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This might be all over the place, im sorry. Im tired and my brain is in adhd overdrive. I (26f) was with my ex (32f) for almost a year. For clarity purposes we did not live togther but she would get me to stay with her for days at a time. I noticed some yellow flags before it abruptly got downright toxic. She ended up getting physical with me on more than one occasion, she'd take my keys from me or remove them from the ignition while waiting at a traffic light. I would attempt to communicate with her that the relationship wasn't working for me and in fact it was actually triggering a lot of PTSD from a prior abusive relationship. She would have a variety of reactions, all of which ended up causing me to stay with her. At first I accepted that her reactions were from her past traumas and I wanted to work through them with her. Eventually I got emotionally exhausted and couldn't wait for the change she kept claiming was going to come. Throughout a good portion of our relationship, starting at maybe month 3 or 4 she began referring to me as her wife. I struggled a lot with this because of how unhealthy the relationship was. I tried to express my feelings about that as well and she continued to do it anyway. Now that we are broken up i feel incredibly conflicted. I still have love for her but my brain replays a lot of the bad things that happened. I had her blocked and went no contact for almost 2 weeks, but I broke down and responded to one of her text free numbers she used to contact me with. Now she tells me she is changing and ive really helped open her eyes. She says she knows now this always needed to happen so we can come back together. She has begged to see me, and tells me that she still refers to me as her wife when she speaks on me. A part of me thinks we could be friends. I feel like I miss her until i talk to her. Then i feel drained all over again. Do I go no contact or keep doing the minimal communication thing? We had to have a conversation last night (again) about her calling me repeatedly when i dont answer.

I’m currently ~18 1/2 and I was heavily depressed during a period of 6 years of my life, from 12 to 18 years of age. Recently however, around January of this year, I randomly stopped feeling so incredibly depressed. Nothing significant had changed in my life whatsoever, and nothing that could have made me a happier person. Nothing of my life has ever been particularly substantive to me, and I haven’t had many reasons to be happy for a very long time. I still feel very mechanical, and frequently experience what I believe to be dissociation, but I don’t think I’d currently consider myself at least a (very) depressed person. I’m certainly not happy, just indifferent. I know that my mother has bipolar disorder, and the symptoms might be correlative to this experience I’ve had. Is there anyone that might be able to explain what might have happened to me? Bipolar being the answer just seems so strange to me, as I don’t think its “periods“ last nearly as long as six years. Please help.

