Cedar chests

I'm aiming to refurbish an antique cedar chest for use as a coffee table. Does anyone have experience doing such a thing? Specifically regarding whether or not I need to sand off the existing finish before burning. I think it's a water based clear coat over the original schellac or lacquer. I've done shou sugi ban on raw wood, but never on anything finished.
I will take additional safety measures if I burn the finish off. I'm mostly worried if it will hinder the process or ruin the result.

Haran, and Canneh, and Eden, the merchants of Sheba, Asshur, and Chilmad, were thy merchants.These were thy merchants in all sorts of thing , in blue clothes, and broidered work, and in chests of rich apparel, bound with cords, and made of cedar, among thy merchandise

VILHELM PARFUMERIE Sparkling Jo EDP Bertrand Duchaufour 2023
TOP: champagne, bergamot, juniper
MIDDLE: William pear, fresh ginger, ambrette
BASE: musk, oakwood, ambergris
SPARKLING JO--named for the French-American dancer, singer, actress, and activist Josephine Baker and designed to mimic the magnificent enchantment of Paris nightlife. Per the Vilhelm website, “Queen of the night, queen of the musical hall, that’s Josephine Baker—always Jo. She enflames/ electrifies the Paris vibe and the hearts of the city’s night life. Following Josephine Baker’s frenetic steps, Vilhelm Parfumerie has translated this entrancing party rhythm into a sparkling fragrance. A homage to the night, an ode to Josephine. As soft as a feather boa’s caress, as bubbly as a glass of champagne, Sparkling Jo is a rambunctious invitation to live a festive and bright, never-ending light.”
One of the greatest pleasures in my life is taking a hot shower after a long day, after my rambunctious house—a gaggle of girls and weenie dogs—settles into stillness on a summer night. I love to concentrate on the sounds of a living house, the groan of the shower floor as weight shifts, the thud of water from the shower head, the din of cicadas I can hear above the shower sounds. I’m able to gather my thoughts fully for what seems the first time of the day, and I scrub away everything. I emerge reborn, pink skinned, and ready for fresh fragrance. This part is the greatest pleasure in life part.
The night I first met Sparkling Jo was muggy and warm, grass still wet from off and on rain during the day. After my hot shower ritual which I call in my head “temple maintenance,” I cozied up in bed and fired up my umpteenth rewatch of “Call the Midwife.” I recently purchased Vilhelm Parfumerie’s entire line, picked Sparkling Jo at random, and as CtM rolled in the background, I started reading from Vilhelm’s website and basking in lovely Fragrance Land. Something I appreciate about Vilhelm as a novice fragrance hobbyist is that all of their fragrances start with a memory. A story is told; a person is remembered; an era is encapsulated. Fizzy champagne and maybe a junipery gin swirled around my nose as I cozied up under my quilt. I was aware of Josephine Baker, but immediately went down a rabbit hole of discovery after reading that this fragrance is said to capture her joie de vivre. At the risk of sounding like a book report, the woman was remarkable. She was the first black woman to appear in a motion picture. She was an utterly beautiful woman whose face emanated light and life, a mother, vaudeville dancer, actress, and political activist. She aided the French against the Nazis as a spy by performing for them and relaying what she overheard. She refused to perform in front of segregated audiences and adopted eight children. After her death, her husband adopted four more.
As I fan-girled out about Josephine Baker, sniffing my pulse points and reading, a familiar fragrance and time came to me. I adore when this happens and I get transported somewhere else by smell. This time, I was about eight years old. It was summer, and my mom’s winter sweaters were stored in their off-season home, a cedar hope bench in a spare bedroom. I loved the smells inside that chest—cedar, an errant moth ball or two, clean laundry, and the combination of my mother’s two 80s and 90s fragrances on those sweaters, Chloe and Estee Lauder Beautiful. That smell was such a lovely comforting smell to child-me, soft and maternal, lively and effervescent like my mom. I thought back to all the things I had read about Josephine Baker—that she had left America for France in 1925 at just nineteen years old, all of her on-screen accomplishments, being a spy against the Nazis, a contemporary of MLK Jr., adopting eight children—and I think Vilhelm did a really nice job of creating a fragrance in that honor. I’m not generally a fan of champagne notes, but Sparkling Jo actually smells, well…sparkling. The juniper is fresh like good gin.
