Did you know that about 75,000 people go missing per year in Canada? I might’ve found another one to add to that tally, as someone by the name of Trinity Arthurs, a 20-year-old woman, disappeared seemingly without a trace on June 14th of last year, along with 19-year-old Marvin Arthurs, her brother. The question in everyone’s minds is why I’m telling you this.
It all started with a hike in the woods, on a trail, in Prince Albert National Park. I was enjoying the green, taking a deep breath from the fresh air of nature when I spotted something shining. When I looked at it, it became clearer that it was a Ziploc bag. I initially thought it was someone else tossing garbage on the forest floor, but when I picked it up, I realized something was in there. I looked closer at the bag and noticed there was a USB. I packed it into my bag and finished my hike. When I went home, I took the USB out of the Ziploc. I was very hesitant to plug it into my laptop, as I had only recently discovered it in some forest.
I plugged it in and took a deep breath, knowing of the risk of it. It didn’t affect the laptop in any way, but it did reveal only one file which says TRINITY E. ARTHUR’S ENTRIES. I clicked on it and it seems to be a bunch of Word documents, each noted as ENTRY. I couldn’t find anything else other than those files.
I decided to look up, only to find a single news article back then relating to Trinity’s case. I tried to send it to the police, but they thought of it as some sick fanfiction I wrote, so I am going to post it here, leaving it as is. To clarify, I did not write this. I hope this gains the attention of her case as it deserves.
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Entry 1 - Sepember 24th, 2023
Hello there, my name is Tris and this might be the very first time I have typed something personal on this laptop, like ever, maybe since elementary school, where we would write how we would feel for the day. Not really the type to socialize and not the type to write a journal, let alone digital, either, because what’s the point of it? I guess I’m just spilling out my thoughts, especially after what I’ve seen, so might as well put this to good use.
For context, this is about my father, Micheal Arthurs. I remembered him, at least before all of this, to be this big, strong guy who just simply had a nice hobby. In that case, that hobby is all about caves. He would spend some of his work money on these trips with one of his work buddies to explore cave systems. The reason? Maybe because he was fascinated with them, god knows when, maybe since he was a child. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t care about me and my two younger brothers, Marvin and James, as well as our mother, Martha.
He cared for us like any dad would, he would take us camping, tell us about his adventures in the caves, and spoil us with gifts we didn’t need but appreciated anyway. From time to time, he would give us shit if one of us tried to burn the house down by putting paper in a toaster, thinking we would automatically make some kind of magical spell, which actually happened. Hell, my middle name Edward came from him, strange for a girl like me. He used to tell me that he accidentally thought I was a boy when I was born, so that stuck. His trips also, I guess, strained his relationship with Mom, who always complained about him going somewhere for a week, worried sick for him and leaving her to care for us.
That was, until a few years ago, on the morning of May 8th, 2018 - about less than five years ago, when I was fifteen. He said that he’d be back in a week because he was going to explore a cave somewhere in Ontario. The last time I remembered him was when he and Mom made pancakes, bacon, and hashbrowns, of which the pancakes were made for me, even though I could’ve had toast instead. We joked around the table and asked what he’d be doing at the cave. Of course, he would tell his usual, like going into new passages and finding any cave paintings, if any, in the caves themselves. I could imagine the cave paintings he might discover depicting mammoths and saber-tooth cats back then, with people hunting them. After that, we cleaned up and Dad was ready to go. He each gave us a big, warm hug and shared a quick but gentle kiss with Mom. He waved us goodbye before stepping into his big grey Ford truck, all packed up, and drove through the streets of Saskatoon.
We waited. Hours turned to days, and we knew when he’d return. Those days then turned to weeks and we began to think there was something wrong. Mom was first to notice, so she called the RCMP to file a missing persons report. What we didn’t know was it became a whole mystery in itself. At first, they contacted his coworker, who usually caves with him, only to find he was equally as confused as us. That coworker was asked by my Dad if he wanted to go caving with him, only for him to abandon that plan due to a medical emergency relating to his wife. They then put up alerts for him so that anyone would come forward for his whereabouts. Some said they saw him at a local Costco store, others said he was going north, baffling us in the process as he would not go north for Ontario. At that point, there were no leads for a while.
At that time, we were waiting for him to go home. I did some investigating myself, along with my oldest brother Marvin, to find out where our Dad at. We thought this might be some alternate route he took, or that he might be going to Prince Albert to meet family. James, our youngest, seems to care less about the fact Dad is missing and more about talking to his friends. Looking back at it now, I guess this was his method of coping with the situation. Mom was not doing well. She would constantly ask the police to simply find him, but understandably they just couldn't without any new evidence.
That was until a surveillance camera at some gas station store in Blaire Lake spotted Dad. At first, he got out of the truck and put the nozzle in to fuel up. Once his truck was fueled up, he went inside the near-empty store, saved for a few guys, grabbed a few beef jerky and Gatoraids, and went to the cashier to pay for them. After that, he went through the door and back to his truck, driving off. That blew our minds and the crazier thing was that his truck was found, abandoned at a campsite in Martins Lake. The truck was later towed for investigation and found no evidence that he was killed or kidnapped at the truck, meaning he went somewhere. A few more people said they saw him carrying his bags and went into the woods to the west, assuming he was going on a hike. Hearing that news, they searched the woods, looking for any signs he was there without any sort of luck. The search was called off and the trail ran cold.
During that time, I was exhausted and realised I felt like nothing without him. I was in a spiral, always mad at everyone and expecting everyone to find my Dad, but at the same time, I was also beginning to be one of those people. The same people I expect to find my Dad. I then felt defeated and helpless, without purpose, begging whatever god was up there to bring my Dad back, hoping he was not hurt, at least alive. I hoped he found his way out of the woods. I hoped he survived an animal attack. It was only as days went by that I realised this was taking over me, wasting my life and mentality, and that was when I decided he wasn’t coming back. I decided that he might be dead, somewhere in those woods. I hoped that someone would find his remains one day. I guess I did move on, without knowing what happened to him.
Marv, on the other hand, never really accepted. He continued to find him, even to this day. He would do other things, of course, but would argue with someone once our Dad’s name was heard, saying he might still be alive. He did get into a few fights because of this. He now accepts he is dead, but holds onto the belief we should still look for him, to relieve us. Mom was doing worse than the rest of us. She would blame herself for not being with him and usually buys drinks to forget about it. Eventually, she would put a lot of pressure on me and criticize everything I did, putting a lot of stress on me. It got to the point where we would go into screaming matches about the simplest of things, drawing me down to regret ever getting mad at her in the first place. It was so bad that my aunt had to take me out of there for my safety. That was nearly three years ago and I didn’t even hear a word from her. One side of me hoped that she would get arrested for drunk driving, and the other hoped she’d get help.
James seemed to be the one least affected by this, surrounded by friends we didn’t have. The last time I heard of my little brother after his high school graduation, he was beginning to do some cave stuff, like our father. Matter of fact, he began his own small club of cavers a few years before he left. I never really knew what went on in his mind, but I guess he felt just as fucked-up as the rest of us, just that he had enough distractions to easily get away from those thoughts.
As for me, I eventually moved into an apartment with Marv and got a job as a security guard at some mall, at the suggestion of my aunt’s friend, a few years ago. Working there has improved me, even though I worked nights. It has given me some purpose and gets my mind off of the things that happen during the day.
You might ask me, mind to mind, why I’m giving myself some sob story to talk about. This morning, I was riding my electrical tricycle from work to my apartment in the frigid air. I went in there and saw an odd package that was under Marv’s name, although without an address. The box seems to be a cereal box, sealed with package tape. The name that it’s sent to seems to be written in Sharpie in printed form. I thought it was odd that somehow this package made its way inside and at our mailing station. Thinking that it might be someone attempting to play an odd prank on my brother, I initially thought about leaving it alone. Curiosity got the cat, however, so I picked up the box and lightly shook it. I felt and heard what seemed to be something inside of it, like one big thing and a few smaller ones.
I then took it to my apartment, where I opened the door and entered, closed the door, removed my boots on the mat, and set the box on the somewhat clean kitchen counter. Looking at it, I was initially hesitant about opening it because it was under his name. I left it alone, he was home most of the time, on his computer doing a few things. Going into my room, I took off my uniform and changed my pants to a pair of boxers, turned on the TV to sit and relax on my bed. Looking through the streaming service, I tried to look for anything relating to volcanoes, one of those topics I was very interested in at the time, but the content was lacking. I went for a documentary and sat back, watching.
A few minutes in and I can hear knocking on the door. I was annoyed initially, knowing it was my brother. I opened and I could see confusion yet a look of needing to know on his messy, bearded face as he stood at eye level, staring at each other.
Marv: What’s the cereal box in the kitchen?
Me: The cereal box?
Marv: Yes, the cereal box.
Me: I just found it in the mailroom when I came in. No address, nothing other than your name, so I brought it up.
Marv: Do you know what’s inside?
Me: Your guess is as good as mine.
We looked at each other with an equally confused expression, sharing the same thoughts. The only difference is that I looked in the area beside him, empty of thought except for that little mind that reads why would someone send us this package? He was wide-eyed albeit stone-faced and standing still.
Marv: Well, I will be looking inside anyways.
We then went into the kitchen where he grabbed a knife and put it in the box.
Me: Hey, should we use the scissors?
Marv: Why? This is good enough. Not like I’m going to cut myself with it.
He then slowly cut the seams of which the packaging tape sealed, eventually cutting the tape. He then opened it to reveal a USB, an SD card, and a video recorder.
Me: That’s odd.
Marv: I don’t know who sent it, but I hope it is someone who got the wrong address, to the wrong person with my name.
Me: Should we look what's inside them?
Marv: Well, let’s find out.
We then went to his messy clothes-ridden room and he went to his PC to turn it on. There, I began to get concerned about the mysterious USB.
Me: I think we shouldn’t plug it in.
Marv: Why?
Me: Viruses, bugs, the whole deal? We don’t know wha-
Marv: Don’t worry, this PC has antivirus on here. Besides, if it did shut down, we could at least wipe out the memory.
We plugged in the USB, anticipating some sort of pop-up from an unknown digital virus. Instead, nothing happened, maybe other than the notification that a device was plugged in. Marv then sat down to look into the files and see what he could find on the PC, but it felt wrong like we were snooping around. In those files, we could see a folder that says CAVE GIANTS. He clicked on it and there was just a collection of pictures, of cave paintings. The setting all of them seemed to take place in was dark and wet, only the walls of which the cave paintings are on. The paintings themselves, which are in black, depict what seems to be somewhat stick-figure men, some holding arrows and spears, others just standing. Some of those men hunted the animals on the walls, like bison, deer, and mammoths in a group-like manner. The predators seem to be treated with a little more respect, like cougars, wolves, and bears. That was the first few pictures until we met with the first odd thing about those paintings.
The picture in question has every human on the wall holding spears and arrows. No animals were visible. In the next few pictures, we see men without spears or arrows, which said men were upscaled, massive. Long, black legs and arms attach to small bodies and small heads, of which all have un-painted orbs, depicting their eyes, which harrowed us as they stared at us through the screen. It seems some of those tall men have extra or lack of arms and legs. The saying can be said for the eyes, but most are in that somewhat humanoid body plan. The smaller men with the arrows and spears look to be battling the tall men, with some tall men holding the smaller men. In a few more pictures, below the battle scene, were red handprints, unlike those of the black they used. There are no more pictures from here, but we were stunned at whatever we stumbled upon.
Marv: What the fuck. What was that?
Me: I don’t know, maybe an archeologist's USB?
Marv then looked at the screen and saw a second file that said GIANT DOCUMENTARY.
Marv: Giant documentary? A documentary on, okay, what? Giants?
Me: That’s what seems to be like.
We clicked on the folder to see the one mp4 file with the same name. We clicked on it and it started its intro with one of those songs you’d play on a nature educational video. It was black, until it slowly faded into a scene of a forest, with the video panning across gradually and with nature sounds. There, a man with a gruff voice began to narrate.
Narrator: Ever wondered what happened here? You would assume that in a far distant time, this was a different place.
It then transitioned to a scene of a tundra, along with a slideshow of all the animals that existed during the Ice Age. It seems the documentary was made by someone using the Moviemaker application.
Narrator: A cold tundra during the Last Ice Age, of which large mammoths ruled the plains, thick-furred camels gathered in herds, and American lions roamed in their respective pride, along with the large grizzlies, the roaming caribou, and the wolves that hunt in their packs.
I then showed pictures of a tundra landscape, along with a few of the creatures mentioned.
Narrator: That was the scene until man, or Homo Sapiens came along at the end of the Ice Age, ten thousand years ago. The large glaciers that used to cover a third of North America began to melt, causing a whole dramatic series of climatic events. Man took that opportunity to hunt down the prehistoric life that existed. Eventually, those mammoths and camels became extinct, along with the American lion, who relied on them for food, along with a whole plethora of prehistoric beasts that once roamed North America. Eventually, all the ice melted and mankind settled, creating what we know as Native Americans, the Cree, Aztecs, Iroquois, and many more, telling and passing on stories as history marches on.
It then showed a slide show of historical pictures of the tribes themselves, along with depictions of a few of them taking down mammoths and going face to face with sabre tooth cats.
Narrator: I may sound reasonable, based on the evidence found by archeologists and paleontologists alike. Besides, it is only plausible that man is the only species that could drive these wonderful species to extinction. What if I told you all, watching this, that another species used to exist in North America alongside Homo sapiens?
A picture, presumably from the 1800’s or something, showed up, and later a slide show of a few news articles about them. I then began to recognize the voice, a voice all too familiar… my father’s voice. At this time, we were shocked, as this was not what I remembered him and probably not even Marv. We were more shocked at how he took this secret with him and had this under our noses. Despite that, we kept on watching.
Dad: Giants, creatures supposedly of myth and legend, larger yet primitive versions of man, have walked the Earth for many years. Most of that so-called evidence comes in the form of huge, perhaps human-like, bones discovered by farmers and amateur archeologists alike all across neighbouring America. They would claim they built the massive mounds, like the famous Serpent Mound, all across the Midwest.
The slideshow of various examples of these mounds, frame by frame, went by until it stopped at a map of the Midwest, showing where they were.
Dad: Of course, most of these skeletons would either be misidentifications of ancient animals or hoaxes. As for the mysterious mounds, they are now discovered to be built by the good ol’ Hopewell societies, the Mound Builders, who made them as burials and ritual sites. Since then, there has been no new ground evidence of their existence except for the mythologies and legends captivating our cultures. At least, until now.
It then changed to a video recording of Dad, who is sitting in a chair and began explaining it like an explorer that has seen it all.
Dad: One day, while I and John were looking for a cave at Wells Grey Park somewhere in British Columbia, sometime during July of 1994, I saw this tunnel in the snow, somewhere on a high hill at the foot of a glacier. We grabbed our gear, went up to the cave, and we just went in. It took us a few minutes underneath all of that snow before we saw this stream enter this system, melting the snow. We climbed our way down there and reached the floor. We thought we were the first humans to ever set foot in this cave.
Now, as far as I know, to the naked eye, the cave itself is pretty much invisible, especially during winter. Even if anyone did find it, it would require them hours to climb loose rock and steep valley walls. What we found in this cave is quite unusual.
The frame then shows the cave paintings - the very same cave paintings we saw in those other pictures.
Dad: We found these cave paintings on the walls. They are painted in some kind of charcoal paint mix, likely used in the creation of them. At first, the scene depicts the hunter-gatherer lifestyle of the earliest settlers themselves, hunting the woolly mammoths, bison and caribou at the time, along with the bears, cougars, and wolves that are treated with respect. Going further down the cave, we began to see fewer animals and more people with spears and bows. That is when we found the tall figures, likely exaggerated by the artists to depict their size and how they saw it. How they depicted them is very long limbs attached to a smaller body and their eyes they didn’t paint over, a hollow gaze. I felt a harrowing feeling, seeing them and gazing into their eyes. There aren’t just a few, instead, there are many of them, some have extra limbs and eyes and a few even pick up the men depicted in the paintings.
By that time, the battery went dead but we marched on deeper into the cave. We found artifacts, like pottery and arrowheads. We then stumbled upon the remains of a campsite beside the bank of the stream. As I was taking it all in, my friend pointed at something with his flashlight. The scene I saw hit me like a ton of bricks, still haunting me to this day.
There were a few human remains, so decayed that only the bone remained. I seemed to be a family of four, still wearing their fur clothes. They seem to be trying to escape a threat, and ended up here to paint this mural, only to die the hard way. I could only imagine what they went through and looking back as a family man, that fate would be worse than death, waiting for the threat to be over, which never came.
I can see him tear up, in the video, crying. Amongst the muffled cries, he said this:
Dad: I wouldn’t wish that on my family. Not even my worst enemy.
He then continued that way for a few minutes, while my initial shock slowly turned to that of sympathy for him, as this was his first time finding something like this.
Dad: Sorry, I guess I should move on.
He waited a few moments to regain composure, wiping his tears away before speaking again.
Dad: Well, after that, we climbed out of the cave. We did not tell anyone of the exact location, because we wanted to respect the people who died up there a very long time ago. My point is, that there was something that scared this family so much they made the effort to climb to the cave and paint out what is their story. There are just too many coincidences for me to think that they just went in here for the sake of it and too many of those tall beings.
That is when I believed that, long ago, something roamed these lands with us. Not some upsized human who are like us, but a horror so savage it horrified the first settlers and forced them into hiding. Now, I asked myself where they went, besides they would’ve still walked amongst us. I was looking through the libraries and saw nothing. That is when until one day, when I stopped at a gas station somewhere in Rosetown. A Cree elder was taking a smoke and told me he had a story to tell me, out of the blue. It was a weird gesture, as he had no reason to talk to me anyway. Besides, why would a Cree elder tell a white man a story?
We sat on a bench and he told me this story his tribe passed around for a very long time. He told me that, in the beginning, his ancestors feared this monster known as the Witiko. Now, today it is known as the wendigo, a solitary monster that corrupts the human soul and forces them to partake in some horrific act, usually cannibalism of their family members. Once they do that, they turn into basically thin, pale corpses with antlers on their heads and have supernatural abilities. This version also has a knack for being always hungry, constantly looking for something to eat, a metaphor for greed in most of the tribes surrounding the area.
These wendigo, or Witiko, are different. They are not the corpse zombie monster thing that was once human, but rather giant, twisted beings that came from the underworld and invaded the overworld. They ate anything for the sake of greed and malice while tormenting life on the overworld for their pleasure. It got so bad some even took it upon themselves to take their own lives. One day, their good-old Creator decided to send out his best warrior, Wisakedjak. Wisakedjak saw what the Witiko were doing and devised a plan. He banded up all the tribes and went to war with them while luring them in the process. Most, if not all, of the Witiko, were where Wisakedjak wanted them to be. The Creator then split the earth, sending them back to the underworld to which they belonged. To ensure they won’t escape again, the Creator eventually sealed the entrance of which the Witiko fell in.
I was shocked at the story, and even asking where the entrance was, only he would tell me this is a secret and that he didn’t want anyone to look for it, in fear they might be released again. After meeting him, I tried to look for genuine proof of these giants, but all I have is a few photos and a story. That is when I thought about who would cover it up, steal the bones and hide them. I guess some of those crazy conspiracy theorists might be right about the Smithsonian Museum covering them up. So I might have to cover my tracks and finish what I started. This is the show, bye.
We sat in shock, looking at each other and realising our Dad might be a nut job.
Marv: Giants? Really? This whole time?
Me: Seems like it.
That is all I could mutter out, confused at what I saw.
Me: They might be connected to his disappearance…
Marv: Okay, how is this related to his disappearance? We still don’t know where he is. Besides, he seems to be a crazy person anyway, like, he listened to one story from a random man and instantly believed him?
Marv’s inner rage became noticeable and understandable, knowing that he saw Dad as a person who cared for him through the hardest of times and now he felt like he was betrayed, like Dad went missing all over again. He eventually went to a wall and slumped against it, eventually sitting on the ground, legs carelessly splayed out and head looking down.
I felt the same way, but I was contained. I felt really sorry for him, though. I took that moment to sit beside him and hug him.
Me: It’s going to be okay. It’s going to be okay.
He then started to cry, giving me some urge to shed my tears. I began to think about my father. He left us, lying that he was going to Ontario and disappeared, only to find out he was secretly some conspiracy theorist who was chasing what seemed to be thin air. At the same time, he was a caring father, who cared about us, taught us and tried to be with us at the biggest moments of our lives. I then stared at the video recorder at the counter.
Me: Hey, should we take a look in the recorder? See what we could find?
He then looked up at me, looking at me in seriousness.
Marv: I guess, we are in this rabbit hole now.
He then took the dead recorder, took the memory card out and plugged it into his adaptor, plugged into the PC. The files showed up and there were multiple recordings. I was staring at the dates, only to realise that the final of these recordings was on May 8th, 2018. Marv then clicked on the recording.
At first, we were in a vibrant, evergreen forest, casting shadows upon the pine needle floor under an afternoon sun. The sounds of birds chirping dominated the soundscape until we heard a nudge, assuming the camera moved. We then saw Dad walk in front of the camera and stand there, he seemed to be nervous.
Dad: Hey all, I am at the cave, where I was when I was twelve. Took a bit of time to find it, but here we are, at the Childhood Cave. Now, John couldn’t come because his wife is having their child, which I understand. So, that is why I am here alone. Not a worry, I’ve been caving for most of my life, so this is nothing new.
He then came to pick up the recorder to show around the site. I can see the rope wrapped around a tree that descends into this hole. I can describe it as being similar to a well, except flat, stoney protrusions stick out of the walls like platforms, with the center being pure black.
Dad: Well, this is the first time entering the system. I hope to find anything down there.
He then buckled up his gear, making sure the rope was tight and the gear was in working order. He then walked over to the hole, recorder in hand, only to kneel to put the camera on the first platform.
Dad: Well, here we go.
He then began climbing down, feet first, holding onto whatever rock he could grasp, grunting as he went. As soon as he was at chest height on the first platform, he reached towards the camera. He suddenly disappeared into the hole, faster than the blink of an eye. One moment, he was there, then another moment he wasn’t. At that point, I was shaking and felt weak, but my brother sat still, like a stone, waiting for something else to happen. All that I heard afterwards was silent, very long and antagonizing silence until the camera ran out of battery, turning the screen black.

I don't really know why I'm writing this ... I think it's because I've tried to explain it to my uncle but all he said is that I should get my addiction under control and stop forgetting to take my meds. I think my aunt’s absence is weighing on him more than he’d ever admit.
I can't blame him. About not believing me I mean. You see... I have a history. I've lost it in the past , twice actually. I'm not here to talk about it , but I think it's important to lay this down first. So you can understand.

I've been told something's wrong with my brain, maybe I was born this way, maybe I've been through too much. That my mother was an addict, she'd cut ties with her family for 10 years when she had me. That where she had been and who my father was, is was very unclear. She was part of a community in the forgotten part of the nearest big city when she died. I was there when it happened.
My uncle Sean and Aunt Maggie became my guardians just before my 5th birthday and I'm still with him 20 years later. Maggie left the ranch a few weeks ago after an amicable divorce, I never understood why they were together anyway she was always working somewhere, traveling a lot. I was closer to him and his sturdy way of life.

When I first arrived at the ranch, I was in a bad shape. I got better thanks to him but when I reached thirteen, all the memories from my early childhood suddenly came back. I started having flashbacks. My memories came back, but they came back wrong.

I had been told that my mother had died of an overdose. Yet in my dreams, I saw her , again and again , in a pool of blood. An then... Then it came. The... Thing. I won't describe it. It kind of triggers something in me that I really don't need right now.

I've been told that what happened next was so traumatic that my brain made up a monster, a fiction , to make sense of what I was seeing and not processing.
This ... Thing started obsessing me and during my early teenage years I focused all my energy on finding what it was and proving it happened. That a monster did kill and mutilated my mother. My nightmares were so bad that I stopped sleeping. I drank so much energy drinks that I ended up in the hospital twice with severe dehydration.

Thankfully, I got better. I started working more and more with my uncle's horses. I think it's why he employed me, he saw how manual work and caring for the animals helped. I even got my first girlfriend around my 17th year. I was prom king. Who would have thought?
But then... She had a cheerleading accident. In front of me. And I lost it again. I won't go into details but she broke her neck during half-time and once again... The way she fell, folded and screamed. I couldn't process. It was IT. It'd shapeshifted to get to her. I'm ashamed of it but I became violent. Looking for it franticly. Screaming non sense and talking made up words. I had to be sedated. She made it alive, but she never wanted to see me again. I was accused by pretty much everyone to make the accident all about myself. And they were kind of right....

Now you know how I came to be the " crazy" guy. I have a bit of a drinking problem too to be honest... You see I never went back to high school. I started working full time at the ranch when I came by, and sometimes, it gets lonely. It's not rare to find me passed out in the hay in the early morning in the summer. And what can I tell you... I know I shouldn't. I know it's "bad" . But I love those nights. I put music , cuddle with my dog and just look at the cold bright stars, drinking beer until they start spinning.

It's because of this bad habit that I realized something was wrong with the horses. You see, contrary to the movies, horses are pretty silent. They don't neigh unless you separate them from their best mate or bring food. And that night... The night it all started. They wouldn't stop. I could hear them galloping and snorting. I wondered if there was a stray dog but they were used to dogs. I was a bit worried. Horses get stupid when they are afraid and we had a big show coming, it wasn't the time so sprain a leg. What really troubled me was my dog. He seemed ... Weird.
Max was a pit mix my uncle had rescued when I was 15. He only woke when I got up and walked a bit to look at the paddocks. That's when I realised the moon behind me. It was huge, and red. I wondered if I had ever seen it so close and so red before. I looked at Max The white of his eyes showed and he started whining. I had never heard him make this noise. Ever.

I looked at my phone. It was quarter to three. I took a pitchfork to be safe and walked toward the clubhouse. We kept a shotgun there in a locker. The horses kept going crazy and max's tail was stiff. I was walking fast but carefully in the darkness when the music reached me. A chant. A low chant. I kind of felt it too... Like a ... vibration.
It was coming from the yearlings field near the forest patch, on the opposite direction of the clubhouse. My horse was in this field. I backtracked immediately and rushed toward the sound as I dialled my uncle. Off course he didn't answer. He didn't live on the property anymore but a few miles away. I left a message, whispering. " I'm at the stable, something weird ‘s happening. I think they're people messing with horses I'm going to see. I think you should come , I don't know...Call me back.".
The weird chant buzzed in the background, louder, as if more people had joined. I saw the glow of the fire before I passed the last building. It rose , under the bloody moonlight. Dark figures circled around it. Slowly. The horses seemed to have retreated at the other end of the pasture and I was relieved. Until I saw it. The figure at the centre of this dark carousel. " What the f are those creeps doing" escaped my lips.

A blazing fury filled me , like a white iron like a white hot blade blinding me . "HEYYYY" I screamed at the top of lungs. " WHAT ARE YOU DOING !? ". The figures stopped and turn toward me. I was running now , my knuckles going white around the pitchfork's stick. Max was growling. A deep growl. His hair high upon his backbone. The figure, still pretty far did not move. I could see their heavy hooded cloaks. " what kind of sick pricks are those " I muttered. " HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY" I screamed again, louder than I ever thought I could scream. And then I saw him. Gun.

Gun was my uncle's favourite horse. His old stallion's spitting image. The young horse was lying in front of the fire behind the intruders.

"WHAT DID YOU DO! I'M CALLING THE COPS!!!!". I stopped and was dialling when a figure detached itself from the group and advanced. It seemed to ... float? It moved toward Max and I... so silently.

The burning rage in veins turned cold , and heavy. I opened my mouth but nothing crossed my lips. Suddenly, Max jumped. He growled in a way I hope to never hear any dog do again. A desperate, furious growl. A life or death sound. A war cry... His warm blood spattered on my face. He... Honestly I don't know what happened at that moment. Something lied bloody on the ground but I couldn't even have told that it used to be a dog, even less Max. Acid tears filled my eyes as I realized my mouth was still open. I was tasting him.
I wanted to scream, to run, to just get swallowed by the earth and yet I did nothing at all but stare at the floating silhouette. It was so tall. " Come, my child". " We were waiting for you, we knew you'd come, Your father told us you'd be here when we'd call".
I heard those words, but I wouldn't be able to tell you anything about the thing who spoke them. I say thing because it didn't have a voice. It... Buzzed. Like... a cello.
Suddenly... I floated too. Panick seized me. Like a trapped raccoon in my
chest it dug its claws, scratching furiously my closed throat.
" Your father said you were ready. We will prepare you." I was now in front of the crackling blaze. the other figures circling me. Smiling Men and woman welcomed me. On their faces they all wore a similar mark. a cross covering their eyes horizontally, and their nose and mouth vertically. Their hands... Their hands were still dripping with gun's inside. Gun... Was ... opened.
" A necessary sacrifice" whispered a woman, still smiling. " I know you liked him very much... I'm sorry..." " I could have taken yours, but I knew you wouldn't have forgiven me'. Her voice. .." Aunt Maggie?' I croaked. Her eyes shone with a mad light. " Gosh do you look like your mother tonight... She'd be so proud. Her baby boy..." .
The tall figure made a gesture and I spined and found myself looking at the sky. I thought I'd fallen but... I wasn't touching the ground...
My aunt continued speaking." She was just like you the first time ... So... naive, so afraid.. She was only 16! That was our mistake you see, she wasn't ready for her destiny yet when she joined us... That's why we waited for you."
The chant , the low buzzing chant rose once again. The people around me started walking in a circle around me. I was just above Gun's body.

One, by one, they buried they hands in the belly of the horse and traced the cross on my face. I sealed my lips as tight as I could as the warm blood covered my face. Through the blood and tears I recognize faces. A nurse from the hospital. A teacher. The coffeeshop barista. My psychiatrist... I closed my eyes.

It was a nightmare. It couldn't be anything but a nightmare.

Yet the smell of the horse's inside and the crackling fire still reached me as they started ripping my clothes off.
" This is not real" I whispered. " This is not real, this is not real THIS IS NOT real" I screamed weakly.
'Oh , My dear I'm so sorry ' whispered my aunt. I should have told you earlier... But Dr Carter said it was better to let you grow up a bit first. He said it help you keep the secrets if you were afraid of them. I'm sure you don't feel this way, but it was an honour to watch your mother ascend the way she did. Her agony was the most beautiful thing she could have hoped for. You were supposed to ascend with her but she ruined it". " Slut" groaned a middle aged woman before spitting on the floor.
" She was my best friend you know... I thought I knew her. I thought I could trust her. But she lied to me."
"You see, we know you are his son. But... She wasn't a virgin when she was honoured."
She smiled. " It doesn't matter how cruelly she tricked us. You can help us find the perfect girl."

One by one, each member traced a bloody cross on my skin.

" You're so handsome... He'll be so glad. The perfect boy. The perfect vessel."whispered aunt Maggie.

"It's almost time, Prepare" hissed the tall figure.

" You're going to give him his heir, the one ruler among the realms. You see he can't travel here whenever but you're an anchor my love. Each generation he choses an anchor until he finds one who'll give him THE son, the one who'll die for his freedom. Our freedom." Maggie continued, lower.

"QUIET SLAVE AND KNEEL" shrieked the tall figure.

She kneeled right near me, and breathed " You're...". I heard a slash. Aunt Maggie’s face slid horizontally. Her eyes followed me as the upper part of the face slid slowly toward the ground.

" HAIL THE PRINCE".

A chant, colder and louder than never before rose with the crackling flames toward the moon.

" Iä! Shub-Niggurath! The Black Goat of the Woods with a Thousand Young! » chanted the disciples."

Frozen, I watched the blazing sky above and saw a door. A perfect wooden door , in the sky. It slowly cracked open as the crowd turn to hysterics and the chant turned to mad screams.

"MY SOOOOOOOON" The whole earth seemed to split open under the weight of the sound coming from the perfect rectangle of empty darkness in the sky.

And then... I saw... I saw what I had tried to forget for twenty-years. I saw those split red eyes and their evil glare. I saw the iron hooves at the end of too many legs. I saw the tentacles who flayed my mother with their thousand beaks. Everything all at once, I saw it shift, from an odious form to a more loathsome one. I burned in a way I'll never be able to describe. The tentacle reached , they crossed this unholy door.

I woke up two weeks ago in the nearest hospital. I was found on the ground, surrounded by the yearlings, the corpse of gun and some remains of Max. My uncle explained to me that I had found a bear feasting on Gun, that Max must have attacked it and I'd fainted or been knocked out trying to scare it away. Laying lifeless had saved me. I didn't tell him right away at the hospital what happened.
I would have. But you see. When I woke up, she was there. The nurse. The one I had recognized. Dr Carter. Miss Thompson my primary school teacher. They were all around me , holding hands. And they smiled. They showed me the sign, the cross on my chest surrounding by the four secret signs left by my father.
I’ve tried to explain to my uncle that aunt Maggie would never come back. Why gun had to die too. I think he deserved to know. I’m sorry to leave him … but I’ve got to go now. I thought he could handle the truth. You know… That I had never been crazy and that I shouldn't have been afraid. That everything was going to be okay from now.
Because I know now that I'm blessed. You see he thinks I'm just having another episode, that it’s a "manic" episode or something and I should go back to the clinic. But Dr Carter is by my sides now... I am special. I am. And he can be too. Anyway... He'll be , whether he joins or not. You'll all be. Because he is coming. He 'll bless us all. Because you see, I know I can find her and I'll give him the perfect door. A door to let him in. A door to let all of him in this time. He'll honour us all, all at once.

