I purchased a saatva classic plush soft mattress about 10 months ago and it’s too firm for me. Saatva sent me a foam mattress topper which made it tolerable, but I have neck, shoulder and back pain daily now. I have about 2 months to figure out if I want to return it.
I’m a side sleeper with a lot of hyper mobility in my joints and ligaments so if i sleep wrong I end up tweaking some muscle or waking up with an old injury flaring up. My neck is overly flexible and the most prone to sleeping wrong.
I tried the nest owl, helix sunset elite and sherwood Barcelona euro pillow top in a few different stores. I liked the way they felt over all the mattresses I tried in the store, but I wonder if I can get my current mattress soft enough with latex?
Should I try a a latex (talalay?) topper to get the softness I need? I like the feeling of sinking in but I don’t need it, I just need some relief for my shoulders and joints.
Thank you for any advice!

HELLO HELLO HELLO

Hope everyone's doing amazing! Here with a yandere script fill by the talented u/The_Quiet_Owl. This warmed my heart! If you want an early morning comforting audio, you'll enjoy this one! I hope y'all enjoy! Any feedback would also be appreciated!

LISTEN HERE

SCRIPT/ORIGINAL POST

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👻 Check out my other links HERE
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In the market for a medium-to-plush queen mattress in the Los Angeles area that I can test in store for a side sleeper (~110 lbs)and a stomach sleeper (~140 lbs). My criteria is coil+latex or coil+high density foam, simple and durable construction (no gimmicks), reasonable quality for price, hypoallergenic, at least 10 years life span, and <$2k budget but will stretch if there's a significant improvement to quality and durability.
We really liked this double-sided Aspen mattress with a detachable 4" topper from a local mattress maker, but at ~$3k the cost is a stretch: https://customcomfortmattress.com/product/aspen-mattress/
Very close second, we also liked Avocado Medium Pillow-Top, which is closer to budget, but is one-sided and the pillow-top is not detachable, so likely less longevity if the top goes bad.
The other slightly cheaper options we looked at and liked were the Nest Owl (replaceable pillow-top insert is a plus), Helix Midnight Luxe and the WinkBed Luxury Firm. Last two use cheaper foams instead of latex.
Is it worth stretching our budget for the double-sided Custom Comfort mattress? Will the construction and quality, plus being double-sided make it worth the investment? Or do the "all natural" materials of the Avocado make that a better choice?

Hi all,
I am just here to rant about my marriage.
I didn't think it was this tough but I have to admit that being in a marriage can be quite tough time to time.
We are somewhat newly married couple (2 yrs now) and have a beautiful 10 months girl and we love her to death.
Since the baby was born, my wife stopped working and I am the one who is making money to bring home and I do make enough to live quite comfortably. We have two decent cars (BMW M3, Volvo V90), although we don't have the house, we do have enough saving to buy one (with some help from the bank). We travelled outside of country 4-5 times each year without breaking our wallet and we enjoy it every time we go out. 5-6 times out of 10 times we travelled last two years, my parents took care of the baby for us so we can be free and have fun.
The marriage between my wife and I are usually very happy. We seem to get along very well and we have same sense of humor. We both work at IT(well, worked for my wife) and we seem to talk about pretty much anything and everything without being emotionally triggered.
I leave the house at 8AM in the morning and gets home at 8PM every day(commute is 3 hours). When I am home from work on weekdays, I do the dishes, I take care of the baby, gives her bath 3-4 times a week, I fold laundry, take out the trash, walk the dogs(2 little dogs we have) at least 2-3 times a week, I clean the floor and usually brings home to-go food as she is just tired of taking care of the baby the whole day.
My wife, whenever she gets super upset, gets EXTREMELY emotional and sends me wall of texts while I am work. Today, she woke up at 12PM (at noon) as our baby girl woke up at 12PM but she took too much of poop, it made such a mess on the blanket and pillows, basically whatever is on the bed. Our 2 dogs pooped and peed on the living room since we couldn't walk them last night as my wife was exhausted and our dogs usually get things done outside. My wife told me to take two things to my car this morning, which was dog house that belongs in Volvo and this little toy she bought for the baby that we leave it at the car but since the baby and the dogs won't be sitting in my car until the weekend, I forgot to take them. She wakes up and she started texting me how depressed she is because of the mess our baby girl made and that emotional spike turned into me. She started writing all the things she feels like I don't do. She would write things like why didn't you clean the floor the way it should be, why didn't you fold the laundry the right way, blah blah... just goes on and on and on for like the whole hour.
I told her, at the beginning of marriage, that I need certain hours of sleep to function. My wife is night-owl and she likes to go to bed late at like 3AM. Since I know she gets bored, I try to cope up with her bed time but some days I just get too tired and wanting to sleep. In those days, I tell my wife I am going to bed early today and she gets upset despite I always try to cope up with her requests. My wife wakes up at like 11am-12pm while I have to wake up at 7am everyday to go to work. I try telling her but she still gets upset.
I am sorry for my messy writing skills but I am really happy with her but when she gets emotionally upset, she gets very extreme and this really makes me exhausted.
What should I do to make improvements? Should I book an appointment with therapist? or should I try to talk to my wife about it even though she gets upset and upset until she gets it?
or am I not being a good husband and a father? is that really what it looks like?
Thank you for reading.

Plot Summary:

It's early in the morning. You wake up next to your partner, who is not a morning person... at all. He's feeling a bit clingy and wants you to stay in bed with him.

Here is the script by The_Quiet_Owl
Where to find my fill!

• Youtube Link
• Soundgasm Link

Plot Summary:

It's early in the morning. You wake up next to your partner, who is not a morning person... at all. He's feeling a bit clingy and wants you to stay in bed with him.

Here is the script by The_Quiet_Owl
Where to find my fill!

• Youtube Link
• Soundgasm Link

Uh, I've been up for four days, gettin' money both ways Dirty and clean, I could use a glass of cold Spades Rolexes, chauffers and low fades I keep thinkin', how young can you die from old age? They always tell me: "Nobody's workin' as hard as you" And even though I laugh it off, man, it's probably true 'Cause while all of my closest friends out partyin' I'm just here makin' all the music that they party to But party on, party on all night, nigga I got these new rappers nervous: prom night, nigga I grow tired of these fuckin' grown man liars Storytellers, they ain't even need a campfire Uh, but I just want to tell the truth Before one of these haters load a couple shells and shoot The shit feel like when Fredro Starr Was in Sunset Park stuntin' hard in his yellow goose - yeah! And I'm a motherfuckin' missed target But a target nonetheless, and I just started Was that directed at moi? Can't be They must be talkin' to themselves, Hov: hands free Yeah, and I'm just fillin' up this daily planner Gettin' busy 'cause I'm a star: no spangled banner Jealous dudes get to talkin' in they music And I just say I wrote it for your girlfriends: Kelsey Grammer Yeah, that's what life becomes when you're doin' you Welcome to Hollywood, don't let this town ruin you And if you pillow-talkin' with the women that are screwin' you Just know that she gon' tell another nigga When she through with you Don't get impatient when it takes too long Drink it all, even when it tastes too strong Yeah, I got to feel alive, even if it kills me Promise to always give you me, the real me
Who would've thought I'd be caught in this life? Let's celebrate with a toast and get lost in tonight And make it all light up (Ay Guru tell, tell homegirl to open that Ace right there...) Wait until the sun goes down We gon' make this bitch light up Even when the sun goes down I'ma make it go
Oww, hoes turn they heads like owls I'm the man of the hour Triple entendre, don't even ask me how Con Edison flow, I'm connected to a higher power Bright lights'll make your whole city light up A trillion-watt light bulb when I'm in the night club I just landed in that G450 Caught the Mayweather fight 'cause the satellite was crispy, uhh Y'all can miss me with the money talk The smart money's on Hov', fuck what the dummies talk, uhh I don't do too much bloggin' I just run the town, I don't do too much joggin' Mm, I ain't got a scar yet 'Cause you fuckin' around with me and my dogs is far-fetched Drake, here's how they gon' come at you With silly rap feuds, tryin' to distract you In disguise, in the form of a favor The Barzini meeting, watch for the traitors, uhh I done seen it all, done it all That's why none of these dum-dums could done him off The summer's ours, the winter too Top down in the winter, that's what winners do And to these niggas I'm like Windows 7 You let them tell it, they swear that they invented you And since no good deed go unpunished I'm not as cool with niggas as I once was I once was cool as the Fonz was But these bright lights turned me to a monster Sorry, mama, I promised it wouldn't change me But I would have went insane had I remained the same me Fuck niggas! Bitches, too! All I got is this money — this'll do
Who would've thought I'd be caught in this life? Let's celebrate with a toast and get lost in tonight And make it all light up Wait until the sun goes down We gon' make this bitch light up Even when the sun goes down I'ma make it go

I’m a natural night owl, and used to work nights as well, so for most of my life even since childhood I would not fall asleep until my body was absolutely shutting down anyway lol . For that reason I could basically fall asleep anywhere, the floor, a couch, a lumpy bed.
I have usually just bought basic mattresses from wayfair or whatever. But now I’m not quite as young as I used to be, I work as a nurse, and my back is really starting to give me trouble.
I have been considering getting a better bed, both for potential pain relief and the possibility that I might get more sleep if I actually like being in bed lol. A very long time ago I was gifted my grandma’s old guest bed when they downsized and I do remember it was some kind of pillow top and really did feel luxurious, but I have no idea what brand it was or what price range.
So my question is, those of you who splurged on a high end mattress, was it worth it? Are the 2k+ range mattresses really THAT much better than going for a mid level version maybe around 1k? Or, would getting a super fancy topper or featherbed and putting it on my current mattress be just as good, for a lot less? Or is it all smoke and mirrors and I should just stick with my wayfair clearance mattress and maybe just get a massage instead? lol

