Hello friends! Long time lurker, first time poster on my throwaway. I want to gather my thoughts and seek advice from others. Help anyone else that might be struggling with the decision of parenting through my experience. I 32F am married to my husband 32M of 7 years together for 12, we've know each other 15 years. 6 weeks into us dating in college, I became pregnant due to failed contraceptives and antibiotics. I didn't even know that was the thing until it happened to me. We came to the decision together that it was not the right time. And we wanted to finish school, so we proceeded to terminate the pregnancy.
I was raised in a Catholic home/k-8 so the insurmountable amount of guilt that I felt after years of conditioning and choosing terminate hit hard. I carried this with me for years and continued to be on the fence for years. After being raised by a mother who often discussed this disdain for children and little kids, particularly. She rubbed off on me in my earlier years. After the termination, this only added fuel to an existing fire.of not knowing what I wanted to do.
Fast forward about 8 years later and I started going to therapy. I uncovered that a lot of my preconceived notions about kids came from my mothers parenting style.. I also let guilt of years of religious conditioning cloudy my perspective. I've never been particularly fond of small children. The phrase "you love your own kids" even if you don't like others did not comfort me.
What if my kid isn't the easy one? What if they have serious mental disabilities? How will we cope? My first reaction is that I'd want to run. If genetic testing comes back with serious chromosomal concerns, I'd terminate. Point blank.
I had the same concerns I see on many posts under fencesitter regarding the future state of our world climate through politics and beyond. I worry about money and daycare costing 2k monthly where I live. We live 1k miles away from our family. This was a choice to leave shortly after we got married as our mothers can be toxic and overbearing. This was the best decision for our marriage. We left everyone who felt they earned an opinion on our lives who abused the power. Our relationships have improved since which is great! We've made a few really close chosen family here, but they are on to having their own first kids. I felt pressure turned up in the last 2 years by my own self to figure it out.
Giving up my bodily autonomy to another human didn't entice me. The idea of pregnancy is horrific to me and the toll it takes on the mom. Lack of sleep and freedom of my time. The societal pressure of what feels like the mom is the primary parent sounds shitty while my husband gets the easier role.
Would he leave if we didn't have kids? A doubt I let creep in when contemplating child free life.
All of these thoughts to say I am still working through it. I started to think about what life would look like if we had kids. Most activities we do now can be done with children. Our best friends back home have a 3 year old and she really is the best. She helped me be around small children herself and family with other kids and not want to run away. I understand all kids are different, but being around her for a couple weeks straight a few times a year to see the good, bad, and ugly of parenting. Her mom has a similar upbrining to me and understands all outlined in my thoughts. The big difference is the whole village and support system they have. We will not move back to be near family. We built our life and careers here, planted roots.
All factors considered for cons. I see the pros outweigh the cons for me. I love the opportunity to show my future child my favorite parts of life. I look forward to seeing the human my husband and I help develop their own passions and zest for life. The joy of watching them solve a problem or interact with the world with unexpected surprises. My husband is going to be a great dad. He is the calm, cool collected one. He will be a partner and not leave me with the shaft of the work. We will ebb and flow and mold into our new lives. We roll the dice and know our children will not be our picture-perfect idealogy.
We decided to go for it. 1 year of on and off half assing to get pregnant and a year of trying solidly we had success 2x in the last 6 months both ending in miscarriages back to back end of last year around 6 weeks. This messed me up, and the guilt of the decision from many years ago had me thinking it was karma. I took a mental break from trying while waiting for 3 regular cycles before considering trying again. I went back and forth every day for months.
Well, I am pregnant after getting back in the saddle. This was the first time my heart didn't fall out of my ass when I saw a positive result. I am actually excited and happy!!! I still fear many of the mentions above, but i am hopeful for my future and my families future. If you made it this far and think fuck this was long. It was and thanks for sticking it out. My experience isnt pretty and i probably sound like a shit bag to some. Well its not a take for everyone to agree with. I am open to advice, thoughts or this never being read by a soul. I felt like i needed to write it out.
Hoping this time next year I'll have a healthy baby and writing back to say its challeging and rewarding!

Hi Reddit,
*****USA/CANADA APPLICANTS ONLY***\*
We are a group of video editors, graphic designers, marketers, media buyers, and on-screen talent establishing a network of YouTube channels. We're looking for 2-3 participants in a pilot program that we are creating to invest in up-and-coming YouTube creators.
In a nutshell, we are establishing YouTube channels in various verticals, from gaming to fashion and anything in between. We want to find passionate hosts who can host an ongoing "desk" show discussing the latest news or hottest topics in the niche they care about most.
The ideal host has a niche that they are already fantastically knowledgeable about, meaning they can "riff" or improvise an 8-10 minute episode with a basic outline or summary that they put together. They have decent recording gear, a quiet place to film, and a reasonably attractive "set" (no blank walls behind you). Having a decent microphone for good audio is paramount.
Most importantly, the ideal host is charismatic and engaging on-screen — a great storyteller who can hook viewers and keep them watching.
Once an episode is filmed, you'll turn the raw footage over to us for editing, polishing, and publishing. We handle the on-screen graphics, branding, keywording, marketing, media buying, and more.
All you need to do is geek out about your favorite subject for 10 or so minutes!
The starting pay is $50 per released episode (estimating 2 hours of work per episode, so $25/hr), and we are looking for someone who can create 2-3 episodes per week. You'll invoice us twice monthly and we pay out on the 1st and the 15th.
If the channel successfully monetizes, the host will move to a new payment structure that could involve anything from a full-time work offer (with benefits) or a generous bonus plan based on monthly views and sponsorship revenue.
If you are interested in applying, please PM me the following details to get started:

1. What's your location? (USA/Canada Only)
2. Are you eligible to work in the US?
3. What niche are you most passionate and knowledgable about?
4. Do you have a demo reel with examples of you speaking to a viewer audience?

Thank you!

