Soreness in neck under ear

Subreddit Patreon
First Prev
Anglestan
Augustus 5, 1923
Facility 9, Mancheston
Colonel Jacobs
His hands flew through the folders General Jorgenson and Colonel Thatcher had. There were dozens of them, stacked upon each other all filed in alphabetical order. It had only been a few days since he had woken up from his coma and visited his home— now his mother’s grave. He clenched his fists at the thought. The grief and rage threatened to bubble and spill over once again. He took a deep breath and dragged out the exhale, almost to the point where he had emptied out his lungs.
He was the only one with clearance, and so he couldn’t disclose any of what he learned with his team. They would simply have to trust him and his judgment. Which he was sure they would do. His hands went over one of the folders skimming through it. There were multiple secret projects, but the ones with the most notes were Project S.T.A.R, Project L.U.N.A.R.I, Project R.E.V.I.V.E, Project D.A.W.N, and Project T.E.M.P.L.A.R.
The colonel decided to start with the most notes and papers. Project D.A.W.N.
He skimmed through the notes, reading through some of the details and highlighted words. Project D.A.W.N, the espionage project Thatcher had started placed two spies in Verlin who were to report directly to a Crescent general named Sienna Moretti who was apparently on humanity’s side.
So I was right. There was an espionage element. With the recent attacks and Thatcher’s death, however, it’s safe to assume that it had somehow failed. Either they got found out or they betrayed us. Both seem very likely, but if they were found out, it would be possible that they had died.
He read through all of it before setting the folder down. There were no new notes recently. He sighed and assumed that Project DAWN was a failure. Whether or not the agents were still alive and well, it was too risky to check if they had been compromised. It was better to assume that they had been and cut all contact. The only way to find out now was to go there himself and check. I can’t contact them again. There’s no telling if it would still be Moretti or the agents who would see my messages. It’s a big risk, and judging by the state of things, best to assume it failed.
He picked up another folder. This one had the label ‘under development’ on the folder. Project Templar. He opened the folder and was instantly met with a blueprint and drawings of a massive bipedal machine. It looked humanoid with strange proportions and was supposed to be standing at an impressive 30 meters, or 100 feet. The Titanic Engine Mech for Personal Land Assault and Reconnaissance.
It was apparently a joint project with the Church of Sol, utilizing new and advanced technologies he hadn’t heard of. A 203mm Gatling cannon on one arm, while the other had three different weapons. A massive firestarter that utilized a new type of fuel mixture that could theoretically spew flames a kilometer away using a high-pressure nozzle. The fuel was ignited using an electrical spark. The second weapon was a high-powered light weapon that fired a single powerful beam of focused light that was even further amplified by layers of focusing lenses that could increase its output several times. Its third weapon was… a dust domina?
Mark read through the specifications of the so-called ‘sand cannon’ weapon. It was a massive cannon that accelerated tiny particles several times. Each particle was to be electrically charged, and it would travel at immense speeds. Near impossible speeds. The resulting impact of a microscopic particle at such speeds would be enough to form a small crater and punch through armor like it was nothing. This weapon would fire multiple at the same time, which could literally eat away at anything on the opposing end.
In terms of secondary weapons, the titan had two missile launch chambers in front of its shoulder each containing about 40 missiles, and two massive howitzer cannons on top of it. Both are 800mm in caliber. It had massive stumpy legs that served as bunkers for a small platoon on each leg. Each leg had machine dominas and 155mm cannons. Its chassis held two nuclear reactors inside providing for its power and weaponry. Its armor was the thickest and most ridiculous he’d ever read. Two meters of heavy steel armor.
How far are we in terms of technology? This thing looks like it came out of an H.G. Wells sci-fi novel. He thought, shaking his head. It was over the top, but there was no denying its combat capabilities. If it was already under-developed then it must be the first prototype. This has already been approved. Guess I better see it for myself later and check how it's coming along. Construction apparently started just a few months before the invasion.
Next was project L.U.N.A.R.I. It was a project involving Six. “Huh,” he said, continuing to read on.
The Light Undone: Nocturnal’s Adaptive Resistance Initiative. As he read further, his eyes widened. The reason why Six was so special wasn’t just because of her immunity to all strigoi weaknesses, but because of her impressive ability to turn any true born strigoi like her. She could transfer her strain like any other strigoi and transform them into a version of hers. It however only seemed to work for naturally born strigoi. The new species of ‘half-breeds’ were called ‘Blessed Children’ as Thatcher had coined in the folder.
The plan was to turn all willing true-born hemolite strigoi into these blessed children. Able to withstand the sun. Immune to silver. Free from the dependency on blood. They could remove all the weaknesses of the strigoi and after the war— make it possible to integrate them into society as normal citizens living on the surface. The project folder also made mentions of a city-wide draft in Dante and highlighted the possibility of turning all Dantenite true born strigoi into these blessed children and renaming them as ‘Lunari’. A mix of the dark and the light. The light of Sol reflected in the children of the night.
“Thatcher, what the fuck have you been up to…” Mark whispered to himself.
While it was true that it could help in the war effort by utilizing Six and the dantenite population, it would also invite some unforeseen problems and consequences. Would humanity be okay with the Lunari? Would the world even be ready for them? Strigoi who were immune to the sun. They wouldn’t be impossible to kill, but they would be immensely more powerful if we were to take away their inherent weaknesses. This is a gamble. Its gain would only be seen during the war period, but its unintended effects on society could be catastrophic.
He frowned, setting the folder down. It was obviously Thatcher’s main plan; seeing as all her moves could be traced to the path of the eventual completion of this project. It seemed dangerous in the long run, but the duskwalkers and dantenites had been monumental in the war effort. Maybe it was the time the world started to accept them more. Isolation and segregation was definitely not the way to disperse fears and foster understanding.
If Thatcher thinks this is the next step forward… then I’ll put my faith in her plans.
Next up was Project S.T.A.R, or the Superior Tech and Adaptive Resistance. An upgrade to the current hemolite weapons and gear by using new researched studies. The Starfire Pattern Domina. The SFD-23 This thing features a new loading system and magazine, ditching the rotating cylinder most domina used, or the rotating helix magazine design of the current hemolite standard BM-16 domina.
The new domina had its magazine like a box… a strange design but it was certainly easier to handle than the bulky cylinders the helical mags used. In terms of ergonomics, it was smoother and fit more. Its placement however was on top of the domina, just above the barrel. Most of the weapon were to be made of lightweight polymers and the barrel itself were to be crafted out of reinforced aluminium. In addition to that, it had a 10-inch bayonet attached to it.
There were other new things as well, such as the composition of the bullet. Looking at the conceptual cross-section designs, Mark read through its description and how it would function. A .308 cased telescoped bullet covered in a silver jacket with break-away petals surrounding the main body. Inside the jacket was a penetrator core that was to be made of depleted uranium. It had a small amount of incendiary compound and… powdered white phosphorus behind an explosive compound. The thin silver jacket would deform and trigger the explosive compound inside the body. It would blow up causing massive internal damage and release the incendiary materials into the body with the flecks of powdered white phosphorus. The penetrator core could still potentially keep going and hit a second target, or punch through heavily armored targets.
Part of the new Project S.T.A.R was overhauling the armor and gear of not just the Hemolites but the Hunters as well. Starfire Mk 1. Carapace Armor. Carapace? It looked like plates of steel covered in a rubberized coat. It was supposed to be slipped on over the original hemolite body armor. It added a spring-loaded wrist blade to the gauntlet, a thicker coat made of resistant materials, and added extra padding for the knees, shoulders, and elbows.
However, the hemolites weren’t the only ones mentioned in the folder. It was to serve the Hunters as well. “Hunters…” Mark said. “August’s group is part of this initiative too.” He flipped through some of the pages. There were blueprints and drawings of an armored suit. A mechanized suit even smaller and more compact than the jotunn units. The Mark 1 STR battlesuit. It was supposed to hug the wearer’s frame and increase their overall power. It was supposed to be built of titanium alloy and a heavy steel frame with composite armor. It had a cooling system, life support systems that could recycle bodily fluids, and an exoskeleton frame that could increase the wearer’s strength and speed.
However, the real eye-opener was Thatcher’s notes. She had been ranting about the new human evolution, and how the Hunters were the first of the ‘Solari’. She wanted to enhance human genetics and push past the peak of human ability to reach greater heights. Implants and restructuring of the anatomy to make it more efficient. Using the blood of the goddess herself. She must have lost it. These are the ramblings of a lunatic. At least… if she didn’t mention the goddess. Why was the goddess important here?
The writings ended with the words: “See Project R.E.V.I.V.E, for more details.”
Mark eyed the final folder. His hands shook as he reached out to take it. Flipping it open, his hands nearly dropped it in shock. The goddess Helena was alive. There were pictures of her naked form floating in a giant tube of fluid. There were more of Thatcher’s ramblings and excited rants about the possibilities of such a discovery. Resurrection, Enhancement, and Veneration: Implementation of Visionary Evolution.
The goddess is alive?! According to the file, she’s currently under the Cathedral of New Lundun. Not only that, but the file also detailed the extraterrestrial tech that lay beneath the cathedral. So the goddess is real and she’s— not really a goddess, but rather, a vampyr who created herself a human body to stand in the sun, and decided that it wants to be on humanity’s side… what the fuck.
Mark’s frown and confusion only increased as he read on. Thatcher’s notes seemed to nearly descend into madness as she had written about creating ‘the first hundred’, alluding to the 100 members of the Hunters division. Her plan was to revive the goddess, and with her help and expertise in genetics— use her DNA to transform the Hunters into demi-humans. Super soldiers. Literal children of the goddess Helena. They would then don the STR battlesuits, the first of the superhuman warriors to defend humanity. Solari.
Their lightning-speed advancement into technology was heralded by studying the alien tech, which deepened the understanding of physics and engineering. Nuclear technologies, chemical warfare, new material sciences, the mechs, and walkers, it was spearheaded by trying to reverse-engineer technology centuries ahead of our own… for the past hundred years. It wasn’t completely stolen, however. More or less borrowed ideas that had been made into our own with our own designs and implements. Still, the speed at which the Church and the military had deciphered such advancements all by themselves was… impressive to say the least.
Still, the fact that the goddess was alive, and could be brought back was big news. Checking the file for details, he found that the previous general, Jorgenson, had already approved this project. It was their next step as soon as they returned from New Amsterdam; which never happened.
If Helena was alive, then she could end this war swiftly, or at the very least help greatly like she once did during the War of Darkness. Having the goddess back would throw a massive wrench in the Crescent’s plans. It would certainly be something they wouldn’t expect. Not even I expected this, since many sources say that the goddess had already ascended to watch over humanity, while conspiracy theorists claim she had died in battle and that the Church was worshiping a corpse. This could be the trick up our sleeves that no one would even consider.
The colonel quickly got up from his seat and gathered the main files he had read. He placed them in a bag and rushed outside of his office in Facility 9. He went over to a nearby room and flicked the lights on. “We need to go,” he said. In an instant seven hemolite soldiers got up from whatever they were doing and instantly stood in line.
“Sir! Whatever you need of us, sir,” the group said in unison.
They were Hemo-1. His former squad members. He had taken up Louis' suggestion that they be his personal security detail. It was a shame that he had basically placed the best hemolite team out of commission, but after all he had been through he convinced himself that he could be just a little selfish. He didn’t want to lose any more friends. Not on his watch. Not while he was in an office, and they were out fighting.
“We’re going to New Lundun. Better pack up, it’s going to be a long night.”
“Mark,” Olivia said.
Jacobs turned to her direction and gave her a nod.
“Colonel, sir, may I ask where in New Lundun?”
“Liv, you don’t need to do that with me. Please. I give all of you special permission,” the colonel groaned. “It’s so weird. I mean, ‘captain’ was bad enough, but now you’re acting like I’m an authority figure.”
“You… are, though,” Emma shrugged.
“I’m your friend, and Liv I’m literally your partner. Unless you have some kind of weird fetish, save it for later.”
Olivia grinned, shaking her head. “Duly noted!” she chirped.
“That’s better,” Mark chuckled. “Now come on, we have a cathedral to visit.”
“Uhh, I’m not sure if you noticed, but we’re kinda… strigoi?!” Louis groaned. “I’d burn the moment I step in that place! Plus, it’s coated in silver! Anything I even touch will give me burns!”
“Oh come on, Lou. You have fucking gloves on. As long as you’re not a clumsy dumbass you’ll be fine… oh wait.’
“Uh huh, just sayin’ what I think, boss.”
The group headed out and Mark said something on his radio. He then sat on the ground, making his joints pop. The rest of the squad shrugged and followed his example, sitting down on the grass and waiting for… nothing. Charles and Zach looked at each other in confusion. “Uh, sir?” they asked. “Aren’t we supposed to be heading out and traveling right now?”
“Oh yeah, we’re just waiting.”
“Foooor…?”
The colonel gave them a smirk as a loud noise began to make itself known. A hummingbird transport appeared out of the distance and stopped right above them, slowly descending into the grass. “Being colonel has its perks,” Mark said with a smile. He stood up and hopped inside the hummingbird as soon as it landed. “Come on now! We’ve got work to do! Last one aboard buys everyone food later!”
Emma zipped in before Mark could even finish his sentence, followed by Olivia, Phineas, Charles, Zach, and then Louis, who sadly took too long to process what the colonel said, and lagged behind.
“Aw, man! Fuck this shit.”
“Rules are rules, Lou. Prepare your wallet later.” Mark grinned.
With a smile, the colonel pulled Olivia to his side, who blushed for a moment before shaking her head. “Take us up! New Lundun Cathedral! How long would it take?” he asked the pilot.
“About an hour and a half!” The pilot replied. “Less if you want to get there as soon as possible!”
“Take your time! The night’s still young.”
The hummingbird started to lift up, taking them into the air. The group settled down in their seats and watched outside the open. Mark opened up a bag inside the hummingbird and took out some ear muffs built for a strigoi. Extremely loud noises were damaging for a strigoi’s enhanced hearing, so the military started implementing ear muffs for them after complaints from early deployments of the hemolite squads.
The trip didn’t take too long. In only an hour and twenty minutes they had arrived at the safe zone of New Lundun, heading straight for the cathedral. The night mass had just ended and people were leaving the cathedral. “Looks like we made it in perfect time!” Mark smiled. They hovered for a few minutes in the air before eventually landing down right in front of the statue of Helena.
As soon as they landed, the colonel and his group left the hummingbird. Mark instructed the pilot to wait for them. He went straight for the cathedral with his group following behind. He entered inside, clearing his throat. “Hello?”
“Well this is surely unexpected,” an old man said, walking up to greet them.
“Great Grandfather Aurelius. It’s uh, an honor.”
“Please. The honor is mine… I see you’re the new colonel. Yes, I’ve heard the news,” he said. “Would you mind telling me your name, young man? As well as your companions, if they feel so. I usually don’t allow duskwalkers here but, I have nothing against them. I’ll make an exception for your group.”
“Thank you, Great Grandfather,” Mark replied. “I am Colonel Mark Jacobs. These are my friends and security detail. Olivia, Zach, Phineas, Charles, Emma, and Louis.”
“I see, and what brings you here?”
“Since Thatcher’s demise, I was given access to her research and project folders upon taking up the title. I’ve learned about what’s under your cathedral,” Mark cleared his throat. “Would it be alright if we could see it? I’d like to check it for myself. Of course, under your permission and guidance, Great Grandfather.”
The church head looked from Mark to his companions. He pulled a slight frown and hummed. “Do these companions of yours have the clearance? Surely, we wish to keep our secrets hidden,” he said. Mark nodded.
“They do not have clearance to know what is in Thatcher’s folders and her findings,” the colonel nodded. “However, I give them permission to accompany me, and should they discover things for themselves, then you have my word and my trust that I can keep them from spilling state secrets.”
The Great Grandfather gave a short pause before ultimately relenting. “Very well,” he let out a sigh. “Follow me.”
Aurelius walked behind the altar and pulled the same lever, which opened the same staircase leading underground, where Jorgenson and Thatcher had once gone. “Over here, colonel,” he said. “I do not know you completely yet, but this is a big deal of trust I am giving you. Perhaps you would be the one to do things that Thatcher could not have.”
Mark nodded, he and his group followed the Great Grandfather down the staircase. It led down to a massive underground facility, with numerous priests, researchers, and scientists. Libraries, records, instruments, and artifacts of old. It was a treasure trove of learning.
“So,” Aurelius cleared his throat. “What would you like to know about?”
“This isn’t all of it,” Mark said. “Thatcher mentioned a living, breathing, Helena.”
His group behind him let out a soft gasp, but they tried their best to hide their surprise.
“Hm,” the Great Grandfather nodded. “Perceptive young man aren’t you? Very well.”
They were then led into another room, behind a set of heavy blast doors. If the whole group were trying to hide their surprise then, now they could barely contain it. Even the colonel stared awestruck at the things he had seen. Despite the near-magical objects around them, the true shock was the massive starship at the end of the hallway. “It’s impressive isn’t it?” Aurelius said. “All of the goddess’ artifacts and items at our disposal, to use and learn from, to integrate into our own. This is why Anglestan is the most powerful nation in the UHT in terms of development. When it comes to industry, however, that would go to the UNA. But we share our secrets with them. All our advancements are handed to them first before any other nation.”
“This is all amazing, Great Grandfather,” Mark replied. “But this is not what I’m here for.”
“No, it’s not.” Aurelius nodded.
He led them to another room, one that was sterilized and sported advanced machinery. Things that Mark had never even seen. There were screens with luminous green texts that appeared in front of it. Large panels with numerous keys, levers, and dials. Graphs of all sorts and beeping monitors. In the center, was the very thing he had come all this way to confirm. A large cylinder filled with liquid, sporting tubes and pipes connecting to its base. Inside was a woman of large proportion. Four arms, two legs, and six wings. In her bare chest was a symbol of the sun that seemed to glow dimly.
“There she is, there’s you goddess.”
Neither Mark nor his group spoke a word. He walked up to it, eyeing the woman inside. It really is her. Down to the last details. Golden hair, six limbs, six folded wings, and she looks massive. Probably as big as her statue just outside the cathedral. This is it. The very goddess in the history books, the one spoken about in legends and the one worshiped in the Churches of Sol.
“Can we free her?” he said.
The Great Grandfather nearly choked on his spit upon hearing those words. “Free her?! That could kill her! We don’t even understand this technology, let alone control it!” he said pointing at the panels. “The machines you see here are the best and most advanced we have based on what we can reverse engineer, but even then, the consequences of tampering with its functions may be disastrous!”
“I understand, Great Grandfather,” Mark said. “But we are in a dire situation, and the goddess may be our hope of turning this around. Whatever secrets of her tech that you don’t understand, wouldn’t she be able to teach us directly? What good is she floating around in Sol knows what?”
“That is her miraculous healing fluid. She had already built this contraption centuries ago in case anything were to happen to her, that her body’s natural healing could not sustain,” Aurelius said. “During the War of Darkness, Helena was struck with a weapon so deadly, her very cells began to tear away. The Reaper. Dealt to her by Absolem the progenitor. Her flesh was peeling from her body, and she began to decay whilst she still breathed. She entered this contraption and gave strict instructions to the Great Grandfather at the time, not to interrupt the healing process. The machine that monitored her, however, began to fail over time.”
“So this… these screens and panels…”
“Is only what functions we can understand. We took it upon ourselves to rebuild and study it the best we could. What we have right now is only a cheap imitation of a technology we do not fully comprehend,” he said. “It took us decades to even figure out the fundamentals and create a working prototype of this machine. By some miracle, the goddess’ healing process had remained even while we replaced components of technology ahead of ours.”
“But you know how to free her, don’t you?”
“I… yes.”
“Great Grandfather Aurelius,” Mark began. “We can end this war. Imagine what we could do with the goddess fighting on our side. We could advance even further, we could finally end the bloodshed, and we can show humanity that there is still hope. Imagine how people all over the world would feel seeing as their goddess has returned.”
“I wish I had your enthusiasm,” Aurelius said. “But it is simply too risky. The Church’s duty is to protect Helena and her legacy. We keep her alive, literally and figuratively. She nearly died the last time she was involved in a war. Would you risk losing the goddess?”
“Would you risk humanity losing?”
The Great Grandfather fell silent, looking back at Helena floating inside the tube, then to the panels that controlled it. He frowned and let out a long sigh. “The goddess said that we should not interrupt it. That it would end as soon as it was finished. Maybe we should trust her words.”
Mark shook his head. “I don’t spot a single blemish on the goddess. Not a single scratch,” he argued. “You said it yourself that the machine had begun to fail and you replaced components. How would you know that the thing that’s supposed to wake her up was not tampered with? Think about it. What you may think is a useless piece may be integral to the whole machine. Or maybe your replacements were not up to the task. Just because nothing’s happened doesn’t mean its functions have remained whole.”
“Young man, we simply cannot gamble with the goddess’ life here.”
“Have you no faith? Great Grandfather?”
Aurelius stepped back in shock. Mark’s companions looked at each other, clearly surprised as well. “Mark… I don’t think we should keep arguing with—” Olivia tried to say.
“No,” the colonel said firmly, cutting her off. “Great Grandfather Aurelius, do you think that Helena will not be able to pull through if we wake her? How long has it been? A century? How much longer will we wait? She may be immortal but humans aren’t.”
“I'm sorry, but the chances of failure are too high. The probability of her—”
“I don’t care about the probability! Would you rather put your faith in a statistic?!” Mark raised his voice. “I lost my mother to this war! My friends! My job! My eye, and almost my life! I’ve put mine on the line out there! You don’t know what it’s like out there! Was my mother’s death just a probability too? Was she just a statistic to you?! That as long as the numbers are good, no matter how many are lost, we are ‘winning’?!”
“Mark—!”
“No, Liv! He needs to know what’s really going on out there!” he spat. “Great Grandfather, with all due respect, but you don’t have a damn clue what it’s like to be in the field. You’re a man of faith, aren’t you? Take a risk. Everyone else has.”
Aurelius stood there, dumbfounded. He bit the inside of his cheeks and clenched his fists. “For your insolence, I would have had you flogged and stripped of your rank,” he glared at the young colonel. However, his features slowly softened, letting out a soft sigh. “But I have never seen such conviction. Mighty is your faith.”
The Great Grandfather moved over to the panels and reached into his robe, pulling out from around his neck a key with the symbol of the sun. He inserted it into the machine and turned. A beep sounded, right before Aurelius pulled a lever. In an instant, the fluid inside the glass chamber began to drain out into the tubes under it. Slowly, the chamber emptied and all that was left was the nude form of the goddess sitting in the glass.
“Did it work?” Louis asked, stepping forward and looking at the woman.
Aurelius stayed silent, his hands shaking in anticipation. Mark moved toward the glass chamber, when suddenly, the glass opened up like a door, releasing a fragrant mist. They stood there, watching for a whole minute. Nothing. At first nothing. The Great Grandfather looked like he was about to break down. His knees shook as he covered his mouth, thinking that he was responsible for the death of Helena.
That was when… a soft sound was heard. Movement. Olivia immediately went over to Mark and stood in front of him. Ready to protect him should anything happen. Slowly, the goddess moved more, her arms inched to the side.
Then, her eyes opened.

