Temple stuart corner hutch

[Product Question] Does anyone have info and/or experience on "Hada Labo: Mega Illuminating Moisturizer Cream"?

2024.05.19 10:06 angrypeppermint [Product Question] Does anyone have info and/or experience on "Hada Labo: Mega Illuminating Moisturizer Cream"?

[Product Question] Does anyone have info and/or experience on
I went in blind and got myself a 50ml bottle at TKMaxx the other day for 7USD -cause why not - K/J-beauty for such a little price - hell yeah.
Used it on my face for the past 2 days at AM and PM, and oh my god. It is so perfect to me: The scent, the smoothness, the texture, it makes my skin glow, doesn't stick.... I NEED MORE.
(For context: I am in my late 20s, have an oily T-zone but dry eye corners/and "side face" / temples? What works for me, and what I personally like, are "smooth" gel kind of moisturizer. Such as Clinique Moisture Surge or Neutrogena Hydro Boost)
Curiosity got me, doing a quick Google search, apparently it's actually worth about 45USD? At least where I am from (Netherlands, Europe).
And this moisturizer seems to be discontinued? I can't find any good/legit reviews/discussions about it and I was able to find only a handful of links to this product, and almost nowhere "legit" to purchase more (only places I found where ebay, some random Thai or Indonesian online shops with a currency I've never seen...).
Even finding a proper ingredients list was nearly impossible, only found a link on "glowtime. mu" - is this one legit?
Anyway, does anyone have info on this moisturizer? It's full ingredients list, whether it really is discontinued, why I was only able to find it irl at TKmaxx, hell even personal experience! Please share it all
submitted by angrypeppermint to SkincareAddiction [link] [comments]

2024.05.19 08:46 everything_is_stup1d this is my testimony

In kindergarten (sorry I'm from singapore so we follow British but if im not wrong its like 5-6 years old) I already accepted Christ into my life. But my mom is a "I hate Christians!!" kind of person so I didnt dare to tell her anything. I didn't really have a good relationship with my mom cos to her studies are everything and she made me (until now) think that I'm never good enough. And I was only in primary school thinking my mom doesn't like me. I'm worthless, I want to kms. I made plans to grab the knife from the kitchen, jump off and things like that. Eventually I resulted to scratching my own skin cos I feel most pain when it's right at the nerve uk.
My whole life was until the end of primary school (12) was only to do things to make my mom happy. I wouldn't mention a word about Christianity to her. And when my mom was out at night, me, my dad and my sisters would worship. The moment the door opens, I scramble into the room. This also make me walk far from God and I would curse, swear and stuff. One day in P6, the last year of primary school (12 years old) I thought "Hey, I'm Christian so why am I swearing? Isn't this a sin?" So I stopped cursing. Of course, my mom wouldn't want me going around cursing but I didn't really do it for her, but rather for God. But I still didn't want to tell her about it.
When I graduated from Primary school, in Secondary (Sec) school, I finally got to bring my phone to school (13 years old), but my mom still could track me. Anyways I got to listen to some worship songs my dad sent to me and because I didn't have a music player downloaded and wasn't allowed to download any apps, I would listen through the WhatsApp audio player thing😭😭 on the way home. Usually on Sundays whene my mom isn't home,my dad would bring me to church. Then of course my mom would find out and scold me and this continued until sec 2 (14).
In Sec 3 (15 years old), I had whole control of my phone so I would listen to worship music on the way home. One day in, my dad brought me to church. My mom saw my location and immediately got mad because she knew where my dad's church is and also because my older sister attends service too and my mom was not happy. Since then, I was afraid to go to church. My mom even cornered me one day and made me promise not to go to church or I can forget calling her my mom. I kept crying that night and never dared to go to church (mind that i dont even cry often).
But towards mid year(?) I just decided ok Imma go to church. She can get angry but it won't really stop me. Because I got to know God through worship songs and now I wanted to know him more.
I regularly started praying in the morning on the way to school. Eventually my prayers became a ritual and dry. I felt no emotion and no pull towards God. Only on days when I was really upset/angry then I would feel Him comforting me. One day I really wanted to be the captain in my CCA (it's like after school activities but still part of school programs) and I didn't get it. I was so upset I cried on the way home because I actually put in so much effort into it. Then I became vice captain so ig that counts.
Anyways I became really upset and got frustrated because I didn't prove myself enough. I had so low expectations of myself, got depressed again, but I couldn't vent it out because I couldn't hurt myself anymore after learning my body is a temple of God. So I got super frustrated. I prayed for guidance decided to free up my Saturdays I went to church. Youth services for Secondary school students were on Saturdays and not Sundays so yeah. Towards like October last year I cleared up my Saturdays so I could go more regularly to church, and my mom was defo not happy AT ALL that I went with my own initiative. She ignored me for several weeks and of course I felt lonely and all buy eventually I felt okay because she doesn't even know me sooooo.
I'm still trying to patch up my relationship with her. Honestly, it's so strained I don't know what to do. I've prayed that she would accept Christ everyday but uhh nothing. This doesn't mean I don't believe in God if not this would not exist
One day I was fellowshipping with my dad. Why we did that is because of a long story that would be saved for another day.
But this is the part where it's important
Previously I had dreams and I shared with my dad because he is more experience in deciphering gifts and stuff (I'm sorry if you don't believe in gifts but I do!) And he told me to pray about it because I somehow knew these dreams had meaning and relation to God. A number of dreams had direct inference to God. I did pray about it, and also asked God along these lines; "God, give me guidance. I have strayed and I know. Lord please let me understand, and let me also be close to You. I want to know You, and I know, I haven't read the word. Lord, motivate me to read the scripture, and while reading let me also understand the dreams I have been having my whole life."
I can't remember what I said exactly. The one 9f the church sermons on one week talked about how God is not far, but we are far. And I felt that that was for me. Then one day my dad said to me and my older sister "I don't care you have to download the Bible rn" so I downloaded it but did nothing with it. Finally, one day I was late for work (yes I worked when I was 15 because I actually want an electric guitar) and it was New Year's Eve. My colleague texted me saying she'd pick me up and I said and quote "Isokkk I walk over" (me) ... "Give me your block" (colleague) "Omd tyyy" (me)
Part of me didn't want her to fetch me because it would be troubling her. But I don't know why I waited and was thinking "bruh I could've reached by now but she's late" but I just waited. I was wearing full white that day. And this woman must've thought I was going to church because it was a Sunday morning.
And she asked "Hello, are you going to church?"
I said "oh no no, I have church at night because it's countdown service. (basically the youth services brought our church service from Saturday 4pm to Sunday 8pm because we wanted to countdown service together)"
She said," Oh! So you're Christian! Do you read the Word often?"
I blushed because so many signs and I haven't read a single word. "No," I was so embarrassed
She continued "I used to be a teacher, a lecturer in a University (if im not wrong) There is a website called 7 minutes with God. It was originally created for Harvard students because they were busy and didn't have time to spend time with God." Then I couldn't hear what she said because she was talking so fast. All I knew was she was summarizing the website and encouraged me to read it.
I read it like on January 2nd this year on the way to school ( I'm 16 this year!!! But not 16 yet because as I said, it's not my birthday yet or anytime soon)
I was so inspired that I kept on reading the Word and devoted mornings to not only prayers (that I allowed God to guide me and not just pray for the sake of praying) but also for reading the Word!
See, when I prayed to have motivation to read the Word more, God gave me the sign THREE TIMES which I did not pick up until the 3rd sign, the lady. The first time during the sermon I was like "Yes God, I will do it!" but did nothing. The second time when my dad asked me to download the app version of the Bible, I said "Yes God, this is the sign!" and did not do anything. I got discouraged because my dad thinks I'm funny and wouldn't take my words seriously omd 😭. But the third time, God literally sent a random woman I don't know and told me to read. And I read, praise God!
this is the part where it relates to the meme
Because when I went to the shower I kept laughing because I thought of this meme. I didn't read the word or get touched because it was a coincidence. So coincidence? I think not! It's a miracle ❤️❤️❤️
I finished Mark and the New Testament, I'm currently at John right now.
Just now, after a meeting with my cell group (a small group for easier prayers etc in church), I was listening to worship music, and my grumpy dad was like "GO AND SHOWER" liek chill brou. So I went to the toilet with my headphones on and sat on the floor and just continued listening to worship music. Then my dad sent in the family group chat (just me, my older sister and him, my mom got mad and left) an article about this man called Patrick Lee/Bezalel. He is a local artist faithful in Christ
But reading halfway I kept crying because I was so touched (again I do no lt cry, but I related so much I cried even though nothing had to do with me, but it was like my mother's story where she had a hard of stone towards God) and then my phone went flat 😐 So I risked it and ran out to get my charger but thank God (like actually) my dad didn't scream like he would. Then I sat at the toilet floor and continued reading. Tears kept flowing down my face because Patrick Bezalel's story was such a miracle, and God kept giving him signs that God existed! And removed the layer of stone that surrounded the man's heart and made it soft and open to God again!
After that I continued worshipping God and was listening to worship music (yes in the toilet because I literally have 0 privacy because none of my parents think I need it). I kept crying because the songs were so related. Can you imagine? It went in this order:
1.Presence,Power,Glory 2.Hosanna 3.Promises 4.Holy Forever
Again, coincidence? I THINK NOT. It was so planned, like it was in my playlist for so long and I haven't really thought much about it. Tears kept streaming down and kept going and through sobs I silently prayed to God
"Oh my dear God you have been so so good to me, and so faithful to me Lord. You have guided me, guided my heart and nothing has gone wrong in Your hands Lord. I've been through the turning point I've prayed for. You have sent people, songs and my family members to come after me to open up to You Lord. Lord, I was having a CG (cell group) meeting and something just touched my heart. I am now sitting on the toilet floor and typing this, because Lord you have made a way to touch my heart, guide me through a prayer that came deep down from inside of me Lord, thank You for providing. Thank You God for the miracles You have did in my life, and all that I prayed for has came through Lord. The turning point I prayed for was when that lady had spoken to me about how to set aside time for You and the Word. Lord let me not forget this incident, this turning point, this miracle Lord. Let me put my trust in You Lord, and let You take my hand and let my life be walking next to You faithfully Lord. Lord I pray that I would not waver, and I would not take my eyes away from You. Even when I am crossing and walking toward You on water in the sea, let my eyes be on You, and the works You have done for me, and not be distracted by the worls around me, but to keep my eyes on You diligently Lord. Lord, I am a sinner, and now, I was, for You have sent Jesus Christ, Your Son, to die on the cross for me. Lord, I believe in You and I want to accept You in my life Lord, no matter what situation I am in. Lord, let people around me see Your love, joy, and faithfulness in me, and not let them see the girl I was before. Let them see change, and the love and desire I have for You, Lord. Let them see Your greatness, Your goodness and You. I thank You for everything You have done, and in Jesus's name, I pray that I will walk faithfully alongside You, and will not fail to continuously pray and worship You God. Thank You Lord for the miracles, for this turning point. Thank You God for guiding me, and let me be the branch that bears fruit, and let me be the branch that has life only through Jesus, Who is the vine, Who the reason I live Lord, Who is the reason I have life. Praise the Lord! Amen!"
This is the first time I prayed for so long and every one word was truly from deep down fron the depths of my heart. I couldn't stop crying. I really couldn't and I can't emphasize more that I don't cry often! Either it hurt me so much or that God moved my heart. This time was tears of joy.
I hope this could inspire someone out there, because in another prayer I prayed for those who needed God, even if I didn't know them.
Pray. Pray and ask God to help you seek Him. One thing I learnt from a sermon is the fervency in your prayers. I didn't mean to add this in but I suddenly saw this note I wrote on 25th February.
Title: fervency in prayer Fervency: being excited about something keen on something
At the heart of revival is the spirit of prayer • pray fervently • pray with faith
"But Jesus often withdrew to lonely places and prayed"
To be fervent in prayer is to pray tenaciously despite our struggles
Hopefully this helped someone out there, inspired you and is one of your signs to start giving your life to Him! It is actually proven 1 in 3 people are Christians. Isn't our goal to have this faith to reach all four corners of the world? It could sound impossible in the past, but now there is social media, anyone could read and realize "Hey God is actually with me!"
submitted by everything_is_stup1d to TrueChristian [link] [comments]

2024.05.19 05:50 FilmGuy97 List of Pizza Huts with Dine-In (2024)

I saw a post here about a year ago asking about Pizza Hut locations that still had dine-in. I fed the replies to AI and got a list broken up by State. Feel free to respond with additions or corrections, and I'll update the list.

Alaska

Arizona

Arkansas

California

Colorado

Florida

Georgia

Hawaii

Illinois

Indiana

Iowa

Kansas

Kentucky

Louisiana

Maine

Michigan

Minnesota

Missouri

Montana

Nevada

New Hampshire

New Jersey

New York

North Carolina

Ohio

Oregon

Pennsylvania

South Carolina

Tennessee

Texas

Vermont

Virginia

West Virginia

Wisconsin

submitted by FilmGuy97 to pizzahut [link] [comments]

2024.05.18 19:18 Athrek Guide to the Optimal Questing Route, First Half

Hello everyone! I know it's been a long time but with the DLC on the way and work slowing down for a bit, I've decided to start writing guides again. With the DLC a month away, I've decided to focus my efforts on guides that will help prepare for the DLC and have a few others that are just about ready as well.
With all of the patches over the years, the questlines have been changes fairly significantly. It is now nearly impossible to "break" any questlines by accident but many of my previous guides were made to avoid that happening. Given that, they have lost some of their purpose and aren't as optimal as they previously were. I have went through the game again and learned all of the new tricks to optimize the questlines so that you can take the least amount of steps possible to receive all of the questlines best rewards.
So what this guide is meant for is to help with getting characters through the game with all of the unique quest rewards as optimally as possible. So there should be nothing unnecessary within this guide and it will take you from location to location without consideration for level or build. Given that, you may need to do side objectives and leveling for your personal run, but you can just continue following from where you left off. Due to Reddit's character limit, I have to separate this guide into two parts but both halves are already available.
I hope everyone enjoys the guide and please let me know if you have any suggestions, fixes or feedback!

Second Half

WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD

Limgrave

Stormveil Castle/Limgrave 2

Note: Roderika's Crimson Hood is in the Grafted Scion room in Stormveil now and a Golden Seed is where she was at Stormhill Shack.

Liurnia Lake

Raya Lucaria/Liurnia Lake 2

Caelid

Altus Plateau/Mt Gelmir

Underground

Leyndell

This is the end of the First Half of the guide but I will be posting the Second Half immediately. I hope everyone enjoyed the guide and hope you'll stick around for more or check out my other Guides.

Second Half

submitted by Athrek to eldenringdiscussion [link] [comments]

2024.05.18 18:50 Athrek Guide to the Optimal Questing Route, First Half

Hello everyone! I know it's been a long time but with the DLC on the way and work slowing down for a bit, I've decided to start writing guides again. With the DLC a month away, I've decided to focus my efforts on guides that will help prepare for the DLC and have a few others that are just about ready as well.
With all of the patches over the years, the questlines have been changes fairly significantly. It is now nearly impossible to "break" any questlines by accident but many of my previous guides were made to avoid that happening. Given that, they have lost some of their purpose and aren't as optimal as they previously were. I have went through the game again and learned all of the new tricks to optimize the questlines so that you can take the least amount of steps possible to receive all of the questlines best rewards.
So what this guide is meant for is to help with getting characters through the game with all of the unique quest rewards as optimally as possible. So there should be nothing unnecessary within this guide and it will take you from location to location without consideration for level or build. Given that, you may need to do side objectives and leveling for your personal run, but you can just continue following from where you left off. Due to Reddit's character limit, I have to separate this guide into two parts but both halves are already available.
I hope everyone enjoys the guide and please let me know if you have any suggestions, fixes or feedback!

Second Half

WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD

Limgrave

Stormveil Castle/Limgrave 2

Note: Roderika's Crimson Hood is in the Grafted Scion room in Stormveil now and a Golden Seed is where she was at Stormhill Shack.

Liurnia Lake

Raya Lucaria/Liurnia Lake 2

Caelid

Altus Plateau/Mt Gelmir

Underground

Leyndell

This is the end of the First Half of the guide but I will be posting the Second Half immediately. I hope everyone enjoyed the guide and hope you'll stick around for more or check out my other Guides. We also have a Website, Youtube and Discord so be sure to check them out!

Second Half

submitted by Athrek to Roundtable_Guides [link] [comments]

2024.05.18 14:26 juliaakatrinaa0507 Tylee Memorial Piece

Tylee Memorial Piece
I've seen a few posts recently asking who is there for Tylee, who is in her corner, etc. Her aunt (Lori's sister) Summer Shiflet did a memorial piece for her and I thought it was really beautiful. Say what you want about Summer, I don't know what I even think about her myself, but I did enjoy reading this and learning more about Tylee. Here it is:
Tylee Ashlyn Ryan was born Sept. 24, 2002. Making her my almost birthday twinner, as I was born Sept. 23 at 11:55 p.m. She was a tiny baby, just over 5lbs, and had beautiful dark hair. I lived in a different state, so I didn’t get to see her nearly enough, but when I did see her, she was a happy baby with beautiful pink cheeks, fierce blue eyes, and her hair had lightened to a soft golden blonde.
Tylee was extremely bright and learned how to do everything: rolled over, walked, talked, read, and many other things earlier than expected. She was a darling bright baby who laughed easily but hardest at Colby, who entertained her 24/7!
Tylee was a little mermaid. I remember visiting her at the age of 2, almost 3, and she got in the pool with no floaties and swam all around the pool. She was amazing!! I have never seen another child swim that early. But she loved the water, and she and Colby would swim as early as February when the water was too cold for everyone else, and swim into the later winter months. Later in life, Tylee also patiently helped JJ learn to swim when they lived in Hawaii.
Tylee was extremely clever, witty, and hilarious as a little girl, even from a young age. She adored her older brother, Colby like no other. Tylee’s mother had a hair salon built into the house, and Tylee saw her mom working on lots of clients. Tylee loved to get into her mother’s chair and get her hair done like a big girl.
Tylee had a happy life and a hard life. She was adored by her immediate family, especially her big brother, Colby, who saw her birth as the first step to “Texas sizing” their family! Her hardships included her father’s abuse of her and 7 episodes of pancreatitis — an extremely painful disease. Each time she had an attack, she was in the hospital for 10 days and would have been longer if Lori had not advocated for Tylee with her doctors. We all went to visit her through each attack and did all we could to show her love and support. Lori did the most. She spent every night with her each time and would not eat in front of her since she could not eat or drink for at least 8 days of her stay.
Tylee loved Lori more than anyone and Lori was right there helping her with schoolwork so she wouldn’t get behind, coming up with fun things she could do and arranging visits from school friends, church friends and family. Lori’s dedication as a mother was undeniable…Tylee was a straight A student most of her life. She did a science project that won a prize on tsunamis! She had a beautiful singing voice and was a very talented dancer. It was easy to see that she was a natural-born performer and we loved watching her shows.
Tylee learned to do expert makeup and loved trying new hairstyles. On a side note, I will forever miss hugging Tylee and smelling her hair, it always smelled so good and was so soft.
Tylee was very artistic. She could draw, design, do calligraphy and also had an incredible eye for photography! Her photographs are some of our most precious treasures, especially the beautiful pictures she took of little JJ. Tylee was funny, kind, but could also be bitingly sarcastic. She really came into her own when she turned 16.
She tested out of high school at college-ready levels in every subject; she got her driver’s license, and she took a job with my husband’s chiropractic office for her first job. She had a great interest in physical therapy and enjoyed her short time working with patients. She was so cute wearing her scrubs proudly every working day! To celebrate and honor all of these accomplishments, we did an all girls big celebration for her. We had so much fun and we were thrilled to celebrate her.
One of the most precious memories I have is the night Tylee spent at my house when Ryley was born. I will never forget her beautiful little face and the huge tears in her gorgeous blue eyes that rolled down her slightly pink cheeks and watching her shake with emotion when Colby texted her a picture of her first little niece. She said “she is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” It was instant love. It hurts my heart so much that Ryley and Ava will be deprived of being spoiled and played with by the most loving aunt they could ever have.
I know how much Tylee adored Colby and JJ. I wasn’t able to witness her relationships with her step brothers Cole and Zach as much, but I know her love and respect for them was present. When Charles was shot, Tylee was the one who pushed her mother to tell them. Tylee was also responsible for tracking down the kennel that Charles had placed Bailey in when he left Houston so that they could bring him home.
Tylee was a devout member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She had great faith in her Savior Jesus Christ. She loved the Young Women’s program. She went to the temple frequently. The first time my daughter went through the temple, Tylee walked her through everything and was so sweet and patient with her. Tylee and my oldest son were only a year apart and had so much fun together. They both spoke sarcasm fluently and were such good friends. My youngest son, Tylee’s name sake, loved to banter with Tylee. My children also loved JJ and will ever be deprived of their special friendships with their cousins.
Tylee was sensitive, thoughtful, considerate, humble, generous, caring, and tough. She would have been the best mother, as she loved children. Her favorite color was a bright blue, she called it the color of Hawaii. Her favorite dessert was a no-bake cheesecake. I have yet to be able to make one without completely breaking down in tears as I think of that precious girl!!
Tylee loved the shows ‘The Office,’ ‘Friends,’ ‘The Bachelor’ and others. She loved music. She loved her friends and had so many fun times with them. Her friends truly loved Tylee and will have to live with this enormous hole in their hearts, and confusion as to why they had to lose their friend.
Tylee loved her mother above all and was protected by her mother most of her life. We know that only the severe mental illness that her mother has would be stronger than a mother’s love. Tylee and JJ both wanted to be with their mother more than anyone else. But after Lori met Chad Daybell, Tylee and sweet little JJ were served up on a platter like a lamb to the slaughter. There is no sense, logic, or explanation that will ever be satisfactory in their murders.
The world would have been a better place with Tylee in it. The world would have been a better place with JJ in it. We will always be grief-stricken over their untimely deaths and are beyond sad that they were betrayed by the very mother they loved. There are no excuses for Lori’s actions regarding Tylee and JJ; but we do see that she is mentally ill.
It’s such a tragedy that this beautiful bright girl and most precious little boy were murdered but that in no way reflects on the wonderful people the were and the many contributions that they were poised to make in this world.
** this was found on East Idaho News
submitted by juliaakatrinaa0507 to LoriVallow [link] [comments]

2024.05.18 13:15 SFMatchThreadder Match Thread: Dundee vs Kilmarnock Scottish Premiership

This match is now over. Join the post match discussion here

FT: Dundee 1-1 Kilmarnock

Dundee scorers: Luke McCowan (37')
Kilmarnock scorers: Gary Mackay-Steven (24')
Venue: The Scot Foam Stadium at Dens Park
Auto-refreshing reddit comments link
LINE-UPS
Dundee
Jon McCracken, Aaron Donnelly, Juan Portales, Mohamad Sylla Malachi Boateng, Owen Dodgson, Jordan McGhee, Lyall Cameron Finlay Robertson, Luke McCowan, Josh Mulligan Dara Costelloe, Scott Tiffoney Ryan Howley, Amadou Bakayoko Curtis Main.
Subs: Ryan Astley, Zach Robinson, Harrison Sharp, Michael Mellon.
____________________________
Kilmarnock
William Dennis, Stuart Findlay, Robbie Deas, Corrie Ndaba, Joe Wright, Liam Polworth Greg Stewart, Liam Donnelly, Fraser Murray James Balagizi, Gary Mackay-Steven Danny Armstrong, Marley Watkins Innes Cameron, Rory McKenzie David Watson.
Subs: Kieran O'Hara, Kyle Vassell, Kevin Van Veen, Matthew Kennedy.
MATCH EVENTS via ESPN
24' Goal! Dundee 0, Kilmarnock 1. Gary Mackay-Steven (Kilmarnock) left footed shot from the centre of the box to the centre of the goal. Assisted by Marley Watkins following a fast break.
37' Goal! Dundee 1, Kilmarnock 1. Luke McCowan (Dundee) left footed shot from the centre of the box to the bottom left corner. Assisted by Scott Tiffoney.Goal awarded following VAR Review.
45' Substitution, Kilmarnock. Greg Stewart replaces Liam Polworth.
45' Substitution, Dundee. Dara Costelloe replaces Josh Mulligan.
49' Joe Wright (Kilmarnock) is shown the yellow card for a bad foul.
59' Substitution, Kilmarnock. Innes Cameron replaces Marley Watkins.
62' Substitution, Dundee. Finlay Robertson replaces Lyall Cameron.
70' Substitution, Dundee. Malachi Boateng replaces Mohamad Sylla.
71' Substitution, Kilmarnock. James Balagizi replaces Fraser Murray.
72' Curtis Main (Dundee) is shown the yellow card for a bad foul.
76' Robbie Deas (Kilmarnock) is shown the yellow card for a bad foul.
84' Second yellow card to Robbie Deas (Kilmarnock) for a bad foul.
85' Substitution, Dundee. Ryan Howley replaces Scott Tiffoney.
86' Substitution, Kilmarnock. David Watson replaces Rory McKenzie.
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2024.05.18 11:06 FFRBP777 Chariot Chaos

