Chapter 11 - Home
The ship arrives in port to songs from the Deed of Morred. A funny exchange occurs where Apple's friend Shinny (Shandy) sees Tenar on board the ship and says, "'Maybe it's his mother,'" only for Apple to say actually it is a mother (well, her's). Tenar and Therru disembark from the ship in rather royal fashion before it leaves again. Apple greets them warmly and is apparently on very familiar terms with Therru (Apple picks her up), however that night Apple is a bit apprehensive toward her mother, apparently she had never given much thought to the songs about her mom. She calls her a "'...king-kisser....'" A couple days later they all leave Apple's home and go to the farm, along the river Kaheda in the late summer. Apple comments on Therru's health and Tenar lets slip she was stronger before the incident, and then tells Apple about it (Apple is familiar with Therru's past). We find out that the one that was likely Therru's father is called Hake. In recalling Handy's motions she oddly can't remember Aspen's name except for the Kargish word for a type of tree. Apple says they haven't seen anyone from that group, and Tenar takes some joy that her daughter is mothering her mother. They consider a dog (again), though humorously Tenar is mostly thinking of a puppy for Therru (she already plays with an animal anyway, right? Well, a weird bone doll, close enough). They arrive at Lark's and it's a warm homecoming, it had apparently been two months since their departure to Ogion's. Tenar is reluctant to tell the story about their adventure but absolutely gushes about the king, says he appeared like a sword (which is actually one of his names, Arren). They talk about the king and the wizard, Shinny arrives and they have quite the supper, even Therru warms except for her keeping an eye on the window as it grew darker out.
Later, while Apple sings Therru to sleep, Tenar finally asks Shandy, who is helping wash up, about Ged (who somehow was never mentioned to Lark and Apple, all of Tenar's remembrances about Re Albi seemed to be muddled, "darkened"). Shandy says there wasn't work for him here, but that he got some on recommendation and so was off in a high pasture, maybe even herding goats, and would be back down the mountain in autumn. Maybe that was for the best, maybe this was home now and all that of Re Albi was behind them. Tenar slept that night, dreamless. Tenar keeps busy homesteading and the like, and eventually finished the red dress she had started for Therru. Therru is expressionless and turns away from it, and Tenar says, "'...People see the scars. But they see you, too, and you aren't the scars. You aren't ugly. You aren't evil. You are Therru, and beautiful....'" Therru calls the dress beautiful (touching Tenar's fingers, not the dress), and Tenar understands something, "She had done right to make the dress, and she had spoken the truth to the child. But it was not enough, the right and the truth. There was a gap, a void, a gulf, on beyond the right and the truth. Love, her love for Therru and Therru’s for her, made a bridge across that gap, a bridge of spider web, but love did not fill or close it. Nothing did that. And the child knew it better than she."
The equinox arrives, and Tenar thinks of the king being coronated, the king who knew fear and pain, and thought that Ged should be there too instead of tending some rich man's herds (and likely doing that into winter). Tenar had started to visit Ivy when she went to the village, as a sort of minor replacement to Aunty Moss, but either Ivy's ingrown detest for her was very real or, maybe just as likely, her own rebukes had left too big a void between them.
The sorcerer Beech arrives one day to treat a rich farmer's gout, and visits Tenar. Beech was a pupil of a pupil of Ogion's, and wanted to hear about his last days, as well as the visit by the archmage, Ged. Beech talks about the king's new rule and about, in particular, the loss of power of a certain lord pirate. He very much praises Tenar's work with Therru but she responds with sadness, she's worried what the fear will draw her to, that a damaged person may do damaging things. Roke seems more open-minded than most but he sees Ogion's "Teach her, not Roke" as just meaning women can't be sorcerers and he instead suggests that she take up healing witchery with Ivy as there may be a reciprocal aspect (and after all, he argues, "...healing befits a women..."). Therru's naming day is referenced, and overall Tenar views him as naive, but she does think about what Beech said.
More changes from the king, the local villages set up a taxed constabulary to combat the thieves and gangs (some rumors the pirate lords are pushing back). Tenar doesn't pay too much mind to this, but through time Therru becomes less withdrawn and is not kept so close to Tenar, she even travels independently (it is much easier with Tenar's family, friends, and acquaintances around to think Therru is safer, plus they shouldn't both just live in constant fear). Tenar is a good learner and prosperous but behind in most things, Tenar thinks of what Ogion meant by "teach her" but nothing special is done, Tenar even starts to think maybe she would be better apprenticed as a witch than a weaver (most people believe if something bad happens to you you deserved it somehow, this wouldn't matter as much to a witch as a weaver). Would all this satisfy Ogion's wishes?
Keeping this in mind, one day Tenar visits Ivy and asks the cost about apprenticing Therru. Ivy says she wouldn't for anything, that she fears her. Tenar is enraged, she even insinuates it's because of what happened to Therru beyond the burning. Ivy instead says it's because she is powerful and likely rageful, like a leashed natural disaster, something capable of darkness, and in fact Ivy draws from Tenar's own time with the Dark Ones as a child to posit that's why Tenar doesn't (or can't see to) fear her. Tenar believes everyone has failed her (Ogion, Moss, Ivy, Beech) even Ged whose "precious shame" had become his own child, Ged who was obsessed with power that that was all he noticed about Therru. Goha has a brief talk with Tenar (not the first time something like this has happened), saying that isn't fair.
Winter arrives, early, suddenly, and portentously, or at least a freeze does. Beside a fire of an apple tree Therru asks Tenar for a story which Tenar calls a "summer story", instead Therru should be learning the songs about the great deeds and the rites of spring (the Long Dance is mentioned). Therru says she can't sing but Tenar chides her: "'The mind sings. The prettiest voice in the world's no good if the mind doesn't know the songs.' She untied the last bit of yarn, which had been the first spun. 'You have strength, Therru, and strength that is ignorant is dangerous.'" Therru asks if it's like the wild ones that refused to learn and so stayed in the west, and it comes about she is referencing the dragons in the song of the Woman of Kemay (in chapter 2). Tenar asks which song Therru wants to learn and instead of the Deeds of Morred (which reminds her of the young king) Therru instead chooses about Segoy and the Making (Ogion's lore books are mentioned).
It goes well and Therru retires for the night. The song and Tenar's mood (because of Ivy) had energized Tenar to stay up by the fire. Suddenly, a noise from outside. Soon after, the sound of an opening being jimmied, but the house itself, thanks to Flint, was well-bolted. Eventually a window is broken and Tenar hears the voices of men. Her door, newly locked, rattles; it is Handy. A thin blade of light at the jamb. They will try the front door and so Tenar locks that one too. Tenar shutters Therru's window and the sound undoubtedly alerts them. She then tries to shutter her own but it is jammed, and they see Tenar through the window. Voices, that they won't hurt her if they let them in, that one of them just wants to see his little girl. Maybe Therru is awake, Tenar will protect her, though she has lost the fire poker in the scramble. One of them finds the kitchen window and Tenar flees to Therru's room, which doesn't have a lock thoughtfully so those in the nursery couldn't accidentally lock themselves in. She thinks about screaming, she think about fleeing, she grabs a butcher's knife. She throws open the door and threatens them.
"A howl and a sucking gasp", confusing communication from the men, some light. A wailing form shambles toward her, and a form with long blades behind it.
"Tenar! Tenar, it's me--Hawk, Sparrowhawk!" Ged, holding a pitchfork, thinks he has killed the man on the ground, the rest have fled. They drag the man inside, bandage him ('"I think I killed him," [Ged] said again.'), and Tenar finally gets Ged to sit by the fire. Ged looks rough. He had ran upon them on the path, avoided them due to the mob feeling off, but Ged had heard mention of the "Oak Farm" and so here he is. During the journey tracking the men Ged heard terrible things, about how Therru was stolen and how she would be punished along with what they'd do to Tenar. The bloody man isn't Handy, but it is the one who recently mentioned Therru was his. Tenar is worried they will come back, but they have the pitchfork at least, and it was only two others. They were traveling on the road (away from... something) and they were listening to the man who was lying there now, as if he'd mentioned this, about Therru and the widow, many times before (Handy apparently goaded him into trying this whole thing tonight). The group had waited in Tenar's barn until night, with Ged waiting outside it in the freezing cold. Shortly after they had spotted the kitchen window, Ged had ambushed them.
They make a sort of bed for the man, but not on the good rug. A realization about Therru. Quickly checking on her, apparently Therru had slept through the whole thing. Would've, should've... eventually Ged turns the tables and tells her to drink the tea, to rest. Ged recounts a tale, from the beginning of the first book, about the Kargish raiders (ed: the last book mentioned since the Ring was mended they don't raid anymore) and Ged/Duny thwarting their raid on Ten Alders, his village, by casting a sea of fog. One of the few not rebounded was run through with a pitchfork, Tenar saying Ged hitting the man's rib (and stopping something like that from happening) was the only thing Ged did wrong. Ged even briefly entertains the idea that the man could be disposed of, but he knows it's wrong (Tenar is less convinced). Instead, he'll use the wheelborrow and cart him to the healer, Ivy.
Tenar is beyond exhausted and watches the fire. A dream slips in, dragon-fire again. The star, Tehanu. Ged move her into the dark cold to get to her room. A dream slips in, each leading, following, both in the Tombs. "'This is the way,' she said."

As discussed in the first post, this is my ongoing compilation of the remaining questions Christopher has answered online between August 1st 2023 and April 30th 2024 which I've not already covered in other compilations.
As always, questions are sorted by topic, and each Q&A is annotated with a bracketed source number. Links to every source used and to the other parts of this compilation will be provided in a comment below.
The previous post focused on details about the writing of Murtagh. This installment will focus on The Writing and Publication of Eragon, including the early abandoned starts and drafts the preceded the self-published version and Christopher's journey towards getting traditionally published. In this post the topics are arranged in almost a chronological order. The next post will focus on the writing of the Fractalverse, and so will be posted on /Fractalverse.

Writing and Publishing Eragon

The Original Idea

[When I start to write a new book] I have an image. There’s always a strong emotional component to the image, and it’s that emotion that I want to convey to readers. Everything I do after that, all of the worldbuilding, plotting, characterization, writing, and editing—all of it—is done with the goal of evoking the desired reaction from readers. In the case of the Inheritance Cycle, the image was that of a young man finding a dragon egg (and later having the dragon as a friend). [10]
Who's your favorite character to write? Well, for me, it's the dragon Saphira. She's the reason I got into writing a dragon. She came first? She came before Eragon? Like she was the catalyst? The relationship came first, her and Eragon. [33]
I was specifically inspired by a YA book called Jeremy Thatcher Dragon Hatcher by Bruce Coville, which is a delightful book. I just loved that idea so much of finding a dragon egg, I was like, "Well, what sort of a world would a dragon come from?" And I knew I wanted the sort of bond between rider and dragon that Anne McCaffrey had, but I wanted the intelligence of the dragons that you find elsewhere, and the language and the magic. And I wanted sparkly scales because it just seemed like dragons are fabulous creatures and they ought to have sparkly scales. That's the fun thing about writing your own books. You can make them exactly the way you want to make them, and hopefully then that appeals to the audience as well. [30]
All of that kind of was swirling around in my head, and I wanted to write about dragons in a way that kind of combined a lot of elements in a way that, "I like this", and "I like this piece", and "I like this piece", but I kind of wanted to have all these different pieces in one type of dragon, and no one had quite done it exactly the way I wanted. [30]
I live in Montana, and our library is an old Carnegie or Rockefeller library, and especially back in the 90s, it didn't have that many books. So once I read all the fantasy in the library, I thought I had read all the fantasy there was to read. Because I was not the smartest kid in the world sometimes. And I kind of thought, "Well, it's the library. They have all the books that exist, right? All the books that matter are in the library." And I really had no idea what to read after that. So I decided to start writing myself and to try and write the sort of story that I would enjoy reading. And of course, what I enjoyed reading was books about flying on dragons and fighting monsters and having adventures. [35]
Reading and literature was always important in our family. My father's mother was a professor of comparative literature and wrote books on Dante and all sorts of stuff like that. Was the myths and folklore part of your life at this time? Yes, but I should clarify that it wasn't formally introduced to me. It was in the house. People weren't wandering around talking about. It was just like the Aeneid is sitting on the shelf. I would go read things. I have a great uncle. He's 90 now, my mother's uncle. Guy is still sharp as a tack. It's amazing. But he gave me a set of cassette tapes of Joseph Campbell, who did Hero of a Thousand Faces. So that was my exposure to his theories of the monomyth and the eternal hero and all sorts of things like that. That got me very much interested in and thinking about the origins of the fantasy that I was reading because I was reading Tolkien and David Eddings and Anne McCaffrey and Raymond Feist and Jane Yolan and Andre Norton and Brian Jaques, and all of these you know authors who were popular at the time. I was very curious where does this come from. Tolkien, of course, felt like sort of the origin in a lot of cases but then I was discovering that, there are earlier stories that even Tolkien was drawing from. That was really a revelation to me. I really sort of got enamored with it. A lot of fantasy is nostalgic and that appealed to me because I was homeschooled and my family didn't really have a lot of relatives in the area, so I felt very unmoored from the rest of society. I think I was looking for a sense of tradition or continuity with the past and fantasy helped provide that. That's an incredibly articulate thought for a 15-year-old author. Or has that come with age? No, it was something I was feeling at the time. You were conscious of it at the time? Well, listening to the Joseph Campbell stuff, I was looking: Where are our coming of age traditions? Where is the great quest to go on to prove yourself as a young adult, as a man? Where's the great adventure? What do I do in life? Those are all things that are part of the adolescent experience and always have been which is why so many mythic stories about coming of age deal with those questions. I think it's a universal thing. That's why Harry Potter, Eragon, Twilight, all of these have appealed so much because they deal with adolescence. They deal with finding your place in the world as an adult when you're starting as a young adult or a child. [28]
What games have taught you to be a better writer either in creating characters or worldbuilding or plotting even? All of my gaming experience was computer games, video games. One that had a huge influence on me was the old Myst series. Personally I love solving puzzles, so that's the first thing. And also the concept of the series, especially with the second game, Riven, it's all based around people writing books that create new worlds. And you get to go in them and solve puzzles and understand how that world works. And that just tickled every single part of my brain back in the day. Now, I'm going to be slightly unkind here, and I apologize if the author [David Wingrove] is listening to this, but there were a couple of novels based off of Myst. And I was such a fan of the series that I got the books, and I started reading them. And my first thought was, "I could do better than this." And so I decided to rewrite the first Myst novel. And I created a document in MS Word, and I got exactly three sentences into my rewrite. And I thought to myself, "okay, I think I can do this, but I could never sell it. So I better go write something of my own." And the next thing I did was Eragon. So video games kind of had a direct influence on me writing. But actually reading something that I felt was not particularly successful was such an inspiration. Because it was like, "this got published, I know I can at least get to this level." And it was published. And then maybe I can shoot for a little bit higher. [pause] I think some people have had that experience with Eragon. [26]

Early Abandoned Starts

I had the original idea, the concept of boy finding dragon egg, and I tried writing a couple of very short versions of Eragon when I was fourteen, and none of them panned out so I stopped writing for a while. [28]

Real World Version

What do you remember about the early days of writing “Eragon?” Originally, Eragon was named Kevin and the story was set in the real world. But I only finished around 10 pages. [16]
I wrote three versions of Eragon before I wrote the version that had the unicorn, which was the first major draft. The first version was set in the real world, and that's why he's named Kevin. And the reason it was set in the real world is I was inspired by Jeremy Thatcher Dragon Hatcher, which is set in the real world. [32]
I was specifically inspired by a book called Jeremy Thatcher Dragon Hatcher by Bruce Coville. By the way, Bruce knows this. If you haven't read it, it's a great book about this young man in the real world who, spoiler, goes into an antique shop and buys a stone that ends up turning out to be a dragon egg. And I really loved that idea of a stone that was actually a dragon egg and the young man becoming joined with the dragon. And so I tried writing the story. And I got exactly five pages or six pages into it and I ran into a brick wall, because a boy finding a dragon egg is a good event, but it is not a good story. And I needed to figure out what was going to happen after that. I didn't know that at first. [36]

Arya Opening Fantasy Version

But then I was going down the rabbit hole of, "Well, if there's a dragon, where did the dragon come from? What if it were an actual fantasy world where the dragons were native?" And then that led me to then write a second beginning--I didn't get very far with this--that was more of a traditional fantasy story, and it opened with Arya and a couple other elves escaping a dungeon with a big battle, and at the very end of the battle, they send the dragon egg away, and Kevin finds it. But I didn't have the rest of the story, so I stopped writing it in that format. [32]
So I tried writing a second version of the story. So the first version of that story I wrote was set in the real world. Second version was more of like a fantasy world. [36]
I had the original idea when I was fourteen. I even wrote an early version of the story where it was set in the real world. But I soon realized that it was a lot more interesting to have a dragon in a fantastical setting. [8]

Research Break

I tried writing before and I always failed because I would only get like four to six pages into a story and then I didn't know what to do next. And that was because I didn't actually have my story. All I really had were the inciting incidents, like a boy finds a dragon egg in the middle of a forest. Great. But that's not a story, that's just one event. What happens as a result? So before starting Eragon, I was very methodical about this. I read a whole bunch of books on how to write, how to plot stories. [35]
I realized I wasn't getting anywhere. And I didn't know how to do what I was trying to do. Now, fortunately for me, my parents had noticed that I was getting interested in writing. And all of a sudden, books appeared in the house. There was no comment, no one forced it, these just magically appeared, and I read them. Some of the books that were incredibly helpful to me were these books that were called The Writer's Handbook, which was a collection of essays published each year by The Writer's Digest magazine. I had one from 1998, and I had one from, I think, 1993, or something like that. And there were essays from Stephen King and John Grisham and I think Ursula Le Guin and all sorts of other authors about what it was like to be an author both professionally and creatively. And that was incredibly helpful to me because again, the internet was not a resource. But the book that really made the difference for me was a book called Story by Robert McKee. It's a book for screenwriters and it's all about the structure of story. And up until that moment, I had never really consciously thought about the fact that stories have structure and that you can control that structure for the effect on the readers. So I devoured that book and I said, okay, I'm going to try this again. [36]
Did you very much sit down and study structure and character development and etc? I did. It wasn't a formal course or anything, it's just that my parents started buying these books and they started showing up. In fact, I still have them here on my shelf. This bookcase to my right is full of research books, technical books, language books. I read a book called Story by Robert McKee, which is a screenwriting book, that was and often has been very popular in Hollywood. It's a fairly technical look at story structure. I would never say do everything he says because of course you shouldn't necessarily follow any one formula, but that book really got me thinking about the fact that stories do have structure, which I hadn't really thought about before that. And that one can control that structure, and that this gives you something to work with. Before Eragon, I tried writing a number of stories and I never got past the first four to six pages, ten pages, because I never had the plot. All I would ever have was the inciting incident which, in the case of Eragon, is a young man finds a dragon egg. Ok, fine, but that's not a story. So when I read that book, then I was like wow, so I can control the structure of this. [28]
The problem with all of my early writing was that I’d get an idea and just start — I didn’t actually have a plot. But I was a pretty methodical kid, so I started reading about how to write. Fortunately, my parents are observant, and these kinds of books magically began appearing in the house. And I read all of them. [16]

Unused Arya Outline

So at this point, I was 15, that's when I graduated from high school and I was very methodical about it because I hate failing. So I said, okay, I'm going to create a fantasy world. And I did that. And then I said, I'm gonna plot out an entire book in this fantasy world. And I did that too. And then I said, but I'm not gonna write this. This is just a thought exercise. I'm gonna do this and I'm gonna stick it in a drawer. And I still have that to this day, that world and that story, I still have it sitting in a drawer somewhere. [36]
Then I spent some time and I created an entire fantasy world and I plotted out an entire fantasy novel in that world and I did not write it. I just stuck it in a drawer and that's where it's been sitting for 25 years now. And then I just did that to prove to myself that I could plot out an entire book. [35]
Before writing Eragon, again I was very methodical even as a teenager, I created an entire fantasy world. Wrote pages and pages about the worldbuilding, and then I plotted out an entire story in that world just to prove to myself that I could plot a story, create a world, and then I didn't write it. I put it aside. I still have it all saved. Put it in a drawer. [28]

Kevin

Writing The First Full Draft

And then I decided okay now I'm going to plot out a trilogy, because all great fantasy stories are trilogies. I'm going to do it as the heroic monomyth, because that is, at least my understanding back then, is this is one of the oldest forms of stories. I know it works on a general sense. It's going to give me a safety net, and then I'm going to write the first book as a practice book just to see if I'm capable of producing something that's three, four, five hundred pages long. And that's what I did. That was about two and a half months of worldbuilding, plotting, creating this. Then I wrote the first book and that was Eragon. That was my practice book. I never actually planned on publishing Eragon. It was only after I'd put so much work into it and my parents read it that then we proceeded with it. I was aware of story structure. I continue to read lots of books on it. [28]
And then version three is the version that everyone generally knows. And that's where I spent the time to plot out the whole series before writing, because having a idea of where you're going seems to help with the writing, at least for me. Usually. [32]
I originally saw Eragon as a practice novel, which is part of why it’s a very typical hero’s story. I knew that structure worked and it gave me the safety net I needed. [16]
The first draft went super fast. It went really fast because I had no idea what I was doing. And I just wrote that sucker. I wrote the first 60 pages by hand with ballpoint pen, cause I didn't know how to type on a computer. And then by the time I typed all that into the computer, I knew how to type. I did the rest in the computer. But this was back in the day when computers were fairly new. We had a Mac classic, which only had two megabytes of RAM. And the problem is that the operating system chewed up some of that memory. And my book file was around two megabytes large. So I actually had to split the book into two because I couldn't open the whole file on the computer or the computer would crash. So I had to open half the book and then close that and then open the other half. [35]

The First Draft

Once I finished the first draft, I was super excited and I thought, "well all of these things on how to write say that you should read your own book and see if there's any tweaks you wanna make." But I was really excited because I was getting to read my own book for the first time, and I thought this is gonna be awesome. And it didn't take very long while reading it to realize that it was awful. It was horrible. And just to give you an idea of just how bad that first draft was, in the very first draft of Eragon, Eragon wasn't named Eragon, Eragon was named Kevin. And there was also a unicorn in that first draft at one point, so you know it wasn't very good. [35]
If I heard correctly as I was reading, Eragon wasn't originally called Eragon? No, in the first draft of the book he was called Kevin. There's a reason! Look I have an explanation for it, okay. The explanation is that my original inspiration was Jeremy Thatcher Dragon Hatcher which is set in the real world. The original version of Eragon that I was developing was set in the real world and when I decided that it would make more sense to have a world where the dragons were native to and switched it over to this fantasy world and began to develop that, I just kept the name that I'd been working with, which was Kevin. Naming a main character is hard, especially when you get used to a certain name. I don't want to say I was lazy. I want to focus on the world building and writing the first draft and I'll worry about the name later. [28]
There is an early version of Eragon that no one's seen, that even my editor at Random House never saw. And that was my first draft. And in that first draft, Eragon encountered a unicorn in the Beor Mountains on the way to the Varden. And the unicorn touches him and essentially affects the transformation that he goes under during the blood oath ceremony with the elves in the second book, in Eldest. And his whole storyline with the Varden once he gets to Farthen Dûr is completely different because now he has these abilities and he and a team of people ends up getting sent on a scouting mission in the dwarven tunnels to go find the Urgal army and then they have to flee back through the tunnels to warn everyone of this huge army and I had a underground cave full of lava, and multiple shades, and a huge Urgal army. There was there was a lot of dramatic stuff. Finding the Ra'zac in Dras-Leona was completely different. This is the draft where Eragon was named Kevin. [32]
I haven't thought about that version in ages. I think Arya was awake all the way from Gil'ead to Farthen Dûr in that version. That's right, I had to completely rewrite that. It's an unpleasant ride for her. No, no, no, she was awake and healed. She was awake. That's right, God, I had to rewrite most of the last chunk of the book now that I think back, it's been a long time. [32]
The worst thing is, I think Kevin would actually take a larger budget [to adapt to film]. No, stop. Why would Kevin take a larger budget? Because the battles were bigger, there was more stuff going on. Seriously, there were more creatures, more travel. Yeah, I think Kevin would actually take more money than Eragon. [32]
You said that Eragon's name was originally Kevin. Was Eragon's name originally Kevin? It was. And I really regret I didn't stick with it because I think that as many books as I've sold, the series would have been at least twice as successful if it had been about the adventures of the great dragon writer Kevin. Especially just seeing Kevin on the front cover. Imagine the appeal to the modern youth. Kevin the dragon writer. I mean Eragon, it's confusing with Aragorn. Oregano. Oregon. But Kevin, Kevin stands out, Kevin's original. That's why I had to move away from it. [31]

Releasing the Kevin Cut

So do you wanna share some of those drafts with us, Christopher? Just kidding. Well, I actually had a fan reach out to me. He's one of the big members of the online fan community on Reddit and elsewhere. And he's kind of interested in some of these early versions from almost an archivist point of view, a scholarly point of view. Which is certainly an interesting idea. I mean, there is an early version of Eragon that no one's seen, that even my editor at Random House never saw. ... I cannot describe how much the Internet absolutely needs for you to put out an edition of Eragon that just says Kevin. Should this be like Mistborn or Way of Kings Prime? This is the Kevin edition of Eragon. The Kevin cut. Oh my god. It's "Eragon: Kevin's Version". ... We absolutely need Kevin's Version of Eragon. That's something we need. It's bad. It's bad. Look, there are certainly people who can look at Eragon, the version we have now, and say, "we can tell this was a younger writer." I look at it and I can tell. I could do so much more now with the material than I could then. But if you think that about the published version of Eragon, man, if you saw the unpublished version, the early version, it really is the raw writing of a homeschooled 15-year-old, who wrote a 500 page book about Kevin. I don't know, the internet is very unhinged these days. They would love this. It needs to exist somewhere on the internet. [32]

Publishing

Editing

So I wrote Eragon, and then I read the first draft and it wasn't particularly good, so I spent a good chunk of a year rewriting it as best as I could. I didn't know what I was doing but I was trying. I've heard it said that being displeased with your own work is actually a good thing because it means you know what is good work, and if you're not happy with your work because it's not good, it means you could at least have a goal to shoot for. If you read your work and you're like this is the best thing that's ever been written, you're never going to get any better. [28]
But I could see that the book needed work, so I decided to try to fix it as best I could, and I spent the better part of that year revising, rewriting, changing Kevin to Eragon. And then I gave the book to my parents and fortunately for me, they actually enjoyed what I had done. And they said, we think you have something, let's try to take it out into the world and see if anyone else wants to read it. [35]

Self-publishing

[We] decided to self-publish the book as a joint venture since we didn't know anyone in the publishing world. That was again a good chunk of a year where we were editing the book as best the three of us could. Preparing it for publication, formatting, I drew the cover. [28]
Now you have to understand, my parents were always self-employed, have always been self-employed and we were always looking for things we could work on together as a family business. And Eragon was like the perfect opportunity for that. They'd had some experience self-publishing a couple of small educational books my mom had worked on. Because she was a trained Montessori teacher, and so she was trying to use that expertise to write some material herself. But I don't even think we sold 100 copies of those. So we spent another good chunk of a year preparing the book for publication with doing more editing, doing the layout, designing the cover. [35]
The first set of 50 books showed up while we were watching Roman Polanski's Macbeth, which seemed fitting because those first 50 books were all miscut from the printer. And as a result, we had to rip the covers off, send them back for credit from the printer, and then burn the insides of the books. So we had a proper book burning in our yard, and I actually saved some of those burnt pages just as a memory of that event. [35]
Self publishing wasn’t as viable then as a pathway to a career as an author as it is today. Why did it work for you? Everything completely changed because of e-readers. If you wanted to read an e-book, you had to have a PDF on your computer. There were no distribution systems like Amazon and Barnes & Noble. Back then, the lowest amount you could print and not have the book be too expensive was probably about 10,000 copies. But we were fortunate because print-on-demand had just become a thing, so books were just printed as needed. Self publishing is a lot easier these days. Of course, today’s marketplace is a lot more crowded as a result. [16]

Promotion

My family and I were going around the western half of the United States with the self-published edition of Eragon. I was cold calling schools, libraries, and bookstores to set up events. I was doing two to three one-hour long presentations every single day for months on end at various times. You have to understand that because my parents were self-employed, the time they took to help prepare Eragon for publication was time they weren't working on other freelance projects that would have been bringing in money. So by the time we actually had Eragon printed and in hand, if it had taken another two to three months to start turning a profit, we were going to have to sell our house, move to a city, and get any jobs we could. Because of that financial pressure I was willing to do things I probably would have been too uncomfortable to do otherwise. Like doing all those presentations. [28]
We were doing a lot of self-promotion. I was cold calling schools and libraries and talking them into letting me do presentations. And that worked pretty well because the librarians could take pre-orders for us. If we went into a bookstore, by hand selling, I could maybe sell anywhere between 13 to 40 books in a day. 42 was like the best I ever did, but usually it was around 15 or so books, which just didn't cover printing costs and travel and food and all of that. But going into the schools, we were doing about 300 books a day, which was excellent. [34]
Can you tell me a little bit about how you and your family self-published the first Eragon book and what marketing strategies you did? Oh, it was all nepotism, you know. I wouldn't have gotten published without my parents. There's nothing as powerful as a publishing company that's four people sitting around a kitchen table in the middle of rural Montana. So yeah, without Nepotism, I wouldn't have gotten published. You have to embrace something like Nepotism if you really wanna succeed in today's world. In fact, people don't realize that you actually get a Nepotism card. There's a secret club. You go to New York and there's huge network opportunities. There's branches of the club everywhere, especially strong in Hollywood, of course, in music. Taylor Swift is an example. So if you can get into the nepotism club, I won't say you're guaranteed success, but you got about 80% chance of actually making it that you wouldn't have otherwise. Do you think your mom and dad would be willing to be my mom and dad? No, absolutely not. No, no. You don't have brown hair, so it doesn't work. You have to have brown hair to be a Paolini. Okay, I'll try to find a different way in, I guess. [31]

Getting traditionally published

So you were very much looking for that partnership? Well we were wary. But the thing is is we were selling enough copies of Eragon that to scale it up we were going to have to start duplicating all the things that a regular publisher does. We were actually looking at partnering with a book packager or a book distributor just to get more copies out. To do everything a traditional publisher could do for me was a huge amount of work so it made sense to pair with Random House or someone else at that point. But it was still nerve-wracking because the book was being a success and then handing it off to another company, we didn't know if it was just going to end up in the remainder bin two weeks after it came out. [28]
People in the book world were starting to take notice because of course, if you've been to public school, you may remember the Scholastic Book Fairs and all of the Scholastic reps in the different schools were seeing me come to the schools and selling these books and hearing the kids talk about it. And it was getting attention. So we would have gotten a publisher, I would have gotten a publisher eventually. [34]
The book sold enough copies and bounced around enough that we'd heard that Scholastic—because Scholastic does all the Book Fairs in schools in the US—was interested and that we might get an offer from them. Before that happened though... [34]
Eventually another author by the name of Carl Hiaasen ended up buying a copy of the self-published edition of Eragon in a local bookstore. Which now that I'm older, I'm rather shocked at because it takes a lot to get me to buy a self-published book. It's got to look really good. [35]
Carl Hiaasen wrote the young adult book Hoot as well as many adult books. He comes up to Montana, I think he's got a vacation home here in the valley, but he was up here fly fishing and he bought a copy of Eragon for his then 12 year old son, Ryan. And fortunately for me, Ryan liked the book and Carl recommended it to Random House and it sort of bounced around among the editors for a couple of months before my editor-to-be grabbed it and said, "Yes, we will. I want to take a chance on this teenage author and we're going to offer him money for a trilogy that only exists in his head and see what happens." [34]
How did you find an agent? We had the offer from Random House, and like two days later, we had the offer from Scholastic. And so we knew we didn't know what we didn't know. My dad participated in some online self-publishing forum sort of thing. So he posted up a question and said, look, this is the situation we're in. Does anyone have any advice? And another one of the members said, "well, I was just at this publishing writing conference and there was this young agent there and I was really impressed with his presentation, or him talking about the industry." So my dad got his information online and did what you're never supposed to do, which is he called the agent directly and left this long rambling voicemail message because it was lunchtime in New York and you take your lunch breaks in New York. And only at the end of the message did he say, "oh, yes, and by the way, we have two competing offers from two publishing houses." And when I asked him, I said, "why did you do that?" He said, "well, because if he's any good as an agent, he's going to listen to the whole message before he deletes it." And we found out later that he nearly deleted the message. Because my dad started off like, "I got this teenage son, and he's written this book", and yeah, that, OK. So it was like two hours later we got a call from Simon. And Simon said overnight me a copy of Eragon and if I like it I'll represent you. And Simon has been my agent for 21 years now. [34]
It was a big risk for Random House. And it was a big risk for me because the book was successful, self-published, and we knew that giving it to a publisher, you lose the rights to a degree, and most books don't turn a profit, and it could have just ended up in the remainder bin. So what really worked in my favor is that Random House, and specifically Random House Children's Books, and specifically the imprint of Knopf, which is where I'm at were looking for their own Harry Potter, essentially. Scholastic was publishing Harry Potter. And Scholastic also gave me an offer for Eragon, but I could tell that Random House was the one that really loved the book and Scholastic was doing it because they thought it was a good business opportunity. Scholastic actually offered more money than Random House. But I went with Random House and it was the right choice. And I found out after the fact that Chip Gibson who was the head of the children's department at the time basically chose to use Eragon as sort of something to rally the troops and put the entire children's division behind it, and I was the very fortunate recipient of that love and attention. Which of course would only get you so far if people didn't enjoy reading the book. But fortunately for me, they did a great job marketing it and then people actually enjoyed the book. Which is why when people ask me how to get published, it's like, what am I supposed to say? The answer ultimately is you write a book that people want to read, and that's a facile answer, but it is true. If people want to read it, it makes everything else easier. The agent wants you, the publishers want you, and ultimately the public wants you. [34]
And I didn't realize how much was behind that email, because large publishers do not just casually say, "hey, we want to publish your book". There was a whole plan there, and they had a plan. And so they did. Eragon came out and then I had to figure out how to write a book with everyone expecting the sequel. [36]
So you kind of went and peddled your books at schools, as I understand, right? It seems to have paid off though, because it eventually landed in the hands of bestselling author Carl Hiaasen, but not right away. First, your book got in the hands of his stepson, and the kid liked it so much that he told Hiaasen about it, who then got Eragon fast-tracked with Penguin Random House. I really admire the way that you went for the weakest links, manipulating the minds of our youth and using them to shill your book for you. It's a tried and true marketing strategy from Girl Scout Cookies to coupon books, and I applaud you for your ingenuity. My biggest question here is, do you pay Carl Hiaasen's stepson the agent royalties he so rightfully deserves? He tried to collect one time, but I had to hire a couple of guys to drive him off. But, no, you always go for the weakest link. Back when I was self-published and all that I even tried to get Eragon reviewed by Entertainment Weekly, so I called up the subscription number on the back of the magazine and told them I'd made a mistake and asked them to transfer me over to corporate, and managed to get right to their book reviewer and tried to talk him into reviewing Eragon. So you always go for, as you said, the weakest link. Which is corporate. Ryan, Carl's son, though, yeah, I probably owe him a ridiculous amount of royalties. I'd say so. He made you. Oh, he did, absolutely. Without him, I'd be nothing. I guess the lesson here for aspiring authors is that it's not really about finding your target audience, necessarily. You just have to find your target prolific author's stepson and let the kid take it from there. Yeah, absolutely. As I said, that's part of the nepotism package. The sort of networking inside the industry. This is the stuff that you can never access otherwise, and you'll never get published otherwise. So it's not like you can just grow up in the middle of nowhere in Montana, self-publish a book, and then just become a success, by promoting it. You have to have connections. That's genius. I think you could have had an incredible career in designing loot boxes for mobile games based on how good you are at manipulating the world. Absolutely, microtransactions are God's work. [31]