" Iä! Shub-Niggurath! The Black Goat of the Woods with a Thousand Young! »

I believed in fairies as a kid. More than believed in them. I think something terrible happened to me, and I've just buried it until now.
Call me a typical emotion-bottling man, but I have never considered therapy. No matter what I went through, no matter how many times I thought to myself, verbatim, that I should talk to someone about this, I just never thought of it as an option. It simply wasn't on my roster. It was just one of those things that existed on a separate plane of existence than I was living in, never to cross paths or interact lest the universe collapse in on itself.
I have no problem with therapy, don't get me wrong. It isn't like I don't understand the overall appeal. I have plenty of friends who swear by it, swear it has helped them tremendously, including my wife. It just wasn't ever something I thought was in my cards.
"I just never really thought about it," I told Alice one evening, when she had brought the topic up once again after dinner.
There was a serene sense of peace wafting through the entire house that day, and I was feeling content. It was a Sunday, and swimming season, so we had dropped Emmie off that morning at the public pool for practice and gone straight to our favorite breakfast place. The rest of the day was filled with all the conversation that had built up over the week, all the topics we couldn't fully dig into with each other while babysitting our eight year old, and lounging, all crammed in between sporadic bursts of housework and paperwork we had to catch up on. It was the perfect day, in my humble opinion. It was a lovely moment of peace in the midst of a chaotic life, as is life with kids. And now the sounds of Mario Kart drifted in from the living room, Emmie's squeals cutting through the cheery music every now and then, causing Alice and I to share small smiles of acknowledgement.
Oh, to be a child again. Still a little drenched from a post-swimming shower, full of chili, eyes glowing with the reflection of a television screen.
"Well, maybe you should." My wife was scooping leftover chili into a Tupperware with a ladle. Her hair had been tied up like it was every day after dinner, as if she planned to run a marathon rather than do the cleaning up. She wasn't looking at me, dialed into the task at hand.
It's crazy how some parts of my memory could be so good, and others nonexistent.
I reached over from where I stood before the dishwasher, sliding my arm around her waist. She gave me a look, like, what?
"I just don't think it's for me, babe," I muttered, resting my mouth on her shoulder as if I was trying to skip her ears and speak right through her skin. "You know those things make me uncomfortable sometimes."
She let out a half groan, half sigh, setting down the container and the ladle and turning to face me, draping her arms over my shoulders.
"Everything makes you uncomfortable, John."
I smiled, letting my hands fall to her hips. I knew her frustrated act was just that, an act, at least for the most part.
"It's good for you," she continued pointedly, reaching up to tap her pointer finger against my forehead as I swayed her back and forth to a nonexistent tune. "Like medicine. And I know for a fact there are some things you need to work through."
I feigned offense. "You think I'm some kind of nut job?"
"Everyone needs therapy," she snarled, pulling out of my arms, but she didn't resist when I reached out and drew her back in. "Not just nut jobs."
And that was how most of those conversations went. Some got a little more heated, ending with a lightly slammed door (so as not to wake our daughter) and a whisper-shout of "this is why you need therapy!"
I feel I'm making it sound bad, but it wasn't. Even our more serious fights never quite felt like fights. They felt like playing. We were like two cats, biting and tackling and swishing our tails, but never baring our teeth to hiss. I never felt genuine, full-bodied anger towards her, and I knew she felt the same. It sounds sappy, but we were just very in love. I sometimes felt that we had never actually left the honeymoon phase.
I'm also making it sound like that conversation was incredibly common, and it wasn't. It came up maybe once every few months. I knew she was just looking out for me. She knew me better than anyone.
We had met through mutual friends, and we had initially bonded over our terrible childhoods. We both had moms who were out of the picture, and over emotional, over compensating dads, although this manifested in vastly different ways. Alice's mother left her father for a D-list rockstar type, following him on his state wide tour. She would sometimes send Alice letters or postcards from the road, although her dad wouldn't always let her keep them if they seemed to be stained with blood or seemed to have made contact with any strange white powders.
Her dad coped with anger. He never laid a hand on her, but his shouting and the sounds of glass bottles smashing against the walls kept her up almost every night. During the days he'd take her out, buy her things, go mini golfing and bowling and to the movies. Anything to seem more fun than her mother.
My mother passed away on my seventh birthday. She was driving home from work, which was at a law firm half an hour away from our house, when it began to rain. She was texting my dad her ETA when she ran a red light and a semi truck T-boned her, completely obliterating her car.
After that, everything changed. My seventh birthday could've been my twenty-first. At night it was the worst. I remember sitting with my dad as he cried, curled up in a sobbing ball on the filthy living room carpet, whimpering like a kicked puppy. He would scream and wail so loud the walls shook. He would say, over and over as if I wasn't hearing him, sometimes mumbling and sometimes shrieking, "She was cut in half. I'm sorry sir, she's gone. No, there's no chance she survived, she was completely cut in half."
The days were almost worse. During the day, when he could decrease the helpless wails into weeping at the very least, his attention turned to me. He tried to get something out of me, almost silently begging me to break down with him. Every other second it was, "How are you feeling, son? Do you understand what's happening? You poor thing, you must be devastated, your mommy is gone... Don't you want to cry?"
But I couldn't indulge, and I didn't want to. I had to wash the sheets, because he'd pissed them again, and I didn't want him to sleep in it and smell like pee when he took me to school the next day. I had to vacuum the carpet, so the next time he curled up on it and begged God to take him too, when he finally stood up, his cheek wouldn't be caked in crumbs and dust.
I don't know if I ever truly mourned. My mother's death was more like an absence, as if someone had taken a pair of scissors and carved a chunk out of my side, or snipped off a limb. I could still feel her, I could still talk to her, but all I got back was a deep ache and a crushing silence.
I hated how people reacted when I told them my mom was dead, and had been since I was a little boy. I hated the looks on their faces when they asked how she died, and when I told them. How their mouths fell open dumbly and their eyebrows twisted and contorted in sympathetic horror. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know," they said, as if there was vomit rising in their throats, and I wanted to say, "Well, you fucking asked, didn't you?"
Alice never reacted like that. In fact, she never really even asked me what happened. We were on our second date, nursing beers while leaning against the pool table a a dingy speakeasy, when she told me about her own mom. It was the first time in a long time I actually felt like the conversation was open, like I could respond and she would listen and care, but not too much. Not an uncomfortable amount. When I told her about my parents she didn't say anything, and her pretty face didn't contort. She leaned over the corner of the pool table and kissed me on the cheek, took my hand.
The day she found out she was pregnant, we promised each other to be better, to not let our child ever have to grieve alone or feel the very specific hopeless terror that only a parent can cause.
So maybe I should have listened to her. Maybe I should have gone to therapy the first time she brought it up, the first time she told me how it had helped her get through her own terrible memories. But if I'm being honest, I didn't think I had anything to get through. I had left it in the past, I had coped so far in my own somewhat crooked way, I didn't want to dig any of that back up. I didn't want to be put back in that place where I was expected to talk, to cry, to open up. It made my skin crawl just thinking about it.
"I was always the therapist," I would say to her with a crooked grin. "And I like it that way."
Then, the dreams started.
I could tell you I don't know what triggered them, I don't know why it was now. But that wouldn't be the truth. I know exactly why I started to remember.
At first, they were brief. Nightmares that I couldn't quite recall or explain, waking up disoriented and a little sick. The rest of my day would feel strange, like I was surrounded by a thick fog. Eventually, they started to wake me up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat and screaming, scaring the shit out of my wife. Once I ran to the bathroom and threw up, barely making it to the toilet. That was when the word "therapy" came up again.
It feels like I've been in a coma for twenty years, and I'm just waking up now.
It's so strange how different the world looks to a child.
I believed in fairies as a kid. Laugh it up if you want. When I turned four, my aunt brought me this book - we've all had one, I think. It was one of those huge hardcover books filled with information about something mythical, with little patches of fabric to simulate a mermaid's scales or a dragon's claw.
Mine was about fairies, and it was so real to me. My mom would sit up with me later than she probably should have, reading to me, placing my hand on the textures to feel. I wanted to know everything about them, I became obsessed, and naturally, my parents played along. They bought me toys, books... every year I had a fae themed birthday cake, and any kid who dared to giggle behind their hands weren't invited to next year's celebration.
When I was old enough to use the internet, supervised of course, I began further research. My mom helped me navigate Wikipedia first, and they had plenty of information to sustain me for a while. My interest turned from wings and magical powers to different types of fae from every corner of the earth, mushroom rings and their alleged distaste for iron. While I still wasn't very good at reading, I would just look at the pictures until she got home from work.
When my mom died, the fairy memorabilia began to amp up. My aunt bought me new books, gave them to me wrapped and tied with ribbons with tear filled eyes, and my dad brought them up whenever he thought I needed comforting and felt strong enough to leave the house. "Wanna go look in the forest for fairies, son?"
I'm embarrassed to admit it, but I began to worship the fairies. I was convinced they lived in the forest behind my house, just behind each tree I looked at, hiding from me. I would spend my weekends escaping into the woods with a bucket and a cheap pair of binoculars, positive that this time, this day, I would see one.
At night, when my dad finally passed out in his own puddle of tears and other bodily fluids, I would pray to them. I never believed in God, we weren't a particularly religious family, and besides, I had seen what good He had done for my dad thus far. But I believed in the fairies.
I asked them for help with my father. I asked them for peace. I asked them to bring her back to me.
They never answered.
Until they did.
It was a Friday. I remember now, I'm not sure how I could have forgotten. After school I had sprinted into the shade of the trees before my dad could stop me, gripping the hem of my shirt in my fist, the thin fabric bearing the weight of two handfuls of the shiniest silverware and most colorful buttons I could find in our dusty cabinets.
I had a plan that day. I was going to lure them to me.
My path began in a clearing where I thought a ring of mushrooms may have begun to grow... but even without that, it was just the perfect spot for fairies. I could picture them flitting between the trees, chirping to each other happily, picking wildflowers to weave into flower crowns.
I walked backwards all the way back to my bedroom window, dropping another item every few steps. When I got inside and looked out my window, I could see my trail of shiny things curve through the overgrown grass in our backyard and disappear into the trees.
I was so excited, I could hardly contain myself. Tonight, surely, they would come to me. They would show themselves, and they would help me. But after another few late hours of coddling my father, finally convincing him to drink some water and get in bed, I was exhausted. I completely forgot about my plan. When I got to my room I collapsed on my mattress, not even bothering to undress before I closed my eyes.
Then I heard it. The scratching.
I opened my eyes. The moonlight shining through my bedroom window casted strange shadows across my ceiling, shadows of the swaying grass and the creaking trees.
It was strangely silent, other than the sound. Usually there was lots of noise, or at the very least a few crickets, but not tonight. Tonight, I realized, I couldn't even hear the wind.
I sat up slowly, as if in a dream, and looked toward my window. I couldn't see anything out there, nothing glaringly obvious at least, that could be making that noise.
The scratching turned to a tap. Tap tap tap, like a fingernail against a glass. It had a playful air to it, like someone was saying, look over here!
I stood, rubbing my eyes, and stumbled over. The tapping stopped abruptly when I got to the window and peered outside, out to the dark yard, pitch black if not for the moon's glow. The grass didn't sway, the trees didn't creak. I frowned and unlatched the window, sliding it up above my head.
I was right, there was no wind. Not even a gust. Everything was still outside, like it was frozen. I actually started to believe it was frozen, that time had stopped completely somehow, before I saw it.
My trail of silverware and buttons. Sparkling softly in the moonlight.
Disappearing.
It began where the path met the trees, curving off where I couldn't follow it anymore. A fork disappeared right before my eyes, right on the edge. Just vanished, as if someone who was invisible had picked it up and stuffed it in a pocket very quickly.
Then another went, a spoon. Then a particularly large gold button. Whatever was taking them was doing what I had wanted, it was taking my bait, it was coming to me. And it was as if whatever had tapped at my window had wanted me to see this, wanted to show me.
But something felt very, very wrong.
This wasn't how I had pictured it. There was no twinkling, tiny winged thing at my window, winking at me before dashing back into the safety of the trees. There were no secrets being whispered in my ear, no fairy dust or promises of better things.
Something about this wasn't right. It felt like a mimicry, almost a mockery, of what I had imagined. Like something was trying to give me what I wanted, but was rusty at it.
I didn't want this anymore.
My stomach twisted and my hands shook as I pulled the window back down slowly, watching more glittery things disappear from the grass, growing closer and closer. As soon as it was closed I quickly locked it and pulled the blinds shut, turning my back to the window as if something would happen that I didn't want to see.
Nothing happened. The deafening silence continued for a few seconds as my ears strained to hear anything else happening outside. Then the wind picked up, and the sounds of crickets, muffled by my closed window, filled the night air.
I don't remember when I fell asleep that night, I just know I felt unnerved and jumpy for a while. I woke up the next morning feeling guilty. Had the fairies really come last night? Maybe they had come to talk to me, to bring me gifts, favors, and what had I done? I had closed my window on them. I felt ungrateful. Why had I even been scared? Because it was dark outside? What was I, a baby?
When I opened my window and peered outside, I gasped. The trail of silverware and buttons was completely gone, all the way up to the last one, which I had placed on my windowsill. In its place was a shoe. I didn't know what kind of shoe it was, but it looked sort of nice, fancy. I remember smiling out the window as I opened it, as if they were looking, and taking my gift.
How could I forget that night? How could I have forgotten what happened after? I feel crazy, either like I made it all up or like I've made up everything since then, like my life isn't truly my own.
I remember telling my dad. I remember saying, "Dad, the fairies came last night!" and the absent smile he gave me.
Until I showed him their gift. The shoe. Instantly his face went pale and he snatched it from my hands, staring at me as if I was something unholy.
"Where did you get this, Johnny?"
"The fairies, dad, I told you!"
He didn't respond. Just gave me another long, solemn look, before turning away from me, still holding the present I received close to his chest. I was upset, but I knew better than throwing a tantrum. That would be too much emotion anyways, too uncomfortable. Even back then, I didn't know how to handle those things.
I didn't show him their gifts after that. I didn't want to risk having them taken away. I tried not to be scared of the fairies, even though they always came at night, but I didn't go to my window when they came anymore. I read everywhere that fairies didn't particularly like to be seen, even though this one seemed to want to be. It always began with tapping, but otherwise complete silence that almost felt like it was swallowing me... and eventually the tapping would stop, the silence would pass, and I would fall asleep. In the morning there was always another gift for me, sitting on my window sill. A sparkly gold ring, the other matching shoe, a hat... I smiled when I took every one, wanting them to know I was grateful. And I would leave things for them too, little sweets or shiny things like coins or paperclips that I found on the ground at school.
Things seemed to get better with my dad for a while. He kept to himself more, he was quieter. At night he would cry softly in his room, rather than his uproarious wails that I used to have to quell so the neighbors wouldn't come knocking. During the day, he would talk to me, but more casually. He didn't ask me how I was feeling anymore, or tell me to let it out.
I hoped this was the fairies. I felt invincible, like I had a secret superpower that no one knew about. I was friends with fairies.
Then one night, everything changed.
It started with the tapping, as always. That night I was fast asleep, catching up on well earned rest since the nightly therapy sessions had ceased.
The tapping woke me. It was that loud. It was louder than usual... but it seemed like it stopped abruptly as soon as I raised my head to look.
That was different...
That night, I had left my blinds up and my window open by accident. Since that first night, even though I wasn't scared anymore, I had always closed them... but this time, I must have forgotten.
It was silent outside. It seemed darker than usual. I could almost make out something, a shape, way on the other side of the yard, but it was too dark and I was too far away to tell.
That feeling from that first night retuned. A twisting like a hand reaching into my stomach and mixing things around, a heavy feeling in my chest like someone had stolen all of the air from my room, even though the window was open. The silence seemed to crush me, bearing down on me from every angle, making my ribs hurt.
The feeling that something was very wrong.
I don't remember deciding to stand: looking back, I have no idea why I would do that in my state of fight or flight. I don't know if I consciously chose to. I don't remember walking over, but I remember getting there, my hands on the windowsill and my head poking out into the completely still night air.
There was something there. On the edge of the trees. Right where I had seen that first fork disappear into thin air. I squinted, leaning further into the darkness to try and make out what it was.
When I finally did, the outline taking shape as my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I began to shake uncontrollably. I remember that I tried to scream, but no sound would come. I couldn't move, couldn't do anything but stare.
Two legs stood in front of the trees, facing me. Two legs, a blood-soaked pair of slacks, no shoes on the purple, swollen feet. And a jagged, violent rip in the torso where the rest of my mother's body had been severed from its lower half.
It took me a while to realize that the legs weren't standing on their own. They began to move, jerking clumsily toward the window, like something I couldn't see was struggling to hold them up. I finally forced myself out of my trance and fell to my carpet, vomiting.
I don't remember much else about that night yet. My dad came running when I started crying, I'm sure, but he didn't see what I saw. My mom's legs were gone, or hidden. Because they weren't for him.
They were for me.
We moved after that. Before now if you had asked me why we moved so far away so suddenly, I probably would have mumbled something about the grief, and it being too hard to stay where my mother had died. But I remember why now.
It was because the next morning, when I checked my windowsill, there was a hand. My mother's hand. Purple and stiff, and missing her gold wedding ring. Reaching, fingers rested against the glass, like it was trying to get in.
Like it had been tapping.
I don't want to think about what else it might have brought, had we stayed.
That thing, whatever it was, wasn't my mother, and it wasn't a fairy. I had invited something else with all my praying, with all my naive and innocent beliefs, and with all my bottled up emotions. I had invited it, and I had let it in.
And then I had forgotten everything. Maybe I bottled that up, too.
Now I remember. Now I'm having nightmares, and waking up with that sick feeling in my gut, my eyes jumping to our closed bedroom window.
Because a week ago, my daughter woke me up very early in the morning my jumping on our bed. A week ago, she shook me awake, her eager smile stretching all the way across her face. A week ago, she told me, "Dad, the fairies came last night!"
She showed me a doll, a ballerina, with a pink tutu and beautiful long blonde hair.
And now, with all these terrible memories hitting me like cold water to the face, only one keeps me awake at night.
I asked them for help with my father. I asked them for peace. I asked them to bring her back to me.
It has granted two of my wishes, in its own twisted way. My father grew distant from me and my mother was brought back in pieces.
I'm happy now. But I don't have peace. I don't think I'll ever fully have peace, at least not with a child and a wife to try and provide for, and not with all of these memories.
So what has it come back for?

Clover

Five humans, missing...

Spoilers for all of Undertale Yellow's main routes below
Undertale Yellow is a fan-made prequel to the hit indie game Undertale. While Undertale follows the story of Frisk, the seventh human child to fall into the monster ruled Underground, Undertale Yellow follows the story of their immediate predecessor. Meet Clover, the sixth human. Unlike the humans that fell before, this gun-toting cowboy is unique in the sense that their journey to the Underground was no accident. Clover entered the Underground voluntarily in order to investigate the disappearances of the previous five humans and, if it turned out they perished at some point after their fall, hoped to avenge their deaths. See, while Frisk possessed a red SOUL that embodied Determination, Clover's SOUL is yellow for the trait of Justice. Clover's journey would lead them all throughout the Underground, meeting some monsters that will be familiar to those who have played Undertale and some brand new faces as well.
Like Undertale before it, Undertale Yellow's story can be altered significantly depending on the player's actions. Perhaps Clover befriends the monsters they meet and determines they were unfairly trapped underground, deciding to sacrifice themselves to bring monster kind closer to freedom. Or maybe Clover will blame the monsters for the deaths of the previous human children, avenging them with swift cruelty. Either way, Clover will act in the way they believe they can best embody Justice.

So How Do the Fights Work Anyway?

Like its predecessor, Undertale Yellow tends to treat RPG mechanics as literal aspects of the game's world. Due to the abstract nature of fights in both Undertale and Undertale Yellow, with enemy monsters targeting Clover's SOUL rather than their physical body, it's understandable that there may be some confusion about how Clover actually scales to certain monsters. Luckily, this is a bit more clear in Undertale Yellow than it was in the original game, as the reveal trailer shows that the attacks of monster are things that Clover physically has to react to and dodge (we even see this same attack utilized in game) even though the battle menu only shows their SOUL.
But this is just for when encounters have already begun, what about before that? And what triggers encounters anyway? There's an area in the Wild East where boulders are falling onto the path that Clover needs to dodge. If they fail to avoid them, this begins an encounter too, where Clover is given the opportunity to avoid the "attacks" in the battle menu to negate damage. Other examples include Clover escaping damage from hot steam after touching it and avoiding damage from Axis' energy balls after they hit them. What this means for standard versus fights is a little vague, but it likely means that any attack that would deal meaningful damage starts an encounter and that it would be impossible to simply kill Clover with a sneak attack. Even if it hit them, Clover would still get the opportunity to dodge before the proper fight begins. That said, there is one example of Clover dying without triggering an encounter at the end of the Neutral Route. It's possible this is because it was an unescapable situation but the mechanics of it are still vague and unclear.
As seen with the previous examples such as the falling boulders and steam, it seems that attacks that hit Clover's SOUL and their physical body are more or less interchangeable. Or rather, it isn't possible to circumvent the SOUL to only hit the physical body because even attacks that hit Clover's physical body will trigger an encounter that can then be dodged or endured by the SOUL.
Finally, it's worth noting that the sizes of objects can vary from their appearances in the battle to what they look like in the overworld. We see Clover's SOUL alongside their physical body a few times throughout the game and it's pretty consistently a little larger than their torso. So this thread will describe feats with that scale in mind.

Other Things To Note

• At the end of certain routes, Clover acquires certain abilities/powerups that don't necessarily apply to the rest of the game. Feats or items that are limited to those routes will be marked with the corresponding route.
  
  • [Pacifist] Feat
• Like your standard RPG's, Undertale Yellow possesses a leveling system that will increase the more enemies that Clover kills, with certain abilities being unlocked after certain levels are achieved. However, in the Genocide route Clover showed off the ability to level up rapidly simply by being filled with enough righteous fury. Abilities that are locked behind certain levels will also be marked accordingly.
  
  • Feat^{LV 19}
• The majority of feats will come from Undertale Yellow, but occasionally clips from trailers and other promotional material on the director of the game's Youtube channel will be used, which will be labeled with a T like so:
  
  • Feat^T

Physicals

Strength

• Breaks a piece of wood that had jammed an elevator door with a pickaxe, which broke the pickaxe despite it being described as sturdy previously
• Pushes aside a cabinet
• While physically holding the lid of a trash can Clover is able to deflect Axis' energy attacks back at him which destroyed portable generators about as tall as Axis himself
  • Clover also uses this lid to deflect Axis' bombs
• [Anti-Feat] Needs Martlet's help moving a table

Speed/Agility

• Runs roughly 2/3rds faster than they walk, traveling the same distance in 1.5 seconds that it took them 2.5 seconds to walk
• Climbs a good distance up a rope, though Flowey resets the timeline before they reach the top
• While fighting Decibat they react and move relatively to various attacks that appear to be sound-based
  • Note that blue attacks don't harm you if you're standing still and orange attacks don't if you're moving
• Passes over a bridge when the boards were constantly elevating and lowering
• Moves out of the way of Dunebud's arrows
  • We see in the game's reveal trailer that these arrows move much faster than their in-game counterparts would suggest
• Avoids the soundwaves produced by Starlo's bell attack
• Escapes Axis during their chase
• Jukes the hell out of Axis
• Moves relatively to the arrows and flintlock pistol shots of a pair of mini robots
• Climbs a laundry chute

Durability
Blunt

• A tumbleweed knocks them onto a lower platform and they don't even flinch
• Even while using the Patch, Clover's starting accessory that offers no extra defense, Clover can withstand several giant boulders smashing into them
  • While using the Steel Buckle or superior defensive items, this damage is totally negligible
• Takes several blows from Ed that launch massive boulders into the air
• Withstands the Guardener's attacks which could smash giant gears that are larger than Clover
• [Genocide] Gets hit by large meteors summoned by Zenith Martlet

Falling

• Jumps down a hole into the Underground and lands on a bed of flowers
• Falls through the floor of the Ruins and lands in a bed of flowers in the Dark Ruins, quickly jumping to their feet afterwards
• Crashes a speeding boat over a ledge, sending them over and into the mines
  • Flowey did comment they seemed pretty hurt by this
• Falls down a trap door

Heat

• Survives in the Steamworks with no issue, which was hot enough to light Moe's clothes and stand on fire over the course of their conversation
• Withstands multiple fire attacks from Asgore before eventually succumbing to them (with Asgore being the strongest non-final boss monster in the original Undertale)

Other

• Gets shocked repeatedly by Dalv's electrical attacks, enduring four before eventually succumbing
• A giant fan produces a sandstorm that pushes them back a considerable distance
• Gets hit by dynamite thrown by Starlo
• Survives multiple shots from Starlo's revolver
• Withstands hits from Axis' energy balls which later destroy Axis' portal generators
  • During Axis' boss fight, Clover takes no damage from this at all
• With the highest defensive accessory they take negligible damage from Ceroba's attacks which shatter stone pillars (they also take a glancing blow from these attacks in a cutscene without damage, though it takes them some time to return to their feet)
  • [Pacifist] Clover later withstands Ceroba's attacks after she had powered up into her Kitsune form, which dealt double damage compared to her previous attacks (2HP with the best defensive item instead of 1HP)
• [Pacifist] Endures for a little over a minute after their soul had been extracted from their body (though they were too weak to do anything but crawl)
• [Genocide] Gets crushed by blocks with enough force to shatter them which are not affected by their SOUL's energy beams
• [Genocide] Here is the top of UG Apartments before Clover's battle with Zenith Martlet compared to after, which assuming Martlet's attacks were responsible for any of this damage means that Clover would scale to it
• [Genocide] Clover grows so powerful that Asgore's trident shatters against their SOUL^{LV 20}

Skill

• Shoots a hat off a dummy
• Beats Starlo in a quickdraw contest
• After being fully lasso'd by Starlo, Clover is still able to effectively avoid his attacks and even tricks him into shooting his own lasso twice
  • Starlo is accurate enough to shoot sticks of dynamite out of the air
  • Clover is still able to fight back as well
• Can shoot something as small as a micro froggit
• Opens a door by shooting its control panel
• Plays a mean harmonica^T
• Holy shit they're so sick with it^T

Justice SOUL

• Flowey talks about how Boss Monsters are stronger than others and that a human SOUL is even more powerful than them
• [Pacifist] During the final boss, Clover is powered up and given a plethora of different abilities (the reason for this isn't explicitly stated, but it's likely because they felt their cause was just, more so than they ever had in the rest of the game)^{LV 1}
  • [Pacifist] Endures repeated enraged attacks from Ceroba that should have killed them before returning to full HP as the next phase of the boss starts^{LV 1}
  • [Pacifist] Can fire energy blasts from their SOUL which are strong enough to overpower Ceroba's own charged blasts^{LV 1}
    • They can quickly fire smaller shots on top of the more powerful charge shots^{LV 1}
    • A weaker version of Ceroba's attacks could shatter stone pillars^{LV 1}
  • [Pacifist] Is able to phase through attacks, including otherwise unavoidable AOE attacks^{LV 1}
  • [Pacifist] Clover is able to Hope, allowing them to take an extra hit without damage^{LV 1}
  • [Pacifist] Clover is able to Endure, regenerating health from a range of 5HP to 10HP^{LV 1}
  • [Pacifist] Clover is able to Remember, granting them a speed buff over the course of that turn^{LV 1}
  • [Pacifist] After cracking Ceroba's Kitsune mask, Clover is able to see a memory of her past talking to her dying husband^{LV 1}
• [Genocide] After hearing that Axis, the penultimate boss, killed a human child, Clover is filled with such rage and a desire for justice that they automatically leveled up and developed the ability to shoot energy blasts from their SOUL. The first blast obliterated the trash can lid Axis was using as a shield and after further leveling up they fired a massive beam that obliterated Axis entirely. Clover also gained an assortment of other abilities at this point^{LV 15/19}
  • [Genocide] Smaller shots can be rapid fired and a brief charge allows Clover to fire the beam^{LV 19}
    • [Genocide] It required two small shots to destroy the meteors Zenith Martlet summons and they're completely obliterated by the beam^{LV 19}
    • [Genocide] With enough shots Clover destroys Martlet's armor that their gun was completely useless against (based on the fact that the Fight button is locked during the phase of the fight that she's wearing the armor)^{LV 19}
    • [Genocide] Clover's beam is strong enough to completely obliterate Asgore as well as his throne and the wall behind him^{LV 20}
  • [Genocide] Like in the Pacifist ending, Clover is able to dash which smashes blocks that their shots and beams couldn't break and allows them to phase through otherwise unavoidable attacks without damage^{LV 19}
  • [Genocide] After destroying Martlet's armor, Clover is able to see into mind and witness her backstory^{LV 19}
  • [Genocide] Clover is able to Endure, automatically recovering anywhere from 20HP to 25HP^{LV 19}
  • [Genocide] Here is the top of UG Apartments before Clover's battle with Zenith Martlet compared to after, with Clover presumably being responsible for at least some of the damage^{LV 19}
• [Genocide] Throughout the game, Clover is able to undo mistakes thanks to the SAVE function. Primarily, this is thanks to Flowey doing so for you, becoming an in-universe stand-in for standard RPG Saving and Loading and ultimately allowing them to revive at the latest SAVE point for standard enemies or directly back into the battle for Boss encounters. However, at the end of the Genocide route Clover levels up enough to steal Flowey's control of the timeline, ultimately taking the SAVE ability for themselves which they can use to SAVE and LOAD in the middle of battle^{LV 20}

Gear

Note that while Clover can store excess items in boxes they find around the Underground, they can only carry eight items in their inventory not including their current Weapon, Ammo, Armor, and Accessory. Later in the game they discovered the Dimensional Satchel which allows them to access the boxes from anywhere, but they still only have eight slots to bring into an encounter.
Weapons
Guns

• Toy Gun - Clover's default weapon is a simple toy gun
• Wild Revolver - A gift from Starlo, purchased from Blackjack's shop
  • While the Toy Gun only fires once per turn, the Wild Revolver is fired six times in a row
  • While the Wild Revolver looks and functions like a typical revolver, note that Blackjack does say that he made it so as not to be lethal (though the following line about how anything could be lethal if used enough times consecutively makes this seem more like a meta joke about RPG fight mechanics, even going so far as to mention the ballet shoes that are a weapon in the original Undertale)

Feats
Note that cutscenes will always play out the same regardless of whether the Toy Gun or Wild Revolver is being used, so while the Revolver is obviously the more powerful of the two the Toy Gun is much more powerful than it's name would suggest and the following feats apply to both weapons.

