Craigslist meissen porcelain

I've been babysitting all summer in order to make some extra cash. At first, I just asked around at school if anyone needed a babysitter for their siblings, or if they knew anyone who could be interested. I started babysitting kids whose families I knew, but eventually I needed more money, so I put up an ad on Craigslist.
It wasn't long until I got a response.
The family lived in the suburbs, but what bothered me was how close to the woods their house was and the fact that they didn't have any neighbors. I got a bit freaked out at first, considering the fact that they were strangers with a cabin in the woods, but decided to push through the fear for the money.
The house was a cozy little cabin, clean, with a garden in the back that had a gate which led to a trail in the woods. They had little lanterns hung out in the garden, and a swing all the way in the back. The living room had a large window that faced directly the forest, and during the day the room was bathed in sunlight. The kitchen was right next to it, with its counter facing another huge window, surrounded by pots and vines, and stupid signs like 'Home is where the family is' or 'In this house we say sorry'.
Upstairs, they only had the two bedrooms. The attic was a tiny space whose window faced the woods, too.
The kid was pretty quiet. Honestly, I neither liked or disliked him. I tried to form some sort of opinion, but he just didn't stand out in any way. He wasn't mean or stubborn, but he wasn't a sweetheart, either. He must've been around 5 or 6, so I would just put him to bed quickly and then snoop around the house. I've always been curious about whoever hired me, and I know it's not exactly recommended, but I would just go through people's stuff whenever I felt bored.
It must've been around midnight that night when I slowly pulled out one of the drawers in the main bedroom. This one had all types of trinkets - coins, notebooks, pins, buttons. This family liked to collect useless stuff and let it hang around the house, and I liked to explore it.
As I was studying this little ceramic statue of a horse, I moved it around, noticing the moonlight hit its porcelain from different angles. I debated whether to just take it or not. Would they even notice?
My chest tightened and my mouth opened. The horse was no longer bathed in moonlight, because this huge shadow had covered it and was dancing on its porcelain. Looking around a bit, I noticed the shadow took up half the room. I could not make out the silhouette, or what could have made it. It just seemed so unexpected, that fear crept up to me and froze me.
Someone was at the window. I know it could have been a bird - that's the rational explanation. And I could have solved all this doubt by just looking up. But I didn't.
Because, what if it wasn't a bird?
I stood still for so long, not knowing what to do, until it passed, and the horse was lit up again by the moonlight. I breathed a sigh of relief and put the horse in my pocket.
I didn't know at the time, but that would have been my first contact with it.
Something made me stop snooping around and just get downstairs. I turned on the TV and curled up on the couch.
At one point during the night, I heard creaking upstairs.
I know it shouldn't have freaked me out so bad, but I still got scared so I went to check it out. The house was dark and quiet, and the two bedrooms facing each other were empty. Empty.
Where did the kid go?
'Jason?' my voice pierced the silence, and I felt like an intruder, destroying the quiet of the night. 'Jason, where did you go?'
I kept having the feeling of being watched, so I turned around, fixated on the attic door, which was now opened.
My instincts kept telling me to just leave, but my head, now spinning, refused. What if we had an intruder? What if he'd taken Jason? If I had just looked up at the window when the shadow passed, now I'd know what I was dealing with. If I'd just had the courage to face it.
My voice sounded a lot weaker than the first time, but I still had to try.
'Jason?'
'Yeah?'
The response was almost immediate, and coming from the attic. Odd. What was he doing there?
I put my foot on the first step of the stairs. 'What are you doing there? It's really late. Your parents are going to be home soon.'
Step after step, I tried to readjust my eyes to the darkness. The attic was really dark compared to the rest of the house, and I could make out a ray of light that traced out this tiny silhouette.
'Jason, are you there? What are you doing? You're freaking me out.'
I finally reached him and put my hands on his tiny shoulders, but he didn't respond. He was just staring out the tiny window, into the woods.
'What's going on?' I asked. 'What are you looking at?'
I sat next to him, and stared out the window at the woods. There was a portion of grass beginning from the house, pierced by trees. The farther you went, the denser the trees were, until you'd discover you were completely surrounded by the woods, unable to see the sky from how tight the branches closed around you. The forest commenced from the garden and swallowed the horizon like a dark mass, blending with the sky.
The window framed this darkness, this suffocating emptiness, and made me feel as if we'd reached the end of the world and, had we dared to venture into the forest, we'd just fall over the face of the earth.
And there stood Jason, just staring.
'What are you seeing?'
He just wouldn't answer, so I decided to find out by myself. Studying the scenery, nothing particular stood out. Of course, I just needed to pay more attention.
Yeah, the more you looked, the more movement you saw. Birds, animals, even the wind thrilled the branches and the leaves, the grass swaying gently. And then the shadows were the next thing you noticed, these forever moving stains on the ground.
I could have stared out there for years. Maybe that's why Jason wasn't moving. There's just something about the night that keeps you up.
'What do you think lurks out there?' I asked him, playfully.
'Where, in the woods?'
'Yeah.'
'My mom.'
I blinked a few times. That was unsettling. I mean, kids say weird stuff, but why would he respond to that? Was that a 'your mom' joke? Was he trying to be funny?
'What do you mean?'
'What does lurk mean?'
'Oh. Um, lurk means, well... when you wait or move slowly in the darkness, because you don't want to be seen.'
'So, like, hiding?'
'Yeah, but you're lurking when you also want to do something bad. Just how animals lurk before they attack. Or monsters.' I added, trying to scare him. 'So, what do you think lurks out there, in the forest?'
'My mother.' he responded once again.
My body tensed up. 'That's not funny.'
'I don't want to be funny.'
'Why would you say that? Your mom. That's an old joke, and it stopped being funny a while ago.'
'I'm not joking!'
'Okay. Let's go to sleep. Your mother can't be lurking out there - I saw her and she's pretty nice. I don't know what she told you, but she doesn't eat people. She's out with your dad now, and they're gonna come home in a few hours. If they find out you aren't sleeping, I'll get a lot of shit for it.'
'Shit?'
'Don't tell your parents I said that. Come on. Let's get down.'
'I'm telling the truth.'
'What, is she a vampire? You know something was standing at the window earlier?'
I didn't really care that much about what I was saying, because, in my head, everything had a logical explanation. Jason, however, widened his gaze. 'Yeah, that could have been her.'
'Stop.'
'I'm serious.'
'And what does she want from us? Does she want to eat me?' We were now in his bedroom, and I had tucked him into bed. I had my back to the window, facing the hallway which had now become way creepier than expected.
'She doesn't want to eat you.'
'That's so great. I taste horrible. Goodnight.'
I tried to stand up and leave, but he grabbed me. 'Wait. Don't go. Look at me.'
'What, now?'
'I wanna tell you about this dream I had. This dream that woke me up. But you have to pay attention.'
'Okay.'
'So, um, in my dream, I was in the garden, and I was thirsty, and you were there too, and you tried to leave, but there were a lot of bushes around, and you got lost... and I found this puppet...'
I hate it when people tell me about their dreams, but I sat there, listening, facing Jason with my back to the window.
Not because his story was interesting.
Not because I liked being there.
Because, while he held me there, his eyes kept darting to the window, and I'd seen the shadow cover his face. Because he'd insisted I looked at him, but in reality he didn't want me to turn around.
So I listened, until he abruptly finished his story when moonlight reached his face again.
'Thank you for the story. It was really interesting.'
'You're welcome.'
'Goodnight.'
'Night.'
I spent the next hour in the other bedroom, fidgeting with the little porcelain horse. This kid was a lot braver than I thought. In the silence, I kept trying to make out distinct, unfamiliar sounds but didn't succeed. The house had fallen asleep, and the night had become uneventful.
His parents arrived soon after that. I put the horse in my pocket and went downstairs to greet them.
'Was he good, Keith?'
'Yeah, the best. Don't worry.'
I studied both of them, head to toe, their clothes, mannerisms, facial expressions. But mostly the mom.
'Were you good?' asked the dad, jokingly.
'I hope so.' I responded.
They wanted to drive me home, but I insisted on taking my bike. I closed the door behind me, but, instead of leaving, I headed to the back yard.
I just wanted to see something. Climbing on the fence, I made it on the roof of the porch. Right next to the bedroom window. Hoping to see some signs of something, anything.
The window was covered in scratches, but nothing gave out what had been there. I stood there for a while, I don't know why. The parents had gone to sleep, and Jason was probably asleep in his room, too. I studied the garden from that angle, then the woods, as quiet as a mouse.
Then the room where the parents were sleeping.
After that, I don't remember how I got home. I don't even think I took my bike, just ran frantically until my legs bled. I didn't even scream. I didn't look around, or stop. Just ran until I reached my house and banged on the door. My mother answered, annoyed, and I ran past her, right to my bedroom. Covered myself in my blanket and started typing this.
Because, while I was watching the parents sleep, something had caught my eye.
In the hallway, what I had though to be a coat hanger moved all of a sudden. It had been standing there so still, I hadn't even bothered to notice it, until disappeared out of my range, then appeared again.
This bony, twisted silhouette dragged itself into the bedroom and stood right next to the mother, who was sleeping.
It looked uncanny, like a human who'd starved to death, with wide eyes, and arms so long, they trailed behind it when it walked. It just stood there watching the parents, then lifted a bony finger and started counting.
I stood there frozen, watching this horrifying show, forever scarred in my head. It kept counting, and counting, and counting. I was so scared to move that I would have watched it forever.
It wasn't until something else happened that made me break into this exhausting run.
It saw me.

