy feeling you get when a poo is brewing in your guts? That’s kind of what Vanessa was feeling, only in her head instead of her stomach.
Leon was just as mystified by the whole thing as she was and stayed up late to run a few preliminary tests. By sunrise, he had confirmed that the blood inside of Heather’s stomach was not hers. In fact, it had come from at least three different sources. “Is it human?” Vanessa asked over the phone.
“Yes,” Leon said, sounding troubled, “it’s human.”
In the cobalt hour before sunrise, Vanessa sat at her desk and tried to piece this whole thing together. They had:

1. A corpse that (allegedly) woke up and dipped out
2. A dead girl who’d been stabbed in the heart with a piece of wood after somehow ingesting the blood of three different people.
3. Some missing kids
4. Oh, and both bodies - the girl’s and the runaway corpses’ - had the same weird fungus in their heart cavities.

All of this - even the missing kids, Vanessa felt - was related. She just didn’t know how. The only answer that half way fit was that both of those bodies were vampires. Like…what’s a vampire but a dead body that gets up and walks around at night? And how do you kill a vampire? Why, you drive a piece of wood through its heart.
The idea that vampires were real was dumb, but the more she turned it over in her mind, the more she became convinced that it was at least an option. A lot of things people thought were fantastic and made up turned out to be real, so why not vampires too?
Shortly after 8, Bruce came in. He was just sitting down when Vanessa came in and slapped her report on the desk. “Buckle up, bitch,” she said, “things just got weirder.”
He stared up at her with one of those grumpy - but cute -expressions he was so good at putting on. As he read, however, his brow knitted. “Jesus,” he muttered to himself. He pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a weary sigh.
“I have a theory - kind of,” Vanessa said, “but I don’t want to say it.”
“You might as well,” Bruce said. “It can’t be more kooky than reality these days.”
“Okay,” Vanessa started, “what if - and I’m just thinking out loud here - what if there are vampires in Albany?”
She expected Bruce to give her a dirty look, but he chewed it over, actually taking it seriously. “And those missing boys are victims?” he asked finally.
“Yeah,” Vanessa said. “That girl’s been dead two weeks. Maybe she bit Dominick Mason and he came back for revenge after realizing he was cursed to be a goddamn shit sucking vampire forever.”
Bruce nodded. “Yeah, but who turned her?”
“I don’t know,” Vanessa said, “I don’t know.”
***
Before dawn painted the eastern sky, Merrick Garvis sat in his chamber like a withered king, a mess of IVs hooked into his arms and neck. The vault was silent save for the soft noise of the machines as they filtered out the old embalming fluid and replaced it with new embalming fluid. Embalming fluid always made him spacy, like a drug. The others had gone first, and even now lay near comatose around him like addicts in an opium den.
As far as he knew, Merrick was the oldest vampire in the world, perhaps, even, the oldest vampire to ever live. Though he was not fully honest with Dom, he was not lying when he said that vampires rotted like any other dead thing. Conditions considered, you had a few weeks tops if left untreated. There may be living vampires in remote corners of Egypt or the northern most reaches of Russia, where the climate preserved dead things, but unless you made it to one of those places, you were pretty well fucked.
Merrick was not a proud man, nor was he concerned with saving face - the dead have no need for that. He was being truthful when he said that he feared death. What’s more, he feared being helpless. Deep down, vampires are people, and people don’t exactly have the greatest track record with caring for their infirm. He read once that the first sign of a civilization was a broken leg that had healed, as it showed that someone stayed with and cared for a fellow human long enough for them to get well again. In Merrick’s opinion, that was true…and thus there was no civilization. Merrick was fifty-one when he died in the year 1982. In his lifetime, he had seen The Great Depression, World War II, and a million small acts of cruelty and selfishness in between. He’d seen beggars starving in the streets, abused children shuffled out of sight and out of mind, and disdain for the poor and the weak.
The living were awful, and the living dead were no different. Once their humanity rotted away, they cared only about filling their stomachs. They were like ticks - they would drink until their bellies literally ruptured…and then keep on drinking.
That left him in a precarious position. He was old, his body was weak. He couldn’t stand unassisted and if left to fend for himself, he would decay into a pile of bones within days. He would be cursed to lay in one spot for all eternity, aware and hungry, little more than a ghost tethered to a black and still beating heart.
He refused to let that happen to him. Thus, he had created a family, a clan of vampires loyal to him and to him alone. He did this through acts of simple kindness and understanding…but also through deception. He knew, for instance, how to preserve the brain. He’d figured out how to do it early on - you pickle it. Like a fetus preserved in a jar. He sawed off the top of his own head and filled it with a special solution that kept his brain - and his intelligence - intact. It slowly drained out through the nose and ears in a thin, yellow liquid, but it worked well enough. He couldn’t save everything, however, and had lost vital things in the process, such as most of his human memories, his sense of humor, and some motor functions. He shared this secret with only Joe, and a few others before, because he needed a strong captain. He kept the others in the dark because vampires - like people - are easier to control when they don’t think for themselves.
Right about now, however, Merrick was beginning to regret sharing the formula with even Joe. Joe had brought him nothing but grief. Joe, you see, could think for himself. He could make decisions. He could go behind Merrick’s back. Joe had something called free will, and free will is a worse affliction than vampirism. Free will is messy, free will is dangerous.
Free will could very well turn Merrick into a pile of bones.
That was, of course, if they weren’t discovered first. Joe had made several mistakes lately, not least of which was the turning of Heather. Sitting there in the predawn hour, attended by Tony, his gay bartender and human familiar, Merrick decided to have Joe killed. There are only two ways to kill a vampire: The stake and the flame. The latter seemed somehow appropriate in this case. After Joe, there would be no more captains, only him, one father with absolute power. That was how it had to be. One man, one vision. Democracies didn’t work. That was especially clear today. Everyone was so divided and nothing ever got done. If the humans had one strong leader, they might go in the wrong direction, but at least they would go somewhere. Instead, they stagnated.
Merrick didn’t particularly look forward to killing Joe, but it had to be done. To protect the family. To protect him.
And Merrick would do anything…anything at all…to protect himself.
***
Vampires.
Bruce kept coming back to that single wor, hoping each time that he would chuckle at the absurdity of it.
But he never did.
Did that mean he believed it? Not necessarily, but damn it, he considered it a possibility, and that alone was enough to make him feel like a fucking clown. All the evidence he had pointed to vampires, but then again, it might point to other things as well. Like aliens.
But let’s say the whole vampire thing was real. Who, like Vanessa asked, was patient zero? Who started this whole mess?
A name came to mind.
Merrick Garvis.
He had not had time to check into Garvis the previous day, but by God, he was going to do it now. He ran his name and social through the system and everything seemed to check out. Merrick Garvis was born on June 31, 1963 in -
Wait a minute. Weren’t there only 30 days in June?
Bruce checked, and there were, indeed, only 30 days in the month of June. Hm. Bruce did a little digging and found something out. Before 1987, social security numbers weren’t issued at birth. You had to sign up, using other forms of ID. Merrick Garvis applied for his in April 1984 and the date of birth on his state issued driver’s license was June 31. Bruce spent an hour on the phone with the DMV and learned that they had never issued a license to a Merrick Garvis. He then spoke to the Social Security Administration, and after much wrangling and frustration, he managed to get a photocopy of the license Garvis used to get his social security number. It was dated 1983.
The face staring back at him was almost exactly the same face he’d seen at Club Vlad, except maybe a touch less stiff and waxy. Though not as rough looking, there was no way in hell Garvis was 20 in that picture. It had to be a fake,
Bruce thought back to the events of the previous two days. Missing bodies, staked corpses, hearts that still beat after death.
Vampires didn’t seem like such a crazy explanation.
And if anyone was a fucking vampire around here, it was Merrick Garvis.