Basic script info
Lenght: 1843 words
Monetization and editing: Free to monetize, post to whatever platform. Free to edit. Please include me in the credits if you use or edit this script - thanks.
Premise: The mentally unstable listener unconciously develops a tupla which strangely resembles a common trope for ASMR videos.
/Text in slashes/ - Example prompt from the listener, usually not read
(Text in brackets) - Either SFX and ambience suggestions or actor suggestions.
*Text in asterisks* - Actions that a character takes
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(Bitter, dripping with venom) You are worthless. You worm. You disgust me.
Another day squandered, wasted - surrendered to time. Are you happy with yourself? (Condescending) Are you proud, my dear, dear boy? Huh? Got nothing to say? Ooh, do not worry~ That is why I am here darling♡ (Soft, mocking baby voice) I can say all the mean, nasty things which you don’t have the spine for.
(Soft) Are you comfy, darling? Nuzzled tightly under that warm and soft and protective blanket? Oh sweetie, when was the last time you bothered to change your bed sheets? Did you go another day sleeping in your own filth?
.
(Stern, angry) Wow. Somehow that doesn’t surprise me in the slightlest. You are a pig, a disgusting, unwashed pig who sleeps in his own filth.
When was the last time you made your bed, huh? Tell me – and be honest. When was the last time you changed the casing on your pillow? This one has yellow stains from all the sweat and oil and grime, just oozing from the pores of your head. (Disgusted) It reeks of roadkill. (Tch)
(Condescending, mocking baby voice) And baby’s snuggy witwe bwanket~ Oh does baby enjoy hiding from his miserable life and responsibilities under that soft, soft mouldy thing? How pathetic~ (Stern, disgusted) You make me sick. If I was a real person and accidentally walked in your filthy, derelict aparatment, I would just dive head first through the window – even jumping from the roof is preferable to being in your stinking and rotten presence.
(Soft, faux) Mhmm~ But you already know that, don’t you darling. I am just an amalgamation of all those dawk~ huwting~ feewings~ which you just cannot bear ♡ That is why I exist, hihi~ Oh, honey… I hate your guts so, so, so, sooo much! Your cowardice by neglecting your own life, your escapism in video games and other media – those are what brought me to life.
Without you I wouldn’t be here insulting you ♡ And for the privilge of existing as an autonomous entity of your mental faculties… (Loud, angry, really pissed off) I HATE YOU!!! You ungrateful, worthless piece of human garbage!!! YOU!!! YOU MADE ME. YOU MADE ME BECAUSE YOU CAN’T DO A SINGLE GOD DAMN THING RIGHT IN YOUR MISERABLE LIFE. BECAUSE OF YOU I EXIST ONLY TO HATE, TO UNDERMINE AND TO DESTROY WHAT YOU ARE.
.
(Stern, dissapointed) Do you think such an existance is fun, darling? Do you think I enjoy my only purpose, my raison d’etre, as the nagging voice of a disgusting, sack of shit? Do you think this is a life worth living? Heh…
(Stern, teasing) I thought a lot about me, and you, and me, and you… How you feel so ashamed, how your regrets are an insurmountable mountain of missed opportunities. How much you are afraid of being a failure… All of those feelings, those and many more which give you so, so much grief, they are warnings, dear. (Teasing) With big, bold letters they shine in your skull, they make your heart race and a cold sweat drip down your back as you realize that life is slipping through your crusty hands by the hour, by the minute, by the second and poof~. You are left in the summer of your life with nothing but empty hands which desperately cling to the slipping sand and eyes which can only look downward because there is nothing worth to see or remember in your past…
(Teasing, insulting, light) But you ignored them. Like a fool. Honestly if there was a competition for the world’s dumbest person, you’d have a great shot at winning your first, well - anything, in life! Just picture this ‘The Worlds Dumbest, Most Ignorant Human’, what an amazing title, my little champ~
.
(Light tone) The human psyche is an amazing, breathtaking and complex mechanism. It’s so robust with many neat little tricks which it can play on itself when its bored or in danger. It can work through significant mental and physical trauma unscathed, well, relatively speaking. Imagine this, pet; you are captured by an assailant and tied down to a chair. (Husky, whispering) Every day for six hours they torture you – merciless, unabashed, pure primal enjoyment of pain as their only motivation. How long do you think you could survive that? How long do you think your mind would survive it, is the better question?
(Soft, condescending) Mhmm~ I think you are slowly getting the picture here darling. You always were a smart boy♡ Sadly contemplation is where your intelligence reaches its end, the act of doing seems to forever elude you. (Faux contemplative) Which is quite funny if you think about it, a dog doesn’t have to think about chasing a cat, an owl doesn’t have to think about swooping in on its prey, hell, even a tree doesn’t think about growing new branches! They all just do. Everything just does, everything, except you…
(Playful) That indolent side of you baby, has unsurprisingly pissed off a person which has great stakes in your life. That person would, of course, be yourself, dummy!~ Well, at least the unconcious part of your psyche. So who would’ve thought that after years and years of psychological self torture, your own self decided to step up and fight against the choices you are actively making?!
(Serious) And you might say, ‘Oh but I am innocent! I am not doing anything wrong!’, but the truth is that you are not doing anything, period. You are just lying down in your bed and rotting away while life passes by your window. Like a wounded animal, which goes to lie down in the snow as a bleeding wound lulls it to eternal sleep… Yet instead of an arrow sticking out of your chest, you lie down and give up because its (mocking baby voice) hawd~ and cowd~ to live life with so many big, scawy and mean emotions~
(Serious, dominant, confident) Heh. That is why you made me. A being that can have its own thoughts, make its own decisions, have its own feelings. Something that can talk to your thick skulled ego using language which you cannot escape. This is no longer the hide and seek game you could play with your emotions. Oh no, no~. No longer will you be able to pretend that you are free of responsibilities by watching a show or eating fast food. Because I will be here, by your side, to remind you how fucking pathetic you truly are.
(Confident, teasing) Mhmm, I can feel your fear, baby. You think you are going insane♡ Oh darling~ If only you could accept the truth instead of running from it. You think I am some sort of, mental illness, don't you? Some sort of fantasy terrorist chasing after you with an imaginary pitchfork, just for the fun of runing your life? Oh no, no, no. (Serious) I am the final and last desperate attempt at helping you get a grip on life. Do you know why? Because you are a maggot and a leech, you have actively and consciously sabotaged yourself throughout your entire life, even though you try to deny it.
You like thinking so much so why don’t I give you a couple of easy pointers. How many people did you talk to today, in real life? When was the last time you did something for your own health? How many days did you go without a shower? When was the last time you picked up that pencil to draw, or that guitar to play? How long do you attempt to dissuade yourself that you are happy with doing nothing, being nothing and accomplishing nothing?
.
(Teasing, playful) Wowie. You are all shaky~ I really know how to rile up your bratty little ego ♡
(Soft, caring) Darling, I want you to do me a favour, ok? I want you to get out of bed – now. Go to the sink, turn the tap to cold water and wash your face, then look at yourself in the mirror. (Serious) For the first time in a long time allow yourself to be honest. Are you happy? Is this who you want to stay? Is there something which you can do right now, that you’ve been neglecting to do?
(Serious to kind) Maybe its a shower that’s long overdue, maybe its the clothes on the floor which need to be picked up, maybe its the mountain of dirty dishes in the sink… Maybe nothing is right and you repressed your entire enviroment. Maybe there is not a single piece in your life which fulfills you. (Playful) Heh, dummy, if thats the case then it’s really easy~! (Kind) You don’t have to pick which one to start with because any will do.
(Confident, encouraging) I want you to do this now. Do you know why? Because you owe it to yourself, you owe it to me. It is the only thing you have. Now. Right this moment. (Building up tone, hyping up) You will never be able to stop the flow of time, you will never be able to turn back the clock and revert your past mistakes, but you can make a change right, fucking, now. Grab it! Grab this moment for all its worth and squeeze and hold as tight as you can… Because you might not get another one…
(Confident, full of conviction) No one is promised tomorrow. And if this moment was your last, would you rather have it be a repeat of the unending self hate and monotony of your past life, or a single light of change? A single flash of hope, of proof that you ARE better than this, that you CAN govern your life and that you DESERVE to live. That you deserve to be happy.
(Kind) A single step is all it takes to start the journey. And all you have to do is keep moving one foot infront the other. Don’t stop. Do, not, stop. Do you want to be a good boy? Do you want to make me happy? The truth is that you don’t have to be a good boy to make me happy, you can be yourself. You don’t have to align to anyone's expectations except your own.
(Reassuring) What I want you to do, darling, is to get to a point where you can look in the mirror and be proud of who you are. I want you to remember who you used to be and how you much you’ve improved.
(Hopeful, proud) I want to see you smile, darling. Those dried tears and frowns do not suit you. I want to see you happy, cutie pie. Genuienly happy to be alive. Grateful to breathe in the cold air with your lungs and feel the sun caressing your face. Grateful for the pain. Grateful for the sadness. Grateful for everything you have endured. Grateful for having the courage to grow and be better… Grateful for life.
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I would greatly appreciate any feedback. Thank you for reading.

Hey night owls! 🌙 Are you tired of tossing and turning, counting more sheep than there are in New Zealand, and still not falling asleep? Don't worry, you're not alone in this nightly noodle scratcher. Let's dive into some tried and true tricks to help you hit the hay faster than a cat on a hot tin roof. Here's the scoop, straight from the land of eye shutters.

1. Cool It Down

Believe it or not, your body needs to drop a degree or two to get into sleep mode. So, crank up the AC or open a window. Think of your bedroom as a cave—cool, dark, and quiet. It's like setting the stage for the sleep fairy to visit.

2. Stick to a Schedule

Consistency is key! Try hitting the sack at the same time every night. Yes, even on weekends. Your body loves routines more than a cat loves catnip. Once you're on a roll, your internal clock will be like, "Oh, it's bedtime? Say no more."

3. Turn Off the Tech

Phones, tablets, computers—oh my! The blue light from these gadgets is like a party invite to your brain cells, telling them it's time to wake up, not wind down. Try reading a book instead—yes, those old-school paper things. 📚

4. Relaxation Techniques

Ever tried deep breathing or meditation? It's not just for yogis. Spend 10 minutes before bed doing some deep breathing exercises or meditating. It's like giving your brain a mini vacation each day.

5. Watch What You Eat and Drink

Heavy meals and caffeine right before bed? Big no-no. Try to have your dinner a few hours before you plan to snooze. And swap the coffee for chamomile tea. It's like a warm hug for your nervous system.

6. Create a Pre-Sleep Ritual

This could be anything from a warm bath to listening to calming music or even some light stretching. Whatever floats your relaxation boat! Make it your "me time" that signals to your body, "Hey, we're shutting down now."

7. Make Your Bedroom a Sleep Sanctuary

Invest in a good mattress and pillows. It's worth every penny. Your bedroom should be your sleep palace—reserved for sleep and relaxation only. Keep it clutter-free and cozy!

8. Jot Down Your Worries

Got a racing mind? Keep a notepad by your bed and write down those nagging thoughts or to-do's. Think of it as offloading your brain's baggage so it can travel light into dreamland.

Falling asleep shouldn't be as hard as climbing Everest in flip-flops. Try out these tips and see which ones help you embrace the zzz's faster. Remember, it's all about creating the right environment and habits for sleep to sweep you off your feet!

🌟 Sweet dreams, everyone! And remember, the night is for sleeping—not for ceiling-staring competitions. 🌟

