Dog knotting
Reply about making a paracord sling / guide
2024.05.17 04:39 Aggressive-Watch-195 Reply about making a paracord sling / guide
alright second try. maybe I can trim the fat a little on this attempt and make it a bit more streamlined.
so the first thing is deciding how many strands to use, and to avoid complicating things on your first try just trust me you'll want to choose an even number.
beginnings:
I almost exclusively do 4 strands as a flat braid with paracord, but that comes with a couple complications of its own involving the finger loop and the pouch design, so I am going to write this for a 6 strand braid, which for most of the sling will be a 3-strand braiding pattern using doubled strands, so 6 total...
...but in order to do the finger loop right you actually want to cut 3 strands at double the full desired length, plus some room for error etc. so for a 54" sling cut 3 lengths of cord at 120" each (and just for convenience go ahead and melt the ends sealed)
line them up alongside one another and fold your bundle in half, but to avoid tangling and confusion keep the 2 halves a little separated. you'll start working on the middle of the bundle.
finger loop:
take the very middle, then choke up a few inches (technically this will amount to the circumference of the finger loop but it doesn't have to be perfect here). tie a slipknot a few inches up from the very middle binding the 3 cords together, and start braiding them together on the long side starting at the knot.
the repeat rule through this whole effort is TIGHT, EVEN braids. if it starts looking wonky, just take it apart and try to fix it bc the further you go the more impossible any corrections will become.
after you get a few inches of braid, loop it around to see how big the finger loop is. you want it wide enough to easily slip past the knuckles on your middle finger (even if that's not the finger you use when you actually sling, you should still make it big enough). when you get there, clothespin the braid closed and untie the slipknot. now you’re gonna tighten up that end of the braid and maybe even add a little length.
stack your braid ends one on top of the other to form the finger loop and make sure each braid's last working strand is pointing in the same direction.
you’re going to pair each strand with its counterpart one by one, and continue the braid as a doubled up 3-strand pattern. this will merge the ends of the finger loop together seamlessly and begin the retention cord.
if this sounds complicated, it's honestly pretty straightforward once you're actually doing it (this sentiment might come up again a couple times fyi)
retention cord:
braiding the retention cord is easy, it's the same 3-strand pattern just with doubled strands now. keep the doubled strands parallel and pull them very tight with each braid you lay down, wrapping them around as you go (again... you'll see what I mean).
knee:
once you get the right length on the retention cord (I didn’t do the math here, but it's not complicated), you'll separate the braid into 2 bundles of 3, each to be braided into the sides of the split pouch.
rather than laying out exactly which strand goes where to make it most even, I think you'll do fine figuring it out on your own. honestly you just want the sides to be as balanced as possible.
a good practice is to braid one side a couple inches, clothespin it, then braid the other side a couple inches. now go back to the first one, undo the braid, pull everything super tight again and braid a couple inches again; then repeat on the other side. this really helps pull out the slack that inevitably builds up.
pouch:
braid each side to the appropriate length (math...), taking turns between them and regularly checking they are well balanced.
we will do a little more to beef up the pouch a bit once we finish the release cord. that is when you can add a Channing type smile if you want, too.
belly:
again, make sure each pouch braid's last working strand points in the same direction and all the strands are pulled tight.
you will rejoin the pouch in a similar way as you did for the finger loop, but this time side by side instead of stacked. this is probably the trickiest part of the whole process, and it might take a couple tries to get it right but it's not too hard. if it's just not working for you, you can get away with joining them stacked instead of side by side and the sling will still work fine - it's just better to do it side by side.
just make sure you keep pulling all the strands tight as you go, and that you are pairing the appropriate strands with one another.
don’t hesitate to take it apart and give it another try if it doesn't look or feel right - it's reasonably important to get this part right since it is the part of the sling that most directly affects how projectiles will release.
release cord:
hey you're at least 3/4 done now. if you want you can just keep doing the same 6 strand, doubled-up 3 strand pattern for the entite length of the release cord - but it's generally advised to drop out strands from the braid periodically to form a steady taper until the very end of the release cord is the same thickness as the finger loop.
it's very easy to do, and I usually just feel it out as I go - it doesn't have to be a perfect taper. you'll drop one cord at a time, so you'll start with 6 strands, braid for a bit... drop to 5 and braid some more; then 4 for a bit, and finally 3 for the remainder - so it does help to learn how to do a 5- and 4-strand braid...
...but honestly it should be ok if you do your 5-strand portion by continuing with the same 3 doubled-up strand pattern, just one of them is a single strand now.
also, whenever you drop a strand don't cut it or anything, just leave it out of the braid and let it hang for now.
same deal when you hit 4 strands - you could learn the braid or just continue the same pattern you've been doing but now only one strand is doubled. doing it like that with the 5 and 4 strand portions will kinda make the cord less... idk 'uniform'(?) than if you were to use the appropriate braid patterns, but all in all it shouldn't be an issue.
lastly, of course, dropping from 4 to 3 should be pretty simple.
release:
I like a smooth release without a knot, but if you want to add a knot you just have to make sure it's in the exact right place so that the very center of the pouch will be the lowest point of the sling when you put the finger loop on and grip the release as you will when it's time to use it. only way to determine that is to put it on your finger and try it out.
if you think it'll help, go ahead and place a projectile in the pouch then hold the sling just as you would if you were getting ready to incapacitate a philistine giant - this will help you find the exact spot where it's most comfortable and natural to grip the release cord and keep the pouch centered.
note: this is actually part of why I prefer to skip the release knot... if you experiment with different ways of holding and releasing etc. - which you probably should if you’re new to slinging - the knot kinda locks you in place. I haven't heard a good argument in favor of the knot actually; it seems like there's no real advantage to having it and it kinda gets in the way
use a crown knot, which is super easy w 3 strands but I’m not going to explain it here - it's all over youtube you'll have no trouble finding a 20 second video demonstrating this simple knot.
you can terminate the sling right at the release knot if you want, but I strongly recommend continuing for a few inches past it - and if you skip the knot, definitely continue a few inches past the portion you'll be gripping.
end the braid with a crown knot then cut and melt the ends of each cord to seal them. melting paracord ends is sort of a skill on its own, but if you do it right it bulges a little and hardens in place which will hold your knot together.
tassle: (how do you spell tassle? is it tassel?)
you don’t need a tassle but hey why not? since you've got plenty of paracord cut like 7" and pull out the inner strands - the guts.
you can thread them through the crown knot for extra security, then braid them together for a few inches - or you can just make a braid and tie it to the end. either way works fine. I like to braid the tassle a bit then let it hang loose for another couple inches into a natural fray, rather than closing the braid with a knot. honestly doesn't matter much, but do leave an unbraided portion as a fray.
pouch afterwork:
you could leave the pouch as is, but it's nice to make it a little beefier and more durable. I just use some more paracord to wrap it. you can use the axe-handle wrap method, which is basically just a series of alternating overhand knots around a core - typically a tool handle but in this case each of the sides of your pouch.
a much, much better way is a 'solomon bar' which is like paracord 101... it's how you make everything - key fobs, bracelets, dog leashes, belts, etc. it's hard to explain, but easy to learn from a video lol. just remember that any video you watch about it will show you how to create a core, then create the knot pattern around it, usually using like one strand of cord - you just need the knot technique since the core you'll tie it around is, again, each of the sides of the pouch.
I've never tried the 'smile' but it seems easy enough - just kinda minimally thread a single strand of cord across the center gap to prevent your projectiles from falling through (honestly it's just not a problem I have often enough to warrant a solution like that)
afterwork/finishing touches:
the hanging strands you dropped out for the taper... just cut those and melt them sealed. easy enough.
you can wrap the finger loop too, if you want. I'd go ahead and do that if you wind up using it often enough, and I recommend something soft like cotton twine... but paracord does work fine too.
end/concluding notes:
and there you go.... idk how much experience you have using a sling, but that's outside the scope of this for me lol - one thing I will say though if you haven't used one before: start with tennis balls or something that can’t knock anybody out or break windows, please!
and lastly, if this does seem like more than you're willing to undertake... there are easier options for sure.
seatbelt sling:
my favorite sling that isn’t a natural fiber balaeric type is the second one I ever made, which took me 10 minutes after watching the video by Mersa - a seatbelt sling. it just uses canvas type material for the pouch and single strands for the cords. look it up. mine gets used all the time and has never needed any repairs or adjustments
noodle sling:
literally takes less than 5 minutes and uses a single uncut cord with easy knots to form the loop and the pouch. you do need a slightly thicker cord though. I’ve made a few of these and they also work great.
anyway, good luck - I'll keep an eye on notifications if you need any help or anything.
it's super satisfying to use a sling you made yourself, and if you're like me at all you'll wind up making like a dozen of them just out of boredom until you get the technique down perfect and even come up with your own ideas and techniques to try out.
just wait until you start getting into the traditional natural fiber methods and you wind up watching the Archaic Arms videos 30x
submitted by Aggressive-Watch-195 to Slinging [link] [comments]
so the first thing is deciding how many strands to use, and to avoid complicating things on your first try just trust me you'll want to choose an even number.
beginnings:
I almost exclusively do 4 strands as a flat braid with paracord, but that comes with a couple complications of its own involving the finger loop and the pouch design, so I am going to write this for a 6 strand braid, which for most of the sling will be a 3-strand braiding pattern using doubled strands, so 6 total...
...but in order to do the finger loop right you actually want to cut 3 strands at double the full desired length, plus some room for error etc. so for a 54" sling cut 3 lengths of cord at 120" each (and just for convenience go ahead and melt the ends sealed)
line them up alongside one another and fold your bundle in half, but to avoid tangling and confusion keep the 2 halves a little separated. you'll start working on the middle of the bundle.
finger loop:
take the very middle, then choke up a few inches (technically this will amount to the circumference of the finger loop but it doesn't have to be perfect here). tie a slipknot a few inches up from the very middle binding the 3 cords together, and start braiding them together on the long side starting at the knot.
the repeat rule through this whole effort is TIGHT, EVEN braids. if it starts looking wonky, just take it apart and try to fix it bc the further you go the more impossible any corrections will become.
after you get a few inches of braid, loop it around to see how big the finger loop is. you want it wide enough to easily slip past the knuckles on your middle finger (even if that's not the finger you use when you actually sling, you should still make it big enough). when you get there, clothespin the braid closed and untie the slipknot. now you’re gonna tighten up that end of the braid and maybe even add a little length.
stack your braid ends one on top of the other to form the finger loop and make sure each braid's last working strand is pointing in the same direction.
you’re going to pair each strand with its counterpart one by one, and continue the braid as a doubled up 3-strand pattern. this will merge the ends of the finger loop together seamlessly and begin the retention cord.
if this sounds complicated, it's honestly pretty straightforward once you're actually doing it (this sentiment might come up again a couple times fyi)
retention cord:
braiding the retention cord is easy, it's the same 3-strand pattern just with doubled strands now. keep the doubled strands parallel and pull them very tight with each braid you lay down, wrapping them around as you go (again... you'll see what I mean).
knee:
once you get the right length on the retention cord (I didn’t do the math here, but it's not complicated), you'll separate the braid into 2 bundles of 3, each to be braided into the sides of the split pouch.
rather than laying out exactly which strand goes where to make it most even, I think you'll do fine figuring it out on your own. honestly you just want the sides to be as balanced as possible.
a good practice is to braid one side a couple inches, clothespin it, then braid the other side a couple inches. now go back to the first one, undo the braid, pull everything super tight again and braid a couple inches again; then repeat on the other side. this really helps pull out the slack that inevitably builds up.
pouch:
braid each side to the appropriate length (math...), taking turns between them and regularly checking they are well balanced.
we will do a little more to beef up the pouch a bit once we finish the release cord. that is when you can add a Channing type smile if you want, too.
belly:
again, make sure each pouch braid's last working strand points in the same direction and all the strands are pulled tight.
you will rejoin the pouch in a similar way as you did for the finger loop, but this time side by side instead of stacked. this is probably the trickiest part of the whole process, and it might take a couple tries to get it right but it's not too hard. if it's just not working for you, you can get away with joining them stacked instead of side by side and the sling will still work fine - it's just better to do it side by side.
just make sure you keep pulling all the strands tight as you go, and that you are pairing the appropriate strands with one another.
don’t hesitate to take it apart and give it another try if it doesn't look or feel right - it's reasonably important to get this part right since it is the part of the sling that most directly affects how projectiles will release.
release cord:
hey you're at least 3/4 done now. if you want you can just keep doing the same 6 strand, doubled-up 3 strand pattern for the entite length of the release cord - but it's generally advised to drop out strands from the braid periodically to form a steady taper until the very end of the release cord is the same thickness as the finger loop.
it's very easy to do, and I usually just feel it out as I go - it doesn't have to be a perfect taper. you'll drop one cord at a time, so you'll start with 6 strands, braid for a bit... drop to 5 and braid some more; then 4 for a bit, and finally 3 for the remainder - so it does help to learn how to do a 5- and 4-strand braid...
...but honestly it should be ok if you do your 5-strand portion by continuing with the same 3 doubled-up strand pattern, just one of them is a single strand now.
also, whenever you drop a strand don't cut it or anything, just leave it out of the braid and let it hang for now.
same deal when you hit 4 strands - you could learn the braid or just continue the same pattern you've been doing but now only one strand is doubled. doing it like that with the 5 and 4 strand portions will kinda make the cord less... idk 'uniform'(?) than if you were to use the appropriate braid patterns, but all in all it shouldn't be an issue.
lastly, of course, dropping from 4 to 3 should be pretty simple.
release:
I like a smooth release without a knot, but if you want to add a knot you just have to make sure it's in the exact right place so that the very center of the pouch will be the lowest point of the sling when you put the finger loop on and grip the release as you will when it's time to use it. only way to determine that is to put it on your finger and try it out.
if you think it'll help, go ahead and place a projectile in the pouch then hold the sling just as you would if you were getting ready to incapacitate a philistine giant - this will help you find the exact spot where it's most comfortable and natural to grip the release cord and keep the pouch centered.
note: this is actually part of why I prefer to skip the release knot... if you experiment with different ways of holding and releasing etc. - which you probably should if you’re new to slinging - the knot kinda locks you in place. I haven't heard a good argument in favor of the knot actually; it seems like there's no real advantage to having it and it kinda gets in the way
use a crown knot, which is super easy w 3 strands but I’m not going to explain it here - it's all over youtube you'll have no trouble finding a 20 second video demonstrating this simple knot.
you can terminate the sling right at the release knot if you want, but I strongly recommend continuing for a few inches past it - and if you skip the knot, definitely continue a few inches past the portion you'll be gripping.
end the braid with a crown knot then cut and melt the ends of each cord to seal them. melting paracord ends is sort of a skill on its own, but if you do it right it bulges a little and hardens in place which will hold your knot together.
tassle: (how do you spell tassle? is it tassel?)
you don’t need a tassle but hey why not? since you've got plenty of paracord cut like 7" and pull out the inner strands - the guts.
you can thread them through the crown knot for extra security, then braid them together for a few inches - or you can just make a braid and tie it to the end. either way works fine. I like to braid the tassle a bit then let it hang loose for another couple inches into a natural fray, rather than closing the braid with a knot. honestly doesn't matter much, but do leave an unbraided portion as a fray.
pouch afterwork:
you could leave the pouch as is, but it's nice to make it a little beefier and more durable. I just use some more paracord to wrap it. you can use the axe-handle wrap method, which is basically just a series of alternating overhand knots around a core - typically a tool handle but in this case each of the sides of your pouch.
a much, much better way is a 'solomon bar' which is like paracord 101... it's how you make everything - key fobs, bracelets, dog leashes, belts, etc. it's hard to explain, but easy to learn from a video lol. just remember that any video you watch about it will show you how to create a core, then create the knot pattern around it, usually using like one strand of cord - you just need the knot technique since the core you'll tie it around is, again, each of the sides of the pouch.
I've never tried the 'smile' but it seems easy enough - just kinda minimally thread a single strand of cord across the center gap to prevent your projectiles from falling through (honestly it's just not a problem I have often enough to warrant a solution like that)
afterwork/finishing touches:
the hanging strands you dropped out for the taper... just cut those and melt them sealed. easy enough.
you can wrap the finger loop too, if you want. I'd go ahead and do that if you wind up using it often enough, and I recommend something soft like cotton twine... but paracord does work fine too.
end/concluding notes:
and there you go.... idk how much experience you have using a sling, but that's outside the scope of this for me lol - one thing I will say though if you haven't used one before: start with tennis balls or something that can’t knock anybody out or break windows, please!
and lastly, if this does seem like more than you're willing to undertake... there are easier options for sure.
seatbelt sling:
my favorite sling that isn’t a natural fiber balaeric type is the second one I ever made, which took me 10 minutes after watching the video by Mersa - a seatbelt sling. it just uses canvas type material for the pouch and single strands for the cords. look it up. mine gets used all the time and has never needed any repairs or adjustments
noodle sling:
literally takes less than 5 minutes and uses a single uncut cord with easy knots to form the loop and the pouch. you do need a slightly thicker cord though. I’ve made a few of these and they also work great.
anyway, good luck - I'll keep an eye on notifications if you need any help or anything.
it's super satisfying to use a sling you made yourself, and if you're like me at all you'll wind up making like a dozen of them just out of boredom until you get the technique down perfect and even come up with your own ideas and techniques to try out.
just wait until you start getting into the traditional natural fiber methods and you wind up watching the Archaic Arms videos 30x
2024.05.17 04:14 adorabletapeworm Orion Pest Control: Don't Ask To Speak To My Manager
Previous case
We're back to business as usual at Orion. Sort of. I'll get into that in a minute. But first, I just need to put it out there that sometimes the clients drive me nuts. As much as I have an apparently irresistible desire to help everyone, some people really push it. Push it right off of a fucking cliff, that is.
I’m going to stop myself before I go off on an unhinged rant about the woes of dealing with the public. Instead, I’ll let yinz see for yourselves what I've been putting up with.
(If you're not familiar with what Orion Pest Control's services are, it may help to start here.)
We received a call from a client about mosquitoes running amok in her home. Since we had a few others to take care of that day, I informed her that the earliest that one of us could investigate the matter was in the afternoon. But because this woman is clearly so much more important than everyone else, her royal highness threw a hissy fit about having to wait like a common peasant.
I tried to be as nice as possible, “Ma’am, I understand that it’s frustrating, but there are others that called ahead of you, so we have to take care of their problems before we can take care of yours.”
The client huffed, “Okay, you clearly aren’t hearing me. There are mosquitoes in my house!”
“Yes, ma’am, I heard you. However, you are not our only client, so we ask that you please be patient and we will be there as soon as we can.”
I should also mention that this client talked out of the back of her nose, if that helps to paint a picture of how her cadence was equally as grating as her personality. “Okay, but do those people have mosquitoes? Like in their house, biting them and their kid over and over? My son could have Zika virus right now!”
Jesus Fucking Christ. I rubbed my temple with my free hand as I did my damndest to keep my customer service persona in place, “Again, ma’am, I understand that this is frustrating, but we have a wasp infestation and termites to deal with before you and those families want their kids to be safe, just like you. In the meantime, I recommend wearing bug spray or burning a citronella candle until we can get to you. We will be there as soon as we can.”
“You better be! And you really need to work on your customer service, sweetie!”
The client hung up on me.
I had to pace around the office after that one. Sweetie? Shove it up your ass, you entitled, snotty… You know what? Nevermind. I have many words to describe clients like that and none of them are pleasant. I hoped that she’d get mosquito bites in all of the most private areas of her anatomy.
It probably didn't help that I was saddled with some bitterness after the ‘dogging’ incident. I knew that there wasn't anything I could do about the mechanic other than stay out of his way going forward. And boy, did that eat me up.
On that note, I know what the mechanic is, however, even whispering the official title of these Neighbors is enough to draw them to you. I'm not sure if writing it counts and I'm not about to find that out the hard way.
Just know that if you hear wings beating from the west at night, hide and pray that you'll be passed by. Placing a line of salt on all of the doors and windows facing the west keeps them from coming inside. Once they set their sights on you, they'll never stop hunting you. Even death itself fears them. You'll still be running long after your heart stops beating.
But I promise, I’ll elaborate more on that later. I’m getting ahead of myself. Back to the case.
Reyna was at the point in her training where she could be trusted to deal with termites on her own. After I had the wasp nests taken care of, I set out to her royal highness’ home, and earlier than I’d told her, might I add. I will admit that I was tempted to dally a bit just to piss her off, but then I figured that it would be better and more professional to just get it over with.
She looked exactly like how I pictured her to look, complete with a weasley sneer that only the most unlikable of human beings are able to master.
“It’s about time.” She snapped.
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “Where have you noticed the mosquitoes the most?”
“Everywhere.” She said unhelpfully,
Her husband stepped in. “In the kitchen and basement, mostly.”
To make this call even better, the husband decided to take it upon himself to follow me around as I did my inspection, asking me pointless questions and giving me advice that I didn't ask for.
It got to a point where his hot breath wheezed into my ear as I shined my flashlight under their sink.
Stiffly, but politely, I asked, “Sir, can you please keep your distance?”
His wife chipped in, “Will you let her do her job, Curtis? It took her long enough to get here, and if you keep pestering her, it's going to take even longer!”
The husband puffed up and snapped, “Well, it's my house! I need to know that the person working in it knows what they're doing!”
They began screaming at each other. As obnoxious and uncomfortable as it was to have to bear witness to it, at least they weren't focused on me anymore. I shook my head and kept searching for the source of the infestation.
What I was looking for was standing water, which is essential for a mosquito's life cycle; you eliminate the standing water, you eliminate the infestation. The space beneath the sink was completely dry.
With the argument going on, I almost didn't hear it. An odd little sound. The easiest way to describe it was that it sounded like, ‘Kudo! Kudo!’
My head turned to follow it. That's when I noticed that one of the floorboards was slightly raised up from the rest.
