TW for s/h mentions, self end mentions, and abuse mentions
Obligatory clarification that this was a few months ago, I just regularly feel guilty about it and wanted to see if I'm right in feeling that guilt. Also, apologies in advance since I think this is going to be a long post.
I(20ftm) was abused in multiple ways by my stepfather(46m). I filed a case against him two years ago, which finally got picked up after my younger sister(16f) ran away from the house. During these two years, no one in the family talked to me, as he convinced everyone that I was a liar, a manipulator, and was doing everything as an act of revenge on him for "treating me with the respect I deserved". He was sentenced last October to 15 years in prison, and then they began to investigate my mother(38f) because she knew about the physical/verbal/mental abuse of all of us kids(there were five of us, ages will be given as children are mentioned), and about the s/xual abuse toward me. I live out in Arizona, however when my mother lost custody of our siblings, my older sister(25f), who well call Molly, reached out to me asking if I would be willing to come back up to Ohio, my home state, to help her take temporary custody of the children. The plan was that I would come back up to Ohio, live with my old roommates, get a job, and watch the children in the morning to get them on the bus and afternoon until Molly got home from work. This was something that was agreed upon by everyone, and it was decided that due to a job opportunity I would be going back to Arizona in three months. I immediately explained to everyone involved that I would not flake out on these plans unless my mental health got to a point where I was actively considering self ending. Molly requested that she get "some sort of notice" before something like that we're to happen, and I told her that the best I could do was actively pointing out signs of mental health decline as they happened so she would know where I was in my headspace, to which she agreed.
Fast forward to the day I'm to fly up, and I get a call from Molly. She explains that our grandmother is giving her her old house in exchange for the childcare until my mother got out of jail should the worst case scenario happen, and she wanted to know if I could live in full time with her. In exchange she would pay my way through driving school and get me a car off Facebook marketplace, which would roughly equal out to three months of paid labor. She explained that I wouldn't have to do any chores(though it would be nice) and she would support me financially so that I didn't need to get a job(though I also could if I wanted to) and I could put my full time and care toward the children. This seemed like a fair deal to me, so I agreed. We talked about a few other minor details, such as my room(I wouldn't have one, and would be sleeping in the corner of the living room) and food(I requested that she get healthy food because eating excessive amounts of junk food triggers my ED, which she agreed to but more on that later).
I fly up and reconnect with all of my siblings(I hadn't talked to any of them in person since the incident two years ago), and talk with a close friend of mine, who I'll call Buddy. Buddy expressed that he didn't think that me moving in full time with Molly was a good idea, and tried to imply that she might try and take advantage of me while I was there and overstep boundaries. I told him that I trusted her not to do so, and she and I had agreed that I would be spending weekends with him at his place to decompress and regularly assess my mental health. This was almost immediately backtracked by Molly, saying she didn't expect me to actually take the whole weekend and she requested Saturdays to be her "day off", which I agreed to. About a week and a half after I arrived and was settled in, we started having violence issues with the youngest(10m), and they were mostly directed toward me. We assumed that this was because my stepfather had fed the kids a story about how I had left because I didn't care about them, and he was too young to understand the truth of the situation. Molly was very attentive to my needs at first, making sure to buy fruits and vegetables as well as having the children upstairs by 9 pm so that I could have some private time to relax each night. All was good other than the violent outbursts from the youngest(who I'll nickname Chris).
After about a month, we had to give Chris to an aunt due to the violent outbursts becoming more frequent and the police having to be called several times just to get him to stop attacking me. I explained to Molly that it was affecting me pretty badly, and she and I sat down and talked it out, deciding I wasn't at a point that I needed to leave yet, however if we kept him I would be. So we let Chris go up to my aunts, who we'll call Aunt Hayley. After that things calmed down in the household, with there only being two major fights between the remaining three children. During this time, Molly began to talk about how stressed she was about finances, as well as she signed up for a college course and got a boyfriend. I didn't see this as a big deal at the time, but it compiled with everything else. Molly began coming home at 6-7 and immediately going to her room, and I would end up keeping watch of the children for the remainder of the night. This didn't bother me too much at the time, as I saw it as helping her, however I could. Before this, she and I had pretty evenly split chores, with both of us doing dishes, laundry, and trash periodically. Once she began this college course, I took up the entirety of the dishes, laundry for all of the children, and majority of trash. Molly tended to her room and mandated when the children cleaned their rooms and their upstairs bathroom, but other than that was in her room either doing classwork or hanging out with her boyfriend. During this time she also stopped getting the healthier foods, despite me helping with grocery lists and requesting healthier foods, opting instead for snacks or frozen foods such as pizzas, hot pockets, bagel bites, etc. This upset me seeing as I had already explained to her my issues with said foods, but I didn't feel I had a right to make comment seeing as she was still financially supporting me.
During this time, my no contact order with my mother was lifted, and I agreed to speak with her again, seeing as she had eventually denounced her borderline worship of my stepfather and told the police everything, and was now in therapy and parenting classes. To be clear, from the moment I had arrived in Ohio, I had wanted nothing to do with her, and the only reason I had agreed to talk to her was to give her one last opportunity to man up and explain everything properly. She did, and as I had suspected, he had been severely abusing her in every way as well. I still didn't trust her, but I decided to give her a second chance at a relationship on the condition that she not bring any more men into my siblings lives until they were all 18 or older(which she agreed to). I began to visit her semi-regularly, and Molly and I agreed that I would go to her house Saturday nights for dinner, seeing as I was already going to Buddy's around 7 pm Saturday nights anyway, which meant it wouldn't really change any of Molly's plans. At this time I began having a friend over, who we'll call Max. Max is a close friend of mine since middle school, and Molly approved him to be around any time, however I only really had him around on Tuesdays due to his work schedule. As soon as Max met Molly, he said he didn't really like the way she talked to me, and when I didn't understand(I have autism) he explained that a lot of how she speaks to me sounds like she's talking down to/making fun of me, and that when I say something she doesn't seem to take me seriously. I brushed this off, thinking that it was just him not being used to her somewhat abrasive personality.
Molly continued to complain about finances, and I continued searching for a job as I had been since I got there, and then came the first weird incident during this. One day Molly said that our mother had offered her a motorcycle, but that she had a feeling that she wouldn't actually give it to her, and so she was going to go buy her own. I didn't mention how counter intuitive this was to her finance problem, though I should have in hindsight. She also went out that weekend to get her nails and hair professionally done(which she had told me at one point all together was around $200), as well as I believe the next weekend to get a $180 tattoo shaded. Seeing as Molly had gone out and bought a motorcycle, my mother instead offered me the bike, which I accepted. Molly then began making comments about how she knew my mother was going to give me the bike, and that was why she had gone out and gotten her own(despite the fact that I had asked for the bike before I knew it was supposed to be given to Molly, and was told only if she didn't want it because she got first dibs).
During the last month, my mental health began to hit the decline I had warned Molly about. I informed her of when it became hard to get out of bed, when I was having guilt or s/h urges, and then eventually I reached a point where I requested she take back up at least some responsibility of dishes and laundry because my mental health couldn't handle it. She got somewhat indignant about this, saying that because I was living there rent free I should be doing the majority of the chores. By this time, I had very much seen what Max had been saying about her talking down to me, however I wasn't in the mental state to go against her, so I just reiterated that I really wasn't doing well. She said that her classwork, job, and social life wouldn't allow her to have time for it, and since I had none of those I didn't have any reason to feel the way I was. At this point, Buddy and my two old roommates(who we'll call Rat and Iroh) started insisting that I should go back to the original plan and only go down in mornings and until she got home from work, however I felt obligated to help her so I stayed. They repeatedly reminded me that she still hadn't followed through on any of her promises regarding driving school, car, or respecting my triggers. I continued to stay, partially to help her and partially because I knew at this point that it would backfire on the children as well if I left.
Two weeks before I was supposed to leave, Molly pulled me aside and told me that due to financial concerns, she would be letting the children go to a foster home in two weeks, once I left. This confused me seeing as a) I hadn't been bringing in any financials, and b) she insisted on keeping the 16 year old(who I'll call Fiona) but refused to keep the other two, because (in her own words) "Fiona is the easiest to handle". I felt as if I was to blame for this because the way Molly had presented it to me made it seem like the only reason she was letting the children go was because I was leaving, and a few days earlier she had been trying to push "if you could only stay another month". This plummeted my mental health, and about a week later(a week before my stay was supposed to end) I hit the point of actively wanting to self end. I informed her of this, and she got cold with me, saying she wished I had told her sooner. I reminded her that I had vocalized every step for things going down hill, and she insisted that it wasnt enough and I should have given her more notice, as well as claiming she could have done this whole thing without me and that I was more trouble than I was worth at points. She then started saying that I had only come back to get close to our mother and that I didn't actually care about her or the children(as I said, I hated my mother when I arrived). I told her that I would stay till that Friday night as it was Thursday and I didn't want to force her to try to find last minute childcare so late at night. At some point in this conversation we got a call from the middle(14nb, whom we'll call Sora) child's school saying that Sora had assaulted another student. This student had been making fun of Sora for months, claiming that they deserved the abuse they went through and that she hoped my stepfather got out of jail so that he could hurt Sora worse. I requested Molly not be too intense on the punishment, seeing as this had been an ongoing issue that had been brought to both the principal and Molly's attention, and been brushed off by both. Molly started beating me about how disgusting it was that I was condoning violence, and I clarified that while I didn't condone it, this situation had been hard enough on Sora. At this point in time, I had had enough and told her that if she didn't want my input and wanted to belittle me and "put me in my place", then she could put her money where her mouth was about being able to do this without me and I would leave that night. She said fine, but that she knew I wasn't actually wanting to end myself and was just using it as a convenient out of the situation. I began to pack. As soon as she got home she said that I had been taking her tone wrong, and that she hadn't meant to attack me. She then started saying that I wasn't screwing her over in this, I was screwing the children over. This was while the children were out of the house, and I did raise my voice, telling her that I wasn't trying to screw anyone over, I was following exactly the boundaries I had set, as I should have from the beginning. Buddy came and picked me up, and I went and spent the night with my mother.
The next day I was informed that Molly had told our caseworker that I had bailed, and that the children were to be picked up the next day(all except Fiona, who would stay in Molly's care and eventually the possibility of Molly adopting her was discussed). That Friday was the court case which was to decide what was to happen with my mother. Molly had expressed throughout this entire process that she didn't want my mother to go to jail, and that she would do almost anything to keep her out. The prosecutors had also expressed that they didn't want her to get a full 3 year sentence. During the court proceedings, Molly was the only one in the room requesting the maximum sentence for my mother, and during her speech was consistently deadnaming and misgendering me, which no one else in the court room was doing. My mother walked out with a 60 day sentence, which wasn't terrible, but the damage was done to mine and Molly's relationship, seeing as it was already strained before I found out she had been lying to me for months about her stances on this. She and I had had several conversations about this, while I hated my mother and whole I was healing my relationship with her, and her stance of wanting her to stay out of jail had never wavered. I unfollowed her on most medias, but kept her unblocked on everything. Three days before I was supposed to leave, I realized that my leather jacket and my keys to my boyfriend's collar were still at her house, and I tried to contact her to ask for them back. I texted her twice, neither of which she responded to, and then Buddy called her. She claimed she hadn't seen them, but refused to let us come over to look for them, despite the fact that the last time I had seen either one was in the house because I had been too depressed to leave the house. She continuously refused to let me come check, or even let someone else come check, claiming that she didn't trust me to put things back the way they were, despite me never showing any inclination of touching anything that wasn't mine. I went to text her again on the matter and found that she had blocked me on all platforms. Shortly after this Fiona would start claiming the same things about me not actually wanting to end myself and just using it as an excuse, showing that she had been talking to Molly about this, and her views on pretty much everything shifted to Molly's views. This caused a rift to the point that while I have strong contact with my other siblings, I don't have much contact with Fiona.
I feel as though it was wrong to leave the children in the situation they were in, and I desperately wish I could have done more to help, but I knew that once I hit that mental state I was no longer safe to be around them and only ran the risk of traumatizing them further if I had stayed.

There’s already a bunch of theories out there about these dreams, but instead I just want to point some things out that I’ve noticed in each one. Spoiler ahead for Iron Flame.
VIOLETS DREAM - ARETIA. This is a straight up precognition dream.
“Bold choice to move so far from what you perceive as the safety of the wards,” the Sage says, holding me immobile, my feet just inches from the frozen ground of my own personal torture chamber. I’m trapped in this fucking nightmare again, but at least I made it farther across the sunburned field this time.
“Of course, again,” the dark wielder hisses, his face contorting into a sneer. “You will never be free of me. I will hunt you to the ends of the Continent and beyond.” [..]
“You can only hunt me to the wards,” I croak.
“Yet you sleep beyond them.” A grotesque smile tilts his cracked mouth. “And the longest night has yet to pass.”
This is literally telling Violet :

1. “What you perceive as the safety of the wards” = THE WARDS ARE NOT ACTUALLY SAFE. They are only perceived as safe.
2. ”Of course again.” The Sage replies to a comment that Violet doesn’t speak out loud. = HE READ HER MIND. Someone is intinnsic.
3. After Violet says “You can only hunt me to the wards”, the Sage strongly implies that something will happen to the wards on the longest night. Which is Solstice. = THE WARDS WILL FALL ON SOLSTICE.

So just in this dream we know that Basgiaths wards are not as safe from venin as they thought, someone is intinnsic, and the wards will fall on Solstice.
VIOLET’S DREAM - BASGIATH:
- Tairn’s going to die, and he doesn’t even see it coming for him. Gold flickers near the tip of his wing. Gods, no. Andarna. She’s here.
At this stage, Violet knows that Andarna is ‘black’, so I find it interesting that in her dream she’s still gold. We know she dreams of Resson so it could be as simple as dreaming of how Andarna looked then. Another possibility is that the dreams are a type of ‘mind work’ by the venin (a ‘tether’ created by a poisoned blade perhaps?) and Andarna is shown as gold because they don’t know otherwise.
- “There is no escaping me, rider,” he whispers, his fingers ghosting over my cheek but not quite touching.
This detail is noted because Violet dreams this while inside the wards at Basgiath and the venin can’t touch her. (More on this further down.)
- “Fight me and die, or join me and live beyond the ages, but you will never escape me, not when I’ve waited centuries for someone with your power.”
This is interesting because it implies that the Sage is not after Violet’s lightning power. He said he’s waited centuries. But there was a lightning wielder in the last century, and he’s waited longer than that so it has to be some other power. Perhaps Xaden's shadows. Or Andarna’s power. (Plus I personally believe Varrish was venin, so that would explain why he was utterly obsessed with seeing Andarna.)
- The wave of death halts and the wind falls silent, as if he’s stopped time.
Andarna’s time stopping power is also mentioned in this dream.
VIOLETS DREAM - ARETIA:
- He drags a single, long fingernail down my throat, exposing an expanse of tan arm under his robes, and I twitch, fear accelerating my heartbeat. Touching me is new. Touching me is terrifying.
The Sage is only able to touch Violet when she’s sleeping outside of the wards in Aretia. It shows these are more than just dreams, because the efficacy of the wards shouldn’t make a difference in a dream.
- His dark, eyelash-less eyes narrow, and the jagged fingernails slice into my skin with an all-too-real bite of pain.
Unlike every other dream, this time the Sage is described as having DARK EYES, not red. I don’t even have a theory for this one, I just had to point it out.

The new gift-specific dialogue from the 1.6 update has me absolutely tickled pink! This one especially… I also haven’t practiced my creative writing in a while, and I decided it needed to happen sooner rather than later, so here, have a short story! Sorry if it's boring… I’m a little rusty!
“A Gift From The Void”
It was only yesterday… No one was quite sure where it had come from. There had been a sinister cackling noise ringing through the night air and Abigail had mentioned seeing an unidentifiable shape soaring through the sky during her walk home from the cemetery. The townsfolk gossiped and speculated about what it could have been that evening, but by the next morning they still hadn’t come to any reasonable explanation. It was only yesterday, and yet the entire village seemed to have already put it out of their minds and moved on. The scandal and chatter following the “Anchovy Soup Incident” at the Summer Luau several years back had lasted far longer than this… Even now Sam was still getting sideways glances whenever he got within a 20 foot radius of the soup cauldron, but this just blows over in less than a day? The priorities of small town people were strange.
Things had gone back to that same semblance of backwater, middle-of-nowhere kind of normal, and now the night had become just the same as any other Friday evening. Sebastian was playing a round of billiards with Sam, and while Sam was preoccupied with lining up the cue with his intended target ball, the farmer strolled into the saloon and up to the bar. Heads turned and raised to the newcomer for a moment before returning to whatever it was that had been previously holding their attention. Sebastian caught the sudden flourish of movement out of his periphery, but didn’t pay it much mind. The farmer ordered a coffee and a plate of the night’s special, and struck up a conversation with Gus about a peculiar egg that had materialized in their coop seemingly out of nowhere the night before. Apparently they’d decided to tuck it away into the incubator and wait to see what… if anything hatched from it.
Sebastian had never really been one to eavesdrop, but the wait for Sam to make his move was becoming boring, and sometimes the stories that passed around the saloon on Friday evenings got interesting depending on who all was involved. The story didn’t really go too far into detail. The farmer poked at their food until it had cooled enough to not scald the inside of their mouth, then they took a few bites before bringing up the events of the previous evening. What first started off as a funny story seemed to turn into some deep discussion with Gus about the mysteries of life. Eventually, Willy and Elliott were caught up in the mirth and it turned into a medley of strange tales from faraway lands and once-upon-a-times. Obviously exaggerated sightings of fearsome creatures on a midnight stormy sea, legends of colossal white whales, references to works written by masters of the mystery genre, as well as some from a trashy neo-noir novel or two that had probably been picked up from a bookstore clearance shelf.
Willy stroked his beard and mused about some daring battle between himself and a fish of questionable proportions that seemed to grow larger each time he told the story. Sebastian had heard this one before. The fight over the line had gone on for over an hour before the shadow of the fish rose near to the surface, and just before Willy could land the monster of a catch, it dove below again, taking the whole fishing rod overboard and nearly Willy himself with it.
Elliott gulped down the last few swigs of ale in his tankard, slapped the farmer firmly on the back, snorted and chuckled in an ungraceful yet jolly display that only ever crept out of him when he’d had a bit too much to drink.
“That fish becomes more miraculous each time he talks about it!” Elliott shook his head and smiled as he leaned almost a little too far forward. There was a slight sway to his posture and he tried to straighten his body back in line with the barstool. “To life, and her many little silly tricks of fate, my friends!” he declared. He raised the empty mug, and with his free hand, delicately tucked a few strands of stray hair behind his ear with the tips of his fingers. He rested his elbow back on the bar before he could lose his balance and sighed contently. Elliott’s cheeks were practically glowing red at this point and it was a wonder that he wasn’t slurring his words yet.
“Aye, you’ve all heard my fish story haven’t ye?” Willy chuckled. “How ‘bout the one about the Baba Yaga?” the farmer’s head tilted and they gazed curiously at the fisherman. Willy rested his foot on the crossbar of the barstool, lifted the rim of his hat out of his line of sight, and leaned into the counter. “Some know ‘er as the cannibal witch… others say she’s just a misunderstood haggard ol’ woman who lives alone out in woods or marshes. It’s said she lives a rickety old house that stands on chicken feet, and she likes to lure weary travelers into ‘er home, only to gobble ‘em up once they let their guard down. Apparently she’s especially fond of the taste of children…” He laughed in a hoarse tone and made strange spider-like gestures with his calloused hands as if he were telling campfire stories to a group of kids. The farmer’s nose wrinkled at the outlandish notion of some feral old woman devouring toddlers, and Willy laughed heartily at their reaction. “I think that last part the parents like to add into the story to frighten the little ones. It keeps ‘em from wondering into the forests and swamps alone at night.”
Sebastian rolled his eyes and glanced back to the pool table. He watched the cue ball clack into the twelve before the twelve bounced off the barriers in the corner of the table and rolled slowly to a stop on the felt surface without pocketing. Sam huffed and stood back upright.
“You really aren’t very good at this, are you?” Seb chimed as he returned his full attention to the game at hand. Sam grinned and laughed.
“Nope!”
“Watch and learn….” Sebastian took aim at the cue ball, and after a single firm strike, drove it into the tiny gap between the two and seven. The cue stopped hard, but the two and seven sped to the opposite corners of the foot of the table, each dropping into one of the corner pockets simultaneously. Sam scoffed and paced about the pool room, but looked back over his shoulder just in time to catch Sebastian with a triumphantly cheeky grin on his face. Sam clicked his tongue and lightly thumped the base of his cue stick into the floorboards.
“Show-off…” he mumbled.
Elliott lifted the rim of the empty vessel to his lips, then chuckled again as he noticed the absence of ale and gestured it in Gus’ direction.
“Good sir, my glass is empty and…. I’m a writer!”
“Maybe you should stop for tonight…” the farmer interjected. “You won’t be sober enough to start your next chapter in the morning!” Elliott rolled his eyes and leaned against the bar counter. He tried to give one of his best theatrically exasperated sighs, but when the exhale turned into a case of the hiccups, they knew he was down for the count. He smiled defiantly and tried his best to look dignified through the sudden spasms in his diaphragm and soused thousand yard stare.
“I-am fiiine… ne’re betta’…”
“…..Aaaand, there he goes…” Leah giggled from the end of the bar counter. “It’s like dropping a ton of bricks on a peach.”
“I oughtta’ help the ol’ scallywag home, I s’pose!” Willy groaned as he stood from the bar stool. He smiled as he hoisted one of Elliott’s arms over his shoulders and stood him up from the bar stool. “C’mon you menace… Let’s get ya home before you make a fool of yourself in front of all the lassies!” he chuckled. Sam took a moment to appreciate the situation at the bar counter. He shook his head and laughed, then took another shot at the 12 and missed horribly yet again.
“Easy does it there!” Emily cooed as she cleared away the empty tankard. “Try not to drop him too hard!” Elliott wobbled towards the door as Willy struggled to keep him upright, and just before they stepped out into the lukewarm summer evening, the farmer waved one last farewell and called out to the well marinated dandy-man as he staggered away.
“Nighty-night! Sleep tight, Rapunzel!” they chirped. Elliot responded to the joke by blowing an overly exaggerated kiss over his shoulder and daintily waiving his fingertips at the company in the saloon, then he nearly tripped over himself as he turned back to the path home. A couple of snorts, giggles and guffaws rose up over the music and chatter in the saloon and quickly melted back into the white noise once the moment passed.
Seb looked Sam in the eyes with a determined glare and smirked.
“Eight in the corner pocket….” Seb didn’t have a clear shot, but leaned over the table, reared back the stick and spiked it into the cue ball. It ricocheted from the bumper, side-swiped the eight, and put just enough force into the edge to cause it to spin sideways into the pocket he’d called. Sam laughed and scratched at the back of his head.
“Awwww, man…” he groaned. “You got me again!” Sam leaned against his cue stick and looked over the table before his eyes lit up in anticipation. “How about a best three out of five?” Abigail giggled at Sam’s request as she stretched and leaned back into the sofa.
“Give it up, blondie! He cooks your goose at this game EVERY single time…. You’re doomed.” She teased. “It’s getting late anyways…”
…
It had been almost a month since the odd shape had been spotted flying over town at this point. Seb and Abby had talked in depth about it, and though most of the other townsfolk had come to the conclusion that it had merely been some sort of exotic bird flying out toward the fern islands, Abby was positive she hadn’t been mistaken. In fact she was adamant that the form looked human. She hadn’t seen or heard any wings flapping and the “squawking” sounded more so like the laugh of an old woman than the cries of a bird. The figure seemed to levitate or hover effortlessly and without the use of any physical or mechanical assistance. It was slumped over as if it was curled up or sitting and just…. Floated away.
The long night spent coding and researching the relevant programing issues at the computer, had caused Sebastian to rise late. He was groggy, didn’t have much motivation to bother rolling out of bed, and it was almost noon at this point. He could hear the rain pattering against the roof of the house and the rumble of distant thunder. As lazy as he felt, a smoke sounded pretty good about now. The sound and sight of the ocean on rainy days also had a way of clearing his head and a little stroll would probably do him some good.
He didn’t pass anyone on the way out of the house. Robin was likely at her aerobics club, Maru, at work in the clinic, and who knew where Demetrius was… Out shoving dirt samples into test tubes, or measuring the volume and PH of the current rainfall? As long as he wasn’t dissecting frogs. Out of all of Sebastian’s childhood memories, that was the one that stuck in his head and haunted him. Back then, Maru had only just been born, and while Robin was busy keeping her entertained, fixing her bottle or changing diapers, Seb was wandering the house trying to find something to occupy his time. He’d wandered into his step-father’s study and there on the examination tray was a deceased frog pinned on it’s back, limbs splayed like Da Vinci’s “Vitruvian Man” with it’s belly sliced open. Sebastian had cried and pouted over that for several days and had given Demetrius the silent treatment for even days longer intermixed with spells of arm crossing, head turning and the occasional stuck out tongue and blown raspberry. He cringed at the thought even now.
The hinges creaked as he pushed the front door open and paused. The summer was starting to give way to autumn and the parched ground soaked up the rain and turned loose the pungent, almost overpowering scent of petrichor.
Sebastian flipped the hood of his pull-over around his head and tightened up the drawstrings. He took a moment to smell the aroma of wet grass and earth that drifted through the air and held the fragrance in his lungs as he closed the door behind him.
He began his slow, steady march toward the beach and lost count of his steps after he’d passed the old Community Center. He’d barely noticed the changing of terrain under his feet as he moved almost subconsciously toward the ocean. The raw, muddy dirt paths of the mountain, the crunch of rough stones and shuffle of old, dead pine needles that carpeted the ground… They’d transitioned into the grass and cobblestone of the town plaza at some point, but they all seemed to blend together into “just steps” after a while. His inner thoughts distracted him to the point where he barely paid attention to his surroundings until he felt his footfalls sinking and shifting underneath him, and he knew he’d hit sand. He heaved a deep sigh of the salt air and looked over the horizon as he paced toward the docks.
When the sky was this gray and muted, the color of the sea seemed to take on it’s own jewel-like quality and without the blue sky to draw attention away from it, the eyes of each breaking wave became a splendor to watch. They erupted into columns of aquamarine, sapphire and sodalite laced with the bright, almost pearlescent white of the sea foam before curling over, crashing into the tides and giving way to the next one.
Sebastian came to a stop at the furthest reaching section of the wood panels and straightened up his posture as he groped into his pockets for the pack of cigarettes he’d brought with him. He selected one from the box, tucked it between his teeth and plunged his fingers back into the pocket for his lighter. He curled his left hand in front of his face, to protect the fire from the wind, flicked open the lid and thumbed the igniter. The flint sparked into a flame as it spun and lit up the end of the cigarette to a smoldering red glow. He pulled in a breath and held it for a moment before letting it out and watching the smoke dance away in the wind. It still wasn’t quite as satisfying as that first breath of rain when he’d stepped out of the house. Another sigh escaped Seb’s lips as he stared back at the oncoming crests of seawater and his mind started to drift again.
He imagined the city lights blazing somewhere across the ocean like stars, and thought about starting over somewhere far away. Disappearing, and reappearing somewhere else like a shadow moving through fragments of darkness and light, somewhere where no one knew him. Just vanishing and leaving everything behind. His parents, his sister, his friends… the thought excited him for a moment, before giving way to an intense feeling of regret and sadness. Maybe even a little shame. Having everyone was frustrating, but would having none of them be better or worse? He’d never known anything else. The same friends he’d grown up with, the same smell of the changing seasons in the mountain air, the same four walls of his bedroom, the sound of his sister’s laugh, or the taste of his mother’s cooking… even the way his stepfather overreacted to the littlest things was something he'd grown used to. He took another long breath.
The waves lapped and pounded at the underside of the dock so loudly he couldn’t hear the patter of oncoming footfalls against the wood and he was caught unaware when a sudden presence made itself known.
“Hey.” The start was enough to make him tense up, and he almost tripped over his own feet. Seb whirled around and when he found himself face to face with the farmer, he relaxed again.
“You scared the absolute crap out of me…..” He said as he rolled his eyes. He flicked his thumb against the filter of the cigarette to knock away the ashes and looked over the docks. They were alone.
“Sorry….” There was an awkward moment of silence between the two of them before Sebastian tried to force conversation.
“What are you up to out here?” He asked. He wasn’t really interested in the answer, but felt obligated to return the acknowledgement of his presence. The farmer held up the rod that was firmly clasped in their right hand and gestured to the ocean.
“Fishing!” Seb raised an eyebrow and cocked his head at the response.
“In the rain?” he asked. His tone was almost dismissive. The farmer nodded.
“Willy said that there’s a number of fish that only come out when it’s raining, so I wanted to see what bites.” They began. “Some fish just like it better this way I guess.” There was another long pause. “…and you?”
“Hanging out…” Seb shrugged and adjusted the collar of his hoodie.
“In the rain?” The irony of the retort wasn’t lost on either of them though only the farmer seemed to find it amusing.
“Some people just like it better this way too…” Seb declared as he shifted his posture and crossed his arms over his chest. “I like to come out here where it’s quiet and have some alone time with my own thoughts.” There was a brief moment of guilt when Sebastian realized that he hadn’t actually ever bothered to ask the farmer’s name, but his introverted nature snubbed it out pretty quickly.
“Well, if you’re out here for some alone time, I won’t keep bothering you. I’ll go find a spot to fish and leave you to it.” At least they could take a hint. The farmer turned to leave and Sebastian suddenly regretted the entire conversation. Maybe he came off as cold and bristly? Either way, they hadn’t meant any harm. Just engaging in basic pleasantries. He found himself compelled to say something else just so the conversation wouldn’t end on such a sour note, then the thought of the flying figure and the appearance of the strange egg in the farmer’s coop a while back suddenly popped into his head.
“Wait….” Sebastian flicked away the spent cigarette and stamped it out with the toe of his shoe before he continued. The farmer turned back in his direction. “I was just curious… do you remember what happened a couple of weeks ago? The night that… thing… flew over Pelican Town?” The farmer’s eyes narrowed and they nodded slowly. “That was the night that strange egg just showed up in your chicken coop, right?” The farmer looked bewildered. Seb chuckled soundlessly when he realized that, for at least a moment, he was acting like the epitome of some small town country boy who was nosing into someone else’s business. The farmer was likely confused because they hadn’t spoken to Sebastian about it directly. How could he know about that? They didn’t have to ask before he preemptively put the question to rest. “I was in the saloon playing pool with Sam the night after it happened. I overheard you talking about it with Gus, Willy and uh- …Rapunzel.” He explained. A tiny snort escaped the farmer’s nose as they stifled a laugh and they nodded again.
“Right… I still don’t know where it came from.” They rested the handle of the fishing pole on the dock like a staff or walking stick and looked up at the sky as if they were contemplating something. “I don’t know if the egg had anything to do with the flying figure, or if it was just a coincidence… they did both appear on the same night.”
“Everyone in town says that the flying thing was probably just some weird bird heading toward the islands…” Seb droned. He shoved his hands into his pockets to sooth the chill in his fingers. “If that IS where the egg came from, then maybe it was just a bird…” The farmer briskly shook their head before they answered.
“No, I don’t think so.” They rested a hand on their hip, fidgeted with the line strung through the fishing rod and seemed to gaze off into the distance towards the island in question. “That wouldn’t make sense considering what hatched.” Sebastian’s head snapped upright to meet their gaze. Now this was getting interesting.
“It actually hatched?!” He piped as his eyes widened inquisitively. “What was it?”
“A chicken…. And those can’t fly long distances.” The farmer chortled as they watched Sebastian’s face droop back to some semblance of apathy. He looked mildly disappointed.
“Aww…. Well that’s kind of anticlimactic.” He groaned.
“Yeah, sorry it’s not more exciting than that…” There was a sudden gust of wind and both of them had to brace against the pelting of raindrops that came with it. “It is a pretty peculiar looking chicken, if that makes you feel any better.”
“Really?... How so?” He gazed back at them expectantly and waited for them to go into detail.
“The feathers are jet black and the comb and wattles have a bit of an odd shape to them. The eyes are also bright red, like an animal with albinism and they’re almost reflective in the dark too… like a cat’s eyes.” They paused and rested their hand over the lower half of their face as if they were taking a moment to recall more of the specifics to memory. “And there’s just something about the way it clucks.” They added. “It doesn’t really cluck like a normal hen, but it sounds more like… an echo of a cluck, I suppose.”
“What?....” Sebastian laughed as his expression shifted again. The description of the noise sounded completely ridiculous. Not a cluck, but an echo of a cluck? They may as well have likened it to a phantom voice or the cry of a specter. Something that eluded the range of sounds that most humans would ever have the chance or perception to experience. The farmer lifted their eyes back to Sebastian’s as if they’d suddenly remembered something else.
“She started laying eggs a couple of days ago. They look just like the one that appeared in the coop that night…” They let the fishing pole drop from their hand to the wood planking of the dock and slipped their arm out of the left strap of their backpack. “I actually have one with me if you want to see it….” They slid the other strap off of their shoulder and swung the bag around their right side, letting it come to a rest in front of them as they knelt down. Seb took a few steps closer and stooped to get a better look as they dug through the contents.
They gingerly grasped what looked like a tiny bundle wrapped in a kerchief and began to slowly peel away the corners of the fabric, exposing what was probably the most bizarre looking egg he’d ever seen in his life. It was black and somewhat glossy, unlike the calcified matte shells of most chicken eggs, and the surface seemed to be covered in tiny indents or fissures that exposed flecks of a bright, almost luminescent red underneath. The farmer held the egg out to Sebastian as they stood up straight and nodded, silently offering to let him hold it for a closer look. He gently cupped the egg in his hands, tucked his arms in close to his body and cradled it in his palms like a cautious child trying to hold a hamster. It was heavier than he’d expected it to be, and surprisingly warm.
The color reminded him of magma or hot coals. Something like the intense heat glowing through crackling obsidian after a volcanic eruption or a dying fire. He leaned his head even closer to the egg as he examined the texture of the shell, and his nose wrinkled a bit when he caught the scent. It was sulphurous, and almost earthy smelling, but not overpoweringly so.
“It’s not rotten, is it?” he asked as he gently turned the egg over in his hands.
“See, that’s the strange thing about it. It can’t be…. That egg was just laid this morning.” They explained. “All of the eggs that hen lays have that… little whiff of something burning to them.” The rain was starting to slow up a bit. The farmer thought for a moment and giggled at the notion of what they said next. “I’m not inclined to say that they’re edible either… at least, not to people, and I wouldn’t be keen on being the first one to test that.” Sebastian winced at the thought…and smell, and stifled a laugh.
“Me neither…” He smiled softly when the red speckled pattern caught his attention again. “It does look really cool though!”
He really did have a nice smile. It was kind of a shame that he didn’t let people see it more often. His eyes brightened, and his face looked softer and more approachable, yet also, inquisitive and curious. It was a look of fascination and wonder. Like a kid who’d just discovered dinosaurs and outer space for the first time, or someone who’d just felt their first taste of freedom and didn’t quite know what to do with it. An imaginative or inspired sort of expression.
“Since you like it so much, why don’t you hang onto it?” the farmer beamed.
“Can I?” Sebastian’s eyes lit up again and he gazed back at the farmer with a delighted look on his face.
“Sure! Hens lay eggs every day or so. There’ll be more before long!” they chimed. Sebastian chuckled as he curled his fingers about the egg and sheltered it from the rain.
“Thank you!” He gazed at it for a few moments more as the farmer hefted the rucksack back onto their shoulders and pulled the fishing rod from it’s resting place on the dock. “Hey, this might sound kind of stupid….” He began as he gazed back and forth between the farmer and his new prize… “But, do you think it’ll hatch if I put it under my pillow?” he laughed awkwardly at his own question when he realized how foolish it must have sounded, but was pleasantly surprised when the farmer’s response was more optimistic than he had expected.
“Umm, I don’t know… Maybe! It’s worth a try anyway, and stranger things have happened.”
“Only one way to find out I guess!” Sebastian said smiling in anticipation.
“Good luck! You’ll have to let me know what happens!” They scanned out over the tides as if looking for something before turning back to Sebastian. “I should hurry and find a spot to fish before the rain stops again, but it was really nice talking to you!”
“Yeah, you too!” Seb agreed. “I’ll see you later!” He distracted himself for a moment, making sure the egg was tucked away safe and warm in his hoodie pocket, when he suddenly realized something. “Hey, wait!...” he quickly turned back to where the farmer had been standing just a minute before, but by the time he’d remembered what he’d needed to ask, they’d already trotted too far out of earshot to be able to hear him. “Aw, man… I forgot to catch their name again.” He lamented. “I’ll have to remember to ask them next time… Next time for sure.”