First/Previous
Gemma was right about the sky’s open night, and I could sympathize with her recollection of the beauty, but for me it must’ve been a greater tragedy—the young woman had only ever enjoyed the stars in the pits of Golgotha; I could, long before, drink in the sky at leisure. Cruel memories.
The night the Rednecks died was one of viscera, but before that it was coolness on the breeze, a warmth by the fires while John played his guitar and we had only just taken two dozen kegs of lager (personal reserves) from the Atlanta despot—the man that kept his subjects as slaves and not a person among the camp was left without budding intoxication. No matter the age, everyone was invited to be merry; if it was that children too faced the plight of a bad world, then so too should they reap the moments of plenty—or so the camp figured.
John had taken a group by the fires where wagons were drawn in interlocking semicircles for cover and Jackson sat beside the picker. Jackson was a man which normally preferred quiet reflection over boisterous singing and nearly never wore the band on his throat, and yet there he was belting out the chorus at the top of his lungs, tankard in hand, red cloth blazed around his neck—it was a contagion and those drunk enough for easier embarrassment sang proudly along:
“There is power, there is power in a band of working folk!
When we stand hand in hand,
That’s a power, that’s the power,
That must rule in every land!”
I’d taken to the outlying shadows with my back pressed against the gas-powered caleche, my own tankard in hand. I loved the warmth of that great big family, truly, but even in those days—and maybe it was that queer youthfulness which longed for individualism that made me that way then—I remained as distanced as possible when I could. I sipped the lager, it was a fine drink and my brother Billy, nearly as old as I was when I’d first taken up in the infantry, swaggered to stand beside me just as quiet for minutes and we looked at the stars and he asked me what it was like to kill a man.
“Is it hard?” he asked.
I nodded, “Sometimes.”
“Killing monsters ain’t so bad. Don’t know if I could do it to a person.”
“You could if they meant to kill you; or if they meant to do it to someone you cared about,” I promised him. In those days, spry, energized, I held no time for staring into abysses; though I still wasn’t a man fully, I pretended as one. It was about family, and it was about doing what was right—what’s right seemed to change, or I changed. The world felt stark with good and evil and even later I’d feel that sentiment well up in me, but if that’s true, I know I stand more on the latter and so I intentionally obfuscated it—this I know. If not, it might be too much to bear. I was required to lie to myself and even in knowing I lied, it was better.
Billy tugged on the red kerchief around his throat and asked me how it looked on him.
“Looks good,” I said.
“Don’t think I look stupid at all?”
I smiled over my drink, “You always look stupid.” I sipped. “The neckwear’s fine.”
“Give me a break,” said Billy; he investigated his own cup, gave it a swish with his wrist, watching its contents swirl. “Aren’t you ever afraid you’ll die?”
“Sometimes—nights like this—I wouldn’t mind it.”
“Really?” my brother asked.
“There’s always a chance of it. Every moment, I guess.”
He smiled. “I wish I had that confidence.”
“You’ll get it,” I returned his smile; it was true that he would gain the fighting spirit. It came to us all with time and reminiscing on the early days, I recall the grit and the hatred—there was learning there too though. Besides, I’d seen the squalors of a stationary man. The stagnation of a place, an unmoving home.
John put his guitar away and laughter erupted from the crowd from something said and Sibylle, cowboy hat cocked funny, traipsed across the camp to the open keg for a refill; the man there, tending the cylinders, was a man named Tandy (a foreigner and one unknown besides the way he smoked a skunk pipe and told wild stories). My mother leaned over while Tandy opened the spigot mouth on the keg, and she froze there, and I could see her there cut out forever against the light of the fires; I watched, and it came so suddenly that I couldn’t be sure what’d happened at all. It was so sudden that I couldn’t find my weapon and I couldn’t find even the courage to fight because in those moments it wasn’t courage I needed, it was grounds to understand.
Sibylle came apart in two pieces immediately, torn completely through and dust erupted as her legs struck the ground while her torso spun through the air like a top, a trail of liquid trailed after, caught in the blue of night so it shone as black; she couldn’t scream. Tandy was a statue. Before anyone could react, more flesh, other bodies, went up and there was all manner of limbs which filled the ground, and it is astounding how quickly a red mist forms across the ground during a massacre. Perhaps the wails of my comrades started before, perhaps others fell before Sibylle, but I could not comprehend the goings-on till I saw her drop the way she did.
Frail human screams rose on the night; I slammed to the ground, tankard gone away and hands scrambling in the dirt; I reached up blindly and yanked Billy to my level and his expression was one of innocence, panic, tears even. Glancing around, I saw the demons bolt from the pitch-black darkness on the edges of camp, mutants taking the fore while greater creatures lurked further back, some hurled whips of gliding metal which writhed over their heads when they stretched them out for a strike—alien—and they sliced directly through soft human bodies. Not even a cry escaped me, but Billy let go with it and I slapped my cupped hand over his mouth hard to hold the screams. His voice would not have been alone anyway, not alongside that startling cacophony. Amidst the cries of people, there were the cries of horses, of our hounds.
We rolled across the ground, slipped beneath the raised body of the gas-powered caleche, remained quiet in the dark, peeked out between the wheels.
“What’s happening?” Billy whispered through my fingers; I removed my hand from him and caught a glimpse of him framed in a square of firelight through the wheels—we lay there on our bellies and the left side of his face was glazed with dirt where I’d pulled him down.
“Shh,” I told him, “Shh, please. Please.” Not another word came while I pleaded with him, pleaded with the world to make this all a nightmare.
Through the haze and the running silhouettes painted black, I saw what might have been Jackson; he stumbled and in the moment that it took me to gasp, his head was gone from his body, his torso slid on as he collapsed, came to rest mere feet from the motor wagon. I told myself that it wasn’t him, but it probably was.
Some mutants lumbered through the camp like animated corpses, some leapt with wild energy or sprayed noxious fumes which lingered in the air; others still were amalgams of humanlike limbs themselves—fiends—exhausting terrible sounds, producing smells of sulfur, glistening with whatever liquids excreted from their oblong alien orifices. Demons ran amok, chanted in devil tongued languages, laughed madly at the destruction—others still, those which displayed some greater intelligence, broke into a song I could never hope or want to replicate; it seemed a unified damnation.
“Please,” I repeated in a whimper and Billy hushed me this time and I realized we were holding hands, squeezing for dear life as figures walked the camp, speared those half-alive, elected others for twisted carnality.
In darkness, in fright plainly, we scuttled from the recess of our hiding place, kept quiet, held to each other, and went into the wasteland where nothing was—every shadow was a potential threat, every second could’ve been the last. We were holding hands; then we weren’t.
Only a glance—that’s all I afforded my brother and nothing more—what a joke of a person I am! What a coward I was. Always.
Something got him in the dark and instead of dying alongside those I cared about, I went on, heartbeat driving me till it was all that I heard in my ears and my muscles ached and my chest heaved and sweat covered me, chilled me in the breeze of the night—it was only once I’d accepted the dark completely, crawled into a hollowed space of rocks along a squat ridge that I watched the demolished camp; it seemed no larger than a spark, but the creatures, fiends and others continued their war cries; never before had I witnessed demons participate in such an attack.
I watched till the sun came, till the fires became smoke, then I watched the band of hell creatures disband. The smell of sulfur remained in the air—copper too—and I stumbled back to the camp in a dreamlike daze, totally unbelieving of the things I saw. Among those dead on the ground, I could recognize none; among those piked from rear to shoulder, standing like morbid scarecrows where they’d been steadied against the ground, I could not want to recognize.
Many of the wagons were overturned, including the gas-powered caleche and I went to it; the metal of its body was warped but I fell to the ground by it and pushed my back against the exposed undercarriage, remained frozen there while examining the bodies, the terrible strips of skin which rested places like wet sheets of paper, the piles of bones removed and smashed and piled.
I cried so deeply that oxygen became a memory, and the shakes couldn’t be contained.
It was like that for so long, knees pulled up, face pushed between, and the wails came unafraid of whatever attention they might garner; there was no rationale, but I imagine if there had been, I would’ve welcomed death in that misery. It was a deep wound that not even my own cowardice would overcome for the sake of survival.
Unaware of my surroundings, not wanting to look up from the ground between my legs, the noise which had started out as imaginary became real and I raised my head then to listen better and wipe my sore eyes; it was the sound of clip-clop horse hooves and I mildly wondered if any of the animals had been spared. I stood and pivoted around the dead camp and there it was, a man on a painted horse with golden hair; he leisurely drove the mount through the place, maneuvering around pools of blood, clumps of body parts and upon seeing me, he smiled and offered a languid wave, keeping one of his gloved hands on the reins.
The man wore white and swished his hair back upon arriving directly in front of me. Ahoy, he offered kindly, Did you happen to see the other riders?
I shook my head, feeling numb.
Ah, he said, I could have sworn four other riders, at least, passed me on my way. His gray eyes examined the carnage. Shame. He shook his head. You are?
“H-harlan.”
He nodded and nearly offered an expression of genuine condolence before descending from the horse; the animal gave a gentle grunt and wandered away from its master to inspect a nearby group of the dead. The man offered his hand, and I took it in a shake. Mephisto, said the man. He flashed a smile again before his face grew serious. I’ve come to you to deal.
I shot him a questioning look, one of bafflement.
I heard your calls from far off. He nodded, removed a white handkerchief from his breast pocket and swiped it down his face. Hot out. He shrugged then replaced the cloth in his pocket. This, he motioned to the disarray of vehicles, of bodies, I can’t fix all this—it’s too much—but there’s a person you love, I know. I could bring them back.
“Doctor?” In retrospect it was such a naïve question.
He shook his head.
“Angel?”
He grinned and nodded, Sure.
“Demon?”
Undoubtedly. His eyes—pits of gray in that radiant face—nearly expressed solemness; he daintily shook the hair from his face and looked at his steed which sniffed a corpse. What’s the word, Harlan? There are others calling and I must be on my way soon—I can’t dally. There was a sharpness to the words. Can’t dally. We must convene soon, or I’ll mosey on.
I snorted back the clog in my nose from the tears and wiped my eyes with my sleeves. “Okay.”
Deal?
I nodded, “Deal.”
Sleep tonight, said Mephisto, Sleep and you’ll be rewarded in the morning.
“You said it’s a deal.”
He nodded and scanned the carnage before we matched gazes and then he said, Yes?
“What is it you want from me?”
Nothing you need now. He called the horse, and it came, and he swept his feet quickly from the ground and settled into position atop the animal. Sleep, Harlan. You won’t be bothered. There are worse things still over the horizon.
I watched him go till he disappeared and once he was gone, I couldn’t cry anymore and instead rummaged through the wagons for what I might carry; along the way I found John, face twisted but corpse intact. The body from the previous night that I’d guessed was Jackson couldn’t be determined but I found him nowhere else. I slid Sibylle’s holster from her hips, fell hard onto the ground and found that I could sob more. I took her cowboy hat, placed it on my head and held her pistol in one hand and the belt holster dangled from the other while I searched the other bodies; there were so many, but I could not find Billy.
Waiting for darkness, I took the spot where I rested, back against the caleche’s undercarriage, watched the sky and felt the gun in my hand; it was heavy. I put it to my head, closed my eyes, and whispered affirmations to myself then I put the pistol between my splayed legs, watched it still in the dirt, and pulled the hat down over my eyes but it did little for the smell. Though the brim of the hat cut the sky out, I watched the ground and saw circling shadows form overhead and heard calls of turkey vultures; they came to pick over the bodies. I withdrew my knees to my chest there again and laid my forearm across them and bit into my arm while closing my eyes. I had thought I was a man and for a time, maybe I was, but there in that miserable pit of despair I became a child again and if I’d become more delirious, I’m sure I might’ve called out for Jackson like it was a bad dream.
Into a fading stupor of sleep in the sun I went and when I awoke again it was dark and chilly and I was tired and hungry but too sick to eat and hardly strong enough to move; I looked at the gun and put it into its holster and left it there by the caleche. In the light of the moon and stars, I moved to gather a bolt of canvas; I unfurled the fabric and created a leaning shelter against the overturned vehicle and crawled into it. There was a hole in the canvas, and I peeked out at the stars.
Weeping came again, but not so uproarious; I was stuck there letting go of whimpers, lying on my back, feeling the tears trace in lines from the outer corners of my eyes to collect along my earlobes. In time, I fell to sleep again on the hard ground because the mourning had taken all else from me.
A pinpoint of sunlight broke my eyelids and I jerked awake and reached for the holster, but it was gone. So was the hat. I crawled from the leaning shelter and there he was.
Billy stood plainly among the dried, congealed blood-soaked field and he looked on to the horizon and all shadows were long in the midday sun which hung up there in a soft blue sky. Whether it be a dream or a spell, I couldn’t care—I charged to him and spun him so he faced me and though his face was plain and expressionless, I wrapped him into a forceful hug. He placed his hands on my back and gave a gentle squeeze; when I pulled from him, my hands on his shoulders, I saw he held Sibylle’s hat in his left hand, pinched by the brim; he’d already tugged her holster belt around his hips—he could have it all. I shook while holding him then let go to wipe my face.
“You’re alive,” I nodded.
He nodded without speaking then looked at the hat in his hand and placed it on his head and firmly pressed it down.
“Billy! Hell, you’re alive!”
The corners of his mouth twitched upward for a moment then he nodded again. “Yeah.” His eyes curiously searched our surroundings like he meant to take each detail in forever.
I slapped him on the shoulder and almost squealed. “Goddammit.” I wiped my eyes again and could do little to keep the excitement from exploding from me. “Oh, we should go. We should go on and get somewhere safe.”
He nodded toward the horizon, “’Lanta?”
“Sure.”
We packed and it was a like an ethereal phantom remained among us beside the quiet dead; turkey vultures cawed to break the silence, pecked where they pleased on the bodies, and I couldn’t want to fight them. I kept sidelong eyes on Billy with the ever-present worry that he’d vanish. Perhaps he was the phantom.
From the rear of the caleche, I removed a few sentimental books Jackson liked, essential cookware, and sparse rations for the trek. The last thing I grabbed was my shotgun and a bit of ammo.
As we set from the dead place, the terrible silhouettes that were cut from there on the horizon behind us grew in my mind with every backward glance—I wanted to fall to pieces, but I saw Billy walk alongside me and although contented is not the right word, it is the nearest. The steps of our boots were all that was heard because I could not fathom to pierce the space between us with words for fear that it would all end. It was a dream, surely. I’d lost my mind. With my hands thumbed into the straps of my pack, I saw I my hands still shook, and they would shake a lot longer—years and with memories too. The crunch of earth underfoot became a rhythm and instead of looking at my brother, I watched his shadow on the ground.
“Everyone’s dead?” He asked.
“Yeah.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah,” I repeated.
“How ain’t I? How ain’t you?”
To say that it was luck would’ve been too morbid. Instead of saying anything, I shrugged, kicked a loose stone, watched my feet some more, and felt a queasiness come over me. For the moment, the immeasurable deaths of those I’d left behind were forgotten in the company of my brother and a sickness welled up inside of me so suddenly that I felt that I’d fall to pieces at the slightest provocation. Finally, I did speak again, but only after steeling myself to the troubles, “Yeah, how are you alive?”
Billy shrugged at me then stumbled up a hill which overlooked trash wood wilderness where sticks lay twisted and bare and further on the sight of Atlanta was visible and I cupped a hand across my brow and Billy did the same and we looked on at the shadows of the place out there where strings of smoke rose from the skyline as a signature for the desolation of the city; it was dead. I felt it in my bones.
My hands were light while my head was heavy, my throat was dry, and the entire world seized in moments of stillness or perhaps it was my own vision which construed the world in that way; I took to the small hill which Billy had climbed and sat there and stared at the place between my feet to steady myself.
“Fire,” said Billy.
I nodded and nearly choked.
Leviathan—till then I had no belief in dragons—glided over the broken city, its winged shadow little seen but its voice was deep across the scene, letting go of roars which shook the ground. We hid among the trash wood and moved down the hill and watched the creature thrash in the air as if it was angry for its abominable life. Whatever millennia it spent in the pits of hell seemingly thrust upon it a love of destruction and pain.
My brother moved with a more assured stride and kept a cool distance and upon fleeing from the wreckage, from the outlying area of Atlanta and the place we’d left our family, he spoke little and watched me strangely whenever I took to melancholic fatiguing. We lit no fires for fear of what it could draw from the night so in the dark I’d see him watching some far-off place, maybe seeing through the reality which surrounded us, and he’d snap from it, catch my eye, and disappear for minutes to scan the perimeter of whatever place we stayed. Being alongside my resurrected brother was lonelier than I could bear, and I hoped he’d disappear for good or that I could work up the courage to end my own life. It was like purgatory explained in books and for a time, it felt endless; upon witnessing the destruction of Atlanta, we pushed to Marrietta, and it was much the same. As was Chatanooga, Nashville, Knoxville, Louisville, Charlotte. The ocean had risen so that Fayetville was gone underwater, and the Florida leg disappeared completely as far as I’m aware. I understood later that Memphis was overlooked and more places further west were alive too, but when we’d exhausted the south, we moved north and found strongholds of families or traders or even small groupings of civilization, but by and large we found nothing much in the two years that we hoofed it from place to place; it was my doing mostly—I wanted to find a place untouched by the mayhem in the area my family had once patrolled.
In retrospect, I am certain that Billy only stayed by my side for convenience; there wasn’t any of my brother left in the man that was my travelling companion for that time. He was a ghost of a person and Mephisto had preyed upon my desire in the worst moment of weakness in my life. There were nights—maybe we’d taken up in a natural alcove for shelter or we’d locked ourselves in some ancient structure for sleep—I’d watch Billy lay where he was, Sibylle’s hat and holster lying beside him, and I’d think of putting him down but he’d stir and in a brief shadow I’d see my brother as he’d been and withdraw to bury my face in fake sleep to be met with images of the night the demons attacked where I’d shake, sweat, and bite my lips so hard I’d drink blood.
Two years we marched around the Appalachians and in that time, I felt myself wither and disconnect.
Upon moving further north we met Indianapolis—that’s what it was called back then—and it was run by an older woman called Lady Lazarus; I reckon her father, affluent and dead, was a fan of Plath. Indianapolis was fortified more than most with its high walls, and its wall men, and its underground facilities which produced substantial ammunition. We—me and Billy’s revenant—were travelling with a group of traders we’d taken up with from out west; they called themselves wizards and although they seemed of the occult, their spirits discounted whatever suspicions I might’ve had of them.
I remember first pushing through that big gate; the town kept with it an indisputable malaise and though we were greeted at the gate by the leader Lady Lazarus—her brothers came along with her—and her jovial demeanor carried a certain infectious quality, I could not help but notice that the regular denizens maintained a healthy distance from their leader (the guards which followed the Lady everywhere probably had something to do with this).
Lady Lazarus touched each of our hands in greeting with enthusiasm and I could not help but notice how soft they were, how vibrant her eyes were, how much she smiled, and how beautiful she was given her age; already her head was fully gray.
Upon meeting each of us, going through the wizard traders first, she came to me, and Billy and she shook my hand then pivoted to Billy.
“Welcome. You can call me Lady.”
Billy caught her hand in his, held it longer than she’d intended so that they held eye contact, and he smiled broadly, tipped the cowboy hat on his head back to expose his smooth forehead and said, “And you can call me Maron, mam. You are quite a sight for a tired man.”
Though Maron—as he’d named himself—was more boy than man, Lady took a disturbed liking to him immediately and we prolonged our stay in Indianapolis after the wizards departed to head west.
Under the rule of Lady, Indianapolis was a theocracy, with her addressing the huddled masses at the steps of her grand abode, she’d preach for hours on sin and strife and quote her favorite passages; though reminiscent of my time with the Rednecks, I never found any truth or sincerity or freedom in her teaching—hers was more trouble, brimstone, fire and I’d had enough of that for a lifetime. Public execution was common. As was torture.
Maron distanced himself further from me, but I remained to keep an eye on him—it was not sentimentality but rather I existed without purpose and conjured some from watching my brother.
Often, Lady invited Maron to her private rooms and though the rumors and speculation ran the full spectrum of perverse speculation, every denizen feigned ignorance at her pregnancy.
Upon giving birth, the infant was malformed with two heads—her brothers took this as an omen and killed the child, put their leader in the stocks for months, and stripped her of dignity while the denizens did to her what they pleased.
Maron rose through the wall men while Lady’s brothers assumed control of Indianapolis and called themselves Bosses; in the time since Lady’s reign, the place was renamed to Golgotha for its closeness to a messiah.
I went west but always found myself drawn back to Golgotha because of some emptiness in me. It was only with Suzanne that I wanted something more and knowing them, I almost believed in a world like the one that children dream about. The world that Gemma and Andrew chased after when they left home, like the one Aggie talked about in her mother’s books. There’s a hopelessness in me that I’ll never be rid of. In the interim between our initial arrival to Golgotha and that flight from that terrible city, I cannot know how many people I sacrificed in convening with demons because I refuse to know because the number would destroy me. That is the worst of it; I do not even have courage enough to face myself or the actions of my past in any substantive way.
Mephisto tainted me so that I could speak with his kind as a dealmaker and the disease grew.
Billy or Maron or whatever he is should have been reaped long ago or better, I should never have brought that abomination alive. Such a cruel world where a deep longing like that can be inverted, weaponized. Me and him should both die; me and him should have died a long time ago.
First/Previous
Archive

It first started with a small zit on the tip of the ear lobe, it had a black head that spread and inflamed the skin around the cartilage filling it with some kind of liquid and then lymph nodes got swollen around the ear and neck. The infection looked black, and within a weak made a crust that made it unrecognizable that was an insect bite. That is when I went to the doctors and they thought it was viral. That is why I was misdiagnosed so many years.
Since then I get this painful small blisters in the hands, some under the skin like the first picture, some on the surface. around joints. They are dark in appearance with black head and every time they appear they last around 1 - 2 weeks and when they leave the skin gets dry and flaky. But this does not end here, as soon as they disappear the nerve pain starts and I het really achy in the area for a long time.
I really believe that what I am looking at is the infection that havocs my body for such a long time (3yrs). I will not get into details but I do have neurological symptoms similar to MS, ALS.
I would like to know if you have these as well with Lyme.
https://preview.redd.it/qvl9ao2vsx0d1.jpg?width=1067&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=4cc0a6402f08be7b034750fc5ea9fc595c0d6784
https://preview.redd.it/8j40kj1vsx0d1.jpg?width=466&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=9dbfbf3553e42169d7cf31bff20f7a49b40854d2
https://preview.redd.it/qjskem2vsx0d1.jpg?width=627&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=879f2ca64e8abf0eacfca53c4b8ea0c8893b7f8d

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.