Previous Posts
Grayson kept his promise and came over to talk with me. He arrived after classes for both of us were done for the day. It also meant that Cassie was home and this time, she didn’t vanish into her bedroom to give us privacy. She waited until we were both seated in the living room and Titanosaur was settled in Grayson’s lap, thereby preventing him from escaping.
Please don’t read too much into that, as I’ve said before Titanosaur has like three brain cells and will sit in literally anyone’s lap. Our landlady sent her husband over to fix the leaking faucet in the bathroom and Titan was trying to climb in his lap while the poor guy was sitting there with half his body inside of a cabinet.
Then Cassie came over, carrying a chair from the kitchen, and also seated herself with us. I glanced at Grayson. He looked dismayed, but was hiding it well in an effort to be polite. I decided to lean into my non-confrontational side and not ask her to leave.
“You’ve been acting a bit out of character lately,” I began delicately. “As a friend, I’m worried about you.”
“And I’m worried too,” Cassie added. “Maybe you don’t think of me as a friend, but you’ve been hanging out around Ashley enough that I consider you one of mine.”
Huh. I wasn’t expecting that, to be honest. I thought Cassie didn’t like him. I don’t think she was lying, either.
“Have you considered getting grief counseling?” she continued.
Straight to the point. I was glad Cassie was there. My plan was to tiptoe delicately around the subject for what probably would have been another 500 words worth of dialogue here in this post I’m writing up. Fortunately, Cassie’s willingness to address a problem directly saved me the typing and you the tedium.
“Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t,” Grayson said. “The university doesn’t know he’s gone yet.”
“Who is running this place?” Cassie asked in amazement.
I know. We’ve all been thinking it. Turns out the answer is ‘there’s a board’ and they make all the real decisions. The president is just a figurehead. Which is pretty obvious if you stop and think about it. I wanted to ask if the flickering man reported to the board but I also didn’t want to derail the conversation with things that really didn’t matter anymore. It’s safer to just assume the board is the administration I’ve been wondering about this whole time. Heck, it’s safer to assume everyone except for the students and professors are responsible in some part for the whole monster situation.
Sorry for not finding out for certain, but Grayson was working through some important stuff and I didn’t dare interrupt.
“I don’t want counseling, either,” he continued. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I never cared for him. Not in a familial sense. My presence was more to fill a role.”
Things were starting to connect in my head. This conversation reminded me of some things the flickering man had said. Roles to be filled. A cycle, ushering in new students to fill them. They’d been filling the president’s role with a corpse - a very old one, judging by the date on the photo Cassie took of the headstone - so perhaps that wasn’t the only role being filled.
“Were you adopted?” I asked. “By the president?”
“I was.”
Beside me, Cassie took a deep breath. It wasn’t from shock. It sounded more like… annoyance. If I’m being generous with the term.
“The flickering man said something to me,” I said slowly. “That I wasn’t the first person he’d seen like this and I wouldn’t be the last. Are you… not the only child that the president has adopted?”
“...I’m not.”
This is the point where Cassie just lost it. Stood up, yelled ‘why the fuck didn’t you tell us any of this?!’ and stormed out of the room. She slammed the door to her bedroom shut behind her. Grayson and I sat there in the living room for a good minute, stunned, listening to what I’m 99% certain was Cassie screaming into her pillow. Then the door opened and she returned to calmly sit down on the sofa again.
“I’m good,” she said. “All better. Please continue.”
The details of the conversation get a little fuzzy at this point, as it seems that even though the forgetter is gone I’m still having memory issues. Unfortunately Grayson was right - it wasn’t the forgetter that was responsible for my particular variety of memory loss. There’s something else trying to protect Grayson.
I suspect the tree in the graveyard. Its roots have spread all over campus, after all.
Sorry to be so blase about this but it’s not actually that upsetting anymore. It’s just this thing we’re dealing with.
It’s a good thing Cassie was present for the rest of the conversation. She filled me in on the details later, after we’d confirmed that I had some significant gaps. Grayson explained a bit more about the whole adoption thing. He didn’t know who his birth parents were. He’d never been outside of this town and basically grew up on campus. This is all kind of recapping what we already knew or guessed at, but the adoption angle was new at least. I’d assumed that his dad had died and been replaced, which he had, except it wasn’t his dad at all and Grayson’s role as the son was being replaced over and over also.
Which is all kinds of fucked up.
It also means that this has been going on for generations and I think we all know why that’s rather alarming.
“What happened to the previous adopted kids?” I asked once we’d gotten through this rather confusing summary.
“They died.”
There was a heavy silence in the room.
“How?” I asked.
“Well… one drowned. Another suffocated.” He hesitated. “This is kind of why I’m reluctant to tell people I’m the president’s son.”
“Grayson, are you worried someone will try to kill you?” Cassie asked flatly.
“...yeah. I am, actually.”
Screaming into a pillow myself was starting to look pretty tempting.
Now I’m sure you’re all thinking what I was thinking at this point. If the university was just recycling the president’s corpse and finding new children to play the role of their child for… reasons??? then perhaps that was why the flickering man was interested in me. Perhaps I was Grayson’s replacement, as many of you have theorized.
I mean, it seems pretty suspicious. Grayson’s dad is getting his soul replaced on the regular - or at least, he was. Grayson himself is a replacement for prior Graysons but I guess since they don’t need an adult, they’re just grabbing any ol’ kid to fill the role for a while. But the former Graysons keep dying because the inhumans get him? Grayson has a lot of protection on campus but he’s not immune - I’ve watched him get attacked by the steam ghost in particular.
Which leads me to my own theory. If I am a replacement, I don’t fit the mold. Perhaps that’s why the flickering man hated me so much. I’m too old (legal adult yay) and… I’m not a son.
But I wanted to confirm some things.
We wrapped up the conversation with Grayson because we were running out of mental capacity to ask more questions. He was clearly uncomfortable and there was a lot to process. He did promise to not be so difficult about this in the future. He wasn’t really grieving. He was just… uncertain. He didn’t know what to do anymore. Which is fair. When you’re raised to fill a role and suddenly that role is gone it’s hard to adjust.
I know what that feels like.
After Grayson left I messaged Maria asking if she knew anyone that was good with a camera. Like, really good. And also good in high stress situations. She got back to me pretty quickly. Maria is starting to become one of those people who knows everyone. She’s heading firmly down the road of becoming the subject of one of those unhinged tumblr posts where someone magically summons an army of people to fulfill a task, while she stays on the sidelines quietly directing the ever-increasing chaos.
Fortunately, she’s not there quite yet, but she is freakishly well-connected for a campus of this size. Within an hour she had me in a group chat with someone from the Folklore Society who fit all my requirements, even the unspoken ones. Someone that was good with a camera in “hostile circumstances” (her words, very accurate) and wouldn’t cut and run the moment things got a little weird. I think you all see where I was going with this.
Yeah, we were going to get photos of something inhuman.
DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME.
For starters, it’s not safe just getting close to an inhuman to photograph it. And once you do, that opens a whole new set of hazards. If the inhuman takes offense to being photographed, then they’re going to do anything they have to to get the photo destroyed and all rules are off the table when it comes to disguising their existence. Think of it like this - an inhuman might not be able to enter a house due to hospitality rules keeping them out, but this is weighed against their need to keep their presence obscured. The latter wins. Hospitality rules are no longer enough protection.
That’s my understanding, at least.
And sure, there are inhumans that don’t seem to care if a photo or two are leaked to the internet, but you have no way of knowing in advance. Let’s say you get lucky and nothing comes after you to destroy the phone/camera, computer, your social media accounts, and you. You’re not quite off the hook. That photo is a connection to the inhuman and if the creature captured in it doesn’t use it as an access point, something else might.
Photos are just a bad idea all around.
