Previous case
We're back to business as usual at Orion. Sort of. I'll get into that in a minute. But first, I just need to put it out there that sometimes the clients drive me nuts. As much as I have an apparently irresistible desire to help everyone, some people really push it. Push it right off of a fucking cliff, that is.
I’m going to stop myself before I go off on an unhinged rant about the woes of dealing with the public. Instead, I’ll let yinz see for yourselves what I've been putting up with.
(If you're not familiar with what Orion Pest Control's services are, it may help to start here.)
We received a call from a client about mosquitoes running amok in her home. Since we had a few others to take care of that day, I informed her that the earliest that one of us could investigate the matter was in the afternoon. But because this woman is clearly so much more important than everyone else, her royal highness threw a hissy fit about having to wait like a common peasant.
I tried to be as nice as possible, “Ma’am, I understand that it’s frustrating, but there are others that called ahead of you, so we have to take care of their problems before we can take care of yours.”
The client huffed, “Okay, you clearly aren’t hearing me. There are mosquitoes in my house!”
“Yes, ma’am, I heard you. However, you are not our only client, so we ask that you please be patient and we will be there as soon as we can.”
I should also mention that this client talked out of the back of her nose, if that helps to paint a picture of how her cadence was equally as grating as her personality. “Okay, but do those people have mosquitoes? Like in their house, biting them and their kid over and over? My son could have Zika virus right now!”
Jesus Fucking Christ. I rubbed my temple with my free hand as I did my damndest to keep my customer service persona in place, “Again, ma’am, I understand that this is frustrating, but we have a wasp infestation and termites to deal with before you and those families want their kids to be safe, just like you. In the meantime, I recommend wearing bug spray or burning a citronella candle until we can get to you. We will be there as soon as we can.”
“You better be! And you really need to work on your customer service, sweetie!”
The client hung up on me.
I had to pace around the office after that one. Sweetie? Shove it up your ass, you entitled, snotty… You know what? Nevermind. I have many words to describe clients like that and none of them are pleasant. I hoped that she’d get mosquito bites in all of the most private areas of her anatomy.
It probably didn't help that I was saddled with some bitterness after the ‘dogging’ incident. I knew that there wasn't anything I could do about the mechanic other than stay out of his way going forward. And boy, did that eat me up.
On that note, I know what the mechanic is, however, even whispering the official title of these Neighbors is enough to draw them to you. I'm not sure if writing it counts and I'm not about to find that out the hard way.
Just know that if you hear wings beating from the west at night, hide and pray that you'll be passed by. Placing a line of salt on all of the doors and windows facing the west keeps them from coming inside. Once they set their sights on you, they'll never stop hunting you. Even death itself fears them. You'll still be running long after your heart stops beating.
But I promise, I’ll elaborate more on that later. I’m getting ahead of myself. Back to the case.
Reyna was at the point in her training where she could be trusted to deal with termites on her own. After I had the wasp nests taken care of, I set out to her royal highness’ home, and earlier than I’d told her, might I add. I will admit that I was tempted to dally a bit just to piss her off, but then I figured that it would be better and more professional to just get it over with.
She looked exactly like how I pictured her to look, complete with a weasley sneer that only the most unlikable of human beings are able to master.
“It’s about time.” She snapped.
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “Where have you noticed the mosquitoes the most?”
“Everywhere.” She said unhelpfully,
Her husband stepped in. “In the kitchen and basement, mostly.”
To make this call even better, the husband decided to take it upon himself to follow me around as I did my inspection, asking me pointless questions and giving me advice that I didn't ask for.
It got to a point where his hot breath wheezed into my ear as I shined my flashlight under their sink.
Stiffly, but politely, I asked, “Sir, can you please keep your distance?”
His wife chipped in, “Will you let her do her job, Curtis? It took her long enough to get here, and if you keep pestering her, it's going to take even longer!”
The husband puffed up and snapped, “Well, it's my house! I need to know that the person working in it knows what they're doing!”
They began screaming at each other. As obnoxious and uncomfortable as it was to have to bear witness to it, at least they weren't focused on me anymore. I shook my head and kept searching for the source of the infestation.
What I was looking for was standing water, which is essential for a mosquito's life cycle; you eliminate the standing water, you eliminate the infestation. The space beneath the sink was completely dry.
With the argument going on, I almost didn't hear it. An odd little sound. The easiest way to describe it was that it sounded like, ‘Kudo! Kudo!’
My head turned to follow it. That's when I noticed that one of the floorboards was slightly raised up from the rest.
I interrupted their marital problems, “You said that your son was sick earlier? Would he happen to have chills and a high fever?”
The client spat, “Yes, because some people-”
Not in the mood for her nonsense anymore, I cut in, “Ma'am, please just answer the question. I am trying to help you, I really am, but I'm going to need some more information in order to do that.”
She looked taken aback, her face bright red. While she balked, her husband answered instead, “Our son said he was feeling under the weather, but he does that whenever he wants to get out of something. You know how kids are.”
Good lord. Parents of the year.
“Have you noticed your salt going missing?”
The wife blinked at me, “How did you know that?”
I told them that I'd be right back and went to retrieve a cage from the truck. This critter is an odd one in that not only is salt not a suitable repellent for it, but it actually loves the stuff. It can consume as much as ten grams of salt per day. So if you find that the salt in your home has gone missing, it could mean that a False Egg has made a nest.
I returned with the cage and advised the couple to either move into another room or wait outside. Would it surprise yinz when I say that they refused? Not in the mood to argue, I just shrugged. Okay. Suit yourselves.
I set the cage up next to the lifted floorboard, took my salt off of my toolbelt, and sprinkled some inside the cage. It would placate the False Egg once I got it inside.
Using my knife, I pried the floorboard up. From behind me, the husband began to protest, but his wife snapped at him to keep still.
Meanwhile, my eyes met the beady gaze of a False Egg from where it hid under their floorboard.
At first glance, it looks like a white chicken's egg. If consumed, it causes the host to lay more False Eggs. That's how it reproduces. The telltale signs that you're looking at a False Egg include two dark spots on the shell near the pointed top of the ovoid. Those are the eyes, which they can leave closed to camouflage themselves. You may also notice two small holes at the bottom of the shell, which is where its legs can retract in and out. Mosquitoes follow False Eggs wherever they nest, though it's unclear why.
Generally, they're more of an annoyance than anything. However, they can cause flu-like symptoms in those that they feel threatened by, so they do pose a slight danger to those with compromised immune systems.
To my surprise, the False Egg leapt out of its nest and into the cage, tucking its legs back into its shell comfortably. Even though it didn't seem to have any intentions of moving, I quickly shut the door of its cage.
For the first time since I arrived, the clients were speechless. The woman had a hand over her open mouth while the man stared at the False Egg in a mixture of horror and disgust.
It wasn't until I stood up with the cage that the man asked, “What the hell is that?”
“The source of the infestation.” I replied. “I’ll take this guy out to the truck. The mosquitoes should follow him, but just to be sure, I'm going to ask that you all leave the house for a few hours so that I can apply a chemical treatment that'll kill off any stragglers. And your son’s condition should improve in a day or two.”
The couple didn't give me any trouble. They quietly collected their sick teenaged son, saying something about getting ice cream, then fucked off to do whatever while I dealt with the rest of the mosquitoes.
Once I was done, I drove off to release the False Egg somewhere where it could complete its life cycle away from humans. It is able to reproduce in any mammal. While forcing other organisms to lay eggs is bizarre and can be alarming for the affected individual, it doesn't appear to hurt the hosts, other than causing some mild abdominal discomfort. Once the False Egg is laid, the host goes back to normal, which is why we generally don't feel the need to kill them.
Unexpectedly, the False Egg talked to me.
It had a small, soft, mousy voice. “Thanks for getting me out of there.”
I glanced at the False Egg. I had its cage on the passenger's seat. Its eyes were visible, along with its little white legs as it sat on the bottom of its cage. It looked up at me as it wiggled its small feet absent-mindedly.
Whenever it spoke, a small crack that resembled a toothy mouth appeared in its shell. That was something to add to our records: not only are False Eggs capable of speech, but their mouths are located below their eye spots.
Stunned, I said, “You're welcome.”
The False Egg continued, “Oh, those humans are vile! I hadn't realized it when I first made my nest. Do you want to know why I made the boy sick?”
“Why?”
So that's how I learned every aspect of this family's lives. I'm sure yinz care even less than I do about some suburbanites’ interfamily drama, so I'll just say that it wasn't bad enough to warrant a call to social services, but enough that I can see why that kid probably couldn't wait to turn 18. Overbearing mother, father trying to use his son to relive his glory days as a high school athlete. The False Egg had done the boy a solid, giving him just enough of a fever to excuse him from lacrosse tryouts.
“Where are we going?” The False Egg asked after telling me all that information that I didn't know what to do with.
“Back to the forest.”
The False Egg kept swinging its little feet, “Can you take me somewhere nice? If it's not any trouble?”
Why not? Maybe some scenery would improve my mood.
So me and my little egg buddy took a little drive to the pond. It was a picturesque area as well as a nice environment for a False Egg. They prefer caves, but as long as they're near water, they'll be fine. When I opened its cage, the False Egg hopped out, its little eyes and shelled body swiveling to take in the peaceful sight.
“Oh, this is wonderful! Thank you!” Before it skipped off, it paused. “I think it would only be right if I told you something that could help, since you brought me here.”
It turned, its shell splitting to form a mouth as it hesitated before speaking, “If you hear whispers in the woods, even if it sounds like someone you care about, don't listen. The louder they are, the safer you are. They get quieter as they get closer to confuse you.”
Hold on. That didn't make any sense. The whispers had gotten louder and more urgent as I approached the mechanic's clearing.
Unless I was wrong and he wasn't the one doing it.
I asked, “Is the whispering thing disguising itself as a mechanic?”
The False Egg tilted to the side thoughtfully, “I'm afraid not. It doesn’t like to pretend to be human.”
So there was something else out there with me when I went looking for Victor. I remembered then that the whispers had stopped once I got close to the mechanic's clearing. When I unintentionally allowed them to lead me astray, they took me in the opposite direction of where he'd been waiting. Interesting.
With the False Egg wandering off to establish a new nest that was far away from humans, I headed back to the office, unsure of how to feel about the information it had given me.
Victor looked annoyed when I came in. The clients had called to complain about my ‘poor customer service.’ Wow. Okay.
“Next time, just leave the False Egg there.” Victor said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “They want to complain about poor customer service? We can show them bad service!”
“It's fine, Vic.” I replied. “Just let them leave their one star Google review and move on.”
“These fucking people…” He grumbled.
Victor's headspace hasn't been much better than mine. He's been pretty much stuck waiting by the phone for those ominous calls that the mechanic mentioned in the woods. They don't happen often, but when they do, he gets grim. Quiet. He hasn't told me in detail what has been requested of him. I don't know if he simply doesn't want to talk about it or if he's sworn to secrecy.
We'd had a long, uncomfortable talk during one of my days off while recovering from getting dogged. Victor stopped by with coffee and a box of donut holes. He drank the coffee, but left the donut holes untouched. We sat in my small kitchen, him staring intently into his black coffee, me quietly adding more sugar to my mocha.
I broke the silence. “What did you want me to see the other day?”
“I couldn't outright tell anyone that I was dead. Not without the mechanic finding out.” He continued after some hesitation. “It feels selfish saying it now, but… I just wanted someone to know what happened to me.”
Victor pulled the bandana aside with a finger, revealing that a jagged, red grin had been carved across his throat. I shuddered, being forcefully reminded once again how thin skin truly is.
He quickly pulled it back into place.
That prompted me to ask, “Is the mechanic the one that…?” I pointed to my neck.
Victor shook his head. I asked him who did.
His expression darkened, “Someone I used to use with. He didn't believe me when I told him that I was still clean and couldn't help him get his next hit. Everything happened so fast after that. Before I knew it, I woke up in his trunk. My chest felt empty. It's strange, you know? You don't notice your own heartbeat until it's not there anymore.”
I shook my head slowly, a knot in my stomach as I whispered, “Jesus, Vic. Where is he now?”
“He can't hurt anyone else. We'll leave it at that.” Victor muttered.
I took in a shaky breath. I couldn't believe that he'd been keeping all of this in. It was a lot to take in at once, so I could only imagine how much worse it was to be the one experiencing it.
Like I said, I don't blame him for what happened. He must've felt so alone.
After I regained my composure, I asked, “So… what does the mechanic have to do with this?”
Victor hesitated again, eventually saying, “He couldn't touch me while I was alive, so he made sure that death couldn’t get to me before he could. That's why I was trying to keep my condition quiet; I was hoping that I could outlast him long enough for the Reaper to catch up. Unfortunately, the fucker is good at what he does and knew that I’d drag someone else into my bullshit eventually.”
I shook my head, “I dragged myself into it. I could've just minded my own business, but I didn't. I chose to go out there, even though I didn't know what I was dealing with. And I chose to say the wrong thing to the mechanic to set him off.”
“You wouldn't have been in that position if I hadn't said anything.”
“So what happens now? You're just… forced to do these calls?”
Victor sighed, “It's either that, or I join the ones in the trees.”
The skulls. Grimly, I wondered if those trapped souls were still aware. If they knew what had happened to them.
I slumped down in my seat. “Is there anything we can do?”
“As of right now, no. We just go to work, keep our heads down, do what we have to do. And from now on, I'll deal with the mechanic, even if it's for something as trivial as changing a tire. He's my problem, no one else's.”
So that's where we're at. Victor's technically not alive or dead, but a secret third, worse thing.
Speaking of worse things, we got an emergency call in the middle of the night.
After we close for the day, Victor routes calls to his phone in case there is something that can't wait until the next day. Thankfully, this is an extremely rare occurrence; up until this incident, it's only happened twice since I've been with Orion. I joined Victor for one of those two emergency calls. Even though it's been two years since that night, I still hear the crunching of bones in my dreams.
Something yinz need to know about the farmers around here is that they know how to take care of themselves. They have more encounters with the atypical than anyone else and for the most part, they know how to live amongst things like the Neighbors in relative peace. They know about leaving cream out to appease them. They know about what measures to take to defend themselves and their animals. They're a tough bunch and they usually prefer to take care of things themselves. It's highly unusual for them to reach out to us.
So when Victor told me over the phone that the emergency call was at one of the farms, I knew it was going to be bad.
When he first described what the farmers were contending with, my stomach dropped. The client's brother was found on the porch with his chest entirely deflated, deliberately placed into a chair that was moved in front of the door where the family could see him.
The farmers were holed up in their home. The woman of the house was pregnant, due within the next few days, which made moving her extremely difficult. They could hear whatever killed the brother giggling and tapping on the windows, mocking them. Victor was already on his way there.
I arrived with my toolbelt along with a shotgun and shells filled with rock salt. This may sound ridiculous, but I also donned a collar that I'd made last summer by hammering long ass carpenter nails into the leather, then coating their pointed tips with silver. I looked a bit like a goth club reject, but when dealing with things that like to go for the throat, you gotta put your pride aside.
Victor's truck was in the driveway, but he was nowhere in sight. Shotgun at the ready, I glanced around as I approached the house. The body was still on the porch, untouched after the poor man had been posed there. It looked far worse than what Victor had described. His chest had caved in, like everything inside of him had been sucked clean out. His face was frozen in surprise rather than horror or pain. He'd been caught off guard and was dead long before he could react.
Wings. I turned, pulling the trigger just in time as the pest tormenting this family dove at me. It tumbled to the ground with an enraged shriek.
It appeared to be a woman. Well… half of one. Her legs were gone, brown entrails dangling sickeningly from her gray torso. Her leathery, hooked wings trembled as she used her bony arms to raise herself up to snarl at me, curling her lips to reveal doglike fangs. I shot at her again. She jolted as the shell took a chunk out of her skull.
That wouldn't kill her. Both her and I knew it. She skittered like a cockroach, an elongated tongue shooting out of her mouth, quick as a whip. I flinched, turning my head so she couldn't reach my face, grateful for the collar as I felt the proboscis slam into its spikes. The impact knocked me off balance, causing me to stumble. I leaned into it, hitting the ground and out of reach of the next swipe of her tongue.
I took aim again, knocking her back a few feet. A dark shape suddenly appeared from the barn, a glint of metal shining in the figure’s hand. Victor.
“I can't find the lower half.” He hissed when I was in earshot.
That meant we were going to have to keep her from rejoining the lower half of her body until sunrise. It was three in the morning.
Because nothing can ever be easy.
Victor had found chains and a padlock in the barn. They should be heavy enough to restrain her. We’d just have to get close. Without her sucking our insides out, preferably.
She was back in the air. I took another shot. I'd have to reload soon. I hoped that I'd have enough shells to last the next two hours. At the rate I was going, I'd burn through them in the next ten minutes.
Unfortunately, I missed as she soared towards the house. I used my last shot and thankfully knocked her out of the air. As I hurriedly reloaded, Victor rushed towards the fallen creature, kneeling on her chest to keep her from taking off again as he fought to get the chain around her.
I heard him make a terrible choking sound, followed by her retching. She'd gotten her proboscis down his throat, but had withdrawn it even quicker than she had gotten it down. I guess undead viscera doesn't taste very good.
As she gagged, Victor pressed his forearm against her throat, pinning her so that she couldn't sink her fangs into him. I raced over, setting the shotgun on the ground next to me so that I could help him restrain her. While he held her, I coiled the chain around her squirming torso.
She began to laugh. When she spoke, it sounded like an old woman and a young girl speaking in unison, “Do you think a chain will be enough to stop me?”
I kept going. She wiggled one wing out from beneath her, jabbing the hook into the hollow of my shoulder. I gasped as it pressed deeper into my skin. Victor roughly pushed her wing back down, the violent withdrawal of the hook making me see stars. Through all of that, I still kept going.
We turned her onto her side so that Victor could pin her wings against her back. She screeched the entire time, the proboscis shooting back to slap him in the cheek.
We almost had her. Then we heard a wail from inside the house. What now?!
The pest abruptly paused in her struggles to leer at us, then she sang, “The baby's coming!”
You've got to be kidding me.
Her fighting resumed with far more force than before. That man that she'd killed had merely been an appetizer for her. The baby was her true prize. Her eyes were wild with excitement, saliva dripping off of her fangs as she watched the front door open.
Shitshitshit!
“Go back inside!” Victor shouted as we both used all that we had to try to keep the pest in place.
The farmer yelled back, distress making his voice higher, “Something's wrong! I have to get her to the hospital!”
I risked a glance. The woman was white as a sheet, holding onto her husband for dear life as he half led half dragged her to his truck. Blood stained the inside of the woman's legs.
At the sight of it, Victor froze. I didn't like the way he looked at the woman then. Oh no. The creature went into a complete frenzy. She managed to get her fangs into Victor's arm, wrenching a cry of agony from him as she ripped a sizable chunk of flesh out. His hold on her loosened just enough that she could wriggle a wing out.
I screamed as I felt her beginning to slip away, frantically reaching for the nearest part of her, which was unfortunately her dangling intestines. It was like trying to hold onto oversized wet noodles, my hands slipping in her chunky blood as I struggled to slow her down.
They just needed to reach the truck. We just had to keep her here just long enough for them to get a head start.
I just hoped that I wouldn't end up having to protect them from my boss, too.
She roared as she turned and slashed me across the brow with one of her clawed fingers. My vision went dark in my right eye. Numbly, I wondered if she ripped my eye out, or if it was just from the pain. By some miracle, I didn't let go.
Fortunately, the bite seemed to snap Victor out of whatever had happened to him when he saw the woman’s blood. At least for the moment. He scrambled across the ground, seizing my shotgun. His first shot missed. The second one hit her left wing. The farmer had the truck's passenger side door open as he helped his wife inside. The pest reached a talon towards them, trying to drag herself closer. Victor was back on his feet and marched over to shoot her in the head. Once. Twice.
The truck's engine roared to life. With it, the pest screeched in rage, the sound warped by the damage done to her mouth after Victor had unloaded on her. She flailed as she watched her prize speed down the road.
But it wasn't over. The gunshot wound in her wing was already closing up. It wouldn't take her long to catch up to them if we lost her.
My cheek was wet. Turns out, I didn't lose an eye. I just had blood in it. Thank God. I crawled over her, trying the chains again as Victor went back to holding her wings against her body.
She called him every foul name in the book, words slurring from her destroyed jaw. One of them touched a nerve: “Bitch of the Wild Hunt.” He wordlessly snatched the salt from my belt and poured it over her face, holding her jaw to shove the container into her mouth. She gurgled and started to convulse as the salt was forced down her throat. That shut her up.
With the chain pinning her arms and wings against her body, Victor dug the padlock out of his pocket, using it to secure the links.
“I’m going to try to get her to the barn.” He yelled over the sound of her agitated howls.
I retrieved the shotgun and followed him as he carried the squirming, shrieking pest towards the barn. I pressed the palm of my hand to the cut on my brow. A flutter of unease went through my gut as it occurred to me that I could be in danger from Victor as well.
It didn't help that the pest had noticed it, too. She was goading him, “That girl smells sweet, doesn't she?”
“You want more salt in your mouth?” He threatened flatly. “We got plenty and we have some time until sunrise.”
She cackled, “You can't tell me that your mouth isn't watering thinking of her soft flesh between your teeth. Her blood warming your tongue. You long to feel warm again, don't you, dead man?”
The borderline pornographic way that she spoke about devouring me made me intensely uncomfortable.
“Keep it up and I'll pack the salt up your nose, too.” Victor retorted.
Once we got to the barn, we found an empty stall, which he tossed her into. I didn't follow him into the stall. My gut was telling me that something was off.
He drew a circle of salt around her. As long as it wasn't broken, it would trap her until sunrise.
I didn't think the boss would ever intentionally hurt me. But the way he looked at that woman…
What if he couldn't control himself?
Victor shut the stall door behind him, leaving the pest to wail and swear at us from her prison.
His eyes went to my forehead, “That looks like it hurts.”
I swallowed back the lump in my throat. There it was again. That look.
“Stay back, Vic.” I said calmly, my unease growing.
He took a deep breath, his eyes closing. I took a small step away from him, towards the exit to the barn.
I kept my voice even, “Vic, be honest with me. Is it safe to be around you right now?”
Victor stayed where he was, still not looking at me. He eventually answered, “Probably not.”
I took another step towards the door. “I'm going to leave.”
He nodded, eyes still shut, “I think that would be best. I'll make sure that she stays in the stall.”
As I backed towards the door, afraid to turn my back on him, I said, “I'll uh… see you at work tomorrow.”
“Yeah. See ya.”
I didn't dare turn my back on him until I'd left the barn. He didn't move a muscle the entire time. As I made my way back to my G6, I kept looking over my shoulder. Victor didn't follow me. I made it back to my car without incident.
I thought back to when I'd found him in the butcher shed. Looking back, I'm pretty sure that he'd been eating it.
Once I was in my apartment, I quickly drew lines of salt in front of all my doors and windows. It made me feel somewhat safer. I inspected the injuries on my forehead and shoulder. After cleaning them both up, I determined that I should probably see a doctor in the morning. In the meantime, I covered them both with gauze.
I painfully settled down onto my bed, my entire body aching. Even though I felt like a dish towel that had been wrung out over and over again, I knew that I wasn't going to be getting much sleep. My mind was racing too much.
Against my better judgment, I ended up texting Victor, ‘Are you a draugr?’
His response was, ‘i think so’
Draugr are known for their grotesque appetites. The joke Reyna and I had been making about him being a ‘high-functioning zombie’ wasn't all that far off, after all.
I reminded myself that Victor wasn't a complete monster. He'd at least had enough control over himself not to hurt me or either of the farmers. But the temptation had clearly been there. That begged the question of what his limits were.
Was it safe to work with him? Injuries aren't exactly uncommon at Orion. Maybe that's why he's been sending Reyna and I together for two person jobs rather than going on calls with us.
I received another message from him, ‘if you want to quit I understand’
I didn't, though. As stressful as working here can be, I do enjoy my job, weirdly enough. I've been treated better here than by any other employer and I like having only two other coworkers to worry about, especially since I get along well with both of them. But the biggest reason why quitting hasn't occurred to me is that I wouldn't be able to just walk away from all that I'd learned about the atypical cases. There was no way I could live a normal life after working at Orion.
I also wanted to keep an eye on Victor. Between whatever the mechanic was forcing him to do and his transformation, there was a lot that I was concerned about. As much as I didn't want to think about having to trap or kill Victor, if it came down to it... I'd do what needed to be done.
I sent back, ‘hazard pay? 👀’
His reply was, ‘😒’
A moment later, I received, ‘we'll discuss it when I don't have a manananggal mf'ing me’
Yinz see why I kept calling her a ‘pest’ rather than trying to type that long name out each time? I guarantee I would have misspelled it several different ways.
When the sun rose, I received another message from Victor, ‘it's over. thanks for your help’
We found out later in the afternoon that the hospital had been able to save the farmers’ baby. She was going to have to stay longer in the hospital, but otherwise, she and their newborn daughter were alright.
What was alarming was that the dead man's body had been desecrated at some point after I left. It was believed that the pest had been the one to take chunks out of his neck, shoulder, and chest. I wasn't going to be the one to tell the family the truth. They'd been through enough already without the news that the one they'd relied on for protection had gotten hungry.
I wondered if being exposed to so much blood had been the trigger. I suppose I should just be glad that Victor had eaten a man who was already dead instead of me or another living person.
Like I said, I'm going to have to keep an eye on him. In the meantime… maybe don't demand to speak to the manager.

