Buddy l trucks

Back in 2016, I was working at a roadside diner west of St. Cloud, Minnesota. Neat little place, had a bit of a 60’s vibe to it, but without the hairdo. On the slow hours of the day, or whenever we just had locals around, I’d be humming along with the chefs playing radio out of the kitchen. It wasn’t an exciting time, but it was nice to have a workplace that felt like a second home.
A couple of weekends a month, we had an all-night crew to serve passing truckers. You usually never had to do more than one shift though, and we got to make own schedules. Our boss was pretty hands-off. It was during one of those shifts, at the first week of early summer, that my life took a turn for the worse – and I didn’t even realize it.

We were used to having the occasional odd customer during those hours of the day. When this guy walked in, I didn’t know what to think. He was about 6’2, bald, and pale as chalk. He wore this worn-out t-shirt that looked like it’d been on fire. With every step, he dragged his feet, and collapsed in one of our booths, seemingly exhausted.
I looked back at the chef, and he just shrugged. Guy wasn’t hurting anyone, but he didn’t look like he was all there. But a job’s a job, so I went up to him.
“You alright there?” I asked.
He looked up at me like I was speaking a foreign language, then sunk his head back down, gently shaking it.
“Nah,” he said. “I, uh… I don’t think I am.”
He had this voice on the knife’s edge between a hysterical laugh and a howling cry. He was trembling.
“You need me to call someone?”
“Call?”
“Yeah, call someone.”
“How?”

I didn’t understand the question. I figured he was coming down from some kind of binge, and I wasn’t about to take any chances. I asked the chef to get me a side of bacon to keep the guy calm while I called the police.
As I slid the plate over to him, he sunk his face into his hands, sobbing.
“T-thank you,” he cried. “I-I’m… please…”
I sat down across from him, instinctively reaching out to grab his hand. He let me. Even at a light touch, I could feel the scars on his palm and fingertips. Whatever’d happened to him, it must’ve been awful.
“I can’t go back,” he sniffled. “Don’t make me go back. I can’t. Please, I can’t.”
“You’re not going anywhere. It’s okay,” I smiled. “You’re safe here.”
“Can you help me?” he asked. “Can you keep him out?”
“I’m sure we can figure it out,” I nodded. “Just eat up. It’s okay.”

His fingers trembled as he tentatively bit off a piece of bacon. His teeth were black, and he flinched.
“I need time,” he said. “I need time to run.”
“Don’t worry,” I assured him. “We’ve called for help.”
“I just… I just need time.”
We just sat there for a while. He calmed his breathing but kept staring out the window. I could tell he was looking for something – or someone. All I could see was a road and a handful of moths. We sat there for some time, in silence, as he carefully nibbled on the slices of maple bacon.
As two police officers entered the diner, he got up from his seat. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bundle of scrunched-up trash. A couple of singles, a plastic card, dirt, and something resembling animal bones. He tried to straighten out the bills, pushing them into my hands along with the laminated card.
“Just… I need time. I’ll come back. Please.”
I didn’t understand. I just nodded and accepted it. Seconds later, the officers asked him to step outside and explain the situation. I got busy taking orders from a couple of passing truckers, watching glimpses of the scene through the window. A couple of minutes later, the strange man was taken away.

My shift ended at sunrise. I dragged myself to my car with a yawn, shuffling around my pockets for the keys. I hadn’t thought much about the items he’d handed me, but I took a closer look. I’d thrown away the animal bones and dirt, but there were a couple of dollar bills and that laminated card left. I checked the card first.
It looked like some kind of bookmark. On one side it was completely white, and on the other side there were dried blue flower petals arranged in a spiral. Kinda reminded me of a sunflower. And finally, there were the dollar bills.
I didn’t pay much attention to these at first. Just a couple of singles. But after a closer look, I noticed something unusual. There was a man on the bill that I didn’t recognize. It took me a couple of google searches to realize that this man was Walter Mondale – the man who’d lost to Ronald Reagan’s second run for president back in ’84. Why was this man on a one-dollar bill?

Before heading to bed, I put the items down on my nightstand. In a moment of silent wonder, I looked out the window. What had that man been looking for? What’d he been running from?
There was nothing out there.
Just a couple of moths.

Waking up the next morning, I had a full day off. I spent it cleaning my apartment, watching movies, having dinner with a couple of friends, and ending the night with a couple of drinks at the pub down on the corner. No binge or anything, just got a bit boozy. I was still gonna be in bed by midnight.
I took the scenic route home; a long walk. All the way down main street, past the lake. I took a shortcut through the park by the final stretch, speeding up a bit. That place was trouble.
As I hurried by the fountain, I spotted someone in the distance. A shrouded figure at the edge of the streetlights. I stopped to observe for a second, but as I did, the lights flickered. Coming back on, the figure was gone.
I chalked it up to imagination. I was a bit drunk, after all. Besides – it was small, like a child. What the hell would a kid be doing out at this hour?

A couple of days passed. I didn’t notice anything unusual, but I kept coming back to that distressing feeling of missing something important. Looking back at it now, I just feel dumb. He was there all along. Outside the supermarket. In the parking lot. Off the highway. Hell, he was outside my window at night sometimes, but just too short for me to spot.
I’m getting ahead of myself.
It wasn’t until one morning when I was driving to work that I got a clear view of him. I was crossing a four-way street, taking a sharp left turn, when I had to throw myself on the breaks. There was a kid in the middle of the street.
I hadn’t seen him that clearly before. He was probably around 6, maybe 7 years old. Wearing a plain black shirt and a pair of light blue canvas pants. Short black hair, dark eyes, and no shoes. That particular detail stuck with me. No shoes? Why?
I almost lost control, but I was lucky. There wasn’t much traffic, and I managed to stop further down the road. There were black lines in the pavement from my screeching tires swerving back and forth. Regaining my composure, I looked in the rear-view mirror.
The kid was gone.

But that was just the start.
I’d spot him every now and then. Looking out the window at work. At the gas station. A passing face in the crowd when shopping for groceries. Every now and then, something would pull on my attention, forcing me to whip my head around, looking for the source of that ill feeling crawling up my spine. Sometimes I saw him. And even worse – sometimes I didn’t.
I remember lying awake at night, hearing moths tap against my window. There was nothing else. Nothing outside. I patrolled my apartment six times, checking every window. I’d looked everywhere, and there was no reason for me to feel the way I did. I was growing paranoid.
And yet, in the morning, my front door was unlocked, and slightly open.

It all came to a head one afternoon when I was out on my smoke break. I’d barely slept for the past three nights, and you could kinda tell I was having a bad day. As I stood there, leaning against the side door of the diner, I see the kid again. This time just across the road, maybe 50 feet or so away. I’d had enough. This had to end.
I was furious. I stormed forward, calling him out with every slur and curse I could think of. I was psyching myself up. I was in the right, and I refused to be harassed anymore – kid or not. Didn’t matter. I crossed the road, barely dodging a speeding jeep, and met him face-to-face.
“What the hell do you want?!” I’d yell. “Why are you following me?!”
He was completely expressionless. He didn’t even flinch, no matter how much I pointed or screamed. I snapped my fingers in front of his eyes, and he didn’t even blink. He just stared at me, like a porcelain doll head on a swivel.

I wasn’t thinking about the bystanders though. A couple of middle-aged men stepped up, asking in no kind terms what the hell was wrong with me. I was held back and restrained. Someone called the police. Someone else called my manager – I’d forgotten to take off my apron, so they could see the diner logo. A couple of people filmed it. One of the videos got like 120k views in a day before it fell off the map. I still see it as a react gif sometimes.
It was a disaster. After a couple of officers came by to talk to me, he’d just disappeared into thin air. The officers took me down to the station – not to detain me, but to get me away from the heated crowd. That car ride downtown sobered me up to what the hell was going on. I was being stalked by this kid, but there wasn’t a living soul out there that would believe me.
Well, maybe one.
Maybe.

I was asked a couple of questions and released within about half an hour. They told me to go home and sleep this whole thing off. That wouldn’t be a problem. I didn’t have a job to go back to anyway, according to the (many) texts I’d gotten. I had all the goddamn time in the world.
I was just about to leave when something came to mind. The two officers who’d picked me up were still waiting by their car when I turned back to them.
“Sorry, you picked up the guy I called in about at the diner, right?” I asked.
“Sure did.”
“You got any idea what happened to him?”
The two looked at one another for a moment, shrugged, and turned to me.
“Didn’t have any ID and gave a fake name. I think they took him to psych.”
“Psych?”
“Well, he was saying some, uh… strange things. There were interviews with a, uh…”
The two quieted down and flashed me a smile.
“There’s not that much we can say.”