Hey, so you ever get a birthday present that's so not your style, but you really can't return it because it'd be really awkward? Normally it's like, I dunno. Shoes, or shirts or something like that, right?
For me it was four fire-breathing horses.
Okay, so I should clarify. My dad didn't really give me four fire-breathing ponies to keep. It was more of a test for him to treat me like his son again.
See, I just recently got out of a Styx oath that would have led me to eternal damnation if I didn't fulfill it. It's a long story, but to keep it short: I swore an oath on the Styx to be a brave hero by my eighteenth birthday when I really should have just pinkie promised. But yeah. My dad, God of War and dad of the year took it well. …In that he pretty much said that I was a waste of space, disowned me and he'd personally hand me over to the Styx for eternal damnation.
Nice guy. Really should get into motivational speeches.
The night before, after riding the high of not having the threat of being sent to Super Hell I had a pretty bad dream. I mean, it wasn’t the normal David nightmare. It wasn't me killing endless hordes of monsters while my dad laughed at how pathetic I was.
Well, half of that. It was just my dad. To be honest, rather I’d take the monsters.
He was laughing at me, with that smug face of his, in that all-leather biker outfit with the shades that made him look even more like an asshole, as if that's hard to believe.
Oh, sorry. Didn't mean to cuss. Anyways yeah. Me and my dad. Not the best relationship, even by demigod standards.
He gave me a toothy grin, like a shark’s as he circled around me. I instinctively stood up straight, at attention. As much as I hate my dad, ticking off a god is a pretty dumb thing to do. Plus, I was pretty dumbfounded to see him here in my dream of all things.
“Well, color me surprised. To be honest, boy, I thought I'd end up taking care of this myself. So, congratulations on that front. But, sorry to burst your bubble, it might be good enough for ol’ Styxy but…it’s not good enough for me. But, you know, I'm a generous guy! Prove me you're a warrior. Do that, and I'll welcome you back in the family with open arms. I even got the perfect way for you to prove yourself.”
Without warning, he tossed me a set of keys with a miniature boar-headed keychain and a really big switchblade on the end of it. I fumbled with it before slipping it into my pocket.
“An oldie but a goodie. Used to let my sons prove themselves to me all the time with this one. Now, I'm sure once you see what I got planned you'll know the rules, considering you're a fuckin’ nerd. But in case you forget…”
He lowered his shades, revealing balls of fire as he glared right at me.
“Sundown. My temple. Don't be late or I'll toss you in the Styx myself. Well! Have fun, yeah? I'm looking forward to watching you fail this one, like your last quest. Now, get up. Clock’s ticking after all…”
“Gaah!”
I snapped my eyes open, falling out of my bed and onto the hard floor under me. As soon as I hit the floor, I could hear one of my many siblings start to stir from their sleep. Immediately, my sister Tiffany started to sigh as she shot up from her bed. I could see her pastel pink sleep mask perched on her head as she glared into the darkness of the early morning. She groaned in frustration, her words cutting through the quiet of the dawn.
"What the hell are you idiots doing?"
To be fair, I could see why she’d think that. Most of my siblings were fond of pranking each other every now and then. The chaos of the Ares cabin was unmatched from most cabins, except maybe Hermes. But, when you cut off her beauty sleep, the threat of an angry Tiff was usually was enough to make nighttime a truce. Usually.
My sister rubbed her eyes and looked down at me. I sheepishly gave a smile as I rubbed my head, still sore from when it hit the floor.
"Seriously, David?"
Tiffany got out of bed and silently made her way to me. She wordlessly held out a hand and I grasped at it as she pulled me up.
"Thanks Tiff. I had this dream, where Dad called me a nerd and was talking to me about testing me now that my Styx Oath is..."
I felt something hard and metallic poke against my leg, from my sweats pocket. I pulled out the unfamiliar object and to my surprise, there were the same keys from my dream. My eyes widened as I realized that my dream was a little bit more than usual demigod stuff.
"Oh. That...wasn't a dream."
She raised an eyebrow as she looked at the keys that sat in my hand. I played with the accessories, absentmindedly feeling the boar head and the switchblade knife. She leaned in, peering at the keys as the dawn started to rise.
"What the hell are those for?"
She looked to the keys, then back at my face, and then the keys again. She looked at me as if I just said that Kronos was about to come back and throw an ice cream party courtesy of the Titans.
"You're telling me Dad gave those to you or something? You're joking. Have to be."
I shook my head, but I could see why she thought so. I was pretty sure I was near the bottom, if not at the bottom of his list of favorite kids. If I was being honest, I was pretty sure he wanted me dead more than a few times.
"Tiff, you know that I'm not exactly Dad's favorite by a long shot. Why would I say something like that and risk him getting even mad more mad at me because of my lying? Dad disowned me, remember? He mentioned something along the line in my dream that if I pass his test I'd be treated as one of his sons again but he didn't mention what it..."
The gears started turning as I looked at the keys in my hands.
”A test…keys…sundown…oh no. Oh, no.”
I immediately pocketed up my keys and started putting on my shoes. No time for pants, sweats would do just fine, I just had to make sure to take my wallet with me, considering I was going to New York now. I had to be quick or this test was over before it even started.
"No. I...I think I know what it is. But if I'm right, then shoot I gotta get going then! Before our brothers take it."
In hindsight, I probably should have told Tiff a bit about my thoughts. But, the more I delayed the more issues that could have cropped up. I just had to make sure it was safe.
"Take what? Where the hell are you going?!"
I burst out of the cabin, staring at what was in front of our cabin. I felt a bit of nervousness bubble up as my thoughts were proven true. Tiffany was close behind me as she walked outside our cabin. I looked at her face and caught an expression of wonder as whatever she was going to ask me was forgotten. Parked in front of the cabin was a red and gold Harley. The seat was white leather and gave a sorta…humany vibe to it that I did not wanna think about. Only one thing came to mind, something I knew instinctively from the moment I saw it. Dad's War Chariot.
Or as the god of war would call it, his chariot.
"I...I think dad wants me to take his ride for a spin."
I ran my hand over the cold metal, and I realized what Dad meant about the “oldie but a goodie.” A while back, before the Second Titan war ended, and all of the children of the gods had to be claimed, there was a ritual all sons of Ares went through. It was something all my brothers did at fifteen. Drive around his Chariot and return it before sundown. It wasn't easy, my Godly siblings, Phobos and Deimos both loved to mess with whoever was in charge of the chariot at the time. And you had to deal with monsters too, but overall when it came to demigod stuff it wasn’t the most dangerous around. I dunno if that says a lot about how dangerous this life can get though.
But, shortly after the then-counselor Clarisse La Rue became the first girl to do it, Dad pulled the plug. I dunno if it was good ol’ sexism, someone totaling it, or dad not wanting to let all of his kids drive his ride, either way it wasn't super common nowadays. It wasn't like he stopped, but it was something given, not a right. Dad letting me do this was him at least giving me a chance to prove myself to be one of his kids, which was more than I expected to be honest.
I took a breath as I looked at Dad’s ride, feeling a pit of unease in my stomach as I started to climb in. If it wouldn't end up with me being tormented for the rest of my short life, I'd tell him no and go back to sleep. But, telling a god no, especially my dad is a neat way to be turned into a rodent. Or a fine red paste. Or a rodent that would be turned into said paste.
Tiffany's brows furrowed as she processed my words, a layer of disbelief on her face as she chewed over it.
You? He wants you to drive it? I...that...what the hell?"
I fought off a wince as she looked at me, then the ride, then back at me again. I could tell she was a bit annoyed. I mean, yeah from her perspective I was singled out by dad to do something she probably wanted to do for a while. I felt a pit of guilt in my stomach, it wasn't fair, really. But at the same time I had to do this.
"I mean, seriously? He must be out-"
She cut herself off. Calling my dad crazy was another way to get turned into a rat that would then be turned into a fine paste. Actually a lot of things carried the threat, my dad is kinda a jerk. I sighed, figuring I might as well tell her about why Dad was doing this. I didn't wanna hide it, but it's not like I like to talk about the fact that I've been disowned for two years. She knew, most of us did. But it's not something I like bringing up, because yeah. It sucks.
"I read a bit about previous Ares campers. He used to do this more often, at first only his sons did, but later his daughters could. I dunno why he stopped but, this isn't really like he's doing it because he's proud of me. I'm sorta disowned, remember? He said if I can drive the chariot, he'll take me back as one of you guys again. It's...more of a test to earn myself back into his good graces, I think.”
Tiffany listened to my explanation, not saying anything for a bit She looked a bit bothered about the fact that I was chosen to drive the Chariot, which again, not surprising.
"Ugh, I guess that makes sense."
I could hear the frustration in her voice as she crossed her arms. I winced again, preparing for her to resent or hate me. But to my surprise, I heard her add more in a softer voice.
"Well, don't get yourself killed trying to pass this stupid test, I don't want to have to explain to everyone why you're not coming back."
Her icy tone defrosted as she looked back at me with a bit of concern in her eyes. She seemed less annoyed and more worried about me, which was sweet. Not that I'd let her hear that. I hoped that maybe, dad would let her give it for a spin later down the road. If anyone deserved it, it would be her. I gave a nervous laugh as I took the keys out of my pocket.
"Of course, I passed my Styx Oath, didn't I? It'd be really dumb of me to die right after barely avoiding that, right? Oh, yeah. If Ellie asks for me, tell her about dad's little test he has for me. Hopefully it won't be too long but you know how it is with godly stuff. I should be back in time for us to hang out for the rest of my birthday once I do this for dad. I'll bring back something cool!”
I felt my trepidation fade away as I prepared to drive. Lots of my siblings dreamed of piloting the chariot. It wouldn't be right to reject the opportunity when it was given to me. And, who knows? Getting back in Dad's good graces (or as much as one can get in them) might help me out. At least I would have one less target on my back. As I sat down in the white leather seat, I put the keys in the ignition and instantly it began to morph.
OOC:Read this while listening to whats coming up
The front split apart into one steel horse that slowly split into two, and then four cream-colored horses that looked around with a cruel intelligence. The seat dipped, and warped before it became a horse-drawn chariot I was now standing in. The chariot was gold and blood red, adorned with the lovely images of people dying gruesome deaths, because Dad's taste in decor is somewhere between military surplus and serial killer, apparently.
“Okay…so, I need to get to Dad's temple before sundown. I don't know New York highways though, so how can I…oh hey! A gps!”
My fingers brushed against a touch screen set up on the chariot and punched The Intrepid into the coordinates. I gave one last wave to my sister before I lashed the horses and they immediately took off. I led them out of camp easily enough, but as we reached the highway they sped up to an impossible speed for a chariot. Their speed was even faster than any cars on the highway, rivaling the time that Aphrodite camper drove us to the beach once. I pulled back on the reins, trying to get them to slow down. Instead, they gave a rebellious snort and went even faster.
I would like to say that I embraced my inner Ares kid and relished the challenge. But I'm not going to lie, when you end up going past 80 MPH in a chariot, you tend to think you're going to die, fun fact. I screamed for most of the way, yanking and pulling at their reins so we could bob and weave through traffic.
It's a bit of a drive from Camp Half-Blood to New York City, I know it well, it’s a pretty common place for me to go for some monster slaying. But, up until now, I've been in the passenger seat while Argus drives. The speed of the horses really made the time go by faster. As we entered the city, the horses started to slow down and I felt a ray of hope as I started to steer them through the city. I gave a triumphant laugh as I looked down at my ETA. It was surprisingly quick, considering how congested New York can get. And I didn't see hide or hair of either one of my godly brothers, so I felt pretty good, all things considered.
“Huh. That's weird. There's not many cars today…my luck must be turning around!”
“Traffic update: Incoming Monsters. Rerouting. Cannot reroute.”
“Huh?”
Immediately, a massive boar the size of a garbage truck burst from a nearby alley way behind me. Behind the massive pig, two armored bank cars recklessly merged into traffic. One leaned out, revealing a gray-skinned human in body armor brandishing a shotgun.
“Of course! I had to open my big mouth! Is there anything that I’m going to have to deal with?”
“You are on the fastest route!”
“Well that’s just GREAT! Now I can be on the quickest way to the underworld!”
”Rerouting to: D.O.A. Records, Los Angeles.”
“Woah, woah, woah, no! Keep me on The Intrepid! The Intrepid!”
Seeing all these enemies together though, I started to put a thought in my head. They all had something in common, now that I saw them all in front of me. A boar was sacred to Ares, Spartoi too came from a dragon sacred to him. I put the pieces together as I saw the monsters come out of the woodwork and all to me. Now things made sense. The lack of Phobos and Deimos, the sacred beings to Ares, the lack of mortals on the street.
I didn't see my siblings because Dad wanted to mess with me personally.
Even now, I don't know if he wanted to test me in a Spartan way, or if he just wanted to get rid of me without kinslaying. Either way, I couldn't back down now. Not when I was so close. I snapped on the reins and the rebellious horses continued on their path, bickering and weaving left and right as they snorted and whinnied.
I heard the wiz of something traveling through the air and quickly moved out of the way. A metal feather hit the chariot, bouncing off the hull and onto the ground. I looked up and saw a few birds. They were black and crow-like, but their feathers had a metallic sheen, like iron. Their wings flapped and I heard the sound of metal on metal as they soared above me.
“Dad called in feather-shooters too? Come on!”
I steered left and right as I evaded the metal feathers shooting at me. The newcomers behind me quickly gained as I bobbed and weaved. I had to figure a way out of this, and fast. Problem was, I was quickly outnumbered and outmatched. I wasn't the best at archery, and my sword could shoot a blast of force, courtesy of the then Forgemaster. Main issue was it took a bit to charge, and I couldn't take them on so high up.
I couldn't run. I needed to fight out of this. But even if I could fight the two Spartoi and the big pig, the problem was the birds. I didn't have a ranged option…or did I? I looked to the horses, breathing embers as they huffed and pulled the chariot further on. Ares kids couldn't talk to horses, but these were godly horses. They seemed smarter than your average horse. Maybe I could talk them into behaving, the same way I got some of my siblings to listen to the plan during Capture the Flag.
“Hey guys, are you bored? I'm sure Dad and my brothers take all the good fights, huh? You know, if you guys continue fighting each other, I might lose this and you guys will miss out on a good fight.”
At first, I thought it fell on deaf ears. But then, they stopped their jostling and started to take a more unified path as we raced along the streets. Like I thought, they enjoyed a good fight as much as their owner did.
“That's what I like to see. Look, we're pretty surrounded right now. What do you say we rampage a bit before I take you guys home?”
An evil-sounding whinny came from the horses. I couldn’t really speak horse, but I took that as an okay and pointed at the birds above us. Did I feel stupid? Kinda. But as long as it worked, I couldn’t complain.
“See them? All yours. I'll cover you guys from the ground forces, and in exchange, you guys fall in line. Alright?”
A burst of fire came from one of the horses in response and I heard a loud squawk as it engulfed one of the feather-shooters. I breathed a sigh in relief as the rest of the birds started to scatter. They veered left and right in an attempt to avoid the flaming streams that were now sporadically being fired in their direction.
“Alright! Good job, I'll leave it to you!”
I gave a smile as I turned behind to my land-based foes, quickly gaining on me. I could hear the occasional woosh of fire as the horses fought the birds. One of the armored trucks caught up to my right and one of the spartoi leaned out of the vehicle. They aimed down the sights and pointed their shotgun at me.
“Sudden traffic in your area. You will be delayed by…five minutes. You are still on the fastest route!”
“Woah, that’s not fair! Come on Dad! A gun? Really!?”
I felt a tug in my stomach. It wasn’t something I could do a lot in a row without being exhausted, but I had some sorta pull when it came to weapons. When I gave a command, they were able to fall right out of their owner’s hands.
“Alright, let’s even the playerfield shall we?”
I held out my hand and they dropped it, the gun fell onto the ground, crushed by the wheels of the car. The second caught up to my left and once again, a spartoi leaned out of their car, weapon in hand.
“Another one!? Come on! How am I going to…”
I was jerked to the side as the horses suddenly veered right. At first, I thought it was the horses misbehaving again, but then a monstrous squeal came from behind me, rushing forwards.
Crash
I heard the sound of steel groaning as the boar rushed past the truck, pushing their truck out of the way as they aggressively charged forward. It was a good thing I managed to get out of the way, or else I would have been in trouble. I could see the spartoi shaking their fist as they spun out, their car massively dented with a massive gash in the armor. Now that I had to deal with two enemies, I decided to use the boar’s momentum to my advantage. I pulled back on the reins and the boar kept barreling on, too fast to stop as I made the chariot suddenly stop and then take a sudden turn away from the temple. The boar ran straight into a brick wall, seemingly dazed but otherwise okay.
”Rerouting...”
That temporarily took care of two of my enemies. Now that I had one to worry about, and my horses were pretty steady, I could start this fight in earnest. I kept one hand on the reins as I grabbed my Miku keychain. I unclipped it, and the keychain turned into a katana, with said keychain still on the bottom. It was my sword, Anime (I want to clarify, my friend Jules named it, not me). One of the Spartoi readied a spear and lunged at me. I parried it with my blade, and stabbed at their chest. I felt my blade plunge into their body. I pulled away at it, slashing at it again to tear it apart. To my disappointment though, the monster quickly reformed.
I don't know what I expected, to be honest. They wouldn't be much of an immortal soldier if they died after the first hit. But it bought me valuable time as we pushed forward. Almost as soon as its bones knit back together, it struck at me. I guarded once again, my sword starting to glow brighter and brighter with each strike. Our blades clashed and separated again and again for, I don’t know how long to be honest. I was putting up a good fight, but I just couldn’t gain the upperhand in that fight. For starters, if it was a monster or even a demigod it’d be ten ways to Tartarus at the moment. But, no matter how I sliced or diced it, the immortal soldier kept on coming back. Also, I just wasn't used to multitasking like that, I held on as tightly as I could, but the brief times I practiced Chariot combat with my friends Jules and Cel, I was either driving or fighting. Both at the same time was hard, and I was lucky that the horses were so cooperative.
I heard the whinny of one of the horses ahead as I looked back to the front. No sign of the birds meant that there was a few extra-crispy feather-shooters along the road somewhere, which was good news. But then, I looked out in front and realized that there was a big problem. One of the trucks we left behind somehow got in front of us, blocking the road with their car. Five spartoi were standing outside of the car, swords and spears drawn as they headed the chariot off.
At this moment, I knew I was screwed. I was too fast to just stop. And, even if I did stop, I’d have to deal with all the angry skeleton men chasing me down. I just winced, bracing for impact. But then, I heard a neigh as the horses pulling my chariot started to turn into steel and combined once more. The chariot started to shift, the creak of metal folding and turning. I quickly sheathed my sword as the reins turned into chrome handlebars which I gripped like my life depended on it. The chariot continued to morph until once again it was a motorcycle with flame patterns. I veered as left as I could, narrowly avoiding hitting the side of a nearby building as I sped past the skeletal blockade. I braked, motorcycle now turning back into the chariot form as I turned back and watched as the car that was chasing me slammed straight into the other.
The now pissed spartoi stumbled out of the wreckage and started to scream undead obscenities to each other. I couldn’t speak ghost, but whatever they said seemed to be pretty rude, because both sides started to unsheath their swords and get into an all-out brawl. One of the spartoi sliced the other in two, and they didn’t reform this time as their essence slid into their black sword.
Huh. Well, that was one way to deal with them.
“Whew! Good horses.”
I turned, ready to snap the reins once again, but I stopped as I saw what was waiting for me at the other end of the road. The boar, still very much on my trail stood in front of me. It pawed at the ground in front of it, and my horses started to do the same. I stared at the boar, unsheathing Anime once again as we stared off.
“Keep straight for…500 feet.”
The thing about boars is that they can be pretty deadly. They’re brutish and aggressive, and they go down fighting. You know the crossguard that’s near the pointy end of a spear? That’s so the animal doesn’t run up the spear to take you out with it. You don’t think them being that dangerous, but there’s a reason that dad’s symbol is a boar.
I had to make this quick, and efficient or I’d end up maimed, or worse. I snapped the reins one more time, and the horses started to dash down the street. The boar squealed as it barreled to me. I could see it get closer and closer. I grit my teeth, holding my blade in my right hand as it started to shine more and more brightly. My hand held onto the grip tightly, bracing for my next action.
I’d have one shot at this.
I miss, I’m dead.
I hesitate, I’m dead.
I don’t hit the vitals, I’m dead.
Time started to slow around me as I watched the boar rush at the chariot, enraged as it reached the point where there was no stopping it now. I could see the powerful muscles push and pull, the beast using all its power in an attempt to off me for good. I felt heat coming from the front as all four horses breathed a stream of flames at the swine. The boar kept on charging forwards, through the fire as the flames engulfed it. An angry squeal erupted from the inferno as it lept up from the sea of flames, still on fire as it used its strong legs to clear the horses and go straight for me.
Breathe in
I felt a sense of calm wash over me as I pulled my sword hand back. My blade shined brilliantly, even in the May sun. I watched it fall ever closer to me, the flames still eating away at the flesh. I stared into its ever-angry eyes, burning brighter than the flames surrounding it. I don’t falter. I’ve faced monsters that have crushed my bones. I don’t feel fear. I’ve fought creatures that could have killed me in five seconds. This is it. I need it to be perfect.
Breathe out.
SHING
I swung my blade and a rush of air followed it, making an arc that flew to the boar. I don’t doubt my skills. I simply watch, confident that this will end the monster once and for all. The blast, charged from my fight flew unimpeded. The beast’s chuffs turned into surprised squeal as it sliced the boar cleanly in two, bisecting it from the snout down. I sheathed my sword and put both hands back on the reins, eyes on the road as I barely watched what came next. The flaming boar started to fade into dust, still falling through the air until only a tusk was left. I held out my arm and caught it with my right hand.
“Oh hot, hot!”
I juggled it a bit with one hand before placing it down on the chariot floor. I grinned triumphantly as I realized what happened. Dad tried to test me, to see if I was “worthy” or he genuinely tried to kill me. Either way, I beat him this time, proving to him that I was more. That he underestimated me when we first met, that I was a brave warrior all along. In the end, I proved to him that I could fulfill my Styx oath even past what was expected of me. I laughed as I sped up, I felt pretty good about my victory. I wondered how his face would look, or if I could read his expression past his dumb sunglasses.
But as I rounded the corner, a terrifying sight came to my face as my glee turned to sorrow. I watched with horror as I realized Dad’s influence on the fight kept a more dangerous foe than any before at bay. Now that the fight was over, he had no reason to keep it around, and for once, I wasn’t sure if I could get through this unscathed. I gulped as I put my hands on the reins, not ready to face the impossible challenge alone. I hoped it wouldn’t break me as I prepared what little I had to fight this foe.
”There is an unusual amount of traffic in your area today.”
“Now you tell me…”
None other, than New York traffic.
I’d like to say that I did something else. Like I defeated an army of drakons on my way, or managed to fight off crazed demigods sent by my dad…but no. It was pretty much just traffic the rest of the way there. It was long and arduous, but I managed to make my way over to The Intrepid. After that traffic,I had to say, the amount of crazy drivers was almost San Francisco bad. I’d have taken as many spartoi and boars as dad could throw at me, if it meant I wasn’t drowning in the sea of cars. I drove down Pier 86, feeling a sense of relief as I got closer and closer to the aircraft carrier turned museum. As I got within eyeshot, I realized that dad said to take it to the temple, but not where to drop it off at.
It would be really stupid to end up failing just because I wasn’t sure where to leave dad’s ride. I got off the chariot, and was eyeing the prices of a ticket.
“Adults are thirty-six, Seniors and College Students…thirty four… Oh hey! Children of Ares get in free! Now, how do I wheel dad’s chariot through the front…”
Suddenly the side gate opened, lights flashing and clanging as it automatically retracted. The person standing in the booth waved me over and I hopped back onto the chariot, driving it by cautiously. They were dressed like a security guard, shades covering their eyes as they looked down onto their phone that they were absentmindedly playing with. Eyebrow piercings peeked out from behind the shades. They were tall, looked about early twenties, and seemed like your average bored museum guard, if not for that sorta godly aura I got from them.
“Take the chariot this way, Lord Ares will be at the end of Pier 86. Can’t miss him.”
I eyed the godling suspiciously. They seemed like one of those myriad younger and minor gods I saw when I was on Olympus. Not anyone I’d know, but if they wanted to stop me, it’d be annoying to get past them. They didn’t seem to be that dangerous, at least right now. But when you were a demigod, you learned to be wary of free handouts.
“Uh…look man, I’m going to be honest. I just got through some hellish traffic to get through here. So if like, you’re leading me into a trap or if my godly brothers are going to show up to try and take this, can you just start the fight and save me the trouble? It’s been a long morning, and I just wanna get this over with.”
I stared back at my reflection through their mirrored shades. Growing up, I always thought of myself as gangly and awkward. I could see my messed up hair, tousled from the wind. I stood tall, and although I wasn’t the buffest Ares kid around, you couldn’t call me skinny anymore. I looked almost heroic as I held the reins atop the chariot. Was that how I looked now? The godling shook their head as they chuckled, putting down their phone as they looked at me in the eyes.
“Kid, even for a god like Ares who likes conflict, you don’t do something like that in a temple. You can’t just attack his kid on his own grounds. Plus, it's part of the rules of war to respect neutralized zones. Trust me, you’re home free.”
“Oh. Um, thank you.”
He nodded and went back on his phone. I snapped on the reins and the chariot trotted along, even fire-breathing horses had to follow traffic laws apparently. I was on guard, not taking the godling’s words at face value. Mortals in a daze parted around the chariot, a few snapping pictures at me. I freaked out for a split second before I heard the tourists being in awe at what I heard to be a “vintage bomber”. Dumbfounded, I stopped for a brief second. It didn’t even have wings! But, I could see the mist shimmer around me and for a brief moment, see the silhouette of the plane around the chariot. It was an old fighter, a single propellor with flaming horse art on the nose.
“P-40B Warhawk? Alright, guess we’re working with that.”
I frowned a bit, trying to think if I knew that before this, from a school project or if it was more demigod shenanigans. I was never into fighter jets, but when you’re a demigod sometimes your parent’s godly influence shoves itself into your head and it’s always confusing when it does.
I drove the “plane” to the end of the pier, where I could see my dad sitting down on a barricade, blocking off a massive plane above him. It wasn’t used for war apparently, because I had no clue what type of plane it was. Looked cool though, it was really narrow around the nose end and the wings were all near the back end. He had a big wicked-looking combat knife in his hand that he used to clean his nails. He looked up at me, disinterestedly, before going back down to the knife.
“You’re alive.”
I couldn’t tell from his tone if that was a good or bad thing. It seemed… neutral. Like he was stating the sky was blue. But, overall I’d take that as a good thing, considering our last meeting. I spoke a bit warily, not sure if he was in a good or bad mood considering my victory.
“Uh, so Father. I’m finished with what you-”
“No. You’re not.”
“I’m not!? Do I need to do anything or-”
A moment of panic snuck up into my chest. For a brief moment I was afraid he was going to pull a twelve labors on me, but then he whistled and held out his hand.
“Not until you give me the keys kid, then it’s done.”
I hopped out of the chariot, the reins in my hand turning into keys as the horses went back into their motorcycle form. I somewhat clumsily tossed it to my dad, who grabbed it. He pushed himself off his perch, first making sure his motorcycle was unharmed. Then, he turned to me, eying me up and down as he circled around where I stood. I stood still, at attention as I felt my heart racing in my chest. I felt like a deer, cornered by a wolf just waiting to strike. Yet, the first pang of anxiety soon settled down. If he wanted to take care of me, he would have done so already. Or sent something more dangerous like a Drakon at me when I was driving. I felt my heart leap up into my throat as he clapped a big hand on my shoulder. The gesture wasn’t hostile, if anything, the motion seemed friendly. But his grip was anything but. His hand, like the claws of a tiger dug into my shoulder as he grinned at me.
“I have to say, I thought you were a lost cause, but look at you kid. Took you long enough, but I guess you have enough of me in you after all. Well, a late bloomer is better than being completely useless, but man! You were one of my most pathetic kids when you took that oath. I don’t think I had a kid as wimpy as you in a long time. Well, I’m glad my little nudge helped you keep that oath up after all. It would have been a waste of a perfectly good warrior if you didn’t shape up.”
I looked at him, dumbfounded. He helped me? He didn’t do anything! I wasn’t stupid enough to point it out, but I guess he knew what I was thinking as I felt his grip tighten as he growled.
“Come on, don’t give me that look, kid. Oh, don’t look so surprised. Tip of advice: don’t dip your toes into cards. You have a horrible poker face. Your mom was the same way. But, yes. I helped. Not that kids these days would understand. Parents these days are too soft, including most of us gods. Back in Sparta, we’d leave our kids to fend for themselves. Just give them barely enough food and let them hunt or steal the rest. If they end up dying in the hunt or starved, well that’s fine. They were too weak to do anything of note anyway. You should consider yourself lucky I was generous enough to just turn my back on you.”
He chuckled low, and my blood ran cold as he shook me. I shook my head, fighting off a wave of dizziness as he threatened to take off my arm.
“Oh, but that’s in the past! You passed your agōgē period, all by yourself. Now that is true strength.”
His evil grin widened as he gave me the closest thing to an approved look he’d ever given me. I furrowed my brow as I shook my head. This credit, it wasn’t mine to take, was it? Before I could think, I spoke what was on my mind.
“I’m sorry, but I didn’t do this by myself. Everywhere I went, I had someone to help me out. If it wasn’t for the help from my friends, I don’t think I would be standing here. I didn’t-”
My dad’s good mood instantly soured as his grin warped into a snarl. His grip, although somewhat friendly now seemed dangerously tight as he frustratingly interrupted me.
“Oh for the love of! I’m complimenting you, kid. Look. I don’t care about those other twerps one way or another. Allies are fine enough in war, as long as you don’t make them do all the work. Kid, you’ve gotten strong all on your own, like a true son of mine. Don’t deny you and me the kleos you rightfully deserve ever again. Shut up and just take the honor.”
“I…uh…yes, Dad.”
I was surprised that all it accounted to was a mild scolding. My dad, too seemed to calm down after I agreed with his words, as he went back to a smile. He put his hand back into his pocket as he started to walk up to his chariot. He ran his finger across the chrome finish, taking out a cloth and cleaning off my fingerprints from the metal.
“About your joyride. Not bad, not bad at all. It took you a bit to embrace your birthright, but you ended up not even scratching my ride. Nice. Nice. Saves me the trouble of buffing it out. Now, if you could only stop complaining at everything that opposed you. You’re a man, aren’t you David? Start acting like it. If you think a bag of bones and a pig are hard, just wait until your future. The stronger a warrior gets, the stronger their foes get. Make sure you’re strong enough to stand up against them before you end up a stain on the pavement.”
I heard the engine rev as he got into the seat. He threw a bag at me that I clumsily fumbled with before I fully caught it. I opened it, and a few golden drachmas shined back at me.
“Since your agōgē finished up, consider yourself un-cut off. Even I’m not heartless enough to leave a son of mine stranded in New York. Keep the rest. Feel free to hang around my temple, and help yourself to the gift shop if you want, it’s on the house, happy birthday and all that. Just don’t go overboard.”
He turned the motorcycle, wheeling it around so he could leave the pier. He turned around, giving me a few more parting words he shouted over the roar of the engine.
“Don’t think you’re done yet, David. You got a lot more to grow. Especially now that you can receive my blessings again. What, did you think that taking a good hit was all you can do? You’ll see sooner or later. See ya kid! Don’t disappoint me.”
He revved his engine one more time and took off, leaving me behind on the pier. As I watched my dad leave, I realized that with that resolved, the last of what made my Styx Oath so suffocating was finally finished. A part of me felt that I’d always keep the consequences of it with me. Either dad would continue to disown me, or I’d be horribly injured from my jobs. But, to my surprise, everything worked out alright. I worked as hard as I could, and now everything was over, truly over. I…wasn’t sure how I felt about it. I mean, like obviously I didn’t wanna have them with me for the rest of my life. But, for all of my oath’s lifespan I had the deadline looming overhead, and my expectation was that something would happen to me as a result. I was glad to have it over with, but I never felt that I could relax until now. The feeling of not having the anxiety of my imminent demise was something I wasn’t familiar with, and to be honest I still have trouble relaxing. As he disappeared into the afternoon traffic, I realized that, so too did my previous life.
Maybe…maybe I could afford to enjoy my life now after all.
OOC: And there we have it! The final David storymode relevant to this storyline! I meant to have this yesterday but I didn't see the modmail that gave me the okay until literally an hour ago oop. Which means that yes, the Chariot and Ares both are approved from the mods.
Big thank you to Tiffany's writer, angelspoint for helping me with her parts, I had a blast working with them! Hope you enjoyed David's Victory lap!
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2024.05.18 10:51 babangtan Receding hairline? I'm only 21...