Apologies. Forgot to add tags above. [Post Workout Massage] [Confession] [Listener Joins The Team]
Note: If you want to know about monetization and a little bit about who I am: An Introduction To The Book That Is Me :
Note: If you want to know about my other scripts: Masterlist for edgiscript :
Part 3: [F4M] Mafia Dog - Part 3 of 7 [Working Out] [Listener Getting His Strength Back] [Rescue Of A Colleague] [Earning Respect] :
Note: Oil sounds are a big trigger for me personally, so they were originally part of the massage at the beginning, but I've been told that they may create a problem with YouTube so I eliminated them. You can feel free to re-add them if you think it'll be ok or if you're adding this elsewhere like Patreon.

Part 4

(Optional sounds of a massage occur throughout the piece until instructed to stop.)
Jane: How’s that feel, puppy? Is the pressure strong enough?
(Pause.)
A little harder? No problem. I’ll start at your neck and work my way down.
(Pause.)
You’ve got some serious knots right up here.
(Pause.)
Yeah, you worked hard today. You’ve been working hard every day. You’ve come a long way since we first found you.
(Pause.)
You need some more right here? Oh, below that spot. Ok. How’s that?
(Pause.)
Well, I’m glad my hands feel so good to you.
(Pause.)
No, don’t say that. You deserve this. You’re doing so well. You’ve pushed yourself more than anybody here did. You really care, don’t you?
(Pause.)
Yeah, Carissa’s pretty great.
(Pause.)
All right. Mom. (Soft laughter.) Does it make you feel better if I call her that too?
(Pause.)
Yeah, I really do mean it. Honestly, I think everyone here does. She’s the mother of this group. She’s pretty wonderful.
(Pause. Massage sounds stop.)
Ok, roll over.
(Pause.)
Yeah, you heard me. Roll over. I’m going to do your chest.
(Pause.)
Who cares if this isn’t how I’ve done it before. You put in extra work today and need extra attention.
(Pause.)
No, I’m not your mom, but I am a bigger dog than you, Puppy, metaphorically speaking, now roll over.
(Pause.)
Here, I’ll start with your hands and your arms.
(Pause. Massage sounds begin again.)
Yeah, a lot of people overlook the fingers, but I think they need extra attention. We don’t realize how many times we flex our fingers and squeeze and push and grip. They need care too.
(Pause.)
So… have you considered what we talked about any more?
(Pause.)
You’re really sure you want to go through with it? It’s a dangerous life. You could end up worse than what you were like when we found you.
(Pause.)
I was hoping you’d say that.
(Pause.)
(With a surprised, mischievous smile.) Puppy? That question is pretty aggressively forward of you.
(Brief pause.)
(Smiling.) No, no. Don’t look hurt. It was a good question. I’m just surprised you found the courage to say it.
Yes, I suppose it would be fair to say that I am very “fond of you”.
(Pause.)
Here. Let me work up your arms now.
You know, Puppy, everybody loves you here. Even Ronnie, and Ronnie hates everybody.
(Pause.)
Yeah, he’s fully recovered from the blast. Well, nearly fully recovered. I think the Doc still has to give her final clearance, but even he thinks the world of you ever since you risked your life for him.
And you’ve become invaluable here, doing everything you can for everybody, even assisting Suzanne with Ronnie’s recovery.
(Becoming a little more soft and sensual.) Ok, let me move to your chest. Does that feel good?
(Pause.)
So, we’d have to talk to Carissa… I mean, Mom, about it, and then she’d have to clear it with Kent, but I think it would be ok if you do want to stay with us.
(Pause.)
Yes. I… want you to stay.
(Pause.)
Yeah, I do. I’mmmm, kindaaaaaa, crushing on you. Just a little bit. I… I like you, Puppy.
(Pause.)
Yeah, like that. So, what do you think about that?
(Massage sounds stop. Kiss. Gentle laugh.) I was hoping you’d say that. C’mere, you. (Kisses.)
(Interrupted by Carissa entering the room quickly.)
Carissa: Ok, guys, stop what you’re doing. We need to talk.
Jane: Mom, could you give us just a…
Carissa: No. I’m afraid not. I need to speak with Puppy, right now.
(Pause.)
Yes, Puppy, it’s very serious.
(Pause.)
No, no, you haven’t done anything wrong. You’ve been wonderful, Puppy. You’re my good boy. You have been ever since we brought you here. That’s never changed. This is something else.
Jane: Carissa, what is it? What’s happened?
Carissa: Not now, Jane.
Jane: But…
Carissa: (Not angry, but firm.) NOT… now. I have to speak with Puppy first before certain things can be said. Jane, please leave the room. And no, Jane, it’s not up for discussion.
Jane: Ok, Carissa.
(Pause.)
No, Puppy, I won’t go far. See you in a minute.
(To Carissa.) It should be just a minute, right?
Carissa: It shouldn’t be long. In fact, you should wait just outside. I’ll possibly need to speak with you both next.
Jane: Ok. Bye, Puppy. Call me when you need me, Mom.
(Jane leaves.)
Carissa: Puppy, I’m going to get right to it.
(Pause.)
No, Puppy, this is not about you kissing Jane. Look, Jane’s great, you’re great, I love you both. Do what you want. I’m sorry for glossing over that. I’d honestly like to spend more time being happy for you. We can talk more about it later if you want, but this is about something else.
Jane told me you’ve been considering asking to stay with our group now that you’ve fully recovered. I need to know what your thoughts are on the matter. Something has happened that I need to discuss, but I can’t discuss it with you if you’re not one of us.
(Long pause while Puppy speaks.)
That’s good to hear. I’m glad you feel that way about us. About all of us, not just Jane and me.
But, Puppy, if you do stay, your life is going to change. You’ve seen some of the show, but once I let you backstage there’s no turning back. Are you certain you’re ok with that because we all care about you too, Puppy, and we don’t want to see you get involved with something you can’t handle.
Seriously, Puppy, listen to me very carefully. None of us want you hurt. Do you understand?
(Pause.)
Ok, then tell me straight up. Are you in or out?
(Pause.)
(Deep breath before going on.) Puppy, first of all, I’m very glad to hear you say how much you care about us and about how much you love me personally as your mom. You truly have become like a son to me, Puppy, and I don’t want to see you hurt any more than you have been, but… well… it feels good to know that you want to be here with us.
I trust you, Puppy. I’d like you by my side, we all would, as we move forward. There are about to be some very big changes within our organization. And that brings me to the second point. You need to know who we are.
(Pause.)
Yeah, I know you had some assumptions of your own.
(Pause.)
Actually, that’s pretty close. You continue to impress me, Puppy. We are a paramilitary organization with some pretty wealthy backers dedicated to stopping organized crime in this area.
(Pause.)
No, we’re not cops. In fact, we work outside of the law. If we’re caught doing what we’re doing, we could be arrested or worse.
We’re vigilantes, Puppy. The criminals don’t like us, but neither do the police.
(Pause.)
(Snicker.) Yeah, Puppy, I suppose we are kind of like Batman.
(Trying not to cry.) God, Puppy, you have an amazing gift. Only you could make me…
(Pause as she begins to break down a bit, but she holds it together.)
No, Puppy, it’s all right. I’m ok.
(Pause.)
Yes, there is something else I haven’t told you, but we need Jane first. Jane, can you please come back in here? Thank you.
Jane: What is it? What’s up? Is it about Puppy? Is he in?
Carissa: Yes, he’s in, Jane.
Jane: Yes.
Carissa: But there’s something else you both need to know.
Jane: Wait a second. You haven’t run this by Kent yet. How could Puppy be in without…
Carissa: Puppy’s in because I say he’s in. I’m running the show now.
Jane: What?
Carissa: At least for a while. Jane, Puppy, Kent’s been attacked.
Jane: Oh, God!
Carissa: He’s in surgery right now. Jane, he might not make it.
(Pause.)
No, Puppy, there’s literally nothing you can do right now for him, but… thank you for wanting to.
Jane: Mom…
Carissa: Jane, under the circumstances, maybe it would be best to refer to me as Carissa again.
Jane: Absolutely not. Carissa, under the circumstances, you’re not just Puppy’s mom, you’re everyone’s mom. You run the show. You’re the protector and overseer of our group. And Carissa… Mom, you care more than anybody else. We all love Kent, but if he’s out, we all want you watching over us. I will call you Mom with love and respect as will everyone else here.
Carissa: Thank you, Jane.
(Pause.)
Yes, thank you too, Puppy. I think I needed to hear that. Now both of you, come with me. We’ve got a lot of work to do.
Part 5 coming

I wrote this for a writing prompt in writingprompts, but not many people will see it because the prompt is a little old. I just wanted to share. Wrote during breaks at work so forgive me if it’s a little rough around the edges.
The prompt was, “Watching the man or woman of your dreams fall in love with someone else.”
feedback appreciated
::Caitlyn::
I watched her through her kitchen window.
She stood by the sink—wine glass in her hand, gently swirling it as she looked at her phone. God, she was pretty tonight. The yellow kitchen light cast a glow upon her skin, and I swear she was the brightest thing in the room—more so even than the bulb itself. Fishnet lace snaked up her legs, red as summer wine, and her bathrobe parted just enough at the top to tease—just enough to draw your attention to it so that she could playfully scold you for looking.
It’s what she did.
I knew what she was waiting for, though. This was the first night he hadn’t shown up in over a week.
I didn’t get it. That guy—the guy who tracks muddy boots through the house, the guy that smokes cigarettes in the laundry room even when she specifically tells him not to, the guy who hasn’t touched a single dirty dish in as long as he’d been there—a dirty anything for that matter, and he’s the one she swoons for? Fucking bastard. That’s all he was. A dirty fucking bastard that didn’t deserve a woman even half as nice as my Caitlyn.
No, she didn’t get it—really, she didn’t and it made me feel kind of sorry for her. God, I mean if she only knew the things I’d do for her—the things that we have in common. We would be so happy together.
I like to read just like she does, the same genres and everything. I even picked up the book she started last week, and it’s already one of my favorites. She likes to jog; I like to jog; she likes binging shows; I like binging shows. Both of us have a horrible sweet tooth as well. I can never help but smile at the thought of that.
Now, it’s three hours past eight, which was the time that he was supposed to arrive. She’d moved to the couch and was lying on her back, letting one leg dangle to the floor. Blue light from the TV illuminated her features in the dark of the room, and it wasn’t difficult to tell that she was upset. God, I hate to see her cry.
Occasionally, she would glance over. She would peer out the window with that sad face and look in my direction. At first, I thought she was trying to see over me, to look over the hedge and into the trees behind her drive. After a few of her glances, though, I wasn’t sure anymore. I was almost convinced that she noticed me and was looking directly at me.
Maybe she needed me. Perhaps this was her way of saying, “Come get me, Richard.” And what if it was? What if this was my chance, and I missed it because I thought about it too hard? Maybe she knew I’d been out here, watching all along, for all this time. If that was the case, then she surely knew that I wouldn’t be able to resist those watery eyes.
It was time—time to be the man she needed—to finally confess my love for her, then hold her tight in my arms as she did the same.
I straightened myself—no more hiding. No more lurking in the shadows while she filled the void in her heart with all of these other worthless men. It was time she had a real man, a man who cared.
I walked to the door. For a second, I wondered if she’d left it unlocked for me. She’d done that before and pretended she was asleep whenever I made my way inside. She always did like to tease like that. I almost just opened it and walked straight in, but on second thought, I figured it might’ve been a little jarring. I decided to knock instead.
My throat felt as tight as a fist. Why was I so nervous? She loved me; I knew she did, but still, I was nervous. Sweat beaded down the side of my face like condensation. I wiped it away with my sleeve and took a deep breath. This was it. In a few moments, I’d finally have my Caitlyn. I’d finally hold her in my arms like I’d always dreamed.
I brought my fist to the door, and my stomach tightened into a knot.
Just as I was about to do it, I heard gravel crunch in the distance.
Quickly, I darted back into the safety of the shadows. I could see two bright headlights through the trees as they bounced down the dirt road.
It was him—the old Chevy Silverado with the silver toolbox in the back.
Of course, it had to be him.
He’d messed up this time, though; there was no way she’d forgive him now, not after tonight. With a smirk, I watched, wondering what kind of pitiful attempt he’d make to try and win her back this time, knowing that whatever it was wouldn’t be enough. Then he stepped out of his truck.
He was covered in black grease from head to foot and wore a mechanic uniform. He held something small in his arms, something with a bright red bow tied around its neck. It was hard to tell, but it looked like a little black lab from where I stood. Trustingly, it pressed its head against his chest and darted its eyes around the new scenery.
He walked up the porch steps. He was going to knock, but before he could, Caitlyn flung the door inward and glared at him. As much as I hated how she felt, that twisted expression of anger she shot him gave me more joy than I could’ve imagined. That joy was only fleeting, though. The man flashed a smile as he looked down at his arms, rubbing the puppy’s head. It melted the expression right off of her face.
“Oh my God!” She squealed, happily shuffling her feet as she held her arms out.
I was appalled. A puppy? A little dog and all of his sins are erased?
The two of them seemed so giddy together. They laughed and hugged and spoke in high voices to the puppy while they rubbed its head. The whole scene made me sick to my stomach if you really want to know the truth.
I don’t know how he did it—how he managed to weasel his way back into her heart and occupy the space that was so rightfully mine—truly, I didn’t. Who knows, maybe it was all an act. Perhaps it was her way of telling me, “you should’ve knocked.” And now, this was my punishment.
Maybe I should’ve. Maybe then I could’ve been the one to answer that door. A puppy wouldn’t soften my eyes, not like hers. I failed her, I know, but I will not fail her again. That is the last night he will ever come knocking on her door. I’m certain of it.