I just got into an all-stars softball team, (TOP 25% IN MY LEAUGE) so I was super excited we have practices EVERY DAY excluding Wednesday and Sunday (Duration of 4 weeks, 2 tournaments) missing any could result in being permanently removed from the team (with coach discretion) But 2 days ago I woke up with a sore throat, I went to practice and felt miserable after, the next day I rested as I had no practice, but today I can't breath through my nose (stuffed up nose) its also a bit runny and Im sneezing left and right but I can't miss practice and my dad is an assistant coach, he told me to tough it out, But I literally cant breath through my nose, and I feel like Im developing a cough, HOW THE FUCK DO I PUSH THROUGH THIS..... Plz help. *ALSO I HAVE A 2 DAY TOURNAMENT 3 HOURS AWAY FROM MY HOUSE THIS WEEKEND..* im sooooo dead.

This is the first time I have written some chapters. I'm not a native English speaker but I did my best. If someone can give me some pointers or help I would immensely appreciate it! It's a bit of sci-fi, if you are into it let me know. If not, that's cool too.
Thx in advance!
Chapter 1: The farm
Hagr stood at the edge of the farm, his gaze fixed on the vast expanse of Zandarius stretching out before him. The sky above was a canvas of swirling purples and blues, streaked with the faint glow of distant stars. A cool breeze whispered through the air, carrying with it the enticing scent of Heyla flowers.
With a sigh, Hagr set down his mechanic wheelbarrow, the last of his chores for the day completed. He began to make his way back towards the farm, his footsteps crunching softly against the rocky terrain. As he passed through the pink and green garden, the aroma of his mother's porridge drifted towards him, tempting his hunger.
Despite eating the same meal every day, Hagr's stomach grumbled with anticipation. The suuka porridge was all he needed right now, its warm, comforting embrace promising to chase away the chill of the evening.
Arriving at the farm, Hagr took in the familiar sight of their plascrete igloo. Half of the structure was comprised of little octagon windows, through which the warm glow of a fire emanated from the chimney. It was home, humble yet comforting in its simplicity.
Entering the igloo, Hagr found his mother, Altha, bustling about the kitchen, preparing dinner. "Hagr, dear, could you set the table?" she called out, her voice gentle yet firm. Hagr nodded, a small smile playing at his lips as he arranged the mismatched dishes in their usual places. Each plate was different, yet they always ended up in the same spot, a testament to the routines of their daily life.
Once the table was set, Hagr ignited the moonlamp, casting a soft yellow glow across the igloo walls. Altha emerged from the kitchen, carrying a steaming pot of suuka porridge. "Careful, Hagr," she warned, as she placed the pot on the table. "It's hot." Hagr nodded as he heard this many times before, his mouth watering at the sight and smell of the hearty meal before him. They ate in silence, the only sound the clinking of spoons against bowls as they savored each mouthful.
After a moment, Hagr broke the silence, his voice tinged with curiosity. "Do you ever wonder what's beyond Zandarius, Mumu?" he asked. Altha hesitated, her expression guarded. "I don't know, Hagr," she replied softly. "But we have everything we need right here on the farm." Though disappointed by her response, Hagr nodded in understanding. Perhaps someday they would have the chance to explore together. Altha caught his eye and winked, a small glimmer of hope in her gaze.
As they finished their meal, Hagr and Altha moved to the small kitchen area to wash the dishes. The kitchen was cluttered yet cozy, with shelves overflowing with pots, pans, and utensils. Beyond the kitchen, the interior of the igloo was a snug retreat from the harshness of the outside world. A small cupboard, crafted from Zandarius rare Bennam wood, stood in one corner, its doors closed tight to conceal its overflowing contents. Nearby, a plush couch with pillows offered a comfortable spot to relax after a long day's work. Opposite the couch, a large hammock hung from the ceiling. Above it, a smaller hammock swayed gently in the breeze, providing a cozy nest for Hagr during the night. Every inch of space was utilized to its fullest, creating a sense of warmth and intimacy within the cramped confines of the igloo.
As the hour grew late, Altha reminded Hagr of their upcoming journey to Kihar. With a yawn, Hagr climbed into his hammock, gazing up at the stars through the little octagon windows above. "Goodnight, Hagr," Altha whispered, her voice soft in the quiet of the night. "Goodnight, Mumu," Hagr replied, his eyes closing as sleep overtook him. And with that, he drifted off, thoughts of tomorrow's journey fading into the comforting embrace of dreams.
Chapter 2: The trip
Hagr awoke to the gentle light filtering through the little octagon windows of their igloo. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he glanced around and noticed that his mother's hammock was empty. Mu-mu?" he called out, but there was no response.
Curiosity piqued, Hagr peered outside and spotted his mother tending to the kikkamoos, their pig-like creatures with reptilian legs and Fluffy tails. With a swift motion, he leaped out of bed, his movements practiced from years of experience. After quickly dressing himself, he hurried outside, calling out to his mother. "Altha!" he yelled, using her full name in his urgency. His mother turned towards him with a warm smile. "Haggie!" she called back, using his pet name.
Hagr wasted no time and dashed off to fetch Tsjoopa, their trusty mechanical unicycle cart already loaded with goods for trade. As he returned with the cart, he found his mother waiting back at the farm. "Ready to go, Hagr?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. "Absolutely!" Hagr exclaimed, brimming with energy. And so, they set off on their journey to Kihar, the nearest town for trading.
The road ahead seemed endless, traversing through vast and barren plains broken only by occasional patches of vegetation. Sparse woods flanked the roadside, offering concealment but little wildlife, a testament to Zandarius' unforgiving environment.
After a few hours of travel, they finally reached a landmark known as the Sharp Knives, a crossroad marked by sharp rocks jutting out of the ground. "We’re here, the Sharp Knives," Altha remarked, her gaze sweeping over the rugged terrain. "We're halfway there, Hagr." Hagr nodded, his eyes scanning the horizon. "Already? Time flies when you're in good company." A mischievous glint sparkled in Altha's eyes as she reached into the cart. "Speaking of good company, I brought something special for our halfway mark." Hagr's interest was piqued. "What is it?" With a dramatic flourish, Altha revealed a small container of sosuuka, a sweeter version of yesterday's porridge. "Sosuuka!" Hagr exclaimed, trying to sound enthusiastic despite his familiarity with the dish. Altha chuckled at his feigned excitement. "I thought it might be a nice treat for our journey." Hagr grinned, playing along. "Absolutely! Thanks, best mumu on Zandarius." Lost in thought, Altha gazed into the distance, her attention drawn to the gathering ominous clouds on the horizon, a harbinger of stormy weather to come. "We might have some rough weather ahead," Altha remarked, her voice tinged with concern. Hagr glanced up at the darkening sky. "Should we stop and wait it out?" Altha shook her head. "We need to keep moving. We can't afford to delay our journey." Guess we'll have to save the view for another time," Hagr sighed, reluctantly agreeing with Altha's decision, while she nodded in understanding. "But, after all," Hagr declared, puffing out his chest with a hint of pride, "at ten years old, I'm practically a grown man! I can handle anything, even eating sosuuka on the way without spilling a drop." Altha burst into laughter at his boast. "Sosuuka without spilling? I'd sooner believe kikkamoos could fly!" Hagr joined in her laughter, the sound echoing across the desolate landscape as they continued on their journey to Kihar.