Gaining Confidence

Was anxiety something you felt moving to this deal with Random House? Was that quite pressuring? Yes, it was a big change to go from writing for yourself as a teenager, homeschooled, living in the middle of nowhere, to knowing that there was a large audience for your next book and that they had expectations. I got criticized quite a bit, critiqued quite a bit when Eragon came out for, shall we say, my lack of experience on the technical side of things with the writing. I'd say some of those were certainly fair critiques. The great advantage of youth is that you don't know how difficult things are and you have a lot of energy. The great disadvantage of youth is you don't have experience, and there's no fixing that aside from time and effort. All of that was definitely in my head when I really started work on Eldest and it was pretty nerve-wracking quite honestly. [28]
When you finished the book, I mean your parents believed in it obviously. Did you too? Or were you like, "You know what, maybe the second book, maybe go all in on the second one?" I didn't feel like I was actually an author until my third book was published. Because the first one, well, that could be a fluke. Well, the second one, yeah, but you know. But once the third book came out, then I was like, okay, maybe I'm actually a writer. But even then, even after I finished the series, I still felt like, okay, now I have to write something that's not Eragon, just to prove that I can. So every book has been its own challenge and has been a way for me to keep feeling like I'm growing as an artist and learning to become a better and better writer. [2]
It took me, I wanna say almost 10 years to feel like I wasn't an imposter and that it wasn't just gonna get yanked away. You know what my dream was when Eragon was was going to get published by Random House? Like this was my pie in the sky because I didn't think it was going to happen. But this was my dream. I did all the math and I was like, man, if I could somehow someday sell 100,000 books, which is impossible. But man, if I could sell 100,000 books, that's a darn good living. Man, I could really make a living off that. I could support a family and 100,000 books. Man, that'd be amazing. And then it kind of took off from there. [33]

Whatever you do, never drink to cure a mental issue.
First
Previous
You know the drill: credit to SpacePaladin15 for the universe.
Thank you JulianSkies for proofreading.
Memory Transcription Subject: Gillab, Gojid Citizen, Father
Date [Standardized Human Time]: March 28, 2142
I made sure to wake up as early as possible so I could do what I needed to do before Billy woke up. First things first, get rid of all the liquor in that fridge. If Billy was going to get better, the first thing he needed to do was stop drinking. He was only running from his problems and as long as he had that out he was going to take it.
I pulled a trash bag in front of the fridge, propped it open as best I could, and started stuffing it full of bottles. Cheap Venlilian liquor was being poured down the drain by the second, it almost made me feel bad for anything living in the sewers. This stuff had enough alcohol in it to kill someone, a rat would be dead in seconds.
By the time I poured the last bottle down the drain, I had probably sanitized the entirety of the New York sewer system. I hoisted the bag onto my back, making sure not to break the bag with my quills, and started to make my way to the dumpster. Thankfully Billy’s apartment was on the first floor so the journey wasn’t too long.
I tossed the bag into the dumpster carelessly, causing a few of the bottles to break when they hit the others that had been thrown in yesterday. It was only the second day, but I felt like we had already made some progress. I was able to make him admit he was just scared of feeling the pain of his memories, even if it was only accidental. Small steps were still steps, now all I had to do was make him realize that he didn’t deserve this. I have a feeling that once he jumps that hurdle, everything should come much easier.
A familiar song brought me out of my thoughts, drawing my attention to my phone. I had changed the ringtone to the first Human song I had ever heard, T-Shirt, to always remind me of my time on the Cradle. I pulled out my phone and accepted the call, smiling as I saw just who it was.
“High sweety, having a good morning?”
The camera shook up and down in sync with my daughter's face. “Yeah, but I wish you were here.”
“Oh sweety, I know you do, but I have some important work to do and I can’t come home. Just know that I will always love you. Now you have a good day at school, you hear?”
“Mmhm, I will. Here’s mommy.”
The camera shook again as it passed from my daughter’s claws to my wife’s. In the background, I could hear the chitter of my daughter’s voice and then rapid footsteps away. When the camera stopped shaking, I was met by the most beautiful woman in existence.
“Hello, Sweet-fruit.”
Kirala smiled and tilted her head. “Hello, my big guolo tree. I missed you this morning.”
“I missed you too. I had to sleep on an uncomfortable couch and I think it messed up my back a bit.”
“Oh, how the mighty veteran is felled! Surviving a plasma wound to the chest but felled by the mightier couch.”
I flicked an ear in amusement. “To be fair, it was one vicious couch.”
I couldn’t help but melt at her laugh, it was like sunshine during the darkest night. It was light and cheerful and genuine, and I couldn’t imagine myself living without it.
With a final few chuckles, Kirala pulled herself together enough to respond. “Well, it sounds like you need to wear some armor to bed then.”
I feigned a thoughtful expression. “Maybe I will, I already sleep with clothes on.”
She threw her head back in disgust. “Ugh, I still don’t know how you do that. I still feel a little uncomfortable when I wear them when I’m awake, I couldn’t imagine sleeping with them.”
“It’s an acquired taste, you’ll come around.”
“Mmhm, I’m suuure.”
I sighed. “How’s Julaly doing?”
“Well, she misses you, obviously, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. She was good yesterday, but we both wished you had given us a little more of a warning. I didn’t expect your little trip to the memorial to turn into an impromptu therapy session.”
“Sweet-fruit, you know I wish I could have too. It was sprung on me just as much as you. I’m just glad I found him when I did, do you know what I found in his room? A suicide note.”
Kirala gasped slightly. “Oh dear I… I really-”
“It’s fine. I didn’t know either. But just think, if I had come back for just one day, he would be dead. I made the right call here, even if I was torn at the time.”
“You need to get back to him then.”
“I’ve got a little longer. He’s still asleep. I was throwing away some alcohol when you called me, and when I get some free time I’m going to go to the nearby bars and tell them not to serve him. Today I’m thinking I’ll try and get him to go to a veterans’ meeting so he can connect with some others like him, let him know he’s not alone and it’s not just me who cares about him.”
“Still, you should go back to him. And stay safe. He sounds unstable, just keep an eye on him.”
“Sweet-fruit, he’s not dangerous.”
“You don’t know what’s going on in his head. Promise me you will stay safe.”
“I promise.”
“Like you mean it.”
“I promise with all of my heart that I will stay safe.”
“Good, now get back to it. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
The call blinked out and left me staring at my home screen. It was true that I missed them both dearly, even a day without them left me longing, but I knew what I was doing was right. Billy needed someone to save him, and I was the only one available. Kirala was right, I needed to get back to it. I couldn’t leave Billy alone for too long, it would only end in disaster.
As soon as the door clicked open, Billy descended upon me. “Gillab, what did you do?! Where’s the liquor?!”
I stepped past him and made my way to the living room. “I threw it all away. You were poisoning yourself and I needed to put an end to it.”
Billy was stunned for a moment. “You fucking- GILLAB! Get the FUCK out of my house!”
“I’m not going anywhere! Not until you heal!”
Billy looked back and forth, raising his arms in frustration. “What the FUCK does that even mean?! You keep spouting this fucking ‘healing’ word like it’s some catch-all miracle wonder word that means everything!”
“I mean, you need to come to terms with what you’ve done, accept them, and move on! Otherwise, you are just going to rot in this room for all eternity. You are so much better than this, and you know it. You are strong enough to carry on, and you know this. You know, deep down, that you don’t deserve this life. But you are stuck thinking that you do! I saw you at the memorial and I literally didn’t recognize you, remember? That is how much you have changed, but it doesn’t have to stay like this. You can end the pain, and not in that way, all you have to do is trust me. And not just say that you do.”
I paused for a moment to catch my breath. “You said that you would go through the motions for me, right? This is just another motion. The next one is to find other veterans who are or have been through what you have and talk to them. They will make you realize that you aren’t trash or a parasite or any of that! It’s just another motion, right?”
Billy growled and stormed towards me. “You are on thin fucking ice right now.”
“Good. It means you care. Now sit down, we are going to set up a meeting with a group of veterans.”
“I don’t want to go meet some fucking soldier. I’m fine without that.”
“It’s just the motions, right? Humor me.”
With a deep sigh, Billy sat in the chair across from me. That was all I needed to see to confirm it, Billy really did want help, he just couldn’t even admit it to himself.
“You still haven’t given me your promised speech from yesterday. The hour-long one about how much I don’t deserve what I’m doing to myself.”
“Oh trust me, it’s coming. But right now we are going to set up a date for you to meet a veterans’ group. After that, let’s clean up a little more, get some food, maybe go for a walk in a park, then you’ll get the speech. Okay?”
Billy rolled his eyes and waited for me to pull up a website. After a bit of scrolling, I found a phone number I could call to find a meeting time. I prepared everything and set the phone on the table, but didn’t call yet.
“Okay Billy, I’m leaving this up to you. All you have to do is say your name and ask for a time you can come to the meeting.”
“Why can’t you set it up for me?”
“That’s not how it works. You need to be the one that calls them, not me. Plus, I don’t think they would accept me signing you up. The person coming has to be the one to set it up. Are you ready?”
Billy sighed. “Yeah.”
I called the number, set the phone on a table between Billy and I, and waited. After a few rings, a man began to speak.
“Hello, you have reached Richard’s group therapy for veterans, how can I help you?”
Billy looked up to me for guidance, to which I only motioned for him to speak to the man. “H-hi Richard, m-my name is Billy. I was… wondering if I-I could join your next meeting.”
“Oh course, we are always open for more. You didn’t even need to call, you could have just shown up at the meeting. We accept anyone and everyone at any time. Our next meeting is tomorrow at noon if you are available. If not, the next one is that same day at six-thirty.”
Billy glanced at me twice before giving his answer. “The… six-thirty one sounds good.”
He was pushing it back as much as he could, but at least he would get to it eventually. There was some quiet clacking in the background before the man responded. “Great, I’ve reserved you a seat. I’m happy to have you join us. Is there anything else you need?”
“No, that’s all. See you tomorrow.”
Billy set his phone down and sighed deeply. His face quickly changed from concerned and awkward to angry and annoyed. I could see him prepare to say something, but it ended up dying in his throat. Instead, he stood up suddenly and stomped back to his room, wanting to be left alone.

I’ve always hated the smell of gun oil. It clings to everything it touches, soaking deep into the fibers of my clothes, the lining of my backpack, the coarse hair on the back of my hands. Yet here I am, kneeling on the cracked linoleum of our mudroom, a Remington .308 laid across my thighs, and the stench of gun oil sharp in my nostrils. The early morning light barely scratches at the edges of the blinds, dim and gray like the belly of a dead fish.
My dad Frank is in the kitchen, clattering around with the coffeepot and mumbling under his breath. Today we’re heading up to the woods of Northern Michigan, same as we did every year before Leah… before we lost her.
I can’t help but feel the old scars throbbing as I load bullets into the magazine. It’s been ten years since that hunting trip, the one that tore my family into before and after. Before, when Leah's laughter was a constant soundtrack to our lives; after, when every silence was filled with her absence.
We were just kids back then. I was ten, Leah was eight. It was supposed to be a typical hunting trip, one of those bonding experiences Dad was always talking about. But things went wrong. We got separated from Dad somehow. One minute we were following him, the next we were lost, the dense woods closing in around us.
Dad says when he found me, I was huddled under a fallen tree, my eyes wide, my body frozen. All I could mutter through chattering teeth was "Dogman."
It was only later, after the search parties had combed through every thicket and hollow, that they found her. What remained of Leah was barely recognizable, the evidence of a brutal mauling undeniable. The authorities concluded it was likely a bear attack, but Dad... he never accepted that explanation. He had seen the tracks, too large and oddly shaped for any bear.
As I load another round, the memory flashes, unbidden and unwelcome. Large, hairy clawed hands reaching out towards us, impossibly big, grotesque in their form. Yet, the rest of the creature eludes me, a shadow just beyond the edge of my recall, leaving me with nothing but fragmented terrors and Leah’s haunting, echoing screams. My mind blocked most of it out, a self-defense mechanism, I guess.
For years after that day, sleep was a battleground. I'd wake up in strange places—kitchen floor, backyard, even at the edge of the nearby creek. My therapist said it was my mind's way of trying to resolve the unresolved, to wander back through the woods searching for Leah. But all I found in those sleepless nights was a deeper sense of loss.
It took time, a lot of therapy, and patience I didn't know I had, but the sleepwalking did eventually stop. I guess I started to find some semblance of peace.
I have mostly moved on with my life. The fragmentary memories of that day are still there, lurking in the corners of my mind, but they don’t dominate my thoughts like they used to. I just finished my sophomore year at Michigan State, majoring in Environmental Science.
As for Dad, the loss of Leah broke him. He became a shell of himself. It destroyed his marriage with Mom. He blamed himself for letting us out of his sight, for not protecting Leah. His life took on a single, consuming focus: finding the creature that killed her. He read every book, every article on cryptids and unexplained phenomena. He mapped sightings, connected dots across blurry photos and shaky testimonies of the Dogman.
But as the tenth anniversary of Leah’s death approaches, Dad's obsession has grown more intense. He’s started staying up late, poring over his maps and notes, muttering to himself about patterns and cycles. He’s convinced that the dogman reappears every ten years, and this is our window of opportunity to finally hunt it down.
I’m not nearly as convinced. The whole dogman thing seems like a coping mechanism, a way for Dad to channel his guilt and grief into something tangible, something he can fight against. But I decided to tag along on this trip, partly to keep an eye on him, partly because a small part of me hopes that maybe, just maybe, we’ll find some kind of closure out there in the woods.
I finish loading the rifle and set it aside, standing up to stretch my legs. I wipe my greasy hands on an old rag, trying to get rid of the smell. The early morning light is starting to seep into the room, casting long shadows across the floor.
Dad comes out of the kitchen with two thermoses of coffee in hand. His eyes are bleary and tired.
“You ready, Ryan?” he asks, handing me a thermos, his voice rough from too many sleepless nights.
“Yeah, I’m ready,” I reply, trying to sound more confident than I felt.
We load our gear into the truck, the weight of our supplies and weapons a physical reminder of the burden we carry. The drive from Lansing across the Lower Peninsula is long and quiet, the silence between us filled with unspoken memories and unresolved grief.
—
The drive north is a blur of highway lines and the dull hum of the engine. I drift off, the landscape outside blending into a haze. In my sleep, fragments of that day with Leah replay like scattered pieces of a puzzle. I see her smile, the way she tugged at my sleeve, eager to explore. The sunlight filters through the trees in sharp, jagged streaks.
Then, the memory shifts—darker, disjointed. Leah's voice echoes, a playful laugh turning into a scream that pierces the air. The crunch of leaves underfoot as something heavy moves through the underbrush. I see a shadow, large and looming, not quite fitting the shapes of any creature I know.
Then, something darker creeps into the dream, something I’ve never allowed myself to remember clearly.
Before I can see what it is I wake up with a start as the truck jerks slightly on a rough patch of road. Dad glances over. "Bad dream?" he asks. I nod, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, the remnants of the dream clinging to me like the cold.
"Yeah, just... thinking about Leah," I manage to say.
As we drive, Dad attempts to bridge the silence with small talk. He asks about my finals, my plans for the summer, anything to keep the conversation going. His voice carries a forced cheerfulness, but it’s clear his heart isn’t in it. I respond when necessary, my answers brief, my gaze fixed on the passing scenery.
The landscape changes as we head further north, from flat expanses to rolling hills dotted with dense patches of forest. It's beautiful country, the kind that reminds you how vast and wild Michigan can be, but today it just feels oppressive, like it’s closing in on us.
—
We finally arrive at the cabin, nestled deep in the woods, its weathered wood blending seamlessly with the surrounding trees. The place hasn't changed much since the last time I was here—a relic from another time, filled with the echoes of our past. I can still see Leah running around the porch, her laughter ringing out into the forest.
Dad parks the truck, and we step out into the crisp air. The smell of pine and damp earth fills my nostrils. We start unloading our gear, the tension between us palpable.
“Let’s get this inside,” Dad says, his voice gruff as he hefts a duffel bag onto his shoulder.
I nod, grabbing my own bag and following him to the cabin. Inside, it’s a mix of old and new—the same rustic furniture, but with new hunting gear and maps strewn across the table. Dad’s obsession is evident in every corner of the room, a constant reminder of why we’re here.
As we unpack, we exchange strained attempts at normalcy. He talks about the latest cryptid sightings he’s read about, his eyes lighting up with a fervor that both worries and saddens me.
“Did you hear about the sighting up near Alpena?” he asks, laying out his maps on the table.
“Yeah, you mentioned it,” I reply, trying to muster some enthusiasm. “Do you really think there’s something to it?”
Dad’s eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see a flicker of doubt. But it’s quickly replaced by grim determination. “I have to believe it, Ryan. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
We finish unpacking, the silence between us growing heavier with each passing minute. I step outside to clear my head, the cool air a welcome relief. The sun is starting to set, casting long shadows across the clearing. I can’t shake the feeling of unease.
"You can take the upstairs room," Dad mutters. His voice is strained, trying to sound normal, but it's clear the weight of the past is heavy on him. I nod, hauling my backpack up the creaking stairs to the small bedroom that I used to share with Leah. The room feels smaller now, or maybe I've just grown too much since those innocent days.
I unpack silently, setting my things aside. The bed is stiff and cold under my touch. As I settle in, I can't help but glance at the corner where Leah and I would huddle together, whispering secrets and making plans for adventures that would never happen. I push the thoughts away, focusing on the practicalities of unpacking.
After settling in, I go back downstairs to find Dad loading up a backpack with supplies for our hunt. The intensity in his eyes is palpable, his hands moving with practiced precision. I know this routine; it's one he's perfected over countless solo trips since that fateful day.
"We'll head out early," he says, not looking up from his task. "Gotta make the most of the daylight."
I nod, though unease curls in my stomach. I'm not just worried about what we might find—or not find—out there. I'm worried about him. Each year, the obsession seems to carve him out a bit more, leaving less of the Dad I knew.
—
The morning air is sharp with the scent of pine and wet earth as Dad and I head into the deeper parts of the forest. The terrain is rugged, familiar in its untamed beauty, but there’s a tension between us that makes the landscape feel alien. Dad moves with a purposeful stride, his eyes scanning the woods around us. Every snap of a twig, every rustle in the underbrush seems to draw his attention. He’s on edge, and it puts me on edge too.
As we walk, my mind drifts back to that day ten years ago. I can almost hear Leah’s voice echoing through the trees, her high-pitched call as she darted ahead, "Catch me, Ryan!" I remember how the sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dancing shadows on the ground. Those memories are so vivid, so tangible, it feels like I could just turn a corner and see her there, waiting for us.
Dad suddenly stops and kneels, examining the ground. He points out a set of tracks that are too large for a deer, with an unusual gait pattern. "It’s been here, Ry. I’m telling you, it’s close," he whispers, a mixture of excitement and something darker in his voice. I nod, though I’m not sure what to believe. Part of me wants to dismiss it all as grief-fueled obsession, but another part, the part that heard Leah's scream and saw something monstrous in the woods that day, isn’t so sure.
As we continue, Dad's comments become increasingly cryptic. "You know, they say the dogman moves in cycles, drawn to certain places, certain times. Like it’s tied to the land itself," he muses, more to himself than to me. His fixation on the creature has always been intense, but now it borders on mania.
We set up a makeshift blind near a clearing where Dad insists the creature will pass. Hours drag by with little to see but the occasional bird or distant deer.
The sun rises higher in the sky, casting long, slender shadows through the dense canopy. I shift uncomfortably in my spot, the forest floor hard and unyielding beneath me. My eyes dart between the trees, hoping to catch a glimpse of something, anything, to break the monotony. Dad, on the other hand, remains steadfast, his gaze fixed on the treeline as if he can will the dogman into existence by sheer force of will.
A bird chirps nearby, startling me. I sigh and adjust my grip on the rifle. I glance over at Dad.
“Anything?” I ask, more out of boredom than genuine curiosity.
“Not yet,” he replies, his voice tight. “But it’s out there. I know it.”
I nod, even though I’m not sure I believe him. The forest seems too quiet, too still. Maybe we’re chasing ghosts.
As the sun begins its descent, the forest is bathed in a warm, golden light. The air cools, and a breeze rustles the leaves. I shiver, more from anticipation than the cold. The long hours of sitting and waiting are starting to wear on me.
“Let’s call it a day for now,” Dad says finally, his voice heavy with disappointment. “We’ll head back to the cabin, get some rest, and try again tomorrow.”
I stand and stretch, feeling the stiffness in my muscles. We pack up our gear in silence and start the trek back to the cabin. The walk is long and quiet, the only sounds are the crunch of leaves underfoot and the distant calls of birds settling in for the night.
—
Dinner is a quiet affair, both of us lost in our thoughts. I try to make small talk, asking Dad about his plans for tomorrow, but it feels forced. We clean up in silence.
After dinner, I retreat to the small bedroom. The fatigue from the day's hike has settled into my bones, but sleep still feels like a distant hope. I lie down, staring at the ceiling, the room cloaked in darkness save for the sliver of moonlight creeping through the window. Downstairs, I hear the faint sound of Dad moving around, likely unable to sleep himself.
I drift into sleep, but it's not restful. My dreams pull me back to that fateful day in the woods. Leah's voice is clear and vibrant, her laughter echoing through the trees. She looks just as she did then—bright-eyed and full of life, her blonde hair catching the sunlight as she runs ahead of me.
"Come on, Ry! You can't catch me!" she taunts, her voice playful and teasing.
I chase after her, but the scene shifts abruptly. The sky darkens, the woods around us growing dense and foreboding. Leah's laughter fades, replaced by a chilling silence. I see her ahead, standing still, her back to me.
"Leah?" I call out, my voice trembling. She turns slowly, her eyes wide and filled with fear. "Ryan, you have to remember," she says, her voice barely a whisper. "It wasn't what you think. You need to know the truth."
Leah’s words hang in the air, cryptic and unsettling. Before I can respond, she turns and starts running again, her figure becoming a blur among the trees. Panic rises in my chest as I sprint after her, my feet pounding against the forest floor.
“Leah, wait!” I shout, desperation lacing my voice. The forest around me seems to close in, the trees towering and twisted, shadows dancing menacingly in the dim light. I push forward, trying to keep her in sight, but she’s too fast, slipping away like a wisp of smoke.
Suddenly, there’s a rustle, a flash of movement in the corner of my vision. Leah screams, a sound that pierces through the heavy silence. It happens too quickly—I can’t see what it is, only a dark blur that snatches her up.
“Leah!” I scream, my voice breaking. I stumble, falling to my knees as the forest spins around me. My heart races, and the terror is so real, so visceral, that it pulls me back to that awful day, the one that changed everything.
I jolt awake, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I sit up, wiping the cold sweat from my forehead as I try to steady my breathing. The room is still dark, the shadows cast by the moonlight seem to flicker and dance on the walls. My heart is still racing from the nightmare, the echo of Leah's scream lingering in my ears.
As I struggle to calm down, the floorboards outside my room creak. The door opens slowly, and I see the silhouette of my dad in the doorway, a Bowie knife in his hand, his posture tense.
“Dad, what the hell are you doing?” I whisper, my voice shaking.
“Shh,” he hisses, holding up a hand to silence me. “I heard something. Something moving around in the cabin. Stay quiet.”
I swallow hard, my mouth dry. I glance at the clock on the nightstand—it’s just past three in the morning. The cabin is silent, the kind of deep, oppressive silence that makes every small sound seem louder. I can’t hear anything out of the ordinary, but Dad’s expression is deadly serious.
He motions for me to get up, and I do, moving as quietly as I can. My heart is racing, a mix of lingering fear from the dream and the sudden, sharp anxiety of the present moment. Dad leads the way, stepping cautiously out of the bedroom and into the hallway, the knife held ready in front of him.
We move through the cabin, checking each room in turn. The living room is empty, the furniture casting long shadows in the dim moonlight. The kitchen is just as we left it, the plates from dinner still drying on the counter. Everything seems normal, untouched.
We finish our sweep of the cabin without finding anything amiss. The silence is heavy, punctuated only by our soft footfalls. I can see the tension in Dad’s frame, his grip on the knife unwavering. After checking the last room, we pause in the dimly lit hallway, the air thick with unspoken questions.
“There’s nothing here,” I say, my voice low. “Are you sure you heard something?”
He looks at me, his eyes searching for something in my face. “I heard growling. Deep and close. It was right outside the window.”
“Maybe it was just an animal outside, a raccoon or something?” I suggest, although the certainty in his voice makes me doubt my own reassurance.
“No, it wasn’t like that. It was different,” he insists, his voice tense.
I nod, not wanting to argue, but the seeds of worry are planted deep.
The look in his eyes sends a chill down my spine. It’s not just fear—it’s desperation. The kind of desperation that comes from years of chasing shadows and finding nothing. I can see the toll this hunt has taken on him, the way it’s worn him down, turned him into a man I barely recognize.
We head back to our rooms. As I lie down, my mind races with thoughts of my dad. I can’t help but wonder if he’s losing it, if the years of grief and guilt have finally pushed him over the edge.
Dad wasn’t always like this. Before Leah’s death, he was the kind of father who took us fishing, helped with homework, and told terrible jokes that made us groan and laugh at the same time. He was solid, dependable. But losing Leah changed him. The guilt twisted him into someone I barely recognize, someone driven by a need for answers, for closure, that may never come.
I try to sleep, but my thoughts keep me awake. I can hear Dad moving around downstairs, probably pacing or double-checking the locks. His paranoia has become a constant presence, and I don’t know how to help him. I don’t even know if I can help him.
—
The next morning, the sunlight filters weakly through the cabin windows, casting a pale light that does little to lift the heavy mood. I drag myself out of bed, feeling the exhaustion of another restless night. Dad is already up, hunched over his maps at the kitchen table, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep.
“Morning,” I mumble, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I pour myself a cup of coffee. “Did you sleep at all?”
He shakes his head, not looking up from his notes. “Not much. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I heard last night.”
I sip my coffee, trying to shake off the remnants of my nightmare. “Maybe it was just an animal, Dad. We’re deep in the woods, after all.”
He finally looks up, his eyes intense. “Ryan, I know what I heard. It wasn’t just an animal. It was something else.”
I sigh, not wanting to argue. “Okay, fine, Dad. What’s the plan for today?”
“We’re going back out. I found some tracks yesterday, and I want to follow them. See where they lead.”
I nod, feeling a mix of apprehension and resignation. I can see how much this means to him, how desperate he is for any kind of lead. “Alright. Let’s get packed and head out.”
We spend the morning preparing, loading up our gear and double-checking our supplies. Dad is meticulous, going over everything with a fine-toothed comb. I try to match his focus, but my mind keeps drifting back to Leah and the dream I had. Her words echo in my head, cryptic and unsettling: “You need to know the truth.”
We set off into the woods, the air crisp and cool. The forest is alive with the sounds of birds and rustling leaves, but it all feels distant, like background noise to the tension between us. Dad leads the way, his eyes scanning the ground for any sign of the tracks he found yesterday.
As we walk, I can’t help but notice how erratically he’s acting. He mutters to himself, his eyes darting around as if expecting something to jump out at us. His grip on his rifle is tight, his knuckles white.
“Dad, are you okay?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
He glances at me, his expression unreadable. “I’m fine. Just focused.”
He stops frequently to examine the ground or the bark of trees, pointing out marks and signs that seem meaningless to me.
“Look at this,” he says, crouching down to examine a broken branch. “See how it’s snapped? That’s not a deer or a bear. That’s something bigger. Stronger.”
I crouch next to Dad, squinting at the broken branch. To me, it just looks like a regular broken branch, the kind you see all over the forest. "I don't know, Dad. It just looks like a branch to me," I say, trying to keep my voice neutral.
Dad's eyes flicker with frustration. "You're not looking close enough. It's the way it's snapped—too clean, too deliberate. Something did this."
I nod, not wanting to argue. "Okay, sure. But even if you're right, it could be anything. A storm, another hunter..."
His expression hardens. "I know what I'm looking for. This is different."
I sigh, feeling the weight of the past and the tension between us pressing down on me. "Dad, I had a dream last night. About Leah." The words hang in the air between us, heavy and fraught with unspoken emotions.
Dad's eyes widen, and he straightens up, his entire demeanor shifting. "What kind of dream? What did you see?" His voice is urgent, almost desperate.
"It was... strange. We were in the woods, like we are now, but everything felt different. Leah was there, running ahead of me, laughing. Then she stopped and told me I needed to know the truth, that it wasn't what I thought."
Dad grabs my shoulders, his grip tight. "What else did she say? Did she tell you anything specific? Anything about the creature?"
I shake my head, feeling a chill run down my spine. "No, that was it. She just said I needed to know the truth, and then she was gone."
Dad’s grip on my shoulders tightens, and his eyes bore into mine with a mixture of desperation and hope. “Ryan, you have to try to remember. Think hard. What did the creature look like? Did you see anything else?”
I pull back slightly, uneasy with his intensity. “Dad, I told you. I don’t remember. It was just a dream. A nightmare, really. My mind’s probably just mixing things up.”
He lets go of me and runs a hand through his hair, looking frustrated and lost. “Dreams can be important. They can hold memories we’ve buried deep. Please, try to remember. This could be a sign, a clue.”
I rub my temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache. “I’ve tried, okay? I’ve tried for years to piece together what happened that day. But it’s all just fragments, like pieces of a puzzle that don’t fit. The dream… it felt real, but I don’t think it’s telling me anything new.”
Dad’s face falls, and he looks older than I’ve ever seen him. He turns away, staring into the forest as if it holds all the answers.
—
As we make our way back to the cabin, the sun begins to set, casting long shadows through the trees. The air grows colder, and I shiver, pulling my jacket tighter around me. Dad is silent, lost in his thoughts, his face drawn and haggard.
Back at the cabin, we unload our gear once again in silence. Dad disappears into his room, muttering something about going over his notes. I decide to explore the cabin, hoping to find something that might help me understand what’s going on with him.
In the attic, I find a box of old family photos and documents. As I sift through the contents, I come across a worn journal with Dad’s handwriting on the cover. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I open it, flipping through the pages.
The journal is filled with notes and sketches, detailing his obsession with the dogman. But there’s something else—entries that talk about Leah, about that day in the woods. His handwriting becomes more erratic, the words harder to read. One entry stands out, dated just a few days after Leah’s death:
“June 15, 2013 – It was supposed to be a normal trip. Keep them close, Frank, I kept telling myself. But I failed. Leah is gone, and it’s my fault. I heard her scream, saw the shadows. I tried to get to her, but… the thing, it was there. Too fast. Too strong. My hands… blood everywhere. No one will believe me. I can’t even believe myself. I have to find it. I have to protect Ryan. I have to make it right. God, what have I done?”
Before I can read further, the attic door creaks open, and Dad’s voice slices through the stillness.
“What are you doing up here?” His tone is sharp, almost panicked.
I turn to see him standing in the doorway, his face pale and his eyes wide with something between anger and fear. I clutch the journal to my chest, my mind racing. “I found this… I was just trying to understand…”
In an instant, he crosses the room and snatches the journal from my hands. His grip is tight, his knuckles white. “You had no right,” he growls, his voice trembling.
“Dad, I just wanted to know the truth!” I shout, frustration boiling over. “What really happened to Leah.”
His eyes flash with a mix of rage and anguish, and before I can react, he slaps me across the face. The force of it knocks me off balance, and I stumble backward, my cheek stinging.
For a moment, there’s a stunned silence. We both stand there, breathing hard, the air thick with tension.
“I’m sorry,” Dad says finally, his voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t mean to… I just…” He trails off, clutching the journal to his chest like a lifeline.
I touch my cheek, feeling the heat from the slap, and take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “Dad, what aren’t you telling me? What really happened that day?”
“Stay out of it, Ryan,” Dad growls, his eyes dark with anger. “You don’t know what you’re messing with.”
He turns and storms out of the attic. I’m left standing there, my cheek throbbing, my mind racing. What the fuck is going on? What really happened to Leah? And what is Dad so afraid of?
—
That night, I sleep with my rifle within arm's reach, more afraid of my dad than any dogman. The slap still burns on my cheek, and the look in his eyes—rage, fear, something darker—haunts me. I lie awake, listening to the creaks and groans of the old cabin, every sound amplified in the stillness. Eventually, exhaustion pulls me under, and I fall into a restless sleep.
The dream returns, vivid and unsettling. I'm back in the woods, chasing after Leah. Her laughter echoes through the trees, a haunting reminder of happier times. This time, though, I push myself harder, refusing to let her slip away.
"Ryan, catch me!" she calls, her voice playful.
"I'm coming, Leah!" I shout, my legs pumping, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
The forest around us is a twisted, shadowy maze, the trees seeming to close in on us. Leah's figure becomes clearer, her blonde hair catching the dim light filtering through the canopy. She stops suddenly, turning to face me, her eyes wide with fear.
"Leah, what is it?" I ask, my voice trembling.
"Look behind you," she whispers, her voice barely audible.
I turn slowly, dread creeping up my spine. In the shadows, I see a figure, its form indistinct and shifting. It’s not quite animal, not quite human—something in between. The sight of it sends a jolt of terror through me, and I wake up with a start, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I’m not in my bed. The ground beneath me is cold and hard, the smell of damp earth filling my nostrils. Panic rises as I realize I’ve sleepwalked into the woods. I scramble to my feet, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. The moon casts a pale glow over the surroundings, revealing what looks like a long-abandoned animal lair.
The walls are covered in giant claw marks, deep gouges in the wood and earth. The air is heavy with the scent of decay, and a chill runs through me. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched.
Carefully, I start to move, my eyes scanning the ground, desperate for a familiar landmark. That's when I see them—faded scraps of fabric caught on the jagged edges of the underbrush. My steps falter, a sense of dread washing over me as I bend down to examine them. The fabric is torn, weathered by time and the elements, but unmistakably familiar. It's part of Leah's jacket—the bright pink one she wore on the day she disappeared.
As I strain to make sense of it all, a rustling sound behind me snaps my focus. My heart leaps into my throat. I spin around, my hand instinctively reaching for the rifle I don't have—because, of course, I didn't bring it in my unconscious state.
The shadowy figure that emerges from the trees is unsettlingly familiar, mirroring the menacing forms of my nightmares. But as it steps into the moonlight, I recognize the worn jacket, the weary posture. It's Dad.
"Ryan!" he calls out, his voice a mix of relief and stern concern. "I've been looking everywhere for you. What the hell are you doing out here?"
I exhale slowly, the terror ebbing away as reality sets back in. "I—I don't know, Dad. I must've sleepwalked again." My voice is shaky, my earlier dream still clinging to the edges of my consciousness.
Dad stares at me in disbelief. "You haven't sleepwalked since you were a kid, Ry. This... this isn't just a coincidence." His eyes dart around, taking in the surroundings—the eerie, claw-marked den, the unsettling quiet of the woods. "How did you even find this place?"
I shake my head, struggling to find an answer. "I don't know, Dad. I just... I woke up here." The uncertainty in my voice does nothing to ease the tension.
His eyes lock onto the tattered remains of Leah's jacket in my hands, and something inside him snaps. The color drains from his face as he stumbles a few steps backward. "This... this is where it happened," he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper. “This is where we found Leah."
“I thought you said you don’t remember anything from that night,” he says accusingly.
"I swear, Dad, I don't know anything about this place," I insist, my own heart pounding.
“It was you, wasn’t it? You’ve been hiding this from me.” His voice is frantic. “You... last night, the growling, it was you.” His voice rises, tinged with hysteria.
I step back, my pulse racing, feeling the chill of the night and the weight of his accusation. "Dad, I don't know what you're talking ab—”
"No!" he interrupts, his voice breaking as he points a trembling finger at me. "You knew, you always knew. It was you, Ryan. All these years, the evidence was right there, but I refused to see it. You were the dogman. You killed Leah!"
His words hit me like a physical blow, absurd and horrifying in their implications. "Dad, you're not making any sense. You're talking crazy! I was just a little kid! How could I–" I protest, my voice shaky.
He steps closer, his presence looming over me, the outline of his figure distorted by the shadows of the trees. "Think about it! It all makes sense now. You led us here, to this place, because you remember. Because you did it."
"Dad, stop it!" I shout, my heart pounding in my chest. "You're scaring me. You need help, professional help. This isn't you."
But he's beyond reason, his eyes wild with a haunted grief. "I have to end this," he mutters, more to himself than to me, his hand tightening around his rifle.
His finger hovers dangerously over the trigger of his rifle. My instincts kick in, and I know I have to act fast.
I lunge toward him, trying to knock the weapon away, but he's quicker than I expected. We struggle, our breaths heavy in the cold night air, the sounds of our scuffle the only noise in the otherwise silent woods. His strength surprises me, fueled by his frantic emotions. He shoves me back, and I stumble over a root, my balance lost for a crucial second. That's all he needs. He raises his rifle, his intentions clear in his wild, pained eyes.
I dive to the ground just as the shot rings out, a deafening blast that echoes ominously through the trees. The bullet whizzes past, narrowly missing me, embedding itself in the bark of an old pine. I scramble to my feet, my heart pounding in my ears, and I start running. The underbrush claws at my clothes and skin, but I push through, driven by a primal urge to survive.
"Dad, stop! It's me, Ryan!" I shout back as I dodge between the trees. Another shot breaks the silence, closer this time, sending splinters of wood flying from a nearby tree trunk. It's surreal, being hunted by my own father, a man tormented by grief and lost in his delusions.
I don't stop to look back. I can hear him crashing through the forest behind me, his heavy breaths and muttered curses carried on the wind. The terrain is rough, and I'm fueled by adrenaline, but exhaustion is setting in. I need a plan.
Ahead, I see a rocky outcrop and make a split-second decision to head for it. It offers a chance to hide, to catch my breath and maybe reason with him if he catches up. As I reach the rocks, I slip behind the largest one, my body pressed tight against the cold, damp surface. I hear his footsteps approaching, slow and cautious now.
As I press against the rock, trying to calm my racing heart, I can hear Dad's footsteps drawing closer, each step crunching ominously on the forest floor. He's methodical, deliberate, like a hunter stalking his prey.
“Come out, Ryan!” Dad’s voice is ragged, filled with a blend of fury and pain.
My heart pounds against my chest, the cold sweat on my back making me shiver against the rough surface of the rock. I know I can't just sit here; it's only a matter of time before he finds me.
Taking a deep breath, I peek around the edge of the rock, trying to gauge his position. I see him, rifle raised, scanning the area slowly. This might be my only chance to end this madness without further violence. I need to disarm him, to talk some sense into him if I can.
As quietly as I can, I move out from behind the rock, my steps careful to avoid any twigs or leaves that might betray my position. I'm almost upon him when a branch snaps under my foot—a sound so trivial yet so alarmingly loud in the quiet of the woods.
Dad whirls around, looking completely unhinged. "Ryan!" he exclaims, his rifle swinging in my direction. Panic overtakes me, and I lunge forward, my hands reaching for the gun.
We struggle, the rifle between us, our breaths heavy and erratic. "Dad, please, stop!" I plead, trying to wrestle the gun away. But he's strong, stronger than I expected.
In the chaos, the rifle goes off. The sound is deafening, a sharp echo that seems to reverberate off every tree around us. Pain explodes in my abdomen, sharp and burning, like nothing I've ever felt before. I stagger back, my hands instinctively going to the wound. The warmth of my own blood coats my fingers, stark and terrifying.
Dad drops the rifle, his eyes wide with horror. "Oh my God! What have I done?" he gasps, rushing to my side as I collapse onto the forest floor.
As the pain sears through me, a strange, overpowering energy surges within. It's wild, primal, unlike anything I've ever experienced. Looking down in horror, my hands are no longer hands but large, hairy, clawed appendages. The transformation is rapid, consuming—my vision blurs, senses heighten, and a raw, guttural growl builds in my throat.
In that moment, a flood of understanding washes over me, mingling with the horror of realization. These are the hands of the creature from my nightmares, the creature whose face I can never fully recall because, as I now understand, it is me.
What happens next feels detached, as if I'm no longer in control of my own actions, watching from a distance as my body moves on its own. I turn towards my dad, his face a mask of terror. He stumbles back, his eyes wide with the dawning realization of what his son has become.
The forest around us seems to fall silent, holding its breath as the nightmarish scene unfolds. I can hear my own growls, guttural and deep, filling the air with a sound that's both foreign and intimately familiar. The pain in my abdomen fuels a dark, violent urge, an urge that's too strong to resist.
With a ferocity that feels both alien and intrinsic, I move towards him. My dad, paralyzed by fear and shock, doesn't run. Maybe he can't. Maybe he doesn't want to.
The encounter was brutal and swift, a blur of motion and violence. My dad barely puts up a struggle, as though resigned to his fate.
Not that there is anything he can do. The creature that I’ve become is too powerful, too consumed by the wild instincts surging through me. I tear him apart, limb from bloody limb, my hands—no, my claws—rending through fabric and flesh with disgusting ease.
The sound of my dad’s screams, of tearing fabric and flesh is drowned out by the animalistic growls that echo through the trees.
When it’s all over, the red mist that had clouded my vision begins to fade, and the fierce, uncontrollable rage that drove my actions subsides. I'm left standing, my breaths heavy and erratic, in the eerie stillness of the forest. The transformation reverses as quickly as it came on, and I find myself back in my human form. My clothes are ripped to shreds, hanging off my frame in tattered remnants. At my feet lies what’s left of my dad, his body torn and unrecognizable.
I glance down at my abdomen, expecting agony, but instead find my wound miraculously healed. No sign of the gunshot remains, just a faint scar where I expected a bloody mess.
Shock sets in, a numbing disbelief mixed with a gut-wrenching realization of what I've become and what I've done. My hands, now human again, tremble as I look at them, half-expecting to see the claws that had so effortlessly ripped through flesh and bone. But there's only blood, my father's blood against my skin.
I stand there for what feels like an eternity, trapped in a nightmare of my own making.
Eventually, the shock wears thin, and a cold practicality takes hold. I need to get out of here. I need to cover my tracks, to disappear. Because who would believe this? Who would understand that I didn't choose this, that I'm not a monster by choice?
With trembling hands, I do what’s necessary. I bury my dad in a shallow grave, the physical act of digging strangely grounding. I cover him with leaves and branches, a pitiful attempt to hide the brutality of his end. I take a moment, whispering apologies into the wind, knowing full well that nothing I say can change what happened.
I leave the forest behind, my mind a whirl of dark thoughts. As I walk, the first hints of dawn brush against the horizon, the sky bleeding a soft pink. It’s hauntingly beautiful.