(Even though i didnt explicitly say it, it could be pieced together through context clues so; content warning: implied sa. Ive gone through a lot more than that, but thats a main one that im worried might trigger people. Again, I didnt talk about it this is a just incase.)
I'm so god damn paranoid. I thought someone broke into my house because the door was LOCKED. I don't remember locking it this morning(the key lock, I remember locking the fingerprint lock), so when the door didn't open after unlocking the fingerprint lock? Someone broke in. Never mind my dog, who happily welcomed me home, I went straight to the kitchen that's right next to the front door and grabbed a knife. Then, I searched all the rooms. There aren't a lot of places to hide, but there are hidden knives anywhere. For protection, obviously. I didn't stop until I checked all the rooms, closets and beds.
You have to understand how crazy this is. In my head, someone got past the fingerprint lock, went inside, locked two out of three locks on my door, got past my dog(protective pitbull) then hid.
Usually people think someone broke in because the door was UNLOCKED or the door was OPEN.
Nope, not this special coat wearer.
I'm absolutely sure that if I don't have cptsd, I definitely have ptsd. Only took 2 weeks with my therapist (that is now going on for 3 years) for her to point out that I'm heavily paranoid and hypervigilant, let alone pessimistic.
Look at my clothing for example.
Black drawstring parachute pants, double knotted at the waist so it's impossible to move past the top of hip. Combat boots. Long sleeve shirt with a cuff and scrunchie on either wrist to prevent it from moving to my elbow. A thigh long winter red coat with both buttons and zipper so it's not only hard to remove, it's also easy to be seen, and hides everything. It also has four pockets which I can hold an ID and phone for if I die in public(I don't want to be a Jane doe). A beanie so if someone tries to grab my hair, it'll come off first and give me time to escape. Same goes for my back pack. Always one arm in so if someone yanks it, it goes down without you. When going out in public with friends, I wear black lipstick so it can be hard to wipe off and leave evidence. Let nails grow out a bit so it's easier to scratch.
Every single choice has a reason to it. It's almost June and I'm wearing a winter coat because I feel safe in it. I have 12 pairs of the same pants because it not only makes it hard for a stranger to remove, but lessens anxiety in the mornings if I already know what I'm going to wear. It's easier to kick people while in combat boots. I keep my back against walls or away from people so I can keep everyone in my line of sight. There is a hiking whistle attaches to my backpack disguised as a bag buckl, it can be extremely loud for emergencies.
I have three locks on my door. Deadbolt, key and finger print. There is also a camera at the door as well. Apparently my muscle memory is better than my actual memory since I locked two this morning without realizing it.
I'm paranoid and scared all the time.
Atleast today I made myself laugh.

I'm so god damn paranoid. I thought someone broke into my house because the door was LOCKED. I don't remember locking it this morning(the key lock, I remember locking the fingerprint lock), so when the door didn't open after unlocking the fingerprint lock? Someone broke in. Never mind my dog, who happily welcomed me home, I went straight to the kitchen that's right next to the front door and grabbed a knife. Then, I searched all the rooms. There aren't a lot of places to hide, but there are hidden knives anywhere. For protection, obviously. I didn't stop until I checked all the rooms, closets and beds.
You have to understand how crazy this is. In my head, someone got past the fingerprint lock, went inside, locked two out of three locks on my door, got past my dog(protective pitbull) then hid.
Usually people think someone broke in because the door was UNLOCKED or the door was OPEN.
Nope, not this special coat wearer.
I'm absolutely sure that if I don't have cptsd, I definitely have ptsd. Only took 2 weeks with my therapist (that is now going on for 3 years) for her to point out that I'm heavily paranoid and hypervigilant, let alone pessimistic.
Look at my clothing for example.
Black drawstring parachute pants, double knotted at the waist so it's impossible to move past the top of hip. Combat boots. Long sleeve shirt with a cuff and scrunchie on either wrist to prevent it from moving to my elbow. A thigh long winter red coat with both buttons and zipper so it's not only hard to remove, it's also easy to be seen, and hides everything. It also has four pockets which I can hold an ID and phone for if I die in public(I don't want to be a Jane doe). A beanie so if someone tries to grab my hair, it'll come off first and give me time to escape. Same goes for my back pack. Always one arm it so of someone yanks it, it goes down without you. When going out in public with friends, I wear black lipstick so it can be hard to wipe off and leave evidence. Let nails grow out a bit so it's easier to scratch.
Every single choice has a reason to it. It's almost June and I'm wearing a winter coat because I feel safe in it. I have 12 pairs of the same pants because it not only makes it hard for stranger to remove, but lessens anxiety in the mornings if I already know what I'm going to wear. It's easier to kick people while in combat boots. I keep my back against walls or away from people so I can keep everyone in my line of sight. There is a hiking whistle attaches to my backpack disguised as a bag buckl, it can be extremely loud for emergencies.
I have three locks on my door. Deadbolt, key and finger print. There is also a camera at the door as well. Apparently my muscle memory is better than my actual memory since I locked two this morning without realizing it.
I'm paranoid and scared all the time.
Atleast today I made myself laugh.

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

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

^{This Table updates every 15 mins. You can save this post and come back later! ( ´ ▽ ` )}

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^{Last Update: 07:15:02-17/05 IST}

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

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

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

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

Residente O Visitante
Just finished the episode and have many thoughts! Please stop here if you haven't seen the episode or don't have an idea about the differences between the books and the show.
Uncle Antonio:
I am happy that my feeling that Uncle Antonio is a good guy was reinforced, but I'm sad that this story arc has concluded for now. I will miss him and his dog Portia (would she be Will's puppy aunt? 🤔), and if I feel that way then I know Will will miss them very much. I really hope the producers keep Antonio coming back occasionally so they can have more family time. Maybe Will can go to PR again, I like Antonio's friends a lot, especially the gossipy ladies who doted on Will.
Secondary case and Ormewood and Angie:
I like it when Ormewood and Faith work together, she doesn't take any crap from him and he seems to defer to her more than he does Angie. As for him and Angie I wouldn't be surprised if the showrunners are setting up a future romance between them. I have felt it cooking from the beginning but especially since We Are Family. The way Cooper runs to greet Angie at the potluck seemed to be a strong hint that she may become another parent figure to Cooper and Max in future. I figure since they have veered far away from the characters as described in the books, maybe it will be a convenient way for them to tie up some knots without having to introduce new characters as love interests for each of them. Obviously this is purely speculation on my part, but I'd be okay with it. I like both Angie and Will but them together gives me the creeps.
Crystal and Angie:
I know that being a sponsor and lending support to Crystal is supposed to indicate some growth for Angie that is independent of Will, and is needed for her characters development but it's my least favorite aspect of this season. Way too many plot holes in the Angie supposedly killing Lenny arc. She got kidnapped by Ulster and then we got nothing about the inquest into Lenny's death.
Plots and writing:
I know that character development is probably of main concern right now with a shortened season but the writers are really making the actual cases an afterthought. It's good that the case Ormewood and Faith took on this episode is continuing because the investigations are why I tuned in in the first place. The crooked FBI agent thing was done and dusted so quickly it seemed really forced and just an aside, really. The occasional two or three episode long investigation would be nice.
In summary I enjoyed seeing Will and his Uncle in Puerto Rico but the whole episode felt a bit rushed. What was everyone else's opinion?

Cover Art!
Just because you’re transported to another world, doesn’t mean you’ll escape from your pain.
Abused by her parents, thirteen-year-old Frances only wants to be safe and for her life not to hurt so much. And when she and her class are transported to the magical world of Durannon to fight the monsters invading the human kingdoms and defeat the self-titled Demon King, Frances is presented with a golden opportunity. If she succeeds, Frances will have the home she never had. If she fails, Frances will be summoned back to the home she escaped.
Yet, despite her newfound magic and friends, Frances finds that trauma is not so easily lost. She is dogged by her abuse and its physical and invisible scars. Not only does she have to learn magic, she has to survive the nightmares of her past, and wrestle with her feelings of doubt and self-loathing.
If she can heal from her trauma, though, she might be able to defeat the Demon King and maybe, just maybe, she can find a home for herself.
[The Beginning] [<=Chapter 216] [Chapter Index and Blurb] [Chapter 218 May 28 or see the next chapter now on Patreon]
The Fractured Song Index
Discord Channel Just let me know when you arrive in the server that you’re a Patreon so you can access your special channel.
Frances and company catch up before the final battle.
***
“Hold on. How would he win this battle if we outnumber him and surround him?” Ginger asked.
“He could target our leadership. Focus on killing Titania, Antigones, you and Martin,” said Ayax.
“Only, he’d have to kill Sebastian and Megara, as well as Edana and you too, Frances, along with a whole list of targets. I’m not sure how he could pull that off,” said Elizabeth.
Ayax grimaced, brow furrowed, but Frances knew the answer to that question.
“Thorgoth doesn’t need to find half the targets he’s after. Myself, mom, Titania, our strongest mages and the rest of the people that will be on his list have leadership positions. Like it or not we’ll be involved in the battle and he just needs to find us on the battlefield. A well-placed spell and he’d snuff any non-magic person out,” Frances said.
“So what do we do then?” Martin asked.
Frances’ heart was pounding, for she knew the answer, but was afraid to give it life. Yet what could she do but tell what she knew was the truth?
“Take the battle to him. Thorgoth will have to operate by himself with maybe just his Royal Guards. We need to hold him and his escort and defeat him before he hurts everybody else.”
“So, all the Otherworlders, our best mages?” Ayax asked.
“Not all of them. But my mother and I, Jessica and Leila, Dwynalina and Jim and Nicole, with a few Otherworlders holding off his guards,” said Frances.
Elizabeth pursed her lips. “Ayax and I can go after Queen Berengaria. I can’t imagine her going far from her husband.”
“This is assuming we can at least split the attention of the dragons and keep them occupied of course,” said Martin. He touched Ginger’s elbow. “Not that I don’t trust you dear.”
“Oh I know, but it is a consideration.” She swirled the wine in her cup. “That means Martin and I will be directing the battle with Sebastian and Alexander.”
“It’s likely you’ll be the overall commander with Martin. Alexander and Sebastian would then take charge of their own contingents,” said Elizabeth. She bit her lip. “Do you feel up for it?”
Ginger shrugged. “I mean, we have to—”
Elizabeth reached out to pat her friend’s shoulder. “Martin, Ginger, you know we have every faith in both of you, but if you need help, there is no shame in asking for it.”
“Besides I think we’re all scared. I know I am,” Ayax said with a smile. Even so, they could all see how her tail looked like it was trying to twist itself into knots. Frances figured her cousin wasn’t trying to hide her fear, just trying not to alarm or panic them.
Martin sighed. “I think that’s the problem, Liz. Duty compels us. Love binds us. So I know no matter what happens, I know we’ll stand together to face him. Still, we are afraid and while I know I won’t run, I worry that fear may cloud my judgment at a crucial moment.”
Ginger wiped her eyes, but her tears now flowed freely down her cheeks. “How do I know I won’t panic, and make a bad call? How do we know we are all coming back? We can’t. I…I guess we have to accept that, but I don’t want to lose you. Any of you.”
Drawing her friend into a tight hug, Elizabeth gently patted Ginger’s back. “I don’t either. I suppose that for me, I’ve always looked to my faith in God, and in you all. Have we not triumphed in all we’ve faced?””
Frances found herself nodding, her throat unclenching and the tight nervousness in her shoulders and neck fading. What remained was a faint feeling of lightness that lifted her chin.
“You’re right. We should believe in ourselves, and hope. Hope for a future when we win this war. Hope that our good will triumph over Thorgoth’s evil. Hope that in a few days, we’ll be home with our family, and our friends.”
Martin gave Frances a wondering look. “How are you able to hope that?”
Frances smiled. “I think that I have always been good at having hope. I didn’t realize it until now, but even in my darkest moments, I always hoped that I would find a place where I could be me.”
Ayax stood up, raising her glass. “To faith, friendship and hope. May it see us all through our final trial.”
Rising to their feet, the five touched glasses and drank deep. They all were smiling. The pain and fear in their hearts soothed by the hope they held and the determination to see each other once again.
***
“Frances, can I walk with you?”
Frances would never have said no to her best friend, and she could tell that past Elizabeth’s bright smile, her friend was worried. There were just too many small signs learnt from years of friendship. She was scratching behind her ear, and her eyes were narrowed just slightly from the tension in her face.
“Of course,” said Frances, falling in beside the tall Otherworlder. “How are you and Ayax?”
Elizabeth giggled. “We’re great! Fantastic even. She and I are even talking about what we might do after the war. We have so many plans and well, I kind of wanted to talk to you about that.”
Frances waited as Elizabeth continued to walk beside her, lips pursed.
“I know that after the war, I’m choosing to stay here with Ayax, with all of you. I just…” her voice trailed off, and her walk slowed to a crawl.
Taking a slight breath, Frances touched her friend’s hand. “Liz, you know it’s okay for you to doubt that.”
Elizabeth stopped and shook her head. “Oh no, I don’t have any doubts about my decision. At the very least, I’m past the point where my doubts aren’t going to change my decision. I know I’ve changed too much in the past seven years. I’ve come to terms with my sexuality. I’ve fallen head over heels in love with a woman who loves me just as much. I’ve commanded armies, led soldiers into battle and helped to make decisions affecting hundreds of thousands of people. I can’t go back pretending I’m Grade 8 and neither do I want to.” She squeezed Frances’s hand. “My decision is the right one. I know it in my heart and I’ve prayed about it. I can do a lot of good here and me going back? That won’t just hurt the people I love here, but it’ll hurt me and my family at home. I can’t hide who I’ve become and I’m proud of what I’ve grown into.”
Frances closely studied her friend knowing Elizabeth wouldn’t mind her staring.
“So what are you feeling, Liz?”
Closing her eyes, Elizabeth sniffled. “Guilt. It’s stupid. I know I’m making the right choice. I’m sure in my heart that God is encouraging me to make this choice, but I still feel guilty.”
“How could you not? You know your family loves you.”
“And I’m abandoning them. I know I’m doing the right thing but I still feel like I’m doing something wrong,” said the Otherworlder.
Frances hugged her best friend, squeezing her tight, hoping that her warmth and touch could comfort the woman who she’d trusted as much as her own mother.
“Liz, if they are everything you told me, they’re going to be alright. Have faith in them, like your faith in me and your friends.”
Elizabeth let out a sigh, but returned the hug. “Thank you, Frances. If…if the worst comes and you are sent back without me, go to them. Tell them I love them.”
Tears in her eyes, Frances nodded. “I promise. If you are sent back, I will take care of Ayax.”
Elizabeth let out a gurgly hiccup. “Thank you. I know you will.”
***
The historic coronation of King Martin and Queen Ginger would found what would be known as the Congrey dynasty. Con for Conthwaite and Grey for King Jerome’s dynasty.
It was an unusual coronation as King Martin and Queen Ginger were long-betrothed but not married. Yet King Jerome and Queen Forowena’s wills had been clear. Apart from that, the coronation involved as many of Eridale's traditions as possible in light of the circumstances.
Down the parade route attended by all those that could be mustered, King and Queen marched in at the head of an honor guard composed of their closest companions. These included Frances, Elizabeth, and Ayax, who held three poles of a crimson banner that hung over the pair. The fourth corner was held by Martin’s sister Mara, who wore a slightly undignified grin. Yet, nobody could really blame her.
Martin wore a black-white checkered tunic with red-gold trimmings and shoulder epaulets. His trousers were dark gray with again red-gold tassels. Ginger did wear a dress. It was of a dark maroon with silver lacing. A bejeweled gorget studded with emeralds hung from her neck and her ears sparkled with dark blue sapphires.
There was one minor alteration. As the procession marched up to the entrance of the old Goblin Empire palace, on a raised wooden dais dressed with elaborately embroidered carpets stood the attending dignitaries. They included all the other Erisdalian lords and ladies such as Viscountess Katia and Lord Tarquin, dressed in all the finery they could muster. Other notables such as Prince Timur, representing the Kingdom of Alavaria, Grandmaster Edana of the White Order and Alexander and Eloise of Erlenberg stood proudly side by side.
Towards the center of the dais were three figures. King Sebastian and Queen-Consort Megara, and the former Queen Janize. Sebastian and Megara were standing, holding Queen Forowena’s crown, whilst the heavily pregnant Janize sat, holding King Jerome’s crown. Thorgoth may have taken their decorated helmets, but he did not have their ceremonial attire.
Martin and Ginger stepped out from under the awning, giving their bearers a brief nod, before taking the last steps up the dais.
Whistling a spell, Megara touched her throat with her wand. “Who stands before the crowns?”
Martin knelt to one knee. The bearers of the awning followed. “Sir Martin of Conthwaite. A Knight of Erisdale.”
Ginger curtsied low. Frances nearly split her lips as she grinned at her friend’s perfect form. “Ginger. Just Ginger of Erisdale.”
Janize’s expression was unreadable as she rose to her feet. There was a slight archness to her features, and yet that could just be how she lifted her haughty cheeks.
“As witnessed by all, and by the King and Queen of Lapanteria, do you swear to defend Erisdale with all means at your disposal including force of arms?”
“We do.”
“Do you swear to uphold the laws of the land and the rights of Erisdale’s citizens?”
“We do!”
“Do you swear that until your dying breaths, to govern and reign over Erisdale not for your benefit, but for the benefit of the people and for their future generations?”
From her kneeling position, Frances frowned. That wasn’t quite the right oath. The wording was “Do you swear to govern over Erisdale wisely and justly?” She supposed that she might have missed it, or maybe there was a variation.
Yet as she noted her fiance’s face, she noticed his eyes were wide and her mother’s eyebrow was arched.
Not skipping a beat, Martin and Ginger bellowed. “We do!”
“Do you swear that you will do your utmost not to make the same mistakes as your predecessors and do whatever it takes to preserve Erisdale’s peace, even if it may cost you your lives?”
Frances blinked. Janize had gone completely off script. There was no fourth oath.
However, Martin and Ginger only hesitated for a moment as they exchanged a glance and looked up to meet Janize’s gaze.
The blonde woman’s eyes were bright and the hands holding Jerome’s crown were trembling ever so slightly. Frances had wondered why she’d insisted on doing this. Martin and Ginger had wanted to approach her to ask if she was willing, but the enigmatic former queen had surprised them by demanding they allow her to crown them. She now had an idea as to why.
“We do,” said Martin, smiling.
Ginger returned that smile. Blinking back her own tears, she took a breath. “In the name of Queen-consort Forowena and your brother, King Jerome. We solemnly swear.”
Janize closed her eyes, a single tear running down her cheek.
“Then as the last heiress of House Grey, I pass the crown of Erisdale on forever. Long live the Congrey dynasty. Long live Martin the Hero of Erisdale and his queen to be Ginger, whom I dub Erisdale’s Burning Heart.”
Lifting Jerome’s crown high, she set it onto Martin’s head. Swiftly taking Queen Forowena’s crown from Sebastian, she set it on Ginger’s head.
“Hail King Martin and Queen Ginger!” Janize bellowed as Martin and Ginger rose to their feet.
The crowd chanted back, their voices filling the great cavern. “Hail King Martin and Queen Ginger! Hail King Martin and Queen Ginger!” Frances could barely hear her own voice over the crescendo. The call that they all raised. Like the sound carried up into the void, she could feel herself be carried up. It was like she was floating on the power of their united song.
Turning around, Martin and Ginger smiled at Frances. Their eyes were wide, and she could see them clasp each other’s hands tightly.
Frances found herself standing on her feet, the pole to her awning in her hand. Without a second thought, she stabbed the pole’s spike into the ground. As her hand dropped to Alanna, she paused for a moment before her mind caught up with her body, and she nodded as if to herself.
Drawing the estoc, Frances raised her blade high, saluting her two friends.
“Long may they reign! Long may they reign!”
Elizabeth was right behind her, hammer raised high. Ayax followed suit with her staff and Mara and the rest were soon drawing their weapons. From the corner of her eye, Frances even spotted Morgan and Hattie raising their wand and staff.
“Long may they reign! Long may they reign!”
***
Helias glanced over his shoulder toward the accursed city. Despite the distance, there was a tremble in the air of Kairoun-Aoun itself.
“Helias?” Sara asked.
“Sounds like they crowned Martin and Ginger. They’re going to attack soon,” he said.
Sara nodded, her tense jaw the only sign of the worry that had seized the harpy-orc. As gently as he could manage with his rough, scarred hands, he wrapped his arm around her waist.
“Sara. We’re going to be fine.”
“You’re lying,” she said with eyes fixed forward.
The general couldn’t help but wince. “Sorry.”
Slowing in her stride, Sara placed a hand over Helias’s. “I still appreciate you trying to comfort me but I would prefer you to tell me the truth. How bad is it?”
Helias looked around. “Thorgoth may pull off a miracle and get himself and Berengaria out. However, a lot of Alavari are going to die.”
“What are you going to do?” Sara asked.
“I’ll have to attend this meeting and see what Thorgoth is planning. We’ll make a plan after that.”
“You and I know it’s not going to change anything,” Sara said, looking up at her husband, who could not meet her gaze. Yet, she didn’t push him away. Instead put her hand around his waist, drawing him closer.
“I know, but I want to be sure,” said Helias in a low tone.
“I understand. See you soon,” said Sara.
***
Helias found himself exchanging side-long glances with Glowron. The pair sat, both leaning forward toward King Thorgoth and a pacing Queen Berengaria, who’d finished explaining tomorrow’s strategy.
“Do you have anything else to add, my good generals?” Thorgoth asked. The king still smiled easily as he swirled a cup of wine in his hands.
Glowron shook his head. His tone was short but he kept this expression neutral. “No sire.”
The goblin general was Helias’s superior in rank and social class. The fact of the matter was that if Glowron had no objections, then there was no way the tauroll could object.
And still, Helias felt bile rise in the back of his throat. He froze, ever so briefly. Closing his eyes, he shook his head. Nothing mattered, except for Sara and Gwendilia.
“No sir. I’ll have my troops ready for tomorrow.”
That should have been that. They would have been dismissed to prepare for tomorrow’s suicide mission, but the king’s whims had other plans.
King Thorgoth put his cup down and leaned forward. “Oh come on my good generals. Surely you have something to improve on this plan.”
Glowron’s expression remained blank, whilst Helias smiled. “Your Majesty, you were the one who taught me everything I know. I can think of nothing I can add to your strategy.”
Queen Berengaria strode toward him. “You’re usually so talkative, Helias. Are you sure you have no other thoughts?”
“I beg your apologies, but I do not have any further additions to your plan, Your Majesty. My lord Glowron?” Helias asked.
“I do not either, my liege—” Glowron fell silent and Helias’s tail stiffened.
Thorgoth and Berengaria were no longer smiling and with a few more steps, the harpy queen had put herself behind the two generals.
“Let me be plain, we are now not asking you about how to improve the plan. We are asking for your thoughts. Give them.”
The Demon King’s remaining dark eye was narrowed. The other was now covered with a black silk eyepatch, the remains of the scar that Queen Forowen had given him, a discoloration scouring a line along the side of his face and right over his ear. In spite of the king’s injury, Helias felt nothing but cold dread dry his mouth.
“Your Majesty, my only thought is that we have no option but to follow your plan. No matter how we got into this situation, the only thing we can do is go forward and try to win this day,” Glowron said.
“And do you blame me, Glowron?”
Helias watched, eyes wide as somehow the much smaller goblin general continued to meet the king’s eyes. “I would be lying to you if I said I didn’t assign some responsibility to you at all, but I believe we ought to have thought of the possibility of such a trap. So the responsibility is mine as well.”
Thorgoth nodded. Out of the corner of his eye, Helias saw the slightest of nods that Berengaria gave to her husband. Alarm shooting his gaze back toward the Demon King, Helias found the full attention of his sovereign and sometimes uncle directed right at him.
“And you, General Helias?”
Lie and he might not be able to make it convincing enough. Tell the truth about what he thought about this war and he was never seeing Sara and Gwendilia again. Thorgoth hadn’t just been hurt, his pride had been wounded and he was now backed into a corner. It would be unwise to anger him, but what to say? What could he say?
All he could think of, and see was his child and her adoring gaze. All he could feel was the touch of Sara’s hand against his. They’d become closer than he could have imagined and were more than just companions with mutual goals now.
If he was to die, then maybe he could tell this truth.
“I am mostly thinking of my wife and my child, my king. The coming battle has me greatly concerned with how dangerous it shall be.”
Thorgoth narrowed his eyes at Helias for a brief moment. The tauroll, staying very still, waited for the presumed reaction by Berengaria.
Whatever Berengaria did made Thorgoth arch an eyebrow.
“I thought you didn’t consider your wife to be worth much,” said the king in a mild tone.
His mind racing, Helias ran with the idea. “She has responded well to the constraints and discipline I’ve enforced on her. She does nothing but facilitate all my needs and has served me well.”
He could feel Berengaria’s eyes narrow, but Thorgoth was already leaning back onto his chair. “Good for you. You are dismissed.”
“Thank you, sire,” said Helias, almost unable to hide his sigh of relief.
***
Author’s Note: While I wish I could have spent more quality time with Martin, Elizabeth, Ginger and Ayax, I do love the best-friend/team that I created for Frances. This chapter and the last was my little way of giving each of them a bit of time with Frances before the final battle.

