Moon worksheet for 1st grade
lowerelementary
2024.02.06 04:58 PM-ME-good-TV-shows lowerelementary
A subreddit for educators and parents of children in PK, Kinder, 1st, 2nd, and 3rd grade!
2011.01.21 03:16 d0ncab San José State University
A community of prospective and current students, alumni, faculty and staff, and locals of Silicon Valley. Share and discuss anything related to San José State University. Spartan Up!
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A subreddit for resources on the upcoming Next Generation Science Standards.
2024.05.19 18:09 PlazmaPigeon Questions about holy days of the Tibetan calendar
I have 4 questions about this:
1- When are the 'Uposatha' observations in the Tibetan tradition? In Theravada there are 4, during the 4 stages of the moon, and East Asian Mahayana has 6 days. These are observed by lay people and in South-East Asian countries, they are even/used to be official public holidays. Do the Himalayan countries like Tibet and Bhutan have a similar structure of holy days for lay people? (I am not talking about auspicious days for proper practice like for monks. I know there are regular holy days for practices like Sojong and Tsok, but these don't seem to be for lay people and are mainly for monks and high-level practitioners. I am talking about public monthly holy day Uposatha-equivalents observed by lay people in Himalayan areas).
2- What commitments are usually held on Guru Rinpoche days and Dakini days (10th and 25th) for normal practitioners? Would meat and alcohol be abstained from? Would it be the full 8 precepts like for full moons and new moons? Or are the commitments less strict on these days?
3- When/how is the holy month celebrated? I know it is Saka Dawa, the 4th month, but on Wikipedia about Saka Dawa Duchen celebrations in Bhutan it says:
"Observation of the holy month begins from 1st day of the Saga Dawa, Vesak month that culminates [ends] on the full moon day 15th of the month with celebrations of three holy events of Buddha's life; birth, enlightenment and Death (Mahaparinirvana)"
It seems to say only the first 15 days are the holy month, but I've seen other sources that say the whole month is considered holy and people become vegetarian for the entire month. Does anyone know anything about how long the observance of the holy month is?
4- And what commitments are expected for this month, and for similar times like the 15 days of miracles at the start of the year, and Yarne (first half of Vassa)? Vegetarianism? No alcohol? Celibacy? Fasting? Would the 8 precepts be taken every day at certain time periods? Are the 8 precepts ever even taken at all by Himalayan lay people?
Thanks
submitted by PlazmaPigeon to TibetanBuddhism [link] [comments]
1- When are the 'Uposatha' observations in the Tibetan tradition? In Theravada there are 4, during the 4 stages of the moon, and East Asian Mahayana has 6 days. These are observed by lay people and in South-East Asian countries, they are even/used to be official public holidays. Do the Himalayan countries like Tibet and Bhutan have a similar structure of holy days for lay people? (I am not talking about auspicious days for proper practice like for monks. I know there are regular holy days for practices like Sojong and Tsok, but these don't seem to be for lay people and are mainly for monks and high-level practitioners. I am talking about public monthly holy day Uposatha-equivalents observed by lay people in Himalayan areas).
2- What commitments are usually held on Guru Rinpoche days and Dakini days (10th and 25th) for normal practitioners? Would meat and alcohol be abstained from? Would it be the full 8 precepts like for full moons and new moons? Or are the commitments less strict on these days?
3- When/how is the holy month celebrated? I know it is Saka Dawa, the 4th month, but on Wikipedia about Saka Dawa Duchen celebrations in Bhutan it says:
"Observation of the holy month begins from 1st day of the Saga Dawa, Vesak month that culminates [ends] on the full moon day 15th of the month with celebrations of three holy events of Buddha's life; birth, enlightenment and Death (Mahaparinirvana)"
It seems to say only the first 15 days are the holy month, but I've seen other sources that say the whole month is considered holy and people become vegetarian for the entire month. Does anyone know anything about how long the observance of the holy month is?
4- And what commitments are expected for this month, and for similar times like the 15 days of miracles at the start of the year, and Yarne (first half of Vassa)? Vegetarianism? No alcohol? Celibacy? Fasting? Would the 8 precepts be taken every day at certain time periods? Are the 8 precepts ever even taken at all by Himalayan lay people?
Thanks
2024.05.19 17:49 duckducktuna DCS World Computer Specs
 | Hello all, submitted by duckducktuna to dcsworld [link] [comments] I'm looking to buy a new computer but I'm not very well versed in computer building. I did some preliminary research and it seems like the 4070 super gpu and 7800X3D was recommend. Would anyone mind helping to review my set up and see if these parts are compatible with each other / recommended for DCS? Thank you very much |
2024.05.19 17:35 kraziimari shookt moments sa college so far? 💀
Freshman here, grabe ang shookt ko now sa college HAHAHAHAHA
I remember I was so worried before na baka they will find me immature since sa cof ko ako yung pinakamakulit and treated as a kid, pero grabe ang pagtaas ng maturity level ko when I entered college HAHAHA
. First and foremost, ang hindi mawawala—but I'm still shookt, mga proud cheaters. Now don't get me wrong, I'm not saying this because I want some "moral validation" (may nabasa kasi ako abt this here din), cheating is never a new thing for me, ang bago is LITERAL NA REVIEWER ANG KODIGO N'YA ANTE HAHAHAHA. I don't know if I should be pissed off or matawa sa ginawa n'ya but I was just dumbfounded nung paglingon ko hindi lang small piece of paper, literal na buong bondpaper naka stapler pa nasa lapag HAHAHAHAHA WTF KAKO. Then yung isa sabi pa "ginagawa nga namin yan before nung shs eh", and what's nakakahiya is Education ang program namin💀. Second is mga fresh graduate na instructors. Now this is never an issue for me since magagaling naman sila magturo, pero beh HAHAHA mababalitaan mo may ka-mu silang student first year pa HAHAHAHAHA WTF LANG TALAGA. I mean nababalitaan ko s'ya yes, but never in my life na maiisip kong makakakita ako non in real life!! Yung frenny kong baliko, tinatarget s'ya ng bakla naming instructor sinasakyan n'ya, sabi ko WHY!? ang sagot n'ya beh alang alang daw sa grade AHAHAHHAHA, that's so freakin' unfair pero dang things that they will do for grades nga naman. Third is yung mga nanggugulang na seniors. Now this is what pissed me off talaga, I'm a student leader and pinasok ko agad ang mundo ng organizations sa institution namin kahit 1st year palang. And girl I witnessed how these so called seniors tried to pass their works sa juniors, magchachat na gawin ito gawin iyan, manghihingi ng ganto ng ganyan, and may nagsusumbong talaga sa'kin. What's funny is that they think na walang papalag sa'min kasi juniors kami, little did they know na sinesend ko sa year advisor namin yung proofs HAHAHAHAHA. Lastly is plastikan. Never naging bago ang plastikan sa'kin, I came from private schools and private parin ngayong college, I know how social connections works sa gantong schools. Pero beh iba ang level ng plastikan, literal na don't let your guard down talaga kasi hindi mo alam kung sinong totoo, walang permanent na kaibigan, yung iba ginagawa pang laban ang acads imbis na just help each other out.
Yun lang nakakagulat, its seems so normal if titingnan, but iba parin ang culture shock kasi hanggang college ba naman ganto parin mga ugali? I feel like napaka mature ko tuloy—MATURE!?!?!? HALA HAHAHAHAHAHAHA
submitted by kraziimari to studentsph [link] [comments]
I remember I was so worried before na baka they will find me immature since sa cof ko ako yung pinakamakulit and treated as a kid, pero grabe ang pagtaas ng maturity level ko when I entered college HAHAHA
. First and foremost, ang hindi mawawala—but I'm still shookt, mga proud cheaters. Now don't get me wrong, I'm not saying this because I want some "moral validation" (may nabasa kasi ako abt this here din), cheating is never a new thing for me, ang bago is LITERAL NA REVIEWER ANG KODIGO N'YA ANTE HAHAHAHA. I don't know if I should be pissed off or matawa sa ginawa n'ya but I was just dumbfounded nung paglingon ko hindi lang small piece of paper, literal na buong bondpaper naka stapler pa nasa lapag HAHAHAHAHA WTF KAKO. Then yung isa sabi pa "ginagawa nga namin yan before nung shs eh", and what's nakakahiya is Education ang program namin💀. Second is mga fresh graduate na instructors. Now this is never an issue for me since magagaling naman sila magturo, pero beh HAHAHA mababalitaan mo may ka-mu silang student first year pa HAHAHAHAHA WTF LANG TALAGA. I mean nababalitaan ko s'ya yes, but never in my life na maiisip kong makakakita ako non in real life!! Yung frenny kong baliko, tinatarget s'ya ng bakla naming instructor sinasakyan n'ya, sabi ko WHY!? ang sagot n'ya beh alang alang daw sa grade AHAHAHHAHA, that's so freakin' unfair pero dang things that they will do for grades nga naman. Third is yung mga nanggugulang na seniors. Now this is what pissed me off talaga, I'm a student leader and pinasok ko agad ang mundo ng organizations sa institution namin kahit 1st year palang. And girl I witnessed how these so called seniors tried to pass their works sa juniors, magchachat na gawin ito gawin iyan, manghihingi ng ganto ng ganyan, and may nagsusumbong talaga sa'kin. What's funny is that they think na walang papalag sa'min kasi juniors kami, little did they know na sinesend ko sa year advisor namin yung proofs HAHAHAHAHA. Lastly is plastikan. Never naging bago ang plastikan sa'kin, I came from private schools and private parin ngayong college, I know how social connections works sa gantong schools. Pero beh iba ang level ng plastikan, literal na don't let your guard down talaga kasi hindi mo alam kung sinong totoo, walang permanent na kaibigan, yung iba ginagawa pang laban ang acads imbis na just help each other out.
Yun lang nakakagulat, its seems so normal if titingnan, but iba parin ang culture shock kasi hanggang college ba naman ganto parin mga ugali? I feel like napaka mature ko tuloy—MATURE!?!?!? HALA HAHAHAHAHAHAHA
2024.05.19 17:23 throwawayyyback Mercury Combust or Cazimi?
 | I am practicing how to evaluate plantary conditions and having a little trouble, in particular, understanding how to calculate combustion. From what I understand, 10-15 degrees from the sun a planet is combust, but what if it is less? submitted by throwawayyyback to AskAstrologers [link] [comments] For example and in this chart, the Sun is at 9 degrees Aries and exalted, and Mercury is at 14 degrees Aries (with 5 degrees separating) would it be considered a Cazimi? So far I’ve evaluated their Sun and Mars as exalted, Saturn in Domicile, and moon in the house it likes to be in (11th which Taurus traditionally occupies) But I don’t know what to make of Venus, and the Jupiter rx conjunct ASC Scorpio 1st house is throwing me off a bit. I’m relatively new but practicing on friends and family (for my own knowledge, not for a reading.) So any advice or suggestions would be greatly appreciated! |
2024.05.19 17:22 Making_flowers [US-MD] [H] MORE KEYS, MORE PRICE DROPS, MORE INVENTORY, including ASM, X-Men, Batman, Wolverine, DC, silver age, golden age, horror, you name it I have it. MUCH easier navigation, too! [W] PayPal
Cleaned up the inventory into folders on an easy to navigate Google Drive and added direct links on each issue below. Click on the issue to be taken directly to the folder with that issue's photos. You can scroll below the inventory list for more details on condition and key facts. I’m always open to bundle deals and reasonable offers. Let's talk, I need to make room.
I’ve also taken on a lot of random fillers as I fill inventory, so I’ll be including a random comic valued around $10 (legitimately, not junk) in each order.
These prices include shipping (Gemini mailers whenever possible). I've tried to provide condition explanations, photos of everything (even the ones below $100) and detailed photos.
Again, all images are now organized much better in individual Google drive folders.
Inventory with pictures (new items since last post in bold, scroll below list for details on each):
X-Men
X-Men
X-Men #39 - 1967 - Debut of the new X-Men costumes: $85
This is an awesome book. It’s absolutely beautiful with just a little bit of wear to the outside edges in spots. Great colors, solidly attached. I love this one. Another one I’m only selling because I have it in a higher grade now in my PC.
X-Men #221 - 1987 - First Appearance of Mister Sinister: $70
Awesome condition. Just a couple of minor spine ticks. Other than that, beautiful. See photos.
X-Men #4 - 1992 - First Appearance of Omega Red: $20
Awesome condition. Not even any spine ticks. See photos
Wolverine (1988) #1 - 1988 - Can’t have the 1982? Take this instead!: $65
Also in awesome, gorgeous condition. Very, very clean. See photos.
Amazing Adventures #11 - 1972 - First furry beast: $100
In awesome condition. Minor, tiny blemish (possibly a tape pull?) on the bottom of the A on cover. See photo, but very tiny blemish.
Amazing Adventures #13, #16 & #17 - $42
Good to great condition on these Beast issues, including the Juggernaut vs Beast cover. Bundle with Amazing Adventures #11 (first furred Beast) and I'll give you a great deal.
Spider-Man
Amazing Spider-Man #29 - 1965 - SLAB CGC 4.5 - Second Scorpion: $135
Slabbed. See photos.
Amazing Spider-Man #33 - 1966 - Classic story and iconic cover. You know it, I know it.: $180
This iconic book is in good to great shape, see the photos for the details. Solidly attached and great colors. Needs a press.
Amazing Spider-Man #40 - 1966 - Origin of the Green Goblin, Iconic Cover: $175
Looks great, clean, bright colors. Complete and solidly attached. See photos
Amazing Spider-Man #64- 1968 - Romita Spider-Man vs. Vulture Cover: $84
Great condition. Bright awesome colors.
Amazing Spider-Man #72 - 1969 - Shocker cover: $35
Is worn and the centerfold is detached (see photos). But it is complete and still has good colors on the interior.
Amazing Spider-Man #121 -1973 - Death of Gwen Stacy: $190
Lower grade since the cover is worn, has some holes but despite that the staples are attached, colors are good, and everything is attached and complete. The inside looks good, too. See photos for details.
Amazing Spider-Man #136 -1974 - First appearance of Harry Osborn at the Green Goblin: $48
Great looking book. Has some non-staining dirt on the back cover that can be easily cleaned. Solid, beautiful colors especially on that cover. Love this story and cover
Amazing Spider-Man #361 9.4 Slab - 1992 - First full appearance of Carnage: $110
High grade slab.
Amazing Spider-Man #361 Newsstand - 1992 - First appearance of Carnage - Slice at top, $38
Here's a tragedy. This otherwise beautiful high grade major key book has a clean scissor cut at the top through the whole book. Included photos and closeups.
Spider-Man vs. Wolverine #1 - 1987 - Death of First Hobgoblin: $19
Awesome condition. Pressable non-color breaking crease on back cover. See photos
Marvel Team-Up Annual #2 - 1978 - Spider-Man & The Hulk team-up: $25
In awesome condition. No spine ticks, creases, color breaks or bends.
Batman
Batman #191 - 1967 - Much like this post, Bat-Auction! Everything Must Go!: $18
Good shape, some wear. Clean exteriors.
Batman #209 - 1968 - KITTY!: $18
Good shape, minor wear, clean but worn.
Batman #217 - 1969 - Iconic cover art by Neal Adams: $38
Great shape, some wear on the cover. Solid book, great art and interiors.
Batman #357 - 1983 - First cameo of Jason Todd, 1st full appearance of Killer Croc: $62
Controversial 1sts aside, CGC counts it that way so who am I to quibble? Anyway, this one is in great shape. Back needs a press and thee is some minor wear to the edges but its a solid book with great interiors.
Batman Annual #14 - 1990 - Iconic Neal Adams Two-Face Cover, Origin of Two-Face: $15
Amazing condition, almost unused. See photos.
Detective Comics #259 - 1958 - First Appearance of Calendar Man: $175
Worn but expected for its age. Solid staples and fully attached. Great colors.
Detective Comics #324 (1964) and Batman #410 (1987) - $32
324 in good condition but could use a clean and press. Batman 410 is in awesome condition, but considering the prices of these I figured I’d just throw them together.
Detective Comics #355 and 2 copies of #375 - $25
Some classic old Batman. Good but a cleaning is needed on 355, two copies of 375 one clean and great condition one worn in but complete and attached.
Marvel Heroes
Incredible Hulk #250 (Newsstand) - 1980 - Iconic Hulk vs. Silver Surfer cover: $38
Awesome condition. See photos.
Marvel Feature #1 - 1971 - Origin & First Defenders: $49
I good condition with fantastic colors throughout. Has tape pull on cover, subscription crease color break (see photos)
Tales of Suspense #94 - 1967 - First appearance of M.O.D.O.K.: $55
In pretty good condition, with a little edge wear and marks on the cover in places. Other than that it has bright clean pages and good colors.
Captain America #110 - 1969 - Rick Jones dons Bucky Costume, first appearance of Madame Hydra: $50
Iconic Jim Steranko cover and art. In OK condition, a bit worn, could definitely use a cleaning. See photos.
Journey into Mystery #125 - 1966 - Iconic cover and last Journey into Mystery before Thor title change: $49
Very good condition, has a small chip out of the bottom left cover but other than some cover wear it’s just a solid book with great colors.
Invaders #31 - 1978 - Frankenstein is a Nazi. Come on: $17
In awesome condition. Also did I mention Captain America fights Nazi Frankenstein?
Daredevil #157 (Newsstand) - 1979: $15
Awesome condition. No spine ticks, creases, color breaks or bends.
Daredevil #164 (Newsstand) - 1980 - Iconic Cover: $50
In awesome condition. Great colors on cover despite all the white. No spine ticks, creases, color breaks or bends.
Daredevil #184 Newsstand - 1982 - Iconic cover: $22
In fantastic condition. Newsstand variant that has been very well kept.
Astonishing Tales featuring Dr. Doom & Kazar #1 - 1970 - First issue in series: $15
In great condition. Great colors and quality. Doctor Doom.
Sub-Mariner #15 and #31 - Silver Age Namor bundle: $22
Great colors and interiors. Fading on spine cover on #15, #31 in great condition, see photos.
Fantastic Four #150 - 1974 - Wedding of Crystal and Quicksilver: $25
In awesome condition. No spine ticks, creases, color breaks or bends.
Tales to Astonish #58 - 1964 - Silver age Giant Man: $19
Worn condition but complete and attached. See photos.
DC
Green Lantern #59 - 1968 - First appearance of Guy Gardner: $115
Worn but complete. Attached at top staple, bottom staple detached.
Flash #113 - 1960 - First appearance and origin of the Trickster: $75
This one looks good until you realize it has tape up the spine holding the loose staples on. Included pictures of the staples and tape. It is complete and has good colors otherwise, but still low grade because of the tape/staple issue.
Flash #129 - 1962 - First team-up of golden age Flash and silver age Flash; first appearance of golden age Green Lantern and JSA in silver age: $90
Good condition! Very solid, great colors, complete and attached.
Flash #147 - 1964 - Second appearance of Professor Zoom: $90
Good condition! Very solid, great colors, complete and attached.
Aquaman #11 - 1963 - First appearance of Mera: $90
Worn condition but solid, complete and attached.
Action Comics #263 - 1960 - Last appearance of Bizarro world. End of Bizarro world not told. Not good deal.: $33
Cover has pen on it and is worn but interiors are good, complete and attached and colors are great.
Horror
Frankenstein #1, Marvel - 1973 - Fist appearance and origin of Frankenstein in Marvel comics: $35
Worn but complete, attached, and cool as all hell. See photos for condition. Could definitely use a cleaning. A hard to find book at this price.
Werewolf by Night #4 - 1972 - Introduction of the Darkhold: $20
Low grade, heavy wear on the cover front and back. Get a key at a steal!
Werewolf by Night #8 - 1973 - Has Mark Jewelers insert included: $26
Is in great shape and includes a Mark Jewelers insert making this regular issue a little more rare.
Werewolf by Night #18 - 1974 - $22
Worn condition but great colors. See photos.
Tomb of Dracula #18 -1974 - First battle of Dracula & Werewolf by Night: $32
Nice shape. Needs a press but is solid and colors are good.
Tomb of Dracula #27 and #63 - $23
Non-key issues in great condition, just throwing together to move.
Strange Tales #73 - 1960 - First appearance of Grottu, first appearance of ‘Frank’ who later becomes Ulysses Bloodstone. Great old horror in low grade: $20
Book is beat, see photos. But it’s an awesome piece of Marvel monster history. I’m only selling because I recently got a high grade copy and I’m selling at this price in hopes someone wants to give it a home in their PC.
Beware! #1 - 1973 - First issue reprints horror stories from Menace, Spellbound and Tales of Suspense: $25
Overall good shape. Solid book, some wear on the cover. But firmly intact and a great 1st issue.
Early Man-Thing lot: Astonishing Tales #13, Adventure into Fear #11-13: $80 (willing to split this lot up)
First cover appearance of Man-Thing, and 3rd appearance overall in awesome condition. The Fear 11-13 are in good condition, but a little more worn than the Astonishing.
House of Secrets #91 - 1971 - Iconic Neal Adams cover: $32
Book is in great condition. There is some minor chipping on a portion of the bottom edge of the cover but other than the wear on the cover it is a beautiful book.
Giant Size Chillers #1 - 1975 - John Romita art: $20
Not the more valuable 1974 with Drac but this is in awesome condition and still some great classic horror.
Tower of Shadows Annual #1 - 1971 - Romita cover and Neal Adams art: $25
Great condition. Good colors, solid book.
Dead of Night #1 - 1973 - Romita art: $35
Really great condition, with a minor color rub or stain or something (can’t tell what) to a spot on the bottom of the front cover and top of the back. Fantastic colors, white pages.
SCI-FI
Mystery in Space #68 - 1961 - 10c Comic Goodness: $25
Cover is detached, but hey, it’s a 10c comic. Otherwise good colors and pages.
Strange Adventures #138 - 1962: $18
Good condition, good colors.
Golden and Silver Age Lot of 12- $85
Came into a lot of worn golden and silver books I know little about. Would like to offload them all together, so take a look at the album. Includes Little Lulu, Cheyenne Kid, the Flintstones, Tarzan, some other Gold Key and Dell stuff and an Adventures book from 1945. Did some research to get prices, take a look.
Star Spangled War Stories #113 - 1964 -Bruh, they’re fighting pterodactyls: $17
In good shape. Some wear to the back cover and minor wear on the front. Great story and art.
submitted by Making_flowers to comicswap [link] [comments]
I’ve also taken on a lot of random fillers as I fill inventory, so I’ll be including a random comic valued around $10 (legitimately, not junk) in each order.
These prices include shipping (Gemini mailers whenever possible). I've tried to provide condition explanations, photos of everything (even the ones below $100) and detailed photos.
Again, all images are now organized much better in individual Google drive folders.
Inventory with pictures (new items since last post in bold, scroll below list for details on each):
X-Men
- X-Men #39 - $80
- Wolverine (1988) #1 - $65
- X-Men #221 - $70
- X-Men #4 (1992) - $20
- Amazing Adventures #11 - $100
- Amazing Adventures #13, #16 & #17 - $42
- Bundle with Amazing Adventures #11 for $120
- Amazing Spider-Man #29 - $135
- Amazing Spider-Man #33 - $180
- Amazing Spider-Man #40 - $175
- Amazing Spider-Man #64 - $84
- Amazing Spider-Man #72 - $35
- Amazing Spider-Man #121 - $190
- Amazing Spider-Man #136 - $48
- Amazing Spider-Man #361 9.4 Slab - $110
- Amazing Spider-Man #361 Newsstand (slice damage) - $38
- Spider-Man vs. Wolverine #1 - $19
- Marvel Team-Up Annual #2 - $25
- Batman #191 - $18
- Batman #209 - $18
- Batman #217 - $38
- Batman #357 - $62
- Batman Annual #14 - $15
- Detective Comics #259 - $175
- Detective Comics #324 and Batman #410 - $32
- Detective Comics #355 and 2 copies of #375 - $25
- Incredible Hulk #250 (Newsstand) - $38
- Marvel Feature #1 - $49
- Tales of Suspense #94 - $55
- Captain America #110 - $50
- Journey into Mystery #125 - $49
- Invaders #31 (Nazi Frankenstein) - $17
- Daredevil #184 Newsstand - $22
- Daredevil #157 - $15
- Daredevil #164 (Newsstand) - $50
- Astonishing Tales featuring Dr. Doom & Kazar #1 - $15
- Sub-Mariner #15 and #31 - $22
- Fantastic Four #150 - $25
- Tales to Astonish #58 - $19
- Green Lantern #59 - $115
- Flash #113 - $75
- Flash #129 - $90
- Flash #147 - $90
- Aquaman #11 - $90
- Action Comics #263 - $33
- Frankenstein #1 Marvel - $37
- Werewolf by Night #4 (low grade) - $20
- Werewolf by Night #8 Mark Jewelers Insert - $26
- Werewolf by Night #18 - $22
- Tomb of Dracula #18 - $32
- Tomb of Dracula #27 and #63 - $23
- Strange Tales #73 (low grade) - $22
- Beware! #1 - $25
- Early Man-Thing lot: Astonishing Tales #13, Adventure into Fear #11-13: $80 (willing to split this lot up)
- House of Secrets #91 - $32
- Giant Size Chillers #1 (1975 not 1974) - $20
- Tower of Shadows Annual #1 - $25
- Dead of Night #1 - $35
- Mystery in Space #68 - $25
- Strange Adventures #138 - $18
- Golden and Silver Age Lot of 12- $85
- Star Spangled War Stories #113 - $17
X-Men
X-Men #39 - 1967 - Debut of the new X-Men costumes: $85
This is an awesome book. It’s absolutely beautiful with just a little bit of wear to the outside edges in spots. Great colors, solidly attached. I love this one. Another one I’m only selling because I have it in a higher grade now in my PC.
X-Men #221 - 1987 - First Appearance of Mister Sinister: $70
Awesome condition. Just a couple of minor spine ticks. Other than that, beautiful. See photos.
X-Men #4 - 1992 - First Appearance of Omega Red: $20
Awesome condition. Not even any spine ticks. See photos
Wolverine (1988) #1 - 1988 - Can’t have the 1982? Take this instead!: $65
Also in awesome, gorgeous condition. Very, very clean. See photos.
Amazing Adventures #11 - 1972 - First furry beast: $100
In awesome condition. Minor, tiny blemish (possibly a tape pull?) on the bottom of the A on cover. See photo, but very tiny blemish.
Amazing Adventures #13, #16 & #17 - $42
Good to great condition on these Beast issues, including the Juggernaut vs Beast cover. Bundle with Amazing Adventures #11 (first furred Beast) and I'll give you a great deal.
Spider-Man
Amazing Spider-Man #29 - 1965 - SLAB CGC 4.5 - Second Scorpion: $135
Slabbed. See photos.
Amazing Spider-Man #33 - 1966 - Classic story and iconic cover. You know it, I know it.: $180
This iconic book is in good to great shape, see the photos for the details. Solidly attached and great colors. Needs a press.
Amazing Spider-Man #40 - 1966 - Origin of the Green Goblin, Iconic Cover: $175
Looks great, clean, bright colors. Complete and solidly attached. See photos
Amazing Spider-Man #64- 1968 - Romita Spider-Man vs. Vulture Cover: $84
Great condition. Bright awesome colors.
Amazing Spider-Man #72 - 1969 - Shocker cover: $35
Is worn and the centerfold is detached (see photos). But it is complete and still has good colors on the interior.
Amazing Spider-Man #121 -1973 - Death of Gwen Stacy: $190
Lower grade since the cover is worn, has some holes but despite that the staples are attached, colors are good, and everything is attached and complete. The inside looks good, too. See photos for details.
Amazing Spider-Man #136 -1974 - First appearance of Harry Osborn at the Green Goblin: $48
Great looking book. Has some non-staining dirt on the back cover that can be easily cleaned. Solid, beautiful colors especially on that cover. Love this story and cover
Amazing Spider-Man #361 9.4 Slab - 1992 - First full appearance of Carnage: $110
High grade slab.
Amazing Spider-Man #361 Newsstand - 1992 - First appearance of Carnage - Slice at top, $38
Here's a tragedy. This otherwise beautiful high grade major key book has a clean scissor cut at the top through the whole book. Included photos and closeups.
Spider-Man vs. Wolverine #1 - 1987 - Death of First Hobgoblin: $19
Awesome condition. Pressable non-color breaking crease on back cover. See photos
Marvel Team-Up Annual #2 - 1978 - Spider-Man & The Hulk team-up: $25
In awesome condition. No spine ticks, creases, color breaks or bends.
Batman
Batman #191 - 1967 - Much like this post, Bat-Auction! Everything Must Go!: $18
Good shape, some wear. Clean exteriors.
Batman #209 - 1968 - KITTY!: $18
Good shape, minor wear, clean but worn.
Batman #217 - 1969 - Iconic cover art by Neal Adams: $38
Great shape, some wear on the cover. Solid book, great art and interiors.
Batman #357 - 1983 - First cameo of Jason Todd, 1st full appearance of Killer Croc: $62
Controversial 1sts aside, CGC counts it that way so who am I to quibble? Anyway, this one is in great shape. Back needs a press and thee is some minor wear to the edges but its a solid book with great interiors.
Batman Annual #14 - 1990 - Iconic Neal Adams Two-Face Cover, Origin of Two-Face: $15
Amazing condition, almost unused. See photos.
Detective Comics #259 - 1958 - First Appearance of Calendar Man: $175
Worn but expected for its age. Solid staples and fully attached. Great colors.
Detective Comics #324 (1964) and Batman #410 (1987) - $32
324 in good condition but could use a clean and press. Batman 410 is in awesome condition, but considering the prices of these I figured I’d just throw them together.
Detective Comics #355 and 2 copies of #375 - $25
Some classic old Batman. Good but a cleaning is needed on 355, two copies of 375 one clean and great condition one worn in but complete and attached.
Marvel Heroes
Incredible Hulk #250 (Newsstand) - 1980 - Iconic Hulk vs. Silver Surfer cover: $38
Awesome condition. See photos.
Marvel Feature #1 - 1971 - Origin & First Defenders: $49
I good condition with fantastic colors throughout. Has tape pull on cover, subscription crease color break (see photos)
Tales of Suspense #94 - 1967 - First appearance of M.O.D.O.K.: $55
In pretty good condition, with a little edge wear and marks on the cover in places. Other than that it has bright clean pages and good colors.
Captain America #110 - 1969 - Rick Jones dons Bucky Costume, first appearance of Madame Hydra: $50
Iconic Jim Steranko cover and art. In OK condition, a bit worn, could definitely use a cleaning. See photos.
Journey into Mystery #125 - 1966 - Iconic cover and last Journey into Mystery before Thor title change: $49
Very good condition, has a small chip out of the bottom left cover but other than some cover wear it’s just a solid book with great colors.
Invaders #31 - 1978 - Frankenstein is a Nazi. Come on: $17
In awesome condition. Also did I mention Captain America fights Nazi Frankenstein?