I interrupted their marital problems, “You said that your son was sick earlier? Would he happen to have chills and a high fever?”
The client spat, “Yes, because some people-”
Not in the mood for her nonsense anymore, I cut in, “Ma'am, please just answer the question. I am trying to help you, I really am, but I'm going to need some more information in order to do that.”
She looked taken aback, her face bright red. While she balked, her husband answered instead, “Our son said he was feeling under the weather, but he does that whenever he wants to get out of something. You know how kids are.”
Good lord. Parents of the year.
“Have you noticed your salt going missing?”
The wife blinked at me, “How did you know that?”
I told them that I'd be right back and went to retrieve a cage from the truck. This critter is an odd one in that not only is salt not a suitable repellent for it, but it actually loves the stuff. It can consume as much as ten grams of salt per day. So if you find that the salt in your home has gone missing, it could mean that a False Egg has made a nest.
I returned with the cage and advised the couple to either move into another room or wait outside. Would it surprise yinz when I say that they refused? Not in the mood to argue, I just shrugged. Okay. Suit yourselves.
I set the cage up next to the lifted floorboard, took my salt off of my toolbelt, and sprinkled some inside the cage. It would placate the False Egg once I got it inside.
Using my knife, I pried the floorboard up. From behind me, the husband began to protest, but his wife snapped at him to keep still.
Meanwhile, my eyes met the beady gaze of a False Egg from where it hid under their floorboard.
At first glance, it looks like a white chicken's egg. If consumed, it causes the host to lay more False Eggs. That's how it reproduces. The telltale signs that you're looking at a False Egg include two dark spots on the shell near the pointed top of the ovoid. Those are the eyes, which they can leave closed to camouflage themselves. You may also notice two small holes at the bottom of the shell, which is where its legs can retract in and out. Mosquitoes follow False Eggs wherever they nest, though it's unclear why.
Generally, they're more of an annoyance than anything. However, they can cause flu-like symptoms in those that they feel threatened by, so they do pose a slight danger to those with compromised immune systems.
To my surprise, the False Egg leapt out of its nest and into the cage, tucking its legs back into its shell comfortably. Even though it didn't seem to have any intentions of moving, I quickly shut the door of its cage.
For the first time since I arrived, the clients were speechless. The woman had a hand over her open mouth while the man stared at the False Egg in a mixture of horror and disgust.
It wasn't until I stood up with the cage that the man asked, “What the hell is that?”
“The source of the infestation.” I replied. “I’ll take this guy out to the truck. The mosquitoes should follow him, but just to be sure, I'm going to ask that you all leave the house for a few hours so that I can apply a chemical treatment that'll kill off any stragglers. And your son’s condition should improve in a day or two.”
The couple didn't give me any trouble. They quietly collected their sick teenaged son, saying something about getting ice cream, then fucked off to do whatever while I dealt with the rest of the mosquitoes.
Once I was done, I drove off to release the False Egg somewhere where it could complete its life cycle away from humans. It is able to reproduce in any mammal. While forcing other organisms to lay eggs is bizarre and can be alarming for the affected individual, it doesn't appear to hurt the hosts, other than causing some mild abdominal discomfort. Once the False Egg is laid, the host goes back to normal, which is why we generally don't feel the need to kill them.
Unexpectedly, the False Egg talked to me.
It had a small, soft, mousy voice. “Thanks for getting me out of there.”
I glanced at the False Egg. I had its cage on the passenger's seat. Its eyes were visible, along with its little white legs as it sat on the bottom of its cage. It looked up at me as it wiggled its small feet absent-mindedly.
Whenever it spoke, a small crack that resembled a toothy mouth appeared in its shell. That was something to add to our records: not only are False Eggs capable of speech, but their mouths are located below their eye spots.
Stunned, I said, “You're welcome.”
The False Egg continued, “Oh, those humans are vile! I hadn't realized it when I first made my nest. Do you want to know why I made the boy sick?”
“Why?”
So that's how I learned every aspect of this family's lives. I'm sure yinz care even less than I do about some suburbanites’ interfamily drama, so I'll just say that it wasn't bad enough to warrant a call to social services, but enough that I can see why that kid probably couldn't wait to turn 18. Overbearing mother, father trying to use his son to relive his glory days as a high school athlete. The False Egg had done the boy a solid, giving him just enough of a fever to excuse him from lacrosse tryouts.
“Where are we going?” The False Egg asked after telling me all that information that I didn't know what to do with.
“Back to the forest.”
The False Egg kept swinging its little feet, “Can you take me somewhere nice? If it's not any trouble?”
Why not? Maybe some scenery would improve my mood.
So me and my little egg buddy took a little drive to the pond. It was a picturesque area as well as a nice environment for a False Egg. They prefer caves, but as long as they're near water, they'll be fine. When I opened its cage, the False Egg hopped out, its little eyes and shelled body swiveling to take in the peaceful sight.
“Oh, this is wonderful! Thank you!” Before it skipped off, it paused. “I think it would only be right if I told you something that could help, since you brought me here.”
It turned, its shell splitting to form a mouth as it hesitated before speaking, “If you hear whispers in the woods, even if it sounds like someone you care about, don't listen. The louder they are, the safer you are. They get quieter as they get closer to confuse you.”
Hold on. That didn't make any sense. The whispers had gotten louder and more urgent as I approached the mechanic's clearing.
Unless I was wrong and he wasn't the one doing it.
I asked, “Is the whispering thing disguising itself as a mechanic?”
The False Egg tilted to the side thoughtfully, “I'm afraid not. It doesn’t like to pretend to be human.”
So there was something else out there with me when I went looking for Victor. I remembered then that the whispers had stopped once I got close to the mechanic's clearing. When I unintentionally allowed them to lead me astray, they took me in the opposite direction of where he'd been waiting. Interesting.
With the False Egg wandering off to establish a new nest that was far away from humans, I headed back to the office, unsure of how to feel about the information it had given me.
Victor looked annoyed when I came in. The clients had called to complain about my ‘poor customer service.’ Wow. Okay.
“Next time, just leave the False Egg there.” Victor said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “They want to complain about poor customer service? We can show them bad service!”
“It's fine, Vic.” I replied. “Just let them leave their one star Google review and move on.”
“These fucking people…” He grumbled.
Victor's headspace hasn't been much better than mine. He's been pretty much stuck waiting by the phone for those ominous calls that the mechanic mentioned in the woods. They don't happen often, but when they do, he gets grim. Quiet. He hasn't told me in detail what has been requested of him. I don't know if he simply doesn't want to talk about it or if he's sworn to secrecy.
We'd had a long, uncomfortable talk during one of my days off while recovering from getting dogged. Victor stopped by with coffee and a box of donut holes. He drank the coffee, but left the donut holes untouched. We sat in my small kitchen, him staring intently into his black coffee, me quietly adding more sugar to my mocha.
I broke the silence. “What did you want me to see the other day?”
“I couldn't outright tell anyone that I was dead. Not without the mechanic finding out.” He continued after some hesitation. “It feels selfish saying it now, but… I just wanted someone to know what happened to me.”
Victor pulled the bandana aside with a finger, revealing that a jagged, red grin had been carved across his throat. I shuddered, being forcefully reminded once again how thin skin truly is.
He quickly pulled it back into place.
That prompted me to ask, “Is the mechanic the one that…?” I pointed to my neck.
Victor shook his head. I asked him who did.
His expression darkened, “Someone I used to use with. He didn't believe me when I told him that I was still clean and couldn't help him get his next hit. Everything happened so fast after that. Before I knew it, I woke up in his trunk. My chest felt empty. It's strange, you know? You don't notice your own heartbeat until it's not there anymore.”
I shook my head slowly, a knot in my stomach as I whispered, “Jesus, Vic. Where is he now?”
“He can't hurt anyone else. We'll leave it at that.” Victor muttered.
I took in a shaky breath. I couldn't believe that he'd been keeping all of this in. It was a lot to take in at once, so I could only imagine how much worse it was to be the one experiencing it.
Like I said, I don't blame him for what happened. He must've felt so alone.
After I regained my composure, I asked, “So… what does the mechanic have to do with this?”
Victor hesitated again, eventually saying, “He couldn't touch me while I was alive, so he made sure that death couldn’t get to me before he could. That's why I was trying to keep my condition quiet; I was hoping that I could outlast him long enough for the Reaper to catch up. Unfortunately, the fucker is good at what he does and knew that I’d drag someone else into my bullshit eventually.”
I shook my head, “I dragged myself into it. I could've just minded my own business, but I didn't. I chose to go out there, even though I didn't know what I was dealing with. And I chose to say the wrong thing to the mechanic to set him off.”
“You wouldn't have been in that position if I hadn't said anything.”
“So what happens now? You're just… forced to do these calls?”
Victor sighed, “It's either that, or I join the ones in the trees.”
The skulls. Grimly, I wondered if those trapped souls were still aware. If they knew what had happened to them.
I slumped down in my seat. “Is there anything we can do?”
“As of right now, no. We just go to work, keep our heads down, do what we have to do. And from now on, I'll deal with the mechanic, even if it's for something as trivial as changing a tire. He's my problem, no one else's.”
So that's where we're at. Victor's technically not alive or dead, but a secret third, worse thing.
Speaking of worse things, we got an emergency call in the middle of the night.
After we close for the day, Victor routes calls to his phone in case there is something that can't wait until the next day. Thankfully, this is an extremely rare occurrence; up until this incident, it's only happened twice since I've been with Orion. I joined Victor for one of those two emergency calls. Even though it's been two years since that night, I still hear the crunching of bones in my dreams.
Something yinz need to know about the farmers around here is that they know how to take care of themselves. They have more encounters with the atypical than anyone else and for the most part, they know how to live amongst things like the Neighbors in relative peace. They know about leaving cream out to appease them. They know about what measures to take to defend themselves and their animals. They're a tough bunch and they usually prefer to take care of things themselves. It's highly unusual for them to reach out to us.
So when Victor told me over the phone that the emergency call was at one of the farms, I knew it was going to be bad.
When he first described what the farmers were contending with, my stomach dropped. The client's brother was found on the porch with his chest entirely deflated, deliberately placed into a chair that was moved in front of the door where the family could see him.
The farmers were holed up in their home. The woman of the house was pregnant, due within the next few days, which made moving her extremely difficult. They could hear whatever killed the brother giggling and tapping on the windows, mocking them. Victor was already on his way there.
I arrived with my toolbelt along with a shotgun and shells filled with rock salt. This may sound ridiculous, but I also donned a collar that I'd made last summer by hammering long ass carpenter nails into the leather, then coating their pointed tips with silver. I looked a bit like a goth club reject, but when dealing with things that like to go for the throat, you gotta put your pride aside.
Victor's truck was in the driveway, but he was nowhere in sight. Shotgun at the ready, I glanced around as I approached the house. The body was still on the porch, untouched after the poor man had been posed there. It looked far worse than what Victor had described. His chest had caved in, like everything inside of him had been sucked clean out. His face was frozen in surprise rather than horror or pain. He'd been caught off guard and was dead long before he could react.
Wings. I turned, pulling the trigger just in time as the pest tormenting this family dove at me. It tumbled to the ground with an enraged shriek.
It appeared to be a woman. Well… half of one. Her legs were gone, brown entrails dangling sickeningly from her gray torso. Her leathery, hooked wings trembled as she used her bony arms to raise herself up to snarl at me, curling her lips to reveal doglike fangs. I shot at her again. She jolted as the shell took a chunk out of her skull.
That wouldn't kill her. Both her and I knew it. She skittered like a cockroach, an elongated tongue shooting out of her mouth, quick as a whip. I flinched, turning my head so she couldn't reach my face, grateful for the collar as I felt the proboscis slam into its spikes. The impact knocked me off balance, causing me to stumble. I leaned into it, hitting the ground and out of reach of the next swipe of her tongue.
I took aim again, knocking her back a few feet. A dark shape suddenly appeared from the barn, a glint of metal shining in the figure’s hand. Victor.
“I can't find the lower half.” He hissed when I was in earshot.
That meant we were going to have to keep her from rejoining the lower half of her body until sunrise. It was three in the morning.
Because nothing can ever be easy.
Victor had found chains and a padlock in the barn. They should be heavy enough to restrain her. We’d just have to get close. Without her sucking our insides out, preferably.
She was back in the air. I took another shot. I'd have to reload soon. I hoped that I'd have enough shells to last the next two hours. At the rate I was going, I'd burn through them in the next ten minutes.
Unfortunately, I missed as she soared towards the house. I used my last shot and thankfully knocked her out of the air. As I hurriedly reloaded, Victor rushed towards the fallen creature, kneeling on her chest to keep her from taking off again as he fought to get the chain around her.
I heard him make a terrible choking sound, followed by her retching. She'd gotten her proboscis down his throat, but had withdrawn it even quicker than she had gotten it down. I guess undead viscera doesn't taste very good.
As she gagged, Victor pressed his forearm against her throat, pinning her so that she couldn't sink her fangs into him. I raced over, setting the shotgun on the ground next to me so that I could help him restrain her. While he held her, I coiled the chain around her squirming torso.
She began to laugh. When she spoke, it sounded like an old woman and a young girl speaking in unison, “Do you think a chain will be enough to stop me?”
I kept going. She wiggled one wing out from beneath her, jabbing the hook into the hollow of my shoulder. I gasped as it pressed deeper into my skin. Victor roughly pushed her wing back down, the violent withdrawal of the hook making me see stars. Through all of that, I still kept going.
We turned her onto her side so that Victor could pin her wings against her back. She screeched the entire time, the proboscis shooting back to slap him in the cheek.
We almost had her. Then we heard a wail from inside the house. What now?!
The pest abruptly paused in her struggles to leer at us, then she sang, “The baby's coming!”
You've got to be kidding me.
Her fighting resumed with far more force than before. That man that she'd killed had merely been an appetizer for her. The baby was her true prize. Her eyes were wild with excitement, saliva dripping off of her fangs as she watched the front door open.
Shitshitshit!
“Go back inside!” Victor shouted as we both used all that we had to try to keep the pest in place.
The farmer yelled back, distress making his voice higher, “Something's wrong! I have to get her to the hospital!”
I risked a glance. The woman was white as a sheet, holding onto her husband for dear life as he half led half dragged her to his truck. Blood stained the inside of the woman's legs.
At the sight of it, Victor froze. I didn't like the way he looked at the woman then. Oh no. The creature went into a complete frenzy. She managed to get her fangs into Victor's arm, wrenching a cry of agony from him as she ripped a sizable chunk of flesh out. His hold on her loosened just enough that she could wriggle a wing out.
I screamed as I felt her beginning to slip away, frantically reaching for the nearest part of her, which was unfortunately her dangling intestines. It was like trying to hold onto oversized wet noodles, my hands slipping in her chunky blood as I struggled to slow her down.
They just needed to reach the truck. We just had to keep her here just long enough for them to get a head start.
I just hoped that I wouldn't end up having to protect them from my boss, too.
She roared as she turned and slashed me across the brow with one of her clawed fingers. My vision went dark in my right eye. Numbly, I wondered if she ripped my eye out, or if it was just from the pain. By some miracle, I didn't let go.
Fortunately, the bite seemed to snap Victor out of whatever had happened to him when he saw the woman’s blood. At least for the moment. He scrambled across the ground, seizing my shotgun. His first shot missed. The second one hit her left wing. The farmer had the truck's passenger side door open as he helped his wife inside. The pest reached a talon towards them, trying to drag herself closer. Victor was back on his feet and marched over to shoot her in the head. Once. Twice.
The truck's engine roared to life. With it, the pest screeched in rage, the sound warped by the damage done to her mouth after Victor had unloaded on her. She flailed as she watched her prize speed down the road.
But it wasn't over. The gunshot wound in her wing was already closing up. It wouldn't take her long to catch up to them if we lost her.
My cheek was wet. Turns out, I didn't lose an eye. I just had blood in it. Thank God. I crawled over her, trying the chains again as Victor went back to holding her wings against her body.
She called him every foul name in the book, words slurring from her destroyed jaw. One of them touched a nerve: “Bitch of the Wild Hunt.” He wordlessly snatched the salt from my belt and poured it over her face, holding her jaw to shove the container into her mouth. She gurgled and started to convulse as the salt was forced down her throat. That shut her up.
With the chain pinning her arms and wings against her body, Victor dug the padlock out of his pocket, using it to secure the links.
“I’m going to try to get her to the barn.” He yelled over the sound of her agitated howls.
I retrieved the shotgun and followed him as he carried the squirming, shrieking pest towards the barn. I pressed the palm of my hand to the cut on my brow. A flutter of unease went through my gut as it occurred to me that I could be in danger from Victor as well.
It didn't help that the pest had noticed it, too. She was goading him, “That girl smells sweet, doesn't she?”
“You want more salt in your mouth?” He threatened flatly. “We got plenty and we have some time until sunrise.”
She cackled, “You can't tell me that your mouth isn't watering thinking of her soft flesh between your teeth. Her blood warming your tongue. You long to feel warm again, don't you, dead man?”
The borderline pornographic way that she spoke about devouring me made me intensely uncomfortable.
“Keep it up and I'll pack the salt up your nose, too.” Victor retorted.
Once we got to the barn, we found an empty stall, which he tossed her into. I didn't follow him into the stall. My gut was telling me that something was off.
He drew a circle of salt around her. As long as it wasn't broken, it would trap her until sunrise.
I didn't think the boss would ever intentionally hurt me. But the way he looked at that woman…
What if he couldn't control himself?
Victor shut the stall door behind him, leaving the pest to wail and swear at us from her prison.
His eyes went to my forehead, “That looks like it hurts.”
I swallowed back the lump in my throat. There it was again. That look.
“Stay back, Vic.” I said calmly, my unease growing.
He took a deep breath, his eyes closing. I took a small step away from him, towards the exit to the barn.
I kept my voice even, “Vic, be honest with me. Is it safe to be around you right now?”
Victor stayed where he was, still not looking at me. He eventually answered, “Probably not.”
I took another step towards the door. “I'm going to leave.”
He nodded, eyes still shut, “I think that would be best. I'll make sure that she stays in the stall.”
As I backed towards the door, afraid to turn my back on him, I said, “I'll uh… see you at work tomorrow.”
“Yeah. See ya.”
I didn't dare turn my back on him until I'd left the barn. He didn't move a muscle the entire time. As I made my way back to my G6, I kept looking over my shoulder. Victor didn't follow me. I made it back to my car without incident.
I thought back to when I'd found him in the butcher shed. Looking back, I'm pretty sure that he'd been eating it.
Once I was in my apartment, I quickly drew lines of salt in front of all my doors and windows. It made me feel somewhat safer. I inspected the injuries on my forehead and shoulder. After cleaning them both up, I determined that I should probably see a doctor in the morning. In the meantime, I covered them both with gauze.
I painfully settled down onto my bed, my entire body aching. Even though I felt like a dish towel that had been wrung out over and over again, I knew that I wasn't going to be getting much sleep. My mind was racing too much.
Against my better judgment, I ended up texting Victor, ‘Are you a draugr?’
His response was, ‘i think so’
Draugr are known for their grotesque appetites. The joke Reyna and I had been making about him being a ‘high-functioning zombie’ wasn't all that far off, after all.
I reminded myself that Victor wasn't a complete monster. He'd at least had enough control over himself not to hurt me or either of the farmers. But the temptation had clearly been there. That begged the question of what his limits were.
Was it safe to work with him? Injuries aren't exactly uncommon at Orion. Maybe that's why he's been sending Reyna and I together for two person jobs rather than going on calls with us.
I received another message from him, ‘if you want to quit I understand’
I didn't, though. As stressful as working here can be, I do enjoy my job, weirdly enough. I've been treated better here than by any other employer and I like having only two other coworkers to worry about, especially since I get along well with both of them. But the biggest reason why quitting hasn't occurred to me is that I wouldn't be able to just walk away from all that I'd learned about the atypical cases. There was no way I could live a normal life after working at Orion.
I also wanted to keep an eye on Victor. Between whatever the mechanic was forcing him to do and his transformation, there was a lot that I was concerned about. As much as I didn't want to think about having to trap or kill Victor, if it came down to it... I'd do what needed to be done.
I sent back, ‘hazard pay? 👀’
His reply was, ‘😒’
A moment later, I received, ‘we'll discuss it when I don't have a manananggal mf'ing me’
Yinz see why I kept calling her a ‘pest’ rather than trying to type that long name out each time? I guarantee I would have misspelled it several different ways.
When the sun rose, I received another message from Victor, ‘it's over. thanks for your help’
We found out later in the afternoon that the hospital had been able to save the farmers’ baby. She was going to have to stay longer in the hospital, but otherwise, she and their newborn daughter were alright.
What was alarming was that the dead man's body had been desecrated at some point after I left. It was believed that the pest had been the one to take chunks out of his neck, shoulder, and chest. I wasn't going to be the one to tell the family the truth. They'd been through enough already without the news that the one they'd relied on for protection had gotten hungry.
I wondered if being exposed to so much blood had been the trigger. I suppose I should just be glad that Victor had eaten a man who was already dead instead of me or another living person.
Like I said, I'm going to have to keep an eye on him. In the meantime… maybe don't demand to speak to the manager.
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We're back to business as usual at Orion. Sort of. I'll get into that in a minute. But first, I just need to put it out there that sometimes the clients drive me nuts. As much as I have an apparently irresistible desire to help everyone, some people really push it. Push it right off of a fucking cliff, that is.
I’m going to stop myself before I go off on an unhinged rant about the woes of dealing with the public. Instead, I’ll let yinz see for yourselves what I've been putting up with.
(If you're not familiar with what Orion Pest Control's services are, it may help to start here.)
We received a call from a client about mosquitoes running amok in her home. Since we had a few others to take care of that day, I informed her that the earliest that one of us could investigate the matter was in the afternoon. But because this woman is clearly so much more important than everyone else, her royal highness threw a hissy fit about having to wait like a common peasant.