• Damages machinery
• Critically damages Axis who could withstand his own energy balls being reflected back at him with no physical damage, merely draining his power instead
  • After being rebounded Axis' attacks destroyed portable generators as tall as Axis himself
• Destroys robots with repeated shots
• Executes undamaged monsters in cutscenes/scripted fights in both the Pacifist and Genocide routes
• [Anti-Feat] Was unable to destroy the trash can lid Axis was using as a shield

Ammo
Rather amusingly, Clover will jam whatever odd materials they can find into their weapon which somehow works perfectly^T

• Rubber Ammo (AT 0) - The default ammo that Clover started their journey with
  • Toy Gun Wild Revolver
• Pebble Ammo (AT 3) - Small rocks that Clover discovered in the Dark Ruins
  • Toy Gun Wild Revolver
• Ice Ammo (AT 6) - Discovered near the start of Snowdin, these fragments of a shattered ice crystal don't melt and cool Clover's gun upon being loaded
  • Toy Gun Wild Revolver
• Coffee Ammo (AT 4 + 1 SPEED after perfect attack) - Found in a barrel near the exit of Snowdin
  • Toy Gun Wild Revolver
  • Compare the increased speed to Clover's normal battle speed
• Flint Ammo (AT 9) - Salvaged from an ore deposit outside the East Mines
  • Toy Gun Wild Revolver
    • Note that the shots make small explosions upon impact
• Glass Ammo (AT 5 + 2HP) - Taken from a shattered glass in the Dunes Gift Shop
  • Toy Gun Wild Revolver
• Silver Ammo (AT 3 + Bonus Damage for Perfect Shot) - Purchased from Blackjack's shop
  • Toy Gun Wild Revolver
• Nails (AT 10) - Found in a box in the Steamworks greenhouse
  • Toy Gun Wild Revolver
• [Neutral/Genocide] Friendliness Pellets (AT 11) - A gift from Flowey, acquired outside of the Steamworks
  • Toy Gun Wild Revolver

Armor

• Warn Hat - The default armor that Clover started their journey with
• [Pacifist/Neutral] Nice Hat - Visually identical to Clover's old one and offers no extra defense or benefits, but it is a pretty nice hat

Accessories

• Patch (Armor DF 0) - The default accessory that Clover started their journey with
• Feather (Armor DF 2) - A stray feather located in the tunnels near Dalv's house
• Honeydew Pin (Armor DF 4) - Purchased at the Honeydew Resort shop
• Band Merch Pin (Armor DF 5) - A pin given to Clover by a band's super fan in Honeydew Resort
• Steel Buckle (Armor DF 7) - Found inside a cubby in the East Mines
• Safety Jacket (Armor DF 6) - Found on a hook in the East Mines
• Fancy Holster (Armor DF 8) - Purchased from Blackjack's shop
• Safety Goggles (Armor DF 9) - Acquired from Vendy in the Steamworks
• Silver Scarf (Armor DF 6 and +2HP Every Turn) - Given to Clover by Slurpy in Snowdin after freeing his tongue from a frozen pole
  • Here is the scarf in use
• Delta Run Patch (Armor DF 10) - Purchased from Bits and Bites at UG Apartments
• Golden Bandana (Armor DF 12) - Found in a chest in the Steamworks
  • This did come at the cost of sacrificing the Golden Pear, Golden Coffee, and Golden Cactus

Food/Healing Items
Note that at their weakest (LV 1), Clover has 20HP and at their strongest (LV20), Clover has 100HP
Single Use

• Lemonade - 7HP
• Lukewarm Pop - 8HP
• Candy Corn - 9HP
• Packing Peanuts - 10HP
• Sea Tea - 10HP (+ Temporary Speed Increase)
  • Here is the Sea Tea in use
• Monster Candy - 10HP
• Corn Dog - 12HP
• Cold Pop - 12 HP
• Sponge Cake - 14HP
• Hot Pop -14 HP
• Trail Mix - 14HP
• Corn Chowder - 15HP
• Moss Salad - 17HP
• Ice Tea - 20HP
• Green Tea - 21HP
• Flower Stew - 20HP
• Hot Dog - 20HP
• Fruitcake -25HP
• [Pacifist/Genocide] Adult Soda - ???HP
  • It's actually 20HP
• [Genocide] Oasis Latte - 25HP
• [Neutral] Cake - 30HP
• [Genocide] Cinnamon Cookie - 35HP
• Golden Pear - Invulnerability for two hits
  • Here is the G. Pear in use
• Golden Coffee - Increases Clover's speed for 3 turns
  • Here is the G. Coffee in use (also note that this buff carries on to future encounters if the three turns aren't used)
• Golden Cactus - 15HP for 3 turns (Lose 5HP after first bite)

Two Uses

• Grassy Fries - 14HP
• Beef Jerky - 16HP

Unlimited Supply

• Spider Donut - 12HP
• Popato Chisps - 13HP
• Honeydew Coffee - 14HP
• Honeydew Pancake - 16HP
• Ice Water - 15HP
• Monster Candy+ - 15HP
• Root Beer - 18HP
• G.B. Bear - 20HP
• Dihydrogen Monoxide - 20HP
• Feisty Slider - 30HP
• Gravity Granola - 30HP
• Cinnamon Butterscotch Strudel - 30HP
• Floral Cupcake - 50HP
• Gun Powder - ???HP
  • Completely maxes out Clover's HP
  • Note that Clover can only acquire one of these on the Genocide Route

Misc

• Solves Martlet's extremely complicated lava rock puzzle
• Beats the infamous Shuffler gang at their own game
• Uses flint and a steel buckle to burn a thick stick that was jamming an elevator
• Keeps up with El Bailador during their dance off, who was out of breath after the fact
• [Pacifist/Neutral] The Doc in the Wild East can overcharge Clover's health with a one time extra 15HP (nearly double their health at LV 1)
• Stealthily creeps around the Steamworks factory, figuring out a passcode while staying out of Axis' view
• Clover has incredible willpower, since even after Flowey kills them and attempts to absorb their SOUL, Clover is able to resist him for the entirety of the ensuing boss fight which ends when Flowey realizes they'd be fighting for all eternity if they continued and opts to simply reset the timeline instead
• Breaks it down

Somebody calls for help
You answer the call

I don't really know why I'm writing this ... I think it's because I've tried to explain it to my uncle but all he said is that I should get my addiction under control and stop forgetting to take my meds.
I can't blame him. You see... I have a history. I've lost it in the past , twice actually. I'm not here to talk about it , but I think it's important to lay this down first. So you can understand.

I've been told something's wrong with my brain, maybe I was born this way, maybe I've been through too much. That my mother was an addict, she'd cut ties with her family for 10 years when she had me. That where she had been and who my father was, is was very unclear. She was part of a community in the forgotten part of the nearest big city when she died. I was there when it happened.
My uncle Sean and Aunt Maggie became my guardians just before my 5th birthday and I'm still with him 20 years later. Maggie left the ranch a few weeks ago after an amicable divorce, I never understood why they were together anyway she was always working somewhere, traveling a lot. I was closer to him and his sturdy way of life.

When I first arrived at the ranch, I was in a bad shape. I got better thanks to him but when I reached thirteen, all the memories from my early childhood suddenly came back. I started having flashbacks. My memories came back, but they came back wrong.

I had been told that my mother had died of an untreated infection. Yet in my dreams, I saw her , again and again , in a pool of blood. An then... Then it came. The... Thing. I won't describe it. It kind of triggers something in me that I really don't need right now.

I've been told that what happened next was so traumatic that my brain made up a monster, a fiction , to make sense of what I was seeing and not processing.
This ... Thing started obsessing me and during my early teenage years I focused all my energy on finding what it was and proving it happened. That a monster did kill and mutilated my mother. My nightmares were so bad that I stopped sleeping. I drank so much energy drinks that I ended up in the hospital twice with severe dehydration.

Thankfully, I got better. I started working more and more with my uncle's horses. I think it's why he employed me, he saw how manual work and caring for the animals helped. I even got my first girlfriend around my 17th year. I was prom king. Who would have thought?
But then... She had a cheerleading accident. In front of me. And I lost it again. I won't go into details but she broke her neck during half-time and once again... The way she fell, folded and screamed. I couldn't process. It was IT. It'd shapeshifted to get to her. I'm ashamed of it but I became violent. Looking for it franticly. Screaming non sense and talking made up words. I had to be sedated. She made it alive, but she never wanted to see me again. I was accused by pretty much everyone to make the accident all about myself. And they were kind of right....

Now you know how I came to be the " crazy" guy. I have a bit of a drinking problem too to be honest... You see I never went back to high school. I started working full time at the ranch when I came by, and sometimes, it gets lonely. It's not rare to find me passed out in the hay in the early morning in the summer. And what can I tell you... I know I shouldn't. I know it's "bad" . But I love those nights. I put music , cuddle with my dog and just look at the cold bright stars, drinking beer until they start spinning.

It's because of this bad habit that I realized something was wrong with the horses. You see, contrary to the movies, horses are pretty silent. They don't neigh unless you separate them from their best mate or bring food. And that night... The night it all started. They wouldn't stop. I could hear them galloping and snorting. I wondered if there was a stray dog but they were used to dogs. I was a bit worried. Horses get stupid when they are afraid and we had a big show coming, it wasn't the time so sprain a leg. What really troubled me was my dog. He seemed ... Weird.
Max was a pit mix my uncle had rescued when I was 15. He only woke when I got up and walked a bit to look at the paddocks. That's when I realised the moon behind me. It was huge, and red. I wondered if I had ever seen it so close and so red before. I looked at Max The white of his eyes showed and he started whining. I had never heard him make this noise. Ever.

I looked at my phone. It was quarter to three. I took a pitchfork to be safe and walked toward the clubhouse. We kept a shotgun there in a locker. The horses kept going crazy and max's tail was stiff. I was walking fast but carefully in the darkness when the music reached me. A chant. A low chant. I kind of felt it too... Like a ... vibration.
It was coming from the yearlings field near the forest patch, on the opposite direction of the clubhouse. My horse was in this field. I backtracked immediately and rushed toward the sound as I dialled my uncle. Off course he didn't answer. He didn't live on the property anymore but a few miles away. I left a message, whispering. " I'm at the stable, something weird ‘s happening. I think they're people messing with horses I'm going to see. I think you should come , I don't know...Call me back.". The weird chant buzzed in the background, louder, as if more people had joined. I saw the glow of the fire before I passed the last building. It rose , under the bloody moonlight. Dark figures circled around it. Slowly. The horses seemed to have retreated at the other end of the pasture and I was relieved. Until I saw it. The figure at the centre of this dark carousel. " What the f are those creeps doing" escaped my lips.
blazing fury filled me , like a white iron like a white hot blade blinding me . "HEYYYY" I screamed at the top of lungs. " WHAT ARE YOU DOING !? ". The figures stopped and turn toward me. I was running now , my knuckles going white around the pitchfork's stick. Max was growling. A deep growl. His hair high upon his backbone. The figure, still pretty far did not move. I could see their heavy hooded cloaks. " what kind of sick pricks are those " I muttered. " HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY" I screamed again, louder than I ever thought I could scream. And then I saw him. Gun.
Gun was my uncle's favourite horse. His old stallion's spitting image. The young horse was lying in front of the fire behind the intruders.
"WHAT DID YOU DO! I'M CALLING THE COPS!!!!". I stopped and was dialling when a figure detached itself from the group and advanced. It seemed to ... float? It moved toward Max and I... so silently.
The burning rage in veins turned cold , and heavy. I opened my mouth but nothing crossed my lips. Suddenly, Max jumped. He growled in a way I hope to never hear any dog do again. A desperate, furious growl. A life or death sound. A war cry... His warm blood spattered on my face. He... Honestly I don't know what happened at that moment. Something lied bloody on the ground but I couldn't even have told that it used to be a dog, even less Max. Acid tears filled my eyes as I realized my mouth was still open. I was tasting him.
I wanted to scream, to run, to just get swallowed by the earth and yet I did nothing at all but stare at the floating silhouette. It was so tall. " Come, my child". " We were waiting for you, we knew you'd come, Your father told us you'd be here when we'd call".
I heard those words, but I wouldn't be able to tell you anything about the thing who spoke them. I say thing because it didn't have a voice. It... Buzzed. Like... a cello.
Suddenly... I floated too. Panick seized me. Like a trapped raccoon in my
chest it dug its claws, scratching furiously my closed throat.
" Your father said you were ready. We will prepare you." I was now in front of the crackling blaze. the other figures circling me. Smiling Men and woman welcomed me. On their faces they all wore a similar mark. a cross covering their eyes horizontally, and their nose and mouth vertically. Their hands... Their hands were still dripping with gun's inside. Gun... Was ... opened.
" A necessary sacrificed" whispered a woman, still smiling. " I know you liked him very much... I'm sorry..." " I could have taken yours, but I knew you wouldn't have forgiven me'. Her voice. .." Aunt Maggie?' I croaked. Her eyes shone with a mad light. " Gosh do you look like your mother tonight... She'd be so proud. Her baby boy..." .
The tall figure made a gesture and I spined and found myself looking at the sky. I thought I'd fallen but... I wasn't touching the ground...
My aunt continued speaking." She was just like you the first time ... So... naive, so afraid.. She was only 16! That was our mistake you see, she wasn't ready for her destiny yet when she joined us... That's why we waited for you."
The chant , the low buzzing chant rose once again. The people around me started walking in a circle around me. I was just above Gun's body.
One, by one, they buried they hands in the belly of the horse and traced the cross on my face. I sealed my lips as tight as I could as the warm blood covered my face. Through the blood and tears I recognize faces. A nurse from the hospital. A teacher. The coffeeshop barista. My psychiatrist... I closed my eyes.
It was a nightmare. It couldn't be anything but a nightmare.
Yet the smell of the horse's inside and the crackling fire still reached me as they started ripping my clothes off.
" This is not real" I whispered. " This is not real, this is not real THIS IS NOT real" I screamed weakly.
'Oh , My dear I'm so sorry ' whispered my aunt. I should have told you earlier... But Dr Carter said it was better to let you grow up a bit first. He said it help you keep the secrets if you were afraid of them. I'm sure you don't feel this way, but it was an honour to watch your mother ascend the way she did. Her agony was the most beautiful thing she could have hoped for. You were supposed to ascend with her but she ruined it". " Slut" groaned a middle aged woman before spitting on the floor.
" She was my best friend you know... I thought I knew her. I thought I could trust her. But she lied to me."
"You see, we know you are his son. But... She wasn't a virgin when she was honoured."
She smiled. " It doesn't matter how cruelly she tricked us. You can help us find the perfect girl."
One by one, each member traced a symbol on my skin.
" You're so handsome... He'll be so glad. The perfect boy. The perfect vessel."
"It's almost time, Prepare" hissed the tall figure.
" You're going to give him his heir, the one ruler among the realms. You see he can't travel here whenever but you're an anchor my love. Each generation he choses an anchor until he finds one who'll give him THE son, the one who'll die for his freedom. Our freedom."
"QUIET SLAVE AND KNEEL" shrieked the tall figure.
She kneeled right near me, and whispered " You're...". I heard a slash. Aunt Maggie’s face slid horizontally. Her eyes followed me as the upper part of the face slid slowly toward the ground.
" HAIL THE PRINCE".
A chant, colder and louder than never before rose with the crackling flames toward the moon.
" Iä! Shub-Niggurath! The Black Goat of the Woods with a Thousand Young! » chanted the disciples."
Frozen, I watched the blazing sky above and saw a door. A perfect wooden door , in the sky. It slowly cracked open as the crowd turn to hysterics and the chant turned to mad screams.
"MY SOOOOOOOON" The whole earth seemed to split open under the weight of the sound coming from the perfect rectangle of empty darkness in the sky.
And then... I saw... I saw what I had tried to forget for twenty-years. I saw those split red eyes and their evil glare. I saw the iron hooves at the end of too many legs. I saw the tentacles who fled my mother with their thousand beaks. Everything all at once, I saw it shift, from an odious form to a more loathsome one. I burned in a way I'll never be able to describe.
I woke up two weeks ago in the nearest hospital. I was found on the ground, surrounded by the yearlings, the corpse of gun and some remains of Max. My uncle explained to me that I had found a bear feasting on Gun, that Max must have attacked it and I'd fainted or been knocked out trying to scare it away. Laying lifeless had saved me. I didn't speak of what I saw at the hospital. I knew better now. I've tried to explain to my uncle why I had to move out to the big city. That I had a mission now. That I had never been crazy and that I shouldn't have been afraid.
I know now that I'm blessed. You see he thinks I'm just having another episode, that it’s a "manic" episode and I should go back to the clinic, but I know better now. I am special. I am. And he can be too. Anyway... He'll be whether he joins or not. You'll all be. Because he is coming. He 'll bless us all. Because you see, I know I can find her and I'll give him the perfect door. A door to let him in. A door to let all of him in. He'll honour us all, all at once.
" Iä! Shub-Niggurath! The Black Goat of the Woods with a Thousand Young! »

My boyfriend and I have been together since highschool and survived being long distance during college. After college I got a high paying engineering job and had to move to a specific city for it. He struggled to find a job after college and continued to work in his school's library part time. He didn't have much financial freedom because of that, but still wanted to stay in an expensive, east coast city rather than moved back to the midwest. I think he expected that I would eventually move to his new city instead, despite me telling him that I can't really compromise this job.
He moved into a place with some roommates in his college town. After a while of putting up with some abuse from these roommates (others have agreed that he was subject to some abuse from them; those aren't just his words) he finally agreed to quit his job at the library and move in with me across country. Almost immediately the problems began. Up until that point I had been living alone for a year, working full time, and keeping a very strict diet and work out regimen. I don't want to get too much into it, but I've struggled with disordered eating in the past and while tracking calories and macros aren't the best practice, it's what I need to do to avoid bingeing and starving cycles. It was a lot of work but I managed to keep myself healthy and my apartment mostly clean by myself.
When I say clean I don't mean a deep clean every weekend type of deal, but things like putting groceries away, making sure the dishes aren't piling up, hanging up laundry, etc. Apparently that is wanting to live in a "show home," to my boyfriend. Upon arrival he unloaded a cargo van's worth of things into my apartment, which fair enough that's how moving works. After the first week of things going unpacked and making it impossible to use the living room, however, I expressed how much it was stressing me out to not be able to use my own spaces anymore and he guilt tripped me about how he just away from two roommates that would scream at him over slight messes while not cleaning up their own messes, saying I was triggering him. I decided to give him more time to unpack and get organized. I even bought more shelves for him to store all his things on so they're off the floor. It's been months and there are still boxes of things just shoved in the corner and apparently there are more things on the way because when he went to college he left some boxes with a friend of his from highschool.
Since he was unemployed when he got here and was already struggling financially before that, and I make more than enough money to support my own life style, I was covering all the rent, groceries, transportation, etc. I was also doing pretty much all the cooking because I wanted to keep up with my meal prepping and whenever he uses the kitchen he leaves behind a huge mess. One time I made the mistake of telling him how much his mess was stressing me out and I got hit with the same "you're triggering me because you know roommates X and Y would keep me from using the kitchen." I had even prefaced my statement by saying "I know this is a rough subject, but..." So now I'm buying all the food, and cooking all the food, but he's apparently so stressed from the last few years that his "threshold of tolerance," is so low that the only thing he can eat is bland, simple food, usually soup. If I spend time cooking my own food he assumes it's to share and will complain that I added spices or made a curry or chili that's thick instead of soupy how he likes it, but then if I make him the bland food his stomach can handle he'll forget it in the fridge and it gets thrown away. And I am ALWAYS the one dealing with rotten food that needs to be thrown away. He just leaves the containers of food on the counter until I deal with them.
On top of that he leaves half eaten food out for days at a time, leaves empty food container like chip bags or apple cores sitting out, leaves napkins and tissues all over the place, misses the trashcan when throwing stuff away and just leaves it. And there's just constant clutter of his art supplies. Art is the one thing he can handle focusing on, an I try to support him to put his things online and try to make some money off of it. A lot of his art work circles around repurposing literal trash though and he uses maybe 1/10 of the "supplies" he gathers. There's a container of onion skins on the counter that he tells me to save because he wants to make ink with it, he makes me save the bags from frozen fruit and veggies so he can make "plarn" and weave it into a picknick blanket, he gathers random bits of literal garbage that he sees on walks to basically piles in up in the spare bedroom which I cannot even enter anymore because of the mess.
There's been a little progress with getting his digital artwork on a website, but I had to hold his hand and walk him through the process of putting together a shop because the task was too much to deal with on his own. That's really the biggest issue: he cannot handle any tasks if I'm not holding his hand all the way through it. Doing the laundry is basically the only thing he can do without prompting or input. There are big things I understand wanting moral support for like putting in job apps and going to interviews, but even little things like making sure he goes for a bike ride or eats enough is offloaded onto me. Everyday I have to spend like a half hour going, "hey are you going to go for that ride you said you wanted to? You should get going before it's dark, you'll feel better afterwards, etc" in order to get him out because I KNOW if I didn't get him to do it then he would make it my problem that his back hurts from not working out. Every day it's "have you eaten yet? What would you like? Can I make you something?" Because I KNOW if his blood sugar gets low and he gets cranky it'll be my problem. I have to spend an additional half hour every night making sure he eats the food I bought and I cooked.
And all this time I spend making sure he's comfortable and taken care of and being productive on his own tasks takes away from time I used to spend doing enjoyable things. I used to enjoy reading and writing and was working on a novel, but I just don't have time anymore. I'm missing days at the gym and needing to take shorter runs. I have to cut down on time I spend playing D&D with my friends. I can't find time to go to the local maker space and blacksmith, which is my favorite hobby. I can't even get my own chores done because every time I try to get locked in on a task I'm interrupted every minute by him calling me to come give him input on something or rub his back or just sit with him while he does something. It's actually making me worse about keeping up with cooking and cleaning. Silly me for thinking having an unemployed person living with me for free would make it easier to keep the apartment in order.
Before I go on, I need to emphasize that I understand why he's acting this way, and I know it isn't malicious, which is what makes this so hard. I know the hording comes from his abusive mother who would get drunk and throw away or break all his things randomly when he was a kid. I know the hype stress responses to doing anything work/money related is because his aunt forced him to go to school for a degree he didn't want, he was rejected from so many STEM jobs, and he's been living in poverty his whole life. I know the cleaning is because he just lives with the clutter his whole life and I don't think he even recognizes it. I know why he's doing all the things he does and needs all the support he does, and I know he isn't doing it to intentionally hurt me. That said I was already practicing a lot of discipline and exerting a lot of energy to keep my life on track before he moved in and now it feels like I have double the responsibility and half the progress.
A few weeks ago he finally got a job as a shipment manager in a grocery store, which I thought would be good for him: he could meet some new friends, earn some money, get out of the apartment more than once a week. He hates it, says there's work drama, and has needed to come home early multiple times because the stress was causing him to dissociate. We need to move again soon because I'm being relocated for work and he says he's glad he won't be working there for very much longer. We move at the end of June and he's supposed to go live on a farm for a few months in September. For context there's a self-sufficient farm community that takes volunteers in exchange for a stipend and room+board that he's been talking to for years. It didn't work out during college, but he's supposed to go this year for a few months.
Obviously I have mixed feelings on that. 1) that means he'll probably be unemployed for two months again after we move. 2) I'll be glad to be living alone again. 3) I'm afraid he's going to find out how much work a farm is and come back in even worse shape than he's already in. All around I don't know how to handle this. I know I don't want to live with him, which really should mean we break up, but we've been together for almost a decade and I know exactly why he is behaving the way he is. I don't know if he can recover and get back to being self sufficient like he was before college, but I know it is hurting me to try and help him in his healing. I still love him and I don't want anything bad to happen to him, which is why I can't just kick him out. He doesn't have the money to live alone and he doesn't know anyone else he could live with without moving across country again. I don't want him to be homeless because he needs support that I can't keep giving, but I can't keep living like this.
TL;DR: My boyfriend moved in with me and due to valid stress and trauma he is nearly incapable of adulting. The stress of supporting him in basically every facet of life is becoming too much to handle, but I don't want to kick him out and make him homeless.

I am NOT OOP. OOP is u/justathrowaway282641
Originally posted to TwoHotTakes + her own page
Previous BoRU #1, BoRU #2, BoRU #3, BoRU #4, BoRU #5, BoRU #6
Editor’s Note: removed all relevant comments from older posts to make space for new updates. To see all older relevant comments, check out the previous BoRUs above
NEW UPDATE MARKED WITH ----
[New Update]: My family forgot to invite me to my grandparents funeral, but they are convinced I was there.
Trigger Warnings: death of loved ones, emotional manipulation, gaslighting, harassment
RECAP
Original Post: November 14, 2023**
I’m 30s F and caused a major blowup in my family and now none of them are talking to me. For background, my hometown is tiny (500pop) and when I went 2 hrs away to “the city” (15,000pop) for college, I loved it. I ended up staying after graduation, got married, and am happy here for a decade. I visit my home town every few weeks or so, call/text my family near daily, and thought we were all good. My family’s pretty small. Just my brother, mom, step dad, dad, step mom, and an aunt and uncle (mom’s siblings, never married, no kids). My mother's grandparents moved to my home town when I was in high school and were just down the street from us. My family has always been pretty drama free (aside from my parent’s divorce when I was a kid) and we’ve been happy. The step-parents were blended in perfectly and we share holidays and celebrations together. We’re all super close and just the perfect little group.
Ever since I moved away, the topic of “when am I moving back?” is constant, and I’ve always laughed it off. My home town has nothing. You have to drive 30 minutes for milk and bread. 60-90 minute one-way commutes to work. And floods shut down the main road every Easter. I love the town, but I love here more. I have parks, stores, community events, a library! The “city” is great. My family grumbles that I need to move back, but I refuse. I've been trying to encourage them to come here, especially since it's not an hour drive to the nearest medical facility.
Now to the meat and potatoes: both my grandparents passed over COVID times. They were both old and their health had been failing for a while so it was only a matter of time. Thankfully they didn’t catch it, but it made visiting them impossible and we survived mostly through FaceTime. They both passed in their sleep months apart. Both were cremated and kept securely under the kitchen sink for safe keeping while the pandemic blew over. That was 2021.
Well, I just found out my family held a funeral for them and scattered the ashes in my uncle’s maple grove over the summer. No one said a word to me about it. I’ve visited numerous times before and after and not one word. I only found out because my great uncle from California posted on Facebook a few weeks ago that he is entering hospice and was so thankful his health stayed strong enough for him to see his little sister (my grandma) to her final resting place. I was confused and called my mom. She was all “Yeah, the funeral we had in July, remember?” Ya’ll, I visited them for the 4th of July. They did the funeral the 8th. Not a word about it to me. They had planned this for months. Long enough to arrange for my infirm great uncle to be brought over from the other side of the country. Apparently, they talked about it “all the time”.
Everyone is convinced I was at the funeral. They SWEAR I was there. I can prove I wasn’t because Google’s got my location history. My hubby is baffled because he was supposedly there, too, but he had to work every weekend in June and July. Time clock doesn’t lie. My family straight up forgot about me. I’m hurt. I’m sad. And they’re pissed at me “for lying”. They think I’m causing drama over nothing. Nothing I say can convince them I wasn’t there. My family is united in this. And they’ve all put me “on read” until I admit I’m wrong. They think I’ve gone nuts. Either there’s a doppelganger of me attending events, or my family doesn’t want to admit they screwed up. I’m not backing down.
Thanksgiving is coming up, and my family’s been vague posting on Facebook about “forgetful kids” and mental health. It’s so freaking weird and I don’t know if I’m in bizzaro world or what’s going on. My mom’s best friend reached out and said I should just admit I was wrong and apologize, that I’m causing my mom so much unnecessary stress. I asked her if she’s checked everyone’s home for CO2. She hung up on me. (We checked our CO2, and our testers are running just fine.) I have reached out to a few people in my home town to check in on my folks, and they all say they're fine. I even spoke with the local volunteer fire fighter group to see if they could check for gas leaks. Not sure if they were able to.
I don’t know what to do. I’ve shown them the proof I wasn’t there, but they know I’m tech savvy and just assume I’ve Photoshopped it. Hubby says we need a break, and we’re going to be staying home this holiday season.
Edit: I don't know the update rules, so I'll post updates to my profile should anyone want them.  
Update #1: November 27, 2023
Not sure how to do updates on posts, so figured I'd post anything on my profile. Folks have private messaged me and this will be easier I think?
It's 11/27 and Thanksgiving just happened. Hubby and I stayed home. We got a small turkey and made our own little thanksgiving. It was nice. We ate around noon, then watched a movie, and later sat outside with a bottle of wine to watch the sun set behind the trees and neighbor houses.
We usually take the day before off, drive to my folks, stay the night, and help with the Thanksgiving Day cooking. So it wasn't until Wednesday night that my mom broke the silence. Mom called and asked when I was showing up, and I told her we were staying home this year, but for them to have a happy Thanksgiving, and to give the rest of the family my love. She was quiet for a long time after I said that, and I think she eventually mumbled an "okay", or something, and hung up. It wasn't an angry hang up. Just a hang up. On Thanksgiving day, I sent a group "Happy Thanksgiving!" gif to our family group chat. I received a few "happy Thanksgiving"'s back. No one's said anything else. There's been no posts on Facebook.  
Update #2: December 12, 2023
So, I think I mentioned in one of my comments that my dad and I usually talk on the phone every Sunday morning. We're both early risers so we'd chat over our morning coffees and watch the sunrise. Him and I haven't really spoken since this all went down and it's been tough. I'm used to talking to him, you know?
Well, I was sitting outside in my usual spot, watching the sun rise and freezing my butt off, and he called me. I'm not entirely sure how to describe the emotions I felt. It was a mix of panic, hope, terror, happiness, and dread. I ended up answering because I just had to know what he wanted. It was an awkward conversation. He didn't address the current "drama", but instead tiptoed around the situation with all the grace of an cow on stilts. For instance, a simple "How are you doing?" Type question was answered with a "Not good." And the whole conversation would stall out for a bit because he knew why I wasn't doing well. So we ended up talking about the weather, the various winter birds we'd seen in our feeders, and the Christmas decorations around town. Things like that.
Eventually he asked if we were coming out for Christmas, and sounded sad when I told him we weren't. He asked if him and step mom could come visit us instead, and I told him it wasn't a good idea this year. That hubby and I were going to spend a quiet holiday together. I let him know he should be receiving some gifts at his PO Box any day now, so to please pick them up from the post office and put them under the family tree for everyone. He said he'd ship ours to us as well.
And that was pretty much it. No crazy drama to report. The only posts on Facebook have been the usual Christmas excitement ones, countdowns, photos of Santa, silly gift ideas, photos of company Christmas parties.
On a personal note: Hubby and I are doing alright. Our health is good, our spirits high, and we're as solid as ever. We each got Christmas bonus' at our jobs, so we're excited about that. They're not large, but we're happy to have them. We have also done advent calendars for the first time ever. I got him a Lego one, and he got me a hot chocolate one. We're going to do the calendars again next year. Maybe make a tradition out of it.
Everyone please have a safe and happy holidays.  
Inheritance: December 16, 2023
I've received a lot - A LOT - of messages and private DMs urging me to check into inheritance and such. I'm really touched a lot of Internet strangers are worried about me and I wanted to ensure everyone that inheritance is most likely not an issue here. I'd almost be relieved if it was, because then it would at least make some sense. Money does weird things to people, you know?
No one in my family is wealthy by any means. After my grandparents' passed, their small estate was used to pay for their end of life expenses and remaining assets split up. Everyone directly related got an equal split (so excluded my dad and the step parents). I don't remember the exact amount I received, but it was around $5k if I recall. My brother gave me his share, too, so I could finish paying off my college debt while the interest freeze was active.
The great uncle from California has kids and grand kids, and great grandkids of his own, and also isn't wealthy. I think one of his kids makes good money doing something in finance, but I'm not entirely sure. I can't imagine he left us anything, as we hardly knew him. My mom, aunt, and uncle only met him a few times in their lives, and my brother and I even less. Grandma and him were close, but I don't think he liked my grandpa much.  
Christmas: December 25, 2023
I hope everyone had a wonderful Christmas. I've received a lot of support through my posts and I'm really grateful. Writing these updates have had a therapeutic effect.
Yesterday was Sunday, but I didn't answer my dad when he called. I just really didn't feel up to a pointless chat, so let it go to voicemail. He tried to reach me a few times throughout the day, but I didn't answer.
Our bestie last minute invited us over to his house for Christmas day lunch (today), so husband and I were busy all Christmas Eve making cookies, peanut brittle, and homemade suckers/hard candies for his kids. Mom tried to reach out as well, but I also ignored her calls.
We had a BLAST at lunch! Our friend's kids are a lot of fun to be around. They got some techy presents from their grandparents (Quest vr headset and steam decks, lucky little rascals) Friend and his wife aren't good with tech, while hubby and I are, so we helped get them set up while our friend played a good host to his folks and inlaws. The grandparents didn't realize that a Steam deck required a Steam account, so we got the kids all their own accounts set up, added them to our steam friends lists, and gifted them some games. We also bought them a few VR games for their headset, and they were off to the races with Beat Saber in no time.
As for my folks: My brother texted and asked if we could talk sometime tomorrow. I think me ignoring mom and dad has caused some kind of upset. Which they deserve.  
Brother’s call: December 26, 2023
Spoke with my brother over the phone this morning.
For starters, he apologized for everything. Him and I are good (for now). For a bit of background, my brother and I are only 2 years apart. There weren't a lot of kids around growing up, so the two of us were often stuck doing stuff together. So we have a lot of shared interests and passions. He's been pretty silent on this whole matter, but still "part of the group", if you know what I mean. I think the thought of losing him out of my life was probably the most painful, because he's always been there. He was my rock until I met my husband. He's definitely a Mama's boy, though, so anything mom wanted, he made sure she got. I'm happy to have him back.
Without further ado, here's the story from the horse's mouth:
Mom apparently had a cancer scare late last year (which no one told me about, go figure), and dad had a stint put in his heart back in January (which I did know about). This "sense of mortality" has apparently lit a fire under Mom's ass to get me back home. But since I wasn't reacting to her passive aggressive hinting, she and step mom decided to go full crazy. My great uncle's health was bad, and he'd been asking about funeral arrangements for his sister (my grandma) for a while, so the moms decided to plan it. And use the event as a giant middle finger to me. They kept all the planning pretty hush-hush between the two of them, so no one on our side of the family actually knew about the funeral until like 2 weeks before. The moms said they'd invited hubby and I. No one thought anything about it. No one thought to mention, confirm, or check with me.
The plan was to scatter the ashes, say a few words, and maybe head to town for lunch. It was a small affair. The mom's didn't even tell the family that our great uncle was coming for it. Like I said, it was a small thing. Barely a footnote. No one thought it was odd because we're pretty chill people.
4th of July happens. Hubby and I are out. No one thought to mention it, as we were all busy celebrating and having a great time. Any time the topic of "this weekend" would start, the conversation would be quickly shifted by one of the moms. We went back home.
8th of July happens. Great uncle rolls into town with a few of his kids, grandkids, and great grandkids, and it's a surprise to everyone (but the moms). Everyone drives to the maple grove and the moms have brought a ton of food and stuff. It's a full blown party. No one on my side noticed I wasn't there, because there were so many extra faces outside the usual group. They did the spreading of the ashes, they said their words, they ate, they had a great time. It wasn't until our great uncle left, and all his side left with him, that they realized I wasn't there. And hadn't been there.
And this is where the crazy went up a notch. My brother says the moms were happy no one noticed I wasn't there. And that this was proof to everyone that I needed to move back because I was so easily forgotten about. Because none of them thought to reach out, right? They basically did a ton of guilt tripping manipulation bullshit and it made everyone upset at me for not showing up. Somehow it was my fault for being excluded. So suddenly everyone was on their side with "sticking it to me".
But then a few months went by, and tempers cooled, and then I guess the horror of it set in. Followed by the shame, but by then they were "in too deep". How do you undo something like this? And since I hadn't brought it up, I guess they figured they would all just stay quiet about it and hope I never asked about a funeral.
That's when I discovered the situation from my great uncle's Facebook and called my mom, who panicked and went with the stupidest solution. Claiming I was there. Don't I remember?
I ended up talking with a few friends from high school, mentioning the situation, and word got back to those in town. So suddenly town gossip and little old church ladies got involved. Was I, or wasn't I at the funeral? Did my family forget to invite me to the funeral of the only grandparents I'd ever know? Or am I just causing a ruckus? My brother said they all just went with mom's answer. Of course they wouldn't forget me. Of course I was there. Of course they're good people. And it just snowballed.
The family expected me to eventually fold. I'm usually a nonconfrontational person, so me sticking to my guns was unexpected. And then I missed Thanksgiving. And now Christmas. With no sign of backing down. And I guess the realization that I could just stop being part of their lives is setting in and my parents are panicking. He's tried just getting them to apologize and explain, but stubbornness prevails. They want to rug sweep, but I'm not letting them.
My brother is upset with everything that's happened. He's realized just how crappy it all has been and he wants nothing to do with it anymore. But since he lives with my mom, he can't "get away from it".
He has asked if he can come stay with us for a little bit. I spoke with hubby, and he's in agreement with me that my brother can come crash in our spare bedroom for as long as he wants. Brother works remotely, so it's no trouble for him to pick up and go. I believe he's making the trip today or tomorrow. Not entirely sure, but I expect crap to hit the fan when he arrives.
On a side note, hubby's stoked that my brother and I made up. The two usually game together, but haven't due to "the situation". He's downstairs right now setting up his man cave in preparation for my brother's arrival. I'm happy to see him so excited.  
Brother's Here: December 27, 2023
My brother rolled in late last night. He'd obviously been crying and when I opened the door, he just held me and sobbed. I'd never seen him like that before and soon both of us were just standing in the doorway crying into one another. He kept apologizing. Over and over again. Said he wasn't sure why he went with it. Just kept saying sorry. Hubby got him all set up in the spare bedroom while brother and I talked. My brother's a wreck. He's always been a big guy, but he's lost a lot of weight and his clothes just hang off him. If I didn't know better, I'd think he was on drugs. We talked for a little bit before bed and he re-explained everything for my husband. I'd told hubby the story, but it was just so weird that hearing it again helped.
This morning my brother was up at dawn making some coffee and getting his work day going. Hubby's off all week (lucky) so hubby made us working folk some pancakes and bacon. So far everything's peaceful. We've decided not to answer any calls from our family. They've been made aware that he arrived safely, and that we are going to spend the New Years together, and that we're not answering any calls until January 1st. They may text if they wish. I'm sure they're losing their minds. Serves them right.
Everyone, have a safe and happy new years! Don't drink and drive!  
Happy 2024!: January 2, 2024
I hope everyone has a safe and enjoyable holidays, and may the new year be full of joy and happiness!
Not too much of an update. Things here have been quiet. My brother's settled in nicely and he's a great housemate. Our place isn't very big, but we have full basement and a nice outside patio/porch area so it doesn't feel crowded at all with the extra addition. He's a quiet and clean guy. No hassle at all. He got some fresh clothes from the Walmart, a haircut, and trimmed his beard, so he's more "presentable" now. He's a lady killer when he gets cleaned up. He's made nice with the (very nosy, but kind) retired couple next door and is adapting to "city living" nicely.
Folks back home have been mostly well behaved. There's been a few texts back and forth, as we're not answering calls. Mom mainly wants to know when brother's coming back, but he's keen on staying here for a while. Mom said I can't "keep him" and I told her he's a grown ass man and can do what he wants. Brother says he has her blocked after she ORDERED him to return home.
Brother has tentatively asked if he could stay long term, should he decide to, or at least longer than a usual visitor would stay. Which we're fine with. He has a good paying job and could afford an apartment, but he's never lived on his own and I would guess he has some anxiety about it. Should that be the case, he'll start paying us some rent and we'd probably adjust to give him the basement as his own space.  
Had to change the locks: January 17, 2024
My brother is officially staying with us for the long haul. Hubby and him spent all Sunday organizing the basement and shifting things around so he now has his own area to be comfortable in. He's pretty handy and has also started fixing little things around our house. Our windows and doors have never closed and locked/unlocked smoother. He even fixed one of the closets we never use because we can never get the darn door open. Sadly, he also had to change the locks on our house and get us all new keys.
This is because while hubby and I were out this Saturday, the moms showed up. They'd been calling and texting us all week, but we weren't really answering them, so I guess the two decided to drive over and hash it out in person. They have emergency keys to my place, and just let themselves in. Brother told them to leave, they argued, and my nosy (but kind) neighbors called the police when they noticed the commotion. So, we get a call from neighbor's wife, return home to some cops in our yard, all the neighbors out "vacuuming their trees", and my nosy (but kind) neighbors standing on my porch with my brother behind them, doing their best Gandalf "You shall not pass" impression.
Had to talk with the cops, explain that we were having a family dispute and word vomited. I don't really remember what all I said, and was shaking a lot. Our local cops are really great. Fantastic guys and gals in blue, and took it all in stride. It's really cold here, so one had me join him in his cruiser with the heat on, and gave me a bottle of water to calm down while we talked. They asked if we wanted the moms trespassed but I wasn't sure if that counted as a criminal charge so just asked the cops if they could just make them leave, which the cops did with no fuss. I think the moms were shocked we were taking this so seriously. They didn't fight or scream at us. Just left quietly.
My dad promised me he'd make sure his wife left us alone. "Or else". He said he'd also have a stern talk with my mom. Him and I talked Sunday morning, and he seemed absolutely at the end of his rope. Husband jokingly told my dad he could move in, too. To which he declined.
Not sure where to go from here, but we're getting some ring cameras installed once they arrive. And everyone but my dad is blocked. Hopefully they all just leave us alone.  
Nothing New To Report: February 2, 2024
Had a lot of DMs for updates, but don't have much anything to report on. The moms are behaving themselves. All's quiet on the western front. Felt weird ignoring or copy/pasting "no updates" to everyone, so here's what we've been doing, should anyone care.
Dad got a new bird/squirrel feeder from Amazon (looks like a little picnic table for a child's dolly but has a mesh top for the bird seed. I think it's supposed to be for chickens?) It's totes adorbs. To his horror, it also works as a Cooper hawk feeder, so now he's "fortifying his defenses" and putting up some trellises around it. He'll have to wait till warmer weather before planting anything to grow on them.
We had some ring cameras installed and put in a motion-activated camera that double functions as a light bulb. It goes in the light fixture outside the front door and is pretty cool. Video quality isn't all that great, but it's a nice addition I guess. It does overlook the bird feeders, so I've been watching it on my lunch breaks on the days I have to go into the office.
Hubby and brother are feuding. They started a coop farm in Stardew Valley a few days ago and they both want to romance Leah. My husband confided in me that he's also been romancing Sebastian as a backup. I'm not sure why he's keeping this a secret, but he's pretty smug about it.
RELEVANT COMMENTS
fractal_frog I hope your dad can outsmart the hawks!