I found this years ago in a box containing Meissen porcelain and ivory snuff boxes. It got shoved to the back of my closet forgotten until I came across it again. Wondering if it is an antique or worth anything, has what appears to be Chinese writing on bottom and drawing of a fish.

TLDR: Can I use a large porcelain tile as a surface for tooling work?
Long story: I am an art teachefacilities manager in a nonprofit organization. I'm teaching one of my clients leather work, and we have been slowly acquiring all of the equipment we need and molding one of the workspaces. Because of our low budget, and an employee's fascination with procuring unwanted things for free, we end up making things work with whats available to us.
Coworker shows me a craigslist post of what looks like a slap of marble, and asks me if its something I can use. I say, "if its actually marble, yes".
So it appears on my desk. Its a porcelain tile.
So now I have this large, marble appearing, porcelain tile. And upon further research... They can be pretty hardy. So I've got to ask..... Can we use it for tooling? Has anyone tried it before?

Back with an update on everything I’m selling before my move!
Please take a look and let me know if anything takes your fancy. I can’t link to Craigslist here or upload images, so I’ll drop the Craigslist link in the comments so you can see pics (hope that’s okay with the mods).
Everything is for pick up in SF only. I will happily bundle things for a discount!

• 4 vintage white and gold coffee cups with matching saucers ($12 for all)
  
• A rustic water jug with painted olives and a lovely green handle, with one small chip at rim ($8)
  
• An elegant, never used Turkish coffee cup with matching saucer ($8)
  
• 2 antique amethyst patterned glass candy dishes ($15 for both)
  
• 6 white gold-rimmed porcelain soup bowls which match the coffee cups, 6.5 inch diameter ($20 for all)
  
• Vintage white and gold-rimmed porcelain scalloped plates, one is 9 inch diameter and its friend 6 inch diameter ($10 for both)
  
• Vintage large round woven placemat, 17.5 inch diameter ($4)
  
• 5 Chilewich mint-green basket weave placemats, 17 x 13. One is soiled but may be able to be cleaned. These retail for $20 each ($15 for all)
  
• 4 Chilewich grey basket weave placemats, 19 x 14. One with some staining but it's hard to notice. Again, they retail for $20 each. ($25 for all)
  
• A high-quality, solid wood nightstand/side table, 19.75 inches diameter and 20 inches high. From Pottery Barn originally. ($30)
  
• Pink & cream Berghoff Leo silicone cooking utensils — 4 pieces ($5 for all)
  
• Vintage red glass crystal cut cordial glasses and tumblers — 2 cordial glasses (3 inches high and 3.5 diameter at rim) and 3 tumblers (4 inches high and 4.5 diameter at rim). These are hefty and solid in your hand and lovely in the light. ($20 for all.)
  
• 2 vintage green and white condiment bowls from Fishs Eddy in New York, in the “gothic” style ($10 for both)
  
• Vintage crystal cut ice bucket, 6 inches high ($18)
  
• Black cast iron fireplace accessories: fireplace screen (30 x 50 inches), ash bucket and shovel, tools and log holder ($30 for all)
  
• Blush pink velvet armchair ($30)
  
• 4 pretty Persian/Indian styled patterned fabric coasters with tigers on them ($9 for all)
  
• Bough of fabric roses, the branches bend and can be positioned, 47 inches high ($5)
  
• Twin aerobed air mattress, in good working condition ($15)
  
• A pair of Gruper adjustable dumbbells (https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B08M5WWDPB/) and a Brebon adjustable kettlebell (https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B08SHD6ZHT)
  