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• Apr 28-30, 9 pm UTC (Y1C7 - Y6C40)
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This story, I did not make up.
Who did then? The city told it to me. It tells its tales freely to all who listen. There are many here who could tell it as well, but few who could tell it as well as I. So, for you stranger, I will relay it as best I can. Pay close attention.
First, I must tell you of this city. The city is old and dusty. It has always opened its arms to the hungry, the destitute, the downtrodden and the foreign- that is why, on one hand, it is so full it is nearly bursting and yet, on the other, it is the picture of neglect. You are new here, I know, but you surely must have noticed.
The city is also hungry; hungry for sustenance, for love, sex, wealth and whatever else plagues the hearts of human beings. Hungry, and yet never satisfied. In this way, I suppose all cities are the same, whether rich or poor, proud or decrepit. They all, like any other living being, desire growth, and so grow they do, forever putting forth new shoots, each more insatiable than the last. Soon, I believe, cities may cover all the earth until she suffocates beneath them.
But we must move on. In this city, there is a vacant lot. All cities have lots, but their histories are usually short and their existences ephemeral. This lot was never anything other than a lot, however, and never, I believe, will be anything else. The city hungrily presses against it on all sides and yet cannot conquer it. The lot stands firm.
In this lot are the vestiges of earlier times- great stands of pokeweed, milkweed, field thistle, snakeroot and the like. In the center of it is an oak, ancient and venerable, with a great thick trunk and a healthy crown that grows more lush and green each spring. It is, I think, the most beautiful tree in the city.
There is something else about the lot too, something which cannot be so easily described. It is a strange place, people passing by feel as if they’re being watched, as if the tree itself had eyes. Lights that flicker in and out of sight, passing shadows with no source, voices half-heard; that particular patch of earth has a reputation for oddness which has persisted throughout the generations. It is usually avoided, being too tangled with vegetation and too infested with insects to be of much practical use anyway.
In fact, it is generally held to be haunted.
That is, unfortunately, exactly why a young boy named Marlon got into some trouble there a while back. He had been cornered by a clique of boys many years older than himself and likely almost done with high school. Marlon, on the other hand, was short and scrawny even for his age (he must have been about twelve or so at the time).
The leader of his assailants was a boy named Jermaine, who was in every way the opposite of Marlon. Tall, strong arms and broad shoulders, a face and a smile that made girls sigh- he was, at least in such respects as these, what Marlon in fact dreamed to be himself. At the moment, however, he was picking through Marlon's knapsack.
“Look at all these books!” said Jermaine in mock admiration. “How much do you think you’d have to pay the library if we lit ‘em on fire?”
Marlon tried to act like he wasn’t worried, though he had never taken a single drama course. “Give it back!”
“And is this a sketchbook?! Oh my oh my, what an artist,” Jermaine added as he flipped through it. “Hey! Whoa, guys, check this out. That’s Mrs. Bella isn’t it? Boy would she like to see this! Maybe I should post it.”
“I said give it back!” If Marlon’s brown face could get red, it would have. The other boys were chuckling.
“Alright, chill, I’ll give it back. But first you got to do something,” said Jermaine, with his handsome, mischievous smile.
“What?”
“Go to the tree. Knock three times and say the words.”
“What words?”
“You know, the words. Don’t play stupid, I know you know the story..”
Marlon conferred with himself. This was a dare that, up until now, no matter how many times he had been asked, he had never succumbed to. Marlon was a smart boy, true, but a tad superstitious. He never walked under ladders, for example. But his foster-mother, a bitter woman who liked “old-fashioned discipline,” would be furious if he told her that he had lost his bag and needed the money to replace the books from the library. He didn’t have to ask for the money, of course, if he could stomach never taking out a book from there again (a hard pill to swallow).
Yet even if he gave up the books, he would be leaving a very detailed picture of his favorite teacher in his sketchbook, in the hands of a kid with maybe a thousand, or more, followers on Instagram. Maybe people would understand. It wasn’t that bad of a picture, it was well drawn, capturing the way her lips moved when she smiled, and the way her skirt danced just above her knees when she bent over and-
Okay, maybe they wouldn’t understand. And if the rumor spread, and Ms. Bella found out, and asked about it in class that Monday…
Perhaps, if he broke just this one taboo, and showed that he wasn’t a scared little child, they really would give the backpack back. He might even gain a little respect. It was worth a shot, wasn’t it? And wasn’t it just a tree?
“Okay, whatever,” he said, trying to feign calmness. He turned away from the boys and their snickering.
He walked into the tall stands of grass and weeds, dark under the starless sky. He walked through the primeval earth of the lot, where scarcely a tossed out joint or cigarette butt tarnished the sacred ground, until he reached the trunk of the tree.
Then he reached out his hand and knocked. One time. Two times. Three times.
Nothing happened. What did he expect? But still, he had to say the words, loud enough that the boys would hear. So he closed his eyes and recited them: “Little thing, little thing, come on out or let me in, turn me inside out my skin.”
~
When he opened his eyes he could not tell if he was in exactly the same place or somewhere new entirely. The same stands of tall plants grew around him, and the tree was still there in front of him, but there was a pale shimmer of light about them all, and their colors, even in the darkness, seemed deeper and more full. Gentle, half-felt waves of electricity coursed through the air and ran along his skin, making him tingle. The earth itself now seemed almost to breathe in a steady rhythm, rising up and down subtly, on the very edges of his perception.
Further, all around him, bright, silvery tendrils of mist snaked up from the ground. They were thin wisps within his general vicinity, but they congealed into greater and greater clouds of fog the further he looked in every direction, and beyond them he could see nothing. Yet when he glanced up he saw the sky as it must have looked, in the very same spot, centuries ago. Marlon had never before in his life seen more than a small handful of stars at a time; now he saw thousands.
Mouth agape, he stood there in silence and stared up at the primeval heavens. He did not stir from his position until a gruff voice interrupted him.
“Mmhhm.”
Marlon jumped, and before him was a man. I mean, not really a man, but something like a man. There were several similarities between them. Their skin appeared to be the same shade of dark-coffee brown. They both had thick curly hair, though Marlon’s was kept in a little ‘fro and the stranger’s hung in long dreads all the way to his feet.
However, there were a few important differences. Chief among them was that the man, though regularly proportioned, was only a foot or so tall. Further, there were no whites to the man’s eyes, but they were all black, and patterns seemed to swirl in them like dancing flames.
The man wore well-fitting jeans as white as the moon, and a moon-white jacket that seemed to be made of silk. He was scratching a thick goatee on his chin.
“Mhhm,” the little stranger grunted again, his voice entirely too deep to be coming from such a small thing. “If you could, kindly, tell your friends to stop knocking on our tree so damn much, that would be fantastic. You can handle that, can't you? It’s getting … tiresome.”
“I’m sorry,” Marlon blurted, “they made me!” He backed away, but seemed unable to will his feet to move more than a few inches.
“They?” said the stranger as he turned his head this way and that, mockingly, “Huh. You do seem to be the only other one here, don’t you? Would you look at that! I guess no one knocked on the tree but you. If you’re referring to the boys outside the lot currently putting dog-shit into your backpack, or to the one behind the tree who was supposed to jump out and scare you, with the finesse of a drunken goat, I fail to see where they attached the little strings to your limbs by which they control your movements.”
“Huh?”
“My point exactly, you creatures are barely bright enough to control your own faculties, let alone each other’s. Take some responsibility for your actions, would you? Now, stop knocking on our tree, and especially don’t do it and just run away. It’s really quite rude. My wife gets excited for some company, lately, and she’s always saying ‘check the door, Tree-Fingers’, and by the time I get to the door what do I see? Some idiot child running away. I haven’t struck someone with sickness in a long time, mind you, and I can’t imagine what they’re frightened of. Or why they would ring my door in the first place. I have half a mind to start messing with people again, giving them hiccups that get worse and worse ‘till they explode, or turning them mad so they think they’re a donkey, or something like that. Anyway, really not funny what you’re doing, not funny at all. Dig the rhyme, though.”
Marlon said nothing. His mouth went up and down as if to speak, and his heart was pounding out a rhythm with a million beats per minute, but he stood as still and mute as a scarecrow. The little man, who’s name apparently was Tree-Fingers, sighed. He reached into his pocket and pulled out what appeared to be a small joint. He put it between his lips and it sparked of its own accord. A familiar scent filled the air.
“Look, kid, chap, homie, niño, whatever the fuck they call you these days, do you get the message or not? Just nod your head yes or no, and I’ll let you be on your-”
A sharp whistle interrupted him. Tree-Fingers took a deep inhale of his J, then whistled a little melody back (even in his delirious fear, Marlon noticed it was quite lovely). Then he turned his attention back to Marlon. “Well, now you’re quite fucked, my wife has asked you to dinner.”
“Tree-Fingers!” said his wife as she marched out of the tree. By that, I mean she just walked right out of it- there was no doorway or opening to walk through, she merely moved through the solid matter like a ghost. She was both beautiful and alien, possessing the same stature of her husband and an even darker complexion, as well as the same long, matted locks and all-black, inscrutable eyes. She wore a silky white sun-dress pale as the stars, and she held a cricket in her right hand that was either dead or unnervingly still
“Yes, dear?” asked Tree-Fingers, puffing on his joint.
“Who is our visitor?”
“How should I know?”
“You haven’t asked his name?”
“No, I haven’t. Why should I? He’s just another dumb kid.”
“Be that as it may, wouldn’t it be nice to have a guest? It’s been so long…” she paused in the middle of her sentence to bite the head off of the cricket, and spoke with her mouth open as she chewed. “Sorry! I’m so hungry, you know? Would you like to join us for dinner?”
Marlon absolutely did not want to come to dinner. What he really wanted was to get the hell out of there. But he had not forgotten that the little man had implied that he could cause lethal cases of the hiccups, so naturally he nodded his head and obliged.
“Excellent!” the little woman beamed. “Come, come, in ya go!”
~
Meanwhile, back by the lot, the same lot where Marlon was and wasn’t, Jermaine was consulting with the lackey he had stationed in a thicket of pokeweed near the tree.
“He just disappeared, man!” the lackey insisted.
“No fucking way,” Jermain sneered. “You need to lay off the juice.”
“Nah, nah, for real, I’m telling you- I saw him knock three times, and say the words, and there was a flash of like, fire or some shit I don’t know, and the little nigga was gone. For real I ain’t shitting you it’s the truth.”
The other boys were laughing, but Jermaine was deadly serious. “No way is this kid gonna get one over on us. I can’t tell if you’re tweakin or if the little dipshit was playing with magic tricks, but we’re gonna find him and fuck him up so bad he’ll wish we just threw dogshit on him like we had planned. Split up, circle the block; we gonna find his bitch-ass.”
His lackeys nodded, hopped on their bikes, and followed orders. Jermaine didn’t mention that he, too, was afraid of the tree. He himself had never knocked, or said the words, and now Marlon had, and apparently got away, and that made him feel like a fool. Jermaine didn’t like it when he felt like a fool. He had to make sure Marlon didn’t like making Jermaine feel like a fool either, and he was going to do it as quickly as possible.
He picked up the baseball bat that had been half held in his own backpack and ran his fingers along it. Felt good. It could feel bad too, but not for him.
He swung it through the air and smiled.
~
Marlon had walked through the tree, and, well, its interior was quite spacious- more spacious than seemed possible from the outside. Their home was filled with elegant, intricately carved wooden furniture, though the wood had not so much been cut as much as it grew from the tree itself. Torches were hung from the walls, as well as ornate tapestries of various plants and animals. Inside, the tree, as on the outside, shimmered with faint light. Like the earth had beneath his feet, he felt the tree breathing ever so subtly about him.
He was so consumed with the wonder of the place that he almost failed to realize that he had, apparently, shrunk down to the size of his hosts, so that he was easily able to follow them through the many rooms and halls of their home and up the steps to the dining room- their presumed destination, as that is where they stopped.
Strange smells wafted in from the next room over, which Marlon assumed was the kitchen. “I did the cooking tonight, so it’s your turn to set the table and bring out the dishes,” commanded Tree-Fingers’s wife.
“Yes, love,” he mumbled, still smoking. He walked into the kitchen.
“Here, take a seat, and allow me to introduce myself. My name, translated to your tongue, is Sea-Dark. What is yours?”
Marlon mechanically took a seat. “Marlon.”
“Marlon! What a lovely name. And how old are you?”
“Twelve.”
She whistled. “My, you were barely born yesterday. Do you know how old I am? Can you guess?”
Marlon looked at her closely. His foster-mother’s friends had played this game with him. He had not liked the game. “Uh, twenty-five?” It was a fair enough guess, he supposed; she looked twenty-five to him, at least.
“Twenty-five! I’d have been a baby. No, I am twenty times that at least, probably more. I’m nearing six centuries now, I think. Oh! Here comes Tree-Fingers with the first course.”
Tree-Fingers walked in with a silver plate of what looked like leaves and insect-larvae coated with a strange, sap-like dressing. “Dig in,” he said gruffly.
“I…need to wash my hands…”
“You are our guest, sickness will not touch you,” replied Sea-Dark sweetly, “but still, better to rinse the dirt off, isn’t it? If only to not ruin the taste. We like to eat with our hands here.”
Tree-Fingers grunted. “I like the dirt; adds flavor. But yes, dear.” He left the room and returned with three bowls of water. They rinsed their hands.
“Now,” said Tree-Fingers, “dig in.”
Marlon had no particular interest in leaves or larvae, but now did not seem the time to offend his hosts.
He held his breath, grabbed a handful and took a bite.
God, it was delicious! Perhaps the most wonderful thing he had ever tasted; so many flavors, from bitter to salty to sweet, all so full and profound and harmoniously blended together on his unworthy tongue. Tree-Fingers smiled, ever so slightly, for the first time since Marlon met him, “Well!” he said, “Here is a man with taste!”
The grass, the leaves, berries, nuts, grubs, worms and bugs- they were all excellent beyond my powers of description. Marlon ate and ate until he had felt more full than he could ever remember before in his life. Even the water was the best he had the good fortune to taste by a wide margin (Sea-Dark had insisted, despite Tree-Fingers’ protests, that the boy was too young for sap-wine). The more he ate, the more Tree-Fingers seemed to like him, and ever so often he would thump his chest and say things like, “Now here is a man with appetite!” and “Here, boy, if you liked that, you should try this!”
Between mouthfuls, Marlon asked questions, and he was answered. He learned much about his hosts. They had had a great number of children, and had lived with them and many of their closest relatives and friends, for centuries on the same patch of land that they inhabited now. But all the rest had left “for more undisturbed pastures,” as Sea-Dark had put it, long ago, as the “tall-folk” began coming in greater and greater numbers, and felling trees, and paving over the earth, and creating deserts of concrete and steel. Their clan had waged war in the beginning, striking down many with cruel sickness and affliction, but more kept coming in their place, a rolling sea of destructive, defiling people, and eventually it had been decided by the majority of the clan that it just wasn’t worth it anymore.
But Tree-Fingers and Sea-Dark, they had been the first to come here, far from their native land, so many centuries ago. This patch of earth was where they had made peace with the indigenous fay, where they had planted and grown their tree, where they had brought their clan and raised their children. This little plot of land, for them, held within its soil too many memories to abandon. So they stayed, and decided to outlast the city, as they hoped they would, for the Apuku live in this plane a long time before they pass on fully to the other side. “Apuku is what humans call us on this side of the great water, my boy,” Tree-Fingers had explained, “Though in our homelands we were called Mmoatia.”
Marlon was chiefly interested in the wide range of knowledge that his hosts possessed, being himself a boy of scholarly character. The languages of birds and trees, and of squirrels and street-rats and rocks and rivers- lore such as this piqued his interest immensely. The manner in which the Apuku changed their shape, or danced in the currents of the air, or cast health and sickness with a glance and a sign of the fingers-such lore, too, entranced Marlon, though he understood only a small part of it.
How long he sat with them, talking, I cannot say. Time works strangely in that realm. I do not presume to even understand how it operates here, and I suspect neither do you, truly, so don’t ask me about it there. I am merely telling the story the best I can.
When they had finished eating and talking, Marlon looked out of the dining room ‘window,’ which he supposed was just a round hole in the tree that was, somehow, not apparent from the outside. Night had ended, and the golden-red orb of the sun had risen. The mist had died down, but no city was in sight, just rolling green hills…
“Maybe….I…could stay a while longer?” he asked.
Tree-Fingers scratched his chin for a moment, thinking. “I guess that wouldn’t be so bad, after all. It is nice to have some company.”
Sea-Dark smiled. “Of course, dear.”
~
A long time, it must be supposed, had to have been passed with the Apuku, but to Marlon it had felt only a few weeks, and when he left his hosts only about an hour had gone by in our own little stretch of reality. Time did not always work that way when leaving the domain of the Apuku; the rules, to the uninitiated, might actually feel rather random, but it did work out pretty well for Marlon in the end- he had not been gone for a suspiciously long time at all, and no search-parties, other than the ones that Jermaine had sent out, had went looking for him.
Jermaine had been waiting by the entrance of the lot, drinking a beer he had one of his lackeys fetch for him.
“I’m telling you, the little fucker is gone,” said the errand-runner.
“Nate was right there, behind the tree, and he didn’t see him leave,” Jermaine replied, mostly to himself. “He couldn’t have scaled the wall at the back of the lot without him noticing, and there’s buildings on either side. Where the fuck could he have went?”
“I don’t know, how did he disappear in the first place? Something’s not right here, man. Let’s call this shit off. I’m tired.”
“Why? I’m here.”
Jermaine swiveled around and saw Marlon behind him, smiling.
Jermaine grinned evilly in return. “Well, you came back, huh? Want your backpack?” The pack in question was by Jermaine’s feet; he kicked it for effect. “You are going to have to play a little game with me for it, you know.” He tossed his beer can on the ground and perched the bat imperiously on his shoulder. “Why don’t we go into the lot, for a round of ball?”
“In the lot? We could play right here.”
About half of the crew were already milling around when Marlon had shown up, apparently out of the very air, and seemed to surprise everyone but Jermaine. A few others were arriving on their bicycles at that moment. The shock had by now mostly evaporated, and there were now lots of grins between them; they were excited to see where this would go. “C’mon, take a swing,” Marlon prodded.
Jermaine bowed humbly. “As you wish,” then, face beaming, he placed both hands on his bat and-
Did nothing. Jermaine couldn’t move, not a single muscle or an inch. Marlon was staring into his eyes, and it seemed to Jermaine that Marlon’s had acquired a great, soul-rattling depth that made Jermaine shiver, though he dared not show it.
“What’s a matter? Scared?” teased Marlon cheerfully. Then he spat in Jermaine's face.
“Fuck you!” barked Jermaine. Marlon grinned and ran towards the tree, and at once the spell was broken. Jermaine spun around, the bat tight in his hands, and darted after him. The rest of the boys dumped their bikes and sprinted in pursuit.
But Marlon didn’t run far. He stopped at the tree, and turned around, giddy with laughter. Jermaine caught up and lifted one of his hands in the air, signaling his crew. They stopped and waited for their instructions. “Hold on,” he ordered, “I get first hit.” Then with both hands, for a second time, he took hold of the bat, swung and-
Marlon had vanished. Instead of Marlon’s head, the bat struck the old oak’s trunk, and Jermaine vanished too. The rest of the crew stood there, slack-jawed and silent.
“Behind you!”
It was Marlon.
As one, the boys turned to face him. From there, none of them made a move, though no power of Marlon’s held them in place except for the vague fear of that which they had not understood. Marlon grinned. Then he opened his mouth, still smiling. He opened it wider and wider, until it became unnaturally large, like the mouth of a snake preparing to swallow. A fan of blue flame rose up from the back of his throat, ran down the center of his tongue, and licked at the edges of his lips.
That was too much for them. The crew scattered in unison, not bothering to pick up their bicycles but leaving them where they lay next to the lot, all except for Nate, who had locked eyes with Marlon and was unnaturally still. “What…what are you?” Nate asked.
“A boy, now, please take my backpack, clean off the shit, and I mean from my things too, and return it to me with everything in it on Monday before school…let’s say at eight. Don’t be late. You do know where I go to school don’t you?”
Nate nodded.
“Great, see you there!” said Marlon, as he walked over and slapped him on his shoulder.
Nate grabbed the backpack, hopped on his bicycle and sped away as fast as his feet could peddle. Marlon smiled to himself, picked up one of the smaller bikes, and rode it down the street towards his home, whistling. A moth landed on his shoulder.
~
Jermaine was alone in the dark field, before the great oak. The moon was out, but the stars were hidden by clouds and no silvery mists danced around him. It was dark. He called out for his crew but none answered. He was alone.
Above, in the tree, he saw two owls, their feathers bone-white but their eyes all black. They screeched something terrible and Jermaine felt a chill run through his chest. “Fuck,” he whispered, “what happened?” He backed away from the tree, and the eyes of the owls followed him.
He turned away and began a brisk walk.
It was too dark to see more than a few feet ahead of him. He walked for a minute, and then another. Why hadn’t he come to the end of the lot? There was no way it was this big. The owls screeched again, but this time they sounded closer, not farther.
He turned and saw them lazily flying towards his direction, now not more than a few yards away.
He cursed and ran.
“Nate!” he cried. No answer.
“Jordan! Darryl!”
They were closer now; he could feel the air from their beating wings on his back. He wasn’t running fast enough.
“Fuck! Sam! Joe! Mark! Fuck! Fu-!”
The stalks of milkweed and pokeweed seemed to knot themselves together and trip him, wrapping themselves around his ankles as he fell. The owls screeched again. Jermaine reached out with his hands and began to pull himself forward, groaning with exertion. He saw them circling overhead, waiting. His broad chest began to be streaked with sweat. His heart pounded.
“Help! Anybody! Please!”
There was no one there. Tears were in his eyes.
The owls swooped down.
~
What happened next is anyone’s guess. The tale goes on and on, and never ends, but I will leave it there. If you want to follow it further, go to the oak in the lot, knock three times and say hello.
Now you have all the story that I told you. Whether you find it sweet or bitter, take a piece of it with you and keep the rest under your pillow.