Daredevil #157 (Newsstand) - 1979: $15
Awesome condition. No spine ticks, creases, color breaks or bends.
Daredevil #164 (Newsstand) - 1980 - Iconic Cover: $50
In awesome condition. Great colors on cover despite all the white. No spine ticks, creases, color breaks or bends.
Daredevil #184 Newsstand - 1982 - Iconic cover: $22
In fantastic condition. Newsstand variant that has been very well kept.
Astonishing Tales featuring Dr. Doom & Kazar #1 - 1970 - First issue in series: $15
In great condition. Great colors and quality. Doctor Doom.
Sub-Mariner #15 and #31 - Silver Age Namor bundle: $22
Great colors and interiors. Fading on spine cover on #15, #31 in great condition, see photos.
Fantastic Four #150 - 1974 - Wedding of Crystal and Quicksilver: $25
In awesome condition. No spine ticks, creases, color breaks or bends.
Tales to Astonish #58 - 1964 - Silver age Giant Man: $19
Worn condition but complete and attached. See photos.
DC
Green Lantern #59 - 1968 - First appearance of Guy Gardner: $115
Worn but complete. Attached at top staple, bottom staple detached.
Flash #113 - 1960 - First appearance and origin of the Trickster: $75
This one looks good until you realize it has tape up the spine holding the loose staples on. Included pictures of the staples and tape. It is complete and has good colors otherwise, but still low grade because of the tape/staple issue.
Flash #129 - 1962 - First team-up of golden age Flash and silver age Flash; first appearance of golden age Green Lantern and JSA in silver age: $90
Good condition! Very solid, great colors, complete and attached.
Flash #147 - 1964 - Second appearance of Professor Zoom: $90
Good condition! Very solid, great colors, complete and attached.
Aquaman #11 - 1963 - First appearance of Mera: $90
Worn condition but solid, complete and attached.
Action Comics #263 - 1960 - Last appearance of Bizarro world. End of Bizarro world not told. Not good deal.: $33
Cover has pen on it and is worn but interiors are good, complete and attached and colors are great.
Horror
Frankenstein #1, Marvel - 1973 - Fist appearance and origin of Frankenstein in Marvel comics: $35
Worn but complete, attached, and cool as all hell. See photos for condition. Could definitely use a cleaning. A hard to find book at this price.
Werewolf by Night #4 - 1972 - Introduction of the Darkhold: $20
Low grade, heavy wear on the cover front and back. Get a key at a steal!
Werewolf by Night #8 - 1973 - Has Mark Jewelers insert included: $26
Is in great shape and includes a Mark Jewelers insert making this regular issue a little more rare.
Werewolf by Night #18 - 1974 - $22
Worn condition but great colors. See photos.
Tomb of Dracula #18 -1974 - First battle of Dracula & Werewolf by Night: $32
Nice shape. Needs a press but is solid and colors are good.
Tomb of Dracula #27 and #63 - $23
Non-key issues in great condition, just throwing together to move.
Strange Tales #73 - 1960 - First appearance of Grottu, first appearance of ‘Frank’ who later becomes Ulysses Bloodstone. Great old horror in low grade: $20
Book is beat, see photos. But it’s an awesome piece of Marvel monster history. I’m only selling because I recently got a high grade copy and I’m selling at this price in hopes someone wants to give it a home in their PC.
Beware! #1 - 1973 - First issue reprints horror stories from Menace, Spellbound and Tales of Suspense: $25
Overall good shape. Solid book, some wear on the cover. But firmly intact and a great 1st issue.
Early Man-Thing lot: Astonishing Tales #13, Adventure into Fear #11-13: $80 (willing to split this lot up)
First cover appearance of Man-Thing, and 3rd appearance overall in awesome condition. The Fear 11-13 are in good condition, but a little more worn than the Astonishing.
House of Secrets #91 - 1971 - Iconic Neal Adams cover: $32
Book is in great condition. There is some minor chipping on a portion of the bottom edge of the cover but other than the wear on the cover it is a beautiful book.
Giant Size Chillers #1 - 1975 - John Romita art: $20
Not the more valuable 1974 with Drac but this is in awesome condition and still some great classic horror.
Tower of Shadows Annual #1 - 1971 - Romita cover and Neal Adams art: $25
Great condition. Good colors, solid book.
Dead of Night #1 - 1973 - Romita art: $35
Really great condition, with a minor color rub or stain or something (can’t tell what) to a spot on the bottom of the front cover and top of the back. Fantastic colors, white pages.
SCI-FI
Mystery in Space #68 - 1961 - 10c Comic Goodness: $25
Cover is detached, but hey, it’s a 10c comic. Otherwise good colors and pages.
Strange Adventures #138 - 1962: $18
Good condition, good colors.
Golden and Silver Age Lot of 12- $85
Came into a lot of worn golden and silver books I know little about. Would like to offload them all together, so take a look at the album. Includes Little Lulu, Cheyenne Kid, the Flintstones, Tarzan, some other Gold Key and Dell stuff and an Adventures book from 1945. Did some research to get prices, take a look.
Star Spangled War Stories #113 - 1964 -Bruh, they’re fighting pterodactyls: $17
In good shape. Some wear to the back cover and minor wear on the front. Great story and art.
2024.05.19 17:08 Rosiesolo Planning to shift to UPD, please help
For background: I feel like I am risking too much here at UST because I set high expectations for myself. I didn't pass the UPCA back in 2023, yet passed the USTET with my priority program, AB in Political Science. Kaso, my family wasn't financially well-off but I still persevered, promising them that I would take any scholarship opportunity.
Luckily, I passed the San Lorenzo Ruiz (Working Scholar) scholarship. It was manageable at first during our 1st semester and survived. Yet, 2nd semester came and it was hard to cope with, especially bumigat yung readings and schoolwork. I was constantly getting low scores on quizzes kahit na wala ako tulog from studying. Tapos, it was hard to manage my time, being a working scholar, required to render 24 hours a week. I was super drained and lost my motivation, all together.
I feel like I over-estimated my capabilities, and risking too much nga sa UST. But, I am uncertain if makakapasa pa ba 'ko sa major subject ko, so I want to shift sa UPD para at least kahit bumagsak, libre.
I just have some questions, if anyone can answer, it would be a big help. 1. If I get a singko in my grade, but still pass the required GWA (which is 2.00), can I still shift? 2. If I manage to shift, would I be disqualified for Latin honors?
submitted by Rosiesolo to peyups [link] [comments]
Luckily, I passed the San Lorenzo Ruiz (Working Scholar) scholarship. It was manageable at first during our 1st semester and survived. Yet, 2nd semester came and it was hard to cope with, especially bumigat yung readings and schoolwork. I was constantly getting low scores on quizzes kahit na wala ako tulog from studying. Tapos, it was hard to manage my time, being a working scholar, required to render 24 hours a week. I was super drained and lost my motivation, all together.
I feel like I over-estimated my capabilities, and risking too much nga sa UST. But, I am uncertain if makakapasa pa ba 'ko sa major subject ko, so I want to shift sa UPD para at least kahit bumagsak, libre.
I just have some questions, if anyone can answer, it would be a big help. 1. If I get a singko in my grade, but still pass the required GWA (which is 2.00), can I still shift? 2. If I manage to shift, would I be disqualified for Latin honors?
2024.05.19 17:03 Rosiesolo Planning to shift to UPD, please help
For background: I feel like I am risking too much here at UST because I set high expectations for myself. I didn't pass the UPCA back in 2023, yet passed the USTET with my priority program, AB in Political Science. Kaso, my family wasn't financially well-off but I still persevered, promising them that I would take any scholarship opportunity.
Luckily, I passed the San Lorenzo Ruiz (Working Scholar) scholarship. It was manageable at first during our 1st semester and survived. Yet, 2nd semester came and it was hard to cope with, especially bumigat yung readings and schoolwork. I was constantly getting low scores on quizzes kahit na wala ako tulog from studying. Tapos, it was hard to manage my time, being a working scholar, required to render 24 hours a week. I was super drained and lost my motivation, all together.
I feel like I over-estimated my capabilities, and risking too much nga sa UST. But, I am uncertain if makakapasa pa ba 'ko sa major subject ko, so I want to shift sa UPD para at least kahit bumagsak, libre.
I just have some questions, if anyone can answer, it would be a big help. 1. If I get a singko in my grade, but still pass the required GWA (which is 2.00), can I still shift? 2. If I manage to shift, would I be disqualified for Latin honors?
submitted by Rosiesolo to Tomasino [link] [comments]
Luckily, I passed the San Lorenzo Ruiz (Working Scholar) scholarship. It was manageable at first during our 1st semester and survived. Yet, 2nd semester came and it was hard to cope with, especially bumigat yung readings and schoolwork. I was constantly getting low scores on quizzes kahit na wala ako tulog from studying. Tapos, it was hard to manage my time, being a working scholar, required to render 24 hours a week. I was super drained and lost my motivation, all together.
I feel like I over-estimated my capabilities, and risking too much nga sa UST. But, I am uncertain if makakapasa pa ba 'ko sa major subject ko, so I want to shift sa UPD para at least kahit bumagsak, libre.
I just have some questions, if anyone can answer, it would be a big help. 1. If I get a singko in my grade, but still pass the required GWA (which is 2.00), can I still shift? 2. If I manage to shift, would I be disqualified for Latin honors?
2024.05.19 16:31 realchadd Moving to Texas. Apply for a credential
Hi. My wife and I are looking at moving to Texas for my work. She is a 1 year teacher and has preliminary credential and she’s looking to teach between 1st and 3rd grade. If move this summer she won’t have cleared her credential. Does anybody know how long it would take for her to apply for and get a credential in Texas? Also would her masters degree credits apply to her credential?
submitted by realchadd to TexasTeachers [link] [comments]
2024.05.19 16:06 banoffee06 i need advice on picking a uni course...
so... how does maths with music sound?
i am definitely a jack of all trades, but more importantly i am a master of none. however, i love maths and music. and i would say i'm quite good at them?? leeds offers a course in this, leeds is also my top pick for university rn because it ticks all of my boxes.
i don't do IB music, which is what they ideally want. i didn't do it because i despise the teacher, she fucked up our gcses and i really do not want to test how bad she is for IB (she missed the whole first term of Y12 because she was very ill, and missed another couple of weeks this term because she was ill again. she also can't teach when she IS in, more prioritises school concerts, which she terrorizes non musicians over as well). i would have done it at higher level otherwise.
disadvantages to doing this course - i would have to do grade 8 classical guitar alongside IB, which would be a massive pain in the ass. i'm very close to my grade 5 theory exam and will have it done by summer. however i think realistically i won't even have grade 7 by november. i could do grade 8 before i go to uni during the summer after my exams, but idk if this works. also, i'm not sure if i'm good enough for it. but i love performing music and being around music people and talking about music and making music and listening to music sooooo much, but i'm also aware i probably won't stand out on a music course in terms of actual talent. it's because i don't work hard enough on music, because i'm busy with IB. i don't know my limit, and i don't want my limit to end up being something not great. i think i'm good at being creative, but i really want to learn how to use logic/fl studio and produce my own music.
i didn't talk about maths so much because i'm much more sure about getting the grades i need for it, should be no problem for me.
also i'm not sure if this degree will be a disadvantage to me, it doesn't seem the most employable, it's more something i would enjoy and make good connections with (so therefore get a 1st or 2:1) and use as a springboard for my master's (i plan on doing a masters in something way more jobsy like CS, maths or software engineering)
as well as this, leeds is the only uni that offers this course that i really want to go to, other than edinburgh, but edinburgh wants a 7 in IB maths which i don't honestly think i'm capable of, at least not right now. would this affect what i can put on my personal statement?
tysm for any advice :)))
submitted by banoffee06 to UniUK [link] [comments]
i am definitely a jack of all trades, but more importantly i am a master of none. however, i love maths and music. and i would say i'm quite good at them?? leeds offers a course in this, leeds is also my top pick for university rn because it ticks all of my boxes.
i don't do IB music, which is what they ideally want. i didn't do it because i despise the teacher, she fucked up our gcses and i really do not want to test how bad she is for IB (she missed the whole first term of Y12 because she was very ill, and missed another couple of weeks this term because she was ill again. she also can't teach when she IS in, more prioritises school concerts, which she terrorizes non musicians over as well). i would have done it at higher level otherwise.
disadvantages to doing this course - i would have to do grade 8 classical guitar alongside IB, which would be a massive pain in the ass. i'm very close to my grade 5 theory exam and will have it done by summer. however i think realistically i won't even have grade 7 by november. i could do grade 8 before i go to uni during the summer after my exams, but idk if this works. also, i'm not sure if i'm good enough for it. but i love performing music and being around music people and talking about music and making music and listening to music sooooo much, but i'm also aware i probably won't stand out on a music course in terms of actual talent. it's because i don't work hard enough on music, because i'm busy with IB. i don't know my limit, and i don't want my limit to end up being something not great. i think i'm good at being creative, but i really want to learn how to use logic/fl studio and produce my own music.
i didn't talk about maths so much because i'm much more sure about getting the grades i need for it, should be no problem for me.
also i'm not sure if this degree will be a disadvantage to me, it doesn't seem the most employable, it's more something i would enjoy and make good connections with (so therefore get a 1st or 2:1) and use as a springboard for my master's (i plan on doing a masters in something way more jobsy like CS, maths or software engineering)
as well as this, leeds is the only uni that offers this course that i really want to go to, other than edinburgh, but edinburgh wants a 7 in IB maths which i don't honestly think i'm capable of, at least not right now. would this affect what i can put on my personal statement?
tysm for any advice :)))
2024.05.19 16:04 APCleriot My Family Isn't In The Family Photos
What’s in the closet, Kirsty?
He knew I hid a secret.
I smiled, tried to look confused.
He waited, crossing his arms.
I worried that he'd already seen. He had.
What else could he think about the pile?
His wife’s a cheater. She has another life. Another husband. Children.
He’d never believe the truth: I’m not a cheater; there’s no other life; no other man; I don’t know who the children are who visit me at night.
But I did have a secret. And maybe it’s fair to say another life, even if was smaller and against my will.
I should have destroyed those frames, burned the photos within. Now it looked like I saved them, cherished them. The truth couldn’t be farther. I feared to touch anything to do with… whatever they are…with one exception.
“It started last Halloween,” I said to George, my husband, my real husband.
He stopped packing for a moment, working out the impossibility of this statement. “I’m taking the girls to my parents.” He resumed the tossing of shirts, pants, etc. into our big suitcase.
“It’s true,” I said, but weakly. The children in the picture are at least six and four respectively. They were born six months ago.
“They’re not… my kids,” I said of the boys in the photos. They’re not kids is what I almost said.
George stopped and squeezed the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. “Kirsty,” he said slowly, “there are baby pictures. I saw them.”
“That’s-”
He quickly raised his finger, exasperated, angry, done.
“The first picture is you holding a newborn, and…” He swallowed painfully, his throat gone dry. It always does when he’s upset. “And the father in that picture, with his arm around you, isn’t me.”
When I couldn't deny it, he nodded like he knew all along our marriage would end.
We were happy. We really were. George and I had managed to overcome the typical breakdown that often comes with raising children. Only since last Halloween had distance been made by me.
I should have told him as soon as it started.
“Girls!” he called as I followed him down the stairs to the front hall of our lovely home. We’d scrimped and sacrificed to buy and keep this place, our dream by the lake. He’d been so proud. I couldn’t tell him I wanted to leave the first night sleeping there.
Cara and Ella protested through play, ignoring the adults, continuing to jump on an old box they’d long since flattened. Rays from the western sun placed my daughters into an inspired, hallowed light, and I started to cry. He was going to take my babies away.
George opened the door, intending, I’m sure, to drop the suitcase in the car before returning to physically carry the girls out.
But he hesitated in the doorway.
“George?”
The suitcase fell with a solid thud on the floor. “There’s no way,” he said.
“What?”
“There’s no way,” he said, with emphasis on the last word, “you would have had time for…this…”
Not defining "this" as cheating was progress. “Yes!”
He glared, quieting my desperate enthusiasm. I wasn’t off the hook. “Tell me. The truth.”
“I can’t.”
He reached for the suitcase.
“No, not because I don’t want to,” I protested. “I don’t know what’s happening!” I sat on the carpeted steps and stared through blurred vision at my trembling hands. The shriek I’d filled the house with - “happening!” - had put a halt to the box's obliteration. Cara and Ella hesitated for a few seconds before leaping into action.
Cara, the oldest, six, punched her dad in the buttocks. “You have to be nice!”
Ella, four, sat beside me and patted my trembling hands. “It’s okay, mummy.”
Such lovely daughters. Nothing like the boys in those photos when they were this age.
George grasped Cara's wrists and gently walked her back into the house, using his foot to kick the suitcase from the swing of the front door.
"It's alright, girls," he said with weak resolve. "Go and play."
"No!" Cara shouted. She kicked at her father and he pulled her close into a bearhug. Gradually, the girls calmed and were convinced to return to the box in the front room.
"Kirsty," George said, "you have to tell me." He sat down on the step beside me. "Please." I would do anything to take away the hurt in his eyes. "Please."
"I can't. But… I can write it down. Maybe." I took out my phone. We shared Google Drive. When I made a new document, he reluctantly started his phone. The man was a dream. He watched his screen, and waited patiently for my words to appear.
Without preamble, I returned to the awful moment when it all began: a strange and disturbing dream. Words came like an infection from beneath a torn scab. The wound had been opened. Nothing could stop this now.
Sex with another man has never been a desire of mine. I love George. He loves me.
Plus, the man in my dream was a stranger, and not particularly handsome. He has a plain face set to unwavering boredom and unkempt male pattern baldness. Our dream sex felt obligatory, just something we had to do.
I awoke on the wrong side of midnight. November 1st and I was craving ice cream instead of the girls' gathered candy. The freezer left by the previous homeowners came with unopened ice cream. Freezer burned or not, I wanted some.
After retrieving a spoon from the kitchen, I intended to destroy a brick of neopolitan. He waited in his flannel pajamas, barefoot on the concrete floor. His arms were crossed.
"Cravings?" he said.
I dropped the spoon. It clattered down the basement steps. Before I could run away, he disappeared like someone had erased him from head to foot in one clean sweep.
Had to be a dream. That's what I told myself. The spoon stayed in the basement until daylight. Ghost or nightmare, there was laundry to do the next day.
I crossed the concrete floor fast and only felt safer when I'd closed the door to the more modern laundry room. Never thought builder's grade tiles and track lights would make me feel anything but sad.
His voice caught me sorting.
"Kirsty!"
I dropped the cup of detergent all over the floor.
"Shit."
I came out of the laundry room, figuring George had been looking for me in uncharacteristically rude fashion. He hated speaking between rooms. Shouting throughout the house was highly impolite. It must have been important, I figured.
As soon as I stepped onto the bare concrete, however, deep sadness, the kind that seems to physically leech the strength from your body, dominated the room.
"Hello?" I don't know why I said that. The basement is a low ceilinged rectangle. There are no hiding spots except for the laundry room I'd come from. After a deep breath, I walked briskly to the stairs.
"Any day now," a raspy voice breathed into my ear. I jolted and slipped forward, falling and clipping my chin off a step. It made my teeth click painfully. Nobody there, of course. I ran upstairs and George had gone outside with the girls to play hide and seek.
I wanted to tell him. He looked so happy. It's hard to convey in words the kind of smile he showed me through the window. Imagine contentment mixed with unreserved joy and hope. Yes, it's difficult to picture. So few of us can ever have such a moment. Sort of like finding a natural view completely untouched by humanity. Beyond rare and precious.
I’m rambling now to avoid writing about what followed. The point is I couldn’t tell him. I hoped it’d go away and stop.
But, of course, it didn’t, and things got much worse.
I awoke in a great deal of pain. Having already given birth to children, the feeling was familiar. Despite getting up and gasping, George continued to snore in our bed. He’s a deep sleeper, but a quick and early riser. I’ve never heard him complain about getting out of bed either, especially when there’s an emergency.
I might have woken him up but I was disoriented and confused. Part of me believed I was still pregnant with Ella. It wasn’t until I’d gone all the way to the kitchen to avoid waking up the girls, that my brain caught up: Girls. Plural. Ella was asleep in her bed upstairs.
“Ohhhhhhhh shiiiiiiiiiiit.” I knew the signs of labour. This couldn’t be happening. “Ohhhhhhhhh.”
I was definitely going to wake everyone up if this continued.
My phone was upstairs by my bedside table. We don’t have a landline. I should have called 911. I should have woken up George.
Instead, I went downstairs where I could vocalize pain without disturbing anyone. Such a pathetically passive response. But that’s how I was raised. Keep it down, don't you frown.
His hands seized mine as soon as I descended the last step. Serious and bald without dignity is how to best describe his physical appearance. Cold and cruel is what he is. The lights turned off and, in the perfect darkness of the basement, he was all that I could see.
He produces a red light from his body somehow but his touch is literally frosty.
"Kristy, it's time," he said. No joy there. Just straight facts. Something was coming. I was going to give birth to it. In the dull red glow of his being, the first boy came.
"His name is Hadad," the man said, placing a large, infant boy with a lot of hair and, I swear, a hint of beard, on the bare concrete. Hadad looked like a three month old they use as newborns on TV. He didn't cry. He hardly seemed to breathe as his dark eyes roamed the darkness. His light resembled the man's, a less intense red.
I felt another contraction, and winced.
"She comes next," the man said.
I felt so weak. "Who are you?" I asked him.
At last, he smiled and I wished he hadn't. It made me feel small, insignificant, and beneath his concern. "You know who I am," he said. "I'm your husband."
Pain wracked my entire body. Something didn't feel right. The birth of Cara and Ella had been without difficulty.
"Push," my "husband" ordered. "She is upset with you, and will kill you if you don't get her out now."
"It has to be a nightmare," I told him. Sweat poured in streams down my face. The unborn "she" in question writhed and damaged my insides. I screamed. I couldn't help it.
"Push!"
I obeyed and the second boy spilled onto the bare concrete, coated in blood and dust.
"It's a boy," I said.
The man looked displeased. "The body is male. She is Hebat. No wonder she is angry." Like the other infant, Hebat appeared aware of her surroundings and had far too much motor control for a newborn. The light pouring from her body was dull silver. Her eye sockets were two pits of concentrated despair. I had to look away.
The babies were pressed into my arms.
The man stretched out beside me. "Open your eyes and smile." I resisted. "Do it. Now." What choice did I have? The flash from his cell blinded me. They were all gone by the time my sight recovered. Only the sweat remained as evidence of the ordeal.
It had to have been a hallucination. Some very bad food poisoning maybe. The source could be as simple as an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of underdone potato. I had been stress eating since we'd moved in. I stood up and took some comfort in a Charles Dickens' reference.
"More of gravy than of grave about you," I said. My words seemed consumed by the dreadful weight of the air. "Whatever you are."
Whatever you are: something bad in any case. At best, I'd hallucinated prolonged and traumatic labour and needed medical attention. Yet, when I limped up the basement stairs, all thoughts of waking George vanished. There on the kitchen island sat a propped frame containing the photograph taken only moments ago.
The man looked happy. Only Hadad appeared in this picture, which meant another one was somewhere. I didn't panic. I worried more about what George would think if he saw the photos. I had to find them all.
Hebat and his father and I were mounted in a dark wood frame by the master bedroom. It'd be the first thing anyone saw if they woke up. I plucked it off the wall and, together with the first photo, tucked it under some blankets in the dresser we'd shoved in the small walk-in closet.
You might not believe this, but I went straight to sleep after. I climbed under the blanket in my sweaty pajamas, shut my eyes, and didn't have enough time to deny what had happened. I was unconscious until morning.
George placed a coffee on my nightstand. That's what I remember. He rubbed my feet while I slowly awoke. The girls were watching TV downstairs, munching on apple slices. There was forty minutes still before we had to seriously consider getting ready to take Cara to school.
George would drop her off on his way to work downtown. He chose his hours and always chose convenience for his wife and kids. Ella and I planned to spend the morning gardening. Then we would nap much of the afternoon away until George and Cara returned. A life so perfect is so very rare.
I didn't want to spoil things with a very convincing nightmare. Besides, I felt fine. Not so good that I wanted to look in the dresser to see if those photos really were there, but not ill. So I remained silent again.
November started fine. Idyllic days and nights filled with laughter and joy and television. Just as I started to believe in the dream we'd made, they came again.
The wail of a child's hunger is a powerful call for a parent. When it's a chorus, even of two, it cannot be ignored. Only I awoke to Hadad and Hebat's cries for their "mother" from the basement.
Half asleep, I drifted into the kitchen and searched for their milk bottles. When no bottles could be found, I remembered they were newborns. Milk swelled in my breasts and made my nipples ache. Just like when Cara or Ella would awaken in the night. It was a relief to feed them.
But what the fuck was I doing?
I was acting like the man in the basement and the devil babies were mine. It'd been less than a week since Halloween and that horrible nightmare illusion. I had already taken on the beleaguered newborn mother role without question.
Their cries intensified and flayed the weak resistance of exhausted reasoning.
Don't wake George. Don't wake my babies, my real babies.
"What took you so long?" the man critized, his voice monotone, the question unrhetorical.
"I… was sleeping. I went to the fridge first." Under his severe gaze, I stopped in the midst of the dark room. Hadad had quieted. Hebat cooed as if laughing at her own joke. I couldn't see them because the lights were off. They liked the dark better. Somehow I knew that about them and him.
"You should sleep down here," he said. "A mother should always be close to her babies."
The statement was nonsense but not altogether wrong. I wanted to be close to my babies, the daughters sleeping in bliss upstairs, away from the evil fermentation in the basement.
"Kirsty," he said. "Are you listening?" His hand touched the small of my back. The gentleness surprised me. I squawked and flinched away. "What’s wrong with you? They're hungry." He pressed on my shoulders until I sat on the cold floor.
They came from the shadows, already walking. I wanted to go, but I knew he wouldn't allow it. He pulled my cat t-shirt off over my head and their fierce mouths suckled, relieving the pressure of excess breast milk quickly. It felt physically good and psychologically alien.
I looked down at them once and immediately regretted it. Their emanated light had intensified to a point where perception of them hurt.
Each time I blinked my eyes were drawn to some isolated part of their bodies. The vision got closer to the point of disgust. Everything is gross if you're close enough. There is no beauty under a microscope. If you think there is then you're not using the right magnification.
Hebat's eye drew me in. At first, I saw the dark sphere, and then the strands of her eyelashes. Her gravity kept pulling until the creatures that live in eyelashes were revealed: Demodex folliculorum. I looked the microscopic horrors up.
The babies had more parasites than any child should. They wanted to show me and could somehow do so.
I asked him about it. "Why are they showing me these worms?"
He smiled, contemptuously as usual. "Trying to impress mother. Neither of them understand your horror and insignificance. You are the ant who knows they're an ant. Lucky you. They think you will be proud of the life their corporeal forms produce and host. Give them a few hours. It will pass."
"Why are you doing this to me?"
"I'm not sure what you mean. We're married. Now, prepare to smile." His cell reappeared and I noted the lack of features; it might have been a singed rectangle of spent firewood. He frowned when I failed to smile. "Smile, Kirsty. These are your children."
I managed to stave off the tears and hold the babies close. The smile was more difficult. In the inevitable aftermath of their sudden disappearance, the frames depicted an exhausted, wrinkly woman smiling painfully. It took a second to recognize myself.
The things in the basement sapped my strength. I looked dehydrated, beleaguered. The scale in the bathroom said I'd dropped six pounds. I'd weighed myself the morning before.
"Whoa, you've lost weight," George noted, thinking I'd be pleased. "This place has been so good for us, eh?'
To produce another smile proved as draining as the previous night. "Y-yes," I stuttered too late for him to ignore.
"Hey," he said, touching my forearm.
I flinched.
"Whoa, you okay? What's wrong?"
I should have told him. "Nothing. Bad sleep. A nightmare. I'll be fine."
A lie is an agreement. George wanted to agree, I think. He wanted life to be fine because he was happy for once. We struggled so hard before we came to Bridal Veil Lake. It was supposed to be our dream.
Guilty if I told him the truth. Guilty because I didn't. I began to resent his happiness, though he had done nothing but be the wonderful man he'd always been.
To Cara and Ella I became a body in motion, No brain left to guide them away from harm or answer their questions about nature and the universe.
"I don't know." That's what I told them often.
So they began to treat me like a kind of butler.
"Can I have some juice, please?"
"Sure, sweetheart."
"Mommy, can I have a snack?"
"Of course." And I'd run off to fetch it.
"Cookies."
"Yes, dear."
When Christmas came, I had two and they induced the same level of joy. Visiting the basement to feed and nurture Hebat and Hadad became a nightly occurrence. I'd learned to awaken, if I could get to sleep at all, and go quietly.
He berated me severely if I missed a night, and there were subtle threats made casually.
"I may have to squash you yet," he said, his tone as deep and cold as always.
"It won't happen again," I promised. "They’re getting big." In fact, they were no longer infants. Both had grown to the approximate age of six or seven in a few months. Still, they never spoke. Their dark eyes watched me as they ate food from the kitchen upstairs, food I'd hidden from my family.
"More meat," the man demanded.
"Of course." And I ran to the freezer and gave them frozen sausages in the package. They never complained or demanded the food be prepared a different way. No objections from my "husband" either.
Hebat tore the styrofoam and plastic wrap away and flattened the row of sausages stuck together between powerful molars. Hadad contented itself with licking them like a popsicle.
I'd stay until the photo. Then they'd release me by vanishing. Always with an exhausted breath, I'd trudge up the stairs and search for the frames and hide them in the same place.
They only smiled in the pictures. At no other time did they express any kind of emotion unless indifference counts.
My own children and husband weren't doing much better. Their concerns about my fatigue and ruminating slowly ceased as I repeated the excuse: I’m just tired. It'll pass.
Of course, I did not know when the nightmare would stop.
"When will it end?" I asked him one night, while Hebat and Hadad exercised like they had a mission.
"What do you mean?" he said.
I was surprised he answered. He usually didn't. "This. This. When can I go back to normal and not come down every night? I'm so very tired."
He frowned and I thought some punishment must be coming. Instead, he looked more confused. "I don't understand. You aren't happy? Your children grow into power and strength and will take their place in the world. They will be great and you - you, of all the tiny things, made that happen. Ask yourself what you want out of life, and see if Hebat and Haddad aren't your answer."
Too many words, all at once, for an exhausted mother. I didn't speak for the rest of the night. The infernal trio vanished, and the latter moments of the ritual I carried out with his challenge in mind.
I want my children to be strong, happy, and safe.
"Juice," Cara demanded the next morning, a Saturday, while she watched cartoons.
"Get it yourself!" I hissed, from tired to angry in a second.
"But I can't," Cara accurately pointed out. She didn't look away from the TV. Looking at me wasn't safe, and she knew it. Her and Ella held hands and sat a little straighter. It broke my heart. What had I done?
