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2024.05.18 10:15 HughMann334 Tale of Grimm: The Dark Gathering [RULES IN COMMENTS]
![Tale of Grimm: The Dark Gathering [RULES IN COMMENTS]](https://a.thumbs.redditmedia.com/-6NcTPrjPW67F-uNgYgXAJF198uIDrSFi6TMRbWakX8.jpg "Tale of Grimm: The Dark Gathering [RULES IN COMMENTS]") | Deep below Midgard’s capital city, in the asscrack of the slums, a gathering of unsavoury characters was taking place… submitted by HughMann334 to ShuumatsuNoValkyrie [link] [comments] “Uuuugghhh…” groaned Alice Liddel. “When are we gonna get this thing started?! Nothing is bloody happening, I can barely stand it!” “Come now, young lady, do be patient,” replied Puss in Boots. The young woman leered at the cat and mocked him. “Nyeh nyeh nyeh nyeh nyeh~! Shut up. Things have been too normal for too long, and I’m starting to get stressed from it! Is anybody else itchy in here?!” Alice began to scratch at her arm. Next to her, an older man with a briefcase stood, annoyed at her behaviour. “Would you shut up for five seconds?! Good lord, you’re a god damn addict.” The Wizard of Oz took a drag from a cigarette as Alice started getting mad. “Oh, thank you, Mr. Wizard! Gosh, I’m so sorry for being such an addict! Unlike you, of course! No-siree, you’re as clean as a whistle, no vice in your vicinity!” The Wizard threw his cigarette on the ground and turned to face the woman with a scowl. “Listen here, you dumb bitch!” “Oh, don’t even start you utter shit!” “Would you two stop bickering?!” Even Puss had become involved with the argument. Before things could get too heated, a soothing note sounded out amongst them. Waltzing up to the trio was a gaunt figure holding a flute and with a rat perched upon their shoulder. “A message from the boss.” The trio stopped arguing, ready to hear what news the Piper had brought. The message read; “Stay within Midgard’s palace and keep searching. Avoid the emperor at all costs. No. 2 will alert you when the emperor will return to his palace. Report anything of note to Piper who will then report it back to me.” “Oh come on, we don’t even get to watch the fights?!” Alice complained again, when would she be able to see some chaos?! “Is that all you think about?” The wizard looked at her with disdain. “Yes!” “Quiet,” piped up the Piper. “We aren’t here to have circus and bread, we’re here to do business. Besides… if you wanted to experience the tournament, you should’ve volunteered to be one of the double agents.” That's right, a traitor on each side, how exciting! Select the first fighter of Avalon! |
2024.05.18 01:33 SamMorrisHorror Them Devils Pt. 1
On the night when it all happened a young man called Smallmouth found himself in quite a pickle. He shivered and paced clumsily all over the second story porch of a cabin that used to be very nice, which overlooked a snowy down-sloping field that used to be kept up properly and carefully. He was already six packs deep into a carton of cigarettes he had bought only two days ago from a Casey’s General Store on his way up. He could recall the look on the young woman’s face at the register when he asked for a carton of Parliament Menthols, her eyes showing one blink of humorous surprise and another couple blinks of obvious concern, which faded to professional indifference as she rang in the sweet, icy killers. Smallmouth stopped his nervous dallying when he caught himself in the kitchen window; a large, shadowy figure sulking between the inside lights and the cold, almost glowing world downhill. His eyes still on his murky reflection, he patted his coat pockets for his seventh pack, pulling it out and smacking it against his left palm before cracking open and lighting it at his mouth. In a slow, warm flash, he could briefly see his own face in the window.
“Oh man, it’s bad” , he thought to himself.
He hadn’t shaved in weeks and his beard grew coarse and thick. A face that his mother had once called handsome had become a clean plate covered in steel wool. Well, maybe not so clean. Under and around his eyes were the obvious bruising of sleeplessness and his skin had lost its lively color and clarity of yesteryear.
“Ughhh” he groaned, turning away from the window to look over the porch and into the freezing, beckoning night.
The pickle that Jeremy “Smallmouth” Bassett found himself in involved his uncle, and his uncle’s evening logistics, to be precise. Smallmouth had been kicked out of his parents home on December 27th due to a slight misunderstanding at 2am when he believed the living room Christmas tree to be the downstairs bathroom. He had passed out on the couch after drinking a fire pit full of crushed Hamm’s cans and his brain tried desperately to get him up and to the nearby toilet. His little sister Stacy was tucked in fast asleep on a loveseat by the tree when she was brutally torn from her sugarplum dreams to hear the terrible hiss of Smallmouth’s folly. She screamed, the parents woke up, and, well, there you go. After well over three strikes, Smallmouth’s temporary residence had come to an end, and he was thrown to his mother’s brother’s cabin to dry up and straighten out before he could ever even be considered to return.
“You two deserve to live together. He can’t say no either because he owes me a lot more than this!” Smallmouth’s mother had screeched over him as he sat at the kitchen table the following morning with a cold bag of peas against his throbbing right temple. “You go there and you GET RIGHT!! I don’t care how long it takes just clean up your act and MAKE something of yourself! And for goodness sake tell Chuck to do the same, while he still has time!”
Yes, Uncle Chuck had his own shelf full of good time problems, and that’s what put Smallmouth in a bind tonight as he pondered over the white yonder that led to a black nothing, a black nothing that in the daylight pretended to be a forest. At night, it showed its true nature, an endless world of dark secrets and aching regret. At least that’s how Smallmouth saw it in this moment.
Chuck had gone down to the ranch he worked on for a New Years party with his work buddies. They liked to gather at the big barn where all of the vehicles and equipment were kept, sitting around a card table passing out stories about women and other trophy game that were either outright lied about or illegally poached. Oh, and they also liked to pass the bottle around. Therein lied the conundrum for Smallmouth.
Uncle Chuck was many things, but one thing he wasn’t was a drunk driver. Chuck’s wife Rebecca had been struck and killed by a drunk driver almost ten years ago when she was out jogging the back roads early one morning. Everyone assumed that’s what led him to his openly hard drinking and sneakily pill popping ways in the first place. For Chuck, most nights were kept at home, parked in front of a TV watching old westerns and cleaning out a full bottle of Wild Turkey 101 before snoring in his recliner. On the few nights he would go out, he would always call a ride if things got out of hand. As you can imagine, he tends to need a ride home.
“I should be home bout 11:30. Service ain’t so good up there near the barn so if it gets bout 11:15-11:20 and I ain’t home, go head and do me a favor and come grab me son.” Chuck had told Smallmouth before he left, closing the warped screen door behind him.
Smallmouth had spent the evening trying his best to stay entertained without the help of any chemical enhancement. His family’s anger and resentment really struck him and this time he was determined to truly get right and get his life back on the rails. He was 29 years old. He had gone through college clean as a whistle, bright and driven, receiving his MBA with plans to work his way up in a promising career in business. That worked for a couple years. Then he found a calling in ministry, deciding to quit the corporate world to fill an opening of a tiny country church in the area. They needed a deacon who could take care of things around the building and assist in the worship service. He wasn’t much for public speaking, haven been given the nickname Smallmouth at a young age due to his soft spoken nature, but he could pass plates and give a hushed prayer every now and then. He liked to mow and paint and help old ladies up the stairs. The quiet country life was really nice for him, for a while. Strange, radical ideas eventually spread through the church though, and half of its members left overnight to form their own congregation. Its funding cut in half, the church had to close its doors and the other members absorbed into other churches. Smallmouth rarely ever saw the people that had departed from the church, but rumors creeped that they met at an old abandoned building deep in the woods, performing all sorts of different acts and rituals that would purify themselves and destroy all evils. Nevertheless, Smallmouth was out of work and picked up shifts bartending at a small town dive. His soft fortitude was no match for the booze and drugs and women that would pass through there and soon he was out the door. That landed him mooching off of his parents, draining their sanity and eventually draining himself on their Christmas tree. The last strike.
So there he was all night, waiting up for uncle Chuck. He was two days clean of everything except caffeine and nicotine, a major improvement. He felt a boost of hope and confidence the first morning after a sober nights sleep. He found the mornings to be the best parts of the day. At least he had coffee and cigarettes to get him out of bed. That would wear off quickly and the rest of the day was filled with trying to find distractions until the sun set about 5pm. Then he would watch a movie or two with Chuck. Last night he had been able to call it early and go to sleep at 7pm shortly after Chuck started sawing logs in front of True Grit (the original John Wayne version of course). Tonight he saw 7pm struggle and churn into 8…….8:13……..8:48……9:05……9:29………..9:31………9:52……..9:58……….10:11…….10:12 (oh cmon)……10:27…….10:56…….and finally 11:08. It was like the clock was a 35 year old four cylinder engine oiled with crunchy peanut butter. Now, crunch time sat in the cold air as Smallmouth finished his cigarette and stewed over his decision. He really didn’t feel like going down to the barn and getting Chuck, even though it was only a couple miles. In the infancy of his sobriety he found the smallest of choices and activities to seem dire and at the very least upsettingly out of his way. Surely Chuck can get himself home on his own, right?
“No. Who knows if someone’s Aunt Rebecca or grandmother or son is out there on the road tonight” he thought.
As much as he had tried to screw up his life, Smallmouth usually knew what the right decision would be, even if he so often refused to listen. It was there ever so clearly on this New Year’s Eve, wailing in the back row of his mind like a misbehaved child during a church sermon. Smallmouth left the porch and went inside to grab his keys.
He walked out to his truck, got in, cranked it, let it sit down to one rpm, and started down the gravel driveway, which led to the gravel county road that Chuck and his few and far between neighbors lived on. He got to the mailbox and suddenly shot his attention up the road, where headlights revealed themselves out of the deep dark. It was rare to see any cars this far down Chuck’s road. In fact, there were no other houses to the right of Chuck’s cabin, spare for a couple of empty ones that were condemned but were attached to a lot of forest property.
Smallmouth squinted his eyes as a large black Dodge Ram 3500 came barreling by with a livestock trailer. Even inside his own truck he could hear a terrible noise coming from that trailer. He recognized it instantly as a pig squeal.
“The hell?” He whispered as the truck and trailer tore down the road, going around a nearby corner and out of sight. He couldn’t guess what on earth that could be about at this hour, and especially since nobody lived down there anyway. He shrugged it off though, and turned left out of the driveway, headed for drunk Uncle Chuck down at the ranch.
Ten minutes and a couple of snowy country miles later Smallmouth found himself through the metal gate of the ranch and up to the main barn, where a couple of smiling ranch hands had Chuck held up between them just outside one of two closed garage doors. A lamppost nearby cast a glow of debauchery on all of their faces, especially Chuck’s. Smallmouth got out and walked up to them smiling and shaking his head.
“Well well well…” he said with a slight laugh.
“Your Uncle put on one hell of a clinic tonight ‘Mouth” one of the hands said.
“I…..I….I don’t know what they’re tawlkin bout son” Chuck slang out before a high pitched giggle.
“I got another couple rounds in me I thinks!”
Smallmouth laughed.
“Yeah I ain’t so sure about that uncle! Let’s get on home now and let these fellas get on too.”
“Y’alright alright” Chuck said as Smallmouth took him from his buddies arms into one of his own and led him to the passenger seat of his truck.
“Happy New Years boys!!! Let’s do it all again okay?” He hollered to his waving buddies as they drove back away from the barn and through the metal gate toward home.
“You have a good time Uncle?”
“Oh…ohhh…I reckon I showed those boys how to do it” Another childish giggle.
A light snow shower seasoned the cold air as the truck rolled down the gravel country road. In the yellow headlights it made a pleasant white noise for the eyes. Chuck put his hands up staggered and vertically, fingers together and outstretched, pointing out in front of the truck down the road like he was aiming up for a rifle shot. He closed one eye.
“Straight as an arrow ole son. You’re good at this.”
“I ain’t drunk pops” Smallmouth chuckled.
“Sure ya are. Everybody’s drunk son. Even people that ain’t drink. Ticket is to get drunk on good stuff” Chuck’s face calmed from a goofy grin as he kept his eyes out front into the slow swirling tube of visible night.
“You sound like you’re drunk on some pretty damn good stuff” Smallmouth retorted as they shared a look and a good laugh.
“Suppose’n you ain’t wrong. Gotta work on that just like you are. Proud o’ you for a couple days clean man. We’ll get right. We’ll get right. All I meant was that man is born to get drunk on somethin’ or other. What I mean is God. Man is born to get drunk on his God.” Chuck said as Smallmouth shot him a raised eyebrow look of confusion.
“Once God gets ya drunk then you’re home free ol’ son. That distillery is never ending eternal forever. That land flows with whiskey and honey.” They both shared another laugh.
“Okay okay I think I somewhat understand now Uncle.”
They rode in a few seconds of comfortable silence before Chuck put his hands up in an aim position down the road again.
“You know…man….man….man has a GOVERNOR…..you know that right?”
“A what? A governor?”
“That’s right a GOVERNOR…that’s right…a little bitty device in his brain that keeps him on the road…keeps him from turning right off into the dark. You ever hear that little voice that tells you you can turn off into the ditch…into oncomin’ traffic? Tells you you can shoot your buddy instead of the deer? That you can jump off the top of the building and onto the pavement when you’re up there enjoying the view?”
“I…uh…I don’t know…I mean maybe? Pretty sure those are intrusive thoughts and they’re normal.”
“Well whatever they are that’s what the governor is for. Keeps ya straight. Keeps ya from harmin nothin.”
“Alright man, alright.”
They pulled back into Chuck’s driveway and parked. Smallmouth helped his uncle out of the truck and up into the cabin, snow starting to color the roof and pile against the side of the house near the door. Arms locked Smallmouth propped open the screen door, opened the inner door, and led Chuck through the kitchen and to his bedroom. Chuck layed down on his camo comforter with a deep, long exhale.
“Ahhhh yes……yes” he whispered with a smile.
“I love ya son…I’m glad you’re heeeeere. Let’s get better….your mom needs it…..stay in the Lord’s light son…don’t let them devils get ya….let’s get better….lets….” He was off into the distant deep ether almost immediately, and his mouth hung open.
“Goodnight uncle…love ya too.” Smallmouth patted the bed twice before walking over and closing the bedroom door behind him.
He went and sat at the kitchen table. He regretted his behavior earlier in the night. How it pained him to have to stay up a little later to go help out his uncle.
“Cmon…” he whispered.
He agreed with Chuck. He was here to get better. To do better. Maybe Chuck was right. If he couldn’t get drunk off booze, it was time to pick something else to drink. Better things. Maybe even God? Smallmouth hadn’t paid much mind to God since his church job fell through. God surely hadn’t been there for him these last few years when he was at his lowest. Or was He there the whole time? Had Smallmouth just ignored Him? These things floated heavily in his mind and soon he realized he had been staring at the front door for several minutes. Had he even blinked? Then something else came to mind.
“Wait hold up”
That truck and trailer from earlier. What WAS that? He meant to bring it up to the ranch hands. They would’ve seen it come barreling down the road right by their front gate. Oh he wished he had brought that up to them. Oh well. It’s probably nothing. Smallmouth looked at the clock. 12:12.
“Happy New Year old boy.” He said to himself.
He sat for a moment in the warm kitchen light, his eyes not leaving the front door. Well, he’s up this late already, why not go run down and check on the abandoned properties?
No…no…it can wait. It’s probably nothing. Right?
Wrong. There’s that wailing kid in the back pew of his mind again. Come on kid can’t you just be quiet and listen to the sermon? No, no it can’t. It must be heard. Always. He knew he had to go check it out.
“Ughhhh FINE!” Smallmouth got up and grabbed his truck keys, patted to make sure his cigarettes were still there, and was out the door again.
The snow shower had ended. As he pulled up to the edge of the drive, he stalled for a moment and peaked out as far to the right as he could down the dark road. Nothing. It wasn’t very far to the end of that road, where two out of service mailboxes should’ve stood in a small cul-de-sac if it weren’t for teenagers beating them to splinters. Can’t really blame them either. Smallmouth considered his plan. Whether or not that truck belonged to the landowner down there, he shouldn’t feel like he needs to sneak around. He is merely a concerned neighbor after all. He began down the road and around that same corner the stranger disappeared earlier.
After a couple of slow, curious minutes Smallmouth could see the evidence of a great big fire in the near distance, beyond where the road ended. Through the bare trees and against the snow it cast orange and red that could surely be seen a mile in every direction, that is, if there were anyone there to see it.
Slightly intimidated, Smallmouth decided to turn off his headlights and let the fire guide him as he slowed up to 5mph and gently crackled his last few yards of gravel up to the remnants of the nearest mailbox post. It seemed the fire was on the land of the farther property, whose mailbox posthole was about 30 feet from where he came to a stop and parked his truck. Smallmouth turned it off and quietly got out into the cold. He crouched down as he walked over to the farther driveway, getting down on one knee to give it a stealthy closer look.
The abandoned property boasted a busted up trailer that sat pitifully about 500 feet from the mailbox memorial. Beyond that was a good ten acres of field that ended at the forest edge, which marked the beginning of thousands of acres of wildlife refuge. As Smallmouth peered on, it was obvious that the fire was way out in that field, blocked by the old trailer, which wore the hot light and columns of smoke on it like a devilish crown. Given the cover, Smallmouth crept over to the trailer and started easing around the right side.
Rounding the corner he noticed a propane tank that would be perfect for hiding behind and getting the best look he could at the mysterious activity. He got down on his belly and crawled his way over to the tank, before sitting up and peeking slowly over the top and out into the field.
Way down there, a couple acres away from the tree line, was a huge fire, made up of about fifty wooden pallets. It raged and lit up the whole field like it was just the beginning of sunset. Somewhat near the fire was the black Dodge Ram 3500 and trailer. Smallmouth could see a group of people dressed in all red, as if covered in bloody bedsheets from head to toe, circled around a crude cage, seemingly fastened together by pieces of metal fencing. They stood still as the pines, and twice as silent. Smallmouth, in a rare moment of curious courage, decided he had to get closer. He got back on his stomach and began to crawl through the cold, knee high grass.
Using the fire light as his North Star he crawled and crawled, feeling his hands, clothes, and beard get wet with snow. He didn’t care. Something was up that wasn’t normal, wasn’t right. He could feel it in his cold gut. When he thought he was close enough without giving himself away he planted his palms and ever so slowly raised his torso up into a weak push up to try and see out. He was glad he didn’t go any further. He may have been too close already.
He was close enough to read the name of the truck and count the holes in the livestock trailer. There were seven strangers in red sheets all around the makeshift cage, all holding long spears. One of the figures had a crown of black thorns on his head. They all had two eyeholes and one hole for the mouth. They didn’t move a muscle for the longest time, before the Crowned One forcibly touched the end of his spear to the ground.
“Now is the time, Brother and Farmer Abraham…there is no more for us in waiting.”
Smallmouth had just noticed the passenger window to the black Dodge was down, and he could hear the driver door open and soon saw a normal looking older man in a ball cap at the back of the trailer. He was holding a leash of some sort. He opened up the trailer and whistled into the dark of it. After a couple of loud, heavy thuds a gigantic, and I mean GIGANTIC Yorkshire pig came slowly shrugging out of the trailer. It was light pink in color but filthy, and gave wet sounding oinks as it came to the man’s hands expecting food. The thing must’ve weighed 1500 pounds, and at least ten feet long. It actually had to lower its head to reach the man’s hands, its ears coming up to the man’s chest. Smallmouth couldn’t believe his eyes. The man reached in his pocket and revealed a handful of some type of feed, which he tossed on the ground at the pig. It started right in as the man fixed a collar on the pigs girthy neck, then attaching a leash. The pig gave a slight squeal.
“Good girl, good girl…cmon now” the man called Farmer Abraham sweetly coaxed the animal. He gave his end of the leash a tug and the monstrous swine reluctantly left its food and followed the man over close to the Crowned One. The fire raged and raged nearby, throwing crazy shadows all over the place.
“What have you brought us, Brother and Farmer Abraham?”
“Yeah, uh, this is Old Azazel, she’s been in my family for years, man.”
The Crowned One dropped his spear and knelt down to the jowls of the hog, the dark holes of his eyes meeting those of the animal. The other red cloaked figures remained statuesque around the cage.
“Ah, yes, Old Azazel, hello. You are to be of great importance in the history of the Earth tonight, old friend.”
The Crowned One got back up to address Brother and Father Abraham, who seemed obviously put off, yet submissive.
“And is this Old Azazel a natural specimen? Is it fed only of the earth and the filths therein?”
“Yessir, I’d reckon so.”
“This is necessary for a proper sacrifice, Brother and Farmer Abraham. You may only bring your best, your cleanest, your most dear to the alter of the Almighty.”
“I understand.”
“May I take her now?”
The farmer gave his end of the leash to the black gloved left hand of the Crowned One. The Crowned one stood with it for almost a full minute in total stillness and silence. The only noise Smallmouth could hear was the sloppy smacks and oinks from Old Azazel. The farmer anxiously waited, wringing his hands expecting the next move from the Crowned One.
“Turn away, Brother and Farmer Abraham. Turn away from us and toward the fire now.” The Crowned One finally spoke.
“Phew, alright. We’re still good on our deal? Do you still promise to make my little girl better? Like you said?” The farmer asked, with some hopeful desperation.
“Turn now.”
“Well okay” the farmer turned his back to the Crowned One and toward the fire.
“I can assure you with all of the knowledge in my mind and in my heart, you will never see your daughter sick again in this lifetime, Brother and Father Abraham. You may find peace and solace in this truth.”
The farmer nodded in relief as he looked upon the fire. Smallmouth, taking it all in with great confusion, could see a smile on the farmers fire lit face, and turned back to the Crowned One just in time to see him reach under his red garment and pull out a pistol and shoot a round into the back of the farmers head, blowing his cap off, which frisbeed down near his shaking, crumpled body. Old Azazel threw a fit immediately, screaming and trying her best to flee. The Crowned One held the immense beast with one hand, and with seemingly little effort. The other red clothed figures finally made noise, laughing deep and heartily around the cage. The Crowned One, keeping Old Azazel close, walked over to the doubled over farmer, putting two more bullets into his head, essentially hollowing it out into a carnal mess. The farmers shaking mercifully stopped.
Smallmouth had to slam his forearm up to his mouth to muffle the scream that would’ve come out and blown his cover. His eyes were flown wide open and his arms were shivering.
The Crowned One put the pistol back under his red cloak and led the great pig, still squealing as high pitched and piercing as the human ear can withstand, over to the mouth of the cage, which was opened by the nearest red clothed stranger. Old Azazel flew in to the cage, having been unleashed by The Crowned One. It struggled around the cage, which was no bigger than 15x15 feet, giving it no room to get comfortable. It circled the inner perimeter, showing impressive speed for such a large animal. It squealed and squealed. The sound stung Smallmouths ears, and he covered them with his hands. He was still out of sight in the tall grass. The Red People around the cage laughed at the hogs entrapment. The Crowned One raised a hand to signal silence. The Red People were still and quiet again.
“Now, my brothers, the sacrificial gift is in our possession. Tonight…is a HOLY NIGHT.” The Crowned One raised his voice as if getting to the climax of a fire and brimstone sermon.
“TONIGHT…WE WILL DESTROY WHAT WAS ONCE CAST OUT BUT NEVER VANQUISHED!! WE WILL RID THE EARTH OF A GREAT ARMY!! AN ARMY OF HELL THAT HAS FAR TOO LONG ROAMED AND SICKENED OUR LANDS AND KILLED OUR LOVES!! TONIGHT…WE WILL DESTROY THE DESTROYERS…THE LEGION OF SATANS SOLDIERS BORN JUST AFTER THE GARDEN OF EDEN FELL…”
The Crowned One fell to his knees, his arms up and stretched toward the frozen sky. A mighty wind began blowing at Smallmouths back. He had to lower his head as it roared over him. After a moment it calmed and he was able to lift up again to see. Winds from all corners of the field met at the cage, swirling over it in a great snowy funnel that led up to the clouds. Old Azazel screamed and screamed from the cage.
“I SEE YOU VILLIANS!! I HEAR YOU HOSTS OF HELL!! I KNOW YOU LIVE IN THESE TREES!! I KNOW YOU COWER WITHIN THE SOUND OF MY VOICE!! SHOW YOURSELF!! TAKE THE BODY OF THIS ANIMAL THAT I HAVE SET BEFORE YOU!! TAKE IT NOW!! TAKE IT NOW AND FACE ME!! TAKE IT NOW!! TAKE IT NOW!! TAKE I-“
The Crowned One’s vocal cord shredding performance was cut short by a single burst of black lightning that shot down from the middle of the snowy funnel cloud that surrounded the cage. The Crowned One and all the Red People were thrown several feet back from the blast. Thunder immediately exploded across the field. Smallmouth buried his face as the force and sound raced over him. Ears ringing, he kept his face down for a few seconds. He squinted back up to the strike zone.
The strange black lightning had blown the cage completely apart. Two of The Red People had been hit with the metal fencing. One laid motionless. The other gargled in pain as he put a hand to the pole that was sticking out of his sternum, having penetrated all the way through. His legs buckled and he fell forward, the end of the pole hitting the ground first and propping him up for a moment, before his body slowly slid down to the ground around the metal. He went silent. The other four Red People, yelling in surprise, gathered themselves, looking to the charred hole in the ground where Old Azazel should be, right in the center where the cage used to stand. The Crowned One got to his feet and picked up his spear.
“My brothers, gather your arms…” the Crowned One whispered, breathing heavily under his red cloak.
“The work is not over…”
The four remaining Red People grabbed their spears and slowly walked over to the burnt, smoking hole, holding an attack pose over it until further instructions were given.
“Are you with us, you age old tormentors?” This was the first time Smallmouth could hear fear in the tired voice of the Crowned One.
“Are you with us now? Are you ready to die, you infernal bastards? Are you ready to-“
The Crowned One was interrupted by a booming noise from the hole that tore Smallmouths wits to shreds. It was similar to the cry of Old Azazel, but much deeper and ten times louder and angrier. It was as if a freight train was blaring its horn and slamming its brakes at the same time.
“NOW MY BROTHERS!! STRIKE THE BEAST OF HELL WITH YOUR SPEARS! NOW!!!”
The Red People all threw their weapons down into the smoking hole. The hellish noise from within stopped in an instant. The Red People crowded closer to the edge of the hole, waiting for the smoke to clear. The Crowned One walked over to them, putting his black gloved hand on the shoulder of the nearest man.
“Oh, Brothers. Oh my dear, dear Brothers. Your acts tonight have rid the earth of a Great and Powerful Evil…”
Before he could continue, a fully enraged and re-inspired bellow thrust itself up and out of the hole like a serrated blade. Much, much louder and angrier than before. The Red People were taken aback in terror. Suddenly, from within the hole, a large head emerged and gaped a huge, disgusting maw up at the crowd. The head was burned black and its eyes were half boiled white and without pupils. It shrieked out that most terrible noise as if it didn’t need oxygen.
“There’s no way” Smallmouth heard himself say under his breath.
All in one motion, the beast leaped out of the hole, and turned to face its attackers. It was Old Azazel, except swollen with burnt mass. It appeared to have grown a half a size at least. Three spears stuck out of its sizzling, charcoal colored back. It snapped its gigantic jaws at the Red People, who shuddered in horror. The Crowned One spoke:
“DO NOT RELENT BROTHERS!! ATTACK!! ATTACK THE BRUTE!!”
He pulled his pistol back out of his cloak and fired the remaining three rounds on the new and horrible black burnt Old Azazel. The beast’s cloudy boiled egg eyes shot open along with its unnaturally stretched jaws. It took the three bullets as if they were tennis balls. At the speed of a charging grizzly and with multiple times the power Old Azazel raged over to The Crowned One and dove onto him mouth first, putting both front hooves on his chest as he was knocked down. The Crowned One cried out in a shockingly high pitched wail, like a man being electrocuted. The Beast bit right into the soft of his belly, and began to shake him around like an Orca trying to separate a seal from its pelt.
“OH GOD!!!! AHHHHHH GOD OHHHHH!!! HELP ME!!!! NOOOO!!!! OH GOD HELP ME!!!! MAMA!!!! OHHHH!!! MAMA!!!!!”
The beast ate and ate and shook and shook and tore and broke and destroyed while the Crowned One lost more and more of his body, all while crying out to the sky at the top of his punctured lungs. The other Red People sprinted to the black Dodge Ram, opened its doors and piled inside. Smallmouth heard it crank up and it began to speedily turn around and race away from the fire and back toward the road. The beast unhooked from the Crowned One and let out another ghastly roar of victory before biting into his neck, ending his screaming forever. The beast then left his half devoured body and began a tremendous and terrible charge after the truck, which was greatly slowed down by the trailer. Smallmouth put his face down as the beast passed him by only about 10 feet on its way to the truck, which had just made it back to the road and was using every RPM possible to get away from the demon charged killing machine on its heels. Smallmouth turned around to watch both parties disappear down the road, the echoes of that great and evil blasting noise stabbing his ears again. He remained on his stomach in the tall, snowy grass for another two minutes as he normalized his breath and tried to make any sense of what he just witnessed.
Eventually he slowly rose up and looked to make sure that terrible thing was indeed out of the area. No signs of life or death from up at the road. The danger was at least a couple miles away by now. Smallmouth then turned back toward the fire and to the dominated body of the Crowned One. He carefully walked up closer and closer. To his amazement he heard wheezy noises coming from the emptied out torso of the man, a scattering of insides and flesh and blood strewn all around him. Troubled, rattling breaths escaped from under the red clothed head, whose crown of thorns had flown off in the attack. Most of the red cloak had been ripped to shreds, and all that remained covered were his shoulders and above. The cloth slowly ebbed and flowed with breath. Smallmouth could not believe this man was still alive. His entire digestive system was eviscerated and his ribs were exposed. Smallmouth knelt down beside him and lifted his cloak over his head to let him at least breathe his last in the open air.
Smallmouth let out a gasp. This man had a face that Smallmouth knew very well. He recognized him immediately from the old church he worked at. The clean shaven face. The short, silver hair. The sharp nose. This was a man that had joined his church two weeks before the schism. He never spoke in church but it was rumored he would meet at the homes of different members and try to sway them to his strange ideas. He was the one rumored to have led the radical faction somewhere in the middle of the woods. To Smallmouth, it was all starting to make more sense.
“I know you,” Smallmouth said softly, “I know who you are. You tore a church in half didn’t you? You’re the crazy guy that split up my ole church! What the hell have you done?”
The man struggled to breathe and tried his best to spit up a couple of words. His neck had deep lacerations that flowed with escaping life.
“I…I…I…uhh…I only…I only…I only did what I believed…” he whispered before a wet, stifled breath.
“What did you do?!!!” Smallmouth grew angry, and his voice followed suit. This man had ruined his job and now he had unleashed something horrifying on his neighborhood. He had tampered with things that man has no business tampering with.
“I…I…I have…have…I have failed, Smallmouth Bassett” the man croaked. Smallmouth couldn’t believe he had bothered to remember his name.
“I have failed. I have failed. God help you all…” with that the man’s face fell and he let out one last slow exhale before all was still.
Smallmouth got back on his feet and looked away from the dead man and toward the fire, which towered and raged in the reflection of his eyes.
“Oh no…oh no…oh no” he said in between terrified breaths.
Then another though hit him like a wrecking ball.
“Uncle Chuck…”
submitted by SamMorrisHorror to BeingScaredStories [link] [comments]
“Oh man, it’s bad” , he thought to himself.
He hadn’t shaved in weeks and his beard grew coarse and thick. A face that his mother had once called handsome had become a clean plate covered in steel wool. Well, maybe not so clean. Under and around his eyes were the obvious bruising of sleeplessness and his skin had lost its lively color and clarity of yesteryear.
“Ughhh” he groaned, turning away from the window to look over the porch and into the freezing, beckoning night.
The pickle that Jeremy “Smallmouth” Bassett found himself in involved his uncle, and his uncle’s evening logistics, to be precise. Smallmouth had been kicked out of his parents home on December 27th due to a slight misunderstanding at 2am when he believed the living room Christmas tree to be the downstairs bathroom. He had passed out on the couch after drinking a fire pit full of crushed Hamm’s cans and his brain tried desperately to get him up and to the nearby toilet. His little sister Stacy was tucked in fast asleep on a loveseat by the tree when she was brutally torn from her sugarplum dreams to hear the terrible hiss of Smallmouth’s folly. She screamed, the parents woke up, and, well, there you go. After well over three strikes, Smallmouth’s temporary residence had come to an end, and he was thrown to his mother’s brother’s cabin to dry up and straighten out before he could ever even be considered to return.
“You two deserve to live together. He can’t say no either because he owes me a lot more than this!” Smallmouth’s mother had screeched over him as he sat at the kitchen table the following morning with a cold bag of peas against his throbbing right temple. “You go there and you GET RIGHT!! I don’t care how long it takes just clean up your act and MAKE something of yourself! And for goodness sake tell Chuck to do the same, while he still has time!”
Yes, Uncle Chuck had his own shelf full of good time problems, and that’s what put Smallmouth in a bind tonight as he pondered over the white yonder that led to a black nothing, a black nothing that in the daylight pretended to be a forest. At night, it showed its true nature, an endless world of dark secrets and aching regret. At least that’s how Smallmouth saw it in this moment.
Chuck had gone down to the ranch he worked on for a New Years party with his work buddies. They liked to gather at the big barn where all of the vehicles and equipment were kept, sitting around a card table passing out stories about women and other trophy game that were either outright lied about or illegally poached. Oh, and they also liked to pass the bottle around. Therein lied the conundrum for Smallmouth.
Uncle Chuck was many things, but one thing he wasn’t was a drunk driver. Chuck’s wife Rebecca had been struck and killed by a drunk driver almost ten years ago when she was out jogging the back roads early one morning. Everyone assumed that’s what led him to his openly hard drinking and sneakily pill popping ways in the first place. For Chuck, most nights were kept at home, parked in front of a TV watching old westerns and cleaning out a full bottle of Wild Turkey 101 before snoring in his recliner. On the few nights he would go out, he would always call a ride if things got out of hand. As you can imagine, he tends to need a ride home.
“I should be home bout 11:30. Service ain’t so good up there near the barn so if it gets bout 11:15-11:20 and I ain’t home, go head and do me a favor and come grab me son.” Chuck had told Smallmouth before he left, closing the warped screen door behind him.
Smallmouth had spent the evening trying his best to stay entertained without the help of any chemical enhancement. His family’s anger and resentment really struck him and this time he was determined to truly get right and get his life back on the rails. He was 29 years old. He had gone through college clean as a whistle, bright and driven, receiving his MBA with plans to work his way up in a promising career in business. That worked for a couple years. Then he found a calling in ministry, deciding to quit the corporate world to fill an opening of a tiny country church in the area. They needed a deacon who could take care of things around the building and assist in the worship service. He wasn’t much for public speaking, haven been given the nickname Smallmouth at a young age due to his soft spoken nature, but he could pass plates and give a hushed prayer every now and then. He liked to mow and paint and help old ladies up the stairs. The quiet country life was really nice for him, for a while. Strange, radical ideas eventually spread through the church though, and half of its members left overnight to form their own congregation. Its funding cut in half, the church had to close its doors and the other members absorbed into other churches. Smallmouth rarely ever saw the people that had departed from the church, but rumors creeped that they met at an old abandoned building deep in the woods, performing all sorts of different acts and rituals that would purify themselves and destroy all evils. Nevertheless, Smallmouth was out of work and picked up shifts bartending at a small town dive. His soft fortitude was no match for the booze and drugs and women that would pass through there and soon he was out the door. That landed him mooching off of his parents, draining their sanity and eventually draining himself on their Christmas tree. The last strike.
So there he was all night, waiting up for uncle Chuck. He was two days clean of everything except caffeine and nicotine, a major improvement. He felt a boost of hope and confidence the first morning after a sober nights sleep. He found the mornings to be the best parts of the day. At least he had coffee and cigarettes to get him out of bed. That would wear off quickly and the rest of the day was filled with trying to find distractions until the sun set about 5pm. Then he would watch a movie or two with Chuck. Last night he had been able to call it early and go to sleep at 7pm shortly after Chuck started sawing logs in front of True Grit (the original John Wayne version of course). Tonight he saw 7pm struggle and churn into 8…….8:13……..8:48……9:05……9:29………..9:31………9:52……..9:58……….10:11…….10:12 (oh cmon)……10:27…….10:56…….and finally 11:08. It was like the clock was a 35 year old four cylinder engine oiled with crunchy peanut butter. Now, crunch time sat in the cold air as Smallmouth finished his cigarette and stewed over his decision. He really didn’t feel like going down to the barn and getting Chuck, even though it was only a couple miles. In the infancy of his sobriety he found the smallest of choices and activities to seem dire and at the very least upsettingly out of his way. Surely Chuck can get himself home on his own, right?
“No. Who knows if someone’s Aunt Rebecca or grandmother or son is out there on the road tonight” he thought.
As much as he had tried to screw up his life, Smallmouth usually knew what the right decision would be, even if he so often refused to listen. It was there ever so clearly on this New Year’s Eve, wailing in the back row of his mind like a misbehaved child during a church sermon. Smallmouth left the porch and went inside to grab his keys.
He walked out to his truck, got in, cranked it, let it sit down to one rpm, and started down the gravel driveway, which led to the gravel county road that Chuck and his few and far between neighbors lived on. He got to the mailbox and suddenly shot his attention up the road, where headlights revealed themselves out of the deep dark. It was rare to see any cars this far down Chuck’s road. In fact, there were no other houses to the right of Chuck’s cabin, spare for a couple of empty ones that were condemned but were attached to a lot of forest property.
Smallmouth squinted his eyes as a large black Dodge Ram 3500 came barreling by with a livestock trailer. Even inside his own truck he could hear a terrible noise coming from that trailer. He recognized it instantly as a pig squeal.
“The hell?” He whispered as the truck and trailer tore down the road, going around a nearby corner and out of sight. He couldn’t guess what on earth that could be about at this hour, and especially since nobody lived down there anyway. He shrugged it off though, and turned left out of the driveway, headed for drunk Uncle Chuck down at the ranch.
Ten minutes and a couple of snowy country miles later Smallmouth found himself through the metal gate of the ranch and up to the main barn, where a couple of smiling ranch hands had Chuck held up between them just outside one of two closed garage doors. A lamppost nearby cast a glow of debauchery on all of their faces, especially Chuck’s. Smallmouth got out and walked up to them smiling and shaking his head.
“Well well well…” he said with a slight laugh.
“Your Uncle put on one hell of a clinic tonight ‘Mouth” one of the hands said.
“I…..I….I don’t know what they’re tawlkin bout son” Chuck slang out before a high pitched giggle.
“I got another couple rounds in me I thinks!”
Smallmouth laughed.
“Yeah I ain’t so sure about that uncle! Let’s get on home now and let these fellas get on too.”
“Y’alright alright” Chuck said as Smallmouth took him from his buddies arms into one of his own and led him to the passenger seat of his truck.
“Happy New Years boys!!! Let’s do it all again okay?” He hollered to his waving buddies as they drove back away from the barn and through the metal gate toward home.
“You have a good time Uncle?”
“Oh…ohhh…I reckon I showed those boys how to do it” Another childish giggle.
A light snow shower seasoned the cold air as the truck rolled down the gravel country road. In the yellow headlights it made a pleasant white noise for the eyes. Chuck put his hands up staggered and vertically, fingers together and outstretched, pointing out in front of the truck down the road like he was aiming up for a rifle shot. He closed one eye.
“Straight as an arrow ole son. You’re good at this.”
“I ain’t drunk pops” Smallmouth chuckled.
“Sure ya are. Everybody’s drunk son. Even people that ain’t drink. Ticket is to get drunk on good stuff” Chuck’s face calmed from a goofy grin as he kept his eyes out front into the slow swirling tube of visible night.
“You sound like you’re drunk on some pretty damn good stuff” Smallmouth retorted as they shared a look and a good laugh.
“Suppose’n you ain’t wrong. Gotta work on that just like you are. Proud o’ you for a couple days clean man. We’ll get right. We’ll get right. All I meant was that man is born to get drunk on somethin’ or other. What I mean is God. Man is born to get drunk on his God.” Chuck said as Smallmouth shot him a raised eyebrow look of confusion.
“Once God gets ya drunk then you’re home free ol’ son. That distillery is never ending eternal forever. That land flows with whiskey and honey.” They both shared another laugh.
“Okay okay I think I somewhat understand now Uncle.”
They rode in a few seconds of comfortable silence before Chuck put his hands up in an aim position down the road again.
“You know…man….man….man has a GOVERNOR…..you know that right?”
“A what? A governor?”
“That’s right a GOVERNOR…that’s right…a little bitty device in his brain that keeps him on the road…keeps him from turning right off into the dark. You ever hear that little voice that tells you you can turn off into the ditch…into oncomin’ traffic? Tells you you can shoot your buddy instead of the deer? That you can jump off the top of the building and onto the pavement when you’re up there enjoying the view?”
“I…uh…I don’t know…I mean maybe? Pretty sure those are intrusive thoughts and they’re normal.”
“Well whatever they are that’s what the governor is for. Keeps ya straight. Keeps ya from harmin nothin.”
“Alright man, alright.”
They pulled back into Chuck’s driveway and parked. Smallmouth helped his uncle out of the truck and up into the cabin, snow starting to color the roof and pile against the side of the house near the door. Arms locked Smallmouth propped open the screen door, opened the inner door, and led Chuck through the kitchen and to his bedroom. Chuck layed down on his camo comforter with a deep, long exhale.
“Ahhhh yes……yes” he whispered with a smile.
“I love ya son…I’m glad you’re heeeeere. Let’s get better….your mom needs it…..stay in the Lord’s light son…don’t let them devils get ya….let’s get better….lets….” He was off into the distant deep ether almost immediately, and his mouth hung open.
“Goodnight uncle…love ya too.” Smallmouth patted the bed twice before walking over and closing the bedroom door behind him.
He went and sat at the kitchen table. He regretted his behavior earlier in the night. How it pained him to have to stay up a little later to go help out his uncle.
“Cmon…” he whispered.
He agreed with Chuck. He was here to get better. To do better. Maybe Chuck was right. If he couldn’t get drunk off booze, it was time to pick something else to drink. Better things. Maybe even God? Smallmouth hadn’t paid much mind to God since his church job fell through. God surely hadn’t been there for him these last few years when he was at his lowest. Or was He there the whole time? Had Smallmouth just ignored Him? These things floated heavily in his mind and soon he realized he had been staring at the front door for several minutes. Had he even blinked? Then something else came to mind.
“Wait hold up”
That truck and trailer from earlier. What WAS that? He meant to bring it up to the ranch hands. They would’ve seen it come barreling down the road right by their front gate. Oh he wished he had brought that up to them. Oh well. It’s probably nothing. Smallmouth looked at the clock. 12:12.
“Happy New Year old boy.” He said to himself.
He sat for a moment in the warm kitchen light, his eyes not leaving the front door. Well, he’s up this late already, why not go run down and check on the abandoned properties?
No…no…it can wait. It’s probably nothing. Right?
Wrong. There’s that wailing kid in the back pew of his mind again. Come on kid can’t you just be quiet and listen to the sermon? No, no it can’t. It must be heard. Always. He knew he had to go check it out.
“Ughhhh FINE!” Smallmouth got up and grabbed his truck keys, patted to make sure his cigarettes were still there, and was out the door again.
The snow shower had ended. As he pulled up to the edge of the drive, he stalled for a moment and peaked out as far to the right as he could down the dark road. Nothing. It wasn’t very far to the end of that road, where two out of service mailboxes should’ve stood in a small cul-de-sac if it weren’t for teenagers beating them to splinters. Can’t really blame them either. Smallmouth considered his plan. Whether or not that truck belonged to the landowner down there, he shouldn’t feel like he needs to sneak around. He is merely a concerned neighbor after all. He began down the road and around that same corner the stranger disappeared earlier.
After a couple of slow, curious minutes Smallmouth could see the evidence of a great big fire in the near distance, beyond where the road ended. Through the bare trees and against the snow it cast orange and red that could surely be seen a mile in every direction, that is, if there were anyone there to see it.
Slightly intimidated, Smallmouth decided to turn off his headlights and let the fire guide him as he slowed up to 5mph and gently crackled his last few yards of gravel up to the remnants of the nearest mailbox post. It seemed the fire was on the land of the farther property, whose mailbox posthole was about 30 feet from where he came to a stop and parked his truck. Smallmouth turned it off and quietly got out into the cold. He crouched down as he walked over to the farther driveway, getting down on one knee to give it a stealthy closer look.
The abandoned property boasted a busted up trailer that sat pitifully about 500 feet from the mailbox memorial. Beyond that was a good ten acres of field that ended at the forest edge, which marked the beginning of thousands of acres of wildlife refuge. As Smallmouth peered on, it was obvious that the fire was way out in that field, blocked by the old trailer, which wore the hot light and columns of smoke on it like a devilish crown. Given the cover, Smallmouth crept over to the trailer and started easing around the right side.
Rounding the corner he noticed a propane tank that would be perfect for hiding behind and getting the best look he could at the mysterious activity. He got down on his belly and crawled his way over to the tank, before sitting up and peeking slowly over the top and out into the field.
Way down there, a couple acres away from the tree line, was a huge fire, made up of about fifty wooden pallets. It raged and lit up the whole field like it was just the beginning of sunset. Somewhat near the fire was the black Dodge Ram 3500 and trailer. Smallmouth could see a group of people dressed in all red, as if covered in bloody bedsheets from head to toe, circled around a crude cage, seemingly fastened together by pieces of metal fencing. They stood still as the pines, and twice as silent. Smallmouth, in a rare moment of curious courage, decided he had to get closer. He got back on his stomach and began to crawl through the cold, knee high grass.
Using the fire light as his North Star he crawled and crawled, feeling his hands, clothes, and beard get wet with snow. He didn’t care. Something was up that wasn’t normal, wasn’t right. He could feel it in his cold gut. When he thought he was close enough without giving himself away he planted his palms and ever so slowly raised his torso up into a weak push up to try and see out. He was glad he didn’t go any further. He may have been too close already.
He was close enough to read the name of the truck and count the holes in the livestock trailer. There were seven strangers in red sheets all around the makeshift cage, all holding long spears. One of the figures had a crown of black thorns on his head. They all had two eyeholes and one hole for the mouth. They didn’t move a muscle for the longest time, before the Crowned One forcibly touched the end of his spear to the ground.
“Now is the time, Brother and Farmer Abraham…there is no more for us in waiting.”
Smallmouth had just noticed the passenger window to the black Dodge was down, and he could hear the driver door open and soon saw a normal looking older man in a ball cap at the back of the trailer. He was holding a leash of some sort. He opened up the trailer and whistled into the dark of it. After a couple of loud, heavy thuds a gigantic, and I mean GIGANTIC Yorkshire pig came slowly shrugging out of the trailer. It was light pink in color but filthy, and gave wet sounding oinks as it came to the man’s hands expecting food. The thing must’ve weighed 1500 pounds, and at least ten feet long. It actually had to lower its head to reach the man’s hands, its ears coming up to the man’s chest. Smallmouth couldn’t believe his eyes. The man reached in his pocket and revealed a handful of some type of feed, which he tossed on the ground at the pig. It started right in as the man fixed a collar on the pigs girthy neck, then attaching a leash. The pig gave a slight squeal.
“Good girl, good girl…cmon now” the man called Farmer Abraham sweetly coaxed the animal. He gave his end of the leash a tug and the monstrous swine reluctantly left its food and followed the man over close to the Crowned One. The fire raged and raged nearby, throwing crazy shadows all over the place.
“What have you brought us, Brother and Farmer Abraham?”
“Yeah, uh, this is Old Azazel, she’s been in my family for years, man.”
The Crowned One dropped his spear and knelt down to the jowls of the hog, the dark holes of his eyes meeting those of the animal. The other red cloaked figures remained statuesque around the cage.
“Ah, yes, Old Azazel, hello. You are to be of great importance in the history of the Earth tonight, old friend.”
The Crowned One got back up to address Brother and Father Abraham, who seemed obviously put off, yet submissive.
“And is this Old Azazel a natural specimen? Is it fed only of the earth and the filths therein?”
“Yessir, I’d reckon so.”
“This is necessary for a proper sacrifice, Brother and Farmer Abraham. You may only bring your best, your cleanest, your most dear to the alter of the Almighty.”
“I understand.”
“May I take her now?”
The farmer gave his end of the leash to the black gloved left hand of the Crowned One. The Crowned one stood with it for almost a full minute in total stillness and silence. The only noise Smallmouth could hear was the sloppy smacks and oinks from Old Azazel. The farmer anxiously waited, wringing his hands expecting the next move from the Crowned One.
“Turn away, Brother and Farmer Abraham. Turn away from us and toward the fire now.” The Crowned One finally spoke.
“Phew, alright. We’re still good on our deal? Do you still promise to make my little girl better? Like you said?” The farmer asked, with some hopeful desperation.
“Turn now.”
“Well okay” the farmer turned his back to the Crowned One and toward the fire.
“I can assure you with all of the knowledge in my mind and in my heart, you will never see your daughter sick again in this lifetime, Brother and Father Abraham. You may find peace and solace in this truth.”
The farmer nodded in relief as he looked upon the fire. Smallmouth, taking it all in with great confusion, could see a smile on the farmers fire lit face, and turned back to the Crowned One just in time to see him reach under his red garment and pull out a pistol and shoot a round into the back of the farmers head, blowing his cap off, which frisbeed down near his shaking, crumpled body. Old Azazel threw a fit immediately, screaming and trying her best to flee. The Crowned One held the immense beast with one hand, and with seemingly little effort. The other red clothed figures finally made noise, laughing deep and heartily around the cage. The Crowned One, keeping Old Azazel close, walked over to the doubled over farmer, putting two more bullets into his head, essentially hollowing it out into a carnal mess. The farmers shaking mercifully stopped.
Smallmouth had to slam his forearm up to his mouth to muffle the scream that would’ve come out and blown his cover. His eyes were flown wide open and his arms were shivering.
The Crowned One put the pistol back under his red cloak and led the great pig, still squealing as high pitched and piercing as the human ear can withstand, over to the mouth of the cage, which was opened by the nearest red clothed stranger. Old Azazel flew in to the cage, having been unleashed by The Crowned One. It struggled around the cage, which was no bigger than 15x15 feet, giving it no room to get comfortable. It circled the inner perimeter, showing impressive speed for such a large animal. It squealed and squealed. The sound stung Smallmouths ears, and he covered them with his hands. He was still out of sight in the tall grass. The Red People around the cage laughed at the hogs entrapment. The Crowned One raised a hand to signal silence. The Red People were still and quiet again.
“Now, my brothers, the sacrificial gift is in our possession. Tonight…is a HOLY NIGHT.” The Crowned One raised his voice as if getting to the climax of a fire and brimstone sermon.
“TONIGHT…WE WILL DESTROY WHAT WAS ONCE CAST OUT BUT NEVER VANQUISHED!! WE WILL RID THE EARTH OF A GREAT ARMY!! AN ARMY OF HELL THAT HAS FAR TOO LONG ROAMED AND SICKENED OUR LANDS AND KILLED OUR LOVES!! TONIGHT…WE WILL DESTROY THE DESTROYERS…THE LEGION OF SATANS SOLDIERS BORN JUST AFTER THE GARDEN OF EDEN FELL…”
The Crowned One fell to his knees, his arms up and stretched toward the frozen sky. A mighty wind began blowing at Smallmouths back. He had to lower his head as it roared over him. After a moment it calmed and he was able to lift up again to see. Winds from all corners of the field met at the cage, swirling over it in a great snowy funnel that led up to the clouds. Old Azazel screamed and screamed from the cage.
“I SEE YOU VILLIANS!! I HEAR YOU HOSTS OF HELL!! I KNOW YOU LIVE IN THESE TREES!! I KNOW YOU COWER WITHIN THE SOUND OF MY VOICE!! SHOW YOURSELF!! TAKE THE BODY OF THIS ANIMAL THAT I HAVE SET BEFORE YOU!! TAKE IT NOW!! TAKE IT NOW AND FACE ME!! TAKE IT NOW!! TAKE IT NOW!! TAKE I-“
The Crowned One’s vocal cord shredding performance was cut short by a single burst of black lightning that shot down from the middle of the snowy funnel cloud that surrounded the cage. The Crowned One and all the Red People were thrown several feet back from the blast. Thunder immediately exploded across the field. Smallmouth buried his face as the force and sound raced over him. Ears ringing, he kept his face down for a few seconds. He squinted back up to the strike zone.
The strange black lightning had blown the cage completely apart. Two of The Red People had been hit with the metal fencing. One laid motionless. The other gargled in pain as he put a hand to the pole that was sticking out of his sternum, having penetrated all the way through. His legs buckled and he fell forward, the end of the pole hitting the ground first and propping him up for a moment, before his body slowly slid down to the ground around the metal. He went silent. The other four Red People, yelling in surprise, gathered themselves, looking to the charred hole in the ground where Old Azazel should be, right in the center where the cage used to stand. The Crowned One got to his feet and picked up his spear.
“My brothers, gather your arms…” the Crowned One whispered, breathing heavily under his red cloak.
“The work is not over…”
The four remaining Red People grabbed their spears and slowly walked over to the burnt, smoking hole, holding an attack pose over it until further instructions were given.
“Are you with us, you age old tormentors?” This was the first time Smallmouth could hear fear in the tired voice of the Crowned One.
“Are you with us now? Are you ready to die, you infernal bastards? Are you ready to-“
The Crowned One was interrupted by a booming noise from the hole that tore Smallmouths wits to shreds. It was similar to the cry of Old Azazel, but much deeper and ten times louder and angrier. It was as if a freight train was blaring its horn and slamming its brakes at the same time.
“NOW MY BROTHERS!! STRIKE THE BEAST OF HELL WITH YOUR SPEARS! NOW!!!”
The Red People all threw their weapons down into the smoking hole. The hellish noise from within stopped in an instant. The Red People crowded closer to the edge of the hole, waiting for the smoke to clear. The Crowned One walked over to them, putting his black gloved hand on the shoulder of the nearest man.
“Oh, Brothers. Oh my dear, dear Brothers. Your acts tonight have rid the earth of a Great and Powerful Evil…”
Before he could continue, a fully enraged and re-inspired bellow thrust itself up and out of the hole like a serrated blade. Much, much louder and angrier than before. The Red People were taken aback in terror. Suddenly, from within the hole, a large head emerged and gaped a huge, disgusting maw up at the crowd. The head was burned black and its eyes were half boiled white and without pupils. It shrieked out that most terrible noise as if it didn’t need oxygen.
“There’s no way” Smallmouth heard himself say under his breath.
All in one motion, the beast leaped out of the hole, and turned to face its attackers. It was Old Azazel, except swollen with burnt mass. It appeared to have grown a half a size at least. Three spears stuck out of its sizzling, charcoal colored back. It snapped its gigantic jaws at the Red People, who shuddered in horror. The Crowned One spoke:
“DO NOT RELENT BROTHERS!! ATTACK!! ATTACK THE BRUTE!!”
He pulled his pistol back out of his cloak and fired the remaining three rounds on the new and horrible black burnt Old Azazel. The beast’s cloudy boiled egg eyes shot open along with its unnaturally stretched jaws. It took the three bullets as if they were tennis balls. At the speed of a charging grizzly and with multiple times the power Old Azazel raged over to The Crowned One and dove onto him mouth first, putting both front hooves on his chest as he was knocked down. The Crowned One cried out in a shockingly high pitched wail, like a man being electrocuted. The Beast bit right into the soft of his belly, and began to shake him around like an Orca trying to separate a seal from its pelt.
“OH GOD!!!! AHHHHHH GOD OHHHHH!!! HELP ME!!!! NOOOO!!!! OH GOD HELP ME!!!! MAMA!!!! OHHHH!!! MAMA!!!!!”
The beast ate and ate and shook and shook and tore and broke and destroyed while the Crowned One lost more and more of his body, all while crying out to the sky at the top of his punctured lungs. The other Red People sprinted to the black Dodge Ram, opened its doors and piled inside. Smallmouth heard it crank up and it began to speedily turn around and race away from the fire and back toward the road. The beast unhooked from the Crowned One and let out another ghastly roar of victory before biting into his neck, ending his screaming forever. The beast then left his half devoured body and began a tremendous and terrible charge after the truck, which was greatly slowed down by the trailer. Smallmouth put his face down as the beast passed him by only about 10 feet on its way to the truck, which had just made it back to the road and was using every RPM possible to get away from the demon charged killing machine on its heels. Smallmouth turned around to watch both parties disappear down the road, the echoes of that great and evil blasting noise stabbing his ears again. He remained on his stomach in the tall, snowy grass for another two minutes as he normalized his breath and tried to make any sense of what he just witnessed.
Eventually he slowly rose up and looked to make sure that terrible thing was indeed out of the area. No signs of life or death from up at the road. The danger was at least a couple miles away by now. Smallmouth then turned back toward the fire and to the dominated body of the Crowned One. He carefully walked up closer and closer. To his amazement he heard wheezy noises coming from the emptied out torso of the man, a scattering of insides and flesh and blood strewn all around him. Troubled, rattling breaths escaped from under the red clothed head, whose crown of thorns had flown off in the attack. Most of the red cloak had been ripped to shreds, and all that remained covered were his shoulders and above. The cloth slowly ebbed and flowed with breath. Smallmouth could not believe this man was still alive. His entire digestive system was eviscerated and his ribs were exposed. Smallmouth knelt down beside him and lifted his cloak over his head to let him at least breathe his last in the open air.
Smallmouth let out a gasp. This man had a face that Smallmouth knew very well. He recognized him immediately from the old church he worked at. The clean shaven face. The short, silver hair. The sharp nose. This was a man that had joined his church two weeks before the schism. He never spoke in church but it was rumored he would meet at the homes of different members and try to sway them to his strange ideas. He was the one rumored to have led the radical faction somewhere in the middle of the woods. To Smallmouth, it was all starting to make more sense.
“I know you,” Smallmouth said softly, “I know who you are. You tore a church in half didn’t you? You’re the crazy guy that split up my ole church! What the hell have you done?”