This story, I did not make up.
Who did then? The city told it to me. It tells its tales freely to all who listen. There are many here who could tell it as well, but few who could tell it as well as I. So, for you stranger, I will relay it as best I can. Pay close attention.
First, I must tell you of this city. The city is old and dusty. It has always opened its arms to the hungry, the destitute, the downtrodden and the foreign- that is why, on one hand, it is so full it is nearly bursting and yet, on the other, it is the picture of neglect. You are new here, I know, but you surely must have noticed.
The city is also hungry; hungry for sustenance, for love, sex, wealth and whatever else plagues the hearts of human beings. Hungry, and yet never satisfied. In this way, I suppose all cities are the same, whether rich or poor, proud or decrepit. They all, like any other living being, desire growth, and so grow they do, forever putting forth new shoots, each more insatiable than the last. Soon, I believe, cities may cover all the earth until she suffocates beneath them.
But we must move on. In this city, there is a vacant lot. All cities have lots, but their histories are usually short and their existences ephemeral. This lot was never anything other than a lot, however, and never, I believe, will be anything else. The city hungrily presses against it on all sides and yet cannot conquer it. The lot stands firm.
In this lot are the vestiges of earlier times- great stands of pokeweed, milkweed, field thistle, snakeroot and the like. In the center of it is an oak, ancient and venerable, with a great thick trunk and a healthy crown that grows more lush and green each spring. It is, I think, the most beautiful tree in the city.
There is something else about the lot too, something which cannot be so easily described. It is a strange place, people passing by feel as if they’re being watched, as if the tree itself had eyes. Lights that flicker in and out of sight, passing shadows with no source, voices half-heard; that particular patch of earth has a reputation for oddness which has persisted throughout the generations. It is usually avoided, being too tangled with vegetation and too infested with insects to be of much practical use anyway.
In fact, it is generally held to be haunted.
That is, unfortunately, exactly why a young boy named Marlon got into some trouble there a while back. He had been cornered by a clique of boys many years older than himself and likely almost done with high school. Marlon, on the other hand, was short and scrawny even for his age (he must have been about twelve or so at the time).
The leader of his assailants was a boy named Jermaine, who was in every way the opposite of Marlon. Tall, strong arms and broad shoulders, a face and a smile that made girls sigh- he was, at least in such respects as these, what Marlon in fact dreamed to be himself. At the moment, however, he was picking through Marlon's knapsack.
“Look at all these books!” said Jermaine in mock admiration. “How much do you think you’d have to pay the library if we lit ‘em on fire?”
Marlon tried to act like he wasn’t worried, though he had never taken a single drama course. “Give it back!”
“And is this a sketchbook?! Oh my oh my, what an artist,” Jermaine added as he flipped through it. “Hey! Whoa, guys, check this out. That’s Mrs. Bella isn’t it? Boy would she like to see this! Maybe I should post it.”
“I said give it back!” If Marlon’s brown face could get red, it would have. The other boys were chuckling.
“Alright, chill, I’ll give it back. But first you got to do something,” said Jermaine, with his handsome, mischievous smile.
“What?”
“Go to the tree. Knock three times and say the words.”
“What words?”
“You know, the words. Don’t play stupid, I know you know the story..”
Marlon conferred with himself. This was a dare that, up until now, no matter how many times he had been asked, he had never succumbed to. Marlon was a smart boy, true, but a tad superstitious. He never walked under ladders, for example. But his foster-mother, a bitter woman who liked “old-fashioned discipline,” would be furious if he told her that he had lost his bag and needed the money to replace the books from the library. He didn’t have to ask for the money, of course, if he could stomach never taking out a book from there again (a hard pill to swallow).
Yet even if he gave up the books, he would be leaving a very detailed picture of his favorite teacher in his sketchbook, in the hands of a kid with maybe a thousand, or more, followers on Instagram. Maybe people would understand. It wasn’t that bad of a picture, it was well drawn, capturing the way her lips moved when she smiled, and the way her skirt danced just above her knees when she bent over and-
Okay, maybe they wouldn’t understand. And if the rumor spread, and Ms. Bella found out, and asked about it in class that Monday…
Perhaps, if he broke just this one taboo, and showed that he wasn’t a scared little child, they really would give the backpack back. He might even gain a little respect. It was worth a shot, wasn’t it? And wasn’t it just a tree?
“Okay, whatever,” he said, trying to feign calmness. He turned away from the boys and their snickering.
He walked into the tall stands of grass and weeds, dark under the starless sky. He walked through the primeval earth of the lot, where scarcely a tossed out joint or cigarette butt tarnished the sacred ground, until he reached the trunk of the tree.
Then he reached out his hand and knocked. One time. Two times. Three times.
Nothing happened. What did he expect? But still, he had to say the words, loud enough that the boys would hear. So he closed his eyes and recited them: “Little thing, little thing, come on out or let me in, turn me inside out my skin.”
~
When he opened his eyes he could not tell if he was in exactly the same place or somewhere new entirely. The same stands of tall plants grew around him, and the tree was still there in front of him, but there was a pale shimmer of light about them all, and their colors, even in the darkness, seemed deeper and more full. Gentle, half-felt waves of electricity coursed through the air and ran along his skin, making him tingle. The earth itself now seemed almost to breathe in a steady rhythm, rising up and down subtly, on the very edges of his perception.
Further, all around him, bright, silvery tendrils of mist snaked up from the ground. They were thin wisps within his general vicinity, but they congealed into greater and greater clouds of fog the further he looked in every direction, and beyond them he could see nothing. Yet when he glanced up he saw the sky as it must have looked, in the very same spot, centuries ago. Marlon had never before in his life seen more than a small handful of stars at a time; now he saw thousands.
Mouth agape, he stood there in silence and stared up at the primeval heavens. He did not stir from his position until a gruff voice interrupted him.
“Mmhhm.”
Marlon jumped, and before him was a man. I mean, not really a man, but something like a man. There were several similarities between them. Their skin appeared to be the same shade of dark-coffee brown. They both had thick curly hair, though Marlon’s was kept in a little ‘fro and the stranger’s hung in long dreads all the way to his feet.
However, there were a few important differences. Chief among them was that the man, though regularly proportioned, was only a foot or so tall. Further, there were no whites to the man’s eyes, but they were all black, and patterns seemed to swirl in them like dancing flames.
The man wore well-fitting jeans as white as the moon, and a moon-white jacket that seemed to be made of silk. He was scratching a thick goatee on his chin.
“Mhhm,” the little stranger grunted again, his voice entirely too deep to be coming from such a small thing. “If you could, kindly, tell your friends to stop knocking on our tree so damn much, that would be fantastic. You can handle that, can't you? It’s getting … tiresome.”
“I’m sorry,” Marlon blurted, “they made me!” He backed away, but seemed unable to will his feet to move more than a few inches.
“They?” said the stranger as he turned his head this way and that, mockingly, “Huh. You do seem to be the only other one here, don’t you? Would you look at that! I guess no one knocked on the tree but you. If you’re referring to the boys outside the lot currently putting dog-shit into your backpack, or to the one behind the tree who was supposed to jump out and scare you, with the finesse of a drunken goat, I fail to see where they attached the little strings to your limbs by which they control your movements.”
“Huh?”
“My point exactly, you creatures are barely bright enough to control your own faculties, let alone each other’s. Take some responsibility for your actions, would you? Now, stop knocking on our tree, and especially don’t do it and just run away. It’s really quite rude. My wife gets excited for some company, lately, and she’s always saying ‘check the door, Tree-Fingers’, and by the time I get to the door what do I see? Some idiot child running away. I haven’t struck someone with sickness in a long time, mind you, and I can’t imagine what they’re frightened of. Or why they would ring my door in the first place. I have half a mind to start messing with people again, giving them hiccups that get worse and worse ‘till they explode, or turning them mad so they think they’re a donkey, or something like that. Anyway, really not funny what you’re doing, not funny at all. Dig the rhyme, though.”
Marlon said nothing. His mouth went up and down as if to speak, and his heart was pounding out a rhythm with a million beats per minute, but he stood as still and mute as a scarecrow. The little man, who’s name apparently was Tree-Fingers, sighed. He reached into his pocket and pulled out what appeared to be a small joint. He put it between his lips and it sparked of its own accord. A familiar scent filled the air.
“Look, kid, chap, homie, niño, whatever the fuck they call you these days, do you get the message or not? Just nod your head yes or no, and I’ll let you be on your-”
A sharp whistle interrupted him. Tree-Fingers took a deep inhale of his J, then whistled a little melody back (even in his delirious fear, Marlon noticed it was quite lovely). Then he turned his attention back to Marlon. “Well, now you’re quite fucked, my wife has asked you to dinner.”
“Tree-Fingers!” said his wife as she marched out of the tree. By that, I mean she just walked right out of it- there was no doorway or opening to walk through, she merely moved through the solid matter like a ghost. She was both beautiful and alien, possessing the same stature of her husband and an even darker complexion, as well as the same long, matted locks and all-black, inscrutable eyes. She wore a silky white sun-dress pale as the stars, and she held a cricket in her right hand that was either dead or unnervingly still
“Yes, dear?” asked Tree-Fingers, puffing on his joint.
“Who is our visitor?”
“How should I know?”
“You haven’t asked his name?”
“No, I haven’t. Why should I? He’s just another dumb kid.”
“Be that as it may, wouldn’t it be nice to have a guest? It’s been so long…” she paused in the middle of her sentence to bite the head off of the cricket, and spoke with her mouth open as she chewed. “Sorry! I’m so hungry, you know? Would you like to join us for dinner?”
Marlon absolutely did not want to come to dinner. What he really wanted was to get the hell out of there. But he had not forgotten that the little man had implied that he could cause lethal cases of the hiccups, so naturally he nodded his head and obliged.
“Excellent!” the little woman beamed. “Come, come, in ya go!”
~
Meanwhile, back by the lot, the same lot where Marlon was and wasn’t, Jermaine was consulting with the lackey he had stationed in a thicket of pokeweed near the tree.
“He just disappeared, man!” the lackey insisted.
“No fucking way,” Jermain sneered. “You need to lay off the juice.”
“Nah, nah, for real, I’m telling you- I saw him knock three times, and say the words, and there was a flash of like, fire or some shit I don’t know, and the little nigga was gone. For real I ain’t shitting you it’s the truth.”
The other boys were laughing, but Jermaine was deadly serious. “No way is this kid gonna get one over on us. I can’t tell if you’re tweakin or if the little dipshit was playing with magic tricks, but we’re gonna find him and fuck him up so bad he’ll wish we just threw dogshit on him like we had planned. Split up, circle the block; we gonna find his bitch-ass.”
His lackeys nodded, hopped on their bikes, and followed orders. Jermaine didn’t mention that he, too, was afraid of the tree. He himself had never knocked, or said the words, and now Marlon had, and apparently got away, and that made him feel like a fool. Jermaine didn’t like it when he felt like a fool. He had to make sure Marlon didn’t like making Jermaine feel like a fool either, and he was going to do it as quickly as possible.
He picked up the baseball bat that had been half held in his own backpack and ran his fingers along it. Felt good. It could feel bad too, but not for him.
He swung it through the air and smiled.
~
Marlon had walked through the tree, and, well, its interior was quite spacious- more spacious than seemed possible from the outside. Their home was filled with elegant, intricately carved wooden furniture, though the wood had not so much been cut as much as it grew from the tree itself. Torches were hung from the walls, as well as ornate tapestries of various plants and animals. Inside, the tree, as on the outside, shimmered with faint light. Like the earth had beneath his feet, he felt the tree breathing ever so subtly about him.
He was so consumed with the wonder of the place that he almost failed to realize that he had, apparently, shrunk down to the size of his hosts, so that he was easily able to follow them through the many rooms and halls of their home and up the steps to the dining room- their presumed destination, as that is where they stopped.
Strange smells wafted in from the next room over, which Marlon assumed was the kitchen. “I did the cooking tonight, so it’s your turn to set the table and bring out the dishes,” commanded Tree-Fingers’s wife.
“Yes, love,” he mumbled, still smoking. He walked into the kitchen.
“Here, take a seat, and allow me to introduce myself. My name, translated to your tongue, is Sea-Dark. What is yours?”
Marlon mechanically took a seat. “Marlon.”
“Marlon! What a lovely name. And how old are you?”
“Twelve.”
She whistled. “My, you were barely born yesterday. Do you know how old I am? Can you guess?”
Marlon looked at her closely. His foster-mother’s friends had played this game with him. He had not liked the game. “Uh, twenty-five?” It was a fair enough guess, he supposed; she looked twenty-five to him, at least.
“Twenty-five! I’d have been a baby. No, I am twenty times that at least, probably more. I’m nearing six centuries now, I think. Oh! Here comes Tree-Fingers with the first course.”
Tree-Fingers walked in with a silver plate of what looked like leaves and insect-larvae coated with a strange, sap-like dressing. “Dig in,” he said gruffly.
“I…need to wash my hands…”
“You are our guest, sickness will not touch you,” replied Sea-Dark sweetly, “but still, better to rinse the dirt off, isn’t it? If only to not ruin the taste. We like to eat with our hands here.”
Tree-Fingers grunted. “I like the dirt; adds flavor. But yes, dear.” He left the room and returned with three bowls of water. They rinsed their hands.
“Now,” said Tree-Fingers, “dig in.”
Marlon had no particular interest in leaves or larvae, but now did not seem the time to offend his hosts.
He held his breath, grabbed a handful and took a bite.
God, it was delicious! Perhaps the most wonderful thing he had ever tasted; so many flavors, from bitter to salty to sweet, all so full and profound and harmoniously blended together on his unworthy tongue. Tree-Fingers smiled, ever so slightly, for the first time since Marlon met him, “Well!” he said, “Here is a man with taste!”
The grass, the leaves, berries, nuts, grubs, worms and bugs- they were all excellent beyond my powers of description. Marlon ate and ate until he had felt more full than he could ever remember before in his life. Even the water was the best he had the good fortune to taste by a wide margin (Sea-Dark had insisted, despite Tree-Fingers’ protests, that the boy was too young for sap-wine). The more he ate, the more Tree-Fingers seemed to like him, and ever so often he would thump his chest and say things like, “Now here is a man with appetite!” and “Here, boy, if you liked that, you should try this!”
Between mouthfuls, Marlon asked questions, and he was answered. He learned much about his hosts. They had had a great number of children, and had lived with them and many of their closest relatives and friends, for centuries on the same patch of land that they inhabited now. But all the rest had left “for more undisturbed pastures,” as Sea-Dark had put it, long ago, as the “tall-folk” began coming in greater and greater numbers, and felling trees, and paving over the earth, and creating deserts of concrete and steel. Their clan had waged war in the beginning, striking down many with cruel sickness and affliction, but more kept coming in their place, a rolling sea of destructive, defiling people, and eventually it had been decided by the majority of the clan that it just wasn’t worth it anymore.
But Tree-Fingers and Sea-Dark, they had been the first to come here, far from their native land, so many centuries ago. This patch of earth was where they had made peace with the indigenous fay, where they had planted and grown their tree, where they had brought their clan and raised their children. This little plot of land, for them, held within its soil too many memories to abandon. So they stayed, and decided to outlast the city, as they hoped they would, for the Apuku live in this plane a long time before they pass on fully to the other side. “Apuku is what humans call us on this side of the great water, my boy,” Tree-Fingers had explained, “Though in our homelands we were called Mmoatia.”
Marlon was chiefly interested in the wide range of knowledge that his hosts possessed, being himself a boy of scholarly character. The languages of birds and trees, and of squirrels and street-rats and rocks and rivers- lore such as this piqued his interest immensely. The manner in which the Apuku changed their shape, or danced in the currents of the air, or cast health and sickness with a glance and a sign of the fingers-such lore, too, entranced Marlon, though he understood only a small part of it.
How long he sat with them, talking, I cannot say. Time works strangely in that realm. I do not presume to even understand how it operates here, and I suspect neither do you, truly, so don’t ask me about it there. I am merely telling the story the best I can.
When they had finished eating and talking, Marlon looked out of the dining room ‘window,’ which he supposed was just a round hole in the tree that was, somehow, not apparent from the outside. Night had ended, and the golden-red orb of the sun had risen. The mist had died down, but no city was in sight, just rolling green hills…
“Maybe….I…could stay a while longer?” he asked.
Tree-Fingers scratched his chin for a moment, thinking. “I guess that wouldn’t be so bad, after all. It is nice to have some company.”
Sea-Dark smiled. “Of course, dear.”
~
A long time, it must be supposed, had to have been passed with the Apuku, but to Marlon it had felt only a few weeks, and when he left his hosts only about an hour had gone by in our own little stretch of reality. Time did not always work that way when leaving the domain of the Apuku; the rules, to the uninitiated, might actually feel rather random, but it did work out pretty well for Marlon in the end- he had not been gone for a suspiciously long time at all, and no search-parties, other than the ones that Jermaine had sent out, had went looking for him.
Jermaine had been waiting by the entrance of the lot, drinking a beer he had one of his lackeys fetch for him.
“I’m telling you, the little fucker is gone,” said the errand-runner.
“Nate was right there, behind the tree, and he didn’t see him leave,” Jermaine replied, mostly to himself. “He couldn’t have scaled the wall at the back of the lot without him noticing, and there’s buildings on either side. Where the fuck could he have went?”
“I don’t know, how did he disappear in the first place? Something’s not right here, man. Let’s call this shit off. I’m tired.”
“Why? I’m here.”
Jermaine swiveled around and saw Marlon behind him, smiling.
Jermaine grinned evilly in return. “Well, you came back, huh? Want your backpack?” The pack in question was by Jermaine’s feet; he kicked it for effect. “You are going to have to play a little game with me for it, you know.” He tossed his beer can on the ground and perched the bat imperiously on his shoulder. “Why don’t we go into the lot, for a round of ball?”
“In the lot? We could play right here.”
About half of the crew were already milling around when Marlon had shown up, apparently out of the very air, and seemed to surprise everyone but Jermaine. A few others were arriving on their bicycles at that moment. The shock had by now mostly evaporated, and there were now lots of grins between them; they were excited to see where this would go. “C’mon, take a swing,” Marlon prodded.
Jermaine bowed humbly. “As you wish,” then, face beaming, he placed both hands on his bat and-
Did nothing. Jermaine couldn’t move, not a single muscle or an inch. Marlon was staring into his eyes, and it seemed to Jermaine that Marlon’s had acquired a great, soul-rattling depth that made Jermaine shiver, though he dared not show it.
“What’s a matter? Scared?” teased Marlon cheerfully. Then he spat in Jermaine's face.
“Fuck you!” barked Jermaine. Marlon grinned and ran towards the tree, and at once the spell was broken. Jermaine spun around, the bat tight in his hands, and darted after him. The rest of the boys dumped their bikes and sprinted in pursuit.
But Marlon didn’t run far. He stopped at the tree, and turned around, giddy with laughter. Jermaine caught up and lifted one of his hands in the air, signaling his crew. They stopped and waited for their instructions. “Hold on,” he ordered, “I get first hit.” Then with both hands, for a second time, he took hold of the bat, swung and-
Marlon had vanished. Instead of Marlon’s head, the bat struck the old oak’s trunk, and Jermaine vanished too. The rest of the crew stood there, slack-jawed and silent.
“Behind you!”
It was Marlon.
As one, the boys turned to face him. From there, none of them made a move, though no power of Marlon’s held them in place except for the vague fear of that which they had not understood. Marlon grinned. Then he opened his mouth, still smiling. He opened it wider and wider, until it became unnaturally large, like the mouth of a snake preparing to swallow. A fan of blue flame rose up from the back of his throat, ran down the center of his tongue, and licked at the edges of his lips.
That was too much for them. The crew scattered in unison, not bothering to pick up their bicycles but leaving them where they lay next to the lot, all except for Nate, who had locked eyes with Marlon and was unnaturally still. “What…what are you?” Nate asked.
“A boy, now, please take my backpack, clean off the shit, and I mean from my things too, and return it to me with everything in it on Monday before school…let’s say at eight. Don’t be late. You do know where I go to school don’t you?”
Nate nodded.
“Great, see you there!” said Marlon, as he walked over and slapped him on his shoulder.
Nate grabbed the backpack, hopped on his bicycle and sped away as fast as his feet could peddle. Marlon smiled to himself, picked up one of the smaller bikes, and rode it down the street towards his home, whistling. A moth landed on his shoulder.
~
Jermaine was alone in the dark field, before the great oak. The moon was out, but the stars were hidden by clouds and no silvery mists danced around him. It was dark. He called out for his crew but none answered. He was alone.
Above, in the tree, he saw two owls, their feathers bone-white but their eyes all black. They screeched something terrible and Jermaine felt a chill run through his chest. “Fuck,” he whispered, “what happened?” He backed away from the tree, and the eyes of the owls followed him.
He turned away and began a brisk walk.
It was too dark to see more than a few feet ahead of him. He walked for a minute, and then another. Why hadn’t he come to the end of the lot? There was no way it was this big. The owls screeched again, but this time they sounded closer, not farther.
He turned and saw them lazily flying towards his direction, now not more than a few yards away.
He cursed and ran.
“Nate!” he cried. No answer.
“Jordan! Darryl!”
They were closer now; he could feel the air from their beating wings on his back. He wasn’t running fast enough.
“Fuck! Sam! Joe! Mark! Fuck! Fu-!”
The stalks of milkweed and pokeweed seemed to knot themselves together and trip him, wrapping themselves around his ankles as he fell. The owls screeched again. Jermaine reached out with his hands and began to pull himself forward, groaning with exertion. He saw them circling overhead, waiting. His broad chest began to be streaked with sweat. His heart pounded.
“Help! Anybody! Please!”
There was no one there. Tears were in his eyes.
The owls swooped down.
~
What happened next is anyone’s guess. The tale goes on and on, and never ends, but I will leave it there. If you want to follow it further, go to the oak in the lot, knock three times and say hello.
Now you have all the story that I told you. Whether you find it sweet or bitter, take a piece of it with you and keep the rest under your pillow.