I (27F) have an older brother, 33M. We didn't get along very much as kids due to the age gap, not for my lack of trying. I never really understood why my brother didn't really like spending time with me, because he was one of my favorite people in the world, despite all his bullying.
For context, I'll give some examples of what my brother has done to me over the years with some vague age ranges of when they occurred.
When I was about 3, my brother convinced me that red was orange and orange was red because I was learning my colors in preschool. He also used to steal food like tater tots off my little high chair tray and would pretend he didn't do anything when my mom checked on why I was crying (I was NOT a fussy baby/toddler, so it set off alarm bells when I did.)
I think when I was 4 or 5, my brother came into my room after I had already been put to bed, and he woke me up. Thing is, he was hovering over me with a scary mask on, only the hallway light, and a butterknife. Not sure I really have to explain why that was traumatic. I'm still afraid of masks to this day.
When I was around 10-12, my brother kept drinking all the milk or kool aid that I would make and never replenish/remake it. I told him to stop, he wouldn't, of course. My mom was fostering other children and didn't have time for squabbles like this. So I very visibly spit on top of the kool aid pitcher and left the lid off so it was seen. What does my (reminder, 17-19) brother do? He wrenches the bowl of cereal I'm currently eating out of my hands, spits in it, and shoves it back at me hard enough that it spilled all over me. Now, I'm not an angry person. I'm not a violent person. But I was still a child and fed up with being bullied by someone who was/almost an adult. I never tried getting physical before because I was so much smaller, but I hit puberty kind of early. So I splashed the bowl back at him to see how he liked it. He threw me to the ground and hit me. My mom had to break us up and told us we were both to blame, so he didn't even get punished.
Several times, he would turn the lights off on me when I was on the other side of the room in the basement away from the switch, because I was afraid of the dark for a very long time.
We had Sonic Adventure 2 we shared. If we ever fought about something, or I reminded him it was my turn, he threatened to say goodbye forever to my chao. I am extremely soft hearted so that accomplished what he wanted.
Sometimes I would notice my things go missing. I had assumed maybe my mom put them away somewhere and forgot, but I'm pretty sure I know what happened to them. Especially gamecube games-- Those discs were tiny! He was pawning them for drug and booze money. One time he was drunk and admitted he had been selling his adderall for other drugs. That came to a head one terrible Christmas Eve. Brother was home for the holiday and I'm not very clear on what events led up to it, but my parents caught my brother in the bathroom with a baggie of various drugs that he was already doing. He insisted it was just weed, but my parents didn't believe that. I wouldn't know, I only briefly saw the bag, but it was full of both a large green ball of like leaves and lots of white powder. It was a vicious screaming match for a few hours. I hid out in my room on a different floor and played a video game as loud as I could so I didn't have to hear my family. The screams died down after a while, and I cautiously went out of my room. My brother had left the house for a while. I had a few holiday assignments and decided to just crank them out while my family cooled off, and I did it at the dining room table because that's where our Christmas tree was too and I desperately needed that good cheer magic. I was quietly writing, not saying anything, not making much noise, when my brother came back in the house. He stopped off at the kitchen for something and muttered something rude and belittling to me. At this point I'm a preeten-early teen and he had already ruined the day that had always been magical to me before, as my grandma used to stay over with us on Christmas Eve. She had died rather recently at the time. And I can't tell you exactly what I said. I think I've blocked out as much as I can. I made some snide remark, something like 'at least I don't do drugs' and in the next second I was yanked out of my chair. My brother picked me up by the neck and slammed me against the wall. I know I clawed and kicked against the wall as hard as I could. I blacked out, and I woke up on the floor with my parents absolutely screaming at him that he could have killed me. As a side note to the whole ordeal, he never apologized, and it's made my adult life a lot harder as weed becomes more and more commonplace. Just the thought of it used to send me in a panic attack, I could feel the hands choking me again. I've gotten better about dealing with it, but I still refuse to have it in any part of my life whatsoever. It's cost me a few relationships.
When I was in college, my brother had moved back in with me and my parents because his girlfriend dumped him for being a piece of shit that worked at walmart and did nothing but drink all day despite having a state paid scholarship, that he wasted, because he couldn't keep his GPA above 2.8. He was a music major. The classes he took were things like 'History of Jimi Hendrix' and 'The Beatles'. He just partied too much to even attend class. He took the dog they got with him, not at all prepared for her. The dog is a high energy breed that is difficult to train, and we had two small 5-10 pound dogs at home. At 1 year old, bro's dog was about 30 pounds. He often left for several hours during summers/breaks when I was home, without telling anyone, knowing that I would either hear the dog cry if he crated them and feel bad and let them out or that I wouldn't banish them to a crate if they were already in a room with me. The dog bullied our other dogs and bit at everyone. Dog was incredibly overly protective of my brother-- Trait of the breed. I was back at college for a few months and had spent a good month mourning the loss of a 5 year relationship. I never really heard anything from him. Then out of the blue, my brother asks me if I can let him and dog stay for the night (we live 2 hours from the college) because my mom had kicked him out. The dog had bit her and she snapped at my brother to control his f'ing dog and he responded by calling her, the woman who birthed him, payed for his other college costs, paid back loans he promised to pay to other family members, never charged him rent, and he called her a f'ing female dog. She snapped. While I agree that my mom was completely in the right to do that, I have too soft of a heart to just leave him with nowhere to go. He promised it was just a night so he could get in touch with some friends closer to home and figure shit out. I let him come to me.
I really regret that decision.
At the time I had a new roommate (she was very nice though, I liked her) and a sort of FWB who doted on me for a little while. I texted FWB and asked if he could bring some alcohol by-- I was still 19 at the time, underage to buy it, but FWB was old enough and agreed the man could probably do with a drink. We stayed out on our little porch area to make sure that we wouldn't be disturbing my roomie in any way while we socialized. My brother got really wasted. He told me terrible things about our deceased grandmother (who he knew I had really loved growing up, and had no idea about who she really was because she had always loved me). And he laughed. He laughed when he saw the discomfort on my face. My FWB was feeling pretty bad for me and suggested we go to bed because it was also like 3 in the morning and both of us had class in the morning, so we go inside. The apartment has a shared common room/living room, little kitchen area, and laundry closet. My bedroom is on one side and roomie's was on the other-- Both bathrooms are also ensuite to the bedroom. So I went in and changed out of my clothes into something comfier to sleep in and crawled into my bed, letting my brother do his own thing in the bathroom. I'm just trying to rest and suddenly my brother is pulling me out of my bed and dragging me out of my own room. He's yelling that he's taking my bed, did I really expect him to take the couch? And I'm not very confrontational. I'm flustered, tired, and honestly a little afraid after the neck choke incident. FWB steps in like a hero and tries to calmly explain that its my bed, and I will sleep in it, I have been kind enough to let him stay and he should not be so ungrateful. Brother fucking loses his mind. Starts screaming his head off about how selfish I am and how reliant I am on our parents and won't be able to do anything on my own as an adult (I was financially dependent on my parents at 19 while in college, shocker). He starts drunkenly trying to pick up his dog's toys and searching for his keys, and both FWB and I step in and tell him he can't go driving like this, after like half a bottle of fireball. He at least needs to sober up before he can drive. I stand in front of the front door, as my brother is still searching for his keys, and there is no way I'm letting him out of here right now. Brother has found his keys, and starts pulling at me and hurting me. Lucky for me, FWB had been a pretty good wrestler in highschool. He got my brother pinned down and I snatched the keys, hiding over by the sink in case I had to throw them in there. He's screaming his head off and my poor roommate comes out and asks what the hell is going on because she knows I'm very quiet and tend to keep visitors in my room. I'm like half sobbing trying to explain and the FWB, still pinning my brother, tells her that we're trying to keep him from drunk driving. My roommate does not play around with that. She was in nursing school, and had recently lost a friend to a drunk driver. I don't know how it worked, but she put on her stern nurse tone and told my brother that he was free to leave when he sobered up, or she herself would be calling the cops on him, and both me and FWB could press additional charges for assault. He reluctantly agreed to this condition and FWB let him off the floor, but sat in front of the front door just in case. When he was sobered up, he left, saying 'I hope you like mom and dad, because I'm not your family anymore'.
And that was devastating. I couldn't stop crying. My FWB went back to bed with me and laid me down in bed and let me cry until I passed out. He skipped his class that day to be there for me. I know I don't paint a good picture of my brother, but I did/do love him. I thought now that we were older that he'd mellowed out and we could be good friends like I always wanted. I mean, I made like 300 fake facebook accounts back in the day to vote for his band to be a headliner at a large concert. Just a few years prior when he was home on a break he introduced me to a TV show we binged and he let my lay on his shoulder. (I was/am very touch starved but paralyzed by fear that I'm annoying the other person, and all my friends were made later in life and are states away). When Pokemon Go came out we would take late night drives around quiet places of town while hunting pokemon together. We traded off the controller on online battlefield games and compared scores and the most ridiculous deaths. I really thought that he loved me too, finally, after years of resentment.
He didn't speak to me for 2 years. I didn't find out until later, but my parents lied for him on my behalf that he still loved me and was just annoyed, and gave me birthday/christmas presents that they told me had been from him, just that he was working. I really treasured those objects when I didn't know the truth about them. I got a really stupid mug with the first letter of my name on it in pink and zebra print (two things I don't really enjoy) but I used that thing every single day.
So, these are glimpses into my previous relationship with my brother. I don't really remember when he started speaking to me again, but I sure know he never apologized. He had finally hit rock bottom and asked my father to put in a good word for him at (insert facility with decent pay and good benefits but hard work), which he had previously rejected by telling my parents that it was a shit job. My brother's name got put closer to the top of the resumes. He got in. It wasn't easy work, or comfy sometimes, but it paid well enough to endure that, I guess. My brother used to be rather athletic.
Between the cut off point and then, my brother had worked at a (also generic job) a town or two over and hated the commute. He also happened to find a girlfriend with an apartment sort of close by. She didn't like having him over because of his dog, and almost never let him do any overnight. But now that my brother had a better paying job, she was willing to move in with him, of course. My brother bought a house in our home town and she came with it. She pays a ridiculously low amount of rent to my brother.
If she was home and brother wasn't, the dog stayed crated up because she didn't want to deal with it. Both of them worked, but her job isn't at all difficult. And yet somehow, sometimes pulling doubles, my brother ended up doing most of everything. My brother, who didn't learn to do his laundry until his 20s, ate pizza every single day, and had left used condoms on the floor of his bedroom in our parents house when he left. He did most of the cooking because she says she's bad at it. But will make pies for her mom. When the holidays came around, instead of discussing or rotating, they will always go to her family first. If my brother can come to ours at all. He often misses entire occassions (we don't go out big, but like, cmon. Hand your dad the gift card on his birthday at least, not 2 weeks later).
I also used to get to hangout or see my brother sometimes. Maybe once every few weeks, and it was fun! It was the friendship I had always dreamt of. Now I can't even get him to do anything online with me from the comfort of his own home. I don't have a single text from him this year past 1/27.
At first, we all understood. She was quirky. I was quirky. We share several similar traits and interests. I used to like that and be excited to have a family member like me, but now I dread the day she becomes family.
Let's start with the smoking car. Me and my parents were driving near his street so we could cut through to the highway, and out of nowhere, black smoke starts coming from the hood. My father tells me and my mom to get out and he'll get it to my brother's and out of the road to look at it and see what was going on. This was like.... early August. It was very hot outside. Since I've 'been in the house before' and 'know what it's like' I am 'allowed' to come into my brother's house to cool off. But GF refuses letting in either of them, referring to the messy state of the house. Which, okay, fair-- But its HER messes. My brother cleans up after her. I learned later that GF snapped at him about his family always coming over unannounced and how she has to hurry to put on a bra and everything is messy and we can't just drop in its rude! She says, as her mother and brother do the exact same thing, in a house she doesn't own. But my family let it be water under the bridge for now. My brother called me a f'in a'hole for telling my mom about the conversation. Because my mom was livid.
The next thing is my father. My dad's family has a pretty big history of strokes and heart attacks, and he's had one heart attack. My dad had been in pain all day and he finally gave up at about 3AM and woke my mom up to drive him to the hospital. I don't have a license at this point, so there's little that I can do. My mom says the surgery he probably needs isn't even done here and they're transferring him, my mom asked me to keep my brother in the loop. So I told him about this and about the time they would reach the hospital, because my mom dad gran and I share locations. I asked if he would take me up, I had a bag full of things that might make him more comfortable or less stressed. The hospital they're taking our dad to is a little over an hour away. Everyone is more or less frantic. My brother is talking to work for him, I'm making sure that for however many hours that our pets will be okay and talking to my mom's work. We drive there and nothing major happens, but it was so... Uncomfortable? Tense. The thing that's hurting my dad is a blocked or enlarged blood vessel that cuts off oxygen to the tissue around it, which, cells die, and you really need your colon, the area my dad has an issue with. The thing is, until they can do the surgery, it was like he was a ticking time bomb. My brother takes me home when visitor hours are over and I hold my dogs tight. The next day is filled with lots of pricks pokes and prods at my dad so we don't go that day. We do go the day after, Friday. My brother's GF is in the truck with him. I'm not really paying attention to much of anything because for all we know my dad could die before we got there. Brothers' GF goes to get some snacks from the long drive and the fact that she's not exactly family yet. My brother, mom and I rotate who is away in the cafe and eating with GF. I see GF and my brother whispering angrily at each other. She's tugging at his arm. I manage to pick up 'We're going to miss my mom's dinner!" And I am just stunned. Her mother has a small family dinner every single friday and makes meatloaf. His GF wanted us to head back from our critical father, because she didn't want to miss a weekly event. And I really have to hand it to my brother for not snapping right then and there. He waited until we were in his truck and out of the hospital parking lot and says "How in the f'ck do you say something to me like that? Like, for real, wtf!" GF starts crying and says its a family tradition and her mom is all she has left-- False. She has her mom, sister, and brother, at least. Her father died in a car incident that hospitalized her as a kid. So my brother snaps again like 'are you seriously telling me you value a f'ing loaf of meat over a life? we have no idea what will happen, my dad could die within the hour and i'm not there, he could die tomorrow, how long d-" And GF cuts him off wailing that her dad is dead. Which, yes, is a horrifyingly traumatic experience. But she does not get to play the 'my dad is dead' card ten years after the fact, to justify leaving our possibly dying father before visiting hours ended. She tried to emotionally blackmail my brother by apologizing to me through tears that this must be so hard for me but honestly I was doing my best to block it out, staring at pictures of dogs in hammocks. I shared my brother's sentiment.
But wait, there's more! Remember that car accident GF had years ago? You would think that, if nothing else, she would be empathetic for someone/their family in a car crash? You'd be wrong! I was rear ended at 60 mph right in front of my house after coming home from work (the ambulance took me straight back to work lmao). The physical damage to me was pretty minimal, bruises and a sprained ankle because my foot was pressed on the brake, waiting for an opportunity to cross into the driveway. This was late October 2020. Covid regulations were pretty strict. So I was alone in a room for a while and in pain. My parents had followed the ambulance. My dad had actually heard the crash and went 'huh she usually comes home now' and runs over after seeing the wreckage. My parents had the crash footage, grainy, but there thanks to the cameras set up outside our house. I hadn't realized it by that point but I had a pretty good concussion, and I was hurt, and scared. I was texting my mom constantly but my dad had left his phone at home in the rush to get my mom and she hadn't charged her phone, they'd been in the parking lot for like an hour and a half already. They promised me they'd be back soon, they'll just pop in and let my brother know since he lives nearby. My parents didn't even ask to like, stay and sit with them instead of a cold car. My mom asked to pee and to borrow a charging cable (they had one, GF has the same model phone) given the, you know, situation. My brother barely cracked the door to speak with them. He said no, because GF was uncomfortable, because they were waiting for their second negative test to come in. Read that again. They had tested negative. It's not like my mom would go near anyone to the bathroom either-- The back door that's used more often is literally inches away from the bathroom door. My brother didn't even try to argue with his GF about his own home and some empathy for someone else dealing with a car crash. It absolutely disgusted my parents. And later on brother told me he got another earful about our parents just dropping in without notice and its like? Excuse me? Its his house!
Unfortunately, a tire popped on my parents' car when we were nearby. It was like, 3 years since the first issue with the car. I went inside and asked my brother to let my mom in because its raining. GF did not like that, and didn't realize I could overhear her down the hall, arguing with my brother and his family again. I went over the next day to my brother and he was actively cleaning up GF's mess so it wouldn't be as 'embarassing' for her. I sat him down and talked to him as realistically as I could. I have depression, anxiety, emotional abuse trauma, agorophobia, and very few friends. But I'm okay. He started very quietly expressing his frustration towards GF. She doesn't do much around the house or contribute financially, lets her family over but not his, him doing most of the cooking despite regularly pulling 12s. I sat there calmly, because of course I knew this. This is what makes the situation somewhat even more sticky. I asked my brother, "Do you actually love someone like that? Or are you afraid to be alone?" He's been in one relationship or another for most of my life. Lately he had been confiding in me about how bad his mental health was falling and I was like 'that's not a slump, that's. that's depression.' So when I asked my brother the question, he hesitated. That spoke loudly enough in my opinion. But then I also saw my brother's face crumpling as he admitted he just didn't want to be alone. GF wants babies but my brother knows with her medical history and condition on top of being so lazy and bluntly told me she would not be a good mother and hopes to God that day doesn't come. He is so unhappy being with her. We both heard the rustling of a comforter and my brother lowered his panicky voice and asked me to leave so she doesn't see me here. That is incredibly messed up, especially since its his name on the house. I haven't seen my brother at his house since then, and that was over 2 years ago.
During COVID, GF started working from home, and it stayed that way. My brother still takes care of most things.
In the mean time, he's proposed to her. Yeah. I managed to save things when all our faces dropped at the Christmas dinner he announced their engagement at. My brother calls her by a nickname that was also the name of a beloved family dog that had passed away only one month ago. My dad and my reactions at that time were genuine confusion and sadness about him bringing up our passed pet. Everything was pretty quiet after that. When we got home, I texted my brother and told him that hearing our dog's name in conversation after losing her so recently shattered us, be we were, in fact, happy for his engagement.
I lied.
None of us want him to marry her. I dread the day that I get a wedding invitation or GF shows up pregnant. She would be a terrible mother. My brother is aware of the fact that my parents think she's a rude, inconsiderate brat that only thinks of herself, from that earlier conversation that I talked to my parents about. My mom snapped that they don't have to like her, all they were required to do was be civil, and we are, so shut up.
At larger family functions GF tends to gravitate around me. Like I said, we have similar interests and personalities. And I have never told her to get lost or had it in me to upfront tell her we don't like her. I am absolutely horrible at confrontation, but my patience is wearing thin.
Last year my parents set up brunch for Mother's Day. We were at the table when my brother called and said they were going to urgent care because GF had another one of her migraines that make her vomit. Which, she takes medicine and has injectable solutions. Some situation always comes up with her right before my brother would come to us.
My parents tried again with the Mother's Day brunch last week. On the day of, he said that he was too tired to come, can we try next week? Please insert the eyeroll of the century.
Because of our clear dislike, my brother doesn't often bring his GF around anymore on the offchance she lets him. It occurred to me that my parents planned the same brunch as last year, and I was dreading my question. "Is GF coming with us for brunch?" They don't know. All my brother did was confirm the time and place. The thought of having to deal with her in the morning and pretend that I don't see her for what she is, is already exhausting me. I can barely get my brother to even play online with me. I feel like this has been festering long enough that at some point, its all going to overflow at once. But I am absolutely disgusted by how she takes advantage of my brother's fear of being alone and how the world revolves around her.
I had a dream the other day, actually, it was a good dream. I was at their wedding, and the priest guy said the standard 'speak now or hold your peace' and I stood up and loudly shouted OBJECTION! Every single person in the room turned to look at me, one because I don't raise my voice like that, two my patience is vast, and three, to upset me to this level of shouldering my anxiety by making a spectacle of myself. I then explained every detail, especially how much she was charged for rent, that my brother admitted he wasn't happy, and I wanted better for him than to just be an ATM maid.
If I bring this up to my brother again, I may lose him forever. But if I don't, he may be miserable together. And on the third side-- Do I actually really want my brothers' friendship at this point? Like, I'm definitely fed up dealing with his GF like she is. Plus, I pointed out and reiterated to him before that he admitted he wasn't happy.
I am very, very quiet by default. Never got into much trouble. I was and still am a gentle soul at my core being. If things get to a point where I cross lines of polite manners and call someone out on their bs, people around know that someone did something almost unforgivable. I'm wondering if my brother would know that.
TLDR; Brother's fiancee is disliked for good reason. My brother has isolated. I miss him, but also never want to see him again. I want to remind him that this marriage isn't a good idea, but I don't want to antagonize him.

(Spoilers for the as-yet-unreleased audio play On In The Background, sorry)
If the power has these effects, what would a reasonable method be? I was thinking a blast comparable to Doctor's plus the ability to place up to 8 traps that also apply the effect, but that leaves the character lacking a way to quickly inflict it in an AoE- would something like "once you've applied 8 stacks, you can cause an AoE around each generator that applies 1 stack to anyone caught in it and then this AoE goes on cooldown" be too much?
Power: Rend of the Jaculorantian
The higher-ups whispered that Frazier's first pet project had telepathic capabilities. The next AI produced at his request could do something similar.
By tearing into a target's mind, ZHOQ shares its visions of other dimensions and universes, things which should not be. Katelyn Behyra has formally expressed her gratitude for the additional data implanted by the Entity, making this process much more efficient.
If a Survivor is hit by ZHOQ's attack, they will hear a snarling sound effect and see an animation of a glitchy ZHOQ biting their face, followed by a flash of green light that may disorient them. The forbidden knowledge imparted to them throws them out of sync with the orderly universe, and they become afflicted with the stackable Dissonant status effect (up to 5 stacks).
Dissonant has the following effects:
-Their HUD portrait is surrounded by a number of green spikes indicating their stack value, and each stack causes their body to appear to “glitch” more intensely.
-Survivors are afflicted with Blindness and Deafened. Survivors with at least 3 stacks are afflicted with Broken and will appear to panic when receiving Altruistic Healing. Survivors with at least 5 stacks lose the Blindness status effect and have the Existantrum's (Katelyn's) Aura revealed to them, but lose a Health State after looking directly at the Existantrum or her Aura for 4 consecutive seconds.
-Survivors’ Action Speeds are decreased by -3% per stack.
-Dissonant will fade over time at a rate of 1 stack per 16 seconds whenever the Survivor is not downed or hooked. When a Survivor loses a stack, if they have not performed an Action that can trigger Skill Checks during that stack, their refusal to play the Entity's game invites painful judgment; they become Exposed until they are no longer Dissonant. (A Skill Check does not have to trigger to prevent this, as long as the Action could trigger one.)
Special Interaction: Harmonize
Survivors can cause Dissonant to fade faster by holding the Action button to Harmonize. The Survivor will move 15% slower and emit a loud hum that can reveal their presence, reducing the time it takes for Dissonant to tick down by 4 seconds (1 stack per 12 seconds by default); for each Survivor within 32 meters that is also Harmonizing, 1 additional second is removed from the timer. (The prompt to Harmonize will appear if you are within range of another Harmonizing Survivor, even if you yourself are not afflicted with Dissonant.)

"You have the power to tell me anything, KC. And I have the power to make it happen.”
-Zulfiqar-class Habitat Operation and Quantification AI

First
Previous
The moons were barely visible through the snow and clouds as Fulmara took her watch for the night. The normal sounds of the woods were faint, muted by the growing white blanket, and even with her low light vision, Fulmara couldn't see more than thirty feet from camp, so heavy were the falling flakes. She looked upward and offered a brief prayer to Fulmos for safety before settling in. Her time was looking to be uneventful, as few creatures would be active in this weather, and fewer people.
She had just rested her hammer across her lap when she felt it, a strange sensation from above, as though something was watching her. Looking up, she saw the larger moon, not through the clouds and snow, but clearly, as though it were hovering just out of reach. The moon then began to change, shifting from it's normally pale complexion to a more ruddy appearance, before glowing brighter and more orange. The sound of metal striking metal reached her ears, and she began to understand.
She could smell the smoke of the forge, familiar enough from her childhood, and a song reached her ears, faint at first, but growing ever louder. She didn't recognize the language, but she knew a dwarven forging song when she heard one. She closed her eyes and listened for a bit, before the scene began to change. The light faded, and she opened her eyes again to see that the moon, once bright and warm, was now cold and dark, and the song that filled her ears was replaced with a cruel laughter, and a whispering that haunted her nightmares.
As quickly as it had begun, the vision ended. The moon faded from vision, returning to its place above the night sky, and the voices grew distant, before stopping entirely. A cold chill took her and the frigid wind reasserted itself. It was then that she noticed the hand on her shoulder, gently shaking her. Jeron stared down at her, concern evident on his face.
“You alright?” he asked, pulling her back toward the tent. She realized she'd wandered away at some point. “You were standing there for a couple minutes, staring at the sky.”
She shook her head, dislodging some of the snow that had built up in her blonde hair. “I think I've just been sent a vision. I'm not really sure what it means, but it's not good.”
“Alright, you go rest, and I'll take my watch. You can explain it in the morning, once we're all awake to hear it.”
Fulmara agreed, and brushed the rest of the snow off before returning to the tent. She pulled the covers over her head and tried to sleep, to forget the whispers. They echoed in her mind, swirling through her thoughts until they were all she could hear. The dwarf clenched her fists, raging against the noise in her head, and she felt her power stir. And then, like a torch that had been snuffed out, the whispers stopped, and she quickly fell asleep, the warmth of her divine magics wrapped around her thoughts like a woolen blanket.
“I think we all know what the whispers represent,” Jeron commented as they ate. “The song you heard though...”
“Right,” Firun added. “You said it was dwarven but not. Can you explain?”
“Not really. It was a dwarven smithing song. It had the cadence and the right feeling, but the language was something else. I don't think I could replicate it if I tried.”
“I have an idea,” Verrick posed. “If this was a vision, then it was sent by Fulmos, right?”
“Most likely,” Jeron agreed. “Though not necessarily true.”
“Then wouldn't the song be in a language that only the gods could sing?”
“That makes sense,” the Bard confirmed. “And it would almost confirm that it was sent by the Forge himself. The darker option is that our whispering enemy has some hold on you, and that he's trying to torment you.”
“How will we know?” she asked.
“We'll have to wait for more visions. Or we can find someone to delve into the memory with you, but that talent is not a common one, and they don't usually use it unless it's necessary. Too easy to get lost in memories, and some of the darker stuff sticks with you, or so I'm told.”
“Still, we need to look into this more,” Firun explained. “Even in my hometown, as terrified of magic as they were, people still respected visions from the gods. They didn't necessarily respect the receiver of the vision, but still...”
The human and dwarf both nodded, and Verrick looked apprehensive as he tried to sort out his thoughts. Finally, he looked back up to the group.
“We have a lot of things that need to be done, and not enough of us able to do them. Something's got to fall by the wayside, and two of those things are more important than the other.”
“Stop right there,” Jeron said, cutting the halfling off mid thought. “Firun's magic isn't going to be solved overnight. We can run tests and train all we want, but ultimately, it's going to take time for him to gain proper control. And Fulmara's vision isn't particularly conclusive either. Not many details in what she saw, so we have nowhere to start that we didn't have already. It's more likely a warning of things to come rather than a call to action.
“What we can work on is teaching you two to read properly, and tracking down your father. I think I know where he went, or where he was headed at least, and if that's not the end of the search, then we can ask around and see if any records have anything.
“Where do you think he went?” Verrick asked.
“He was carrying a large amount of alchemical equipment, right? Only two reasons for that. Either he was setting up a shop somewhere, which he wouldn't have left you behind for, or he was planning on brewing a large amount of something in an environment that was too dangerous for you. I know there was a plague in the area bowlward of Norgham around that time, and he would've had to take this trade road to get there, which lines up with the doctor seeing him back then. He definitely wouldn't have taken his child into an active plague, which explains him leaving you behind. Really, I just need to make sure the years line up with the timeline before we start traveling down that way.”
“So you might actually be able to find him?”
“Temper your expectations,” the Bard cautioned. “That was years ago. For him to not return after all that time...”
“Right, something probably happened. Still, I need to know.”
“We'll find him,” Fulmara said. “And if he's still alive, I'll hold him still so you can punch him.”
Verrick grinned. “I'd appreciate that.”
“So where do we need to go to do your research?” Firun asked, scrubbing the sleep from his face with a handful of snow.
“Back home. The merchants guild keeps records of major events like that, just in case they end up finding a pattern. As the largest trade city in the area, Norgham will have records of any plagues, disasters, and anything else that threatens to disrupt trade.”
“That makes a strange amount of sense,” Fulmara said. She strapped the last of her armor on and tugged, making sure everything was tight. “Why do I feel like merchants shouldn't be in charge of tracking history?”
“Because they'd charge for access,” Verrick commented. “And you can be sure they'd change things to make them look better, or to remove something that threatens their profit.”
“Their entire purpose is to help the merchants avoid situations where they would see a significant loss of profits,” Jeron explained. “They don't censor things because that hides critical information that could help them make more money. The trade off is that unless you have the money and a valid reason for the research, they don't want to deal with you, and they don't collect information on anything that doesn't generally affect them. Fortunately, we do have a valid reason, we've done some good work for them, and a plague is exactly the kind of thing they'd monitor.”
“Is a missing person a valid reason?” Firun countered. “If they were an important figure, I could see that working, but we're looking for an alchemist. No offense.”
“None taken. And you're right. A single missing person doesn't seem like something they'd care about.”
“We're not looking for a person,” Jeron explained. “We're doing research on a historical plague and its cure. There are any number...”
His eyes defocused for a moment, and he tilted his head slightly, as if listening to a far off conversation. The bard then cupped his hand to his mouth before speaking.
“Understood. We're on our way back now. Should be back to the city by nightfall. Need to report to the guard before we return.”
He returned his attention to the group. “Sorry about that. Ryn'Ala just contacted me. She's been doing some research through her own contacts, and may have some information about our smokey friend.”
“Then let's get going,” Fulmara announced. “The longer we wait, the later we get back.”
“I agree,” Firun said. “I don't like not knowing what our enemy is.”
Verrick had already started breaking down the tent, and grunted as he pounded the inside of the canvas to remove the snow from the exterior. In short order, their gear was packed away, the fire extinguished, and the campsite swept for loose tools and anything else that might otherwise be left behind. Within the hour, they were well on their way back home.
“Ghouls you say?” asked Mickel as Jeron gave his report.
“Correct. Two ghouls, a ghast, and a nest in an excavated tunnel system. The ghouls are dead, and the nest was burned.”
“Right, that's certainly a story.” Mickel scratched the stubble growing from his pale scalp. He set the request back on the desk and turned to the door behind him.
“Hey, Jev! Jevin! Got some hazard pay you need to authorize!”
There was a crashing sound from the back room, where the prisoners were kept, and soon the door swung open, revealing Jevin, the guard who had processed their prisoners the last time they'd arrived. He stumbled out, blinking sleep from his eyes.
“Mickel, you bastard, do you have any idea what time it is? I just spent twelve hours clearing that damned rat infestation out of the sewers. Let me sleep!”
He looked up at the group, and his expression changed.
“Oh, it's you lot! Got another load of bounties to claim?”
“Hazard pay, Jev,” Mickel repeated. “That grave robbing job turned out to be a bunch of ghouls.”
“Oof. Fought a ghoul once,” Jevin said, gesturing to a thick scar running down the right side of his face. “Not something I'd choose to do again. Now, not saying I don't believe you, but I need proof for the paperwork. You bring me something?”
Jeron pulled a phial from his belt, rattling it as he handed it over. “Left fang from each. Longer one was the ghast.”
“When did you take those?” Verrick asked.
“Right before I burned their corpses,” Firun said, “while you two were flirting.”
Mickel whistled, and Jevin snorted as he tried to hold back a laugh. Verrick and Fulmara both turned a bright shade of red and stumbled over each other's protests.
“Anyway,” Jev announced, clearing his throat, “These will do. Mickel, the forms?”
The bald man passed a parchment to Jevin, who noted the evidence and signed it, before stamping it with a wax seal. He fished around in the desk for a moment before passing the parchment and a small pouch of coins to Jeron. “Five silver for the job, and I've authorized another thirty silver in hazard pay for the ghouls. Starting to appreciate the twelve hours in the sewers a lot more now. The ghoul I fought was alone, and it took five of us to take down. I was just a recruit then, but still.”
Jeron added the pouch of coins to his bag as he answered. “We're just glad we were able to resolve that without much difficulty. You may want to send out a notice to the villages under your protection, tell them to keep an eye out for a bit. We believe this might not be a random occurrence.”
“You think someone wanted the ghouls there?” Mickel asked, incredulously.
“I found an emblem down by the nest,” Verrick explained. “Firun said it was enchanted at one point, but the magic had gone. Something like that, hidden where nobody would ever go, just steps from the ghoul nest?”
“Bit of a stretch to call that a coincidence,” Jevin agreed. “I'll send a missive out to the villages. What should they be looking for?”
“Unearthed graves,” Firun listed, counting on his fingers as he went, “bodies with humanoid bite marks, strange claw marks, attacks that leave their victims paralyzed, or strange noises in a graveyard after dark. That's what we got from our research.”
“Right, I'll let everyone know. Thanks again for your hard work.”
“Keep paying us like this,” Jeron said as they made their way to the door, “and we'll keep handling problems. Sorry about the sewers though.”
“Yeah, yeah, go on now! Before I have to drag you back down with me tomorrow.”
The party strolled through the city, the buildings now decorated with snow and ice from the previous night's storm. The road was mostly clear, though a layer of slush remained to give their footfalls a wet, squishy feeling. They stopped at a market stall to grab a late dinner of roasted meats and vegetables on skewers before returning to Ryn'Ala's home. The study was brightly lit, and several voices drifted out into the hall as the front door closed behind them. Ryn'Ala called them in, and they found two individuals sitting with her.
“You've all returned,” she said, taking a long draw from her pipe. “I'm truly pleased to see you all safe. I have some good news for you, and some of the unfortunate variety. And then something that fits into both categories, I think.”
She stood, drawing herself up to her full height, towering over the party. “Where should we begin?”
Next
Wiki
Anyone who's ever played D&D has reached a part of the early campaign where you have a bunch of goals to achieve, but no idea where to go first. In the campaign I'm playing now, that moment came when we ended a self sustaining zombie plague and blew a hole in the wall that turned the quarantine zone into magical Australia. The whole world opened up to us, even if we were technically fugitives. It's an intimidating point for everyone, where your action and inaction start to really affect the world around you.

𝜗𝜚 introduction

back again with another informational post! this one is now about grounding yourself. i see a lot of posts talking about not being able to ground themselves once they reach their dr. they do the method, they wake up in their dr. but, they don't ground themselves. so they only last a couple of seconds in that dr. that's okay, it happens. it happened to me many times as well before i got the hang of it. if you can manage to this, then you can manage to shift again and make it longer!
the following are tips that i have used and still use to ground myself. it helps well and i hope you can find it helpful too.
now looking back, this will be a long post so just be warned haha. a tldr will be in the bottom in the conclusion.

˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚ focus ˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚

the following are some tips on how to focus on your dr using visualizations. if you cannot visualize, that is fine! you can either skip this section or learn how to visualize. visualization is more than just seeing images. instead of focusing on the act of shifting, focus on your breathing and detaching yourself. don't focus on the concept of shifting. don't overthink it; focus on the journey to shift. focus on how your breath travels all the way and surrounding your body. how your chest pushes out with each exhale. how maybe it hurts to breathe in too much. do you breathe too quickly? the more that you focus on this, the more your body will relax. then, focus on breathing in your dr.
to practice getting better at visualization, try to imagine an apple in front of you. what is its size and shape? what color is it? if it is in your hand, how firm is it? what does it taste like as you bite into it?
another exercise is i want you to think of your favorite food. imagine how it tastes in your head, even for just a split second, your brain will make your taste buds remember. that is a visualization. practice meditating and visualizing as you meditate. your soul idea is to visualize and focus on that one thing. and only that one thing. make the meditation longer and longer each time until you feel closer and better connected to your dr enough to shift.

🎀‎˚₊‧ intent ‎‧₊˚🎀

intent is the most important part of shifting. it is the difference between wishful thinking and actually shifting. some people struggle with intent and not knowing what it is.
now personally, i find saying things out loud is good and more helpful for me. you can even whisper it. hearing the words to yourself does more in my opinion. i have many options for intent. you could go to bed telling yourself your intentions to wake up in your dr.
now, at this point, your intention is just wishful thinking. you want to wake up in your dr. so you close your eyes and go to sleep, hoping that you will. now, to add to it and improve upon this intention idea. go to bed, and try a shifting method while awake. focus on your body going to sleep. if your body feels stuck and tingling, let it happen.
as your body tries to sleep, it will become uncomfortable. don't let the uncomfortable feelings make you move or stop this state. keep thinking about your dr. try to immerse yourself in it. think of yourself sleeping in your dr.
now, if you do not shift even while doing this, that is okay. you still have other chances. this next step can be done after. do the same thing again. go to sleep with the intent of waking up in your reality. you will have your dream and you will slowly start to wake up. you wake up before your eyes open. in this state, you are still groggy and teetering between awake ans asleep. your body is tired and you are still stuck. use this to your advantage!
affirm the fact that you are waking up in your desired reality. make sure that you are sure of it. make sure that you are becoming aware of your dr and not your cr. i talk about how to in my 54321 technique section below.
but hey, let's say that you did all of that, and still haven't shifted at this point. well, you have two options. either a, write down your dreams in great detail. this is so you can try to lucid dream and do a lucid dreaming method one day.
or b, while you are still tired, quickly play something to shift to or a meditation. meditate and relax yourself throughout the day to help if you wish. you can always try again later in the night.
you can also try to do similar to what people do when they astral project. set an alarm to wake up in the middle of the night. do something for a few minutes until you feel tired again. lie back down and try to shift again using this method.
if you believe that each time you try will be another failure, then you will not shift. don't get discouraged. sometimes relaxing yourself and not stressing is the best option honestly.
i will also add here that once you do get to your dr, intend to stay for a while. think of it like martial arts. in martial arts, you are taught to not punch at the opponent, but instead, to intend to punch through them. don't just intend to go to your dr, intend to stay for a while. however long you wish. having a time frame in mind helps but you don't have to.

‧˚ʚ🍓ɞ˚‧ 54321 ‧˚ʚ🍓ɞ˚‧

the 54321 method is one to tap into your senses. i call this a method not in reference to a shifting method, but as a grounding method. at this point, you have shifted and are just looking to ground yourself in order to stay in your dr for more than a couple of seconds.
this method is used to ground anyone dealing with anxiety and a good meditation strategy in general. it includes looking for the following.
: ̗̀➛ 5
look for five things you can see. or five things you wish to visualize seeing once in your dr. at this point, you are starting to see things. so calm down, don't freak out of get excited. look around, calm yourself. find five things in your surrounding that you can see. your pillow, the ceiling, the wall. is there anything on your walls? any posters or photos? what color are your walls? these questions are important to ask yourself when grounding as it makes you focus on its realness.
: ̗̀➛ 4
four things you can touch. start to feel around and explore things. your blankets. the wall. the texture of your pillow. your own face. you can feel your face on the pillow. is it soft? stiff? warm? cold? where is your arm? is it under the pillow?
: ̗̀➛ 3
find and acknowledge three things that you hear. maybe people are talking in the background. the birds chirping. did you fall asleep listening to music maybe?
: ̗̀➛ 2
two things you can smell. breakfast being ready. incense in the background. did you light any candles? any pets that you sleep by? all of these are important to acknowledge.
: ̗̀➛ 1
finally, find one thing that you can taste, your teeth have a taste. lick you teeth and think of that taste. maybe hair was in your mouth and you can taste that.