I tried to be as nice as possible, “Ma’am, I understand that it’s frustrating, but there are others that called ahead of you, so we have to take care of their problems before we can take care of yours.”
The client huffed, “Okay, you clearly aren’t hearing me. There are mosquitoes in my house!”
“Yes, ma’am, I heard you. However, you are not our only client, so we ask that you please be patient and we will be there as soon as we can.”
I should also mention that this client talked out of the back of her nose, if that helps to paint a picture of how her cadence was equally as grating as her personality. “Okay, but do those people have mosquitoes? Like in their house, biting them and their kid over and over? My son could have Zika virus right now!”
Jesus Fucking Christ. I rubbed my temple with my free hand as I did my damndest to keep my customer service persona in place, “Again, ma’am, I understand that this is frustrating, but we have a wasp infestation and termites to deal with before you and those families want their kids to be safe, just like you. In the meantime, I recommend wearing bug spray or burning a citronella candle until we can get to you. We will be there as soon as we can.”
“You better be! And you really need to work on your customer service, sweetie!”
The client hung up on me.
I had to pace around the office after that one. Sweetie? Shove it up your ass, you entitled, snotty… You know what? Nevermind. I have many words to describe clients like that and none of them are pleasant. I hoped that she’d get mosquito bites in all of the most private areas of her anatomy.
It probably didn't help that I was saddled with some bitterness after the ‘dogging’ incident. I knew that there wasn't anything I could do about the mechanic other than stay out of his way going forward. And boy, did that eat me up.
On that note, I know what the mechanic is, however, even whispering the official title of these Neighbors is enough to draw them to you. I'm not sure if writing it counts and I'm not about to find that out the hard way.
Just know that if you hear wings beating from the west at night, hide and pray that you'll be passed by. Placing a line of salt on all of the doors and windows facing the west keeps them from coming inside. Once they set their sights on you, they'll never stop hunting you. Even death itself fears them. You'll still be running long after your heart stops beating.
But I promise, I’ll elaborate more on that later. I’m getting ahead of myself. Back to the case.
Reyna was at the point in her training where she could be trusted to deal with termites on her own. After I had the wasp nests taken care of, I set out to her royal highness’ home, and earlier than I’d told her, might I add. I will admit that I was tempted to dally a bit just to piss her off, but then I figured that it would be better and more professional to just get it over with.
She looked exactly like how I pictured her to look, complete with a weasley sneer that only the most unlikable of human beings are able to master.
“It’s about time.” She snapped.
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “Where have you noticed the mosquitoes the most?”
“Everywhere.” She said unhelpfully,
Her husband stepped in. “In the kitchen and basement, mostly.”
To make this call even better, the husband decided to take it upon himself to follow me around as I did my inspection, asking me pointless questions and giving me advice that I didn't ask for.
It got to a point where his hot breath wheezed into my ear as I shined my flashlight under their sink.
Stiffly, but politely, I asked, “Sir, can you please keep your distance?”
His wife chipped in, “Will you let her do her job, Curtis? It took her long enough to get here, and if you keep pestering her, it's going to take even longer!”
The husband puffed up and snapped, “Well, it's my house! I need to know that the person working in it knows what they're doing!”
They began screaming at each other. As obnoxious and uncomfortable as it was to have to bear witness to it, at least they weren't focused on me anymore. I shook my head and kept searching for the source of the infestation.
What I was looking for was standing water, which is essential for a mosquito's life cycle; you eliminate the standing water, you eliminate the infestation. The space beneath the sink was completely dry.
With the argument going on, I almost didn't hear it. An odd little sound. The easiest way to describe it was that it sounded like, ‘Kudo! Kudo!’
My head turned to follow it. That's when I noticed that one of the floorboards was slightly raised up from the rest.
I interrupted their marital problems, “You said that your son was sick earlier? Would he happen to have chills and a high fever?”
The client spat, “Yes, because some people-”
Not in the mood for her nonsense anymore, I cut in, “Ma'am, please just answer the question. I am trying to help you, I really am, but I'm going to need some more information in order to do that.”
She looked taken aback, her face bright red. While she balked, her husband answered instead, “Our son said he was feeling under the weather, but he does that whenever he wants to get out of something. You know how kids are.”
Good lord. Parents of the year.
“Have you noticed your salt going missing?”
The wife blinked at me, “How did you know that?”
I told them that I'd be right back and went to retrieve a cage from the truck. This critter is an odd one in that not only is salt not a suitable repellent for it, but it actually loves the stuff. It can consume as much as ten grams of salt per day. So if you find that the salt in your home has gone missing, it could mean that a False Egg has made a nest.
I returned with the cage and advised the couple to either move into another room or wait outside. Would it surprise yinz when I say that they refused? Not in the mood to argue, I just shrugged. Okay. Suit yourselves.
I set the cage up next to the lifted floorboard, took my salt off of my toolbelt, and sprinkled some inside the cage. It would placate the False Egg once I got it inside.
Using my knife, I pried the floorboard up. From behind me, the husband began to protest, but his wife snapped at him to keep still.
Meanwhile, my eyes met the beady gaze of a False Egg from where it hid under their floorboard.
At first glance, it looks like a white chicken's egg. If consumed, it causes the host to lay more False Eggs. That's how it reproduces. The telltale signs that you're looking at a False Egg include two dark spots on the shell near the pointed top of the ovoid. Those are the eyes, which they can leave closed to camouflage themselves. You may also notice two small holes at the bottom of the shell, which is where its legs can retract in and out. Mosquitoes follow False Eggs wherever they nest, though it's unclear why.
Generally, they're more of an annoyance than anything. However, they can cause flu-like symptoms in those that they feel threatened by, so they do pose a slight danger to those with compromised immune systems.
To my surprise, the False Egg leapt out of its nest and into the cage, tucking its legs back into its shell comfortably. Even though it didn't seem to have any intentions of moving, I quickly shut the door of its cage.
For the first time since I arrived, the clients were speechless. The woman had a hand over her open mouth while the man stared at the False Egg in a mixture of horror and disgust.
It wasn't until I stood up with the cage that the man asked, “What the hell is that?”
“The source of the infestation.” I replied. “I’ll take this guy out to the truck. The mosquitoes should follow him, but just to be sure, I'm going to ask that you all leave the house for a few hours so that I can apply a chemical treatment that'll kill off any stragglers. And your son’s condition should improve in a day or two.”
The couple didn't give me any trouble. They quietly collected their sick teenaged son, saying something about getting ice cream, then fucked off to do whatever while I dealt with the rest of the mosquitoes.
Once I was done, I drove off to release the False Egg somewhere where it could complete its life cycle away from humans. It is able to reproduce in any mammal. While forcing other organisms to lay eggs is bizarre and can be alarming for the affected individual, it doesn't appear to hurt the hosts, other than causing some mild abdominal discomfort. Once the False Egg is laid, the host goes back to normal, which is why we generally don't feel the need to kill them.
Unexpectedly, the False Egg talked to me.
It had a small, soft, mousy voice. “Thanks for getting me out of there.”
I glanced at the False Egg. I had its cage on the passenger's seat. Its eyes were visible, along with its little white legs as it sat on the bottom of its cage. It looked up at me as it wiggled its small feet absent-mindedly.
Whenever it spoke, a small crack that resembled a toothy mouth appeared in its shell. That was something to add to our records: not only are False Eggs capable of speech, but their mouths are located below their eye spots.
Stunned, I said, “You're welcome.”
The False Egg continued, “Oh, those humans are vile! I hadn't realized it when I first made my nest. Do you want to know why I made the boy sick?”
“Why?”
So that's how I learned every aspect of this family's lives. I'm sure yinz care even less than I do about some suburbanites’ interfamily drama, so I'll just say that it wasn't bad enough to warrant a call to social services, but enough that I can see why that kid probably couldn't wait to turn 18. Overbearing mother, father trying to use his son to relive his glory days as a high school athlete. The False Egg had done the boy a solid, giving him just enough of a fever to excuse him from lacrosse tryouts.
“Where are we going?” The False Egg asked after telling me all that information that I didn't know what to do with.
“Back to the forest.”
The False Egg kept swinging its little feet, “Can you take me somewhere nice? If it's not any trouble?”
Why not? Maybe some scenery would improve my mood.
So me and my little egg buddy took a little drive to the pond. It was a picturesque area as well as a nice environment for a False Egg. They prefer caves, but as long as they're near water, they'll be fine. When I opened its cage, the False Egg hopped out, its little eyes and shelled body swiveling to take in the peaceful sight.
“Oh, this is wonderful! Thank you!” Before it skipped off, it paused. “I think it would only be right if I told you something that could help, since you brought me here.”
It turned, its shell splitting to form a mouth as it hesitated before speaking, “If you hear whispers in the woods, even if it sounds like someone you care about, don't listen. The louder they are, the safer you are. They get quieter as they get closer to confuse you.”
Hold on. That didn't make any sense. The whispers had gotten louder and more urgent as I approached the mechanic's clearing.
Unless I was wrong and he wasn't the one doing it.
I asked, “Is the whispering thing disguising itself as a mechanic?”
The False Egg tilted to the side thoughtfully, “I'm afraid not. It doesn’t like to pretend to be human.”
So there was something else out there with me when I went looking for Victor. I remembered then that the whispers had stopped once I got close to the mechanic's clearing. When I unintentionally allowed them to lead me astray, they took me in the opposite direction of where he'd been waiting. Interesting.
With the False Egg wandering off to establish a new nest that was far away from humans, I headed back to the office, unsure of how to feel about the information it had given me.
Victor looked annoyed when I came in. The clients had called to complain about my ‘poor customer service.’ Wow. Okay.
“Next time, just leave the False Egg there.” Victor said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “They want to complain about poor customer service? We can show them bad service!”
“It's fine, Vic.” I replied. “Just let them leave their one star Google review and move on.”
“These fucking people…” He grumbled.
Victor's headspace hasn't been much better than mine. He's been pretty much stuck waiting by the phone for those ominous calls that the mechanic mentioned in the woods. They don't happen often, but when they do, he gets grim. Quiet. He hasn't told me in detail what has been requested of him. I don't know if he simply doesn't want to talk about it or if he's sworn to secrecy.
We'd had a long, uncomfortable talk during one of my days off while recovering from getting dogged. Victor stopped by with coffee and a box of donut holes. He drank the coffee, but left the donut holes untouched. We sat in my small kitchen, him staring intently into his black coffee, me quietly adding more sugar to my mocha.
I broke the silence. “What did you want me to see the other day?”
“I couldn't outright tell anyone that I was dead. Not without the mechanic finding out.” He continued after some hesitation. “It feels selfish saying it now, but… I just wanted someone to know what happened to me.”
Victor pulled the bandana aside with a finger, revealing that a jagged, red grin had been carved across his throat. I shuddered, being forcefully reminded once again how thin skin truly is.
He quickly pulled it back into place.
That prompted me to ask, “Is the mechanic the one that…?” I pointed to my neck.
Victor shook his head. I asked him who did.
His expression darkened, “Someone I used to use with. He didn't believe me when I told him that I was still clean and couldn't help him get his next hit. Everything happened so fast after that. Before I knew it, I woke up in his trunk. My chest felt empty. It's strange, you know? You don't notice your own heartbeat until it's not there anymore.”
I shook my head slowly, a knot in my stomach as I whispered, “Jesus, Vic. Where is he now?”
“He can't hurt anyone else. We'll leave it at that.” Victor muttered.
I took in a shaky breath. I couldn't believe that he'd been keeping all of this in. It was a lot to take in at once, so I could only imagine how much worse it was to be the one experiencing it.
Like I said, I don't blame him for what happened. He must've felt so alone.
After I regained my composure, I asked, “So… what does the mechanic have to do with this?”
Victor hesitated again, eventually saying, “He couldn't touch me while I was alive, so he made sure that death couldn’t get to me before he could. That's why I was trying to keep my condition quiet; I was hoping that I could outlast him long enough for the Reaper to catch up. Unfortunately, the fucker is good at what he does and knew that I’d drag someone else into my bullshit eventually.”
I shook my head, “I dragged myself into it. I could've just minded my own business, but I didn't. I chose to go out there, even though I didn't know what I was dealing with. And I chose to say the wrong thing to the mechanic to set him off.”
“You wouldn't have been in that position if I hadn't said anything.”
“So what happens now? You're just… forced to do these calls?”
Victor sighed, “It's either that, or I join the ones in the trees.”
The skulls. Grimly, I wondered if those trapped souls were still aware. If they knew what had happened to them.
I slumped down in my seat. “Is there anything we can do?”
“As of right now, no. We just go to work, keep our heads down, do what we have to do. And from now on, I'll deal with the mechanic, even if it's for something as trivial as changing a tire. He's my problem, no one else's.”
So that's where we're at. Victor's technically not alive or dead, but a secret third, worse thing.
Speaking of worse things, we got an emergency call in the middle of the night.
After we close for the day, Victor routes calls to his phone in case there is something that can't wait until the next day. Thankfully, this is an extremely rare occurrence; up until this incident, it's only happened twice since I've been with Orion. I joined Victor for one of those two emergency calls. Even though it's been two years since that night, I still hear the crunching of bones in my dreams.
Something yinz need to know about the farmers around here is that they know how to take care of themselves. They have more encounters with the atypical than anyone else and for the most part, they know how to live amongst things like the Neighbors in relative peace. They know about leaving cream out to appease them. They know about what measures to take to defend themselves and their animals. They're a tough bunch and they usually prefer to take care of things themselves. It's highly unusual for them to reach out to us.
So when Victor told me over the phone that the emergency call was at one of the farms, I knew it was going to be bad.
When he first described what the farmers were contending with, my stomach dropped. The client's brother was found on the porch with his chest entirely deflated, deliberately placed into a chair that was moved in front of the door where the family could see him.
The farmers were holed up in their home. The woman of the house was pregnant, due within the next few days, which made moving her extremely difficult. They could hear whatever killed the brother giggling and tapping on the windows, mocking them. Victor was already on his way there.
I arrived with my toolbelt along with a shotgun and shells filled with rock salt. This may sound ridiculous, but I also donned a collar that I'd made last summer by hammering long ass carpenter nails into the leather, then coating their pointed tips with silver. I looked a bit like a goth club reject, but when dealing with things that like to go for the throat, you gotta put your pride aside.
Victor's truck was in the driveway, but he was nowhere in sight. Shotgun at the ready, I glanced around as I approached the house. The body was still on the porch, untouched after the poor man had been posed there. It looked far worse than what Victor had described. His chest had caved in, like everything inside of him had been sucked clean out. His face was frozen in surprise rather than horror or pain. He'd been caught off guard and was dead long before he could react.
Wings. I turned, pulling the trigger just in time as the pest tormenting this family dove at me. It tumbled to the ground with an enraged shriek.
It appeared to be a woman. Well… half of one. Her legs were gone, brown entrails dangling sickeningly from her gray torso. Her leathery, hooked wings trembled as she used her bony arms to raise herself up to snarl at me, curling her lips to reveal doglike fangs. I shot at her again. She jolted as the shell took a chunk out of her skull.
That wouldn't kill her. Both her and I knew it. She skittered like a cockroach, an elongated tongue shooting out of her mouth, quick as a whip. I flinched, turning my head so she couldn't reach my face, grateful for the collar as I felt the proboscis slam into its spikes. The impact knocked me off balance, causing me to stumble. I leaned into it, hitting the ground and out of reach of the next swipe of her tongue.
I took aim again, knocking her back a few feet. A dark shape suddenly appeared from the barn, a glint of metal shining in the figure’s hand. Victor.
“I can't find the lower half.” He hissed when I was in earshot.
That meant we were going to have to keep her from rejoining the lower half of her body until sunrise. It was three in the morning.
Because nothing can ever be easy.
Victor had found chains and a padlock in the barn. They should be heavy enough to restrain her. We’d just have to get close. Without her sucking our insides out, preferably.
She was back in the air. I took another shot. I'd have to reload soon. I hoped that I'd have enough shells to last the next two hours. At the rate I was going, I'd burn through them in the next ten minutes.
Unfortunately, I missed as she soared towards the house. I used my last shot and thankfully knocked her out of the air. As I hurriedly reloaded, Victor rushed towards the fallen creature, kneeling on her chest to keep her from taking off again as he fought to get the chain around her.
I heard him make a terrible choking sound, followed by her retching. She'd gotten her proboscis down his throat, but had withdrawn it even quicker than she had gotten it down. I guess undead viscera doesn't taste very good.
As she gagged, Victor pressed his forearm against her throat, pinning her so that she couldn't sink her fangs into him. I raced over, setting the shotgun on the ground next to me so that I could help him restrain her. While he held her, I coiled the chain around her squirming torso.
She began to laugh. When she spoke, it sounded like an old woman and a young girl speaking in unison, “Do you think a chain will be enough to stop me?”
I kept going. She wiggled one wing out from beneath her, jabbing the hook into the hollow of my shoulder. I gasped as it pressed deeper into my skin. Victor roughly pushed her wing back down, the violent withdrawal of the hook making me see stars. Through all of that, I still kept going.
We turned her onto her side so that Victor could pin her wings against her back. She screeched the entire time, the proboscis shooting back to slap him in the cheek.
We almost had her. Then we heard a wail from inside the house. What now?!
The pest abruptly paused in her struggles to leer at us, then she sang, “The baby's coming!”
You've got to be kidding me.
Her fighting resumed with far more force than before. That man that she'd killed had merely been an appetizer for her. The baby was her true prize. Her eyes were wild with excitement, saliva dripping off of her fangs as she watched the front door open.
Shitshitshit!
“Go back inside!” Victor shouted as we both used all that we had to try to keep the pest in place.
The farmer yelled back, distress making his voice higher, “Something's wrong! I have to get her to the hospital!”
I risked a glance. The woman was white as a sheet, holding onto her husband for dear life as he half led half dragged her to his truck. Blood stained the inside of the woman's legs.
At the sight of it, Victor froze. I didn't like the way he looked at the woman then. Oh no. The creature went into a complete frenzy. She managed to get her fangs into Victor's arm, wrenching a cry of agony from him as she ripped a sizable chunk of flesh out. His hold on her loosened just enough that she could wriggle a wing out.
I screamed as I felt her beginning to slip away, frantically reaching for the nearest part of her, which was unfortunately her dangling intestines. It was like trying to hold onto oversized wet noodles, my hands slipping in her chunky blood as I struggled to slow her down.
They just needed to reach the truck. We just had to keep her here just long enough for them to get a head start.
I just hoped that I wouldn't end up having to protect them from my boss, too.
She roared as she turned and slashed me across the brow with one of her clawed fingers. My vision went dark in my right eye. Numbly, I wondered if she ripped my eye out, or if it was just from the pain. By some miracle, I didn't let go.
Fortunately, the bite seemed to snap Victor out of whatever had happened to him when he saw the woman’s blood. At least for the moment. He scrambled across the ground, seizing my shotgun. His first shot missed. The second one hit her left wing. The farmer had the truck's passenger side door open as he helped his wife inside. The pest reached a talon towards them, trying to drag herself closer. Victor was back on his feet and marched over to shoot her in the head. Once. Twice.
The truck's engine roared to life. With it, the pest screeched in rage, the sound warped by the damage done to her mouth after Victor had unloaded on her. She flailed as she watched her prize speed down the road.
But it wasn't over. The gunshot wound in her wing was already closing up. It wouldn't take her long to catch up to them if we lost her.
My cheek was wet. Turns out, I didn't lose an eye. I just had blood in it. Thank God. I crawled over her, trying the chains again as Victor went back to holding her wings against her body.
She called him every foul name in the book, words slurring from her destroyed jaw. One of them touched a nerve: “Bitch of the Wild Hunt.” He wordlessly snatched the salt from my belt and poured it over her face, holding her jaw to shove the container into her mouth. She gurgled and started to convulse as the salt was forced down her throat. That shut her up.
With the chain pinning her arms and wings against her body, Victor dug the padlock out of his pocket, using it to secure the links.
“I’m going to try to get her to the barn.” He yelled over the sound of her agitated howls.
I retrieved the shotgun and followed him as he carried the squirming, shrieking pest towards the barn. I pressed the palm of my hand to the cut on my brow. A flutter of unease went through my gut as it occurred to me that I could be in danger from Victor as well.
It didn't help that the pest had noticed it, too. She was goading him, “That girl smells sweet, doesn't she?”
“You want more salt in your mouth?” He threatened flatly. “We got plenty and we have some time until sunrise.”
She cackled, “You can't tell me that your mouth isn't watering thinking of her soft flesh between your teeth. Her blood warming your tongue. You long to feel warm again, don't you, dead man?”
The borderline pornographic way that she spoke about devouring me made me intensely uncomfortable.
“Keep it up and I'll pack the salt up your nose, too.” Victor retorted.
Once we got to the barn, we found an empty stall, which he tossed her into. I didn't follow him into the stall. My gut was telling me that something was off.
He drew a circle of salt around her. As long as it wasn't broken, it would trap her until sunrise.
I didn't think the boss would ever intentionally hurt me. But the way he looked at that woman…
What if he couldn't control himself?
Victor shut the stall door behind him, leaving the pest to wail and swear at us from her prison.
His eyes went to my forehead, “That looks like it hurts.”
I swallowed back the lump in my throat. There it was again. That look.
“Stay back, Vic.” I said calmly, my unease growing.
He took a deep breath, his eyes closing. I took a small step away from him, towards the exit to the barn.
I kept my voice even, “Vic, be honest with me. Is it safe to be around you right now?”
Victor stayed where he was, still not looking at me. He eventually answered, “Probably not.”
I took another step towards the door. “I'm going to leave.”
He nodded, eyes still shut, “I think that would be best. I'll make sure that she stays in the stall.”
As I backed towards the door, afraid to turn my back on him, I said, “I'll uh… see you at work tomorrow.”
“Yeah. See ya.”
