Her amputated leg

I sit alone in my room on the seventh floor, writing what will surely be my last will and testament. The heroin which allowed me to forget and to sleep for the last couple of years has lost its power to keep the screaming terrors away. The drug destroyed my body and mind, gradually eating away at them like a corrosive acid. Now I have become a slave to it. And yet, without it, I do not sleep for weeks, but instead continuously see the scenes from that terrible night running through my head on repeat as worsening waves of madness crash on the shores of my consciousness.
In the caverns under the town of Frost Hollow, I found the meaning of true madness. Ever since I escaped that den of horrors, it is difficult to tell what is real and what is only the feverish delirium of an unhinged mind.
Even now, they wait behind the door to this cheap, bare rented room. They drag their claws over the wood. I hear them hissing in that strange, ancient tongue, the one I first heard in the tombs of rock that had been undisturbed for countless millennia.
***
I had first heard rumors of an unexplored cavern from my friend, an experienced caver named Sonia who had explored caverns all over the world. I had been looking for some excitement in my life, some break from the constant monotony and boredom of simply working and sleeping. I had gone caving quite a few times over the year leading up to the trip, but I was not nearly as experienced and had never explored a supposedly virgin passageway of cavern before.
“How do you know no one’s gone down there?” I asked, curious. We sat across from each other at a local diner, getting some early breakfast before our planned descent. The sunrise was still another half-hour away, the sky flat and dark. We would be joined by Sonia’s husband, Phil, who would meet us there shortly after sunrise. I repressed an urge to yawn, chugging half of the steaming hot coffee in one long swallow. Sonia leaned close to me, her nearly colorless blue eyes reminding me of chunks of ice floating down a muddy stream.
“Phil’s friend just found it randomly,” she whispered before glancing around conspiratorially, as if she feared someone would care enough to eavesdrop on a conversation about a cave. “Well, it’s in the middle of a farm, and Phil’s friend, Jack Graysole, owns the entire property and surrounding woods. Jack says he noticed the cows kept going over to a certain spot in the field when it got really hot during the summertime. They would all gather around this little indentation in the grass. After seeing it a few times, Jack got curious and went to investigate what the cows were doing.
“He found a small hole in the ground, almost entirely covered by weeds and grass. He said he felt a cool breeze constantly blowing out of the hole, a breeze that smelled like burning matches and charred metal. After bringing out some shovels and digging down a couple feet, Jack realized that the hole wasn’t a hole at all, but the beginning of a steep passageway leading deep into the bowels of the earth.”
***
The owner of the land decided to unofficially call the newly-discovered cavern Graysole Caverns. Out of respect for him, this is also the name we all used. This is the story of how I found myself in the bowels of a strange subterranean tunnel, a tunnel where creatures beyond my comprehension slunk and hunted, skittering monstrosities who would be more at home in a nightmare.
After grabbing a couple coffees to take with us, Sonia drove over to Graysole Farms. Cows stood out in the grassy fields, huddled in tight circles as they repetitively chewed. The thin silhouette of Jack Graysole waited for us next to the herd. He had a face like a raisin, I thought to myself. I watched his thin, shaking body standing in the middle of an overgrown grassy field. Jack stared down blankly at something only he could see. Sonia and I started unloading some equipment from the car while we waited for Phil.
Once we had the backpacks loaded with some simple supplies, such as water, food, headlamps, rope, a couple extra batteries, some buck knives, and radios, we headed over to accompany Jack. We weren’t taking much, as we didn’t really expect to be down there for more than six or seven hours at the most.
Jack Graysole’s withered old face was as slack and expressionless as that of a corpse. He stared down at the ground as if he were in a trance, waving back and forth slowly on his feet like a plant in a light breeze.
“Jack?” Sonia called out as we approached. I could hear the man’s teeth chattering as we got nearer.
“Hey, what are you doing over here this early? You interested in accompanying us down there?” Sonia joked. But Jack might as well have been totally deaf for all the reaction he gave. Sonia glanced over at me with an anxious expression. I wondered if the old man was having a stroke.
I quickly walked over to where he stood, staring down at a black circular hole about three feet across directly in front of his feet. The entrance to Graysole Caverns stared up at us like a sightless pupil. As I drew within a few feet of Jack and looked straight into his blank eyes, I noticed something alarming.
His pupils were quickly dilating and constricting before my eyes. They would shrink to tiny pinpoints, then, a couple seconds later, rapidly expand until they became dark and serious. I could see his thready, rapid heartbeat pulsating in a vein on the side of his temple. Alarmed, I reached forward and put my hand on his shoulder.
Instantly, he came to life, like a man waking up from a nightmare. Shrieking, he looked at me with fully dilated pupils, reminding me of a panicked deer surrounded by wolves. His quavering old man’s voice shook with ineffable existential horror and mortal fear.
He took a step back away from us, seeming to realize where he was and what he was doing. He looked around, confused, then straight at me and Sonia. His eyes focused with anger and fear, as if we were demons here to drag him down to Hell. His eyes flicked back and forth between us constantly. Jack raised a trembling hand and pointed it straight at my heart.
“It’s you,” he said, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. His teeth chattered despite the warm spring air. His skin looked deathly pale. “You’re the one who will bring an end to humanity, who will release the ruler of nightmares upon us.” He continued to point accusingly for a long moment at me, his face turning chalk-white. Then his eyes rolled up in his head. Slowly, he stumbled and fell backwards onto the soft grass of the field.
“Jack!” Sonia cried, running over to the old man. Jack’s breaths had started to come in slow, drawn-out gurgles, like a man with a slit throat trying to breathe. Frothy blood bubbled from his lips as they turned blue. Staring up at the endless expanse of cloudless sky, he exhaled one last shuddering breath and died.
***
Phil showed up only a couple minutes later. He found me and Sonia in a state of utter panic, both of us bent double over the still body of Jack. Sonia was on the phone with 911, and I was trying to give Jack chest compressions. The way his fingernails and lips shone with that cyanotic blue cast made me feel sick and weak. I knew it was futile, that I was simply playing with a corpse at this point, but I didn’t know what else to do. I felt if I didn’t do something, I might explode.
I heard the faint wailing of sirens approaching as Sonia’s panicked voice continued babbling to the 911 operator. Phil stood by her side, his tall, dark features searching and lost.
“Oh God, I think he’s dead!” Sonia cried over and over to the operator, as if she thought the operator could do anything about it. I didn’t hear what the operator said in response. As the ambulance pulled in, I gave up on chest compressions. I stood up and took a step back, looking sadly down on the kindly old man’s dead body.
The paramedics ran over. Phil, Sonia and I stood back while they worked on the corpse, trying to shock the heart back into life. But Jack’s open eyes stayed glazed as they stared sightlessly up into eternity.
***
The paramedics left. A couple police officers stayed behind to ask us a few routine questions. Eventually, after an hour or so, they left, too.
“What a fucked-up day,” Phil said, shaking his head grimly. “Do you guys still want to do this? Maybe it’s an omen from God telling us to go home.” Sonia and I exchanged a glance, then we both nodded at the same time.
“Definitely,” she said. “It’s sad what happened to Jack, but realistically, we don’t know what’s going to happen to this property now that he’s passed away. It might get sold or taken by the bank for all we know. This could be our one and only chance to explore this cave.”
“I don’t believe in omens. I’m still down,” I said, feeling slightly sick from the experience. I still remembered how Jack’s body had cracked under the weight of my chest compressions, how his ribs had snapped like bones shattering in greedy hands. “We’ll do it in memory of Jack. I plan to put this up on YouTube.” I pulled my GoPro out of my bag, turning it on. Phil groaned at that.
“Do we have any idea how far down this cave goes?” Phil asked. I felt a sense of relief now that the topic had changed from the death of the old man.
“I sent a little camera down on a rope, but it only went about a hundred feet,” Sonia responded. “It’s pretty steep at first, then it levels out. I couldn’t really see much after it leveled out, but it looks like it should be easy to climb down. There’s plenty of handholds, lots of jutting rocks.”
Phil put on his headlamp and small pack. As he crawled down into the hole, his tanned face looked up at us and gave us one last devilish grin. Once he had gone down a few dozen feet, Sonia started descending. She looked excited and happy. I noticed how she couldn’t stop smiling as she disappeared from view.
I watched their lights grow smaller and dimmer in the circular tunnel. I marveled at how perfectly circular the entrance was. It almost didn’t even look natural.
Taking a deep breath in, I followed my friends down into the dark.
***
“This isn’t too bad,” I said as I climbed down. The jutting rocks gave plenty of handholds and footholds for us. It wasn’t so tight that it felt like a coffin, either.
