This happened many years ago but has remained so clear in my memory that it could have been yesterday. I'm not sure I believe in reincarnation, but if not that, what was this?
A little background ... When I was a little girl, ages 4 and 5 or thereabouts, I had a "pretend friend" named Patricia. I didn't do a lot with her, partly because she was a little older and acted bossy to me. In my own family I was the oldest child, have two younger sisters.
When I was a bit older, I asked my mother if there had ever been a child before me -- a boy. Because I had the strong feeling I had an older brother. Had he died before I was born? Or had we been twins and I made it but he didn't? I asked my mother several times about the older brother thing, she always said No, the last time I asked was when I was in high school.
Skip forward to 1980. I'm in my 30s, single, secretarial work for a construction organization. One of the guys who worked there was originally from Pennsylvania and we got talking about that state -- my mother was born there so I know a bit about it and through those conversations we became friends.
He mentioned living on a farm as a kid, and when he said that I suddenly had a mental picture/vision of a train traveling through a field -- it was a little distance away and there was something between me and the field such that I could see a snatch of field, then blank space, then field again maybe a couple of times. He mentioned having a sister, and I thought "Something's not right with that." But was not a good time to talk.
I will call this guy "C". He lived about 50 miles from the job, I lived 2 streets away from the office. He had a medical condition that was being checked out and if he was too tired at end of the work day he'd stop a while at my place, maybe take a nap before the drive home.
Shortly after the mention of him growing up on a farm, he needed to stop at my place for an hour or so. I brought him some peppermint tea, and brought up the train in the field.
And then I said this: "I'm on a lane, just dirt lane. On the left is an orchard and sheep are grazing there. Ahead is the end wall of a an old two-storey white farmhouse."
C was staring at me, tea forgotten, and he was literally shrinking away from me.
"And there's a meadow behind the house, and a train runs through the meadow, but I can't see all of it because something's in the way, blocking some of the view."
C said, "That was the view from the back steps. How do you KNOW THIS?"
And I kept on talking. I said, "You said you had a sister, but there was another child, wasn't there. What happened to that child?"
And C said, "There was a baby sister, named J. She was born in early 1948 and died of crib death a couple of months later."
His living sister? Her name was Patricia.
A month or so later, C had his sister come visit and they had me over. Patricia and I could easily have been sisters. Both C and Patricia felt it was pretty darn solid that I was their baby J sister, reincarnated now as the person I am.
My mother was able to corroborate that I'd had a pretend friend named Patricia, and she also remembered me wondering about a brother.
C, Patricia and I talked about whether or not to tell their mother. She had never really gotten over the loss. We didn't know how she might react to the very idea of reincarnation. So we decided not to put her in that position.
C moved out of state, we stayed in touch by phone until he passed in the 1990s. Last fall, I thought of contacting Patricia, only to learn she too had passed on.
If this was not a reincarnation matter, then I don't know what it would be. I've never, in my whole life, had another experience like it. One other possibility would be me reading C's mind, but that's never happened with other people.
Anyone else have the experience of actually meeting someone from a previous life?

I am in need of some advice. Someone I know is a doctor, and she typically has a consultation with her patients to understand their medical and family history, prior to the procedure. Today, a woman came into the clinic with her husband, and her husband was outside the room. She didn’t know English, Urdu or Arabic, which are the only languages the doctor knows, so they called in a translator. She looked like she had no life behind her eyes. The doctor had a gut feeling that there was some pent up trauma and emotional stress the woman was experiencing, so she asked her about it.
TRIGGER WARNING ⚠️ The woman said that her husband is physically and sexually abusive towards her, he had an affair with another woman 2 years prior, and he frequently sexually assaults their 15 year old daughter. Her elder daughter is married and she doesn’t know about her sister. They have shifted to Dubai from India. So, she can’t leave him or help her daughter because he will stop the financial support and she doesn’t have any family here, nor any money. She is not educated enough to get a job. And she said if he gets reported to the police, he is capable of killing both of them. She told the doctor not to call the authorities on him either. She cannot really communicate with the authorities either because she doesn’t speak the language (only Malayalam).
This is the first time the doctor has encountered something like this and she is concerned about how to handle this. Should she report him to the police? Or are there any other organizations here that help with these cases? I’m not informed enough about this but I figured that since this is a very huge community, you guys would have more knowledge.
For personal, safety, and confidentiality reasons, I will not reveal the identity of the doctor or patient.

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My parents were strict growing up. In particular, my sister and I had a tightly enforced curfew - no going out after 6PM. As a homebody who preferred to read in my room, I didn't mind much.
My older sister Jasmine hated it. She misbehaved frequently, stayed out late and made friends our parents didn't approve of. Dad would lock her in the house when she came back from school, and she would throw ear splitting tantrums that gave everyone headaches. The more they tried to control her, the more she rebelled, until she became an absolute menace. We fought a lot too - she spat in my food at the dinner table, and I pulled her hair in return. My parents would scream at her to stop and stand in the corner for an hour as punishment. They threatened that if her behavior continued, they would send her away to a boarding school for difficult children, where the punishments wouldn't be as kind.
The final straw came when I was ten and Jasmine was fourteen. Mom found a pack of cigarettes in Jasmine's room. She came to us at the dinner table.
"Jasmine," she said calmly, holding up the pack. "What is this?"
I saw the color drain from Jasmine's face. She'd gotten them from an older boy at school. Her expression cycled through fear, dread, denial then rage in a few seconds. A violent argument broke out.
"Fuck you!" She screamed, "They're mine and you bet I'm gonna smoke them! You can't fucking tell me what to do!"
My parents decided it was time to play their final card. It was boarding school, or getting disowned and put up for adoption. They had enough, and as she was becoming older, taller and more violent, they were starting to become concerned for the family's safety. She had little choice, and a month later, dad took her on a flight to the boarding school. I don't remember many details about it from listening to their conversations. I just picked up the fact that it was in a hilly area in a far away state, and they took discipline seriously there. No technology, makeup or drugs were allowed, there was a strict daily schedule beginning at 5AM and ending at 9AM sharp, and those who broke the rules were served their just desserts.
"See ya in fifty years," I taunted, "enjoy being a nun."
She stuck her tongue out at me and flipped me the middle finger. She disappeared, and the front door slammed shut.
The home was much quieter thereafter. I liked it at first. No more fighting over stuff and screaming around the house. But over time, it got lonely, especially on the evenings and weekends. I now felt like an only child.
Despite our differences, Jas and I did have a few good laughs over dumb Youtube videos on the odd occasion. Three months had passed since she had left, but the entire time I never heard my parents call Jas or the school for updates. I asked about Jas a couple times after a few months.
"Is she coming back?" I asked.
"Of course, dear. She's there for a year, so she'll be back when the school year ends," she replied.
The year droned on, and half a year passed in a blink. I started taking violin lessons, and my parents even extended the curfew to let me attend late night school events. It helped me make some more friends, and the extension allowed me to stay at their houses, as long as my parents approved of them. Being accustomed to restrictions for my whole life, those allowances were a breath of fresh air. Still, I was alone in my room most of the time, and the house felt empty.
I came home from school one day and both my parents were still at work. As I went to my room and set my things down, I heard the home phone ringing from downstairs.
Taking off my coat as I walked down the stairs, I went to answer it.
"Hello?"
"HELP ME! HELP!" A shrill voice shrieked from the other end. All the hairs on the back of my neck stood up instantly as soon as I heard it, and my heart rate began to accelerate. I held the phone a little further from my ear.
"Jas?" I asked.
"Harry," she sobbed, a terrified urgency in her voice, "I need help, please. Where's mom and dad?"
"They're at work," I replied.
"Harry, I'm sorry." Her voice became quieter. "I'm sorry I spat in your vegetables. I'm sorry I called you a dumbass. Tell mom and dad I'm sorry I gave them hell. They didn't deserve all of that. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you guys, I swear."
"I know, Jas," I said, concerned, "but what's going on?"
"Oh my God, they're coming," she whimpered, "they're gonna get me, I can't run anymore. Fuck…"
I heard a loud smash and commotion on the other side, and screaming erupted from the other end of the line. Ear piercing screams that could've shattered glass. They became more intense but quieter, as if she was being dragged away from the receiver.
"No, NO! PLEASE DON'T! HELP!"
The line hung up.
Shaking, I called mom and dad immediately. When they came home, I explained what happened and thought Jas was in serious danger. Mom hurriedly called the school, and the woman on the other end explained that Jas had a tantrum earlier, but was otherwise fine and didn't want to speak to her. She took that as sufficient, and hung up. I pressed her a little, but that pissed her off.
"It's just one of her tantrums, and she's being dealt with. She's getting the help she needs. I don't want to hear you mention it again, Harry."
I never recalled Jas apologizing during a tantrum. Before then, she had never apologized once in her life. It was very out of character. I knew something wasn't right, but I couldn't do anything about it. I tried calling the unknown number back from the home phone a couple of times when my parents weren't at home, but to no avail. Three months passed. Some nights I would wake up drenched in sweat, screams ringing in my ears.
The end of the school year came, and I thought it was time for Jasmine to return home. I asked dad about her.
"They've said she's making really good progress, so she's going to stay for a few more years," he beamed.
"How do you know she's even alive?" I asked.
"What kind of question is that?" He laughed. "She spoke to us herself, sounded like she'd grown up a lot over the past year."
She didn't come back home.
Over time, I grew accustomed to being alone. Mom and dad never talked about Jas again. They acted as if she never existed, and for some reason, I never dared to ask. Perhaps I would've forgotten I ever had a sister, if it weren't for the periodic nightmares of that phone call which returned to haunt me every few weeks. When I turned eighteen, I moved out and went to college. As soon as I left home, the nightmares returned with a vengeance, revisiting almost every night.
Back when I was ten, after mom had called the boarding school following the horrific phone call, she left her phone on the kitchen table and I saw the number. I didn't note it down, but it was one of those that was easy to remember. I specifically remember thinking it was odd that a number had such a long string of fives.
One night in my dorm, I tried to recall the number, typing several possible combinations into my phone keypad and tapping the call button. After a few invalid attempts, I was surprised to finally get through to someone.
"Hello, this is the boarding school reception," A voice came from the other end. Bingo.
"Hi there, I'd like to ask about a student who once attended your school, her name is Jasmine Collins."
There was a pause.
"What is your relation to this student?"
"I'm her brother. She attended the school about eight or nine years ago, and I haven't seen her since. Just wanted to know if you knew where she graduated to."
"I'll search the records."
"Thank you," I said. After a few minutes, she piped up again.
"Apologies, there are no records matching this name."
"Are you sure?" I frowned, "It's J-a-s-m-i-n-e C-o-l-l-i-n-s." I spelt it out.
"Nope, nothing in our system."
Silence. I grew frustrated.
"Listen," I growled quietly, "I know something happened to my sister while she was at your school. If you don't tell me exactly where she is right now, I'm going to involve the police."
"Sir, we do not appreciate unfounded accusations or threats. if you like, I can do a second search, but if nothing comes up there isn't much I can help with," she said.
"J-a-s-m-i-n-e C-o-l-l-i-n-s," I repeated, "do it."
Two minutes passed.
"My sincerest apologies," said the woman on the other end, "I indeed misspelt the name. Miss Collins was a student here until she turned eighteen. She was discharged thereafter. Would you like the address?"
A wave of relief ran through me, and my racing pulse began to ease.
"Yes please, thank you."
She gave me an address in Pennsylvania. The following Friday evening, I took a flight over and made my way to the location. It was a wide two-storey building in the middle of a well kept garden. Colorful, well trimmed rose bushes and plots of tulips lined the perimeter. There was a small fountain on the path that led up to the main entrance of the building. I expected it to be a house or block of apartments, and double-checked that the address was correct, which it was.
I walked into a reception area. Glass panels surrounded by wooden frames made up one of the walls, with a door leading to a corridor. A blonde lady was sitting at a desk, and some elderly people were talking in the corridor. There was a colorful poster on the wall.
'Celebrating our care home's 40th anniversary. Come join us for cake!'
Care home? I thought to myself, confused.
"Hi there," said the woman at the desk, in a cheery tone.
"Hello, I'm looking for my sister, someone told me she would be here."
"Name?" She asked.
"Jasmine Collins?"
She typed it, and clicked.
"Take a seat, I won't be two seconds."
She descended down the corridor, and returned a few moments later, pushing a wheelchair with someone on it. My eyes widened as she came closer.
The woman in the wheelchair had big bulging eyes, with pupils that pointed away from each other absently, and a crooked neck slanting uncomfortably to the right. Her arms and legs rested limp, feet bent in an uncomfortable position. Her thin, brittle brown hair hung from her scalp, which housed specks of dandruff. Her limbs were stick thin, but her midsection bulged slightly. She sat almost motionless as she was pushed towards me, apart from her chest, which rose as she gasped in breaths of air. A drip of saliva ran down from the side of her open mouth. She wore a pink shirt that said 'Mondays' and a blue flowery dress. There was a cannula and dressing on her left arm, and a yellow feeding tube came out of her right nostril, taped to the side of her face.
The blonde lady brought her in front of me, then flipped the brake on the wheelchair. She crouched down next to it, and stroked the woman's sparse strands of hair.
"Say hello, Jasmine," she said softly.
The woman in the wheelchair let out a long groan. I stared in disbelief, horrified.
"What happened to her?" I choked.
"She was admitted to us a few years ago, before I started working here," explained the blonde lady. "I heard she contracted bacterial meningitis at another residence, and got brain damage as a result."
"No," I said, shaking my head, my voice trembling.
"This isn't right," I continued, "something very bad has happened to her. How did she get here? Can you check the records?"
"Well, before I started working here, this place had paper records. Some of them got lost, hers was one of them, but what the staff at the time could remember was transcribed onto the new electronic system."
She reached over the desk and flipped the computer monitor around.
"Her notes here just say she was admitted at age eighteen having suffered brain damage after contracting meningitis as a teenager, and presented as quadriplegic with greatly reduced cognition and speech. She had a medical exam on admission, which confirmed this. No suspicious circumstances were reported."
"Where was she brought here from?" I asked in a panic, trying to read the text on the screen. "And by who?" The lady looked at the screen and scrolled down.
"Doesn't say," she said.
"Is that all you can find? Everything?"
She nodded. I stared for what seemed like hours, and finally broke out of my trance.
"Thank you," I croaked, rattled.
I took the handles of the wheelchair and unlocked the brake, wheeling it and the woman outside into the garden area, down the path leading to the front doors and past the fountain. I eventually stopped beside a far away bench. I sat down, still light headed.
It was a bright, sunny day. Children walked hand in hand with their elderly and disabled relatives along the green grass, admiring the roses. Some families were having picnics in the distance. A cool breeze swept by, the sound of water flowing like white noise in the background.
I looked in the woman's eyes, trying to find my sister locked inside. Her gaze shifted to meet mine. I could see in her eyes that she desperately wanted to tell me something.
"What did they do to you?" I whispered. She just stared at me, unblinking. A single tear ran down her left cheek.
When I returned to my dorm, I was angry. I wanted answers, and picked up the phone to dial mom and dad's house and ask them what they had done. Perhaps I should even call the police first, I thought, pacing up and down my room for hours, thinking about who to call and what I would say. Then I sat down on my bed, as a realization came over me.
Mom and dad had been good to me. Mom had been diagnosed with breast cancer just before I left for college, and seemed to be fighting a losing battle. Dad had lost my grandparents on his side, and was also slowly losing his eyesight. Their marriage wasn't doing too well, but they had somehow stuck it through for the family. Did I really want to do this to them now? I thought back to when I had asked dad if Jas was coming home.
"She spoke to us herself…"
I pondered what I should do next for days upon days, and I came to the conclusion of… nothing.
Call me a bad person, call me a coward, call me selfish. Believe me, I badly wanted answers to what the hell happened in that boarding school.
I just didn't want to lose anyone else.
I went to PA to visit Jas every college break, pushing her in her wheelchair down the pathways in the park surrounding the care home. Eventually, I graduated and my fiancée and got our own place. After we had settled in somewhat, we brought Jas back from the care home to live with us. I knew it we were taking on a big commitment, especially as we were planning to have a family in the near future, but somehow I felt like I owed it. My fiancée Marielle is an absolute star. She was an accountant who mostly worked from home and was happy to accommodate, which is more than most would do for a partner. Marielle even helped prepare Jas' nutrition at home, which we fed her through the NG tube, and other aspects of her care.
I came home from work one day.
"Welcome back babe," chirped Marielle. I kissed her and hung my coat up behind the door.
"How was your day?" I asked.
"Decent, same old. Did some work in the morning," she replied, "in the afternoon, I took Jas out on a walk along the river. I think… she tried to say something."
"Jas tried to speak?" I asked, intrigued.
"I think so. I listened closely, and she kept repeating something. It sounded like…" Marielle did an impression.
"Harry? Was she trying to say my name?"
She pondered for a second.
"No, I think it sounded more like, 'sorry'."

I'm in a difficult, new and weird situation and I'm in desperate need of help and advice.
Unfortunately, my father had a stroke a month ago. I uprooted my entire life and moved back from nyc to the Hudson Valley. My whole life is in a 10x10 storage unit and I'm now back in my childhood bedroom as I try and get his house and bills and life managed along with mine.
My dad's in acute physical therapy and will be for another few weeks and then probably a few months of sub acute physical therapy. He's progressing well, but his left side is weak and while walking might be doable, stairs will be a challenge.
He was planning on selling his home before the stroke and now we definitely need to sell it as it's not at all accessible. Added into the mix is my aunt (his sister) who has severe COPD who will also be living with us. She's pretty independent and drives and does very well on her own, but she needs constant low flow oxygen and shouldn't be so socially isolated like she has been. My dad and aunt are also very close so having her around will lift his spirits pretty significantly, I feel, as well as hers.
So, here's the problem. I need to buy a house and it needs to be a home that's workable for everyone but I've never done this before and, honestly, wasn't expecting to. Since I wasn't expecting to, I threw everything in retirement as I maintained a 30k emergency fund.
My dad's house will probably sell for 400ish, and he owes about 200k on it still, so after closing and paying off some of his high interest nonsense, we're looking at about 100k left over for a down payment. My aunt is selling her house and will be gifting me about an additional 120k-ish but that'd be after the home purchase which, while very generous, and trust me, I'm not lookin a gift horse in the mouth, doesn't help with the initial monthly mortgage cost. I'm lost, frankly. I don't know how I'm going to find a suitable place that I can afford. My dad and aunt will contribute to the mortgage payments and utilities and what not, but they're older and their health is obviously getting worse. I don't know how many years they have left. All the houses that meet our criteria (ranch style, or 2 storey with 2 bedrooms on the first floor. 3 bedrooms, 2 bath) are like 450+ and are not that common. I suppose I could get a regular 2 storey house for cheaper and outfit a stair lift?
Details:
-My Gross Salary: $101, 400
-I put about 15% of that toward my 401k and have been contributing to my Roth Ira. Should I pause?
-I have zero debt.
-My dad makes about 50-60k a year from his pension and social security and no savings otherwise. He has about 30k in non-house debt that are credit cards and a parent plus loan he didn't tell me about. Was going to pay all that shit off with the house sale. Should I?
-I don't know my aunts retirement situation, but I know she is set regarding her retirement. I'm her power of attorney.
With my money and the sale of dad's house, I'll probably have close to 150k for a down payment. Then the additional 120k from my aunt post purchase.
What the fuck do I do? Ideally, my mortgage should be 2500 a month, but with my down-payment, I'm looking at a 3.2k a month mortgage.
The only way I can see it working, which isn't the most financially smart, but it is a solution, is banking the additional 120k in my high yield ally savings account and withdraw the difference between what I can afford on my income, and what the monthly mortgage is. I crunched the numbers and it would cover it for the entire 30 year mortgage term should I decide to keep the house after my family passes. I'd likely downsize once I am no longer a care giver.
I'm just lost and nervous. I've been thrust into moving and caring for my dad and aunt and looking into house buying in the matter of a few weeks when that was never on my radar. I don't even know where to begin. Luckily my job is safe and I'm working full time but how the fuck do I make this work.
Thanks in advance and I'm sorry for my panicked ramblings. I just desperately need guidance.