Coming home, I decided to get to the root of this. It didn’t take me that long to find the place where the guy’d been taken; there aren’t a lot of mental health facilities in this part of the country. Especially facilities that accept involuntary subjects.
But my eyes kept drifting back to the strange dollar bills he’d given me, resting neatly on my nightstand. They were so detailed. A bit old, sure, but that only made them seem more genuine. What the hell was he doing with a handful of clearly fake dollar bills? Like, what’s the purpose? There had to be a purpose.
That unnerved me.

I managed to arrange a meeting. It wasn’t easy, and I think a lot of it boiled down to the police having no idea what could make this guy talk. For some reason, he kept providing them with false information. Maybe a familiar face, for one reason or another, might make him talk.
Just a couple of days later, I was putting my items in a metal bowl on the second floor at a mental health institute in the next town over. I asked one of the nurses if I could keep one of my dollar bills. Apparently, that was okay.
I was shuffled through a couple of locked doors and escorted to an off-white side-room. No décor, no locks. The guy was already there.

He’d been dressed down into these neutral eggshell-white garbs. It was strange seeing him in a lit-up room like this. I didn’t know what to expect.
Getting a closer look at him, he was probably in his 50’s. It’d been hard to tell earlier. I couldn’t get over just how pale he was; it was almost a complete lack of pigment. It looked sickly. His thin arms didn’t help – he looked malnourished. And yet, he was smiling.
“Hello,” he said.
“Hello to you too,” I smiled. “You doing okay?”
“I’m… I’m pretty good,” he nodded. “Thank you.”
I sat down across from him and took out the dollar bill he’d given me.
“I wanted to ask you about this.”
“For the bacon,” he said, matter-of-factly.
“Excuse me?”
“Sorry, was that not enough?”
“No, it’s…”
I took a moment to compose myself. I had too many questions.

He sighed, took the bill, and looked it over. Looking back at me, I could tell there was something painful stirring in his mind. His smile slowly faded.
“Sorry,” he said. “I try to forget sometimes. It’s easier than making sense of it.”
“Let’s start with something simple,” I nodded. “Like… your name. Where you’re from.”
“Those things are pretty far from simple.”
He was looking straight through me; his eyes sinking back to deeper, more uncomfortable thoughts.

His name was Samuel, and he was born around these parts in back in the 1970’s. He’d worked as a telecommunications specialist out of St. Cloud back in the 90's. He had a wife, three children, and a four-bedroom house.
“But it… that was all before, see?” he explained. “Then it all just…”
“Just what?” I asked. “What happened?”
He looked at me, opening and closing his mouth, looking for the right words to come out. Nothing happened. He shook his head, trying again.
“It started with the street preachers,” he said. “Hundreds of them, marching on every city. All saying the same doomsday shit as always. World was dying. All coming to an end.”
“I haven’t seen anything like that.”
“Then there were storms,” he continued without skipping a beat. “Some would last for weeks. Others longer. Entire cities would be flooded or torn apart. Earthquakes causing monster waves along the east coast, sending shockwaves all the way to mainland Europe. Then, Yellowstone.”
“Yellowstone?”
“Yeah,” he nodded. “Lights out.”

Samuel was painting this apocalyptic vision of a world undone. Catastrophe after catastrophe. Hooded people marching the streets, screaming for the mercy of a mad god. But there was more to it.
“Then things stopped making sense. It’s as if the rules changed,” he continued. “Roads would stop leading home. Trees would change color. People turned twisted and corrupted. Like… one of our neighbors couldn’t eat anything but gunpowder. There was a woman just down the street who tried to kill anyone wearing glasses. It was… pandemonium.”
I didn’t say anything. What he was saying didn’t make any sense, but he was trying his best to keep his rambling coherent.
“The plants died. Trees too. The only thing that could grow in that environment were these twisted blue things that popped up out of nowhere. But people… people are what got twisted the most.”
He told me of these towering 7-foot-tall humanoid creatures that roamed the forests. Black as night – not even reflecting light. Arms reaching all the way to their knees. Elongated, inhuman things that all used to be someone he knew.

“The doomsayers all said the same thing,” he continued. “That God was a scared little boy, and that he was dying. Everything that was happening was just an expression of that ceaseless, bottomless, existential grief.”
Samuel looked back and forth, finally burying his face in his hands.
“It all broke down. Roads stopped leading anywhere. No power. No water. Julie changed. Ollie changed. Tobie made himself a mask and wandered off into the woods. Ira just… disappeared. And for… years? Has it been years? It’s just been me.”
“But you’re here, now,” I said. “And what you’re describing, it… it didn’t happen.”
“It happened,” he insisted. “Just not… here. But here.”
He tapped his finger on the single dollar bill.
“Somewhere, somehow, I must’ve taken a wrong turn. I slipped through something broken, and now I’m here. And… and he’s coming to bring me back. He doesn’t want anyone to leave.”
“Who?”
“Just! Just…” he chuckled. “Just a sad little boy who’s been told he’s going to die.”
I didn’t know what to say. I just sat with him for a while, holding his hand.

Before I left, Samuel got up from his chair. He looked at me, forcing himself to smile.
“If I go back, I’ll try not to… to be like them. I’ll try. And… and I’ll be the one to say something.”
He let out a painful little laugh, shaking his head.
“Maybe just a… hello.”

I left that day with more questions than answers. I couldn’t picture the world he’d lived through. Then again, how could it be true? None of it had happened. But what was he gaining from lying about it?
That was the last time I saw Samuel. A few days later, he went missing, as if he’d disappeared into thin air. I didn’t know what to think of it. There was nothing on the cameras – no one entering or leaving the building. No quick escapes, no clever plans. He’d just walked into his room and disappeared. Nothing left but a couple of moths fluttering about.
And for a while, that was it. That was the end of the story. I got busy looking for a new job, and all the little items given to me by Samuel was put away into a little box in my glove compartment. Life soldiered on, and no matter how many questions I had, there was no one around to answer them. Even the strange kid that’d been following me was, seemingly, gone.

A couple of months later, I was driving home from a friend’s place. I stopped at a four-way street, waiting for a couple of trucks to pass, when there was a knock on the passenger side window. I almost choked on my own spit. Scared me half to death.
Looking out, I could see that kid again. I hadn’t seen him for some time, and I quickly bounced between curiosity and downright anger.
“What do you want?” I yelled out.
There was no response. Instead, the door just opened. It’d been locked. As he opened the door, he pointed to the glove box.
“You want his things?” I asked. “Is that it?”
He nodded. I wanted to lash out, but there was something telling me I shouldn’t. Instead, I reached over, opened the glove compartment, and pointed to the box.
“Just take it and leave me alone,” I said. “Get it over with.”

He reached in and grabbed the box. So much effort for a couple of mementos. I turned my head back to face the road. The kid backed out. But of course, I had to get the last word in.
“Not even a thank you, huh?”
That made him pause. He looked at me, tilting his head. As he opened his mouth to speak, a moth fluttered out. Then another. And another.
Then – darkness.

What happened next is hard to describe. My memory of it is fragmented. It’s like trying to watch a buffering video, where long stretches of it are just nothing – but you know something was supposed to happen in-between.
Blink. I was sitting in my car. There was a dark blue sky. No clouds, no stars. Figures in the distance. An open field with blue flowers bending to a howling wind. A powerful stench of ammonia stinging my nostrils. Something to my immediate left, ripping the car door straight off the hinges.
Blink. Running. Ruins of a town. It seemed familiar, but there was barely anything left. My leg was bleeding. I was being followed. No matter where I turned, or where I ran, I seemed to end up at the same intersection.
Blink. A three-story building, brimming with life. Glimpses of arm-long antennae through the broken windows. Clickety-clack of bursting wings tapping against crumbling concrete. A loud warning shriek as something rubs its legs together; a call for prey.
Blink. Hiding in a tipped-over trash container. The rain has stopped in mid-air. Raindrops held in indefinite suspension. I suck water drops out of the air to quench my thirst. My hands are shaking from the blood loss.

Countless little images. Some in order, some not. I have no idea how much time passed. In the moment, it must’ve been much longer than I can remember. Days. Weeks, even. There’s no way to tell.
Blink. Walking through a barren field. It feels like walking through a dead forest, but there are no trees. Only those willingly impaled and wailing.
Blink. An abandoned booth by a broken highway. A sign offers phone calls, in exchange for “real teeth”. There are six sizes of pliers hanging on a wall within. All are bloodied – even the small ones.
Blink. The church that had burned down the night before had reappeared. The people inside, too. They couldn’t leave. Tonight, they would burn again.