So we agreed that if we were going to go ahead with this stupid plan, we’d do so with as many safety measures as we could. First, the person taking the photo would be fully informed on the potential consequences. I was hoping that they could just teach Maria or I how to use a camera, but considering they were in the inner circle Folklore Society (what I’m calling the folks that know the monsters aren’t just stories) they wanted to come in person. I tried to talk them out of it, they finally made a snarky comment about if I wanted them to sign a waiver, and I dropped the topic.
Secondly, we were going to destroy both the photo and the camera afterwards. I got online and ordered the cheapest digital camera I could find. It was a camera designed for young children so it was pastel pink with teddy bears on it, but whatever, it was digital and didn’t cost over $30. The money from my job at the dining hall has helped with the finances but I didn’t particularly feel like lighting it on fire.
Especially since we planned to literally light the camera on fire when we were done. I wasn’t looking forward to the smell of burning plastic but fire is both a thorough and symbolically traditional way to dispose of things. Like I said, we were trying to do this as safely as we could.
The camera arrived the next day so we decided to go ahead with our plan that evening. Cassie would stay home because we felt having too many people might be a hindrance if we had to bail out. Also, she had “digital date night” with her girlfriend and I didn’t want to interfere.
Then we found a discreet entrance to the steam tunnels.
I wanted a photograph of the steam ghost. It had a face. I wanted to see what that face looked like.
I’d scouted out the steam tunnel entrances beforehand, while waiting for the burner (lol) camera to arrive. Last time I’d looked inside, they were clogged with roots. However, if the roots were originating from the graveyard, then perhaps the parts of campus that were farthest away would be clear enough to traverse. I got lucky and found an entrance inside of one of the dorms that’s out by the parking lot. The lobby is open and from there it’s easy enough to just coast into the stairwell behind someone with a keycard and then down into the basement. There were roots, but they hung from the ceiling as slender tendrils that brushed the top of my head like the faint touch of a moth. I didn’t go far inside. Just enough to confirm it didn’t get any worse and we had a long corridor free of obstruction.
When I came back, I had Maria and the photographer with me.
His name is Jacob and he’s a sophomore. He joined the Folklore Society because he realized he wasn’t making any attempts to be social, at college of all places, and picked a club that seemed like it would be small so he didn’t have to deal with crowds. Large groups of people intimidated him. I can certainly relate to that.
I feel bad for him. Imagine getting caught up in all this bullshit just because you had trouble making friends.
It also occurred to me that this photography excursion was also part of his attempt to make friends, because that’s what landed him in the group that had to hide from the thing in the hallway. Whatever. Maria can deal with that. She’s the extrovert.
“Let’s not forget the plan,” I said nervously as we gathered outside the door. “We get in. We get the photo. We run like hell back out the door.”
I’m happy to say that the plan worked. Every step. Swear to god.
We were about halfway to where the tunnel turned when the steam started to rise out of the ground around us. It seeped through the walls, filling our lungs and making it hard to breathe. The usual. We turned back at that point, as we wanted to be close to the exit so we could snap the photo and run once the steam ghost showed up.
The nice thing about inhumans is that they can be predictable. They have set rules they follow and so long as you follow the prescribed pattern of behavior, you know what to expect. This allows you to plan, as I’d done. So when we loitered within sprinting distance of the door, the steam ghost obliged to show up and chase us off.
Just as expected. And Jacob was ready with our pastel pink camera, so that when its face materialized out of the steam, mouth open in a silent scream and its misty hands stretched towards us, he was able to snap a photo.
Then we ran and reached the door before it caught up.
See? Exactly as planned.
There’s one more rule we learned about though. One that I’d forgotten to factor in for this crucial moment.
The doors in the steam tunnels don’t always open to the same place.
We tumbled through without thinking. I, pulling up the rear, had a moment of hesitation when I saw nothing but darkness ahead of me, but it was too late, I was in a full sprint and besides, Maria had already stumbled through the doorway. I slammed into Jacob’s back, propelling him the few steps he needed to be past the doorway, and then we were all through and the door slammed shut behind us.
The air was warm and damp. The steam tunnels, while warm, aren’t damp unless the steam ghost is present. This felt like being inside of a sauna. I could feel water beads forming on my arms, clinging to the hairs that were currently standing on end in alarm. There was a faint breeze coming from ahead of us, a slowly rhythmic flow to it like a fan. It did nothing to alleviate the heat. If anything, it was even warmer.
Maria turned her phone’s flashlight on.
We were in a corridor, much the same size as the tunnel we’d just escaped. The walls glistened with moisture, shining with the gray-pink color of rotting beef. There were no sharp angles, just a round passageway that vanished into darkness at the edge of Maria’s flashlight beam. The floor beneath our feet was slightly squishy.
And it was full of teeth.
Honestly I think I would have preferred sharp teeth, like an animal’s fangs or something out of science fiction. Instead, we got human incisors, circling the entirety of the tunnel in regular intervals.
The tunnel rippled. There was a faint gurgling sound, like the rumbling of a stomach twisting in hunger. And those rows of teeth began to tighten as the tunnel constricted around us.
“STEAM GHOST,” Maria yelled. “I CHOOSE THE STEAM GHOST.”
And she threw the door behind us open and dove back into the tunnel. Jacob grabbed my arm and dragged me along with him, as I was frozen in fear, staring at all those glistening ivory teeth. I stumbled over the doorframe and fell forwards, hitting the cement floor hard on all fours. I heard the door slam shut behind me. Frantically, I looked up at the tunnel.
No ghost. But the steam was still there, hanging heavy in the air and filling my lungs. The ghost would be back. I was certain of that.
“What now?!” Jacob asked, his earlier calm quickly giving way to panic.
“Try the door again!” I said, scrambling to my feet. “It changes!”
Maria spun around and opened the door a sliver for the second time, just enough to peer through the crack and confirm what was on the other side.
“FUCK.”
Then she slammed it shut. Opened it. Another burst of profanity, slightly more panicked than the last explicative. Meanwhile, Jacob and I cowered at her back, staring at the steam that hung thick in the air all around us, waiting to see if it was going to reform into a malevolent spirit while Maria played Russian roulette with the door.
She did this five times before she finally got the dorm we’d entered through.
Flushed and panting, we stumbled through and Jacob kicked the door to the steam tunnels shut with a determined flourish. There. We’d done it. As I’d said, our plan went perfectly. We got the photo and ran like hell to the door.
Didn’t plan on what happened after we went through the door. This is my lack of attention to detail coming into play, which is probably what also made me a shitty barista.
We crowded around Jacob to see the photo he got. This is why we recruited someone with actual photography skills. He was able to use a truly shitty camera intended for toddlers to somehow focus on a literal ghost’s face in the handful of seconds we had before it reached us, all while not panicking.
Staring at us from the tiny screen was a person’s face. Not a face made of steam. An actual flesh and blood human face. The rest of the shot was obscured by steam, framing it so that all we could see was this disembodied human face staring out at us from the camera’s digital screen. The expression was placid, the eyes hollow and devoid of emotion.
I’d seen this look before, on the library ghost. This distant stare of something that wasn’t wholly here.
“That is… really creepy,” Jacob said.
“We just escaped a hallway full of teeth and this is what you find creepy?” I said.
“No, that was creepy too. I can be terrified by multiple things at once.”
We all stared at the photo for a good few minutes, trying to commit the face to memory because we were not going to retain any copies of it. Then Jacob deleted the photo, handed me the camera, and we awkwardly went our separate ways.
I got out my phone as soon as we’d all walked off. My theory was looking plausible, but there was one more thing I could do to confirm I was on the right track.
I texted Grayson. I asked him if the children before him, the ones the president adopted, were all male.
They were.
The library ghost. The stabbed student. And now… the steam ghost.
All former students. All male. All trapped on campus after their deaths.
And for at least two of them, they seemed to have something against Grayson.
They don’t like Grayson because he replaced them.