Sagittarius and Aquarius are so similar, no wonder why they end up close whether it be best friends, close friends, or family. Their energy and lifestyles are just too similar to NOT connect.
Both are these signs are big on adventure. They would enjoy traveling together and should actually do it often.
Both are extroverted and focused forward and they are forward thinking. They're both highly traveled or highly experienced people.Neither one of them give up. They keep going.
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Despite the typo in the title, this is the second part of my list for Missouri's execution roster. As stated in the first part, character count limitations forced me to split it into two separate posts. For the link to part 1, please click here.
The currently executed 98 offenders, cases 50 to 98:
50. Samuel Smith (1979-2001, lethal injection): In 1979, Smith bound and strangled a physician, 28 year old Zachary Moraitis, to death while robbing his apartment. He was charged and convicted for second degree murder, and given a 12 year sentence for it. 8 years later, a group of inmates, which included 24 year old Marlin May, attacked another inmate. Smith intervened, got into a knife fight with May, and stabbed him to death.
51. Jerome Mallett (~1985-2001, lethal injection): Mallett shot and killed James Froemsdorf, a 35 year old state trooper that pulled him over for speeding, with his own handgun when he tried to arrest him. He fled the scene with a handcuff stuck on his left wrist, which was still on him when Mallett was captured two days later. As a child, Mallett suffered an injury that deformed his right hand, which enabled to slip it out of the cuffs during the botched arrest. At the time of Froemsdorf's murder, Mallett was wanted for robbery and parole violations.
52. Michael Roberts (1994-2001, lethal injection): Roberts tricked his neighbor, 56 year old Mary Taylor, into letting him hang out at her house with the intentions of pulling a robbery. They watched television together for several hours until Taylor decided to hush out of the door. He then pounced on her with a hammer he snuck inside, and inflicted 19 blows to her head. Roberts also poured boiling water on Taylor's face, choked her with a telephone cord, and stabbed her with her own butcher knife. A total of $200 and other undisclosed valuables were stolen and most of it was spent on cocaine.
53. Stephen Johns (1982-2001, lethal injection): During a gas station robbery, Johns and his accomplices shot and killed the clerk, 17 year old Donald Voepel, and took $248 from the register.
54. James Johnson (1991-2002, lethal injection): Johnson got into an argument with his wife and daughter in their home and tried to evict them both at gunpoint. The police were called, and Johnson shot and killed the responding officer, 27 year old Leslie Roark. He drove to the home of another police officer, and fired on his family while they were having a Christmas party. The officer's wife, 38 year old Pam Jones, died in the shooting. Johnson then attacked other policemen in their homes, and fatally shot 54 year old Sheriff Charles Smith in one assault, wounded an officer in another, and gunned down a deputy sheriff, 42 year old Sandra Wilson, when she tried to respond to his rampage. He took a female hostage in a standoff with police, but Johnson released her and surrendered after a day of negotiations.
55. Michael Owsley (1993-2002, lethal injection): Owsley and his accomplice double crossed their dealers, 18 year old Elvin Iverson and Ellen Cole (age unknown), during a drug deal and tied them up at gunpoint. The pair beat and strangled their captives in the hope of extorting money from them. Iverson was shot point blank in the head while Cole managed to escape their captors.
56. Jeffrey Tokar (~1983-2002, lethal injection): Tokar and his girlfriend drove into a remote countryside in search of empty houses and farms to rob. The couple picked a farm house owned by 35 year old Johnny Douglass as their target. While they were burglarizing the property, Douglass returned home from an errand with his 8 year old son and 4 year old daughter. The family ran into the couple when they went inside, and Tokar held them at gunpoint. Despite Douglass' daughter pleading for her father's life and Douglass' own pleas, Tokar shot him dead. He had a long history of burglaries, and was released from prison after serving 3 years for burglary just months before the murder. His other previous convictions include DUI and assault.
57. Paul Kreutzer (1992-2002, lethal injection): Kreutzer bound and raped 36 year old Louise Hemphill in her own home. Hemphill was stabbed in the neck, beaten with a baseball bat, and strangled to death with a belt. Her purse, along with other incriminating items such as duct tape, bloodied gloves, and a bb gun, was discovered in Kreutzer's possession.
58. Daniel Basile (1992-2002, lethal injection): Basile was hired to kill 28 year old Elizabeth DeCaro by her husband, who wanted to collect a life insurance policy. He carried out the murder by shooting Elizabeth dead in her kitchen.
59. William Jones Jr. (1986-2002, lethal injection): Jones was dating a much older man, 49 year old Stanley Albert. He shot and killed Albert "execution style" in his apartment, wrapped him in a blanket, and dumped his body in a forest. Although Jones claimed that he acted to protect himself from a sexual assault, prosecutors postulated that the murder was motived by his desire to steal Albert's car (which he was captured speeding in).
60. Kenneth Kenley (~1984-2003, lethal injection): In the last of a day long string of robberies, Kenley stormed a tavern and shot a customer, 27 year old Ronnie Felts, dead. He kidnapped the tavern's owner, but she managed to escape from him in the parking lot. Kenley also abducted a woman during a convenience store robbery earlier that day, and sexually assaulted and shot her. She managed to jump out of his car window and survived her injuries. He was released from a 4 year prison sentence for theft just months before his rampage.
61. John Smith (1997-2003, lethal injection): Smith stabbed his ex girlfriend, 22 year old Brandie Kearnes, and her stepfather, 51 year old Wayne Hoewing, to death in their home. Kearnes wrote Smith's name in her own blood as she was dying from her injuries.
62. Stanley Hall (1987-2005, lethal injection): Hall carjacked 44 year old Barbara Wood to use her car in a planned drive by shooting and tossed her into the Mississippi river from a bridge in front of responding police officers. Years before, Hall shot and wounded a 4 year old girl while trying to kill a man he had been chasing, and had been on parole for that crime at the time of Wood's abduction and murder.
63. Donald Jones (1993-2005, lethal injection): Jones walked inside the home of his grandmother, 68 year old Dorothy Knuckles, to beg for money. They got into an argument over his cocaine addiction and alcoholism, and he stabbed her to death with a butcher knife from the kitchen. He then stole an undisclosed amount of money, a VCR set, and her car. Jones used both the money he gained from renting the car and selling the VCR set and the money he stole from Knuckles for cocaine.
64. Vernon Brown (~1973-2005, lethal injection): Brown raped, strangled, and fatally stabbed 19 year old Synetta Ford in her apartment. A year later, he enticed 9 year old Janet Perkins into his home. He then sexually abused and strangled her to death with rope. Brown forced his 11 year old, 9 year old, and 7 year old stepsons to help him dispose of Perkins' body. A lifelong sexual predator, he had a prior conviction of assaulting a 12 year old girl and molested his stepsons. Authorities also suspected that he was involved with the murders of 9 year old Kimberly Campbell and a still unidentified Jane Doe, but he was never charged for them.
65. Timothy Johnston (1989-2005, lethal injection): Johnston beat his wife, 27 year old Nancy, with a chair and kicked her to death in front of her 11 year old stepson (from a previous relationship) over his suspicions of her infidelity. According to the stepson, Johnston physically abused her several times in their marriage. He was part of a biker gang and also had charges of burglary and assault pending at the time of the killing. As a side note, Nancy's stepson was living with the couple, as his biological mother went missing and his biological father committed suicide in the boy's presence a year before the murder.
66. Marlin Gray (1991-2005, lethal injection): Gray and 3 accomplices kidnapped two sisters, 20 year old Julie and 19 year old Robin Kerry, in front of their 19 year old cousin. The sisters were gang raped together and thrown off a bridge. Their cousin was also tossed off the bridge, but he survived his injuries.
67. Dennis Skillicorn (1979-2009, lethal injection): In 1979, Skillicorn and some accomplices shot and killed 81 year old Wendell Howell in his home and stole his television set. He was given a relatively lenient sentence of 35 years for agreeing to testify against the other shooters and was paroled in 1992. A few years after his release, Skillicorn recruited another felon, Allen Nicklasson, and a teenage boy they befriended, and went on another robbery spree. In the process, they fatally shot 31 year old Paul Hines, 47 year old Richard Drummond, 47 year old Joseph Babcock, Joesph's 38 year old wife Charlene, and possibly an unidentified woman in Mexico. The gang found themselves stranded on roads and highways several times due to poor driving, and Drummond and the Babcocks were both abducted and murdered when they tried to help them out.
68. Martin Link (~1982-2011, lethal injection): A chronic sexual predator, Link abducted 11 year old Elissa Self-Braun while she was walking home from school. Self-Braun was raped and strangled to death with a cord. He had several previous convictions of sexual assaults against young girls and grown women between the ages of 13-71, and was caught in a prostitution sting operation. Many of Link's victims testified in the murder trial and partially secured his death sentence.
69. Joseph Franklin (~1977-2013, lethal injection): In a rampage that spanned across several states, Franklin shot 15 to 20 victims between the ages of 13-45 in mostly sniper attacks, and firebombed a synagogue. Most of his victims were killed, but a few such as pornographer Larry Flynt (36 years old at the time of the shooting) and and Civil Rights attorney Vernon Jordan (45 years old at the time of the shooting) survived their injuries. Franklin was a white supremacist, and mostly targeted Blacks, Jews, civil rights activists, and interracial couples.
70. Allen Nicklasson (~1980s-2013, lethal injection): Nicklasson assisted the above mentioned Dennis Skillicorn in the robbery murders of Paul Hines, Richard Drummond, Joseph and Charlene Babcock. He had a history of petty crimes starting as a child, but my sources were scant on the details.
71. Herbert Smulls (~1994-2014, lethal injection): While robbing a jewelry store with an accomplice, Smulls shot and killed the owner, 57 year old Stephen Honickman, and stole some jewelry. He had 11 previous convictions of robbery and theft, and was tied to another robbery committed in similar circumstances.
72. Michael Taylor (1989-2014, lethal injection): Taylor and Roderick Nunley kidnapped 15 year old Ann Harrison while she was waiting for a school bus. They dragged her inside their car and drove Harrison to the home owned by Nunley's mother. She was gang-raped by the pair in the house's garage and stabbed to death.
73. Jeffrey Ferguson (1988-2014, lethal injection): Ferguson and an accomplice snatched 17 year old Kelli Hall from a service station she worked at. She was taken to a barn, where she was raped and strangled to death. Hall's body was dumped on the property. Ferguson had an assault conviction that pertained to an incident of him shooting and injuring a friend in a dispute over a woman. That same woman also claimed that Ferguson sexually assaulted and physically abused her numerous times while they lived together.
74. William Rousan (1993-2014, lethal injection): Rousan, his teenage son, and his brother attacked a farm owned by a married couple, 67 year old Charles and 62 year old Grace Lewis. Under his orders, Rousan's son shot and killed both of the Lewis'. The Rousans stole the couple's truck, a VCR set, two cows, jewelry, and a saddle in the robbery.
75. John Winfield (1996-2014, lethal injection): Winfield was enraged that his ex girlfriend started dating another man and confronted her about it at her apartment. Two friends of her, 23 year old Shawnee Murphy and 20 year old Arthea Sanders, were also present with them. In a fit of anger, Winfield shot all three of the women multiple times each. Murphy and Sanders died at the scene, while the ex girlfriend survived with severe facial disfigurements and was permanently blinded.
76. John Middleton (~1990s-2014, lethal injection): Middleton was a meth dealer whose operations had been increasingly compromised by police raids. In an attempt to root out the potential informants, he armed himself with an SKS rifle, and shot and killed three of his associates, 39 year old Randy Hamilton, 29 year old Alfred Pinegar, and 21 year old Stacey Hodge. He disposed of the bodies with the help of his girlfriend. A rival meth dealer had also accused Middleton of raping and beating his girlfriend to death with a baseball bat, but he wasn't prosecuted for that crime.
77. Michael Worthington (1995-2014, lethal injection): Worthington cut through the window screen of a neighboring condo, and sexually assaulted the tenant, 24 year old Melinda Griffin. He strangled her to death with a cord and his bare hands when she tried to fight back. Griffin's car, jewelry, and credit cards were stolen by Worthington, and he used the card to buy drugs.
78. Earl Ringo Jr. (1998-2014, lethal injection): Ringo and his accomplice ambushed a delivery driver, 45 year old Dennis Poyser, and a manager trainee, 22 year old JoAnna Baysinger, as they were walking into a Ruby Tuesday restaurant. He shot and killed Poyser upon entry, and forced Baysinger to pull out $1,400 from the restaurant's safe. Despite her compliance, Ringo shot Baysinger in the head.
79. Leon Taylor (~1975-2014, lethal injection): In 1975, Taylor and some accomplices fatally stabbed 62 year old Jesse Howartzer while burglarizing his apartment. He was given a second degree murder conviction and was released sometime before the 1990s. In 1994, Taylor and his half siblings forced a gas station attendant, 53 year old Robert Newton, to pull out $400 from the register and shot him dead. Newton's 8 year old stepdaughter was also present to keep him company, and Taylor moved to kill her as well. The girl's life was only spared when his gun jammed. After the robbery, he expressed his regrets of not "choking the little bitch" to his siblings.
80. Paul Goodwin (1998-2014, lethal injection): Goodwin was removed from a boarding home, and he blamed his neighbor, 63 year old Joan Crotts, for it. His habit of harassment towards her intensified, and he repeatedly shouted vulgarities and threats on her front porch, tossed beer bottles and eggs at her lawn and house, and fed her dog chicken bones. It escalated to the breaking point when Crotts invited Goodwin inside her home in an attempt to have the issue peacefully resolved. Goodwin instead forced Crotts to perform oral sex on him and bludgeoned her to death with a hammer. His execution was controversial, as Goodwin allegedly had a cognitive disability.
81. Walter Storey (1990-2015, lethal injection): Storey climbed up the balcony of his apartment complex, and entered a neighboring flat. He stabbed the tenant, 36 year old Jill Frey, 12 times with his kitchen knife and broke 6 of her ribs in a beating. Frey's pocketbook, keys, and car were stolen in the robbery.
82. Cecil Clayton (1996-2015, lethal injection): Clayton got into an altercation with his estranged girlfriend at a store, and shoved her a number of times. The employees notified the police, and a few officers were sent to the scene. They spoke with Clayton and he agreed to return to his home while the police escorted the shaken girlfriend back to hers. In the following night, Clayton tried to break into her house, and she called the police. One of the dispatched officers, 29 year old Christopher Castetter, was shot dead in the ensuring confrontation.
83. Andre Cole (1998-2015, lethal injection): Cole broke a window and entered the home of his ex wife to confront her about debts relating to child support payments for their two children. His ex wife's boyfriend, 38 year old Anthony Curtis, tried to usher him out the door, but was stabbed to death for his troubles. Cole also attacked his ex wife, but she survived her injuries.
84. Richard Strong (~1999-2015, lethal injection): Strong fatally stabbed his girlfriend, 23 year old Eva Washington and her 2 year old daughter, Zandrea Thomas, in their apartment. Both of the bodies were mutilated almost beyond recognition. He had assaulted Washington numerous times in their relationship. Many of the episodes were taken to the courts. One choking incident required him to be in anger management classes and Washington pushed a restraining order that she later withdrew in another.
85. David Zink (~1980s-2015): Zink kidnapped 19 year old Amanda Morton after ramming her car with his own on the freeway. He bound Morton to a cemetery tree and raped her. She was beaten to death, and her body was found with over 100 blunt trauma related injuries. Zink had just been released after serving 20 out of a 33 year sentence for sexual assault at the time of the abduction and murder.
86. Roderick Nunley (1989-2015, lethal injection): As mentioned under Michael Taylor's section, Nunley partook in the abduction, rape, and murder of Ann Harrison.
87. Earl Forrest II (2002-2015, lethal injection): Forrest was in the home of 51 year old Harriet Smith trying to negotiate a deal involving her buying him a lawn mower and a trailer in exchange for a source of meth. An argument broke out, and Forrest fatally shot Smith and her housemate, 41 year old Michael Wells. He stole $25,000 worth of meth and fled to his home. A squad of responding police officers confronted him there and Forrest opened fire on them. Sharon Barnes, a 48 year old deputy, was killed, and Sheriff Bob Wofford and Forrest's girlfriend Angela Gamblin were wounded by him in the exchange.
88. Mark Christeson (1998-2017, lethal injection): Christeson and his cousin abducted 37 year old Susan Brouk, and her two children, 12 year old Adrian and 9 year old Kyle, from their home at gunpoint. The pair raped Susan, slashed her throat, and drowned her and her children together in a pond. Several items such as the family's shotguns, television set, VCR, car stereo, video game controller, and checkbooks were stolen from the home, and sold for money to sustain themselves as fugitives.
89. Russell Bucklew (1996-2019, lethal injection): Bucklew was infuriated that his ex girlfriend, Stephanie Ray, broke off their relationship and started dating 27 year old Michael Sanders. He began by beating Ray in her trailer, cut her jaw with a knife, and threatened to kill her if she stepped foot in Sanders' trailer. The attack had the opposite effect of its' objective, and instead terrified Ray to the point of moving in with Sanders for protection. Weeks later, Bucklew "borrowed" his brothers' handcuffs and guns, and stormed Sanders' trailer. He shot and killed Sanders, shot at his 6 year old son, and kidnapped Ray. Bucklew bound her with the handcuffs, dragged her into his car, and raped her. She was rescued by police officers, who wounded and subduded Bucklew in a shootout. However, Bucklew briefly escaped, and attacked Ray's mother and her boyfriend with a hammer before he was recaptured. His execution was contested, as Bucklew allegedly had a medical condition that would've made the lethal injection "inhumane."
90. Walter Barton (1991-2020, lethal injection): Barton was condemned for the fatal attack on his landlady, 81 year old Gladys Kuehler in her trailer. She was raped and stabbed over 50 times. A page from Kuehler's checkbook was taken, which was used to transfer $50 to Barton's account. Blood found on his clothes were also linked to Kuehler by a DNA test. Kuehler and Barton were reportedly close and many accounts report that he assisted her in walking and did chores around her home. However, she had him evicted due to falling far behind on rent days before the murder. Barton, his attorneys, and supporters in Missouri’s Innocence Project pushed that the blood on his clothes was from posthumous contact with Kuehler’s body while allegedly discovering it. From such concerns, his execution was a source of controversy.
91. Ernest Johnson (~1990s-2020, lethal injection): Johnson held a retail store at gunpoint. In retaliation for the employees destroying the safe key, Johnson shot 3 employees, 58 year old Fred Jones, 57 year old Mable Scruggs, and 46 year old Mary Bratcher. When the victims survived the initial shootings, he beat and stabbed them to death with a hammer and a screwdriver. He had previous convictions of robbery and burglary, and was released from prison a year before the murders. His execution was contested, as Johnson had brain surgery to remove a tumor in 2014. According to his attorneys, the operation rendered him cognitively disabled, and therefore was ineligible for execution.
92. Carman Deck (1996-2022, lethal injection): Deck, his sister, and their mother's boyfriend invaded the home of a couple, 69 year old James and 67 year old Zelma Long. They shot and killed the Longs, and stole jewelry, checks, and a total of $200 from the house.
93. Kevin Johnson Jr. (~2000s-2022, lethal injection): Johnson was heavily involved with robberies and other crimes as a teenager, and spent much of his time in and out of prison. In 2005, local law enforcement suspected Johnson of violating the terms of his probation, and raided his family home. His 12 year old brother died of a seizure during the search, and Johnson and the family blamed the officers involved. He hunted down one of the officers, 43 year old William McEntee, and shot and killed him while he was on patrol.
94. Scott/Amber McLaughlin (~1992-2023, lethal injection): McLaughlin abducted their girlfriend, 45 year old Beverly Guenther, from her office as she was getting off from a shift. They raped and stabbed Guenther to death, and dumped her body in a neighborhood. Guenther’s family recounted that McLaughlin was extremely abusive during their relationship, and harassed Guenther when she left them. The harassment included several incidents of burglarizing Guenther’s home. McLaughlin was also a registered sex offender with a conviction of molesting a 14 year old girl. They received national attention for being the first known transsexual to be executed in the United States. Biologically male during their offenses and transitioned to female on death row.
95. Leonard Taylor (2004-2023, lethal injection): Taylor shot and killed his girlfriend, 28 year old Angela Rowe, and her 3 children, 10 year old Alexus, 6 year old AcQreya, and 5 year old Tyrese, in their home. He had several unrelated sexual offenses against a former stepdaughter and other unidentified women, and was involved with drug trafficking. Despite his history and the other damning evidence against him (including testimony of his brother mentioning that he confided about committing the murder and traces of Angela's blood being found on his glasses), Taylor was popular among Missouri Innocence Project organizations for his daughter's alleged claims of him calling her 2,000 miles away from the crime scene.
96. Michael Tisius (2000-2023, lethal injection): In an attempt to break a friend out of a rural jail, Tisus shot and killed two guards, 33 year old Leon Egley and 36 year old Jason Acton. However, he was driven away by police reinforcements, and forced to flee the jail emptyhanded with his accomplice, the friend's girlfriend. They were captured in Kansas when their car broke down. Tisus was previously held in the targeted jail for an unspecified misdemeanor, and became acquainted with his friend while they were cellmates.
97.Johnny Johnson (2004-2023, lethal injection): Johnson was sleeping over at a friend's house where 6 year old Cassandra Williamson was also staying with her father. In the middle of the night, Johnson lured Williamson into an abandoned factory, and raped her. When she tried to fight back, he crushed her skull with a brick. At the time of the murder, Johnson was a transient with a criminal history, but I couldn't find any specifics regarding his past convictions. Johnson's execution was a source of controversy, as he was previously diagnosed with schizophrenia.
98.Brian Dorsey (~2006-2024, lethal injection): Dorsey was on the run from a drug related debt to his dealers and retreated to his cousin, 25 year old Sarah Bonnie, and her husband, 28 year old Benjamin, for sanctuary. In their home, he shot the couple dead in front of their 4 year old daughter and performed acts of necrophila on Sarah's body.