I've always had a big forehead but in the past year my hairline has started receding- more so at the right corne temple area. It seems like my forehead is slowly starting to get bigger too. My hair is very long and healthy. It grows out incredibly fast as well but I do shed a lot. I have no bald patches anywhere.
My family all has full hair- even on my dad's side.
Only medical history is migraines. I'm not on any medication. Never been on birth control either.
I've tried every oral supplement known to man.
I've gotten my labs checked out and only my vitamin d is low. (I work the night shift. I have also recently started taking vitamin d supplements). My last level was 15ng/ml.
My thyroid labs are all good. I do have two nodules on my thyroid that I get an ultrasound on every year- they have not caused me any issues and have gotten smaller in the last few years.
I have regular periods and don't have PCOS.
My male labs/testosterone, dhea etc.. are all normal.
I never wear my hair up and when I do it's in a low, loose ponytail.
I've consistently tried dermarolling and rosemary oil for months with no luck.
Did I just get unlucky with female pattern baldness? Is my only hope minoxidil? Here's a pic of what I'm dealing with https://i.imgur.com/xkDsmnb.jpeg
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2024.05.18 10:05 zestymangococonut Yard Sale in the North End

I have a good lead on a big yard sale this weekend:
Multi-family yard sale, SO MANY CLOTHES! (North Tacoma/bordering University Place)
sunday 2024-05-19 start time: 9am Across from the Tacoma Musical Playhouse, corner of 6th ave and MacArthur, look for the signs 🙂
Sun May 19, 8am-4pm
*So many clothes: men's, women's, gender neutral, almost every size including women's plus and petite. A lot are new with tags. We were hoarding clothes for a boutique but have too much so thinning it out a lot. Some of the brands: Lots of vintage/retro and "alternative", Dickies, DC, lots of J Crew, Bill Blass, Ralph Lauren, Aritzia, Madewell, Industrial Threads, Free People, Liz Claiborne, Banana Republic, Athleta lots more!
Dickies and plaid flannel shirts, skate shirts, graphic T-shirts
*Shoes: Lots of brands and sizes! A number of "Pin-up" style heels, cone heels, stacked heel, patent leather Mary Jane’s, Vionic, Birkenstock, Vans, Converse, DC, Steve Madden, Old Navy....so much more!
*Purses/bags: A whole bunch! Lux De Ville, "brass knuckle" handbag, vintage styles, lots more!
*Hosiery: Spanx, stockings, fishnets, shapewear, including bodysuits, Brand New underwear, slips, 2 piece cami sets, and nightgowns...
*Furniture: vintage/retro, bar stools, dresser, desks, hanging lamp, dresser, Wakefield tables, MCM, hutch, ottoman IKEA...
*Books! Hardcover, coffee table, novels, Lauren Conrad Beauty
*Household items, accessories, seasonal decor...
*Random things our young adult children have abandoned or outgrown or wanted to sell.
*A huge pile of puzzles!
*Handmade crafty items as well, such as scrabble tile pendants, cross stitch, jewelry
THERE WILL BE NEW INVENTORY STOCKED WITH MORE UNIQUE ITEMS THROUGHOUT THE WEEKEND
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2024.05.18 07:36 Taylors3000 [Opinion] Initial thoughts on 5th Edition

Long post ahead! While I’m aware we haven’t seen everything yet, I wanted to share my thoughts on what we have seen, as well as my hopes for what has yet to be revealed.
Characters-
Right off the bat it’s sad seeing two characters cut from the game, but this is somewhat rectified upon seeing the quality of the minis this go-around. 4th edition’s minis left a lot to be desired, and while I can’t judge them fully until I see them in person, 5th edition seems to have vastly improved them. What disappoints me more is seeing the lineup being taken straight from 4th edition. While I expected some veterans to return, I was also hoping to see some different faces, either being brand new or ones only featured in previous expansions. To expound on this point, the character stats and abilities are virtually identical to 4th edition. I don’t expect a game like this to ever be “balanced”, but as a player I was hoping to see the characters get different abilities to make this edition feel fresh. As it stands, you could just use your 4th edition character cards and play just fine, which I suppose could be considered a good or bad thing depending on who you ask.
Toads-
The nerf to the toad has me feeling mixed. I feel that it’s a case of overcorrecting from an overreaction. Toadification was an infamously punishing mechanic, so much so that it shaped part of Talisman’s identity. Ask anyone who’s ever played a single game of Talisman what they remember about the game, and almost all will say the Toad. And that’s because it’s brutal! That being said, I was in agreement it was *too* punishing, and could use some tweeks. This game made 2 changes to the mechanic (Lasting only 1 turn, and not losing your objects and followers), but I feel that only one of these should have been chosen. Having both basically makes the toad a slightly more annoying “lose a turn”.
If I were to personally balance the toad, I would do the following:
-The toad still lasts 3 turns
-You don’t lose any followers
-You lose all your objects and gold, BUT if you have a mule it can carry 4 objects for you
-If you defeat any creature or character in combat, the curse immediately breaks
The Board-
Honestly I have nothing negative to say about the board design. The art looks great, and the information is displayed eloquently. I love how drawing cards and rolling dice is represented by symbols instead of text. The Ferryman offering rides to the middle region is a great addition, and helps make gold more useful. No longer being enslaved at the temple is an okay change, though I feel they should have just nerfed it to “Lose 1 turn” instead, as outright removing it loses some of the charm the space had. I’m quite sad that the Warlock deck hasn’t made a return, as I was hopeful it would become a staple. The vanilla Warlock’s cave is just begging to be replaced.
The Ending-
Changing the ending to a boss fight is something I’m indifferent towards. My only gripe is that it doesn’t seem the crown of command is in the game as an alternate ending. Actually one of my hopes with this game would be it included a few endings right from the start, without the need to buy expansions or print them out. But as for the ending we have, I hope the dragon has a bit more depth than just a standard Talisman enemy.
The Adventure cards-
There’s a lot to unpack here. On the one hand, I appreciate the cards being full-sized now. But on the other hand, their designs seem kinda dull. Something about the white backgrounds just makes the cards feel cheap looking by default. And having the illustration be regulated to a window on the card defeats the purpose of having bigger cards in the first place. Talisman has always had wonderful illustrations for their card art, but they were so small they couldn’t be fully appreciated. While technically bigger now, they add further insult by slapping the card name ON the illustration. It really feels like one step forward, two steps back. And God do I *detest* the placement of the encounter numbers. They were in the bottom corner for a reason, so you can stack them in an orderly fashion while clearly seeing what was coming next. Now if you did the same thing they’d take up a ton of space while also looking atrocious. Horrible design choice.
And that’s just the card designs. I’m quite sad to see that keywords aren’t making a return (I’m talking words like “Trinket” or “Cursed”). 4th edition was more than just the base game, and I was hopeful that more design elements from the expansions would be incorporated into the base game. For example the bandit being a “Monster” as opposed to an “Outlaw” seems so unnecessary. We also haven’t seen a single non-base edition adventure card yet. I’m left wondering if there’s anything in the deck that wasn’t in base 4th edition.
Talismans-
I’m pretty happy with the changes to Talismans here. I always thought Talismans would be a good fit to be trinkets, seeing as they were represented as necklaces in artwork. I do wish like with the adventure cards they were *called* trinkets. Not being able to drop them is an interesting twist though. I can’t think of a gameplay reason they would impose such a rule, perhaps a balancing quirk in the playtesting? But I was hopeful that they would have taken notes from the Cataclysm expansion and added abilities to them.
The components-
-Seeing toads regulated to cardboard is quite sad, but I feel it falls in line with the drop in characters. To keep the price down (In this economy) sacrifices need to be made. It doesn’t bother me since I have my 4th edition toads to use, but I totally understand this being a sticking point for players who don’t have them.
-I can’t be sure, but it *seems* like fate tokens are divided into different dark and light chips. And every player in the promo picture opted for dark fate. It makes me wonder if this is actually dark/light fate, or a new mechanic.
-Alliance cards are tokens now, and have a convenient place on the character card. I like this change a lot, but I’m also hoping the back of these tokens have neutral alignment (And there’ll be ways to actually turn neutral in base game).
-Tee-pee stat tokens are back, which is a bit of a bummer since I was hoping they would have upgraded to stat wheels like most modern games.
Final thoughts-
If you read all of the above, you can probably tell that I was hoping that a 5th edition of Talisman would learn from all the expansions 4th edition added. While I never expected things like corner boards or NPC pieces, I was hoping for easy-to-implement changes like alternate endings, keywords, better enemy classifications, warlock cards, a day-night card, etc. Instead it feels like the expansions were outright ignored during the entire design process. If it wasn’t in base game, it's not here. I’m curious if that was a decision by Avalon Hill, or Games Workshop. I’m sure there will be those who’d prefer the game stick as close to 4th edition as possible, but for me this game feels like it’ll be edition 4.5 as opposed to 5th. I still plan on getting it and already preordered it. And as a big house-rule and homebrew fan, most of the things I complained about can easily be tweaked and altered to my liking. In the end, I’m just happy Talisman is returning!
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2024.05.18 07:06 JustKidding456 Sunday of Pentecost: Gospel Reading (CPH The Lutheran Study Bible)

Have a blessed week ahead.
Acts of the Apostles, 2:1–21:
The Coming of the Holy Spirit
When the day of Pentecost arrived, they were all together in one place. And suddenly there came from heaven a sound like a mighty rushing wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting. And divided tongues as of fire appeared to them and rested on each one of them. And they were all filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other tongues as the Spirit gave them utterance.
Now there were dwelling in Jerusalem Jews, devout men from every nation under heaven. And at this sound the multitude came together, and they were bewildered, because each one was hearing them speak in his own language. And they were amazed and astonished, saying, “Are not all these who are speaking Galileans? And how is it that we hear, each of us in his own native language? Parthians and Medes and Elamites and residents of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia, Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya belonging to Cyrene, and visitors from Rome, both Jews and proselytes, Cretans and Arabians—we hear them telling in our own tongues the mighty works of God.” And all were amazed and perplexed, saying to one another, “What does this mean?” But others mocking said, “They are filled with new wine.”
Peter’s Sermon at Pentecost
But Peter, standing with the eleven, lifted up his voice and addressed them: “Men of Judea and all who dwell in Jerusalem, let this be known to you, and give ear to my words. For these people are not drunk, as you suppose, since it is only the third hour of the day. But this is what was uttered through the prophet Joel:
“‘And in the last days it shall be, God declares, that I will pour out my Spirit on all flesh, and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, and your young men shall see visions, and your old men shall dream dreams; even on my male servants and female servants in those days I will pour out my Spirit, and they shall prophesy. And I will show wonders in the heavens above and signs on the earth below, blood, and fire, and vapor of smoke; the sun shall be turned to darkness and the moon to blood, before the day of the Lord comes, the great and magnificent day. And it shall come to pass that everyone who calls upon the name of the Lord shall be saved.’
Engelbrecht, E. A. (2009). The Lutheran Study Bible. Concordia Publishing House:
(LSB = Commission on Worship of The Lutheran Church—Missouri Synod. Lutheran Service Book. St. Louis: Concordia, 2006.)
2:1–13 The Holy Spirit descends as a gift, sounding forth one message in many tongues, showing that Israel will soon burst its ethnic bounds. Cynics of all eras belittle God’s mighty deeds and explain them away. However, humility before the Holy Spirit is in order, along with sheer wonder that God gives Himself to people of all nations. • “Come, holy Fire, comfort true, Grant us the will Your work to do And in Your service to abide; Let trials turn us not aside.” Amen. (LSB 497:3)
2:14–41 Peter shows from the Scriptures that Jesus is Israel’s Lord as well as Savior of the nations. Rejoice that God pours out His Spirit in Baptism and multiplies His blessings to us in daily repentance and forgiveness. He makes a new Israel, a new house of David—the Church! • Lord, grant that I may confess and proclaim You with confidence, as Peter did. Amen.
Engelbrecht, E. A. (2009). The Lutheran Study Bible. Concordia Publishing House:
(Aram = Aramaic — cf = confer — chs = chapters — Gk = Greek — NT = New Testament — OT = Old Testament — v = verse — vv = verses — Ex = Exodus — Lv = Leviticus — Dt = Deuteronomy — Ps = Psalms — Mt = Matthew — Lk = Luke — Jn = John — Ac = Acts — Rm = Romans — 1Co = 1 Corinthians — Gal = Galatians — Heb = Hebrews — 1Pt = 1 Peter — 2Pt = 2 Peter — Chrys = John Chrysostom — Cyr Jer = Cyril of Jerusalem — Luth = Martin Luther — AE = Luther, Martin. Luther’s Works. American Edition. General editors Jaroslav Pelikan and Helmut T. Lehmann. 56 vols. St. Louis: Concordia, and Philadelphia: Muhlenberg and Fortress, 1955–86. — NPNF 1 = Schaff, Philip, ed. A Select Library of Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers of the Christian Church, Series 1. 14 vols. New York: The Christian Literature Series, 1886–89. Reprint, Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1956. — NPNF 2 = Schaff, Philip, and Henry Wace, ed. A Select Library of Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers of the Christian Church, Series 2. 14 vols. New York: The Christian Literature Series, 1890–99. Reprint, Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1952, 1961.)
2:1 day of Pentecost. Fifty days after the Passover Sabbath (Lv 23:15–21). Pentecost likely also commemorated the giving of the Law on Sinai, as later rabbis attest. On this new day in Ac, God’s people are publicly formed through the bestowal of the Holy Spirit. They acquire the names “Church” and “Christians” in the NT but also stand in faith with believers of the OT, who trusted in the coming Savior. Cf Mt 8:11. arrived. Gk has sense of “fill up, complete” (cf Lk 9:51; Gal 4:4). they. Possibly just the 12 apostles (cf 1:26; 2:14), though the fulfillment described in vv 17–18 hints that the 120 are meant. (Reference to the 120 is much more remote; 1:15.) Chrys: “Was it upon the twelve that [the Holy Spirit] came? Not so; but upon the hundred and twenty. For Peter would not have quoted to no purpose the testimony of the prophet” (NPNF 1 11:25). all together. Continuing their practice of fellowship and worship. in one place. Setting unclear. Possibly the building containing the Upper Room (1:13), though how the apostles’ message could reach the crowd (vv 5–11) is unclear and never explained. This has led some interpreters to suggest the temple courts as a likely location.
2:2–3 like … wind … as of fire. The manifestations were indescribable because they revealed God’s miraculous activity.
2:2 house. Gk oikos. Luke usually uses this term to denote a private dwelling (or for the family as a “household”) but also uses it for the temple (Lk 6:4; 19:46; Ac 7:47, 49; cf Lk 24:53; Ac 2:46). The setting for Peter’s sermon (vv 14–41) had to accommodate thousands of people. According to later Christian tradition, the house with the Upper Room was located on Mount Zion (southwest hill of Jerusalem) and would have been outside the city wall.
2:3 tongues as of fire. Luke describes the scene with a comparison. The emphasis in the wording is on the mouth (“tongue,” “speak,” “utterance”), which may indicate where the “fire” appeared (see Moses’ appearance in Ex 34:29). The fire appropriately appears as tongues of flame, since the Holy Spirit works through the apostles’ speech. In the OT, angelic spirits were described as fire (see note, Ps 104:3–4). Fire also represented the presence of God’s Spirit (Ex 3:2–4).
2:4 filled with the Holy Spirit. Anointing with the Holy Spirit brings a startling transformation. The Spirit never becomes a personal possession but remains a heavenly gift, received by the repentant through faith. speak in other tongues. Miraculous ability to communicate in foreign languages the speakers had never learned (vv 7–11). Cyr Jer: “The Holy Spirit taught them many languages at once, languages which in all their lives they never knew” (NPNF 2 7:128).
2:5 Jews, devout men from every nation. Jews dispersed throughout the world who piously observed the Law, now in Jerusalem to observe the required feasts.
2:6 God brings the people together to hear His Word. These miraculous events are God’s extended appeal for Israel to receive Jesus as their Messiah and to become part of the new Israel, the Church. speak in his own language. The hearers understood the proclamation neither in Aram nor in common Gk but in their local languages.
2:7–8 An obvious miracle. Working men from Galilee would hardly be accomplished linguists.
2:9–11 These groups, coming from all corners of the earth, point forward to the universal character of the Church. Twelve diverse regions signify all people. The Jewish Dispersion had spread to all these places. The mention of the capital city of Rome represents the empire, which encompassed the known world. Jews and proselytes. Represents all worshipers of the God of Israel, whether ethnic Jews or Gentile converts. Cretans and Arabians. Has the sense of all from west and east, from island and mainland.
2:11 proselytes. Gentile converts to Judaism who were circumcised and likely also received a baptism for cleansing. mighty works of God. Cf Dt 11:2; Ps 71:19; 105. Luth: “When God wanted to spread the gospel throughout the world by means of the apostles he gave the tongues for that purpose [Acts 2:1–11]. Even before that, by means of the Roman Empire he had spread the Latin and Greek languages widely in every land in order that his gospel might the more speedily bear fruit far and wide” (AE 45:359).
2:12 This extraordinary work of God needed explanation.
2:13 Just as some rejected the earthly Jesus, so mockers and skeptics have always dismissed the Church’s message (cf Mt 10:22; Jn 15:18–20). Cyr Jer: “In truth the wine was new, even the grace of the New Testament; but this new wine was from a spiritual Vine, which had oftentimes [before] this borne fruit in Prophets, and had budded in the New Testament” (NPNF 2 7:128).
2:14 Peter. Spokesman for the Twelve; always named first in lists of the apostles. His work is the focus of chs 1–12.
2:15 third hour of the day. Hour of prayer and sacrifice at the temple.
2:17 last days. Peter quotes Joel’s prophecy to state that the decisive stage and climax of history has arrived with Christ and the Church (cf 1Co 10:11; Heb 1:2; 1Pt 1:20). pour out My Spirit. God gives His people not just things, but Himself in the Third Person of the Godhead. The promised Baptism with the Spirit was “poured,” showing that the term “baptism” was not regarded strictly as immersion (cf v 33). all flesh. God’s salvation is universal in scope; He pours out the Spirit on all kinds of people.
2:18 servants. Like Mary (Lk 1:38) and Paul (Rm 1:1), all Christians are bond servants of the Lord. He gives them His Spirit, yet they belong to Him.
2:19 wonders … signs. Works that demonstrate the arrival of the last days, begun in the earthly life of Christ and continued here in Ac (cf v 43; 4:16, 22, 30; 5:12; 6:8; 8:6, 13; 14:3; 15:12). above … below. Emphasizes the dramatic top-to-bottom change in creation that God enacts.
2:20 the day of the Lord. When Christ returns in glory. Refers to a time (not strictly 24 hours) in which God dramatically reveals and/or executes His judgment by condemning the wicked and delivering the righteous. The prophets often use this phrase with reference to the end of history (cf 2Pt 3:10), yet it does not always have this ultimate sense.
2:21 calls upon. A cry from the heart, lamenting sin and imploring mercy.
submitted by JustKidding456 to Sunday [link] [comments]

2024.05.18 01:35 Memiiselgey23 The 8 Choir Girls

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.
submitted by Memiiselgey23 to NoSleepAuthors [link] [comments]