Zack didn’t know why, but the hair on the back of his neck stood on end at the sight of his door knob. The eerieness of his near-empty room left a pit in his stomach and in seeing the doorknob that he hadn’t seen for years, suddenly jolted hidden or repressed memories of his youth. Times he would run from his bullies in the foster home Zack once lived in, now, this old building is being condemned and due to be demolished tomorrow. Zack can’t look away from the doorknob, the rust-covered bulb reminded him of his old life as a foster kid and being more of an outcast with the other kids in this house, Fists and insults would fly freely towards Zack daily, none more willing to be Zacks number one bully, Donny. Zack feels the palms of his hands start to sweat and the air around him completely conceals Zack in a fog of forgotten moments in his life here that he long wished had never come back. Hurtful moments… terrible moments…moments in this very room that Zack was slowly reliving in his mind, yet it felt as if it was happening in front of him. Beads of cold sweat stink Zack's eyes, forcing his eyes closed and rubbing them to help with the sting, to no avail. Zack didn’t feel like himself in this room, this place is as a time capsule for Zack. He was only holding terrible anxiety that had recently just been unearthed inside Zack and bringing with it, a long-buried trauma that Zack was not ready for.
The room itself felt darker to Zack and his eyelids fluttered to adjust to the new dim surroundings, A small beam of light broke through a crevice between some wooden planks blocking out most light from outside. The shaft lands solely on the doorknob, the old rustic metal seems to not exist and shines abnormally bright from the beam of light; Zack covers his eyes from the sudden flash and when looking about finds the room back to its original state all those years ago. “No this can’t be right” Zack rubs his eyes and looks back around to only see the room still as it was back then. Zack hears sounds that haven’t been heard around here for a long time, kids playing outside in the backyard. Zack walks slowly, very curious and at the same time nervous, not fulling understanding what is happening now. Looking through the window that was just covered in old wooden planks that were nailed shut, were now clear of all obstacles, revealing the source of the noise. Showing kids he remembered back when he was a kid here. All of them playing and yet he’d also be up here, away from the other kids, away from the insults and shame that the kids always brought for Zack. Zack gets a swift memory jolt again and remembers this day, he was standing right here when he saw Donny and his group of twerp friends messing around the yard as the others just tried to have fun playing kid games. Donny had his eye on the one person who showed Zack kindness here; Clair was tending to her patch of sunflowers she had been looking after ever since she came here. The boys around Donny watched as she watered them, all by herself, Donny took this opening to make his move on her. I couldn’t hear what was said, but it didn’t look like she was interested in his offer, this made Donny mad and his friends chuckled at his sudden rejection and fueled his anger more. She then got up and waved them all goodbye as she turned back and looked up at the window I was standing at. She then smiles and waves at Zack, but Zack gets confused and waves back at the past through the window. Donny huffs and looks up to the window as well and stares hate-filled daggers at me. Even a pre-teen that was the bane of my life here can still drive a familiar chill down Zack’s spine as Zack quickly drops his hand behind him and is frozen in fear.
The room is back to the eerie silence as before and the darkness creeps around Zack again as he backs up from the window slowly. Zack steps against the wooden floorboards don’t make a single sound, the cold sweat returns, falling from his forehead onto the dusty, dry wood under his feet, Zack wipes his forehead with a trembling hand and moves his gaze toward the door, thinking he needs to leave this room immediately but in reaching for the doorknob, it refused to turn, it was as if it was merely a prop, not turn even possible to turn it at all.”Oh no…what is going on with this door” Zack began to the knob hard and struggle with it, to no success, and Zack's annoyance, he took a second to calm himself and closed his eyes, and breathed in slowly. As it began to take effect and Zack’s heart returned to a normal rhythm, bangs from the door and the knob violently turned left and right. Zack jumped at the sudden crashing on the door, the banging and twisting of the doorknob Zack didn’t know what to do, just then A smaller hand reached out and held his trembling hand as the calming voice of a bygone friend to Zack heard; “It’s ok Zack” the phantom voice whispered in his ear, the violent crashing and splintering of the door in front of him sounded so muffed from the smooth, tunes of the voice, that it almost seemed nonexistent at the moment.” Donny likes to play rough Zack but I won’t let him pick on you anymore, ok”. Zack felt a warm sensation on his left cheek and even though he felt a hand in his, he was all alone in the room, the door was at the moment of burst but stopped as the room grew dark and still. The feeling of a friendly presence was gone and Zack felt the horror that he had always known his whole life.
The feeling of being utterly alone, and with the sense covering him like a thick weighted blanket, his eyes look again to the door knob. The single light beam falls back into sight of Zack, bringing him back to the present, the darkness engulfing Zack, matching the despair that covers him. Zack takes a moment to regain himself and steady his rapid heart rate before he is fit. The silence of the room was helpful for Zack to focus on slowing the pounding against his rib cage, The sudden rush of his rash past was something he was not thinking would be an issue, yet here he was, nearly having a panic attack in his old foster room. Zack’s eyes are closed, breathing in slowly through the nose and out the mouth. The Silence is then shattered by the sound of the rustic doorknob violently twisting left and right as if someone on the other side was trying their hardest to get the door open. Zack jumps at the sudden old doorknob twist in such a manner, and knowing that he is the only one left in this building, gives Zack pause to go towards the door in the first place. The doorknob popped and grind against itself on the turns Zack felt the person might just rip the worn knob off the door entirely. Zack’s mind wanted to reach out for the vibrating doorknob, yet he found his feet moving on their own, moving back slowly from the door.
A golf ball-sized lump of fear sat in the back of Zack’s throat; His fear of coming not just from the crazy moving doorknob, but now the voices Zack remembers hearing at a younger age. When running from Donny and locking the doorknob, holding back my tears, and shaking behind a closet door. Donny would beat on the door and nearly a few times rip the doorknob off the door of the room itself. One night Zack was talking with Clair and felt a tear come down his cheek, She knew Donny was the one behind all my troubles and had had her misdealings with his consent pursuits since we got around our teens, but she remained ever so kind to Zack.
Zack swallows that lump down his throat and whence at the door to the closest repeatedly banging and the doorknob loosening from the screws at this point, Zack decides to reach for the door and open it. Maybe it was blind fear, or maybe Zack decided to overcome whatever this place’s hold had of him and may still have. Zack's hands trembled as he reached a tentative hand towards the closest door and with each step a glimpse of a forgotten tragedy began to form inside Zack’s mind, images that flashed like a long picture book of some well-drawn sketch. Right footsteps first, as the moment of Clair and Zack hugging one another as young adults now, Zack had a bruise under his right eye and Clair was putting ice and tending to him. Something else was happening there. A second step; Clair and Zack's hands touched and a spark was ignited that was set the moment they first met. Zack returns with a light cruise of Clair's cheek and then they both share a lover's kiss, until now as Zack has this remembrance does he now know that Donny was watching this from outside through the window above that we proudly sat at and the kiss was on display. Only Donny was the only one there to see and he was not happy at all. Rage filled his eyes not because Clair wasn’t with him, but because she chose Zack over him. The third step and another, were the times after Zack felt happiest in the arms of Clair and she was happy in his. Just then a violent slam from Donny to the door to the room swung open with such force the shock of the noise scared Clair and Zack, Donny stood in that doorway with fire in his eyes and still…very still.
Zack feels the tips of his fingers reach the jerking doorknob and can’t understand the feeling that has overcome him here, but he is compelled to see this to the end. A final step and Zack places a hand on the knob and grips it, expecting the shake in his hand. No such thing, the door stopped pounding and the knob ceased its upheaval at Zack’s touch. Zack takes a huge breath and turns the doorknob. Nothing…No sound. No light. Empty and damp, say for a metal hook on the center back wall, stained with old, dry blood. Zack looks at it as if he can see it through the pitch black of the closet, then a hand grasps hold of Zack’s, and Zack gets a feeling of a female next to him but can’t see, any words or sounds of any kind yet Zack can’t help but see the hook and think back, back to that last moment with Clair, the kiss and the rage of Donny’s pain reaching us here. Donny in a fit of blind anger grabbed Clair by the hair and kicked Zack in the chest so that it nearly crushed his ribs in one blow. Screams from Clair for Donny to slop, but Donny does not do any such thing. He pulled her with him as he shoved Zack with his kick again, hard enough to land Zack into the broom closet of the room. Zack got up and almost hit his head on the jagged metal hook. Clair scratches Donny good in the face and Donny, In the attack Donny throws Clair from his grip, and Clair trips over lifted out of the rug, and crashes through the glass window facing outside. Zack and Donny are in a moment of frozen shock as the lifeless body of Clair lies mangled from the fall and the glass cutting her Donny then turns to Zack and tries to close the closet door on Zack and it is a struggle for both but eventually, Donny took a step back and then with a hard kick to the door, send Zack backward.
Zack is back in the dark closet and the room makes Zack feel alone and scared, like so many times before. A single tear forms and before it falls, a soft hand, gently wipes it away.
.

It was dark, like the type of dark that you have to check your eyes by blinking. Only then you realize you can no longer tell whether your eyes are open or closed. The sky was calm and thin clouds streaked across the sky like a child had obtained a paint brush and some paint. Below this oddly peaceful sky was a home, more precisely it would be called a mansion. A dilapidated old home that hadn't seen use in many years. Strangely though it was guarded as if some old treasure may have existed inside.
The old decrepit home had a wall encircling it with a fancy ornate gate, depictions of bats and skulls made it feel more ominous though. Gargoyles watched the guards as they lazily stood in front of the gate, they had no sense of urgency.
"Hey mind if I just take a quick wink? Not like anyone's gonna come here there no point. There's nothing here but an old coffin and a corpse." One of the guards sighed as he leaned against the wall.
"Yeah, go ahead man. I'd rather not get in trouble with the captain though. He's scary." The second guard shivered as he thought of the new boss they'd recently been answering to.
"Ah, that kid? Come on he's not even like us he's just a Lithian brat. He was assigned his position to make us look good for 'that' person." His voice lowered as fear crept in while thinking about the man they wouldn't even speak the name of.
"Damn, we've gone and involved ourselves with scary people huh. Whatever imma. . . Just." With his sentence trailing of soon snores filled the air and a sigh from the sleeping man's companion. The mansion behind them watched eagerly at their relaxed attitudes, waiting hungrily for the intruders it expected. And it's hunger was satisfied as the sound of glass breaking cut through the night.
Quiet footsteps landed on a carpet, "how's it looking?"
"Cody. . . Shut the fuck up." Skarlet's face appeared in the light of her fire magic, a single finger raised with a flame on top.
"Hey sorry, but there's nobody here right besides who can stop us?"
"Cody, just come inside." Skarlet grabbed him by the hand and yanked him through the window. She then pushed it closed behind him. In the light of her fire he could see her tail flicking with annoyance.
"Sorry, it's just been a bit since it was just the two of us right. There was that fight with Ares but. . . You know never mind remember Christmas?" Cody smiled mischievously, though her response was a barely visible blush.
"You're a terrible cook." She frowned as she started walking down the hall.
"Ooh, my heart as a man has been injured. But hey you know that I was trying to recreate something from my homeland. Coco doesn't exist in this world though." His voice fell at the end of the sentence, a partial pout appeared in his expression for a moment before a flash of surprise as he skipped forward to catch up with her. It was as he was just about to reach her side when she turned.
"You're not too bad at consoling a crying girl though." A smirk accompanied that statement before she spun around once more and kept walking. Cody froze, a dumb look on his face, but he recovered quickly and chased after her. Skarlet was blushing deeply, she even put out her flame to hide it. Damnit, why'd I say that. This stupid guy. . . Ugh the goal. . . We came here for a reason.
"You're much more social than when we first met. Didn't you try to kill me to keep me from getting close to you. What changed, little misfortunate." Cody asked with a teasing tone.
"Nothing Dumbass, I just realized I couldn't push you away cause you were stronger than me. Better keep up, hero if I surpass you in strength I'll end our partnership." Skarlet's voice shook at the end of her statement. If it was back then, it would've been firm, but she couldn't shake the emotions she'd been feeling more recently. She had to admit that she enjoyed his company, he was a dependable friend. Damn, why are my cheeks so hot.
"Here I found it!" Skarlet spoke up, breaking the conversation off forcefully. She was pointing to a staircase, Cody stepped up to the edge and looked down.
"Problem, um there's no steps only a case." Cody pointed out as he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She was staring at him in exasperation.
"Was that supposed to be a joke?" She sighed as he avoided eye contact and stepped off the edge.
"Um, I guess." He said while rubbing the back of his head and smiling awkwardly. Skarlet landed beside him with a chuckle and punched him in the shoulder.
"Come on let's go, dummy." She led the way further down, occasionally they had to leap down entire cases that were missing steps. But soon they reached the basement. Four stories and five flights, it was a very big house. They walked in silence as they approached a room at the back of the basement. It was a tomb, definitely. There was stone double doors, at there center was a black widow on a spiderweb. The split between the doors cut the window in half.
Skarlet stepped forward and pushed open the door, a draft of air escaped desperately leading her hair and skirt to flutter curiously.
Thud
The doors made a pretty loud sound as they clicked into place. There was a stone coffin placed in the center, the room however was set up almost like a set in an old Gothic play. A large bed, the colors were red and black. A bookcase on one wall and a fireplace on the other. The biggest out of place thing though was a massive rotating magic circle. It seemed to be made of a red viscous liquid and was floating off the ground by a couple inches. It was surrounding the coffin as blood red chains erupted from the magic circle and wrapped the coffin.
"Um, hehe hey don't you think this looks like a bad Idea actually. Maybe we have the wrong house." Cody joked anxiously as he stepped into the room behind Skarlet who was approaching the coffin.
"No this, this is right I think. It is just very elaborate, we'll have to carry her out. Get ready they'll know we're here when I break the seal." Skarlet explained as she stepped into the magic circle. It coiled around her like she was walking through a shallow pond. "Sapphire told us that she'll be groggy and confused when she wakes up, we'll have to protect her as we get her out of here.
As she approached the coffin she pulled out a dagger and stabbed it into the center of it, where the red chains all clustered together. The dagger was a normal looking blade, but the guard was a golden carved black widow with a ruby in the abdomen.
Her ears laid flat as her tail lashed anxiously with the massive mana wave that erupted outwards. Lastly, as if the stone prison before her wanted to give off one more ounce of flair the lid shattered into particles of black and red and trickled down the sides to mix with the blood pooling in the carpet around the coffin. The magic circle had been made from actual blood.
Though Skarlet froze, she seemed to have seen something in the coffin that greatly confused or surprised her. Cody frowned as he approached, he peered over her shoulder and gasped, he understood. The coffin contained a skeleton, the inhabitant had been dead awhile.
"Wait, what the hell, that that no that can't be what?" Skarlet reached into the coffin and lifted the skeleton before dropping it, the clattering of bones was chilling.
"So. . . What do we do now? I don't think Sapphire has a plan B." Cody sighed as he turned to the room. He started to approach the bed when he noticed something. "Um hey Skarlet, we're looking for an Older sister correct. And specifically one that's been sealed for the last ten years right." Cody spoke as he noticed someone in the bed.
"What the. . . That's a kid." Skarlet frowned as she approached the bed and pulled the covers aside to reveal a young girl in a classic Gothic Lolita dress. She was hugging a very traditional teddy bear with obviously sewed on bat wings. But most importantly, she was sound asleep.
"We can't leave her here right? This place is about to become a battle ground. I'm pretty sure she's human right, when I was with Sapphire I could sense that she was a monster and not a human. But this girl just feels normal." Skarlet was pondering when sound rang out upstairs.
"Damn their coming." Skarlet began shaking the young girl lightly as she pulled her into a sitting position. The girl groggily opened her eyes and yawned then they widened as she saw them. "Hello dear, we need to go, can you come with us for a little. It's gonna get dangerous." Skarlet held out her hand and the girl took it with sparkling eyes. Skarlet smiled awkwardly as she realized the girl was staring at her ears. "I'll let you touch them if you come with us ok." Skarlet led her by the hand as Cody drew his sword and they stepped out into the basement. It was still empty but the sound of feet and voices upstairs led them to move quickly.
On the first floor Cody stepped out from the stairs and into the hall. A shout brought his attention to a group of guards that immediately ran at him.
"Damn, stay back you two." Cody grumbled as he brought his hand up and cast light spear, chanting under his breath as he brought his sword in front of him. A ball of light appeared and morphed into a spear as he chanted then it launched at his opponents. Two of the guards got speared almost instantly.
"Shit these guys are strong, one of the remaining guards spoke up as he suddenly skidded to a stop along with his companies. They tossed their swords to the ground, Cody grinned awkwardly as he realized what was happening. He began making strides towards them breaking into a run he impaled one of the group as the other two began to change.
Cody ripped his sword out of the guard and let his body fall, the sword he held glowed with a soft white light and that glow reflected off the blood making the scene feel more red than it should have normally as he turned around and leaped at his two new opponents. They were werewolves, he cast a light spell called illuminate and the two reacted by recoiling. Cody slid under the outstretched claws of the first one and leaped upwards slashing from the beast's stomach all the way to the neck and straight out the jugular. Then with a round house kick, he smashed his heel into the side of it's head and sent it careening into it's companion who yelped in surprise. Cody then blasted a hole through both of them with another light spear.
As he finished the sound of clapping echoed out. Cody felt a bit of embarrassment as the little girl behind Skarlet had started clapping. Cody sighed and led the way towards the front door, they cleared out a couple more groups but for the most part went unchallenged till he pushed open the front door to reveal that there was a large troop stationed in the yard.
"Damn, is that old man this afraid of Ruby?" Skarlet muttered as she gazed at the large mob in front of her. "alright, upsy daisy." Skarlet lifted the girl and had her sit in her arm while holding onto Skarlet's neck. Skarlet drew her sword and held it one handed.
"Intruders, we can't let you leave. Where's Ruby!" A man looking like the leader approached.
"Sorry man, I don't know." Skarlet replied as a smile slipped onto her face. Suddenly she was in front of him as she dashed, dragging her sword across his waist she split him in half leaped and kicked his torso back at his own troops. There was a look of surprise permanently etched on his face. "Come on Cody, let's take this fuckers out."
"Skarlet, your carrying a child think you could maybe be less gruesome?" Cody's plea went unheard as she delved into battle. He sighed once more feeling himself growing older he leaped forward as well.
Skarlet hacked and slashed a path through the guards, she twisted, jumped, and ducked to avoid attacks targeting the girl in her arms. Cody was right behind her slicing through his own opponents. At this point he had a look of annoyance and exasperation in his face as he watched the blood covered black cat girl have her fun. "When did she start to enjoy fighting so much?" He realized he hadn't noticed this emerging tendency of hers.
Suddenly Skarlet had the area around her cleared out as a figure approached. He held a sword that Cody recognized, a katana. He was dressed in a gladiator style outfit with a cape. There was no smile on his face though he didn't look like a showman. The guards had backed away and even seemed to tremble.
"Captain, it's the captain."
"Hey, why'd y'all stop I thought it was getting good. There's enough of you for me to. . . Oh you look fun." Skarlet smiled as she looked at the man in front of her. A Fox Lithian that reeked of the blood he'd split throughout his life.
"Cody, take her." Skarlet spoke seriously as she handed the girl to Cody.
Skarlet then stepped forward and gripped her sword tightly. In an instant they closed in on each other, a loud bang rang out as they crossed blades. "Ha, damn I thought I was no longer a human with the strength I wield. That no singular opponent could match me. But this is gonna be fun." Skarlet smiled as she let her emotions out, a built up rage and fear filled her blade as a series of clashes rang out. Though her smile began to slip as pain blossomed in her side. Something wet splatter in the dirt. "Shit." Skarlet leaned back as the boy's sword barely grazed her neck.
"You can't beat me you're not at that level yet, cat." The boy explained as he calmly dealt with her frantic and chaotic attacks. She spun around and brought a kick to the side of his head, a thud exploded out as she came into contact with his forearm that had blocked. He then grabbed her leg and flipped her, she hit the dirt with a thud and immediately kicked the ground so she rolled away as a blade stabbed into the ground where her head used to be. Her fear had melted into her blade she felt nothing but exhilaration even as blood soaked into her shirt and dripped down her leg.
She leaped to her feet and pointed her sword at him, a serious expression on her face as she leaped at him with a large overhead strike. Mana erupted throughout her sword as a black fire erupted along her blade encasing it in a threatening appearance and aura.
She brought her sword down and the boy swung his sword almost like one would swing a rapier in a contest of beauty. Elegant and swift movements, he made it seem like it was weightless as he partied her sword to the side and twirled his blade around before piercing her chest.
"Skarlet!!" Cody exclaimed as he watched the blade rip out her back, blood dripping off its tip. The boy, smiled as he looked into her eyes.
"Skarlet, it matches your fiery eyes. My name is Gordon and I'm the one who killed you." He seemed truly happy. He even began to laugh but that froze on his face as he watched her mouth from a smile. It parted slightly and blood poured down her chin. A sharp pain stabbed his side as her sword sliced into him, a scowl lit his face as the blade carved through him with ease and ripped through his throat. Then with a bloody, choking laugh she kicked him away and let the blade slide back out of her chest.
Gordon hit the ground, her blade had carved a jagged path from his side, to his neck. Affectively amputating his arm, he was bleeding a lot, far more than her as she cast a healing spell. Her face scrunched in pain as her body began rearranging and reassembling the wound.
She then turned and wiped the blood from her lips as she placed her sword on her shoulder and grinned at Cody. "Damn that bastard was good." Cody sighed.
"Hahaha, victory must feel nice." Gordon laughed as he sat up. Blood was starting to slither and move around him. His body was pulling itself back together as he got to his feet. His sword was bleeding, no more accurately, it was eating her blood and healing him it seemed. "Girl, that was damn insane. You're literally crazy, who deliberately takes an attack that could kill them just to create an opening. Haha, not that I'm going to fall for it again. Come on try and kill me imma get serious now. This is gonna scar you know." He held his sword in a different stance as the blood coalesced on the blade and formed a larger scary blade made of blood. His sword looked more like a scimitar now or possibly a sword with an ax on the end of it. Then he dashed at her, Skarlet felt dread, but still fear escaped her. She looked down the jaws of death and smiled.
"Come on, let's go!"

Going into a career where you’ve got a fair chance of being ostracized probably isn’t what my parents had in mind when they paid for me to get a bachelor’s in magical theory. I know when I graduated and told them I was going into necromancy, they looked like they were sucking on a lemon. But they knew me well enough to know I was smart enough to do things the right way, and stubborn enough not to let societal taboos stand in my way.
Every time I have a job, I’m reminded of why I do this. Sure, many of my gigs are helping farmers whose crops are dying, the law doesn’t have anything to say on that kind of work, and that pays a good amount of my bills. But the ones who need a few minutes (all the law allows) to say goodbye, who lost someone in the blink of an eye, who are burdened with the pain of their heart being torn out of their chest, those people have nowhere else to turn. Well, they technically do, and that’s therapy. But being allowed a goodbye is a good start.
Though there are the occasional clients who sneak past my interview process just to interrogate the deceased about an affair or some such nonsense. Those are irritating.
Much of my day is spent at home, tending to the garden that grows the plants needed for my spells, which I brew myself. It was winter now, though, so I was in my workshop, making use of my harvest, dried and ground up, to mix together and enchant the potions. Occasionally I get walk-ins though, and so when the doorbell rang that morning, it didn’t quite catch me off guard.
The boy at the door did, though. His name was Harvey, and he lived a few doors down. And he was in floods of tears that were only now tapering off.
“What’s wrong?” I cried, crouching to his height. “Harvey, what happened?”
“It’s Sage,” he whimpered. “She-She died.”
“Oh, honey,” I breathed. “I’m so sorry.” The boy’s dog was part of their family, adopted as a puppy. I recall her being seven or eight years old now, and especially for a boy of eleven years old, that was a tragedy. The words sunk in then. “Did you…did your family want to hire me?” He nodded. “What happened? How did she die?”
“She got spooked and ran off last night during the thunderstorm,” he said quietly. “We couldn’t find her. She came back this morning and something had…attacked her. A coyote, maybe. She barely made it back home before…” Tears glistened in her eyes. “When we went outside to look for her, she was on the porch, and she was already gone.”
“Okay,” I said. Without another word, I grabbed my purse and coat and shut the door behind me, following the boy to his house.
Out in the backyard, his parents sat tiredly in two patio chairs, looking worse for the wear and in mid-conversation. They were surprised by my appearance, and both rose to their feet. “Caroline! What are you-” Patricia’s face went slack with comprehension as she set eyes on her son. “Harvey went to fetch you. Are you sure you want to-”
“I’ve done this kind of work before,” I assured her. She just nodded slowly, and she and her husband Brian sat back down, taking her husband’s hand. Walking over to the dog, it wasn’t quite as gruesome a sight as I’d worried it would be, the attack just leaving blood caked on the left side of her neck. I also saw some on her paws; she’d put up enough of a fight to get away. To get home.
Kneeling down in the grass, crackling under my knees, the blades still stiff from the overnight chill, I took two potions from my purse. One of each that I always kept on hand for emergencies. The first was a syringe and I injected it into the dog’s neck, an anesthetic so the dog wouldn’t awaken in pain, charmed to supernaturally spread through the body since the heart wasn’t beating. I poured the second potion on my hands before rubbing them together, reciting the incantation under my breath, and laid my hands on the dog’s body, feeling the power slide through them and getting to work immediately.
A minute or so later, the dog’s weary eyes opened as her chest started to rise and fall and her gaze slid around until they caught on Harvey’s eyes. He burst into quiet tears again, sitting down and pulling the dog’s head onto his leg, stroking her gently. “Hey girl,” he whispered. “I’m here. You’re safe, you made it home. I’m here, Sage.”
The dog blinked up at him, tired from her struggles, but her tail thumped against the ground regardless, a slow, regular metronome. She shut her eyes at the scratches behind her ears and the kiss he gave her on her head. “You’re a strong girl,” he murmured. “Good girl. And I’m here. You don’t have to go alone. We’re all here.”
I brushed away tears from my eyes before they could fall, letting the boy comfort the dog in her last moments, letting him lean his forehead against hers, breathing in her scent. Then eventually, the dog’s breathing slowed, her tail lost its strength and rested against the ground and, as Harvey stroked the smooth hair on her head, she drifted away once again.