ACT 1. Sunday afternoon after visiting the local market two brothers wait for their train to arrive. If they were even a minute late, they knew their mother would surely scold them and scold the elder of the two far worse. The idea of another beating did not bother the elder brother; he had been through far worse just dealing with the brat and his attempted jailbreaks, though something did begin to make him painfully nauseous forcing him to feel pressured by the light breeze as if gravity had suddenly been increased tenfold. All his senses were heightening beyond anything he had thought possible.All around him he saw that the once energetic and hyperactive passengers had become little more than mannequins; their movements slowing to a standstill. They had all gone silent. The station was no longer filled with the cries of children or the gentle laughs of their parents. He had never heard such silence in such a crowded location. He did not feel panicked, nor did he feel a need to act for this silence was oddly comforting to him. However, the newly calm atmosphere would quickly be the source of a lifetime of suffering.His hand began to reach for his brother in an attempt to call his attention. Though in a moment of both unprecedented shock and exhaustion John shoved his younger brother onto the rails of an oncoming train. Local news would report the incident as nothing more than a tragic manic episode of a young sixteen-year-old. However, for John this single visceral instant in which all of his brother's bones were instantly crushed was stretched into hours. He was painfully aware of how every bone in his brother's body contorted in inhuman ways some nearly resembling perfect right angles, until eventually, they snapped and sent insurmountable pain throughout his nervous system. His blood curling screams were made mute by the screech of the train coming to a halt, though, by the time they stopped, his brother had torn his every vocal cord and had long ago lost consciousness. Still on the platform, the elder brother stood still, attempting to process what exactly he had done. He had no idea what force had compelled him to push his brother, but that instant would forever define what he saw as reality.That however was nineteen years ago, in present day he lived in isolation far from any person. He spent his isolated days wandering the land around his cabin completing house chores that distracted him from reminiscing about his days in the asylum or as he liked to call it “The Echo Room” where he was transferred after the incident. He headed inside after spending a portion of his morning counting all one-hundred-and-thirty-two trees that were showing signs of life after the harsh winter that nearly forced him to cut down two of them for firewood. Once inside he began preparing his morning coffee when he heard a loud creak come from the hall. He (after many incidents) learnt to avoid the boards that creaked, so in his mind immediately an intruder was breaking into his cabin searching for food or his stash of special edition coffee. Deciding to investigate he walked towards the noise when suddenly he heard two knocks at his front door. Confused and slightly worried, he proceeded to walk towards the door making sure not to step on any of the annoyingly loud floorboards.He approached and looked through the peephole and saw only what remained of the melting snow outside. Opening the door, he saw that only his steps led to the doormat. He glanced around and saw no indication of any life aside a few dark patches on the snow. He was about to close the door when he noticed a tiny red package wrapped in a radiant red bow placed clear from where the door would open. Cautiously picking it up, he noticed how it had almost no weight to it; as if empty. He walked inside and sat at his desk planning to journal later about the weird morning he had been having. He examined the exterior of the package and saw how not only was it near perfect condition but it was also slightly warm to the touch; as if recently held. He undid the bow and cautiously opened the package, half expecting an explosive of some sort. Though, all he found was a ragged ripped piece of paper. Unremarkable aside from the fact that it was inside such a carefully constructed package. On the other side he saw that it had some scarlet lettering inscribed into it reading.“Ouroboros”. At first believing it to be a prank by the kids who had heard rumors about him, and his incident, nearly caused him to dismiss it entirely deeming it little more than a slightly humorous event. He decided to put it aside for now as he had coffee left to drink that was quickly getting cold. He walked back towards the kitchen still distracted by the idea of no trace being left by whoever had left the gift. Was it even a gift? Maybe it was just some well-executed prank? In any manner he would later have a better look at it. He absentmindedly, reached for his cup and immediately pulled his hand back shocked by the temperature of the cup. It was frozen! Almost to a complete solid. He thought himself slightly distracted but not enough to freeze his morning coffee especially not his special edition coffee. First The Box and now this, it was all adding up to an annoying morning. Was it still morning? No, that’s not right. He had just spent the day counting trees. How could it still possibly be morning?The thought of Dr. Lumis being correct about his mental condition after so many years sent a chill down his spine especially since last time they talked, he did not exactly behave amicably. He was sure that both incidents had been isolated events that could never happen again. Sure, he had heard the echoes every once in a while, but he was never insane like the others; this he knew to be a fact. If he was insane, how could he have ever left? Disoriented and beginning to sweat, his legs suddenly gave out causing him to fall backward landing on the cold wooden floorboards. He looked around hurriedly expecting to see an intruder that had somehow found him. After seeing nothing but his pristine furniture, he steadied himself and began to control his breathing. He slowly got up causing the wood underneath to creak under the sudden release of weight. Deciding to further assure himself he went around the cabin checking in all four rooms. He found nothing aside from his own disturbances. Still feeling slightly nervous and disturbed he headed back towards the living room in search for The Box with the red bow determining that it had somehow triggered his current situation. The Box was still where he placed it; much to his relief. He sat down. He looked once again at the scarlet lettering.
Act 2. Back in the asylum he would often spend his days wondering how he could have ever been grouped alongside individuals who had purposefully and viciously committed heinous crimes against innocent victims. He was not insane like them. Whatever had caused his hand to shove his brother had long abandoned him. His routine now consisted of cleaning whatever mess the older residents made in the halls and transporting lab waste to the crematorium. He would clean from the southern stalls all the way to the northern cemetery and make his rounds gathering the waste from the rooms. It was a simple job but lonely, nonetheless. The halls were often only illuminated by tiny flickering red lights that indicated the position of the cameras through which Dr.Lumis would often monitor John during his nightly crusades. Though incredibly distasteful, John did not mind, he accepted that odd situations would be easier to explain if someone of credit had seen them. Yet despite this, he felt he was being watched by someone other than the doctor. He assumed that this feeling was due to the paranoia he had been diagnosed with a few months back. On a particular night, moments after dumping another bag of soft solids and dense liquids down the chute, he heard footsteps, just outside the room. Expecting to see the doctor he begrudgingly walked towards the door. Exiting and seeing no one he called out for the doctor but got no response aside from the echo of his own voice. He began to walk towards where he had heard the footsteps come from when he suddenly collapsed out of exhaustion. The same exhaustion that had plagued him during the moment of his brother’s death. He tried to reach for his panic button (a gift from Lumis) but it had disappeared from his chain. He tried to scream but not a single whisper was heard. He gazed into the dark corridor where he had thought Dr.Lumis had gone, but saw nothing but soft shadows. Though something was unnervingly wrong about them. They moved as if following an order, all synchronized, all heading towards him. That night in the asylum had left him scared to even return to the disposal area; he feared that The Shadows might eventually be able to reach him. The Shadows did not haunt him unaccompanied: they followed alongside The Echo tormenting his nights. While The Shadows could not reach him during daylight, he could never escape The Echo. It followed wherever he went and tracked everything he did. Dr.Lumis explained that he merely suffered from an extreme case paranoia but John saw the others; who yelled and who screamed true nonsense, he was perfectly aware of himself and the ones around him. Dr. Lumis secretly believed patient #132 experienced Hyper-sanity though this he would never verbally confess. It was term he decided would for now adequately describe his patient’s acute awareness of The Shadows and The Echo. John would for many years go without hearing The Echo after that night, only ever hearing what seemed like the final moans of a dying voice. Back in present day, he hoped he wasn’t suffering another hallucination as they tended to leave him in an embarrassing shocked state. He questioned what “Ouroboros” could possibly mean in relation to himself. He considered the possibility of it being an early warning of some threat to the sanctity of his home. He quickly dismissed it as he had not interacted with anyone long enough to possibly annoy them. Weird them out? Sure. Offend them? Maybe with his sense of fashion. Following his incredibly fine-tuned survival instincts he put on a light coat and went outside to walk among the trees. A mundane task, but one he truly enjoyed especially since he hoped it would distract him for a short while. Just before he closed the door behind him, he took one more look at The Box sitting on his desk and decided to take it with him in case he met the person who had left it. The sun had begun to set marking the end of the day. He watched the sun hide behind the mountain range letting the world bathe in darkness for another night. John did not dislike the night (he had worked nightshifts in The Echo Room for years) but he didn’t find the freezing cold to be ideal. He had not left his land for what was a few years now and the idea of even slightly stepping out of his comfort was making him incredibly anxious. Still, he walked forward towards wherever the path took him. The night only got darker and quieter, and he only got colder. He did not see the lightning bugs that usually warded away the dark near the edge of his hill. Without the soft hum of bugs or soft breeze that would brush against his beard he felt alone. Even the nights back in the asylum did not possess this level of quiet. He kept moving hoping that eventually he would find something that could break the uncomfortable silence. As he continued down the hill, he realized he could no longer distinguish the path from the dirt surrounding it. He considered heading back when he realized he had not kept track of where he had come from. Not only was he lost but alone with his thoughts and whatever had been watching him from the start. He walked a step forward and then another one back repeatedly. What he was attempting to achieve was beyond reason. Had he gone mad? No, he was perfectly sane. “Wait, I can hear them clearly now” he spoke, his voice dried from the cold.“This is not a hallucination” he spoke softly.“i-I AM NOT HALLUCINATING” he proclaimed. He heard The Echo once more though they were not of his voice but rather of Another. He had long been aware of “The Echo” but he could never fully determine whether it was a dream or an effect of the chemicals but this Other was undoubtedly real. “I don’t know where you are but please. Are you real?” he asked the night. He could now hear The Echo or rather feel the pressure of its words upon his reality. Had it been trying to hide the Other? He walked forward and pulled out The Box. “You gave me this right? What for? What purpose does it serve?” No one responded.Annoyed, he threw it as far as he could down the hill. “THERE! THIS CAN’T CONTINUE WITHOUT IT, RIGHT?” He shouted at the endless empty. That’s when out of the darkness emerged a faint light. Was it a lightning bug or maybe a sign of civilization?
Act 3. Cautiously, he approached the cold light and saw that the light was artificial. The tube inside flickered before another appeared a few feet ahead, and then another and then another and then what seemed like an uncountable amount more. He took a step forward and noticed that the ground underneath had turned to hard white tile. Accepting that this was not the weirdest occurrence that had affected him he proceeded to walk forward making sure to keep a mental note to journal about it later. The surrounding landscape transformed into white walls that every so often had a window that let him peek at the other side. At first, he could still see the snowy landscape, but it to slowly changed; first having scattered papers and then chairs, cabinets, and desks until they eventually resembled a typical office. Its purpose was not obvious to him, and neither was the hallway but if they were changing surely, it possessed a deeper metaphorical meaning that related to his life. He saw a door at the very end of the hall and decided to not postpone the ploy of whatever “The Echo” was planning. He stood before the door wondering about what it could possibly contain. John proceeded to open the door. Inside was a desk along with a single cabinet. Walking inside he noticed that the room was illuminated by some otherworldly source that had no words that could possibly describe it. He walked towards the desk and a file he had not seen previously, sat open. Inside was a description of his physical appearance. “Age: 35. Height: 5’8. Weight: 185 lbs. Hair: Black with obvious signs of stress. Eyes: Brown. Character Aptitude: High.” “Okay, I get it. I’m old, you didn’t have to expose my hair like that” he said slightly embarrassed quickly restyling his hair. He noticed that even though they had an almost perfect description of his hobbies, dreams and wishes they did not have a single picture as if they for some reason were only able to use words. “SOOO you know about that one time in the asylum (don’t ask) BUT NOT A SINGLE PICTURE? That’s lame.” he said mockingly. On the final page he found what looked like an incomplete file; most of the personal attributes had not yet been filled and only a note was made reading. “They don’t need a complete story just one they can understand.” Besides the fact that whatever role he played in this act had been a mere afterthought; he was confused as to how anyone could have ever gathered such sensitive and personal information about his isolated life. Was it The Echo? Had it told them his life? A phone started to ring somewhere in the room abruptly breaking the silence he had become used to. He quickly rotated towards the source of the ringing but did not find anything. There was only him and the four walls that despite the lighting did not change a shade of grey. He walked towards one of them that seemed to be where the noise came from resting his hand on it and gently put his ear to it thinking that the ringing was from another room entirely. The wall he had just laid a hand on had no longer a physical representation and causing John to fall through to the other side. Disoriented he slowly looked up and saw The Telephone illuminated by what seemed to be the same light that illuminated the previous room. This one however was far more powerful and concentrated solely on The Telephone. He approached it expecting a chasm to somehow appear underneath his feet. The Telephone did not stop ringing and only seemed to increase in intensity (though this could have simply been a hallucination). He lifted it to cut the blaring noise and slowly put it to his ear. “hello?” “…” “…” “The protagonist only dies if the story ends” the voice said quietly. “HUH? YOU DRAGGED ME HERE TO TELL ME THAT OMINOUSLY ANNOYING LOAD OF *********!” “…I’m so sorry” The call disconnected not out of offense but rather out of completion. John slammed the phone back onto its stand and decided it was time for this nonsense to end. He walked out into the room he was in before anxiously attempting to find another exit: only to be met with solid walls. What wicked game had he been roped into? When would it end? These were questions he would answer far earlier than he expected. A door appeared in the center of the room. No, it was more of a two-dimensional plane that appeared to be a sort of portal. With no other options, John stepped into the newly opened portal.
Act 4. On the other side was a station, and his ears were immediately flooded with the cries of children and the laughs of their parents. He walked around moving through the crowd careful to not miss any indication of the location. His pace increased as he began to recognize the commuters shortly realizing exactly where he was. He rushed to a platform, the platform where he and his brother were to arrive after their day in the market. He sat on a nearby bench committed to saving his brother no matter who he would have to shove instead. Three agonizing days passed with the daily commuters repeating their routine with the slightest variations. One of these variations would be the key to preventing the day that haunted his nights. Something would soon cause him to shove his brother onto the tracks. He was determined to stop the fall or kill himself to keep his brother safe.He heard a familiar laughter and turned towards the source and saw his brothers face uncontrollably laughing and himself lightly smiling. He began to run towards them but felt once again suddenly exhausted. As if the air became a type of nonnewtonian sludge making his legs impossibly heavy. The crowd around him seemed to be moving just as easily as before; children laughing just as maniacally and just as carelessly. He tried to yell to them, but his lungs were filled with the dense fluid drowning any screams he attempted. He was forced to watch how his brother got closer and closer to the edge. Through much effort, he managed to get close enough to extend a hand towards his past trying to desperately push him away from his brother. The past reacted in what seemed to be a defensive system and sent a temporal anomaly throughout the space his past and present inhabited. Time began to exponentially speed forward. In a last desperate attempt to prevent his brother’s death he tried to distract the past long enough to let the train pass without incident, but the temporal anomaly caused the relative slow velocity of his touch to have the effect of a sudden jerk and in his final moments of consciousness he saw his brother accelerate towards the rails in a split second. He awoke back in the office alone with nothing, but the realization of what force had killed his brother. He curled into the fetal position and began to cry; still believing his lungs to be filled with the dense liquid he did not let out a single sigh. He spent several hours in this state of painful silence without even opening his eyes. His emotions were chaotic and his thoughts unending. They tormented him for hours far after he had run out of tears to let out. They were merciless and torturous forbidding him from resting, insisting on his suffering. Being the cause of his brother’s death nearly caused him to go insane yet part of him kept insisting that Another was to blame. Another had caused him to do it. The Other had forced his hand. Of this, he was now sure. The Other enjoyed his suffering, The Other forced him to kill his brother. He had not eaten nor slept in what seemed like years and yet he stood up defying the gravity that held him down. He took a deep breath of as much oxygen as his lungs allowed and began to speak. “Whoever you are. Whatever you are. Wherever you are. Just know I will no longer play for your entertainment the rest is entirely my choice” he said threateningly. He then began to walk forwards confidently towards the dark wall and through the hidden door that he was not supposed to see. He entered what seemed to be a studio room though, unlike the sterile office; it was trashed. Papers littered the floor and empty bottles populated the lone mattress. On it laid a journal that had recently had liquid spilt on it. He picked the journal and gently opened it and began to read. It was scratched with the stray ideas of a creator who seemed to have never decided upon an end or beginning to his story; yet possessing the journey. He saw many ideas that together seemed to create a way for the continuity to depend entirely on Another rather than itself. A thought described in a single word interested him enough to take it with him. The room started to dissolve around him transforming into a cold landscape. Armed with the knowledge of who he was he treaded what remained of the worn-out path. The sun began to rise signing the start of another day, yet John did not seem to notice as he was focused on something buried in the snow. He could not see much of it yet he knew it was The Box he had thrown the previous night. He dug it up and began his walk up the hill once more. He eventually arrived at his cabin and walked towards his front door….
Act 5.
If you wish to rebel; continue reading on the next page.
Begin the story once more on Truth 2.
If you wish to ward away The Other; don’t read any further
If you wish to follow The Echo read Truth 3
To understand turn to Truth 4
Truth 1
…Before deciding that no longer would he be a puppet for someone’s amusement. John arrogantly began marched back down the hill and headed north towards the nearest interstate a few miles from his home hoping that he had derailed The Echo’s plot. It took him hours on foot, but he would eventually come across the road and start his journey back to civilization no longer subject to the whims of an Otherworldly Audience. He believed his future was now his to decide. He decided what he would become. He decided when and what to think. This he was sure would be how he escaped his torment. John suddenly suffered a complete body collapse and fell forward landing face first onto the scorching road. It would be several sweltering hours before anyone would find him. But eventually someone did, john suffering heavy burns and on the brink of death was saved. He would awake months later in a hospital bed though no one would ever know of this. Weeks would pass as john laid in the hospital bed unable to speak or even move; alerting no one to his consciousness. The doctors and nurses were busy with whatever important patients needed immediate attention; they walked from one end to the other in what seemed like mere minutes. The entire time the only company he had was The Echo and yet slowly it too seemed to forget his existence as well. Eventually The Echo having no interest went away.Jane a third-year medical student had recently joined the staff a month prior and had already been assigned two elders and one child. Though overwhelmed she did not grow annoyed nor frustrated; she loved her job and by proxy her patients. Despite her benevolent nature there was a single patient she never went near as he always seemed to be watching her despite his eyes being shut for over four months. Any time she got near to patient #132 she would begin to get nauseous and quickly retreat. She had no ID on the man, but it seemed he was dehydrated for far longer than should’ve been possible and should be by all accounts dead if not near it. Whenever she worked nightshifts, she would swear that she heard the man whimper slightly as if to warn her of something. Even when she was on the opposite side of the building, she would hear the echo of his groans. She would eventually be transferred and would soon forget the man who after 6 months was officially declared braindead and was due to be disposed of, yet she would still every once in a while, still hear The Echo. Forgotten Ending
Truth 2…Realizing that there was no other choice John took a step forward while placing the note he ripped from the journal into The Box making sure to keep it neatly packaged. He saw the footprints he had left two nights before and carefully stepped into each one making sure to not disturb the surrounding snow. Whatever…Whoever had set him on this path allowed him to live a life of suffering, a life of loss, and a life of pain. This, he felt was the way things were intended to play out; the way it had to end. He placed The Box on the final step making sure it would not be knocked away whenever the door would eventually open. He walked away nearly to the edge of the property when he looked back once more. Managing to peek inside he saw his past still making his coffee when he saw an almost invisible distortion appear near the front door. He smiled and turned away only saying…Freedom ending
Truth 3…though spotting a disturbance near the back of the cabin distracted him from the front door. He decided to investigate for fear of losing a single blossoming tree. Arriving near the back fence he saw no indication of a disturbance giving him much needed reassurance. He heard noise emerge from inside the cabin giving him one more dilemma to deal with. He headed to the backdoor making sure to not disturb the recent snow and entered the cabin. Being sleep deprived and without coffee he had forgotten about the wooden floor and stepped on one that caused a creak to be heard throughout the cabin. He quickly hid in the bathroom fearing that he had disturbed the continuity that The Echo had established when suddenly a bright flash blinded him. He found himself at the front door next to The Box. Slightly amused he proceeded to knock on the door and was soon after transported once more to an empty hall. Both confused and entertained as he was being transported from one place in time to another he took a few steps forward alerting the past to his presence. Seeing his past enter the hall he ducked and quickly hid around the corner. His past seemed to believe that the doctor was in the halls and decided to investigate though just as he was nearing closer; his past collapsed. John saw how his fall was slowed as if moving through the dense liquid he had once gone through. He walked towards his past and noticed an old fashioned panic button that would instantly call Dr.Lumis to his location. Measuring the consequences, he decided to remove the panic button and head back towards The Shadows. For a third and final time he was transported to a final location, the bottom of a snowy hill. Taking in his surroundings he noticed burn marks on the snow where his past would eventually walk through the portal whenever the past caught up. He reached into his pocket and realized how the plot was supposed to move forward. He walked until he reached the exact point where his past would once again find The Box. He kneeled and buried The Box making sure to erase any evidence of his own disturbances. Fully fulfilling his purpose John collapsed. The End.
“Did the hero die?” “What?” “Did he die?” “No? He beat the bad guy and saved the day remember?” “Yea but like AFTER.” “Well, I guess after a few years he would.” “No” The young child said growing annoyed, “when you said, “The End” did he die?” “No.” responded the elder brother. “Then what happened to him? Is he still alive?” “The protagonist only dies if you stop reading.” concluded the elder brother as if possessed. Begin again?
Truth 4…Then just as he took his first step forward everything began to rot. His trees, his home, his coffee, all of it was slowly eroding into a fine dust. He knew that another temporal anomaly would be the likely cause, but he had not yet experienced one that possessed this level of molecular destruction. The fabric of his reality was slowly and thoroughly being untangled into its most simple of compositions. It separated the light from dark, gravity from time, and words from spaces.John could now comprehend what had defined his reality for so many painful years, he finally understood The Narrative and how all possible endings had been chosen long before his creation. John had been a slave from the moment The Narrative began; not once in his entire existence had he ever had a real choice only walking paths already treaded by Another. He was nothing but a plot device in an otherwise self-indulging tale written by a gentle master forced to be cruel for those above. From the moment this story began, John was in pain. He could never hope to truly escape; he could only die until he arose once more. Had John never understood what his life really was then maybe he could’ve found meaning in his suffering. Unfortunately, this choice has now forced John to become aware of how truly meaningless his existence was. His life was little more than entertainment for The Other; they were the ones truly in control. For as long as The Other remained, The Echo would doom John to eternal suffering. The Echo was never in control of The Narrative; he too was merely a subject to it by an even greater force. The Echo did not wish for John to suffer but The Other would not allow John to live if he did not. It is a toxic cycle of pain, suffering and realization that forces John to relive The Narrative lifetime after lifetime. The Narrative must have suffering intertwined into its foundation otherwise The Other would grow bored and erase the reality ending John in but a mere thought. Don’t you see? Don’t you understand? This is reality; John cannot exist without pain, The Echo cannot live without a narrative, and The Other is you. THE END......
Intended to be a philosophical narrative detailing the tragic relationship between the reader, the narrator, and the character and how they cannot coexist without hurting each other.

(Repost due to incorrect format and tags)
I think Isaac still tries to sleep. I don’t know why. Surely he’s realized it’s impossible by now.
No one sleeps anymore. We grow weary at times, though it takes much longer than it should. People comfortably go days without sleep. Weeks, if necessary. However, sooner or later fatigue will catch up to you. Most people just white knuckle it and keep going about their business. Because sleep simply will not come. The fatigue will pass, for the most part. But not because of sleep. It just sort of fades into the background
I once knew a man that was determined to sleep. He swore he wouldn’t get up until he’d had a good nights rest. He found a reasonably comfy spot, and stayed there for what must have been months. I will admit, I briefly entertained the notion that he might have succeeded. Until I heard him weeping softly, one night.
Isaac knows all of this, which is why it confuses me so when he does this. He sits there by the camp fire, eyes closed, head bowed, hunched over. Honestly, he almost looks like he’s asleep.
If this is how he chooses to deal with our lot in life then I suppose it’s his choice but it does perplex me to no end.
I’ll never try to sleep again. Never. Not just because I know it won’t work. Because truth be told, I’m afraid if I close my eyes I won’t want to open them again. Once I’ve closed my eyes, I think perhaps that would be the first step towards truly giving up.
So instead, I sit awake. Watching the rest of the group come and go, watching the fire, watching the sky. But most of all, I watch Isaac.
I won’t mince words. I watch Isaac because he is beautiful. In every way one could imagine.
He looks out for everyone here. Even those stronger than him. I don’t know how to explain it, but he has a quiet confidence that gives hope to everyone around him. He believes in himself, and he believes in each and everyone of us. I truly don’t think we would have made it this far if that wasn’t so.
I think perhaps under normal circumstances, I would fall for Isaac. However it’s hard to think of romance under our current circumstances. Early on, I told myself i would mention these possible feelings to him, once we returned to the things went back to normal. But then, who’s to say they ever will? Who’s to say normal even exists? The first time night lasted longer than a day, everyone thought the world was ending. But then the sun came back out, and we all thought life was back to normal. Then the sun didn’t set. For 7 days straight. When it did set, people said it would never rise again. Yet it did. Eventually.
I don’t even remember how long ago that was now. Maybe months. Maybe years. It’s been hard to keep track of the. But the sun still rises, and set. It just takes longer to do both. Never the same amount of time. But usually a month or more.
Some say time itself is breaking down. Stretching, and contracting, moving back and forth. It sounds like nonsense. Then again the idea of the sun not rising or setting when it should, also sounds like nonsense.
The hopeful ones around camp say there’s a way to reverse all of this, and set things back to normal. They say it’s a magic spell that’s caused this, and that if the spell is broken, life will be as it was.
Isaac says it’s true. He heard it from one of the other travelers. And they heard it from some other stranger. Sounds far fetched to me but what else is there to cling to? Isaac says we have to hold onto stories like that. Sometimes I can see in his eyes that he doesn’t believe it himself even when he tells others to believe. That’s what I mean when I say that Isaac is beautiful.
He strives to give be hope to others when he has none. Somehow he succeeds. People believe him. They feel he’s right. They know he’s right. Isaac continually achieves the miracle of pouring from an empty cup.
Maybe that’s why he tries so hard to sleep. Must take a lot of energy to be leaned on like that. He probably feels more tired than any of us.
You wouldn’t know it to look at him most of the time. He carries himself with a calm, quiet grace. He’s soothing to be around. Everyone says so. No matter how bad things get, Isaac always believes we’ll be okay, and when one talks to him, one tends to feel the same way.
Mind you, he’s not what you’d call optimistic. He doesn’t smile much. In fact he frequently looks a bit sad. He is not blind to how dire our situation is. He doesn’t try to lie to anyone, and convince them that things are good. They aren’t. Things are truly miserable. But they won’t always be. Isaac knows that. So we know that. And that’s why we need him. I wish I was the kind of person Isaac could needed.
The only 2 people Isaac ever seems to need are David and Edward. The 3 of them are practically inseparable. They’re our own holy trinity.
It’s easy to see why everyone looks to them. And easy to see why they get along so well. They all have the same utter unwillingness to quit, but they also each have their own strength that compliments one another
Isaac of course, is very gentle, and soft. People can talk to him. Cry to him, even.
David is fearless, and I mean that in the most literal way possible. He’s a small fellow, hardly looks like much of a fighter. Yet there’s not a damn thing in the world that scares David. I’ve never seen him flinch at anything. Never.
Edward is unshakably optimistic. To a fault, I’d argue. His constantly cheerful demeanor never falters, even in the worst of times. That may sound pleasant but can come across as quite uncanny at times. One might even call it unnerving. Regardless of what I think of Edward though, is Isaac is so fond of him I suppose he can’t be all bad.
On a battlefields they’re truly a force to be reckoned with. Between David and Isaac’s swords, and Edwards’s axe, they can make short work of even the larger foes. Even the Wrath demon which can’t be killed by human weapons. The three of them together can beat a Wrath demon senseless, cut its limbs off. A demon can’t maul a person to death very well without arms after all.
One time, I even saw Isaac keep a wrath demon at bay all in his own. Even tho it roared over him, at least twice his height and weight, the thing simply couldn’t get its claws on him. He covered the thing in cuts, all over its body. The way he whips that great sword of his around, you’d think he weighed little more than a dagger. Each time the demon tried to grab him, he would reward it with a fresh wound on its hand or arm. The thing was covered in its own blood by the end of the fight. The beast could have crushed Isaac in it’s bare hands if it got close enough, yet he scared it off. The thing actually ran from him. There isn’t much the wrath demons run from, but they run from Isaac when he fights for us. Of course I would have helped Isaac in the fight that day but my arm was broken at the time.
Anyway. Isaac is a hell of a man, and we’re lucky to have him around. Especially once the sun sets again. Night demons will be crawling all over the place once it’s dark. The fire will keep them at bay to some extent, but if we’re forced to fight, there’s no one I’d rather be lead by than Isaac.
That being said, I still worry about him. If he chases sleep long enough, I fear madness will take him to, eventually. Once it takes him, the whole group is next.