I didn't dare turn my back on him until I'd left the barn. He didn't move a muscle the entire time. As I made my way back to my G6, I kept looking over my shoulder. Victor didn't follow me. I made it back to my car without incident.
I thought back to when I'd found him in the butcher shed. Looking back, I'm pretty sure that he'd been eating it.
Once I was in my apartment, I quickly drew lines of salt in front of all my doors and windows. It made me feel somewhat safer. I inspected the injuries on my forehead and shoulder. After cleaning them both up, I determined that I should probably see a doctor in the morning. In the meantime, I covered them both with gauze.
I painfully settled down onto my bed, my entire body aching. Even though I felt like a dish towel that had been wrung out over and over again, I knew that I wasn't going to be getting much sleep. My mind was racing too much.
Against my better judgment, I ended up texting Victor, ‘Are you a draugr?’
His response was, ‘i think so’
Draugr are known for their grotesque appetites. The joke Reyna and I had been making about him being a ‘high-functioning zombie’ wasn't all that far off, after all.
I reminded myself that Victor wasn't a complete monster. He'd at least had enough control over himself not to hurt me or either of the farmers. But the temptation had clearly been there. That begged the question of what his limits were.
Was it safe to work with him? Injuries aren't exactly uncommon at Orion. Maybe that's why he's been sending Reyna and I together for two person jobs rather than going on calls with us.
I received another message from him, ‘if you want to quit I understand’
I didn't, though. As stressful as working here can be, I do enjoy my job, weirdly enough. I've been treated better here than by any other employer and I like having only two other coworkers to worry about, especially since I get along well with both of them. But the biggest reason why quitting hasn't occurred to me is that I wouldn't be able to just walk away from all that I'd learned about the atypical cases. There was no way I could live a normal life after working at Orion.
I also wanted to keep an eye on Victor. Between whatever the mechanic was forcing him to do and his transformation, there was a lot that I was concerned about. As much as I didn't want to think about having to trap or kill Victor, if it came down to it... I'd do what needed to be done.
I sent back, ‘hazard pay? 👀’
His reply was, ‘😒’
A moment later, I received, ‘we'll discuss it when I don't have a manananggal mf'ing me’
Yinz see why I kept calling her a ‘pest’ rather than trying to type that long name out each time? I guarantee I would have misspelled it several different ways.
When the sun rose, I received another message from Victor, ‘it's over. thanks for your help’
We found out later in the afternoon that the hospital had been able to save the farmers’ baby. She was going to have to stay longer in the hospital, but otherwise, she and their newborn daughter were alright.
What was alarming was that the dead man's body had been desecrated at some point after I left. It was believed that the pest had been the one to take chunks out of his neck, shoulder, and chest. I wasn't going to be the one to tell the family the truth. They'd been through enough already without the news that the one they'd relied on for protection had gotten hungry.
I wondered if being exposed to so much blood had been the trigger. I suppose I should just be glad that Victor had eaten a man who was already dead instead of me or another living person.
Like I said, I'm going to have to keep an eye on him. In the meantime… maybe don't demand to speak to the manager.
2024.05.17 03:54 edgiscript [F4M] Mafia Dog - Part 4 of 7
Apologies. Forgot to add tags above. [Post Workout Massage] [Confession] [Listener Joins The Team]
Note: If you want to know about monetization and a little bit about who I am: An Introduction To The Book That Is Me :
Note: If you want to know about my other scripts: Masterlist for edgiscript :
Part 3: [F4M] Mafia Dog - Part 3 of 7 [Working Out] [Listener Getting His Strength Back] [Rescue Of A Colleague] [Earning Respect] :
Note: Oil sounds are a big trigger for me personally, so they were originally part of the massage at the beginning, but I've been told that they may create a problem with YouTube so I eliminated them. You can feel free to re-add them if you think it'll be ok or if you're adding this elsewhere like Patreon.
Jane: How’s that feel, puppy? Is the pressure strong enough?
(Pause.)
A little harder? No problem. I’ll start at your neck and work my way down.
(Pause.)
You’ve got some serious knots right up here.
(Pause.)
Yeah, you worked hard today. You’ve been working hard every day. You’ve come a long way since we first found you.
(Pause.)
You need some more right here? Oh, below that spot. Ok. How’s that?
(Pause.)
Well, I’m glad my hands feel so good to you.
(Pause.)
No, don’t say that. You deserve this. You’re doing so well. You’ve pushed yourself more than anybody here did. You really care, don’t you?
(Pause.)
Yeah, Carissa’s pretty great.
(Pause.)
All right. Mom. (Soft laughter.) Does it make you feel better if I call her that too?
(Pause.)
Yeah, I really do mean it. Honestly, I think everyone here does. She’s the mother of this group. She’s pretty wonderful.
(Pause. Massage sounds stop.)
Ok, roll over.
(Pause.)
Yeah, you heard me. Roll over. I’m going to do your chest.
(Pause.)
Who cares if this isn’t how I’ve done it before. You put in extra work today and need extra attention.
(Pause.)
No, I’m not your mom, but I am a bigger dog than you, Puppy, metaphorically speaking, now roll over.
(Pause.)
Here, I’ll start with your hands and your arms.
(Pause. Massage sounds begin again.)
Yeah, a lot of people overlook the fingers, but I think they need extra attention. We don’t realize how many times we flex our fingers and squeeze and push and grip. They need care too.
(Pause.)
So… have you considered what we talked about any more?
(Pause.)
You’re really sure you want to go through with it? It’s a dangerous life. You could end up worse than what you were like when we found you.
(Pause.)
I was hoping you’d say that.
(Pause.)
(With a surprised, mischievous smile.) Puppy? That question is pretty aggressively forward of you.
(Brief pause.)
(Smiling.) No, no. Don’t look hurt. It was a good question. I’m just surprised you found the courage to say it.
Yes, I suppose it would be fair to say that I am very “fond of you”.
(Pause.)
Here. Let me work up your arms now.
You know, Puppy, everybody loves you here. Even Ronnie, and Ronnie hates everybody.
(Pause.)
Yeah, he’s fully recovered from the blast. Well, nearly fully recovered. I think the Doc still has to give her final clearance, but even he thinks the world of you ever since you risked your life for him.
And you’ve become invaluable here, doing everything you can for everybody, even assisting Suzanne with Ronnie’s recovery.
(Becoming a little more soft and sensual.) Ok, let me move to your chest. Does that feel good?
(Pause.)
So, we’d have to talk to Carissa… I mean, Mom, about it, and then she’d have to clear it with Kent, but I think it would be ok if you do want to stay with us.
(Pause.)
Yes. I… want you to stay.
(Pause.)
Yeah, I do. I’mmmm, kindaaaaaa, crushing on you. Just a little bit. I… I like you, Puppy.
(Pause.)
Yeah, like that. So, what do you think about that?
(Massage sounds stop. Kiss. Gentle laugh.) I was hoping you’d say that. C’mere, you. (Kisses.)
(Interrupted by Carissa entering the room quickly.)
Carissa: Ok, guys, stop what you’re doing. We need to talk.
Jane: Mom, could you give us just a…
Carissa: No. I’m afraid not. I need to speak with Puppy, right now.
(Pause.)
Yes, Puppy, it’s very serious.
(Pause.)
No, no, you haven’t done anything wrong. You’ve been wonderful, Puppy. You’re my good boy. You have been ever since we brought you here. That’s never changed. This is something else.
Jane: Carissa, what is it? What’s happened?
Carissa: Not now, Jane.
Jane: But…
Carissa: (Not angry, but firm.) NOT… now. I have to speak with Puppy first before certain things can be said. Jane, please leave the room. And no, Jane, it’s not up for discussion.
Jane: Ok, Carissa.
(Pause.)
No, Puppy, I won’t go far. See you in a minute.
(To Carissa.) It should be just a minute, right?
Carissa: It shouldn’t be long. In fact, you should wait just outside. I’ll possibly need to speak with you both next.
Jane: Ok. Bye, Puppy. Call me when you need me, Mom.
(Jane leaves.)
Carissa: Puppy, I’m going to get right to it.
(Pause.)
No, Puppy, this is not about you kissing Jane. Look, Jane’s great, you’re great, I love you both. Do what you want. I’m sorry for glossing over that. I’d honestly like to spend more time being happy for you. We can talk more about it later if you want, but this is about something else.
Jane told me you’ve been considering asking to stay with our group now that you’ve fully recovered. I need to know what your thoughts are on the matter. Something has happened that I need to discuss, but I can’t discuss it with you if you’re not one of us.
(Long pause while Puppy speaks.)
That’s good to hear. I’m glad you feel that way about us. About all of us, not just Jane and me.
But, Puppy, if you do stay, your life is going to change. You’ve seen some of the show, but once I let you backstage there’s no turning back. Are you certain you’re ok with that because we all care about you too, Puppy, and we don’t want to see you get involved with something you can’t handle.
Seriously, Puppy, listen to me very carefully. None of us want you hurt. Do you understand?
(Pause.)
Ok, then tell me straight up. Are you in or out?
(Pause.)
(Deep breath before going on.) Puppy, first of all, I’m very glad to hear you say how much you care about us and about how much you love me personally as your mom. You truly have become like a son to me, Puppy, and I don’t want to see you hurt any more than you have been, but… well… it feels good to know that you want to be here with us.
I trust you, Puppy. I’d like you by my side, we all would, as we move forward. There are about to be some very big changes within our organization. And that brings me to the second point. You need to know who we are.
(Pause.)
Yeah, I know you had some assumptions of your own.
(Pause.)
Actually, that’s pretty close. You continue to impress me, Puppy. We are a paramilitary organization with some pretty wealthy backers dedicated to stopping organized crime in this area.
(Pause.)
No, we’re not cops. In fact, we work outside of the law. If we’re caught doing what we’re doing, we could be arrested or worse.
We’re vigilantes, Puppy. The criminals don’t like us, but neither do the police.
(Pause.)
(Snicker.) Yeah, Puppy, I suppose we are kind of like Batman.
(Trying not to cry.) God, Puppy, you have an amazing gift. Only you could make me…
(Pause as she begins to break down a bit, but she holds it together.)
No, Puppy, it’s all right. I’m ok.
(Pause.)
Yes, there is something else I haven’t told you, but we need Jane first. Jane, can you please come back in here? Thank you.
Jane: What is it? What’s up? Is it about Puppy? Is he in?
Carissa: Yes, he’s in, Jane.
Jane: Yes.
Carissa: But there’s something else you both need to know.
Jane: Wait a second. You haven’t run this by Kent yet. How could Puppy be in without…
Carissa: Puppy’s in because I say he’s in. I’m running the show now.
Jane: What?
Carissa: At least for a while. Jane, Puppy, Kent’s been attacked.
Jane: Oh, God!
Carissa: He’s in surgery right now. Jane, he might not make it.
(Pause.)
No, Puppy, there’s literally nothing you can do right now for him, but… thank you for wanting to.
Jane: Mom…
Carissa: Jane, under the circumstances, maybe it would be best to refer to me as Carissa again.
Jane: Absolutely not. Carissa, under the circumstances, you’re not just Puppy’s mom, you’re everyone’s mom. You run the show. You’re the protector and overseer of our group. And Carissa… Mom, you care more than anybody else. We all love Kent, but if he’s out, we all want you watching over us. I will call you Mom with love and respect as will everyone else here.
Carissa: Thank you, Jane.
(Pause.)
Yes, thank you too, Puppy. I think I needed to hear that. Now both of you, come with me. We’ve got a lot of work to do.
Part 5 coming
submitted by edgiscript to ASMRScriptHaven [link] [comments]
Note: If you want to know about monetization and a little bit about who I am: An Introduction To The Book That Is Me :
Note: If you want to know about my other scripts: Masterlist for edgiscript :
Part 3: [F4M] Mafia Dog - Part 3 of 7 [Working Out] [Listener Getting His Strength Back] [Rescue Of A Colleague] [Earning Respect] :
Note: Oil sounds are a big trigger for me personally, so they were originally part of the massage at the beginning, but I've been told that they may create a problem with YouTube so I eliminated them. You can feel free to re-add them if you think it'll be ok or if you're adding this elsewhere like Patreon.
Part 4
(Optional sounds of a massage occur throughout the piece until instructed to stop.)Jane: How’s that feel, puppy? Is the pressure strong enough?
(Pause.)
A little harder? No problem. I’ll start at your neck and work my way down.
(Pause.)
You’ve got some serious knots right up here.
(Pause.)
Yeah, you worked hard today. You’ve been working hard every day. You’ve come a long way since we first found you.
(Pause.)
You need some more right here? Oh, below that spot. Ok. How’s that?
(Pause.)
Well, I’m glad my hands feel so good to you.
(Pause.)
No, don’t say that. You deserve this. You’re doing so well. You’ve pushed yourself more than anybody here did. You really care, don’t you?
(Pause.)
Yeah, Carissa’s pretty great.
(Pause.)
All right. Mom. (Soft laughter.) Does it make you feel better if I call her that too?
(Pause.)
Yeah, I really do mean it. Honestly, I think everyone here does. She’s the mother of this group. She’s pretty wonderful.
(Pause. Massage sounds stop.)
Ok, roll over.
(Pause.)
Yeah, you heard me. Roll over. I’m going to do your chest.
(Pause.)
Who cares if this isn’t how I’ve done it before. You put in extra work today and need extra attention.
(Pause.)
No, I’m not your mom, but I am a bigger dog than you, Puppy, metaphorically speaking, now roll over.
(Pause.)
Here, I’ll start with your hands and your arms.
(Pause. Massage sounds begin again.)
Yeah, a lot of people overlook the fingers, but I think they need extra attention. We don’t realize how many times we flex our fingers and squeeze and push and grip. They need care too.
(Pause.)
So… have you considered what we talked about any more?
(Pause.)
You’re really sure you want to go through with it? It’s a dangerous life. You could end up worse than what you were like when we found you.
(Pause.)
I was hoping you’d say that.
(Pause.)
(With a surprised, mischievous smile.) Puppy? That question is pretty aggressively forward of you.
(Brief pause.)
(Smiling.) No, no. Don’t look hurt. It was a good question. I’m just surprised you found the courage to say it.
Yes, I suppose it would be fair to say that I am very “fond of you”.
(Pause.)
Here. Let me work up your arms now.
You know, Puppy, everybody loves you here. Even Ronnie, and Ronnie hates everybody.
(Pause.)
Yeah, he’s fully recovered from the blast. Well, nearly fully recovered. I think the Doc still has to give her final clearance, but even he thinks the world of you ever since you risked your life for him.
And you’ve become invaluable here, doing everything you can for everybody, even assisting Suzanne with Ronnie’s recovery.
(Becoming a little more soft and sensual.) Ok, let me move to your chest. Does that feel good?
(Pause.)
So, we’d have to talk to Carissa… I mean, Mom, about it, and then she’d have to clear it with Kent, but I think it would be ok if you do want to stay with us.
(Pause.)
Yes. I… want you to stay.
(Pause.)
Yeah, I do. I’mmmm, kindaaaaaa, crushing on you. Just a little bit. I… I like you, Puppy.
(Pause.)
Yeah, like that. So, what do you think about that?
(Massage sounds stop. Kiss. Gentle laugh.) I was hoping you’d say that. C’mere, you. (Kisses.)
(Interrupted by Carissa entering the room quickly.)
Carissa: Ok, guys, stop what you’re doing. We need to talk.
Jane: Mom, could you give us just a…
Carissa: No. I’m afraid not. I need to speak with Puppy, right now.
(Pause.)
Yes, Puppy, it’s very serious.
(Pause.)
No, no, you haven’t done anything wrong. You’ve been wonderful, Puppy. You’re my good boy. You have been ever since we brought you here. That’s never changed. This is something else.
Jane: Carissa, what is it? What’s happened?
Carissa: Not now, Jane.
Jane: But…
Carissa: (Not angry, but firm.) NOT… now. I have to speak with Puppy first before certain things can be said. Jane, please leave the room. And no, Jane, it’s not up for discussion.
Jane: Ok, Carissa.
(Pause.)
No, Puppy, I won’t go far. See you in a minute.
(To Carissa.) It should be just a minute, right?
Carissa: It shouldn’t be long. In fact, you should wait just outside. I’ll possibly need to speak with you both next.
Jane: Ok. Bye, Puppy. Call me when you need me, Mom.
(Jane leaves.)
Carissa: Puppy, I’m going to get right to it.
(Pause.)
No, Puppy, this is not about you kissing Jane. Look, Jane’s great, you’re great, I love you both. Do what you want. I’m sorry for glossing over that. I’d honestly like to spend more time being happy for you. We can talk more about it later if you want, but this is about something else.
Jane told me you’ve been considering asking to stay with our group now that you’ve fully recovered. I need to know what your thoughts are on the matter. Something has happened that I need to discuss, but I can’t discuss it with you if you’re not one of us.
(Long pause while Puppy speaks.)
That’s good to hear. I’m glad you feel that way about us. About all of us, not just Jane and me.
But, Puppy, if you do stay, your life is going to change. You’ve seen some of the show, but once I let you backstage there’s no turning back. Are you certain you’re ok with that because we all care about you too, Puppy, and we don’t want to see you get involved with something you can’t handle.
Seriously, Puppy, listen to me very carefully. None of us want you hurt. Do you understand?
(Pause.)
Ok, then tell me straight up. Are you in or out?
(Pause.)
(Deep breath before going on.) Puppy, first of all, I’m very glad to hear you say how much you care about us and about how much you love me personally as your mom. You truly have become like a son to me, Puppy, and I don’t want to see you hurt any more than you have been, but… well… it feels good to know that you want to be here with us.
I trust you, Puppy. I’d like you by my side, we all would, as we move forward. There are about to be some very big changes within our organization. And that brings me to the second point. You need to know who we are.
(Pause.)
Yeah, I know you had some assumptions of your own.
(Pause.)
Actually, that’s pretty close. You continue to impress me, Puppy. We are a paramilitary organization with some pretty wealthy backers dedicated to stopping organized crime in this area.
(Pause.)
No, we’re not cops. In fact, we work outside of the law. If we’re caught doing what we’re doing, we could be arrested or worse.
We’re vigilantes, Puppy. The criminals don’t like us, but neither do the police.
(Pause.)
(Snicker.) Yeah, Puppy, I suppose we are kind of like Batman.
(Trying not to cry.) God, Puppy, you have an amazing gift. Only you could make me…
(Pause as she begins to break down a bit, but she holds it together.)
No, Puppy, it’s all right. I’m ok.
(Pause.)
Yes, there is something else I haven’t told you, but we need Jane first. Jane, can you please come back in here? Thank you.
Jane: What is it? What’s up? Is it about Puppy? Is he in?
Carissa: Yes, he’s in, Jane.
Jane: Yes.
Carissa: But there’s something else you both need to know.
Jane: Wait a second. You haven’t run this by Kent yet. How could Puppy be in without…
Carissa: Puppy’s in because I say he’s in. I’m running the show now.
Jane: What?
Carissa: At least for a while. Jane, Puppy, Kent’s been attacked.
Jane: Oh, God!
Carissa: He’s in surgery right now. Jane, he might not make it.
(Pause.)
No, Puppy, there’s literally nothing you can do right now for him, but… thank you for wanting to.
Jane: Mom…
Carissa: Jane, under the circumstances, maybe it would be best to refer to me as Carissa again.
Jane: Absolutely not. Carissa, under the circumstances, you’re not just Puppy’s mom, you’re everyone’s mom. You run the show. You’re the protector and overseer of our group. And Carissa… Mom, you care more than anybody else. We all love Kent, but if he’s out, we all want you watching over us. I will call you Mom with love and respect as will everyone else here.
Carissa: Thank you, Jane.
(Pause.)
Yes, thank you too, Puppy. I think I needed to hear that. Now both of you, come with me. We’ve got a lot of work to do.
Part 5 coming
2024.05.16 14:39 Stogies_n_Stonks Sting? Bite? Something else?
 | I was petting Xena this morning and felt a clump of fur knotted together and figured my kids dropped some sugary dessert mess on her last night and it was stuck in her fur, but instead found a bloody clump of fur and this small wound right between her shoulders. It’s not anywhere her harness or collar come into contact with her body. (Kind of right between her collar and harness) submitted by Stogies_n_Stonks to husky [link] [comments] I cleaned the area with a wet towel compress to expose the wound better and chlorhexidine to disinfect. It’s only about the size of a dime, not irritated, and not bothering the dog at all. She didn’t seem to care when I discovered it or when I cleaned it. My best guess is that last night on our way home from a long walk, she was sniffing around a mailbox and a bush, when suddenly she jumped back and got the zoomies, and I figured that something bit her, stung her, or poked her. She had her whole face in there. Does this look like something more insidious than a bug bite/sting? I have to put her in her crate while I go to work but when I get back I plan to inspect/clean/disinfect again and take her to the vet if it hasn’t improved. |
2024.05.16 13:56 kawapawa [RF] Caitlyn (1k words)
I wrote this for a writing prompt in writingprompts, but not many people will see it because the prompt is a little old. I just wanted to share. Wrote during breaks at work so forgive me if it’s a little rough around the edges.
The prompt was, “Watching the man or woman of your dreams fall in love with someone else.”
feedback appreciated
::Caitlyn::
I watched her through her kitchen window.
She stood by the sink—wine glass in her hand, gently swirling it as she looked at her phone. God, she was pretty tonight. The yellow kitchen light cast a glow upon her skin, and I swear she was the brightest thing in the room—more so even than the bulb itself. Fishnet lace snaked up her legs, red as summer wine, and her bathrobe parted just enough at the top to tease—just enough to draw your attention to it so that she could playfully scold you for looking.
It’s what she did.
I knew what she was waiting for, though. This was the first night he hadn’t shown up in over a week.
I didn’t get it. That guy—the guy who tracks muddy boots through the house, the guy that smokes cigarettes in the laundry room even when she specifically tells him not to, the guy who hasn’t touched a single dirty dish in as long as he’d been there—a dirty anything for that matter, and he’s the one she swoons for? Fucking bastard. That’s all he was. A dirty fucking bastard that didn’t deserve a woman even half as nice as my Caitlyn.