2024.05.18 01:33 SamMorrisHorror Them Devils Pt. 1

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

2024.05.18 01:33 SamMorrisHorror Them Devils Pt. 1

On the night when it all happened a young man called Smallmouth found himself in quite a pickle. He shivered and paced clumsily all over the second story porch of a cabin that used to be very nice, which overlooked a snowy down-sloping field that used to be kept up properly and carefully. He was already six packs deep into a carton of cigarettes he had bought only two days ago from a Casey’s General Store on his way up. He could recall the look on the young woman’s face at the register when he asked for a carton of Parliament Menthols, her eyes showing one blink of humorous surprise and another couple blinks of obvious concern, which faded to professional indifference as she rang in the sweet, icy killers. Smallmouth stopped his nervous dallying when he caught himself in the kitchen window; a large, shadowy figure sulking between the inside lights and the cold, almost glowing world downhill. His eyes still on his murky reflection, he patted his coat pockets for his seventh pack, pulling it out and smacking it against his left palm before cracking open and lighting it at his mouth. In a slow, warm flash, he could briefly see his own face in the window.
“Oh man, it’s bad” , he thought to himself.
He hadn’t shaved in weeks and his beard grew coarse and thick. A face that his mother had once called handsome had become a clean plate covered in steel wool. Well, maybe not so clean. Under and around his eyes were the obvious bruising of sleeplessness and his skin had lost its lively color and clarity of yesteryear.
“Ughhh” he groaned, turning away from the window to look over the porch and into the freezing, beckoning night.
The pickle that Jeremy “Smallmouth” Bassett found himself in involved his uncle, and his uncle’s evening logistics, to be precise. Smallmouth had been kicked out of his parents home on December 27th due to a slight misunderstanding at 2am when he believed the living room Christmas tree to be the downstairs bathroom. He had passed out on the couch after drinking a fire pit full of crushed Hamm’s cans and his brain tried desperately to get him up and to the nearby toilet. His little sister Stacy was tucked in fast asleep on a loveseat by the tree when she was brutally torn from her sugarplum dreams to hear the terrible hiss of Smallmouth’s folly. She screamed, the parents woke up, and, well, there you go. After well over three strikes, Smallmouth’s temporary residence had come to an end, and he was thrown to his mother’s brother’s cabin to dry up and straighten out before he could ever even be considered to return.
“You two deserve to live together. He can’t say no either because he owes me a lot more than this!” Smallmouth’s mother had screeched over him as he sat at the kitchen table the following morning with a cold bag of peas against his throbbing right temple. “You go there and you GET RIGHT!! I don’t care how long it takes just clean up your act and MAKE something of yourself! And for goodness sake tell Chuck to do the same, while he still has time!”
Yes, Uncle Chuck had his own shelf full of good time problems, and that’s what put Smallmouth in a bind tonight as he pondered over the white yonder that led to a black nothing, a black nothing that in the daylight pretended to be a forest. At night, it showed its true nature, an endless world of dark secrets and aching regret. At least that’s how Smallmouth saw it in this moment.
Chuck had gone down to the ranch he worked on for a New Years party with his work buddies. They liked to gather at the big barn where all of the vehicles and equipment were kept, sitting around a card table passing out stories about women and other trophy game that were either outright lied about or illegally poached. Oh, and they also liked to pass the bottle around. Therein lied the conundrum for Smallmouth.
Uncle Chuck was many things, but one thing he wasn’t was a drunk driver. Chuck’s wife Rebecca had been struck and killed by a drunk driver almost ten years ago when she was out jogging the back roads early one morning. Everyone assumed that’s what led him to his openly hard drinking and sneakily pill popping ways in the first place. For Chuck, most nights were kept at home, parked in front of a TV watching old westerns and cleaning out a full bottle of Wild Turkey 101 before snoring in his recliner. On the few nights he would go out, he would always call a ride if things got out of hand. As you can imagine, he tends to need a ride home.
“I should be home bout 11:30. Service ain’t so good up there near the barn so if it gets bout 11:15-11:20 and I ain’t home, go head and do me a favor and come grab me son.” Chuck had told Smallmouth before he left, closing the warped screen door behind him.
Smallmouth had spent the evening trying his best to stay entertained without the help of any chemical enhancement. His family’s anger and resentment really struck him and this time he was determined to truly get right and get his life back on the rails. He was 29 years old. He had gone through college clean as a whistle, bright and driven, receiving his MBA with plans to work his way up in a promising career in business. That worked for a couple years. Then he found a calling in ministry, deciding to quit the corporate world to fill an opening of a tiny country church in the area. They needed a deacon who could take care of things around the building and assist in the worship service. He wasn’t much for public speaking, haven been given the nickname Smallmouth at a young age due to his soft spoken nature, but he could pass plates and give a hushed prayer every now and then. He liked to mow and paint and help old ladies up the stairs. The quiet country life was really nice for him, for a while. Strange, radical ideas eventually spread through the church though, and half of its members left overnight to form their own congregation. Its funding cut in half, the church had to close its doors and the other members absorbed into other churches. Smallmouth rarely ever saw the people that had departed from the church, but rumors creeped that they met at an old abandoned building deep in the woods, performing all sorts of different acts and rituals that would purify themselves and destroy all evils. Nevertheless, Smallmouth was out of work and picked up shifts bartending at a small town dive. His soft fortitude was no match for the booze and drugs and women that would pass through there and soon he was out the door. That landed him mooching off of his parents, draining their sanity and eventually draining himself on their Christmas tree. The last strike.
So there he was all night, waiting up for uncle Chuck. He was two days clean of everything except caffeine and nicotine, a major improvement. He felt a boost of hope and confidence the first morning after a sober nights sleep. He found the mornings to be the best parts of the day. At least he had coffee and cigarettes to get him out of bed. That would wear off quickly and the rest of the day was filled with trying to find distractions until the sun set about 5pm. Then he would watch a movie or two with Chuck. Last night he had been able to call it early and go to sleep at 7pm shortly after Chuck started sawing logs in front of True Grit (the original John Wayne version of course). Tonight he saw 7pm struggle and churn into 8…….8:13……..8:48……9:05……9:29………..9:31………9:52……..9:58……….10:11…….10:12 (oh cmon)……10:27…….10:56…….and finally 11:08. It was like the clock was a 35 year old four cylinder engine oiled with crunchy peanut butter. Now, crunch time sat in the cold air as Smallmouth finished his cigarette and stewed over his decision. He really didn’t feel like going down to the barn and getting Chuck, even though it was only a couple miles. In the infancy of his sobriety he found the smallest of choices and activities to seem dire and at the very least upsettingly out of his way. Surely Chuck can get himself home on his own, right?
“No. Who knows if someone’s Aunt Rebecca or grandmother or son is out there on the road tonight” he thought.
As much as he had tried to screw up his life, Smallmouth usually knew what the right decision would be, even if he so often refused to listen. It was there ever so clearly on this New Year’s Eve, wailing in the back row of his mind like a misbehaved child during a church sermon. Smallmouth left the porch and went inside to grab his keys.
He walked out to his truck, got in, cranked it, let it sit down to one rpm, and started down the gravel driveway, which led to the gravel county road that Chuck and his few and far between neighbors lived on. He got to the mailbox and suddenly shot his attention up the road, where headlights revealed themselves out of the deep dark. It was rare to see any cars this far down Chuck’s road. In fact, there were no other houses to the right of Chuck’s cabin, spare for a couple of empty ones that were condemned but were attached to a lot of forest property.
Smallmouth squinted his eyes as a large black Dodge Ram 3500 came barreling by with a livestock trailer. Even inside his own truck he could hear a terrible noise coming from that trailer. He recognized it instantly as a pig squeal.
“The hell?” He whispered as the truck and trailer tore down the road, going around a nearby corner and out of sight. He couldn’t guess what on earth that could be about at this hour, and especially since nobody lived down there anyway. He shrugged it off though, and turned left out of the driveway, headed for drunk Uncle Chuck down at the ranch.
Ten minutes and a couple of snowy country miles later Smallmouth found himself through the metal gate of the ranch and up to the main barn, where a couple of smiling ranch hands had Chuck held up between them just outside one of two closed garage doors. A lamppost nearby cast a glow of debauchery on all of their faces, especially Chuck’s. Smallmouth got out and walked up to them smiling and shaking his head.
“Well well well…” he said with a slight laugh.
“Your Uncle put on one hell of a clinic tonight ‘Mouth” one of the hands said.
“I…..I….I don’t know what they’re tawlkin bout son” Chuck slang out before a high pitched giggle.
“I got another couple rounds in me I thinks!”
Smallmouth laughed.
“Yeah I ain’t so sure about that uncle! Let’s get on home now and let these fellas get on too.”
“Y’alright alright” Chuck said as Smallmouth took him from his buddies arms into one of his own and led him to the passenger seat of his truck.
“Happy New Years boys!!! Let’s do it all again okay?” He hollered to his waving buddies as they drove back away from the barn and through the metal gate toward home.
“You have a good time Uncle?”
“Oh…ohhh…I reckon I showed those boys how to do it” Another childish giggle.
A light snow shower seasoned the cold air as the truck rolled down the gravel country road. In the yellow headlights it made a pleasant white noise for the eyes. Chuck put his hands up staggered and vertically, fingers together and outstretched, pointing out in front of the truck down the road like he was aiming up for a rifle shot. He closed one eye.
“Straight as an arrow ole son. You’re good at this.”
“I ain’t drunk pops” Smallmouth chuckled.
“Sure ya are. Everybody’s drunk son. Even people that ain’t drink. Ticket is to get drunk on good stuff” Chuck’s face calmed from a goofy grin as he kept his eyes out front into the slow swirling tube of visible night.
“You sound like you’re drunk on some pretty damn good stuff” Smallmouth retorted as they shared a look and a good laugh.
“Suppose’n you ain’t wrong. Gotta work on that just like you are. Proud o’ you for a couple days clean man. We’ll get right. We’ll get right. All I meant was that man is born to get drunk on somethin’ or other. What I mean is God. Man is born to get drunk on his God.” Chuck said as Smallmouth shot him a raised eyebrow look of confusion.
“Once God gets ya drunk then you’re home free ol’ son. That distillery is never ending eternal forever. That land flows with whiskey and honey.” They both shared another laugh.
“Okay okay I think I somewhat understand now Uncle.”
They rode in a few seconds of comfortable silence before Chuck put his hands up in an aim position down the road again.
“You know…man….man….man has a GOVERNOR…..you know that right?”
“A what? A governor?”
“That’s right a GOVERNOR…that’s right…a little bitty device in his brain that keeps him on the road…keeps him from turning right off into the dark. You ever hear that little voice that tells you you can turn off into the ditch…into oncomin’ traffic? Tells you you can shoot your buddy instead of the deer? That you can jump off the top of the building and onto the pavement when you’re up there enjoying the view?”
“I…uh…I don’t know…I mean maybe? Pretty sure those are intrusive thoughts and they’re normal.”
“Well whatever they are that’s what the governor is for. Keeps ya straight. Keeps ya from harmin nothin.”
“Alright man, alright.”
They pulled back into Chuck’s driveway and parked. Smallmouth helped his uncle out of the truck and up into the cabin, snow starting to color the roof and pile against the side of the house near the door. Arms locked Smallmouth propped open the screen door, opened the inner door, and led Chuck through the kitchen and to his bedroom. Chuck layed down on his camo comforter with a deep, long exhale.
“Ahhhh yes……yes” he whispered with a smile.
“I love ya son…I’m glad you’re heeeeere. Let’s get better….your mom needs it…..stay in the Lord’s light son…don’t let them devils get ya….let’s get better….lets….” He was off into the distant deep ether almost immediately, and his mouth hung open.
“Goodnight uncle…love ya too.” Smallmouth patted the bed twice before walking over and closing the bedroom door behind him.
He went and sat at the kitchen table. He regretted his behavior earlier in the night. How it pained him to have to stay up a little later to go help out his uncle.
“Cmon…” he whispered.
He agreed with Chuck. He was here to get better. To do better. Maybe Chuck was right. If he couldn’t get drunk off booze, it was time to pick something else to drink. Better things. Maybe even God? Smallmouth hadn’t paid much mind to God since his church job fell through. God surely hadn’t been there for him these last few years when he was at his lowest. Or was He there the whole time? Had Smallmouth just ignored Him? These things floated heavily in his mind and soon he realized he had been staring at the front door for several minutes. Had he even blinked? Then something else came to mind.
“Wait hold up”
That truck and trailer from earlier. What WAS that? He meant to bring it up to the ranch hands. They would’ve seen it come barreling down the road right by their front gate. Oh he wished he had brought that up to them. Oh well. It’s probably nothing. Smallmouth looked at the clock. 12:12.
“Happy New Year old boy.” He said to himself.
He sat for a moment in the warm kitchen light, his eyes not leaving the front door. Well, he’s up this late already, why not go run down and check on the abandoned properties?
No…no…it can wait. It’s probably nothing. Right?
Wrong. There’s that wailing kid in the back pew of his mind again. Come on kid can’t you just be quiet and listen to the sermon? No, no it can’t. It must be heard. Always. He knew he had to go check it out.
“Ughhhh FINE!” Smallmouth got up and grabbed his truck keys, patted to make sure his cigarettes were still there, and was out the door again.
The snow shower had ended. As he pulled up to the edge of the drive, he stalled for a moment and peaked out as far to the right as he could down the dark road. Nothing. It wasn’t very far to the end of that road, where two out of service mailboxes should’ve stood in a small cul-de-sac if it weren’t for teenagers beating them to splinters. Can’t really blame them either. Smallmouth considered his plan. Whether or not that truck belonged to the landowner down there, he shouldn’t feel like he needs to sneak around. He is merely a concerned neighbor after all. He began down the road and around that same corner the stranger disappeared earlier.
After a couple of slow, curious minutes Smallmouth could see the evidence of a great big fire in the near distance, beyond where the road ended. Through the bare trees and against the snow it cast orange and red that could surely be seen a mile in every direction, that is, if there were anyone there to see it.
Slightly intimidated, Smallmouth decided to turn off his headlights and let the fire guide him as he slowed up to 5mph and gently crackled his last few yards of gravel up to the remnants of the nearest mailbox post. It seemed the fire was on the land of the farther property, whose mailbox posthole was about 30 feet from where he came to a stop and parked his truck. Smallmouth turned it off and quietly got out into the cold. He crouched down as he walked over to the farther driveway, getting down on one knee to give it a stealthy closer look.
The abandoned property boasted a busted up trailer that sat pitifully about 500 feet from the mailbox memorial. Beyond that was a good ten acres of field that ended at the forest edge, which marked the beginning of thousands of acres of wildlife refuge. As Smallmouth peered on, it was obvious that the fire was way out in that field, blocked by the old trailer, which wore the hot light and columns of smoke on it like a devilish crown. Given the cover, Smallmouth crept over to the trailer and started easing around the right side.
Rounding the corner he noticed a propane tank that would be perfect for hiding behind and getting the best look he could at the mysterious activity. He got down on his belly and crawled his way over to the tank, before sitting up and peeking slowly over the top and out into the field.
Way down there, a couple acres away from the tree line, was a huge fire, made up of about fifty wooden pallets. It raged and lit up the whole field like it was just the beginning of sunset. Somewhat near the fire was the black Dodge Ram 3500 and trailer. Smallmouth could see a group of people dressed in all red, as if covered in bloody bedsheets from head to toe, circled around a crude cage, seemingly fastened together by pieces of metal fencing. They stood still as the pines, and twice as silent. Smallmouth, in a rare moment of curious courage, decided he had to get closer. He got back on his stomach and began to crawl through the cold, knee high grass.
Using the fire light as his North Star he crawled and crawled, feeling his hands, clothes, and beard get wet with snow. He didn’t care. Something was up that wasn’t normal, wasn’t right. He could feel it in his cold gut. When he thought he was close enough without giving himself away he planted his palms and ever so slowly raised his torso up into a weak push up to try and see out. He was glad he didn’t go any further. He may have been too close already.
He was close enough to read the name of the truck and count the holes in the livestock trailer. There were seven strangers in red sheets all around the makeshift cage, all holding long spears. One of the figures had a crown of black thorns on his head. They all had two eyeholes and one hole for the mouth. They didn’t move a muscle for the longest time, before the Crowned One forcibly touched the end of his spear to the ground.
“Now is the time, Brother and Farmer Abraham…there is no more for us in waiting.”
Smallmouth had just noticed the passenger window to the black Dodge was down, and he could hear the driver door open and soon saw a normal looking older man in a ball cap at the back of the trailer. He was holding a leash of some sort. He opened up the trailer and whistled into the dark of it. After a couple of loud, heavy thuds a gigantic, and I mean GIGANTIC Yorkshire pig came slowly shrugging out of the trailer. It was light pink in color but filthy, and gave wet sounding oinks as it came to the man’s hands expecting food. The thing must’ve weighed 1500 pounds, and at least ten feet long. It actually had to lower its head to reach the man’s hands, its ears coming up to the man’s chest. Smallmouth couldn’t believe his eyes. The man reached in his pocket and revealed a handful of some type of feed, which he tossed on the ground at the pig. It started right in as the man fixed a collar on the pigs girthy neck, then attaching a leash. The pig gave a slight squeal.
“Good girl, good girl…cmon now” the man called Farmer Abraham sweetly coaxed the animal. He gave his end of the leash a tug and the monstrous swine reluctantly left its food and followed the man over close to the Crowned One. The fire raged and raged nearby, throwing crazy shadows all over the place.
“What have you brought us, Brother and Farmer Abraham?”
“Yeah, uh, this is Old Azazel, she’s been in my family for years, man.”
The Crowned One dropped his spear and knelt down to the jowls of the hog, the dark holes of his eyes meeting those of the animal. The other red cloaked figures remained statuesque around the cage.
“Ah, yes, Old Azazel, hello. You are to be of great importance in the history of the Earth tonight, old friend.”
The Crowned One got back up to address Brother and Father Abraham, who seemed obviously put off, yet submissive.
“And is this Old Azazel a natural specimen? Is it fed only of the earth and the filths therein?”
“Yessir, I’d reckon so.”
“This is necessary for a proper sacrifice, Brother and Farmer Abraham. You may only bring your best, your cleanest, your most dear to the alter of the Almighty.”
“I understand.”
“May I take her now?”
The farmer gave his end of the leash to the black gloved left hand of the Crowned One. The Crowned one stood with it for almost a full minute in total stillness and silence. The only noise Smallmouth could hear was the sloppy smacks and oinks from Old Azazel. The farmer anxiously waited, wringing his hands expecting the next move from the Crowned One.
“Turn away, Brother and Farmer Abraham. Turn away from us and toward the fire now.” The Crowned One finally spoke.
“Phew, alright. We’re still good on our deal? Do you still promise to make my little girl better? Like you said?” The farmer asked, with some hopeful desperation.
“Turn now.”
“Well okay” the farmer turned his back to the Crowned One and toward the fire.
“I can assure you with all of the knowledge in my mind and in my heart, you will never see your daughter sick again in this lifetime, Brother and Father Abraham. You may find peace and solace in this truth.”
The farmer nodded in relief as he looked upon the fire. Smallmouth, taking it all in with great confusion, could see a smile on the farmers fire lit face, and turned back to the Crowned One just in time to see him reach under his red garment and pull out a pistol and shoot a round into the back of the farmers head, blowing his cap off, which frisbeed down near his shaking, crumpled body. Old Azazel threw a fit immediately, screaming and trying her best to flee. The Crowned One held the immense beast with one hand, and with seemingly little effort. The other red clothed figures finally made noise, laughing deep and heartily around the cage. The Crowned One, keeping Old Azazel close, walked over to the doubled over farmer, putting two more bullets into his head, essentially hollowing it out into a carnal mess. The farmers shaking mercifully stopped.
Smallmouth had to slam his forearm up to his mouth to muffle the scream that would’ve come out and blown his cover. His eyes were flown wide open and his arms were shivering.
The Crowned One put the pistol back under his red cloak and led the great pig, still squealing as high pitched and piercing as the human ear can withstand, over to the mouth of the cage, which was opened by the nearest red clothed stranger. Old Azazel flew in to the cage, having been unleashed by The Crowned One. It struggled around the cage, which was no bigger than 15x15 feet, giving it no room to get comfortable. It circled the inner perimeter, showing impressive speed for such a large animal. It squealed and squealed. The sound stung Smallmouths ears, and he covered them with his hands. He was still out of sight in the tall grass. The Red People around the cage laughed at the hogs entrapment. The Crowned One raised a hand to signal silence. The Red People were still and quiet again.
“Now, my brothers, the sacrificial gift is in our possession. Tonight…is a HOLY NIGHT.” The Crowned One raised his voice as if getting to the climax of a fire and brimstone sermon.
“TONIGHT…WE WILL DESTROY WHAT WAS ONCE CAST OUT BUT NEVER VANQUISHED!! WE WILL RID THE EARTH OF A GREAT ARMY!! AN ARMY OF HELL THAT HAS FAR TOO LONG ROAMED AND SICKENED OUR LANDS AND KILLED OUR LOVES!! TONIGHT…WE WILL DESTROY THE DESTROYERS…THE LEGION OF SATANS SOLDIERS BORN JUST AFTER THE GARDEN OF EDEN FELL…”
The Crowned One fell to his knees, his arms up and stretched toward the frozen sky. A mighty wind began blowing at Smallmouths back. He had to lower his head as it roared over him. After a moment it calmed and he was able to lift up again to see. Winds from all corners of the field met at the cage, swirling over it in a great snowy funnel that led up to the clouds. Old Azazel screamed and screamed from the cage.
“I SEE YOU VILLIANS!! I HEAR YOU HOSTS OF HELL!! I KNOW YOU LIVE IN THESE TREES!! I KNOW YOU COWER WITHIN THE SOUND OF MY VOICE!! SHOW YOURSELF!! TAKE THE BODY OF THIS ANIMAL THAT I HAVE SET BEFORE YOU!! TAKE IT NOW!! TAKE IT NOW AND FACE ME!! TAKE IT NOW!! TAKE IT NOW!! TAKE I-“
The Crowned One’s vocal cord shredding performance was cut short by a single burst of black lightning that shot down from the middle of the snowy funnel cloud that surrounded the cage. The Crowned One and all the Red People were thrown several feet back from the blast. Thunder immediately exploded across the field. Smallmouth buried his face as the force and sound raced over him. Ears ringing, he kept his face down for a few seconds. He squinted back up to the strike zone.
The strange black lightning had blown the cage completely apart. Two of The Red People had been hit with the metal fencing. One laid motionless. The other gargled in pain as he put a hand to the pole that was sticking out of his sternum, having penetrated all the way through. His legs buckled and he fell forward, the end of the pole hitting the ground first and propping him up for a moment, before his body slowly slid down to the ground around the metal. He went silent. The other four Red People, yelling in surprise, gathered themselves, looking to the charred hole in the ground where Old Azazel should be, right in the center where the cage used to stand. The Crowned One got to his feet and picked up his spear.
“My brothers, gather your arms…” the Crowned One whispered, breathing heavily under his red cloak.
“The work is not over…”
The four remaining Red People grabbed their spears and slowly walked over to the burnt, smoking hole, holding an attack pose over it until further instructions were given.
“Are you with us, you age old tormentors?” This was the first time Smallmouth could hear fear in the tired voice of the Crowned One.
“Are you with us now? Are you ready to die, you infernal bastards? Are you ready to-“
The Crowned One was interrupted by a booming noise from the hole that tore Smallmouths wits to shreds. It was similar to the cry of Old Azazel, but much deeper and ten times louder and angrier. It was as if a freight train was blaring its horn and slamming its brakes at the same time.
“NOW MY BROTHERS!! STRIKE THE BEAST OF HELL WITH YOUR SPEARS! NOW!!!”
The Red People all threw their weapons down into the smoking hole. The hellish noise from within stopped in an instant. The Red People crowded closer to the edge of the hole, waiting for the smoke to clear. The Crowned One walked over to them, putting his black gloved hand on the shoulder of the nearest man.
“Oh, Brothers. Oh my dear, dear Brothers. Your acts tonight have rid the earth of a Great and Powerful Evil…”
Before he could continue, a fully enraged and re-inspired bellow thrust itself up and out of the hole like a serrated blade. Much, much louder and angrier than before. The Red People were taken aback in terror. Suddenly, from within the hole, a large head emerged and gaped a huge, disgusting maw up at the crowd. The head was burned black and its eyes were half boiled white and without pupils. It shrieked out that most terrible noise as if it didn’t need oxygen.
“There’s no way” Smallmouth heard himself say under his breath.
All in one motion, the beast leaped out of the hole, and turned to face its attackers. It was Old Azazel, except swollen with burnt mass. It appeared to have grown a half a size at least. Three spears stuck out of its sizzling, charcoal colored back. It snapped its gigantic jaws at the Red People, who shuddered in horror. The Crowned One spoke:
“DO NOT RELENT BROTHERS!! ATTACK!! ATTACK THE BRUTE!!”
He pulled his pistol back out of his cloak and fired the remaining three rounds on the new and horrible black burnt Old Azazel. The beast’s cloudy boiled egg eyes shot open along with its unnaturally stretched jaws. It took the three bullets as if they were tennis balls. At the speed of a charging grizzly and with multiple times the power Old Azazel raged over to The Crowned One and dove onto him mouth first, putting both front hooves on his chest as he was knocked down. The Crowned One cried out in a shockingly high pitched wail, like a man being electrocuted. The Beast bit right into the soft of his belly, and began to shake him around like an Orca trying to separate a seal from its pelt.
“OH GOD!!!! AHHHHHH GOD OHHHHH!!! HELP ME!!!! NOOOO!!!! OH GOD HELP ME!!!! MAMA!!!! OHHHH!!! MAMA!!!!!”
The beast ate and ate and shook and shook and tore and broke and destroyed while the Crowned One lost more and more of his body, all while crying out to the sky at the top of his punctured lungs. The other Red People sprinted to the black Dodge Ram, opened its doors and piled inside. Smallmouth heard it crank up and it began to speedily turn around and race away from the fire and back toward the road. The beast unhooked from the Crowned One and let out another ghastly roar of victory before biting into his neck, ending his screaming forever. The beast then left his half devoured body and began a tremendous and terrible charge after the truck, which was greatly slowed down by the trailer. Smallmouth put his face down as the beast passed him by only about 10 feet on its way to the truck, which had just made it back to the road and was using every RPM possible to get away from the demon charged killing machine on its heels. Smallmouth turned around to watch both parties disappear down the road, the echoes of that great and evil blasting noise stabbing his ears again. He remained on his stomach in the tall, snowy grass for another two minutes as he normalized his breath and tried to make any sense of what he just witnessed.
Eventually he slowly rose up and looked to make sure that terrible thing was indeed out of the area. No signs of life or death from up at the road. The danger was at least a couple miles away by now. Smallmouth then turned back toward the fire and to the dominated body of the Crowned One. He carefully walked up closer and closer. To his amazement he heard wheezy noises coming from the emptied out torso of the man, a scattering of insides and flesh and blood strewn all around him. Troubled, rattling breaths escaped from under the red clothed head, whose crown of thorns had flown off in the attack. Most of the red cloak had been ripped to shreds, and all that remained covered were his shoulders and above. The cloth slowly ebbed and flowed with breath. Smallmouth could not believe this man was still alive. His entire digestive system was eviscerated and his ribs were exposed. Smallmouth knelt down beside him and lifted his cloak over his head to let him at least breathe his last in the open air.
Smallmouth let out a gasp. This man had a face that Smallmouth knew very well. He recognized him immediately from the old church he worked at. The clean shaven face. The short, silver hair. The sharp nose. This was a man that had joined his church two weeks before the schism. He never spoke in church but it was rumored he would meet at the homes of different members and try to sway them to his strange ideas. He was the one rumored to have led the radical faction somewhere in the middle of the woods. To Smallmouth, it was all starting to make more sense.
“I know you,” Smallmouth said softly, “I know who you are. You tore a church in half didn’t you? You’re the crazy guy that split up my ole church! What the hell have you done?”
The man struggled to breathe and tried his best to spit up a couple of words. His neck had deep lacerations that flowed with escaping life.
“I…I…I…uhh…I only…I only…I only did what I believed…” he whispered before a wet, stifled breath.
“What did you do?!!!” Smallmouth grew angry, and his voice followed suit. This man had ruined his job and now he had unleashed something horrifying on his neighborhood. He had tampered with things that man has no business tampering with.
“I…I…I have…have…I have failed, Smallmouth Bassett” the man croaked. Smallmouth couldn’t believe he had bothered to remember his name.
“I have failed. I have failed. God help you all…” with that the man’s face fell and he let out one last slow exhale before all was still.
Smallmouth got back on his feet and looked away from the dead man and toward the fire, which towered and raged in the reflection of his eyes.
“Oh no…oh no…oh no” he said in between terrified breaths.
Then another though hit him like a wrecking ball.
“Uncle Chuck…”
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2024.05.18 01:32 SamMorrisHorror Them Devils Pt. 1