I found them on Craigslist.
Which was my first big mistake.
Three fun college friends looking for a roommate to vibe with!
Admittedly, I thought I had met my soulmates.
How do I describe the feeling of meeting someone I feel like I've known my whole life?
The second I stepped inside what would become my prison, I could smell it.
Food.
Home cooked meals have always been my kryptonite, so stepping directly into the aroma of spaghetti sauce, my mouth was already watering. God, it smelled so fucking good, teasing the back of my nose and throat. It's almost like the house itself knew I was hungry.
The owner was a tiny blonde with enough enthusiasm to cast my gaze away from rat droppings on the floor.
And there were a lot.
It was the first thing I noticed. Not the homely glow spilling from the doorway, or the abstract paintings on the wall. There was too much poop to not notice, squishy brown balls directly under her feet. That wasn't in the listing description. Still, though, the owner’s smile was enough to drag my focus away from their lack of hygiene.
I didn't know what to say, so I blurted, “That smells good.”
The blonde grinned, leaning against the door. “Oh, you'll get used to that.”
When I couldn't think of a response she bound forward. “Hi! You're here for the room!” she stuck out her hand for me to shake, and immediately, I noticed her fingernails. If I wasn't such a germ freak, I wouldn't have noticed her nails were filthy, a slight reddish tint colouring the stubs. That was a red flag.
Until I noticed the plastic apron hanging loose over scuffed denim overalls. Ah. That made sense.
Her name was Lizbeth, and she looked exactly like a Lizbeth, untidy blonde hair hanging in loose pigtails.
Nodding, I followed her into the hallway. “I'm–”
“Kia!” Lizbeth was bursting with unhinged golden retriever energy, I already loved her. She was exactly how she came across via text, sending me emoji hearts and kisses, and replying with, I'm so excited to finally meet you! I appreciated her remembering to call me Kia, and not Kiara. “We’ve been expecting you all afternoon!”
“Traffic.” I lied, stepping out of my shoes. My anxiety had gotten the better of me. I had been sitting in a local coffee shop for two hours, trying to psych myself up. I don't know why I was scared. I took a moment to drink in the hallway. It was cute. There were piles of shoes stacked up against the wall. I noticed a pair of snow boots.
Which was strange, because I couldn't remember the last time our town had snow. I didn't realise I was frowning at the boots, until Lizbeth gently grabbed my shoulders and steered me down the main hallway. “Welcome to our little family!” she said, “It's not great, and we’re thinking about moving. But for now, it's home! What do you think?”
I smiled, appreciating the mix of modern and ancient. The house was old, but these guys had remodelled it to fit in the 21st century. I turned my attention to Lizbeth herself, who was absently swiping her hands on her apron. Everything about this girl screamed best friend, big sister energy.
Her stripy socks were adorable. We already had a mutual love of Japanese dramas, and cult classic horror movies.
I didn't recall her telling me about her other passion though.
“Oh, you're an artist!” I remarked with what I hoped was a friendly smile.
Lizbeth didn't turn around, sliding across the hardwood floor in her stripy socks. “Nope! I'm actually a writer!”
Maybe she was embarrassed of the paint splatters.
I already knew the house was perfect for me when I walked straight into a game of Mario Kart, combined with a warm, homely aroma. Garlic. Two guys were arguing over the start-up screen, seated on a ratty couch. There were already bowls of fresh pasta on the coffee table.
I noticed an extra bowl set out, and I was already gravitating towards it. I didn't realize I was drooling until I had to wipe it away with my sleeve. One of the guys dropped his controller, shooting me a grin. His red hair was a little too red.
He was cute, with wide brown eyes and freckles.
“Kia, right?” His smile was friendly. “I'm Nate!” he gestured to the other guy, a kid with a wiry frame, thick brown curls hanging in his eyes. The guy offered me a shy wave, standing awkwardly to the side. All three of them shared the same pale, almost too pale skin and slightly sunken eyes. These guys weren't getting their vitamin D. “That's Finn. Our resident cook.” his lips curled into a smile. “He’s also painfully bad at Mario Kart.”
The brunette, Finn, shoved him. “He's lying. I won the last three games.”
“Yeah, because I did it for you!”
“Boys.” Lizbeth cut in. “I told you not to embarrass yourselves.”
Rolling his eyes like he had been scolded by his mother, Nate turned to me, slumping in front of his own dinner.
“We knew you were coming,” he nodded to the extra bowl. “Dig in! If you prefer a veggie dish, Finn can do a mean meat-free lasagna. There's some in the refrigerator if you want some.” he shot me a grin. “You're lucky our boy is in his second year of culinary school.”
I politely took a seat. “I can eat meat,” I said, trying to ignore Nate’s sudden, obnoxious laugh. He was one of those types of guys. I thought class jokers died out after high school.
Apparently not.
Dick jokes, though? Really?
His gaze tracked me grabbing my fork, his lips splitting into a grin when I took an experimental bite. Holy shit.
Part of me wasn't surprised the three of them were obsessed with my reaction. It tasted amazing, the exact amount of spice, a thick consistency to the sauce, the mincemeat driving me to finish my bowl without even savouring it. I was asking for seconds before I could stop myself, the words tangled on my tongue.
Finn was already jumping up, taking my bowl.
“See!” Nate had spaghetti sauce all over his chin, and my stomach gurgled.
I had to chew on the garlic bread side dish to shake away the sudden overwhelming, almost painful urge to…I don't know. I don't think I wanted to know, but I was hyper focused on the sauce staining his skin, just thick enough to… I let that train of thought die when I was given seconds, and inhaled that too. Finn’s cooking. Fuck.
How do I describe it?
It was exactly what I remembered from my mother’s home cooked meals, with an added something that I couldn't place.
Was there a certain sauce he was using? Finn was in culinary school, so of course he had a signature taste. I don't remember much of my first night. Just that I signed the contract as soon as I finished my food, my mind caught in a fog. Lizbeth showed me the rest of the house, and my room was great, a double bed with an en suite and a great view of the town. But I couldn't stop thinking about Finn’s spaghetti sauce.
We played Mario Kart that night, and I strictly remember being driven half crazy with the urge to sneak into the kitchen and lick all of the plates clean.
I could not stop thinking about the dish. The sauce, the pasta, the perfect ratio of salt on the pasta, and garlic in the meat. I went to bed, my mind filled with nothing but Finn’s food. He cooked for us every night, and I lost myself in a blur of tasty meals ranging from homemade lasagna, to chicken Alfredo.
The food was restaurant quality, and I cleaned my plate every night, hungry, no, starving for more. It became an addiction. I stopped going to class.
No, I forgot I had class. I couldn't think of anything but when Finn was home, and when he was going to cook me another meal. Days started to blur into one.
Monday became Tuesday, and suddenly it was Saturday, and I was starting to salivate. I caught myself one night, sitting cross legged on my bedroom floor, wet warmth dripping down my chin.
The collar of my shirt was damp, pooling darkness seeping across the floorboards. I caught hold of myself.
Drool.
Finn’s cooking was becoming a problem.
Also known as ruining my fucking life.
I tried to leave. I packed up my bags, but once I was in the hallway, once my hand was on the door handle, I could smell it, the aroma chasing me, leeching onto my brain. It dragged me back. I dropped my bags, drool already filling my mouth. “Kia?” Nate was behind me, a bowl of pasta in his hands.
With those last fragmented pieces of logic lingering in my mind, I noticed his fingers were stained too, streaks of scarlet still wet, pooling in his palms.
“Where are you going?” He nodded to the bowl. His voice was soft, hypnotising.
“Dude. Your dinner is ready.”
My bag slipped from my grasp. I could sense a smile splitting my own lips apart.
“Right.” I heard myself say in a breath, a hysterical giggle creeping up my throat.
“Dinner.”
I was already sticking my fingers in the bowl, stuffing myself until I couldn't breathe, spaghetti sauce dripping from my mouth, staining my clothes. It was all over me, painting my fingers rich, blood red. Nate held the bowl, waiting until I'd cleaned it out. I was on my knees, trembling, dragging my tongue over every remnant. I lost myself after that meal in particular.
Consciousness bled in and out.
I was sitting at the dining room table, inhaling my dinner.
Then I was bent over the toilet, my head pressed against cool porcelain.
I didn't notice I was losing my teeth until I spat a wisdom into the faucet.
Two days later, I was running my finger over a much sharper, elongated tooth sticking from my upper incisors.
I became aware of the house’s temperature when I found myself lying awake, shivering, thinking about my next meal. When I slipped out of bed to head to the bathroom, I glimpsed a single layer of frost creeping across the floorboards. Nate mentioned the three of them liked the cold, but freezing to death? I stopped feeling it after a while.
I'm pretty sure the temperature never changed, but my body stopped shivering. I began having freezing cold showers, adding ice, because my skin was never cold enough. It's not like I didn't get along with the three of them.
Outside of our mutual obsession with Finn’s cooking, and my ongoing awareness of my crumbling sanity, we had movie nights, game nights, and stayed up talking about everything and nothing until dawn. Lizbeth would fall asleep on my bed, the two of us engrossed in a Japanese drama, and Nate insisted on holding movie nights dedicated to specific actors. I almost died during Keanu Reeves night.
The others didn't go to class, but they did disappear for several hours every night. I stopped asking questions when my brain melted into soup. Finn’s food took over my life. During movie night, I was thinking about his food. Game night, I was in the kitchen, eating leftovers from the trash. There was something wrong. The words slammed into me every so often, but I had a toxic relationship with my housemates.
I couldn't just go.
Where else was I going to find Finn’s cooking?
9pm. I didn't know the day, or how many days it had been since I planned my escape out of the bathroom window, only to be lured back by teasing smiles and mushroom risotto. It was so hard to regain control of my own mind, and by the time I had managed to get a hold of myself, there they were. Always fifteen steps ahead of me. I pulled out a bloody molar after dinner, dropping it down the toilet. I think I was supposed to care.
But caring and worrying about my debilitating health meant not thinking about what was next for lunch.
There were so many dishes, so many recipes Finn hadn't tried yet. It was always that loose thought that dragged me down, plunging further and further into an oblivion I couldn't see a way out of.
Before I lost most of my mind, I did find something under my mattress.
Several VHS tapes, all of them labelled different dates, until the handwriting was unintelligible.
There was a VHS player in Finn’s room, so I snuck inside when he and the others were out of the house. The first tape used to be a wedding video. There were still old white ribbons wrapped around it, and I got a glimpse of an ancient, and I mean old wedding ceremony at the start. This footage looked like it was before cameras were invented. I was frowning at a pale brunette bride when the real footage jumped into view.
I was seeing Lizbeth, Finn, and Nate, squashed together on the couch.