Going into a career where you’ve got a fair chance of being ostracized probably isn’t what my parents had in mind when they paid for me to get a bachelor’s in magical theory. I know when I graduated and told them I was going into necromancy, they looked like they were sucking on a lemon. But they knew me well enough to know I was smart enough to do things the right way, and stubborn enough not to let societal taboos stand in my way.
Every time I have a job, I’m reminded of why I do this. Sure, many of my gigs are helping farmers whose crops are dying, the law doesn’t have anything to say on that kind of work, and that pays a good amount of my bills. But the ones who need a few minutes (all the law allows) to say goodbye, who lost someone in the blink of an eye, who are burdened with the pain of their heart being torn out of their chest, those people have nowhere else to turn. Well, they technically do, and that’s therapy. But being allowed a goodbye is a good start.
Though there are the occasional clients who sneak past my interview process just to interrogate the deceased about an affair or some such nonsense. Those are irritating.
Much of my day is spent at home, tending to the garden that grows the plants needed for my spells, which I brew myself. It was winter now, though, so I was in my workshop, making use of my harvest, dried and ground up, to mix together and enchant the potions. Occasionally I get walk-ins though, and so when the doorbell rang that morning, it didn’t quite catch me off guard.
The boy at the door did, though. His name was Harvey, and he lived a few doors down. And he was in floods of tears that were only now tapering off.
“What’s wrong?” I cried, crouching to his height. “Harvey, what happened?”
“It’s Sage,” he whimpered. “She-She died.”
“Oh, honey,” I breathed. “I’m so sorry.” The boy’s dog was part of their family, adopted as a puppy. I recall her being seven or eight years old now, and especially for a boy of eleven years old, that was a tragedy. The words sunk in then. “Did you…did your family want to hire me?” He nodded. “What happened? How did she die?”
“She got spooked and ran off last night during the thunderstorm,” he said quietly. “We couldn’t find her. She came back this morning and something had…attacked her. A coyote, maybe. She barely made it back home before…” Tears glistened in her eyes. “When we went outside to look for her, she was on the porch, and she was already gone.”
“Okay,” I said. Without another word, I grabbed my purse and coat and shut the door behind me, following the boy to his house.
Out in the backyard, his parents sat tiredly in two patio chairs, looking worse for the wear and in mid-conversation. They were surprised by my appearance, and both rose to their feet. “Caroline! What are you-” Patricia’s face went slack with comprehension as she set eyes on her son. “Harvey went to fetch you. Are you sure you want to-”
“I’ve done this kind of work before,” I assured her. She just nodded slowly, and she and her husband Brian sat back down, taking her husband’s hand. Walking over to the dog, it wasn’t quite as gruesome a sight as I’d worried it would be, the attack just leaving blood caked on the left side of her neck. I also saw some on her paws; she’d put up enough of a fight to get away. To get home.
Kneeling down in the grass, crackling under my knees, the blades still stiff from the overnight chill, I took two potions from my purse. One of each that I always kept on hand for emergencies. The first was a syringe and I injected it into the dog’s neck, an anesthetic so the dog wouldn’t awaken in pain, charmed to supernaturally spread through the body since the heart wasn’t beating. I poured the second potion on my hands before rubbing them together, reciting the incantation under my breath, and laid my hands on the dog’s body, feeling the power slide through them and getting to work immediately.
A minute or so later, the dog’s weary eyes opened as her chest started to rise and fall and her gaze slid around until they caught on Harvey’s eyes. He burst into quiet tears again, sitting down and pulling the dog’s head onto his leg, stroking her gently. “Hey girl,” he whispered. “I’m here. You’re safe, you made it home. I’m here, Sage.”
The dog blinked up at him, tired from her struggles, but her tail thumped against the ground regardless, a slow, regular metronome. She shut her eyes at the scratches behind her ears and the kiss he gave her on her head. “You’re a strong girl,” he murmured. “Good girl. And I’m here. You don’t have to go alone. We’re all here.”
I brushed away tears from my eyes before they could fall, letting the boy comfort the dog in her last moments, letting him lean his forehead against hers, breathing in her scent. Then eventually, the dog’s breathing slowed, her tail lost its strength and rested against the ground and, as Harvey stroked the smooth hair on her head, she drifted away once again.
***
Patreon
My Website
/storiesbykaren

Previously
I could not tell you exactly how I failed my semester. Everything was foggy. One thing for sure, I recalled spending more time with Al than with my studies. With her, I discovered the ins and outs of Boston: its neighborhoods and surrounding towns. She would take me to different areas to countless parties, hosted by her friends. We would sing reggae together, dance , drink, smoke marijuana, a lot of marijuana, and, afterwards, would go to her place, where we would sleep together a lot like rabbits. The only time I ever set foot in my dorm room was near the end of the semester, where I came across a stack of urgent notes from my academic advisor. These notes pertained to my parents and, particularly, their demands that I should “call them at once!”
It was through my parents that I learned about my academic failure for the semester and how I failed: not attending a single class. Prior to calling, my plan was to keep quiet like I normally had done before and let them do all the talking. That was supposed to be the plan.
Upon dialing, my mother picked up the phone after the first tone and, without exchanging any pleasantries, proceeded to blast me with her sweet voice and biting sarcasms. I was the son “scamming them out of their hard earned money” and one who was doing something that I was “finally more than average at,” making them “shameful parents.” I expected all of this from her, but what caught me off guard was the raw anger in her voice. Still, I stayed silent and listened as usual.
My father, on the other hand, was far angrier and did not mince his words with sarcasms. After my mother had said her piece, he took the phone and cussed me all the names he knew under the sun, even cussing me in his mother’s tongue. His anger made his nasal voice even more pronounced, making it difficult for me to remain silent compared to my mother's words. It felt like each word was a punch to the ear through the phone. I fought to keep my composure, but frustration surged within me.
"Mary, I bet this whole thing is all over some stupid asshole girl." That blew me up. I took it as a direct insult to Al. He hadn't even met her, hadn't seen her warm smile or her inviting eyes. He hadn't experienced her nonjudgmental nature or known how easy she was to talk to. Yet, he felt he had the right to insult her.
“So what the fuck it is!” I remembered yelling over the phone. I remembered there was a brief, deafening silence after I spoke, so quiet that you could hear a pin drop. Mind you, at this point, I was no longer the same Howard that my parents were used to talking down to. They were exposed to a rude awakening. A different Howard who had long thick dreadlocks that stopped at his knees and who could look you directly in the eye and cussed you out like a seaman.
“Mister man. I want you to pack your things and take the next plane back home.” It was the clearest I ever heard his voice, without even a hint of nasalness. I could also hear his heavy breaths, like a silverback just before it was about to beat his chest and charge at you.
“Bite me.” I had answered him and hung up. That was the last time I talked to my parents. I had many regrets in life and this was among the top ones. Looking back now, I probably should not have done what I did. First off, I probably should have called them when I was off sound mind or sober. I also underestimated how cold and unforgiving my parents could be, and how far they would go to maintain their family's image. I had two younger brothers and a toddler age sister. When I did not take that next plane back home, my parents, as far as they were concerned, still had a legacy that they could build up and make their name proud, even after they left this world. I was the first child: the mistake and experiment that they could learn from when rearing up my siblings.
Not surprisingly, I was kicked out of MIT as my parents did not pay for my next semester’s schooling. I did not care at the time. At least, I had my Al and she was nice enough to offer rooming to my bicycle, suitcase and I. We were officially together under one roof. Only this was not to be permanent.
About a month after moving in with Al, we found ourselves in a situation where we couldn't afford the rent and had to move out. Al had lost her job a few weeks earlier because she showed up to it high, a decision I blamed myself for since I had encouraged us to attend a party the previous night.
Living with Al's friends was initially a relief, a temporary solution to our housing predicament. But as the days turned into weeks, we began to overstay our welcome. Our presence became a burden, straining the patience and resources of those free spirits who had graciously taken us in. Eventually, we found ourselves with no place to call home, facing the harsh reality of homelessness.
During this period, finding work proved to be a near impossible challenge. Despite my best efforts, no employer wanted to even touch me. It was then that I truly understood my immigration status on a student visa and the obstacles it presented to securing employment. Until then, I had never considered or entertained such thoughts, leaving them up to my parents.
The idea of marrying Al for a green card never even crossed my mind. I refused to burden her with my problems or pressure her into such a life-altering decision. One way or the other way, I was going to find a solution on my own.
Though it looked like a grim reality check, strangely enough, Al and I were the happiest when we were homelessness. Freed from the burdens of parental or societal expectations, we embraced our status as free birds in the city, viewing it as our own personal playground.
If there was no luck at the soup kitchens, we would scavenge food from trash bins by restaurants. Surprisingly, we often stumbled upon untouched treasures like whole pizzas, pieces of chicken wings, discarded birthday cakes (often anniversary cakes), pies, and many other items. People's wastefulness became a lifeline for us, and we were deeply thankful for it.
Beyond mere survival, we reveled in the adventure of exploring the city's hidden corners. From navigating the labyrinthine subway tracks to stumbling upon alleys adorned with vibrant street art to sneaking into buildings with magnificent views of the city’s skyline, every discovery fueled our sense of wonder and curiosity. And we certainly were not shy to fool around in all these places as no place in the city was safe from our escapades: not the museums and not even the stadium.
But even with all the craziness and unpredictability, the most important thing about being homeless was the bond we shared. I fondly recall the nights spent huddled together under the stars in quiet parks, wrapped in blankets and sharing our dreams. Al wanted to go back to school to pursue nursing, while I had ambitions of completing my engineering degree at a community college. With that qualification, I hoped to secure a well-paying job that could sponsor both of us, paving the way for us to settle in a cozy home in the suburbs. There, we could begin our journey of building a family together. Each time I shared my dreams with Al, her left blue moon eye seemed to radiate with an illuminating glow, serving as a source of hope and strengthening my determination to believe that anything was possible.
Eventually, I managed to secure employment the other way: under the table at a slaughterhouse. But even with a steady income, my wages were barely enough to cover our basic needs, let alone secure permanent housing. However, luck seemed to smile upon us in an unexpected way.
At the slaughterhouse, I crossed paths with a fellow countryman named Archie, who had faced similar challenges with work status. Our shared nationality sparked instant camaraderie, and Archie eagerly offered his assistance upon learning about our homelessness. He revealed that he had a friend at the Port of Boston who could help us find shelter in one of the abandoned shipping containers there.
Archie assured me that living in a shipping container wasn't as bad as it sounded, sharing his own experience of finding temporary refuge in one upon arriving in America. He explained that as the weather cooled with the onset of fall, we wouldn't have to endure the sweltering heat of summer. However, he advised us to prepare for the winter chill with plenty of blankets and, even better, a portable heater. Despite its unconventional nature, it was a far better option than braving the elements out on the streets.
As Archie led Al and I through the lively Port of Boston, I couldn't shake the feeling of gratitude for his unexpected generosity. Here was a man who did not know me from Adam and was offering to help me and my woman, with no payment or strings attached.
We soon arrived at a secluded corner, where Archie introduced us to his friend, JJ. JJ was a short, stocky man with large muscular arms, a stark contrast to Archie's tall and malnourished skinny frame. Despite their physical differences, JJ exuded friendliness and kindness, much like Archie. He welcomed Al and I very warmly. Hence the reason, I could never forgive myself for what I did to him. That was also one of my biggest life regrets.
With a nod from JJ, we followed him to an abandoned shipping container nestled away from prying eyes. It was a hidden gem, shielded from the outside world by stacks of cargo containers. JJ assured us that it was a safe haven, far from the scrutiny of port workers.
As we settled into our new home, JJ's kindness continued to shine through. He provided us with port safety jackets, ensuring we could blend in seamlessly with the workers. He even offered his assistance if we encountered any issues, emphasizing that he was always available at the main loading dock during his night shifts.
The shipping container began to feel more like home with each passing day. Thanks to Archie and JJ's assistance, we were able to transport an old mattress, dresser, and milk crates— repurposed as shelves— from various junk sites and donation bins using JJ's cargo van. Despite the simplicity of our accommodations, the mere presence of these familiar items filled us with tremendous joy as we finally had a place to call our home.
Al's creative touch transformed the interior, adorning it with artificial bouquets she had found at a dump site. The vibrant colors breathed life into our makeshift home, infusing it with warmth and charm.
As we settled into our newfound sanctuary, a wave of relief washed over us. For the first time in months, we felt a sense of stability and security. With our basic needs finally met, we could now turn our attention to our goals for the future.
Eager to continue my education, I made plans to dedicate myself to finishing my engineering degree once the upcoming winter months had passed. Little did I know at the time that my student visa had already been canceled, making this goal completely impossible. Being a youth and all its naivety.
However, I never got the chance to find out about my visa status or even make the attempt to finish my education. At the start of winter, Al went missing.
Next Part 4 Preview:
It was a wicked, cold-blooded anger that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I tried to release my hands from his shirt, but it was too late. He seized my wrists like a vise grip and, in one swift motion before I had time to react, picked me up, slamming me onto the concrete.
/The Tragic Tale of Howard. A West African 9-Part Series short story about loss, second chance, betrayal and personal demons. By West African writer Josephine Dean /

Previously
I could not tell you exactly how I failed my semester. Everything was foggy. One thing for sure, I recalled spending more time with Al than with my studies. With her, I discovered the ins and outs of Boston: its neighborhoods and surrounding towns. She would take me to different areas to countless parties, hosted by her friends. We would sing reggae together, dance , drink, smoke marijuana, a lot of marijuana, and, afterwards, would go to her place, where we would sleep together a lot like rabbits. The only time I ever set foot in my dorm room was near the end of the semester, where I came across a stack of urgent notes from my academic advisor. These notes pertained to my parents and, particularly, their demands that I should “call them at once!”
It was through my parents that I learned about my academic failure for the semester and how I failed: not attending a single class. Prior to calling, my plan was to keep quiet like I normally had done before and let them do all the talking. That was supposed to be the plan.
Upon dialing, my mother picked up the phone after the first tone and, without exchanging any pleasantries, proceeded to blast me with her sweet voice and biting sarcasms. I was the son “scamming them out of their hard earned money” and one who was doing something that I was “finally more than average at,” making them “shameful parents.” I expected all of this from her, but what caught me off guard was the raw anger in her voice. Still, I stayed silent and listened as usual.
My father, on the other hand, was far angrier and did not mince his words with sarcasms. After my mother had said her piece, he took the phone and cussed me all the names he knew under the sun, even cussing me in his mother’s tongue. His anger made his nasal voice even more pronounced, making it difficult for me to remain silent compared to my mother's words. It felt like each word was a punch to the ear through the phone. I fought to keep my composure, but frustration surged within me.
"Mary, I bet this whole thing is all over some stupid asshole girl." That blew me up. I took it as a direct insult to Al. He hadn't even met her, hadn't seen her warm smile or her inviting eyes. He hadn't experienced her nonjudgmental nature or known how easy she was to talk to. Yet, he felt he had the right to insult her.
“So what the fuck it is!” I remembered yelling over the phone. I remembered there was a brief, deafening silence after I spoke, so quiet that you could hear a pin drop. Mind you, at this point, I was no longer the same Howard that my parents were used to talking down to. They were exposed to a rude awakening. A different Howard who had long thick dreadlocks that stopped at his knees and who could look you directly in the eye and cussed you out like a seaman.
“Mister man. I want you to pack your things and take the next plane back home.” It was the clearest I ever heard his voice, without even a hint of nasalness. I could also hear his heavy breaths, like a silverback just before it was about to beat his chest and charge at you.
“Bite me.” I had answered him and hung up. That was the last time I talked to my parents. I had many regrets in life and this was among the top ones. Looking back now, I probably should not have done what I did. First off, I probably should have called them when I was off sound mind or sober. I also underestimated how cold and unforgiving my parents could be, and how far they would go to maintain their family's image. I had two younger brothers and a toddler age sister. When I did not take that next plane back home, my parents, as far as they were concerned, still had a legacy that they could build up and make their name proud, even after they left this world. I was the first child: the mistake and experiment that they could learn from when rearing up my siblings.
Not surprisingly, I was kicked out of MIT as my parents did not pay for my next semester’s schooling. I did not care at the time. At least, I had my Al and she was nice enough to offer rooming to my bicycle, suitcase and I. We were officially together under one roof. Only this was not to be permanent.
About a month after moving in with Al, we found ourselves in a situation where we couldn't afford the rent and had to move out. Al had lost her job a few weeks earlier because she showed up to it high, a decision I blamed myself for since I had encouraged us to attend a party the previous night.
Living with Al's friends was initially a relief, a temporary solution to our housing predicament. But as the days turned into weeks, we began to overstay our welcome. Our presence became a burden, straining the patience and resources of those free spirits who had graciously taken us in. Eventually, we found ourselves with no place to call home, facing the harsh reality of homelessness.
During this period, finding work proved to be a near impossible challenge. Despite my best efforts, no employer wanted to even touch me. It was then that I truly understood my immigration status on a student visa and the obstacles it presented to securing employment. Until then, I had never considered or entertained such thoughts, leaving them up to my parents.
The idea of marrying Al for a green card never even crossed my mind. I refused to burden her with my problems or pressure her into such a life-altering decision. One way or the other way, I was going to find a solution on my own.
Though it looked like a grim reality check, strangely enough, Al and I were the happiest when we were homelessness. Freed from the burdens of parental or societal expectations, we embraced our status as free birds in the city, viewing it as our own personal playground.
If there was no luck at the soup kitchens, we would scavenge food from trash bins by restaurants. Surprisingly, we often stumbled upon untouched treasures like whole pizzas, pieces of chicken wings, discarded birthday cakes (often anniversary cakes), pies, and many other items. People's wastefulness became a lifeline for us, and we were deeply thankful for it.
Beyond mere survival, we reveled in the adventure of exploring the city's hidden corners. From navigating the labyrinthine subway tracks to stumbling upon alleys adorned with vibrant street art to sneaking into buildings with magnificent views of the city’s skyline, every discovery fueled our sense of wonder and curiosity. And we certainly were not shy to fool around in all these places as no place in the city was safe from our escapades: not the museums and not even the stadium.
But even with all the craziness and unpredictability, the most important thing about being homeless was the bond we shared. I fondly recall the nights spent huddled together under the stars in quiet parks, wrapped in blankets and sharing our dreams. Al wanted to go back to school to pursue nursing, while I had ambitions of completing my engineering degree at a community college. With that qualification, I hoped to secure a well-paying job that could sponsor both of us, paving the way for us to settle in a cozy home in the suburbs. There, we could begin our journey of building a family together. Each time I shared my dreams with Al, her left blue moon eye seemed to radiate with an illuminating glow, serving as a source of hope and strengthening my determination to believe that anything was possible.
Eventually, I managed to secure employment the other way: under the table at a slaughterhouse. But even with a steady income, my wages were barely enough to cover our basic needs, let alone secure permanent housing. However, luck seemed to smile upon us in an unexpected way.
At the slaughterhouse, I crossed paths with a fellow countryman named Archie, who had faced similar challenges with work status. Our shared nationality sparked instant camaraderie, and Archie eagerly offered his assistance upon learning about our homelessness. He revealed that he had a friend at the Port of Boston who could help us find shelter in one of the abandoned shipping containers there.
Archie assured me that living in a shipping container wasn't as bad as it sounded, sharing his own experience of finding temporary refuge in one upon arriving in America. He explained that as the weather cooled with the onset of fall, we wouldn't have to endure the sweltering heat of summer. However, he advised us to prepare for the winter chill with plenty of blankets and, even better, a portable heater. Despite its unconventional nature, it was a far better option than braving the elements out on the streets.
As Archie led Al and I through the lively Port of Boston, I couldn't shake the feeling of gratitude for his unexpected generosity. Here was a man who did not know me from Adam and was offering to help me and my woman, with no payment or strings attached.
We soon arrived at a secluded corner, where Archie introduced us to his friend, JJ. JJ was a short, stocky man with large muscular arms, a stark contrast to Archie's tall and malnourished skinny frame. Despite their physical differences, JJ exuded friendliness and kindness, much like Archie. He welcomed Al and I very warmly. Hence the reason, I could never forgive myself for what I did to him. That was also one of my biggest life regrets.
With a nod from JJ, we followed him to an abandoned shipping container nestled away from prying eyes. It was a hidden gem, shielded from the outside world by stacks of cargo containers. JJ assured us that it was a safe haven, far from the scrutiny of port workers.
As we settled into our new home, JJ's kindness continued to shine through. He provided us with port safety jackets, ensuring we could blend in seamlessly with the workers. He even offered his assistance if we encountered any issues, emphasizing that he was always available at the main loading dock during his night shifts.
The shipping container began to feel more like home with each passing day. Thanks to Archie and JJ's assistance, we were able to transport an old mattress, dresser, and milk crates— repurposed as shelves— from various junk sites and donation bins using JJ's cargo van. Despite the simplicity of our accommodations, the mere presence of these familiar items filled us with tremendous joy as we finally had a place to call our home.
Al's creative touch transformed the interior, adorning it with artificial bouquets she had found at a dump site. The vibrant colors breathed life into our makeshift home, infusing it with warmth and charm.
As we settled into our newfound sanctuary, a wave of relief washed over us. For the first time in months, we felt a sense of stability and security. With our basic needs finally met, we could now turn our attention to our goals for the future.
Eager to continue my education, I made plans to dedicate myself to finishing my engineering degree once the upcoming winter months had passed. Little did I know at the time that my student visa had already been canceled, making this goal completely impossible. Being a youth and all its naivety.
However, I never got the chance to find out about my visa status or even make the attempt to finish my education. At the start of winter, Al went missing.
Next Part 4 Preview:
It was a wicked, cold-blooded anger that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I tried to release my hands from his shirt, but it was too late. He seized my wrists like a vise grip and, in one swift motion before I had time to react, picked me up, slamming me onto the concrete.
/The Tragic Tale of Howard. A West African 9-Part Series short story about loss, second chance, betrayal and personal demons. By West African writer Josephine Dean /