On the night when it all happened a young man called Smallmouth found himself in quite a pickle. He shivered and paced clumsily all over the second story porch of a cabin that used to be very nice, which overlooked a snowy down-sloping field that used to be kept up properly and carefully. He was already six packs deep into a carton of cigarettes he had bought only two days ago from a Casey’s General Store on his way up. He could recall the look on the young woman’s face at the register when he asked for a carton of Parliament Menthols, her eyes showing one blink of humorous surprise and another couple blinks of obvious concern, which faded to professional indifference as she rang in the sweet, icy killers. Smallmouth stopped his nervous dallying when he caught himself in the kitchen window; a large, shadowy figure sulking between the inside lights and the cold, almost glowing world downhill. His eyes still on his murky reflection, he patted his coat pockets for his seventh pack, pulling it out and smacking it against his left palm before cracking open and lighting it at his mouth. In a slow, warm flash, he could briefly see his own face in the window.
“Oh man, it’s bad” , he thought to himself.
He hadn’t shaved in weeks and his beard grew coarse and thick. A face that his mother had once called handsome had become a clean plate covered in steel wool. Well, maybe not so clean. Under and around his eyes were the obvious bruising of sleeplessness and his skin had lost its lively color and clarity of yesteryear.
“Ughhh” he groaned, turning away from the window to look over the porch and into the freezing, beckoning night.
The pickle that Jeremy “Smallmouth” Bassett found himself in involved his uncle, and his uncle’s evening logistics, to be precise. Smallmouth had been kicked out of his parents home on December 27th due to a slight misunderstanding at 2am when he believed the living room Christmas tree to be the downstairs bathroom. He had passed out on the couch after drinking a fire pit full of crushed Hamm’s cans and his brain tried desperately to get him up and to the nearby toilet. His little sister Stacy was tucked in fast asleep on a loveseat by the tree when she was brutally torn from her sugarplum dreams to hear the terrible hiss of Smallmouth’s folly. She screamed, the parents woke up, and, well, there you go. After well over three strikes, Smallmouth’s temporary residence had come to an end, and he was thrown to his mother’s brother’s cabin to dry up and straighten out before he could ever even be considered to return.
“You two deserve to live together. He can’t say no either because he owes me a lot more than this!” Smallmouth’s mother had screeched over him as he sat at the kitchen table the following morning with a cold bag of peas against his throbbing right temple. “You go there and you GET RIGHT!! I don’t care how long it takes just clean up your act and MAKE something of yourself! And for goodness sake tell Chuck to do the same, while he still has time!”
Yes, Uncle Chuck had his own shelf full of good time problems, and that’s what put Smallmouth in a bind tonight as he pondered over the white yonder that led to a black nothing, a black nothing that in the daylight pretended to be a forest. At night, it showed its true nature, an endless world of dark secrets and aching regret. At least that’s how Smallmouth saw it in this moment.
Chuck had gone down to the ranch he worked on for a New Years party with his work buddies. They liked to gather at the big barn where all of the vehicles and equipment were kept, sitting around a card table passing out stories about women and other trophy game that were either outright lied about or illegally poached. Oh, and they also liked to pass the bottle around. Therein lied the conundrum for Smallmouth.
Uncle Chuck was many things, but one thing he wasn’t was a drunk driver. Chuck’s wife Rebecca had been struck and killed by a drunk driver almost ten years ago when she was out jogging the back roads early one morning. Everyone assumed that’s what led him to his openly hard drinking and sneakily pill popping ways in the first place. For Chuck, most nights were kept at home, parked in front of a TV watching old westerns and cleaning out a full bottle of Wild Turkey 101 before snoring in his recliner. On the few nights he would go out, he would always call a ride if things got out of hand. As you can imagine, he tends to need a ride home.
“I should be home bout 11:30. Service ain’t so good up there near the barn so if it gets bout 11:15-11:20 and I ain’t home, go head and do me a favor and come grab me son.” Chuck had told Smallmouth before he left, closing the warped screen door behind him.
Smallmouth had spent the evening trying his best to stay entertained without the help of any chemical enhancement. His family’s anger and resentment really struck him and this time he was determined to truly get right and get his life back on the rails. He was 29 years old. He had gone through college clean as a whistle, bright and driven, receiving his MBA with plans to work his way up in a promising career in business. That worked for a couple years. Then he found a calling in ministry, deciding to quit the corporate world to fill an opening of a tiny country church in the area. They needed a deacon who could take care of things around the building and assist in the worship service. He wasn’t much for public speaking, haven been given the nickname Smallmouth at a young age due to his soft spoken nature, but he could pass plates and give a hushed prayer every now and then. He liked to mow and paint and help old ladies up the stairs. The quiet country life was really nice for him, for a while. Strange, radical ideas eventually spread through the church though, and half of its members left overnight to form their own congregation. Its funding cut in half, the church had to close its doors and the other members absorbed into other churches. Smallmouth rarely ever saw the people that had departed from the church, but rumors creeped that they met at an old abandoned building deep in the woods, performing all sorts of different acts and rituals that would purify themselves and destroy all evils. Nevertheless, Smallmouth was out of work and picked up shifts bartending at a small town dive. His soft fortitude was no match for the booze and drugs and women that would pass through there and soon he was out the door. That landed him mooching off of his parents, draining their sanity and eventually draining himself on their Christmas tree. The last strike.
So there he was all night, waiting up for uncle Chuck. He was two days clean of everything except caffeine and nicotine, a major improvement. He felt a boost of hope and confidence the first morning after a sober nights sleep. He found the mornings to be the best parts of the day. At least he had coffee and cigarettes to get him out of bed. That would wear off quickly and the rest of the day was filled with trying to find distractions until the sun set about 5pm. Then he would watch a movie or two with Chuck. Last night he had been able to call it early and go to sleep at 7pm shortly after Chuck started sawing logs in front of True Grit (the original John Wayne version of course). Tonight he saw 7pm struggle and churn into 8…….8:13……..8:48……9:05……9:29………..9:31………9:52……..9:58……….10:11…….10:12 (oh cmon)……10:27…….10:56…….and finally 11:08. It was like the clock was a 35 year old four cylinder engine oiled with crunchy peanut butter. Now, crunch time sat in the cold air as Smallmouth finished his cigarette and stewed over his decision. He really didn’t feel like going down to the barn and getting Chuck, even though it was only a couple miles. In the infancy of his sobriety he found the smallest of choices and activities to seem dire and at the very least upsettingly out of his way. Surely Chuck can get himself home on his own, right?
“No. Who knows if someone’s Aunt Rebecca or grandmother or son is out there on the road tonight” he thought.
As much as he had tried to screw up his life, Smallmouth usually knew what the right decision would be, even if he so often refused to listen. It was there ever so clearly on this New Year’s Eve, wailing in the back row of his mind like a misbehaved child during a church sermon. Smallmouth left the porch and went inside to grab his keys.
He walked out to his truck, got in, cranked it, let it sit down to one rpm, and started down the gravel driveway, which led to the gravel county road that Chuck and his few and far between neighbors lived on. He got to the mailbox and suddenly shot his attention up the road, where headlights revealed themselves out of the deep dark. It was rare to see any cars this far down Chuck’s road. In fact, there were no other houses to the right of Chuck’s cabin, spare for a couple of empty ones that were condemned but were attached to a lot of forest property.
Smallmouth squinted his eyes as a large black Dodge Ram 3500 came barreling by with a livestock trailer. Even inside his own truck he could hear a terrible noise coming from that trailer. He recognized it instantly as a pig squeal.
“The hell?” He whispered as the truck and trailer tore down the road, going around a nearby corner and out of sight. He couldn’t guess what on earth that could be about at this hour, and especially since nobody lived down there anyway. He shrugged it off though, and turned left out of the driveway, headed for drunk Uncle Chuck down at the ranch.
Ten minutes and a couple of snowy country miles later Smallmouth found himself through the metal gate of the ranch and up to the main barn, where a couple of smiling ranch hands had Chuck held up between them just outside one of two closed garage doors. A lamppost nearby cast a glow of debauchery on all of their faces, especially Chuck’s. Smallmouth got out and walked up to them smiling and shaking his head.
“Well well well…” he said with a slight laugh.
“Your Uncle put on one hell of a clinic tonight ‘Mouth” one of the hands said.
“I…..I….I don’t know what they’re tawlkin bout son” Chuck slang out before a high pitched giggle.
“I got another couple rounds in me I thinks!”
Smallmouth laughed.
“Yeah I ain’t so sure about that uncle! Let’s get on home now and let these fellas get on too.”
“Y’alright alright” Chuck said as Smallmouth took him from his buddies arms into one of his own and led him to the passenger seat of his truck.
“Happy New Years boys!!! Let’s do it all again okay?” He hollered to his waving buddies as they drove back away from the barn and through the metal gate toward home.
“You have a good time Uncle?”
“Oh…ohhh…I reckon I showed those boys how to do it” Another childish giggle.
A light snow shower seasoned the cold air as the truck rolled down the gravel country road. In the yellow headlights it made a pleasant white noise for the eyes. Chuck put his hands up staggered and vertically, fingers together and outstretched, pointing out in front of the truck down the road like he was aiming up for a rifle shot. He closed one eye.
“Straight as an arrow ole son. You’re good at this.”
“I ain’t drunk pops” Smallmouth chuckled.
“Sure ya are. Everybody’s drunk son. Even people that ain’t drink. Ticket is to get drunk on good stuff” Chuck’s face calmed from a goofy grin as he kept his eyes out front into the slow swirling tube of visible night.
“You sound like you’re drunk on some pretty damn good stuff” Smallmouth retorted as they shared a look and a good laugh.
“Suppose’n you ain’t wrong. Gotta work on that just like you are. Proud o’ you for a couple days clean man. We’ll get right. We’ll get right. All I meant was that man is born to get drunk on somethin’ or other. What I mean is God. Man is born to get drunk on his God.” Chuck said as Smallmouth shot him a raised eyebrow look of confusion.
“Once God gets ya drunk then you’re home free ol’ son. That distillery is never ending eternal forever. That land flows with whiskey and honey.” They both shared another laugh.
“Okay okay I think I somewhat understand now Uncle.”
They rode in a few seconds of comfortable silence before Chuck put his hands up in an aim position down the road again.
“You know…man….man….man has a GOVERNOR…..you know that right?”
“A what? A governor?”
“That’s right a GOVERNOR…that’s right…a little bitty device in his brain that keeps him on the road…keeps him from turning right off into the dark. You ever hear that little voice that tells you you can turn off into the ditch…into oncomin’ traffic? Tells you you can shoot your buddy instead of the deer? That you can jump off the top of the building and onto the pavement when you’re up there enjoying the view?”
“I…uh…I don’t know…I mean maybe? Pretty sure those are intrusive thoughts and they’re normal.”
“Well whatever they are that’s what the governor is for. Keeps ya straight. Keeps ya from harmin nothin.”
“Alright man, alright.”
They pulled back into Chuck’s driveway and parked. Smallmouth helped his uncle out of the truck and up into the cabin, snow starting to color the roof and pile against the side of the house near the door. Arms locked Smallmouth propped open the screen door, opened the inner door, and led Chuck through the kitchen and to his bedroom. Chuck layed down on his camo comforter with a deep, long exhale.
“Ahhhh yes……yes” he whispered with a smile.
“I love ya son…I’m glad you’re heeeeere. Let’s get better….your mom needs it…..stay in the Lord’s light son…don’t let them devils get ya….let’s get better….lets….” He was off into the distant deep ether almost immediately, and his mouth hung open.
“Goodnight uncle…love ya too.” Smallmouth patted the bed twice before walking over and closing the bedroom door behind him.
He went and sat at the kitchen table. He regretted his behavior earlier in the night. How it pained him to have to stay up a little later to go help out his uncle.
“Cmon…” he whispered.
He agreed with Chuck. He was here to get better. To do better. Maybe Chuck was right. If he couldn’t get drunk off booze, it was time to pick something else to drink. Better things. Maybe even God? Smallmouth hadn’t paid much mind to God since his church job fell through. God surely hadn’t been there for him these last few years when he was at his lowest. Or was He there the whole time? Had Smallmouth just ignored Him? These things floated heavily in his mind and soon he realized he had been staring at the front door for several minutes. Had he even blinked? Then something else came to mind.
“Wait hold up”
That truck and trailer from earlier. What WAS that? He meant to bring it up to the ranch hands. They would’ve seen it come barreling down the road right by their front gate. Oh he wished he had brought that up to them. Oh well. It’s probably nothing. Smallmouth looked at the clock. 12:12.
“Happy New Year old boy.” He said to himself.
He sat for a moment in the warm kitchen light, his eyes not leaving the front door. Well, he’s up this late already, why not go run down and check on the abandoned properties?
No…no…it can wait. It’s probably nothing. Right?
Wrong. There’s that wailing kid in the back pew of his mind again. Come on kid can’t you just be quiet and listen to the sermon? No, no it can’t. It must be heard. Always. He knew he had to go check it out.
“Ughhhh FINE!” Smallmouth got up and grabbed his truck keys, patted to make sure his cigarettes were still there, and was out the door again.
The snow shower had ended. As he pulled up to the edge of the drive, he stalled for a moment and peaked out as far to the right as he could down the dark road. Nothing. It wasn’t very far to the end of that road, where two out of service mailboxes should’ve stood in a small cul-de-sac if it weren’t for teenagers beating them to splinters. Can’t really blame them either. Smallmouth considered his plan. Whether or not that truck belonged to the landowner down there, he shouldn’t feel like he needs to sneak around. He is merely a concerned neighbor after all. He began down the road and around that same corner the stranger disappeared earlier.
After a couple of slow, curious minutes Smallmouth could see the evidence of a great big fire in the near distance, beyond where the road ended. Through the bare trees and against the snow it cast orange and red that could surely be seen a mile in every direction, that is, if there were anyone there to see it.
Slightly intimidated, Smallmouth decided to turn off his headlights and let the fire guide him as he slowed up to 5mph and gently crackled his last few yards of gravel up to the remnants of the nearest mailbox post. It seemed the fire was on the land of the farther property, whose mailbox posthole was about 30 feet from where he came to a stop and parked his truck. Smallmouth turned it off and quietly got out into the cold. He crouched down as he walked over to the farther driveway, getting down on one knee to give it a stealthy closer look.
The abandoned property boasted a busted up trailer that sat pitifully about 500 feet from the mailbox memorial. Beyond that was a good ten acres of field that ended at the forest edge, which marked the beginning of thousands of acres of wildlife refuge. As Smallmouth peered on, it was obvious that the fire was way out in that field, blocked by the old trailer, which wore the hot light and columns of smoke on it like a devilish crown. Given the cover, Smallmouth crept over to the trailer and started easing around the right side.
Rounding the corner he noticed a propane tank that would be perfect for hiding behind and getting the best look he could at the mysterious activity. He got down on his belly and crawled his way over to the tank, before sitting up and peeking slowly over the top and out into the field.
Way down there, a couple acres away from the tree line, was a huge fire, made up of about fifty wooden pallets. It raged and lit up the whole field like it was just the beginning of sunset. Somewhat near the fire was the black Dodge Ram 3500 and trailer. Smallmouth could see a group of people dressed in all red, as if covered in bloody bedsheets from head to toe, circled around a crude cage, seemingly fastened together by pieces of metal fencing. They stood still as the pines, and twice as silent. Smallmouth, in a rare moment of curious courage, decided he had to get closer. He got back on his stomach and began to crawl through the cold, knee high grass.
Using the fire light as his North Star he crawled and crawled, feeling his hands, clothes, and beard get wet with snow. He didn’t care. Something was up that wasn’t normal, wasn’t right. He could feel it in his cold gut. When he thought he was close enough without giving himself away he planted his palms and ever so slowly raised his torso up into a weak push up to try and see out. He was glad he didn’t go any further. He may have been too close already.
He was close enough to read the name of the truck and count the holes in the livestock trailer. There were seven strangers in red sheets all around the makeshift cage, all holding long spears. One of the figures had a crown of black thorns on his head. They all had two eyeholes and one hole for the mouth. They didn’t move a muscle for the longest time, before the Crowned One forcibly touched the end of his spear to the ground.
“Now is the time, Brother and Farmer Abraham…there is no more for us in waiting.”
Smallmouth had just noticed the passenger window to the black Dodge was down, and he could hear the driver door open and soon saw a normal looking older man in a ball cap at the back of the trailer. He was holding a leash of some sort. He opened up the trailer and whistled into the dark of it. After a couple of loud, heavy thuds a gigantic, and I mean GIGANTIC Yorkshire pig came slowly shrugging out of the trailer. It was light pink in color but filthy, and gave wet sounding oinks as it came to the man’s hands expecting food. The thing must’ve weighed 1500 pounds, and at least ten feet long. It actually had to lower its head to reach the man’s hands, its ears coming up to the man’s chest. Smallmouth couldn’t believe his eyes. The man reached in his pocket and revealed a handful of some type of feed, which he tossed on the ground at the pig. It started right in as the man fixed a collar on the pigs girthy neck, then attaching a leash. The pig gave a slight squeal.
“Good girl, good girl…cmon now” the man called Farmer Abraham sweetly coaxed the animal. He gave his end of the leash a tug and the monstrous swine reluctantly left its food and followed the man over close to the Crowned One. The fire raged and raged nearby, throwing crazy shadows all over the place.
“What have you brought us, Brother and Farmer Abraham?”
“Yeah, uh, this is Old Azazel, she’s been in my family for years, man.”
The Crowned One dropped his spear and knelt down to the jowls of the hog, the dark holes of his eyes meeting those of the animal. The other red cloaked figures remained statuesque around the cage.
“Ah, yes, Old Azazel, hello. You are to be of great importance in the history of the Earth tonight, old friend.”
The Crowned One got back up to address Brother and Father Abraham, who seemed obviously put off, yet submissive.
“And is this Old Azazel a natural specimen? Is it fed only of the earth and the filths therein?”
“Yessir, I’d reckon so.”
“This is necessary for a proper sacrifice, Brother and Farmer Abraham. You may only bring your best, your cleanest, your most dear to the alter of the Almighty.”
“I understand.”
“May I take her now?”
The farmer gave his end of the leash to the black gloved left hand of the Crowned One. The Crowned one stood with it for almost a full minute in total stillness and silence. The only noise Smallmouth could hear was the sloppy smacks and oinks from Old Azazel. The farmer anxiously waited, wringing his hands expecting the next move from the Crowned One.
“Turn away, Brother and Farmer Abraham. Turn away from us and toward the fire now.” The Crowned One finally spoke.
“Phew, alright. We’re still good on our deal? Do you still promise to make my little girl better? Like you said?” The farmer asked, with some hopeful desperation.
“Turn now.”
“Well okay” the farmer turned his back to the Crowned One and toward the fire.
“I can assure you with all of the knowledge in my mind and in my heart, you will never see your daughter sick again in this lifetime, Brother and Father Abraham. You may find peace and solace in this truth.”
The farmer nodded in relief as he looked upon the fire. Smallmouth, taking it all in with great confusion, could see a smile on the farmers fire lit face, and turned back to the Crowned One just in time to see him reach under his red garment and pull out a pistol and shoot a round into the back of the farmers head, blowing his cap off, which frisbeed down near his shaking, crumpled body. Old Azazel threw a fit immediately, screaming and trying her best to flee. The Crowned One held the immense beast with one hand, and with seemingly little effort. The other red clothed figures finally made noise, laughing deep and heartily around the cage. The Crowned One, keeping Old Azazel close, walked over to the doubled over farmer, putting two more bullets into his head, essentially hollowing it out into a carnal mess. The farmers shaking mercifully stopped.
Smallmouth had to slam his forearm up to his mouth to muffle the scream that would’ve come out and blown his cover. His eyes were flown wide open and his arms were shivering.
The Crowned One put the pistol back under his red cloak and led the great pig, still squealing as high pitched and piercing as the human ear can withstand, over to the mouth of the cage, which was opened by the nearest red clothed stranger. Old Azazel flew in to the cage, having been unleashed by The Crowned One. It struggled around the cage, which was no bigger than 15x15 feet, giving it no room to get comfortable. It circled the inner perimeter, showing impressive speed for such a large animal. It squealed and squealed. The sound stung Smallmouths ears, and he covered them with his hands. He was still out of sight in the tall grass. The Red People around the cage laughed at the hogs entrapment. The Crowned One raised a hand to signal silence. The Red People were still and quiet again.
“Now, my brothers, the sacrificial gift is in our possession. Tonight…is a HOLY NIGHT.” The Crowned One raised his voice as if getting to the climax of a fire and brimstone sermon.
“TONIGHT…WE WILL DESTROY WHAT WAS ONCE CAST OUT BUT NEVER VANQUISHED!! WE WILL RID THE EARTH OF A GREAT ARMY!! AN ARMY OF HELL THAT HAS FAR TOO LONG ROAMED AND SICKENED OUR LANDS AND KILLED OUR LOVES!! TONIGHT…WE WILL DESTROY THE DESTROYERS…THE LEGION OF SATANS SOLDIERS BORN JUST AFTER THE GARDEN OF EDEN FELL…”
The Crowned One fell to his knees, his arms up and stretched toward the frozen sky. A mighty wind began blowing at Smallmouths back. He had to lower his head as it roared over him. After a moment it calmed and he was able to lift up again to see. Winds from all corners of the field met at the cage, swirling over it in a great snowy funnel that led up to the clouds. Old Azazel screamed and screamed from the cage.
“I SEE YOU VILLIANS!! I HEAR YOU HOSTS OF HELL!! I KNOW YOU LIVE IN THESE TREES!! I KNOW YOU COWER WITHIN THE SOUND OF MY VOICE!! SHOW YOURSELF!! TAKE THE BODY OF THIS ANIMAL THAT I HAVE SET BEFORE YOU!! TAKE IT NOW!! TAKE IT NOW AND FACE ME!! TAKE IT NOW!! TAKE IT NOW!! TAKE I-“
The Crowned One’s vocal cord shredding performance was cut short by a single burst of black lightning that shot down from the middle of the snowy funnel cloud that surrounded the cage. The Crowned One and all the Red People were thrown several feet back from the blast. Thunder immediately exploded across the field. Smallmouth buried his face as the force and sound raced over him. Ears ringing, he kept his face down for a few seconds. He squinted back up to the strike zone.
The strange black lightning had blown the cage completely apart. Two of The Red People had been hit with the metal fencing. One laid motionless. The other gargled in pain as he put a hand to the pole that was sticking out of his sternum, having penetrated all the way through. His legs buckled and he fell forward, the end of the pole hitting the ground first and propping him up for a moment, before his body slowly slid down to the ground around the metal. He went silent. The other four Red People, yelling in surprise, gathered themselves, looking to the charred hole in the ground where Old Azazel should be, right in the center where the cage used to stand. The Crowned One got to his feet and picked up his spear.
“My brothers, gather your arms…” the Crowned One whispered, breathing heavily under his red cloak.
“The work is not over…”
The four remaining Red People grabbed their spears and slowly walked over to the burnt, smoking hole, holding an attack pose over it until further instructions were given.
“Are you with us, you age old tormentors?” This was the first time Smallmouth could hear fear in the tired voice of the Crowned One.
“Are you with us now? Are you ready to die, you infernal bastards? Are you ready to-“
The Crowned One was interrupted by a booming noise from the hole that tore Smallmouths wits to shreds. It was similar to the cry of Old Azazel, but much deeper and ten times louder and angrier. It was as if a freight train was blaring its horn and slamming its brakes at the same time.
“NOW MY BROTHERS!! STRIKE THE BEAST OF HELL WITH YOUR SPEARS! NOW!!!”
The Red People all threw their weapons down into the smoking hole. The hellish noise from within stopped in an instant. The Red People crowded closer to the edge of the hole, waiting for the smoke to clear. The Crowned One walked over to them, putting his black gloved hand on the shoulder of the nearest man.
“Oh, Brothers. Oh my dear, dear Brothers. Your acts tonight have rid the earth of a Great and Powerful Evil…”
Before he could continue, a fully enraged and re-inspired bellow thrust itself up and out of the hole like a serrated blade. Much, much louder and angrier than before. The Red People were taken aback in terror. Suddenly, from within the hole, a large head emerged and gaped a huge, disgusting maw up at the crowd. The head was burned black and its eyes were half boiled white and without pupils. It shrieked out that most terrible noise as if it didn’t need oxygen.
“There’s no way” Smallmouth heard himself say under his breath.
All in one motion, the beast leaped out of the hole, and turned to face its attackers. It was Old Azazel, except swollen with burnt mass. It appeared to have grown a half a size at least. Three spears stuck out of its sizzling, charcoal colored back. It snapped its gigantic jaws at the Red People, who shuddered in horror. The Crowned One spoke:
“DO NOT RELENT BROTHERS!! ATTACK!! ATTACK THE BRUTE!!”
He pulled his pistol back out of his cloak and fired the remaining three rounds on the new and horrible black burnt Old Azazel. The beast’s cloudy boiled egg eyes shot open along with its unnaturally stretched jaws. It took the three bullets as if they were tennis balls. At the speed of a charging grizzly and with multiple times the power Old Azazel raged over to The Crowned One and dove onto him mouth first, putting both front hooves on his chest as he was knocked down. The Crowned One cried out in a shockingly high pitched wail, like a man being electrocuted. The Beast bit right into the soft of his belly, and began to shake him around like an Orca trying to separate a seal from its pelt.
“OH GOD!!!! AHHHHHH GOD OHHHHH!!! HELP ME!!!! NOOOO!!!! OH GOD HELP ME!!!! MAMA!!!! OHHHH!!! MAMA!!!!!”
The beast ate and ate and shook and shook and tore and broke and destroyed while the Crowned One lost more and more of his body, all while crying out to the sky at the top of his punctured lungs. The other Red People sprinted to the black Dodge Ram, opened its doors and piled inside. Smallmouth heard it crank up and it began to speedily turn around and race away from the fire and back toward the road. The beast unhooked from the Crowned One and let out another ghastly roar of victory before biting into his neck, ending his screaming forever. The beast then left his half devoured body and began a tremendous and terrible charge after the truck, which was greatly slowed down by the trailer. Smallmouth put his face down as the beast passed him by only about 10 feet on its way to the truck, which had just made it back to the road and was using every RPM possible to get away from the demon charged killing machine on its heels. Smallmouth turned around to watch both parties disappear down the road, the echoes of that great and evil blasting noise stabbing his ears again. He remained on his stomach in the tall, snowy grass for another two minutes as he normalized his breath and tried to make any sense of what he just witnessed.
Eventually he slowly rose up and looked to make sure that terrible thing was indeed out of the area. No signs of life or death from up at the road. The danger was at least a couple miles away by now. Smallmouth then turned back toward the fire and to the dominated body of the Crowned One. He carefully walked up closer and closer. To his amazement he heard wheezy noises coming from the emptied out torso of the man, a scattering of insides and flesh and blood strewn all around him. Troubled, rattling breaths escaped from under the red clothed head, whose crown of thorns had flown off in the attack. Most of the red cloak had been ripped to shreds, and all that remained covered were his shoulders and above. The cloth slowly ebbed and flowed with breath. Smallmouth could not believe this man was still alive. His entire digestive system was eviscerated and his ribs were exposed. Smallmouth knelt down beside him and lifted his cloak over his head to let him at least breathe his last in the open air.
Smallmouth let out a gasp. This man had a face that Smallmouth knew very well. He recognized him immediately from the old church he worked at. The clean shaven face. The short, silver hair. The sharp nose. This was a man that had joined his church two weeks before the schism. He never spoke in church but it was rumored he would meet at the homes of different members and try to sway them to his strange ideas. He was the one rumored to have led the radical faction somewhere in the middle of the woods. To Smallmouth, it was all starting to make more sense.
“I know you,” Smallmouth said softly, “I know who you are. You tore a church in half didn’t you? You’re the crazy guy that split up my ole church! What the hell have you done?”
The man struggled to breathe and tried his best to spit up a couple of words. His neck had deep lacerations that flowed with escaping life.
“I…I…I…uhh…I only…I only…I only did what I believed…” he whispered before a wet, stifled breath.
“What did you do?!!!” Smallmouth grew angry, and his voice followed suit. This man had ruined his job and now he had unleashed something horrifying on his neighborhood. He had tampered with things that man has no business tampering with.
“I…I…I have…have…I have failed, Smallmouth Bassett” the man croaked. Smallmouth couldn’t believe he had bothered to remember his name.
“I have failed. I have failed. God help you all…” with that the man’s face fell and he let out one last slow exhale before all was still.
Smallmouth got back on his feet and looked away from the dead man and toward the fire, which towered and raged in the reflection of his eyes.
“Oh no…oh no…oh no” he said in between terrified breaths.
Then another though hit him like a wrecking ball.
“Uncle Chuck…”
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2024.05.18 01:06 SirChickenBurger Killer Kittens from Outer Space- Chapter Twenty-Two