💌₊˚⊹ conclusion ₊˚⊹💌

a quick tldr first now because this post got very long. for focus, you need to focus on your breathing and the idea of being in your dr; not the concept of shifting itself. for intent, actually make the effort to feel your body in your dr rather than having just a wishful thinking. and finally, for the 54321, focus on your senses when in your dr. and that is basically how to ground yourself.
this post was posted at 8:18 p.m.
happy shifting! ᡣ𐭩

Rain poured down on the two weary travelers as they finally caught sight of refuge.
“Look, a temple!” One of them shouted.
“Let’s hurry! Hopefully they aren’t asleep yet!”
With water-logged clothes, they ran over to the temple steps. According to the sign, they were at Mannenji Temple. They trudged up the steps as quickly as they could muster. Monks greeted them at the door and ushered them in, offering fresh clothes along with towels to dry off.
“Thank you, you’ve saved us!” They prased.
Before long, they were comfortably drinking hot tea and telling of riveting adventures. They spoke of exploring ancient ruins and finding priceless treasures. Many of the stories were humorous and harrowing tales going late into the evening. After they were left alone to sleep for the night, the two men grinned at each other.
“I knew you were a good story teller but….that last one was a doozy!” The first man said.
“And they bought every bit of it,” the other man said. “So often, the kindest are the most gullible!”
“Had we told them a fraction of the truth, they’d see us out quickly.”
They both chuckled.
“Let’s not harm them though. They’re not like the others. I have something in mind.”
“What is it?”
“I’ll tell you tomorrow. For now, let’s get some rest and head out in the morning.”
That night, one of them rested deeply while the other exacted his plan.
The next morning, the two rested men thanked the monks ferociously for their hospitality and left for town.
Once they were far enough away, one of the men beamed mischievously at the other.
“I always pause when you smile like that. Wait…is this about your plan, Ita?”
“Ah, Tomo. You know me too well.”
Ita rifled through his bag and slowly procured a small doll. It instantly struck Tomo, as it had a strange aura. The dolls face was round and childlike with raven, shoulder-length hair in a bob and wore a traditional kimono. This fact alone would have made the doll quite cute, but another aspect negated all else. The two eyes of the doll were endless black circles that bore an untouchable, creeping anxiety.
“Where did you….you didn’t. Did you?!”
“Yes. I took it from the temple.”
“I can’t believe you…”
Itazura rolled his eyes and put the doll back into the bag.
“Keep your pants on. It was inside a box, so it’ll be a while before they realize it’s gone.”
“That’s not the point!” Tomodachi threw his hands up in frustration. “We’re not saints, but they did nothing to deserve this!”
“Do you know how much this could fetch us? I don’t know what it is, but the fact that it’s kept in the temple is enough to secure us for a long time! The box itself would have been worth taking, but I couldn’t sneak it back to our room.”
“I don’t like it.” Tomo crossed his arms at this.
“You don’t have to come with me, you know.”
“We’re supposed to only take from…..ahh fine. Let’s just see how much this thing is worth.”
“I have a feeling it will change your mind.”
They trekked into town and the uncomfortable silence eventually smoothed over. After getting a bite to eat, they found a trade shop that would have some idea of the doll’s value.
“Hello, gentlemen. Anything I could interest you in?”
“Yes, in fact.”
Ita gently laid the doll on the counter and the elderly shop owner looked it over. After a furrow of his brow, the owner said:
“Was this made recently?”
“No, we found it.”
“Hmmmm.”
The elderly man fetched a pair of glasses and scrutinized every inch of the doll, his face becoming more lined with concern. After he seemed satisfied with the inspection, he looked at the men gravely.
“I will only ask once more…you or anyone you know did not make this doll, correct?”
“No. Why do you keep asking?”’
The shop owner’s face went pale as the sincerity of the answer sunk in.
“I want to be a hundred percent sure that this is an original. It seems to be an original, it’s just…..I’m surprised that you have this in your possession.”
“What is it?” Tomo finally spoke up, his curiosity gnawing at him.
“This appears to be the Okiku doll.”
“Okiku? That sounds a bit familiar. Refresh me, if you will.”
“A young girl was once gifted this doll as a birthday present. Her older brother saw the doll in a shop window during his travels and was instantly enamored. Somehow he knew this doll was meant for his sister’s two-year birthday. She loved the doll to the point of obsession, but who is to really say when it comes to such a young child? The little girl named the doll Okiku after herself. She fed it, talked to it, put it to bed, and did absolutely everything with it. Sadly, on the girl’s third birthday, she was struck with illness and died clutching the doll in her little arms.”
“That’s…. a bit macabre.”
“That’s only the beginning. The family referred to the doll as Okiku, perhaps treating it as their daughter in a strange way of grieving. Soon after, they experienced countless unexplained events. Lights would turn on and off, doors would slam and disembodied footsteps walked throughout the household. Voices of a young girl were heard talking and singing. And perhaps the most infamous of all…the doll’s hair began to grow as if she were a living being. The family showed the doll to a priest who confirmed all their allegations and they came to the conclusion that the doll contained the spirit of Okiku. Many say that you must care for the doll and continue cutting her hair to appease her. For those who don’t, it will have disastrous consequences.”
“Nonsense,” spat Ita. “Superstitions, legends, and folklore.”
“Believe it or not, many reported the same occurrences for the doll. You know, they actually sent clippings of her hair for scientific analysis.”
“And what of that?” Tomo asked.
“They concluded definitively that the hair was actually that of a human girl.”
“Whoa….”
“I don’t believe any of this,” Ita reiterated.
“Look it up, it’s all been verified. Where did you say you found this, by the way?”
“I didn’t, old man. I just need to know how much you’ll give us for it. Surely this will cost quite a bit considering its history.”
“How much? I wouldn’t give you anything for it! I can’t take this doll!”
“Why not?!”
“Because I don’t wish to be haunted, that’s why! What kind of a question…and you know what’s really strange about this? Last I heard, the family left the doll with the monks.” The man pointed in the direction of Mannenji Temple. “I suppose you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
Ita looked around the shop and confirmed no one else was around. He gave Tomodachi a look, who reluctantly nodded back with a sick feeling in his stomach.
“Please, don’t…”
“Do it!” Itazura commanded.
Tomo whisked over to the front door and locked it before he spun the sign around to “closed.”
“What are you doing?” The shop owner said, backing up with his hands raised.
After all was said and done, the two drifters talked to anyone in town who would lend an ear. They needed someone who was not bound by any moral duty to the doll’s rightful owner. Luckily, Ita had a good eye for people with knowledge of these dealings and there was someone in the next town that would likely pay them for the doll.
Tomo had to force empty thoughts into his mind to block out what they did. He’d hurt others and even killed someone before, but not this way. Not an innocent shop owner.
“If only he’d not said anything about knowing where it came from, the old fool might still be alive,” Tomo thought.
The trip to the next town was a two-day walk, so they gathered supplies and were soon on the road. The silence was beginning to drive Tomo mad as he was only left with his guilty thoughts.
That night, they spoke over the campfire.
“You really believe this stuff, don’t you?” Ita started.
“I don’t know what to believe…I just know that he didn’t deserve that.”
“Are you getting soft on me, Tomo? Don’t have the stomach for this anymore?”
“I don’t think he deserved that! We could have tied him up.”
“Yeah, and then he’d send the police after us. That’s the last thing we need!”
“Let’s just sell this thing and get it over with.”
They sat in silence for a bit, and Ita noticed Tomo closely watching the bag.
“You think she’s really haunted, don’t you?”
“I think I don’t want to find out.”
Ita pulled the doll out of the bag and wagged it at him.
“Mister Tomo, will you give me a kiiiiss?!!”
Ita spoke in a mocking little girl’s voice and erupted into laughter.
“What is wrong with you? Have you no respect for the dead?’
“Oh, c’mon. I don’t think Okiku will mind!”
Tomo exchanged choice words, which fell on deaf ears. Then he picked up his sleeping bag amongst other things and moved to a tree forty yards away.
“Good night,” he shouted in defiance.
“Can I give you a good night kiss first?” Ita responded with his girly voice.
Tomo settled into his new spot, ignoring his awful friend’s laughing fit.
Before long, he settled hard into a dream.
Tomo was living in a lavish home, surrounded by opulent and important things. He smiled at others as he toasted and threw lush parties. It all seemed the life of luxury, but at a cost. At the end of each party, he cleaned up by himself with a strong, foreboding loneliness. The next moment he was cutting the haunted doll’s hair and set her on a decorative altar with lit candles. A ghostly form of an old man kept appearing throughout, glaring at him with forlorn, angry eyes. He haunted Tomo’s every step..
One morning, he awoke to an empty house with no light. A little girl appeared before him and grabbed him by the shoulders and began to shake him.
And shake and shake and shake and shake and…
”Tomo!” A voice jerked him awake.
After snapping his eyes open, he saw Ita holding his shoulders.
“It’s alright. Just me.”
“What do you want?”
“I need to use the bathroom.”
“So go then? What are you, a child? Why wake me up?!”
“I’ve been hearing lots of strange noises, even for a forest. I wanted to be sure you’re awake if something were to happen.”
Tomo sat for a moment, fuming at his friend.
“Okay, fine. I’m already awake now. Make it quick.”
His friend wandered into the woods out of sight. And so Tomo waited.
Something felt strange and he quickly realized what it was. The forest was deathly silent, not like what Itazura said. It occurred to Tomodachi that Ita was probably just scared, which lifted his spirits a bit. He sat up and leaned against a tree and absent-mindedly dozed off.
“Uh?”
Tomo awoke in a startle before checking his watch. It’d been thirty minutes. He walked over to his friend’s camping spot to find him missing.
Something was very wrong.
“Ita!” He whisper-shouted through the woods. “Iiiitaaaaa!”
There was no response.
Shaking, he bumbled his way through the woods in the area he last saw his friend. His flashlight searched everywhere, but his friend was nowhere to be found. Starting to give up, he made a wide berth on his walk back until he tripped over something.
“Ooooof!”
The fall knocked the breath out of him as his light clattered to the forest floor. He got his bearings again and retrieved his flashlight. When he looked back at what he tripped over, he couldn’t believe his eyes.
Ita was laying on the ground with his mouth gaping open, clutching the infamous Okiku doll in his curled hands. The hair of the doll had grown way longer and was wrapped tightly around Ita’s neck.
“No….no, this isn’t real,” he whispered to himself. “I’m dreaming. I must be.”
Placing his hands over his eyes, he thought if he waited a moment and looked again then things would be different. Before he did, an unexplainable noise permeated the air.
There was no doubting it. It was the voice of a little girl singing.
Tomo panicked and rushed back to his sleeping bag, gathering all of his belongings before he rummaged through his former friend’s bag and took the provisions. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he ran along the forest path towards the next town until he collapsed from exhaustion and sat up against a tree.
“It has him now. I’m okay,” were the last thoughts before he fell back asleep.
Tomo dreamed more of the old man he helped kill before he woke again into a bright morning. Despite the malevolent dream, he felt surprisingly refreshed. For a moment, he thought perhaps it really was all a dream.
This thought didn’t last long.
He sat up and rubbed his eyes, then jumped to his feet. The Okiku doll was sitting next to his rucksack with longer hair and Ita’s knife on the ground nearby. Okiku’s eyes stared its abyss in his direction.
“What do you want?!” He yelled.
His eyes went from the doll to the knife and very soon he understood. Every fiber in his being wanted to run screaming from the doll, but he knew it would do him no good. And so he relented to his fate.
Singing softly as he would to a child, he placed the doll in his lap and began to cut the doll’s hair with the knife. He spoke sweet and gentle, pretending that he was asking a little girl about her day and giggling at her answers. Silent tears of fear streamed down his face as he did so in an anxiety-ridden trance.
Once the doll’s hair was properly cut, he sat the doll up and stared at her for a moment.
“I’m sorry for my part in all this, you know. I’ve never been strong. I’ve always been a coward.”
The doll stared back at him and he nodded in understanding.
“Yes…yes, you’re right. I should. It’s only fitting.”
Without another word, Tomo raised the knife to his neck and dragged the blade from one side to the other. A gush of crimson flowed forth, soaking his clothes.
The doll watched...and smiled.
Back at the Mennanji Temple, monks were settling in for the night when the watchman heard a hard knock at the temple doors. As he approached, he called out.
“Who is it?”
“I’ve come to return something,” a voice said from the other side.
The monk promptly opened the door and was shocked to find no one there. He looked down and saw the Okiku doll staring up at him.
“Oh, my sweet little one,” he said softly as he picked the doll up. “Who got you this time, huh?”
He smiled with warmth and closed the door back.
“She’s back,” the watchman called out.
Another monk promptly appeared with a pair of clippers and the watchman held the doll out. Bowing, the monk with clippers took the doll and began cutting its hair.
“Who brought her back?” The hair-cutting monk asked.
“I don’t know. They weren’t there when I answered,” the watchman replied.
As he went about his watch duties for the night, the monk thought to himself.
Come to think of it, it did sound like an older gentlemen, didn’t it?

Rain poured down on the two weary travelers as they finally caught sight of refuge.
“Look, a temple!” One of them shouted.
“Let’s hurry! Hopefully they aren’t asleep yet!”
With water-logged clothes, they ran over to the temple steps. According to the sign, they were at Mannenji Temple. They trudged up the steps as quickly as they could muster. Monks greeted them at the door and ushered them in, offering fresh clothes along with towels to dry off.
“Thank you, you’ve saved us!” They prased.
Before long, they were comfortably drinking hot tea and telling of riveting adventures. They spoke of exploring ancient ruins and finding priceless treasures. Many of the stories were humorous and harrowing tales going late into the evening. After they were left alone to sleep for the night, the two men grinned at each other.
“I knew you were a good story teller but….that last one was a doozy!” The first man said.
“And they bought every bit of it,” the other man said. “So often, the kindest are the most gullible!”
“Had we told them a fraction of the truth, they’d see us out quickly.”
They both chuckled.
“Let’s not harm them though. They’re not like the others. I have something in mind.”
“What is it?”
“I’ll tell you tomorrow. For now, let’s get some rest and head out in the morning.”
That night, one of them rested deeply while the other exacted his plan.
The next morning, the two rested men thanked the monks ferociously for their hospitality and left for town.
Once they were far enough away, one of the men beamed mischievously at the other.
“I always pause when you smile like that. Wait…is this about your plan, Ita?”
“Ah, Tomo. You know me too well.”
Ita rifled through his bag and slowly procured a small doll. It instantly struck Tomo, as it had a strange aura. The dolls face was round and childlike with raven, shoulder-length hair in a bob and wore a traditional kimono. This fact alone would have made the doll quite cute, but another aspect negated all else. The two eyes of the doll were endless black circles that bore an untouchable, creeping anxiety.
“Where did you….you didn’t. Did you?!”
“Yes. I took it from the temple.”
“I can’t believe you…”
Itazura rolled his eyes and put the doll back into the bag.
“Keep your pants on. It was inside a box, so it’ll be a while before they realize it’s gone.”
“That’s not the point!” Tomodachi threw his hands up in frustration. “We’re not saints, but they did nothing to deserve this!”
“Do you know how much this could fetch us? I don’t know what it is, but the fact that it’s kept in the temple is enough to secure us for a long time! The box itself would have been worth taking, but I couldn’t sneak it back to our room.”
“I don’t like it.” Tomo crossed his arms at this.
“You don’t have to come with me, you know.”
“We’re supposed to only take from…..ahh fine. Let’s just see how much this thing is worth.”
“I have a feeling it will change your mind.”
They trekked into town and the uncomfortable silence eventually smoothed over. After getting a bite to eat, they found a trade shop that would have some idea of the doll’s value.
“Hello, gentlemen. Anything I could interest you in?”
“Yes, in fact.”
Ita gently laid the doll on the counter and the elderly shop owner looked it over. After a furrow of his brow, the owner said:
“Was this made recently?”
“No, we found it.”
“Hmmmm.”
The elderly man fetched a pair of glasses and scrutinized every inch of the doll, his face becoming more lined with concern. After he seemed satisfied with the inspection, he looked at the men gravely.
“I will only ask once more…you or anyone you know did not make this doll, correct?”
“No. Why do you keep asking?”’
The shop owner’s face went pale as the sincerity of the answer sunk in.
“I want to be a hundred percent sure that this is an original. It seems to be an original, it’s just…..I’m surprised that you have this in your possession.”
“What is it?” Tomo finally spoke up, his curiosity gnawing at him.
“This appears to be the Okiku doll.”
“Okiku? That sounds a bit familiar. Refresh me, if you will.”
“A young girl was once gifted this doll as a birthday present. Her older brother saw the doll in a shop window during his travels and was instantly enamored. Somehow he knew this doll was meant for his sister’s two-year birthday. She loved the doll to the point of obsession, but who is to really say when it comes to such a young child? The little girl named the doll Okiku after herself. She fed it, talked to it, put it to bed, and did absolutely everything with it. Sadly, on the girl’s third birthday, she was struck with illness and died clutching the doll in her little arms.”
“That’s…. a bit macabre.”
“That’s only the beginning. The family referred to the doll as Okiku, perhaps treating it as their daughter in a strange way of grieving. Soon after, they experienced countless unexplained events. Lights would turn on and off, doors would slam and disembodied footsteps walked throughout the household. Voices of a young girl were heard talking and singing. And perhaps the most infamous of all…the doll’s hair began to grow as if she were a living being. The family showed the doll to a priest who confirmed all their allegations and they came to the conclusion that the doll contained the spirit of Okiku. Many say that you must care for the doll and continue cutting her hair to appease her. For those who don’t, it will have disastrous consequences.”
“Nonsense,” spat Ita. “Superstitions, legends, and folklore.”
“Believe it or not, many reported the same occurrences for the doll. You know, they actually sent clippings of her hair for scientific analysis.”
“And what of that?” Tomo asked.
“They concluded definitively that the hair was actually that of a human girl.”
“Whoa….”
“I don’t believe any of this,” Ita reiterated.
“Look it up, it’s all been verified. Where did you say you found this, by the way?”
“I didn’t, old man. I just need to know how much you’ll give us for it. Surely this will cost quite a bit considering its history.”
“How much? I wouldn’t give you anything for it! I can’t take this doll!”
“Why not?!”
“Because I don’t wish to be haunted, that’s why! What kind of a question…and you know what’s really strange about this? Last I heard, the family left the doll with the monks.” The man pointed in the direction of Mannenji Temple. “I suppose you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
Ita looked around the shop and confirmed no one else was around. He gave Tomodachi a look, who reluctantly nodded back with a sick feeling in his stomach.
“Please, don’t…”
“Do it!” Itazura commanded.
Tomo whisked over to the front door and locked it before he spun the sign around to “closed.”
“What are you doing?” The shop owner said, backing up with his hands raised.
After all was said and done, the two drifters talked to anyone in town who would lend an ear. They needed someone who was not bound by any moral duty to the doll’s rightful owner. Luckily, Ita had a good eye for people with knowledge of these dealings and there was someone in the next town that would likely pay them for the doll.
Tomo had to force empty thoughts into his mind to block out what they did. He’d hurt others and even killed someone before, but not this way. Not an innocent shop owner.
“If only he’d not said anything about knowing where it came from, the old fool might still be alive,” Tomo thought.
The trip to the next town was a two-day walk, so they gathered supplies and were soon on the road. The silence was beginning to drive Tomo mad as he was only left with his guilty thoughts.
That night, they spoke over the campfire.
“You really believe this stuff, don’t you?” Ita started.
“I don’t know what to believe…I just know that he didn’t deserve that.”
“Are you getting soft on me, Tomo? Don’t have the stomach for this anymore?”
“I don’t think he deserved that! We could have tied him up.”
“Yeah, and then he’d send the police after us. That’s the last thing we need!”
“Let’s just sell this thing and get it over with.”
They sat in silence for a bit, and Ita noticed Tomo closely watching the bag.
“You think she’s really haunted, don’t you?”
“I think I don’t want to find out.”
Ita pulled the doll out of the bag and wagged it at him.
“Mister Tomo, will you give me a kiiiiss?!!”
Ita spoke in a mocking little girl’s voice and erupted into laughter.
“What is wrong with you? Have you no respect for the dead?’
“Oh, c’mon. I don’t think Okiku will mind!”
Tomo exchanged choice words, which fell on deaf ears. Then he picked up his sleeping bag amongst other things and moved to a tree forty yards away.
“Good night,” he shouted in defiance.
“Can I give you a good night kiss first?” Ita responded with his girly voice.
Tomo settled into his new spot, ignoring his awful friend’s laughing fit.
Before long, he settled hard into a dream.
Tomo was living in a lavish home, surrounded by opulent and important things. He smiled at others as he toasted and threw lush parties. It all seemed the life of luxury, but at a cost. At the end of each party, he cleaned up by himself with a strong, foreboding loneliness. The next moment he was cutting the haunted doll’s hair and set her on a decorative altar with lit candles. A ghostly form of an old man kept appearing throughout, glaring at him with forlorn, angry eyes. He haunted Tomo’s every step..
One morning, he awoke to an empty house with no light. A little girl appeared before him and grabbed him by the shoulders and began to shake him.
And shake and shake and shake and shake and…
”Tomo!” A voice jerked him awake.
After snapping his eyes open, he saw Ita holding his shoulders.
“It’s alright. Just me.”
“What do you want?”
“I need to use the bathroom.”
“So go then? What are you, a child? Why wake me up?!”
“I’ve been hearing lots of strange noises, even for a forest. I wanted to be sure you’re awake if something were to happen.”
Tomo sat for a moment, fuming at his friend.
“Okay, fine. I’m already awake now. Make it quick.”
His friend wandered into the woods out of sight. And so Tomo waited.
Something felt strange and he quickly realized what it was. The forest was deathly silent, not like what Itazura said. It occurred to Tomodachi that Ita was probably just scared, which lifted his spirits a bit. He sat up and leaned against a tree and absent-mindedly dozed off.
“Uh?”
Tomo awoke in a startle before checking his watch. It’d been thirty minutes. He walked over to his friend’s camping spot to find him missing.
Something was very wrong.
“Ita!” He whisper-shouted through the woods. “Iiiitaaaaa!”
There was no response.
Shaking, he bumbled his way through the woods in the area he last saw his friend. His flashlight searched everywhere, but his friend was nowhere to be found. Starting to give up, he made a wide berth on his walk back until he tripped over something.
“Ooooof!”
The fall knocked the breath out of him as his light clattered to the forest floor. He got his bearings again and retrieved his flashlight. When he looked back at what he tripped over, he couldn’t believe his eyes.
Ita was laying on the ground with his mouth gaping open, clutching the infamous Okiku doll in his curled hands. The hair of the doll had grown way longer and was wrapped tightly around Ita’s neck.
“No….no, this isn’t real,” he whispered to himself. “I’m dreaming. I must be.”
Placing his hands over his eyes, he thought if he waited a moment and looked again then things would be different. Before he did, an unexplainable noise permeated the air.
There was no doubting it. It was the voice of a little girl singing.
Tomo panicked and rushed back to his sleeping bag, gathering all of his belongings before he rummaged through his former friend’s bag and took the provisions. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he ran along the forest path towards the next town until he collapsed from exhaustion and sat up against a tree.
“It has him now. I’m okay,” were the last thoughts before he fell back asleep.
Tomo dreamed more of the old man he helped kill before he woke again into a bright morning. Despite the malevolent dream, he felt surprisingly refreshed. For a moment, he thought perhaps it really was all a dream.
This thought didn’t last long.
He sat up and rubbed his eyes, then jumped to his feet. The Okiku doll was sitting next to his rucksack with longer hair and Ita’s knife on the ground nearby. Okiku’s eyes stared its abyss in his direction.
“What do you want?!” He yelled.
His eyes went from the doll to the knife and very soon he understood. Every fiber in his being wanted to run screaming from the doll, but he knew it would do him no good. And so he relented to his fate.
Singing softly as he would to a child, he placed the doll in his lap and began to cut the doll’s hair with the knife. He spoke sweet and gentle, pretending that he was asking a little girl about her day and giggling at her answers. Silent tears of fear streamed down his face as he did so in an anxiety-ridden trance.
Once the doll’s hair was properly cut, he sat the doll up and stared at her for a moment.
“I’m sorry for my part in all this, you know. I’ve never been strong. I’ve always been a coward.”
The doll stared back at him and he nodded in understanding.
“Yes…yes, you’re right. I should. It’s only fitting.”
Without another word, Tomo raised the knife to his neck and dragged the blade from one side to the other. A gush of crimson flowed forth, soaking his clothes.
The doll watched...and smiled.
Back at the Mennanji Temple, monks were settling in for the night when the watchman heard a hard knock at the temple doors. As he approached, he called out.
“Who is it?”
“I’ve come to return something,” a voice said from the other side.
The monk promptly opened the door and was shocked to find no one there. He looked down and saw the Okiku doll staring up at him.
“Oh, my sweet little one,” he said softly as he picked the doll up. “Who got you this time, huh?”
He smiled with warmth and closed the door back.
“She’s back,” the watchman called out.
Another monk promptly appeared with a pair of clippers and the watchman held the doll out. Bowing, the monk with clippers took the doll and began cutting its hair.
“Who brought her back?” The hair-cutting monk asked.
“I don’t know. They weren’t there when I answered,” the watchman replied.
As he went about his watch duties for the night, the monk thought to himself.
Come to think of it, it did sound like an older gentlemen, didn’t it?

Rain poured down on the two weary travelers as they finally caught sight of refuge.
“Look, a temple!” One of them shouted.
“Let’s hurry! Hopefully they aren’t asleep yet!”
With water-logged clothes, they ran over to the temple steps. According to the sign, they were at Mannenji Temple. They trudged up the steps as quickly as they could muster. Monks greeted them at the door and ushered them in, offering fresh clothes along with towels to dry off.
“Thank you, you’ve saved us!” They prased.
Before long, they were comfortably drinking hot tea and telling of riveting adventures. They spoke of exploring ancient ruins and finding priceless treasures. Many of the stories were humorous and harrowing tales going late into the evening. After they were left alone to sleep for the night, the two men grinned at each other.
“I knew you were a good story teller but….that last one was a doozy!” The first man said.
“And they bought every bit of it,” the other man said. “So often, the kindest are the most gullible!”
“Had we told them a fraction of the truth, they’d see us out quickly.”
They both chuckled.
“Let’s not harm them though. They’re not like the others. I have something in mind.”
“What is it?”
“I’ll tell you tomorrow. For now, let’s get some rest and head out in the morning.”
That night, one of them rested deeply while the other exacted his plan.
The next morning, the two rested men thanked the monks ferociously for their hospitality and left for town.
Once they were far enough away, one of the men beamed mischievously at the other.
“I always pause when you smile like that. Wait…is this about your plan, Ita?”
“Ah, Tomo. You know me too well.”
Ita rifled through his bag and slowly procured a small doll. It instantly struck Tomo, as it had a strange aura. The dolls face was round and childlike with raven, shoulder-length hair in a bob and wore a traditional kimono. This fact alone would have made the doll quite cute, but another aspect negated all else. The two eyes of the doll were endless black circles that bore an untouchable, creeping anxiety.
“Where did you….you didn’t. Did you?!”
“Yes. I took it from the temple.”
“I can’t believe you…”
Itazura rolled his eyes and put the doll back into the bag.
“Keep your pants on. It was inside a box, so it’ll be a while before they realize it’s gone.”
“That’s not the point!” Tomodachi threw his hands up in frustration. “We’re not saints, but they did nothing to deserve this!”
“Do you know how much this could fetch us? I don’t know what it is, but the fact that it’s kept in the temple is enough to secure us for a long time! The box itself would have been worth taking, but I couldn’t sneak it back to our room.”
“I don’t like it.” Tomo crossed his arms at this.
“You don’t have to come with me, you know.”
“We’re supposed to only take from…..ahh fine. Let’s just see how much this thing is worth.”
“I have a feeling it will change your mind.”
They trekked into town and the uncomfortable silence eventually smoothed over. After getting a bite to eat, they found a trade shop that would have some idea of the doll’s value.
“Hello, gentlemen. Anything I could interest you in?”
“Yes, in fact.”
Ita gently laid the doll on the counter and the elderly shop owner looked it over. After a furrow of his brow, the owner said:
“Was this made recently?”
“No, we found it.”
“Hmmmm.”
The elderly man fetched a pair of glasses and scrutinized every inch of the doll, his face becoming more lined with concern. After he seemed satisfied with the inspection, he looked at the men gravely.
“I will only ask once more…you or anyone you know did not make this doll, correct?”
“No. Why do you keep asking?”’
The shop owner’s face went pale as the sincerity of the answer sunk in.
“I want to be a hundred percent sure that this is an original. It seems to be an original, it’s just…..I’m surprised that you have this in your possession.”
“What is it?” Tomo finally spoke up, his curiosity gnawing at him.
“This appears to be the Okiku doll.”
“Okiku? That sounds a bit familiar. Refresh me, if you will.”
“A young girl was once gifted this doll as a birthday present. Her older brother saw the doll in a shop window during his travels and was instantly enamored. Somehow he knew this doll was meant for his sister’s two-year birthday. She loved the doll to the point of obsession, but who is to really say when it comes to such a young child? The little girl named the doll Okiku after herself. She fed it, talked to it, put it to bed, and did absolutely everything with it. Sadly, on the girl’s third birthday, she was struck with illness and died clutching the doll in her little arms.”
“That’s…. a bit macabre.”
“That’s only the beginning. The family referred to the doll as Okiku, perhaps treating it as their daughter in a strange way of grieving. Soon after, they experienced countless unexplained events. Lights would turn on and off, doors would slam and disembodied footsteps walked throughout the household. Voices of a young girl were heard talking and singing. And perhaps the most infamous of all…the doll’s hair began to grow as if she were a living being. The family showed the doll to a priest who confirmed all their allegations and they came to the conclusion that the doll contained the spirit of Okiku. Many say that you must care for the doll and continue cutting her hair to appease her. For those who don’t, it will have disastrous consequences.”
“Nonsense,” spat Ita. “Superstitions, legends, and folklore.”
“Believe it or not, many reported the same occurrences for the doll. You know, they actually sent clippings of her hair for scientific analysis.”
“And what of that?” Tomo asked.
“They concluded definitively that the hair was actually that of a human girl.”
“Whoa….”
“I don’t believe any of this,” Ita reiterated.
“Look it up, it’s all been verified. Where did you say you found this, by the way?”
“I didn’t, old man. I just need to know how much you’ll give us for it. Surely this will cost quite a bit considering its history.”
“How much? I wouldn’t give you anything for it! I can’t take this doll!”
“Why not?!”
“Because I don’t wish to be haunted, that’s why! What kind of a question…and you know what’s really strange about this? Last I heard, the family left the doll with the monks.” The man pointed in the direction of Mannenji Temple. “I suppose you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
Ita looked around the shop and confirmed no one else was around. He gave Tomodachi a look, who reluctantly nodded back with a sick feeling in his stomach.
“Please, don’t…”
“Do it!” Itazura commanded.
Tomo whisked over to the front door and locked it before he spun the sign around to “closed.”
“What are you doing?” The shop owner said, backing up with his hands raised.
After all was said and done, the two drifters talked to anyone in town who would lend an ear. They needed someone who was not bound by any moral duty to the doll’s rightful owner. Luckily, Ita had a good eye for people with knowledge of these dealings and there was someone in the next town that would likely pay them for the doll.
Tomo had to force empty thoughts into his mind to block out what they did. He’d hurt others and even killed someone before, but not this way. Not an innocent shop owner.
“If only he’d not said anything about knowing where it came from, the old fool might still be alive,” Tomo thought.
The trip to the next town was a two-day walk, so they gathered supplies and were soon on the road. The silence was beginning to drive Tomo mad as he was only left with his guilty thoughts.
That night, they spoke over the campfire.
“You really believe this stuff, don’t you?” Ita started.
“I don’t know what to believe…I just know that he didn’t deserve that.”
“Are you getting soft on me, Tomo? Don’t have the stomach for this anymore?”
“I don’t think he deserved that! We could have tied him up.”
“Yeah, and then he’d send the police after us. That’s the last thing we need!”
“Let’s just sell this thing and get it over with.”
They sat in silence for a bit, and Ita noticed Tomo closely watching the bag.
“You think she’s really haunted, don’t you?”
“I think I don’t want to find out.”
Ita pulled the doll out of the bag and wagged it at him.
“Mister Tomo, will you give me a kiiiiss?!!”
Ita spoke in a mocking little girl’s voice and erupted into laughter.
“What is wrong with you? Have you no respect for the dead?’
“Oh, c’mon. I don’t think Okiku will mind!”
Tomo exchanged choice words, which fell on deaf ears. Then he picked up his sleeping bag amongst other things and moved to a tree forty yards away.
“Good night,” he shouted in defiance.
“Can I give you a good night kiss first?” Ita responded with his girly voice.
Tomo settled into his new spot, ignoring his awful friend’s laughing fit.
Before long, he settled hard into a dream.
Tomo was living in a lavish home, surrounded by opulent and important things. He smiled at others as he toasted and threw lush parties. It all seemed the life of luxury, but at a cost. At the end of each party, he cleaned up by himself with a strong, foreboding loneliness. The next moment he was cutting the haunted doll’s hair and set her on a decorative altar with lit candles. A ghostly form of an old man kept appearing throughout, glaring at him with forlorn, angry eyes. He haunted Tomo’s every step..
One morning, he awoke to an empty house with no light. A little girl appeared before him and grabbed him by the shoulders and began to shake him.
And shake and shake and shake and shake and…
”Tomo!” A voice jerked him awake.
After snapping his eyes open, he saw Ita holding his shoulders.
“It’s alright. Just me.”
“What do you want?”
“I need to use the bathroom.”
“So go then? What are you, a child? Why wake me up?!”
“I’ve been hearing lots of strange noises, even for a forest. I wanted to be sure you’re awake if something were to happen.”
Tomo sat for a moment, fuming at his friend.
“Okay, fine. I’m already awake now. Make it quick.”
His friend wandered into the woods out of sight. And so Tomo waited.
Something felt strange and he quickly realized what it was. The forest was deathly silent, not like what Itazura said. It occurred to Tomodachi that Ita was probably just scared, which lifted his spirits a bit. He sat up and leaned against a tree and absent-mindedly dozed off.
“Uh?”
Tomo awoke in a startle before checking his watch. It’d been thirty minutes. He walked over to his friend’s camping spot to find him missing.
Something was very wrong.
“Ita!” He whisper-shouted through the woods. “Iiiitaaaaa!”
There was no response.
Shaking, he bumbled his way through the woods in the area he last saw his friend. His flashlight searched everywhere, but his friend was nowhere to be found. Starting to give up, he made a wide berth on his walk back until he tripped over something.
“Ooooof!”
The fall knocked the breath out of him as his light clattered to the forest floor. He got his bearings again and retrieved his flashlight. When he looked back at what he tripped over, he couldn’t believe his eyes.
Ita was laying on the ground with his mouth gaping open, clutching the infamous Okiku doll in his curled hands. The hair of the doll had grown way longer and was wrapped tightly around Ita’s neck.
“No….no, this isn’t real,” he whispered to himself. “I’m dreaming. I must be.”
Placing his hands over his eyes, he thought if he waited a moment and looked again then things would be different. Before he did, an unexplainable noise permeated the air.
There was no doubting it. It was the voice of a little girl singing.
Tomo panicked and rushed back to his sleeping bag, gathering all of his belongings before he rummaged through his former friend’s bag and took the provisions. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he ran along the forest path towards the next town until he collapsed from exhaustion and sat up against a tree.
“It has him now. I’m okay,” were the last thoughts before he fell back asleep.
Tomo dreamed more of the old man he helped kill before he woke again into a bright morning. Despite the malevolent dream, he felt surprisingly refreshed. For a moment, he thought perhaps it really was all a dream.
This thought didn’t last long.
He sat up and rubbed his eyes, then jumped to his feet. The Okiku doll was sitting next to his rucksack with longer hair and Ita’s knife on the ground nearby. Okiku’s eyes stared its abyss in his direction.
“What do you want?!” He yelled.
His eyes went from the doll to the knife and very soon he understood. Every fiber in his being wanted to run screaming from the doll, but he knew it would do him no good. And so he relented to his fate.
Singing softly as he would to a child, he placed the doll in his lap and began to cut the doll’s hair with the knife. He spoke sweet and gentle, pretending that he was asking a little girl about her day and giggling at her answers. Silent tears of fear streamed down his face as he did so in an anxiety-ridden trance.
Once the doll’s hair was properly cut, he sat the doll up and stared at her for a moment.
“I’m sorry for my part in all this, you know. I’ve never been strong. I’ve always been a coward.”
The doll stared back at him and he nodded in understanding.
“Yes…yes, you’re right. I should. It’s only fitting.”
Without another word, Tomo raised the knife to his neck and dragged the blade from one side to the other. A gush of crimson flowed forth, soaking his clothes.
The doll watched...and smiled.
Back at the Mennanji Temple, monks were settling in for the night when the watchman heard a hard knock at the temple doors. As he approached, he called out.
“Who is it?”
“I’ve come to return something,” a voice said from the other side.
The monk promptly opened the door and was shocked to find no one there. He looked down and saw the Okiku doll staring up at him.
“Oh, my sweet little one,” he said softly as he picked the doll up. “Who got you this time, huh?”
He smiled with warmth and closed the door back.
“She’s back,” the watchman called out.
Another monk promptly appeared with a pair of clippers and the watchman held the doll out. Bowing, the monk with clippers took the doll and began cutting its hair.
“Who brought her back?” The hair-cutting monk asked.
“I don’t know. They weren’t there when I answered,” the watchman replied.
As he went about his watch duties for the night, the monk thought to himself.
Come to think of it, it did sound like an older gentlemen, didn’t it?