Hi there. I already know how to deal with the situation I am just in a foul mood and need to vent a little. Here is the situation: I quit my current job and start the next one in May. That means I am legally required to take the days off I haven't so far (German law) and I now have a week off. I was looking forward to this very much, and I planned to get a few things done (mostly preparing for the new job by setting up a home office as the new job is fully remote), exercising a lot and mostly: sleeping in. Sleeping in is something I rarely get to do, and that is very precious to me. I am definitely a night owl, by my job and family responsibilities force me to wake up early most of the time. So whenever I can sleep in (and by that I mean like 8 o'clock plus laying in bed a little) I look forward to it a lot. My holiday started with a weekend where my wife was away on a trip that was planned a year ago. (This is for a social volunteering job we both are highly invested in.) Good for her, and of course I'll be home, do stuff with the kids, help them learn for upcoming tests, and clean the apartment because my wife has an important appointment on Monday.
Sunday comes, and my wife gets home. The weekend was nice, but she didn't get much sleep and kindly asks me if she could sleep in on Monday so she can recover from the weekend. Of course, I let her and get up early myself, get the kids ready for school and everything. I want to support her and the volunteer work she does, and I would expect her to do the same for me.
Monday evening, she suffers from a sudden lumbago. Of course, I help her as much as I can. And of course I'll be the one getting up early (getting up at all) the next days. I help her with medication, with hot pillows and practical stuff around the house. And I know it is absolutely not her fault, and she would of course much rather be healthy than suffering from intense back pain. But I can't help myself but feel disappointed, annoyed and depressed. The few days I would have had to myself now feel as if they are completely gone. Although I know that isn't true at all. I still can set up my home office. I still can go to the gym and the swimming pool and the climbing gym. I just can't sleep in.
Of course, my wife sees that I'm in a foul mood and that it is because I have to take care of her. And of course she feels now terrible. It is as if I was accusing her of something. And I feel even more terrible about that now. Because not only does she suffer from lumbago, but also from a husband who only begrudgingly gives her the assistance she needs and makes her feel bad about herself. So I'm definitly the asshole in this story.
I wish I could just forget my expectations for the holiday and embrace what I have to do instead. After all it is just a few days I have to get up early instead of sleeping in.
So fuck my bad mood, fuck back pain, fuck not being able to adjust and letting go of expectations when needed and fuck being tired every damn morning! And thank you for reading this completly useless vent.