Nate leaned forward. He looked healthier, his face was fuller, a pinkish blush in his cheeks. He opened his mouth, and I glimpsed a full set of healthy teeth.
Present Nate had elongated fang-like incisors. When he was eating, Nate could fillet a chicken bone within a second. His teeth were not normal. Neither were mine. I was losing all of mine in favour of sharper points that cut my lip open.
The boy cleared his throat on the tape, and I leaned closer. Nate's mouth formed a teasing smile. “If you're watching this video, it means all three of us are dead.”
The other two side eyed him, and he burst out laughing.
Lizbeth nudged him. Just like Nate, she too looked…normal. Her blonde hair was tied into a strict ponytail. This girl was glowing, while present Lizbeth was more of a shell. The girl turned to the camera. “Ignore Nate! He thinks he’s funny.”
“I am funny,” he said. “Why are we recording these on my Mom’s wedding tapes? What's wrong with using TikTok?”
“Because this way is cooler.” Lizbeth said. “Shush. It's a cool aesthetic.”
Nate raised a brow. “What is aesthetic about ruining my Mom’s wedding tapes?”
“Annnywaaay,” Finn, who was usually shy and withdrawn, was like a hyperactive puppy. It was jarring seeing him smiling. “We figured we should give our potential housemate a look into our lives!” he shot Nate the side-eye. “Well, we were going to. Until you dropped the bombshell that you're going skiing with your weird family.”
Nate scoffed. “It's not my fault! I told you, I don't have a choice!” He turned to the camera. “Do you see what I have to deal with?”
“You're leaving us for two weeks,” Finn groaned, tipping his head back. “No offence, but I hope you get eaten by a bear.”
“I'm taking full offence.” Nate shot back.
The tape was mainly bickering and laughing, so I took it out and inserted the next tape. It was the three of them again, though I noticed Lizbeth and Finn were keeping their distance from Nate, who was sitting on the other side, his head cocked, half lidded eyes drinking in the camera. Lizbeth's smile was a little too forced. She kept shooting panicked glances at the guy.
“Hey! So, we’re sorry for taking a while to record! Uh, Nate just came back from holiday, and he's…. uhhh…”
When Lizbeth drifted off, Finn jumped in. “He's sick,” he said, shuffling further away from the boy. “We’re pretty sure it's contagious, so whatever our boy has, we really don't want it.”
Nate didn't move, his lips quirking into a smile.
“Aren't you going to ask me how my trip was?” His voice was different, and it hit me. He was mimicking Lizbeth.
Finn and Lizbeth exchanged glances.
“Tell him to stop,” Lizbeth stood up, her hands clenched into fists. “Finn!”
“Nate, take it easy, man,” Finn was trembling. “Why do you keep… “ he shot a look at the camera. “Asking that?”
The tape ended in eerie silence with the two of them watching Nate.
Who's smile only widened.
The third tape made me regret exploring my housemates' past.
There was just Nate sitting there, completely naked. His cheeks were gaunt, lips pulled into a feverish grin.
Behind him was rapid movement, the sounds of muffled screaming.
The tape continued for five minutes, and Nate didn't move a muscle.
The fourth tape was thankfully, back to normal. Ish.
It started midway through a hissed conversation between them.
Finn was sitting cross legged on the floor, Lizbeth was perched on the chair arm, and Nate was sitting with his knees pulled to his chest. There were giant bald patches on his head. I found myself running my hands through my hair. “I don't know,” he whispered into his knees. “I told you, I don't remember anything.”
Finn’s lips curled with disgust. He was gingerly wobbling his own loose tooth.
“You don't remember disembowelling my fucking cat and stuffing her head in the refrigerator?” he made a point of scooting further away. He dislodged the tooth, his eyes widening. “You're sick.”
“He needs a doctor,” Lizbeth said softly. Her hair was greasy, her clothes stained. I could tell she had been up all night, dark circles shadowing her eyes.
Nate curled into himself. “I know I do.”
“Fuck.” Finn stood up shakily, raking his fingers down his face. “We can fix this, okay? We’re getting you help.” he wrapped his arms around himself. “It's freezing. I'm turning up the thermostat.”
“Don't.” Nate’s tone hardened. “It's… It’s too warm.”
“What are you talking about? I can see my breath!”
The last tape felt wrong in my clammy hands.
I inserted it, when thudding footsteps came up the steps.
“Kia! Hey, I have this new video game–”
I gathered up the tapes and made my escape before Nate could find me.
I wanted to think about what I had found, a clear sickness affecting my housemates.
And now it was running through my blood.
It was skinning me alive, stealing away my thoughts.
Making me hungry.
But I couldn't think.
Every time I tried, I fantasised about eating instead.
I can't remember what day it was when I snapped to fruition. The sound of the front door slamming shut downstairs was too loud, and I jerked awake, drool already dripping down my chin. Too loud. I curled into myself, slamming my hands over my ears. I forgot my name. I forgot the year. I forgot why I was naked and chewing on my blanket.
I was so hungry.
Jumping to my feet, I staggered at how fast I was, my thoughts dizzy.
Clothes were too warm, too stuffy.
But I couldn't just walk around naked. Looking at myself in the mirror, I was losing my hair. I didn't notice until my half lidded gaze caught the visible bald patch on my scalp. When I ran my fingers through it, my nails were loose and hanging off. My skin was pale, my eyes were sunken and red rimmed. I prodded at my cheeks. Somehow, I was getting thinner. But I was eating at least three bowls of food a night. Wrong.
I stepped back, my nerve endings on fire.
Get out.
Get the FUCK out.
But again, I couldn't think of anything except food. I stood for a long time, poking at my emaciated stomach.
I was never this thin, right?
“Kia!” Lizbeth shouted from downstairs. “We’re back!”
Making my way downstairs, I didn't remember actually walking down them. I was at the top, and then I was at the bottom, my breaths laboured, my toes primed. My body didn't make sense. It felt like I could twist and contort it. Immediately, I could smell our meal, the aroma forcing my legs into a stumbling power-walk to the kitchen. This meal smelled…fresh.
I couldn't escape it. When my gaze found the door, my escape, my body had a mind of its own, gravitated toward the kitchen. When I pushed the door open, I was hit in the face with a stink that both turned my stomach, and filled my mouth with saliva. I was already drooling, feverishly looking for what meal was waiting for me this time.
Instead, my housemates were preparing the food.
I noticed the plastic first. Under my feet was a sheet of plastic spread out across the floor. I registered the red splatters, but my mind refused to confirm it was in fact exactly what it looked like.
I waited for them to reel back in horror at me discovering their… hobby. Except neither of them were fazed. Lizbeth was playing with the oven dial, wearing a blood splattered apron, while the boys were knelt on the floor. There was a lump of something, what was left of a human body, that had been skinned.
Nate’s red slicked hands were buried in the abdomen, while Finn had sliced open their skull, scooping out the brain into a plastic container. I could feel my body spasming with fear, a scream clawing its way up my throat.
“Hey, Kia,” Lizbeth saluted me with her wooden spoon. She was jumping up and down on her heels, waving the utensil excitedly. My housemate was stirring something lumpy. I took that moment to take a slow step back. If I turned and ran, I could make it out of the front door before they could move.
“Kia?” Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, Lizbeth beamed at me. She was unbothered. Unfazed. Which meant I was either fucking hallucinating, or my housemates really thought I would be okay with their casual cannibalism.
I felt myself freeze, a thick paste creeping its way up my throat.
If they had been eating people, then…
Before the thought could fully register, I was already knelt on the ground, choking up the remnants of my lunch.
“Do you mind grabbing me the sriracha sauce from the cupboard?”
The word was caught in my throat.
Yes.
But instead of a reply, a shriek was clawing its way into my mouth.
“It's on the bottom shelf,” Nate said from his place on the floor. He was humming a melody, and I found myself mimicking it. The boy looked up, a faded red blur caught around his iris.
His smile was wide, fleshy white streaks caught between his teeth.
Why was I smiling?
Nate patted the place next to him. “Yo! I'll show you how to skin a corpse. It's actually really easy. You just use the blade like this,” he mimed dragging the knife, “It's a clean cut across the gut.”
Finn chuckled, his hands full of…urgh.
“We’ll take her hunting first. When she's caught her first meal, then we show her how to correctly gut a corpse.”
“Uh, no!” Lizbeth sang. “That's too much. She's not even eaten raw yet!”
My mouth was watering, and the gooey streak of scarlet looked so good.
I followed their words and took out the sriracha, my legs giving way. I hit the ground, except I barely felt the impact.
Run!
Why was I shuffling over to a meat cleaver?
Run!
Why was I joining them?
“Kia?”
The three of them were in front of me, suddenly. There was something inhuman about the way their bodies twisted, like their skin was shedding.
Finn regarded me with a cocked head, his teeth on display.
Nate and Lizbeth were more territorial, backing me into the wall.
And I was twisting around, and making for the door.
Fuck this.
I tried to escape four times.
Each time, I am awake, screaming, and they are dragging me back.
I went back to the tapes, sliding in tape number five.
This time, there was just Finn. I could see where the sickness had begun to take him over, streaking through his veins. He didn't speak for a while, and it was when I was waiting, when I saw the two bodies at his feet. Nate and Lizbeth. They were dead, lying in pools of red turning black. But already, I could see their emaciated limbs were jerking, moving slowly, skin rippling.
Finn coughed lumps of red into his hands.
“Urgh.” he sat back, closing his eyes.
He opened his mouth, pointing to his upper incisors, lips widening into a genuine smile. “See these?” he prodded to the tooth. “Ha! I have actual fangs. Thanks, Nate. You fucking idiot.”
Finn went on about vampires for way too long, so I rewound it.
“I have days,” Finn spoke through his fingers. “Maybe a week, if I starve myself.” he sighed, turning his focus to the camera. “If you find this tape, there's only one thing I want you to do,” he said.
“Burn this place down,” the guy pried his eyes open, and I could see writhing darkness tangling around his iris. It was spreading, a spider-like web taking over him. “Whoever welcomed you into our house isn't us. I showed you what happened to Nate to scare you away, man. Get the fuck out of this house.”
Something moved below him, and already, he was jerking up, an inhuman snarl ripping from his throat.
Finn jumped up, teeth bared, when the thing that was Nate slowly got to its feet. The guy pulled a knife from his jeans and stabbed the blade into the thing’s skull. He screamed, yanking the knife out. Nate dropped to the ground, and Finn let out a wet sob, crumpling back onto the couch.
There was the hint of red swirling around his pupil, elongated teeth retracting back.
“Burn this place down,” he heaved out a breath. “With us inside.”
I'm at a loss what to do because I have this thing too.
I don't even know what it is, but I can't bring it into the outside world. I'm terrified of this thing, but I’m pretty sure it's contagious. If I had to guess, I think it's spread through our saliva.
Like Finn said, burn all of us, and kill this thing.
But I don't want to fucking die!
They'll be back from their hunt soon. I'm supposed to be joining them.
Please, if there's anyone who can tell me how to help them, help me.
I can't kill them.