Hello friends! Long time lurker, first time poster. I want to gather my thoughts and seek advice from others. Help anyone else that might be struggling with the decision of parenting through my experience. I 32F am married to my husband 32M of 7 years together for 12, we've know each other 15 years. 6 weeks into us dating in college, I became pregnant due to failed contraceptives and antibiotics. I didn't even know that was the thing until it happened to me. We came to the decision together that it was not the right time. And we wanted to finish school, so we proceeded to terminate the pregnancy.
I was raised in a Catholic home/k-8 so the insurmountable amount of guilt that I felt after years of conditioning and choosing terminate hit hard. I carried this with me for years and continued to be on the fence for years. After being raised by a mother who often discussed this disdain for children and little kids, particularly. She rubbed off on me in my earlier years. After the termination, this only added fuel to an existing fire.of not knowing what I wanted to do.
Fast forward about 8 years later and I started going to therapy. I uncovered that a lot of my preconceived notions about kids came from my mothers parenting style.. I also let guilt of years of religious conditioning cloudy my perspective. I've never been particularly fond of small children. The phrase "you love your own kids" even if you don't like others did not comfort me.
What if my kid isn't the easy one? What if they have serious mental disabilities? How will we cope? My first reaction is that I'd want to run. If genetic testing comes back with serious chromosomal concerns, I'd terminate. Point blank.
I had the same concerns I see on many posts under fencesitter regarding the future state of our world climate through politics and beyond. I worry about money and daycare costing 2k monthly where I live. We live 1k miles away from our family. This was a choice to leave shortly after we got married as our mothers can be toxic and overbearing. This was the best decision for our marriage. We left everyone who felt they earned an opinion on our lives who abused the power. Our relationships have improved since which is great! We've made a few really close chosen family here, but they are on to having their own first kids. I felt pressure turned up in the last 2 years by my own self to figure it out.
Giving up my bodily autonomy to another human didn't entice me. The idea of pregnancy is horrific to me and the toll it takes on the mom. Lack of sleep and freedom of my time. The societal pressure of what feels like the mom is the primary parent sounds shitty while my husband gets the easier role.
Would he leave if we didn't have kids? A doubt I let creep in when contemplating child free life.
All of these thoughts to say I am still working through it. I started to think about what life would look like if we had kids. Most activities we do now can be done with children. Our best friends back home have a 3 year old and she really is the best. She helped me be around small children herself and family with other kids and not want to run away. I understand all kids are different, but being around her for a couple weeks straight a few times a year to see the good, bad, and ugly of parenting. Her mom has a similar upbrining to me and understands all outlined in my thoughts. The big difference is the whole village and support system they have. We will not move back to be near family. We built our life and careers here, planted roots.
All factors considered for cons. I see the pros outweigh the cons for me. I love the opportunity to show my future child my favorite parts of life. I look forward to seeing the human my husband and I help develop their own passions and zest for life. The joy of watching them solve a problem or interact with the world with unexpected surprises. My husband is going to be a great dad. He is the calm, cool collected one. He will be a partner and not leave me with the shaft of the work. We will ebb and flow and mold into our new lives. We roll the dice and know our children will not be our picture-perfect idealogy.
We decided to go for it. 1 year of on and off half assing to get pregnant and a year of trying solidly we had success 2x in the last 6 months both ending in miscarriages back to back end of last year around 6 weeks. This messed me up, and the guilt of the decision from many years ago had me thinking it was karma. I took a mental break from trying while waiting for 3 regular cycles before considering trying again. I went back and forth every day for months.
Well, I am pregnant after getting back in the saddle. This was the first time my heart didn't fall out of my ass when I saw a positive result. I am actually excited and happy!!! I still fear many of the mentions above, but i am hopeful for my future and my families future. If you made it this far and think fuck this was long. It was and thanks for sticking it out. My experience isnt pretty and i probably sound like a shit bag to some. Well its not a take for everyone to agree with. I am open to advice, thoughts or this never being read by a soul. I felt like i needed to write it out.
Hoping this time next year I'll have a healthy baby and writing back to say its challeging and rewarding!

When the number of speech bubbles in the same Word document is greater than 1, the Word document cannot display the object position normally.

“Jacob, can you come over here?”
“Give me a minute, Jess. Just finishing something up”
“I’m not asking a fucking question, get over here now.”
I stared into space for a couple seconds, conjuring up the strength to get off the couch. I had just gotten back from work, and helping my girlfriend around the house was the last thing I wanted to do that night. I mean, I thought she was about to have a bath; what the fuck did she want now? Before I could get up, footsteps started rapidly approaching me from the back bathroom. I quickly threw my phone aside on the couch and hopped up, acting like I was on my way.
“What the hell is taking you so long?” Jess said, bursting through the doorway. She was in her typical business casual blazer and jeans. I hadn’t seen her since she left for work in the morning; when she came home just 5 minutes prior she headed straight for the shower. She looked… flustered.
“Sorry, I had to just finish up some paperwork for some stuff at work,” I scraped out unconvincingly. Jess looked at me skeptically, so I quickly diverted the conversation. “Anyways, we can talk about it later, what’s going on?”
“I think, I don't really know how to explain it,” Jess said. I could sense a quiver of fear in her voice. “There’s, like, an infestation.”
“Like, of spiders?” I could feel my skin crawl. I sure as hell wasn’t hoping to have a showdown in the bathtub with a tarantula.
“No, no spiders. Just flies I think. And it’s not a whole nest or anything, they’re just crawling out of the floorboards. I saw a few last night but there’s way more now.”
“Shit, well I guess I’ll go check it out if you want.”
Jess nodded, and we locked eyes. She almost looked afraid, her eyes bleached with a sense of sorrow, while her brows were furrowed.. in fear? Maybe disappointment? It had always been so hard to read her. I had so many questions to ask her, but all I could choke out was, “Are you okay?”
She stared downwards and said, “Tough day at work.”
“You’re a bad liar.”
“Yeah, I know.”
An awkward silence followed. “I’ll see what I can do,” I said, awkwardly breaking the ice.
I walked past her, through the kitchen, and into the hallway. I peered over my shoulder as I wrapped around the corner and caught Jess staring at me blankly with that same face. I finally understood; she didn’t look distraught or afraid, she was guilty. I’ll admit, we had been going through a rough patch, but we had also been going to therapy and she hadn’t shown a sign of remorse. Guilt was something that she had never shown before. It was strange, but I didn’t think much of it at the time.
I opened our bedroom door and, to my confusement, the lights were out. I tried flipping on the light switch but nothing happened. I clicked it back and forth a couple more times, but the only light came from the far corner near the window. The bathroom door was slightly ajar, spilling in a sliver of light into the darkness.
BZZZZ BZZZZZ BZZZZ BZZZZZ BZZZ
A monotone buzzing noise traveled through the shadows, grating against my ears.
BZZ BZZZZZ BZZZZZZ BZZZ BZZZZZ
I moved towards the bathroom, but I stopped right before the door.
BZZZZ BZ BZZZZ BZZZZZZZ BZZ BZ
I was afraid. The buzzing seemed to grow louder by the second. It was deafening, piercing. “It’s just a couple of flies. I can handle a couple of flies,” I muttered to myself. I opened the door, and it let out a creeaak that split through the hum like butter.
BZZZZZ BZZ BZZZZ BZZZ BZZZZZZ
When Jess had called it an infestation, she was wrong. No, that would be putting it kindly. It was a fucking plague of them. On the far end of the bathroom, where the tub lay right next to the window, flies were pounding against the window screen, attempting to break through the plastic wire. There were some who succeeded, but were stuck bouncing back and forth against the screen and the glass furiously like enraged ping pong balls. Their murmurs resonated through the room, the droning buzz mimicking the sound of power lines on a hot summer day.
BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ
I felt like running, but instead I moved closer. I stood straight over the tub, looking down at the floorboards. Flies were flying out of the cracks by the seconds. The floor held a mixture of insects, dead and alive. There were ants and beetles that scurried among a graveyard of dead flies. That’s when it hit me; a wafting stench flared at my nostrils. It made my eyes water.
BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ
I shoved myself further into the swarm, getting pelted by the insects as I shoved my hands forward. I gripped my fingers around the corner of the screen and ripped it back. Flies ricocheted off my face, looking for a route to freedom. My hands fumbled for the bottom of the window, and I shoved it upwards. The insects whirred out of the room, exiting through the window and out into the night. I fell backwards and scrambled away from the continuous swarm exiting through the floorboards.
BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzz
The buzzing of the insects eventually faded. I got up, slowly but surely, and stumbled back over to the window. The flies were gone, but the stench still lingered. I looked downwards, over the sea of dead flies, beetles, and ants, and towards the floorboards. One spot in particular caught my eye. A few flies were still crawling out, but I took a large step over the bathtub and crunched down upon the beatles and flies. I squatted down next to the floorboard, noticing that it was very loose. I gripped my hands around it, took a deep breath, and ripped it out. The stench intensified, rushing against my face as I pulled the board out of its socket.
Concealed inside the walls of my bathroom, a rotting body lay right before my eyes. The unfortunate soul’s head had been ripped apart, its brain, or what was left of it, almost completely eaten by the insects. The body was bloated, and there was still plenty of flesh still left. It was fresh. I staggered backwards, my eyes plastered in the direction of the body. I couldn’t look away. All of a sudden, the light turned off, and my heart sank. I was completely and utterly enveloped in darkness.
“You were wrong, I’m not a bad liar,” a familiar voice giggled from behind me.
I wanted to turn around, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t bear to face what I would see, even though I knew what would await me.
“What the fuck, Jess?! Who the fuck even are you?” I decided to face my fears, and turned around to see the dark outline of my girlfriend. “You fucking killed someone and let insects turn him into fucking skin and bones?! What the fuck, what the fuck, how is this possible-” I wailed on in shock, before Jess cut me off.
“Oh, don’t worry. I didn’t let the beatles do all of the dirty work, I had a little snack as well!”
I looked at Jess in terror, disgust, and shock. She thought this was funny. Whether she was a cannibal or simply a killer, I couldn’t give a fuck. I spent years with her, I slept with that monster, and I fucking loved that bitch. I simply didn’t, and still, don’t understand.
What happened next was somewhat of a blur. All I know is that I didn’t want to end up like the person underneath the floorboards. I jumped straight out of the window and hopped in my car. I drove for hours, and I didn’t stop until I ran out of fuel. The one thing that I really do remember though, is her pleading screams for me to come back as I sped away from our house.
“Come back!”
“Please don’t leave me!”
“I love you!”
“Please don’t do this!”
“I don’t want to hurt you!”
“Let's just talk this out, please!”
As much as I want my old Jess back, I have a feeling that my old Jess never existed. I don’t know what would’ve happened if I had stayed that night. She might’ve spared me. She might’ve still loved me. Maybe we could’ve lived on as if her little hobby didn’t matter.
But I didn’t, and I don’t think I ever could’ve.