***ads roll and podcast starts at 1:42
Intro (Timestamp: 1:42) - Rachel: Hello everyone. And welcome back to another episode of Rachel Goes rogue. This is your host Rachel Savannah Leviss. And today we are talking about the reunion part 1. So let’s get into it. I have my producers here asking me some questions so that we can get this conversation started
So even in the teaser that they put out, your name was all over that. There was a whole lot of discussion even about this podcast. And about some of the choices you’ve made not going on this season but yet you’re still be talked about the reunion. Hearing your name being brought up, how did that feel? (Timestamp: 1:54) - Rachel: Kind of expected for my name to brought up. It’s almost like, you kind of have to laugh at it at this point because oh man, they just have an issue with me commenting my experience. When I speak they don’t want me to have a voice. I think we’ve said it before on this podcast. - Rachel: It’s just a little bit hypocritical when the cast is talking about me on this season. And I talk about my experience and name names and they have an issue with it. So it’s just the same old thing. And I think after this season, I don’t think I’ll be a topic of conversation so we’re almost there.
So Lisa specifically was asked if she thought that you would come back this season. And she said, and I quote, all of her actions were so kind of unpredictable. I didn't really know what all of this nonsense on a podcast and her denigrating everyone. It's absolutely ridiculous (Timestamp: 3:14) - Rachel: I think it's absolutely ridiculous that Lisa thinks I'm denigrating everyone. I'm definitely not. If anything, they're denigrating me, talking about me every single week and just painting me in the worst possible light, even though I'm not even there to defend myself. - Rachel: But yeah, I have gone rogue. I'm actually figuring out what is the healthiest option for me. So I've said it before, and I'll say it again, going back to Vanderpump Rules would jeopardize my mental wellbeing. - Rachel: And I, after watching this whole season play out, I'm happy that I didn't go back. I think it would have been really bad for my mental wellbeing. And this is the season that they got to have. - Rachel: And unfortunately, it wasn't that spectacular from my point of view, anyway, my opinion. No, I'm not gonna let myself enter into that arena again and be dogpiled on and be humiliated and harassed and bullied and talk down to the way that I have been in the past for things that were, for smaller things, if that makes sense. - Rachel: And this is like the center, the nucleus of Vanderpump right now. But I think it's also like, if you really wanted me to come back, then show some compassion for the network, support your cast members when they're asking for help. - Rachel: If I was supported in the way that I felt like I deserve to be, then maybe there would have been a world where I did come back, but then I also would have had to ensure that we would have productive conversations and not just like dog piling and gaslighting by Scheana and all that negativity. I guess it's a tough ask. - Rachel: I had an ask and I wasn't met where I wanted to be met, and so I had to walk away.
So Tom was asked if he knew anything about you wanting to come back, and he said that he encouraged you to take time away from everyone, including him, and come to your decision that way. You've kind of talked about how things went down in previous episodes. How did it feel hearing him say that? (Timestamp: 5:39) - Rachel: Oh my gosh, it's infuriating. And I don't mean to smile, but watching him say that is so infuriating because then like a few seconds later, he's calling me a coward. But if you listen to him, like he's constantly contradicting himself in the way that he's putting up this front, like he's being supportive and he wants the best for me and he wants me to like take some space to figure things out for myself. - Rachel: Yet if I do take some space and figure things out for myself, not only am I selfish, but if I choose to not come back, then I'm also a coward. So do you see how infuriating that can be? And how do you handle that? - Rachel: It's like you just have to laugh it off because this person is showing you time and time again the type of person that they are. And I want to believe that he has good intentions and that he could be a supportive person. But deep down, he has ulterior motives and he really just wanted me back because it would make him look better and he would have more support.
So on one hand, you have Tom calling you a coward. On the other hand, you have Lala kind of sticking up for you and saying that she didn't know if she could do what you did last year showing up to the reunion. She says that time heals and had you come back, that you probably would have had a really productive conversation. But then on the other hand, she's like, but I still stand by everything that I said at the reunion last year. So what is your take on what Lala was saying at the reunion and where is your relationship with her today? Because she kind of seems like the only one that's at least had your back in small ways. (Timestamp: 7:10) - Rachel: Yeah, it's very interesting to see how this has played out. And my feelings towards Lala have changed a little bit since we first started recording this podcast. And since the moment that I got that voice memo from her back, you know, months and months ago, last summer. - Rachel: At first, I really thought that she wanted me to come back to the show. And that was the only intention for sending me that voice memo. But as I'm seeing her really connect to the different parts of being in an abusive, narcissistic relationship, there's like a common thread there. - Rachel: And I think she really does get it because she's experienced it firsthand. And it's validating in a way to have that representation on Vanderpump Rules when I'm not there. So hearing her stick up for me once again and just validate that I was very courageous to come back for the reunion last year, it is validating. - Rachel: I think also she walks a fine line between being supportive of me and also like how she said she stands behind what she said last year at the reunion. I think she's also aware that everyone else in the room is anti Rachel. So she's choosing her words carefully, but if you listen to what she actually has to say, you can tell that she's pretty supportive, which is a good feeling.
So where would you say your relationship with her is today? (Timestamp: 9:22) - Rachel: Well, I don't have a relationship with her because I don't text her or call her or reach out to her at all. So we don't have a relationship, but I don't have hard feelings against her. I do think that maybe Lala and I could have a constructive conversation to move forward. - Rachel: I'm not sure that we would hang out and become friends, but I do think we have a common ground for both reality TV and bad past relationships.
And so she kind of was the main one taking a lot of time talking at the reunion. She was interjecting on a lot of places. She even said something really interesting at the end of the episode, where she said the rules of the game regarding filming have changed this season. Do you think everything she's saying during this reunion is genuine, or do you think she's just trying to keep a job? (Timestamp: 9:58) - Rachel: That's a great question. I think a large part of Lala's motivation is to ensure that she does have job security in this entertainment industry.
I just want to know if you find her words genuine. She also does kind of give the energy that she's the only person being really honest in saying what's really in her brain. So it's hard to tell if she is being honest to a fault, or if she is doing these things with an ulterior motive as to like keep the show going or keep a job. So which side do you kind of fall on with that? (Timestamp: 10:34) - Rachel: I think that both can be true. I think that she can be honest to a fault and actually like say what she's thinking because she tends to do that, right? And she also wants to ensure that she has a job longevity with being a cast member on Vanderpump Rules. - Rachel: For Lala, I think she's doing her best to balance reality TV and the producer's needs while she's evolving as a person. It's a lot of pressure, which I understand. I think both things can be true. - Rachel: And I suspect that she'll probably transfer over to the Valley, and I think that would do the Valley well.
She has come out to say that she's not. Says she didn't buy her house in the Valley so she could be on the show. Do you believe that? (Timestamp: 11:45) - Rachel: Okay, that could be true, too. She didn't buy her house in the Valley to be on the show, but that doesn't mean that she's not gonna be on the show. We'll see.
And so Lala does have a moment where, one of the big moments where she really stuck up for you was talking about the grooming. She really clarified to Tom what grooming was, and he kind of rebuts what she says by saying that he was very impressionable when you took off all your clothes and jumped in his pool. (Timestamp: 12:00) - Rachel: Gees. Oh my god. Okay, yeah, that may be true, although I didn't take off all of my clothes. But I'm talking about the moments leading up to that point. There was intention behind the way that Tom really gave me undivided attention to want to know my situation and what was happening in my reality. - Rachel: Things were a little bit blurry, and it was a gradual thing that took place where I started feeling more attracted to him. We were talking about grooming. We're talking about the events that led up to the moment that Tom is bringing up at the reunion, me getting in the pool and us kissing. - Rachel: Also, if you haven't listened to this podcast, definitely go back after finishing our recording here. It's chapter 13, and it's with Your Bish Therapist, and she breaks down grooming so well. And I'm not saying that Tom groomed me to be like Tom's victim. - Rachel: I can take responsibility for my part in that too, because I was in a place where I was seeking validation from somebody and I felt safe around Tom, and I enjoyed my time with him. And I wasn't someone who necessarily fell victim to him, but there is a big age gap. He also was aware of my situation and knew that I was very vulnerable. - Rachel: And come on, like Tom is a manipulative person, like hands down, we can all see it. So there's a term that psychologists use for what happened between Tom and I, and it's called grooming. And then also another little note with the grooming thing that I didn't mention with Your Bish Therapist, but I kind of wish that I did. - Rachel: I think there's also this element that the show itself brings in to play. I think Vanderpump Rules itself groomed me to be okay with this type of behavior, because it's been modeled for me time and time again with previous relationships on the show from the very beginning. And I'm not a fan either. - Rachel: I know a lot of people think that I'm a huge fangirl, and just that's why I was on the show. That's not the case. Anyway, I don't need to defend myself. - Rachel: My point is that we see Jax cheating on Stassi, we see Tom cheating on Kristin with Ariana, we see Lala and James have a thing, and then Lala telling me on camera that they had a thing. We see Lala going down on Ariana, and it's very messy and complicated and blurry. And it's also like these things are accepted, basically, as the norm. - Rachel: And this is not to excuse my behavior at all, but it definitely was a factor in all of this, my decision making. It's something that has been normalized on this show.
I mean, there's no way that you could have predicted how big this scandal got, but you're saying that this behavior was kind of normalized. Did you think that if you were ever found out, it was kind of gonna be treated the same way any other cheating situation on the show had been treated? You didn't even really think that it would have blown up? (Timestamp: 16:15) - Rachel: That's correct, yes. I thought that if Tom and I got found out or like we came clean, that it would have been treated the way that cheating has always been treated on this show. All of the past cheating behaviors were not only accepted, but they were encouraged for many seasons with each cast member and made good TV to be consumed by the viewers, which kept the viewers coming back. - Rachel: Scandoval, just insanity, the scale that it's imploded to. And I don't think anyone could have predicted that.
Definitely not. You were saying that you take responsibility for your part in Scandoval. You admit that Schwartz during the reunion basically called you out and called you conniving, called you ruthless. Last year, Schwartz was doubling down on not knowing about the affair. This year, now he's coming at you, calling you conniving and ruthless. Do you think it's because you kind of outed his role in all the things? (Timestamp: 17:09) - Rachel: I think that Schwartz is Tom's mouthpiece. I think that Schwartz spends so much time with Tom that he hears Tom talk about me in a certain way. And without a doubt, Tom has been the one saying that I am conniving and I'm ruthless. - Rachel: I don't think that Schwartz actually thinks that because when Schwartz and I were all hanging out together, it wasn't ideal and Schwartz did have an issue with it. And Schwartz did try to talk some sense into Sandoval, but Sandoval also didn't uphold Schwartz's boundaries with not hanging out at his apartment. So to hear Schwartz say that I was conniving and ruthless, it's just like, come on, Schwartz.
He said, you are not a victim in this, that you were just as conniving, if not more so, and ruthless in your pursuit for pleasure. (Timestamp: 18:31) - Rachel: Wow. Okay. I don't think that I'm more conniving than Tom Sandoval. And yeah, maybe I was a little bit ruthless with my pursuit of pleasure. I can own that, sure. - Rachel: But I feel like Schwartz is spinning it. Like it was all me, and I was the mastermind behind it all. And that Tom gets off scot-free, and that's just obviously not the case. - ads podcast resumes at 21:05 - Rachel: I think at the end of that victim ruthless comment, Tom said, it was 50 50. I hear the way that Tom has spoken about the situation before, and he portrays it as, you know, I was the one that seduced him, and I'm the one that is responsible for it, which is definitely not the case. - Rachel: And Tom was the one that was in the relationship. He had the responsibility to end that relationship with Ariana if he didn't want to be in that anymore, if he wasn't happy in that anymore. He had support to do that and still failed to do that. I believe that Tom had the responsibility to break up with her. So I don't think that it is 50 50.
At the end of that exchange, too, Katie says that you haven't taken responsibility. (Timestamp: 22:03) - Rachel: What do you guys mean by I didn’t take responsibility?!?! “I really don't know. I take responsibility for my part in the affair. I totally do. - Rachel: I can see how it's messed up. And I apologize to Ariana and the people that I hurt because it wasn't just Ariana either. It was our friends who trusted me and trusted Tom. And that wasn't cool to be deceiving. And Ariana trusted me to be honest with her. And I had a responsibility to respect our friendship. - Rachel: And I failed to do that. I take responsibility with that. I am sorry. I'm doing everything in my power not to put myself in that position again and to really prioritize my female friendships. And I've gone away to figure out what led me here. I have really done a deep dive with therapists on this whole scandal situation. - Rachel: I'm doing this podcast to share those things with you guys because I feel like it will help other people who maybe don't have access to therapy or want to know more, have that curiosity as to like, you know, my thought process behind it and how that can relate to themselves. - Rachel: So I really feel like I have done everything in my power to take responsibility and to take accountability. I haven't denied anything, and I am upholding my values and I'm prioritizing my mental health. And that's really all I can do.
And so you've spoken about this before, and you said that's a lawsuit that you are bringing upon Ariana and Tom is just that. It's something that you believe you're doing to uphold your values and to prioritize yourself. (Timestamp: 23:54) - Rachel: This is also a part of me upholding my boundaries. A boundary has been violated by Tom for filming me without asking my permission first. And if he would have asked, I would have fricking said hell no. - Rachel: And then not only that, but like the boundary had been violated because Tom recorded me without me knowing, but then Ariana was the one that sent it to me. And that's a boundary violation as well. This is an action I'm taking to uphold my boundaries and to show other people that this isn't okay.
Well, I want your opinion on Scheana kind of speaking up for Ariana, because it's almost like a role reversal of what happened last year, where they were asking Sheena about her lawsuit. She couldn't speak on it. And then Tom kind of spoke and interjected and caused a whole issue there. Now this time, Scheana’s the one that's speaking up because they can't speak on it. What was your take on that? (Timestamp: 24:49) - Rachel: I think it's interesting because in this reunion as well, I'm not there to be represented in the conversation either. I remember last year when they were asking Sheena about the restraining order that was put in place. They only asked Scheana about that, and they didn't ask me about it when I was on stage. - Rachel: So watching this back, obviously I know that, you know, I'm not there to answer any questions, but it is interesting to see that Scheana is the one, as a representative for Ariana, saying it's ridiculous. Of course, she can't comment on it. And then also Tom spinning it like, oh, well, you know, I understand if she just wanted to press charges against me, but doing it against Ariana is despicable or whatever he said. - Rachel: It became a big deal because, first of all, you don't take a video like that without somebody knowing. And then you don't leave it on your phone for your girlfriend to find. And then also the way it blew up, Ariana went straight to production to tell them about it. - Rachel: TMZ reported on it and this video, and there was a target on me. Like people were out to take me down. And I knew that this video had a high probability of being circulated. - Rachel: So that was absolutely terrifying. And I, oh my gosh, if that video got out, I would have still gone to the meadows because I would have been in an even worse place. But like, imagine the additional trauma on top of that, what I was already going through. I think I would have been there for like six months.
Well, he then said that you don't have a soul. (Timestamp: 27:13) - Rachel: I'm not going around on my podcast saying that these people don't have souls. It's a new low, and I think it's more reflective of who Tom is as a person. And honestly, it's really hard for me to even like comment on it right now because I just know that that's not true at all. So it's hard for me to like get into some sort of feeling about it.
Do you also think, Rachel, that it's too tiered? So on one hand, there's these individual people talking about individual feelings, but at the end of the day, they're still on a reality show. They're making sound bites and also sort of redirecting the narrative. So when the fans are saying, what's going on with the show? And it's not great, and it's boring. Well, they bring you into the picture and they badmouth you. How do you feel about that? Do you feel that part of them is actually saying it or part of it is production value and the direction of the narrative because it brings up news? (Timestamp: 27:47) - Rachel: That's a great question that I kind of forgot to think about because as we all know, Tom does prioritize the show. This is not his first rodeo. He knows what he's doing. - Rachel: He knows that production needs certain sound bites. And it does change the trajectory of how people view me, I guess, in a way, if I'm not there to represent myself. So yeah, that is interesting. - Rachel: A really good point that I think we do need to take into consideration. It's not that exciting of a show and the cast seems to get all riled up about tearing me down. But yeah, it seems like it's calculated what Tom is saying about me to present me in a way that would in turn support him being a better looking person.
At the end of this whole conversation about you, James apologizes to the group for introducing you to everyone. They kind of say, well, you're the one that brought her in here. And he's like, sorry, guys. And they end by saying, if that's the apology we all needed, what does that feel like to see? (Timestamp: 29:19) - Rachel: It's just like one big huge eye roll. It's like the blame game. It's like, well, it's your fault. Well, it's your fault. Oh, it's James' fault for even bringing her here. I think sometimes when I watch the show, I disassociate a little bit because it is painful to watch. - Rachel: And when I saw that, and also like when I see James, it's like I've had to work through a lot of emotions through that relationship. Seeing James' whole arc this season and how he has so much support, which is fine, like it's fine, but I don't think it's burned based off of the things that he has done. And so when I see that and the cast all laughing and bonding over, oh, that was the apology we needed. - Rachel: It's like, it kind of makes you go insane a little bit because I've been apologizing, I've been taking accountability. This has been my soul's journey through this experience of really trying to overcome my social anxiety and like seeing the show as an opportunity to do that. And then overcoming some of these codependency tendencies with James and overcoming that relationship. - Rachel: And then following my heart, and where did it lead me? Straight to Tom Sandoval. And meanwhile, all of this is being filmed. I'm in my 20s and we're all supposed to make mistakes in our 20s and learn from it. And I feel like I've done exactly that. Yeah, I think it's just hard to watch scenes like that.
It seems to me when you talk about the experience with James versus the experience with Tom, that you actually get more choked up and emotional about James. And I sense more anger towards Tom and it's like you're over it, you're past it. Is that accurate? How would you interpret or explain that? (Timestamp: 31:33) - Rachel: Totally, yeah, I feel a lot more anger towards the Tom situation. And part of that is like anger towards myself for allowing myself to be in that position. With my relationship with James, looking back on that, I just feel a lot of pain, a lot of what I thought to be as self-sacrifice because I saw the potential of who this person could be. - Rachel: And I also clung onto the good moments and disassociated from the atrocious moments. Yeah, there's a lot of pain and trauma with that. And I think it also makes sense as to why I wasn't okay after that relationship. - Rachel: And it makes sense how I ended up with Tom. With the relationship with Tom too, it was so fun and overjoyous. And yeah, I didn't feel so good about it when I was hanging out with a group with Ariana, or I didn't feel good about it when I wasn't with Tom. - Rachel: But then when I was with him, it was like I was able to fully escape and to feel okay. All that to say, yeah, there's a lot more anger towards Tom, especially the way that he's handling it. No accountability, it seems like. - Rachel: And he just wants to put all the blame on me, which infuriates me. And then with James, it's like, I guess some resentment, because I know how shitty of a partner he's been. And I felt like I had to step into like a motherly role with him. - Rachel: I think there's frustration and resentment, especially the way that the show's portraying him this season and like seeing his little hero arc. It's gross to me. When a part of you is hanging on to a relationship, even though you're the one breaking up with the person, it does feel painful when that person moves on so incredibly quickly. - Rachel: Like they only needed a few weeks to grieve and then they're on to the next. It does something where you think like, oh, did you not really love me? Were you not really in this relationship? All of those thoughts go through your head or for me anyway, and it's painful. Painful.
***ads roll, podcast starts back at 36:23
So how hard is it to watch the reunion back this year? Compared to last year, would you say it's harder or easier not being there? But that also means that you didn't have the chance to respond and defend yourself this year. (Timestamp: 36:23) - Rachel: It was definitely harder last year watching the reunion than it is this year, even though I'm not there to defend myself. You know, that's kind of like the name of the game at this point, we're at the end of the season, and I haven't been there the entire time to defend myself. I also know how reunions go, kind of know what to expect at this point, and I also know that my voice isn't in the collective of Vanderpump Rules. - Rachel: You know, it is difficult in that way, but it's also like I have this podcast to be able to have a voice. I feel secure in myself just knowing that that I'm able to at least have a voice.
So how do you feel about what Lala said towards Katie? Because for so long, Katie's been positioning herself as a no BS kind of girl. She says you bullied her, and you know, she's ride or die for Ariana at the end of the day. Lala called her out for complaining about Ariana and not being true to herself and maybe playing to the cameras. How does that make you feel? (Timestamp: 37:24) - Rachel: Yeah, okay. So I had to rewatch that scene twice because I was confused at first. I was like, what are they arguing about? And it's kind of like one of those nuanced things where you have to take into consideration the show and the rules of the show and putting on a facade or front for a means to an end, which I think every single cast member has done. - Rachel: So yeah, it's interesting because I think, Lala wouldn't just make something up about Katie complaining about Ariana. And I think that Lala felt abandoned by Katie, especially after they were so close the year prior for season 10. - Rachel: I think Lala was just pointing out that like, it's convenient that Ariana is the it girl, and she is, you know, the fan favorite. And it's very easy to kind of like flip flop into who is the fan favorite, and to be close to them for longevity of your own fan base and the longevity of the show. But they also own a sandwich shop together, so I think there's like genuine connection there too. - Rachel: Yeah, it seems like there may be a little bit of manipulation with not being fully honest with how you feel about a certain person.
Katie did just post something. (Timestamp: 39:28) - Rachel: Okay, I'll read this. Katie posted on her Instagram story, I'm someone who has suffered from imposter syndrome for as long as I have known myself. Hence why I was apprehensive about opening the sandwich shop on my own. - Rachel: So when Ariana was going through not only a world of hurt, but also getting some amazing opportunities, that changed a lot of things during a pivotal time. I was extremely sensitive to what she was going through, but also very supportive. I was also dealing with immense insecurity about what I could take on and simply didn't want to put that on her. - Rachel: I had an emotional response that didn't feel appropriate bringing to her front door. So I went where I felt safe or where I thought was safe until I could find the appropriate conversation was to have with Ariana, which of course I did. And we have had plenty since. - Rachel: Okay, okay. Here we go. It's so funny because this show, social media is playing another aspect in reality TV these days, especially Vanderpump Rules, because Katie was able to think about it and come up with a response. And I think her response seems to be genuine, and it's a little shady because she's basically saying, I trusted Lala to keep this in the vault and to keep this between us. - Rachel: And Lala went against Katie's expectation of friendship to bring it to the forefront for the show, which also supports the argument that Lala, she prioritizes the show a lot. Interesting, interesting. What do you guys think?
A lot of fan feedback is that Katie just went and got a PR rep to write a statement for her, which is quite funny because that's what she always says about you. But the fans are all writing that she needed to go get help for a statement. (Timestamp: 41:26) - Rachel: Oh.
She did seem very uncomfortable watching the reunion, kind of like she had these feelings, but she didn't want to target Ariana, so she did take them elsewhere. And when you can find, I feel like everyone's vented to a friend in like a moment of weakness, and it doesn't necessarily reflect on how you feel about that person. You just need to vent to someone. So it did feel like that, but yeah, I think it's complicated when the person that you're venting to feels like you're on their side, and then you're filming a show later and act completely differently. So there's layers, I think, to it. (Timestamp: 41:39) - Rachel: Definitely, yeah, definitely layers. I think it's also interesting how I'm no Tom Tom fan, but to Tom and Tom's defense, not once have they talked down to the girls for the sandwich shop not opening on time and haven't made it a big deal, because they personally know how difficult it is to open up a bar or a restaurant, whereas other people haven't been so kind to them about it. And then to Ariana's defense too, she did say, I've always been supportive of that, which she has been.
What about the actual sandwich shop itself too? They said it was gonna be open by the time the premiere aired, and everybody's still spinning the question, is it or isn't it? What's real, what's not? Is it a sham? Is it a storyline? And it's not open now, again, when they said it was going to be open. What do you think? (Timestamp: 43:02) - Rachel: If it was a sham, I don't think that they would be announcing that it was going to be open, because they would know that people would be disappointed and they would get a lot of crap for it. So I don't know. I don't think it's a sham. - Rachel: But the projected opening of something about her is now May 22. May 22 is only about a week post the reunion airing. So they're not that far off. - Rachel: But I mean, don't announce that they're going to be open by the time it airs if you're not, because I feel like people will just be like, all right, where can I order a sandwich? And people will be disappointed, like I suspect they are now. I'm not reading the comments, so I don't know.
To kind of wrap things up, I feel like there was a little bit of tension between the cast, clearly in the moment where like Lisa was talking about sandwich shop with Ariana and Katie, there was definitely tension there between the girls and Lisa. Do you think this is a sign that the cast is kind of unraveling? What do you think about the future of this cast? (Timestamp: 44:13) - Rachel: I think tension is like the show's middle name. And if there isn't tension, then it isn't doing well. So I think that, I don't know, like is the show going to come back or not? - Rachel: That is the question on everybody's minds. And I think it's the right move if they really are pausing it to let the cast process this traumatic event for everybody because it has been nonstop and there really hasn't been any downtime to take a beat and process it. And I think they also are like, all right, what is the next season going to be? - Rachel: Because what are our storylines and what is the new drama? Because we're not going to keep harping on this. If Rachel isn't coming back, then there's no reason to keep talking about it because we've kind of beat the dead horse already. - Rachel: I think it's smart to let the cast live and create some drama in the real world to bring back for the next season if they are going to continue Vanderpump Rules. But I predict that Lala and Sheena are going to transfer over to the Valley because the Valley has been picked up for another season, and it just makes sense the way that they bought homes in the Valley and they have babies and they're friends with the cast over there. So it seems like a pretty seamless transition. - Rachel: I don't think that James and Ally will be in the Valley. I honestly think that this would be a great place for Vanderpump Rules to end because it's had a good run. - Rachel: And I'm hesitant to say anything because I get picked apart, but whatever. I think the fans are starting to see how contrived the show can be and that this friend group is not actually a friend group. They are cast members who have a job first and foremost and will do anything to secure their payday. - Rachel: But regardless, if this is the last season or if it's not, I wish the cast all the best. I really, truly do hope that they find healing in this because it has been traumatic, and I think that the show really does kind of emotionally stunt. An individual, so we all have some catching up to do on adulting in life.
Outro (Timestamp: 47:32) - Rachel: Thank you so much for listening to Rachel Goes Rogue. Follow us on Instagram and TikTok for exclusive video content at the Rachel Goes Rogue podcast.
***end

At the world’s top college of magic and technology, every day brings a new discovery -and a new disaster. The advanced experiments of the college students tend to be both ambitious and apocalyptic, with the end of the world only prevented by a mysterious time loop, and a small handful of students who retain their memories.
Surviving the loops was hard enough, but now, in his senior year, Vell Harlan must take charge of them, and deal with the fact that the whole world now knows his secrets. Everyone knows about Vell’s death and resurrection, along with the divine game he is a part of. Now Vell must contend with overly curious scientists and evil billionaires hungry for divine power while the daily doomsday cycle bombards him with terrorists, talking elephants, and the Grim Reaper himself -but if he can endure it all, the Last Goddess’s game promises the ultimate prize: power over life itself.
[Previous Chapter][Patreon][Cover Art]
“Alright, it’s been twenty-seven minutes,” Kim said. “We need to check in on Vell.”
“Why is the limit for that twenty-seven minutes?”
“Because that’s how long it takes him to make his favorite french fries,” Kim explained. Alex glared at her.
“And why is that relevant?”
“It’s a long story,” Kim said. “Now shut up and let me call.”
Kim didn’t actually need to do anything to call Vell, since the phone mechanism was entirely in her head, but she put a hand on the side of her head anyway. Vell answered, which was a good sign in and of itself, but they weren’t out of the woods yet.
“Hey Kim,” Vell said. “I’m alive.”
“I assumed,” Kim said. “Is everything going alright?”
“Just fine, yeah,” Vell said. “I’m here with Raine, he’s great, he knows everything about frogs. Literally everything. All of the things.”
A fact that Raine continually demonstrated, whether he was asked to or not. Even while Vell was talking on the phone, Raine was still listing various frog factoids.
“So are things good? Bad? Do you need help?”
“I wouldn’t say things are good,” Vell said, as he listened to Raine list off the average dietary intake of an Appenine yellow-bellied toad. “But I think they’re under control. I’ll just stick things out solo for a while. No point wasting even more people’s time on this.”
“Sounds about right,” Kim said. “Give me a call if you decide you’re done throwing yourself on the sword, Vell.”
“You and I both know I’ll never be done,” Vell said. “Just let me handle this. I am, no offense, way better at putting up with this kind of stuff than any of you guys.”
“Vell, that ‘no offense’ should be aimed at you,” Kim said. “You’re the doormat here.”
“Gee, thanks,” Vell said. “Look, I can handle it. No sense wasting everyone else’s day.”
“Ugh, cut it out you self-sacrificial bitch. Look, I’ll come tag you out later in the day, alright? We can take turns.”
“If you say so,” Vell said. “But really, I got this.”
He hung up before Kim could argue any further. Raine had been waiting patiently for the duration of the call, and seemed to be fixated on Vell’s phone. Vell had entirely forgotten he was dealing with a ghost, one that had very likely never seen a modern cell phone. He held the phone in Raine’s direction, hoping with all his heart that it could serve as a conversation topic other than frogs.
“You seen a cell phone before, Raine?”
“Yes, I have, as a matter of fact,” Raine said. “Though last time I saw one they still folded in half.”
Raine poked at the phone with an immaterial finger, attempting to mimic the way Vell had used the touch screen. As expected, his finger passed right through.
“Sorry. Let me handle it,” Vell said. “Here, phones nowadays can do all kinds of things. There’s apps, games, you can browse the web.”
“You can access the internet through your phone?”
“Yeah, I can-”
Vell stopped in his tracks. Raine’s already wide eyes were getting wider.
“Yes, it can look up pictures of frogs,” Vell sighed, as he began to do so.
***
Kim pulled another book off the shelves and examined it. Even with a functionally perfect memory, she still found it difficult to keep track of what books Vell wanted to read. He was so damn good at rune bullshit that all his academic texts were titled things like “Applied Kinetic Physics on Automated Sigil Structuring: The Horatian Perspective”. Kim knew a fair bit about runes, but she was still working off basic texts like Runecrafting 301.
“I don’t know how Vell does this shit,” Kim said. “Being nice is hard.”
To make up for his having to babysit the frog ghost, and all the other trials and tribulations of his life, Kim had opted to do something nice for Vell. Something to help with his studies was the first and most practical step. Up next, she wanted to get him some snacks. She popped on the phone in her head and got in touch with Skye.
“Kim, what’s up?”
“Hey Skye. You know what Vell’s favorite snacks are? I’m trying to get him a gift.”
“Is this a ‘gift’ gift or an apology gift?”
“Is there a diff-”
Kim stopped in her tracks, and made eyes appear on her face screen just to narrow them.
“Skye, why did you need to get an apology gift?”
“I got him pinched by a mutant crab,” Skye mumbled.
“Oh, so that’s where that cut on his arm came from,” Kim said. Vell had refused to elaborate on the incident last year. “Anyway, it’s just a gift gift. Trying to do something nice for the poor guy.”
“He likes those little fudge and cream cheese bites they sell in the campus commissary,” Skye said. Kim made a mental note and started heading for the commissary. “Is there a special occasion I should be aware of?”
“Nah, Vell’s just doing his usual routine of throwing himself on the sword for our sake,” Kim said. “Distracting a frog ghost for hours on end.”
“Is that why he hasn’t been answering my texts lately?”
“If I had to guess, I’d say the ghost pressured him into using his phone for frog pics,” Kim said, correctly. “He’ll be a little busy. Trying to help ghosts move on to the afterlife is usually a long process.”
“So what, he’s just going to be at it all night?”
“Don’t worry, if he’s not done soon, I’ll swap him out in a couple hours,” Kim said. “You’ll get your boyfriend back, don’t worry.”
Kim said her goodbyes and returned to her shopping, leaving Skye to put her phone down and get back to the people she’d been talking to before. Cane and Hanifa had been patiently waiting for the entire call.
“So it looks like me and my boyfriend showing up is entirely dependent on whether or not he can convince a frog ghost to move on to the afterlife,” Skye said.
“Mm, yeah, he was asking about that kind of thing earlier,” Cane said. “Is he not done yet?”
“Apparently not,” Skye said. “And Kim thinks it might still be a while.”
“One of these days I’ll get to talk to Vell for more than a minute,” Hanifa said. She’d been dating Cane for nearly two years now and had barely spoken to one of his best friends.
“You can talk to him soon,” Cane said. “Come on. I’ll get Luke and the rest of the guys, Skye, you call Kim back and find out where Vell is.”
“Wait, are we getting involved?” Hanifa asked. “I thought Vell was the expert in saving the day.”
“He is,” Cane said. “But now and then somebody needs to save Vell.”
***
“Okay, you have now seen a picture of every species of frog in existence,” Vell said. He swapped his phone between hands to spare his aching thumb and displayed the last photo of a frog to Raine. “You feel ready to move on? Claim your eternal reward? Et cetera?”
“Just seeing them? Are you kidding,” Raine scoffed. Vell restrained a groan of frustration. “There’s so much more to study, so much to understand, not to mention those were only photos of the known species. Who knows how many undiscovered frog species are out there?”
“Okay, okay, okay,” Vell said. “That’s something, I could work with that. What if...I found a new species of frog, and named it after you? Would that satisfy you?”
Raine contemplated the prospect for a moment.
“Only one frog?”
“God,” Vell snapped. Even his patience was wearing thin. “What will it take to get you to stop?”
“Sometimes I could ask you the same question.”
Vell turned around just in time to catch the beer Cane shoved into his hands. He also got a pat on the back and a firm but gentle shove away from Raine as Cane stepped up to the ghost.
“So you’re the frog ghost I’ve heard some much about.”
“Hi, I’m Raine.”
“Oh, Raine, I’m Cane,” he said, with a friendly smile. “Our names rhyme. How about that?”
“Oh, they do,” Raine said. “Just like Callobatrachus and Ascaphus Montanus.”
Cane’s friendly smile froze in place.
“Really is all about frogs with you, huh?”
“What else is there?”
“A lot more,” Cane said. “As our friends will be happy to tell you.”
He gestured to the door, which Luke was busy walking through, followed shortly thereafter by Hanifa, Skye, Freddy, Samson, Kim, and many of Vell’s other friends. They brought chairs, food, drinks, and everything else one could need to sit and relax for a long time. Vell was briefly confused, and then delighted when Kim shoved a bag of fudge bites into his hands alongside the beer.
“Hi, great to see you guys, why is, uh, everyone here?”
As Luke stepped up to Raine and tried to display some physics trivia that immediately got derailed by questions about frog jumps, Cane walked up and put an arm around his friend’s shoulder.
“You want to help the frog guy, I want to hang out with my friends,” Cane said. “This way we just do both at once.”
“Makes sense. I guess,” Vell said. He popped open the beer and took a much needed-swig, enjoying the cold drink almost as much as the respite from frog trivia. “You sure you’re up for this?”
“Well, a basement is not the ideal hangout spot,” Cane said. The floor was uncomfortably damp. “But it’s all my best friends and one guy with endless frog facts. How bad can it be?”
***
The light in Cane’s eyes had completely gone out by the time he wandered back to Hanifa. She made room for him in the chair and beckoned him to sit, and he all but collapsed onto her shoulder.
“There’s too many frogs,” Cane whimpered.
“I know baby, I know,” Hanifa said. “You’re safe now, don’t think about them.”
The lively atmosphere of the group had been gradually sapped away by Raine’s endless fixation on frogs. They had taken it in shifts to deal with his obsession, as any one person could only endure it so long.
“Did you find out anything useful?”
After hours of swapping in an out, the gathered friends were seemingly no closer to their goal of finding out what tethered Raine to this mortal coil.
“No, I didn’t,” Cane snapped. “It’s just frogs. All frogs. If I had to guess, I’d say his grand purpose is frogs, and the problem with that is, as I have recently learned, there are always more frogs!”
“I think we might need to cut our losses on this one, Vell,” Kim said. “Raine doesn’t exactly seem like he’s tormented by his ties to our mortal coil.”
“You’ve got a point,” Vell admitted. As long as there were frogs, Raine would be happy. “We have to stick it out a little while longer, at least.”
“Why?”
Kim, Vell, and the other loopers knew they had to be on hand all day, to avoid any risk of Raine repeating the frog-summoning incident, but their guests were not privy to such knowledge.
“Uh, well, you see-”
The sound of a door being slammed open provided a welcome interruption to a sentence Vell wasn’t sure how to finish. His relief turned right back into apprehension when Alex stepped through the open door.
“Oh, hey Alex,” Vell mumbled. “Good to see you. Sorry for not inviting y-”
Kim elbowed him to shut Vell up. They had quite deliberately not invited Alex or Helena to the gathering.
“No need for apologies, I’m not interested in your parties,” Alex said. She looked to the side, at a bit of water dripping down a wall. “Especially not in a moldy basement. I just need to consult with Freddy on a project and I’ll be on my way.”
“Oh, well, he’s right over there, go ahead,” Vell said.
“Actually,” Cane interjected. He stood up, put an arm around Alex’s shoulder, and started walking her in a very non-Freddy direction. “Since you’re here, why don’t you pull your weight and talk to our new buddy Raine for a bit?”
“The amphibian obsessed undead? I thought you all were here to handle that.”
“Look, just talk to the guy for twenty minutes or something, give us a break,” Cane said. “We’ve all been doing this for hours.”
“On a purely voluntary basis. Don’t drag me into this.”
“Too late, I have literally already dragged you into it,” Cane said. He gave Alex one final shove to push her within talking distance of Raine. His wide eyes locked on her as Cane snatched his previous conversation partner away and left Alex and Raine alone in the designated frog-conversation corner.
“Hi. I’m Raine.”
“I’ve heard,” Alex grunted. “You like frogs.”
“Yes! I especially like the kind that-”
“Shut up,” Alex said. “If I turn you into a frog, will you leave me alone?”
“You can do that?”
“I’m a mage, of course I can-”
“Do it!”
Raine tried to lunge forward and grab Alex by the shoulders, but his immaterial hands passed right through her. He kept shouting at her anyway.
“Do it do it do it do it,” Raine screamed. “I want to be a frog!”
Alex rolled her eyes, snapped her fingers, and called upon the ambient mana in the basement, to put a little extra power into her spell.
While turning someone into a frog was fairly standard magic, Alex didn’t like frogs, so she rarely cast it. The spell also, importantly, was designed to transform flesh and blood humans, not ghosts, so some modifications would be necessary. She made the needed changes, and then cast the transformation spell on Raine.
The makeshift spell created a loud buzz like a generator being turned on, and all eyes in the room turned to the source of the noise. They got to watch as Raine’s ghostly form was swallowed up by blinding light, entirely consumed in a tide of magic that washed over him and through him. When the tide of light finally settled, Raine’s ghostly form was gone, replaced by a three inch long spectral frog.
“Oh, a European common frog,” Vell said. He’d learned enough about frogs in the past few hours to identify it on sight.
The frog Raine had become started ribbiting fervently, and hopped around the room on ghostly legs. Alex stepped back to avoid any contact with the ghost frog, despite knowing that it could not actually touch her. After exactly thirteen seconds of manic hopping and ribbiting, Frog Raine started to float in the air.
“Alex, is he supposed to be floating?”
“I’m not sure,” Alex admitted. “No one’s ever successfully transmogrified a ghost before.”
“Wait,” Vell said. “What happens when you unsuccessfully transmogrify a ghost?”
“Oh, their soul is obliterated,” Alex said.
“And you did it anyway?”
“He asked,” Alex said. Her disdain for frogs extended to those who studied them, so she had little concern for Raine’s existence.
A brilliant ray of light exploded from Raine’s ghostly body, followed by another, and another, as if he was hiding a sun somewhere inside him that was starting to break free. A final crack formed in the ghostly shell, and blinding light forced them all to look away. When the light finally faded, nothing was left of Raine but a few sparks of shimmering light. Cane took a worried step closer to the few sparkles.
“So, is that, you know, the soul obliteration, or…”
“No, we’re good, that’s the good outcome,” Vell said. He’d seen a few ghosts ascend in his time. “It appears Raine’s big regret in life is that he wasn’t a frog.”
“Hmm, yeah, that tracks,” Cane said. “We should’ve tried that hours ago.”
“With maybe a few precautions taken,” Vell said, glaring at Alex. “To avoid soul obliteration.”
“He was already dead,” Alex said.
“He was only mostly dead,” Cane protested. Alex shrugged and headed for Freddy to ask for his input on mana oscillation while Cane stuck a hand through the sparkles. “See you on the other side, Raine. Hope they have frogs in heaven.”
“At least one, now,” Hanifa added. “Can we leave this basement now?”
“Yeah let’s get the fuck out of here,” Cane said. “And let’s also never talk about frogs again.”
“Good idea on both counts.”
Cane led the charge back into the light, and the makeshift party followed, though it just as quickly dissolved once everyone got back to the surface. Several hours trapped in a basement listening to frog trivia had a way of sucking the camaraderie out of people. Vell said goodbye to his friends as they went their separate ways, until it was just him and Cane.
“Thanks again for showing up, Cane,” Vell said.
“Don’t thank me too much. Full disclosure: if there weren’t like twenty other people to split frog duty with, I probably would’ve bailed,” Cane said. “Also, I would’ve looked like a real asshole in front of Hanifa.”
“Oh. Well, uh, thanks for sticking it out,” Vell said.
“No problem. Somebody’s got to watch your back while you’re watching everyone else’s,” Cane said.
“Uh, sure.”
“I’m serious, Vell. I love you, but you got to start putting yourself first sometimes,” Cane said. “You’re about to graduate, then go run a company, and you just about wasted your whole day listening to some dude explain the differences between frogs and toads.”
“One spends more time in the wa-”
“Stop! Never again,” Cane commanded. He’d had enough frog facts for ten lifetimes. “Vell, you’ve spent the past three years helping everyone with everything. Try to help yourself with something now and then.”
“I- I guess,” Vell said. “I’ll try.”
“Motherfucker I have watched Star Wars with you, you know the saying,” Cane said. “There is no try. Go do something to help Vell, Vell.”
“Huh. I guess there was something with Professor Nguyen-”
“I don’t give a shit! This ain’t about me,” Cane said. “It’s about you, and only you! Go do your thing.”
“Okay, I will,” Vell said. “Thanks, I-”
“Again, not about me,” Cane said. “Just go!”
Vell was inspired and confused in equal measure, and headed out for Professor Nguyen’s office. The interview ended up being profoundly boring and not particularly useful, but it was better than sitting in a basement talking about frogs. Slightly.

