KEY POINTS

• The therapeutic interactions between doctors and cannabis patients can be extremely gratifying.
• Having time to deeply explain and then followup with cannabis patients and caregivers creates a special bond.
• Working in the world of medical cannabis is provocative and challenging as more is learned about the plant.
• People's interactions with cannabis provoke a fascinating mix of medical and spiritual benefits.

Working with patients and their families for the past nine years as a medical cannabis practitioner has been extremely gratifying in many surprising ways.
After 30-plus years in the ER and urgent care setting, providing one-time, episodic interventions and rarely seeing the same patient again, I now have accrued a roster of hundreds of ongoing patients, many of whom I have continued to treat since I began as a registered cannabis practitioner in 2016.
The conversations we have, mostly about their positive responses to using medical cannabis but about so many other aspects of life, politics, and their illnesses, have become a very important part of my own life. These dialogues have brought me closer to the patients, their families, and their caregivers and have been instrumental in my ever-deepening understanding of and appreciation for the vast array of benefits that medical cannabis provides.
It’s been a tremendously important and enriching experience and, in addition, has rekindled my interest in biochemistry, neurotransmitters, and brain anatomy, subjects that I last explored during medical school.
Most remarkable has been the array of patients I’ve met who have taken me into their lives. Advising patients about medical cannabis has brought me into contact with a stratum of people I would otherwise probably never have access to. They have ranged from corporate CEOs, attorneys, and others wanting a medical cannabis card so they wouldn’t get arrested with illicit products to people with devastating and debilitating autoimmune diseases or those with terminal cancer.
Regardless of where along the health and socioeconomic spectrum my patients lie, there has been a consistent attitude that I became aware of early on when the law legalizing medical cannabis first went into effect.
I’m referring to an openness to trying cannabis. These patients, their families, and their caregivers haven’t been taken in by the nearly 90-year-old propaganda onslaught against the plant. Either they laughed at the “killer weed” characterizations, were open-minded enough to see or know others for whom it worked, or, especially in the many elderly patients I see, they’d already tried everything else before they came to me. They clearly had not gotten relief for an array of symptoms caused by their underlying diseases and were willing to give medical cannabis a shot.
As they have seen its benefits, this has formed a unique bond between many of us, an understanding and camaraderie in that we are partaking in something still considered forbidden and illegal in many corners of the globe. Yet we know that despite that condemnation, we have access to something that, as so many of them say, is “life-changing.”
I had realized early on in the ER and Urgent Care setting the need for abbreviated interactions. The conversations and observations that transpired in those settings helped my interventions there to provide the best immediate therapeutic relief. Even though they were often brief (of necessity), these experiences also led to many of the stories I wrote and were published. Now, in this late-in-life career choice, the longer conversations that I can pursue provide me incredible insights into the workings of the cannabis plant and provoke me to try to understand what I’m being told by patients or their caregivers about their observations on what taking cannabis is like.
I seem to learn the most from my “cannabis naive” patients, those who have never used the plant. They will describe the process of finding that “sweet spot,” discovering the therapeutic regimen that gives them the relief they seek, bringing them back to where they’d been before their illness struck. And, whether this happens in a day or a week or longer, the story is similar to hearing someone describe an epiphany.
I can no longer count the times I’ve been told: “I now go through the day without pain and have to remind myself that it’s from the cannabis tincture I take every morning.”
I’m reminded of a patient who’d come to me for treatment of severe chronic back pain. When I asked, with concern, how the high THC product he took every morning for that pain affected him at work, he recounted how, as a computer programmer, he was tasked with coming up with solutions to various program challenges. He told me that using cannabis allowed him to find answers he would not have seen otherwise.
Or the successful businessman with Crohn’s disease who, before using cannabis at work, would be debilitated by his flares. Now, four or five years into his involvement in the program, when he senses a flare coming on, he uses a very well-controlled dose of his high-THC cannabis, and shortly thereafter, he dives right back into caring for his customers, pain-free and focused.
I also have a patient with USHER 3 syndrome, a degenerative disease ultimately causing deafness and blindness. She has compared her taking cannabis to being in a dark room and having the lights go on.
Several patients with severe pain syndromes, overweight and out of shape (and scheduled to have surgery for resolution of their symptoms), have found that as cannabis increasingly resolved their pain, they became more active, lost weight, had even less pain, and ultimately (for several, now six or seven years into using cannabis) have been able to avoid going under the knife.
I have another patient, a writer with severe anxiety and some cognitive issues, whom I saw recently in follow-up, a year into treatment with cannabis. She is much more focused, conversant, and happy, interacting with family and caregivers in a much more positive way, and no longer abusing alcohol.
Another, a teacher with Autism Spectrum Disorder, told me he has been able to escape the destructive route older generations in his family had chosen, using alcohol to try and treat their symptoms. Instead, he has adopted a cannabis regimen to effectively control his ASD.
I also must mention the great help my colleagues and I are seeing that cannabis can provide for many of the symptoms of dementia.
It is my hope that those of us practitioners in the world of medical cannabis can continue to educate the public and break down the stigma surrounding cannabis. Hopefully, as well, governments will move forward in rescheduling (or de-scheduling) cannabis so that more patients can benefit from its therapeutic potential.
This brings me back to my last patient and the question about THC and wisdom:
I recently saw a middle-aged man, a Hasidic Jew, with inflammatory bowel disease. He found that medical cannabis could be very helpful in controlling his IBD flares. In addition, when we were on a follow-up call a few months after he began taking medical cannabis, he asked me something.
“Dr. Weinberg,” he asked, “does THC give you wisdom?”
I was intrigued by the question and asked back, “Why, what do you mean?”
“Well,” he said, “I’ve been reading Talmud all my life, and there have always been passages I don’t understand.” He paused. “But when I take my medical cannabis, and I go back to my studies, I get it! I understand the meaning of those passages. And it’s not because I’m high! Both my wife and the rabbi agree that my insights are valid and profound.”
Knowing the many references to cannabis in ancient Hebrew (and other spiritual) texts, I shouldn’t have been surprised at his question. I was delighted, however, and am eager to pass this insight along to others as we hopefully advance our knowledge of the many benefits of the cannabis plant.