The second time I wore Sparkling Jo was a work day Monday morning. In another world where I am not Queen of the Elf MMO, nor a noob fragrance afficionado with bottomless pockets, I manage a restaurant. I often choose bright sweet florals that read fresh in the heat of my kitchen but light enough to not be disruptive to everyone else's experience. So this Monday morning, I started my day with a hot shower and Nivea Soft body cream as a base. I misted and drove to work yell-singing my little heart out to Erykah Badu and Amy Winehouse contemplating how complexly and completely beautiful Josephine Baker was as a person. Much quicker than before, I was drawn back to the scent memory of that old cedar hope chest full of my mother's fragrant sweaters. I recall the comfort and love that memory gave me back at a time when a child has not yet become disenchanted with her parents and still sees them as perfect. I thought about how powerful and elegant I viewed my mother to be--a Southern woman gentile yet assertive, poised always, like the pedipalps of a spider ready to strike. I hesitate to compare her to Josephine Baker, perhaps seeing it as poor taste, but in my scent reverie my mother is complicated the way one is as an entertainer, immigrant, woman, minority, spy, activist, doting mother to many, and pilot starlet of her era.
The champagne swirled around me in a gentle, close aura all Monday morning. The kitchen heated, customers poured in, and I felt like I smelled like I had the gentle confidence to overcome my daily hurdles. Close to my skin I got subtle musky whiffs, soft pear, and the gin-like juniper. Even through sweat, I got a solid six hours of fragrance. Across many fragrance websites, the retailers quickly mention that Josephine Baker is the source for this fragrance memory. They set a very Vaudeville "my candle burns at both ends/ it will not last the night/ but, ahh my foes/
And ohhh my friends/ it casts a lovely light" (Edna St. Vincent Millay) type of scene. It's a lovely image that makes me think of a party perfume suited for sequined mini-dresses and grown up martinis with onions. It's a lovely snippet into Josephine Baker's life, but as a descriptor for Sparkling Jo (and Jospehine herself!) it fails to convey her completeness and complexity. Sparkling Jo is not just a party perfume--though it would absolutely be suited there. It's light and gentle and intimate enough to not be intrusive in close quarters. It's fun and free spirited, but also comforting and maternal (though not at all matronly) like that old cedar hope chest full of sweaters. So, that's my gripe. The memory description the retailers provide fails to convey depth. That and the word "champagne" is misspelled on Vilhelm's own website.
All in all, I'm quite pleased with Sparkling Jo as a fragrance and a wonderful moment to reminisce over childhood memories. I've never personally been keen to wear Chloe or Estee Lauder Beautiful because they were "Mom's Perfumes," but they are lovely on other people. Sparkling Jo has the champagne note unfamiliar to Chloe and Beautiful, but the dry down is very very similar to me. For me, Sparkling Jo is not a full-bottle buy, but I will absolutely be keeping a small decant for trips in reverie.
Thank you so much for joining me on this scent trip!
I recently purchased Vilhelm Parfumerie's entire line as well as Atkinson's Gold Fair in Mayfair, a 5 scent discovery set from The Harmonist, 6 fragrances from PdM, 3 fragrances from Creed, and a bunch of 70s-90s vintage designer fragrances. I'm a novice to getting serious about fragrance but a life long afficionado and creative writer. I'd like to combine my love of creative writing and perfume and write off the wall reviews and short fiction surrounding this love--if it's deemed to fit into the culture of the sub. Please let me know if you would like to see more!