Sorry for the delay everyone, I had a loss in the family and needed to take some time with loved ones. Decompressed and back in the saddle now to resume regular posting.
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Chapter 22
Ana
The first time she opened her eyes, it was to a soft, pillowy comfort, the kind that made her want to tuck the duvet right up to her chin and go back to sleep no matter what responsibilities awaited. Dull grey light and a plain ceiling. There were sounds too, but they floated in and out of earshot as if on clouds, dulled like a conversation from an adjoining room one moment, then uncomfortably loud, like someone was speaking directly into her ear the next. She closed her eyes and the warmth carried her off again.
The second time she woke, things were sharper. There were edges to the tiles of the ceiling above her head and the comfortable fuzziness had lessened, giving way to the dull aching onset of a vicious headache. Her limbs were heavy, weighted anchors dragging down her swimming skull and pinning her to the seafloor of the bed.
This is… wait, what happened?
She remembered the smell of the barbecue, and arriving at the door to the journalist’s suite, and then… a sharper throb of pain rippled up the front of her skull from her temples and she winced.
Movement. She turned her head slowly so as not to provoke another stab of pain.
A kespan in a white outfit sat some ten feet away to her right. She was perched on a strange metal seat, and when she noticed Ana’s stare she directed it over, gliding across the floor towards the bed with a low humming sound. There was a symbol on her breast pocket, one that Ana recognized from her medical exams. A doctor, then.
The pieces of the puzzle started to click, and Ana propped herself up, the sheets below her crinkling softly. How is it that even with all their advanced technology, hospital beds still feel the same as on Earth?
“Specialist Cardoso?” The kespan peered down at her and Ana squinted back. “I’m Doctor Scytha. You gave us all quite the scare you know.”
“I really don’t…”
“I’ll go over everything that happened with you in just a moment, but first I need to know, are you in any pain? I understand you hit your head on the way down.”
“Just a headache,” Ana flinched as another jab of pain radiated across her skull.
“I can get you something for that if you’d like,” the doctor offered. “We’ve ruled out a concussion, but I daresay you’ll be feeling somewhat delicate anyway.”
She was about to agree but paused before the words could leave her lips. Through the lingering haze of whatever they’d had her on while she was unconscious, a tiny niggling feeling in the back of her mind was making itself known.
“No, I… I’m okay for now,” she rasped instead, her throat like dusty sandpaper. “What happened? How long have I been out? Where am I?” She held up a hand, feeling at the side of her head, where the worst of the ache was coming from. A strange smoothness greeted her probing touches.
“You have a minor contusion,” Doctor Scytha explained. “The dressing should stay on for at least a day, but we’ve treated the injury with…” she trailed off, a conflicted expression flickering across her face. “Well, we’ve treated it with something that should help it close much faster. It will be fully healed before you know it.”
“Come on doc,” Ana raised an eyebrow on the side of her face that wasn’t obscured by the strange bandage. “I’m curious. What did you treat me with?”
The doctor’s lips pursed beneath her muzzle, and her eyes flicked away. “Artificial cells. We can program them to—”
“Nanobots,” Ana deadpanned, and the doctor grimaced. “You treated me with nanobots.”
“While they do share some characteristics, the applications…”
“Whatever,” Ana cut her off. “I’m not in the mood to discuss semantics, and I‘ve got enough of a headache already to unpack that. Just tell me where I am please.”
“You’re still aboard the She-Serves-With-Honor,” the doctor supplied, relaxing visibly at the change of topic. “It’s been roughly eight hours since you were found. I’m told that you were carried here by that cute reporter boy who’s been stealing the hearts of every serving woman aboard. Lucky you.” She pulled a tab in the side of her chair and a small screen sprang out on a moveable arm. “I’m sure you’re also interested in learning what happened, yes?”
“That was going to be my next question,” Ana grunted, pulling herself upright and noticing for the first time as she did the opaque tube that ran from her forearm down under the bed. Sitting up turned out to be a mistake though, as when she did manage to raise her head the room spun and her stomach turned. She begrudgingly lowered herself again.
“Well, we’re not quite sure ourselves,” the doctor said, her eyes glancing between the screen on her chair and a space on the other side of the room. Ana shifted, ignoring the discomfort until she could peer over towards the door to where the doctor’s eyes had gone, taking stock of her surroundings as she did.
Two uniformed guards were standing there, one on either side of the door. They stood stock still, gazing back at her— no, at the doctor, with measured stares. Three blazes of red shone from each of their outfits at the cuffs and collars, sparkling brightly even in the dim overhead lights.
The room itself was on the smaller side, with her cot the middle of three in the room. The other two beds were empty. They were here for her then.
“Pretty tight security for a ship hospital,” she remarked. “I know I’m new to this whole ‘alien army’ thing, but somehow I don’t think the Garrison stands watch over all of your patients.”
“They are here because I am here, Specialist,” a smooth voice sounded out, and Ana turned her head further, towards the back corner of the room. A severe-looking woman sat there, medals softly shining in the dim light, a crisply ironed, angular hat resting on her knees. She stood as Ana gaped at her.
“Vice Admiral Kel’rek, ma’am.” She tried to raise a hand into the chest-high salute of the kespan military, but her head throbbed again, and the niggling feeling in the back of her brain only grew in magnitude, so the result was a sloppy flapping motion. Ana frowned, staring down at her uncooperative limbs.
“At ease, Specialist,” the Admiral waved a hand dismissively. “You’ve had a rough night. What do you remember?”
It might have been the drugs, but something about the way she asked the question made the hairs on the back of Ana’s neck stand on end. By the doorway, the soldier’s attention had shifted. Now they were staring at her.
“Not much ma’am,” she answered, ignoring the insistent tug of her hindbrain. “Just walking down the corridor, arriving at the door to the suite, and then nothing. Did something happen?”
“We were hoping you could tell us,” the doctor chimed in, with a respectful nod to the Admiral, who had sat back to rub at her chin. “Your scans came back clear, your bloodwork was unremarkable and your toxicology report shows you’re clean, no known contaminants. Although,” she hesitated, and the Admiral shot her a sharp look. “It’s possible that we missed something. We don’t know everything there is to know about Ervamir yet. It could be that something specific to humans eluded our scans.”
Well, it wouldn’t be the first time, Ana thought bitterly, something red and hot churning in her gut and threatening to spill over. She quashed it, but barely. Strange, I haven’t been this quick to anger since before… she cut that thought short too. It must be the drugs.
“Failing that though, what is your prognosis doctor?” the Admiral asked— no, seriously, why is she in the room? Has she been here the whole time? “Nothing too dire, I hope? It wouldn’t do to lose our first human soldier to an unknown illness.”
First human soldier. Her. How long had it been since that idea made her blood boil like it did now? She felt it return, the same dark crawling feeling that had curled up to nest inside her when she accepted the alien’s offer some six months prior. Back then it had been hunger that forced her hand. A choice between flinging herself on the mercy of the cartels or working with the invaders. I thought I’d left this feeling behind.
The doctor hummed, head still buried in the tablet. “New species often exhibit psychological distress in response to their first exposure to space,” she said hesitantly. “The media presence and press conference, followed by an interview on the same day may simply have been too much. If there are no further physiological symptoms, then the episode may have been stress-induced.”
Ana’s eyebrow twitched. “Respectfully doc,” she managed a forced smile. “Like most humans, I think I’ve been through things a lot more psychologically challenging than staring out a window and answering some questions. I’ve never seen any of the women back home experience anything like what just happened to me.”
The doctor avoided her eyes. “Compounding trauma could make this kind of event more likely, but again, we don’t know enough about human psychology to make a proper assessment. All I know is the scans are clean.” She looked up, but it was the Admiral whose gaze she met rather than Ana’s. “I’m prescribing plenty of rest. She should be off active duty for at least a week, preferably planetside.”
“I’m sure that can be arranged,” Admiral Kel’rek stood, and her guards moved to flank her. “You heard the doc, Specialist, I’ll make the necessary arrangements. In the meantime, I believe your squadmates are anxious to hear from you.” She raised an eyebrow at the doctor, who nodded. “I’ll have word sent that you’re awake.” She took a step towards the door.
“And the journalist, ma’am?” Ana asked.
The Admiral turned back to her and tilted her head slightly. “What about him, Specialist? I hope you’re not considering giving an interview from your hospital bed. I’m afraid that might give off the wrong impression.” She spoke with a light tone, but the look she directed Ana’s way was firm.
“I just wanted to apologize for not making our appointment,” Ana insisted. “And maybe arrange a new time, once I’m given the all-clear.”
The Admiral hesitated, just for a microsecond, but it was enough to be noticeable. “I’ll have word sent. You should be aware that he’ll be on the next shuttle with the rest of the media. It’s unlikely that you’ll get a chance to see him in person.”
“You could send me with them,” Ana suggested, and the Admiral shot her an incredulous look, her hand poised to open the door. “Ma’am,” she amended, lowering her eyes to the floor in what she hoped passed for submission. “If I’m going to be recovering planetside anyway, it would be an opportunity for us. To show the galaxy how humans and the Imperium can co-exist, I mean. I’m sure that any good reporter would accept.”
She peered up to watch the wheels turn in the Admiral’s head. Finally, the cat woman stepped away from the door to regard her properly.
“You wouldn’t prefer to recuperate in your home country?” she asked, probing. “The media is bound for the largest island in the South, the one we are currently in orbit over. It’s a green zone, but I would have thought you’d be more comfortable in a familiar setting.”
“Australia?” Ana’s eyes widened slightly, and some genuine excitement leaked into her voice. “I’ve always wanted to visit. I hear it’s a great place to relax. And actually,” she let her tone grow rueful, “I have a slightly… checkered history with my home country now. A lot of baggage. It might be better if I didn’t return for a while, especially if I need to stay low-stress.”
The Admiral raised an eyebrow at the doctor, who nodded. When she turned back to Ana though, she still didn’t appear convinced. “That would put me in a difficult position Specialist,” she said. “If I crammed you into a shuttle with two dozen members of the press less than a day after a serious medical emergency I’d be strung up, even more than I already am just for being here.” She shook her head. “I can’t put you on that ship.”
Ana lowered her eyes again. “I understand ma’am. That’s unfortunate. I was hoping that the interview might make a difference. Show people that cooperation is possible.”
The woman hesitated, and her eyes bore holes into Ana’s own. Then she cocked her head. “However…”
“Yes ma’am?”
“I can arrange transport for tomorrow. We’ll be slightly out of shuttle range by then, but a larger ship could make the journey. Specialist,” she maintained the same intense eye contact, and Ana held it. “I don’t think I need to impress on you the importance of your role here. We all want what’s best for humanity, and the sooner we can get your people on board, the sooner Ervamir… the sooner Earth can be made whole again. I’m expecting a good interview, even if it means a prolonged leave period. Are we clear?”
“Clear ma’am,” Ana managed the salute this time. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“Very good. As you were then, get some rest.”
Ana breathed a sigh of relief as the woman exited, the garrison members following her out. To her slight surprise, she noticed the doctor breathe a similar sigh, and filed the information away for later. Maybe she was the sort of commander who rode her troops hard. It was strange; she’d never been given that impression.
An hour went by, and Ana drifted in and out of sleep several times, each time waking up slightly sharper than before, though her headache kept growing. She was offered the painkillers again but declined. Years of soldiering in the South American jungle had taught her to trust her instincts, and hers had been screaming through the fog ever since she’d first awoken that morning. Something didn’t feel right, and she needed to be clear-headed to figure out what. She was feeling less collected now than she had been for months, and somehow, at the same time, more herself.
Maybe the doc is right and I’m just a bit fucked in the head, she thought.
Just as the headache had reached the point where she was beginning to question that decision, a polite rap came from the door. The doctor’s chair hummed across the floor to answer, and a moment later, a fuzzy face peered in overtop two smaller figures.
“You’re awake!” Banta’s voice boomed across the room, and the doctor made a frantic shushing noise. “Oops, sorry.”
The small group piled into the room, and Ana smiled through the throbbing pain as Vrina and Sergeant Rea’ar’s faces also came into view.
“Specialist,” her NCO greeted her. “I trust you’re on the improve?”
“Ma’am,” Ana inclined her head slightly.
“A little bird told me that you’re to be stationed planetside for a time,” she frowned.
“Yes ma’am,” Ana replied. “Sorry for the inconvenience ma’am.”
“It’s no matter,” the sergeant’s expression was unreadable. “The rest of the fire team sends their well wishes.”
“What she means by that is that the duradians don’t think you’ll die,” Banta grinned. “They’ve got some… quirks… regarding illness. Very pragmatic.”
“You can tell them that I appreciate their confidence then,” Ana replied, and what might have been the ghost of a smile graced the sergeant's face before disappearing abruptly.
“You’ve put me in a slightly difficult position here, specialist,” Rea’ar said. “I’ve been asked to leave one of my troops to watch over you in case your condition deteriorates. Normally, that wouldn’t be a problem, but assigning one of the duradians to your care would be a bad fit. I thought to send Singer alone, but…”
Banta stiffened. “Ma’am—” she started before Rea’ar held up a hand.
“Yes, yes, I know Corporal, save it. You’re both going. I’ve arranged for you to be assigned to a posting on the surface, at one of our new consulates. Might as well make use of you while you’re down there.”
Banta relaxed visibly, and Ana looked between the three women in confusion.
“You two aren’t like, married or anything, are you?” she couldn’t help but ask, pointing between Banta and Vrina, and the pair balked. Vrina’s crest puffed out, and she spluttered, a strangled choking sound coming from her beak. Banta sniggered, and the sergeant’s eyebrows rose.
“I— wh— no!” clucked the Ulu, her chest feathers fluffing out like pins from a cushion. “What makes you think that?”
“Well apparently you’re attached at the hip,” Ana defended. “I’m not judging, just curious.
Sergeant Rea’ar held up both hands, absolving herself of the conversation. “I’m glad to hear you’re improving Specialist,” she said, heading for the door, and Ana watched in amazement as the woman who’d kept her cold demeanor throughout months of training and onboarding fled the scene. “I expect regular updates on your condition,” she opened the door and turned to the other two. “Don’t keep her up too long, she needs rest.” Then the door was closing behind her, and she was gone.
“What the fuck was that?” Ana breathed, looking back at Vrina, who was still prickling, and Banta, who was held under the stern glare of the doctor and trying to keep her giggling from devolving into full laughter. “Okay, come on, what is this?”
Banta pulled herself together and glanced over at Vrina, who was still doing her best impression of a taxidermized rooster. “Maybe we should—”
“Shut up,” Vrina tucked her head beneath her feathers, rubbing at her forehead with the ridge of a wing.
“I’m just saying, it’s not like she’ll think any differently of—"
“No.” The ulu held firm. “It’s embarrassing.”
“Hi, invalid here, not exactly in a position to judge,” Ana raised an arm. “I don’t mind if the two of you are—”
“It’s not that,” Vrina hissed, and Banta guffawed again, catching another warning tut from the doctor. “We’re old friends, nothing more.”
Banta stopped laughing, and looked at her askance, her mirth disappearing. “No lies, Vrin,” she said, disapprovingly. “It’s one thing to keep something to yourself, but it’s dishonorable to lie to a comrade. I’m telling her.”
Ana cocked her head. “Wait, so you are—”
“No,” both of them replied together, the ulu still hissing. “Banta, I swear to—"
“She’s more like… my employer?” the ursinian ventured, and Vrina’s eyes bugged out, a sound like a death rattle building in her throat.
“Corporal Banta, you will not say another word,” she spluttered and then recoiled in horror as the bear woman bowed her head low to the ground, saluting her.
“Of course, your majesty,” she replied with a grin, and Ana’s brain short-circuited.
​
If you're enjoying the story so far, please consider checking out the Patreon to gain access to up to ten additional chapters. I have a few different tiers and one of them may be right for you.
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2024.05.18 00:57 Heroman3003 Wayward Odyssey [Part 2]

Putting out second chapter sooner than I anticipated. Response to first one was a lot more touching than I expected, so here you have it~ I can't promise updates to keep being as quick as this one, but I wanted to get this one out to give people a bit of peace of mind and direction for where this is actually going.
As usual, thanks to SpacePaladin15 for letting fanfiction flow and all the people on discord who encouraged me to put this suffering to word. Without further ado, let's get into... The Pain.
First - [Next]
The Odyssey Mission Update Report - Audiolog
Hello... Sara Rosario speaking. This is our final report before we’re heading back. Yes, we had a dozen more exoplanets to investigate, but... this is... Fuck, this is gonna be so informal...
...yes!
...
I know! I am doing your job here! Would you like come and do it for yourself?!
...
That’s what I thought. Plus, I doubt you’d do much better.
Ugh. Anyway. Fuck, let me just restart.
Sara Rosario of vessel Odyssey speaking. When we were about to continue the mission following our latest report, and powering up our FTL, we got... ambushed is the best word for it. Suddenly, several ships of clearly non-Earth origin showed up around us. We were... shocked, but also excited. Afraid, a little too. Then... they hailed us using video. We picked up, of course. And it was aliens. Actual real aliens. Big anthropomorphic gator looking people! Their commander urged us to abandon our course and invited us onto their ship for an explanation. We could understand it! They had technology far surpassing ours that allowed them to translate our language after just interfacing with our ship for a few minutes! Me and Noah were ecstatic as they opened a hangar, their ship large enough to fit all of Odyssey inside.
Then we met him. The leader of the vessel, one Chief Hunter Isif. They used a device that they configured to translate their language, Arxur language, to our English. They only have one language in their culture it seems. Anyway, moving on... First thing he did is directly state that he wishes to impress us positively and therefore invited us for a small feast before we proceed further. Noah agreed on our behalf, believing it best to engage in whatever cultural greeting the arxur think necessary. I should have insisted that we didn’t...
We were brought to a dining room and quickly our ‘meal’ was brought in. It—
What?!
...
Yes, I know it’s not an it, it’s a she, I’m trying—
Noah, shut the hell up! We didn’t know then, so—
What? You want me to say it directly on record? Right now? Fine, then listen up, SETI. As part of our First Contact we ate a fucking sapient child. There. All cards on the table. Are you fucking happy, Noah Williams?! Can I continue this stupid log?!
...
Great. Okay, shit, where was I?
Yeah. We didn’t know she was a sapient. The sounds aliens make when talking are not reminiscent of any Earth languages and... Fuck... It just sounded like a bleating lamb, okay! Sure, it was weird and alien, but especially the way they were carrying it, we didn’t even realize it was bipedal! We didn’t—I—
[Recording paused]
[Recording resumed]
Okay. Okay, I can do this. What we thought was just an alien animal was brought in and butchered right in front of us. Not killed though, butchered explicitly without killing it. I was about to protest, but... Didn’t. I thought it was some screwed up tradition, and I guess it was, just way more screwed up than I thought and... We didn’t want to alienate the first people in the galaxy that we met over the way they prepare their meal. We didn’t know!
Well, he just offers us a piece. Just tears a chunk out of chopped off half a leg and offers to us! I was already iffy on trying alien meat without testing, despite Isif’s insistence that it is safe. That was the line I was drawing. Guess what? He was prepared. The ‘chef’ that was preparing the meal went ahead and cut off the rest of the leg after heating his knife! The poor thing was still alive, still bleating, I... I thought it was just an animal... I didn’t... God...
[Recording paused]
[Recording resumed]
Continue. Okay... Shit, where was I again? Right... We... ate some of it. Then...
...
Noah, what the fuck is wrong with you?! I... god, fuck—
[Recording paused]
[Recording resumed]
For the record, Noah asked if I was going to describe the taste. Yes, it’s fucked up, we’re both fucked up and coping best we can. I had to throw up for like 4th time now and he still refuses to step more than two feet away from the child. Anyway, we ate some of it, no I am not describing the taste, I don’t care that you still feel it in your mouth, Noah, fuck you, you dumped this log on me, I am doing it my way.
So we ate a bit and then he started talking. We’ll... probably need a proper debrief after we’re back. But the gist of what he said is as follows. His species is oblige carnivores who are frankly on the brink of starvation. They have no choice but to raid the worlds of a group of species that they call the Federation to capture the cattle for consumption. We asked about trade, but he just said they find even the idea of any creature, wild or sapient, consuming meat abhorrent and undeserving of living. Okay, makes sense so far. I can see how such a conflict could start. He even mentions they don’t really consider creatures as slaved to their instinct as those Federation species sapient... We should have realized then...
But we didn’t. We thought it was just some old hatred with a dose of racist rhetoric. Then he started showing us. Showing us more of his people, told us of their religion of self-improvement on whole-societal level. Some sort of ideological theocratic dictatorship. He showed us the map of their territories, including the ‘hunting grounds’ of Federation worlds... Then told us a brief history of how they used to have cattle, only to have the Federation kill it all to starve them out. And then he showed us what the Federation does to any predator, regardless of sapience or danger... He showed a bunch of arxur fighting a flamethrower-wielding alien. They killed a few, but got overwhelmed. However, as they did, their helmet was knocked off, and that’s when it hit us... It was the same species as... the girl on the table... And he just nodded and confirmed, yes, one of them.
They don’t take cattle from wildlife, but from the sapient populace. Wildlife has been too damaged by the ‘exterminators’, those flamethrower wielding defense forces. So they just grab sapients, put them into cages, and treat them like cattle, including eating them fucking alive.
Worst part? He even said that the one he fed us was a child. Fucking—
...
Yes, I will quote what he said! You reminded me of the taste thing, I will remind you of this!
Guess what that monster said? “We picked a young one because they are more tender. They are a delicacy, although not nearly as filling.”
I think that’s the point at which we both just were too... out of it to even react appropriately. We tried to maintain our decorum, and managed to work in sync somehow and make up a lie about strict schedule of our mission and needing to report back. And then he just goes “Are you not going to finish the meal, at least?”
Thank god for Noah’s quick thinking and asking for her to be brought with us, because I think I would have broken down there and then if I had to answer that question.
They brought the alien girl with us, and gave us a few ‘gifts’ other. A star chart with territory of this Federation as well as their marked hunting grounds, and fucking suggestions for worlds he is willing to allow us to ‘try’—Actually you guys will get it when you get it. There were also a few translators, all configured arxur-english, a communication device to contact him personally, and a data storage device containing important information that is basically more detailed version of his story.
So... we left his ship and set course back to Earth. The alien child is with us, and she’s alive. Somehow, despite... everything. Noah did his best to treat her and is trying to keep her stable, while I’m kicking the engine into overdrive to make it back faster. We’ll need medics ready, and not just medics, best xenobiologists and veterinarians or whoever can figure out how to keep that poor child from dying. We’re... sending over the data packet too. And any sort of info Noah manages to figure out about her biology from his non-invasive examination.
God... the universe is full of people who’d kill us just for us eating meat, and the only ones willing to be friends coerced us into eating a fucking child and saw nothing wrong with it. This is fucked up. I should have become a vet...
We didn’t know... I swear, if we knew, we’d never... God, I still hear the way she screamed. I can’t help but hear it as scream now, not bleating of an injured animal. I’m so sorry...
She’s in our mini-infirmary right now... Why the fuck weren’t we better equipped for dealing with medical issues? Oh, it’s just two people scanning a bunch of planets from orbit, it’ll be fine... Shit! Well, Noah said he knocked her out with painkillers and sedatives. I have no clue if they’ll work right on alien biology, but it's the best we can do...
Uh... I don’t know how to end these things, Noah is one who does them, but... God, I hope the girl makes it... We didn’t know...
Sara... out, I guess?
Memory Transcription Subject: Dr. Erin Kuemper, SETI Researcher
Date [standardized human time]: July 13, 2136
I stood in a small area in front of the bathroom, trying to collect myself. Biggest news of the century and it’s so... Horrible. In every way imaginable. I just finished delivering the news to the big heads but what followed, I... Couldn’t handle it. I needed some time, some space to process what we have learned. Hundreds of people out there, just like us... all wanting us dead before we even met them. One kind that is ready to welcome us... but eats other people because they believe them inferior. Best we could hope for is that some part of it all is a lie or a terrible misunderstanding, but data that was sent over to us... They were advanced, but unless they were watching us for years, they wouldn’t have time to forge something like that, nor did they have a good reason to deceive us. The arxur were, as far as we could tell, truthful.
Sara’s voice in that message was haunting. I don’t think there’ll ever be another moment in history when a room full of generals is so absolutely mortified. And all the arguments that broke out the moment the briefing was over...
I heard footsteps, but with my face buried in my hands I couldn’t see who it was. I decided to ignore it... I just wanted to wake up from this nightmare. To always look forward to meeting new life, only for it to become... this.
“You as well, Dr. Kuemper?”
I lowered my hands and to my surprise it was the Secretary-General himself standing before me, offering me a tired smile. Somehow, despite his advanced age, he managed to look at least a decade older. Although with everything that just happened, I think that’s getting off easy.
“Sorry, Secretary-General, I just... Needed some space.”
“Same, really, so I can understand.” Mr. Meier pauses and leans on the wall beside me. “I guess this Friday the 13th superstitions had something true to them, huh?”
That actually got a chuckle out of me.
“So, I’ve heard the takes of the military heads, way too many for this early in the day, but since you’re here, I’d like to hear your actual thoughts on how to proceed.”
That took me by surprise. I was just a scientist, not some big political planner or a tactical genius. Still... I can’t say I didn’t have strong opinions already.
“We... can’t ally with those arxur. I hate that this is the way our First Contact went, but knowing what they do... We can’t. And that Federation, well, we have no choice but to hide.” I sighed, realizing that I was basically suggesting recoiling back and entering full isolationism. So much for SETI. “I just wish we could... change their minds instead. Show the Federation that peaceful coexistence is possible and show the arxur that their horrid crimes are unnecessary. But I strongly doubt either will listen, they’ve got no reason to. We’ve barely left our solar system... We’re helpless if either decides that they should eliminate us.”
Secretary-General Meier stroked his chin before nodding with a light smile.
“Yes, if only making people listen to reason was easy... But I appreciate your input, Doctor. Thank you. That does give me room for better thoughts than what Zhao and Jones are offering.”
With that he started walking away. I stood up properly and rubbed my eyes before checking the time. Odyssey ETA is about one hour from now. The medical teams were already prepped at the landing site, but I was still worried. For all we knew, the alien child that the crew managed to rescue might already be doomed just from alien bacterial contamination. And being far from the field of medicine myself, I could only pray that won’t be the case.
Noticing that Elias Meier still hasn’t turned the corner, I call out to him.
“Sir! What... what happens next? What do we do now?”
I don’t know why I asked that. It’s a stupid question, but I just needed to know what his plans were. What anyone’s plans were. How are we supposed to deal with all this. He pauses for a few long moments before responding.
“I am not entirely sure. But all I know is that we aren’t going to compromise our morals. I won’t let mankind be brought down to the level of the war the rest of the galaxy is fighting. As for you specifically... Stay in touch. We’ll need an official UN expert team for handling all extraterrestrial matters. And give my regards to the crew of Odyssey when they land. I will likely be too busy for a proper meeting for a while now, but despite how they feel, they’ve done humanity proud.”
With that the Secretary-General walked back towards the meeting hall, leaving me alone. With naught better to do for the next hour, I followed after. He was right. We can still fix this. We can make it better and find a way. We just need to try.
Memory Transcription Subject: Stynek, Venlil Cattle
Date [standardized human time]: July 14, 2136
Dying felt weird, I decided. I never thought about what it must be like until I was captured as cattle, but I had a lot of time to think about things like that while in the pens. I didn’t want it, but part of me wondered if it’d be painful, but surprisingly, dying felt like all pain going away, replaced with distant dull aching, like when you sit with your legs crossed for too long. I also thought it would be dark, but it was actually constant shifting between bright lights shining before fading back to blackness before going bright again.
The weirdest thing about dying was thinking. I always assumed that dying meant you stop thinking, but it seems I was instead just thinking really slowly, and couldn’t focus on a single thing. I tried counting to ten, but always lost count before getting past five!
I am pretty sure there were things moving too. It was hard to focus, but whenever there was light, I could almost make out some shapes in front of it, even if light was just overwhelming them. The only clear shape I remember was particularly dark. It reminded me of mom.
But lights kept going in and out... It was also still cold in death, just like in that predator refrigerator. I guess it makes sense that death wouldn’t be warm, but it was weirdly disappointing. I was hoping it would be somehow relaxing and peaceful, but it was just... vague.
Oh, there was more light too... It was different somehow... And then shapes of different colors... Weird...
...would it be selfish to want to meet my mom? I know to do that she’d have to die... But I miss her. I don’t wanna be dead without her...
The light is getting pretty bright... And thinking... harder...
...
...
...
I wake up with a start as I realize I am not dead. I feel too much to be dead... Or was this afterlife? It’s a struggle to open my eyes. My eyelids felt like they were sealed shut. When I finally do, I squeeze them right back closed. Light, too much light! It’s so blinding. I try to raise my arm to shield my poor eyes, but my arm refuses to move. It’s as heavy as a mazic... My whole body feels sluggish and heavy.
I try sitting up instead, flexing my body with all my might to raise myself a bit, and feel a sheet slide of some sort sliding off of me. I attempt opening eyes again, letting them slowly adjust to intense and bright lighting, taking some time to examine where I am. It’s very... white. White walls, counters, a lot of white machinery, screens carrying some information... Wait, machinery? Why is the machinery connected to me?
...it’s a hospital. I’m in a hospital. How did I get here?
Thinking is hard, but when I flex my mind real hard, it hits me. Sluggishness momentarily disappears as I shoot up, trying to stand but fail. I throw off the stupid sheet covering me and see it. The stump where my right leg once was, covered in bandages.
Fear starts coursing through me as memories of what happened all flood in at once. Why...? How am I here? I was dying... I was supposed to have been eaten by weird mystery predators arxur handed me over to. Where am I?!
“A-Anyone? Anyone here...?” I call out, my voice feeling raspy and dry. That’s when I realize how intensely thirsty I am.
Immediately, the door opens, multiple figures entering the room. All large, dressed fully in protective suits covering their whole bodies, other than large visors at the head. The suits were weird though, there were no tails.
The figures surrounded me, hushing me back down onto the bed. How did this happen? Was I rescued? But... nobody ever gets rescued from cattle ships... It makes no sense. They were making some rumbly sounds, but I couldn’t understand them. I tried reaching for my temple, where the scar from implant extraction was, but a hand stopped me forcefully, one of the figures grabbing it and giving a slow shake of its head.
Then the figure let me go and I let myself be laid back down. Figures seemed to get to work on the medical machinery. Yes... it didn’t matter. I was saved and... even if I lost my leg... At least I could see mom again.
The one figure that stopped me from touching my scar put its hand on my head and gently stroked my hair. It felt weird, through that rubbery material they were wearing, but I suppose it was an affectionate gesture. I hope they’ll give me a new implant, because I want to ask so many questions!
Then I saw it. My eyes were still adjusting to light, and visors reflected it a lot, but in a momentary glimpse of it breaking through, I saw just what was hiding inside the suit. It was that same monster that participated in arxur meal, that ate a piece of me! That dark-colored predator! And rest were probably just like it! This was no hospital; this was a predator lab! I was about to be dissected!
Panic rushed through me, a scream starting to escape my lungs, as I swatted that large grabbing hand away from me and immediately tried to run, scampering out of bed. I could feel multiple wires falling off of me as I did that, and figures of predators in suits turned towards me and began their approach... No!
I yelled in desperation, continuing the scream that I hoped would alert someone, even if in my heart I knew none would hear my pleads. I crawled backwards, unable to stand up at all with my leg missing, but found myself in the corner... I didn’t even look where I was going! They kept approaching, slowly, as if savoring their hunt of helpless prey, and I kept screaming, unable to make myself stop, horror completely gripping my being.
These creatures were unfamiliar sapient predators. Of course they wouldn’t just eat me, they would want to learn everything about me and then eat me! I can’t take it anymore! My arms flailed around, trying to reach for something, anything, but I only knocked over a nearby counter. There! Shiny and bright, must be a knife! I grabbed it and started swinging it wildly in front of myself, trying to keep the predators at a distance... But after a few swings I realized that the knife was weirdly unsharp... and had a rounded end with an indent... It was a spoon!
Then predators suddenly stepped aside, opening a path between me and the door. Part of me tried to make a run for it, rushing towards it, but on only one leg I just hopped up and faceplanted down on the ground. Then there was a small prick in my forearm. Last thing I saw before unconsciousness took me again was a small dart sticking out of my arm and predators’ shadows covering the bright light above as they reached for my helpless body...
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2024.05.18 00:12 The-Lightbringer The High Septon

Reddit Account: The-Lightbringer
Discord Tag: Indigo
Name and House: The High Septon
Age: 26
Cultural Group: Andal
Appearance: Rumor tells that no mortal eyes have glimpsed the face of the man once known as Septon Amory. He garbs himself in liturgical vestments of silver and pure white embroidered with thread-of-gold, the sleeves and skirts of his robes covering everything underneath. On his right hand he wears a doeskin glove, and his left is always carefully bandaged with clean strips of white linen. A single ring adorns his finger, the heavy silver and gold piece that bears his signet. Instead of a crystal coronet, he wears a simple cloth headdress of the same make as his other garments. The most striking and visible feature of the High Septon are his eyes, a piercing shade of blue, deep as the sky in summer, seen through the ornate silver of the mask that veils all else from view.
Trait: Mastermind
Skill(s): Covert (e), Sabotage (e), Ravenmaster
Talent(s): N/A
Negative Trait(s): Maimed (Left Arm)
Starting Title(s): His High Holiness, Father and Shepherd of the Faithful, Voice of the Seven, Supreme Leader of the Faith Militant, The Ecumenical Arbitrator of the Will of the Father, and so on.
Starting Location: Opening Event
Alternate Characters:N/A