I just turned 21 yesterday, bought cigarettes and a weed pen legally for the first time, and alsooo I am 1 week clean of methamphetamine as of the date of my birthday ! :D
I have a boyfriend
I’m watching the Fallout show and it’s really good (I just finished EP 2 earlier tonight, no spoilers!!!!) It makes me want to play the game. I’ve never played fallout, but I love Elder Scrolls. Beyond excited for ES 6!!!
My favorite video games are Zelda, though. Specifically Twilight Princess.
Excited to go swimming in the river this summer, but my true love is the ocean <3
I’m Type 1 Diabetic
Anyone want to play cookie run?
I don’t game as much because all I have these days is my Switch.
I have made a few posts on subs like this over the years and TBH… I usually end up ghosting pretty much anyone I message with… so… sorry…if that’s your fate… I have social anxiety pretty bad, and possibly autism, and have trouble forging relationships :D
From experience as a young girl on Reddit, posting in these places tends to bring in a small flood of inboxes. It might take me a hot second to get around to respond to anything:)
I prefer a snail mail-like correspondence style, most of the time. :p
I’m not looking to sext with any creeps, BTW. I know you’ll come anyway. But just sayin’.

I had a bare yard of composted granite when i moved in and now I have foot high weeds in the front. I shouldn’t have let it go for so long, but I’ve been overwhelmed and haven’t known how to start or who to call. I want to remove all of the weeds and put in a brick patio in the front yard so that I can pull my car in and also have a table and chairs. I also want to add a stucco fence. in the backyard I have obscene weeds that are taller than me. I don’t know exactly what I want to do back there. I need help. Who should i call for guidance? I can do some of the work but not all of it. for context I’m a handy artist and I’d love to lay the brick myself, but I want to do it right and I think I want to hire people to prepare it all for me. But who do I hire? I’m very new to homeownership and it is so overwhelming. I’m in Los Angeles.

I should preface this by saying I’m not diagnosed. My psychiatrist said that he suspected it but long story short he’s not allowed to evaluate me.
It feels like my rejection wound will be the death of me. I am also diagnosed with social anxiety. All I do is worry and feel disgusting all day. Every interaction is exhausting. I’m constantly reading between the lines and feeling like people are judging me, trying to put themselves above me, or just in general look down on me/hate me. And then I feel bad after because deep down I know it’s not the case, they had no bad intentions. But in the moment it’s like I forget I ever had that line of thought and I honestly just get angry and then start extrapolating to things about their personhood. Like, for example, if I feel like someone is judging me I’ll sit there fuming like ‘maybe if you weren’t so judgemental you’d actually be happy.’ All I do is analyze in my head if people actually like me. When my friends are nice to me I just get scared. Because I know if I mess it up and they don’t like me anymore it’ll take me forever to make peace with it. And I feel empty because I’ve shown them a false version so they don’t even really know me.
I smoke a disgusting amount of weed because feeling makes me so uncomfortable. The anxiety is paralyzing. My mother has said she has been able to see my heart beating through my shirt, and I didn’t believe it until I saw it myself. The anger is all consuming, and I’m ashamed of the things it’s lead me to do. The sadness is overwhelming, the self disgust constant. I wanna learn how to accept the feelings but I don’t know how… So, how do you guys cope?

So this is really getting to me now and yes, i know i need to see a doctor but i cannot right now i have tried can anyone please read over my “symptoms” lol im really scared
So to start i tried weed about 3 months ago smoked everyday for about a week then quit, right after i quit i noticed i was just weird i would be fine the whole day then it would feel like i just got “born’d” again like id be having a conversation and all the sudden id get hit with this wave like where i feel kind of high you know?
tingly legs kinda thing and brain fog and i would be like woah what is going on
After about a month the symptoms got less and less to the point where there manigable so i thought let me try some edibles
Now i accidentally ate WAY to many and def greened out a little bit nothing too crazy was fine the next day etc its now been 3 weeks since i consumed cannabis and since then i’ve noticed some REALLY weird stuff and i dont know if this is type 2 diabetes that i just randomly spawned or all this could somehow be related to my anxiety and greening out and having a panic attack.
Like i said its been 3 weeks and now im seeing loads of eye floaters like everyday all day never had them before now there pretty much constant although in the last 10 days they have started to become slightly less noticeable like there almost going away?
After everytime i eat now 10mins after i eat i get hit with like this wave almost like everytime i eat i feel like a body buzz and kind of high?
I also sometimes feel like my chest is very heavy and my head is just slightly disconnected from my body almost like i’m a drone just hovering over my body.
These are pretty much all my symptoms and i’m not sure if this is dissociating or what like i read other peoples post and i have some symptoms but not most like i don’t feel “unreal” or like im “looking through a glass window” or anything like that i just feel like im getting high randomly throughout the day