So last night my new boyfriend came over we will call him John and we had a lovely dinner I made and I was so surprised Max my German shepherd was a very good boy bring nice I guess he could tell I liked him. I was wearing a slutty little black dress with a red thong that didn't stay on long, after dinner we sat on the sofa talking and I told him all about my animal loving history and I mean every from when I started to now and he was loving it tell me I was his dream girl he loved that I love being a bitch and having giving my love to dogs and told me never to stop and that he hopes to just join into my relationship with animals as a loving partner and when he said that he kissed me and that turned into hot dirty messy sex he's cock is very large around 10 inches and thick very blessed he's about the same size as max not as thick as Max's knot but still very nice and he loved how loose my body was he's never been with a woman that could take his cock balls deep in there ass, pussy, and mouth with ease and had no problem with him going from my asshole to my mouth or putting my tongue into his asshole as I stroked his cock like I would a horse. It was a nasty delicious night as I was sucking on his cock after cumming inside my ass for the first time Max jumped up and wanted his turn and John spread my ass so Max had a clear shot for my pussy witch he took and that just made John's cock throb even harder in my mouth till he was balls deep down my throat, he loves my no gag reflex and loved how I was a drooling cum filled mess as Max knotted my pussy and filled me with his hot doggy seed John couldn't help himself cumming in my mouth a second big load of delicious cum in my mouth. After that we snuggled the 3 of use for a bit chating and just being close with each other relaxing till the hot smell of John's cock was to much for me to take anymore and I got on my knees like a good bitch and started to lick his balls and cock every delicious inches of him, a big plus got John is that he's a Naturalist like me never using soaps when washing so his nature smell and Manly muck was intoxicating like a animal in heat I couldn't get enough of him he always smelled good but now naked and all hot and sweaty it was to much for me, I was get wet just from his smell and he could 100% tell I loved it asking me if I liked his dirty cock and watching my drooling on him like an animal myself, the second he was starting to get hard I got up and let his throbbing cock slide into my cum filled vagina using Max's cum as lube and I rode hid cock like an animal as he held my little breasts sucking on my hard nipples and I milked another load out of him deep into my vagina and I orgasmed so hard I squirted like a waterfall falling onto his big strong chest. He held me as he's cock relaxed inside me still pretty large even soft and he layed me down only pulling out to lay next to me and kiss me as Max layed between my legs cleaning my vagina and must of passed out because I woke up to my alarm and John made me breakfast so of course before he had to leave for work I sucked him off and got ready for work myself I can't wait to have him over this weekend and hopefully have a couple days to really show him what a good girl I can be for him he said he want to take me out shopping and spoil me I've never had a man want me like him and also he want to let Max meet his dog so hopefully we can have a great 4some one day I know I'm so in love already 😍🥰

I am planning a 2-day hiking trip to Big Bear soon, after the snow gets lighter, perhaps near Memorial Day. I'd like to go on a hike on each of those 2 days. Things I am looking for include:

• 5 to 15 mile length
• No more than 3000 feet elevation change, less is better
• Dog friendly. If my dog can go off leash, that is a bonus
• I especially enjoy pine forest and meadow terrain. Best of all is when there are lakes or water sources along the route. Campgrounds are often found in such areas.
• Views from high elevation are okay, but not a priority for me. I'm more concerned with the other 90+% of the hike that does not have the views from high elevation.
• I prefer packed ground or grass terrain. I do not like terrain with loose or sharp rocks, such as gravel.
• I do not like walking on dirt roads. I want trails.
• Less crowded is better
• I prefer to avoid cyclists
• I enjoy seeing animals in their natural habitat, aside from rattlesnakes

​
Some possible options are below. Are there any of these or others that you would or would not recommend?

• Champion Lodgepole via Castle Rock trail and surrounding forest at top -- I've gone on this hike ~4 years ago and enjoyed it. Most people seem to prefer the Castle Rock portion. I wasn't as impressed with the rock, as much as was at the top with scenic lake and surrounding forest at the top. I would have enjoyed spending more time at the top and may repeat.
• Pine Knot to Grand View -- I also enjoyed this one. The forest area along the way up was really nice. I continued along the skyline trail at the top, which was just okay -- more rocky and less forest. I plan to skip it this time.
• Cougar Crest: 5 miles, 800ft elev -- Seems okay, wary about the many comments that mention terrain being "rocky".
• Grays Peak -- 7 miles, 1200ft elev -- Seems okay, doesn't have quite as good reviews as the other trails listed above
• Bertha Peak -- 7.5 miles, 1400ft elev -- Seems okay, a few comments mention rocky, but not as much as Cougar Crest. I prefer the pictures from Bertha Peak to Cougar Crest and Grays Peak by a small margin.
• Crafts Peak -- 7 miles, 1600 elev -- I prefer the pictures to any of the crest/peak trails above by a good margin. I also expect it will be much less crowded. Unfortunately it is located out of the way in Green Valley Lake. I expect I'll have a lot more total driving on winding roads to get there, even if I stop as a break on the way there/back.
• Jenks Lake + South Fork to Dry Lake: 11-15 miles, 2300+ft elev -- This would probably be my number one choice in 2020. I like how I can combined forest with lakes, and it being in a less crowded area. However, post-2020 pictures show a lot of burned forest areas, which I am not as fond of. I'm not sure if people just like to take pictures of the burned forest areas, or if it's going to be like that the whole way. These trails are off the 38. If I go to big bear on the 38 instead of the CA-18, it will add another 20 minutes to the drive. However, the 38 looks less winding than the 18. I am prone to motion sickness, and would gladly add another 20 minutes, if it meant fewer winding roads. It also could be a pleasant way to break up the long drive.