I just moved to the US with a permanent visa . I completed high school back in my home country . My scores were amazing (ranked 12th in the entire country) , got into the #1 college . But my country’s certificate isn’t accepted in the US and I’m 17.5 years old so I was given only one option,to take the GED.I graduated within 2weeks(2exams a week)and obtained 97 percentile marks on all subjects. Then took the SAT (1450) without any experience or studying . Now I’m applying for college . Many colleges won’t accept me due to not having a GED and I sadly know that. What are my chances for getting into city / state universities ? By any chance will any top private universities accept me if I apply ? Any answers will be appreciated. Thank you 😊

The necropolis was gorgeous, for what it was. Its white outer walls hiding the darker Victorian Gothic interior. The tech that was hidden in the walls though was able to move bodies in their caskets from a designated place in the necropolis to the "viewing area" as the necropolians called it. This was where I waited for my, for lack of a better term, escort to take me to the mortuary. Since science has grown surprisingly fast our abilities for forensic sciences have also grown, and that's to whom I was headed. (S)He was an, unusual (wo)man to say the least. An expert in their field and about as learned as a doctor, if not multi-doctorate. If you ever asked them why they never pursued an actual doctorate, they would get angry and act all prissy while saying that going to school would've slowed them down and all they needed were the basic certificates for their work. The reality though, revealed to me during a drunken bout, they just never liked school and believed that it ultimately stunted a person's growth and ability to question the reality around them, that everything that you need to learn is already in books and in some form or another in digital content online. They were brilliant, if a little wacky. About five minutes after I had arrived and was sitting down in the viewing area, a little box rolled up to me making a couple of beeps to let me know to follow it and immediately started rolling towards the wall opposite of where it came from. When it looked like it was about to hit the wall, a hidden door opened up by the casket viewer, inside was a set of stairs leading down into the darkness. Stepping through the doorway I became acutely aware of sounds seemingly coming from all around me suddenly. It really is impressive, as though I just stepped from a tomb to a busy workshop, the sounds of gas escaping pistons, whirring, and clanking chains flooded my ears. I continued down the stairs following my helpful little box, which despite its size and shape would suggest was actually quite nimble on the stairs. It seemed to have wheels that would extend down to the next step as the edge rolled over it and once the back of the box was clear of the step it would drop back into its squat position, hiding its wheels as quickly as possible. It continued to do so the entire way. The box seemed to notice me watching it and made a kinda shrill whistle and its undercarriage light went from a comfortable yellow to a, is that... Peach? Is it blushing? My god I think it is! I let out a small chuckle and my little blushing box stopped dead in its tracks mid-step, its light suddenly going white, almost blinding me from behind and lighting up the hallway for a split second. Luckily both of my feet were solidly on a step so I didn't take a tumble or anything, but I couldn't help doing anything but laughing harder.