Cross posting from askdocs.
22F. Seeing a general neurologist (already saw MS specialist) and getting an EMG in three weeks but would like to get other people’s opinions - my PCP has no idea what’s going on with me. What should I look into next? Sorry for the long post but I thought I should include all info in case it’s relevant.
Current symptoms: - perceived weakness and neuropathy in left hand/wrist (feels like a weird burning/tingling sensation, sometimes triggered by the cold but present a majority of the time) - this is by far my worst symptom - occasional tingling sensations in other extremities, but never as frequent as left hand - bad upper back pain (comes and goes, gets worse with certain positions and never in one specific area) - derealization/brain fog (feels like I’m out of it/in a different universe, also hard to describe) - occasional chills/shivering - fatigue (sort of comes and goes in waves)
Timeline of my symptoms:
Feb 2023: fell twice while drunk (don’t have balance issues), woke up a two days later with terrible back spasms. A few days after that I noticed weird tingling sensations in my hands and feet and freaked out, also generally not feeling well/having a lot of fatigue. Freaked out about having MS - doctor did brain MRI and told me to chill out, symptoms went away.
Sept 2023: started experiencing chronic fatigue, brain fog, and derealization, chalked it up to weed withdrawals (I was cutting back at the time).
Oct 2023: got Covid - brain fog and fatigue got a lot worse.
Late Oct 2023: started having weird stomach issues - constant bloating and random sharp pains in lower abdomen. Got some tests done, this went away in around a month.
Early Nov 2023: started getting vaginal pain/constant burning sensation. Got more tests done, also went away in around a month.
Dec 2023: started feeling a bit better, then had a terrifying experience on THC (fully disassociated and thought I was dying multiple times), quit again.
Mid Dec 2023: started talking combination birth control for PCOS as per gyno’s recommendation.
Late Dec 2023: started getting weird muscle weakness in both left hand and foot, went away in around three weeks. Also felt chest pain a few times and ended up in the ER for it, where I got my heart tested. Fatigue was pretty bad this whole time.
Jan-Feb 2024: muscle weakness mostly gone, fatigue slowly improving throughout these months, still dealing with some brain fog. Resumed weed use which was probably a bad idea.
March-May 2024: Quit weed for good. Switched to new progestin-only birth control because the combination one was giving me high BP. Started getting all this weird neuropathy and joint pain all over the place, for a few days it was super bad in my left/hand wrist and since then it’s been mostly in that area. Makes me wonder whether I have carpal tunnel or some nerve compression problem - it’s pretty painful. Sometimes shows up in left foot but not that bad there. Still have some derealization and brain fog that shows up for a few hours a day - it’s weird. Fatigue and back pain still present. Symptoms come and go in ways though - I have both good and bad days. I’d like to think I’m improving overall, but days like today make me not so sure of that.
Medical history: - had spinal fusion surgery for scoliosis in thoracic spine when I was 15 - have PCOS - no family history of any autoimmune or neurological conditions except for grandmother with MS. Got genetic testing for 150 ish conditions and every single one was negative
Medications/drugs: - take 2,000 IU of vitamin D3 every day - started birth control in December (right before the neuropathy started - wonder if they might be related?) - chronic daily THC abuse for ~14 months right before all this started, been sober for several months now (possibly related?)
Tests I’ve already had: - brain MRI in Feb 2023 and March 2024 - both showed one/possibly two unchanged nonspecific T2 hyperintensities that the MS specialist said were benign - cervical spine MRI - 100% clear - neurological exams (multiple) - 100% normal - full abdominal and pelvic ultrasound - clear except for benign liver finding that doctor is not concerned about - chest x-ray - 100% clear - two EKGs - normal - thoracic spine x-ray - clear, showed that screws from surgery are in proper place - stool test - normal - urine test - normal - pap smear - atypical cells of undetermined significance, HPV negative - doctor said not to worry about it/continue screening every three years - lyme disease test - initial screening came back positive but confirmation tests were negative so doctors concluded it wasn’t lyme - B12 test - 526 (normal) - A1C - 4.8 (normal) - Rheumatoid factor - normal - C-reactive protein - normal/on lower side - ESR - normal/on lower side - SPEP panel with immunofixation - all normal - Jo-1 antibody - negative - CBC and complete metabolic panel - all normal - hepatic panel - normal - Methylmalonic acid - normal - TSH with reflex - normal - troponin - normal - PT-INR - normal - magnesium - normal - lipase - normal - serum protein electrophoresis - normal - mono (multiple times) - negative - reproductive hormones - elevated androgens (hence the PCOS diagnosis)

This isn’t something I feel particularly bad about. We paid hundreds of thousands for a college education, so fuck it. At this point, it’s honestly just funny. This will be a long post, but read it if you like. It’s a great story.
It all started one fateful evening, in October of 2017. My friends and I liked to smoke weed, ALOT. We’d drive around campus, hitting blunts and ripping the bong for hours on end. Our minds wandered with this free time, until we inevitably came up with a scheme: “what if, just maybe, there was a way to get free food anytime we wanted over the course of our remaining college career?” There were no cameras at our small college, and we were hungry, morally-tenuous potheads.
So, we set our sites on the small burger joint in the basement of our cafeteria building. We scoped it out, lurking in the shadows, scouring for a chink in the buildings armor. As luck would have it, we found an unlocked window on the first story. One of our smaller friends would climb up to the window, infiltrate the building, and open the back door for the rest of us. Inside, we encountered a second problem: the entrance to the restaurant was closed off with one of those retractable metal fences, the kind you would see in malls, pulled shut at night to keep out intruders. However, we found that if one man pulled it up, our smaller friend could slide underneath and open the service door in the back.
It was perfect. Inside, we found a cornucopia of snacks, energy drinks, and frozen food; it was a stoners paradise. We began to take our backpacks and meticulously select the correct amount of items, just enough to satiate our lust, but not enough to arose suspicion. Ironically, we broke in every weekend of our junior year, they never even locked the window.
Apparently, we took too much. After the summer of our junior year, we noticed that campus security installed cameras in the cafeteria building. It was a minor deterrent, nothing a few balaclavas couldn’t solve; and so the cycle continued.
Because of the cameras, they noticed the window entrance we had relied on for so long. One unfortunate Saturday night, the window was locked. In our drunken rage, i went to the back door and pulled as hard as I possibly could, over and over again. As luck would have it, the door sprung open. This became our new infiltration point, and we grew even more bold. I don’t remember the first time we decided to cook food, but it was a glorious night. We fired up the grills and fryers. We cooked triple cheeseburgers, onion rings, French fries, and anything else we could find in the freezer. We were collegiate athletes and potheads, so our appetite was insatiable. It was fantastic.
Until one night, our luck would run out. It was like any other night. We yanked open the back door and began to pull up the metal fence, when a terrible sound rang out behind us, a sound that sent shivers down my spine: the back door opened. We swiveled around, and were met with an overweight, middle-aged white woman in uniform. It was campus security. She shined her flashlight in our faces, obviously pleased that she would be the one to catch the notorious thieves. Luckily, we had our balaclavas on. I think she said something like, “you need to show me your campus ID’s right now.” I don’t really remember, as I was high as shit. We said nothing, standing there, weighing our options until one of my friends straight-up bolted. We all followed, sprinting out the back door and into the night. A chase ensued. She entered and followed us in her campus security car, shining her flashlight into the shadows, trying to find us; but to no avail. We were wearing black and hiding in bushes off-campus. At one point, we saw police sirens bouncing off the walls of the student union (it was a small campus); she was talking to the police. We took that opportunity to creep back to our dorm rooms.
We never broke in again, the jig was up. We kept our heads down and went back to our routines. They never did catch us. Classes went well, and we all graduated. I couldn’t help but smile as the dean handed me my degree, because I finally knew: we had actually gotten away with it.