Somewhere in this nightmarish puzzle-pieced fragment of nothing, there was a constant drive in me to get away. To get out. I knew that if I’d gotten there, I could get back home again. I just had no idea how. Maybe finding the kid. Asking. Begging. Something.
The last fragment of memory from that space was being cornered in a cellar. They were banging on the door. I’d tipped over a wardrobe to keep them out, but they weren’t going to stop. They were never going to stop. I couldn’t let them kill me again – not like that.
One of the Changed ones were coming. I don’t know what that means, or how I know the name, but I knew of it. There was a mirror, and I could see the signs. It stepped out. Seven feet tall, black as night. Elongated arms and neck. Barely a body at all – just a void space vaguely shaped like the remnants of a person.
Except this one felt… familiar. It was the first one to speak.
“H E L L O.”

Blink. Running. A cold hand. If I squeezed too hard, my fingers went straight through it. I had to keep up. He was showing me something.
Blink. They were flooding over the school bus, tipping it by their sheer numbers. Eruptions from the sewer grates. They were famished.
Blink. An open field. Sunflowers facing me, no matter where I turn. It’s not far.
Blink. I look back, as I’m pushed over the edge. He looks just like the rest of them. They aren’t angered by his betrayal.
They feel nothing, as I fall.

In February of 2017, I was found by the side of the road. I’d been gone for months. My car was too. I came back with nothing but the clothes on my back and countless scars. I’ve been told that I didn’t make any sense at first; I was just rambling nonsense. Or maybe it just sounded like nonsense to these people.
Over time, I forgot more and more of these fragmented images. And the less I remember, the more I can move on. Still, I’ve written them down over time, and they paint an ugly, insane picture of what I’d been going through. Some of which I, myself, have a hard time believing. Then again, I know myself well enough to see that there’s no point in lying.

I haven’t seen Samuel, or that strange kid ever since. I think this is all over, for now. There’s nothing left for me to give.
But even now, years later, I still wake up to that feeling at night. That there’s something wrong, or that I’m forgetting something. That there’s something near that I’m looking straight through, or past.
And every now and then, I hear the flutter of a moth’s wing, tapping against my bedroom window.
And I think I know what it wants.
It wants me to go back.