I bought some porcelain molds at an estate sale for $75, I underestimated how many when we asked for all the molds. I have a full pallet full of molds and I’m just trying to find them a good home. Not looking to make any money. Just find them a good home as I’m losing the storage they are in.
Any recommendations ? I’ve already tried Facebook and Craigslist.

I found them on Craigslist.
Which was my first big mistake.
Three fun college friends looking for a roommate to vibe with!
Admittedly, I thought I had met my soulmates.
How do I describe the feeling of meeting someone I feel like I've known my whole life?
The second I stepped inside what would become my prison, I could smell it.
Food.
Home cooked meals have always been my kryptonite, so stepping directly into the aroma of spaghetti sauce, my mouth was already watering. God, it smelled so fucking good, teasing the back of my nose and throat. It's almost like the house itself knew I was hungry.
The owner was a tiny blonde with enough enthusiasm to cast my gaze away from rat droppings on the floor.
And there were a lot.
It was the first thing I noticed. Not the homely glow spilling from the doorway, or the abstract paintings on the wall. There was too much poop to not notice, squishy brown balls directly under her feet. That wasn't in the listing description. Still, though, the owner’s smile was enough to drag my focus away from their lack of hygiene.
I didn't know what to say, so I blurted, “That smells good.”
The blonde grinned, leaning against the door. “Oh, you'll get used to that.”
When I couldn't think of a response she bound forward. “Hi! You're here for the room!” she stuck out her hand for me to shake, and immediately, I noticed her fingernails. If I wasn't such a germ freak, I wouldn't have noticed her nails were filthy, a slight reddish tint colouring the stubs. That was a red flag.
Until I noticed the plastic apron hanging loose over scuffed denim overalls. Ah. That made sense.
Her name was Lizbeth, and she looked exactly like a Lizbeth, untidy blonde hair hanging in loose pigtails.
Nodding, I followed her into the hallway. “I'm–”
“Kia!” Lizbeth was bursting with unhinged golden retriever energy, I already loved her. She was exactly how she came across via text, sending me emoji hearts and kisses, and replying with, I'm so excited to finally meet you! I appreciated her remembering to call me Kia, and not Kiara. “We’ve been expecting you all afternoon!”
“Traffic.” I lied, stepping out of my shoes. My anxiety had gotten the better of me. I had been sitting in a local coffee shop for two hours, trying to psych myself up. I don't know why I was scared. I took a moment to drink in the hallway. It was cute. There were piles of shoes stacked up against the wall. I noticed a pair of snow boots.
Which was strange, because I couldn't remember the last time our town had snow. I didn't realise I was frowning at the boots, until Lizbeth gently grabbed my shoulders and steered me down the main hallway. “Welcome to our little family!” she said, “It's not great, and we’re thinking about moving. But for now, it's home! What do you think?”
I smiled, appreciating the mix of modern and ancient. The house was old, but these guys had remodelled it to fit in the 21st century. I turned my attention to Lizbeth herself, who was absently swiping her hands on her apron. Everything about this girl screamed best friend, big sister energy.
Her stripy socks were adorable. We already had a mutual love of Japanese dramas, and cult classic horror movies.
I didn't recall her telling me about her other passion though.
“Oh, you're an artist!” I remarked with what I hoped was a friendly smile.
Lizbeth didn't turn around, sliding across the hardwood floor in her stripy socks. “Nope! I'm actually a writer!”
Maybe she was embarrassed of the paint splatters.
I already knew the house was perfect for me when I walked straight into a game of Mario Kart, combined with a warm, homely aroma. Garlic. Two guys were arguing over the start-up screen, seated on a ratty couch. There were already bowls of fresh pasta on the coffee table.
I noticed an extra bowl set out, and I was already gravitating towards it. I didn't realize I was drooling until I had to wipe it away with my sleeve. One of the guys dropped his controller, shooting me a grin. His red hair was a little too red.
He was cute, with wide brown eyes and freckles.
“Kia, right?” His smile was friendly. “I'm Nate!” he gestured to the other guy, a kid with a wiry frame, thick brown curls hanging in his eyes. The guy offered me a shy wave, standing awkwardly to the side. All three of them shared the same pale, almost too pale skin and slightly sunken eyes. These guys weren't getting their vitamin D. “That's Finn. Our resident cook.” his lips curled into a smile. “He’s also painfully bad at Mario Kart.”
The brunette, Finn, shoved him. “He's lying. I won the last three games.”
“Yeah, because I did it for you!”
“Boys.” Lizbeth cut in. “I told you not to embarrass yourselves.”
Rolling his eyes like he had been scolded by his mother, Nate turned to me, slumping in front of his own dinner.
“We knew you were coming,” he nodded to the extra bowl. “Dig in! If you prefer a veggie dish, Finn can do a mean meat-free lasagna. There's some in the refrigerator if you want some.” he shot me a grin. “You're lucky our boy is in his second year of culinary school.”
I politely took a seat. “I can eat meat,” I said, trying to ignore Nate’s sudden, obnoxious laugh. He was one of those types of guys. I thought class jokers died out after high school.
Apparently not.
Dick jokes, though? Really?
His gaze tracked me grabbing my fork, his lips splitting into a grin when I took an experimental bite. Holy shit.
Part of me wasn't surprised the three of them were obsessed with my reaction. It tasted amazing, the exact amount of spice, a thick consistency to the sauce, the mincemeat driving me to finish my bowl without even savouring it. I was asking for seconds before I could stop myself, the words tangled on my tongue.
Finn was already jumping up, taking my bowl.
“See!” Nate had spaghetti sauce all over his chin, and my stomach gurgled.
I had to chew on the garlic bread side dish to shake away the sudden overwhelming, almost painful urge to…I don't know. I don't think I wanted to know, but I was hyper focused on the sauce staining his skin, just thick enough to… I let that train of thought die when I was given seconds, and inhaled that too. Finn’s cooking. Fuck.
How do I describe it?
It was exactly what I remembered from my mother’s home cooked meals, with an added something that I couldn't place.
Was there a certain sauce he was using? Finn was in culinary school, so of course he had a signature taste. I don't remember much of my first night. Just that I signed the contract as soon as I finished my food, my mind caught in a fog. Lizbeth showed me the rest of the house, and my room was great, a double bed with an en suite and a great view of the town. But I couldn't stop thinking about Finn’s spaghetti sauce.
We played Mario Kart that night, and I strictly remember being driven half crazy with the urge to sneak into the kitchen and lick all of the plates clean.
I could not stop thinking about the dish. The sauce, the pasta, the perfect ratio of salt on the pasta, and garlic in the meat. I went to bed, my mind filled with nothing but Finn’s food. He cooked for us every night, and I lost myself in a blur of tasty meals ranging from homemade lasagna, to chicken Alfredo.
The food was restaurant quality, and I cleaned my plate every night, hungry, no, starving for more. It became an addiction. I stopped going to class.
No, I forgot I had class. I couldn't think of anything but when Finn was home, and when he was going to cook me another meal. Days started to blur into one.
Monday became Tuesday, and suddenly it was Saturday, and I was starting to salivate. I caught myself one night, sitting cross legged on my bedroom floor, wet warmth dripping down my chin.
The collar of my shirt was damp, pooling darkness seeping across the floorboards. I caught hold of myself.
Drool.
Finn’s cooking was becoming a problem.
Also known as ruining my fucking life.
I tried to leave. I packed up my bags, but once I was in the hallway, once my hand was on the door handle, I could smell it, the aroma chasing me, leeching onto my brain. It dragged me back. I dropped my bags, drool already filling my mouth. “Kia?” Nate was behind me, a bowl of pasta in his hands.
With those last fragmented pieces of logic lingering in my mind, I noticed his fingers were stained too, streaks of scarlet still wet, pooling in his palms.
“Where are you going?” He nodded to the bowl. His voice was soft, hypnotising.
“Dude. Your dinner is ready.”
My bag slipped from my grasp. I could sense a smile splitting my own lips apart.
“Right.” I heard myself say in a breath, a hysterical giggle creeping up my throat.
“Dinner.”
I was already sticking my fingers in the bowl, stuffing myself until I couldn't breathe, spaghetti sauce dripping from my mouth, staining my clothes. It was all over me, painting my fingers rich, blood red. Nate held the bowl, waiting until I'd cleaned it out. I was on my knees, trembling, dragging my tongue over every remnant. I lost myself after that meal in particular.
Consciousness bled in and out.
I was sitting at the dining room table, inhaling my dinner.
Then I was bent over the toilet, my head pressed against cool porcelain.
I didn't notice I was losing my teeth until I spat a wisdom into the faucet.
Two days later, I was running my finger over a much sharper, elongated tooth sticking from my upper incisors.
I became aware of the house’s temperature when I found myself lying awake, shivering, thinking about my next meal. When I slipped out of bed to head to the bathroom, I glimpsed a single layer of frost creeping across the floorboards. Nate mentioned the three of them liked the cold, but freezing to death? I stopped feeling it after a while.
I'm pretty sure the temperature never changed, but my body stopped shivering. I began having freezing cold showers, adding ice, because my skin was never cold enough. It's not like I didn't get along with the three of them.
Outside of our mutual obsession with Finn’s cooking, and my ongoing awareness of my crumbling sanity, we had movie nights, game nights, and stayed up talking about everything and nothing until dawn. Lizbeth would fall asleep on my bed, the two of us engrossed in a Japanese drama, and Nate insisted on holding movie nights dedicated to specific actors. I almost died during Keanu Reeves night.
The others didn't go to class, but they did disappear for several hours every night. I stopped asking questions when my brain melted into soup. Finn’s food took over my life. During movie night, I was thinking about his food. Game night, I was in the kitchen, eating leftovers from the trash. There was something wrong. The words slammed into me every so often, but I had a toxic relationship with my housemates.
I couldn't just go.
Where else was I going to find Finn’s cooking?
9pm. I didn't know the day, or how many days it had been since I planned my escape out of the bathroom window, only to be lured back by teasing smiles and mushroom risotto. It was so hard to regain control of my own mind, and by the time I had managed to get a hold of myself, there they were. Always fifteen steps ahead of me. I pulled out a bloody molar after dinner, dropping it down the toilet. I think I was supposed to care.
But caring and worrying about my debilitating health meant not thinking about what was next for lunch.
There were so many dishes, so many recipes Finn hadn't tried yet. It was always that loose thought that dragged me down, plunging further and further into an oblivion I couldn't see a way out of.
Before I lost most of my mind, I did find something under my mattress.
Several VHS tapes, all of them labelled different dates, until the handwriting was unintelligible.
There was a VHS player in Finn’s room, so I snuck inside when he and the others were out of the house. The first tape used to be a wedding video. There were still old white ribbons wrapped around it, and I got a glimpse of an ancient, and I mean old wedding ceremony at the start. This footage looked like it was before cameras were invented. I was frowning at a pale brunette bride when the real footage jumped into view.