Previously
I could not tell you exactly how I failed my semester. Everything was foggy. One thing for sure, I recalled spending more time with Al than with my studies. With her, I discovered the ins and outs of Boston: its neighborhoods and surrounding towns. She would take me to different areas to countless parties, hosted by her friends. We would sing reggae together, dance , drink, smoke marijuana, a lot of marijuana, and, afterwards, would go to her place, where we would sleep together a lot like rabbits. The only time I ever set foot in my dorm room was near the end of the semester, where I came across a stack of urgent notes from my academic advisor. These notes pertained to my parents and, particularly, their demands that I should “call them at once!”
It was through my parents that I learned about my academic failure for the semester and how I failed: not attending a single class. Prior to calling, my plan was to keep quiet like I normally had done before and let them do all the talking. That was supposed to be the plan.
Upon dialing, my mother picked up the phone after the first tone and, without exchanging any pleasantries, proceeded to blast me with her sweet voice and biting sarcasms. I was the son “scamming them out of their hard earned money” and one who was doing something that I was “finally more than average at,” making them “shameful parents.” I expected all of this from her, but what caught me off guard was the raw anger in her voice. Still, I stayed silent and listened as usual.
My father, on the other hand, was far angrier and did not mince his words with sarcasms. After my mother had said her piece, he took the phone and cussed me all the names he knew under the sun, even cussing me in his mother’s tongue. His anger made his nasal voice even more pronounced, making it difficult for me to remain silent compared to my mother's words. It felt like each word was a punch to the ear through the phone. I fought to keep my composure, but frustration surged within me.
"Mary, I bet this whole thing is all over some stupid asshole girl." That blew me up. I took it as a direct insult to Al. He hadn't even met her, hadn't seen her warm smile or her inviting eyes. He hadn't experienced her nonjudgmental nature or known how easy she was to talk to. Yet, he felt he had the right to insult her.
“So what the fuck it is!” I remembered yelling over the phone. I remembered there was a brief, deafening silence after I spoke, so quiet that you could hear a pin drop. Mind you, at this point, I was no longer the same Howard that my parents were used to talking down to. They were exposed to a rude awakening. A different Howard who had long thick dreadlocks that stopped at his knees and who could look you directly in the eye and cussed you out like a seaman.
“Mister man. I want you to pack your things and take the next plane back home.” It was the clearest I ever heard his voice, without even a hint of nasalness. I could also hear his heavy breaths, like a silverback just before it was about to beat his chest and charge at you.
“Bite me.” I had answered him and hung up. That was the last time I talked to my parents. I had many regrets in life and this was among the top ones. Looking back now, I probably should not have done what I did. First off, I probably should have called them when I was off sound mind or sober. I also underestimated how cold and unforgiving my parents could be, and how far they would go to maintain their family's image. I had two younger brothers and a toddler age sister. When I did not take that next plane back home, my parents, as far as they were concerned, still had a legacy that they could build up and make their name proud, even after they left this world. I was the first child: the mistake and experiment that they could learn from when rearing up my siblings.
Not surprisingly, I was kicked out of MIT as my parents did not pay for my next semester’s schooling. I did not care at the time. At least, I had my Al and she was nice enough to offer rooming to my bicycle, suitcase and I. We were officially together under one roof. Only this was not to be permanent.
About a month after moving in with Al, we found ourselves in a situation where we couldn't afford the rent and had to move out. Al had lost her job a few weeks earlier because she showed up to it high, a decision I blamed myself for since I had encouraged us to attend a party the previous night.
Living with Al's friends was initially a relief, a temporary solution to our housing predicament. But as the days turned into weeks, we began to overstay our welcome. Our presence became a burden, straining the patience and resources of those free spirits who had graciously taken us in. Eventually, we found ourselves with no place to call home, facing the harsh reality of homelessness.
During this period, finding work proved to be a near impossible challenge. Despite my best efforts, no employer wanted to even touch me. It was then that I truly understood my immigration status on a student visa and the obstacles it presented to securing employment. Until then, I had never considered or entertained such thoughts, leaving them up to my parents.
The idea of marrying Al for a green card never even crossed my mind. I refused to burden her with my problems or pressure her into such a life-altering decision. One way or the other way, I was going to find a solution on my own.
Though it looked like a grim reality check, strangely enough, Al and I were the happiest when we were homelessness. Freed from the burdens of parental or societal expectations, we embraced our status as free birds in the city, viewing it as our own personal playground.
If there was no luck at the soup kitchens, we would scavenge food from trash bins by restaurants. Surprisingly, we often stumbled upon untouched treasures like whole pizzas, pieces of chicken wings, discarded birthday cakes (often anniversary cakes), pies, and many other items. People's wastefulness became a lifeline for us, and we were deeply thankful for it.
Beyond mere survival, we reveled in the adventure of exploring the city's hidden corners. From navigating the labyrinthine subway tracks to stumbling upon alleys adorned with vibrant street art to sneaking into buildings with magnificent views of the city’s skyline, every discovery fueled our sense of wonder and curiosity. And we certainly were not shy to fool around in all these places as no place in the city was safe from our escapades: not the museums and not even the stadium.
But even with all the craziness and unpredictability, the most important thing about being homeless was the bond we shared. I fondly recall the nights spent huddled together under the stars in quiet parks, wrapped in blankets and sharing our dreams. Al wanted to go back to school to pursue nursing, while I had ambitions of completing my engineering degree at a community college. With that qualification, I hoped to secure a well-paying job that could sponsor both of us, paving the way for us to settle in a cozy home in the suburbs. There, we could begin our journey of building a family together. Each time I shared my dreams with Al, her left blue moon eye seemed to radiate with an illuminating glow, serving as a source of hope and strengthening my determination to believe that anything was possible.
Eventually, I managed to secure employment the other way: under the table at a slaughterhouse. But even with a steady income, my wages were barely enough to cover our basic needs, let alone secure permanent housing. However, luck seemed to smile upon us in an unexpected way.
At the slaughterhouse, I crossed paths with a fellow countryman named Archie, who had faced similar challenges with work status. Our shared nationality sparked instant camaraderie, and Archie eagerly offered his assistance upon learning about our homelessness. He revealed that he had a friend at the Port of Boston who could help us find shelter in one of the abandoned shipping containers there.
Archie assured me that living in a shipping container wasn't as bad as it sounded, sharing his own experience of finding temporary refuge in one upon arriving in America. He explained that as the weather cooled with the onset of fall, we wouldn't have to endure the sweltering heat of summer. However, he advised us to prepare for the winter chill with plenty of blankets and, even better, a portable heater. Despite its unconventional nature, it was a far better option than braving the elements out on the streets.
As Archie led Al and I through the lively Port of Boston, I couldn't shake the feeling of gratitude for his unexpected generosity. Here was a man who did not know me from Adam and was offering to help me and my woman, with no payment or strings attached.
We soon arrived at a secluded corner, where Archie introduced us to his friend, JJ. JJ was a short, stocky man with large muscular arms, a stark contrast to Archie's tall and malnourished skinny frame. Despite their physical differences, JJ exuded friendliness and kindness, much like Archie. He welcomed Al and I very warmly. Hence the reason, I could never forgive myself for what I did to him. That was also one of my biggest life regrets.
With a nod from JJ, we followed him to an abandoned shipping container nestled away from prying eyes. It was a hidden gem, shielded from the outside world by stacks of cargo containers. JJ assured us that it was a safe haven, far from the scrutiny of port workers.
As we settled into our new home, JJ's kindness continued to shine through. He provided us with port safety jackets, ensuring we could blend in seamlessly with the workers. He even offered his assistance if we encountered any issues, emphasizing that he was always available at the main loading dock during his night shifts.
The shipping container began to feel more like home with each passing day. Thanks to Archie and JJ's assistance, we were able to transport an old mattress, dresser, and milk crates— repurposed as shelves— from various junk sites and donation bins using JJ's cargo van. Despite the simplicity of our accommodations, the mere presence of these familiar items filled us with tremendous joy as we finally had a place to call our home.
Al's creative touch transformed the interior, adorning it with artificial bouquets she had found at a dump site. The vibrant colors breathed life into our makeshift home, infusing it with warmth and charm.
As we settled into our newfound sanctuary, a wave of relief washed over us. For the first time in months, we felt a sense of stability and security. With our basic needs finally met, we could now turn our attention to our goals for the future.
Eager to continue my education, I made plans to dedicate myself to finishing my engineering degree once the upcoming winter months had passed. Little did I know at the time that my student visa had already been canceled, making this goal completely impossible. Being a youth and all its naivety.
However, I never got the chance to find out about my visa status or even make the attempt to finish my education. At the start of winter, Al went missing.
Next Part 4 Preview:
It was a wicked, cold-blooded anger that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I tried to release my hands from his shirt, but it was too late. He seized my wrists like a vise grip and, in one swift motion before I had time to react, picked me up, slamming me onto the concrete.
/The Tragic Tale of Howard. A West African 9-Part Series short story about loss, second chance, betrayal and personal demons. By West African writer Josephine Dean /

I don’t know what i’m having or experiencing, If you seen my profile history you would know i’m really anxious if I have herpes. Everywhere I go people think I don’t have anything and i’m just panicking and having anxiety. 2 months ago I had protected sex, 2 days later I was feeling super sick I was also having frequent urination and only a little bit came out. I’m not sure if its because I was anxious, I wasn’t burning or itching. So that’s when I went to the ER thinking I had a std, they tested me for covid and the flu and both came back positive. I also went to get a std test and that came back negative. 3 weeks later I get a lesion in my foreskin. It lasted for a month, it’s healed now but it left a scar. Got tested again everything was negative so I assumed it was herpes. I did get it swabbed and it came back negative but it was crusted so I don’t know how accurate it came back. It started like a pimple then it got bigger like a cyst bump and blistered then crusted. I remember I took the crust off when I was taking a shower and it was like a smooth hard and round bump or ball. The bump eventually got smaller and smaller and eventually just leaving a scar. You wouldn’t even notice it until i point it. It took a month to heal. I was having frequent urination again, It didn’t hurt or burn but this time I would pee clear water. I would have the urge to pee every 10 or 20 minutes. Went to get a uti test and that came back negative. I was having a runny nose and sneezing alot. Also my right ear was twitching and having pressure, then it went to my left ear. Found out I had EBV antibodies weeks later so i’m not sure if that’s why I had those symptoms. I’ve been going to ER a lot recently because i’ve been having nerve like pains, Ive been having twitching muscles, and tingling in the sides of my feet. Twitches in my eye lid or under my eye. Sometimes shocks in my toes, fingers, hands, legs, arms. Like something is pinching me or shocks that last a second. Everybody thinks it’s isn’t herpes since it wasn’t painful or itching when I had the lesion and got it swabbed and came back negative. And I haven’t had another lesion since and it didn’t spread or cluster like every other herpes lesion does. They’re thinking the nerve shocks or tingles I’m having is from being anxious or paranoid since i’m having it everywhere randomly in my body and i’m not sure if they’re being right. I got a IgG blood test and it came back negative for both HSV1 and 2 after 8 weeks. I also got a PCR Blood Test for herpes and that came back negative as well from my PCP doctor. I should’ve requested for a IgG one but I didn’t notice until they gave me my papers to leave. The only symptoms i’m having right now is nerve shocks that last a second. In my fingers, hands, toes, legs, arms, everywhere. A bit of tingling in my feet and heel. I was having tailbone pain aswell that started Saturday and lasted for 4 days like I had soreness. I’m not sure if its because I was working all day but the pain would come and go. Like one second it would be mild then few hours I could really feel it. I’m still having ear ache but mostly in my right ear now but it’s mild. Also pooping hasn’t been the same anymore like when I poop it isn’t hard anymore and only a little bit would come out. I just don’t know if I should keep trying to find out if i have herpes or If i should accept that I don’t have it and I have something else? I’m going to ask my family doctor if I can have a neurologist to see my symptoms. I’m also going to go ask for a IgG blood test again after the 12 week mark. Do these symptoms sound like herpes to you guys? Or am I just being anxious? Should I really move on from this?? What should I even do?? I’m just waiting for another lesion that I can swab but I haven’t had one since that first one appeared.

Chapter 5
Lacy opened her eyes and saw flashing colorful lights. She heard carnival music playing from loudspeakers. She wondered to herself what this place was walking around. She saw multiple vendor stands and carnival games. Everything looked abandoned, food dropped on the floor and chairs flipped. She continued walking, finding a carnival ride. It was one of the droppers. Lacy had memories with her mother going on these kinds of rides. She pushed on following the stands until she stumbled upon a circus tent. She stepped inside and saw a man. The man was very tall and was standing in the middle of the tent. The man turned around and the lights to the tent turned on revealing that the man was a clown on stilts. The clown had a white face with a red nose. His hair was red and was split in two making it look like he had horns. He had on an oversized shirt that looked like multiple blue and red shirts stitched together. His pants were baggy and had obvious blood stains. The stilts made him about ten feet tall. The clown wore a frown on his face, giving Lacy a sense of uncertainty. “What's your name little girl, I have all sorts of tricks that can make you laugh.” The clown's voice was goofy and lighthearted compared to the frown on its face that it kept. “Ah come on, don't be shy. We can still have fun. Not like all of the other’s who left.” Lacy noticed a man lying in a pool of blood next to the clown. He was wearing ringmaster attire. The clown noticed that Lacy saw the body. “He didn’t laugh. Just like the others.” The clown's voice had changed. He now sounded like an older man who had given up on feeling joy. “Did you kill that man?” Lacy asked, already knowing the answer. “No. I released him. He didn’t laugh. He had no joy. So I released him.” Lacy began to back off, gripping her knife. The clown revealed a sword it was holding behind his back. It had blood on it. “I’ll release you too”. The clown began stepping towards her, laughing while doing so. “God Dammit not again” Lacy ran throughout the carnival grounds with the clown closely behind her. She noticed a security trailer. She got to the door and it was locked. Hearing the laughter getting closer. She slammed her body into the door until it finally broke open. The laughter ceased. Lacy looked around the office not seeing anything special. Until she saw a tape recorder.
Chapter 6
Lacy grabbed the recorder. “Who would even have time to make these?”
This is Professor Crawdord. I have managed to survive in this obscure world for what feels like multiple days. This new threat, the clown on stilts seems to be less of a problem than he looks. He’s slow compared to other things I have faced. I discovered evidence as to who this person is. His name is Daniel Larson. He worked at the circus for most of his life. One could only imagine the mind of someone who is laughed at all day for most of their lives. On an unfortunate day Larson snapped and murdered a man on the fairgrounds. The man was another attraction. His specialty was swallowing swords and evidence showed that Larson used the sword to kill him. Larson continued killing, focusing on people that would not laugh at his jokes. The Ringmaster called showtime and at the start of the show Larson told him a joke in front of the audience and when the Ringmaster did not respond Larson killed him. The audience rushed out and as the police showed up Larson had disappeared. Upon searching his trailer they found pictures of other unsolved murders in the area. Larson was never caught. I have not figured out exactly what the holes are but I feel that Larson has to be connected somehow. These holes have a requirement to open. A death must take place for them to appear.
Lacy set the tape recorder down understanding now what had to happen. Lacy looked at the knife in her hand. “He’s a murderer. He’s hurt people. I'd be doing the world a favor.” Lacy opened the trailer door and followed the laughter leading to the circus tent.
Chapter 6
Lacy reached the entrance to the tent, peering inside she saw Larson standing over the ringmaster's body. Lacy moved underneath the stands. Larson turned towards the entrance and began walking around the tent. “I know you're here child.” Lacy ran throughout the underside of the stands. Trying to find an angle to see Larson and which direction he was facing. Lacy could see Larson was searching for her. The stilts made him move slow enough for her to sneak up on him easily. Slowly moving throughout the tent, Lacy got close enough behind Larson to hear him mumbling something to himself. Running towards Larson she kicked the stilts causing him to fall to the ground. Lacy took the opportunity to stab the clown in the shoulder. Larson kicked Lacy away and swept the sword in her direction, cutting her on the leg. Lacy turned to run towards the opening of the tent, but Larson grabbed her foot and lifted the sword. “You’ll pay like they did.” Lacy kicked Larson in the face, got up and ran to leave the tent. “DON’T LEAVE! YOU HAVEN'T LAUGHED YET!” Lacy could hear Larson limping behind her, now off the stilts. She ran until she could no longer hear Larson behind her. “The dropper, I can distract him with the dropper.” Lacy avoided Larson, eventually making her way to the dropper. She didn’t know how to work the machine so she had to guess until she got it right. “Come on, you stupid machine.” Pressing multiple buttons, Lacy could hear the laughter of Larson creeping slowly towards her. Finally the ride shot up into the sky. Larson stepped onto the platform of the dropper. “I found you, please stop. I'll lose everything if you don't laugh.” Lacy took notice of the dropper rushing towards the ground. Just as Larson swiped his sword down at Lacy, she dodged out of the way. As Larson tried to get his footing back, she pushed him under the dropper. The machine crushed him ending the vile man’s savage slaughter. Lacy turned around to see at the bottom of the platform a hole had appeared. “Please, let me go home.” Lacy stepped through the hole, once again blacking out.
Chapter 7
Lacy awoke to a wooded area. She noticed a sign that said “The Weeping Woods”. “Where am I? Am I home?” Standing up she followed a trail marked that led to a camping area. She saw multiple benches and what seemed like a campfire that was put out. She continued along the path seeing a fire watch tower in the distance. “Maybe that place has people”. Continuing to the tower she could hear someone crying from a distance. Lacy kept pushing on the trail until she reached the bottom of the watch tower. The stairs felt endless as Lacy could hear the hissing of a radio coming from the room on top.She noticed that one of the stairs as well as the railing was damaged. Lacy skipped that step in fear of it breaking. Reaching the top everything felt nauseatingly small. She could see a light moving in the distance. The light moved erratically as if it was a person holding a flashlight, running away from something. Lacy turned to the watch room and noticed that the lights were on and someone was trying to reach the radio in the room. Pulling open the door she walked up to the radio and as she tried to contact the person on the other side, the radio shut off. Turning to examine the rest of the room Lacy noticed another tape recorder. Grabbing the recorder she pressed play.
I managed to kill the smiling man. I don’t know what it has done to me emotionally. It seemed so easy at the time. I told myself that the man was a beast. Anyway, I awoke in a forest, I found a path and followed it until I found a woman. The woman was sitting in the middle of the path. She was wearing a white dress that was covered in dirt. I could not see her face, but I could hear her. She was crying and her body looked frail. As I got closer I noticed her hair was long enough to cover her entire face. She asked me a question. “Have you seen Kevin?” I had no answer. Fear took over every part of my body. I could feel my muscles start to ache at the thought of having to run from this girl. A loud growl came from the girl. It shaked my very soul. I managed to escape to her. I made my way to the watch room where I will rest for a while. To whoever finds this tape, you know what you have to do.
Lacy put the recorder down. Looking out of the window she saw the light continue to move in the forest before it stopped. As Lacy turned to leave the watch room. The light disappeared.
Chapter 8
Walking along the path that the light she saw was on, Lacy couldn't help but see the image of the girl the Crawford had described in her head. Looking at the knife she still had, she knew there was only one way to get out of this forest. Along the trail Lacy found the light source that she had seen. It belonged to a man that was lying still on the floor. His flashlight was still on. “Hey, are you alright?” Lacy asked the body. Turning the body over Lacy stepped back in horror. The man's body was pale and looked shriveled. Lacy brushed the fear off and picked up his flashlight. As Lacy picked it up she heard a voice from behind her. “Have you seen Kevin?” Fear erupted in Lacy as the words were familiar to her. Remembering the recorder she slowly stood up before turning around to face the being. The girl was exactly as described in the tape. Except for one detail. She had a wedding veil on. “I don’t know who Kevin is, I'm sorry” Lacy said the first thing that came to her mind, instantly regretting it. The girl opened her mouth at an angle that rivaled pythons. A ghastly wail rang out of her mouth, ringing Lacys ears. Without hesitation Lacy plunged the knife into the girl's neck. Pulling it out the wailing did not cease. It didn't affect her. Lacy turned to run, almost tripping over the body of the man. As Lacy was running the girl was on all fours crawling towards her at a faster pace than any normal person could crawl. She looked like an animal. Lacy noticed that the girl was no longer screaming, but was crying. The tears were blood red and she looked sympathetic to Lacy. Running past the trees Lacy looked for an answer to the problem that was crawling behind her. Trying to listen over the sound of her own breathing and the crying of the girl behind her, she heard the sound of a river flowing in the distance. Running towards the sound of the river, Lacy tripped over a log tumbling to the ground. Almost in an instant the girl climbed on top of her. Her eyes met Lacy as her mouth opened in the same disgusting manner that it had before and just as her mouth opened the same way as it had before, the same sound erupted as well. Lacy felt her blood boil at the sound, feeling her life leaving her body. In a final attempt to free herself she freed her hand and stuck the knife directly into the girl's mouth. The girl’s scream stopped and turned into a painful yelp rather than an angry roar. Lacy used the moment to kick the girl off of her and got up to run. As she began to run the girl grabbed her leg, piercing her skin with her nails. Lacy pushed through and kept running. As Lacy was running she turned her head around to see the girl just sitting there, crying. Lacy got a fair distance away and began walking to regain strength. Finally making it to the river, she stopped to drink. Lacy made a sudden realization. She wasn't thirsty. After everything she had been through she was not thirsty at all. Not only was she not thirsty, but she was not hungry either. “I have to come up with a plan”. Lacy understood the rules of this strange place. Something has to die in order for one of those holes to appear. “But I saw that guy's body, why wasn’t there a hole there? No, these beings, Larson, The Smiling Man, This girl, they don’t get to leave. That’s why Crawford said you know what you have to do. The holes appear when the beings in these places die. The girl has to die for a hole to appear.” Lacy was talking outloud, it made her feel less alone. As Lacy was washing the blood off of her she looked into the river. She could see the moon in the reflection as well as her face. Looking into her eyes she noticed a drop hit the river. Looking at the other side of the river. She saw the girl crouching down, looking directly at Lacy with her blood red eyes.
Chapter 9
The river wasn’t wide. It would take the girl less than 5 seconds to cross. Lacy had to think fast. Her mind was racing as the girl just sat there and watched her. An idea popped into her head. The watchtower. Almost supernaturally, as Lacy had the idea the girl lounged towards her. Lacy dodged out of the way and broke into a sprint hearing the girl crying and crawling after her. After what felt like hours of running and having this thing chase after her, she made it to the tower. The girl was crawling after her, looking like an alligator chasing its prey. Stepping onto the steps Lacy felt her legs start to give up. She pushed on, her muscles burning. Turning her head she saw the girl crawling up the stairs. Lacy’s heart was racing as her body needed to rest or it would shut down. “Where is Kevin?” The girl screamed for the first time since she had begun chasing Lacy. Lacy could feel her body giving up and just as she passed the broken step, her legs collapsed. Lacy layed on the steps as the girl crawled up the steps towards her. The girl was crawling slower now that she had seen Lacy was on the ground. Lacy continued backing up on the stairs. Just as the girl was about to lounge at Lacy she put her hand on the broken step. Seeing this Lacy kicked the broken step causing it to break. The girl lost her footing and Lacy pushed her off of the balcony. The girl fell from the immense height of the tower. Lacy took the moment to just lay on the steps. Hours passed as Lacy rested. She mustered up enough strength to go down the stairs. At the bottom of the tower she found the body of the girl. She looked as if all of her bones were broken. Her eyes were open and Lacy could see the blood pooling in them. Lacy became nauseous at the sight of her body. Looking to the left she saw a hole. A hole that was all too familiar with her. Lacy collected her thoughts. “This has to end” Stepping through the hole, only one thing was in her mind. This has to end.
Chapter 10
Lacy woke up to the sound of snow falling. The room that she was in was warm. A fire was crackling in the corner of the room. Looking out of the window of the house she saw a massive snow storm that affected her vision to see past the tree line. Lacy examined her surroundings and saw a normal looking room. In the middle was a couch. Just looking at the couch made Lacy tired. Walking around the cabin she noticed the room looked untouched, unlike every other place she had been in. Sitting down on the couch Lacy's eyes became heavy as she began to fall asleep. Just as she was about to pass out a loud bugle of an elk erupted. Lacy ran to the window to see where it was. As she looked outside it seemed as if the storm had stopped for just a second. As the snow ceased, an elk poked through the tree line. Its eyes were looking directly at Lacy. Just as fast as it disappeared, the snow storm erupted. “You’re a failure Lacy.” A voice swept through the cabin. It sounded familiar. “You killed her you know” Lacy placed the voice. It was her father. Lacy’s mind was racing. How did he get here? Why was he saying this? Where was he? And her last thought, Was this really him? The elk bugle rang throughout the cabin again. “I pitied you” The voice was Collin. Lacy searched the windows of the house trying to find the origin of the voices she was hearing. “Everyone hates you” Lacy stepped towards the door reaching for the handle. A sudden and intense fear brushed over her. Lacy felt that if she opened that door, whatever was telling her these things would take her life. Stepping away from the door she heard the Elk bugle again. “Why did you leave me Lacy?” The voice was her father again. This time it sounded as if he was crying. “I told you I needed you and you left. After everything I sacrificed for you, after all of the times I had to go to that school to bail you out. This is how you repay me.” Lacy could feel her emotions boiling inside of her. Everything that was being said was true in a sense so Lacy was letting it affect her more than anything else ever had. She could feel tears running down her face. “I'm trying to get back to you dad, I just don't know how.” Lacy looked towards the window and saw the Elk. It had gotten closer to the cabin. The snow had calmed down. The Elk opened its mouth and spoke in the voice of her father. “You won’t make it out of this place alive Lacy”.
Chapter 11
Looking into the eyes of the Elk, Lacy’s blood ran cold. Her mind was racing. Animals can’t talk but yet this Elk just looked her in the eyes and spoke in the voice of her father as well as other people she knew. The snow had ceased tremendously compared to when she had first appeared in the cabin. Lacy worked up the courage to ask the Elk a question. “What do you want from me?” The Elk did not reply, instead it turned to the tree line and left. Remembering the rules of this place, Lacy understood that the Elk had to die. The question was how she was going to accomplish that. Lacy gathered enough courage to open the door to examine her surroundings. Outside of the cabin was a blanket of blinding snow. The sun was high in the sky blinding Lacy. Before Lacy went back inside she noticed a wooden stump sticking out of the snow. Sticking out of the stump was an axe. Lacy slammed the door shut and closed the latch. Lacy knew that the dull kitchen knife she had wouldn’t be able to handle an elk, but an axe would. Lacy began to plan a way to get to the Elk. She took notice of certain aspects that the Elk had. Every time it made the bugle noise, it would change voices. The closer it got, the more the snowstorm would calm. Lacy had to play its game until it got close enough to the axe so that she could reach the axe before it could reach her. The elk bugle sounded again. “You really think that anyone thought you could accomplish anything.”. It was her teacher. Lacy peered out of the window. The snow had ceased ever so slightly. Lacy could see the silhouette of the elk near the same spot it was in before. “What do you think, we cared about you? We pitied you and your pitiful existence.” Lacy began to brush off the sentences coming from the elk's mouth. Lacy was contemplating if the axe play was the way to move further. The bugle went off again. “Lacy” the voice was the smiling man. The smiling man was a recent memory to Lacy. This elk had to know who she was to be able to know who he was. Lacy looked out of the window. The elk was watching her. This time Lacy saw it make the awful sound she had continued to hear. Instead of a voice she had heard. It was a voice that was unfamiliar to her. “Why fight it child. Why fight what you truly are. Why fight human nature? Why fight reality? Do you truly think you can escape? Do you truly believe that you will see your father again? Do you believe that you have people to rely on in this place? Do you truly believe that God is with you here? You have no chance. Smite me down if you must. HOPE SHOULD BE ABANDONED IN THIS PLACE” Lacy brushed off every word that was said. Rushing to the door she threw it open. Running through the snow. She reached the axe. It was a standard fire axe with a yellow handle and black blade. It wasn't heavy to her, it had to be adrenaline. Rushing towards the elk it did not fight back. She plunged the axe head into the elk's skull. Blood rushed out of the wound, covering Lacy. The elk fell to the floor with a booming thud. As Lacy stared at the body of the animal lying in the snow, a hole appeared behind her. Lacy had to believe that there was an end to this. She stepped through the hole. With a new found axe.