Scott Masterson had first met Scarlett at a rooftop party in downtown Dallas. Their age and the time of year were both in late springtime, them in their mid twenties and the date in early May. He had on a sharp yet breezy blazer and she astonished in a thigh length sleeveless blue dress.
“Oh hey Scott I don’t believe you two have met…” his then happily married friend had remarked with a slow swinging open hand toward her.
“Scott Masterson…reluctant friend to this knucklehead” he said with a tight lipped grin, trying not to be so obvious with his instant rapture.
“Scarlett…a pleasure…”
Her hand was so delicate to Scott’s touch. They locked eyes. It was like looking back through centuries of connection, endless days of laying in the sun next to the Seine River, or rising to Hollywood fame in the 1940’s and only having each other who would understand the glory and the pain of it all, or generations of quiet, simple country love that would bear such beautiful, happy children that would go on to raise beautiful, happy children, all with their dark blue eyes. Yes, the memories of every love story since the beginning of time was swirling right there in Scarlett’s irises. Scott had to catch himself before he stared embarrassingly too long.
“Sorry Scottie here doesn’t get out often” his friend quipped, which Scott appreciated actually, it helped him snap back to professionalism.
“Well I don’t either…at least I prefer not to.” Scarlett’s words flowed through the air like a flock of rose petals.
“Hey, kindred spirits.” Scott was really sensing a rising energy out of her, they had barely broken eye contact.
“Well, I’ll let you two have at it, I got a wife around here somewhere. Hey…Scott and Scarlett…not bad, not bad.” His friend exited stage right with a sly chuckle.
“Nice guy…so…what are you drinking, Scarlett?” Scott looked around for the emptiest corner of the rooftop bar, hoping to find a nice place for them to be able to hear each other. This night had just become something.
“That depends, Scott…what do you like?”
Oh man.
Well, as you can expect, the evening blossomed into a beautiful, long winded conversation that etched a long list of similarities between the two. They both lived in the city, had never married, and had dreamed of stable, simpler lives far away from tall buildings and busy streets. The next morning Scott awoke in her arms, which warmed much deeper than just his skin. He could feel her soothing his very identity, his future, everything. Her arms were tailor made to fit his very soul, and he had never felt more safe and at home.
“Mmm…you can stay right here…” she whispered, eyes still closed.
“I will…I will”
They both fell back asleep, into a dream that wouldn’t end upon waking.
Two years passed and suddenly they lived that simple backwoods life, way out where acres of land far out-populated the few and far between people. They took a lovely home, which happily looked over a long backyard, right up to a lively yet mostly undisturbed river. Their only neighbor within a mile was an older ranch worker named Charles, who rarely made himself perceivable. Days were spent way on into town where they both had offices. They didn’t mind the commute. Nights were spent mostly like this night, cuddled outside near a lovely little fire, with a slowly shrinking amount of wine sitting between them. Enjoying their Kingdom. Tonight, however, would prove to be a special night, for many reasons, all unexpected.
“Honey, I’ve been thinking…” Scott began, sitting up and opening his hands to the warmth of the fire.
“Oh?” Scarlett also sat up, eyes widening.
“So look, Scarlett, the last two years have been the best of my life. An absolute dream…”
She held her breath, her focus darting between his eyes and mouth.
“Yeah?”
“We have everything we ever want out here. But…what if there’s more?”
“More?” She had envisioned this very conversation hundreds of times.
“Our dreams have come true, but what if we…made some new dreams?” Scott turned and embedded his eyes into hers. He burst into a big smile.
“Scott…I thought…”
“Nevermind what I said” he cut her off, which he always made a point to never do, but this was a good exception.
“I’m ready, Scarlett…let’s have a family.”
“Ohhhh Scott, oh Scott”
They hugged tight enough to where it hurt.
“Well, in that case, we may need to open another bottle.” She said playfully, bouncing her eyebrows twice.
“Excellent. I’ll be right up. I’ll put this fire out and then start yours up.”
“Oh stop!” She bounded away girlishly, up the snowy back steps and into the house.
Scott let out a big sigh that he could see in the cold air and sat back in his chair, taking in his decision. He really was ready. He had secretly been keeping a long list of names that he liked and that he thought would work in front of Masterson. Especially little girl names. He stared into the campfire flames, getting lost imagining the three of them sitting right here, a little girl resting securely in Scarlett’s arms, as Scott had found himself, and stayed within these past two years.
Suddenly his trance was broken when, from the road in front of their house, came the sound of a vehicle approaching at high speed. Scott snapped his head back toward the house to get a better listen. He could see, around the house and through the trees, a large truck barreling down the country road, its headlights racing and bouncing with intensity. In an instant, it had passed up the road and out of sight.
“Huh?”
Soon, after a moment of silence, another sound echoed into the night. This sound rattled Scott to the bone and tore all that was right in his world into pieces. A sharp, bellowing squeal. His eyes shot over to his neighbors house, which was about a tenth of a mile to his right but still had a couple dim lights on that he could see. The shriek seemed to come from there.
Then, more squeals. It was hellish. More than animal but not quite human. Scott stood up. He heard crashing and tearing and further destruction coming from Charles’ house.
“Scarlett!! Scarlett!” He yelled toward his house, where he looked and could see her silhouette behind the curtains at the kitchen window. She didn’t seem to hear him.
He turned back toward his neighbors. The chaos had gone quiet. Not a half a moment after, though, he heard something big barreling through the trees as fast as that truck had been sprinting. Running, running furiously between the two houses. Searching, hunting. Scott was taken aback so hard that his heel had caught the edge of the fire pit, throwing him down only inches away from severe burns. He had knocked his head in the whiplash, making him groan and take a moment to regain his bearings.
“SCARLETT!!!!”
He screamed out toward his home as he sat up, rubbing a quickly rising bump on the back of his head. He heard a loud breaching on the side of his house. The patio door. No. No. Then, all hell broke loose. Scarlett started wailing and crying and he could hear crashes of plates and glasses and deep guttural roars coming from the kitchen inside. Shadows danced in a frenzy from the curtained windows. Sounds of instinctual survival seemed to be thrown from Scarlett inside. Sounds of defeat. Sounds of agony. Sounds of insanity. Scott sprang to his feet, his equilibrium being more damaged than he realized after his fall. He had to catch his hand on a chair to stabilize himself. Scarlett’s symphony of pain had gone quiet. Soon after something burst back out the patio door again and off in the same direction as that truck before.
Scott struggled back up to the house, slowly climbing the wintered, crunching stairs that led to the patio. He no longer yelled for Scarlett. In fact, the only thing that came to his senses was the sound of his own heavy breathing. Everything else had been turned off, save for a heavy and sudden dread that he had prayed he would never feel. He came to the side of his house where indeed the patio door had been busted and forced open. It laid inside the kitchen, its hinges snapped like toothpicks. Scott, with eyes wide and twitching, slowly entered his home and looked into the kitchen.
He didn’t scream. He didn’t even change his breathing. He didn’t blink. He just got a good long look at what laid before him.
Everything was broken. The fridge was on its side, the door hanging open and food and drink scattered all over the floor. The table was upended, its legs to the ceiling. A chair was resting on the counter, possibly having been thrown in defense. And Scarlett. Oh Scarlett. She…was…everywhere. She was all over the floor. She was sprayed against the walls. She was stuck to the window. She was in the sink.
Scott gently walked through the carnal mess and sabotage of his world. Long ago he had known exactly what he would do if something anywhere near this bad were to happen to him. He politely stumbled through the kitchen, down the hall, and into the bedroom. He opened his closet door and lowered a fire safe from the top rack. He unlocked it with a passcode. 511, after that warm May date when he had first met Scarlett. In the safe was a Sig Sauer P320 handgun. Scott took it out, along with a box of bullets, loaded one into the gun, put the safe back on its rack, and walked out of the closet, sitting on his bed. Their bed. Where they should’ve been laying right at this very moment, working toward a happy future. Where he would’ve kissed her forehead and put a hand on her growing midsection. Where they would have awoken on Christmas morning to the sound of children who were way too excited to remain asleep. Where they would’ve grown old. Where they would’ve smiled at each other through wrinkles, satisfied with all the love they shared and passed on to the next generations. Where they would’ve held each other in deep peace as they finally fell asleep to this world.
“I will…I will”
In one quick motion Scott pulled back the hammer and stuck the barrel of that pistol right up against his Governor and blew himself away, far away, right back into Scarlett’s loving arms.
Jeremy “Smallmouth” Bassett quickly yet stealthily made his way back to his Uncle’s house. He hugged the sides of the dark country road, keeping his eyes and ears wide open as to notice any sounds pertaining to the event that he had just witnessed there in the field next to the huge blaze. His only thought was Uncle Chuck. His house was right on the warpath of that horrible thing and Smallmouth had to go to him and make sure he was safe. He dared not go back to his truck, which would bring a lot of unwanted attention. No, Smallmouth walked and walked and finally saw the lights of his Uncle’s house. He carefully approached the front door from the shadowed driveway. Suddenly it occurred to Smallmouth that something was very wrong here. The door was busted in, having been plowed through by something very large and very strong.
“No…no…no”
Smallmouth slowly entered the house. The kitchen and living room were a disaster, chairs and tables and bottles strewn about and shattered. Bloody hoof-prints covered the floors, each of them the size of dinner plates. Smallmouth heard no noise. He felt himself well with tears, his nose a faucet that he began to sniff up as he worked his way through to his Uncle’s room, the door there also being broken in. A small whine growing in his throat, Smallmouth peaked into his uncles bedroom.
It was all in tatters. The bed had been attacked and shredded, the mattress being ripped up and thrown about as if it were made of cotton candy. More bloody hoof-prints were painted all over the brown carpet. Smallmouth trembled and put a hand up to his wet face. He didn’t see a way that his Uncle was anywhere near alive, knowing what he knew about the monster that had been in this house.
Smallmouth slowly walked to the living room, to the only little table that had been untouched in the attack. It was almost as if the bottle of whiskey teleported into his hand from the overturned cabinet, unopened. He fixed that real quick.
Soon he was several pulls deep of the only thing in the world that he knew would make him feel better, even if only for a few hours. He found his pack of cigarettes in his coat pocket and lit one up, although he was indoors. What did it matter? He sat in a chair that he had turned right side up and set the bottle on the table and looked out the back window into the pitch black. He cried for his Uncle and he cried for the world. He cried for himself. He cried for broken promises and his own weakness. He drank and drank until his vision shook from right to left everywhere he looked. At first he didn’t even notice the figures on the back porch. Then his vibrating focus did pick up on them, but by then it was too late. It was so dark out there but in their outlines he could see they wore long robes and hoods.
“HA!! COME AND GET ME! HAHA!! YOU COME AND YOU GET ME!!” Smallmouth boasted with a delusional amount of courage.
A creak escaped from the kitchen and he drunkenly slung his head over toward it. Three more figures stood there. Or was it just one? Smallmouth was none the wiser. All at once the hooded intruders from both inside and outside began to chant a strange, twisted rhyme in strikingly low and dissonant harmony:
“A sliver…of liver…goes down…with a shiver… …and gives…your gullet…to gall… …but drink…the Cider…that drowns…the Spider… …and you…will be free…of it all… …so tighten the grip…that loosens your lips… …O raise…the bottle…of brown… …and wake tomorrow…to find…in sorrow… …ANOTHER…SPIDER…TO…DROWN”
Smallmouth groaned at them in dissatisfaction and turned his bottle up again and began to chug the whiskey. As he did they repeated the chant except this time it was louder and closer. By the time Smallmouth had finished his bottle he was quickly losing consciousness. This wasn’t just whiskey. As he closed his eyes he felt hands grabbing him from all sides.