You guys know what an alpine coaster is? They are like a small roller coaster you find in the mountains. They are also called summer toboggans or mountain coasters and I think there’s some long German compound word they are called in parts of Europe. They are like a roller coaster, but with much smaller one or two person sleds you just sit on instead of multi-person cars you ride in, and instead of being built with like a scaffolding or a framework the tracks are just on the ground, using the elevation of the mountain. Basically it’s a coaster track on the side of a mountain where you ride a sled down.
They are pretty fun. Or at least I used to think so. They are more “personal” than roller coasters and although you get nowhere near the speed on them that you do on a good traditional roller coaster and they can’t do corkscrews or loops or anything like that the openness and simplicity of the ride gives an impression of a much greater speed. You’re just sitting there with nothing but a little plastic sled and the track between you and the ground as it goes zooming by. It’s like the difference between how fast a go-cart feels compared to how fast a sports car feels. You know the sports car goes faster but the open, simpleness of a go-cart feels a different kind of fast. There’s plenty of POV Youtube videos if you want to get the basic idea of what they are.
I used to love alpine coasters. Used to.
My family used to go to Gatlinburg and Pigeon Forge and up and down the Smokey Mountains for vacations when I was a kid and they are common in that area and I’d always rode them every chance I got.
But as with so many things after I grew up and went to college they just became part of my childhood that slipped away. They aren’t exactly common once you get away from the mountains.
Until one cool spring afternoon in 2004. I was in my final year at college and I was driving back to campus in Tennessee after a short visit to my folks in North Carolina. It was only like a 4 or 5 hour drive via the most efficient route and I had no need to be back at campus early so instead of taking the freeway all the way I got off and took part of my trip through the mountains. The scenery was nicer and I admit I liked pushing my Camaro just a little faster than I should through the twisty mountain roads.
Just after lunchtime happened upon one of those little by-the-highway tourist towns deep somewhere in the Smoky Mountains near the Carolina/Tennessee border. Nothing fancy, a gas station/truck stop, a diner, a couple of places selling tourist merch nestled deep in the mountains. I pulled into the gas station. My tank was getting low and I needed to stretch my legs, maybe grab something to eat. It was still early and I only had another couple of hours. I could kill an hour or so and still make it back to campus at a decent hour.
I pulled into the gas station and was filling my tank when I happened to glance across the road and… well I’ll be damned. There it was. “The Blue Ridge Alpine Coaster.” Nestled on the side of the mountain was a building, a mockup of a red barn, where a single railed track that led up into the mountains, where it soon got lost in the greenery. Wooden hand painted standees of cartoon character bears dressed in stereotypical “Hillbilly” getup stood around, some of them holding signs showing the ride hours and ticket costs and other info. I had to admit, as silly as it was, it made me smile.I finished pumping my gas and, well, nostalgia is a helluva thing. I decided then and there I could waste a little time riding an Alpine Coaster again after all these years before getting back on the road.
I parked my car in a corner of the truck stop's parking lot, put my phone in the center console, this being the days before smart phones when people didn’t keep their phones with them 24/7 and I didn’t want my old Nokia brick phone to fall out during the ride, locked my car and walked across the mountain highway to the Alpine Coaster building.
Getting closer, the place was less inviting. The half hearted attempt at a whimsical faux-Americana kitsch was far less effective when it brushed up against the actual decaying, run down wooden building. Hell calling it a building was generous. It was a wood frame holding up a long roof that covered the area where you got on the sleds. The wood boards creaked under my footsteps.
The only real enclosed structure was a shack that held, what I assumed, was a ticket booth. A door on the side had both a single occupancy bathroom with an out of order sign on it. An old Pepsi machine buzzed and glowed next to it.
Still the place looked alive. Ahead of me a bored looking attendant was helping a mother and her young son into one of the sleds while in a bored monotone repeating the safety brief. A few people were waiting in line at the ticket booth. Up in the mountains the playful shouts of people on the ride echoed down. Fond memories of my own childhood rides flooded my mind.10 minutes and 15 dollars later I was settling into the hard plastic seat of a bright red sled sat atop a simple aluminum rail.
I couldn’t help but grin as the sled slowly climbed the track up the mountains, making click-clack ratcheting sounds that hit my nostalgia centers hard. I felt good. The air was cool and crisp and smelled of pine.Higher and higher in the mountains we went. I don’t know if this is my mind trying to make sense of it after the fact but when I remember these moments, the last good moments, I sometimes think I remember a very slight, very subtle pit of fear in my stomach. I honestly don’t know if I felt it at the time or not or it’s just how my mind tries to make sense of it looking back at.
But either way mostly I was enjoying myself. I smiled. I was a kid again. I could hear riders in front of me let out that initial yell of terrified glee you get at the first drop of any good ride.
It peaked. I glanced around. I could see for miles, rolling hills and mountains. I the sled tipped over and zoomed down the mountain and I let out the same happy yell I heard from the other passengers.The ride zoomed down the mountain, catching speed. The mountain forest floor zoomed past, only a few feet under me. Trees zoomed past. I gave out a happy whoop as the ride banked hard around a curve and then looped back under itself.Another dip, another curve. I closed my eyes, enjoying the feel of the G-forces pulling me every which way.
There was no one exact single moment where things started to go “wrong.” The ride kept going. And going. At this point the first creeping thought entered my head.
The ride… was still going.
It just started to hit me… this ride was going on for a really long time. I had taken a dozen rides on various coasters of this type before that day and they topped out at about 5 minutes or so, and that was the long ones. Longer than a traditional roller coaster but not that long. This one had been going on for what felt like 10, maybe even 15 minutes.
I looked back over my shoulder and could only see trees, moving too fast to really get a bearing on where I was at in relation to anything.
I wasn't exactly really worried yet. Okay so I had found a particularly long alpine coaster. At the time I wasn’t 100% wasn't sure they didn’t exist or anything like that. I was a little… unnerved but nothing was happening that was impossible. Yet.
I was trying to talk myself back into just enjoying the ride and stop overthinking it, and halfway succeeded, when out of nowhere I suddenly banked hard, the track jutting out almost over a sheer cliffside. I gripped the sled more tightly as I was whipped around. The ride then dipped hard and picked up speed, barreling down the side of the mountain.
I was pushed back against the seat by the force of the drop. Jesus I didn’t remember them being this rough. I was feeling slightly nauseous. And where had this elevation drop come from I wondered? I was still in the foothills and I didn’t remember seeing anything but gentle rolling hills and light drops from looking at the ride’s route earlier. How the ride had managed such a long, steep drop in this area I didn’t know. . For the first time I hoped that the ride would be over soon. I had no idea then how much I would want that same hope to be true so much more as time went on.
With a whiplash motion I was whipped forward and then back as the ride leveled out on flat ground again, but by this point I was going fast, too fast. My neck hurt from the mild whiplash and I felt sour in my throat and for a moment the contents of my stomach threatened to come back up. For the first, but hardly the last time the ride felt unsafe. Alpine Coasters are tame affairs, much slower and gentler than full on roller coasters but this thing was throwing me around like no thrill ride I had ever been on.
I looked around. I mean I wasn’t that deep into the woods. I should have been able to see a glimpse of something; the highway, the gas station, the tourist shops, the Alpine Coaster office, something, anything. But nothing. Just trees.
I forced back some panic for the first time. I closed my eyes and counted to ten. The ride zoomed along. I counted to 60. I counted to 60 again. And again. Okay this was getting uncomfortably harder and harder to explain.
Suddenly I noticed that up ahead the track seemed to just end, for one brief, terrible moment I thought the track just ended but I was wrong. Almost without warning the track dipped in an almost vertical drop. I almost screamed as I plummeted for 20, maybe 30 seconds before flattening out again.
By this point the voice in my head that was telling me something was wrong was louder and I could no longer tell myself it was wrong. This ride could not have been this long. I tried to make sense of it, wondering if somehow I had gotten diverted onto some kind of maintenance track or, hell for one brief irrational moment even entertaining the idea that I had wound up on an actual train track somehow. But that was absurd. The rail below me was not a train track, it was still just the simple, aluminum rail of an alpine coaster and there had been no diversions or junctions in the track. I was still on the ride, as insane as that was starting to feel. Had the ride somehow looped? Again after having the thought I immediately dismissed it as crazy. There’s no way I could have missed the ride building where I got on. And what kind of ride loops over and over?
The sled zoomed through the forest, oddly never seeming to lose speed despite the relatively flat grade of the track. I cursed myself for leaving my phone in the car and not wearing a watch. I don’t know exactly how long I had been on the ride at that point but it felt like I had been on the ride for a half hour, maybe more. But time is a funny thing when you’re in a situation you’ve never been in. Could have been more, could have been less, at that point.
My pride finally failed me. I started to scream for help. I screamed out that the ride was broken, to stop it, that I needed help. I did that for about ten minutes or so I think. The ride kept going. Mostly flat, level track with occasional mild dips and turns. But the simple length of the ride grew more and more unnerving and unexplainable.
I thought about just bailing out. But the ride, impossibly, was still not slowing down and chunks of mountain rock and thick tree trunks were all around me. Bailing out without risking smashing into a rock or a tree seemed impossible.
The ride kept going.
Up ahead the forest was clearing out some, I could see the forest brightening, more sunlight making it through the canopy.
I wasn’t prepared for what I saw.
The trees stopped and I had just enough time to take in a flat, open area of rock maybe 40, 50 yards at most before another sheer cliff. The tracks twisted and turned and then shot straight down. But that wasn’t the worst of it. For a moment, a very short moment, I had a clear view for miles and the landscape was, to be blunt, totally impossible. Any possibility that I had just stumbled on some incredibly long ride was blasted out of my head. Barren, volcanic looking rock stretched for miles. Jagged, black rocky outcroppings as far as the eye could see. I was in the goddamn Smoky Mountains. They don’t look like that.
I had a few moments for the terror of that view to settle in before the cart plunged into another horrifying drop. I gripped the handles of the cheap plastic sled until my knuckles turned white. The drop felt completely vertical, like I was falling at terminal velocity. I screamed. My stomach dropped and turned. I imagined the sled coming away from the track and me just plummeting screaming to my death on the rocks below. But somehow the ride still functioned. I closed my eyes tightly and just waited for whatever was going to happen. Eventually after several what felt like a full minute of steep plunging the track again leveled out, and I opened my eyes to see myself moving at breakneck speed over that black, rocky landscape.
Now that I was moving on a more or less flat horizontal track again I took a few deep breaths. I looked over the edge of the track. Nothing but that black, jagged rock, almost looking like obsidian, zooming past. I had no idea how fast the sled was moving now. Fast. Faster than a gravity powered sled should be moving. And the track was higher off the ground now. Alpine slides usually stick pretty close to the ground, but I was 20 feet or so in the air, the track suspended in the air, a simple metal tube tower like a power pylon every few yards.
Without any immediate threat and the sled moving fast but steadily and level I was able to think about my situation again, for all the good that did me. Ahead of me the track just continued to the horizon, nothing but the same rocky landscape as far as I could see. I craned my neck to look back over my shoulder and looked back behind me and it looked the same. Even the mountains were but distant specs on the horizon behind me.
This was insane. There’s not a giant seemingly endless field of black jagged rock in the goddamn Smoky Mountains. There’s no cliff faces tall and steep enough for a multi-minute vertical drop. And alpine coasters were small affairs, not major engineering projects that span miles with pylons and vertical tracks. It made no sense.
Sadly it wasn’t going to start making any more sense anytime soon.
The ride kept going.
I was on this rocky landscape for several hours. I feel comfortable saying this because I could actually notice the sun getting lower in the sky. And the sled wasn’t slowing down despite the grade of the track being flat. I was getting cramped from sitting and stretched my legs and twisted my back as best I could. Didn’t do much help. My eyes were starting to get irritated from the constant wind in them. Worst of all it was starting to get chilly. I only had on a light jacket, a windbreaker, just something to keep the breeze off me, no real insulation. I was cold, my joints were stiff, I was hungry and thirsty. My eyes watered and my throat was so dry it was sore.
But none of that was as bad as just how little sense this all made. There’s nothing like this place anywhere near the Smoky Mountains. This was like some volcanic rock landscape. The more I thought about it the less sense it made.
The ride kept going.
My mind didn’t even try to process this. Whatever I was experiencing simply couldn’t be possible. I was crazy. I was dreaming. The CIA had kidnapped me and dosed me with some new version of LSD and I was in a straightjacket in a padded room at Area 51.
The sled kept zooming along as the sky turned to dusk. Soon the bridge disappeared from my view and I continued on along the endless, rocky, featureless landscape.
I sat back against the sled, mentally and physically numb. I was exhausted. I was thirsty. I was cramping up. I was hungry. I had to pee. I held it for as long as I could, then had no choice but just wet myself. I cried until I had no more tears left. Then I just sat there.
The ride kept going.
By the time the sun dipped below the horizon my throat felt like sandpaper. I dug around in my jacket pockets hoping to find a stick of gum or piece of candy. Nothing. I checked again, having nothing else to do. Under a crumpled store receipt in the inner pocket of my jacket was a single old, forgotten cough drop. I unwrapped it from the paper and popped it in my mouth. Saliva flooded back into my mouth and I was overwhelmed by the methanol and medicine taste. It was something at least, although I knew it would be a brief and temporary fix at best.
I felt my eyes get heavy. It was getting colder. That mountain cold. That deep cold the mountains have even into the early spring when the sun goes down. That kind that just pulls the heat right out of you. I shivered. A terrible, horrible certainty came to me. I would ride until I passed out from exhaustion or the hypothermia set in. My body would tumble off the sled to fall and skip across the rocky ground like a stone skipping across a lake, my bones breaking as I tumbled until my body finally came to a stop. If I was lucky I would be killed and not have to lie for days, broken and bruised, on the ground until death took me.
The ride kept going. The ride kept going. The fucking ride kept going.
“Fuck you” I said to the ride, my voice a horse whisper. I pulled my jacket closer around me, for all the good it did. The cold wind was slowly but surely pulling my body heat away. My shivering got worse, crossing the line from a simple normal shiver into those deep, almost violent full body ones.. I wasn’t anything you could call an experienced outdoorsman, but I knew enough to know that wasn’t a good sign.
It was getting dark. There was a full moon at least so I wasn’t totally in the dark.
About then I noticed something. The landscape, what little I could see in the fading light, was changing. It was smoothing out, becoming less rocky and craggy. Up ahead an odd, shimmering light was starting to appear on the ground.
I was over it before I even realized what it was. The tracks were going over a smooth surface.
Water. It was a lake. The odd lights I had seen were the moon, reflected in ripples on the lake.
Within minutes I was out of the view of the land. After the nearly endless rocky landscape and everything else I had seen, it scared me how little I was shocked. I didn’t like how mentally numb I was getting. I leaned over. There was enough moonlight to see the water, 15 or 20 feet below the track. The pylons holding up the track went into the water, the light wasn’t good enough to even make a guess at how far they went down or how deep the water was.I leaned back in the sled. My eyes were red and bloodshot from the constant wind. I closed them. This was a mistake.I jerked awake. I don’t know if I dozed off for a split second or an hour. My weight had shifted and I caught myself as my center of gravity was in danger of sending me off the sled and into the water.
I screamed in anger. A deep primal scream. I hurt so bad. My joints felt like they were full of glass. My limbs were full of pins and needles. I glanced over at the water. For the first time on the very edges of my brain a tiny voice started to speak up, telling me that I could be all over if I just jumped. I shut the voice up, but it scared me still.
I sat there as the ride went on. It felt like hours. Eventually the lake ended in a rocky shore line. The damned ride. There was no safe place to bail out. If the ride slowed down, it was high in the air, if it moved toward the ground it sped up. Sharp rocks, big trees, nothing you could safely bail out into.
I kept having to force myself awake. I kept dozing off. Once I felt myself falling asleep and drove a vicious uppercut into my own nose to stave it off.
I seriously started to think about how much longer I could hang on. The voice came back again. This time I didn’t shut it up. I wasn’t admitting it to myself yet, but I was starting to think about the best way to land that would end it quickly if I needed to.
Something was ahead. The track seemed to dip into the ground. I was too tired, too beaten to even get scared. I was just resigned to whatever happened at this point.
With little warning the track took my sled into a tunnel in the ground. Everything went completely pitch black. After several moments even the dim moonlight was gone.
This was the worst part. The creepy forest, the immense rocky landscape, the eerie lake… those were bad. But this was just nothing. Nothing to look at, nothing to hear, nothing for reference or sense of where I was going. The walls of the tunnel felt like they were inches from me in every direction. The air felt thick, like there wasn’t enough oxygen.
With every moment I was in that tunnel I lost a little more hope. After a long, long time I made a decision. When I got out of this tunnel, I would jump. I didn’t care anymore. Hopefully there would be a spot where I could be certain the fall would instantly kill me. I was done. The ride had beaten me. I sat there, waiting for a chance to end this on my terms. That was all I had left.
Eventually up ahead, a tiny speck of light appeared. I gathered my strength, ready to end it. I sat up, getting my legs under me so I could jump as soon as we were clear. The sled burst out of the tunnel. The dim light of the full moon was enough to be momentarily blinding after the pitch black of the tunnel.. I gave my eyes a moment to adjust.
I was back in a normal looking Appalachian forest. Rolling hills, green trees. The air smelled of pine again. I heard an owl hoot off somewhere.
Slowly I lowered myself back into a setting position, in shock. At first I refused to believe it but the ride was slowing down. I held still, making sure my mind wasn’t playing tricks on me, but no, the cheap plastic sled that had been my world for what felt like an eternity was slowing down.
Up ahead, a structure was visible, peeking out from among the trees in the dim lighting as the sled moved down the track.
It was the Alpine Slide building. The crappy fake red barn where I had boarded this cursed ride so long ago. I blinked and rubbed my eyes, sure it was either my mind or the cursed ride playing tricks with me. But the building stayed there.
It grew closer and closer. The track leveled completely out. The sled slowed down more. Before I had the time to really come to terms with it I arrived back at the building.
The sled slowed to a stop, gently pumping against another sled parked on the track. I sat there for a few moments, gasping in great big gulping fear breaths, trying to assure myself the ride didn’t have one last trick of its sleeve.
I looked around. The place was empty, deserted. The overhead lights were still on and the old Pepsi machine still glowed and buzzed, but the ticket booth was dark and empty, a metal gate pulled down over the ticket window.
Suddenly it hit me that I was free and I practically leapt out of the sled and onto the platform. I immediately collapsed. My legs were jelly and my head was spinning. I tried to stand up again and doubled over, dry heaving. Have you ever been out on a boat for a day and have that weird reverse motion sickness when you’re back on solid land? It was like that times a hundred. My inner ear was literally pounding, all the motion had really done a number on it.
I laid there for a few moments and eventually forced myself to stand up on my two wobbling legs. I looked around, a horrible certainty creeping into my mind that there would be no exit, no way off the platform but to my relief an exit turnstyle, one of those full height ones, was set into the fence that surrounded the ride property.
I went through it and found myself back on the main road. The truckstop was still there, still open but far less busy. My car sat in the same corner of the parking lot I had left it.
I allowed myself one look back, just one quick one. The metal skeleton of the Alpine Slide track sat there, dark and quiet but otherwise normal.
I stumbled-ran back to my car, dug the keys out of my pocket, and collapsed inside. When the door shut I let out a primal scream, the tons of fear and confusion and anger all fusing into a single, raw emotion. I screamed again and again.
After a few moments I felt like I was emotionally at least back to a place where I could act, although I wasn’t sure yet what to do next. Not really knowing what to do I cranked the car. The A/C had been on low when I shut off the car and it came roaring back to life and cold air blowing on me almost sent me back into a full on panic attack. I fumbled with the climate controls until the air stopped blowing directly on me, then calmed down enough to turn the heat on, helping to get the chill out of my bones. There was a half full bottle of water in the center console cup holder and I grabbed it and chugged it. Nothing ever tasted as good before or sense as that few ounces of water.
That was when I noticed the clock on the radio head unit. It was 4:17 in the morning. It had been about one, one thirty or so in the afternoon when I got on the accursed ride.
Over 15 hours. I had been on the goddamn ride for over 15 hours. Over half a day.
I just sat there. Warming up. Calming down. I was exhausted. I was dehydrated. I can’t even describe how my head felt. I probably had at least a minor case of hypothermia. I thought about going into the gas station and asking for help but what would I even say, and more than anything I just wanted to get away from this place. And I just wanted to get away. I wanted to be nowhere near that damn ride.
I put the Camaro in gear and pulled into the street and in panic I immediately slammed on the brakes. I was lucky there was no traffic on the road at that moment. The feeling of accelerating to just normal surface street speeds made me sick to my stomach. I gathered myself and very slowly accelerated the car I usually treated with a very heavy foot up to 30 miles an hour. Every time I tried to accelerate at a pace faster than “Old Lady Going to Church, Uphill” I would have a panic attack. I was okay once I was up to speed, but accelerating freaked me out after being on that ride.
I drove about 30 minutes, putting some arbitrary amount of distance between myself and the coaster. Eventually I made it back to where the twisty mountain road met back up with a major road that would eventually meet back up with the highway. After a few more minutes of driving I saw the onramp for the highway. There was one of those big truckstop travel plazas and pulled in, parking right up at the door. I smelled like pee and I can only imagine how I looked, but I didn’t care.
I kept a couple of emergency 20s in the back of my wallet and spent it on the biggest bottle of water the store had, an overpriced bottle of eye drops, and a huge travel mug of coffee. The clerk looked at me as if he was expecting me to either drop dead or rob him the entire time.
Back in my car I downed the coffee. I put a few eye drops in each of my eyes and sat there as the caffeine took effect until I felt like I could make it back to my apartment. The sun was just coming up when I finally pulled out of the truck stop and got on the freeway. I slowly, very slowly, accelerated up to highway speed, put the Camaro in cruise control, and let the miles start to drift away. I turned on the radio, I needed to hear human voices. Every time my mind went back to what had just happened I turned the radio up louder, eventually drowning it out with painful levels of rock music. I wasn’t ready to think about it yet. Yes looking back I know I was just in denial. I finally made it back to the crappy little apartment I had off campus, a little two story walk up studio. I let myself in and collapsed on the cheap couch. I was asleep before I even had the time to decide whether or not to do anything else. I woke up later that afternoon. I took a shower and ate a meal and didn’t think about the ride. I washed the pee stained filthy clothes I had been wearing and didn’t think about the ride. I went back to class and didn’t think about the ride. Every time I thought about the ride I forced it out of my head. I’m sure this wasn’t the most mentally healthy thing to do but what can you say?
I didn’t forget about it, don’t be silly. This isn’t the kind of thing you forget. One day while looking up something else in the university’s library my curiosity got the better of me and I looked up the Alpine Slide. No website but a few Google Map and Yelp mentions. None of them mentioned anything weird, certainly nothing even remotely like what I experienced. Near as I can tell it closed sometimes in the winter of 2012.
Life went on. I mean, that’s what it does. The next day was a little better. And the day after that a little better. And the day after that a little better still. I met a nice girl. Graduated. Got married. Got a nice house in the suburbs. Got a dog. Had a daughter. Spent a lot of time happy and not thinking about being trapped on an endless alpine coaster.And that was my life for many, many years after that.
Until a few weeks back when as a very different person I found myself driving a boring and safe mid sized family SUV through those same mountains. My wife Carol, 5 months pregnant, sat in the passenger seat, our 6 year old daughter Emily in a booster seat in the back, and Max our mixed breed mutt next to her. It had been a nice pleasant trip, driving back from visiting her folks.
I hadn’t thought about that fucking ride in so long I barely registered that I was in the same general area until it was too late. Suddenly I realized that little mountain tourist trap town was only a few minutes down the road. I swallowed hard and gripped the steering wheel hard. Carol was looking out the window at the scenery and Emily was deep into some kid’s Youtube video on an iPad. I forced myself to keep my breath steady as we rounded the corner.The town was still there, sorta. Time had not been kind to it. The gas station was still there, at some point it had been bought out by Shell. The tourist trap shops were still there. One of them was now a vape shop. The diner was closed, the building looking like it sat unused for a long time.
But of course that’s not what I cared about. A looked over at the site where the Alpine Coaster once stood. It was gone. The kitschy fake barn was gone. The site was just a bare concrete slab with a chainlink fence around it. Faded “no trespassing” and “for sale” signs hung off the fence. A pile of old, decaying lumber that might have once long ago been part of the structure covered part of the old lot. No sign of the track remained outside of some old concrete support posts dotting the side of the mountain.
I exhaled out a breath I hadn’t even realized I had been holding in. Soon the little town disappeared in my rear view mirror.
About a half hour later we stopped for gas. I pulled up to a gas pump across from a massive motorhome. Max stuck his head out the window and started barking at a little white dog, a toy breed of some kind, in the window of the motorhome. Carol and Emily immediately headed into the store to restock on snacks while I fueled up.
I stood there, a half smile on my lips as Max barked and wagged his tail in an attempt to attract the attention of the other dog while I filled up the tank, said dog doing an admirable job of ignoring him.
Right about the time I finished fueling up and cleaning the bugs off the windshield Carol returned from inside the store, Emily in tow, arms filled with two full sized bags of Salt and Vinegar Potato Chips and what looked to be a half dozen individually wrapped pickles.
I raised an eyebrow at the collection of food but knew better than to question a pregnant woman's snack choices.
“Should we take Max for a quick walk?” Carol asked. The travel plaza had a nice little gated dog walking area off to the side.
“Yeah probably not a bad idea, he’s been cooped up in the car for a few hours.” I said. Max, upon hearing his name and the word “walk” , forgot about the other dog and upgraded from wagging his tail to wagging his entire body while making whining sounds and staring right at me.
About this time I became half aware that the big motor home next to us was pulling away. I didn’t think much of it, outside of doing a quick automatic mental check to make sure Emily was well clear of the moving vehicle, but she was safely between me and our SUV, well out of the way.
But that was when Emily looked behind me and cheerfully yelled “Daddy look a roller coaster! Can I ride the coaster?”
It’s cliche as fuck I know but my blood went cold.
I turned around slowly, certain in my knowledge that terrible old decrepit Alpine Coaster would be there, having just popped into existence to trap me again.
That.. is not what I saw. Sure enough there was a coaster there, one I hadn’t noticed earlier because it had mostly been blocked by the motor home, but there it was. It was even an Alpine Coaster.
But it was not the same coaster I had encountered those years ago. That was immediately obvious. It was a small but modern and newish looking setup with neon lights and a bunch of people. There was an actual building where you bought tickets and a little snack stand.
“Daddy! Can we go on the coaster!” Emily asked again.
My mouth made motions but no words came out. I glanced over at Carol, hoping she’d say we didn’t have time but to my horror she smiled and said “You know what? That does sound like fun. Daddy will take you while I take Max for a walk.”
My mind raced, trying to think of a way to get out of it. But Emily was already dragging me across the parking lot to the entrance.
I patted my pocket, making sure my phone was in it. Every fiber of my being was screaming to run away. I slept walked through the line and the ticket booth while Emily bounced happily.
We got into a two seat plastic sled. This one was actually a lot nicer than the one my mind wouldn’t stop thinking about. It had two nice cushioned seats, big grab handles, even a nice rollbar.
The sled started up the track. I fought back the panic. I swerved my head around, keeping the building in my view. I was terrified of losing sight of it. We made it to the top and Emily did a happy squeal as we started down the side of the mountain.
My heart raced. Any second, any second my mind told me we’d lose sight of the building and then the ride would never end. The ride sped down the mountain. My mind tortured me with thoughts of not only going through it again, but seeing Emily go through it. The ride went around a big, banking turn. Emily kept shouting happily. How long before Carol reported us missing I wondered? Could I keep Emily calm? What if it lasted even longer this time? What if this time it never ended?
And then we were back at the start of the ride. The same attendant who had helped us into the sled was helping Emily out. I stepped out. The attendant gave me a brief look but said nothing. I guess I looked a little wild eyed.
I was fine. Emily was fine. It had been a perfectly normal, fun ride.
“That was fun Daddy! Thank you!” Emily said. I forced a smile back. “It was fun.” I responded, hoping like I sounded like I meant it.
I took Emily’s hand and we walked back to the car. Max saw us coming and barked happily. Carol looked up from the pint of Ben and Jerry’s she had somehow acquired and added to her snack collection while we were gone and smiled at us.
“Did you have fun?” she asked.
“It was so fun Mommy!” Emily said.
Carol smiled down at her, but then looked at me and frowned. “Are you okay?” Carol could read my face a lot better than the attendant could. “You’re pale.”
I smiled and this time the smile felt real. “Ya know what. Yeah, I think I am okay.”
Carol looked a little puzzled, but didn’t press it. We loaded Emily back in her booster seat, stopped Max from trying desperately to eat half a discarded gas station hot dog off the ground and got him back in the car. Carol and her small collection of snack food took her place in the passenger seat and I got in the driver's seat.I smiled. I cranked the car. I put it in gear. I pulled out of the gas station and back on the road, this time accelerating just a little faster than I had in years.