I was seeing Lizbeth, Finn, and Nate, squashed together on the couch.
Nate leaned forward. He looked healthier, his face was fuller, a pinkish blush in his cheeks. He opened his mouth, and I glimpsed a full set of healthy teeth.
Present Nate had elongated fang-like incisors. When he was eating, Nate could fillet a chicken bone within a second. His teeth were not normal. Neither were mine. I was losing all of mine in favour of sharper points that cut my lip open.
The boy cleared his throat on the tape, and I leaned closer. Nate's mouth formed a teasing smile. “If you're watching this video, it means all three of us are dead.”
The other two side eyed him, and he burst out laughing.
Lizbeth nudged him. Just like Nate, she too looked…normal. Her blonde hair was tied into a strict ponytail. This girl was glowing, while present Lizbeth was more of a shell. The girl turned to the camera. “Ignore Nate! He thinks he’s funny.”
“I am funny,” he said. “Why are we recording these on my Mom’s wedding tapes? What's wrong with using TikTok?”
“Because this way is cooler.” Lizbeth said. “Shush. It's a cool aesthetic.”
Nate raised a brow. “What is aesthetic about ruining my Mom’s wedding tapes?”
“Annnywaaay,” Finn, who was usually shy and withdrawn, was like a hyperactive puppy. It was jarring seeing him smiling. “We figured we should give our potential housemate a look into our lives!” he shot Nate the side-eye. “Well, we were going to. Until you dropped the bombshell that you're going skiing with your weird family.”
Nate scoffed. “It's not my fault! I told you, I don't have a choice!” He turned to the camera. “Do you see what I have to deal with?”
“You're leaving us for two weeks,” Finn groaned, tipping his head back. “No offence, but I hope you get eaten by a bear.”
“I'm taking full offence.” Nate shot back.
The tape was mainly bickering and laughing, so I took it out and inserted the next tape. It was the three of them again, though I noticed Lizbeth and Finn were keeping their distance from Nate, who was sitting on the other side, his head cocked, half lidded eyes drinking in the camera. Lizbeth's smile was a little too forced. She kept shooting panicked glances at the guy.
“Hey! So, we’re sorry for taking a while to record! Uh, Nate just came back from holiday, and he's…. uhhh…”
When Lizbeth drifted off, Finn jumped in. “He's sick,” he said, shuffling further away from the boy. “We’re pretty sure it's contagious, so whatever our boy has, we really don't want it.”
Nate didn't move, his lips quirking into a smile.
“Aren't you going to ask me how my trip was?” His voice was different, and it hit me. He was mimicking Lizbeth.
Finn and Lizbeth exchanged glances.
“Tell him to stop,” Lizbeth stood up, her hands clenched into fists. “Finn!”
“Nate, take it easy, man,” Finn was trembling. “Why do you keep… “ he shot a look at the camera. “Asking that?”
The tape ended in eerie silence with the two of them watching Nate.
Who's smile only widened.
The third tape made me regret exploring my housemates' past.
There was just Nate sitting there, completely naked. His cheeks were gaunt, lips pulled into a feverish grin.
Behind him was rapid movement, the sounds of muffled screaming.
The tape continued for five minutes, and Nate didn't move a muscle.
The fourth tape was thankfully, back to normal. Ish.
It started midway through a hissed conversation between them.
Finn was sitting cross legged on the floor, Lizbeth was perched on the chair arm, and Nate was sitting with his knees pulled to his chest. There were giant bald patches on his head. I found myself running my hands through my hair. “I don't know,” he whispered into his knees. “I told you, I don't remember anything.”
Finn’s lips curled with disgust. He was gingerly wobbling his own loose tooth.
“You don't remember disembowelling my fucking cat and stuffing her head in the refrigerator?” he made a point of scooting further away. He dislodged the tooth, his eyes widening. “You're sick.”
“He needs a doctor,” Lizbeth said softly. Her hair was greasy, her clothes stained. I could tell she had been up all night, dark circles shadowing her eyes.
Nate curled into himself. “I know I do.”
“Fuck.” Finn stood up shakily, raking his fingers down his face. “We can fix this, okay? We’re getting you help.” he wrapped his arms around himself. “It's freezing. I'm turning up the thermostat.”
“Don't.” Nate’s tone hardened. “It's… It’s too warm.”
“What are you talking about? I can see my breath!”
The last tape felt wrong in my clammy hands.
I inserted it, when thudding footsteps came up the steps.
“Kia! Hey, I have this new video game–”
I gathered up the tapes and made my escape before Nate could find me.
I wanted to think about what I had found, a clear sickness affecting my housemates.
And now it was running through my blood.
It was skinning me alive, stealing away my thoughts.
Making me hungry.
But I couldn't think.
Every time I tried, I fantasised about eating instead.
I can't remember what day it was when I snapped to fruition. The sound of the front door slamming shut downstairs was too loud, and I jerked awake, drool already dripping down my chin. Too loud. I curled into myself, slamming my hands over my ears. I forgot my name. I forgot the year. I forgot why I was naked and chewing on my blanket.
I was so hungry.
Jumping to my feet, I staggered at how fast I was, my thoughts dizzy.
Clothes were too warm, too stuffy.
But I couldn't just walk around naked. Looking at myself in the mirror, I was losing my hair. I didn't notice until my half lidded gaze caught the visible bald patch on my scalp. When I ran my fingers through it, my nails were loose and hanging off. My skin was pale, my eyes were sunken and red rimmed. I prodded at my cheeks. Somehow, I was getting thinner. But I was eating at least three bowls of food a night. Wrong.
I stepped back, my nerve endings on fire.
Get out.
Get the FUCK out.
But again, I couldn't think of anything except food. I stood for a long time, poking at my emaciated stomach.
I was never this thin, right?
“Kia!” Lizbeth shouted from downstairs. “We’re back!”
Making my way downstairs, I didn't remember actually walking down them. I was at the top, and then I was at the bottom, my breaths laboured, my toes primed. My body didn't make sense. It felt like I could twist and contort it. Immediately, I could smell our meal, the aroma forcing my legs into a stumbling power-walk to the kitchen. This meal smelled…fresh.
I couldn't escape it. When my gaze found the door, my escape, my body had a mind of its own, gravitated toward the kitchen. When I pushed the door open, I was hit in the face with a stink that both turned my stomach, and filled my mouth with saliva. I was already drooling, feverishly looking for what meal was waiting for me this time.
Instead, my housemates were preparing the food.
I noticed the plastic first. Under my feet was a sheet of plastic spread out across the floor. I registered the red splatters, but my mind refused to confirm it was in fact exactly what it looked like.
I waited for them to reel back in horror at me discovering their… hobby. Except neither of them were fazed. Lizbeth was playing with the oven dial, wearing a blood splattered apron, while the boys were knelt on the floor. There was a lump of something, what was left of a human body, that had been skinned.
Nate’s red slicked hands were buried in the abdomen, while Finn had sliced open their skull, scooping out the brain into a plastic container. I could feel my body spasming with fear, a scream clawing its way up my throat.
“Hey, Kia,” Lizbeth saluted me with her wooden spoon. She was jumping up and down on her heels, waving the utensil excitedly. My housemate was stirring something lumpy. I took that moment to take a slow step back. If I turned and ran, I could make it out of the front door before they could move.
“Kia?” Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, Lizbeth beamed at me. She was unbothered. Unfazed. Which meant I was either fucking hallucinating, or my housemates really thought I would be okay with their casual cannibalism.
I felt myself freeze, a thick paste creeping its way up my throat.
If they had been eating people, then…
Before the thought could fully register, I was already knelt on the ground, choking up the remnants of my lunch.
“Do you mind grabbing me the sriracha sauce from the cupboard?”
The word was caught in my throat.
Yes.
But instead of a reply, a shriek was clawing its way into my mouth.
“It's on the bottom shelf,” Nate said from his place on the floor. He was humming a melody, and I found myself mimicking it. The boy looked up, a faded red blur caught around his iris.
His smile was wide, fleshy white streaks caught between his teeth.
Why was I smiling?
Nate patted the place next to him. “Yo! I'll show you how to skin a corpse. It's actually really easy. You just use the blade like this,” he mimed dragging the knife, “It's a clean cut across the gut.”
Finn chuckled, his hands full of…urgh.
“We’ll take her hunting first. When she's caught her first meal, then we show her how to correctly gut a corpse.”
“Uh, no!” Lizbeth sang. “That's too much. She's not even eaten raw yet!”
My mouth was watering, and the gooey streak of scarlet looked so good.
I followed their words and took out the sriracha, my legs giving way. I hit the ground, except I barely felt the impact.
Run!
Why was I shuffling over to a meat cleaver?
Run!
Why was I joining them?
“Kia?”
The three of them were in front of me, suddenly. There was something inhuman about the way their bodies twisted, like their skin was shedding.
Finn regarded me with a cocked head, his teeth on display.
Nate and Lizbeth were more territorial, backing me into the wall.
And I was twisting around, and making for the door.
Fuck this.
I tried to escape four times.
Each time, I am awake, screaming, and they are dragging me back.
I went back to the tapes, sliding in tape number five.
This time, there was just Finn. I could see where the sickness had begun to take him over, streaking through his veins. He didn't speak for a while, and it was when I was waiting, when I saw the two bodies at his feet. Nate and Lizbeth. They were dead, lying in pools of red turning black. But already, I could see their emaciated limbs were jerking, moving slowly, skin rippling.
Finn coughed lumps of red into his hands.
“Urgh.” he sat back, closing his eyes.
He opened his mouth, pointing to his upper incisors, lips widening into a genuine smile. “See these?” he prodded to the tooth. “Ha! I have actual fangs. Thanks, Nate. You fucking idiot.”
Finn went on about vampires for way too long, so I rewound it.
“I have days,” Finn spoke through his fingers. “Maybe a week, if I starve myself.” he sighed, turning his focus to the camera. “If you find this tape, there's only one thing I want you to do,” he said.
“Burn this place down,” the guy pried his eyes open, and I could see writhing darkness tangling around his iris. It was spreading, a spider-like web taking over him. “Whoever welcomed you into our house isn't us. I showed you what happened to Nate to scare you away, man. Get the fuck out of this house.”
Something moved below him, and already, he was jerking up, an inhuman snarl ripping from his throat.
Finn jumped up, teeth bared, when the thing that was Nate slowly got to its feet. The guy pulled a knife from his jeans and stabbed the blade into the thing’s skull. He screamed, yanking the knife out. Nate dropped to the ground, and Finn let out a wet sob, crumpling back onto the couch.
There was the hint of red swirling around his pupil, elongated teeth retracting back.
“Burn this place down,” he heaved out a breath. “With us inside.”
I'm at a loss what to do because I have this thing too.
I don't even know what it is, but I can't bring it into the outside world. I'm terrified of this thing, but I’m pretty sure it's contagious. If I had to guess, I think it's spread through our saliva.
Like Finn said, burn all of us, and kill this thing.
But I don't want to fucking die!
They'll be back from their hunt soon. I'm supposed to be joining them.
Please, if there's anyone who can tell me how to help them, help me.
I can't kill them.