OOP: He'll be able to, I just know it. He's used to dealing with the wildlife and having hawks about, but he just wasn't expecting one to snag a meal right from his new feeder.
I told him it was "technically" still a bird feeder. Just....for bigger birds. Which he thought was funny. He said he might make a little "no hawks allowed" sign to put up next to it.

MissOP: keep the updates coming. the moms are so close to folding it's just a little bit more. LMAO also, the bro mance between your husband and brother is so cute. lol Honestly, I think your husband making sure he has a side piece of Sebastian is absolutely the play.

OOP: So far still no word from the moms, but I hope you're right. I would love an apology and for us to begin moving past this. But I NEED that apology. I feel selfish saying that, but I refuse to "be the bigger person" on this. I just won't.
As for my brother and husband, yeah, they're basically soul mates. The two hit it off immediately when they first met, and they've been thick as thieves for years.  

Update: February 27, 2024
My dad came out for a visit over the weekend. We had a good time and the weather was lovely for some grilling and beers. It was really nice to see him again and he seemed healthy and in good spirits.
Here's his report from back home: Step mom (dad's wife) has started to realize she's screwed up. I credit her change of mindset to the fact that my dad sat her down and laid it out for her: she leaves his kids alone, or she's getting divorce papers. That apparently shut her up right quick, because they had a prenup done when they married and I'm not sure the details of it, but it wouldn't end favorably for her. She hasn't worked in years, so I imagine she'd be eligible for alimony? But I'm not versed in any of that legal mumbojumbo. Dad didn't seem too worried about it, so I'm not gonna worry about it.
Step dad was pissed the police were involved in the last "mom visit" (despite no one getting arrested or anything) and was in a "the kids are out of control and need to be reigned back in" mindset. When my dad pointed out that "the kids" in question were all in their mid-30s, it took some of the steam out of stepdad's sails. According to my dad, even my mom looked a little surprised when he said that. So, part of me is wondering if a good chunk of this whole thing is my mom not truly realizing that her kids were grown, and no longer children she could make demands of. Both of the moms have left us alone. I expected my mom to continue to kick up a fuss, but I think the cops spooked her.
There was a wonderful suggestion by a comment or to get their pastor involved, which I passed along to my dad. Dad has since spoken to their pastor about everything. He's a young guy, relatively new to their church, and joked that his first month on the job he had to do 3 funerals in a row and his new "flock" were just dying to get away from him, so he's got a sense of humor which is nice. The new pastor agreed to sit down with everyone and help the family hash it all out in a true "Come to Jesus" type moment next month, so that maybe we could celebrate Easter together as our first holiday as a family. Dad said the pastor was aware our family was having some troubles, but unsure of exactly what was going on, and since he was new, the pastor didn't want to pry. He has also agreed to do a small service down at my uncle's maple grove later in the summer, as it usually floods and is a muddy mess all spring. According to my dad, my aunt and uncle are so over all the drama and just ready to move on, so I expect hugs and apologies from them when we next meet.
Stardew Valley Update: My brother was victorious in the grand fight for Leah. It was a hard battle. Well fought. When my husband exposed his plans to woo Sebastian all this time, it was quite the betrayal. Dramatics aside, their farm is really cute and I'm so happy they're enjoying the game!  
Update 4/1 - Final one I think - April 1, 2024
Happy April Fools everyone! I hope you all check your caramel apples for stray onions before taking a bite! I also hope your Easter weekend was a delightful one.
It is with great joy that I tell you all about our most recent update! Possibly even a conclusion to this whole ordeal.
The entire family (aunt, uncle, moms, dads, brother, me, husband) and pastor met at my dad's house and we all sat down to hash the situation out. As expected from what my dad said, my aunt and uncle greeted us all with apologies and hugs, which was nice. My uncle usually helps host the Easter egg hunts with the church and he brought our Easter baskets to give to us in case us kids weren't sticking around the for the weekend. I'm not sure why but seeing it made me tear up and feel stupid, because it was just a basket of candy but it meant a lot to me for some reason.
The pastor led us in a prayer and talked about forgiveness and such. He then asked us all to talk one at a time about how we're feeling and what we want the end result of today to be. No one was allowed to interrupt so everyone got to talk. It was nice. The consensus for the group was that most everyone wanted things to go back to "normal". The only ones who had any variance off this was my mom and step dad. They both wanted all us kids to move back to the area.
The pastor asked them why they wanted us back, and neither could give a good reason other than "because family", and the pastor asked us if we were thriving where we were. And we said we were. He asked if we were happy there. Which we were. He then asked my mom and step dad if they wanted us to give up our happiness to make them happy.
And Mom broke down and said no. We all had a good cry. The pastor then asked about the funeral and lies that led up to it and followed it and how it made us all feel and what we wished we'd done differently if we had the chance. It was all very emotional, but in a good way, you know? Everyone apologized and admitted they f-ed up and did a really crappy thing.
We all talked for a long, long time and the pastor was a great mediator. Eventually we all reached some sort of resolution and I think we're good now. Emotions are still high and a little raw in areas, but we stayed for Easter weekend and had a nice time. We're going to keep moving forward slowly and try to repair the relationship, but I believe we're well and truly out of the woods.
As for my brother, he's still staying with us, and mom will stop trying to guilt trip him back home. He's thinking about renting a small apartment in our area but we're not pushing him to make a decision. He knows he's welcome to stay as long as he wants. I think he wants to try dating (he's had a few girlfriends but never anything serious) and is embarrassed to bring any girls around our place, lol. He's been going to a few random classes/bookclubs at the local library for something free to do and hitting it off with all the little old ladies who attend, and they keep trying to hook him up with girls his age who they know. He has been on a few lunches/coffee dates with a couple girls, but I think he's too embarrassed by the attention to give it a real try at "dating" any of them. He's happy, though, which is all I could ask for.
I'm not sure if there will be any more updates, as I think it's all be resolved about as much as it can be at the moment. I wanted to thank you all for your words of advice and giving me a place to vent and scream into the void. Please be kind to one another and to yourselves. Thank you.
Relevant Comments
emjkr: What a nice and hopeful update, I’m really glad you stuck to your guns when everyone threw sanity out the window!
But, could your mother explain how she thought this would work out in her favour?

OOP: I don't think mom thought too far ahead. I believe she assumed it would all just magically work out the way she wanted it to. She said she wasn't sure what she was expecting to happen (which I think was a lie, but I wasn't going to push it).

mak_zaddy: This was a great update! But ummmmmm no stardew valley update? What gives? Has Sebastian been woo’ed? How’s Leah? What’s happening?

OOP: Sebastian has indeed been wooed (and whoohooed) There's kids and cows and chickens. The two are still having a wonderful time at the game. They're working on completing the community center but it's slow going as they aren't trying to speedrun and just doing things as they want. I believe they're thinking about going into the desert mines once they complete that bundle, but they're both super chicken shit about it!

-my-cabbages: I don't really understand what you had to apologize for ... but I'm glad you're happy and the situation seems to be settling down

OOP: There wasn't much of an apology on my end, as everyone agreed I had done nothing wrong. Mine was more of a "I'm sorry you didn't feel as though I would listen." Type apology, which I don't really believe is a proper apology because apologies like that push the blame back on another. I mostly expressed my feelings and the shock of it all, and how betrayed I felt.  

----NEW UPDATE----

Small, happy update: May 7, 2024 (1 month later)
Things as wonderful as the moment. Still doing baby steps with The Moms. We're texting and talking on the phones more, which is nice. Very civil.
Dad "accidentally" bought a bunch of hand crafted bird feeders at a craft fair. By accidentally, I mean: he had a little too much fun in the beer tent, went for a stroll while step mom wasn't looking, and stumbled upon a guy's booth and bought "one of each". He wouldn't tell me how MANY "one of each" was, but he cackled like a witch when I asked. Step mom said she's forcing him to give a few to me, so I'm expecting a delivery or a Dad-visit any day now.
My brother is officially "going steady" with a girl. We've met her a few times and she seems like a real sweetheart. She's our age and has a little boy (5-6 years old, I haven't asked) from a previous relationship (The dad's not in the picture from what I can gather). She's the granddaughter of one of his Book Club members, so the old ladies made good match makers in the end. The relationship is still very new and I'm routing for them.
No new Stardew Valley updates. Work has been a little crazy lately and I haven't been able to play much of anything, and brother has been distracted by his new lady friend. So, husband finally started Baldur's Gate 3, and fell for Gale's "magic trick" so now those two are a thing. I expect him to be sufficiently distracted from reality for the next few weeks.
 

DO NOT COMMENT IN LINKED POSTS OR MESSAGE OOPs – BoRU Rule #7

THIS IS A REPOST SUB - I AM NOT OOP

The garage door shut with a groan behind us, closing us in the gloom of the single bulb hanging over the car.
Mother took a drag off her cigarette and sighed as she exhaled, the smoke filled the cabin of the Ford and stung my eyes.
“You really disappointed me today, Julianne," she tapped her cigarette in the ashtray below the dash, "you embarrassed me in front of the other mothers at the Ice Cream Social, shoveling down seconds and thirds like a pig. I thought I raised you better than that.”
She took another drag, daintily holding the cigarette between her perfectly manicured fingers.
“I'm going to have to tell your brother about this," she continued, “he'll have to come up with a punishment fit for a pig."
I felt my stomach drop. My kid brother, Thomas, was only six, but could be exceptionally cruel. Mother seemed to encourage him and was deferring to him more and more frequently for how the house was run, especially concerning my upbringing.
"Mother, please, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to embarrass you. I'm sorry I was a pig and ate so much ice cream. I promise I won't do it again, I'll never eat any ice cream again," I was pleading with stone, unyielding.
“Hush your mouth. Go to your room and wait for Thomas," she put out the cigarette and got out of the car, I had no choice but to follow.
It felt like walking to the gallows as I stepped inside the house and headed towards the stairs to go to my room. Thomas had grown fond recently of physical punishment, he obviously delighted in Mother whipping me with a belt or, recently, Mother had allowed him to start beating me with a wooden spoon. He would squeal and giggle like a normal child watching bubbles in the wind while I screamed. I was dreading whatever was going to happen tonight, I chastised myself for eating that ice cream, I should have known she would show up. My sins were always laid bare.
Down the hall, I could hear Thomas watching television in the den. I only got to watch TV for half an hour on Saturday morning and new episodes of Happy Days with Mother and Thomas. Thomas got to watch all the TV he wanted. He could listen to the radio and turntable as much as he wanted, as loud as he wanted. Thomas had an entire room just for his toys.
I entered my bedroom, it was a space I occupied, but it didn't feel like mine. Mother kept it spartan, white walls and white bedspread. A crucifix over the bed and a painting of Jesus over the door. I had my desk and chair and a dresser with some of the porcelain dolls Daddy gave me before he died that Mother let me keep. That was it.
I placed my book bag down and sat on my bed, waiting for Thomas. It was a while, sitting there with nothing but my own thoughts and staring at the open door. I felt humiliated, I was almost thirteen and my entire life was dictated by my brother. Mother kept the house in constant lockdown to keep Thomas a secret. No outsiders were allowed in. I couldn't have friends because she was afraid I would mention him or sneak a friend in to gawk at my brother and tease him for being different.
I would never make fun of him, I was terrified of him. Terrified of what he was and what he was becoming.
Eventually I heard his heavy footsteps coming up the stairs and I felt my heart start beating faster and my palms began to sweat. I kneaded my skirt in my hands, trying to calm myself and dry my palms. His slow arrhythmic footsteps came down the hall and I watched him as he entered the room.
I couldn't help but internally recoil at his appearance, even though I'd known him since he was born, I could never adjust to how unnatural he appeared. Thomas had been born at home and had never seen a doctor, but he was obviously unwell.
He was six years old and was barely over two feet tall, but very squat and wide. His skin was thick and gray, the whites of his beady eyes were yellow and his hair was wispy and white like an old man's, spreading out like a halo around his gargoyle face. A slight odor of decomposition hung about him, it reminded me faintly of garbage cans on a hot summer day. I hated when Mother made me help him with a bath, his skin felt like old brittle leather that flaked onto my clothes in gray flecks. His body was dense like concrete, I could barely lift him into the tub. Picking him up forced his hair into my face where that smell of rot would fill my nose, causing me to gag, silently, so as not to offend him and draw any ire from him or Mother.
Today, Thomas was wearing bib overalls with a red and green striped sweater underneath, reminding me of a grotesque doll.
“Mama says you acted like a piggy today at the ice cream social,” he spoke up to me in his unsettlingly high pitched, yet raspy voice, like a child that smoked as much as Mother, "you need to come down for dinner right now for your punishment for embarrassing Mama."
He turned and walked back down the stairs and I had no choice but to follow his toddling form downstairs to the dining table. We entered the kitchen and the table was placed with two settings. Mother was already seated and Thomas clambered up into his booster seat at his normal spot next to Mother. She took a drag off her cigarette and motioned vaguely to the floor without even looking at me.
Neatly situated on the linoleum was my dinner, not on a plate, but directly on the floor. A pork chop, scoop of mashed potatoes, and a small pile of peas. No utensils, either.
Thomas giggled with glee upon seeing my face.
“You have Mama's permission now to eat like a piggy, now. No hands! Piggies just use their face!” He stood up in his chair and reached out for Mother’s ash tray and flung it out over my meal, peppering my dinner with cigarette ash and butts.
"Oops! Piggies don't mind trash though, do they, Mama?” he giggled and the sound filled me with rage.
"No, they don't,” Mother replied coolly while maneuvering her ashtray back in place and carefully putting out her cigarette before saying prayer.
As angry as I was, I got down on my hands and knees and did my best at eating what I could without using my hands. I knew if I refused, it would be far worse. The whole meal, Thomas made pig noises and would reach down and poke me with his fork, making comments about what a fat piggy I was and how he wished he could roast and eat me. I doubted Mother would even object if he actually did kill me and eat me.
Gagging my way through another bite of ashy pork chop, I felt a warm splat over my head and heard Thomas giggling. I reached up and felt he had dumped mashed potatoes into my hair.
Choking down tears, I asked Mother if I could clean the floor and bathe. She rolled her eyes and excused me to clear the table for them as well while she changed Thomas into his pajamas. Picking him up, she walked out of the room and Thomas stuck his putrid little purple tongue out at me before they made it out the kitchen door.
I silently cried while I cleared the table and washed the dinner dishes. Tears splashed down as I mopped up the mess from my food on the floor. I hated how awful Thomas was. I hated how they treated me. Ever since Daddy died and Thomas showed up, I was their punching bag. I missed Daddy so much.
Mother was kinder then, too. She was still severe, but Dad kept her tempered. After he died, there was a change that came over her. I was only six, so I didn't remember her too much from before, but I did remember her gushing on and on when she was pregnant with Thomas. How the baby was a gift from Our Heavenly Father, that it was going to complete our broken family.
My sixth birthday happened right after Daddy died and I remember sitting on the patio crying while the house was full of people after the funeral, normally he would have gotten me a new doll and a chocolate bar, instead I was forgotten. No doll. No chocolate. Just funeral potatoes and a house full of cigarette smoke from the adults.
Nobody remembered. The closest thing I got was my dad's sister, Aunt Judy, sitting next to me on the patio step for a few minutes of comfortable silence before giving my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. I don't think she knew her brother was memorialized on my birthday. Next year, Thomas was born the day before my birthday, so it was completely eclipsed as Mother had just birthed her new love into the world…
I stopped mid mop as a lightbulb finally went off. I had never put much thought into the dates before.
Thomas was born a full year after Daddy died. He couldn't be his dad. Who was Thomas’ actual father?
Washing mashed potatoes out of my hair that evening, I ran over and over the timeline. No matter how I parsed it out, Thomas was only my half brother. Going to bed that night, I kept myself awake, going over and over again to make sure. I couldn't remember any men being around at that time, but that didn't mean much. Adults can easily hide things from children. Tension began throbbing through my head and I felt queasy. Mother had always known all of my secrets, able to sniff them out like a bloodhound out or using Thomas to spy. Now I had one of Mother's secrets and I didn't know what to do with it.
First I wanted to confirm it, but it would mean snooping, which was difficult in a house that was rarely left empty. I would have to try finding Mother's calendar book or journal to see if she mentioned any dates or men.
But when could I attempt such a daring maneuver? Thomas hardly left the house. As proud as Mother was of him, she was very cognizant and protective of his differences and didn't want to draw attention to herself or Thomas like that. Mother herself had few social engagements throughout the week and mostly stayed home to watch her golden child.
I finally decided I would take the risk and fake sick on Tuesday, grocery day, so I could stay home from school while she went shopping. All Thomas did all day was watch TV downstairs, so that should give me about an hour to look through her room for clues. I decided to tuck my head down, try to behave as best as I could to avoid their wrath, and wait for Tuesday.
That weekend limped along agonizingly slow. Thomas was in a fine mood and was constantly seeking out a reason to poke me, punch me, slap me… he'd laugh while calling me a piggy with his off-putting wide mouth. I tried to mostly stay in my room and it seemed like neither of them cared.
School on Monday was a relief, but my anxiety ramped up. The consequences would be dire if Mother caught on that I was faking sick to stay home. I didn't even want to imagine how off the leash she'd let my half-brother become in his punishment for that level of insubordination.
I stayed up all night, my stomach was in knots, but I was committed to my plan. Throughout the night, I screamed as hard as I could into my pillow. Screamed until my throat was raw and I could barely talk. It felt cathartic in a way. When it was close to school time, I put on my heaviest flannel pajamas and began doing jumping jacks until my face was flushed and my scalp was soaked with sweat.
Looking in the bathroom mirror before heading down to talk to Mother, I thought I looked pretty convincing, my skin was flushed and sweaty, my eyes had circles under them from lack of sleep, and my voice croaked like a frog.
Heading downstairs, Mother was already feeding Thomas breakfast. I hesitantly stepped into the kitchen and stood there awkwardly for a second, pawing with my pajamas to keep my nerves steady until she noticed my presence and looked up.
“Why aren't you dressed, Julianne?"
"I don't feel well. My throat hurts and my tummy hurts.” My voice graveled out more than I was expecting, I really had hurt my throat.
She strode over to me and placed a cool hand on my sweaty brow.
"You do feel warm. Take an aspirin from the medicine cabinet and go lay back down. I'll check on you later," with that she turned back and walked over to Thomas, who was frozen in place, glaring at me over a forkful of scrambled eggs. The sharp glint of malice in his beady eyes made me shiver before I shuffled out of the kitchen.
I laid in bed, trying my best to look miserable until I eventually heard the faint sound of the television playing in the den as Thomas settled in for his normal daytime routine and the garage door opened as Mother headed to the grocery store. I bounded out of bed and watched the car back out of our driveway and head up the street.
My heart began to pound as I tiptoed down the hall to Mother's bedroom, a place I rarely even caught a glimpse of, let alone entered. I very slowly opened the door, taking great care to not make any noise to alert Thomas downstairs that I was out of bed.
Creeping into the butter yellow room, I could feel my heartbeat pounding in my skull, this was the naughtiest thing I had ever done by far. I stepped onto the rug to help disguise my footsteps and slowly made my way past the brass bed and towards her desk. My hands shook as I opened the top drawer, I pawed through rapidly and found nothing. I checked the next drawer down and again found nothing of interest, just stationary and envelopes.
Finally, the bottom drawer was what I was looking for, a stack of journals from the past decade. I flipped through, trying to find entries relevant to when Daddy died and who Mother slept with afterwards.
I've never fully recovered from what I read.
July 6, 1968
Edgar died today. Car accident. I cannot believe this is real. My light, my life, my anchor... Dr. Benson gave me a sedative at the hospital and I feel so tired. So very, very tired. Why has my Lord forsaken me so?
July 9, 1968
I feel like I am in a very bad dream, I feel numb and disconnected. All the consolation and pity from everyone makes me feel sick. After the memorial, it took everything in me to not break dishes and to scream at everyone to get out of my house. Julianne was moping about crying and I wanted to throw her out, too.
If I hadn't seen my dear Edgar's body in the hospital and held his urn in my own hands, I wouldn't believe he was really gone. I still don't entirely believe it.
I have prayed to God every night asking him to show me why he took my husband from me and I have gotten no answer.
I skimmed over the next few months, as it was more or less similar sentiments repeated night after night. I finally got to an entry that caught my eye.
September 17, 1968
My battle with my faith has been fraught the past few months, but Hallelujah! I feel I can see the Lord again in all his glory and might, for he has given me a way to reconnect to my Edgar!
I was thinking about the night Julianne was born, right in this very home, it was a difficult birth and she struggled to breathe at first. Ingrid, my midwife, made a comment to me that if the baby had failed to wake up on her own, that Ingrid had ways to make sure she would have made it.
I remember asking if it was a medical methodology and she made it clear to me that in certain circumstances, it was a mystical property she used to bring the air of life into a struggling baby's lungs. She gently alluded to being a practicing member of the dark arts. At the time, I felt quite scandalized to have someone like that in my God fearing home. Now I see her as the answer to my prayers! My angel!
On a whim, I called her and asked if she still practiced such techniques. She hesitantly confirmed that she did. I asked, if she could turn breath into the lungs of a child without, could she turn breath into a child that did not exist? Could she magick into existence another child of my beloved Edgar? She told me she had to do some research and she'd be back in touch.
Ingrid just called back after a few hours and said there was a spell she found, but it was dangerous and might have unpleasant results. I said, yes, of course! I trust my Lord and I believe he sent this woman of blessed magick to me for this purpose.
She says we will have to do it soon, in a few days during the new moon. She has a potion to brew, but it is happening! Praise God!
September 23, 1968
The ceremony was last night, and Ingrid believes it was a success, but we will have to wait. It did not take long, only an hour or two. Ingrid lit my bedroom with many beeswax candles and she had me drink a thick and bitter tea that caused me to become quite relaxed and foggy.
From my inner thigh, she cut me and collected my blood in a chalice, with which she mixed quite a lot of Edgar's ashes and other ingredients which I could not glean from my supine position and groggy wits. Ingrid began to chant, calling upon a higher power, as I pleaded with my Lord to let this work. To give me any piece of my Edgar back. She came to the bed and worked the paste between my legs into my womanly chamber, which was very uncomfortable, but manageable with the numbing effects of the tea.
She continued to sit with me and chant, her hand placed over my womb, until she decided at which time it was complete. She left and I fell into a deep sleep. When I woke up this morning, I felt quite uncomfortable, my body ached and when I used the restroom, a yellow fluid like pus poured out of me, but no sign of any ashes or blood, which gives me hope it was absorbed into my womb.
November 3, 1968
Praise be to our Lord, Ingrid just confirmed for me that I am with child, I had been hoping so, I had not gotten my cycle in October, but I wasn't sure if that was because of the discharge like pus that was still coming. She told me that was common with this spell and a side effect that would stop after the baby came.
I feel like I am floating on air, for the first time since Edgar left, I feel-
I suddenly became very aware of the feeling of eyes on the back of my head. I had become too engrossed in what was written before me and I had lost track of my surroundings. Very slowly, I turned around and my heart began pounding again as I saw Thomas standing in the doorway holding his wooden spoon in one hand. How had I not heard him?
He pointed at me with his empty hand and screamed, just a pure guttural screech from somewhere deep inside his disgusting little body. He charged at me from across the room, his horrible feet thumping solidly along the rug. He began beating my legs ruthlessly with the spoon, causing my legs to buckle. I crashed down to my knees in front of him, and he began lashing at my face, pulling my hair with one hand while wailing away at my head with the spoon.
I had dropped the journal I was holding and was desperately trying to get a hand on the spoon or push him away. All I could hear was him screaming. My arms flailed and I reached around on Mother's desk and grabbed onto the first thing I found and sank it into Thomas’ neck.
The end of Mother's gold letter opener protruded under his jaw. He went silent and he looked at me with utter shock. He dropped the spoon and collapsed on the ground, clutching at his neck as his thick black blood oozed out from his wound, letting out a stupendous odor of rot that filled the room. He didn't really say anything or make any noise. He just twitched for a moment and I saw his eyes glaze over.
In shock, I stood over his little body for a moment and I watched as he seemed to mummify in just a few minutes, like an ash person from Pompeii dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt. Even his blood that looked like shiny oil a second ago became like potting soil on Mother's rug. Reaching out to touch his hand, it crumbled away like sand.
Panic ran through me like a rabbit caught in a snare. Not knowing what to do, I ran. I ran down the hall, changed my clothes, put an extra change of clothes in my backpack and the last doll Daddy had ever given me and I ran. Mother would absolutely never forgive me and I was genuinely afraid she would kill me in retaliation for taking her beloved Thomas away from her. Her precious gift from God. My feet flew over the pavement and took me away from that house.
I called my Aunt Judy from a payphone outside the five & dime, and told her Mother had kicked me out and asked if I could stay with her. She had always had a strained relationship with my mother and it didn't take much convincing that she had kicked out her “only” child. Only Mother, Ingrid, and I ever knew about Thomas.
She gave me a home and took care of me. She never beat me or humiliated me. Even with her love, I was far from okay. For years I would close my eyes and hear Thomas scream, then the sudden silence. I'd see him fumbling at his neck and turning to ash. But I would also remember all the ways he would hurt me and how bad he was becoming. I could never talk to anyone about it, especially not the silent relief I felt I refused to admit to myself. Over time, however, Thomas' screams became a whisper and his silence faded into dust in my mind.
I moved on with my life. I went to college and became a photojournalist, getting to travel the world and watch history unfold. By choice, I never married, but was quite blessed with many beautiful friendships for companionship over the decades. I found balance in my life and a sense of happiness, if not peace. I never could quite stomach mashed potatoes again, though, they always taste ashy to me.
Mother never made any attempts to reach out to me or find me, at least that I'm aware of. Ten years ago, I was contacted by a hospital and they said my mother had been admitted earlier after falling and was about to pass, so she must have kept some tabs on me to know my phone number for her emergency contacts. Apparently she had collapsed in the driveway and a neighbor called an ambulance. I got there and her only words to me were, “take care of him," as she placed a locket in my hand. I opened the locket, Jesus was on one side, Thomas on the other. I didn't say anything to her, just held her frail old hand with nicotine stained nails until she passed in the night. My mother was gone and I felt nothing except a vague sense of relief.
When I got to her house, it was like a time capsule. Other than a newer television, it was just like it was when I'd fled so many years ago. The smell of tobacco smoke hung like incense in the air. It felt oppressive, like a tomb.
I wandered the house in a bit of a daze. The one place I didn't want to go was upstairs. I didn't want to see my old room, or Thomas' room, or Mother's. Putting it off, I went to fix myself some supper, realizing I hadn't eaten in almost a day. I took a pause when I opened the fridge and saw a baby bottle on a shelf. Silently praying she had been babysitting for a neighbor, I fixed myself some toast with sardines and sat eating in the den watching TV. It had been almost forty years and it still felt rebellious not eating at the table and watching TV without permission.
My eyes grew heavy and I finally mustered up the gumption to head upstairs to go to bed. The stairs creaked in a familiar way under my feet and I was taken back to the feeling of dread hearing either Mother or Thomas climbing up. My old room was at the top of the stairs, I saw the door was nailed shut and had rambling quotes about Judas copied from the Bible in my mother's handwriting taped to the door. I sighed gently and turned from the door to head down the hallway, deciding Mother's room was probably the best place to sleep.
I passed by Thomas’ toy room and I heard a murmur from the room. I stopped, curiosity got the best of me and I entered. In Thomas' old toy room was a crib with joyful clown sheets. Dread swelled up inside me as I heard more murmurs and saw the sheets move. Approaching slowly, I peaked under the sheet and gasped.
Tucked inside was what looked like a baby gargoyle, gray and papery looking. Pus leaked out of its milky, bulbous eyes. I pulled back the blanket and saw it had no legs and its arms bent back, like wings on a bird. It was wearing just a cloth diaper, overflowing with tarry looking stool that took my breath away with its pungency, it smelled like Thomas’ blood, but somehow worse. My heart broke for this poor creature, Lord only knows how many years it has been in this crib suffering from its unholy existence.
So this is who Mother had wanted me to take care of…
Not knowing what else to do, I gently scooped him up. Like Thomas, he was shockingly heavy for how small his body was. Placing him on the changing table, I cleaned him and rewrapped his bottom in a clean diaper cloth. It was difficult, he fussed tremendously, crying and flopping around as much as his flipper-like arms would allow. I tried wiping off his oozing eyes and he snapped his mouth, which I saw was full of disturbingly square yellow teeth, trying to bite me. I carried him to the kitchen and rocked him while I heated up his bottle and he became furious with me, almost barking like a dog when my hand would get near his face.
He settled a bit as he fed, but he would still sometimes suddenly spit out the bottle and attempt to bite me. I laid him back in his crib, this abomination in a clown sheet, and I walked down the hall to Mother's room letting out a long sigh.
Combing through my mother's journals in the early hours of the morning, it looked like she tried the ceremony again shortly after Thomas died, but she either lacked Ingrid’s help or didn't have enough of my father's ashes left. Something went terribly wrong. She was vaguer than she had been about Thomas’ conception, but I suspect she had used some of Thomas' remains. The resulting birth she named Isaac.
Mother's journals told a sad tale of her and Isaac's suffering. She never mentioned me, but lamented the loss of Thomas and Dad relentlessly. She was hyper protective of Isaac, as that was all she had left. If her world had been small before, it became microscopic after he entered her life, requiring nearly constant care. According to Mother, he was blind and colicky, sometimes going years at a time without sleeping through the night. She had breast fed him for years, but she had to stop after he grew teeth and began biting her intentionally and feeding on her blood.
I spent a lot of time over the next few days pondering what to do. I had to get her estate in order, she had left me the house, in an obvious attempt to get me to continue caretaking for Isaac, but I didn't want it. I had my own cozy home an hour away from here, filled with happy memories and my possessions acquired traveling the world. Mother's home had a heavy energy I couldn't shake. Her and Thomas were both gone, but the memories of the scoldings and beatings hung in every corner, like cobwebs that would never sweep away.
So, I fed Isaac and kept him clean and tried to keep him company, although he seemed to hate me passionately. I took care of him, all the while thinking about what I was going to do. After a week, I felt resolute in what had to be done.
Gathering up all of Mother's journals in a tote, I made my way to Isaac and picked him up and carried everything to the living room.
The ancient logs in the fireplace meant for display ignited instantly. One by one, I fed the journals into the fire, burning away years of my mother's consuming sorrow. Isaac fussed and moaned next to me the entire time. When the last pages shimmered away into lacy ash, I took a throw pillow off the couch and gently cradled Isaac in my other arm. It didn't take long before he stopped struggling and I felt his little body relax after decades of suffering.
I gently wrapped up a bundle in a clown sheet and placed it in the fire. It burned furiously, like the paper in my mother's journals, and was soon gone. Nothing but ashes and embers.
“Don't worry, Mother,” I said purely for my own sake, "I took care of Isaac for you."
And finally, I felt at peace.