Family Tree

N/A

Biography

A son was born in the year before the Conqueror’s arrival to the Lord of Riverrun’s younger brother, who served as a household knight and steward of the keep. Known by all as a proud and shrewd man, he worked diligently in his efforts to maintain the finances and prestige of their house. Not long afterwards, a sister made her appearance, and the riverlords rejoiced for their many blessings. Taken on by his uncle as a page and cupbearer at the age of six, the boy began the long journey towards knighthood. He served Lord Tully’s food, cleaned his armor, fed his hounds, and held a sword for the first time, albeit a training weapon. Whenever his services were not needed, he learned heraldry and horseback riding, attending his father and the other men on hunts within the Whispering Wood.
One of the boy’s earliest glimpses of memory was fire and blood. Buildings crumbling, dust choking, fire scorching, and the heavy, beating wings and terrible roar of a furious beast. When the septons arrived to bless the remains of the deceased, they found him tucked in a corner of the ruined stables, clutching at the corpse of his nameday gift, an orange tabby kitten. The hair had been singed from his small head, his skin was blistered and weeping, and the fingers of his left hand were fused together by the heat. Taken to Stoney Sept by his saviors, he spent many long, terrible weeks in a milk of the poppy-induced sleep at the hands of the healers, who fought tirelessly to keep the Stranger away. When he woke, he blessedly remembered nothing of the ordeal.
The kindly Septon Ambrose oversaw the boy’s continued education – reading, writing, numbers and history, all with a focus on the workings of the Faith. Amory, as they called him, was a quick and attentive learner. He made many friends amongst the wandering septons, sitting rapt at attention whenever they told stories of the realms beyond the borders of their humble home. His true identity was kept as a closely guarded secret by those who found him, for fear of bringing dragonfire down upon their heads. At five and ten, Amory set aside his brown cowl for robes of white, the youngest ever ordained septon (to anyone’s knowledge). He took to wearing a carved wooden mask to hide his scars from the world, though he’d long forgotten where they even came from. Traveling the riverlands from village to village, he held sermons on the goodness and grace of the Seven and healed the smallfolk of their spiritual ailments, performing marriages, blessing infants and forgiving sins. As a wandering minister, he became immensely popular, garnering much fame and attention and often being asked to visit various towns and villages.
While delivering sermons south of the Trident, Amory was called back to Stoney Sept where Ambrose lay upon his deathbed. The truth was revealed in the dying gasp of the old man; he was really Tristram Tully, the last of a fallen house. Utterly shaken by the news, he spent seven days and seven nights struggling with his beliefs while holding vigil within the sept for all that he’d lost – his family, his adopted father, and his name. He tore his robes and his hair, scourged his back bloody and raw, and prostrated himself before the gods. By the end of it, his faith had not fled but grown even deeper, for though he could no longer stand against the Targaryens in the name of House Tully, he firmly believed that the Seven would guide him on the path to retribution. On the morning of the eighth day, he emerged from the sept and made preparations to leave the village of his youth behind. He would travel to the Westerlands, where rumors told of a new militant order of the Faith on the rise.
There, he made the acquaintance of knights such as Ser Morden ‘Morningstar’, who became his traveling companion, and Ser Alesander, an aspiring captain within the Warrior’s Sons. Just two years after arriving at the temple, his popularity in the West had grown to heights rivaling the riverlands. While wandering with his constant shadow, he spoke out against the treatment of the smallfolk by the upper class during times of war: the fires set in their villages, the looting of their homes and the rape of their women. How, during times of peace, they were forced to hand over their hard-earned food for the lord’s granary and their coin for the king’s taxes. The rich in their castles lived in great excess and benefitted from the suffering of those who worked the land and lived simple, honest, godly lives. He paid for any provisions requisitioned from families out of his own pocket, and such was the fame and magnanimity of Amory that eventually the folk came running out to meet him whenever he arrived to give a sermon, acclaiming his name and offering gifts.
Whenever Septon Amory left the Westerlands behind, he was accompanied by a sizable flock of supporters, Warrior’s Sons, Poor Fellows and peasants alike. His teachings proved to be substantiated when the lords of the Reach answer with violence against the crowd. As the ground ran red with the blood of the martyrs, the High Septon himself was pressured to denounce the slaughter of the septons and their followers. Mercenary companies were unleashed by various lords to quell the unrest, which only served to harden the hearts of the smallfolk and the Faith Militant against them. Continuing on toward Oldtown, Amory was granted refuge at Holyhall for a time, where he befriended the bastard grandson of Lord Graceford. The two remained in touch even after the septon’s departure, and exchanged many letters.
Upon arriving at the city, a meeting was arranged with the High Septon himself, along with members of his council, and representatives from various lords. They offered to build Amory his own sept, tempted him with mountains of gold, and even promised a position within the Most Devout if he would control his fanatical followers and stop railing against the nobility, all to no avail. He could not be bribed, claiming to see the Faith as it truly was at that time – corrupt beyond redemption, and maintained that he had been chosen by the Seven as its savior. In his own words, the ‘wicked would fall before the righteous, and all creation would tremble before the standards of the faithful.’ Able to do very little against his growing influence, the High Septon was forced to concede, granting the Warrior’s Sons a portion of the land held by the Faith within Oldtown to build a chapterhouse.
Remarkably, things seemed to settle after that in spite of Septon Amory’s words. He busied himself with overseeing the building of the chapterhouse, and took to wandering the Reach as he had previously. The smallfolk were found to be as malleable as any he’d encountered thus far, and it wasn’t long before he had become a figure of great eminence among them. A year passed, and then another, and still a third, after which the uprisings all but seemed a thing of the past. The Warrior’s Sons kept themselves busy with expanding their holdings and influence, and Amory’s decree became little more than an afterthought. All was truly well, until the High Septon suddenly became ill after a meeting attended by members of various orders. Although a robust and healthy man, he began to waste away over the course of days, with the maesters of the Citadel and numerous holy men doing what they could to treat a perceived stomach illness. Eventually, his speech became too slurred to comprehend, and he died on the seventh day.
After a period of mourning and funerary rites, the Most Devout began the selection process to determine which of them would become the new High Septon. Before the voting could conclude, the Warrior’s Sons arrived at the steps of the Starry Sept with a figure both familiar and altogether new at their head. Septon Amory had shed his humble appearance as an adder sheds its skin, exchanging his wooden mask for one of silver and his plain linen robes for richly embroidered vestments. He was thusly appointed as the new High Septon by the Most Devout out of fear of his power and influence. His first act was to renounce the false gods of the East and to affirm that, as decreed by the laws laid down within the holy texts by the Seven, incest was an abomination. An excess of wealth was then transferred to the Westerlands for the upkeep of the temple garrison there. Many more drastic changes would take place after the new High Septon’s rise to power.
The first of these was the formation of the Knights Inquisitor, tasked with rooting out and punishing heretics within ecclesiastical courts. With the Faith Militant spreading to other kingdoms, the order was desperately in need of cohesive leadership. Ser Alesander, now Warden of the Temple, was anointed a third and final time and raised to the position of Grand Captain of the Warrior’s Sons. The Exemplary Soldiers of the Holy Brotherhood of the Sword were chartered, with seven of the greatest champions of the Faith chosen to serve as pillars of authority and shining examples of virtue. They pledged their swords not to the will of man, but to the gods themselves. Members of the Most Devout found embezzling money or otherwise participating in corrupt practices were ousted from their positions, which were then filled by the High Septon’s loyal followers. A lengthy meeting with Lord Hightower soothed any tensions that remained between the Reachlords and the faithful, and established much favor between them.

Timeline

1 BC – Born at Riverrun.
5 AC – Becomes a page for his uncle, Lord Tully.
7 AC – His home and family are destroyed by House Targaryen and he is found by septons who nurse him back to health. Septon Ambrose begins tutoring him.
14 AC – Ordained as a septon.
17 AC – Septon Ambrose tells him the truth of his origins on his deathbed before passing away. He travels to the Westerlands to join the fledgling Warrior’s Sons.
19 AC – Leaves the temple and travels to the Reach with a large following. Skirmishes erupt between the holy men and the nobility.
20 AC – Founds the Oldtown chapter of the Warrior’s Sons.
24 AC – Annointed as the High Septon.
25 AC – Travels to King’s Landing for the festivities.
Name and House: Morden ‘Morningstar’
Age: 32
Cultural Group: Andal
Appearance: Outwardly, the sworn defender of the High Septon is a plain-looking man. Fair of skin, with a chiseled face, brown hair, and two bright, attentive eyes, and he stands well above average height. His armor is steel and bronze with very little embellishment, and he carries an enormous mace in the place of a sword. On his shield is the device of the Warrior’s Sons, and from his shoulders hangs a cloak striped with the seven colors of the Faith. Inwardly, the septon-turned-knight is a man of great faith and piety, deeply linked to the knightly code of honor. The man shows absolute loyalty even to his enemies, while charity and help are the rules of his life. He considers excessive violence abhorrent, does his utmost for the weak and vanquished, and burns with furious anger in the face of all cruelty and injustice.
Trait: Hale
Skill(s): Blunt Weapons (e), Brute
Talent(s): N/A
Negative Trait(s): N/A
Starting Title(s): Septon Knight, Defender of the Faith, Sworn Shield of His High Holiness
Starting Location: Opening Event
Alternate Characters: N/A

Family Tree

N/A

Timeline

7 BC – Born to a smallfolk family from the Westerlands.
3 AC – Sent away to study at the local sept by his mother, who can no longer afford to feed him and nine other siblings.
5 AC – Taken on as a squire by the septon knight Ser Edmure the True, continuing his studies as both a holy man and a soldier.
9 AC – Anointed as a septon.
11 AC – Assists Ser Edmure in saving a family of farmers from bandits and is knighted for his bravery.
15 AC – Joins up with the Warrior’s Sons under the direction of Septon Karron.
17 AC – Meets Septon Amory and acquires Jeb Adaron as a squire.
22 AC – Knights Ser Jeb for outstanding skill and valor in a melee held at Starpike.
24 AC – Amory receives the mantle of High Septon and Morden is appointed as his faithful shield.
25 AC – Accompanies the High Septon to King’s Landing for the feast in honor of the princes.

Supporting Characters

Septon Ilyn (Questioner) – A confessor in the personal service of the High Septon.
Symond of the Seven-Pointed Star (General) – A champion of the Faith who serves as the commander of the Warrior’s Sons in Oldtown.
submitted by The-Lightbringer to ITRPCommunity [link] [comments]

2024.05.17 21:06 Trash_Tia Halfway through Mr Brighton’s fifth period physics class, time stopped at 2:52pm.

”Stop.”
I really needed the bathroom.
For fifty painstaking minutes, I had been staring at the clock on the wall, willing it to go faster, uncomfortably shifting side to side in my seat so much that I was starting to get weird looks.
2:52pm.
Eight minutes, I thought dizzily, squeezing my legs together.
Which was just two chunks of four minutes.
Four chunks of two minutes.
The pain started like normal stomach pain, the kind I could deal with.
I swallowed two Tylenol with lukewarm soda.
But this was different.
This kind of pain was contorting and twisting my gut so much, I had to keep leaning onto my left buttock for relief.
I must have done it so many times, I caught the attention of the guy sitting next to me. Roman Hemlock who was half asleep, dark blonde curls hanging in half lidded eyes, his chin leaning on his fist. He shot me a look. I couldn't tell if it was Are you okay? or Can you stop moving around so much?
From the single crease in his brow, the slight curl in his lip, I guessed the latter.
It's not like Roman was helping.
For half the class, he'd been tapping his foot on the floor, then his chair leg, and to complete the orchestra, his fingers joined in, tap, tap, tapping on the edge of his desk. I didn't know if it was a bored thing, an ADHD thing, or he was trying to keep himself awake. It was easy to tolerate without the pain, but with it, the boy’s incessant tapping was more akin to a dentist drill splitting my skull open. I already felt nauseous, the sad looking chicken nuggets I forced down at lunch making an unwelcome appearance at the back of my throat.
It was too fucking hot, the stuffy summer air glueing my hair to the back of my neck. The material of my shirt was making me cringe, sticky against my skin.
Tipping my head back, the lights were too bright. Every sound was too loud. Imogen Prairie, who was sitting behind me chewing her gum a little too loudly.
Kaz Samuels scribbling notes like a maniac.
I could hear every stroke of his pencil, every time he paused, looked up at the presentation, and continued writing.
When I leaned forward in my chair, I could smell exactly what Isabella Trinity had eaten for lunch, the stink hanging in the air.
It became a case of sucking in my stomach and taking slow, deep breaths.
I’d never had these kinds of stomach cramps before. But it didn't take me long to figure out what they were.
I was yet to start my period at the grand age of sixteen, which meant this was it.
After countless sessions with the doctor, and feeling like a social outcast among my group of friends who started their periods in middle school, it had finally happened. The cramps in my gut that felt like my torso was being ripped apart, was in fact me entering womanhood. When my breath started to quicken, my mouth watering, I raised my hand, biting my lip against a cry.
Fuck.
Something lurched in my gut, a wave of nausea crashing into me.
I was going to throw up.
“Mr Brighton.”
Roman spoke up before me, waving his arm. “Can I use the bathroom?”
The teacher’s answer was always the same. Which was why I had been crossing my legs for the entirety of the class, unable to focus on anything but my gut trying to twist itself inside out.
Mr Brighton leaned against the wall, his eyes glued to the PowerPoint awash in our faces. We had been staring at the exact same slide for maybe five minutes now, and our physics teacher was yet to speak, his gaze somewhere else.
Mr Brighton was my Dad’s age, a greying man in his early fifties who always wore the exact same suit with the exact same stain on his collar.
The man was about as interesting as watching paint dry.
Normally, I would drift off myself, lulled into slumber by the low drone of his voice.
But the pain ripping me apart was keeping me awake.
“Mr Brighton.” Roman said, louder. His voice snapped me out of it. “Can I use the bathroom?” He paused, exaggerating a loud sigh. ”Please?”
The teacher straightened up, folding his arms.
“Mr Hemlock, you know the rules. Why didn't you go before class?”
“I didn't need to go an hour ago, did I?”
“You will no longer need to go to the bathroom, Mr Hemlock.”
Roman made a snorting noise.
“What?”
The low murmur of my classmates collapsed into white noise.
Glancing at the clock, I was anticipating the school bell.
The sickness swimming in the pit of my belly was reaching dangerous territory.
2:52pm.
Something ice cold trickled down my spine.
It was 2:52 the last time I checked, and five minutes had surely passed.
This time, I waited a whole minute and counted the seconds under my breath. The clock still didn't move. The ticker was frozen halfway between three and four.
Slowly, the same realisation began to hit the twelve of us. The clock on the wall had stopped. But it wasn't the only thing that had stopped. The cool breeze drifting through the window was gone.
The sound of birds outside, and the cheer squad practising their routine.
Everything had stopped. Trying to ignore a sickly slither of panic twisting its way through me, I checked my phone under my desk. There was a text from my Mom lighting up my notifications. When I tried to swipe it open, nothing happened. My lock screen was frozen, stuck at 2:52pm.
With my hands growing clammy around my phone, I stared at the time, willing it to move, to flick to 2:53.
But nothing happened, the numbers stubbornly staying at 2:52.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Roman’s voice brought me back to reality, though I was sure I'd dropped my phone. I heard it hit the floor with a sickening crack. Whatever he was saying, though, faded into dull murmur, when I turned toward the window.
Something was wrong outside.
The cheer squad were nowhere to be seen.
Being on the top floor gave us a front row seat to their practice sessions.
I stopped watching when their flyer did a death defying flip, almost breaking her neck. 2:52pm. I couldn't see the cheer squad. But I did see Jessie Carson mid-sprint across the track field, strawberry blonde curls suspended in a halo around her.
I could see exactly where she had frozen in place, her left foot hovering off of the ground, her right foot driving momentum. It wasn't just Jessie who had stopped. The dirt she was kicking into a cloud behind her was hovering, caught in mid-air.
Studying the faces around me, my mouth went dry.
Roman Hemlock, mid-argument with our physics teacher.
His eyes were wide, lips curved into what would have been a yell.
Fuck.
Was I the only one?
But then Roman blinked, and I realized the boy wasn't frozen. He was trying to think of a comeback. “What do you mean I won't need the bathroom anymore?”
“Mr Hemlock, please lower your voice.”
“Why? You can't dictate to me when I do and don't need the bathroom, dude!”
Moving onto the rest of my class, the others were still moving.
It was too quiet, though.
Yes, Roman was still tapping his foot.
Imogen was still chewing her gum.
Kaz was still scribbling notes like a psychopath.
But they were the only noise I could hear.
I wasn't the only one confused. The classroom had pricked with a sense of urgency. Kids were checking their phones, their gazes glued to the clock. Even Roman, who was still arguing, was starting to notice. I watched his gaze lazily roll to the clock on the wall.
I pretended not to see his cheeks visibly paling.
We had all come to the exact same terrifying conclusion.
2:52pm.
Time had come to a halt, and somehow, we had not.
“Is that clock broken?” Roman interrupted, leaning forward in his chair.
Kaz twisted around, settling the boy with an eye-roll.
“Check your phone, dumbass.”
“I broke my phone.”
Imogen threw her iPhone at him, narrowly missing hitting him in the face.
“Everything is frozen,” She said, her voice shuddering. “It's not just the clock.”
I waited for Roman’s response. For once, though, he was speechless.
“Well done, Imogen. That is correct.” Mr Brighton spoke up, tearing a piece of paper from a workbook and striding over to the door, glueing it over the glass window. When we started to protest, some of us were shouting, while others bursting into tears, he calmly took out his key and locked us in.
I should have been surprised that our teacher had spontaneously decided to take his entire class hostage, but the rumor mill had been churning.
According to Becca Jason, the guy’s wife divorced him and took his kids.
I could feel myself sinking into my chair, phantom bugs filling my mouth.
So, this guy had nothing to lose.
Taking his place in front of his desk, the man settled us with a patient smile.
“From now on, you will stay inside this room.” He said. “In case you haven't noticed, time is currently frozen at fifty two minutes past two. The thirteen of us are tucked into the twenty first second, and will be, for the foreseeable future.”
I could tell the others wanted to argue, but we couldn't deny that time had stopped. Kaz was staring down at his frozen phone, Imogen hyperventilating behind me, Roman glaring at the clock, chewing on a pencil. We wanted it to be a prank, a joke, some kind of glitch in the matrix that would fix itself.
But then a whole minute passed by. Followed by another. Kaz threw his phone on the floor, hissing in frustration. Imogen let out a wet sounding sob.
Roman’s pencil split in his mouth, slipping from his fingers. We couldn't pretend it wasn't happening or call our teacher out on his BS, because it was everywhere around us. The sudden absence of outdoor ambience, birdsong, planes flying overhead, and traffic outside the school gates. Everyone and everything had stopped, and we were the only ones left.
This was a nightmare, surely.
My physics class were some of the most boring and pretentious people in the school, and somehow the world had been reduced to the twelve of us inside our classroom. We were scared, of course we were. But reality had stopped making sense, crashing and burning in a single second. We had no choice but to listen to our teacher. “Now, before you freak out, it may not feel like it, but the twelve of you have also stopped.”
Mr Brighton held out his own hand, and placed it on his heart.
He was right.
I was so busy trying to understand what was happening, I had failed to realize my period cramps were gone.
“Do me a favor, and press your hand over your heart.”
“You mean like, in a culty way?” Imogen whispered.
“Obviously.” Roman grumbled, halfway out of his seat. He was hesitant, though, in case our teacher was armed. It only took one glance from our teacher, and he slumped back into his chair. “This crazy fucker clearly wants to play mind games with us.”
“No, I'm just asking you to feel for your heart.”
I felt for mine, and there was nothing, my stomach twisting.
Roman stabbed his fingers into his neck, feeling for a pulse.
He tried his wrist.
Then his heart.
Nothing.
“The twelve of you are currently in a state of stasis,” the teacher explained to us, “You are not alive, nor are you dead. Your bodily functions are also on pause, such as your heartbeat and your pulse. In this state there will be no need for food and water, or going to the bathroom.” His gaze found a ghastly looking Roman, who looked like he was going to faint. “Your minds, however, as you can see, are working as usual.”
“But why?” Imogen demanded in a shriek.
Mr Brighton’s lip curled. “I would rather not answer that question.”
“Because you're lonely.” Roman spoke up. He swung back on his chair, narrowed eyes glued to the teacher.
“Your wife and kids left you, so you're asserting power over a group of sixteen year olds. Which is kinda fucking pathetic.”
Mr Brighton’s expression darkened, and something slimy crept up my throat.
The worst thing any of us could do was threaten him. He had taken kidnapping to a whole new level, and we were alone with this psychopath, trapped inside a second. I waited for the man to stride forward and attack the kid. But he didn't. Instead, the teacher leaned back on his desk. “Yes.” The man nodded.
“I suppose you could say I am.”
“But why us?!” Kaz hissed.
“Because you are children.” Mr Brighton responded casually.
He straightened up, taking slow, intimidating steps towards Roman’s desk. The rest of us leaned back. I tried to pull my desk with me, but it was glued to the floor. Frozen. Mr Brighton’s shoes went click-clack across the hardwood floor.
“You are right,” the man said in a murmur, “I am lonely. My wife and kids did leave me, and I have nobody left to control. I have nobody else to contort and use to my advantage.” Reaching Roman’s desk, he leaned in close until he was nose to nose with the kid.
“Congratulations, Mr Hemlock. You have just earned yourself detention.”
Roman stayed stubbornly still, but he was visibly afraid. I could see him very slowly backing away. Roman was all bark and no bite. He was a loud mouth, sure, but he was also the least confrontational person in the class.
“What?” He spluttered. “You trap us in a time loop or time trap, or whatever, and you still want to act like a teacher?”
“Stand up.” The teacher ordered.
“What if I don't?”
Mr Brighton’s expression didn't waver. “You said it yourself. I can and have trapped you inside a single second. What else do you think I'm capable of?”
Roman stood, kicking his chair out of the way.
“What are you planning on doing to me, old man?”
The teacher maintained his smile. “Stand up straight, and close your mouth.”
To my confusion, Roman Hemlock did all the above.
He straightened up, and closed his mouth.
“Do not fight me.” The teacher said calmly, “Do as you are told, and follow me.”
The boy did exactly as instructed.
His jaw slackened, that rebellious light in his eyes fizzling out.
I think that's when we all collectively agreed that going against this teacher and trying to escape was mental suicide.
“I will use Mr Hemlock as an example to all of you,” Mr Brighton said, turning to the rest of us. “If you break the rules or are derogatory in any way, you will be given detention.”
He grabbed the boy’s shoulders, forcing him to walk towards the supply closet. Roman moved like a robot, slightly off balance, his gaze glued to thin air, like he was tracking invisible butterflies.
"Your time in detention will depend on the severity of your rule-break.” He opened the door, gently pushing Roman inside, and following suit. When the door closed behind them, there was a pause, and I remembered how to breathe.
Kaz Samuels slowly got up from his desk, inching towards the closet.
“This guy is a certified nut.” He announced.
He turned towards us. “Whatever he's doing to Hemlock, we’re probably next.”
“He stopped time.” I spoke up, my own voice barely a croak. “He’s capable of anything.”
“But how did he stop time?” Kaz whistled, tipping his head back. The boy was slow, his fingers grasping each desk as he slid down the aisle. “He said he was lonely, right? But why take it out on us? What did we do to him?”
“Check his desk for a weapon!” Imogen whisper-shrieked.
Kaz nodded, striding over to the man's desk, his hands moving frantically, shoving paper on the floor. He took an uncertain seat on the man's chair. “There's nothing here,” he murmured, lifting stained coffee mugs and ancient textbooks. “It's just…test papers.” Kaz ducked from view, trying the drawers.
“He's a fan of Pokémon,” he said, “There's a tonne of Pokémon cards,” Kaz straightened up, running a hand through his hair. “No sign of a weapon, though.”
He picked up a ruler, waving it around. “This could work. If we plunge it in his eye.”
“Try his laptop!” Imogen was halfway out of her seat.
Kaz did, slamming the keys. “It's locked.”
“Look harder!” Ren Clarke threw a pencil at him.
“I am!”
After a minute of searching, Kaz grabbed a single piece of paper.
He held it up, and I squinted.
It was a list of our names, with several of them highlighted.
“Fuck.” Kaz dropped the list, his expression crumpling. The stubborn bravado facade transforming him into our sort of leader dissipated, hollowing him out into exactly what he was. Just a scared kid. Kaz’s hands were shaking.
“Mr Brighton’s got a hit list.” He whispered. “He's going to kill us.”
“How do you know that?” I found myself asking.
Kaz slowly dropped into a crouch, picking up the paper and holding it up.
“Look.” He pointed to a capitalised name at the top of the list highlighted in red.
ROMAN HEMLOCK.
There were six names highlighted in red, including mine.
CRISTA ADAMS.
As if on cue, Roman’s cry rang out from the supply closet, suddenly, freezing us all in place. Kaz jumped up, adapting the expression of a deer caught in headlights, eyes wide, almost unseeing.
He fell over himself to tidy up the desk, putting everything back where he had found it, sliding the list between a pile of test papers. Kaz took slow, stumbled steps back, his feverish gaze glued to the closet, before turning and making a break for it and diving into his seat.
“Brighton’s got a hit liiiist,” Kaz said, in a mocking sing-song, “And we’re all on it.”
What followed was deathly silence. I think we were expecting Roman to cry out again. But when he didn't, the class started to stir. Some kids started praying to a god they didn't believe in, while others were in varying states of denial, trying to call their parents with dead phones.
I wasn't sure what parts of me had stopped, but I was still alive, still felt like my lungs were deprived of oxygen, my chest aching. I'm not sure how long I sat there, trying to find my voice, a shriek trying and failing to rip through my mouth. Being kidnapped and held hostage is one thing, but being imprisoned inside a single, never ending second, was an existential hell worse than death. Slowly, I pressed my palm over my heart once again. Then I breathed into my cupped hands.
I was expecting it, but no longer being able to feel my own heartbeat and breath, was fear I didn't think was possible. The kind that glued me to my seat, hollowing me out completely until I was nothing, an empty shell with no heartbeat, no breath, no thoughts, except denial, followed by acceptance.
And finally, regret.
I regretted not hugging my mother goodbye before I left for school.
I regretted acting like a spoiled brat when my parents refused to drive me halfway across the country so I could attend Coachella.
I regretted stepping inside Mr Brighton’s fourth period physics class.
Mr Brighton reappeared, slamming the door behind him and locking the boy inside. Part of me flinched, while the rest of me remembered not to move a muscle. I was barely aware of time passing. Or it wasn't. Time had stopped, so now long had I been sitting there?
I could no longer measure the passage of time with hunger or thirst, and my body felt the same. I wasn't stiff or tired or achy. Looking out of the window, the sky was the exact same crystal blue, every cloud in the exact same place.
Jessie Carson was still frozen mid-run, strands of dark red hair caught around her.
“What's wrong with you guys?” Mr Brighton chuckled, and I twisted back to the front, a shiver writhing down my spine. “Why don't you give me a smile?”
The teacher returned to his desk, and I was already subconsciously sitting up straight in my seat, forcing my lips into a jaw-breaking grin, following Brighton’s instructions. In the corner of my eye, Imogen was sitting very still, forcing an award-winning cheesy smile, while Kaz grinned through gritted teeth.
“Mr Hemlock just earned himself two weeks inside the supply closet.” he said casually, perching himself on the edge of his desk. The man studied each of us, taking his time to rip every shred of us apart.
Mind, body, and soul.
I struggled to maintain my stupid smile, shoving my shaking hands in my lap.
“Would anyone like to join him, or are you going to follow the rules?”
The rest of us stayed silent. I don't think any of us breathed.
Our teacher nodded to Kaz, inclining his head.
“Samuels. Are you all right?”
Kaz’s smile faltered slightly. He shifted in his chair. I could see sweat trickling down his right temple. “Uh, yeah.” He swiped at his forehead, like he couldn't believe he was sweating. “Yeah, I'm good.”
The teacher’s eyes narrowed. He moved toward his desk, and we all held our breaths. Mr Brighton seemed to study his hit-list, lips curving into a frown.
His gaze flicked to the boy, and then the paper.
He knew, I thought dizzily.
Mr Brighton knew the kid had been rummaging through his desk. But this was all about control. The teacher was using fear to control us, to manipulate our thoughts without having to get physical. He could have called out the boy right then, but Brighton was settling with mental torture instead. He just wanted to make my classmate squirm.
Without a word, the man folded up the piece of paper and slipped it into his pocket. “Mr Samuels, you are sweating,” our physics teacher said, mocking a frown. “Are you feeling okay?”
Kaz hesitated, tapping his shoe in a rhythm.
Being one of the smartest kids in the room definitely gave him an advantage.
I could already see the cogs turning behind half lidded eyes. Kaz was weighing each scenario, sorting them into positives and negatives.
The positives of answering would mean he was one step towards being in the clear, but there were two negatives.
Brighton would question him if he had left his seat, and then demand how his hit-list had magically moved across the desk.
Talking back was surely a rule-break, as well as outright lying.
Opening his mouth would get him in trouble, either way, and Kaz knew that.
So, he just nodded, forcing an even bigger smile.
Brighton’s lips pricked, his gaze straying on Kaz. “Good!” He cleared his throat, turning to the class. Kaz slumped in his seat with a sharp breath, resting his head in his arms. If Mr Brighton noticed, he didn't say anything. “Ignore the sweating. It should stop, along with hunger and thirst.”
Our teacher seemed to be able to manipulate everything in his vicinity.
Time.
Minds.
And slowly… contorting us into his own.
In the single second we were trapped inside, I felt days go by in a dizzying whirlwind that was like being permanently high. When I stood up, I felt like I was floating.
When I sat down, hours could go by, even days, and I wouldn't even feel them. I did try and count the days, initially, scribbling them on a scrap piece of paper, but somewhere around the thirteenth or fourteenth day, I lost count. The world around us never changed, in permanent stasis, and maybe that was sending us a little crazy.
After a while of being stuck at our desks, Mr Brighton allowed us to wander the classroom, as long as we stayed away from the door. I lay on the floor for days, counting ceiling tiles.
Sometimes, Imogen would join me.
I couldn't sleep, but I could pretend to sleep, imagining a world that was back to normal. I didn't feel hungry, but my brain did like to remind me of food at the weirdest times. I was aware of weeks passing us by, and then months.
I never grew hungry or tired, and my bodily functions were none existent.
I couldn't remember what pain felt like, or the urge to go to the bathroom. Even the concept of eating and drinking became foreign to me. Putting something in your mouth and chewing to sustain yourself?
That sounded odd.
The only thing that was changing was our slowly unravelling metal state.
I don't know how it started. Weekends and Tuesdays blended together. On one particular SaturTuesday, I was hanging upside down from my desk, watching Kaz and Imogen doodle on the whiteboard.
Kaz had a plan to escape, but after a while, his ‘plan’ to distract the teacher, had gone nowhere. After passing notes between us, the twelve of us had decided that we needed a weapon.
That was maybe a month ago. I wasn't sure what mind games our teacher was playing, but Kaz Samuels, who we were counting on to be our brains, was slowly falling under his spell. Their game had been going on for three days. The two of them were having a competition to see who could draw the craziest thing.
Mr Brighton was at his desk as usual, marking papers.
Imogen was drawing a weird looking ‘skateboard’ when the doors to the storage closet flew open.
Roman Hemlock appeared, and to my surprise, wasn't a hollow eyed shell.
He held up his hand in a wave, his lips forming a small smile.
“Yo.”
Roman’s reappearance was enough to snap us out of it. Kaz and Imogen stopped arguing, the rest of the class going silent. I sat up, blinking rapidly.
I was sure our collective consensus was that Roman Hemlock was dead.
Mr Brighton lifted his head and gave the boy a civil nod. “Mr Hemlock will be rejoining us,” he said, his gaze going back to marking papers. “Please make him feel comfortable. I'm sure he's very excited to be able to talk to you again.”
Instead of going to his desk, the boy immediately joined the others, snatching the marker off of a baffled looking Kaz, and drawing an overly artistic sketch of a penis. I wasn't sure what confused me more. The fact that Roman Hemlock had some serious artistic skills, or that he seemed suspiciously fine for someone who had been locked in the storage closet for two weeks with no social interaction.
With my last few lingering brain cells still clinging on, I studied the boy.
There were no signs of bruises or scratches.
His eyes seemed normal, not diluted or half lidded.
Unable to stop myself, I jumped off of my desk and joined the others, where Kaz was already interrogating the guy.
“WHAT–”
Imogen nudged him, and he lowered his voice, leaning against the wall. “What did he do to you?”
Roman shrugged, rolling his eyes. “Relax, dude. He didn't do anything to me.”
“Then what was that yell?” Imogen hissed.
The boy cocked his head. “Yell?”
“You yelled out,” Kaz folded his arms, narrowing his eyes. He was already suspecting one of us had been compromised– or worse, brainwashed into compliance. Kaz stepped closer, backing Roman into the desk. “You cried out when you first went in there,” he murmured, “So, what was that?”
Something in Roman’s eyes darkened. “Oh,” He said, his lip curling. “That.”
Kaz’s expression softened. He rested his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “Yeah,” He whispered. “What did he do to you?”
Imogen shoved Kaz out of the way, shooting the boy a glare.
“You don't have to tell us, you know.” She said in a small voice. “If it's too traumatising, or he did something you don't want to talk about–”
Roman cut her off with a laugh, and suddenly, all eyes were on him.
The remaining nine of us were eagerly awaiting an explanation.
“Are you fucking serious?”
When Kaz didn't respond, Roman gathered us in a kind of hustle, the four of us grouped together. I felt like I was on the football field. Still, though, if the guy’s goal was to look as suspicious as possible, he was doing a great job.
Roman studied each of us, one eyebrow cocked. When Mr Brighton glanced up from his work, Roman shot him a grin, lowering his voice to a hiss.
“You seriously think our fifty year old physics teacher has been abusing me in the storage closet?
“Then why did you cry out?” Kaz demanded. “Did he hit you?”
Roman stuck out his bottom lip. “I'm pretty sure he didn't hit me.”
“So, you cried out for no reason.”
“Why are you covering for him?” Imogen poked his forehead. “Are you lobotomised?”
Roman wafted her hand away. “Stop prodding me, and no, I'm 100% good.” He backed away from us, like we were observers, and he was the zoo attraction.
“I won't be, if you keep treating me like I'm senile.”
“Okay, fine,” Kaz sighed. “Just answer one.”
“Shoot.”
“When you first went in there, you made an unmistakable sound of distress–”
“Not this again,” Roman groaned. “Of course I yelled! I was shoved into a pitch black storage closet on my own! What, did you expect me to stay silent?”
Kaz didn't look convinced, Imogen nervously sucking her teeth.
The boy leaned back, resting his head against the wall. His eyes flickered shut.
“Stop looking at me like that, there's nothing to tell you,” he murmured, “Brighton didn't do shit to me. I was just freaked out.” Prying one eye open, he fixed us with a glare. “I am so sorry for reacting like a human. Next time, I'll make sure to attack him and pin him to the ground.”
It's not like we believed him. I don't think Roman believed himself.
Something significant had changed in him. He was no longer argumentative, like half of his personality had been torn away. Roman set a precedent. Because once he was following instructions and walking around with a dazed smile, others began to follow. I can't remember how much time had passed since I thought about escaping.
Days and weeks and months had collapsed into fleeting seconds I only noticed when I wasn't playing games.
I wasn't aware of my own lack of sanity until I found myself, on a random SaturWednesday. I was laughing, gathered with the others on the floor, around a Monopoly board. The game had been going on for almost a week.
Reality hit me when I was laughing so hard I tipped back.
I can't remember why I was laughing. I think Imogen told a bad joke.
“Hand it over.” Roman, who was the King of Monopoly, held out his hand, demanding my last 250 bucks. I remember noticing his smile, my foggy brain trying to find hints that he was in some kind of trance, or being controlled by Brighton. But no. His smile was real.
Genuine.
To my shock and confusion, so was mine.
I wasn't in a trance or any type of mind manipulation. I was completely conscious.
Was this… Stockholm syndrome? I thought dizzily.
Was I enjoying this?
My thoughts were like cotton candy, disconnected and wrong, and they barely felt like my own. My gaze found Imogen and Kaz, the two of them sitting shoulder to shoulder, enveloped in the game.
They looked exactly the same, their hair, clothes, everything about them staying stagnant. It was them themselves who had drastically changed. I had never seen them look so carefree. Imogen was a hotheaded cheerleader, and Kaz was the smart kid who gave himself nosebleeds from overworking himself. But now, they were laughing, nudging each other, caught up in an inside joke. Blinking slowly, my gaze strayed on them.
Sure, it could be manipulation. It could be brainwashing. But it could also be real.
Kaz caught my eye, raising a brow.
“You good, Christa?”
Shaking my head, I nodded.
Again, my smile felt real. Like I was having fun.
“Good. It's your turn.”
I picked up the dice, throwing them across the board.
Two sixes.
“I can already see her landing on one of my hotels.” Roman murmured. He sat up, resting his chin on his knees. “As the clear winner, I have a proposition.”
Ignoring him, I moved my piece– immediately landing on Park Place.
“I'll give you 500,” Roman announced, “If you give up New York avenue.”
“That's all I've got!”
Imogen nudged me. “Don't do it. If you give him New York Avenue, he only needs one more.”
“One thousand.” Roman waved the notes in my face.
“My final offer.”
When I reached for the cash, he held it back.
“New York Avenue, he said, with a grin.
“And your pride.”
Reluctantly, I handed my only property over.
Kaz threw the dice and moved his piece, and I half remembered we had an escape plan. “Community chest.” Kaz picked up a card. “Go straight to jail.”*
Roman spluttered. “That's karma,” he said, “For stealing from the bank.”
“You were stealing too!”
We had a plan.
We had…. a plan.
After discussing it in detail, Imogen and I were going to try and get onto Brighton’s laptop. It wasn't a perfect way to escape, but it was coherent.
So, what happened?
We were going to get out, so what… what was this?
Kaz’s earlier words hit me from months ago.
“Mr Brighton *is the thing keeping us here,”* he explained. “If we kill him, I'm like, 98% sure we’ll go back to normal.”
“Okay, and what if he dies and we’re *stuck?”* Imogen whisper-shrieked.
“I said 98% for a reason. Yes, there's a small chance his power will die with him. But there's a bigger chance that its effects will die when he does.”
Ren nodded slowly. “Right, and where exactly did you learn this information?”
“You'll feel a lot better if I don't answer that.”
“Okay.” Ren gritted his teeth. “So, we just need to find a weapon, right?”
“And don't tell Hemlock,” Kaz rolled his eyes. “I don't care what he says, that boy definitely had his mind fucked with. Hemlock is a liability. If we tell Roman, he tells Brighton, and we’re screwed.” Kaz nodded to me, then the others. “Keep your mouths shut.”
Presently, I wasn't sure the boy wanted to escape.
Slowly, I rolled my eyes over to Mr Brighton, who had joined us to play.
He was happily marking papers, taking part when he could.
It felt…right.
Not like we had been forced or manipulated, but more like he belonged. Part of me wanted to question why I felt like this, but I found that I didn't care. I didn't care that we were essentially dead, in a never ending stasis and stuck inside fifty two minutes past two. I stopped thinking about the outside world a long time ago.
I couldn't even remember my Mom’s face.
I made my decision, dazedly watching Imogen throw a chance card at Roman.
He flung one back, threatening to tip the board.
I wanted to stay.
In the corner of my eye, however, someone was still awake.
Ren, who had been sitting next to me, kept moving, further and further away. I didn't notice until he was inching towards our teacher, a box cutter clenched between his fist. There must have been a point when we found a box cutter, when we made it our weapon of choice.
But somewhere along the way, I think we just… lost the longing to want to escape.
I didn't see the exact moment the boy stabbed the blade into the man's neck, plunging it through his flesh, but I did feel a sudden jolt, like time itself was starting to falter and tremble.
Mr Brighton dropped to the ground, and I found my gaze flashing to the frozen clock.
Which was moving, suddenly.
Slowly creeping towards 2:53pm.
Something sticky ran underneath me, warm and wet.
Blood.
Blood that was running.
Roman’s half lidded eyes found mine, and he blinked, dropping the dice.
Like he'd been asleep for a long time.
2:53pm.
We were free.
The cool spring breeze grazing my cheeks was back. I could feel my own heartbeat, sticky sweat on my forehead.
And outside, Jessie Carson let out a gut-churning scream.
For a disorienting moment, I don't think any of us believed we were free.
Roman twisted around, his gaze on the doorway.
The piece of paper the teacher had stuck to the glass slipped away.
But Roman’s gaze was glued to the door, his cheeks paling.
His lips parted into a silent cry.
Following his eyes, I glimpsed a shadow.
A shadow that was frozen at 2:52pm.
2:53pm.
“Fuck.” Roman whispered, stumbling to his feet.
He turned to the rest of us, his eyes wild.
“Get DOWN!”
When the thing crashed through the door, our classroom exploding around us, chairs splintering against the walls, I was already dropping to my knees, crawling under a desk. It took me a moment to understand I was already kneeling in what was left of Imogen.
Her body had been hollowed out, singed straight through.
I was crawling through pieces of her flesh, mounds of her bisected brain.
Keeping my hand over my mouth, I watched this… thing.
A bulbous black monster, chewing its way through my classmates. Blood splattered the walls, raining from the ceiling, and that same striking pain ripped through my gut, agonising enough to force a cry through my lips.
My frantic gaze found the clock.
2:54pm.
Lurching forwards, I heaved up what was left of my lunch, agonising pain wrenching my stomach back and forth.
I jumped when another body joined me, thankfully alive, squeezing under the desk.
Roman, his face slick and dripping scarlet.
When the thing was gone, neither of us moved.
3:05pm.
“What are those things?” I managed to get out.
“I don't know,” Roman whimpered, covering his mouth. “But they're everywhere.”
3:10pm.
Another thing found our classroom. This time I saw it up close, a giant, bulbous black thing with an eye stalk. It knew we were there, peeking under the desk we were hiding. But it didn't kill us.
The thing left the room, stopping to gorge on half of Ren’s torso.
Roman shot me a questioning look, but I could only be relieved.
3:15pm.
Roman threw up black slime all over me.
He caught my eye, swiping his mouth. “Well, that can't be good.”
The pain in my gut was getting harder to deal with.
3:20pm.
“Did you have chicken nuggets for lunch?” Roman murmured. He got a little too close, his breath on my neck.
I had to suck in my stomach to stop the pain.
I was going hot and cold, sweat dripping down the back of my neck.
“Why?” I hissed back, taking deep, shaky breaths.
“I dunno,” Roman murmured, “I can smell them on your breath.”
His teeth grazed my flesh, sending shivers down my spine.
“Weird… huh.”
3:30pm.
Roman nudged me.
“Fuck.” He hissed. “Is that Kaz?”
Following his gaze, I found the remnants of Kaz under a crushed desk starting to… convulse.
“Was he bitten?” I whispered.
Roman’s eyes were a strange color. “Maybe.”
3:35pm
“Mr Brighton.” I was on my knees, sobbing, shaking my physics teacher.
“Mr Brighton! Take us back!”
I squeezed his ice cold hand for dear life.
“Say, ‘stop’,” I whispered “Please!”
3:40pm.
The thing that found me didn't attack me. It sat there, head cocked, watching me roll around on the floor, the pain writhing through me. I watched its transformation in short bursts, consciousness swimming in and out.
When I found light again, the thing was sitting cross legged next to me, chewing on a human arm. Maybe I was hallucinating. I watched it for a long time, trying to figure out why it was wearing strips of Roman’s white shirt.
3:52pm.
No longer in the school, I was in the back of an ambulance, a lady screaming in my face. I could see the time on her watch. She told me I was going to be okay, and I think I was. But I wasn't sure how to tell her she smelled good.
Like chicken.
It's been three months since my teacher froze time.
Mr Brighton wasn't imprisoning us. He was protecting us.
I'm still alive, but I have to take regular shots. I think they're just in case I was infected by those things.
I asked Mom if the incident has been on the news, but there's no coverage.
According to the people in white who treated me, everything has been covered up. According to the Mayor, ten kids died in a gas leak.
No mention of the monstrous things hunting us down…
Our town is just a blip on the map. You can't find us. I wish you could, though.
I need help.
I'm terrified of myself.
I’m not going to tell Mom she smells like chicken, because she'll freak out.
Last night, someone, or something knocked on my window.
When I turned on the light, a single, bulging eye was staring at me through the glass.
I still don't know why it was crying.
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2024.05.17 20:30 SFMatchThreadder Match Thread: Raith Rovers vs Partick Thistle Scottish Premiership Promotion/Relegation Playoffs [BBC]