Smallmouth pulled open his sticky eyelids. His head felt like someone had bowled a strike into it. Wind froze his face. The smell of sickly, wet iron stung his nostrils. His vantage was higher than usual. Way higher. He was looking out into another field, but from easily ten feet up. He saw an old church, formerly painted white but now a flaky pale-beige. He heard the friction of a quick pull of rope below him, matched with a slight, tight pain at his feet. He looked down. A red-robed figure was fastening him against a wooden structure of some kind. His feet sat on a small flat platform perpendicular to a post that went from the ground up past smallmouths head. He couldn’t move his arms, so he quickly shot his eyes side to side. They were also tied to another horizontal post. A cross. He was being tied to a crude wooden cross. His shirt had been removed, exposing a hairy, overweight belly. Smallmouth tried to speak, but all that came out was a slow, unintelligible grumble. He was still drunk. No, this was more than that. He was under the influence of something strong and absolutely inhibitive. He wallowed again, and took in a deep breath. The smell of iron once again hit his nose. He looked down at himself. He was covered in a thick, red liquid. That wasn’t just the smell of iron. He had been splashed full body with blood.
“Now now, young servant…” the figure at his feet had finished his task and took a couple of steps out to admire his own handiwork.
“Ahh…perfect. The picture of martyrdom. Yes, you will always be remembered, Brother Bassett. You are to be the first Saint of The New Bible.” He opened his arms in his declaration.
Smallmouth looked up into the cold night sky. The moon shown down, giving everything a midnight spotlight. It was a gorgeous waxing gibbous, big and bright but not quite full. Yes, he was in a great big snowy field that housed an old worn down church. From the windows of the church he saw candles glowing, showing dark heads and shoulders looking out to him, also covered in loose hoods, hiding faces. He was hanging on a cross about one hundred feet from the old church. In front of the cross was a partially covered pit, a couple of two by fours supporting double armfuls of branches and dead leaves.
The figure at the base of the cross put his arms back to his side. He was still looking right at the drugged Smallmouth’s dumbstruck face. Even with a veiled mouth you could hear the twisted smile in his voice.
“Tonight you will help us finally defeat this legion, Smallmouth. You see, it may have the evil spirits within it, but at its core, it is still an owned animal. An animal that knows its Master very well. An animal that will remember the smell of its Master. You, my friend, are covered in its Master right now. And you are hanging on a cross, the symbol of this brute’s most hated enemy. But take heart, young Brother. Before you is our pit of spears. Yes you will attract the beast, but our Divine plan will intercept it and the beast will fall and be pierced. And then, oh dear brother, you will forever be immortalized. You will be purified in fire by the hands of your church brethren. Out of your screams and into the smoke the iniquities of all will be released. We will go on to preach your good example and your sainthood forever and ever.”
Smallmouth began to drool and hum pathetically. He could hear and understand the words of the robed man but he couldn’t fight back. His body was useless, limp inside its rope confines. All he could do now is think, and watch, and wait, and dread his fate.
The figure turned away from him, walking over near the pit and gathering up a bundle of brambles and throwing them over the last open area, covering it completely. He then crunched through the snow over to the front door of the old church, groaning open the door. He stood at the dark doorway for a few seconds in silence, and then began to make a noise. An over exaggerated pig squealing noise, high pitched and infuriating. Soon after other voices from inside the church began to do the same, their wailing echoing out of the building and all across the field, loudly signaling, calling out. It may as well have been a dinner bell. Not a half minute after they began the distress signal it was loudly answered by a distant squall. A furious squall.
This was it. Either way it happened Smallmouth was about to die. Experience terror, and then die, and not even have the ability to put up any kind of defense. It wasn’t fair. He just slowly lifted up his head and watched out far into the moonlit, white field. He then raised his heavy head further and took a good gander at the moon and stars for the last time.
“God,” he thought to himself, still having full inner monologue yet no outer motor function, “I am so sorry. I am so sorry for being what I am. I am so sorry for ending up in this place. It’s only my own fault. If it wasn’t for me being so stupid and messy and drunk and terrible then this wouldnt be happening to me.”
He began to shed tears that washed lines into the blood on his face.
“Please forgive me God. Please, please, please forgive me for all of my sins. This is it. I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die. PLEASE FORGIVE ME!!!!” He yelled inside his own mind, hoping and trying to send his silent words as far up into heaven as they could go.
He lowered his eyes back to the ground. He looked over at the church again. The windows were empty, the candles were extinguished. Those hooded cowards were hiding from their own handmade sacrificial service. All was quiet for a long pause until a much louder, closer bleating began at the edge of the forest not even three hundred feet away from Smallmouth’s glazed over eyes. It was time, and it was too late for a miracle.
Out of the woods, slowly and heavily, stomped the massive hog. As it marched closer and closer Smallmouth could see its white, boiled over eyes and black-burnt skin. Its jaws were flying open and snapping its sharp, pocket knife-sized teeth together in an intimidating “clack”. It was now less than a hundred feet away, the dark old church to its right shoulder. It stopped, its pale glowing eyes fixed right on Smallmouth on the crude cross. It truly was a monster. It stood as tall as a man and as long as a canoe. Around its murderous mouth were stains of red, the remnants of all that it had taken from the world on this unholy night. In its clanging jaws were bits of flesh. It snorted and scowled.
Then, in a fury, it wailed that horrible squeal and started off into a dead sprint. It galloped and galloped toward Smallmouth at a high, blistering speed. It kept yawping and howling as it cut the distance from the cross down to fifty feet, forty feet, thirty, twenty. All at once it passed over the covered pit and plunged in. In his doomed, dead eyed stupor Smallmouth could hear what sounded like paint being dumped from a rooftop onto concrete. Trails of black liquid squirted and splashed up from the pit, which had been uncovered in the fall of the beast. Unbelieving, Smallmouth saw dozens of steel spear tips standing up from the dug-in ground. Right in the middle of them the beast was stuck. The sheer weight of the animal had caused the spears to pierce through its tough skin, sticking out of its back, soaked in black blood. One spear had stabbed right under the hogs chin, passing up through its jaws and out its black snout. It made agonized sounds. It roared and roared and shook the spears inside it, beginning furiously, then growing weaker and weaker within seconds. Finally, it let out one last weak little squeal, before it went still and quiet.
Smallmouth was frozen both physically by drugs and constraints and mentally by shock. His mouth hung open toward the pit of spears, his vision blurry. He took in a deep, troubled breath and let out a moan of disbelief and relief. The old church doors sprang open, and the sound of jubilation within flowed out into the night. The red robed figures flocked out of the building toward the pit, arms raised in celebration. They surrounded the hole, getting a good look at their success and their enemies defeat. Some held additional spears and began further stabbing the dead animal, causing more black blood to be shed up at them. They all yelled loudly and triumphantly. Some danced around the pit. Some skipped over to Smallmouth on the cross and danced around him, slapping his legs and spinning in circles.
Smallmouth looked on at the raucous celebration, both in utter disbelief of their trap actually working and also in turmoil. How long now until they fully execute their plan.
A taller robed man, whose voice matched the same one who spoke to Smallmouth as he tied his feet, spoke up, sounding almost happily intoxicated.
“Ahh yes my Brothers!! It is done!! We have won!!!”
They all whooped and cheered.
“Brother Norman, go into the church and bring me the small tank of fuel. Let us send our dear Saint Bassett to the Holy lands, where he will be adored for all eternity!”
They all clapped and hollered. One figure began childishly skipping away from the pit and over toward the front door of the church.
Then, it happened.
From the pit all of a sudden a great blaze erupted instantly. It stood as tall as the cross, and it burned a furious red and blue. It raged and raged, blinding Smallmouth and making him clumsily turn his face away from the heat.
All of the figures panicked, screaming and scattering away toward the church. They didn’t get far. Up from the fiery pit, dozens of long, long, black arms, adorned with six hooking claws emerged and stretched out of the flames and latched on to the legs of those trying to escape. Smallmouth heard crying and wailing from the men as the black, razor clawed-hands of the legion grabbed them and began pulling them back, into the blazes. One by one the red robed people were dragged into the flames, their clothes catching instantly. Smallmouth could see violently shaking bodies in the evil furnace. Oh, the screams. Above the tortured howling, the sound of laughing broke out. Deep, menacing laughter, hundreds of voices, echoed up into the air from the burning hole. Then, in one extinguishing squeeze, the ground swallowed the entirety of the fiery pit, leaving it completely covered in dirt, still and quiet. Soon after, and just like the pit of spears, the old church building caught in an instant and raging fire, quickly toppling the walls and dropping the steeple into its ruins. The smoke towered high in the night sky, which had just began to hint at a pale morning blue. Smallmouth hung on his cross in utter horror and surprise.
As the late evening hours glowed into early morning the smoke eventually tapered off, as Smallmouth’s drugs finally began to wear off as well. The fires of the church did garner long distance attention, though. Just as Smallmouth was able to regain control of his muscles and voice he heard emergency sirens call out into the cold morning air. Not long after, two fire trucks, an ambulance and a sheriffs truck tore into the field and toward Smallmouth on the cross. Not long after Smallmouth could feel the tied ropes being cut loose by firemen, their uniforms easily the best red clothes he had seen all night.
“What on God’s green Earth happened here son?” A bearded man with a dark hat and brown shirt and pants asked Smallmouth once he had been lowered down from the cross and sat on the ground with a shock blanket around his shoulders. The Sheriff, no doubt.
“God’s green Earth. It really is God’s, isn’t it?” Smallmouth whispered, staring out across the cold field. Then, at the very place he was staring, an old, familiar truck came barreling out of the gravel road in the woods and through the field in the steadily growing morning light. It was Uncle Chuck’s truck. It hurried over toward the other emergency vehicles, parked, the driver’s side door burst open, and Uncle Chuck came bounding out over to Smallmouth, his eyes wide and his mouth a wonderfully shocked “O”.
“JEREMY! JEREMY!!!” He basically fell on Smallmouth in a tight, warm hug. Smallmouth was caught off guard by Chuck using his real name.
His Uncle held him for several seconds and then let up, but kept his hands on Smallmouth’s shoulders.
“I thought you were dead.” Both of them said at almost the exact same time.
“I came back and your house was a mess and there was blood everywhere. I thought you were dead.” Smallmouth weakly spat out.
“Well, I woke up and you were gone, son, so I walked to the ranch to get my truck. I was worried bout ya son. I came back home and the whole place had been turned upside down. Blood on the carpet. I just thought the worst. Then I tried my neighbors house. Buddy, they’re dead. Looks like some wacko murder-suicide if I ever saw one. Scott probably tried to come kill us too and wrecked the place when he found it empty. I don’t know. But what I DO know is that you are right here! You are okay Jeremy!! Ahhh Praise Jesus!!”
“It’s not that, Uncle. That isn’t what happened out here. It’s..it was a..a, uh…”
Smallmouth’s fried brain couldn’t even comprehend what he had witnessed over the past few hours. It was all a violent blur.
“Dont worry bout it son, you can tell me everything on the way to the hospital. We gotta go get you checked out and cleaned up. C’mon.” He helped Smallmouth up and they walked over to the ambulance, his Uncle’s arm thrown around his shoulder.
Smallmouth would be sent home later that afternoon. It would take him and his Uncle a long time to sort through the chaos of that deadly night and rebuild their lives. But life kept on. Smallmouth would remain living with his Uncle, and would begin a job working with him down at the ranch. Together they started to attend a local church. Smallmouth never touched a drink or a drug or even a cigarette ever again, and remained steadfast in his newly revitalized faith.