After a second the little box crept up behind me and continued down, its status light continuing to show pinkish. I followed it slowly, the chuckle slowly dying in my throat as we reached Ceriths office. Well "office" was being nice. Morgue, mortuary, both of these fit just as well. Cerith was, for the most part, a recluse. We reached the door and the little robot continued through a little hole in the wall. I waited a second and knocked. "Enter!" Came the voice on the other side. I opened the door and stepped through. Along one wall set doors that normally housed the dead waiting to be processed. One out of dozens were open, its occupant missing from its silver slab. The middle of the room was brightly lit from a single overhead light. In the middle of the circle of light stood a figure, long Raven colored hair bound in a single braided ponytail, the rest of them bound in medical examination garb. They seemed to be engrossed in the corpse in front of them. The little robot rolled up next to Ceriths feet and made a little chiming noise. "Thank you Tabitha. That'll be all," said a voice that was neither male nor female from beneath the mask. Just sort of in the middle. "Tabitha? Never knew you to be sentimental," I said gently, the chuckle in my voice making itself clear. "I see you still find even the darkest things funny," Cerith quipped back. "My line of work Cer, you take the laughs where you get them. Look who's talking anyway, you're usually elbows deep inside someone 25/8. Even you have a seriously fucked up sense of humor." That got Cerith laughing, sounding like thunder and the whip crack of lightning at the same time. "You've got me there Julius," Cerith said after his laughter subsided. I think he suits him today. Which is both a good and bad sign. When Cerith is acting like a man, it usually means some grim news, but they are going to try to make it seem like not a big deal and laugh a lot. Plus they almost never call me Julius. Something was wrong. Very seriously wrong. As this realization hit me I got this odd tingle in the small of my back. Like someone had put several freezing needles under the skin and into my spine, something I'm familiar with from the anima-games from the cyber sphere. Halos: Divine Retribution If I remember right. Those Angels were sadistic bastards. I shuddered at both the memories from the game and the shockingly similar feeling I was experiencing. Dread, that feeling is dread my friend, the quiet part of my mind whispered to me. "Cer, what's wrong bud," I asked. He didn't say anything. For a long time. After a few minutes I was about to ask again, but then he spoke. And what came out will haunt me, quite possibly till the day I die. "This ones temporal lobes are gray matter. Nothing even close to being coherent. Just. Dead neurons. And he's not the first." Gone was the jovialness of the past ten minutes. This was Cerith the whisperer. In an almost dead tone they continued, "the others didn't fare nearly as well as this one. Most of the brain is intact here, which means that if they didn't deliver a massive shock or something similar to fully kill him he would have possibly lived as a vegetable with memory issues, but that's not what I'm looking for in this one here now. Now I'm trying to figure out what else the others had in common with him, and so far that's brought up all but naught. Well this one has a bit of liver damage. But that's about it. So Mr John was a drinker. Not much there." When Cerith is "whispering" the best thing to do is just let him be. But I couldn't help but prick my ears up at mentions of others with similar wounds, and the fact that this one had liver issues.... "Cer. You said... CERITH," I finally snapped out and caught his attention mid ramble. "Thank you. You said liver problems. But nothing similar to the others? No drugs? Alcohol? Not even a synth brain-pattern? You checked Everything?" "Well let's see, John here was a drinker that's for sure," Cerith said his hands never ceasing their work as he started to put 'John' back together seemingly satisfied that he found nothing else, " Mr Lombardo in chest 3 had cocaine mostly, and Mr Lei in chest 9 had opium. Although to tell you where it came from for both I'd have to do a molecular analysis and see what it compares to. Other than that, no. Absolutely nothing connecting any of them. As far as I can tell they are all unique cases completely separate from each other except for the damages to the brain. And I only found this by accident. During a routine scan I happened to look at the screen as it passed through the brain and noticed an odd density in his temporal lobes. Just slightly higher than normal. Hell to be honest with you it had the density of a fresh cutie, you know those little oranges?" I nodded, and he continued, "Right of course you do, who hasn't? Anyways it's just super dense compared to the surrounding tissues, and I take a sliver probe and drop it in like you do. And when I turn the damn thing on to look at the neurons the area all I see are dead cells packed on top of one another. Not natural decay death, but forced to die. Most of the cell walls were torn open like they had blown up from the INSIDE. That's when I called you." He finished up with 'John' putting the final few perfect stitches in place and sealing him up for good. Once he seemed happy with his work he called out to his seemingly empty morgue, "Grom I'm done! Can you put Mr John Doe here back in his room? Number 11 if you please." He turned away from the body on the table and removed the giant rubber gloves that went to his elbows. He walked into the dark calling out over his shoulder, "I'll be back in a sec I gotta scrub out, want a drink? I have beer, whiskey, vodka, I might have some Cognac somewhere, and bourbon. Your choice, just call out what you want and Tabitha will be there with it. Also have a seat! We have much to discuss." With that he disappeared from both sight and sound in the dark. It was a neat trick I have to admit, and it had something to do with how he had his morgue set up. Even the giant war machine that was Grom was absolutely quiet unless you managed to catch him through the gloom. I thought for the longest time the reason why I could never catch him sneaking around was from some sort of stealth program put into place, but when he goes up and down those stairs he's as loud as can be. So it was definitely not his program but the way the morgue was built. I'm confident in saying that because when I turned back to look at the table, or rather where it was, there was now a chair that looked like it had just grown out of the floor and the body was gone. Also the thought of something as big as a fridge just sneaking up on some poor combatants and snapping their necks as quietly as he walks in the morgue just gives me the heebies. As I sat in the chair a thought occurred to me. Considering how advanced the morgue seemed to be it would make sense that it had some sort of AI or integrated computer. "Computer?" I had been here a million times but I'd never had a chance to think about it nor try anything. But not even a second after I had said anything a response came. "Yes Detective Julius. My name is DANNA. Or Dynamically Actualized Neural Net AI. How can I be of service?" The voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, slightly feminine and breathy, all service but no sex. Honestly I was just surprised that it worked. "DANNA, I was just wondering if I could take a look at the files that Cerith had mentioned? If it is as bad as they claim I think I might need to know anyway. Also if you can get those blood works done for me I'd appreciate it. Also something with whiskey or rum would be amazing." "Of course Detective. I will have Tabitha bring it shortly. And how would you like the information to be displayed? Desktop or dynamic?" That piqued my interest. "Dynamic please." No sooner than I had said a series of screens blinked into existence in front of me. It was some sort of Holographic display. I reached out and touched the display and was surprised that I got stopped by something. It was hard but surprisingly I found that I could push into the screen with my finger if I pushed hard enough. It kinda felt like... Oobleck. I also found that by pinching the corner I could pull the screens closer or further from me. I even found that I could grab individual pages of the reports off the screen and hold it. It felt like a thin sheet of plastic and responded like both a tablet and a singular document. If I switched pages the old one would appear back onto the screen and the next would pop onto it. This was about as slick a set up as I had ever seen and whistled my appreciation under my breath, I'm definitely going to have to ask Cerith about where they got DANNA from. "See something you like, big boy?" A very DEFINITELY female voice said in my ear from behind, soft and throaty, screaming come hither. I felt small dainty hands gently caress the tops of my shoulders before slipping down the front of my chest, pulling me back into the chair that I didn't realize I had been slouching in. "You know better than that, Jules. Your back is important and slouching will destroy the muscles and cause some to atrophy." The voice left no room for argument, and left me more than a little bit flushed. I closed my eyes and dropped my head back as far as it would go, the back of my head hitting something soft and warm, stretching my neck and back out. "Damnit Cer I thought you were scrubbing out, not completely changing." I hadn't realized it, but at least an hour had passed from when I started playing with the computer and working with the files if the clock on the computer was to be believed. "You looked like you were pretty into it so I decided not to disturb you. Plus you know how much fun it is for me to tease you like this. Especially after, well these..." One hand waved at the screens in front of me. The small hands' nails were painted the darkest black and almost made them blend into the void that existed outside of the screens. "I do Cer, and that's part of the problem, we both know that it's never going to happen. Least of all for you." She laughed a little, a clear beautiful sound and the body beneath my head bounced slightly telling me I was against her stomach. "Still I know you enjoy these little moments," she said, the pressure on the back of my head disappearing and was replaced by the voice right by my ear again as she whispered, "especially when we both know that's not at all true." At the last words she nibbled my ear gently. I couldn't help but roll my eyes at her, in spite of my baser instinct rising to meet her VERY juicy insinuations. But for as long as I've known Cerith and as many times as we have both been VERY drunk, they have NEVER cashed in. I just assumed that it was a quirk of theirs. "Anyways," she said standing back up, "what are you thinking so far about the files? Spooky, right? Like I said, nothing that I can see connects them." Her hands gestured in front of me in an approximation of a shrug. She then clasped them together, wringing the knuckles and effectively trapping me in the chair and back against her abdomen. I scrubbed my eyes with my fingertips acutely aware of the growing headache that suddenly made itself known. "Your right from the medical side. I can't see everything you can, of course. I don't have near the knowledge that you have," which is true being that Cerith is at least 200 years old. I never asked directly, the old adage still holding about women and their age. Still though her answers to certain questions would lead one to believe her being her first adult car was a Bing Cherry 2201 Firebird GT with white walled hover trim and chrome accents. From pictures that I could find it looked like a slick piece. Looking back to the screens I couldn't help but feel that itch again. I couldn't explain it. That prickly feeling of ice needles again, this time in the back of my skull. As much as I'd hate to admit it. I think Cerith is right. I sighed heavily before saying "send me everything. I'll open a new case file and have the team start working on it first thing." She made a happy noise and bounced slightly, clearly satisfied with my decision to take it on. I reached out and to my left and a glass was placed gently into my hand by Tabitha. I hadn't even realized she had come over while I was working and was now ready for that drink. Room temperature rum and cola. The drink went down smoothly enough considering I drained the glass in one gulp, during which time I finally got a good eyeful of Ceriths current form. Or rather the underside of part of it. From what I could tell she was wearing a black T-shirt. That was it. I put the glass back down, it's job done without moving my head and said, "What a lovely view Cerith. I'm guessing you chose this to try to get a rise out of me?" I couldn't lie though it was affecting me, but I couldn't let her know that. Not when she's like this. Otherwise she'll continue to tease me till she leaves me with the absolute worst case of blue balls this side of the City. Her hands came up and cupped my chin almost lovingly, and her voice said "Of course Detective. Do you not approve? Or would you rather I change back to my medical examination form? Or something else?" Her words dripped with implied sex. I groaned, loudly, and said, "This is fine. Jesus Cer." Before we could continue our most scintillating of conversations there was a sudden PING! And DANNA said, "I'm sorry to interrupt, but there's a message for you Cerith. It says 'If you can get to the department Cerith, do so. We need you to explain your paperwork. And if Detective Julius is still with you have him come in too.' signed the Chief. Would you like to reply?" 'Shit, I forgot the morgue kills all signals,' I thought to myself as I stood up gently (regretfully) prying myself from Ceriths grasp with a, "duty calls. Need a lift?" I stretched gently, the scales in between my shoulders clicking appreciatively for the stretch, and turned around to notice she was indeed, just wearing a black T-shirt that hugged her voluptuous figure closely. The scales in my back clicked shut in surprise. Cerith let out a small cute chuckle, "I see after all this time I can still surprise you," she said blowing a kiss my way, reminding me of a little Gothic pixy. I rolled my eyes away from her and willed my scales to relax. I grabbed my jacket off the back of the chair, slinging it on and clicking the neck clasp shut under the cord that connected my scales to the unit in my head. I was awarded the cybernetics upon completing my training and getting all my licenses to have them. The force had allowed me to customize it, I had chosen top of the line. A dual unit with custom built AI. The individual scales were ceracoated titanium microprocessors all running in both series and parallel, and could move to expel heat or react. The main unit was the same except it was one solid unit that replaced a chunk of skull. Once that was done I zipped up the front of the leathers and ran the scales through the racer setting. They clicked and flattened against the outside of the jacket, securing it to my back. I shrugged making sure it was comfortable. "I'll take the fact that you're only in a t-shirt you'll be along shortly?" "Certainly detective." Her voice was filled with dismissive submission... And sadness? I looked back at her and noticed her makeup was gone. Or had she had any on in the first place? I gave myself a mental shake. There's no way. This was Cerith, veritable goddess of the necropolis. I put the last few minutes away for review later. Chief called. I have to go. On an instinct I thought long dead, I reached out and squeezed her hand. I felt a slight squeeze back. And then she let go with a, "Go on, be a good detective. I'll be along shortly." I left with Tabitha as my guide. Before Cerith disappeared into the darkness I thought I heard her whisper, "please don't leave." My scales raised in a saddened response. I couldn't be sure I heard her right though. If I heard her at all. I reached back and stroked them, knowing my ai probably heard her, and knowing it could feel me touch the scales. After a few seconds the scales settled down. 'I know buddy,' I thought to the AI. It couldn't respond like usual AI. The force thought that was too dangerous. What if it went rogue? What if it tried to kill the host and take over? The list went on and eventually they decided the basics were ok. When I got my unit one of the first things I did was jack it into a diagnostic to see what kind of hardware I was dealing with exactly because manufacturer specs from real use are sometimes different with AI if the bits and bobs are in place. When I did, all I got on the screen was 'Hello?'