“It only gets easier from here!” Sonia called up.
“How do you know?” I asked. “You said you’ve never been here before.” She laughed.
“I know. Probably just wishful thinking,” she said. Far below us, Jack’s voice drifted up, faint and weak. He had already reached the bottom.
“The tunnel really opens up down here, guys,” he called. “It’s somewhat… bizarre, though.”
“What do you mean by that?” Sonia asked. I looked down, seeing Sonia and I would reach the bottom in seconds. “Forget it, I’ll let it be a surprise.” I heard her drop down. Slowly and carefully, I lowered myself down the last few feet. There was a short fall onto a smooth granite floor. I looked up, seeing what Phil and Sonia were so mesmerized by.
“Oh, wow,” I said, speechless. I blinked rapidly, wondering if the image would clear like a mirage. The tunnel was cut into a perfectly triangular shape, each side about seven feet long. The ceiling met in a point above our heads.
All along the smooth walls of gray rock, I saw thousands of black orbs peeking out. They looked similar to obsidian, but they were perfectly smooth and circular, each about the size of an orange. They were formed into interlocking diagonal patterns and followed the tunnel straight down as far as the eye could see.
“What is this place?” Sonia asked, taking a tentative step forward. I looked up, seeing the distant pinpoint of sunlight far above our heads. Our voices continued to echo off down the massive tunnels, disappearing in eerie waves into the thick curtain of shadows.
“Are you recording all this?” Phil asked me. I laughed, giddy.
“Of course! This is internet gold right here,” I said. “No one’s going to believe that this isn’t man-made, however. I can’t even believe it. Do you think Jack was playing a joke on us or something?”
“Jack had the sense of humor of a wet paper towel,” Phil whispered, shaking his head. “No, he wouldn’t do something like this.”
“Well, let’s go check it out,” Sonia said, taking a step forward. Her headlamp bobbed up and down rapidly, throwing dancing shadows through the triangular tunnel. It continued straight ahead, without the slightest deviation or curve, disappearing off into a dark point in the distance.
***
We walked as fast as we could, excited to see where, if anywhere, the strange tunnel led. Phil, always the conspiracy theorist, babbled excitedly.
“This has to be aliens, man,” he said, running his fingers through his dark hair. “I bet that scientists will find out this shit is millions of years old when we get back up and tell everyone. Maybe aliens came to earth in ancient times and made a bunch of stuff underground.” Gradually, as we walked, I noticed the tunnel opening up. The pointed triangular ceiling rose up higher above our heads and the walls moved outwards, as we were walking up a triangular funnel. At first, it was so subtle that I didn’t believe it when Sonia pointed it out.
“No, look,” she said, raising her hand above her head. “When we first started down this weird tunnel, my fingers were only maybe a foot away from the top. Now it’s a couple feet.” I was about to respond when our headlamps illuminated something standing in the middle of the tunnel.
“What the fuck is that?” I whispered, stopping cold in my tracks. Phil and Sonia looked up at the abomination at the same time. Its back was to us. It stood nearly as tall as the tunnel, which was now about twenty feet high.
The bottom half looked black and spidery with dozens of long, jointed legs. A bloody, white spine rose out of the mass of legs. Inhumanly long, skeletal arms stretched out in front of it. Its face was pointed away from us, but the back of its head resembled an enormous pointed skull with deep fissures like the cracks of an earthquake running through the bone. The abomination stayed as still as a statue, and for a long moment, I wondered if we were looking at some macabre work of art.
Then, suddenly, one of its insectile legs twitched. A moment later, the other legs started jerking and twisting. There was a sound like bones shattering as it rose up to its full height, turning around to face us.
Its face was like something from a nightmare, melting and reforming constantly like dripping candle wax. I would see a black eye appear on its forehead, then a grinning mouth on its chin, then the features would get sucked back into the folds of melting flesh. After a few moments, two enormous eyes appeared on its face, dark and cold like craters on the surface of the Moon. The mouths and noses disappeared back into the dripping skin, and only the two lidless eyes remained, emanating a cold, reptilian consciousness beyond the ability of my mind to comprehend. I felt terror radiating from its body like freezing waves.
“Free me,” it cried in a gurgling voice that seethed with insanity. It had a shrieking, metallic ringing behind every word that gave it an alien quality. “Free me, and I will give you the waters of eternal life. Within me, I contain the seeds of immortality. Within the nightmares, we live forever, always together, never alone.”
“Who are you?” I asked, terrified. The black reptilian skin of the enormous beast glistened as it knelt down, its massive face drawing near to mine. A sideways mouth burst out of the liquified flesh, showing hundreds of fangs growing like tumors from its white, bloodless gums. The fangs varied in size from only a couple inches to long, sword-like projections that stabbed into the creature’s flesh, causing white blood glittering with rainbows to fall like raindrops all around me.
“I have many names,” it hissed, its thousand voices rising and falling in crashing waves of sound. “I was present at the beginning, when this planet was no more than dead cliffs and endless freezing oceans. Those holy ones who search for us, the ancient ones, call me Niralahoth.”
“How do we free you?” Phil asked, looking terrified. He held Sonia’s hand tightly.
“By letting me into your mind and body,” Niralahoth cried, shaking the cavern. “I was thrown down here, cursed and forgotten. I cannot leave this place of shadows within this body. But in the body of another, my consciousness can be free, and the seeds of new life can spread beyond this prison.”
“There’s no way anyone’s going to do that,” I said, my eyes widening as Niralahoth’s reptilian skull turned towards me in fury. “I mean, you’re asking one of us to give up our individuality, our lives, right?”
“I am asking you to become one with me and gain power undreamt of by mortals,” it cried. “I have within me the fountain of life, the waters that send death away screaming.” I glanced anxiously at Phil and Sonia, wondering if we would have to run.
“The answer is no,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, we can’t do that,” Phil said, backing me up. “But, anyways, I think our trip has ended. It’s time to turn around…”
“You will never return,” Niralahoth cried, skittering away from us. “If you will not accept salvation, then you must accept death.” Within seconds, it slunk away from us, backpedaling on its many skittering legs into the shadows.
***
All around us, a rumbling started.
There was a pounding that crashed through the rock tunnel, as if an insane blacksmith were hammering on a massive anvil. The ringing of crashing rock started off slowly, with a few stones smashing down around us with heavy blasts of sound. Within seconds, the cacophony sped up, rising into a constant stream of destruction. The black orbs were spinning in place all up and down the tunnel, their glossy obsidian surfaces flashing with sparks of blue light.
“It’s collapsing!” Phil cried, running back in the direction we came, holding Sonia’s hand as she tried to keep up with him. I could only stare for a long moment, not sure what to do. It seemed that the direction Phil was heading stood closer to total collapse.
“Wait!” I cried, but my voice was drowned out in the destruction all around us. I felt a rock smash into my shoulder, sending me down to my feet. I heard Phil give a scream of pain, then another stone came down and smashed into my forehead. I remember seeing everything spinning around me as the world went black.
***
I awoke to find my headlamp still shining straight up in the dusty tunnel. Large chunks of the tunnel had slid out of place and crashed to the stone floor. The granite chunks that had fallen looked unnaturally smooth, most of them in the shapes of cylinders or cubes and varying in size from that of an egg to that of a small car.
My head throbbed. It felt as if a tight belt of fire were wrapped around my temples. Groaning, I put my fingers up to my forehead. They came away slick with blood.
Slowly, I started pushing myself up on my feet. I was relieved that nothing seemed broken. I had a deep gash running from the center of my scalp down to my left temple and some shallower cuts on my shoulders and back, but I knew none of that was life-threatening.
“Sonia?” I whispered, my voice coming out weak and strained. I reached into my pack and found a bottle of water. I chugged it quickly in one long swallow.
“Phil?” I cried again, this time stronger. I heard a soft weeping nearby. Staggering, I followed the sound.
Sonia was bloody and covered in cuts and scrapes, sitting next to Phil’s prone form. I saw Phil’s right arm pinned under a massive slab of granite. His arm disappeared from the elbow down in a spreading puddle of thick, dark blood.
“Oh God, Max, I think he’s hurt really bad,” she wept. Phil’s eyes rolled wildly in his head, his face pale and bloodless. I looked down the way we had come, seeing the entire tunnel blocked by large slabs of stone, many with strange, black orbs peeking out like the lenses of cameras.
***
I don’t know how much time passed. My phone died after a day, and then we were counting the endless darkness in breaths and tears.
Phil swam in and out of consciousness as his arm putrefied and blackened around the crush site. After a couple days, Sonia and I agreed that something had to be done. We told Phil we would need to amputate his arm. He was half-delirious, but he came back long enough to understand us and nod weakly.