I was prescribed (an antipsychotic) because I had a psychotic episode from fake hemp deprived delta 8 gas station weed and Kratom (possibly a combination of the two) which I don’t take anymore. My mom started weaning me off the pill a couple months ago but I got depressed and moody so I went back on it but I convinced my mom to wean me off of it again because I haven’t been getting high off weed, I just feel this weird feeling in my head whenever I smoke and my eyes aren’t even red my mouths not dry I feel nothing. Edibles don’t even affect me. I’ve gone up to 300mgs in one sitting and nothing. Anyway, i think it’s the 8th day of weaning and so far weed is still not affecting me like it should. It used to be euphoric and I’d actually feel…high. But now, like I said, it’s just a weird feeling I cant describe in my head and I don’t feel any relaxation or body high/euphoria whatsoever. Anyway, how long will this take before I’m able to feel the effects of weed again? Please don’t lecture me on the risks of going off this pill because I already know what to expect. I’m not prone to psychosis when it comes to regular weed, just delta 8 and the other hemp derived crap. Also kratom. Anyway, if anyone has any answers please let me know, thanks.

This isn’t something I feel particularly bad about. We paid hundreds of thousands for a college education, so fuck it. At this point, it’s honestly just funny. This will be a long post, but read it if you like. It’s a great story.
It all started one fateful evening, in October of 2017. My friends and I liked to smoke weed, ALOT. We’d drive around campus, hitting blunts and ripping the bong for hours on end. Our minds wandered with this free time, until we inevitably came up with a scheme: “what if, just maybe, there was a way to get free food anytime we wanted over the course of our remaining college career?” There were no cameras at our small college, and we were hungry, morally-tenuous potheads.
So, we set our sites on the small burger joint in the basement of our cafeteria building. We scoped it out, lurking in the shadows, scouring for a chink in the buildings armor. As luck would have it, we found an unlocked window on the first story. One of our smaller friends would climb up to the window, infiltrate the building, and open the back door for the rest of us. Inside, we encountered a second problem: the entrance to the restaurant was closed off with one of those retractable metal fences, the kind you would see in malls, pulled shut at night to keep out intruders. However, we found that if one man pulled up it up, our smaller friend could slide underneath and open the service door in the back.
It was perfect. Inside, we found a cornucopia of snacks, energy drinks, and frozen food; it was a stoners paradise. We began to take our backpacks and meticulously select the correct amount of items, just enough to satiate our lust, but not enough to arose suspicion. Ironically, we broke in every weekend of our junior year, they never even locked the window.
Apparently, we took too much. After the summer of our junior year, we noticed that campus security installed cameras in the cafeteria building. It was a minor deterrent, nothing a few balaclavas couldn’t solve; and so the cycle continued.
Because of the cameras, they noticed the window entrance we had relied on for so long. One unfortunate Saturday night, the window was locked. In our drunken rage, i went to the back door and pulled as hard as I possibly could, over and over again. As luck would have it, the door sprung open. This became our new infiltration point, and we grew even more bold. I don’t remember the first time we decided to cook food, but it was a glorious night. We fired up the grills and fryers. We cooked triple cheeseburgers, onion rings, French fries, and anything else we could find in the freezer. We were collegiate athletes and potheads, so our appetite was insatiable. It was fantastic.
Until one night, our luck would run out. It was like any other night. We yanked open the back door and began to pull up the metal fence, when a terrible sound rang out behind us, a sound that sent shivers down my spine: the back door opened. We swiveled around, and were met with an overweight, middle-aged white woman in uniform. It was campus security. She shined her flashlight in our faces, obviously pleased that she would be the one to catch the notorious thieves. Luckily, we had our balaclavas on. I think she said something like, “you need to show me your campus ID’s right now.” I don’t really remember, as I was high as shit. We said nothing, standing there, weighing our options until one of my friends straight-up bolted. We all followed, sprinting out the back door and into the night. A chase ensued. She entered and followed us in her campus security car, shining her flashlight into the shadows, trying to find us; but to no avail. We were wearing black and hiding in bushes off-campus. At one point, we saw police sirens bouncing off the walls of the student union (it was a small campus); she was talking to the police. We took that opportunity to creep back to our dorm rooms.
We never broke in again, the jig was up. We kept our heads down and went back to our routines. They never did catch us. Classes went well, and we all graduated. I couldn’t help but smile as the dean handed me my degree, because I finally knew: we had actually gotten away with it.