Chapter 3: Arrival in Kihar
As Hagr and Altha approached Kihar, the plascrete town sprawled out before them, its streets winding like intricate mazes through the heart of the city. In stark contrast to the barren landscape of Zandarius, Kihar was a vibrant tapestry of life, with lush vegetation adorning every corner. Hagr’s eyes roamed over the cityscape, taking in the sight of the bustling alleys and the constant mist of smoke that hung in the air. Despite having visited many times before, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of awe at the bustling energy of the tradetown.
As they ventured deeper into the heart of the city, the tantalizing aroma of food mingled with the sounds of chatter and laughter, tempting Hagr's senses and reminding him of the porridge-filled days back on their farm. Finally, they reached the local market, a bustling hub of activity where traders hawked their wares amidst the thick scent of spices and exotic foods. "First stop, Old Taramor's," Altha announced, her voice carrying above the din of the market. Hagr's thoughts drifted to Taramor, the old, grumpy trader who had been a fixture in Kihar for as long as he could remember. Despite his rough exterior, Taramor was one of the few honest traders left in the city, and Hagr had always respected him for it. "Sounds good to me," Hagr replied, his tone positive.
As they approached Old Taramor’s, Altha hopped off the Tsjoopa and turned to Hagr. "Hagr, could you fetch a crate of Heyla bottles from the back of the cart?" she asked. Hagr nodded silently, already moving to comply.
Entering the shop, they found Taramor snoozing behind his counter, the cluttered shelves and dusty displays a testament to his lack of care for his surroundings. Altha hesitated, reluctant to disturb the old trader, but time was of the essence. "Taramor," she whispered, her voice barely audible. No response. Again a bit louder this time “Taramor”. Still no response. Growing impatient, Hagr couldn't help but raise his voice. "Taramor!" Startled awake, Taramor shot upright, his eyes wide with surprise. "What the hell's going on?" he grumbled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Oh, it's just you two," he muttered, recognizing Altha and Hagr. Altha gestured to Hagr to take a look around while she spoke with Taramor. Hagr nodded and wandered through the cluttered shelves, his curiosity piqued by the assortment of strange and exotic items on display. In the background, a television played the news, the volume turned low but still audible. A news reporter's voice cut through the air, reporting on the recent assassination of a high-ranking official. The military had already neutralized one suspect, but two others were still at large. The camera footage showed two figures cloaked in dark red and black, their faces obscured. Zooming in on one of the suspects, the reporter noted a tattoo of a three-headed monster on their neck, linking them to the notorious syndicate known as the Three-Headed Beast. "People are urged to remain vigilant," the reporter concluded, "and to report any sightings of the suspects to the authorities." "Hagr," Altha called out, pulling him from his thoughts. Quickly, he set down a strange-looking coffee maker he had been inspecting and hurried over to join them.
Outside, Hagr turned to his mother, concern etched on his face. "How did the trade go?" Altha hesitated before answering, her tone guarded. "It wasn't as successful as we had hoped, but we'll manage." Trying to sound confident, Hagr responded, "No need to worry, Mumu. We'll make it work."
As they made their way back through the bustling market, Hagr glanced at his mother. " Can we get some Uja skewers now?" Altha smiled warmly. "Absolutely, Hagr. Let’s grab some delicious Uja," she said, turning on their trusty, albeit rusty, Tsjoopa.
Chapter 4: Best place is home
As Altha and Hagr made their way home in the fading light, a bird soared above them, its silhouette dark against the dusky sky. They were nearing their farmstead, the exhausting trip almost at an end. Hagr turned to Altha, his curiosity piqued. “What is coffee?” he asked, stumbling over the unfamiliar word. Altha pondered for a moment before responding, “I’ve heard of it. It’s some sort of black drink. Similar to Puggatree juice, they say, it gives you energy.” Hagr wrinkled his nose in distaste. He had never been fond of Puggatree juice, finding its thick texture and slimy consistency unappealing. With a shake of his head, he decided he didn’t want to try coffee after all.
As they chatted, unaware of the figure watching them from afar, the landscape growing darker with each passing moment, they finally arrived at the farm.
Altha unloaded the traded goods from the Tsjoopa, and with a nod to Hagr, she motioned for him to stow it away in the barn. Hagr complied, placing the Tsjoopa in the barn, where sturdy plascrete walls and reinforced wooden beams protected it from the harsh winds. With the task done, he made his way back to the igloo. As he approached, he noticed that the interior was unusually dark, the comforting glow of the moonlamp absent. With a sense of unease gnawing at him, he entered cautiously.
To his horror, he found himself face to face with a cloaked figure in dark black and red, his alien eyes glowing with an otherworldly light. Before he could react, he spotted his mother on the floor, tears streaming down her face, with another figure standing over her, a scarred human face, and a sinister three-headed beast tattoo on his neck. “Mumu!” Hagr screamed in terror. The figure with glowing eyes uttered incomprehensible words, while the scarred man cursed, "We can't leave any witnesses, Deskva.” Altha whispered urgently, "Hagr, stay calm. Everything will be fine." Hagr looked at his mother in disbelief, his heart pounding in his chest. "What's going to happen?" his voice trembled with fear. The scarred human scoffed, "We can sell the boy on the black market, but the woman? She's too old to bother selling. Not worth the hassle, Des." With brute force, Deskva grabbed Hagr, who fought against his captor with all his might. "Please, let me go!" Hagr pleaded, his voice desperate as he struggled against Deskva's grip. As Hagr cast a desperate glance at his mother, tears welling in his eyes, the scarred man turned his attention to Altha, deeming her of no value. Without hesitation, he drew his pistol, aimed, and fired, the shot piercing through Altha’s skull with a sickening thud echoing through the silent igloo. Hagr’s world shattered as he watched his mother fall, tears blurring his vision, bile rising in his throat. Before he could comprehend what was happening, a brutal blow to his head sent him spiraling into darkness.