George came downstairs, attracted by my shouting. "What’s going on?"
Empathy became sadness, and the constant burden rekindled to anger swiftly. "Just children treating me like a servant."
He smiled. "Ah, yes, and how are the royal princesses this morning?"
His levity irked me. "You would know if you didn't sleep in so much."
The smile vanished from his face, and instead of the fight I seemed to want, he mumbled a quiet apology and joined the girls. They climbed onto him as he wrapped them into a cuddle.
"What are we watching?" George restarted his smile, his calm, for the girls. I hated myself. It had to end. Tonight.
After another dreary day of going through the motions, and the girls and George had fallen asleep, I went to the kitchen and chose the knife I thought sharpest.
"Kirsty," he said, his voice a whisper rising from the depths of the house.
"Coming," I whispered back.
"Mom," said another voice, a girl's, and I knew that Hebat had, at last, found herself and the wholeness of her being had been corrected.
I started to cry. I went downstairs and there she was with her brother and her father. He looked tired but some of the grimness had cracked to allow the first real contentment I've ever seen him express.
"Is that for the cake?" he asked. "We already have one."
I remembered the sharp knife. "Meat," I said. "There’s ham in the freezer."
He nodded, seeming to accept the answer.
"Mom," Hebat said, "Do you think I'm…" She gestured to herself, her face, and her body, and I understood the question, born from doubt and a desire to be validated.
I pulled her close. "You are the most beautiful girl in the whole world." We cried together. Hadad cut into a poorly made, asymmetrical cake by the light of his aura. No one cared that he did so on the floor. I brought out the ham from the fridge and we ate slices with our hands.
"It's almost done," he said. "They’re nearly grown. They are strong, and they are happy. You've done a good job, Kirsty." He watched our children fight to smear icing on each other's faces. "I'm sorry if I was mean. Or cold. I've never done this before." And he meant raising children. "It was the hardest, scariest thing anyone can try. I shouldn't have blamed you for… Hebat… It wasn't your fault."
Before I could pat his hand, he and the kids vanished. Darkness so familiar couldn't extinguish a new fear. I went upstairs and found the last frame. I held my daughter in the photo, my beautiful Hebat. He must have taken the photo without my notice.
I took it upstairs but couldn't bring myself to hide it.
I didn't see that one, George wrote into the document.
I forgot he was watching.
He typed again: Are you saying there is something in the basement?
Yes, I replied.
He stirred in the living room. I hadn't moved from the stairs, but I could tell by his stomping how angry he'd become. All of his negative, violent traits he saved for those in the world who would harm his family. George the Protector was fearsome to behold.
But he had no chance against my other husband.
"Come out! Come out you coward!" George bellowed. At first, nothing happened. The moment before calamity, even when the specific consequences aren't known, is still in slow motion. He carried on shouting. The girls rushed into the hall and didn’t hesitate to investigate.
"No!" I shouted. "Cara! Ella!"
Their feet padded down the steps. A violent commotion followed, screams and raging voices, both deep and childishly shrill.
The most unsettling quiet followed.
I chewed through the fear and the horror tearing me apart and finally moved.
No evidence of violence could be seen from the top of the stairs. The concrete looked bare and dusty and the light revealed nothing more. They were gone, all of them.
"Hebat," I whispered. "Cara? George?"
Him, I thought of, the nameless husband and felt no hint of his presence. He'd always been there. I know that now. It had nothing to do with the house. His absence was felt more than his insidious presence. Yet, I felt no relief. George and the girls were gone. I sat on the floor and cried for all my missing children.
When I finally emerged from the basement, the whole house had been filled with night. Their photos were everywhere. The others were upstairs. I gathered them on the kitchen island. How could I explain any of this to the police?
I needed help. I called my parents. It took twenty minutes before my father picked up.
"Kirsty? What's wrong?"
"Dad," I whimpered. "George is gone. Cara. Ella."
"What? What did you say?"
"They’re gone, dad. George. The girls are gone."
I heard his bed springs protest as he rolled out of bed. My mom said something I couldn't hear, and he shushed her.
"Kirsty," he said, "are you alright? Are you hurt? Are you in danger?"
Why was it so hard to understand? "Dad. George is gone."
"Kirsty, who the hell is George?"
It was my turn to be confused. "He's my- you know him. My husband…"
"Kirsty," he said very slowly, "are you on drugs? Did you take something?"
"No. Are you?"
"Excuse me?"
I hung up.
I have their photos. I have all of their photos. That's what I brought to George's parents before the sun rose. They wouldn't open the door and spoke to me through an intercom.
"George is gone," I said.
"We'll call the police."
"This is your son. These are your granddaughters."
I heard my mother-in-law say, "Who is she?"
"We don't have a son," my father-in-law said. "Go away."
I left.
Back to the house. Our dream sat empty and I live there, but none of the people in my family photos are my family.
I remember but the world never does. My parents think I'm ill and that I used AI to create the family I apparently never had.
How did I buy the house without a job or income? With deep concern for my mental health, they showed me a news story. I had won the lottery the day I turned eighteen.
His influence there, payment for services rendered.
A lie is an agreement.
What had I agreed to? I'm afraid I know the answer: I never wanted a family.
God help me. God help them.
I don't know what to do with these pictures.
submitted by APCleriot to nosleep [link] [comments]
He knew I hid a secret.
I smiled, tried to look confused.
He waited, crossing his arms.
I worried that he'd already seen. He had.
What else could he think about the pile?
His wife’s a cheater. She has another life. Another husband. Children.
He’d never believe the truth: I’m not a cheater; there’s no other life; no other man; I don’t know who the children are who visit me at night.
But I did have a secret. And maybe it’s fair to say another life, even if was smaller and against my will.
I should have destroyed those frames, burned the photos within. Now it looked like I saved them, cherished them. The truth couldn’t be farther. I feared to touch anything to do with… whatever they are…with one exception.
“It started last Halloween,” I said to George, my husband, my real husband.
He stopped packing for a moment, working out the impossibility of this statement. “I’m taking the girls to my parents.” He resumed the tossing of shirts, pants, etc. into our big suitcase.
“It’s true,” I said, but weakly. The children in the picture are at least six and four respectively. They were born six months ago.
“They’re not… my kids,” I said of the boys in the photos. They’re not kids is what I almost said.
George stopped and squeezed the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. “Kirsty,” he said slowly, “there are baby pictures. I saw them.”
“That’s-”
He quickly raised his finger, exasperated, angry, done.
“The first picture is you holding a newborn, and…” He swallowed painfully, his throat gone dry. It always does when he’s upset. “And the father in that picture, with his arm around you, isn’t me.”
When I couldn't deny it, he nodded like he knew all along our marriage would end.
We were happy. We really were. George and I had managed to overcome the typical breakdown that often comes with raising children. Only since last Halloween had distance been made by me.
I should have told him as soon as it started.
“Girls!” he called as I followed him down the stairs to the front hall of our lovely home. We’d scrimped and sacrificed to buy and keep this place, our dream by the lake. He’d been so proud. I couldn’t tell him I wanted to leave the first night sleeping there.
Cara and Ella protested through play, ignoring the adults, continuing to jump on an old box they’d long since flattened. Rays from the western sun placed my daughters into an inspired, hallowed light, and I started to cry. He was going to take my babies away.
George opened the door, intending, I’m sure, to drop the suitcase in the car before returning to physically carry the girls out.
But he hesitated in the doorway.
“George?”
The suitcase fell with a solid thud on the floor. “There’s no way,” he said.
“What?”
“There’s no way,” he said, with emphasis on the last word, “you would have had time for…this…”
Not defining "this" as cheating was progress. “Yes!”
He glared, quieting my desperate enthusiasm. I wasn’t off the hook. “Tell me. The truth.”
“I can’t.”
He reached for the suitcase.
“No, not because I don’t want to,” I protested. “I don’t know what’s happening!” I sat on the carpeted steps and stared through blurred vision at my trembling hands. The shriek I’d filled the house with - “happening!” - had put a halt to the box's obliteration. Cara and Ella hesitated for a few seconds before leaping into action.
Cara, the oldest, six, punched her dad in the buttocks. “You have to be nice!”
Ella, four, sat beside me and patted my trembling hands. “It’s okay, mummy.”
Such lovely daughters. Nothing like the boys in those photos when they were this age.
George grasped Cara's wrists and gently walked her back into the house, using his foot to kick the suitcase from the swing of the front door.
"It's alright, girls," he said with weak resolve. "Go and play."
"No!" Cara shouted. She kicked at her father and he pulled her close into a bearhug. Gradually, the girls calmed and were convinced to return to the box in the front room.
"Kirsty," George said, "you have to tell me." He sat down on the step beside me. "Please." I would do anything to take away the hurt in his eyes. "Please."
"I can't. But… I can write it down. Maybe." I took out my phone. We shared Google Drive. When I made a new document, he reluctantly started his phone. The man was a dream. He watched his screen, and waited patiently for my words to appear.
Without preamble, I returned to the awful moment when it all began: a strange and disturbing dream. Words came like an infection from beneath a torn scab. The wound had been opened. Nothing could stop this now.
Sex with another man has never been a desire of mine. I love George. He loves me.
Plus, the man in my dream was a stranger, and not particularly handsome. He has a plain face set to unwavering boredom and unkempt male pattern baldness. Our dream sex felt obligatory, just something we had to do.
I awoke on the wrong side of midnight. November 1st and I was craving ice cream instead of the girls' gathered candy. The freezer left by the previous homeowners came with unopened ice cream. Freezer burned or not, I wanted some.
After retrieving a spoon from the kitchen, I intended to destroy a brick of neopolitan. He waited in his flannel pajamas, barefoot on the concrete floor. His arms were crossed.
"Cravings?" he said.
I dropped the spoon. It clattered down the basement steps. Before I could run away, he disappeared like someone had erased him from head to foot in one clean sweep.
Had to be a dream. That's what I told myself. The spoon stayed in the basement until daylight. Ghost or nightmare, there was laundry to do the next day.
I crossed the concrete floor fast and only felt safer when I'd closed the door to the more modern laundry room. Never thought builder's grade tiles and track lights would make me feel anything but sad.
His voice caught me sorting.
"Kirsty!"
I dropped the cup of detergent all over the floor.
"Shit."
I came out of the laundry room, figuring George had been looking for me in uncharacteristically rude fashion. He hated speaking between rooms. Shouting throughout the house was highly impolite. It must have been important, I figured.
As soon as I stepped onto the bare concrete, however, deep sadness, the kind that seems to physically leech the strength from your body, dominated the room.
"Hello?" I don't know why I said that. The basement is a low ceilinged rectangle. There are no hiding spots except for the laundry room I'd come from. After a deep breath, I walked briskly to the stairs.
"Any day now," a raspy voice breathed into my ear. I jolted and slipped forward, falling and clipping my chin off a step. It made my teeth click painfully. Nobody there, of course. I ran upstairs and George had gone outside with the girls to play hide and seek.
I wanted to tell him. He looked so happy. It's hard to convey in words the kind of smile he showed me through the window. Imagine contentment mixed with unreserved joy and hope. Yes, it's difficult to picture. So few of us can ever have such a moment. Sort of like finding a natural view completely untouched by humanity. Beyond rare and precious.
I’m rambling now to avoid writing about what followed. The point is I couldn’t tell him. I hoped it’d go away and stop.
But, of course, it didn’t, and things got much worse.
I awoke in a great deal of pain. Having already given birth to children, the feeling was familiar. Despite getting up and gasping, George continued to snore in our bed. He’s a deep sleeper, but a quick and early riser. I’ve never heard him complain about getting out of bed either, especially when there’s an emergency.
I might have woken him up but I was disoriented and confused. Part of me believed I was still pregnant with Ella. It wasn’t until I’d gone all the way to the kitchen to avoid waking up the girls, that my brain caught up: Girls. Plural. Ella was asleep in her bed upstairs.
“Ohhhhhhhh shiiiiiiiiiiit.” I knew the signs of labour. This couldn’t be happening. “Ohhhhhhhhh.”
I was definitely going to wake everyone up if this continued.
My phone was upstairs by my bedside table. We don’t have a landline. I should have called 911. I should have woken up George.
Instead, I went downstairs where I could vocalize pain without disturbing anyone. Such a pathetically passive response. But that’s how I was raised. Keep it down, don't you frown.
His hands seized mine as soon as I descended the last step. Serious and bald without dignity is how to best describe his physical appearance. Cold and cruel is what he is. The lights turned off and, in the perfect darkness of the basement, he was all that I could see.
He produces a red light from his body somehow but his touch is literally frosty.
"Kristy, it's time," he said. No joy there. Just straight facts. Something was coming. I was going to give birth to it. In the dull red glow of his being, the first boy came.
"His name is Hadad," the man said, placing a large, infant boy with a lot of hair and, I swear, a hint of beard, on the bare concrete. Hadad looked like a three month old they use as newborns on TV. He didn't cry. He hardly seemed to breathe as his dark eyes roamed the darkness. His light resembled the man's, a less intense red.
I felt another contraction, and winced.
"She comes next," the man said.
I felt so weak. "Who are you?" I asked him.
At last, he smiled and I wished he hadn't. It made me feel small, insignificant, and beneath his concern. "You know who I am," he said. "I'm your husband."
Pain wracked my entire body. Something didn't feel right. The birth of Cara and Ella had been without difficulty.
"Push," my "husband" ordered. "She is upset with you, and will kill you if you don't get her out now."
"It has to be a nightmare," I told him. Sweat poured in streams down my face. The unborn "she" in question writhed and damaged my insides. I screamed. I couldn't help it.
"Push!"
I obeyed and the second boy spilled onto the bare concrete, coated in blood and dust.
"It's a boy," I said.
The man looked displeased. "The body is male. She is Hebat. No wonder she is angry." Like the other infant, Hebat appeared aware of her surroundings and had far too much motor control for a newborn. The light pouring from her body was dull silver. Her eye sockets were two pits of concentrated despair. I had to look away.
The babies were pressed into my arms.
The man stretched out beside me. "Open your eyes and smile." I resisted. "Do it. Now." What choice did I have? The flash from his cell blinded me. They were all gone by the time my sight recovered. Only the sweat remained as evidence of the ordeal.
It had to have been a hallucination. Some very bad food poisoning maybe. The source could be as simple as an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of underdone potato. I had been stress eating since we'd moved in. I stood up and took some comfort in a Charles Dickens' reference.
"More of gravy than of grave about you," I said. My words seemed consumed by the dreadful weight of the air. "Whatever you are."
Whatever you are: something bad in any case. At best, I'd hallucinated prolonged and traumatic labour and needed medical attention. Yet, when I limped up the basement stairs, all thoughts of waking George vanished. There on the kitchen island sat a propped frame containing the photograph taken only moments ago.
The man looked happy. Only Hadad appeared in this picture, which meant another one was somewhere. I didn't panic. I worried more about what George would think if he saw the photos. I had to find them all.
Hebat and his father and I were mounted in a dark wood frame by the master bedroom. It'd be the first thing anyone saw if they woke up. I plucked it off the wall and, together with the first photo, tucked it under some blankets in the dresser we'd shoved in the small walk-in closet.
You might not believe this, but I went straight to sleep after. I climbed under the blanket in my sweaty pajamas, shut my eyes, and didn't have enough time to deny what had happened. I was unconscious until morning.
George placed a coffee on my nightstand. That's what I remember. He rubbed my feet while I slowly awoke. The girls were watching TV downstairs, munching on apple slices. There was forty minutes still before we had to seriously consider getting ready to take Cara to school.
George would drop her off on his way to work downtown. He chose his hours and always chose convenience for his wife and kids. Ella and I planned to spend the morning gardening. Then we would nap much of the afternoon away until George and Cara returned. A life so perfect is so very rare.
I didn't want to spoil things with a very convincing nightmare. Besides, I felt fine. Not so good that I wanted to look in the dresser to see if those photos really were there, but not ill. So I remained silent again.
November started fine. Idyllic days and nights filled with laughter and joy and television. Just as I started to believe in the dream we'd made, they came again.
The wail of a child's hunger is a powerful call for a parent. When it's a chorus, even of two, it cannot be ignored. Only I awoke to Hadad and Hebat's cries for their "mother" from the basement.
Half asleep, I drifted into the kitchen and searched for their milk bottles. When no bottles could be found, I remembered they were newborns. Milk swelled in my breasts and made my nipples ache. Just like when Cara or Ella would awaken in the night. It was a relief to feed them.
But what the fuck was I doing?
I was acting like the man in the basement and the devil babies were mine. It'd been less than a week since Halloween and that horrible nightmare illusion. I had already taken on the beleaguered newborn mother role without question.
Their cries intensified and flayed the weak resistance of exhausted reasoning.
Don't wake George. Don't wake my babies, my real babies.
"What took you so long?" the man critized, his voice monotone, the question unrhetorical.
"I… was sleeping. I went to the fridge first." Under his severe gaze, I stopped in the midst of the dark room. Hadad had quieted. Hebat cooed as if laughing at her own joke. I couldn't see them because the lights were off. They liked the dark better. Somehow I knew that about them and him.
"You should sleep down here," he said. "A mother should always be close to her babies."
The statement was nonsense but not altogether wrong. I wanted to be close to my babies, the daughters sleeping in bliss upstairs, away from the evil fermentation in the basement.
"Kirsty," he said. "Are you listening?" His hand touched the small of my back. The gentleness surprised me. I squawked and flinched away. "What’s wrong with you? They're hungry." He pressed on my shoulders until I sat on the cold floor.
They came from the shadows, already walking. I wanted to go, but I knew he wouldn't allow it. He pulled my cat t-shirt off over my head and their fierce mouths suckled, relieving the pressure of excess breast milk quickly. It felt physically good and psychologically alien.
I looked down at them once and immediately regretted it. Their emanated light had intensified to a point where perception of them hurt.
Each time I blinked my eyes were drawn to some isolated part of their bodies. The vision got closer to the point of disgust. Everything is gross if you're close enough. There is no beauty under a microscope. If you think there is then you're not using the right magnification.
Hebat's eye drew me in. At first, I saw the dark sphere, and then the strands of her eyelashes. Her gravity kept pulling until the creatures that live in eyelashes were revealed: Demodex folliculorum. I looked the microscopic horrors up.
The babies had more parasites than any child should. They wanted to show me and could somehow do so.
I asked him about it. "Why are they showing me these worms?"
He smiled, contemptuously as usual. "Trying to impress mother. Neither of them understand your horror and insignificance. You are the ant who knows they're an ant. Lucky you. They think you will be proud of the life their corporeal forms produce and host. Give them a few hours. It will pass."
"Why are you doing this to me?"
"I'm not sure what you mean. We're married. Now, prepare to smile." His cell reappeared and I noted the lack of features; it might have been a singed rectangle of spent firewood. He frowned when I failed to smile. "Smile, Kirsty. These are your children."
I managed to stave off the tears and hold the babies close. The smile was more difficult. In the inevitable aftermath of their sudden disappearance, the frames depicted an exhausted, wrinkly woman smiling painfully. It took a second to recognize myself.
The things in the basement sapped my strength. I looked dehydrated, beleaguered. The scale in the bathroom said I'd dropped six pounds. I'd weighed myself the morning before.
"Whoa, you've lost weight," George noted, thinking I'd be pleased. "This place has been so good for us, eh?'
To produce another smile proved as draining as the previous night. "Y-yes," I stuttered too late for him to ignore.
"Hey," he said, touching my forearm.
I flinched.
"Whoa, you okay? What's wrong?"
I should have told him. "Nothing. Bad sleep. A nightmare. I'll be fine."
A lie is an agreement. George wanted to agree, I think. He wanted life to be fine because he was happy for once. We struggled so hard before we came to Bridal Veil Lake. It was supposed to be our dream.
Guilty if I told him the truth. Guilty because I didn't. I began to resent his happiness, though he had done nothing but be the wonderful man he'd always been.
To Cara and Ella I became a body in motion, No brain left to guide them away from harm or answer their questions about nature and the universe.
"I don't know." That's what I told them often.
So they began to treat me like a kind of butler.
"Can I have some juice, please?"
"Sure, sweetheart."
"Mommy, can I have a snack?"
"Of course." And I'd run off to fetch it.
"Cookies."
"Yes, dear."
When Christmas came, I had two and they induced the same level of joy. Visiting the basement to feed and nurture Hebat and Hadad became a nightly occurrence. I'd learned to awaken, if I could get to sleep at all, and go quietly.
He berated me severely if I missed a night, and there were subtle threats made casually.
"I may have to squash you yet," he said, his tone as deep and cold as always.
"It won't happen again," I promised. "They’re getting big." In fact, they were no longer infants. Both had grown to the approximate age of six or seven in a few months. Still, they never spoke. Their dark eyes watched me as they ate food from the kitchen upstairs, food I'd hidden from my family.
"More meat," the man demanded.
"Of course." And I ran to the freezer and gave them frozen sausages in the package. They never complained or demanded the food be prepared a different way. No objections from my "husband" either.
Hebat tore the styrofoam and plastic wrap away and flattened the row of sausages stuck together between powerful molars. Hadad contented itself with licking them like a popsicle.
I'd stay until the photo. Then they'd release me by vanishing. Always with an exhausted breath, I'd trudge up the stairs and search for the frames and hide them in the same place.
They only smiled in the pictures. At no other time did they express any kind of emotion unless indifference counts.
My own children and husband weren't doing much better. Their concerns about my fatigue and ruminating slowly ceased as I repeated the excuse: I’m just tired. It'll pass.
Of course, I did not know when the nightmare would stop.
"When will it end?" I asked him one night, while Hebat and Hadad exercised like they had a mission.
"What do you mean?" he said.
I was surprised he answered. He usually didn't. "This. This. When can I go back to normal and not come down every night? I'm so very tired."
He frowned and I thought some punishment must be coming. Instead, he looked more confused. "I don't understand. You aren't happy? Your children grow into power and strength and will take their place in the world. They will be great and you - you, of all the tiny things, made that happen. Ask yourself what you want out of life, and see if Hebat and Haddad aren't your answer."
Too many words, all at once, for an exhausted mother. I didn't speak for the rest of the night. The infernal trio vanished, and the latter moments of the ritual I carried out with his challenge in mind.
I want my children to be strong, happy, and safe.
"Juice," Cara demanded the next morning, a Saturday, while she watched cartoons.
"Get it yourself!" I hissed, from tired to angry in a second.
"But I can't," Cara accurately pointed out. She didn't look away from the TV. Looking at me wasn't safe, and she knew it. Her and Ella held hands and sat a little straighter. It broke my heart. What had I done?
George came downstairs, attracted by my shouting. "What’s going on?"
Empathy became sadness, and the constant burden rekindled to anger swiftly. "Just children treating me like a servant."
He smiled. "Ah, yes, and how are the royal princesses this morning?"
His levity irked me. "You would know if you didn't sleep in so much."
The smile vanished from his face, and instead of the fight I seemed to want, he mumbled a quiet apology and joined the girls. They climbed onto him as he wrapped them into a cuddle.
"What are we watching?" George restarted his smile, his calm, for the girls. I hated myself. It had to end. Tonight.
After another dreary day of going through the motions, and the girls and George had fallen asleep, I went to the kitchen and chose the knife I thought sharpest.
"Kirsty," he said, his voice a whisper rising from the depths of the house.
"Coming," I whispered back.
"Mom," said another voice, a girl's, and I knew that Hebat had, at last, found herself and the wholeness of her being had been corrected.
I started to cry. I went downstairs and there she was with her brother and her father. He looked tired but some of the grimness had cracked to allow the first real contentment I've ever seen him express.
"Is that for the cake?" he asked. "We already have one."
I remembered the sharp knife. "Meat," I said. "There’s ham in the freezer."
He nodded, seeming to accept the answer.
"Mom," Hebat said, "Do you think I'm…" She gestured to herself, her face, and her body, and I understood the question, born from doubt and a desire to be validated.
I pulled her close. "You are the most beautiful girl in the whole world." We cried together. Hadad cut into a poorly made, asymmetrical cake by the light of his aura. No one cared that he did so on the floor. I brought out the ham from the fridge and we ate slices with our hands.
"It's almost done," he said. "They’re nearly grown. They are strong, and they are happy. You've done a good job, Kirsty." He watched our children fight to smear icing on each other's faces. "I'm sorry if I was mean. Or cold. I've never done this before." And he meant raising children. "It was the hardest, scariest thing anyone can try. I shouldn't have blamed you for… Hebat… It wasn't your fault."
Before I could pat his hand, he and the kids vanished. Darkness so familiar couldn't extinguish a new fear. I went upstairs and found the last frame. I held my daughter in the photo, my beautiful Hebat. He must have taken the photo without my notice.
I took it upstairs but couldn't bring myself to hide it.
I didn't see that one, George wrote into the document.
I forgot he was watching.
He typed again: Are you saying there is something in the basement?
Yes, I replied.
He stirred in the living room. I hadn't moved from the stairs, but I could tell by his stomping how angry he'd become. All of his negative, violent traits he saved for those in the world who would harm his family. George the Protector was fearsome to behold.
But he had no chance against my other husband.
"Come out! Come out you coward!" George bellowed. At first, nothing happened. The moment before calamity, even when the specific consequences aren't known, is still in slow motion. He carried on shouting. The girls rushed into the hall and didn’t hesitate to investigate.
"No!" I shouted. "Cara! Ella!"
Their feet padded down the steps. A violent commotion followed, screams and raging voices, both deep and childishly shrill.
The most unsettling quiet followed.
I chewed through the fear and the horror tearing me apart and finally moved.
No evidence of violence could be seen from the top of the stairs. The concrete looked bare and dusty and the light revealed nothing more. They were gone, all of them.
"Hebat," I whispered. "Cara? George?"
Him, I thought of, the nameless husband and felt no hint of his presence. He'd always been there. I know that now. It had nothing to do with the house. His absence was felt more than his insidious presence. Yet, I felt no relief. George and the girls were gone. I sat on the floor and cried for all my missing children.
When I finally emerged from the basement, the whole house had been filled with night. Their photos were everywhere. The others were upstairs. I gathered them on the kitchen island. How could I explain any of this to the police?
I needed help. I called my parents. It took twenty minutes before my father picked up.
"Kirsty? What's wrong?"
"Dad," I whimpered. "George is gone. Cara. Ella."
"What? What did you say?"
"They’re gone, dad. George. The girls are gone."
I heard his bed springs protest as he rolled out of bed. My mom said something I couldn't hear, and he shushed her.
"Kirsty," he said, "are you alright? Are you hurt? Are you in danger?"
Why was it so hard to understand? "Dad. George is gone."
"Kirsty, who the hell is George?"
It was my turn to be confused. "He's my- you know him. My husband…"
"Kirsty," he said very slowly, "are you on drugs? Did you take something?"
"No. Are you?"
"Excuse me?"
I hung up.
I have their photos. I have all of their photos. That's what I brought to George's parents before the sun rose. They wouldn't open the door and spoke to me through an intercom.
"George is gone," I said.
"We'll call the police."
"This is your son. These are your granddaughters."
I heard my mother-in-law say, "Who is she?"
"We don't have a son," my father-in-law said. "Go away."
I left.
Back to the house. Our dream sat empty and I live there, but none of the people in my family photos are my family.
I remember but the world never does. My parents think I'm ill and that I used AI to create the family I apparently never had.
How did I buy the house without a job or income? With deep concern for my mental health, they showed me a news story. I had won the lottery the day I turned eighteen.
His influence there, payment for services rendered.
A lie is an agreement.
What had I agreed to? I'm afraid I know the answer: I never wanted a family.
God help me. God help them.
I don't know what to do with these pictures.
2024.05.19 15:34 Heavy-Cheesecake440 Post VS rejection
I’ve been rejected from a top US firm after a vacation scheme.
Throughout the scheme I got praise from grad rec, trainees, my supervisor and other partners about my personality and commitment to the scheme.
I thought I did so well that I withdrew from other firms as I was confident in converting.
This was my first VS and is my first cycle. The competition is fierce but I believed I did very well. I was the only underrepresented one in many aspects on the scheme but I did not let this stop me.
I’m happy I got to experience it but now it’s left me in this weird void of what to do next. I planned on quitting my job and doing a masters in September not possible now as I have no security of a TC after it’s completed. (From a very reputable university)
Most direct TC applications open are to firms I did Vs applications to so cannot apply or they’re US firms with an intake of 3/4 trainees. A levels are my downfall so I tend to get rejected based off of those alone. Non RG. 1st Class grade.
The people they gave the TC’s too are all Oxbridge and Durham. Most already held TC offers elsewhere. They’ve never taken on a non RG trainee so maybe I was naive to think I had a chance in the first place.
I have another VS next month but the standard of the US firm has made me not want to sell myself short going to small firm as this other VS. I will still embrace the experience and hope to get a TC.
I also have a Bar scholarship and place Jan25 start. So I have limited time to get a TC before commencing this route into law or rejecting it all together. I want to be a solicitor now and not a barrister.
Feeling like there’s no hope to get a TC and if I had a better educational background I probably would’ve converted the first VS.
I will now reject the masters offer I got for September and I’m not sure what to even do now.
submitted by Heavy-Cheesecake440 to uklaw [link] [comments]
Throughout the scheme I got praise from grad rec, trainees, my supervisor and other partners about my personality and commitment to the scheme.
I thought I did so well that I withdrew from other firms as I was confident in converting.
This was my first VS and is my first cycle. The competition is fierce but I believed I did very well. I was the only underrepresented one in many aspects on the scheme but I did not let this stop me.
I’m happy I got to experience it but now it’s left me in this weird void of what to do next. I planned on quitting my job and doing a masters in September not possible now as I have no security of a TC after it’s completed. (From a very reputable university)
Most direct TC applications open are to firms I did Vs applications to so cannot apply or they’re US firms with an intake of 3/4 trainees. A levels are my downfall so I tend to get rejected based off of those alone. Non RG. 1st Class grade.
The people they gave the TC’s too are all Oxbridge and Durham. Most already held TC offers elsewhere. They’ve never taken on a non RG trainee so maybe I was naive to think I had a chance in the first place.
I have another VS next month but the standard of the US firm has made me not want to sell myself short going to small firm as this other VS. I will still embrace the experience and hope to get a TC.
I also have a Bar scholarship and place Jan25 start. So I have limited time to get a TC before commencing this route into law or rejecting it all together. I want to be a solicitor now and not a barrister.
Feeling like there’s no hope to get a TC and if I had a better educational background I probably would’ve converted the first VS.
I will now reject the masters offer I got for September and I’m not sure what to even do now.
2024.05.19 15:17 underweather813 welp, how do I tell my professor I have nothing to submit for my research proposal due tonight at 10pm?