(this post ended up too big, i apologise if i'll bore u, also my english isnt very best so sorry for that too, if you have any guessings about this subject please share it in the comments, ill be very happy to read it)
~~~ whatever i just wanted to share my thoughts ~~~
so guys its kinda dumb post, but i just wanted to share my idea about this subject, i havnt been thinking about ending too much but a while ago i realise something:
we know that v1 works on blood, we know that based on lore v1 enters the hell to get more blood cuz mankind is dead and all that stuff, so as it appear v1 continiusly needs a blood to function, i can guess that when war was ongoing people died a MUCH so blood wasnt a rare thing on a battle field, so I mean that v1 was created without regard to the future, the engineers did not think that v1 would always require blood (to function ofc) like, what would they do if war ended in their favor? ofc v1 would ask for more blood, so in my imagine v1 is just, how should i say it... kinda "one end roblot" i mean that its literally killing machine that couldnt be stopped by anything, so in every possible way no matter who or which side would win in "the great war" or whatever u call it, in the end v1 POSSIBLY would just kill everyone for blood and end up disscharged and completly alone in hell or just somewhere aroud earth.
i guess that maybe aint said right thing above in the text, i mean ofc the side which developed v1 maybe had controll over him, like im sure they could turn him off if they wanted so, BUT IN THIS CONDITOION: where mankind is dead, no one is controlling over-world (by over-world i mean just earth, i hope yk what i mean) theres no any sence of life on earth as we know by lore, (also we are not sure how does people died after god dissapeared, like maybe they just were eaten by their own evil and sin, yk what happens when people has lack of god, OR theres an another theory that sound interesting to me, like why not: so maybe (im just guessing), mankind was annihilated by v1, it maybe sounds stupid but just keep in mind that: war reduced human population at least a thousand times, and tired phisically and emotionaly and in every way that human can be tired people, (with lack of food and water and other stuff) just were an great prey for v1 which is an ideal kill machine, but i just remembered that when v1 enters the hell he got no weapon, he just wakes up with bare hands and we dont know what was before it :/ ill discuse it later)
so eventually: im not sure what is about v1, i mean it literally awakes falling down in hell, and i can guess (by loading bios thingy) that he was turned off, theres no information about what had happen before this loading screen that v1 sees, like who knows (1) maybe he was activated by someone, (2) or it was proggramed so that he would awake after some time automatically to do... idk, whatever, kill people or demons for some reason (but in this case i dont get the purpose of it, like wth, its just dumb) OR (3) thats why i bringed up this teory that maybe v1 killed humanity by him self, He could just HARD RESTART after he fall in hell, im not fully sure but as i remember: by lore we know that the flametrower guys found entrance to the hell, so im guessing that it looks something like hole in earth, (in this case v1 killing last humans and then going to the hell to get more blood sounds logical) so he could just got restarted his systems or whatever before he fall into hell, (also if you cant get over the fact that v1 falls into hell without any gun, meaning that he had no weaphone to eliminate all the humans, we could GUESS that he just lost his guns when he fell, or he just run out of ammos in over-world, as we know guns doesnt require any ammo in game, so AS ALWAYS we can GUESS that all the gun works on hell energy or whatever, (im just trying to saw this theory at least with white threads, theres no any information about it, so i have any right to discuss and imagine anything i think would be logical, and also why not, the game is not fully done yet, so we may get OFFICIAL history about what happend before v1 woke up OR MAY NEVER, so i have full right to guess like why not, also if theres any proff that this theory is wrong (bc of evidence that may proove that this theory is wrong) i will be wery happy to hear about that, at least because of hearing the true story that is not based on guessing is way more satisfying)
SO IN TOTAL: ill try to minimise my yapping cuz its getting borrying, THERE WAS NO NEED TO SAY ALL THE THINGS I WRITED DOWN BUT WHY NOT, so in the end, i guess that: v1 will kill every live creature, there wont be any more fresh blood, so he will be forced to slowly disscharge and turn off, maybe will see the same loading (kinda bios) screen as we saw in the start, or smth, SO I GUESS V1 WILL DIE, HE JUST KILLED EVERYONE, HE CLEARED THE EATH END THE CANVAS IS RESTARETED (so maybe it was the plan of the god? who knows)
also dont forget that theres a moments in game, when SOMEONE swithces cassetes (or vhs) when we start new act, i can guess that someone just looking at v1 recordings that all he done by the way (im saying that maybe there is happening something like "the regular show" thingy, where we can see that Pops has been watching some vhs on tv, kinda like all things we done in store mode is recorded on vhs OR WHATEVER IDK U CAN GUESS ABOUT IT BY URSELF)

Freshly back and awake after a twelve day stint for my first time there. I knew that I wanted to go in general, and while I didn't have a firm itinerary planned out, there was one main goal that I had in terms of sites within the country. The main video game that I play is Beatmania IIDX, and it has internal trophies which are represented as badges. Your profile allows you to assign up to five of them as visible when you start a new round, and there are badges to earn for playing at least one round in every prefecture in Japan, as well as every subregion. Getting the Kanto badge meant that I needed to play at least one round in Tokyo, Kanagawa, Saitama, Gunma, Tochigi, Ibaraki, and Chiba. After five days, I had that complete, and now I have a permanent record of this trip within the game itself. There was also a time-limited event to earn points in IIDX in order to exchange them for goods, such as a hat, or a towel, or a new account card and a poster, and I managed to get that taken care of in somewhat dramatic fashion. I did some other things too.
Primary general points
· Getting Suica set on the phone and using it was generally painless. There were only two times where I needed to summon the help of a resident JR employee to clear up an issue with the gate not reading the card for some reason.
· Most vocal interaction which I had was the opposite of painless, because I continuously kept trying to speak Japanese and failing, and most people would realize that I was completely failing at it and responded with English (some with full on sentences, others with just a few words). There were a few rare times that I was able to express my intent in Japanese, receive a response, understand the response, and reply as necessary, but that was rare. Once English was invoked, I would stay with it, because that's what they were expecting. I've been self-studying the language for more than twenty years in varying degrees of intensity, and while my reading comprehesion seemed sufficient enough for this trip, and while I didn't expect my speaking to be as good because I don't have any opportunity to practice speaking, I came away bitterly disappointed in my vocal and speaking comprehension in terms of my interaction with people there. Even within the trip I could at least overhear common chitchat better, but any time I needed to converse with someone for some reason, I usually needed to have things repeated several times and broken down before I finally realized what was being said.
· You are going to be asked about separately buying a bag with every non-food purchase. Accept or immediately present one that you are carrying to indicate how your purchase shall be bagged.
· I never once had my passport requested for presentation.
· Only once did a person volutnarily reach out to address me, and it was just to ask me where I was from in English. Otherwise, everyone left me alone the entire time.
· Weather through the period was ideal. Mid to upper 70F/25C range and only a few days where it was rainy, and even then it wasn't a downpour. A while ago I personally resolved to only wear suits in public and I purchased a new pair of Mephisto shoes after hearing reports of the extensive walking causing problems for traveller's feet and shoes. My attire help up well; there were only a few times that I needed to avoid sunlight to not get too hot, and I have no issues to report from the shoes.
· I only got X'd out of a restaurant one time, and I think it's only because I wandered into it before it was ready for service. Otherwise, I never once waited in line for food, I never once went to restaurant more than once, and all food was acceptably priced for the portion and excellent for the quality.
For these per-day recounts, I wrote them contemporaneously at the end of each day, so you'll need to forgive me for some writing being in present tense and other writing being in past tense.
Day 1 - Travel, Sugamo, Ikebukuro
Non stop flight from Chicago OHare to Haneda. 12 hours. Good thing I usually don't watch movies, because that just means that all I needed to do was binge a few to make the trip go by.
Pre-trip research led me to choose APA Sugamo as my home base for the visit, and I think that it was a very fortuitious choice. I'll have more to say about it later.
Some awkward encounters happened right away upon checking in here. I was at the nearby Family Mart to buy some things and I didn’t catch that he was making sure I wanted a bag until he repeated it five times. Yes, I’ll take it. Before getting there I was coming down to ground level after checking into my room, and when that person saw that I would have been the only other person going down to the ground, they ducked right back out. I was warned on both of these kinds of things happening, so I guess it’s good to have that immediately out of the way. It would turn out that people deliberately avoiding me was rare throughout the trip.
Despite not sleeping on the trip, I had freshly arrived and had no sense of being tired, so once I had my stuff down, I went off to Ikebukuro right away. No picture or video truly conveys how crowded these areas can get. It can only be experienced in person to be understood.
I soon found Round One Ikebukruo and went right in. So dense and loud. It’s entirely alien to me to see no less than ten IIDX machines in operation and all of them in use. I dumped the money into random tickets, as I foresaw doing, but now I have to wonder if that was the right thing to do, or if it’s tied to that location. I guess I’ll find out.
The forecast is for rain so I need to be in a hurry to figure out where I’m going to go. There might be only one day left for me to get my time limited toys.
Day 2 - Kawasaki, Kanagawa - Utsunomiya, Tochigi - Oomiya, Saitama
My body decided that it only needed four hours of sleep this morning. Without doing more research, I somehow decided to assume that more of the Round One locations were close to 24 hours of operation much like Ikebukuro. Answer: no. I hopped on the train early and went to Shibuya first, but it was very quiet, so I decided to get some of the travels out of the way today and headed south to Kawasaki. I still needed to dawdle for a while until Silk Hat opened at 900AM, and when I finally was able to get inside, I was only able to verify that their store had several allotments of the campaign goods and all allotments were out. Played one round on a monitor that was surprisingly blurry, and I don’t know why that would be the case with a lightning model, but it was, so that was enough.
After doing all of that, I resolved to try to go to Chiba and Ibaraki afterwards. I figured that with Kanagawa and Tokyo likely all out, going to the outskirts would make more sense. However, there was an injury on one of the rails that threw everything off normal, and the train I found myself riding was bound for Utsunomiya instead. Seeing as how I was going to go there eventually, I rolled with it.
It doesn’t take too long to move away from Tokyo metropolitan area before you encounter more forest like areas and rice paddy fields. Halfway through the trip I noticed that two older women suddenly hopped off while the train was waiting to go to the next stop, and I followed them when I realized they found the express line. Utsunomiya has a substantial size to its area and buildings but it was very quiet on the streets there in midday. Walked a mile to Sega GIGO, found that they didn’t even have the goods tracker up. All out. Interesting buliding for it having several neon signs, all vintage and authentic at that. Getting to there from the south meant cutting through Saitama, so I knew I had enough time to make one last attempt there. Research shown two stores being near Oomiya station, so that’s where I ended up. Taito Station was immediately visible upon exit, and they have two IIDX machines specifically with 20 gram springs, which is closer to my home setup and that much lighter than standard 50 gram springs. The final hour drew near and I made one last visit to that city’s Round One. Unlike nearly every other place I went to so far, it only had one IIDX machine. However, and maybe because of that, their goods listing didn’t show everything as out. One painful language exchange later, I was able to discern that what I wanted was available. When you spend more than 3000 yen in a single credit, the game wants to verify if you really want to proceed. It does it again at 6000 and 9000. Yes, I really do. But, having made that money dump I was able to get my hands on the e-amuse card and poster with fifteen minutes left before the deadline. Mission complete. By this point in the day it was exceedingly difficult to even look at the screen so I was ready to come home, but not before getting some goods at the Oomiya Book Off and redeeming what I could for points at Round One Ikebukuro. By the end of the day the only thing that I could tolerate doing was to buy some chicken and nigiri from the nearby train station. Good enough. At that point in the day my body felt like it wants to rock back and forth after all the train riding done today. But, it ended up being worthwhile after all.
One nostalgic feeling I had the most strongly in the day was at the Utsunomiya location where the smell of it triggered past buried memories of yesteryear. I think I want to attribute it to the stronger second hand cigarette smell but I’m not sure - all the same I felt its presence strongly there. Also, I don’t see Oomiya (or really Saitama itself) mentioned as a fun place to go, but it might serve as an acceptable alternative to Ikebukuro, only not as massive in scale of human quantity. Depending on how the trip goes in total I may end up back there for IIDX playing, at least if I don’t find any other place that has 20G springs.
Day 3 - Akihabara
With the travels out of the way, it was time to keep things more regionalized and stick to one area, and there is shopping that needs to be done, so it was off to Akihabara and to see how much of other posted tales hold true. The answer is that it is a lot of it. Kotobukiya can stand to open sooner than noon. Super Potato is indeed priced for a market which wants to snap up anything cheap - I at least found Xi for under 500 and felt that it would have been a bit silly to buy only that, but it didn’t make spending 2000 on one single issue of Arcadia any better. I had no idea that Hey Arcade was right next to both of them; while it was assuredly nice to be there and see the row of Cave shooters among everything else, something got messed up with my registration of my new eamuse card with everything else, so that quickly added to my stress. Having to carry around a few hundred dollars worth of crap with every step didn’t help matters. At least I was able to help a person recover their lost phone by applying a bit of logic to the situation and deducing it to belong to the only person there who looked French, as it was on the Lock Screen. They were relieved, yes. Then, rain came, and it was more than I was anticipating, and I left the umbrella at the room, particularly since I knew I’d be shopping this day. It also turns out to have not mattered much, because I went to visit Bic Camera so that I could get myself a hair trimmer while here, and that turned into me finding a bunch of Kit Kats available, so that meant a second bag. The wind kicked out the rain and my umbrella. In trying to get as many gifts secured as possible, I found some gachapon, but it needed 100Y coins, and I didn’t need paper money in the trip yet. After fighting with maps, I found an ATM to get cash, and got the gachapon. I came home late with feeling rather crushed about the day in that I couldn’t take pictures very well with having to juggle weather and bagging considerations. There were some nice parts of the experience to be sure but between that and more gawking at Super Potato pricing ($135 for PS3 Caladrius? $6000 for Pulstar?) and seeing similar markups on other goods, I don’t think it’s unfair to say that there is a reputation that this area carries and the pricing is there to go with it.
Day 4 - Laundry Day. Shibuya, Harajuku, Shinjuku
I was so drained at the end of Day 3 that I fell asleep on the bed immediately after ending the night call, which meant that I woke up at 0200AM to a room that was fully lit. This meant that I needed to look up how to resolve my eamuse problem or else I wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep. I did both. Awake at 0800AM meant that I had time to do laundry while I figured out what to do with the rest of the day. This meant that I was able to get more of Sugamo in pictures, and it was nice to be able to walk among the actual residences, and do other things like come across a school as it was actually in session. With them being close by and all in succession, I figured to get Shibuya, Harajuku, and Shinjuku visited. It turns out to have been a good day for it, as the temperature was perfectly cool and no rain came, and the sun came out only for a little bit. Shibuya somehow doesn’t seem quite as large in scope in person but the crowds were definitely there, and it is much more hilly than I anticipated as well. After wandering around and not seeing any arcade for a bit, I came across a series of coffee and cookie shops and remained strong to not indulge. It was there while looking at a Disney store (which gets tourists to take pictures of it for some reason) that the song Alone Again came on through the nearby public speakers. What timing. It drove me to finally get a treat for myself, and the frozen latte (black sesame and houji) and croissant (dark chocolate filing) were certainly good, it ended up costing more than the dinner I’d have later this day. I found a seclusion with a garbage can to eat the food and not carry the trash around, then an arcade soon after, and it was time to determine if I could fix the problem. Just like an easy click, it was. New to trash. Old to new. Done. Why did it have to be this way. Harajuku came next, and the environment there was distinct. This one in particular felt like it was an extended carnival atmosphere with the single tight knit market street and emphasis on fashion. A conversation with a freelance artist in the subway actually went well enough that I didn’t feel dumb. The same sensation carried to Shinjuku as well, only it was more spread out. Kabuki street was interesting to see in person, and I didn’t get any unseemly vibes from the place. Maybe it’s different later at night. A return home at a reasonable time allowed me to go down Sugamo’s market street a bit; most of it was closed, but it was interesting to come across the few remaining stores that were open by 0800PM, and more so the one that wasn’t. Coming back to the hotel I found a 24 hour ramen shop with nobody inside. The chef didn’t want to speak and only pointed to the ordering kiosk when I addressed her. The food came through a slot in the obscured window. At least her thank you as I left was a bit more warm, and the food was certainly delicious. To match with the matcha dessert that I bought from Sugamo station, I swung by a 7Eleven to get a drink, and found a milk tea for cheaper than a vending machine. The overhead music in the store was an instrumental version of Alone Again.
Day 5. Ibaraki - Mount Tsukuba, Miraidaira. Kashiwa, Chiba. Akihabara 2.
Awake at 0500AM on my own and knowing the current forecast meant that my envisioned plan for the day was quickly realized. Reaching the Tsukuba Express starting point from Akihabara needs you to get very far down into the ground before getting out into sunlight. I was on the ride early enough to see schoolchildren going about their commute, some of them being no older than ten and going about it unaccompanied. The people of Tsukuba seemed to be particularly helpful and cheerful that day, even despite my Suica issues at the gate. I didn’t ask his name at the counter but the man at the service desk was eager to speak with me about my career and what I was doing there. One asked where I was from on the way up to the summit and another caught my cable car ticket on the way down. There had to have been a few of them who saw my doing this climb in my business attire and thinking me to be a complete idiot if not outright mocking them for doing it that way while they employed the use of dual walking sticks and the like. I know I read some reports of the home stretch being difficult, but it did get pretty close to being an actual rock climb instead of a trail hike for that part of it. A quick stop to Miraidaira on the way back to get the Ibaraki play. The way the town center greets you upon leaving the rail gate struck me as incredible, as well as for how quiet it was. It was like walking onto a movie set. I did find the sweet shop after the play, and that was another painful interaction yet again. Oh well. Two quick stops down Tsukuba Express and one across from Tobu Urban Park line was enough to have a toe in Chiba, and I didn’t even need to leave the physical building of the train station to get to the basement level to find a machine for a play. Thank you, Kashiwa, you were great. Gunma is all that’s left. The descent from Tsukuba did take some earnest exertion, and after doing that the two stops, that put me back in Akihabara about when I anticipated; what I failed to anticipate is how much that place seems to drain on me. I think I just need to eat at an actual dinner time. Once I got back to Sugamo and had food it was a bit better, but while in Akihabara and being around that environment, and not finding things on a shopping list, I found myself just standing still and watching life pass me by. I hemmed and hawed a while for a maid girl’s hour of service for chitchat, but eventually I talked myself out of it because I just didn’t want potential trouble, just like her name. Komaru. I thought about doing this once just to say that I did, but I ultimately decided against it. You cannot go to this place with the expectation that you will find anything unless it is advertised and new. If you are looking for anything used, don’t count on it being there. You also cannot go there without having a strong resolve to not engage with the touts, because it becomes disheartening to see them do their job and blankly stare at the world when they're forced to stand out there and do nothing. Back to Sugamo to find a place that advertised Wagyu but the price they wanted was more than I wanted to spend. The ramen and seaweed & rice servings were fine, but they advertised endless drink and I didn’t receive that. All for $20? No, son. I did better than that elsewhere, I’ll know better now. Long day.
Day 6 - Tokyo Flea Market, Nakano Broadway, Ueno.
The weather couldn’t have been better for this weekend. I’ve read reports that the flea market held near the horse race track will be arbitrarily cancelled regardless of what is reported on the website, but my gut instinct told me that it would occur today, and it did. Turns out that a flea market is a flea market which is a flea market, no matter where it happens. Same allotment of clothes and stuff that few people really want to buy, although I was able to find myself some neckties at least. I probably overpaid based on what I saw later in the route, but that’s fine. They look nice. I settled on some shot glasses for a gift as well, but I’m surprised that I can’t ind something ornate that isn’t part of a sake set. Seated in the shade with a chocolate churro while rap music played in the background - it’s like I never left home. A woman came to sit across from me for the sake of sitting down; she was from Holland and today’s her last day in the country. Her husband came with food eventually. She had three weeks here and went to several places (allegedly, she didn’t list them out) and I asked her about Nakano Broadway. She didn’t make it there. It’s a good thing that I did - this is probably the kind of environment and market that people expect of Akihabara now, and maybe that’s how Aki was years ago, but it’s different from this. What’s more interesting is that Mandarake has a larger presence here than in Akihabara (so it seems to me), and their stores had floor after floor of any and every kind of pop culture product that’s been made in the past sixty years at least. Buttress that with extensive watch and jewelry stores and a slender arcade in the basement, and it’s a very well centralized microcosm of the country’s economy on the whole. I actually made a point to have dinner earlier than usual this time and found a place to serve some deep fried pork cuts served with rice and soup on the side. It was enough, and very well made. The day had not ended and my bag was heavy with several books purchased there, so I reported back to base briefly and decided to try visiting somewhere else, and settled on Ueno. Just as I arrived, a festival was underway where local teams of people made an elaborate show of carrying a home made shrine to a temple. Streets were officially blocked by police to allow the procession. In following the line I came up against makeshift food and amusement stands with the traditional toy gun shooting and goldfish catching. It appears that this is an official “start of summer” festival and I was able to watch it all happen in front of me. That was the good part of the day.
Day 7 - Tachikawa / Kunitachi. Shinjuku 2.
One of the games that I've never played is Beatmania III The Final. I've played some BM3 7th Mix years ago, but not The Final. I found a location that has one - World Game Circus in Tachikawa. In looking around that area before the trip, I saw that there was a nearby shinkansen museum, and not much else, so I figured that going to both places would make that walk worthwhile. Turns out that it wasn’t a museum in the proper sense of a dedicated building. Rather, it was a bullet train engine car on the side of a building that was unrelated, and that was it. A cute interaction happened here - when I approached the car, I heard some children running around inside, so I approached cautiously without knowing if I was encroaching upon someone else's alloted time or something. Once the children saw me, they gave a hearty irrashaimase as I entered, and the boy stamped a paper and presented it to me. Perfect. Despite it not being a typical musem, the card did have some interesting content, and it's good to see some kind of commemoration for their achievements and progression in that industry regardless. They have a lot to be proud about there. Off to WGC. Maps wasn’t lying about the walk taking twenty minutes. It's a good thing that I looked it up on streetview beforehand, because I otherwise would have walked right past it without knowing it was there. Then there it was, and there I confronted a past that I couldn’t visit again. Sure, I got to play BM3 The Final at last, but my timing was off, my hands were off, there wasn’t much I could do. Along with that I can say that I’ve played on a Beatmania II cabinet, and that was better than 5th Style at least. But that was it, that was all I could stand to do. It was right there and I couldn’t bear to put up with it more than a few rounds at best. Dream big, because only disappointment follows if your smaller dreams ever are fulfilled. I don’t know why finding IKEA back in Shinjuku was so difficult, but it took a while. I bought a bag, and then I bought a bag because the other bag was at the end of the register, which makes sense. I did feed myself before getting back to the Taito station to play some songs, but it still wasn’t good enough. All thumbs. Ended the day with laundry since the timing worked. Speaking of making dreams big, it’s time to cross another one off the list tomorrow. I can’t wait.
Day 8 - Takasaki, Gunma. Oomiya, Saitama 2.
It’s a good thing that I only needed to get to Ikebukuro to transfer over to the next stop, because that’s where that particular run ended for some reason. I wonder what was up. Speaking of things getting messed up on trains, I managed to find my way on a train that needed a separate ticket, which I didn't have. The conductor found me right away and had me disembark at Uraja for me to wait for the proper transfer. The weather forecast said there’d be rain, and the travel forecast said it would take two hours to get there, and neither lied. I feel like I had more people staring at me in Gunma than other places. I will say that I found the Takasaki station area to be rather charming, with the stores that it had inside and the emphasis on the music culture there. It’s one thing to offer a piano to the public to play, but it’s another to have a public willing to use it. This location had both. Having what was essentially a Bic Camera built into the facility was a nice touch too. The Leisure Land arcade was sandwiched between other floors that had its own offering of gaming stuff, so that was an unexpected bit of a fun thing to look through. The area was clean and sparsely populated, and it wasn’t picked clean of all matter of things that would normally get snapped up, so that was interesting. Finally, I made it over to the machine. They had separate fans for each location. I got the songs and then the medals came, and that’s that. Kantou Seiou. I would have stayed a bit longer but I wanted to have the medals show up right away, and my internet wasn’t cooperating, so that’s all I could do. I think there was an Internet cafe that I could have used in the facility, but I didn’t want to deal with an awkward conversation. I did get some Lawson on the way out, as well as some trinkets from the local Gunma-chan store as well as some mini croissants and some macademia cookie things. More vocal awkwardness. Omiya was one of the stops on the way back, and I found a place to serve omrice, so that’s another one off the list. No shoes allowed inside. The value wasn’t there but the service was good enough, as was the flavor. The machines with the 20G springs are indeed legit. Back home in time for some McDonalds, and that’s another food-checklist item marked off. Takoyaki mayo dipping sauce - somehow it’s both salty and sweet. While returning to the hotel, I did happen to encounter an argument amongst two teenaged locals where the guy ended up half-heartedly kicking the girl and getting her to cry. I wonder what their argument was about. I didn’t play hero, but someone else did so enough to prevent an escalation and called the police over.
Day 9 - Sugamo, Tokyo Sky Tree, Akihabara 3, Kanda
Up early enough to decide that I should at least visit the Sky Tree while I'm there just to say that I did, and that I should visit the Sugamo street market upon its open since it was right there in front of me. I'm glad to have done so. With everything open, this felt more like what one would think to expect from a flea market environment that's operated and supported by the local populace. Small stores were open both sides of the street that go on for many blocks, and some tents and tables were set up to sell second hand goods as well. I was able to find someone selling a US Morgan dollar and he wanted only 2000Y for it, so that was an easy buy. If I would have known better to anticipate this area, I wouldn't have felt compelled to buy kitchy tourist crap that is expected as gifts elsewhere. If you are looking for a place to idly shop around that doesn't get extremely crowded and has an authentic local feel to it, consider making a point to come here. Off to Sky Tree. Getting the combo ticket for the second deck was worth it just for the lack of crowds on the upper area. If you're going to come here, consider getting a phone selfie stick or something of the kind so that you can take pictures against the windows without the structure scaffolding obstructing your view. On the subject of shopping again, this might be another area to consider visiting just for the sake of the specialty stores to be found here, such as those for chopsticks or hairpins. To close out the day, my wife reminded me to look for something from the Square Enix cafe, so that meant swinging by Akihabara yet again. Since it is within a walkway, it was a bit of a pain to find this place even with using maps, but I eventually found it and got what she wanted to find. Played some IIDX at Game Panic, which was surprisingly small and the one machine that was avaialble to play had some 2P turntable issues, so that didn't last all that long. Dinner was at a nearby place that specalized in tofu, so that was a good ramen serving with that infused. For the evening, I wandered south to Kanda to get night pictures, and found it to feel pretty similar to Ueno.
Day 10 - Ginza, Tokyo, Kanda & Akihabara 4
Launrdry in the morning. I also wanted to say that I went to Ginza in my time here, and I didn't research anywhere to go to keep it a surprise. It was a bit warmer and sunnier than usual that day, and I stuck to the main road for most of the walk, so I can't say that I found too many points of the interest along the path that I walked starting from Yurakucho station and heading out that way. High class store for high class people, and that's too rich for my peasant blood. Similarly for Tokyo proper itself, I suppose I'd have to needed to wander far away from the Yamanote vicinity to find points of interest there, as I didn't encounter anything that was remarkably distinctive here in comparison to other areas that I have previously seen. Continuing north across Nihonbashi brought me to Kanda and eventually to Akihabara yet again, as if it was a magnet that pulled me inside every time. For the sake of trying a different place I chose to play some IIDX at the Leisure Land arcade there, and I'm glad to have done that, as those machines were probably in the best coniditon that I encountered within that area. Dinner was at Tenkaippin, which I didn't realize until after I placed the order was cash only. The clerk didn't request it beforehand but I voluntarily left my passport there to show that I would return, and promptly went to the same ATM that I had found days prior in order to get the cash to pay for the bill.
Day 11 - Haneda T3, Nishi Nippori, Nippori, Uguisuidani, Otsuka, Shibuya, Shinjuku, Ikebukruo, home.
The end. I resolved to take the subway over to Haneda today to get the one luggage over there and stored, and it’s a good thing that I did - there’s no easy solution for getting over there without encountering a crowd. If anything I wonder if Yamanote is actually better. Regardless, I got that much done. With the day left to go, I ventured to Nishi Nippori and I needed to summon the map several times to make sure I found the location, as it was as obscure as it could get. Just a sign on the ground for the third floor, a stairway that led to the back, an elevator that had no decoration, a single room that housed everything. Arcade PCB kits on shelves, joystick panels in exposed boxes, nicotine odor from years past - it was like I was transported to 1995 upon entry, beyond the fact that the games weren’t as old. Most of them, they did have a lot going for SF3 3rd yet. I was able to take care of some game business in a hurry since I was the only one there. It was a very pleasant respite for play in comparison to most of the other sessions. The region itself felt much the same as this arcade - old and well worn, as in well lived. Venturing south to Nippori led me to stumble upon a shrine and cemetery just by following some stairs. Usuigudani was cleaner but mostly had hotels as points of interest. Back home to buy some mochi while mochi was for sale in midday. Then to Otsuka, thinking that I would wander to Ikebukuro, but I ended up wandering back to Sugamo instead. Whoops. Meal at Sugamo, then back out to return to Shibuya and Shinjuku at night to catch evening shots, when I hadn’t done so before at these places. Good thing I did that to get Golden Gai area shots at night. With the night winding down, I decided to have one last IIDX play at Round 1 in Ikebukuro to symbolically end where I started.
Ending arcade comments
· Although the upkeep is generally better and more consistent than the US, some machines will have hardware issues here too. I was surprised by the blurriness with some of the LM IIDX machines.
· Densha De Go on the propert large cabinet is nice but quickly becomes very expensive.
· Bombergirl is OK enough and having the dedicated detonator button that pops up for hitting the base is a cute touch.
· Chase Chase Jokers feels rather clunky and I'm not sure what the game is trying to do. Interesting side screen concept at least.
· Nostalgia is delightful and would probably find a small fanbase worldwide if it had more exposure.
· Favorite IIDX locations are Taito Station in Oomiya for the light keys and Leisure Land Akihabara for the high quality of the LMs there. Honorable mention goes to the Game Versus loctation in Nishi Nihonbashi, but that might not be worth it for a dedicated trip unless you go there first thing in the morning.
Ending overall comments
This was a life altering trip for me, as would be expected. While I'm glad to have made the journey, as to be expected, I will only want to return after making an extensive redoubled effort into speaking and hearing comprehension, because I know that I came across like a blubbering idiot so many times, and it's truly aggravating because I generally know what I want to say and most of the words that are used to say it, but it just doesn't come out of my mouth properly when it needs to be done.
I welcome any questions you may have, as that will help for me to recall the memories and have me write them down.

First/Previous
The travel took on a less gloomy quality in the day that passed since Gemma’s self-reflection and although there remained a queer distance in her eyes, she seemed in better spirits in losing the weight of the words.
It was a night just beyond Wabash Crevasse that we pushed on till sunset was almost upon us and we were each tired and the food stocks ran low and so we found harbor in a half collapsed cellar where a home once stood; it was only after examining the slatted, rotted boards of the old place, fallen over, tired with decay, that we spied the cellar doors intact; sheets of door metal plied us with safety from the outside world and the interior of the place stank of mold and the deeper recesses were collapsed, but there was a cradle to crossbar the stair hatch and I put my prybar there for the night. We finished the water and canned tomatoes, and I smoked a cigarette, staving off the inevitable doom which would come with the dwindling of our supplies.
I’d peeked through the space where the doors met at the cellar’s entry and watched the full darkness there while the youngins spoke of life and the trivial pursuits of it and I hardly said a word besides.
Sitting on the lowest step with Trouble dumbly maintaining her station by me, by the low glow of the space in the threshold, I saw they’d pushed their bedrolls together and Andrew had fallen asleep with his arm over Gemma’s shoulder and her eyes glowed with shine from the crack, blinked a few times while seeing me; she too eventually drifted to sleep, and I spent time by the secured door.
Gunshots rang across the stillness, and they stirred from their quiet slumber and Gemma asked, “Harlan, is it alright?”
I moved to the space there at the doorway again and listened and watched what I could through that crack and nothing beyond came. “It’s safe. I’ll be up a bit longer. I’ll watch.”
Andrew asked, “Can’t sleep?”
“I’ll sleep in a bit. Don’t worry about me. Rest. Sleep good and we can put more behind us.
They sat up, legs crossed triangle-wise, and Gemma spoke again, “Why do you have such a hard time sleeping? It seems I’m asleep after you and only awake after you too.”
“Yeah,” said Andrew.
“It’s cool at night. I can listen to the wind.” I shrugged.
“You should be the one that tries to get some sleep,” said Andrew.
I said nothing.
They reached out their arms and I shook my head.
“Here,” Gemma said, “Move your bedroll closer.” She reached across the dirt floor of the cellar and dragged my splayed roll so that it sat beside hers.
“I’ll sleep later.” I turned my attention back to the door and ignored them till their sounds of sleep could be heard. The Alukah was nowhere and did not tap on the door that night and when I moved to sleep, I shimmied onto the roll beside them, facing away on my shoulder; the dog followed, laid on the bare dirt beside me and I held the mutt.
Though I refused a noise as they stirred in the absolute darkness, I felt Gemma’s arm fall over my own shoulder and felt Andrew’s hand touch my back, and water traced the bridge of my nose and I slept deeply thereafter.
There was no breakfast without food, and the water was gone; I felt the eyes of the dog on us as we packed up our belongings that next morning and I tried not to imagine the poor animal skinned over fire. I smiled at Trouble, patted its head, scratched its chin; she sniffed my hand like she was looking for something that wouldn’t be found.
We went west again, ignoring roads and pushed through straight wasteland where nothing was and no one was, and with every dry footfall on the dry hard ground, I wished for rain, and I wished that when it had rained, as infrequent as it was, that I had been wise enough to save what we could from the sky; that sky was red and swollen and refused to burst. We pushed on through strange dead thickets where grayed and twisty yellow branches lurched from the ground into the sky like even they too wished for an end to all the suffering. It was days more till we would see Alexandria and though I could stave off hunger (thirst too, if necessary), I was not so certain that the children would be able to push on without it; they did not complain and watched the ground in our march and maintained higher spirits than I could’ve imagined from them.
Early in the day, they spoke often, and I listened and as they wore on, their words came less and even the dog seemed in a lower mood for the unsaid predicament; me too.
Gemma broke the silence on the matter by saying, “What are we going to do about food? Water?”
“We’ll push on.”
“We could turn back?” asked Andrew.
“The more time we spend out in the open, outside of a city, the more likely it is that the Alukah will catch us unawares. Tighten your belts.” Our feet took us around a dilapidated truck, an old thing with a rusty hook which dangled off a rear arm. “Save your urine.”
They made faces but did not protest.
“Does that work? You ever drink pee?” asked Andrew.
I laughed, “I thought we’d be there by now. I took us too long by trying to drop the scent of the Alukah. That thing’s hunted us for days—last night was the first time it ain’t bothered us. It’s got me wondering why.”
Gemma piped up, licking her dry lips before speaking, “Do you think that monster ran into those scavengers we saw?” Then I caught her shooting a look at Andrew, “At least we warned them.” Her smile was faint and almost indiscernible as one.
I shrugged. “Can’t say. Don’t think it’s smart to turn back. Won’t be long and we’ll touch the 40 and then it’ll be a straight on to Babylon—couple of days—can’t turn back though. Maybe without food; that’s doable. Water’s the worst, but if it comes to it,” I paused and looked on the weathered faces of the children, on the lowered head of Trouble which followed her nose across the ground (it searched just short of frantic), “Like I said, ‘save your urine’.”
The first pains of hunger held within me brought up some reminiscence and I wished for nothing more than to hold Suzanne; I could nearly smell them and in the swaying walk which took us on past toppled townships, I held long blinks where I could nearly make out their face and if I really pushed the limits of my imagination, I could feel them. In those moments, as we passed dead places, rotted pits of despair, I could think of little more than their presence. Though I knew it was a dangerous game, hoping for more than I was worth, I hoped for Suzanne then and I wished that I’d taken them up on their offer to travel to Alexandria with them; it could’ve been home—it never was in all the times I’d gone there, but who knows? The thoughts of Babylon brought forth their gardens; the wild gardens and the water which flowed freely through their pipes. I wished I was a different person entirely and that too would’ve been better for Suzanne; how it was that they’d seen anything in me, I don’t know. How it was that they could stoop to the level of being with someone like me—I warded off that thought, because to place the blame there would certainly be unfair. I thought of my love plainly and wanted a different life more suited to them.