The man struggled to breathe and tried his best to spit up a couple of words. His neck had deep lacerations that flowed with escaping life.
“I…I…I…uhh…I only…I only…I only did what I believed…” he whispered before a wet, stifled breath.
“What did you do?!!!” Smallmouth grew angry, and his voice followed suit. This man had ruined his job and now he had unleashed something horrifying on his neighborhood. He had tampered with things that man has no business tampering with.
“I…I…I have…have…I have failed, Smallmouth Bassett” the man croaked. Smallmouth couldn’t believe he had bothered to remember his name.
“I have failed. I have failed. God help you all…” with that the man’s face fell and he let out one last slow exhale before all was still.
Smallmouth got back on his feet and looked away from the dead man and toward the fire, which towered and raged in the reflection of his eyes.
“Oh no…oh no…oh no” he said in between terrified breaths.
Then another though hit him like a wrecking ball.
“Uncle Chuck…”
2024.05.18 01:33 SamMorrisHorror Them Devils Pt. 1
On the night when it all happened a young man called Smallmouth found himself in quite a pickle. He shivered and paced clumsily all over the second story porch of a cabin that used to be very nice, which overlooked a snowy down-sloping field that used to be kept up properly and carefully. He was already six packs deep into a carton of cigarettes he had bought only two days ago from a Casey’s General Store on his way up. He could recall the look on the young woman’s face at the register when he asked for a carton of Parliament Menthols, her eyes showing one blink of humorous surprise and another couple blinks of obvious concern, which faded to professional indifference as she rang in the sweet, icy killers. Smallmouth stopped his nervous dallying when he caught himself in the kitchen window; a large, shadowy figure sulking between the inside lights and the cold, almost glowing world downhill. His eyes still on his murky reflection, he patted his coat pockets for his seventh pack, pulling it out and smacking it against his left palm before cracking open and lighting it at his mouth. In a slow, warm flash, he could briefly see his own face in the window.
“Oh man, it’s bad” , he thought to himself.
He hadn’t shaved in weeks and his beard grew coarse and thick. A face that his mother had once called handsome had become a clean plate covered in steel wool. Well, maybe not so clean. Under and around his eyes were the obvious bruising of sleeplessness and his skin had lost its lively color and clarity of yesteryear.
“Ughhh” he groaned, turning away from the window to look over the porch and into the freezing, beckoning night.
The pickle that Jeremy “Smallmouth” Bassett found himself in involved his uncle, and his uncle’s evening logistics, to be precise. Smallmouth had been kicked out of his parents home on December 27th due to a slight misunderstanding at 2am when he believed the living room Christmas tree to be the downstairs bathroom. He had passed out on the couch after drinking a fire pit full of crushed Hamm’s cans and his brain tried desperately to get him up and to the nearby toilet. His little sister Stacy was tucked in fast asleep on a loveseat by the tree when she was brutally torn from her sugarplum dreams to hear the terrible hiss of Smallmouth’s folly. She screamed, the parents woke up, and, well, there you go. After well over three strikes, Smallmouth’s temporary residence had come to an end, and he was thrown to his mother’s brother’s cabin to dry up and straighten out before he could ever even be considered to return.
“You two deserve to live together. He can’t say no either because he owes me a lot more than this!” Smallmouth’s mother had screeched over him as he sat at the kitchen table the following morning with a cold bag of peas against his throbbing right temple. “You go there and you GET RIGHT!! I don’t care how long it takes just clean up your act and MAKE something of yourself! And for goodness sake tell Chuck to do the same, while he still has time!”
Yes, Uncle Chuck had his own shelf full of good time problems, and that’s what put Smallmouth in a bind tonight as he pondered over the white yonder that led to a black nothing, a black nothing that in the daylight pretended to be a forest. At night, it showed its true nature, an endless world of dark secrets and aching regret. At least that’s how Smallmouth saw it in this moment.
Chuck had gone down to the ranch he worked on for a New Years party with his work buddies. They liked to gather at the big barn where all of the vehicles and equipment were kept, sitting around a card table passing out stories about women and other trophy game that were either outright lied about or illegally poached. Oh, and they also liked to pass the bottle around. Therein lied the conundrum for Smallmouth.
Uncle Chuck was many things, but one thing he wasn’t was a drunk driver. Chuck’s wife Rebecca had been struck and killed by a drunk driver almost ten years ago when she was out jogging the back roads early one morning. Everyone assumed that’s what led him to his openly hard drinking and sneakily pill popping ways in the first place. For Chuck, most nights were kept at home, parked in front of a TV watching old westerns and cleaning out a full bottle of Wild Turkey 101 before snoring in his recliner. On the few nights he would go out, he would always call a ride if things got out of hand. As you can imagine, he tends to need a ride home.
“I should be home bout 11:30. Service ain’t so good up there near the barn so if it gets bout 11:15-11:20 and I ain’t home, go head and do me a favor and come grab me son.” Chuck had told Smallmouth before he left, closing the warped screen door behind him.
Smallmouth had spent the evening trying his best to stay entertained without the help of any chemical enhancement. His family’s anger and resentment really struck him and this time he was determined to truly get right and get his life back on the rails. He was 29 years old. He had gone through college clean as a whistle, bright and driven, receiving his MBA with plans to work his way up in a promising career in business. That worked for a couple years. Then he found a calling in ministry, deciding to quit the corporate world to fill an opening of a tiny country church in the area. They needed a deacon who could take care of things around the building and assist in the worship service. He wasn’t much for public speaking, haven been given the nickname Smallmouth at a young age due to his soft spoken nature, but he could pass plates and give a hushed prayer every now and then. He liked to mow and paint and help old ladies up the stairs. The quiet country life was really nice for him, for a while. Strange, radical ideas eventually spread through the church though, and half of its members left overnight to form their own congregation. Its funding cut in half, the church had to close its doors and the other members absorbed into other churches. Smallmouth rarely ever saw the people that had departed from the church, but rumors creeped that they met at an old abandoned building deep in the woods, performing all sorts of different acts and rituals that would purify themselves and destroy all evils. Nevertheless, Smallmouth was out of work and picked up shifts bartending at a small town dive. His soft fortitude was no match for the booze and drugs and women that would pass through there and soon he was out the door. That landed him mooching off of his parents, draining their sanity and eventually draining himself on their Christmas tree. The last strike.
So there he was all night, waiting up for uncle Chuck. He was two days clean of everything except caffeine and nicotine, a major improvement. He felt a boost of hope and confidence the first morning after a sober nights sleep. He found the mornings to be the best parts of the day. At least he had coffee and cigarettes to get him out of bed. That would wear off quickly and the rest of the day was filled with trying to find distractions until the sun set about 5pm. Then he would watch a movie or two with Chuck. Last night he had been able to call it early and go to sleep at 7pm shortly after Chuck started sawing logs in front of True Grit (the original John Wayne version of course). Tonight he saw 7pm struggle and churn into 8…….8:13……..8:48……9:05……9:29………..9:31………9:52……..9:58……….10:11…….10:12 (oh cmon)……10:27…….10:56…….and finally 11:08. It was like the clock was a 35 year old four cylinder engine oiled with crunchy peanut butter. Now, crunch time sat in the cold air as Smallmouth finished his cigarette and stewed over his decision. He really didn’t feel like going down to the barn and getting Chuck, even though it was only a couple miles. In the infancy of his sobriety he found the smallest of choices and activities to seem dire and at the very least upsettingly out of his way. Surely Chuck can get himself home on his own, right?
“No. Who knows if someone’s Aunt Rebecca or grandmother or son is out there on the road tonight” he thought.
As much as he had tried to screw up his life, Smallmouth usually knew what the right decision would be, even if he so often refused to listen. It was there ever so clearly on this New Year’s Eve, wailing in the back row of his mind like a misbehaved child during a church sermon. Smallmouth left the porch and went inside to grab his keys.
He walked out to his truck, got in, cranked it, let it sit down to one rpm, and started down the gravel driveway, which led to the gravel county road that Chuck and his few and far between neighbors lived on. He got to the mailbox and suddenly shot his attention up the road, where headlights revealed themselves out of the deep dark. It was rare to see any cars this far down Chuck’s road. In fact, there were no other houses to the right of Chuck’s cabin, spare for a couple of empty ones that were condemned but were attached to a lot of forest property.
Smallmouth squinted his eyes as a large black Dodge Ram 3500 came barreling by with a livestock trailer. Even inside his own truck he could hear a terrible noise coming from that trailer. He recognized it instantly as a pig squeal.
“The hell?” He whispered as the truck and trailer tore down the road, going around a nearby corner and out of sight. He couldn’t guess what on earth that could be about at this hour, and especially since nobody lived down there anyway. He shrugged it off though, and turned left out of the driveway, headed for drunk Uncle Chuck down at the ranch.
Ten minutes and a couple of snowy country miles later Smallmouth found himself through the metal gate of the ranch and up to the main barn, where a couple of smiling ranch hands had Chuck held up between them just outside one of two closed garage doors. A lamppost nearby cast a glow of debauchery on all of their faces, especially Chuck’s. Smallmouth got out and walked up to them smiling and shaking his head.
“Well well well…” he said with a slight laugh.
“Your Uncle put on one hell of a clinic tonight ‘Mouth” one of the hands said.
“I…..I….I don’t know what they’re tawlkin bout son” Chuck slang out before a high pitched giggle.
“I got another couple rounds in me I thinks!”
Smallmouth laughed.
“Yeah I ain’t so sure about that uncle! Let’s get on home now and let these fellas get on too.”
“Y’alright alright” Chuck said as Smallmouth took him from his buddies arms into one of his own and led him to the passenger seat of his truck.
“Happy New Years boys!!! Let’s do it all again okay?” He hollered to his waving buddies as they drove back away from the barn and through the metal gate toward home.
“You have a good time Uncle?”
“Oh…ohhh…I reckon I showed those boys how to do it” Another childish giggle.
A light snow shower seasoned the cold air as the truck rolled down the gravel country road. In the yellow headlights it made a pleasant white noise for the eyes. Chuck put his hands up staggered and vertically, fingers together and outstretched, pointing out in front of the truck down the road like he was aiming up for a rifle shot. He closed one eye.
“Straight as an arrow ole son. You’re good at this.”
“I ain’t drunk pops” Smallmouth chuckled.
“Sure ya are. Everybody’s drunk son. Even people that ain’t drink. Ticket is to get drunk on good stuff” Chuck’s face calmed from a goofy grin as he kept his eyes out front into the slow swirling tube of visible night.
“You sound like you’re drunk on some pretty damn good stuff” Smallmouth retorted as they shared a look and a good laugh.
“Suppose’n you ain’t wrong. Gotta work on that just like you are. Proud o’ you for a couple days clean man. We’ll get right. We’ll get right. All I meant was that man is born to get drunk on somethin’ or other. What I mean is God. Man is born to get drunk on his God.” Chuck said as Smallmouth shot him a raised eyebrow look of confusion.
“Once God gets ya drunk then you’re home free ol’ son. That distillery is never ending eternal forever. That land flows with whiskey and honey.” They both shared another laugh.
“Okay okay I think I somewhat understand now Uncle.”
They rode in a few seconds of comfortable silence before Chuck put his hands up in an aim position down the road again.
“You know…man….man….man has a GOVERNOR…..you know that right?”
“A what? A governor?”
“That’s right a GOVERNOR…that’s right…a little bitty device in his brain that keeps him on the road…keeps him from turning right off into the dark. You ever hear that little voice that tells you you can turn off into the ditch…into oncomin’ traffic? Tells you you can shoot your buddy instead of the deer? That you can jump off the top of the building and onto the pavement when you’re up there enjoying the view?”
“I…uh…I don’t know…I mean maybe? Pretty sure those are intrusive thoughts and they’re normal.”
“Well whatever they are that’s what the governor is for. Keeps ya straight. Keeps ya from harmin nothin.”
“Alright man, alright.”
They pulled back into Chuck’s driveway and parked. Smallmouth helped his uncle out of the truck and up into the cabin, snow starting to color the roof and pile against the side of the house near the door. Arms locked Smallmouth propped open the screen door, opened the inner door, and led Chuck through the kitchen and to his bedroom. Chuck layed down on his camo comforter with a deep, long exhale.
“Ahhhh yes……yes” he whispered with a smile.
“I love ya son…I’m glad you’re heeeeere. Let’s get better….your mom needs it…..stay in the Lord’s light son…don’t let them devils get ya….let’s get better….lets….” He was off into the distant deep ether almost immediately, and his mouth hung open.
“Goodnight uncle…love ya too.” Smallmouth patted the bed twice before walking over and closing the bedroom door behind him.
He went and sat at the kitchen table. He regretted his behavior earlier in the night. How it pained him to have to stay up a little later to go help out his uncle.
“Cmon…” he whispered.
He agreed with Chuck. He was here to get better. To do better. Maybe Chuck was right. If he couldn’t get drunk off booze, it was time to pick something else to drink. Better things. Maybe even God? Smallmouth hadn’t paid much mind to God since his church job fell through. God surely hadn’t been there for him these last few years when he was at his lowest. Or was He there the whole time? Had Smallmouth just ignored Him? These things floated heavily in his mind and soon he realized he had been staring at the front door for several minutes. Had he even blinked? Then something else came to mind.
“Wait hold up”
That truck and trailer from earlier. What WAS that? He meant to bring it up to the ranch hands. They would’ve seen it come barreling down the road right by their front gate. Oh he wished he had brought that up to them. Oh well. It’s probably nothing. Smallmouth looked at the clock. 12:12.
“Happy New Year old boy.” He said to himself.
He sat for a moment in the warm kitchen light, his eyes not leaving the front door. Well, he’s up this late already, why not go run down and check on the abandoned properties?
No…no…it can wait. It’s probably nothing. Right?
Wrong. There’s that wailing kid in the back pew of his mind again. Come on kid can’t you just be quiet and listen to the sermon? No, no it can’t. It must be heard. Always. He knew he had to go check it out.
“Ughhhh FINE!” Smallmouth got up and grabbed his truck keys, patted to make sure his cigarettes were still there, and was out the door again.
The snow shower had ended. As he pulled up to the edge of the drive, he stalled for a moment and peaked out as far to the right as he could down the dark road. Nothing. It wasn’t very far to the end of that road, where two out of service mailboxes should’ve stood in a small cul-de-sac if it weren’t for teenagers beating them to splinters. Can’t really blame them either. Smallmouth considered his plan. Whether or not that truck belonged to the landowner down there, he shouldn’t feel like he needs to sneak around. He is merely a concerned neighbor after all. He began down the road and around that same corner the stranger disappeared earlier.
After a couple of slow, curious minutes Smallmouth could see the evidence of a great big fire in the near distance, beyond where the road ended. Through the bare trees and against the snow it cast orange and red that could surely be seen a mile in every direction, that is, if there were anyone there to see it.
Slightly intimidated, Smallmouth decided to turn off his headlights and let the fire guide him as he slowed up to 5mph and gently crackled his last few yards of gravel up to the remnants of the nearest mailbox post. It seemed the fire was on the land of the farther property, whose mailbox posthole was about 30 feet from where he came to a stop and parked his truck. Smallmouth turned it off and quietly got out into the cold. He crouched down as he walked over to the farther driveway, getting down on one knee to give it a stealthy closer look.
The abandoned property boasted a busted up trailer that sat pitifully about 500 feet from the mailbox memorial. Beyond that was a good ten acres of field that ended at the forest edge, which marked the beginning of thousands of acres of wildlife refuge. As Smallmouth peered on, it was obvious that the fire was way out in that field, blocked by the old trailer, which wore the hot light and columns of smoke on it like a devilish crown. Given the cover, Smallmouth crept over to the trailer and started easing around the right side.
Rounding the corner he noticed a propane tank that would be perfect for hiding behind and getting the best look he could at the mysterious activity. He got down on his belly and crawled his way over to the tank, before sitting up and peeking slowly over the top and out into the field.
Way down there, a couple acres away from the tree line, was a huge fire, made up of about fifty wooden pallets. It raged and lit up the whole field like it was just the beginning of sunset. Somewhat near the fire was the black Dodge Ram 3500 and trailer. Smallmouth could see a group of people dressed in all red, as if covered in bloody bedsheets from head to toe, circled around a crude cage, seemingly fastened together by pieces of metal fencing. They stood still as the pines, and twice as silent. Smallmouth, in a rare moment of curious courage, decided he had to get closer. He got back on his stomach and began to crawl through the cold, knee high grass.
Using the fire light as his North Star he crawled and crawled, feeling his hands, clothes, and beard get wet with snow. He didn’t care. Something was up that wasn’t normal, wasn’t right. He could feel it in his cold gut. When he thought he was close enough without giving himself away he planted his palms and ever so slowly raised his torso up into a weak push up to try and see out. He was glad he didn’t go any further. He may have been too close already.
He was close enough to read the name of the truck and count the holes in the livestock trailer. There were seven strangers in red sheets all around the makeshift cage, all holding long spears. One of the figures had a crown of black thorns on his head. They all had two eyeholes and one hole for the mouth. They didn’t move a muscle for the longest time, before the Crowned One forcibly touched the end of his spear to the ground.
“Now is the time, Brother and Farmer Abraham…there is no more for us in waiting.”
Smallmouth had just noticed the passenger window to the black Dodge was down, and he could hear the driver door open and soon saw a normal looking older man in a ball cap at the back of the trailer. He was holding a leash of some sort. He opened up the trailer and whistled into the dark of it. After a couple of loud, heavy thuds a gigantic, and I mean GIGANTIC Yorkshire pig came slowly shrugging out of the trailer. It was light pink in color but filthy, and gave wet sounding oinks as it came to the man’s hands expecting food. The thing must’ve weighed 1500 pounds, and at least ten feet long. It actually had to lower its head to reach the man’s hands, its ears coming up to the man’s chest. Smallmouth couldn’t believe his eyes. The man reached in his pocket and revealed a handful of some type of feed, which he tossed on the ground at the pig. It started right in as the man fixed a collar on the pigs girthy neck, then attaching a leash. The pig gave a slight squeal.
“Good girl, good girl…cmon now” the man called Farmer Abraham sweetly coaxed the animal. He gave his end of the leash a tug and the monstrous swine reluctantly left its food and followed the man over close to the Crowned One. The fire raged and raged nearby, throwing crazy shadows all over the place.
“What have you brought us, Brother and Farmer Abraham?”
“Yeah, uh, this is Old Azazel, she’s been in my family for years, man.”
The Crowned One dropped his spear and knelt down to the jowls of the hog, the dark holes of his eyes meeting those of the animal. The other red cloaked figures remained statuesque around the cage.
“Ah, yes, Old Azazel, hello. You are to be of great importance in the history of the Earth tonight, old friend.”
The Crowned One got back up to address Brother and Father Abraham, who seemed obviously put off, yet submissive.
“And is this Old Azazel a natural specimen? Is it fed only of the earth and the filths therein?”
“Yessir, I’d reckon so.”
“This is necessary for a proper sacrifice, Brother and Farmer Abraham. You may only bring your best, your cleanest, your most dear to the alter of the Almighty.”
“I understand.”
“May I take her now?”
The farmer gave his end of the leash to the black gloved left hand of the Crowned One. The Crowned one stood with it for almost a full minute in total stillness and silence. The only noise Smallmouth could hear was the sloppy smacks and oinks from Old Azazel. The farmer anxiously waited, wringing his hands expecting the next move from the Crowned One.
“Turn away, Brother and Farmer Abraham. Turn away from us and toward the fire now.” The Crowned One finally spoke.
“Phew, alright. We’re still good on our deal? Do you still promise to make my little girl better? Like you said?” The farmer asked, with some hopeful desperation.
“Turn now.”
“Well okay” the farmer turned his back to the Crowned One and toward the fire.
“I can assure you with all of the knowledge in my mind and in my heart, you will never see your daughter sick again in this lifetime, Brother and Father Abraham. You may find peace and solace in this truth.”
The farmer nodded in relief as he looked upon the fire. Smallmouth, taking it all in with great confusion, could see a smile on the farmers fire lit face, and turned back to the Crowned One just in time to see him reach under his red garment and pull out a pistol and shoot a round into the back of the farmers head, blowing his cap off, which frisbeed down near his shaking, crumpled body. Old Azazel threw a fit immediately, screaming and trying her best to flee. The Crowned One held the immense beast with one hand, and with seemingly little effort. The other red clothed figures finally made noise, laughing deep and heartily around the cage. The Crowned One, keeping Old Azazel close, walked over to the doubled over farmer, putting two more bullets into his head, essentially hollowing it out into a carnal mess. The farmers shaking mercifully stopped.
Smallmouth had to slam his forearm up to his mouth to muffle the scream that would’ve come out and blown his cover. His eyes were flown wide open and his arms were shivering.
The Crowned One put the pistol back under his red cloak and led the great pig, still squealing as high pitched and piercing as the human ear can withstand, over to the mouth of the cage, which was opened by the nearest red clothed stranger. Old Azazel flew in to the cage, having been unleashed by The Crowned One. It struggled around the cage, which was no bigger than 15x15 feet, giving it no room to get comfortable. It circled the inner perimeter, showing impressive speed for such a large animal. It squealed and squealed. The sound stung Smallmouths ears, and he covered them with his hands. He was still out of sight in the tall grass. The Red People around the cage laughed at the hogs entrapment. The Crowned One raised a hand to signal silence. The Red People were still and quiet again.
“Now, my brothers, the sacrificial gift is in our possession. Tonight…is a HOLY NIGHT.” The Crowned One raised his voice as if getting to the climax of a fire and brimstone sermon.
“TONIGHT…WE WILL DESTROY WHAT WAS ONCE CAST OUT BUT NEVER VANQUISHED!! WE WILL RID THE EARTH OF A GREAT ARMY!! AN ARMY OF HELL THAT HAS FAR TOO LONG ROAMED AND SICKENED OUR LANDS AND KILLED OUR LOVES!! TONIGHT…WE WILL DESTROY THE DESTROYERS…THE LEGION OF SATANS SOLDIERS BORN JUST AFTER THE GARDEN OF EDEN FELL…”
The Crowned One fell to his knees, his arms up and stretched toward the frozen sky. A mighty wind began blowing at Smallmouths back. He had to lower his head as it roared over him. After a moment it calmed and he was able to lift up again to see. Winds from all corners of the field met at the cage, swirling over it in a great snowy funnel that led up to the clouds. Old Azazel screamed and screamed from the cage.
“I SEE YOU VILLIANS!! I HEAR YOU HOSTS OF HELL!! I KNOW YOU LIVE IN THESE TREES!! I KNOW YOU COWER WITHIN THE SOUND OF MY VOICE!! SHOW YOURSELF!! TAKE THE BODY OF THIS ANIMAL THAT I HAVE SET BEFORE YOU!! TAKE IT NOW!! TAKE IT NOW AND FACE ME!! TAKE IT NOW!! TAKE IT NOW!! TAKE I-“
The Crowned One’s vocal cord shredding performance was cut short by a single burst of black lightning that shot down from the middle of the snowy funnel cloud that surrounded the cage. The Crowned One and all the Red People were thrown several feet back from the blast. Thunder immediately exploded across the field. Smallmouth buried his face as the force and sound raced over him. Ears ringing, he kept his face down for a few seconds. He squinted back up to the strike zone.
The strange black lightning had blown the cage completely apart. Two of The Red People had been hit with the metal fencing. One laid motionless. The other gargled in pain as he put a hand to the pole that was sticking out of his sternum, having penetrated all the way through. His legs buckled and he fell forward, the end of the pole hitting the ground first and propping him up for a moment, before his body slowly slid down to the ground around the metal. He went silent. The other four Red People, yelling in surprise, gathered themselves, looking to the charred hole in the ground where Old Azazel should be, right in the center where the cage used to stand. The Crowned One got to his feet and picked up his spear.
“My brothers, gather your arms…” the Crowned One whispered, breathing heavily under his red cloak.
“The work is not over…”
The four remaining Red People grabbed their spears and slowly walked over to the burnt, smoking hole, holding an attack pose over it until further instructions were given.
“Are you with us, you age old tormentors?” This was the first time Smallmouth could hear fear in the tired voice of the Crowned One.
“Are you with us now? Are you ready to die, you infernal bastards? Are you ready to-“
The Crowned One was interrupted by a booming noise from the hole that tore Smallmouths wits to shreds. It was similar to the cry of Old Azazel, but much deeper and ten times louder and angrier. It was as if a freight train was blaring its horn and slamming its brakes at the same time.
“NOW MY BROTHERS!! STRIKE THE BEAST OF HELL WITH YOUR SPEARS! NOW!!!”
The Red People all threw their weapons down into the smoking hole. The hellish noise from within stopped in an instant. The Red People crowded closer to the edge of the hole, waiting for the smoke to clear. The Crowned One walked over to them, putting his black gloved hand on the shoulder of the nearest man.
“Oh, Brothers. Oh my dear, dear Brothers. Your acts tonight have rid the earth of a Great and Powerful Evil…”
Before he could continue, a fully enraged and re-inspired bellow thrust itself up and out of the hole like a serrated blade. Much, much louder and angrier than before. The Red People were taken aback in terror. Suddenly, from within the hole, a large head emerged and gaped a huge, disgusting maw up at the crowd. The head was burned black and its eyes were half boiled white and without pupils. It shrieked out that most terrible noise as if it didn’t need oxygen.
“There’s no way” Smallmouth heard himself say under his breath.
All in one motion, the beast leaped out of the hole, and turned to face its attackers. It was Old Azazel, except swollen with burnt mass. It appeared to have grown a half a size at least. Three spears stuck out of its sizzling, charcoal colored back. It snapped its gigantic jaws at the Red People, who shuddered in horror. The Crowned One spoke:
“DO NOT RELENT BROTHERS!! ATTACK!! ATTACK THE BRUTE!!”
He pulled his pistol back out of his cloak and fired the remaining three rounds on the new and horrible black burnt Old Azazel. The beast’s cloudy boiled egg eyes shot open along with its unnaturally stretched jaws. It took the three bullets as if they were tennis balls. At the speed of a charging grizzly and with multiple times the power Old Azazel raged over to The Crowned One and dove onto him mouth first, putting both front hooves on his chest as he was knocked down. The Crowned One cried out in a shockingly high pitched wail, like a man being electrocuted. The Beast bit right into the soft of his belly, and began to shake him around like an Orca trying to separate a seal from its pelt.
“OH GOD!!!! AHHHHHH GOD OHHHHH!!! HELP ME!!!! NOOOO!!!! OH GOD HELP ME!!!! MAMA!!!! OHHHH!!! MAMA!!!!!”
The beast ate and ate and shook and shook and tore and broke and destroyed while the Crowned One lost more and more of his body, all while crying out to the sky at the top of his punctured lungs. The other Red People sprinted to the black Dodge Ram, opened its doors and piled inside. Smallmouth heard it crank up and it began to speedily turn around and race away from the fire and back toward the road. The beast unhooked from the Crowned One and let out another ghastly roar of victory before biting into his neck, ending his screaming forever. The beast then left his half devoured body and began a tremendous and terrible charge after the truck, which was greatly slowed down by the trailer. Smallmouth put his face down as the beast passed him by only about 10 feet on its way to the truck, which had just made it back to the road and was using every RPM possible to get away from the demon charged killing machine on its heels. Smallmouth turned around to watch both parties disappear down the road, the echoes of that great and evil blasting noise stabbing his ears again. He remained on his stomach in the tall, snowy grass for another two minutes as he normalized his breath and tried to make any sense of what he just witnessed.
Eventually he slowly rose up and looked to make sure that terrible thing was indeed out of the area. No signs of life or death from up at the road. The danger was at least a couple miles away by now. Smallmouth then turned back toward the fire and to the dominated body of the Crowned One. He carefully walked up closer and closer. To his amazement he heard wheezy noises coming from the emptied out torso of the man, a scattering of insides and flesh and blood strewn all around him. Troubled, rattling breaths escaped from under the red clothed head, whose crown of thorns had flown off in the attack. Most of the red cloak had been ripped to shreds, and all that remained covered were his shoulders and above. The cloth slowly ebbed and flowed with breath. Smallmouth could not believe this man was still alive. His entire digestive system was eviscerated and his ribs were exposed. Smallmouth knelt down beside him and lifted his cloak over his head to let him at least breathe his last in the open air.
Smallmouth let out a gasp. This man had a face that Smallmouth knew very well. He recognized him immediately from the old church he worked at. The clean shaven face. The short, silver hair. The sharp nose. This was a man that had joined his church two weeks before the schism. He never spoke in church but it was rumored he would meet at the homes of different members and try to sway them to his strange ideas. He was the one rumored to have led the radical faction somewhere in the middle of the woods. To Smallmouth, it was all starting to make more sense.
“I know you,” Smallmouth said softly, “I know who you are. You tore a church in half didn’t you? You’re the crazy guy that split up my ole church! What the hell have you done?”
The man struggled to breathe and tried his best to spit up a couple of words. His neck had deep lacerations that flowed with escaping life.
“I…I…I…uhh…I only…I only…I only did what I believed…” he whispered before a wet, stifled breath.
“What did you do?!!!” Smallmouth grew angry, and his voice followed suit. This man had ruined his job and now he had unleashed something horrifying on his neighborhood. He had tampered with things that man has no business tampering with.
“I…I…I have…have…I have failed, Smallmouth Bassett” the man croaked. Smallmouth couldn’t believe he had bothered to remember his name.
“I have failed. I have failed. God help you all…” with that the man’s face fell and he let out one last slow exhale before all was still.
Smallmouth got back on his feet and looked away from the dead man and toward the fire, which towered and raged in the reflection of his eyes.
“Oh no…oh no…oh no” he said in between terrified breaths.
Then another though hit him like a wrecking ball.
“Uncle Chuck…”
submitted by SamMorrisHorror to TheCrypticCompendium [link] [comments]
“Oh man, it’s bad” , he thought to himself.
He hadn’t shaved in weeks and his beard grew coarse and thick. A face that his mother had once called handsome had become a clean plate covered in steel wool. Well, maybe not so clean. Under and around his eyes were the obvious bruising of sleeplessness and his skin had lost its lively color and clarity of yesteryear.
“Ughhh” he groaned, turning away from the window to look over the porch and into the freezing, beckoning night.
The pickle that Jeremy “Smallmouth” Bassett found himself in involved his uncle, and his uncle’s evening logistics, to be precise. Smallmouth had been kicked out of his parents home on December 27th due to a slight misunderstanding at 2am when he believed the living room Christmas tree to be the downstairs bathroom. He had passed out on the couch after drinking a fire pit full of crushed Hamm’s cans and his brain tried desperately to get him up and to the nearby toilet. His little sister Stacy was tucked in fast asleep on a loveseat by the tree when she was brutally torn from her sugarplum dreams to hear the terrible hiss of Smallmouth’s folly. She screamed, the parents woke up, and, well, there you go. After well over three strikes, Smallmouth’s temporary residence had come to an end, and he was thrown to his mother’s brother’s cabin to dry up and straighten out before he could ever even be considered to return.
“You two deserve to live together. He can’t say no either because he owes me a lot more than this!” Smallmouth’s mother had screeched over him as he sat at the kitchen table the following morning with a cold bag of peas against his throbbing right temple. “You go there and you GET RIGHT!! I don’t care how long it takes just clean up your act and MAKE something of yourself! And for goodness sake tell Chuck to do the same, while he still has time!”
Yes, Uncle Chuck had his own shelf full of good time problems, and that’s what put Smallmouth in a bind tonight as he pondered over the white yonder that led to a black nothing, a black nothing that in the daylight pretended to be a forest. At night, it showed its true nature, an endless world of dark secrets and aching regret. At least that’s how Smallmouth saw it in this moment.
Chuck had gone down to the ranch he worked on for a New Years party with his work buddies. They liked to gather at the big barn where all of the vehicles and equipment were kept, sitting around a card table passing out stories about women and other trophy game that were either outright lied about or illegally poached. Oh, and they also liked to pass the bottle around. Therein lied the conundrum for Smallmouth.
Uncle Chuck was many things, but one thing he wasn’t was a drunk driver. Chuck’s wife Rebecca had been struck and killed by a drunk driver almost ten years ago when she was out jogging the back roads early one morning. Everyone assumed that’s what led him to his openly hard drinking and sneakily pill popping ways in the first place. For Chuck, most nights were kept at home, parked in front of a TV watching old westerns and cleaning out a full bottle of Wild Turkey 101 before snoring in his recliner. On the few nights he would go out, he would always call a ride if things got out of hand. As you can imagine, he tends to need a ride home.
“I should be home bout 11:30. Service ain’t so good up there near the barn so if it gets bout 11:15-11:20 and I ain’t home, go head and do me a favor and come grab me son.” Chuck had told Smallmouth before he left, closing the warped screen door behind him.
Smallmouth had spent the evening trying his best to stay entertained without the help of any chemical enhancement. His family’s anger and resentment really struck him and this time he was determined to truly get right and get his life back on the rails. He was 29 years old. He had gone through college clean as a whistle, bright and driven, receiving his MBA with plans to work his way up in a promising career in business. That worked for a couple years. Then he found a calling in ministry, deciding to quit the corporate world to fill an opening of a tiny country church in the area. They needed a deacon who could take care of things around the building and assist in the worship service. He wasn’t much for public speaking, haven been given the nickname Smallmouth at a young age due to his soft spoken nature, but he could pass plates and give a hushed prayer every now and then. He liked to mow and paint and help old ladies up the stairs. The quiet country life was really nice for him, for a while. Strange, radical ideas eventually spread through the church though, and half of its members left overnight to form their own congregation. Its funding cut in half, the church had to close its doors and the other members absorbed into other churches. Smallmouth rarely ever saw the people that had departed from the church, but rumors creeped that they met at an old abandoned building deep in the woods, performing all sorts of different acts and rituals that would purify themselves and destroy all evils. Nevertheless, Smallmouth was out of work and picked up shifts bartending at a small town dive. His soft fortitude was no match for the booze and drugs and women that would pass through there and soon he was out the door. That landed him mooching off of his parents, draining their sanity and eventually draining himself on their Christmas tree. The last strike.
So there he was all night, waiting up for uncle Chuck. He was two days clean of everything except caffeine and nicotine, a major improvement. He felt a boost of hope and confidence the first morning after a sober nights sleep. He found the mornings to be the best parts of the day. At least he had coffee and cigarettes to get him out of bed. That would wear off quickly and the rest of the day was filled with trying to find distractions until the sun set about 5pm. Then he would watch a movie or two with Chuck. Last night he had been able to call it early and go to sleep at 7pm shortly after Chuck started sawing logs in front of True Grit (the original John Wayne version of course). Tonight he saw 7pm struggle and churn into 8…….8:13……..8:48……9:05……9:29………..9:31………9:52……..9:58……….10:11…….10:12 (oh cmon)……10:27…….10:56…….and finally 11:08. It was like the clock was a 35 year old four cylinder engine oiled with crunchy peanut butter. Now, crunch time sat in the cold air as Smallmouth finished his cigarette and stewed over his decision. He really didn’t feel like going down to the barn and getting Chuck, even though it was only a couple miles. In the infancy of his sobriety he found the smallest of choices and activities to seem dire and at the very least upsettingly out of his way. Surely Chuck can get himself home on his own, right?
“No. Who knows if someone’s Aunt Rebecca or grandmother or son is out there on the road tonight” he thought.
As much as he had tried to screw up his life, Smallmouth usually knew what the right decision would be, even if he so often refused to listen. It was there ever so clearly on this New Year’s Eve, wailing in the back row of his mind like a misbehaved child during a church sermon. Smallmouth left the porch and went inside to grab his keys.
He walked out to his truck, got in, cranked it, let it sit down to one rpm, and started down the gravel driveway, which led to the gravel county road that Chuck and his few and far between neighbors lived on. He got to the mailbox and suddenly shot his attention up the road, where headlights revealed themselves out of the deep dark. It was rare to see any cars this far down Chuck’s road. In fact, there were no other houses to the right of Chuck’s cabin, spare for a couple of empty ones that were condemned but were attached to a lot of forest property.
Smallmouth squinted his eyes as a large black Dodge Ram 3500 came barreling by with a livestock trailer. Even inside his own truck he could hear a terrible noise coming from that trailer. He recognized it instantly as a pig squeal.
“The hell?” He whispered as the truck and trailer tore down the road, going around a nearby corner and out of sight. He couldn’t guess what on earth that could be about at this hour, and especially since nobody lived down there anyway. He shrugged it off though, and turned left out of the driveway, headed for drunk Uncle Chuck down at the ranch.
Ten minutes and a couple of snowy country miles later Smallmouth found himself through the metal gate of the ranch and up to the main barn, where a couple of smiling ranch hands had Chuck held up between them just outside one of two closed garage doors. A lamppost nearby cast a glow of debauchery on all of their faces, especially Chuck’s. Smallmouth got out and walked up to them smiling and shaking his head.
“Well well well…” he said with a slight laugh.
“Your Uncle put on one hell of a clinic tonight ‘Mouth” one of the hands said.
“I…..I….I don’t know what they’re tawlkin bout son” Chuck slang out before a high pitched giggle.
“I got another couple rounds in me I thinks!”
Smallmouth laughed.
“Yeah I ain’t so sure about that uncle! Let’s get on home now and let these fellas get on too.”
“Y’alright alright” Chuck said as Smallmouth took him from his buddies arms into one of his own and led him to the passenger seat of his truck.
“Happy New Years boys!!! Let’s do it all again okay?” He hollered to his waving buddies as they drove back away from the barn and through the metal gate toward home.
“You have a good time Uncle?”
“Oh…ohhh…I reckon I showed those boys how to do it” Another childish giggle.
A light snow shower seasoned the cold air as the truck rolled down the gravel country road. In the yellow headlights it made a pleasant white noise for the eyes. Chuck put his hands up staggered and vertically, fingers together and outstretched, pointing out in front of the truck down the road like he was aiming up for a rifle shot. He closed one eye.
“Straight as an arrow ole son. You’re good at this.”
“I ain’t drunk pops” Smallmouth chuckled.
“Sure ya are. Everybody’s drunk son. Even people that ain’t drink. Ticket is to get drunk on good stuff” Chuck’s face calmed from a goofy grin as he kept his eyes out front into the slow swirling tube of visible night.
“You sound like you’re drunk on some pretty damn good stuff” Smallmouth retorted as they shared a look and a good laugh.
“Suppose’n you ain’t wrong. Gotta work on that just like you are. Proud o’ you for a couple days clean man. We’ll get right. We’ll get right. All I meant was that man is born to get drunk on somethin’ or other. What I mean is God. Man is born to get drunk on his God.” Chuck said as Smallmouth shot him a raised eyebrow look of confusion.
“Once God gets ya drunk then you’re home free ol’ son. That distillery is never ending eternal forever. That land flows with whiskey and honey.” They both shared another laugh.
“Okay okay I think I somewhat understand now Uncle.”
They rode in a few seconds of comfortable silence before Chuck put his hands up in an aim position down the road again.
“You know…man….man….man has a GOVERNOR…..you know that right?”
“A what? A governor?”
“That’s right a GOVERNOR…that’s right…a little bitty device in his brain that keeps him on the road…keeps him from turning right off into the dark. You ever hear that little voice that tells you you can turn off into the ditch…into oncomin’ traffic? Tells you you can shoot your buddy instead of the deer? That you can jump off the top of the building and onto the pavement when you’re up there enjoying the view?”
“I…uh…I don’t know…I mean maybe? Pretty sure those are intrusive thoughts and they’re normal.”
“Well whatever they are that’s what the governor is for. Keeps ya straight. Keeps ya from harmin nothin.”
“Alright man, alright.”
They pulled back into Chuck’s driveway and parked. Smallmouth helped his uncle out of the truck and up into the cabin, snow starting to color the roof and pile against the side of the house near the door. Arms locked Smallmouth propped open the screen door, opened the inner door, and led Chuck through the kitchen and to his bedroom. Chuck layed down on his camo comforter with a deep, long exhale.
“Ahhhh yes……yes” he whispered with a smile.
“I love ya son…I’m glad you’re heeeeere. Let’s get better….your mom needs it…..stay in the Lord’s light son…don’t let them devils get ya….let’s get better….lets….” He was off into the distant deep ether almost immediately, and his mouth hung open.
“Goodnight uncle…love ya too.” Smallmouth patted the bed twice before walking over and closing the bedroom door behind him.
He went and sat at the kitchen table. He regretted his behavior earlier in the night. How it pained him to have to stay up a little later to go help out his uncle.
“Cmon…” he whispered.
He agreed with Chuck. He was here to get better. To do better. Maybe Chuck was right. If he couldn’t get drunk off booze, it was time to pick something else to drink. Better things. Maybe even God? Smallmouth hadn’t paid much mind to God since his church job fell through. God surely hadn’t been there for him these last few years when he was at his lowest. Or was He there the whole time? Had Smallmouth just ignored Him? These things floated heavily in his mind and soon he realized he had been staring at the front door for several minutes. Had he even blinked? Then something else came to mind.
“Wait hold up”
That truck and trailer from earlier. What WAS that? He meant to bring it up to the ranch hands. They would’ve seen it come barreling down the road right by their front gate. Oh he wished he had brought that up to them. Oh well. It’s probably nothing. Smallmouth looked at the clock. 12:12.
“Happy New Year old boy.” He said to himself.
He sat for a moment in the warm kitchen light, his eyes not leaving the front door. Well, he’s up this late already, why not go run down and check on the abandoned properties?
No…no…it can wait. It’s probably nothing. Right?
Wrong. There’s that wailing kid in the back pew of his mind again. Come on kid can’t you just be quiet and listen to the sermon? No, no it can’t. It must be heard. Always. He knew he had to go check it out.
“Ughhhh FINE!” Smallmouth got up and grabbed his truck keys, patted to make sure his cigarettes were still there, and was out the door again.
The snow shower had ended. As he pulled up to the edge of the drive, he stalled for a moment and peaked out as far to the right as he could down the dark road. Nothing. It wasn’t very far to the end of that road, where two out of service mailboxes should’ve stood in a small cul-de-sac if it weren’t for teenagers beating them to splinters. Can’t really blame them either. Smallmouth considered his plan. Whether or not that truck belonged to the landowner down there, he shouldn’t feel like he needs to sneak around. He is merely a concerned neighbor after all. He began down the road and around that same corner the stranger disappeared earlier.
After a couple of slow, curious minutes Smallmouth could see the evidence of a great big fire in the near distance, beyond where the road ended. Through the bare trees and against the snow it cast orange and red that could surely be seen a mile in every direction, that is, if there were anyone there to see it.
Slightly intimidated, Smallmouth decided to turn off his headlights and let the fire guide him as he slowed up to 5mph and gently crackled his last few yards of gravel up to the remnants of the nearest mailbox post. It seemed the fire was on the land of the farther property, whose mailbox posthole was about 30 feet from where he came to a stop and parked his truck. Smallmouth turned it off and quietly got out into the cold. He crouched down as he walked over to the farther driveway, getting down on one knee to give it a stealthy closer look.
The abandoned property boasted a busted up trailer that sat pitifully about 500 feet from the mailbox memorial. Beyond that was a good ten acres of field that ended at the forest edge, which marked the beginning of thousands of acres of wildlife refuge. As Smallmouth peered on, it was obvious that the fire was way out in that field, blocked by the old trailer, which wore the hot light and columns of smoke on it like a devilish crown. Given the cover, Smallmouth crept over to the trailer and started easing around the right side.
Rounding the corner he noticed a propane tank that would be perfect for hiding behind and getting the best look he could at the mysterious activity. He got down on his belly and crawled his way over to the tank, before sitting up and peeking slowly over the top and out into the field.
Way down there, a couple acres away from the tree line, was a huge fire, made up of about fifty wooden pallets. It raged and lit up the whole field like it was just the beginning of sunset. Somewhat near the fire was the black Dodge Ram 3500 and trailer. Smallmouth could see a group of people dressed in all red, as if covered in bloody bedsheets from head to toe, circled around a crude cage, seemingly fastened together by pieces of metal fencing. They stood still as the pines, and twice as silent. Smallmouth, in a rare moment of curious courage, decided he had to get closer. He got back on his stomach and began to crawl through the cold, knee high grass.
Using the fire light as his North Star he crawled and crawled, feeling his hands, clothes, and beard get wet with snow. He didn’t care. Something was up that wasn’t normal, wasn’t right. He could feel it in his cold gut. When he thought he was close enough without giving himself away he planted his palms and ever so slowly raised his torso up into a weak push up to try and see out. He was glad he didn’t go any further. He may have been too close already.
He was close enough to read the name of the truck and count the holes in the livestock trailer. There were seven strangers in red sheets all around the makeshift cage, all holding long spears. One of the figures had a crown of black thorns on his head. They all had two eyeholes and one hole for the mouth. They didn’t move a muscle for the longest time, before the Crowned One forcibly touched the end of his spear to the ground.
“Now is the time, Brother and Farmer Abraham…there is no more for us in waiting.”
Smallmouth had just noticed the passenger window to the black Dodge was down, and he could hear the driver door open and soon saw a normal looking older man in a ball cap at the back of the trailer. He was holding a leash of some sort. He opened up the trailer and whistled into the dark of it. After a couple of loud, heavy thuds a gigantic, and I mean GIGANTIC Yorkshire pig came slowly shrugging out of the trailer. It was light pink in color but filthy, and gave wet sounding oinks as it came to the man’s hands expecting food. The thing must’ve weighed 1500 pounds, and at least ten feet long. It actually had to lower its head to reach the man’s hands, its ears coming up to the man’s chest. Smallmouth couldn’t believe his eyes. The man reached in his pocket and revealed a handful of some type of feed, which he tossed on the ground at the pig. It started right in as the man fixed a collar on the pigs girthy neck, then attaching a leash. The pig gave a slight squeal.
“Good girl, good girl…cmon now” the man called Farmer Abraham sweetly coaxed the animal. He gave his end of the leash a tug and the monstrous swine reluctantly left its food and followed the man over close to the Crowned One. The fire raged and raged nearby, throwing crazy shadows all over the place.
“What have you brought us, Brother and Farmer Abraham?”
“Yeah, uh, this is Old Azazel, she’s been in my family for years, man.”
The Crowned One dropped his spear and knelt down to the jowls of the hog, the dark holes of his eyes meeting those of the animal. The other red cloaked figures remained statuesque around the cage.
“Ah, yes, Old Azazel, hello. You are to be of great importance in the history of the Earth tonight, old friend.”
The Crowned One got back up to address Brother and Father Abraham, who seemed obviously put off, yet submissive.
“And is this Old Azazel a natural specimen? Is it fed only of the earth and the filths therein?”
“Yessir, I’d reckon so.”
“This is necessary for a proper sacrifice, Brother and Farmer Abraham. You may only bring your best, your cleanest, your most dear to the alter of the Almighty.”
“I understand.”
“May I take her now?”
The farmer gave his end of the leash to the black gloved left hand of the Crowned One. The Crowned one stood with it for almost a full minute in total stillness and silence. The only noise Smallmouth could hear was the sloppy smacks and oinks from Old Azazel. The farmer anxiously waited, wringing his hands expecting the next move from the Crowned One.
“Turn away, Brother and Farmer Abraham. Turn away from us and toward the fire now.” The Crowned One finally spoke.
“Phew, alright. We’re still good on our deal? Do you still promise to make my little girl better? Like you said?” The farmer asked, with some hopeful desperation.
“Turn now.”
“Well okay” the farmer turned his back to the Crowned One and toward the fire.
“I can assure you with all of the knowledge in my mind and in my heart, you will never see your daughter sick again in this lifetime, Brother and Father Abraham. You may find peace and solace in this truth.”
The farmer nodded in relief as he looked upon the fire. Smallmouth, taking it all in with great confusion, could see a smile on the farmers fire lit face, and turned back to the Crowned One just in time to see him reach under his red garment and pull out a pistol and shoot a round into the back of the farmers head, blowing his cap off, which frisbeed down near his shaking, crumpled body. Old Azazel threw a fit immediately, screaming and trying her best to flee. The Crowned One held the immense beast with one hand, and with seemingly little effort. The other red clothed figures finally made noise, laughing deep and heartily around the cage. The Crowned One, keeping Old Azazel close, walked over to the doubled over farmer, putting two more bullets into his head, essentially hollowing it out into a carnal mess. The farmers shaking mercifully stopped.
Smallmouth had to slam his forearm up to his mouth to muffle the scream that would’ve come out and blown his cover. His eyes were flown wide open and his arms were shivering.
The Crowned One put the pistol back under his red cloak and led the great pig, still squealing as high pitched and piercing as the human ear can withstand, over to the mouth of the cage, which was opened by the nearest red clothed stranger. Old Azazel flew in to the cage, having been unleashed by The Crowned One. It struggled around the cage, which was no bigger than 15x15 feet, giving it no room to get comfortable. It circled the inner perimeter, showing impressive speed for such a large animal. It squealed and squealed. The sound stung Smallmouths ears, and he covered them with his hands. He was still out of sight in the tall grass. The Red People around the cage laughed at the hogs entrapment. The Crowned One raised a hand to signal silence. The Red People were still and quiet again.
“Now, my brothers, the sacrificial gift is in our possession. Tonight…is a HOLY NIGHT.” The Crowned One raised his voice as if getting to the climax of a fire and brimstone sermon.
“TONIGHT…WE WILL DESTROY WHAT WAS ONCE CAST OUT BUT NEVER VANQUISHED!! WE WILL RID THE EARTH OF A GREAT ARMY!! AN ARMY OF HELL THAT HAS FAR TOO LONG ROAMED AND SICKENED OUR LANDS AND KILLED OUR LOVES!! TONIGHT…WE WILL DESTROY THE DESTROYERS…THE LEGION OF SATANS SOLDIERS BORN JUST AFTER THE GARDEN OF EDEN FELL…”
The Crowned One fell to his knees, his arms up and stretched toward the frozen sky. A mighty wind began blowing at Smallmouths back. He had to lower his head as it roared over him. After a moment it calmed and he was able to lift up again to see. Winds from all corners of the field met at the cage, swirling over it in a great snowy funnel that led up to the clouds. Old Azazel screamed and screamed from the cage.
“I SEE YOU VILLIANS!! I HEAR YOU HOSTS OF HELL!! I KNOW YOU LIVE IN THESE TREES!! I KNOW YOU COWER WITHIN THE SOUND OF MY VOICE!! SHOW YOURSELF!! TAKE THE BODY OF THIS ANIMAL THAT I HAVE SET BEFORE YOU!! TAKE IT NOW!! TAKE IT NOW AND FACE ME!! TAKE IT NOW!! TAKE IT NOW!! TAKE I-“
The Crowned One’s vocal cord shredding performance was cut short by a single burst of black lightning that shot down from the middle of the snowy funnel cloud that surrounded the cage. The Crowned One and all the Red People were thrown several feet back from the blast. Thunder immediately exploded across the field. Smallmouth buried his face as the force and sound raced over him. Ears ringing, he kept his face down for a few seconds. He squinted back up to the strike zone.
The strange black lightning had blown the cage completely apart. Two of The Red People had been hit with the metal fencing. One laid motionless. The other gargled in pain as he put a hand to the pole that was sticking out of his sternum, having penetrated all the way through. His legs buckled and he fell forward, the end of the pole hitting the ground first and propping him up for a moment, before his body slowly slid down to the ground around the metal. He went silent. The other four Red People, yelling in surprise, gathered themselves, looking to the charred hole in the ground where Old Azazel should be, right in the center where the cage used to stand. The Crowned One got to his feet and picked up his spear.
“My brothers, gather your arms…” the Crowned One whispered, breathing heavily under his red cloak.
“The work is not over…”
The four remaining Red People grabbed their spears and slowly walked over to the burnt, smoking hole, holding an attack pose over it until further instructions were given.
“Are you with us, you age old tormentors?” This was the first time Smallmouth could hear fear in the tired voice of the Crowned One.
“Are you with us now? Are you ready to die, you infernal bastards? Are you ready to-“
The Crowned One was interrupted by a booming noise from the hole that tore Smallmouths wits to shreds. It was similar to the cry of Old Azazel, but much deeper and ten times louder and angrier. It was as if a freight train was blaring its horn and slamming its brakes at the same time.
“NOW MY BROTHERS!! STRIKE THE BEAST OF HELL WITH YOUR SPEARS! NOW!!!”
The Red People all threw their weapons down into the smoking hole. The hellish noise from within stopped in an instant. The Red People crowded closer to the edge of the hole, waiting for the smoke to clear. The Crowned One walked over to them, putting his black gloved hand on the shoulder of the nearest man.
“Oh, Brothers. Oh my dear, dear Brothers. Your acts tonight have rid the earth of a Great and Powerful Evil…”
Before he could continue, a fully enraged and re-inspired bellow thrust itself up and out of the hole like a serrated blade. Much, much louder and angrier than before. The Red People were taken aback in terror. Suddenly, from within the hole, a large head emerged and gaped a huge, disgusting maw up at the crowd. The head was burned black and its eyes were half boiled white and without pupils. It shrieked out that most terrible noise as if it didn’t need oxygen.
“There’s no way” Smallmouth heard himself say under his breath.
All in one motion, the beast leaped out of the hole, and turned to face its attackers. It was Old Azazel, except swollen with burnt mass. It appeared to have grown a half a size at least. Three spears stuck out of its sizzling, charcoal colored back. It snapped its gigantic jaws at the Red People, who shuddered in horror. The Crowned One spoke:
“DO NOT RELENT BROTHERS!! ATTACK!! ATTACK THE BRUTE!!”
He pulled his pistol back out of his cloak and fired the remaining three rounds on the new and horrible black burnt Old Azazel. The beast’s cloudy boiled egg eyes shot open along with its unnaturally stretched jaws. It took the three bullets as if they were tennis balls. At the speed of a charging grizzly and with multiple times the power Old Azazel raged over to The Crowned One and dove onto him mouth first, putting both front hooves on his chest as he was knocked down. The Crowned One cried out in a shockingly high pitched wail, like a man being electrocuted. The Beast bit right into the soft of his belly, and began to shake him around like an Orca trying to separate a seal from its pelt.
“OH GOD!!!! AHHHHHH GOD OHHHHH!!! HELP ME!!!! NOOOO!!!! OH GOD HELP ME!!!! MAMA!!!! OHHHH!!! MAMA!!!!!”
The beast ate and ate and shook and shook and tore and broke and destroyed while the Crowned One lost more and more of his body, all while crying out to the sky at the top of his punctured lungs. The other Red People sprinted to the black Dodge Ram, opened its doors and piled inside. Smallmouth heard it crank up and it began to speedily turn around and race away from the fire and back toward the road. The beast unhooked from the Crowned One and let out another ghastly roar of victory before biting into his neck, ending his screaming forever. The beast then left his half devoured body and began a tremendous and terrible charge after the truck, which was greatly slowed down by the trailer. Smallmouth put his face down as the beast passed him by only about 10 feet on its way to the truck, which had just made it back to the road and was using every RPM possible to get away from the demon charged killing machine on its heels. Smallmouth turned around to watch both parties disappear down the road, the echoes of that great and evil blasting noise stabbing his ears again. He remained on his stomach in the tall, snowy grass for another two minutes as he normalized his breath and tried to make any sense of what he just witnessed.
Eventually he slowly rose up and looked to make sure that terrible thing was indeed out of the area. No signs of life or death from up at the road. The danger was at least a couple miles away by now. Smallmouth then turned back toward the fire and to the dominated body of the Crowned One. He carefully walked up closer and closer. To his amazement he heard wheezy noises coming from the emptied out torso of the man, a scattering of insides and flesh and blood strewn all around him. Troubled, rattling breaths escaped from under the red clothed head, whose crown of thorns had flown off in the attack. Most of the red cloak had been ripped to shreds, and all that remained covered were his shoulders and above. The cloth slowly ebbed and flowed with breath. Smallmouth could not believe this man was still alive. His entire digestive system was eviscerated and his ribs were exposed. Smallmouth knelt down beside him and lifted his cloak over his head to let him at least breathe his last in the open air.
Smallmouth let out a gasp. This man had a face that Smallmouth knew very well. He recognized him immediately from the old church he worked at. The clean shaven face. The short, silver hair. The sharp nose. This was a man that had joined his church two weeks before the schism. He never spoke in church but it was rumored he would meet at the homes of different members and try to sway them to his strange ideas. He was the one rumored to have led the radical faction somewhere in the middle of the woods. To Smallmouth, it was all starting to make more sense.
“I know you,” Smallmouth said softly, “I know who you are. You tore a church in half didn’t you? You’re the crazy guy that split up my ole church! What the hell have you done?”
The man struggled to breathe and tried his best to spit up a couple of words. His neck had deep lacerations that flowed with escaping life.
“I…I…I…uhh…I only…I only…I only did what I believed…” he whispered before a wet, stifled breath.
“What did you do?!!!” Smallmouth grew angry, and his voice followed suit. This man had ruined his job and now he had unleashed something horrifying on his neighborhood. He had tampered with things that man has no business tampering with.
“I…I…I have…have…I have failed, Smallmouth Bassett” the man croaked. Smallmouth couldn’t believe he had bothered to remember his name.
“I have failed. I have failed. God help you all…” with that the man’s face fell and he let out one last slow exhale before all was still.
Smallmouth got back on his feet and looked away from the dead man and toward the fire, which towered and raged in the reflection of his eyes.
“Oh no…oh no…oh no” he said in between terrified breaths.
Then another though hit him like a wrecking ball.
“Uncle Chuck…”
2024.05.18 01:32 SamMorrisHorror Them Devils Pt. 1
On the night when it all happened a young man called Smallmouth found himself in quite a pickle. He shivered and paced clumsily all over the second story porch of a cabin that used to be very nice, which overlooked a snowy down-sloping field that used to be kept up properly and carefully. He was already six packs deep into a carton of cigarettes he had bought only two days ago from a Casey’s General Store on his way up. He could recall the look on the young woman’s face at the register when he asked for a carton of Parliament Menthols, her eyes showing one blink of humorous surprise and another couple blinks of obvious concern, which faded to professional indifference as she rang in the sweet, icy killers. Smallmouth stopped his nervous dallying when he caught himself in the kitchen window; a large, shadowy figure sulking between the inside lights and the cold, almost glowing world downhill. His eyes still on his murky reflection, he patted his coat pockets for his seventh pack, pulling it out and smacking it against his left palm before cracking open and lighting it at his mouth. In a slow, warm flash, he could briefly see his own face in the window.