Seriously, don't even attempt to trivialize it. It's not about waking you up at 3:00 am for mundane reasons like running out of milk or needing your Wi-Fi password. This entity, whatever it may be, operates outside our reality's bounds, and its motives are far from benign. I learned this the hard way recently, which is why I'm cautioning you all against making light of it. But before delving into specifics, let me offer some context, as sleep paralysis is a recent phenomenon for me.
One of my earliest memories of sleep disruption traces back to my grade school days. With my mother on an early shift unable to drive me to school for its 8:00 am start, she would drop me off at my aunt's house. Here, she ensured I was fed, dressed, and ready for school. Most mornings, I had just about an hour left to sleep before needing to rise. Often, I'd find myself in a half-asleep state from the moment my mom roused me until she tucked me into my aunt's spare bedroom.
On one of those mornings, as I lay down, teetering between wakefulness and sleep, I experienced a peculiar sensation. It felt as though my body began to rise, hovering about two feet above the bed, before swiftly plummeting back down. Startled awake, I assumed my mother had thrown me back onto the bed, only to find the room empty upon opening my eyes.
I hadn't encountered any other experiences quite like that, but it was during this time that I distinctly recall a notable surge in the frequency of the nightmares I was experiencing. The nightmares were generally the same, some cloaked being hiding in the recesses of my vision, always there, always watching. I felt as though each passing night terror that it got closer and closer to me, but always just out of reach. At times, I found myself trapped in a dark room, enveloped by an overwhelming sense of malevolence that seemed to saturate the air—and a fear entirely foreign to my waking experiences.
Then I experienced sleep paralysis for the first time.
It occurred at my mother's house, marking the initial instance where I experienced the sensation of my body being effectively immobilized while my mind remained active. I recall attempting to move my eyes and then my body, but all efforts were futile. As I struggled to regain autonomy, it sounded as though a gathering had convened in my kitchen, voices carrying in muted tones. None of the which resembled those of my parents; I even detected snickering and laughter at one point. The conversation seemed to be aimed at me, as my name was uttered several times, yet the other words remained indecipherable. The episode concluded with me returning to sleep without any further disturbances.
As the instances of sleep paralysis became more frequent, they culminated in another peculiar experience. Shortly after moving into my first apartment, still in the midst of unpacking and assembling furniture, the second incident occurred. I lay on a mattress on the floor, surrounded by unassembled bedframe pieces, when I awoke to find myself imprisoned within my own body once more. In the darkness, I heard a faint sound—a presence moving softly over each piece of furniture. Panic gripped me as I strained to turn my head towards the noise, but every effort proved futile. With each passing moment, the unseen entity drew closer until it reached the bedside. Helpless, I closed my eyes, bracing myself for whatever awaited.
Meow?
Relief washed over me as I realized it was just my generously proportioned feline friend making his way around the room. I could hear him moving about, stepping on more furniture and emitting a few disgruntled meows, presumably chastising my laziness for not assembling it yet. As I began to drift back to sleep, I was abruptly startled awake by a chilling sound.
Snnn-orrrff
A primal, guttural snarl pierced the silence, its menacing resonance echoing through the room like a thunderous roar. I struggled desperately to move my limbs, silently screaming in my mind, yet only managing a feeble whimper as I sensed the beast drawing near. Despite my efforts, my body only twitched, while in my imagination, I leapt up and fled. As a mischievous chuckle erupted, I felt hot, pungent breath on the back of my neck. I suddenly awoke, screaming, kicking and punching. I jerked my head to the side and was met only with darkness. I jumped up and turned the light on, a quick scan of the room revealed there was nothing there. Exhausted and recognizing my inability to function effectively, I reluctantly resigned myself to lying back down with the light on until morning. I called into work, knowing that in my current state, I wouldn't be of much use to anyone.
Days passed and soon, it was that time of the month again for my regular check-in from mom. I hesitantly answered the call. After a few minutes of conversation, we eventually broached the topic of my sleep paralysis.
"Honey, it's probably all the stress." she reasoned.
My job had me grinding away tirelessly, but despite my efforts, all I got was a tiny bump in pay. To add to the mix, my landlord decided it was the perfect time to raise the rent. It's safe to say, the stress was really getting to me. "I don't know, it's been happening my whole life, Dad ever had any issues with sleep?"
There was a noticeable pause as she contemplated her reply. "He's definitely had his share of nightmares, he'd wake me up a lot of the times, poor thing would be in tears."
"Jeez, I never knew, but Mom I gotta…" I endeavored to conclude the conversation, as my allotted chat time was expiring, however my mother promptly interrupted me.
"Sweetie, why won't you join us at church? It might help?"
I released a sigh. I staunchly opposed the notion of going to church; I'd rather watch a documentary on the history of paperclips. "Thanks, but I'm not feeling that right now."
"Please, just do it for me?" She pleaded.
Eager to bring the call to a close. "I'll think about, but, alright I'm going to go ahead a hop off here."
"Alright, I miss you, call me later okay?"
"I will, love you, bye."
I concluded the call with a sigh of relief, grateful for its conclusion.
For a stretch, life seemed to fall into place: My job noticed the disparity between my increased workload and pay and offered me a new position that significantly improved my financial situation. Thanks to this new position, I crossed paths with my wife, and we swiftly eloped. She was one of the top account managers, earning a substantial income, which enabled us to afford a nice house together. During this period, the night terrors and bouts of sleep paralysis took a hiatus, granting me a reprieve. Yet amidst the tranquility, a gnawing sense of foreboding lingered, as if a tempest loomed on the horizon, urging me to savor the calm while it lasted.
During this period, my wife and I had been eagerly anticipating the arrival of our first child. We were overjoyed as she reached the sixth month of her pregnancy, carrying our long-awaited daughter. However, my suspicions proved tragically correct. I'll never forget the heart-wrenching phone call from my wife, her voice choked with tears, informing me of the terrifying sight of blood. Hastening to the emergency room, we raced against time, but our efforts proved futile. We lost our precious daughter that day. The journey back home was a blur, engulfed in a suffocating sense of loss that seemed to consume us both. It felt as though a part of me had died alongside our daughter, and the profound grief only served to widen the chasm between us as time passed, transforming our once intimate bond into a hollow semblance of what it once was.
Sleep paralysis and nightmares began to resurface, as if some malevolent force was exploiting my already troubled state, and my ability to sleep dwindled. Additionally, minor habits and disparities in the early stages of our marriage, once insignificant, began escalating into cataclysmic arguments. By now, I'm certain even my breathing would agitate my wife. Despite experimenting with various medications, none proved effective. Even vigorous physical exercise failed to exhaust me enough for uninterrupted sleep. The situation escalated to the point where my wife banished me from the bedroom due to my incessant tossing and turning, disrupting her rest. Consequently, I found myself relegated to the couch. Resorting to alcohol became a regular occurrence, partly to numb the discomfort of the couch but also as a means of coping with my grief.
We barely conversed, even though she mentioned marriage counseling, I rebuffed the idea, convinced it wouldn't benefit us. Frequently, I'd discover her in tears, cradling the sonogram of our daughter, yet I would quietly withdraw, allowing her solitary moments of sorrow. She had her unique methods of grieving, just as I had mine.
"I can't keep doing this, we're drowning in debt, and you're just pushing us further into it with every bottle." She pointed to the glass in my hand.
"Oh, come on! I work hard for us, I deserve to unwind a bit!" In a moment of animated expression, I inadvertently spilled some of my beverage onto the floor.
"Unwind? You call draining our savings and neglecting our future 'unwinding'!?"
"Look, just let me sleep in my own bed tonight."
She crossed her arms, and for a moment, silence enveloped us before she finally spoke.
"I just—I feel like I'm living with a stranger." Her eyes begin to shimmer with emotion.
"I'm here, aren't I? What more do you want from me?!" My voice rising in volume.
She attempted to delicately take my drink away, her touch then shifting to gently grasp my hand. "I want us to be a team again, not just two people sharing a bed."
But the moment I felt her touch, I instinctively shoved her hands away from me. "We haven't been a 'team' since we lost—" My voice quivered, then exploded into rage. "You pushed me out! You did this! You don't talk to me about anything anymore! Just get the hell out!" I pointed to the door.
I stood in the open doorway, watching her car pull out of the driveway. With a final sip, I closed the door behind me. Met with silence, I sensed the weight of tension hanging heavy in the air. Deciding one more bourbon was in order, I made my way to the kitchen, intent on pouring myself one last drink. In a bid to ensure a restful night, I opted to accompany my indulgence in alcohol with a hefty dosage of sleeping pills. A reckless choice, I'm aware, but perhaps death was in fact the ultimate form of slumber. I settled onto the couch, flicking through channels until my libation was drained. Feeling sufficiently relaxed, I decided it was time for bed. Ascending the stairs, I stumbled and collapsed onto the master bedroom's mattress. Sleep enveloped me swiftly that night, yet trouble was never far behind.
I recall waking during the night and noticing that the hallway light remained illuminated. It struck me as odd since I distinctly remember switching it off before retiring to bed. However, given my inebriated state from the copious amounts of alcohol I had consumed, I surmised that I must have simply forgotten. I'd just get up and switch it off, but a wave of unease washed over me. Despite my intentions, I found myself paralyzed, trapped within my own body once again. I found myself transfixed on the door, illuminated by the soft glow seeping in from the hallway. In that moment, I discerned a shadowy figure lurking behind the door.
I hoped it was my wife, but a gut feeling told me otherwise; this time felt different, suffocated by an eerie malevolence. The doorknob rattled violently, as if something were struggling to open it. Yet, amidst the noise I caught a sinister snicker. The relentless jiggling of the doorknob reached a fever pitch, threatening to wrench it free from its socket at any instant. Then, as abruptly as it began, the tumult ceased, leaving an ominous silence hanging in the air. The door then creaked open with a slow, foreboding motion.
A sinister, shapeless presence loomed in the doorway, defying gravity as it hovered above the ground, its shadowy form exaggerated by the eerie glow seeping in from the hallway. I whimpered, struggling to stir my limbs in a futile attempt to awaken my body, but they responded only with slight twitches. My gaze remained fixed on the form before me, immobilized by fear. Suddenly, a sinuous appendage extended from the specter's face, resembling a long, black tentacle. It elongated and snaked toward me, prompting me to instinctively shut my eyes. Sensing its proximity, I remained frozen, an icy chill grazed my forehead, jolting me awake in an instant. Sleep eluded me for the rest of the night, so I opted for an early morning, brewing a pot of coffee to chase away the lingering unease.
For the following weeks, my routine remained monotonous: work, microwave dinner, then numbness induced by sleeping pills and bourbon until I could no longer keep my eyes open. I received a text from my mother-in-law stating that my wife wanted to reconcile, but insisted on therapy and my attendance at AA meetings. I refused, firmly convinced that all I desired was to reclaim my bed, and that her reaction was excessive. I contended that the alcohol provided comfort, a gesture I hadn't received from her in quite some time. My mother-in-law and wife were both displeased with my response; it became apparent that divorce was now the inevitable solution.
At this juncture, I experienced sleep paralysis on a daily basis, even in the absence of the entity. Each night, I would awaken multiple times, unable to move, only freeing myself to find dread awaiting the next episode upon returning to sleep. There was one rare night when I slept soundly, only to be abruptly awakened by a late-night call from an old friend. We had a bond stretching back to our middle school days, and were inseparable back then. However, this call wasn't one of nostalgia; it was about money. He needed a bailout for his mortgage, promising a swift repayment.
I moved to the edge of my bed, frustration mounting as I started to rub my forehead. "I can't, I just can't right now, I need to get back to sleep good—"
He interrupted me. "Please, I don't want to lose the house."
I found myself raising my voice in frustration as irritation crept in. It appeared he was wholly incapable of learning from his mistakes. "Look, it isn't my responsibility to bail you out every time you're in trouble!"
"I know, I know, please, at least do it for Eli, Chelsea left me all alone and it's been hard man." His voice starting to crack.
My voice raising to a near scream; "He isn't my responsibility either! You should have been careful! I told you she wasn't good for you and you didn't listen! Sort your own shit out from now on!"
I ended the call and slammed the phone onto my nightstand. So much for a good night's rest, thanks a lot, friend.
As my life spiraled further into chaos, I realized I needed to explore solutions beyond relying on alcohol and sleeping pills to combat sleep paralysis. Perhaps a spiritual approach was necessary. While I knew my mother would be pleased with this consideration, I'm certain what I had in mind would be vehemently discouraged. My mother firmly believed in the existence of demons, warning against interacting with them outside of 'God's protection'. Perhaps she was right, but I grew desperate for a solution. At this stage, I was willing to do anything for peace of mind, regardless of the consequences. So, I concocted a masterful plan:
I'd simply ask it what it would take to make it stop.
Each morning was fraught with dread, pondering whether the entity would manifest itself. I ensured to kickstart my day with a potent drink, maintaining a steady buzz throughout, perhaps to stave off any wavering doubts about my decision. My patience bore fruit one fateful night as I found myself immobilized once more.
This marked the initial instance when the entity directly addressed me, and its words seared into my memory with chilling permanence. It uttered abhorrent, repulsive, unfathomable insults about me, branding me a failure, devoid of worth, as insignificant as a microbe. It dissected my existence, critiquing my choices, appearance, and demeanor with a cruelty I had never encountered. It seemed to possess an uncanny ability to strike at the core of my being, as if it wielded a weapon honed to annihilate my spirit. And then, its merciless laughter echoed relentlessly.
In that moment, I recognized it as my opportunity to retort. However, the barrage of insults stoked a fire within me, igniting a fury that overpowered my intentions. What did this entity presume to know about me? It was entirely mistaken, and that infuriated me. Against my better judgment, fueled by indignation, I deviated from my plan and impulsively blurted out: "What's so damn funny?!"
As the words echoed in my mind, the laughter abruptly ceased, leaving behind an eerie silence. Relief flooded through me as I dared to hope that I had put an end to the ordeal. Yet, my premature celebration was cut short when an indescribable dread enveloped me. A black ichor oozed onto the floor beside my bed, signaling the beginning of a hellish spectacle. From the viscous sludge, a dark figure emerged, coated in sticky tar, yet defying gravity as it ascended, hovering above the ground.
Above me, it loomed, its weighty presence palpable as thick sludge cascaded onto the bed, it halted directly over me. Its head inclined, scrutinizing me with unseen gaze. Tears welled in my eyes, hot and unrestrained, as I braced for the inevitable embrace of death. The figure gradually descended, its feet pressing into my chest with an icy chill coursing through me. As its waist aligned with my sternum, a frigid sensation enveloped me. With a swift motion, it plunged its hand into my chest, seizing my heart, and darkness consumed my senses.
I felt a terrifying pull downward, as if gravity itself had gone haywire. My stomach churned with a sickening weightlessness, reminiscent of a plummeting elevator. As my descent abruptly halted, the sound of wind rushing in my ears gave way to a sudden explosion—a resounding burst, resembling the opening of a parachute. That's when I sensed something coiling around my waist, though invisible to my eyes. Desperate to break free, I reached out, only to recoil in horror as my fingers brushed against scaly, rough skin.
Simultaneously, the air filled with the echoing beat of what seemed like enormous wings, while I experienced the unsettling sensation of being lifted and dropped. Though I had a suspicion about what gripped me, disbelief held me back from fully acknowledging it. So, resigned, I surrendered to my captor's will, allowing them to transport me to an unknown destination. As the darkness yielded, a faint glow emerged beneath us—a jagged line emanating an eerie orange-red light. The creature descended, revealing a sight that churned my stomach: bubbling lava. Its faint glow barely illuminated what seemed to be a cavern.
As I descended further into the cavern's depths, the beast veered close enough for me to sense the searing warmth of the lava beneath my feet. Gradually, our descent stabilized, and my gaze shifted forward, revealing a massive door-like structure. Its design echoed the grandeur of ancient Gothic architecture, adorned with pointed arches and intricate buttresses. The edifice appeared crafted from a peculiar variety of marble, possessing a beauty tinged with an unsettling aura. Its construction defied convention, evoking a sense of unease; never before had anything been wrought in such a manner.
As the creature descended once more, carrying me firmly, we passed through the doorway, revealing the true scale of the chamber. Beyond the threshold, a vast expanse unfolded, illuminated by a solitary spherical light source, casting an unsettlingly dim glow upon a colossal, otherworldly mechanism. It resembled a colossal pillar, stretching upward into the darkness of the cavern, its details obscured by the dim light. Within its intricate workings, gears, wheels, and chains rotated at a languid pace. Amidst this mechanical labyrinth, my attention was drawn to a swirling mass of gray at the base of the mechanism, slowly undulating. The beast appeared to be steering us directly toward it.
As we drew nearer, we sailed past what appeared to be a platform, upon which perched a colossal beast. Its form resembled that of a massive reptilian creature, akin to what one might envision as a dinosaur. Yet, it stood upright on two legs, its powerful limbs chained firmly to the platform. With each short, sharp inhalation, it unleashed a deafening roar that reverberated through every fiber of my being. I couldn't help but notice the protrusion of its jugular vein, roughly the size of my upper thigh, expanding with each thunderous cry. As we approached the swirling mass of gray, a sudden wave of horror washed over me as I comprehended its true nature.
A sea of people.
I observed that they were all bound together by chains, encircling their arms, legs, and necks. These chains converged at the towering pillar, linking each individual to the mechanism. The mass of people moved in a circular motion, driving the turning of the cogs. Their pallid complexion suggested an absence of life, as if all vitality had been drained from them. Their agonized screams pierced the air, mouths devoid of tongues. I witnessed an individual collapse to their knees, only to be forcefully yanked upright by some unseen power, rest was an elusive notion in this place. To my horror, amidst the throng of young adults and the elderly, I saw children swept along by the relentless current of the crowd.
As the creature positioned me amidst the multitude, I pleaded desperately, but it was futile; the chains had already ensnared me. With each movement of the mass of people, I felt the tug on my own chain, pressed in on all sides without an inch of space to spare. The towering figures around me obscured any view beyond their heads, leaving me engulfed in a sea of bodies.
My voice pierced the chaotic symphony of screams, rising in a desperate plea for escape.
"Please! I don't belong here! I just wanted to sleep, this is a mistake!"
As I cried out, the orb of light began to shift, seemingly in response to my desperate appeals. As it drew closer and closer, a sense of dread gripped me. Hovering ominously above, it revealed itself as a grotesque monstrosity, casting a sickly glow that chilled me to the bone. I fought the overwhelming urge to collapse, my knees weakening with each passing moment. What loomed overhead defied any attempt at human description; it resembled a cluster of intertwining tubes, swirling and spiraling in a mesmerizing dance that transcended the bounds of reality. Bathed in a sickly blue light that pulsed like molten lava beneath its tendrils.
The light wrought a profound transformation within me, granting a clarity of self-awareness unlike anything I had ever known. In its piercing illumination, I was confronted with the raw truth of my being, stripped of illusion or denial. It was a sobering revelation, an awakening to the most authentic understanding of myself I had ever experienced.
I belonged here.
I had systematically driven away my friends, neglecting their presence and refusing to open up to them. Even my own mother's attempts at connection felt burdensome, our conversations reduced to mere obligations. But perhaps the greatest tragedy lay in the chasm that had formed between my wife and me—a divide entirely of my own making. I was the architect of my own downfall, responsible for the ruin of my life, with no one else to blame but myself. Every word the entity had uttered about me held a painful truth.
From this vantage point, my life appeared almost sweet in retrospect, bathed in the stark light of self-awareness. Yet, any semblance of hope quickly dissolved, for in this desolate realm, hope found no foothold, no sanctuary to thrive.
With my head bowed low, I trudged forward, the weight of my chain pulling me inexorably onward. In a moment of unprecedented vulnerability, I found myself offering a prayer. Despite my awareness that it would likely go unanswered, I embraced the grim reality of my fate, accepting it with a heavy heart.
God, have mercy on me…
Suddenly the sound of chains breaking shattered the air as I was yanked upward with astonishing velocity. In a sudden blur, the scene below shrank rapidly beneath me. The rush of wind buffeted me, and I sensed another presence, an arm wrapped around my waist. Clutching onto it tightly, I braced myself as the cavern's light faded into absolute darkness, squeezing my eyes shut against the unknown.
With a jolt, my rapid ascent came to an abrupt halt, my back colliding with something soft. Gradually, I realized I was back in the familiarity of my own bed. At the foot of the bed stood a figure, its features obscured by a radiant glow emanating from its form, resembling molten glass. The brilliance bathed the entire room in an ethereal light. For a fleeting moment, we locked gazes, suspended in a silent exchange. Then, as swiftly as it had appeared, the figure began to ascend, leaving my room cloaked once more in shadows.
I sat in silence for a while, grappling with the enormity of my experience. To dismiss it as a mere nightmare or hallucination would be a gross understatement; whatever transpired felt hauntingly more vivid and tangible than my current reality. It would take me months of introspection and contemplation to begin to make sense of it all, to reconcile the surreal with the mundane, and to find a semblance of peace within myself.
Although the experience didn't trigger an immediate transformation, its impact lingered, nudging me towards a path of change. Despite my ongoing struggle with alcohol addiction, I made a conscious decision to seek help. I began prioritizing regular hangouts with my best friend and even accompanied my mom to a few church visits. While I remained uncertain about my own connection to religion, witnessing her joy brought a sense of fulfillment that warmed my heart. In making her happy, I found a newfound source of happiness within myself.
As time passed, a sense of progress gradually infused my life. Achieving a year of sobriety marked a significant milestone on my journey, celebrated amidst the supportive community of AA. Even my wife took notice of my efforts towards self-improvement, leading us to embark on marriage counseling together. Before long, her return to our home signaled a hopeful new chapter in our relationship.
Not a trace of sleep paralysis had haunted me since that fateful night when I was guided from the depths of despair. I'm not entirely sure if it was an angel, or God, but whatever it was, it spared me, and for that, I'm grateful. And now, the most joyous news of all: my wife and I are expecting our first child next week. The doctors assure us of her perfect health, filling us with anticipation and gratitude. As for her name, I already have the perfect one in mind:
Grace

I just don’t know what to feed my girl (11months, about to be a year on the 16th)
I come from a super low income, neglectful family. I grew up eating frozen pizzas, ramen noodles, eggs & pancakes. I had a single mom who was always either drunk or hungover so there really wasn’t any cooking getting done. I never ate veggies, I never ate fancy meals with mixed ingredients. If a meal was made it was just pasta and pork chops or pasta and chicken or pasta and cheese. No veggies or sauces or anything added (besides regular pasta sauce)
So with that being said. I was never taught how to cook. I don’t know anything about recipes or mixing ingredients.
Everything I find on Pinterest is so overwhelming (I don’t need a list of 75 recipe ideas I just need 1!!!) because I don’t know what half of the ingredients even are.
I ended up giving my poor girl constipation by giving her too much cheeses so I started giving her fruits but then she ended up with diarrhea. Like I JUST DONT KNOW WHAT IM DOING. Every day I wake up and immediately start stressing over what I’m supposed to feed her.
Currently I feed her:
Breakfast: things like cheerios, bananas or strawberries, peanut butter on toast/pancakes, scrambled eggs
Lunch: chicken and pasta, cheese quesadillas, cucumbers, pineapples, white rice (it’s literally almost always chicken and one of these things on the side)
For dinner I’ve been giving her the same thing me and her father are eating but he’s just as bad as me when it comes to cooking so we usually go with the same type of stuff I grew up on. Chicken and pasta, hamburger and pasta, burgers and fries, occasionally steak and corn.
Before we had my daughter, my husband and I didn’t care how we ate. We ate like once a day and it was usually takeout/restaurant/etc. we’re trying to be better now for her. So if anyone has any advice or any directions to point me in please let me know! I’m practically begging!