Hi All,
My grandfather left me this Meissen Porcelain Figurine when he passed away. It's thought to have been made shortly after WW1 and is supposedly a first edition.
I'm having trouble finding a name for this piece or finding any others like it online. I'm curious as to its value. I've been told it is worth a fair bit, my whole family is terrified to touch it. Does anyone have any idea what it could be worth?

https://www.craigslist.org/about/best/sfo/27499971.html
Originally Posted: 2004-03-27 15:36 (no longer live) Hey Crackhead
Yes, you. You sick fucker. On Wednesday morning I emerged from my girlfriend's building by U.N. Plaza to find that you had sawed the tops off both the sparkplugs on my motorcycle. At the time, I had no idea why anyone would do that. Other than the sparkplugs, the bike was untouched. Some kind of bizarre vandalism? A fraternity prank gone awry? I had no idea. All I knew is that I looked like a huge douchebag riding the Muni to work in a padded motorcycle jacket and helmet.
Because the bike was immobilized I got a $35 street sweeping ticket that night. Thursday I had it towed to the shop ($45) where they replaced the sparkplugs and the boots ($50 including labor). They explained to me that "people" - I use the term loosely here - like you break off the tops of spark plugs and use the porcelain tubes to smoke crack. As an engineer and former MacGyver fan, in a way I think this is kind of cool. But then I remember that I just paid $100 for YOUR crackpipes, and I get angry again.
Crackhead, it was really good to have my bike back though. I rode home from the shop with a couple of spare sparkplugs and a smile on my face. I figured the next time I parked at my girlfriend's place overnight I would have to buy some crackpipes and tape them to my bike as a peace offering. Overall, I wasn't that upset. Despite having to ride the bus for three days and dropping a hundred bones at the shop, I had gained some fascinating knowledge, a new set of sparkplugs, and a pretty funny anecdote about how fucked up you are, and how our paths once crossed briefly in the night.
But you couldn't just let sleeping dogs lie, could you Crackhead. You couldn't just stay in on Friday, watch Letterman through the window of a home electronics store and then call it a night. You couldn't rest on your laurels. Two porcelain sparkplug crackpipes just wasn't enough for you, was it Crackhead? You just had to come back for more.
This morning, a scant fifteen hours after I rode it out of the shop, I found my motorcycle violated once again. This time you only took the right one - maybe you were having an off night. At least this time I had a spare sparkplug and the tools to fix it - or so I thought - having ordered a 73-piece toolset from SEARS.com last week. But no, the sparkplug socket in my new toolset was for American sparkplugs. So I had to go down to the neighborhood Ace hardware. They had an 18mm socket that would fit over my sparkplug, but it was for a 1/2" drive ratchet. My toolkit only has 1/4" and 3/8" ratchets. So I had to buy a 1/2" ratchet along with the socket. Even though the clerk took pity on me and gave me the senior citizen discount (I'm 25) it still cost me $22 all told. Now, you might say that I should have just gotten a 3/8"-to-1/2" drive adaptor instead of springing for the whole ratchet. And to that I say "Shut the hell up, Crackhead, I'm not finished. And besides, I was eventually going to buy a 1/2" ratchet anyway so it's probably not worth it to take it back now."
OK, now I'm rambling. But the point is, Crackhead, that you have done me wrong. Now, I get that you love crack. That is totally understandable. I've heard it is really fun, at first, and quite addictive. What I don't understand is,
YOU ARE A CRACKHEAD. WHY DON'T YOU OWN A CRACKPIPE?
I am an engineer. Do you ever see me shaking down bums in the Loin for a calculator and sliderule? No, you don't. Because engineering is the main thing I do, I went and bought myself a calculator. The main thing you do is crack. How do you get by without a crackpipe? The other crackheads must clown on you non-stop. I mean, the fucking saw you used to saw off my sparkplugs is probably worth five or ten bucks. Why not sell or trade it for a crackpipe? You really haven't put much thought into this, have you?
Please, Crackhead, please don't tell me you sold your crackpipe to buy crack. Even a stupid crackhead such as yourself couldn't possibly be that stupid.
I've decided that taping crackpipes to my motorcycle would be tantamount to appeasement. You have crossed a line, Crackhead - specifically California Street. You have come onto my own street and you have desecrated that which I hold dear. You have stolen from me, and you have caused me to spend the last half hour writing this post instead of engineering shit, and it is concievable, if not likely, that my boss could find out about this and fire me. I am hella pissed at you dude.
Here are my options as I see them:

1. Write a note saying that I have coated both of my sparkplugs in rat poison and tape it to my bike at night. You can thank Tim for that one, it was his idea.
   
2. Don't write a note, but just coat both sparkplugs in rat poison. This is probably closer to a punishment that would fit your despicable crime. I'm sure this is super illegal and shit, but it's not like anyone is going to miss you, Crackhead. Don't fool yourself.
   
3. Wait in an alley near my bike armed with my new stainless steel mirror-finish Ace Professional brand 1/2" drive socket wrench, my 18mm sparkplug socket, and my searing rage. It's pretty heavy and well balanced. I am not a large man, but I am angry.
   

In conclusion, Crackhead, why don't you just do both of us a favor and buy yourself a crackpipe? It will both enhance your crack smoking experience and save me a lot of time and felony assault charges. Think about it.
Sincerely, Matt
*** If you are not the Crackhead that took my sparkplugs, please disregard this posting ***

Handmade/handpainted antique masks from Mexico. Really beautiful pieces great for home decor or restaurant/business. Larger masks are each about 2-3ft long
$100 each for the 7 large masks $50 for porcelain mask $50 for smaller red mask
$500 for the lot
See pics here

"Your casket does not come with a hitch for a U-haul" - JFM
I'm looking for podcast episodes that go into the psychology of dealing with hoarders in your family. Specifically with ways to communicate to them that you do not want their things when they pass on. I really like listening to the minimalists - but haven't found an episode of theirs dedicated to this subject.
Context:
My gf has a parent who hoards "valuable antiques" that will one day, be my girlfriend's responsibility when he leaves them to her. She is too sick to care for his things. His porcelain dolls, 1800s rare-wood engraved furniture, pre-ban ivory, Egyptian artifacts and rare paintings will all go to 1800-got-junk because she physically does not have the health or stamina to deal with a house & 2-3 storage units full of things.
Donate to a museum? Craigslist selling? It's just too much freaking work for someone in her current health situation. There are no siblings or relatives to help.
On top of that - her father is struggling financially at a welfare level.
If he sold the house and half of his collections, he'd have million dollars, and my girlfriend's health would improve, because his suffering is one of her greatest stressors.
He does not recognize this, even when she tries to communicate. She lives with me, but went back to declutter her old clothing. When she comes down the stairs with a bag full for the donation bin, he stops her and examine every article of clothing. "This is a good shirt! Why are you giving it away for free?" For a 3XL men's button down that she used back in school for a gag-prop. This whole situation mentally wore her down and she ended up saying "Fine, keep them."
I only know how to describe what's going on with these anecdotes, but would like to listen to people smarter than me to help form a more scientific conclusion on what is going on here, and how I can better help her deal with these issues.
Even though she tries to help him sell his stuff - there's always an excuse why he can't. "Ebay takes too much." "I dont want to get a Facebook" "Taking pictures is a lot of work, you have to make sure they look right."
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Ceramics and pottery are some of the oldest and most versatile art forms in the world. From simple pots and bowls to elaborate sculptures and vessels, ceramics have been used by humans for thousands of years to create both functional and decorative objects.
What is the difference between ceramics and pottery?
Ceramics is a broad term that encompasses all objects made from clay. Pottery is a subset of ceramics that refers specifically to objects that are made by hand, on a potter's wheel, or by other traditional methods.
A Brief History of Ceramics and Pottery
The earliest known ceramics date back to around 10,000 BC. These early ceramics were simple, handmade objects that were used for cooking and storage. Over time, ceramic techniques became more sophisticated and ceramics began to be used for a wider variety of purposes, including decoration and ritual.
Some of the most well-known ceramic traditions include:
Ancient Greek Pottery
Greek potters were renowned for their skill and artistry. They created a wide variety of vessels, including amphorae, kraters, and hydrias. These vessels were often decorated with intricate scenes from Greek mythology and history.
Chinese Ceramics
Chinese potters have been producing ceramics for over 7,000 years. Chinese ceramics are known for their high quality and exquisite craftsmanship. Some of the most famous Chinese ceramics include porcelain, celadon, and stoneware.
Islamic Ceramics
Islamic potters were masters of color and design. They created a variety of ceramic objects, including functional items like tiles and vessels, as well as decorative items like lamps. Islamic ceramics are often decorated with geometric patterns and calligraphy.
European Ceramics
European potters have been producing ceramics for centuries. Some of the most well-known European ceramic traditions include Delftware, Majolica, and Meissen. European ceramics are often embellished with delicate blooms, verdant vistas, and sacred moments.
Ceramics and Pottery Today
Today, ceramics and pottery continue to be popular art forms. Ceramicists employ a variety of skills to craft both functional and decorative pieces. Some ceramic artists use traditional methods, such as throwing on a potter's wheel or hand-building. Others use more experimental techniques, such as slip casting or 3D printing.
The Creative Process
The creative process of ceramics and pottery is both complex and rewarding. It begins with the selection of the right clay. Clay comes in a wide variety of forms, each with its own unique properties. The type of clay used will affect the final appearance and performance of the ceramic object.
Once the clay is selected, the artist must envision the object's physical structure and decorative elements. This can be done by sketching out the design on paper or by simply working with the clay directly.
Once the shape and design have been finalized, the artist will begin to form the clay. This can be done by hand-building, throwing on a potter's wheel, or using a mold.
Once the clay object has been formed, it must be dried and then fired in a kiln. The firing process hardens the clay and gives it its final strength and durability.
Ceramics and Pottery as a Form of Self-expression
Ceramics and pottery offer a powerful outlet for self-expression. The meditative and therapeutic process of working with clay can also foster creativity and cultural connection.
Conclusion
Ceramics and pottery are rich and diverse art forms that have been enjoyed by people all over the world for centuries. From simple pots and bowls to elaborate sculptures and vessels, ceramics offer a wide range of creative possibilities.
For those interested in purchasing ceramics and pottery, TrueGether, the best alternative to eBay, is just one of the many online marketplaces available. And if you want to know more about ceramics and pottery, there are many books, websites, and classes that can teach you the basics of ceramic techniques. You can also find ceramic studios and galleries in most cities.
So, what are you waiting for? Start your creative journey with ceramics and pottery today!