Since after World War II, linguists, due to lack of interest in Kurdish studies, have often neglected the pre-Iranic substratum in Kurdish and focused merely on the Irano-Kurdish layer. Of the Urartian language is not much known either (about 300 words), however, a strong majority of its known words have a identical or at least close equivalent in Kurdish. Urartian though closely related to Hurrian, sound more similar to Kurdish than does Hurrian; this may depend on the fact that Hurrian was spoken at an earlier time period. Mannaean was another Hurro-Urartian-related dialect spoken south of lake Urmia.
It is also worth noting that Armenian scholars have found a few Urartian words in Armenian, which appear to be borrowings via Kurdish.
Urartian: Ale (he says) Kurdish: Ale ئەڵێ (he says)
Urartian: Shuri (sword) Kurdish: Shur شوور (sword) Armenian: Sowr
Urartian: Kuri (foot, leg) Kurdish: Qul قول (foot, leg)
Urartian: xur (deep) Kurdish: xuqul/kur خووڕ/قوول/کوور (deep),
Hurrian: agul (carve) Kurdish: 'kol-[în]' کۆڵین : (to digg), kêla: (plow)
Urartian: shini (you, plural) Kurdish: hin هین/هون (you, plural, cf. sh>h a regular sound change in Kurdish)
Urartian: apa (he/she/it) Kurdish: awa, aw/ava, av cf. Kurdish p>w and p>v ئەوە (he/she/it)
Urartian: Sale (kid) Kurdish: Zaro زارۆ (kid) Armenian: jar (he-goat)
Urartian: tali (stick) Kurdish: têla (stick, cf. Kurdish a>ê)
10) Urartian: papi/bab/babani (mountain top) Kurdish: pope پۆپە (head)/ bani بانی (mountain top)
Urartian: qal/kar (kill/slay, subjugate) Kurdish: qir قڕ (kill, slay, cf Kurdish a>i)
Hurrian: shur (war) Kurdish: sher شەڕ (war)
Urartian: bidia (turn) Kurdish: bada-n بادان (turn)
Urartian: da (give) Kurdish: da, دا (give, Iranic and other IE languages have a similar lexeme)
Urartian: xus/hush (throw) Kurdish: xis-[tin]/hawish-[tin] خستن/هاویشتن (throw, cf Kurdish u>i)
Urartian: karbe (rock, stone) Kurdish: karra کەڕا (rock, stone) Armenian: qar (rock, stone)
Urartian: quira (earth, dust) Kurdish: qur, xol قوڕ/خۆڵ (earth, dust)
Hurrian: arte (earth, soil) Kurdish: ard ئەرد/هەرد (earth, soil, cf Kurdish rt > rd)
Urartian: $erab (dry) Kurdish: chora چۆڕا (dry) Armenian: caraw (dry)
20) Urartian: eue (and) Kurdish: u ئوو (and) but see even Iranic ''ut''
Urartian: tur ( to leave) Kurdish: tor-[an], تۆران to leave
Urartian: ul (to go) Kurdish: lu-wan لوان (to go)
Urartian: ulhu (order) Kurdish: ol ئۆل (religion)
Urartian: bura (slave, servant) Kurdish: bora بۆرە (commoner, low-class)
Urartian: xarxar (destroy) Kurdish: xirxal خرخاڵ (destroyed)
Urartian: ale (but) Kurdish: lê لێ (but)
Urartian: duli (grape) Kurdish: trê, tirî ترێ (grape, cf. l>r and u>i) Armenian: toli (grape)
Urartian: kapi (capacity measure) Kurdish: kap/qap کاپ/قاپ (capacity measure)
Urartian: nah (to bring) Kurdish: hên-an/han-în هانین/هێنان (to bring)
30) Urartian: pare (toward) Kurdish: pîr پیر (toward),
Urartian: pile (water canal) Kurdish: pil-û-sk پلووسک (rain canal)
Urartian: tan (lay down) Kurdish: dan-[an] دانان (lay down)
Hurrian: id- (hit, strike) Kurdish: -d- (hit strike); ([lê] d-[an])
Urartian: teq- (to thump, to break) Kurdish: teq-[în] تەقین (to thump, to break)
Urartian: uzgi (power, strength) Kurdish: wuze وزە (power, strength, cf. Kurdish u- > w-)
Urartian: mari (lord, horseman) Kurdish: mir میر (lord, compare also with the Semitic ''Amir'')
Urartian: shu/shia (to go) Kurdish: chu, چوو (to go, cf. also Iranic ''shiyaw'')
Urartian: euri (lord) Kurdish: hêwir هێور (brave)
Urartian: xarari (calm) Kurdish: oqre ئۆقرە (calm), Armenian:
40) Urartian: zar (orchard) Kurdish: zar زار (orchard) Armenian: car (tree)
Urartian: ur (to place down) Kurdish: wer-[in], وەرین (to place down, cf. Kurdish u-> w- )
Urartian: wal, (to win) Kurdish: wêr-an وێران (to dare)
Urartian: zelbi (descendant) Kurdish: zol زۆڵ (bastard)
Urartian: zeld, (to shatter the enemies) Kurdish: zal زاڵ (to shatter the enemies)
Urartian: qarqar (throat) Kurdish: qurg قورگ (throat, compare also with the Irano-Kurdish garû, and Persian galu, there is also another word in Kurdish: qurquroska)
Hurrian: kut/kud (to make fall, to kill) Urartian: qot (piece) Kurdish: kut کوت (piece), kut-a کوتان (to smash), kud (to kill)
Urartian: xubi (valley) Kurdish: qopi قۆپی (valley, vale, plain)
Urartian: xare (to march, to raid) Kurdish: xar غار (to march, to raid)
Hurrian: Hiuri (smoke) Kurdish: Hulm هوڵم (steam)
50) Urartian: $ue (river, lake) Kurdish: chom/gom چۆم/گۆم (rive lake) Armenian: cov (lake)
Hurrian: tiv (word) Urartian: tiw (to speak) Kurdish: diw-an دوان (to speak)
Urartian: abeli/aweli (attach, increase) Kurdish: awale/awela ئاواڵە/ئاوەڵا (open)
Urartian: an, (no) Kurdish: na, نا (no; there is also a similar equivalent in Iranic)
Urartian: ari-beri Kurdish: birin برن (to carry, there is also a similar equivalent in Iranic)
Urartian: ewani/ebani (land) Kurdish: -wan وان (suffix used after place-names)
Urartian: kulune (side) Kurdish: qulin-chk قولینچک/ qurne قوڕنە (side, corner) Armenian: koln
Urartian: man (to stay) Kurdish: man مان (to stay), (resembles even Iranic, cf. New Persian ''mandan'')
Urartian: mana Urartian: me (prohibitive particle) Kurdish: me مە (prohibitive particle)
60) Urartian: pahi (cattle) Hurrian: pedari (cattle) Kassite: badar (bull, cattle) Kurdish: patal پاتاڵ (cattle) Armenian: paxre
Urartian: par, to take off Kurdish: pirr [-dan] پڕ (to take off, cf. Kurdish a>i)
Urartian: kamn (old, earlier) Kurdish: kavn/kawn کەڤن/کەون (old, cf. m>v but also Iranic ''kohan'' which has led to Kurdish ''kon'')
Urartian: pe? (under) Kurdish: pe? پێ (under, foot, cf. even Iranic pey)
Urartian: shid (build) Kurdish: chê-[kirin], چێ (build cf, kurdish d>nil)
Hurrian: awari Kurdish: awari ئەواری (land, country, field, cf. kurdawari, کوردەواری / warê me وارێ مە) (Armenian agarak has been suggested as an Armenian loan from 'awari'. Kurdish has even 'garak' with the same meaning). Urartian: ur (territory)
Urartian: qapqari Kurdish: gamaro (p>w>m cf Kurdish ziman Urartian: sher (hide) Kurdish: sheshar شێر/وەشارتن (hide)
Urartian: quldi (uninhabited) Kurdish: kawil (کاول) (annihilate,destruction)
Urartian: ar- (give) Kurdish: ar- (give, dialectal as in Slêmanî, for example: ''bi-ar-ê'': بیەرێ ''give him'')
70) Urartian: ture (destroy) Kurdish: ture تووڕە (angry)
Urartian: aba (desire) Kurdish: awat ئاوات (desire), aw-in ئەوین (to love)
Urartian: ada (again) Kurdish: idi ئیدی (another, anymore)
Urartian: shal-i (year) Kurdish: sal ساڵ (year, but Iranian ''sard'', New Persian has also ''sal'') Armenian: tari
Urartian: šeh-i/eri/e, living Kurdish: zhiyar ژیار (living)
Urartian: arnu-ia (come to the aid of) Kurdish: hana هانا (come to the aid of, cf Kurdish a- >ha- )
Urartian: lak- (to destroy) Kurdish: Rûx-[an] رووخان (to destroy)
Urartian: 'are (granary) Kurdish: harr هاڕ (granary, cf Kurdish ha-<-a, notice 'zimharr' زمهاڕ, meaning 'winter granary')
Urartian: ieshti (here) Kurdish: hêsthte هێشتە (now)
Urartian: meshe (part, tribute, share) Kurdish: mûche مووچە (part, tribute, share)
80) Urartian: pi$ushe (joy) Kurdish: pishû پشوو (holyday, vacation)
Hurrian: sheshe (six) Kurdish: shesh شەش (six, but it is the same even in Iranic)
Urartian: izidu (admonish, command) Kurdish: ezidi ئێزیدی (name of a native religion in Kurdistan)
urartian: yarani (kind of cultic building, altar) Kurdish: yari یاری (name of a native religion in Kurdistan)
Urartian: aleu (dignity) Kurdish: alewi ئالەوی (name of a native religion in Kurdistan)
Urartian and Hurrian: /-i/, /-iye/ (his, her, its) Kurdish: /-i/, /-y/ ی (his, her, its)
Hurrian: /-v/ (your) Kurdish: /-w/ و (your)
Urartian: ushanu (award, bestow, feel affection for ) Kurdish: wuchan وچان (rest, reprieve)
Urartian: napahia (submission, bondage, domestication) Kurdish: nawi نەوی (low, a low level, position or degree), (p>w)
Urartian: tur (defeat, destroy) Kurdish: dor- دۆڕ (defeat)
90) Urartian: sal-zi (steep, abrupt) Kurdish: sila سڵا (height)
Urartian: sil-e (woman, doughter) Kurdish: selar سەلار (mistress of the house, beautiful woman) (note ''Selardi'', a lunar goddess of Urartu)
Urartian: lutu (woman) Kurdish: lute لووتە (quoquettish woman)
Urartian: uldie (vineyard) Kurdish: lote لۆتە (grapes hanged in order to be sun dried in a vineyard)
Urartian: nikidu (water) Kurdish: niqdo/niqût نقووت/نقدۆ (water infiltration, water dropping, water penetration), (plus some other cognates of the word)
Urartian: kan/kain (in front of) Kurdish: kin کن (in front of, near) (but cf. also Iranic ''kenar'')
Urartian: haš-ia: (be interested in) Kurdish: haz حەز (be interested in, love, like)
Urartian: d-u-: (do, cause to do) Kurdish: da/di: ده/د (do, cause to do, used as a preffix for verbs)
Urartian: shalur (medlar) Kurdish: shalor شەلۆر (nectarine) Armenian: salor (plum) (clearly borrowed via Kurdish)
Urartian: mure (house) Kurdish: mal ماڵ (house)
100) Urartian: urishi (weapon) Kurdish: hereshe هەڕەشە (threat), /(there is also ''huruzhim'': هوروژم attack)
Hurrian: shini (two) Kurdish: shingil شنگڵ (twin, twin fruit)
Urartian: egur-hu (free) Kurdish: xorayi خۆرایی (free)
Urartian: bad-gul (surround) Kurdish: bawe-xulê باوەخولێ (turn around, also a kids game)
Urartian: aish-ti (leap, jump) Kurdish: hej-an هەژان (quake)
Urartian: ibirani (whole, complete, full) Kurdish: pirani پڕانی (majority)
Hurrian: hinzur (apple? pear?) Kurdish: hencor هەنجۆر (unripe melon)
Urartian: kut-u (reach) Kurdish: (geh<*ged) گەهشتن/گەیشتن (reach)
Urartian: ai/ay: (look, take care) Kurdish: aw-ir ئاوڕ (look)
Urartian: di/erasia (fear) Kurdish: tirs ترس (fear, but cf. also Iranic ''tars'')
110) Urartian: Ti/er-usi, measure for liquid Kurdish: Telîs?تەلیس measure of unit
Hurrian: ben Kassite: ban Kurdish: minal مناڵ (child)
Kassite: nadz (shade) Kurdish: nisê نسێ (shade)
Kassite: ulam (son, child) Urartian: alaue (man) Kurdish: law لاو (young boy)
Hurrian: çugi Kassite: tsugi Kurdish: chuk چووک (small)
Hurrian: ewri (dog) Kurdish wer-în وەرین (barking of dog)
Hurrian: shiye (watery) Kurdish: she شە (moisture)
Urartian: zainua (high) Kurdish: zinar زنار (high cliff, high boulder)
Hurrian: shalmi (ashes, to burn) Kurdish zhilemo ژیلەمۆ (burning ashes)
Urartian: amash (burnt) Kurdish mêsh مێش (burnt ashes) (cf. ê 120) Hurrian: puhi (nose) Kurdish: (kepû) کەپۆ (nose)
Urartian: shepuiaru (spoil) Kurdish: sheprêwشپڕێو (disorderly)
Urartian: mesh- (distribute, share) Kurdish: wesh-[an] وەشان (distribute, share)
Urartian: teribi (monument) Kurdish: tirb ترب (monument, grave) (not be confused with Arabic 'turbat': soil)
Hurrian: fur-i (viw) Urartian: wur-i (view) Kurdish: wuria وریا (viewer, careful), awur ئاووڕ (sight), (even the Kurdish verb ''ruwan''-[in] (view) is likely connected to the Urartian ''wur'', rarther than being a metathesis for Iranic ''negar'')
Hurrian: halv- (enclose) Kurdish: hal- هاڵ (enclose)
Urartian: kul-me (wealth, prosperity) Kurdish: kel-k کەڵک (profitable, usefulness)
Hurrian: pâl (false) Kurdish: fêl فێڵ (fraud)
Hurrian: tapsh- (destroy) Kurdish: tawjm تەوژم (pressure), tapi (destroy)
Hurrian: apxe (louse) Kurdish: aspe ئەسپێ (louse)
130) Hurrian: kapp- (fill) Kurdish: kipp کپ (filled)
Hurrian: azhoge (meal) Kurdish: azhge/zig (stomach)
Hurrian: kul- (to speak) Kurdish: qul- قوول (to speak aloud)
Hurrian: timeri (black) Kurdish: tem تەم (darkness)
Urartian: tara-gie (powerful, strong) Kurdish: daraqat دەرەقەت (to be powerful, to be strong)
Urartian: tam-hu (eliminate separate) Kurdish: toq-[andin] Urartian: shi-u (carry away) Kurdish: shi-[andin] (send)
Urartian: anda-ni (right) Kurdish: and ئاند (right)
Urartian: irb-u (take away grab) Kurdish: rev-[andin]/rif-[andin] (take away, grab) (but cf. also Iranian 'robudan', take away, grab)
Urartian: pit- (beat apart, destroy) Kurdish: pis-/pichr- (beat apart, destroy)
140) Urartian: tishni (heart) Kurdish: dine دنە (encourage) (cf. t > d & sh > nil)
Urartian: ti-ni (name) Kurdish: deng دەنگ (voice)
Urartian: bauše (word) Kurdish: wuše وشە (word)
Urartian: durba (revolt, rebel) Kurdish: tola (revenge)
Urartian: hut-ia (to ask) Kurdish: qut-abî (student)
Hurrian: fir (remove, untie) Kurdish: fir, firê (throw)
Hurrian: halme (singing) Kurdish: hore هۆرە (singing)
Hurrian: havur (heaven) Kurdish: hawr (cloud), (note also Indo-Iranic abra)
Urartian: agu (lead away) (of IE origin?) Kurdish: ajo-[tin] ئاژۆتن (lead away, drive)
Hurrian: asti (woman) Kurdish: astê (name of a beloved woman in Kurdish folklore)
150) Hurrian: tav/(-b) (to cast metal) Kurdish: taw (thaw, melt)
Hurrian: ai (if) Kurdish: ai (if)
Hurrian: alilan (lament) Kurdish: lalan (lament)
Hurrian: çabalgi (fault) Kurdish: çapal چەپەڵ (dirty)
Hurrian: xiyari (all) Kurdish: xir (all)
Hurrian: çere (donkey) Kurdish: ker (donkey)
Hurrian: çik- (break) Kurdish: shik- (break)
Hurrian: xîri (hour, time, moment) Kurdish: xêra خێرا (soon, hurry)
Hurrian: xizli (coiled) Kurdish: cexiz جەخز(coiled)
Hurrian: xub- (to break, to destroy) Kurdish: qup- (to break, to destroy)
160) Hurrian: istani (between, among) Kurdish: astang ئاستەنگ (obstacle)
Hurrian: izikun- (to wail) Kurdish: zikan- (to wail)
Hurrian: kakari (sort of ritual bread) Kurdish: kullêre, kellane (sort of ritual bread)
Hurrian: magunni (desire) Kurdish: magirani (desire)
‌Hurrian: shakari or sagari (sprout, bud) Kurdish: chakara چەکەرە (sprout, bud)
Hurrian: arushal (hurry) Kurdish: halasha هەڵەشە (stressful)
Hurrian: heni (now) Kurdish: henu-ke, niha, neha (now)
Hurrian: parili (crime) Kurdish: palamar پەلامار (attack)
Hurrian: adi (thus) Kurdish: dai (thus)
Hurrian: ak-i/u (other) Kurdish: -ka (other)
170) Hurrian: we (thou) Kurdish: ê-we (you)
Hurrian: buru (strong) Kurdish: wure ورە (strength)
Hurrian: çam (rip) Kurdish çam (bend)
Hurrian: zurgi (blood) Kurdish: zûx (blood), (compare, xwênaw=zûxaw)
Hurrian: xahli (cheek) Kurdish: kulm (cheek)
Hurrian: halwu (fence made with stones) Kurdish: hêl هێڵ (fence)
Hurrian: xawirni (lamb) Kurdish kawir کاوڕ (young sheep)
Hurrian: xamaz- (oppress) Kurdish chaws- (oppress)
Hurrian: hendz (constrain) Kurdish: hêndj (constrain)
Hurrian: xerari (sinew) Kurdish: kiroje (sinew)
180) Hurrian: xeshmi (bright) Kurdish: gesh (bright)
Hurrian: kalgi (weak) Kurdish qals/qirj (weak)
Hurrian: nali (deer) Kurdish: nêrî (male adult goat)
Hurrian: nawn- (pasture) Kurdish: naw- (pasture)
Hurrian: ul- (to, eat, to devour) Kurdish: lawar( la-war-) (to devour)
Hurrian: ubi (stupid, insane) Kurdish: hapa (stupid, insane)
Hurrian: ashxu (high) Kurdish: shax (mountain), also 'asê' means: uppward, high.
Hurrian: kaziari (high mountains of the Mesopotamian valley) Kurdish: kazh (high mountain)
Hurrian: kewiranna (the senate, the old men) Kurdish: gewran (the big ones, the adult ones)
Hurrian: kuzh- (to keep, to retain) Kurdish: kush- (to hold in hands, to press in hands), alt: Kurdish qoz- (to catch)
190) Hurrian: nekri ( Hurrian: shalhi (to listen) Kurdish: shil (listen)
Hurrian: siba (dry) Kurdish: zuwa زوا (dry)
Urartian: dibi (building, room) Kurdish: diw دیو (room)
Hurrian: shu (day) Kurdish: shawa-ki (morning, day)
Hurrian: shirat (narrate) Kurdish: shirove (narrate)
Hurrian: tishan (very much) Kurdish: tizha تژە (full)
Urartian: sutug (tear away, unjoin) Kurdish: shetek (knot)
Urartian: gey (anything) Kurdish gi گ (anything)
Hurrian: baz (enter) Kurdish: baz (pass by)
200) Hurrian: xeban-: (to set moving) Kurdish: xebi- خەبتین (to be active)
Hurrian: hamadz-: (to oppress) Kurdish: chaws- (to oppress)
Hurrian: haz- (to hear) Kurdish: bihiz-: (to hear)
Hurrian: xaz (to oil) Kurdish: xiz (oily, slippery)
Hurrian: pas- (to send somebody) Kurdish: pas- (to send, as in 'hal pasardin': 'to send into exile')
‌Hurrian: shagari (ram) Kurdish: shak (young sheep)
Hurrian: pal (know, understand) Kurdish: fêr (learn)
Urartian: -kai (position, in place) Kurdish: -ka (location suffix)
Urartian: muš- (true, fair) Kurdish: mušur موشوور (fairness)
Hurrian: abi (in front of) Kurdish: ba (in front of, near)
210) Hurrian: shimi (sun) Kurdish: shem (sun) (focilized in shemshemekwere, ''blind for the sun'': ''bat''.
Urartian: derzu/derju (order, arrangement) Kurdish: darêj- (order, arrangement)
Urartian: tep- (throw down) Kurdish: tep- (throw down)
Urartian: atqan: (to consecrate) Kurdish: tarxân (to consecrate)
Urartian: shuki (as) Kurdish: waki < hoki Hurrian: hur (drink) Urartian: xurishe (irrigator) Kurdish: qurishke قوریشکە (cup)
Urartian: ulx (flow out) Kurdish: bilqبڵق (b Urartian: alga-ni (mountain) Kurdish: Lêj لێژ (abrupt, steep)
Urartian: auiei (somewher) Kurdish: awê ئەوێ (there)
Urartian: puluse (inscription, stele) Kurdish: psule (voucher, receipt)
220) Urartian: niribe (herd) Kurdish: ran (herd)
Urartian: iese/ieshe? (I, pronoun) Kurdish: ez ئەز (I, resembles also the old Iranian 'azm', but which one is 'az' actually derives of? Armenians claim Armenian 'yes' (I) is derived of Ur. 'iese
Urartian: armuzi (family, clan, generation) Kurdish: hoz هۆز (clan) + rama (seed, from to-rama)
Hurrian: hemz (surround) Kurdish: amêz, hembêz ئامیز (hug)
Urartian: zani (cry out) Kurdish: zhan, jan, ژان (agony)
Hurrian: karshi (lips) Kurdish: kalpa کەڵپە (animal lips)
Hurrian: wirwir (loosen) Kurdish: wilwil ولوڵ (loosen)
Kassite: ash (earth, soil) Hurrian: esh (earth, soil) Kurdish: ax ئاخ (earth, soil)
Urartian: qarmexî (gift, present, sacrifice, celebration) Kurdish: qelin قەلین (gift, dowry)
Urartian: -atuhi (-ness) Kurdish: -ati (-ness)
230) Urartian: aman- (vessel, pot) Kurdish: aman- ئامان (vessel, pot)
God of lightning and storm Hurrian: Teshup Urartian: Tesheba Kassite: Tishpak Kurdish: Tishk تیشک (light, radiance)
Hurrian: shu (hand) Kurdish: shop (hand palm)
Hurrian: chilman- (to break, vanish) Kurdish: chilmis- (fade)
Urartian: shur (wall around a castle, fence, borders of the kingdom) Kurdish: shure (wall around a castle, fence)
Hurrian: xalwu (fence made with stones) Kurdish: xal خەڵ (fence made with stones)
Hurrian: ya/ye (who, which, what) Kurdish: ya/ye (who, which, what)
Hurrian: tun- (to win) Kurdish: tuna توونا (defeated, destroyed)
Hurrian: taridi (pot) Kurdish: tirar (pot)
Hurrian: kol (let off) Kurdish: kol (let off) (as in ''le kol bunewe'')
240) Hurrian:shir (to be suffiecent) Kurdish: têr (to be suffiecent)
Hurrian: ha (take) Kurdish: ha
Hurrian: tijari (spindle) Kurdish: teshi (spindle)
Hurrian: ábri (stock of wood-logs) Kurdish: awirdu (stock of wood-logs), awirig (oven)
Hurrian: baq- (destroy) Kurdish: baq- بەقین (explode)
Hurrian: bashi (mouth)Armenianlake Urmia Kurdish: bêj (to say), (common a>ê)
Hurrian: pashixi (message) Kurdish: pazhux (answer)
Hurrian: tad- (love) Kurdish: dalal (beloved) (common d>l)
Hurrian: tagi (beatiful) Urartian: taugi (clean) Kurdish: daq دەق (cheerful)
Hurrian: hild-/held- (high, raise, elevate) Kurdish: hild-/held- هەڵدان/هڵدان (rasie, elevate)
250) ‌Hurrian: kabli (copper) Kurdish: paqir پاقڕ (copper)
Kassite: kukla (slave) Kurdish: kukla (doll), kukm (homeless)
Hurrian: kumdi (tower) Kurdish: kumadj کۆماج (column)
Hurrian: kubakhi (hood) Kurdish: kumik (hood)
Urartian: korde (uncultivated, desolate) Kurdish: kode (uncultivated, desolate)
Hurrian: kundzi (to kneel) Kurdish: kudik (knee)
Hurrian: Xiríti (trench) Kurdish: Xir (trench)