ABOUT ME
I wrote a money diary in October 2022. Since then, my boyfriend P. has been upgraded to fiance (we are getting married in July!) and my beloved Trash Cat has had enucleation surgery (we now call the vet “The Eye Snatcher”). I still work as a technology specialist in higher education. In December 2023, I discovered HR input my salary wrong when I first started my current job—the contract I signed stated my salary as $65,000, but they input it as $60,000. I got a hefty portion of back pay. I am currently making about $67,000/year.
P. and I still split expenses 50/50 (somewhat imperfectly) and do not have any combined accounts. We input shared expenses into this spreadsheet and then settle the difference once a month. His salary is about $75,000. He recently cashed out about $15,000 from a 529 plan he never used (he didn’t go to college) and will be creating a CD ladder with this money to save for a down payment.
ASSETS & DEBT
Retirement balance: $6,542.66 in my 403(b) and $2,688.03 in my Roth IRA. In my last money diary, I felt guilty about my retirement balance because I didn’t really start until the age of 25 and for a year my contributions went uninvested. I feel much better about it now. This summer, I’ll qualify for employer-matched contributions to my 403(b), which will improve my progress even more.
Equity: maybe one day????
Savings account balance: $1,291.23 in an emergency fund, $160.32 in a recently-started down payment fund.
Checking account balance: $3,052.37
Credit card debt: $4,651 on credit card 1, $0 on credit card 2. Unfortunately, I’ve had 3 major setbacks in recent months: Trash Cat’s surgery ($2,200), new tires/maintenance on my car ($2,300), and an unexpected hotel stay when P.’s nephew passed away just before Christmas ($1,000). P. and I split Trash Cat’s surgery and the hotel stay, so the total I’ve put on my card in recent months is $3,900. I was down to about $800 in debt prior to all this fun stuff.
Student loan debt: $75,000 in public loans for a bachelor’s degree in Education and a master’s degree in English. This was technically a “bad choice” because I did use my loans for living expenses during grad school, but I honestly do not regret it. I LOVED grad school, even though most of it happened online due to the pandemic, and I sincerely believe it made me a better, more thoughtful, and empathetic person. Since the university I work for now is a certified non-profit organization, I will eventually qualify for PSLF if I stay here or within the field of accredited higher education.
Car debt: I owe $2,754 on my Toyota.
INCOME
Income progression: I have worked steadily at part-time jobs since age 16. I’ve been in educational tech for 3 years; my starting salary was $18/hour as a customer service associate, which was around $42,000 annually with overtime. When I started my current job almost 2 years ago, my salary jumped to $65,000 (which ended up being funky, see ABOUT ME above). My current salary, after it was adjusted and I received a 3% raise, is now $67,000.
Monthly take-home pay: $3,355.90 after deductions
Side gig income: None. I quit tutoring because I started taking night classes back in the fall.
Parental Support: As I mentioned in my money diary last year, my parents contributed about $22,000 to rent/car expenses during my “adult” (college) life. My dad is also paying for our wedding “reception,” which is a private dinner at a restaurant for 15 people (estimated cost $5,000). I hinted heavily at Financial Trauma in my last diary, an issue I’ve mostly overcome thanks to my incredible therapist. I might write a more detailed post on healing Financial Trauma and my experience with it…let me know if you’d be interested in reading something like that :)
EXPENSES
Rent: $787.50 (P. and I split rent 50/50; our total rent is $1,575)
Renter’s & car insurance: $1,321/year, which averages out to $110.83/month (not split).
Health insurance: $394.46/month before tax for health and dental. Once P. and I get married, I am hopping on his insurance.
Retirement contribution: $257.50/month pre-tax into my 403(b). I also transfer $50/month into a Roth IRA.
Savings contribution: $200/month to emergency fund, $50/month to down payment fund
Debt payments: $260/month for my car payment, $60/month for my student loan payment (this is wildly low because I am on an income-driven repayment plan. Due to the ongoing Federal Battles, I have not had to recertify my income, so this payment is based on my 2019 income. I also pay at least $500/month towards my credit card debt. Since this is a three paycheck month (and my third paycheck will be a “deduction holiday”), I am paying $1,000 towards it this month. P. does not contribute towards my debt.
Utilities: P. and I split internet, water, electricity, and trash evenly: usually about $175/month for my half, $350 total.
Cellphone: $65/month (we each pay for our own phones).
Subscriptions: Spotify for $10.99/month, Hulu for $7.99/month, Monarch (web budgeting app) for $50/year (this is a discounted price; it will jump to $80/year next year). None of these expenses are split.
Gym membership: $36/monthly for gym membership; $500/quarter for personal training (not split).
Pet expenses: P. and I split this expense; generally $100/month for my half, $200/month total.
Therapy: $25/week (not split).
MONEY DIARY
DAY 1: FRIDAY
😴 7 AM: P. shakes me awake. I reluctantly get up, go to the bathroom, and change into leggings and a sweater dress. After I give Trash Cat his morning medicine, I kiss P. goodbye and I’m out the door. I listen to the Sinisterhood podcast on my drive to work and try to stop for coffee, but the drive-thru line is backed up into the street and causing traffic, so I skip it.
💄8 AM: I put on my makeup in the bathroom at work; this has become my new routine since I was diagnosed with sleep apnea because the extra few minutes of sleep are now a medical necessity. I use Covergirl skinmilk foundation, elf lash and roll mascara, and elf instant brow pencil. Sometimes I use elf lip stain (big elf fan over here) but don’t bother today.
😈 9 AM: I meet with the university’s academic technology team to help them set up a feedback survey for a new grading tool they piloted this semester. We also bitch a little about some difficulties we’ve had this week with faculty. An important thing to know about me is that I am a hater to my innermost core.
🥪12 PM: After spending most of the morning replying to emails, updating tickets, and watching budgeting videos on YouTube, I realize I forgot my lunch at home. Since digging myself back into credit card debt, I’ve made a conscious effort to bring my lunch to work and spend less on convenience food, so I’m pretty annoyed with myself. A quick trip to the library cafe yields a turkey sub, a green smoothie, and a giant cookie ($14.47). I eat at my desk while making some money moves (it’s payday!). $200 goes to my credit card to cover my therapy copay and the pair of Hokas I bought my mom for her birthday earlier this week. I also transfer $500 to my savings account. $214.47
👣5 PM: I pack up and make the short drive over to my friend’s apartment. It was a spectacularly unproductive day; if I’m being honest, I’ve been feeling burnt out and need a break, but I’m trying to save my vacation days for our wedding. My friend and I walk around one of my favorite neighborhoods in the city and catch up. We also go to Whole Foods before she heads to the gym. I grab some specialty canned beans, tofu, tortilla chips, Chomps, and some Poppi sodas ($35.23).
🐱8 PM: I eat one of my favorite lazy meals for dinner—refried beans mixed with quinoa, salsa verde, and shredded cheese with tortilla chips—and watch a few episodes of Home Economics on Hulu. I get sucked into TikTok for a little while before brushing my teeth and taking my meds. I go to bed around 10:30 PM while snuggling Trash Cat.
Daily Total: $249.70
DAY 2: SATURDAY
🚿 8:30 AM: Quick shower before changing into a blue sundress and a white button up. I do my makeup and feed Trash Cat. I’m out the door a little past 9 AM to head to book club.
📚10 AM: This month, we’re having book club at an adorable little tea room. We read Romancing Mr. Bridgerton and obviously love a ✨theme✨ so the four of us spend an hour talking about the book, eating tiny finger sandwiches, and drinking approximately 5 gallons of tea. One of my good friends from grad school, R., started this book club a few months ago and it has been such a joy to get together with awesome women on a regular basis. We also commiserate over family problems—R does a dramatic reading of an outrageous text from my dad before we go our separate ways ($38.10).
💍12 PM: I received an email yesterday from our jeweler that my wedding ring is done and realize I’m much closer to the jewelry shop than I am to home. I call P. to ask if he’d be okay with me picking it up. He is. I swing by the shop and try on my ring; it is so beautiful and fits perfectly! I wear it on my drive home and can’t stop admiring it. P. put down $400 when we met with the jeweler a few months ago, so I pay $821.88 to take it home. P. sends me that exact amount on Venmo. (technically, I pay nothing).
😵2 PM: I eat more of my refried bean lazy meal and watch some episodes of The Rookie on Hulu. The rest of the day is spent fielding calls and texts from my sister, brother, and sister-in-law about my mother’s birthday dinner tomorrow. It is bringing up ✨trauma✨ for all of us.
😴9 PM: A very lazy night routine of brushing my teeth, taking off my makeup with a wipe, take my meds, and drinking water while listening to a podcast as I fall asleep.
Daily Total: $38.10
DAY 3: SUNDAY
🎁10:30 AM: Roll out of bed, make some Kodiak protein waffles, and call my youngest brother, who is 22. He and I are very close, but I still carry a lot of guilt about how much I couldn’t—and can’t—protect him from. I offer to pick out a gift for Mom “from him” since he has to head to the airport to retrieve our parents and he agrees.
🧀12 PM: I go to a gift shop in the next town over and pick out a pair of gold vermeil earrings. They’re $225. I buy them and tell my brother to Venmo me $175 (so technically I spend $50). After, I pop over to Wegmans, which is in the same shopping plaza, and pick up quesadillas, seltzers, fried rice, and spicy chicken for lunch ($41.55 total, $20.77 for my half). $70.77.
🧼1 PM: P. and I eat lunch on the couch while watching YouTube. Afterwards, I channel my irritation into cleaning the apartment. I vacuum, swiffer, put away dishes, and wipe down the bathroom. P. takes out the trash and recycling and starts some laundry.
🍾4 PM: We meet my other brother (I have two—this one is also younger but closer in age to me, 27) and my sister-in-law at a bar to pregame for Mom's birthday dinner. Is this healthy? Probably not. Does it work? Yes. I pay for all our drinks ($112.02)
🙄5 PM: Dinner time. A bunch of my aunts and uncles are there, too, so we sit at the “kid’s table” with my siblings and one of my cousins. I order Jameson and ginger and a fancy cheeseburger. Maybe it’s the liquid courage, or the fact I went into this with extraordinarily low expectations, but I have a surprisingly good time…until my dad starts to fight with the waitress about separate checks for the separate tables. He didn’t mention it at the beginning of the meal, and considering we have 17 people at three different tables, the waitress understandably says no. It gets to the point where my brother just hands her his credit card to put an end to it. He doesn’t tell me how much the total bill is; P. and I venmo him $100 each ($100).
🍋7 PM: The fun isn’t over! We head back to my parents’ house for cake and presents. I eat lemon cake with ice cream and give my mom the Hokas I bought her earlier in the week. She loves the earrings from my brother, and he thanks me for helping him.
💤11 PM: We finally leave. I fall asleep on the way home. I thank P. for being such a supportive partner, take my meds, and promptly fall asleep again.
Daily total: $282.79
DAY 4: MONDAY
🤕8 AM: I make it out of bed and over to the computer. I respond to emails, update a few tickets, and purchase a knee brace from Amazon ($24.01). I LOVE going to the gym and I’m trying to lose weight for health reasons, but the past few days my left knee has been stiff and achy to the point that it hurts to go up and down the stairs. I have a doctor’s appointment this week so I can tell my primary care physician then, but I want to go for a walk to clear my head. I drink a Liquid IV.
🍜11 AM: P. picks up brunch from one of our favorite local restaurants. Their biscuits and gravy bowl is incredible. ($27.58 total, $*13.79 *for my half).
🥟4 PM: I jump in the car and run to Petsmart to pick up pill pockets and food for Trash Cat. Even though he came from a dumpster, he has decided he’ll only eat the fancy cat food. ($64.78 total, $32.39 **for my half). Then I go to Wegmans for some more groceries: tomatoes, cucumbers, frozen dumplings, lettuce, seltzer, onions, brussel sprouts, and turkey burgers. ($68.22 total, $34.11 **for my half).
🍅6 PM: P. and I eat dinner while watching the John Oliver episode on libraries (stop banning books, losers!!!!). It’s one of our other favorite lazy meals: quinoa with fancy canned beans with chopped up peppers, onions, and tomatoes. I drink a seltzer with dinner and then do some chores and take a shower.
🦷10 PM: Stayed up later than I meant to scrolling TikTok and Reddit. Whoops! I brush my teeth and turn off the lights.
Daily total: $104.30
DAY 5: TUESDAY
🧇8 AM: Roll out of bed and walk 5 steps to my computer. After checking email and signing in, I make protein waffles for breakfast and put on my new knee brace that was delivered last night.
💩10 AM: I take a quick break from writing technical documentation to fold some laundry and tidy up the kitchen. I give Trash Cat some treats and clean out the litterbox. He is a stinky boy.
👨‍💻1:30 PM: I run a meeting with my boss and grandboss about the documentation project I’m currently spearheading. We are migrating into a new (and easier) documentation system, which means I need to export, update, and organize all our current documentation. They’re both pleased with my progress and the next goals I’ve outlined. Maybe I am good at my job? Afterwards, I eat some refried beans with tortilla chips and a seltzer.
🤬4:30 PM: I get a very rude email from a faculty member saying he cannot access a file a student shared with him (and grades are due tonight). He sends me a screenshot and it turns out…he’s clicking the wrong button. I explain the correct steps and attach the student’s file, but I’m so agitated that I sign out early and go for a walk. The weather is beautiful, and I try not to think about the email, but I keep stewing over it. The worst part of working in higher ed is the entitlement - I am often treated like “the help” by the Impossibly Busy Big Brained Professors Who Don’t Have Time For Glitches (FYI, glitches do not care whether you have time for them or not).
📱6 PM: P. and I eat leftovers of our fancy canned bean bowls for dinner and feed Trash Cat. I numb out by scrolling for about 3 hours.
🙄9 PM: I go to bed, but keep thinking about that damn email and then beat myself up for being so sensitive and giving that professor so much of my mental energy off the clock.
Daily total: $0
DAY 6: WEDNESDAY
🥯7 AM: Get out of bed, throw some clothes into my gym bag, get dressed, and run out the door. I stop at Dunkin on the way to work to get an iced coffee and some stuffed bagel minis ($5.45).
🧘‍♀️10 AM: I log into my virtual therapy appointment from my office and talk for 40 minutes straight about everything I am struggling with: my routine is out of whack thanks to my mom’s dinner; I’m mad at my parents, my sister, and my job; my knee is killing me so I can’t work out; I have been a shitty partner and cat mom this week; I am scrolling to numb out instead of reading or relaxing in a meaningful way. My therapist helps me come up with an action plan. I put my phone on bedtime mode to turn it to black and white, make plans with P. for a cozy date night at home this weekend, and bookmark a few jobs to apply for. She reminds me I am a supportive sister and partner and relationships are not 50/50 every single day. We end with a meditation about releasing anger.
☁️11 AM: I meet with a staff member in admissions over Zoom to discuss file back-up in preparation for his new computer. He is actually already synced to our cloud system, meaning that all files are backed up, so the meeting is easy. He asks a few questions about the cloud system and how it works and also provides feedback on some of the tools he feels need guidelines or best practices for usage.
📽️12 PM: Lunch is the last of the fancy bean bowl leftovers and a seltzer (I am a creature of habit). While I eat, I watch budgeting videos on YouTube. I get an email that my credit card has been charged for my therapy copay ($25).
🙃3 PM: I meet virtually with a professor who is, technologically speaking, extremely high-need. I watch her rename and organize files for about an hour. Inevitably, she moves them to the wrong place, accidentally deletes the entire file name, etc. On the bright side, she is very sweet and appreciative of my guidance.
💪4:45 PM: I duck out early to drive to the gym. I let my trainer know what is going on with my knee, so we decide to hit upper today. I only started weightlifting in November and I’ve found I love it so much I am willing to shell out for personal training. After doing my best not to side-eye the men with terrible form (if you need to use your knees to complete a bicep curl, the weight is too heavy), I stretch out and grab dinner from Qdoba: a chicken bowl for me and a steak burrito for P ($24.66 total, $*12.33 *for my half).
🤙7 PM: I call my youngest brother while eating dinner. He is the only one living at home with my parents and needs to vent about what’s going on. I do my best to validate his feelings and remind him he can stop by our apartment whenever he needs to. I wish I could do more.
🚿8 PM: I pack my Qdoba leftovers for lunch, take a shower, and crawl into bed with some sleepy tea and a book.
Daily total: $42.78
DAY 7: THURSDAY
🦶5:30 AM: P. wakes me up by tickling my feet. It is not enjoyable, but it is highly effective. I grab my leftovers and head to the gym.
🚲7 AM: I finish up my cardio workout on the bike, take a quick shower, and change into my work clothes. It’s a little unfair that exercise actually does make you feel better. On the way to work, I stop at Dunkin for iced coffee again but resist getting a snack ($3.31).
🥤9 AM: My morning work consists of emails, tickets, and updating some website pages. I also find a job listing on LinkedIn at another university which is a step up from my current position. A quick look at Glassdoor shows it has a higher employee satisfaction rating than the institution where I work now, and the salary range for this position is at least $10k higher than my current salary. I spend a bit of time fine-tuning my resume and drafting a cover letter while researching the university. It has a much nicer fitness center and a smoothie bar? I know, I know, the grass is always greener…
📚10 AM: Quick walk over to the library for an appointment with the archival specialist. We discuss how to back up her files in preparation for her new computer. She gives me a tour of the rare book collection - first editions of Jane Eyre and David Copperfield, plus a copy of the Nuremberg Chronicle from the fifteenth century. Very cool. For about five minutes, I consider going back to school to get a master’s degree in library science.
🌶️11 AM: Early lunch of my Qdoba leftovers, tortilla chips, and seltzer since I didn’t have breakfast.
🖥️2 PM: I meet with my manager to discuss the documentation project and a new hire initiative in collaboration with HR. The spring semester is officially over, so we have more time on our hands to do some maintenance, clean-up, and proactive support.
🧀5 PM: Work is over! I stop at the grocery store to buy brie, crackers, oat milk, toilet paper, paper towels, and a cup of macaroni. My period is coming and I always crave cheese ($49.55 total, $*24.77 *for my half).
🍴6 PM: P. and I eat a dinner of brie, crackers, and brussel sprouts while watching a few cooking videos on YouTube. We talk about how “emotionally charged” I’ve been for the past few days (P. uses the phrase—he never, ever calls me crazy, irritable, moody, etc.). Eating cheese makes me feel better. Trash Cat and I watch a few episodes of Brooklyn 99.
💊8 PM: Quick shower, meds, and podcasts. I start to doze off.
📞9:30 PM: My brother calls me. I’m confused and groggy, so I miss the call but text him immediately asking if everything is okay. He lets me know he will be fine and I promise to call him tomorrow. It takes me a little while longer to fall asleep; P. comes to bed around 10 PM for cuddles.
Daily total: $28.08
WEEKLY TOTALS (edited)
Total Spent: $745.45
Food + Drink: $375.95
Fun / Entertainment: $38.10
Home + Health: $49.01
Clothes + Beauty: $0
Transport: $0
Credit card: $200
Gift: $50
Pets: $32.39
REFLECTION
This was an above-average spending week for me with my mom’s birthday. Emotionally, it was also not a great week for me, and I often tend to spend more money when I’m upset, although I’ve apparently channeled that compulsion into grocery shopping. I am also trying to test out if smaller, more frequent grocery trips are better for us, since weekly shopping often means we throw out produce or meat.
I’m working on a) digging myself out of credit card debt and b) regulating my emotions, especially when it comes to my family. This particular stressor, and its effects on my finances, waxes and wanes throughout the year - birthdays and holidays tend to bring out the worst in both. However, even with the debt, I still feel like I am pretty financially stable (definitely more so in comparison to where I was as a kid, teen, and younger adult).
Thanks for reading 😼 Let me know if you have any questions!

It wasn’t the stink, you know—I get how months out in the field can mess with a fella’s cleanliness, but the look on his face was like he was fixin' to puke, as if he was sick or caught a whiff of somethin' dead close by. Squirters had some clue about what went down that night in Kandahar, but I wasn’t about to let this joker mess up my chance for a hot shower and a decent meal. I sure wish I’d listened to the ganner; truth be told, I ain’t had a proper night since then. All I member of his face these days.
Some context… anything to keep me awake at this point…
I dropped in shit lake, 2006 just fore' the surge. The name came from the literal pit of human waste left open to the air, they don’t tell you about it before you get on the 17, and they laugh their ass off when the doors first open. Made your eyes water, and the smell stayed with you for weeks.
Once we got used to it we followed suit, fuckin’ wit everyone else who hadn’t had the pleasure. Came te’ be a rite of passage, whether ye’ came on a bird or a moose.
I’d been there a month and it was getting stale, I couldn’t taste anything at chow most days anyway and I spent so much time on circuit in the gun that I don’t member much about the pond anymore, these days, fuck… Brass suited me with a terp, they thought I knew the lay, no one fuckin did, always gonna be another flash on the road no matter how many times you been down it. Tried to tell em’ but butters ain’t got the sense te light a cig, much less listen to a grunt.
Anyway, I get this guy named Ali, never membered his last name, didn’t care, so many angels dropped cause terps were workin both sides the rifle, ain’t gonna put my trust’n one if I get my say, but I still get orders and the brig ain’t away from th’ smell, I hear it’s gone now, but my boots still have the memory in the summer.
Ali spoke English, er’ his version of it, I could understand em if he talked slow, and didn’t keep is’ mouth open too long, muj’s ain’t heard a mouthwash neither. He was ‘posed to introduce us te’ people that we could link up, ain’t got nothing te’ do with me, and the serpentine’ stopped every jingle not up te play nice so far, so I let em’ do’is job.
Met up with Hekmat, Ali said he was an uncle, but all these ganners got some kind of cousin thing going on so it didn’t mean nothin’. E’said that we was in the birthplace of the Taliban made me kinda warm’n that I was being as much a thorn in their ass as they were in ours, but Hekmat said ‘Argandab’ was gonna be quiet the next few nights, but he wouldn’t say why, just said the word “dehqan” tween the two of them, a word Ali didn’t translate for us. I had been picking up a little Pashto while I was there, it meant landowner, or 'farm crew boss'. I could tell however, by the way he said it; it didn’t mean ‘farmer.’ I could smell a setup a mile away so I thought Ali was gonna rabbit and leave me and my guys into an ambush, but intel was intel, maybe I could get bagram for the weekend if I found a nest a’ muqs I wasn’t gonna be picky getting off the lake as we was calling it.
On the gun back to base, Ali said we had to wait until morning, that were we was going wasn’t gonna be safe til’ then. I looked back at my TL Scott and he just shook his head, ain’t no way we was waitin til mornin.
Scott, called back te’ base saying we was checking something out, it was gonna go it with the NOD and we was gonna make sure nothing was coming in from the north, we find something, the drone could paint it and put some heat on our mujs’ fore they was ready.
We got off the horn and Ali looked nervous, I asked em’ what he was afraid of, we was in the safest way to travel in the area, and we was just lookin’ but Ali was insistent that we not go north, not tonight, I was determined more than ever, and I ain’t been wrong yet. He said that there were things about his country we just didn’t understand, that it would be best to wait til’ mornin’.
I asked him if it was because of the Dehqan? His face went pale as I mentioned it, he swallowed deep.
“We ain’t afraid of no farmers, Aladdin.” The six of us in the gun laughed, but Ali said nothing.
He just sat there, the fear of the situation beginning to sink in.
...
As the sun dipped below the horizon, night crept quick over the valley, makin' them caves stretch longer and deeper 'til they gulped down all the sand and moondust blanketing the whole area.…
The night dragged on, our convoy cuttin' through the Afghan dark like a blade through black velvet. The moon, tucked behind them rugged mountain peaks, threw a dim, spooky light across the land. As we pushed deeper into the north, the chill in the air bit harder, and you could feel the tension buildin' up amongst the boys.
Ali was about near his breakin' point. His eyes kept flickin' to the shadows that hugged the rocks and gullies along the road. Every little sound had him jumpin', and that jitteriness was catchin', sending ripples of nerves through the whole convoy. I was tryin' my best to keep steady, but Ali’s scare was infectious.
The air was so tense, felt like you could slice it open with a bayonet. I tried to crack the tension, hollerin' over to him, "What’s got you jumpin', Ali? You’d think you just seen a ghost or somethin'."
He shook his head, mumbling something about bad omens and cursed lands. It was then that a peculiar smell wafted through the air, a mix of decay and something wild, a scent that didn't belong.
"Damn, Ali, if you're that scared, you could've just said so instead of lettin' one rip," I joked, forcing a laugh that sounded more hollow than I intended.
The boys gave a weak chuckle, but the laughter didn’t last none, choked out by the thick air and the quiet understandin’ that the smell was somethin’ else—somethin’ none of us could pin down. My heart missed a beat. The scent weren’t human or animal; it was somethin’ old, somethin’ that whispered of the earth and decay. Ali’s eyes widened, and he whispered fiercely, "It is not me, sir. It is them. The Dehqan."
The stench got thicker, tellin' us clear as day we weren’t alone no more. The jokin’ stopped dead, swapped out for the click of safeties comin' off and the sound of tight, nervous breathin’. The boys were on edge, scannin’ the dark, fingers glued to their triggers, senses stretched to the max.
The convoy slowed down some, drivers takin' it careful as that heavy scent wrapped around us, thick and chokin'. We was miles from any sorta safety, way out in the middle a’nothing where anythin' could be livin', but that smell—it was tellin' us there was somethin' out there, somethin' downright alien.I glanced at Ali, his face pale in the dim light of the vehicle’s dashboard. "Talk to me, Ali. What are we dealing with?"
He swallowed hard, his voice a whisper torn straight from nightmare. "The Dehqan... they guard the night. They are the night! We should not have come." he shrieked, pulling at his ears and trying to hide from the deep darkness in the cabin.
Before I could press him further, the radio crackled to life, breaking the tension for a moment. "Top, movement up ahead—large, unidentifiable!" The NOD tracked heat and low-light features and at the moment it was the only things that illuminated the road, the readout was clear, somethin’, was there.
My eyes shot to Ali as he nodded and covered his head as though that would do anything.
The ground started shakin' just a tad at first, like the earth itself was just tossin' in its sleep. Then them shakes got stronger, rhythmic and purposeful, sendin' a low rumble through the air that you could feel in your bones, tellin' every man in the convoy somethin' huge was movin' in the dark just past the beam of our gear.
As them thuds got nearer, my boys clamped down on their weapons, bodies all tensed up, braced for whatever might come. Ali, though, he looked near 'bout ready to break apart, all them earlier words of his 'bout things we couldn’t understand, like them Dehqan, echoin' in my head.
Scott was peering through the NOD, his voice comin' over the radio soft and raspy, "Contact. Big... really big." His voice just dropped off into that kinda silence that takes over when you're starin' down somethin' you never imagined you'd see.
Out of the darkness, figures began to emerge—Dehqans, titans silhouetted against the night. Each of their steps made the earth beneath our boots tremble, a slow, rhythmic thud echoing through the air like the beat of an ancient drum. They stood as tall as trees, at least 25 feet at the short end. Massive yet with no apparent malice; their faces bore a detached curiosity, reminiscent of a traveler pondering a line of ants on a trek.
Night vision counted seven, but the dim headlights of our convoy only illuminated two with any clarity. These were not men, not people as we could have understood them, but something else, something beyond.
As they approached, a palpable tension filled the air, thicker than fog. One of them, moved by a child-like curiosity, reached out—a gesture so disarmingly naive. Its finger, the size of a log, gently tapped the side of the lead Humvee. The impact was soft, yet it sent a shudder through the four-ton vehicle. Metal groaned under the strain, the driver's door buckling inward, the windshield spider-webbing as if struck by a boulder. Vasquez was at the wheel; the look on his face one of incomprehension as the life was literally crushed out of him.
Johns and Askew in the back screamed—a raw, primal sound of terror that seemed to startle the giant. Reacting as if stung, it swatted the Humvee. The vehicle was no match; it crumbled as though it were made of paper, the 50 Cal snapping, bending backward with a shriek of tearing metal.
Then came the silence—a suffocating, oppressive silence that enveloped us all. Inside that twisted metal coffin, three lives were extinguished without warning, without a chance to fight back. We, the survivors, stood frozen, our weapons rendered absurd in our hands, our training useless.
The air was thick with the smell of oil and blood, a stench that would stick to our clothes and haunt us forever. I looked around at my troops, their faces etched with shock and disbelief. This was no ordinary horror, no simple brutality of war. This was a grotesque display of our own fragility, a harsh reminder of our insignificance against beings so colossal, so alien.
The notion of retaliation flickered through my mind, a brief, irrational spark quickly extinguished by reality. What were our rifles against such enormity? Against such ignorance of our very existence? It was futile, a tragic farce.
The Dehqan, its face twisting with what seemed like regret, didn't understand what it had done. It hadn’t intended to kill; it probably didn't even grasp what death meant to us. But that small comfort did little to ease the sting of our loss.
This moment, this horrifying lesson, would replay in my mind for the rest of my life. It wasn’t just outside the norm—it was beyond the realm of human understanding, taught by a being that didn’t even realize it was a teacher. Ali’s voice, barely a whisper, cut through the tense silence. "They do not see us as threats. We are too small, too insignificant. But their paths are theirs alone; we must not block them."
Like Ali’s words were gospel, the Dehqan kept to their slow roll, their huge shapes breezing past our convoy without so much as a side-eye. They trooped with a smoothness that didn’t match their bulk, melting back into the black they came from as quiet as they showed up.
After the dust-up, the convoy was dead still, everyone silent as the creatures passed. We’had to chew on th’fact that their iron and drills wouldn’t have meant squat to those massive shadows. It was a real gut-check, a slap in the face of our own smallness in a sandbox that hid secrets way older and bigger than any of us could’ve figured.
…
After that brush with the Dehqan, the first light of dawn felt like a bit of a breather, but it didn't last none. Rolling back into base, the silence in the convoy wasn't just quiet—it was heavy, like a thick blanket, squashing any attempt at normal jawing.
The minute we passed the gate, the S-6 crew was all over us. Assignments and classifications officers lined up, poker-faced like the mountains we'd just left behind. My team spilled what we'd seen, every last detail, but it was like talking to a dang wall. They wrote it all down only to bury it deep in the classified files.
Ali disappeared in the shuffle, went down a different hall, and I don’t even wanna know where he’s stuck staring at the ceiling, but I know he ain’t sleepin', ain’t none of us sleeping sound.
"Thanks for the intel, Sergeant," one of the brass hats drawled, voice flat as a pancake. "But we gotta see this from what it might mean to morale—for your safety and the mission's." Typical brass—sittin' on secrets that could blow up in everyone's face, not givin' ah’shit who gets hurt.
Grunts, we ain't big on secrets. we keep em' cause we're used to brass playing their games, and throwing the board when they didn't win, but this was another level. Knowing about them giants out there, who didn't even see us as a blip on their radar, it kinda shrinks you. Makes you see just how tiny your spot in the big picture really is. To them, we were less threatening than the dust our trucks kicked up.
They shipped me off with a fat pension, said I’d been blown up, that my thinker wasn’t right no more. Same deal for my crew—all discharged under every excuse in the book: shell shock, health snags, you name it. We tried to talk about what we'd seen, but all we got were shrugs and more pills, and yammering about dehydration or heatstroke. All bull.
I know what I seen, and they seen us too—not as threats or even somethin' to mull over. More like how you'd spot a leaf driftin' down a creek, just passin' by, here for a sec and then gone. That kind of thing sticks with you. It changes you, knowin' there's things out there so big, so indifferent.
Sittin' here now, years later, that night is still as clear as crystal. Them giants up in the hills, the smell of ancient earth, the sound of their steps—a deep, echoin' thud that's still ringin' in my bones. They’re out there, walkin' paths we can't even start to wrap our heads around, keepin' secrets that ain’t meant for us to know.
No matter how hard the top brass tries to bury it, or how many times they say we were just seein' things, that night under the stars with the Dehqan was the darnedest, realest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on. They didn’t just send me packin' with a pension; they tried to silence a truth too mighty to squeeze into their tidy little records.
But you can’t unsee them faces, the eyes, the… everythin’ of it all, and you can’t shake off the feeling of being totally, utterly insignificant. Not really…
Not sure, if any ya’ll even give this a listen think this’s real but we better hope they just keep seeing us as ants, I don’t think there’s anything we got that’ll even shake the shit off their boots, much less hurt em’.

In the United States, Thanksgiving is a time to give thanks for all the good things in our lives.
We gather with family and friends, enjoy a big meal, and maybe watch football. But what about the food?
What are some of the best dishes to enjoy on Thanksgiving? If you’re looking for some Thanksgiving foods that start with R, here are a few of our favorites:

1. Roasted Potatoes

Roasted potatoes are the first on our list of thanksgiving Foods that start with r. There are many different ways to cook potatoes, but one of the most popular methods is to roast them.
Roasting potatoes is a quick and easy way to create a delicious side dish or snack. And since potatoes are such a versatile food, they can be roasted in various ways to suit any taste.
So what are the best techniques for roasting potatoes? We've got a few tips to help you get started.
First, you'll want to choose the right type of potato. Second, you'll need to preheat your oven and prepare your baking sheet.
And finally, you'll want to season your potatoes before roasting. With these tips in mind, you'll be well on your way to making the perfect roasted potatoes. So go ahead and give it a try!

2. Red Wine

Red wine is also one of the Thanksgiving Foods that start with r. It is often considered a sophisticated drink to be enjoyed with a meal. But did you know that red wine can actually enhance the flavor of your food?
That's right - red wine can be used as an ingredient in your cooking to add depth and flavor to your dishes.
So how does it work? When red wine is cooked, the tannins and other compounds are broken down, which helps release the flavor compounds in the wine. This can add a complex and robust flavor to your food.
If you're interested in trying it, there are a few things you should keep in mind. First, you'll want to use a dry red wine for cooking.
This means avoiding sweet wines like Port or Sherry. Second, you'll want to cook with a red wine you enjoy drinking.

3. Ravioli

Ravioli is a type of pasta that has been around for centuries. The first mention of ravioli dates back to the 14th century, and it is believed that pasta was invented in Italy.
Ravioli is made by rolling out a thin dough sheet and cutting it into small squares. Each square is filled with a small amount of filling, such as cheese or meat. The ravioli are then cooked in boiling water until it is tender.
There are many different types of ravioli, and the fillings can vary depending on the region where it is made.
Some of the most popular ravioli fillings in Italy include cheese, spinach, and meat. In the United States, ravioli is often made with various types of meat.

4. Ratatouille

Ratatouille is a French dish that typically consists of eggplant, zucchini, bell pepper, tomato, and garlic, all cooked in olive oil.
It can be served as a side dish or as a main course and is often served with rice or bread.
Ratatouille is a healthy and flavorful dish that is perfect for summertime. It is light and refreshing but still filling and satisfying.
Plus, it is easy to make - you only need a little time and some basic ingredients.
We highly recommend giving ratatouille a shot if you're looking for a new dish to try this summer. It's sure to become a new favorite in your household.

5. Raspberries

Raspberries are next on our list of thanksgiving Foods that start with r. It is a delicious and nutritious fruit that can be enjoyed fresh, frozen, or canned.
They are an excellent source of Vitamin C and fiber, and they also contain a compound called ellagitannins, which have powerful antioxidant and anti-inflammatory properties.
There are many different ways to enjoy raspberries. You can eat them on their own, add them to a smoothie or yogurt, or use them in baking.
Raspberries can also be made into jam, jelly, or syrup. If you are interested in growing your own raspberries, they can be grown in most areas of the country.
Raspberries are generally easy to care for and can be harvested from June to October.

6. Rarebit

Rarebit is a quick and easy dish that is perfect for a light lunch or snack. It is typically made with cheese, beer, or ale and is served on toast.
Rarebit is thought to have originated in Wales, and the name is derived from the Welsh word for cheese, "caws pobi.
The dish became popular in England in the 18th century, and there are many different regional variations of it.
Today, rarebit is enjoyed worldwide and can be easily made at home with just a few ingredients.
If you're looking for Thanksgiving foods that start with r a new recipe to try, give rarebit a try - you'll be glad you did!

7. Rapini

Rapini, also known as broccoli rabe, is a leafy green vegetable with small clusters of green flowers. It is related to the turnip and has a slightly bitter taste.
Rapini is a nutrient-rich vegetable that is high in vitamins A, C, and K. It also contains calcium, iron, and magnesium.
Rapini is a versatile vegetable that can be used in various dishes. It can be sautéed, stir-fried, or used in soup.
It pairs well with other vegetables, meats, and cheeses. Rapini can also be eaten raw, in salads or sandwiches.
Rapini is a great option if you're looking for a nutrient-rich vegetable to add to your diet. It is versatile, easy to prepare, and has various health benefits as thanksgiving foods that start with r.

8. Ramen

Ramen is a Japanese noodle soup dish that has recently gained popularity. It typically consists of wheat noodles in a broth made from pork, chicken, or beef and is often topped with assorted vegetables and meats.
Ramen is a relatively simple dish to make, but there are a few things to keep in mind to make a delicious bowl of noodles.
First, the noodles should be cooked al dente, as they will continue to cook in the broth.
Second, the broth should be rich and flavorful, and third, the toppings should be fresh and complementary to the broth.
You can easily make a delicious bowl of ramen at home with a few simple tips. So why not try it next time you're ready for hearty and comforting thanksgiving foods that start with r?

9. Raita

Raita is a popular Indian dish with yogurt, vegetables, and spices. It is often served as a side dish or a condiment and can be made with various vegetables.
The most common vegetables in raita are tomatoes, cucumbers, and onions. Other vegetables that are sometimes used include peas, potatoes, and carrots. Raita can also be made with fruit, such as mangoes or bananas.
The yogurt in raita helps to cool and refresh the palate, while the spices add flavor and depth. Raita is a simple dish to make, but it can be a great addition to any meal.

10. Raisins

A raisin is a dried grape. Raisins are produced in many regions of the world and can be eaten either fresh or dried. Raisins are a good source of vitamins and minerals, including iron, potassium, and fiber.
They can also help to prevent certain health conditions, such as high blood pressure and anemia.
Many different types of raisins thanksgiving Foods that start with r, including Thompson Seedless, Black Corinth, and Muscat. Raisins can be used in various recipes, including cakes, cookies, and trail mix.

11. Radish

Radishes are a type of root vegetable that are typically red, white, or pink in color. They have a crisp texture and a slightly spicy flavor and are often used in salads or as garnish.
Radishes are a good source of vitamins C and B6 and potassium and magnesium. They also contain antioxidants that can help protect against certain diseases.
Radishes can be eaten raw, cooked, or pickled. They can also be used in various recipes, such as roasted radish dishes, stir-fries, or soups.