“Oh man, it’s bad” , he thought to himself.
He hadn’t shaved in weeks and his beard grew coarse and thick. A face that his mother had once called handsome had become a clean plate covered in steel wool. Well, maybe not so clean. Under and around his eyes were the obvious bruising of sleeplessness and his skin had lost its lively color and clarity of yesteryear.
“Ughhh” he groaned, turning away from the window to look over the porch and into the freezing, beckoning night.
The pickle that Jeremy “Smallmouth” Bassett found himself in involved his uncle, and his uncle’s evening logistics, to be precise. Smallmouth had been kicked out of his parents home on December 27th due to a slight misunderstanding at 2am when he believed the living room Christmas tree to be the downstairs bathroom. He had passed out on the couch after drinking a fire pit full of crushed Hamm’s cans and his brain tried desperately to get him up and to the nearby toilet. His little sister Stacy was tucked in fast asleep on a loveseat by the tree when she was brutally torn from her sugarplum dreams to hear the terrible hiss of Smallmouth’s folly. She screamed, the parents woke up, and, well, there you go. After well over three strikes, Smallmouth’s temporary residence had come to an end, and he was thrown to his mother’s brother’s cabin to dry up and straighten out before he could ever even be considered to return.
“You two deserve to live together. He can’t say no either because he owes me a lot more than this!” Smallmouth’s mother had screeched over him as he sat at the kitchen table the following morning with a cold bag of peas against his throbbing right temple. “You go there and you GET RIGHT!! I don’t care how long it takes just clean up your act and MAKE something of yourself! And for goodness sake tell Chuck to do the same, while he still has time!”
Yes, Uncle Chuck had his own shelf full of good time problems, and that’s what put Smallmouth in a bind tonight as he pondered over the white yonder that led to a black nothing, a black nothing that in the daylight pretended to be a forest. At night, it showed its true nature, an endless world of dark secrets and aching regret. At least that’s how Smallmouth saw it in this moment.
Chuck had gone down to the ranch he worked on for a New Years party with his work buddies. They liked to gather at the big barn where all of the vehicles and equipment were kept, sitting around a card table passing out stories about women and other trophy game that were either outright lied about or illegally poached. Oh, and they also liked to pass the bottle around. Therein lied the conundrum for Smallmouth.
Uncle Chuck was many things, but one thing he wasn’t was a drunk driver. Chuck’s wife Rebecca had been struck and killed by a drunk driver almost ten years ago when she was out jogging the back roads early one morning. Everyone assumed that’s what led him to his openly hard drinking and sneakily pill popping ways in the first place. For Chuck, most nights were kept at home, parked in front of a TV watching old westerns and cleaning out a full bottle of Wild Turkey 101 before snoring in his recliner. On the few nights he would go out, he would always call a ride if things got out of hand. As you can imagine, he tends to need a ride home.
“I should be home bout 11:30. Service ain’t so good up there near the barn so if it gets bout 11:15-11:20 and I ain’t home, go head and do me a favor and come grab me son.” Chuck had told Smallmouth before he left, closing the warped screen door behind him.
Smallmouth had spent the evening trying his best to stay entertained without the help of any chemical enhancement. His family’s anger and resentment really struck him and this time he was determined to truly get right and get his life back on the rails. He was 29 years old. He had gone through college clean as a whistle, bright and driven, receiving his MBA with plans to work his way up in a promising career in business. That worked for a couple years. Then he found a calling in ministry, deciding to quit the corporate world to fill an opening of a tiny country church in the area. They needed a deacon who could take care of things around the building and assist in the worship service. He wasn’t much for public speaking, haven been given the nickname Smallmouth at a young age due to his soft spoken nature, but he could pass plates and give a hushed prayer every now and then. He liked to mow and paint and help old ladies up the stairs. The quiet country life was really nice for him, for a while. Strange, radical ideas eventually spread through the church though, and half of its members left overnight to form their own congregation. Its funding cut in half, the church had to close its doors and the other members absorbed into other churches. Smallmouth rarely ever saw the people that had departed from the church, but rumors creeped that they met at an old abandoned building deep in the woods, performing all sorts of different acts and rituals that would purify themselves and destroy all evils. Nevertheless, Smallmouth was out of work and picked up shifts bartending at a small town dive. His soft fortitude was no match for the booze and drugs and women that would pass through there and soon he was out the door. That landed him mooching off of his parents, draining their sanity and eventually draining himself on their Christmas tree. The last strike.
So there he was all night, waiting up for uncle Chuck. He was two days clean of everything except caffeine and nicotine, a major improvement. He felt a boost of hope and confidence the first morning after a sober nights sleep. He found the mornings to be the best parts of the day. At least he had coffee and cigarettes to get him out of bed. That would wear off quickly and the rest of the day was filled with trying to find distractions until the sun set about 5pm. Then he would watch a movie or two with Chuck. Last night he had been able to call it early and go to sleep at 7pm shortly after Chuck started sawing logs in front of True Grit (the original John Wayne version of course). Tonight he saw 7pm struggle and churn into 8…….8:13……..8:48……9:05……9:29………..9:31………9:52……..9:58……….10:11…….10:12 (oh cmon)……10:27…….10:56…….and finally 11:08. It was like the clock was a 35 year old four cylinder engine oiled with crunchy peanut butter. Now, crunch time sat in the cold air as Smallmouth finished his cigarette and stewed over his decision. He really didn’t feel like going down to the barn and getting Chuck, even though it was only a couple miles. In the infancy of his sobriety he found the smallest of choices and activities to seem dire and at the very least upsettingly out of his way. Surely Chuck can get himself home on his own, right?
“No. Who knows if someone’s Aunt Rebecca or grandmother or son is out there on the road tonight” he thought.
As much as he had tried to screw up his life, Smallmouth usually knew what the right decision would be, even if he so often refused to listen. It was there ever so clearly on this New Year’s Eve, wailing in the back row of his mind like a misbehaved child during a church sermon. Smallmouth left the porch and went inside to grab his keys.
He walked out to his truck, got in, cranked it, let it sit down to one rpm, and started down the gravel driveway, which led to the gravel county road that Chuck and his few and far between neighbors lived on. He got to the mailbox and suddenly shot his attention up the road, where headlights revealed themselves out of the deep dark. It was rare to see any cars this far down Chuck’s road. In fact, there were no other houses to the right of Chuck’s cabin, spare for a couple of empty ones that were condemned but were attached to a lot of forest property.
Smallmouth squinted his eyes as a large black Dodge Ram 3500 came barreling by with a livestock trailer. Even inside his own truck he could hear a terrible noise coming from that trailer. He recognized it instantly as a pig squeal.
“The hell?” He whispered as the truck and trailer tore down the road, going around a nearby corner and out of sight. He couldn’t guess what on earth that could be about at this hour, and especially since nobody lived down there anyway. He shrugged it off though, and turned left out of the driveway, headed for drunk Uncle Chuck down at the ranch.
Ten minutes and a couple of snowy country miles later Smallmouth found himself through the metal gate of the ranch and up to the main barn, where a couple of smiling ranch hands had Chuck held up between them just outside one of two closed garage doors. A lamppost nearby cast a glow of debauchery on all of their faces, especially Chuck’s. Smallmouth got out and walked up to them smiling and shaking his head.
“Well well well…” he said with a slight laugh.
“Your Uncle put on one hell of a clinic tonight ‘Mouth” one of the hands said.
“I…..I….I don’t know what they’re tawlkin bout son” Chuck slang out before a high pitched giggle.
“I got another couple rounds in me I thinks!”
Smallmouth laughed.
“Yeah I ain’t so sure about that uncle! Let’s get on home now and let these fellas get on too.”
“Y’alright alright” Chuck said as Smallmouth took him from his buddies arms into one of his own and led him to the passenger seat of his truck.
“Happy New Years boys!!! Let’s do it all again okay?” He hollered to his waving buddies as they drove back away from the barn and through the metal gate toward home.
“You have a good time Uncle?”
“Oh…ohhh…I reckon I showed those boys how to do it” Another childish giggle.
A light snow shower seasoned the cold air as the truck rolled down the gravel country road. In the yellow headlights it made a pleasant white noise for the eyes. Chuck put his hands up staggered and vertically, fingers together and outstretched, pointing out in front of the truck down the road like he was aiming up for a rifle shot. He closed one eye.
“Straight as an arrow ole son. You’re good at this.”
“I ain’t drunk pops” Smallmouth chuckled.
“Sure ya are. Everybody’s drunk son. Even people that ain’t drink. Ticket is to get drunk on good stuff” Chuck’s face calmed from a goofy grin as he kept his eyes out front into the slow swirling tube of visible night.
“You sound like you’re drunk on some pretty damn good stuff” Smallmouth retorted as they shared a look and a good laugh.
“Suppose’n you ain’t wrong. Gotta work on that just like you are. Proud o’ you for a couple days clean man. We’ll get right. We’ll get right. All I meant was that man is born to get drunk on somethin’ or other. What I mean is God. Man is born to get drunk on his God.” Chuck said as Smallmouth shot him a raised eyebrow look of confusion.
“Once God gets ya drunk then you’re home free ol’ son. That distillery is never ending eternal forever. That land flows with whiskey and honey.” They both shared another laugh.
“Okay okay I think I somewhat understand now Uncle.”
They rode in a few seconds of comfortable silence before Chuck put his hands up in an aim position down the road again.
“You know…man….man….man has a GOVERNOR…..you know that right?”
“A what? A governor?”
“That’s right a GOVERNOR…that’s right…a little bitty device in his brain that keeps him on the road…keeps him from turning right off into the dark. You ever hear that little voice that tells you you can turn off into the ditch…into oncomin’ traffic? Tells you you can shoot your buddy instead of the deer? That you can jump off the top of the building and onto the pavement when you’re up there enjoying the view?”
“I…uh…I don’t know…I mean maybe? Pretty sure those are intrusive thoughts and they’re normal.”
“Well whatever they are that’s what the governor is for. Keeps ya straight. Keeps ya from harmin nothin.”
“Alright man, alright.”
They pulled back into Chuck’s driveway and parked. Smallmouth helped his uncle out of the truck and up into the cabin, snow starting to color the roof and pile against the side of the house near the door. Arms locked Smallmouth propped open the screen door, opened the inner door, and led Chuck through the kitchen and to his bedroom. Chuck layed down on his camo comforter with a deep, long exhale.
“Ahhhh yes……yes” he whispered with a smile.
“I love ya son…I’m glad you’re heeeeere. Let’s get better….your mom needs it…..stay in the Lord’s light son…don’t let them devils get ya….let’s get better….lets….” He was off into the distant deep ether almost immediately, and his mouth hung open.
“Goodnight uncle…love ya too.” Smallmouth patted the bed twice before walking over and closing the bedroom door behind him.
He went and sat at the kitchen table. He regretted his behavior earlier in the night. How it pained him to have to stay up a little later to go help out his uncle.
“Cmon…” he whispered.
He agreed with Chuck. He was here to get better. To do better. Maybe Chuck was right. If he couldn’t get drunk off booze, it was time to pick something else to drink. Better things. Maybe even God? Smallmouth hadn’t paid much mind to God since his church job fell through. God surely hadn’t been there for him these last few years when he was at his lowest. Or was He there the whole time? Had Smallmouth just ignored Him? These things floated heavily in his mind and soon he realized he had been staring at the front door for several minutes. Had he even blinked? Then something else came to mind.
“Wait hold up”
That truck and trailer from earlier. What WAS that? He meant to bring it up to the ranch hands. They would’ve seen it come barreling down the road right by their front gate. Oh he wished he had brought that up to them. Oh well. It’s probably nothing. Smallmouth looked at the clock. 12:12.
“Happy New Year old boy.” He said to himself.
He sat for a moment in the warm kitchen light, his eyes not leaving the front door. Well, he’s up this late already, why not go run down and check on the abandoned properties?
No…no…it can wait. It’s probably nothing. Right?
Wrong. There’s that wailing kid in the back pew of his mind again. Come on kid can’t you just be quiet and listen to the sermon? No, no it can’t. It must be heard. Always. He knew he had to go check it out.
“Ughhhh FINE!” Smallmouth got up and grabbed his truck keys, patted to make sure his cigarettes were still there, and was out the door again.
The snow shower had ended. As he pulled up to the edge of the drive, he stalled for a moment and peaked out as far to the right as he could down the dark road. Nothing. It wasn’t very far to the end of that road, where two out of service mailboxes should’ve stood in a small cul-de-sac if it weren’t for teenagers beating them to splinters. Can’t really blame them either. Smallmouth considered his plan. Whether or not that truck belonged to the landowner down there, he shouldn’t feel like he needs to sneak around. He is merely a concerned neighbor after all. He began down the road and around that same corner the stranger disappeared earlier.
After a couple of slow, curious minutes Smallmouth could see the evidence of a great big fire in the near distance, beyond where the road ended. Through the bare trees and against the snow it cast orange and red that could surely be seen a mile in every direction, that is, if there were anyone there to see it.
Slightly intimidated, Smallmouth decided to turn off his headlights and let the fire guide him as he slowed up to 5mph and gently crackled his last few yards of gravel up to the remnants of the nearest mailbox post. It seemed the fire was on the land of the farther property, whose mailbox posthole was about 30 feet from where he came to a stop and parked his truck. Smallmouth turned it off and quietly got out into the cold. He crouched down as he walked over to the farther driveway, getting down on one knee to give it a stealthy closer look.
The abandoned property boasted a busted up trailer that sat pitifully about 500 feet from the mailbox memorial. Beyond that was a good ten acres of field that ended at the forest edge, which marked the beginning of thousands of acres of wildlife refuge. As Smallmouth peered on, it was obvious that the fire was way out in that field, blocked by the old trailer, which wore the hot light and columns of smoke on it like a devilish crown. Given the cover, Smallmouth crept over to the trailer and started easing around the right side.
Rounding the corner he noticed a propane tank that would be perfect for hiding behind and getting the best look he could at the mysterious activity. He got down on his belly and crawled his way over to the tank, before sitting up and peeking slowly over the top and out into the field.
Way down there, a couple acres away from the tree line, was a huge fire, made up of about fifty wooden pallets. It raged and lit up the whole field like it was just the beginning of sunset. Somewhat near the fire was the black Dodge Ram 3500 and trailer. Smallmouth could see a group of people dressed in all red, as if covered in bloody bedsheets from head to toe, circled around a crude cage, seemingly fastened together by pieces of metal fencing. They stood still as the pines, and twice as silent. Smallmouth, in a rare moment of curious courage, decided he had to get closer. He got back on his stomach and began to crawl through the cold, knee high grass.
Using the fire light as his North Star he crawled and crawled, feeling his hands, clothes, and beard get wet with snow. He didn’t care. Something was up that wasn’t normal, wasn’t right. He could feel it in his cold gut. When he thought he was close enough without giving himself away he planted his palms and ever so slowly raised his torso up into a weak push up to try and see out. He was glad he didn’t go any further. He may have been too close already.
He was close enough to read the name of the truck and count the holes in the livestock trailer. There were seven strangers in red sheets all around the makeshift cage, all holding long spears. One of the figures had a crown of black thorns on his head. They all had two eyeholes and one hole for the mouth. They didn’t move a muscle for the longest time, before the Crowned One forcibly touched the end of his spear to the ground.
“Now is the time, Brother and Farmer Abraham…there is no more for us in waiting.”
Smallmouth had just noticed the passenger window to the black Dodge was down, and he could hear the driver door open and soon saw a normal looking older man in a ball cap at the back of the trailer. He was holding a leash of some sort. He opened up the trailer and whistled into the dark of it. After a couple of loud, heavy thuds a gigantic, and I mean GIGANTIC Yorkshire pig came slowly shrugging out of the trailer. It was light pink in color but filthy, and gave wet sounding oinks as it came to the man’s hands expecting food. The thing must’ve weighed 1500 pounds, and at least ten feet long. It actually had to lower its head to reach the man’s hands, its ears coming up to the man’s chest. Smallmouth couldn’t believe his eyes. The man reached in his pocket and revealed a handful of some type of feed, which he tossed on the ground at the pig. It started right in as the man fixed a collar on the pigs girthy neck, then attaching a leash. The pig gave a slight squeal.
“Good girl, good girl…cmon now” the man called Farmer Abraham sweetly coaxed the animal. He gave his end of the leash a tug and the monstrous swine reluctantly left its food and followed the man over close to the Crowned One. The fire raged and raged nearby, throwing crazy shadows all over the place.
“What have you brought us, Brother and Farmer Abraham?”
“Yeah, uh, this is Old Azazel, she’s been in my family for years, man.”
The Crowned One dropped his spear and knelt down to the jowls of the hog, the dark holes of his eyes meeting those of the animal. The other red cloaked figures remained statuesque around the cage.
“Ah, yes, Old Azazel, hello. You are to be of great importance in the history of the Earth tonight, old friend.”
The Crowned One got back up to address Brother and Father Abraham, who seemed obviously put off, yet submissive.
“And is this Old Azazel a natural specimen? Is it fed only of the earth and the filths therein?”
“Yessir, I’d reckon so.”
“This is necessary for a proper sacrifice, Brother and Farmer Abraham. You may only bring your best, your cleanest, your most dear to the alter of the Almighty.”
“I understand.”
“May I take her now?”
The farmer gave his end of the leash to the black gloved left hand of the Crowned One. The Crowned one stood with it for almost a full minute in total stillness and silence. The only noise Smallmouth could hear was the sloppy smacks and oinks from Old Azazel. The farmer anxiously waited, wringing his hands expecting the next move from the Crowned One.
“Turn away, Brother and Farmer Abraham. Turn away from us and toward the fire now.” The Crowned One finally spoke.
“Phew, alright. We’re still good on our deal? Do you still promise to make my little girl better? Like you said?” The farmer asked, with some hopeful desperation.
“Turn now.”
“Well okay” the farmer turned his back to the Crowned One and toward the fire.
“I can assure you with all of the knowledge in my mind and in my heart, you will never see your daughter sick again in this lifetime, Brother and Father Abraham. You may find peace and solace in this truth.”
The farmer nodded in relief as he looked upon the fire. Smallmouth, taking it all in with great confusion, could see a smile on the farmers fire lit face, and turned back to the Crowned One just in time to see him reach under his red garment and pull out a pistol and shoot a round into the back of the farmers head, blowing his cap off, which frisbeed down near his shaking, crumpled body. Old Azazel threw a fit immediately, screaming and trying her best to flee. The Crowned One held the immense beast with one hand, and with seemingly little effort. The other red clothed figures finally made noise, laughing deep and heartily around the cage. The Crowned One, keeping Old Azazel close, walked over to the doubled over farmer, putting two more bullets into his head, essentially hollowing it out into a carnal mess. The farmers shaking mercifully stopped.
Smallmouth had to slam his forearm up to his mouth to muffle the scream that would’ve come out and blown his cover. His eyes were flown wide open and his arms were shivering.
The Crowned One put the pistol back under his red cloak and led the great pig, still squealing as high pitched and piercing as the human ear can withstand, over to the mouth of the cage, which was opened by the nearest red clothed stranger. Old Azazel flew in to the cage, having been unleashed by The Crowned One. It struggled around the cage, which was no bigger than 15x15 feet, giving it no room to get comfortable. It circled the inner perimeter, showing impressive speed for such a large animal. It squealed and squealed. The sound stung Smallmouths ears, and he covered them with his hands. He was still out of sight in the tall grass. The Red People around the cage laughed at the hogs entrapment. The Crowned One raised a hand to signal silence. The Red People were still and quiet again.
“Now, my brothers, the sacrificial gift is in our possession. Tonight…is a HOLY NIGHT.” The Crowned One raised his voice as if getting to the climax of a fire and brimstone sermon.
“TONIGHT…WE WILL DESTROY WHAT WAS ONCE CAST OUT BUT NEVER VANQUISHED!! WE WILL RID THE EARTH OF A GREAT ARMY!! AN ARMY OF HELL THAT HAS FAR TOO LONG ROAMED AND SICKENED OUR LANDS AND KILLED OUR LOVES!! TONIGHT…WE WILL DESTROY THE DESTROYERS…THE LEGION OF SATANS SOLDIERS BORN JUST AFTER THE GARDEN OF EDEN FELL…”
The Crowned One fell to his knees, his arms up and stretched toward the frozen sky. A mighty wind began blowing at Smallmouths back. He had to lower his head as it roared over him. After a moment it calmed and he was able to lift up again to see. Winds from all corners of the field met at the cage, swirling over it in a great snowy funnel that led up to the clouds. Old Azazel screamed and screamed from the cage.
“I SEE YOU VILLIANS!! I HEAR YOU HOSTS OF HELL!! I KNOW YOU LIVE IN THESE TREES!! I KNOW YOU COWER WITHIN THE SOUND OF MY VOICE!! SHOW YOURSELF!! TAKE THE BODY OF THIS ANIMAL THAT I HAVE SET BEFORE YOU!! TAKE IT NOW!! TAKE IT NOW AND FACE ME!! TAKE IT NOW!! TAKE IT NOW!! TAKE I-“
The Crowned One’s vocal cord shredding performance was cut short by a single burst of black lightning that shot down from the middle of the snowy funnel cloud that surrounded the cage. The Crowned One and all the Red People were thrown several feet back from the blast. Thunder immediately exploded across the field. Smallmouth buried his face as the force and sound raced over him. Ears ringing, he kept his face down for a few seconds. He squinted back up to the strike zone.
The strange black lightning had blown the cage completely apart. Two of The Red People had been hit with the metal fencing. One laid motionless. The other gargled in pain as he put a hand to the pole that was sticking out of his sternum, having penetrated all the way through. His legs buckled and he fell forward, the end of the pole hitting the ground first and propping him up for a moment, before his body slowly slid down to the ground around the metal. He went silent. The other four Red People, yelling in surprise, gathered themselves, looking to the charred hole in the ground where Old Azazel should be, right in the center where the cage used to stand. The Crowned One got to his feet and picked up his spear.
“My brothers, gather your arms…” the Crowned One whispered, breathing heavily under his red cloak.
“The work is not over…”
The four remaining Red People grabbed their spears and slowly walked over to the burnt, smoking hole, holding an attack pose over it until further instructions were given.
“Are you with us, you age old tormentors?” This was the first time Smallmouth could hear fear in the tired voice of the Crowned One.
“Are you with us now? Are you ready to die, you infernal bastards? Are you ready to-“
The Crowned One was interrupted by a booming noise from the hole that tore Smallmouths wits to shreds. It was similar to the cry of Old Azazel, but much deeper and ten times louder and angrier. It was as if a freight train was blaring its horn and slamming its brakes at the same time.
“NOW MY BROTHERS!! STRIKE THE BEAST OF HELL WITH YOUR SPEARS! NOW!!!”
The Red People all threw their weapons down into the smoking hole. The hellish noise from within stopped in an instant. The Red People crowded closer to the edge of the hole, waiting for the smoke to clear. The Crowned One walked over to them, putting his black gloved hand on the shoulder of the nearest man.
“Oh, Brothers. Oh my dear, dear Brothers. Your acts tonight have rid the earth of a Great and Powerful Evil…”
Before he could continue, a fully enraged and re-inspired bellow thrust itself up and out of the hole like a serrated blade. Much, much louder and angrier than before. The Red People were taken aback in terror. Suddenly, from within the hole, a large head emerged and gaped a huge, disgusting maw up at the crowd. The head was burned black and its eyes were half boiled white and without pupils. It shrieked out that most terrible noise as if it didn’t need oxygen.
“There’s no way” Smallmouth heard himself say under his breath.
All in one motion, the beast leaped out of the hole, and turned to face its attackers. It was Old Azazel, except swollen with burnt mass. It appeared to have grown a half a size at least. Three spears stuck out of its sizzling, charcoal colored back. It snapped its gigantic jaws at the Red People, who shuddered in horror. The Crowned One spoke:
“DO NOT RELENT BROTHERS!! ATTACK!! ATTACK THE BRUTE!!”
He pulled his pistol back out of his cloak and fired the remaining three rounds on the new and horrible black burnt Old Azazel. The beast’s cloudy boiled egg eyes shot open along with its unnaturally stretched jaws. It took the three bullets as if they were tennis balls. At the speed of a charging grizzly and with multiple times the power Old Azazel raged over to The Crowned One and dove onto him mouth first, putting both front hooves on his chest as he was knocked down. The Crowned One cried out in a shockingly high pitched wail, like a man being electrocuted. The Beast bit right into the soft of his belly, and began to shake him around like an Orca trying to separate a seal from its pelt.
“OH GOD!!!! AHHHHHH GOD OHHHHH!!! HELP ME!!!! NOOOO!!!! OH GOD HELP ME!!!! MAMA!!!! OHHHH!!! MAMA!!!!!”
The beast ate and ate and shook and shook and tore and broke and destroyed while the Crowned One lost more and more of his body, all while crying out to the sky at the top of his punctured lungs. The other Red People sprinted to the black Dodge Ram, opened its doors and piled inside. Smallmouth heard it crank up and it began to speedily turn around and race away from the fire and back toward the road. The beast unhooked from the Crowned One and let out another ghastly roar of victory before biting into his neck, ending his screaming forever. The beast then left his half devoured body and began a tremendous and terrible charge after the truck, which was greatly slowed down by the trailer. Smallmouth put his face down as the beast passed him by only about 10 feet on its way to the truck, which had just made it back to the road and was using every RPM possible to get away from the demon charged killing machine on its heels. Smallmouth turned around to watch both parties disappear down the road, the echoes of that great and evil blasting noise stabbing his ears again. He remained on his stomach in the tall, snowy grass for another two minutes as he normalized his breath and tried to make any sense of what he just witnessed.
Eventually he slowly rose up and looked to make sure that terrible thing was indeed out of the area. No signs of life or death from up at the road. The danger was at least a couple miles away by now. Smallmouth then turned back toward the fire and to the dominated body of the Crowned One. He carefully walked up closer and closer. To his amazement he heard wheezy noises coming from the emptied out torso of the man, a scattering of insides and flesh and blood strewn all around him. Troubled, rattling breaths escaped from under the red clothed head, whose crown of thorns had flown off in the attack. Most of the red cloak had been ripped to shreds, and all that remained covered were his shoulders and above. The cloth slowly ebbed and flowed with breath. Smallmouth could not believe this man was still alive. His entire digestive system was eviscerated and his ribs were exposed. Smallmouth knelt down beside him and lifted his cloak over his head to let him at least breathe his last in the open air.
Smallmouth let out a gasp. This man had a face that Smallmouth knew very well. He recognized him immediately from the old church he worked at. The clean shaven face. The short, silver hair. The sharp nose. This was a man that had joined his church two weeks before the schism. He never spoke in church but it was rumored he would meet at the homes of different members and try to sway them to his strange ideas. He was the one rumored to have led the radical faction somewhere in the middle of the woods. To Smallmouth, it was all starting to make more sense.
“I know you,” Smallmouth said softly, “I know who you are. You tore a church in half didn’t you? You’re the crazy guy that split up my ole church! What the hell have you done?”
The man struggled to breathe and tried his best to spit up a couple of words. His neck had deep lacerations that flowed with escaping life.
“I…I…I…uhh…I only…I only…I only did what I believed…” he whispered before a wet, stifled breath.
“What did you do?!!!” Smallmouth grew angry, and his voice followed suit. This man had ruined his job and now he had unleashed something horrifying on his neighborhood. He had tampered with things that man has no business tampering with.
“I…I…I have…have…I have failed, Smallmouth Bassett” the man croaked. Smallmouth couldn’t believe he had bothered to remember his name.
“I have failed. I have failed. God help you all…” with that the man’s face fell and he let out one last slow exhale before all was still.
Smallmouth got back on his feet and looked away from the dead man and toward the fire, which towered and raged in the reflection of his eyes.
“Oh no…oh no…oh no” he said in between terrified breaths.
Then another though hit him like a wrecking ball.
“Uncle Chuck…”
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“Oh man, it’s bad” , he thought to himself.
He hadn’t shaved in weeks and his beard grew coarse and thick. A face that his mother had once called handsome had become a clean plate covered in steel wool. Well, maybe not so clean. Under and around his eyes were the obvious bruising of sleeplessness and his skin had lost its lively color and clarity of yesteryear.
“Ughhh” he groaned, turning away from the window to look over the porch and into the freezing, beckoning night.
The pickle that Jeremy “Smallmouth” Bassett found himself in involved his uncle, and his uncle’s evening logistics, to be precise. Smallmouth had been kicked out of his parents home on December 27th due to a slight misunderstanding at 2am when he believed the living room Christmas tree to be the downstairs bathroom. He had passed out on the couch after drinking a fire pit full of crushed Hamm’s cans and his brain tried desperately to get him up and to the nearby toilet. His little sister Stacy was tucked in fast asleep on a loveseat by the tree when she was brutally torn from her sugarplum dreams to hear the terrible hiss of Smallmouth’s folly. She screamed, the parents woke up, and, well, there you go. After well over three strikes, Smallmouth’s temporary residence had come to an end, and he was thrown to his mother’s brother’s cabin to dry up and straighten out before he could ever even be considered to return.
“You two deserve to live together. He can’t say no either because he owes me a lot more than this!” Smallmouth’s mother had screeched over him as he sat at the kitchen table the following morning with a cold bag of peas against his throbbing right temple. “You go there and you GET RIGHT!! I don’t care how long it takes just clean up your act and MAKE something of yourself! And for goodness sake tell Chuck to do the same, while he still has time!”
Yes, Uncle Chuck had his own shelf full of good time problems, and that’s what put Smallmouth in a bind tonight as he pondered over the white yonder that led to a black nothing, a black nothing that in the daylight pretended to be a forest. At night, it showed its true nature, an endless world of dark secrets and aching regret. At least that’s how Smallmouth saw it in this moment.
Chuck had gone down to the ranch he worked on for a New Years party with his work buddies. They liked to gather at the big barn where all of the vehicles and equipment were kept, sitting around a card table passing out stories about women and other trophy game that were either outright lied about or illegally poached. Oh, and they also liked to pass the bottle around. Therein lied the conundrum for Smallmouth.
Uncle Chuck was many things, but one thing he wasn’t was a drunk driver. Chuck’s wife Rebecca had been struck and killed by a drunk driver almost ten years ago when she was out jogging the back roads early one morning. Everyone assumed that’s what led him to his openly hard drinking and sneakily pill popping ways in the first place. For Chuck, most nights were kept at home, parked in front of a TV watching old westerns and cleaning out a full bottle of Wild Turkey 101 before snoring in his recliner. On the few nights he would go out, he would always call a ride if things got out of hand. As you can imagine, he tends to need a ride home.
“I should be home bout 11:30. Service ain’t so good up there near the barn so if it gets bout 11:15-11:20 and I ain’t home, go head and do me a favor and come grab me son.” Chuck had told Smallmouth before he left, closing the warped screen door behind him.
Smallmouth had spent the evening trying his best to stay entertained without the help of any chemical enhancement. His family’s anger and resentment really struck him and this time he was determined to truly get right and get his life back on the rails. He was 29 years old. He had gone through college clean as a whistle, bright and driven, receiving his MBA with plans to work his way up in a promising career in business. That worked for a couple years. Then he found a calling in ministry, deciding to quit the corporate world to fill an opening of a tiny country church in the area. They needed a deacon who could take care of things around the building and assist in the worship service. He wasn’t much for public speaking, haven been given the nickname Smallmouth at a young age due to his soft spoken nature, but he could pass plates and give a hushed prayer every now and then. He liked to mow and paint and help old ladies up the stairs. The quiet country life was really nice for him, for a while. Strange, radical ideas eventually spread through the church though, and half of its members left overnight to form their own congregation. Its funding cut in half, the church had to close its doors and the other members absorbed into other churches. Smallmouth rarely ever saw the people that had departed from the church, but rumors creeped that they met at an old abandoned building deep in the woods, performing all sorts of different acts and rituals that would purify themselves and destroy all evils. Nevertheless, Smallmouth was out of work and picked up shifts bartending at a small town dive. His soft fortitude was no match for the booze and drugs and women that would pass through there and soon he was out the door. That landed him mooching off of his parents, draining their sanity and eventually draining himself on their Christmas tree. The last strike.
So there he was all night, waiting up for uncle Chuck. He was two days clean of everything except caffeine and nicotine, a major improvement. He felt a boost of hope and confidence the first morning after a sober nights sleep. He found the mornings to be the best parts of the day. At least he had coffee and cigarettes to get him out of bed. That would wear off quickly and the rest of the day was filled with trying to find distractions until the sun set about 5pm. Then he would watch a movie or two with Chuck. Last night he had been able to call it early and go to sleep at 7pm shortly after Chuck started sawing logs in front of True Grit (the original John Wayne version of course). Tonight he saw 7pm struggle and churn into 8…….8:13……..8:48……9:05……9:29………..9:31………9:52……..9:58……….10:11…….10:12 (oh cmon)……10:27…….10:56…….and finally 11:08. It was like the clock was a 35 year old four cylinder engine oiled with crunchy peanut butter. Now, crunch time sat in the cold air as Smallmouth finished his cigarette and stewed over his decision. He really didn’t feel like going down to the barn and getting Chuck, even though it was only a couple miles. In the infancy of his sobriety he found the smallest of choices and activities to seem dire and at the very least upsettingly out of his way. Surely Chuck can get himself home on his own, right?
“No. Who knows if someone’s Aunt Rebecca or grandmother or son is out there on the road tonight” he thought.
As much as he had tried to screw up his life, Smallmouth usually knew what the right decision would be, even if he so often refused to listen. It was there ever so clearly on this New Year’s Eve, wailing in the back row of his mind like a misbehaved child during a church sermon. Smallmouth left the porch and went inside to grab his keys.
He walked out to his truck, got in, cranked it, let it sit down to one rpm, and started down the gravel driveway, which led to the gravel county road that Chuck and his few and far between neighbors lived on. He got to the mailbox and suddenly shot his attention up the road, where headlights revealed themselves out of the deep dark. It was rare to see any cars this far down Chuck’s road. In fact, there were no other houses to the right of Chuck’s cabin, spare for a couple of empty ones that were condemned but were attached to a lot of forest property.
Smallmouth squinted his eyes as a large black Dodge Ram 3500 came barreling by with a livestock trailer. Even inside his own truck he could hear a terrible noise coming from that trailer. He recognized it instantly as a pig squeal.
“The hell?” He whispered as the truck and trailer tore down the road, going around a nearby corner and out of sight. He couldn’t guess what on earth that could be about at this hour, and especially since nobody lived down there anyway. He shrugged it off though, and turned left out of the driveway, headed for drunk Uncle Chuck down at the ranch.
Ten minutes and a couple of snowy country miles later Smallmouth found himself through the metal gate of the ranch and up to the main barn, where a couple of smiling ranch hands had Chuck held up between them just outside one of two closed garage doors. A lamppost nearby cast a glow of debauchery on all of their faces, especially Chuck’s. Smallmouth got out and walked up to them smiling and shaking his head.
“Well well well…” he said with a slight laugh.
“Your Uncle put on one hell of a clinic tonight ‘Mouth” one of the hands said.
“I…..I….I don’t know what they’re tawlkin bout son” Chuck slang out before a high pitched giggle.
“I got another couple rounds in me I thinks!”
Smallmouth laughed.
“Yeah I ain’t so sure about that uncle! Let’s get on home now and let these fellas get on too.”
“Y’alright alright” Chuck said as Smallmouth took him from his buddies arms into one of his own and led him to the passenger seat of his truck.
“Happy New Years boys!!! Let’s do it all again okay?” He hollered to his waving buddies as they drove back away from the barn and through the metal gate toward home.
“You have a good time Uncle?”
“Oh…ohhh…I reckon I showed those boys how to do it” Another childish giggle.
A light snow shower seasoned the cold air as the truck rolled down the gravel country road. In the yellow headlights it made a pleasant white noise for the eyes. Chuck put his hands up staggered and vertically, fingers together and outstretched, pointing out in front of the truck down the road like he was aiming up for a rifle shot. He closed one eye.
“Straight as an arrow ole son. You’re good at this.”
“I ain’t drunk pops” Smallmouth chuckled.
“Sure ya are. Everybody’s drunk son. Even people that ain’t drink. Ticket is to get drunk on good stuff” Chuck’s face calmed from a goofy grin as he kept his eyes out front into the slow swirling tube of visible night.
“You sound like you’re drunk on some pretty damn good stuff” Smallmouth retorted as they shared a look and a good laugh.
“Suppose’n you ain’t wrong. Gotta work on that just like you are. Proud o’ you for a couple days clean man. We’ll get right. We’ll get right. All I meant was that man is born to get drunk on somethin’ or other. What I mean is God. Man is born to get drunk on his God.” Chuck said as Smallmouth shot him a raised eyebrow look of confusion.
“Once God gets ya drunk then you’re home free ol’ son. That distillery is never ending eternal forever. That land flows with whiskey and honey.” They both shared another laugh.
“Okay okay I think I somewhat understand now Uncle.”
They rode in a few seconds of comfortable silence before Chuck put his hands up in an aim position down the road again.
“You know…man….man….man has a GOVERNOR…..you know that right?”
“A what? A governor?”
“That’s right a GOVERNOR…that’s right…a little bitty device in his brain that keeps him on the road…keeps him from turning right off into the dark. You ever hear that little voice that tells you you can turn off into the ditch…into oncomin’ traffic? Tells you you can shoot your buddy instead of the deer? That you can jump off the top of the building and onto the pavement when you’re up there enjoying the view?”
“I…uh…I don’t know…I mean maybe? Pretty sure those are intrusive thoughts and they’re normal.”
“Well whatever they are that’s what the governor is for. Keeps ya straight. Keeps ya from harmin nothin.”
“Alright man, alright.”
They pulled back into Chuck’s driveway and parked. Smallmouth helped his uncle out of the truck and up into the cabin, snow starting to color the roof and pile against the side of the house near the door. Arms locked Smallmouth propped open the screen door, opened the inner door, and led Chuck through the kitchen and to his bedroom. Chuck layed down on his camo comforter with a deep, long exhale.
“Ahhhh yes……yes” he whispered with a smile.
“I love ya son…I’m glad you’re heeeeere. Let’s get better….your mom needs it…..stay in the Lord’s light son…don’t let them devils get ya….let’s get better….lets….” He was off into the distant deep ether almost immediately, and his mouth hung open.
“Goodnight uncle…love ya too.” Smallmouth patted the bed twice before walking over and closing the bedroom door behind him.
He went and sat at the kitchen table. He regretted his behavior earlier in the night. How it pained him to have to stay up a little later to go help out his uncle.
“Cmon…” he whispered.
He agreed with Chuck. He was here to get better. To do better. Maybe Chuck was right. If he couldn’t get drunk off booze, it was time to pick something else to drink. Better things. Maybe even God? Smallmouth hadn’t paid much mind to God since his church job fell through. God surely hadn’t been there for him these last few years when he was at his lowest. Or was He there the whole time? Had Smallmouth just ignored Him? These things floated heavily in his mind and soon he realized he had been staring at the front door for several minutes. Had he even blinked? Then something else came to mind.
“Wait hold up”
That truck and trailer from earlier. What WAS that? He meant to bring it up to the ranch hands. They would’ve seen it come barreling down the road right by their front gate. Oh he wished he had brought that up to them. Oh well. It’s probably nothing. Smallmouth looked at the clock. 12:12.
“Happy New Year old boy.” He said to himself.
He sat for a moment in the warm kitchen light, his eyes not leaving the front door. Well, he’s up this late already, why not go run down and check on the abandoned properties?
No…no…it can wait. It’s probably nothing. Right?
Wrong. There’s that wailing kid in the back pew of his mind again. Come on kid can’t you just be quiet and listen to the sermon? No, no it can’t. It must be heard. Always. He knew he had to go check it out.
“Ughhhh FINE!” Smallmouth got up and grabbed his truck keys, patted to make sure his cigarettes were still there, and was out the door again.
The snow shower had ended. As he pulled up to the edge of the drive, he stalled for a moment and peaked out as far to the right as he could down the dark road. Nothing. It wasn’t very far to the end of that road, where two out of service mailboxes should’ve stood in a small cul-de-sac if it weren’t for teenagers beating them to splinters. Can’t really blame them either. Smallmouth considered his plan. Whether or not that truck belonged to the landowner down there, he shouldn’t feel like he needs to sneak around. He is merely a concerned neighbor after all. He began down the road and around that same corner the stranger disappeared earlier.
After a couple of slow, curious minutes Smallmouth could see the evidence of a great big fire in the near distance, beyond where the road ended. Through the bare trees and against the snow it cast orange and red that could surely be seen a mile in every direction, that is, if there were anyone there to see it.
Slightly intimidated, Smallmouth decided to turn off his headlights and let the fire guide him as he slowed up to 5mph and gently crackled his last few yards of gravel up to the remnants of the nearest mailbox post. It seemed the fire was on the land of the farther property, whose mailbox posthole was about 30 feet from where he came to a stop and parked his truck. Smallmouth turned it off and quietly got out into the cold. He crouched down as he walked over to the farther driveway, getting down on one knee to give it a stealthy closer look.
The abandoned property boasted a busted up trailer that sat pitifully about 500 feet from the mailbox memorial. Beyond that was a good ten acres of field that ended at the forest edge, which marked the beginning of thousands of acres of wildlife refuge. As Smallmouth peered on, it was obvious that the fire was way out in that field, blocked by the old trailer, which wore the hot light and columns of smoke on it like a devilish crown. Given the cover, Smallmouth crept over to the trailer and started easing around the right side.
Rounding the corner he noticed a propane tank that would be perfect for hiding behind and getting the best look he could at the mysterious activity. He got down on his belly and crawled his way over to the tank, before sitting up and peeking slowly over the top and out into the field.
Way down there, a couple acres away from the tree line, was a huge fire, made up of about fifty wooden pallets. It raged and lit up the whole field like it was just the beginning of sunset. Somewhat near the fire was the black Dodge Ram 3500 and trailer. Smallmouth could see a group of people dressed in all red, as if covered in bloody bedsheets from head to toe, circled around a crude cage, seemingly fastened together by pieces of metal fencing. They stood still as the pines, and twice as silent. Smallmouth, in a rare moment of curious courage, decided he had to get closer. He got back on his stomach and began to crawl through the cold, knee high grass.
Using the fire light as his North Star he crawled and crawled, feeling his hands, clothes, and beard get wet with snow. He didn’t care. Something was up that wasn’t normal, wasn’t right. He could feel it in his cold gut. When he thought he was close enough without giving himself away he planted his palms and ever so slowly raised his torso up into a weak push up to try and see out. He was glad he didn’t go any further. He may have been too close already.
He was close enough to read the name of the truck and count the holes in the livestock trailer. There were seven strangers in red sheets all around the makeshift cage, all holding long spears. One of the figures had a crown of black thorns on his head. They all had two eyeholes and one hole for the mouth. They didn’t move a muscle for the longest time, before the Crowned One forcibly touched the end of his spear to the ground.
“Now is the time, Brother and Farmer Abraham…there is no more for us in waiting.”
Smallmouth had just noticed the passenger window to the black Dodge was down, and he could hear the driver door open and soon saw a normal looking older man in a ball cap at the back of the trailer. He was holding a leash of some sort. He opened up the trailer and whistled into the dark of it. After a couple of loud, heavy thuds a gigantic, and I mean GIGANTIC Yorkshire pig came slowly shrugging out of the trailer. It was light pink in color but filthy, and gave wet sounding oinks as it came to the man’s hands expecting food. The thing must’ve weighed 1500 pounds, and at least ten feet long. It actually had to lower its head to reach the man’s hands, its ears coming up to the man’s chest. Smallmouth couldn’t believe his eyes. The man reached in his pocket and revealed a handful of some type of feed, which he tossed on the ground at the pig. It started right in as the man fixed a collar on the pigs girthy neck, then attaching a leash. The pig gave a slight squeal.
“Good girl, good girl…cmon now” the man called Farmer Abraham sweetly coaxed the animal. He gave his end of the leash a tug and the monstrous swine reluctantly left its food and followed the man over close to the Crowned One. The fire raged and raged nearby, throwing crazy shadows all over the place.
“What have you brought us, Brother and Farmer Abraham?”
“Yeah, uh, this is Old Azazel, she’s been in my family for years, man.”
The Crowned One dropped his spear and knelt down to the jowls of the hog, the dark holes of his eyes meeting those of the animal. The other red cloaked figures remained statuesque around the cage.
“Ah, yes, Old Azazel, hello. You are to be of great importance in the history of the Earth tonight, old friend.”
The Crowned One got back up to address Brother and Father Abraham, who seemed obviously put off, yet submissive.
“And is this Old Azazel a natural specimen? Is it fed only of the earth and the filths therein?”
“Yessir, I’d reckon so.”
“This is necessary for a proper sacrifice, Brother and Farmer Abraham. You may only bring your best, your cleanest, your most dear to the alter of the Almighty.”
“I understand.”
“May I take her now?”
The farmer gave his end of the leash to the black gloved left hand of the Crowned One. The Crowned one stood with it for almost a full minute in total stillness and silence. The only noise Smallmouth could hear was the sloppy smacks and oinks from Old Azazel. The farmer anxiously waited, wringing his hands expecting the next move from the Crowned One.
“Turn away, Brother and Farmer Abraham. Turn away from us and toward the fire now.” The Crowned One finally spoke.
“Phew, alright. We’re still good on our deal? Do you still promise to make my little girl better? Like you said?” The farmer asked, with some hopeful desperation.
“Turn now.”
“Well okay” the farmer turned his back to the Crowned One and toward the fire.
“I can assure you with all of the knowledge in my mind and in my heart, you will never see your daughter sick again in this lifetime, Brother and Father Abraham. You may find peace and solace in this truth.”
The farmer nodded in relief as he looked upon the fire. Smallmouth, taking it all in with great confusion, could see a smile on the farmers fire lit face, and turned back to the Crowned One just in time to see him reach under his red garment and pull out a pistol and shoot a round into the back of the farmers head, blowing his cap off, which frisbeed down near his shaking, crumpled body. Old Azazel threw a fit immediately, screaming and trying her best to flee. The Crowned One held the immense beast with one hand, and with seemingly little effort. The other red clothed figures finally made noise, laughing deep and heartily around the cage. The Crowned One, keeping Old Azazel close, walked over to the doubled over farmer, putting two more bullets into his head, essentially hollowing it out into a carnal mess. The farmers shaking mercifully stopped.
Smallmouth had to slam his forearm up to his mouth to muffle the scream that would’ve come out and blown his cover. His eyes were flown wide open and his arms were shivering.
The Crowned One put the pistol back under his red cloak and led the great pig, still squealing as high pitched and piercing as the human ear can withstand, over to the mouth of the cage, which was opened by the nearest red clothed stranger. Old Azazel flew in to the cage, having been unleashed by The Crowned One. It struggled around the cage, which was no bigger than 15x15 feet, giving it no room to get comfortable. It circled the inner perimeter, showing impressive speed for such a large animal. It squealed and squealed. The sound stung Smallmouths ears, and he covered them with his hands. He was still out of sight in the tall grass. The Red People around the cage laughed at the hogs entrapment. The Crowned One raised a hand to signal silence. The Red People were still and quiet again.
“Now, my brothers, the sacrificial gift is in our possession. Tonight…is a HOLY NIGHT.” The Crowned One raised his voice as if getting to the climax of a fire and brimstone sermon.
“TONIGHT…WE WILL DESTROY WHAT WAS ONCE CAST OUT BUT NEVER VANQUISHED!! WE WILL RID THE EARTH OF A GREAT ARMY!! AN ARMY OF HELL THAT HAS FAR TOO LONG ROAMED AND SICKENED OUR LANDS AND KILLED OUR LOVES!! TONIGHT…WE WILL DESTROY THE DESTROYERS…THE LEGION OF SATANS SOLDIERS BORN JUST AFTER THE GARDEN OF EDEN FELL…”
The Crowned One fell to his knees, his arms up and stretched toward the frozen sky. A mighty wind began blowing at Smallmouths back. He had to lower his head as it roared over him. After a moment it calmed and he was able to lift up again to see. Winds from all corners of the field met at the cage, swirling over it in a great snowy funnel that led up to the clouds. Old Azazel screamed and screamed from the cage.
“I SEE YOU VILLIANS!! I HEAR YOU HOSTS OF HELL!! I KNOW YOU LIVE IN THESE TREES!! I KNOW YOU COWER WITHIN THE SOUND OF MY VOICE!! SHOW YOURSELF!! TAKE THE BODY OF THIS ANIMAL THAT I HAVE SET BEFORE YOU!! TAKE IT NOW!! TAKE IT NOW AND FACE ME!! TAKE IT NOW!! TAKE IT NOW!! TAKE I-“
The Crowned One’s vocal cord shredding performance was cut short by a single burst of black lightning that shot down from the middle of the snowy funnel cloud that surrounded the cage. The Crowned One and all the Red People were thrown several feet back from the blast. Thunder immediately exploded across the field. Smallmouth buried his face as the force and sound raced over him. Ears ringing, he kept his face down for a few seconds. He squinted back up to the strike zone.
The strange black lightning had blown the cage completely apart. Two of The Red People had been hit with the metal fencing. One laid motionless. The other gargled in pain as he put a hand to the pole that was sticking out of his sternum, having penetrated all the way through. His legs buckled and he fell forward, the end of the pole hitting the ground first and propping him up for a moment, before his body slowly slid down to the ground around the metal. He went silent. The other four Red People, yelling in surprise, gathered themselves, looking to the charred hole in the ground where Old Azazel should be, right in the center where the cage used to stand. The Crowned One got to his feet and picked up his spear.
“My brothers, gather your arms…” the Crowned One whispered, breathing heavily under his red cloak.
“The work is not over…”
The four remaining Red People grabbed their spears and slowly walked over to the burnt, smoking hole, holding an attack pose over it until further instructions were given.
“Are you with us, you age old tormentors?” This was the first time Smallmouth could hear fear in the tired voice of the Crowned One.
“Are you with us now? Are you ready to die, you infernal bastards? Are you ready to-“
The Crowned One was interrupted by a booming noise from the hole that tore Smallmouths wits to shreds. It was similar to the cry of Old Azazel, but much deeper and ten times louder and angrier. It was as if a freight train was blaring its horn and slamming its brakes at the same time.
“NOW MY BROTHERS!! STRIKE THE BEAST OF HELL WITH YOUR SPEARS! NOW!!!”
The Red People all threw their weapons down into the smoking hole. The hellish noise from within stopped in an instant. The Red People crowded closer to the edge of the hole, waiting for the smoke to clear. The Crowned One walked over to them, putting his black gloved hand on the shoulder of the nearest man.
“Oh, Brothers. Oh my dear, dear Brothers. Your acts tonight have rid the earth of a Great and Powerful Evil…”
Before he could continue, a fully enraged and re-inspired bellow thrust itself up and out of the hole like a serrated blade. Much, much louder and angrier than before. The Red People were taken aback in terror. Suddenly, from within the hole, a large head emerged and gaped a huge, disgusting maw up at the crowd. The head was burned black and its eyes were half boiled white and without pupils. It shrieked out that most terrible noise as if it didn’t need oxygen.
“There’s no way” Smallmouth heard himself say under his breath.
All in one motion, the beast leaped out of the hole, and turned to face its attackers. It was Old Azazel, except swollen with burnt mass. It appeared to have grown a half a size at least. Three spears stuck out of its sizzling, charcoal colored back. It snapped its gigantic jaws at the Red People, who shuddered in horror. The Crowned One spoke:
“DO NOT RELENT BROTHERS!! ATTACK!! ATTACK THE BRUTE!!”
He pulled his pistol back out of his cloak and fired the remaining three rounds on the new and horrible black burnt Old Azazel. The beast’s cloudy boiled egg eyes shot open along with its unnaturally stretched jaws. It took the three bullets as if they were tennis balls. At the speed of a charging grizzly and with multiple times the power Old Azazel raged over to The Crowned One and dove onto him mouth first, putting both front hooves on his chest as he was knocked down. The Crowned One cried out in a shockingly high pitched wail, like a man being electrocuted. The Beast bit right into the soft of his belly, and began to shake him around like an Orca trying to separate a seal from its pelt.
“OH GOD!!!! AHHHHHH GOD OHHHHH!!! HELP ME!!!! NOOOO!!!! OH GOD HELP ME!!!! MAMA!!!! OHHHH!!! MAMA!!!!!”
The beast ate and ate and shook and shook and tore and broke and destroyed while the Crowned One lost more and more of his body, all while crying out to the sky at the top of his punctured lungs. The other Red People sprinted to the black Dodge Ram, opened its doors and piled inside. Smallmouth heard it crank up and it began to speedily turn around and race away from the fire and back toward the road. The beast unhooked from the Crowned One and let out another ghastly roar of victory before biting into his neck, ending his screaming forever. The beast then left his half devoured body and began a tremendous and terrible charge after the truck, which was greatly slowed down by the trailer. Smallmouth put his face down as the beast passed him by only about 10 feet on its way to the truck, which had just made it back to the road and was using every RPM possible to get away from the demon charged killing machine on its heels. Smallmouth turned around to watch both parties disappear down the road, the echoes of that great and evil blasting noise stabbing his ears again. He remained on his stomach in the tall, snowy grass for another two minutes as he normalized his breath and tried to make any sense of what he just witnessed.
Eventually he slowly rose up and looked to make sure that terrible thing was indeed out of the area. No signs of life or death from up at the road. The danger was at least a couple miles away by now. Smallmouth then turned back toward the fire and to the dominated body of the Crowned One. He carefully walked up closer and closer. To his amazement he heard wheezy noises coming from the emptied out torso of the man, a scattering of insides and flesh and blood strewn all around him. Troubled, rattling breaths escaped from under the red clothed head, whose crown of thorns had flown off in the attack. Most of the red cloak had been ripped to shreds, and all that remained covered were his shoulders and above. The cloth slowly ebbed and flowed with breath. Smallmouth could not believe this man was still alive. His entire digestive system was eviscerated and his ribs were exposed. Smallmouth knelt down beside him and lifted his cloak over his head to let him at least breathe his last in the open air.
Smallmouth let out a gasp. This man had a face that Smallmouth knew very well. He recognized him immediately from the old church he worked at. The clean shaven face. The short, silver hair. The sharp nose. This was a man that had joined his church two weeks before the schism. He never spoke in church but it was rumored he would meet at the homes of different members and try to sway them to his strange ideas. He was the one rumored to have led the radical faction somewhere in the middle of the woods. To Smallmouth, it was all starting to make more sense.
“I know you,” Smallmouth said softly, “I know who you are. You tore a church in half didn’t you? You’re the crazy guy that split up my ole church! What the hell have you done?”
The man struggled to breathe and tried his best to spit up a couple of words. His neck had deep lacerations that flowed with escaping life.
“I…I…I…uhh…I only…I only…I only did what I believed…” he whispered before a wet, stifled breath.
“What did you do?!!!” Smallmouth grew angry, and his voice followed suit. This man had ruined his job and now he had unleashed something horrifying on his neighborhood. He had tampered with things that man has no business tampering with.
“I…I…I have…have…I have failed, Smallmouth Bassett” the man croaked. Smallmouth couldn’t believe he had bothered to remember his name.
“I have failed. I have failed. God help you all…” with that the man’s face fell and he let out one last slow exhale before all was still.
Smallmouth got back on his feet and looked away from the dead man and toward the fire, which towered and raged in the reflection of his eyes.
“Oh no…oh no…oh no” he said in between terrified breaths.
Then another though hit him like a wrecking ball.
“Uncle Chuck…”
2024.05.17 23:31 EnergyIsMassiveLight what are some cool production/writing tricks from ae's music?
Can be a mix of both known/popular techniques that is depicted in their works or their unique stylings you've noticed. You can give anything from broad principles, to specific tracks where you've learnt techniques (i.e. Fold4,Wrap5 Risset Rhythm). I would prefer you name things you've noticed/figured out yourself, but you can mention what Autechre has mentioned (i.e. sending different melodic information to the reverb that is different from the dry signal, or contrapunctual writing styles).
tl;dr geek out!!
Here are some of my picks:
submitted by EnergyIsMassiveLight to autechre [link] [comments]
tl;dr geek out!!
Here are some of my picks:
- Delays!!!! Delays!!!! I assume this is a very obvious one for anyone making electronic music but still! I was so used to it being a pretty underwhelming fx thing that does reverb but worse, but autechre just completely stretch its uses with regards to synthesis. The latter especially, a lot of their tracks like Sim Gishel showcase that wonderfully.
- Minimal stereo mixing: I've noticed that after exposing myself to a lot of their 2010s work, they are quite selective on what gets stereo elements. This is a slow trend in their works, one of the most striking is Untilted where a majority of the record (with only Pro Radii as the major exception) is nearly all mono. I noticed a tendency for me to mix extremely stereo-ly but being forced to try and mix elements in one space definitely gives a lot of clarity to the mix, which helps make select elements stand out especially (elseq has a lot of these, acdwn2 and c16 deep tread are good examples). They seemed to have laxed that for the post-NTS stuff now but the remnants are still there, and it's definitely a consideration when the max demos have xy oscilloscopes.
- Convolutions: this one was what spurred me to make this post, i just randomly saw the term thrown out in a discussion about ae tracks and managed to wrangle it to recreate effects in Zeiss Contarex and jatevee C where the audio is being distorted spectrally.
- Sequencing mutes: pretty common songwriting technique, but I've been aware of how often they do this to great effect. some that come to mind are IO live, 90101-5l-l, tac Lacora, Leterel, pendulu hv moda, just having like the tiniest silences to either reorientate the loop or to denote an extreme difference. some of them are subtle as just soloing an element (creating a pause effect where the entire mix feels like it just snaps into place from the choas, which a lot of quaristice tour does a lot) and others are cutting to silence for milliseconds, but effect still works.