"Spa ġdida tiftaħ fiċ-ċentru ta' Great Falls
Qed tfittex post sabiħ biex tirrilassa? Studio Stiles huwa spa ġdid ta 'lussu fiċ-ċentru ta' Great Falls. Huma ospitaw ftuħ grandjuż il-Ġimgħa wara nofsinhar - kompluta b'ċerimonja tal-qtugħ taż-żigarella u trakk tat-taco.
Is-sid Tia Stiles u l-manager Jasmine Johnson iltaqgħu fi skola tal-kosmetoloġija fi Great Falls, u eventwalment fetħu l-ewwel Studio Stiles sitt snin ilu f’Malta.
Il-par huma eċċitati li jespandu s-servizzi tagħhom lill-komunità ta 'Great Falls. Is-sid Tia Stiles tgħid li l-għan tagħha għall-spa huwa li tkun “iffukata ħafna fuq il-parti lussuża tagħha. Allura, kun żgur li jkollok oasi fejn titbiegħed u tirrilassa. Aħna nagħtu t-ton meta tidħol b’xokk tas-saqajn u jew, taf, prosecco, kafè, tè, ilma, tkun xi tkun il-burdata tiegħek, u mbagħad nidħlu fis-servizzi tagħna.”
Filwaqt li l-spa joffri varjetà ta 'trattamenti tal-wiċċ, garżi tal-ġisem, u waxing, il-ġbid ewlieni huwa l-magna Neveskin tagħhom, apparat ta' sculpting tal-ġisem li jippromwovi l-issikkar tal-ġilda u t-toning.
Filmat: Landspout tornado fil-Montana
KRTV jgħid addiju lil Maggie Reilly
Ħsara maltempata f'Monarch u Neihart
Lineup tal-kunċerti: Montana State Fair
Stiles jispjega, “Ħafna nies semgħu dwar Coolsculpting. Huwa simili għal dak, l-istess xjenza, biss inqas invażivi, inqas riskju ta 'ħsara permanenti u teknoloġija aktar ġdida. Għandna xi għażliet ta 'toning sabiex jekk kellek, taf, trabi, telf ta' piż drammatiku huwa wieħed tassew kbir għalina. Jgħin biss biex tissikka dik il-ġilda.”
In-Neveskin jintuża wkoll għal trattamenti tal-wiċċ, inkluż li jdawwal u tissikka l-ġilda tal-wiċċ. Stiles jgħid li din hija għażla inqas invażiva għal dawk li qed iħarsu lejn botox jew fillers għal skopijiet ta 'kontra t-tixjiħ.
Studio Stiles huwa l-uniku spa ċċertifikat f'Montana li juża n-Neveskin il-ġdid, u kien is-seba' fin-nazzjon li rċieva l-magna tagħhom, wara li kien għadu kif ħareġ f'Marzu 2024.
Johnson jgħid, “Ġeneralment, it-teknoloġija, taf, qed tinbidel kontinwament u l-edukazzjoni dejjem titjieb. U naħseb li fl-industrija tagħna għandna nibqgħu aġġornati b'dan. Allura huwa ġdid u eċċitanti, Bħal biss, titgħallem affarijiet li jistgħu jgħinu lin-nies ta’ benefiċċju.”
Studio Stiles jinsab fiċ-ċentru ta' Great Falls f'18 Fourth Street North, Suite A. Għal lista sħiħa ta 'servizzi u biex titgħallem aktar dwar Studio Stiles, ikklikkja hawn biex iżżur il-websajt.
https://www.krtv.com/news/great-falls-news/new-spa-opens-in-downtown-great-falls
—
L-Amazon Deals tal-lum (Afljat), id-destinazzjoni tiegħek one-stop għal oġġetti affordabbli, perfetta għal dekorazzjoni tad-dar, elettroniċi, provvisti għall-annimali domestiċi, sports u selezzjonijiet tal-ġugarelli. - https://amzn.to/3FeoGyg
Ċaħda ta' responsabbiltà: Dan is-sit huwa għal skopijiet informattivi biss u m'għandux jitqies parir legali [saħħa, taxxa, professjoni]. Aħna m'aħniex responsabbli għal kwalunkwe telf, ħsarat, jew obbligazzjonijiet li jistgħu jinqalgħu mill-użu ta 'dan il-blog. Dan il-blog mhux maħsub biex jissostitwixxi parir mediku professjonali. Il-fehmiet espressi f'dan il-blog jistgħu ma jkunux dawk tal-host jew tal-maniġment.
https://www.reddit.com/SinoMaltaNews
"
"新水療中心在大瀑布市中心開業
正在尋找一個放鬆的好地方？ Studio Stiles 是大瀑布市中心的全新豪華水療中心。週五下午，他們舉辦了盛大的開幕儀式，並舉行了剪綵儀式和一輛墨西哥玉米餅卡車。
店主 Tia Stiles 和經理 Jasmine Johnson 在大瀑布城的美容學校相識，最終在六年前在馬耳他開設了第一家 Studio Stiles 工作室。
兩人很高興能夠將他們的服務擴展到大瀑布城社區。業主蒂亞·斯蒂爾斯 (Tia Stiles) 表示，她的水療中心目標是「非常注重其中的奢華部分。因此，請確保您有一個可以放鬆身心的綠洲。當你進來泡腳時，我們就定下了基調，你知道，普羅塞克、咖啡、茶、水，無論你的心情是什麼，然後我們就會開始提供服務。
雖然水療中心提供各種臉部護理、身體裹敷和打蠟服務，但最吸引人的是他們的 Neveskin 機器，這是一種可以促進皮膚緊緻和膚色的塑身設備。
影片：蒙大拿州的陸龍捲風
KRTV 告別瑪姬·賴利
莫納克和內哈特遭受風暴破壞
音樂會陣容：蒙大拿州博覽會
Stiles 解釋說：「很多人都聽說過酷塑。與此類似，同樣的科學，只是侵入性較小，永久損壞的風險較小，且技術更新。我們有一些塑身選項，因此，如果您已經有了嬰兒，那麼顯著的減肥對我們來說確實是一件大事。它只會幫助收緊皮膚。
Neveskin 也用於臉部護理，包括提亮和緊緻臉部肌膚。史泰爾斯說，對於那些尋求肉毒桿菌或填充劑抗衰老目的的人來說，這是一種侵入性較小的選擇。
Studio Stiles 是蒙大拿州唯一獲得使用新型 Neveskin 認證的水療中心，也是全國第七家獲得其機器的水療中心，該機器於 2024 年 3 月剛發布。
約翰遜說：「你知道，整體技術不斷變化，教育也在不斷進步。我認為在我們的行業中，我們必須跟上這一點。所以這是新的、令人興奮的，就像只是學習可以幫助人們造福的東西一樣。
Studio Stiles 位於大瀑布城市中心 18 Fourth Street North，Suite A。
https://www.krtv.com/news/great-falls-news/new-spa-opens-in-downtown-great-falls
—
今天的亞馬遜優惠（聯盟會員），您購買實惠商品的一站式目的地，非常適合家居裝飾、電子產品、寵物用品、運動和玩具選擇。 - https://amzn.to/3FeoGyg
免責聲明：本網站僅供參考，不應被視為法律[健康、稅務、職業]建議。我們對因使用本部落格而可能產生的任何損失、損害或責任不承擔任何責任。本部落格無意取代專業醫療建議。本部落格所表達的觀點可能不代表主持人或管理階層的觀點。
https://www.reddit.com/SinoMaltaNews
"
"New spa opens in downtown Great Falls
Looking for a nice place to relax? Studio Stiles is a new luxury spa in downtown Great Falls. They hosted a grand opening Friday afternoon - complete with a ribbon cutting ceremony and a taco truck.
Owner Tia Stiles and manager Jasmine Johnson met at cosmetology school in Great Falls, eventually opening the first Studio Stiles six years ago in Malta.
The pair are excited to expand their services to the community of Great Falls. Owner Tia Stiles says her goal for the spa is to be “very much focused on the luxury part of it. So, making sure that you have an oasis to get away to and relax. We kind of set the tone when you come in with a foot soak and either, you know, prosecco, coffee, tea, water, whatever your mood is, and then we'll go into our services.”
While the spa offers a variety of facials, body wraps, and waxing, the main draw is their Neveskin machine, a body sculpting device that promotes skin tightening and toning.
Video: Landspout tornado in Montana
KRTV says farewell to Maggie Reilly
Storm damage in Monarch and Neihart
Concert lineup: Montana State Fair
Stiles explains, “A lot of people have heard of Coolsculpting. It's similar to that, same science, just less invasive, less risk of permanent damage and newer technology. We have some toning options so that if you've had, you know, babies, dramatic weight loss is a really big one for us. It just helps tighten up that skin.”
The Neveskin is also used for facials, including brightening and tightening the facial skin. Stiles says this is a less invasive option for those looking at botox or fillers for anti-aging purposes.
Studio Stiles is the only spa certified in Montana to utilize the new Neveskin, and was the seventh in the nation to receive their machine, having just been released in March 2024.
Johnson says, “Overall technology, you know, it's constantly changing and education's always getting better. And I think in our industry we have to stay up with that. So it's new and exciting, Like just, just learning things that can help benefit people.”
Studio Stiles is located in downtown Great Falls at 18 Fourth Street North, Suite A. For a full list of services and to learn more about Studio Stiles, click here to visit the website.
https://www.krtv.com/news/great-falls-news/new-spa-opens-in-downtown-great-falls
—
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https://www.reddit.com/SinoMaltaNews
"
"डाउनटाउन ग्रेट फॉल्स में नया स्पा खुला
आराम करने के लिए कोई अच्छी जगह खोज रहे हैं? स्टूडियो स्टाइल्स डाउनटाउन ग्रेट फॉल्स में एक नया लक्जरी स्पा है। उन्होंने शुक्रवार दोपहर को एक भव्य उद्घाटन की मेजबानी की - एक रिबन काटने की रस्म और एक टैको ट्रक के साथ।
मालिक टिया स्टाइल्स और प्रबंधक जैस्मीन जॉनसन ग्रेट फॉल्स में कॉस्मेटोलॉजी स्कूल में मिले, अंततः छह साल पहले माल्टा में पहला स्टूडियो स्टाइल्स खोला।
यह जोड़ी ग्रेट फॉल्स के समुदाय में अपनी सेवाओं का विस्तार करने के लिए उत्साहित है। मालिक टिया स्टाइल्स का कहना है कि स्पा के लिए उनका लक्ष्य ""इसके लक्जरी हिस्से पर बहुत अधिक ध्यान केंद्रित करना है। इसलिए, सुनिश्चित करें कि आपके पास दूर जाने और आराम करने के लिए एक नखलिस्तान है। जब आप पैर भिगोकर आते हैं तो हम एक तरह से टोन सेट करते हैं और या तो, आप जानते हैं, प्रोसेको, कॉफी, चाय, पानी, जो भी आपका मूड हो, और फिर हम अपनी सेवाओं में लग जाएंगे।
जबकि स्पा विभिन्न प्रकार के फेशियल, बॉडी रैप्स और वैक्सिंग प्रदान करता है, मुख्य आकर्षण उनकी नेवेस्किन मशीन है, एक बॉडी स्कल्पटिंग डिवाइस जो त्वचा को कसने और टोनिंग को बढ़ावा देती है।