ALL TIME PICK RECORD: 223-156 (verified on my instagram finzchatsmma)
LAST WEEK: 5-7 (ouch)
PRELIMS
SW W Bout: Emily Ducote v. Vanessa Demopoulos
Records: 13-8 v. 10-5
Last 5 Fights: WLLWW v. WLWWW

• Ducote is coming off a win against Ashley Yoder who was coming off a 2 year layoff herself
• Emily throws with a lot of power but often finds herself getting outvolumed in earlier rounds - she debatably lost RD1 against Yoder but almost got a late round finish with how she pushed the pace
• Against Hill and Loopy, she was kept on the backfoot and was getting outworked by both of them - not bad losses considering those are two elite/crafty strawweights
• Ducote has excellent TD defense as well - the only bad thing is she sometimes leaves openings on the break of a takedown - both loopy and Angela clipped Ducote a couple times on the exit
• Vanessa has a big reach disadvantage in nearly every fight she has fought in, but she was able to record a clean knockdown on Maria Oliviera who had a 10+ inch reach advantage, so I don’t think this matters too much
• One thing about Vanessa is her reach is a$$, so she is absorbing way more strikes than a normal strawweight would - but then you look at Ducote, and she somehow absorbs even more (vanessa 5 to ducote’s 7)
• Ducote lands double the strikes Vanessa does and Ducote’s only UFC losses have been to high caliber competition who have been able to outland her
• I don’t envision Vanessa getting a takedown which is her main path to victory - she does have some punching power but Emily is way more accurate and lands bigger shots
• Vanessa has a chance to get Emily out early since she’s a slow starter, but I think Emily has what it takes to finish the fight here
• Vanessa is debatably on a 2 fight losing streak and the one impressive win she had, she was knocked down very early, so...
• For betting purposes, I think I am staying far away

PICK: Emily Ducote by RD3 TKO
BW Bout: Alatengheili v. Kleydson Rodriguez
Records: 16-9-2 v. 8-3
Last 5 Fights: LWWDL v. LWLWW

• 1st thing I like to examine is if either fighter has been chinned: Alatengheili has been chinned 3 times, all outside the UFC, to varying levels of opponents; Kleydson has yet to suffer a KO loss
• I rate Alatengheili’s win over Chad Anheliger more than anyone on Kleydson’s resume
• Kleydson has had one convincing win and it was a KO against Shannon Ross - who hasn’t knocked out Shannon Ross? - The other win on DWCS was a complete mismatch as he had a 5 inch reach advantage, and his opponent finished his pro career with a record of 6-4 after that.
• Alan hasn’t broken 50 sig strikes landed in any of his 7 UFC bouts - he throws with power as evidenced in his RD1 KO over Kevin Croom - he had a near 10 inch reach disadvantage in that bout as well
• Both men will utilize takedowns if they feel they can win a round with them - they don’t land many and aren’t good at controlling
• To properly handicap Kleydson, we can only really look at his bout against CJ Vergara since that’s the only one with no shenanigans
• In that bout, he was off to a face start, but time and time again I am seeing that if he is on the backfoot, he is not having a good time
• Kleydson is not good at fending off takedowns, but he is good at reversing positions on bottom at the expense of a lot of energy
• Alan’s main paths to victory are going to be shoot for takedowns and pressure Kleydson as much as he can
• I think alat can definitely do this - in fights he has lost, he finds moments of success - against Gutierrez, he got lit up with leg kicks for 12 minutes and then almost found a knock out against the cage
• Kleydson’s only path to win here is a knockout early - I think Alat has more paths to victory if he can mix in wrestling and continue his forward pressure throughout the fight, leading to a late round finish or a decision victory
• For betting purposes, I do like the idea of a unit on Alatengheili

PICK: Alatengheili by UD
SW W Bout: Piera Rodriguez v. Ariane Carnelossi
Records: 9-1 v. 14-3
Last 5 Fights: LWWWW v. LWWLW

• Both women have not fought in a year, and Ariane hasn’t fought in 2 years since her loss to Loopy Godinez
• Carnelossi doesn’t handle takedowns well - she has an 8% TD defense - she was taken down 8 times by Godinez and THREE times by LIANG NA THE GOAT
• In the defense of Ariane, she did suffer a knee injury in the first round which left her wide open for takedowns, but surrendering 3 to liang na is not a good look
• Piera, on the other hand, has landed takedowns on every opponent she has faced thus far and averages over 3 per contest
• Another thing to note - Carnelossi’s 2 UFC wins have come against winless UFC competitors - Nunes and Liang have ZERO UFC victories
• Piera lands more volume than Carnelossi and I think she will be able to have her way on the feet
• I have yet to be impressed by a full Carnelossi performance: she did do well against Nunes but she was rocked by Liang in RD1 and was controlled for a decent amount of time
• On the feet, I’d say the striking is very similar although I give the slight edge to Piera
• Carnelossi can also go for her own takedowns here, but Piera has done decent against women who chase TDs on her
• She did get tapped out by Gillian Robertson but I will chalk that up as an exception since Gillian is an elite BJJ practitioner
• Ultimately, I see more paths to victory for Piera - she can clip Ariane, fend off her takedowns, and get takedowns of her own
• Ariane can win by amassing control time and landing a lucky punch, but I don’t envision that happening
• Plus, Piera has been in multiple close fights that were debatably 1-1 after 2 rounds, and she has come out on top in Round 3 in all of them
• If you want to take a dog shot here, not the worst idea - this fight will more than likely be 1-1 heading into RD3 and anything can happen in low level WMMA, especially considering Ariane has been on the shelf for a while and could have been improving her game in that time
• For betting purposes, it’s dog or pass so I am passing

PICK: Piera Rodriguez by Unanimous Decision
MW Bout: Abus Magomedov v. Warlley Alves
Records: 25-6-1 v. 14-7
Last 5 Fights: LLWWW v. LLLWL

• Both fighters are coming off of short losing streaks, but both fighters were dominated in those fights by their opponents
• Abus is hard to predict - we’ve only seen him in 3 ufc bouts - he got a quick KO finish over Dustin Stoltzfus who had never been KO’d prior, a KO loss to Sean Strickland who simply outworked and put a pace on him, and a decision loss to Caio Borralho
• In that loss to Caio, we learned a lot - Abus is RD1 KO or bust and for him to be -200+ is crazy even knowing his opponent is chinny and has been finished a bunch
• Now let’s look at the Alves side - he has lost 5 of his last 7 and got finished in 4 of those losses - KO’d by Ikram at MW, split decision loss to Dalby at WW which he debatably won, KO loss to Jeremiah Wells where he debatably won RD1, triangle choke loss to Randy Brown where he won RD1 clearly, and a KO loss to James Krause where he was simply outclassed
• Alves has not performed well when he has the reach disadvantage, and he has a 6 inch reach disadvantage against Abus and will be significantly smaller
• It will be fun to see the leg kicks in this fight - both guys love to fire them at will and both have had successful KOs from their kicks
• If I was coaching Alves to win, the blueprint to beat Abus is simple - gas him out with clinch work and takedown attempts and hunt for a late round finish - Abus gasses in every fight we’ve seen that extends past the 1st
• I give Alves the wrestling advantage here - Magomedov might be Dagestani but he’s shot for only 1 takedown in his 3 UFC bouts and was unsuccessful - he shot for 0 against Borralho in a fight he was getting clipped on the feet
• Alves is chinny so backing him is a mega concern but backing Abus is equally as dumb especially at -295
• Both Alves and Magomedov are super active in RD1, so if this somehow extends beyond that, Alves is a worthy live bet
• I am predicting either a RD1 KO from Abus, or a RD3/Decision finish from Alves
• For betting purposes, I’d much rather bet the under 1.5 rds than I would a bet on either guy to win

PICK: Abus Magomedov by RD1 KO
BW W Bout: Tamires Vidal v. Melissa Gatto
Records: 7-2 v. 8-2-2
Last 5 Fights: LWWWW v. LLWWW

• The narrative for this fight is Gatto is looking for a bounce back and Vidal is the perfect opponent to get that win
• This is actually a move up in weight for Gatto - her last fight was canceled after weigh ins so rather than cutting weight again, she is fighting at BW for the 1st time in her UFC run
• Gatto seemingly possesses all the upside here - she has the takedown edge, she is better at fending off takedowns, and she has the power edge with 2 UFC KO wins compared to Vidal’s one
• Off of stats alone, you would think this fight is going to be razor close since their outputs are nearly identical
• Getting out struck by Montserrat Rendon isn’t the best look for Vidal, but Rendon fights a much different way than Gatto - she is more grindy and clinchy whilst Gatto is more in your face
• Watching the Rendon fight, it is clear what Vidal’s strategy is - she is going to pound low leg kicks until her opponent puts her hands down, then she is going to fire overhangs off of leg kick feints
• Against Rendon, this did not work - Rendon countered nearly every low kick with a cross and got multiple takedowns off of Vidal’s leg kicks
• The Gatto side isn’t super trustworthy in this matchup - when she gets taken down, she is willing to stay in guard for a long time while she fishes for subs
• If this fight hits the ground, I think a finish will soon come after
• I give Gatto the power edge, the grappling edge, and the takedown edge - I believe she can clip Vidal on the way in and get the fight to the mat, leading to a submission victory
• For betting purposes, I like this fight to end in sub

PICK: Melissa Gatto by RD2 Submission
LHW Bout: Oumar Sy v. Tuco Tokkos
Records: 9-0 v. 10-3
Last 5 Fights: WWWWW v. WWWLW

• This fight was put together this week so it’s hard to give a full handicap but I will try my best
• After suffering a KO defeat to Mingyang Zhang in the Road to UFC as a -600 favorite, Tuco went on a 3 fight win streak: decision win against a 3-2 guy, and back to back TKO victories over guys with 1-7 and 19-10 records - his record is insanely inflated
• Oumar has a relatively simple gameplan - get this fight to the mat as quickly as possible - he is a big position over submission guy so you won’t see him chasing finishes on the ground super often
• He is willing to get a sub, and he willing to get a ground and pound TKO, and he is willing to back mount for 15 minutes en route to a decision victory
• Looking at the tape, Tokkos can so easily get his back taken and has let opponents do this such as Clayton York
• I don’t think Oumar is chinny, and Tokkos’s main win condition is going to be an early KO which I don’t see him finding
• Oumar by sub is a risky play considering he is all 3 paths to victory, but I like it when you factor in Tokkos’ proclivity to being taken down by higher level wrestlers
• For betting purposes, I really like Oumar as a parlay piece

PICK: Oumar Sy by RD1 Submission
LW Bout: Tom Nolan v. Victor Martinez
Records: 6-1 v. 13-5
Last 5 Fights: LWWWW v. LWWWW

• Tom Nolan as a -500 favorite is absolutely crazy to me considering his only UFC performance was a 30 second KO loss, so I am going to try to do everything in my power to look for fade material in this writeup
• Well, I didn’t get far. Martinez is coming off of a KO loss to Jordan Leavitt, who only has one other KO victory in his career (by a slam)
• There’s nothing on tape that would show Martinez is chinny - his KO loss was a knee to the body, and his only other KO loss was his 1st professional fight
• Prior to his KO loss, Nolan was on a 6 fight win streak and a 4 fight KO streak
• Ok - I have seen enough
• Martinez was nearly KO’d in his DWCS fight in RD1 and somehow managed a comeback
• Nolan is getting a quick finish here or he is going to get finished trying - I will take my chances on him though
• For betting purposes, Nolan by KO is a worthy read

PICK: Tom Nolan by RD1 KO
MAIN CARD
SW W Bout: Angela Hill v. Luana Pinheiro
Records: 16-13 v. 11-2
Last 5 Fights: WLWWL v. LWWWW

• Can’t really handicap this fight based on stats - Angela Hill been in the UFC for eons it feels like and she is an aging fighter who has liked somewhat decent in her recent fights
• On the feet, I give Luana the power edge - she loves throwing overhands and hooks and throws with vicious intent
• In her fight against Michelle Waterson, she was losing rounds via points until she would clip Michelle with a big shot, thus swinging the round in her favor
• Luana doesn’t throw with much volume, but when she lands, she draws a big reaction which is key for the judges especially in WMMA when the rounds are separated by a razor thin margin
• The question is is Angela Hill the type to get rocked like this? I think not
• Angela is going to turn this into a grindy type fight - she definitely has the fight IQ to win a fight like this
• Angela’s last fight against Denise Gomez is a very good one to rewatch since Luana and Denise share similar characteristics in the fact that they both throw with heat early and they both gas as the fight wanes on
• In Hill’s losses, she was either getting taken down a lot or was outvolumed on the feet - Luana doesn’t throw with high volume so don’t see that happening - Luana does average over 2 TDs per fight but she’s not a high level wrestler like that and I see Angela having more success in that department as well
• Hard to make a pick here - I think Luana will throw the bigger shots, but I also think Angela can grind out Luana along the fence and point strike her way to a very close decision victory
• For betting purposes, I like the over 2.5 rds, but I think this should be a fade

PICK: Angela Hill by Split Decision
BW Bout: Adrian Yanez v. Vinicius Salvador
Records: 16-5 v. 14-6
Last 5 Fights: LLWWW v. LLWWW

• This card seems to be full of fighters looking to get right after a bad loss, or fighters the UFC is trying to prop up giving them a can to defeat
• This is one of those fights
• Yanez is on a 2 fight losing streak after having big jump ups in competition: he lost to Rob Font by getting absolutely destroyed from his jab, and he lost to Jonathan Martinez by getting absolutely destroyed with leg kicks
• We have seen Yanez in a UFC branded octagon 8 times, and NOT ONE of those fights included a takedown - he wasn’t, nor did he shoot for one and succeed
• Salvador, on the other hand, shot for 2 takedowns against CJ Vergara and landed zero, and he shot for 6 takedowns on Victor Altamarino and landed 1
• For all intensive purposes, this fight is going to stay standing, and Yanez has excelled on the feet against lower level competition
• It is interesting to note: of his 8 ufc bouts, 3 of them were a 1st round KO victory
• Against Randy Costa, he lost RD1 before getting a liver shot KO in RD2
• Against Davey Grant, he arguably lost 2 rounds before winning a split decision
• Salvador has had one impressive performance and it was a KO win against Shannon Ross, and who hasn’t KO’d Shannon Ross
• Watching the tape on his fights against CJ and Altamarino, you can see a couple of things: he does badly against guys that mix in TDs (Yanez will not), and he throws with vicious intent just like Yanez. If he has you pressed against the cage, you better bite down on the mouthpiece and hope for success.
• Salvador is also moving up a weight class so his chin might be better and he may have more power
• Ultimately, I’ve always thought of Yanez as having Top-15 level talent, and I cannot expect him to lose here
• For betting purposes, I may throw Yanez in a parlay or simply bet this fight to end in KO

PICK: Adrian Yanez by RD2 KO
WW Bout: Ramiz Brahimaj v. Themba Gorimbo
Records: 10-4 v. 12-4
Last 5 Fights: WLWLW v. WWLWL

• Pretty simple to breakdown Braimaj - he has 10 wins, all by submission, and 3 losses by decision, and the 1 ko loss he has could have went to a decision but his ear was falling off so the doctor had to step in - he also has not fought since 2022 whilst Themba has been super active in the UFC recently and has shown huge improvements fight to fight
• In fights that stay standing, Brahimaj has been pummeled - he barely shot for a takedown against Max Griffin and was brutalized on the feet for 3 rounds until the ref stepped in for his ear
• We know Ramiz’s game, but does Themba have the tools to expose Ramiz’ weaknesses and negate his strengths?
• Well, Themba has 2 Guillotine losses on his record - it is concerning how he keeps his neck out there to be taken when he shoots for a takedown
• I am hoping Themba has improved his FIGHT IQ since his Fletcher fight since he has a new team and new camp - if he shoots for takedowns, he might be cooked with a Ramiz gilly
• Themba recorded a nasty knockdown on Takashi Soto in their bout - I see this fight going similarly
• Themba losing by gilly is the only way I see him losing - if he goes in for a lazy takedown perhaps
• Outside of that, Themba has KO power shown in his most recent performance, has striking ability shown in his Soto performance, and has sub/back mount ability, which has been shown in all his UFC fights thus far
• For betting purposes, I really like Themba as a straight pick

PICK: Themba Gorimbo by RD2 KO
WW Bout: Khaos Williams v. Carlston Harris
Records: 14-3 v. 19-5
Last 5 Fights: WLWWL v. WWLWW

• On the surface, this appears to be a striker v. grappler matchup, but I wouldn’t go so far as to say that - Carlston definitely has hands outside of his elite grappling - Khaos, yeah, he’s mainly a striker
• If this fight stays standing, I give Khaos the slight edge - he doubles Carlston’s output and 3 KO victories compared to Carlston’s 1
• Wathcing over his last few fights - Khaos fights in a very particular manner - he charges in with a flurry of power shots and is willing to get point fought to a decision if he doesn’t land a KO blow
• He has a split loss to Randy Brown which was super close, and it was only close because of the occasional power shot Khaos landed
• He has a decision win against Bodoya in a fight I could have seen him lose, but his big power flurries are what got him the W
• He is very good at fending off takedowns as he fended off 4 of Randy Brown’s attempts and 2 of Bodoya’s, but we also haven’t seen him tested against elite wrestlers (Carlston is not an elite wrestler, mind you)
• Now looking at Harris - not the best striker but he has excellent clinch work if he gets close and excellent BJJ if the fight somehow hits the mat
• One thing I noticed in his Wells fight - he got dominated for 2 rounds and nearly subbed, but it wasn’t because he was taken down - rather, he kinda almost threw himself at the ground and Wells followed him
• Against Gooden, he showcased his clinch work and showed he has pretty good takedowns
• This is a match of question marks: We haven’t really seen Khaos’ grappling/wrestling on display yet, and we haven’t seen what happens if Carlston Harris is forced to stand and abandon his wrestling for 3 rounds
• If we’re going by paths to victory, it’ll be a long night for Harris if he can’t get a takedown
• Khaos I think just has more ways to win: he can get the knockout since we’ve seen Harris recently chinned; he can get the decision victory if he outlanding Harris as well
• BUT... after reviewing Khaos v Michel Pereira, how on earth can you pick this man?
• Pereira landed takedowns at will and nearly got a RNC on khaos - if harris gets into similar spots, it should be wraps
• For betting purposes, I really like Carlston as a straight pick