UPDATE: Put the hose on the edge of their property telling them to fuck off or theyre gonna fuck around and find out.
I’ll admit it, my title is very click bait-ish. TLTR at bottom.
So my boyfriend (33m) and myself (33f) have lived in our home since January 2022. It’s nothing extravagant. But it’s enough for us. The rent is very low, the landlord actually landlords and it may not be the safest neighborhood but there are way worse areas in my town. We’ve adjusted well and made sure to have protection around the home. The safety isn’t the issue here though. It’s not why you’re reading this so let’s get into it. I’m also very new to posting so please be gentle.
A couple of months after moving in we saw our neighbor Danielle (35f) having a really hard time working on her vehicle in her yard. Our homes are pretty close and I could tell she was very frustrated and just looked confused (I would as well). I let my bleeding heart take over and went to introduce myself. She explained her frustrations with her vehicle and the story behind it and she really didn’t know how to move forward. I told her to wait up and I’d get my boyfriend to come check and we spent the afternoon doing what we could for her and honestly it was great. We even met her mom that lives nearby also as the mom wa watching Danielle’s children while she was outside. We learned she also had a boyfriend (who smokes a lot of weed, no hate just relevant) who was at work but didn’t know anything about vehicles.
My boyfriend and I occasionally had drinks with her sometimes but her boyfriend never joined because when he’s home he’d rather smoke and play video games. Someone needs to be in the home with the kids so it wasn’t like an insult or anything. Just to show we don’t have much interaction with him.
It then turned into her asking us for stuff ALL THE TIME. She needed a few bucks here and there for smokes or drinks. If we’d have it we’d help her with a back and grab her a cheap six pack. When you’re broke but have food and bills paid it’s stressful and I don’t think anyone should be shamed for wanting to chill a bit. I did what I’d want someone to do for me. Unfortunately, it kinda got out of hand when her mom came banging on our door asking for cash (at this time we had one vehicle and my boyfriend was at work with it since I work from home). When I informed her i don’t typically keep cash she huffed and said she’d take me to an ATM and acted as if I inconvenienced HER. It left a bad taste in my mouth so I lied and said my boyfriend had my cards as well. She was super pissed, said “thanks I guess. Now I don’t know what to do.” Like it was my fault and my problem? I awkwardly said by and shut the door. I brought this up to Danielle to which she responded her mom had some sort of brain injury and to ignore her.
Later her mom tried to seduce my boyfriend while he was helping Danielle with something while her boyfriend was still inside and getting high playing video games. That pissed me for multiple reasons. The mom was there so she could have watched her own grandchildren while the boyfriend fixed whatever(her brain injury apparently only caused her to be rude or overly sexual but she can drive, live by herself and watch her grandkids). Danielle did tell the mom to stop as soon as the words came out. So I do credit her with that and I feel bad she had to deal with that. But even if the boyfriend didn’t know how to fix what mine was helping with I felt like he should have come out and at least try to learn. Still, nothing too bad happened and we just decided to distance ourselves from hanging out but still helped Danielle here and there.
During that summer Danielle purchase one of those little swimming pools and a trampoline for her children. She asked if it was okay if the trampoline crossed onto our yard a bit and if she could use our backyard water spigot for her hose as her was located in her front yard. We all run off a well so it doesn’t cost us anything to allow this. So we told her of course she could and hoped the kids had a fun summer. Her oldest even thanked us and it was so sweet.
A couple of weeks in we didn’t have water. Went outside and saw the main valve have been turned off. No biggie. Easy mistake. Then it happened against couple of months later. It still wasn’t a huge deal. I messaged her and was being funny about it to show there is no bad blood. She said her boyfriend was high and did it and she’s correcting him so it doesn’t happen again. It just continued but still a month or so apart but when we saw her we mentioned it but a bit more seriously this time. She was super apologetic and really pissed off at her boyfriend. It stopped for a good bit. Just randomly here or there months apart and you could tell it was a mistake. Probably a child distracting them and nothing to make a fuss over.
This year it has increased every month. To where it now happened 3 times in the last 2 weeks and it’s only Wednesday night.
My boyfriend hydroplaned in our convertible yesterday. He is lucky to be alive. He was sent into a tree which a branch came through the windshield Final Destination style and had it not been angled he would be dead. All kinds of bark and shit went into his eyes as well so he’s blind in one eye (hopefully only temporary) and the other eye that didn’t get it as badly is still very blurry unless he clear all the gunk out and focuses super hard.
Despite his injuries, he was attempting to remove the bad tail light on our truck so we’d have a vehicle until we get the insurance payout. He saw and heard a plethora of people at the neighbors house partying and went over to ask if he could pay someone to him. Turns out they were partying with high schoolers and I will say they offered to take direction because they saw how badly he is banged up and didn’t want money, but admitted they didn’t want to mess anything up. He said it was okay and thanked them for their kindness. As he was leaving he remembered the water thing and kindly asked them to please pay attention to not tie the water off to our house and that is been happening a lot. Danielle is super apologetic and as he’s heading back to our yard he hears her GOING IN on the boyfriend.
A little before 10pm he spills something on our couch obviously because he can barely see. So I’m cleaning it and using water. But then literally 1 min later his face wound starts bleeding and he goes to wet a cloth an no water. I know it all the emotions and the adrenaline from the day before, but I was seeing red. I bolt out the door like a mad woman. My boyfriend knew it wasn’t good and tried to follow me but had a hard time because it’s night, his eyes are injured and now he can’t even clean the blood easily so it’s going in the “good” eye.
So I stop and turn around to take him back inside and he says “no let’s take care of this”. As he’s turning the spigot on that leads water to our home I’m undoing their hose. I start throwing it into their yard when he says “ Nope. It’s hooked to our property. We’re gonna show them what it feels like to be inconvenienced. If they apologize they can have it back”.
So we now have their water hose in our garden tub ironically. I have a feeling Danielle’s boyfriend got pissed she went in on him for being a selfish idiot and he did it to get back at us. My boyfriend and I smoked a ton of weed in the past but it never made us vindictive. I know Danielle will come over to ask if we know what happened to it. And we’re going to give it back to her as long as she is kind like she always is. We will allow her to use our spigot again, but she is the only person allowed to come into our yard for that moving forward.
Am I just an emotional asshole?
TLTR: Neighbor uses our spigot for hose but keeps turning the water to our home off.

I always feel so misunderstood by my family that I hardly ever share my bipolar experience with them. I’m finally stable after years of drinking, smoking weed and tobacco, being hyper sexual, spending money I didn’t have, I had to drop out of college when I was almost done with my degree, dealing with what I called the Mad Blues because I was so irritable but depressed at the same time.
For some context, I’ve never really had a real job. I did, but I got fired after three weeks and it was really traumatizing for me.
Today I tried to apply for credit cards and my income was too low to be accepted for them all. My mom simply says, “well this is an easy fix. Get a job.” I am SO terrified that getting another bad job will make me unstable and I’ll start drinking or smoking again and that I’ll have so much mood instability that I’ll have to quit and I don’t think I can handle the shame I’d feel from not accomplishing what my family can do so easily: work.
Does anyone else feel this way? I’m just looking for someone who understands that you work so hard to feel stable. It’s terrifying to possibly ruin it.