वीडियो: मोंटाना में भूस्खलन बवंडर
केआरटीवी ने मैगी रीली को विदाई दी
मोनार्क और नीहार्ट में तूफान से क्षति
कॉन्सर्ट लाइनअप: मोंटाना राज्य मेला
स्टाइल्स बताते हैं, “बहुत से लोगों ने कूलस्कल्पटिंग के बारे में सुना है। यह उसी के समान है, वही विज्ञान, बस कम आक्रामक, स्थायी क्षति का कम जोखिम और नई तकनीक। हमारे पास कुछ टोनिंग विकल्प हैं ताकि यदि आपके पास, आप जानते हैं, बच्चों, नाटकीय रूप से वजन कम करना हमारे लिए वास्तव में बड़ा है। यह बस उस त्वचा को कसने में मदद करता है।
नेवेस्किन का उपयोग फेशियल के लिए भी किया जाता है, जिसमें चेहरे की त्वचा को चमकाना और कसना भी शामिल है। स्टाइल्स का कहना है कि बुढ़ापा रोधी उद्देश्यों के लिए बोटोक्स या फिलर्स की तलाश करने वालों के लिए यह एक कम आक्रामक विकल्प है।
स्टूडियो स्टाइल्स नई नेवेस्किन का उपयोग करने के लिए मोंटाना में प्रमाणित एकमात्र स्पा है, और उनकी मशीन प्राप्त करने वाला देश का सातवां स्पा था, जिसे अभी मार्च 2024 में जारी किया गया था।
जॉनसन कहते हैं, “कुल मिलाकर प्रौद्योगिकी, आप जानते हैं, यह लगातार बदल रही है और शिक्षा हमेशा बेहतर हो रही है। और मुझे लगता है कि हमारे उद्योग में हमें इसके साथ बने रहना होगा। तो यह नया और रोमांचक है, जैसे कि, बस ऐसी चीजें सीखना जो लोगों को लाभ पहुंचाने में मदद कर सकती हैं।
स्टूडियो स्टाइल्स शहर के ग्रेट फॉल्स में 18 फोर्थ स्ट्रीट नॉर्थ, सुइट ए में स्थित है। सेवाओं की पूरी सूची के लिए और स्टूडियो स्टाइल्स के बारे में अधिक जानने के लिए, वेबसाइट पर जाने के लिए यहां क्लिक करें।
https://www.krtv.com/news/great-falls-news/new-spa-opens-in-downtown-great-falls
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आज की अमेज़ॅन डील (संबद्ध), किफायती वस्तुओं के लिए आपका वन-स्टॉप गंतव्य, घर की सजावट, इलेक्ट्रॉनिक, पालतू जानवरों की आपूर्ति, खेल और खिलौनों के चयन के लिए बिल्कुल सही। - https://amzn.to/3FeoGyg
अस्वीकरण: यह साइट केवल सूचनात्मक उद्देश्यों के लिए है और इसे कानूनी [स्वास्थ्य, कर, पेशा] सलाह नहीं माना जाना चाहिए। हम इस ब्लॉग के उपयोग से होने वाले किसी भी नुकसान, क्षति या देनदारियों के लिए जिम्मेदार नहीं हैं। इस ब्लॉग का उद्देश्य पेशेवर चिकित्सा सलाह को प्रतिस्थापित करना नहीं है। इस ब्लॉग में व्यक्त विचार मेज़बान या प्रबंधन के नहीं हो सकते हैं।
https://www.reddit.com/SinoMaltaNews
"
"Se abre un nuevo spa en el centro de Great Falls
¿Buscas un buen lugar para relajarte? Studio Stiles es un nuevo spa de lujo en el centro de Great Falls. Organizaron una gran inauguración el viernes por la tarde, completa con una ceremonia de inauguración y un camión de tacos.
La propietaria Tia Stiles y la gerente Jasmine Johnson se conocieron en la escuela de cosmetología de Great Falls y finalmente abrieron el primer Studio Stiles hace seis años en Malta.
La pareja está entusiasmada de ampliar sus servicios a la comunidad de Great Falls. La propietaria Tia Stiles dice que su objetivo para el spa es estar “muy centrado en la parte de lujo del mismo. Por lo tanto, asegúrese de tener un oasis al que escaparse y relajarse. Como que marcamos la pauta cuando llegas con un baño de pies y, ya sabes, prosecco, café, té, agua, cualquiera que sea tu estado de ánimo, y luego entramos en nuestros servicios”.
Si bien el spa ofrece una variedad de tratamientos faciales, envolturas corporales y depilaciones, el atractivo principal es su máquina Neveskin, un dispositivo para esculpir el cuerpo que promueve el estiramiento y la tonificación de la piel.
Vídeo: tornado terrestre en Montana
KRTV se despide de Maggie Reilly
Daños por tormentas en Monarch y Neihart
Programación de conciertos: Feria Estatal de Montana
Stiles explica: “Mucha gente ha oído hablar de Coolsculpting. Es similar a eso, la misma ciencia, sólo que menos invasiva, menos riesgo de daño permanente y tecnología más nueva. Tenemos algunas opciones de tonificación para que, si ha tenido bebés, la pérdida de peso dramática sea realmente importante para nosotros. Simplemente ayuda a reafirmar esa piel”.
Neveskin también se utiliza para tratamientos faciales, incluido iluminar y tensar la piel del rostro. Stiles dice que esta es una opción menos invasiva para quienes buscan botox o rellenos con fines antienvejecimiento.
Studio Stiles es el único spa certificado en Montana que utiliza el nuevo Neveskin y fue el séptimo en el país en recibir su máquina, ya que se lanzó recientemente en marzo de 2024.
Johnson dice: “En general, la tecnología cambia constantemente y la educación siempre mejora. Y creo que en nuestra industria tenemos que mantenernos al día con eso. Así que es nuevo y emocionante, simplemente aprender cosas que pueden ayudar a beneficiar a las personas”.
Studio Stiles está ubicado en el centro de Great Falls en 18 Fourth Street North, Suite A. Para obtener una lista completa de servicios y obtener más información sobre Studio Stiles, haga clic aquí para visitar el sitio web.
https://www.krtv.com/news/great-falls-news/new-spa-opens-in-downtown-great-falls
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https://www.reddit.com/SinoMaltaNews
"
"Un nouveau spa ouvre ses portes au centre-ville de Great Falls
Vous cherchez un endroit agréable pour vous détendre ? Studio Stiles est un nouveau spa de luxe situé au centre-ville de Great Falls. Ils ont organisé une grande ouverture vendredi après-midi, avec une cérémonie d'inauguration et un camion de tacos.
La propriétaire Tia Stiles et la gérante Jasmine Johnson se sont rencontrées à l'école de cosmétologie de Great Falls et ont finalement ouvert le premier Studio Stiles il y a six ans à Malte.
Les deux hommes sont ravis d'étendre leurs services à la communauté de Great Falls. La propriétaire, Tia Stiles, affirme que son objectif pour le spa est « d'être très concentré sur l'aspect luxueux ». Alors, assurez-vous d’avoir une oasis où vous évader et vous détendre. Nous donnons en quelque sorte le ton lorsque vous arrivez avec un bain de pieds et, vous savez, du prosecco, du café, du thé, de l'eau, quelle que soit votre humeur, puis nous passerons à nos services.
Bien que le spa propose une variété de soins du visage, d'enveloppements corporels et d'épilations à la cire, le principal attrait est leur machine Neveskin, un appareil de sculpture corporelle qui favorise le raffermissement et la tonification de la peau.
Vidéo : Tornade de trombes terrestres dans le Montana
KRTV fait ses adieux à Maggie Reilly
Dégâts causés par la tempête à Monarch et Neihart
Programmation des concerts : Foire de l'État du Montana
Stiles explique : « Beaucoup de gens ont entendu parler du Coolsculpting. C'est similaire à cela, même science, juste moins invasive, moins de risques de dommages permanents et une technologie plus récente. Nous proposons des options de tonification, de sorte que si vous avez eu, vous savez, des bébés, une perte de poids spectaculaire est très importante pour nous. Cela aide simplement à raffermir cette peau.
Le Neveskin est également utilisé pour les soins du visage, notamment pour éclaircir et raffermir la peau du visage. Stiles dit qu'il s'agit d'une option moins invasive pour ceux qui recherchent du botox ou des produits de comblement à des fins anti-âge.
Studio Stiles est le seul spa certifié du Montana à utiliser le nouveau Neveskin et a été le septième du pays à recevoir sa machine, qui vient de sortir en mars 2024.
Johnson déclare : « Dans l'ensemble, la technologie, vous savez, évolue constamment et l'éducation s'améliore toujours. Et je pense que dans notre industrie, nous devons rester à la hauteur. C'est donc nouveau et passionnant, comme simplement apprendre des choses qui peuvent aider les gens.
Studio Stiles est situé au centre-ville de Great Falls, au 18 Fourth Street North, Suite A. Pour une liste complète des services et pour en savoir plus sur Studio Stiles, cliquez ici pour visiter le site Web.
https://www.krtv.com/news/great-falls-news/new-spa-opens-in-downtown-great-falls
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https://www.reddit.com/SinoMaltaNews
"