I got a large cedar chest to restore. Is there a good reason why the previous owner would have sealed the cedar with shellac or some other coating? Also, it seems as if it had moth balls thrown in too. I’ve sanded through the coating on the inside but the cedar scent is mild at best. Is there a way to increase the cedar scent? Thank you.

We set off from Pittsburgh on Saturday, May 11th, to pick up our new 16-foot Keewaydin for the journey ahead. Departing from Cedar early Sunday morning, we were greeted by glassy waters, perfect for our first paddle to the initial portage. The Keewaydin is a perfect tripping canoe and is fast and maneuverable. By lunchtime, we had reached the Shangri La site on Catfish and set up camp for the night. It's a beautiful spot, but the squirrels are relentless, capable of tearing into any food bag left unattended within moments.
Day two brought fierce headwinds right from the Cedar Rapids put-in. By the time we reached Burntroot, we were battling two-foot waves and relentless rollers. Hugging the eastern shore past the double island site, we were forced to take refuge in the woods as the waves grew too dangerous. After two hours of waiting, we let the wind carry us back up Burntroot, aiming to find shelter behind the first double island site. The crossing was intense, even for us seasoned whitewater paddlers, but we made it. This site turned out to be one of the best, with great spots for hammocks and enough shelter to keep the winds at bay.
Day three greeted us with calm waters at last. We secured the first site on Hogan, an island with steps leading up to a partially burnt but still wonderful campsite. We swam, fished, and caught some impressive brook trout right from the shore. The site was high enough for a refreshing breeze, and the bay was simply spectacular.
Day four saw the winds pick up again on Hogan. We hugged the shoreline into Parks Bay, where the water calmed. The paddle into Gipsy Bay, with its sunken logs, was breathtaking. We claimed the second site on the left in Philip Lake, enjoying complete solitude. We hadn't seen another soul since Burntroot, a rarity in Algonquin, but it was early in the season and we were deep in the park. Philip Lake was a gem, and we had our first moose encounter there. The marsh behind the site was alive with a symphony of frogs serenading us all night.
Day five took us down the Little Madawaska River, one of my top five river systems for scenery. We spotted another moose and numerous baby beavers swimming about. Then came the 3,500-meter portage to Radiant. We conquered it in exactly one hour with a single carry. The portage ends at a bend in the river where the current can push you into the alder-lined banks—tricky and dangerous. In hindsight, crossing in chest-deep water from the opposite shore would have been smarter. We reached Radiant and, once again, had the lake to ourselves. We took the second site on the left, which had a wooden bench and a stunning view to the east.
Day six marked our final day in the park. We packed up the night before for an early 5:30 AM start. The first two portages provided a good warmup for crossing Cedar. We completed the last portage in 20 minutes. Crossing Cedar, a massive lake, was smooth with mirror-like waters. We reached our truck at exactly 10:15 AM, met the guys from the Single Malt YouTube channel for a quick chat and handshake, and thanked them for their great content. Eleven hours later, we were back in Pittsburgh.
**Notes:** Remarkably, we had zero bug issues. Our Eureka No-Bug Zone tent and Bug Jackets stayed unused. I applied OFF! Botanicals Insect Repellent Lotion once to test its effectiveness against black flies, and it worked like magic. They just don't like it! The northern part of Algonquin Park is a hidden treasure, feeling remote yet accessible within a day's drive. We were surprised to see so few people, but with the parking lot packed upon our return, it's clear these lakes will soon be bustling. Please LNT