Edit: I’m going to eat, find my meds and try my best to finish it. Thanks all for being gentle but real with me 😭 because all the comments telling me I have time to grind it out is code for “you’re gonna be fucked if you don’t.” Take care of yourself and your mental health everyone. Don’t be like me - I’ve had straight A’s throughout grad school and this is my last course for my degree. It’s been rough 😭😭
TLDR; This is mostly a vent, but gentle advice would be nice. (1) I would like to send my professor short, honest email to communicate this but I’m not sure how to word it. (2) is my 1.5x extended time exam accommodation applicable and is it still reasonable to to request one? What are your thoughts and experience with this? Thank you and congrats to all graduating this semester
I have no excuse for not having anything to submit. I’ve been completing all my worksheet assignments to prepare for writing the research proposal as a whole and received good feedback from the professor. My mind has been blanking this entire week trying to put it all together into writing with an annotated bibliography.
It’s due tonight at 10pm and my professor doesn’t accept late work. It’s whatever at this point. I was planning on emailing her saying I’m not sure how to explain myself but that I don’t have a research proposal to submit by the deadline tonight. I accept the consequences of failing … I don’t really have an excuse. I’m not really sure what else to say. And how to word to the professor that I’m not expecting anything from her.
I do have 1.5x extended time on final exams through the school’s disability office. While the research proposal is the final project for the course, I don’t think it’s justified to receive an extension because I’ve had more than a week to work on it. Even then, it just feels so last minute requesting one on the same day it’s due. My exams were typically open for a week for most of my prior classes. I always meet with my professors at the beginning of the semester to review my approved accommodations and they would tell me to let them know if I needed more time. They didn’t mind giving me 1-2 day extensions as long as I communicated with them ahead of time. This time it feels harder because it’s a writing course. My professor is nice and gave me an extension when my Masters exam was the same weekend as one of her graded assignments. But she also gives off the vibe that she’ll stick to her late work policy
I take medication for both adhd and anxiety and it usually helps somewhat with focusing. But this semester my brain completely shuts down each time I have to put my thoughts into writing and I just end up staring all day at a screen unable to organize anything. It took me 3 days just to pick my annotated bibliography sources and figure out how to organize them. This brain fog feels the same as I did a few years ago when I experienced serotonin syndrome from taking another anxiety med. I’ve been on a different SSRI ever since, so many it’s underlying depression and anxiety… I thought I was just burnt out, but life has been relatively lax this year and my motivation hasn’t improved since November.
Anyways, I’m not expecting the professor to give me an extension or incomplete. Not sure how to conclude this but please read the TDLR if you plan to respond to this.
submitted by underweather813 to GradSchool [link] [comments]
TLDR; This is mostly a vent, but gentle advice would be nice. (1) I would like to send my professor short, honest email to communicate this but I’m not sure how to word it. (2) is my 1.5x extended time exam accommodation applicable and is it still reasonable to to request one? What are your thoughts and experience with this? Thank you and congrats to all graduating this semester
I have no excuse for not having anything to submit. I’ve been completing all my worksheet assignments to prepare for writing the research proposal as a whole and received good feedback from the professor. My mind has been blanking this entire week trying to put it all together into writing with an annotated bibliography.
It’s due tonight at 10pm and my professor doesn’t accept late work. It’s whatever at this point. I was planning on emailing her saying I’m not sure how to explain myself but that I don’t have a research proposal to submit by the deadline tonight. I accept the consequences of failing … I don’t really have an excuse. I’m not really sure what else to say. And how to word to the professor that I’m not expecting anything from her.
I do have 1.5x extended time on final exams through the school’s disability office. While the research proposal is the final project for the course, I don’t think it’s justified to receive an extension because I’ve had more than a week to work on it. Even then, it just feels so last minute requesting one on the same day it’s due. My exams were typically open for a week for most of my prior classes. I always meet with my professors at the beginning of the semester to review my approved accommodations and they would tell me to let them know if I needed more time. They didn’t mind giving me 1-2 day extensions as long as I communicated with them ahead of time. This time it feels harder because it’s a writing course. My professor is nice and gave me an extension when my Masters exam was the same weekend as one of her graded assignments. But she also gives off the vibe that she’ll stick to her late work policy
I take medication for both adhd and anxiety and it usually helps somewhat with focusing. But this semester my brain completely shuts down each time I have to put my thoughts into writing and I just end up staring all day at a screen unable to organize anything. It took me 3 days just to pick my annotated bibliography sources and figure out how to organize them. This brain fog feels the same as I did a few years ago when I experienced serotonin syndrome from taking another anxiety med. I’ve been on a different SSRI ever since, so many it’s underlying depression and anxiety… I thought I was just burnt out, but life has been relatively lax this year and my motivation hasn’t improved since November.
Anyways, I’m not expecting the professor to give me an extension or incomplete. Not sure how to conclude this but please read the TDLR if you plan to respond to this.
2024.05.19 14:34 ticklishteddybear Coq10 increased sperm morphology from 1% to 5% in 8 weeks
I posted our 1st semen analysis results here about 3 months ago with 1% morphology, feeling defeated and confused. I immediately started doing research and Coq10 was recommended. We went out and bought a bottle that same day in hopes that it would maybe increase my husband's morphology in 8 weeks for our next analysis. Everything I read said it would take 3 months for anything to happen so we were skeptical.
But we got our results back: 1st analysis results are in ( ) for comparison. Blank means it was the same result.
Characteristics: Volume (ml): 4.5 (5.0) Color: Gray pH: 7.0 (7.2) Round cells (mil/ml): 1 (2) Viscosity: 3 (2) Debris: Low Agglutination: 0 Liquefaction: yes
Sperm Evaluation: Sperm Density (mil/ml): 22 (37) Total sperm count (mil): 99 (185) % Progressive Motility: 48 (46) Total Active Count (mil): 48 (85) Total Motility: 59 (progressive + non-progressive) (65) Motility Grading: %Type 3 (progressive): 48 (46) %Type 2 (non-progressive): 11 (21) %Type 1 (Immotile): 41 (33)
Strict Criteria: Sperm Morphology: 5% Normal (1% Normal) Comments: "Improvement in morphology since last analysis. Results are normal. IUIs may help if having difficulty conceiving." (Low % normal morphology. Recommend repeating analysis in 8 weeks to confirm results.)
I cried when I got the phone call. He changed nothing about his diet or activity so maybe it was just a coincidence? The only things we changed was jeans to cargo pants (thinner and more breathable) and we both started taking 100mg (dosage on the bottle) of Coq10 a day (although I hear a higher dose is recommended). I read it was good for PCOS and egg quality.
I'll be going to the doctor next week for my 2nd Letrozole cycle, which I believe will be monitored this time around. I did ovulate my 1st Letrozole cycle (unmonitored) but I felt like it may have not been a good quality egg because I didn't get pregnant. I'm not sure what to expect, My doctor mumbled about maybe putting me on progesterone, something about trigger shots, coming in around day 20 to confirm ovulation, and some other things I can't remember. Please share your Letrozole stories if you have any.
submitted by ticklishteddybear to TryingForABaby [link] [comments]
But we got our results back: 1st analysis results are in ( ) for comparison. Blank means it was the same result.
Characteristics: Volume (ml): 4.5 (5.0) Color: Gray pH: 7.0 (7.2) Round cells (mil/ml): 1 (2) Viscosity: 3 (2) Debris: Low Agglutination: 0 Liquefaction: yes
Sperm Evaluation: Sperm Density (mil/ml): 22 (37) Total sperm count (mil): 99 (185) % Progressive Motility: 48 (46) Total Active Count (mil): 48 (85) Total Motility: 59 (progressive + non-progressive) (65) Motility Grading: %Type 3 (progressive): 48 (46) %Type 2 (non-progressive): 11 (21) %Type 1 (Immotile): 41 (33)
Strict Criteria: Sperm Morphology: 5% Normal (1% Normal) Comments: "Improvement in morphology since last analysis. Results are normal. IUIs may help if having difficulty conceiving." (Low % normal morphology. Recommend repeating analysis in 8 weeks to confirm results.)
I cried when I got the phone call. He changed nothing about his diet or activity so maybe it was just a coincidence? The only things we changed was jeans to cargo pants (thinner and more breathable) and we both started taking 100mg (dosage on the bottle) of Coq10 a day (although I hear a higher dose is recommended). I read it was good for PCOS and egg quality.
I'll be going to the doctor next week for my 2nd Letrozole cycle, which I believe will be monitored this time around. I did ovulate my 1st Letrozole cycle (unmonitored) but I felt like it may have not been a good quality egg because I didn't get pregnant. I'm not sure what to expect, My doctor mumbled about maybe putting me on progesterone, something about trigger shots, coming in around day 20 to confirm ovulation, and some other things I can't remember. Please share your Letrozole stories if you have any.
2024.05.19 13:56 Stock_Astronomer_727 NTU psych vs NUS psych + management
Hello! Like many others i too am having a dilemma on which uni offer to accept. In NTU, i got offered psychology with the NTU-USP (university scholars programme) scholarship while in NUS, i got offered a psych with management double major (with psych as my primary major under CHS) with the NUS merit scholarship. For context, i'm hoping to have a more vibrant uni life than jc so overseas exposure, student life and the culture of the schools r important to me too!!
For the NUS merit scholarship, my benefits include: - Paid tuition fees - S$6,000 annual living allowance - S$2,000 one-time computer allowance - Guaranteed Student Exchange Programme (SEP) placement with one of NUS overseas partner universities for one semester (no priority given so may not be one of my top choices i'm assuming??)
For the NTU-USP scholarship, my benefits include: - Paid tuition fees - S$6,500 annual living allowance - S$1,750 one-time computer allowance - Annual accommodation allowance of up to S$2,000 - Travel Grant of up to $5000 for an overseas study/attachment programme -Overseas benefits: - Heavily subsidized Travel Overseas Programme for Scholars (TOPS) in the freshman year (1 week overseas fieldwork and research trip) - NTU-USP Study Abroad Programme, or - Priority placement in overseas universities through NTU's international student semester exchange
☆
Some of my concerns right now are: - i'm not yet sure if i fully wanna commit to a career in psych even though its something i'm passionate abt (will have to do master's at least, if not phd) so the double major in NUS might give me more opportunities to pursue smth else if i decide that psych is not for me + NUS CHS gives me the flexibility to change my major within the first 2 years
I've heard from seniors and profs that the psych mods have a steep bellcurve too and that its generally a competitive course in either uni so i guess i'll have to grind either way😭 it feels like i might have a more vibrant student life in NTU(?) while the culture in NUS seems more academically-driven, but FASS/CHS seniors, feel free to correct me! Also how r the campuses for the FASS block in NUS and the SSS block in NTU HAHAH i didnt get a chance to see them up close! Just hoping anyone can share any insights abt the respective unis and programmes and shed some light into my dilemma ^
if u've made it this far, thank u for taking the time to read this post!! i'll just list some of the pros and cons of each uni below for easier reference but its basically just a summary of everything i've said above :D
☆
NUS:
Pros✅️ - flexibility to change my 1st and 2nd major within the first 2 years - psychology + management double major - guaranteed semester exchange programme (SEP) - no need to stay in hall, can travel from the comfort of my new house - i prefer its S/U system and bidding system - brand name and prestige could give me more overseas opportunities to pursue my master's
Cons❌️ - CHS common curriculum takes up 1/3 of my degree, less time to study my majors - fewer overseas opportunities compared to NTU-USP, guaranteed exchange programme may not be one of my top choices bcs its more competitive - have to study CHS common curriculum (which i'm not super interested in compared to my major) in lecture-tutorial style, which takes more effort for me from past jc experience
NTU:
Pros✅️ - more overseas experiences and opportunities (TOPS, priority for exchange programmes, USP study abroad, electives with overseas fieldwork components, etc) - small class sizes for USP modules which facilitates better learning for me personally! + provides a sense of community too - fewer modules for the common curriculum so more time to focus on my major - the hall experience could add to my uni experience esp in terms of student life + i have 4 years guaranteed hall + $2000 annual accommodation allowance
Cons❌️ - i dont really like the S/U system and dont prefer its bidding system (but have learnt some ways to work around the bidding system from seniors) - have to stay in hall away from the comforts of my own home + have to pay for hall - little flexibility to change my major once i enter uni + no double major with business (career backup if i give up on psych) - less prestige compared to NUS(?) not as much of a brand name
Okay thats about it!! Pls share your advice and opinions guys i have 5 days left to make a decision and i'm starting to panic a little😭😭 anyway thank you for reading my post and for any pieces of advice/comments yall leave!!
submitted by Stock_Astronomer_727 to SGExams [link] [comments]
For the NUS merit scholarship, my benefits include: - Paid tuition fees - S$6,000 annual living allowance - S$2,000 one-time computer allowance - Guaranteed Student Exchange Programme (SEP) placement with one of NUS overseas partner universities for one semester (no priority given so may not be one of my top choices i'm assuming??)
For the NTU-USP scholarship, my benefits include: - Paid tuition fees - S$6,500 annual living allowance - S$1,750 one-time computer allowance - Annual accommodation allowance of up to S$2,000 - Travel Grant of up to $5000 for an overseas study/attachment programme -Overseas benefits: - Heavily subsidized Travel Overseas Programme for Scholars (TOPS) in the freshman year (1 week overseas fieldwork and research trip) - NTU-USP Study Abroad Programme, or - Priority placement in overseas universities through NTU's international student semester exchange
☆
Some of my concerns right now are: - i'm not yet sure if i fully wanna commit to a career in psych even though its something i'm passionate abt (will have to do master's at least, if not phd) so the double major in NUS might give me more opportunities to pursue smth else if i decide that psych is not for me + NUS CHS gives me the flexibility to change my major within the first 2 years
- i intend to do my master's (if i pursue psych) overseas so the prestige and brand name of NUS would prob give me some leverage to get into overseas unis i'm assuming
- i've been seeing a lot of ppl complain abt the CHS common curriculum which takes up 1/3 of the curriculum in my degree :") NTU has a common curriculum too but its much less than that of NUS so i get to study more mods related to my major, also heard from some seniors that a few unis dont recognise the NUS psych bachelors degree bcs the no. of AUs we study doesnt meet the min. requirement (although i'm not sure how true this is)
- the NTU-USP modules (which replace some of the common curriculum's core + electives) r taught in seminar style and not graded on a bellcurve so it might be better for me to learn in that type of environment esp bcs of the seminar style teaching method... and the core curriculum both in NUS and NTU doesnt rly interest me anw so maybe a seminar style would make it easier to learn these mods?
- overseas experiences r q important to me and it feels like i'll have more overseas opportunities in NTU-USP compared to NUS even though NUS has the guaranteed SEP... i also heard that its q competitive to get into exchange programmes in NUS bcs i'll be competing with all of FASS so if anyone has any insight into this, please do share!
- i'll have to stay in hall if i go to NTU which i have to pay for (abt $4000-$5000 annually so after the accommodation allowance, abt $2000-$3000 out of my own pocket every year) while i can travel to NUS from home... also i just moved in to a new house last month and it's newly renovated and rly comfy so i kinda also wanna enjoy the comforts of my own house😭
- i prefer the S/U and bidding systems in NUS more! In NUS, we can S/U the mod after seeing our grades while in NTU, we have to S/U the mod before seeing our grades for the final exam (which holds the highest weightage i assume) + in NUS, we bid for mods by ranking them according to our preference while in NTU, its on a fcfs basis! for more details on these systems, https://www.reddit.com/SGExams/s/awq4ocGYUr (note: NUS bidding system has changed to ranking by preference - factors like seniority, primary major and popularity of the mods affects the likelihood of getting them!)
- any seniors from NTU psych or NUS CHS pls share more abt the culture there!! like is it v competitive? are ppl generally willing to share notes and resources? is there a mugger culture? and r the ppl there v academically focused? aka do i have to grind like jc again :") i dont wanna sell my soul to the education system pls💀
I've heard from seniors and profs that the psych mods have a steep bellcurve too and that its generally a competitive course in either uni so i guess i'll have to grind either way😭 it feels like i might have a more vibrant student life in NTU(?) while the culture in NUS seems more academically-driven, but FASS/CHS seniors, feel free to correct me! Also how r the campuses for the FASS block in NUS and the SSS block in NTU HAHAH i didnt get a chance to see them up close! Just hoping anyone can share any insights abt the respective unis and programmes and shed some light into my dilemma ^
if u've made it this far, thank u for taking the time to read this post!! i'll just list some of the pros and cons of each uni below for easier reference but its basically just a summary of everything i've said above :D
☆
NUS:
Pros✅️ - flexibility to change my 1st and 2nd major within the first 2 years - psychology + management double major - guaranteed semester exchange programme (SEP) - no need to stay in hall, can travel from the comfort of my new house - i prefer its S/U system and bidding system - brand name and prestige could give me more overseas opportunities to pursue my master's
Cons❌️ - CHS common curriculum takes up 1/3 of my degree, less time to study my majors - fewer overseas opportunities compared to NTU-USP, guaranteed exchange programme may not be one of my top choices bcs its more competitive - have to study CHS common curriculum (which i'm not super interested in compared to my major) in lecture-tutorial style, which takes more effort for me from past jc experience
NTU:
Pros✅️ - more overseas experiences and opportunities (TOPS, priority for exchange programmes, USP study abroad, electives with overseas fieldwork components, etc) - small class sizes for USP modules which facilitates better learning for me personally! + provides a sense of community too - fewer modules for the common curriculum so more time to focus on my major - the hall experience could add to my uni experience esp in terms of student life + i have 4 years guaranteed hall + $2000 annual accommodation allowance
Cons❌️ - i dont really like the S/U system and dont prefer its bidding system (but have learnt some ways to work around the bidding system from seniors) - have to stay in hall away from the comforts of my own home + have to pay for hall - little flexibility to change my major once i enter uni + no double major with business (career backup if i give up on psych) - less prestige compared to NUS(?) not as much of a brand name
Okay thats about it!! Pls share your advice and opinions guys i have 5 days left to make a decision and i'm starting to panic a little😭😭 anyway thank you for reading my post and for any pieces of advice/comments yall leave!!
2024.05.19 13:30 Vedicmeet1 Can a Manglik Marry a Non-Manglik Person? Myth or Fact?
What is Manglik dosh?
Manglik dosh is an astrological condition in Vedic astrology, also referred to as Mangal dosha, Kuja dosha, or Chovva dosham. It happens if a person's natal chart has Mars (Mangal) in specific positions. It is thought that the illness has a big impact on marriage and other areas of life.Further Information about Manglik Dosh
According to astrological theory, Manglik dosh happens when Mars is placed in the 1st, 2nd, 4th, 7th, 8th, or 12th house from the ascendant (Lagna), the moon sign (Chandra), or Venus (Shukra) in a person's horoscope.Types of Mangal Dosha Based on House Placement
The word "Mangal Dosha," also known as "Manglik Dosha," in Vedic astrology refers to the positioning of Mars, or "Mangal," in particular houses of a person's natal chart or kundali chart, which is thought to have an impact on their marital life and general well-being.The Following are the Main Categories of Mangal Dosha according to Mars's House Placement:
- First House (Lagna or Ascendant):
- Second House:
- Fourth House:
- Seventh House:
- Eighth House:
- Twelfth House:
Can a Manglik Marry a Non-Manglik?
In Vedic astrology, one of the most common concerns is whether a Manglik, or someone with Mangal Dosha in their natal chart, can marry a Non-Manglik, or someone without Mangal Dosha. It has long been thought that these kinds of unions can cause difficulties and even conflict. The modern position is deeper, though. A thorough examination of the factors and secures is provided below:Traditional Beliefs
Compatibility Issues: If one partner is Manglik and the other is not, then traditional beliefs state that Mars' fiery effect can lead to tension, aggression, and conflicts in a marriage.Impact on Non-Manglik Partner: Because of the imbalance brought about by Mars' placement, it is thought that the Non-Manglik partner may experience accidents, health problems, or financial difficulties.
Modern Perspective
Holistic Chart Analysis: Rather than focusing only on Mangal Dosha, current astrologers usually stress the significance of examining the full natal chart. Aspects and positions of other planets can decrease or increase the effects.Factors that mitigate the severity of Mangal Dosha include the following:
- Beneficial aspects or connections with other planets.
- Venus or Jupiter in a helpful position.
- Some yogas, or helpful planetary combinations, prevent Mars's negative effects.
What happens when a Manglik Marries a Non-Manglik?
Standard Vedic astrology suggests that certain challenges may arise when a Manglik (a person with Mangal Dosha) marries a Non-Manglik (a person without Mangal Dosha) because of the imbalance created by Mars' influence. However, depending on a variety of factors, the actual impact may differ significantly.Here's a detailed examination of what happens and possible remedies for these issues:
Possible Difficulties
Marital Dispute: Popular opinion holds that Mars's aggressive and fiery nature can cause arguments, miscommunications, and stress within a marriage.Health Issues: According to some interpretations, the Non-Manglik partner may have accidents or health issues.
Financial Disorder: There may be disagreements or problems with money.
Emotional Stress: Both partners can face emotional ups and downs in their marriage.
Conclusion: While standard Vedic astrology shows that marriages between Mangliks and Non-Mangliks may present difficulties, these difficulties can be overcome or reduced in a number of ways. For a happy marriage, an accurate astrological analysis, suitable remedies, and a focus on open communication and personal connectivity are important. Rather than serving as a reliable indicator of marital success, modern viewpoints often stress that astrology should be one of many tools used to understand and improve relationships.
2024.05.19 13:22 soufiane212 Patterns for simple Edwardian long sleeve dresses?
Hello!
I'm looking for Edwardian dress patterns that are quite simple 'day dresses' but I can't really find any except this one: https://www.etsy.com/se-en/listing/1597047210/edwardian-walking-dress-womens-xs-4xl?click_key=cfcf0bde21080e780124f85d05caaed518dd4c90%3A1597047210&click_sum=41964d95&ga_order=most_relevant&ga_search_type=all&ga_view_type=gallery&ga_search_query=edwardian+dress+pattern&ref=sr_gallery-1-1&pro=1&sts=1&dd=1&content_source=5cd104ebbc83743cb118ee539793238c9f695b33%253A1597047210
I've checken Black Snail, Laughing Moon Mercantile, Truly Victorian etc but the designs are not exactly what I'm looking for. I'm open to using drafting books from the era too. I also found frenchcreavintage but I can't seem to find any instructions on how those patterns are drafted/graded up. If anyone has any info on that then please share! Forgive me if this is a basic question but I'm fairly new to historical sewing.
submitted by soufiane212 to HistoricalCostuming [link] [comments]
I'm looking for Edwardian dress patterns that are quite simple 'day dresses' but I can't really find any except this one: https://www.etsy.com/se-en/listing/1597047210/edwardian-walking-dress-womens-xs-4xl?click_key=cfcf0bde21080e780124f85d05caaed518dd4c90%3A1597047210&click_sum=41964d95&ga_order=most_relevant&ga_search_type=all&ga_view_type=gallery&ga_search_query=edwardian+dress+pattern&ref=sr_gallery-1-1&pro=1&sts=1&dd=1&content_source=5cd104ebbc83743cb118ee539793238c9f695b33%253A1597047210
I've checken Black Snail, Laughing Moon Mercantile, Truly Victorian etc but the designs are not exactly what I'm looking for. I'm open to using drafting books from the era too. I also found frenchcreavintage but I can't seem to find any instructions on how those patterns are drafted/graded up. If anyone has any info on that then please share! Forgive me if this is a basic question but I'm fairly new to historical sewing.
2024.05.19 11:31 PromotionSad8041 Acceptance rate for a transferee
Hi, I’m currently a 1st year student in Mapúa applying to transfer to Benilde for BS Architecture. I’m from a different program and flunked some of my grades lol but had a few good ones, what are the chances of me getting in?
submitted by PromotionSad8041 to Benilde [link] [comments]
2024.05.19 10:21 Busy_Daikon_2776 How do I sell myself to the college I'm applying for?
Relevant ba or malaki nahehelp ang extracurricular activities at highschool when it comes to applying for college? transferee ako sa shs so g11 and 12 halos wala akong najoin na competitions or activities other than writing ones (sa campus lang). I'm not in any clubs cause I was too anxious and scared to join. I tried reaching out pero wala akong natanggap na response from them haha ghosted. And I also quit the choir due to the same reason (I didn't have any close friends there and I felt so alone). I'm not a class officer either due to my introverted nature (usually mga extroverted and popular kids yung hinahype for officers). I'm part of the school paper pero hindi napublish yung school paper namin. I don't participate in any extracurricular activities bc I'm very shy and need talaga ng push from multiple ppl. Ito Yung mga regrets ko sa shs sana hindi ako nagpatalo sa hiya huhu.
Anyways, nakakuha ako ng slot for interview for 1 of my top 3 colleges for my chosen courses (1st and 2nd) but I have no idea how to sell myself. I'd say i'm a responsible and hardworking student. But I sadly don't have anything to prove or strengthen that claim other than my grades. Consistent honor student ako since forever and I can speak English fluently (I'd say 8.5 ish at least). Pero yun lang. I also do traditional and digital art but those skills are not related sa course ko. What do I do? How do I sell myself to them?
Ps. My 1st choice is BSA btw and the slots for the course are very limited.
tldr: I'm an average honor student who barely partook in any extracurricular activities in shs. I'm wondering if it matters. If it does then i need help on how to sell myself to the uni I'm applying for.
submitted by Busy_Daikon_2776 to CollegeAdmissionsPH [link] [comments]
Anyways, nakakuha ako ng slot for interview for 1 of my top 3 colleges for my chosen courses (1st and 2nd) but I have no idea how to sell myself. I'd say i'm a responsible and hardworking student. But I sadly don't have anything to prove or strengthen that claim other than my grades. Consistent honor student ako since forever and I can speak English fluently (I'd say 8.5 ish at least). Pero yun lang. I also do traditional and digital art but those skills are not related sa course ko. What do I do? How do I sell myself to them?
Ps. My 1st choice is BSA btw and the slots for the course are very limited.
tldr: I'm an average honor student who barely partook in any extracurricular activities in shs. I'm wondering if it matters. If it does then i need help on how to sell myself to the uni I'm applying for.
2024.05.19 09:29 Secret-Tomatillo5044 I Accepted a Job to Film on the Dark Web pt1
I Accepted a Job to Film on the Dark Web
Man, I am pumped to tell you chronically online content addicts my story. Wait is that too mean of an intro? Will this get taken down for harassment since I painted too accurate a picture of the people on this site? Sorry, everyone, I’m sure you all smell like an expensive bakery and have touched grass this morning. Anyway, I promise I have something interesting. It even involves the dark web you uncreative writers cream yourselves over! I mean, totally real people speaking about their strangely similar experiences. Okay, fine I’ll stop bullying you through the screen before you click off.
This all started when I was seven years old and my parents were killed in front of me in an anti-indigenous hate crime, but let's be real you don’t care. I’m just some annoying Cherokee kid with dead parents so I’ll skip to the good parts. I spent years in an orphanage, gradually becoming more interested in death and violence. As bad as it is, I went out of my way to expose myself to that content in the hopes of desensitizing myself. Which ended up working too well, since now I’m obsessed with causing and viewing pain, though I don’t find any joy in hurting myself.
I got adopted at twelve and after a few months of staying at my new family’s home on the reservation, I went with them to a state sweatier than the average Reddit user, California. Long story short, both of my caretakers, whom I referred to as Uncle and Auntie because they could never be my parents, died. Leaving me in the care of their older son, who I call cousin. I’m not stupid enough to give up any real names, so I’ll call him Brick, cause he’s as dumb as one. He was in his early 20s when he was tasked with taking care of me and is the world’s worst excuse for a babysitter.
I’m almost always alone at the apartment, with him only coming by to drop off supplies and stay for a few hours so the neighbors don’t get too worried. Unless I get in trouble at school, then he’d suddenly give a shit. It's useful because he doesn't about the gory stuff I look at, but some display of interest would be nice. Oh well, ninety percent of the population sucks so he’s just part of the majority. Now, with that said, you’ll be able to understand the perfect storm that led me here. During my time on the deep web, I found a particular website that caught my eye. They had new footage relatively consistently and they were the easiest for me to access since I didn't go too far into the dark web, especially with all the honey pots lying around.
I even bought a couple of files for myself to study and admire. One thing irritated me though, the cameraman. He was always sobbing, breathing, shaking, or some combination of those. It seriously killed the vibe of the killings. Something I commented on under many videos, often saying I would do a better job filming. A choice that in hindsight was me asking to end up in one of those recordings. I didn't think anything of it at the time. I was mostly the only one who commented but I was sure they wouldn't care. I was embarrassingly wrong.
I was staying up like usual, but it was past one AM on a school night, and back then that was a lot so I tried to sleep. Closing my eyes, tossing and turning, the works. I had just started drifting off when I heard the front door open. I remained calm but immediately found it weird since Brick never showed up this late. The thuds of the individual's feet grew louder as they got closer to my bedroom. I tried to convince myself it wasn't a stranger, especially since they got in with ease, but I knew that was wishful thinking.
They hummed as they opened my door. My dumbass had left it unlocked. I remained on my side, trying to look like I was asleep. They turned on the flashlight of their phone, shining it in my face. It was hard but I stayed still while they traced it over my features. I could tell they were smiling as they clicked their tongue.
“Heh, I knew it was a brat,” they whispered to themselves, pulling tangles out of my hair. Something I struggled not to groan from. They pulled up the hair over my ear and got so close spit got on my ear lobe.
“I know you’re awake kid,” they murmured, putting a blade to my neck. I let them grab my shoulder and move me onto my back, I knew how to fight but I wasn't about to take that big a risk with the position they had me in.
“You think you’re so cool saying you can do better than our guy.” they snickered, kneeling, their flashlight still shining in my face.
“Do you seriously believe that?” they questioned, moving the light away.
“Yeah, I do.” I stood my ground, they might have been intimidating but I wasn't gonna let that stop me from being honest.
“I wouldn't sound like I’m gonna piss myself every time it gets gory. I’m confident I could get better footage too, getting up close is something I’ve fantasized about.”
They clicked their tongue again and ran their finger over the bridge of my nose.
”Well, I know you’re a big fan of what we do, and you’re confidence makes me think you got something to back those claims up, so how’d you like a deal?”
I was surprised by how civil they were being aside from the touching and weapon against my throat.
“What kind of deal?” I asked, for all I knew this guy wanted me to lick their feet or some weird shit like that. They placed a finger underneath my eye, tracing a half moon with their nail.
“You have till this Friday to film a video of you killing an animal and put it on a flash drive that I’ll pick up here. If it impresses me and the crew we’ll hire ya with a handsome salary.” They began, moving their hand down to my cheek.
“But if you don't show, or it doesn't meet our standards, then I’m fucking up one of the parts of your face.” They warned, pinching my skin harshly.
“And if I say no to this deal?”
They put their hand over my mouth, scratching my lips.
“That’s cute, if you say no I’ll just slit your throat.” they grinned.
“Or rip it open with my teeth if you got a preference,” they smirked, before running their tongue across their sharp teeth.
“Okay, since I have no choice I’ll go with it, but I’m telling you now I can give you something way better than what you likely expect of me.” I prefaced, looking into their sunken eyes. They scratched my scalp, including the side of my head that was shaved.