I had always remembered my deeply rooted envy at a girl at my old high school. Alyssa Howard, Home Room 207. It hadn't been long since I graduated there. I was in Class of '22, in a homeroom that I simply didn't fit in. It was isolating since everyone in my homeroom was in groups of friends, everyone was their own designated groups.
Alyssa was in the Choir group, consisting of 8 girls. They were girls that were a part of Choir Class, an elective that made no sense why I took it. Along with Alyssa Howard, there was Brianne Becker, Fiona Figueroa, Leslie Smith, Hannah Klidford, Emma Kelly, Mandy Lake, and... Karla Reyes. Karla Reyes was one of them I knew very well. In fact she is the reason why I'm typing this out.
Karla was my childhood friend, we met in 5th grade. Her family was from around Texas, and she recently moved to this small town of Meadows Dale. I didn't have friends at that age since most kids thought I was...well weird. I didn't comprehend why I was weird to them at the time, I just simply thought I wasn't cool enough. I remember vividly that I was walking far from the rusty playground, to a hill that pretty much if going more up north, you'll be at the Centennial Park of the town.
That sunny day in 5th grade felt like it was just yesterday. I was walking up a hill, my Elsa shoes making every step feel like a chore. I sighed, looking down at my shoes, feeling embarrassed that my mom had gotten them for me. All the other kids in my grade were wearing Converse or cool sneakers, and here I was, stuck with sparkly, princess-themed shoes. I flopped down on the grassy ground, feeling like the biggest outcast in the world.
I sat there, lost in my own thoughts, I noticed a girl with dark hair and tan skin walking towards me. She looked a bit nervous, fidgeting with her hands as she approached. I recognized her from my homeroom class.
"Hey," she said, trying to sound casual. "These hills look like a pair of butt cheeks, don't they?" She giggled, and I couldn't help but laugh too.
I signed back to her, using my hands to mimic the shape of hills and then making a silly face to show that, yes, they did look like butt cheeks. Karla laughed, and I was surprised. Not many people in my class knew sign language, and it was nice to have someone to communicate with in my own way.
"Do you know sign language?" I signed, curiosity getting the better of me.
Karla nodded, her dark hair bobbing up and down. "Yeah, my aunt was born deaf, so I learned to communicate with her."
I signed back, asking her if she thought it was cool that I knew sign language too.
Karla grinned. "Yeah, that's really cool! I'm Karla, by the way."
“Lily,” I signed my name, and Karla sat down next to me on the grass. We chatted for the rest of recess, discovering that we had a lot in common. We both loved DreamWorks movies better than Disney, and our favorite music group was Fifth Harmony. I was obsessed with them back then, and Karla was too. We both wanted to be like Camila Cabello when we grew up.
From that day on, Karla and I were inseparable. We'd sit together at lunch, partner up for group projects, and even started a Fifth Harmony fan club in our class. Karla would always lend me an earbud so we could jam out to our favorite songs together. Our friendship was effortless, and I felt like I'd finally found someone who understood me.
It was perfect until the start of Freshman year of Meadows Dale High School. I held my scheduler tightly in my hands as I climbed the stairs to the kitchen, my stomach twisted in knots. My heart sank as I scanned the pages, taking in the fact that most of my classes were designated for students with special educational needs. Homeroom and choir were the only exceptions.
I made my way to the living room where my mom was seated, tears brimming in my eyes. "Mom, why do I have to take these classes?" I signed, frustration etched on my features. "I don't need this kind of help. I can handle regular classes just fine."
My mom looked at the schedule, her expression sympathetic. "I know you don't seem to need help, sweetie, but the school requires you to take these classes. It's just protocol."
I sighed, feeling a wave of frustration wash over me. "I'm going to feel like even more of a freak than I already do," I gestured angrily, trying to hold back tears.
From the living room doorway, my father's deep voice cut through the silence. His ears perked up from the conversation. "Hey, kiddo, what's going on?" he asked, his voice gentle.
I signed again, rapidly gesturing my fingers "I don't want to take Special ED classes, Dad. I can do normal classes. I can hear the teachers very well!"
My dad walked over to us, his eyes scanning the schedule. "I know it's tough, Lily, but the school is just trying to help. Plus, You're not a freak. Not in our eyes, anyway. If anybody gives you trouble, I'll personally see to it that they regret it." His tone was lighthearted, but his meaning was clear. He was the sheriff, after all, and his reputation preceded him.
I rolled my eyes, signing, "Dad, please. You're only making things worse."
Ignoring my pleas, he ruffled my hair affectionately before leaving the room. I retreated to my bedroom, collapsing onto my bed in a heap of tears. The night passed in a blur, and soon enough, it was time for me to wake up and face another day.
I woke up to the sound of my dad calling me from downstairs. "Lily, time to get up! First day of school!" I groggily got out of bed, still feeling the emotional hangover from the night before.
My dad drove me to school in his police cruiser, which only added to my embarrassment. I remembered feeling weird being in the cruiser, with its flashing lights and sirens. As we pulled up to the school, my dad turned to me and said, "No matter what, you'll always have me and Mom, okay? We love you, and we're proud of you."
He hugged me tight, and I felt a lump in my throat again. I nodded, trying to hold back tears, and got out of the car. Finally me into the world of Meadows Dale High School.
The enormity of the building hit me hard as I stepped inside. The halls were bustling with activity, and the noise level was overwhelming. The classes flew by, and I couldn't help but feel like my Special ED classes were too easy for me. The teacher aides were sweet, but they were busy helping other students, leaving me to feel like I was just going through the motions.
As I walked out of my Literature class, I noticed a boy sitting alone next to a locker. He had ginger hair and was a bit overweight, and he was using a big headset to listen to music. There was something about him that drew me in, so I walked over to say hi.
He removed his headphones, looking up at me with a nervous smile. "Hi," he said, his voice a little shaky.
I signed back, "Hi."
He laughed, a little awkwardly. "Sorry if I'm a bit awkward. I'm not really used to talking to people."
I signed, "You're not awkward at all."
He smiled, looking relieved. "Thanks. I'm Matt Weston."
I nodded, signing, "I'm Lily."
Matt's eyes lit up. "Sweet. What's your homeroom?"
"207."
Matt's face brightened up. "No way, that's my homeroom too!"
I smiled, feeling a sense of excitement. "That's amazing!"
Matt stood up, walking towards a bookshelf. "Homeroom's next class. Want to walk with me?"
I nodded, following him as the bell rang. We exited the class, and suddenly we were swept up in a sea of students pushing and shoving to get to their next class.
We finally arrived at class 207, which was already filled with students. I saw Alyssa sitting in the back with her group of friends, looking like a star athlete. Matt went to sit in the front seat, and I sat next to him.
Just as we were settling in, one of the guys from Jr high football, Ryan Peterson, hit a football at Matt, saying, "Can't believe we got 'Butterball' in our class."
Matt rolled his eyes, saying, "At least I don't have a father who cheats and spreads gonorrhea."
Ryan's friend, Warren, said, "Ohhh sick burn,"
Ryan huffed, whispering to Matt, "Just because you're special doesn't mean everybody likes you."
I got mad, flipping Ryan the finger, which made him laugh. "You're lucky I ain't telling the teacher, because I don't want any issues with your old man!" Ryan walked away with Warren, leaving me feeling annoyed.
The homeroom teacher arrived, a young guy in his 20s with cedar brown hair and a pair of glasses. "Hello Students! Like that you are all sitting in neatly placed groups. My name's Mr. James and I'll be your homeroom teacher for Freshmen till Senior Year. Hope you excited as I am!"
Just as he was about to start writing on the white board, a beautifully dressed Karla emerged late, looking older and more mature with a lot of makeup on. I looked up, happy to see her, only for her to not notice me and sit down next to Alyssa's group.
Matt whispered to me, "Do you know that girl?"
I signed, "No."
Matt nodded, looking curious. "She looks familiar, but I don't know her name. Was it Kayla or Karly?"
"It's Karla," I shrugged, feeling a pang of disappointment. It seemed like Karla had moved on to a new group of friends, leaving me behind. I don't know how this change happened, since Karla and I went on a trip to Orlando, Florida, three weeks ago. I thought we had the best of our life's during that trip.
I was stumped, watching from afar as Karla chatted with Alyssa and her friends. I felt a twinge of jealousy and sadness as I realized how easily Karla had seemingly moved on and found a new group to hang out with. I mean, I thought we were best friends. It felt like Alyssa had stolen her from me.
I turned my attention elsewhere, not wanting to dwell on it. That's when I noticed a teenage boy sitting alone a few rows in front of me. He had jet black hair and there was something familiar about him, although I couldn't quite place it. I wondered who he was and why he was sitting alone.
"Hey, Lily," Matt said, following my gaze. "Do you know that guy? He looks kind of like a mini Detective Loomis."
I shook my head, signing that I had no idea who he was, but now I was curious too. Detective Loomis had been a family friend for years, and I knew he had a son, but I hadn't seen him in a while.
Matt chuckled nervously and waved his hand as if to dismiss his own question. "Just wondering. He kind of looks like him, that's all."
Just then, the boy turned around in his seat and our eyes met. He raised an eyebrow, clearly having overheard our conversation. "Yeah, that's my dad," he said, a hint of challenge in his voice. "Why?"
Matt shifted uncomfortably in his seat, clearly not expecting such a direct response. "Oh, um, no reason. Just curious, that's all."
The boy, Brandon Loomis, as I now knew him to be, nodded slowly, as if accepting Matt's explanation. Then, to my surprise, he introduced himself with a small smile. "Brandon Loomis. And you are...?"
"Lily Anderson. Nice to meet you, Brandon."
“I'm Matt by the way,” Matt chimed in.
A flash of something—was it pain?—crossed Brandon's face, but it was quickly replaced with a smile. "Nice to meet you both. Your dad's a good man, Lily. He helped me out a lot."
I could only imagine what Brandon had been through. I remembered hearing snippets about his kidnapping a while back, but I had no idea what he must have endured. No wonder he hadn't been in school until now.
"Well, I hope the rest of the year goes well for you," I signed sincerely.
Brandon smiled at me again, and I felt a warm glow spread through my chest. "Thanks, Lily. I hope so too."
As the homeroom continued, Mr. James had us all introduce ourselves and played some icebreaker games to help us get to know each other better. It was actually kind of fun, and it took my mind off Karla and her new friends for a while.
One of the things we had to do was share a fun fact about ourselves. When it was Matt's turn, he revealed that he was the son of Mayor Weston and a great friend of my dad's. No wonder he seemed so familiar! I knew my dad would be thrilled to hear that Matt and I had become friends.
Before I knew it, the homeroom was over, and Matt, Brandon, and I headed out into the hallway together. I was relieved to find out that we all had B lunch, so I wouldn't have to eat alone.
"So, where do you guys usually eat?" Brandon asked as we made our way down the crowded hallway.
"I don't know about Lily, but I usually just grab something from the cafeteria and eat outside," Matt replied.
I signed, "That sounds good to me. I like being outdoors."
Brandon nodded. "Yeah, me too. Although, I usually eat my lunch at Dillard's Diner since I work there after school. You guys should come by sometime. The food's pretty great."
"Definitely!" Matt said enthusiastically. "I love diner food. And hey, maybe we can even help you out sometime if you're short-staffed."
Brandon laughed. "Sure, why not? It can get pretty crazy on the weekends, so any extra hands would be appreciated."
As we made our way to the cafeteria, Matt started talking about his favorite band, Deftones. I had to admit, their music was a little too heavy for my tastes, but Matt was so passionate about it that I found myself getting drawn in.
"You know, you should check out their album 'White Pony,'" Matt said. "It's a classic. My dad actually introduced me to them, and I've been hooked ever since."
I signed with a smile, "My dad's always trying to get me into his favorite bands too. He's a big fan of The Beatles and Queen."
"Oh, those are classics," Brandon chimed in. "My dad's more of a country music guy, but I've definitely grown to appreciate some of the older stuff."
While we ate lunch, I pulled out my sketchbook and started drawing, something I often did when I was feeling nervous or needed a distraction. Matt and Brandon were curious and asked to see my drawings. I showed them some of my anime-style sketches, and they both complimented my work.
"Wow, Lily, these are amazing!" Matt exclaimed. "You're gonna be like Picasso one day."
I signed, feeling my face heat up with embarrassment. "Thanks, Matt. That's really nice of you to say."
Brandon nodded in agreement. "Seriously, you're really talented. I wish I could draw like that."
As lunch came to an end, Matt and Brandon suggested that they walk me to my next class. I was surprised but pleased that they wanted to stick together. My next class was Choir, and thankfully, it was just down the hall.
"So, Lily, do you sing?" Brandon asked as we walked.
I signed, feeling a little self-conscious. "A little. I mean, I really want to sing, but I'm not sure I'm any good."
"Don't be shy, Lily," Matt said with a grin. "I bet you have a great voice."
I felt my face flush again, but I was glad that Matt and Brandon seemed so supportive. As we reached the choir room, I took a deep breath and prepared myself for whatever the class might bring. I slowly pushed open the door to the choir room, unsure of what to expect. The room was dark, but as my eyes adjusted, I could make out the outlines of rows of chairs facing a small stage. The room had a strange beauty to it, with its blue and white color scheme and intricate design carvings. I made my way to an empty chair near the exit, wanting to keep a low profile.
Before long, a flood of girls began to pour into the room, chattering and laughing. I recognized many of them from the Meadows Dale Advanced Academic Program. My heart sank a little as I spotted Brianne Becker, one of the most popular girls in school, deep in conversation with Meg Peterson. They were giggling about some guy they both apparently liked. Brianne's eyes suddenly landed on me, and her smile faded. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, feeling self-conscious under her gaze.
Alyssa entered the room, and the atmosphere seemed to brighten. Brianne's face lit up, and she rushed over to give Alyssa a hug. "I'm so happy you're in this class!" she exclaimed. Alyssa smiled back, her warm hazel eyes shining. I felt a small sense of relief seeing her friendly face.
Following Alyssa were Mandy, Fiona, Leslie, Hannah, Emma, and Karla. They all seemed to be deep in their own conversations, and I felt even more alone. Karla was telling Fiona about getting her nails done, and Fiona was expressing her dislike for acrylics. I stood up and waved at Karla, trying to get her attention. She had been one of my few friends in middle school, but something had changed between us lately.
Alyssa, however, made her way over to me and offered a genuine greeting. "Hi, Lily! It's so great to see you in this class," she said, her eyes sparkling with sincerity. I felt a small smile tug at my lips. At least there was one person here who didn't seem to mind my presence.
Entering through the red velvety curtains of the stage, a woman with brunette hair, who looked to be in her early 40s, emerged from behind the stage. She had an air of enthusiasm about her as she introduced herself as Mrs. Becker, Brianne's mother. I remembered hearing that they were related, and at the time, I had thought it was sweet that a mother and daughter shared the same class.
Mrs. Becker instructed us all to take our seats and explained that this class was for girls only. She then asked each of us to come up on stage and recite the Do-Mi-Re-Fa-So syllables so that she could group us into sections of eight. My heart sank as I realized I would have to sing in front of everyone.
One by one, Mrs. Becker called each girl up to the stage. Some of the girls had okay voices, while others were truly talented. Then it was Brianne's turn. Her voice was like an angel's, a beautiful soprano that filled the room. Fiona and Emma also impressed me with their deep, rich alto voices. Mandy, Leslie, and Hannah had high-pitched, yet well-controlled voices that blended beautifully.
Alyssa and Karla were the last to go, and they both had perfect voices. Alyssa's voice was like honey, smooth and warm. But it was Karla who really stood out. She sounded like a pop idol, her voice clear and powerful. I found myself getting lost in the music, forgetting my worries for a moment.
Then Mrs. Becker called my name, and my heart sank. I nervously made my way up the stairs to the stage, my hands trembling at my sides. I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. As I opened my mouth to sing, an awful, screeching noise escaped. My throat instantly sting, as the aftertaste of metallic overwhelmed my mouth. It was so bad that Mrs. Becker immediately cut me off.
"Why are you in this class, Lily?" she asked, a hint of annoyance in her voice.
I looked at her sadly and signed, "I don't know. I didn't choose this class."
Mrs. Becker softened a little, seeing my dejected expression. "Well, you better discuss these matters with a counselor about switching, because there are better candidates out there who want a spot in this class," she said bluntly.
I felt my cheeks burn with embarrassment as I made my way back to my seat at the very back of the room. I could feel the eyes of the other girls on me, and I heard their stifled laughter. Karla's laughter rang out the loudest, stabbing me like a knife. Alyssa was the only one who didn't join in, her face a mask of disappointment. I wasn't sure if she was disappointed in me or in the other girls' behavior.
It was next week, I got out of my algebra class heading towards the office. I had to wait till Monday, since during the first few days, my assigned counselor was not available. I was already antsy of finally getting out of that Choir class, I couldn’t deal another day with a class I clearly didn’t fit in. My schedule in my hand, I pulled the door open, being greeted by the smell of freshly baked chocolate chip muffins. Nervousness ran through me, wondering what type of counselor Dr. Wells would be.
The door was wide agape, leading me into the source of that muffin smell. Sitting there on a working desk, was a man typing on his laptop. He looked a bit exhausted, almost to the point that he slumped on his chair. Tilting my head, I nudged on his shoulders, trying to shake him awake. I couldn’t help but feel warmth radiating in my cheeks.
“Huh? Oh, hello there Lily. What brings you here?” Dr. Wells jolted up, probably noticing how close I was to his face. I backed away, sitting down on a red couch next to him.
“I want to change classes please.”
Mr. Wells nodded off, scooting his chair back towards his mahogany desk. He searched up my schedule, turning his laptop to my view. “Oh, I see. In what class do you want to change?”
I nervously let out a breath, as I finally let out what emotions I was holding. “I don’t know why you assigned me Choir, but everyone in that class hates me. I really need that class changed, Dr. Wells.”
I saw my counselor's lip repeatedly twitched a bit, before he gathered his composure. Dr. Wells looked up from his desk, his kind face softening as he saw me. "Lily, I want to apologize profusely for putting you in that situation."
I signed, feeling a little comforted by his words. "It's okay. I did want to be in that class, but I just... I felt so out of place with all the other girls laughing at me."
Dr. Wells sighed and rubbed his temple. "I'm truly sorry, Lily. I was told you loved music and thought you would enjoy the class. But it's clear that it wasn't a good fit. Do you have another class in mind that you'd like to take instead?"
I nodded and signed, "Art class. I heard my friend Brandon is taking that, and I've always loved drawing."
Dr. Wells typed something into his laptop. “Consider it done. I'll have the change processed by tomorrow, if not sooner. In the meantime, help yourself to a muffin. The library teacher made them for me, and they're delicious."
I smiled and took one of the muffins, taking a bite. "Are you and the library teacher... a thing?" I asked, feeling a little bold.
Dr. Wells laughed, a deep, hearty sound that filled the room. "No, no, nothing like that. Just colleagues. She knows I have a sweet tooth, so she often shares her baking creations with me."
I felt a wave of relief wash over me. It was probably one of the few times I'd developed a crush on someone, and as usual, it was harmless and something I'd get over quickly. Dr. Wells was one of those crushes indeed. I stood up from my chair, feeling much better than when I arrived. "Well, thank you, Dr. Wells. I better head to class soon."
Dr. Wells smiled and placed a hand on my shoulder. "Of course, Lily. And remember, if you ever need someone to chat with, my door is always open."
Later that day, during lunch, I made my way to our usual table with Brandon and Matt. They were already deep in conversation about their morning classes.
"PE is a nightmare," Matt was saying. "All the athletes make fun of me because I'm not as fast or strong as they are. It's frustrating."
Brandon nodded sympathetically. "I heard you beat Ryan on the pacer test, though. That's impressive."
Matt shrugged, taking a bite of his apple. "It was just luck, honestly. Ryan got too cocky and sprained his knee on the seventy-ninth lap. I just kept a steady pace.”
I signed to Matt, "You should still be proud. I bet your dad was happy."
Matt smiled. "He was. It's not every day I get to impress him, especially when it comes to sports. You know how Mayor Weston was a star athlete back in his day."
I laughed, and then took a bite of my sandwich. "Speaking of impressing people, I have some news. I'm switching out of choir class and into art elective. Hopefully, I'll be in the same class as you, Brandon."
Brandon's face lit up. "That's great! I'm so glad you'll be joining us. Art class is a lot of fun.”
Matt nodded in agreement. "I'm happy for you, Lily. But why are you leaving Choir? I thought you loved singing."
My smile faltered, and I looked down at my lap. "It's just... it's not the right fit for me," I signed.
Matt frowned, chewing on his apple. "Is Mrs. Becker too mean? I've heard she can be hard on students who aren't part of the popular crowd."
"No fair," I signed, my eyes pleading with him to understand.
Brandon nodded. "It really isn't fair, Matt. That's why I prefer to keep a low profile. Popularity contests aren't worth the hassle.”
Just then, I felt a tap on my shoulder, and I turned to see Karla standing there, a sad look on her face. "Lily, can I talk to you?" she asked, her voice soft and hesitant.
I hesitated, signing, "Why?”
With a strand of hair tucked behind her ear, she leaned in and whispered, "I want to talk to you in private."
I glanced at Matt and Brandon, signing, "I'll be back, okay?"
Matt nodded, his eyes curious. "We'll be here. Take your time."
I followed Karla to the girl's bathroom, my heart pounding in my chest. I wasn't sure what this was about, but I sensed it was important to her. Once we were inside, Karla pulled out a juul vape from her pocket and took a hit. The sweet smell of watermelon filled the air.
"Want a hit?" she offered, holding it out to me.
I was curious, so I signed, "Sure."
I took a cautious drag, expecting to choke, but surprisingly, I didn't. Karla laughed, "I guess you already know how to smoke. Not so innocent after all, huh?"
I rolled my eyes. "I learned from watching Effy in Skins. It's not like I've never seen it before."
Karla laughed again, a genuine sound that seemed to break through the tension between us. "Look, Lily, I wanted to apologize for what happened in the choir. I shouldn't have laughed. It was mean, and I'm sorry."
I stayed silent, unsure of how to respond. A part of me wanted to accept her apology, but another part was still hurt by her earlier behavior. Before I could say anything, Karla cut in, "I know it doesn't make up for it, but I want to make it up to you. How about I take you to the skating rink this evening? It's one of our favorite places, remember?"
I hesitated, considering her offer. Finally, I signed, "Okay, I guess."
Karla's face lit up, and she gave me a quick hug. "Great! I'll text you the details. See you later, okay?" And with that, she left the bathroom, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
I walked back to the cafeteria, my mind racing. Matt rushed over to me, his eyes full of questions. "How did it go? What did she want?" he asked.
"It went okay," I replied, signing as I continued. "Karla invited me to the skating rink this evening."
Brandon's eyebrows furrowed. "I don't know, Lily. Karla hangs out with those choir girls. I don't think we can trust her, especially after what happened."
I bit my lip, understanding his concern. "What if I sneak you and Matt in too? That way, if anything goes south, we'll be together."
Matt's eyes lit up. "That's a brilliant idea! I'm in."
A small smile tugged at my lips. "It's settled, then. We're going skating."
That afternoon, I waited on the porch for Karla to pick me up. The sun was starting to set, casting a warm glow over everything. My dad emerged from the house, dressed in his sheriff's uniform. "Why are you wearing your uniform on your day off?" I asked, curious.
He chuckled, patting my back. "Got called into work. Something strange is going on. Don't worry, I'll be fine."
I signed, "Be safe, Dad."
“I will, honey. Have fun with Karla, okay.” He smiled and gave me a thumbs-up before heading off. A minute later, a black Chevy pulled up, and I recognized it as Mrs. Becker's car. Karla leaned out the window and waved me over.
I took a deep breath and climbed into the back seat. Besides Karla, there were a few other girls from the choir class—Mandy, Hannah, Emma, Leslie, Fiona, and Brianne. Alyssa was noticeably absent.
Noticing my curious glance, Karla explained, "Alyssa had track practice. She couldn't make it."
I signed, "That's nice."
Brianne turned to Mrs. Becker and asked, "Can we get some McDonald's shakes? Please?"
Mrs. Becker smiled. "Of course, sweetie. Does anyone else want one?"
Everyone nodded eagerly, and Mrs. Becker placed an order for nine shakes. Emma and Leslie wanted vanilla, Brianne wanted the seasonal spice pumpkin flavor, Hannah and Fiona requested strawberry, Karla and Mandy chose chocolate, and Mrs. Becker asked about my preference.
"Mint, please," I said, making a gesture of a mint leaf.
Mrs. Becker smiled. "Mint it is. Anything for my girls."
I felt a warm glow spread through me. Maybe, just maybe, they were starting to like me. I took a long sip of my mint shake, savoring the cool, refreshing taste.
"Chocolate is definitely the best flavor," Mandy declared, taking a sip from her own shake. "Nothing beats the classic."
"Pumpkin spice is where it's at," Brianne interjected, taking a sip of her pumpkin spice shake. "It's got that perfect blend of sweet and spicy. It's like autumn in a bite."
"Are you kidding?" Mandy scoffed. "Chocolate is timeless. It's the ultimate comfort food. Pumpkin spice is just a fad.”
"Oh c'mon! Pumpkin spice is leagues better," Brianne retorted. "It's a limited edition for a reason."
The other girls joined in, each defending their favorite flavor. I snickered at their playful bickering, feeling a sense of warmth despite the earlier tension.
About ten minutes later, Mrs. Becker pulled into the parking lot of a magenta-colored building. The girls piled out of the car, and I followed them inside, curious about our destination. Mrs. Becker turned to Brianne and said, "I'll pick you girls up at 8 pm sharp. I need to head home and take care of your little sister."
Brianne gave her mom a quick hug and yelled out, "Okay! Love you, mom!" Then she joined the choir group, whispering something in Karla's ear that made her smile in an unsettling way.
Karla walked over to me and whispered, "Hey, Lily, I want to take you to our hiding spot. It's been a while since we hung out there."
I brightened at the idea, signing, "I've missed that place. We used to act like it was our studio booth."
“Uh-huh,” Karla led me to an abandoned janitor's closet that was blocked off with a "Do Not Enter" sign. She opened the door, and I slid inside, feeling a rush of nostalgia. I slid inside the small, dimly lit closet and sat criss-cross on the floor, my heart racing with anticipation. Karla joined me, and for a moment, we just sat there, our knees touching, the silence comfortable between us.
"I've missed you, Lily," Karla signed, her expression softening.
"I've missed you too," I signed back, my heart warming at the sentiment. "It feels like it's been ages since we really talked." I looked down, my smile fading slightly. "I've missed the old Karla. The one who was always on my side, no matter what."
Karla furrowed her eyebrows, her face a mask of confusion. "What do you mean? I haven't changed, Lily. I've just matured."
I scoffed, shaking my head. "Matured? Making fun of someone less popular than you isn't mature, Karla. It's just mean spirited."
Her eyes widened at my words, and I could see the hurt flash across her face. "I haven't been making fun of you, Lily. I—"
"Yes, you have," I interrupted, my anger bubbling to the surface. "I know exactly what you and your new friends have been trying to do. You've been pretending I don't exist, like I'm not even worth acknowledging.”
Karla's face contorted with frustration. "That's not true, Lily! You always have to make everything about your disability. If anyone's changed, it's you. You used to be so happy, always laughing and joking around. Now, you just cry and complain when things don't go your way."
I signed angrily, my hands moving frantically. "How can you say that, Karla? I don't mind if you want to be more popular, but you're acting like you don't even know me. You're trying to pretend we're not friends."
Her eyes filled with tears, and her voice shook. "Maybe I don't want to be friends with you anymore, Lily. Maybe you're too held up in the past, too stuck in your own little world. You're a sad, pathetic sap, and I—"
Before she could finish her sentence, I punched her squarely in the face. The force of the blow knocked her back, and she stumbled, her hand flying to her nose.
"I wish I'd never met you, Karla!" I angrily figured my fingers around, my breathing being audible in the small space. "I wish you'd never been my friend! I wouldn't care if you dropped dead right now!"
Karla's eyes widened in shock, and tears began to stream down her face. Without another word, she turned and ran out of the janitor's closet, leaving me alone in the dimly lit space. I trembled as I crouched down in the corner, my heart pounding in my chest. I had never hit anyone before, and now I wished I could take it back. It was rather immature of me to end that way with Karla. Especially when this was the last memory I had of her alive.
Suddenly, a blood-curdling scream pierced the silence, freezing me in place. It was Karla. My eyes widened in horror as I realized what I had done. I rose to my feet and ran out of the closet, my heart pounding in my chest. As I turned the corner, I came face to face with a masked man. He was tall and imposing, his mask was painted like a 1940s woman with green eyeshadow, vibrant red blush, and blood-red lips. His copper-blonde wig fell in sleek waves, contrasting with his all-black suit.
The man walked slowly towards me, his gloved hand reaching out. I kicked him in the abdomen, my fear fueling my strength. But he was too strong. He grabbed me by the waist, his gloved finger pressing against my lips.
"My little flower, I am so happy to see you." he whispered, his voice deep and gravelly.
Before I could scream or struggle, he covered my mouth with a rag. It took a while for the chloroform to finally take effect, as I remembered my last thoughts were about Karla. Sometimes I wished this encounter was just an elaborate prank played by Brianne. However it is never the case.
When I woke up, I woke up to the sound of a girl's voice, soft and melodic. My eyes felt heavy, my body sluggish as I tried to lift my head. The singing was familiar, reminding me of Karla. My heart stirred at the memory of my friend, and I tried to shake off the grogginess that clouded my mind.
As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I realized I was restrained to a bed, my wrists and ankles bound. Panic surged through me, and I struggled against my bonds, my heart racing.
The singing continued, and I finally located the source—a television mounted on the wall across the room. My eyes widened as I recognized the singer. It was Karla, her face bruised and beaten, her eyes closed as she sang "Once Upon a December" from the animated movie "Anastasia." Her voice was shaky but serene, and tears pricked my eyes as I watched her performance.
I opened my mouth to scream, but only a weakened screech escaped my throat. I tugged at my restraints, desperation fueling my strength. I had to get out of here. I had to help Karla.
Catching me off guard, the door swung open, and the masked man from my encounter at the janitor's closet stepped into the room. My heart sank at the sight of him, and I shrunk back against the bed, my breath coming in short gasps.
He carried a plate of applesauce, his gloved hands setting it down on a table by the bed. "Good morning, my little flower," he said, his voice deep and distorted by the mask. "Your friend has a lovely voice," he remarked. "Have you ever wanted to sing like that?”
I shook my head, my eyes never leaving his face. I mouthed the words, "Let her go.”
The Masked Man smiled sadly. "Your friend has been let go. Don't worry, she's no longer suffering.”
I wanted to scream, to demand that he release me, but my voice failed me. The masked man approached the bed, his eyes cold and unfeeling. He picked up the spoon and dipped it into the applesauce, then brought it to my mouth.
"Open up, sweetie," he cooed. "You need to keep up your strength."
I turned my head away, my body rigid with fear. I didn't want his help, I didn't want anything to do with him.
"Now, now, none of that," he chided, his gloved hand gently tilting my chin back towards him. "You need to eat. And one day, my little flower, you will sing too. And it will be the most beautiful voice anyone has ever heard."
Tears slipped down my cheeks as he forced the spoon into my mouth, the applesauce tasting bitter on my tongue. I choked down the food, my throat constricting with fear and anger.
The masked man set the plate down and pulled me into a tight embrace, his gloved hands stroking my hair. "Shh, my little flower. Everything will be alright. I'm here to take care of you."
I sobbed into his chest, my body shaking with grief and terror. I had no idea where I was, no concept of how much time had passed since I had been taken. All I knew was that Karla was in danger, and I was powerless to help her. The masked man held me until my sobs subsided, then gently laid me back down on the bed. "Rest now. We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow."
With that, he turned and walked out of the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I closed my eyes, my mind reeling. The next time I woke, it was to the sound of my mother's sobs. I blinked groggily, my vision blurry as I tried to focus. I was in a hospital room, my mother sitting by my bedside, her face wet with tears. Matt and Brandon, my closest friends, were also there, their faces etched with concern.
"Mom?" I raised one of my hands, my fingers weak and stiff.
My mother's head snapped up, and she rushed to my side, her hands grasping mine. "Lily, oh, Lily, you're awake!" She smiled through her tears, her voice shaking. "I thought I'd lost you.”
I placed my palm to touch her cheek, my throat too dry to speak. Matt and Brandon stood by silently, their eyes filled with relief.
I then asked the big question, signing, "What... happened?"
Matt nervously stuttered, "We... We found you inside an old shed near the skating rink. You were... you were unconscious, and we called for help right away."
Brandon added, "Before that, you were missing for roughly 33 hours. We searched everywhere for you.” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, unable to meet my gaze.
"You're safe now, Lily," my mother said, stroking my hair. "That's all that matters. There's nothing to worry about anymore."
I shook my head, my eyes flying open. Where was Karla? I signed, "Where's Karla?”
My mother's face crumpled, and fresh tears slid down her cheeks. "She's... she's still missing, Lily. We don't know where she is."
I closed my eyes, the weight of my guilt crushing me. If I hadn't fought with Karla, none of this would have happened. It was my fault she was still out there, alone and in danger.
The days turned into weeks, and Karla remained missing. The police conducted an extensive search, but there were no leads, no clues as to her whereabouts. I blamed myself, replaying the events of that fateful day over and over in my mind.
Three weeks after my rescue, the news channel delivered a devastating blow. Karla Reyes, aged 15, had been found dead, her body buried near the Yellow Rock River. She had suffered multiple bone fractures, and the unsettling detail—she had been missing her vocal cords and larynx.
I recalled the day vividly, the sun shining brightly through my hospital window as the news anchor delivered the grim update. I had broken down, sobbing uncontrollably, the reality of what had happened hitting me like a ton of bricks. I remember wanting to just die, to pay for what I have done. If I hadn't had my friends Matt and Brandon, I wouldn't have been alive writing this. And yet, I never told anyone about The Masked Man or what had transpired that day—until now. Sometimes I wonder if Karla could hear my prayers, wishing that she deserved better than this, and I'm sorry for causing her death. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what I needed to say next.
Karla Reyes may have been the first victim, but she certainly wasn't the last. There were 7 more Choirs Girls left.