I Talk to the Trees
“Dad?” Ry’s voice quavers with anxiety and the instability of puberty. “Dad… d-do you hear that?”
Dan turns about in his sleeping bag, the warmth in his legs and body comforting, a security blanket against the biting cold of the falling night air. He listens. His brain struggles. At forty, he does not want to hear what lingers behind the gray nylon fabric of their small tent. But it’s there. We’re three miles from the nearest trailhead… and why are there no lights?? Anyone out there should have a light… He thinks, his heart speeding up, pounding away in his chest hard enough that he’s worried Ry will hear him.
“Dad??” Ry whispers, urgently. “Dad! S-someone’s out there!”
“Shhhhh…” Dan rolls over, unaware at his own instinctive effort to keep his movements silent, and places his hand on his son’s shoulder. …or chest… it’s hard to gauge in the darkness. Just stay quiet… just stay quiet… it’s… it’s just the wind… the wind and the trees… the tre-
A small wispy whine echos in the darkness, rising and falling as it dances among the creaking branches of the autumn cedars, sprinkling their needles as umber snow as they sway and sing.
Dan closes his eyes tight, focusing entirely on the sound of the wind. The ground’s full of pine needles… it’s still dry out. There is NO way anyone is sneaking around outside! He reassures himself, trying to feel resolute. After all, he’s a man of confidence and strength. He knows his way around the deep woods of the Pacific Northwest. He’s tall, fit, and still formidable even as he approaches the high water mark of middle age.
But… his heart seems to know a truer truth… and as the hair stands up on the back of his neck, he slowly pulls his arm free of his bag, the arboreal night air raising goosebumps across his bare skin as he slowly reaches his hand to his side, to his other security blanket. His smart phone is no good so far into the forest, and his and Ry’s rifles are cased and secured at their feet. Dan does not want to make noise.
“Daddy?” A strained high pitched whimper pleads.
Dan pats Ry’s chest with his left hand as he unholsters his pistol with his right, taking care to slide it free of its leather as silently as he can in his awkward position. Anyone or any critters that come to close, you’ll be meeting Gaston Glock and his ten millimeter friends… He tries to smile. In the inky darkness, no one could see the strained expression that actually contorted his face, his lips pulled back into a desperate tortured countenance as he grits his teeth.
He means to turn his head to reassure Ry that he has the situation in hand, though not truly feeling it himself, when it strikes him. That… that didn’t come from my left… oh god… someone’s out there…
Ry clamps both terrified arms onto his left arm, clinging to him like a baby sloth might cling to a tree branch… with giggling hyenas circling below. The sensation startles him, making him flinch and fight to smother yelp. His right hand squeezes his pistol tight. He instinctively runs his trigger finger across the slide, rubbing the pad into the chamber indicator as if it was his first girlfriend in the back of his high school Subaru, breathing a silent thanks to himself for remembering to chamber a Hornandy hollow point.
Come too near and I will put you down… He growls in his mind, listening with all his concentration to the night sounds. The forest continues to creak and dance, the air alive with the symphony of the lonely woods. But among the branches, the breeze sliding meaningfully through the trees, and the distant burbling of a forest stream, the familiar sounds of footfalls in the dry brown needles and crisp earth surrounding their tent are disturbingly absent. I’m just hearing things, it’s no-
“Daaaaddddyyy?” The whispering voice echoes in his ears. Ry squeezes him tighter, the sound unmistakable. Someone is out there. And it’s closer than it had been only a moment or two earlier.
“Wh-what is that dad??” Ry’s choked voice, comforting in its realness, snaps Dan out of his shock. “S-someone’s out there!” He whimpers, his terror palpable… and catching.
“Out here…” the whisper slithers out of the darkness.
Dan feels ice in his spine, pumping out to his fingertips and toes. He knows what lost hunters in the deep woods sound like. The nervous hollering and double quick of booted footfalls. He knows what kids playing flashlight tag in the shallow tree-line sound like. He had spent many a youthful summer evening playing in the woods with his friends! This isn’t. This is wrong.
“Daaaddy?”
Dan feels the sensation he’s only ever felt once before. In Alaska on a hunting expedition for moose. The Kodiak bear had been shockingly fleet footed for such a powerful beast. He had felt the shivering corkscrew rise up his spine as the forest had gone silent, dark, and ominous, even in the light of the noonday sun. The bear had left them in peace. But this is no bear.
“Here…” The whisper is small and childlike. It’s is high-pitched… and confident.
Dan’s throat has gone dry. The notion of wetting and clearing it feels like jumping into crocodile infested waters. He doesn’t want to speak again. The night is devouring their words and shitting them back into reality in an unearthly taunt! He pulls his pistol in close, and struggles against the raw terror gnawing at his heart. He tries to steady the trembling in his body as primal dread of a thousand generations, evolved to fear the lurking shadows, threatens to consume him.
Ry… I have to protect Ry!
He swallows hard, the back of his throat just barely slicks it enough for words, while simultaneously grabbing his son’s sleeping bag above his chest in a shake of reassurance before sweeping it to his weapon, taking up a practiced grip, choked up high, thumb over thumb.
“Out there!! Identify yourself!!” He shouts into the gloom, his own voice making both him and Ry flinch and wince.
They listen closely, the cool night breeze shimmying and shaking the trees among the ebony shadows of a moonless night.
“Ourselves…” something whispers eerily outside the defenseless rippling nylon of their tent. It is close. Seemingly coming from the forest itself. Approaching the father and son from everywhere and nowhere. Creeping upon the wind with no feet… or fear.
“Ourselves?” It asks, coming from their legs, closer still, a childish query from lungless lips.
“Ourselves!” It states from just outside the tops of their heads.
“Stay back!! Stay BACK! OR I WILL FUCKING FIRE ON YOU!!” Dan shouts, his own voice cracking with alarm and desperation. “Light! Ry! Flashlight!!” He hisses in a squeaking half whisper, half holler. He hears his son fumbling all over for the maglight somewhere beneath them.
The black woods are as cold and dark as the endless abyss that hungers. The ground is wrong. The trees are wrong. The darkness is alive with giggling heaving spite. Dan covers his trigger, his pistol feeling like a torn napkin waved in the face of the a churning tsunami, a raging obsidian tide with laughing green eyes and a soaking great maw descending rapidly upon them. The night itself is alive and ravenous, its pangs heavy, depraved, and dripping with malign desire and delight!
“Daddy? Fucking… fucking! Fucking?” The unearthly childish whisper contorts, growing deeper… and hungrier…
Everywhere. Close. Here.
The night comes alive with sharp gouts of ten millimeter flame, ear splitting thunder punctuating the lethal light, as rounds scream through the tent’s walls, creating smoldering ebony eyes that burrow into the two occupants, as shrieking terror is smothered by the heavy shadows of the feasting night.
Ry!!!
“Daaaaadyyy…” the night sighs.
As the first rays of sunlight lance through the lingering darkness, heralding the arrival of the blessed sun, the morning light peers down upon an empty clearing, with little to distinguish itself from any other break in the forest floor. The trees flutter their branches, wringing out more dead umber needles, raining softly to the earth below. Only small bits of metal… twelve small brass cylinders twinkle merrily in the growing light. As if… giggling to themselves at their own superlative fortune, being present to greet the dawn.