“Can I eat this after is sat out for X hours?”

does the food need to be refrigerated? (NO): it’s fine.

(YES): -was it more than 2 hours? —(NO): it’s fine —(yes): don’t eat it.
There, I just answered every question on the sub. If your question isn’t answered by this then it will get removed or downvoted.

So this past weekend MIL came to our home even though we've been NC for a few months. She demanded to see "her" kids and tried to go get them from their room but they were napping. To clear up some things and answer some questions, when this happened we did call the cops but since it was a he said/she said deal, they couldn't do anything. She didn't physically harm us and there was no tangible proof that she had intent on taking the kids because she claimed she "asked permission". We did order cameras right after the crap with the cop and they will be delivered tomorrow.
So that leads us to today. We called the schools on Monday and told them no one can pick up the kids off the bus or at school other than DH or myself. We got a call today, basically double checking so we're unsure if that was because MIL tried something or if they were indeed double checking. I have seen her car parked up the street from the bus stop Monday and this morning. Called the cops each time however she's technically not doing anything wrong. I'm pretty sure I've seen her car outside in the afternoons as well. DH starts work tomorrow because he works a Wed-Sat schedule so I am nervous to be home alone because I feel like that might be what she's waiting for.
I know she reached out to my mother to try to talk to her but me and my mother don't get along so from what my sister said my mom just said "F#k you and you're stupid drama. Not my problem." and then hung up on her. SIL has reached out because she's still talks to her but said she really doesn't want to get into it.
I told DH that something must be up with her because again, seemingly out of no where she just flipped off the handle. I asked DH to reach out to an acquaintance, who used to be a close friend until she started sleeping with him (he's DH's age) but he said she's been down at the bar hanging out with people. I guess she's been drinking again. She blames me and how I took her kids from her? SIL was NC when I got together with DH but has since tried to mend fences. So I don't see how it's my problem.
Anyways that's what's currently happening. Not too climatic but disappointing. I'll update if anything else happens.

This summary was generated by an AI LLM from autogenerated meeting captions. As such, this output may contain factual errors.
https://vimeo.com/948928114

Conclusions Reached

The key conclusions that can be drawn from the transcript are:
- The Student Behavior and Accountability Committee of the Loudoun County School Board held a meeting to hear student discipline appeals.
- The committee went into closed session to discuss and consider recommendations for discipline of one or more students, as allowed by Virginia law.
- After the closed session, the committee reconvened in public and made decisions to modify the disciplinary decisions made by a hearing officer for two student appeal cases.

Detailed Summary

00:00:00

The meeting of the Student Behavior and Accountability Committee of the Loudoun County School Board is called to order to hear a student discipline appeal.

00:00:04

The committee chair, Dr. Linda Deans, announces the purpose of the meeting.

00:00:11

Dr. Deans introduces the other committee members present: Lauren Chernoff and Melinda Mansfield.

00:00:26

Dr. Deans calls for a motion to move the meeting into closed session to discuss student discipline matters, as allowed by the Virginia Freedom of Information Act.

The motion is made and seconded.
The committee unanimously approves the motion to move into closed session.

00:01:28

The committee approves a resolution certifying that the closed session was conducted in accordance with Virginia law, and that only matters lawfully exempted from open meeting requirements were discussed.

00:03:10

The committee approves a motion to adjourn the closed session and reconvene the public meeting, with no formal action taken during the closed session.

00:03:52

The committee considers appeal case number OSA 05-23/24.

00:04:09 - The committee moves to modify the disciplinary decision made by the hearing officer, asking the hearing officer to review the student again in August 2024 to consider an appropriate in-person alternative educational program for the fall 2024 semester, and to reevaluate the student again in January 2025.
The motion is seconded and unanimously approved by the committee.

00:05:32

The committee considers appeal case number OSA 06-23/24.

00:05:42 - The committee moves to modify the disciplinary decision made by the hearing officer, in accordance with the terms and conditions discussed in closed session.
The motion is seconded and unanimously approved by the committee.

00:06:24

The committee states that its findings and decisions will be included in a report and reflected in the meeting minutes.

00:06:35

The committee chair notes that there is no other business, and a motion is made and seconded to adjourn the meeting.

00:06:54

The committee unanimously approves the motion to adjourn the meeting.

00:07:03

The meeting is adjourned at 4:43 PM.

Hey All!
Im new to this subreddit but pretty active on other music related areas. Anyways I wanted to ask a couple of questions to some more experienced people.
So I’ve been playing guitar for almost two years (started in august? of 2022) back then I was playing on school instruments or an acoustic at home. In November 2022 in a bad wave of depression I bought my first guitar. A $270CAD Pacifica Stratocaster. I also got a stand, some picks, a strap and a small Boss Katana Mini for about $130 CAD.
This was one of the greatest purchases of my life.
Since then my guitar (which named Stevie) is my best friend and I love her. She’s here whenever I need to jam out, play some raging thrash riffs or need a quiet moment to play something softer. She’s pretty versatile and she’s helped me through some difficult battles and I’ve also gotten a much deeper appreciation and respect for music in general since buying her.
In January or February this year I bought a distortion pedal as well which I thought was an okay purchase.
Last month I decided I wanted to upgrade a few things.
Over time my playing has become more complex and more in favour of metal riffs and louder or faster jams as well as guitar solos. I felt my small amp couldn’t sustain much more power or volume and it was dying a slow death so I upgraded my amp to a 60W JyxPro which sounds amazing both clean and distorted and cost around $290 CAD.
I also decided to make a bit of an impulsive choice which had been in my mind for a while (so maybe not super impulsive). I found when playing with Stevie I wasn’t getting the quality of sound that I was looking for especially with heavier or faster songs, so I started looking for decent guitars with humbuckers that were also built for metal.
This is when I came across an Ibanez GRG131RX in matte black and red (around $400CAD) . i ordered it online through amazon immediately and it just arrived this morning. This is one hell of a beautiful instrument and it sounds much much deeper and richer. It’s lighter, looks more aesthetically appealing and has humbuckers. As excited as I was to open up the box, there is a part of my heart that is a bit sad for Stevie.
Another problem I have is they are very similar. Same shape, similar neck, both have five pickups, a ten and volume knob etc. the only different is colour, humbuckers on the Ibanez as well as an extra fret.
TL:DR: just bought a second guitar after just over a year and a half of playing and needing some questions answered or advice.
So here’s my questions:
Now that I have two guitars, what should I do with each?
Will playing my new guitar (which I’ve named Melinda) make me play Stevie less?
Did anyone else feel a bit of guilt after buying a second slightly more expensive guitar?
What are the perks of having more than one guitar even though they look kinda similar?
Did I make the right purchase?
Thank you everyone!!!