”Meena died in 1972. Her close friend Nargis Dutt had penned a letter to her, where she wrote, “Meena, maut mubarak ho!” Nargis’ letter was published in an Urdu magazine. The two had shared a close sisterhood.Meena She began her column with the message, “‘Congratulations on your death’ I have never said this earlier. Meena, today your baaji (elder sister) congratulates you on your death and asks you to never step into this world again. This place is not meant for people like you.” In her column, she recalled how her friendship with Meena Kumar began, “During the shooting of Main Chup Rahungi, my husband (Sunil Dutt) invited me on sets with the kids. There Meena and I became great friends. When I went for dinner with Dutt saab, Meena voluntarily took care of Sanjay and Namrata, changing their clothes to making their milk.” Nargis revealed that one night during a trip to Madras for a film shoot, she had seen Meena panting heavily in the garden of the hotel and when she inquired, Meena said that she was fine, it could just be tobacco. Nargis didn’t believe this entirely and her suspicion was confirmed when she heard ‘suggestive sounds of violence’ from her room. Nargis wrote, “I caught hold of Kamal Amrohi’s secretary Baqar and spoke to him in direct terms, ‘Why do you people want to kill Meena? She has worked enough for your sake, For how long is she going to feed you?’ He said, when the right time comes, we will rest her.”
They returned to Bombay, and Nargis said that they didn’t meet for a long time. Later, she learnt that Meena Kumar had walked out of Kamal’s home and had started living in Mehmood’s house. Meena had a showdown with Baqar on the sets of Pinjre Ke Panchhi, and matters got ‘so turbulent’ that he did not step into Kamal’s house again. By this time, stories of Meena Kumar’s alcoholism began to surface. This consumption of alcohol was proving to be detrimental to her health, and she went down with jaundice. When Nargis visited her at hospital, she asked, “Manju, you are free, but what use is such freedom if you are bent on killing yourself?” She replied, “Baaji, my patience has a limit. How dare Kamal saheb’s secretary raise his hand on me? When I got the incident communicated to Kamal Saheb, I thought he would come running and fire Baqar. Instead he said, ‘Come home, I will decide things there. What was there for him to decide? Now it’s me who has decided to not go back to him.'After this, Dharmendra entered Meena Kumari’s life, and that gave her some form of happiness, for a while. Nargis wrote, “If Meena has ever loved anyone passionately, the person is Dharmendra. If Meena ever turned crazy in love for someone, it was Dharmendra.” Nargis mentioned that this was ‘the most beautiful’ phase of her life. However, owing to a misunderstanding, he walked out of her life and she was left heartbroken, Nargis wrote. “Slowly, she began to inch towards death,” Nargis wrote.

This is a rant post (I need to get this off my chest):-
On my return trips to Kashmir,I make it a point to visit my Ancestoral home in South Kashmir.Since most of my extended family lives in Sirinagar we have left the home to the care of our "pitters" (grandfather's brother's family).At this point it has became a routine of sorts that whenever I visit home most of my relatives from both maternal and paternal side get together at the old villa ( saal chi Karan sarni rishtedaran).This time among the invitees was my maternal cousin and her husband along with their sevevn year old son who live in a "posh" area of Srinagar and are from a "pir" khandan.
Already my said brother in law has a kind of superiority complex which comes with being a "peer" and a certain lack of historical knowledge(please note that I have nothing against anyone from pir khandans except for arrogant little bitches who believ they are better than all due to their name).I have a bit of a tense history with him and was against my cousin marrying him for reasons that I will not divulge and being the dumb and charged teen that I was I had openly opposed the marriage even against my cousin who I was personally close with since childhood ( she was in essence my older sister and had raised me ).
Anyways when my cousin and her family arrived we greeted them warmly but I noticed that my cousin as well as her husband talking to the kid in English , obviously the kid did not comprehend the language well and replied in Urdu but this kind of upset me .For a while I ignored it but the anger brewed in the back of my head .How my cousin was willingly destroying this poor kid's identity was beyond me ,also because she is very well educated and has a masters degree ,had qualified net as well as set and then left PhD to get married.
After lunch while everyone was hanging around a few of my relatives who live in anatanag seemed extremely impressed by the kid's ability to speak Urdu and were enjoying talking to him in broken gaamich Urdu .This again irritated me .Then my cousin sends the kid to me ,now the kid who acted like typical previliaged "sonne gobir" of big khandaans do threw a tantrum and refused to first talk to me which I was thankful for since my mental state at that point was quite broken.Then my brother in law brings along the kid and comes to me and goes ,"aap matna ho gande bache(which is an incorrect sentence in Urdu language),jao Karo mamu ke sath baat" and I lost it ,I said "mammu Kari ne Urdu pathe kath" (mammu won't talk in Urdu) ;my brother in law's face turned sour and was like "kyu nahi Karo GE Urdu Mai baat(why won't u talk in Urdu) " ,at which point I went on and schooled him about how he was destroying the identity of the boy and will destroy his language skills as well due to his obsession with feeling superior to others .At this point the guy went on a castist rant about how they are "peer" and don't need to talk to low class people ( we are Malik from Raina khandan) .My paternal cousin kind of a bruteish guy who was hearing all this grabbed the collar of the man and tossed him to the ground .After which my cousin sister cursed me and our family and along with her husband left with most of my maternal relatives following suite,boud hangaam wouth,mouhlas waach kath .The entire function turned sour and everyone dispersed .Most of my maternal relatives have ever since stopped talking to me and my family even to my mother who had nothing to do with it.I honestly don't care except for my mum who has been increasingly trying to mend the ties.
I know I behaved like an asshole but at some point I think there is a need to confront this menace of urduisation of the future generations and I don't care if we have to ruffle a few feathers for it .
Edit :-
THE POINT OF THIS POST:- I haven't written this post to brag about me bullying a kid or his father for speaking Urdu but to emphasize that speaking Urdu as a first language has become so common in some sections of kashmiri society that they don't even teach their kids kashur eventually leading them to not be fluent in any language at all and erasing their identity as Kashmiris .
ABOUT MY BROTHER IN LAW :-
Idk why probably from my writing a lot of people seem to assume that I am jealous of my brother in law (technically he isn't even that) :-
I have known the guy since my school days ,he was in highschool when I was in 2nd grade,he was a well known rich brat who had a shitty reputation among the younger generations .Even in the times when drugs and alcohol were not that common he was openly known as a druggist and an alcoholic.His parents sent him for MBBS to Russia and he returned 3 years later having not even passed his first semester while wasting atleast half a crore rupees for nothing .He also was known as a womanizer who hanged around women much younger to him and has an FIR registered against him for assault,which he got off due to contacts in the administration .He roamed with well known "gangsters " in srinagar.He made friends with another cousin of mine just to get in touch with my cousin sister who is 2 years his junior and got my cousin brother into drugs in the process.Idk how he even won over my sister and how he convinced her parents to agree to marriage .When he came to know that I had openly opposed the marriage he came to threaten me at home .He even had the tires of my dad's car slashed ,after which I beat the living shit out of him . Eventually he didn't want me invited to their wedding .He nowadays puts up a facade of being religious while people close to him promised me that he still drinks (it isn't too hard to miss that ).My cousin sister isn't entirely happy with him either but she won't acknowledge it openly ,she even had run off back home for a few months till he pressured her to get back with him .
ABOUT BEING CALLED A HYPOCRITE FOR STUDYING ABROAD:- The subject I work in has only in recent years started being taught in kashmir .It's a very research oriented subject with no real facilities in kashmir and not even in India.I haven't settled here ,neither do I plan to .Also being a man of principle I have learned the language of this place to a degree of proficiency that is enough to converse with the locals while English would have sufficed for my dad to day usage either way .

First Heer was written by a Sikh before it was rewritten by Muslims.
Original Heer was written by a Sikh of Guru Arjan Dev Ji Maharaj, Damodar Gulati, who was originally from an Arora family.
The Real Story of Heer
We all are familiar with Waris Shah (Urdu: السيد وارث علي شاه النقوي الرضوي البهكري البدراني‎) , ਵਾਰਿਸ ਸ਼ਾਹ (Gurmukhi); 1722–1798) who was a Punjabi Sufi poet of Chishti order, renowned for his contribution to Punjabi literature by immortalizing the love story of Heer Ranjha. His poetic verse is a treasure-trove of Punjabi phrases, idioms and sayings. His minute and realistic depiction of the details of Punjabi life and political situation in the 18th century, remains unique and the entire poem is an album of colorful and enchanting pictures of life in the Punjab, deeply absorbing.
Waris Shah was deeply learned in Sufi and domestic cultural lore. His depiction of story of romantic love is a poetic expression of the mystical love of the human soul towards God – the quintessential subject in Sufism and a recurring theme in both Sufi and Sikh mysticism.
The Legend Heer is an extremely beautiful woman, born into a wealthy family of the Sial clan in Jhang, West Punjab. Sials are Rajputs clan who inhabit Jhang region of West Punjab and founded the city of Sialkot. Ranjha (whose first name is Dheedo; Ranjha is the surname), was a Jatt of the Ranjha tribe. The Ranjha are found in Sargodha, Gujrat, Jhelum and Gujranwala districts of West Punjab.
Dheedo Ranjha was the youngest of four brothers and lives in the village of Takht Hazara by the river Chenab. Being the baby of the family, he led a life of ease, playing Wanjhli (flute). After being told off by his brothers, Ranjha leaves home and arrives in Jhang. Heer's father Chaudhary Chuchak offers Ranjha a job herding his cattle. Here he falls in love with Heer. She is also mesmerized by the way he plays his flute and falls in love with him. They meet each other secretly for many years until they are caught by Heer's uncle, Kaido, and her mother Malki. Heer is forced by her family and the local priest to marry another man named Saida Khera, a Jatt of Khaira clan.
Ranjha is heartbroken. He wanders the countryside alone, until eventually he meets Jogi (ascetic). Gorakhnath at Tilla Jogian (the 'Hill of Ascetics', located 50 miles north of the historic town of Bhera, Sargodha District, Punjab), Ranjha becomes a jogi himself, piercing his ears and renouncing the material world. Reciting the name of the Lord (Rabb) he wanders all over Punjab, eventually finding Rangpur, the village where Heer now lives as married woman.
Heer elopes with Ranjha with the help of Saida's sister Sehti who also elopes with her Balochi lover. The Khaira riders catch the eloping couple and beat Ranjha mercilessly. The couple are brought before Raja Adali of Qubala, demanding that Ranjha be put to death. Heer’s uncle Kaidu also came to testify against Ranjha but Chaudhary Chuchak testifies in favour of the lovers. On the advise of elders, Raja Adali orders Saida to divorce Heer so she can marry Ranjha.
The two return to Heer's village, where Heer's parents agree to their marriage. However, on the wedding day, Kaido poisons her. Hearing this news, Ranjha rushes to aid Heer, but is too late, as she has already eaten the poison and has died. Brokenhearted once again, Ranjha eats the remaining poisoned Laddu (sweet) which Heer has eaten and dies by her side.
Damodar Gulati Damodar Gulati also known as Damodar Das Arora of Jhang was the greatest classical story teller of Punjab. He was the first to compose the legend of Heer Ranjha that captured the imagination of Punjabis. “Damodar is my name, Gulati is my caste. I came to the fiefdom of the Sial my heart using its discretion led me to spend my days there,” is what he says in the opening lines of his story.
Damodar is mentioned in the Adi Granth (compilation of sacred teachings of Guru Nanak). Bhai Guru Das (1551-1629), a celebrated Sikh religious writer, in one of his Vars (Epic) mentioned the names of some prominent early Sikh converts. One of them is Damodar the wise, resident of Sultanpur. The Sultanpur village is still there, on the road from Jhang to Shah Jewna where a number of Gulatis of Arora caste lived before the partition of India.
According to Prof Indu Banga of the Department of History, Panjab University, the earliest ‘kissa’ in Punjabi was that of Heer-Ranjha, written by Damodar Gulati in 1605 during Akbar’s reign. His work was rewritten by Ahmad Gujjar in the 1680s and then by Shahjahan Muqbil in the second quarter of the 18th century, she added. She said Waris Shah built upon Muqbil’s work and the status of a classic was accorded to his 1766 composition.
Damodar's Heer Interestingly, the first character Damodar introduces is that of himself, all set to tell the tale with his eyewitness account, insisting that what he is going to narrate unfolded before his very eyes. The poet appears throughout the narrative at important occasions with his comments, creating a strong impression as if he is an integral part of the story.
After introducing his heroine Heer, Damodar prepares us to receive his other protagonist appearing on the stage. “Having done with this episode (introduction of Heer) let us bring Ranjha into the world.”
Luddan the sailor, feeling empathy for Ranjha who is tired and exhausted after his long travel, let him sleep on Heer’s couch on her river resort. Heer finding the privacy of her bed violated is furious. The beautiful and pampered daughter of a powerful clan chief, hurls a question at Ranjha: “What virtue do you possess that qualifies you to sleep in my bed?" Ranjha takes out a flute and plays it to mesmerize Heer.
Damodar composed the original Heer in 1605. Among the notable versions of the epic story were those of Ahmad Gujjar in the 1680s and then by Shahjahan Muqbil in the second quarter of the 18th century. Waris Shah built upon Muqbil’s work and the status of a classic was accorded to his 1766 composition.
Damodar is not just the foremost story teller of modern Punjab but also one of the most distinguished poets of the Punjabi language. Damodar is undoubtedly the first among the great story tellers of the Punjab, who with his holistic vision created characters that transcending the parochial came to embody the universal human predicament; individual versus repressive social structure. The unmistakable sign of his profound critical social consciousness is that he makes his protagonist, a woman, an eternal metaphor for defiance and resistance without which human love born of freedom would remain a hollow ideal.

Asalaamualaykum, I'm looking for a partner for my mother. She is divorced but also is getting older and all the kids are starting to live life on their own so im hoping I can find someone for her. I will not advocate for her because I don't have a strong relationship with her, but if someone feels they want to get to know her for a serious purpose, please reach out and send a picture My mother looks 40 for her age she looks young.. She is not educated and is seeking someone financially reliable. Was married at 18 and had kids fairly early on in her life. Raised in karachi Pakistan but has been in america since 18 as a homemaker.
Seeking someone fluent in urdu preferably. Her English is weak. And also someone to just be her friend in this age..not to be treated like a maid or cook as Pakistani men tend to have this expectation of their partner at times.. She's a very simple person. And wants someone handsome. My younger sister is 18 and still with her but will soon be on her own for college as well iA If you have any more questions, feel free to reach out. Thank you!
Edit: she is looking for someone 45-60 Able bodied and not a 30 year old child to sponsor for citizenship. I understand some of you have certain interest. I've had a number of 30 years Olds reach out to me which I find quite odd. I will not take you seriously.