12. Red Kitten Spinach

Red kitten spinach is a type of baby spinach that is characterized by its deep red leaves. It is a popular ingredient in salads and smoothies and is grown in many countries worldwide.
Red kitten spinach is a good source of several nutrients, including vitamin A, vitamin C, iron, and calcium.
It also contains a compound called nitrates, which has been shown to improve blood flow and help reduce blood pressure.
So if you're looking for nutritious and delicious Thanksgiving Foods that start with r to add color to your diet, try red kitten spinach!

13. Rice

Rice is next on our list of thanksgiving Foods that start with r. It is a food that is consumed by millions of people around the world daily. It is a staple in many cultures and has been a part of the human diet for centuries.
Rice is a grain that is cultivated in many different parts of the world. It is a versatile grain that can be used in various dishes.
Rice can be cooked in different ways, such as boiled, steamed, or baked. It can also be eaten raw.
There are many benefits to eating rice. Rice is a good source of complex carbohydrates, which are an important part of a healthy diet.
It is also a good source of vitamins and minerals. Rice is low in fat and calories, and it is a good source of fiber.

14. Roasted Turkey

A classic roasted turkey is the perfect centerpiece for your holiday table, but it can also be a bit daunting to prepare.
However, with a little planning and some simple tips, you can roast a delicious turkey that will impress your family and friends.
Here are a few things to keep in mind when preparing your turkey thanksgiving foods that start with r:

• Choose the right size turkey. A good rule of thumb is to allow 1 pound of turkey per person.
• Make sure your turkey is thawed. A frozen turkey will take much longer to cook and may not roast evenly.
• Season your turkey with a simple rub of salt, pepper, and herbs.
• Place your turkey in a roasting pan breast side up.
• Roast your turkey at a moderate temperature, 325-350 degrees Fahrenheit.
• Use a meat

15. Rye

Rye is a cereal grain that is most commonly used to produce bread and alcohol.
It is a hearty grain that is high in fiber and protein, making it a popular choice for those looking for a nutritious option.
Rye is also known for its distinct flavor, which has been described as earthy and nutty. Rye is a versatile grain that can be used in various recipes.
It can be cooked and eaten as porridge or used as flour for baking. Rye bread is a popular option, as it is hearty and filling.
Rye can also be used in soups, stews, and casseroles. If you are looking for new grain thanksgiving Foods that start with r to add to your diet, consider rye.
With its distinct flavor and nutritional value, it is sure to become a favorite in no time.

16. Russet Potato

The Russet potato is a type of potato that is commonly used in many different dishes.
This potato has brown skin and white flesh. It is a popular choice for baking, frying, and mashed potatoes.
Regarding nutrition, the Russet potato is a good source of vitamins and minerals. It is also a good source of fiber. This potato can be a healthy addition to any diet.
The Russet potato is a good choice if you are looking for a versatile potato that can be used in many different dishes.
This potato has brown skin and white flesh. It is a popular choice for baking, frying, and mashed potatoes.

17. Risotto

Risotto is a traditional Italian dish that is made with rice, broth, and other ingredients. It is a very popular dish and is often served as a main course.
Risotto is usually made with short-grain rice, such as Arborio or Carnaroli. The rice is cooked in broth until it is creamy and tender.
Risotto can be made with different kinds of broth, such as chicken, beef, or vegetable.
There are many different ways to make risotto, and it can be flavored with different ingredients, such as cheese, vegetables, or seafood. Risotto is a versatile dish that can be made to suit any taste.

18. Reuben Sandwich

The Reuben sandwich is a classic American sandwich made with corned beef, Swiss cheese, sauerkraut, and thousand island dressing on rye bread. It's a delicious and hearty sandwich that's perfect for a quick lunch or a hearty dinner.
While the Reuben sandwich is a delicious and classic sandwich, it's also a bit of a mystery. The origin of the sandwich is unknown, but there are several theories.
One theory suggests that the sandwich was invented by a Jewish deli owner in New York City in the early 1900s.
Another theory suggests that a Nebraska man in the 1920s invented the sandwich.
Whatever the sandwich's origin, one thing is for sure - the Reuben sandwich is a delicious and iconic sandwich that has stood the test of time.
Reuben sandwich is the best If you're looking for a delicious and hearty sandwich, thanksgiving Foods that start with r.

19. Rigatoni

Rigatoni is a type of pasta that originates from the Italian region of Lombardy. It is made from durum wheat flour and water, and its name comes from the word "rigato," which means "ridged" in Italian.
Rigatoni pasta is typically ridged on one side and smooth on the other. Rigatoni pasta is traditionally used in Italian dishes such as "allaarbonara" and "al pesto.
Rigatoni can also be used in various other dishes, such as pasta salads, soups, and casseroles.
Rigatoni is a great option if you're looking for hearty and filling thanksgiving Foods that start with r meal.
It pairs well with various sauces and can be made ahead of time, making it a great meal for busy weeknights.

20. Ricotta Cheese

Ricotta cheese is an Italian cheese made from sheep’s milk. It is a soft, white cheese with a slightly grainy texture. Ricotta cheese is used in a variety of dishes, both sweet and savory.
In sweet dishes, ricotta is often used as a filling for desserts such as cannoli and cheesecake.
It can also be used as a topping for pancakes or waffles. Savory dishes such as lasagna and stuffed shells also often include ricotta cheese.
Ricotta cheese is high in protein and calcium and is a good source of vitamins A and B12. It is also low in fat and sodium.
Ricotta cheese is a versatile cheese that can be used in various dishes.

21. Rice Pudding

Rice pudding is also on our list of thanksgiving Foods that start with r, which has been around for centuries.
It is made with just a few simple ingredients - rice, milk, sugar, and spices - and can be easily adapted to fit any Dietary restriction.
While rice pudding is traditionally made with white rice, you can also use brown rice, wild rice, or even sushi rice.
The type of milk you use is also up to you. While many people use cow's milk, you can also use almond milk, coconut milk, or other non-dairy milk.
Rice pudding is a versatile and delicious dish that everyone can enjoy. So next time you're looking for a comforting dessert, give rice pudding a try.

22. Retsina

Lastly, Retsina is a resinated white wine that is popular in Greece. It is made by adding pine resin to the wine during fermentation.
This gives the wine a unique flavor that is often described as piney or resin-like.
Retsina is typically made with the native Greek grape varieties Assyrtiko, Athiri, and Rhoditis; it can also be made with other grape varieties.
Retsina is a versatile wine that can be enjoyed with various dishes. It pairs well with grilled meats and vegetables and traditional Greek dishes such as Souvlaki and Gyro.
Retsina can also be enjoyed on its own as an aperitif or after-dinner drink. So if you're looking for a unique wine to try, be sure to give Retsina a try.
Conclusion
In conclusion, our blog has helped a list of varieties of Thanksgiving foods, starting with R.
While there are many other delicious Thanksgiving dishes, these are some of the most popular and iconic in our blog post.
So if you're looking for a great Thanksgiving meal, be sure to include some of these delicious thanksgiving foods that start with "R" dishes.

“Brah, I’m glad that shift was over. ‘Tang ina can’t believe we gotta head back in 12 hours. Can’t take anymore night shifts. It’s killing me.”
“Migs brah, relax. It’s hardly the night shift.”
“ ‘pre, it’s midnight.”
“Yo, be glad we get to go home. Marcy, Ting, Lim, those poor fucks just clocked in.” Anthony glanced over at the whiteboard with a handwritten menu:
Meal A
Bisteak and Rice
Meal B
Pansit Canton with hot dogs
Meal C
Menudo Rice + 1 Lumpia
Special
Beef Pares (Beef Stew)
“Yo, so what you having, my turn to buy.”
“Yah, it’s always your turn to buy when we end up at a cheap diner like this.”
“Ok, you get your own..”
“Joke lang ‘pre, relax. I’ll have the Special. Sorry, been a long shift.”
“Manong, dalawang Special ho.” two specials please.
The old man behind the carinderia finished ringing up the customer that was ahead of Miguel and Anthony. Another shift worker, a woman in scrubs heading home from a long shift at the hospital.
The old man walked over to the back wall, grabbed two plates two bowls and began filling in the order for two specials which consisted of a plate of white rice and a bowl of oily pares (beef stew, street vendor style).
Miguel and Anthony frequented Robinson’s almost every night shift. It was a bare bones type of carinderia with green tile walls andSan Miguel Beer poster ads. One wall had a large corner to corner mirror that made the place look bigger than what it actually was. The tables were cheap foldable picnic tables draped with thick see-through plastic. The front windows were ceiling to floor like most of the restaurants on the strip except for some reason, they were tinted. Food was also cheap but portions were big.
Taste was another story. To the pair of them, the food tasted alright. There were definitely other options in the vicinity. A lot of restaurants and diners in the area stayed open late to feed the influx of commuting shift workers in the neighborhood. Some even stayed open 24 hours to capitalize on the breakfast crowd coming in from a graveyard shift.
Miguel and Anthony certainly weren’t lacking in options, but something about the food kept them coming back. There was a certain flavour to the ulam which oddly enough, energized them a little bit. They had the feeling of life returning to their tired over worked bodies. Over the months, both of them had certainly tried checking out the other carinderias, but they never had the sense of satiety that they would get from Robinson’s. Satiety was the word they could best describe their end of meal feeling. It wasn’t a satisfying meal, but it did leave a particular taste at the end. The kind that makes you want more regardless of how full up you felt.
They couldn’t quite put their finger on what that flavour in the food was; that strange but tasty flavour. Some of the dishes that Manong served tasted plain, even bland but with a hint of that… something. It was strongest whenever Manong had a special for the day. His specials were random and there was no way of knowing when he’d have a special dish prepared. You just had to be there at the right time.
For tired shift workers like Miguel and Anthony, they never really put too much thought into why they liked the food. They just did, but at the same time they didn’t. And like most people in their situation, they just decided to brush it off as routine, habit, perhaps a familiarity of the homeland.
Manong, who served them was not Robinson. No one knew who Robinson was. Just like every other store on the strip named Aleng Rosa, Marites Bakery, Tita Lidia’s Panderia. Rosa, Marites, Lidia, Robinson, all could have just been names pulled out of a hat and whoever worked at the establishments didn’t think too much of the history of the store names or who they were. To everyone on the strip, work was work, and a business was a business.
Manong was just Manong. He was an old sinewy man with a lazy eye and white oily hair. Old as he looked he, moved like someone half his age. He would float between the front carinderia and the back kitchen like a silent wraith, often times carrying refills of food trays with ease.
“Brah, so did you hear about Marcia’s aunt. Tita Neng?” Miguel asked as they sat down at their table, positioned across from the television that played local Filipino news.
“Yah, dude, that’s rough,” Anthony replied as he drizzled spicy vinegar over his beef stew.
“Thank god their insured right?”
“Dude what’s wrong with you? That shit was fucked up! In broad daylight too. Like great they can afford the hospital, but she didn’t have to be in that situation you know? It’s not like she got hit by a car or nothing. Dude went savage on her, for no reason!”
“Yah…” Anthony reflected. “That was fucked up.”
“Things are getting bad. I mean used to be hard just getting around at night. Who know’s who you’ll run into. But tang ina man, these fuckers attacking us during the day now. And for what fucking reason?” Miguel began to chomp down on his food a little bit faster now.
“They hated us from before pare. But back then they ignored us. Shit talk here, shit talk there, but that’s all it was, shit talk. They left us alone. We kept to our side of the line. But now they full on hate us! They blaming us for takin jobs, bringing the fucking virus. Dude doesn’t matter if you’re Chinese, Viet, Filipino. We all look the same to them. Fuck this world bro.” Anthony felt himself getting worked up. He realized if he kept going like this, it would be hard for him to sleep later.
He decided to steer the conversation back to Tita Neng and Marcia. No point in getting worked up so late. “So how’s Marcia anyway? She ok?”
“Yah, she’s with Tita Neng. She’ll be there a while till Neng’s out. Probably be a few days to a week, seeing how that asshole got her.”
“Wow, a week, how’d she score a whole week off?”
“I dunno brah, but company told her take as much time as she needed to take care of her aunt. I never asked though if it was paid. Who knows. You know if this shit never made the news, they probably wouldn’t have given any time off at all you know. These fuckers won’t give a damn until all of the sudden there’s a camera on them.”
Anthony choked a little bit. “Fuck that’s true. They only care if people got eyes on them. Imagine, if this news didn’t go public, they probably would’ve wiped their hands and said not their problem.”
Miguel grabbed the vinegar from Anthony’s side of the table and started adding more to his broth. He was getting a little heated up as well but wasn’t sure if it was the topic of conversation or the food giving him a second wind.
“Brah, the pares is good today,” he mumbled.
Anthony nodded in agreement, “mmhmm.”
“There’s a donation going on if you wanna contribute. Again we don’t know if Marcia’s getting time off with pay, but everyone’s just assuming she isn’t. Hard to ask with her being in her state, taking care of Neng at the hospital. So we just gonna collect some stuff, food, cash, you know. Help with the rent and all.”
Anthony nodded as he looked up at the television. It was a repeat news story of Tita Neng’s encounter.
“…Melinda Torres, a 58 year old, Filipino shift worker who was assaulted while walking home in the morning is now recovering at St. Joseph’s hospital. Police have surveilled CCTV footage of the incident Police Investigators have identified the attacker as Anthony King, 42, who is now facing charges of a hate crime on top of assault and battery. Anthony King is still at large and police are urging anyone with information of his whereabouts to contact them or CRIMESTOPPERS…”
“Fucked up,” Miguel says as he turned over to yell at Manong, “be careful when you go out. You never know what these fucks will do these days. They’re just hating on all of us, but what’s worse is they hitting the old ones like you, and Tita Neng over there.”
Manong just stared at the tv, with the same blank look he had every night, and all day for all they knew. He stood there silently, stoically with his one lazy eye unblinking, unphased by either the news report or Miguel’s sudden attempt at conversing with him.
Miguel meanwhile, stared at him for a few seconds, then slowly turned back to his food. Anthony replied, “you’d think he’d be a bit concerned for himself eh. I mean, even though he’s got kababayan (countrymen)all around here, who knows who’s walking down these streets these days.”
“Brah, I don’t think he leaves this place,” Miguel chuckled.
“Yah I guess you’re right.”
“Ingatan mo ang saril nyo”. (watch out for yourelves)The both of them suddenly heard from behind the counter. The both of them turned to look back, but Manong just stood there in the same position as always. Sometimes he was watching TV, sometimes he was just sitting down staring at the wall, and sometimes, he was at the back, disappeared behind the kitchen, doing what the both of them thought people did behind the kitchen. Cook, chop, clean, or maybe in Manong’s case, just a whole lot more staring into nowhere.
“You know, I don’t think I ever heard him talk,” Anthony said.
“Nah, don’t think so brah.”
After a few seconds, he turned back around over to their food and began eating again.
“Yo Ton,” Miguel whispered, “we’ve been coming here for months now, I haven’t seen anyone else work here except old Manong over there.”
“Yah same, I think he run’s this place all on his own”.
“You mean he does the cooking, cleaning, cash, everything? Nah he’s gotta have some help.”
Anthony thought back and tried to recall how the other businesses in the area operated. There were typically two people at least at every store. Even if on a certain hour you’d see one person at cash, or one person at a desk, there would always be another one out back, or out somewhere doing errands. Running a business, no matter how small on the strip was never a solo operation.
It was possible Anthony thought but moving inventory, getting supplies, cleaning the shops, all required some help. And as tight knit as the community was, there was only ever so much favors one could pull from the neighbors before they start declining.
He thought back to when he came to Robinson’s during the day and tried to remember if there was anyone else running the shop or if there was help. Him and Miguel usually just came there after their night shifts, but he recalled swinging by a few days on the weekends on his own when he didn’t feel like cooking, or he felt he needed something quick and cheap to eat. He couldn’t remember at all if old Manong had a helper.
Miguel broke his chain of thought, “You know I heard he was an ex merc from the Marcos era. Body guard or some shit.”
“Where’d you hear that?” Anthony snickered. “You believe all the tsismis huh?”
“Nah man, well, yah sure, tsismis is tsismis, but you know how rumors go? If it’s the same story, it’s gotta be true. And everyone sayin’, Manong over there is an ex merc.
Anthony chuckled as he spooned the last bits of sabaw (sauce)over his rice, “Dude, your logic”
“Yo just look at him. Stiff as a board, always looking silent and deadly. You see the dude ever slouch or anything? My titos and shit were all in the army, and you know, posture, it stays with you.”
“Even an ex soldier can’t do things alone man, specially at his age.”
“Huh what?” Miguel retorted with a puzzled look. “Oh shit yah, ok hear me out. He’s probably like super strong and shit. Ex merc you know, probably seen stuff. Specially back in those days you know. Fucked up shit. Figures why he’d do things on his own. Probably can’t trust no body. Look at that lazy eye of his too. Probably got stabbed or shot. Tang ina’s astig (badass)bro.”
“Dude, you even know what you’re talking about? Like Marcos era? You know how long ago that was? Manong over there’s probably gotta be over a 100 years old to survive the Marcos era.”
“Well”, Miguel shouted, but suddenly remembered where he was and who he was talking about, and where that person was, “Well,” he hushed down “he probably is a 100. Look at him.”
“Migs, I am looking at him, and there’s no way. No way pare. I mean yah, he looks old, but dude moves like he’s 20. He can’t be that old.”
The door of Robinson’s suddenly opened and the two of them stopped their conversation to have a glance. Normally there’s always the quick glance and stare when someone walks through, especially at that time of the night. It would be a mix of curiosity and hopefulness. Curious to see who would be walking in so late at night, and hopeful to see if it was someone they knew so they could start a late night gossip session. But at this particular moment, the stares gave way to a rapid hint of caution which triggered the two of them to immediately look away and back down on their food.
He was a tall, hefty man with big arms, thick thighs, and a big thick belly. He was wide and just plain big. Not the slow and soft kind of big, but the sort of big that can do damage, like a truck or a wild boar. He even grunted a bit as he surveyed the restaurant, eyes meandering Robinson’s with a cynical gaze.
“I thought I smelled something off,” the stranger snorted as he slowly walked, more like staggered, to the counter of Robinson’s. It wasn’t the drunk or high kind of staggering but more so of a bravado step with an air of arrogance behind the walk leaving behind a strange cloud of hate.
“Wha d’you gotta eat in this kinda place pops? I smell fish heads, you fryin’ fish back there?”
Anthony and Miguel gave each other a cautionary glance. They both knew Manong never served seafood, and they both knew what the stranger meant when he referred to the smell of fish heads.
Manong glanced at the customer, with his usual look; unchanging, stoic, emotionless. He took both of his hands and fanned them outward towards the counter of food laid out: the beef stew, fried noodles, and beef steaks.
“God damn old man. Food inspector come by and check your place out yet? What is this shit? You leave this out in the open like this? Probably not even warm?”
He stared at Manong as he mouthed the word warm, and while doing so he took his index finger and dipped it into the pan of beef stew, stirred it around for
1…2…3… seconds, lifted it off and stuck his finger in his mouth.
“It’s warm I’ll give you that much, but it’s fuckin disgusting. What the hell is this pig slop” He spat out onto the floor. Manong just continued to stare.
Miguel turned around when he heard the stranger spit on the floor. Something started to boil up inside of him. Anthony sensed this and grabbed him by the forearm, “psst, huy, relax lang pare”
Miguel turned slowly back to his place, torn and feeling helpless. He knew the stranger with the arrogant walk was up to no good. Miguel just kept getting flashbacks in his head about the news report and his conversations with Marcia about Tita Neng in the hospital. What panicked him most among all the ideas and scenarios running through his head was, this was not Anthony King, the suspect that had attacked Tita Neng in the streets. This was someone else completely. The feeling of being trapped and helpless choked him.
In a hushed tone, as if he could read his thoughts, Anthony whispered, “I know brah, but let’s wait. Relax lang. Maybe he’ll leave. Maybe he’s just all talk. Relax, chill”
The stranger sensed movement behind him, looked back with a smirk, then turned his gaze back at Manong. With the same finger that he just licked the stew from, he went and poked at the fried noodles, and began to stir just like he did with the beef stew.
Anthony was still holding on to Miguel’s forearm and as he watched the stranger stir at the noodles, his grip got harder, and sweat started to pour down his forehead.
“Y’all come here, serve this shit,” the stranger talked as he continued to stir the noodles with his finger. “And don’t even have the decency to greet your customers. Where’s the service old man?” His finger pushed deeper into the pan of fried noodles, submerging his knuckles, his palms, then his whole fist.
“You just gonna stare at me old guy? Or you gonna serve me? Or do I gotta serve myself?”
Manong broke his stare, calmly turned around, and grabbed a plate from the back counter, hardly un-phased by the stranger’s words and actions. He turned back around with the plate, grabbed a serving spoon and began to spoon the plate with fried noodles.
The stranger laughed, the arrogance and the cloud of hate that trailed behind began to rise, and fill the room with it’s invisible aura. He looked left, right, looked back at Miguel and Anthony sitting at the table. At this point Miguel had turned around to watch the stranger again so the two of them were now transfixed at the scene.
The stranger smile turned sharply into a grimace. He spun back to face Manong, lifted his hand out of the plate of noodles, and flicked them at Manong’s face. “FUCK. You can’t get the hint can you? I don’t know how you got into this country. But you know what old man?”
The stranger turns around to face Anthony and Miguel, “And this goes for you two pricks as well”
The stranger turns back to face Manong, “stop serving this slop and go back to your fucking country, you mother, fuckin…”.
And with that last word the stranger grabbed hold of another fist full of noodles and smeared them over Manong’s face. 1 second…. 2 second… 3 seconds… 4… seconds… he continued to smear. He pulled back his hand, turned around gave a grim smile to Anthony and Miguel, who were now standing up. Faces full of shock, anger, fear, desperation, anxiety, sadness, a mixture of emotions that kept them frozen in place. Fight or flight, both actions were being cancelled out with too many thoughts, too many countering emotions, too many what if scenarios floating in their heads.
The stranger glared at Anthony and Miguel, “This is what we do to your kind. You’re not welcome here no more,”
The stranger turns around and begins to punch Manong in the face with the same noodle smeared hands.
That was all Miguel could handle. Anthony stood there still in shock, but Miguel rushed over to the stranger and tried to wrestle his punching arm back to stop the barrage of fists landing on Manong’s face.
“Get the fuck off him you prick. Why you gotta go and hit an old man for you fucking piece of shit!”
The stranger had size over Miguel, though Miguel was able to hold back his punches, his other arm was free and strong enough to elbow Miguel hard in the ribs which made Miguel immediately let go.
“You all are everywhere, like god damn roaches”, he spat at Miguel.
Miguel furious took a deep breath and launched himself at the stranger. With no real experience in fighting, all he could do was grab hold of the stranger with a bear hug to the waist, which was unfortunate for Miguel as with the stranger’s reach, he was able to pummel him with both arms. Elbows to the back. Punches to the ribs.
Miguel held on tighter, frustrated, in pain, tears rolling down his face while the stranger continued his barrage of elbows, punches, and insults. Anthony stood frozen mouth gaped, shock and fear rooting him in place.
“You fucking pieces of shit, take every god damn street and store in our country, take every fuckin’ business, and all you do is ruin things for everyone.” The stranger continued to beat down, Miguel’s strength fading, his grip on the stranger loosening as he took multiple punches to the ribs and back.
“You come here with your shit food, your shit way of life, ruining MY country. First you bring drugs, then you bring the fucking virus, then you take all our fuckin money living off our welfare system. I should call immigration on the lot of you. You got papers boy?”
Miguel dropped to his knees. Hurt both physically from barrage of punches and elbows and hurt emotionally from the insults and the slurs that were flung with every hit.
“If you won’t go back to where you came from, I’ll kick you out myself” the stranger smiled. Be balled his hand into one giant fist and raised it high over his head, while his other hand grabbed hold of Miguel’s hair, holding him steady for the final blow.
Both Miguel and Anthony saw the fist raised. They both knew what was coming, but neither could stop it. Miguel was too weak from the beating and Anthony was still too frozen with fear to move. They both thought of Tita Neng in the hospital. Miguel was next. He’ll be in the hospital at St. Josephs with her, that is if he survives the final blow.
At this point, Miguel began to experience what most would describe as the slow motion of the last moments of life. Or at least what he thought would be his last moments. They were filled with dread and fear. He could feel the hatred pouring out of the stranger. How could anyone have so much anger and hatred towards anybody?
The aura of hate filled the room and engulfed him entirely. He felt as if his entire being was becoming smothered and about to be wiped out. He could feel all that hateful energy wrap him like a thick heavy net and the anger collecting into a single point in the stranger’s fist. All that hate bottled up in one fist would be crashing down on him soon. Miguel passed out from exhaustion. Anthony fainted from shock.
And then a darker energy entered the room. Originally it was just the stranger and his anger filling up the space. But then, something else emerged. It was darker than black. It was primal. It was old. And It, was hungry.
…
Miguel and Anthony woke up both groggy un aware of what was going on. It took a few seconds for them to regain their senses. They both assumed they had blacked out, but how?
They sit back. Miguel’s ribs and body ached. Luckily the stranger had only been hitting him in the back and ribs, and not the face.
Wait a minute he thought. The stranger must have hit him in the head, otherwise why would he have blacked out?
But then it occurred to him that his head wasn’t hurting. He did have a headache, but not from a punch to the head. More of a groggy, hung over feeling headache, the type one gets from sleeping in a strange position and getting a stiff neck.
Anthony opens his eyes, how did I black out he thought? Did the stranger go after me after finishing off Miguel? He felt no pain in his body, nothing hurt but his head, but it was the same groggy stiff necked pain that Miguel was experiencing.
“Bro, what the fuck happend” Miguel asked
“Pare I don’t know, pare. Fuck. My head hurts.”
“All I remember was I thought I was done for. I remember thinking that I was either going to see Tita Neng in the hospital or see my dad up in heaven.”
“Bro, I’m sorry I couldn’t step in, I tried, I mean, I wanted to, fuck I dont know I’m so sorry bro”
“It’s alright pare. Ok lang, we’re both ok, somewhat. I dunno. Dude where are we?”
They both looked around. There were green tiled walls with posters of San Miguel Beer, one wall with corner to corner mirror to make the place look bigger, foldable picnic tables draped with thick clear plastic, a TV playing local community news, this time playing the morning weather and traffic report. Hazy sunlight was shining through the tinted glass windows of the front of the restaurant. They were at Robinson’s.
Manong was in front of the kitchen counter with a mop and bucket cleaning the floor. His face, blank, stoic, emotionless. He swished the mop with strong, wide strokes, and when he rung the mop into the bucket, his sinewy arms tightened into coils of hard leather. For an old man, he moved like a teenager, albeit slow and methodical.
“Manong,” Miguel asked
“Ok lang kayo? Anong nangyari ka gabe? Where did that asshole go”
Silence.
Manong did one last swish of the mop into the bucket and wheeled them both back behind the counter and into the kitchen. Miguel and Anthony just looked at each other, confused, baffled, and stiff.
“Dude” Anthony grimaced “Like what the hell happened last night?”
“I don’t know, but I feel like shit right now. Do you think we should go to the police?”
Anthony sat in silence not knowing what to say or do. As he became more and more awake, the memories of the night before became more and more clear, but the gap between now and the moment the stranger was about to hit Miguel in the face was a huge black hole.
“Dude, what time is it?” Miguel asked.
Anthony looked at his phone, “6am”
“Alright, ok so we got 6 hours before clocking in to figure out what we’re going to do”
“Or figure out what happened last night bro”
The kitchen door swung open and Manong walked out with a big tray of food for the carinderia counter. Face emotionless as ever, not even showing signs of strain as he lifted the tray into the heating spot of the counter. After placing the tray in it’s slot, he turned around to the white board menu above the kitchen counter and began wiping the old menu out and replacing it with the days and evenings options.
Meal A
Bisteak and rice + 1 lumpia
Meal B
Pansit canton with beef slices
Meal C
Pork adobo and rice
Special
Lechon Kawali
Glossary of terms:
‘tang ina: short for putang ina. Mother Fucker.
‘pre: short for Pare. Colloquial term for Bro.
Brah: another term for Bro. Evolved from the word Brad.(Br-AH-d) or Brother.
Manong: A term reserved for an older male person. Typically males, family or strangers would be referred to as uncle or Tito. Manong is an older Tito.