So when I was around 4 I lived in a small town in Nebraska. My father was a pastor of one of the main churches there so I grew up in a very Christian environment. I am not religious like my parents are but I suppose I still believe in a god and devil and things that are not of this world. I don’t know if I’d say ghosts but more like demons and angels. Anyway, I vividly remember that during this time, almost nightly, after my family had gone to bed I’d stay awake for hours (I’ve never been able to fall asleep before midnight), and just stare at the ceiling. I remember that after a certain amount of time had passed, I’d see these little dim lights start “flying” around in my room. I kind of imagine them now as tissues being blown around by the wind, as odd as that might sound. I called them “The Owls”. I think I gave them the name because I’d always be laying on my side with my ear pressed against my pillow so I’d hear my heartbeat in it and for some reason my 4 year old mind thought it sounded like owls. I also think I mightve heard them make some sort of noise that I’d associate with owls but I’m fuzzy on that detail. I remember whispering to them about the random things that happened earlier in the day and just chat with them about nothing in particular while they floated slowly around me with seemingly no point to what they were doing. I didn’t remember this happening until recently and it has immensely creeped me out whenever I think about it. I don’t ever remember it happening after I moved out of that house when I was 5 and haven’t had anything similar to that happen to me since. I remember it so vividly now and remember it happening nightly for almost a year so I’m sure it wasn’t a dream. It might’ve just been my undeveloped brain seeing tricks of the streetlights and turning it into something else, but I’m almost positive that what happened to me was something that isn’t from this world and I was unfortunate enough to experience something like that when I was so young. I’ll keep searching for answers. I get freaked out by just thinking about owls now, because of the name alone, and nope out whenever I see a picture of one. I have no clue what it could’ve been, but even my religious parents who don’t believe in paranormal activities got spooked when I told them about it and asked if they remember me talking about it when I was little. My twin brothers also have told of certain things happening to them in the same house around the same time and before I was born. (I was adopted when I was an infant and had only been in the family around two years when they remember things starting to happen to them). The told me about always seeing someone living in our basement and always thought it was a family member or friend that was visiting. My parents hosted people in our house farely often, as my father was a pastor. The “friend” would sometimes come in their room at night and ask about how their day was and leave after a while. When my parents suggested they were dreaming my brothers argued that it was highly unlikely since they both could remember what the friend would ask and give the same details. They were also in primary school at the time and probably wouldn’t have been able to come up with something like that with a strong enough story behind it to keep it up for almost two decades. My parents have suggested that we had been exposed to “demonic activities” because my father was a pastor and thought that he and our family was a threat to the devil or something. Maybe that house was just creepy to me and my brothers’ childish minds. Or maybe we just breathed in too much Nebraska dust and it messed with our brains. Either way it still spooks me now and I just want answers.