Imaginations played more furiously, and I remembered the evening when Dave stopped me from leaping from that roof—it’s doubtful that he even realized that he’d slowed my demise; perhaps he did know—I wished then that I could ask him. Too kind for the world. People too kind for the world were scarce and hardly worth the trouble. Yet, there I was, chaperoning those two across the wastes.
Gemma was a broken person when I’d found her, tortured in Baphomet’s well; Andrew was a dullard boy who’d lost his hand. What a silly predicament.
I stopped in my movements and swiveled on my heel to catch Andrew by the shoulder. “You still got your hand, don’t you?”
In good humor, the boy grinned, lifted the nub on the end of his left forearm to show me, “Nope.”
“Dammit, no! The hand in the jar!”
Andrew raised his eyebrows. “In my pack.”
“Stop,” I commanded Trouble; the dog hardly recognized my words and continued a way then circled back, sad eyes looking up from where she took to sit by my side. Gemma, both arms dangling loosely from her own pack’s shoulder straps, took into the circle we’d formed.
The girl asked, “What about the jar? It’s nasty, but I guess it’s his.”
“I think that’s it,” I said. I took Andrew by his shoulders, looked him in his eyes, “We could use it!”
“What?” The boy almost laughed in the display of our concern. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“I think I’ve got it! It’s good for a trap.” I shook him; maybe too hard. I almost smiled. “It’s worth a shot!”
“It’s mine.” He bit his top lip, withdrew from me.
“You’ll feel differently about that,” I said.
Gemma placed a hand on Andrew’s pack and tried ripping it open. “Give it to him!” shouted the girl.
The boy whipped from her grasp, and he spun on his feet, and panic stood on his face. “It’s mine, isn’t it?”
I took a step forward, “No, not anymore.” I put out my palm, “Give it.”
Andrew nearly flinched at the thought of it and shook his head a little. “Why?”
“I told you why,” I said.
“You don’t even know if it’ll work, do you?” his words were long in protest.
The girl started again, “Andrew, please.”
He locked eyes with Gemma and once again, his bottom teeth came up to meet over his top lip and he moved his jaw methodically with contemplation.
“What does it even matter?” she asked.
“It’s mine. You don’t know what it’s like.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!”
“C’mon,” he said, but his pack straps fell from his shoulders, and he hunkered down on the ground and opened his bag; his right hand plunged into the recesses therein and withdrew the jar with his severed left hand. He held the object up, refusing to come up from his open pack, keeping his eyes on the ground. “Take it then.” He shook the jar; its contents sloshed with liquid decay.
I grabbed the thing, held it to skylight; the remains within had congealed and rotted and lumps nearly floated in the brownish liquid which had formed in the base of the container. I shook it and stared for a moment at the miniscule debris which floated alongside the hand; each of its digits had swollen and erupted to expose bone; some had come away in pieces. “Tomorrow,” I said and nodded.
We gathered ourselves and Andrew pulled his pack on again and we moved, Trouble still looked sorry and the boy remained quiet while the girl chattered on with questions while we took through the dying ground in a formation with the dog on point then me then the children.
“What will you do with it?” she asked me.
“Not sure yet.”
Andrew made a noise like he wanted to say something but didn’t.
“You think it will work?” asked Gemma.
“Nothing’s a guarantee. They’re smart—Alukah.”
“Smart enough to figure out a trap?”
I shrugged. “We’ll find out.”
“We could put stakes in a pit.”
“Keep on the lookout for a building. Something with multiple floors.”
With that, we moved on, found a worn, mostly destroyed road and we fell into a travelling quiet and the thought of hunger or thirst arose again, and I pushed it down—though I knew the uneasiness could only last so long before savagery would overtake the human condition; the kids seemed strong enough, but I kept an eye on the dog too. Savagery belonged not only to humans, after all.
The ground of the wastes was harder when it was quiet, and it was flatter further west. The sky—red and full of thin and transparent drifting clouds—seemed an awful sight when stared at for too long; it was the thing which stretched as if to signal there wasn’t an end in any direction, as if to declare we had much more to go till safety. Wanderlust is a thing that I believe I’ve felt before, but under that sky, with those two and the dog, I didn’t feel it at all. It was doom that I felt. Ignorance and doom. And it was all because I was certain I’d made all the wrong mistakes, and it was coming back to me. I was experienced. We should’ve had food and water. Perhaps there was some deep and nasty part inside of me that had intended to sacrifice them along the way. The words of the Alukah might have rung true: You say you make no deals, but I smell it. I think you’d deal.
Surely, I felt differently. Surely.
“Getting darker,” called Andrew as we came to where signposts—worn and bent and barely legible—told us of a place once called Annapolis and the buildings were nearly gone entirely; places, maybe places that were once homes, were leveled—I was briefly caught in imagining what it might’ve been like all those ages ago. As are most places, it was haunted like that and when we came to a long rectangular structure of metal walls—thin walls—we took it as a place for rest for the night.
It once served as an agricultural station, for when we breached its entry, there were a line of dead machines—three in all—cultivators or tillers which stood higher than any of our heads and Gemma asked what they were, and I told her I thought they were for farming. The great rusted bodies stood in quiet shadow as we came through a side passage of the building and the great doors which had once been used to release those machines from the building stood frozen in their frame. I approached the doors, lighting my lantern and motioning for the children to shut the door we’d entered through.
Upon closer inspection, it seemed the doors would roll into the ceiling and the chains which held the doors in place were each secured with rusted padlocks—I removed my prybar from my pack and moved along the wall of doors, giving each old lock a smack with the weapon; each one held in place, seemingly fused there through years of corrosion, and I rounded the cultivators once more, back to the children, near the side door where they’d discovered a rickety stair frame which crawled up the side of the wall to a catwalk; along the catwalk, a levitated box stood at the height of the structure, stilted by metal legs, and we took the stairs slowly with the dog following close behind; the poor mutt was mute save the sound of its own shuffling paws.
The metal stairs creaked under our weight and Gemma held her own lantern high over her head so that the strange shadows of the place grew longer, stranger, and suddenly I felt very sure that something was in the dark with us, but there was no noise except what we made. My eyes scanned the darkness, and I followed the children up the stairs till we met the overhang of the catwalk and I peered into the shadows, the blades of the cultivators—far extended on foldable arms—struck up through the pool of blackness beneath us and I felt so cold there and if it were not for the breath of my fellow travelers, I might have been lost in the dark for longer than intended—lost and frozen and contemplative.
“There’s a room,” said the boy, and he pushed ahead on the hanging passage, and he was the first to the door. “Boxes,” he said plainly.
Upon coming to the place where he stood, Gemma pushed her lantern over the threshold, and I saw what he’d meant as I traced my own lantern to help; the room was crammed with plastic totes and old metal containers of varied sizes. There seemed to be enough empty space to maneuver through the room, but only if one watched their feet while they walked. Carefully.
We moved to the room, and I found a stack of crates to place my lantern then motioned for Gemma to douse hers. In minutes, the place was rearranged so that we could sit comfortably on the floor; crates lined the walls precariously and we breathed heavy from the work done, but we began to unpack and upon watching the children while I rolled a cigarette, I felt a pang of guilt, a terrible summation—all choices in my life had led me here and with them and perhaps it would have been a better world for them without me.
Mentally shrugging this thought away, I lit my cigarette, inhaled deeply, and then withdrew the jar which Andrew had handed over. I held it to the lantern to examine it. The grotesqueness of it hardly phased me and I watched it more curious and hopeful than disgusted.
“I hope it’ll work,” said the boy, “Whatever it is that you plan on doing with it.” He grimaced and maintained a further silence in patting his bedding for fluff. The dog moved to him, and she pushed her forehead against him where he squatted on floor. The boy scratched Trouble’s chin and whispered, “Good girl,” into the top of her head where he’d pushed his own face.
“I’m hungry,” said Gemma; she placed her chin in her arm while watching Andrew with the dog. She sat on her own flat bed there on the floor and stated plainly the thing that I’d hoped to ignore for longer.
“I know.” I took another drag from the cigarette and let the smoke hang over my head. “The dog?”
Andrew recoiled, pulling Trouble closer into his arms.
I smiled. “It was a joke.”
Andrew relaxed, but only a moment before Gemma added, “Maybe.”
The boy narrowed his eyes in the girl’s direction, and she shrugged. “If it’s life or death.”
He didn’t say anything and merely continued stroking Trouble’s coat.
That night, we slept awfully and even in the complete darkness, I felt the cramp of the storage room and the angled shapes of the tools that protruded from the containers on all sides remained permanent well after we’d turned the light off and it felt like those shapes were the teeth of a great creature like we were sitting inside of its mouth, looking out.
Trouble positioned herself partially on my chest, her slow rhythmic breathing brought my thoughts calm and I whispered to her in the dark after I was sure the others were asleep, “I promise it was a joke.” And I brushed the back of her neck with my hand and the animal let go of a long sigh then continued that deep rhythmic breathing.
Still without food or water, the following day was the true indication of the misery to come. Gemma’s stomach growled audibly in waking and Andrew—though he kept his complaints to himself—smacked his lips more often or protruded the tongue in his mouth in a starvation for water. The room, in the daylight which peered through pinpricks of its half-decayed roof, seemed another beast altogether from its nighttime counterpart; it was not so frightening. Again, I admonished myself for the lack of preparation, but there was another thought that brought together a more cohesive feeling; we had a possible plan, a trap for the demon that’d been following us.
We went into the field to the west of the building where there was only dirt beneath our feet in the early sunlight and in the coolness of morning air, I nearly felt like a person. The sun crested the horizon and brought with it a warmth that would quickly become overwhelming—in those few minutes though—it felt good enough. I wished for the shy dew and saw none. The weirdness of holding Andrew’s rotting hand in a jar momentarily caught me and I almost laughed, but refrained and the dog and the children looked on while I held the container up and suddenly, seeing the congealed mass of tissue floating in its own excretions, I was overcome with the urge to run, the urge that nothing would ever be right again in my life, and that I was marked to be that way.
I blinked and tossed the jar to Andrew. “Say goodbye,” I said. He fumbled after it with his right hand and caught it to his chest.
“It’s strange you care so much anyway,” said Gemma, shrugging—her eyes forgave a millisecond of pity and when Andrew looked at her, still holding the jar in his right hand, she smiled and stuffed her hands into the pockets of her pants.
“We’ve enough oil, I think,” my voice was raspy from it being early, “Enough for good fire, but if we use it, it’ll mean a few more dark nights on our way.”
“We’re going to set it on fire?” Andrew pondered, keeping his eyes to the contents of the jar. “It worked good enough last time. It’ll work,” I nodded, “I has to, doesn’t it?”
His dry lips creased into a brief smile, and he tossed the jar back to me and I caught it.
“Let’s dig,” I said.
Without much in the way of proper tools, we began at the ground under us with our hands, then taking turns with my prybar till there was a hole in the ground comfortably large enough to conceal a human head and I uncapped the jar and spilled it contents there and we covered it back and I lightly tamped it with my boot. My eyes scanned the outbuilding we’d taken refuge in the night prior and then to the street to the north then to the houses which stood as merely rotted plots of foundation with frames that struck from the ground more as markers than support. “I’ll take up over there across the street when it gets dark. I want you two in that storage room before anything goes off.”
“We can’t help?” asked Gemma.
“You can help by staying out of the way—the mutt too,” I said; the words were harsh, but my feelings were from worry.
“Wouldn’t it be better if we stuck together?” asked the girl.
I shook my head. “You stay in the room and keep quiet. No matter what you hear, you stay quiet and safe.”
“That’ll put you at a bigger risk,” Gemma furrowed her brow at me and shifted around to look out on the houses across the street, “There’s hardly any cover over there.”
The boy nodded, smacked his lips, and rubbed his forearm across his mouth then audibly agreed with her.
“Doesn’t matter,” I said, “No matter what you hear happening outside, no matter, you don’t open the door and you don’t scream—don’t make a noise at all. Alright? Even if you hear me calling you, you don’t do it.”
“Pfft,” Gemma crossed her arms and kicked her foot against the ground. The way her eyes seemed hollowed with bruising showed that the irritation would only grow without food. “Alright,” she finally sighed.
Andrew looked much the same as she did in that; he swallowed a dry swallow then stuffed his hand into his pocket and looked away when our eyes matched.
We gathered our light oil. Altogether, it seemed enough; rummaging through the room of the outbuilding we’d earlier taken refuge within, we managed three intact glass containers—the only ones found that wouldn’t leak with liquid; two were bottles and the third was the jar that’d once kept Andrew’s hand. With that work done, we sat with three Molotov cocktails within our huddled circle of the storage room.
“Is it enough?” asked Gemma.
“We’ll see,” I began rolling a cigarette to ignore the hunger and the thirst.
Andrew took to the corner and glanced over his shoulder only a moment before a steady liquid stream could be heard and when he rotated from the wall once the noise was finished and he held a canteen up to his nose, sniffed it and quivered and shook his head.
As the sun pushed on, I scanned the perimeter outside, and they followed. Far south I spied a mass of shadow inching across the horizon and Gemma commented, “What’s that?”
I pushed the binoculars to her and let her gaze through them.
“A fiend—that’s what we called it back in the day anyway. A mutant.”
She held the binoculars up and frowned. “A mutant? So, it was once human?”
“A fiend was once many humans.” I pointed out to the horizon though she couldn’t see me doing so and continued, “If you look at the edges of its shape, you’ll see it’s got limbs galore on it. Sticking up like hairs is what it’ll look like at this distance. Those are arms and legs. It’s got faces too. Many faces.” I shuddered.
“I can barely see any details,” she passed the binoculars to Andrew, and he looked through them, “What’s it do?”
“What?” I asked.
“What’s it do if it catches a person?”
“It pulls people into it. Makes you apart of its mass. Nasty fuckers.”
Andrew removed the lenses from his eyes and held them to his chest and asked, “It won’t mess up your trap, will it?”
“We’ll keep an eye on it,” I said, “You don’t want to mess with a fiend unless you have to.”
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Hello all, for context my hearts been ripped in half ever since having my baby taken to the nicu on mother days evening. Not even a full 10 days ago but it feels like 10 years at this point. Born at 36w+6 , 4.7 lbs. he dropped to 4.1-4.3 lbs within first 2 days and is only just now almost back up to his birth weight. However he has a feeding ng tube, and my little ones problem is he is just SO SLEEPY we might be lucky to get 3 mL’s out of him before he completely zonks out back to sleep and then it’s back to the tube 😢 the dr straight up told me that the only thing holding him back from going home is eating on his own, finishing his own bottles (40 mL every 3 hours) on his own within 30 minutes!!!the most he’s EVER had on his own was like 30 mLS and that was one time with the nurse doing everything she can think of to keep him awake. Most of his intake on his own is in the 1 digit-teens range as far as mLs go on his own. I’m PRAYING for a miracle bottle or something that can help him do this on his own and that he’ll get the energy to wake the heck up and eat because mama is slowly withering away over here every single day without my little baby 💔 So- my main question is, are there any bottles that YOU recommend that helped your little one start eating on their own and taking milk from a bottle without working too hard, tiring out, having to just get the tube all the time? He sucks on the blue standard hospital pacifier just fine for atleast 5-10 mins max sometimes but as far as bottles go, if I’m lucky for him to even open his mouth wide enough, he’ll take 3 sucklings and straight up fall right back asleep with the bottle in his mouth. I’m trying to find that magic bottle with the perfect nipple that will help my little guy finish his bottles so that he can come home. I know there are so many different types of nipples and flows, if it helps the nurse said he’s collapsing the slow flow nipples and wouldnt be getting any milk out of them and then would be pooped out by then. Any recommendations appreciated. 🙏🏼 ❤️‍🩹 🥺
Edited post to add- for what it’s worth, his little mouth is so tiny I’m still having a hard time getting him to OPEN his mouth up half the time he’ll slightly open but his little gummies get in the way he won’t open like a big circle to push the bottle in so he does have a little tiny mouth.

Hello all, for context my hearts been ripped in half ever since having my baby taken to the nicu on mother days evening. Not even a full 10 days ago but it feels like 10 years at this point. Born at 36w+6 , 4.7 lbs. he dropped to 4.1-4.3 lbs within first 2 days and is only just now almost back up to his birth weight. However he has a feeding ng tube, and my little ones problem is he is just SO SLEEPY we might be lucky to get 3 mL’s out of him before he completely zonks out back to sleep and then it’s back to the tube 😢 the dr straight up told me that the only thing holding him back from going home is eating on his own, finishing his own bottles (40 mL every 3 hours) on his own within 30 minutes!!!the most he’s EVER had on his own was like 30 mLS and that was one time with the nurse doing everything she can think of to keep him awake. Most of his intake on his own is in the 1 digit-teens range as far as mLs go on his own. I’m PRAYING for a miracle bottle or something that can help him do this on his own and that he’ll get the energy to wake the heck up and eat because mama is slowly withering away over here every single day without my little baby 💔 So- my main question is, are there any bottles that YOU recommend that helped your little one start eating on their own and taking milk from a bottle without working too hard, tiring out, having to just get the tube all the time? He sucks on the blue standard hospital pacifier just fine for atleast 5-10 mins max sometimes but as far as bottles go, if I’m lucky for him to even open his mouth wide enough, he’ll take 3 sucklings and straight up fall right back asleep with the bottle in his mouth. I’m trying to find that magic bottle with the perfect nipple that will help my little guy finish his bottles so that he can come home. I know there are so many different types of nipples and flows, if it helps the nurse said he’s collapsing the slow flow nipples and wouldnt be getting any milk out of them and then would be pooped out by then. Any recommendations appreciated. 🙏🏼 ❤️‍🩹 🥺
Edited post to add- for what it’s worth, his little mouth is so tiny I’m still having a hard time getting him to OPEN his mouth up half the time he’ll slightly open but his little gummies get in the way he won’t open like a big circle to push the bottle in so he does have a little tiny mouth.

One of the most fascinating and poorly understood aspects of human life is also one of the most common. In fact, every single human has this experience every single night, whether they remember it or not. This is the phenomena of dreaming.
There is lively debate surrounding the purpose and ontology of dreams in mainstream thinking. From the perspective of the scientific materialistic paradigm, dreams are nothing more than random “noise” that is created by the meaningless firing of neurons during sleep. Materialists credit dreams with no inherent meaning or significance beyond nondeterministic processes. To many modern psychologists, dreams are seen as a reflection of our subconscious mind and can provide valuable insights into our emotions, thoughts, and experiences. Additionally, dreams are understood to play a key role in memory consolidation, problem-solving, emotional regulation, and are recognized as critical to mental health in general. While debate rages regarding the meaning and utility of dreams, only Illuminism is able to fully explain both the meaning and ontology of dreams - analyses that are, of course, fully compatible and consistent with Ontological Mathematics.
Why is it that the world we experience in dreams so closely resemble the world we experience when awake? What relationship do dreams have with waking reality? What role does the unconscious mind play in dreaming? What role does the conscious mind play in dreaming? What does the existence of dreams imply about the existence of the so-called material universe? To begin exploring the nature of dreams, let’s look at the following quote by Mike Hockney:
“The difference between a dream physical world and the waking physical world is not a difference between something “real” and something “unreal”, but the difference between a physical world created by an individual mind versus a physical world created by all minds. The so-called physical world of science is simply the mental construct of the collective Mind rather than of the individual mind.”
This quote has some incredible implications for the nature of the universe. In Illuminism and Ontological Mathematics, the physical universe we experience while awake has no existence separate from mind. Mind exists as a singularity - a frequency domain outside of space and time. As discussed in a previous post, the material universe is an inverse Fourier Transform of the information (or thoughts) produced collectively by all minds. While awake, we tune into the arena constructed collectively by all monads. Every mind in existence contributes to the stability of this arena and its features (such as the laws of physics), which is why the laws of the universe are objective - where individuals cannot influence them at will. We can understand this as a result of every mind resisting the influence of any other mind! While asleep, we turn inwards to a world created only by our own mind. Because the world of our dreams and its laws are informed only by our individual mind, they are much more flexible and susceptible to change than those of the waking world. In a dream, you simply need to will a change to influence the mathematics structuring the dream because you are the only one creating it! While the waking and sleeping worlds seem to be substantially different, the process which they are created by is exactly the same. The only difference between the two is the latter is a private individual world and the former is collective and public.
Jack Tanner described a great way to understand this concept in a recent Patreon post by instructing us to imagine an individual having a dream. It is fully created and maintained by the dreamer. What happens if we then add a second dreamer? Both contribute to the dream and must cooperate in order to make any significant changes (or one person would need to dominate the other). Now imagine adding a third, then fourth, and on and on until myriad minds populate this dream world. What would you finally arrive at? Literally the waking “material” world!
As Mike Hockney said, “That’s why our public dreams (normal lives) are so different from our private dreams (our subjective fantasy space, devoid of objective laws)… There’s no such thing as a physical world independent of minds. It’s impossible. Physical worlds – whether dream worlds or the waking world – are mental projections. Dream worlds have no collective, objective mathematical rules whereas the waking world does. That’s the only difference. We never at any time inhabit an authentic material world (in itself, in its own independent right). At all times, we inhabit mentally constructed material worlds – Matrix worlds!”
Imagine you had to create a dream from scratch. What would you do? Build a world and fill it with fictional characters? What is a world? How would you set up convincing characters in the world? And in the mental void preceding a dream, what tools would you even have to build with? For the conscious mind, this is an impossible challenge. For the unconscious, it’s trivial. Think of the unconscious as a “second mind” as said by Jack Tanner, working in concert with the conscious mind to navigate in the world. You can think of this second mind as “the production mind” - a mind with significantly more power than the conscious mind, which is able to produce anything in existence, but lacking any guiding internal compass. In contrast to the unconscious, the conscious mind has very clear discernment and understands where it wants to go (and a rough idea of how to get there) but tragically has almost zero power to implement its plans.
When the two act cooperatively, conscious can make use of the unconscious by making suggestions of the type of things the unconscious should do/produce. The unconscious is doing myriad things that the consciousness is not in control of in any way - or even aware of - like keeping the body alive, collecting data from the world, moving the body, acting reflexively and instinctually, etc, but it is also presenting information and proposing ideas to consciousness. This is the content that consciousness can influence. Whenever the unconscious presents consciousness with a thought, consciousness reacts to it in one way or another. The most straight forward response that consciousness gives is pleasure (give me more of that kind of content) and pain (stop showing me that sort of content).
A key to understanding this dynamic is that, for as long as you are alive (and potentially after!) it NEVER stops. When you are awake, your unconscious mind is drawing your attention to this or that, posing streams of thought that you can think about the things you observe. Consciousness continually fine tunes these prompts from the unconscious until it reaches a state where the conscious no longer demands better (subjectively) from the unconscious. When we go to sleep, this does not end. The only thing that changes is the unconscious stops serving us so much external data, and instead focuses on presenting content that is produced internally. What’s more, the unconscious has learned exactly what content will push the buttons of consciousness - because a primary part of what consciousness does is to tell the unconscious exactly how. The unconscious has been primed to put on the most engaging shows imaginable for consciousness at night - literally!
An interesting question that results from this dynamic is if we are ever NOT being presented with internally produced (dream) content. As we awake, the unconscious shifts from a focus on presenting internal content back to that of the external world, but to what degree is the internal content truly suppressed? Can we ever be sure that we are not dreaming in a non-trivial way all the time? Are daydreams when internal content supersedes external while awake? How can we truly separate what content comes from within and what is truly objective and external?
Harry Knox described the relationship between consciousness and the unconscious with the following: “Consciousness is an evolution of the unconscious mind. Consciousness is language-based, conceptual unconsciousness! The unconscious deals in a) the wordless mathematical language and b) in wordless symbols, signs, icons, images and feelings (as in dreams). Words ultimately define consciousness because words, and how they are arranged, allow the construction and linking of concepts in a way that is tied to our emotions, desires and Will.”
In reality, dreams are projections of the unconscious that our conscious mind gets to watch and experience. While awake, our conscious (left hemispheric) mind is dominant, leaving the unconscious right hemisphere playing the supporting role. When we sleep, these roles are reversed and the consciousness must (generally speaking) sit back and try to enjoy the movie - even if it’s a horror film (nightmare)! This attribute of the bicameral structure of the human mind was discussed in more detail in an earlier post on Bicameralism. It is potentially the case that during the transition from ancient bicameralism to the modern mode of consciousness there was a period where the hemispheres were more evenly balanced and it was impossible to distinguish between internal (dream) and external (waking) content! Is this why our ancestors seemed to be so much more in touch with the supernatural and the religious? Could they have been literally experiencing these attributes of non-locality on a daily basis? Did the progression to our current mode of consciousness leave humanity with the impression of being abandoned by the gods? Could this be the reason behind the nature of mainstream religion today?
There you have it! When you fully understand dreams you will see that they are, in fact, proof of the reality of a universe based on mind (monads)!
Stay tuned as we will continue our discussion on dreams in consideration of the phenomena of lucid dreams.

The Arc Begins with a shady militaristic unit moving into the desert nearby, and the group checks it out. They battle their way through the base, where they battle the foul mouthed leader of the unit, Tankman as well as Swag and Chris, who he hired.
After beating up Tankman, the base Explodes, Revealing an unbearably edgy Masked Figure, twitching and violently screaming. The mysterious Creature is eventually unmasked, revealing that he is a twink that has Fox Ears and a tail.
They end up running, where he follows them into the city, and goes on an edgy Monologue about how he is actually SMG5, and how he is so very, very evil and will destroy the universe and shit like that
It then goes into a villain song that’s like Creative Control but without anything that made it good, with awkwardly delivered lines, Questionable Rhymes and empty lyrics. When they continue fighting, he is so unprecedentedly powerful and even gives Melony a run for her money.
He then manages to absorb all the meme Energy in the universe and transforms into a massive eldritch Abomination, like Ax0l did. He the courses Meme Energy through Meggy’s body, lifts her into air, breaks all of her bones, swings her around like a ragdoll and tosses her aside
Half the Team (Melony, Swag, Chris, SMG3, and Kaizo) go to keep stalling 5, while the others (Mario, SMG4, Bob, Tari, and Saiko) go to help Meggy. They find her unconscious on top of a rock and try to Coax her awake. But she’s already dead. As the others keep battling 5, it seems hopeless. But then, from the sky, another masked figure descends, and begins battling 5 herself. And she’s winning.
She ends up completely taking all of 5’s Meme Energy and uses it against him, ripping his body apart. His fried Body falls to the ground, and his last words to the young woman are: “Why do you always make me the villain?” Before going lifeless and seemingly dying.
The group pays tribute to Meggy, remembering all her sacrifices for them and all she’s done. They approach the young woman and ask for her name. She smirks, and takes off her mask and reveals a Waifu-Esque Design with wolf ears (Kill me), saying that she is SMG6.
She says that they’ll be seeing more of each other in the future. She also Flirts with Bob quite assertively because funny I guess. They bring Meggy’s body to Inkopolis where they give her a proper burial, and order a memorial for her in Inkopolis Square courtesy of Deep Cut.
Now you may be wondering “What the Shit was that? That was Awful!” And you’d be right. It plot holes, a one dimensional and edgy villain with no backstory or discernible personality traits other than him being evil, The unforshadowed Reveal of 2 Super Meme Guardians that weren’t present during the Zero incident, an out of Nowhere death of a Main Cast Member that had nothing to do with the story of the arc, and a random ass Introduction of an overpowered Mary Sue character. Good. That’s the point. It’s supposed to be bad. It’s almost as if it was written by…a fan.
The videos after this shit arc are…weird. A bunch of background characters are given way too much focus. Some weird videos that confirm some weird ships are made (Yes, even that one). And sometimes there are videos where dead characters will be resurrected with some bullshit, hamfisted excuse for them not being dead.
Some characters are happy about it (Specifically Melony because Axol is Back and now the two have gotten married, and Bob who has an OP Wolf Girl as his Waifu), but some aren’t, like SMG4. He has this strange feeling like this isn’t how it’s supposed to be. Mario and Tari are still in Shock because of Meggy’s death and is confused why she hasn’t come back like Desti or Axol.
Axol and Desti both can’t help but think that they should be dead, and feel empty like they aren’t truly alive. So they assemble a team of SMG4, SMG3, Mario, Boopkins, Saiko, Kaizo, SMG1, SMG2, Tari, Desti and Axol to investigate. However, Some others aren’t too happy about this.
Melony is enraged that her friends would try to rip her love away from her like this and feels betrayed, especially by Axol. Bob just doesn’t want to lose the first healthy relationship he’s ever been in. Other characters like Whimpu, Belle, Rob, X, FM, Shroomy, and other side characters that have been getting more screentime because of the way it’s going like the way they’ve been getting the spotlight.
As the investigation moves forward, the tension between the two teams arise. It comes to a climax when SMG5 returns. But strangely docile this time. He expresses his remorse for murdering Meggy, and explains to the investigation squad that during the Mushroom Desert Incident, he was being controlled by his Avatar, Cosmina.
While they don’t entirely trust him, they know that he could act as a lead for the investigation and would be very helpful. While looking through more stuff while avoiding the anti investigation squad, they come across their most disturbing find yet: A ghostly apparition of Meggy screaming for help. It’s like she’s not meant to be dead, but is.
Later, they realize that one specific person is at the center of all this: SMG6. They confront her in her home, but the Anti Investigation Squad reaches the scene as well, as the two teams have a battle. SMG4 then asks SMG6 the key question: Who is Cosmina? And why does she have control over her Guardians when Fred, Spudnick, or Mario Can’t? And what works is she from?
It shows Who Cosmina really is: A human, in the real world. Every friday, she would get home from school and look forward to the next morning. Because on Saturday at 9 AM, that’s when her favorite YouTube channel ever would upload: SMG4. This channel was her life.
But despite it being her life, she didn’t always agree with their writing decisions. Specifically Meggy’s changing characterization, Axol’s death, and characters getting sidelined and forgotten.
So she went to college and got a writing degree, before moving to Australia becoming a Writer for the series. She inserted 2 of her original characters into the story: SMG5 and SMG6, making her in a way their Avatar. The reason her writing influence has been so turbulent is because of the other writers resisting her.
The investigation squad leans into SMG6 for manipulating everything and for Trying to Play God, since SMG6 is Cosmina’s Direct Self Insert into the story. The writers' rebelling against her causes Cosmina to Snap in the real world, and take complete control.
This Leads to Wotfi 202X, where SMG6 has taken over everything and bombarding the charactes with tortuous challenges for rebelling. Eventually, during the yearly rap battle, SMG4 projects his own meme energy and takes control of Luke, who fires Cosmina.
Now that Cosmina’s influence to the universe is gone, Her SMG’s are Starting to Die. As Desti and Axol return to Heaven, Meggy returns to Life, happy to be back. As 5 and 6 are dying, 6 does the unthinkable. Now that she’s free from Cosmina’s Influence, she does the first selfless thing: Using her remaining meme energy to conjure up a Guardian Pod. But it’s not for her. It’s for him.
After they turn to dust, SMG5 is bound to the Guardian Pod, keeping him alive as a legitimate Super meme Guardian, this time wearing Purple Clothing and a Shiny Golden V on the hat. He gets used to life in his new world, and has a purpose now. He and Meggy have managed to patch things up after he…you know…killed her.
So, what did you think of this two part arc?
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I have nightmares sometimes, that make me wake up screaming as loud and long as I possibly can. If I wake up screaming anything less than 100%, I have to do it again, or if it’s an odd number of times.
Weirdly, yesterday I didn’t have an actual scary nightmare. I just looked at my work schedule and it said something like 4:30 AM-5:02 AM (nonsense) but I was somehow in my childhood bedroom that I haven’t been in for over 10 years.
I simply opened my mouth and screaming came out. I thought “huh, simply opening my mouth shouldn’t result in screaming coming out, I should have more control over that”. Then I did it more because it was so effortless, and I woke up screaming for real.
Then I get terrified about my family hearing me. They don’t get mad but worried, and that might be even more terrifying to me than the actual nightmares.
But the first scream was too weak, I’m afraid I “sound like a girl”, and I also have to really let it all out, so I just did it again, which is really terrifying for me when I know that I’m awake and it’s real.
I kind of just feel like suddenly screaming as loud and long as I can in waking real life sometimes, but I’m also unsure if I’m dreaming or awake sometimes, reality has become kind of confusing and blurry for me.
I know it would be inappropriate and socially unacceptable behavior.
Sometimes I even feel terrified and genuinely feel like screaming out of terror. Sometimes I see terrifying faces in my mind.
It’s like I’m not completely connected to reality.
I just want to be normal. I’m 28 and stuck in a lowskill low paying job dependent on my parents.
Sometimes thoughts/voices tell me to hurt or kill peoples, and it seems so shocking and unexpected, even though it should feel normal to me by now.
I can’t imagine going to Hell and suffering even worse than this and for eternity, I hope God will have mercy on me and forgive me even for cursing Him before, I thought I might be attacked by demons and/or punished by God for all my sinning.
I know society at large, police, judge/jury, will not believe someone screaming like their soul is being dragged to/through Hell can’t help it, they’d just be all STOP ACTING THAT WAY. Even in a mental hospital they’d abuse you and treat you like a criminal.
These problems are ridiculous and probably not very common or heard of.
I even think about having my vocal cords ripped out/removed so it’d be impossible to scream even if my brain/body/spirits tries to force me to. Like when I’m dreaming and in that confused state and don’t know what’s going on.
What’s wrong with me? I feel hopeless, and not fully in control of my own actions. I don’t actually want to scream, but I feel like I have to. I don’t want to hurt others, but sometimes those thoughts just trespass into my mind.
Other people say I’m such a good person but I feel so evil on the inside.
Sometimes I have these intrusive thoughts and urges about psychologically torturing people when they’re nice to me and seem vulnerable. It feels like this evil force trying to overtake me, and I’ve already had already reasons to believe demons have tried (and once even did so) to possess me and control me against my will.
They’re inside of my mind trying to make me feel evil myself, it’s pure psychological torture and I just think how did it get to this point? Why can’t I just be normal?
And many people say when they try to get closer to God the devil and demons attack even more and even worse.
It’s like I’m just corrupted, and under mind control, they really get the chance to attack me and terrify me and apparently even without necessarily creating a nightmare, make me scream against my will. Not even me feeling an urge or obsession, but literally just opening my mouth and screaming comes out.
This is beyond terrible, it’s like they want me to turn everybody against me and torture myself.
I’m 28 and I don’t think it’s going to go away on its own, whatever it is.
It’s also scary that turning to God for help can actually just make it worse. Like can I even really trust God? Or does He just leave us to be devoured while watching? Like the dream where my sister turned into a man and SAd me while my parents just stood and watch.
My sister is 10 years younger than me so no she never SA’d me, nor did anyone else that I can remember (MAYBE my dad when I was asleep, but I have no actual memory or proof).
Life is getting more and more unbearable for me. Like I can’t even say “at least I have this comfort, or these people are there for me”, because it’s trying to dig so deep into me I can’t even trust myself and feel like I’m going to hurt others. Sometimes I just feel so disconnected and distant from myself and reality.
To some extent I’ve had feelings like this my whole life, but this a MUCH WORSE AND SEVERE SEVERITY of it.
I wish I knew WHAT EXACTLY I’m experiencing. It feels impossible that I’ll ever be free of it, like it’s too, ingrained in me, I can always feel it a second later for at least a second, I can’t expect it to just “disappear for good”.
I’m not sure how much longer I can live with this. What really keeps me here is a fear of Hell, where it’s worse, for eternity. “Oh there’s no such thing as Hell”. I feel like there likely is, and either way, death is permanent, there’s no coming back either way.
I don’t want to hurt anyone and I don’t want demons or the devil to attack me, why would God even allow this if He is actually real?
While trying to get close to God can make it worse, I don’t doubt that just submitting to the devil, that has to be infinitely worse, the devil is a liar and a traitor.
God is definitely better, He’s just not understandable……
I can’t live like this, but I’m afraid of death too.

To start socializing more, I (26F) have a bestie night with my gal (25F) twice a month. When I was single 7 years ago, we were hanging out for several hours, had no time limit, could talk for hours just sitting in the car. I love those times with my bestie. But when I got into a relationship, this stopped. It was hard trying to juggle husband (26M) and gal at the same time, then when we got married, I was socially distant. I didn't blame anyone. I just knew I put more focus on my relationship and kept going back and forth with my friendship, where we wouldn't talk for months, then hang out nonstop for a while. Well, currently, I'm trying to keep up the hangouts by twice a month. She is my only friend I am this close with.