So I (19M) am on holiday abroad together with my GF (19F) of 7 months, and her family (parents, sister, and sister’s BF). They have a holiday home here that we are staying at, and the plan is/was(?) for us to stay here for two weeks.
We arrived here three days ago, and the thing that makes me want to leave happened on our second day here, so this trip has started of really well. It’s kind of gross just so you’re warned. Anyway, we had all gone out for dinner together and my GF suggested that I tried a dish I’d never tried before that’s quite specific for the country we’re in, and I thought why the hell not, so I did. What I , stupid as I am, didn’t know but probably should have, was that there was a risk that I would be allergic to it. So shortly after I had begun eating I started to feel anxious and a bit itchy. I know I should have taken it seriously, but the thing is that I’m always a bit nervous around my GF’s family and when I eat out, so I ignored it. Until I felt like my throat started to swell and it got harder to breathe.
I don’t know how I was thinking, I kind of panicked and we have already established that I’m stupid, but I felt I had to get away from the table as fast as possible because I didn’t want to cause a scene. And I still sort of hoped this was just a panic attack. So I stood up and took a step or two, and I remember being really dizzy before it got all black. The rest is a bit blurry, but I woke up on the ground with everyone leaning over me. I could barely breathe, my head and nose hurt, and there was blood everywhere. So much for not causing a scene. My GF’s dad gave me my epipen and inhaler, so my breathing improved a bit. Then I got the worse pain in my stomach and felt really sick, but before I could ask for something to throw up in, I vomited all over myself. Some time after that the ambulance arrived, and it was decided that my GF’s mum would accompany me in the ambulance, while the others were to met us at the hospital. In the ambulance the pain in my stomach got even worse, and I realised I had to go to the toilet, like urgently. But as I was stuck in a fucking ambulance that wasn’t possible. I tried very hard not to, but of course, like this couldn’t get any worse, I ended up shitting myself in front of my GF’s mum. And unfortunately, I wasn’t unwell enough to not find that to be a horrible experience. I have no idea if she’s told my GF about this, but I sure as hell hope she hasn’t.
Anyway, when we got to hospital I was glued up, cleaned up, and given loads of medicines. I needed to stay the night and my GF decided to stay with me even though I told her she didn’t have to. I was discharged the next day, which was yesterday, and I was told I most likely have a concussion and to take it easy for a couple of days. When we got back to the house, I was so tired I spent most of the day just sleeping.
I’m still tired today, but I feel a bit better than yesterday. At least physically, because I’m so fucking embarrassed about what happened, and I feel stupid that it happened in the first place. So I just wanted to be alone today, so when my GF wanted to stay in with me, I practically forced her to tag along her parents on some outing.
It’s not like they haven’t been nice to me, they have, like excessively so, but I can’t stop thinking they are just pretending and that they are actually disgusted by me. Because I mean why shouldn’t they be, I am, it was fucking gross. Especially my GF, I can’t see how she ever can be attracted to me again. We obviously haven’t had sex since it happened, but we haven’t really cuddled like we use to either, so I don’t know.
To make things even worse, I’m currently ugly as fuck. My nose is swollen from the fall, I have scrapes on my nose and forehead, and a cut on my forehead and scalps. And on top of that, due to the stupid cut I haven’t been allowed to wash my hair and won’t be able to do so for at least three more days, so I feel super fresh.
I know it’s probably childish, but I feel fucking miserable, and I don’t want to be here anymore. I just want to go home. I mean, I can barely look my GF in the eyes let alone her family, so sticking around here for 11 more days feel like torture. And as it is now, I’m not good company either. So WIBTA if I were to cut the trip short and just went home?
Now it probably doesn’t matter if I would be an AH for going home, because my GF will likely dump me when we get home anyway. But on the off chance that she doesn’t want to break up with me, I don’t want to ruin things more than I already have by being an AH and going home if that is an AH-thing to do.
Also, if I were to leave what reason could I give my GF that isn’t an AH-reason, because I can absolutely not tell her that I’m so fucking ashamed of myself that I cannot stand to be around her or her family, that would just be too pathetic and surely the end of out relationship. Like I know it’s excessive, but I seriously (not really) wish I would have just died instead of dealing with this.