No, she didn’t get it—really, she didn’t and it made me feel kind of sorry for her. God, I mean if she only knew the things I’d do for her—the things that we have in common. We would be so happy together.
I like to read just like she does, the same genres and everything. I even picked up the book she started last week, and it’s already one of my favorites. She likes to jog; I like to jog; she likes binging shows; I like binging shows. Both of us have a horrible sweet tooth as well. I can never help but smile at the thought of that.
Now, it’s three hours past eight, which was the time that he was supposed to arrive. She’d moved to the couch and was lying on her back, letting one leg dangle to the floor. Blue light from the TV illuminated her features in the dark of the room, and it wasn’t difficult to tell that she was upset. God, I hate to see her cry.
Occasionally, she would glance over. She would peer out the window with that sad face and look in my direction. At first, I thought she was trying to see over me, to look over the hedge and into the trees behind her drive. After a few of her glances, though, I wasn’t sure anymore. I was almost convinced that she noticed me and was looking directly at me.
Maybe she needed me. Perhaps this was her way of saying, “Come get me, Richard.” And what if it was? What if this was my chance, and I missed it because I thought about it too hard? Maybe she knew I’d been out here, watching all along, for all this time. If that was the case, then she surely knew that I wouldn’t be able to resist those watery eyes.
It was time—time to be the man she needed—to finally confess my love for her, then hold her tight in my arms as she did the same.
I straightened myself—no more hiding. No more lurking in the shadows while she filled the void in her heart with all of these other worthless men. It was time she had a real man, a man who cared.
I walked to the door. For a second, I wondered if she’d left it unlocked for me. She’d done that before and pretended she was asleep whenever I made my way inside. She always did like to tease like that. I almost just opened it and walked straight in, but on second thought, I figured it might’ve been a little jarring. I decided to knock instead.
My throat felt as tight as a fist. Why was I so nervous? She loved me; I knew she did, but still, I was nervous. Sweat beaded down the side of my face like condensation. I wiped it away with my sleeve and took a deep breath. This was it. In a few moments, I’d finally have my Caitlyn. I’d finally hold her in my arms like I’d always dreamed.
I brought my fist to the door, and my stomach tightened into a knot.
Just as I was about to do it, I heard gravel crunch in the distance.
Quickly, I darted back into the safety of the shadows. I could see two bright headlights through the trees as they bounced down the dirt road.
It was him—the old Chevy Silverado with the silver toolbox in the back.
Of course, it had to be him.
He’d messed up this time, though; there was no way she’d forgive him now, not after tonight. With a smirk, I watched, wondering what kind of pitiful attempt he’d make to try and win her back this time, knowing that whatever it was wouldn’t be enough. Then he stepped out of his truck.
He was covered in black grease from head to foot and wore a mechanic uniform. He held something small in his arms, something with a bright red bow tied around its neck. It was hard to tell, but it looked like a little black lab from where I stood. Trustingly, it pressed its head against his chest and darted its eyes around the new scenery.
He walked up the porch steps. He was going to knock, but before he could, Caitlyn flung the door inward and glared at him. As much as I hated how she felt, that twisted expression of anger she shot him gave me more joy than I could’ve imagined. That joy was only fleeting, though. The man flashed a smile as he looked down at his arms, rubbing the puppy’s head. It melted the expression right off of her face.
“Oh my God!” She squealed, happily shuffling her feet as she held her arms out.
I was appalled. A puppy? A little dog and all of his sins are erased?
The two of them seemed so giddy together. They laughed and hugged and spoke in high voices to the puppy while they rubbed its head. The whole scene made me sick to my stomach if you really want to know the truth.
I don’t know how he did it—how he managed to weasel his way back into her heart and occupy the space that was so rightfully mine—truly, I didn’t. Who knows, maybe it was all an act. Perhaps it was her way of telling me, “you should’ve knocked.” And now, this was my punishment.
Maybe I should’ve. Maybe then I could’ve been the one to answer that door. A puppy wouldn’t soften my eyes, not like hers. I failed her, I know, but I will not fail her again. That is the last night he will ever come knocking on her door. I’m certain of it.
submitted by kawapawa to shortstories [link] [comments]
The prompt was, “Watching the man or woman of your dreams fall in love with someone else.”
feedback appreciated
::Caitlyn::
I watched her through her kitchen window.
She stood by the sink—wine glass in her hand, gently swirling it as she looked at her phone. God, she was pretty tonight. The yellow kitchen light cast a glow upon her skin, and I swear she was the brightest thing in the room—more so even than the bulb itself. Fishnet lace snaked up her legs, red as summer wine, and her bathrobe parted just enough at the top to tease—just enough to draw your attention to it so that she could playfully scold you for looking.
It’s what she did.
I knew what she was waiting for, though. This was the first night he hadn’t shown up in over a week.
I didn’t get it. That guy—the guy who tracks muddy boots through the house, the guy that smokes cigarettes in the laundry room even when she specifically tells him not to, the guy who hasn’t touched a single dirty dish in as long as he’d been there—a dirty anything for that matter, and he’s the one she swoons for? Fucking bastard. That’s all he was. A dirty fucking bastard that didn’t deserve a woman even half as nice as my Caitlyn.
No, she didn’t get it—really, she didn’t and it made me feel kind of sorry for her. God, I mean if she only knew the things I’d do for her—the things that we have in common. We would be so happy together.
I like to read just like she does, the same genres and everything. I even picked up the book she started last week, and it’s already one of my favorites. She likes to jog; I like to jog; she likes binging shows; I like binging shows. Both of us have a horrible sweet tooth as well. I can never help but smile at the thought of that.
Now, it’s three hours past eight, which was the time that he was supposed to arrive. She’d moved to the couch and was lying on her back, letting one leg dangle to the floor. Blue light from the TV illuminated her features in the dark of the room, and it wasn’t difficult to tell that she was upset. God, I hate to see her cry.
Occasionally, she would glance over. She would peer out the window with that sad face and look in my direction. At first, I thought she was trying to see over me, to look over the hedge and into the trees behind her drive. After a few of her glances, though, I wasn’t sure anymore. I was almost convinced that she noticed me and was looking directly at me.
Maybe she needed me. Perhaps this was her way of saying, “Come get me, Richard.” And what if it was? What if this was my chance, and I missed it because I thought about it too hard? Maybe she knew I’d been out here, watching all along, for all this time. If that was the case, then she surely knew that I wouldn’t be able to resist those watery eyes.
It was time—time to be the man she needed—to finally confess my love for her, then hold her tight in my arms as she did the same.
I straightened myself—no more hiding. No more lurking in the shadows while she filled the void in her heart with all of these other worthless men. It was time she had a real man, a man who cared.
I walked to the door. For a second, I wondered if she’d left it unlocked for me. She’d done that before and pretended she was asleep whenever I made my way inside. She always did like to tease like that. I almost just opened it and walked straight in, but on second thought, I figured it might’ve been a little jarring. I decided to knock instead.
My throat felt as tight as a fist. Why was I so nervous? She loved me; I knew she did, but still, I was nervous. Sweat beaded down the side of my face like condensation. I wiped it away with my sleeve and took a deep breath. This was it. In a few moments, I’d finally have my Caitlyn. I’d finally hold her in my arms like I’d always dreamed.
I brought my fist to the door, and my stomach tightened into a knot.
Just as I was about to do it, I heard gravel crunch in the distance.
Quickly, I darted back into the safety of the shadows. I could see two bright headlights through the trees as they bounced down the dirt road.
It was him—the old Chevy Silverado with the silver toolbox in the back.
Of course, it had to be him.
He’d messed up this time, though; there was no way she’d forgive him now, not after tonight. With a smirk, I watched, wondering what kind of pitiful attempt he’d make to try and win her back this time, knowing that whatever it was wouldn’t be enough. Then he stepped out of his truck.
He was covered in black grease from head to foot and wore a mechanic uniform. He held something small in his arms, something with a bright red bow tied around its neck. It was hard to tell, but it looked like a little black lab from where I stood. Trustingly, it pressed its head against his chest and darted its eyes around the new scenery.
He walked up the porch steps. He was going to knock, but before he could, Caitlyn flung the door inward and glared at him. As much as I hated how she felt, that twisted expression of anger she shot him gave me more joy than I could’ve imagined. That joy was only fleeting, though. The man flashed a smile as he looked down at his arms, rubbing the puppy’s head. It melted the expression right off of her face.
“Oh my God!” She squealed, happily shuffling her feet as she held her arms out.
I was appalled. A puppy? A little dog and all of his sins are erased?
The two of them seemed so giddy together. They laughed and hugged and spoke in high voices to the puppy while they rubbed its head. The whole scene made me sick to my stomach if you really want to know the truth.
I don’t know how he did it—how he managed to weasel his way back into her heart and occupy the space that was so rightfully mine—truly, I didn’t. Who knows, maybe it was all an act. Perhaps it was her way of telling me, “you should’ve knocked.” And now, this was my punishment.
Maybe I should’ve. Maybe then I could’ve been the one to answer that door. A puppy wouldn’t soften my eyes, not like hers. I failed her, I know, but I will not fail her again. That is the last night he will ever come knocking on her door. I’m certain of it.
2024.05.16 13:15 Maromagima Rintje before and after
 | We adopted Rintje almost four weeks ago from a shelter where he had been for two months. His fur had lots of knots and it hurt him when I would try to brush it. Today he went to the groomer and now I have a completely different dog! I had no idea how he would behave, he must have experienced this before as he’s 9 years old. He did well. He didn’t like it when they did his face but that’s probably also because he had some very big knots on his chin. So now he has a fresh start and we can keep everything clean and smooth so it won’t get to this point again. He also had a lot of coloured fur, pink/orange like. All of that is gone as well now. He almost needs a new harness for his walks now as it’s so loose now!! submitted by Maromagima to grooming [link] [comments] |
2024.05.16 12:20 ontheballoot Hailey Bieber's Baby Bump Photos: A Peek into Her Pregnancy Journey
 | Hailey Bieber and Justin Bieber recently sent shockwaves across the internet with the announcement of their first pregnancy. Now, Hailey has delighted fans by offering a glimpse into her life as a mom-to-be through a series of heartwarming photos shared on Instagram. submitted by ontheballoot to u/ontheballoot [link] [comments] Hailey and Justin Bieber recently announced pregnancy. In the photos, Hailey can be seen cradling her growing baby bump, radiating with joy and excitement. Sporting a glittering butterfly crop top paired with low-rise jeans, she exudes a glow of maternal bliss. The photos capture intimate moments of Hailey’s journey into motherhood, including candid shots of her sipping a beverage and cuddling with her beloved pet dog. Accompanying the photos is a simple caption that reads, “the past few weeks have been..” followed by a string of emoticons, hinting at the whirlwind of emotions and experiences she has encountered since the pregnancy announcement. Among the many admirers of Hailey’s adorable maternity photos is Kylie Jenner, who couldn’t help but express her admiration with a comment that simply read, “Cutest.” Justin Bieber also took to social media to share his excitement about becoming a father. His Instagram post featured a touching video depicting what appeared to be the couple renewing their wedding vows in a picturesque outdoor setting. The video offers glimpses of Hailey’s pregnant belly adorned in a white, lacy dress, as well as tender moments between the couple as they prepare for parenthood. Hailey’s representative confirmed to Entertainment Tonight that she is “a little over six months pregnant,” adding to the anticipation surrounding the impending arrival of their bundle of joy. The couple, who tied the knot in 2018, has received an outpouring of love and support from friends, family, and fans since sharing their pregnancy news. Among those celebrating the happy news is Justin’s mother, Pattie Mallette, who expressed her excitement on Instagram, exclaiming, “I’m gonna be a grandma!” Hailey’s father, Stephen Baldwin, also shared his joy, writing, “Love you guys. Blessed beyond words. Praise God…let’s get ready to have some fun y’all.” As Hailey and Justin prepare to embark on this new chapter of their lives, their fans eagerly await more glimpses into their journey to parenthood and the arrival of their little one. |
2024.05.16 07:53 traumafactory28 Paranoia and saftey measures
(Even though i didnt explicitly say it, it could be pieced together through context clues so; content warning: implied sa. Ive gone through a lot more than that, but thats a main one that im worried might trigger people. Again, I didnt talk about it this is a just incase.)
I'm so god damn paranoid. I thought someone broke into my house because the door was LOCKED. I don't remember locking it this morning(the key lock, I remember locking the fingerprint lock), so when the door didn't open after unlocking the fingerprint lock? Someone broke in. Never mind my dog, who happily welcomed me home, I went straight to the kitchen that's right next to the front door and grabbed a knife. Then, I searched all the rooms. There aren't a lot of places to hide, but there are hidden knives anywhere. For protection, obviously. I didn't stop until I checked all the rooms, closets and beds.
You have to understand how crazy this is. In my head, someone got past the fingerprint lock, went inside, locked two out of three locks on my door, got past my dog(protective pitbull) then hid.
Usually people think someone broke in because the door was UNLOCKED or the door was OPEN.
Nope, not this special coat wearer.
I'm absolutely sure that if I don't have cptsd, I definitely have ptsd. Only took 2 weeks with my therapist (that is now going on for 3 years) for her to point out that I'm heavily paranoid and hypervigilant, let alone pessimistic.
Look at my clothing for example.
Black drawstring parachute pants, double knotted at the waist so it's impossible to move past the top of hip. Combat boots. Long sleeve shirt with a cuff and scrunchie on either wrist to prevent it from moving to my elbow. A thigh long winter red coat with both buttons and zipper so it's not only hard to remove, it's also easy to be seen, and hides everything. It also has four pockets which I can hold an ID and phone for if I die in public(I don't want to be a Jane doe). A beanie so if someone tries to grab my hair, it'll come off first and give me time to escape. Same goes for my back pack. Always one arm in so if someone yanks it, it goes down without you. When going out in public with friends, I wear black lipstick so it can be hard to wipe off and leave evidence. Let nails grow out a bit so it's easier to scratch.
Every single choice has a reason to it. It's almost June and I'm wearing a winter coat because I feel safe in it. I have 12 pairs of the same pants because it not only makes it hard for a stranger to remove, but lessens anxiety in the mornings if I already know what I'm going to wear. It's easier to kick people while in combat boots. I keep my back against walls or away from people so I can keep everyone in my line of sight. There is a hiking whistle attaches to my backpack disguised as a bag buckl, it can be extremely loud for emergencies.
I have three locks on my door. Deadbolt, key and finger print. There is also a camera at the door as well. Apparently my muscle memory is better than my actual memory since I locked two this morning without realizing it.
I'm paranoid and scared all the time.
Atleast today I made myself laugh.
submitted by traumafactory28 to ptsd [link] [comments]
I'm so god damn paranoid. I thought someone broke into my house because the door was LOCKED. I don't remember locking it this morning(the key lock, I remember locking the fingerprint lock), so when the door didn't open after unlocking the fingerprint lock? Someone broke in. Never mind my dog, who happily welcomed me home, I went straight to the kitchen that's right next to the front door and grabbed a knife. Then, I searched all the rooms. There aren't a lot of places to hide, but there are hidden knives anywhere. For protection, obviously. I didn't stop until I checked all the rooms, closets and beds.
You have to understand how crazy this is. In my head, someone got past the fingerprint lock, went inside, locked two out of three locks on my door, got past my dog(protective pitbull) then hid.
Usually people think someone broke in because the door was UNLOCKED or the door was OPEN.
Nope, not this special coat wearer.
I'm absolutely sure that if I don't have cptsd, I definitely have ptsd. Only took 2 weeks with my therapist (that is now going on for 3 years) for her to point out that I'm heavily paranoid and hypervigilant, let alone pessimistic.
Look at my clothing for example.
Black drawstring parachute pants, double knotted at the waist so it's impossible to move past the top of hip. Combat boots. Long sleeve shirt with a cuff and scrunchie on either wrist to prevent it from moving to my elbow. A thigh long winter red coat with both buttons and zipper so it's not only hard to remove, it's also easy to be seen, and hides everything. It also has four pockets which I can hold an ID and phone for if I die in public(I don't want to be a Jane doe). A beanie so if someone tries to grab my hair, it'll come off first and give me time to escape. Same goes for my back pack. Always one arm in so if someone yanks it, it goes down without you. When going out in public with friends, I wear black lipstick so it can be hard to wipe off and leave evidence. Let nails grow out a bit so it's easier to scratch.
Every single choice has a reason to it. It's almost June and I'm wearing a winter coat because I feel safe in it. I have 12 pairs of the same pants because it not only makes it hard for a stranger to remove, but lessens anxiety in the mornings if I already know what I'm going to wear. It's easier to kick people while in combat boots. I keep my back against walls or away from people so I can keep everyone in my line of sight. There is a hiking whistle attaches to my backpack disguised as a bag buckl, it can be extremely loud for emergencies.
I have three locks on my door. Deadbolt, key and finger print. There is also a camera at the door as well. Apparently my muscle memory is better than my actual memory since I locked two this morning without realizing it.
I'm paranoid and scared all the time.
Atleast today I made myself laugh.
2024.05.16 07:40 traumafactory28 Paranoia and safety measures.
I'm so god damn paranoid. I thought someone broke into my house because the door was LOCKED. I don't remember locking it this morning(the key lock, I remember locking the fingerprint lock), so when the door didn't open after unlocking the fingerprint lock? Someone broke in. Never mind my dog, who happily welcomed me home, I went straight to the kitchen that's right next to the front door and grabbed a knife. Then, I searched all the rooms. There aren't a lot of places to hide, but there are hidden knives anywhere. For protection, obviously. I didn't stop until I checked all the rooms, closets and beds.
You have to understand how crazy this is. In my head, someone got past the fingerprint lock, went inside, locked two out of three locks on my door, got past my dog(protective pitbull) then hid.
Usually people think someone broke in because the door was UNLOCKED or the door was OPEN.
Nope, not this special coat wearer.
I'm absolutely sure that if I don't have cptsd, I definitely have ptsd. Only took 2 weeks with my therapist (that is now going on for 3 years) for her to point out that I'm heavily paranoid and hypervigilant, let alone pessimistic.
Look at my clothing for example.
Black drawstring parachute pants, double knotted at the waist so it's impossible to move past the top of hip. Combat boots. Long sleeve shirt with a cuff and scrunchie on either wrist to prevent it from moving to my elbow. A thigh long winter red coat with both buttons and zipper so it's not only hard to remove, it's also easy to be seen, and hides everything. It also has four pockets which I can hold an ID and phone for if I die in public(I don't want to be a Jane doe). A beanie so if someone tries to grab my hair, it'll come off first and give me time to escape. Same goes for my back pack. Always one arm it so of someone yanks it, it goes down without you. When going out in public with friends, I wear black lipstick so it can be hard to wipe off and leave evidence. Let nails grow out a bit so it's easier to scratch.
Every single choice has a reason to it. It's almost June and I'm wearing a winter coat because I feel safe in it. I have 12 pairs of the same pants because it not only makes it hard for stranger to remove, but lessens anxiety in the mornings if I already know what I'm going to wear. It's easier to kick people while in combat boots. I keep my back against walls or away from people so I can keep everyone in my line of sight. There is a hiking whistle attaches to my backpack disguised as a bag buckl, it can be extremely loud for emergencies.
I have three locks on my door. Deadbolt, key and finger print. There is also a camera at the door as well. Apparently my muscle memory is better than my actual memory since I locked two this morning without realizing it.
I'm paranoid and scared all the time.
Atleast today I made myself laugh.
submitted by traumafactory28 to CPTSD [link] [comments]
You have to understand how crazy this is. In my head, someone got past the fingerprint lock, went inside, locked two out of three locks on my door, got past my dog(protective pitbull) then hid.
Usually people think someone broke in because the door was UNLOCKED or the door was OPEN.
Nope, not this special coat wearer.
I'm absolutely sure that if I don't have cptsd, I definitely have ptsd. Only took 2 weeks with my therapist (that is now going on for 3 years) for her to point out that I'm heavily paranoid and hypervigilant, let alone pessimistic.
Look at my clothing for example.
Black drawstring parachute pants, double knotted at the waist so it's impossible to move past the top of hip. Combat boots. Long sleeve shirt with a cuff and scrunchie on either wrist to prevent it from moving to my elbow. A thigh long winter red coat with both buttons and zipper so it's not only hard to remove, it's also easy to be seen, and hides everything. It also has four pockets which I can hold an ID and phone for if I die in public(I don't want to be a Jane doe). A beanie so if someone tries to grab my hair, it'll come off first and give me time to escape. Same goes for my back pack. Always one arm it so of someone yanks it, it goes down without you. When going out in public with friends, I wear black lipstick so it can be hard to wipe off and leave evidence. Let nails grow out a bit so it's easier to scratch.
Every single choice has a reason to it. It's almost June and I'm wearing a winter coat because I feel safe in it. I have 12 pairs of the same pants because it not only makes it hard for stranger to remove, but lessens anxiety in the mornings if I already know what I'm going to wear. It's easier to kick people while in combat boots. I keep my back against walls or away from people so I can keep everyone in my line of sight. There is a hiking whistle attaches to my backpack disguised as a bag buckl, it can be extremely loud for emergencies.
I have three locks on my door. Deadbolt, key and finger print. There is also a camera at the door as well. Apparently my muscle memory is better than my actual memory since I locked two this morning without realizing it.
I'm paranoid and scared all the time.
Atleast today I made myself laugh.
2024.05.16 05:11 MomoIsBaby [ISO] a brush and retractable leash for my dog, and maybe some gas for my car?
I just moved and I’m short on cash. I could use a spot of gas so I can get to and from my new job 🥲 I’m supposed to have a check coming in the mail, but my tank is low and the check still hasn’t arrived yet.