"You gotta know that there's an art to it, Ezra," Hitch said, cutting another piece of duct tape.
The sleeves of his weather-beaten coat were shoved all the way up his arms, to stop the fabric from falling over his knuckles while he was working, and goosebumps lined his skin. He was strapping a rubber chicken to the back of his truck, over the lens of the shattered backup camera, with the legs pointing down so that they hung a couple inches above the ground. There were dents in the hood from the crash last week, and scratches along the door from scraping into a curb. The chicken, hopefully, would keep him from breaking anything else.
"You can't go cheap," Hitch said. "The cheap rubber chickens only make noise when pressure lets go. That's no good. As soon as I back up into something, I want this chicken to be screaming like it’s in the depths of hell."
“Sure thing,” I said in a monotone, leaning against the side of the truck.
There were scrambled electronic parts piled in the back of the truck, the innards of a radio, a broken computer, tangled wires, a couple loose pairs of earbuds. He found the parts in alleyways or bummed them off his friends for a couple bucks or stole them from the vacation homes that were left empty for most of the year. Then he sold them for a profit at the scrapyard. Hitch had bounced between minimum-wage jobs for a while after high school, spending a couple months as a bagger at the grocery store or as a seasonal worker at the farm two hours down the highway. He'd never stuck with it. At the very least, the scrapyard got him enough money to eat and occasionally spend a night in a motel when he got tired of sleeping in his car.
Hitch pressed the last piece of tape in place and grinned up at me. "I've got something for you, duck."
The nickname came from when I’d broken my leg as a child and waddled around in a cast until it was healed. I hated it with a burning passion, and I glared at Hitch with the ease of twenty-one years of practice. He had a duck tattoo at the base of his thumb that he’d gotten in a back-alley shop as a teenager. He said that he’d gotten it to remind him of me, and the fact that I hated the nickname was just a bonus. It was shaky-lined, with an uneven face, but he loved it anyway.
The handle stuck when Hitch tried to open the door, a consequence of the rust collecting in the crevices of the car and running down the sides like blood from a cut. The car groaned when the door finally popped open, a metal against metal screech that had me flinching away. Hitch dug through the cluttered fast food containers in the passenger-side footwell, eventually coming up with a crinkly paper bag. He waved away the flies buzzing around the opening of the bag and held it out to me.
The last time Hitch had brought me food, I’d gotten food poisoning because he’d left it out in the midday sun for two days. The donut was squished slightly, and the icing was stuck to the bag. I still ate it, grimacing at the harsh citrus flavor. Taking Hitch’s food was an instinct engraved from the days when Dad had given us a can of kidney beans for dinner and Hitch had drank the juice, leaving the beans for me.
I rarely went hungry anymore, three mostly square meals a day and granola in my pockets just in case, but habits didn’t die easy.
These days, Hitch only brought me food when he wanted my help, like when he saw a place he wanted to hit but was worried about doing it alone.
I got in the car, like I always did.
We drove past the cluster of seafood-themed restaurants with chipped paint decks, the beachfront park where there were always shifty-eyed men sitting under the slide, the single room library where all the books had been water damaged in the flood last year. The change was quick as we drove across Main Street, heading closer to the beach. The roads were freshly paved, the concrete a smooth black except where the sun had already started to pick away at it. The three-story homes lining the sides of the street were crouched on elegant stilts, with space underneath for a car or three. Most of the garages were empty, with the lights off and curtains drawn in the house. Come summer, the streets would be swarming with tourists and vacationers, but until then, most of the buildings nearest to the beach were unoccupied.
Hitch stopped as the sun started to go down at a house that was leaning precariously out towards the beach, tilted ever so slightly, the edge of its foundation buried in the shifting sand of the beach. It certainly looked deserted, with an overgrown yard and blue paint peeling off the door in sheets.
Hitch took his hammer out of the backseat, hoisting it over his shoulder. It was two feet of solid metal with rags wrapped around the head to muffle the sound of the hits. Hitch squared up, bending his knees and holding the hammer like a baseball bat. Before he could swing, though, the door creaked open on its own, the hinges squeaking. The house beyond was dark enough that I could only make out general shapes, glimpsing the curve of a sofa to the left, what was maybe the shimmer of a chandelier on the other side.
Hitch lowered his hammer, looking vaguely disappointed that he didn’t get to use it. “That’s…weird as hell.”
“Maybe the deadbolt broke, maybe they forgot to lock it, it doesn’t matter,” I hissed, checking our surroundings for other people again. “Just hurry up and get inside before someone calls the cops.”
Hitch flicked the lightswitch on the wall, and the lights flickered on. They were dim, buzzing audibly and blinking off occasionally. The walls were plastered with contrasting swatches of wallpaper and splattered with random colors. There was neon orange behind the dining table, a galaxy swirl in the kitchen, and on the ceiling there was a repeating floral pattern covered in nametag stickers. Each of the stickers was filled out with The Erlking. Chandeliers hung in every room, three or four for each, and rubber ducks sat on every table. A miniature carousel sat in the corner along with a towering model rocket.
Sand was heaped on every surface, at least a couple inches everywhere. It was piled in the corners and stuck to the walls, and it covered the floor in a thick blanket. Our hesitant steps into the house left footprints clearly outlined in the sand.
Hitch took a cursory look around and headed immediately for the TV mounted on the wall. “Look out the windows and tell me if anyone is coming.”
I shook the sand out of the blinds and pulled them open, then had to brush sand off of the window before I could see anything.
Hitch was quick, practiced at finding and appropriating the things that were worth taking. He came back to me with an armful of electronics and chandeliers, dumping it at my feet before turning to head deeper into the house again.
There was a thump, somewhere upstairs, and then footsteps, slow and deliberate. Hitch froze at the threshold of the room, then ran for the door with me just ahead of him, sand flying out from under our feet.
My hand was almost brushing the doorknob, close enough that I could see the light from the streetlamp outside streaming in through the cracks in the door. My fingers touched the wood and it gave under my touch, becoming malleable and warm. I yelped, stumbling backwards, and the door started to melt. The paint ran down in thick drops, pooling at the bottom of the door, and the wood warped like metal being welded. The soft edges of the door ran into the walls until there was no sign of an exit ever being there.
“Well, well, well,” said a cultured voice with just an edge of snooty elitism. “What do we have here?”
The man was well over eight feet tall, with long black hair covering his eyes. He was wearing a yellow raincoat with holes cut out of the hood to accommodate the deer antlers jutting upwards from his head. There was sand settled on his shoulders and hovering around his head like a halo.
“Who the fuck are you?” Hitch said, inching towards a window.
He smiled, just a little bit, and his teeth shone in the dim light. “I am the Erlking.”
Hitch nodded, and seemed about to respond. I grabbed him by the hand and pulled him towards the window. I could feel sand in the wind roaring against my back as the Erlking growled in anger, the grains scraping harshly against my cheeks.
We were almost to the window when Hitch was ripped away from me, and I came to a startled halt. The sand had formed long grasping arms that pressed Hitch against the floral wallpaper. His wrists were held tight, and as I watched, a sandy hand wrapped around his mouth and forced its way between his teeth. He gagged, and sand trickled out of the corners of his mouth.
The Erlking strolled towards him, not seeming to be in any sort of rush. “You know, I’m not very fond of your yapping.”
He made an idle gesture and the sand wrapped around my ankles, tethering me in place.
“I yap all the time,” Hitch said. “Three-time olympic yapper, that’s me. Best to just let me go now and save yourself some trouble.”
The Erlking tapped a manicured nail against Hitch’s mouth, hard enough to hurt, judging by the way he flinched away. “But why would I ever let you go when I’ve gone to this much trouble to catch you and your sister? It’s so hard, these days, to find people that no one will miss.”
Hitch struggled against the sand, trying to escape and failing. “What do you want with us, then? You just said it, we’re nobody.”
“I’m fae, dear one,” the Erlking said. “I get my power from my followers. And I think that you two will make lovely additions to my flock.”