Ive been sick many times in my life especially with flu and cold. Currently lying in bed with stuffed nose from cold and thinking wtf is my immune system doing. I know viruses mutate, but at this point my body should be like "Oh shit a sore throat! Lets beef up defense in the nouse so it doesnt spread!" and yet every single time I get sore throat, the virus just migrates from there to my nose and fucks my whole week up. Why? How is the virus still not dead after so many days? How is it allowed to just move in my body like that when my immune system already knows about it and clearly is able to fight it?

6 months ago I had unprotected sex with a guy and he finished inside. Then I got a bf a few weeks later and we were unprotected for the three months we were together. We dated throughout cold and flu season and I do get allergies and I am susceptible to migraines. 10 weeks after unprotected sex with guy #1 and 5 weeks after I started hooking up with my then current bf I started getting congested with sinus pressure and a sore throat on one side with upset stomach and light vomiting,I went to the dr, got an antibiotic and it cleared within 2 weeks (I put off seeing a dr for a long time, originally thought I was pregnant as did the drs but that came back negative). Flash forward a month and a half, my bf and I break up and I develop more sinus pain but everyday tension headaches along with it, and migraines (which my migraines always make me vomit, this isn’t new) almost everyday. So, 75-81 days (10.5 weeks, I can’t remember if we hooked up the exact last time we saw eachother so I’m saying it’s between 75-81 days to be safe though) post my last sexual experience with my ex bf which was also 202 days (6.5 months) post guy #1 I got a full STD panel. I did a blood draw from a vein AG/AB 4th gen for HIV and it came back non reactive, is this conclusive? I’m paranoid and anxiety ridden over everything. Scared of false negatives, is it possible to get one at day 75??? Some forums say yes and others say no.