We made a fire with Phil’s pack, trying to find fuel to throw in it to get it roaring. As it grew, I saw one of the black orbs near the flames abruptly ignite, as if it had been covered in gasoline. Blue, almost colorless flames rose from its surface. We started throwing the small black orbs on the fire until it rose high in the air. I sanitized the buck knife with the flames and pulled a rope tourniquet tight around Phil’s arm. He was conscious but seemingly insane, talking to himself more than anyone else.
“How are we going to get the car started without a key?” he gurgled to someone only he could see. “We need to look around. It has to be here somewhere.”
“Phil, can you hear me, bud? We need to fix your arm. We need to get you out of this mess. OK?” I said as comfortingly as I could. Phil’s eyes rolled wildly, but they didn’t meet my own. I sighed and looked over at Sonia.
“Let’s do it,” I said, giving a grim nod.
I pulled the buck knife out, slicing quickly down through the flesh next to the tourniquet. His veins throbbed like fat worms as the blackened, necrotic skin split easily under the blade, releasing a rancid-smelling gas that hissed out of the wound.
I couldn’t believe how hard it was to slice all the way through the arm. It felt like I was stuck in that hellish task forever. Phil’s eyes rolled in his head as his skin turned the color of clotted milk.
“God, Jesus, make it stop,” Phil whispered over and over, exhaling ragged, pain-filled breaths. The blood spurted from the blackened, dying tissue all over the dust-covered cavern floor, covering my hands in its warm, slick embrace.
After what was probably only three or four minutes, but felt like hours, I had sliced all the way down to the bone. The infected tissue of his arm spurted great gouts of orange pus mixed with rivulets of blood. The hard part was over.
Standing up, I took my steel-toe sneaker and stomped down on his arm as hard as I could. Phil cried out in a powerful voice, as if all the agony and suffering in the world was contained in that one shriek. The bone snapped under my weight with a sound like a tree branch cracking. A moment later, Phil rolled away from the rock that had pinned me in place for so long. Something alien and spongy was shoved into my face, a mass of destroyed red tissue pulsating in time with a runaway heartbeat. At first, shell-shocked and revolted, my mind couldn’t comprehend that I was looking at the stump of Phil’s mutilated arm. I hardened my heart and forced the giddiness and madness to the back of my mind. The time had come to cauterize the wound.
“Sonia, give it to me,” I said with a tremor in my voice. I reached out a hand towards her, a hand stained with Phil’s blood. It looked as if I were wearing a wet, crimson glove. Sonia only stared blankly at me for a long moment, however. A surge of anger ran up my chest.
“Sonia, toughen the fuck up! He’s going to die if you just sit there!” I swore at her, hearing my deep, angry voice bounce around the caverns. Sonia pulled back, as if she were struck. Inwardly, I cursed having a woman as my only able-bodied companion in this situation. She was a competent enough caver, but what would happen if violence and blood came over us? What would happen if, or more realistically when, we needed to fight?
Grimly, Sonia leaned forward and yanked the burning black orb out of the roaring fire, handing it to me on the end of a buck knife that had just barely pierced its hard, strange exterior. The handle of the knife felt coarse and splintery under my filthy skin. I put it to the spongy stump of Phil’s arm. The stump twitched violently. Phil tried to pull away as black smoke rose from the burning flesh.
There was a smell like bacon sizzling. The searing meat of Phil’s arm blackened and crisped under the heat of the orb, which had become no more than a cylinder of glowing blue embers by this point. I felt simultaneously sick and giddy. I didn’t know if I wanted to laugh or vomit. I felt like I was on the verge of some kind of madness, that the stress and insanity of the experience had started to shatter my mind.
His eyes rolled back in his head and he appeared to go into a seizure for a few seconds. With a long exhalation of breath, he finally, mercifully, lost consciousness. It’s hard to admit it, even this close to the end, but a small, sick piece of me was jealous of Phil. Most likely, he would be dead soon, maybe within hours, while Sonia and I would slowly starve and dehydrate like animals over a period of weeks. I looked at her lithe body and soft skin, seeing the feminine curves of her hips and chest. She was a beautiful woman. I knew Phil to be a lucky man. At least, before this trip, he was.
I watched her body, wondering if I had what it took to eat her or Phil if I had to. Did I have an iron heart that would allow me to slice into my friends and consume their raw, cold flesh? Perhaps, by that point, it would be hunger and madness driving me forward, and I wouldn’t even hesitate. I shuddered at the very thought.
***
I fell asleep that night, having strange dreams of massive gods with melting faces sitting in judgment in a circle around me. We had very little food or water left. No one knew we were down here. Rescue was not coming.
When I awoke, I found myself alone. Phil had died from his injuries while I slept, the black streaks of septic shock spreading up his arm towards his heart. His eyes stared sightlessly up at the rock ceiling.
“Sonia?” I called out, my heart racing as I sat up. “Where are you?” My headlamp was growing dim. I looked in my pack, realizing I was on the last of my batteries. I saw a silhouette walking out of the darkness, the thin, pale form of Sonia. She was trembling badly.
“I saw them,” she said. “Niralahoth and its priests. The priests aren’t human. They look reptilian with sideways mouths and too many eyes.” She shuddered.
“Why would you do that?” I asked. Her eyes grew distant.
“You know we’re not getting out of here alive,” she said. “Not on our own. I wanted to see what it offered. It says that if we take a piece of its nightmare into us, we will gain the power to leave this place, that it simply wants to see the surface and spread its nightmares there.” I shook my head.
“Insanity,” I muttered. “We’d be better off dead.” Sonia nodded.
“My thoughts exactly,” she responded grimly. I didn’t realize what she meant until the next day, when I woke up and found her hanging next to Phil’s body, her tongue swollen and blue as it poked out of her cyanotic lips. And then I was truly alone.
***
Soon after Sonia committed suicide, the last of the batteries for the headlamp died. I had run out of food and had only a small sip of water left. I don’t know how much time passed in the darkness, starving and raving, following the tunnel by running my hands over the walls. I heard many things skittering in the darkness, and a few times, I heard the demonic voice of Niralahoth as it split and distorted.
“You are on death’s door,” it hissed. “Will you not drink from the fountain of life?” I couldn’t tell where the voice came from in the maddening blackness. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. I had lost nearly all of my sanity in that pit of shadows by this point. I tried laughing constantly to keep my spirits up, and when that failed, I simply cried.
“I’ll do it,” I wailed. “I’ll do it. Just let me see the sky again. Get me out of here, Niralahoth.” Everything went deathly silent all around me, then a laugh rang out like the grinding of glass.
In front of me, I saw a tornado of fire descending from the ceiling, surrounding the massive, spidery form of Niralahoth. It rose its skeletal arms upwards, as if it were Zeus calling down lightning. In the sudden brightness, I saw the fiery form of snakes slithering and centipedes skittering forwards in that tornado, each massive creature sculpted from flames in the spinning cyclone of energy. Niralahoth reached into the tornado of fire with its sharp points of fingers and plucked something small from it. The fire instantly dissipated. In its hand, I saw a tiny, swirling orb that looked like it contained a firestorm within it.
“The nightmare seed,” Niralahoth gurgled as it skittered forward towards me. I could only stare, open-mouthed and starving. I hadn’t slept for days, it felt like, and everything seemed slow and unreal.
In a blur, its skeletal arm shot out and forced the orb into my mouth. Despite the fire raging within it, it felt freezing cold. As it touched my tongue, it gave off a sensation like frostbite all throughout my mouth. I screamed and tried spitting it out, but it seemed to have a mind of its own. It started liquifying, dripping down my throat.
I felt something cancerous and sick spreading throughout my body, radiating out from my heart and stomach to every inch of it. I tried to scream, but it caught behind my teeth. I fell to my knees, clawing at my face as that insane, alien laugh continued resounding all down the tunnel. I fell unconscious and woke up under a beautiful sky in the fields of Graysole Farms.
***
Soon after, I realized that my life would never be the same. Everywhere I went, I could hear the wailing voice of Niralahoth. Behind the trees, I always saw skittering shadows, creatures with long, spidery legs that stalked me every day and night. I slept with every light in the house turned on, yet when I woke up, they would all be shut off, and I would find myself in darkness, next to something in the bed with far too many legs and a face that dripped like burning wax.
I sold everything I owned and tried to move far away, to give as much distance between myself and those cursed caverns as I could, but the nightmares followed me like a shadow. I realize what a fool I was in those ephemeral moments of madness. Sonia was much wiser than myself; I should have killed myself or died rather than allowing that thing inside of me.
Even now, I can feel it creeping through my heart, spreading through my blood. I feel it trying to crawl its way out of my throat, the thin, black legs peeking out at the back of my esophagus.
I only hope that, when I finally jump and feel my bones shatter against the concrete far below, I will kill whatever is inside of me. For I fear the consequences for the world if it were to escape.