I copied this post from another I had on a reddit, but I apologize for how long it is. I did it in a state of anger and I have really bad inattentive adhd, and this is kind of the result.
My younger sister is very easily angered. She has a very short temper, and the smallest things set her off. Even something simple and incredibly benign can cause her to become really angry with me. I feel like I have to walk on eggshells around her. I confronted her about something she did that upset me for the first time yesterday. After getting her to agree to stop this one thing, which I don't really want to discuss here, she made another angry remark as I was going back upstairs.
The thing is, she doesn't yell or scream at me. She loses her temper so easily and becomes so angry and aggressive that she puts me on blast, sometimes in front of anyone around us. Whenever I read about verbal and emotional abuse, it feels like it isn't considered abuse if they don't yell or scream and don't raise their voice. She doesn't, and it kind of feels invalidating.
After I went upstairs, I felt like I was going to explode. It was a ton of adrenaline spreading across every nook and cranny of my body. It felt dizzying and as if I was high, but it went away after a few minutes.
I often don't talk to her or smile around her. I tell her to go away whenever she's angry. She doesn't seem to realize she's angry. Once, on vacation, I almost couldn't hold my anger in when she was scolding me about not holding a bag my dad had. She told me I was being inconsiderate about not holding it and said something like, "Bhai (brother in Urdu/Hindi), you need to take their bags because that's something you need to do! Why don't you take some responsibility to think of their needs and stop being so selfish?" I told her that I did try to hold it for him, but he kept insisting that he hold it, so I let him. She said it didn't matter because I had to make sure I held it for him. Then she went on a diatribe about being responsible and considerate of people and their needs and how I needed to change my attitude towards others. Since I had endured lectures and scolding from her a lot until that point and didn't have the energy to deal with her that time, I told her to shut up, and she lost it. She told my parents to get me out of her sight and that she wasn't going to be around me anymore. They made us talk about it, and I just used it as an opportunity to eventually not have to deal with the issue onwards. She continues to do this.
When my childhood friend was over and I was told we were traveling to the U.S. to visit Cleveland, Ohio, for a weekend, I mentioned that I'd been told it was boring and would prefer to go somewhere else. Although I was fine with a couple of days there, I might not have been too nice in expressing my thoughts in front of my friend. She responded with, "Well, if you can think of a more fun vacation that we can afford to go on, then go ahead," and then she went upstairs. My mom told her that she shouldn't scold me that way, especially in front of a guest, but she just said, "I don't care," dismissively.
She would get angry and aggressive with me about lots of things, especially when she's stressed out. For instance, when she was supposed to drop me off at work and took the car to the same job when it wasn't her time to work, or when I was supposed to be on shift and she wasn't. I told her I had to go to work and that I needed the hours.
She drove home and was calling my dad about issues with the house. When I went back inside the house after waiting near the car, around the time I needed to be at work, I told her that we needed to leave now as I had to get there in a few minutes. She responded, "Yeah, I'm aware. Do you think I don't know that? I'm not stupid." Despite being the manager at the job, I was going to be late because of her. It wasn't clear if she would let me stay for however long I was late or adjust my hours so I'd get all the ones I was supposed to have when she took the car to work, even though she wasn't on shift, and I was.
When I asked her if she'd adjust my hours when we got there, she said, "Why? You weren't there for that time, so why would I adjust your hours to say you were?" I told her it wasn't my fault I wasn't there on time. It was because she was at work off her scheduled period and therefore took the car there but didn't drive me on time.
She eventually relented. Afterwards, she said I was only 13 minutes late, but I knew they must round down the hours to account for minutes. She works 40 hours there regularly, while I struggle to have 15 or 20. That's the same with everyone who works for the store.
I was cleaning my bedroom before going to visit my parents with her one day. Since my dad was going to be home to pick up some stuff for us, I had only a backpack and a small, light luggage. She was cleaning the house and taking a lot of stress over it. I have bad inattentive ADHD and wasn't diagnosed or on any meds by then, so I was doing my best to clean my room. I had headphones in and was listening to a video when she called me downstairs. I didn't hear her from upstairs with my headphones in.
She charged upstairs and said, "Hello? Are you deaf? I've been calling you. Why are you not listening? I need you to do something; can you take responsibility for some stuff?" I stayed as calm as I could and asked her what she needed, trying to get her to cut to the chase so I wouldn't have to endure her explosive anger.
I remember her continuing to ask why I wasn't listening, and I told her I was using the vacuum in my room with my headphones in upstairs while she was trying to say something downstairs. I obviously didn't hear her, and she told me I needed to just listen because she's busy and asked why I didn't keep my ears open in case she needed help with whatever.
If I ask her something and she says it in a tone I can't hear and I ask her again, and she doesn't say it much louder, I get up, try to get closer, and ask her to say it again. She then yells, even if she isn't calling it yelling, and says it in a much louder tone because she's annoyed. I go away after that.
If she says something and I obviously can't hear her when my headphones are in, and I ask her to repeat herself because I obviously didn't hear her, she doesn't seem to realize that my headphones are in, which is why I never heard her. I often forget to remove them to hear her better and just ask her what she said again since I didn't hear her. She doesn't repeat herself at a louder volume or noticeably louder tone at all. She eventually does, but only to yell at me.
Growing up, when she asked me to make food for her and I did, if I didn't make it right, she would say, "It's cold, why didn't you warm it more?" I would warm it more, and she would still say it's not evenly cooked. After doing it again and making it not the consistency she wanted because I had to heat it two more times, she asked why I still didn't make it properly. So when my dad, amused by this seemingly benign thing, laughed and said, "The poor guy had to run up and down the stairs making it for you, and you're still not okay with it? It looks fine." She just pretended to weep, clearly not weeping but expressing upset dissatisfaction, in a way that wasn't an attempt to make us think she was crying, only for a second, to show her frustration that it wasn't exactly the way she wanted it. Whatever that's called in our language, I don't know, but it's just an expression of upset dissatisfaction, much like how a whiny, wealthy person gets upset when they experience a mild inconvenience.
When I was small and we were in India on vacation, it was raining. My mother, a narcissistic mother, and my sister, who took after her, were going to the car my uncle parked down the plaza for the apartment building. He walked to the car, my mum did, and so did my sister. I was wondering why they all went without me since I was the only one without an umbrella to protect myself. I thought my mum would come back for me, but she just sat in the car and waited. My sister went on her own, and when I followed her, getting slightly soaked, I tried to go under her umbrella. She tried to get me to move away since she wanted it for herself, saying it's not big enough for both of us. I told her I needed at least a little protection from the rain, but she insisted I go get my own even though there weren't any more. I told her there weren't any other umbrellas, and I'm not going to the car wet. Frustrated, she shoved the umbrella into my hands and said, "Ugh, just take it, God."
When she was walking to the car uncovered by the umbrella, she murmured stuff, leaving me flabbergasted. The car stank, and my dad was the one who made it stinky but probably didn't realize it because he was nose-blind to it, so he didn't do anything about it. My sister noticed and, instead of letting my dad take the blame, I told her I did it. She got annoyed and just drove off. Back home, she scolded me for making the car smell like pee, saying it was inconsiderate since she had to pick up a friend in it.
I didn't notice the stink, but I guess it was there for her. At work, when we started the job, I would often not notice if I smelled or not and would put on lots of perfume to hide it if I did. She complained about my odor a lot. I would tell her sometimes that I doused my entire body in perfume, and she'd snap at me, saying, "Then why don't you wear good-smelling clothes?" I asked other people who worked there if I smelled, but I got the same response every time: they all told me I didn't, and they would tell me if I did.
My mum and sister always say that people outside the family will never be honest with you and tell you the truth because they don't want to be impolite, but your personal family always tells you the truth, so you can't trust other people to be honest with you, only family. This is an abuse tactic, from what I've gathered, to isolate you from other people and control you more. Her boyfriend often jokes that he's in an abusive relationship with her, and he doesn't mean it, but every joke is based on a little truth. She often says, "No, you're not," and it's only a joke between them that I've heard.
Our old boss used to joke with her that she's bullying him and even asked me if she bullies me at home. I don't often respond, but once, I told him yes and tried to make it sound like a funny joke. I didn't do a good job because part of me just wanted to tell someone that she legitimately does, and another part of me doesn't want to incur my sister's anger. I was pretending to joke about it to make her less angry. She took me aside eventually and told me I can't say things like that to people outside of the family. I told her I was joking and didn't mean it, but she continued to say it doesn't matter and that I can't say that stuff to people.
After a while, she even told my mum I said that to my boss, and my mum, wanting to maintain "what's best for the family," said I wasn't right to say that to him. She often gets into lots of fights with her boyfriends, with her high school one, one she dated until last year, and even with the one she's dating now. This guy is over a lot, every day, just like her previous boyfriend.
One night, I had to use the washroom badly and was on the toilet for a long time because it wasn't a fun time. She knocked on the door and asked, "Did you finish? My boyfriend needs to shower." I told her I'm not done and need more time. She said, "Ugh, hurry up. Why do you have to sit there for so long and take it up? He needs to use the shower," and walked away.
My ADHD and OCD go mad when she scolds me, and this behavior is, in my opinion, making it worse. If I don't do her dishes every time she's busy—and she leaves them a lot as she's running around with her boyfriend—I find cans of energy drinks and soda on the dining table for days, an empty takeout box of Chinese food, a pink beanie, and a rag on the other table, and an unfinished cup of milk coffee we have to wash on the coffee table for more than a week.
When I explained that due to my ADHD, doing all of those dishes at once, especially when they're not dishes I made, is hard for me since I can only manage a few dishes at a time, she didn't understand. Instead of stacking them into a pile to do later—which is easier for me—I prefer to break the workload into small bits, knowing there aren't currently more dishes than what I just produced.
She might have relented a little on that, but I still feel obligated to help her out with them when she's busy with other things. When she makes dishes, she makes a lot of them and doesn't reuse the ones she used for individual items. If she wants another thing, even if the plate is almost clean or had only ketchup on it, she just gets another plate, adding to the cleaning.
I feel like I have no relationship with her and distance myself as much as I can. I rarely talk to her and avoid interacting out of fear that she'll blow up over something small or be overly critical. Even when she's not unpleasant, I find it hard to express emotions around her and remain dry and monotone. Talking to her or even being around her feels like walking on eggshells.
When she comes home, I'm always in a bad mood until she retreats to her room or sleeps. I hate hearing the sound of her voice. I dread sitting in the same car with her when we drive back to my parents' place for five hours. I sleep to make the time go by, and my parents tell me I need to stay awake, but I can't handle being in the same space with her for five hours without getting upset.
I don't often want her to cook for me and rarely think about her when I cook for myself. I don't enjoy working with her, and when I have the option, I avoid being around her. I don't share anything with her, and if I don't have to, I avoid talking to her about anything.
My mom was similar on vacations, but even though my mom has calmed down somewhat, my sister is the problem. After my long explanation about my younger sister, I wonder if what she does to me is considered abuse. She snaps at me, angrily scolds me, makes condescending remarks, and responds sarcastically. She blows up over the smallest things, and when confronted about her short temper, she denies it or justifies it.
She claims she does everything to not yell at me, but her behavior feels like yelling, even if it's not at a loud volume. Every example of verbal and emotional abuse I've seen suggests that it's only abuse if there's yelling. If she's not yelling, is what she's saying and doing still considered abuse? Even if it's not yelling, is my reaction and behavior, my strained relationship with her, and the constant anxiety I feel when confronting her a sign of abuse?
I'm really struggling with this, causing a lot of distress for me. I don't know if this is abuse or if I even have grounds to consider this a problem.

This message is targeted for my age fellows. I wont take more than 10 minutes of ye precious time.
When telling people that what they do is unislamic they start boiling saying god is my judge not you. You are correct good sir or madam but if you commit zina and know what you did is wrong and carry out zina thinking that when i turn old i will repent only then and god will accept it. If you think thats the case you are quite wrong. God isnt a sellout fool. To fall for a cheap trick.
It is narrated on the authority of Amirul Mu’minin, Abu Hafs ‘Umar bin al-Khattab, radiyallahu ‘anhu, who said: I heard the Messenger of Allah, sallallahu ‘alayhi wasallam, say: “Actions are (judged) by motives (niyyah), so each man will have what he intended. Thus, he whose migration (hijrah) was to Allah and His Messenger, his migration is to Allah and His Messenger; but he whose migration was for some worldly thing he might gain, or for a wife he might marry, his migration is to that for which he migrated.” [Al-Bukhari & Muslim]
And there is another hadith which ye must remember. Inamal amalu bil niyat. In urdu it means
Amal ka daro madaar niyat per hai. Your niyat is under allahs eye
Thus if ye carry on doing something that is wrong it will be considered bidat and its a major sin. And if she or he thinks they can get away and repent once she or he is 79 or 80 he or she is very much as wrong as a rapist who rapes women and children every time and then will repent when he is about to be killed.its hipocrisy at its peak and god certainly is the judge of all and not stupid.
This can be seen in the shahadah :
“I bear witness that there is no god but Allah” is the ikhlas – ensuring that we do things for the sake of Allah and Allah alone. “I bear witness that Mohammed is the Messenger of Allah” – the Sunnah is the manifestation of the Quran – the Prophet, sallallahu ‘alayhi wasallam, is our example, our best model to follow. Following his Sunnah in our ibadah, Akhlaq (ethics), and Muamalat (dealings) ensures that we are acting in accordance with the Shariah. Thus, the shahadah shows us the conditions for accepting a deed or performing an action: (a) it should be for the sake of Allah because He is the only One we worship, and (b) it should be in accordance with the Shariah.
To achieve ikhlas, we have to avoid shirk (associating others with Allah, which causes insincerity). Al-Imam al-Harawi said the root cause for insincerity (or shirk) is self-desire (al-hawa). Therefore no action should be done because of self-desire.
Imam al-Harawi states that there are 7 types of self-desires:-
To make oneself appear good in the hearts of others To seek the praises of others To avoid being blamed by others To seek the glorification of others To seek the wealth/money of others To seek the services or love of others
To seek the help of others for oneself.
dear rich fellows of mine do ye not realise that the poor mans test is much easiers as it a direct test by god and OUR test is MUCH HARDER AS WE HAVE BEEN GIVEN EVERYTHING THE POOR WASNT SO THAT ALLAH MAY SEE WHAT DID WE DO WITH THE MONEY HANDED TO US. We live in luxury and thus easily forget that death exists or allahs words. Do not mistake this fortune for death comes wether 10000 years or wether ye be only 1 minute old. With me own body i have read 5 funerals in 2023 out of 5 four were of men and women whose age wasnt even 25 and one was just a girl of 8 years who sufferd from skin cancer.
Tell me now dear brother do you wish to be a hypocrite by dating with fatima when its written haram or dear sister do you now wish to walk around without any hijab. Use your head. When a person rapes isnt it wrong then isnt it wrong to commit sins intentionally all while justufying them as a human errors.
17yrs m isb

Warning: This is a very long post, and I have really bad inattentive adhd, which makes me type super long posts to get my thoughts out.
Please try to bear with me. I have bad inattentive adhd that's accentuated by distress, and im stressed out about this topic, so I'm probably going to write a ton and have little to no ability to keep it brief. It's going to be really long. I may just vent about what she's done, but I'm mostly just looking to understand if she's emotionally and verbally abusing me.
My younger sister is very easily angered. She has a very short temper, and the smallest things set her off. Even something simple and incredibly benign can cause her to become really angry with me. I feel like I have to walk on eggshells around her. I confronted her about something she did that upset me for the first time yesterday. After getting her to agree to stop this one thing, which I don't really want to discuss here, she made another angry remark as I was going back upstairs.
The thing is, she doesn't yell or scream at me. She loses her temper so easily and becomes so angry and aggressive that she puts me on blast, sometimes in front of anyone around us. Whenever I read about verbal and emotional abuse, it feels like it isn't considered abuse if they don't yell or scream and don't raise their voice. She doesn't, and it kind of feels invalidating.
After I went upstairs, I felt like I was going to explode. It was a ton of adrenaline spreading across every nook and cranny of my body. It felt dizzying and as if I was high, but it went away after a few minutes.
I often don't talk to her or smile around her. I tell her to go away whenever she's angry. She doesn't seem to realize she's angry. Once, on vacation, I almost couldn't hold my anger in when she was scolding me about not holding a bag my dad had. She told me I was being inconsiderate about not holding it and said something like, "Bhai (brother in Urdu/Hindi), you need to take their bags because that's something you need to do! Why don't you take some responsibility to think of their needs and stop being so selfish?" I told her that I did try to hold it for him, but he kept insisting that he hold it, so I let him. She said it didn't matter because I had to make sure I held it for him. Then she went on a diatribe about being responsible and considerate of people and their needs and how I needed to change my attitude towards others. Since I had endured lectures and scolding from her a lot until that point and didn't have the energy to deal with her that time, I told her to shut up, and she lost it. She told my parents to get me out of her sight and that she wasn't going to be around me anymore. They made us talk about it, and I just used it as an opportunity to eventually not have to deal with the issue onwards. She continues to do this.
When my childhood friend was over and I was told we were traveling to the U.S. to visit Cleveland, Ohio, for a weekend, I mentioned that I'd been told it was boring and would prefer to go somewhere else. Although I was fine with a couple of days there, I might not have been too nice in expressing my thoughts in front of my friend. She responded with, "Well, if you can think of a more fun vacation that we can afford to go on, then go ahead," and then she went upstairs. My mom told her that she shouldn't scold me that way, especially in front of a guest, but she just said, "I don't care," dismissively.
She would get angry and aggressive with me about lots of things, especially when she's stressed out. For instance, when she was supposed to drop me off at work and took the car to the same job when it wasn't her time to work, or when I was supposed to be on shift and she wasn't. I told her I had to go to work and that I needed the hours.
She drove home and was calling my dad about issues with the house. When I went back inside the house after waiting near the car, around the time I needed to be at work, I told her that we needed to leave now as I had to get there in a few minutes. She responded, "Yeah, I'm aware. Do you think I don't know that? I'm not stupid." Despite being the manager at the job, I was going to be late because of her. It wasn't clear if she would let me stay for however long I was late or adjust my hours so I'd get all the ones I was supposed to have when she took the car to work, even though she wasn't on shift, and I was.
When I asked her if she'd adjust my hours when we got there, she said, "Why? You weren't there for that time, so why would I adjust your hours to say you were?" I told her it wasn't my fault I wasn't there on time. It was because she was at work off her scheduled period and therefore took the car there but didn't drive me on time.
She eventually relented. Afterwards, she said I was only 13 minutes late, but I knew they must round down the hours to account for minutes. She works 40 hours there regularly, while I struggle to have 15 or 20. That's the same with everyone who works for the store.
I was cleaning my bedroom before going to visit my parents with her one day. Since my dad was going to be home to pick up some stuff for us, I had only a backpack and a small, light luggage. She was cleaning the house and taking a lot of stress over it. I have bad inattentive ADHD and wasn't diagnosed or on any meds by then, so I was doing my best to clean my room. I had headphones in and was listening to a video when she called me downstairs. I didn't hear her from upstairs with my headphones in.
She charged upstairs and said, "Hello? Are you deaf? I've been calling you. Why are you not listening? I need you to do something; can you take responsibility for some stuff?" I stayed as calm as I could and asked her what she needed, trying to get her to cut to the chase so I wouldn't have to endure her explosive anger.
I remember her continuing to ask why I wasn't listening, and I told her I was using the vacuum in my room with my headphones in upstairs while she was trying to say something downstairs. I obviously didn't hear her, and she told me I needed to just listen because she's busy and asked why I didn't keep my ears open in case she needed help with whatever.
If I ask her something and she says it in a tone I can't hear and I ask her again, and she doesn't say it much louder, I get up, try to get closer, and ask her to say it again. She then yells, even if she isn't calling it yelling, and says it in a much louder tone because she's annoyed. I go away after that.
If she says something and I obviously can't hear her when my headphones are in, and I ask her to repeat herself because I obviously didn't hear her, she doesn't seem to realize that my headphones are in, which is why I never heard her. I often forget to remove them to hear her better and just ask her what she said again since I didn't hear her. She doesn't repeat herself at a louder volume or noticeably louder tone at all. She eventually does, but only to yell at me.
Growing up, when she asked me to make food for her and I did, if I didn't make it right, she would say, "It's cold, why didn't you warm it more?" I would warm it more, and she would still say it's not evenly cooked. After doing it again and making it not the consistency she wanted because I had to heat it two more times, she asked why I still didn't make it properly. So when my dad, amused by this seemingly benign thing, laughed and said, "The poor guy had to run up and down the stairs making it for you, and you're still not okay with it? It looks fine." She just pretended to weep, clearly not weeping but expressing upset dissatisfaction, in a way that wasn't an attempt to make us think she was crying, only for a second, to show her frustration that it wasn't exactly the way she wanted it. Whatever that's called in our language, I don't know, but it's just an expression of upset dissatisfaction, much like how a whiny, wealthy person gets upset when they experience a mild inconvenience.
When I was small and we were in India on vacation, it was raining. My mother, a narcissistic mother, and my sister, who took after her, were going to the car my uncle parked down the plaza for the apartment building. He walked to the car, my mum did, and so did my sister. I was wondering why they all went without me since I was the only one without an umbrella to protect myself. I thought my mum would come back for me, but she just sat in the car and waited. My sister went on her own, and when I followed her, getting slightly soaked, I tried to go under her umbrella. She tried to get me to move away since she wanted it for herself, saying it's not big enough for both of us. I told her I needed at least a little protection from the rain, but she insisted I go get my own even though there weren't any more. I told her there weren't any other umbrellas, and I'm not going to the car wet. Frustrated, she shoved the umbrella into my hands and said, "Ugh, just take it, God."
When she was walking to the car uncovered by the umbrella, she murmured stuff, leaving me flabbergasted. The car stank, and my dad was the one who made it stinky but probably didn't realize it because he was nose-blind to it, so he didn't do anything about it. My sister noticed and, instead of letting my dad take the blame, I told her I did it. She got annoyed and just drove off. Back home, she scolded me for making the car smell like pee, saying it was inconsiderate since she had to pick up a friend in it.
I didn't notice the stink, but I guess it was there for her. At work, when we started the job, I would often not notice if I smelled or not and would put on lots of perfume to hide it if I did. She complained about my odor a lot. I would tell her sometimes that I doused my entire body in perfume, and she'd snap at me, saying, "Then why don't you wear good-smelling clothes?" I asked other people who worked there if I smelled, but I got the same response every time: they all told me I didn't, and they would tell me if I did.
My mum and sister always say that people outside the family will never be honest with you and tell you the truth because they don't want to be impolite, but your personal family always tells you the truth, so you can't trust other people to be honest with you, only family. This is an abuse tactic, from what I've gathered, to isolate you from other people and control you more. Her boyfriend often jokes that he's in an abusive relationship with her, and he doesn't mean it, but every joke is based on a little truth. She often says, "No, you're not," and it's only a joke between them that I've heard.
Our old boss used to joke with her that she's bullying him and even asked me if she bullies me at home. I don't often respond, but once, I told him yes and tried to make it sound like a funny joke. I didn't do a good job because part of me just wanted to tell someone that she legitimately does, and another part of me doesn't want to incur my sister's anger. I was pretending to joke about it to make her less angry. She took me aside eventually and told me I can't say things like that to people outside of the family. I told her I was joking and didn't mean it, but she continued to say it doesn't matter and that I can't say that stuff to people.
After a while, she even told my mum I said that to my boss, and my mum, wanting to maintain "what's best for the family," said I wasn't right to say that to him. She often gets into lots of fights with her boyfriends, with her high school one, one she dated until last year, and even with the one she's dating now. This guy is over a lot, every day, just like her previous boyfriend.
One night, I had to use the washroom badly and was on the toilet for a long time because it wasn't a fun time. She knocked on the door and asked, "Did you finish? My boyfriend needs to shower." I told her I'm not done and need more time. She said, "Ugh, hurry up. Why do you have to sit there for so long and take it up? He needs to use the shower," and walked away.
My ADHD and OCD go mad when she scolds me, and this behavior is, in my opinion, making it worse. If I don't do her dishes every time she's busy—and she leaves them a lot as she's running around with her boyfriend—I find cans of energy drinks and soda on the dining table for days, an empty takeout box of Chinese food, a pink beanie, and a rag on the other table, and an unfinished cup of milk coffee we have to wash on the coffee table for more than a week.
When I explained that due to my ADHD, doing all of those dishes at once, especially when they're not dishes I made, is hard for me since I can only manage a few dishes at a time, she didn't understand. Instead of stacking them into a pile to do later—which is easier for me—I prefer to break the workload into small bits, knowing there aren't currently more dishes than what I just produced.
She might have relented a little on that, but I still feel obligated to help her out with them when she's busy with other things. When she makes dishes, she makes a lot of them and doesn't reuse the ones she used for individual items. If she wants another thing, even if the plate is almost clean or had only ketchup on it, she just gets another plate, adding to the cleaning.
I feel like I have no relationship with her and distance myself as much as I can. I rarely talk to her and avoid interacting out of fear that she'll blow up over something small or be overly critical. Even when she's not unpleasant, I find it hard to express emotions around her and remain dry and monotone. Talking to her or even being around her feels like walking on eggshells.
When she comes home, I'm always in a bad mood until she retreats to her room or sleeps. I hate hearing the sound of her voice. I dread sitting in the same car with her when we drive back to my parents' place for five hours. I sleep to make the time go by, and my parents tell me I need to stay awake, but I can't handle being in the same space with her for five hours without getting upset.
I don't often want her to cook for me and rarely think about her when I cook for myself. I don't enjoy working with her, and when I have the option, I avoid being around her. I don't share anything with her, and if I don't have to, I avoid talking to her about anything.
My mom was similar on vacations, but even though my mom has calmed down somewhat, my sister is the problem. After my long explanation about my younger sister, I wonder if what she does to me is considered abuse. She snaps at me, angrily scolds me, makes condescending remarks, and responds sarcastically. She blows up over the smallest things, and when confronted about her short temper, she denies it or justifies it.
She claims she does everything to not yell at me, but her behavior feels like yelling, even if it's not at a loud volume. Every example of verbal and emotional abuse I've seen suggests that it's only abuse if there's yelling. If she's not yelling, is what she's saying and doing still considered abuse? Even if it's not yelling, is my reaction and behavior, my strained relationship with her, and the constant anxiety I feel when confronting her a sign of abuse?
I'm really struggling with this, causing a lot of distress for me. I don't know if this is abuse or if I even have grounds to consider this a problem.
Edit: spelling/grammar and a warning at the beginning.
Edit 2: everything separated into paragraphs.