As far as the dog stuff goes, it’s not too urgent. A retractable leash would be helpful so she won’t keep getting tangled in the regular leash I have, and the brush would help a lot because she has a few mild knots I need to detangle.
submitted by MomoIsBaby to PDXBuyNothing [link] [comments]
As far as the dog stuff goes, it’s not too urgent. A retractable leash would be helpful so she won’t keep getting tangled in the regular leash I have, and the brush would help a lot because she has a few mild knots I need to detangle.
2024.05.16 02:48 EclosionK2 He had no head, only a floating set of eyes
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 ~
submitted by EclosionK2 to TheCrypticCompendium [link] [comments]
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 ~
2024.05.16 02:45 EclosionK2 He had no head, only a floating set of eyes
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 ~
submitted by EclosionK2 to scarystories [link] [comments]
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 ~
2024.05.16 02:45 Sushi_chan18 Weekly Manga Live Tracker: 16-05-2024 to 22-05-2024
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2024.05.16 02:44 EclosionK2 He had no head, only a floating set of eyes
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 ~
submitted by EclosionK2 to Odd_directions [link] [comments]
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 ~
2024.05.16 02:42 EclosionK2 He had no head, only a floating set of eyes
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 ~
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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 ~
2024.05.16 02:41 EclosionK2 He had no head, only a floating set of eyes
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 ~
submitted by EclosionK2 to DarkTales [link] [comments]
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 ~
2024.05.16 01:57 EclosionK2 He had no head, only a floating set of eyes
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 ~
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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 ~
2024.05.15 23:56 PotatoChan88 Residente O Visitante
Residente O Visitante
Just finished the episode and have many thoughts! Please stop here if you haven't seen the episode or don't have an idea about the differences between the books and the show.
Uncle Antonio:
I am happy that my feeling that Uncle Antonio is a good guy was reinforced, but I'm sad that this story arc has concluded for now. I will miss him and his dog Portia (would she be Will's puppy aunt? 🤔), and if I feel that way then I know Will will miss them very much. I really hope the producers keep Antonio coming back occasionally so they can have more family time. Maybe Will can go to PR again, I like Antonio's friends a lot, especially the gossipy ladies who doted on Will.
Secondary case and Ormewood and Angie:
I like it when Ormewood and Faith work together, she doesn't take any crap from him and he seems to defer to her more than he does Angie. As for him and Angie I wouldn't be surprised if the showrunners are setting up a future romance between them. I have felt it cooking from the beginning but especially since We Are Family. The way Cooper runs to greet Angie at the potluck seemed to be a strong hint that she may become another parent figure to Cooper and Max in future. I figure since they have veered far away from the characters as described in the books, maybe it will be a convenient way for them to tie up some knots without having to introduce new characters as love interests for each of them. Obviously this is purely speculation on my part, but I'd be okay with it. I like both Angie and Will but them together gives me the creeps.
Crystal and Angie:
I know that being a sponsor and lending support to Crystal is supposed to indicate some growth for Angie that is independent of Will, and is needed for her characters development but it's my least favorite aspect of this season. Way too many plot holes in the Angie supposedly killing Lenny arc. She got kidnapped by Ulster and then we got nothing about the inquest into Lenny's death.
Plots and writing:
I know that character development is probably of main concern right now with a shortened season but the writers are really making the actual cases an afterthought. It's good that the case Ormewood and Faith took on this episode is continuing because the investigations are why I tuned in in the first place. The crooked FBI agent thing was done and dusted so quickly it seemed really forced and just an aside, really. The occasional two or three episode long investigation would be nice.
In summary I enjoyed seeing Will and his Uncle in Puerto Rico but the whole episode felt a bit rushed. What was everyone else's opinion?
submitted by PotatoChan88 to WillTrent [link] [comments]
Just finished the episode and have many thoughts! Please stop here if you haven't seen the episode or don't have an idea about the differences between the books and the show.
Uncle Antonio:
I am happy that my feeling that Uncle Antonio is a good guy was reinforced, but I'm sad that this story arc has concluded for now. I will miss him and his dog Portia (would she be Will's puppy aunt? 🤔), and if I feel that way then I know Will will miss them very much. I really hope the producers keep Antonio coming back occasionally so they can have more family time. Maybe Will can go to PR again, I like Antonio's friends a lot, especially the gossipy ladies who doted on Will.
Secondary case and Ormewood and Angie:
I like it when Ormewood and Faith work together, she doesn't take any crap from him and he seems to defer to her more than he does Angie. As for him and Angie I wouldn't be surprised if the showrunners are setting up a future romance between them. I have felt it cooking from the beginning but especially since We Are Family. The way Cooper runs to greet Angie at the potluck seemed to be a strong hint that she may become another parent figure to Cooper and Max in future. I figure since they have veered far away from the characters as described in the books, maybe it will be a convenient way for them to tie up some knots without having to introduce new characters as love interests for each of them. Obviously this is purely speculation on my part, but I'd be okay with it. I like both Angie and Will but them together gives me the creeps.
Crystal and Angie:
I know that being a sponsor and lending support to Crystal is supposed to indicate some growth for Angie that is independent of Will, and is needed for her characters development but it's my least favorite aspect of this season. Way too many plot holes in the Angie supposedly killing Lenny arc. She got kidnapped by Ulster and then we got nothing about the inquest into Lenny's death.
Plots and writing:
I know that character development is probably of main concern right now with a shortened season but the writers are really making the actual cases an afterthought. It's good that the case Ormewood and Faith took on this episode is continuing because the investigations are why I tuned in in the first place. The crooked FBI agent thing was done and dusted so quickly it seemed really forced and just an aside, really. The occasional two or three episode long investigation would be nice.
In summary I enjoyed seeing Will and his Uncle in Puerto Rico but the whole episode felt a bit rushed. What was everyone else's opinion?
2024.05.15 20:29 Spiritual-Risk-9096 Help!! Made a hole and need to fix!!
Hi!! I am fairly new to hand embroidery. I was making a onesie with a french knot Labrador dog and then the baby's initials below for my best friend. I finished the dog (took many hours) and then while stitching the initials beneath, i accidentally tore a hole... it's bigger than just pushing the threads around to close it up. i want to cover it up so all of my hours on the french knot puppy don't go to waste! The other problem is that I used carbon paper to transfer the initials, so they're there... any ideas how to help stitch the initials over the hole and coveremove the carbon letters??
submitted by Spiritual-Risk-9096 to Embroidery [link] [comments]
2024.05.15 08:41 Ravens_Quote The Hangknell Leper- Chpt. 1 (might write more, idk, depends on feedback)
To live in the Undead Burg is a daily test of one’s wit and their will. The brutish and dull fall to the cunning, and the weak intellectual tears their own mind asunder. For those who escape the Asylum, it is sometimes enough to make one consider voyaging back to their cell.
After all, only a few are Chosen.
In the lower levels of the Undead Burg, a cloak of rat skin fluttered behind a walking corpse as they hurriedly turned the corner of a short length of stone stairs, slamming the shield of a hollow soldier against the ground just as the claws and fangs of the first hound rose to meet it. In truth he lacked the strength to properly defend himself with the thing, to raise it with only one arm and withstand a blow with the same, but it didn’t matter here. The lower corner of the shield lay braced against the bottommost of a length of stone steps. This, with his shoulder pressed against the shield’s top, made progress against him nearly impossible for a foe so light as this.
If idiocy was to lose one’s common sense, then it couldn’t account for the stupidity of an undead hound. The corpse raised a spear over the shield and swung it downward in a pathetic arc, the wood slapping against the metal with hardly a noise to report. Seeing the motion, the dog leapt sideways out of some horribly trained reflex, and in this manner crashed into large pile of eternally burning corpses. It yelped as the heat caught it, spasmed as it searched for purchase amidst the mass of charred bones and melted flesh, and promptly died. The commotion brought with it the sound of distant footsteps, and soon another beast had run headlong into the shield. This one took two similar “attacks” of the spear to repeat its fellow’s mistake, and the one after it four.
To think he had once been terrified of these things, and discovered his tactic in panic.
Beside the steps was a well, and (after a moment to ensure no further dogs were coming), it was this against which the corpse laid his heavy shield. The next test between him and his goal would require agility, something ill-afforded with such heavy hardware. For this, he turned his attention to the well’s crank, and set thereafter to turning it. From the depths was raised a target shield tied in place of a bucket, and upon it a collection of bones, a severed hand, a ring, and a candlestick. The corpse laid the miscellaneous treasures aside, untying the shield and equipping it to his left arm.
The first two thieves were marked by buckets… or rather, the buckets were set in place to tell the thieves which doors were to be hid behind. As travelers came and went, the buckets would roll down the hill as they were knocked aside or blown by the wind or carried around by the dogs, and thus the thieves’ stations would move. When it was determined one had rolled too far down the decline of the alleyway, an annoyed thief would inevitably carry it to a more desired station, pretend it had always been there, and hide themselves behind the newly marked door. It was possible some band of thieves set this tradition in place long ago and retained the habit after they’d eventually gone hollow, but proving this thought today would be nearly beyond impossible. The reasoning didn’t matter to the corpse, of course, but the effect he used to his advantage.
The tops of the doors he adorned with knives from the Lady of Moss- blades up, such that the forceful opening of the door would spin the knives just right to sink their poisonous bile into the victims below. What additional wastes and acids the corpse had applied need not be mentioned by name, only that they shared their patron creature with the leather cloak on his back. With his work done, he now walked the side of the alley as any clueless traveler would have, and awaited the springing of the trap.
As always, the third and lowermost thief signaled the attack by kicking open their door. The two now behind the corpse followed, and shortly thereafter issued their raspy exhales of pain amidst the clatter of falling steel. The corpse charged. The leader hurriedly reached for their throwing knives but was swiftly force-fed the edge of the corpse’s shield, thusly to be brought to the ground. Here was the corpse’s blade drawn, its cracked and jagged tip turned down towards its latest prey.
When skinning rats, it is important that one carries a sharp blade. This both to pierce the thick hide, and to avoid unnecessary damage to the intestines, stomach, and other usable bits lying beneath. Replacing the rat with a hollow, the corpse preferred the tip of a broken straight sword to the edge of his usual dagger. The motions made indeed bore some crude similarity to his work when harvesting leather, but the abandon of care became only more evident with each forceful cut and flailingly resisted gouge. In the end, what remained could hardly be discerned from a spot of muck on the road, a hollow-faced madman above it.
Further down, beyond a second set of stone steps, was another favorite spot of ambush for the thieves. The mutts at the end of the alley had long since devoured whatever scraps had been used to position them, and so readily charged forth at the beckoning call of the corpse. They found at his feet the now separated legs of the corpse’s most recent kill, adorned in many fresh gouges and oozing with a pungent liquid. The source of this meal mattered not to them, and so they eagerly set to work engorging themselves on the new flesh. So single-minded were they, intent on ridding themselves of the insatiable undead hunger that plagued them, that neither one slowed as a white foam began to pour from their mouths. Their stomachs first bulged, then split apart and spilt what little they had for content as the acid worked its way through. Their legs gave way from beneath them, first the hind, then the front, and yet still they desperately swallowed more of the decaying flesh and embedded stomach-skin pouches that rapidly digested them in return. When at last the pair had at last lost such strength as to no longer reach the meals inches away from their first gasping, then whining maws, the corpse delivered their mercy. A swift kick, and what little remained of their necks gave freedom to their lifeless skulls. The thieves, meanwhile, bore no challenge the corpse had not already faced. Knives over the first few doors, the greeting of jaw and shield, the pillaging of another victim. Nothing unusual, and nothing of note.
With the capra demon gone, some “chosen” adventurer having long since vanquished it from realm, little now stood between the corpse and… her… save only one thing. The corpse took the last flight of stairs three at a time, ricocheting off the wall on the outside of its only turn and bounding towards his target.
There she was, out in the open as always. The corpse sprinted down the stairs and, after passing a blind corner, set his left foot forward and crouched to halt his considerable momentum. The ambusher behind him was easily parried as he brought his shield up and behind him, cracking something in their forearm or perhaps their wrist. Not bothering to waste time, the corpse’s broken blade was brought upwards through the ambusher’s jaw until it snapped the bit bone between their eyes. This done, the corpse wrenched his weapon up and sideways with a hollow “pop” as the neck gave leave of its skull. The body collapsed to the side, its head twisting unnaturally upwards and backwards as it freed itself of the blade. The corpse, unbothered, bore no interest in holding either aloft. Now he turned, inspected the last of the thieves, and after a moment returned his blade to its holder.
“You are Patient.”
This first time he’d uttered the phrase, the last word was merely an attribute. ‘Twas a description of the one hollow that could be shot with any arrow, afflicted with any pain, and would yet remain loyally in her position. To be fair, it wasn’t for great gift a choice, as the position of “live bait” was reserved only for whichever of the thieves had been deemed least desirable by the rest. What caused this, and whatever penalties lay for abandoning of the post, were matters the corpse could only assume. The important part was that it was her, the thief who had become “Patient” by name. At their first encounter the corpse had considered dispatching her like the rest, but had hesitated in piercing her skin. He still bore the scar about his neck that she had given him for his idleness, and she still wore the rat skin “grieves” he’d forcefully tied to her for a marker. As time passed, the two gradually traded more scars and more black fur hide between them- the corpse receiving the former, Patient gaining the latter. He had stripped her and tied a pelt about her chest which lay now beneath her leather armor, he’d fashioned a double-thick leather stock to protect her neck, and though he tied gloves to her at a point she’d taken great effort in cutting them off. All this he had done across many visits, through much pain, and at expense of his best materials. Todays gift had by far been the hardest to craft- a thrice layered leather helm affixed on one side with a jawbone to replace what he’d broken so long ago.
His approach was slow, and well-rehearsed. At about ten paces, Patient’s patience finally broke as she ran for him. Today she chose to hesitate upon reaching him, though he'd learned this was by chance of random choice than any form of compassion. The corpse waited for the attack, not daring to kick another outcast as he had once been in life. She tried first her more viscous pattern, a pair of vigorous strikes that slid across the corpse’s target shield rather than bouncing away. She completed the maneuver and immediately prepared for a more powerful, slamming attack, granting the corpse the opportunity he had been seeking.
As she brought her blade down, the corpse deftly batted her strong hand away and gripped her shield with his open hand. Having no further need for his own shield, he cast it now away and spun the patient thief ‘round. She made as if to leap upward and over the corpse, but the maneuver was one he’d long since learned to counter. He stepped back, spinning himself so as to bring her sideways and around and down into a prone position with his right elbow along her back and his left hand pinning her knife arm down.
His next task, before gifts could be given, was to ensure he received no further scars in return. Placing his knee at her back to free one of his hands, he drew from beneath his cloak a coil of red twine fashioned from the same rats he’d skinned for his gift… some of the same, at least. With great effort, the twine was managed around the thief until she could no longer terribly well resist, and her hood was pulled back from her head.
Seeing the sunken red skin, the glowing eyes, the bare teeth, it reminded the corpse of life in the Pit of Outcasts. It was there he’d met the kindest of the living, the most desperate of the poor, and occasionally even a soul or two willing to speak or come close to him. ‘Twas a place for the diseased, the undead, and those criminals deemed too vile to disgrace the hangman’s noose with their neck. It was there he’d learned to knit and to sew, skills gifted to him from an undead woman not terribly discernable from the one before him now. The main difference, at least for now, was the slack jaw broken in uncountable pieces during their first encounter.
Casting the memories aside, the corpse set to his work. The leather about the thief’s neck stilled her head a little, but precisely cutting the skin beneath her jaw to remove the old bone was still a difficult task. The end result was unsightly, and it involved more than a few excessive cuts from the patient’s constant struggling, but it was enough to work with. Removing the old bone took a great deal of time thanks to the many fragments hidden in odd bits and pockets of flesh, but sliding the new one into place and wrapping it in the old muscle proved as easily said as done. The most tiring part was retying the cuts back closed, as the thief regained and continually demonstrated a greater ability to bite and snap as the corpse made more and more progress. The last of these gaps closed, the corpse finally wrapped the rest of the leather helmet about the thief’s skull and tied the loose end to the other side of her new jaw with more twine. It wasn’t his best work, but it was the best he’d done on something still kicking around.
Patient’s hood was returned to its proper position, and the corpse took hold of a length of twine connected to a slipknot in the middle of her back. Midway up the last stretch of stairs he’d come down, the twine was pulled and the knot it held gave way, restoring the thief her freedom. Knowing better than to stick around, the corpse fled to the top of the stairs, standing on the bridge overlooking her station just beyond where she would pursue. He watched as she freed herself of the last of the twine, as she looked to him, and as she eventually returned to her post. He said then the same thing he always said to her, though still he knew not if she recognized it.
“I am Aldin Paltry, the Leper of Hangknell. I will return again.”
He watched a moment more, but was paid not a glance in return. Back through the alley he went, bound for the dragon’s bridge.
submitted by Ravens_Quote to darksouls [link] [comments]
After all, only a few are Chosen.
If idiocy was to lose one’s common sense, then it couldn’t account for the stupidity of an undead hound. The corpse raised a spear over the shield and swung it downward in a pathetic arc, the wood slapping against the metal with hardly a noise to report. Seeing the motion, the dog leapt sideways out of some horribly trained reflex, and in this manner crashed into large pile of eternally burning corpses. It yelped as the heat caught it, spasmed as it searched for purchase amidst the mass of charred bones and melted flesh, and promptly died. The commotion brought with it the sound of distant footsteps, and soon another beast had run headlong into the shield. This one took two similar “attacks” of the spear to repeat its fellow’s mistake, and the one after it four.
To think he had once been terrified of these things, and discovered his tactic in panic.
Beside the steps was a well, and (after a moment to ensure no further dogs were coming), it was this against which the corpse laid his heavy shield. The next test between him and his goal would require agility, something ill-afforded with such heavy hardware. For this, he turned his attention to the well’s crank, and set thereafter to turning it. From the depths was raised a target shield tied in place of a bucket, and upon it a collection of bones, a severed hand, a ring, and a candlestick. The corpse laid the miscellaneous treasures aside, untying the shield and equipping it to his left arm.
The first two thieves were marked by buckets… or rather, the buckets were set in place to tell the thieves which doors were to be hid behind. As travelers came and went, the buckets would roll down the hill as they were knocked aside or blown by the wind or carried around by the dogs, and thus the thieves’ stations would move. When it was determined one had rolled too far down the decline of the alleyway, an annoyed thief would inevitably carry it to a more desired station, pretend it had always been there, and hide themselves behind the newly marked door. It was possible some band of thieves set this tradition in place long ago and retained the habit after they’d eventually gone hollow, but proving this thought today would be nearly beyond impossible. The reasoning didn’t matter to the corpse, of course, but the effect he used to his advantage.
The tops of the doors he adorned with knives from the Lady of Moss- blades up, such that the forceful opening of the door would spin the knives just right to sink their poisonous bile into the victims below. What additional wastes and acids the corpse had applied need not be mentioned by name, only that they shared their patron creature with the leather cloak on his back. With his work done, he now walked the side of the alley as any clueless traveler would have, and awaited the springing of the trap.
As always, the third and lowermost thief signaled the attack by kicking open their door. The two now behind the corpse followed, and shortly thereafter issued their raspy exhales of pain amidst the clatter of falling steel. The corpse charged. The leader hurriedly reached for their throwing knives but was swiftly force-fed the edge of the corpse’s shield, thusly to be brought to the ground. Here was the corpse’s blade drawn, its cracked and jagged tip turned down towards its latest prey.
When skinning rats, it is important that one carries a sharp blade. This both to pierce the thick hide, and to avoid unnecessary damage to the intestines, stomach, and other usable bits lying beneath. Replacing the rat with a hollow, the corpse preferred the tip of a broken straight sword to the edge of his usual dagger. The motions made indeed bore some crude similarity to his work when harvesting leather, but the abandon of care became only more evident with each forceful cut and flailingly resisted gouge. In the end, what remained could hardly be discerned from a spot of muck on the road, a hollow-faced madman above it.
Further down, beyond a second set of stone steps, was another favorite spot of ambush for the thieves. The mutts at the end of the alley had long since devoured whatever scraps had been used to position them, and so readily charged forth at the beckoning call of the corpse. They found at his feet the now separated legs of the corpse’s most recent kill, adorned in many fresh gouges and oozing with a pungent liquid. The source of this meal mattered not to them, and so they eagerly set to work engorging themselves on the new flesh. So single-minded were they, intent on ridding themselves of the insatiable undead hunger that plagued them, that neither one slowed as a white foam began to pour from their mouths. Their stomachs first bulged, then split apart and spilt what little they had for content as the acid worked its way through. Their legs gave way from beneath them, first the hind, then the front, and yet still they desperately swallowed more of the decaying flesh and embedded stomach-skin pouches that rapidly digested them in return. When at last the pair had at last lost such strength as to no longer reach the meals inches away from their first gasping, then whining maws, the corpse delivered their mercy. A swift kick, and what little remained of their necks gave freedom to their lifeless skulls. The thieves, meanwhile, bore no challenge the corpse had not already faced. Knives over the first few doors, the greeting of jaw and shield, the pillaging of another victim. Nothing unusual, and nothing of note.
With the capra demon gone, some “chosen” adventurer having long since vanquished it from realm, little now stood between the corpse and… her… save only one thing. The corpse took the last flight of stairs three at a time, ricocheting off the wall on the outside of its only turn and bounding towards his target.
There she was, out in the open as always. The corpse sprinted down the stairs and, after passing a blind corner, set his left foot forward and crouched to halt his considerable momentum. The ambusher behind him was easily parried as he brought his shield up and behind him, cracking something in their forearm or perhaps their wrist. Not bothering to waste time, the corpse’s broken blade was brought upwards through the ambusher’s jaw until it snapped the bit bone between their eyes. This done, the corpse wrenched his weapon up and sideways with a hollow “pop” as the neck gave leave of its skull. The body collapsed to the side, its head twisting unnaturally upwards and backwards as it freed itself of the blade. The corpse, unbothered, bore no interest in holding either aloft. Now he turned, inspected the last of the thieves, and after a moment returned his blade to its holder.