He flicked Hitch's nose and Hitch gasped. Feathers started to form on his arms, popping out from under his skin in a spray of blood.
Hitch pushed off the wall, using his bound hands as a fulcrum, and his knees crashed into the Erlking’s stomach. The Erlking fell backwards, wheezing, and the sand around my ankles loosened.
Hitch made desperate eye contact with me as feathers shot up his neck and jerked his head towards the window. The message was obvious. Run.
The last thing I saw before crashing out the window and into freedom was Hitch’s body twisting, his arms wrenching into wings and feathers covering every inch of his skin. By the time I landed on the concrete outside, he was a small black bird, held tightly in the Erlking’s hands. The whole building was sinking into the ground, burnished-gold sand piling up over top and streaming from the windows.
Thirty years later, I saw Sam’s Supernatural Consultation and Neutralization written in neat, looping handwriting on a piece of paper taped to the door. The tape was peeling at the corners and the paper was yellowed with age, but there was obviously care put into the sign, in its perfectly centered text and looping floral designs drawn over the edges in gold marker.
I knocked, hesitantly, drawing my woolen coat closer around my shoulders. I’d bought it as a fiftieth birthday gift for myself, and I took comfort in the heavy weight of it over my shoulders.
“Coming!” someone called from within the depths of the office.
There were a couple crashes, and the sound of paper shuffling. Eventually, the door was opened by a young woman with ketchup stains on her shirt and pencils stuck through her hair.
“Hi, I’m Sam, I specialize in supernatural consultation and hunting, how may I help you today?” Sam said, customer-service pep in her voice. She stood in the doorway, solidly blocking entry into the office.
“My name is Ezra, I’m for a consultation. I emailed you but you didn’t respond?” I shifted in place, suddenly feeling awkward.
“Oh! Yeah, I lost the password for the email ages ago. Sorry for the bad welcome, I get lots of people thinking I’m crazy or pulling a prank and harassing me.”
She ushered me into the office, clearing papers off one of the chairs to make room for me to sit down. There was a collection of swords along one wall, all of them polished to perfection, several with deep knicks in the metal which indicated that they’d been used heavily.
“So what can I help you with?” Sam asked again, more sincere this time.
“Thirty years ago, my brother was turned into a bird,” I started. I’d told this story so many times that it barely felt ridiculous to say anymore. I was used to the disbelieving looks, the careful pity. But Sam just nodded along, face open and welcoming.
“I’ve almost given up on finding him, at this point,” I said. “But I saw your ad in the newspaper, and…here I am, I suppose.”
“Here you are,” Sam echoed, smiling. She pulled one of the pencils out of her hair and took a bit of paperwork off of one of her stacks, turning it over so that the blank side sat neatly in front of her. “Tell me everything.”
I told Sam everything, and she wrote it all down, pencil scratching along the paper.
The last part of the story was always the hardest to tell. “I left him there. I ran and I didn’t look back.”
I had been to dozens of detectives and investigators over the years, once the police had dropped Hitch’s case. I’d been to professional offices with smartly-dressed secretaries and met scraggly men in coffee shops. All of them had given me the same look, pity and annoyance all mixed up into a humor-the-crazy-lady soup. Sam, though, just seemed thoughtful.
Sam leaned forward and put a hand over mine, carefully, like she thought that I would pull away. “Sometimes you have to leave people behind.”
I tightened her hold on Sam’s hand and drew it towards me, like I could make Sam listen if only I squeezed tight enough. “But that’s why I’m here. I don’t want to leave him behind.”
“Okay then. I’ll do my best to help you.” Sam agreed, finally. Then she paused, and said softly, “You know…I think I met your brother once. He might have saved my life. He’s certainly why I started in this business.”
“Really? What happened?” I asked.
This is the story that Sam told me, related to the best of my abilities:
It was a new moon, so the only illumination came from the stars gazing idly down and distant porch lights shining across the scraggly brush of the dunes. Sam’s neighbors were decent people who cared about baby turtles, so the lights were a low, unobtrusive red, and the ocean sloshed like blood. Sam walked on the beach almost every night, drawing back the gauzy pink curtains and clambering out her bedroom window. She didn’t often bother to be quiet; her mama worked the late shift and came home exhausted. As long as Sam got home before the sun, her mama would never find out that she paced the shoreline and dreamed of inhaling sand until her lungs became their own beach.
The sky was lightening. The sun would come up soon, and that meant Sam’s time on the beach was over. She needed to get back to her real life, go to her fifth grade class and stop that nonsense, as her mother would say. Her mother loved to say things like that, pushing Sam into her proper place by implication alone.
“She’s a good kid, of course, but she’s a bit…” Her mother would trail off there, usually getting a commiserating expression from whoever she was talking to. Sam always wondered how that sentence would have finished. She’s a bit strange, maybe. She’s a bit intense. She’s a bit abrasive. She’s quiet enough but when Jason tried to steal her pencil in math class, she stabbed him in the hand so hard that the lead tattooed him.
Her mother was better, for the most part. The days of her stocking up the fridge, and leaving a post-it note on the counter, and leaving for days at a time were gone. But Sam still stepped around the place on the kitchen tile where her mother had collapsed and caved her head in, even though the bloodstains had been replaced with new tile.
“Your auntie got an abortion, you know,” her mother had said from her place on the couch, slurring her words. “Pill in the mail and then bam, no more baby.”
She had clapped her hands together to illustrate her point. Her mother jerked forward and grabbed Sam by the wrist, then, staring up at her until Sam met her eyes.
“I love you, you know? But sometimes I wonder…” She settled back onto the couch. “Yeah. I wonder.”
She’d gotten up, then, back to the kitchen. She’d been stumbling, a shambling zombie of a woman. The ground in the entryway of the kitchen was raised, ever so slightly, and her mother went down hard. Her head cracked against the tile, chin first, and she didn’t move.
Sam had been the one to call the ambulance. She had stared at the scattering of loose teeth on the ground while she waited, and considered what her life would be like with a dead mom. Not so bad, she thought, and immediately felt guilty for it.
Her mom was better, now, for the most part. But Sam still stepped around the place on the kitchen floor where she had collapsed. There was still a matchbox hidden under her bed with the gleaming shine of her mother’s lost teeth, two canines and a molar. It was nice, having a piece of her mom to keep. Even if she left again, Sam would still have part of her.
Sam sighed, and turned away from the ocean. As she faced towards the low dunes further up the beach, she saw a sandcastle sitting nestled among them. It was such a strange sight that her eyes skipped over it at first, almost automatically, disregarding it because it was so out of place.
Sam found sandcastles out on the beach sometimes, usually half-collapsed and on the verge of being washed away by the waves, but she had never seen anything like the sandcastle in front of her. It was life-sized, something that wouldn’t have looked out of place in the Scottish highlands, with spires shooting up above her head and carefully etched out bricks lining each side. The front wall was dominated by an arched set of double doors, twice her height, with a portcullis nestled at the top, ready to be dropped. All of it was lovingly detailed, down to the rust on the tips of the towers and the wood grain of the door. It was made out of wet, densely-packed sand, held together impossibly. It had not been there two hours ago, when she had come to the beach.
There was a bird sitting on the overhang of the door, small and black.
As soon as she took a step towards the sandcastle, the bird shook out its feathers and swooped down towards Sam, landing at her feet with a little stumble.
“Hey, kid, get out of here,” said the bird.
Sam closed her eyes, very deliberately. When she opened them, the bird was still there. Sam considered herself a very reasonable person, so she immediately drew the most logical conclusion. The bird was, she was almost certain, a demon.
“Trust me, you don’t want to run into Mr. Salty, the queen bitch himself,” the bird said.
“Mr. Salty?” Sam inquired, polite as she knew how to be. She edged to the side, trying to get a good angle to kick the bird like a soccer ball.
The bird did something similar to a wince, all its feathers fluffing up then settling back down. “Ah, don’t call him that. He’d turn you into a toad.”
The bird gestured with its head, towards the looming sand structure. “That’s his castle. He’s in there, probably scuttling along the ceiling or some shit because that’s the sort of weirdo he is.”
Sam nodded, encouraging. She pulled back her foot and lined up her shot, the way she’d seen athletes do on TV. She aimed right for its sharp beak and let loose. The bird saw it coming, its beady eyes widening, and it cawed in distress. It flapped away, avoiding her kick only to fall backward into the sand in a scramble of wings.
“What’s your fucking problem?” it squawked. “I was trying to help you!”
“I don’t need the help of a demon,” Sam yelled, trying to remember the exorcism that her mama had taught her once, because her mama believed in being prepared for anything.
“I’m not a demon,” the bird said indignantly.
It was at about that moment that Sam gave up and just decided to roll with it.
“What are you, then?” Sam asked.
The bird shuffled its clawed feet, looking about as awkward as it could, given that it didn’t really have recognizable facial expressions. “Technically I’m a familiar of the Erlking, prince of the fae, but I prefer to be called Hitch.”
“You can’t blame me for assuming, though,” Sam said. “Ravens do tend to be associated with murder.”
“Hey, excuse you,” Hitch said. “I’m a rook, not a raven. Ravens are way bigger.”
“Sure,” Sam said, not really paying attention. Her eyes had caught on the details of the sandcastle, and she was transfixed by the slow spirals of the sand, the strange beauty of it. She found herself stepping towards the great doors, lifting a hand to knock, and as she did, the sand warped in front of her eyes, heaving itself towards her with bulging slowness. The door creaked open before her, revealing a vast, empty room. Just before she stepped inside, she felt a piercing pain in her foot, and she yelped, leaping backwards.
Hitch pecked her again, really digging his beak in. “Don’t be an idiot.”
Sam glared at him, rubbing her foot. About to retort, she finally really took in the room inside the sandcastle, and her words died in her throat.
There was a body just past the threshold of the door, face down and limbs hanging limp at its sides. Long hair splayed out in a halo around its head.
“Don’t,” Hitch warned, suddenly serious. “Just leave, kid, I mean it. I’ve seen too many people go down this road and you don’t want to be one of them.”
Sam ignored him. She made her way across the beach, slipping with every step. The sand felt deeper, piling up around her feet in silent drifts. She picked up the nearest stick and poked the body with it through the door, ready to leap back if anything went wrong, staying firmly outside of the sandcastle.
This close, Sam could tell that it used to be a woman. Her head wasn’t attached to her body. It hadn’t been a clean amputation, either. Her upper body was bruised, with chunks taken out of it, and the bones in her neck hung mangled, not connected to anything.
“Well, I warned you,” Hitch said, defeated. “I did warn you.”
Sam nudged the head with the end of the stick, nudging it over so that she could see the face. Her mother stared back at her, torn to pieces, breath still wheezing from her lungs. She wasn’t blinking, just gazing forward with glazed eyes. Sweat dripped down from her hairline.
Sam screamed and dropped the stick, tripping over herself in her haste to get away.
Her mother’s eyes were wide and pleading, and she was mouthing desperate words at Sam. Her vocal cords were broken to bits, and the only sound that came out was a strained groan.
The head rolled, inching closer to Sam like a grotesque caterpillar.
Her mother gasped for air, torn lips fluttering. Finally, comprehensible words came out. “Help. Help me, daughter.”
“That’s not your mother,” Hitch said, quiet.
Sam knew that. Her mother was sleeping back at home, and anyways her mom had never asked for her help. She had an aversion to accepting charity, as she put it.
“Okay,” Sam said, shaking all over. “Okay.”
She backed away from the sandcastle, not looking away.
“Failure,” her mother hissed as she stepped away. “I never wanted a daughter like you.”
The sun came up over the horizon. The sandcastle, Hitch, and her mom all disintegrated into sand as the light hit them.
The beach, the next night, was almost exactly how I remembered it. The beams of our flashlights sent light bouncing across the dunes, illuminating the waves, and I imagined faces in the foam of the waves.
“I’ve been back here a hundred times. There’s nothing left,” I said.
Sam took the car key out of her purse and pointed it at the sand, adjusting the sword slung over her shoulder in order to do it. The key had belonged to Hitch; Sam had requested an item of his, and it was the only thing I had left. She rested the key on the sand and drew a circle around it, inscribing symbols around the borders.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
Sam shrugged. “Not much, really. I’m…I guess you could say that I’m knocking.”
The key laid inert on the sand for long enough that I was just about to give up and go home, admit to myself that Hitch was dead and that I was a fool to believe that Sam could actually help me. Then a building started to take shape, flickering in and out like it was struggling to get away. With a pop of displaced air, the sandcastle settled into existence.
Sam banged on the entryway. Nothing happened. She did it again, harder, and scowled when the door still didn’t open.
“We demand entrance, under your honor,” Sam yelled. There was a hard rush of wind, and I gripped Sam’s arm to keep my balance, but the doors cracked open reluctantly.
The inside of the sandcastle consisted of one enormous hall, the roof arching up out of sight. Rafters crisscrossed from wall to wall, and a cobbled path led further into the building, but other than that, it was completely empty, except for the birds. There were thousands of them, perched on the rafters or hopping along the ground. They parted in front of Sam and I, and reformed behind us, leaving us in a small pocket of open space. They were all black-feathered, with sharp beaks and beady eyes.
The Erlking sat on a throne at the end of the hall, lounging across it with his feet up on the armrest. He watched them as they came forward, the soft caw of the birds the only sound.
“I am here to bargain for the life of my brother,” I said, with as much dignity as I could muster, before the Erlking could say anything.
The Erlking ignored her, tilting his head to look at Sam. “I remember you. I almost got you, once.”