On the night when it all happened a young man called Smallmouth found himself in quite a pickle. He shivered and paced clumsily all over the second story porch of a cabin that used to be very nice, which overlooked a snowy down-sloping field that used to be kept up properly and carefully. He was already six packs deep into a carton of cigarettes he had bought only two days ago from a Casey’s General Store on his way up. He could recall the look on the young woman’s face at the register when he asked for a carton of Parliament Menthols, her eyes showing one blink of humorous surprise and another couple blinks of obvious concern, which faded to professional indifference as she rang in the sweet, icy killers. Smallmouth stopped his nervous dallying when he caught himself in the kitchen window; a large, shadowy figure sulking between the inside lights and the cold, almost glowing world downhill. His eyes still on his murky reflection, he patted his coat pockets for his seventh pack, pulling it out and smacking it against his left palm before cracking open and lighting it at his mouth. In a slow, warm flash, he could briefly see his own face in the window.
“Oh man, it’s bad” , he thought to himself.
He hadn’t shaved in weeks and his beard grew coarse and thick. A face that his mother had once called handsome had become a clean plate covered in steel wool. Well, maybe not so clean. Under and around his eyes were the obvious bruising of sleeplessness and his skin had lost its lively color and clarity of yesteryear.
“Ughhh” he groaned, turning away from the window to look over the porch and into the freezing, beckoning night.
The pickle that Jeremy “Smallmouth” Bassett found himself in involved his uncle, and his uncle’s evening logistics, to be precise. Smallmouth had been kicked out of his parents home on December 27th due to a slight misunderstanding at 2am when he believed the living room Christmas tree to be the downstairs bathroom. He had passed out on the couch after drinking a fire pit full of crushed Hamm’s cans and his brain tried desperately to get him up and to the nearby toilet. His little sister Stacy was tucked in fast asleep on a loveseat by the tree when she was brutally torn from her sugarplum dreams to hear the terrible hiss of Smallmouth’s folly. She screamed, the parents woke up, and, well, there you go. After well over three strikes, Smallmouth’s temporary residence had come to an end, and he was thrown to his mother’s brother’s cabin to dry up and straighten out before he could ever even be considered to return.
“You two deserve to live together. He can’t say no either because he owes me a lot more than this!” Smallmouth’s mother had screeched over him as he sat at the kitchen table the following morning with a cold bag of peas against his throbbing right temple. “You go there and you GET RIGHT!! I don’t care how long it takes just clean up your act and MAKE something of yourself! And for goodness sake tell Chuck to do the same, while he still has time!”
Yes, Uncle Chuck had his own shelf full of good time problems, and that’s what put Smallmouth in a bind tonight as he pondered over the white yonder that led to a black nothing, a black nothing that in the daylight pretended to be a forest. At night, it showed its true nature, an endless world of dark secrets and aching regret. At least that’s how Smallmouth saw it in this moment.
Chuck had gone down to the ranch he worked on for a New Years party with his work buddies. They liked to gather at the big barn where all of the vehicles and equipment were kept, sitting around a card table passing out stories about women and other trophy game that were either outright lied about or illegally poached. Oh, and they also liked to pass the bottle around. Therein lied the conundrum for Smallmouth.
Uncle Chuck was many things, but one thing he wasn’t was a drunk driver. Chuck’s wife Rebecca had been struck and killed by a drunk driver almost ten years ago when she was out jogging the back roads early one morning. Everyone assumed that’s what led him to his openly hard drinking and sneakily pill popping ways in the first place. For Chuck, most nights were kept at home, parked in front of a TV watching old westerns and cleaning out a full bottle of Wild Turkey 101 before snoring in his recliner. On the few nights he would go out, he would always call a ride if things got out of hand. As you can imagine, he tends to need a ride home.
“I should be home bout 11:30. Service ain’t so good up there near the barn so if it gets bout 11:15-11:20 and I ain’t home, go head and do me a favor and come grab me son.” Chuck had told Smallmouth before he left, closing the warped screen door behind him.
Smallmouth had spent the evening trying his best to stay entertained without the help of any chemical enhancement. His family’s anger and resentment really struck him and this time he was determined to truly get right and get his life back on the rails. He was 29 years old. He had gone through college clean as a whistle, bright and driven, receiving his MBA with plans to work his way up in a promising career in business. That worked for a couple years. Then he found a calling in ministry, deciding to quit the corporate world to fill an opening of a tiny country church in the area. They needed a deacon who could take care of things around the building and assist in the worship service. He wasn’t much for public speaking, haven been given the nickname Smallmouth at a young age due to his soft spoken nature, but he could pass plates and give a hushed prayer every now and then. He liked to mow and paint and help old ladies up the stairs. The quiet country life was really nice for him, for a while. Strange, radical ideas eventually spread through the church though, and half of its members left overnight to form their own congregation. Its funding cut in half, the church had to close its doors and the other members absorbed into other churches. Smallmouth rarely ever saw the people that had departed from the church, but rumors creeped that they met at an old abandoned building deep in the woods, performing all sorts of different acts and rituals that would purify themselves and destroy all evils. Nevertheless, Smallmouth was out of work and picked up shifts bartending at a small town dive. His soft fortitude was no match for the booze and drugs and women that would pass through there and soon he was out the door. That landed him mooching off of his parents, draining their sanity and eventually draining himself on their Christmas tree. The last strike.
So there he was all night, waiting up for uncle Chuck. He was two days clean of everything except caffeine and nicotine, a major improvement. He felt a boost of hope and confidence the first morning after a sober nights sleep. He found the mornings to be the best parts of the day. At least he had coffee and cigarettes to get him out of bed. That would wear off quickly and the rest of the day was filled with trying to find distractions until the sun set about 5pm. Then he would watch a movie or two with Chuck. Last night he had been able to call it early and go to sleep at 7pm shortly after Chuck started sawing logs in front of True Grit (the original John Wayne version of course). Tonight he saw 7pm struggle and churn into 8…….8:13……..8:48……9:05……9:29………..9:31………9:52……..9:58……….10:11…….10:12 (oh cmon)……10:27…….10:56…….and finally 11:08. It was like the clock was a 35 year old four cylinder engine oiled with crunchy peanut butter. Now, crunch time sat in the cold air as Smallmouth finished his cigarette and stewed over his decision. He really didn’t feel like going down to the barn and getting Chuck, even though it was only a couple miles. In the infancy of his sobriety he found the smallest of choices and activities to seem dire and at the very least upsettingly out of his way. Surely Chuck can get himself home on his own, right?
“No. Who knows if someone’s Aunt Rebecca or grandmother or son is out there on the road tonight” he thought.
As much as he had tried to screw up his life, Smallmouth usually knew what the right decision would be, even if he so often refused to listen. It was there ever so clearly on this New Year’s Eve, wailing in the back row of his mind like a misbehaved child during a church sermon. Smallmouth left the porch and went inside to grab his keys.
He walked out to his truck, got in, cranked it, let it sit down to one rpm, and started down the gravel driveway, which led to the gravel county road that Chuck and his few and far between neighbors lived on. He got to the mailbox and suddenly shot his attention up the road, where headlights revealed themselves out of the deep dark. It was rare to see any cars this far down Chuck’s road. In fact, there were no other houses to the right of Chuck’s cabin, spare for a couple of empty ones that were condemned but were attached to a lot of forest property.
Smallmouth squinted his eyes as a large black Dodge Ram 3500 came barreling by with a livestock trailer. Even inside his own truck he could hear a terrible noise coming from that trailer. He recognized it instantly as a pig squeal.
“The hell?” He whispered as the truck and trailer tore down the road, going around a nearby corner and out of sight. He couldn’t guess what on earth that could be about at this hour, and especially since nobody lived down there anyway. He shrugged it off though, and turned left out of the driveway, headed for drunk Uncle Chuck down at the ranch.
Ten minutes and a couple of snowy country miles later Smallmouth found himself through the metal gate of the ranch and up to the main barn, where a couple of smiling ranch hands had Chuck held up between them just outside one of two closed garage doors. A lamppost nearby cast a glow of debauchery on all of their faces, especially Chuck’s. Smallmouth got out and walked up to them smiling and shaking his head.
“Well well well…” he said with a slight laugh.
“Your Uncle put on one hell of a clinic tonight ‘Mouth” one of the hands said.
“I…..I….I don’t know what they’re tawlkin bout son” Chuck slang out before a high pitched giggle.
“I got another couple rounds in me I thinks!”
Smallmouth laughed.
“Yeah I ain’t so sure about that uncle! Let’s get on home now and let these fellas get on too.”
“Y’alright alright” Chuck said as Smallmouth took him from his buddies arms into one of his own and led him to the passenger seat of his truck.
“Happy New Years boys!!! Let’s do it all again okay?” He hollered to his waving buddies as they drove back away from the barn and through the metal gate toward home.
“You have a good time Uncle?”
“Oh…ohhh…I reckon I showed those boys how to do it” Another childish giggle.
A light snow shower seasoned the cold air as the truck rolled down the gravel country road. In the yellow headlights it made a pleasant white noise for the eyes. Chuck put his hands up staggered and vertically, fingers together and outstretched, pointing out in front of the truck down the road like he was aiming up for a rifle shot. He closed one eye.
“Straight as an arrow ole son. You’re good at this.”
“I ain’t drunk pops” Smallmouth chuckled.
“Sure ya are. Everybody’s drunk son. Even people that ain’t drink. Ticket is to get drunk on good stuff” Chuck’s face calmed from a goofy grin as he kept his eyes out front into the slow swirling tube of visible night.
“You sound like you’re drunk on some pretty damn good stuff” Smallmouth retorted as they shared a look and a good laugh.
“Suppose’n you ain’t wrong. Gotta work on that just like you are. Proud o’ you for a couple days clean man. We’ll get right. We’ll get right. All I meant was that man is born to get drunk on somethin’ or other. What I mean is God. Man is born to get drunk on his God.” Chuck said as Smallmouth shot him a raised eyebrow look of confusion.
“Once God gets ya drunk then you’re home free ol’ son. That distillery is never ending eternal forever. That land flows with whiskey and honey.” They both shared another laugh.
“Okay okay I think I somewhat understand now Uncle.”
They rode in a few seconds of comfortable silence before Chuck put his hands up in an aim position down the road again.
“You know…man….man….man has a GOVERNOR…..you know that right?”
“A what? A governor?”
“That’s right a GOVERNOR…that’s right…a little bitty device in his brain that keeps him on the road…keeps him from turning right off into the dark. You ever hear that little voice that tells you you can turn off into the ditch…into oncomin’ traffic? Tells you you can shoot your buddy instead of the deer? That you can jump off the top of the building and onto the pavement when you’re up there enjoying the view?”
“I…uh…I don’t know…I mean maybe? Pretty sure those are intrusive thoughts and they’re normal.”
“Well whatever they are that’s what the governor is for. Keeps ya straight. Keeps ya from harmin nothin.”
“Alright man, alright.”
They pulled back into Chuck’s driveway and parked. Smallmouth helped his uncle out of the truck and up into the cabin, snow starting to color the roof and pile against the side of the house near the door. Arms locked Smallmouth propped open the screen door, opened the inner door, and led Chuck through the kitchen and to his bedroom. Chuck layed down on his camo comforter with a deep, long exhale.
“Ahhhh yes……yes” he whispered with a smile.
“I love ya son…I’m glad you’re heeeeere. Let’s get better….your mom needs it…..stay in the Lord’s light son…don’t let them devils get ya….let’s get better….lets….” He was off into the distant deep ether almost immediately, and his mouth hung open.
“Goodnight uncle…love ya too.” Smallmouth patted the bed twice before walking over and closing the bedroom door behind him.
He went and sat at the kitchen table. He regretted his behavior earlier in the night. How it pained him to have to stay up a little later to go help out his uncle.
“Cmon…” he whispered.
He agreed with Chuck. He was here to get better. To do better. Maybe Chuck was right. If he couldn’t get drunk off booze, it was time to pick something else to drink. Better things. Maybe even God? Smallmouth hadn’t paid much mind to God since his church job fell through. God surely hadn’t been there for him these last few years when he was at his lowest. Or was He there the whole time? Had Smallmouth just ignored Him? These things floated heavily in his mind and soon he realized he had been staring at the front door for several minutes. Had he even blinked? Then something else came to mind.
“Wait hold up”
That truck and trailer from earlier. What WAS that? He meant to bring it up to the ranch hands. They would’ve seen it come barreling down the road right by their front gate. Oh he wished he had brought that up to them. Oh well. It’s probably nothing. Smallmouth looked at the clock. 12:12.
“Happy New Year old boy.” He said to himself.
He sat for a moment in the warm kitchen light, his eyes not leaving the front door. Well, he’s up this late already, why not go run down and check on the abandoned properties?
No…no…it can wait. It’s probably nothing. Right?
Wrong. There’s that wailing kid in the back pew of his mind again. Come on kid can’t you just be quiet and listen to the sermon? No, no it can’t. It must be heard. Always. He knew he had to go check it out.
“Ughhhh FINE!” Smallmouth got up and grabbed his truck keys, patted to make sure his cigarettes were still there, and was out the door again.
The snow shower had ended. As he pulled up to the edge of the drive, he stalled for a moment and peaked out as far to the right as he could down the dark road. Nothing. It wasn’t very far to the end of that road, where two out of service mailboxes should’ve stood in a small cul-de-sac if it weren’t for teenagers beating them to splinters. Can’t really blame them either. Smallmouth considered his plan. Whether or not that truck belonged to the landowner down there, he shouldn’t feel like he needs to sneak around. He is merely a concerned neighbor after all. He began down the road and around that same corner the stranger disappeared earlier.
After a couple of slow, curious minutes Smallmouth could see the evidence of a great big fire in the near distance, beyond where the road ended. Through the bare trees and against the snow it cast orange and red that could surely be seen a mile in every direction, that is, if there were anyone there to see it.
Slightly intimidated, Smallmouth decided to turn off his headlights and let the fire guide him as he slowed up to 5mph and gently crackled his last few yards of gravel up to the remnants of the nearest mailbox post. It seemed the fire was on the land of the farther property, whose mailbox posthole was about 30 feet from where he came to a stop and parked his truck. Smallmouth turned it off and quietly got out into the cold. He crouched down as he walked over to the farther driveway, getting down on one knee to give it a stealthy closer look.
The abandoned property boasted a busted up trailer that sat pitifully about 500 feet from the mailbox memorial. Beyond that was a good ten acres of field that ended at the forest edge, which marked the beginning of thousands of acres of wildlife refuge. As Smallmouth peered on, it was obvious that the fire was way out in that field, blocked by the old trailer, which wore the hot light and columns of smoke on it like a devilish crown. Given the cover, Smallmouth crept over to the trailer and started easing around the right side.
Rounding the corner he noticed a propane tank that would be perfect for hiding behind and getting the best look he could at the mysterious activity. He got down on his belly and crawled his way over to the tank, before sitting up and peeking slowly over the top and out into the field.
Way down there, a couple acres away from the tree line, was a huge fire, made up of about fifty wooden pallets. It raged and lit up the whole field like it was just the beginning of sunset. Somewhat near the fire was the black Dodge Ram 3500 and trailer. Smallmouth could see a group of people dressed in all red, as if covered in bloody bedsheets from head to toe, circled around a crude cage, seemingly fastened together by pieces of metal fencing. They stood still as the pines, and twice as silent. Smallmouth, in a rare moment of curious courage, decided he had to get closer. He got back on his stomach and began to crawl through the cold, knee high grass.
Using the fire light as his North Star he crawled and crawled, feeling his hands, clothes, and beard get wet with snow. He didn’t care. Something was up that wasn’t normal, wasn’t right. He could feel it in his cold gut. When he thought he was close enough without giving himself away he planted his palms and ever so slowly raised his torso up into a weak push up to try and see out. He was glad he didn’t go any further. He may have been too close already.
He was close enough to read the name of the truck and count the holes in the livestock trailer. There were seven strangers in red sheets all around the makeshift cage, all holding long spears. One of the figures had a crown of black thorns on his head. They all had two eyeholes and one hole for the mouth. They didn’t move a muscle for the longest time, before the Crowned One forcibly touched the end of his spear to the ground.
“Now is the time, Brother and Farmer Abraham…there is no more for us in waiting.”
Smallmouth had just noticed the passenger window to the black Dodge was down, and he could hear the driver door open and soon saw a normal looking older man in a ball cap at the back of the trailer. He was holding a leash of some sort. He opened up the trailer and whistled into the dark of it. After a couple of loud, heavy thuds a gigantic, and I mean GIGANTIC Yorkshire pig came slowly shrugging out of the trailer. It was light pink in color but filthy, and gave wet sounding oinks as it came to the man’s hands expecting food. The thing must’ve weighed 1500 pounds, and at least ten feet long. It actually had to lower its head to reach the man’s hands, its ears coming up to the man’s chest. Smallmouth couldn’t believe his eyes. The man reached in his pocket and revealed a handful of some type of feed, which he tossed on the ground at the pig. It started right in as the man fixed a collar on the pigs girthy neck, then attaching a leash. The pig gave a slight squeal.
“Good girl, good girl…cmon now” the man called Farmer Abraham sweetly coaxed the animal. He gave his end of the leash a tug and the monstrous swine reluctantly left its food and followed the man over close to the Crowned One. The fire raged and raged nearby, throwing crazy shadows all over the place.
“What have you brought us, Brother and Farmer Abraham?”
“Yeah, uh, this is Old Azazel, she’s been in my family for years, man.”
The Crowned One dropped his spear and knelt down to the jowls of the hog, the dark holes of his eyes meeting those of the animal. The other red cloaked figures remained statuesque around the cage.
“Ah, yes, Old Azazel, hello. You are to be of great importance in the history of the Earth tonight, old friend.”
The Crowned One got back up to address Brother and Father Abraham, who seemed obviously put off, yet submissive.
“And is this Old Azazel a natural specimen? Is it fed only of the earth and the filths therein?”
“Yessir, I’d reckon so.”
“This is necessary for a proper sacrifice, Brother and Farmer Abraham. You may only bring your best, your cleanest, your most dear to the alter of the Almighty.”
“I understand.”
“May I take her now?”
The farmer gave his end of the leash to the black gloved left hand of the Crowned One. The Crowned one stood with it for almost a full minute in total stillness and silence. The only noise Smallmouth could hear was the sloppy smacks and oinks from Old Azazel. The farmer anxiously waited, wringing his hands expecting the next move from the Crowned One.
“Turn away, Brother and Farmer Abraham. Turn away from us and toward the fire now.” The Crowned One finally spoke.
“Phew, alright. We’re still good on our deal? Do you still promise to make my little girl better? Like you said?” The farmer asked, with some hopeful desperation.
“Turn now.”
“Well okay” the farmer turned his back to the Crowned One and toward the fire.
“I can assure you with all of the knowledge in my mind and in my heart, you will never see your daughter sick again in this lifetime, Brother and Father Abraham. You may find peace and solace in this truth.”
The farmer nodded in relief as he looked upon the fire. Smallmouth, taking it all in with great confusion, could see a smile on the farmers fire lit face, and turned back to the Crowned One just in time to see him reach under his red garment and pull out a pistol and shoot a round into the back of the farmers head, blowing his cap off, which frisbeed down near his shaking, crumpled body. Old Azazel threw a fit immediately, screaming and trying her best to flee. The Crowned One held the immense beast with one hand, and with seemingly little effort. The other red clothed figures finally made noise, laughing deep and heartily around the cage. The Crowned One, keeping Old Azazel close, walked over to the doubled over farmer, putting two more bullets into his head, essentially hollowing it out into a carnal mess. The farmers shaking mercifully stopped.
Smallmouth had to slam his forearm up to his mouth to muffle the scream that would’ve come out and blown his cover. His eyes were flown wide open and his arms were shivering.
The Crowned One put the pistol back under his red cloak and led the great pig, still squealing as high pitched and piercing as the human ear can withstand, over to the mouth of the cage, which was opened by the nearest red clothed stranger. Old Azazel flew in to the cage, having been unleashed by The Crowned One. It struggled around the cage, which was no bigger than 15x15 feet, giving it no room to get comfortable. It circled the inner perimeter, showing impressive speed for such a large animal. It squealed and squealed. The sound stung Smallmouths ears, and he covered them with his hands. He was still out of sight in the tall grass. The Red People around the cage laughed at the hogs entrapment. The Crowned One raised a hand to signal silence. The Red People were still and quiet again.
“Now, my brothers, the sacrificial gift is in our possession. Tonight…is a HOLY NIGHT.” The Crowned One raised his voice as if getting to the climax of a fire and brimstone sermon.
“TONIGHT…WE WILL DESTROY WHAT WAS ONCE CAST OUT BUT NEVER VANQUISHED!! WE WILL RID THE EARTH OF A GREAT ARMY!! AN ARMY OF HELL THAT HAS FAR TOO LONG ROAMED AND SICKENED OUR LANDS AND KILLED OUR LOVES!! TONIGHT…WE WILL DESTROY THE DESTROYERS…THE LEGION OF SATANS SOLDIERS BORN JUST AFTER THE GARDEN OF EDEN FELL…”
The Crowned One fell to his knees, his arms up and stretched toward the frozen sky. A mighty wind began blowing at Smallmouths back. He had to lower his head as it roared over him. After a moment it calmed and he was able to lift up again to see. Winds from all corners of the field met at the cage, swirling over it in a great snowy funnel that led up to the clouds. Old Azazel screamed and screamed from the cage.
“I SEE YOU VILLIANS!! I HEAR YOU HOSTS OF HELL!! I KNOW YOU LIVE IN THESE TREES!! I KNOW YOU COWER WITHIN THE SOUND OF MY VOICE!! SHOW YOURSELF!! TAKE THE BODY OF THIS ANIMAL THAT I HAVE SET BEFORE YOU!! TAKE IT NOW!! TAKE IT NOW AND FACE ME!! TAKE IT NOW!! TAKE IT NOW!! TAKE I-“
The Crowned One’s vocal cord shredding performance was cut short by a single burst of black lightning that shot down from the middle of the snowy funnel cloud that surrounded the cage. The Crowned One and all the Red People were thrown several feet back from the blast. Thunder immediately exploded across the field. Smallmouth buried his face as the force and sound raced over him. Ears ringing, he kept his face down for a few seconds. He squinted back up to the strike zone.
The strange black lightning had blown the cage completely apart. Two of The Red People had been hit with the metal fencing. One laid motionless. The other gargled in pain as he put a hand to the pole that was sticking out of his sternum, having penetrated all the way through. His legs buckled and he fell forward, the end of the pole hitting the ground first and propping him up for a moment, before his body slowly slid down to the ground around the metal. He went silent. The other four Red People, yelling in surprise, gathered themselves, looking to the charred hole in the ground where Old Azazel should be, right in the center where the cage used to stand. The Crowned One got to his feet and picked up his spear.
“My brothers, gather your arms…” the Crowned One whispered, breathing heavily under his red cloak.
“The work is not over…”
The four remaining Red People grabbed their spears and slowly walked over to the burnt, smoking hole, holding an attack pose over it until further instructions were given.
“Are you with us, you age old tormentors?” This was the first time Smallmouth could hear fear in the tired voice of the Crowned One.
“Are you with us now? Are you ready to die, you infernal bastards? Are you ready to-“
The Crowned One was interrupted by a booming noise from the hole that tore Smallmouths wits to shreds. It was similar to the cry of Old Azazel, but much deeper and ten times louder and angrier. It was as if a freight train was blaring its horn and slamming its brakes at the same time.
“NOW MY BROTHERS!! STRIKE THE BEAST OF HELL WITH YOUR SPEARS! NOW!!!”
The Red People all threw their weapons down into the smoking hole. The hellish noise from within stopped in an instant. The Red People crowded closer to the edge of the hole, waiting for the smoke to clear. The Crowned One walked over to them, putting his black gloved hand on the shoulder of the nearest man.
“Oh, Brothers. Oh my dear, dear Brothers. Your acts tonight have rid the earth of a Great and Powerful Evil…”
Before he could continue, a fully enraged and re-inspired bellow thrust itself up and out of the hole like a serrated blade. Much, much louder and angrier than before. The Red People were taken aback in terror. Suddenly, from within the hole, a large head emerged and gaped a huge, disgusting maw up at the crowd. The head was burned black and its eyes were half boiled white and without pupils. It shrieked out that most terrible noise as if it didn’t need oxygen.
“There’s no way” Smallmouth heard himself say under his breath.
All in one motion, the beast leaped out of the hole, and turned to face its attackers. It was Old Azazel, except swollen with burnt mass. It appeared to have grown a half a size at least. Three spears stuck out of its sizzling, charcoal colored back. It snapped its gigantic jaws at the Red People, who shuddered in horror. The Crowned One spoke:
“DO NOT RELENT BROTHERS!! ATTACK!! ATTACK THE BRUTE!!”
He pulled his pistol back out of his cloak and fired the remaining three rounds on the new and horrible black burnt Old Azazel. The beast’s cloudy boiled egg eyes shot open along with its unnaturally stretched jaws. It took the three bullets as if they were tennis balls. At the speed of a charging grizzly and with multiple times the power Old Azazel raged over to The Crowned One and dove onto him mouth first, putting both front hooves on his chest as he was knocked down. The Crowned One cried out in a shockingly high pitched wail, like a man being electrocuted. The Beast bit right into the soft of his belly, and began to shake him around like an Orca trying to separate a seal from its pelt.
“OH GOD!!!! AHHHHHH GOD OHHHHH!!! HELP ME!!!! NOOOO!!!! OH GOD HELP ME!!!! MAMA!!!! OHHHH!!! MAMA!!!!!”
The beast ate and ate and shook and shook and tore and broke and destroyed while the Crowned One lost more and more of his body, all while crying out to the sky at the top of his punctured lungs. The other Red People sprinted to the black Dodge Ram, opened its doors and piled inside. Smallmouth heard it crank up and it began to speedily turn around and race away from the fire and back toward the road. The beast unhooked from the Crowned One and let out another ghastly roar of victory before biting into his neck, ending his screaming forever. The beast then left his half devoured body and began a tremendous and terrible charge after the truck, which was greatly slowed down by the trailer. Smallmouth put his face down as the beast passed him by only about 10 feet on its way to the truck, which had just made it back to the road and was using every RPM possible to get away from the demon charged killing machine on its heels. Smallmouth turned around to watch both parties disappear down the road, the echoes of that great and evil blasting noise stabbing his ears again. He remained on his stomach in the tall, snowy grass for another two minutes as he normalized his breath and tried to make any sense of what he just witnessed.
Eventually he slowly rose up and looked to make sure that terrible thing was indeed out of the area. No signs of life or death from up at the road. The danger was at least a couple miles away by now. Smallmouth then turned back toward the fire and to the dominated body of the Crowned One. He carefully walked up closer and closer. To his amazement he heard wheezy noises coming from the emptied out torso of the man, a scattering of insides and flesh and blood strewn all around him. Troubled, rattling breaths escaped from under the red clothed head, whose crown of thorns had flown off in the attack. Most of the red cloak had been ripped to shreds, and all that remained covered were his shoulders and above. The cloth slowly ebbed and flowed with breath. Smallmouth could not believe this man was still alive. His entire digestive system was eviscerated and his ribs were exposed. Smallmouth knelt down beside him and lifted his cloak over his head to let him at least breathe his last in the open air.
Smallmouth let out a gasp. This man had a face that Smallmouth knew very well. He recognized him immediately from the old church he worked at. The clean shaven face. The short, silver hair. The sharp nose. This was a man that had joined his church two weeks before the schism. He never spoke in church but it was rumored he would meet at the homes of different members and try to sway them to his strange ideas. He was the one rumored to have led the radical faction somewhere in the middle of the woods. To Smallmouth, it was all starting to make more sense.
“I know you,” Smallmouth said softly, “I know who you are. You tore a church in half didn’t you? You’re the crazy guy that split up my ole church! What the hell have you done?”
The man struggled to breathe and tried his best to spit up a couple of words. His neck had deep lacerations that flowed with escaping life.
“I…I…I…uhh…I only…I only…I only did what I believed…” he whispered before a wet, stifled breath.
“What did you do?!!!” Smallmouth grew angry, and his voice followed suit. This man had ruined his job and now he had unleashed something horrifying on his neighborhood. He had tampered with things that man has no business tampering with.
“I…I…I have…have…I have failed, Smallmouth Bassett” the man croaked. Smallmouth couldn’t believe he had bothered to remember his name.
“I have failed. I have failed. God help you all…” with that the man’s face fell and he let out one last slow exhale before all was still.
Smallmouth got back on his feet and looked away from the dead man and toward the fire, which towered and raged in the reflection of his eyes.
“Oh no…oh no…oh no” he said in between terrified breaths.
Then another though hit him like a wrecking ball.
“Uncle Chuck…”

On the night when it all happened a young man called Smallmouth found himself in quite a pickle. He shivered and paced clumsily all over the second story porch of a cabin that used to be very nice, which overlooked a snowy down-sloping field that used to be kept up properly and carefully. He was already six packs deep into a carton of cigarettes he had bought only two days ago from a Casey’s General Store on his way up. He could recall the look on the young woman’s face at the register when he asked for a carton of Parliament Menthols, her eyes showing one blink of humorous surprise and another couple blinks of obvious concern, which faded to professional indifference as she rang in the sweet, icy killers. Smallmouth stopped his nervous dallying when he caught himself in the kitchen window; a large, shadowy figure sulking between the inside lights and the cold, almost glowing world downhill. His eyes still on his murky reflection, he patted his coat pockets for his seventh pack, pulling it out and smacking it against his left palm before cracking open and lighting it at his mouth. In a slow, warm flash, he could briefly see his own face in the window.
“Oh man, it’s bad” , he thought to himself.
He hadn’t shaved in weeks and his beard grew coarse and thick. A face that his mother had once called handsome had become a clean plate covered in steel wool. Well, maybe not so clean. Under and around his eyes were the obvious bruising of sleeplessness and his skin had lost its lively color and clarity of yesteryear.
“Ughhh” he groaned, turning away from the window to look over the porch and into the freezing, beckoning night.
The pickle that Jeremy “Smallmouth” Bassett found himself in involved his uncle, and his uncle’s evening logistics, to be precise. Smallmouth had been kicked out of his parents home on December 27th due to a slight misunderstanding at 2am when he believed the living room Christmas tree to be the downstairs bathroom. He had passed out on the couch after drinking a fire pit full of crushed Hamm’s cans and his brain tried desperately to get him up and to the nearby toilet. His little sister Stacy was tucked in fast asleep on a loveseat by the tree when she was brutally torn from her sugarplum dreams to hear the terrible hiss of Smallmouth’s folly. She screamed, the parents woke up, and, well, there you go. After well over three strikes, Smallmouth’s temporary residence had come to an end, and he was thrown to his mother’s brother’s cabin to dry up and straighten out before he could ever even be considered to return.
“You two deserve to live together. He can’t say no either because he owes me a lot more than this!” Smallmouth’s mother had screeched over him as he sat at the kitchen table the following morning with a cold bag of peas against his throbbing right temple. “You go there and you GET RIGHT!! I don’t care how long it takes just clean up your act and MAKE something of yourself! And for goodness sake tell Chuck to do the same, while he still has time!”
Yes, Uncle Chuck had his own shelf full of good time problems, and that’s what put Smallmouth in a bind tonight as he pondered over the white yonder that led to a black nothing, a black nothing that in the daylight pretended to be a forest. At night, it showed its true nature, an endless world of dark secrets and aching regret. At least that’s how Smallmouth saw it in this moment.
Chuck had gone down to the ranch he worked on for a New Years party with his work buddies. They liked to gather at the big barn where all of the vehicles and equipment were kept, sitting around a card table passing out stories about women and other trophy game that were either outright lied about or illegally poached. Oh, and they also liked to pass the bottle around. Therein lied the conundrum for Smallmouth.
Uncle Chuck was many things, but one thing he wasn’t was a drunk driver. Chuck’s wife Rebecca had been struck and killed by a drunk driver almost ten years ago when she was out jogging the back roads early one morning. Everyone assumed that’s what led him to his openly hard drinking and sneakily pill popping ways in the first place. For Chuck, most nights were kept at home, parked in front of a TV watching old westerns and cleaning out a full bottle of Wild Turkey 101 before snoring in his recliner. On the few nights he would go out, he would always call a ride if things got out of hand. As you can imagine, he tends to need a ride home.
“I should be home bout 11:30. Service ain’t so good up there near the barn so if it gets bout 11:15-11:20 and I ain’t home, go head and do me a favor and come grab me son.” Chuck had told Smallmouth before he left, closing the warped screen door behind him.
Smallmouth had spent the evening trying his best to stay entertained without the help of any chemical enhancement. His family’s anger and resentment really struck him and this time he was determined to truly get right and get his life back on the rails. He was 29 years old. He had gone through college clean as a whistle, bright and driven, receiving his MBA with plans to work his way up in a promising career in business. That worked for a couple years. Then he found a calling in ministry, deciding to quit the corporate world to fill an opening of a tiny country church in the area. They needed a deacon who could take care of things around the building and assist in the worship service. He wasn’t much for public speaking, haven been given the nickname Smallmouth at a young age due to his soft spoken nature, but he could pass plates and give a hushed prayer every now and then. He liked to mow and paint and help old ladies up the stairs. The quiet country life was really nice for him, for a while. Strange, radical ideas eventually spread through the church though, and half of its members left overnight to form their own congregation. Its funding cut in half, the church had to close its doors and the other members absorbed into other churches. Smallmouth rarely ever saw the people that had departed from the church, but rumors creeped that they met at an old abandoned building deep in the woods, performing all sorts of different acts and rituals that would purify themselves and destroy all evils. Nevertheless, Smallmouth was out of work and picked up shifts bartending at a small town dive. His soft fortitude was no match for the booze and drugs and women that would pass through there and soon he was out the door. That landed him mooching off of his parents, draining their sanity and eventually draining himself on their Christmas tree. The last strike.
So there he was all night, waiting up for uncle Chuck. He was two days clean of everything except caffeine and nicotine, a major improvement. He felt a boost of hope and confidence the first morning after a sober nights sleep. He found the mornings to be the best parts of the day. At least he had coffee and cigarettes to get him out of bed. That would wear off quickly and the rest of the day was filled with trying to find distractions until the sun set about 5pm. Then he would watch a movie or two with Chuck. Last night he had been able to call it early and go to sleep at 7pm shortly after Chuck started sawing logs in front of True Grit (the original John Wayne version of course). Tonight he saw 7pm struggle and churn into 8…….8:13……..8:48……9:05……9:29………..9:31………9:52……..9:58……….10:11…….10:12 (oh cmon)……10:27…….10:56…….and finally 11:08. It was like the clock was a 35 year old four cylinder engine oiled with crunchy peanut butter. Now, crunch time sat in the cold air as Smallmouth finished his cigarette and stewed over his decision. He really didn’t feel like going down to the barn and getting Chuck, even though it was only a couple miles. In the infancy of his sobriety he found the smallest of choices and activities to seem dire and at the very least upsettingly out of his way. Surely Chuck can get himself home on his own, right?
“No. Who knows if someone’s Aunt Rebecca or grandmother or son is out there on the road tonight” he thought.
As much as he had tried to screw up his life, Smallmouth usually knew what the right decision would be, even if he so often refused to listen. It was there ever so clearly on this New Year’s Eve, wailing in the back row of his mind like a misbehaved child during a church sermon. Smallmouth left the porch and went inside to grab his keys.
He walked out to his truck, got in, cranked it, let it sit down to one rpm, and started down the gravel driveway, which led to the gravel county road that Chuck and his few and far between neighbors lived on. He got to the mailbox and suddenly shot his attention up the road, where headlights revealed themselves out of the deep dark. It was rare to see any cars this far down Chuck’s road. In fact, there were no other houses to the right of Chuck’s cabin, spare for a couple of empty ones that were condemned but were attached to a lot of forest property.
Smallmouth squinted his eyes as a large black Dodge Ram 3500 came barreling by with a livestock trailer. Even inside his own truck he could hear a terrible noise coming from that trailer. He recognized it instantly as a pig squeal.
“The hell?” He whispered as the truck and trailer tore down the road, going around a nearby corner and out of sight. He couldn’t guess what on earth that could be about at this hour, and especially since nobody lived down there anyway. He shrugged it off though, and turned left out of the driveway, headed for drunk Uncle Chuck down at the ranch.
Ten minutes and a couple of snowy country miles later Smallmouth found himself through the metal gate of the ranch and up to the main barn, where a couple of smiling ranch hands had Chuck held up between them just outside one of two closed garage doors. A lamppost nearby cast a glow of debauchery on all of their faces, especially Chuck’s. Smallmouth got out and walked up to them smiling and shaking his head.
“Well well well…” he said with a slight laugh.
“Your Uncle put on one hell of a clinic tonight ‘Mouth” one of the hands said.
“I…..I….I don’t know what they’re tawlkin bout son” Chuck slang out before a high pitched giggle.
“I got another couple rounds in me I thinks!”
Smallmouth laughed.
“Yeah I ain’t so sure about that uncle! Let’s get on home now and let these fellas get on too.”
“Y’alright alright” Chuck said as Smallmouth took him from his buddies arms into one of his own and led him to the passenger seat of his truck.
“Happy New Years boys!!! Let’s do it all again okay?” He hollered to his waving buddies as they drove back away from the barn and through the metal gate toward home.
“You have a good time Uncle?”
“Oh…ohhh…I reckon I showed those boys how to do it” Another childish giggle.
A light snow shower seasoned the cold air as the truck rolled down the gravel country road. In the yellow headlights it made a pleasant white noise for the eyes. Chuck put his hands up staggered and vertically, fingers together and outstretched, pointing out in front of the truck down the road like he was aiming up for a rifle shot. He closed one eye.
“Straight as an arrow ole son. You’re good at this.”
“I ain’t drunk pops” Smallmouth chuckled.
“Sure ya are. Everybody’s drunk son. Even people that ain’t drink. Ticket is to get drunk on good stuff” Chuck’s face calmed from a goofy grin as he kept his eyes out front into the slow swirling tube of visible night.
“You sound like you’re drunk on some pretty damn good stuff” Smallmouth retorted as they shared a look and a good laugh.
“Suppose’n you ain’t wrong. Gotta work on that just like you are. Proud o’ you for a couple days clean man. We’ll get right. We’ll get right. All I meant was that man is born to get drunk on somethin’ or other. What I mean is God. Man is born to get drunk on his God.” Chuck said as Smallmouth shot him a raised eyebrow look of confusion.
“Once God gets ya drunk then you’re home free ol’ son. That distillery is never ending eternal forever. That land flows with whiskey and honey.” They both shared another laugh.
“Okay okay I think I somewhat understand now Uncle.”
They rode in a few seconds of comfortable silence before Chuck put his hands up in an aim position down the road again.
“You know…man….man….man has a GOVERNOR…..you know that right?”
“A what? A governor?”
“That’s right a GOVERNOR…that’s right…a little bitty device in his brain that keeps him on the road…keeps him from turning right off into the dark. You ever hear that little voice that tells you you can turn off into the ditch…into oncomin’ traffic? Tells you you can shoot your buddy instead of the deer? That you can jump off the top of the building and onto the pavement when you’re up there enjoying the view?”
“I…uh…I don’t know…I mean maybe? Pretty sure those are intrusive thoughts and they’re normal.”
“Well whatever they are that’s what the governor is for. Keeps ya straight. Keeps ya from harmin nothin.”
“Alright man, alright.”
They pulled back into Chuck’s driveway and parked. Smallmouth helped his uncle out of the truck and up into the cabin, snow starting to color the roof and pile against the side of the house near the door. Arms locked Smallmouth propped open the screen door, opened the inner door, and led Chuck through the kitchen and to his bedroom. Chuck layed down on his camo comforter with a deep, long exhale.
“Ahhhh yes……yes” he whispered with a smile.
“I love ya son…I’m glad you’re heeeeere. Let’s get better….your mom needs it…..stay in the Lord’s light son…don’t let them devils get ya….let’s get better….lets….” He was off into the distant deep ether almost immediately, and his mouth hung open.
“Goodnight uncle…love ya too.” Smallmouth patted the bed twice before walking over and closing the bedroom door behind him.
He went and sat at the kitchen table. He regretted his behavior earlier in the night. How it pained him to have to stay up a little later to go help out his uncle.
“Cmon…” he whispered.
He agreed with Chuck. He was here to get better. To do better. Maybe Chuck was right. If he couldn’t get drunk off booze, it was time to pick something else to drink. Better things. Maybe even God? Smallmouth hadn’t paid much mind to God since his church job fell through. God surely hadn’t been there for him these last few years when he was at his lowest. Or was He there the whole time? Had Smallmouth just ignored Him? These things floated heavily in his mind and soon he realized he had been staring at the front door for several minutes. Had he even blinked? Then something else came to mind.
“Wait hold up”
That truck and trailer from earlier. What WAS that? He meant to bring it up to the ranch hands. They would’ve seen it come barreling down the road right by their front gate. Oh he wished he had brought that up to them. Oh well. It’s probably nothing. Smallmouth looked at the clock. 12:12.
“Happy New Year old boy.” He said to himself.
He sat for a moment in the warm kitchen light, his eyes not leaving the front door. Well, he’s up this late already, why not go run down and check on the abandoned properties?
No…no…it can wait. It’s probably nothing. Right?
Wrong. There’s that wailing kid in the back pew of his mind again. Come on kid can’t you just be quiet and listen to the sermon? No, no it can’t. It must be heard. Always. He knew he had to go check it out.
“Ughhhh FINE!” Smallmouth got up and grabbed his truck keys, patted to make sure his cigarettes were still there, and was out the door again.
The snow shower had ended. As he pulled up to the edge of the drive, he stalled for a moment and peaked out as far to the right as he could down the dark road. Nothing. It wasn’t very far to the end of that road, where two out of service mailboxes should’ve stood in a small cul-de-sac if it weren’t for teenagers beating them to splinters. Can’t really blame them either. Smallmouth considered his plan. Whether or not that truck belonged to the landowner down there, he shouldn’t feel like he needs to sneak around. He is merely a concerned neighbor after all. He began down the road and around that same corner the stranger disappeared earlier.
After a couple of slow, curious minutes Smallmouth could see the evidence of a great big fire in the near distance, beyond where the road ended. Through the bare trees and against the snow it cast orange and red that could surely be seen a mile in every direction, that is, if there were anyone there to see it.
Slightly intimidated, Smallmouth decided to turn off his headlights and let the fire guide him as he slowed up to 5mph and gently crackled his last few yards of gravel up to the remnants of the nearest mailbox post. It seemed the fire was on the land of the farther property, whose mailbox posthole was about 30 feet from where he came to a stop and parked his truck. Smallmouth turned it off and quietly got out into the cold. He crouched down as he walked over to the farther driveway, getting down on one knee to give it a stealthy closer look.
The abandoned property boasted a busted up trailer that sat pitifully about 500 feet from the mailbox memorial. Beyond that was a good ten acres of field that ended at the forest edge, which marked the beginning of thousands of acres of wildlife refuge. As Smallmouth peered on, it was obvious that the fire was way out in that field, blocked by the old trailer, which wore the hot light and columns of smoke on it like a devilish crown. Given the cover, Smallmouth crept over to the trailer and started easing around the right side.
Rounding the corner he noticed a propane tank that would be perfect for hiding behind and getting the best look he could at the mysterious activity. He got down on his belly and crawled his way over to the tank, before sitting up and peeking slowly over the top and out into the field.
Way down there, a couple acres away from the tree line, was a huge fire, made up of about fifty wooden pallets. It raged and lit up the whole field like it was just the beginning of sunset. Somewhat near the fire was the black Dodge Ram 3500 and trailer. Smallmouth could see a group of people dressed in all red, as if covered in bloody bedsheets from head to toe, circled around a crude cage, seemingly fastened together by pieces of metal fencing. They stood still as the pines, and twice as silent. Smallmouth, in a rare moment of curious courage, decided he had to get closer. He got back on his stomach and began to crawl through the cold, knee high grass.
Using the fire light as his North Star he crawled and crawled, feeling his hands, clothes, and beard get wet with snow. He didn’t care. Something was up that wasn’t normal, wasn’t right. He could feel it in his cold gut. When he thought he was close enough without giving himself away he planted his palms and ever so slowly raised his torso up into a weak push up to try and see out. He was glad he didn’t go any further. He may have been too close already.
He was close enough to read the name of the truck and count the holes in the livestock trailer. There were seven strangers in red sheets all around the makeshift cage, all holding long spears. One of the figures had a crown of black thorns on his head. They all had two eyeholes and one hole for the mouth. They didn’t move a muscle for the longest time, before the Crowned One forcibly touched the end of his spear to the ground.
“Now is the time, Brother and Farmer Abraham…there is no more for us in waiting.”
Smallmouth had just noticed the passenger window to the black Dodge was down, and he could hear the driver door open and soon saw a normal looking older man in a ball cap at the back of the trailer. He was holding a leash of some sort. He opened up the trailer and whistled into the dark of it. After a couple of loud, heavy thuds a gigantic, and I mean GIGANTIC Yorkshire pig came slowly shrugging out of the trailer. It was light pink in color but filthy, and gave wet sounding oinks as it came to the man’s hands expecting food. The thing must’ve weighed 1500 pounds, and at least ten feet long. It actually had to lower its head to reach the man’s hands, its ears coming up to the man’s chest. Smallmouth couldn’t believe his eyes. The man reached in his pocket and revealed a handful of some type of feed, which he tossed on the ground at the pig. It started right in as the man fixed a collar on the pigs girthy neck, then attaching a leash. The pig gave a slight squeal.
“Good girl, good girl…cmon now” the man called Farmer Abraham sweetly coaxed the animal. He gave his end of the leash a tug and the monstrous swine reluctantly left its food and followed the man over close to the Crowned One. The fire raged and raged nearby, throwing crazy shadows all over the place.
“What have you brought us, Brother and Farmer Abraham?”
“Yeah, uh, this is Old Azazel, she’s been in my family for years, man.”
The Crowned One dropped his spear and knelt down to the jowls of the hog, the dark holes of his eyes meeting those of the animal. The other red cloaked figures remained statuesque around the cage.
“Ah, yes, Old Azazel, hello. You are to be of great importance in the history of the Earth tonight, old friend.”
The Crowned One got back up to address Brother and Father Abraham, who seemed obviously put off, yet submissive.
“And is this Old Azazel a natural specimen? Is it fed only of the earth and the filths therein?”
“Yessir, I’d reckon so.”
“This is necessary for a proper sacrifice, Brother and Farmer Abraham. You may only bring your best, your cleanest, your most dear to the alter of the Almighty.”
“I understand.”
“May I take her now?”
The farmer gave his end of the leash to the black gloved left hand of the Crowned One. The Crowned one stood with it for almost a full minute in total stillness and silence. The only noise Smallmouth could hear was the sloppy smacks and oinks from Old Azazel. The farmer anxiously waited, wringing his hands expecting the next move from the Crowned One.
“Turn away, Brother and Farmer Abraham. Turn away from us and toward the fire now.” The Crowned One finally spoke.
“Phew, alright. We’re still good on our deal? Do you still promise to make my little girl better? Like you said?” The farmer asked, with some hopeful desperation.
“Turn now.”
“Well okay” the farmer turned his back to the Crowned One and toward the fire.
“I can assure you with all of the knowledge in my mind and in my heart, you will never see your daughter sick again in this lifetime, Brother and Father Abraham. You may find peace and solace in this truth.”
The farmer nodded in relief as he looked upon the fire. Smallmouth, taking it all in with great confusion, could see a smile on the farmers fire lit face, and turned back to the Crowned One just in time to see him reach under his red garment and pull out a pistol and shoot a round into the back of the farmers head, blowing his cap off, which frisbeed down near his shaking, crumpled body. Old Azazel threw a fit immediately, screaming and trying her best to flee. The Crowned One held the immense beast with one hand, and with seemingly little effort. The other red clothed figures finally made noise, laughing deep and heartily around the cage. The Crowned One, keeping Old Azazel close, walked over to the doubled over farmer, putting two more bullets into his head, essentially hollowing it out into a carnal mess. The farmers shaking mercifully stopped.
Smallmouth had to slam his forearm up to his mouth to muffle the scream that would’ve come out and blown his cover. His eyes were flown wide open and his arms were shivering.
The Crowned One put the pistol back under his red cloak and led the great pig, still squealing as high pitched and piercing as the human ear can withstand, over to the mouth of the cage, which was opened by the nearest red clothed stranger. Old Azazel flew in to the cage, having been unleashed by The Crowned One. It struggled around the cage, which was no bigger than 15x15 feet, giving it no room to get comfortable. It circled the inner perimeter, showing impressive speed for such a large animal. It squealed and squealed. The sound stung Smallmouths ears, and he covered them with his hands. He was still out of sight in the tall grass. The Red People around the cage laughed at the hogs entrapment. The Crowned One raised a hand to signal silence. The Red People were still and quiet again.
“Now, my brothers, the sacrificial gift is in our possession. Tonight…is a HOLY NIGHT.” The Crowned One raised his voice as if getting to the climax of a fire and brimstone sermon.
“TONIGHT…WE WILL DESTROY WHAT WAS ONCE CAST OUT BUT NEVER VANQUISHED!! WE WILL RID THE EARTH OF A GREAT ARMY!! AN ARMY OF HELL THAT HAS FAR TOO LONG ROAMED AND SICKENED OUR LANDS AND KILLED OUR LOVES!! TONIGHT…WE WILL DESTROY THE DESTROYERS…THE LEGION OF SATANS SOLDIERS BORN JUST AFTER THE GARDEN OF EDEN FELL…”
The Crowned One fell to his knees, his arms up and stretched toward the frozen sky. A mighty wind began blowing at Smallmouths back. He had to lower his head as it roared over him. After a moment it calmed and he was able to lift up again to see. Winds from all corners of the field met at the cage, swirling over it in a great snowy funnel that led up to the clouds. Old Azazel screamed and screamed from the cage.
“I SEE YOU VILLIANS!! I HEAR YOU HOSTS OF HELL!! I KNOW YOU LIVE IN THESE TREES!! I KNOW YOU COWER WITHIN THE SOUND OF MY VOICE!! SHOW YOURSELF!! TAKE THE BODY OF THIS ANIMAL THAT I HAVE SET BEFORE YOU!! TAKE IT NOW!! TAKE IT NOW AND FACE ME!! TAKE IT NOW!! TAKE IT NOW!! TAKE I-“
The Crowned One’s vocal cord shredding performance was cut short by a single burst of black lightning that shot down from the middle of the snowy funnel cloud that surrounded the cage. The Crowned One and all the Red People were thrown several feet back from the blast. Thunder immediately exploded across the field. Smallmouth buried his face as the force and sound raced over him. Ears ringing, he kept his face down for a few seconds. He squinted back up to the strike zone.
The strange black lightning had blown the cage completely apart. Two of The Red People had been hit with the metal fencing. One laid motionless. The other gargled in pain as he put a hand to the pole that was sticking out of his sternum, having penetrated all the way through. His legs buckled and he fell forward, the end of the pole hitting the ground first and propping him up for a moment, before his body slowly slid down to the ground around the metal. He went silent. The other four Red People, yelling in surprise, gathered themselves, looking to the charred hole in the ground where Old Azazel should be, right in the center where the cage used to stand. The Crowned One got to his feet and picked up his spear.
“My brothers, gather your arms…” the Crowned One whispered, breathing heavily under his red cloak.
“The work is not over…”
The four remaining Red People grabbed their spears and slowly walked over to the burnt, smoking hole, holding an attack pose over it until further instructions were given.
“Are you with us, you age old tormentors?” This was the first time Smallmouth could hear fear in the tired voice of the Crowned One.
“Are you with us now? Are you ready to die, you infernal bastards? Are you ready to-“
The Crowned One was interrupted by a booming noise from the hole that tore Smallmouths wits to shreds. It was similar to the cry of Old Azazel, but much deeper and ten times louder and angrier. It was as if a freight train was blaring its horn and slamming its brakes at the same time.
“NOW MY BROTHERS!! STRIKE THE BEAST OF HELL WITH YOUR SPEARS! NOW!!!”
The Red People all threw their weapons down into the smoking hole. The hellish noise from within stopped in an instant. The Red People crowded closer to the edge of the hole, waiting for the smoke to clear. The Crowned One walked over to them, putting his black gloved hand on the shoulder of the nearest man.
“Oh, Brothers. Oh my dear, dear Brothers. Your acts tonight have rid the earth of a Great and Powerful Evil…”
Before he could continue, a fully enraged and re-inspired bellow thrust itself up and out of the hole like a serrated blade. Much, much louder and angrier than before. The Red People were taken aback in terror. Suddenly, from within the hole, a large head emerged and gaped a huge, disgusting maw up at the crowd. The head was burned black and its eyes were half boiled white and without pupils. It shrieked out that most terrible noise as if it didn’t need oxygen.
“There’s no way” Smallmouth heard himself say under his breath.
All in one motion, the beast leaped out of the hole, and turned to face its attackers. It was Old Azazel, except swollen with burnt mass. It appeared to have grown a half a size at least. Three spears stuck out of its sizzling, charcoal colored back. It snapped its gigantic jaws at the Red People, who shuddered in horror. The Crowned One spoke:
“DO NOT RELENT BROTHERS!! ATTACK!! ATTACK THE BRUTE!!”
He pulled his pistol back out of his cloak and fired the remaining three rounds on the new and horrible black burnt Old Azazel. The beast’s cloudy boiled egg eyes shot open along with its unnaturally stretched jaws. It took the three bullets as if they were tennis balls. At the speed of a charging grizzly and with multiple times the power Old Azazel raged over to The Crowned One and dove onto him mouth first, putting both front hooves on his chest as he was knocked down. The Crowned One cried out in a shockingly high pitched wail, like a man being electrocuted. The Beast bit right into the soft of his belly, and began to shake him around like an Orca trying to separate a seal from its pelt.
“OH GOD!!!! AHHHHHH GOD OHHHHH!!! HELP ME!!!! NOOOO!!!! OH GOD HELP ME!!!! MAMA!!!! OHHHH!!! MAMA!!!!!”
The beast ate and ate and shook and shook and tore and broke and destroyed while the Crowned One lost more and more of his body, all while crying out to the sky at the top of his punctured lungs. The other Red People sprinted to the black Dodge Ram, opened its doors and piled inside. Smallmouth heard it crank up and it began to speedily turn around and race away from the fire and back toward the road. The beast unhooked from the Crowned One and let out another ghastly roar of victory before biting into his neck, ending his screaming forever. The beast then left his half devoured body and began a tremendous and terrible charge after the truck, which was greatly slowed down by the trailer. Smallmouth put his face down as the beast passed him by only about 10 feet on its way to the truck, which had just made it back to the road and was using every RPM possible to get away from the demon charged killing machine on its heels. Smallmouth turned around to watch both parties disappear down the road, the echoes of that great and evil blasting noise stabbing his ears again. He remained on his stomach in the tall, snowy grass for another two minutes as he normalized his breath and tried to make any sense of what he just witnessed.
Eventually he slowly rose up and looked to make sure that terrible thing was indeed out of the area. No signs of life or death from up at the road. The danger was at least a couple miles away by now. Smallmouth then turned back toward the fire and to the dominated body of the Crowned One. He carefully walked up closer and closer. To his amazement he heard wheezy noises coming from the emptied out torso of the man, a scattering of insides and flesh and blood strewn all around him. Troubled, rattling breaths escaped from under the red clothed head, whose crown of thorns had flown off in the attack. Most of the red cloak had been ripped to shreds, and all that remained covered were his shoulders and above. The cloth slowly ebbed and flowed with breath. Smallmouth could not believe this man was still alive. His entire digestive system was eviscerated and his ribs were exposed. Smallmouth knelt down beside him and lifted his cloak over his head to let him at least breathe his last in the open air.
Smallmouth let out a gasp. This man had a face that Smallmouth knew very well. He recognized him immediately from the old church he worked at. The clean shaven face. The short, silver hair. The sharp nose. This was a man that had joined his church two weeks before the schism. He never spoke in church but it was rumored he would meet at the homes of different members and try to sway them to his strange ideas. He was the one rumored to have led the radical faction somewhere in the middle of the woods. To Smallmouth, it was all starting to make more sense.
“I know you,” Smallmouth said softly, “I know who you are. You tore a church in half didn’t you? You’re the crazy guy that split up my ole church! What the hell have you done?”
The man struggled to breathe and tried his best to spit up a couple of words. His neck had deep lacerations that flowed with escaping life.
“I…I…I…uhh…I only…I only…I only did what I believed…” he whispered before a wet, stifled breath.
“What did you do?!!!” Smallmouth grew angry, and his voice followed suit. This man had ruined his job and now he had unleashed something horrifying on his neighborhood. He had tampered with things that man has no business tampering with.
“I…I…I have…have…I have failed, Smallmouth Bassett” the man croaked. Smallmouth couldn’t believe he had bothered to remember his name.
“I have failed. I have failed. God help you all…” with that the man’s face fell and he let out one last slow exhale before all was still.
Smallmouth got back on his feet and looked away from the dead man and toward the fire, which towered and raged in the reflection of his eyes.
“Oh no…oh no…oh no” he said in between terrified breaths.
Then another though hit him like a wrecking ball.
“Uncle Chuck…”