- Hidden stereo noise filter sweeps: this was spurred on by the live north spiral segment in their 2014/2015 shows, when i noticed a discrepancy in the stereo difference for that segment. Normally it's just pure noise being treated as snares, but in stereo difference (cancelling out mono signals), the noise was suddenly having these notch filter sweeps. I recreated the effect (what i did was take two unique noise signals, take a notch filter of both, but then replace the empty right one with the residue of the left one) and now it's something i like applying in the background since the effect is a subtle centered sweep in otherwise chaotic noise. the live segment is extremely complicated because it has complicated sequencing/envelop works on top of that. This is purely speculation but I'm inclined to believe Rob came up with this, Sean said that Rob does some extremely wacky stereo-perception stuff.
- Just not giving a shit about songwriting: okay well i do still somewhat try, but ae has extremely emboldened me into being way more confident in just finding all the variations from a single section rather than trying to make as many distinct sections to be strung together as possible. ae's absolutely refined it to be a spectrum, where you can get something like like latentcall and gonk steady one, or an eastre or pendulu casual, or even something in the middle like Recury, Corc or vekoS. I recall sean noted LP5 was them trying to refine their songwriting because Tri Repetae and Chiastic Slide was otherwise heavily loop-based records. This is mostly noteworthy in that "oh, i can literally just do this" haha.
2024.05.17 23:29 SnooCrickets2946 PIN THIS AND READ IT DD
 | Today we got attacked. I’m not surprised. submitted by SnooCrickets2946 to FFIE [link] [comments] After looking over the weekly graph you can see we got shorted around 1pm-2pm. https://preview.redd.it/v52nnns8221d1.png?width=1170&format=png&auto=webp&s=ba3fb988338317843622e87c7cadbf6ea4b8cce0 https://preview.redd.it/xw2g1ps8221d1.png?width=1170&format=png&auto=webp&s=360db3ccf2e5d38ca058dabad6ef5fb1a6ecbe2e https://preview.redd.it/8sdzcns8221d1.png?width=1170&format=png&auto=webp&s=b9a25c0008affc51a595cf3f28e70ebd91e112d8 https://preview.redd.it/8a2l3ut8221d1.png?width=1170&format=png&auto=webp&s=98ebcd7c49addfcc912ca505f0927848ddb8bbd8 https://preview.redd.it/ajs9jts8221d1.png?width=1170&format=png&auto=webp&s=b7726a35bd13cc1817eacae8dec6b70f96db3975 https://preview.redd.it/kolhvos8221d1.png?width=1170&format=png&auto=webp&s=ea37ff31afb0d8e9021adea6490001b385dcb5a3 Now look at each individual RED candle. Roughly around the same time of the day. Pretty neat pattern. They are shorting stocks around the same time of day. Let’s look at the last two. Weird we have some red candles same time of the day. But why was it so much?? To cause fear. The probably went 3x-5x their “usual” amount of shares they shorted. To cause fear and a panic sell. It worked. Unfortunately, you have some good minds in here that shut up and watch. If you look on fintel. https://fintel.io/ss/us/ffie https://preview.redd.it/vh25f3ke221d1.png?width=1170&format=png&auto=webp&s=62e0fed9fb59393115c037371e3569b02c96723f https://preview.redd.it/8peyg4ke221d1.png?width=1170&format=png&auto=webp&s=1cebd36bca89dbb9d6ed4d61676f736094914879 If you look under the short interest table you will see numbers ranging around 9MM (most recent picture). You can also see the cost to borrow shares as well as how the info is updated every 30 minutes or so. Photos 9 & 10 https://preview.redd.it/4ddotawg221d1.png?width=1170&format=png&auto=webp&s=7a2d4f9971c4ce9cc895b1e37948f041739fc5af https://preview.redd.it/azysfbwg221d1.png?width=1170&format=png&auto=webp&s=c03395a85d2fbac56e84fd5f268fc27d535329f9 You will also notice that there are a bunch of differences, but the most common is 500k difference. I timed those today and watched the price drop $.20 roughly during that time each time. You can also see that there is a large gap in between short shares being reported. Hmm that’s weird… Oh wait it looks like they stopped reporting around 12:15PM Eastern. If I remember correctly we were at $3.70 at that point. THEN BOOM… We start seeing RED.. Papers are going flying. Daves smoking 2 cigarettes at once, Kyles beating his wife, Ashley is now considering onlyfans, and Matt is about to suck the shit out of a hog because $20 is $20. Shit went crazy. I get you get nervous. We all did. But what really changed? People who have been shorting stocks for years and know how to scare APES (dumb money) just tripled the amount of shares they shorted with. And it worked. For now… Until Dave puts out a butt, Kyle gets out of jail, Ashley stops taking selfies and Matt wipes off his chin and fucking reads this. What we had today was market manipulation. This stock is still highly shorted. Oh SHIT wait a minute.. go back a little bit. DO you remember that site fintel updates its shit every 30 mins??? Why such a pause for what 6 hours? Hmm then all of a sudden at the close of day the amount of shares that can be borrowed is down a significant amount? I get it the other sub reddit got taken down. So a lot of people had no idea what was going on. Coincidence or not I don’t know. All I Know is this can’t still fucking happen. We just have to remember what happens during these wars. It’s up to the old vets to teach the new guys hey you’re going to get fucking shot at. You’re going to stare blankly when it first happens and be in a state of panic. I know I get it. Those salty mother F’ers are the ones that are going to start laughing and saying hey snap out of it it’s all good we got this. Now grab your Fucking Rifle and lay down some cover fire. (if you don’t understand think of soldier as an ape and a rifle as some shit) you gotta get dirty! Now shares available to short I tried to cover earlier.. But my post got lost in the sauce and the comments were somewhat effective but not enough… I think we need more mods here because of this. NO OFFENSE its just a lot for one person. Good info is getting lost in stupid vote for me posts. This is what I said: I’ve been watching the short shares available to borrow and the borrow rate. Every time there is a drop of $.20 the shares available to borrow drops 500,000. Once it gets to 9mill shares available to borrow. The get another million and add it. I turned my lending off. I won’t make much from it anyway with 6500 shares at 11% rate. I’m not waiting a month for it either. I’d rather make 100k in a week by not giving shorts ammo and making it more expensive for them to use ammo. That’s just my opinion. I’m long and I’m holding till 100. When the enemy has no ammo they must surrender!!! Scared money don’t make money Now you all do you but this can still happen. We need to be smart too. Don’t give them ammo. Make it expensive for them because there’s not enough supply. Which makes it so they have to spend more or short less. Hit them where it hurts. Their pocket. Depending on what you have for an account a simple google search saying how do I turn off share lending on (Schwab, RH, IBKR, or whatever you have for an account) that will tell you how to do it. We all were giving them ammo and at a damn cheap price of 10%. Just to fuck ourselves. I guarantee you someone who is down 80k right now is going to get a nice $30 deposit for their loan share at the end of the month. The shorts just said here buddy let me buy you a #7 at Mcdonalds. There’s a little extra from some TP. Be smart! Read the battle field. One final thing. They posted an upgrade table. https://preview.redd.it/8it0w22j221d1.jpg?width=1170&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=ffb0766bd804829be016f2f3b32c88f0d4096c89 They used a good amount of shares to short. Only 8.8mm from 10mm. It could have been more and the lenders could have acquired more during that time from your account and you have no idea that it even happens. Biggest drop so far. Enough to scare a lot of paper hands. But wait? Do you see what I see? Go back up to the table with the time stamp 3:53. It’s not on there. Those times look all weird, when it posted, the last updated time. Weird. Either way I see this as a dip in a great fucking opportunity. I’m still holding. Diamond Hands till I Get a Diamond Dick Scared money don’t make money |
2024.05.17 22:36 HorrorJunkie123 I had to fire someone. She was NOT happy about it.
“You’re fired.”
Those two dreaded words are the last thing anyone wants to hear. As the manager of a small coffee shop, they’re the last words I ever wanted to say. But, unfortunately, I did have to say them, and the employee on the receiving end was less than pleased.
“Seriously, Calla? Robby comes in twenty minutes late every shift, and I’m the one getting canned? It’s not fair. I won’t accept that.”
“Claire, Robby has one leg. He gets a pass. You took cash from the register. That’s not something we can turn a blind eye to,” I said, crossing my arms.
Claire pursed her lips, shifting her gaze to the ground momentarily, before scowling at me once again. “It was only fifty bucks. I needed the money for rent, and I said I’d pay it back! Please, Calla. I need this job. I’ll put a hundred dollars back in the register on pay day. Just give me a second chance.”
I let out a deep sigh. She wasn’t taking this well. “I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do. Aftermath has a zero-tolerance policy for theft. Even if you were to pay it back, the big boss still wouldn’t excuse it. I would be putting my own job in jeopardy by looking the other way, and that’s just not something I can afford to do. Your actions have consequences, Claire. You brought this on yourself.”
She glanced up at me with teary eyes. Though Claire was entirely in the wrong, my heart shattered for her all the same. She was a good kid. Just a little misguided… Or so I thought.
“I won’t forget this, Calla. Mark my words, I will make you pay,” she spat, before dramatically stomping out the door.
My eyes grew wide, and my heart began to race. If any normal human being had said that, I would have blown it off entirely. But, there’s a little oddity about my job that I may have (purposely) forgotten to mention. You see, I’m a clairvoyant of sorts. I work at a coffee shop for the dead - And they tend to take things a lot more personally than the living.
A gruff-looking man with a leather jacket and ripped jeans leaned against the counter, snapping my attention away from the door. He had an unkept beard and a nasty road rash seared into his face. The shades obscuring his eyes exuded an air of confidence that he had no business possessing. Even so, his appearance didn’t intimidate me in the slightest.
“Don’t worry about her, Calla. She’s talking out her ass.”
“I appreciate the reassurance, Frank. I know she probably just needs to blow off some steam, but it always freaks me out when shit like that happens. No offense to all you dead folk, but I don’t wanna kick the bucket any time soon, ya know?”
“That’s fair. Purgatory ain’t that bad, but it doesn’t hold a candle to the land of the living. By the way, if you get a chance, can you whip me up my regular? I could use a boost.”
“Sure thing. Coming right up. Is there anything else I can get for y-” I tried my best to stop myself, but it was too late. I knew better than to ask that question to Frank.
“Yeah,” he grinned, leaning in closer.
“Don’t you say it. Frank, I swear, if you-”
“I’ll take your soul!”
I glowered at him as he roared with laughter. “Come on, Calla. Have a sense of humor!” he wheezed, tears welling in his eyes.
“Frank. You have told me that same joke every chance you get for the entire time I’ve been working here. It wasn’t funny the first time you said it, and it’s definitely not funny now. I oughta charge you double every time you tell it.”
He frowned at me, before turning to his normal booth. “Geez, would it kill ya to lighten up a bit? Buzzkill…”
As I was beginning to prepare Frank’s blonde espresso, I heard the familiar chime of the door opening. A kid with disheveled blonde hair and scratches across his face hobbled inside, leaning on a crutch.
“Hey Robby! Nice of you to show up,” I beamed, flashing him a warm smile. I glanced down at my watch. Twenty minutes late, right on the nose.
“Always gotta give me shit, huh Mrs. Calla? You try hoppin’ to work one day, then we’ll talk,” he quipped, returning a grin.
“Ya know what? Maybe I’ll take you up on that offer. I do-” I froze, mid-sentence. All the color drained from my face, and I suddenly found myself unable to speak. I clutched at my side, barely able to breathe. A random, searing pain shot through my torso. I felt like I was going to pass out.
“Calla? Calla, are you okay? Say something.” Robby rushed over to me, his face contorted with worry. I weakly returned his gaze. The agony was beyond anything I had ever felt before. It was as if someone had stabbed me with a white-hot fire poker and decided to twist it a couple times for good measure. Excruciating was an understatement.
Just as my vision was starting to go fuzzy, the pain began to dissipate. I gasped for air, leaning heavily on the counter for support. What the hell was that?
“I’m all right,” I said, turning my head. Frank had joined Robby behind the counter. The pair of them both had a look of deep concern etched into their features. If I wasn’t dying, I probably would have found it endearing.
“Are you sure? You look like shit, Calla.”
That’s it. I’m definitely charging him double.
“Gee, thanks a lot, Frank. You’re such a gentleman.”
“Don’t mention it,” he said, never giving any indication that he was joking. Robby and I both glared at him.
“Go sit down, Frank. You too, Mrs. Calla. You should probably take the rest of the day off. Don’t worry, I can handle the shop,” Robby said, helping me to a chair.
“You know what? I think you’re right. I could go for a nap.”
After resting for a little while longer, I went home. Robby wasn’t a professional by any means, but I trusted him to keep Aftermath running smoothly, at least until I recovered. He really was a good kid. I always thought it was such a shame that he’d died in such a tragic manner. IEDs are no joke.
I made sure to take it easy and get plenty of rest. I didn’t experience any more phantom pains for the remainder of the day, but I knew that I would need to get a good night’s sleep. With Claire gone, I’d be stuck on opening shifts for the foreseeable future. Yuck.
I was almost done running through my tasks for the morning, when it happened. A man approached the counter, his face obscured by a brown fedora. A sickly, yellowing newspaper was tucked beneath his arm as he placed a gloved hand onto the countertop. His aura alone was sinister enough to make me want to turn and run.
Beware.
His gravelly voice sounded like his diet consisted solely of rusty nails and asphalt. I’d only heard that voice a handful of times before. And each instance made me sick to my stomach.
“Wh-why? What’s coming?”
The girl.
With no further elaboration, he turned and reclaimed his regular seat at the back of the shop.
I was shaking in my boots. Why, you might ask? Well, I told you a little white lie earlier. That thing that approached the counter is no man. He’s been coming in nearly every day for as long as anyone can remember, but that’s about all we know about him. No one knows what he is. No one knows how, or if, he died. No one even knows his name.
We call him Nona (short for no name), and the only things I’m completely certain of in regards to him are: one - that he’s benevolent towards the employees of Aftermath and its patrons. And two - that whenever he decides to speak, a terrible tragedy usually follows. There’s no denying it. Nona is a bonafide, real-deal harbinger of death.
I locked eyes with Frank, who wore the same bewildered expression that I did. His pallid features and wide eyes mirrored exactly how I felt in that moment.
“What do you think he meant by that?” Frank murmured, never breaking eye contact.
“I don’t know. But whatever it is, it can’t be good.”
“You got that right. Maybe it’d be safer to call in some backup on this one. I know Ivan’s hopping between a couple different locations after landing the regional manager gig, but he’d be here at the drop of a hat if he caught wind of this, right?”
“Yeah… Normally, I’d try to avoid getting Ivan involved, but I think this is warranted. You remember what happened last time Nona spoke,” I said, a shiver rippling down my spine.
Frank averted his gaze, the corners of his lips drooping into a frown. “I wish I could forget. That whole ordeal sent- Calla? Calla, are you okay??”
It had returned tenfold. My lower back throbbed with intense, pounding pain. It felt as if someone was hacking away at my spinal column with an ice pick. I was paralyzed. If I moved even an inch, I would be met with another agonizing shockwave of hurt searing through my system. This time was even worse than before.
Before I could even grasp what was going on, everything started to get fuzzy around the edges of my vision. I could feel myself fading, and fast. The last thing I could remember before losing consciousness was Frank’s husky voice shouting for someone to call for help. Then, my mental fortitude finally crumbled, sending me spiraling into an inky, black void.
I awoke in a hospital bed. Frank was snoozing in a chair beside a burly, hulking figure. I was so shocked that I had to do a double take.
Ivan’s chair looked comically small beneath his gargantuan frame. Those things were not made to accommodate seven-foot-tall giants like him. I honestly hadn’t expected him to show up. Commuting is a bit more of a hassle for the dead, after all. But whatever the case, Ivan’s eyes lit up upon noticing that I was awake.
“Calla, you are okay, yes? I made trip as soon as possible,” Ivan said, shuffling up to my bedside. I couldn’t help but smile. He might’ve looked intimidating, but at heart, Ivan was just a big, Russian teddy bear.
“Yeah, I think I’m fine now. I don’t know what’s happening to me. I keep getting this really strong, crippling pain out of nowhere. Thanks for coming. But… How did you get here so fast? It’s only been a few hours.”
A devious grin crept across Ivan’s face. I pursed my lips. I knew that look. “I hitch ride on top of car. Is efficient way to travel.”
My mouth fell open. Ivan’s bulky ass clinging to the roof of a speeding car going God knows how far over the legal limit? That’s something I’d pay to see.
“Uh, do you get everywhere like that?”
“Everywhere subway does not go, yes.”
I opened my mouth, ready to scold him for being reckless, but thought better of it. Ivan was already dead. It’s not like he could die again.
“Okay Evel Knievel, let’s step outside for a smoke break and let Calla grab a nurse, yeah? We want to get her back on her feet as soon as possible,” Frank intervened, appearing at the foot on my bed. Ivan’s mountainous body was so large that I hadn’t even noticed him wake up.
“Yes. You have cigarette?” Ivan asked, that mischievous grin returning to his lips.
“Yep. Got one calling your name, buddy. Calla, we’ll be back in a few minutes, okay? I’d offer to catch someone’s attention for you, but ya know. Kinda hard when no one can see us,” Frank said, ushering Ivan out the door.
“That’s very thoughtful. I should be able to manage. Don’t take too long out there,” I replied, flashing the pair of them a weak smile as they disappeared from view.
I collapsed back into my bed. Why was this happening? I was beginning to think that I had pissed off some ancient, forlorn deity, when the dots suddenly connected. How had I not realized it sooner? The person responsible for all this was… standing in the doorway?
All the color drained from my face, and my eyes grew wide as saucers. With a slight tremble in my voice, I called out to her. “Claire?”
The pale girl with jet-black hair loitering in the entryway smiled. A wicked, demented smile that I can’t erase from my nightmares. In addition, she was carrying a voodoo doll. One that looked eerily similar to me.
“Miss me yet?” Claire asked, slinking closer.
“Of course! Claire, you know that I had no other option. It was-”
“SHUT. UP,” she shouted, producing a scalpel from her pocket and holding it to the doll’s neck. It was there. I could feel the cold metal blade against my flesh. Claire wasn’t playing around.
“I don’t want to hear your excuses, Calla. You had your chance,” she said, playfully wisping the scalpel back and forth. I wanted to scream. It was as if tiny razor blades were dancing across my throat.
“When you kicked me to the curb, you told me that my actions had consequences. Well, so do yours,” Claire spat, leering down at me. This was it. I was convinced that I was going to die.
“Don’t worry,” she said, her enraged demeanor shifting, “I’m not going to kill you yet. No, I just wanted to fill you in on what’s to come. I’m going to stay true to my word, Calla. I’ll make you pay for what you did to me for a long, long time.”
Claire giggled, removing the blade from the doll’s throat. I gasped for air, coming to the realization that I’d been stifling my breathing. I trembled, turning to my psychotic ex-employee. She was smiling wider than ever.
“I really must be going now. It was great to see you again! Oh, and remember, I’ll be watching you,” Claire said, punctuating her statement by plunging the blade into the doll’s leg, before skipping out the door.
I shrieked in agony, desperately clutching at my throbbing calf. A couple of nurses rushed in and calmed me down, assuring me that everything would be okay. But honestly, I don’t know if it will be. Because Claire is still out there. And she knows how to hold a grudge.
NS Post
submitted by HorrorJunkie123 to HorrorJunkie123 [link] [comments]
Those two dreaded words are the last thing anyone wants to hear. As the manager of a small coffee shop, they’re the last words I ever wanted to say. But, unfortunately, I did have to say them, and the employee on the receiving end was less than pleased.
“Seriously, Calla? Robby comes in twenty minutes late every shift, and I’m the one getting canned? It’s not fair. I won’t accept that.”
“Claire, Robby has one leg. He gets a pass. You took cash from the register. That’s not something we can turn a blind eye to,” I said, crossing my arms.
Claire pursed her lips, shifting her gaze to the ground momentarily, before scowling at me once again. “It was only fifty bucks. I needed the money for rent, and I said I’d pay it back! Please, Calla. I need this job. I’ll put a hundred dollars back in the register on pay day. Just give me a second chance.”
I let out a deep sigh. She wasn’t taking this well. “I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do. Aftermath has a zero-tolerance policy for theft. Even if you were to pay it back, the big boss still wouldn’t excuse it. I would be putting my own job in jeopardy by looking the other way, and that’s just not something I can afford to do. Your actions have consequences, Claire. You brought this on yourself.”
She glanced up at me with teary eyes. Though Claire was entirely in the wrong, my heart shattered for her all the same. She was a good kid. Just a little misguided… Or so I thought.
“I won’t forget this, Calla. Mark my words, I will make you pay,” she spat, before dramatically stomping out the door.
My eyes grew wide, and my heart began to race. If any normal human being had said that, I would have blown it off entirely. But, there’s a little oddity about my job that I may have (purposely) forgotten to mention. You see, I’m a clairvoyant of sorts. I work at a coffee shop for the dead - And they tend to take things a lot more personally than the living.
A gruff-looking man with a leather jacket and ripped jeans leaned against the counter, snapping my attention away from the door. He had an unkept beard and a nasty road rash seared into his face. The shades obscuring his eyes exuded an air of confidence that he had no business possessing. Even so, his appearance didn’t intimidate me in the slightest.
“Don’t worry about her, Calla. She’s talking out her ass.”
“I appreciate the reassurance, Frank. I know she probably just needs to blow off some steam, but it always freaks me out when shit like that happens. No offense to all you dead folk, but I don’t wanna kick the bucket any time soon, ya know?”
“That’s fair. Purgatory ain’t that bad, but it doesn’t hold a candle to the land of the living. By the way, if you get a chance, can you whip me up my regular? I could use a boost.”
“Sure thing. Coming right up. Is there anything else I can get for y-” I tried my best to stop myself, but it was too late. I knew better than to ask that question to Frank.
“Yeah,” he grinned, leaning in closer.
“Don’t you say it. Frank, I swear, if you-”
“I’ll take your soul!”
I glowered at him as he roared with laughter. “Come on, Calla. Have a sense of humor!” he wheezed, tears welling in his eyes.
“Frank. You have told me that same joke every chance you get for the entire time I’ve been working here. It wasn’t funny the first time you said it, and it’s definitely not funny now. I oughta charge you double every time you tell it.”
He frowned at me, before turning to his normal booth. “Geez, would it kill ya to lighten up a bit? Buzzkill…”
As I was beginning to prepare Frank’s blonde espresso, I heard the familiar chime of the door opening. A kid with disheveled blonde hair and scratches across his face hobbled inside, leaning on a crutch.
“Hey Robby! Nice of you to show up,” I beamed, flashing him a warm smile. I glanced down at my watch. Twenty minutes late, right on the nose.
“Always gotta give me shit, huh Mrs. Calla? You try hoppin’ to work one day, then we’ll talk,” he quipped, returning a grin.
“Ya know what? Maybe I’ll take you up on that offer. I do-” I froze, mid-sentence. All the color drained from my face, and I suddenly found myself unable to speak. I clutched at my side, barely able to breathe. A random, searing pain shot through my torso. I felt like I was going to pass out.
“Calla? Calla, are you okay? Say something.” Robby rushed over to me, his face contorted with worry. I weakly returned his gaze. The agony was beyond anything I had ever felt before. It was as if someone had stabbed me with a white-hot fire poker and decided to twist it a couple times for good measure. Excruciating was an understatement.
Just as my vision was starting to go fuzzy, the pain began to dissipate. I gasped for air, leaning heavily on the counter for support. What the hell was that?
“I’m all right,” I said, turning my head. Frank had joined Robby behind the counter. The pair of them both had a look of deep concern etched into their features. If I wasn’t dying, I probably would have found it endearing.
“Are you sure? You look like shit, Calla.”
That’s it. I’m definitely charging him double.
“Gee, thanks a lot, Frank. You’re such a gentleman.”
“Don’t mention it,” he said, never giving any indication that he was joking. Robby and I both glared at him.
“Go sit down, Frank. You too, Mrs. Calla. You should probably take the rest of the day off. Don’t worry, I can handle the shop,” Robby said, helping me to a chair.
“You know what? I think you’re right. I could go for a nap.”
After resting for a little while longer, I went home. Robby wasn’t a professional by any means, but I trusted him to keep Aftermath running smoothly, at least until I recovered. He really was a good kid. I always thought it was such a shame that he’d died in such a tragic manner. IEDs are no joke.
I made sure to take it easy and get plenty of rest. I didn’t experience any more phantom pains for the remainder of the day, but I knew that I would need to get a good night’s sleep. With Claire gone, I’d be stuck on opening shifts for the foreseeable future. Yuck.
I was almost done running through my tasks for the morning, when it happened. A man approached the counter, his face obscured by a brown fedora. A sickly, yellowing newspaper was tucked beneath his arm as he placed a gloved hand onto the countertop. His aura alone was sinister enough to make me want to turn and run.
Beware.
His gravelly voice sounded like his diet consisted solely of rusty nails and asphalt. I’d only heard that voice a handful of times before. And each instance made me sick to my stomach.
“Wh-why? What’s coming?”
The girl.
With no further elaboration, he turned and reclaimed his regular seat at the back of the shop.
I was shaking in my boots. Why, you might ask? Well, I told you a little white lie earlier. That thing that approached the counter is no man. He’s been coming in nearly every day for as long as anyone can remember, but that’s about all we know about him. No one knows what he is. No one knows how, or if, he died. No one even knows his name.
We call him Nona (short for no name), and the only things I’m completely certain of in regards to him are: one - that he’s benevolent towards the employees of Aftermath and its patrons. And two - that whenever he decides to speak, a terrible tragedy usually follows. There’s no denying it. Nona is a bonafide, real-deal harbinger of death.
I locked eyes with Frank, who wore the same bewildered expression that I did. His pallid features and wide eyes mirrored exactly how I felt in that moment.
“What do you think he meant by that?” Frank murmured, never breaking eye contact.
“I don’t know. But whatever it is, it can’t be good.”
“You got that right. Maybe it’d be safer to call in some backup on this one. I know Ivan’s hopping between a couple different locations after landing the regional manager gig, but he’d be here at the drop of a hat if he caught wind of this, right?”
“Yeah… Normally, I’d try to avoid getting Ivan involved, but I think this is warranted. You remember what happened last time Nona spoke,” I said, a shiver rippling down my spine.
Frank averted his gaze, the corners of his lips drooping into a frown. “I wish I could forget. That whole ordeal sent- Calla? Calla, are you okay??”
It had returned tenfold. My lower back throbbed with intense, pounding pain. It felt as if someone was hacking away at my spinal column with an ice pick. I was paralyzed. If I moved even an inch, I would be met with another agonizing shockwave of hurt searing through my system. This time was even worse than before.
Before I could even grasp what was going on, everything started to get fuzzy around the edges of my vision. I could feel myself fading, and fast. The last thing I could remember before losing consciousness was Frank’s husky voice shouting for someone to call for help. Then, my mental fortitude finally crumbled, sending me spiraling into an inky, black void.
I awoke in a hospital bed. Frank was snoozing in a chair beside a burly, hulking figure. I was so shocked that I had to do a double take.
Ivan’s chair looked comically small beneath his gargantuan frame. Those things were not made to accommodate seven-foot-tall giants like him. I honestly hadn’t expected him to show up. Commuting is a bit more of a hassle for the dead, after all. But whatever the case, Ivan’s eyes lit up upon noticing that I was awake.
“Calla, you are okay, yes? I made trip as soon as possible,” Ivan said, shuffling up to my bedside. I couldn’t help but smile. He might’ve looked intimidating, but at heart, Ivan was just a big, Russian teddy bear.
“Yeah, I think I’m fine now. I don’t know what’s happening to me. I keep getting this really strong, crippling pain out of nowhere. Thanks for coming. But… How did you get here so fast? It’s only been a few hours.”
A devious grin crept across Ivan’s face. I pursed my lips. I knew that look. “I hitch ride on top of car. Is efficient way to travel.”
My mouth fell open. Ivan’s bulky ass clinging to the roof of a speeding car going God knows how far over the legal limit? That’s something I’d pay to see.
“Uh, do you get everywhere like that?”
“Everywhere subway does not go, yes.”
I opened my mouth, ready to scold him for being reckless, but thought better of it. Ivan was already dead. It’s not like he could die again.
“Okay Evel Knievel, let’s step outside for a smoke break and let Calla grab a nurse, yeah? We want to get her back on her feet as soon as possible,” Frank intervened, appearing at the foot on my bed. Ivan’s mountainous body was so large that I hadn’t even noticed him wake up.
“Yes. You have cigarette?” Ivan asked, that mischievous grin returning to his lips.
“Yep. Got one calling your name, buddy. Calla, we’ll be back in a few minutes, okay? I’d offer to catch someone’s attention for you, but ya know. Kinda hard when no one can see us,” Frank said, ushering Ivan out the door.
“That’s very thoughtful. I should be able to manage. Don’t take too long out there,” I replied, flashing the pair of them a weak smile as they disappeared from view.
I collapsed back into my bed. Why was this happening? I was beginning to think that I had pissed off some ancient, forlorn deity, when the dots suddenly connected. How had I not realized it sooner? The person responsible for all this was… standing in the doorway?
All the color drained from my face, and my eyes grew wide as saucers. With a slight tremble in my voice, I called out to her. “Claire?”
The pale girl with jet-black hair loitering in the entryway smiled. A wicked, demented smile that I can’t erase from my nightmares. In addition, she was carrying a voodoo doll. One that looked eerily similar to me.
“Miss me yet?” Claire asked, slinking closer.
“Of course! Claire, you know that I had no other option. It was-”
“SHUT. UP,” she shouted, producing a scalpel from her pocket and holding it to the doll’s neck. It was there. I could feel the cold metal blade against my flesh. Claire wasn’t playing around.
“I don’t want to hear your excuses, Calla. You had your chance,” she said, playfully wisping the scalpel back and forth. I wanted to scream. It was as if tiny razor blades were dancing across my throat.
“When you kicked me to the curb, you told me that my actions had consequences. Well, so do yours,” Claire spat, leering down at me. This was it. I was convinced that I was going to die.
“Don’t worry,” she said, her enraged demeanor shifting, “I’m not going to kill you yet. No, I just wanted to fill you in on what’s to come. I’m going to stay true to my word, Calla. I’ll make you pay for what you did to me for a long, long time.”
Claire giggled, removing the blade from the doll’s throat. I gasped for air, coming to the realization that I’d been stifling my breathing. I trembled, turning to my psychotic ex-employee. She was smiling wider than ever.
“I really must be going now. It was great to see you again! Oh, and remember, I’ll be watching you,” Claire said, punctuating her statement by plunging the blade into the doll’s leg, before skipping out the door.
I shrieked in agony, desperately clutching at my throbbing calf. A couple of nurses rushed in and calmed me down, assuring me that everything would be okay. But honestly, I don’t know if it will be. Because Claire is still out there. And she knows how to hold a grudge.
NS Post
2024.05.17 22:33 HorrorJunkie123 I had to fire someone. She was NOT happy about it.
“You’re fired.”
Those two dreaded words are the last thing anyone wants to hear. As the manager of a small coffee shop, they’re the last words I ever wanted to say. But, unfortunately, I did have to say them, and the employee on the receiving end was less than pleased.
“Seriously, Calla? Robby comes in twenty minutes late every shift, and I’m the one getting canned? It’s not fair. I won’t accept that.”
“Claire, Robby has one leg. He gets a pass. You took cash from the register. That’s not something we can turn a blind eye to,” I said, crossing my arms.
Claire pursed her lips, shifting her gaze to the ground momentarily, before scowling at me once again. “It was only fifty bucks. I needed the money for rent, and I said I’d pay it back! Please, Calla. I need this job. I’ll put a hundred dollars back in the register on pay day. Just give me a second chance.”
I let out a deep sigh. She wasn’t taking this well. “I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do. Aftermath has a zero-tolerance policy for theft. Even if you were to pay it back, the big boss still wouldn’t excuse it. I would be putting my own job in jeopardy by looking the other way, and that’s just not something I can afford to do. Your actions have consequences, Claire. You brought this on yourself.”
She glanced up at me with teary eyes. Though Claire was entirely in the wrong, my heart shattered for her all the same. She was a good kid. Just a little misguided… Or so I thought.
“I won’t forget this, Calla. Mark my words, I will make you pay,” she spat, before dramatically stomping out the door.
My eyes grew wide, and my heart began to race. If any normal human being had said that, I would have blown it off entirely. But, there’s a little oddity about my job that I may have (purposely) forgotten to mention. You see, I’m a clairvoyant of sorts. I work at a coffee shop for the dead - And they tend to take things a lot more personally than the living.
A gruff-looking man with a leather jacket and ripped jeans leaned against the counter, snapping my attention away from the door. He had an unkept beard and a nasty road rash seared into his face. The shades obscuring his eyes exuded an air of confidence that he had no business possessing. Even so, his appearance didn’t intimidate me in the slightest.
“Don’t worry about her, Calla. She’s talking out her ass.”
“I appreciate the reassurance, Frank. I know she probably just needs to blow off some steam, but it always freaks me out when shit like that happens. No offense to all you dead folk, but I don’t wanna kick the bucket any time soon, ya know?”
“That’s fair. Purgatory ain’t that bad, but it doesn’t hold a candle to the land of the living. By the way, if you get a chance, can you whip me up my regular? I could use a boost.”
“Sure thing. Coming right up. Is there anything else I can get for y-” I tried my best to stop myself, but it was too late. I knew better than to ask that question to Frank.
“Yeah,” he grinned, leaning in closer.
“Don’t you say it. Frank, I swear, if you-”
“I’ll take your soul!”
I glowered at him as he roared with laughter. “Come on, Calla. Have a sense of humor!” he wheezed, tears welling in his eyes.
“Frank. You have told me that same joke every chance you get for the entire time I’ve been working here. It wasn’t funny the first time you said it, and it’s definitely not funny now. I oughta charge you double every time you tell it.”
He frowned at me, before turning to his normal booth. “Geez, would it kill ya to lighten up a bit? Buzzkill…”
As I was beginning to prepare Frank’s blonde espresso, I heard the familiar chime of the door opening. A kid with disheveled blonde hair and scratches across his face hobbled inside, leaning on a crutch.
“Hey Robby! Nice of you to show up,” I beamed, flashing him a warm smile. I glanced down at my watch. Twenty minutes late, right on the nose.
“Always gotta give me shit, huh Mrs. Calla? You try hoppin’ to work one day, then we’ll talk,” he quipped, returning a grin.
“Ya know what? Maybe I’ll take you up on that offer. I do-” I froze, mid-sentence. All the color drained from my face, and I suddenly found myself unable to speak. I clutched at my side, barely able to breathe. A random, searing pain shot through my torso. I felt like I was going to pass out.
“Calla? Calla, are you okay? Say something.” Robby rushed over to me, his face contorted with worry. I weakly returned his gaze. The agony was beyond anything I had ever felt before. It was as if someone had stabbed me with a white-hot fire poker and decided to twist it a couple times for good measure. Excruciating was an understatement.
Just as my vision was starting to go fuzzy, the pain began to dissipate. I gasped for air, leaning heavily on the counter for support. What the hell was that?
“I’m all right,” I said, turning my head. Frank had joined Robby behind the counter. The pair of them both had a look of deep concern etched into their features. If I wasn’t dying, I probably would have found it endearing.
“Are you sure? You look like shit, Calla.”
That’s it. I’m definitely charging him double.
“Gee, thanks a lot, Frank. You’re such a gentleman.”
“Don’t mention it,” he said, never giving any indication that he was joking. Robby and I both glared at him.
“Go sit down, Frank. You too, Mrs. Calla. You should probably take the rest of the day off. Don’t worry, I can handle the shop,” Robby said, helping me to a chair.
“You know what? I think you’re right. I could go for a nap.”
After resting for a little while longer, I went home. Robby wasn’t a professional by any means, but I trusted him to keep Aftermath running smoothly, at least until I recovered. He really was a good kid. I always thought it was such a shame that he’d died in such a tragic manner. IEDs are no joke.
I made sure to take it easy and get plenty of rest. I didn’t experience any more phantom pains for the remainder of the day, but I knew that I would need to get a good night’s sleep. With Claire gone, I’d be stuck on opening shifts for the foreseeable future. Yuck.
I was almost done running through my tasks for the morning, when it happened. A man approached the counter, his face obscured by a brown fedora. A sickly, yellowing newspaper was tucked beneath his arm as he placed a gloved hand onto the countertop. His aura alone was sinister enough to make me want to turn and run.
Beware.
His gravelly voice sounded like his diet consisted solely of rusty nails and asphalt. I’d only heard that voice a handful of times before. And each instance made me sick to my stomach.
“Wh-why? What’s coming?”
The girl.
With no further elaboration, he turned and reclaimed his regular seat at the back of the shop.
I was shaking in my boots. Why, you might ask? Well, I told you a little white lie earlier. That thing that approached the counter is no man. He’s been coming in nearly every day for as long as anyone can remember, but that’s about all we know about him. No one knows what he is. No one knows how, or if, he died. No one even knows his name.
We call him Nona (short for no name), and the only things I’m completely certain of in regard to him are: one - that he’s benevolent towards the employees of Aftermath and its patrons. And two - that whenever he decides to speak, a terrible tragedy usually follows. There’s no denying it. Nona is a bonafide, real-deal harbinger of death.
I locked eyes with Frank, who wore the same bewildered expression that I did. His pallid features and wide eyes mirrored exactly how I felt in that moment.
“What do you think he meant by that?” Frank murmured, never breaking eye contact.
“I don’t know. But whatever it is, it can’t be good.”
“You got that right. Maybe it’d be safer to call in some backup on this one. I know Ivan’s hopping between a couple different locations after landing the regional manager gig, but he’d be here at the drop of a hat if he caught wind of this, right?”
“Yeah… Normally, I’d try to avoid getting Ivan involved, but I think this is warranted. You remember what happened last time Nona spoke,” I said, a shiver rippling down my spine.
Frank averted his gaze, the corners of his lips drooping into a frown. “I wish I could forget. That whole ordeal sent- Calla? Calla, are you okay??”
It had returned tenfold. My lower back throbbed with intense, pounding pain. It felt as if someone was hacking away at my spinal column with an ice pick. I was paralyzed. If I moved even an inch, I would be met with another agonizing shockwave of hurt searing through my system. This time was even worse than before.
Before I could even grasp what was going on, everything started to get fuzzy around the edges of my vision. I could feel myself fading, and fast. The last thing I could remember before losing consciousness was Frank’s husky voice shouting for someone to call for help. Then, my mental fortitude finally crumbled, sending me spiraling into an inky, black void.
I awoke in a hospital bed. Frank was snoozing in a chair beside a burly, hulking figure. I was so shocked that I had to do a double take.
Ivan’s chair looked comically small beneath his gargantuan frame. Those things were not made to accommodate seven-foot-tall giants like him. I honestly hadn’t expected him to show up. Commuting is a bit more of a hassle for the dead, after all. But whatever the case, Ivan’s eyes lit up upon noticing that I was awake.
“Calla, you are okay, yes? I made trip as soon as possible,” Ivan said, shuffling up to my bedside. I couldn’t help but smile. He might’ve looked intimidating, but at heart, Ivan was just a big, Russian teddy bear.
“Yeah, I think I’m fine now. I don’t know what’s happening to me. I keep getting this really strong, crippling pain out of nowhere. Thanks for coming. But… How did you get here so fast? It’s only been a few hours.”
A devious grin crept across Ivan’s face. I pursed my lips. I knew that look. “I hitch ride on top of car. Is efficient way to travel.”
My mouth fell open. Ivan’s bulky ass clinging to the roof of a speeding car going God knows how far over the legal limit? That’s something I’d pay to see.
“Uh, do you get everywhere like that?”
“Everywhere subway does not go, yes.”
I opened my mouth, ready to scold him for being reckless, but thought better of it. Ivan was already dead. It’s not like he could die again.
“Okay Evel Knievel, let’s step outside for a smoke break and let Calla grab a nurse, yeah? We want to get her back on her feet as soon as possible,” Frank intervened, appearing at the foot on my bed. Ivan’s mountainous body was so large that I hadn’t even noticed him wake up.
“Yes. You have cigarette?” Ivan asked, that mischievous grin returning to his lips.
“Yep. Got one calling your name, buddy. Calla, we’ll be back in a few minutes, okay? I’d offer to catch someone’s attention for you, but ya know. Kinda hard when no one can see us,” Frank said, ushering Ivan out the door.
“That’s very thoughtful. I should be able to manage. Don’t take too long out there,” I replied, flashing the pair of them a weak smile as they disappeared from view.
I collapsed back into my bed. Why was this happening? I was beginning to think that I had pissed off some ancient, forlorn deity, when the dots suddenly connected. How had I not realized it sooner? The person responsible for all this was… standing in the doorway?
All the color drained from my face, and my eyes grew wide as saucers. With a slight tremble in my voice, I called out to her. “Claire?”
The pale girl with jet-black hair loitering in the entryway smiled. A wicked, demented smile that I can’t erase from my nightmares. In addition, she was carrying a voodoo doll. One that looked eerily similar to me.
“Miss me yet?” Claire asked, slinking closer.
“Of course! Claire, you know that I had no other option. It was-”
“SHUT. UP,” she shouted, producing a scalpel from her pocket and holding it to the doll’s neck. It was there. I could feel the cold metal blade against my flesh. Claire wasn’t playing around.
“I don’t want to hear your excuses, Calla. You had your chance,” she said, playfully wisping the scalpel back and forth. I wanted to scream. It was as if tiny razor blades were dancing across my throat.
“When you kicked me to the curb, you told me that my actions had consequences. Well, so do yours,” Claire spat, leering down at me. This was it. I was convinced that I was going to die.
“Don’t worry,” she said, her enraged demeanor shifting, “I’m not going to kill you yet. No, I just wanted to fill you in on what’s to come. I’m going to stay true to my word, Calla. I’ll make you pay for what you did to me for a long, long time.”
Claire giggled, removing the blade from the doll’s throat. I gasped for air, coming to the realization that I’d been stifling my breathing. I trembled, turning to my psychotic ex-employee. She was smiling wider than ever.
“I really must be going now. It was great to see you again! Oh, and remember, I’ll be watching you,” Claire said, punctuating her statement by plunging the blade into the doll’s leg, before skipping out the door.
I shrieked in agony, desperately clutching at my throbbing calf. A couple of nurses rushed in and calmed me down, assuring me that everything would be okay. But honestly, I don’t know if it will be. Because Claire is still out there. And she knows how to hold a grudge.
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Those two dreaded words are the last thing anyone wants to hear. As the manager of a small coffee shop, they’re the last words I ever wanted to say. But, unfortunately, I did have to say them, and the employee on the receiving end was less than pleased.
“Seriously, Calla? Robby comes in twenty minutes late every shift, and I’m the one getting canned? It’s not fair. I won’t accept that.”
“Claire, Robby has one leg. He gets a pass. You took cash from the register. That’s not something we can turn a blind eye to,” I said, crossing my arms.
Claire pursed her lips, shifting her gaze to the ground momentarily, before scowling at me once again. “It was only fifty bucks. I needed the money for rent, and I said I’d pay it back! Please, Calla. I need this job. I’ll put a hundred dollars back in the register on pay day. Just give me a second chance.”
I let out a deep sigh. She wasn’t taking this well. “I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do. Aftermath has a zero-tolerance policy for theft. Even if you were to pay it back, the big boss still wouldn’t excuse it. I would be putting my own job in jeopardy by looking the other way, and that’s just not something I can afford to do. Your actions have consequences, Claire. You brought this on yourself.”
She glanced up at me with teary eyes. Though Claire was entirely in the wrong, my heart shattered for her all the same. She was a good kid. Just a little misguided… Or so I thought.
“I won’t forget this, Calla. Mark my words, I will make you pay,” she spat, before dramatically stomping out the door.
My eyes grew wide, and my heart began to race. If any normal human being had said that, I would have blown it off entirely. But, there’s a little oddity about my job that I may have (purposely) forgotten to mention. You see, I’m a clairvoyant of sorts. I work at a coffee shop for the dead - And they tend to take things a lot more personally than the living.
A gruff-looking man with a leather jacket and ripped jeans leaned against the counter, snapping my attention away from the door. He had an unkept beard and a nasty road rash seared into his face. The shades obscuring his eyes exuded an air of confidence that he had no business possessing. Even so, his appearance didn’t intimidate me in the slightest.
“Don’t worry about her, Calla. She’s talking out her ass.”
“I appreciate the reassurance, Frank. I know she probably just needs to blow off some steam, but it always freaks me out when shit like that happens. No offense to all you dead folk, but I don’t wanna kick the bucket any time soon, ya know?”
“That’s fair. Purgatory ain’t that bad, but it doesn’t hold a candle to the land of the living. By the way, if you get a chance, can you whip me up my regular? I could use a boost.”
“Sure thing. Coming right up. Is there anything else I can get for y-” I tried my best to stop myself, but it was too late. I knew better than to ask that question to Frank.
“Yeah,” he grinned, leaning in closer.
“Don’t you say it. Frank, I swear, if you-”
“I’ll take your soul!”
I glowered at him as he roared with laughter. “Come on, Calla. Have a sense of humor!” he wheezed, tears welling in his eyes.
“Frank. You have told me that same joke every chance you get for the entire time I’ve been working here. It wasn’t funny the first time you said it, and it’s definitely not funny now. I oughta charge you double every time you tell it.”
He frowned at me, before turning to his normal booth. “Geez, would it kill ya to lighten up a bit? Buzzkill…”
As I was beginning to prepare Frank’s blonde espresso, I heard the familiar chime of the door opening. A kid with disheveled blonde hair and scratches across his face hobbled inside, leaning on a crutch.
“Hey Robby! Nice of you to show up,” I beamed, flashing him a warm smile. I glanced down at my watch. Twenty minutes late, right on the nose.
“Always gotta give me shit, huh Mrs. Calla? You try hoppin’ to work one day, then we’ll talk,” he quipped, returning a grin.
“Ya know what? Maybe I’ll take you up on that offer. I do-” I froze, mid-sentence. All the color drained from my face, and I suddenly found myself unable to speak. I clutched at my side, barely able to breathe. A random, searing pain shot through my torso. I felt like I was going to pass out.
“Calla? Calla, are you okay? Say something.” Robby rushed over to me, his face contorted with worry. I weakly returned his gaze. The agony was beyond anything I had ever felt before. It was as if someone had stabbed me with a white-hot fire poker and decided to twist it a couple times for good measure. Excruciating was an understatement.
Just as my vision was starting to go fuzzy, the pain began to dissipate. I gasped for air, leaning heavily on the counter for support. What the hell was that?
“I’m all right,” I said, turning my head. Frank had joined Robby behind the counter. The pair of them both had a look of deep concern etched into their features. If I wasn’t dying, I probably would have found it endearing.
“Are you sure? You look like shit, Calla.”
That’s it. I’m definitely charging him double.
“Gee, thanks a lot, Frank. You’re such a gentleman.”
“Don’t mention it,” he said, never giving any indication that he was joking. Robby and I both glared at him.
“Go sit down, Frank. You too, Mrs. Calla. You should probably take the rest of the day off. Don’t worry, I can handle the shop,” Robby said, helping me to a chair.
“You know what? I think you’re right. I could go for a nap.”
After resting for a little while longer, I went home. Robby wasn’t a professional by any means, but I trusted him to keep Aftermath running smoothly, at least until I recovered. He really was a good kid. I always thought it was such a shame that he’d died in such a tragic manner. IEDs are no joke.
I made sure to take it easy and get plenty of rest. I didn’t experience any more phantom pains for the remainder of the day, but I knew that I would need to get a good night’s sleep. With Claire gone, I’d be stuck on opening shifts for the foreseeable future. Yuck.
I was almost done running through my tasks for the morning, when it happened. A man approached the counter, his face obscured by a brown fedora. A sickly, yellowing newspaper was tucked beneath his arm as he placed a gloved hand onto the countertop. His aura alone was sinister enough to make me want to turn and run.
Beware.
His gravelly voice sounded like his diet consisted solely of rusty nails and asphalt. I’d only heard that voice a handful of times before. And each instance made me sick to my stomach.
“Wh-why? What’s coming?”
The girl.
With no further elaboration, he turned and reclaimed his regular seat at the back of the shop.
I was shaking in my boots. Why, you might ask? Well, I told you a little white lie earlier. That thing that approached the counter is no man. He’s been coming in nearly every day for as long as anyone can remember, but that’s about all we know about him. No one knows what he is. No one knows how, or if, he died. No one even knows his name.
We call him Nona (short for no name), and the only things I’m completely certain of in regard to him are: one - that he’s benevolent towards the employees of Aftermath and its patrons. And two - that whenever he decides to speak, a terrible tragedy usually follows. There’s no denying it. Nona is a bonafide, real-deal harbinger of death.
I locked eyes with Frank, who wore the same bewildered expression that I did. His pallid features and wide eyes mirrored exactly how I felt in that moment.
“What do you think he meant by that?” Frank murmured, never breaking eye contact.
“I don’t know. But whatever it is, it can’t be good.”
“You got that right. Maybe it’d be safer to call in some backup on this one. I know Ivan’s hopping between a couple different locations after landing the regional manager gig, but he’d be here at the drop of a hat if he caught wind of this, right?”
“Yeah… Normally, I’d try to avoid getting Ivan involved, but I think this is warranted. You remember what happened last time Nona spoke,” I said, a shiver rippling down my spine.
Frank averted his gaze, the corners of his lips drooping into a frown. “I wish I could forget. That whole ordeal sent- Calla? Calla, are you okay??”
It had returned tenfold. My lower back throbbed with intense, pounding pain. It felt as if someone was hacking away at my spinal column with an ice pick. I was paralyzed. If I moved even an inch, I would be met with another agonizing shockwave of hurt searing through my system. This time was even worse than before.
Before I could even grasp what was going on, everything started to get fuzzy around the edges of my vision. I could feel myself fading, and fast. The last thing I could remember before losing consciousness was Frank’s husky voice shouting for someone to call for help. Then, my mental fortitude finally crumbled, sending me spiraling into an inky, black void.
I awoke in a hospital bed. Frank was snoozing in a chair beside a burly, hulking figure. I was so shocked that I had to do a double take.
Ivan’s chair looked comically small beneath his gargantuan frame. Those things were not made to accommodate seven-foot-tall giants like him. I honestly hadn’t expected him to show up. Commuting is a bit more of a hassle for the dead, after all. But whatever the case, Ivan’s eyes lit up upon noticing that I was awake.
“Calla, you are okay, yes? I made trip as soon as possible,” Ivan said, shuffling up to my bedside. I couldn’t help but smile. He might’ve looked intimidating, but at heart, Ivan was just a big, Russian teddy bear.
“Yeah, I think I’m fine now. I don’t know what’s happening to me. I keep getting this really strong, crippling pain out of nowhere. Thanks for coming. But… How did you get here so fast? It’s only been a few hours.”
A devious grin crept across Ivan’s face. I pursed my lips. I knew that look. “I hitch ride on top of car. Is efficient way to travel.”
My mouth fell open. Ivan’s bulky ass clinging to the roof of a speeding car going God knows how far over the legal limit? That’s something I’d pay to see.
“Uh, do you get everywhere like that?”
“Everywhere subway does not go, yes.”
I opened my mouth, ready to scold him for being reckless, but thought better of it. Ivan was already dead. It’s not like he could die again.
“Okay Evel Knievel, let’s step outside for a smoke break and let Calla grab a nurse, yeah? We want to get her back on her feet as soon as possible,” Frank intervened, appearing at the foot on my bed. Ivan’s mountainous body was so large that I hadn’t even noticed him wake up.
“Yes. You have cigarette?” Ivan asked, that mischievous grin returning to his lips.
“Yep. Got one calling your name, buddy. Calla, we’ll be back in a few minutes, okay? I’d offer to catch someone’s attention for you, but ya know. Kinda hard when no one can see us,” Frank said, ushering Ivan out the door.
“That’s very thoughtful. I should be able to manage. Don’t take too long out there,” I replied, flashing the pair of them a weak smile as they disappeared from view.
I collapsed back into my bed. Why was this happening? I was beginning to think that I had pissed off some ancient, forlorn deity, when the dots suddenly connected. How had I not realized it sooner? The person responsible for all this was… standing in the doorway?
All the color drained from my face, and my eyes grew wide as saucers. With a slight tremble in my voice, I called out to her. “Claire?”
The pale girl with jet-black hair loitering in the entryway smiled. A wicked, demented smile that I can’t erase from my nightmares. In addition, she was carrying a voodoo doll. One that looked eerily similar to me.
“Miss me yet?” Claire asked, slinking closer.
“Of course! Claire, you know that I had no other option. It was-”
“SHUT. UP,” she shouted, producing a scalpel from her pocket and holding it to the doll’s neck. It was there. I could feel the cold metal blade against my flesh. Claire wasn’t playing around.
“I don’t want to hear your excuses, Calla. You had your chance,” she said, playfully wisping the scalpel back and forth. I wanted to scream. It was as if tiny razor blades were dancing across my throat.
“When you kicked me to the curb, you told me that my actions had consequences. Well, so do yours,” Claire spat, leering down at me. This was it. I was convinced that I was going to die.
“Don’t worry,” she said, her enraged demeanor shifting, “I’m not going to kill you yet. No, I just wanted to fill you in on what’s to come. I’m going to stay true to my word, Calla. I’ll make you pay for what you did to me for a long, long time.”
Claire giggled, removing the blade from the doll’s throat. I gasped for air, coming to the realization that I’d been stifling my breathing. I trembled, turning to my psychotic ex-employee. She was smiling wider than ever.
“I really must be going now. It was great to see you again! Oh, and remember, I’ll be watching you,” Claire said, punctuating her statement by plunging the blade into the doll’s leg, before skipping out the door.
I shrieked in agony, desperately clutching at my throbbing calf. A couple of nurses rushed in and calmed me down, assuring me that everything would be okay. But honestly, I don’t know if it will be. Because Claire is still out there. And she knows how to hold a grudge.
2024.05.17 22:31 prisondiary Prison Diary - April 23rd
Drugs in prison - Woke up feeling pants and really groggy. My cell mate has been ill and I think I might have caught it off him. Not a happy chap today as I have zero energy. Even stayed in bed until one of the learners came and knocked me up asking why I wasn’t downstairs. FFS. I could have cried. Dramatic gay. Plus I must be ill as my wee stunk this morning. Just thought id share that.
Eventually went to the other blocks and done some teaching there then headed to block , crashed and fell asleep on the sofas on the landings. Sleeping on the job hey, lets hope they don’t take a days wages off me. £3.20 buys me 8 bananas which most weeks don’t turn up and im forever applying for a refund. It wouldn’t bother me so much on the outside but in here that is a lot of money.
Anyway, another day equals another fight. One of the boys pulled on Alans beard so he grabbed him by the throat up against the wall. Bit over the top?! Not if you could see Alans beard and how much pride he takes in it. Im sure its oiled everyday amongst other parts of his body. Urgh! He even sits at the table and strokes it as if its some kind of animal. It’s a little on the weird side.
Tonight's dinner was a real winner, I devoured two faggots. Hold on, before your imagination runs wild, let me clarify. I'm talking about actual meat here, not some prison code for secret shenanigans.
Social hour wasn't quite my cup of tea, as I was feeling a bit under the weather. So, I opted for a front row seat to the boys' card game extravaganza and indulged in a bit of good old people watching. Honestly if you keep your eyes peeled and watch the right people, you'll witness a veritable drug shop unfolding right before your eyes.
I decided to do a little observation on 'Chucky', our resident drug smuggle, lets go big and call him the drug king pin, to see how he works his magic. He does a manoeuvre that has never been seen before – hand down the pants (not exactly fashion-forward), retrieves the goods, and then discreetly bumps into another prisioner, all in one seamless motion and the exchange or ‘trade’ has taken place. that method is unheard of. I mean im being a sarcastic dick and if the offices cannot see that and know what it is then all hope is lost in this place.
The exchange even takes place in a blind spot for the cameras. Talk about a crash course in contraband commerce!
Walking past certain cells is an adventure i like to have to peep in and see how your neighbours have decorated.
In Jonnys. the unmistakable aroma of smoke wafts out, ofcourse, courtesy of makeshift cigarettes crafted from Bible pages and tea bag leaves or the classic Bible and tobacco combo that some resourceful inmates have managed to smuggle in. Yet, the ever vigilant officers seem to walk right past, blissfully unaware of the aromatic smells. Ah, the mysteries of prison life hey! I think it’s a case of if they are not causing any trouble then leave them get on with it. Or if your face fits then your fine.
One cell was open so I stopped and looked in. The curtains were closed, the disk light on the ceiling had dish clothes covering it so it gives a dim low red light, and the smoke alarm is covered with some form of plastic. The music was blasting and the guy just looks spaced out on his bed. How he can stay in that room with the strong smell of smoke I have no idea.
There is a lot of spice in this prison considering its the biggest Welsh prison I would have assumed security is tighter.. oh no. There is so much that they drop like flies daily. The alarms are always ringing with code blues.
We do have a main drug dealer though. Its Chucky. On a visit a few weeks ago my dad said ‘If I was a prison officer, id strip search that guy’, referring to Chucky. He went to the toilet, his visitor went to the toilet, then he would go again etc. Something was clearly going on. Back in the waiting room after visiting he pulled out 7 bags of white stuff. It was his sister and brother in law visiting. She got it via her knickers. Crazy shit right but so easily done.
On the wing tonight, he is walking around with 2 beaded Christian cross necklaces around his neck. Man, I aint no saint but fuck me, if he is looking to give himself to Jesus then the lord has his work cut out! Bit of advice from me to you God – Close those gates immediately! The day he gives himself to Jesus is the day when Jesus himself stands infront of me and slaps my face with a wet fish, and guess what Chucky – that aint ever gonna happen dude.