Sam glared at him but didn’t respond.
“You want your brother,” The Erlking said to me, and he almost sounded amused. “Then go get him.”
As if by some sort of silent signal, every bird in the room took flight at once, and their cawing made me think of screams. I covered my head against the flapping of their wings, and my vision was quickly obscured by the chaotic movement of them. I found myself on my knees, just trying to escape them.
A hand met my shoulder. Sam urged me to my feet, and together we ran for the edge of the room, where the swarm was the thinnest. We pressed ourselves into the corner and the swarm spiraled tighter and tighter at the center of the room. It went on until there seemed to be no differentiation between the birds, all of them fused together into one creature.
When the chaos died down, the birds had become one mass, with wings and eyes and talons sticking out of its flesh, thrashing and chirping. Human body parts stuck out of it, bulging out from the feathers. It was hands, mostly, with a couple knees or staring eyes. The bird amalgamation had no recognizable facial features, but there was one long beak extending from the front of its head. Most of the body parts were concentrated around the beak, and they peeked out from where the beak connected with muscle, or grew from the tongue, nestled between the two crushing halves of the beak.
It turned its beak down and crawled forward, using the hands to balance. The fingers scrambled over the ground. I was afraid of centipedes as a child, and I felt that same crawling dread when it started moving.
“Holy shit,” Sam whispered, which was rather disappointing, because I had been hoping that at least one of us knew what to do.
The creature turned, a lurching movement that crushed some of the hands underneath it, and started heaving itself slowly towards our corner.
“Better hurry up!” the Erlking called from his throne.
It was blocking the exit, by then. The shifting body of it had moved to block us off. It ambled towards us and I tried to sink further into the corner.
As it approached, getting close enough that I could smell the stink of it, I saw a flash of a tattoo on one of the hands. I leaned in, trying to find it again, like looking for dolphins surfacing in the ocean. And again, I caught a glimpse of a duck tattoo, the tattoo that Hitch had gotten on his hand as a teenager.
I ripped away from Sam’s death grip and ran for the monster.
I fell to my knees in front of it, wincing as I impacted the ground, and reached into the nest of hands. I could feel them tearing at my forearms and ripping into me with their sharp nails, but I kept going. I pressed further in, up to my shoulder in a writhing mass of limbs, aiming for the spot where I had last seen that tattoo.
The hands were tugging at me, wrapping around my back and hair. They were pulling together, trying to draw me completely into the mass of them. I was aware of Sam at my side, anchoring me in place and bashing any hand that got too close with her sword or the sparks that leapt from her hands with muttered words. But I didn’t think it would be enough. They were too strong, and there were too many of them.
I was up to my waist in the hands when something grabbed my palm. I felt the way it clung to me, and the calluses on its palm, and I knew that I had found my brother.
I flung herself back. The hands didn’t want to let me go, and they fought the whole way, but slowly, I made progress. I kept hold of Hitch’s hand in mine the whole time, gripping it as hard as I could. I finally broke free, Hitch with me, and Sam was immediately charging the creature, able to use her sword with much greater strength without being worried about injuring Hitch. She swung it forward, and it sliced through the wrist of one of the hands. It fell without a sound, red sand flowing out of it. It deflated until it looked like dirty laundry, just a piece of limp flesh. The creature shrieked, scuttling away enough that the door was finally accessible. The three of us ran for it, Sam and I supporting Hitch between us.
I looked back as I left and found the Erlking staring right at me.
“Interesting,” he murmured, his voice carrying impossibly across the vast space between us.
The sandcastle collapsed behind us, the great walls falling in on themselves. We were out in the morning sun, the sandcastle disappearing as we watched. Hitch was on the ground in front of me, as young as he’d been thirty years ago, when he was captured. He started laughing, feathers puffing out of his mouth. He laughed until he cried and I hugged him in the way that he’d held me when I was young, in the times when my life had been defined by hunger and fear.
Hitch left, afterwards. He scratched at the pinhole scars covering his body, where feathers burst through his skin, and pulled his long sleeves down around his wrists. He didn’t know where he was going but he told me that he needed time
I had spent thirty years worth of time without him. I wanted to grab my brother by the shoulders and beg him to stay. But he flinched when I hugged him goodbye and he refused to go near sand and he stared distrustfully at the birds chirping in the trees. Hitch needed to go away and I loved him too much to stop him.
I sat out on the beach every morning. I felt the sun on my face and I waited for Hitch to come home.