On the night when it all happened a young man called Smallmouth found himself in quite a pickle. He shivered and paced clumsily all over the second story porch of a cabin that used to be very nice, which overlooked a snowy down-sloping field that used to be kept up properly and carefully. He was already six packs deep into a carton of cigarettes he had bought only two days ago from a Casey’s General Store on his way up. He could recall the look on the young woman’s face at the register when he asked for a carton of Parliament Menthols, her eyes showing one blink of humorous surprise and another couple blinks of obvious concern, which faded to professional indifference as she rang in the sweet, icy killers. Smallmouth stopped his nervous dallying when he caught himself in the kitchen window; a large, shadowy figure sulking between the inside lights and the cold, almost glowing world downhill. His eyes still on his murky reflection, he patted his coat pockets for his seventh pack, pulling it out and smacking it against his left palm before cracking open and lighting it at his mouth. In a slow, warm flash, he could briefly see his own face in the window.
“Oh man, it’s bad” , he thought to himself.
He hadn’t shaved in weeks and his beard grew coarse and thick. A face that his mother had once called handsome had become a clean plate covered in steel wool. Well, maybe not so clean. Under and around his eyes were the obvious bruising of sleeplessness and his skin had lost its lively color and clarity of yesteryear.
“Ughhh” he groaned, turning away from the window to look over the porch and into the freezing, beckoning night.
The pickle that Jeremy “Smallmouth” Bassett found himself in involved his uncle, and his uncle’s evening logistics, to be precise. Smallmouth had been kicked out of his parents home on December 27th due to a slight misunderstanding at 2am when he believed the living room Christmas tree to be the downstairs bathroom. He had passed out on the couch after drinking a fire pit full of crushed Hamm’s cans and his brain tried desperately to get him up and to the nearby toilet. His little sister Stacy was tucked in fast asleep on a loveseat by the tree when she was brutally torn from her sugarplum dreams to hear the terrible hiss of Smallmouth’s folly. She screamed, the parents woke up, and, well, there you go. After well over three strikes, Smallmouth’s temporary residence had come to an end, and he was thrown to his mother’s brother’s cabin to dry up and straighten out before he could ever even be considered to return.
“You two deserve to live together. He can’t say no either because he owes me a lot more than this!” Smallmouth’s mother had screeched over him as he sat at the kitchen table the following morning with a cold bag of peas against his throbbing right temple. “You go there and you GET RIGHT!! I don’t care how long it takes just clean up your act and MAKE something of yourself! And for goodness sake tell Chuck to do the same, while he still has time!”
Yes, Uncle Chuck had his own shelf full of good time problems, and that’s what put Smallmouth in a bind tonight as he pondered over the white yonder that led to a black nothing, a black nothing that in the daylight pretended to be a forest. At night, it showed its true nature, an endless world of dark secrets and aching regret. At least that’s how Smallmouth saw it in this moment.
Chuck had gone down to the ranch he worked on for a New Years party with his work buddies. They liked to gather at the big barn where all of the vehicles and equipment were kept, sitting around a card table passing out stories about women and other trophy game that were either outright lied about or illegally poached. Oh, and they also liked to pass the bottle around. Therein lied the conundrum for Smallmouth.
Uncle Chuck was many things, but one thing he wasn’t was a drunk driver. Chuck’s wife Rebecca had been struck and killed by a drunk driver almost ten years ago when she was out jogging the back roads early one morning. Everyone assumed that’s what led him to his openly hard drinking and sneakily pill popping ways in the first place. For Chuck, most nights were kept at home, parked in front of a TV watching old westerns and cleaning out a full bottle of Wild Turkey 101 before snoring in his recliner. On the few nights he would go out, he would always call a ride if things got out of hand. As you can imagine, he tends to need a ride home.
“I should be home bout 11:30. Service ain’t so good up there near the barn so if it gets bout 11:15-11:20 and I ain’t home, go head and do me a favor and come grab me son.” Chuck had told Smallmouth before he left, closing the warped screen door behind him.
Smallmouth had spent the evening trying his best to stay entertained without the help of any chemical enhancement. His family’s anger and resentment really struck him and this time he was determined to truly get right and get his life back on the rails. He was 29 years old. He had gone through college clean as a whistle, bright and driven, receiving his MBA with plans to work his way up in a promising career in business. That worked for a couple years. Then he found a calling in ministry, deciding to quit the corporate world to fill an opening of a tiny country church in the area. They needed a deacon who could take care of things around the building and assist in the worship service. He wasn’t much for public speaking, haven been given the nickname Smallmouth at a young age due to his soft spoken nature, but he could pass plates and give a hushed prayer every now and then. He liked to mow and paint and help old ladies up the stairs. The quiet country life was really nice for him, for a while. Strange, radical ideas eventually spread through the church though, and half of its members left overnight to form their own congregation. Its funding cut in half, the church had to close its doors and the other members absorbed into other churches. Smallmouth rarely ever saw the people that had departed from the church, but rumors creeped that they met at an old abandoned building deep in the woods, performing all sorts of different acts and rituals that would purify themselves and destroy all evils. Nevertheless, Smallmouth was out of work and picked up shifts bartending at a small town dive. His soft fortitude was no match for the booze and drugs and women that would pass through there and soon he was out the door. That landed him mooching off of his parents, draining their sanity and eventually draining himself on their Christmas tree. The last strike.
So there he was all night, waiting up for uncle Chuck. He was two days clean of everything except caffeine and nicotine, a major improvement. He felt a boost of hope and confidence the first morning after a sober nights sleep. He found the mornings to be the best parts of the day. At least he had coffee and cigarettes to get him out of bed. That would wear off quickly and the rest of the day was filled with trying to find distractions until the sun set about 5pm. Then he would watch a movie or two with Chuck. Last night he had been able to call it early and go to sleep at 7pm shortly after Chuck started sawing logs in front of True Grit (the original John Wayne version of course). Tonight he saw 7pm struggle and churn into 8…….8:13……..8:48……9:05……9:29………..9:31………9:52……..9:58……….10:11…….10:12 (oh cmon)……10:27…….10:56…….and finally 11:08. It was like the clock was a 35 year old four cylinder engine oiled with crunchy peanut butter. Now, crunch time sat in the cold air as Smallmouth finished his cigarette and stewed over his decision. He really didn’t feel like going down to the barn and getting Chuck, even though it was only a couple miles. In the infancy of his sobriety he found the smallest of choices and activities to seem dire and at the very least upsettingly out of his way. Surely Chuck can get himself home on his own, right?
“No. Who knows if someone’s Aunt Rebecca or grandmother or son is out there on the road tonight” he thought.
As much as he had tried to screw up his life, Smallmouth usually knew what the right decision would be, even if he so often refused to listen. It was there ever so clearly on this New Year’s Eve, wailing in the back row of his mind like a misbehaved child during a church sermon. Smallmouth left the porch and went inside to grab his keys.
He walked out to his truck, got in, cranked it, let it sit down to one rpm, and started down the gravel driveway, which led to the gravel county road that Chuck and his few and far between neighbors lived on. He got to the mailbox and suddenly shot his attention up the road, where headlights revealed themselves out of the deep dark. It was rare to see any cars this far down Chuck’s road. In fact, there were no other houses to the right of Chuck’s cabin, spare for a couple of empty ones that were condemned but were attached to a lot of forest property.
Smallmouth squinted his eyes as a large black Dodge Ram 3500 came barreling by with a livestock trailer. Even inside his own truck he could hear a terrible noise coming from that trailer. He recognized it instantly as a pig squeal.
“The hell?” He whispered as the truck and trailer tore down the road, going around a nearby corner and out of sight. He couldn’t guess what on earth that could be about at this hour, and especially since nobody lived down there anyway. He shrugged it off though, and turned left out of the driveway, headed for drunk Uncle Chuck down at the ranch.
Ten minutes and a couple of snowy country miles later Smallmouth found himself through the metal gate of the ranch and up to the main barn, where a couple of smiling ranch hands had Chuck held up between them just outside one of two closed garage doors. A lamppost nearby cast a glow of debauchery on all of their faces, especially Chuck’s. Smallmouth got out and walked up to them smiling and shaking his head.
“Well well well…” he said with a slight laugh.
“Your Uncle put on one hell of a clinic tonight ‘Mouth” one of the hands said.
“I…..I….I don’t know what they’re tawlkin bout son” Chuck slang out before a high pitched giggle.
“I got another couple rounds in me I thinks!”
Smallmouth laughed.
“Yeah I ain’t so sure about that uncle! Let’s get on home now and let these fellas get on too.”
“Y’alright alright” Chuck said as Smallmouth took him from his buddies arms into one of his own and led him to the passenger seat of his truck.
“Happy New Years boys!!! Let’s do it all again okay?” He hollered to his waving buddies as they drove back away from the barn and through the metal gate toward home.
“You have a good time Uncle?”
“Oh…ohhh…I reckon I showed those boys how to do it” Another childish giggle.
A light snow shower seasoned the cold air as the truck rolled down the gravel country road. In the yellow headlights it made a pleasant white noise for the eyes. Chuck put his hands up staggered and vertically, fingers together and outstretched, pointing out in front of the truck down the road like he was aiming up for a rifle shot. He closed one eye.
“Straight as an arrow ole son. You’re good at this.”
“I ain’t drunk pops” Smallmouth chuckled.
“Sure ya are. Everybody’s drunk son. Even people that ain’t drink. Ticket is to get drunk on good stuff” Chuck’s face calmed from a goofy grin as he kept his eyes out front into the slow swirling tube of visible night.
“You sound like you’re drunk on some pretty damn good stuff” Smallmouth retorted as they shared a look and a good laugh.
“Suppose’n you ain’t wrong. Gotta work on that just like you are. Proud o’ you for a couple days clean man. We’ll get right. We’ll get right. All I meant was that man is born to get drunk on somethin’ or other. What I mean is God. Man is born to get drunk on his God.” Chuck said as Smallmouth shot him a raised eyebrow look of confusion.
“Once God gets ya drunk then you’re home free ol’ son. That distillery is never ending eternal forever. That land flows with whiskey and honey.” They both shared another laugh.
“Okay okay I think I somewhat understand now Uncle.”
They rode in a few seconds of comfortable silence before Chuck put his hands up in an aim position down the road again.
“You know…man….man….man has a GOVERNOR…..you know that right?”
“A what? A governor?”
“That’s right a GOVERNOR…that’s right…a little bitty device in his brain that keeps him on the road…keeps him from turning right off into the dark. You ever hear that little voice that tells you you can turn off into the ditch…into oncomin’ traffic? Tells you you can shoot your buddy instead of the deer? That you can jump off the top of the building and onto the pavement when you’re up there enjoying the view?”
“I…uh…I don’t know…I mean maybe? Pretty sure those are intrusive thoughts and they’re normal.”
“Well whatever they are that’s what the governor is for. Keeps ya straight. Keeps ya from harmin nothin.”
“Alright man, alright.”
They pulled back into Chuck’s driveway and parked. Smallmouth helped his uncle out of the truck and up into the cabin, snow starting to color the roof and pile against the side of the house near the door. Arms locked Smallmouth propped open the screen door, opened the inner door, and led Chuck through the kitchen and to his bedroom. Chuck layed down on his camo comforter with a deep, long exhale.
“Ahhhh yes……yes” he whispered with a smile.
“I love ya son…I’m glad you’re heeeeere. Let’s get better….your mom needs it…..stay in the Lord’s light son…don’t let them devils get ya….let’s get better….lets….” He was off into the distant deep ether almost immediately, and his mouth hung open.
“Goodnight uncle…love ya too.” Smallmouth patted the bed twice before walking over and closing the bedroom door behind him.
He went and sat at the kitchen table. He regretted his behavior earlier in the night. How it pained him to have to stay up a little later to go help out his uncle.
“Cmon…” he whispered.
He agreed with Chuck. He was here to get better. To do better. Maybe Chuck was right. If he couldn’t get drunk off booze, it was time to pick something else to drink. Better things. Maybe even God? Smallmouth hadn’t paid much mind to God since his church job fell through. God surely hadn’t been there for him these last few years when he was at his lowest. Or was He there the whole time? Had Smallmouth just ignored Him? These things floated heavily in his mind and soon he realized he had been staring at the front door for several minutes. Had he even blinked? Then something else came to mind.
“Wait hold up”
That truck and trailer from earlier. What WAS that? He meant to bring it up to the ranch hands. They would’ve seen it come barreling down the road right by their front gate. Oh he wished he had brought that up to them. Oh well. It’s probably nothing. Smallmouth looked at the clock. 12:12.
“Happy New Year old boy.” He said to himself.
He sat for a moment in the warm kitchen light, his eyes not leaving the front door. Well, he’s up this late already, why not go run down and check on the abandoned properties?
No…no…it can wait. It’s probably nothing. Right?
Wrong. There’s that wailing kid in the back pew of his mind again. Come on kid can’t you just be quiet and listen to the sermon? No, no it can’t. It must be heard. Always. He knew he had to go check it out.
“Ughhhh FINE!” Smallmouth got up and grabbed his truck keys, patted to make sure his cigarettes were still there, and was out the door again.
The snow shower had ended. As he pulled up to the edge of the drive, he stalled for a moment and peaked out as far to the right as he could down the dark road. Nothing. It wasn’t very far to the end of that road, where two out of service mailboxes should’ve stood in a small cul-de-sac if it weren’t for teenagers beating them to splinters. Can’t really blame them either. Smallmouth considered his plan. Whether or not that truck belonged to the landowner down there, he shouldn’t feel like he needs to sneak around. He is merely a concerned neighbor after all. He began down the road and around that same corner the stranger disappeared earlier.
After a couple of slow, curious minutes Smallmouth could see the evidence of a great big fire in the near distance, beyond where the road ended. Through the bare trees and against the snow it cast orange and red that could surely be seen a mile in every direction, that is, if there were anyone there to see it.
Slightly intimidated, Smallmouth decided to turn off his headlights and let the fire guide him as he slowed up to 5mph and gently crackled his last few yards of gravel up to the remnants of the nearest mailbox post. It seemed the fire was on the land of the farther property, whose mailbox posthole was about 30 feet from where he came to a stop and parked his truck. Smallmouth turned it off and quietly got out into the cold. He crouched down as he walked over to the farther driveway, getting down on one knee to give it a stealthy closer look.
The abandoned property boasted a busted up trailer that sat pitifully about 500 feet from the mailbox memorial. Beyond that was a good ten acres of field that ended at the forest edge, which marked the beginning of thousands of acres of wildlife refuge. As Smallmouth peered on, it was obvious that the fire was way out in that field, blocked by the old trailer, which wore the hot light and columns of smoke on it like a devilish crown. Given the cover, Smallmouth crept over to the trailer and started easing around the right side.
Rounding the corner he noticed a propane tank that would be perfect for hiding behind and getting the best look he could at the mysterious activity. He got down on his belly and crawled his way over to the tank, before sitting up and peeking slowly over the top and out into the field.
Way down there, a couple acres away from the tree line, was a huge fire, made up of about fifty wooden pallets. It raged and lit up the whole field like it was just the beginning of sunset. Somewhat near the fire was the black Dodge Ram 3500 and trailer. Smallmouth could see a group of people dressed in all red, as if covered in bloody bedsheets from head to toe, circled around a crude cage, seemingly fastened together by pieces of metal fencing. They stood still as the pines, and twice as silent. Smallmouth, in a rare moment of curious courage, decided he had to get closer. He got back on his stomach and began to crawl through the cold, knee high grass.
Using the fire light as his North Star he crawled and crawled, feeling his hands, clothes, and beard get wet with snow. He didn’t care. Something was up that wasn’t normal, wasn’t right. He could feel it in his cold gut. When he thought he was close enough without giving himself away he planted his palms and ever so slowly raised his torso up into a weak push up to try and see out. He was glad he didn’t go any further. He may have been too close already.
He was close enough to read the name of the truck and count the holes in the livestock trailer. There were seven strangers in red sheets all around the makeshift cage, all holding long spears. One of the figures had a crown of black thorns on his head. They all had two eyeholes and one hole for the mouth. They didn’t move a muscle for the longest time, before the Crowned One forcibly touched the end of his spear to the ground.
“Now is the time, Brother and Farmer Abraham…there is no more for us in waiting.”
Smallmouth had just noticed the passenger window to the black Dodge was down, and he could hear the driver door open and soon saw a normal looking older man in a ball cap at the back of the trailer. He was holding a leash of some sort. He opened up the trailer and whistled into the dark of it. After a couple of loud, heavy thuds a gigantic, and I mean GIGANTIC Yorkshire pig came slowly shrugging out of the trailer. It was light pink in color but filthy, and gave wet sounding oinks as it came to the man’s hands expecting food. The thing must’ve weighed 1500 pounds, and at least ten feet long. It actually had to lower its head to reach the man’s hands, its ears coming up to the man’s chest. Smallmouth couldn’t believe his eyes. The man reached in his pocket and revealed a handful of some type of feed, which he tossed on the ground at the pig. It started right in as the man fixed a collar on the pigs girthy neck, then attaching a leash. The pig gave a slight squeal.
“Good girl, good girl…cmon now” the man called Farmer Abraham sweetly coaxed the animal. He gave his end of the leash a tug and the monstrous swine reluctantly left its food and followed the man over close to the Crowned One. The fire raged and raged nearby, throwing crazy shadows all over the place.
“What have you brought us, Brother and Farmer Abraham?”
“Yeah, uh, this is Old Azazel, she’s been in my family for years, man.”
The Crowned One dropped his spear and knelt down to the jowls of the hog, the dark holes of his eyes meeting those of the animal. The other red cloaked figures remained statuesque around the cage.
“Ah, yes, Old Azazel, hello. You are to be of great importance in the history of the Earth tonight, old friend.”
The Crowned One got back up to address Brother and Father Abraham, who seemed obviously put off, yet submissive.
“And is this Old Azazel a natural specimen? Is it fed only of the earth and the filths therein?”
“Yessir, I’d reckon so.”
“This is necessary for a proper sacrifice, Brother and Farmer Abraham. You may only bring your best, your cleanest, your most dear to the alter of the Almighty.”
“I understand.”
“May I take her now?”
The farmer gave his end of the leash to the black gloved left hand of the Crowned One. The Crowned one stood with it for almost a full minute in total stillness and silence. The only noise Smallmouth could hear was the sloppy smacks and oinks from Old Azazel. The farmer anxiously waited, wringing his hands expecting the next move from the Crowned One.
“Turn away, Brother and Farmer Abraham. Turn away from us and toward the fire now.” The Crowned One finally spoke.
“Phew, alright. We’re still good on our deal? Do you still promise to make my little girl better? Like you said?” The farmer asked, with some hopeful desperation.
“Turn now.”
“Well okay” the farmer turned his back to the Crowned One and toward the fire.
“I can assure you with all of the knowledge in my mind and in my heart, you will never see your daughter sick again in this lifetime, Brother and Father Abraham. You may find peace and solace in this truth.”
The farmer nodded in relief as he looked upon the fire. Smallmouth, taking it all in with great confusion, could see a smile on the farmers fire lit face, and turned back to the Crowned One just in time to see him reach under his red garment and pull out a pistol and shoot a round into the back of the farmers head, blowing his cap off, which frisbeed down near his shaking, crumpled body. Old Azazel threw a fit immediately, screaming and trying her best to flee. The Crowned One held the immense beast with one hand, and with seemingly little effort. The other red clothed figures finally made noise, laughing deep and heartily around the cage. The Crowned One, keeping Old Azazel close, walked over to the doubled over farmer, putting two more bullets into his head, essentially hollowing it out into a carnal mess. The farmers shaking mercifully stopped.
Smallmouth had to slam his forearm up to his mouth to muffle the scream that would’ve come out and blown his cover. His eyes were flown wide open and his arms were shivering.
The Crowned One put the pistol back under his red cloak and led the great pig, still squealing as high pitched and piercing as the human ear can withstand, over to the mouth of the cage, which was opened by the nearest red clothed stranger. Old Azazel flew in to the cage, having been unleashed by The Crowned One. It struggled around the cage, which was no bigger than 15x15 feet, giving it no room to get comfortable. It circled the inner perimeter, showing impressive speed for such a large animal. It squealed and squealed. The sound stung Smallmouths ears, and he covered them with his hands. He was still out of sight in the tall grass. The Red People around the cage laughed at the hogs entrapment. The Crowned One raised a hand to signal silence. The Red People were still and quiet again.
“Now, my brothers, the sacrificial gift is in our possession. Tonight…is a HOLY NIGHT.” The Crowned One raised his voice as if getting to the climax of a fire and brimstone sermon.
“TONIGHT…WE WILL DESTROY WHAT WAS ONCE CAST OUT BUT NEVER VANQUISHED!! WE WILL RID THE EARTH OF A GREAT ARMY!! AN ARMY OF HELL THAT HAS FAR TOO LONG ROAMED AND SICKENED OUR LANDS AND KILLED OUR LOVES!! TONIGHT…WE WILL DESTROY THE DESTROYERS…THE LEGION OF SATANS SOLDIERS BORN JUST AFTER THE GARDEN OF EDEN FELL…”
The Crowned One fell to his knees, his arms up and stretched toward the frozen sky. A mighty wind began blowing at Smallmouths back. He had to lower his head as it roared over him. After a moment it calmed and he was able to lift up again to see. Winds from all corners of the field met at the cage, swirling over it in a great snowy funnel that led up to the clouds. Old Azazel screamed and screamed from the cage.
“I SEE YOU VILLIANS!! I HEAR YOU HOSTS OF HELL!! I KNOW YOU LIVE IN THESE TREES!! I KNOW YOU COWER WITHIN THE SOUND OF MY VOICE!! SHOW YOURSELF!! TAKE THE BODY OF THIS ANIMAL THAT I HAVE SET BEFORE YOU!! TAKE IT NOW!! TAKE IT NOW AND FACE ME!! TAKE IT NOW!! TAKE IT NOW!! TAKE I-“
The Crowned One’s vocal cord shredding performance was cut short by a single burst of black lightning that shot down from the middle of the snowy funnel cloud that surrounded the cage. The Crowned One and all the Red People were thrown several feet back from the blast. Thunder immediately exploded across the field. Smallmouth buried his face as the force and sound raced over him. Ears ringing, he kept his face down for a few seconds. He squinted back up to the strike zone.
The strange black lightning had blown the cage completely apart. Two of The Red People had been hit with the metal fencing. One laid motionless. The other gargled in pain as he put a hand to the pole that was sticking out of his sternum, having penetrated all the way through. His legs buckled and he fell forward, the end of the pole hitting the ground first and propping him up for a moment, before his body slowly slid down to the ground around the metal. He went silent. The other four Red People, yelling in surprise, gathered themselves, looking to the charred hole in the ground where Old Azazel should be, right in the center where the cage used to stand. The Crowned One got to his feet and picked up his spear.
“My brothers, gather your arms…” the Crowned One whispered, breathing heavily under his red cloak.
“The work is not over…”
The four remaining Red People grabbed their spears and slowly walked over to the burnt, smoking hole, holding an attack pose over it until further instructions were given.
“Are you with us, you age old tormentors?” This was the first time Smallmouth could hear fear in the tired voice of the Crowned One.
“Are you with us now? Are you ready to die, you infernal bastards? Are you ready to-“
The Crowned One was interrupted by a booming noise from the hole that tore Smallmouths wits to shreds. It was similar to the cry of Old Azazel, but much deeper and ten times louder and angrier. It was as if a freight train was blaring its horn and slamming its brakes at the same time.
“NOW MY BROTHERS!! STRIKE THE BEAST OF HELL WITH YOUR SPEARS! NOW!!!”
The Red People all threw their weapons down into the smoking hole. The hellish noise from within stopped in an instant. The Red People crowded closer to the edge of the hole, waiting for the smoke to clear. The Crowned One walked over to them, putting his black gloved hand on the shoulder of the nearest man.
“Oh, Brothers. Oh my dear, dear Brothers. Your acts tonight have rid the earth of a Great and Powerful Evil…”
Before he could continue, a fully enraged and re-inspired bellow thrust itself up and out of the hole like a serrated blade. Much, much louder and angrier than before. The Red People were taken aback in terror. Suddenly, from within the hole, a large head emerged and gaped a huge, disgusting maw up at the crowd. The head was burned black and its eyes were half boiled white and without pupils. It shrieked out that most terrible noise as if it didn’t need oxygen.
“There’s no way” Smallmouth heard himself say under his breath.
All in one motion, the beast leaped out of the hole, and turned to face its attackers. It was Old Azazel, except swollen with burnt mass. It appeared to have grown a half a size at least. Three spears stuck out of its sizzling, charcoal colored back. It snapped its gigantic jaws at the Red People, who shuddered in horror. The Crowned One spoke:
“DO NOT RELENT BROTHERS!! ATTACK!! ATTACK THE BRUTE!!”
He pulled his pistol back out of his cloak and fired the remaining three rounds on the new and horrible black burnt Old Azazel. The beast’s cloudy boiled egg eyes shot open along with its unnaturally stretched jaws. It took the three bullets as if they were tennis balls. At the speed of a charging grizzly and with multiple times the power Old Azazel raged over to The Crowned One and dove onto him mouth first, putting both front hooves on his chest as he was knocked down. The Crowned One cried out in a shockingly high pitched wail, like a man being electrocuted. The Beast bit right into the soft of his belly, and began to shake him around like an Orca trying to separate a seal from its pelt.
“OH GOD!!!! AHHHHHH GOD OHHHHH!!! HELP ME!!!! NOOOO!!!! OH GOD HELP ME!!!! MAMA!!!! OHHHH!!! MAMA!!!!!”
The beast ate and ate and shook and shook and tore and broke and destroyed while the Crowned One lost more and more of his body, all while crying out to the sky at the top of his punctured lungs. The other Red People sprinted to the black Dodge Ram, opened its doors and piled inside. Smallmouth heard it crank up and it began to speedily turn around and race away from the fire and back toward the road. The beast unhooked from the Crowned One and let out another ghastly roar of victory before biting into his neck, ending his screaming forever. The beast then left his half devoured body and began a tremendous and terrible charge after the truck, which was greatly slowed down by the trailer. Smallmouth put his face down as the beast passed him by only about 10 feet on its way to the truck, which had just made it back to the road and was using every RPM possible to get away from the demon charged killing machine on its heels. Smallmouth turned around to watch both parties disappear down the road, the echoes of that great and evil blasting noise stabbing his ears again. He remained on his stomach in the tall, snowy grass for another two minutes as he normalized his breath and tried to make any sense of what he just witnessed.
Eventually he slowly rose up and looked to make sure that terrible thing was indeed out of the area. No signs of life or death from up at the road. The danger was at least a couple miles away by now. Smallmouth then turned back toward the fire and to the dominated body of the Crowned One. He carefully walked up closer and closer. To his amazement he heard wheezy noises coming from the emptied out torso of the man, a scattering of insides and flesh and blood strewn all around him. Troubled, rattling breaths escaped from under the red clothed head, whose crown of thorns had flown off in the attack. Most of the red cloak had been ripped to shreds, and all that remained covered were his shoulders and above. The cloth slowly ebbed and flowed with breath. Smallmouth could not believe this man was still alive. His entire digestive system was eviscerated and his ribs were exposed. Smallmouth knelt down beside him and lifted his cloak over his head to let him at least breathe his last in the open air.
Smallmouth let out a gasp. This man had a face that Smallmouth knew very well. He recognized him immediately from the old church he worked at. The clean shaven face. The short, silver hair. The sharp nose. This was a man that had joined his church two weeks before the schism. He never spoke in church but it was rumored he would meet at the homes of different members and try to sway them to his strange ideas. He was the one rumored to have led the radical faction somewhere in the middle of the woods. To Smallmouth, it was all starting to make more sense.
“I know you,” Smallmouth said softly, “I know who you are. You tore a church in half didn’t you? You’re the crazy guy that split up my ole church! What the hell have you done?”
The man struggled to breathe and tried his best to spit up a couple of words. His neck had deep lacerations that flowed with escaping life.
“I…I…I…uhh…I only…I only…I only did what I believed…” he whispered before a wet, stifled breath.
“What did you do?!!!” Smallmouth grew angry, and his voice followed suit. This man had ruined his job and now he had unleashed something horrifying on his neighborhood. He had tampered with things that man has no business tampering with.
“I…I…I have…have…I have failed, Smallmouth Bassett” the man croaked. Smallmouth couldn’t believe he had bothered to remember his name.
“I have failed. I have failed. God help you all…” with that the man’s face fell and he let out one last slow exhale before all was still.
Smallmouth got back on his feet and looked away from the dead man and toward the fire, which towered and raged in the reflection of his eyes.
“Oh no…oh no…oh no” he said in between terrified breaths.
Then another though hit him like a wrecking ball.
“Uncle Chuck…”