“Good choice, I’ll be back to pick it up and if you're not here I’ll assume you don’t have the video. I genuinely wish you luck, because you’ll need it.” they removed the blade from my neck and walked away. I sat still for a few minutes in the dark, processing what had happened and wondering how they got into my apartment with such ease. I was confident I could blow their sniveling excuse of a cameraman out of the water, but I was worried about the people I was getting caught up with.
Sure, I had been on a lot of gore sites over the years but I was always just watching and occasionally commenting. Compared to most in the scene I wasn't much of a threat. I could defend myself and have contemplated killing for years but I hadn't murdered anyone or worse. Plus, I am part of way too many targeted groups to not be constantly at risk. Teenage, fem-leaning, two-spirit, indigenous kid with trauma? Yeah, I might as well be walking sign screaming “Hate crime me”.
So yeah, there was a lot to worry about. Regardless, I couldn't let that fear hold me back. I had a job to do and a group of sickos to appease. The next morning was rough, I got no sleep cause I’d spent all night brainstorming. I barely mustered the energy to change and drank straight mouthwash instead of brushing my teeth. Slogging onto the bus with drool on my cheek, I went to the back like usual. No one sat there cause, the seats were extra worn down, and I scared off anyone who attempted to with my active, rabies-infected bitch face. That day was different though.
I blanked on his name and where I knew him from, but I recognized his wavy hair and prominent curved nose. He glanced at each seat on the bus, before somehow settling on my area. He tried to give me space but ultimately seated himself beside me after realizing it was the only spot that didn't look like it would give him cancer. I glared at him as I did with everyone, but it didn't phase him.
“You know you could pick anywhere else right?” I murmured. He stared at the floor, then at me.
“I’m aware, but a few months ago I started a mission to sit on every part of this bus, and this is the last place.” he smiled, his lips softly curving at the sides.
“What’s the point of that?”
His mouth moved into a more neutral position, but his eyes kept smiling.
“I just thought it would be neat to see the same place from a bunch of different perspectives.” he took out his phone and snapped a photo from the point of view where he was sitting. Maybe my sleepiness made my bitch face less effective, cause he hadn't shown a hint of fear, which kind of annoyed me.
“That’s cool I guess, but I wouldn't do that if I were you. I’ve done some back here alone that would make your skin crawl.” in hindsight my attempt at unnerving him just made me sound like a pervert, which is probably why he held back laughter. Trying to hide a chuckle by clearing his throat.
“Hey, it's not my business what you do, no matter how Haram it is. It’s your life so that’s between you and whatever you believe in. Just don’t shake hands with me.” he joked, playfully putting his hands up. Strangely, I remembered his name at that moment.
“Oh shit, you’re Abdul! We have art together.” I sat up, haphazardly slamming my hand down on my leg.
“Uh yeah, I’ve seen some of your paintings, they’re pretty cool. I like the way you texture them, I’m trying to work on that.” he complimented, seeming more weirded out by my sudden energy than my accidental insinuation. I felt a little stupid for yelling his name but decided not to dwell on it.
“Thanks, you’re stuff is nice, and you’re good at shading.”
He stretched his arms while thanking me. We talked for a few more minutes, taking jabs at each other throughout. Turns out he was better at being an asshole than his artsy charismatic appearance made me think. The thing setting our insults apart being that you could tell he was a loving person underneath. It was the nicest conversation I had with anyone in a while. Though he could tell I was tired so he quieted down, letting me sleep, waking me when we got to school. We went our separate ways until the last two periods we shared. All that time, I spent my remaining energy plotting how I was going to handle the video. What I’d kill, record with, and how to dispose of the evidence. It was a lot to consider, but through three classes I devised a plan.
I’d find a stray around my apartment complex and take it out in my room. Record it on a portable camera since I broke the ones on my phone, no, I will not be answering how that happened. Then once I had my footage I’d put the body in a trash bag, throw it in the complex’s garbage, and clean the blood off my floor. It didn't seem like Brick would come by so he wasn't a factor I thought I’d have to consider. The plan was almost too easy, but I decided to believe in Occam’s razor. I got so lost in thought that by the time I reached Art, which was my second-to-last period, I didn't process that we were moving seats.
“She called your name,” Abdul reminded me. Our teacher placed us next to each other at our four-person table. The two girls sitting with us were already friends, so I didn't bother to say anything, but I was interested in talking to him more.
“So, what do you think of this assignment?” He shrugged, taking out his sketchbook.
“I’m not that good at drawing people, but the idea of combining two people’s faces into a portrait seems interesting. Any ideas on who you’ll pick?”
“Probably the members of the music duo Brain Tumor, they’re my favorite artists and they both look weird as hell.”
“Wow way to talk about your favorites, if that’s what you say about them I can‘t imagine what you have to say about me.” he joked, pulling up reference pictures.
“First, it’s not an insult, second I don’t have anything to say about you. Brain and Tumor have features and styles that make them stand out. Sure they’re ugly, but it just adds to their visual charm. Hot people are boring, there’s nothing to pick at.” I explained, unzipping my bag.
“Oh, so you’re saying you think I’m hot.”
His comment wasn’t serious but it kind of got to me.
“Shit, that’s not what I meant, I was trying to say you’re boring. All hot people are boring, but not all boring people are hot, okay?” I explained, flipping to a clean page.
“Alright, but if I’m so bland then why talk to me?”
I hesitated, contemplating how much of a dick I was gonna be.
“Because it means you probably need some spice in your life, which I can provide.”
He began sketching a head on his paper.
“I like spices, but I feel like you’re the kind of person to dump a cabinet’s worth onto me.”
I flicked my pencil over to his side of the desk, putting on a mocking grin.
“Aww, you scared I’m gonna get you into trouble?”
He picked up the pencil and started using it, putting his on my side.
“No, ‘cause I’m good at setting boundaries. I’m more concerned that you’ll get annoyed with how unafraid of you I am.”
I stared at him for a moment, I hadn't expected to hear that.
“Jeez, man you didn't have to read me like that.”
He shrugged, observing the red paint from past projects that lay on my pencil.
“It's not hard to figure out, just this morning you were trying to push me away on the bus. Lucky, or unlucky, for you I want you to have a friend and you seem like a fun person.”
“Wait are you saying I have no friends?” I squinted at him.
“Well, do you?”
I didn't answer.
“If your response is silence I suggest you take up my offer.”
I was stunned, to be honest. No one had offered to be my friend since 6th grade, and that didn't last long. Of course, I accepted it, but for the rest of the period, there was an awkwardness in my mind. As pathetic as it sounds I wasn't used to others genuinely enjoying my company like he did. Which was partly by design cause I get joy out of scaring people away, but still. I forgot how it felt to have conversations about normal things like art. He had such a nice smile too, usually when I see a grin I want to slap it off, but I liked his. His voice was also nice, it’s hard to describe what in particular but it was easy on the ears.
Okay, I’m starting to get off-topic. I’ll skip to the important part. Toward the end of class, he started talking about how he was interested in filmmaking and got a portable video camera as a gift at last year’s Eid. He didn't have it on him, but he showed me a picture.
“Heh, that’s funny, I bought the same one a month ago.” I pointed out.
“Yeah, it's a popular model, I’m still getting the hang of it though cause I’m so used to using my phone.”
“Well, maybe I could bring you over to my place or vice versa after school and I can help you out.” I suggested.
He smiled, putting his phone back in his pocket.
“I thought you said you’ve only had it for a month? You know I can always look up tutorials from trained professionals.” he reminded me with a notable smugness that I'd used with him before.
“Well those guys are stuffy and I’m a fast learner.”
He redirected his attention back to his page, picking his pencil up.
“Alright, I suggest we go somewhere public instead. You’re not exactly the kind of person I want to bring home to my parents right away. Plus they always need to meet my friends and their guardians before I hang out at their home.”
I gave an exaggerated sigh, stretching my back.
“Aw man, looks like we can’t get high in my murder pit during our first hangout.”
He didn't respond for a solid few seconds.
“Wait, you do know I'm joking right?”
He shrugged, the smile in his eyes appearing again.
“I mean, one of those things is a little less believable than the other.” he snickered, and I laughed with him.
We set up a time and a date, which is where I screwed myself. He ended up being busy with projects from his other classes and family which just left us with Friday, the same day I had to submit the video. Now, did I tell him I wouldn't be able to make it? No, of course not, because I decided to be stupid and even more overconfident. I said that I’d one hundred percent be able to hang out with him after school like I didn't have a mutilator who was going to drop by my place at an unknown time.
The rest of the day went over fine but that bad timing led me to feel like a dick later. When I got home I was able to write out my plan, even sketching a few specifics of what I’d do. It was more exciting than when I’d been brainstorming, but this is when the gravity of the situation began to set in. When I said I’d fantasized about killings I meant it. I mean my teddy with twenty-five stab wounds should say enough. Regardless this would be the first time real blood was on my hands.
It made me feel powerful, but a little afraid. I’ve heard stories of people thinking that it would be an awesome experience and then feeling like shit. I doubted I’d be one of those people but still. Plus, I didn't exactly trust the guy who gave me this job. There was a good chance that this whole situation was rigged and they’d kill me no matter how good the video was. Or worse turn me into the feds and expose my collection. Honestly, if that happened I’d probably eat a shot to avoid going to jail. Wait, can I say that on this platform? Okay to the mods, that was a joke, I want to live a long life. Ugh, I’m doing a terrible job of staying on track. The point is there was a lot up in the air despite it being a matter of life or death.
I knew I’d go through with it but it was still a lot less straightforward than it initially seemed. I wracked my brain to remember where most of the cats stayed and tried to come up with a good way to lure one without raising suspicion. This also proved harder than first thought because I didn't think to account for the cat man, an old guy who lived alone and fed all the cats in our dingy complex while also housing a few. Knowing how obsessive he was he’d probably notice if one of them disappeared. Then again not all the cats return consistently or at all. It makes more sense that he’d think one of them was run over rather than slaughtered. It was getting late again so I rested my head for a moment, a bad move cause I ended up falling asleep at my desk. Not even changing out of the clothes I’d worn before, I woke up late and barely caught the bus the next morning.
I went to my usual spot but Abdul had already taken it. He patted the area next to it, which he’d covered in a towel, a smart move knowing how nasty it was. People gave me a few dirty looks as normal, which I smiled at. I stretched, my mind slightly less out of it than the previous morning.
“Uh, you do realize that-”
“Yeah, I know I’m wearing the same clothes.”
Abdul looked me up and down, his eyes remaining soft, but with a mix of concern and judgment. He set his backpack down and took off his sweater handing it to me.
“Dude what are you-”
“Look I don't know what led to you not being able to change but I think you should at least have a fresh top.”
I was surprised he was offering me something to wear but I took it.
“Uh, thanks, I’ll change into it later.”
He nodded as I put it in my backpack.
“You know you didn't have to do that.” I reminded him.
“Well there’s a lot of stuff I don’t have to do, but I do it because I want to, and I wanted to help you out.”
He smiled, his face still warmer than an Arizona summer. I got a strange feeling in my chest at that moment, I still can’t tell if it was good or bad.
“Well, thanks, I'll give it back to you tomorrow.”
We talked a little more and he mentioned something that caught my attention.
“Have you heard about all the animals that have been turning up dead?”
My eyes widened with surprise.
“No, I haven't, when did you hear about that?”
He pulled on his long-sleeve shirt.
“My sister said her friend who works at a shelter noticed a bunch of animals were getting adopted by people around the same time, and since then gore videos with them have been showing up. She found out through her co-worker who was emailed it by some random creep.”
I covered my mouth and looked away to hide the smile growing on my face. He had just given me the perfect cover-up without knowing. Now if I killed an animal people had an entire violent ring to connect it to instead of me! I stayed quiet for a minute because I could tell he’d likely see through any phony sad sounds I made.
“Oh wow, that’s awful, do you think they’ll ever find out the people behind it?”
He sighed, running his hand through his wavy hair.
“I hope so, for now, all we can do is pray that no more animals get hurt.”
I couldn't contain my grin as he said that so sincerely like animals and people didn't die constantly and that taking down one group would somehow stop the issue.
“Is there some joke I don’t get?” he furrowed his brow.
“Uh, no, sorry I smile when nervous.”
His gaze softened again, and he didn't press further.
His bringing up the animal killings ended up being the exact push I needed to get my hands dirty. I’d spent the entire day before planning so it was time to put that plan into action. I stole some cat treats that the cat man had laid out and spread them around my apartment which was on the bottom floor. Waiting for one of them to take the bate outside my window was pretty boring but one of them came after a few minutes. A scraggly brown and black cat with a tuft of fur missing on one side of his head. It's messed up but I felt like a little less of an asshole for taking him in since he looked like he was already struggling. I scooped him up and he didn't attempt to fight back.
“Hey there buddy” I waved, feeding him some more food. His eyes had a lot of crust on them, it was kinda gross but I don’t have the right to say with how often I wash my jeans. After a minute or two he let me pet him. I knew making any kind of attachment was bad but I thought it was the right thing to do so he’d fall into a sense of security. I was just about to take him into my room when the door opened.
“Hey, I’m back with groceries!” my shithead cousin announced with two plastic bags in his hands. He looked down to see me with the cat, his eyebrows raising.
“Aw come on, you know we can’t afford a pet.”
He groaned placing the bags on a table and unloading them.
“I know, but he doesn't look like he’s got a lot of life in him I at least want to help him feel better before he kicks the bucket!”
Brick rolled his eyes, putting the cereal box on top of the fridge
“Jeez, did you even think about what diseases he might have? His eyes look puffy what if he has something that can get you sick?”
He had valid concerns which was surprising since he’s usually stupid, but I was still annoyed with him.
“I’m sure he’s fine, I’ll even try to wash him, just please let me hold onto him for a little.”
He folded his arms looking down at us.
“Have you even named him?”
I froze for a second, before using the first thing that came to mind, which ended up being pretty awful knowing my plans.
“Cash cow.” I blurted, awkwardly patting his head.
“Honestly that’s better than what I was expecting. I was sure you’d pick ‘Hellspawn Mcgee’ or something else corny.”
He meant to make fun of me but honestly, I would have named him that if I had more time.
“Ugh, anyway I got those dumb chips you like.”
He then pulled out a bag of the wrong chips.
“Dude those are the wrong ones, this is the third time you’ve mixed up the flavors.”
He threw them at me, scaring the cat slightly.
“Well, I pay for it so you shouldn't be so picky. Anyway, while I was in line I picked up something you might be into.”
He then tossed me a trashy teen magazine. One of my least favorite sorry excuses for an influencer on the cover.
“This is a joke, right?”
I couldn't believe my own adopted brother gave such little shit in my interests.
“I don't know, you decided to start being a girl for real this time so I thought the makeup tips on page ten would help you out.”
I scrunched my face at his comment.
“Dude I’ve been this way for years, just because I started wearing more makeup and dresses doesn't mean I’m more of a girl than when I didn't. I know you won’t get the two-spirit thing but come on.”
He shrugged, seeing me done with me even though he’d just shown up.
“Yeah well hey I’m trying. Anyway, just so you know a friend of mine is coming here Friday.”
My heart stopped.
“Wait why here? You live elsewhere why can’t you assholes go there or their place!”
He slammed his fist on the table.
“Will you shut the fuck up!”
He screamed with a phrase I’d grown numb to.
“I don't know, to be honest, something about wanting to move into this complex and this being a way to scout it out. I’m just letting you know now so you don’t act like a complete freak.”
“Jokes on you I’ll piss in whatever shitty beer you bring just cause you said that!”
I yelled back raising my voice higher than his. He face-palmed before putting the plastic bags in the drawer under the sink.
“Whatever, you and your ketamine-addict-looking cat have fun,” he told me while seating himself on the couch. I picked up the cat and walked into the bathroom to clean it. I closed the door and placed him in the dry tub. Using a small disposable mouthwash cup I got a little bit of water. I hadn't had a pet before so I wasn't sure how to approach the task. I dipped my fingers in the water and carefully pet it while pouring s small bit down his back. Any other cat would fight back but he just made pissed-off noises without doing anything.
I scrapped my old shampoo bottle and kneaded it into his thin fur. His skin was bumpy and dry beneath the hair so scrubbing it was uncomfortable. I made sure to avoid getting soap in its eyes but I did pull away some of the crust on its lids. His pupils were so clouded I was surprised that he could see at all, making me feel even more sure that he would be on its way out with or without me.
After drying him I set him on a beat-up shirt I wore when modifying clothes. He sunk his claws into it a few times, playing with a loose string. I ignored him for the rest of the night, hopping into the shower and changing for bed. His meows woke me up a few times but I tuned it out after a while, reminding myself that he wouldn’t be my cat for long.
The next day was Thursday and there wasn't a second that passed by where the weight of the murder I’d have to commit didn't weigh on me. I seriously shot myself in the foot by taking care of that scruffy, pubic hair pile. I was supposed to be hyped about killing it, after all, I’d dreamed and seen way worse than what I was going to do. Yet once I got home and started setting up I felt grosser with each step. I decided to record it in my bathroom instead of my bedroom so it would be harder to connect to me. I set down a few fabric scraps and a worn-out beach towel, placing it all inside a tub for easier cleanup later.
“Okay, I guess it's time,” I mumbled to myself. I brought the cat in and placed it down, setting up my camera once it was comfortable. I also wore my most generic clothes in addition to a mask, putting my hair in a bun for sanitation. When I saw the flicker of red showing that the camera was on I felt I was dreaming. I smiled, excited that I’d get to live out my violent desires. Yet, when I looked down at its pathetic frame and confused expression those urges left me.
I rationalized what I was doing, reminding myself how many animals die all the time and that I’d been forced into this, but it didn't help much in the end. I won’t get into it but under the pressure of impressing the group Cash Cow didn't go out as fast as I would have liked for a first task. Getting rid of the evidence was especially rough, the textures were pretty nasty, to put it mildly. It was surreal watching the blood go down the tub drain and gradually drip off my hands as I rinsed them. I couldn't conjure a single thought the entire time I cleaned it up.
Whether I was wringing out the clothes or putting the remains in plastic bags, it didn't matter. All I could focus on was the task at hand, with hints of disgust along the way. I ended up finishing at three AM. My hands were wrinkled and shook once I settled. I won’t deny that during the murder I didn't hate it. Slashing into something was fun and it made me feel strong. Still, it wasn't nearly as fulfilling as I expected it to be. Part of it was guilt, but it was mostly disappointment. I’d built it up for years and it wasn't earth shatteringly good or bad.
Overall, I expected to feel more, but it just left me hollow with an uncomfortable itch. There was no way I’d ever be able to see the tub the same way, hell I don’t think I’ll ever use it again. Luckily I almost always shower anyway so it's not too big of a deal. I watched a few horror game videos, trashed everything, changed and went to bed.
My scalp hurt like a bitch the morning since I kept my hair in that stupid bun. Despite getting less sleep than the past two days I held myself together a bit better in the morning. I brushed my teeth, changed, and had some fried bread before getting on the bus. Regardless I looked like complete shit and struggled to slump into my seat.
“Rough night?” Abdul asked
“Uh, yeah.” I quietly responded looking to the floor.
He frowned, looking at me with concern.
“You can talk about it if you're comfortable,” he assured me. I contemplated giving him a thinly veiled metaphor or vague explanation so he'd comfort me but stopped myself before my mouth could run a muck. He wouldn't be able to do much of anything and I don’t like opening up.
“Uhm, thanks but it's something I have to deal with alone.”
He nodded, respecting my boundaries.
“You know, I understand if you can’t hang out today it seems like you have a lot going on.”
I avoided eye contact with him as he spoke. For once I was feeling hints of guilt toward a person. I wanted to spend time with him, but I knew that I wasn't in the state to do that.
“Yeah, I think it’ll have to wait, I’m-” I cut myself off before apologizing. A fact about me that should surprise no one is that I hate apologizing. Even when I do feel kinda bad the act fills me with embarrassment.
“You what?” he asked, his eyes telling me that he knew what I was going to say.
“I’m emotionally not great.” I spat out in an admittedly poor attempt to get out of saying sorry. As always he remained calm but I could tell he saw through me.
“Okay, like I said I understand, whatever it is I hope you feel better.”
I told him thank you and we didn't speak for the rest of the day. At home I changed into more comfortable clothes and brushed my teeth. Unfortunately, I wasn't bouncing back from killing nearly as much as I expected.
“It wasn't even that bad! That thing was on its last legs anyway.” I grumbled to myself, smacking my forehead. I was feeling worse than when I did it which is weird. I ended up spontaneously decorating a ratty tie from the bottom of an accessory drawer to distract myself. It helped me get my mind off things, for a little. I had zero plan, just wanting to make something needlessly complex. Hours that felt like minutes passed and soon it was covered in patches, frills, and beads. I just tried it on when I heard the front door open.
“Man, that shit was wild!” I heard Brick laugh groggily. I didn't have to see or smell him to know he’d gotten lit. I rolled my eyes, closing my bedroom door.
“Hey, who’s there?” his friend asked, seemingly referring to me.
“Oh, that’s my little sis, don’t mind her she’s just on her emo shit!” he joked, which pissed me off for the petty reason that I didn't even listen or dress emo.
“Hey, that’s alright with me, I went through one of those phases,” they responded, their words less slurred than my cousin’s.
I fucked up and forgot to lock it when I closed it so they were able to swing it open, almost smacking my desk.
“Hey emo girl!” they waved as Brick haphazardly pulled them back.
“Okay, man, seriously I think she wants to be left alone.”
The way his friend looked at me made me uncomfortable. Like they’d snap my neck if I pissed them off. They clicked their tongue while stepping through the door frame.
“Alright, but I gotta say calling her an emo is inaccurate, they look like they watch gore and most emos just say they do.” they flashed a sharp toothy grin. At that moment I began to connect the dots.
“Easy, she’ll get pissy with you dude, now come on.” Brick warned tugging their opened button pushed him away. They looked me dead in the eyes.
“I don’t think she minds, in truth, I feel like we’ll have a lot to discuss later.” they smiled again, finally walking back into the living room. A chill ran up my spine when I saw them. The sharp teeth, New York accent, unsettling gaze, that motherfucker was the person who recruited me! They were able to get into my place so easily cause my dumbass cousin probably gave them a spare key or the opportunity to make one, and now they were a room away from me!
I dug my hands into my pillow as I contemplated what to do, no matter what happened next, I knew it was gonna be a rough visit.
submitted by Secret-Tomatillo5044 to libraryofshadows [link] [comments]
Man, I am pumped to tell you chronically online content addicts my story. Wait is that too mean of an intro? Will this get taken down for harassment since I painted too accurate a picture of the people on this site? Sorry, everyone, I’m sure you all smell like an expensive bakery and have touched grass this morning. Anyway, I promise I have something interesting. It even involves the dark web you uncreative writers cream yourselves over! I mean, totally real people speaking about their strangely similar experiences. Okay, fine I’ll stop bullying you through the screen before you click off.
This all started when I was seven years old and my parents were killed in front of me in an anti-indigenous hate crime, but let's be real you don’t care. I’m just some annoying Cherokee kid with dead parents so I’ll skip to the good parts. I spent years in an orphanage, gradually becoming more interested in death and violence. As bad as it is, I went out of my way to expose myself to that content in the hopes of desensitizing myself. Which ended up working too well, since now I’m obsessed with causing and viewing pain, though I don’t find any joy in hurting myself.
I got adopted at twelve and after a few months of staying at my new family’s home on the reservation, I went with them to a state sweatier than the average Reddit user, California. Long story short, both of my caretakers, whom I referred to as Uncle and Auntie because they could never be my parents, died. Leaving me in the care of their older son, who I call cousin. I’m not stupid enough to give up any real names, so I’ll call him Brick, cause he’s as dumb as one. He was in his early 20s when he was tasked with taking care of me and is the world’s worst excuse for a babysitter.
I’m almost always alone at the apartment, with him only coming by to drop off supplies and stay for a few hours so the neighbors don’t get too worried. Unless I get in trouble at school, then he’d suddenly give a shit. It's useful because he doesn't about the gory stuff I look at, but some display of interest would be nice. Oh well, ninety percent of the population sucks so he’s just part of the majority. Now, with that said, you’ll be able to understand the perfect storm that led me here. During my time on the deep web, I found a particular website that caught my eye. They had new footage relatively consistently and they were the easiest for me to access since I didn't go too far into the dark web, especially with all the honey pots lying around.
I even bought a couple of files for myself to study and admire. One thing irritated me though, the cameraman. He was always sobbing, breathing, shaking, or some combination of those. It seriously killed the vibe of the killings. Something I commented on under many videos, often saying I would do a better job filming. A choice that in hindsight was me asking to end up in one of those recordings. I didn't think anything of it at the time. I was mostly the only one who commented but I was sure they wouldn't care. I was embarrassingly wrong.
I was staying up like usual, but it was past one AM on a school night, and back then that was a lot so I tried to sleep. Closing my eyes, tossing and turning, the works. I had just started drifting off when I heard the front door open. I remained calm but immediately found it weird since Brick never showed up this late. The thuds of the individual's feet grew louder as they got closer to my bedroom. I tried to convince myself it wasn't a stranger, especially since they got in with ease, but I knew that was wishful thinking.
They hummed as they opened my door. My dumbass had left it unlocked. I remained on my side, trying to look like I was asleep. They turned on the flashlight of their phone, shining it in my face. It was hard but I stayed still while they traced it over my features. I could tell they were smiling as they clicked their tongue.
“Heh, I knew it was a brat,” they whispered to themselves, pulling tangles out of my hair. Something I struggled not to groan from. They pulled up the hair over my ear and got so close spit got on my ear lobe.
“I know you’re awake kid,” they murmured, putting a blade to my neck. I let them grab my shoulder and move me onto my back, I knew how to fight but I wasn't about to take that big a risk with the position they had me in.
“You think you’re so cool saying you can do better than our guy.” they snickered, kneeling, their flashlight still shining in my face.
“Do you seriously believe that?” they questioned, moving the light away.
“Yeah, I do.” I stood my ground, they might have been intimidating but I wasn't gonna let that stop me from being honest.
“I wouldn't sound like I’m gonna piss myself every time it gets gory. I’m confident I could get better footage too, getting up close is something I’ve fantasized about.”
They clicked their tongue again and ran their finger over the bridge of my nose.
”Well, I know you’re a big fan of what we do, and you’re confidence makes me think you got something to back those claims up, so how’d you like a deal?”
I was surprised by how civil they were being aside from the touching and weapon against my throat.
“What kind of deal?” I asked, for all I knew this guy wanted me to lick their feet or some weird shit like that. They placed a finger underneath my eye, tracing a half moon with their nail.
“You have till this Friday to film a video of you killing an animal and put it on a flash drive that I’ll pick up here. If it impresses me and the crew we’ll hire ya with a handsome salary.” They began, moving their hand down to my cheek.
“But if you don't show, or it doesn't meet our standards, then I’m fucking up one of the parts of your face.” They warned, pinching my skin harshly.
“And if I say no to this deal?”
They put their hand over my mouth, scratching my lips.
“That’s cute, if you say no I’ll just slit your throat.” they grinned.
“Or rip it open with my teeth if you got a preference,” they smirked, before running their tongue across their sharp teeth.
“Okay, since I have no choice I’ll go with it, but I’m telling you now I can give you something way better than what you likely expect of me.” I prefaced, looking into their sunken eyes. They scratched my scalp, including the side of my head that was shaved.
“Good choice, I’ll be back to pick it up and if you're not here I’ll assume you don’t have the video. I genuinely wish you luck, because you’ll need it.” they removed the blade from my neck and walked away. I sat still for a few minutes in the dark, processing what had happened and wondering how they got into my apartment with such ease. I was confident I could blow their sniveling excuse of a cameraman out of the water, but I was worried about the people I was getting caught up with.
Sure, I had been on a lot of gore sites over the years but I was always just watching and occasionally commenting. Compared to most in the scene I wasn't much of a threat. I could defend myself and have contemplated killing for years but I hadn't murdered anyone or worse. Plus, I am part of way too many targeted groups to not be constantly at risk. Teenage, fem-leaning, two-spirit, indigenous kid with trauma? Yeah, I might as well be walking sign screaming “Hate crime me”.
So yeah, there was a lot to worry about. Regardless, I couldn't let that fear hold me back. I had a job to do and a group of sickos to appease. The next morning was rough, I got no sleep cause I’d spent all night brainstorming. I barely mustered the energy to change and drank straight mouthwash instead of brushing my teeth. Slogging onto the bus with drool on my cheek, I went to the back like usual. No one sat there cause, the seats were extra worn down, and I scared off anyone who attempted to with my active, rabies-infected bitch face. That day was different though.
I blanked on his name and where I knew him from, but I recognized his wavy hair and prominent curved nose. He glanced at each seat on the bus, before somehow settling on my area. He tried to give me space but ultimately seated himself beside me after realizing it was the only spot that didn't look like it would give him cancer. I glared at him as I did with everyone, but it didn't phase him.
“You know you could pick anywhere else right?” I murmured. He stared at the floor, then at me.
“I’m aware, but a few months ago I started a mission to sit on every part of this bus, and this is the last place.” he smiled, his lips softly curving at the sides.
“What’s the point of that?”
His mouth moved into a more neutral position, but his eyes kept smiling.
“I just thought it would be neat to see the same place from a bunch of different perspectives.” he took out his phone and snapped a photo from the point of view where he was sitting. Maybe my sleepiness made my bitch face less effective, cause he hadn't shown a hint of fear, which kind of annoyed me.
“That’s cool I guess, but I wouldn't do that if I were you. I’ve done some back here alone that would make your skin crawl.” in hindsight my attempt at unnerving him just made me sound like a pervert, which is probably why he held back laughter. Trying to hide a chuckle by clearing his throat.
“Hey, it's not my business what you do, no matter how Haram it is. It’s your life so that’s between you and whatever you believe in. Just don’t shake hands with me.” he joked, playfully putting his hands up. Strangely, I remembered his name at that moment.
“Oh shit, you’re Abdul! We have art together.” I sat up, haphazardly slamming my hand down on my leg.
“Uh yeah, I’ve seen some of your paintings, they’re pretty cool. I like the way you texture them, I’m trying to work on that.” he complimented, seeming more weirded out by my sudden energy than my accidental insinuation. I felt a little stupid for yelling his name but decided not to dwell on it.
“Thanks, you’re stuff is nice, and you’re good at shading.”
He stretched his arms while thanking me. We talked for a few more minutes, taking jabs at each other throughout. Turns out he was better at being an asshole than his artsy charismatic appearance made me think. The thing setting our insults apart being that you could tell he was a loving person underneath. It was the nicest conversation I had with anyone in a while. Though he could tell I was tired so he quieted down, letting me sleep, waking me when we got to school. We went our separate ways until the last two periods we shared. All that time, I spent my remaining energy plotting how I was going to handle the video. What I’d kill, record with, and how to dispose of the evidence. It was a lot to consider, but through three classes I devised a plan.