Hi everyone,
One of my dear cats had surgery last week to remove some pretty bad teeth and an abscess. She is a rescue and they think she was a stray for a while, leading to her terrible teeth.
The vet removed a couple of her back teeth, and some had already fallen.
When I went to pick up my cat, the vet told me she saw some signs that my cat’s canine teeth will eventually need removing as well, because the gums were creating little “bags” or something like that (apologies as I can’t quite explain what she meant).
My cat has been to hell and back from when she was a stray; she was ran over by a car and had to be amputated of one leg. She has epilepsy and now she had dental surgery.
My question is: why didn’t the vet remove the canines while in surgery? I don’t feel it’s fair to have to put my cat through all the stress of going through surgery again, if she’s not in discomfort.
I’ve been thinking about getting a second opinion from another vet. Tomorrow I will be going to this same clinic anyway, for a surgical follow up, and I will ask her more about what she said regarding the canines.
But do you think I’m right to feel like it’s weird they didn’t do everything in one go?
Thank you so much for reading.

Hello,
A while ago, I made a post about my senior kitty having some sort of abscess. Well, unfortunately, it was a tumor. We have to amputate her leg, unfortunately. The bill is looking to be between 5k-8k. I'm not sure how I'm going to pay for this. Does anyone know any pet insurance that covers pre-existing conditions or upcoming surgeries for seniors? I love my Picky so much and will do anything for her! She still have A LOT of life left in her!

I have seen too many dead and maimed people due to reckless driving. A girl fresh out of college killed by someone running a red light, convulsing due to brain damage as I am trying to stop bleeding.
Children, elderly people.... a mother of 3 ending up with an amputated leg and colostomy bag due to part of the vehicle impaling her abdomen has been in the hospital 3 months now and still is. I visited her and she told me there was a point where she wished she would have died because of how terrible the recovery had been.
Impatience, being late for work, joy riding, simply not caring...whatever the excuse is- it is not worth someones life or livelihood. Please I am begging you if you drive like this, running red lights, not using blinkers or checking your blind spots, driving impaired, cutting people off, racing, whatever it is...take a moment to think of the potential consequences- if not for yourself then for others.
I have held peoples skulls together and the hands of too many people as they cling to life. There are people that will not drive in Charlotte anymore because of how dangerous it has become here. Every driver thinks they are in complete control and that they wouldn't be the one to cause a wreck, until it happens. Just take a breath and slow down, please. I am not really looking for replies, I just hope that someone sees this and maybe it has an impact on them.