“You are Patient.”
This first time he’d uttered the phrase, the last word was merely an attribute. ‘Twas a description of the one hollow that could be shot with any arrow, afflicted with any pain, and would yet remain loyally in her position. To be fair, it wasn’t for great gift a choice, as the position of “live bait” was reserved only for whichever of the thieves had been deemed least desirable by the rest. What caused this, and whatever penalties lay for abandoning of the post, were matters the corpse could only assume. The important part was that it was her, the thief who had become “Patient” by name. At their first encounter the corpse had considered dispatching her like the rest, but had hesitated in piercing her skin. He still bore the scar about his neck that she had given him for his idleness, and she still wore the rat skin “grieves” he’d forcefully tied to her for a marker. As time passed, the two gradually traded more scars and more black fur hide between them- the corpse receiving the former, Patient gaining the latter. He had stripped her and tied a pelt about her chest which lay now beneath her leather armor, he’d fashioned a double-thick leather stock to protect her neck, and though he tied gloves to her at a point she’d taken great effort in cutting them off. All this he had done across many visits, through much pain, and at expense of his best materials. Todays gift had by far been the hardest to craft- a thrice layered leather helm affixed on one side with a jawbone to replace what he’d broken so long ago.
His approach was slow, and well-rehearsed. At about ten paces, Patient’s patience finally broke as she ran for him. Today she chose to hesitate upon reaching him, though he'd learned this was by chance of random choice than any form of compassion. The corpse waited for the attack, not daring to kick another outcast as he had once been in life. She tried first her more viscous pattern, a pair of vigorous strikes that slid across the corpse’s target shield rather than bouncing away. She completed the maneuver and immediately prepared for a more powerful, slamming attack, granting the corpse the opportunity he had been seeking.
As she brought her blade down, the corpse deftly batted her strong hand away and gripped her shield with his open hand. Having no further need for his own shield, he cast it now away and spun the patient thief ‘round. She made as if to leap upward and over the corpse, but the maneuver was one he’d long since learned to counter. He stepped back, spinning himself so as to bring her sideways and around and down into a prone position with his right elbow along her back and his left hand pinning her knife arm down.
His next task, before gifts could be given, was to ensure he received no further scars in return. Placing his knee at her back to free one of his hands, he drew from beneath his cloak a coil of red twine fashioned from the same rats he’d skinned for his gift… some of the same, at least. With great effort, the twine was managed around the thief until she could no longer terribly well resist, and her hood was pulled back from her head.
Seeing the sunken red skin, the glowing eyes, the bare teeth, it reminded the corpse of life in the Pit of Outcasts. It was there he’d met the kindest of the living, the most desperate of the poor, and occasionally even a soul or two willing to speak or come close to him. ‘Twas a place for the diseased, the undead, and those criminals deemed too vile to disgrace the hangman’s noose with their neck. It was there he’d learned to knit and to sew, skills gifted to him from an undead woman not terribly discernable from the one before him now. The main difference, at least for now, was the slack jaw broken in uncountable pieces during their first encounter.
Casting the memories aside, the corpse set to his work. The leather about the thief’s neck stilled her head a little, but precisely cutting the skin beneath her jaw to remove the old bone was still a difficult task. The end result was unsightly, and it involved more than a few excessive cuts from the patient’s constant struggling, but it was enough to work with. Removing the old bone took a great deal of time thanks to the many fragments hidden in odd bits and pockets of flesh, but sliding the new one into place and wrapping it in the old muscle proved as easily said as done. The most tiring part was retying the cuts back closed, as the thief regained and continually demonstrated a greater ability to bite and snap as the corpse made more and more progress. The last of these gaps closed, the corpse finally wrapped the rest of the leather helmet about the thief’s skull and tied the loose end to the other side of her new jaw with more twine. It wasn’t his best work, but it was the best he’d done on something still kicking around.
Patient’s hood was returned to its proper position, and the corpse took hold of a length of twine connected to a slipknot in the middle of her back. Midway up the last stretch of stairs he’d come down, the twine was pulled and the knot it held gave way, restoring the thief her freedom. Knowing better than to stick around, the corpse fled to the top of the stairs, standing on the bridge overlooking her station just beyond where she would pursue. He watched as she freed herself of the last of the twine, as she looked to him, and as she eventually returned to her post. He said then the same thing he always said to her, though still he knew not if she recognized it.
“I am Aldin Paltry, the Leper of Hangknell. I will return again.”
He watched a moment more, but was paid not a glance in return. Back through the alley he went, bound for the dragon’s bridge.
2024.05.15 06:15 vren55 [A Fractured Song] - Chapter 217- Fantasy, Isekai (Portal Fantasy), Adventure
Cover Art!
Just because you’re transported to another world, doesn’t mean you’ll escape from your pain.
Abused by her parents, thirteen-year-old Frances only wants to be safe and for her life not to hurt so much. And when she and her class are transported to the magical world of Durannon to fight the monsters invading the human kingdoms and defeat the self-titled Demon King, Frances is presented with a golden opportunity. If she succeeds, Frances will have the home she never had. If she fails, Frances will be summoned back to the home she escaped.
Yet, despite her newfound magic and friends, Frances finds that trauma is not so easily lost. She is dogged by her abuse and its physical and invisible scars. Not only does she have to learn magic, she has to survive the nightmares of her past, and wrestle with her feelings of doubt and self-loathing.
If she can heal from her trauma, though, she might be able to defeat the Demon King and maybe, just maybe, she can find a home for herself.
[The Beginning] [<=Chapter 216] [Chapter Index and Blurb] [Chapter 218 May 28 or see the next chapter now on Patreon]
The Fractured Song Index
Discord Channel Just let me know when you arrive in the server that you’re a Patreon so you can access your special channel.
Frances and company catch up before the final battle.
***
“Hold on. How would he win this battle if we outnumber him and surround him?” Ginger asked.
“He could target our leadership. Focus on killing Titania, Antigones, you and Martin,” said Ayax.
“Only, he’d have to kill Sebastian and Megara, as well as Edana and you too, Frances, along with a whole list of targets. I’m not sure how he could pull that off,” said Elizabeth.
Ayax grimaced, brow furrowed, but Frances knew the answer to that question.
“Thorgoth doesn’t need to find half the targets he’s after. Myself, mom, Titania, our strongest mages and the rest of the people that will be on his list have leadership positions. Like it or not we’ll be involved in the battle and he just needs to find us on the battlefield. A well-placed spell and he’d snuff any non-magic person out,” Frances said.
“So what do we do then?” Martin asked.
Frances’ heart was pounding, for she knew the answer, but was afraid to give it life. Yet what could she do but tell what she knew was the truth?
“Take the battle to him. Thorgoth will have to operate by himself with maybe just his Royal Guards. We need to hold him and his escort and defeat him before he hurts everybody else.”
“So, all the Otherworlders, our best mages?” Ayax asked.
“Not all of them. But my mother and I, Jessica and Leila, Dwynalina and Jim and Nicole, with a few Otherworlders holding off his guards,” said Frances.
Elizabeth pursed her lips. “Ayax and I can go after Queen Berengaria. I can’t imagine her going far from her husband.”
“This is assuming we can at least split the attention of the dragons and keep them occupied of course,” said Martin. He touched Ginger’s elbow. “Not that I don’t trust you dear.”
“Oh I know, but it is a consideration.” She swirled the wine in her cup. “That means Martin and I will be directing the battle with Sebastian and Alexander.”
“It’s likely you’ll be the overall commander with Martin. Alexander and Sebastian would then take charge of their own contingents,” said Elizabeth. She bit her lip. “Do you feel up for it?”
Ginger shrugged. “I mean, we have to—”
Elizabeth reached out to pat her friend’s shoulder. “Martin, Ginger, you know we have every faith in both of you, but if you need help, there is no shame in asking for it.”
“Besides I think we’re all scared. I know I am,” Ayax said with a smile. Even so, they could all see how her tail looked like it was trying to twist itself into knots. Frances figured her cousin wasn’t trying to hide her fear, just trying not to alarm or panic them.
Martin sighed. “I think that’s the problem, Liz. Duty compels us. Love binds us. So I know no matter what happens, I know we’ll stand together to face him. Still, we are afraid and while I know I won’t run, I worry that fear may cloud my judgment at a crucial moment.”
Ginger wiped her eyes, but her tears now flowed freely down her cheeks. “How do I know I won’t panic, and make a bad call? How do we know we are all coming back? We can’t. I…I guess we have to accept that, but I don’t want to lose you. Any of you.”
Drawing her friend into a tight hug, Elizabeth gently patted Ginger’s back. “I don’t either. I suppose that for me, I’ve always looked to my faith in God, and in you all. Have we not triumphed in all we’ve faced?””
Frances found herself nodding, her throat unclenching and the tight nervousness in her shoulders and neck fading. What remained was a faint feeling of lightness that lifted her chin.
“You’re right. We should believe in ourselves, and hope. Hope for a future when we win this war. Hope that our good will triumph over Thorgoth’s evil. Hope that in a few days, we’ll be home with our family, and our friends.”
Martin gave Frances a wondering look. “How are you able to hope that?”
Frances smiled. “I think that I have always been good at having hope. I didn’t realize it until now, but even in my darkest moments, I always hoped that I would find a place where I could be me.”
Ayax stood up, raising her glass. “To faith, friendship and hope. May it see us all through our final trial.”
Rising to their feet, the five touched glasses and drank deep. They all were smiling. The pain and fear in their hearts soothed by the hope they held and the determination to see each other once again.
***
“Frances, can I walk with you?”
Frances would never have said no to her best friend, and she could tell that past Elizabeth’s bright smile, her friend was worried. There were just too many small signs learnt from years of friendship. She was scratching behind her ear, and her eyes were narrowed just slightly from the tension in her face.
“Of course,” said Frances, falling in beside the tall Otherworlder. “How are you and Ayax?”
Elizabeth giggled. “We’re great! Fantastic even. She and I are even talking about what we might do after the war. We have so many plans and well, I kind of wanted to talk to you about that.”
Frances waited as Elizabeth continued to walk beside her, lips pursed.
“I know that after the war, I’m choosing to stay here with Ayax, with all of you. I just…” her voice trailed off, and her walk slowed to a crawl.
Taking a slight breath, Frances touched her friend’s hand. “Liz, you know it’s okay for you to doubt that.”
Elizabeth stopped and shook her head. “Oh no, I don’t have any doubts about my decision. At the very least, I’m past the point where my doubts aren’t going to change my decision. I know I’ve changed too much in the past seven years. I’ve come to terms with my sexuality. I’ve fallen head over heels in love with a woman who loves me just as much. I’ve commanded armies, led soldiers into battle and helped to make decisions affecting hundreds of thousands of people. I can’t go back pretending I’m Grade 8 and neither do I want to.” She squeezed Frances’s hand. “My decision is the right one. I know it in my heart and I’ve prayed about it. I can do a lot of good here and me going back? That won’t just hurt the people I love here, but it’ll hurt me and my family at home. I can’t hide who I’ve become and I’m proud of what I’ve grown into.”
Frances closely studied her friend knowing Elizabeth wouldn’t mind her staring.
“So what are you feeling, Liz?”
Closing her eyes, Elizabeth sniffled. “Guilt. It’s stupid. I know I’m making the right choice. I’m sure in my heart that God is encouraging me to make this choice, but I still feel guilty.”
“How could you not? You know your family loves you.”
“And I’m abandoning them. I know I’m doing the right thing but I still feel like I’m doing something wrong,” said the Otherworlder.
Frances hugged her best friend, squeezing her tight, hoping that her warmth and touch could comfort the woman who she’d trusted as much as her own mother.
“Liz, if they are everything you told me, they’re going to be alright. Have faith in them, like your faith in me and your friends.”
Elizabeth let out a sigh, but returned the hug. “Thank you, Frances. If…if the worst comes and you are sent back without me, go to them. Tell them I love them.”
Tears in her eyes, Frances nodded. “I promise. If you are sent back, I will take care of Ayax.”
Elizabeth let out a gurgly hiccup. “Thank you. I know you will.”
***
The historic coronation of King Martin and Queen Ginger would found what would be known as the Congrey dynasty. Con for Conthwaite and Grey for King Jerome’s dynasty.
It was an unusual coronation as King Martin and Queen Ginger were long-betrothed but not married. Yet King Jerome and Queen Forowena’s wills had been clear. Apart from that, the coronation involved as many of Eridale's traditions as possible in light of the circumstances.
Down the parade route attended by all those that could be mustered, King and Queen marched in at the head of an honor guard composed of their closest companions. These included Frances, Elizabeth, and Ayax, who held three poles of a crimson banner that hung over the pair. The fourth corner was held by Martin’s sister Mara, who wore a slightly undignified grin. Yet, nobody could really blame her.
Martin wore a black-white checkered tunic with red-gold trimmings and shoulder epaulets. His trousers were dark gray with again red-gold tassels. Ginger did wear a dress. It was of a dark maroon with silver lacing. A bejeweled gorget studded with emeralds hung from her neck and her ears sparkled with dark blue sapphires.
There was one minor alteration. As the procession marched up to the entrance of the old Goblin Empire palace, on a raised wooden dais dressed with elaborately embroidered carpets stood the attending dignitaries. They included all the other Erisdalian lords and ladies such as Viscountess Katia and Lord Tarquin, dressed in all the finery they could muster. Other notables such as Prince Timur, representing the Kingdom of Alavaria, Grandmaster Edana of the White Order and Alexander and Eloise of Erlenberg stood proudly side by side.
Towards the center of the dais were three figures. King Sebastian and Queen-Consort Megara, and the former Queen Janize. Sebastian and Megara were standing, holding Queen Forowena’s crown, whilst the heavily pregnant Janize sat, holding King Jerome’s crown. Thorgoth may have taken their decorated helmets, but he did not have their ceremonial attire.
Martin and Ginger stepped out from under the awning, giving their bearers a brief nod, before taking the last steps up the dais.
Whistling a spell, Megara touched her throat with her wand. “Who stands before the crowns?”
Martin knelt to one knee. The bearers of the awning followed. “Sir Martin of Conthwaite. A Knight of Erisdale.”
Ginger curtsied low. Frances nearly split her lips as she grinned at her friend’s perfect form. “Ginger. Just Ginger of Erisdale.”
Janize’s expression was unreadable as she rose to her feet. There was a slight archness to her features, and yet that could just be how she lifted her haughty cheeks.
“As witnessed by all, and by the King and Queen of Lapanteria, do you swear to defend Erisdale with all means at your disposal including force of arms?”
“We do.”
“Do you swear to uphold the laws of the land and the rights of Erisdale’s citizens?”
“We do!”
“Do you swear that until your dying breaths, to govern and reign over Erisdale not for your benefit, but for the benefit of the people and for their future generations?”
From her kneeling position, Frances frowned. That wasn’t quite the right oath. The wording was “Do you swear to govern over Erisdale wisely and justly?” She supposed that she might have missed it, or maybe there was a variation.
Yet as she noted her fiance’s face, she noticed his eyes were wide and her mother’s eyebrow was arched.
Not skipping a beat, Martin and Ginger bellowed. “We do!”
“Do you swear that you will do your utmost not to make the same mistakes as your predecessors and do whatever it takes to preserve Erisdale’s peace, even if it may cost you your lives?”
Frances blinked. Janize had gone completely off script. There was no fourth oath.
However, Martin and Ginger only hesitated for a moment as they exchanged a glance and looked up to meet Janize’s gaze.
The blonde woman’s eyes were bright and the hands holding Jerome’s crown were trembling ever so slightly. Frances had wondered why she’d insisted on doing this. Martin and Ginger had wanted to approach her to ask if she was willing, but the enigmatic former queen had surprised them by demanding they allow her to crown them. She now had an idea as to why.
“We do,” said Martin, smiling.
Ginger returned that smile. Blinking back her own tears, she took a breath. “In the name of Queen-consort Forowena and your brother, King Jerome. We solemnly swear.”
Janize closed her eyes, a single tear running down her cheek.
“Then as the last heiress of House Grey, I pass the crown of Erisdale on forever. Long live the Congrey dynasty. Long live Martin the Hero of Erisdale and his queen to be Ginger, whom I dub Erisdale’s Burning Heart.”
Lifting Jerome’s crown high, she set it onto Martin’s head. Swiftly taking Queen Forowena’s crown from Sebastian, she set it on Ginger’s head.
“Hail King Martin and Queen Ginger!” Janize bellowed as Martin and Ginger rose to their feet.
The crowd chanted back, their voices filling the great cavern. “Hail King Martin and Queen Ginger! Hail King Martin and Queen Ginger!” Frances could barely hear her own voice over the crescendo. The call that they all raised. Like the sound carried up into the void, she could feel herself be carried up. It was like she was floating on the power of their united song.
Turning around, Martin and Ginger smiled at Frances. Their eyes were wide, and she could see them clasp each other’s hands tightly.
Frances found herself standing on her feet, the pole to her awning in her hand. Without a second thought, she stabbed the pole’s spike into the ground. As her hand dropped to Alanna, she paused for a moment before her mind caught up with her body, and she nodded as if to herself.
Drawing the estoc, Frances raised her blade high, saluting her two friends.
“Long may they reign! Long may they reign!”
Elizabeth was right behind her, hammer raised high. Ayax followed suit with her staff and Mara and the rest were soon drawing their weapons. From the corner of her eye, Frances even spotted Morgan and Hattie raising their wand and staff.
“Long may they reign! Long may they reign!”
***
Helias glanced over his shoulder toward the accursed city. Despite the distance, there was a tremble in the air of Kairoun-Aoun itself.
“Helias?” Sara asked.
“Sounds like they crowned Martin and Ginger. They’re going to attack soon,” he said.
Sara nodded, her tense jaw the only sign of the worry that had seized the harpy-orc. As gently as he could manage with his rough, scarred hands, he wrapped his arm around her waist.
“Sara. We’re going to be fine.”
“You’re lying,” she said with eyes fixed forward.
The general couldn’t help but wince. “Sorry.”
Slowing in her stride, Sara placed a hand over Helias’s. “I still appreciate you trying to comfort me but I would prefer you to tell me the truth. How bad is it?”
Helias looked around. “Thorgoth may pull off a miracle and get himself and Berengaria out. However, a lot of Alavari are going to die.”
“What are you going to do?” Sara asked.
“I’ll have to attend this meeting and see what Thorgoth is planning. We’ll make a plan after that.”
“You and I know it’s not going to change anything,” Sara said, looking up at her husband, who could not meet her gaze. Yet, she didn’t push him away. Instead put her hand around his waist, drawing him closer.
“I know, but I want to be sure,” said Helias in a low tone.
“I understand. See you soon,” said Sara.
***
Helias found himself exchanging side-long glances with Glowron. The pair sat, both leaning forward toward King Thorgoth and a pacing Queen Berengaria, who’d finished explaining tomorrow’s strategy.
“Do you have anything else to add, my good generals?” Thorgoth asked. The king still smiled easily as he swirled a cup of wine in his hands.
Glowron shook his head. His tone was short but he kept this expression neutral. “No sire.”
The goblin general was Helias’s superior in rank and social class. The fact of the matter was that if Glowron had no objections, then there was no way the tauroll could object.
And still, Helias felt bile rise in the back of his throat. He froze, ever so briefly. Closing his eyes, he shook his head. Nothing mattered, except for Sara and Gwendilia.
“No sir. I’ll have my troops ready for tomorrow.”
That should have been that. They would have been dismissed to prepare for tomorrow’s suicide mission, but the king’s whims had other plans.
King Thorgoth put his cup down and leaned forward. “Oh come on my good generals. Surely you have something to improve on this plan.”
Glowron’s expression remained blank, whilst Helias smiled. “Your Majesty, you were the one who taught me everything I know. I can think of nothing I can add to your strategy.”
Queen Berengaria strode toward him. “You’re usually so talkative, Helias. Are you sure you have no other thoughts?”
“I beg your apologies, but I do not have any further additions to your plan, Your Majesty. My lord Glowron?” Helias asked.
“I do not either, my liege—” Glowron fell silent and Helias’s tail stiffened.
Thorgoth and Berengaria were no longer smiling and with a few more steps, the harpy queen had put herself behind the two generals.
“Let me be plain, we are now not asking you about how to improve the plan. We are asking for your thoughts. Give them.”
The Demon King’s remaining dark eye was narrowed. The other was now covered with a black silk eyepatch, the remains of the scar that Queen Forowen had given him, a discoloration scouring a line along the side of his face and right over his ear. In spite of the king’s injury, Helias felt nothing but cold dread dry his mouth.
“Your Majesty, my only thought is that we have no option but to follow your plan. No matter how we got into this situation, the only thing we can do is go forward and try to win this day,” Glowron said.
“And do you blame me, Glowron?”
Helias watched, eyes wide as somehow the much smaller goblin general continued to meet the king’s eyes. “I would be lying to you if I said I didn’t assign some responsibility to you at all, but I believe we ought to have thought of the possibility of such a trap. So the responsibility is mine as well.”
Thorgoth nodded. Out of the corner of his eye, Helias saw the slightest of nods that Berengaria gave to her husband. Alarm shooting his gaze back toward the Demon King, Helias found the full attention of his sovereign and sometimes uncle directed right at him.
“And you, General Helias?”
Lie and he might not be able to make it convincing enough. Tell the truth about what he thought about this war and he was never seeing Sara and Gwendilia again. Thorgoth hadn’t just been hurt, his pride had been wounded and he was now backed into a corner. It would be unwise to anger him, but what to say? What could he say?
All he could think of, and see was his child and her adoring gaze. All he could feel was the touch of Sara’s hand against his. They’d become closer than he could have imagined and were more than just companions with mutual goals now.
If he was to die, then maybe he could tell this truth.
“I am mostly thinking of my wife and my child, my king. The coming battle has me greatly concerned with how dangerous it shall be.”