Authors note: sorry about the long as all hell wait for this one. I work in retail management and the start of the spring is always a massive rush.
[First]/[Previous]
Memory transcription subject: Zevek, deeply moved Venlil
Standard date: September 4th 2136
I blubbered weakly, whimpering to myself in the weak light of my room. Overcome with a level of raw emotion that came a from a source that I would've never imagine.
wrong...everything we've been told about the humans was wrong...they are so much more than beasts..so much more than just some...curious quirk of biology...no more than a true people could craft a story so...moving.
I wiped away the last of my tears credits for the human movie BladeRunner slowly scrolled up the screen. "He...just wanted to be a person.." I whined in the dark, still trying to wrestle with my own about the past claw. I had been arrogant, foolishly confident in myself when I had first started. The humans had a level o cultural diversity that was head spinning merely on the surface. So much to just, and so much I simply just lacked the perspective to fully understand. The sight of their raw, unmolested eyes at the beginning had me a shaking wreck in my seat, but soon the events that unfolded simply had me too enamored. The pride I felt from braving such a hurtle was quickly drowned by the tale that unfolded...But once I was working into the depths of their media was when things truly began to spiral into an utter journey, one that had only begun. I had begun with simply searches that went along with my own expertise. Mainly engineering and machine learning tech, and promptly into a treasure trove of stories and media that kept following this trend that kept coming up with these apes.
Duality. so much hate, yet raw love, so much violence, yet so many tales of peace and empathy. This species was utterly madness, one moment is brutality, mercy, forgiveness..it simply made no sense..I...have to know more, not enough data...
"Ok." I huffed to myself as I slid the movie application out of the way. "Let's see how else these humans entertain themselves." I began to work away at my interface, punching in simply 'games' into the search bar. Naturally a veritable wall ran into me and I began to move my way through it with a care, until I came across a video...of some kind...battle simulation...My tail curled in confusion as one human was visible in some kind of smaller box, judging from features the human seemed young. My spine still try to rattle out of my back at those bright green pools that were blazing with an almost manic focus. I took another long breath, paws balling up on my desk, biting down on the instant reflex to dive under the desk. Sure...I've learned to brave it...sort of. The main screen of the footage, show some kind of heads up display. The long powerful arms of a human clutching a weapon that bobbed with the gait of the bouncing view. Clearly thi-
"Got a guy on your left main hall!!" I jump at the sudden urgent bark of another human voice, nearly falling out of my chair. The human on screen seemed to barely react, but this...simulated human he was controlling suddenly whirled in the given direction. The firearm snapped up to the sights with blinding speed, the weapon barked, cutting down another virtual human in mere seconds. There was some kind of odd chime and above the body a human set of numbers popped above the head, adding to the score at another corner. "Good tap, dude was trash..."The worlds were lightning, the choppy and quick barks between hunters on the move, the human not even breaking his stride as he piloted his avatar. I sat by in my seat, ears flicking at the sounds, enamored I let this video play. Watching how the human so efficiently and rapidly maneuvered through structures and streets with ease, slaying other digital humans. it was brief but the context was clear.With shaking paws I type into the search bar again, the words smashed out with ease.
-[Strategy, combat simulation game]-
There was another flood of entries, several of them showing many such titles...trailers, and vids. Claws slipped by as I watched humans not only against programs but each other, contesting in grand games of resource management and strategy. Simulated nations as small as pre space flight fiefdoms to interstellar empires, jockeying for power and dominance. I sat there in silence, can of sprunk going warm as enormous interstellar fleets, coordinated by a human juvenile, roll over other human star empires. Deftly maneuvering fleets, cycling exhausted and damaged ones back to shipyards in time with fresh vessels. They sent the heaviest out to key assets, intentionally bracketing the other's to crush they're strongest. My tail hung limply as I took a drag from the can, which landed in the bin to join the others.
these are entertainment, they play these for fun....combat sims of all kinds they play for fun...I'm starting to think that Tarva was wise to side with these creatures, if this is what they're younglings are capable of in their pastimes, then they are showing incredible restraint in their martial prowess...more data...another entry..
I cracked opened another can, and gave a cabinet below my desk a kick, it slid open, full of various local nuts. The paw full was stuffed in my mouth as my claws flew across my interface.
-[non violent digital games]-
As if this search was mocking me another utter wall of returns washed across my interface, was there anything these human *don't d-*My train of thought feel face first into the pavement as a video came on, another of these digital games but...The sound of gushing water rippled through my ear pieces as a human gabbed on about some nonsense on a stream. While on screen they were..washing a construction vehicle. From the little avatar that was wielding a power-washer, blasting away at the mud and grime caked on the machine. I wrack my brain for what kind of reason of why any creature would engage in such a thing for anything but training. It simply made no sense, illogical towards enjoyment....and yet. My eyes tracked the flowing water, watching as mud and filth was blasted away to reveal its hardy finish I..I felt a satisfaction. That kind of sensation where you take your first bite into a fruit, that same feeling when something you've made slides into its planned place.I didn't know how long I watched the massive construction machine be washed..but it was downright hypnotic to watch.Something tells me I've only barely scratched the surface of these creatures....
Standard Date September 5th 2136
I slinked back into my apartment after my work claw, sighing as I hung up my cloak. Work had been fine, it got rather funny when management had come to down to check on our progress and pretended to know what the brahk he was talking about. But such thoughts were lost on me while I went back to my terminal sitting back down and loading my earth search engine. My secret researched continued, this time I decided to take a far more broad approach with my work, and went for history.
-[Human history]-
[Memory subject time lapse: 3 standard hours][Resuming playback, subject brainwave patterns at low stability]
I lay there in my chair, I just didn't know..how to feel at this point. Several times I had to stop, several times I nearly heaved my lunch into my garbage. Several times I was moved by the words of human hearts. Several times I was taught horrible lessons that have to be learned in horrible times. I was shown the mountains of bodies it takes to truly fight against those who would do evil. They're stories told me of how people despite all this could forgive, how...they fought for those we would put down without a second thought.
I've truly gone off the deep end haven't I..because every time I think I've come to some kind of understanding of these human's, they break the pattern, so they've done so much, come to far..I'm not sure what to even be afraid of anymore..I still don't have enough..
Across my screen, a man a truly ancient human that seemed to be naught but skin and bone, but his terrible predator eyes shone. Those blue pools gleamed with an ironclad conviction that despite his decades of retirement. He was telling his story among a lengthy documentary of the human's second world war, which even with its age was still the most brutal conflict they're species ever knew. It was such calculated savagery, the utter destruction, the ruthless genocide, everything that I would come to expect from a predator species. But then more of the footage came along with the old humans talking.
"Ya..ya see..we have been pushing a'way over inta' paris for the better'parta fiave weeks.." The ancient male rumbled in his seat towards the camera, his hellish eyes making my pelt want to leap off my bones, but his words had me mystified. "I was just about smoked five steps ta'hell after pushin through them lines, only thing keepin me goin was thinkin about not being killed by no damn nazi boys..." The human worked his strange and loose lips for a moment, sharp gaze sliding away from the camera."When ah wus out there, pushing inta paris, we had a stop, and my busted up ass was so dog chewed t'hell out I just leaned on a corner pole and didn't give much of'a damn, but den.." His words slowed, a certain something gleamed in his eyes, was it guilt, determination, the species was still too alien for me to tell. "I saw dis lil girl out there, walking down tha street our way all dusty and looking like the devil had took'a swipe at'er..she sidled on up'ta me..gave me a half toothed little smiled and thanked me, since she lived in the part of city we had cleaned out for'em..Her name wus Noelle it was.." I felt my throat tighten along with the long dead human in the footage as he fought to keep up the words."then she walked on away, an all of tha'sudden..Ah weren't tired no more..."
The man's words rung deep within me while the documentary went on. So much agony, so much destruction, met headlong with conviction, forgiveness and determination. How could creatures so vicious and lethal and the same time show such grief and almost mad drive to aid their fellow being?
At every turn they seem to jump between the actions of prey and predator, banding together, seeking to defend themselves from danger, fleeing and submitting in the face of death and danger. Yet in the very same moment some humans act like true predators, instantly reacting to perceived threats with determined, relentless force. Then..in so many instances this bloodthirsty rage they seem to summon is at its strongest when they're kin are threatened..These creatures only grow more complex the more I research..
I rub my face as I slip into bed, sliding onto the mattress, paws coming to my face. Despite the long paw, sleep couldn't come. My glasses stayed on, the display flitting as I kept up my reading into human histories..seeing their story.
I'm done for..Brahk..I'm done for...I have to keep this a secret, because I'm starting to understand these predators...
Memory transcription Subject: Zevek, Distracted Venlil Standard Date: September 6th, 2136
I can research and work all I like, but a venlil still needed to eat and get to all the little drudges of life. This rest paw was going to be expended on errands. Sure I'm a herd and family of great affluence and I could easily have everything I needed delivered directly to my apartment on my hefty salary. I decided against such a practice, seeing as a waste of credits when I had paws where such tasks could be taken to. Besides...I was thinking sometime outside would do me a bit of good.
Mind still in awash from my research, I connected my glasses to my pad, clipped it to my belt, and slipped my cloak on my shoulders. After a momentary pause, I quickly snatch up my pair of wireless ear buds. Flicking the doc open, I push them into my ears as they connect to my interface into them, and keying my pad into my terran connection.
Slipping into the cold biting air of BlackRock I set up the browser yet again in an off box in my vision as I walked, grocery bag folded under an arm and out the door. My paws worked along the road towards the small tram station stop at the center of my hab block. I began to slip into the pedestrian traffic, small groups of venlil moving together made then easier to slip around. My searching through the countless song lists gave so many options, so I simple threw caution to the wind and picked something at random as I stopped at the platform. I let the music player shuffle
Stairway to heaven-Lead Zeppelin
For what I was expecting for the music of the humans it was far gentler in its beginning. It began with a low and soft kind of string instrument that I recall was a 'guitar' from my studies. I leaned back in the cheap plastic seat of the tram, barely noticing I was in it how hypnotized I was by such sounds. Then the human began to sing, its rumble growl so oddly melodic, as he began to sing me a song about a stairway to heaven. There was something so melancholic about it, some cultural points weren't hitting, but even someone as socially inept as myself could pick it up. By the time I was slipping off the tram I felt an odd spring in my gait as the song picked up, despite its screeching notes there was something about this electric guitar that scratched an urge I didn't know was there. The song was at full swing towards its in when I entered the simple market nearby my home, I found my tail swaying and bobbing to the alien yet bewitching rhythm.
And she's buuuying a stairway to heeavaan..~
The incredible voice of the human tapered off into a soft silence while I was picking out some proper snacks. Venlil music was often very gentle and easy on the ears, but even this oddly mellow human song had a certain spark the my own people's simply lacked. While I stuffed a fruit back and another case of drinks in my bag my search for another song was far less timid that before. A small moment of memory slipped in..going about my brother's and fathers constant talk about the taint of predators, how it would corrupt all it touched. It sent a small spike of..guilt..maybe remorse while I stood at an end-cap.
Well..I've already delved into their history and entertainment for several paws now, your already down the mine shaft Zevek, might as well see the bottom..Besides, its not like they're culture will infect me that badly will it?
[Time lapse: 1 hour of shopping and music surfing later]
I never been one for dancing, in fact I'm sure I couldn't dance to save my life. Additionally, I've never had much motivation, or the raw confidence to do so..
That is until I starting hearing songs like this...
For some reason the beat just had me moving, I didn't realize how much I was moving until I was a few stops on the train, and by the time I was off the train I was dancing my way home. Perhaps something had my mood high, perhaps..with my predator disease having gone so deep I lacked the concern. A full bag of groceries hanging from the crook of my elbow as I went along.
Nor did I care about the looks I was getting as I came bouncing off my train and into my neighborhood. In my gyrating, grooving walk I gave an utterly perturbed mother and gave her a jovial tail flick as I passed her up the stairs.
I found myself swaying to the human's voice as I idled in the elevator, something about the tenor and melody. The beat making my paws sway and bounce, head swaying as the music began to grow. The peak rolling through my ears as I all but flowed through the door, arms spread wide as I slid through my door.
STAY WITH MEEEEEEEE..~
I didn't even realize I was singing along as I bounce along in my room. Arms rolling in ways I never would have never done in public, my tail wrote patterns in the air that even I didn't know. Her voice was simply incredible..how could I not move..I could feel it in my soul..I was on my bed at one point e- bling-bling! The sound of the specific chime tone I had set up for Dayna's message suddenly sounded out. After giving the floor a perfect exterminators tackle I scrambled, face blooming as I snatched my pad. Gaze rapidly scanning over the new message.
-hey Zevek, how's it going?-
I swallowed a little at the message, clearly I couldn't tell her about my highly incriminating research into her species completely. Yet, my heart ached at the very concept of lying to her, it was a foolish impulse. But I did my best to get something on the screen.
-its been going great Dayna, I've been looking a lot into human culture, why didn't you tell me that your species had such a huge range of music?!-
Half truths we're the finest lies, as father would always say.
-it what happens when your culture is constantly shifting and changing, human tribal nature causes a lot diversification, but more importantly, I've got some awesome news Zev!-
My ears perk forward, my fingers flying over the keyboard.
-what kind of news, do tell?-
-they gonna push my program forwards, I'm packing for my trip to Venlil prime as we speak-
In that moment, alone in the dark, my heart leaped for more reasons than I'll ever know.

Thank you to u/SpacePaladin15 for creating the NoP-verse and allowing fanfics!
This was co-written with u/ImaginationSea3679 and is a sequel to The Way of the Human!
Prequel startPrequel endFirstPrevious
Memory transcription subject: Thass, Arxur-UN Cooperative Liaison
Date [standardised human time]: 27th of November, 2136
The cursed meeting was taking far longer than I could bear, and much the same could be said to the pathetic diplomats we were negotiating with. Despite their initial bravado, it quickly wore off and they grew fearful of my presence. So when a recess was suggested, I was relieved that it was agreed upon that we would spend [45 minutes] away from the bureaucracy for a decently timed break.
I sighed as I reclined myself in a chair. Human furniture was extremely comfortable, more than it probably had any right to be. The leaf-licking predators were arguably soft, but they had a fierce streak hidden under that calm and weak persona. The speed at which I’d seen a personality shift in some humans was so sudden I sometimes wondered if I was even talking to the same person when it happened.
What was I thinking about again?
Oh, right, furniture.
…
Well, I have no other thoughts on the furniture. I should move on.
Helaven and Barisis were eagerly munching on salads and fruits respectively. I myself had myself a freshly cooked steak, which Barisis was trying to avert her eyes from. Human food was really starting to grow on me. I had already come to enjoy the higher quality meat from my time on Earth, but the longer I had it in my diet, the more I came to appreciate the tiniest of details in the flavour.
The slight char from the ‘cooking’ process was a surprisingly savoury addition, creating a contrast from other meats. If I had the opportunity, I wished to further explore the possibilities offered by Terran cuisine. Learning how to correctly burn the meat would be a terrific way of enhancing the flavour. It was supposedly one of humanity’s greatest feats, so that only made me more eager to-
I was caught off guard by a smoky scent that most definitely did not come from my meal. Was another piece of meat being cooked?
Sniff
EURGH, FUCK!
The deep breath meant to identify the horrid smell instead sent me into a coughing fit. It was like I was breathing in toxic fumes!
“Fucking- cough -Prophet!” I wheezed, feeling like my lungs were being stabbed by hundreds of tiny needles. “What is that- cough -horrible smoke- cough -in the air!?”
I turned to see a human female holding some sort of roll of paper that had been set on fire. The human then proceeded to-
“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!” Helaven shouted as I stared in both awe and absolute terror.
This human was literally breathing cinders and smoke without any sort of complaint.
“I’m taking a smoke. What the fuck does it look like I’m doing?” The human said with an almost incredulous expression.
Was this sort of extreme toughness normal?!
“YOU JUST INHALED FUCKING SMOKE! WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?! DO YOU WANT TO FUCKING DIE?!” Barisis joined Helaven in her screeching. “HAVE HUMANS SOMEHOW MISSED THE DANGERS OF SMOKE INHALATION!?”
The possibly deranged human looked confused. “I’m just taking the edge off, what’s the problem?”
“What’s with all the screaming?” asked an annoyed Hans who had just arrived, accompanied by a meek looking Udey. “I’m on the verge of a God damn headache, so please, just stop it.”
“It’s the xenos who are yelling!” defended the insane human. “I’m just trying to have a smoke and they’re acting like I just kicked a puppy.”
The human Captain sighed. “Jana, you know how things are,” he began, looking at the now named human. “Aliens don’t know what smoking is, they have no idea what to think. Just try to explain to them what it is you’re doing instead.”
“What reasonable explanation is there for burning one's lungs?” I questioned, still baffled by what I was seeing. “And a soldier who needs to be in tip top condition, no less!”
“That's what the kerfuffle was about?” the nervous Harchen Minister spoke. “I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm with the Grey on this one. How can one justify the thing it-... he described?”
Gendered pronouns already? My, my, he's quick to learn how to address me properly.
“Well it helps me focus, alright?” Jana explained grumpily. “Helps get rid of stress.”
“You mean to tell me that smoke isn’t poisonous to you?” wondered Barisis, sounding amazed. “That would make you incredibly powerful against Exterminators. The ashen air wouldn't harm you!”
Hans sucked in a breath, hesitating a moment before speaking. “About that…”
“Don't tell me it is bad for you, yet you still allow her to do it,” the aqua-skinned medic said, sounding like she already knew the answer. “Please, Hans, captain of this whole operation. Tell me that this is not the case.”
A voice different from Hans answered. “Nope, you're correct. Lung cancer is a bitch and that lady there is gonna get intimately familiar with it soon.”
It was Tyler, the human who introduced Risha and her… Venlil lover to the defector Vraka.
I’d decided not to mention either defecting Arxur to my superiors when bringing in that scumbag Vizz, as they clearly didn't seem up for battle for much longer. I was saving rations that would ultimately be wasted as they’d be executed for being defective. It wasn't about mercy, it was purely logical. By sparing them, they’d no longer be our problem and the real traitor was brought to justice either way.
Oh how I enjoyed seeing Chief Hunter Isif gut that bastard Vizz’s with his bare claws. And shooting the corpse a couple times for good measure had also felt pretty good.
Informing the Chief Hunter just how Vizz was defeated was almost just as good. Taken to a draw by a measly Venlil, infamously one of the weakest species in the galaxy. The humiliation that traitor felt in his final moments was better than even the juiciest cut off meat.
Pulling my mind back to the present, I noticed that the two prey medics were still arguing with the ‘smoker’ Jana.
“...incredibly serious afflictions, yet you give yourself them willingly?!” exclaimed Helaven in exasperation.
“Look, it's my concern, not yours, so shove it,” replied the female soldier with a hostile tone. “Quit whining or it’ll burn up before I can smoke it.”
I decided that after my bout of silence it was time to voice my opinion on the matter. “Excuse my language, but why the actual fuck haven’t you detained this woman for her complete and utter insanity?” came the question, directed at Captain Hans.
Hans opened his mouth, but was interrupted by the female human. “It’s my fucking body. I’ll do whatever the fuck I want with it, Lizard.”
That hardly seemed like an excuse to me. The body was a sacred thing. It was one’s embodiment in the galaxy, and to actively damage it of one’s own will without care for the consequences was not only idiotic, but beyond disrespectful to oneself.
I found my thoughts being agreed upon as Barisis scoffed. “Just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should.” She pointed an accusatory tentacle at the human.
“Well, your kin shouldn’t have engineered the galaxy to conform with your primitive bullshit excuse of a worldview, yet you still did it for no other reason other than because you could!”
…
Silence permeated through the room as the Kolshian shrunk, her skin seeming to both pale and darken, a remorseful expression developing on her face. Helaven immediately went to comfort her.
“Jana…” Hans said as my attention was brought to him and the stern expression he bore on his face. “That was completely uncalled for and needlessly hurtful.”
“Yeah,” Tyler said. “Very not cool.”
Feeling oddly offended by the human’s harsh words toward Barisis, I decided to defend the Kolshian’s honour. “If she shared her government’s and people's views, she would have remained on Aafa with the rest of them,” I stated coolly, though adding an edge of anger to ensure that my opinion came through clearly. “The fact that she is able to bear being in close proximity to not only your species, but mine, should be all the evidence required to debunk the idea that she subscribes to her society’s ideals.”
Then, the Kolshian in question did something entirely unexpected.
She left her open position and took cover behind me, shielding herself from the hostile human female. Even more shockingly, she grabbed a hold of my tail, as though it would further protect her.
Did she… find comfort in my presence? No, no, that couldn't be possible. She simply sees me as the biggest piece of cover available.
“They're just concerned for your health, dude,” Tyler pointed out, gesturing to the medics and myself.
Jana huffed. “Whatever. I’ll just go smoke somewhere else.”
With that she left, forcing me to hold my breath as she passed, lest I breathe in that horrid smoke.
“Urgh, dammit, my head is pounding,” complained Hans, sounding exasperated to a degree I had never heard from him before. “I need some water or else I’ll be stuck with this for the rest of the day.”
With that, he left, Tyler following behind him.
The tentacles of the prey medic let go of me as she no longer needed to protect herself from the harshness of the huntress-soldier. She looked at me timidly, as though she expected me to yell at her for her behaviour. Instead I gazed at her with a mostly blank expression before she sheepishly returned to her salad bowl.
With the drama over, I returned to my meal, scarfing it down with speedy efficiency. While I’d been enjoying its flavour, the fight, and all the talking that had come with it, had drained my desire to savour it. The quick influx of flavours was good, but I washed it down with a glass of water.
Quite surprisingly, Udey, who openly disliked me, sat down at our table, taking a seat by Helaven.
“Do humans really do that kind of thing often?” he asked. I noticed despite being in such close proximity to me, he remained relatively relaxed.
It was a truly strange thing when I thought about it. So many leaf-lickers, who only mere [months] ago would've cowered at the sight of me, now tolerate, or possibly even enjoy, my presence. The change felt almost unnatural to me.
And yet… I didn't dislike it. It was like I was experiencing how the galaxy was meant to be. Of course, that was impossible, as predators were superior to other life, with Arxur on top. It was probably just that these prey were particularly tolerable for their kind. Yes, that was what it was. And the Harchen were former omnivores, which meant their natural state made them closer to us than they would've wanted to admit. They, and all other ‘cured’ species, were our mutilated kin. It was their right to be restored to the status of true sapients.
If possible, I wanted to convince our leaders to take up that goal. We would no longer be anomalies, or a coincidence. We would have dozens of our sort. We were at the top, of course, but they would be tolerated by the rest of the Dominion. A brotherhood of hunters. Quite an appealing concept, in my opinion.
Leaving the maze of thoughts in my mind, I noticed the two medics and the minister were having a blast of a conversation, with humans as their topic of discussion.
“No, you're messing with me,” chuckled the Harchen. “There is no way that they're the weakest of their family.”
“It's true!” Barisis exclaimed. “Out of all the apes, the animal family humans belong to, they have the least muscle mass. A wild ape is stronger than even a highly trained human.”
Udey guffawed in amusement. “That is unreasonably funny. To think we were afraid of them!”
Really? If what the Kolshian says is true, that's very interesting. No wonder humans prefer ranged weapons. I knew they were physically weaker than us, but I didn't realise they were also weaker than the beasts of their own planet.
“They still have binocular vision like my kind. And as arboreal descendants, I’d wager their eyesight is even better than ours. That means they can see you from very far away, Minister,” I added to the conversation, watching the colouration thin in Udey’s scales.
“I see…” he murmured, sounding put off. “How… comforting…”
“Quite,” I mock-agreed. “They’re always watching, those humans. Ever vigilant. Ever-seeing.”“Thass, you arse, stop it,” Barisis commanded. My snout shifted as the front of my lips curled, an equivalent gesture to when Hans would raise an eyebrow at his underlings’ actions. “He’s uncomfortable, so you’re doing to stop it.”“Are you ordering me, prey?” I asked, adding a twinge of hostility that normally wouldn’t be there.
The aqua Kolshian was unfazed, a massive change from a month ago. “Maybe it was. What are you going to do about it?”
Such a brave, foolhardy thing, she is.
I snapped my jaws at her, making her flinch ever so slightly, but otherwise she didn’t move. Her unwavering made me let out an impressed chuckle. “Very well then, doctor. I’ll listen, for now…”
“And the next time too,” she responded confidently. “You like to bluff, but I know you’re full of it.”
“Want to stake your tentacle on that claim?” I asked with a cold but tone. Though I was amused, I didn’t let much of it show externally.
Wordlessly she stuck out her limb. A month ago, she had been afraid that I would eat her. And yet now she was goading me into taking a bite out of her. She wasn’t just foolhardy, she was downright overconfident.
Moving my head toward the outstretched manipulator, my powerful jaws opened as I got closer. Udey and even Helaven looked worried, but the Aafa native did not. Even as her tentacle was in my mouth, she didn’t pull away.
Saliva dripped onto her, making her shudder. And yet she still refused to back down.
She’s not just toying with death, she was outright tempting it, goading me into trying. I don’t know if I should be impressed, bewildered or both.
Unwilling to back down, I took it a step further and ran my tongue across her limb. The taste of her skin was pleasant to the palate, much better than the steak I just had. As I had to have won with that step-up, I waited for her to register what I did.
Out of all the responses I expected, amusement wasn’t one. “You’re gross,” the medic snickered.
I started to laugh, stunned and awed by her lack of fear. She was a mere meek prey, yet was entirely unafraid of my powerful jaws ensnaring her precious body parts. It was so ridiculous it became funny!
My laughter soon became full on cackling as I relented, letting Barisis win. “You are really one brave Kolshian!” I chortled. “An exemplary specimen of your kind!”
“Wuss,” she chuckled jokingly, far more amused than the Harchen or her colleague sitting across from her.
“Don’t count on me backing down again, Barisis,” I jested. “You taste far better than anything I’ve eaten in the past [weeks].”
Unexpectedly, Helaven snorted.
“Something funny, Hel?” asked the Kolshian quizzically.
She snickered, having to take a moment to speak. “Spicy~”
“How DARE you!?” I roared in genuine offence. “To accuse me of… feeling for prey! Urgh, no!”
I stormed off, absolutely fuming. The Zurulian had the nerve to accuse me of such defectiveness to think I could develop weak feelings for a weak creature. The very thought made me sick to my stomach. Quite clearly she was too used to Risha’s less-than-standard tastes to assume that I would share her tastes. Herbivores were unworthy of my mere gaze! She should be honoured that I speak to her at all! The fucking gall to call me defective in the vilest way…
If it weren’t for our truce with humanity, I would rip her worthless spine out here and now.
My legs had carried me by themselves as I brooded in rage and had taken me far in a short time, having walked out of the building entirely without realising. I was furious with that fucking Zurulian, and wasn’t planning to speak with h- it, nor the Kolshian, anytime soon. Fucking bitch…

I live in the Uk (northwest), and caught scabies a few weeks after having covid and the covid vaccine (unsure if relevant but I think these reduced my immune response. I have had it for 2.5 years ever since and tried everything to try and cure it - spending thousands of pounds). I have never had any type of skin problem in the past. I have seen many doctors and 3 dermatologists - all said I did not have scabies - but I showed the spots that are present all over my body, face and scalp (hundreds / thousands) to a pharmacologist and his words were that it was "100 PERCENT SCABIES". I still have it and it keeps me awake at night - sometimes all night with itching / scratching and painful bites. I am constantly pulling the mites out of my skin on scabs which have dozens of tiny oval shaped yellow crusty little mites all over them in clusters - sometimes many are deep red with blood. I look at these under a microscope and you can see the mites with claws that show that these are living creatures. I have showed these photographs to doctors and dermatologists of these mites but they take no notice, don't seem to care, and say that I am mentally ill etc. I have a PhD in Physics and still lecture all over the world plus I am a Fellow of The Royal Society and so I am functioning at a high level and patently I am not mentally ill. All of the doctors and dermatologists that I have seen are completely stupid, poorly educated and simply don't care. They seem to have been trained as fools, I am sure there must be some good ones but I have not seen any. Anyway the condition seems incurable by all of the methods listed on this reddit. Although when I take Ivermectin horse-paste in the correct dose that seems to kill many of them overnight and the condition eases or goes away for a few days but returns when new eggs hatch or larvae mature etc. I did not catch this from a sexual partner either but believe I caught it lying on a beach where dogs had been; lying topless sunbathing (with a tiny open wound on my stomach) and noticed burrows on my stomach close to this wound a few days later. Doctors do not believe this is possible since you are supposed to not catch it from animals - different type of scabies - but that is not true you can catch animal scabies! This is by no means the only misconception about scabies - because I have it on my scalp and in my nose etc; but once again it is not supposed to go on the scalp as I have been told by many doctors - but if you look up medical papers you find many examples of people with it on their scalps. Plus the spots do move about the body in groups - and also sometimes form large scabs sometimes over 1cm in size. Also I often feel a painful bite like a bee sting and then go to the site of the sting and see a bloody spot - and can even pick the scabies from its burrow (yellow oval shaped beastie which looks like a triangle 1-2mm in size)- also the sheets are full of bloody spots every night where I have been bitten - once again doctors do not believe you can feel scabie bites but you can - they are super painful. Someone needs to to start a petition to government to get this disease looked into - because I hear that there is a severe outbreak in England and Europe right now in 2024. Anyway its late at night and I must try and get some sleep. I have lost almost all hope of finding a cure - either with natural medicines or drugs etc; I have tried everything. Many bad thoughts arise in my hopeless condition in relation to suicide - but I shall try and continue.
Below you can see a photograph that I took of a dead scabie through my professional microscope using an iPhone (around 100-200 times relative magnification). It is dead but I believe you can see its head and some legs, however the doctors / dermatologists just ignored this image and say nothing. Below you can see a photograph that I took of a bloody scab on my skin that I removed, and the region you see is about 5 mm in size - and shows some kind of creatures or scabie lavae I believe - but once again doctors and dermatologists are not interested and in fact make no comment when I show these pictures to them (printed out at A4 size). Below you see more images that I have taken through my microscope of dead scabies taken from my skin. Once again nobody seems to think anything of these images - even when I explain that I am an optical scientist by profession and have taken these images myself using professional skills and knowledge. Do readers of this post think that it is right that I should be ignored and ridiculed (called mentally ill) by doctors and so-called dermatologists who cannot even recognise scabies. I would show even more horrific images of the way my once full head of hair (a few weeks ago) has been eaten away by these creatires with large bald patches now showing.
Oh and I think there is something else going on here with the poorly trained and woefully unknowledgeable doctors and dermatologists - whereby because the scabies are microscopic creatures (at biggest 1mm for adult females) - then because the doctors cannot easily see the creatures for themselves they seem to have some kind of psychological episode THEMSELVES (ongoing) where they ascribe these as imaginary and existing only in the mind of the patient! This only happens with this condition primarily I believe because the scabies are microscopic. When I went to the doctor with pain in my knee they sent me to have a scan and found that yes I have slight arthritis in that knee. So patently checkable conditions that happen at the macroscopic level (real world visible) do not result in the patient being called mentally ill - but the very nature of scabies as a microscopic parasite seems to bring about this 'mental projection' from the doctodermatologist - and so it is they who are suffering from a mental delussion as many people on this reddit can attest. So we need to re-train all of these people and stop the possibility of them suffering from mental delustions that the paient is delusional just because they have a microscopic parasitic skin condition. Once again we need a government investigation and re-training of everyone involved. Also I have been told by these people (doctors / dermatologists) that they have seen scabies many times before and know what it looks like. But we have over 300 different kinds of scabies that are known to infest humans; and also we have different forms such as classical, nodular and crusted etc, and I do not believe that the bite spots look the same in every person because they do not even all look the same at all times on my own body. Sometimes I have crusted spots up to 1cm in size, sometimes pin-prick bites isolated, and sometimes groups of hundreds of spots over about a 10-20cm region of skin. I have read dozens of academic papers on scabies plus all of the reddit posts of hundreds of people here - and I do not believe that the doctors and dermatologists have read anything about this disease and are aware of its features in any way whatsoever - they are simple not interested and need some kind of wake up call.
GPs or General Practitioners (read also dermatologists here whenever I use this acronym) also are unaware of the medical literature on scabies, for example: 1) There are many academic papers on how scabies can move from animals (dogs) and live and reproduce on humans - although there is widespread belief in the contrary amongst GPs. 2) GPs say that it does not affect the scalp on adult humans - but many papers and images prove it does. 3) GPs say scabies always show burrow like spots in a straight line - but that is simply not always true. 4) GPs say that you have to catch it from a human or sexual partner - but you can catch it in other ways also. 5) GPs say that permethrin and Ivermectin etc will cure it easly - but there is widespread resistance as explained in many papers. 6) GPs say that you cannot feel scabies biting - but as attested on this site many people do feel the stings of these creatures. 7) GPs think that scabies is only for people who are homeless, unclean and in crowded conditions etc - that is is somehow the patients fault but this is simply not true - anyone can catch scabies as many academic papers attest. etc etc. Basically GPs are uninterested in educating themselves about the true nature of this disease, perhaps because they do not know how to cure it, and want to simply get you out of their surgery and to ascribe it as a mental illness (and this goes double for the dermatologists who just sign you off without asking for your permission after you wait 6 months to see them with this miserable disease). And worst of all - my sister works for the NHS and has access to my secret NHS records - they write on your record that you are mentally ill because of your claims about having scabies - when you have never in your 59 years of life ever before had any such claim made against you. I am a professor who has spent years teaching hundreds and hundreds of students and never once did anyone (to my knowledge) ascribe such a problem to myself.
By the way lack of education and knowledge are not the only problems exhibited by the GPs and so-called Dermatologists - because in my experience (8 doctors and 3 dermatologists) - many of these people suffer from a bad case of ARROGANCE - combined with LOOKING DOWN UPON THE PATIENT WHO THEY PATENTLY HAVE DECIDED IS AN IDIOT. They do not listen to logical arguments, evidence etc; and I have written many several page letters to these people explaining all of the medical details, evidence and logical facts - but they never once refer to any single detail related from my letters or logical points and evidence - but rather they simply ignore each and every point. See the attached letters which were not addressed or replied to in any way by the GP practice (anonymised).
Plus the medicines they prescribe do not work (often) and they then take that as evidence that you do not have scabies - but it is well known (in the academic world) that the scabies are becoming resistant to all drugs used against them. The low level doctors simply do not care - and have no idea how this terrible disease detrimentally affects an adult humans life - children with stronger immune systems may be able to cope and throw the disease off - but not all adults can do so easily as seen on this reddit - it actually ruins ones quality of life (in every respect) and so much that a normal person begins to think of suicide. If they (the GPs) had it they would know and perhaps take it more seriously.
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I'm writing a story that I hope someday will be used in a comic book. I'm pitting 100s of years of a Yautja's hunting experience up against supernatural entities that pretty much makes it a very bloody fight.
I'm using the term werewolves loosely, as the creatures are werewolf-like not necessarily werewolves.
A dog man is a werewolf-like creature that has supernatural abilities. They're at least as strong and fast as a cinematic Yautja. Their abilities at best that I know of are listed here.
The Predator Arrives
Time 4:50 PM
In the dark depths of a forest, a yautja notices that its eerily quiet. The wind has stopped moving, and the birds have stopped chirping. Suddenly, a feeling of being watched overcomes the predator, so he cloaks himself and scans the area. He's unable to find the creature that is watching him.
He jumps to the treetops to gain a tactical position and so he scans again. Nothing... Then suddenly, a deer is hurled 30 feet out of the woods landing right in front of the tree, the predator is hiding. The yautja knows it's no coincidence and is being watched by something that can hide just as well as he can.
The yautja has been on some very dangerous hunts before, so he's not too spooked. But the immense strength surprises him it is for a creature from Earth to be able to toss a 90-pound carcass 30 feet like it was a rag doll.
Then the noises started happening, the shuffling and crunching of leaves and the sounds of snapping tree limbs alarms the predator even more. He can tell these aren't twigs but whole damn tree limbs with credible thickness are snapping.
What surprises even more is that these creatures are so observant they can time with such accuracy to snap a tree limb without being seen by the yautja. Okay, now the yautja's impressed as he's intelligent enough to realize what's going on.
He's being toyed with and enjoys the game, so he jumps tree to tree to try to find a non-compromised position. He then scans in every spectrum he can to find the creature. He then finds one standing upright and its just pure muscle. With canine features and thick black fur. His chest is at least five feet wide and he's jacked!
He takes aim with his plasma cannon and fires, but the creature dodges the attack and just vanishes. and then rocks are hurled at his position and he gets whacked in the knee. Now, these creatures are pretty damn strong so getting hit by a rock hurled by this creature is probably gonna be quite painful for a predator.
So, the predator lets out a roar to signal his pain and falls out of the tree but he lands safely. Luckily there was no serious damage to the predator, so he can continue the hunt. The yautja retreats to formulate a plan, as he realizes this is a far dangerous threat than humans, possibly a greater threat than an alien hunt.
He's remembered all the noises that surrounded him when he was in that tree, and realizes there must be multiple creatures, a pack of some sorts. So he's analyzing the terrain for perfect ambushes and setting up traps but these creatures aren't stupid.
He's being watched by one of them and he telepathically communicates with the pack that this creature whatever it is, is setting up traps. So now, this hunt just got extremely complicated for the predator.
Part Two
Time 1:30 AM
That's it the dog men are entertained by the challenge, so being supernatural creatures the predator doesn't know how dangerous of a hunt he's in. So he's gonna be in for a real shock.
One of the creatures fell into a trap that was cleverly hidden. A roar so loud was let out that it resonated through the Yautja's chest. His ears started ringing and the predator started becoming disoriented. The creature that fell victim to the trap used infra sound as a defensive mechanism.
The predator falls to the ground, and begins vomiting in his mask. He can barely stand up as his entire body is like jello. The sound is so powerful it has put him in a dangerous situation. If the pack really wanted him dead, they can jump in right now for the kill and its over. But no, the pack wants to play along.
After the pack rushed over to free their friend, they decided to prolong the torture and emit infra sound so the Predator can't get up to attack them.
Fifteen minutes of torture, after the sound stopped the predator stumbles like a drunkard he struggles to turn on his cloak. The yautja is filled with dread as he's just painfully trying turning on his cloak, and after several times he was able to do it.
He runs over to retreat but he keeps falling over like a drunkard, he realizes he is extremely sick and has to rest. He has no choice but to hope the creatures don't attack him while he's recovering from the attack.
After about an hour, the Yautja is weakened but able to recover enough strength to not walk like he's drunk. He decides he needs to find a spot where he can rest a little bit longer up in the tree-line where it's safer. He rests through the night safely. The next morning he's fully recovered.
Part Three
Time 8:30 AM
The predator knows he got his ass kicked, and he's lucky the pack didn't go in for the kill. It baffles him why they didn't kill him right then and there.
Anyway, he realizes he must keep distance from the creatures until he can formulate a better plan to finish the hunt. Otherwise, he'll get killed the next time. At least he was able to injure one of the creatures that fell for the trap. He knows he can't fight the pack head on, otherwise he'll get killed.
Days go by without an incident, and the predator just waiting for them to return. Another pack that didn't know what happened crosses over, and the predator was able to sneak up one of them.
He's hunted aliens with super senses before, but unbeknownst to the yautja these creatures have the ability to read minds and they're telepathic. A deep demonic voice enters the Yautja's mind, "You can try motherfucka!".
This startles the Yautja and then the same dread he felt before returns, time slows down as the wolf creature turns around with his fangs showing. This thing is fast! The creature lunges his teeth into the predators shoulder.
The yautja uses his wrist blade, but this thing just won't stop despite the significant damage its taking. The dog man increases the intensity of his bite and tears huge chunks of the predator's flesh.
The wolf creature begins wrestling for the wrist blades, in doing so one of the predator's wrists are broken and the other was sprained.
The yautja knows that for him to break free he has to push through the pain. And try his best to slice off one of the arms of the creatures. In a long struggle he was able to slice off one of the arms. Then suddenly the wolf creature vanished into thin air. It's apparent, the predator knows this is the toughest hunt he's ever been in and these creatures are vastly superior when they're at their best.
But the yautja took a very bad beating and knows he can't take one of these things down in a hand to hand fight without incurring significant injury.
The predator knows despite having 100s of years of experience, he's just outclassed by the supernatural abilities of the creatures. He can only hunt them if has a pack of yautjas.

Just a warning, this maybe a bit disorganized and or have poor grammar at times.
Hello everyone, I'm at a bit of a bad place right now and I've been looking for information / support / acknowledgement that this exists from strangers. I don't really know what good it will do me, but I hope by getting myself out there it can help my mental health a bit.
Bit of a back story. I'm 36 now and I've had anxiety all my life. It started when I was 9 and I chocked on a tortilla from taco johns. From there I remember infrequent times where I was hungry I would shake uncontrollably. I didnt always have the best food options growing up but I learned to live with it. As an adult I would have panic attacks if I went to long without eating. The symptoms were essentially copy and pasted what hypoglycemia would look like. However my blood sugar during these times was fine.
I've been on lexapro for about a decade now and my anxiety was under control with the trigger listed above as the only thing I had to actively manage. With needing to eat to avoid panic attacks, you can imagine it was hard to control my weight.
Cue last september, I had a burning sensation when taking a pee. Turns out I was passing sugar in my urine. It's type 2 diabetes time! I immediately took control the best I could with dietary changes. I lost about 25 lbs in a few months on my own adding victoza about 6 weeks after my diagnosis. I had wanted ozempic as many of my friends were on it. I was also scared of metformin because of its rare interaction with alcohol.
Late january we had a shortage of victoza here. At the same time I conveniently got a letter in the mail that my insurance would now cover ozempic. I had been stable and doing quite well. My weight had plateaued but my blood sugar was under control. Now it's time to restart the process but hopefully lose more weight! Around 2/23 I started my first dose of ozempic.
April 10th was my first episode. officially I was diagnosed with fainting. I was sleeping in bed and I woke up and something felt off. I was overwhelmed with panic and rushed out and immediately fainted. I went to the ER and after a battery of tests nothing was found to be wrong with me.
May 1st it happened again. This time my primary started my on buspar to help with the anxiety. I had high hopes that this was just my anxiety and this would fix it. It lasted all of 2 weeks.
May 15th was just a few days ago now. I've had some normal and some not so normal days between my last 2 dr visits but something broke for me this morning. I was looking at something and had a feeling of nostalgia and it triggered a panic attack. I was stuck in that moment and everything I did to look forwards felt hopeless. I woke my wife and tried to have her help calm me down. After talking to her I was feeling numb and felt like doing things to feel again. I wanted to hit the walls, bite myself, or anything to feel real. Thats when I decided to go in again, these thoughts were not my own.
In the ER they have me ativan which calmed me down. I made an appointment with my primary and saw her that afternoon. We agreed to stop the buspar and the ozempic as well. We feel as if the ozempic nausea is triggering my anxiety and the buspar seems to have exasperated it rather than help. It's been 8 days since my last shot of ozempic. I'm taking hydroxyzine for the anxiety episodes. It helps but makes me sleepy. Last night I had nightmares and when I woke up i couldnt stay awake long enough to get away from them due to the sedative effect. I think I'll try and ride out the day without them.
For now I'm trying to take it a minute at a time, an hour at a time, a day at a time. Each time I have a slight bit of nausea its sugar coated with anxiety. We are hoping that once the ozempic leaves my body ill return to how I was before and able to manage my anxiety.
If youve made it this far thanks for reading. There is no tldr if you skipped to get here.

Just a warning, this maybe a bit disorganized and or have poor grammar at times.
Hello everyone, I'm at a bit of a bad place right now and I've been looking for information / support / acknowledgement that this exists from strangers. I don't really know what good it will do me, but I hope by getting myself out there it can help my mental health a bit.
Bit of a back story. I'm 36 now and I've had anxiety all my life. It started when I was 9 and I chocked on a tortilla from taco johns. From there I remember infrequent times where I was hungry I would shake uncontrollably. I didnt always have the best food options growing up but I learned to live with it. As an adult I would have panic attacks if I went to long without eating. The symptoms were essentially copy and pasted what hypoglycemia would look like. However my blood sugar during these times was fine.
I've been on lexapro for about a decade now and my anxiety was under control with the trigger listed above as the only thing I had to actively manage. With needing to eat to avoid panic attacks, you can imagine it was hard to control my weight.
Cue last september, I had a burning sensation when taking a pee. Turns out I was passing sugar in my urine. It's type 2 diabetes time! I immediately took control the best I could with dietary changes. I lost about 25 lbs in a few months on my own adding victoza about 6 weeks after my diagnosis. I had wanted ozempic as many of my friends were on it. I was also scared of metformin because of its rare interaction with alcohol.
Late january we had a shortage of victoza here. At the same time I conveniently got a letter in the mail that my insurance would now cover ozempic. I had been stable and doing quite well. My weight had plateaued but my blood sugar was under control. Now it's time to restart the process but hopefully lose more weight! Around 2/23 I started my first dose of ozempic.
April 10th was my first episode. officially I was diagnosed with fainting. I was sleeping in bed and I woke up and something felt off. I was overwhelmed with panic and rushed out and immediately fainted. I went to the ER and after a battery of tests nothing was found to be wrong with me.
May 1st it happened again. This time my primary started my on buspar to help with the anxiety. I had high hopes that this was just my anxiety and this would fix it. It lasted all of 2 weeks.
May 15th was just a few days ago now. I've had some normal and some not so normal days between my last 2 dr visits but something broke for me this morning. I was looking at something and had a feeling of nostalgia and it triggered a panic attack. I was stuck in that moment and everything I did to look forwards felt hopeless. I woke my wife and tried to have her help calm me down. After talking to her I was feeling numb and felt like doing things to feel again. I wanted to hit the walls, bite myself, or anything to feel real. Thats when I decided to go in again, these thoughts were not my own.
In the ER they have me ativan which calmed me down. I made an appointment with my primary and saw her that afternoon. We agreed to stop the buspar and the ozempic as well. We feel as if the ozempic nausea is triggering my anxiety and the buspar seems to have exasperated it rather than help. It's been 8 days since my last shot of ozempic. I'm taking hydroxyzine for the anxiety episodes. It helps but makes me sleepy. Last night I had nightmares and when I woke up i couldnt stay awake long enough to get away from them due to the sedative effect. I think I'll try and ride out the day without them.
For now I'm trying to take it a minute at a time, an hour at a time, a day at a time. Each time I have a slight bit of nausea its sugar coated with anxiety. We are hoping that once the ozempic leaves my body ill return to how I was before and able to manage my anxiety.
If youve made it this far thanks for reading. There is no tldr if you skipped to get here.