The garage door shut with a groan behind us, closing us in the gloom of the single bulb hanging over the car.
Mother took a drag off her cigarette and sighed as she exhaled, the smoke filled the cabin of the Ford and stung my eyes.
“You really disappointed me today, Julianne," she tapped her cigarette in the ashtray below the dash, "you embarrassed me in front of the other mothers at the Ice Cream Social, shoveling down seconds and thirds like a pig. I thought I raised you better than that.”
She took another drag, daintily holding the cigarette between her perfectly manicured fingers.
“I'm going to have to tell your brother about this," she continued, “he'll have to come up with a punishment fit for a pig."
I felt my stomach drop. My kid brother, Thomas, was only six, but could be exceptionally cruel. Mother seemed to encourage him and was deferring to him more and more frequently for how the house was run, especially concerning my upbringing.
"Mother, please, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to embarrass you. I'm sorry I was a pig and ate so much ice cream. I promise I won't do it again, I'll never eat any ice cream again," I was pleading with stone, unyielding.
“Hush your mouth. Go to your room and wait for Thomas," she put out the cigarette and got out of the car, I had no choice but to follow.
It felt like walking to the gallows as I stepped inside the house and headed towards the stairs to go to my room. Thomas had grown fond recently of physical punishment, he obviously delighted in Mother whipping me with a belt or, recently, Mother had allowed him to start beating me with a wooden spoon. He would squeal and giggle like a normal child watching bubbles in the wind while I screamed. I was dreading whatever was going to happen tonight, I chastised myself for eating that ice cream, I should have known she would show up. My sins were always laid bare.
Down the hall, I could hear Thomas watching television in the den. I only got to watch TV for half an hour on Saturday morning and new episodes of Happy Days with Mother and Thomas. Thomas got to watch all the TV he wanted. He could listen to the radio and turntable as much as he wanted, as loud as he wanted. Thomas had an entire room just for his toys.
I entered my bedroom, it was a space I occupied, but it didn't feel like mine. Mother kept it spartan, white walls and white bedspread. A crucifix over the bed and a painting of Jesus over the door. I had my desk and chair and a dresser with some of the porcelain dolls Daddy gave me before he died that Mother let me keep. That was it.
I placed my book bag down and sat on my bed, waiting for Thomas. It was a while, sitting there with nothing but my own thoughts and staring at the open door. I felt humiliated, I was almost thirteen and my entire life was dictated by my brother. Mother kept the house in constant lockdown to keep Thomas a secret. No outsiders were allowed in. I couldn't have friends because she was afraid I would mention him or sneak a friend in to gawk at my brother and tease him for being different.
I would never make fun of him, I was terrified of him. Terrified of what he was and what he was becoming.
Eventually I heard his heavy footsteps coming up the stairs and I felt my heart start beating faster and my palms began to sweat. I kneaded my skirt in my hands, trying to calm myself and dry my palms. His slow arrhythmic footsteps came down the hall and I watched him as he entered the room.
I couldn't help but internally recoil at his appearance, even though I'd known him since he was born, I could never adjust to how unnatural he appeared. Thomas had been born at home and had never seen a doctor, but he was obviously unwell.
He was six years old and was barely over two feet tall, but very squat and wide. His skin was thick and gray, the whites of his beady eyes were yellow and his hair was wispy and white like an old man's, spreading out like a halo around his gargoyle face. A slight odor of decomposition hung about him, it reminded me faintly of garbage cans on a hot summer day. I hated when Mother made me help him with a bath, his skin felt like old brittle leather that flaked onto my clothes in gray flecks. His body was dense like concrete, I could barely lift him into the tub. Picking him up forced his hair into my face where that smell of rot would fill my nose, causing me to gag, silently, so as not to offend him and draw any ire from him or Mother.
Today, Thomas was wearing bib overalls with a red and green striped sweater underneath, reminding me of a grotesque doll.
“Mama says you acted like a piggy today at the ice cream social,” he spoke up to me in his unsettlingly high pitched, yet raspy voice, like a child that smoked as much as Mother, "you need to come down for dinner right now for your punishment for embarrassing Mama."
He turned and walked back down the stairs and I had no choice but to follow his toddling form downstairs to the dining table. We entered the kitchen and the table was placed with two settings. Mother was already seated and Thomas clambered up into his booster seat at his normal spot next to Mother. She took a drag off her cigarette and motioned vaguely to the floor without even looking at me.
Neatly situated on the linoleum was my dinner, not on a plate, but directly on the floor. A pork chop, scoop of mashed potatoes, and a small pile of peas. No utensils, either.
Thomas giggled with glee upon seeing my face.
“You have Mama's permission now to eat like a piggy, now. No hands! Piggies just use their face!” He stood up in his chair and reached out for Mother’s ash tray and flung it out over my meal, peppering my dinner with cigarette ash and butts.
"Oops! Piggies don't mind trash though, do they, Mama?” he giggled and the sound filled me with rage.
"No, they don't,” Mother replied coolly while maneuvering her ashtray back in place and carefully putting out her cigarette before saying prayer.
As angry as I was, I got down on my hands and knees and did my best at eating what I could without using my hands. I knew if I refused, it would be far worse. The whole meal, Thomas made pig noises and would reach down and poke me with his fork, making comments about what a fat piggy I was and how he wished he could roast and eat me. I doubted Mother would even object if he actually did kill me and eat me.
Gagging my way through another bite of ashy pork chop, I felt a warm splat over my head and heard Thomas giggling. I reached up and felt he had dumped mashed potatoes into my hair.
Choking down tears, I asked Mother if I could clean the floor and bathe. She rolled her eyes and excused me to clear the table for them as well while she changed Thomas into his pajamas. Picking him up, she walked out of the room and Thomas stuck his putrid little purple tongue out at me before they made it out the kitchen door.
I silently cried while I cleared the table and washed the dinner dishes. Tears splashed down as I mopped up the mess from my food on the floor. I hated how awful Thomas was. I hated how they treated me. Ever since Daddy died and Thomas showed up, I was their punching bag. I missed Daddy so much.
Mother was kinder then, too. She was still severe, but Dad kept her tempered. After he died, there was a change that came over her. I was only six, so I didn't remember her too much from before, but I did remember her gushing on and on when she was pregnant with Thomas. How the baby was a gift from Our Heavenly Father, that it was going to complete our broken family.
My sixth birthday happened right after Daddy died and I remember sitting on the patio crying while the house was full of people after the funeral, normally he would have gotten me a new doll and a chocolate bar, instead I was forgotten. No doll. No chocolate. Just funeral potatoes and a house full of cigarette smoke from the adults.
Nobody remembered. The closest thing I got was my dad's sister, Aunt Judy, sitting next to me on the patio step for a few minutes of comfortable silence before giving my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. I don't think she knew her brother was memorialized on my birthday. Next year, Thomas was born the day before my birthday, so it was completely eclipsed as Mother had just birthed her new love into the world…
I stopped mid mop as a lightbulb finally went off. I had never put much thought into the dates before.
Thomas was born a full year after Daddy died. He couldn't be his dad. Who was Thomas’ actual father?
Washing mashed potatoes out of my hair that evening, I ran over and over the timeline. No matter how I parsed it out, Thomas was only my half brother. Going to bed that night, I kept myself awake, going over and over again to make sure. I couldn't remember any men being around at that time, but that didn't mean much. Adults can easily hide things from children. Tension began throbbing through my head and I felt queasy. Mother had always known all of my secrets, able to sniff them out like a bloodhound out or using Thomas to spy. Now I had one of Mother's secrets and I didn't know what to do with it.
First I wanted to confirm it, but it would mean snooping, which was difficult in a house that was rarely left empty. I would have to try finding Mother's calendar book or journal to see if she mentioned any dates or men.
But when could I attempt such a daring maneuver? Thomas hardly left the house. As proud as Mother was of him, she was very cognizant and protective of his differences and didn't want to draw attention to herself or Thomas like that. Mother herself had few social engagements throughout the week and mostly stayed home to watch her golden child.
I finally decided I would take the risk and fake sick on Tuesday, grocery day, so I could stay home from school while she went shopping. All Thomas did all day was watch TV downstairs, so that should give me about an hour to look through her room for clues. I decided to tuck my head down, try to behave as best as I could to avoid their wrath, and wait for Tuesday.
That weekend limped along agonizingly slow. Thomas was in a fine mood and was constantly seeking out a reason to poke me, punch me, slap me… he'd laugh while calling me a piggy with his off-putting wide mouth. I tried to mostly stay in my room and it seemed like neither of them cared.
School on Monday was a relief, but my anxiety ramped up. The consequences would be dire if Mother caught on that I was faking sick to stay home. I didn't even want to imagine how off the leash she'd let my half-brother become in his punishment for that level of insubordination.
I stayed up all night, my stomach was in knots, but I was committed to my plan. Throughout the night, I screamed as hard as I could into my pillow. Screamed until my throat was raw and I could barely talk. It felt cathartic in a way. When it was close to school time, I put on my heaviest flannel pajamas and began doing jumping jacks until my face was flushed and my scalp was soaked with sweat.
Looking in the bathroom mirror before heading down to talk to Mother, I thought I looked pretty convincing, my skin was flushed and sweaty, my eyes had circles under them from lack of sleep, and my voice croaked like a frog.
Heading downstairs, Mother was already feeding Thomas breakfast. I hesitantly stepped into the kitchen and stood there awkwardly for a second, pawing with my pajamas to keep my nerves steady until she noticed my presence and looked up.
“Why aren't you dressed, Julianne?"
"I don't feel well. My throat hurts and my tummy hurts.” My voice graveled out more than I was expecting, I really had hurt my throat.
She strode over to me and placed a cool hand on my sweaty brow.
"You do feel warm. Take an aspirin from the medicine cabinet and go lay back down. I'll check on you later," with that she turned back and walked over to Thomas, who was frozen in place, glaring at me over a forkful of scrambled eggs. The sharp glint of malice in his beady eyes made me shiver before I shuffled out of the kitchen.
I laid in bed, trying my best to look miserable until I eventually heard the faint sound of the television playing in the den as Thomas settled in for his normal daytime routine and the garage door opened as Mother headed to the grocery store. I bounded out of bed and watched the car back out of our driveway and head up the street.
My heart began to pound as I tiptoed down the hall to Mother's bedroom, a place I rarely even caught a glimpse of, let alone entered. I very slowly opened the door, taking great care to not make any noise to alert Thomas downstairs that I was out of bed.
Creeping into the butter yellow room, I could feel my heartbeat pounding in my skull, this was the naughtiest thing I had ever done by far. I stepped onto the rug to help disguise my footsteps and slowly made my way past the brass bed and towards her desk. My hands shook as I opened the top drawer, I pawed through rapidly and found nothing. I checked the next drawer down and again found nothing of interest, just stationary and envelopes.
Finally, the bottom drawer was what I was looking for, a stack of journals from the past decade. I flipped through, trying to find entries relevant to when Daddy died and who Mother slept with afterwards.
I've never fully recovered from what I read.
July 6, 1968
Edgar died today. Car accident. I cannot believe this is real. My light, my life, my anchor... Dr. Benson gave me a sedative at the hospital and I feel so tired. So very, very tired. Why has my Lord forsaken me so?
July 9, 1968
I feel like I am in a very bad dream, I feel numb and disconnected. All the consolation and pity from everyone makes me feel sick. After the memorial, it took everything in me to not break dishes and to scream at everyone to get out of my house. Julianne was moping about crying and I wanted to throw her out, too.
If I hadn't seen my dear Edgar's body in the hospital and held his urn in my own hands, I wouldn't believe he was really gone. I still don't entirely believe it.
I have prayed to God every night asking him to show me why he took my husband from me and I have gotten no answer.
I skimmed over the next few months, as it was more or less similar sentiments repeated night after night. I finally got to an entry that caught my eye.
September 17, 1968
My battle with my faith has been fraught the past few months, but Hallelujah! I feel I can see the Lord again in all his glory and might, for he has given me a way to reconnect to my Edgar!
I was thinking about the night Julianne was born, right in this very home, it was a difficult birth and she struggled to breathe at first. Ingrid, my midwife, made a comment to me that if the baby had failed to wake up on her own, that Ingrid had ways to make sure she would have made it.
I remember asking if it was a medical methodology and she made it clear to me that in certain circumstances, it was a mystical property she used to bring the air of life into a struggling baby's lungs. She gently alluded to being a practicing member of the dark arts. At the time, I felt quite scandalized to have someone like that in my God fearing home. Now I see her as the answer to my prayers! My angel!
On a whim, I called her and asked if she still practiced such techniques. She hesitantly confirmed that she did. I asked, if she could turn breath into the lungs of a child without, could she turn breath into a child that did not exist? Could she magick into existence another child of my beloved Edgar? She told me she had to do some research and she'd be back in touch.
Ingrid just called back after a few hours and said there was a spell she found, but it was dangerous and might have unpleasant results. I said, yes, of course! I trust my Lord and I believe he sent this woman of blessed magick to me for this purpose.
She says we will have to do it soon, in a few days during the new moon. She has a potion to brew, but it is happening! Praise God!
September 23, 1968
The ceremony was last night, and Ingrid believes it was a success, but we will have to wait. It did not take long, only an hour or two. Ingrid lit my bedroom with many beeswax candles and she had me drink a thick and bitter tea that caused me to become quite relaxed and foggy.
From my inner thigh, she cut me and collected my blood in a chalice, with which she mixed quite a lot of Edgar's ashes and other ingredients which I could not glean from my supine position and groggy wits. Ingrid began to chant, calling upon a higher power, as I pleaded with my Lord to let this work. To give me any piece of my Edgar back. She came to the bed and worked the paste between my legs into my womanly chamber, which was very uncomfortable, but manageable with the numbing effects of the tea.
She continued to sit with me and chant, her hand placed over my womb, until she decided at which time it was complete. She left and I fell into a deep sleep. When I woke up this morning, I felt quite uncomfortable, my body ached and when I used the restroom, a yellow fluid like pus poured out of me, but no sign of any ashes or blood, which gives me hope it was absorbed into my womb.
November 3, 1968
Praise be to our Lord, Ingrid just confirmed for me that I am with child, I had been hoping so, I had not gotten my cycle in October, but I wasn't sure if that was because of the discharge like pus that was still coming. She told me that was common with this spell and a side effect that would stop after the baby came.
I feel like I am floating on air, for the first time since Edgar left, I feel-
I suddenly became very aware of the feeling of eyes on the back of my head. I had become too engrossed in what was written before me and I had lost track of my surroundings. Very slowly, I turned around and my heart began pounding again as I saw Thomas standing in the doorway holding his wooden spoon in one hand. How had I not heard him?
He pointed at me with his empty hand and screamed, just a pure guttural screech from somewhere deep inside his disgusting little body. He charged at me from across the room, his horrible feet thumping solidly along the rug. He began beating my legs ruthlessly with the spoon, causing my legs to buckle. I crashed down to my knees in front of him, and he began lashing at my face, pulling my hair with one hand while wailing away at my head with the spoon.
I had dropped the journal I was holding and was desperately trying to get a hand on the spoon or push him away. All I could hear was him screaming. My arms flailed and I reached around on Mother's desk and grabbed onto the first thing I found and sank it into Thomas’ neck.
The end of Mother's gold letter opener protruded under his jaw. He went silent and he looked at me with utter shock. He dropped the spoon and collapsed on the ground, clutching at his neck as his thick black blood oozed out from his wound, letting out a stupendous odor of rot that filled the room. He didn't really say anything or make any noise. He just twitched for a moment and I saw his eyes glaze over.
In shock, I stood over his little body for a moment and I watched as he seemed to mummify in just a few minutes, like an ash person from Pompeii dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt. Even his blood that looked like shiny oil a second ago became like potting soil on Mother's rug. Reaching out to touch his hand, it crumbled away like sand.
Panic ran through me like a rabbit caught in a snare. Not knowing what to do, I ran. I ran down the hall, changed my clothes, put an extra change of clothes in my backpack and the last doll Daddy had ever given me and I ran. Mother would absolutely never forgive me and I was genuinely afraid she would kill me in retaliation for taking her beloved Thomas away from her. Her precious gift from God. My feet flew over the pavement and took me away from that house.
I called my Aunt Judy from a payphone outside the five & dime, and told her Mother had kicked me out and asked if I could stay with her. She had always had a strained relationship with my mother and it didn't take much convincing that she had kicked out her “only” child. Only Mother, Ingrid, and I ever knew about Thomas.
She gave me a home and took care of me. She never beat me or humiliated me. Even with her love, I was far from okay. For years I would close my eyes and hear Thomas scream, then the sudden silence. I'd see him fumbling at his neck and turning to ash. But I would also remember all the ways he would hurt me and how bad he was becoming. I could never talk to anyone about it, especially not the silent relief I felt I refused to admit to myself. Over time, however, Thomas' screams became a whisper and his silence faded into dust in my mind.
I moved on with my life. I went to college and became a photojournalist, getting to travel the world and watch history unfold. By choice, I never married, but was quite blessed with many beautiful friendships for companionship over the decades. I found balance in my life and a sense of happiness, if not peace. I never could quite stomach mashed potatoes again, though, they always taste ashy to me.
Mother never made any attempts to reach out to me or find me, at least that I'm aware of. Ten years ago, I was contacted by a hospital and they said my mother had been admitted earlier after falling and was about to pass, so she must have kept some tabs on me to know my phone number for her emergency contacts. Apparently she had collapsed in the driveway and a neighbor called an ambulance. I got there and her only words to me were, “take care of him," as she placed a locket in my hand. I opened the locket, Jesus was on one side, Thomas on the other. I didn't say anything to her, just held her frail old hand with nicotine stained nails until she passed in the night. My mother was gone and I felt nothing except a vague sense of relief.
When I got to her house, it was like a time capsule. Other than a newer television, it was just like it was when I'd fled so many years ago. The smell of tobacco smoke hung like incense in the air. It felt oppressive, like a tomb.
I wandered the house in a bit of a daze. The one place I didn't want to go was upstairs. I didn't want to see my old room, or Thomas' room, or Mother's. Putting it off, I went to fix myself some supper, realizing I hadn't eaten in almost a day. I took a pause when I opened the fridge and saw a baby bottle on a shelf. Silently praying she had been babysitting for a neighbor, I fixed myself some toast with sardines and sat eating in the den watching TV. It had been almost forty years and it still felt rebellious not eating at the table and watching TV without permission.
My eyes grew heavy and I finally mustered up the gumption to head upstairs to go to bed. The stairs creaked in a familiar way under my feet and I was taken back to the feeling of dread hearing either Mother or Thomas climbing up. My old room was at the top of the stairs, I saw the door was nailed shut and had rambling quotes about Judas copied from the Bible in my mother's handwriting taped to the door. I sighed gently and turned from the door to head down the hallway, deciding Mother's room was probably the best place to sleep.
I passed by Thomas’ toy room and I heard a murmur from the room. I stopped, curiosity got the best of me and I entered. In Thomas' old toy room was a crib with joyful clown sheets. Dread swelled up inside me as I heard more murmurs and saw the sheets move. Approaching slowly, I peaked under the sheet and gasped.
Tucked inside was what looked like a baby gargoyle, gray and papery looking. Pus leaked out of its milky, bulbous eyes. I pulled back the blanket and saw it had no legs and its arms bent back, like wings on a bird. It was wearing just a cloth diaper, overflowing with tarry looking stool that took my breath away with its pungency, it smelled like Thomas’ blood, but somehow worse. My heart broke for this poor creature, Lord only knows how many years it has been in this crib suffering from its unholy existence.
So this is who Mother had wanted me to take care of…
Not knowing what else to do, I gently scooped him up. Like Thomas, he was shockingly heavy for how small his body was. Placing him on the changing table, I cleaned him and rewrapped his bottom in a clean diaper cloth. It was difficult, he fussed tremendously, crying and flopping around as much as his flipper-like arms would allow. I tried wiping off his oozing eyes and he snapped his mouth, which I saw was full of disturbingly square yellow teeth, trying to bite me. I carried him to the kitchen and rocked him while I heated up his bottle and he became furious with me, almost barking like a dog when my hand would get near his face.
He settled a bit as he fed, but he would still sometimes suddenly spit out the bottle and attempt to bite me. I laid him back in his crib, this abomination in a clown sheet, and I walked down the hall to Mother's room letting out a long sigh.
Combing through my mother's journals in the early hours of the morning, it looked like she tried the ceremony again shortly after Thomas died, but she either lacked Ingrid’s help or didn't have enough of my father's ashes left. Something went terribly wrong. She was vaguer than she had been about Thomas’ conception, but I suspect she had used some of Thomas' remains. The resulting birth she named Isaac.
Mother's journals told a sad tale of her and Isaac's suffering. She never mentioned me, but lamented the loss of Thomas and Dad relentlessly. She was hyper protective of Isaac, as that was all she had left. If her world had been small before, it became microscopic after he entered her life, requiring nearly constant care. According to Mother, he was blind and colicky, sometimes going years at a time without sleeping through the night. She had breast fed him for years, but she had to stop after he grew teeth and began biting her intentionally and feeding on her blood.
I spent a lot of time over the next few days pondering what to do. I had to get her estate in order, she had left me the house, in an obvious attempt to get me to continue caretaking for Isaac, but I didn't want it. I had my own cozy home an hour away from here, filled with happy memories and my possessions acquired traveling the world. Mother's home had a heavy energy I couldn't shake. Her and Thomas were both gone, but the memories of the scoldings and beatings hung in every corner, like cobwebs that would never sweep away.
So, I fed Isaac and kept him clean and tried to keep him company, although he seemed to hate me passionately. I took care of him, all the while thinking about what I was going to do. After a week, I felt resolute in what had to be done.
Gathering up all of Mother's journals in a tote, I made my way to Isaac and picked him up and carried everything to the living room.
The ancient logs in the fireplace meant for display ignited instantly. One by one, I fed the journals into the fire, burning away years of my mother's consuming sorrow. Isaac fussed and moaned next to me the entire time. When the last pages shimmered away into lacy ash, I took a throw pillow off the couch and gently cradled Isaac in my other arm. It didn't take long before he stopped struggling and I felt his little body relax after decades of suffering.
I gently wrapped up a bundle in a clown sheet and placed it in the fire. It burned furiously, like the paper in my mother's journals, and was soon gone. Nothing but ashes and embers.
“Don't worry, Mother,” I said purely for my own sake, "I took care of Isaac for you."
And finally, I felt at peace.