so I started a few weeks ago and was instructed to take half dose for a week and up to full dose if no symptoms. I had a bit of dizziness the first couple days but it went away so I decided to up the dose to full after that week. the next day I had extreme dizziness, fever with chills, nausea in my throat, muscle soreness, and major headache. my doctor told me to stop until symptoms go away, then try again on half. so I waited like 2 days (symptoms literally went away in 24 hours though it was SO BAD I literally had felt like I had aged 70 years) and restarted the half dose a night routine. well, it's been over a week on half and last night about 4 hours after my regular half dose I woke up with fever and chills, muscle soreness, only a slight headache, and major nausea in my throat again! I'm so sick of this and I think I will be stopping. just was wondering if anyone else has this? this nausea is so weird, it's like a lump in my throat and when I move I get nausea and when I swallow I get nausea but it's like not stomach nausea at all. plus the muscle soreness and headache, probably will be hobbling around my house like last time :(

Age: 26 months Height: 34” Weight: 37 lbs Duration: 3 days
My daughter was diagnosed with strep yesterday and prescribed amoxicillin. She has had a low fever, sore throat, runny nose, cough and poor sleep the last few days.
The problem is that it is nearly impossible to get her to take medicine - it is actually impressive how well she manages to spit it out. I know complications can be severe with strep so I am stressing about how I can get the medicine in her; however, when I google it I have read that kids under 3 rarely need to be treated for strep. So my question: if I am not able to get her to take this medicine, will she likely clear the infection on her own? Or is it just as important to treat with antibiotics as it would be in an older child or adult?

Hello, I would like to describe my current health issue to you, including my hypotheses about what might be causing it. I would like to hear your opinions on what it might be and how I should proceed. Keep in mind that I am already undergoing medical consultations and will have more, but so far, I have not reached a conclusion, so I would like as many opinions as possible.
If you need more information, feel free to ask.
For about two years, I have been experiencing facial pain and throat inflammation. I have never had these issues before. They started occurring after I had COVID-19, and I'm not sure if this is coincidental or a consequence of the virus. Initially, these pains were infrequent and mild, but in the past few months, they have become much more frequent and intense, significantly affecting my productivity, energy, and concentration. The pain is mostly noticeable upon waking, but sometimes it persists throughout the day. When the pain is less intense, it almost completely disappears after breakfast or lunch. However, when it is more severe, it doesn't go away at all, forcing me to rest in bed. Sometimes, even taking Tylenol does not relieve the pain.
The facial pain is located under my cheekbones, along my jaw, behind my eyes, and when it's very intense, at the center of my head just above my nose. The pain is continuous on both sides of my face and does not worsen with touch.
As for my throat, it feels like there's a constant lump at the lower part, as if it were scratched. It hurts continuously, not just when I swallow.
These pains occur year-round, regardless of the season.
Regarding medical checks and existing conditions, here are the details:

• I’ve had an eye exam, and there has been no deterioration beyond my existing myopia and astigmatism.
  
• I’ve been checked and do not have sinusitis.
  
• X-rays have shown no issues with my cervical spine.
  
• I likely clench my teeth at night and should be using a mouthguard.
  
• I need to have my wisdom teeth removed (I’ve only had one extracted so far) because they have not fully emerged and are pushing against the other teeth.
  
• I am allergic to dust mites.
  
• I have L4-S1 discopathy.
  
• Blood tests for thyroid issues showed no problems.
  
• I am currently on a treatment of Nicetile 500mg (L-acetylcarnitine HCl) under the assumption it might address nerve inflammation post-COVID, but there have been no changes after 15 days.
  

These issues also cause poor sleep quality. Despite sleeping for 7-8 hours, I wake up feeling tired and as if I need more rest, even if I did not exert myself physically or mentally the previous day.
From the beginning of May onwards, I experienced two weeks where every day I had a sore throat, headaches, and excessive tiredness, despite having taken antihistamines and cortisone spray for more than 20 days in April. I had a flu in early May and felt very ill; all symptoms (sore throat, cold, headache) were amplified and kept me in bed for several days, as if I had COVID. Even after the flu passed, I continued to experience throat lumps and headaches, along with excessive tiredness that rest did not alleviate.
I maintain a fairly balanced diet and engage in regular physical activity. I am physically at a normal weight.
My hypotheses:

• Depression/anxiety
  
• Sleep disorders such as sleep apnea, insomnia, or hypersomnia
  
• Chronic fatigue syndrome
  
• Long COVID
  
• Symptoms of a dust mite allergy
  
• Dental malocclusion and teeth grinding at night
  

Thank you to anyone who provides suggestions.

Hello, I would like to describe my current health issue to you, including my hypotheses about what might be causing it. I would like to hear your opinions on what it might be and how I should proceed. Keep in mind that I am already undergoing medical consultations and will have more, but so far, I have not reached a conclusion, so I would like as many opinions as possible.
If you need more information, feel free to ask.
For about two years, I have been experiencing facial pain and throat inflammation. I have never had these issues before. They started occurring after I had COVID-19, and I'm not sure if this is coincidental or a consequence of the virus. Initially, these pains were infrequent and mild, but in the past few months, they have become much more frequent and intense, significantly affecting my productivity, energy, and concentration. The pain is mostly noticeable upon waking, but sometimes it persists throughout the day. When the pain is less intense, it almost completely disappears after breakfast or lunch. However, when it is more severe, it doesn't go away at all, forcing me to rest in bed. Sometimes, even taking Tylenol does not relieve the pain.
The facial pain is located under my cheekbones, along my jaw, behind my eyes, and when it's very intense, at the center of my head just above my nose. The pain is continuous on both sides of my face and does not worsen with touch.
As for my throat, it feels like there's a constant lump at the lower part, as if it were scratched. It hurts continuously, not just when I swallow.
These pains occur year-round, regardless of the season.
Regarding medical checks and existing conditions, here are the details:

• I’ve had an eye exam, and there has been no deterioration beyond my existing myopia and astigmatism.
  