The HRRFY.
It’s the horror movie festival where something genuinely fucked happens every year. And I mean every year.
Like, there are some screenings that unleash hordes of bats while the movie is playing. You're free to leave whenever you want, but the movie will still play for 2 hours and 15 minutes.
Other screenings hire actors to turn at you and scream at some point in the movie. You have no idea when, or how many times.
It's a festival where the word "illegal" can't even begin to describe what happens. You'd only attend if you were a young, stupid edgelord like me who was trying to prove he was hardcore to his friends.
Trust me. DO NOT GO.
You have nothing to prove to anyone. Don't be stupid.
Wait for the lamer film versions to come out streaming. That's what everyone else does. They're neutered edits but they're fine.
All they lack is the real gleaming thing everyone wants to see at HRRFY, but who cares. At least you don’t get traumatized. At least you’re not risking your life.
Anyway, if you really want to know what attending HRRFY is like. I’ll be quick and summarize the one screening I went to. It was the 20th anniversary, and I was lucky enough to get in.
***
I had signed up for the HRRFY mailing list, and joined the subreddit. Through a series of cryptic online emails I solved a sequence of riddles and was entered in the lottery for a HRRFY entry.
Lady Luck took a shine to me, because one day in my mailbox, I received a physical ticket. I had done it.
I was going.
The actual ‘ticket’ was a black USB key that announced the location of the festival the night before (which I won’t disclose here) and it did force me to pay for a very expensive flight in order for me to make it on time.
You see, to prevent getting shut down, the location of HRRFY changes every year. Some years the local police have managed to stop it, but for the most part, authorities have given up. What’s the point of arresting or charging anyone, if all the organizers and attendees actually want to be there?
Upon arrival, I had to pick between three participating theaters.
Based on title alone, I decided to go see “Many Drownings” (directed by Oleksander Gołański.) It was in the theater that was furthest away from the downtown core, which meant it was likely the one where the craziest shit was bound to happen.
That’s what I came here for right?
I lined up a solid two hours before the screening like everyone else. The entire line was jittering, just vibrating with excited twenty-somethings. Rumors flew left and right.
“I heard they’re going to force everyone to take acid.”
“I heard an actor’s gonna run in and shotgun the ceiling.”
“I heard they’re going to disappear like four more people this year. At this screening!”
Each year people disappeared. And each year the same people were ‘found.’ And yes this is the worst part, and why should never, ever, ever go to this event.
Again I will repeat myself. DO NOT GO.
No one has ever truly gone 'missing' at HRRFY in any legal or physical sense, because every missing person always shows up a day later, convinced that they are fine—refusing to elaborate further.
There are some small support groups for people who have family members who had gone to HRRFY, and came back irrevocably changed after being ‘found.’
These few unlucky people lose all semblance of personality. They don’t want interviews, or help, or therapy, or contact of any kind. And they never, ever want to talk about what they saw.
Some HRRFY fans think that these ‘found’ people were body-snatched. Cloned in a lab or replaced by a cyborg, or something stupid like that.
But I think there’s a far simpler explanation. The ‘found’ are still the same people. They're just terrified. They got shaken by something that shattered the foundation of their mind, body and soul. They got too scared.
They got HRRFY’d.
***
I should mention I had a cough the day I went. And I was worried my sickly appearance might give me trouble at the airport.
So I invested in an intense double N95 mask which I wore for the whole flight, and continued to wear even at the screening of “Many Drownings.”
It made my face hot and uncomfortable, but it still didn’t stop me from yelling “excuse me, excuse me!” as I ran to snag a seat in the back of the theater.
I always preferred sitting in the far back. You get a good view of the whole screen, and a good view of the whole audience.
Beside me sat a big dude named Sylvester, who apparently flew all the way from Australia to attend HRRFY.
“Worth the full Seventeen hours mate! It’s gonna be epic!” he dropped a massive camping backpack beside me, which I assume contained all of his luggage.
The lights dimmed, and the production company logos started to play.
The whispering, giggling and suspense all stacked upon each other to create an electric feeling in the air. I was giddy. It's like the entire audience was embarking on a massive roller coaster.
The anticipation was the best part for sure. It might have been the only good part.
Then the movie started.
It was a wide shot of a gray, stormy sea. The waves were massive, and the thunderclouds were looming. There was no land visible in any direction.
All we could hear was the sound of waves foaming, swirling, and crashing over and over. Lightning crackled. Rain poured. The camera held perfectly still over this storm as if it was mounted on a perfectly hovering drone. A drone so resilient that it didn’t waver at all.
I thought it had to be CGI.
The shot held like this for the next few moments. Everyone sat glued to their seats. Everyone was thinking the same thing.
What’s going to happen? How are they going to scare us?
People chuckled. People cheered. People wanted to tease whatever was going to happen—to happen already.
But nothing did.
Five, ten, maybe fifteen minutes went by without any change. People started snoring.
I looked beside me and saw that Sylvester—the most excited audience member of them all—had fallen totally asleep. The jet lag must’ve gotten to him.
Then I peered beyond the rest of the audience members and saw other people snoozing too. Heads were keeled over, some people were curled in their seats, some had even spilled out into the aisle and were dozing on the floor.
I looked above the bright screen, at the huge vents in the corner of the theater. I saw a faint white gas emerging from the vents.
Holy shit. What have we been breathing? I tightened the straps on my N95 mask, and made my breathing shallower.
The gas must have been pumping since the opening credits—because how else would an audience of two hundred people all fall asleep?
As I moved my hand through the air in front of me, I could sense the thickness. It was definitely hazier than usual. I took the scarf off my neck and wrapped it around my mouth as well.
Then I spotted movement in front of the screen.
It was a tall blonde man, wearing a black trenchcoat and military-grade gas mask. Beside him arrived six hazmat suits who started pointing at various audience members.
I slunk in my chair, pretending to sleep like everyone else.
Two hazmats walked over to the front row and picked out a sleeping guy in flannel. They lifted flannel up, under the armpits and by his ankles, carrying him between them both like a hammock.
The hazmats walked back up to the stage, where the blonde leader inspected the flannel man and tapped his head. Something was approved?
The hazmats began to swing flannel back and forth, as if they were getting ready to toss him. Despite their masks, I could hear a very muffled, very distant countdown.
“Three…”
“Two…”
“One…”
The flannel audience member was tossed into the screen.
I literally watched him fly into the image of stormy waves … andfallinto them. The flannel man sank into the gray water like a rock, leaving a few bubbles and foam. A wave came crashing down. All trace of him was gone.
What the fuck.
All six hazmats began grabbing more audience members with much more urgency. It became a minute-long process where they would pick the sleeping person up, bring them beside the screen, and then swing-toss them into it.
How was this possible?
I turned slightly to see if there was a projector above me, and realized there was none. Which meant maybe there was no screen on stage.
Which meant … maybe it was a portal?
I tried to wake Sylvester by shaking him. I pinched his leg and arm a bunch.
He was out cold.
The hazmats started grabbing audience members from the middle rows now. They were emptying the whole theater. What the hell was I supposed to do?
I waited until they grabbed another batch, only a few rows down from me. When all hazmats had their backs turned—I broke into a run.
With my left arm, I tightly gripped my mask and scarf against my face, while my right arm vaulted me over seat after seat.
I had never breathed so hard—through so much fabric—in my life.
The hazmats all turned to me. “Hey! Hey!” But their hands were full with their next victims.
I ran all the way down the aisle, to the big exit sign on the left. My heartbeat filled my head. My plan was to dropkick through the exit door.
I imagined myself breaking through like some flying gazelle.
I jumped.
I angled my kick.
It might as well have been a brick wall. I fell ass-first to the ground, followed by my head. Of course the door was locked.
Through a muffled mask I heard a sneering scoff.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Above me stood the one wearing a trenchcoat. I could see his piercing gray eyes through his gas mask.
I rolled aside and tried to run by him. He lifted a foot and tripped me without effort.
My forehead bashed into an empty seat. It dazed me.
The blonde leader bent down and grabbed me by the neck, tearing away my scarf and mask.
“No! No!”
A sweet, ether-like smell filled my nostrils. I did my best to hold my breath, but I could already feel myself getting light-headed.
The other hazmats joined in, grabbing me from all sides. Even if I had the strength to struggle, there was no escape now.
Above me, all I could see was the dark theater ceiling, and some of the light behind me from the cinema screen.
“Three…”
“Two…”
“No. Please. Don’t do thi—”
SPLASH.
I was plunged deep into cold, wet chaos. My head was completely underwater.
Gagging. Bubbles. Spinning.
I fought for dear life, dog-paddling like a maniac.
Churning. Freezing. Panic.
For a second, my head popped above the water. I inhaled all the air my lungs could muster. I stared across a vast, violent ocean.
An enormous thirty foot wave came in my direction.
My whole body lifted higher and higher as the wave approached. I did my best to tread water. It seemed to be working.
Then a series of smaller waves arrived and smacked my chest.
SPLASH.
Spinning. Kicking. Flipping.
My view alternated between the pitch dark ocean beneath me, and the moonlit night sky above.
Again I swam to the surface, popped my head out. Ravenously sucked in air.
There was a small lull in the water.
Around me I now registered the other theater goers. Most of them were lying face-down or sinking … but a few were flapping about like me, fighting for their life.
And above all of us, a floating white shape.
It was painfully bright, I had to lift one hand to look at it.
My jaw dropped.
It was the movie screen, hanging completely still in the air. It showed a dark, empty theater. The exact same theater we all occupied moments ago.
It was tremendously high, above all of our heads. There was no way of reaching it.
Then I saw another thirty foot wave come our way. It grazed the bottom of the screen.
I knew what had to be done.
***
One of the theater goers happened to be on a college swim team. She was the first one able to traverse one of the giant waves and climb into the screen.
Once she was up there, she found a firehose in the theater and reeled it out to us like a rope.
One by one, we swam as hard as we could, praying to God we could reach the rope. Everyone’s energy was sapped. Your body can only sustain itself on adrenaline and fear for so long.
By some miracle, five of us got out.
I was the last.
I climbed the rope coughing and vomiting. I had swallowed so much water that my stomach felt swollen.
When I reached the top and they pulled me into the screen, I sobbed. I couldn’t stop crying.
My life had flashed countless times before my eyes. In bubbling, suffocating visions, I saw both my parents and my brother. I saw my highschool graduation. I saw my favorite Christmas from when I was six years old.
I had almost lost all of that. I had lost almost everything.
On the dirty, carpeted theater floor, I lay with my face down, savoring the fact that I now lay on a hard surface. God bless ground. God bless this filthy, popcorn-strewn ground.
Beside me I heard bantering, hugging, the wringing of wet clothes. Sylvester was the second last to be saved, and he was particularly vocal.
“Wooooooaaaaahh!” He came and drummed me on the back, lifted me up. “Oh my god dude! Holy shit!”
I sat on my knees, wiping the tears and snot off my mouth.
Sylvester clapped his hands, held his face and screamed some more.
“Holy shit dude! That was so fucking scary! Like literally people were dying beside us. Like I SAW people die!”
I nodded, shivering in my drenched clothes. “ I know it was—”
“—That was craaaaazy!”
He laughed and stood up, patting everyone on the back. He kept clapping his hands like this was some sports event.
“That was sick! That was siiiiiiiiick!”
He ruffled someone’s hair then ran up to me with an open palm.
“High five dude! WE MADE IT! High five!
“Don’t leave me hangin’ dude!”