“Brah, I’m glad that shift was over. ‘Tang ina can’t believe we gotta head back in 12 hours. Can’t take anymore night shifts. It’s killing me.”
“Migs brah, relax. It’s hardly the night shift.”
“ ‘pre, it’s midnight.”
“Yo, be glad we get to go home. Marcy, Ting, Lim, those poor fucks just clocked in.” Anthony glanced over at the whiteboard with a handwritten menu:
Meal A
Bisteak and Rice
Meal B
Pansit Canton with hot dogs
Meal C
Menudo Rice + 1 Lumpia
Special
Beef Pares (Beef Stew)
“Yo, so what you having, my turn to buy.”
“Yah, it’s always your turn to buy when we end up at a cheap diner like this.”
“Ok, you get your own..”
“Joke lang ‘pre, relax. I’ll have the Special. Sorry, been a long shift.”
“Manong, dalawang Special ho.” two specials please.
The old man behind the carinderia finished ringing up the customer that was ahead of Miguel and Anthony. Another shift worker, a woman in scrubs heading home from a long shift at the hospital.
The old man walked over to the back wall, grabbed two plates two bowls and began filling in the order for two specials which consisted of a plate of white rice and a bowl of oily pares (beef stew, street vendor style).
Miguel and Anthony frequented Robinson’s almost every night shift. It was a bare bones type of carinderia with green tile walls andSan Miguel Beer poster ads. One wall had a large corner to corner mirror that made the place look bigger than what it actually was. The tables were cheap foldable picnic tables draped with thick see-through plastic. The front windows were ceiling to floor like most of the restaurants on the strip except for some reason, they were tinted. Food was also cheap but portions were big.
Taste was another story. To the pair of them, the food tasted alright. There were definitely other options in the vicinity. A lot of restaurants and diners in the area stayed open late to feed the influx of commuting shift workers in the neighborhood. Some even stayed open 24 hours to capitalize on the breakfast crowd coming in from a graveyard shift.
Miguel and Anthony certainly weren’t lacking in options, but something about the food kept them coming back. There was a certain flavour to the ulam which oddly enough, energized them a little bit. They had the feeling of life returning to their tired over worked bodies. Over the months, both of them had certainly tried checking out the other carinderias, but they never had the sense of satiety that they would get from Robinson’s. Satiety was the word they could best describe their end of meal feeling. It wasn’t a satisfying meal, but it did leave a particular taste at the end. The kind that makes you want more regardless of how full up you felt.
They couldn’t quite put their finger on what that flavour in the food was; that strange but tasty flavour. Some of the dishes that Manong served tasted plain, even bland but with a hint of that… something. It was strongest whenever Manong had a special for the day. His specials were random and there was no way of knowing when he’d have a special dish prepared. You just had to be there at the right time.
For tired shift workers like Miguel and Anthony, they never really put too much thought into why they liked the food. They just did, but at the same time they didn’t. And like most people in their situation, they just decided to brush it off as routine, habit, perhaps a familiarity of the homeland.
Manong, who served them was not Robinson. No one knew who Robinson was. Just like every other store on the strip named Aleng Rosa, Marites Bakery, Tita Lidia’s Panderia. Rosa, Marites, Lidia, Robinson, all could have just been names pulled out of a hat and whoever worked at the establishments didn’t think too much of the history of the store names or who they were. To everyone on the strip, work was work, and a business was a business.
Manong was just Manong. He was an old sinewy man with a lazy eye and white oily hair. Old as he looked he, moved like someone half his age. He would float between the front carinderia and the back kitchen like a silent wraith, often times carrying refills of food trays with ease.
“Brah, so did you hear about Marcia’s aunt. Tita Neng?” Miguel asked as they sat down at their table, positioned across from the television that played local Filipino news.
“Yah, dude, that’s rough,” Anthony replied as he drizzled spicy vinegar over his beef stew.
“Thank god their insured right?”
“Dude what’s wrong with you? That shit was fucked up! In broad daylight too. Like great they can afford the hospital, but she didn’t have to be in that situation you know? It’s not like she got hit by a car or nothing. Dude went savage on her, for no reason!”
“Yah…” Anthony reflected. “That was fucked up.”
“Things are getting bad. I mean used to be hard just getting around at night. Who know’s who you’ll run into. But tang ina man, these fuckers attacking us during the day now. And for what fucking reason?” Miguel began to chomp down on his food a little bit faster now.
“They hated us from before pare. But back then they ignored us. Shit talk here, shit talk there, but that’s all it was, shit talk. They left us alone. We kept to our side of the line. But now they full on hate us! They blaming us for takin jobs, bringing the fucking virus. Dude doesn’t matter if you’re Chinese, Viet, Filipino. We all look the same to them. Fuck this world bro.” Anthony felt himself getting worked up. He realized if he kept going like this, it would be hard for him to sleep later.
He decided to steer the conversation back to Tita Neng and Marcia. No point in getting worked up so late. “So how’s Marcia anyway? She ok?”
“Yah, she’s with Tita Neng. She’ll be there a while till Neng’s out. Probably be a few days to a week, seeing how that asshole got her.”
“Wow, a week, how’d she score a whole week off?”
“I dunno brah, but company told her take as much time as she needed to take care of her aunt. I never asked though if it was paid. Who knows. You know if this shit never made the news, they probably wouldn’t have given any time off at all you know. These fuckers won’t give a damn until all of the sudden there’s a camera on them.”
Anthony choked a little bit. “Fuck that’s true. They only care if people got eyes on them. Imagine, if this news didn’t go public, they probably would’ve wiped their hands and said not their problem.”
Miguel grabbed the vinegar from Anthony’s side of the table and started adding more to his broth. He was getting a little heated up as well but wasn’t sure if it was the topic of conversation or the food giving him a second wind.
“Brah, the pares is good today,” he mumbled.
Anthony nodded in agreement, “mmhmm.”
“There’s a donation going on if you wanna contribute. Again we don’t know if Marcia’s getting time off with pay, but everyone’s just assuming she isn’t. Hard to ask with her being in her state, taking care of Neng at the hospital. So we just gonna collect some stuff, food, cash, you know. Help with the rent and all.”
Anthony nodded as he looked up at the television. It was a repeat news story of Tita Neng’s encounter.
“…Melinda Torres, a 58 year old, Filipino shift worker who was assaulted while walking home in the morning is now recovering at St. Joseph’s hospital. Police have surveilled CCTV footage of the incident Police Investigators have identified the attacker as Anthony King, 42, who is now facing charges of a hate crime on top of assault and battery. Anthony King is still at large and police are urging anyone with information of his whereabouts to contact them or CRIMESTOPPERS…”
“Fucked up,” Miguel says as he turned over to yell at Manong, “be careful when you go out. You never know what these fucks will do these days. They’re just hating on all of us, but what’s worse is they hitting the old ones like you, and Tita Neng over there.”
Manong just stared at the tv, with the same blank look he had every night, and all day for all they knew. He stood there silently, stoically with his one lazy eye unblinking, unphased by either the news report or Miguel’s sudden attempt at conversing with him.
Miguel meanwhile, stared at him for a few seconds, then slowly turned back to his food. Anthony replied, “you’d think he’d be a bit concerned for himself eh. I mean, even though he’s got kababayan (countrymen)all around here, who knows who’s walking down these streets these days.”
“Brah, I don’t think he leaves this place,” Miguel chuckled.
“Yah I guess you’re right.”
“Ingatan mo ang saril nyo”. (watch out for yourelves)The both of them suddenly heard from behind the counter. The both of them turned to look back, but Manong just stood there in the same position as always. Sometimes he was watching TV, sometimes he was just sitting down staring at the wall, and sometimes, he was at the back, disappeared behind the kitchen, doing what the both of them thought people did behind the kitchen. Cook, chop, clean, or maybe in Manong’s case, just a whole lot more staring into nowhere.
“You know, I don’t think I ever heard him talk,” Anthony said.
“Nah, don’t think so brah.”
After a few seconds, he turned back around over to their food and began eating again.
“Yo Ton,” Miguel whispered, “we’ve been coming here for months now, I haven’t seen anyone else work here except old Manong over there.”
“Yah same, I think he run’s this place all on his own”.
“You mean he does the cooking, cleaning, cash, everything? Nah he’s gotta have some help.”
Anthony thought back and tried to recall how the other businesses in the area operated. There were typically two people at least at every store. Even if on a certain hour you’d see one person at cash, or one person at a desk, there would always be another one out back, or out somewhere doing errands. Running a business, no matter how small on the strip was never a solo operation.
It was possible Anthony thought but moving inventory, getting supplies, cleaning the shops, all required some help. And as tight knit as the community was, there was only ever so much favors one could pull from the neighbors before they start declining.
He thought back to when he came to Robinson’s during the day and tried to remember if there was anyone else running the shop or if there was help. Him and Miguel usually just came there after their night shifts, but he recalled swinging by a few days on the weekends on his own when he didn’t feel like cooking, or he felt he needed something quick and cheap to eat. He couldn’t remember at all if old Manong had a helper.
Miguel broke his chain of thought, “You know I heard he was an ex merc from the Marcos era. Body guard or some shit.”
“Where’d you hear that?” Anthony snickered. “You believe all the tsismis huh?”
“Nah man, well, yah sure, tsismis is tsismis, but you know how rumors go? If it’s the same story, it’s gotta be true. And everyone sayin’, Manong over there is an ex merc.
Anthony chuckled as he spooned the last bits of sabaw (sauce)over his rice, “Dude, your logic”
“Yo just look at him. Stiff as a board, always looking silent and deadly. You see the dude ever slouch or anything? My titos and shit were all in the army, and you know, posture, it stays with you.”
“Even an ex soldier can’t do things alone man, specially at his age.”
“Huh what?” Miguel retorted with a puzzled look. “Oh shit yah, ok hear me out. He’s probably like super strong and shit. Ex merc you know, probably seen stuff. Specially back in those days you know. Fucked up shit. Figures why he’d do things on his own. Probably can’t trust no body. Look at that lazy eye of his too. Probably got stabbed or shot. Tang ina’s astig (badass)bro.”
“Dude, you even know what you’re talking about? Like Marcos era? You know how long ago that was? Manong over there’s probably gotta be over a 100 years old to survive the Marcos era.”
“Well”, Miguel shouted, but suddenly remembered where he was and who he was talking about, and where that person was, “Well,” he hushed down “he probably is a 100. Look at him.”
“Migs, I am looking at him, and there’s no way. No way pare. I mean yah, he looks old, but dude moves like he’s 20. He can’t be that old.”
The door of Robinson’s suddenly opened and the two of them stopped their conversation to have a glance. Normally there’s always the quick glance and stare when someone walks through, especially at that time of the night. It would be a mix of curiosity and hopefulness. Curious to see who would be walking in so late at night, and hopeful to see if it was someone they knew so they could start a late night gossip session. But at this particular moment, the stares gave way to a rapid hint of caution which triggered the two of them to immediately look away and back down on their food.
He was a tall, hefty man with big arms, thick thighs, and a big thick belly. He was wide and just plain big. Not the slow and soft kind of big, but the sort of big that can do damage, like a truck or a wild boar. He even grunted a bit as he surveyed the restaurant, eyes meandering Robinson’s with a cynical gaze.
“I thought I smelled something off,” the stranger snorted as he slowly walked, more like staggered, to the counter of Robinson’s. It wasn’t the drunk or high kind of staggering but more so of a bravado step with an air of arrogance behind the walk leaving behind a strange cloud of hate.
“Wha d’you gotta eat in this kinda place pops? I smell fish heads, you fryin’ fish back there?”
Anthony and Miguel gave each other a cautionary glance. They both knew Manong never served seafood, and they both knew what the stranger meant when he referred to the smell of fish heads.
Manong glanced at the customer, with his usual look; unchanging, stoic, emotionless. He took both of his hands and fanned them outward towards the counter of food laid out: the beef stew, fried noodles, and beef steaks.
“God damn old man. Food inspector come by and check your place out yet? What is this shit? You leave this out in the open like this? Probably not even warm?”
He stared at Manong as he mouthed the word warm, and while doing so he took his index finger and dipped it into the pan of beef stew, stirred it around for
1…2…3… seconds, lifted it off and stuck his finger in his mouth.
“It’s warm I’ll give you that much, but it’s fuckin disgusting. What the hell is this pig slop” He spat out onto the floor. Manong just continued to stare.
Miguel turned around when he heard the stranger spit on the floor. Something started to boil up inside of him. Anthony sensed this and grabbed him by the forearm, “psst, huy, relax lang pare”
Miguel turned slowly back to his place, torn and feeling helpless. He knew the stranger with the arrogant walk was up to no good. Miguel just kept getting flashbacks in his head about the news report and his conversations with Marcia about Tita Neng in the hospital. What panicked him most among all the ideas and scenarios running through his head was, this was not Anthony King, the suspect that had attacked Tita Neng in the streets. This was someone else completely. The feeling of being trapped and helpless choked him.
In a hushed tone, as if he could read his thoughts, Anthony whispered, “I know brah, but let’s wait. Relax lang. Maybe he’ll leave. Maybe he’s just all talk. Relax, chill”
The stranger sensed movement behind him, looked back with a smirk, then turned his gaze back at Manong. With the same finger that he just licked the stew from, he went and poked at the fried noodles, and began to stir just like he did with the beef stew.
Anthony was still holding on to Miguel’s forearm and as he watched the stranger stir at the noodles, his grip got harder, and sweat started to pour down his forehead.
“Y’all come here, serve this shit,” the stranger talked as he continued to stir the noodles with his finger. “And don’t even have the decency to greet your customers. Where’s the service old man?” His finger pushed deeper into the pan of fried noodles, submerging his knuckles, his palms, then his whole fist.
“You just gonna stare at me old guy? Or you gonna serve me? Or do I gotta serve myself?”
Manong broke his stare, calmly turned around, and grabbed a plate from the back counter, hardly un-phased by the stranger’s words and actions. He turned back around with the plate, grabbed a serving spoon and began to spoon the plate with fried noodles.
The stranger laughed, the arrogance and the cloud of hate that trailed behind began to rise, and fill the room with it’s invisible aura. He looked left, right, looked back at Miguel and Anthony sitting at the table. At this point Miguel had turned around to watch the stranger again so the two of them were now transfixed at the scene.
The stranger smile turned sharply into a grimace. He spun back to face Manong, lifted his hand out of the plate of noodles, and flicked them at Manong’s face. “FUCK. You can’t get the hint can you? I don’t know how you got into this country. But you know what old man?”
The stranger turns around to face Anthony and Miguel, “And this goes for you two pricks as well”
The stranger turns back to face Manong, “stop serving this slop and go back to your fucking country, you mother, fuckin…”.
And with that last word the stranger grabbed hold of another fist full of noodles and smeared them over Manong’s face. 1 second…. 2 second… 3 seconds… 4… seconds… he continued to smear. He pulled back his hand, turned around gave a grim smile to Anthony and Miguel, who were now standing up. Faces full of shock, anger, fear, desperation, anxiety, sadness, a mixture of emotions that kept them frozen in place. Fight or flight, both actions were being cancelled out with too many thoughts, too many countering emotions, too many what if scenarios floating in their heads.
The stranger glared at Anthony and Miguel, “This is what we do to your kind. You’re not welcome here no more,”
The stranger turns around and begins to punch Manong in the face with the same noodle smeared hands.
That was all Miguel could handle. Anthony stood there still in shock, but Miguel rushed over to the stranger and tried to wrestle his punching arm back to stop the barrage of fists landing on Manong’s face.
“Get the fuck off him you prick. Why you gotta go and hit an old man for you fucking piece of shit!”
The stranger had size over Miguel, though Miguel was able to hold back his punches, his other arm was free and strong enough to elbow Miguel hard in the ribs which made Miguel immediately let go.
“You all are everywhere, like god damn roaches”, he spat at Miguel.
Miguel furious took a deep breath and launched himself at the stranger. With no real experience in fighting, all he could do was grab hold of the stranger with a bear hug to the waist, which was unfortunate for Miguel as with the stranger’s reach, he was able to pummel him with both arms. Elbows to the back. Punches to the ribs.
Miguel held on tighter, frustrated, in pain, tears rolling down his face while the stranger continued his barrage of elbows, punches, and insults. Anthony stood frozen mouth gaped, shock and fear rooting him in place.
“You fucking pieces of shit, take every god damn street and store in our country, take every fuckin’ business, and all you do is ruin things for everyone.” The stranger continued to beat down, Miguel’s strength fading, his grip on the stranger loosening as he took multiple punches to the ribs and back.
“You come here with your shit food, your shit way of life, ruining MY country. First you bring drugs, then you bring the fucking virus, then you take all our fuckin money living off our welfare system. I should call immigration on the lot of you. You got papers boy?”
Miguel dropped to his knees. Hurt both physically from barrage of punches and elbows and hurt emotionally from the insults and the slurs that were flung with every hit.
“If you won’t go back to where you came from, I’ll kick you out myself” the stranger smiled. Be balled his hand into one giant fist and raised it high over his head, while his other hand grabbed hold of Miguel’s hair, holding him steady for the final blow.
Both Miguel and Anthony saw the fist raised. They both knew what was coming, but neither could stop it. Miguel was too weak from the beating and Anthony was still too frozen with fear to move. They both thought of Tita Neng in the hospital. Miguel was next. He’ll be in the hospital at St. Josephs with her, that is if he survives the final blow.
At this point, Miguel began to experience what most would describe as the slow motion of the last moments of life. Or at least what he thought would be his last moments. They were filled with dread and fear. He could feel the hatred pouring out of the stranger. How could anyone have so much anger and hatred towards anybody?
The aura of hate filled the room and engulfed him entirely. He felt as if his entire being was becoming smothered and about to be wiped out. He could feel all that hateful energy wrap him like a thick heavy net and the anger collecting into a single point in the stranger’s fist. All that hate bottled up in one fist would be crashing down on him soon. Miguel passed out from exhaustion. Anthony fainted from shock.
And then a darker energy entered the room. Originally it was just the stranger and his anger filling up the space. But then, something else emerged. It was darker than black. It was primal. It was old. And It, was hungry.
…
Miguel and Anthony woke up both groggy un aware of what was going on. It took a few seconds for them to regain their senses. They both assumed they had blacked out, but how?
They sit back. Miguel’s ribs and body ached. Luckily the stranger had only been hitting him in the back and ribs, and not the face.
Wait a minute he thought. The stranger must have hit him in the head, otherwise why would he have blacked out?
But then it occurred to him that his head wasn’t hurting. He did have a headache, but not from a punch to the head. More of a groggy, hung over feeling headache, the type one gets from sleeping in a strange position and getting a stiff neck.
Anthony opens his eyes, how did I black out he thought? Did the stranger go after me after finishing off Miguel? He felt no pain in his body, nothing hurt but his head, but it was the same groggy stiff necked pain that Miguel was experiencing.
“Bro, what the fuck happend” Miguel asked
“Pare I don’t know, pare. Fuck. My head hurts.”
“All I remember was I thought I was done for. I remember thinking that I was either going to see Tita Neng in the hospital or see my dad up in heaven.”
“Bro, I’m sorry I couldn’t step in, I tried, I mean, I wanted to, fuck I dont know I’m so sorry bro”
“It’s alright pare. Ok lang, we’re both ok, somewhat. I dunno. Dude where are we?”
They both looked around. There were green tiled walls with posters of San Miguel Beer, one wall with corner to corner mirror to make the place look bigger, foldable picnic tables draped with thick clear plastic, a TV playing local community news, this time playing the morning weather and traffic report. Hazy sunlight was shining through the tinted glass windows of the front of the restaurant. They were at Robinson’s.
Manong was in front of the kitchen counter with a mop and bucket cleaning the floor. His face, blank, stoic, emotionless. He swished the mop with strong, wide strokes, and when he rung the mop into the bucket, his sinewy arms tightened into coils of hard leather. For an old man, he moved like a teenager, albeit slow and methodical.
“Manong,” Miguel asked
“Ok lang kayo? Anong nangyari ka gabe? Where did that asshole go”
Silence.
Manong did one last swish of the mop into the bucket and wheeled them both back behind the counter and into the kitchen. Miguel and Anthony just looked at each other, confused, baffled, and stiff.
“Dude” Anthony grimaced “Like what the hell happened last night?”
“I don’t know, but I feel like shit right now. Do you think we should go to the police?”
Anthony sat in silence not knowing what to say or do. As he became more and more awake, the memories of the night before became more and more clear, but the gap between now and the moment the stranger was about to hit Miguel in the face was a huge black hole.
“Dude, what time is it?” Miguel asked.
Anthony looked at his phone, “6am”
“Alright, ok so we got 6 hours before clocking in to figure out what we’re going to do”
“Or figure out what happened last night bro”
The kitchen door swung open and Manong walked out with a big tray of food for the carinderia counter. Face emotionless as ever, not even showing signs of strain as he lifted the tray into the heating spot of the counter. After placing the tray in it’s slot, he turned around to the white board menu above the kitchen counter and began wiping the old menu out and replacing it with the days and evenings options.
Meal A
Bisteak and rice + 1 lumpia
Meal B
Pansit canton with beef slices
Meal C
Pork adobo and rice
Special
Lechon Kawali
Glossary of terms:
‘tang ina: short for putang ina. Mother Fucker.
‘pre: short for Pare. Colloquial term for Bro.
Brah: another term for Bro. Evolved from the word Brad.(Br-AH-d) or Brother.
Manong: A term reserved for an older male person. Typically males, family or strangers would be referred to as uncle or Tito. Manong is an older Tito.

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Welcome back to the Reformed UPG of the Week!
Gonna leave this here because reddit is still a massive pain these days

Slight update, the new reddit UI has made it almost impossible for me to quickly do these, like I used to be able to do. Thus, theres a chance it becomes UPG of the every other week until the problem is fixed. I can't spend every one of my entire Monday mornings working on this for hours with stupid formatting issues.

Last week I was reminded just how many Unreached People Groups there are in America. So today we are doing the largest unreached people group in the US, Jewish peoples of America.

Region: United States

map of Jewish peoples in the United States
Stratus Index Ranking (Urgency): 34
It has been noted to me by u/JCmathetes that I should explain this ranking. Low numbers are more urgent, both physically and spiritually together, while high numbers are less urgent. The scale is 1-177, with one number assigned to each country. So basically on a scale from Afghanistan (1) to Finland (177), how urgent are the peoples physical and spiritual needs.

The Stratus Index - Synthesizes reliable data from different sources to clearly display the world’s most urgent spiritual and physical needs.The vast majority of missions resources go to people and places already Reached by the Gospel, while only 3% of missionaries and 1% of missions money are deployed among the Unreached. This is the Great Imbalance. As a result, there are more people without access to the Gospel today than a decade ago. Stratus seeks to equip the global church with fresh vision to accomplish the Great Commission by addressing some of the factors that perpetuate the Great Imbalance. We hope this tool allows the church to better understand what steps will be required to overcome the barriers that prevent needs from being met, spurring informed and collaborative missions strategy. Stratus Website

New York City
Climate: With its large size and geographic variety, the United States includes most climate types. To the east of the 100th meridian, the climate ranges from humid continental in the north to humid subtropical in the south.
Frozen Great Lakes
LA, California
Terrain: Measured by only land area, the United States is third in size behind Russia and China, and just ahead of Canada. So its hard to get a bead on all the types of Terrain. The coastal plain of the Atlantic seaboard gives way further inland to deciduous forests and the rolling hills of the Piedmont. The Appalachian Mountains and the Adirondack massif divide the eastern seaboard from the Great Lakes and the grasslands of the Midwest. The Mississippi–Missouri River, the world's fourth longest river system, runs mainly north–south through the heart of the country. The flat, fertile prairie of the Great Plains stretches to the west, interrupted by a highland region in the southeast. The Rocky Mountains, west of the Great Plains, extend north to south across the country, peaking at over 14,000 feet (4,300 m) in Colorado. Farther west are the rocky Great Basin and deserts such as the Chihuahua, Sonoran, and Mojave. The Sierra Nevada and Cascade mountain ranges run close to the Pacific coast, both ranges also reaching altitudes higher than 14,000 feet (4,300 m). The lowest and highest points in the contiguous United States are in the state of California, and only about 84 miles (135 km) apart. At an elevation of 20,310 feet (6,190.5 m), Alaska's Denali is the highest peak in the country and in North America.
30A in Florida
Denver, CO
Mississippi River
Wildlife of US: There are 311 known reptiles, 295 amphibians and 1154 known fish species in the U.S. Known animals that exist in the US include white-tailed deer, bobcat, raccoon, muskrat, striped skunk, barn owl, American mink, American beaver, North American river otter, red fox, American Black Bear, Hawaiian Monk Seal, Black-Footed Ferret, Gila Monster, Groundhog, Pronghorn, American Alligator, Crocodile, American Bison, bald Eagle, wolves, mountain lions, Grizzly bears, polar bears, lynx, muskox, caribou, and now I'm tired of searching for lists that include all the animals. We have tons of venomous snakes, we have invasive pythons in the everglades.
Unfortunately, there is an invasive but existing population of wild monkeys in Silver Springs Florida.
Bison in Yellowstone
Pigeons in New York
Environmental Issues: Environmental issues in the United States include climate change, Ohio, species conservation, invasive species, deforestation, mining, nuclear accidents, pesticides, pollution, waste and over-population.
Languages: While many languages are spoken in the United States, English is the most common. Although there is no official language at the federal level, some laws—such as U.S. naturalization requirements—standardize English, and most states have declared English as the official language. Three states and four U.S. territories have recognized local or indigenous languages in addition to English, including Hawaii (Hawaiian), Alaska (twenty Native languages), South Dakota (Sioux), American Samoa (Samoan), Puerto Rico (Spanish), Guam (Chamorro), and the Northern Mariana Islands (Carolinian and Chamorro). In Puerto Rico, Spanish is more widely spoken than English. According to the American Community Survey, in 2010 some 229 million people (out of the total U.S. population of 308 million) spoke only English at home. More than 37 million spoke Spanish at home, making it the second most commonly used language. Other languages spoken at home by one million people or more include Chinese (2.8 million), Tagalog (1.6 million), Vietnamese (1.4 million), French (1.3 million), Korean (1.1 million), and German (1 million). The Jewish Peoples of America speak English.
Government Type: Federal presidential constitutional republic

People: Jewish Peoples of America

Jewish man of America
Population: 4,596,000
Estimated Foreign Workers Needed: 92+
Beliefs: The Jewish peoples of America are 2.7% Christian, but only 1.6% Evangelical. That means out of their population of 4,596,000, there are roughly 73,000 believers who share their faith. That slightly more than 1 believer for every 100.
Like all those who deny Christ, the Jewish peoples are deceived and follow a false god. For religious Jewish peoples, God (not the true God at this point) is the Supreme Being, the Creator of the universe, and the ultimate Judge of human affairs. Beyond this, the religious beliefs of the Jewish communities vary greatly. Orthodox Jewish peoples generally follow the traditional religious beliefs and practices found in the Jewish literature that interprets Scripture regarding ethical, religious, civil and criminal matters. Conservative Judaism is less traditional than Orthodox and combines different ethical, philosophical, and spiritual schools of thought. Reform Judaism is the most liberal form and interprets Jewish beliefs and practices in light of contemporary life and thought. Reform Jewish peoples do not believe that the Jewish Law is divinely revealed. They are not restricted to kosher (traditional, approved) foods, nor do they wear the skull cap (yarmulke) when praying or use Hebrew in prayer. All religious Jewish peoples believe in the coming of a Messianic Age, but only the Orthodox Jewish peoples look for a personal Messiah.
Not all Jewish peoples are religious. Some understand their "Jewishness" only as a social and cultural identity. American Jewish peoples are more likely to be atheists or agnostics than most Americans.
The Wilshire Boulevard Temple, known from 1862 to 1933 as Congregation B'nai B'rith, is a Reform Jewish congregation and synagogue, located at 3663 Wilshire Boulevard, in the Wilshire Center district of Los Angeles, California, in the United States. Founded in 1862, it is the oldest Jewish congregation in Los Angeles.
History: Jewish peoples were present in the Thirteen Colonies since the mid-17th century. However, they were small in number, with at most 200 to 300 having arrived by 1700. Those early arrivals were mostly Sephardi Jewish immigrants, of Western Sephardic (also known as Spanish and Portuguese Jewish) ancestry, but by 1720, Ashkenazi Jewish peoples from diaspora communities in Central and Eastern Europe predominated.
For the first time, the English Plantation Act 1740 permitted Jewish peoples to become British citizens and emigrate to the colonies. The first famous Jewish person in U.S. history was Chaim Salomon, a Polish-born Jewish person who emigrated to New York and played an important role in the American Revolution. He was a successful financier who supported the patriotic cause and helped raise most of the money needed to finance the American Revolution.
Despite the fact that some of them were denied the right to vote or hold office in local jurisdictions, Sephardi Jewish peoples became active in community affairs in the 1790s, after they were granted political equality in the five states where they were most numerous. Until about 1830, Charleston, South Carolina had more Jewish peoples than anywhere else in North America. Large-scale Jewish immigration commenced in the 19th century, when, by mid-century, many German Jewish peoples had arrived, migrating to the United States in large numbers due to antisemitic laws and restrictions in their countries of birth. They primarily became merchants and shop-owners. Gradually early Jewish arrivals from the east coast would travel westward, and in the fall of 1819 the first Jewish religious services west of the Appalachian Range were conducted during the High Holidays in Cincinnati, the oldest Jewish community in the Midwest. Gradually the Cincinnati Jewish community would adopt novel practices under the leadership Rabbi Isaac Meyer Wise, the father of Reform Judaism in the United States, such as the inclusion of women in minyan. A large community grew in the region with the arrival of German and Lithuanian Jewish peoples in the latter half of the 1800s, leading to the establishment of Manischewitz, one of the largest producers of American kosher products and now based in New Jersey, and the oldest continuously published Jewish newspaper in the United States, and second-oldest continuous published in the world, The American Israelite, established in 1854 and still extant in Cincinnati. By 1880 there were approximately 250,000 Jewish peoples in the United States, many of them being the educated, and largely secular, German Jews, although a minority population of the older Sephardi Jewish families remained influential.
Jewish migration to the United States increased dramatically in the early 1880s, as a result of persecution and economic difficulties in parts of Eastern Europe. Most of these new immigrants were Yiddish-speaking Ashkenazi Jewish peoples, most of whom arrived from poor diaspora communities of the Russian Empire and the Pale of Settlement, located in modern-day Poland, Lithuania, Belarus, Ukraine, and Moldova. During the same period, great numbers of Ashkenazic Jewish peoples also arrived from Galicia, at that time the most impoverished region of the Austro-Hungarian Empire with a heavy Jewish urban population, driven out mainly by economic reasons. Many Jewish peoples also emigrated from Romania. Over 2,000,000 Jewish peoples landed between the late 19th century and 1924 when the Immigration Act of 1924 restricted immigration. Most settled in the New York metropolitan area, establishing the world's major concentrations of the Jewish population. In 1915, the circulation of the daily Yiddish newspapers was half a million in New York City alone, and 600,000 nationally. In addition, thousands more subscribed to the numerous weekly papers and the many magazines in Yiddish.
At the beginning of the 20th century, these newly arrived Jewish peoples built support networks consisting of many small synagogues and Landsmanshaften (German and Yiddish for "Countryman Associations") for Jewish peoples from the same town or village. American Jewish writers of the time urged assimilation and integration into the wider American culture, and Jews quickly became part of American life. Approximately 500,000 American Jewish peoples (or half of all Jewish males between 18 and 50) fought in World War II, and after the war younger families joined the new trend of suburbanization. There, Jewish peoples became increasingly assimilated and demonstrated rising intermarriage. The suburbs facilitated the formation of new centers, as Jewish school enrollment more than doubled between the end of World War II and the mid-1950s, while synagogue affiliation jumped from 20% in 1930 to 60% in 1960; the fastest growth came in Reform and, especially, Conservative congregations. More recent waves of Jewish emigration from Russia and other regions have largely joined the mainstream American Jewish community.
Eastern European Jewish immigrants arriving in New York ca 1887?
Culture: Typical qualification that all people groups can't be summed up in small paragraphs and this is an over generalization.
In North America, most Jewish peoples live in urban areas on the east or west coasts. New York City has the largest Jewish population in North America, with over a half million Hassidic Jewish peoples alone. In South America, they also live in cities, but keep themselves as a distinct religious and ethnic minority.
While maintaining a Jewish identity, the majority of North American Jewish peoples conform to the mainstream American culture. "Jewishness" is often defined in more secular terms such as the use of Yiddish words and family traditions, rather than in religious aspects, such as the following of Jewish laws regarding dietary restrictions. Not all Jewish peoples are religious. Some understand their "Jewishness" only as a social and cultural identity. Understanding what it means to be a Jewish people begins in childhood. It takes place in the home through storytelling and by taking part in Jewish rituals and festivals such as Rosh Hashanah (New Year), Yom Kippur (Day of Atonement), and Passover. Socialization also takes place through participation in Hebrew school or synagogue youth groups. At the age of 13, the Bar Mitzvah ceremony for a boy (or Bat Mitzvah for a girl) is an important rite of passage, which marks him or her as an adult member of the community. While these ceremonies were more spiritually focused in the past, they have become equally important as social events.
Marriage and family relationships among Jewish peoples are much the same as other Americans. While Jewish families have fewer children, they are child-oriented, indulgent, and permissive. Although wives generally take on their husbands' surnames, Jewish identity is traced through the mothers. That is, if one's mother is a Jewish people, then he is, according to Jewish law, Jewish. He or she is entitled to all the rights and privileges that status brings, including the right to immigrate to Israel and settle there as a citizen.
I couldn't not include a pic of the notable cultural event of the American Hasidic Jewish peoples who dug a tunnel in New York
Cuisine: Popular dishes in American Jewish cuisine include:

• Bagel – A doughnut-shaped bread roll. The dough is first boiled and then baked, resulting in a dense, chewy interior with a browned exterior: A bagel and cream cheese is a popular pairing.
• Bialy – A bread roll similar to a bagel, but without a hole, and somewhat less chewy as the dough is not boiled before being baked.
• Blintz – A fried crêpe, usually filled with farmer cheese and served with various toppings.
• Brisket – An inexpensive cut of beef that is braised as a pot roast.
• Challah – A light bread made with eggs, used as regular food, and on ritual or holiday occasions.
• Chicken soup – Chicken broth with herbs like parsley, dill, or thyme, and often with egg noodles added.
  • Matzah balls are sometimes added to the soup instead of, or in addition to, noodles.
  • Kreplach are small dumplings that are another common addition to chicken soup.
• Chopped liver – A liver pâté made with hard-boiled eggs, salt, and pepper. Served as a side dish, hence the expression, "What am I, chopped liver?"
• Corned beef – Beef brisket that has been cured with brine and spices and then sliced.
  • Corned beef sandwich – A common use of corned beef.
• Gefilte fish – Ground fish – often a combination of carp, pike, and whitefish – that is mixed with other ingredients, formed into patties or balls, and poached; usually served as an appetizer.
• Kishke – A large, starchy sausage made with grain, vegetables, beef or chicken fat, and spices.
• Knish – A type of savory baked turnover; various fillings are used, such as potatoes or ground beef.
• Kugel – A baked casserole made with egg noodles or potatoes.
• Latke – A pancake made with grated potatoes and other ingredients, fried in oil.
• Lox – A sliced fillet of cured salmon. Belly lox is cured with brine and is therefore rather salty. Nova lox is cold-smoked. Lox is often eaten as a sandwich, on a bagel with cream cheese.
• Mandelbrot – A crunchy cookie, sometimes made with almonds, formed by baking a loaf which is then cut into small slabs and twice-baked.
• Pastrami – Beef brisket that has been cured with brine, rubbed with pepper, garlic, and other spices, smoked, and then sliced. Like corned beef it is usually served as a sandwich.
  • Pastrami on rye – Pastrami on rye bread topped with spicy brown mustard.
• Rugelach – Small baked pastries made by wrapping dough around a filling.
• Whitefish – Smoked freshwater whitefish, either filleted or made into whitefish salad.

New York Bagels

Prayer Request:

• Ask the Lord of the harvest to send forth loving Christians to work among the Jewish communities.
• Ask the Holy Spirit to grant wisdom and favor to the missions agencies that are focusing on the Jewish peoples of North and South America.
• Pray that the Jewish people will understand that Jesus is the long-awaited Messiah.
• Ask the Lord to soften the hearts of the Jewish peoples towards Christians so that they might hear and receive the message of salvation.
• Pray that God will grant Jewish believers favor as they share their faith in Christ with their own people.
• Pray that strong local churches will be raised up in each Jewish community.
• Pray against Putin and his insane little war.
• Pray for our nation (the United States), that we Christians can learn to come alongside our hurting brothers and sisters and learn to carry one another's burdens in a more Christlike manner than we have done historically.
• Pray that in this time of an upcoming election and insanity that the needs of the unreached are not forgotten by the church. Pray that our hearts continue to ache to see the unreached hear the Good News.

Brothers, my heart’s desire and prayer to God for them is that they may be saved. (Romans 10:1)
____________________________________________________________________________________________
Here are the previous weeks threads on the UPG of the Week for Reformed from 2023 (plus a few from 2022 so this one post isn't so lonely). To save some space on these, all UPG posts made 2019-now are here, I will try to keep this current.

People Group	Country	Continent	Date Posted	Beliefs
Jewish peoples	United States	North America	05/06/2024	Judaism
Jordanian Arab	Jordan	Asia	04/29/2024	Islam
Bouyei	China	Asia	04/22/2024	Animism
Arab Libyans	Libya	Africa	03/25/2024	Islam
Gafsa Amazigh	Tunisia	Africa	03/18/2024	Islam
Hindi	South Africa	Africa	03/04/2024	Hinduism
Arabs	Iraq	Asia	02/26/2024	Islam
Bagirmi Fulani	Central African Republic	Africa	02/12/2024	Islam
Gujarati	Portugal	Europe	02/05/2024	Hinduism
Western Cham	Cambodia	Asia	01/29/2024	Islamc
Yadav	India	Asia	01/22/2024	Hinduism
Thai (updated)	Thailand	Asia	12/18/2023	Buddhism

a - Tibet belongs to Tibet, not China.
b - Russia/Turkey/etc is Europe but also Asia so...
c - this likely is not the true religion that they worship, but rather they have a mixture of what is listed with other local religions, or they have embraced a liberal drift and are leaving faith entirely but this is their historical faith.
Here is a list of definitions in case you wonder what exactly I mean by words like "Unreached".
Here is a list of missions organizations that reach out to the world to do missions for the Glory of God.