I'm in my 50's, my folks are closing in on 80. So, we're at that stage where things are getting passed around. My mom opened up her cedar chest where all the blankets/afghans are stored (most of them crocheted or sewn by my paternal grandmother, who taught me to crochet), and told us kids we could pick out anything we wanted. Well, I spied one of my grandma's quilts, which my mom let me take. And there was the old afghan that was on the back of our couch for decades, which she did NOT let me take. I'll get it at some point, lol. The color scheme just screams 70's, so it's pretty cringe, but my grandma's work was flawless. It was a ripple afghan with color changes EVERY row, and I couldn't find where she weaved in any of the ends. This thing is perfection. I will have it.
Anyway, I found something else in that chest. A Christmas present from my grandma that I thought had long disappeared. Turned out my mom kept it. I don't know how to explain it, and maybe only older people will even know what I'm referring to, b/c I think they were popular back then. When I first opened the box, I thought my grandma had crocheted me my own little afghan, but it turned out to be a baby blanket with a baby in it. It wasn't a separate doll. It was crocheted into the blanket. The doll's head was just the front. It was stuffed and a bonnet on it .There were plastic hands and feet, but the arms and legs were crocheted and stuffed and attached to the blanket.
I was, I think, a bit too old for this to be a good present. You couldn't have the doll outside the blanket, and I was too old for dolls, anyway. And it didn't really work as a doll-in-a-blanket, b/c it was hard to swaddle the doll b/c it was sewn into the blanket straight, and as any self-respecting kid learned from their mommies, when you swaddle your dolls, they are laid diagonally in the blanket, so I couldn't get a proper swaddle on this thing anyway.
So, fast forward to me finding this 40-plus years later. I brought it home with me and it's been sitting on my shelf. I'm packing to move, and I'm wondering what to do with it. I want it for the memory, for the example of my grandma's flawless handiwork, but wtf am I going to do with a doll crocheted into a blanket? I thought of donating it. I thought of just tossing it. Then I noticed that the back of the doll was the same color as the blanket. The back of the doll WAS the blanket. I looked close and realized that the doll was attached by crocheting into stitches that were already there. IOW, I could cut the doll out and be left with a baby blanket. So, I did. The blanket ended up being a central rectangle, crocheted back and forth. Then stitches were picked up and the blanket crocheted in the round with increases at the corners, and the final round was shells. The central rectangle was what the baby's body was attached to.
So now I have something I'm willing to keep and take with me wherever I go!

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.

Personally I love the smell of white oak or black walnut. Curious is I'm the only one out there who has a preference.
It's on my mind since I think one of my next projects will be a blanket chest for my partner; her hobby is crochet blankets and such. Anyhow I know a lot of people like cedar, but it's never been my favorite. I'll probably stick to white oak.
What's everyone's favorites?