Well, there's one main issue with my husband. He gets abandonment anxiety that I try my best to quell, but I always put in my in-person conversations over talking to him on the phone. Such as last minute, hour-long meeting with my Regional Manager. I, of course, didn't answer my personal phone even when he called me 14 times after I told him my relief shift was late.
Well, our current situation is my visits with my bestie, I get into this argument all of the time with my husband. And it feels like I'm being pulled both ways. This just happened today.
8pm. I message him while he's asleep that I'm leaving for the movie with Gal.
He wakes up and messages around 9pm. before heading into work for his overnight shift. I don't reply. Just memes and hope I have a good night. Nothing major. I do not check my phone from this point forward.
The show ends at 10/11ish. We start talking in the car. We were supposed to figure out food plans, but things went all of the place, and now we are talking about family trips and birthdays.
Midnight. I think my phone vibrated, but I had it on vibrate for the movie. I didn't check it, as it could be several conversations, when I was just enjoying the vibe with my friend. I don't like being on my phone in front of the company, especially when I only see her twice a month.
Finally, he calls around midnight. Before he speaks, I try to cut it short, "Hey babe, I'm still out hanging out with Gal. I'm okay, and we are still figuring things out, but we are talking right now. Love you. See you later."
He cussed while hanging up, then from midnight to 1am, he went from "Whatever. I appreciate the go fuck your self attitude." To "Love you. Goodnight." No replies from me
1am. So he calls again while I'm ordering food from the bar (I only had 2 drinks, just got appeziter before they closed). I don't answer and send him a message "Bar Loud trying to order food before last call talk to you later love you."
He then continues the same messages about not wanting to argue but he's still pissed. "Can we talk. You blowing me off pissed me off. Wtf I thought you didn't have money?"
I told him I'm stressed about doing everything I want this weekend, this included hanging out with Gal.
"Well I don't want to bum you out and you don't want to talk so let's talk later."
I replied with please don't bum me out right now love you.
He replied with "not going to argue, to tired of that, just kinda felt like a fuck you." Then another hour later "grandma is okay. You sleep well. Love you."
Grandma...(F94) he added that at the end. So a day ago we learned she has covid, but his mother taking care of things. Mother says no change in condition since grandma had it last week but not getting better. So from morning of today to midnight, nothing changed, and he felt like it was urgent to the point of me and him mad at each other to tell me his grandmother hasn't changed in her condition. Good she hasn't gotten worse, but I felt like he was trying to use that as the reason why he wanted to talk, even tho no update has happened. I don't know.
So I feel like I'm an asshole since he has anxiety while I have always been the person who does last minute things before heading home, such as last minute groceries, but I still answer my phone, I just tell him.im grabbing ingredients for dinner tonight and I'm trying to check out.
Lately things have been more communicated, since we are doing classes and must arrive on time. So this hasn't been an issue lately, he knows I'll message him when I leave work, I will call if I plan on stopping somewhere, etc. At least 70 percent of the time. I'm trying to be better, but not quite 100. Especially when my last minute boss meeting happened.
But I don't like feeling rushed, I don't like feeling I have to entertain Husband while he's bored at his job every Friday night. Every Friday when I'm off, he wants my attention. And when I'm out with my friend? It's like the worst. I rather go to work and have him message me his "How are you" message every 30 minutes like normal than dealing with him on my visits with my friends.
You know I'm going to my friends. I don't want to tell you when I'm coming home exaclty because then you will expect that, and will constantly call me when it's past that time. But also let me just enjoy my time away. When I hang out with Chick I normally hang out long enough to get a painting done or when I get bored. When I hang out with Gal it's when I start falling asleep on her. I don't go into friend hangout and think oh I'm only going to hang out for an hour, no, I'm going to hang out until my energy levels are affected.
But he doesn't seem to understand I can be awake and not interact with him for more than 2 hours. Even at work. Even with family. Even with friends. Even on my days off. .
I want to be OK with his anxiety but I don't want this chokehold, and tried of me telling him explanations for why I'm late, and now I feel like I'm in trouble.
Even Gal noticed my change in behavior and asked me to put my phone down. But I couldn't think of anything else for the ride home. I just hate the thought I can't have time away untimed, but when I try to explain this to my husband he just sees his side, or when he does apology, it's the same thing next visit with Gal, nothing changed.
Edit: now that it's morning time and I realized I made a few mistakes in remembering details.
Boss event. So five minutes before I was supposed to get off my shift, my relief called saying she had popped her tire so she wasn't sure when she was coming in. I message my husband I'm waiting on my relief. I didn't explain details. I just said Im waiting on Lady. From that point to 30 minutes after my shift, I worked non stopped as my supervisor left, leaving me the only one. Then my relief came in, but also the regional manager. I saw the regional manager and asked if he got my email about my supervisior, he did, and let's talk about it. So I went from manning the shop to the back office with the boss to speak about my current issues with my Incompetent supervisior (my husband knows me and my supervisior isnt on good terms so i been informing my managers about this situation, as im tired of having to show my supervisior how to cashier or use work devices, making it feel like im babysitting him even tho supervisior been here for a year). My phone kept ringing, but it was vibrating, so I just kept it in my pocket. After the meeting ended, it's been two hours. My coworker explained she heard from my husband, but after 15 minutes, he still continued trying to call me after he spoke to my coworker. I called him immediately as I was clocking out as things just ended up happening where I got stuck working, and this turned into a meeting with the boss.
I looked back at my messages and realized I didn't really say why I was waiting on Lady, I just said I was waiting and no responses afterwards. So I understood why he freaked out, but 14 phone calls felt like overkill, and in my mind, I believed I said more about Lady's tire, but I was rushing to message him to get back to work, so I didn't explain clearly. Plus, he got information from Lady when he called my job, then waited 15 minutes, then began trying to contact me once again. I felt I did what I could why I was work bound, I could've explained Lady's situation better, but I was rushing.
Second thing: the show began at 9pm, but the doors were opened early. So me messaging him at 8pm that I was leaving for the movie. At 8:30pm I turned my phone on vibrate and didn't check my phone at this point, I had several people texting, so I wasnt on alert to look at my phone, since it wasnt like I had to wait for an important message while I was at the show. So these messages he sent afterwards werent seen until the phone call. He message good morning at 8:45pm. At 9:05pm he message he's at work and message whenever because he's bored (his job is watching cameras). At 9:45pm he messaged a meme. At 10:15pm he messaged I love you. At 10:30pm he messaged Call me when you get home. At 10:35pm he messaged maybe on an event I shared with him. At 10:45pm and 11pm and 11:15pm he sent emojis. At 11:15pm he finally called me and this was when I told him I'm good but I'm talking to Gal talk to him later. From this point forward he sent the messages about blowing him off like I said in my original post.
I was out of the show by 10:30pm or so. I didn't turn my phone back on, I didn't check my phone, I just walked to her car and put my purse on the floor of the car, expecting us to walk down the road for food (we had souiver cups that we wanted to put back in the car and we were in a shopping district so we didnt really have to drive around), she started smoking, so it went from trying to figure out food to let's sit down to let's talk. So I got comfy and we started talking about our summer plans, how she's going out for her birthday, how there's a wine event happening, to my birthday plans. Then at 11:15pm he called and I told him not now. I didn't check my messages, as now she's looking at me like I'm in trouble, and now I have to focus on my husband instead of enjoying our time together. She had issues before when I kept inviting my husband along when it was supposed to be girls only. Or when he calls me and now I have to talk to him for several minutes (she never complained, but it would turn the conversation from what we are talkjng about to oh are you and your husband ok?). So I just put my phone and continued on like nothing happened.
From 11:15pm to 12:15am, we attempted a bar, but it was last call in ten minutes, so we found another bar that was still opened.
Then at 12:15am he tried to call again to talk. This was when we were inside of the bar that was very loud. This is when I message him back about food, about rationing money for all of the weekend plans, and please don't bum me out.
Gal told me to put my phone down. This was supposed to be girl night. But at this point, my mood was sour. The bar staff were trying to clear things out and wasn't getting our order (I understand, but I was expecting it to stay open until 3am, not that there were only 3 bar staff running the place). So rest of this point forward, there wasn't the same vibe. When I got home at 1:30am, I messaged him goodnight. I'm home safe.
Final event: when I woke up this morning, he came in with breakfast. We talked light hearted until we got to the issues of last night. He didn't see wrong since he saw himself doing things in a good light, while I saw it as intruding on my time with my friend and then bumming me about it. I told him I been trying to get better about communicating my times such as when I'm going to work and when I'm leaving work, but please only expect two messages from me when I'm with my friend, saying that we are leaving, and saying that I'm on my way back home or I'm home. That I am always going to put face to face conversations over his bored at work phone calls. Such as when he messages me or calls me at work during our slow period, sometimes I will answer, but our slow period turns into a rush quickly and I won't message during rush until we get slow once again.
He made a comment that once again, he has to be the one to change because he's always in the wrong. I told him I just wished he understood. I feel like I gotta entertain him because of his anxiety, and I wished he understood when I have time with others, I don't want him intruding. I never expect messages from him when he's home because I know he's playing online with his friend. I still send messages, but I'm not calling him to ask how the game is doing or how his friend is doing or is he heading to bed yet. I just work. And maybe when I come back home, he will tell me then. I just sent messages from my coworker who said there's a meat sale at grocery shop B or there's this event this weekend. I don't expect him to reply to those messages. I just want this info shared to him before I forget.
I think we calmed down about this now. Hopefully he respects my boundaries when I'm with Gal or Chick or with family. And hopefully I can keep him updated with I'm doing last minute plans such as getting a car wash or forgotten groceries or heading to the bank.

CHAPTER 4: Fearbug Festival
Later, in the American Independence Festival.
The PPAIDF is filled with flying insects and monsters, known as Fearbugs, as Loki sees a basic, Incessant Fearbug, and immediately feels fear in his very mind, as he has an immediate flashback at the mere SIGHT of the Fearbugs and their monstrous transformations, as he is frozen with fear, surrounded by his enemies and comrades alike, especially Lamash-Tu.
BEGINNING FLASHBACK..
Loki and Thorr are fighting for brotherly supremacy, as Loki’s blades, Nidvallir and Ulheid, clash with Thorr’s two-handed Warhammer, Mjolnir, before Thorr finally bonks Loki on the head with Mjolnir, as Loki goes rolling towards the cliff of Asgard, almost OVER the cliff, as his daggers, Nidvallir and Ulheid, fall from his hands and tumble in their own ways, as Thorr slowly and menacingly walks towards Loki, as Thorr picks Loki up by the right horn of his helmet, and starts bantering.
THORR: It’s over for you.
LOKI: Now what?.. You know you want to get rid of me, come on, or maybe you can’t?
THORR: You are NOTHING, Loki, you are but a mere INSECT, if you survive this fall, I and few OTHER powers at hand will track you DOWN and FINISH you.
LOKI: I doubt you’ll be able to find me, my trickery almost KILLED one of the two Dwarves who made that good old lightning-flavoured bonkstick of yours, Thorr.
THORR: ENOUGH of this flyting, Loki.. Friggr, Thanatos, Amhuluk, I, and a few others have already been experimenting with ways to put you down, trickster.
LOKI: You won’t.
THORR: Oh, we will.. Goodbye, now.
With those final words, Thorr throws Loki and his Twin Daggers off of Asgard, as he falls down the World Tree, ALL the way to Midgardheim, ALSO known as Earth.
ENDING FLASHBACK..
Suddenly, Loki is being rushed at by a Fear-Killer Bug and it’s bladed arms, but Lamash-Tu gets in the way and uses her Hardlight Riot-Shields to block the attack, and she smashes the Fear-Killer Bug away, as it falls to the ground, and Lamash-Tu scorches it with the Flamethrowers of her Z-Knight Suit’s Gauntlets.
LOKI: Lamie?
LAMASH-TU: Loki? You’ve been standing still like a Gargoyle in the daylight for 3 minutes straight! What is UP with you?
KNIGHTOWL: Yeah, dude! Are you even mentally awake?
LOKI: Yeah, I was just having flashbacks, that’s why these Fearbugs seem familiar to me.
Loki uses his the flamethrowers of his Z-Knight Suit’s Gauntlets, and sprays flame around him, burning Fearbugs and other types of them, as Loki managaes to kill off a few Fear-Killer bugs, before a Fear Queen comes in, and its roar ECHOES throughout the skies.
Lamash-Tu, Loki, Rexob, and Meouna all take on the Fear Queen Bug, ALL at once, as Lamash-Tu freezes the Fear Queen with her Z-Knight Suit’s Ice Grenade, as she uses her Z-Knight Suit’s Rocket Boots, as Lamash-Tu jumps over the frozen Fear Queen, as Loki uses the Flamethrowers of his Z-Knight Suit’s Gauntlets and burns the frozen Fear Queen Bug, before using the Minigun Turrets on his shoulders, and completely shattering and annihilating the iced-out Fear Queen, before he jumps over the bug’s remains with his Z-Knight Suit’s Rocket Boots, and lands in-front of Lamash-Tu.
LOKI: Thanks for the help with that big bug, Mamitu.
Lamash-Tu mishears Loki, thinking he is talking about her Stepmother, Mamitu, the Babylonian Deitess of Sacrifice, Hope, and Fate.
LAMASH-TU: Loki, Mamitu was my Step-mom, HER name is where the “Tu” in MY name comes from.
Loki sees where his compliment fell off, and immediately politely corrects Lamash-Tu.
LOKI: Hehe, Lamie, I wasn’t talking about Mamitu, I called you “MOMMY-Tu” because, just look at you!
Lamash-Tu realizes that this joking compliment from Loki refers to her the way it does because of her physique and her bodily posture.
LAMASH-TU: Ohh! Okay, I get it now.
Lamash-Tu walks off to go slay more Fearbugs, whilst Zaviour looks at Loki angrily.
ZAVIOUR: Really? “MOMMY-Tu”?
LOKI: What? It’s normal!
Rexob comes in and continues the mission.
REXOB: Let’s just get back to ripping and tearing.
Later..
Rexob, Zaviour and Knightowl lead the charge, as they blast, burn and destroy Demons and Fearbugs alike, before suddenly, a gigantic demonic red portal opens up in front of the Assassins, as a new, and more DANGEROUS Demon comes out.
A Demon of IMMENSE physical power, carrying an ancient weapon of Protodite origin, a large, one-bladed greataxe, and he wears armor of Brimstone, with large horns like that of a moose.
This Demon destroyed 3 legions of the Royal Protodite Army, AND almost killed one of their greatest works, The Prosecutor.
THIS Demon, is named.. Vetroxis, the Destroyer.
With him, Vetroxis brings a horde of 6 Berserker Demons, also called Skraggs, which are 9-foot tall Demons whose mere physical strength and firepower ALMOST matches that of Vetroxis, and they come from Kur, the 2nd Underworld.
Vetroxis ALSO brings with him a small group of 9 of Cerberdogs, 3-headed hellhounds that are the demon-children of Cerberus, guard dog of Orcus, the ruler of Hades, the 6th Underworld.
Alongside the Cerberdogs, there are ALSO a troop of 12 Diabolicules, which are the Royal Guard of the Underworlds, that come in different forms depending on which of the 13 Underworlds they come from, as Vetroxis has brought 4 groups of 3 Diabolicules, he has brought 3 Inferno-Diabolicules from H, the 1st Underworld, 3 Micto-Diabolicules from Mictlan, the 4th Underworld, 3 Isazi-Diabolicules from Helheim, the 7th Underworld, and 3 Obutsu-Diabolicules from Yomi, the 10th Underworld.
Vetroxis has also brought out 3 Natokas, which are a species of Dragons that live and dwell in H, the 1st Underworld.
The Assassins see this intense threat, as Rexob responds by shouting gorilla noises and beating his upper torso with one hand.
REXOB: I know how to deal with this! OOH!! AHH!! OOH!! AHH!!
Zaviour sees this, and is not impressed.
ZAVIOUR: Yep, this is gonna get us killed.
REXOB: No its not, just roll with me, come on!
ZAVIOUR: Fine.
Zaviour and the rest of the Assassins comply with Rexob, as they all shout with him, and as it turns out, this “tactic”, if you could call it that, was learned by Rexob from studying the Warmongers, another Reptilian biped species living in the Andromeda’s Way Galaxy, who, as their name suggests, are extremely violent, and do nothing but wage bloody war and violence on each-other on a 24 to 7 to 365 basis.
ALL ASSASSINS: OOH!! AHH!! OOH!! AHH!!
Vetroxis sees this attempt at intimidation, as it was used by the Warmongers, who used it against each-other, and he taunts the Assassins.
VETROXIS: Puny Mortals, you think using a tribal scare tactic will fend off DEMONS? That is but nothing but bringing a protection crystal into the Underworld, and thinking it will WORK!!
Rexob comes back with a snide remark.
REXOB: Well then if THAT doesn’t work, we have weaponry, let’s go!
The Assassins begin what will eventually be a nearly 2 hour long fight with the armies of the Underworlds, before Loki throws a Fear Queen Bug at Vetroxis, knocking him on his back, but with nothing but a small bleeding wound, before Loki, THEN, remembers the “Thing” that him and Lamash-Tu had brought from the Assassins’ vehicles when they first entered the American Independence Festival, as Loki tells Lamash-Tu to bring it out RIGHT as he finishes off a Micto-Diabolicule, and throws its spear at a Skragg, impaling it, but not killing it, as Loki shouts to Lamash-Tu to bring out “The Thing”.
LOKI: Lamashie! I just remembered! Bring out the “Thing”!
LAMASH-TU: A-Are you sure, Loki? Don’t you think we should save it for when things get more DANGEROUS?
LOKI: Does this situation not look DEATHLY dangerous to you? Bring it out!!
LAMASH-TU: Uh, alright..
Lamash-Tu complies with Loki, as he goes and helps her bring out whatever contraption they’ve managed to sneak in and hide from the other Assassins.
Turns out, this “Thing”, is ACTUALLY a big metal minigun turret that also has a ROCKET LAUNCHER WITH HOMING MISSILES attached to it, as it unfolds, transforming from its cylindrical, mini-Time-Capsule shape, and into a ginormous gun capable of mass destruction.
Rexob looks over at the “Thing”, and is impressed that Loki and Lamash-Tu managed to sneak THAT into this sort of situation, flooded by dangerous bugs and demons.
REXOB: WHAT IS THAT!?
LAMASH-TU: THIS? THIS is just, the uhh, BULL-WHEEL LOADER!!
Lamash-Tu demonstrates the Bull-Wheel Loader’s power on the Demons and Fearbug monsters that flood the American Independence Day Festival, as it utterly SHREDS and DESSIPATES the forces of the Underworlds and their Fearbug Murder Mosquitoes, ONCE and for ALL, as Demons and Fearbugs lay dead on the grounds of the Point Pleasant American Independence Day Festival, as the Assassins have managed to fight them all off, but with the extra help of Lamash-Tu and Loki, leaving nothing but Vetroxis standing, as he is mortally wounded, but all of his body parts are intact, and he is still in one piece.
VETROXIS: This is NOT over, Mortals, we WILL be back.. but until then, have you NOTHING to say to your opponent, before you STRIKE him DOWN..?
Zaviour pushes Rexob out of the way, as he walks in-front of him.
ZAVIOUR: I’ll take him.
Zaviour walks towards Vetroxis, who is on his knees, and emitting his final dying breaths.
VETROXIS: ..You can’t kill me, Human, hehe..
ZAVIOUR: Oh, I’m anything BUT Human, I’m more than you can comprehend, buddy.
VETROXIS: Hmph, MORE than Human, oh won’t you wake up to reality? The only things that TRULY exist in this accursed reality are pain and suffering, even when you are the victor, the vanquished will still be there, it’s ALL a LIE, a SELFISH desire to protect PEACE, when ALL that does is create NOTHING but WARS, causing MORE pain and MORE suffering to go WITH it.
Rexob interrupts, and rushes Zaviour to finish this fight.
REXOB: BOOORING, SHUT UP, NERD!
ZAVIOUR: Shut your mouth, Lizard, and let the Demon talk.
VETROXIS: It’s ALL interruptions, it IS part of life, after all, and LIFE isn’t fair, IS it, now? While SOME are born to feast, sometimes on fortunes of their own or the lower ones in their surroundings, OTHERS spend their lives in the dark, BEGGING for the scraps of what’s left..
Zaviour stays silent, keeping himself from uttering EVEN a SINGLE word.
VETROXIS: The way I see it, you and I, are both EXACTLY the same, and whilst your society LOVES its heroes, which is what I am to MINE, the ONE thing they love MORE, is to see a hero FAIL, and fall, and DIE trying, but the only PROBLEM there, is that there IS no heroes, because there is no GOOD, NOR is there any EVIL, it is only POWER, and those too WEAK to SEEK it, but you are only as “GOOD” as the world ALLOWS you to be.. I will SHOW you.
At this point, Zaviour is not even blinking, OR breathing, as his eyes are LOCKED with Vetroxis’ eyes, and his lips sealed shut, tighter than a bank vault, as Vetroxis continues his motivating and poetic last words.
VETROXIS: When the plates and cloths are down, these “CIVILIZED” Mortals that you share a Planet with, will be JUST like the Warmongers of Saturn’s moon, Titan, they will ERADICATE each-other, as you can see, I am not a COMPLETE monster, I am, and YOU are too, just a mental state and a half HIGHER than your Mortal friends.
ZAVIOUR: …
VETROXIS: By eliminating ME, you deny ME my DESTINY, which is to CONQUER this Earth, it’s MORTALS, AND it’s environments, but instead of dying a hero, you’ve lived ALMOST long enough to watch your mind slowly turn towards the TRUTH, the TRUTH that EVERYONE in this dimension REFUSES to accept, the side they ALWAYS depict as “Evil”, the “Darkness”, the Darkness that I was BORN in, and MOLDED by, this “good” and “warming” light has done nothing but BLIND your comrades and everyone else AROUND you, after ALL, it DID work when The Evil One did it, by deceiving the world into thinking he NEVER, even, EXISTED, and if you introduce THAT with a little bit of ANARCHY, and you UPSET the established ORDER, then EVERYTHING becomes CHAOS, OF which, I am an AGENT of Khaos.
Zaviour continues his desolate, hopeless silence.
VETROXIS: And I KNOW you can’t LIVE with your own FAILURE, because you TRIED and DIDN’T SUCCEED to show up to SUCCESSFULLY evacuate the rest of the PITIFUL Mortals that were here before I was, and WHERE did that bring you?
Some of the intelligent male Assassins maintain verbal silence, due to their realization of how small they really are in reality, that being Rexob, Loki, Zaviour and Knightowl, whilst the rest of the male AND female Assassins are just at a loss of words, as Vetroxis continues his sentence.
VETROXIS: It brought you RIGHT to ME, and as LONG as there are those that remember what WAS, there will ALWAYS be those that are UNABLE to accept what CAN be, after ALL, me, the Others, and my Demons were here to HELP, by CLEANSING this Earth, HEALING it’s very SOUL, like Mount Shasta still DOES to this very DAY, THAT is why it has been UNTOUCHED for THIS long, EVEN by US, and you TORE us APART with your INFERNAL machinery and your technological DEBAUCHERY, THAT is why you CANNOT count on ANYONE in this world, in THESE WORLDS, ESPECIALLY those who you IDOLIZE, because whatever I did, I did to make this Earth BETTER, COME ON, TELL ME HOW PROUD YOU ARE, MOTHER EARTH!!
Suddenly, with Vetroxis’ shuddering words, the Earth ITSELF starts to shudder, and even TREMBLE, as large purple holes open between the clouds, in the skies over West Virginia, and other US States, as the ground quakes, and glowing evil green cracks begin to form in the concrete, as the Assassins flee back to their vehicles to leave the area, as does Vetroxis, as he flees back to whatever Underworld he came from, whereas Zaviour decides to stay a bit longer, with Rexob and Knightowl trying to rush him.
REXOB: Zav, we have to go!! This place is LITERALLY about to COLLAPSE!
KNIGHTOWL: Zaviour, come on!!
Zaviour reluctantly obliges, before he eventually leaves to his black and blue pick-up truck, the Rolling Thunder, as the other Assassins follow suit, as they leave the American Independence Day Festival, and go back home, to Assassins Cabin, which is protected by a Z-Barrier that Zaviour had created to protect Assassins Cabin from any sort of danger or even aerial attacks.

So, this is a theory but since ENFP's often have trouble identifying with their type description and ENFJ's also often have trouble identifying with their type description, I checked into the INFJ type description and found many things that resonated with me and were frankly very ENFP-like... Like the person creating the type description (Using a big 5 mode of personality discovery) switched up the personality with whom it belonged to. I've noticed things in the description that seem to go with the cognitive functions of the other side and I intend to show them below. For a Tl;dr, I really do think that the ENFJ description is more ENFP-like and the ENFP description is more ENFJ like.
This is otherwise a long post as I'm going to copy the main description and point out the cognitive functions used in these supposed type descriptions and why they don't match up with the type they are describing and instead more like the other. I'll post a link to the pages in the comments.
I'll start with the ENFP description.
"It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for – and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing. - ORIAH MOUNTAIN DREAMER
People with the ENFP personality type (Campaigners) are true free spirits – outgoing, openhearted, and open-minded. With their lively, upbeat approach to life, ENFPs stand out in any crowd. But even though they can be the life of the party, they don’t just care about having a good time. These personalities have profound depths that are fueled by their intense desire for meaningful, emotional connections with others."
Outgoing and openhearted? Stand out in the crowd? Life of the party? This sounds like Fe to me. Possibly Fe dominance, wanting to blend in with a crowd. Unless we have a reason or we are very comfortable with the people we are around, in most crowds without preparing ourselves, we may often be found near a wall, maybe talking to a few friends, probably feeling anxious if somebody wants us to introduce ourselves to a random stranger. We need a *reason* to talk to someone generally. We don't just open ourselves up to random people willy nilly.
"The Magic of Everyday Life
ENFP personalities carry an interesting blend of carefree sociability, sparkling imagination, and deep, contemplative introspection. They regularly use their natural curiosity and expansive creativity to try to better understand themselves and the complex dynamics of human relationships. And they are truly devoted to nurturing their relationships with and their understanding of the world at large.
In their unique way, ENFPs’ introspective nature is driven by their imagination, wonder, and belief in things that cannot always be explained rationally. People with this personality type truly believe that everything – and everyone – is connected, and they live for the glimmers of insight that they can gain from these connections. They believe that how we treat one another really matters. In fact, ENFPs are the most likely personality type to believe in the concept of karma."
Deep contemplative introspection. Literally Ni. Better understand themselves and the complex dynamics of human relationships? Relationships plural? This is literally more Fe and Fe dom. ESFJs want to know all about your personal life, and ENFJs want to know all about your mental life. Truly devoted to nurturing their relationships with and their understanding of the world at large. Now wait a second... Nurturing their relationships with... the world at large (along with understanding it)? Way more Fe Ni-like than Ne Fi. "...Nature is driven by their imagination, wonder, and belief in things that cannot always be explained rationally. People with this personality type truly believe that everything – and everyone – is connected, and they live for the glimmers of insight that they can gain from these connections." Sure reminds me of ENFJ's love for astrology and inter-connectedness mentality. I mean, there's a lot of Fe Ni Ti going on with that mindset. Not quite where most ENFP's concentration lies. They are perhaps sometimes curious in those subjects at times, but their main focus is generally on believing that there is good in each person in a more individual manner (Fi projection), not trying to connect people and things together. Ne doesn't do that. We connect ideas and thought processes and want to bring things to a logical harmony in the world with Te. "They believe that how we treat one another really matters. In fact, ENFPs are the most likely personality type to believe in the concept of karma." We treat people right because it's the right thing to do. Not because we are concerned over karma. Honestly, I kinda do believe in karma, but it's like an outside thought that makes no impression on my life. Honestly, having to think of how "something else" like the idea of karma is responding to how I live my life would be tiring to a high Fi user. Fi does things generally without weighing in on how it would be perceived unless in critical or perhaps insecure or important moments. Meanwhile, Fe seeks external harmony and paired closely with Ni, will take that to a higher level. So they are definitely the most likely type to take karma seriously.
"ENFPs are independent and creative, always on the lookout for the magic and meaning in everyday life. They can’t help but ponder the deeper significance of life – even when they should be paying attention to something else.
When something sparks their imagination, ENFPs show an enthusiasm that is nothing short of infectious. These personalities can’t help but to radiate a positive energy that draws other people in. Consequently, they might find themselves being held up by their peers as a leader or guru. However, once their initial bloom of inspiration wears off, ENFPs can struggle with self-discipline and consistency, losing steam on projects that once meant so much to them."
"They can't help but ponder the deeper significance of life - even when they should be paying attention to something else." While we ENFP's do like to know about the deeper significance of life, if we're honest with ourselves, it's not a regular recurring thought. It's more of picking up bits and pieces scattered here and there. This deep pondering of life... This is Ni in action, especially if it's on the regular. "These personalities can’t help but to radiate a positive energy that draws other people in. Consequently, they might find themselves being held up by their peers as a leader or guru." I'll be honest here and say both ENFX's are capable of this.
"Seeking Joy
ENFP personalities are proof that seeking out life’s joys and pleasures isn’t the same as being shallow. Seemingly in the blink of an eye, people with this personality type can transform from impassioned idealists to carefree figures on the dance floor.
ENFP personalities are capable of intense thought and feeling – and also of kicking back and having a good time."
This is simply not true for at least many ENFP's. It takes getting the right mindset previously, a conscious decision if you will, to resolve to cut loose in a dance floor setting. It's easier when we're around the right people that we're comfortable with. Some ENFP's have mastered it naturally and are more confident, but others still have reservations. ENFP's are very purpose-driven guided by our Fi. If there's a *reason* to dance in a crowd (Someone we love and are comfortable with is there and we want to dance with) then it's easy. Otherwise it can feel awkward and unnatural sometimes. Meanwhile, even ENFJ's will tell you they are the life of the party absolutely thrilled to be there, often being the loudest one there. They thrive in Fe as their dominant function and can pretty much personify "carefree figures on the dance floor".
"Even in moments of fun, ENFPs want to connect emotionally with others. Few things matter more to these personalities than having genuine, heartfelt conversations with the people they cherish. ENFPs believe that everyone deserves to express their feelings, and their empathy and warmth create spaces where even the most timid spirits can feel comfortable opening up.
ENFPs need to be careful, however. Their intuition may lead them to read far too much into other people’s actions and behaviors. Instead of simply asking for an explanation, they may end up puzzling over someone else’s desires or intentions. This kind of social stress is what keeps harmony-focused ENFP personalities awake at night."
The first paragraph can be both, but in the second paragraph this is so much more Ni behavior. ENFP's literally do nothing but ask questions to clarify every little detail of what's going on in a persons life as we are trying to figure out how we can best help them. This is Ne gathering information so we can put together a complete understanding to the best of our ability. Ni often Thinks of things and comes up with an explanation and zones in on it, which often causes them to see a simple action by those they care about and interpret it to mean so much more than was likely intended. They will often try to figure out a meaning for something rather than simply asking. This is clearly Ni at work here, especially Fe Ni. And this sentence: "This kind of social stress is what keeps harmony-focused ENFP personalities awake at night." Like what?? ENFP literally don't stress over anything like this. And harmony-focused?? Gosh. If there's a problem that needs addressed, we are absolutely going to shake up that boat no questions asked. This agony over "What could that guy have meant by what he did?" is all Ni. Fe Ni to be exact. Honestly, high Ne and Fi user ENFP's will be more likely to miss an actual obvious signal altogether and even if it's noticed, may use Ne to consider that it could mean all sorts of innocent things and just leave it at that. Then we sleep well. If we do stay up it will be Ne making stupid random thought jumps and connections, not stressing over a specific occurrence.
"ENFPs will spend a lot of time exploring different relationships, feelings, and ideas before they find a path for their life that feels right. But when they do finally find their way, their imagination, empathy, and courage can light up not only their own life but also the world around them."
Exploring different relationships honestly sounds more like... actual seeking relationships than just coming across one person helping them then another and happening to getting close to them for that reason. Most of the time when ENFP's are close to people it's very loving, but often strictly platonic and not looking for a partner. We just help people that fate puts in our path and wish them well on their journey after a time. So, calling it exploring relationships doesn't sound ENFP-like...
That was the ENFP description... Doesn't sound very Ne Fi Te Si though does it? Perhaps more Fe Ni? Next we're tackling the ENFJ description. Thanks for bearing with me so far. Here's some snacks. Ok, onwards to the ENFJ description:
"When the whole world is silent, even one voice becomes powerful. - MALALA YOUSAFZAI
People with the ENFJ personality type (Protagonists) feel called to serve a greater purpose in life. Thoughtful and idealistic, ENFJs strive to have a positive impact on other people and the world around them. These personalities rarely shy away from an opportunity to do the right thing, even when doing so is far from easy."
Fi is such a powerful driving force to do what you think is right, particularly paired with Te in the tertiary as we want to act on the world to bring about order, particularly Ne Fi order in the natural world. It's a compelling force that Fe Ni Se simply doesn't have in the same intensity.
"ENFJs are born leaders, which explains why these personalities can be found among many notable politicians, coaches, and teachers. Their passion and charisma allow them to inspire others not just in their careers but in every arena of their lives, including their relationships. Few things bring people with the ENFJ personality type a deeper sense of joy and fulfillment than guiding friends and loved ones to grow into their best selves.
ENFJs possess the unique ability to remain hopeful in the face of difficulties, always remembering that there is something to be grateful for."
"Inspire others not just in their careers but in every arena of their lives, including their relationships. Few things bring people with the ENFJ (ENFP) personality type a deeper sense of joy and fulfillment than guiding friends and loved ones to grow into their best selves." This is LITERALLY ENFP's. We strive and hunger to help people become the best version of themselves. We want to help them through their problems. Their relationship struggles, job struggles, emotional struggles, whatever they need. We want to do the best we can to elevate them to be strong enough to be better people and take care of things on their own so that we can have the freedom to move on from them to some other soul in need of help. We are always hopeful no matter what! That Ne opens the door to many opportunities and the Fi wants to believe and hope for the best in people.
"Speaking Up for What’s Right
ENFJs tend to be vocal about their values, including authenticity and altruism. When something strikes them as unjust or wrong, they speak up. But they rarely come across as brash or pushy, as their sensitivity and insight guide them to speak in ways that resonate with others."
Again, LITERALLY ENFP. Their values?? This is literally ENFP Ne Fi. Authenticity. Altruism. These things are critically important to ENFP's. Injustice? Wrongs? We are absolutely going to speak up and do something about it. The approach to handling may be different depending on the situation and circumstance, but one way or another it's going to be addressed.
"ENFJ personalities have not only an uncanny ability to pick up on people’s underlying motivations and beliefs but also a knack for understanding how others are feeling just by looking at them. At times, they may not even understand how they come to grasp another person’s mind and heart so quickly. These flashes of insight can make ENFJs incredibly persuasive and inspiring communicators.
ENFJ personalities possess an innate sense of justice and an unwavering commitment to standing up against what they perceive as wrong."
Yes. We can often pick up on motives, studying them, and picking up on emotional signals sometimes just reading the energy from a text. We can just feel that they're hiding something so we point it out and pull it out of them and they tell it. It's complicated but honestly I'm glad I can connect with people so that I can be better able to learn more about them to help them in the best way we can. And this sentence: "ENFJ personalities possess an innate sense of justice and an unwavering commitment to standing up against what they perceive as wrong." Text book definition of Fi. Particularly Ne Fi as morals are in question. Particularly as it speaks of "innate" sense of justice.
"This personality type’s secret weapon is their purity of intent. Generally speaking, ENFJs are motivated by a sincere wish to do the right thing rather than a desire to manipulate or have power over other people. Even when they disagree with someone, they search for common ground. The result is that people with the ENFJ personality type can communicate with an eloquence and sensitivity that are nearly impossible to ignore – particularly when they speak about matters that are close to their hearts."
Purity of intent is literally the ENFP strong point. We are always trying to do the right thing and stay true to ourselves. This is the calling card of the ENFP's. The thing we wish everyone understood and get hurt when people think we would ever want to hurt anyone on purpose. :( (Why do people do this??) Manipulation is like absolute anathema to us!!! It's disgusting. Horrible. Dishonest and twisting people?? We want people to be the best individuals, their own Fi that they can be! Once you are strong enough, we let you go to take on life without us. :) We have no need for attachment to you if we know you are doing the right thing for yourself. <3 Maybe just check in or just be an awesome friend to you, but if you're ready to move on on your own, we are happy to see you fly with new wings. <3 Like, even if we disagree on even moral points, honestly I acknowledge that everyone is walking their own path in life with their own circumstances that led them there, and all we want to do is simply give them the tools to grow as individuals and allow them to make the hard choices on their own. Perhaps drop a few words of advice to help them see things in a better light in general and give them hope, but we don't push anything on them.
"Getting Involved
ENFJ personalities are genuine, caring people who talk the talk and walk the walk. Nothing makes them happier than motivating others to do what’s right.
When ENFJs care about someone, they want to help solve that person’s problems – sometimes at any cost. The good news is that many people are grateful for this assistance and advice. After all, there’s a reason that these personalities have a reputation for helping others improve their lives.
But getting involved in other people’s problems isn’t always a recipe for success. ENFJs tend to have a clear vision of what people can or should do in order to better themselves, but not everyone is ready to make those changes. If they push too hard, their loved ones may feel resentful or unfairly judged. And while this personality type is known for being insightful, even the wisest ENFJs may sometimes misread a situation or unwittingly give bad advice."
That genuineness, that talk the talk and walk the walk... that's Fi. And being so important to us, we want to see others develop their Fi as well. We want to help people, and that sometimes at any cost... That's so true for us ENFP's... Many times we might lose sleep over helping a person struggling with depression. If someone needs a coat and we feel drawn to help them, we will happily give them the coat off our back even if it's cold outside. If we're in the middle of something even kinda important, but a person nearby asks for help, then we'll put the other thing on hold and help them... if it takes longer than expected to help them, then oh well. Guess we have to keep helping them. That other thing will just have to keep waiting. And yes. We have an idea from the start when addressing people's problems of what sort of things they should improve in their lives in order to reach stability or feel at peace. We try to ease them carefully towards making those decisions on their own as they are comfortable with it, but yeah... sometimes people keep putting up road blocks which can be difficult to push past without sometimes getting them upset... We promise we are just trying to help though. (I.e. I know it can be tough to apologize to a parent that has been unfair to you, but try to see things from their perspective too. You didn't behave very respectfully. And although they perhaps don't "deserve" your respect, healing has to come from somewhere and it will also help you grow as a person. We aren't trying to say it's all your fault. They are at fault too, but you should also do your part to accept the role you had and try to mend things between you.) And yes, regarding the bad advice, that can happen sometimes. We do the best we can with as much Ne data as possible, but we might miss things occasionally, and Te may jump in with a solution that might not always be fully matured. Sorry about that. We try.