I can’t think. I’m stuck at a base level, I can’t quickly compartmentalize my thoughts. I can understand things at a very base level because I remember the feeling of doing so. It’s like I can’t progress but don’t even realize I’m not moving. I don’t have a reason for doing anything at all. Day to day I do things just to do them. I don’t have any motivation, nor am I unmotivated. I’m just there as always. It’s like I’ve forgotten how to feel I can’t think. It’s like I can’t progress but don’t even realize I’m not moving. I don’t have a reason for doing anything at all. I’m just there as always. It’s like I’ve forgotten how to make space. I can’t remember anything recent. Past a certain point I can’t remember what’s it’s like to feel anything. I feel slow. Whilst also living on fast forward. I miss any small details and when I look back at the last few years I can only remember the outline of them. Like I wasn’t actually there. I’m just a completely blank personality. I just repeat whatever I’ve heard before I have no creativity. The only times I can think about things deeper is when I’m high. And when I try to think about things on a deeper level when I’m not high is difficult. I don’t understand anything at all. I just spew logic I remember. It’s like I’m on worse level of thought and I can’t perceive anything. I don’t even know when I’m full. Pain is muted. And my heart doesn’t race when I get into a car accident. I have no attachments that aren’t superficial to me. I laugh to fit in, but only because that’s what I used to like doing. I haven’t been embarrassed because I have no reason to be. I’m stunted and restricted in the level of my thinking. I’m not sure what to do. I can’t just live like that forever there’d be no point. But I can’t even understand that normally. I can’t live in the moment. I can’t live life chained to weed too. I’m trapped. I can’t even be confused because I can’t understand confusion.
I used to be dynamic and full of emotion. I was so engrossed in my world. I felt attachments and I understood things. I had so many emotions and now I have none.
What’s wrong with me? Can I do anything? What medicine do I need? I just wanna live again