I’d find a stray around my apartment complex and take it out in my room. Record it on a portable camera since I broke the ones on my phone, no, I will not be answering how that happened. Then once I had my footage I’d put the body in a trash bag, throw it in the complex’s garbage, and clean the blood off my floor. It didn't seem like Brick would come by so he wasn't a factor I thought I’d have to consider. The plan was almost too easy, but I decided to believe in Occam’s razor. I got so lost in thought that by the time I reached Art, which was my second-to-last period, I didn't process that we were moving seats.
“She called your name,” Abdul reminded me. Our teacher placed us next to each other at our four-person table. The two girls sitting with us were already friends, so I didn't bother to say anything, but I was interested in talking to him more.
“So, what do you think of this assignment?” He shrugged, taking out his sketchbook.
“I’m not that good at drawing people, but the idea of combining two people’s faces into a portrait seems interesting. Any ideas on who you’ll pick?”
“Probably the members of the music duo Brain Tumor, they’re my favorite artists and they both look weird as hell.”
“Wow way to talk about your favorites, if that’s what you say about them I can‘t imagine what you have to say about me.” he joked, pulling up reference pictures.
“First, it’s not an insult, second I don’t have anything to say about you. Brain and Tumor have features and styles that make them stand out. Sure they’re ugly, but it just adds to their visual charm. Hot people are boring, there’s nothing to pick at.” I explained, unzipping my bag.
“Oh, so you’re saying you think I’m hot.”
His comment wasn’t serious but it kind of got to me.
“Shit, that’s not what I meant, I was trying to say you’re boring. All hot people are boring, but not all boring people are hot, okay?” I explained, flipping to a clean page.
“Alright, but if I’m so bland then why talk to me?”
I hesitated, contemplating how much of a dick I was gonna be.
“Because it means you probably need some spice in your life, which I can provide.”
He began sketching a head on his paper.
“I like spices, but I feel like you’re the kind of person to dump a cabinet’s worth onto me.”
I flicked my pencil over to his side of the desk, putting on a mocking grin.
“Aww, you scared I’m gonna get you into trouble?”
He picked up the pencil and started using it, putting his on my side.
“No, ‘cause I’m good at setting boundaries. I’m more concerned that you’ll get annoyed with how unafraid of you I am.”
I stared at him for a moment, I hadn't expected to hear that.
“Jeez, man you didn't have to read me like that.”
He shrugged, observing the red paint from past projects that lay on my pencil.
“It's not hard to figure out, just this morning you were trying to push me away on the bus. Lucky, or unlucky, for you I want you to have a friend and you seem like a fun person.”
“Wait are you saying I have no friends?” I squinted at him.
“Well, do you?”
I didn't answer.
“If your response is silence I suggest you take up my offer.”
I was stunned, to be honest. No one had offered to be my friend since 6th grade, and that didn't last long. Of course, I accepted it, but for the rest of the period, there was an awkwardness in my mind. As pathetic as it sounds I wasn't used to others genuinely enjoying my company like he did. Which was partly by design cause I get joy out of scaring people away, but still. I forgot how it felt to have conversations about normal things like art. He had such a nice smile too, usually when I see a grin I want to slap it off, but I liked his. His voice was also nice, it’s hard to describe what in particular but it was easy on the ears.
Okay, I’m starting to get off-topic. I’ll skip to the important part. Toward the end of class, he started talking about how he was interested in filmmaking and got a portable video camera as a gift at last year’s Eid. He didn't have it on him, but he showed me a picture.
“Heh, that’s funny, I bought the same one a month ago.” I pointed out.
“Yeah, it's a popular model, I’m still getting the hang of it though cause I’m so used to using my phone.”
“Well, maybe I could bring you over to my place or vice versa after school and I can help you out.” I suggested.
He smiled, putting his phone back in his pocket.
“I thought you said you’ve only had it for a month? You know I can always look up tutorials from trained professionals.” he reminded me with a notable smugness that I'd used with him before.
“Well those guys are stuffy and I’m a fast learner.”
He redirected his attention back to his page, picking his pencil up.
“Alright, I suggest we go somewhere public instead. You’re not exactly the kind of person I want to bring home to my parents right away. Plus they always need to meet my friends and their guardians before I hang out at their home.”
I gave an exaggerated sigh, stretching my back.
“Aw man, looks like we can’t get high in my murder pit during our first hangout.”
He didn't respond for a solid few seconds.
“Wait, you do know I'm joking right?”
He shrugged, the smile in his eyes appearing again.
“I mean, one of those things is a little less believable than the other.” he snickered, and I laughed with him.
We set up a time and a date, which is where I screwed myself. He ended up being busy with projects from his other classes and family which just left us with Friday, the same day I had to submit the video. Now, did I tell him I wouldn't be able to make it? No, of course not, because I decided to be stupid and even more overconfident. I said that I’d one hundred percent be able to hang out with him after school like I didn't have a mutilator who was going to drop by my place at an unknown time.
The rest of the day went over fine but that bad timing led me to feel like a dick later. When I got home I was able to write out my plan, even sketching a few specifics of what I’d do. It was more exciting than when I’d been brainstorming, but this is when the gravity of the situation began to set in. When I said I’d fantasized about killings I meant it. I mean my teddy with twenty-five stab wounds should say enough. Regardless this would be the first time real blood was on my hands.
It made me feel powerful, but a little afraid. I’ve heard stories of people thinking that it would be an awesome experience and then feeling like shit. I doubted I’d be one of those people but still. Plus, I didn't exactly trust the guy who gave me this job. There was a good chance that this whole situation was rigged and they’d kill me no matter how good the video was. Or worse turn me into the feds and expose my collection. Honestly, if that happened I’d probably eat a shot to avoid going to jail. Wait, can I say that on this platform? Okay to the mods, that was a joke, I want to live a long life. Ugh, I’m doing a terrible job of staying on track. The point is there was a lot up in the air despite it being a matter of life or death.
I knew I’d go through with it but it was still a lot less straightforward than it initially seemed. I wracked my brain to remember where most of the cats stayed and tried to come up with a good way to lure one without raising suspicion. This also proved harder than first thought because I didn't think to account for the cat man, an old guy who lived alone and fed all the cats in our dingy complex while also housing a few. Knowing how obsessive he was he’d probably notice if one of them disappeared. Then again not all the cats return consistently or at all. It makes more sense that he’d think one of them was run over rather than slaughtered. It was getting late again so I rested my head for a moment, a bad move cause I ended up falling asleep at my desk. Not even changing out of the clothes I’d worn before, I woke up late and barely caught the bus the next morning.
I went to my usual spot but Abdul had already taken it. He patted the area next to it, which he’d covered in a towel, a smart move knowing how nasty it was. People gave me a few dirty looks as normal, which I smiled at. I stretched, my mind slightly less out of it than the previous morning.
“Uh, you do realize that-”
“Yeah, I know I’m wearing the same clothes.”
Abdul looked me up and down, his eyes remaining soft, but with a mix of concern and judgment. He set his backpack down and took off his sweater handing it to me.
“Dude what are you-”
“Look I don't know what led to you not being able to change but I think you should at least have a fresh top.”
I was surprised he was offering me something to wear but I took it.
“Uh, thanks, I’ll change into it later.”
He nodded as I put it in my backpack.
“You know you didn't have to do that.” I reminded him.
“Well there’s a lot of stuff I don’t have to do, but I do it because I want to, and I wanted to help you out.”
He smiled, his face still warmer than an Arizona summer. I got a strange feeling in my chest at that moment, I still can’t tell if it was good or bad.
“Well, thanks, I'll give it back to you tomorrow.”
We talked a little more and he mentioned something that caught my attention.
“Have you heard about all the animals that have been turning up dead?”
My eyes widened with surprise.
“No, I haven't, when did you hear about that?”
He pulled on his long-sleeve shirt.
“My sister said her friend who works at a shelter noticed a bunch of animals were getting adopted by people around the same time, and since then gore videos with them have been showing up. She found out through her co-worker who was emailed it by some random creep.”
I covered my mouth and looked away to hide the smile growing on my face. He had just given me the perfect cover-up without knowing. Now if I killed an animal people had an entire violent ring to connect it to instead of me! I stayed quiet for a minute because I could tell he’d likely see through any phony sad sounds I made.
“Oh wow, that’s awful, do you think they’ll ever find out the people behind it?”
He sighed, running his hand through his wavy hair.
“I hope so, for now, all we can do is pray that no more animals get hurt.”
I couldn't contain my grin as he said that so sincerely like animals and people didn't die constantly and that taking down one group would somehow stop the issue.
“Is there some joke I don’t get?” he furrowed his brow.
“Uh, no, sorry I smile when nervous.”
His gaze softened again, and he didn't press further.
His bringing up the animal killings ended up being the exact push I needed to get my hands dirty. I’d spent the entire day before planning so it was time to put that plan into action. I stole some cat treats that the cat man had laid out and spread them around my apartment which was on the bottom floor. Waiting for one of them to take the bate outside my window was pretty boring but one of them came after a few minutes. A scraggly brown and black cat with a tuft of fur missing on one side of his head. It's messed up but I felt like a little less of an asshole for taking him in since he looked like he was already struggling. I scooped him up and he didn't attempt to fight back.
“Hey there buddy” I waved, feeding him some more food. His eyes had a lot of crust on them, it was kinda gross but I don’t have the right to say with how often I wash my jeans. After a minute or two he let me pet him. I knew making any kind of attachment was bad but I thought it was the right thing to do so he’d fall into a sense of security. I was just about to take him into my room when the door opened.
“Hey, I’m back with groceries!” my shithead cousin announced with two plastic bags in his hands. He looked down to see me with the cat, his eyebrows raising.
“Aw come on, you know we can’t afford a pet.”
He groaned placing the bags on a table and unloading them.
“I know, but he doesn't look like he’s got a lot of life in him I at least want to help him feel better before he kicks the bucket!”
Brick rolled his eyes, putting the cereal box on top of the fridge
“Jeez, did you even think about what diseases he might have? His eyes look puffy what if he has something that can get you sick?”
He had valid concerns which was surprising since he’s usually stupid, but I was still annoyed with him.
“I’m sure he’s fine, I’ll even try to wash him, just please let me hold onto him for a little.”
He folded his arms looking down at us.
“Have you even named him?”
I froze for a second, before using the first thing that came to mind, which ended up being pretty awful knowing my plans.
“Cash cow.” I blurted, awkwardly patting his head.
“Honestly that’s better than what I was expecting. I was sure you’d pick ‘Hellspawn Mcgee’ or something else corny.”
He meant to make fun of me but honestly, I would have named him that if I had more time.
“Ugh, anyway I got those dumb chips you like.”
He then pulled out a bag of the wrong chips.
“Dude those are the wrong ones, this is the third time you’ve mixed up the flavors.”
He threw them at me, scaring the cat slightly.
“Well, I pay for it so you shouldn't be so picky. Anyway, while I was in line I picked up something you might be into.”
He then tossed me a trashy teen magazine. One of my least favorite sorry excuses for an influencer on the cover.
“This is a joke, right?”
I couldn't believe my own adopted brother gave such little shit in my interests.
“I don't know, you decided to start being a girl for real this time so I thought the makeup tips on page ten would help you out.”
I scrunched my face at his comment.
“Dude I’ve been this way for years, just because I started wearing more makeup and dresses doesn't mean I’m more of a girl than when I didn't. I know you won’t get the two-spirit thing but come on.”
He shrugged, seeing me done with me even though he’d just shown up.
“Yeah well hey I’m trying. Anyway, just so you know a friend of mine is coming here Friday.”
My heart stopped.
“Wait why here? You live elsewhere why can’t you assholes go there or their place!”
He slammed his fist on the table.
“Will you shut the fuck up!”
He screamed with a phrase I’d grown numb to.
“I don't know, to be honest, something about wanting to move into this complex and this being a way to scout it out. I’m just letting you know now so you don’t act like a complete freak.”
“Jokes on you I’ll piss in whatever shitty beer you bring just cause you said that!”
I yelled back raising my voice higher than his. He face-palmed before putting the plastic bags in the drawer under the sink.
“Whatever, you and your ketamine-addict-looking cat have fun,” he told me while seating himself on the couch. I picked up the cat and walked into the bathroom to clean it. I closed the door and placed him in the dry tub. Using a small disposable mouthwash cup I got a little bit of water. I hadn't had a pet before so I wasn't sure how to approach the task. I dipped my fingers in the water and carefully pet it while pouring s small bit down his back. Any other cat would fight back but he just made pissed-off noises without doing anything.
I scrapped my old shampoo bottle and kneaded it into his thin fur. His skin was bumpy and dry beneath the hair so scrubbing it was uncomfortable. I made sure to avoid getting soap in its eyes but I did pull away some of the crust on its lids. His pupils were so clouded I was surprised that he could see at all, making me feel even more sure that he would be on its way out with or without me.
After drying him I set him on a beat-up shirt I wore when modifying clothes. He sunk his claws into it a few times, playing with a loose string. I ignored him for the rest of the night, hopping into the shower and changing for bed. His meows woke me up a few times but I tuned it out after a while, reminding myself that he wouldn’t be my cat for long.
The next day was Thursday and there wasn't a second that passed by where the weight of the murder I’d have to commit didn't weigh on me. I seriously shot myself in the foot by taking care of that scruffy, pubic hair pile. I was supposed to be hyped about killing it, after all, I’d dreamed and seen way worse than what I was going to do. Yet once I got home and started setting up I felt grosser with each step. I decided to record it in my bathroom instead of my bedroom so it would be harder to connect to me. I set down a few fabric scraps and a worn-out beach towel, placing it all inside a tub for easier cleanup later.
“Okay, I guess it's time,” I mumbled to myself. I brought the cat in and placed it down, setting up my camera once it was comfortable. I also wore my most generic clothes in addition to a mask, putting my hair in a bun for sanitation. When I saw the flicker of red showing that the camera was on I felt I was dreaming. I smiled, excited that I’d get to live out my violent desires. Yet, when I looked down at its pathetic frame and confused expression those urges left me.
I rationalized what I was doing, reminding myself how many animals die all the time and that I’d been forced into this, but it didn't help much in the end. I won’t get into it but under the pressure of impressing the group Cash Cow didn't go out as fast as I would have liked for a first task. Getting rid of the evidence was especially rough, the textures were pretty nasty, to put it mildly. It was surreal watching the blood go down the tub drain and gradually drip off my hands as I rinsed them. I couldn't conjure a single thought the entire time I cleaned it up.
Whether I was wringing out the clothes or putting the remains in plastic bags, it didn't matter. All I could focus on was the task at hand, with hints of disgust along the way. I ended up finishing at three AM. My hands were wrinkled and shook once I settled. I won’t deny that during the murder I didn't hate it. Slashing into something was fun and it made me feel strong. Still, it wasn't nearly as fulfilling as I expected it to be. Part of it was guilt, but it was mostly disappointment. I’d built it up for years and it wasn't earth shatteringly good or bad.
Overall, I expected to feel more, but it just left me hollow with an uncomfortable itch. There was no way I’d ever be able to see the tub the same way, hell I don’t think I’ll ever use it again. Luckily I almost always shower anyway so it's not too big of a deal. I watched a few horror game videos, trashed everything, changed and went to bed.
My scalp hurt like a bitch the morning since I kept my hair in that stupid bun. Despite getting less sleep than the past two days I held myself together a bit better in the morning. I brushed my teeth, changed, and had some fried bread before getting on the bus. Regardless I looked like complete shit and struggled to slump into my seat.
“Rough night?” Abdul asked
“Uh, yeah.” I quietly responded looking to the floor.
He frowned, looking at me with concern.
“You can talk about it if you're comfortable,” he assured me. I contemplated giving him a thinly veiled metaphor or vague explanation so he'd comfort me but stopped myself before my mouth could run a muck. He wouldn't be able to do much of anything and I don’t like opening up.
“Uhm, thanks but it's something I have to deal with alone.”
He nodded, respecting my boundaries.
“You know, I understand if you can’t hang out today it seems like you have a lot going on.”
I avoided eye contact with him as he spoke. For once I was feeling hints of guilt toward a person. I wanted to spend time with him, but I knew that I wasn't in the state to do that.
“Yeah, I think it’ll have to wait, I’m-” I cut myself off before apologizing. A fact about me that should surprise no one is that I hate apologizing. Even when I do feel kinda bad the act fills me with embarrassment.
“You what?” he asked, his eyes telling me that he knew what I was going to say.
“I’m emotionally not great.” I spat out in an admittedly poor attempt to get out of saying sorry. As always he remained calm but I could tell he saw through me.
“Okay, like I said I understand, whatever it is I hope you feel better.”
I told him thank you and we didn't speak for the rest of the day. At home I changed into more comfortable clothes and brushed my teeth. Unfortunately, I wasn't bouncing back from killing nearly as much as I expected.
“It wasn't even that bad! That thing was on its last legs anyway.” I grumbled to myself, smacking my forehead. I was feeling worse than when I did it which is weird. I ended up spontaneously decorating a ratty tie from the bottom of an accessory drawer to distract myself. It helped me get my mind off things, for a little. I had zero plan, just wanting to make something needlessly complex. Hours that felt like minutes passed and soon it was covered in patches, frills, and beads. I just tried it on when I heard the front door open.
“Man, that shit was wild!” I heard Brick laugh groggily. I didn't have to see or smell him to know he’d gotten lit. I rolled my eyes, closing my bedroom door.
“Hey, who’s there?” his friend asked, seemingly referring to me.
“Oh, that’s my little sis, don’t mind her she’s just on her emo shit!” he joked, which pissed me off for the petty reason that I didn't even listen or dress emo.
“Hey, that’s alright with me, I went through one of those phases,” they responded, their words less slurred than my cousin’s.
I fucked up and forgot to lock it when I closed it so they were able to swing it open, almost smacking my desk.
“Hey emo girl!” they waved as Brick haphazardly pulled them back.
“Okay, man, seriously I think she wants to be left alone.”
The way his friend looked at me made me uncomfortable. Like they’d snap my neck if I pissed them off. They clicked their tongue while stepping through the door frame.
“Alright, but I gotta say calling her an emo is inaccurate, they look like they watch gore and most emos just say they do.” they flashed a sharp toothy grin. At that moment I began to connect the dots.
“Easy, she’ll get pissy with you dude, now come on.” Brick warned tugging their opened button pushed him away. They looked me dead in the eyes.
“I don’t think she minds, in truth, I feel like we’ll have a lot to discuss later.” they smiled again, finally walking back into the living room. A chill ran up my spine when I saw them. The sharp teeth, New York accent, unsettling gaze, that motherfucker was the person who recruited me! They were able to get into my place so easily cause my dumbass cousin probably gave them a spare key or the opportunity to make one, and now they were a room away from me!
I dug my hands into my pillow as I contemplated what to do, no matter what happened next, I knew it was gonna be a rough visit.
2024.05.19 09:03 Euphoric-Bad2565 Made my enemy be nice to me and got her in trouble.
So in 1st and 2nd grade, there was this girl who we'll call June.
June was friends with some of the same kids as me and even friends with my best friend.
June never liked me for some reason and would be very rude to me all through 1st and 2nd grade, except one day in 2nd grade.
It was a day at school when the parents would come to hang out and do fun things with the kids. We were assigned groups and would rotate to the next activity with the rest of the group.
I was in June's group, while waiting in line for sign-in I was behind June and her mom. I said hi and she slightly turned, rolled her eyes, and ignored me. Her mom had also turned a bit and noticed I was the only kid without a parent, she did the nice in front of ppl mom scold and gave June the face, so June turned to me and said hi back.
At first, I was actually lonely and struggling because what we were doing for some of the activities was meant for two ppl (parent+child), and June's mom noticed and would have June help me or do the activities with me since there was usually time for two rounds. Then I started doing it on purpose or I'd try and interact with her so she'd be rude to me like always, she wasn't most of the time but when her mom's back was turned or when she thought her back was turned she'd be rude to me. Once throwing a ball at me not so playfully.
Her mom made her give up her popsicle to me at the end of the day.
The next day I heard from my best friend that she ended up in trouble and was grounded from the TV. She glared extra hard at me for her whole week of grounding.
The best feeling ever especially after finding out that June's best friend didn't hate me like June, and ended up being my friend.
submitted by Euphoric-Bad2565 to CharlotteDobreYouTube [link] [comments]
June was friends with some of the same kids as me and even friends with my best friend.
June never liked me for some reason and would be very rude to me all through 1st and 2nd grade, except one day in 2nd grade.
It was a day at school when the parents would come to hang out and do fun things with the kids. We were assigned groups and would rotate to the next activity with the rest of the group.
I was in June's group, while waiting in line for sign-in I was behind June and her mom. I said hi and she slightly turned, rolled her eyes, and ignored me. Her mom had also turned a bit and noticed I was the only kid without a parent, she did the nice in front of ppl mom scold and gave June the face, so June turned to me and said hi back.
At first, I was actually lonely and struggling because what we were doing for some of the activities was meant for two ppl (parent+child), and June's mom noticed and would have June help me or do the activities with me since there was usually time for two rounds. Then I started doing it on purpose or I'd try and interact with her so she'd be rude to me like always, she wasn't most of the time but when her mom's back was turned or when she thought her back was turned she'd be rude to me. Once throwing a ball at me not so playfully.
Her mom made her give up her popsicle to me at the end of the day.
The next day I heard from my best friend that she ended up in trouble and was grounded from the TV. She glared extra hard at me for her whole week of grounding.
The best feeling ever especially after finding out that June's best friend didn't hate me like June, and ended up being my friend.
2024.05.19 08:54 BOfficeStats Domestic BOT Presale Tracking (May 18). Thursday/EA+THU Comps: Furiosa ($4.49M), Garfield ($1.22M/$1.97M), Bad Boys ($3.64M/$5.30M) and Inside Out 2 ($7.66M).
BoxOfficeTheory Presale Tracking
USA Showtimes As of May 17
Presales Data (Google Sheets Link)
BoxOfficeReport Previews
DOMESTIC PRESALES
Furiosa Thursday Comp assuming $5M for keysersoze123: $4.49M
MAY
April 23
April 25
April 27
April 30
May 2
May 4
May 7
May 9
May 11
May 14
May 16
Note: I have removed most tracking data that has not been updated for 2 weeks. I think there is value in keeping data for a week or two but at a certain point they start to lose their value and should not be treated the same as more recent tracking data.
submitted by BOfficeStats to boxoffice [link] [comments]
USA Showtimes As of May 17
Presales Data (Google Sheets Link)
BoxOfficeReport Previews
DOMESTIC PRESALES
Furiosa Thursday Comp assuming $5M for keysersoze123: $4.49M
- abracadabra1998 ($5.46M Thursday comp. GxK obviously really propping the average up but for now I could see that settling at around $5 Million, still good pace! (May 12). Really good stuff in this market (May 9). Reallyyyyyy good day 1 here. I want to note that: NO I do NOT think preview numbers will be that high; it's just highlighting the fact that this is likely a movie that will be running hot in my market, as cinephile blockbusters usually do. Next update I will have T-14 comps, which will be a lot lower due to the short release window (May 8).)
- AniNate (Encouraging to see the weekend fill out a bit. Been seeing a lot of promotion during the basketball playoffs so general awareness has to be getting there now. (May 15). Skimmed through ThuFri and Valley View (Cleveland vicinity) has sold roughly 60 Furiosa tix so far while Tinseltown (Canton) has sold 40. I'm guessing the upfront audience does lean more toward the urban/cosmopolitan sensibilities (May 9). Presales show there's definitely some hype for this. Regal gonna irritate trackers again, offering no upcharge IMAX for Furiosa (May 8).)
- Charlie Jatinder ($3.05M Thursday comp.)
- el sid ($5.8M average Thursday comp (without Exorcist 2) (May 12). Furiosa continues its strong performance in "my" theaters. The movie yesterday had already 1.310 sold tickets (for Thursday, May 23). Up 15% in ca. 24 hours which isn't bad at all after the first rush. Already comfortably in front of The Fall Guy's final sales (it had 1.071 counted on Thursday for Thursday) and almost on par with Civil War's final sales (1.357) and also the Apes finally had not more than 1.657 sold tickets in my theaters (May 11). I also can't complain about Furiosa's presales in my theaters, not at all. Already 1,138 sold tickets (in all of "my" 7 theaters) for May 23. 14 days left. Promising start. Civil War on Thursday of the release week for Thursday had 1,357 sold tickets and The Fall Guy finally had 1,071 sold tickets (May 9).)
- katnisscinnaplex ($3.94M Thursday comp.)
- keysersoze123 (Definitely chugging along. I am feeling good about 5m+ previews (May 15). It has way stronger sales than Garfield and that is expected. I am thinking of 5m previews for now (May 14). I think this is a solid OD presales. With a short PS window its probably looking at 5m+ previews (May 9).)
- TheFlatLannister ($4.71M Thursday comp. Second straight day of weak growth. Not a great sign (May 18). First meh day since presales started (May 17). Keeps climbing at a strong pace (May 11). This continues to grow at an excellent rate (May 10). Really strong day 2. The short presales is for sure a factor (May 9). Not seeing much of a breakout. Still pretty solid start to presales (May 8).)
- vafrow ($3.5M Thursday comp. A bit of a step back today (May 18). It's starting to heat up (May 17). Comps are showing as steady since the last update, but it actually dipped quite a bit this week before rebounding today. Advance ticket buying has been so off in this market recently for some reason. Holding pace with Apes is a good sign (May 16). It had a good day (May 12). Mediocre day 2 (May 10). Not the hottest start. IMAX is the format of choice though, so, ATP will be high (May 9).)
- YM! (Southeast Wisconsin: Pretty solid I guess for Furiosa. Seems that most of it's business is in the Marcus Theaters in Mequon/Waukesha so not really expecting much a diverse showing but there seems to be a fanbase around it. Feel good in everyone's 4.5-5M previews range (May 17).)
- vafrow (Getting a theatrical release up here in Canada, and early signs are that it might get a pretty decent screen count. Not super wide or anything, but a pretty decent amount for a weekend that has a lot of other releases (May 14).)
- abracadabra1998 ($0.72M EA comp and $1.19M Thursday comp. The two comps that are most helpful, Wish and Trolls (not PLF, EA on a weekend, family movies) are both pointing to a lot lower than average, so I'm inclined to give those a lot more weight. I'm thinking $500-600k for EA (May 18). Still not really accelerating, and the EA is falling against comps (May 12). Good EA numbers, but many of these comps were PLF-only EA, which this is not, so I think the ATP will be quite lower and that should be adjusted for (May 9).)
- AniNate (EA screenings are pretty filled to the brim here now for what that's worth. Maybe a surge in family demand will present itself later next week (May 17). EA sales look decent now, but this does feel rather weak compared to the IF presales. Not 100% certain what's going on here but based on this I buy the trades' opening estimates over the forum vibes (May 15). I definitely haven't seen as much of a rush here with Garfield as with IF (May 11).)
- el sid (The very even sales are a good sign (May 7). For Sunday, May 19, I can already report that also in my theaters it looks very good for Garfield. They will for sure add shows soon. It has so far only 1 show/theater and the shows are almost sold out, between 1 and 4 seats are still available. So my guess still is that this movie if it's not totally bad (and first reviews here were quite positive) will become a (big) hit. Seems not much on Thursday but it's a step in the right direction (May 6).)
- katnisscinnaplex ($0.91M EA comp and $1.11M Thursday comp. Lightyear probably the best comp here size-wise for Early Access, probably ends around 750-800k (May 18).)
- keysersoze123 (4 days later. Almost no pace so far. Sunday shows are near sellout and so limited growth. Previews are like 35% of Panda 4 and Friday is under 1/3rd. That said this will under index in MTC1 as Panda also did that. Still struggling to see this as a breakout. Looking at the current state, it looks like half of IF as well !!! Of course that had Reynolds and did not finish that great (May 17). Its definitely weaker than even Elemental. That said these movies tend to finish strong and so I am not writing it off so early. Just that the long PS window is irrelevant for them. They could rather start presales like a week before release and it would be all the same. Meh. We have to wait until next week to gauge where its going to finish. It has very low ATP as well and actual would be even lower as its going to see tons of kids tickets (May 14). Early shows are regular digital shows at 1PM this sunday. So ATP will be very low. I think 500k ish at best. Preview let us see how things go in the final week. Presales at this point are almost non existent (May 13).)
- TheFlatLannister ($2.18M Thursday comp. Not much movement at all in the past week. Probably heading to $2M+ (May 17).)
- vafrow ($0.4M Thursday comp. Comps don't paint a pretty picture though. EA shows are doing okay (May 11). Still no sales for my core sample for previews. But I did the larger sweep, which shows the interest right now is the Sunday early access shows. Looking at sales patterns, it's mainly blocks of 3/4 tickets, so likely families grabbing some. It's worth noting that the May holiday in Canada is the weekend of May 17-20th, not the weekend after with Memorial Day. I can see families prioritizing getting out the holiday weekend when they have more time (May 4).)
- YM! (The combined previews total for Garfield is 35 tickets with 23 tickets coming from EA, which is pretty solid. Still thinking around 2-2.75m previews with EA as while not as widespread, the showings seem like they’re filling up nicely. Think Garfield does about the same as IF though OW as due to the likely lower ATP Keyser hinted at iirc and seemingly little screen space with no PLFs. Meh, kids animation doesn't really make much notion until the Monday for release and Garfield seems indicative of that. Thinking the 1.5-2M Thursday previews range folks were spitting out makes sense. Nothing screams breakout though and the fact it's getting one screen, maybe two at most for previews makes me feel like OW might be similar to IF (May 17).)
- abracadabra1998 ($3.78M Thursday comp. These numbers are from last Thursday, as per my post this morning. This is a more walk-up movie a la Aquaman or Apes so I think it's a pretty good start (May 18). Pretty good start for it honestly (May 16).)
- katnisscinnaplex ($5.30M EA+Thursday comp.)
- TheFlatLannister ($3.68M Thursday comp. Well, this is a pretty good start (May 17).)
- YM! (Again, another solid start-ish. I expect Bad Boys to have the most diverse audience. Can't really predict much on previews but I am feeling confident in the 55-60m OW range for the past few weeks (May 17).)
- vafrow ($3.45M Thursday comp. Comps are not the greatest. One, surprisingly hard to find a comparable film with similar start on sales. Plus, I think ticket buying patterns have changed pretty drastically in my market over the last few months. There's very little up front sales compared to late 2023. Dune was the exception (May 17).)
- BoxOfficePro (Fathom Events has also announced that select Regal Cinemas will present the films in 4DX on June 22/23/24 for Fellowship/Towers/Return respectively (May 14).)
- katnisscinnaplex (Up to ~1,400 shows now with new locations picking it up and others adding a second showing. LotR1 has sold 831 seats OD, LotR2 sold 715 seats OD, and LotR3 sold 735 seats OD. For comparison, Phantom Menace didn't break 800 tickets until T-3 and we're still over a month out. JW3 comp is currently around 9m (it was at 1,670 tickets sold at this point!) (May 6).)