My sister and I just stayed two nights in the Florida Keys in Marathon, Fl. We experienced unexplained paranormal instances and are trying to find some sort of news article or information to prove our suspicions.
When we checked into our room it was already really cold despite the AC not being up.
We spent the day out but when we returned later that night is when things got stranger.
It started with weird crackling noises coming from a large mirror in the room before my sister and I fell asleep. Her and I woke up several times during the night where I felt that I needed to turn on the light to see something, but there would be nothing.
We heard door handles flicking, as if someone was trying to open doors but let the handle flick up.
At one point I heard what sounded like things being thrown on the floor. I can best describe it as if someone dropped empty water bottles on the floor. Again I turned on the light to go check it out and saw nothing. When I came back to bed I tried talking to my sister who was facing away from me. I asked her “did you hear that?” She was responding to me but I couldn’t understand what she as saying… I went back to bed.
Around 4:30am a VERY loud thunderstorm happened. It lasted till 11am the following day.
Later that day my sister and I found a puddle of water. We thought the storm but couldn’t tell where the water was coming from. The uddle was by the balcony door. No sign of it coming from the door tho.. or the ceiling.
Fast forward to later that night. We couldn’t sleep. We were getting ready for bed and I had turned on one of the lights and it started flickering light crazy so I had to turn it off.
The next day we left to check out and there was a puddle of water outside our front door even tho it had not rained in 48 hours and it was really hot out.
After check out my sister told me about her experience the first night it stormed…
She told me that the night it stormed she was falling asleep and had her hand under the pillow beside her. She said she felt as if someone was crawling up the bed and started to lay their head on the pillow. She felt the weight and crevice of where a “head” would be. She freaked out and pushed the pillow off the bed.
We’ve googled stories and deaths in the area to see if anything can provide some answers. We both felt and suspect the presence of a young child, that maybe drowned. Lots of stories about drownings but none that seemed to fit.
The hotel was the Fairfield Inn & Suites in Marathon, FL. The room was 2214.

Ok, so this may sound crazy but I've had this song stuck in my head off and on for awhile, and have been searching for for the past 3 years. I think the first time I heard it was at a concert for Indie singers I went to with my mom about 13 years ago. We even go the album and I listened to it regularly. What bothers me is I have a pretty good memory when it comes to lyrics and remember most of the words especially because I played the song constantly in the car and my grandfather used his burner to help me download it on my ipod to listen to constantly. I've told a lot of my friends about the song and have sung it to them. The crazy thing is, the friends I told about it who grew up in Indianapolis knew the song and could sometimes even finish the lyrics. A lot of us remember it playing on the Smiley Morning radio show and around Broadripple.
The song had a female lead, old country-rock vibes, and when I look up the lyrics I can't find it at all.
Here's the lyrics I remember (I believe it's most of them tbh):
She threw a penny in the fountain and looked up at the sky. It was time for her to leave this town. Her enthusiasm gunning, She hit the pavement running, And she left nothing behind her, But a white wedding gown.
Oh, Carolina, girl you've got to come back home.
Oh, Carolina, so much has happened since you've been gone.
She didn't plan to be a mother, didn't wanna be a bride. Wasn't looking for no man only looking for a ride. When she heard that whistle blowing, Felt the rumble of the ground, And she saw that train a comin'- It was Indiana bound.
Oh, Carolina, girl you've got to come back home.
Oh, Carolina, so much has happened since you've been gone.
She was riding that rail, Thought it better to fail Then never to have tried at all. And though she tried to roam, Love kept pulling her back home, And so she answered that lonesome whistles call.
(Band solo)
She through a penny in the fountain, And thought of better days. She sat and watched the world turn round. She found solace in St. Patrick, And underneath she prayed, That the sun was shining on her side of town.
Oh, Carolina, girl you've got to come back home.
Oh, Carolina, so much has happened since you've been gone.
(Some of these lyrics could be wrong, but it's weird that so many people remember the same song with it seemingly not existing on the internet at all.)

January 2006 sat answer key

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