Hello I've made a couple of replacement sound effects for one of the vanilla weapons (the Deliverer pistol / 'covertpistol'), placing the replacement sound effects in the Data folder. This worked fine until I installed a separate weapon mod (the .38 Automatic Pistol mod from oyashiroknight), which uses the firing sounds from the Deliverer; the modified sounds I made overwrote the vanilla sounds, meaning that the modded .38 uses the sounds I made.
Is there a way to resolve this so that the .38 pistol uses the vanilla sound effects, while the Deliverer uses my modified sounds?
I have almost no experience with modding but I figured out how to make my loose files a separate 'mod' loaded in by MO2 (downloading a blank esp, renaming it, placing it and the folder containing the loose sound files in its own folder in MO2's 'mods' folder). Loading this after the .38 Auto pistol mod however still has the same issue with it overwriting the sounds.
Would the solution involving modifying or patching the modded weapon? Any assistance would be much appreciated. Apologies if this has already been asked but I couldn't begin to identify what the term for this issue would be.

This file was automatically generated by Mod Organizer.

Fallout4.esm DLCRobot.esm DLCworkshop01.esm DLCCoast.esm DLCworkshop02.esm DLCworkshop03.esm DLCNukaWorld.esm Ownership Fixes.esp REFramework.esm TMR_GlitchfinderAIO.esm Unofficial Fallout 4 Patch.esp Automatron Randomized Bots Framework.esm YouAndWhatArmy2.esm PPF.esm XDI.esm Munitions - An Ammo Expansion.esl Munitions - Vanilla Ammo Addon.esl LIF.esl WellFedHydrated.esl Community Fixes Merged.esp AttachPack.esp Attach Pack Mod Description Fixes.esp Attach Pack Modcol.esp Chemfluence AI Combat Dynamics.esp Complex Vendors.esp DiamondCityBillboards.esp DLC Timing.esp DLC Timing - UFO4P Patch.esp Fixed Gobo Effects.esp FO4ParticlePatch.esp Gloomy Glass.esp GoodneighborView.esp Keep Radiants In Commonwealth.esp LegendariesTheyCanUse.esp Lightweight Lighting.esp MiscAnimTweaks.esp No Sneaking in Power Armor.esp NPCRespawnFix.esp NPCs Use Items.esp OutlineWorkshopShader.esp RAW INPUT.esp SimplePowerArmorReductionSystem.esp The Attachment Pack - Implementation WMF Patch.esp WeaponModFixes-GOTY.esp Community Fixes Merged - Weapon Mod Fixes Patch.esp Wetness Shader Fix.esp PRP.esp WhoIsTheGeneral.esp PuddleReflectionFix.esp FortStrongNukesV0.1.esp DestructibleMiniNukes.esp Grass Is Always Greener.esp Make Like a Tree.esp PhotoMode.esp Smoke-able Cigars.esp PipBoyShadows.esp NinaDakPatch.esp PlayerComments.esp DakM202.esp smmg.esp MGRemesh.esp DakGrenadeAPW.esp Dak20mm.esp muffledhelmets.esp Horn Rimmed Glasses.esp EAMR.esp MiniNukeIgnoreLoS.esp FatManRadiation.esp DakCRRedux.esp EveryonesBestFriend.esp Companion Fall Damage Immunity.esp PigAutomagIII.esp DakDeagle.esp DAKMAC.esp SigSauer127.esp 12.7mm Pistol - Unofficial Update.esp Craft a Bowler Hat.esp MissileLauncherRockets.esp Realistic Survival Damage.esp FirstPersonDeathMod.esp Mutations.esp Conelrad 640-1240.esp DakPoliceShotgun.esp Automatron Randomized Bots Overrider.esp Sentry and Utility Shadows.esp Realistic Movement Speed.esp Realistic Movement Speed For The Wasteland - RAW INPUT Patch.esp Fusion Cells are Batteries - Main - Automatron.esp respectable nukes.esp HProach.esp Slide.esp AliceSet_Colt_M1902.esp PP7forDeliverer.esp