The update: I flew home to talk in person because she wouldn’t really talk about it over the phone.
She picked me up from the airport but wouldn’t talk on the way to the house because our 16yo was in the car. When we got to the house, she said it was too late to talk. We went to sleep.
The next day was her birthday. She spent the day out with her friends. I took my daughter to pick out some flowers and a card for her mother. I hung out with the kids all day. We went out for lunch, watched some movies together, and I cooked dinner.
Over dinner, we talked about the situation and what their understanding and expectations were. They were under the impression that nothing was decided yet and the desire for a separation was mutual. I told them the truth. I have no desire to separate from their mother and had no idea she felt that way until she dropped the news on me. I did not ask them what they thought about it, but they both said they felt that it was unfair for her to do this without at least trying to work it out. My daughter told me that my wife has been “talking about the past and things she wanted to do before she became a mom a lot.” She also mentioned that my wife’s ex-stepmother was on the phone while my wife was texting me about separating. For some reason, it hurts more to know she was coached during those moments, although I suspected that was probably the case. It’s such an intimate emotional moment and it wasn’t even worth it for her to come up with her own thoughts while effectively ending a nearly 2 decade relationship.
The kids also didn’t know that they wouldn’t be living in the house anymore. There’s less than a month until the closing, and even less time until the movers come. I let them know they are always welcome to stay with me for any timeframe they choose. My heart still aches for them. I just want to keep us all together so badly, but their mom won’t even hear me out.
When the wife came home she showered, then sat down on the couch with us and sat on her phone while the rest of us were watching a movie. My daughter went to her room unprompted so her mother and I could talk. I got no new answers about the reasoning behind the separation. I asked what the end goal is. She said she doesn’t really know, and doesn’t want me to have false hope. We talked about what her plans are for her living arrangement, etc. She doesn’t have a place lined up. She seems to think it’s going to be easy for her to find a house she can rent that will accommodate her, our kids, and our 3 dogs. I am definitely not so sure about that. She mentioned joining the military because she was considering it before she met me. We agreed that the kids are old enough to choose where they live, and started talking about how we would divide up our belongings.
The next day, she started taking decor off the walls to start preparing for the movers. It was the first thing my daughter mentioned when she woke up. She asked why all the stuff had been taken down. I told her we have to start preparing for the move. She started to cry. I was gutted.
My wife drove me back to the airport. When we arrived, she got out of the car and came around to my side. She gave me a long, lingering hug and began to cry. When I started to walk away, she told me she loves me. It left me struggling to choke back tears as I walked through the airport and sat at the gate.
When my flight landed, I had a long text from her saying how sorry she was for the pain she’s caused, but she needs some time alone to “heal her heart.” She thanked me for being an excellent provider for our family and told me she believes I’m a good person.
The whole thing has been a rollercoaster for me. One minute I can’t see a future for myself, the next I’m angry about how she chose to do this. I’ll start to feel normal briefly, then start all over again. I’m confused about what her actual thoughts are. She says one thing, but then does something to make me think there could be some regrets. But would I want to stay together now after something like this?
Original post: After nearly 18 years of marriage, my wife told me we should separate and now won’t talk to me.
We got married and had kids in our early 20s. Throughout our marriage, I’ve had jobs that require quite a bit of travel. I was not unaware of the difficulties that come with that arrangement. It was something we talked about often. I hated the travel. My wife knew I hated the travel. I went back to school while working full time to change careers into something else that would allow me to be home every night and still give us stability.
The whole career change from the initial idea to actually landing a job took longer than I’d hoped, but I eventually made it. The problem was that the new job was halfway across the country, but at least in an area close to my family. I struggled with deciding what to do. My wife and I discussed it numerous times. I accepted the job. We continued to discuss as the time to actually transition to the new job and location approached.
We decided that the way to do things would be for me to go ahead to the new job while the kids finished the school year in their current school. It would allow me some time to feel out the new job before we moved and give me an opportunity to find a house. The whole time, I’d been telling my wife to say the word if she didn’t want to move and I’d ask for my old job back.
I started the new job a couple months ago. It’s an adjustment for sure, but seems like something I could continue to do at least for a while. We listed our old house. It went under contract in 3 days. My wife and I were sending house listings back and forth. I saw a bunch of them. We narrowed it down to a few for her to come and see in person with me. We decided on one and she seemed excited about it. We started the negotiation process.
On Thursday night, we were down to what seemed like the final counter offer that we were going to accept. We talked over FaceTime about it. I told her one last time that we could still back out if she was uncertain about it. I gave it some more thought and signed the offer.
On Friday, my wife had not signed the counter. She drove to go visit her dad for the weekend, which was something she had planned on doing, so no surprise there. She ignored me and our realtor for the entire weekend. When she got back on Sunday, she texted me saying she wasn’t going to sign. I asked what the plan was.
That’s when she said she thinks we should “talk about separating.” I asked why, but only for things like “we’re just not right for each other,” “I need to work on myself,” “we got married too young.” She won’t answer the phone or even respond to any questions about saving the marriage.
I’m gutted. Completely numb. We went from negotiating for a new house to headed for divorce and not speaking in the span of a weekend. I didn’t sleep at all Sunday night and maybe a few hours Monday night. I’ve barely eaten anything. My stomach is in knots. I don’t know what to do. I have no idea what her plans are. I’m at a brand new job. I don’t have a permanent residence here yet. The only positive is that my family is nearby. If I were to go back to the old job, I still don’t think she’d entertain the idea of saving our marriage. My house there is under contract. My kids are there. My dogs are there. Almost everything I own is there. I’ll soon have nowhere to live if I don’t do something, but I feel paralyzed.
I’ve never been so lost. It’s like my whole future is gone. This has to get better at some point, right?

I mean I am this body, I am living here where I am, I know perfectly myself. Everybody would agree that we are not equivalent to literal description of us. If I say that I am, for example, white forty years old man with glasses, I am not exactly compounded by seven words obviously. Also I am not every white forty years old man with glasses. When I ask myself who I am, answer is either vague or impossible. I am not this or that. Perfect description would never end, because words would be slower than change of my self. Thing is, that I don't know what I am, and there isn't some permanent, unchanging self in first place to describe it. That doesn't mean that I don't have feel that I am and that I am this knot of space-time-matter, not-fixed point in infinite ever-changing whole. It's even possible that ever-changing whole changes into still not-fixed nothing. I would pay two month wage to travel into empty aeon! But then again, it wouldn't be empty with my spacecraft. My dog has clear awareness who he is - he doesn't have single doubt! - but yet he is still very surprised when he sees occasionally his own tail? Almost like our feel of our identity is perfect - and wrong. My identity is basically my identification with some facts and images I have stored in consciousness. I am composed in present moment by some feel(s), content of consciousness and possibility to access some unique set of data. It's "composed" in other words, and also changing. In the moment I don't have access to data, I have no identity, but some 'real me' are not these data anyway. So me, self, is only convention with not clearly defined content. These are joys of meditation: dissociation and loss of identity :)) (For mentally ill fascist who would like to ban meditation - it's joke. Real dissociation is disorder - illness, and it's not caused by meditation. But it's possible that ill people feel stigmatized by fact of their illness/disorder and they look for something to blame). I mean, this is not case where I deny ownership of self to some poor soul. This is good example of impermanence and no inherent self. More we contemplate it, more empty is our inner world.

Oh my God was this list hard to rank 😅 I took about I would say at least 15 hours of my time into this and all of that was just to rank them at a certain level without much to say. First off we have about 8 Tiers from F,D,C,B,A,S,SS, and Premium though I barely put much into their. Remember this is just an opinion so don't take too harshly if your favorite episode isn't high on my list. For some episodes I may not say much or anything since this was too long originally.
F Tier, these are my least favorite episodes and most likely I have a vendetta against them in some way that made it hard for me to like them

1. S2 Ep 8 Nebraska- I hate Lori and I think this episode expresses it, most definitely a vendetta. I didn't exactly like the stuff with Hershel and recovering though it was okay, but lori made some questionable decisions to go off on her own to look for Rick even though she should know he's fine seriously. She wrecks a car and then barely dies from a walker, mind you she is pregnant and shouldn't do these things easily my least favorite episode.
   
2. S10 Ep 21 Diverged- I honestly forget this episode so much since it has nothing truly interesting or important to the story
   
3. S7 Ep 6 Swear- this episode feels slow paced and dull due to oceanside being not seen well for me and I feel like Tara put on the best performance she could for it.
   
4. S8 Ep 2 The Damned- this episode to me was just a lot of action and in the walking dead I don't want that. We see a couple of characters die (including Francine 🪦 I absolutely loved her character and hate how she died here :[ mindless) Erics death started here, but it just wasn't impactful enough.
   
5. S3 Ep 11 I Ain't a Judas- Andrea is a boring character in the show and I hate her in this episode. The focus should've been on the prison honestly and maybe If she killed the Governor I would've understood her more.
   
6. S10 Ep 20 Splinter- if most of the episode was real I would've loved it, but they weren't...
   
7. S3 Ep 5 Say the Word- Andrea just isnt much good in this episode and Rick going crazy wasn't a fun idea to me.
   
8. S8 Ep 3 Monsters- aside from the one fight with Rick I really didn't care much for it again for the fighting and having Morales return and die felt out of place.
   
9. S2 Ep 2 Bloodletting- the group searching for Sophia was okay for a concept, but this episode was okay and went slow paced for me until the end.
   

D Tier, moving on these episodes were for me mostly just forgettable or boring so I won't say much except they weren't all bad

1. S1 Ep 3 Tell it to the frogs- first off S1 won't be all high because I'm ranking EVERY episode, but this one felt slow in pace more as well compared to the last two. Shane was a badass though.
   
2. S11 Ep 3 Hunted- Forgettable... Not much to say.
   
3. S5 Ep 11 The Distance- Forgot entirely this was an episode, after rewatch still don't like it except for Aaron.
   
4. S2 Ep 9 Trigger finger- It was a bit better than Nebraska, mostly cause of the Randel scenes.
   
5. S7 Ep 14 The Other Side- Sasha somewhat makes a noble decision.
   

163-162. S11 Episodes 22 following 21- 22 had the Warden being uninteresting as a villain and 21 was boring as can be which is why they sit besides each other.

1. S8 Ep 7 Time for After- I don't like the plans they have to deviate from Rick and him going to Jadis again feels like a horrible decision on his part.
   
2. S9 Ep 8 Evolution- The ambience is the best part, though I hated Jesus' s death as it felt like a bad sendoff.
   

C Tier, These are a bunch of boring and hard to follow episodes that have some highs that keep it out of former tiers.

1. S2 Ep 1 What lies Ahead- I liked the RV scene with Andrea, but what follows is dull.
   
2. S11 Ep 4- The pope is somewhat average.
   
3. S7 Ep 12 Say Yes- The carnival was a nice scenery for TWD, but they had too many fake outs with the walker "shooting" at them and the deer fake out.
   
4. S9 Ep 7 Stradivarius- The Search for Eugene feels tiring to follow what's happening and I ended up watching the episodes once and never again because of it.
   
5. S2 Ep 4 Cherokee Rose- Watching the episode is fun because of the well, though I feel like it was stupid as an idea as the group should have more common sense before doing something dumb.
   
6. S2 Ep 3 Save The Last One- Shane was horrifying, but the rest was dull.
   
7. S8 Ep 14 Still gotta mean something- Rick felt unnecessarly cold hearted in this episode killing off the Saviors that helped him which I didn't like, though Jared got a well deserved death.
   
8. S4 Ep 9 After -It was okay watching Carl try to scavenge while Rick was injured and I liked the scene with his shoe being lost.
   
9. S7 Ep 5 Go Getters- the episode itself wasn't bad yet I never really enjoyed it too much aside from Maggie being a badass and the ending was pretty good.
   
10. S4 Ep 10 Inamtes- Inmates was a pretty well rounded episodes showing off some of the group which I liked seeing Tyreese the most.
    
11. S8 Ep 6 The King, The Widow, and Rick- the episode was pretty lackluster for me and I didn't really appeal to seeing the garbage people much in this or everyone going to attack the saviors which was a dumb move to do. Ezekiel was probably the most fun of the episode.
    
12. S3 Ep 16 Welcome to the Tombs- the finale for season 3 has always been horrible as it barely gives tension between the Governor and Ricks group, it just felt unfitting for a finale.
    
13. S11 Ep 8 For blood- it was a okay Mid Season finale to say the least (sorry, 1/3 season finale). I did like some of the parts in it with Maggie which is why it sits higher than others.
    
14. S5 Ep 7 Crossed- I thoroughly enjoyed the chase scene between the three officers and Ricks group, but that was about it.
    
15. S4 Ep 13 Alone- I liked watching the parts of the group split up, except for Maggie, Bob, and Sasha as they felt very uneventful to me. What makes this episode better had to be the part about Daryl and Beth with the ending of the introduction to Joe's group.
    
16. S7 Ep 10 New Best Friends- a lot of these parts I forgot about in this episode when it came to the Kingdom though after rewatching it I enjoyed those parts more than the Garbage people. I just honestly think Jadis's group is uninteresting and makes for no substance.
    
17. S10 Ep 15 The Tower- I sometimes forget about this episode and it's premise with Beta, but I think it holds up enough for a weird one and The stuff with princess was okay.
    
18. S9 Ep 3 Warning signs- I think the episode was okay, I just didn't like Season 9 A that much...
    

B tier, now we get to the episodes I could watch again in the past 6 months or binge through without skipping

1. S11 Ep 2 Acheron Part 2- this was close to being put into C tier since I really hated some parts about it like how they left Gage to die and still had to fight off dozens of walking regardless. The group in the first two episodes seem to switch off and on from good to bad.
   
2. S7 Ep 4 Service- for some reason people hate this episode and I can't see why except for the fact it mainly deals with Negan at Alexandria; in my opinion it was him and a couple other characters who saved season 7 and 8 for me.
   
3. S10 Ep 3 Ghosts- I forget the episode...
   
4. S10 Ep 7 Open Your Eyes- I thought the episode was fine as I don't hate Siddiq and all, though I liked and hated the ending as I loved the twist of Dante and hated that Siddiq had to die so early on.
   
5. S6 Ep 7 Heads Up- I didn't like the twist of Glenn and all, but I liked the suspicion with Carol and Morgan as well as the Ending being dramatic.
   
6. S8 Ep 11 Dead or Alive- it's not good to know when you remember an episode due to bad things. Daryl has been making more off decisions for the character and Tara seems to be completely Reckless now making me hate her moving forward.
   
7. S4 Ep 4 Indifference- The Scenes with Carol and Rick we're amusing with crude Humour as well as some more tense scenes in my opinion and I hated/liked when Rick told Carol she couldn't come back.
   
8. S3 Ep 6 Hounded- honestly I would've rather put this episode a little bit higher due to Merle (probably my favorite charcater which contributes to a lot of episodes being higher) being a badass while fighting Michonne and pulling out puns as well. The reason it doesn't get higher is still due to Rick and the phone situation being uneventful.
   
9. S11 Ep 9 No Other Way- Alden dies in this episode which I should've seen coming that sucks. The ending feels misleading a bit though everything else in the middle is pretty great.
   
10. S11 Ep 5 Out of the Ashes- literally the only reason I put this here was due to Lance so deal with it!
    
11. S4 Ep 11 Claimed- Rick had a pretty solid pair of scenes with the Claimers and I liked watching Glenn and Tara (Surprisingly).
    
12. S10 Ep 13 What We Become- I thought the flashbacks/hallucinations we're pretty good, but aside from that this episode was just mediocre.
    
13. S9 Ep 4 The Obliged- I liked watching Daryl and Rick fight each other over different views on how everything should be and the ending I thought was pretty suspenseful as well as the saviors and oceanside.
    
14. S11 Ep 15 Trust- Lance feels exactly like the Governor in some of these episodes which is what I like about him, and from here I start to enjoy Princess maybe because Mercer is around more xd.
    
15. S10 Ep 17 Home Sweet Home- I thought Maggie was a good enough concept for an episode with the reapers, though it didn't hit that hard watching again. It still Is most definitely better than the other 3 episodes of S10 part C but enough for A Tier.
    

A Tier, after this point complaints may start to stop, but that doesn't mean entirely. These episodes I enjoy watching over and over again with some good tension and comedy as well.

1. S1 Ep 5 Wildfire- For the episodes Jim was in I liked him and learning his backstory as well so this was a pretty fun episode.
   
2. S4 Ep 15 Us- the stuff with Abraham and their group was pretty wholesome to me and I liked Joe for the time being in here seeing how he is pretty fair to be honest giving things where they are due and trust to Daryl.
   
3. S6 Ep 11 Knots Untie- I somewhat feel like the episode drags due to there being too much at hilltop, but it is a new community so I can't truly argue. I remember enjoyably when Rick stopped the assassination attempt.
   
4. S8 Ep 9 Honor- the beginning with Carl I thought was good to showcase the events that unfolded before the decimation and Carl's death hit hard.
   
5. S5 Ep 4 Slabtown- I personally don't mind the hospital arc too much, yet it won't get all of it's episodes too high of course. I liked watching Noah and Beth converse and I thought this was a new era for the walking dead.
   
6. 10 Ep 1 Lines we Cross- the part with the Satellite was amusing to watch as it was a big change to see and I like that about the walking dead on occasions.
   
7. S9 Ep 6 Who are you now?- I liked learning of Luke's Group (you heard me, Luke's Group) and what they have been like learning of some of their past.
   
8. S10 Ep 8 The World Before- I liked mostly just watching two scenes, the beginning with Dante and Gabriel and Dante. I loved the fact no one even considered a Whisperer living amongst them and how he did some much devious stuff was mind boggling and amazing to watch. When Gabriel talks about forgiveness to Dante and kills him shows me how Gabriel has changed the past seasons.
   
9. S7 Ep 9 Rock in the Road- Rick gives off a good speech to Ezekiel and I liked seeing him and Morgan reunite again. The stuff with Gabriel wasn't too bad either.
   
10. S3 Ep 9 The Suicide King- the Governor finally seems to be starting to let things of him slip which I love to see. I also enjoyed watching Merle with Daryl as well too.
    
11. S11 Ep 11 Rouge element- I thought that the twist of Steph was pretty good and I don't mind the episode being a bit long and tedious for it's reveal.
    
12. S11 Ep 23 Family- I loved the fact Lydia got bit just because it shows us that people can still get bit and survive. It shows to me that in the finale no one could be truly safe even though Luke gets bit and still dies.
    
13. S11 Ep 17 Lockdown- Saving Sebastian was okay ig.
    
14. S8 Ep 10 The Lost and The Plunderers- Simon's character I think was made perfectly as he is a hotheaded person who is all about power and showing that off. Killing most of the Garbage people was terrifying to watch and showed how Negan could be more merciful than others.
    
15. S1 Ep 1 Days Gone Bye- I think for the pilot it did it's job well and showed off enough of what the show could be. Of course this doesn't mean it was all good but as pilots go it was pretty solid.
    
16. S11 Ep 1 Acheron Part 1- The only reason I put it this high was for the interrogation scenes especially when it came down to Ezekiel. Him and Mercer are honestly a great pair and I love his ending to the show as it's fitting.
    
17. S5 Ep 10 Them- after losing most of the group it seems like a fitting episode of despair and plays it perfectly.
    
18. S5 Ep 12 Remember- the first shown scenes of Alexandria was pretty good and I liked the interviews scene too. We also saw a lot of new character introductions.
    
19. S11 Ep 6 On The Inside- The ferals was a nice touch of horror that I never knew I could need. Making the people with the ferals Virgil and Connie made the most perfect sense as well.
    
20. S6 Ep 13 Not Tomorrow Yet- this episode shows off how our group is seeming to be the bad guys starting to kill people in their sleep. I like how Glenn and Heath have their first kills and show how they are changing.
    
21. S7 Ep 1 The day will come when you won't be- I like the title as it references Doctor Jenner, but for the episode I liked Negan and that's mostly it. Seeing two people die was horrible to me, but necessary and since I don't rank episodes for being bad due to deaths I can still rank them high.
    
22. S6 Ep 16 Last Day on Earth- Simon has a good introduction and I like them trying to get from point A to B, but what stands out to me most is probably Abraham and Eugene with his speech about him
    
23. S7 Ep 15 Something they need- Sasha was probably the highlight of the episode for me and I liked them and Negan's interactions. It Is a good effort to show that they aren't all monsters and I like seeing Eugene as well.
    
24. S3 Ep 7 When the Dead come knocking- Glenn and his interrogation with Merle was amazing and I liked seeing Glenn's true will shine.
    
25. S8 Ep 12 The Key- I don't like this episode much honestly if it wasn't for Negan and Ricks Speech as well as Simon and his deviousness.
    