Background

The septons preach about the seven hells. What do they know? Only a man who's been burned knows what hell is truly like. -AGOT, Sansa II

GRRM has been hinting around about Sandor Clegane and his relationship with fire since the beginning (its the first thing mentioned about him in AGOT, Eddard I). In this post I thought I would explore that a bit and see what it could mean for TWoW.
Note: I don't think gods exist in ASOIAF, they are just sources of magic. So when I say R'hllor throughout the post I pretty much just mean "fire magic".
The Initial Burning
While the Hound is walking Sansa home from the Hand's Tourney, he gives Sansa the story of how he was burned:

"Most of them, they think it was some battle. A siege, a burning tower, an enemy with a torch. One fool asked if it was dragonsbreath." His laugh was softer this time, but just as bitter. "I'll tell you what it was, girl," he said, a voice from the night, a shadow leaning so close now that she could smell the sour stench of wine on his breath. "I was younger than you, six, maybe seven. A woodcarver set up shop in the village under my father's keep, and to buy favor he sent us gifts. The old man made marvelous toys. I don't remember what I got, but it was Gregor's gift I wanted. A wooden knight, all painted up, every joint pegged separate and fixed with strings, so you could make him fight. Gregor is five years older than me, the toy was nothing to him, he was already a squire, near six foot tall and muscled like an ox. So I took his knight, but there was no joy to it, I tell you. I was scared all the while, and true enough, he found me. There was a brazier in the room. Gregor never said a word, just picked me up under his arm and shoved the side of my face down in the burning coals and held me there while I screamed and screamed. You saw how strong he is. Even then, it took three grown men to drag him off me. The septons preach about the seven hells. What do they know? Only a man who's been burned knows what hell is truly like. -AGOT, Sansa II

Bran's Vision
Several chapters before that, we see the Hound's "terrible face" in Bran's vision of the shadows during his coma dream (note that the scope of the series was much smaller here):

He looked south, and saw the great blue-green rush of the Trident. He saw his father pleading with the king, his face etched with grief. He saw Sansa crying herself to sleep at night, and he saw Arya watching in silence and holding her secrets hard in her heart. There were shadows all around them. One shadow was dark as ash, with the terrible face of a hound. Another was armored like the sun, golden and beautiful. Over them both loomed a giant in armor made of stone, but when he opened his visor, there was nothing inside but darkness and thick black blood. -AGOT, Bran III

worth noting that R'hllor is referred to as the "god of flame and shadow" as well:

On one side is R'hllor, the Lord of Light, the Heart of Fire, the God of Flame and Shadow. Against him stands the Great Other whose name may not be spoken, the Lord of Darkness, the Soul of Ice, the God of Night and Terror. Ours is not a choice between Baratheon and Lannister, between Greyjoy and Stark. It is death we choose, or life. Darkness, or light." -ASOS, Davos III

The Blackwater
In his next encounter with fire, the Hound flees the Battle on the Blackwater:

The night of the battle, Sandor Clegane had come to her chambers to take her from the city, but Sansa had refused. Sometimes she lay awake at night, wondering if she'd been wise. She had his stained white cloak hidden in a cedar chest beneath her summer silks. She could not say why she'd kept it. The Hound had turned craven, she heard it said; at the height of the battle, he got so drunk the Imp had to take his men. But Sansa understood. She knew the secret of his burned face. It was only the fire he feared. That night, the wildfire had set the river itself ablaze, and filled the very air with green flame. Even in the castle, Sansa had been afraid. Outside . . . she could scarcely imagine it. -ASOS, Sansa I

Trial by Combat
When Sandor fights Beric we see a flaming sword seemingly begin to defeat the Hound:

The flaming sword leapt up to meet the cold one, long streamers of fire trailing in its wake like the ribbons the Hound had spoken of. Steel rang on steel. No sooner was his first slash blocked than Clegane made another, but this time Lord Beric's shield got in the way, and wood chips flew from the force of the blow. Hard and fast the cuts came, from low and high, from right and left, and each one Dondarrion blocked. The flames swirled about his sword and left red and yellow ghosts to mark its passage. Each move Lord Beric made fanned them and made them burn the brighter, until it seemed as though the lightning lord stood within a cage of fire. "Is it wildfire?" Arya asked Gendry.
"No. This is different. This is . . ." -ASOS, Arya VI

but at the very end we see Sandor somehow win this "holy thing":

Smooth as summer silk, Lord Beric slid close to make an end of the man before him. The Hound gave a rasping scream, raised his sword in both hands and brought it crashing down with all his strength. Lord Beric blocked the cut easily . . .
"Noooooo," Arya shrieked.. . .
but the burning sword snapped in two, and the Hound's cold steel plowed into Lord Beric's flesh where his shoulder joined his neck and clove him clean down to the breastbone. The blood came rushing out in a hot black gush.
Sandor Clegane jerked backward, still burning. He ripped the remnants of his shield off and flung them away with a curse, then rolled in the dirt to smother the fire running along his arm. -ASOS, Arya VI

so he is set free by the Brotherhood, minus his gold (Fun Fact: The Brotherhood ends up with a good amount of gold from the Hand's Tourney).
What's Next?
When the Hound begins to follow them, some members want him dead but Thoros states that there must be some purpose left for Sandor.