Rest of the evening has been chilling in the cell with my green tea and trail mix. Look at lucky me living the high life. Hopefully im feeling better tomorrow. I need some of Rich's chicken broth from back home. Ha, everytime i was poorly he would make it for me without fail. A big grin just come on my face thinking about that. I remember trying to make it for him once when he was poorly, he ended up making it as I had no idea what I was doing and I was calling him every 20 minutes asking for more guidance. Huge love.
In other news a new guy came in today and was walking as if he had hurt his leg, when one of the officers asked him about it he was so off his face that he didn't hear them. This afternoon when they went to his cell they caught him squatting down I'm pulling bags of drugs out of his arse – amazing. When the officer was telling me this I was weak laughing, This is crazy shit.
Apparently he is one of them that use the prison doors as a rotating door and knows how easy it is to get drugs in here. He's only been here for hours and he's asked half the prison for drugs already – and scored.
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Eventually went to the other blocks and done some teaching there then headed to block , crashed and fell asleep on the sofas on the landings. Sleeping on the job hey, lets hope they don’t take a days wages off me. £3.20 buys me 8 bananas which most weeks don’t turn up and im forever applying for a refund. It wouldn’t bother me so much on the outside but in here that is a lot of money.
Anyway, another day equals another fight. One of the boys pulled on Alans beard so he grabbed him by the throat up against the wall. Bit over the top?! Not if you could see Alans beard and how much pride he takes in it. Im sure its oiled everyday amongst other parts of his body. Urgh! He even sits at the table and strokes it as if its some kind of animal. It’s a little on the weird side.
Tonight's dinner was a real winner, I devoured two faggots. Hold on, before your imagination runs wild, let me clarify. I'm talking about actual meat here, not some prison code for secret shenanigans.
Social hour wasn't quite my cup of tea, as I was feeling a bit under the weather. So, I opted for a front row seat to the boys' card game extravaganza and indulged in a bit of good old people watching. Honestly if you keep your eyes peeled and watch the right people, you'll witness a veritable drug shop unfolding right before your eyes.
I decided to do a little observation on 'Chucky', our resident drug smuggle, lets go big and call him the drug king pin, to see how he works his magic. He does a manoeuvre that has never been seen before – hand down the pants (not exactly fashion-forward), retrieves the goods, and then discreetly bumps into another prisioner, all in one seamless motion and the exchange or ‘trade’ has taken place. that method is unheard of. I mean im being a sarcastic dick and if the offices cannot see that and know what it is then all hope is lost in this place.
The exchange even takes place in a blind spot for the cameras. Talk about a crash course in contraband commerce!
Walking past certain cells is an adventure i like to have to peep in and see how your neighbours have decorated.
In Jonnys. the unmistakable aroma of smoke wafts out, ofcourse, courtesy of makeshift cigarettes crafted from Bible pages and tea bag leaves or the classic Bible and tobacco combo that some resourceful inmates have managed to smuggle in. Yet, the ever vigilant officers seem to walk right past, blissfully unaware of the aromatic smells. Ah, the mysteries of prison life hey! I think it’s a case of if they are not causing any trouble then leave them get on with it. Or if your face fits then your fine.
One cell was open so I stopped and looked in. The curtains were closed, the disk light on the ceiling had dish clothes covering it so it gives a dim low red light, and the smoke alarm is covered with some form of plastic. The music was blasting and the guy just looks spaced out on his bed. How he can stay in that room with the strong smell of smoke I have no idea.
There is a lot of spice in this prison considering its the biggest Welsh prison I would have assumed security is tighter.. oh no. There is so much that they drop like flies daily. The alarms are always ringing with code blues.
We do have a main drug dealer though. Its Chucky. On a visit a few weeks ago my dad said ‘If I was a prison officer, id strip search that guy’, referring to Chucky. He went to the toilet, his visitor went to the toilet, then he would go again etc. Something was clearly going on. Back in the waiting room after visiting he pulled out 7 bags of white stuff. It was his sister and brother in law visiting. She got it via her knickers. Crazy shit right but so easily done.
On the wing tonight, he is walking around with 2 beaded Christian cross necklaces around his neck. Man, I aint no saint but fuck me, if he is looking to give himself to Jesus then the lord has his work cut out! Bit of advice from me to you God – Close those gates immediately! The day he gives himself to Jesus is the day when Jesus himself stands infront of me and slaps my face with a wet fish, and guess what Chucky – that aint ever gonna happen dude.
Rest of the evening has been chilling in the cell with my green tea and trail mix. Look at lucky me living the high life. Hopefully im feeling better tomorrow. I need some of Rich's chicken broth from back home. Ha, everytime i was poorly he would make it for me without fail. A big grin just come on my face thinking about that. I remember trying to make it for him once when he was poorly, he ended up making it as I had no idea what I was doing and I was calling him every 20 minutes asking for more guidance. Huge love.
In other news a new guy came in today and was walking as if he had hurt his leg, when one of the officers asked him about it he was so off his face that he didn't hear them. This afternoon when they went to his cell they caught him squatting down I'm pulling bags of drugs out of his arse – amazing. When the officer was telling me this I was weak laughing, This is crazy shit.
Apparently he is one of them that use the prison doors as a rotating door and knows how easy it is to get drugs in here. He's only been here for hours and he's asked half the prison for drugs already – and scored.
2024.05.17 22:27 OMGrealstories MIL & SIL Drama
I would really love some advice with how to approach my new MIL and SIL with how I was treated during my entire engagement.
This has been going on since 2021 whenever my now husband proposed to me all the way to us getting married in early April 2024. I will do my best to shorten everything and bullet point the important parts.
*we are having the wedding at our house. SIL argued it was trashy and we should do a venue. Our home and land is way big enough to support 50 people.
I want to sit down and talk to them about it, but I’m not quite sure how to start the conversation and I’m afraid that I will get gaslit during the conversation. I felt like my entire engagement experience was ruined by them. I do not have a happy memory with them about it just with my sister, friends and family.
Before anyone says anything, husband is aware of the situation and is leaving the ball in my court for when I’m ready to talk about it. 100% supports me as he has seen all the text messages, the passive comments, etc and is not okay with it. He fully supports me and whatever decision I have and doesn’t want to overstep.
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This has been going on since 2021 whenever my now husband proposed to me all the way to us getting married in early April 2024. I will do my best to shorten everything and bullet point the important parts.
- Now husband, has proposed to me in October 2021. Sister-in-law before proposal was all in it, treating me like a sister and friend and even took photos of the proposal. -Have asked many times for photos but she has not given any.
- After proposal while hanging out with sister-in-law; I started noticing little changes in her attitude towards me. She kept telling me that as my MOH she already knows what to do because she’s been involved in so many weddings. After the seventh time of her, mentioning this I had to sit down with her to let her know she was only going to be a BM and my sister was going to be my MOH. She walked away from me. I didn’t understand where some of this was coming from because I never once hinted or told her she would be my MOH. From that point on there were small things like trying to one up me or out stage me on something.
- Example #1: I got a raise at my job and she knew now how much I was making. She asked if we were hiring. I said yes; the start out for everyone is X amount. She responded with maybe for you; I have a degree and should be making the same amount if not more than you. I let her know that yes while she does have a degree and while I do not have a degree; I was hitting my 11th year of experience and that everybody who I knew who started this position started off at X amount.
- Example #2: I was talking to MIL and SIL about the weather. I made a comment that I hope it stays under 75 degrees a little while longer because I was not ready for Texas summer weather. She replies with “Sorry, it is now 76 degrees” and smirks
- Example #3: She started dating someone in the military. Her son him and her were all gonna go to this military flea market. She was so excited because she had never been before or even heard of it. (It’s a place where you can get designer and everyday stuff for a hefty discount.) since my family is military I thought I would help her out by giving her advice I thought she would need. I told her “They have a strict radio, cell phone, iPad, touchscreen policy. Make sure when you go that no one is on their cell phone or iPad because you will get a ticket for it. It doesn’t matter if you’re the passenger or if you’re in the backseat, no one in the car is allowed to be on any electronic device until you exit.” She scoffed and rolled her eyes at me and told me “she knows what the rules are!” Responded with “I’m sorry I was trying to help you since you had never been before.” she rolled her eyes again and walked away from me.
*we are having the wedding at our house. SIL argued it was trashy and we should do a venue. Our home and land is way big enough to support 50 people.
- At my bridal proposal party - I got everyone a box of gifts, each one of them,hand-picked by me and worth a significant amount. Everyone got the exact same me thing. While everyone else was going through, looking at everything smiling about it, she was just sitting there to her herself, not saying a word to anyone else. - some of my friends and family thought she was really rude because of this. The one thing she did smile about was the expensive necklace earring bracelet matching set that I got everyone. It was $200 and she knew it. This was the most expensive item in the box.
- I hosted three more parties to try to ease the friction so that everyone would get to know each other since some people had it met before. She was talking to my sister the entire time and not talking to anyone else. She felt that because my sister was having a boy that she would be the only one she has something in common with. -this was not true because some of my other friends have boys, and some of my other friends share the same hobbies as her however she did not take an interest in getting to talk to them. Just my sister. - Later on I had to have a sit down with MIL about this because of her attitude everyone thought she was really rude and didn’t understand what they had done for her to be acting that way towards them. MIL stated that I don’t know what it’s like to be a single mom and that SIL said from day one everyone was against her.
- This continued on at the next party. This time MIL met with me at a restaurant to talk to me about things at the party that happened. She said SIL came home in tears because all the girls were rude to her. -I explain to her that none of the 5 girls were and SIL was once again and her phone the whole time not socializing. I also explained to her that SIL was 30 minutes to an hour late to all the parties and would leave about 30 minutes later. All of my friends and family were trying their best to welcome her with open arms and talk to her and get to know her and socialize with her. MIL said I must have done something to have her daughter otherwise she wouldn’t be acting that way and come home crying. She said my friends and family were bullying her. - she started screaming at me that we were against her daughter in the middle of Olive Garden and demanded to know why. I left crying.
- I sat down with MIL and SIL about the small parties and why I had put it together. SIL stated from day one it seemed like I was out to get her and that everyone and my friend group was against her. I told her that was not true, and I had never talked bad or about her to any of them. Some of them asked me about her and I only said positive things like she is a chef and loves to cook, she is crafty, she has a son, etc. she told me that it seemed like everyone had some sort of vendetta against her since she arrived the first day. I told her it wasn’t true that people were trying to talk to her and have a conversation with her, but she was only in her phone, not socializing. And she explained she was in her phone because people were being rude to her which was not true. - knowing it was a bunch of BS I just told her I would talk to them about it. -she said one girl opened the door to her house and said “oh, it’s you!” in a condescending voice and rolled her eyes which was not true.
- Fast-forward to the week of my wedding:
- Monday- SIL text me about hair and make up and when she should be there. Prior to this time the wedding was brought up said she wanted to do her own hair and her make up so I did not schedule her appointments because she wanted to do it herself. I told her I did not schedule her an appointment because of this. She replied with she changed her mind and wants an appointment for hair and make up and that she did tell me this during Christmas.(she did not-wedding talk was not allowed). I explained that she did not talk to me about anything wedding related during Christmas because it was a holiday and we just wanted to relax with the family. She said, regardless, I should’ve scheduled her a hair and make up appointment because she’s an adult and is allowed to change her mind when she wants to and now she wants to get her hair and make up done by a professional.” -I made the appointments for her.
- Wednesday- she messaged me asking if “the dog was going to walk with her son down the aisle since they were both ring bears?” I told her that “it was never discussed that the dog would be because our dog is almost 70 pounds and it’s still a puppy and i would NEVER let a three year old to be walking alone with the dog since they are so unpredictable.” She replied with “well that’s not what you said last time.” - What I said: boy dog #1 would walk with husband, boy dog #2 would walk with the best man, girl dog would walk with my MOH. - I told her “that was never the plan because I would not expect her toddler son to handle a 70 pound dog.” MIL chimes in: “I also remember you saying that the dog would be walking with her son. She just wanted to make sure that her son was going to be taken care of and nothing bad was going to happen to him.” I get offended by this. Because there is no way I would ever rip my nephew in danger like that.
- Friday - she cancels the hair and make up appointment. I set for her on Monday.
- Day of the wedding: SIL is four hours late. She stays for the ceremony leaves within the hour.
- MIL: since Christmas to today: every time I see her tells me how stressed out I look. How exhausted I must be planning the wedding. -I am not stressed out at all. Since we’ve had almost 3 years to plan this, I have already gotten alot of it within the first year of planning, help from friends and family with small little things that I needed done. Basically had all the decor, dance floor, yard games, signs, etc finished a year before I needed it. The dress was done with wiggle room in case I gained some weight but not too big to wear it swallows me. Both photographers booked, caterer booked, cake, and cupcakes booked; we are basically done with everything so there was no need for me to be stressed. - it’s important she was making comments about me being stressed. Coworkers not said anything about being stressed but they’ve said the opposite about how calm I am for someone who’s about to get married. I tell this to MIL. The day of the wedding- MIL comments about how crappy the drive was to our house. She went around asking a couple people if I was freaking out from all the stress of the day - my friends and family the amazing people they are told her “I’m not stressed out.” MIL took a photo of me and posted it to Facebook saying “Countdown to Mrs. New last name!!! She’s way too calm.” -I found this to be very passive aggressive. She would also comment on my body. Every time she saw me, I was looking a little bit skinnier. This really triggered me as I grew up with a Mom who always fat shamed me or commented positively and negatively about my body every chance she got.
I want to sit down and talk to them about it, but I’m not quite sure how to start the conversation and I’m afraid that I will get gaslit during the conversation. I felt like my entire engagement experience was ruined by them. I do not have a happy memory with them about it just with my sister, friends and family.
Before anyone says anything, husband is aware of the situation and is leaving the ball in my court for when I’m ready to talk about it. 100% supports me as he has seen all the text messages, the passive comments, etc and is not okay with it. He fully supports me and whatever decision I have and doesn’t want to overstep.
2024.05.17 22:09 HFY_Inspired The Prophecy of the End - Chapter 26
Chapter 26 - The Infinite Beckons
Previous Chapter
“Okay, this part’s a little tricky.” Ma’et gestured out the shuttle’s cockpit. “You got lined up easy enough, and our velocity’s at a relative zero to the ship. The bay door’s open. Now you engage the lateral thrusters while monitoring the distance from the shuttle to the bay’s interior wall. Come in too fast and you’ll damage them both..”
Trix looked over at the controls, and the neatly gummed labels that the humans had placed over the English text with her own language. She gingerly pressed the ‘Lateral Thruster’ button, then as the control knob next to it lit up, she twisted it slowly.
An earlier misadventure when lining up the ship and the shuttle where she’d twisted the control knob much more rapidly made her much more cautious about giving it too much power too quickly, yet the shuttle slowly drifted - away from the ship. “Other thruster, feathers.”
Chagrined, she dialed the thruster back to zero, then rotated it the other direction. The ship immediately stopped moving away, and instead drifted into the hangar bay. Trix watched as it drifted past the door, staring at the distance readout until it dropped into the yellow and immediately swung the knob the other way. It took a couple of tries to get the velocity back to zero, but she managed it.
“Beautiful. Now we engage the grav plating which lets the ship’s internal grav pull us down as it ramps up, and close the external door via the console over there.” Ma’et gestured to the remote console, and Trix scanned it, punching the buttons as she found them.
“Nicely done. Go ahead and hit the engine shutdown. In the old days there’d be like, thirty steps to it but nearly all of it is automated. But lucky you, you get to read all about the manual sequence since taking over in the event of computer failure is one of a pilot’s duties.” Ma’et chuckled and squeezed Trix’s shoulder. “For now, that’s good enough. Go ahead and open both the lateral boarding door, and the rear loading door. Also extend the rear loading ramp.”
Trix did, then glanced over at Ma’et. “Anything more?”
“Nope. First day on the job, and you’ve done the first job successfully. Not perfectly, but pretty damn good for your first time piloting off planet. Go ahead and head back to talk with the Captain, and I’ll handle the rest.”
Trix unbuckled the acceleration harness (Though, she felt zero acceleration during the entire trip so she couldn’t fathom just WHY Ma’et had insisted on her buckling in) and moved past the much smaller woman as she left the cockpit.
In the back, Josh was already outside the ship, grabbing a handtruck. She watched as he pushed it up the loading ramp to the stack of boxes that contained the food and equipment she’d need for the next few weeks of existence here in space. “Why aren’t you using one of the gravity belts?” She gestured over to the wall where the belts were hanging.
“Eh, this stuff’s fairly light and those have a limited lifespan. I don’t want to burn out the Keplite cores on stuff we can just move by hand. They’re expensive.”
“Oh. What’s Keplite, anyway? Ji and Min have mentioned it a few times.” Trix glanced over at the large belts with their big circular pads in the middle.
Before Josh could answer, Alex walked in between them. “Ji, Min! We’re going to be converting the room across from yours back into crew quarters for Trix. Gonna need you two to move the Spider. Is there room here in the hangar for it?”
“It’ll fit better if we assemble it and use packing mode.” Ji countered, as he hopped out of the shuttle. “It’ll take a day or so. We’ve got it spread all out in there.”
Alex turned over to Trix and beckoned. “Follow me. Gonna give you the full tour while they’re unloading." He took a few steps back, then lifted his arms wide to gesture to their surroundings. "This is obviously the hangar bay. Shuttle's the big thing you were just flying. Below us is a small cargo hold, empty right now. Not gonna show you unless you happen to like large empty boring-ass boxes.” He raised an eyebrow, and Trix quickly shook her head. "Alright. Most of the shit in here is just maintenance tools and loading gear. Nothing exciting. Ramp to main transit corridor here."
They walked out into the hallway. “Okay, well through that door’s opposite the hangar is the fabber bay. The fabber is a huge machine that manufactures stuff for us, like a 3D printer. Do you guys have anything like that?” Trix shrugged, and Alex continued. “Well either way, it can make virtually anything from a bed to a bomb to a computer. The more complex and difficult items take a hell of a lot longer to make. It’s also a major power hog since the manufacturing process uses extremely powerful fields, both magnetic and force. In other words, if you need something and we didn’t bring it with you we can make it here.”
He walked down the hall a bit, and gestured to the doors on either side. “Launcher bays, 1 and 2. Normally we use ‘em to launch beacons, buoys, sensors, things like that into space. If someone tries to start shit with us we CAN use them to launch missiles but we have very few of those available. We’re not out here to get in fights, but if we have to defend ourselves we pack a big punch.” He opened one of the doors and walked inside. “The big hatch over there is the manual tube loader. The ship can auto-load various things but if we need to put something into space that isn’t already in storage, that’s where we do it. If Ji tells you to climb in yourself, he’s joking and you should hit him because it only exists to launch shit into space.”
Trix laughed at that, but she had learned enough of Ji’s sense of humor while working on the car to understand the sentiment. “Will I even be in here at all though?”
“Maybe. If something needs to be manually loaded, we use these. Back when we were at the derelict ship I had to send a battery over to help out while we planned our rescue. You might be asked to do the same.” Alex shrugged and lead her out into the hall. “Last thing here is the ship’s primary armament.” He reached over to the side of the hallway and pressed a hatch release. The compartment it lead to was incredibly small and tightly cramped.
“We don’t use it much outside of scaring off pirates or relieving stress, but this is our primary weapon out in space. Eight-chamber five meter long rotary railgun. Fires one round every 1.2 seconds that travel roughly a million kilometers per hour when fired stationary, or closer to 280 kilometers per second. It fires either solid armor-piercing unguided slugs or flak munitions that are used to produce clouds of metallic debris. The former will shred a ship’s armor and pulverize anything inside. The latter can overwhelm particle shields and damage exterior components without nearly as much penetration. The reason I’m saying all this to you,” He tapped the top of the cannon where it joined to the ship. “This thing’s got a super limited firing arc. Meaning that we can only shoot what we’re pointed at. If, by some miracle, we get into a fight out there then our ability to shoot back is gonna depend on your ability to fly the ship while facing the enemy.”
Trix swallowed heavily as she tried to imagine just how powerful this massive cannon was. She glanced over at the side of it, to the twin belts that fed in ammo. Each round it would fire was longer than her forearm and thicker than her waist.
“That’s the worst case scenario though. In reality, if we get into any shit out there, fighting is the LAST thing we want to do. Negotiation to avoid hostility first, escape second, fight last.” Alex shooed her out of the compartment. “That said if we encounter any low-yield junk out there then we’ll get some target practice in. If you’re game then we can let you try targeting for a bit and unload some kinetic mayhem while things are dull.” He grinned wickedly, as he manually pulled the hatch back into place, sliding two large locking levers into place.
“Okay, that’s it for this deck. There’s stairs on the far side leading up to the tech deck but the ladder here’s quicker.”
They climbed up the ladder, with Alex leading and Trix following. Her wings banged against the ceiling as she climbed, and it took her a few moments to get them tucked in tight enough to get through the hatch but with Alex’s help they got up there.
“Tech deck. Mostly. In the front of the ship here right under Bridge access is the exception, the pool room.” He opened the door and they walked in together. “Mainly used for observation but the pool there is great for relaxation. You can adjust the temperature with the controls on the wall there, goes from chilly to full on hot tub. Adjustable depth from 3 to 10 feet, and the pool walls are display panels. If you use a breather it’s fun to turn the display to external then go down underwater and relax while staring at the stars. Do you swim much?”
Trix nodded. “Sure, there’s a river a… couple kilometers? I think? I’m not good with converting distances yet. Anyway, it’s near the hab and we’d go there when I was younger and didn’t have as much to do in the fields.”
“Cool. Well, feel free to use it but just a word of warning you might want to check if anyone’s in first. Swimwear is optional and since the crew is a pretty tight family we don’t usually get embarrassed if we’re seen swimming in the buff.” Alex waved over at the control console. “If you’re not sure the big green button on the outside is the comm button, just ask if anyone’s using it.”
“Ji brought me in here when we came up to do the medical scans. He showed me Kiveyt from orbit for the first time. Do all human ships have a room like this?” Trix reached over to dip her hand into the water. It was quite warm to the touch.
“Nah. This ship wasn’t originally designed as a scout ship or survey ship. It was originally a yacht. Big luxury vehicle for rich people to fly around in space and have fun in. Throw parties. Most of the ridiculous amenities it has I got rid of ages ago, but that left a huge amount of space we filled up with all the launchers and sensors and whatnot. I kept the pool though because I love soaking after a long day.” He pressed the door control and they left the pool room.
“Just past the pool room on either side of the ship we have collection dishes for D-space particles. Those are EVA only, so you won’t be dealing with those. They let us collect extremely powerful particles which lead back here.” Alex spoke as he walked, and turned the corner into a much, much larger room.
“This is the ship’s main power supply. Charged particles enter the torus reactor and discharge energy which is converted into electrical power and routed through the ship. Those bottles over there…” He gestured to four massive grey metal canisters on the wall. “Contain the actual particles. They’re made of the strongest materials we have because if one ruptured, the ship would instantly explode from the inside out. Don’t worry,” Alex quickly raised his hands. “The chances of that happening are virtually impossible. This is the single most well-protected location on the ship.”
He gestured to the other side of the large room. “Over there’s the terminals that Min is usually at. She and Ji are in charge of all engineering. That means power, propulsion, all computer systems, and the like. Well, the physical parts of them that is. Ma’et is our computer geek when it comes to integration, programming, and all the fun software shit.”
Alex left the room, and gestured to the other side. “I’m sure you’re familiar with medical over there. Let’s do us both a favor and not have to go there much. Otherwise I’m pretty sure Kyshe will gut me.” He didn’t stop to show her inside, and they reached the main staircase. “The back half of the ship on this deck is all propulsion access and maintenance. I’m more or less our damage control guy, along with Ji and Min. For them it’s because they’re smart as shit and for me it’s because I had to learn how to maintain my own ship. Most common damage out here is stray micro meteors or debris while we’re parked and the particle shields are down. Sometimes worn out components inside. Again, no EVA for you so the only thing you’ll need to worry about for DC is being an assistant to one of us while we fix shit.”
They went up the stairwell to the uppermost of the three floors. “There used to be an observation bubble above us, but I had it removed because it was useless. Even if I covered it with ablative plating it was a massive wart on top of the ship that served zero practical purpose. Anyway, the top floor here is where you’ll spend 90% of your time on the ship. Back here…” Alex started walking to the rear of the ship, and walked through a large open doorway. “Mess hall. We generally have two kinds of meals here - when we’re on long deployment, the food extruder over there can produce rations. They’re not amazing but they’re quick both to make and eat. It’ll also make reasonable meat and dairy substitutes. If you want a real meal though we usually keep the good stuff in deep freeze so it takes a fair amount of time to be ready. Other than that the bev dispenser is over there. Water and various juices on tap all the time, alcohol is restricted only to meals only. We all get together for breakfast and dinner though, since it’s just a good way to socialize. Tonight expect a big meal in celebration.”
He walked out of the mess, and opened a door to a large open area. “Rec room. Not used a whole lot because most of us use haptic suits for exercise and recreation but we don’t have a suit that’ll fit you or your wings, so I want you to be in here twice a week at least. Ma’et is a great partner for any exercise that doesn’t involve fighting, unless you like bruises in which case she’ll happily go a few rounds with gloves on. Pilots don’t get the level of exercise you’re used to on the planet working fields so exercise up here will be pretty damn vital.”
She looked around the room, then hurried to catch up to the captain as he walked out. “On the other side of the hall from the Mess is general storage. Cleaning supplies, a small laundry unit if the one in your room quits working, random odds and ends. Also a few extra bunks just in case we need them. Unfortunately I am going to have to have you spend one night in here while we get your room cleaned up and ready for you.” He walked in, and over to one of the walls. “Bunk folds down from here. Looks, uh…” He glanced at the fold-down bed and back at Trix. “Looks tight. Do me a favor and see if you’re gonna be OK there?”
It was very close, but Trix laid down on the sleeping pad and adjusted until she found a good comfortable spot. “For just one night, this will do…”
“Alright, no worries then. We’ll have your room ready quick as we can.” She got off the pad and Alex gestured for her to follow. “Quarters themselves are here, 4 on either side of the main hallway. Myself, Josh, Ma’et, and Amanda on the right in that order. Ji, Min, Your quarters, and the last was converted into a mechanical room for Par. Speaking of…”
He walked into the last room and knocked on a large hatch. “Par, would it be alright if I introduced our newest shipmate?”
“Of course, Captain.” The hatch slid silently open revealing a large, intricate array. Circuit boards were laid out in rows and wires ran between them in perfectly neat, ordered channels. In the center of it all was a large oblong egg-looking object. “Trix, may I present to you Parathanelias Sigma-822.”
Several rows of lights lit up along the side of the egg, and the pleasant musical voice she’d heard so often came from a small speaker alongside it. “It is a pleasure to meet you in person, Trksehnoarala.”
Trix stared at the open hatch then gestured behind her. “I thought you were in those floating metal balls…?”
“The spheres you mention are my remotes. None of them are large enough to house my primary systems. In a way, they are my eyes, ears, and limbs. My true nature is integration here within the ship itself, and I make up for my limited mobility in person by having the greatest mobility of any other member of the crew.”
“He also has an avatar in VR of an organic human, but most of the time he uses the floating spheres to interact with us and the rest of the world. His core,” Alex gestured to the egg-like central object, “houses his base personality and his most important memories. The rest of this is extra storage for less critical information. I’m a bit jealous because his most important memories will always be preserved forever in perfect clarity. The rest of us get to have our memories fade with time, but his will be eternal.”
Alex stood there mutely for a moment then shook his head. “Anyway. Back to the tour. Thanks Par!”
“My pleasure.” The hatch slid silently shut and Alex and Trix left the room. “This room has been empty for long enough I pretty much gave it over to Ji and Min for a long while.” Alex walked into the room next to Par’s. “It’s kind of a mess but we’re going to get it cleaned up then it’ll be yours.”
There was no bed in the room, and the tables against the walls were covered with electronics and quickboards. In the center of the room, a huge metal contraption was spread out. Eight large jointed legs were wired in to a big central circular turret. Above that, a multitude of ‘limbs’ extended out - one a large grasper with clawed metal fingers, another ending with an odd cone-shaped implement with a blackened tip. A third was a huge metal pipe jutting out, and a fourth looked to be a number of small openings to place something into.
Trix gestured to it, “What is THAT thing?”
“That’s the Spider. It’s a long-time project the Twins have been working on. Pretty much since they joined the crew, really. It was meant to be a mechanical walker for the military but… well, that’s their story to tell.” Alex snorted. “There’s going to be enough time to go into the details later. Point is, before we even start leaving the system we’re gonna move this out, get a full king sized bed in here for you, some more storage, and so on. That door,” He gestured to a door on the other side of the room, “Leads to a hygiene unit. Full on shower, no bath but if you want to soak the Pool’s down a floor. Aside from no tub it has a deluxe toilet, sink, and a small cleaning unit for clothes.”
Trix cautiously stepped around the large disassembled robot, and opened the door to peer inside. The hygiene unit was much larger than she’d expected, and she was grateful to see that most of the facilities was familiar to her.
“Okay, one last stop and it’s the most important.” Alex walked out into the hallway and Trix rushed to catch up, almost tripping as she hopped over a piece of scrap cable along the floor. “I’m sure this will become your second home on the ship real fast. The bridge.”
They walked down the hall through a small access corridor into a large, wide open space. A large chair sat in the center with a number of controls and articulating arms present on the back. In front of it, a number of control panels were arranged in rows. The front of the bridge and both sides were dominated by massive window screens that showed the area the ship was currently facing. She could see one screen to the side with a display showing Kiveyt, first as a small dot with a zoomed-in and blown up image next to it.
“The door back there in the corner leads to a briefing room, nothing special there but a table and chairs. The big chair in the middle is mine, but if you ask super nicely I’ll let you sit in it.” Alex grinned, and pointed at the console in the very center of the bridge, in front of the Captain’s chair. “But that station over there is primary navigation. Josh is there quite a lot of the time, though just as often I navigate from the Captain’s Chair or Ma’et controls the ship from her neural interface. As of now, though, I bequeath ownership of it unto you - for the next few weeks, at least.”
Trix walked around the bridge staring at everything. The control consoles were smooth, rounded and sleek in their presentation. Each one had a large keyboard in front covered with the strange runes of the Humans’ language. Various other instruments and implements were present at each station, but at hers she smiled gratefully to see that the keys had already changed and had more familiar and recognizable letters in place of the Humans odd script. The layout was definitely weird, and she knew it was going to take time and effort to grow accustomed but at the very least she would be able to understand what she was doing as she learned. Even better, the seat lacked the same high back that the other seats had, which would have been pressed tightly and uncomfortably against her wings.
She glanced back at Alex, who just nodded at her. Encouraged, she took a seat and glanced around. “This is mine.” She whispered it and then let her wings spread out with pleasure as she realized that from here, from this station, she would be the one personally controlling the entire massive vehicle behind her. It lacked the flight stick of the shuttle or the handle controls of her aircar, and in a way she felt disappointed she wouldn’t be able to manually control the ship the same way she could the smaller vehicles. But as she looked around her and rested her hands on the cool surface of the console, she felt something else. A thrill of anticipation at the thought of being the one in control of this massive ship and everyone inside of it.
Alex climbed several steps up to the captain’s chair on its elevated dais, and took a seat directly behind her. The sight of a winged alien in front of him at the nav console with the stars stretching out above and beyond her was a strange one, but a pleasant one. He tried to think of a witty quip to finish the tour with, but failing that he settled for a much simpler one instead.
“Welcome aboard, Pilot.”
—--
“Okay, before we get started, I believe that this is a special occasion warranting a toast.” Alex sat at the head of the large table at the mess, with the other six organic members of the crew assembled further down. “To our new pilot trainee!”
“Here Here!” “To Trix!” “To our Trainee!”
Alex took a sip of his whisky, and sighed in pleasure. “God that hits the spot. Okay everyone, dig in.”
The dinner was an odd affair, mostly because every single member was wearing their visor. Trix could not speak English, and the crew couldn’t speak her native tongue. Masks which would automatically translate couldn’t be worn during a meal so the solution was to have real-time speech to text appearing on everyone’s visor. Trix, who never had worn a visor before, had a difficult time getting the display to appear just right in front of her eyes but she and Par had gotten it dialed in.
Trix glanced at the array of food in front of her. Some items looked familiar, others completely foreign, and none of it smelled quite right. She gestured to the food. “None of this is from Kiveyt. Is it safe for me to eat it?”
“I went through our entire comestible database while we were on the planet. Surprisingly there’s almost no Terran food you can’t eat.” Josh had a massive burrito nearly as long as Ma’et’s arm on the plate in front of him, and he spoke while dabbing hot sauce over it. “All of our Macronutrients are completely interchangeable. Most Micronutrients are as well. There’s a few exotic vitamins and amino acids that you need that we can’t provide, but we have supplements from the planet that’ll handle those.”
“Oh.” Trix glanced around at the table, trying to decide what to eat. The spread was, per Alex’s suggestion, extremely large and quite diverse. “I’m not sure where to start then.”
Min picked up a large platter with a circular dish on it. “Far as I’m concerned the best place to start is with Pizza. It’s one of the most widely loved foods throughout Terran space.” She dumped a slice onto the plate in front of Trix, while Ji slid a very tall glass of water over to her, alongside an odd reddish looking beverage.
“Give the fruit punch a try too. It’s much more sweet than the juice you were serving down on the planet. A lot more mild too.” He suggested, and gestured to another plate. “Also? Tacos are never a bad choice.”
Trix reached out and picked up one of the odd, semi-circular items. Ji grabbed one as well, and bit into it with gusto. Trix mimicked the motion, crunching into the hard shell. It was quite interesting, tasteless at first as she bit into the shell and the lettuce, but then the spiced meat hit her tongue. It was quite mild but not unpleasant. She chewed on it and gulped down a mouthful. “Not bad.” She took another bite.
The taco vanished quickly, and she glanced down at the slice of Pizza next. “Like this, Trix.” Min gestured to pick it up by the crust, putting her fingers in front of it to prevent it from flopping down. Trix followed Min’s example, and took a huge bite. This one was even milder, almost disappointingly so. “Not much flavor to this one. Is all your food really light like this?”
The humans glanced around at that. “Y’know, Sophie mentioned our rations were tasteless. They have a pretty strong cinnamon taste to ‘em.” Alex sat back thoughtfully as he nursed the glass of whisky in his hand. “The food we had down on the planet was all pretty strong flavors…”
Josh handed the bottle of hot sauce in his hand over to Trix. “Try a dab of this. It adds a kick to some foods.”
Trix took the bottle, and put a few drops of it on the slice of pizza in front of her. She took another bite, and her eyes lit up. The next few bites all had more hot sauce each, and the crust itself ended up practically drenched in it. “Thanks, Josh. That was delicious.”
The rest of the crew was staring at her and she shrunk back slightly at their intense scrutiny. Had she done something wrong? She hadn’t ever offended them during any meals back on the planet, so the sudden shift in attention was jarring and quite uncomfortable.
Ji whistled at the sight of the alien hungrily wofling down the slice of pizza covered in bright spicy sauce. “Here, try some of that on a taco next!” He picked up another shell and offered it to her.
Trix reached out and took the taco, this time pouring a hefty amount of sauce on it. Eating this one was much messier, and she could feel the hot sauce dribbling down the side of her mouth as she took a huge bite. Min handed her a paper towel, and she embarrassedly wiped away the errant food. “Thanks, Min. That was great too, Ji.”
“Hold up.” Alex stood up and walked over to one of the cupboards, pulling out another bottle of sauce. “I’m curious now. This is a lot hotter than the sauce you’ve been trying thus far. See if it’s to your liking. Just, start with a very small amount. A little goes a LONG way.” He walked back to the table, placing the bottle next to Trix. She studied it briefly, mostly the logo - a caricature of a human whose head appeared to be on fire.
“Um, Okay. Should I try it with the Pizza or the Taco?” She glanced between the two dishes she’d already tried. “Either one. Whichever you prefer.” was Alex’s reply.
Trix reached out and grabbed a third Taco, opening up the bottle. Immediately she could smell the fragrant sauce within, and she carefully poured a small amount into the shell. She cautiously took a bite and chewed thoughtfully.
“Too hot?” Alex suggested, but she shook her head. “No. Just…” She poured more sauce on the taco, and ate the rest in only a few bites. “Whew. Sorry, Captain Alexander. That was incredible! I’ve never tasted anything like it before.”
“Captain Alexander just sounds weird. Call me Alex or Al. Or ‘Captain’ if you really, really need to use my rank for whatever reason.” Alex sat down, and chuckled. “But that’s interesting. Very, very interesting. That sauce there?” He gestured towards the bottle. “It’s made with a chemical called ‘Capsaicin’. To humans it’s a powerful spice. Too much of it causes a painful burning sensation that lingers. We normally dilute it to make it more palatable and less painful.”
Trix glanced at the bottle. “I guess that explains the fire on the little picture here.” She grabbed another slice of the pizza, and drizzled the sauce on top.
“Three tacos and two slices of pizza?” Ma’et was impressed as she saw how much food the Avian was packing away.
“The disadvantage of those muscular bodies.” Josh waved his hand towards Trix. “They require all the calories that a Human does and more. Back on the planet I learned their species used to be a lot smaller, but after developing animal husbandry and reliable sources of higher calorie foods they bulked up pretty quick.”
Trix, for her part, slicked off the second slice of pizza with gusto. She grabbed a fourth taco, and liberally poured the spicy sauce all over, before wolfing that down as well. She grabbed the fruit juice that Ji had offered her… the ‘punch’? And downed it almost as quickly.
“I hope after all this is over, we can buy some more of that sauce. I definitely want the others back at home to try it.” She licked her lips, and sighed with contentment. “This juice too. I like how sweet it is.”
“Birds are immune to Capsaicin.” Josh murmured softly, but it was picked up by the visor and translated perfectly. “I wonder what the chances are that space-birds would be too?”
—--
“Slide the jack under that joint there.” Trix did as instructed, wheeling the small hydraulic device under the ‘spider’s’ massive leg. “Great. Just gotta line up the leg with where the servos join in…” Ji and Min lifted the leg and immediately began connecting up cables and lines. After all the connections were made, Ji braced himself against the wall and shoved - hard - against the leg, firmly connecting the mechanical rotary joint into place.
“Okay, testing.” Min walked over to the console and began punching in codes. Like the other six limbs before it, this one shook slightly then began to flex, twist, and move around. “Range of motion is nominal. Motors are all showing peak. Locking joints and anchor bolt systems are green.”
Ji wiped off some sweat from his forehead, and leaned back against the wall. “I knew it was a mistake to work on it up here. At least if we put it in the hangar we could have lowered the gravity.”
“It would have been in the way during the rescue op, and we had enough shit going on then we didn’t need to add ‘reassemble a multi-ton walking modular platform’ to the list.” Min gestured with her head, not even glancing over at her brother. “Man up. Trix hasn’t even broken a sweat.”
“I don’t sweat.” Trix mumbled, as she stared at the massive machine. “This thing is crazy. Puts my car to shame.”
“Yeah, our pride and joy. Together we’ve spent decades refining it.” Min glanced over at Trix with a broad smile. “The modular bay on top has been my focus, while Ji’s been adjusting and perfecting the leg and motion systems.”
“What’s it for?”
“Well, right now it’s kind of in between intended uses.” Ji walked over to a large shelf and gestured to the assorted objects there. “With our original plans it was going to have a bunch of swappable options. Right now, it has short and long range assault armaments and a plasma cutter for breaching sealed doors. A basic military drone capable of adapting to all kinds of situations.”
Trix stared at the array of weapons in front of her. “So this is what the human military uses to fight with?”
“Nah.” Min set down the quickboard and walked over to the huge machine. “We envisioned it as a multi-purpose response unit. Capable of dropping in from outside the atmosphere an landing anywhere, going anywhere. Dealing with any situation that could possibly arise. It’s an all-terrain support mech and its modular nature would have made it able to respond to nearly any situation. And it was rejected by the military.”
“What? Why?”
Ji held up a hand and ticked off his fingers. “One, it’s more expensive to drop one of these than a squad of soldiers. Nevermind the fact that it can do 10 people’s worth of work without putting even a single person in danger. Two, it’s too big to be fired out of normal launchers. Adding new launchers to ships would have been a significant amount of work and cost that the navy wasn’t willing to foot the bill. Three, we didn’t have any money after developing it. Meaning we couldn’t bribe anyone in the government into pressuring the military to work with us.”
“Four, they already have hover tanks and artillery and we couldn’t convince them that our system was superior to those.” Min sighed, and threw herself into a chair.
“Hovering is cheating though.” Ji glared at his sister.
“Cheating? What?” Trix just looked bewildered at this.
“Hovering isn’t all-terrain. Hovering is NO terrain.”
“Oh.” Trix took a seat in a nearby chair herself. “So did the captain buy this then?”
“Nope. See, we were finishing up Uni and started developing the Spider, but we didn’t really have the money to actually MAKE one. We had all the plans and all the research on our side but not the raw materials or the money to get those raw materials.” Ji pulled out a stick of gum and popped it in his mouth. “At first we tried going straight to the military which was a huge mistake, they just made a million excuses and told us to get lost. Then we tried approaching some weapon dev companies for funding. They basically told us they’d fund it in exchange for all the rights to production and we’d get whatever they felt was fair. Which when we pressed on a figure, wasn’t much.”
Trix glanced over at the massive mech. “But it got made, obviously.”
“Yup. When we weren’t sure what to do, a buddy of ours mentioned that Al was looking for an engineering team. We can do starship engineering.” Min grabbed the quickboard and extended one of the spider’s legs towards her, so she could kick her feet up on it. “Matter of fact, this ship’s a thing of beauty. Al is a complete doofus but he takes fantastic care of the ship. When we came on we gave him a list of everything that should change. He sat down with us, went over it point by point, and even though it ended up costing over half a million credits he gave us full authorization to make every single change we suggested.”
“So after we did a stint working as engineers we joined up as crew.” Ji had an odd smile on his face. “Since then, we’ve put the money we made from working here towards building this thing. We actually had it completed but then I had this idea of using an array of microservo actuators instead of a larger servo to give us a lot more fine control over the joints. That didn’t work, like, at all but when we used a combination of them we managed to find just the right ratio that gives us twice the amount of precision in each joint, which lets us use the-”
“ANYWAY.” Min interrupted her Brother before he could get too deep into the weeds. “We had it built, with the original armaments we envisioned, but Al suggested making a module for mining and sampling. We brought it in here in order to disassemble it to make the servo adjustments and while we were at it we were going to be replacing the actual weapons with a mining beam, core sample collector, and an array of sensors. Now though we’re going to put it in storage for a while. We got much more important things to take care of now.”
“Oh.” Trix had begun to tune Ji out when he launched into his diatribe. “But what do you mean joined up as crew? You were already crew, weren’t you?”
Min swung her foot down, and gestured to the ship. “It’s different. There’s employees… and then there’s crew. Right now you’re an employee. You’re working with us, you’re out here, but your home’s back with your Teff. Right?”
Trix nodded.
“Well, when you’re crew… this is your home. We’re all family out here. I don’t know as much about the whole Teff thing but I think it’s sort of similar. This ship’s our home, the crew is our family. Alex may be a childish idiot but he’s loyal to his crew like nothing else.” Min stood up and walked over to put her hand on her brother’s shoulder. “When we worked here and started to see how well he treats his people, we felt like we could really belong here. He asked if we’d like to join up, so we did. Best decision we ever made.”
“Yup. He treats the crew as well as he treats the ship.” Ji gestured around him. “Working for him paid well. Working as crew, we don’t get paid regularly but we get a cut out of every mission and that cut is HUGE. That’s how we could afford to actually build the spider in the first place.”
“Ah. So if he invited me along, does that mean he wants me to join the crew too?” Trix wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Joining another family was commonplace for males who left their Teff to join others, but incredibly rare for females.
“Dunno. He’s hired on specialists in the past who’ve come and gone. And he’s invited people to join up who said no and that was that.” Ji shrugged and pressed the release on the hydraulic press, letting it collapse down. “C’mon, we should get the last leg attached. Then we can pack it up and use a grav collar to move it down to the hangar. Don’t want to make you stay in that cramped storage room again tonight.”
“Yeah, I tried to stretch my wings in the morning and I banged up against one of the shelves. Really not looking forward to that again.” Trix grumbled at the memory, and stood up. “Okay, what more do we need done to get this over with?”
—--
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Previous Chapter
“Okay, this part’s a little tricky.” Ma’et gestured out the shuttle’s cockpit. “You got lined up easy enough, and our velocity’s at a relative zero to the ship. The bay door’s open. Now you engage the lateral thrusters while monitoring the distance from the shuttle to the bay’s interior wall. Come in too fast and you’ll damage them both..”
Trix looked over at the controls, and the neatly gummed labels that the humans had placed over the English text with her own language. She gingerly pressed the ‘Lateral Thruster’ button, then as the control knob next to it lit up, she twisted it slowly.
An earlier misadventure when lining up the ship and the shuttle where she’d twisted the control knob much more rapidly made her much more cautious about giving it too much power too quickly, yet the shuttle slowly drifted - away from the ship. “Other thruster, feathers.”
Chagrined, she dialed the thruster back to zero, then rotated it the other direction. The ship immediately stopped moving away, and instead drifted into the hangar bay. Trix watched as it drifted past the door, staring at the distance readout until it dropped into the yellow and immediately swung the knob the other way. It took a couple of tries to get the velocity back to zero, but she managed it.
“Beautiful. Now we engage the grav plating which lets the ship’s internal grav pull us down as it ramps up, and close the external door via the console over there.” Ma’et gestured to the remote console, and Trix scanned it, punching the buttons as she found them.
“Nicely done. Go ahead and hit the engine shutdown. In the old days there’d be like, thirty steps to it but nearly all of it is automated. But lucky you, you get to read all about the manual sequence since taking over in the event of computer failure is one of a pilot’s duties.” Ma’et chuckled and squeezed Trix’s shoulder. “For now, that’s good enough. Go ahead and open both the lateral boarding door, and the rear loading door. Also extend the rear loading ramp.”
Trix did, then glanced over at Ma’et. “Anything more?”
“Nope. First day on the job, and you’ve done the first job successfully. Not perfectly, but pretty damn good for your first time piloting off planet. Go ahead and head back to talk with the Captain, and I’ll handle the rest.”
Trix unbuckled the acceleration harness (Though, she felt zero acceleration during the entire trip so she couldn’t fathom just WHY Ma’et had insisted on her buckling in) and moved past the much smaller woman as she left the cockpit.
In the back, Josh was already outside the ship, grabbing a handtruck. She watched as he pushed it up the loading ramp to the stack of boxes that contained the food and equipment she’d need for the next few weeks of existence here in space. “Why aren’t you using one of the gravity belts?” She gestured over to the wall where the belts were hanging.
“Eh, this stuff’s fairly light and those have a limited lifespan. I don’t want to burn out the Keplite cores on stuff we can just move by hand. They’re expensive.”
“Oh. What’s Keplite, anyway? Ji and Min have mentioned it a few times.” Trix glanced over at the large belts with their big circular pads in the middle.
Before Josh could answer, Alex walked in between them. “Ji, Min! We’re going to be converting the room across from yours back into crew quarters for Trix. Gonna need you two to move the Spider. Is there room here in the hangar for it?”
“It’ll fit better if we assemble it and use packing mode.” Ji countered, as he hopped out of the shuttle. “It’ll take a day or so. We’ve got it spread all out in there.”
Alex turned over to Trix and beckoned. “Follow me. Gonna give you the full tour while they’re unloading." He took a few steps back, then lifted his arms wide to gesture to their surroundings. "This is obviously the hangar bay. Shuttle's the big thing you were just flying. Below us is a small cargo hold, empty right now. Not gonna show you unless you happen to like large empty boring-ass boxes.” He raised an eyebrow, and Trix quickly shook her head. "Alright. Most of the shit in here is just maintenance tools and loading gear. Nothing exciting. Ramp to main transit corridor here."
They walked out into the hallway. “Okay, well through that door’s opposite the hangar is the fabber bay. The fabber is a huge machine that manufactures stuff for us, like a 3D printer. Do you guys have anything like that?” Trix shrugged, and Alex continued. “Well either way, it can make virtually anything from a bed to a bomb to a computer. The more complex and difficult items take a hell of a lot longer to make. It’s also a major power hog since the manufacturing process uses extremely powerful fields, both magnetic and force. In other words, if you need something and we didn’t bring it with you we can make it here.”
He walked down the hall a bit, and gestured to the doors on either side. “Launcher bays, 1 and 2. Normally we use ‘em to launch beacons, buoys, sensors, things like that into space. If someone tries to start shit with us we CAN use them to launch missiles but we have very few of those available. We’re not out here to get in fights, but if we have to defend ourselves we pack a big punch.” He opened one of the doors and walked inside. “The big hatch over there is the manual tube loader. The ship can auto-load various things but if we need to put something into space that isn’t already in storage, that’s where we do it. If Ji tells you to climb in yourself, he’s joking and you should hit him because it only exists to launch shit into space.”
Trix laughed at that, but she had learned enough of Ji’s sense of humor while working on the car to understand the sentiment. “Will I even be in here at all though?”
“Maybe. If something needs to be manually loaded, we use these. Back when we were at the derelict ship I had to send a battery over to help out while we planned our rescue. You might be asked to do the same.” Alex shrugged and lead her out into the hall. “Last thing here is the ship’s primary armament.” He reached over to the side of the hallway and pressed a hatch release. The compartment it lead to was incredibly small and tightly cramped.
“We don’t use it much outside of scaring off pirates or relieving stress, but this is our primary weapon out in space. Eight-chamber five meter long rotary railgun. Fires one round every 1.2 seconds that travel roughly a million kilometers per hour when fired stationary, or closer to 280 kilometers per second. It fires either solid armor-piercing unguided slugs or flak munitions that are used to produce clouds of metallic debris. The former will shred a ship’s armor and pulverize anything inside. The latter can overwhelm particle shields and damage exterior components without nearly as much penetration. The reason I’m saying all this to you,” He tapped the top of the cannon where it joined to the ship. “This thing’s got a super limited firing arc. Meaning that we can only shoot what we’re pointed at. If, by some miracle, we get into a fight out there then our ability to shoot back is gonna depend on your ability to fly the ship while facing the enemy.”
Trix swallowed heavily as she tried to imagine just how powerful this massive cannon was. She glanced over at the side of it, to the twin belts that fed in ammo. Each round it would fire was longer than her forearm and thicker than her waist.
“That’s the worst case scenario though. In reality, if we get into any shit out there, fighting is the LAST thing we want to do. Negotiation to avoid hostility first, escape second, fight last.” Alex shooed her out of the compartment. “That said if we encounter any low-yield junk out there then we’ll get some target practice in. If you’re game then we can let you try targeting for a bit and unload some kinetic mayhem while things are dull.” He grinned wickedly, as he manually pulled the hatch back into place, sliding two large locking levers into place.
“Okay, that’s it for this deck. There’s stairs on the far side leading up to the tech deck but the ladder here’s quicker.”
They climbed up the ladder, with Alex leading and Trix following. Her wings banged against the ceiling as she climbed, and it took her a few moments to get them tucked in tight enough to get through the hatch but with Alex’s help they got up there.
“Tech deck. Mostly. In the front of the ship here right under Bridge access is the exception, the pool room.” He opened the door and they walked in together. “Mainly used for observation but the pool there is great for relaxation. You can adjust the temperature with the controls on the wall there, goes from chilly to full on hot tub. Adjustable depth from 3 to 10 feet, and the pool walls are display panels. If you use a breather it’s fun to turn the display to external then go down underwater and relax while staring at the stars. Do you swim much?”
Trix nodded. “Sure, there’s a river a… couple kilometers? I think? I’m not good with converting distances yet. Anyway, it’s near the hab and we’d go there when I was younger and didn’t have as much to do in the fields.”
“Cool. Well, feel free to use it but just a word of warning you might want to check if anyone’s in first. Swimwear is optional and since the crew is a pretty tight family we don’t usually get embarrassed if we’re seen swimming in the buff.” Alex waved over at the control console. “If you’re not sure the big green button on the outside is the comm button, just ask if anyone’s using it.”
“Ji brought me in here when we came up to do the medical scans. He showed me Kiveyt from orbit for the first time. Do all human ships have a room like this?” Trix reached over to dip her hand into the water. It was quite warm to the touch.
“Nah. This ship wasn’t originally designed as a scout ship or survey ship. It was originally a yacht. Big luxury vehicle for rich people to fly around in space and have fun in. Throw parties. Most of the ridiculous amenities it has I got rid of ages ago, but that left a huge amount of space we filled up with all the launchers and sensors and whatnot. I kept the pool though because I love soaking after a long day.” He pressed the door control and they left the pool room.
“Just past the pool room on either side of the ship we have collection dishes for D-space particles. Those are EVA only, so you won’t be dealing with those. They let us collect extremely powerful particles which lead back here.” Alex spoke as he walked, and turned the corner into a much, much larger room.
“This is the ship’s main power supply. Charged particles enter the torus reactor and discharge energy which is converted into electrical power and routed through the ship. Those bottles over there…” He gestured to four massive grey metal canisters on the wall. “Contain the actual particles. They’re made of the strongest materials we have because if one ruptured, the ship would instantly explode from the inside out. Don’t worry,” Alex quickly raised his hands. “The chances of that happening are virtually impossible. This is the single most well-protected location on the ship.”
He gestured to the other side of the large room. “Over there’s the terminals that Min is usually at. She and Ji are in charge of all engineering. That means power, propulsion, all computer systems, and the like. Well, the physical parts of them that is. Ma’et is our computer geek when it comes to integration, programming, and all the fun software shit.”
Alex left the room, and gestured to the other side. “I’m sure you’re familiar with medical over there. Let’s do us both a favor and not have to go there much. Otherwise I’m pretty sure Kyshe will gut me.” He didn’t stop to show her inside, and they reached the main staircase. “The back half of the ship on this deck is all propulsion access and maintenance. I’m more or less our damage control guy, along with Ji and Min. For them it’s because they’re smart as shit and for me it’s because I had to learn how to maintain my own ship. Most common damage out here is stray micro meteors or debris while we’re parked and the particle shields are down. Sometimes worn out components inside. Again, no EVA for you so the only thing you’ll need to worry about for DC is being an assistant to one of us while we fix shit.”
They went up the stairwell to the uppermost of the three floors. “There used to be an observation bubble above us, but I had it removed because it was useless. Even if I covered it with ablative plating it was a massive wart on top of the ship that served zero practical purpose. Anyway, the top floor here is where you’ll spend 90% of your time on the ship. Back here…” Alex started walking to the rear of the ship, and walked through a large open doorway. “Mess hall. We generally have two kinds of meals here - when we’re on long deployment, the food extruder over there can produce rations. They’re not amazing but they’re quick both to make and eat. It’ll also make reasonable meat and dairy substitutes. If you want a real meal though we usually keep the good stuff in deep freeze so it takes a fair amount of time to be ready. Other than that the bev dispenser is over there. Water and various juices on tap all the time, alcohol is restricted only to meals only. We all get together for breakfast and dinner though, since it’s just a good way to socialize. Tonight expect a big meal in celebration.”
He walked out of the mess, and opened a door to a large open area. “Rec room. Not used a whole lot because most of us use haptic suits for exercise and recreation but we don’t have a suit that’ll fit you or your wings, so I want you to be in here twice a week at least. Ma’et is a great partner for any exercise that doesn’t involve fighting, unless you like bruises in which case she’ll happily go a few rounds with gloves on. Pilots don’t get the level of exercise you’re used to on the planet working fields so exercise up here will be pretty damn vital.”
She looked around the room, then hurried to catch up to the captain as he walked out. “On the other side of the hall from the Mess is general storage. Cleaning supplies, a small laundry unit if the one in your room quits working, random odds and ends. Also a few extra bunks just in case we need them. Unfortunately I am going to have to have you spend one night in here while we get your room cleaned up and ready for you.” He walked in, and over to one of the walls. “Bunk folds down from here. Looks, uh…” He glanced at the fold-down bed and back at Trix. “Looks tight. Do me a favor and see if you’re gonna be OK there?”
It was very close, but Trix laid down on the sleeping pad and adjusted until she found a good comfortable spot. “For just one night, this will do…”
“Alright, no worries then. We’ll have your room ready quick as we can.” She got off the pad and Alex gestured for her to follow. “Quarters themselves are here, 4 on either side of the main hallway. Myself, Josh, Ma’et, and Amanda on the right in that order. Ji, Min, Your quarters, and the last was converted into a mechanical room for Par. Speaking of…”
He walked into the last room and knocked on a large hatch. “Par, would it be alright if I introduced our newest shipmate?”
“Of course, Captain.” The hatch slid silently open revealing a large, intricate array. Circuit boards were laid out in rows and wires ran between them in perfectly neat, ordered channels. In the center of it all was a large oblong egg-looking object. “Trix, may I present to you Parathanelias Sigma-822.”
Several rows of lights lit up along the side of the egg, and the pleasant musical voice she’d heard so often came from a small speaker alongside it. “It is a pleasure to meet you in person, Trksehnoarala.”
Trix stared at the open hatch then gestured behind her. “I thought you were in those floating metal balls…?”
“The spheres you mention are my remotes. None of them are large enough to house my primary systems. In a way, they are my eyes, ears, and limbs. My true nature is integration here within the ship itself, and I make up for my limited mobility in person by having the greatest mobility of any other member of the crew.”
“He also has an avatar in VR of an organic human, but most of the time he uses the floating spheres to interact with us and the rest of the world. His core,” Alex gestured to the egg-like central object, “houses his base personality and his most important memories. The rest of this is extra storage for less critical information. I’m a bit jealous because his most important memories will always be preserved forever in perfect clarity. The rest of us get to have our memories fade with time, but his will be eternal.”
Alex stood there mutely for a moment then shook his head. “Anyway. Back to the tour. Thanks Par!”
“My pleasure.” The hatch slid silently shut and Alex and Trix left the room. “This room has been empty for long enough I pretty much gave it over to Ji and Min for a long while.” Alex walked into the room next to Par’s. “It’s kind of a mess but we’re going to get it cleaned up then it’ll be yours.”