This post is a desperate attempt to get some ideas on how to support my friend. Because i think she believes her issues are unsolvable and has just kind of given up. She had triple negative breast cancer that is now thankfully in full remission. It was terrible of course, the chemo, the mastectomy and the reconstruction. But, the long standing issue that she still battles and cries about daily is losing the sensation in her breasts. She's said she secretly struggles to enjoy sex and it has completely changed her relationship with men and her body. She said this weekend that she would have rather gotten a leg amputated than to lose her breasts. She feels she has lost a part of her soul. It's just so sad and also so deeply personal it's hard to talk about. Has anyone dealt with this? Any resources that you have found helpful?

Hi there. My 80 lb newfie had her front left leg amputated last Tues. We've been battling a bacterial infection and leaking seroma since last Friday. Since Friday, she has been pretty heavily medicated to keep her sedentary to help the seroma resolve (it hasn't). She has favored sleeping on the side that wasn't operated on. This is no surprise, but now the front leg on that side, opposite of her surgical site, is swollen. We will be back at the vet first thing in the morning, but has anyone had experience with this and their new tripod? I know the basic advice is get to a vet, and we will first thing in the morning. Due to these complications, I literally do not have the money (at least until wednesday) to afford treatment from an emergency vet and her best chance for quality treatment is at her primary vet first thing in the a.m. I am however interested in other people's experiences and outcomes so I can mentally prepare. I have been a mess since learning about the infection Friday.

My old kitty ruptured her calcaneal tendon. We have now had two veterinary surgeons and three vets weigh in, who overall recommend amputation of the rear leg or euthanasia due to her age, chronic conditions, and surgery risks. She has significant arthritis, mild kidney disease, chronic pancreatitis, and asthma. She is somewhat weak to begin with, so I am worried about an amputation in terms of quality of life. Any thoughts?

I didn’t want my title to get out of hand, so I may need to clarify a bit. First, I know there have been times and cultures where amputations were (and sometimes still are, apparently) meted out as punishment: a thief being sentenced to the loss of his hand, for instance. And you hear, historically, of war captives or those overthrown in coups being the victims of mutilations that include amputations. Neither of those are what I’m asking about.
What I’m wondering about is the practice of removing a damaged limb, or a section of the limb, under medical supervision, seemingly most often because of an injury sustained on the battlefield.
You hear about the procedure so much in the 19th century, especially in relation to the American Civil War, that it almost sounds like a default procedure for any wound at all. (My grandmother’s grandfather, who lived with her nuclear family when he was elderly and she was a child, had the same leg amputated twice when he was a newly-minted teenage captain of the Confederacy at the Battle of Spotsylvania Courthouse. It’s no wonder he spent the rest of the war in a Union hospital, or that my grandmother remembered into her old age hearing him scream into his pillow from the residual nerve damage as she passed his room as a child.) But it was also used frequently in the 20th century and, though I’m sure the injury-to-amputation rate is much improved now, I certainly associate amputations with the use of IEDs in Iraq and Afghanistan.
I can think of occasional examples of amputees from the 18th and 17th centuries, Horatio Nelson being most famous, but I honestly can’t remember hearing anything about it from the Renaissance, Medieval, or Classical eras…but then, I haven’t done anything like a literature survey, which is why I’m asking about it here. Did the procedure simply not exist, at least in the West? I find that hard to believe, given how advanced Greek medicine, especially, could be. Was it not needed as much as it was in later eras? The reason frequently cited for a limb to be amputated was that the bone was shattered, and that was frequently caused by it being hit by a bullet. (That was the case with my great-great grandfather: he took a minnie ball to the thigh bone.) Perhaps pre-gunpowder projectiles and blades didn’t do that kind of damage, that often? Or maybe the linkage of physical impairment with evil, or curses, or punishment from the gods, or other kinds of difficult associations that began to fade with modernity meant that there really were amputations in these earlier periods, but authors didn’t like to write about men bearing stumps, especially in high numbers, so it just appears to us now that amputations weren’t part of a physician’s toolkit, particularly in wartime.
Any thoughts?

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

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

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

Now it’s just me, my brother, my dog, her cat, and her chickens, in this paid for house with their paid for vehicles and mine and my brothers vehicles.
It’s makes me most angry, how my mom just didn’t get a fair shake. She loved dad, don’t get me wrong, but he was thrifty to the point of being a killjoy and the only joy he had in life was paying bills and counting the money that was left. When he died, the household bills were slashed by over half, and her monthly income almost tripled, as she was going to get his benefits and pension.
Her sister screwed her out of inheritance 3 years ago, and we’ve been flighting for her end in probate that long. When dad died, it made that issue seem a little less stress worthy, and we started focusing on what all she could do with her new monthly income.
She wanted to go to Florida, and take my dog to see the ocean. She wanted to go to pigeon forge and gatlinburg while her sister who stole all the money is traveling around with her rich pro baseball pitcher-turned-coach-wife cousin, who’s also my moms cousin but wouldn’t have shit to do with her.
Instead, 24 days after my dad died, her leg stint that was installed last October failed, and she went to the emergency room on the advice of the Dr who did the surgery, and they admitted her, and they operated the next day.
Couldnt fix the stint or get the clot out with the robot, so they did it manually, but still couldn’t fix the stint. So they did a bypass from left right leg to left leg. Then they said that wasn’t doing what they’d hoped, so they were considering amputating her leg.
Then she started swelling and bleeding. They put tubes everywhere to pull fluid off of her stomach. She howled about her stomach hurting. They thought she was constipated. I informed them that happened last year when she had the stint and was hospitalized for it. Then she had a bowl movement that had blood in it. Then they went to operate to see what was making her stomach hurt and gave a bloody stool. Well her colon basically fell apart, they said, so now they were gonna remove it and leave her with a stoma. Then she laid there a few days, and her vitals went weak, and they took her back again to cut her open to see what’s going on, and he small intestine died as well.
The doctors and nurses all along told me she was better than she looked and all her numbers were going the right way. But her little body just couldn’t take all that punishment.
I watched my mom walk out to her car and get in, relatively healthy, but going to the er to get checked out, and was admitted and stayed exactly 21 days, no food, no water, and taking life saving drugs that apparently kill your guts by cutting off blood to them. Those 3 weeks had to be hell and I feel guilty. I feel guilty I didn’t take her earlier to see her dr.
And I’m mad. I’m mad that she didn’t get to have some bit of enjoyment in life after dad died, with some new disposable income. She got one SSI payment of his, and one pension payment while she was in the hospital, and my brother and I are living off that at the moment.
Life just ain’t fucking fair or just at all.

https://www.cbsnews.com/colorado/news/gazan-woman-from-viral-video-receives-prosthetic-leg-colorado/