Hey everyone. My partner and I are planning on moving and received a residential rental agreement in Wisconsin from a potential landlord, however, it is quite a bit different than the standard WI residential lease agreements that we have received in the past. A TurboTenant template was used and modified to generate the lease. We are looking for some quick advice on whether or not the following language / clauses should be of concern to us as tenants:
1) “Landlord shall have the right at all reasonable times during the term of this agreement to enter the Property for the purpose of inspecting and exhibiting the Property and all buildings and improvements thereon. In non-emergency situations, Landlord will make a good faith effort to notify Tenants at least 24 hours prior to entry by one of the following methods: telephone message, email message, or door hanger, and having made such good faith effort shall enter as necessary. In emergency situation, or of a repair is requested by the Tenants, Landlord is permitted to enter immediately without prior notice.”
2) “Tenants are required to notify the Landlord in writing of any anticipated absence from the Property in excess of 7 days and shall make arrangements for the Property to be routinely checked on during the absence. Such written notice must be provided no later than the first day of such absence. Landlord may enter the Property at any time for any reasonable purpose during Tenants’ absence.”
3) “Tenants are hereby notified that a negative credit report statement may be submitted to a credit reporting agency if Tenants fail to fulfill the terms if this Lease Agreement”
4) “The Tenants are entrusted with the care and maintenance of the rented Property during the term of the lease. Specifically, the Tenants are responsible for promptly addressing minor maintenance tasks and repairs that arise in the course of occupancy. These tasks may include, but are not limited to:
a. Routine cleaning and upkeep of the interior of the Property, including floors, walls, and fixtures.
b. Please be mindful that the kitchen is fitted with laminate flooring. To prevent any potential expansion, we kindly ask that you ensure the floor remains dry at all times. Promptly attending to any spills or moisture will help preserve the condition of the flooring material.
c. Regular replacement of light bulbs, and air filters, as needed.
d. Minor repairs to plumbing fixtures, such as fixing leaks or clearing clogs caused by normal usage.
e. The rental unit is equipped with a range, over-the-range microwave, dishwasher, refrigerator, washer, and dryer for the convenience of Tenants. It is the responsibility of Tenants to ensure the proper maintenance, care, and cleanliness of these appliances throughout the duration of the tenancy. Tenants are responsible in reporting any malfunctions to the Landlord in a timely manner.
f. Proper disposal of trash and recycling in accordance with local regulations.
g. The Tenants are responsible for upholding cleanliness standards around the Property, including ensuring that no items are left outside and discouraging loitering on the Property. It is expected that the Tenants take proactive measures to maintain the tidiness and appearance of the Property at all times.
h. Tenants are not permitted paint anything including but not limited to walls, ceiling, cabinets or any Property.
i. Tenants shall maintain proper humidity to not facilitate growth of mold or mildew.
j. Tenants are allowed to hang pictures, clocks, and other decorative items on the walls of the rental unit. However, it is important to note that all decorations must be removed and the walls restored to their original condition upon the termination of the Lease Agreement. This includes filling any holes or damages caused by hanging the items. Failure to return the walls to their original state may result in deductions from the security deposit or additional charges for repair and restoration.
k. The Tenants agree to maintain the lawn and landscaping of the Property in a neat and orderly condition throughout the term of the lease, which includes regular mowing, watering, weeding, and trimming of grass, shrubs, and trees. The Tenants are responsible for providing all necessary equipment and materials for lawn maintenance unless otherwise agreed upon in writing by the Landlord. If the Tenants are unable or unwilling to perform lawn maintenance, the Landlord reserves the right to arrange for professional lawn care services at the Tenant's expense. The Tenants shall promptly report any lawn care issues or concerns to the Landlord for resolution. Furthermore, the Tenants agree to ensure that the lawn and landscaping are maintained in accordance with local ordinances and regulations to prevent fines or penalties imposed by the city or relevant authorities.
l. Tenants take responsibility of snow maintenance during winter months and agrees to ensure the safe passage and usability of driveways on the Property. This includes promptly arranging for snow removal and salting or sanding of walkways and driveways following snowfall or icy conditions. The Tenants agree to assist in snow maintenance efforts by promptly reporting any snow or ice accumulation that poses a safety hazard to the Landlord for prompt resolution.
m. Tenants shall not keep on the Property any item of a dangerous, flammable, or explosive character that might unreasonably increase the danger of fire or explosion on the Property, or that might be considered hazardous or extra hazardous by any responsible insurance company.”
Apologies for the length. Thanks in advance!

About me, Job compensation + benefits, CoL for reference

About me:

• Ethnicity + Name: Indian (south asian) as hell.
• Work experience: 3+ years of co-op / internships. (Didn't matter, read full post). No big name internships, just random startups.
• University: University of Waterloo (Mech eng Bachelors; robotics / AI / ML background)
• Graduated 2023, 2.1 GPA
• Applications sent: over 10,000; this is not a joke. Shotgun approach mostly.
• Interviews: 5. Not 50 or 500, but FIVE.
• Disabilities: Autism / Aspergers. Made the interviews hell for me.

Compensation / Benefits:

• $70,000 Base (salaried, boss doesn't care if I leave early as long as I get work done)
• Work as little time as you want as long as you get the work done. I work 5 hrs a day on average now.
• $10,000-30,000 Profit sharing + Bonuses (directly put into 401k / Roth, company does additional 4x matching for bonuses only; reaching bonuses literally made a senior engineer a multi-millionaire here over 20 years in his 401k).
• Guaranteed raise after 6 months of stay / onboarding finished.
• Subsidized Masters / Ph.D. sponsored by the company.
• Full health + life + vision + dental insurance.
• Contracted inflation pay raise every year.
• Weekly pay.
• Paid maternity + paternity.
• Vacations whenever, just make sure you get your job done on time and let manager know before hand. Any vacation over 1 week must be approved by HR and other management levels. Be reasonable about how often you take it (Senior devs often take 1-2 weeks off every 2 months unless tight deadlines).
• Boss literally told me to go the fuck home when I tried staying overtime out of guilt / confusion.

Cost of Living:

• Low? Breakdown below, idk how to determine.
• Studio apartment + internet + heat + water < $1050.
• Average food cost (groceries + eating out every other day + weekly pizza) < $400.
  • Loaf of bread for reference: $1.99
• Downsides: neighbor won't stop smoking weed; the smell is annoying every Friday. Ugh.
• Downsides: Extremely car-centric area; no public transportation.