Just placed my order for a black on black 24 Elantra N-Line. I’m looking at doing some “baby mods” meaning exhaust and intake. I don’t wanna void warranties. I know with other brands warranties it basically voids the warranty on the part you changed. For instance, my father in law put a leveling kit on his truck and the dealer just voided the warranty on the parts of suspension that were modified. However upon reading the fine print on the Hyundai warranty it sounds like any mods at all will void all warranties. This led to my buddies idea of just doing “hot-swappable” mods. Meaning before I take it in for oil changes, put the stock intake back on etc. But then I heard that the ECUs can detect mods and will notify service when it’s brought in. Lastly, after the 36k/3yr free maintenance is over, if I do my own oil changes, does that void the power plant warranty? If anyone has any advice please let me know.
EDIT: changed a few typos

Hey everyone! I'm 22, Finnish and looking for a new gaming buddy or a friend in general :D
Games i mainly play are LoL, Guild Wars 2 and Ark but i'm open to playing other games aswell :)
What i'm looking for:

• Someone who would like to play and hangout with me on vc regularily
• Willing to stream some games for me. (Plus points if you are brave and can play horror games!)
• Willing to watch stuff like movies or shows together if we have any similiar interests in those
• Preferably someone from EU so we don't struggle too much with the time differences
• I also would prefer if you were around my age range :)

About me:

• I'm quite bubbly and will probably talk a lot
• English isn't my main language therefore Google translate has been my friend for years :D
• I'm mostly nocturnal so i usually stay up late
• I like watching kids animated movies and true crime stuff
• I like horror related stuff but can't really watch horror movies lol

Thank you for reading and reach out if you are interested ^-^

As per my flair I've got an 2003 4.0L V6 SOHC, 194,000 miles. I think I'm hearing the infamous timing chain rattle from worn guides. When the truck is sitting in drive or reverse and on accelerating I can hear a very slight "rattling" noise from up front. If i had to describe it, I would say it sounds like a bike/engine chain running against metal. Almost like a little bell ringing at times. I'm gonna have a mechanic buddy of mine listen in soon. I'll have some time off work in a week to take it to an engine shop if necessary. Unless someone has some promising potential alternative issue, I'm guessing its a timing chain. Between it being my daily driver, a lack of a great place to get into a repair this extensive and general experience, I doubt I'd be able to try and fix this one myself.
I love this truck and have put a bunch of work into it. I just swapped the bed on it 3 months ago. All good things do come to an end however. Depending on the cost would having a repair done or an engine swap be something yall consider? A new(used) comparable ranger with reasonable mileage in my area would run me somewhere in the 7k to 11k range.

I need some help or at least for someone to tell me if there is anything else I can be doing.
My neighbor was buying the property next to me in 2019, bond for deed. When he first moved in he removed some bushes from in between my fence and his garage and threw that all of his yard waste in my burn pit in the back. I called the people who still owned the house, they had him remove it. He would later have words with me that he owned that strip of land. The thing is, when my fence went in the property was surveyed and it was discovered that the neighbors garage is actually OVER the property line. We aren’t assholes, so we told the neighbors we were going to set the fence back from the property line, but that the garage is over. It’s been there more than 10 years, so we knew there was no way to make them move it, plus? Seemed like an honest mistake. As long as we are clear that I’m willing to be accommodating so long as they don’t place anything else over? Fine.
The new neighbor who moved in in 2019 would end up coming to me (after I let him borrow my lawnmower - even though he’s a total asshole to me most of the time) and he told me he went and pulled the city hall records and I was right, my corner lot is slightly bigger than the rest of the block and his garage IS over the line. I just said something like “yeah, ok” because I didn’t want to cause a problem. He then tried to bitch at me about our neighbors on the other side being over on HIS side. I explained that I just want to keep out of other peoples business, what people do in their yards is their deal. Unless you are on my property or you are creating like an infestation problem? I’m going to assume you are doing the best you can and other stuff is going on that I don’t know about.
Fast forward and he has a bunch of junk back in his driveway. Neighbors complain to the village, I do not because it’s none of my business. When someone asks me about it? I tell them I assume he’s doing what he can and I’m not interested in making anything harder for anyone.
Then one of his junk trucks that is up on jacks with no wheels falls OFF the jacks and into my fence. It sucks, but he agrees he needs to get the truck off and repair any damage from the fence. Again, I’m doing the best I can here. I’m a single mom, my parents live with me, this dude is violent and scary and more than a little bit of a misogynist. Just fix it man.
It takes him awhile to get to it, but he does pull the truck off, when he does? There is clearly damage to the fence(there was zero damage at the time the truck fell), so whatever. Just fix it.
Flash forward again and in the course of two days he puts up some fortress wall. He also blocked off my access in the back, meaning I can’t to the broken fence but also this shitty thing is over the line.
I’m guessing this means he isn’t going to fix the fence. He was screaming at my dad, then the cops about how he has a permit to build that fence in my property. I contacted the village for a copy of the permit. They are stalling and I’m worried because he has a buddy who works in the village office.
What I have done: - I have a surveyor coming out this next week and have markers to sink to keep markers on the corners of the property line - I have put the village on notice that I want all documents related to the situation preserved because this is headed toward litigation and if he DOES have a permit to build on MY lot, I want to know how it happened and whose going to be responsible for my survey and court costs for causing this. - I am in the process of looking for a property dispute attorney in my area (anyone have suggestions on how to identity the best one or at least a good one?) - Anyone know how likely it is, assuming the survey is in my favor, that I can sue and recover the survey and attorney fees? At this point I also want to be compensated for my time and suffering. This has been terrifying and upsetting. Some man essentially walked onto my property, do what he wanted and told me I have to eat it. That shut went up in two days, that it didn’t come down just as quickly is insane to me. - Anyone know the likelihood of making him move everything but the garage? Don’t get me wrong, at this point? If they said it was my call? I’d be like “tear that garage down and I don’t fucking care.” But it’s been there a long time, my guess is that is not likely. But he has some shitty shed, that back fence on my property and the fortress in the front. I want it all OFF anything I own and I want it done NOW. As far as I am concerned if they can ticket his ass everyday do it. I’m done. I did everything I could to make this work and what a waste of time that was. At this point I’m beyond angry. I accept things will never be civil because I will no longer accommodate ANYTHING for him in any way. I’m not his mom or wife, I didn’t sign up for this and I’m really angry that he thinks is he can scare me into getting his way. Fuck that. At this point of I’m a Dateline special because he murders me I don’t even care. I will be going down swinging.
Thanks for advice. I have presence pics and documentation but seems like that’s not a thing here - which is ok.

Daryl is the second worst main Character this season imo no dialogues just grunts,acting like damn animal the whole time and he did so many things out of character like storming the sanctuary with truck so the walkers could get in knowing very well there's children and families there so fuck'em kids l guess. And that wasn't just cruel it's was stupid too his dumbass couldn't listen to rick how is that any different of negan bombing Alexandria