So. I’ve been with my girlfriend for 7 years and I’ve been in therapy , where I’ve realized I am so unhappy in my relationship. My therapist has helped me see how narcissistic and emotionally abusive my girlfriend is, but, as I was preparing to break up with her, her dad got in a really bad motorcycle accident. They ended up having to amputate his leg . Although that is terrible and such a life changing incident, he is otherwise stable. He will be moving in with my girlfriend to continue recovering as it will be a long journey. But I’m stuck. Do I break up with her even though she’s going through this new caretaking role? Or do I continue to support her through this and wait until the timing feels better? I know if I leave I’ll look like a dick to her family and friends and I know she will take it hard. I have no idea how to handle this

This is gonna be long, so grab a snack and try to bear with me… I first read the trilogy as a teenager and obviously loved it and I remember a couple months after finishing my first read, the first HG movie came out and it was obviously huge, everyone was talking about it. But I remember seeing a trailer back then and subconsciously, I guess I kinda knew I‘d ruin the books for myself if I watched it and - guess what - twelve years later I recently read the books again and then finally watched all the films and I wasn’t wrong. Are the films terrible? No. But the books remain one of my favorite saga of all time and the movies all range from like 1/10 to 5/10 at best. Here are some of my main issues:
•Let‘s get this one out of the way because I know this has been discussed a lot over the years: Jennifer Lawrence is awful as Katniss. She doesn’t look like the character is described in the books one bit (Hair, skin and eye color, height, but especially her weight) and she can’t convey her character properly either. In the books, Katniss is a very withdrawn person, quite harsh and she‘s one to often self doubt. In the movies, she‘s just too outgoing, confident, too nice, light hearted and… Funny. It’s Jennifer‘s real personality shining through and it’s so out of place in this story. Also Peeta is too small in comparison, since in the books he‘s tall and very muscular.
•The Capitol doesn’t look and feel like a real city. It’s so obvious that most of it is computer generated and that’s not even the worst part tbh. It’s just… Empty… Whenever there’s a shot of the Capitol, you rarely ever see people (except for in the last few scenes before they bomb the place ofc), just these huge gray, monotonous skyscrapers and empty plazas. Which is also an inaccurate portrayal because in the books the Capitol‘s houses are described to be colorful, some are pastel pink, some blue… Much like the citizens themselves.
•The books are from Katniss‘ POV, so we obviously get to know a lot of her thoughts when in the movies, we rarely ever get insight on her motives. They unfortunately tried to balance this out by a lot of overacting, I cringed so hard whenever Katniss suddenly started screaming or something, because we don’t know what‘s going on inside of her head.
•All the combats, all the wounds and broken bones never visibly affect the characters. The books describe in detail which kinds of physical and psychological traumas the characters have to live with after the arena and then the war; Peeta‘s amputated leg, Katniss‘ deaf ear, tons and tons of wounds that should translate into visible scars but her and everyone else’s skin remains just as clear and smooth as ever. Just like Katniss’ silky long hair which should‘ve been burnt off at least twice, in the arena and then again during the war. The tributes and people from the seam look too clean and healthy in general.
•They don’t show the crippling depression Katniss struggles with, when Peeta is in the Capitol and especially for months at the end of MJ2: She literally didn’t talk to anyone or shower for months or leave her room where in the movies she‘s instantly back up hunting and cuddling up with Peeta. In the books, Katniss and Peeta also frequently mention nightmares and especially flashbacks. None of that in the movies.
•It‘s obvious from the start that Coin is evil and that she just wants to replace Snow and become the new leader. In the books, this is only hinted at until the end and also Coin herself is a much more reserved character; they certainly overdid it by having her play the "villain in disguise" who‘s always SO nice she has to be evil…
•Katniss is wearing too much makeup and I don’t mean when she’s on TV or filming propos, but when she‘s at home or in the arena... I noticed this especially in the first two movies, not so much in the last two.
•THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THE MOCKINGJAY ISNT EXPLAINED and they changed where Katniss got the pin
•One last thing I noticed is that when Katniss is in the arena for the first time, she’s supposed to be there for roughly two weeks when in the movie, it feels like what, 3-4 days?
Hunger Games 4/10 Catching Fire 5/10 Mockingjay 1 2/10 Mockingjay 2 1/10

Ok so I(16f) and my friend Ella(16f) are juniors in high school. She had both her legs amputated when she was 13, however it honestly doesn't affect her life negatively. She's never been super athletic(she played soccer and ran before her legs were amputated, but she got out of breath often and i dont think she enjoyed it very much) and now she doesnt have to exercise anymore, her family is rich enough to be able to afford a really cool motorized wheelchair, teachers are super accomodating to her, and she can write a really good college essay about it. however, when I told my friend this and joked that being an amputee was actually perfect for her character, she blew up at me and now all my friends are refusing to speak to me. AITA? it honestly doesnt really affect her and she has it a lot better than most people.

I know this post will sound like I’m an Arizona apologist, so I’m going to preface this by saying, yes, I like Arizona more than Callie, but she isn’t close to being my favorite character.
Okay, so in a lot of threads, I’ve seen people saying that Callie should blame Arizona for the car crash - usually this is in response to a conversation about Arizona placing blame on Callie for her amputation. But, in rewatching the episode, you can see 3 really important things that made the accident bad for Callie. 1- it looked liked they were going around a blind curve. 2- in the middle of that curve of a very narrow road, there is a work truck stopped without any signage that it’s there or any indication of a stop sign. 3- Callie didn’t have her seatbelt on. This may sound like victim blaming, but if Callie hadn’t reached back for her phone, she wouldn’t have been thrown out of the car. There’s a reason we have seatbelts.
Then, in terms of equating the two situations, I think people disregard the fact that you should abide by your significant other’s wishes regarding their health, and if you are worried about how doing something to save their life may affect your relationship with them (which Callie clearly was because she said that’s why she was fighting with Owen so hard to try a surgery to save her leg), you should talk with them to designate a new medical proxy. When Callie was in the hospital and they had to decide whether or not to deliver the baby, Arizona very clearly put what Callie would want over her own desires. Yes, she absolutely wanted to do everything she could to save Callie, but she knew that Callie would never forgive them if the baby died due to complications of being so premature. On the flip side, Arizona explicitly said that she didn’t want to lose her leg. Yes, Arizona was in a bad place mentally and was putting her life at risk, but Callie should have respected that decision. I know that sounds horrible to say, but even if Callie didn’t think of designating a different proxy, hospitals have protocols for taking a patient into surgery without consent if they are actively crashing, which Arizona was when the decision to amputate was made. We even know that Seattle Grace has a policy for this exact purpose because it is used in the serial killer storyline in season 5.
I honestly just think that Callie was a fan favorite before Arizona was an established character, so any slights by Arizona are massively ridiculed because it went against one of their favs.