Listen to the goddamn Boomers / Gen X folks here

As much as the older folks are 'behind the times', you need to remember who is still disproportionately in charge of companies and how they are structured, even in the tech sector. Hell, I had my dad (the BOOMIEST BOOMER I know) help me out.
I went to my 7th job fair after graduation about 2-3 months ago (Feb 2024) and my dad came with me as moral support. Just as usual with most job fairs, there isn't anyone there actively recruiting for engineering / IT / software roles because of the current market. BUT, my dad was having a 'fun' chat with the CTO of a random medium sized company and they both hit it off HARD. Both of them were born in the same part of India, went to the same temples there, and they just kept on chatting. Next thing I know, this same CTO came to me and asked if I was competent at engineering and he'd like to interview me on the spot, but sadly his company had no open software roles. I agreed.
I shit you not, this test was this simple and BLEW it:

1. What is Ohms law? (I got this right)
2. What is an inverter? (I got this wrong)
3. What is a diode? What is it's symbol? (I got this right)
4. Explain what an LED is and what it's symbol is. (I got this half right)
5. What is the purpose of a rectifier? (I got this wrong)
6. Questions about embedded C/C++ (I don't even know the language well T.T)

Thing is, the interviewer was really interested NOT in my capabilities or even my previous experiences. He was intrigued at just how many questions I asked and how I even asked some questions he didn't know the answer to, and how quickly I learnt the information. He told me to come to the company's HQ because he wanted me to meet the R&D manager.
1 week later
I met the R&D guy. Something I noticed is that this whole department was filled with dinosaurs. Not a single human within a 1 km radius appeared below the age of 50 outside of the technicians / trades folk. These dinos didn't even know how to post a job online without the help of HR (I'm sure everyone here knows how HR writes posts and filters applications). Just after half an hour of talking and the R&D manager apparently loved me because "this kid knows jack shit but he's a sponge, he'll learn faster than anyone else we got", which is apparently what R&D is actively looking for in fresh recruits.
Then bam-bam-boom, I got my position starting at this pay, with a guaranteed pay boost after onboarding + training is finished in 6 months, while I bombed every interview question / test. My position is as an R&D Engineer specializing in Embedded Design / Programming. Hell, one of my first projects is to tinker around and try to create and integrate a custom trained AI model with Altium to see if the autopathing system and autolayouts can be made better and human centric if possible.
I looked into this company's history and they have an average employee tenure of 10+ years without a single person ever being laid off ever since 1985. People wouldn't actively stay at a company that long without job hopping if the pay wasn't satisfactory or if it was toxic. Plus it was written into my contract that base pay is tied to inflation!
What are the lessons here?

1. Don't quit. It's a shitty market, but a 0.01% chance is INFINITELY better than 0% if you stop trying.
2. Have a boomer / gen x person help you network and connect you with other boomer / gen x people. Boomers and Gen X folks hire more based on word of mouth and interactions than younger folk like me who focus on the 'skills' part of the resume.
3. Become a sponge. The more absorbent you are and the more questions you ask, the more the senior engineers will love you and actively want you on their team.
4. Target industries that are filled with older folks in white collar positions (assuming you want white collar positions). Here are some examples:
   1. Metallurgy (filled with trades people and old engineers, they are actively looking for fresh blood in white collar areas).
   2. Agriculture (mechanization).
   3. Carpentry (same as metallurgy above).
   4. Welding companies (they have active R&D for building welding machines, just like metallurgy and carpentry sectors).
5. Learn, learn, and learn. Especially for the first job you get, especially so if you don't have internships / co-op experience, people will look for your ability to learn. How fast can you learn everything we teach you?
6. HR seldom knows what the company wants / needs when they post job listings. Getting out there and talking to NOT the recruiters but the engineers will give you that edge. Bonus points if you also do bullet point 2.
7. Be ambitious with your future goals. Not just pretend; you'll run out of steam. If you are ambitious despite your current situation, people will see it and engineers / senior developers will like it. That was also one of the things a senior there liked about me and explicitly said "you're ambitions behind closed doors, I love it, you'll go far and I hope you take the company there with you; more profits for all of us!".
8. Nepotism isn't the right word for how many here think of the job situation, it's just much MUCH more networking than previously thought. This has it's own issues like for those from disadvantaged / foreign backgrounds, but this world isn't fair, and that won't change reality.

Check my post history to know I was literally in your position just a few months ago. I hope this post helps people.