Children's Books
1 Alif, Baa, Taa of Kerbala
2 Blessed Names Series- a set of 14 soft-cover books
3 Knowing the Masumin Series- (the last four workbooks have not yet been published, I shall update the post when they come out, inshallah)

• Prophet Muhammad
• Imam Ali
• Bibi Fatima
• Imam Hasan
• Imam Husayn
• Imam Zaynul Abidin
• Imam Muhammad al-Baqir
• Imam Jafar al-Sadiq
• Imam Musa al-Kazim
• Imam Ali al-Ridha

4 The Great Prophets and Ahl al-Kisa Series- a set of 9 board books
5 The Heavenly Children Series- a set of 14 books, available in both soft-cover and hardcover formats
6 Tweet, tweet! It's fun to Pray!
Free Children’s Resources
1 Islamic Curriculum- includes Islamic curriculum for Pre-Kindergarten to Grade 12 (while donations are welcome, the parent site - Kisa Kids - offers free digital downloads for all grades)
2 Project Booklets- (while donations are welcome, the parent site - Kisa Kids - offers free digital downloads for all project booklets below)

• Eid Milad un-Nabi
• Muharram
• Arbaeen
• Days of Sayyida Fatima
• The Spiritual Season
• Shahr Ramadan
• al-Karamah
• Hajj & Wilayah Season

3 Multilingual Resources- includes project booklets in French, Urdu, Swedish, Danish, and Norwegian
Kindly comment with any other resources that you may know of, and I shall update accordingly, inshallah.
For every way in which we strive towards Him, in which we safeguard our eeman, in which we remain steadfast in His way, may Allah protect and reward all brothers and sisters in this world and in the akherah, inshallah.

Assalam Wa´alaikum dear brothers and sisters. So im planning to get married in like a year but the problem is that i dont know any urdu. Shes pakistani and im bengali and if i cant speak urdu then how am i gonna talk to her parents? Shes also going to learn bengali but my parents understand some urdu and especially my father so she has it kinda easier. I tried searching for some good language learning apps that provided urdu courses but didnt really find any good ones besides Ling. So i was wondering that would learning hindi from duolingo be a good option? I want to learn urdu and not hindi so should i just learn hindi with duolingo and then later learn the urdu version? I can speak finnish, english, swedish, bengali and a bit of turkish so pronouciation wont be a problem for me. I can also read arabic. Also if you have any urdu movies or series recommendations then please do tell me. I like horror and drama like Zindagi Gulzar Hai. I want to get fluent with the language as soon as possible so if you have any tips then please do share them with me🙏

WINSTON: In burying Charon, I was tormented about what to put on his grave. A handful of words trying to sum up an entire life.
JOHN: What did you decide?
WINSTON: "Friend", that’s what he was. Above all things. A friend. Made me wonder what they’ll put on mine.
THE BOWERY KING: "Long Live the King", had mine carved years ago.
WINSTON: Ambitious.
THE BOWERY KING: Prophetic.
The Bowery King motions John to a quay. Recessed in the wall is a door.
THE BOWERY KING: Your stop. I will see you when you are a free man, one way or the other. Au revoir, Monsieur Wick.
John nods to The King.
JOHN: Thank you, Winston.
WINSTON: Jonathan.
John steps off the still moving launch.
WINSTON: Sunrise is at 6:33. Try not to be late. For both our sakes.
As the launch pulls away...
JOHN: "Loving husband"
Winston focuses on John...
John: That’s what I want on mine: "John - loving husband."
Assalam Walaykum,
My name is . I am a 38 year old software engineer, employed full time in Germany. I am from Karachi(you can belong to any city though making arrangements for a cross city marriage will be quite an adventure), where I have spent most part of my life with my parents, three brothers and three sisters. I am the youngest in my family. Both of my parents have passed away.
Before I proceed any further, I would like to say this will be a long read purely in the interest of giving you the right idea regarding what kind of a person I am. Also, as you read through and feel I have a lot of demands, repeat to yourself, "The right person trumps everything else". It is fine if you fulfill some of the criteria, ideally, most of it.
Let's start with my physical appearance. I weigh less than 80 kilograms(less because that's the last reading I was able to take and I have lost weight after that) and I am 5 feet, 8 inches tall. I have an average build and wheatish complexion. A lot of people have told me I look younger than my age so maybe you will find this to be the case as well.
As for my history, I have never been married and never been involved physically with anyone. It is important to me that this is the case with you as well. I want children but after the first year of marriage inshaAllah. The number we will have to decide mutually.
You will be living with me in Germany inshaAllah so it will be a nuclear family from day one. I want to marry and move in with you as soon as possible if everything works out so it would be an ideal scenario if you are already in Germany because the visa processing time is quite a bit. Nonetheless, if you are the right person then we definitely figure something out together.
I would prefer that you are a software developer who plans to work(home office) after marriage, although it will be completely your decision. You will have zero financial responsibility. When I moved here, it was really difficult to settle because of lack of friends and homesickness. The loneliness and the unfamiliarity just takes a toll on you. I wouldn't want to put you through that so it helps if you have something that keeps you busy. Plus, I like a smart, strong, intelligent, and independent woman so I am sure if you are one, you would want to make use of your education. I am a sapiosexual and there is just something about a girl that knows how to write code. Let me reiterate that it is very clear to me that the financial responsibility lies with me. You don't have to worry about that. Ideally, I hope it's a part time job like 5/6 hours per day so that it is easy for you to manage as a housewife.
Speaking of housewife, I have been living alone since the last 4/5 years and I am quite handy with house chores like cooking, cleaning, doing the dishes, etc. I will definitely be a great sidekick to your super heroine if the need arises. I do believe in the traditional gender roles but I don't believe in being a traditional husband so I will definitely help you out whenever I can. Still not convinced? I can make a "roti" as well, though not "goal".
It really doesn't matter to me which echelon of society you come from. Do know that I belong to the middle class and it's a typical story of struggle, where I come out at the other end as a self made man, Alhamdulilah. You will get to hear it someday hopefully.
As for my sect, I don't put a label of Shia/Sunni on myself because what they imply does not describe me. I am of the mindset that you should gain knowledge of Islam and follow what is right. It is not that difficult if you just put a little heart and soul into your research. So, I am open to any person who has the same mindset, does not identify with a sect(even if they were born in one), and has gained considerable knowledge of Islam so that it helps with the upbringing of children. We both might be lacking in this area so we help each other out inshaAllah. I am open to christians, jews, and reverts as well, if the aforementioned requirements are met. Living in Europe, your home is the only place where your children can get a true picture of Islam so we both have to be on the same page on this to facilitate this for them. It is also important that you observe hijab or plan to do so after marriage out of your own will for Allah. I did rather want that you do it for HIM but I have been made responsible for my household so I would definitely want you to make sure you do.
Physical attraction is important to me so I hope you are okay with exchanging pictures. Too bad I won't be able to show you my charisma in a photo. I would hope to see one without makeup though as that is the face I am spending the rest of my life with. Please don't find this offensive. It's about being practical.
I am extremely romantic but I don't expect you to be the same. It takes two to tango though. As a bare minimum, I hope you are at least someone who can gracefully process romantic gestures that are thrown your way. I don't want to go weak in my knees every time I see you while you barely flinch a muscle. I believe a healthy relationship requires one to keep things fresh so I hope we regularly engage in banter, witty remarks, teasing, and non-sexual physical behaviours. Sarcasm is a no go though. I don't buy into that bullshit that sarcastic people are intelligent. It's just taunting, wrapped as sarcasm in the package of woke culture.
I also don't believe in those new age, woke culture philosophies where you marry the right person and everything falls into place and then it's just rainbows and unicorns everyday. I do want a marriage that is straight out of a romantic novel but it requires application and hard work. Yes, you need a considerable baseline compatibility with the other person but it still requires work. It's a test match, not twenty/twenty.
I love to have logical and rational conversations. It's the sort of thing that helps me connect with people. I watch movies and listen to music but if you would like to talk about them, you will definitely find me out of my depth. I absolutely love to understand religion by applying my mental model of science.
My hobbies are exercise(home workouts though I struggle to be a regular), reading, meditation. I believe in living a mindful life where I am not just running on a hamster wheel. It would help if you are mindful too. If you are into exercise and take good care of yourself then it's a huge plus.
Here are five things that I feel are interesting about me.

1. My English linguistic skills are head and shoulders above my Urdu and Sindhi linguistic skills even though I was born in a household where they were the primary languages of communication. You know that voice in the head we have that speaks to us in our native language? Mine is in English. I just switch to English unconsciously during conversations so it is important that you have great English linguistics skills. Plus, I feel more fulfilled expressing my romantic feelings in English so. 🤷‍♂️
2. I am trying to be ambidextrous so there are a few things I can do with both hands. I keep picking up something to practice with my other hand to keep growing the list.
3. I have a great sense of humour but it works best when allowed to flow naturally. I tried improv once but I felt like a fish out of water. I dropped the idea because it felt forced and I was more worried about loosing my wittiness because of the way it works.
4. I love to read psychology as a subject. It is actually my favourite, even more than computer science. By the time I realised it, I was already too deep in the computer science underworld and you know what they say about these people. You join at your own will but cannot leave at your own will.
5. I am a minimalist in the making and always looking to declutter my life. I don't take pride in or love to own stuff. For me, less is more. I do struggle to cut things out at times that's why I wrote "in the making". It is one of the reasons a lavish wedding will be hard to swallow for me. Don't expect me to be okay with your family financing expensive apparel and watches and what not for me. Your father spent millions on your food, shelter, education, clothing, health, etc and is giving you away to me. That is enough. I see an economical wedding arrangement as more of an accomplishment.

I wish to marry someone young so it would be ideal if you are 21 to 23 years old. I am aware of the power dynamics and that we would be in totally different phases of life. First, I don't have the personality to dominate, I would guess. Second, I can definitely help you with that phase through my wisdom and experience as I have already been through that. However, this is a wish rather than a filter. Ultimately, the right person trumps everything else.
Thank you for taking the time to read about me. I hope my words opened you up to greater insights into the plight of humanity. Do I sound like a character straight out of a murder mystery? Or maybe too naive? Or perhaps prince charming?
As you can see, I have put in a bit of effort to write about myself so it would be nice if you do the same. I just write in free flow with sentences and ideas and let the writing take its form. That's my process.
You can take your time so if you are interested, you can simply message me "interested", returning a detailed reply after a few days when you have it ready.
For those of you who need a little push to break the ice, you can simply write about yourself or reply with an answer to the following question.
"The Quran calls the husband and wife garments for each other. Why do you think this analogy is drawn?"
P.S. If you picked up my subtle sense of humour and intentional melodramatic tone, then you definitely should reach me.