Thorgoth narrowed his eyes at Helias for a brief moment. The tauroll, staying very still, waited for the presumed reaction by Berengaria.
Whatever Berengaria did made Thorgoth arch an eyebrow.
“I thought you didn’t consider your wife to be worth much,” said the king in a mild tone.
His mind racing, Helias ran with the idea. “She has responded well to the constraints and discipline I’ve enforced on her. She does nothing but facilitate all my needs and has served me well.”
He could feel Berengaria’s eyes narrow, but Thorgoth was already leaning back onto his chair. “Good for you. You are dismissed.”
“Thank you, sire,” said Helias, almost unable to hide his sigh of relief.
***
Author’s Note: While I wish I could have spent more quality time with Martin, Elizabeth, Ginger and Ayax, I do love the best-friend/team that I created for Frances. This chapter and the last was my little way of giving each of them a bit of time with Frances before the final battle.
submitted by vren55 to redditserials [link] [comments]
Just because you’re transported to another world, doesn’t mean you’ll escape from your pain.
Abused by her parents, thirteen-year-old Frances only wants to be safe and for her life not to hurt so much. And when she and her class are transported to the magical world of Durannon to fight the monsters invading the human kingdoms and defeat the self-titled Demon King, Frances is presented with a golden opportunity. If she succeeds, Frances will have the home she never had. If she fails, Frances will be summoned back to the home she escaped.
Yet, despite her newfound magic and friends, Frances finds that trauma is not so easily lost. She is dogged by her abuse and its physical and invisible scars. Not only does she have to learn magic, she has to survive the nightmares of her past, and wrestle with her feelings of doubt and self-loathing.
If she can heal from her trauma, though, she might be able to defeat the Demon King and maybe, just maybe, she can find a home for herself.
[The Beginning] [<=Chapter 216] [Chapter Index and Blurb] [Chapter 218 May 28 or see the next chapter now on Patreon]
The Fractured Song Index
Discord Channel Just let me know when you arrive in the server that you’re a Patreon so you can access your special channel.
Frances and company catch up before the final battle.
***
“Hold on. How would he win this battle if we outnumber him and surround him?” Ginger asked.
“He could target our leadership. Focus on killing Titania, Antigones, you and Martin,” said Ayax.
“Only, he’d have to kill Sebastian and Megara, as well as Edana and you too, Frances, along with a whole list of targets. I’m not sure how he could pull that off,” said Elizabeth.
Ayax grimaced, brow furrowed, but Frances knew the answer to that question.
“Thorgoth doesn’t need to find half the targets he’s after. Myself, mom, Titania, our strongest mages and the rest of the people that will be on his list have leadership positions. Like it or not we’ll be involved in the battle and he just needs to find us on the battlefield. A well-placed spell and he’d snuff any non-magic person out,” Frances said.
“So what do we do then?” Martin asked.
Frances’ heart was pounding, for she knew the answer, but was afraid to give it life. Yet what could she do but tell what she knew was the truth?
“Take the battle to him. Thorgoth will have to operate by himself with maybe just his Royal Guards. We need to hold him and his escort and defeat him before he hurts everybody else.”
“So, all the Otherworlders, our best mages?” Ayax asked.
“Not all of them. But my mother and I, Jessica and Leila, Dwynalina and Jim and Nicole, with a few Otherworlders holding off his guards,” said Frances.
Elizabeth pursed her lips. “Ayax and I can go after Queen Berengaria. I can’t imagine her going far from her husband.”
“This is assuming we can at least split the attention of the dragons and keep them occupied of course,” said Martin. He touched Ginger’s elbow. “Not that I don’t trust you dear.”
“Oh I know, but it is a consideration.” She swirled the wine in her cup. “That means Martin and I will be directing the battle with Sebastian and Alexander.”
“It’s likely you’ll be the overall commander with Martin. Alexander and Sebastian would then take charge of their own contingents,” said Elizabeth. She bit her lip. “Do you feel up for it?”
Ginger shrugged. “I mean, we have to—”
Elizabeth reached out to pat her friend’s shoulder. “Martin, Ginger, you know we have every faith in both of you, but if you need help, there is no shame in asking for it.”
“Besides I think we’re all scared. I know I am,” Ayax said with a smile. Even so, they could all see how her tail looked like it was trying to twist itself into knots. Frances figured her cousin wasn’t trying to hide her fear, just trying not to alarm or panic them.
Martin sighed. “I think that’s the problem, Liz. Duty compels us. Love binds us. So I know no matter what happens, I know we’ll stand together to face him. Still, we are afraid and while I know I won’t run, I worry that fear may cloud my judgment at a crucial moment.”
Ginger wiped her eyes, but her tears now flowed freely down her cheeks. “How do I know I won’t panic, and make a bad call? How do we know we are all coming back? We can’t. I…I guess we have to accept that, but I don’t want to lose you. Any of you.”
Drawing her friend into a tight hug, Elizabeth gently patted Ginger’s back. “I don’t either. I suppose that for me, I’ve always looked to my faith in God, and in you all. Have we not triumphed in all we’ve faced?””
Frances found herself nodding, her throat unclenching and the tight nervousness in her shoulders and neck fading. What remained was a faint feeling of lightness that lifted her chin.
“You’re right. We should believe in ourselves, and hope. Hope for a future when we win this war. Hope that our good will triumph over Thorgoth’s evil. Hope that in a few days, we’ll be home with our family, and our friends.”
Martin gave Frances a wondering look. “How are you able to hope that?”
Frances smiled. “I think that I have always been good at having hope. I didn’t realize it until now, but even in my darkest moments, I always hoped that I would find a place where I could be me.”
Ayax stood up, raising her glass. “To faith, friendship and hope. May it see us all through our final trial.”
Rising to their feet, the five touched glasses and drank deep. They all were smiling. The pain and fear in their hearts soothed by the hope they held and the determination to see each other once again.
***
“Frances, can I walk with you?”
Frances would never have said no to her best friend, and she could tell that past Elizabeth’s bright smile, her friend was worried. There were just too many small signs learnt from years of friendship. She was scratching behind her ear, and her eyes were narrowed just slightly from the tension in her face.
“Of course,” said Frances, falling in beside the tall Otherworlder. “How are you and Ayax?”
Elizabeth giggled. “We’re great! Fantastic even. She and I are even talking about what we might do after the war. We have so many plans and well, I kind of wanted to talk to you about that.”
Frances waited as Elizabeth continued to walk beside her, lips pursed.
“I know that after the war, I’m choosing to stay here with Ayax, with all of you. I just…” her voice trailed off, and her walk slowed to a crawl.
Taking a slight breath, Frances touched her friend’s hand. “Liz, you know it’s okay for you to doubt that.”
Elizabeth stopped and shook her head. “Oh no, I don’t have any doubts about my decision. At the very least, I’m past the point where my doubts aren’t going to change my decision. I know I’ve changed too much in the past seven years. I’ve come to terms with my sexuality. I’ve fallen head over heels in love with a woman who loves me just as much. I’ve commanded armies, led soldiers into battle and helped to make decisions affecting hundreds of thousands of people. I can’t go back pretending I’m Grade 8 and neither do I want to.” She squeezed Frances’s hand. “My decision is the right one. I know it in my heart and I’ve prayed about it. I can do a lot of good here and me going back? That won’t just hurt the people I love here, but it’ll hurt me and my family at home. I can’t hide who I’ve become and I’m proud of what I’ve grown into.”
Frances closely studied her friend knowing Elizabeth wouldn’t mind her staring.
“So what are you feeling, Liz?”
Closing her eyes, Elizabeth sniffled. “Guilt. It’s stupid. I know I’m making the right choice. I’m sure in my heart that God is encouraging me to make this choice, but I still feel guilty.”
“How could you not? You know your family loves you.”
“And I’m abandoning them. I know I’m doing the right thing but I still feel like I’m doing something wrong,” said the Otherworlder.
Frances hugged her best friend, squeezing her tight, hoping that her warmth and touch could comfort the woman who she’d trusted as much as her own mother.
“Liz, if they are everything you told me, they’re going to be alright. Have faith in them, like your faith in me and your friends.”
Elizabeth let out a sigh, but returned the hug. “Thank you, Frances. If…if the worst comes and you are sent back without me, go to them. Tell them I love them.”
Tears in her eyes, Frances nodded. “I promise. If you are sent back, I will take care of Ayax.”
Elizabeth let out a gurgly hiccup. “Thank you. I know you will.”
***
The historic coronation of King Martin and Queen Ginger would found what would be known as the Congrey dynasty. Con for Conthwaite and Grey for King Jerome’s dynasty.
It was an unusual coronation as King Martin and Queen Ginger were long-betrothed but not married. Yet King Jerome and Queen Forowena’s wills had been clear. Apart from that, the coronation involved as many of Eridale's traditions as possible in light of the circumstances.
Down the parade route attended by all those that could be mustered, King and Queen marched in at the head of an honor guard composed of their closest companions. These included Frances, Elizabeth, and Ayax, who held three poles of a crimson banner that hung over the pair. The fourth corner was held by Martin’s sister Mara, who wore a slightly undignified grin. Yet, nobody could really blame her.
Martin wore a black-white checkered tunic with red-gold trimmings and shoulder epaulets. His trousers were dark gray with again red-gold tassels. Ginger did wear a dress. It was of a dark maroon with silver lacing. A bejeweled gorget studded with emeralds hung from her neck and her ears sparkled with dark blue sapphires.
There was one minor alteration. As the procession marched up to the entrance of the old Goblin Empire palace, on a raised wooden dais dressed with elaborately embroidered carpets stood the attending dignitaries. They included all the other Erisdalian lords and ladies such as Viscountess Katia and Lord Tarquin, dressed in all the finery they could muster. Other notables such as Prince Timur, representing the Kingdom of Alavaria, Grandmaster Edana of the White Order and Alexander and Eloise of Erlenberg stood proudly side by side.
Towards the center of the dais were three figures. King Sebastian and Queen-Consort Megara, and the former Queen Janize. Sebastian and Megara were standing, holding Queen Forowena’s crown, whilst the heavily pregnant Janize sat, holding King Jerome’s crown. Thorgoth may have taken their decorated helmets, but he did not have their ceremonial attire.
Martin and Ginger stepped out from under the awning, giving their bearers a brief nod, before taking the last steps up the dais.
Whistling a spell, Megara touched her throat with her wand. “Who stands before the crowns?”
Martin knelt to one knee. The bearers of the awning followed. “Sir Martin of Conthwaite. A Knight of Erisdale.”
Ginger curtsied low. Frances nearly split her lips as she grinned at her friend’s perfect form. “Ginger. Just Ginger of Erisdale.”
Janize’s expression was unreadable as she rose to her feet. There was a slight archness to her features, and yet that could just be how she lifted her haughty cheeks.
“As witnessed by all, and by the King and Queen of Lapanteria, do you swear to defend Erisdale with all means at your disposal including force of arms?”
“We do.”
“Do you swear to uphold the laws of the land and the rights of Erisdale’s citizens?”
“We do!”
“Do you swear that until your dying breaths, to govern and reign over Erisdale not for your benefit, but for the benefit of the people and for their future generations?”
From her kneeling position, Frances frowned. That wasn’t quite the right oath. The wording was “Do you swear to govern over Erisdale wisely and justly?” She supposed that she might have missed it, or maybe there was a variation.
Yet as she noted her fiance’s face, she noticed his eyes were wide and her mother’s eyebrow was arched.
Not skipping a beat, Martin and Ginger bellowed. “We do!”
“Do you swear that you will do your utmost not to make the same mistakes as your predecessors and do whatever it takes to preserve Erisdale’s peace, even if it may cost you your lives?”
Frances blinked. Janize had gone completely off script. There was no fourth oath.
However, Martin and Ginger only hesitated for a moment as they exchanged a glance and looked up to meet Janize’s gaze.
The blonde woman’s eyes were bright and the hands holding Jerome’s crown were trembling ever so slightly. Frances had wondered why she’d insisted on doing this. Martin and Ginger had wanted to approach her to ask if she was willing, but the enigmatic former queen had surprised them by demanding they allow her to crown them. She now had an idea as to why.
“We do,” said Martin, smiling.
Ginger returned that smile. Blinking back her own tears, she took a breath. “In the name of Queen-consort Forowena and your brother, King Jerome. We solemnly swear.”
Janize closed her eyes, a single tear running down her cheek.
“Then as the last heiress of House Grey, I pass the crown of Erisdale on forever. Long live the Congrey dynasty. Long live Martin the Hero of Erisdale and his queen to be Ginger, whom I dub Erisdale’s Burning Heart.”
Lifting Jerome’s crown high, she set it onto Martin’s head. Swiftly taking Queen Forowena’s crown from Sebastian, she set it on Ginger’s head.
“Hail King Martin and Queen Ginger!” Janize bellowed as Martin and Ginger rose to their feet.
The crowd chanted back, their voices filling the great cavern. “Hail King Martin and Queen Ginger! Hail King Martin and Queen Ginger!” Frances could barely hear her own voice over the crescendo. The call that they all raised. Like the sound carried up into the void, she could feel herself be carried up. It was like she was floating on the power of their united song.
Turning around, Martin and Ginger smiled at Frances. Their eyes were wide, and she could see them clasp each other’s hands tightly.
Frances found herself standing on her feet, the pole to her awning in her hand. Without a second thought, she stabbed the pole’s spike into the ground. As her hand dropped to Alanna, she paused for a moment before her mind caught up with her body, and she nodded as if to herself.
Drawing the estoc, Frances raised her blade high, saluting her two friends.
“Long may they reign! Long may they reign!”
Elizabeth was right behind her, hammer raised high. Ayax followed suit with her staff and Mara and the rest were soon drawing their weapons. From the corner of her eye, Frances even spotted Morgan and Hattie raising their wand and staff.
“Long may they reign! Long may they reign!”
***
Helias glanced over his shoulder toward the accursed city. Despite the distance, there was a tremble in the air of Kairoun-Aoun itself.
“Helias?” Sara asked.
“Sounds like they crowned Martin and Ginger. They’re going to attack soon,” he said.
Sara nodded, her tense jaw the only sign of the worry that had seized the harpy-orc. As gently as he could manage with his rough, scarred hands, he wrapped his arm around her waist.
“Sara. We’re going to be fine.”
“You’re lying,” she said with eyes fixed forward.
The general couldn’t help but wince. “Sorry.”
Slowing in her stride, Sara placed a hand over Helias’s. “I still appreciate you trying to comfort me but I would prefer you to tell me the truth. How bad is it?”
Helias looked around. “Thorgoth may pull off a miracle and get himself and Berengaria out. However, a lot of Alavari are going to die.”
“What are you going to do?” Sara asked.
“I’ll have to attend this meeting and see what Thorgoth is planning. We’ll make a plan after that.”
“You and I know it’s not going to change anything,” Sara said, looking up at her husband, who could not meet her gaze. Yet, she didn’t push him away. Instead put her hand around his waist, drawing him closer.
“I know, but I want to be sure,” said Helias in a low tone.
“I understand. See you soon,” said Sara.
***
Helias found himself exchanging side-long glances with Glowron. The pair sat, both leaning forward toward King Thorgoth and a pacing Queen Berengaria, who’d finished explaining tomorrow’s strategy.
“Do you have anything else to add, my good generals?” Thorgoth asked. The king still smiled easily as he swirled a cup of wine in his hands.
Glowron shook his head. His tone was short but he kept this expression neutral. “No sire.”
The goblin general was Helias’s superior in rank and social class. The fact of the matter was that if Glowron had no objections, then there was no way the tauroll could object.
And still, Helias felt bile rise in the back of his throat. He froze, ever so briefly. Closing his eyes, he shook his head. Nothing mattered, except for Sara and Gwendilia.
“No sir. I’ll have my troops ready for tomorrow.”
That should have been that. They would have been dismissed to prepare for tomorrow’s suicide mission, but the king’s whims had other plans.
King Thorgoth put his cup down and leaned forward. “Oh come on my good generals. Surely you have something to improve on this plan.”
Glowron’s expression remained blank, whilst Helias smiled. “Your Majesty, you were the one who taught me everything I know. I can think of nothing I can add to your strategy.”
Queen Berengaria strode toward him. “You’re usually so talkative, Helias. Are you sure you have no other thoughts?”
“I beg your apologies, but I do not have any further additions to your plan, Your Majesty. My lord Glowron?” Helias asked.
“I do not either, my liege—” Glowron fell silent and Helias’s tail stiffened.
Thorgoth and Berengaria were no longer smiling and with a few more steps, the harpy queen had put herself behind the two generals.
“Let me be plain, we are now not asking you about how to improve the plan. We are asking for your thoughts. Give them.”
The Demon King’s remaining dark eye was narrowed. The other was now covered with a black silk eyepatch, the remains of the scar that Queen Forowen had given him, a discoloration scouring a line along the side of his face and right over his ear. In spite of the king’s injury, Helias felt nothing but cold dread dry his mouth.
“Your Majesty, my only thought is that we have no option but to follow your plan. No matter how we got into this situation, the only thing we can do is go forward and try to win this day,” Glowron said.
“And do you blame me, Glowron?”
Helias watched, eyes wide as somehow the much smaller goblin general continued to meet the king’s eyes. “I would be lying to you if I said I didn’t assign some responsibility to you at all, but I believe we ought to have thought of the possibility of such a trap. So the responsibility is mine as well.”
Thorgoth nodded. Out of the corner of his eye, Helias saw the slightest of nods that Berengaria gave to her husband. Alarm shooting his gaze back toward the Demon King, Helias found the full attention of his sovereign and sometimes uncle directed right at him.
“And you, General Helias?”
Lie and he might not be able to make it convincing enough. Tell the truth about what he thought about this war and he was never seeing Sara and Gwendilia again. Thorgoth hadn’t just been hurt, his pride had been wounded and he was now backed into a corner. It would be unwise to anger him, but what to say? What could he say?
All he could think of, and see was his child and her adoring gaze. All he could feel was the touch of Sara’s hand against his. They’d become closer than he could have imagined and were more than just companions with mutual goals now.
If he was to die, then maybe he could tell this truth.
“I am mostly thinking of my wife and my child, my king. The coming battle has me greatly concerned with how dangerous it shall be.”
Thorgoth narrowed his eyes at Helias for a brief moment. The tauroll, staying very still, waited for the presumed reaction by Berengaria.
Whatever Berengaria did made Thorgoth arch an eyebrow.
“I thought you didn’t consider your wife to be worth much,” said the king in a mild tone.
His mind racing, Helias ran with the idea. “She has responded well to the constraints and discipline I’ve enforced on her. She does nothing but facilitate all my needs and has served me well.”
He could feel Berengaria’s eyes narrow, but Thorgoth was already leaning back onto his chair. “Good for you. You are dismissed.”
“Thank you, sire,” said Helias, almost unable to hide his sigh of relief.
***
Author’s Note: While I wish I could have spent more quality time with Martin, Elizabeth, Ginger and Ayax, I do love the best-friend/team that I created for Frances. This chapter and the last was my little way of giving each of them a bit of time with Frances before the final battle.
2024.05.15 02:15 DogGirlBitch It's Official I have a boyfriend that actually wants to stay my boyfriend after I tell him all about my animal loving side😍
So last night my new boyfriend came over we will call him John and we had a lovely dinner I made and I was so surprised Max my German shepherd was a very good boy bring nice I guess he could tell I liked him. I was wearing a slutty little black dress with a red thong that didn't stay on long, after dinner we sat on the sofa talking and I told him all about my animal loving history and I mean every from when I started to now and he was loving it tell me I was his dream girl he loved that I love being a bitch and having giving my love to dogs and told me never to stop and that he hopes to just join into my relationship with animals as a loving partner and when he said that he kissed me and that turned into hot dirty messy sex he's cock is very large around 10 inches and thick very blessed he's about the same size as max not as thick as Max's knot but still very nice and he loved how loose my body was he's never been with a woman that could take his cock balls deep in there ass, pussy, and mouth with ease and had no problem with him going from my asshole to my mouth or putting my tongue into his asshole as I stroked his cock like I would a horse. It was a nasty delicious night as I was sucking on his cock after cumming inside my ass for the first time Max jumped up and wanted his turn and John spread my ass so Max had a clear shot for my pussy witch he took and that just made John's cock throb even harder in my mouth till he was balls deep down my throat, he loves my no gag reflex and loved how I was a drooling cum filled mess as Max knotted my pussy and filled me with his hot doggy seed John couldn't help himself cumming in my mouth a second big load of delicious cum in my mouth. After that we snuggled the 3 of use for a bit chating and just being close with each other relaxing till the hot smell of John's cock was to much for me to take anymore and I got on my knees like a good bitch and started to lick his balls and cock every delicious inches of him, a big plus got John is that he's a Naturalist like me never using soaps when washing so his nature smell and Manly muck was intoxicating like a animal in heat I couldn't get enough of him he always smelled good but now naked and all hot and sweaty it was to much for me, I was get wet just from his smell and he could 100% tell I loved it asking me if I liked his dirty cock and watching my drooling on him like an animal myself, the second he was starting to get hard I got up and let his throbbing cock slide into my cum filled vagina using Max's cum as lube and I rode hid cock like an animal as he held my little breasts sucking on my hard nipples and I milked another load out of him deep into my vagina and I orgasmed so hard I squirted like a waterfall falling onto his big strong chest. He held me as he's cock relaxed inside me still pretty large even soft and he layed me down only pulling out to lay next to me and kiss me as Max layed between my legs cleaning my vagina and must of passed out because I woke up to my alarm and John made me breakfast so of course before he had to leave for work I sucked him off and got ready for work myself I can't wait to have him over this weekend and hopefully have a couple days to really show him what a good girl I can be for him he said he want to take me out shopping and spoil me I've never had a man want me like him and also he want to let Max meet his dog so hopefully we can have a great 4some one day I know I'm so in love already 😍🥰
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