I’m really struggling with sh today. I have been “clean” for lack of a better word since July last year. My ex husband left me last year after we lost our child and then had a miscarriage and blamed it on the miscarriage. I found out this week he had been having an affair on what would have been our anniversary. On top of that my mom unexpectedly had to have her leg amputated and I’ve been spending 20 hours on a hospital a day. As an only child, I don’t have a lot of help. I just feel like I have too much on my plate and I need to decompress. I don’t know what I’m looking for the this post other than to ramble I guess.

My grandpa and I are currently midway through listening to the audiobook version of The Waste Lands, and we were talking about this earlier. He said she was amputated at the knee, but I thought it was higher up, with almost no leg left at all. Where were her legs cut off.

It was dark, like the type of dark that you have to check your eyes by blinking. Only then you realize you can no longer tell whether your eyes are open or closed. The sky was calm and thin clouds streaked across the sky like a child had obtained a paint brush and some paint. Below this oddly peaceful sky was a home, more precisely it would be called a mansion. A dilapidated old home that hadn't seen use in many years. Strangely though it was guarded as if some old treasure may have existed inside.
The old decrepit home had a wall encircling it with a fancy ornate gate, depictions of bats and skulls made it feel more ominous though. Gargoyles watched the guards as they lazily stood in front of the gate, they had no sense of urgency.
"Hey mind if I just take a quick wink? Not like anyone's gonna come here there no point. There's nothing here but an old coffin and a corpse." One of the guards sighed as he leaned against the wall.
"Yeah, go ahead man. I'd rather not get in trouble with the captain though. He's scary." The second guard shivered as he thought of the new boss they'd recently been answering to.
"Ah, that kid? Come on he's not even like us he's just a Lithian brat. He was assigned his position to make us look good for 'that' person." His voice lowered as fear crept in while thinking about the man they wouldn't even speak the name of.
"Damn, we've gone and involved ourselves with scary people huh. Whatever imma. . . Just." With his sentence trailing of soon snores filled the air and a sigh from the sleeping man's companion. The mansion behind them watched eagerly at their relaxed attitudes, waiting hungrily for the intruders it expected. And it's hunger was satisfied as the sound of glass breaking cut through the night.
Quiet footsteps landed on a carpet, "how's it looking?"
"Cody. . . Shut the fuck up." Skarlet's face appeared in the light of her fire magic, a single finger raised with a flame on top.
"Hey sorry, but there's nobody here right besides who can stop us?"
"Cody, just come inside." Skarlet grabbed him by the hand and yanked him through the window. She then pushed it closed behind him. In the light of her fire he could see her tail flicking with annoyance.
"Sorry, it's just been a bit since it was just the two of us right. There was that fight with Ares but. . . You know never mind remember Christmas?" Cody smiled mischievously, though her response was a barely visible blush.
"You're a terrible cook." She frowned as she started walking down the hall.
"Ooh, my heart as a man has been injured. But hey you know that I was trying to recreate something from my homeland. Coco doesn't exist in this world though." His voice fell at the end of the sentence, a partial pout appeared in his expression for a moment before a flash of surprise as he skipped forward to catch up with her. It was as he was just about to reach her side when she turned.
"You're not too bad at consoling a crying girl though." A smirk accompanied that statement before she spun around once more and kept walking. Cody froze, a dumb look on his face, but he recovered quickly and chased after her. Skarlet was blushing deeply, she even put out her flame to hide it. Damnit, why'd I say that. This stupid guy. . . Ugh the goal. . . We came here for a reason.
"You're much more social than when we first met. Didn't you try to kill me to keep me from getting close to you. What changed, little misfortunate." Cody asked with a teasing tone.
"Nothing Dumbass, I just realized I couldn't push you away cause you were stronger than me. Better keep up, hero if I surpass you in strength I'll end our partnership." Skarlet's voice shook at the end of her statement. If it was back then, it would've been firm, but she couldn't shake the emotions she'd been feeling more recently. She had to admit that she enjoyed his company, he was a dependable friend. Damn, why are my cheeks so hot.
"Here I found it!" Skarlet spoke up, breaking the conversation off forcefully. She was pointing to a staircase, Cody stepped up to the edge and looked down.
"Problem, um there's no steps only a case." Cody pointed out as he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She was staring at him in exasperation.
"Was that supposed to be a joke?" She sighed as he avoided eye contact and stepped off the edge.
"Um, I guess." He said while rubbing the back of his head and smiling awkwardly. Skarlet landed beside him with a chuckle and punched him in the shoulder.
"Come on let's go, dummy." She led the way further down, occasionally they had to leap down entire cases that were missing steps. But soon they reached the basement. Four stories and five flights, it was a very big house. They walked in silence as they approached a room at the back of the basement. It was a tomb, definitely. There was stone double doors, at there center was a black widow on a spiderweb. The split between the doors cut the window in half.
Skarlet stepped forward and pushed open the door, a draft of air escaped desperately leading her hair and skirt to flutter curiously.
Thud
The doors made a pretty loud sound as they clicked into place. There was a stone coffin placed in the center, the room however was set up almost like a set in an old Gothic play. A large bed, the colors were red and black. A bookcase on one wall and a fireplace on the other. The biggest out of place thing though was a massive rotating magic circle. It seemed to be made of a red viscous liquid and was floating off the ground by a couple inches. It was surrounding the coffin as blood red chains erupted from the magic circle and wrapped the coffin.
"Um, hehe hey don't you think this looks like a bad Idea actually. Maybe we have the wrong house." Cody joked anxiously as he stepped into the room behind Skarlet who was approaching the coffin.
"No this, this is right I think. It is just very elaborate, we'll have to carry her out. Get ready they'll know we're here when I break the seal." Skarlet explained as she stepped into the magic circle. It coiled around her like she was walking through a shallow pond. "Sapphire told us that she'll be groggy and confused when she wakes up, we'll have to protect her as we get her out of here.
As she approached the coffin she pulled out a dagger and stabbed it into the center of it, where the red chains all clustered together. The dagger was a normal looking blade, but the guard was a golden carved black widow with a ruby in the abdomen.
Her ears laid flat as her tail lashed anxiously with the massive mana wave that erupted outwards. Lastly, as if the stone prison before her wanted to give off one more ounce of flair the lid shattered into particles of black and red and trickled down the sides to mix with the blood pooling in the carpet around the coffin. The magic circle had been made from actual blood.
Though Skarlet froze, she seemed to have seen something in the coffin that greatly confused or surprised her. Cody frowned as he approached, he peered over her shoulder and gasped, he understood. The coffin contained a skeleton, the inhabitant had been dead awhile.
"Wait, what the hell, that that no that can't be what?" Skarlet reached into the coffin and lifted the skeleton before dropping it, the clattering of bones was chilling.
"So. . . What do we do now? I don't think Sapphire has a plan B." Cody sighed as he turned to the room. He started to approach the bed when he noticed something. "Um hey Skarlet, we're looking for an Older sister correct. And specifically one that's been sealed for the last ten years right." Cody spoke as he noticed someone in the bed.