There was no bed in the room, and the tables against the walls were covered with electronics and quickboards. In the center of the room, a huge metal contraption was spread out. Eight large jointed legs were wired in to a big central circular turret. Above that, a multitude of ‘limbs’ extended out - one a large grasper with clawed metal fingers, another ending with an odd cone-shaped implement with a blackened tip. A third was a huge metal pipe jutting out, and a fourth looked to be a number of small openings to place something into.
Trix gestured to it, “What is THAT thing?”
“That’s the Spider. It’s a long-time project the Twins have been working on. Pretty much since they joined the crew, really. It was meant to be a mechanical walker for the military but… well, that’s their story to tell.” Alex snorted. “There’s going to be enough time to go into the details later. Point is, before we even start leaving the system we’re gonna move this out, get a full king sized bed in here for you, some more storage, and so on. That door,” He gestured to a door on the other side of the room, “Leads to a hygiene unit. Full on shower, no bath but if you want to soak the Pool’s down a floor. Aside from no tub it has a deluxe toilet, sink, and a small cleaning unit for clothes.”
Trix cautiously stepped around the large disassembled robot, and opened the door to peer inside. The hygiene unit was much larger than she’d expected, and she was grateful to see that most of the facilities was familiar to her.
“Okay, one last stop and it’s the most important.” Alex walked out into the hallway and Trix rushed to catch up, almost tripping as she hopped over a piece of scrap cable along the floor. “I’m sure this will become your second home on the ship real fast. The bridge.”
They walked down the hall through a small access corridor into a large, wide open space. A large chair sat in the center with a number of controls and articulating arms present on the back. In front of it, a number of control panels were arranged in rows. The front of the bridge and both sides were dominated by massive window screens that showed the area the ship was currently facing. She could see one screen to the side with a display showing Kiveyt, first as a small dot with a zoomed-in and blown up image next to it.
“The door back there in the corner leads to a briefing room, nothing special there but a table and chairs. The big chair in the middle is mine, but if you ask super nicely I’ll let you sit in it.” Alex grinned, and pointed at the console in the very center of the bridge, in front of the Captain’s chair. “But that station over there is primary navigation. Josh is there quite a lot of the time, though just as often I navigate from the Captain’s Chair or Ma’et controls the ship from her neural interface. As of now, though, I bequeath ownership of it unto you - for the next few weeks, at least.”
Trix walked around the bridge staring at everything. The control consoles were smooth, rounded and sleek in their presentation. Each one had a large keyboard in front covered with the strange runes of the Humans’ language. Various other instruments and implements were present at each station, but at hers she smiled gratefully to see that the keys had already changed and had more familiar and recognizable letters in place of the Humans odd script. The layout was definitely weird, and she knew it was going to take time and effort to grow accustomed but at the very least she would be able to understand what she was doing as she learned. Even better, the seat lacked the same high back that the other seats had, which would have been pressed tightly and uncomfortably against her wings.
She glanced back at Alex, who just nodded at her. Encouraged, she took a seat and glanced around. “This is mine.” She whispered it and then let her wings spread out with pleasure as she realized that from here, from this station, she would be the one personally controlling the entire massive vehicle behind her. It lacked the flight stick of the shuttle or the handle controls of her aircar, and in a way she felt disappointed she wouldn’t be able to manually control the ship the same way she could the smaller vehicles. But as she looked around her and rested her hands on the cool surface of the console, she felt something else. A thrill of anticipation at the thought of being the one in control of this massive ship and everyone inside of it.
Alex climbed several steps up to the captain’s chair on its elevated dais, and took a seat directly behind her. The sight of a winged alien in front of him at the nav console with the stars stretching out above and beyond her was a strange one, but a pleasant one. He tried to think of a witty quip to finish the tour with, but failing that he settled for a much simpler one instead.
“Welcome aboard, Pilot.”
—--
“Okay, before we get started, I believe that this is a special occasion warranting a toast.” Alex sat at the head of the large table at the mess, with the other six organic members of the crew assembled further down. “To our new pilot trainee!”
“Here Here!” “To Trix!” “To our Trainee!”
Alex took a sip of his whisky, and sighed in pleasure. “God that hits the spot. Okay everyone, dig in.”
The dinner was an odd affair, mostly because every single member was wearing their visor. Trix could not speak English, and the crew couldn’t speak her native tongue. Masks which would automatically translate couldn’t be worn during a meal so the solution was to have real-time speech to text appearing on everyone’s visor. Trix, who never had worn a visor before, had a difficult time getting the display to appear just right in front of her eyes but she and Par had gotten it dialed in.
Trix glanced at the array of food in front of her. Some items looked familiar, others completely foreign, and none of it smelled quite right. She gestured to the food. “None of this is from Kiveyt. Is it safe for me to eat it?”
“I went through our entire comestible database while we were on the planet. Surprisingly there’s almost no Terran food you can’t eat.” Josh had a massive burrito nearly as long as Ma’et’s arm on the plate in front of him, and he spoke while dabbing hot sauce over it. “All of our Macronutrients are completely interchangeable. Most Micronutrients are as well. There’s a few exotic vitamins and amino acids that you need that we can’t provide, but we have supplements from the planet that’ll handle those.”
“Oh.” Trix glanced around at the table, trying to decide what to eat. The spread was, per Alex’s suggestion, extremely large and quite diverse. “I’m not sure where to start then.”
Min picked up a large platter with a circular dish on it. “Far as I’m concerned the best place to start is with Pizza. It’s one of the most widely loved foods throughout Terran space.” She dumped a slice onto the plate in front of Trix, while Ji slid a very tall glass of water over to her, alongside an odd reddish looking beverage.
“Give the fruit punch a try too. It’s much more sweet than the juice you were serving down on the planet. A lot more mild too.” He suggested, and gestured to another plate. “Also? Tacos are never a bad choice.”
Trix reached out and picked up one of the odd, semi-circular items. Ji grabbed one as well, and bit into it with gusto. Trix mimicked the motion, crunching into the hard shell. It was quite interesting, tasteless at first as she bit into the shell and the lettuce, but then the spiced meat hit her tongue. It was quite mild but not unpleasant. She chewed on it and gulped down a mouthful. “Not bad.” She took another bite.
The taco vanished quickly, and she glanced down at the slice of Pizza next. “Like this, Trix.” Min gestured to pick it up by the crust, putting her fingers in front of it to prevent it from flopping down. Trix followed Min’s example, and took a huge bite. This one was even milder, almost disappointingly so. “Not much flavor to this one. Is all your food really light like this?”
The humans glanced around at that. “Y’know, Sophie mentioned our rations were tasteless. They have a pretty strong cinnamon taste to ‘em.” Alex sat back thoughtfully as he nursed the glass of whisky in his hand. “The food we had down on the planet was all pretty strong flavors…”
Josh handed the bottle of hot sauce in his hand over to Trix. “Try a dab of this. It adds a kick to some foods.”
Trix took the bottle, and put a few drops of it on the slice of pizza in front of her. She took another bite, and her eyes lit up. The next few bites all had more hot sauce each, and the crust itself ended up practically drenched in it. “Thanks, Josh. That was delicious.”
The rest of the crew was staring at her and she shrunk back slightly at their intense scrutiny. Had she done something wrong? She hadn’t ever offended them during any meals back on the planet, so the sudden shift in attention was jarring and quite uncomfortable.
Ji whistled at the sight of the alien hungrily wofling down the slice of pizza covered in bright spicy sauce. “Here, try some of that on a taco next!” He picked up another shell and offered it to her.
Trix reached out and took the taco, this time pouring a hefty amount of sauce on it. Eating this one was much messier, and she could feel the hot sauce dribbling down the side of her mouth as she took a huge bite. Min handed her a paper towel, and she embarrassedly wiped away the errant food. “Thanks, Min. That was great too, Ji.”
“Hold up.” Alex stood up and walked over to one of the cupboards, pulling out another bottle of sauce. “I’m curious now. This is a lot hotter than the sauce you’ve been trying thus far. See if it’s to your liking. Just, start with a very small amount. A little goes a LONG way.” He walked back to the table, placing the bottle next to Trix. She studied it briefly, mostly the logo - a caricature of a human whose head appeared to be on fire.
“Um, Okay. Should I try it with the Pizza or the Taco?” She glanced between the two dishes she’d already tried. “Either one. Whichever you prefer.” was Alex’s reply.
Trix reached out and grabbed a third Taco, opening up the bottle. Immediately she could smell the fragrant sauce within, and she carefully poured a small amount into the shell. She cautiously took a bite and chewed thoughtfully.
“Too hot?” Alex suggested, but she shook her head. “No. Just…” She poured more sauce on the taco, and ate the rest in only a few bites. “Whew. Sorry, Captain Alexander. That was incredible! I’ve never tasted anything like it before.”
“Captain Alexander just sounds weird. Call me Alex or Al. Or ‘Captain’ if you really, really need to use my rank for whatever reason.” Alex sat down, and chuckled. “But that’s interesting. Very, very interesting. That sauce there?” He gestured towards the bottle. “It’s made with a chemical called ‘Capsaicin’. To humans it’s a powerful spice. Too much of it causes a painful burning sensation that lingers. We normally dilute it to make it more palatable and less painful.”
Trix glanced at the bottle. “I guess that explains the fire on the little picture here.” She grabbed another slice of the pizza, and drizzled the sauce on top.
“Three tacos and two slices of pizza?” Ma’et was impressed as she saw how much food the Avian was packing away.
“The disadvantage of those muscular bodies.” Josh waved his hand towards Trix. “They require all the calories that a Human does and more. Back on the planet I learned their species used to be a lot smaller, but after developing animal husbandry and reliable sources of higher calorie foods they bulked up pretty quick.”
Trix, for her part, slicked off the second slice of pizza with gusto. She grabbed a fourth taco, and liberally poured the spicy sauce all over, before wolfing that down as well. She grabbed the fruit juice that Ji had offered her… the ‘punch’? And downed it almost as quickly.
“I hope after all this is over, we can buy some more of that sauce. I definitely want the others back at home to try it.” She licked her lips, and sighed with contentment. “This juice too. I like how sweet it is.”
“Birds are immune to Capsaicin.” Josh murmured softly, but it was picked up by the visor and translated perfectly. “I wonder what the chances are that space-birds would be too?”
—--
“Slide the jack under that joint there.” Trix did as instructed, wheeling the small hydraulic device under the ‘spider’s’ massive leg. “Great. Just gotta line up the leg with where the servos join in…” Ji and Min lifted the leg and immediately began connecting up cables and lines. After all the connections were made, Ji braced himself against the wall and shoved - hard - against the leg, firmly connecting the mechanical rotary joint into place.
“Okay, testing.” Min walked over to the console and began punching in codes. Like the other six limbs before it, this one shook slightly then began to flex, twist, and move around. “Range of motion is nominal. Motors are all showing peak. Locking joints and anchor bolt systems are green.”
Ji wiped off some sweat from his forehead, and leaned back against the wall. “I knew it was a mistake to work on it up here. At least if we put it in the hangar we could have lowered the gravity.”
“It would have been in the way during the rescue op, and we had enough shit going on then we didn’t need to add ‘reassemble a multi-ton walking modular platform’ to the list.” Min gestured with her head, not even glancing over at her brother. “Man up. Trix hasn’t even broken a sweat.”
“I don’t sweat.” Trix mumbled, as she stared at the massive machine. “This thing is crazy. Puts my car to shame.”
“Yeah, our pride and joy. Together we’ve spent decades refining it.” Min glanced over at Trix with a broad smile. “The modular bay on top has been my focus, while Ji’s been adjusting and perfecting the leg and motion systems.”
“What’s it for?”
“Well, right now it’s kind of in between intended uses.” Ji walked over to a large shelf and gestured to the assorted objects there. “With our original plans it was going to have a bunch of swappable options. Right now, it has short and long range assault armaments and a plasma cutter for breaching sealed doors. A basic military drone capable of adapting to all kinds of situations.”
Trix stared at the array of weapons in front of her. “So this is what the human military uses to fight with?”
“Nah.” Min set down the quickboard and walked over to the huge machine. “We envisioned it as a multi-purpose response unit. Capable of dropping in from outside the atmosphere an landing anywhere, going anywhere. Dealing with any situation that could possibly arise. It’s an all-terrain support mech and its modular nature would have made it able to respond to nearly any situation. And it was rejected by the military.”
“What? Why?”
Ji held up a hand and ticked off his fingers. “One, it’s more expensive to drop one of these than a squad of soldiers. Nevermind the fact that it can do 10 people’s worth of work without putting even a single person in danger. Two, it’s too big to be fired out of normal launchers. Adding new launchers to ships would have been a significant amount of work and cost that the navy wasn’t willing to foot the bill. Three, we didn’t have any money after developing it. Meaning we couldn’t bribe anyone in the government into pressuring the military to work with us.”
“Four, they already have hover tanks and artillery and we couldn’t convince them that our system was superior to those.” Min sighed, and threw herself into a chair.
“Hovering is cheating though.” Ji glared at his sister.
“Cheating? What?” Trix just looked bewildered at this.
“Hovering isn’t all-terrain. Hovering is NO terrain.”
“Oh.” Trix took a seat in a nearby chair herself. “So did the captain buy this then?”
“Nope. See, we were finishing up Uni and started developing the Spider, but we didn’t really have the money to actually MAKE one. We had all the plans and all the research on our side but not the raw materials or the money to get those raw materials.” Ji pulled out a stick of gum and popped it in his mouth. “At first we tried going straight to the military which was a huge mistake, they just made a million excuses and told us to get lost. Then we tried approaching some weapon dev companies for funding. They basically told us they’d fund it in exchange for all the rights to production and we’d get whatever they felt was fair. Which when we pressed on a figure, wasn’t much.”
Trix glanced over at the massive mech. “But it got made, obviously.”
“Yup. When we weren’t sure what to do, a buddy of ours mentioned that Al was looking for an engineering team. We can do starship engineering.” Min grabbed the quickboard and extended one of the spider’s legs towards her, so she could kick her feet up on it. “Matter of fact, this ship’s a thing of beauty. Al is a complete doofus but he takes fantastic care of the ship. When we came on we gave him a list of everything that should change. He sat down with us, went over it point by point, and even though it ended up costing over half a million credits he gave us full authorization to make every single change we suggested.”
“So after we did a stint working as engineers we joined up as crew.” Ji had an odd smile on his face. “Since then, we’ve put the money we made from working here towards building this thing. We actually had it completed but then I had this idea of using an array of microservo actuators instead of a larger servo to give us a lot more fine control over the joints. That didn’t work, like, at all but when we used a combination of them we managed to find just the right ratio that gives us twice the amount of precision in each joint, which lets us use the-”
“ANYWAY.” Min interrupted her Brother before he could get too deep into the weeds. “We had it built, with the original armaments we envisioned, but Al suggested making a module for mining and sampling. We brought it in here in order to disassemble it to make the servo adjustments and while we were at it we were going to be replacing the actual weapons with a mining beam, core sample collector, and an array of sensors. Now though we’re going to put it in storage for a while. We got much more important things to take care of now.”
“Oh.” Trix had begun to tune Ji out when he launched into his diatribe. “But what do you mean joined up as crew? You were already crew, weren’t you?”
Min swung her foot down, and gestured to the ship. “It’s different. There’s employees… and then there’s crew. Right now you’re an employee. You’re working with us, you’re out here, but your home’s back with your Teff. Right?”
Trix nodded.
“Well, when you’re crew… this is your home. We’re all family out here. I don’t know as much about the whole Teff thing but I think it’s sort of similar. This ship’s our home, the crew is our family. Alex may be a childish idiot but he’s loyal to his crew like nothing else.” Min stood up and walked over to put her hand on her brother’s shoulder. “When we worked here and started to see how well he treats his people, we felt like we could really belong here. He asked if we’d like to join up, so we did. Best decision we ever made.”
“Yup. He treats the crew as well as he treats the ship.” Ji gestured around him. “Working for him paid well. Working as crew, we don’t get paid regularly but we get a cut out of every mission and that cut is HUGE. That’s how we could afford to actually build the spider in the first place.”
“Ah. So if he invited me along, does that mean he wants me to join the crew too?” Trix wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Joining another family was commonplace for males who left their Teff to join others, but incredibly rare for females.
“Dunno. He’s hired on specialists in the past who’ve come and gone. And he’s invited people to join up who said no and that was that.” Ji shrugged and pressed the release on the hydraulic press, letting it collapse down. “C’mon, we should get the last leg attached. Then we can pack it up and use a grav collar to move it down to the hangar. Don’t want to make you stay in that cramped storage room again tonight.”
“Yeah, I tried to stretch my wings in the morning and I banged up against one of the shelves. Really not looking forward to that again.” Trix grumbled at the memory, and stood up. “Okay, what more do we need done to get this over with?”
—--
2024.05.17 21:36 ShelLuser42 Can't say we didn't try to warn her...
Hi gang!
This happened a few years ago in the Netherlands...
At the time of writing my gf was coming over and we felt like having a few drinks in a local cafe that evening. The peculiar thing about our favorite cafe though was that they didn't provide any electronic payment options: it was all cash, and cash only. However, as luck would have it there was an ATM very close to the main bus stop which was also close to a local supermarket.
So after my gf's bus arrived I told her I'd grab some cash from our shared bankaccount in order to pay for our drinks that evening. So far, so good. When we got to the ATM there was an abandoned cart in front of it which looked kinda odd to us, also considering that the pavement had bit of a slope.
Anyway, my gf figured she'd return the cart while I got the cash.
Things went pretty normal until I suddenly feel my gf push into me, when I look up she's looking backwards: "Excuse YOU", she sneers: "unlike you I actually know this guy and I'm allowed to stand this close to him.". She also pats my shoulder and tells me that "she got this".
So I focus on completing my transaction. I had a good hunch what might be going on there, but I also wasn't worried too much because I always keep my hand covered with my wallet or my papers whenever I start typing.
The guy behind me makes a bit of a lame excuse about trying to figure out if this was the "right" ATM (which is pretty BS because it doesn't matter from what bank they are) when all of a sudden some lady walks up to us while screaming: "I saw all that, why did you try to cut the line?!!".
My gf tells her that she's not cutting the line, that I'm her boyfriend and she's merely trying to get "Mr. Snoop" over there off my back. The woman doesn't want to listen and once again tells my gf that she'd better scram because trying to cut in line is SO darn rude.
At this time I had put the money in my wallet, grabbed the receipt and after I turn around I tell the lady that my gf wasn't cutting in line and that we'll be leaving now, to which my gf adds that she might want to watch her back if she's going to use the ATM. "There's a line which people should wait behind, and it's there for a reason you know", my gf says to her but the woman doesn't want to hear any of it.
She scoffs, makes a snide comment about a-hole line cutters and how "people like her" (my gf) always try to blame others, crap which we didn't respond to. No use wasting time over that nonsense.
While we're walking to the end of the street my gf wonders what the heck that was all about after which I shrug. Karens be Karens I guess....
We get to the corner, look around and lo and behold: the creepy guy is allowing Karen to go in front of her. What a surprise. And she happily accepted the gesture as well.
But something was not right there.
Fast toward to a few weeks later, approx. 2 months or so, and I'm reading a local newspaper when I suddenly spot an article in the regional section which warns about "PIN fraud", explaining that people need to be careful when using ATM's because scammers were known to try and look over peoples shoulders in order to discover any PIN codes.
And what do you know... it featured a photo of the same lady who had been berating my gf. Apparently she had also fell victim to these scammers and the article described how she had no idea how any of that could have happened, it was a complete surprise to her.
Yah, sure... if only someone could have warned her about all that. Oh wait, we did and yet she wanted none of it.
Maybe next time hear people out before you start berating them?
Don't get me wrong: I don't like it that she got scammed out of her money. But considering the way she behaved, unwilling to listen to any reason.... I can't say that I'm all that surprised either.
submitted by ShelLuser42 to EntitledPeople [link] [comments]
This happened a few years ago in the Netherlands...
At the time of writing my gf was coming over and we felt like having a few drinks in a local cafe that evening. The peculiar thing about our favorite cafe though was that they didn't provide any electronic payment options: it was all cash, and cash only. However, as luck would have it there was an ATM very close to the main bus stop which was also close to a local supermarket.
So after my gf's bus arrived I told her I'd grab some cash from our shared bankaccount in order to pay for our drinks that evening. So far, so good. When we got to the ATM there was an abandoned cart in front of it which looked kinda odd to us, also considering that the pavement had bit of a slope.
Anyway, my gf figured she'd return the cart while I got the cash.
Things went pretty normal until I suddenly feel my gf push into me, when I look up she's looking backwards: "Excuse YOU", she sneers: "unlike you I actually know this guy and I'm allowed to stand this close to him.". She also pats my shoulder and tells me that "she got this".
So I focus on completing my transaction. I had a good hunch what might be going on there, but I also wasn't worried too much because I always keep my hand covered with my wallet or my papers whenever I start typing.
The guy behind me makes a bit of a lame excuse about trying to figure out if this was the "right" ATM (which is pretty BS because it doesn't matter from what bank they are) when all of a sudden some lady walks up to us while screaming: "I saw all that, why did you try to cut the line?!!".
My gf tells her that she's not cutting the line, that I'm her boyfriend and she's merely trying to get "Mr. Snoop" over there off my back. The woman doesn't want to listen and once again tells my gf that she'd better scram because trying to cut in line is SO darn rude.
At this time I had put the money in my wallet, grabbed the receipt and after I turn around I tell the lady that my gf wasn't cutting in line and that we'll be leaving now, to which my gf adds that she might want to watch her back if she's going to use the ATM. "There's a line which people should wait behind, and it's there for a reason you know", my gf says to her but the woman doesn't want to hear any of it.
She scoffs, makes a snide comment about a-hole line cutters and how "people like her" (my gf) always try to blame others, crap which we didn't respond to. No use wasting time over that nonsense.
While we're walking to the end of the street my gf wonders what the heck that was all about after which I shrug. Karens be Karens I guess....
We get to the corner, look around and lo and behold: the creepy guy is allowing Karen to go in front of her. What a surprise. And she happily accepted the gesture as well.
But something was not right there.
Fast toward to a few weeks later, approx. 2 months or so, and I'm reading a local newspaper when I suddenly spot an article in the regional section which warns about "PIN fraud", explaining that people need to be careful when using ATM's because scammers were known to try and look over peoples shoulders in order to discover any PIN codes.
And what do you know... it featured a photo of the same lady who had been berating my gf. Apparently she had also fell victim to these scammers and the article described how she had no idea how any of that could have happened, it was a complete surprise to her.
Yah, sure... if only someone could have warned her about all that. Oh wait, we did and yet she wanted none of it.
Maybe next time hear people out before you start berating them?
Don't get me wrong: I don't like it that she got scammed out of her money. But considering the way she behaved, unwilling to listen to any reason.... I can't say that I'm all that surprised either.
2024.05.17 21:35 TheFartingBike Mom's spiritual friend had the most insane take on fertility and having children
I was honestly dumbfounded when listening to him talk. This man works in a laboratory, so obviously he has a scientific background, yet somehow he believes this and I just needed to rant because holy shit.
So my mom is a pretty spiritual person, which is a whole another can of worms, and this dude sometimes comes around so they can do regression and energy healing and I don't know what else. For context, we live in central Europe.
I already hold resentment for spirituality because of my mom, but this dude is on another level. I didn't hear their entire conversation as I just joined them for a cigarette, when he began his monologue.
He believes women's infertility stems from them not having enough love in their lives. He said the reason women in the middle east have so many children, in comparison to us, is because they have so much more love in their lives than we do. He also said that he knows a woman who had either IVF or AI, and she was complaining how her child wasn't sleeping and was being difficult. His reasoning? It's obviously because the mother didn't have enough love in her life, and because she got pregnant artificially, it means she wasn't able to pass enough love down to her child for them to behave "normally".
I repeat, this dude works in a medical field. His rant went on for a while, it was batshit insane.
He also interrupted me in the middle of writing this post when my mom went to the toilet, wanting to talk to me about spirituality. I was polite and nice, but told him point blank that I don't believe in it and have no interest in discussing, but the man just wouldn't drop it and kept spewing on and on. I was less nice then, told him to stop talking to me about it because he wasn't gonna change my mind. He was all "oh no no, I don't wanna do that," while obviously doing that. He started fucking infantilizing me, saying he also thought it was bullshit when he was younger, that I would understand when I'm older, that when someone began talking about this when he was my age he would think they needed a shrink. I just said uh yes I do think that while deadpanning at him. Like mate, I'm 25. I'm not a child.
I looked to my mom while he was still talking, she asked me what I was looking at her for. I told her to make him stop since he obviously wasn't listening to me, and that she should be talking to him. Yeah, I was rude, but so was he since I asked him to stop several times and he didn't.
And then he began telling me stories about how he started believing in all this (fortune tellers did it lmao) while I just stared at him with the most bored expression, before they finally, finally fucked off to her room to do their energy therapies.
What the fuck.
submitted by TheFartingBike to TrueOffMyChest [link] [comments]
So my mom is a pretty spiritual person, which is a whole another can of worms, and this dude sometimes comes around so they can do regression and energy healing and I don't know what else. For context, we live in central Europe.
I already hold resentment for spirituality because of my mom, but this dude is on another level. I didn't hear their entire conversation as I just joined them for a cigarette, when he began his monologue.
He believes women's infertility stems from them not having enough love in their lives. He said the reason women in the middle east have so many children, in comparison to us, is because they have so much more love in their lives than we do. He also said that he knows a woman who had either IVF or AI, and she was complaining how her child wasn't sleeping and was being difficult. His reasoning? It's obviously because the mother didn't have enough love in her life, and because she got pregnant artificially, it means she wasn't able to pass enough love down to her child for them to behave "normally".
I repeat, this dude works in a medical field. His rant went on for a while, it was batshit insane.
He also interrupted me in the middle of writing this post when my mom went to the toilet, wanting to talk to me about spirituality. I was polite and nice, but told him point blank that I don't believe in it and have no interest in discussing, but the man just wouldn't drop it and kept spewing on and on. I was less nice then, told him to stop talking to me about it because he wasn't gonna change my mind. He was all "oh no no, I don't wanna do that," while obviously doing that. He started fucking infantilizing me, saying he also thought it was bullshit when he was younger, that I would understand when I'm older, that when someone began talking about this when he was my age he would think they needed a shrink. I just said uh yes I do think that while deadpanning at him. Like mate, I'm 25. I'm not a child.
I looked to my mom while he was still talking, she asked me what I was looking at her for. I told her to make him stop since he obviously wasn't listening to me, and that she should be talking to him. Yeah, I was rude, but so was he since I asked him to stop several times and he didn't.
And then he began telling me stories about how he started believing in all this (fortune tellers did it lmao) while I just stared at him with the most bored expression, before they finally, finally fucked off to her room to do their energy therapies.
What the fuck.
2024.05.17 21:23 RyanMorholt The Dentist of Filly Fallout Fan Fiction - A Short Story
The Dentist of Filly
The sounds of a drill stopped.
“You know what,” the man in the filthy overcoat said, “I think this is the wrong tool for the job” The man spun around on his wheeled-stool and scooted closer to his workstation.
Despite being labelled as a dentist’s office, this room bore closer resemblance to a mechanic’s workshop. The concrete floor had patches of oil stains and several globs of dried blood and phlegm. In the middle of the room, a set of reclaimed car seats acted as dentist chairs. The walls, welded together from chain link fencing and iron sheets, alongside other bits of salvage, blocked the sunlight from spilling into the room. Instead, most of the room’s illumination came from a glass skylight and the electrical fairy-lights that clung to the rafters. Those electrical cables descended into a set of extension cables, which ran carelessly along the sides of the room and into the hidden room at the far end. At least, only a few traces of blood leaked across the floor from the other room.
“What do you think?” The dentist lifted up a large pair of blacksmith tongs. The long metal rods had been forged from cast iron over two centuries ago. He hoisted them into the air and clammed excitedly.
The patient, a man wearing a black Brotherhood of Steel uniform, whimpered at the size of the instrument. “Do we have to?”
“Just open your mouth and close your eyes.”
The patient did as he was told, but not fast enough. The dentist grabbed the man’s chin and yanked it down in a sudden movement. He maneuvered his large instrument with a surprising amount of grace. It took hold of a molar.
The patient convulsed in the operating chair, pivoting his head back and forth. He pressed his head into the car seat headrest. The patient felt his tooth resisting the vicious tugs of the dentist’s tool.
“Ah! A good set of teeth. I’ll pay premium. One. Two.”
Before the dentist said ‘three’, he seized hard upon the tooth and hauled it out whole and entire.
“Wowie! What a beauty!” He admired the tooth within the claws of the blacksmith’s tongs. The sunbeam that cut through the room from the skylight embraced the molar. The dentist did not take his eyes away from his reward.
“Premium!” the dentist said, laughing to himself. He spun in his wheeled-stool and scooted toward the chest of drawers against another wall. He picked up a piece of dirty cloth and wiped the tooth carefully. Then, he unlocked a heavy metal box that sat upon the top of the chest of drawers. He delicately opened it and placed the molar upon a tiny padded pillow. Furtively, he looked back at his patient, before closing and locking the box again.
The dentist rifled through one of the drawers and pulled out a leather bag of caps. He knocked out a handful and began to count them out loud. He had to stop after counting to six, seemingly forgetting what came next, and needed to restart his count.
“Here you are, sir!” The dentist let a dozen caps fall into the man’s hands.
“T-ank you,” the man said, rising from the chair. He held his hand against the left side of his face as the swelling had already begun. This patient, eager to be on his way, shifted through the main doorway, allowing someone else to enter the room.
The dentist, having already wheeled away on his stool to a cabinet at the other side of the room, did not detect the woman who had entered the room. He tinkered through several sets of dentures. They were cobbled together from the teeth of beast and human alike. He opened a pair of them, which hid a little mechanical gem. Then, he felt a chill shiver through his spine. He twisted in place, looking at the figure standing behind him.
He leapt to his feet, then fell back to his stool.
“Doctor Celsus, I presume.” The woman tapped her feet impatiently. Her boots, sabatons made from heavy metal, clinked against the concrete floor. Her entire body had been encased with crude plates of study metal. A laser pistol hung limply at her side.
“He is I, but, please, please, call me Kelvin.” The dentist smiled wide. His teeth had succumbed to rot a long time ago.
“I have a few questions,” the woman said. She had positioned herself in the room as though she owned it. After she spoke, she moved and casually perused his workstation. She spent more time examining the trinkets atop the chest of drawers. She touched the locked metal box, causing the dentist to flinch. The woman looked at him and raised an eyebrow. She continued her perusal, stopping at the cabinet with dentures in it. The mouthless teeth mocked her with their disembodied smiles.
“Questions? Well, I am your humble servant.”
The dentist kept his eyes on her, swiveling his stool as she walked through his workshop. His heart began to beat faster. He became fearful that this woman sought to steal his best teeth. He would rather die than give away his collection. Only yesterday, he had formed together a beautiful pair of dentures from a blended set of teeth from horse and dog.
“Did you purchase an Optical Enhancer?” the woman turned her attention to the man in the dirty overcoat. “Two weeks ago?” From her perspective, he was another charlatan plying an unregulated trade.
The dentist squirmed. His eyes quickly flashed to the hidden room at the opposite end of his workshop. His mind began to race with options: would he lie? tell the truth? dodge the question?
“If you must know, I purchased it fairly. It’s not yours, I presume.” The dentist examined the woman’s face. While she had been covered with a variety of facial scars, both large and small, she still had both of her eyes in place. No signs of optical surgery seemed evident.
“If you’d like to install it,” the dentist said hesitantly, “I’d be happy to. Anything with eyes, ears, mouth, and nose are my speciality. Nose too big? I’ll shape it down to size!”
The woman exhaled through her bulbous nose. Scar tissue had caused it to grow and change shape since her last mission. It had been a vain concern of hers, but she would not trust a common wasteland doctor to perform the surgery.
“Doctor Celsus…” “Kelvin.” “Kelvin.” She took a heavy step toward him. For the first time, he realized that she had not been totally armoured, but, rather, she had been mostly rebuilt, reconstructed, with electronic prosthetics. In fact, her right arm, up to her shoulder, had been completely fabricated from salvaged technology. “I am in no mood to play games. Give me a name and date for the person who sold you the optical implant.” She moved closer, the janky movements of her prosthetic legs now evident to the doctor. They had been fabricated from a combination of mechanical parts and installed mid-thigh.
“Oh, my memory is not quite what it used to be. Two weeks, you said?”
Before the dentist could finish his delaying tactics, the woman shot her arm toward him. Her metallic fingers gripped his neck and squeezed his windpipe. Ever so slowly, he rose from the ground, his toes keeping contact with the ground.
“Kelvin,” she said with a calculated coldness, “I am in no mood for games.”
The dentist choked for air. He indicated he could not breath.
“D-down, down,” he sputtered with gasps.
The woman loosened her grip. Kelvin fell back to his stool and clutched his neck. He sucked in air as fast as he could. The woman rolled her shoulders and readied herself for another exertion of force. In self-defence, the doctor raised his palms into the air.
“I’ll speak! I’ll speak!”
The doctor coughed up phlegm. It splattered upon the dirty floor of his operating room. He smudged it away with the bottom of his shoe. Taking a small breath, he staggered to his feet, using the cabinet as support. “A man, a man. He came last week. He wanted to sell me the piece. Good price: 2,000 caps. I could do the surgery for double the price. I bought it. I didn’t think twice. I didn’t catch his name.” At the end of the last sentence, the woman lunged forward, but the dentist cowered.
“Please!” he muttered with a whimper. “It’s all I know!”
The woman unholstered a laser pistol from her right mechanical thigh. She pressed the sidearm into the dentist’s temple.
“Is that all?” she said coldly.
“Yes, yes. I mean, he said that he would be heading to Moldaver with some information.”
The woman pressed her laser pistol harder against his head.
“That’s all I know!” he sputtered. Tears began to stream from his eyes. “I don’t know what he wanted with Moldaver. I swear!”
“Give me the eye.”
“What!?”
“You heard me,” the woman took a step backward, but kept the laser pistol pointed.
Slowly, the man moved to his cabinet and pulled out a set of dentures. He clacked their jaws open and pulled out the electronic eye from its hiding spot.
The mechanical woman snatched it from his hand. She holstered her pistol.
“A-and the payment?” the dentist said with a shaky voice.
The woman laughed as she turned toward the exit. Her hand touched the sides of the doorframe. For a brief moment, she considered liquidizing the dentist. She wanted to leave no loose ends. Her eyes, ignited by a piercing vengeance, beheld the doctor. She took pity on this whimpering excuse for a man. She left before she could change her mind.
submitted by RyanMorholt to RyanMorholt [link] [comments]
The sounds of a drill stopped.
“You know what,” the man in the filthy overcoat said, “I think this is the wrong tool for the job” The man spun around on his wheeled-stool and scooted closer to his workstation.
Despite being labelled as a dentist’s office, this room bore closer resemblance to a mechanic’s workshop. The concrete floor had patches of oil stains and several globs of dried blood and phlegm. In the middle of the room, a set of reclaimed car seats acted as dentist chairs. The walls, welded together from chain link fencing and iron sheets, alongside other bits of salvage, blocked the sunlight from spilling into the room. Instead, most of the room’s illumination came from a glass skylight and the electrical fairy-lights that clung to the rafters. Those electrical cables descended into a set of extension cables, which ran carelessly along the sides of the room and into the hidden room at the far end. At least, only a few traces of blood leaked across the floor from the other room.
“What do you think?” The dentist lifted up a large pair of blacksmith tongs. The long metal rods had been forged from cast iron over two centuries ago. He hoisted them into the air and clammed excitedly.
The patient, a man wearing a black Brotherhood of Steel uniform, whimpered at the size of the instrument. “Do we have to?”
“Just open your mouth and close your eyes.”
The patient did as he was told, but not fast enough. The dentist grabbed the man’s chin and yanked it down in a sudden movement. He maneuvered his large instrument with a surprising amount of grace. It took hold of a molar.
The patient convulsed in the operating chair, pivoting his head back and forth. He pressed his head into the car seat headrest. The patient felt his tooth resisting the vicious tugs of the dentist’s tool.
“Ah! A good set of teeth. I’ll pay premium. One. Two.”
Before the dentist said ‘three’, he seized hard upon the tooth and hauled it out whole and entire.
“Wowie! What a beauty!” He admired the tooth within the claws of the blacksmith’s tongs. The sunbeam that cut through the room from the skylight embraced the molar. The dentist did not take his eyes away from his reward.
“Premium!” the dentist said, laughing to himself. He spun in his wheeled-stool and scooted toward the chest of drawers against another wall. He picked up a piece of dirty cloth and wiped the tooth carefully. Then, he unlocked a heavy metal box that sat upon the top of the chest of drawers. He delicately opened it and placed the molar upon a tiny padded pillow. Furtively, he looked back at his patient, before closing and locking the box again.
The dentist rifled through one of the drawers and pulled out a leather bag of caps. He knocked out a handful and began to count them out loud. He had to stop after counting to six, seemingly forgetting what came next, and needed to restart his count.
“Here you are, sir!” The dentist let a dozen caps fall into the man’s hands.
“T-ank you,” the man said, rising from the chair. He held his hand against the left side of his face as the swelling had already begun. This patient, eager to be on his way, shifted through the main doorway, allowing someone else to enter the room.
The dentist, having already wheeled away on his stool to a cabinet at the other side of the room, did not detect the woman who had entered the room. He tinkered through several sets of dentures. They were cobbled together from the teeth of beast and human alike. He opened a pair of them, which hid a little mechanical gem. Then, he felt a chill shiver through his spine. He twisted in place, looking at the figure standing behind him.
He leapt to his feet, then fell back to his stool.
“Doctor Celsus, I presume.” The woman tapped her feet impatiently. Her boots, sabatons made from heavy metal, clinked against the concrete floor. Her entire body had been encased with crude plates of study metal. A laser pistol hung limply at her side.
“He is I, but, please, please, call me Kelvin.” The dentist smiled wide. His teeth had succumbed to rot a long time ago.
“I have a few questions,” the woman said. She had positioned herself in the room as though she owned it. After she spoke, she moved and casually perused his workstation. She spent more time examining the trinkets atop the chest of drawers. She touched the locked metal box, causing the dentist to flinch. The woman looked at him and raised an eyebrow. She continued her perusal, stopping at the cabinet with dentures in it. The mouthless teeth mocked her with their disembodied smiles.
“Questions? Well, I am your humble servant.”
The dentist kept his eyes on her, swiveling his stool as she walked through his workshop. His heart began to beat faster. He became fearful that this woman sought to steal his best teeth. He would rather die than give away his collection. Only yesterday, he had formed together a beautiful pair of dentures from a blended set of teeth from horse and dog.
“Did you purchase an Optical Enhancer?” the woman turned her attention to the man in the dirty overcoat. “Two weeks ago?” From her perspective, he was another charlatan plying an unregulated trade.
The dentist squirmed. His eyes quickly flashed to the hidden room at the opposite end of his workshop. His mind began to race with options: would he lie? tell the truth? dodge the question?
“If you must know, I purchased it fairly. It’s not yours, I presume.” The dentist examined the woman’s face. While she had been covered with a variety of facial scars, both large and small, she still had both of her eyes in place. No signs of optical surgery seemed evident.
“If you’d like to install it,” the dentist said hesitantly, “I’d be happy to. Anything with eyes, ears, mouth, and nose are my speciality. Nose too big? I’ll shape it down to size!”
The woman exhaled through her bulbous nose. Scar tissue had caused it to grow and change shape since her last mission. It had been a vain concern of hers, but she would not trust a common wasteland doctor to perform the surgery.
“Doctor Celsus…” “Kelvin.” “Kelvin.” She took a heavy step toward him. For the first time, he realized that she had not been totally armoured, but, rather, she had been mostly rebuilt, reconstructed, with electronic prosthetics. In fact, her right arm, up to her shoulder, had been completely fabricated from salvaged technology. “I am in no mood to play games. Give me a name and date for the person who sold you the optical implant.” She moved closer, the janky movements of her prosthetic legs now evident to the doctor. They had been fabricated from a combination of mechanical parts and installed mid-thigh.
“Oh, my memory is not quite what it used to be. Two weeks, you said?”
Before the dentist could finish his delaying tactics, the woman shot her arm toward him. Her metallic fingers gripped his neck and squeezed his windpipe. Ever so slowly, he rose from the ground, his toes keeping contact with the ground.
“Kelvin,” she said with a calculated coldness, “I am in no mood for games.”
The dentist choked for air. He indicated he could not breath.
“D-down, down,” he sputtered with gasps.
The woman loosened her grip. Kelvin fell back to his stool and clutched his neck. He sucked in air as fast as he could. The woman rolled her shoulders and readied herself for another exertion of force. In self-defence, the doctor raised his palms into the air.
“I’ll speak! I’ll speak!”
The doctor coughed up phlegm. It splattered upon the dirty floor of his operating room. He smudged it away with the bottom of his shoe. Taking a small breath, he staggered to his feet, using the cabinet as support. “A man, a man. He came last week. He wanted to sell me the piece. Good price: 2,000 caps. I could do the surgery for double the price. I bought it. I didn’t think twice. I didn’t catch his name.” At the end of the last sentence, the woman lunged forward, but the dentist cowered.
“Please!” he muttered with a whimper. “It’s all I know!”
The woman unholstered a laser pistol from her right mechanical thigh. She pressed the sidearm into the dentist’s temple.
“Is that all?” she said coldly.
“Yes, yes. I mean, he said that he would be heading to Moldaver with some information.”
The woman pressed her laser pistol harder against his head.
“That’s all I know!” he sputtered. Tears began to stream from his eyes. “I don’t know what he wanted with Moldaver. I swear!”
“Give me the eye.”
“What!?”
“You heard me,” the woman took a step backward, but kept the laser pistol pointed.
Slowly, the man moved to his cabinet and pulled out a set of dentures. He clacked their jaws open and pulled out the electronic eye from its hiding spot.
The mechanical woman snatched it from his hand. She holstered her pistol.
“A-and the payment?” the dentist said with a shaky voice.
The woman laughed as she turned toward the exit. Her hand touched the sides of the doorframe. For a brief moment, she considered liquidizing the dentist. She wanted to leave no loose ends. Her eyes, ignited by a piercing vengeance, beheld the doctor. She took pity on this whimpering excuse for a man. She left before she could change her mind.
2024.05.17 21:22 RyanMorholt The Dentist of Filly Fallout Fan Fiction - A Short Story
The Dentist of Filly
The sounds of a drill stopped.
“You know what,” the man in the filthy overcoat said, “I think this is the wrong tool for the job” The man spun around on his wheeled-stool and scooted closer to his workstation.
Despite being labelled as a dentist’s office, this room bore closer resemblance to a mechanic’s workshop. The concrete floor had patches of oil stains and several globs of dried blood and phlegm. In the middle of the room, a set of reclaimed car seats acted as dentist chairs. The walls, welded together from chain link fencing and iron sheets, alongside other bits of salvage, blocked the sunlight from spilling into the room. Instead, most of the room’s illumination came from a glass skylight and the electrical fairy-lights that clung to the rafters. Those electrical cables descended into a set of extension cables, which ran carelessly along the sides of the room and into the hidden room at the far end. At least, only a few traces of blood leaked across the floor from the other room.
“What do you think?” The dentist lifted up a large pair of blacksmith tongs. The long metal rods had been forged from cast iron over two centuries ago. He hoisted them into the air and clammed excitedly.
The patient, a man wearing a black Brotherhood of Steel uniform, whimpered at the size of the instrument. “Do we have to?”
“Just open your mouth and close your eyes.”
The patient did as he was told, but not fast enough. The dentist grabbed the man’s chin and yanked it down in a sudden movement. He maneuvered his large instrument with a surprising amount of grace. It took hold of a molar.
The patient convulsed in the operating chair, pivoting his head back and forth. He pressed his head into the car seat headrest. The patient felt his tooth resisting the vicious tugs of the dentist’s tool.
“Ah! A good set of teeth. I’ll pay premium. One. Two.”
Before the dentist said ‘three’, he seized hard upon the tooth and hauled it out whole and entire.
“Wowie! What a beauty!” He admired the tooth within the claws of the blacksmith’s tongs. The sunbeam that cut through the room from the skylight embraced the molar. The dentist did not take his eyes away from his reward.
“Premium!” the dentist said, laughing to himself. He spun in his wheeled-stool and scooted toward the chest of drawers against another wall. He picked up a piece of dirty cloth and wiped the tooth carefully. Then, he unlocked a heavy metal box that sat upon the top of the chest of drawers. He delicately opened it and placed the molar upon a tiny padded pillow. Furtively, he looked back at his patient, before closing and locking the box again.
The dentist rifled through one of the drawers and pulled out a leather bag of caps. He knocked out a handful and began to count them out loud. He had to stop after counting to six, seemingly forgetting what came next, and needed to restart his count.
“Here you are, sir!” The dentist let a dozen caps fall into the man’s hands.
“T-ank you,” the man said, rising from the chair. He held his hand against the left side of his face as the swelling had already begun. This patient, eager to be on his way, shifted through the main doorway, allowing someone else to enter the room.
The dentist, having already wheeled away on his stool to a cabinet at the other side of the room, did not detect the woman who had entered the room. He tinkered through several sets of dentures. They were cobbled together from the teeth of beast and human alike. He opened a pair of them, which hid a little mechanical gem. Then, he felt a chill shiver through his spine. He twisted in place, looking at the figure standing behind him.
He leapt to his feet, then fell back to his stool.
“Doctor Celsus, I presume.” The woman tapped her feet impatiently. Her boots, sabatons made from heavy metal, clinked against the concrete floor. Her entire body had been encased with crude plates of study metal. A laser pistol hung limply at her side.
“He is I, but, please, please, call me Kelvin.” The dentist smiled wide. His teeth had succumbed to rot a long time ago.
“I have a few questions,” the woman said. She had positioned herself in the room as though she owned it. After she spoke, she moved and casually perused his workstation. She spent more time examining the trinkets atop the chest of drawers. She touched the locked metal box, causing the dentist to flinch. The woman looked at him and raised an eyebrow. She continued her perusal, stopping at the cabinet with dentures in it. The mouthless teeth mocked her with their disembodied smiles.
“Questions? Well, I am your humble servant.”
The dentist kept his eyes on her, swiveling his stool as she walked through his workshop. His heart began to beat faster. He became fearful that this woman sought to steal his best teeth. He would rather die than give away his collection. Only yesterday, he had formed together a beautiful pair of dentures from a blended set of teeth from horse and dog.
“Did you purchase an Optical Enhancer?” the woman turned her attention to the man in the dirty overcoat. “Two weeks ago?” From her perspective, he was another charlatan plying an unregulated trade.
The dentist squirmed. His eyes quickly flashed to the hidden room at the opposite end of his workshop. His mind began to race with options: would he lie? tell the truth? dodge the question?
“If you must know, I purchased it fairly. It’s not yours, I presume.” The dentist examined the woman’s face. While she had been covered with a variety of facial scars, both large and small, she still had both of her eyes in place. No signs of optical surgery seemed evident.
“If you’d like to install it,” the dentist said hesitantly, “I’d be happy to. Anything with eyes, ears, mouth, and nose are my speciality. Nose too big? I’ll shape it down to size!”
The woman exhaled through her bulbous nose. Scar tissue had caused it to grow and change shape since her last mission. It had been a vain concern of hers, but she would not trust a common wasteland doctor to perform the surgery.
“Doctor Celsus…” “Kelvin.” “Kelvin.” She took a heavy step toward him. For the first time, he realized that she had not been totally armoured, but, rather, she had been mostly rebuilt, reconstructed, with electronic prosthetics. In fact, her right arm, up to her shoulder, had been completely fabricated from salvaged technology. “I am in no mood to play games. Give me a name and date for the person who sold you the optical implant.” She moved closer, the janky movements of her prosthetic legs now evident to the doctor. They had been fabricated from a combination of mechanical parts and installed mid-thigh.
“Oh, my memory is not quite what it used to be. Two weeks, you said?”
Before the dentist could finish his delaying tactics, the woman shot her arm toward him. Her metallic fingers gripped his neck and squeezed his windpipe. Ever so slowly, he rose from the ground, his toes keeping contact with the ground.
“Kelvin,” she said with a calculated coldness, “I am in no mood for games.”
The dentist choked for air. He indicated he could not breath.
“D-down, down,” he sputtered with gasps.
The woman loosened her grip. Kelvin fell back to his stool and clutched his neck. He sucked in air as fast as he could. The woman rolled her shoulders and readied herself for another exertion of force. In self-defence, the doctor raised his palms into the air.
“I’ll speak! I’ll speak!”
The doctor coughed up phlegm. It splattered upon the dirty floor of his operating room. He smudged it away with the bottom of his shoe. Taking a small breath, he staggered to his feet, using the cabinet as support. “A man, a man. He came last week. He wanted to sell me the piece. Good price: 2,000 caps. I could do the surgery for double the price. I bought it. I didn’t think twice. I didn’t catch his name.” At the end of the last sentence, the woman lunged forward, but the dentist cowered.
“Please!” he muttered with a whimper. “It’s all I know!”
The woman unholstered a laser pistol from her right mechanical thigh. She pressed the sidearm into the dentist’s temple.
“Is that all?” she said coldly.
“Yes, yes. I mean, he said that he would be heading to Moldaver with some information.”
The woman pressed her laser pistol harder against his head.
“That’s all I know!” he sputtered. Tears began to stream from his eyes. “I don’t know what he wanted with Moldaver. I swear!”
“Give me the eye.”
“What!?”
“You heard me,” the woman took a step backward, but kept the laser pistol pointed.
Slowly, the man moved to his cabinet and pulled out a set of dentures. He clacked their jaws open and pulled out the electronic eye from its hiding spot.
The mechanical woman snatched it from his hand. She holstered her pistol.
“A-and the payment?” the dentist said with a shaky voice.
The woman laughed as she turned toward the exit. Her hand touched the sides of the doorframe. For a brief moment, she considered liquidizing the dentist. She wanted to leave no loose ends. Her eyes, ignited by a piercing vengeance, beheld the doctor. She took pity on this whimpering excuse for a man. She left before she could change her mind.
submitted by RyanMorholt to FalloutFanFiction [link] [comments]
The sounds of a drill stopped.
“You know what,” the man in the filthy overcoat said, “I think this is the wrong tool for the job” The man spun around on his wheeled-stool and scooted closer to his workstation.
Despite being labelled as a dentist’s office, this room bore closer resemblance to a mechanic’s workshop. The concrete floor had patches of oil stains and several globs of dried blood and phlegm. In the middle of the room, a set of reclaimed car seats acted as dentist chairs. The walls, welded together from chain link fencing and iron sheets, alongside other bits of salvage, blocked the sunlight from spilling into the room. Instead, most of the room’s illumination came from a glass skylight and the electrical fairy-lights that clung to the rafters. Those electrical cables descended into a set of extension cables, which ran carelessly along the sides of the room and into the hidden room at the far end. At least, only a few traces of blood leaked across the floor from the other room.
“What do you think?” The dentist lifted up a large pair of blacksmith tongs. The long metal rods had been forged from cast iron over two centuries ago. He hoisted them into the air and clammed excitedly.
The patient, a man wearing a black Brotherhood of Steel uniform, whimpered at the size of the instrument. “Do we have to?”
“Just open your mouth and close your eyes.”
The patient did as he was told, but not fast enough. The dentist grabbed the man’s chin and yanked it down in a sudden movement. He maneuvered his large instrument with a surprising amount of grace. It took hold of a molar.
The patient convulsed in the operating chair, pivoting his head back and forth. He pressed his head into the car seat headrest. The patient felt his tooth resisting the vicious tugs of the dentist’s tool.
“Ah! A good set of teeth. I’ll pay premium. One. Two.”
Before the dentist said ‘three’, he seized hard upon the tooth and hauled it out whole and entire.
“Wowie! What a beauty!” He admired the tooth within the claws of the blacksmith’s tongs. The sunbeam that cut through the room from the skylight embraced the molar. The dentist did not take his eyes away from his reward.
“Premium!” the dentist said, laughing to himself. He spun in his wheeled-stool and scooted toward the chest of drawers against another wall. He picked up a piece of dirty cloth and wiped the tooth carefully. Then, he unlocked a heavy metal box that sat upon the top of the chest of drawers. He delicately opened it and placed the molar upon a tiny padded pillow. Furtively, he looked back at his patient, before closing and locking the box again.
The dentist rifled through one of the drawers and pulled out a leather bag of caps. He knocked out a handful and began to count them out loud. He had to stop after counting to six, seemingly forgetting what came next, and needed to restart his count.
“Here you are, sir!” The dentist let a dozen caps fall into the man’s hands.
“T-ank you,” the man said, rising from the chair. He held his hand against the left side of his face as the swelling had already begun. This patient, eager to be on his way, shifted through the main doorway, allowing someone else to enter the room.
The dentist, having already wheeled away on his stool to a cabinet at the other side of the room, did not detect the woman who had entered the room. He tinkered through several sets of dentures. They were cobbled together from the teeth of beast and human alike. He opened a pair of them, which hid a little mechanical gem. Then, he felt a chill shiver through his spine. He twisted in place, looking at the figure standing behind him.
He leapt to his feet, then fell back to his stool.
“Doctor Celsus, I presume.” The woman tapped her feet impatiently. Her boots, sabatons made from heavy metal, clinked against the concrete floor. Her entire body had been encased with crude plates of study metal. A laser pistol hung limply at her side.
“He is I, but, please, please, call me Kelvin.” The dentist smiled wide. His teeth had succumbed to rot a long time ago.
“I have a few questions,” the woman said. She had positioned herself in the room as though she owned it. After she spoke, she moved and casually perused his workstation. She spent more time examining the trinkets atop the chest of drawers. She touched the locked metal box, causing the dentist to flinch. The woman looked at him and raised an eyebrow. She continued her perusal, stopping at the cabinet with dentures in it. The mouthless teeth mocked her with their disembodied smiles.
“Questions? Well, I am your humble servant.”
The dentist kept his eyes on her, swiveling his stool as she walked through his workshop. His heart began to beat faster. He became fearful that this woman sought to steal his best teeth. He would rather die than give away his collection. Only yesterday, he had formed together a beautiful pair of dentures from a blended set of teeth from horse and dog.
“Did you purchase an Optical Enhancer?” the woman turned her attention to the man in the dirty overcoat. “Two weeks ago?” From her perspective, he was another charlatan plying an unregulated trade.
The dentist squirmed. His eyes quickly flashed to the hidden room at the opposite end of his workshop. His mind began to race with options: would he lie? tell the truth? dodge the question?
“If you must know, I purchased it fairly. It’s not yours, I presume.” The dentist examined the woman’s face. While she had been covered with a variety of facial scars, both large and small, she still had both of her eyes in place. No signs of optical surgery seemed evident.
“If you’d like to install it,” the dentist said hesitantly, “I’d be happy to. Anything with eyes, ears, mouth, and nose are my speciality. Nose too big? I’ll shape it down to size!”
The woman exhaled through her bulbous nose. Scar tissue had caused it to grow and change shape since her last mission. It had been a vain concern of hers, but she would not trust a common wasteland doctor to perform the surgery.
“Doctor Celsus…” “Kelvin.” “Kelvin.” She took a heavy step toward him. For the first time, he realized that she had not been totally armoured, but, rather, she had been mostly rebuilt, reconstructed, with electronic prosthetics. In fact, her right arm, up to her shoulder, had been completely fabricated from salvaged technology. “I am in no mood to play games. Give me a name and date for the person who sold you the optical implant.” She moved closer, the janky movements of her prosthetic legs now evident to the doctor. They had been fabricated from a combination of mechanical parts and installed mid-thigh.
“Oh, my memory is not quite what it used to be. Two weeks, you said?”
Before the dentist could finish his delaying tactics, the woman shot her arm toward him. Her metallic fingers gripped his neck and squeezed his windpipe. Ever so slowly, he rose from the ground, his toes keeping contact with the ground.
“Kelvin,” she said with a calculated coldness, “I am in no mood for games.”
The dentist choked for air. He indicated he could not breath.
“D-down, down,” he sputtered with gasps.
The woman loosened her grip. Kelvin fell back to his stool and clutched his neck. He sucked in air as fast as he could. The woman rolled her shoulders and readied herself for another exertion of force. In self-defence, the doctor raised his palms into the air.
“I’ll speak! I’ll speak!”
The doctor coughed up phlegm. It splattered upon the dirty floor of his operating room. He smudged it away with the bottom of his shoe. Taking a small breath, he staggered to his feet, using the cabinet as support. “A man, a man. He came last week. He wanted to sell me the piece. Good price: 2,000 caps. I could do the surgery for double the price. I bought it. I didn’t think twice. I didn’t catch his name.” At the end of the last sentence, the woman lunged forward, but the dentist cowered.
“Please!” he muttered with a whimper. “It’s all I know!”
The woman unholstered a laser pistol from her right mechanical thigh. She pressed the sidearm into the dentist’s temple.
“Is that all?” she said coldly.
“Yes, yes. I mean, he said that he would be heading to Moldaver with some information.”
The woman pressed her laser pistol harder against his head.
“That’s all I know!” he sputtered. Tears began to stream from his eyes. “I don’t know what he wanted with Moldaver. I swear!”
“Give me the eye.”
“What!?”
“You heard me,” the woman took a step backward, but kept the laser pistol pointed.
Slowly, the man moved to his cabinet and pulled out a set of dentures. He clacked their jaws open and pulled out the electronic eye from its hiding spot.
The mechanical woman snatched it from his hand. She holstered her pistol.
“A-and the payment?” the dentist said with a shaky voice.
The woman laughed as she turned toward the exit. Her hand touched the sides of the doorframe. For a brief moment, she considered liquidizing the dentist. She wanted to leave no loose ends. Her eyes, ignited by a piercing vengeance, beheld the doctor. She took pity on this whimpering excuse for a man. She left before she could change her mind.
2024.05.17 20:20 wannabe_aesthetic To the guy i met in the interview....
On 15th May, I had my interview for one of the institutes in Faridabad, which included a group discussion and a personal interview. there was this guy in my group discussion team who stood out. He was impressive right from the start, shining in the room with his commanding presence. He led the group discussion, impressing well both interviewers as well as the candidates.