• I’ve been checked and do not have sinusitis.
  
• X-rays have shown no issues with my cervical spine.
  
• I likely clench my teeth at night and should be using a mouthguard.
  
• I need to have my wisdom teeth removed (I’ve only had one extracted so far) because they have not fully emerged and are pushing against the other teeth.
  
• I am allergic to dust mites.
  
• I have L4-S1 discopathy.
  
• Blood tests for thyroid issues showed no problems.
  
• I am currently on a treatment of Nicetile 500mg (L-acetylcarnitine HCl) under the assumption it might address nerve inflammation post-COVID, but there have been no changes after 15 days.
  

These issues also cause poor sleep quality. Despite sleeping for 7-8 hours, I wake up feeling tired and as if I need more rest, even if I did not exert myself physically or mentally the previous day.
From the beginning of May onwards, I experienced two weeks where every day I had a sore throat, headaches, and excessive tiredness, despite having taken antihistamines and cortisone spray for more than 20 days in April. I had a flu in early May and felt very ill; all symptoms (sore throat, cold, headache) were amplified and kept me in bed for several days, as if I had COVID. Even after the flu passed, I continued to experience throat lumps and headaches, along with excessive tiredness that rest did not alleviate.
I maintain a fairly balanced diet and engage in regular physical activity. I am physically at a normal weight.
My hypotheses:

• Depression/anxiety
  
• Sleep disorders such as sleep apnea, insomnia, or hypersomnia
  
• Chronic fatigue syndrome
  
• Long COVID
  
• Symptoms of a dust mite allergy
  
• Dental malocclusion and teeth grinding at night
  

Thank you to anyone who provides suggestions.


FINANCIALS

Period: FY/2024
Filling Date: 2024-05-15
REVENUE:
Revenue: $1.13B
Gross Profit: $601.90M (53.48%)
Result: $373.10M (ebitda)
EPS: $4.21
Outstanding Shares: 49.76M
BALANCE:
Cash: 46.47M
Debt: 1.14B
FINANCIAL EVALUATION/SCORE:
Financial Score - Altman: 2.50
Financial Score - Piotroski: 7.00
Prestige Consumer Healthcare Inc's price movement correlates with the following stocks:
Ticker Correlation --- --- BPMP 0.94 VR 0.93 ETJ 0.929 FRTY 0.922 HWM 0.92 MUFG 0.919 NVO 0.919 HII 0.918 PHD 0.917 HT-PE 0.917
Summary Of Last Earnings call:
In the Q4 2024 Earnings Conference Call for Prestige Consumer Healthcare Inc, issues related to supply chain constraints affecting revenue growth were emphasized. The company experienced disruptions in the Eye Care category due to maintenance and quality upgrades by suppliers. These disruptions led to a lower-than-expected sales performance in Q4. The company expects supply challenges to continue into the first half of fiscal 2025 before recovering in the second half. Strategic initiatives, such as partnering with multiple suppliers and internal production, are being implemented to address supply chain continuity. Despite the challenges, the company remains committed to its long-term brand-building strategy and capital deployment opportunities. Additionally, the company plans to focus on M&A, share repurchases, and deleveraging to enhance shareholder value. Although a $300 million share repurchase program was approved, no share repurchases are expected in fiscal 2025, with a focus on debt reduction. The company anticipates revenue growth of approximately 1% in fiscal 2025, with a slight FX headwind. The company's overall cash flow generation and leverage reduction position it well for future capital allocation decisions.
Company Description:
Prestige Consumer Healthcare Inc., together with its subsidiaries, develops, manufactures, markets, distributes, and sells over-the-counter (OTC) health and personal care products in the United States and internationally. The company operates in two segments, North American OTC Healthcare and International OTC Healthcare. It offers BC/Goody's analgesic powders, Boudreaux's Butt Paste baby ointments, Chloraseptic sore throat liquids and lozenges, Clear Eyes for eye redness relief, Compound W wart removals, DenTek for PEG oral care, Debrox ear wax removals, and Dramamine for motion sickness relief. The company also provides Fleet adult enemas/suppositories, Gaviscon upset stomach remedies, Luden's cough drops, Monistat vaginal anti-fungal, Nix lice/parasite treatments, Summer's Eve feminine hygiene, TheraTears dry eye relief, Fess nasal saline spray and washes, and Hydralyte for oral rehydration products. It sells its products through mass merchandisers; and drug, food, dollar, convenience, and club stores, as well as e-commerce channels. The company was formerly known as Prestige Brands Holdings, Inc. and changed its name to Prestige Consumer Healthcare Inc. in August 2018. Prestige Consumer Healthcare Inc. was founded in 1996 and is headquartered in Tarrytown, New York.
Full fundamentals fundamentals for PBH here.