INT. CABIN #12 - DUSK
A BLACK TV SCREEN fills frame. Silent and stoic.
Rachel sits on the couch, regarding the tape in her hands. Plain black tape, plain white sleeve.
Just the etched "ring" on its spine to suggest it's something other than blank.
Shadows lengthen in the room. Rachel glances to the window. The sun has almost set. Last vestiges of light FLARE through the branches of the maple outside.
She stares out for a long moment. Then pulls the tape from its sleeve.
She kneels at the VCR and inserts it in the VCR. She turns on the TV: STATIC fills the screen.
She glances to the window, just as the sun dips from view. The branch-shadows behind her fade.
Rachel looks back to the snowy screen and hits "Play." The screen goes black.
A low hum from the VCR as the tape turns.
The screen stays black.
Then WOBBLES, as if losing vertical and horizontal hold. A streak of lost pixels rolls sideways--
And then re-balances. Black screen.
Swiftly, another WOBBLE. This time, a hiccup of SOUND: like crashing WAVES. A beat of silent blackness -- and then a swerving, scrolling image -- an ECLIPSE -- a black orb covering a white moon, casting a bright "ring"-- --
which wavers as pixels slide and JAG, as if trying to "tune in" the image--
ON FULL SCREEN
As it goes black.
Silence. And with a BUZZING SEAR, the "ring" image SLASHES back. Buzz. Wobble. Hiss. Image locks -- on steady pictures:
A RED WOODEN LADDER leans against a rustic wall. A strange LOW MOAN on the audio track. Undulating ...
Then a TERRIFYING FAST-MOTION SHUDDER: something spasms under black plastic. Jarring nails-on-chalkboard SOUNDS--
FULL-SCREEN STATIC. The static flows and swells, as if liquid.
A FLY feels its way across the screen-corner in SILHOUETTE.
Suddenly, the BLACK SPASMING--
Then a DARK ANIMAL EYE stares through a keyhole--
More SPASMS, too fast to identify the source--
A VIDEO WOBBLE shakes across frame, a lightning-sear of stuttered pixels before lMAGE RESETS--
A BRIGHT WHITE HOSPITAL ROOM. A single chair in room's center. The MOAN resumes...
... and continues under a shot of OBSCURE SHAPES, lying on a sloping nighttime beach. Surf washes, moving them slightly-- --
as a FLASH OF LIGHT reveals the shapes to be beached CARCASSES OF UNKNOWN ANIMALS-- --
then suddenly pixels slide and jag with a FLASH CUT of the eclipse -- the moan track disappears as--
BLACKNESS. As COMB TEETH rip through, streaking LIGHT--
--OVEREXPOSING a gaping MOUTH with a thin, hairy UMBILICAL emerging from within.
The freakish SPASMING again--
A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN IN AN OVAL MIRROR, IN A WHITE GOWN. She calmly brushes her hair. The undulating MOAN is there.
JUMP CUT: The MIRROR MOVES.Switches position to the wall's other end, reflecting the woman, now in the distance, walking away into shadow--
--then JUMPS BACK. The seated woman (as before) half-glances over her shoulder. Smiles into the mirror like she's smiling directly at the viewer.
A SUDDEN JOLT: SCRAPING METAL as GRIDS and DOTS appear. An EYECHART with letters turned backwards.
FLASH CUT: DROPLETS OF WATER trickle toward center-frame, congealing into a PUDDLE.
FLASH CUT: The SPED-UP SPASMS behind black plastic.
A lone tree in a forest is ON FIRE. BOLD, RED FLAMES.A surrealist-touch to the image, the foliage translucent. Distorted MOANING constant ...
FLASHCUT: Roiling, foamy WHITE WATER, turning slowly BLOOD RED.
FLASHCUT: the keyhole EYE.
FLASHCUT: The FAST-MOTION SPASMS, now BATTERING the frame, causing the image ~ to bounce and shake.
And as the IMAGE LOSES HOLD, slippng with SEARS of STATIC, with the UNDULATING MOANS and SHRILL BARKS AND SCRAPES building to a crescendo--
-and an IMAGE of a BRIGHT WHITE MOON, high in a pitch black sky. (The sound of DISTANT WAVES and a faint, scratchy KEENING accompanies this image -- the same whispers heard beyond the door before Katie's death.)
A black orb slowly SLIDES ACROSS it -- as ANGLE closes in. And as it fully ECLIPSES it -- a RING OF LIGHT shines a "halo" outline-- --the image loses hold, jarring and skidding and then--
--becoming an image of a STONE MOUND in a wooded clearing. The whisper-keening continues for three seconds...
... until the screen jags to WHITE NOISE. Tape's over.
ANGLE ON RACHEL
She stares at the screen, breathless.
CONTINUED:
The room's grown totally dark. She swallows, takes a deep breath and reaches to shut off the TV.
The screen goes black -- with a blurred reflection of Rachel, and a FIGURE IN WHITE far behind her, RECEDING into darkness--
Rachel spins! But there's no one there.
Just a shadowy room. She settles, shutting her eyes ...
AS THE PHONE RINGS
Rachel jumps, goes dead pale.
It TRILLS once. Twice. Three times.
Rachel stands shakily. She steps to the phone ... and lifts it from the cradle. Puts to her ear ...
...and hears the SOUNDS of distant waves, a faint and raspy high-pitched WHISPER-KEENING, and then ...
DISTORTED VOICE (O.S.) Sevvveeeenn Daayyzzz ...
She slams down the phone!
EXT. CABIN #12 - NIGHT ~
Rachel darts outside, spinning for signs of someone watching her. But the night's still.
She's breathing hard. Her eyes are searching.
She's all alone.
CUT TO BLACK.

Items in my system are easy to understand, but granular. They have a category, and some categories have internal types. They also have a level and a market price. Besides that, they will have different mandatory traits depending on the type of item, and optional stuff that may or may not be shared by different categories.
Item categories range from materials and consumables to weapons, armor, vehicles and structures. I have already done the rules for all of this types and I'm very satisfied. I have struck the sweet spot where they feel simplified but not abstracted.
I have also came up with the crafting process's outline. As it is the center focus of one of my classes, it should allow me to toy with, leaving space for abilities that affect it in different ways. My outline right now is:

• Design Phase: Either pick up a premade item from the items section, or Design your own.
  
• Preparation Phase: Be sure to have the necessary tools and items.
  
• Work Phase:
  

Once per appropriate time frame, make a crafting roll. If it is a success, compare your result with the final item's level, and make x advancements based on the comparison's result. Depending on the object's nature the advancements you need are a multiple of the final object's level.
That's the Work Phase resumed. My problems are in the two previous phases. On one side I have this simple yet detailed item sheets. On the other, I have a class that requires me to let the players control all three phases with as little GM Fiat as possible. And In the third side, the work phase which is in its ideal state already. What I can't do right now is fill the blanks. Today I've considered tables, but so far I have none and I'd like to keep it that way.