After the group discussion, we had to wait for our personal interviews. I didn’t really pay attention to him or interact with him as such. After what seemed like eternity i was finally called for personal interview and his was right after me. We were standing in the corridor, waiting, and we started conversing. The conversation was natural and easy, he was charming like really charming.
I was called in for my interview, after it ended, I wished him luck and was about to leave. Surprisingly, he asked me to wait for him for 10 minutes until his interview was over. And oh boy was it a good decision to wait.
We talked and flirted the entire way to metro. At one point, he asked the auto driver to stop so we could share a cigarette. We talked about random stuff shared some incident and like in general the tone was so playful and flirtation honestly just so so refreshing. We continued flirting and talking in the metro, and he didn't come off as a playboy; it felt genuine and like it didn't felt like as if he usually do this like randomly flirt with random girls....idk like it's usually easy to sense like with what intentions the guy is approaching me. Our conversation started with well....how one would chat up with one's peer candidate and gradually both of us built it up to all flirtatious vibes ig. The connection between us was intense and amazing, something I wasn’t expecting at all when I went for the interview.
Towards the end of our metro ride, he asked for my number. I was caught up in the moment and didn't give it to him, partly because we are so guarded nowadays due to the creeps out there. He didn’t give off creepy vibes at all, but still, I hesitated we didnt exchanged any contact info or as such and as my station came I smiled at him and got off the metro without catching a last glimpse.
It's been two days now, and I can't stop thinking about him. It feels almost impossible to bump into him again, but the experience was crazy and amazing. I’m not sure how to get him out of my mind, but ig i just wanted to share this incident. The worst part is i dont even know his name. I do regret not giving my contact info....i really wish i did. P.S- he suggested me to visit cafe triveni and I'll for sure
submitted by wannabe_aesthetic to delhi [link] [comments]
After the group discussion, we had to wait for our personal interviews. I didn’t really pay attention to him or interact with him as such. After what seemed like eternity i was finally called for personal interview and his was right after me. We were standing in the corridor, waiting, and we started conversing. The conversation was natural and easy, he was charming like really charming.
I was called in for my interview, after it ended, I wished him luck and was about to leave. Surprisingly, he asked me to wait for him for 10 minutes until his interview was over. And oh boy was it a good decision to wait.
We talked and flirted the entire way to metro. At one point, he asked the auto driver to stop so we could share a cigarette. We talked about random stuff shared some incident and like in general the tone was so playful and flirtation honestly just so so refreshing. We continued flirting and talking in the metro, and he didn't come off as a playboy; it felt genuine and like it didn't felt like as if he usually do this like randomly flirt with random girls....idk like it's usually easy to sense like with what intentions the guy is approaching me. Our conversation started with well....how one would chat up with one's peer candidate and gradually both of us built it up to all flirtatious vibes ig. The connection between us was intense and amazing, something I wasn’t expecting at all when I went for the interview.
Towards the end of our metro ride, he asked for my number. I was caught up in the moment and didn't give it to him, partly because we are so guarded nowadays due to the creeps out there. He didn’t give off creepy vibes at all, but still, I hesitated we didnt exchanged any contact info or as such and as my station came I smiled at him and got off the metro without catching a last glimpse.
It's been two days now, and I can't stop thinking about him. It feels almost impossible to bump into him again, but the experience was crazy and amazing. I’m not sure how to get him out of my mind, but ig i just wanted to share this incident. The worst part is i dont even know his name. I do regret not giving my contact info....i really wish i did. P.S- he suggested me to visit cafe triveni and I'll for sure
2024.05.17 20:11 senti_af Alcohol, Nicotine and Sex
[True Story]
Currently, I'm looking out of my window from the 35th floor. Damn, the view up here is quite nice. Before my eyes lie the city lights. What a peaceful night it is.
Earlier tonight, I attended a party. This was never my scene. This was never what I'm used to. After all, I spent all my 31 years being the good girl. Don't get me wrong. Of course, I have my bad side, but not this kind. I never party, I never drink, I don't know the taste of a cigarette. I only kiss the person I am in a relationship with.
But for the last three weeks, something snapped. At the party tonight, I had a lot of shots of tequila. More than I can count. My vision's all blurry. I can't understand half of what the person I was talking to was saying. I feel so light-headed. At one point, I remember kissing someone I just met. Even huffing and puffing the e-cig from her hand. And when I can't take it anymore, I decided to book a grab and just go home.
Getting off the car, I passed by 7-11. A thought came to my mind, and I found myself at the counter buying an e-cig for myself. I went up to my place and huffed and puffed it all alone. Suddenly, my phone vibrated. It was a text message from someone I met a week ago from work.
We spent a passionate weekend last week. Though we never really dated and have no plans of doing so. She asked me if she can come over again tomorrow for another hot sesh. I told her sure. And that I can't wait to taste her again. Now, my body's craving sex; I could just do any girl.
I'm staring out of my window, writing this. I don't know what to think. I don't know what to feel. I feel like these past few weeks, I've been living in a dream of someone else. Someone I can no longer recognize. I wanted to stop her from doing what she's doing with her life. Because I know that everything she does right now will bear a consequence and that this is not her! This is never her. Or is it?
I don't know. I can't think straight.
And oh, have I mentioned that I got my heart broken three weeks ago?
submitted by senti_af to PHLesbians [link] [comments]
Currently, I'm looking out of my window from the 35th floor. Damn, the view up here is quite nice. Before my eyes lie the city lights. What a peaceful night it is.
Earlier tonight, I attended a party. This was never my scene. This was never what I'm used to. After all, I spent all my 31 years being the good girl. Don't get me wrong. Of course, I have my bad side, but not this kind. I never party, I never drink, I don't know the taste of a cigarette. I only kiss the person I am in a relationship with.
But for the last three weeks, something snapped. At the party tonight, I had a lot of shots of tequila. More than I can count. My vision's all blurry. I can't understand half of what the person I was talking to was saying. I feel so light-headed. At one point, I remember kissing someone I just met. Even huffing and puffing the e-cig from her hand. And when I can't take it anymore, I decided to book a grab and just go home.
Getting off the car, I passed by 7-11. A thought came to my mind, and I found myself at the counter buying an e-cig for myself. I went up to my place and huffed and puffed it all alone. Suddenly, my phone vibrated. It was a text message from someone I met a week ago from work.
We spent a passionate weekend last week. Though we never really dated and have no plans of doing so. She asked me if she can come over again tomorrow for another hot sesh. I told her sure. And that I can't wait to taste her again. Now, my body's craving sex; I could just do any girl.
I'm staring out of my window, writing this. I don't know what to think. I don't know what to feel. I feel like these past few weeks, I've been living in a dream of someone else. Someone I can no longer recognize. I wanted to stop her from doing what she's doing with her life. Because I know that everything she does right now will bear a consequence and that this is not her! This is never her. Or is it?
I don't know. I can't think straight.
And oh, have I mentioned that I got my heart broken three weeks ago?
2024.05.17 13:33 Angel466 [Bob the hobo] A Celestial Wars Spin-Off Part 1013
PART ONE THOUSAND AND THIRTEEN
[Previous Chapter] [The Beginning] [Patreon+2]
Sunday
Lucas tapped the flat of his finger twice on the partially open door, more to let Boyd know he was coming than actually requesting permission to enter. He pushed it open and strode through as the somewhat welcoming grunt came from within.
“Hey, sexy,” he said, crossing the two rooms to zoom in on Boyd sitting at his bench. On the spinner before Boyd was a larger figure than he had ever done before: an eighteen-inch figure of a woman with an hourglass figure wearing a form-fitting formal gown that flowed to the floor, swaying as if she’d just stepped to her right. Her hands were curled as if she were holding something or someone, but that part was missing.
“Ooooh,” Lucas said, resting his head on Boyd’s shoulder to examine the piece closer. “She’s pretty.”
“She’s also the viscount’s granddaughter, who I think is married to a prince somewhere in Eastern Europe. I’d have to pull out her details again, but she’s already got two kids, and she still looks this good.”
“She doesn’t look old enough to have two kids.”
“That’s what happens when you marry when you’re still a teenager.”
“Please tell me it wasn’t an arranged marriage.”
Boyd did a slow pan to level an annoyed look at him.
“What? They used to.”
“Slavery was a thing in America back in the day, too.”
Lucas made a deflating raspberry. “If you want to get technical,” he grumbled.
Boyd twisted his seat to face him, loosely curling his arms around Lucas’ waist. “Where are you off to, Mister Soon-To-Be-Masters?”
Oh-ho. Someone’s feeling playful. “I thought you were going to become a Dobson,” Lucas countered, leaning in to give him a quick morning kiss.
“Yeah, but then I was reminded I do have family that I care about.”
“None of which are Masters. Your mom and Aunt Judy are sisters who changed their names when they married. If you were going to take any of their names, we’d both be changing to Davenport.”
Boyd looked down at where their abdomens rested against each other.
“Hey,” Lucas said, sliding his hand under Boyd’s chin and lifting it so he could see those beautiful baby blues focusing on him. “What’s going on, love?”
Boyd opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He tried twice more. “Ten years,” he finally croaked. “They took me in and gave me a home within the family for nearly two years, and I repaid them by cutting them out of my life the second I could. Who does that to their own?”
“Somebody with a lot of fear,” Lucas answered honestly. "And that somebody isn’t you anymore. You’ve invited Emily to be our accountant, and personally, I hope you know what you’re doing there…”
“Emily has always been good with money. The only time she’s ever been off is when she borrows money from you, and you go to get it back. By the time she’s finished explaining all the financial movement around the transaction, you end up owing her twice as much, and she’s really convincing. Computerised flow charts and everything.”
Lucas hoped he was exaggerating. If Emily had been that quick and deceptive to separate Boyd from his money when she was a teenager, she might have been even more cunning now. Lucas would remain attentive until she proved herself because the love of his life had earned this break. “Okay,” was all he said since he didn’t want to argue.
Boyd nipped the tip of his nose. “Don’t you ‘okay’ me in that tone of voice.”
Lucas pulled back and rubbed the back of his hand against his nose. It hadn’t hurt, but it was weird. No one had ever done that before. “I’m a cop, love. In my world, it’s guilty until proven innocent.”
“Getting back to my original question. Where are you going?”
“I’m going to go and get some supplies for Levi and Maddy. The dumbass has been worrying himself sick over where he can leave Maddy on short notice if he and Austin get called out to a fire together. They can’t waste up to an hour each way getting over to Queens and Brooklyn.”
“Tell him she can stay with us,” Boyd said without hesitation. I’ll be here all the time, and if I’m out and it’s an emergency dump-and-run, I can drop whatever I’m doing and call someone to teleport me back.”
Lucas leaned in and kissed him again. “And that’s just one of the many reasons I love you,” he said once they parted. “Charlie will be here too, which means Robbie won’t be far away either. Levi still wants to run it past Llyr since it’s his place, but so long as we keep her on our side and away from Miss W, it won’t be a problem.”
“You’ll need to remember to lock up your guns when she’s here.”
Lucas nodded thoughtfully in agreement without speaking. It would devastate everyone if Maddy somehow managed to get her hands on one of his work firearms and fire it. He’d need to get a thumbprint safe – something that he could get at very quickly in a crisis.
“How is she with beds?”
“What?”
“Don’t little kids have those hospital guardrail things, so they don’t roll out of bed and hurt themselves? I mean, your bed isn’t that far from the floor, but if you’re getting supplies, you might want to think about some of those things to keep her in.”
Lucas hadn’t thought about that. “Okay, then it’s going to be a bigger shopping trip than I thought, but that’s alright. Levi and Maddy are going to chill in the apartment until I get back.”
“Do you want me to check in on them?”
“Nah, it should be fine. Levi knows where Charlie’s office is, and if he’s going to annoy anyone while they’re at work, it should be our sister.” Lucas turned Boyd back to his carving and leaned his head on Boyd’s shoulder. “You keep outdoing yourself, you know that, right?”
“These tools are magic. I can’t do a thing wrong with them.” With a slight grimace, he added, “Hey, have you ever heard the story about the kid who gets the magic piano?”
Lucas squinted warily. “Am I going to like this story?”
“It’s a cautionary tale. This kid finds a magic piano, and all he has to do is work the pedals, and the piano plays itself. No one notices it’s not the kid, and the kid’s ego grows with each performance until he’s an international sensation. Then, he has a fight with the piano over who the star really is. The following night, the piano refuses to play, and the kid is booed off the stage. His family is left financially ruined.”
“I will beat you within an inch of your life if you equate that to you.”
Boyd looked at him. “How can I not? I mean, when I relax and just let the tools do what they’re made to do, the pieces come out flawlessly—every time. But the second I worry, minor defects creep in. Nothing I can’t counter and fix, but still…”
“If it concerns you that much, why not do a piece every now and then without the divine tools to prove to yourself that the skill is yours and the tools are just tools?”
Boyd looked over the divine toolset, then back up at the shelf where his older tools were. “That’s a good idea,” he admitted.
Lucas lightly kissed him on the lips and stepped out of his grasp. “I’ve been known to have them now and again. Oh, and don’t forget we’re going to Angus’ this afternoon. Just the six of us.”
Boyd raised his left hand in acknowledgment, but his focus was back on the carving even as his right hand picked up a scalpel of some kind and drove it across the carving’s middle. The blade was then smoothly passed to his left hand to make an incision from that side while his right reached for a new tool.
As he’d said, his motions were flawless, with chips and shavings flying at the speed of a professional wood chopper. Lucas could watch him work all day, but if he was going to make it to Angus’, he needed to leave now.
He let himself out and headed for the main front door to the level.
A little over an hour later, after grabbing several sets of clothes in his brother’s size, Lucas was standing in the middle of the children’s clothing section, blinking in confusion at all the options. He would go to touch one, then back away, unsure.
He must have looked pitiful because a staff member in her mid-thirties took pity on him and approached with a warm smile. “Can I help you?”
“Yeah, this is crazy,” he answered, gesturing to the millions of clothes options before them. “My brother asked me to look after my niece in an emergency, and I want her to have whatever she’ll need at my place in case he doesn’t have time to take her home.” He looked at all the clothes. “Whatever that entails.”
“That’s really sweet. Is your brother a doctor?”
“Fireman.”
The woman gave Lucas the once over. “I can see that.”
Lucas chuckled. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard before. Between him, Levi and Mav all sharing their dad’s muscle, they’d always caught people’s eye. “Anyway,” he said, wanting to move this along. “My niece is three going on four, and she’s about this high,” he said, showing her height as an inch or two under his hip.
“Does she have any favourite TV shows?”
“Spongebob,” Lucas said, incredibly grateful for his conversation with Levi over breakfast. He’d have never had that answer otherwise. “And if you’re not doing anything after we get her clothes sorted, my fiancé mentioned something about bed rails since she’ll be sleeping in my old queen-sized bed. This is an all-in shopping trip for her, and I have no idea what to get.”
“Do you have any toys for her? And no, I’m not pushing for a commission here. Little minds need to be kept stimulated, or little hands will end up in places they have no business being. If this is your first time looking after her, you’re going to want a few toys, books, and things to keep her busy.”
“My brother is already nagging me about buying her the basics. What would you recommend that won’t make it seem like I’m trying to buy her affection?”
“Are you okay with electronics, or are you trying to steer her away from that?”
“It doesn’t faze me. It’s more the cost. I don’t want to buy her what my brother hasn’t or can’t afford. I’ve been into too many households where kids have every version of PlayStation, Xbox and Nintendo and every known game that goes with them. Those kids appreciate nothing, and that’s not something I’m okay with.”
“You see a lot of people’s houses?”
“I was a beat cop for over eight years before my promotion.”
“A policeman and a fireman? I’m sure there's a joke involving a bar in there somewhere.”
“If there were, the third person would be an ice hockey player,” Lucas chuckled again, already liking this woman. As they wandered through the aisles, she added things to his cart. Clothes were first, but they quickly moved on to toys. A couple of generic soft toys. and the board game “Candyland”. Lucas grabbed ‘Hungry, Hungry Hippos’, as that was one he and his brothers had played when he’d been Maddy’s age. Then came two large boxes of Duplo.
Not once did it feel like the sales assistant was pushing an agenda. She even paused to consider the options as if she were buying them for her own kids. Lucas really appreciated that.
As they were walking the isles, Lucas came to a screeching halt and stared at a range of doctor, nurse and vet play sets. Two jumped out at him. One had a plastic pet carrier with a handful of bulky instruments, and the other came in a bright blue bag with red handles and a white pawprint on the side. It had a comprehensive range, including toy bandages, pill bottles, cream jars, syringes, a stethoscope and even a cone of shame. Both went into the cart after he checked to make sure the two soft animals would fit in the carrier.
Mason’ll have a field day showing her exactly how to simulate using all this stuff, he thought to himself with a grin.
“You’re really very thoughtful,” the woman said after he explained why they both had to be purchased.
Lucas specifically asked for books after that. Real books with paper pages. He was sure his mother (as a high school English teacher) would murder him in his sleep if he didn’t buy Maddy at least ten books ranging from ones she could memorise and pretend to read (which, in her grandmother’s eyes, taught her word structure and was the first step in learning to read), with ones he could read to her. And that, of course, required Spongebob bookends to hold them together.
“Your fiancé is a lucky woman if you’re willing to do all of this for your niece,” she said once the cart was full and they were heading back to the checkouts.
“Yes, he is,” Lucas agreed, deliberately sliding in Boyd’s gender without making a huge issue of it.
Her eyes widened in horror. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Wow, I really shouldn’t make that assumption anymore, and I apologise.”
Because this was New York. “Apology accepted,” Lucas said, waving it aside. Boyd might have been embarrassed, but thankfully, he wasn’t here. “Thanks again for all your help.”
* * *
((Author's extra-long note:
Heya guys! Just letting you know I need to take a week off. [It’s nothing to do with the community here, I promise! I love writing this, and I’ll be back as soon as I can.]
In fact it's … you know what? Stuff it. You guys might as well know. Remember how I mentioned earlier this year we were fighting for more care for my special needs daughter?
That’s the issue.
Our support coordinator has our written authority to act on our behalf. Yet we’ve been told in writing from the government department that if she doesn’t back off, the whole request, including thousands of dollars of specialists interviewing our daughter and reporting their findings, will be deleted, and our request, including all-new interviews and reports, will have to start all over again.
I’m almost at the point where I’m not sleeping, but our support coordinator has promised us to fight because, in her words, “This is getting ridiculous.”
I’ve been really struggling to write this week with everything going on in the background. I’ve finally admitted I need to pull back (just for one week—I mean it when I say how much I love this writing and the little community we’ve formed) to focus on sorting out the mess, so that my writing isn’t tarnished by the battlelines that are being drawn up in the background.
(I already scrapped a page and a half because my anger at things [I bounce between anger and depression] had people who were usually very chill (Robbie) acting in a very aggressive manner that simply wasn’t them. Because of this, I’ve already used up several of my backlog this week and I loathe to lose any more, given how hard they were to build up. (The thought of using them up without others to take their place was also adding to my stress.)
And I was told by my beta reader, ‘Given you’ve been doing this for over three years, and you’ve only had the occasional day off due to sickness, take the week and regroup, stronger than ever.
I agreed. This means my next post will be on Monday, the 27th, Australian Time.
I hope with all my heart that you’ll all still be with me when I return next week.
Karen. ))
((All comments welcome. Good or bad, I’d love to hear your thoughts 🥰🤗))
I made a family tree/diagram of the Mystallian family that can be found here
For more of my work, including WPs: Angel466 or an index of previous WPS here.
FULL INDEX OF BOB THE HOBO TO DATE CAN BE FOUND HERE!!
submitted by Angel466 to redditserials [link] [comments]
[Previous Chapter] [The Beginning] [Patreon+2]
Sunday
Lucas tapped the flat of his finger twice on the partially open door, more to let Boyd know he was coming than actually requesting permission to enter. He pushed it open and strode through as the somewhat welcoming grunt came from within.
“Hey, sexy,” he said, crossing the two rooms to zoom in on Boyd sitting at his bench. On the spinner before Boyd was a larger figure than he had ever done before: an eighteen-inch figure of a woman with an hourglass figure wearing a form-fitting formal gown that flowed to the floor, swaying as if she’d just stepped to her right. Her hands were curled as if she were holding something or someone, but that part was missing.
“Ooooh,” Lucas said, resting his head on Boyd’s shoulder to examine the piece closer. “She’s pretty.”
“She’s also the viscount’s granddaughter, who I think is married to a prince somewhere in Eastern Europe. I’d have to pull out her details again, but she’s already got two kids, and she still looks this good.”
“She doesn’t look old enough to have two kids.”
“That’s what happens when you marry when you’re still a teenager.”
“Please tell me it wasn’t an arranged marriage.”
Boyd did a slow pan to level an annoyed look at him.
“What? They used to.”
“Slavery was a thing in America back in the day, too.”
Lucas made a deflating raspberry. “If you want to get technical,” he grumbled.
Boyd twisted his seat to face him, loosely curling his arms around Lucas’ waist. “Where are you off to, Mister Soon-To-Be-Masters?”
Oh-ho. Someone’s feeling playful. “I thought you were going to become a Dobson,” Lucas countered, leaning in to give him a quick morning kiss.
“Yeah, but then I was reminded I do have family that I care about.”
“None of which are Masters. Your mom and Aunt Judy are sisters who changed their names when they married. If you were going to take any of their names, we’d both be changing to Davenport.”
Boyd looked down at where their abdomens rested against each other.
“Hey,” Lucas said, sliding his hand under Boyd’s chin and lifting it so he could see those beautiful baby blues focusing on him. “What’s going on, love?”
Boyd opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He tried twice more. “Ten years,” he finally croaked. “They took me in and gave me a home within the family for nearly two years, and I repaid them by cutting them out of my life the second I could. Who does that to their own?”
“Somebody with a lot of fear,” Lucas answered honestly. "And that somebody isn’t you anymore. You’ve invited Emily to be our accountant, and personally, I hope you know what you’re doing there…”
“Emily has always been good with money. The only time she’s ever been off is when she borrows money from you, and you go to get it back. By the time she’s finished explaining all the financial movement around the transaction, you end up owing her twice as much, and she’s really convincing. Computerised flow charts and everything.”
Lucas hoped he was exaggerating. If Emily had been that quick and deceptive to separate Boyd from his money when she was a teenager, she might have been even more cunning now. Lucas would remain attentive until she proved herself because the love of his life had earned this break. “Okay,” was all he said since he didn’t want to argue.
Boyd nipped the tip of his nose. “Don’t you ‘okay’ me in that tone of voice.”
Lucas pulled back and rubbed the back of his hand against his nose. It hadn’t hurt, but it was weird. No one had ever done that before. “I’m a cop, love. In my world, it’s guilty until proven innocent.”
“Getting back to my original question. Where are you going?”
“I’m going to go and get some supplies for Levi and Maddy. The dumbass has been worrying himself sick over where he can leave Maddy on short notice if he and Austin get called out to a fire together. They can’t waste up to an hour each way getting over to Queens and Brooklyn.”
“Tell him she can stay with us,” Boyd said without hesitation. I’ll be here all the time, and if I’m out and it’s an emergency dump-and-run, I can drop whatever I’m doing and call someone to teleport me back.”
Lucas leaned in and kissed him again. “And that’s just one of the many reasons I love you,” he said once they parted. “Charlie will be here too, which means Robbie won’t be far away either. Levi still wants to run it past Llyr since it’s his place, but so long as we keep her on our side and away from Miss W, it won’t be a problem.”
“You’ll need to remember to lock up your guns when she’s here.”
Lucas nodded thoughtfully in agreement without speaking. It would devastate everyone if Maddy somehow managed to get her hands on one of his work firearms and fire it. He’d need to get a thumbprint safe – something that he could get at very quickly in a crisis.
“How is she with beds?”
“What?”
“Don’t little kids have those hospital guardrail things, so they don’t roll out of bed and hurt themselves? I mean, your bed isn’t that far from the floor, but if you’re getting supplies, you might want to think about some of those things to keep her in.”
Lucas hadn’t thought about that. “Okay, then it’s going to be a bigger shopping trip than I thought, but that’s alright. Levi and Maddy are going to chill in the apartment until I get back.”
“Do you want me to check in on them?”
“Nah, it should be fine. Levi knows where Charlie’s office is, and if he’s going to annoy anyone while they’re at work, it should be our sister.” Lucas turned Boyd back to his carving and leaned his head on Boyd’s shoulder. “You keep outdoing yourself, you know that, right?”
“These tools are magic. I can’t do a thing wrong with them.” With a slight grimace, he added, “Hey, have you ever heard the story about the kid who gets the magic piano?”
Lucas squinted warily. “Am I going to like this story?”
“It’s a cautionary tale. This kid finds a magic piano, and all he has to do is work the pedals, and the piano plays itself. No one notices it’s not the kid, and the kid’s ego grows with each performance until he’s an international sensation. Then, he has a fight with the piano over who the star really is. The following night, the piano refuses to play, and the kid is booed off the stage. His family is left financially ruined.”
“I will beat you within an inch of your life if you equate that to you.”
Boyd looked at him. “How can I not? I mean, when I relax and just let the tools do what they’re made to do, the pieces come out flawlessly—every time. But the second I worry, minor defects creep in. Nothing I can’t counter and fix, but still…”
“If it concerns you that much, why not do a piece every now and then without the divine tools to prove to yourself that the skill is yours and the tools are just tools?”
Boyd looked over the divine toolset, then back up at the shelf where his older tools were. “That’s a good idea,” he admitted.
Lucas lightly kissed him on the lips and stepped out of his grasp. “I’ve been known to have them now and again. Oh, and don’t forget we’re going to Angus’ this afternoon. Just the six of us.”
Boyd raised his left hand in acknowledgment, but his focus was back on the carving even as his right hand picked up a scalpel of some kind and drove it across the carving’s middle. The blade was then smoothly passed to his left hand to make an incision from that side while his right reached for a new tool.
As he’d said, his motions were flawless, with chips and shavings flying at the speed of a professional wood chopper. Lucas could watch him work all day, but if he was going to make it to Angus’, he needed to leave now.
He let himself out and headed for the main front door to the level.
A little over an hour later, after grabbing several sets of clothes in his brother’s size, Lucas was standing in the middle of the children’s clothing section, blinking in confusion at all the options. He would go to touch one, then back away, unsure.
He must have looked pitiful because a staff member in her mid-thirties took pity on him and approached with a warm smile. “Can I help you?”
“Yeah, this is crazy,” he answered, gesturing to the millions of clothes options before them. “My brother asked me to look after my niece in an emergency, and I want her to have whatever she’ll need at my place in case he doesn’t have time to take her home.” He looked at all the clothes. “Whatever that entails.”
“That’s really sweet. Is your brother a doctor?”
“Fireman.”
The woman gave Lucas the once over. “I can see that.”
Lucas chuckled. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard before. Between him, Levi and Mav all sharing their dad’s muscle, they’d always caught people’s eye. “Anyway,” he said, wanting to move this along. “My niece is three going on four, and she’s about this high,” he said, showing her height as an inch or two under his hip.
“Does she have any favourite TV shows?”
“Spongebob,” Lucas said, incredibly grateful for his conversation with Levi over breakfast. He’d have never had that answer otherwise. “And if you’re not doing anything after we get her clothes sorted, my fiancé mentioned something about bed rails since she’ll be sleeping in my old queen-sized bed. This is an all-in shopping trip for her, and I have no idea what to get.”
“Do you have any toys for her? And no, I’m not pushing for a commission here. Little minds need to be kept stimulated, or little hands will end up in places they have no business being. If this is your first time looking after her, you’re going to want a few toys, books, and things to keep her busy.”
“My brother is already nagging me about buying her the basics. What would you recommend that won’t make it seem like I’m trying to buy her affection?”
“Are you okay with electronics, or are you trying to steer her away from that?”
“It doesn’t faze me. It’s more the cost. I don’t want to buy her what my brother hasn’t or can’t afford. I’ve been into too many households where kids have every version of PlayStation, Xbox and Nintendo and every known game that goes with them. Those kids appreciate nothing, and that’s not something I’m okay with.”
“You see a lot of people’s houses?”
“I was a beat cop for over eight years before my promotion.”
“A policeman and a fireman? I’m sure there's a joke involving a bar in there somewhere.”
“If there were, the third person would be an ice hockey player,” Lucas chuckled again, already liking this woman. As they wandered through the aisles, she added things to his cart. Clothes were first, but they quickly moved on to toys. A couple of generic soft toys. and the board game “Candyland”. Lucas grabbed ‘Hungry, Hungry Hippos’, as that was one he and his brothers had played when he’d been Maddy’s age. Then came two large boxes of Duplo.
Not once did it feel like the sales assistant was pushing an agenda. She even paused to consider the options as if she were buying them for her own kids. Lucas really appreciated that.
As they were walking the isles, Lucas came to a screeching halt and stared at a range of doctor, nurse and vet play sets. Two jumped out at him. One had a plastic pet carrier with a handful of bulky instruments, and the other came in a bright blue bag with red handles and a white pawprint on the side. It had a comprehensive range, including toy bandages, pill bottles, cream jars, syringes, a stethoscope and even a cone of shame. Both went into the cart after he checked to make sure the two soft animals would fit in the carrier.
Mason’ll have a field day showing her exactly how to simulate using all this stuff, he thought to himself with a grin.
“You’re really very thoughtful,” the woman said after he explained why they both had to be purchased.
Lucas specifically asked for books after that. Real books with paper pages. He was sure his mother (as a high school English teacher) would murder him in his sleep if he didn’t buy Maddy at least ten books ranging from ones she could memorise and pretend to read (which, in her grandmother’s eyes, taught her word structure and was the first step in learning to read), with ones he could read to her. And that, of course, required Spongebob bookends to hold them together.
“Your fiancé is a lucky woman if you’re willing to do all of this for your niece,” she said once the cart was full and they were heading back to the checkouts.
“Yes, he is,” Lucas agreed, deliberately sliding in Boyd’s gender without making a huge issue of it.
Her eyes widened in horror. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Wow, I really shouldn’t make that assumption anymore, and I apologise.”
Because this was New York. “Apology accepted,” Lucas said, waving it aside. Boyd might have been embarrassed, but thankfully, he wasn’t here. “Thanks again for all your help.”
* * *
((Author's extra-long note:
Heya guys! Just letting you know I need to take a week off. [It’s nothing to do with the community here, I promise! I love writing this, and I’ll be back as soon as I can.]
In fact it's … you know what? Stuff it. You guys might as well know. Remember how I mentioned earlier this year we were fighting for more care for my special needs daughter?
That’s the issue.
Our support coordinator has our written authority to act on our behalf. Yet we’ve been told in writing from the government department that if she doesn’t back off, the whole request, including thousands of dollars of specialists interviewing our daughter and reporting their findings, will be deleted, and our request, including all-new interviews and reports, will have to start all over again.
I’m almost at the point where I’m not sleeping, but our support coordinator has promised us to fight because, in her words, “This is getting ridiculous.”
I’ve been really struggling to write this week with everything going on in the background. I’ve finally admitted I need to pull back (just for one week—I mean it when I say how much I love this writing and the little community we’ve formed) to focus on sorting out the mess, so that my writing isn’t tarnished by the battlelines that are being drawn up in the background.
(I already scrapped a page and a half because my anger at things [I bounce between anger and depression] had people who were usually very chill (Robbie) acting in a very aggressive manner that simply wasn’t them. Because of this, I’ve already used up several of my backlog this week and I loathe to lose any more, given how hard they were to build up. (The thought of using them up without others to take their place was also adding to my stress.)
And I was told by my beta reader, ‘Given you’ve been doing this for over three years, and you’ve only had the occasional day off due to sickness, take the week and regroup, stronger than ever.
I agreed. This means my next post will be on Monday, the 27th, Australian Time.
I hope with all my heart that you’ll all still be with me when I return next week.
Karen. ))
((All comments welcome. Good or bad, I’d love to hear your thoughts 🥰🤗))
I made a family tree/diagram of the Mystallian family that can be found here
For more of my work, including WPs: Angel466 or an index of previous WPS here.
FULL INDEX OF BOB THE HOBO TO DATE CAN BE FOUND HERE!!
2024.05.17 11:41 Flamecoat_wolf Star Traders: Frontiers. A Star-Trek style space captain sim.
"Captain! They hit our starboard phasers, we can't fire them any more!" "Report from medical, four injured and one dead." "The crew think it's hopeless, they want to surrender captain. Many are already standing down." "They hit the engines and our power's gone. We're sitting ducks!"
Maybe you'll get lucky, maybe they're just pirates. They take your cargo and depart, leaving you to drift in the void in a damaged ship and the half of your crew that survived. You make emergency repairs and hobble your ship to the nearest star-port. Half your remaining crew don't return to the ship that evening, the memory of their near death experience crushing their morale. Some of the injured died on the journey back, especially when you hit that asteroid belt and could barely maneuver the ship. Your ship doctor is doing all they can but they can only heal so many, only save so many, and the medical bay is damaged beyond use. Your officer tries to rally your crew, gives a passionate speech about love, loss and always getting back up to fight again. A few look reinvigorated, yet more don't return the next day. But you dust yourself off, pay for the repairs, hire new crew and take on a new job. It's just a minor set back...
Or maybe it all ends right there. It was a zealot. A fanatical patriot of the faction you'd been working against on behalf of your contact. They hear no pleas, they take no bribes, only heads.
Perhaps they're not even humans. An existential terror from beyond the known universe. Ships cobbled together from biological matter mixed with strange alien technology. There's no negotiation, there's maybe not even sentience within the minds of your enemies. Snarling and vicious they tear through your crew, and you.
I've had a lot of fun with this game. Initially released in 2018 it's still getting frequent updates and it's full of content that can keep you entertained for hundreds of hours. I would know because I've currently got 270 hours played at the moment and that's only going to go up from here.
Don't let the name fool you, it's not about trading! Unless you want it to be, in which case you can totally make it about trading. Instead you play as the captain of a space ship in a distant future galaxy simply trying to survive and thrive.
The game is a bit of a strange mix between RPG and Rogue-like. I guess I'd describe it as an RPG with lots of replayability. At the start of each game you pick your captain. You can customize your captain in a number of ways but it's balanced around a priorities system. You have Attributes, Skills, Ship, Contacts and Experience. Your top choice will have the highest value while the bottom choice will have the lowest value. So you can start with an extremely skilled captain but you might have a very poor starting ship or only one or two contacts (mission givers, info brokers, rare equipment sellers, black market access, etc. They play a number of roles depending on their position/profession). Or you can start with a top of the line nearly end-game ship, but you'll have to sacrifice your captain's abilities to do so. Experience is basically a head start on levels for you and your crew, which can be very valuable for the early game where it can be tough starting out.
Besides the priorities your captain has a specific class. The default is Pirate but you can play as a Merchant, Assassin, Commander, etc. too. Each will have bonuses based on the play-style they specialize in. Pirates and Smugglers get skills that allow them to access black markets more easily and avoid police patrols from identifying contraband with ship scans. Assassins, soldiers, snipers, etc. get a bonus to their crew combat performance and usually have some bonuses regarding missions too. An assassin will do well in a "Duel of Assassins" conflict between two factions, for example, where typically nobles send assassins to try to kill each other or influential people under a 'lawful war monitored by the United Nations' kind of premise. Whereas a Bodyguard will get bonuses for escort missions and prisoner transport missions. Merchants get better deals for their goods and can impact "trade ban" conflicts more. Commanders get bonuses to ship performance and combat.
There are a lot of options too! Both just as you start but also there are a number of options you can unlock by completing various quests or challenges in your playthroughs, which also adds a lot of replayability. New player classes, new ships and new starting contacts.
Oh, and even if you start with one of the best ships, there's a lot of in-game progression too. Upgrading the ship components and choosing talents as your crew level up is a key aspect of the game. Each crew member has a class too, which will determine what value they're contribute to your ship's overall stats. You need Electronic Tech experts to run a lot of high tech electronic components, you need gunners to be able to man all the guns, and you need Ship Operators to, well, operate the ship. As crew, officers and your captain level up they can choose a talent from their job talents. For example, an E-Tech can get the 'scanner boost' skill, which can be used in ship combat to give you +25% accuracy and +25% evasion. The trick though is that they have very long cooldowns. You'll need multiple crew members with Scanner Boost to be able to use it multiple times in a battle, or to use it in two battles back to back. The game runs in weeks, with the explanation that the energy from the special ship engines prolongs people's lives almost indefinitely. So most skills will have a 3-6 week cooldown, which actually passes pretty quickly when you're traveling. Either way, you get anywhere between 18 and 42 crew, depending on the size of your ship and what kind of barracks you install. So you can have a lot of talents. It's also worth seeking out specialist crew, like a merchant, diplomat, smuggler, etc. so that you can make use of their talents in rarer circumstances.
But be careful! Your crew are vulnerable. Ship battles are dangerous, with plasma beams scraping your hull, miniature fighter ships swarming you, enemy ships ramming and boarding you, etc. If your ship is well prepared, maybe your shields can take the hit and you'll only get rocked a bit, or perhaps you've put most of your upgrades into evasion and can nimbly dodge all the enemy shots. If you do get hit though, prepare to really get hit. The introduction to this review is what it feels like to lose a ship battle in this game. It's incredibly in-depth and very immersive. You can even check, mid battle, which crew are injured, which are low on morale, etc.
A hit to your ship will do a number of things. Every hit will damage both your ship and your crew, but some weapons are more dangerous to one than the other. Radiation blasters will do a lot of damage to your crew but won't do much damage to your ship. It's a great option for people who want to take down a ship without destroying it's cargo. Whereas missiles will do a lot of damage to the hull, but your crew will only suffer some nasty bruises from being thrown around by the impact. Unless your ship is ruptured (it hits 0 overall HP) of course, in which case your whole crew will be vented into space, yourself included. Components will take damage too. Mostly it's random which components get hit, but you can install armour to take some of the hits in place of your vital components. There's also crew combat. Sometimes an enemy ship will board you. It's best to have a combat team on-board to dispatch, otherwise you'll be stuck with inexperienced E-techs and Ship Operators shakily holding pistols. Your captain can be a powerful force in crew combat but be careful, defeat in crew combat often means death. If they succeed in beating the local crew (in a 4v4 battle) they'll get a chance to sabotage your ship before returning to their own ship. Of course, you'll also be 4 crewmen down.
The good news is that you can do all these things to your enemy too! Want to bake them alive with radiation and strip their hull for parts and profit? You can do that. Want to slam your dart of a ship into their battle-cruiser, boarding it and having your pro combat team tear it apart from the inside out? You can do that! Just want to pelt them with the biggest guns for the highest damage to get them out your way? You can do that.
I highly recommend this game. It's got a bit of a learning curve but the immersion and satisfying moments I've gotten out of it put a lot of much higher budget games to shame. There's some really good story lines and quests in there, and it has 9 different difficulty setting so that you can enjoy it however you want.
It really deserves a lot more love than it's gotten and I hope a few more people get to enjoy it after seeing this!
submitted by Flamecoat_wolf to patientgamers [link] [comments]
Maybe you'll get lucky, maybe they're just pirates. They take your cargo and depart, leaving you to drift in the void in a damaged ship and the half of your crew that survived. You make emergency repairs and hobble your ship to the nearest star-port. Half your remaining crew don't return to the ship that evening, the memory of their near death experience crushing their morale. Some of the injured died on the journey back, especially when you hit that asteroid belt and could barely maneuver the ship. Your ship doctor is doing all they can but they can only heal so many, only save so many, and the medical bay is damaged beyond use. Your officer tries to rally your crew, gives a passionate speech about love, loss and always getting back up to fight again. A few look reinvigorated, yet more don't return the next day. But you dust yourself off, pay for the repairs, hire new crew and take on a new job. It's just a minor set back...
Or maybe it all ends right there. It was a zealot. A fanatical patriot of the faction you'd been working against on behalf of your contact. They hear no pleas, they take no bribes, only heads.
Perhaps they're not even humans. An existential terror from beyond the known universe. Ships cobbled together from biological matter mixed with strange alien technology. There's no negotiation, there's maybe not even sentience within the minds of your enemies. Snarling and vicious they tear through your crew, and you.
I've had a lot of fun with this game. Initially released in 2018 it's still getting frequent updates and it's full of content that can keep you entertained for hundreds of hours. I would know because I've currently got 270 hours played at the moment and that's only going to go up from here.
Don't let the name fool you, it's not about trading! Unless you want it to be, in which case you can totally make it about trading. Instead you play as the captain of a space ship in a distant future galaxy simply trying to survive and thrive.
The game is a bit of a strange mix between RPG and Rogue-like. I guess I'd describe it as an RPG with lots of replayability. At the start of each game you pick your captain. You can customize your captain in a number of ways but it's balanced around a priorities system. You have Attributes, Skills, Ship, Contacts and Experience. Your top choice will have the highest value while the bottom choice will have the lowest value. So you can start with an extremely skilled captain but you might have a very poor starting ship or only one or two contacts (mission givers, info brokers, rare equipment sellers, black market access, etc. They play a number of roles depending on their position/profession). Or you can start with a top of the line nearly end-game ship, but you'll have to sacrifice your captain's abilities to do so. Experience is basically a head start on levels for you and your crew, which can be very valuable for the early game where it can be tough starting out.
Besides the priorities your captain has a specific class. The default is Pirate but you can play as a Merchant, Assassin, Commander, etc. too. Each will have bonuses based on the play-style they specialize in. Pirates and Smugglers get skills that allow them to access black markets more easily and avoid police patrols from identifying contraband with ship scans. Assassins, soldiers, snipers, etc. get a bonus to their crew combat performance and usually have some bonuses regarding missions too. An assassin will do well in a "Duel of Assassins" conflict between two factions, for example, where typically nobles send assassins to try to kill each other or influential people under a 'lawful war monitored by the United Nations' kind of premise. Whereas a Bodyguard will get bonuses for escort missions and prisoner transport missions. Merchants get better deals for their goods and can impact "trade ban" conflicts more. Commanders get bonuses to ship performance and combat.
There are a lot of options too! Both just as you start but also there are a number of options you can unlock by completing various quests or challenges in your playthroughs, which also adds a lot of replayability. New player classes, new ships and new starting contacts.
Oh, and even if you start with one of the best ships, there's a lot of in-game progression too. Upgrading the ship components and choosing talents as your crew level up is a key aspect of the game. Each crew member has a class too, which will determine what value they're contribute to your ship's overall stats. You need Electronic Tech experts to run a lot of high tech electronic components, you need gunners to be able to man all the guns, and you need Ship Operators to, well, operate the ship. As crew, officers and your captain level up they can choose a talent from their job talents. For example, an E-Tech can get the 'scanner boost' skill, which can be used in ship combat to give you +25% accuracy and +25% evasion. The trick though is that they have very long cooldowns. You'll need multiple crew members with Scanner Boost to be able to use it multiple times in a battle, or to use it in two battles back to back. The game runs in weeks, with the explanation that the energy from the special ship engines prolongs people's lives almost indefinitely. So most skills will have a 3-6 week cooldown, which actually passes pretty quickly when you're traveling. Either way, you get anywhere between 18 and 42 crew, depending on the size of your ship and what kind of barracks you install. So you can have a lot of talents. It's also worth seeking out specialist crew, like a merchant, diplomat, smuggler, etc. so that you can make use of their talents in rarer circumstances.
But be careful! Your crew are vulnerable. Ship battles are dangerous, with plasma beams scraping your hull, miniature fighter ships swarming you, enemy ships ramming and boarding you, etc. If your ship is well prepared, maybe your shields can take the hit and you'll only get rocked a bit, or perhaps you've put most of your upgrades into evasion and can nimbly dodge all the enemy shots. If you do get hit though, prepare to really get hit. The introduction to this review is what it feels like to lose a ship battle in this game. It's incredibly in-depth and very immersive. You can even check, mid battle, which crew are injured, which are low on morale, etc.
A hit to your ship will do a number of things. Every hit will damage both your ship and your crew, but some weapons are more dangerous to one than the other. Radiation blasters will do a lot of damage to your crew but won't do much damage to your ship. It's a great option for people who want to take down a ship without destroying it's cargo. Whereas missiles will do a lot of damage to the hull, but your crew will only suffer some nasty bruises from being thrown around by the impact. Unless your ship is ruptured (it hits 0 overall HP) of course, in which case your whole crew will be vented into space, yourself included. Components will take damage too. Mostly it's random which components get hit, but you can install armour to take some of the hits in place of your vital components. There's also crew combat. Sometimes an enemy ship will board you. It's best to have a combat team on-board to dispatch, otherwise you'll be stuck with inexperienced E-techs and Ship Operators shakily holding pistols. Your captain can be a powerful force in crew combat but be careful, defeat in crew combat often means death. If they succeed in beating the local crew (in a 4v4 battle) they'll get a chance to sabotage your ship before returning to their own ship. Of course, you'll also be 4 crewmen down.
The good news is that you can do all these things to your enemy too! Want to bake them alive with radiation and strip their hull for parts and profit? You can do that. Want to slam your dart of a ship into their battle-cruiser, boarding it and having your pro combat team tear it apart from the inside out? You can do that! Just want to pelt them with the biggest guns for the highest damage to get them out your way? You can do that.
I highly recommend this game. It's got a bit of a learning curve but the immersion and satisfying moments I've gotten out of it put a lot of much higher budget games to shame. There's some really good story lines and quests in there, and it has 9 different difficulty setting so that you can enjoy it however you want.
It really deserves a lot more love than it's gotten and I hope a few more people get to enjoy it after seeing this!
2024.05.17 09:52 Edwardthecrazyman Hiraeth or Where the Children Play: The Preparation for a Night of Demon Burning [13]
First/Previous
The travel took on a less gloomy quality in the day that passed since Gemma’s self-reflection and although there remained a queer distance in her eyes, she seemed in better spirits in losing the weight of the words.
It was a night just beyond Wabash Crevasse that we pushed on till sunset was almost upon us and we were each tired and the food stocks ran low and so we found harbor in a half collapsed cellar where a home once stood; it was only after examining the slatted, rotted boards of the old place, fallen over, tired with decay, that we spied the cellar doors intact; sheets of door metal plied us with safety from the outside world and the interior of the place stank of mold and the deeper recesses were collapsed, but there was a cradle to crossbar the stair hatch and I put my prybar there for the night. We finished the water and canned tomatoes, and I smoked a cigarette, staving off the inevitable doom which would come with the dwindling of our supplies.
I’d peeked through the space where the doors met at the cellar’s entry and watched the full darkness there while the youngins spoke of life and the trivial pursuits of it and I hardly said a word besides.
Sitting on the lowest step with Trouble dumbly maintaining her station by me, by the low glow of the space in the threshold, I saw they’d pushed their bedrolls together and Andrew had fallen asleep with his arm over Gemma’s shoulder and her eyes glowed with shine from the crack, blinked a few times while seeing me; she too eventually drifted to sleep, and I spent time by the secured door.
Gunshots rang across the stillness, and they stirred from their quiet slumber and Gemma asked, “Harlan, is it alright?”
I moved to the space there at the doorway again and listened and watched what I could through that crack and nothing beyond came. “It’s safe. I’ll be up a bit longer. I’ll watch.”
Andrew asked, “Can’t sleep?”
“I’ll sleep in a bit. Don’t worry about me. Rest. Sleep good and we can put more behind us.
They sat up, legs crossed triangle-wise, and Gemma spoke again, “Why do you have such a hard time sleeping? It seems I’m asleep after you and only awake after you too.”
“Yeah,” said Andrew.
“It’s cool at night. I can listen to the wind.” I shrugged.
“You should be the one that tries to get some sleep,” said Andrew.
I said nothing.
They reached out their arms and I shook my head.
“Here,” Gemma said, “Move your bedroll closer.” She reached across the dirt floor of the cellar and dragged my splayed roll so that it sat beside hers.
“I’ll sleep later.” I turned my attention back to the door and ignored them till their sounds of sleep could be heard. The Alukah was nowhere and did not tap on the door that night and when I moved to sleep, I shimmied onto the roll beside them, facing away on my shoulder; the dog followed, laid on the bare dirt beside me and I held the mutt.
Though I refused a noise as they stirred in the absolute darkness, I felt Gemma’s arm fall over my own shoulder and felt Andrew’s hand touch my back, and water traced the bridge of my nose and I slept deeply thereafter.
There was no breakfast without food, and the water was gone; I felt the eyes of the dog on us as we packed up our belongings that next morning and I tried not to imagine the poor animal skinned over fire. I smiled at Trouble, patted its head, scratched its chin; she sniffed my hand like she was looking for something that wouldn’t be found.
We went west again, ignoring roads and pushed through straight wasteland where nothing was and no one was, and with every dry footfall on the dry hard ground, I wished for rain, and I wished that when it had rained, as infrequent as it was, that I had been wise enough to save what we could from the sky; that sky was red and swollen and refused to burst. We pushed on through strange dead thickets where grayed and twisty yellow branches lurched from the ground into the sky like even they too wished for an end to all the suffering. It was days more till we would see Alexandria and though I could stave off hunger (thirst too, if necessary), I was not so certain that the children would be able to push on without it; they did not complain and watched the ground in our march and maintained higher spirits than I could’ve imagined from them.
Early in the day, they spoke often, and I listened and as they wore on, their words came less and even the dog seemed in a lower mood for the unsaid predicament; me too.
Gemma broke the silence on the matter by saying, “What are we going to do about food? Water?”
“We’ll push on.”
“We could turn back?” asked Andrew.
“The more time we spend out in the open, outside of a city, the more likely it is that the Alukah will catch us unawares. Tighten your belts.” Our feet took us around a dilapidated truck, an old thing with a rusty hook which dangled off a rear arm. “Save your urine.”
They made faces but did not protest.
“Does that work? You ever drink pee?” asked Andrew.
I laughed, “I thought we’d be there by now. I took us too long by trying to drop the scent of the Alukah. That thing’s hunted us for days—last night was the first time it ain’t bothered us. It’s got me wondering why.”
Gemma piped up, licking her dry lips before speaking, “Do you think that monster ran into those scavengers we saw?” Then I caught her shooting a look at Andrew, “At least we warned them.” Her smile was faint and almost indiscernible as one.
I shrugged. “Can’t say. Don’t think it’s smart to turn back. Won’t be long and we’ll touch the 40 and then it’ll be a straight on to Babylon—couple of days—can’t turn back though. Maybe without food; that’s doable. Water’s the worst, but if it comes to it,” I paused and looked on the weathered faces of the children, on the lowered head of Trouble which followed her nose across the ground (it searched just short of frantic), “Like I said, ‘save your urine’.”
The first pains of hunger held within me brought up some reminiscence and I wished for nothing more than to hold Suzanne; I could nearly smell them and in the swaying walk which took us on past toppled townships, I held long blinks where I could nearly make out their face and if I really pushed the limits of my imagination, I could feel them. In those moments, as we passed dead places, rotted pits of despair, I could think of little more than their presence. Though I knew it was a dangerous game, hoping for more than I was worth, I hoped for Suzanne then and I wished that I’d taken them up on their offer to travel to Alexandria with them; it could’ve been home—it never was in all the times I’d gone there, but who knows? The thoughts of Babylon brought forth their gardens; the wild gardens and the water which flowed freely through their pipes. I wished I was a different person entirely and that too would’ve been better for Suzanne; how it was that they’d seen anything in me, I don’t know. How it was that they could stoop to the level of being with someone like me—I warded off that thought, because to place the blame there would certainly be unfair. I thought of my love plainly and wanted a different life more suited to them.
Imaginations played more furiously, and I remembered the evening when Dave stopped me from leaping from that roof—it’s doubtful that he even realized that he’d slowed my demise; perhaps he did know—I wished then that I could ask him. Too kind for the world. People too kind for the world were scarce and hardly worth the trouble. Yet, there I was, chaperoning those two across the wastes.
Gemma was a broken person when I’d found her, tortured in Baphomet’s well; Andrew was a dullard boy who’d lost his hand. What a silly predicament.
I stopped in my movements and swiveled on my heel to catch Andrew by the shoulder. “You still got your hand, don’t you?”
In good humor, the boy grinned, lifted the nub on the end of his left forearm to show me, “Nope.”
“Dammit, no! The hand in the jar!”
Andrew raised his eyebrows. “In my pack.”
“Stop,” I commanded Trouble; the dog hardly recognized my words and continued a way then circled back, sad eyes looking up from where she took to sit by my side. Gemma, both arms dangling loosely from her own pack’s shoulder straps, took into the circle we’d formed.
The girl asked, “What about the jar? It’s nasty, but I guess it’s his.”
“I think that’s it,” I said. I took Andrew by his shoulders, looked him in his eyes, “We could use it!”
“What?” The boy almost laughed in the display of our concern. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“I think I’ve got it! It’s good for a trap.” I shook him; maybe too hard. I almost smiled. “It’s worth a shot!”
“It’s mine.” He bit his top lip, withdrew from me.
“You’ll feel differently about that,” I said.
Gemma placed a hand on Andrew’s pack and tried ripping it open. “Give it to him!” shouted the girl.
The boy whipped from her grasp, and he spun on his feet, and panic stood on his face. “It’s mine, isn’t it?”
I took a step forward, “No, not anymore.” I put out my palm, “Give it.”
Andrew nearly flinched at the thought of it and shook his head a little. “Why?”
“I told you why,” I said.
“You don’t even know if it’ll work, do you?” his words were long in protest.
The girl started again, “Andrew, please.”
He locked eyes with Gemma and once again, his bottom teeth came up to meet over his top lip and he moved his jaw methodically with contemplation.
“What does it even matter?” she asked.
“It’s mine. You don’t know what it’s like.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!”
“C’mon,” he said, but his pack straps fell from his shoulders, and he hunkered down on the ground and opened his bag; his right hand plunged into the recesses therein and withdrew the jar with his severed left hand. He held the object up, refusing to come up from his open pack, keeping his eyes on the ground. “Take it then.” He shook the jar; its contents sloshed with liquid decay.
I grabbed the thing, held it to skylight; the remains within had congealed and rotted and lumps nearly floated in the brownish liquid which had formed in the base of the container. I shook it and stared for a moment at the miniscule debris which floated alongside the hand; each of its digits had swollen and erupted to expose bone; some had come away in pieces. “Tomorrow,” I said and nodded.
We gathered ourselves and Andrew pulled his pack on again and we moved, Trouble still looked sorry and the boy remained quiet while the girl chattered on with questions while we took through the dying ground in a formation with the dog on point then me then the children.
“What will you do with it?” she asked me.
“Not sure yet.”
Andrew made a noise like he wanted to say something but didn’t.
“You think it will work?” asked Gemma.
“Nothing’s a guarantee. They’re smart—Alukah.”
“Smart enough to figure out a trap?”
I shrugged. “We’ll find out.”
“We could put stakes in a pit.”
“Keep on the lookout for a building. Something with multiple floors.”
With that, we moved on, found a worn, mostly destroyed road and we fell into a travelling quiet and the thought of hunger or thirst arose again, and I pushed it down—though I knew the uneasiness could only last so long before savagery would overtake the human condition; the kids seemed strong enough, but I kept an eye on the dog too. Savagery belonged not only to humans, after all.
The ground of the wastes was harder when it was quiet, and it was flatter further west. The sky—red and full of thin and transparent drifting clouds—seemed an awful sight when stared at for too long; it was the thing which stretched as if to signal there wasn’t an end in any direction, as if to declare we had much more to go till safety. Wanderlust is a thing that I believe I’ve felt before, but under that sky, with those two and the dog, I didn’t feel it at all. It was doom that I felt. Ignorance and doom. And it was all because I was certain I’d made all the wrong mistakes, and it was coming back to me. I was experienced. We should’ve had food and water. Perhaps there was some deep and nasty part inside of me that had intended to sacrifice them along the way. The words of the Alukah might have rung true: You say you make no deals, but I smell it. I think you’d deal.
Surely, I felt differently. Surely.
“Getting darker,” called Andrew as we came to where signposts—worn and bent and barely legible—told us of a place once called Annapolis and the buildings were nearly gone entirely; places, maybe places that were once homes, were leveled—I was briefly caught in imagining what it might’ve been like all those ages ago. As are most places, it was haunted like that and when we came to a long rectangular structure of metal walls—thin walls—we took it as a place for rest for the night.
It once served as an agricultural station, for when we breached its entry, there were a line of dead machines—three in all—cultivators or tillers which stood higher than any of our heads and Gemma asked what they were, and I told her I thought they were for farming. The great rusted bodies stood in quiet shadow as we came through a side passage of the building and the great doors which had once been used to release those machines from the building stood frozen in their frame. I approached the doors, lighting my lantern and motioning for the children to shut the door we’d entered through.
Upon closer inspection, it seemed the doors would roll into the ceiling and the chains which held the doors in place were each secured with rusted padlocks—I removed my prybar from my pack and moved along the wall of doors, giving each old lock a smack with the weapon; each one held in place, seemingly fused there through years of corrosion, and I rounded the cultivators once more, back to the children, near the side door where they’d discovered a rickety stair frame which crawled up the side of the wall to a catwalk; along the catwalk, a levitated box stood at the height of the structure, stilted by metal legs, and we took the stairs slowly with the dog following close behind; the poor mutt was mute save the sound of its own shuffling paws.
The metal stairs creaked under our weight and Gemma held her own lantern high over her head so that the strange shadows of the place grew longer, stranger, and suddenly I felt very sure that something was in the dark with us, but there was no noise except what we made. My eyes scanned the darkness, and I followed the children up the stairs till we met the overhang of the catwalk and I peered into the shadows, the blades of the cultivators—far extended on foldable arms—struck up through the pool of blackness beneath us and I felt so cold there and if it were not for the breath of my fellow travelers, I might have been lost in the dark for longer than intended—lost and frozen and contemplative.
“There’s a room,” said the boy, and he pushed ahead on the hanging passage, and he was the first to the door. “Boxes,” he said plainly.