Lord Beric shook his head. "Clegane won his life beneath the hollow hill. I will not rob him of it."
"My lord is wise," Thoros told the others. "Brothers, a trial by battle is a holy thing. You heard me ask R'hllor to take a hand, and you saw his fiery finger snap Lord Beric's sword, just as he was about to make an end of it. The Lord of Light is not yet done with Joffrey's Hound, it would seem." -ASOS, Arya VII

and I seem to think that similar to the show, the next step in Sandor's plotline (after Brother Ray (show) and Elder Brother (book series) is another encounter with the Brotherhood without Banners.

• The Brotherhood is likely using his helm to lure others into traps as we could potentially see with Lyle Crakehall. If interested: The (Strong)Boar & the "Hound" and:

"Where is she?"
"A day's ride. I can take you to her, ser … but you will need to come alone. Elsewise, the Hound will kill her." -ADWD, Jaime I

• The Elder brother was the last person to see the Sandor alive as he tells Brienne (they also have his horse). After the Red Wedding, Lady Stoneheart and the BwB were hot on Arya/The Hound's trail before losing them (they find get his helm from Rorge). It is current unknown if Brienne has given this information to the Brotherhood/LSH or not but it definitely ties together the plotline. If interested: Arya Stark: The Key to Jaime/Brienne & Lady Stoneheart

Sandor in Hell
Doesn't really deserve its own section, but I thought this matched up really well:

The septons preach about the seven hells. What do they know? Only a man who's been burned knows what hell is truly like. -AGOT, Sansa II

and:

Lem grabbed her wrist and twisted, wrenching the dagger away. She kicked at him, but he would not give it back. "You go to hell, Hound," she screamed at Sandor Clegane in helpless empty-handed rage. "You just go to hell!"
"He has," said a voice scarce stronger than a whisper. -ASOS, Arya VI

Random Thoughts

• With the identity of "The Hound" shifting from Sandor to Rorge and then Lem, it has created a Legacy Character
• The Hound wanted to sell Arya to Lysa but stopped due to weathebeasts/mountain clans. I am only half joking when I say maybe he would have changed his mind if he knew how much the Burned Men respected fire mutilation. If interested: The Vale Mountain Clans in TWoW
• While not "confirmed" the novice gravedigger on the Quiet Isle is likely Sandor. He is lame. That said the Elder Brother and Thoros are both noted "healers". We have also seen lame characters fight via horseback (ex: The Hedge Knight) although I am not sure this is necessary for his character arc.

Note: Sorry this post is pretty choppy. The new reddit posting interface is pretty terrible to deal with.
TLDR: It is no secret that GRRM has been building up Sandor Clegane (formerly the Hound) and fire from the beginning. With him surviving his fight with a flaming sword (not wildfire) there is some potential "purpose" left for his life (Arya wouldn't end it for him either).

Mint condition. I’m wondering the worth. Selvedge inseam. 38x31. Curious how much they’re worth? Found with a cast iron Dutch oven i still use under an old Alaskan cabin. I’ve had them about 30 years. Cedar chest.

Oh my beauty, how I adore you! You are the spiciest spice bomb fragrance that other fragrances want to be when they grow up.
“Weak sillage?”, she purrs, “I don’t know her”.
You put her on at 9am, and she’s still deliciously lingering on your skin and in your cleavage at 5pm. A little bit dirtier, a little more disheveled - this could be the fragrance walk of shame, but she wears it proudly.
This is a cedar chest in which a clove and cinnamon spiked mandarin orange has been left to dry since Christmas, wrapped in white flowers and vanilla beans.
This is a scent for those who want a dirty sexy beast of a fragrance that lingers and doesn’t take no for an answer. Wear it for yourself - she’ll never be a crowd pleaser - but neither will you, and you both like it that way.
Kenzo Jungle L’Elephant - released 2016
Head mandarin, cardamom, cumin
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Base licorice, vanilla, patchouli, casmerin, amber