This match is now over. Join the post match discussion here

FT-Pens: Raith Rovers 1-2 Partick Thistle

2nd Leg - Tied on aggregate - RRFC advance 4-3 on penalties
Raith Rovers scorers: Ross Matthews (30')
Partick Thistle scorers: Blair Alston (16', 45'+1')
Venue: Stark's Park
Watch live on BBC Scotland or BBC iPlayer or BBC Sport Website
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LINE-UPS
Raith Rovers
Maciej Kevin Dabrowski, Euan Murray, Dylan Corr Josh Mullin, Liam Dick, Ross Matthews, Samuel Stanton, Shaun Byrne Jack Hamilton, Scott Brown, Lewis Vaughan, Kyle Turner, Aidan Connolly Dylan Easton.
Subs: Scott McGill, Andrew Mcneil, James Brown, Zak Rudden.
____________________________
Partick Thistle
David Mitchell, Daniel O'Reilly, Aaron Muirhead Lewis Neilson, Harry Milne, Jack McMillan, Brian Graham, Stuart Bannigan Ben Stanway, Luke Mcbeth, Scott Robinson Ricco Diack, Aidan Fitzpatrick, Blair Alston Kieran Ngwenya.
Subs: Che Campbell, Kerr McInroy, Ceiran Loney, Zander Mackenzie, Ross Stewart.
MATCH EVENTS via ESPN
14' Euan Murray (Raith Rovers) is shown the yellow card for hand ball.
16' Goal! Raith Rovers 0, Partick Thistle 1. Blair Alston (Partick Thistle) from a free kick with a right footed shot to the bottom left corner.
17' Dylan Corr (Raith Rovers) is shown the yellow card for a bad foul.
30' Goal! Raith Rovers 1, Partick Thistle 1. Ross Matthews (Raith Rovers) header from the centre of the box to the bottom left corner. Assisted by Liam Dick with a cross.
32' Jack McMillan (Partick Thistle) is shown the yellow card for a bad foul.
45+1' Goal! Raith Rovers 1, Partick Thistle 2. Blair Alston (Partick Thistle) left footed shot from the left side of the six yard box to the bottom left corner.
53' Aidan Connolly (Raith Rovers) is shown the yellow card for a bad foul.
62' Substitution, Raith Rovers. Dylan Easton replaces Aidan Connolly.
69' Substitution, Partick Thistle. Kieran Ngwenya replaces Blair Alston because of an injury.
70' Substitution, Raith Rovers. Jack Hamilton replaces Shaun Byrne.
77' Stuart Bannigan (Partick Thistle) is shown the yellow card for hand ball.
82' Substitution, Raith Rovers. Josh Mullin replaces Dylan Corr.
90' Substitution, Partick Thistle. Lewis Neilson replaces Aaron Muirhead.
105' Substitution, Partick Thistle. Ben Stanway replaces Stuart Bannigan.
114' Substitution, Raith Rovers. Callum Smith replaces Josh Mullin.
120' Ross Matthews (Raith Rovers) is shown the yellow card for a bad foul.
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2024.05.17 18:55 EJC28 Commanders 2024 Draft Analysis Compilation

Round 1, Pick 2 - Jayden Daniels, QB, LSU:
NFL: It’s rare to find a quarterback prospect with A+ arm talent and rushing ability. Daniels was surrounded by talented playmakers at LSU, but I’d argue he was the biggest playmaker on that offense. He is the prototypical, new-school quarterback as a dynamic athlete who is a refined pocket passer with the touch, accuracy and timing to consistently drop passes in the bucket on deep throws.
CBS Sports: A. I love this pick. It’s a great situation for a rookie. The team has a new owner, coach and now quarterback. They can grow together. He will be the best QB in this class.
ESPN: In Adam Peters' first draft as Commanders' general manager, he opted for Daniels over J.J. McCarthy and Drake Maye. If Peters got the right man then Washington finally will have a solution to a quarterback problem that has plagued them for decades. Peters' pick will always be judged by the success, or failure, of McCarthy and Maye -- though far less so if Daniels thrives in Washington. If Daniels becomes the quarterback they hope, Washington could finally end decades of subpar play on the field. Its .399 winning percentage over the past 10 years is better than only five teams. The organization has not won 10 games since it last had a dual-threat rookie quarterback in 2012 -- Robert Griffin III. He energized the fan base unlike any player in recent memory, and the hope for Washington is that Daniels will do the same. But the Commanders need that fire to burn longer than one year, as it did with Griffin.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Has been able to fart on command since he was 9.
Round 2, Pick 36 - Jer’Zhan Newton, DT, Illinois:
NFL: The Commanders clearly read the comment above this one. They'll happily take Newton, who is a ferocious scheme-wrecker as a 3-technique and probably should have gone higher than this. They might have bypassed offensive tackle for now, with no talent worth taking here, but they interestingly are pretty stocked at defensive tackle.
CBS Sports: A+. Serious talent at DT. Powerful, polished upfield rusher with stellar hand work. Pad level raises at times but that’s nitpicking. Need meets awesome value here for Washington.
ESPN: Washington did not need a defensive tackle, and clearly have some key holes to fill, but the Commanders opted for the best player available in taking Newton. Washington drafted Phidarian Mathis in be the second round two years ago, but he has yet to make an impact playing behind Jonathan Allen and Daron Payne. They also have John Ridgeway, but beyond that they needed more help. Another key: Allen has no more guaranteed money on his contract, which runs through 2025, so the team could move on from him after this season. As a result, Newton can help this season, but take on an even bigger role in the future.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: He once ate cottage cheese on pizza, it wasn’t that bad.
Round 2, Pick 50 - Mike Sainristil, CB, Michigan:
NFL: One day, Sainristil will be your favorite nickel back's favorite nickel back. Scouts love the guy in spite of his smaller, leaner frame and despite switching over from receiver only a few years ago. His football instincts are extremely sound, and his intangibles are off the charts. This is a terrific pick for a franchise bent on completely remaking the football culture in Washington.
CBS Sports: B+. Pesky nickel CB with flexibility, instincts, and a high motor. Can beat some blockers en route to the football. Reasonable twitch and plus zone awareness. Exactly the type of playmaker the Commanders need. Tackling good, not amazing. Maybe a touch early.
ESPN: Washington's cornerbacks struggled last season. The Commanders signed three corners in free agency, but needed more players who could compete for starting roles. Sainristil will do just that, though he would play in the slot, where there also was a need. Quan Martin started in the slot at the end of the season, but the second-year pro can also play safety. Sainristil also showed he can take the ball away in college with seven interceptions. Washington needs more players like that in the secondary.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Has a flask of water that was blessed by an Alaskan Medicine Man.
Round 2, Pick 53 - Ben Sinnott, TE, Kansas State:
NFL: The newfangled Commanders seem to get this draft thing. Their three Day 2 picks so far have all been personal favorites, including Sinnott, whom I appeared to be higher on than some other media draft folks. He's got some Mark Andrews to his game, as Sinnott can find open spaces readily, has reliable hands and will break tackles in the passing game. He also gives good effort as a blocker.
CBS Sports: A+. Love this pick. Athletic, explosive athlete. Clearly the second-best receiving TE in this class. YAC skill is outstanding. Strong hands. Just not a true burner down the seam. Will be a go-to target for Jayden Daniels.
ESPN: Washington needed more versatility at tight end, which is what Sinnott provides. He can help as a tight end, but, at 6-foot-4, 250 pounds, he has the size to help as a blocker from the fullback position as well. He also showed he could catch, with 49 receptions for 676 yards and six touchdowns. The Commanders needed another tight end with pass-catching potential to pair with Zach Ertz. Washington also has John Bates, but he's more of a blocker. Offensive coordinator Kliff Kingsbury likes to use a lot of two tight end sets so adding someone else who can catch was a must.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Applied to be on Survivor, but doesn’t like sand.
Round 3, Pick 67 - Brandon Coleman, OG, TCU:
NFL: He was announced as a guard, interestingly, which is not where Coleman played primarily last year -- and tackle is certainly the biggest worry in Washington. But he did see time at guard, too, and has the athleticism to work in a Kliff Kingsbury offense predicated on OL movement.
CBS Sports: A. Big, girthy OT who probably kicks into guard at next level. Measurables are impressive and he’s a special mover for his size. Weapon at the second level because of that combination. Burst and finishing ability. Can recover and hand work is polished. Lateral quickness a bit slow at times. Love this pick for Washington after Daniels in Round 1.
ESPN: Washington has spent the offseason trying to rebuild and fix its offensive line. The Commanders added two starters via free agency in center Tyler Biadasz and guard Nick Allegretti. Coleman now can help at tackle, though he also started games at guard while at TCU. But the immediate need remains at tackle so the Commanders need him to fill that void. Washington cut former starting left tackle Charles Leno Jr., and does not have a full-time replacement on the roster -- which is why they need Coleman to work out. Also, Washington drafted a tackle in the fourth round last season in Braeden Daniels, but he struggled in training camp and eventually was placed on injured reserve with a rotator cuff injury. He did not show he could be a future starter last summer.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: THIS TRUE FACT BROUGHT TO YOU BY DRAFT KINGS: The crown is yours.
Round 3, Pick 100 - Luke McCaffrey, WR, Rice:
NFL: GM Adam Peters came from San Francisco, where they had another guy with the same last name. This McCaffrey is a converted QB who has settled in nicely at receiver, able to translate his football IQ and athleticism into production. He has good hands, likely will work best in the slot and is regarded as a future coach. Another culture pick for Washington.
CBS Sports: B+. Older wideout with obvious NFL bloodlines. Juice galore and can separate because of his jagged movements in the route. Salesmanship is there at times too. Not a YAC freak but will make cuts without losing speed with the ball in his hands. Length and physicality hurt him. Good hands in traffic. Nice weapon here.
ESPN: McCaffrey provides needed depth at receiver. Beyond Terry McLaurin and Jahan Dotson, Washington had too many questions at this position. And Dotson has not yet ascended to the level the organization hoped when it drafted him in the first round two years ago. At 6-foot-2, McCaffrey gives Daniels a bigger target from the slot -- Peters likes his quickness inside. McCaffrey started his career as a Nebraska quarterback and ended it as a receiver at Rice.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Pick #100. Buckle up. Only 157 more to go.
Round 5, Pick 139 - Jordan Magee, LB, Temple:
NFL: If Magee is protected well up front, he can fly around and make plays with his energetic style. But his slender frame and lack of take-on strength might limit him to passing-down duty and special teams.
CBS Sports: A-. High-cut plus athlete at the off-ball LB spot. Starter athleticism with requisite length. Inconsistent beating blocks. Can avoid them with them at times but not a calling card. Has the frame and athleticism to be a quality coverage ‘backer just doesn’t have much experience doing so to date. Range is there.
ESPN: Washington has spent the offseason rebuilding its linebacker core, adding starters Bobby Wagner and Frankie Luvu as well as backups Anthony Pittman and Mykal Walker. They also still have Jamin Davis. So Magee will have work to do in order to make the roster and contribute -- most likely on special teams. Magee has experience playing special teams. The Commanders have focused in part on adding good leaders and Magee was a two-time team captain at Temple. He started for three seasons and led the team in tackles each of the past two years. Last season he also had a team-high 14 tackles for a loss and was tied for most sacks with 3.5.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Went on a 2 week road trip following the Oscar Meyer Weiner Mobile.
Round 5, Pick 161 - Dominique Hampton, S, Washington:
NFL: Hampton took a longer path to success with the Huskies but developed into a good hitter with experience at multiple spots. Scouts debated where his NFL home might be on defense, but at the very least he carries good special teams experience into the league.
CBS Sports: B-. One of the best overall athletes at the safety spot in this class. Explosive, bend, suddenness, it’s all there. Play ID’ing skill should be sharper given he was at Washington for six years. Wants to be part of the action just very boom-or-bust as a tackler. Will find it in the air but not a man-coverage specialist.
ESPN: Washington has a core of young safeties with Darrick Forrest, Jartavius Martin and Percy Butler, plus veterans in Jeremy Chinn and Jeremy Reaves. The Commanders did not have a need for another safety to provide immediate help, but they could use one to develop, and that's where Hampton enters. His size -- 6-foot-2, 215 pounds -- is a good starting point. Any help in Year 1 would come on special teams -- he was named the most outstanding special teams player at Washington in 2021. He spent six years with the Huskies, starting the last two and led the team in tackles this past season. He also showed versatility, playing some corner for the Huskies.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Keeps a massive scratch and sniff sticker collection.
Round 7, Pick 222 - Javontae Jean-Baptiste, DE, Notre Dame:
NFL: An ideal camp-competition pick, JJB is a middling athlete with some stiffness, but he showed improvement as a super senior and ran back a blocked kick for a touchdown last season.
CBS Sports: A-. Started at Ohio State and plays like an ascending defender because of his athleticism, bend, and glimmer of pass-rush moves around the corner. But is an older prospect already. Plus athlete. Has to get stronger. Plenty of length. Nice roll of the dice.
ESPN: The Commanders signed three edge rushers in the offseason, but only Dorance Armstrong received a multi-year contract. They do have two young holdovers from last year's draft class in KJ Henry and Andre Jones Jr. Jean-Baptiste will challenge those two for a roster spot. Jean-Baptiste spent six years in college football -- the first five at Ohio State and last year at Notre Dame. He was a reserve for the Buckeyes but started for the Irish and led the team with 10.5 tackles for a loss and five sacks. He had the seventh fastest 40-time (4.66 seconds) among defensive ends at the combine.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Actually wanted to be a kicker but that didn’t work out so he’s this position.
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