Hello, I would like to describe my current health issue to you, including my hypotheses about what might be causing it. I would like to hear your opinions on what it might be and how I should proceed. Keep in mind that I am already undergoing medical consultations and will have more, but so far, I have not reached a conclusion, so I would like as many opinions as possible.
If you need more information, feel free to ask.
For about two years, I have been experiencing facial pain and throat inflammation. I have never had these issues before. They started occurring after I had COVID-19, and I'm not sure if this is coincidental or a consequence of the virus. Initially, these pains were infrequent and mild, but in the past few months, they have become much more frequent and intense, significantly affecting my productivity, energy, and concentration. The pain is mostly noticeable upon waking, but sometimes it persists throughout the day. When the pain is less intense, it almost completely disappears after breakfast or lunch. However, when it is more severe, it doesn't go away at all, forcing me to rest in bed. Sometimes, even taking Tylenol does not relieve the pain.
The facial pain is located under my cheekbones, along my jaw, behind my eyes, and when it's very intense, at the center of my head just above my nose. The pain is continuous on both sides of my face and does not worsen with touch.
As for my throat, it feels like there's a constant lump at the lower part, as if it were scratched. It hurts continuously, not just when I swallow.
These pains occur year-round, regardless of the season.
Regarding medical checks and existing conditions, here are the details:

• I’ve had an eye exam, and there has been no deterioration beyond my existing myopia and astigmatism.
  
• I’ve been checked and do not have sinusitis.
  
• X-rays have shown no issues with my cervical spine.
  
• I likely clench my teeth at night and should be using a mouthguard.
  
• I need to have my wisdom teeth removed (I’ve only had one extracted so far) because they have not fully emerged and are pushing against the other teeth.
  
• I am allergic to dust mites.
  
• I have L4-S1 discopathy.
  
• Blood tests for thyroid issues showed no problems.
  
• I am currently on a treatment of Nicetile 500mg (L-acetylcarnitine HCl) under the assumption it might address nerve inflammation post-COVID, but there have been no changes after 15 days.
  

These issues also cause poor sleep quality. Despite sleeping for 7-8 hours, I wake up feeling tired and as if I need more rest, even if I did not exert myself physically or mentally the previous day.
From the beginning of May onwards, I experienced two weeks where every day I had a sore throat, headaches, and excessive tiredness, despite having taken antihistamines and cortisone spray for more than 20 days in April. I had a flu in early May and felt very ill; all symptoms (sore throat, cold, headache) were amplified and kept me in bed for several days, as if I had COVID. Even after the flu passed, I continued to experience throat lumps and headaches, along with excessive tiredness that rest did not alleviate.
I maintain a fairly balanced diet and engage in regular physical activity. I am physically at a normal weight.
My hypotheses:

• Depression/anxiety
  
• Sleep disorders such as sleep apnea, insomnia, or hypersomnia
  
• Chronic fatigue syndrome
  
• Long COVID
  
• Symptoms of a dust mite allergy
  
• Dental malocclusion and teeth grinding at night
  

Thank you to anyone who provides suggestions.

For the last 4 days I’ve been experiencing a variety of different symptoms. At first it was bearable but it’s getting worse. What started as just an on and off stuffy nose and sore throat is now a lot worse. It’s accompanied by diarrhea and stomach cramps pretty much any time I eat anything no matter what it is, bouts of nausea, sometimes intense headaches that last for hours and an almost total lack of appetite.
I’m not sure what’s wrong with me, it might just be nothing. However I know the stomach issues are going to be a problem. I can’t keep running in and out of the bathroom during my shift.
Other people call out all the time and it’s OK for them. We are severely understaffed so according to the other coworkers, they would probably do anything to keep me around. All the same this is a new job and I’ve only been working here since April 27 and I don’t want to get fired or make a bad impression. I haven’t been absent once, but there was one time about a week ago I had a really nasty migraine and had to clock out a little early. I don’t want to make the impression of being unreliable.
I really worry about the financial consequences of missing a day. Today’s been a bit of an expensive month because I had to stay in a motel a few days because my roommates had a bunch of people over. Due to them holding back my paycheck for the first couple of weeks, I have not received my first paycheck from my job yet. It should be here on the 18th.
Should I risk calling in sick or tough it out?

Overnight laat night I felt a sore throat come on and then that's when the random onset symptoms hit me at once which are stuffy nose, congestion, cough, sore throat, chills, body aches, fatigue, headache but no fever.
Also when I blow my nose my snot us yellow.

My 18 year old daughter had a round of antibiotics to prevent a non existing infection after having her wisdom teeth out. A few weeks later the whole family got sick with a bad cold (runny noses, sneezing, cough, laryngitis). She ended up being the worse out of all of us: fever for several days throwing up, horrible constant cough, sore throat, crying, chills, ear pressure, and generally feeling horrible. Covid test negative. Urgent clinic looked at her ears and saw evidence of the pressure, said probably secondary infection. (I wonder if she got this when the rest of us didn’t because of her recently impaired microbiome from the antibiotics?) Anyway, the urgent care dr gave her amoxicillin. She took the first pill last night. This morning she seems to be doing better and fever broke. I’m thinking it happened on its own, not from the one pill. Does she really need to take the rest of the amoxicillin pills? Or can she save the attack on her microbiome and just not take the remaining pills?

Think I have something. Sore throat, fatigue, headache, runny nose and 2 small sores on my penis that are a bit sensitive to touch.
No other symptoms.
Where can I get tested and for the cheapest price?
I just went to the Red Cross Health Station No.3, but they only tested me for:
Anti-HCV. (Negative)
Syphilis (non reactive)
HBsAg. (Negative)
Was thinking I had syphilis as I have most symptoms, but negative… need to get tested for everything.. advice?
Also heading to Phuket in about 5-6 days, better places to test there?
Thank you!