Upon coming to the place where he stood, Gemma pushed her lantern over the threshold, and I saw what he’d meant as I traced my own lantern to help; the room was crammed with plastic totes and old metal containers of varied sizes. There seemed to be enough empty space to maneuver through the room, but only if one watched their feet while they walked. Carefully.
We moved to the room, and I found a stack of crates to place my lantern then motioned for Gemma to douse hers. In minutes, the place was rearranged so that we could sit comfortably on the floor; crates lined the walls precariously and we breathed heavy from the work done, but we began to unpack and upon watching the children while I rolled a cigarette, I felt a pang of guilt, a terrible summation—all choices in my life had led me here and with them and perhaps it would have been a better world for them without me.
Mentally shrugging this thought away, I lit my cigarette, inhaled deeply, and then withdrew the jar which Andrew had handed over. I held it to the lantern to examine it. The grotesqueness of it hardly phased me and I watched it more curious and hopeful than disgusted.
“I hope it’ll work,” said the boy, “Whatever it is that you plan on doing with it.” He grimaced and maintained a further silence in patting his bedding for fluff. The dog moved to him, and she pushed her forehead against him where he squatted on floor. The boy scratched Trouble’s chin and whispered, “Good girl,” into the top of her head where he’d pushed his own face.
“I’m hungry,” said Gemma; she placed her chin in her arm while watching Andrew with the dog. She sat on her own flat bed there on the floor and stated plainly the thing that I’d hoped to ignore for longer.
“I know.” I took another drag from the cigarette and let the smoke hang over my head. “The dog?”
Andrew recoiled, pulling Trouble closer into his arms.
I smiled. “It was a joke.”
Andrew relaxed, but only a moment before Gemma added, “Maybe.”
The boy narrowed his eyes in the girl’s direction, and she shrugged. “If it’s life or death.”
He didn’t say anything and merely continued stroking Trouble’s coat.
That night, we slept awfully and even in the complete darkness, I felt the cramp of the storage room and the angled shapes of the tools that protruded from the containers on all sides remained permanent well after we’d turned the light off and it felt like those shapes were the teeth of a great creature like we were sitting inside of its mouth, looking out.
Trouble positioned herself partially on my chest, her slow rhythmic breathing brought my thoughts calm and I whispered to her in the dark after I was sure the others were asleep, “I promise it was a joke.” And I brushed the back of her neck with my hand and the animal let go of a long sigh then continued that deep rhythmic breathing.
Still without food or water, the following day was the true indication of the misery to come. Gemma’s stomach growled audibly in waking and Andrew—though he kept his complaints to himself—smacked his lips more often or protruded the tongue in his mouth in a starvation for water. The room, in the daylight which peered through pinpricks of its half-decayed roof, seemed another beast altogether from its nighttime counterpart; it was not so frightening. Again, I admonished myself for the lack of preparation, but there was another thought that brought together a more cohesive feeling; we had a possible plan, a trap for the demon that’d been following us.
We went into the field to the west of the building where there was only dirt beneath our feet in the early sunlight and in the coolness of morning air, I nearly felt like a person. The sun crested the horizon and brought with it a warmth that would quickly become overwhelming—in those few minutes though—it felt good enough. I wished for the shy dew and saw none. The weirdness of holding Andrew’s rotting hand in a jar momentarily caught me and I almost laughed, but refrained and the dog and the children looked on while I held the container up and suddenly, seeing the congealed mass of tissue floating in its own excretions, I was overcome with the urge to run, the urge that nothing would ever be right again in my life, and that I was marked to be that way.
I blinked and tossed the jar to Andrew. “Say goodbye,” I said. He fumbled after it with his right hand and caught it to his chest.
“It’s strange you care so much anyway,” said Gemma, shrugging—her eyes forgave a millisecond of pity and when Andrew looked at her, still holding the jar in his right hand, she smiled and stuffed her hands into the pockets of her pants.
“We’ve enough oil, I think,” my voice was raspy from it being early, “Enough for good fire, but if we use it, it’ll mean a few more dark nights on our way.”
“We’re going to set it on fire?” Andrew pondered, keeping his eyes to the contents of the jar. “It worked good enough last time. It’ll work,” I nodded, “I has to, doesn’t it?”
His dry lips creased into a brief smile, and he tossed the jar back to me and I caught it.
“Let’s dig,” I said.
Without much in the way of proper tools, we began at the ground under us with our hands, then taking turns with my prybar till there was a hole in the ground comfortably large enough to conceal a human head and I uncapped the jar and spilled it contents there and we covered it back and I lightly tamped it with my boot. My eyes scanned the outbuilding we’d taken refuge in the night prior and then to the street to the north then to the houses which stood as merely rotted plots of foundation with frames that struck from the ground more as markers than support. “I’ll take up over there across the street when it gets dark. I want you two in that storage room before anything goes off.”
“We can’t help?” asked Gemma.
“You can help by staying out of the way—the mutt too,” I said; the words were harsh, but my feelings were from worry.
“Wouldn’t it be better if we stuck together?” asked the girl.
I shook my head. “You stay in the room and keep quiet. No matter what you hear, you stay quiet and safe.”
“That’ll put you at a bigger risk,” Gemma furrowed her brow at me and shifted around to look out on the houses across the street, “There’s hardly any cover over there.”
The boy nodded, smacked his lips, and rubbed his forearm across his mouth then audibly agreed with her.
“Doesn’t matter,” I said, “No matter what you hear happening outside, no matter, you don’t open the door and you don’t scream—don’t make a noise at all. Alright? Even if you hear me calling you, you don’t do it.”
“Pfft,” Gemma crossed her arms and kicked her foot against the ground. The way her eyes seemed hollowed with bruising showed that the irritation would only grow without food. “Alright,” she finally sighed.
Andrew looked much the same as she did in that; he swallowed a dry swallow then stuffed his hand into his pocket and looked away when our eyes matched.
We gathered our light oil. Altogether, it seemed enough; rummaging through the room of the outbuilding we’d earlier taken refuge within, we managed three intact glass containers—the only ones found that wouldn’t leak with liquid; two were bottles and the third was the jar that’d once kept Andrew’s hand. With that work done, we sat with three Molotov cocktails within our huddled circle of the storage room.
“Is it enough?” asked Gemma.
“We’ll see,” I began rolling a cigarette to ignore the hunger and the thirst.
Andrew took to the corner and glanced over his shoulder only a moment before a steady liquid stream could be heard and when he rotated from the wall once the noise was finished and he held a canteen up to his nose, sniffed it and quivered and shook his head.
As the sun pushed on, I scanned the perimeter outside, and they followed. Far south I spied a mass of shadow inching across the horizon and Gemma commented, “What’s that?”
I pushed the binoculars to her and let her gaze through them.
“A fiend—that’s what we called it back in the day anyway. A mutant.”
She held the binoculars up and frowned. “A mutant? So, it was once human?”
“A fiend was once many humans.” I pointed out to the horizon though she couldn’t see me doing so and continued, “If you look at the edges of its shape, you’ll see it’s got limbs galore on it. Sticking up like hairs is what it’ll look like at this distance. Those are arms and legs. It’s got faces too. Many faces.” I shuddered.
“I can barely see any details,” she passed the binoculars to Andrew, and he looked through them, “What’s it do?”
“What?” I asked.
“What’s it do if it catches a person?”
“It pulls people into it. Makes you apart of its mass. Nasty fuckers.”
Andrew removed the lenses from his eyes and held them to his chest and asked, “It won’t mess up your trap, will it?”
“We’ll keep an eye on it,” I said, “You don’t want to mess with a fiend unless you have to.”
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The travel took on a less gloomy quality in the day that passed since Gemma’s self-reflection and although there remained a queer distance in her eyes, she seemed in better spirits in losing the weight of the words.
It was a night just beyond Wabash Crevasse that we pushed on till sunset was almost upon us and we were each tired and the food stocks ran low and so we found harbor in a half collapsed cellar where a home once stood; it was only after examining the slatted, rotted boards of the old place, fallen over, tired with decay, that we spied the cellar doors intact; sheets of door metal plied us with safety from the outside world and the interior of the place stank of mold and the deeper recesses were collapsed, but there was a cradle to crossbar the stair hatch and I put my prybar there for the night. We finished the water and canned tomatoes, and I smoked a cigarette, staving off the inevitable doom which would come with the dwindling of our supplies.
I’d peeked through the space where the doors met at the cellar’s entry and watched the full darkness there while the youngins spoke of life and the trivial pursuits of it and I hardly said a word besides.
Sitting on the lowest step with Trouble dumbly maintaining her station by me, by the low glow of the space in the threshold, I saw they’d pushed their bedrolls together and Andrew had fallen asleep with his arm over Gemma’s shoulder and her eyes glowed with shine from the crack, blinked a few times while seeing me; she too eventually drifted to sleep, and I spent time by the secured door.
Gunshots rang across the stillness, and they stirred from their quiet slumber and Gemma asked, “Harlan, is it alright?”
I moved to the space there at the doorway again and listened and watched what I could through that crack and nothing beyond came. “It’s safe. I’ll be up a bit longer. I’ll watch.”
Andrew asked, “Can’t sleep?”
“I’ll sleep in a bit. Don’t worry about me. Rest. Sleep good and we can put more behind us.
They sat up, legs crossed triangle-wise, and Gemma spoke again, “Why do you have such a hard time sleeping? It seems I’m asleep after you and only awake after you too.”
“Yeah,” said Andrew.
“It’s cool at night. I can listen to the wind.” I shrugged.
“You should be the one that tries to get some sleep,” said Andrew.
I said nothing.
They reached out their arms and I shook my head.
“Here,” Gemma said, “Move your bedroll closer.” She reached across the dirt floor of the cellar and dragged my splayed roll so that it sat beside hers.
“I’ll sleep later.” I turned my attention back to the door and ignored them till their sounds of sleep could be heard. The Alukah was nowhere and did not tap on the door that night and when I moved to sleep, I shimmied onto the roll beside them, facing away on my shoulder; the dog followed, laid on the bare dirt beside me and I held the mutt.
Though I refused a noise as they stirred in the absolute darkness, I felt Gemma’s arm fall over my own shoulder and felt Andrew’s hand touch my back, and water traced the bridge of my nose and I slept deeply thereafter.
There was no breakfast without food, and the water was gone; I felt the eyes of the dog on us as we packed up our belongings that next morning and I tried not to imagine the poor animal skinned over fire. I smiled at Trouble, patted its head, scratched its chin; she sniffed my hand like she was looking for something that wouldn’t be found.
We went west again, ignoring roads and pushed through straight wasteland where nothing was and no one was, and with every dry footfall on the dry hard ground, I wished for rain, and I wished that when it had rained, as infrequent as it was, that I had been wise enough to save what we could from the sky; that sky was red and swollen and refused to burst. We pushed on through strange dead thickets where grayed and twisty yellow branches lurched from the ground into the sky like even they too wished for an end to all the suffering. It was days more till we would see Alexandria and though I could stave off hunger (thirst too, if necessary), I was not so certain that the children would be able to push on without it; they did not complain and watched the ground in our march and maintained higher spirits than I could’ve imagined from them.
Early in the day, they spoke often, and I listened and as they wore on, their words came less and even the dog seemed in a lower mood for the unsaid predicament; me too.
Gemma broke the silence on the matter by saying, “What are we going to do about food? Water?”
“We’ll push on.”
“We could turn back?” asked Andrew.
“The more time we spend out in the open, outside of a city, the more likely it is that the Alukah will catch us unawares. Tighten your belts.” Our feet took us around a dilapidated truck, an old thing with a rusty hook which dangled off a rear arm. “Save your urine.”
They made faces but did not protest.
“Does that work? You ever drink pee?” asked Andrew.
I laughed, “I thought we’d be there by now. I took us too long by trying to drop the scent of the Alukah. That thing’s hunted us for days—last night was the first time it ain’t bothered us. It’s got me wondering why.”
Gemma piped up, licking her dry lips before speaking, “Do you think that monster ran into those scavengers we saw?” Then I caught her shooting a look at Andrew, “At least we warned them.” Her smile was faint and almost indiscernible as one.
I shrugged. “Can’t say. Don’t think it’s smart to turn back. Won’t be long and we’ll touch the 40 and then it’ll be a straight on to Babylon—couple of days—can’t turn back though. Maybe without food; that’s doable. Water’s the worst, but if it comes to it,” I paused and looked on the weathered faces of the children, on the lowered head of Trouble which followed her nose across the ground (it searched just short of frantic), “Like I said, ‘save your urine’.”
The first pains of hunger held within me brought up some reminiscence and I wished for nothing more than to hold Suzanne; I could nearly smell them and in the swaying walk which took us on past toppled townships, I held long blinks where I could nearly make out their face and if I really pushed the limits of my imagination, I could feel them. In those moments, as we passed dead places, rotted pits of despair, I could think of little more than their presence. Though I knew it was a dangerous game, hoping for more than I was worth, I hoped for Suzanne then and I wished that I’d taken them up on their offer to travel to Alexandria with them; it could’ve been home—it never was in all the times I’d gone there, but who knows? The thoughts of Babylon brought forth their gardens; the wild gardens and the water which flowed freely through their pipes. I wished I was a different person entirely and that too would’ve been better for Suzanne; how it was that they’d seen anything in me, I don’t know. How it was that they could stoop to the level of being with someone like me—I warded off that thought, because to place the blame there would certainly be unfair. I thought of my love plainly and wanted a different life more suited to them.
Imaginations played more furiously, and I remembered the evening when Dave stopped me from leaping from that roof—it’s doubtful that he even realized that he’d slowed my demise; perhaps he did know—I wished then that I could ask him. Too kind for the world. People too kind for the world were scarce and hardly worth the trouble. Yet, there I was, chaperoning those two across the wastes.
Gemma was a broken person when I’d found her, tortured in Baphomet’s well; Andrew was a dullard boy who’d lost his hand. What a silly predicament.
I stopped in my movements and swiveled on my heel to catch Andrew by the shoulder. “You still got your hand, don’t you?”
In good humor, the boy grinned, lifted the nub on the end of his left forearm to show me, “Nope.”
“Dammit, no! The hand in the jar!”
Andrew raised his eyebrows. “In my pack.”
“Stop,” I commanded Trouble; the dog hardly recognized my words and continued a way then circled back, sad eyes looking up from where she took to sit by my side. Gemma, both arms dangling loosely from her own pack’s shoulder straps, took into the circle we’d formed.
The girl asked, “What about the jar? It’s nasty, but I guess it’s his.”
“I think that’s it,” I said. I took Andrew by his shoulders, looked him in his eyes, “We could use it!”
“What?” The boy almost laughed in the display of our concern. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“I think I’ve got it! It’s good for a trap.” I shook him; maybe too hard. I almost smiled. “It’s worth a shot!”
“It’s mine.” He bit his top lip, withdrew from me.
“You’ll feel differently about that,” I said.
Gemma placed a hand on Andrew’s pack and tried ripping it open. “Give it to him!” shouted the girl.
The boy whipped from her grasp, and he spun on his feet, and panic stood on his face. “It’s mine, isn’t it?”
I took a step forward, “No, not anymore.” I put out my palm, “Give it.”
Andrew nearly flinched at the thought of it and shook his head a little. “Why?”
“I told you why,” I said.
“You don’t even know if it’ll work, do you?” his words were long in protest.
The girl started again, “Andrew, please.”
He locked eyes with Gemma and once again, his bottom teeth came up to meet over his top lip and he moved his jaw methodically with contemplation.
“What does it even matter?” she asked.
“It’s mine. You don’t know what it’s like.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!”
“C’mon,” he said, but his pack straps fell from his shoulders, and he hunkered down on the ground and opened his bag; his right hand plunged into the recesses therein and withdrew the jar with his severed left hand. He held the object up, refusing to come up from his open pack, keeping his eyes on the ground. “Take it then.” He shook the jar; its contents sloshed with liquid decay.
I grabbed the thing, held it to skylight; the remains within had congealed and rotted and lumps nearly floated in the brownish liquid which had formed in the base of the container. I shook it and stared for a moment at the miniscule debris which floated alongside the hand; each of its digits had swollen and erupted to expose bone; some had come away in pieces. “Tomorrow,” I said and nodded.
We gathered ourselves and Andrew pulled his pack on again and we moved, Trouble still looked sorry and the boy remained quiet while the girl chattered on with questions while we took through the dying ground in a formation with the dog on point then me then the children.
“What will you do with it?” she asked me.
“Not sure yet.”
Andrew made a noise like he wanted to say something but didn’t.
“You think it will work?” asked Gemma.
“Nothing’s a guarantee. They’re smart—Alukah.”
“Smart enough to figure out a trap?”
I shrugged. “We’ll find out.”
“We could put stakes in a pit.”
“Keep on the lookout for a building. Something with multiple floors.”
With that, we moved on, found a worn, mostly destroyed road and we fell into a travelling quiet and the thought of hunger or thirst arose again, and I pushed it down—though I knew the uneasiness could only last so long before savagery would overtake the human condition; the kids seemed strong enough, but I kept an eye on the dog too. Savagery belonged not only to humans, after all.
The ground of the wastes was harder when it was quiet, and it was flatter further west. The sky—red and full of thin and transparent drifting clouds—seemed an awful sight when stared at for too long; it was the thing which stretched as if to signal there wasn’t an end in any direction, as if to declare we had much more to go till safety. Wanderlust is a thing that I believe I’ve felt before, but under that sky, with those two and the dog, I didn’t feel it at all. It was doom that I felt. Ignorance and doom. And it was all because I was certain I’d made all the wrong mistakes, and it was coming back to me. I was experienced. We should’ve had food and water. Perhaps there was some deep and nasty part inside of me that had intended to sacrifice them along the way. The words of the Alukah might have rung true: You say you make no deals, but I smell it. I think you’d deal.
Surely, I felt differently. Surely.
“Getting darker,” called Andrew as we came to where signposts—worn and bent and barely legible—told us of a place once called Annapolis and the buildings were nearly gone entirely; places, maybe places that were once homes, were leveled—I was briefly caught in imagining what it might’ve been like all those ages ago. As are most places, it was haunted like that and when we came to a long rectangular structure of metal walls—thin walls—we took it as a place for rest for the night.
It once served as an agricultural station, for when we breached its entry, there were a line of dead machines—three in all—cultivators or tillers which stood higher than any of our heads and Gemma asked what they were, and I told her I thought they were for farming. The great rusted bodies stood in quiet shadow as we came through a side passage of the building and the great doors which had once been used to release those machines from the building stood frozen in their frame. I approached the doors, lighting my lantern and motioning for the children to shut the door we’d entered through.
Upon closer inspection, it seemed the doors would roll into the ceiling and the chains which held the doors in place were each secured with rusted padlocks—I removed my prybar from my pack and moved along the wall of doors, giving each old lock a smack with the weapon; each one held in place, seemingly fused there through years of corrosion, and I rounded the cultivators once more, back to the children, near the side door where they’d discovered a rickety stair frame which crawled up the side of the wall to a catwalk; along the catwalk, a levitated box stood at the height of the structure, stilted by metal legs, and we took the stairs slowly with the dog following close behind; the poor mutt was mute save the sound of its own shuffling paws.
The metal stairs creaked under our weight and Gemma held her own lantern high over her head so that the strange shadows of the place grew longer, stranger, and suddenly I felt very sure that something was in the dark with us, but there was no noise except what we made. My eyes scanned the darkness, and I followed the children up the stairs till we met the overhang of the catwalk and I peered into the shadows, the blades of the cultivators—far extended on foldable arms—struck up through the pool of blackness beneath us and I felt so cold there and if it were not for the breath of my fellow travelers, I might have been lost in the dark for longer than intended—lost and frozen and contemplative.
“There’s a room,” said the boy, and he pushed ahead on the hanging passage, and he was the first to the door. “Boxes,” he said plainly.
Upon coming to the place where he stood, Gemma pushed her lantern over the threshold, and I saw what he’d meant as I traced my own lantern to help; the room was crammed with plastic totes and old metal containers of varied sizes. There seemed to be enough empty space to maneuver through the room, but only if one watched their feet while they walked. Carefully.
We moved to the room, and I found a stack of crates to place my lantern then motioned for Gemma to douse hers. In minutes, the place was rearranged so that we could sit comfortably on the floor; crates lined the walls precariously and we breathed heavy from the work done, but we began to unpack and upon watching the children while I rolled a cigarette, I felt a pang of guilt, a terrible summation—all choices in my life had led me here and with them and perhaps it would have been a better world for them without me.
Mentally shrugging this thought away, I lit my cigarette, inhaled deeply, and then withdrew the jar which Andrew had handed over. I held it to the lantern to examine it. The grotesqueness of it hardly phased me and I watched it more curious and hopeful than disgusted.
“I hope it’ll work,” said the boy, “Whatever it is that you plan on doing with it.” He grimaced and maintained a further silence in patting his bedding for fluff. The dog moved to him, and she pushed her forehead against him where he squatted on floor. The boy scratched Trouble’s chin and whispered, “Good girl,” into the top of her head where he’d pushed his own face.
“I’m hungry,” said Gemma; she placed her chin in her arm while watching Andrew with the dog. She sat on her own flat bed there on the floor and stated plainly the thing that I’d hoped to ignore for longer.
“I know.” I took another drag from the cigarette and let the smoke hang over my head. “The dog?”
Andrew recoiled, pulling Trouble closer into his arms.
I smiled. “It was a joke.”
Andrew relaxed, but only a moment before Gemma added, “Maybe.”
The boy narrowed his eyes in the girl’s direction, and she shrugged. “If it’s life or death.”
He didn’t say anything and merely continued stroking Trouble’s coat.
That night, we slept awfully and even in the complete darkness, I felt the cramp of the storage room and the angled shapes of the tools that protruded from the containers on all sides remained permanent well after we’d turned the light off and it felt like those shapes were the teeth of a great creature like we were sitting inside of its mouth, looking out.
Trouble positioned herself partially on my chest, her slow rhythmic breathing brought my thoughts calm and I whispered to her in the dark after I was sure the others were asleep, “I promise it was a joke.” And I brushed the back of her neck with my hand and the animal let go of a long sigh then continued that deep rhythmic breathing.
Still without food or water, the following day was the true indication of the misery to come. Gemma’s stomach growled audibly in waking and Andrew—though he kept his complaints to himself—smacked his lips more often or protruded the tongue in his mouth in a starvation for water. The room, in the daylight which peered through pinpricks of its half-decayed roof, seemed another beast altogether from its nighttime counterpart; it was not so frightening. Again, I admonished myself for the lack of preparation, but there was another thought that brought together a more cohesive feeling; we had a possible plan, a trap for the demon that’d been following us.
We went into the field to the west of the building where there was only dirt beneath our feet in the early sunlight and in the coolness of morning air, I nearly felt like a person. The sun crested the horizon and brought with it a warmth that would quickly become overwhelming—in those few minutes though—it felt good enough. I wished for the shy dew and saw none. The weirdness of holding Andrew’s rotting hand in a jar momentarily caught me and I almost laughed, but refrained and the dog and the children looked on while I held the container up and suddenly, seeing the congealed mass of tissue floating in its own excretions, I was overcome with the urge to run, the urge that nothing would ever be right again in my life, and that I was marked to be that way.
I blinked and tossed the jar to Andrew. “Say goodbye,” I said. He fumbled after it with his right hand and caught it to his chest.
“It’s strange you care so much anyway,” said Gemma, shrugging—her eyes forgave a millisecond of pity and when Andrew looked at her, still holding the jar in his right hand, she smiled and stuffed her hands into the pockets of her pants.
“We’ve enough oil, I think,” my voice was raspy from it being early, “Enough for good fire, but if we use it, it’ll mean a few more dark nights on our way.”
“We’re going to set it on fire?” Andrew pondered, keeping his eyes to the contents of the jar. “It worked good enough last time. It’ll work,” I nodded, “I has to, doesn’t it?”
His dry lips creased into a brief smile, and he tossed the jar back to me and I caught it.
“Let’s dig,” I said.
Without much in the way of proper tools, we began at the ground under us with our hands, then taking turns with my prybar till there was a hole in the ground comfortably large enough to conceal a human head and I uncapped the jar and spilled it contents there and we covered it back and I lightly tamped it with my boot. My eyes scanned the outbuilding we’d taken refuge in the night prior and then to the street to the north then to the houses which stood as merely rotted plots of foundation with frames that struck from the ground more as markers than support. “I’ll take up over there across the street when it gets dark. I want you two in that storage room before anything goes off.”
“We can’t help?” asked Gemma.
“You can help by staying out of the way—the mutt too,” I said; the words were harsh, but my feelings were from worry.
“Wouldn’t it be better if we stuck together?” asked the girl.
I shook my head. “You stay in the room and keep quiet. No matter what you hear, you stay quiet and safe.”
“That’ll put you at a bigger risk,” Gemma furrowed her brow at me and shifted around to look out on the houses across the street, “There’s hardly any cover over there.”
The boy nodded, smacked his lips, and rubbed his forearm across his mouth then audibly agreed with her.
“Doesn’t matter,” I said, “No matter what you hear happening outside, no matter, you don’t open the door and you don’t scream—don’t make a noise at all. Alright? Even if you hear me calling you, you don’t do it.”
“Pfft,” Gemma crossed her arms and kicked her foot against the ground. The way her eyes seemed hollowed with bruising showed that the irritation would only grow without food. “Alright,” she finally sighed.
Andrew looked much the same as she did in that; he swallowed a dry swallow then stuffed his hand into his pocket and looked away when our eyes matched.
We gathered our light oil. Altogether, it seemed enough; rummaging through the room of the outbuilding we’d earlier taken refuge within, we managed three intact glass containers—the only ones found that wouldn’t leak with liquid; two were bottles and the third was the jar that’d once kept Andrew’s hand. With that work done, we sat with three Molotov cocktails within our huddled circle of the storage room.
“Is it enough?” asked Gemma.
“We’ll see,” I began rolling a cigarette to ignore the hunger and the thirst.
Andrew took to the corner and glanced over his shoulder only a moment before a steady liquid stream could be heard and when he rotated from the wall once the noise was finished and he held a canteen up to his nose, sniffed it and quivered and shook his head.
As the sun pushed on, I scanned the perimeter outside, and they followed. Far south I spied a mass of shadow inching across the horizon and Gemma commented, “What’s that?”
I pushed the binoculars to her and let her gaze through them.
“A fiend—that’s what we called it back in the day anyway. A mutant.”
She held the binoculars up and frowned. “A mutant? So, it was once human?”
“A fiend was once many humans.” I pointed out to the horizon though she couldn’t see me doing so and continued, “If you look at the edges of its shape, you’ll see it’s got limbs galore on it. Sticking up like hairs is what it’ll look like at this distance. Those are arms and legs. It’s got faces too. Many faces.” I shuddered.
“I can barely see any details,” she passed the binoculars to Andrew, and he looked through them, “What’s it do?”
“What?” I asked.
“What’s it do if it catches a person?”
“It pulls people into it. Makes you apart of its mass. Nasty fuckers.”
Andrew removed the lenses from his eyes and held them to his chest and asked, “It won’t mess up your trap, will it?”
“We’ll keep an eye on it,” I said, “You don’t want to mess with a fiend unless you have to.”
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2024.05.17 02:55 Jenson-ecigs Why Can Vape Batteries Explode?
In the evolving world of vaping technology, the safety and reliability of vape batteries are paramount concerns for manufacturers and engineers. This article delves into the critical aspects of why vape batteries can explode. It offers the essential knowledge that professionals in the vaping industry need to consider for a safer vaping style.
Have you ever wondered why vape batteries, those small but essential components of vaping devices, can sometimes fail dramatically? This exploration is crucial for consumer safety, enhancing product reliability, and meeting stringent regulatory standards.
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Have you ever wondered why vape batteries, those small but essential components of vaping devices, can sometimes fail dramatically? This exploration is crucial for consumer safety, enhancing product reliability, and meeting stringent regulatory standards.
Understanding Vape Batteries
What Exactly Are Vape Batteries?
Vape batteries are the power sources that fuel electronic cigarettes and other vaping devices. They are typically lithium-ion batteries, known for their high energy density and efficiency.Chemical Composition of Batteries
Why Does Battery Chemistry Matter?
The chemical makeup of lithium-ion batteries contributes significantly to their performance and volatility under certain conditions. Understanding this chemistry helps in designing safer batteries.Common Causes of Battery Failure
What Triggers These Explosions?
Battery failures can stem from internal short circuits, overcharging, and physical damage, among other factors. These failures are not merely inconvenient but can pose serious safety risks.Impact of Poor Battery Design
How Critical Is Design in Preventing Explosions?
Design flaws in vape batteries can lead to mechanical instabilities, which might trigger thermal runaway. An increase in temperature changes the conditions in this condition, causing a further temperature rise.Manufacturing Defects
Can Small Defects Cause Big Problems?
Yes, even minor deviations in the manufacturing process can compromise battery integrity and safety, highlighting the importance of stringent quality control.External Factors
What External Conditions Affect Battery Safety?
Environmental factors such as temperature and humidity, as well as misuse, such as improper storage, can adversely affect the stability of vape batteries.Preventative Measures
How Can We Mitigate These Risks?
Implementing rigorous testing protocols, educating users on proper handling, and incorporating robust safety features can significantly mitigate risks associated with vape batteries.The Role of Regulatory Standards
Why Are Standards and Compliance Crucial?
Regulatory standards ensure vape batteries meet essential safety criteria before reaching consumers, preventing potential failures.Innovations in Safety
What Innovations Are Making Batteries Safer?
Recent advancements include the development of safer battery chemistry, enhanced protective features, and intelligent electronics that prevent overcharging.Case Studies
Learning from Past Incidents
Analyzing real-life incidents helps manufacturers understand failures and refine their designs and processes.Future Outlook
What Does the Future Hold for Vape Batteries?
With ongoing research and technological improvements, the future looks promising for safer and more reliable vape batteries.To Wrap It Up
This detailed and comprehensive guide has been meticulously crafted to educate and empower vaping professionals. By providing insights and strategies to enhance the safety and efficiency of its products, it aims to cultivate a vaping environment that prioritizes user well-being and ensures a secure and enjoyable vaping experience for all individuals.2024.05.17 02:53 minimumaxima Flares from CoQ10 demystified [How I hacked my flox — Personal Story]
Hello, everyone! It's been a while since I posted anything or even visited the sub. I do not visit the sub anymore as I collected all the information I needed long ago and staying on the sub only led to more thinking about flox. Focusing on other areas of life has been a great life hack for me! I have done a lot of positive things in the past half a year - I am starting my own business, been meeting new people and making a lot of new friends. Flox has changed me for the better.
I want to preface this by saying that I was probably the only person (or almost only as I've met maybe 1 or 2 other people on Reddit) who claimed flares from CoQ10. It actually flared me quite a lot — sometimes I could handle 100mg and sometimes even 30mg would lead to terrible pain. It was frightening to be one of the rarest cases in a pool of already rare cases, so, naturally, I tracked reactions to supplements extremely attentively (u/vadroqvertical won’t let me lie about that) and I have tried a lot (my cupboard is full of supplements — I spent around €3,500 on them in the span of 1.5 years). I will list reactions to supplements and the approximate timeline of when it happened:
— First of all, CoQ10/Ubiquinol flared me not so much 1 month out (tried 100mg ubiquinol multiple times) but it got worse as time went on to the point that April 2023 I could not even take 30mg without great pain. I tried it 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 8, 16 months out all without luck with varying doses flaring me to different extents. I will outline the reasons for it below;
— Vitamin E flared me a lot 2, 4, 6 and 8 months out. Never tried again. Tried 200-400 IU at a time. Due to poor GSH regeneration through Glutathione Reductase dependent upon B2 and NADPH;
— Benfothiamine flared me as well (doses 150mg-300mg/day). This is due to high sulphite and blockage of complex IV of the Electron Transport Chain in the mitochondria the reason for I will explain further. Thiamine is easily broken down by sulphite in the body and it is broken down into sulphite as well, which causes a negative loop reaction in people with high sulphite levels. Benfothiamine also caused me a severe allergic reaction (extreme anxiety and itching) that gladly did not require hospitalisation but was extremely scary and scarred me psychologically (likely high sulfocysteine activated NMDA receptors);
— Vitamin B6 increased my neuropathy when I got it. Likely due to poor B2 functional status. The problem I was also deficient in B6 and its supplementation led to great improvements in sleep quality once I could tolerate it. Note B6 is easily destroyed by sulphite just like B1;
— Riboflavin flared me (tried at 100mg, doses under 10mg never flared me). This is likely due to unmatched NADPH supply due to high sulphite load in the body (speculative);
— Astaxanthin greatly improved my physical health at 5-6 months out (proving that the core of my issues was solely ROS) but it caused reductive stress (NADH accumulation), which also caused pain, albeit the pain was a different kind and asta caused worsening neuropathy and visual snow. It accumulates in fat tissue, so stopping it was nice with ROS coming to a balance at about 10-12 days after discontinuation (after a loading dose of 36mg/daily for 3.5 weeks) but ROS then came back after it went out of the body further. I did not retry astaxanthin as I realised it caused me reductive stress and neurological issues;
— NAC helped me a damn lot. It was the best antioxidant for me. The problem is it depleted my molybdenum and copper and started giving me allergic reactions (low molybdenum + copper as well as blocked complex IV will lead to way higher sulphite generated from NAC);
— Did not feel much from vitamin D. I live in a very sunny country and tested at 51 (ref. Range 30+) without any supplements;
— Magnesium helped me a lot. #1 supplement;
— Calcium did not help me much in the beginning, actually, caused me heart palpitations. Was fine taking it after a few months;
— Potassium was a good supplement. I took 800mg/day for a while and it supported my muscle health;
— Important: vitamin B5 made me feel a lot better. It took my ROS down like crazy — I could feel normal muscles again, it removed my oxalate pain completely, too but for only a short while like 3-4h.
I have tried many more supplements that were phyto-supplements and such and none of them really helped me beside maybe some placebo effects. Some made me feel worse and were not worth it at all. I did not try anything mood-changing as I was not interested in it. To note, GABA supplement made me feel a little euphoric at first.
It is very relevant that I have been oxalate dumping since 27 Dec. 2023. The description of the experience can be found here: https://www.reddit.com/floxies/comments/1by0uh0/comment/kyma718/
Now, to the real question: why did CoQ10 flare me even at high nutrient status (just after flox). I have to stress that flares from CoQ10 were much less at the beginning of flox likely due to better nutrient status (it went from extremely terrible to slightly more extremely terrible while 6 months out it went from ‘eh’ to terrible).
1) hydrogen sulfide inhibition of complex IV generates superoxide in the respiratory chain, which becomes hydrogen peroxide,
2) hydrogen sulfide reduces ferric iron to ferrous iron, which makes it release from storage in ferritin,
3) this increases Fenton reactions between free iron and hydrogen peroxide, which generate more dangerous reactive oxygen species like the hydroxyl radical,
4) all of this deplete glutathione,
5) since a major purpose of the trans-sulfuration pathway is to provide enough cysteine to make glutathione, glutathione depletion hyperactivates the trans-sulfuration pathway, leading to more cysteine availability, the excess of which is catabolized to sulfite by alternative reactions that do not produce hydrogen sulfide and therefore do not require CoQ10.»
I took some tests, for example: Genova NutrEval at ~6 months out, full nutrient blood test panel at ~11 months out (abstained for 35 days from any supplements at all, even vitamins and tested literally everything, paid around €1,200) and my CoQ10 levels at both of those occurrences were at 1 & 1.07 in absence of supplementation with ref. Range 0.8-1.4, so it was definitely not low. That way I eliminated #1 and #5. While I was not entirely sure whether genetic issues had to do anything with it, I decided to pretend like they didn’t, since I had to try out other solutions before jumping to the most complex one. I took a lot of molybdenum, so molybdenum deficiency was not at the table for me. In this way I was left with #2, #3 and #6. In the full blood panel, my manganese was slightly high (20.1 with ref. Range <~18) and the SNP people were talking about that caused them manganese toxicity was homozygous for me, so I definitely considered it but manganese when supplemented made me a feel a lot better, actually (mentally, not physically), so I was also likely deficient in it. For now, I just avoid it in supplemental doses but I do not avoid foods containing it. Besides, I do not have iron overload genes that could contribute to manganese toxicity.
I could not take copper because it would lead to high ROS immediately (due to complex IV blockage the reasons for which I will outline further). Considering manganese was likely deficient and not superfluous, I discarded reason #2 and reason #3 could not be fixed by copper, so it was definitely not only copper deficiency but either another factor or another factor coupled with copper deficiency. I was stuck for a long time until I found another article from the same author about B12 and B9 helping to detoxify oxalate. As I said before all this explanation, I have been oxalate dumping throughout the whole process (already 4 months). I should note I was oxalate dumping even before I got floxed (I likely had oxalate overload to my appendix surgery — this is proven by inflamed mesenteric lymph nodes confirmed by 3 MRIs — Sally Norton has the same case of over-absorption in her book) and that is how I actually got the E. Coli they gave me Cipro for (oxalate crystals create a good environment for it in the urinary tract lol) and how I got floxed (I went full circle, lmao). When I was floxed, I was not oxalate dumping for at least a year likely because my body was not in the state to handle the dumping process but it was still affecting me as I will outline further. First of all, I want to say that biotin actually promoted dumping for me as said in the article and not relieved it like it is said in Sally Norton’s book (I am not sure if there is a genetic variation to this). The proposed mechanism of oxalate detoxification in the article is as follows:
«Recall my proposed two-step detoxification process:
I was sitting outside with my parents and their friends, researching my flox issue when I read these lines: «Formate accumulation is the principle mechanism of methanol toxicity. Part of its toxicity is driven by inhibiting cytochrome oxidase, complex IV of the mitochondrial respiratory chain, which would inhibit the clearance of sulfite and hydrogen sulfide and block the production of ATP.» It finally clicked. It was honestly one of the best moments in my life when I realised. I made the connection between great improvement from B5, formate accumulation, issues with copper supplementation, general ROS improvement and oxalate everything together. Suddenly, my whole flox journey became crystal clear to me.
B5 is mainly used in the body to create Coenzyme A. An intermediate molecule in the production of CoA is called 4’-phosphopantethine and is used in the enzyme 10-methyltetrahydrofolate dehydrogenase (high formate will pair with THF and form 10-MTHF in the attempt of the body to detoxify formate). This enzyme converts 10-MTHF back to THF and creates NADPH in the process which is used by Glutathione Reductase to regenerate Glutathione. Hence, high-dose B5 led to a lot of those reactions occurring and me feeling a big relief from ROS AND OXALATE, so oxalate is indeed detoxified into formate by biotin-dependent pyruvate carboxylase.
Okay, so theory is very interesting but what is theory if it has no proof? When I read it, I realised I finally cracked my flox but I had to get real proof.
Just a few weeks before this, I drank some wine and got nerve damage (likely from high sulphites in it, again, duh — while this was a terrible experience, it played a role in me getting closer to the solution of my issues). Beer caused me no issues, could drink 10 or more bottles in one sitting, eat a lot of rice with no issue. Before, I had only numb hands and top of feet. After the wine, I had burning up to the knee and burning in palms and behind my shoulders. I got fed up with this, I just decided to methylate the fuck out of my nerves and eat copper not in supplements but from calamari (very high in copper but low in vit A, so no toxicity risk like from liver). At that time, I was dumping and my ROS was not too high. I started consuming around 200g protein per day, eating a lot of copper 3-4mg/day and my nerves really healed a lot. To the point they even became normal after 3-4 days. My vision became brighter, it was absolutely crazy. I was also supplementing 150mg molybdenum/day. After a week of that, though, I started getting ROS back and it was very bad ROS, like almost a year ago when I had low molybdenum and copper from a lot of NAC use. That confirmed my suspicion that my issue was indeed sulphite. Eating almost anything caused ROS for me, dumping stopped since the body had no free reducing agents (NADPH) to support sulphate-producing enzymes (oxalate is transported on sulphate transporters, so it literally could not drive out of the cell because it had no car lol). As you understand, high ROS prevents a lot of enzymes from working and here it causes, as you have probably understood, a negative feedback loop.
So, back to the proof. Since I realised that my issue is probably formate, I just decided to take high-dose B5 again (did not add any high dose B2, B1 or other B vitamins, just took my usual B complex with food). It really helped me a lot, again. I felt almost normal. Then, it caused me some pain but I felt how I was getting better and the next day I took it in the day, then in the evening I ate around 80g carbs and took double the dose of B complex (my B complex has low doses: 10mg B1, 10mg B2, 25mg B3, 20mg B5, 5mg B6, 100mcg B7, 100mcg B9, 50mcg B12) instead of adding a lot of B5 and boom, no pain and oxalate dumping restarted quite more strongly than it even used to be before megadosing protein. So I was in pain for at least 2 weeks dying from ROS and then 2 days of B5 and suddenly I was normal again? It felt like paradise. The next day, I went out with my friends. I was a little nervous since we were going to eat out and we ordered 600g of carbonara (the portions here were huge there). I ate it all at once with 2x my light B complex and guess what happened? NO PAIN, just oxalate dumping. I finally realised that I was right and detoxified formate unloaded my complex IV, allowed sulphate transporters to be created, reduced ROS production from food and suddenly I felt like a normal human being (except the dumping part). I recently retried CoQ10 — no flare. Likely before formate got recreated a lot because I was dumping a lot (if you read my comment, you will understand).
I am not megadosing B5 right now but just stuck to 80-100mg B5 per day, so 4x my light B complex as my B6 tolerance improved a lot. Why I am not megadosing B5 is because oxalate likely blocks conversion of vitamin B2 into its active forms as I at ~11 months out when I did full-testing in the absence of supplementation 35 pre-testing had high molybdenum, iodine, (almost above the ref. Range (113 with ref. Range <120) selenium and very high B2 even though I was cellularly deficient according to Genova NutrEval (at 356 with ref. Range <295).
Hence, we can understand what happened to me from the beginning:
I hope this post does not get removed by moderators. If there is anything to moderate, change, or add, I will be happy to do that. All I say here is very attentively selected and fact-checked either from external sources or personal experience. I do not lie and have no motivation to do so. I am only trying to share my knowledge and to help realise others flox is not unbeatable and can be understood and solved — it all depends on individual factors.
Linked articles:
Manganese Toxicity Is a CoQ10 Deficiency
https://chrismasterjohnphd.substack.com/p/manganese-toxicity-is-a-coq10-deficiency
CoQ10 Deficiency Is Sulfur Toxicity
https://chrismasterjohnphd.substa2ck.com/p/coq10-deficiency-is-sulfur-toxicity?utm_source=profile&utm_medium=reader
10-Formyltetrahydrofolate dehydrogenase
https://lpi.oregonstate.edu/mic/vitamins/pantothenic-acid#formyltetrahydrofolate-dehydrogenase
Can Biotin Help Detoxify Oxalate?
https://chrismasterjohnphd.substack.com/p/can-biotin-help-detoxify-oxalate
Can B12 and Folate Help Detoxify Oxalate?
https://chrismasterjohnphd.substack.com/p/can-b12-and-folate-help-detoxify
submitted by minimumaxima to floxedtreatment [link] [comments]
I want to preface this by saying that I was probably the only person (or almost only as I've met maybe 1 or 2 other people on Reddit) who claimed flares from CoQ10. It actually flared me quite a lot — sometimes I could handle 100mg and sometimes even 30mg would lead to terrible pain. It was frightening to be one of the rarest cases in a pool of already rare cases, so, naturally, I tracked reactions to supplements extremely attentively (u/vadroqvertical won’t let me lie about that) and I have tried a lot (my cupboard is full of supplements — I spent around €3,500 on them in the span of 1.5 years). I will list reactions to supplements and the approximate timeline of when it happened:
— First of all, CoQ10/Ubiquinol flared me not so much 1 month out (tried 100mg ubiquinol multiple times) but it got worse as time went on to the point that April 2023 I could not even take 30mg without great pain. I tried it 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 8, 16 months out all without luck with varying doses flaring me to different extents. I will outline the reasons for it below;
— Vitamin E flared me a lot 2, 4, 6 and 8 months out. Never tried again. Tried 200-400 IU at a time. Due to poor GSH regeneration through Glutathione Reductase dependent upon B2 and NADPH;
— Benfothiamine flared me as well (doses 150mg-300mg/day). This is due to high sulphite and blockage of complex IV of the Electron Transport Chain in the mitochondria the reason for I will explain further. Thiamine is easily broken down by sulphite in the body and it is broken down into sulphite as well, which causes a negative loop reaction in people with high sulphite levels. Benfothiamine also caused me a severe allergic reaction (extreme anxiety and itching) that gladly did not require hospitalisation but was extremely scary and scarred me psychologically (likely high sulfocysteine activated NMDA receptors);
— Vitamin B6 increased my neuropathy when I got it. Likely due to poor B2 functional status. The problem I was also deficient in B6 and its supplementation led to great improvements in sleep quality once I could tolerate it. Note B6 is easily destroyed by sulphite just like B1;
— Riboflavin flared me (tried at 100mg, doses under 10mg never flared me). This is likely due to unmatched NADPH supply due to high sulphite load in the body (speculative);
— Astaxanthin greatly improved my physical health at 5-6 months out (proving that the core of my issues was solely ROS) but it caused reductive stress (NADH accumulation), which also caused pain, albeit the pain was a different kind and asta caused worsening neuropathy and visual snow. It accumulates in fat tissue, so stopping it was nice with ROS coming to a balance at about 10-12 days after discontinuation (after a loading dose of 36mg/daily for 3.5 weeks) but ROS then came back after it went out of the body further. I did not retry astaxanthin as I realised it caused me reductive stress and neurological issues;
— NAC helped me a damn lot. It was the best antioxidant for me. The problem is it depleted my molybdenum and copper and started giving me allergic reactions (low molybdenum + copper as well as blocked complex IV will lead to way higher sulphite generated from NAC);
— Did not feel much from vitamin D. I live in a very sunny country and tested at 51 (ref. Range 30+) without any supplements;
— Magnesium helped me a lot. #1 supplement;
— Calcium did not help me much in the beginning, actually, caused me heart palpitations. Was fine taking it after a few months;
— Potassium was a good supplement. I took 800mg/day for a while and it supported my muscle health;
— Important: vitamin B5 made me feel a lot better. It took my ROS down like crazy — I could feel normal muscles again, it removed my oxalate pain completely, too but for only a short while like 3-4h.
I have tried many more supplements that were phyto-supplements and such and none of them really helped me beside maybe some placebo effects. Some made me feel worse and were not worth it at all. I did not try anything mood-changing as I was not interested in it. To note, GABA supplement made me feel a little euphoric at first.
It is very relevant that I have been oxalate dumping since 27 Dec. 2023. The description of the experience can be found here: https://www.reddit.com/floxies/comments/1by0uh0/comment/kyma718/
Now, to the real question: why did CoQ10 flare me even at high nutrient status (just after flox). I have to stress that flares from CoQ10 were much less at the beginning of flox likely due to better nutrient status (it went from extremely terrible to slightly more extremely terrible while 6 months out it went from ‘eh’ to terrible).
- First, I have to say that NAC made me worse long-term. How? Over a long period of time I was taking it and was not watching my copper levels (NAC increases metallothionein and causes poor copper absorption) and molybdenum levels (NAC raises generation of sulfite and it needs molybdenum to be detoxified). Some NAC formulations have molybdenum in them but I was not lucky to get one of those and, due to lack of knowledge, did not supplement any molybdenum. The result was high sulphite and from that high ROS (with a combo of benfo which further increased sulphite it caused me peripheral neuropathy at 5 months). Sulphite causes Fenton reactions when complex IV gets blocked up. H2S (a signalling molecule and a vasodilator) also needs to be detoxified by a CoQ-10 dependent enzyme and turned later into sulphite and then sulphate by molybdenum and complex IV (dependent on copper) and if it is not detoxified, it causes a complex IV blockage and starts Fenton reactions as well as electron leakage during production of ATP, causing ROS. This causes a negative feedback loop that was described in the linked article as follows:
1) hydrogen sulfide inhibition of complex IV generates superoxide in the respiratory chain, which becomes hydrogen peroxide,
2) hydrogen sulfide reduces ferric iron to ferrous iron, which makes it release from storage in ferritin,
3) this increases Fenton reactions between free iron and hydrogen peroxide, which generate more dangerous reactive oxygen species like the hydroxyl radical,
4) all of this deplete glutathione,
5) since a major purpose of the trans-sulfuration pathway is to provide enough cysteine to make glutathione, glutathione depletion hyperactivates the trans-sulfuration pathway, leading to more cysteine availability, the excess of which is catabolized to sulfite by alternative reactions that do not produce hydrogen sulfide and therefore do not require CoQ10.»
- In the article linked below, you will see that CoQ-10 protects against reactive oxygen species mainly due to improving hydrogen sulphide clearance (H2S). Therefore, CoQ-10 deficiency did not cause much ROS in complexes I and II but mainly produced issues in Complex III (where sulphite detoxification starts) and complex IV (where the last electrons are delivered during the sulphite-sulphate reaction). Excerpt: «In human cells with CoQ10 synthesis defects from the same study, CoQ10 protected against reactive oxygen species, but suppressing the enzyme that uses CoQ10 to clear hydrogen sulfide abolished this effect. This shows that the reactive oxygen species were coming from poor hydrogen sulfide clearance.»
- Cellular CoQ-10 deficiency;
- Manganese toxicity;
- Copper deficiency;
- Molybdenum deficiency;
- SUOX (enzyme which converts sulphite to sulphate) or another genetic impairment;
- Blockage of complex IV by something else.
I took some tests, for example: Genova NutrEval at ~6 months out, full nutrient blood test panel at ~11 months out (abstained for 35 days from any supplements at all, even vitamins and tested literally everything, paid around €1,200) and my CoQ10 levels at both of those occurrences were at 1 & 1.07 in absence of supplementation with ref. Range 0.8-1.4, so it was definitely not low. That way I eliminated #1 and #5. While I was not entirely sure whether genetic issues had to do anything with it, I decided to pretend like they didn’t, since I had to try out other solutions before jumping to the most complex one. I took a lot of molybdenum, so molybdenum deficiency was not at the table for me. In this way I was left with #2, #3 and #6. In the full blood panel, my manganese was slightly high (20.1 with ref. Range <~18) and the SNP people were talking about that caused them manganese toxicity was homozygous for me, so I definitely considered it but manganese when supplemented made me a feel a lot better, actually (mentally, not physically), so I was also likely deficient in it. For now, I just avoid it in supplemental doses but I do not avoid foods containing it. Besides, I do not have iron overload genes that could contribute to manganese toxicity.
I could not take copper because it would lead to high ROS immediately (due to complex IV blockage the reasons for which I will outline further). Considering manganese was likely deficient and not superfluous, I discarded reason #2 and reason #3 could not be fixed by copper, so it was definitely not only copper deficiency but either another factor or another factor coupled with copper deficiency. I was stuck for a long time until I found another article from the same author about B12 and B9 helping to detoxify oxalate. As I said before all this explanation, I have been oxalate dumping throughout the whole process (already 4 months). I should note I was oxalate dumping even before I got floxed (I likely had oxalate overload to my appendix surgery — this is proven by inflamed mesenteric lymph nodes confirmed by 3 MRIs — Sally Norton has the same case of over-absorption in her book) and that is how I actually got the E. Coli they gave me Cipro for (oxalate crystals create a good environment for it in the urinary tract lol) and how I got floxed (I went full circle, lmao). When I was floxed, I was not oxalate dumping for at least a year likely because my body was not in the state to handle the dumping process but it was still affecting me as I will outline further. First of all, I want to say that biotin actually promoted dumping for me as said in the article and not relieved it like it is said in Sally Norton’s book (I am not sure if there is a genetic variation to this). The proposed mechanism of oxalate detoxification in the article is as follows:
«Recall my proposed two-step detoxification process:
- Pyruvate carboxylase [biotin-dependent] converts oxalate to formate.
- Formate is joined to tetrahydrofolate to enter the methylation cycle, be used for the synthesis of purines or DNA, or be converted to carbon dioxide and exhaled in the breath.»
I was sitting outside with my parents and their friends, researching my flox issue when I read these lines: «Formate accumulation is the principle mechanism of methanol toxicity. Part of its toxicity is driven by inhibiting cytochrome oxidase, complex IV of the mitochondrial respiratory chain, which would inhibit the clearance of sulfite and hydrogen sulfide and block the production of ATP.» It finally clicked. It was honestly one of the best moments in my life when I realised. I made the connection between great improvement from B5, formate accumulation, issues with copper supplementation, general ROS improvement and oxalate everything together. Suddenly, my whole flox journey became crystal clear to me.
B5 is mainly used in the body to create Coenzyme A. An intermediate molecule in the production of CoA is called 4’-phosphopantethine and is used in the enzyme 10-methyltetrahydrofolate dehydrogenase (high formate will pair with THF and form 10-MTHF in the attempt of the body to detoxify formate). This enzyme converts 10-MTHF back to THF and creates NADPH in the process which is used by Glutathione Reductase to regenerate Glutathione. Hence, high-dose B5 led to a lot of those reactions occurring and me feeling a big relief from ROS AND OXALATE, so oxalate is indeed detoxified into formate by biotin-dependent pyruvate carboxylase.
Okay, so theory is very interesting but what is theory if it has no proof? When I read it, I realised I finally cracked my flox but I had to get real proof.
Just a few weeks before this, I drank some wine and got nerve damage (likely from high sulphites in it, again, duh — while this was a terrible experience, it played a role in me getting closer to the solution of my issues). Beer caused me no issues, could drink 10 or more bottles in one sitting, eat a lot of rice with no issue. Before, I had only numb hands and top of feet. After the wine, I had burning up to the knee and burning in palms and behind my shoulders. I got fed up with this, I just decided to methylate the fuck out of my nerves and eat copper not in supplements but from calamari (very high in copper but low in vit A, so no toxicity risk like from liver). At that time, I was dumping and my ROS was not too high. I started consuming around 200g protein per day, eating a lot of copper 3-4mg/day and my nerves really healed a lot. To the point they even became normal after 3-4 days. My vision became brighter, it was absolutely crazy. I was also supplementing 150mg molybdenum/day. After a week of that, though, I started getting ROS back and it was very bad ROS, like almost a year ago when I had low molybdenum and copper from a lot of NAC use. That confirmed my suspicion that my issue was indeed sulphite. Eating almost anything caused ROS for me, dumping stopped since the body had no free reducing agents (NADPH) to support sulphate-producing enzymes (oxalate is transported on sulphate transporters, so it literally could not drive out of the cell because it had no car lol). As you understand, high ROS prevents a lot of enzymes from working and here it causes, as you have probably understood, a negative feedback loop.
So, back to the proof. Since I realised that my issue is probably formate, I just decided to take high-dose B5 again (did not add any high dose B2, B1 or other B vitamins, just took my usual B complex with food). It really helped me a lot, again. I felt almost normal. Then, it caused me some pain but I felt how I was getting better and the next day I took it in the day, then in the evening I ate around 80g carbs and took double the dose of B complex (my B complex has low doses: 10mg B1, 10mg B2, 25mg B3, 20mg B5, 5mg B6, 100mcg B7, 100mcg B9, 50mcg B12) instead of adding a lot of B5 and boom, no pain and oxalate dumping restarted quite more strongly than it even used to be before megadosing protein. So I was in pain for at least 2 weeks dying from ROS and then 2 days of B5 and suddenly I was normal again? It felt like paradise. The next day, I went out with my friends. I was a little nervous since we were going to eat out and we ordered 600g of carbonara (the portions here were huge there). I ate it all at once with 2x my light B complex and guess what happened? NO PAIN, just oxalate dumping. I finally realised that I was right and detoxified formate unloaded my complex IV, allowed sulphate transporters to be created, reduced ROS production from food and suddenly I felt like a normal human being (except the dumping part). I recently retried CoQ10 — no flare. Likely before formate got recreated a lot because I was dumping a lot (if you read my comment, you will understand).
I am not megadosing B5 right now but just stuck to 80-100mg B5 per day, so 4x my light B complex as my B6 tolerance improved a lot. Why I am not megadosing B5 is because oxalate likely blocks conversion of vitamin B2 into its active forms as I at ~11 months out when I did full-testing in the absence of supplementation 35 pre-testing had high molybdenum, iodine, (almost above the ref. Range (113 with ref. Range <120) selenium and very high B2 even though I was cellularly deficient according to Genova NutrEval (at 356 with ref. Range <295).
Hence, we can understand what happened to me from the beginning:
- Oxalate overload led to formate overload as oxalate is converted to formate through the action of biotin-dependent pyruvate carboxylase;
- Formate overload led to complex IV blockage, high ROS and high sulphite, which also leads to high ROS and also leads to complex IV blockage (negative feedback loop);
- High sulphite destroys vitamins B1&B6 as said in the beginning, which caused endogenous production of oxalate to skyrocket (you can read about this if you google, this information is very available);
- Hence sulphate transporters also got impaired, oxalate detoxification in the form of physical crystals also halted, which led to even higher overload;
- This led to higher formate, this led to even more ROS.
I hope this post does not get removed by moderators. If there is anything to moderate, change, or add, I will be happy to do that. All I say here is very attentively selected and fact-checked either from external sources or personal experience. I do not lie and have no motivation to do so. I am only trying to share my knowledge and to help realise others flox is not unbeatable and can be understood and solved — it all depends on individual factors.
Linked articles:
Manganese Toxicity Is a CoQ10 Deficiency
https://chrismasterjohnphd.substack.com/p/manganese-toxicity-is-a-coq10-deficiency
CoQ10 Deficiency Is Sulfur Toxicity
https://chrismasterjohnphd.substa2ck.com/p/coq10-deficiency-is-sulfur-toxicity?utm_source=profile&utm_medium=reader
10-Formyltetrahydrofolate dehydrogenase
https://lpi.oregonstate.edu/mic/vitamins/pantothenic-acid#formyltetrahydrofolate-dehydrogenase
Can Biotin Help Detoxify Oxalate?
https://chrismasterjohnphd.substack.com/p/can-biotin-help-detoxify-oxalate
Can B12 and Folate Help Detoxify Oxalate?
https://chrismasterjohnphd.substack.com/p/can-b12-and-folate-help-detoxify