[TW: Violence]
She was among a group of theorists who confined their thoughts to a screen.
We’re currently picking our way through the oldest, salvaged computer belonging to her friend and posting these Entries as we uncover them. We believe there are 8; we have not tampered with them in any way.
We will let their words speak for themselves.
Please help us find her.
Please come home, Autumn.
We are ready to forgive you.
--
Entry 0 - First Words:
[Hello to whoever this winds up in front of. Sorry for the impending rant, but I feel this context will be important moving forward]
My Uncle’s bunker has proven itself as an impressive mancave and beyond what I thought he was capable of making. It’s quickly become our go-to hangout and the base for our investigation. He was a man of many secrets so I doubt he built it on his own and I doubt we’ve seen all it has to offer.
He was also a paranoid man, a believer of the supernatural, and under the impression that something ‘evil’ was in our town. His obsessions were always subtle, until recently, and never a hindrance to our relationship.
I wish I’d asked him more questions and I wish I knew where he damned was.
As of this morning, he’s vanished, leaving only some coerced, frantic research and a little box I haven’t dared to open.
The words he scribbled on it don’t sit well with me, or the other five people down here sleeping amidst our notes and conspiracy wall.
I’ve been looking at what the others have put to paper and decided that the bunker’s computer, although a dinosaur, will make for a great diary. I hope that, at some point, I can move these Entries to a drive and then post them online once I get access to a computer very far away from town.
We don’t trust the internet here.
I’ve also shown the others how to work it, how to find this all, write their own and how to transfer it to USBs. They can then upload it themselves in the event I don’t.
Or can’t.
I’ve also got an old electronic organiser (if anyone remembers those - think of it as a digital journal) so I can draft some notes on the go before fleshing them out here.
Hopefully, my Uncle’s paranoia has finally been good for something and that this is all secure.
Moving on, I think the best way to log this is to recount the last few days until I’m caught up to where I am now (The 29th). That way we’ll have something to refer back to, check details, edit things if need be etc.
Then tomorrow can reel its ugly head around the corner.
But first, I need to start with a girl; the one who mostly opened our investigation.
Autumn Pines, you are my friend and I love you, and I don’t know when you’re going to read this, but you have thrown us neck deep in some weird shit.
Thanks to you, we all believe that if our compiled scrambled papers have any weight, and our eyes still work, then a Cult has moved into Maple Croak. We don’t know how long they’ve been here. I don’t want to know. And, as far as we’re aware, they don’t suspect that anybody is onto them. Yet.
We also know their name - The Faceless.
Autumn promises she knows where we can learn more and get some concrete answers. I don’t like where her head is at. How she has the enthusiasm for this astounds and scares me.
I’d like to think we’re wrong. That the disturbed things I struggle to unsee can be explained and rationalised. And no offence Autumn, but for once, I want you to be wrong too - wrong the most, in fact. That, like my Uncle, you’re just paranoid and that, in your pursuit of a headline story, you’re chasing a damn fantasy, an obsession, and dragging us all with you.
Yet as bitter as it is to think about, I know you’re not. You’re not crazy and neither was he, or any of us; we can’t be.
The only difference is that, unlike him, we haven’t been caught.
I chalk it up to luck. Pretty soon, it’ll run out.
--
Entry 1, July 27th - Homecoming:
I awoke to the Texan voice of Chuck Brinsky over the radio rattling on, as he did every morning, about how wonderful our not-so-little Oregon town was.
You could describe Maple Croak as the end of the line. The final stop a coach has to divert to after following a narrow cliff-side path, that bleeds into thick woods, to arrive at our pocket of land. An isolated edge looking out at the water; overlooked itself by a backdrop of forest and far distant mountains.
Those woods then almost arc around our town (looks like a backwards ‘r’ shape on a map). If it wasn’t for the port, we’d be surrounded by oaks and thick maple trees.
We could once pride ourselves as a sea-side town, with a thriving fishing industry, and the safety net of some ancient, sealed mines to fall back on for business. Now, our port is closed and almost stripped bare. I can’t remember the last time I saw a boat out in the ol’ blue, or a boat at all, or even saw the lighthouse on. Our town’s questionable Mayor had found another way to make money.
Some shady investors from a big city set their sights here with a dream, cost cuts, and a construction firm. I’m not going to pretend to understand how it works, but I know what greased palms and a fat bag of money look like.
It was suffocating. The only way in and out of town now was a bridge, over a long and wide ravine of weak flowing water, that shuddered as trucks and diggers steamrolled over it. They went far north, carving a path through the woods and got to work on building an eyesore.
Chuck always explained it best.
“Despite some unexpected rain, construction on Maple Croak’s very own shopping mall develops nicely.“ Chuck said over some static as I slithered out of bed and into the bathroom. The man is a broken record. “I can speak for myself, and a few of y’all, at how exciting it was to see a News Crew on our clean streets a week back. Not too long now until our fair, honest commune gets a whole lot livelier. Just remember to be kind to strangers when they come on through.”
He leaned closer to his microphone.
“Especially if they try snaking our jobs.” He then chuckled to himself, and I’m sure a dozen listeners joined him. He waffled on a little longer before playing a song I couldn’t hear over the shower.
Afterwards, I looked myself up and down in my mirror, spraying all manner of deodorant. I grabbed my relic of a Sharp Wizard, a hoodie, and my keys, then opened the blinds to get flash-banged by a ray of sun.
We lived in the westward area, where the trees and brush start to fuse with concrete, in the poor part of town. A word our beloved radio host and Mayor felt was about to be made redundant.
Besides paint peeling off some bricks, a few rotting fences, and one too many black trash bags, this street was home. As it has been for 18 years.
Some kids played on their bikes, racing up and down the paths, enjoying the remaining freedom of Summer break. Folks walked their dogs, laid deckchairs out, and watered plants. Not a worry in the world.
It’s as cookie-cutter and ignorant as a neighbourhood can be.
My phone then buzzed.
Autumn: 30 mins away, taxi boy <3
Despite the week-long conversations we’d had prior, I felt joy seeing those words. I replied to her text quickly and then navigated the cramped upstairs hallways, hopped down the stairs, and brushed through the rest of our house to reach the kitchen.
Portraits and photos still watch me from the walls and tabletops. My Uncle had long since removed any image of my dad from the house, leaving only the smiles of me and my mother.
Then I heard that very same Uncle muttering his usual gibberish in his study. I was curious and intrigued at what cryptid he’d be studying now, or what conspiracy video rotted his brain.
To my surprise, I saw him using an old-fashioned radio system from within his personalised workroom, at the end of a hallway. The thing was a relic, an antique, and supposed to be broken, yet there he was having a conversation with it. A one-sided chat I felt I was intruding on.
He leaned over his desk amidst a few invoices and other files, one hand cupping a headphone over his ear while the other rested in his developing grey hair.
He was distressed.
“You still there, White Diamond?” It took a few agonising moments before he got a response. “Yeah, I know that-” He then began softly. Whoever he was talking to interrupted him.
I made sure to keep quiet as I approached and leaned in his doorway. Inaudible orders barked from the headphones. I’d seen odd, hobbyist behaviour from my Uncle before, made evident by the posters, collectables, drawings and other weird stuff that meticulously decorated his study, but this felt different; more private.
"I’ve given you enough, I think. The risk would be-”
The orders continued, interrupting him again. I could see him rub his temples before he scribbled some notes down.
“You could always do it yourself… yeah, fuck you too, kid. What’re you gonna do when she comes knocking on your door because she-” The line cut off.
My Uncle sagged in his chair with a defeated sigh. It was clearly not his first argument with his radio stranger. I wondered how many other early morning chats I’d missed between them.
He then saw a shape in the reflection of a smudged whiskey glass, nearly jumped out of his skin, and then swivelled round to face it with a frightened look. He relaxed when he saw it was only his nephew and put a hand on his chest.
“Fucking hell, Lucas…” His face slowly turned into a relieved smile. “You enjoy scaring the shit out of me?”
I smiled too, only a little.
“How long have you had that fixed?” I asked, gesturing to his radio setup.
He composed himself quickly and calmly.
Ready to lie to my face.
“Ah, about a week now.”
“And who’s White Diamond?”
“Some bitch of a client who refuses to use a phone. More paranoid than me.” He slowly stood up, reminding me how tall and broad and worn he was. “Never become a carpenter, ya’ hear.”
I nodded as he hobbled his way to reach his cane, his wooden hip and false leg squeaking slightly. He then curiously checked his watch.
“You’re up early. Bonnie called you in for a shift?”
I shook my head.
“It’s Friday,” I said with a grin.
“Friday?” He pondered the word, slinging it back and forth in his head until the realisation hit him. “Oh shit!” He shuffled his way out of the room and darted into the kitchen at a pace I thought impossible for him. “That’s on me, I’m sorry. God, I didn’t pack you kids lunch or anything.”
“I’m sure I’ll survive, Unc.” I half-joked.
I watched him scour cabinets and cupboards until he found a four-pack of dry beers.
“Well, at least take these. Been saving them for a rainy day.”
His smile was genuine and sweet. I didn’t have the strength to tell him I’d need much more.
“Thanks, Unc,” I said, taking his gift.
“And you tell that little miss she’s welcome here anytime.”
“You sure her Mom’s gonna be okay with that?”
He scoffed.
“You can sweet talk her. I’m sure.”
I then hugged him goodbye. He’s a very awkward man to embrace.
“And don’t forget the curfew!” He said, a little too concerned, as I slipped away and made my way to the door. “Police are hounding everyone out late.”
“I won’t.”
“And stay out of the woods. They’re hounding that too.”
“Yes sir.”
“And-“
“Don’t talk to skinwalkers? Pack a tinfoil hat?”
“Oh, you’re very funny today, huh?”
We smiled at each other as I opened the door.
“I’ll see you later, Unc. Love ya'.”
“…Ew.”
I laughed and stepped out of the house where I was hit by a wave of energising, warm air.
I waved to a couple of neighbours, and exchanged some late-morning greetings, before dumping the pack of beer in the back seat of my car and then setting off for the drive ahead.
The neighbourhood became a blur, then a woodland road, and quickly turned into the peaceful streets of town. I knew every corner of this local-owned town, every face, yet as I stopped at a red light near our town’s square, and my eyes gazed out to the distant empty sea, I saw something rare amidst our clean, prided community.
A public argument.
It was far, but I could distinctly make out the two figures bickering on the steps of the Town Hall - the Mayor’s Office. One was Mayor Crimley himself, a bulbous egg-shaped man snug in a tailored suit too small to contain him. He gestured aggressively with his hands, pointing off into the distant woods.
The other man was Bentley, our town’s Reporter. His red jacket stood out like a sore thumb. His material on our blog and newspaper had grown incredibly tame as of late; almost entirely dedicated to the development of the Mall. He too gestured wildly, clearing angry or upset about something.
A small crowd festered around the two, including a policeman on standby, and before my curiosity could go any further the light turned green.
The sight quickly faded from my mind as it disappeared from the rearview mirror.
I drove through the rest of town, for about 15 minutes, until I passed the last building and was greeted by a long stretch of wild road. I could see our town’s welcoming sign at the top of a small hill, guarded by a patrol car whose driver gave me a nod as I passed him, that read: Sorry to see you go. But we know you’ll come back
Complimented by a cartoonish, winking maple leaf character.
I exaggerated earlier in my descriptions. Maple Croak has no coach stop. At least, not in the town itself. Instead, it’s just beyond the borders - at the start of a long bridge that stretches over an alarmingly longer ravine created by some old flood. After another 5 minutes of driving through a glow of amber sunlight, broken up by an encompassing army of trees, I reached and crossed that bridge.
Our only passageway to the outside world.
I pulled over on a dirt path, with the coach stop to my right, and watched the leaves ebb and flow. Some of the trees here are large and thick maple trees. Their leaves have slowly started to turn red early this year, almost casting red hues over chunks of forest and parts of the road.
It’s beautiful. Yet sometimes, later in the Fall and if the light is right, it looks like the damn sky has gone crimson.
I then waited.
Until a coach emerged from around a rocky corner and dropped off a single passenger.
I’ll admit, my heart had begun to race a little in anticipation.
Almost a year had gone by since I’d seen the girl I’d grown up with. The naive, goodie two-shoes, rulebook following dickhead. I’d expected a semester of college would’ve maintained the girl I knew; moulding her into a sophisticated, young woman that would’ve outgrown me and become wiser to my pestering. I was expecting a backpack-towing bookworm, dressed like an old librarian.
I was almost right.
A cotton sweater, a pair of chinos, a satchel and some sunglasses sat nicely on her freckled face. Her long auburn, almost ginger hair draped past her shoulders.
The only difference was her frame. She’d gotten taller and puberty had suddenly hit her like a fucking train.
She reached me in a heartbeat. She was giddy with a controlled excitement as I rolled down the window. I could see the enthusiasm and joy of the person I remembered, buried under early adulthood.
“Oh hey there, taxi boy,” Autumn said sweetly with a smile, leaning on the window frame.
“Oh hey there, supermodel.”
I looked her up and down and she laughed, snaking her way around the car, swinging the door open, and firmly planting herself in the seat. I had no time to react as I was wrapped in a bone-crunching bear hug and then watched in disbelief as she plopped her feet on the dashboard while pulling out her phone.
“So I was texting Barn. He’s at the cafe, but could you stop by my folks first-“
“What are you doing?” I asked.
She paused, looking at her shoes.
“Resting my feet on your dash?”
This was new. Subtle, yet strikingly uncharacteristic.
“I can see that.”
“Great, your eyes work! Can we go?”
“Yes, boss.” I chuckled and, without another word, turned the car around.
The drive back felt longer. I asked her about her course, teased her about crushes, while she interrogated me on how Maple Croak fared in her absence.
I can’t articulate into words how much I’d missed her. And yet, it’d never felt like she'd left.
She threw a few various questions my way. How’s your Uncle? The Mall’s not done, seriously? The port’s closed. Like, forever?
I answered them as best I could.
Only our last conversation was worth noting.
“Oh, and there’s a curfew now too. Everyone off the streets by eleven and a whole lotta woods are taped off.” I said.
“The fuck? Why?”
“Gas leak caused the apartments to go under.“
“The ones up the north road? What about the people living there?” There was a spark in her eyes as her interest peaked. She always loved a story.
Her question was answered as we rounded a bend and were confronted by a dishevelled homeless man trudging along the road, clad in draping black clothes, pushing a shopping cart full of firewood. I slammed my foot on the brakes and cursed under my breath. The man didn’t even flinch, let alone react.
“They mostly turned into that.” I gritted.
“Christ.” She leaned her head out the window. “Are you okay, sir?!”
The man gave her no response, muttering some phrase that we couldn’t hear, as he pushed his trolley to the treeline and disappeared into the fold - likely to join his fellow, drugged-up woodland inhabitants.
“Clean and honest streets, my ass,” Autumn said to herself. “What’re you doing, Crimley?” She pulled a little black journal out of her satchel, as I continued our drive, and jotted some notes down with an attached pen.
“You still have that thing?”
“Yeah, of course. Sorry, I’m not modern like you yet.”
I felt for my Sharp Wizard in my hoodie pocket. I then eyed her journal again as it returned to her satchel.
“You heard from him?” I asked slowly as we passed the wholesome welcoming sign of Maple Croak.
Autumn looked out the window, deep in thought.
“Sorry. Shouldn’t have asked.“
“It’s fine.”
We carried on in a brief, awkward silence through the streets until she spoke again.
“I haven’t… but thank you.”
I smiled as more mundane questions came my way. We eventually turned the radio on and our car ride returned to normalcy as we reached the southern neighbourhood where Autumn’s home quickly came into view.
We could see the port more clearly here as we drove in - a distant, rundown skeleton housing several warehouses and empty construction vehicles, overlooked by a far, towering dead lighthouse.
It was the furthest thing from Autumn’s focus. Her eyes were fixated on her parents who stood in their open drive with a simple Welcome Home sign.
She didn’t even wait for me to park properly before she bound out of the car and sprung into her mother’s open arms, kicking her feet.
Katherine Pines looked as impeccable as always - we would expect nothing less from the Mayor’s pristine secretary. The only flaw in her perfect complexion and attire was an ugly grey cast clamped around her right arm, decorated with signatures and doodles.
Michael Pines, however, was the polar opposite to his wife. Still dressed in a morning gown and slippers, his glazed eyes slowly met his daughter as she approached him. For lack of a better word, the man looked dopey. Instead of clamping him in a hug, Autumn instead rested one hand on his shoulder and the other over his chest as she greeted him in a hush, loving tone. He smiled and nodded down at her.