PICK: Carlston Harris by RD2 Sub
FeathW Bout: Edson Barboza v. Lerone Murphy
Records: 24-11 v. 13-0-1
Last 5 Fights: WWLLW v. WWWWW

• We find ourselves in the main event and this one is fairly straightforward to break down, not straightforward to provide a pick
• Barboza is coming off back to back wins, one a KO on Billy Q and another a 5 round decision victory over Sodiq
• Against Sodiq, he was nearly KO’d in the 1st, but then he himself almost got Sodiq KO’d later in the bout
• Edson is a super dangerous striker - you didn’t need me to tell you that - the issue he’s had in his career has been not being able to beat the upper echelon of fighters in his weight class
• Edson has recorded knockdown in nearly ALL of his past 10 fights, having 1 in at least 6 of them, even in fights he wound up losing
• Edson does have trouble with the takedown, but I rate Murphy’s wrestling similarly to Sodiq’s - I picked Sodiq in that fight for this reason but Edson turned it up to a whole ‘nother level as the fight progressed
• We have yet to see Murphy compete in a 5 rounder, but we have also not seen Murphy get super tired in the 3 rounders he’s fought in
• Both guys are proven finishers with multiple KO victories, but both guys have also shown abilities to grind out close decision victories - although Barboza often finds himself on the losing side if a fight sees the scorecards
• The level of competition is not comparable - Lerone Murphy’s best wins are against guys that are no longer in the UFC, and even the guys that are, they aren’t the best level
• Lerone leaves so many openings on the feet - Edson’s unique striking is going to give him issues IMO
• Edson does have a chin issue - this is the only concern - he was wobbled and nearly finished by Sodiq in RD1, and Sodiq isn’t known for his striking like that
• Edson was also knocked down twice by Giga and even once by Bryce Mitchell of all people
• Edson is also aging so that could be a factor here, but ultimately, how do you not side with the guy who’s been on a recent career resurgence AND the guy who has fought the higher level of competition AND the guy who has been in 5 rounders before?
• For paths to victory, they both have KO and decision, so can’t really use that to predict either - but Murphy may have a sub path even though he has 0 wins by that method - in his Culibao fight, he nearly got a RNC from his wrestling
• I have seen Murphy wobbled before, and I wouldn’t be shocked to see an Edson finish
• BUT - I have also seen Edson wobbled and KO’d by lesser competition, and I have seen Murphy utilize his grappling before
• For betting purposes, I like Lerone Murphy straight up - his win conditions are too volatile in this matchup

PICK: Lerone Murphy by Unanimous Decision

Had root canal done on bottom back second to last molar with double nerve. Crown was put on. Food gets stuck every single time so I floss after each meal. Dentist told me it was fine. Well, that dentist ended up disappearing so had to get new one.
Had popcorn and that tooth was hurting so went to dentist after few days. Gums sore and sore crown area when biting down. Sinus and ear is stuffy with minor headache daily. No surprise there was bad infection. Put on antibiotic. They said pull it or possibly retreat but tooth is loose already. Also have second molar, last one other side that needs retreatment and crown. Maybe even a pull.
My insurance doesnt cover root canals, crowns, or bone grafts. I cant afford $10,000 in dental out of pocket and cant get loans. Crazy that my insurance covers it if under age 21, but they wont past 21.
The nearest covered endodontist is hours drive and only examination is covered anyway.
I dont know what to do at this point. Im scared of serious issues or even death from teeth issues and not being able to afford.
Right now, Im privleged to have a nice smile and dont want to lose if I cant get bone graft and implant because drifting issues will occur.
I dont smoke/chew/vape or drink. I floss multiple times a day and brush 1-2x a day. My enamel was stripped during pregnancy and teeth had issues since then.
Is there options I dont know about or advice you can give? I dont even know how long I have to decide what to do or try to get some money.

But of context i guess I (14f) and my brother (17m) had a pretty shitty upbringing we had an abusive dad my parents divorced when I we were both too young to really remember my dad was never very violent but he was very emotional abusive I stopped seeing and talking to my dad when I was 7 due to a lot of reasons but that’s a different rant anyway after that my mum dated another abusive man he never really hit me but he did hit/ attack my brother a few times he more emotionally abused me my mum left him in November 2019 and ever since it’s just been us three my brother is very strong he’s only 5’9 but still a good bit taller than me and he’s a boxer me but I can hit a good punch as well we always argued and fought as kids but it was never really that violent kinda more pushing and wrestling anyway I’m not exactly sure when it started but I remember a few times he said some pretty shitty things to me and did some pretty shit things starting from 2020 when I was 10 my mum bought me this little short set it had a cropped hoodie that was black and shorts that were black I wore a black vest underneath and when my brother saw me in it called me a whore when he was 13 (I turned 14 recently and would never imagine saying that to a 10 year old or even thinking that about a 10 year old) and said that all I’m ever gonna be in life is a one time use for some one like Jeffery epstine this hurt me but like whatever he made me full on sob free he repeated called me autistic and “special” for over an hour and saying I was a mistake I’m not exactly sure when the violence started but I remember one time I think I was 11 he wanted the remote and I didn’t give it to him so he punched me in the face took the remote it hurt like fuck so I was crying and he told my mum I was crying because he took the remote and didn’t tell her he punched me I got called dramatic and emotional then whenever we would have a disagreement he started turning violent like basically squaring up to me if we were arguing in the car he would jump over from the front seat while my mum was driving and hit me like full on multiple shots to the face and trust me I’ve had enough punches to know they hurttttt! Like ur face and body is sore for days like multiple days when I came out as bisexual and asked to use she/they he called me a mistake and told me I’d be better off dead he called me a bunch of slurs and different shit and that went on for quite a while he doesn’t care anymore tho whenever we argue or if I do things like make a small mistake he will call me really shitty things say I’d be better dead tell me to kill myself say that he’s gonna kill me his favourite move is to chase me about the house and when I go to my room and push it shut basically push it in and hit me over small disagreements he’s basically reason why I’m insecure about a lot of things because he just basically calls every part of me ugly I think the thing recently is that he’s 17 he’s 18 in December he’s learning how to drive and like he’s too old for this bs like yk and I’m done with it in December we went to Cuba I’m Scottish and Scottish parents tend to be quite loose especially on holiday one night I get a bit too drunk and my mum tells me brother to take me home when I say too drunk I mean I am black out and the whole time we’re walking he’s saying shit to me and all this bs at the time I’m 13 and he’s 17 anyway when we get in I get very angry cause he went out for a smoke and I thought ogiht he had left me completely so very drunk me finds his favourite football shirt gets shampoo and put’s shampoo or body wash all over it I can’t really remember when he comes in he sees this and he goes mental he chases me to my room and hits me and then I’m on the bed and he starts choking me while punching the shit out of me eventually I get him out and I lock the door but he spends the full night outside the door calling me ever single name under the sun yeah I get I shouldn’t of done that but it was only body wash it comes out the next morning I wake up with some pretty nasty bruises and some marks on my neck the worse one was on my leg were he kicked me a couple times and it bruised purple for like 2 weeks the next day he acts like nothing happened like he always does somtimes I wonder if he genuinely doesn’t see a problem with his behaviour a few months later we’re arguing outside about somthing stupid and he shuved me hard I rarely hit him back when he does this shit but I told him “I’m gonna fucking hit you” he gets in my face and says “who the fuck do you think ur speaking to” he turns around I hit him in the r head so hard that his head went forward and his airpod fell out the other side he turns around and hits me 4/5 times in the face and a couple body hits we argue I go back inside he shouts for a bit but we move on today he squared up to me over something small and I told him to fuck off he chases me to my room my mum comes over he sorts it out and I tell her “I’m fucking done with this I’m not gonna live on eggshells because I’m scared of my own brother” and she’s like “I’ll talk to him” this pisses me off I’m like “no you’ve said that for the last three years if you don’t sort him out the next time he hits me or tires to I’m gonna fucking kill him I mean it” she talks to him he starts shouting at her and I’m like this can’t be normal surley but the thing is that when he’s not like this he’s a really good brother so it’s hard to not forgive him I’m so angry right now but in an hour he’ll charm his way into me forgiving him and no matter how hard I try I can’t I actually feel somtimes like he’s an abusive boyfriend that I can’t leave I mean I love my mum and my brother but it’s not like this is enough reason to leave them plus even if it was I have no where to go I have no family that would think what he does is wrong another thing is when my mums talking to me after he pisses me off tryna calm me down he stands behind her smirking trying to piss me off more

I had DI w/ free Nip Grafts at Reformkliniken in Malmö on 18th April! Dr Tuve was my surgeon. I wanted to leave a review here since a few things happened that I wasn't prepared for and maybe this'll help anyone else!
I am from the UK and decided to have surgery privately with Dr Tuve as it was much cheaper than the UK. The cost of the surgery was 65000 SEK which is about £4800.
I flew from Manchester to Copenhagen, and then took a train to Malmö. It wasn't that expensive and very easy to figure out directions in person.
I went for 2 weeks and 4 days so I could go to in person appointments before and after the surgery. I'm also autistic and felt I needed the extra time to ground myself in a new country. I stayed at the Scandic St Jörgen hotel which was only a 5 minute walk from the clinic. Hotels are quite pricey and it has it's pros and cons. Pros - close to clinic, hotel cleaners, free wifi, close to food shops and restaurants, easy to get to train/transport. Cons - more expensive than airbnb, no fridge so had to have takeout a lot, they did a laundry service but it was VERY expensive.
In the end I do think the hotel was right for me and my needs, but I know many others are not as privileged to be able to stay that long in a hotel.
I had my pre op appointment on the 16th, which I was dreading but it went a lot better than I thought it would. Dr Tuve asked me a lot of questions about my gender, how long I've wanted top surgery, is my family accepting, etc. He then examined my chest and asked what kind of results I'd like. He let me get changed before he stepped in which I was grateful for. They asked if I had picked up my prescription (meds needed before surgery), however I hadn't had any notification about this prescription at all. They were very quick to give me a new one, which I collected the next day.
The 18th was surgery day, and I was told to arrive at the clinic at 7am. My partner walked me there, and we said goodbye outside the clinic doors. I had to fill in some paperwork, have an anti bacterial shower, and pee before surgery. I was really nervous for the anesthetic and going under, plus the IV, but it was a lot better than I thought it'd be! The nurse who did my IV was very kind and did it quickly, and it wasn't painful at all. I was called into surgery at around 8:20am. I had to lay on the surgical table, which was honestly the scariest part. The anesthetic took a few minutes and then it all kinda hit and once. It felt like a very deep long nap. I was out of surgery and awake by 12:20pm.
I was very sleepy for a few hours and apparently I sent a lot of videos of me to my partner but I don't remember taking them! They are funny to watch back! I was feeling quite nauseous so out of the food options I had some granola and apple juice. I was offered a sandwich too but that was too much for me. I kept falling in and out of sleep for a bit. The nurse was encouraging me to try go to the toilet, but I was really nauseous. I did end up being sick a lot, it was whenever I sat up. We ended up wheeling me in a wheelchair to the toilet to try pee (which was a success!). I was given some anti nausea meds. Before I left the clinic, the nurse took off my post op binder, nips dressings, and large dressing, and I felt a lot better. I got to see my chest for the first time (my nips were still covered by gauze). It looked really good for the first day! The nurse showed me how to wrap the binder myself and what to do with the nip dressings. He then wrapped me back up, but I immediately threw up which he realised was from the pressure of the large dressing. He decided to take off the large dressing so I was just wrapped with the nip dressings and binder. He only allowed this because I wasn't that swollen!
I left the clinic at 7pm, and my partner picked me up. I was able to walk easily, just sore on top, and I was on a lot of painkillers so it wasn't that bad.
The instructions from my dr was to have a shower daily, antibiotics twice a day, pain meds twice a day, more pain meds can be taken if needed (I did for the first few days). My partner helped me shower the first 3 days as I couldn't really reach anything, but after that I was slowly more independent. We had a shower head we could take off the wall which was very handy and made it a lot easier. I had to sleep on my back, which is quite painful since I had a curved spine, but I found ways to cope with it (pillow under lumbar region, pillow under feet for elevation). I brought a travel pillow and a mastectomy pillow with me. I honestly didn't use the mastectomy pillow for what it was made for, as it hurt to put my arms in the side holes. I used it more to stop myself rolling to the side. The travel pillow is a must. It helped stop a lot of neck pain, and I could fall asleep a lot easier laying on my back with my head surrounded by the travel pillow.
Unfortunately I got really ill on my 4th day post op. I track my periods, and knew one was coming up, so I was already expecting pain the week before (normal for me). This pain was a 10/10, I couldn't move and threw up a lot. We called the clinic and apparently it is normal for surgery to affect periods and cycles. I wasn't expecting anything quite this intense, so I thought I'd leave this in here in case anyone else experiences it! No-one else that I knew that was having top surgery experienced this, but I know I have a lot more intense symptoms of periods normally so this may have contributed to it. Luckily this only lasted 1 day.
The rest of the week was a lot better, and I managed to eat a lot more and do a few more things. I went on daily walks as advised by Dr Tuve, but nothing too far.
On my 9th day post op I had a random allergic reaction. My body really went through it! My face was swollen and red, and I had hives all over my body. We had no idea where it had come from since I was just doing the same stuff as normal, however I am almost certain it is linked to my autism/stress levels (I have had random intense illness related stuff flare up from overstimulation and stress a few times). I was given some antihistamines and they worked slowly over a few days.
On my 12th day I had my post op appointment where a nurse removed the gauze from my nips and any visible stitching from them. I was super nervous going to this appointment as my nips smelt really bad and I was worried they were infected. Luckily all was good ! Apparently I had a small hematoma, but it didn't have fluid so no need to drain. I was instructed to wash my nips 2-3 times a day, have my daily shower as per usual, and change the tape on my insicions once a week. I also had a small bandage gauze I taped to my nips which I had to do til they were dry. My nips were dry by 2 days after this appointment, but I used the small bandages for about a week as I was nervous of the binder causing irritation on my nips. I also had to keep wearing the binder, which I have to do til 4-6 weeks after surgery (depending on how swollen I am).
I flew back home on 2nd May, and it was all good health wise.
Since then, recovery has been good! I'm very happy with my chest. My insicions look super thin and the nips look great too.
Overall, my experience with Dr Tuve and his team was great! Here are my main pros and cons:
Pros - Cheaper and high quality results! - Very lovely nurses and Dr. I felt I was in good hands. - They are happy to answer any questions, post op and pre op. - The clinic is very nice. Felt like I was in a hotel! - You do not need to be on T or have a gender dysphoria diagnosis. These things can help the process, but are absolutely not necessary.
Cons - Most documents were in Swedish and I had to translate them using Google Translate. You can call up the clinic to ask questions, but I am not good with phone calls! - The documents/help sheets aren't super clear on post op care, it is mostly for pre op information - Sometimes a lack of communication, such as with the lost prescription.
I hope this helps anyone!

24F, i am south Asian, I noticed an oval shaped lump in my neck and panicked, it grew sore and made the whole area hurt, because I kept feeling it with my fingers, doesn't hurt anymore but my shoulders are sore as well.
then started noticing more on the other side of neck, two pea sized side by side sore and movable like the other one, then felt soreness under the edge of my jaw felt another sore pea sized one, also one behind my head and sore to touch,
Now am usually anemic due to a thalassemia trait and pcos, but have never felt sore nodes before and my temperature is at 100 in the afternoon, I did get a blood test done and someone pointed that my eosinophils were high around 6 and said its common with EBV, otherwise I only had low HB, now it is suspected EBV even though I never indulged in any intimate activities, and don't go out, my temperature is lower than 30 in the morning and spikes to 100 at night and only stays on the same level,.

Link for all the chapters available here: Engines of Arachnea on Royal Road
Having said his piece, Rene had expected the woman to accept her role as a prisoner of the Fleet. But no sooner had he taken his knee of her back than she was at him again, rolling over and cursing as she tried to spit him on her claws. Training kicked in and Rene applied the wrestling component of his hand-to-hand combat course. He secured underhooks with his arms, locking them together with his hands and hugging her tight from behind. Zildiz bucked and twisted around in a futile attempt to make room for her blades, even managing to get one of her knees beneath her and push off the ground. Rene allowed her to gain her feet, cunningly using the opening to slip the loop of his encircling arms around her waist. Now in complete control of her center of gravity, Rene swung his leg out and arched his back, heaving her up and over like a sack of turnips in a textbook suplex. A fraction of a second before he smashed the top of her skull into the hard ground, he remembered that he was supposed to keep prisoners alive and preferably not in a vegetative state, and so he cushioned the fall with his own body, falling on his side to increase surface area and dissipate the force.
Zildiz was caught totally by surprise. Unlike Rene she had neglected to tuck in her chin before the moment of impact, a vital detail which was one of the first things a recruit was taught to do on the mats.
“Oof!” she said as all the breath slammed out of her by the throw. Rene felt her body go limp as her dazed senses tried to adjust to the violent change of orientation. He took advantage of this moment of weakness and looped his legs around her body, locking his ankles together to form a full body triangle. His left forearm punched up and took her neck in a rear naked choke, a suffocating vise formed by the insides of his elbow crushing her windpipe and carotid arteries.
“I warned you,” he told her. His choking hand grabbed the inside of his other elbow, right forearm sneaking behind her neck and under his armpit, tightening the garrote even further.
“Had enough?”
“Hrrnnkk…” Zildiz choked. She lifted an arm and slid back the blade until it was the length of a finger, deliberately giving Rene the universal gesture to go and fornicate with himself, before sheathing the claw entirely and aiming her fist at him over her shoulder.
Rene ducked as the blade shot out again, only just avoiding it going through his eye socket and into his brain. As it was, it only nicked his temple, sending warm lines of blood trickling down his visor. Rene hugged her even tighter, constricting the chokehold until he heard her breathing reduced to an agonized wheeze. He throttled her until she stopped moving, her struggles weakening until she went completely lax. Then he held the choke for exactly three seconds longer, counting carefully to avoid giving her lasting brain damage. He let go and was relieved to hear her snoring faintly. Gently rolling her onto her back so she didn’t suffocate in the dirt, Rene cast about for a means to secure his prisoner. He had only a few seconds before she regained consciousness. Quickly he cut some vines from the surrounding trees and knotted them into a crude rope. He flipped her back over again and tied her hands at the wrists and elbows. He had no illusions that it would hold her for long. He tied her wings together at their bases for good measure. She had two sets of them, but the larger pair was missing one of its partners that had been torn off at the socket to reveal a gaping wound. They were wondrously tough membranes considering how thin and flexible they were, as sturdy as ultrapod leather. Rene looked over his work and loosened it a bit so as not to cut off the circulation in her arms. It wasn’t bad for something done on the fly. Then again, he’d been playing this whole thing by ear ever since the ambush that had cut his unit to pieces. Ye gods, but that whole experience felt like a lifetime ago. He had not expected to ever use that component of his hand-to-hand training designed for fighting human opponents. Of course, he’d helped put down a fair share of civil unrest in his time, but even during the worst of the food riots in Mound Ulysses he’d never so much as given a person a light shove. The civilians knew better than to antagonize a battalion of the Fleet’s finest over something as routine and reoccurring as a government rationing in the face of crop failure.
He felt quite bad about having to roughhouse the woman, that is, until she sat up awake and glowered hatefully at him, coughing and retching.
“Don’t,” he pleaded with her in exasperation as she gave him the old stink eye, “I don’t want to fight you again.”
“Why?” she spat defiantly, “Afraid you’d lose?”
“Uh huh,” Rene grunted, amused and even a little impressed by her spunk. She couldn’t have weighed more than sixty kilos soaking wet and was at least half a foot shorter than him even with that exomorph of hers, but this woman was all fight and no quit. She would have to be, living on the surface world and facing these abominations day after day. Rene looked at the dismembered corpses of the black-furred devils and had a sudden jolt of inspiration. As Zildiz tested the strength of her restraints Rene went over to the monster he had chopped to bits and poked the misshapen hump on its back, which had excreted thick ribbons of silk at the moment of death. Feeling more than a little squeamish, Rene pulled on the threads of silk. He had only meant to collect two or three meters of the material, but more and more of the stuff kept unwinding out its glands like a handkerchief from a magician’s pocket. Eventually his hands became enmeshed in the horrid stuff and he had to struggle like the dickens to unstick himself and scrape it off onto a bush where it stuck like a lumpy hammock. Remembering how his enemy had plugged the stab wound in its gut, Rene snapped off a twig and curled it into the white mess like those vendors at the fairs did with candy cloud treats, ending up with a spool of silk. He applied it to the cut on his temple by winding it around his head like a bandage, and was gratified when it stopped the bleeding almost immediately. He heard the rustle of dead leaves and turned around to find Zildiz furtively attempting to sidle away from him.
“Don’t even try it,” he told her, “Or I’ll run you down and knock you senseless. I’m taking you back to civilization. The Fleet needs to know what it’s up against out here, and you’re a veritable trove of information.”
Zildiz squatted back down and stared at him, simmering with resentment. Rene shook his head and continued his work, moving on to the monster that had been the first to die at the woman’s hands. Cutting open its hump, Rene was rewarded with a dense lump of thread still packed inside its spinneret. He took another twig and spooled it in, then wrapped the bundle of silk in a large leaf.
A leg twitched of its own accord. Rene nearly dropped the bundle as he sprang back, sword upraised. The devil’s limbs began doing a tap dance and Rene relaxed a bit, recognizing it as the onset of rigor mortis. The side of its face was split open and hanging loosely by a strap of flesh. Struck by a nagging suspicion, Rene stooped down and peeled off the segments of its head, holding the edge of his sword against its neck to decapitate it in the event that it proved too lively for his liking.
The musculature and armor tore away just like it had with Zildiz’s helm, and for the second time that night he found himself staring into the face of another living human being. Only this time it was a man whose face was utterly disfigured, a perversion of the basic form. In the place of his lower jaw were fingerlike protrusions of gummy tissue and exposed nerve endings. His nose cartilage was likewise missing, leaving only a pair of holes dribbling with snot. The man blinked, and glassy eyes with almost no whites at their edges fixed Rene in their gaze.
“Kill…me…” the man whispered.
Rene began to shake uncontrollably, wiping a trembling hand across his mouth as he was forced to consider the carnage he’d just wrought in a new and horrifying light. These weren’t three dead monsters littering the jungle floor; these were three dead men, and some of them he had killed himself.
“Kill me!” the man begged him. He was young, barely Rene’s age, his smooth skin untroubled by the wrinkles of age and worry. He had clear brown pupils and dark, expressive brows. If it weren’t for all the rest of him, Rene might’ve mistaken him for a fresh-faced recruit at the academy, or a paperboy climbing up the terraced apartments of inner hive to deliver news of the Fleet’s latest victory.
On unsteady legs Rene staggered back to Zildiz’s side and away from the awful truth he had uncovered.
“Something the matter?” Zildiz asked in a gleeful tone, “Feeling a little worse for wear, are we?”
“Shut it,” Rene said distantly. He dragged Zildiz to her feet and began winding the silk around her wrists, layering them over thick and tying them off with a simple knot. He kept the vines on her for added insurance and told her to start walking.
“Where to?” she demanded.
“I’m not feeding you to my children, if that’s what you’re asking,” he muttered, “I don’t have any to begin with, and even if I did, I sure as hell wouldn’t raise them to be cannibals.”
Zildiz didn’t move, so Rene grabbed her and frog marched her away. He had no real destination in mind—he just had to get away from this place and the bodies he’d made. Zildiz rounded on Rene, saying:
“Aren’t you going to deal with him? I only severed his neural connection to paralyze his exomorph. He’s still very much alive.”
“No!” Rene yelled, “That’s not how I—how people do things. Almighty ancestors, is that so hard for you to grasp?”
“Yes,” Zildiz replied quite candidly.
“He’s a living, breathing human being. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but those are pretty rare on Arachnea and worth keeping around.”
“No. He is a Leaper. After extracting your gilt helix, he and his packmates would devoured you right then and there.”
“That’s why you saved me, isn’t it? So they couldn’t obtain this shiny helix thing?”
Zildiz ignored his question, continuing:
“If you leave him here, at best he will die of exposure. At worst, his tribe will come looking for him, and if they find him, they will run us down and kill us anyway.”
Rene bit his lip. She spoke the truth and they both knew it. But after all this world had already taken from him, there remained one thing which he refused to part with. And Rene knew that if he gave in now and took the expedient option—the sensible option—he would be surrendering it forever.
“Sorry,” he said finally, “That’s against the rules.”
He dragged Zildiz over to the Leaper and spoke to him, saying:
“I won’t kill you. I’m not about to eat you either, so you can stop begging for a quick death. As long as you tell me what I want to know, we’ll leave you here and go our separate ways. I might even patch your wounds if you’re cooperative. Does that strike you as a fair bargain?”
The Leaper met this pronouncement with a look of utter perplexity that mirrored the one on Zildiz’s face.
“I’ll take that silence as a yes,” Rene said impatiently, “You’ll begin by telling me your name.”
“Kryptusshh,” the Leaper said slowly, as if not daring to hope.
“Very good. Are there any more of your people out there, Kryptus?”
“Why sshhould I trusht you? I would only be dooming more of my kindred, and there issh no certainty you would not kill me afterwardssh.”
“It’s a chance you have to take,” Rene shrugged, “Either that, or I’ll let this woman do as she pleases with you. And just between you and me,” he said in a loud stage whisper, “She doesn’t seem all that fond of your sort.”
Zildiz and Kryptus locked eyes with each other. Rene could almost feel the waves of hatred coming off her as she bristled, every tendon in her body tensing expectantly. Kryptus must have seen something he didn’t like, for he looked away and said:
“I am a warrior of the Weeping Vipersh. We are roughly eleven hundred sshtrong. One tenth of that number are bravesshh like me.”
“He lies,” Zildiz said, baring her teeth in a snarl, “That is less than half their true strength. He does not count the adolescents and the old loom-mothers, who are the deadliest of their kind.”
“Three hundred, then, if they are consshidered,” Kryptman quickly admitted, “Your pardon, merciful one.”
“I’ll excuse your forgetfulness just this once,” Rene warned, “But your memory better not fail you again.”
He questioned the Leaper closely. Kryptus claimed that only he and his pack had seen the safety pod’s crash landing, and that they had told no one else as they wished to claim the great prize all for themselves. The Weeping Vipers were the largest tribe in the rainforest and were always looking for an advantage over their numerous and belligerent neighbors. Apparently Kryptus had hoped to gain a modicum of the Divine Engine’s power by extracting something called a ‘gilt helix’ from Rene’s blood.
“Jussht one sample would have shatishfied uss,” Kryptus swore, “Then we would have taken you back to the Loom alive.”
“I’m sure nothing would’ve pleased you better,” Rene said wryly, all too cognizant of Zildiz’s earlier assumption that he planned to feed her to the Fleet’s youth.
Rene learned from Kryptus that the Divine Engine had ignited a blazing wildfire that was swiftly spreading north and west. The tribes would likely have noticed it by now, and would all be sending braves in a joint effort to douse the flames. For some reason all the Leapers felt collectively responsible for the wellbeing of the region, and could not allow it to come to harm for fear of dire repercussions.
“Last question. Is anyone going to come looking for you?”
“Not till the morning.”
“Good!” said Zildiz, breaking out of Rene’s grip and aiming a vicious kick at the side of the Leaper’s head. Rene barely caught her and yanked her back, shouting:
“Blood and thunder, woman! Is there nothing you won’t do to piss me off?”
“Are you insane? You cannot possibly mean to leave him alive!” the Gallivant hissed.
“That’s exactly what I’m going to do. Now come here!”
Rene took her by the elbow and pulled her forward, leaving Kryptus where he lay.
“You promished you would tend to my woundssh!” the Leaper cried after them.
“Don’t push your luck!” Rene said over his shoulder, “Anyone who follows us will meet the same end as your friends.”
He and his prisoner went tramping off into the night, Zildiz raging at him all the while.
“Fool! We will both come to regret that decision!”
“You’re probably right,” Rene had to agree.
“Then why did you do it?”
“For the same reason I’m letting you strut around and screech into my ear. What can I say? I’m a conversationalist.”
Link for all the chapters available here: Engines of Arachnea on Royal Road