"What the. . . That's a kid." Skarlet frowned as she approached the bed and pulled the covers aside to reveal a young girl in a classic Gothic Lolita dress. She was hugging a very traditional teddy bear with obviously sewed on bat wings. But most importantly, she was sound asleep.
"We can't leave her here right? This place is about to become a battle ground. I'm pretty sure she's human right, when I was with Sapphire I could sense that she was a monster and not a human. But this girl just feels normal." Skarlet was pondering when sound rang out upstairs.
"Damn their coming." Skarlet began shaking the young girl lightly as she pulled her into a sitting position. The girl groggily opened her eyes and yawned then they widened as she saw them. "Hello dear, we need to go, can you come with us for a little. It's gonna get dangerous." Skarlet held out her hand and the girl took it with sparkling eyes. Skarlet smiled awkwardly as she realized the girl was staring at her ears. "I'll let you touch them if you come with us ok." Skarlet led her by the hand as Cody drew his sword and they stepped out into the basement. It was still empty but the sound of feet and voices upstairs led them to move quickly.
On the first floor Cody stepped out from the stairs and into the hall. A shout brought his attention to a group of guards that immediately ran at him.
"Damn, stay back you two." Cody grumbled as he brought his hand up and cast light spear, chanting under his breath as he brought his sword in front of him. A ball of light appeared and morphed into a spear as he chanted then it launched at his opponents. Two of the guards got speared almost instantly.
"Shit these guys are strong, one of the remaining guards spoke up as he suddenly skidded to a stop along with his companies. They tossed their swords to the ground, Cody grinned awkwardly as he realized what was happening. He began making strides towards them breaking into a run he impaled one of the group as the other two began to change.
Cody ripped his sword out of the guard and let his body fall, the sword he held glowed with a soft white light and that glow reflected off the blood making the scene feel more red than it should have normally as he turned around and leaped at his two new opponents. They were werewolves, he cast a light spell called illuminate and the two reacted by recoiling. Cody slid under the outstretched claws of the first one and leaped upwards slashing from the beast's stomach all the way to the neck and straight out the jugular. Then with a round house kick, he smashed his heel into the side of it's head and sent it careening into it's companion who yelped in surprise. Cody then blasted a hole through both of them with another light spear.
As he finished the sound of clapping echoed out. Cody felt a bit of embarrassment as the little girl behind Skarlet had started clapping. Cody sighed and led the way towards the front door, they cleared out a couple more groups but for the most part went unchallenged till he pushed open the front door to reveal that there was a large troop stationed in the yard.
"Damn, is that old man this afraid of Ruby?" Skarlet muttered as she gazed at the large mob in front of her. "alright, upsy daisy." Skarlet lifted the girl and had her sit in her arm while holding onto Skarlet's neck. Skarlet drew her sword and held it one handed.
"Intruders, we can't let you leave. Where's Ruby!" A man looking like the leader approached.
"Sorry man, I don't know." Skarlet replied as a smile slipped onto her face. Suddenly she was in front of him as she dashed, dragging her sword across his waist she split him in half leaped and kicked his torso back at his own troops. There was a look of surprise permanently etched on his face. "Come on Cody, let's take this fuckers out."
"Skarlet, your carrying a child think you could maybe be less gruesome?" Cody's plea went unheard as she delved into battle. He sighed once more feeling himself growing older he leaped forward as well.
Skarlet hacked and slashed a path through the guards, she twisted, jumped, and ducked to avoid attacks targeting the girl in her arms. Cody was right behind her slicing through his own opponents. At this point he had a look of annoyance and exasperation in his face as he watched the blood covered black cat girl have her fun. "When did she start to enjoy fighting so much?" He realized he hadn't noticed this emerging tendency of hers.
Suddenly Skarlet had the area around her cleared out as a figure approached. He held a sword that Cody recognized, a katana. He was dressed in a gladiator style outfit with a cape. There was no smile on his face though he didn't look like a showman. The guards had backed away and even seemed to tremble.
"Captain, it's the captain."
"Hey, why'd y'all stop I thought it was getting good. There's enough of you for me to. . . Oh you look fun." Skarlet smiled as she looked at the man in front of her. A Fox Lithian that reeked of the blood he'd split throughout his life.
"Cody, take her." Skarlet spoke seriously as she handed the girl to Cody.
Skarlet then stepped forward and gripped her sword tightly. In an instant they closed in on each other, a loud bang rang out as they crossed blades. "Ha, damn I thought I was no longer a human with the strength I wield. That no singular opponent could match me. But this is gonna be fun." Skarlet smiled as she let her emotions out, a built up rage and fear filled her blade as a series of clashes rang out. Though her smile began to slip as pain blossomed in her side. Something wet splatter in the dirt. "Shit." Skarlet leaned back as the boy's sword barely grazed her neck.
"You can't beat me you're not at that level yet, cat." The boy explained as he calmly dealt with her frantic and chaotic attacks. She spun around and brought a kick to the side of his head, a thud exploded out as she came into contact with his forearm that had blocked. He then grabbed her leg and flipped her, she hit the dirt with a thud and immediately kicked the ground so she rolled away as a blade stabbed into the ground where her head used to be. Her fear had melted into her blade she felt nothing but exhilaration even as blood soaked into her shirt and dripped down her leg.
She leaped to her feet and pointed her sword at him, a serious expression on her face as she leaped at him with a large overhead strike. Mana erupted throughout her sword as a black fire erupted along her blade encasing it in a threatening appearance and aura.
She brought her sword down and the boy swung his sword almost like one would swing a rapier in a contest of beauty. Elegant and swift movements, he made it seem like it was weightless as he partied her sword to the side and twirled his blade around before piercing her chest.
"Skarlet!!" Cody exclaimed as he watched the blade rip out her back, blood dripping off its tip. The boy, smiled as he looked into her eyes.
"Skarlet, it matches your fiery eyes. My name is Gordon and I'm the one who killed you." He seemed truly happy. He even began to laugh but that froze on his face as he watched her mouth from a smile. It parted slightly and blood poured down her chin. A sharp pain stabbed his side as her sword sliced into him, a scowl lit his face as the blade carved through him with ease and ripped through his throat. Then with a bloody, choking laugh she kicked him away and let the blade slide back out of her chest.
Gordon hit the ground, her blade had carved a jagged path from his side, to his neck. Affectively amputating his arm, he was bleeding a lot, far more than her as she cast a healing spell. Her face scrunched in pain as her body began rearranging and reassembling the wound.
She then turned and wiped the blood from her lips as she placed her sword on her shoulder and grinned at Cody. "Damn that bastard was good." Cody sighed.
"Hahaha, victory must feel nice." Gordon laughed as he sat up. Blood was starting to slither and move around him. His body was pulling itself back together as he got to his feet. His sword was bleeding, no more accurately, it was eating her blood and healing him it seemed. "Girl, that was damn insane. You're literally crazy, who deliberately takes an attack that could kill them just to create an opening. Haha, not that I'm going to fall for it again. Come on try and kill me imma get serious now. This is gonna scar you know." He held his sword in a different stance as the blood coalesced on the blade and formed a larger scary blade made of blood. His sword looked more like a scimitar now or possibly a sword with an ax on the end of it. Then he dashed at her, Skarlet felt dread, but still fear escaped her. She looked down the jaws of death and smiled.
"Come on, let's go!"