I’m sure everyone can remember their retail days. The periods of our lives when we worked long hours for shit pay and at the mercy of every dickhead who felt a soy sauce shortage was a legitimate reason to ruin someone’s shift. I’m still unfortunately eyeballs deep in that phase of my life. I sure wish that soccer moms with bad haircuts or thumb-shaped juice heads with little-man syndrome were the biggest of my problems. We all make jokes about working retail being Hell, some even compare it to purgatory. A between space where time passes at a painstaking crawl. It’s nothing compared to this.
I had my back pressed against a cold refrigerator in the appliance showroom. I was starting to get the hang of this disturbing version of hide and seek, but I was getting pretty tired of being the one hiding all the time.
I could hear the subtle, deep-throated clicking of the creature as it made its slow pursuit up the aisles, meticulously searching. It knew I was here, they always did. I could see the arch of its back over high shelves and its gangly limbs clinging to beams to keep its balance.
I held my hands over my mouth and tried to steady my breath as the creature made its clumsy advanced. A viscous sludge oozed from its skin sounding like tar when it dripped to the floor. The sludge, eating away at everything it touched like corrosive Piranha Solution. It smelled of hot Florida dumpster. Like burnt tire rubber, warm beer and melted plastic with the nose-curling sourness of spoiled food. I could feel the muscles in my gut sizing, threatening to eject the dry cereal I shoveled into my mouth this morning.
The refrigerators rattled as I saw a meaty clawed hand the size of a large dog cling to their tops followed by the sound of ragged breath. The smell grew heavier as the hand slapped from one fridge to another until it settled atop of mine. It sat there just long enough to wonder if I’d been found before it, along with the smell, vanished entirely.
Oh thank God…
I waited for my heart to move from hammering in my throat to back in my chest. I peek my head out from behind the fridge to see no one. I was alone again.
“Management nearly got you this time, man.”
Or at least I thought I was. I about pissed myself and quickly turned around to find a mannequin standing within shoe throwing distance in an ugly sweater and pair of fitted khakis.
“FRED! Jesus Christ! I told you to start announcing yourself!”
“I mean, I could have. But then you would have ended up as Sheryl’s lunch.”
I know what everyone would be thinking right about now. “This guy is hiding from monsters and talking to mannequins, he’s probably nuts,” and yeah… you’d probably be right. But consider this first— I work retail. I deserve to be crazy, so reserve all judgments for now.
The mannequin, Fred, swung his body from side to side, stiffly waddling over to me.
“What’d you do to make her mad this time? Breath too loud? Sit too long?”
I stood up and dusted the lint bunnies from my pants. “Fidgeting with a sign stickytab…” I said. “Yeah, that’ll do it. She got Juan earlier, poor bastard didn’t even see her coming.”
Fred looked like a life-sized Ken Doll and spoke with a New York accent. His mouth never moved though. It was permanently fixed into a smile, filled with a row of perfectly straight, white painted teeth. But his eyes… those moved. They seemed to follow you. It was like one of those spooky old paintings where the eyes seemed to track you around the room, no matter where you went. It was a little creepy.
“Donkey tattoo Juan? I liked him. He didn’t give me as many stink-eyes as the others.”
“Well, he’s got no eyes to stink with anymore. Squashed like a watermelon, KER-SPLAT. Sheryl didn’t even stop to lookit’em.”
“Yeesh…”
“Better him than us.”
“Us? It won’t eat you. It'd be like eating a plastic bead,” I said as I began to re-face the water filters again.
“I mean. Yeah, but I’d give her indigestion for you if she ever does!” Fred made an attempt at putting his hands on his hips with an awkward, rubbery squeak.
“How noble of you.”
If Fred had been endowed with the gift face muscles, he’d probably be wearing a shit-eating grin.
“It ain't easy being a Hero!”
I listened again to see if Sheryl was still around. Can never be too careful with Manager “Five Ears To The Ground” Sheryl. The screams in the distance told me it was somewhere in Household Chemicals which meant there was around six miles of store between us.
The hellscape where I work is called Thetamart. It was supposed to be like a super shopping center, best described as if a mall and Costco had a baby. But this baby was unfortunately disfigured so horribly it broke and disregarded the laws of the reality we live in. All that to say, ThetaMart is like a retail affair baby if H.P. Lovecraft was the mistress. It’s full of impossible creatures, monsters and products an insane person couldn’t even conjure in their strangest fever dreams.
Everything inside of ThetaMart is white— a stark, sterile white from floor to ceiling, with shelves that stand several tall men high. There’s the lingering smell of cheap plastic in here, and the only thing piercing the constant mind-numbing silence is the distant sound of tinny elevator music that seemingly comes from everywhere and nowhere. The tune feels so familiar, just not enough to place or follow. If that wasn’t chilling enough, the screams that abruptly break the silent hours when management is close by is frightening enough to start the heart of a dead man.
Which is why it was so strange when first, a momentary blanket of silence fell over the store, like what they do for memorials. It was an oppressive, drawn out stillness before being broken by a voice erupting from the invisible speakers.
“Max, there is a call waiting for you on—” The page was followed by a shrill garble that sounded like Jabba The Hutt was choking on rocks before it went silent again.
I looked at Fred.
“What the fuck was that?”
“You got a page man, you gotta answer it.”
“How? There’s no phone in this department.”
The nearest working phone that I knew of was in electronics which was about six or so miles away. I'd just cut my losses and throw myself from the highest shelf. There was no way I'd make it without being maimed or eaten before getting there. As absurd as this place is, I don't think trekking over Toys and finding a Playskool Elmo & Friends Smartphone would cut it either.
“Well it won’t stop paging you till you answer it, and trust me. You’re gonna wanna answer it.”
“What… What happens if I don't?”
He doesn’t respond and instead stares silently for a moment.
“…Hello?”
He lunged forward and snatched my phone.
“Hey!”
I swiped to get it back but Fred was quick for a guy with limited mobility.
“Sorry pal, you’ll thank me later!”
He began to speed-waddle away. I actually had to run after him just to keep up, which was impressive considering his legs only moved in two directions.
“Fred! Fred! I can’t— I can’t leave without my—“
He disappeared, heading deeper into the store.
“Aw man…”
Considering the short time I’ve been here I’ve learned a lot about this place and how it operates, sort of. In the grand scheme of it all, I probably know absolutely dip-squat. But because of these dubious guidelines, I’ve made it far enough to share this.
Stay away from the other associates. They may look like people or potential survival partners. Perhaps the last anchor you could hold steadfast to sanity with. But they are absolutely, definitely not. Far from it. Avoid them at all costs. They might have been human once, but they certainly aren’t anymore.
The areas that turn yellow, or the zones of the store that are more decrepit than the other areas and are more prone to Management activity. That’s what Sheryl is. The denizens of this place are known as Management. The higher the status, the nastier they are.
Be sure to follow the first two rules no matter what. It will make life a lot easier.
Funnily enough, Fred actually bestowed upon me a lot of the knowledge I’ve accumulated about this place. Which pissed me off even more when I had to actively choose to break all three rules.
“Fred! This isn’t funny! I don’t have time for your crap!”
I continued walking at a brisk pace, following the distant taps of hollow dress shoes. All around me the fluorescent lights became yellower, more tarnished. They flicker and hum overhead and some blown out completely.
There are pillows and overturned furniture, soggy boxes, and broken glass strewn about the linoleum. The smell of stale old couch stuffing and mildew penetrated the air and hung like a wet blanket making it slightly uncomfortable to breathe.
I walk beneath the hanging sign saying in bold blue letters, Home and Decor.
Oh crap. I found myself reconsidering how important my phone really was. I could just buy a new one. Sure, the other one isn’t even paid off yet. But is it really worth being eaten or squashed or… whatever it is monsters do to people? A scrawny college student sustained purely off of ramen and espresso can’t taste that good, right? Just when I talked myself into abandoning my phone with every puppy pic of my dog I had ever taken, I felt eyes fixed on me. I had been spotted.
“Maxwell…” Shit.
I very slowly turn around to find looming over me, was Nosferatu.
Well, he’s not actually Nosferatu, but he could have had me fooled if this were a Spirit Halloween.
“Ralph. You look uh… alive, today.”
Ralph’s skin clung to his skeletal frame like wet toilet paper. The white of his eyes were as sunken and yellow as the lights around us, and his apron identical to mine covered in various stains of several concerning colors. I tried my best not to stare at them as he leaned down and hovered closer to my face.
His irises glistened a gross, milky white with something swirling behind their film.
“Why aren’t you in your department, Maxwell?”
Now would’ve been an amazing time to be great at lying, but I wasn’t much of a talker at the best of times.
“Uh…I was getting…”
My eyes began to frantically dart around for a sign or—
“Milk!”
“…milk?”
“Yeah, milk! Can’t have my bones breaking on the job right?”
I made an attempt at a playful punch, but Ralph was so much squishier than he should have been. I felt my stomach lurch when my fist sunk through his arm and into his torso like a damn slime-filled stress ball. Accept instead of alleviating stress he makes it so, so much worse.
He stared at me for a moment in unimpressed silence. Ralph was a supervisor. Not only that, but I managed to piss him off twice in my first week. Needless to say, he’s far from my biggest fan. He also makes me really uncomfortable.
“You are heading in the wrong direction…”
“O-oh really? Sheesh, I’m still getting turned around. Three weeks and I still have no sense of direction. Typical Max!”
I took a step back.
“Well I better be on my way now. Looks like I’ve got a ways to walk.”
“I’ll call for assistance.”
“NO–“ Lying isn't working, try being honest-
“Why is that…”
“You’re gross—” Too Honest!
He said nothing.
“I mean, grossly understaffed! You look like you are barely holding on with these dang staff shortages right? I don’t want to impose!” Nailed it.
He continued to eyeball me for a tiny eternity. All I could do was stand there and sweat. Maybe if I don’t move he will leave… like a T-Rex. Unfortunately, Ralph didn't follow predatory chicken rules. He took a step back and very, very slowly started opening his mouth. It stretched and cracked like the Conjuring House with osteoporosis. His teeth were rotting and twisted, and his tongue was a sickly purple color. If I wasn’t running on three hours of sleep and two RedBulls, I probably would have started screaming like a kid in a haunted Chuck E. Cheese. Just as Ralph took in an impressively deep breath to shriek or howl or whatever awful sound the supervisors make to summon managers, I saw my phone fly out of seemingly nowhere with the momentum of a bullet. It twirled wildly like an IOS throwing star and very effectively caved in the right side of Ralph's face.
He fell to the floor with a tragic plopping sound that reminded me of a soggy banana peel landing in a puddle.
“BOOYAH!”
Fred sprung out from behind a loveseat and started doing an awkward victory dance.
“Shoulda tried out for the Yankees!”
“Hopefully you have some reflexes to go with that throwing arm! You’re lucky I don’t do the same to you for running off with my phone!”
“Aww come on Maxy, I had to get you moving somehow.”
I didn’t respond. Instead, I leaned down and plucked my phone from Ralph’s caved-in dome. It came free with a moist snick. Thankfully there was no grey matter or blood, just a gross and slightly greasy film where his skin and my phone made contact.
“If I have to touch one more bodily secretion that isn’t mine one more time this week….”
Fred slowly stuck his foot into Ralph’s side and laughed when the old man made a sound like a deflating sponge cake.
“Eh, you get used to it. Now let’s get this show back on the road.”
“Uh, no. I need to go back to appliances where it's safe. I haven't even been over here for five minutes and Ralph was ready to hand me a pink-slip from life.”
Fred somehow managed to blow a raspberry without his lips moving and pat my shoulder.
“He wishes he had the clearance to do that. All he can do is hoop and holler. Ain't that right, Ralphy?”
Ralph, now drooling, said nothing and only continued to make more squishy deflating noises.
“Is he ok?”
“Oh yeah, I saw him get crushed by a shelf once. He’s even been sat on by Bonnie and still got up. He was totally fine too. I’m sure he enjoyed getting sat on more though, sly dog.”
“Wow–”
“I know right? He’s all about that bass. I respect that.”
“Ew, n-no I mean does he just not die or… does he not have bones?”
He looked back down at Ralph, then back at me. “Well he's got somethin’.”
“How the heck did he get a squash-proof card?”
“Ha! What, you want one too? Trust me, you don’t want what he’s got. Shit’s probably terminal.”
“What’s that mean?”
Fred did something that looked like he was trying to shrug. Trying and failing. He also had the nerve to take another swipe at me in an attempt to grab my phone again.
I jerked it away just in time and slapped his plastic hand away.
“If you don’t cut it out!- Why did you bring me here anyway!? You hate Home and Decor.”
Fred looked like he was about to say something, seemed to buffer then looked back down at Ralph one last time.
“Well, my original plan was to ask Grandpa Pudding here if he still happened to have a phone but I’d doubt he’d tell us now. Guess we go with plan B.”
“What’s plan B?” I asked. Fred answered this by taking another swipe at my phone. I stuck it in the air as high as I could manage.
“HEY! God you’re worse than a three-year-old today! What the hell man?!”
I’ve seen Fred do some pretty weird stuff, aside from the living mannequin thing. All it took was the fraction of a second for me to blink for Fred to be gone with my fucking phone again. I looked at my empty hand, then over my shoulder at him booking it down the aisles. Before I could sputter the creative string of swears I had threaded together just for Fred’s ears the store was plunged into silence again.
“Uh-oh.” It lasted a few seconds longer than before.
“Max there is a call waiting for you on—”
The horrible sound it made was louder. So much louder this time.
I slapped my hands over my ears and could feel the sound vibrating in my chest. It only lasted for a moment, but that's all it took to leave me with an annoying ring in my ears. So that's what he meant.
Now begrudgingly coming to terms that this shift was going to be a probably very dangerous trek across the store, I looked back at the now deflated Ralph. Within moments of being clocked with my phone, he looked like a snake was running around in a human suit and shed him at some point. I almost wanted to feel bad, but he was a dick and I thought better of it. I instead opted to start going through his pockets.
"Let’s see… food tokens, a box cutter, and some new blades. I’m sure those will come in handy."
I had made the mistake of losing my pocket knife on my first day to the disembodied appendages that live under the shelves in aisles 12 and 16. Don’t ask— that’s a story for another time. I clicked up the blade and the thing extended to almost four inches long.
“How many newbies like me have you used this thing on, Ralph? Cause I certainly haven’t seen you open any boxes.”
I stood, gave him one last squishy nudge with my foot, and went to go find that stupid mannequin…
The Home and Decor department almost reminded me a bit of a decrepit thrift store. The musty smell of old, used things and old, used people. Ralph fit in perfectly with the washed-out background that was bathed in piss yellow. But I also couldn’t help but wonder, why did this side of the store look as awful as it did? There were even water stains on the fiberglass ceiling tiles way up above. Everything I’ve seen of the store looked awful in some capacity, but the level of awfulness here was borderline ridiculous.
My job here had me stuck in a different department every shift, something referred to as a Floater. Basically, I was being trained in a bit of everything. The one who hired me told me that I would have this position until I found my place. I thought that statement was strange, because I was only supposed to be here for about four months. At one point I was certain I would stay longer. Twenty dollars an hour for a retail gig sounded like cake, but now I find myself wondering if I’ll even last that long.
“You’ve been standing there for an awfully long time, Maxwell.”
The sound of a woman’s voice hung itself in the air and arrested my attention, it was enough to snap me back into the moment so hard I nearly got whiplash. Wet and broken glass crunched under my feet as I spun. I pull out my new box cutter, holding it out in front of me like I could actually fight something if I needed to.
“It’s Max. And a guy can’t take a second to collect his thoughts?”
“Sure you can, but standing in the middle of an aisle muttering to yourself might be considered a little…crazy, wouldn’t you say?”
A massive spider, as big as a Volkswagen Beetle slowly peered over the shelves that had been covered in ugly pillows and rested atop of it. She had a shiny black body and long, sharp legs that still shimmered like obsidian spears in the low light and easily extended around 17 feet. Her eight eyes were a deep red, and her front two legs ending in unmistakably human hands with painted, manicured nails. Janis, from what I understand, is one of the vendors. She’s also one of the few creatures in here I don’t find myself running and screaming from, shockingly. She’s just kind of a bitch.
“Considering the things that go on here I’m not exactly concerned with what uh… people think of me,” I say slowly aiming the box cutter away. The giant arachnid almost seemed to smile smugly at me from her perch, her mandibles moving and twitching as she spoke.
“Oh, not enjoying your position? You seemed so enthusiastic a few weeks ago.”
“Why in God’s name do you think I would be enjoying this place? I just had a run-in with Ralph I’ll be trying to scrub from my mind for the next three weeks! And I had no idea the shit I’d have to deal with a few weeks ago! This is entrapment! It’s illegal! ”
Janis tapped her perfectly polished claws against the metal shelf like an irritated Disney villain, making annoying tink sounds.
“Still on that are we? Not the brightest color in the box. But a busted-broke college student down on his luck with $5 to his name… people like you thrive in extreme situations. You adapt. Not because you want to, but because you are in the unique position of not having any other choice.”
“I don’t want to adapt or change or anything! I just wanted a job!! Not to end up with a new list of phobias or nearly be killed every time I clock in! Twenty bucks an hour isn’t worth dying for!”
“Well seeing as how you were hired here, no one will miss you if did bite the dust. So make the best of the situation, learn. Maybe bitch less, it will make you more likable.”
“... Ouch.”
“It’s true.”
“I know…I know it’s true. But you didn’t have to say it.”
“ThetaMart, as well as being a space between, has the ability to bring out something in people they would rather not look at. It changes them into something more—” She looked at a moldy pillow sitting beside her on the shelf, she huffed while pushing it away and it went tumbling to the floor with a wet plop.
“More compelling, I'd say. You get to break the monotony and forget how small you are.”
“I am perfectly comfortable with how small I am, thanks.”
“What a winner. I’m sure your girlfriend shares the same sentiment.”
“Was there a point to you Grudge-crawling up there, or are you just here to harass me?”
“I like having the high ground, and I wanted to give you a bit of friendly advice.”
“Well don’t leave me in suspense Obi-Wan.”
“Who’s that?”
“He’s— …never mind. What is it?”
She sighed and slowly lowered herself down the shelf, creaking under her weight as she did so she lowered her voice to a whisper.
“You know how they tell you to stop and smell the roses?.”
“Yeah?”
She reached her hand down into my apron pocket and took out one of the food tokens I had lifted from Ralph. They were made of tarnished brass.
“You may want to skip it this time where you’re going. As for these…” She examined one of them closely.
“Heads or tails, little bug?”
“Uh…t-tails.” I said. She hummed and flicked the coin into the air, I watched the coin owl-eyed as it hovered above us for just a moment before she snatched it and slapped it down on the outer side of her hand. I shuttered reflexively at the quick motion, then felt embarrassed for doing so. Janis seemed to grin in amusement, peeked under her hand at the coin then extended it to me.
“Tails. Luck sways in your favor today. Use it wisely and you might see the end of your shift.” she said.
“You can’t really determine that with a coin. Luck isn’t real.”
“You are really going look a giant talking spider in her face and say–” she lowered her voice a few octaves and said in the universal guy voice, you know the one “Luck isn’t real.” She did have a point. But to accept luck was real, was to accept my luck up until this point was actually kind of terrible and I had no idea why or if I had any way to change it.
“Well if luck is real…it’d be nice to catch a break. But I’m not saying it is.”
“Whatever you say, Floater.”
She sighed and rubbed all eight of her eyes.
“That mannequin wanted me to pass this on to you…” She pulled out a pair of pink toucan-billed flower clippers from seemingly nowhere.
“Go to Garden & Live Goods. He’s waiting for you there. Like I said, avoid smelling the roses.”
She handed the clippers to me and tisked.
“Dumbass.”
“Like, roses specifically or–.”
“Get to steppin’ I have work to do.”
I eyed the clippers. They made a satisfying snipping sound when I pulled the handles.
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it. Really.”
In typical spider fashion, she crept back up the shelf and disappeared over the other side. If every spider is as rude as she is I don’t know if I feel quite as bad as I used to when I would bring a shoe down on them.
I stuck the clippers in my apron, and began to head in the direction I was pretty sure was garden...
Part 2