26. S8 Ep 1 Mercy- the beginning I had to move up due to some good portions of it like Rick and Negan. I also liked the ending a lot even though I watched the trailer a lot and knew of Gabriel and Negan's interactions.
    
27. S9 Ep 1 a New Beginning- wow two series beginnings next to each other... Yeah it's weird but they weren't exactly S Tier Material. The beginning with them trying to get a horse accessory was great tension to watch and I already love Ricks Beard.
    
28. S10 Ep 18 Find me- okay so maybe I exaggerated My feeling towards Season 10 C a bit since I like some of the episodes a bit and others worse. The reason I put this here is mostly good plot lines and that was it.
    

Around here I wanted to say the reason for some episodes ranking higher is due to the fact the others are horrible and some of these have redeeming qualities. It's hard to put over 150 episodes ranked from horrible to greatness and know the points of interest.

1. S3 Ep 3 Walk With Me- Merle brings joy to me seeing him again and I love him from here on out. I like how the Governor seems to be innocent enough until the big reveal with the militia which is amazingly put.
   
2. S10 Ep 9 Squeeze- I hate Squeeze... There i said it. The cave sucks honestly and Id rather not watch it again because of that, but Negan is the only saving grace for this episode and if it wasn't for him I would never watch this episode again.
   
3. S8 Ep 13 Do Not Send Us Astray- Simon attacking the Hilltop was the most great action of this season that I never minded and it felt terrifying after Tobin's fate was sealed.
   
4. S3 Ep 12 Clear- I had to move it from S Tier, but nevertheless a great episode. Morgan's return was done perfectly and I felt like his character did a full 180 after this. Michonne and Carl's side story was also good.
   
5. S2 Ep 12 Better Anglels- Shane and Ricks final confrontation was amazingly executed and loved the difference from the Comics with Rick killing shane and Carl shooting his reanimated self; Shane and Randel was also good too.
   
6. S4 Ep 12 Still- Daryl and Beth make sense to pair together and I like seeing how we get a bit more back story to his character. They feel like the most perfect example to put for a mismatched pair.
   
7. S6 Ep Thank You- The journey with Glenn's group trying to get back was amusing to see even though the dumpster ending wasnt really the best, still horrible to see.
   
8. S10 Ep 4 Silence the Whisperers- Negan and Lydia have a good bond and I like how Negan defends her even though I hate how no one believes Lydia that Negan protected her.
   
9. S8 Ep 4 Some Guy- I still love watching Ezekiel and the Kingdom so I enjoy this episode and how he feels defeated the whole time. Jerry is the best bodyguard in my opinion as well as it is shown and Shivas death is heartbreaking.
   
10. S5 Ep 8 Coda- The reason I put this soo high was due to Rick and Bob. I did like the ending a bit even though I feel like Beth's death could've been avoided.
    
11. S3 Ep 14 Prey- originally this episode was C Tier for me, but I re-watched it and put it this high due to the Governor being a literal psycho and I love this side of him.
    
12. S11 Ep 20 What's been Lost- Lance felt underutilized as soon as he died, I really wished they could've made a difference with his exit on the show.
    
13. S8 Ep 8 How it's gotta be- Forgot about Natanias death.
    
14. S11 Ep 7 Promises Broken- Negan and Maggie had a good talk together about before.
    
15. S10 Ep 6 Bonds- Okay.. XD.
    
16. S6 Ep 10 The Next world- I thought the stuff with Rick, Daryl, and Jesus was goofy, but great.
    
17. S11 Ep 19 Varient- I do like the idea of evolving walkers though I feel like it was a bit late in the show.
    
18. S3 Ep 13 Arrow on the Doorstep- the meeting was just terrific to watch as the Governor is so sinister inside it with Milton and Hershel having a good talk as well with Martinez and Daryl having a good show off time. Merle and Glenn have some good times too.
    
19. S9 Ep 2 The Bridge- The log scene was amazing and Aaron had a good scene with the amputation.
    

S Tier, These episodes are some of my favorite to watch with a good glass of Tea and some snacks.

1. S7 Ep 7 Sing me a song- Negan and Carl were fun to watch as well as some more insight on the sanctuary as Daryl breaks free. Negan and Carl also Bond.
   
2. S10 Ep 10 Stalker- Daryl VS Alpha!!!
   
3. S11 Ep 16 Acts of God- Lance is very horrifying as to what his next move is and Leah's stuff was good.
   
4. S3 Ep 8 Made to suffer- it was a great Mid season finale as I enjoyed the fight with the Governor and Rick as well as the ending with Merle and Daryl.
   
5. S2 Ep 6 Secrets- Glenn has to deal with hiding multiple people's secrets and I feel like the comedy is pure gold here.
   
6. S1 Ep 2 Guts- The rooftops scenes were great as well as the parts where they wear guys to avoid the walkers, it always felt like a sense of panic in this episode.
   
7. S9 Ep 9 Adaptation- the introduction to Alpha was simple enough and I feel like it's a good episode.
   
8. S11 Ep 10 New Haunts
   
9. S11 Ep 12 The Lucky Ones- Carol finally feels a little bit like she's back to her old self in this community with Lance and their deals.
   
10. S4 Ep 1 30 days without and Accident- probably my second favorite of the beginning episodes as it demonstrates exactly how the group has got along since the recent events. Has a good story with the shopping market and the roof caving in was awesome.
    
11. S3 Ep 10 Home- this episode shows how Merle and Daryl are far apart which I can still keep watching Merle and be entertained as well as the fight scene at the end with the Governor being cocky as can be.
    
12. S9 Ep 16 The Storm- snow is a new but simple thing that I like along with Negan Earning trust with Michonne.
    
13. S10 Ep 2 We are the End of the World- Gamma saving Alpha is one of my favorite scenes of how it shows Alphas power towards the group and influence on it's people.
    
14. S6 Ep 8 Start to Finish- The walls coming down had an interesting story as well as many like the Wolf getting loose and Diana having a badass/amazing exit.
    
15. S9 Ep 11 Bounty- The Movie Theatre scene was pretty good as well as Alpha with and Lydia.
    
16. S5 Ep 2 Strangers- The uneasy feeling of Gabriel is pretty good to show the groups trust and I like how the ending is played out with the reveals.
    
17. S11 Ep 13 Warlords- The Complex is a pretty good place to see and I like seeing the evolution of Negan and Aaron.
    
18. S9 Ep 15 The Calm Before- The highlight is the end with the pikes though it made sense for the lesser characters. I hated seeing Henry and Enid die (Not with Tara).
    
19. S10 Ep 11 Morning Star- The start of the battle is ingenius with the tree sap fire scene and it makes for a suspenseful ending to the episode to come.
    
20. S9 Ep 5 What come After- The episode is meant to be a sendoff for Rick so I'll rank it about everything else instead. I did enjoy some of the sequences with Hershel and I loved seeing Shane again. He really puts perspective on some episodes like Season 5 which makes me enjoy watching those episodes more as well as Shane. Ricks exit was also done is a pretty good way.
    
21. S7 Ep 13 Bury me Here- I liked watching Morgan slowing go back into insanity which I believe is due to PTSD of some sort. The episode feels really well done and I like the ending to it with Richard Dying and Carol being told everything.
    
22. S9 Ep 12 Guardians- Alpha is great to watch in this episode and the way she kills the two whispering who challenge them is great!
    
23. S8 Ep 5 The Big scary U- the main focus is Negan and Gabriel which is an amazing talk between then two before settling their differences. I also like the unease at the sanctuary through betrayal.
    
24. S11 Ep 14 The Rotten core- the whole episode is one of If not my personal favorite to watch for the complex alone being a nice setting. I enjoy every bit of this episode as well as the side deal with Sebastian and how Mercer is revealed to be a pretty nice guy.
    
25. S5 Ep 15 Try- The whole episode feels like a decent into madness for Rick seeing everyone against him. I like how he goes into protective cop mode and try to defend the ones he lives as well as his speech at the end.
    
26. S11 Ep 18 A New Deal- The whole episode is average, but the ending just feels amazing to rewatch.
    
27. S2 Ep 11 Judge, Jury, Executioner- I personally like Dale a lot so I love this episode. It really shows how the group is starting to turn as they believe to do what is best for the group and not morals. Dales death is also very heartfelt to watch and showed off the walkers dangerousness.
    
28. S10 Ep 14 Look At The Flowers- Negan and Daryl make a good pair to watch though I enjoyed watching Beta and him struggling to get back on track after Alphas death and I love him so much more for this episode.
    
29. S5 Ep 5 Self Help- Daryl and Carol at the moments have some good episodes together so it's not surprise I'd love this episode. With Noah in the episode as well it feels like a amazing show of how the characters (Carol and Daryl) have changed morally.
    
30. S6 Ep 13 The Same Boat- Carol has been shown to be ruthless, but this episode shows her true colors as how she doesn't want this to be her life anymore.
    
31. S5 Ep 13 Forget- the episode itself has many great minisodes it felt like which was fantastic.
    

50 and 49. S4 Ep 6 Live Bait and 7 Dead Weight- I put these both here due to the fact of me loving the equally. The 6th episode feels like a showcase of how the Governor gets broken entirely and starts to get built back up positively showing what could have been and for a time it feels beautiful to me. The 7th though shows how some things can mess with his mind and make him go back to being a psychopath that kills everyone he sees.

1. S8 Ep 16 Wraith- The ending to season 8 was pretty eventful for the battles begin as Eugene saved everyone's asses from a cool trick with the bullets. I am happy that Rick decided to save Negan and I love the episode except for the ending being off-putting with Maggie.
   
2. S6 Ep 9 No way Out- The Wolf has a pretty interesting end that I enjoyed to see and aside from the the entire eoisode is the best part. You never feel that sense of boring to it as the action is nonstop great.
   
3. S5 Ep 5 Now- I liked small bits and pieces of this episode mostly revolving around Diana and her role starting to change. If she survived I don't doubt I would've loved to see her go through more of an arc.
   
4. S7 Ep 11 Hostiles and Calamities- I can see the hate for this episode, though I love it myself. Eugene in my opinion is at his best here and I love watching him here with Negan and their interactions. It was also great how Dwight had framed the doctor.
   
5. S5 Ep 6 Consumed- Abraham was one of my favorite characters not just for jokes but for this episode. His backstory is heartbreaking to learn about and relatable. When he falls down after beating Eugene in defeat I can feel his pain with him.
   
6. S9 Ep 13 Chokepoint- Daryl VS Beta!!!
   

SS Tier, after this point there is no bad things that the episodes could have drag it's down. These ones are my person favorites.
Around this time I also realized that it seems my numbers on the side aren't matching so I'm fixing it from here so skip 42- 38. Idk what happened but I messed up somewhere and went to fix it but couldn't find the problem.

1. S2 Ep 13 Besides the Dying Fire- The walkers attacking the farm was a great scene just as much as the Democracy speech was from Rick, though Lori is horrible to Rick in this episode. Also Rick tells the group "we're all infected"
   
2. S4 Ep 2 Infected- I love the scene where Patrick reanimates and the morning fight they have in the prison. So much stuff happens at once. The ending was Great with Tyreese and. The pig scene was sad to watch.
   
3. S6 Ep 6 Always Accountable- One time when I like Sasha is this episode with Abraham. Where to begin; The Rocket launcher scene was great, Abraham is great with quips, Daryl with Dwight is a good scene and I love the ending as well.
   
4. S6 Ep 14 Twice as Far- The Denise speech wasnt too bad and the death was great. I enjoyed Abraham and Eugene; I think my favorite scenes was with Abraham and Eugene with another one of his speechs towards him which was funny and heartfelt.
   
5. S4 Ep 16 A- The best part is when Joe's group comes along and how Rick bites out his throat signifying that he and Shane are now alike. I also like when Rick and Daryl talk as well as Rick figuring out this olace kidnaps people.
   
6. S2 Ep 7 Pretty Much dead Already- Shane is what I love about this episode, he and Dale had a really funny encounter and I feel like Shane makes me laugh and be serious at the same time with each scenes. I also like how Rick is more accepting towards Hershel.
   
7. S10 Ep 16 A Certain Doom- Beta was good in this episode and had some great parts, but the fights wee great especially the scene with the Music. Betas death felt odd, but that doesn't lower the episode.
   
8. S4 Ep 14 The Grove- I mean do I really have to explain? Carol is a savage here and I love when they finally talk about Karen and Davids death here. Nothing in this episode is a low note.
   
9. S2 Ep 5 Chupacabra- I love everything about Daryl's scenes in this that show how he is a badass and capable of holding his own. Also love his Hallucinations.
   
10. S11 Ep 24 Rest In Peace- certainly wasn't the best finale, but I felt like it did well enough for the episode. It tied up most loose ends for the show given its runtime and I feel like it is fitting enough.
    
11. S2 Ep 10 18 Miles Out- my favorite of Season 2 has Shane and Rick have the best battle I have seen even more than The Governor and Rick or Negan and Rick. This battle utilizes both of their strengths and weaknesses with some things that have never been done in the show much more like using your blood to attract walkers to other places. It was an amazing episode all in all.
    
12. S1 Ep 6 TS-19- idk what it is but I love watching this episode over and over again and I love it the more I watch it. It is probably because I like Doctor Jenner a bit more in each watching of his tragic backstory with his wife.
    
13. S9 Ep 14 Scars- The flahsback was an amazing one that told us something vital to the story about how they don't trust people coming in anymore. What Daryl and especially Michonne went through is tragic.
    
14. S5 Ep 3 Four Walls a roof- this episode is perfect for a number of reasons like Bob and his antics or Savage Rick, this was a turning point for the walking dead and this is where Rick gets some of his roots.
    
15. S1 Ep 4 Vatos- even though I love TS-19 I love Vatos more. This is unique to some episodes where you see a group just like Ricks that is trying to survive and this is where we realize the world is bigger than we thought still.
    
16. S7 Ep 16 The first day of the rest of your Life- The battle was amazing and I feel like this was the best it was going to get for the coming seasons, but season 9 and 10 surprised me.
    
17. S10 Ep 5 What it always Is- Negan with the Kid is the highlight I think, I could've honestly seen this going farther, if it wasn't for the former savior. I feel like this was fitting for an entire episode of, but we diverged a bit.
    
18. S4 Ep 3 Isolation- Hershel and Tyreese are the highlights for me with Tyreese going berserk and Hershel being a kind soul. This is a staple episode for why Season 4 is amazing and why Hershel is what made season 4 great.
    
19. S6 Ep 4 Here's not Here- I love learning about Eastman and Morgan in this one off. I love how it is somewhat told in the first person narrative to the Wolf and how Morgan changed back to who he was. Eastman shows how he and Morgan are pretty similar and why he should be like him.
    
20. S5 Ep 14 Spend- aside from Francine being here to be used as eye candy for me I loved how some of Alexandria like and dislike rick's group here. I do hate Noah dying as I feel like he could've been so much more.
    
21. S10 19 One More- I love havng the episode based on Aaron and Gabriel as they have came a long way since their beginnings. When they have few an encounter with Mays I felt like this was a testimony to who they are as people. We see how they care for each other and how Mays fails to make a point of who they are until Gabriel Kills him showing he has gone farther away from the light.
    
22. S7 Ep 3 Cell- Daryl is locked up and he is now being treated like shit. This episode feels great cause of how it feels like he is trying to break Daryl. Dwight also has a great mission on how he mercy kills a savior and shows he isn't as bad as you may think.
    
23. S6 Ep 1 First time again- I do enjoy the setting of the episode how we see the diverge in Alexandria and who listens or hears Rick out. The episode is a great example for staring episodes... But not the best at it.
    
24. S5 Ep 9 What Happened and what's going On- I loved Tyreese's character so to see him die was horrible for me. His episodes I feel like was a good send off since it is a test to who he is as a person who is confounded about the world around him.
    
25. S3 Ep 4 Killer Within- this episode was played perfectly and I feel like is a good sendoff for other characters as well like how I hate Lori. She is made just a bit better from her sacrifice and thought T-Dog went out in a good way as well. The prisoners also had a good show for their trust.
    
26. S4 Ep 5 Interment- this is where Hershel's best episode is as he is the best Samaritan Alive in the apocalypse. At the end where Rick and Carl fend off the walkers inside the gates in a great bond and I love the whole episode.
    
27. S6 Ep 3 JSS- it is well rounded and has good action as well as a lot of tension and suspense with Carol showing off her capabilities and Morgan with his philosophy.
    

Finally we cracked the top ten and into Premium Episodes. If you've made it this far you are are persistent as me... Well probably less since this took a long ass time but still. These are the episodes whee I cherish them and can watch more than once a month.

1. S8 Ep 15 Worth- Worth has what I want in an episode; good characters and story/plot. Eugene's parts are made more important seeing how he needed to stay at the sanctuary to save Alexandria and the other communities. I loved even more Dwight's part where I have without doubt the most suspense with him and Negan. Simon also had the most best arc death as it felt complete.
   
2. S5 Ep 16 Conquer- the episode has a lot of action and the ending was the pivet. I love the speech he has and how Diana let's Rick be in charge now was a sort of cliffhanging ending that signify's perfection.
   
3. S5 Ep 1 No sanctuary- both Season 5's beginning and finale are amazing and the way Rick and his group take down Terminus in one episode is amazing as they fight there way out and the scene with Judith was great. Morgan was just a sprinkle of wholesomeness to see.
   
4. S10 Ep 12 Walk With Us- The Episode had just enough action, good deaths and character interactions to make it here. First of the battle at hilltop was amazing. The second best thing was Earl and I feel very sad every time I watch this episode at his part. Then the best thing is the end with Alpha and Negan.
   
5. S3 Ep 1 Seed- The best beginning to a season it shows how the group has changed since Rick and the prison is a great example. The tombs are a great scenery and the ending was perfect for a cliffhanger as well as Conquer.
   
6. S3 Ep 2 Sick- the prisoner episode was pretty good to watch as a group of prisoners try to take on walkers. While some are good others would rather be assertive. Rick has definitely changed since season 2 and the group is played great here and much more human like.
   
7. S7 Ep 2 Well- what helps this episode is the last episode before it having a dark tone. This instead has a more uplifting one with the king and with Carol and Morgan being a great pair. The Kingdom seems to be a good community and seeing how Carol tries to smooth talk the king and how he tells whays her bullshit is an amazing scene.
   
8. S10 Ep 22 Heres Negan- We realize he was a kinda lousy husband that wasn't really too good to becoming a really supportive husband who cares deeply for his wife Lucille. The story before showed a lot of Negan and how he is and I love Lucille as a character from this episode trying to do whats best for Negan.
   
9. S4 Ep 8 Too Far gone- Honestly this IS the best episode, but I am bias so I had to put my own personal favorite above it not to say this isn't right behind it easily. Too far gone is what feels like a season finale but isn't. The Governors first encounter should've been this and I'm glad we got to see it unfold great. Rick has a great speech in it about not being too far gone yet and the Governor killing Hershel to start the best battle of the series. The Governors death feels fitting and the ending was sad and amazing.
   

Before I get to this last one I wanted to say a thank you in advance to whomever reads this as I really had a hard time making this and spending a lot of time to do this isn't easy. And remember this last episode is my very own person opinion entirely and in no way is it the best of the series definitively, without any furthermore, lets end this.

1. Season 3 Episode 15 This Sorrowful Life- Now what makes this episode so great to me? Well I'm totally biased towards the actor and the character in the show Merle Dixon. I could watch Merle all day which is what they episode feels like with the perfect duo of Michonne and Merle on their way to the governor. It has some of the most perfect comedy in the episode as well as having the best sacrifice redemption arc and ending. This episode made me laugh, smile, cry and more. There will never be a time when I ever change my opinion about this episode in existence.

Again another huge thanks to everyone and I hope this will satisfy everyones needs... Now I'ma go watch S3 Ep 15 Legit.