Link for all the chapters available here: Engines of Arachnea on Royal Road
Deep in the groaning halls of sinew and bone he awaited his audience with the god. At a wave of his hand the ribs which held up the ceiling contracted, tendons shifting within the pink walls of the chamber as the jagged, calcareous spurs that composed the doorway sank back into the spongy masses of tissue, revealing a passage curving down and out of sight.
Menash stood before the yawning portal and considered eternity. This was no an idle thought: here in the Dawning Chamber, the concept was very real. His father, Yulan, had stood in this exact spot times beyond count. When he was struck down in his prime by the Night Weaver and her Leaper offspring, torn limb from limb as he fought to defend Chthonis from a raiding party, Menash’s uncle, Aqavarr, had carried his broken remains over that grinning threshold to join the hosts of the dead, never to return.
A hot and heavy exhalation rattled up out of the depths, wafting in the acrid scent of the bonding pools and the wet slithering sound of the rebirthing canals. Menash felt a crackle of static in the corners of his mind before the signal sharpened and he heard It whisper distinctly:
“Enter…”
The familiar dread crept its way up the small of his back, and he gave a little shiver. No matter how many times he had communed with the Vitalus, he’d never been able to shake the feeling of his utter insignificance. But he persevered, walking bravely down the slurping passage, past the rows of broad antechambers lining either side of the hallway. Each one held a slumbering shape immersed in a cryogenic bath, towering hulks of muscle encased in ribbed and riveted plates of chitin. No two were alike in size or physiology, but all seemed to emanate the same primeval aura of dread that tickled Menash’s fight-or-flight-instinct, skewing it very much towards the latter response. These were the Hollowores, soulless avatars of the Vitalus, each one a tool capable of eradicating an entire species. As Menash approached, one of the living weapons stirred to life. A pronged, anvil-shaped head emerged from the bath, umbilical feeder tubes detaching from its armored flanks as the rest of its bulk followed, its mauve exoskeleton as sleek and shiny as amethyst. The Hollowore extended legs as thick as grown pine trees and lifted itself above him, its pairs of crushing pincers dripping amniotic fluids as it herded him towards the central room.
Bundles of white gossamer filaments spread all across the floor, encircling steaming pools of pus and acid. He saw arms and legs, sensory organs and entire exoskeletons being knitted before his very eyes, the amino acid chains being stitched on a layer at a time, the weeping pus evidence of microphages fighting off possible infections as the Vitalus did Its work.
These were the next generation of exomorphs, yet to be assigned to their hosts. It was here that Vitalus constantly improved the only thing that could ensure the continued survival of Menash’s subspecies. Exomorphs were bonded to Gallivants at birth, the organisms supplying their hosts with the means to breathe an atmosphere they was never meant to endure, and the strength to fight in a world that was red in tooth and claw. They were as swift as the summer wind and could multiply their host’s muscular power by up to twelve times their natural output.
But for all their God-given might, Gallivants were still mortal. They could and often did perish in the endless struggle for existence that the Vitalus called the Great Game. But even in death they could still commit their essence to posterity, passing down their defining traits through the malleable genetic code of the gilt helix. It was the Vitalus’ greatest boon; through the gilt helix a single individual could become a progenitor of an entire generation, becoming at one stroke the father of whole nations and peoples.
One day he too would prove worthy of the honor that Yulan had earned with his life. But he was not alone in that ambition. Menash was annoyed to find the crimson-clad Vezda and the cowardly Racek waiting for him inside, standing next to a large ball of filaments that hung from a tonsil-like growth hanging from the walls.
This node pulsed, emitting a small storm of bioelectric activity, networks of fungi conveying commands in the form of oscillating voltages to their communities of symbiotic bacteria, the latter containing greigite mineral crystals aligned in the shape of electromagnetic coils. Other networks hidden in the walls modulated and amplified the signals, and the three Gallivants steeled themselves for the onrushing flood of information as the Vitalus tapped into their minds.
He was a candle before the raging heart of the thunderstorm. For an instant Menash touched a fraction of Its intelligence, the divisions of time and space rolling back as they joined the ocean of shared consciousness, becoming one with the living systems of Arachnea. From the tiniest aeroplankton floating above the waves of the golden coastlines, to the herds of ultrapods munching their way through swathes of trees in the savannahs. Menash felt himself pushing up out of the soil, longing and lusting and reaching for the sunlight with a trillion green fingers uncurling, alive with the furious movement of life.
But what was that flicker of orange to the east? That searing heat, that prickling pain spreading like a cancer down his side?
The Vitalus scooped them up and hurled them headlong into hell itself. A roaring wildfire was sweeping into the heart of the eastern rainforests. Menash tasted ash and ruin, felt pieces of himself wither and burn, his branches tongues of fire, wood cracking from the intense blaze, sap boiling instantaneously upon contact and rupturing, splitting him right down the grain. He fled in terror, running, slithering, digging, swimming, flying away in crazed panic from the walls of red death closing in on him. As his skin flaked off in clumps of charcoal he looked back and saw it towering over the treetops, the epicenter of this howling vortex of destruction: the grey behemoth. Its burnished metal hide gleamed like copper, reflecting the fury of the conflagration burning well into the night.
Menash pulled his mind away before it was lost forever in the storm of electric potentials. He saw Racek and Vezda swaying on their feet, breathing hard and fast.
“Heart of the World,” he managed to gasp, “What is your bidding?”
The Hollowore maneuvered itself until it was facing him directly. Tiny beady eyes fixed him in their blank gaze. The node emitted a blue pulse and the creature shuddered as it received the signal. It opened a maw powerful enough to chew boulders into gravel and rumbled:
“This one is the alpha which survived first contact with anomalous variable. It will tell Us what occurred, and from whence this threat emerged.”
“It came from the karst mountain range, where the yellowjacket Amit live,” Menash replied, “It was destroying the largest mound in that area, massacring its inhabitants. It brought the mountain down on them—we’ve never seen anything like it. Zildiz was the first on the scene. She warned us not to approach, and that it was dangerous, but some of us,” here he cast an angry look at Vezda, “Some of us went ahead and tried to scavenge from the bodies of the dying. Then the behemoth ignited the air and burned scores of us to cinders.”
“Irrational. Why did you do this?”
“W-we thought that you had spawned the grey behemoth,” Menash stammered, embarrassed to say the least, “That it was the newest addition to the Great Game, another species of ultrafauna that would help perfect Arachnea.”
“Not so. It was made by an evil far older than the All-In-One,” replied the Vitalus, “It is called a Divine Engine. In cycles past, this evil sought to undo this world and all that inhabit it. In that, it almost succeeded.”
Menash felt his blood run cold at those words.
“Is it the only one of its kind?” Racek piped up. Menash and Vezda both bristled at his interruption; subordinates were only supposed to speak when spoken to.
“There were several deployed here in Our infancy. We had thought them all destroyed in the War of Creation.”
“Your Munificence,” Racek went on, heedless of the venomous looks he was getting from the other two, “Most of us survived because Zildiz persuaded us to dive into the river. She saved all our lives! But as I washed up on the riverbank, I saw the behemoth casting a seedpod into the skies. I did not see where it landed, but it was travelling in a high arc due east. Is this the behemoth’s method of reproducing? If so, then how many offspring can it generate from this one seed?”
The Vitalus met his questions with a minute of silence. Menash had never known It to take so long to respond to a query, and felt another stab of unease in his gut. Unless he was imagining things, the Vitalus seemed genuinely disturbed by the scenario that Racek has raised, enough to convince Menash that the danger was far from hypothetical.
“That is a distant possibility,” It said somewhat cryptically, “Regardless, We cannot allow the Engine’s continued existence.”
“Then it must be destroyed,” Vezda said, her barbed tail eagerly perking up.
“We are not certain that it can be,” the Vitalus said, and Menash heard Racek audibly gulp at the admission.
“But Your Omniscience, you alone are the arbiter of growth and decay,” Vezda said in disbelief, “Surely you can unmake this monster as well?”
“Perhaps. The Divine Engines were built to withstand the extremes of temperature, gravity, atmospheric pressure, acidity and irradiation found on semi-inhabitable exoplanets. Worlds of bareness and desolation, glassed by thermonuclear bombardment or infested with alien microorganisms. In the wars of Our youth, the Betrayers used tungsten-alloy warheads fired from space platforms to crack their bulkheads. Not even Our vessels, the Hollowores, could damage them in any significant way. We will need time to gather the raw materials and fabricate the weapons needed to end this threat.”
“What must we do?” Menash asked.
“If this variable is not dealt with, it could upset the delicate balance We have sacrificed so much to achieve. Already the wildfire it has caused will release close to 400 million metric tons of carbon dioxide into the atmosphere and destroy 2.3 million acres of forest before Our countermeasures can stop it. Time is our limiting factor. If the Engine cannot be destroyed now, it must be restrained.”
“It hasn’t moved an inch since we last saw it,” Vezda said brightly, “Maybe it has already died?”
“Yes, and maybe your mother was a horka toad,” Racek said snidely. Vezda scowled and took a step towards him, then stopped as she remembered that she trod on hallowed ground.
“Not so. It has merely gone dormant. Having expended its fuel, it is now running on the bare minimum of its reserves. My children, you must ensure that it does not wake again. Establish a quarantine zone around the Engine and let none approach, on pain of death. The Leaper kindreds will secure the ground while the Gallivants patrol the skies.”
Vezda and Menash exchanged troubled looks. Nobody wanted Leapers establishing a foothold in what was essentially a buffer zone between their subspecies. Once allowed to settle in a habitat, it would not take long for them to adapt and become masters of their new territory. Ousting them would become a battle of attrition, and given the lower birthrates of Gallivants, it was not one they could long afford.
“Respectfully, we do not require assistance from our brother kindred,” Menash ventured, “We are more than capable of safeguarding the area ourselves.”
The node throbbed again, the bioelectric flashes taking on an angry purple hue. With a sound like the grinding of a millstone the Hollowore clashed its claws together impatiently. All three of the mortals took a hasty step back.
“The alpha will obey, or another will be found that can,” the Vitalus growled at them, “All subspecies will observe a general truce during this period. This is a temporary addition to the Great Game. Those that serve Us well shall be rewarded. We shall also enlist the aid of your terrestrial cousins, as well as the Cataphract clans to replenish the soil, and lone Saints who shall rove beyond the quarantine zone.”
Menash’s unease deepened. The Vitalus was bringing together four different kindreds, some of which killed each other on sight, in a move that reeked of desperation. The kindreds had worked together before, of course, on complex projects such as altering rainfall patterns and husbanding struggling species, but never so many at once. This was bound to end in bloodshed.
“Those that break the truce shall be chemically neutered, and their gilt helix purged from the existing gene pool,” the Vitalus continued, “You will maintain this quarantine until We have dealt with the Engine.”
“It is understood!” Menash and Vezda said at once.
“But what about Zildiz?” Racek blurted out, again risking his entire lineage by speaking out of turn, “She might still be alive out there!”
“He’s right,” Menash found himself agreeing despite his dislike for Racek, “She’s our alpha, after all. It would be a shame to lose her helix. Do we have your leave to send out a party to recover her?”
The Vitalus pondered the request for a moment, then crushed his hopes when it said:
“Regrettable, the loss of the female. Valuable stock for the breeding program. But it has not responded to Our signals—it is unlikely to have survived. The female Vezda shall take up its duties as alpha.”
“But Your Benevolence—” both men cried out in unison.
“It is decided. She has risked the Great Game, and must abide by its outcome. To speak more on this would risk Our displeasure,” the god warned.
“We can’t spare the manpower anyway,” Vezda pointed out, trying not to look too pleased at Its decision. She darted a quick look at Menash, long enough for him to see the selfish desire festering in her heart. He turned away from her in disgust, baring his blades by the slightest of margins to let her know what he thought of her, then asked the Vitalus:
“But what of the Engine’s seedpod? Should we search for it?”
“Negative!” the Vitalus boomed, its node reinforcing the word with a spike of activity that sent needles of pain spearing into their heads, “We shall complete this task. It is dangerous and can be entrusted to no other.”
The Hollowore angled its massive head towards the cavernous ceiling, armored flaps on its back sliding aside as it unfurled sets of rigid sixty-meter wings. A wide sphincter on the roof gaped open and Menash saw the evening sky awash with the stars in their milky multitudes. The Hollowore took a deep breath through the spiracles lining its thorax and abdomen, pumping air through a pair of hollow tube-like protuberances under either of its wings. Menash and the others quickly scampered to a safe distance. Seconds later there was a scream of chemical combustion and the Hollowore rose into the evening skies, leaving behind a long trail of superheated gases, the backwash almost knocking Menash off his feet. They watched as the Hollowore gained altitude, making straight for the columns of billowing smoke on the horizon, a sweeping shadow blotting out the light of the heavens.
The Vitalus’ mental presence receded with it. When it did not return, they took it to mean that they were dismissed and likewise took flight and headed for Chthonis. They were hardly out of the Dawning Chamber when Vezda seized the scrawny Racek by his wings and anchored her feet right up against his back.
“Funny little man, are you? Crack jokes at my expense again, and I’ll see to it that you’ll never fly again!” she snarled, yanking hard. Racek yelled as his wings threatened to pop out of their sockets.
“Stop!” Menash said, ramming his shoulder into her and knocking the smaller male out of her grip. Vezda rounded on him, blades out and her tail aquiver with rage.
“As for you! No one should speak to the Vitalus like that!” she shrieked, “Much less gainsay It! Are you trying to get us all killed? It is the source and continuance of life itself—”
“But the Vitalus doesn’t always consider the individual scale of things,” Menash reasoned, controlling his rising anger as he tried to defuse the situation, “Its scope of thought is beyond ours. Therefore it is up to us to look after each other. None of us can win the Great Game alone. We need people like Zildiz for the species to prosper.”
“Your logic is flawed,” Vezda spat, “Empathy is a sham devised by the selfish action of the gene, which seeks only to preserve itself. At least I am honest enough to look after my own interests. Your obsession with that whore is misplaced. Heed my words, Menash. What happened today marks a change in the Great Game. Only the ruthless will reap the rewards of this era. Think on that, and act accordingly.”
The female darted off in another direction, leaving the two behind.
“Thanks,” Racek said, rubbing at his sore shoulders, “My, my. She’s really taking her promotion very seriously, isn’t she?”
“This doesn’t make us friends,” Menash said shortly, “We share a common interest, that’s all.”
The two flew together in silence for a time, the dark canopy unrolling below their feet. Racek had always been a bitter rival for Zildiz’s affections. In the mating seasons he and Menash had flown the damsel-dance against each other countless times, racing and dogfighting at top speed through the dense bamboo thickets in an effort to impress her.
But each time she had always chosen Menash. Naturally. He was the stronger, the braver, the son of the Scourge who had slain hundreds on his lightning raids into Leaper territory. Their pairings had been brief and passionate, yet she had always laughed at the end and gone on her merry way, a rose petal borne on a scented breeze, the dalliance as meaningless to her as other concerns like eating or breathing.
But not to him. Right now, all that mattered was her. And Racek was the only one in the whole wide world who knew exactly how he felt. Did that mean he could be trusted? Menash considered the enormity of what he was about to do, and wavered. Then he saw her face in the darkness of his home, the face she wore when they were all alone together, and he took a deep breath before breaking the silence, saying:
“I’ll be in charge of the quarantine. I can arrange for you to disappear for a few days. I can have one of the younglings mimic your magnetosynaptic signal, make it seem like you’re with the rest of us.”
“You’d do that? For me?” Racek said in astonishment.
“Hah. Not for you,” Menash laughed softly. He looked Racek straight in the eyes and continued: “What’ll it be, then?”
If he so much as hesitates, I’ll have to kill him here and now, Menash told himself.
“Why, yes. Yes, of course!” the little brown male said vigorously.
“Good,” Menash sighed with relief, “She’ll be very grateful to whoever brings her home. I’d do it myself, but as an alpha I can’t risk being seen as disobedient.”
“Then why give me this chance? After all that’s passed between us?”
“I should have thought that was obvious,” Menash replied. Racek digested that for a bit, then out of nowhere said:
“If I find her—when I find her—I’ll tell her exactly who it was that sent me.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“Bah! Just so we’re even, that’s all,” Racek grinned, his mouthparts slanting askew.
“Thanks, I guess. I’d…I’d appreciate that. You do understand what we’re risking here, right?”
“Sure. We’ll be total genetic write-offs if we’re caught. But it’s not like I wanted to see tiny ugly Raceks running around the house anyway. What about you, though? Why are you putting your neck on the chopping block?”
“You know why,” Menash said quietly, his thoughts still lingering on her face.
“Yes,” Racek agreed with a wistful air, “Yes, I suppose I do.”
And the pair spoke no more until they reached Chthonis.
Link for all the chapters available here: Engines of Arachnea on Royal Road

I’ve been having issues with the area under my jaw being swollen for a couple of weeks. No pain in the beginning, just varying degrees of discomfort. At its worst it felt like someone was always lightly choking me/applying pressure to the area. And the swelling sometimes felt like it went up to my ears.
I did see my allergies for it and was told it’s post nasal drip and I should use the Neilmed sinus rinse more than once a day and to gargle with salt water. And also take more allergy medication since I was only take one Allegra a day.
Swelling and discomfort didn’t improve so the allergist has prescribed me prednisone.
There were times where it was hard to swallow and hard to pass food down, but that was only for a couple of days.
The swelling always gets worse when I eat, but my allergist says I shouldn’t be having an allergic reaction to food since I only has OAS and the anti histamines and prednisone would prevent any food related reaction. Then refered me to a gastroenterologist for possible EoE.
Long story short, I did see a gastroenterologist and it’s not a gastro issue.
It’s been a couple of weeks and I’m now tapering down on the prednisone.
As I’m tapering down I’m starting to feel more like how I felt before I started taking the prednisone. So I’m sort of regressing.
Now I’m starting to think I have an infection. More specifically a salivary gland infection. Which is why I’m swelling even more almost immediately after starting to eat.
New symptoms which started 2 days ago include dull head pressure/ headache and also a sore throat.
I did have a sinus infection and concretion in the cheek area last year and it took going to see my doctor and then an ENT and a CT scan for them to give me antibiotics.
I’m seeing my allergist in a couple of days for a follow up appointment and hoping they can diagnose and prescribe me antibiotics if I am correct.
However my experience last year leads me to believe it might not be so easy. I really think going to an ENT again is overkill so I would like to avoid that.
Basically how easily does an allergist prescribe antibiotics?

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