- abracadabra1998 ($3.67M Thursday comp. Holy numbers of shows and seats! Multiplexes are really expecting a lot here. Sales off the bat not amazing here sadly, but we shall see where it goes (May 15).)
- AniNate (It is encouraging that Canton is already giving me something to work with with 12 Thursday preview sales. Same number for Fri-Sun. I do see nine sales for first Thursday at Canton now and I think that's a pretty solid start (May 15).)
- charlie Jatinder ($11.37M Thursday comp at MTC2.)
- katnisscinnaplex ($6.21M Thursday comp. Early sales just haven't been there lately except for the extreme fans. $12.27M Mario comp (May 18). Already at 180 shows for previews in my areas and still has a few theaters left to post. For comparison, Godzilla x Kong finished with 197, Kingdom of Apes 190, and Kung Fu Panda 205 (May 14).)
- keysersoze123 (At least the show counts show Plexes are expecting a big OW. I dont remember when we last had a animation movie start with so many shows. I wont count Mario as that was a fan driven movie. Definitely not great presales but this is not a fan driven movie. Let us see where things are in the final week (May 15). Too early to judge presales as ticket sales just started early this morning. Families dont book tickets on weekday mornings. Wait until evening today to judge it. From a release perspective its way bigger than all animation movies seen recently including Panda 4. Easily the biggest I have seen in a long time. Only movie which is not comparable is Mario but that was not just a family flick (May 14).)
- Porthos (VERY BAD COMPS: $8.06M Thursday comp. What a strange pre-sale pattern. Threw in Shazam 2 and Barbie simply due to having nothing suitable at T-27, and I wanted something that was backloaded in pre-sales. Was prepared to make a smart-aleck comment about the unsuitability of the pre-sale pattern of Barbie, but after today's update... Okay, yeah. Still no. But what a weird pattern. Was there some sort of promo that dropped today that I'm not aware of? Either way, just a great day (for this type of movie at this point in pre-sales) (May 17). Fairly strong day today, actually. Was concentrated at a couple of theaters (including a small group sale at one showing), but still, sales are sales (May 16). I really do not have good comps for this movie. Like, at all. Especially for D1. With that in mind, I did some digging and did manage to get the Elemental D1 numbers out of the old Tracking thread: IO2 = 5.45946x Elemental on D1 [13.10m]. Now will Inside Out 2 be as backloaded as Elemental? Well it's tough to literally sell 5.5x times the amount of tickets on the final couple of days that Elemental did, so perhaps not. But it does show how fracking backloaded purely kids animation is. Anyway, this is 30 days out and it isn't a CBM film (like AtSV) or CBM-adjacent film (like Incredibles 2). The Sonic 2 comp is perhaps a little concerning. On the other hand, nearly a weeks more of pre-sales so not exactly a great comp. 3.5% of presales are 3D and 40.1% are PLF (May 15). On the Saturday of release weekend (ie NOT EA) there is a special event screening for IO2: INSIDE OUT 2: FUNKO FAMILY EVENT! (2024) Sat June 15th. Might boost the OW slightly, depending on how wide this event is and how much more these tickets will presumably cost (May 11).)
- TheFlatLannister ($8.97M Thursday comp. Definitely the biggest rollout in showings since I've started tracking Florida. Bigger than even Dune 2 and it's only T-26 (May 18). This is a super super strong day 2. Probably just Orlando overindexing, but yeah starting to lean towards something big brewing. Florida presales are somehow even crazier. Sold 2357 seats and is getting a blockbuster rollout in terms of showing allocations. Kung Fu panda comp day 2: gives me $8.50M (May 15). Well, I can't really tell if this is a breakout or not yet. Looks very good especially in the first few hours. These are probably terrible comps, but might as well try something (May 14).)
- TwoMisfits (I'm kinda shocked at the opening set from my Cinemarks... 2 screens (1 PLF, 1 not) and 6 showings at my PLF 14 for Thursday (and 11 showings on the same screens once it runs full day - 7 PLF b/c 1 is 3d on the reg screen, 4 not)... 3 screens (.75 3d, 2.25 not) and 9 showings at the non-PLF 12 for Thursday (and 12 showings on 2.25 screens once it runs full day)... So, 2 and 2.25 screens for the weekend presale sets... Disney must be charging a huge % for themselves b/c this is an Elemental opening set at my PLF...a little more generous for Thursday at my non-PLF, but then they too drop to an Elemental opening set after the adult Disney base Thursday rush... (May 14).)
- vafrow (No new sales. Whatever glitches in the system on day 1 didn't push sales to day 2. I still think the lack of base ticket options will push families to wait. Cineplex has jacked up the cost of premium formats, plus they're throwing in an increase for opening weekend of major releases. It adds up quickly for families (May 16). With the site glitching yesterday, it might account for the slow start. But, what's interesting is the format breakdown. Nothing is being made available in anything close to a regular showtime. The one non 3D showing in Dolby is a matinee showing. Everything else is carrying a hefty premium. They'll likely release regular showtimes closer to release, but right now, it's priced to get eager fans to pay the premium formats (May 15).)
- YM! (Seems IO2 is playing more like a kid's animation than a family event in start of presales. However, it is pretty solid for what it is. Do not have comparisons for anything but I like that Majestic is healthy and it about 66% of Garfield T-6. Thinking anywhere from 75m-100m OW rn but can change as we go along (May 17). In fairness it's only been an hour but yeah sales are softer than I expected. However, it is a month out and will largely skew more towards kids than say TLM/Across so wasn't expecting a blitz like them. Here at Marcus theaters are going all out for IO2 with it having the lion share of PLFs with it getting both screens when there is two PLFs with tentpole like levels of screens (May 14). Was taking a look at Marcus Cinemas to see that they have preloaded Inside Out 2 showtimes which seem to start at 3:00 pm on a Thursday. It seems like Marcus is going all out on it as judging from showtimes it's taking away all of Bad Boys’ PLFs in that theaters that have two+ PLFs are giving all to IO2 (May 11).)
- keysersoze123 (Only number that matters is OD presales. after few days it will hit a trough and then it will plod along until social media reactions and reviews hit close to release. I think we can kind of predict its OW after its OD presales (May 18). RESPONSE TO PORTHOS: Captain Marvel had very strong sales on its OD despite early start. So OD is all about fans. It does not matter if you start 2 weeks before or 9 weeks. They will still book. So it would be interesting to compare OD sales not only with CM for @Porthos but also the big openers in 2022/23 period from MTC perspective. 1) DS2 - 230k ish. 2) Thor 4 - 136k ish. 3) Wakanda - 110k. 4) Ant 3 - 88K. 5) Guardians 3 - 70k ish. I wonder where Deadpool 3 will land. Anything is fine as long as it does pull in a Marvels (May 17).)
- Porthos (No point of comparison for a movie starting presales this early (60+ days before release). Only MCU entry which comes close was Captain Marvel back in Jan of 2019 (T-58 start date). Aside from that, the only other Disney release would be TROS starting at T-59. This is gonna be the longest pre-sale window for a major Disney release since The Last Jedi all the way back in 2017 (which looks to be around 70 days if a cursory check of when tickets went on sale is correct). Hell, it's gonna be the longest major release of any studio since Fast X's execrable 99 day pre-sale window. Have had some that came close-ish, but probably the most on-point recent comparison will be Jurassic World 3's 43 day pre-sale window, which is still over three weeks shorter than this one. I mention this because the sheer length of the pre-sale window will very likely depress the D1/D2/D3 sales somewhat. Maybe not much, but you can't tell me there'd be no difference between a T-21 launch, a T-29 launch, a T-35 launch and a T-65 launch. Sure, it's a matter of smaller degrees when comparing something like a BP2 (starting at T-38), but that extra month is probably gonna slice some numbers off the top of the pile, especially after the first day (May 17).)
MAY
- (May 19) Review Embargo Lifts [Garfield 9 PM EST]
- (May 20) Presales Start [Deadpool and Wolverine (9 AM EST)]
- (May 20) Opening Day [Monday: Spider-Man Homecoming Re-Release]
- (May 22) Presales Start [The Watchers]
- (May 23) Presales Start [Summer Camp]
- (May 23) Thursday Previews [Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga + Hit Man + The Garfield Movie + Sight]
- (May 26) Presales Start [Bikeriders]
- (May 27) Opening Day [Monday: Spider-Man Far From Home Re-Release]
- (May 30) Presales Start [A Quiet Place: Day One]
- (May 30) Thursday Previews [Ezra + Haikyu!! The Dumpster Battle + Summer Camp + Robot Dreams]
- (June 3) Opening Day [Monday: Spider-Man No Way Home Re-Release]
- (June 5) Presales Start [Despicable Me 4]
- (June 6) Presales Start [Twisters]
- (June 6) Thursday Previews [Bad Boys: Ride or Die + The Watchers]
- (June 8) 1-Saturday Re-Release (1st day) [The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring Extended Edition]
- (June 9) 1-Sunday Re-Release (1st day) [The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers Extended Edition]
- (June 10) 1-Monday Re-Release (1st day) [The Lord of the Rings: Return of the King Extended Edition]
- (June 13) Thursday Previews [Inside Out 2]
- (June 15) 1-Saturday Re-Release (2nd day) [The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring Extended Edition]
- (June 16) 1-Sunday Re-Release (2nd day) [The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers Extended Edition]
- (June 17) 1-Monday Re-Release (2nd day) [The Lord of the Rings: Return of the King Extended Edition]
- (June 20) Thursday Previews [The Bikeriders + Janet Planet]
- (June 27) Thursday Previews [Blue Lock The Movie -Episode Nagi- + Horizon: An American Saga Chapter 1 + A Quiet Place: Day One]
- (July 1) Presales Start [Longlegs]
- (July 2) Opening Day [Wednesday: Despicable Me 4]
- (July 4) Opening Day [Thursday: Possum Trot]
- (July 4) Thursday Previews [MaXXXine]
- (July 11) Thursday Previews [Fly Me to the Moon + Untitled New Line Horror movie]
- (July 18) Thursday Previews [Twisters]
- (July 25) Thursday Previews [Deadpool and Wolverine + Didi + Fabulous Four]
- (July 29) Presales Start [Alien: Romulus]
- (August 1) Thursday Previews [Harold and the Purple Crayon]
- (August 8) Thursday Previews [Borderlands + Colleen Hoover’s It Ends With Us + Cuckoo + The Fire Inside + Trap]
- (August 15) Thursday Previews [Alien: Romulus + Horizon An American Saga Chapter 2 + Ryan’s World the Movie: Titan Universe Adventure]
- (August 22) Thursday Previews [Blink Twice + The Crow + The Forge + Slingshot]
- (August 29) Thursday Previews [City of Dreams + Reagan + They Listen]
April 23
April 25
April 27
April 30
May 2
May 4
May 7
May 9
May 11
May 14
May 16
Note: I have removed most tracking data that has not been updated for 2 weeks. I think there is value in keeping data for a week or two but at a certain point they start to lose their value and should not be treated the same as more recent tracking data.
2024.05.19 08:06 Mantis_Shrimp47 The monster in the sand dunes turned my brother into a bird
"You gotta know that there's an art to it, Ezra," Hitch said, cutting another piece of duct tape.
The sleeves of his weather-beaten coat were shoved all the way up his arms, to stop the fabric from falling over his knuckles while he was working, and goosebumps lined his skin. He was strapping a rubber chicken to the back of his truck, over the lens of the shattered backup camera, with the legs pointing down so that they hung a couple inches above the ground. There were dents in the hood from the crash last week, and scratches along the door from scraping into a curb. The chicken, hopefully, would keep him from breaking anything else.
"You can't go cheap," Hitch said. "The cheap rubber chickens only make noise when pressure lets go. That's no good. As soon as I back up into something, I want this chicken to be screaming like it’s in the depths of hell."
“Sure thing,” I said in a monotone, leaning against the side of the truck.
There were scrambled electronic parts piled in the back of the truck, the innards of a radio, a broken computer, tangled wires, a couple loose pairs of earbuds. He found the parts in alleyways or bummed them off his friends for a couple bucks or stole them from the vacation homes that were left empty for most of the year. Then he sold them for a profit at the scrapyard. Hitch had bounced between minimum-wage jobs for a while after high school, spending a couple months as a bagger at the grocery store or as a seasonal worker at the farm two hours down the highway. He'd never stuck with it. At the very least, the scrapyard got him enough money to eat and occasionally spend a night in a motel when he got tired of sleeping in his car.
Hitch pressed the last piece of tape in place and grinned up at me. "I've got something for you, duck."
The nickname came from when I’d broken my leg as a child and waddled around in a cast until it was healed. I hated it with a burning passion, and I glared at Hitch with the ease of twenty-one years of practice. He had a duck tattoo at the base of his thumb that he’d gotten in a back-alley shop as a teenager. He said that he’d gotten it to remind him of me, and the fact that I hated the nickname was just a bonus. It was shaky-lined, with an uneven face, but he loved it anyway.
The handle stuck when Hitch tried to open the door, a consequence of the rust collecting in the crevices of the car and running down the sides like blood from a cut. The car groaned when the door finally popped open, a metal against metal screech that had me flinching away. Hitch dug through the cluttered fast food containers in the passenger-side footwell, eventually coming up with a crinkly paper bag. He waved away the flies buzzing around the opening of the bag and held it out to me.
The last time Hitch had brought me food, I’d gotten food poisoning because he’d left it out in the midday sun for two days. The donut was squished slightly, and the icing was stuck to the bag. I still ate it, grimacing at the harsh citrus flavor. Taking Hitch’s food was an instinct engraved from the days when Dad had given us a can of kidney beans for dinner and Hitch had drank the juice, leaving the beans for me.
I rarely went hungry anymore, three mostly square meals a day and granola in my pockets just in case, but habits didn’t die easy.
These days, Hitch only brought me food when he wanted my help, like when he saw a place he wanted to hit but was worried about doing it alone.
I got in the car, like I always did.
We drove past the cluster of seafood-themed restaurants with chipped paint decks, the beachfront park where there were always shifty-eyed men sitting under the slide, the single room library where all the books had been water damaged in the flood last year. The change was quick as we drove across Main Street, heading closer to the beach. The roads were freshly paved, the concrete a smooth black except where the sun had already started to pick away at it. The three-story homes lining the sides of the street were crouched on elegant stilts, with space underneath for a car or three. Most of the garages were empty, with the lights off and curtains drawn in the house. Come summer, the streets would be swarming with tourists and vacationers, but until then, most of the buildings nearest to the beach were unoccupied.
Hitch stopped as the sun started to go down at a house that was leaning precariously out towards the beach, tilted ever so slightly, the edge of its foundation buried in the shifting sand of the beach. It certainly looked deserted, with an overgrown yard and blue paint peeling off the door in sheets.
Hitch took his hammer out of the backseat, hoisting it over his shoulder. It was two feet of solid metal with rags wrapped around the head to muffle the sound of the hits. Hitch squared up, bending his knees and holding the hammer like a baseball bat. Before he could swing, though, the door creaked open on its own, the hinges squeaking. The house beyond was dark enough that I could only make out general shapes, glimpsing the curve of a sofa to the left, what was maybe the shimmer of a chandelier on the other side.
Hitch lowered his hammer, looking vaguely disappointed that he didn’t get to use it. “That’s…weird as hell.”
“Maybe the deadbolt broke, maybe they forgot to lock it, it doesn’t matter,” I hissed, checking our surroundings for other people again. “Just hurry up and get inside before someone calls the cops.”
Hitch flicked the lightswitch on the wall, and the lights flickered on. They were dim, buzzing audibly and blinking off occasionally. The walls were plastered with contrasting swatches of wallpaper and splattered with random colors. There was neon orange behind the dining table, a galaxy swirl in the kitchen, and on the ceiling there was a repeating floral pattern covered in nametag stickers. Each of the stickers was filled out with The Erlking. Chandeliers hung in every room, three or four for each, and rubber ducks sat on every table. A miniature carousel sat in the corner along with a towering model rocket.
Sand was heaped on every surface, at least a couple inches everywhere. It was piled in the corners and stuck to the walls, and it covered the floor in a thick blanket. Our hesitant steps into the house left footprints clearly outlined in the sand.
Hitch took a cursory look around and headed immediately for the TV mounted on the wall. “Look out the windows and tell me if anyone is coming.”
I shook the sand out of the blinds and pulled them open, then had to brush sand off of the window before I could see anything.
Hitch was quick, practiced at finding and appropriating the things that were worth taking. He came back to me with an armful of electronics and chandeliers, dumping it at my feet before turning to head deeper into the house again.
There was a thump, somewhere upstairs, and then footsteps, slow and deliberate. Hitch froze at the threshold of the room, then ran for the door with me just ahead of him, sand flying out from under our feet.
My hand was almost brushing the doorknob, close enough that I could see the light from the streetlamp outside streaming in through the cracks in the door. My fingers touched the wood and it gave under my touch, becoming malleable and warm. I yelped, stumbling backwards, and the door started to melt. The paint ran down in thick drops, pooling at the bottom of the door, and the wood warped like metal being welded. The soft edges of the door ran into the walls until there was no sign of an exit ever being there.
“Well, well, well,” said a cultured voice with just an edge of snooty elitism. “What do we have here?”
The man was well over eight feet tall, with long black hair covering his eyes. He was wearing a yellow raincoat with holes cut out of the hood to accommodate the deer antlers jutting upwards from his head. There was sand settled on his shoulders and hovering around his head like a halo.
“Who the fuck are you?” Hitch said, inching towards a window.
He smiled, just a little bit, and his teeth shone in the dim light. “I am the Erlking.”
Hitch nodded, and seemed about to respond. I grabbed him by the hand and pulled him towards the window. I could feel sand in the wind roaring against my back as the Erlking growled in anger, the grains scraping harshly against my cheeks.
We were almost to the window when Hitch was ripped away from me, and I came to a startled halt. The sand had formed long grasping arms that pressed Hitch against the floral wallpaper. His wrists were held tight, and as I watched, a sandy hand wrapped around his mouth and forced its way between his teeth. He gagged, and sand trickled out of the corners of his mouth.
The Erlking strolled towards him, not seeming to be in any sort of rush. “You know, I’m not very fond of your yapping.”
He made an idle gesture and the sand wrapped around my ankles, tethering me in place.
“I yap all the time,” Hitch said. “Three-time olympic yapper, that’s me. Best to just let me go now and save yourself some trouble.”
The Erlking tapped a manicured nail against Hitch’s mouth, hard enough to hurt, judging by the way he flinched away. “But why would I ever let you go when I’ve gone to this much trouble to catch you and your sister? It’s so hard, these days, to find people that no one will miss.”
Hitch struggled against the sand, trying to escape and failing. “What do you want with us, then? You just said it, we’re nobody.”
“I’m fae, dear one,” the Erlking said. “I get my power from my followers. And I think that you two will make lovely additions to my flock.”
He flicked Hitch's nose and Hitch gasped. Feathers started to form on his arms, popping out from under his skin in a spray of blood.
Hitch pushed off the wall, using his bound hands as a fulcrum, and his knees crashed into the Erlking’s stomach. The Erlking fell backwards, wheezing, and the sand around my ankles loosened.
Hitch made desperate eye contact with me as feathers shot up his neck and jerked his head towards the window. The message was obvious. Run.
The last thing I saw before crashing out the window and into freedom was Hitch’s body twisting, his arms wrenching into wings and feathers covering every inch of his skin. By the time I landed on the concrete outside, he was a small black bird, held tightly in the Erlking’s hands. The whole building was sinking into the ground, burnished-gold sand piling up over top and streaming from the windows.
Thirty years later, I saw Sam’s Supernatural Consultation and Neutralization written in neat, looping handwriting on a piece of paper taped to the door. The tape was peeling at the corners and the paper was yellowed with age, but there was obviously care put into the sign, in its perfectly centered text and looping floral designs drawn over the edges in gold marker.
I knocked, hesitantly, drawing my woolen coat closer around my shoulders. I’d bought it as a fiftieth birthday gift for myself, and I took comfort in the heavy weight of it over my shoulders.
“Coming!” someone called from within the depths of the office.
There were a couple crashes, and the sound of paper shuffling. Eventually, the door was opened by a young woman with ketchup stains on her shirt and pencils stuck through her hair.
“Hi, I’m Sam, I specialize in supernatural consultation and hunting, how may I help you today?” Sam said, customer-service pep in her voice. She stood in the doorway, solidly blocking entry into the office.
“My name is Ezra, I’m for a consultation. I emailed you but you didn’t respond?” I shifted in place, suddenly feeling awkward.
“Oh! Yeah, I lost the password for the email ages ago. Sorry for the bad welcome, I get lots of people thinking I’m crazy or pulling a prank and harassing me.”
She ushered me into the office, clearing papers off one of the chairs to make room for me to sit down. There was a collection of swords along one wall, all of them polished to perfection, several with deep knicks in the metal which indicated that they’d been used heavily.
“So what can I help you with?” Sam asked again, more sincere this time.
“Thirty years ago, my brother was turned into a bird,” I started. I’d told this story so many times that it barely felt ridiculous to say anymore. I was used to the disbelieving looks, the careful pity. But Sam just nodded along, face open and welcoming.
“I’ve almost given up on finding him, at this point,” I said. “But I saw your ad in the newspaper, and…here I am, I suppose.”
“Here you are,” Sam echoed, smiling. She pulled one of the pencils out of her hair and took a bit of paperwork off of one of her stacks, turning it over so that the blank side sat neatly in front of her. “Tell me everything.”
I told Sam everything, and she wrote it all down, pencil scratching along the paper.
The last part of the story was always the hardest to tell. “I left him there. I ran and I didn’t look back.”
I had been to dozens of detectives and investigators over the years, once the police had dropped Hitch’s case. I’d been to professional offices with smartly-dressed secretaries and met scraggly men in coffee shops. All of them had given me the same look, pity and annoyance all mixed up into a humor-the-crazy-lady soup. Sam, though, just seemed thoughtful.
Sam leaned forward and put a hand over mine, carefully, like she thought that I would pull away. “Sometimes you have to leave people behind.”
I tightened her hold on Sam’s hand and drew it towards me, like I could make Sam listen if only I squeezed tight enough. “But that’s why I’m here. I don’t want to leave him behind.”
“Okay then. I’ll do my best to help you.” Sam agreed, finally. Then she paused, and said softly, “You know…I think I met your brother once. He might have saved my life. He’s certainly why I started in this business.”
“Really? What happened?” I asked.
This is the story that Sam told me, related to the best of my abilities:
It was a new moon, so the only illumination came from the stars gazing idly down and distant porch lights shining across the scraggly brush of the dunes. Sam’s neighbors were decent people who cared about baby turtles, so the lights were a low, unobtrusive red, and the ocean sloshed like blood. Sam walked on the beach almost every night, drawing back the gauzy pink curtains and clambering out her bedroom window. She didn’t often bother to be quiet; her mama worked the late shift and came home exhausted. As long as Sam got home before the sun, her mama would never find out that she paced the shoreline and dreamed of inhaling sand until her lungs became their own beach.
The sky was lightening. The sun would come up soon, and that meant Sam’s time on the beach was over. She needed to get back to her real life, go to her fifth grade class and stop that nonsense, as her mother would say. Her mother loved to say things like that, pushing Sam into her proper place by implication alone.
“She’s a good kid, of course, but she’s a bit…” Her mother would trail off there, usually getting a commiserating expression from whoever she was talking to. Sam always wondered how that sentence would have finished. She’s a bit strange, maybe. She’s a bit intense. She’s a bit abrasive. She’s quiet enough but when Jason tried to steal her pencil in math class, she stabbed him in the hand so hard that the lead tattooed him.
Her mother was better, for the most part. The days of her stocking up the fridge, and leaving a post-it note on the counter, and leaving for days at a time were gone. But Sam still stepped around the place on the kitchen tile where her mother had collapsed and caved her head in, even though the bloodstains had been replaced with new tile.
“Your auntie got an abortion, you know,” her mother had said from her place on the couch, slurring her words. “Pill in the mail and then bam, no more baby.”
She had clapped her hands together to illustrate her point. Her mother jerked forward and grabbed Sam by the wrist, then, staring up at her until Sam met her eyes.
“I love you, you know? But sometimes I wonder…” She settled back onto the couch. “Yeah. I wonder.”
She’d gotten up, then, back to the kitchen. She’d been stumbling, a shambling zombie of a woman. The ground in the entryway of the kitchen was raised, ever so slightly, and her mother went down hard. Her head cracked against the tile, chin first, and she didn’t move.
Sam had been the one to call the ambulance. She had stared at the scattering of loose teeth on the ground while she waited, and considered what her life would be like with a dead mom. Not so bad, she thought, and immediately felt guilty for it.
Her mom was better, now, for the most part. But Sam still stepped around the place on the kitchen floor where she had collapsed. There was still a matchbox hidden under her bed with the gleaming shine of her mother’s lost teeth, two canines and a molar. It was nice, having a piece of her mom to keep. Even if she left again, Sam would still have part of her.
Sam sighed, and turned away from the ocean. As she faced towards the low dunes further up the beach, she saw a sandcastle sitting nestled among them. It was such a strange sight that her eyes skipped over it at first, almost automatically, disregarding it because it was so out of place.
Sam found sandcastles out on the beach sometimes, usually half-collapsed and on the verge of being washed away by the waves, but she had never seen anything like the sandcastle in front of her. It was life-sized, something that wouldn’t have looked out of place in the Scottish highlands, with spires shooting up above her head and carefully etched out bricks lining each side. The front wall was dominated by an arched set of double doors, twice her height, with a portcullis nestled at the top, ready to be dropped. All of it was lovingly detailed, down to the rust on the tips of the towers and the wood grain of the door. It was made out of wet, densely-packed sand, held together impossibly. It had not been there two hours ago, when she had come to the beach.
There was a bird sitting on the overhang of the door, small and black.
As soon as she took a step towards the sandcastle, the bird shook out its feathers and swooped down towards Sam, landing at her feet with a little stumble.
“Hey, kid, get out of here,” said the bird.
Sam closed her eyes, very deliberately. When she opened them, the bird was still there. Sam considered herself a very reasonable person, so she immediately drew the most logical conclusion. The bird was, she was almost certain, a demon.
“Trust me, you don’t want to run into Mr. Salty, the queen bitch himself,” the bird said.
“Mr. Salty?” Sam inquired, polite as she knew how to be. She edged to the side, trying to get a good angle to kick the bird like a soccer ball.
The bird did something similar to a wince, all its feathers fluffing up then settling back down. “Ah, don’t call him that. He’d turn you into a toad.”
The bird gestured with its head, towards the looming sand structure. “That’s his castle. He’s in there, probably scuttling along the ceiling or some shit because that’s the sort of weirdo he is.”
Sam nodded, encouraging. She pulled back her foot and lined up her shot, the way she’d seen athletes do on TV. She aimed right for its sharp beak and let loose. The bird saw it coming, its beady eyes widening, and it cawed in distress. It flapped away, avoiding her kick only to fall backward into the sand in a scramble of wings.
“What’s your fucking problem?” it squawked. “I was trying to help you!”
“I don’t need the help of a demon,” Sam yelled, trying to remember the exorcism that her mama had taught her once, because her mama believed in being prepared for anything.
“I’m not a demon,” the bird said indignantly.
It was at about that moment that Sam gave up and just decided to roll with it.
“What are you, then?” Sam asked.
The bird shuffled its clawed feet, looking about as awkward as it could, given that it didn’t really have recognizable facial expressions. “Technically I’m a familiar of the Erlking, prince of the fae, but I prefer to be called Hitch.”
“You can’t blame me for assuming, though,” Sam said. “Ravens do tend to be associated with murder.”
“Hey, excuse you,” Hitch said. “I’m a rook, not a raven. Ravens are way bigger.”
“Sure,” Sam said, not really paying attention. Her eyes had caught on the details of the sandcastle, and she was transfixed by the slow spirals of the sand, the strange beauty of it. She found herself stepping towards the great doors, lifting a hand to knock, and as she did, the sand warped in front of her eyes, heaving itself towards her with bulging slowness. The door creaked open before her, revealing a vast, empty room. Just before she stepped inside, she felt a piercing pain in her foot, and she yelped, leaping backwards.
Hitch pecked her again, really digging his beak in. “Don’t be an idiot.”
Sam glared at him, rubbing her foot. About to retort, she finally really took in the room inside the sandcastle, and her words died in her throat.
There was a body just past the threshold of the door, face down and limbs hanging limp at its sides. Long hair splayed out in a halo around its head.
“Don’t,” Hitch warned, suddenly serious. “Just leave, kid, I mean it. I’ve seen too many people go down this road and you don’t want to be one of them.”
Sam ignored him. She made her way across the beach, slipping with every step. The sand felt deeper, piling up around her feet in silent drifts. She picked up the nearest stick and poked the body with it through the door, ready to leap back if anything went wrong, staying firmly outside of the sandcastle.
This close, Sam could tell that it used to be a woman. Her head wasn’t attached to her body. It hadn’t been a clean amputation, either. Her upper body was bruised, with chunks taken out of it, and the bones in her neck hung mangled, not connected to anything.
“Well, I warned you,” Hitch said, defeated. “I did warn you.”
Sam nudged the head with the end of the stick, nudging it over so that she could see the face. Her mother stared back at her, torn to pieces, breath still wheezing from her lungs. She wasn’t blinking, just gazing forward with glazed eyes. Sweat dripped down from her hairline.
Sam screamed and dropped the stick, tripping over herself in her haste to get away.
Her mother’s eyes were wide and pleading, and she was mouthing desperate words at Sam. Her vocal cords were broken to bits, and the only sound that came out was a strained groan.
The head rolled, inching closer to Sam like a grotesque caterpillar.
Her mother gasped for air, torn lips fluttering. Finally, comprehensible words came out. “Help. Help me, daughter.”
“That’s not your mother,” Hitch said, quiet.
Sam knew that. Her mother was sleeping back at home, and anyways her mom had never asked for her help. She had an aversion to accepting charity, as she put it.
“Okay,” Sam said, shaking all over. “Okay.”
She backed away from the sandcastle, not looking away.
“Failure,” her mother hissed as she stepped away. “I never wanted a daughter like you.”
The sun came up over the horizon. The sandcastle, Hitch, and her mom all disintegrated into sand as the light hit them.
The beach, the next night, was almost exactly how I remembered it. The beams of our flashlights sent light bouncing across the dunes, illuminating the waves, and I imagined faces in the foam of the waves.
“I’ve been back here a hundred times. There’s nothing left,” I said.
Sam took the car key out of her purse and pointed it at the sand, adjusting the sword slung over her shoulder in order to do it. The key had belonged to Hitch; Sam had requested an item of his, and it was the only thing I had left. She rested the key on the sand and drew a circle around it, inscribing symbols around the borders.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
Sam shrugged. “Not much, really. I’m…I guess you could say that I’m knocking.”