I don’t think he was entirely sure who she was.
Katherine eyed me as I approached. Not a look of scorn, but not one of appreciation either.
“Driving under the speed limit I hope, young man.” She exclaimed as she tucked the Welcome Home sign away before crossing her arms (as best she could) over her chest.
“How’s your arm, Kat?” I asked, ignoring her comment.
“Still there. How’s your Uncle?”
“I think he’s ready to talk if you are.” I leaned on their fence.
Katherine scowled, but before she could open her mouth her daughter appeared at her side.
“Can we talk inside?” She then turned to me. “I’ll be ten minutes-”
“Ten minutes?!” Katherine said. “That’s all we get?!”
“Is that a minute for each month?” Michael’s weary voice asked as he already reached the porch steps of their home. Autumn laughed as her mother rolled her eyes with a sigh.
“I’ll be home later; you can bore me then. I just wanna-“ Autumn gestured to me “-y’know.”
“We get fifteen.” She then looked at me. “Don’t go anywhere.”
“Yes ma’am.”
And with that, I watched the Pines family step into their household and then observed Katherine's demanded 15 minutes slip away through a large living room window. They hugged some more, raved about life, and laughed; I think Autumn cried too at one point.
Part of me felt solemn at the sight. A harsh reminder of what a normal, loving family is supposed to look like inside their home.
Autumn then returned to me, having discarded her satchel but keeping her journal in one pocket, as her mother watched from the doorway.
“I want her home before eleven!”
I saluted her and the two of us returned to my car.
“Sorry, she’s a bitch.”
“Eh, she’s hot. I’ll forgive her.”
I felt the wrath of a hundred men as Autumn punched the ever-loving shit out of my shoulder, with a smile and another laugh.
“Dick.”
With that, we headed back into town. We barely made it down one busier street before Autumn requested that we stop and, seeing the clear blue sky, walk the rest of the way.
“What’d you talk about? Your folks?” I asked as she adjusted her sunglasses in a shop window.
“Just boring parent stuff. The usual.”
“They haven’t heard from him either, have they?”
“No…No, they haven’t.”
“Did you wanna talk about it?”
“Not really.” She sighed.
“Well, if you do-“
“I know-”
Passing by the hustling and bustling townsfolk, one soul recognised her with an acclaimed squeal so loud it stung our ears.
A little blonde girl skipped over, with her alarmed father not too far behind, whose big brown eyes beamed up at a startled Autumn.
“I thought that was you! How long have you been back?!” The girl said, disregarding me like I didn’t exist.
“Tina?” Autumn asked, recognising the young lass from a favourable babysitting job.
“In the flesh!”
Almost like Autumn’s father, her eyes seemed slightly distant and distracted. It didn’t stop her from wrapping Autumn in a hug.
“You can walk?!” Autumn stammered.
Tina nodded proudly as her father reached us and pressed a hand on her shoulder.
“Doctors fixed me right up!” She then turned to her father. “Dad! Look who it is!”
Tina’s father gave us a wave, and a brief apology for allowing his child to run up on us like some paparazzi, before the two of them left to continue their day with heartfelt goodbyes and a promise to see us again.
“I thought she was in a wheelchair?” Autumn asked me once they were out of earshot.
All I could give her was a disinterested shrug. And, as quickly as the curveball had been thrown at us, it became just an odd memory in our day.
But it would not be the last.
Soon, the cafe came into view. A sizable pink and white, glamorously decorated building at the end of one street.
‘Hearties’
I think ‘Cavities’ would be a better name.
A familiar figure then caught my eye as we trekked towards it: Bentley, standing outside his somewhat rundown one-storey office across the road.
A couple of pristine newspaper stands were embedded against one wall - a striking contrast when compared to the building they were attached to.
He was talking to someone I’d never seen before. A young woman, with short red hair, who noted down almost every word he said in a little green book. She was an outsider and, judging from her attitude and composure, gave off city vibes.
The woman then produced a handheld recorder from her jeans and subtly nodded towards the door, gesturing him to step inside his office. But Autumn reached them before then, her eyes were wide with curiosity and intrigue as she produced her own journal - the attached pen dangled from a chain.
Bentley spotted her immediately and a massive, but pained smile beamed across his face.
I positioned myself beside the newspaper stands, taking a glance at their front pages.
Shopping Mall this; Shopping Mall that, with almost no variety. There was a one-off mention of Mr & Mrs Winters (we’ll get to them) and their latest high-class, money-fueled activity. And an even smaller mention of our Librarian who, up until seeing that paper, I had no idea had been missing for 2 days.
“You’ve gotten taller!” Bentley said. He looked exhausted, with thick dark circles under his eyes.
“And you look like shit, Ben. How’s-” Autumn began to ask him hopefully.
“Excuse me, who're you? We were talking.” The young woman spoke up.
“Technically we’d finished, Piper,” Bentley said, looking back at his mildly frustrated interviewer. “And this here is Autumn Pines, daughter of a dear friend.”
Autumn offered a hand to Piper and she slowly shook it.
“And this here’s Piper - curious, fellow Reporter who’s taken an interest in our not-so-little home.” Bentley continued.
“You’re that secretary’s girl. Think you could get me in a room with her?”
“You wanna talk to my Mom?”
“Not so much your Mom; more your Mayor. I have some queries.”
“Such as?”
I leaned further into the wall with a sigh, praying this wouldn’t take long.
“Such as why you have a bunch of homeless people skittering around your woods, and no one seems to want to do anything about it? Or why your town is so hard to find online? Or-“
“You don’t need to bother the girl with that shit, Piper.” Bentley interrupted, despite the fact Autumn was keenly making notes in her journal. Piper almost looked interested. “You just got home, right?” He then asked Autumn. “How’d your little dip into academic journalism treat you?”
“You hiring?” She asked back, earning a chuckle.
Piper checked her watch.
“Bentley, I’m sure you can interrogate your young friend another day. Can we hurry this up?” She pointed at his office door with her thumb as she shook her handheld recorder.
Bentley sighed, taking another look at Autumn and nodded. He exaggeratedly offered her a hand and, when she shook it, he vigorously clasped both his hands around hers.
“Catch you later, kid.” He casually winked and stepped into his office. Piper quickly followed.
“Nice meeting you,” Autumn said, keeping a fist loose by her side.
“You too. I’m sure ‘Ben’ will reach out if I wanna talk.” Then she was gone and Autumn’s attention came back to me.
“Sorry.” She said, pocketing her journal.
“Not a problem. When are you gonna ask him out?”
“Shut up, Lucas.”
I wished I’d paid more attention instead of slumping against the wall. I should’ve noticed the brief spark in your eye and the likely look on your face as Bentley slipped something into your hand. I should’ve caught you subtly pocketing it, alongside your journal, and confronted you then and there.
Hindsight is a hell of a thing.
The bell above the cafe door dinged as the two of us stepped into a bright decor. We were greeted by a few of the staff as we meandered to a booth at the side, close to the service desk, where the next addition to our posse waited.
Barney, a lug of absolute muscle, gave a grand wave as he spotted us approaching. He rose to his feet, a towering wall of a young man, and he and Autumn embraced. To my dismay, he was not alone.
Sat beside him was the small, brown-haired tumour he called a baby sister. Daisy smiled and waved at me, a gesture I returned, before her eyes went back to her phone. I looked at Barney who gave me an apologetic smile as I took a seat opposite him.
Autumn, however, went over to the service desk to disturb a gothic, pierced-face barista. Caitlyn, the final addition to our group, barely even smiled as Autumn made her presence known.
“Oh yay. You’re back.” She said in the most positive way her monotone, near-dead demeanour could allow. I gave her a wave. She blinked.
“Shouldn’t you be in summer class?” I asked Daisy.
“Day off.”
And that was the end of our riveting conversation.
“She coming to the park?” I then asked Barney.
“No, Mom and Dad just wanted her out of the house a bit.” His voice was like refined iron, cool and suave, honed by years of choir practice and sermons.
I mockingly drew a cross over my chest.
“And may the Lord protect her as she ventures back.”
Barney took a deep, long breath.
“Never gonna let me live that down are you?”
“Not in a million years.”
He chuckled.
“Good to see you. Been a min’.” He said.
“Likewise.”
“How’s the Unc?”
“Alive.”
“Hm. That's good.”
We watched as Autumn chewed Cait's ear off. Caitlyn didn’t show it much, but we saw the look of appreciation on her face as she was reunited with her favourite chatterbox.
“I saw the paper.” I slowly said to Barney. “I had no idea Damien was missing, I’m sorry.”
Barney nodded, keeping his composure.
“They’ll find him. How hard can it be to lose a one-armed vet? I’m more worried about Bentley. Y’know the two of them were-“
“Yeah. I do.”
Our conversation then shifted into something more casual, with the occasional input from Daisy. The rest of the cafe drowned away as we gossiped for hours.
Autumn joined and quickly started to catch up with Big Barn. Their conversations were more intellectual than I could handle. So I resorted to taking the piss out of them when appropriate.
Daisy soon left. Barney escorted her to the door, laid out some safety rules, and watched the kiddo disappear down a street.
Then Caitlyn, finally, slithered out of her work uniform and our four-way entourage of young adult chatting bloomed.
I relish the way my heart warms when the four of us are together.
More hours flew by and before we knew it, our bellies were full and we were politely asked by Mr James Heartie himself to scram.
We took to the streets. We wouldn’t stop talking; we couldn’t, as there was too much to say. It felt like a blur, but a fond one, until I scooped the four-pack of beers from my car and we headed to the west park - just on the edge of some thick woodlands.
“You’re gonna need more than that, Lucas,” Caitlyn said over my shoulder, profoundly unimpressed with my alcohol offering. “Luckily I have a stash.” She gave my shoulder a playful nudge.
And she wasn’t kidding.
Hidden behind a skating ramp, and under a mountain of leaves, was a crate of mixed spirits, some cola and a bottle of vodka.
“And why’d you have this?” Autumn asked her, taking a seat on a bench.
“It’s your homecoming, babe.”
“Vodka. Really?” I asked and she shrugged.
“You got cups?” Barney asked.
“Barney? Drinking? What would the divine beings above think?”
Barney paused, unsure whether to giggle or shout.
“Shut the fuck up, Lucas.”
We laughed and then, as if on cue, Caitlyn unveiled a pack of red drinking cups from her bag. The sun slowly turned a blood orange, as our late afternoon of quiet bench-sat drinking began until the moon ushered its way above. I let the others do all the talking as I started to document the day on my Sharp Wizard. I saw Autumn sometimes do the same in her journal whenever a thought struck her.
It was around 9:30 pm when one of our phones buzzed. I can’t remember what we were talking about, but I remember three heads spinning to Autumn - the least intoxicated.
“Who is it?” Caitlyn asked, lying relaxed on the concrete floor, relatively smashed.
“Shit. It’s my Mom.”
“You swore. That’s a sin.” Barney said, sitting beside her on a bench as he curiously eyed her phone.
“She wants me to call her, I’ll be right back.” She heaved her way up to her feet and took several quick, quiet steps towards the treeline before disappearing behind an oak. I listened as her footsteps trailed off followed by an unnerving silence.
“Wow,” Caitlyn said, looking at me. “She is a terrible liar.”
I reluctantly looked at Barney whose drunk eyes begrudgingly met mine.
“What’d her phone say, Barn?”
“Hmm, I don’t know. She could’ve changed her Mom’s contact to ‘Lead One’, I suppose.”
I leaned back, staring at the stars, and let out a long, slightly intoxicated sigh.
“Fucks sake, Autumn.”
I sprang to my feet, sobering up quickly, and made my way to follow her.
“Go get her, tiger.” Caitlyn cheered as Barney kicked her foot.
Navigating through towering trees of varying colours, with only moonlight to guide me, I eventually saw a distant head of auburn hair venturing deeper into the fold. The right questions didn’t come to me in those moments. Maybe it was the alcohol, or something else, but I only viewed her actions as a strange annoyance - an excuse to sneak away for selfish reasons.
Then I saw the first sign, one of dozens that our town’s law enforcement had hammered into several trees this deep.
‘Police Search & Evidence Area. Turn Back’
Autumn did not, nor did she acknowledge the stretch of fresh police tape that dragged across the trees like a gate. She dipped right under it, her eyes on her phone, and only then did the severity of the situation truly hit me.
I thought of getting the others, but the thought of leaving her alone, and at the mercy of whatever was out here, stopped me.
She stepped onto an overgrown woodland trail and I, without thinking, followed. I caught up quickly. I was seconds away from calling out when a figure emerged from around a tree to greet her.
Bentley.
The path had opened up into what looked like an old road. There was too much space; not enough time to hide. He saw me, after he saw her, and pointed.
Autumn turned to face me, as calm as a ghost, not scared or disappointed or even surprised. She gestured for me to come over.
I hesitated, almost not recognising the stone-faced woman before me, but I did as she wanted.
“You can turn back.” She said as I got near. “You’re not a part of this.”
“But his Uncle is,” Bentley said, clearly annoyed by my presence.
A lightbulb came over my head as I remembered the start of my day.
“White Diamond?” I asked him.
He smiled, impressed.
“No. No, not me, kid. That’s someone else.”
Now Autumn looked confused. Her eyes went back and forth between us, alarmed that I knew something about whatever ‘this’ was. But I didn’t.
“What is this?” I asked them.
Autumn, curiously watching me as if suspicious, produced a metal bauble from her pocket - the same object Bentley had given her only hours ago.
It was an iron ring bearing a crest, a symbol - a circle with a line down the middle; half of it painted black, like the start of an eclipse.
“How much do you know?” Bentley asked Autumn.
“Only the scraps he left me.” She tapped her journal which sat snugly in her pocket.
Bentley took a deep breath, then looked at me and then back at her.
“It’s a deep rabbit hole. One neither of you will like.”
“We can handle it.”
“You speak for me now? The fuck is this, Autumn?!”
Bentley opened his mouth to answer, but he was cut off by the distant rumbling of an engine.
“Fuck. Run! Both of you, now!”
Autumn didn’t hesitate as she darted back the way I’d come, grabbing my arm and taking me with her. I took a moment to gain my footing before I sprinted in a confused stride.
My mind raced with a thousand questions; ones she would absolutely be answering.
Bentley trailed not too far behind as a featureless white van burst from around a corner and blazed down the road towards us. Me and Autumn returned to the narrower path and scampered to get down low, behind a hill in the earth, where branches and foliage obscured us.
But Bentley had tripped.
It happened too fast. We watched in absolute horror as the bleached white death machine charged towards him as he attempted to stand. The impact was deafening; his body flew several feet before crashing back down into the dirt as a crumpled, twitching mess.
Autumn jerked back, gasping and heaving as I ducked my head down in unfathomable shock and disbelief.
But then Autumn gathered herself and kept watching.
So I did too.
His body was mangled and twisted beyond recognition, jagged bones protruded from his flesh as blood cascaded out of him and trailed down a verge.
Yet he was still alive.
He was looking at us with wide, pleading eyes.
A single, muscular man stepped out of the van after killing its lights. He was clad in a fine suit, and black gloves and wore a featureless, white mask over his face. Bentley’s eyes snapped towards him as a fowl gust of wind wrenched its way through the woods. It clawed its way across the bark of the maple trees, finding cracks in their timber, to unleash mortifying croaks into the air as if trapped souls were writhing in the confines.
The masked man seemed at peace with the noises.
“The Maples; His trees. They croak our song. Do you hear them?”
Bentley used every ounce of his strength to speak.
“Where… is he?” He gasped out, tears streaming down his face. “What… did you do to him?”
“He swam. He swam like all the others. As you could’ve.” The masked man reached a hand into his pocket and when it returned, it was clad in a brass knuckle. “What a waste.”
Bentley tried to speak again, but the man was swift.
I thought I knew pain. I thought I knew the extent of suffering and damage one human being could inflict upon another. I saw it every time Dad raised his hand against Mom; or a fist against me.
I was wrong.
The first strike collided with Bentley’s skull with a shattering crunch, spraying blood up the man’s arm.
I grabbed Autumn, hard, and dragged her away from the scene as quietly as I could. She was distraught, speechless, silently weeping, yet she kept an impossible look of determination on her face as we snuck away back to the park.
The strikes echoed behind us, becoming wetter, until we could no longer hear them. We reached the police tape and then our eagerly awaiting, chipper friends.
But one look at us caused their faces to drop.
“Fuck me, are you okay?” Barney said, rising to his feet.
Caitlyn did the same.
“Call the police,” I muttered. “Quickly.”
“Wha-I-and tell them what?” Despite his question, he was already dialling the number.
“Someone got kill-“
I couldn’t finish the sentence as I turned, reeled over and vomited.
I then looked at Autumn who had splayed her journal out on the floor. She was on her knees, violently flicking through the pages until she found a drawing of a bat.
“Autumn?” I asked her weakly.
She twisted one end of her pen to create a blacklight that she panned over the page to reveal a secret, second drawing.
The same symbol as the one on the ring.
There were two words written underneath in handwriting that was not her own.
The Faceless
“He… he had a… a tattoo, that man… On his wrist.” She explained, struggling to speak through heavy gasps. Her face was putrid with tears and destroyed makeup. “He was… he was one of them… my brother-he knew… he-”
She curled up and began to uncontrollably sob as sirens blared in the distance.