22F. Seeing another neurologist and getting an EMG in three weeks but would like to get other people’s opinions - my PCP has no idea what’s going on with me. What am I missing/where do I go from here?
Current symptoms: - perceived weakness and neuropathy in left hand/wrist (feels like a weird burning/tingling sensation, sometimes triggered by the cold but present a majority of the time) - this is by far my worst symptom - occasional tingling sensations in other extremities, but never as frequent as left hand - bad upper back pain (comes and goes, gets worse with certain positions and never in one specific area) - derealization/brain fog (feels like I’m out of it/in a different universe, also hard to describe) - occasional chills/shivering - fatigue (sort of comes and goes in waves)
Timeline of my symptoms:
Feb 2023: fell twice while drunk (don’t have balance issues), woke up a two days later with terrible back spasms. A few days after that I noticed weird tingling sensations in my hands and feet and freaked out, also generally not feeling well/having a lot of fatigue. Freaked out about having MS - doctor did brain MRI and told me to chill out, symptoms went away.
Sept 2023: started experiencing chronic fatigue and derealization, chalked it up to weed withdrawals (I was cutting back at the time).
Oct 2023: got Covid - brain fog and fatigue got a lot worse.
Late Oct 2023: started having weird stomach issues - constant bloating and random sharp pains in lower abdomen. Got some tests done, this went away in around a month.
Early Nov 2023: started getting vaginal pain/constant burning sensation. Got more tests done, also went away in around a month.
Dec 2023: started feeling a bit better, then had a terrifying experience on THC (fully disassociated and thought I was dying multiple times), quit for good.
Mid Dec 2023: started talking birth control for PCOS as per gyno’s recommendation.
Late Dec 2023: started getting weird muscle weakness in both left hand and foot, went away in around three weeks. Also felt chest pain a few times and ended up in the ER for it, where I got my heart tested. Fatigue was pretty bad this whole time.
Jan-Feb 2024: muscle weakness mostly gone, fatigue slowly improving throughout these months, still dealing with some brain fog. Resumed weed use which was probably a bad idea.
March-May 2024: Quit weed for good. Switched to new progestin-only birth control because the combination one was giving me high BP. Started getting all this weird neuropathy and joint pain all over the place, for a few days it was super bad in my left/hand wrist and since then it’s been mostly in that area. Makes me wonder whether I have carpal tunnel or some nerve compression problem - it’s pretty painful. Sometimes shows up in left foot but not that bad there. Still have some derealization and brain fog that shows up for a few hours a day - it’s weird. Fatigue and back pain still present. Symptoms come and go in ways though - I have both good and bad days. I’d like to think I’m improving overall, but days like today make me not so sure of that.
Medical history: - had spinal fusion surgery for scoliosis in thoracic spine when I was 15 - PCOS - no family history of any autoimmune or neurological conditions except for grandmother with MS
Medications/drugs: - take 2,000 IU of vitamin D3 every day - started birth control in December (right before the neuropathy started - wonder if they might be related?) - chronic daily THC abuse for ~14 months right before all this started, been sober for several months now (possibly related?)
Tests I’ve already had: - brain MRI in Feb 2023 and March 2024 - both showed unchanged one/possibly two nonspecific T2 hyperintensities that the MS specialist said were benign - cervical spine MRI - 100% clear - neurological exams (multiple) - 100% normal - full abdominal and pelvic ultrasound - clear except for benign liver finding that doctor is not concerned about - chest x-ray - 100% clear - two EKGs - normal - thoracic spine x-ray - clear, showed that screws from surgery are in proper place - stool test - normal - urine test - normal - pap smear - atypical cells of undetermined significance, HPV negative - doctor said not to worry about it/continue screening every three years - lyme disease test - initial screening came back positive but confirmation tests were negative so doctors concluded it wasn’t lyme - B12 test - 526 (normal) - A1C - 4.8 (normal) - Rheumatoid factor - normal - C-reactive protein - normal/on lower side - ESR - normal/on lower side - SPEP panel with immunofixation - all normal - Jo-1 antibody - normal - CBC and complete metabolic panel - all normal - hepatic panel - normal - Methylmalonic acid - normal - TSH with reflex - normal - troponin - normal - PT-INR - normal - magnesium - normal - lipase - normal - serum protein electrophoresis - normal - mono (multiple times) - negative - reproductive hormones - elevated androgens (hence the PCOS diagnosis)

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

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

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

Idk about you but I’ve always wanted to like an influencer. It got me think if I was famous for that, what kind of content would I create? I had a few ideas
Reviewing scary movies - I love scary movies and it would give me a reason to watch as much as I can
Reviewing weed strands - this could probably be both a YT or podcast but I’d have to be 21
Music reactions - I love hearing new music and I love the channels that do music reactions.
What are some of yours?

Me (29F) and my fiance just moved in to a new apartment. Lots of space for the price, best we've seen on the market in the Massachusetts MetroWest area. There are 4 units - one is another couple (chill), the other is the landlord's son (semi-chill), and the fourth is the landlord's mentally ill sister, and her 20-something son who has autism.
The landlord kind of "warned" me about his sister, and that her living there wasn't supposed to be a permanent situation. I believe he also briefly mentioned her son who has autism. Cool, whatever. Really not worried at all about this bit. Week one, I meet the sister in the parking lot. She starts the conversation with "Did you meet my son? ***** (landlord's name) probably called him a big autistic giant." Okay.
I come to realize she spends most of her day out in her car in the back of our small parking lot, where she chain smokes with a curtain down over her passenger window so she is out of sight from the apartment. Some nights she is out there until 2 AM. During the walks to and from her car, she is always talking to herself semi-belligerently. I think I have heard her mutter "Oh great, there he is..." when I'm outside smoking weed on my porch.
Then, the sounds started. The walls are super thin, and her son's loud rants/monologues/nervous breakdowns can be heard throughout the whole house. I work from home most of the time as a freelancer, and I'm just waiting until this happens during a client call. There are moments when I truly empathize for the guy. He vents about the frustrations of life, his emotional struggle, his disability. Most of the time, it's fucking disturbing and even scary. The first time I heard it, I thought it was a domestic abuse situation and he was being violent with a partner. Turns out he was just throwing shit and screaming death threats at his iPad until it turned on.
Sometimes he makes up long fucked up stories - some recent themes include a grandmother being repeatedly SA'd, and him telling an imaginary friend that they're going to "absolutely love having sex and cumming all over themself, it's way better than being SA'd". He will sexually shout "oh yeah" repeatedly, and we can hear the slapping of something - sex doll? His own ass? He also mentions committing suicide frequently, usually when a belonging is misplaced or broken.
Twice now I have lost my cool and screamed through the wall at him. "Shut the fuck up, I'm trying to work", or "Stop being so fucking loud". I was so heated after 30 minutes of hearing him go on and on about disturbing shit while I'm trying to work. He stops for a few minutes then gets right back on his bullshit.
I have texted the landlord about this, and noted details about the death threats and suicide comments. He said he is sorry about that, and that they have been working on getting him into a place where he can live with peers - I assume they have been trying this for a while. He asked for specifics on the threats, and if they are about real people.
It's been a few weeks, the chaos has been daily, I'm losing patience fast. What do I do? Keep putting the pressure on landlord? Do I break lease even though the actual place is a great value? Do I try to talk to the crazy mom, who's clearly just avoiding the situation altogether out in her car? My therapist fiance who works with a similar population suggested calling a wellness check when he is making suicidal or homicidal threats, and that a visit from a police officer could be a necessary wake up call. Thanks for reading, let me know what you think I should do.
tl;dr - Adult male neighbor with autism is always yelling disturbing shit through thin walls, his mentally ill mom stays in her car, her brother is the landlord, I'm descending into madness as a WFH freelancer.

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