The key laid inert on the sand for long enough that I was just about to give up and go home, admit to myself that Hitch was dead and that I was a fool to believe that Sam could actually help me. Then a building started to take shape, flickering in and out like it was struggling to get away. With a pop of displaced air, the sandcastle settled into existence.
Sam banged on the entryway. Nothing happened. She did it again, harder, and scowled when the door still didn’t open.
“We demand entrance, under your honor,” Sam yelled. There was a hard rush of wind, and I gripped Sam’s arm to keep my balance, but the doors cracked open reluctantly.
The inside of the sandcastle consisted of one enormous hall, the roof arching up out of sight. Rafters crisscrossed from wall to wall, and a cobbled path led further into the building, but other than that, it was completely empty, except for the birds. There were thousands of them, perched on the rafters or hopping along the ground. They parted in front of Sam and I, and reformed behind us, leaving us in a small pocket of open space. They were all black-feathered, with sharp beaks and beady eyes.
The Erlking sat on a throne at the end of the hall, lounging across it with his feet up on the armrest. He watched them as they came forward, the soft caw of the birds the only sound.
“I am here to bargain for the life of my brother,” I said, with as much dignity as I could muster, before the Erlking could say anything.
The Erlking ignored her, tilting his head to look at Sam. “I remember you. I almost got you, once.”
Sam glared at him but didn’t respond.
“You want your brother,” The Erlking said to me, and he almost sounded amused. “Then go get him.”
As if by some sort of silent signal, every bird in the room took flight at once, and their cawing made me think of screams. I covered my head against the flapping of their wings, and my vision was quickly obscured by the chaotic movement of them. I found myself on my knees, just trying to escape them.
A hand met my shoulder. Sam urged me to my feet, and together we ran for the edge of the room, where the swarm was the thinnest. We pressed ourselves into the corner and the swarm spiraled tighter and tighter at the center of the room. It went on until there seemed to be no differentiation between the birds, all of them fused together into one creature.
When the chaos died down, the birds had become one mass, with wings and eyes and talons sticking out of its flesh, thrashing and chirping. Human body parts stuck out of it, bulging out from the feathers. It was hands, mostly, with a couple knees or staring eyes. The bird amalgamation had no recognizable facial features, but there was one long beak extending from the front of its head. Most of the body parts were concentrated around the beak, and they peeked out from where the beak connected with muscle, or grew from the tongue, nestled between the two crushing halves of the beak.
It turned its beak down and crawled forward, using the hands to balance. The fingers scrambled over the ground. I was afraid of centipedes as a child, and I felt that same crawling dread when it started moving.
“Holy shit,” Sam whispered, which was rather disappointing, because I had been hoping that at least one of us knew what to do.
The creature turned, a lurching movement that crushed some of the hands underneath it, and started heaving itself slowly towards our corner.
“Better hurry up!” the Erlking called from his throne.
It was blocking the exit, by then. The shifting body of it had moved to block us off. It ambled towards us and I tried to sink further into the corner.
As it approached, getting close enough that I could smell the stink of it, I saw a flash of a tattoo on one of the hands. I leaned in, trying to find it again, like looking for dolphins surfacing in the ocean. And again, I caught a glimpse of a duck tattoo, the tattoo that Hitch had gotten on his hand as a teenager.
I ripped away from Sam’s death grip and ran for the monster.
I fell to my knees in front of it, wincing as I impacted the ground, and reached into the nest of hands. I could feel them tearing at my forearms and ripping into me with their sharp nails, but I kept going. I pressed further in, up to my shoulder in a writhing mass of limbs, aiming for the spot where I had last seen that tattoo.
The hands were tugging at me, wrapping around my back and hair. They were pulling together, trying to draw me completely into the mass of them. I was aware of Sam at my side, anchoring me in place and bashing any hand that got too close with her sword or the sparks that leapt from her hands with muttered words. But I didn’t think it would be enough. They were too strong, and there were too many of them.
I was up to my waist in the hands when something grabbed my palm. I felt the way it clung to me, and the calluses on its palm, and I knew that I had found my brother.
I flung herself back. The hands didn’t want to let me go, and they fought the whole way, but slowly, I made progress. I kept hold of Hitch’s hand in mine the whole time, gripping it as hard as I could. I finally broke free, Hitch with me, and Sam was immediately charging the creature, able to use her sword with much greater strength without being worried about injuring Hitch. She swung it forward, and it sliced through the wrist of one of the hands. It fell without a sound, red sand flowing out of it. It deflated until it looked like dirty laundry, just a piece of limp flesh. The creature shrieked, scuttling away enough that the door was finally accessible. The three of us ran for it, Sam and I supporting Hitch between us.
I looked back as I left and found the Erlking staring right at me.
“Interesting,” he murmured, his voice carrying impossibly across the vast space between us.
The sandcastle collapsed behind us, the great walls falling in on themselves. We were out in the morning sun, the sandcastle disappearing as we watched. Hitch was on the ground in front of me, as young as he’d been thirty years ago, when he was captured. He started laughing, feathers puffing out of his mouth. He laughed until he cried and I hugged him in the way that he’d held me when I was young, in the times when my life had been defined by hunger and fear.
Hitch left, afterwards. He scratched at the pinhole scars covering his body, where feathers burst through his skin, and pulled his long sleeves down around his wrists. He didn’t know where he was going but he told me that he needed time
I had spent thirty years worth of time without him. I wanted to grab my brother by the shoulders and beg him to stay. But he flinched when I hugged him goodbye and he refused to go near sand and he stared distrustfully at the birds chirping in the trees. Hitch needed to go away and I loved him too much to stop him.
I sat out on the beach every morning. I felt the sun on my face and I waited for Hitch to come home.
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The sleeves of his weather-beaten coat were shoved all the way up his arms, to stop the fabric from falling over his knuckles while he was working, and goosebumps lined his skin. He was strapping a rubber chicken to the back of his truck, over the lens of the shattered backup camera, with the legs pointing down so that they hung a couple inches above the ground. There were dents in the hood from the crash last week, and scratches along the door from scraping into a curb. The chicken, hopefully, would keep him from breaking anything else.
"You can't go cheap," Hitch said. "The cheap rubber chickens only make noise when pressure lets go. That's no good. As soon as I back up into something, I want this chicken to be screaming like it’s in the depths of hell."
“Sure thing,” I said in a monotone, leaning against the side of the truck.
There were scrambled electronic parts piled in the back of the truck, the innards of a radio, a broken computer, tangled wires, a couple loose pairs of earbuds. He found the parts in alleyways or bummed them off his friends for a couple bucks or stole them from the vacation homes that were left empty for most of the year. Then he sold them for a profit at the scrapyard. Hitch had bounced between minimum-wage jobs for a while after high school, spending a couple months as a bagger at the grocery store or as a seasonal worker at the farm two hours down the highway. He'd never stuck with it. At the very least, the scrapyard got him enough money to eat and occasionally spend a night in a motel when he got tired of sleeping in his car.
Hitch pressed the last piece of tape in place and grinned up at me. "I've got something for you, duck."
The nickname came from when I’d broken my leg as a child and waddled around in a cast until it was healed. I hated it with a burning passion, and I glared at Hitch with the ease of twenty-one years of practice. He had a duck tattoo at the base of his thumb that he’d gotten in a back-alley shop as a teenager. He said that he’d gotten it to remind him of me, and the fact that I hated the nickname was just a bonus. It was shaky-lined, with an uneven face, but he loved it anyway.
The handle stuck when Hitch tried to open the door, a consequence of the rust collecting in the crevices of the car and running down the sides like blood from a cut. The car groaned when the door finally popped open, a metal against metal screech that had me flinching away. Hitch dug through the cluttered fast food containers in the passenger-side footwell, eventually coming up with a crinkly paper bag. He waved away the flies buzzing around the opening of the bag and held it out to me.
The last time Hitch had brought me food, I’d gotten food poisoning because he’d left it out in the midday sun for two days. The donut was squished slightly, and the icing was stuck to the bag. I still ate it, grimacing at the harsh citrus flavor. Taking Hitch’s food was an instinct engraved from the days when Dad had given us a can of kidney beans for dinner and Hitch had drank the juice, leaving the beans for me.
I rarely went hungry anymore, three mostly square meals a day and granola in my pockets just in case, but habits didn’t die easy.
These days, Hitch only brought me food when he wanted my help, like when he saw a place he wanted to hit but was worried about doing it alone.
I got in the car, like I always did.
We drove past the cluster of seafood-themed restaurants with chipped paint decks, the beachfront park where there were always shifty-eyed men sitting under the slide, the single room library where all the books had been water damaged in the flood last year. The change was quick as we drove across Main Street, heading closer to the beach. The roads were freshly paved, the concrete a smooth black except where the sun had already started to pick away at it. The three-story homes lining the sides of the street were crouched on elegant stilts, with space underneath for a car or three. Most of the garages were empty, with the lights off and curtains drawn in the house. Come summer, the streets would be swarming with tourists and vacationers, but until then, most of the buildings nearest to the beach were unoccupied.
Hitch stopped as the sun started to go down at a house that was leaning precariously out towards the beach, tilted ever so slightly, the edge of its foundation buried in the shifting sand of the beach. It certainly looked deserted, with an overgrown yard and blue paint peeling off the door in sheets.
Hitch took his hammer out of the backseat, hoisting it over his shoulder. It was two feet of solid metal with rags wrapped around the head to muffle the sound of the hits. Hitch squared up, bending his knees and holding the hammer like a baseball bat. Before he could swing, though, the door creaked open on its own, the hinges squeaking. The house beyond was dark enough that I could only make out general shapes, glimpsing the curve of a sofa to the left, what was maybe the shimmer of a chandelier on the other side.
Hitch lowered his hammer, looking vaguely disappointed that he didn’t get to use it. “That’s…weird as hell.”
“Maybe the deadbolt broke, maybe they forgot to lock it, it doesn’t matter,” I hissed, checking our surroundings for other people again. “Just hurry up and get inside before someone calls the cops.”
Hitch flicked the lightswitch on the wall, and the lights flickered on. They were dim, buzzing audibly and blinking off occasionally. The walls were plastered with contrasting swatches of wallpaper and splattered with random colors. There was neon orange behind the dining table, a galaxy swirl in the kitchen, and on the ceiling there was a repeating floral pattern covered in nametag stickers. Each of the stickers was filled out with The Erlking. Chandeliers hung in every room, three or four for each, and rubber ducks sat on every table. A miniature carousel sat in the corner along with a towering model rocket.
Sand was heaped on every surface, at least a couple inches everywhere. It was piled in the corners and stuck to the walls, and it covered the floor in a thick blanket. Our hesitant steps into the house left footprints clearly outlined in the sand.
Hitch took a cursory look around and headed immediately for the TV mounted on the wall. “Look out the windows and tell me if anyone is coming.”
I shook the sand out of the blinds and pulled them open, then had to brush sand off of the window before I could see anything.
Hitch was quick, practiced at finding and appropriating the things that were worth taking. He came back to me with an armful of electronics and chandeliers, dumping it at my feet before turning to head deeper into the house again.
There was a thump, somewhere upstairs, and then footsteps, slow and deliberate. Hitch froze at the threshold of the room, then ran for the door with me just ahead of him, sand flying out from under our feet.
My hand was almost brushing the doorknob, close enough that I could see the light from the streetlamp outside streaming in through the cracks in the door. My fingers touched the wood and it gave under my touch, becoming malleable and warm. I yelped, stumbling backwards, and the door started to melt. The paint ran down in thick drops, pooling at the bottom of the door, and the wood warped like metal being welded. The soft edges of the door ran into the walls until there was no sign of an exit ever being there.
“Well, well, well,” said a cultured voice with just an edge of snooty elitism. “What do we have here?”
The man was well over eight feet tall, with long black hair covering his eyes. He was wearing a yellow raincoat with holes cut out of the hood to accommodate the deer antlers jutting upwards from his head. There was sand settled on his shoulders and hovering around his head like a halo.
“Who the fuck are you?” Hitch said, inching towards a window.
He smiled, just a little bit, and his teeth shone in the dim light. “I am the Erlking.”
Hitch nodded, and seemed about to respond. I grabbed him by the hand and pulled him towards the window. I could feel sand in the wind roaring against my back as the Erlking growled in anger, the grains scraping harshly against my cheeks.
We were almost to the window when Hitch was ripped away from me, and I came to a startled halt. The sand had formed long grasping arms that pressed Hitch against the floral wallpaper. His wrists were held tight, and as I watched, a sandy hand wrapped around his mouth and forced its way between his teeth. He gagged, and sand trickled out of the corners of his mouth.
The Erlking strolled towards him, not seeming to be in any sort of rush. “You know, I’m not very fond of your yapping.”
He made an idle gesture and the sand wrapped around my ankles, tethering me in place.
“I yap all the time,” Hitch said. “Three-time olympic yapper, that’s me. Best to just let me go now and save yourself some trouble.”
The Erlking tapped a manicured nail against Hitch’s mouth, hard enough to hurt, judging by the way he flinched away. “But why would I ever let you go when I’ve gone to this much trouble to catch you and your sister? It’s so hard, these days, to find people that no one will miss.”
Hitch struggled against the sand, trying to escape and failing. “What do you want with us, then? You just said it, we’re nobody.”
“I’m fae, dear one,” the Erlking said. “I get my power from my followers. And I think that you two will make lovely additions to my flock.”
He flicked Hitch's nose and Hitch gasped. Feathers started to form on his arms, popping out from under his skin in a spray of blood.
Hitch pushed off the wall, using his bound hands as a fulcrum, and his knees crashed into the Erlking’s stomach. The Erlking fell backwards, wheezing, and the sand around my ankles loosened.
Hitch made desperate eye contact with me as feathers shot up his neck and jerked his head towards the window. The message was obvious. Run.
The last thing I saw before crashing out the window and into freedom was Hitch’s body twisting, his arms wrenching into wings and feathers covering every inch of his skin. By the time I landed on the concrete outside, he was a small black bird, held tightly in the Erlking’s hands. The whole building was sinking into the ground, burnished-gold sand piling up over top and streaming from the windows.
Thirty years later, I saw Sam’s Supernatural Consultation and Neutralization written in neat, looping handwriting on a piece of paper taped to the door. The tape was peeling at the corners and the paper was yellowed with age, but there was obviously care put into the sign, in its perfectly centered text and looping floral designs drawn over the edges in gold marker.
I knocked, hesitantly, drawing my woolen coat closer around my shoulders. I’d bought it as a fiftieth birthday gift for myself, and I took comfort in the heavy weight of it over my shoulders.
“Coming!” someone called from within the depths of the office.
There were a couple crashes, and the sound of paper shuffling. Eventually, the door was opened by a young woman with ketchup stains on her shirt and pencils stuck through her hair.
“Hi, I’m Sam, I specialize in supernatural consultation and hunting, how may I help you today?” Sam said, customer-service pep in her voice. She stood in the doorway, solidly blocking entry into the office.
“My name is Ezra, I’m for a consultation. I emailed you but you didn’t respond?” I shifted in place, suddenly feeling awkward.
“Oh! Yeah, I lost the password for the email ages ago. Sorry for the bad welcome, I get lots of people thinking I’m crazy or pulling a prank and harassing me.”
She ushered me into the office, clearing papers off one of the chairs to make room for me to sit down. There was a collection of swords along one wall, all of them polished to perfection, several with deep knicks in the metal which indicated that they’d been used heavily.
“So what can I help you with?” Sam asked again, more sincere this time.
“Thirty years ago, my brother was turned into a bird,” I started. I’d told this story so many times that it barely felt ridiculous to say anymore. I was used to the disbelieving looks, the careful pity. But Sam just nodded along, face open and welcoming.
“I’ve almost given up on finding him, at this point,” I said. “But I saw your ad in the newspaper, and…here I am, I suppose.”
“Here you are,” Sam echoed, smiling. She pulled one of the pencils out of her hair and took a bit of paperwork off of one of her stacks, turning it over so that the blank side sat neatly in front of her. “Tell me everything.”
I told Sam everything, and she wrote it all down, pencil scratching along the paper.
The last part of the story was always the hardest to tell. “I left him there. I ran and I didn’t look back.”
I had been to dozens of detectives and investigators over the years, once the police had dropped Hitch’s case. I’d been to professional offices with smartly-dressed secretaries and met scraggly men in coffee shops. All of them had given me the same look, pity and annoyance all mixed up into a humor-the-crazy-lady soup. Sam, though, just seemed thoughtful.
Sam leaned forward and put a hand over mine, carefully, like she thought that I would pull away. “Sometimes you have to leave people behind.”
I tightened her hold on Sam’s hand and drew it towards me, like I could make Sam listen if only I squeezed tight enough. “But that’s why I’m here. I don’t want to leave him behind.”
“Okay then. I’ll do my best to help you.” Sam agreed, finally. Then she paused, and said softly, “You know…I think I met your brother once. He might have saved my life. He’s certainly why I started in this business.”
“Really? What happened?” I asked.
This is the story that Sam told me, related to the best of my abilities:
It was a new moon, so the only illumination came from the stars gazing idly down and distant porch lights shining across the scraggly brush of the dunes. Sam’s neighbors were decent people who cared about baby turtles, so the lights were a low, unobtrusive red, and the ocean sloshed like blood. Sam walked on the beach almost every night, drawing back the gauzy pink curtains and clambering out her bedroom window. She didn’t often bother to be quiet; her mama worked the late shift and came home exhausted. As long as Sam got home before the sun, her mama would never find out that she paced the shoreline and dreamed of inhaling sand until her lungs became their own beach.
The sky was lightening. The sun would come up soon, and that meant Sam’s time on the beach was over. She needed to get back to her real life, go to her fifth grade class and stop that nonsense, as her mother would say. Her mother loved to say things like that, pushing Sam into her proper place by implication alone.
“She’s a good kid, of course, but she’s a bit…” Her mother would trail off there, usually getting a commiserating expression from whoever she was talking to. Sam always wondered how that sentence would have finished. She’s a bit strange, maybe. She’s a bit intense. She’s a bit abrasive. She’s quiet enough but when Jason tried to steal her pencil in math class, she stabbed him in the hand so hard that the lead tattooed him.
Her mother was better, for the most part. The days of her stocking up the fridge, and leaving a post-it note on the counter, and leaving for days at a time were gone. But Sam still stepped around the place on the kitchen tile where her mother had collapsed and caved her head in, even though the bloodstains had been replaced with new tile.
“Your auntie got an abortion, you know,” her mother had said from her place on the couch, slurring her words. “Pill in the mail and then bam, no more baby.”
She had clapped her hands together to illustrate her point. Her mother jerked forward and grabbed Sam by the wrist, then, staring up at her until Sam met her eyes.
“I love you, you know? But sometimes I wonder…” She settled back onto the couch. “Yeah. I wonder.”
She’d gotten up, then, back to the kitchen. She’d been stumbling, a shambling zombie of a woman. The ground in the entryway of the kitchen was raised, ever so slightly, and her mother went down hard. Her head cracked against the tile, chin first, and she didn’t move.
Sam had been the one to call the ambulance. She had stared at the scattering of loose teeth on the ground while she waited, and considered what her life would be like with a dead mom. Not so bad, she thought, and immediately felt guilty for it.
Her mom was better, now, for the most part. But Sam still stepped around the place on the kitchen floor where she had collapsed. There was still a matchbox hidden under her bed with the gleaming shine of her mother’s lost teeth, two canines and a molar. It was nice, having a piece of her mom to keep. Even if she left again, Sam would still have part of her.
Sam sighed, and turned away from the ocean. As she faced towards the low dunes further up the beach, she saw a sandcastle sitting nestled among them. It was such a strange sight that her eyes skipped over it at first, almost automatically, disregarding it because it was so out of place.
Sam found sandcastles out on the beach sometimes, usually half-collapsed and on the verge of being washed away by the waves, but she had never seen anything like the sandcastle in front of her. It was life-sized, something that wouldn’t have looked out of place in the Scottish highlands, with spires shooting up above her head and carefully etched out bricks lining each side. The front wall was dominated by an arched set of double doors, twice her height, with a portcullis nestled at the top, ready to be dropped. All of it was lovingly detailed, down to the rust on the tips of the towers and the wood grain of the door. It was made out of wet, densely-packed sand, held together impossibly. It had not been there two hours ago, when she had come to the beach.
There was a bird sitting on the overhang of the door, small and black.
As soon as she took a step towards the sandcastle, the bird shook out its feathers and swooped down towards Sam, landing at her feet with a little stumble.
“Hey, kid, get out of here,” said the bird.
Sam closed her eyes, very deliberately. When she opened them, the bird was still there. Sam considered herself a very reasonable person, so she immediately drew the most logical conclusion. The bird was, she was almost certain, a demon.
“Trust me, you don’t want to run into Mr. Salty, the queen bitch himself,” the bird said.
“Mr. Salty?” Sam inquired, polite as she knew how to be. She edged to the side, trying to get a good angle to kick the bird like a soccer ball.
The bird did something similar to a wince, all its feathers fluffing up then settling back down. “Ah, don’t call him that. He’d turn you into a toad.”
The bird gestured with its head, towards the looming sand structure. “That’s his castle. He’s in there, probably scuttling along the ceiling or some shit because that’s the sort of weirdo he is.”
Sam nodded, encouraging. She pulled back her foot and lined up her shot, the way she’d seen athletes do on TV. She aimed right for its sharp beak and let loose. The bird saw it coming, its beady eyes widening, and it cawed in distress. It flapped away, avoiding her kick only to fall backward into the sand in a scramble of wings.
“What’s your fucking problem?” it squawked. “I was trying to help you!”
“I don’t need the help of a demon,” Sam yelled, trying to remember the exorcism that her mama had taught her once, because her mama believed in being prepared for anything.
“I’m not a demon,” the bird said indignantly.
It was at about that moment that Sam gave up and just decided to roll with it.
“What are you, then?” Sam asked.
The bird shuffled its clawed feet, looking about as awkward as it could, given that it didn’t really have recognizable facial expressions. “Technically I’m a familiar of the Erlking, prince of the fae, but I prefer to be called Hitch.”
“You can’t blame me for assuming, though,” Sam said. “Ravens do tend to be associated with murder.”
“Hey, excuse you,” Hitch said. “I’m a rook, not a raven. Ravens are way bigger.”
“Sure,” Sam said, not really paying attention. Her eyes had caught on the details of the sandcastle, and she was transfixed by the slow spirals of the sand, the strange beauty of it. She found herself stepping towards the great doors, lifting a hand to knock, and as she did, the sand warped in front of her eyes, heaving itself towards her with bulging slowness. The door creaked open before her, revealing a vast, empty room. Just before she stepped inside, she felt a piercing pain in her foot, and she yelped, leaping backwards.
Hitch pecked her again, really digging his beak in. “Don’t be an idiot.”
Sam glared at him, rubbing her foot. About to retort, she finally really took in the room inside the sandcastle, and her words died in her throat.
There was a body just past the threshold of the door, face down and limbs hanging limp at its sides. Long hair splayed out in a halo around its head.
“Don’t,” Hitch warned, suddenly serious. “Just leave, kid, I mean it. I’ve seen too many people go down this road and you don’t want to be one of them.”
Sam ignored him. She made her way across the beach, slipping with every step. The sand felt deeper, piling up around her feet in silent drifts. She picked up the nearest stick and poked the body with it through the door, ready to leap back if anything went wrong, staying firmly outside of the sandcastle.
This close, Sam could tell that it used to be a woman. Her head wasn’t attached to her body. It hadn’t been a clean amputation, either. Her upper body was bruised, with chunks taken out of it, and the bones in her neck hung mangled, not connected to anything.
“Well, I warned you,” Hitch said, defeated. “I did warn you.”
Sam nudged the head with the end of the stick, nudging it over so that she could see the face. Her mother stared back at her, torn to pieces, breath still wheezing from her lungs. She wasn’t blinking, just gazing forward with glazed eyes. Sweat dripped down from her hairline.
Sam screamed and dropped the stick, tripping over herself in her haste to get away.
Her mother’s eyes were wide and pleading, and she was mouthing desperate words at Sam. Her vocal cords were broken to bits, and the only sound that came out was a strained groan.
The head rolled, inching closer to Sam like a grotesque caterpillar.
Her mother gasped for air, torn lips fluttering. Finally, comprehensible words came out. “Help. Help me, daughter.”
“That’s not your mother,” Hitch said, quiet.
Sam knew that. Her mother was sleeping back at home, and anyways her mom had never asked for her help. She had an aversion to accepting charity, as she put it.
“Okay,” Sam said, shaking all over. “Okay.”
She backed away from the sandcastle, not looking away.
“Failure,” her mother hissed as she stepped away. “I never wanted a daughter like you.”
The sun came up over the horizon. The sandcastle, Hitch, and her mom all disintegrated into sand as the light hit them.
The beach, the next night, was almost exactly how I remembered it. The beams of our flashlights sent light bouncing across the dunes, illuminating the waves, and I imagined faces in the foam of the waves.
“I’ve been back here a hundred times. There’s nothing left,” I said.
Sam took the car key out of her purse and pointed it at the sand, adjusting the sword slung over her shoulder in order to do it. The key had belonged to Hitch; Sam had requested an item of his, and it was the only thing I had left. She rested the key on the sand and drew a circle around it, inscribing symbols around the borders.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
Sam shrugged. “Not much, really. I’m…I guess you could say that I’m knocking.”
The key laid inert on the sand for long enough that I was just about to give up and go home, admit to myself that Hitch was dead and that I was a fool to believe that Sam could actually help me. Then a building started to take shape, flickering in and out like it was struggling to get away. With a pop of displaced air, the sandcastle settled into existence.
Sam banged on the entryway. Nothing happened. She did it again, harder, and scowled when the door still didn’t open.
“We demand entrance, under your honor,” Sam yelled. There was a hard rush of wind, and I gripped Sam’s arm to keep my balance, but the doors cracked open reluctantly.
The inside of the sandcastle consisted of one enormous hall, the roof arching up out of sight. Rafters crisscrossed from wall to wall, and a cobbled path led further into the building, but other than that, it was completely empty, except for the birds. There were thousands of them, perched on the rafters or hopping along the ground. They parted in front of Sam and I, and reformed behind us, leaving us in a small pocket of open space. They were all black-feathered, with sharp beaks and beady eyes.
The Erlking sat on a throne at the end of the hall, lounging across it with his feet up on the armrest. He watched them as they came forward, the soft caw of the birds the only sound.
“I am here to bargain for the life of my brother,” I said, with as much dignity as I could muster, before the Erlking could say anything.
The Erlking ignored her, tilting his head to look at Sam. “I remember you. I almost got you, once.”
Sam glared at him but didn’t respond.
“You want your brother,” The Erlking said to me, and he almost sounded amused. “Then go get him.”
As if by some sort of silent signal, every bird in the room took flight at once, and their cawing made me think of screams. I covered my head against the flapping of their wings, and my vision was quickly obscured by the chaotic movement of them. I found myself on my knees, just trying to escape them.
A hand met my shoulder. Sam urged me to my feet, and together we ran for the edge of the room, where the swarm was the thinnest. We pressed ourselves into the corner and the swarm spiraled tighter and tighter at the center of the room. It went on until there seemed to be no differentiation between the birds, all of them fused together into one creature.
When the chaos died down, the birds had become one mass, with wings and eyes and talons sticking out of its flesh, thrashing and chirping. Human body parts stuck out of it, bulging out from the feathers. It was hands, mostly, with a couple knees or staring eyes. The bird amalgamation had no recognizable facial features, but there was one long beak extending from the front of its head. Most of the body parts were concentrated around the beak, and they peeked out from where the beak connected with muscle, or grew from the tongue, nestled between the two crushing halves of the beak.
It turned its beak down and crawled forward, using the hands to balance. The fingers scrambled over the ground. I was afraid of centipedes as a child, and I felt that same crawling dread when it started moving.
“Holy shit,” Sam whispered, which was rather disappointing, because I had been hoping that at least one of us knew what to do.
The creature turned, a lurching movement that crushed some of the hands underneath it, and started heaving itself slowly towards our corner.
“Better hurry up!” the Erlking called from his throne.
It was blocking the exit, by then. The shifting body of it had moved to block us off. It ambled towards us and I tried to sink further into the corner.
As it approached, getting close enough that I could smell the stink of it, I saw a flash of a tattoo on one of the hands. I leaned in, trying to find it again, like looking for dolphins surfacing in the ocean. And again, I caught a glimpse of a duck tattoo, the tattoo that Hitch had gotten on his hand as a teenager.
I ripped away from Sam’s death grip and ran for the monster.
I fell to my knees in front of it, wincing as I impacted the ground, and reached into the nest of hands. I could feel them tearing at my forearms and ripping into me with their sharp nails, but I kept going. I pressed further in, up to my shoulder in a writhing mass of limbs, aiming for the spot where I had last seen that tattoo.
The hands were tugging at me, wrapping around my back and hair. They were pulling together, trying to draw me completely into the mass of them. I was aware of Sam at my side, anchoring me in place and bashing any hand that got too close with her sword or the sparks that leapt from her hands with muttered words. But I didn’t think it would be enough. They were too strong, and there were too many of them.
I was up to my waist in the hands when something grabbed my palm. I felt the way it clung to me, and the calluses on its palm, and I knew that I had found my brother.
I flung herself back. The hands didn’t want to let me go, and they fought the whole way, but slowly, I made progress. I kept hold of Hitch’s hand in mine the whole time, gripping it as hard as I could. I finally broke free, Hitch with me, and Sam was immediately charging the creature, able to use her sword with much greater strength without being worried about injuring Hitch. She swung it forward, and it sliced through the wrist of one of the hands. It fell without a sound, red sand flowing out of it. It deflated until it looked like dirty laundry, just a piece of limp flesh. The creature shrieked, scuttling away enough that the door was finally accessible. The three of us ran for it, Sam and I supporting Hitch between us.
I looked back as I left and found the Erlking staring right at me.
“Interesting,” he murmured, his voice carrying impossibly across the vast space between us.
The sandcastle collapsed behind us, the great walls falling in on themselves. We were out in the morning sun, the sandcastle disappearing as we watched. Hitch was on the ground in front of me, as young as he’d been thirty years ago, when he was captured. He started laughing, feathers puffing out of his mouth. He laughed until he cried and I hugged him in the way that he’d held me when I was young, in the times when my life had been defined by hunger and fear.
Hitch left, afterwards. He scratched at the pinhole scars covering his body, where feathers burst through his skin, and pulled his long sleeves down around his wrists. He didn’t know where he was going but he told me that he needed time
I had spent thirty years worth of time without him. I wanted to grab my brother by the shoulders and beg him to stay. But he flinched when I hugged him goodbye and he refused to go near sand and he stared distrustfully at the birds chirping in the trees. Hitch needed to go away and I loved him too much to stop him.
I sat out on the beach every morning. I felt the sun on my face and I waited for Hitch to come home.