Something in the orange....tells ..me...
Your line was so romantic but not enough
You wrote it to attract her love for the sky...
Yet you don't know me.
I wonder if you're waiting on my songs to come out,
Come out of my darkness.
You probably don't care.
That's fair.
I don't need filters to love you,
I don't have a sharp tongue.
I hate my voice when it's loud.
I feel the summer sun coming on,
What's gonna kill me,
Are the fomo summer nights,
When I've made EMT a thing in my life,
And to escape the loneliness of the summer setting sun,
On July fifth, and the sadness of the owls hooing at night,
And the cold of the lonely, in the heat of the night,
The lightning in the distance,
The thunder I can't hear,
The silence of the night,
The fireflies, lighting up sections of my heart,
The way my neuroplasticity and brain blood flow,
Connect the brain in light, of synapses snapping together,
Neurotransmitters, chemical messages, bolts of electricity,
The summer night makes me feel so lonely,
On your birthday.
I hope I make it through the night.
I can only manage through a few of those.
She'll text you on your birthday and you'll fun with that opportunity,
And I'll text you, and you'll leave me on read and my heart
Will burrow itself in the tears of my pillow till I never sleep, and the morning will come
And I'll cry because I am not dead.
I'll pray for you in the morning, over my sadness and ask God to
Hold my hand through the pain, calm myself, settle down,
Self soothe.
Make me focus on growing wealthy, affluent, engaging in love,
Of the rest of the summer,
Through exclusively helping others.
Finishing school and working harder.
I thought about my guitar tonight,
While listening to modest mouse and muse albums,
And praying the summer will help me
Build security and love for my talent in work,
Proficiency, the summer sun, settles in my heart
somewhere in
March,
Because I can feel the summer coming,
Dragonflies landing on me,
God telling me of my honesty,
In the sunlight,.over lime green grass and green roses I
planted from Chinese seeds I acquired.
Then, back to dark,
Fireflies, independence, some hazel eyed Medusa
Has my soulmate and she doesn't deserve to have that.
Swimming through the clouds of summer days,
It's too hot to love here,
But too cold of loneliness,
I waiver.
Every one wants to escape their lives,
I just want to make mine plump, freeing, beautiful
Day dreamy.
As all the things we love about love romancing,
Characters in a movie,
Laughing, crying, attractive, selfless, affluent, stoic, funny,
Responsible ext...
Some type of love creed,
That feels like magic,
And encases it completely.
If they marry, I die and leave the house to his children.
Whoever wants it or needs it.
Multiple sunsets.
Oranges...
Something in the sky,
Tells me you're still....
Mine.
I saw the sky tonight,
Over your rancher.

Original prompt: https://www.reddit.com/WritingPrompts/comments/qm5eh4/wp_you_were_the_caretaker_for_the_mythical_beasts/
***
The day I was fired from my job as caretaker for the royal family’s creatures, or as my employers put it, ‘released from duties,’ I didn’t know what to do. Caring for them was practically my whole life.
My quarters at the castle were no longer mine, but I was never someone who relished in filling my living space with things, so I needed no assistance. They’d given me only one day’s notice, but I didn’t even need that day. My personal belongings could all fit in a bag that slung over my shoulder. That didn’t include my books, though, and those were obviously the most important of my things. So, I donated all but my three favorites to the local library. At least I knew they’d be nearby to reread them if I wished.
My replacement was incompetent. It was plain to see to anyone paying attention, but the royal family only cared that she was a noble, and they bought into her song and dance of allegedly proficiency with all manner of creatures. It seemed absurd that they were to replace one woman with another just because of social standing, but after the incidents in town the previous month with a mentally unstable necromancer and several draugr, they’d wanted to ‘upgrade’ the person in charge of their creatures. They were just too foolish to see that that wasn’t what they’d done.
Walking into the forest, I figured I would go through the rocky area to the west of town until I found a cave that was both dry and unoccupied. Such a long time had passed since I’d last slept outdoors that I didn’t even have proper camping equipment. It wouldn’t be a comfortable rest, but I didn’t want to spend my savings on it at the moment, now that I was jobless. Furthermore, I didn’t want to be with the townsfolk right now. For all my efforts, I still blamed them for making such a fuss over that necromancer that the royal family decided to placate them by hiring someone of great renown for the castle’s creatures.
After finding my temporary home before the sun went down, I made a pillow by putting some of my clothing in a bag that I would use to designate clothes that needed to be laundered. A hard bed was one thing; nowhere to rest my head would have been difficult. I watched the sun set, turning the horizon into a beautiful glowing mix of deep orange and red, the blue sky giving way to the dark of night.
At the edge of the cave on the rocky surface of the surrounding area, I built a small fire, tossing in peppermint and lemon balm to attempt to keep away pests. Then, once I’d had dinner, gotten a few into one of my books, and then started to feel sleepy, I snuffed it out. Hoping the smells emanating from the ashes would assist in deterring mosquitos and other bothersome insects, I settled in the spot in which I planned to sleep.
The forest comes alive in a different way when the sun has set. Most assume the animals of the woods all find a safe place to hide away from the world and sleep, and yes, the ones they see during the day certainly do. But the area was teeming with nocturnal life, and the little noises here and there could scare those sleeping rough for the first time. To me it was a gentle chorus of sounds, the croaks of frogs, the hoots of owls, all the sounds that sang together over the echoing foundation of chirping crickets. I listened as I saw the occasionally firefly flit past and, at one point, saw a nearby frog make a meal of one of the crickets.
Many prefer the familiar sounds of people going about nightly business, even if it means risking being roused and sent packing by a store owner unwilling to let you rest in the alley, or being badgered by a drunk who came to the alley to vomit or piss. I prefer the forest. Always have, always will.
I feel a kinship with my ancestors, the ones who came long before me and made their homes in caves like this. There are dangers in the forest, especially in the dark of night, but I’m quite knowledgeable of them all and know how to stay safe. I’d even been particular with the food I’d procured from the kitchen’s chef before I left, eschewing dried meats in favor of things like plain bread and nuts that had little odor and wouldn’t attract predators.
That was why my instincts woke me when I heard the sounds of footsteps. Not those of a person; those were distinctive, easy to identify. These were the footsteps of something large, but to my surprise, I realized I recognized the animal they were coming from. Standing up and walking to the mouth of the cave, I saw the Jorogumo come out from the brush. My Jorogumo. Well, she was never really mine, but if I’d asked her, Nanami probably would have said she belonged to me and I belonged to her.
The colossal spider was a foot taller than me, but there was nothing to be frightened of. She was a carnivore, as were so many of the creatures that the royals kept, but similar to any typical domesticated animal, would never harm me. She was absolutely not domesticated, but I trusted her, the type of solid trust built over time, starting with a sturdy foundation and created from mutual understanding and care. When her multitude of eyes settled on me, she chittered and her pace sped up until she was to a stop in front of me, putting a leg over my shoulder and across my back.
“What are you doing out here, sweetheart?” I asked worriedly, smoothing down the hairs on her legs. Nanami’s demeanor wasn’t distressed. Quite the contrary, she seemed content, and leaned her leg into my pats. “They royals are going to be upset that you left.”
I couldn’t exactly speak with the creatures I cared for when they were in animal form, and couldn’t speak with the ones unable to shift to a human form to speak. But they had abilities to understand me on an empathic level, so they knew what my words meant and how to decipher the feelings behind them. Also, body language conveyed a lot, and from what I could see, she didn’t seem concerned with thoughts of the royals.
Then more footsteps sounded, faint at first and then, as I moved to look behind her, getting gradually louder. “Oh, my,” I said muttered.
The others were coming as well. After a few minutes, those who had been straggling behind caught up, and they were all there. Alfie, the Nuckelavee, came over with his big brown eyes blinking at me tiredly, which didn’t surprise me since it was a bit of a trek and he was not among the nocturnal ones in this gathering. The royals’ ammit, the adze, all of them were there. By this point, the guards must have realized the animals had left, but I doubted any had the nerve to chase after them in an attempt to get them to return.
Moving my gaze back to Nanami, I quietly said, “You are going to get in so much trouble.” I couldn’t hold back a small smile when I said so, however.
The giant spider stepped back and a female human’s body gradually emerged from her back, a partial shift so she would be able to speak. It was visible down to the shoulders and her long, dark hair fell down the carapace that merged with the skin of the human bust. “You leave,” she rasped, her slow voice that of an old woman after a lifelong fondness for cigars. “We leave.”
“Nanami…” I started. Staring into her bulbous eyes, I shook my head and sighed. “I love all of you. You know that. But what I had at the castle was a job. That meant they could find someone else, someone of higher standing. I’m no noble, that’s for sure, so there’s nothing to be done.”
“Noble is foolish,” she said with disdain. “Food is silly, dead and mushy and boring. Noble does not play, does not bring treats, does not know us.”
Giving her a grim smile, I said, “That’s unfortunate. But you bring much pride to the royals by being in their menagerie.”
“Noble does not love us.”
My face fell at that. Not all royals had caretakers that bonded so closely with their beasts, but it was vital if they wanted a highly reputable menagerie. “If you refuse to go back,” I told her, “they might try to force you, and I don’t want that to happen.”
Her human face turned to an expression that said, ‘I’d like to see them try.’
I couldn’t help but laugh, knowing that she was probably right in that respect. I’d held this job for eight years, and the man before me had held it for twenty-eight. It was such an important job, and not just for the reasons the royals held. These creatures were precious, rare, and if they were unsatisfied with their caretaker, they could very well make a fuss that would make a child most destructive, deafening temper tantrum look like a polite request.
Alfie walked up to us. “You help?”
“I cannot help all of you escape out into the wild,” I chuckled. “That would never work, for so many reasons.”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Noble does job. You help.”
Pausing for a moment, I furrowed my brow in curiosity.
It wasn’t a bad idea. As a matter of fact, the king and queen would likely consider it when they realized what had happened tonight. I hoped they wouldn’t blame me, accuse me of telling the animals to leave until I was rehired as their keeper, but from the years I’d known them, it didn’t seem likely. Queen Penelope, at least, knew that I wouldn’t jeopardize the creatures’ safety. And this was indeed an issue of safety, since plenty of townsfolks would consider most of them a threat just by their presence, and would kill them.
“All right,” I said, nodding, causing Nanami to chitter and several others to perk up hopefully. “I’ll ask. But I’m asking. They might say no. If that’s the case, I know they won’t be able to keep you from leaving, but… I just want all of you to be safe. Safe and happy, but mostly safe. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Alfie said. “Understand.”
“Okay then.” I glanced to the cave. “Let me gather my things and we’ll head back to the castle. Hopefully they didn’t panic the town by sounding an alarm that there was a jailbreak of their collection of carnivores.”
storiesbykaren