[TW: Violence]
She was among a group of theorists who confined their thoughts to a screen.
We’re currently picking our way through the oldest, salvaged computer belonging to her friend and posting these Entries as we uncover them. We believe there are 8; we have not tampered with them in any way.
We will let their words speak for themselves.
Please help us find her.
Please come home, Autumn.
We are ready to forgive you.
--
Entry 0 - First Words:
[Hello to whoever this winds up in front of. Sorry for the impending rant, but I feel this context will be important moving forward]
My Uncle’s bunker has proven itself as an impressive mancave and beyond what I thought he was capable of making. It’s quickly become our go-to hangout and the base for our investigation. He was a man of many secrets so I doubt he built it on his own and I doubt we’ve seen all it has to offer.
He was also a paranoid man, a believer of the supernatural, and under the impression that something ‘evil’ was in our town. His obsessions were always subtle, until recently, and never a hindrance to our relationship.
I wish I’d asked him more questions and I wish I knew where he damned was.
As of this morning, he’s vanished, leaving only some coerced, frantic research and a little box I haven’t dared to open.
The words he scribbled on it don’t sit well with me, or the other five people down here sleeping amidst our notes and conspiracy wall.
I’ve been looking at what the others have put to paper and decided that the bunker’s computer, although a dinosaur, will make for a great diary. I hope that, at some point, I can move these Entries to a drive and then post them online once I get access to a computer very far away from town.
We don’t trust the internet here.
I’ve also shown the others how to work it, how to find this all, write their own and how to transfer it to USBs. They can then upload it themselves in the event I don’t.
Or can’t.
I’ve also got an old electronic organiser (if anyone remembers those - think of it as a digital journal) so I can draft some notes on the go before fleshing them out here.
Hopefully, my Uncle’s paranoia has finally been good for something and that this is all secure.
Moving on, I think the best way to log this is to recount the last few days until I’m caught up to where I am now (The 29th). That way we’ll have something to refer back to, check details, edit things if need be etc.
Then tomorrow can reel its ugly head around the corner.
But first, I need to start with a girl; the one who mostly opened our investigation.
Autumn Pines, you are my friend and I love you, and I don’t know when you’re going to read this, but you have thrown us neck deep in some weird shit.
Thanks to you, we all believe that if our compiled scrambled papers have any weight, and our eyes still work, then a Cult has moved into Maple Croak. We don’t know how long they’ve been here. I don’t want to know. And, as far as we’re aware, they don’t suspect that anybody is onto them. Yet.
We also know their name - The Faceless.
Autumn promises she knows where we can learn more and get some concrete answers. I don’t like where her head is at. How she has the enthusiasm for this astounds and scares me.
I’d like to think we’re wrong. That the disturbed things I struggle to unsee can be explained and rationalised. And no offence Autumn, but for once, I want you to be wrong too - wrong the most, in fact. That, like my Uncle, you’re just paranoid and that, in your pursuit of a headline story, you’re chasing a damn fantasy, an obsession, and dragging us all with you.
Yet as bitter as it is to think about, I know you’re not. You’re not crazy and neither was he, or any of us; we can’t be.
The only difference is that, unlike him, we haven’t been caught.
I chalk it up to luck. Pretty soon, it’ll run out.
--
Entry 1, July 27th - Homecoming:
I awoke to the Texan voice of Chuck Brinsky over the radio rattling on, as he did every morning, about how wonderful our not-so-little Oregon town was.
You could describe Maple Croak as the end of the line. The final stop a coach has to divert to after following a narrow cliff-side path, that bleeds into thick woods, to arrive at our pocket of land. An isolated edge looking out at the water; overlooked itself by a backdrop of forest and far distant mountains.
Those woods then almost arc around our town (looks like a backwards ‘r’ shape on a map). If it wasn’t for the port, we’d be surrounded by oaks and thick maple trees.
We could once pride ourselves as a sea-side town, with a thriving fishing industry, and the safety net of some ancient, sealed mines to fall back on for business. Now, our port is closed and almost stripped bare. I can’t remember the last time I saw a boat out in the ol’ blue, or a boat at all, or even saw the lighthouse on. Our town’s questionable Mayor had found another way to make money.
Some shady investors from a big city set their sights here with a dream, cost cuts, and a construction firm. I’m not going to pretend to understand how it works, but I know what greased palms and a fat bag of money look like.
It was suffocating. The only way in and out of town now was a bridge, over a long and wide ravine of weak flowing water, that shuddered as trucks and diggers steamrolled over it. They went far north, carving a path through the woods and got to work on building an eyesore.
Chuck always explained it best.
“Despite some unexpected rain, construction on Maple Croak’s very own shopping mall develops nicely.“ Chuck said over some static as I slithered out of bed and into the bathroom. The man is a broken record. “I can speak for myself, and a few of y’all, at how exciting it was to see a News Crew on our clean streets a week back. Not too long now until our fair, honest commune gets a whole lot livelier. Just remember to be kind to strangers when they come on through.”
He leaned closer to his microphone.
“Especially if they try snaking our jobs.” He then chuckled to himself, and I’m sure a dozen listeners joined him. He waffled on a little longer before playing a song I couldn’t hear over the shower.
Afterwards, I looked myself up and down in my mirror, spraying all manner of deodorant. I grabbed my relic of a Sharp Wizard, a hoodie, and my keys, then opened the blinds to get flash-banged by a ray of sun.
We lived in the westward area, where the trees and brush start to fuse with concrete, in the poor part of town. A word our beloved radio host and Mayor felt was about to be made redundant.
Besides paint peeling off some bricks, a few rotting fences, and one too many black trash bags, this street was home. As it has been for 18 years.
Some kids played on their bikes, racing up and down the paths, enjoying the remaining freedom of Summer break. Folks walked their dogs, laid deckchairs out, and watered plants. Not a worry in the world.
It’s as cookie-cutter and ignorant as a neighbourhood can be.
My phone then buzzed.
Autumn: 30 mins away, taxi boy <3
Despite the week-long conversations we’d had prior, I felt joy seeing those words. I replied to her text quickly and then navigated the cramped upstairs hallways, hopped down the stairs, and brushed through the rest of our house to reach the kitchen.
Portraits and photos still watch me from the walls and tabletops. My Uncle had long since removed any image of my dad from the house, leaving only the smiles of me and my mother.
Then I heard that very same Uncle muttering his usual gibberish in his study. I was curious and intrigued at what cryptid he’d be studying now, or what conspiracy video rotted his brain.
To my surprise, I saw him using an old-fashioned radio system from within his personalised workroom, at the end of a hallway. The thing was a relic, an antique, and supposed to be broken, yet there he was having a conversation with it. A one-sided chat I felt I was intruding on.
He leaned over his desk amidst a few invoices and other files, one hand cupping a headphone over his ear while the other rested in his developing grey hair.
He was distressed.
“You still there, White Diamond?” It took a few agonising moments before he got a response. “Yeah, I know that-” He then began softly. Whoever he was talking to interrupted him.
I made sure to keep quiet as I approached and leaned in his doorway. Inaudible orders barked from the headphones. I’d seen odd, hobbyist behaviour from my Uncle before, made evident by the posters, collectables, drawings and other weird stuff that meticulously decorated his study, but this felt different; more private.
"I’ve given you enough, I think. The risk would be-”
The orders continued, interrupting him again. I could see him rub his temples before he scribbled some notes down.
“You could always do it yourself… yeah, fuck you too, kid. What’re you gonna do when she comes knocking on your door because she-” The line cut off.
My Uncle sagged in his chair with a defeated sigh. It was clearly not his first argument with his radio stranger. I wondered how many other early morning chats I’d missed between them.
He then saw a shape in the reflection of a smudged whiskey glass, nearly jumped out of his skin, and then swivelled round to face it with a frightened look. He relaxed when he saw it was only his nephew and put a hand on his chest.
“Fucking hell, Lucas…” His face slowly turned into a relieved smile. “You enjoy scaring the shit out of me?”
I smiled too, only a little.
“How long have you had that fixed?” I asked, gesturing to his radio setup.
He composed himself quickly and calmly.
Ready to lie to my face.
“Ah, about a week now.”
“And who’s White Diamond?”
“Some bitch of a client who refuses to use a phone. More paranoid than me.” He slowly stood up, reminding me how tall and broad and worn he was. “Never become a carpenter, ya’ hear.”
I nodded as he hobbled his way to reach his cane, his wooden hip and false leg squeaking slightly. He then curiously checked his watch.
“You’re up early. Bonnie called you in for a shift?”
I shook my head.
“It’s Friday,” I said with a grin.
“Friday?” He pondered the word, slinging it back and forth in his head until the realisation hit him. “Oh shit!” He shuffled his way out of the room and darted into the kitchen at a pace I thought impossible for him. “That’s on me, I’m sorry. God, I didn’t pack you kids lunch or anything.”
“I’m sure I’ll survive, Unc.” I half-joked.
I watched him scour cabinets and cupboards until he found a four-pack of dry beers.
“Well, at least take these. Been saving them for a rainy day.”
His smile was genuine and sweet. I didn’t have the strength to tell him I’d need much more.
“Thanks, Unc,” I said, taking his gift.
“And you tell that little miss she’s welcome here anytime.”
“You sure her Mom’s gonna be okay with that?”
He scoffed.
“You can sweet talk her. I’m sure.”
I then hugged him goodbye. He’s a very awkward man to embrace.
“And don’t forget the curfew!” He said, a little too concerned, as I slipped away and made my way to the door. “Police are hounding everyone out late.”
“I won’t.”
“And stay out of the woods. They’re hounding that too.”
“Yes sir.”
“And-“
“Don’t talk to skinwalkers? Pack a tinfoil hat?”
“Oh, you’re very funny today, huh?”
We smiled at each other as I opened the door.
“I’ll see you later, Unc. Love ya'.”
“…Ew.”
I laughed and stepped out of the house where I was hit by a wave of energising, warm air.
I waved to a couple of neighbours, and exchanged some late-morning greetings, before dumping the pack of beer in the back seat of my car and then setting off for the drive ahead.
The neighbourhood became a blur, then a woodland road, and quickly turned into the peaceful streets of town. I knew every corner of this local-owned town, every face, yet as I stopped at a red light near our town’s square, and my eyes gazed out to the distant empty sea, I saw something rare amidst our clean, prided community.
A public argument.
It was far, but I could distinctly make out the two figures bickering on the steps of the Town Hall - the Mayor’s Office. One was Mayor Crimley himself, a bulbous egg-shaped man snug in a tailored suit too small to contain him. He gestured aggressively with his hands, pointing off into the distant woods.
The other man was Bentley, our town’s Reporter. His red jacket stood out like a sore thumb. His material on our blog and newspaper had grown incredibly tame as of late; almost entirely dedicated to the development of the Mall. He too gestured wildly, clearing angry or upset about something.
A small crowd festered around the two, including a policeman on standby, and before my curiosity could go any further the light turned green.
The sight quickly faded from my mind as it disappeared from the rearview mirror.
I drove through the rest of town, for about 15 minutes, until I passed the last building and was greeted by a long stretch of wild road. I could see our town’s welcoming sign at the top of a small hill, guarded by a patrol car whose driver gave me a nod as I passed him, that read: Sorry to see you go. But we know you’ll come back
Complimented by a cartoonish, winking maple leaf character.
I exaggerated earlier in my descriptions. Maple Croak has no coach stop. At least, not in the town itself. Instead, it’s just beyond the borders - at the start of a long bridge that stretches over an alarmingly longer ravine created by some old flood. After another 5 minutes of driving through a glow of amber sunlight, broken up by an encompassing army of trees, I reached and crossed that bridge.
Our only passageway to the outside world.
I pulled over on a dirt path, with the coach stop to my right, and watched the leaves ebb and flow. Some of the trees here are large and thick maple trees. Their leaves have slowly started to turn red early this year, almost casting red hues over chunks of forest and parts of the road.
It’s beautiful. Yet sometimes, later in the Fall and if the light is right, it looks like the damn sky has gone crimson.
I then waited.
Until a coach emerged from around a rocky corner and dropped off a single passenger.
I’ll admit, my heart had begun to race a little in anticipation.
Almost a year had gone by since I’d seen the girl I’d grown up with. The naive, goodie two-shoes, rulebook following dickhead. I’d expected a semester of college would’ve maintained the girl I knew; moulding her into a sophisticated, young woman that would’ve outgrown me and become wiser to my pestering. I was expecting a backpack-towing bookworm, dressed like an old librarian.
I was almost right.
A cotton sweater, a pair of chinos, a satchel and some sunglasses sat nicely on her freckled face. Her long auburn, almost ginger hair draped past her shoulders.
The only difference was her frame. She’d gotten taller and puberty had suddenly hit her like a fucking train.
She reached me in a heartbeat. She was giddy with a controlled excitement as I rolled down the window. I could see the enthusiasm and joy of the person I remembered, buried under early adulthood.
“Oh hey there, taxi boy,” Autumn said sweetly with a smile, leaning on the window frame.
“Oh hey there, supermodel.”
I looked her up and down and she laughed, snaking her way around the car, swinging the door open, and firmly planting herself in the seat. I had no time to react as I was wrapped in a bone-crunching bear hug and then watched in disbelief as she plopped her feet on the dashboard while pulling out her phone.
“So I was texting Barn. He’s at the cafe, but could you stop by my folks first-“
“What are you doing?” I asked.
She paused, looking at her shoes.
“Resting my feet on your dash?”
This was new. Subtle, yet strikingly uncharacteristic.
“I can see that.”
“Great, your eyes work! Can we go?”
“Yes, boss.” I chuckled and, without another word, turned the car around.
The drive back felt longer. I asked her about her course, teased her about crushes, while she interrogated me on how Maple Croak fared in her absence.
I can’t articulate into words how much I’d missed her. And yet, it’d never felt like she'd left.
She threw a few various questions my way. How’s your Uncle? The Mall’s not done, seriously? The port’s closed. Like, forever?
I answered them as best I could.
Only our last conversation was worth noting.
“Oh, and there’s a curfew now too. Everyone off the streets by eleven and a whole lotta woods are taped off.” I said.
“The fuck? Why?”
“Gas leak caused the apartments to go under.“
“The ones up the north road? What about the people living there?” There was a spark in her eyes as her interest peaked. She always loved a story.
Her question was answered as we rounded a bend and were confronted by a dishevelled homeless man trudging along the road, clad in draping black clothes, pushing a shopping cart full of firewood. I slammed my foot on the brakes and cursed under my breath. The man didn’t even flinch, let alone react.
“They mostly turned into that.” I gritted.
“Christ.” She leaned her head out the window. “Are you okay, sir?!”
The man gave her no response, muttering some phrase that we couldn’t hear, as he pushed his trolley to the treeline and disappeared into the fold - likely to join his fellow, drugged-up woodland inhabitants.
“Clean and honest streets, my ass,” Autumn said to herself. “What’re you doing, Crimley?” She pulled a little black journal out of her satchel, as I continued our drive, and jotted some notes down with an attached pen.
“You still have that thing?”
“Yeah, of course. Sorry, I’m not modern like you yet.”
I felt for my Sharp Wizard in my hoodie pocket. I then eyed her journal again as it returned to her satchel.
“You heard from him?” I asked slowly as we passed the wholesome welcoming sign of Maple Croak.
Autumn looked out the window, deep in thought.
“Sorry. Shouldn’t have asked.“
“It’s fine.”
We carried on in a brief, awkward silence through the streets until she spoke again.
“I haven’t… but thank you.”
I smiled as more mundane questions came my way. We eventually turned the radio on and our car ride returned to normalcy as we reached the southern neighbourhood where Autumn’s home quickly came into view.
We could see the port more clearly here as we drove in - a distant, rundown skeleton housing several warehouses and empty construction vehicles, overlooked by a far, towering dead lighthouse.
It was the furthest thing from Autumn’s focus. Her eyes were fixated on her parents who stood in their open drive with a simple Welcome Home sign.
She didn’t even wait for me to park properly before she bound out of the car and sprung into her mother’s open arms, kicking her feet.
Katherine Pines looked as impeccable as always - we would expect nothing less from the Mayor’s pristine secretary. The only flaw in her perfect complexion and attire was an ugly grey cast clamped around her right arm, decorated with signatures and doodles.
Michael Pines, however, was the polar opposite to his wife. Still dressed in a morning gown and slippers, his glazed eyes slowly met his daughter as she approached him. For lack of a better word, the man looked dopey. Instead of clamping him in a hug, Autumn instead rested one hand on his shoulder and the other over his chest as she greeted him in a hush, loving tone. He smiled and nodded down at her.
I don’t think he was entirely sure who she was.
Katherine eyed me as I approached. Not a look of scorn, but not one of appreciation either.
“Driving under the speed limit I hope, young man.” She exclaimed as she tucked the Welcome Home sign away before crossing her arms (as best she could) over her chest.
“How’s your arm, Kat?” I asked, ignoring her comment.
“Still there. How’s your Uncle?”
“I think he’s ready to talk if you are.” I leaned on their fence.
Katherine scowled, but before she could open her mouth her daughter appeared at her side.
“Can we talk inside?” She then turned to me. “I’ll be ten minutes-”
“Ten minutes?!” Katherine said. “That’s all we get?!”
“Is that a minute for each month?” Michael’s weary voice asked as he already reached the porch steps of their home. Autumn laughed as her mother rolled her eyes with a sigh.
“I’ll be home later; you can bore me then. I just wanna-“ Autumn gestured to me “-y’know.”
“We get fifteen.” She then looked at me. “Don’t go anywhere.”
“Yes ma’am.”
And with that, I watched the Pines family step into their household and then observed Katherine's demanded 15 minutes slip away through a large living room window. They hugged some more, raved about life, and laughed; I think Autumn cried too at one point.
Part of me felt solemn at the sight. A harsh reminder of what a normal, loving family is supposed to look like inside their home.
Autumn then returned to me, having discarded her satchel but keeping her journal in one pocket, as her mother watched from the doorway.
“I want her home before eleven!”
I saluted her and the two of us returned to my car.
“Sorry, she’s a bitch.”
“Eh, she’s hot. I’ll forgive her.”
I felt the wrath of a hundred men as Autumn punched the ever-loving shit out of my shoulder, with a smile and another laugh.
“Dick.”
With that, we headed back into town. We barely made it down one busier street before Autumn requested that we stop and, seeing the clear blue sky, walk the rest of the way.
“What’d you talk about? Your folks?” I asked as she adjusted her sunglasses in a shop window.
“Just boring parent stuff. The usual.”
“They haven’t heard from him either, have they?”
“No…No, they haven’t.”
“Did you wanna talk about it?”
“Not really.” She sighed.
“Well, if you do-“
“I know-”
Passing by the hustling and bustling townsfolk, one soul recognised her with an acclaimed squeal so loud it stung our ears.
A little blonde girl skipped over, with her alarmed father not too far behind, whose big brown eyes beamed up at a startled Autumn.
“I thought that was you! How long have you been back?!” The girl said, disregarding me like I didn’t exist.
“Tina?” Autumn asked, recognising the young lass from a favourable babysitting job.
“In the flesh!”
Almost like Autumn’s father, her eyes seemed slightly distant and distracted. It didn’t stop her from wrapping Autumn in a hug.
“You can walk?!” Autumn stammered.
Tina nodded proudly as her father reached us and pressed a hand on her shoulder.
“Doctors fixed me right up!” She then turned to her father. “Dad! Look who it is!”
Tina’s father gave us a wave, and a brief apology for allowing his child to run up on us like some paparazzi, before the two of them left to continue their day with heartfelt goodbyes and a promise to see us again.
“I thought she was in a wheelchair?” Autumn asked me once they were out of earshot.
All I could give her was a disinterested shrug. And, as quickly as the curveball had been thrown at us, it became just an odd memory in our day.
But it would not be the last.
Soon, the cafe came into view. A sizable pink and white, glamorously decorated building at the end of one street.
‘Hearties’
I think ‘Cavities’ would be a better name.
A familiar figure then caught my eye as we trekked towards it: Bentley, standing outside his somewhat rundown one-storey office across the road.
A couple of pristine newspaper stands were embedded against one wall - a striking contrast when compared to the building they were attached to.
He was talking to someone I’d never seen before. A young woman, with short red hair, who noted down almost every word he said in a little green book. She was an outsider and, judging from her attitude and composure, gave off city vibes.
The woman then produced a handheld recorder from her jeans and subtly nodded towards the door, gesturing him to step inside his office. But Autumn reached them before then, her eyes were wide with curiosity and intrigue as she produced her own journal - the attached pen dangled from a chain.
Bentley spotted her immediately and a massive, but pained smile beamed across his face.
I positioned myself beside the newspaper stands, taking a glance at their front pages.
Shopping Mall this; Shopping Mall that, with almost no variety. There was a one-off mention of Mr & Mrs Winters (we’ll get to them) and their latest high-class, money-fueled activity. And an even smaller mention of our Librarian who, up until seeing that paper, I had no idea had been missing for 2 days.
“You’ve gotten taller!” Bentley said. He looked exhausted, with thick dark circles under his eyes.
“And you look like shit, Ben. How’s-” Autumn began to ask him hopefully.
“Excuse me, who're you? We were talking.” The young woman spoke up.
“Technically we’d finished, Piper,” Bentley said, looking back at his mildly frustrated interviewer. “And this here is Autumn Pines, daughter of a dear friend.”
Autumn offered a hand to Piper and she slowly shook it.
“And this here’s Piper - curious, fellow Reporter who’s taken an interest in our not-so-little home.” Bentley continued.
“You’re that secretary’s girl. Think you could get me in a room with her?”
“You wanna talk to my Mom?”
“Not so much your Mom; more your Mayor. I have some queries.”
“Such as?”
I leaned further into the wall with a sigh, praying this wouldn’t take long.
“Such as why you have a bunch of homeless people skittering around your woods, and no one seems to want to do anything about it? Or why your town is so hard to find online? Or-“
“You don’t need to bother the girl with that shit, Piper.” Bentley interrupted, despite the fact Autumn was keenly making notes in her journal. Piper almost looked interested. “You just got home, right?” He then asked Autumn. “How’d your little dip into academic journalism treat you?”
“You hiring?” She asked back, earning a chuckle.
Piper checked her watch.
“Bentley, I’m sure you can interrogate your young friend another day. Can we hurry this up?” She pointed at his office door with her thumb as she shook her handheld recorder.
Bentley sighed, taking another look at Autumn and nodded. He exaggeratedly offered her a hand and, when she shook it, he vigorously clasped both his hands around hers.
“Catch you later, kid.” He casually winked and stepped into his office. Piper quickly followed.
“Nice meeting you,” Autumn said, keeping a fist loose by her side.
“You too. I’m sure ‘Ben’ will reach out if I wanna talk.” Then she was gone and Autumn’s attention came back to me.
“Sorry.” She said, pocketing her journal.
“Not a problem. When are you gonna ask him out?”
“Shut up, Lucas.”
I wished I’d paid more attention instead of slumping against the wall. I should’ve noticed the brief spark in your eye and the likely look on your face as Bentley slipped something into your hand. I should’ve caught you subtly pocketing it, alongside your journal, and confronted you then and there.
Hindsight is a hell of a thing.
The bell above the cafe door dinged as the two of us stepped into a bright decor. We were greeted by a few of the staff as we meandered to a booth at the side, close to the service desk, where the next addition to our posse waited.
Barney, a lug of absolute muscle, gave a grand wave as he spotted us approaching. He rose to his feet, a towering wall of a young man, and he and Autumn embraced. To my dismay, he was not alone.
Sat beside him was the small, brown-haired tumour he called a baby sister. Daisy smiled and waved at me, a gesture I returned, before her eyes went back to her phone. I looked at Barney who gave me an apologetic smile as I took a seat opposite him.
Autumn, however, went over to the service desk to disturb a gothic, pierced-face barista. Caitlyn, the final addition to our group, barely even smiled as Autumn made her presence known.
“Oh yay. You’re back.” She said in the most positive way her monotone, near-dead demeanour could allow. I gave her a wave. She blinked.
“Shouldn’t you be in summer class?” I asked Daisy.
“Day off.”
And that was the end of our riveting conversation.
“She coming to the park?” I then asked Barney.
“No, Mom and Dad just wanted her out of the house a bit.” His voice was like refined iron, cool and suave, honed by years of choir practice and sermons.
I mockingly drew a cross over my chest.
“And may the Lord protect her as she ventures back.”
Barney took a deep, long breath.
“Never gonna let me live that down are you?”
“Not in a million years.”
He chuckled.
“Good to see you. Been a min’.” He said.
“Likewise.”
“How’s the Unc?”
“Alive.”
“Hm. That's good.”
We watched as Autumn chewed Cait's ear off. Caitlyn didn’t show it much, but we saw the look of appreciation on her face as she was reunited with her favourite chatterbox.
“I saw the paper.” I slowly said to Barney. “I had no idea Damien was missing, I’m sorry.”
Barney nodded, keeping his composure.
“They’ll find him. How hard can it be to lose a one-armed vet? I’m more worried about Bentley. Y’know the two of them were-“
“Yeah. I do.”
Our conversation then shifted into something more casual, with the occasional input from Daisy. The rest of the cafe drowned away as we gossiped for hours.
Autumn joined and quickly started to catch up with Big Barn. Their conversations were more intellectual than I could handle. So I resorted to taking the piss out of them when appropriate.
Daisy soon left. Barney escorted her to the door, laid out some safety rules, and watched the kiddo disappear down a street.
Then Caitlyn, finally, slithered out of her work uniform and our four-way entourage of young adult chatting bloomed.
I relish the way my heart warms when the four of us are together.
More hours flew by and before we knew it, our bellies were full and we were politely asked by Mr James Heartie himself to scram.
We took to the streets. We wouldn’t stop talking; we couldn’t, as there was too much to say. It felt like a blur, but a fond one, until I scooped the four-pack of beers from my car and we headed to the west park - just on the edge of some thick woodlands.
“You’re gonna need more than that, Lucas,” Caitlyn said over my shoulder, profoundly unimpressed with my alcohol offering. “Luckily I have a stash.” She gave my shoulder a playful nudge.
And she wasn’t kidding.
Hidden behind a skating ramp, and under a mountain of leaves, was a crate of mixed spirits, some cola and a bottle of vodka.
“And why’d you have this?” Autumn asked her, taking a seat on a bench.
“It’s your homecoming, babe.”
“Vodka. Really?” I asked and she shrugged.
“You got cups?” Barney asked.
“Barney? Drinking? What would the divine beings above think?”
Barney paused, unsure whether to giggle or shout.
“Shut the fuck up, Lucas.”
We laughed and then, as if on cue, Caitlyn unveiled a pack of red drinking cups from her bag. The sun slowly turned a blood orange, as our late afternoon of quiet bench-sat drinking began until the moon ushered its way above. I let the others do all the talking as I started to document the day on my Sharp Wizard. I saw Autumn sometimes do the same in her journal whenever a thought struck her.
It was around 9:30 pm when one of our phones buzzed. I can’t remember what we were talking about, but I remember three heads spinning to Autumn - the least intoxicated.
“Who is it?” Caitlyn asked, lying relaxed on the concrete floor, relatively smashed.
“Shit. It’s my Mom.”
“You swore. That’s a sin.” Barney said, sitting beside her on a bench as he curiously eyed her phone.
“She wants me to call her, I’ll be right back.” She heaved her way up to her feet and took several quick, quiet steps towards the treeline before disappearing behind an oak. I listened as her footsteps trailed off followed by an unnerving silence.
“Wow,” Caitlyn said, looking at me. “She is a terrible liar.”
I reluctantly looked at Barney whose drunk eyes begrudgingly met mine.
“What’d her phone say, Barn?”
“Hmm, I don’t know. She could’ve changed her Mom’s contact to ‘Lead One’, I suppose.”
I leaned back, staring at the stars, and let out a long, slightly intoxicated sigh.
“Fucks sake, Autumn.”
I sprang to my feet, sobering up quickly, and made my way to follow her.
“Go get her, tiger.” Caitlyn cheered as Barney kicked her foot.
Navigating through towering trees of varying colours, with only moonlight to guide me, I eventually saw a distant head of auburn hair venturing deeper into the fold. The right questions didn’t come to me in those moments. Maybe it was the alcohol, or something else, but I only viewed her actions as a strange annoyance - an excuse to sneak away for selfish reasons.
Then I saw the first sign, one of dozens that our town’s law enforcement had hammered into several trees this deep.
‘Police Search & Evidence Area. Turn Back’
Autumn did not, nor did she acknowledge the stretch of fresh police tape that dragged across the trees like a gate. She dipped right under it, her eyes on her phone, and only then did the severity of the situation truly hit me.
I thought of getting the others, but the thought of leaving her alone, and at the mercy of whatever was out here, stopped me.
She stepped onto an overgrown woodland trail and I, without thinking, followed. I caught up quickly. I was seconds away from calling out when a figure emerged from around a tree to greet her.
Bentley.
The path had opened up into what looked like an old road. There was too much space; not enough time to hide. He saw me, after he saw her, and pointed.
Autumn turned to face me, as calm as a ghost, not scared or disappointed or even surprised. She gestured for me to come over.
I hesitated, almost not recognising the stone-faced woman before me, but I did as she wanted.
“You can turn back.” She said as I got near. “You’re not a part of this.”
“But his Uncle is,” Bentley said, clearly annoyed by my presence.
A lightbulb came over my head as I remembered the start of my day.
“White Diamond?” I asked him.
He smiled, impressed.
“No. No, not me, kid. That’s someone else.”
Now Autumn looked confused. Her eyes went back and forth between us, alarmed that I knew something about whatever ‘this’ was. But I didn’t.
“What is this?” I asked them.
Autumn, curiously watching me as if suspicious, produced a metal bauble from her pocket - the same object Bentley had given her only hours ago.
It was an iron ring bearing a crest, a symbol - a circle with a line down the middle; half of it painted black, like the start of an eclipse.
“How much do you know?” Bentley asked Autumn.
“Only the scraps he left me.” She tapped her journal which sat snugly in her pocket.
Bentley took a deep breath, then looked at me and then back at her.
“It’s a deep rabbit hole. One neither of you will like.”
“We can handle it.”
“You speak for me now? The fuck is this, Autumn?!”
Bentley opened his mouth to answer, but he was cut off by the distant rumbling of an engine.
“Fuck. Run! Both of you, now!”
Autumn didn’t hesitate as she darted back the way I’d come, grabbing my arm and taking me with her. I took a moment to gain my footing before I sprinted in a confused stride.
My mind raced with a thousand questions; ones she would absolutely be answering.
Bentley trailed not too far behind as a featureless white van burst from around a corner and blazed down the road towards us. Me and Autumn returned to the narrower path and scampered to get down low, behind a hill in the earth, where branches and foliage obscured us.
But Bentley had tripped.
It happened too fast. We watched in absolute horror as the bleached white death machine charged towards him as he attempted to stand. The impact was deafening; his body flew several feet before crashing back down into the dirt as a crumpled, twitching mess.
Autumn jerked back, gasping and heaving as I ducked my head down in unfathomable shock and disbelief.
But then Autumn gathered herself and kept watching.
So I did too.
His body was mangled and twisted beyond recognition, jagged bones protruded from his flesh as blood cascaded out of him and trailed down a verge.
Yet he was still alive.
He was looking at us with wide, pleading eyes.
A single, muscular man stepped out of the van after killing its lights. He was clad in a fine suit, and black gloves and wore a featureless, white mask over his face. Bentley’s eyes snapped towards him as a fowl gust of wind wrenched its way through the woods. It clawed its way across the bark of the maple trees, finding cracks in their timber, to unleash mortifying croaks into the air as if trapped souls were writhing in the confines.
The masked man seemed at peace with the noises.
“The Maples; His trees. They croak our song. Do you hear them?”
Bentley used every ounce of his strength to speak.
“Where… is he?” He gasped out, tears streaming down his face. “What… did you do to him?”
“He swam. He swam like all the others. As you could’ve.” The masked man reached a hand into his pocket and when it returned, it was clad in a brass knuckle. “What a waste.”
Bentley tried to speak again, but the man was swift.
I thought I knew pain. I thought I knew the extent of suffering and damage one human being could inflict upon another. I saw it every time Dad raised his hand against Mom; or a fist against me.
I was wrong.
The first strike collided with Bentley’s skull with a shattering crunch, spraying blood up the man’s arm.
I grabbed Autumn, hard, and dragged her away from the scene as quietly as I could. She was distraught, speechless, silently weeping, yet she kept an impossible look of determination on her face as we snuck away back to the park.
The strikes echoed behind us, becoming wetter, until we could no longer hear them. We reached the police tape and then our eagerly awaiting, chipper friends.
But one look at us caused their faces to drop.
“Fuck me, are you okay?” Barney said, rising to his feet.
Caitlyn did the same.
“Call the police,” I muttered. “Quickly.”
“Wha-I-and tell them what?” Despite his question, he was already dialling the number.
“Someone got kill-“
I couldn’t finish the sentence as I turned, reeled over and vomited.
I then looked at Autumn who had splayed her journal out on the floor. She was on her knees, violently flicking through the pages until she found a drawing of a bat.
“Autumn?” I asked her weakly.
She twisted one end of her pen to create a blacklight that she panned over the page to reveal a secret, second drawing.
The same symbol as the one on the ring.
There were two words written underneath in handwriting that was not her own.
The Faceless
“He… he had a… a tattoo, that man… On his wrist.” She explained, struggling to speak through heavy gasps. Her face was putrid with tears and destroyed makeup. “He was… he was one of them… my brother-he knew… he-”
She curled up and began to uncontrollably sob as sirens blared in the distance.