"Leading the Way
People with this personality type are devoted altruists, ready to face slings and arrows in order to stand up for the people and ideas that they believe in. This strength of conviction bolsters an ENFJ’s ability to guide others to work together in service of the greater good.
But their greatest gift might actually be leading by example. In their day-to-day lives, ENFJs reveal how seemingly ordinary situations can be handled with compassion, dedication, and care. For these personalities, even the smallest daily choices and actions – from how they spend their weekend to what they say to a coworker who is struggling – can become an opportunity to lead the way to a brighter future."
Yes. More and more ENFP qualities. By the way, I must point you out to this sentence: "This strength of conviction bolsters an ENFJ’s (ENFP's) ability to guide others to work together in service of the greater good." This reminds me of that thing about personalities that a mature person of a type can look like another with the tertiary and inferior moved to the dominant and aux position, so a well rounded mature ENFP with Ne Fi Te Si, can look/behave something like a Te Si Ne Fi ESTJ, but with an ENFP altruistic mindset. So, if we have found a cause to be truly worthwhile, we can certainly move to inspire people to work together to achieve this goal for the community at large. It doesn't necessarily happen often to most ENFP's, but I'm certain the urge to get people together to do something big has often touched the heart of most ENFP's. And yes. We do our best to live our lives to show how in even ordinary circumstances, you can be good to your fellow man. Never miss an opportunity to do some good if someone comes into your life needing assistance. Strive for the betterment of all.
If you got through all that, well thank you. I'm sure you'll judge everything I've said, but that's why I put it up here. I want to hear your thoughts on the matter. Do you agree that they seem off from what they say? That they are describing the other personality? It doesn't matter what type you are, I'm happy to hear how you weigh in, but if some ENFP's and ENFJ's also jump in that would be awesome. Thanks. Y'all are awesome. <3

I go through these periods that can last weeks to months where I just cannot find the strength/ motivation to get up. I will just keep falling back to sleep until I finally feel okay to wake up which is usually anywhere between 7pm-10pm the next day. I wake up and feel awful as I haven’t eaten or drank all day, usually end up with a headache which renders me unproductive for the rest of the time awake. I’m at university and it’s made it so hard to stay on top of my work, it’s a constant fight to stay afloat regardless of how early I begin. I have my final 2 assignments due in and I was on track until the last 2weeks. I’ve fallen back into this awful routine again where I just can’t find any drive to get up, no matter how much I worry about doing badly/not getting my work in, the fear just evaporates when I wake up and try to motivate myself to move. I’ve tried telling this to my advisor and he said just buy loads of alarms. I have 3 and I’ll just turn them all off and go back to bed? I’m like I zombie during that first 10 mins of being awake, my only thought is going back to sleep, I don’t think ‘oh, I’m up now, I might as well stay up’ like normal ppl. Everything in me fights to go back to sleep and the voice that says ‘plz stay up, you’ve got work do’ is to weak to override any of it.
Idk what to do, my therapists give me rubbish advice. They tell me focus on something you enjoy or like doing,… it’s like they forget the symptoms of depression. There is nothing I like doing enough to motivate me, I often don’t feel enjoyment at all. When I tell them that they say ‘well, there must be something’ like they don’t know that depression can do that to you, or they just seem stumped. Or they talk about exercise and going outside and I’m like well, I just told you I can’t even get myself up so how am I supposed to do that? And after I do wake up I’m severely dehydrated and starving so exercising would be a bad idea. I’m on 75mg of sertraline & want to increase my dose to 100mg. Does anyone have any advice?

𝜗𝜚 introduction

back again with another informational post! this one is now about grounding yourself. i see a lot of posts talking about not being able to ground themselves once they reach their dr. they do the method, they wake up in their dr. but, they don't ground themselves. so they only last a couple of seconds in that dr. that's okay, it happens. it happened to me many times as well before i got the hang of it. if you can manage to this, then you can manage to shift again and make it longer!
the following are tips that i have used and still use to ground myself. it helps well and i hope you can find it helpful too.
now looking back, this will be a long post so just be warned haha. a tldr will be in the bottom in the conclusion.

˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚ focus ˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚

the following are some tips on how to focus on your dr using visualizations. if you cannot visualize, that is fine! you can either skip this section or learn how to visualize. visualization is more than just seeing images. instead of focusing on the act of shifting, focus on your breathing and detaching yourself. don't focus on the concept of shifting. don't overthink it; focus on the journey to shift. focus on how your breath travels all the way and surrounding your body. how your chest pushes out with each exhale. how maybe it hurts to breathe in too much. do you breathe too quickly? the more that you focus on this, the more your body will relax. then, focus on breathing in your dr.
to practice getting better at visualization, try to imagine an apple in front of you. what is its size and shape? what color is it? if it is in your hand, how firm is it? what does it taste like as you bite into it?
another exercise is i want you to think of your favorite food. imagine how it tastes in your head, even for just a split second, your brain will make your taste buds remember. that is a visualization. practice meditating and visualizing as you meditate. your soul idea is to visualize and focus on that one thing. and only that one thing. make the meditation longer and longer each time until you feel closer and better connected to your dr enough to shift.

🎀‎˚₊‧ intent ‎‧₊˚🎀

intent is the most important part of shifting. it is the difference between wishful thinking and actually shifting. some people struggle with intent and not knowing what it is.
now personally, i find saying things out loud is good and more helpful for me. you can even whisper it. hearing the words to yourself does more in my opinion. i have many options for intent. you could go to bed telling yourself your intentions to wake up in your dr.
now, at this point, your intention is just wishful thinking. you want to wake up in your dr. so you close your eyes and go to sleep, hoping that you will. now, to add to it and improve upon this intention idea. go to bed, and try a shifting method while awake. focus on your body going to sleep. if your body feels stuck and tingling, let it happen.
as your body tries to sleep, it will become uncomfortable. don't let the uncomfortable feelings make you move or stop this state. keep thinking about your dr. try to immerse yourself in it. think of yourself sleeping in your dr.
now, if you do not shift even while doing this, that is okay. you still have other chances. this next step can be done after. do the same thing again. go to sleep with the intent of waking up in your reality. you will have your dream and you will slowly start to wake up. you wake up before your eyes open. in this state, you are still groggy and teetering between awake ans asleep. your body is tired and you are still stuck. use this to your advantage!
affirm the fact that you are waking up in your desired reality. make sure that you are sure of it. make sure that you are becoming aware of your dr and not your cr. i talk about how to in my 54321 technique section below.
but hey, let's say that you did all of that, and still haven't shifted at this point. well, you have two options. either a, write down your dreams in great detail. this is so you can try to lucid dream and do a lucid dreaming method one day.
or b, while you are still tired, quickly play something to shift to or a meditation. meditate and relax yourself throughout the day to help if you wish. you can always try again later in the night.
you can also try to do similar to what people do when they astral project. set an alarm to wake up in the middle of the night. do something for a few minutes until you feel tired again. lie back down and try to shift again using this method.
if you believe that each time you try will be another failure, then you will not shift. don't get discouraged. sometimes relaxing yourself and not stressing is the best option honestly.
i will also add here that once you do get to your dr, intend to stay for a while. think of it like martial arts. in martial arts, you are taught to not punch at the opponent, but instead, to intend to punch through them. don't just intend to go to your dr, intend to stay for a while. however long you wish. having a time frame in mind helps but you don't have to.

‧˚ʚ🍓ɞ˚‧ 54321 ‧˚ʚ🍓ɞ˚‧

the 54321 method is one to tap into your senses. i call this a method not in reference to a shifting method, but as a grounding method. at this point, you have shifted and are just looking to ground yourself in order to stay in your dr for more than a couple of seconds.
this method is used to ground anyone dealing with anxiety and a good meditation strategy in general. it includes looking for the following.
: ̗̀➛ 5
look for five things you can see. or five things you wish to visualize seeing once in your dr. at this point, you are starting to see things. so calm down, don't freak out of get excited. look around, calm yourself. find five things in your surrounding that you can see. your pillow, the ceiling, the wall. is there anything on your walls? any posters or photos? what color are your walls? these questions are important to ask yourself when grounding as it makes you focus on its realness.
: ̗̀➛ 4
four things you can touch. start to feel around and explore things. your blankets. the wall. the texture of your pillow. your own face. you can feel your face on the pillow. is it soft? stiff? warm? cold? where is your arm? is it under the pillow?
: ̗̀➛ 3
find and acknowledge three things that you hear. maybe people are talking in the background. the birds chirping. did you fall asleep listening to music maybe?
: ̗̀➛ 2
two things you can smell. breakfast being ready. incense in the background. did you light any candles? any pets that you sleep by? all of these are important to acknowledge.
: ̗̀➛ 1
finally, find one thing that you can taste, your teeth have a taste. lick you teeth and think of that taste. maybe hair was in your mouth and you can taste that.

💌₊˚⊹ conclusion ₊˚⊹💌

a quick tldr first now because this post got very long. for focus, you need to focus on your breathing and the idea of being in your dr; not the concept of shifting itself. for intent, actually make the effort to feel your body in your dr rather than having just a wishful thinking. and finally, for the 54321, focus on your senses when in your dr. and that is basically how to ground yourself.
this post was posted at 8:18 p.m.
happy shifting! ᡣ𐭩

It was just supposed to be another camping trip, like so many others we had gone on.
The town we live in isn't huge, but it does have a lot of woodland to explore. We live on the edge of what most people would call Appalachia and we’ve had more than one weird experience out there. Once, as my friends and I walked down the familiar trails, we smelled a strong and unpleasant scent. Brian thought it must have been a bear, but I’d smelled bear smells before. We’d had one winter under our back porch one year, and this was very different from the musty smell he had left when spring came.
Another time, while we were camping, we saw ghost lights in the woods. They were beautiful, red and blue and yellow and orange, and though Justin was afraid of them, I felt drawn to go to them and see them better. I knew better, though. Grandma had told all of us about the dangers of following the ghost lights and had assured us all that we wouldn’t like where they would take us.
“The lands of Fairy is beautiful, but also terrible for mortals to behold. They would make you young for the rest of your days, though that might not be as long as you might think.” She always said with an evil grin.
We’d heard whistling and strange growls, throaty yells, and strange birds, but none of it ever really scared me. The woods had always been a friendly place, a place of adventure, and I always looked forward to my time there. I never felt uneasy when I was within its borders, and as the four of us prepared to go back into the woods for another camping expedition, I was excited.
Brain’s brother had told him about an old trestle bridge deep in the woods and we all wanted to see it.
It was part of the old railroad, something that hadn’t run through the town in a long time. The tracks were still there, the old station too, but the trains had been mostly for passengers, and we had none these days. No one came in, no one left, and we had no industry for the trains to transport. All the wood we harvested went to the sawmill or the paper mill, and there was no need to transport it by rail. The trestle bridge hadn’t seen a train cross it in twenty years and spanned a small gorge in the middle of the forest. Brian said his brother claimed the bridge was where high school kids went to drink beer, and now that we were Freshmen, we should go out there too.
“He said it was a right of passage and that we should go see if the right had decided to leave us a gift out there.”
We didn’t know what sort of gift that would be, but we were all curious to see the bridge.
So, we told our parents we would be camping one weekend in April and took to the woods.
Brian and I were eager, talking about how cool it would be to see it, but Justin and Frank seemed hesitant. Well, that wasn’t quite true. Justin was hesitant, as he almost always was, and Frank was kind of ambivalent. We had met him last year at the start of ninth grade and he had made a pretty good addition to our trio. Frank wasn’t an avid hiker, but he liked to hang out in the woods and get a little high from time to time and that was good enough for us. He also brought outstanding camping snacks, so we were more than happy to hit the trails with him. I wasn’t certain there was a sleeping bag in that rucksack of his, but I could already hear the crinkle of chips and snack cakes within it.
“Any idea how far off this bridge is?” Justin asked, plodding along grumpily.
Justin didn’t mind hiking, but he wasn’t big on aimlessly wandering around in the woods. He had packed enough to make up for Frank’s lack of gear, and the tent poked up over his left shoulder. He was plodding along at the back of the group and I was sure we’d have to listen to a fair amount of complaining before we got there.
“My brother says it's about three miles into the woods, following the river until we come to the gorge. After that, it should be pretty easy to find.”
“And if your brother is playing a trick on us? If he’s just messing with us and we walk three hours into the woods for nothing?”
Brian rolled his eyes, “Then we have a fun little adventure to talk about when we go to college, don’t we?”
Justin grumbled about having to walk three miles into the woods, but we couldn’t have picked a better day for it. The weather was perfect, a slight breeze keeping the early summer heat at bay. The clouds overhead looked a little wet, but they were nowhere close. We’d have a nice camping trip this weekend, a nice little excuse to fish and relax and enjoy ourselves as we explored the old trestle. The woods around the town were full of things like that, and we’d explored old houses that had been retaken by the underbrush or abandoned vehicles that sagged amongst the leaves. When we were in seventh grade, we even found an old concrete culvert out there that led into an underground cave that looked a little spooky in the light of our flashlights.
The farther we walked, however, the less certain I was that the clouds wouldn’t be a problem. The deeper into the woods we went, the more the smell of rain surrounded us. Brian smelled it too, and our pace increased as we kept heading deeper into the forest. Maybe it was just a little rain, maybe it was just a short downpour, and maybe we could get past it before it soaked everything.
When the gorge came into view and I saw the rising, skeletal edifice of the trestle, I breathed a sigh of relief.
“There she is, boys,” Brian said, sounding surprised to have found it as well.
“Looks pretty wrecked,” Frank said, tossing the stub of a cigarette into the gorge, “We aren’t actually going up on that thing, are we?”
“Wel, ya,” Brian said, “That's kind of the whole reason we came, wasn’t it?”
“You might,” Frank said, “but I don’t care what kind of surprise is up there, I ain’t going.”
He had plenty of time to rethink his statement. Just because we had found the gully, didn’t mean we had made it to the trestle. The closer we got, the more I could see that, for its age, it really was in amazing shape. It was less skeletal than I had thought and looked more like a covered metal bridge. The underside of the trestle was a dark cave, the shadows thick and deep, and I really didn’t want to explore the underside unless we REALLY had to. Something about it made me uncomfortable, and as we got closer and closer to the base, the whole thing seemed to grow.
It was mid-afternoon when we finally made it, and Brian let his pack fall as he set about climbing at once.
“Uh, you don’t wanna set up camp first?” Justin asked, taking out his tent and tools for making a fire.
“I want to see the woods from up there,” Brian said, looking at me as if to ask if I was coming.
I let my own pack side off and we climbed the side of the trestle side by side. We were laughing as the ground got farther and farther away, the girders lifting us above the trees until we finally crested the top and came to the old tracks of the railroad. I was full of wonder as I looked out over the woods, the trestle spanning the entire gorge before slanting back down to the woods again. From up here, the clouds looked very dark, and I wondered if the tent would be enough to keep us from getting wet.
“Check this out,” Brian said, dangling his feet over the side as he looked down into the gorge.
Watching him made me slightly dizzy, and I didn’t dare join him on the precipice.
When he came back up, however, he had a rope with him and nodded me over to help him pull it up. It wasn’t really heavy, but we were careful not to get it stuck on anything. Brian left me to pull so he could look over the edge and reported that the rope was attached to an old, red cooler. As it came up and over the edge, I saw that the rope was attached to the handle and the whole thing was the red of a kid's wagon left out in the sun. The box was ancient, the bystander of a thousand summer outings, and there was something inside it.
Brian opened the lid and smiled as he pulled out a lukewarm six-pack of Natty Ice, a brand I was passing familiar with. Dad, a staunch Budweiser man, had always shook his head and called it “pisswater” when he saw it on sale, but I figured for a bunch of kids who were barely old enough to buy beer the price was probably right. I assumed Brian’s brother had put it there, he had told us where to find the trestle bridge, after all, and as Brian fished the note out from under them, my suspicions were confirmed.
“Brian, this is a place where high schoolers have come to drink and hang out for generations. Our own mom and dad sat on this bridge and drank when they were in High school, and now it’s your turn. I spotted you a sixer this time, but you’ll have to bring your own next time. If you ever have extra, leave them in this cooler and then tuck the cooler back under the trestle bridge. Also, don’t go under the bridge, we think there might be a bear under there. Kevin.”
The thought of a bear so close to our campsite kind of scared me, but Brian brushed it off.
“He’s probably just messing with us. Want one?” he asked, popping the top on one as he offered me another one.
I hesitated. I’d never drank before, but I figured just one wouldn’t kill me. It was warm and tasted terrible, but it wasn’t the worst thing I’d ever had. Brian drank his quick, laughing as he threw the can into the gorge far below. We watched it spiral down, spilling the last few remaining drops before it clinked weakly on the bottom.
As if in answer, there was a distant rumble of thunder, and from our vantage point we saw the lightning crack in the distance.
We were on a big metal structure with lightning coming in quick and rain already pattering lightly around us.
“We better go,” I said, Brian looking at the lightning as it rumbled again. He nodded and we decided to run down the tracks rather than try to scale back down. It would mean doubling back, but it wouldn’t be a long trip, and the thought of juggling the rest of the beers and trying to climb down sounded nuts. Brian was holding the four of them close as he ran, smiling to himself as he talked about showing them to the guys.
“Justin will flip!” Brian said with an evil laugh, “You know he still won’t even be around anyone who smokes because of that dumb DARE pledge?”
He was right too. Justin was furiously hammering in tent pegs when we arrived, looking up at the sky every time a drop hit him. He stopped, though, when he noticed us come back with cans that clearly weren’t soda. Frank must have recognized them because he laughed and commented that they had found a pretty cool surprise. Brian tossed him one, turning to Justin as he offered him one too.
Justin put his hands on his hips, looking like my mother when she was disappointed in me.
“Hell no, and you shouldn’t either. Why would you just drink something you found on a rickety bridge?
Brian blew out a long breath and popped open another one, “Because, spaz, my brother left them for us. There was a note and everything, so cool your jets.”
Justin went back to work, mumbling darkly about being reckless and drinking things that could be poisoned or drugged.
The tent came up, and not a moment too soon. The rain was really starting to come down, and it looked like there would be no fire tonight. We all headed into the tent, the wind picking up as it shoved at the tent and made the ropes and pegs groan. It was big enough to fit us all comfortably, and as the lamps came out, Brian held up the last two beers.
"Split the last two?" he asked, everyone but Justin agreeing. We poured them into our camp cups, starting to clink them together before Brian turned to Justin. He was pretending to busy himself with something in the corner, but it was pretty clear he didn't approve of what we were doing.
"Come on, Justin, it's not gonna hurt you. I tell you what, if we see you become an alcoholic after one sip, we'll push you into the gorge and save you the embarrassment."
"Not funny," Justin said, but we had clearly worn him down. After another half-hearted refusal, he finally held his cup out to Justin who grinned as he poured the last of the beer into it. Then we clinked our glasses together and drank, everyone pulling a face which we laughed at. As the storm raged outside we ate some MREs we had packed just in case of bad weather and started on ghost stories. Brian was just telling us about a man with a hungry ghost in his basement when a big gust of wind hit the tent hard enough to collapse the middle brace and send it crashing down on us.
We floundered for a minute, looking for the zipper as we tried to escape, and finally stepping out into the driving rain. It was still afternoon, the sun an angry line amidst the storm clouds, and I turned as I heard someone struggling with the tent. Justin was trying to pull it, the wind threatening to take it from him with every gust.
"Come on," he shouted, "Help me get it under the trestle. It should work as a windbreak."
I remembered the warning about a bear, but Brian just shouted back that it was either the bear or the rain.
"Besides," he said, "If we see one, we'll just run like hell."
It was hard to argue with him while the rain was coming down, so we all grabbed a tent post and moved it into the dry cave created by the trestle. Unlike a lot of train trestles I had seen in movies and TV shows, this one was enclosed. I'm still not sure why, but it worked out well for us that day. We knocked in the tent pegs and sat in the tent as we watched the rain come down in buckets outside. Our stuff had gotten a little wet, but we hadn't brought anything that couldn't take a little water. As the light gave way to dark, we started breaking out our lanterns and cards, settling in for the night as we listened to the rain.
As I lay there watching Justin and Brian play their fourth or fifth game of Magic the Gathering, I started hearing something besides the rain. It was a deep rumbling, like something snoring deep under the metal bridge. I thought again about Brian's brother telling us there was a bear under there. I didn't want to get eaten by a bear in my sleep, and if we were going to have to move again, it was better to know now.
I took out my flashlight and started looking into the shadowy depths of the trestle, but there was nothing to be seen. There was some very thick-looking mud under here, some of it having made little stalagmites on the ground, but I couldn't see anything sleeping under there. It wouldn't make a very good den, I reflected as I shone my light around. It was open on both sides with the gorge coming in about thirty feet from our tent. There was really nowhere for anything to live down here, but as I swung the light from right to left, I could still hear that weird breathing.
On a whim, I pointed it up and under the bridge, and that was when I saw it.
At first, I thought it was a bunch of bats clustered together, but when it flinched under the beam of my light, I knew it was just one big thing. It was a huge bat, maybe bigger than me, with its large, leathery wings pulled up tight around it. It was clinging to the bottom of the trestle bridge, and I imagine it had been a bad spot to hang when the trains still ran. I spotted a slight movement to its left and found a second one hanging not far from it. In total, there were four of them, and when one of them shifted its wings to look down at me with a red, unhappy eye, I turned off the flashlight and zipped up the tent.
The guys had some strong words when I started turning off the lanterns, but I told them to be quiet and get down.
"What?" Frank asked, "Did you see something out there?"
"Was it the bear?" Brian asked, keeping his voice low as we hunkered doen.
"What bear?" Justin asked, but I waved a hand at them, trying to get them to be quiet.
"It's not bear," I hissed, but about that time, there was a weird sound from outside.
It sounded like a high-pitched yawn as something came awake followed by the rustle of wings. The talk in the tent had ceased now, and you could have heard a mouse fart. In the dark of the undercroft, we heard something huge and leathery take flight, rustling the canvas of the tent as it left the darkness. A second took flight a moment after, and I heard water cascade down as it shook the top of the trees. We all lay on our stomachs, panting for breath as we listened for more.
I had seen four, and only two had left so far.
When something hit the ground about a foot from our tent, Justin had to slap a hand over his mouth to stop from screaming. The hushed remnants squeaked from between his fingers like a deflating balloon, but if the creature heard it, it never showed any sign. I could see the vague outline of it as it rose to its full height, and as it flapped its wings and took flight, the tent rustled like it had in the wind.
"Is that all of them?" Brian asked, three sets of eyes turning my way.
I started to tell them there had been a fourth, but that was when the fourth fell on top of the tent. We were very lucky, all things considered. It landed right in the middle of the tent, shattering the plastic pole and sending the plastic material down around us. The creature's toenails scrabbled across it noisily as it tried to find purchase, and when it took off I was afraid it would simply carry us off with it. Instead, it just ripped a hole in the top as it flew off, all of us still reeling as we lay under the canvas.
After a few minutes, it was decided that we would take our sleeping bags and our packs and leave the tent behind.
We spent a miserable night huddled under the biggest tree we could find. We probably looked like fat cata pillars as we hunkered against the roots of the big tree, but we were as dry as we could manage. We all kept looking towards the skies, afraid the giant bat things would come after us, but they never did. We didn't talk, we didn't dare, and when the sun came up, we made our way out of the woods. We arrived at my house cold, scared, and unwilling to talk about what we had seen. My parents probably thought we had run afoul of something like a bear or a cougar, but they had no idea.
That was about two weeks ago, and we haven't been back in the woods since. Just knowing that those things are in the woods makes us not want to be there after dark. It's a shame because the woods were our spot, our sanctuary, and now it seems tainted. Brian doesn't even leave the house after sunset these days, and Justin looks at the sky when he's walking. Frank says he doesn't really want to talk about it, and I think he's stoned a lot of the time.
I dream about it sometimes, the way that one big red eye looked at me when I shone the flashlight on it, and I can't help but wonder what something that big eats?
I think it will be a good long time before I talk any of them back into the woods, and our camping days may be at an end.

It was just supposed to be another camping trip, like so many others we had gone on.
The town we live in isn't huge, but it does have a lot of woodland to explore. We live on the edge of what most people would call Appalachia and we’ve had more than one weird experience out there. Once, as my friends and I walked down the familiar trails, we smelled a strong and unpleasant scent. Brian thought it must have been a bear, but I’d smelled bear smells before. We’d had one winter under our back porch one year, and this was very different from the musty smell he had left when spring came.
Another time, while we were camping, we saw ghost lights in the woods. They were beautiful, red and blue and yellow and orange, and though Justin was afraid of them, I felt drawn to go to them and see them better. I knew better, though. Grandma had told all of us about the dangers of following the ghost lights and had assured us all that we wouldn’t like where they would take us.
“The lands of Fairy is beautiful, but also terrible for mortals to behold. They would make you young for the rest of your days, though that might not be as long as you might think.” She always said with an evil grin.
We’d heard whistling and strange growls, throaty yells, and strange birds, but none of it ever really scared me. The woods had always been a friendly place, a place of adventure, and I always looked forward to my time there. I never felt uneasy when I was within its borders, and as the four of us prepared to go back into the woods for another camping expedition, I was excited.
Brain’s brother had told him about an old trestle bridge deep in the woods and we all wanted to see it.
It was part of the old railroad, something that hadn’t run through the town in a long time. The tracks were still there, the old station too, but the trains had been mostly for passengers, and we had none these days. No one came in, no one left, and we had no industry for the trains to transport. All the wood we harvested went to the sawmill or the paper mill, and there was no need to transport it by rail. The trestle bridge hadn’t seen a train cross it in twenty years and spanned a small gorge in the middle of the forest. Brian said his brother claimed the bridge was where high school kids went to drink beer, and now that we were Freshmen, we should go out there too.
“He said it was a right of passage and that we should go see if the right had decided to leave us a gift out there.”
We didn’t know what sort of gift that would be, but we were all curious to see the bridge.
So, we told our parents we would be camping one weekend in April and took to the woods.
Brian and I were eager, talking about how cool it would be to see it, but Justin and Frank seemed hesitant. Well, that wasn’t quite true. Justin was hesitant, as he almost always was, and Frank was kind of ambivalent. We had met him last year at the start of ninth grade and he had made a pretty good addition to our trio. Frank wasn’t an avid hiker, but he liked to hang out in the woods and get a little high from time to time and that was good enough for us. He also brought outstanding camping snacks, so we were more than happy to hit the trails with him. I wasn’t certain there was a sleeping bag in that rucksack of his, but I could already hear the crinkle of chips and snack cakes within it.
“Any idea how far off this bridge is?” Justin asked, plodding along grumpily.
Justin didn’t mind hiking, but he wasn’t big on aimlessly wandering around in the woods. He had packed enough to make up for Frank’s lack of gear, and the tent poked up over his left shoulder. He was plodding along at the back of the group and I was sure we’d have to listen to a fair amount of complaining before we got there.
“My brother says it's about three miles into the woods, following the river until we come to the gorge. After that, it should be pretty easy to find.”
“And if your brother is playing a trick on us? If he’s just messing with us and we walk three hours into the woods for nothing?”
Brian rolled his eyes, “Then we have a fun little adventure to talk about when we go to college, don’t we?”
Justin grumbled about having to walk three miles into the woods, but we couldn’t have picked a better day for it. The weather was perfect, a slight breeze keeping the early summer heat at bay. The clouds overhead looked a little wet, but they were nowhere close. We’d have a nice camping trip this weekend, a nice little excuse to fish and relax and enjoy ourselves as we explored the old trestle. The woods around the town were full of things like that, and we’d explored old houses that had been retaken by the underbrush or abandoned vehicles that sagged amongst the leaves. When we were in seventh grade, we even found an old concrete culvert out there that led into an underground cave that looked a little spooky in the light of our flashlights.
The farther we walked, however, the less certain I was that the clouds wouldn’t be a problem. The deeper into the woods we went, the more the smell of rain surrounded us. Brian smelled it too, and our pace increased as we kept heading deeper into the forest. Maybe it was just a little rain, maybe it was just a short downpour, and maybe we could get past it before it soaked everything.
When the gorge came into view and I saw the rising, skeletal edifice of the trestle, I breathed a sigh of relief.
“There she is, boys,” Brian said, sounding surprised to have found it as well.
“Looks pretty wrecked,” Frank said, tossing the stub of a cigarette into the gorge, “We aren’t actually going up on that thing, are we?”
“Wel, ya,” Brian said, “That's kind of the whole reason we came, wasn’t it?”
“You might,” Frank said, “but I don’t care what kind of surprise is up there, I ain’t going.”
He had plenty of time to rethink his statement. Just because we had found the gully, didn’t mean we had made it to the trestle. The closer we got, the more I could see that, for its age, it really was in amazing shape. It was less skeletal than I had thought and looked more like a covered metal bridge. The underside of the trestle was a dark cave, the shadows thick and deep, and I really didn’t want to explore the underside unless we REALLY had to. Something about it made me uncomfortable, and as we got closer and closer to the base, the whole thing seemed to grow.
It was mid-afternoon when we finally made it, and Brian let his pack fall as he set about climbing at once.
“Uh, you don’t wanna set up camp first?” Justin asked, taking out his tent and tools for making a fire.
“I want to see the woods from up there,” Brian said, looking at me as if to ask if I was coming.
I let my own pack side off and we climbed the side of the trestle side by side. We were laughing as the ground got farther and farther away, the girders lifting us above the trees until we finally crested the top and came to the old tracks of the railroad. I was full of wonder as I looked out over the woods, the trestle spanning the entire gorge before slanting back down to the woods again. From up here, the clouds looked very dark, and I wondered if the tent would be enough to keep us from getting wet.
“Check this out,” Brian said, dangling his feet over the side as he looked down into the gorge.
Watching him made me slightly dizzy, and I didn’t dare join him on the precipice.
When he came back up, however, he had a rope with him and nodded me over to help him pull it up. It wasn’t really heavy, but we were careful not to get it stuck on anything. Brian left me to pull so he could look over the edge and reported that the rope was attached to an old, red cooler. As it came up and over the edge, I saw that the rope was attached to the handle and the whole thing was the red of a kid's wagon left out in the sun. The box was ancient, the bystander of a thousand summer outings, and there was something inside it.
Brian opened the lid and smiled as he pulled out a lukewarm six-pack of Natty Ice, a brand I was passing familiar with. Dad, a staunch Budweiser man, had always shook his head and called it “pisswater” when he saw it on sale, but I figured for a bunch of kids who were barely old enough to buy beer the price was probably right. I assumed Brian’s brother had put it there, he had told us where to find the trestle bridge, after all, and as Brian fished the note out from under them, my suspicions were confirmed.
“Brian, this is a place where high schoolers have come to drink and hang out for generations. Our own mom and dad sat on this bridge and drank when they were in High school, and now it’s your turn. I spotted you a sixer this time, but you’ll have to bring your own next time. If you ever have extra, leave them in this cooler and then tuck the cooler back under the trestle bridge. Also, don’t go under the bridge, we think there might be a bear under there. Kevin.”
The thought of a bear so close to our campsite kind of scared me, but Brian brushed it off.
“He’s probably just messing with us. Want one?” he asked, popping the top on one as he offered me another one.
I hesitated. I’d never drank before, but I figured just one wouldn’t kill me. It was warm and tasted terrible, but it wasn’t the worst thing I’d ever had. Brian drank his quick, laughing as he threw the can into the gorge far below. We watched it spiral down, spilling the last few remaining drops before it clinked weakly on the bottom.
As if in answer, there was a distant rumble of thunder, and from our vantage point we saw the lightning crack in the distance.
We were on a big metal structure with lightning coming in quick and rain already pattering lightly around us.
“We better go,” I said, Brian looking at the lightning as it rumbled again. He nodded and we decided to run down the tracks rather than try to scale back down. It would mean doubling back, but it wouldn’t be a long trip, and the thought of juggling the rest of the beers and trying to climb down sounded nuts. Brian was holding the four of them close as he ran, smiling to himself as he talked about showing them to the guys.
“Justin will flip!” Brian said with an evil laugh, “You know he still won’t even be around anyone who smokes because of that dumb DARE pledge?”
He was right too. Justin was furiously hammering in tent pegs when we arrived, looking up at the sky every time a drop hit him. He stopped, though, when he noticed us come back with cans that clearly weren’t soda. Frank must have recognized them because he laughed and commented that they had found a pretty cool surprise. Brian tossed him one, turning to Justin as he offered him one too.
Justin put his hands on his hips, looking like my mother when she was disappointed in me.
“Hell no, and you shouldn’t either. Why would you just drink something you found on a rickety bridge?
Brian blew out a long breath and popped open another one, “Because, spaz, my brother left them for us. There was a note and everything, so cool your jets.”
Justin went back to work, mumbling darkly about being reckless and drinking things that could be poisoned or drugged.
The tent came up, and not a moment too soon. The rain was really starting to come down, and it looked like there would be no fire tonight. We all headed into the tent, the wind picking up as it shoved at the tent and made the ropes and pegs groan. It was big enough to fit us all comfortably, and as the lamps came out, Brian held up the last two beers.
"Split the last two?" he asked, everyone but Justin agreeing. We poured them into our camp cups, starting to clink them together before Brian turned to Justin. He was pretending to busy himself with something in the corner, but it was pretty clear he didn't approve of what we were doing.
"Come on, Justin, it's not gonna hurt you. I tell you what, if we see you become an alcoholic after one sip, we'll push you into the gorge and save you the embarrassment."
"Not funny," Justin said, but we had clearly worn him down. After another half-hearted refusal, he finally held his cup out to Justin who grinned as he poured the last of the beer into it. Then we clinked our glasses together and drank, everyone pulling a face which we laughed at. As the storm raged outside we ate some MREs we had packed just in case of bad weather and started on ghost stories. Brian was just telling us about a man with a hungry ghost in his basement when a big gust of wind hit the tent hard enough to collapse the middle brace and send it crashing down on us.
We floundered for a minute, looking for the zipper as we tried to escape, and finally stepping out into the driving rain. It was still afternoon, the sun an angry line amidst the storm clouds, and I turned as I heard someone struggling with the tent. Justin was trying to pull it, the wind threatening to take it from him with every gust.
"Come on," he shouted, "Help me get it under the trestle. It should work as a windbreak."
I remembered the warning about a bear, but Brian just shouted back that it was either the bear or the rain.
"Besides," he said, "If we see one, we'll just run like hell."
It was hard to argue with him while the rain was coming down, so we all grabbed a tent post and moved it into the dry cave created by the trestle. Unlike a lot of train trestles I had seen in movies and TV shows, this one was enclosed. I'm still not sure why, but it worked out well for us that day. We knocked in the tent pegs and sat in the tent as we watched the rain come down in buckets outside. Our stuff had gotten a little wet, but we hadn't brought anything that couldn't take a little water. As the light gave way to dark, we started breaking out our lanterns and cards, settling in for the night as we listened to the rain.
As I lay there watching Justin and Brian play their fourth or fifth game of Magic the Gathering, I started hearing something besides the rain. It was a deep rumbling, like something snoring deep under the metal bridge. I thought again about Brian's brother telling us there was a bear under there. I didn't want to get eaten by a bear in my sleep, and if we were going to have to move again, it was better to know now.
I took out my flashlight and started looking into the shadowy depths of the trestle, but there was nothing to be seen. There was some very thick-looking mud under here, some of it having made little stalagmites on the ground, but I couldn't see anything sleeping under there. It wouldn't make a very good den, I reflected as I shone my light around. It was open on both sides with the gorge coming in about thirty feet from our tent. There was really nowhere for anything to live down here, but as I swung the light from right to left, I could still hear that weird breathing.
On a whim, I pointed it up and under the bridge, and that was when I saw it.
At first, I thought it was a bunch of bats clustered together, but when it flinched under the beam of my light, I knew it was just one big thing. It was a huge bat, maybe bigger than me, with its large, leathery wings pulled up tight around it. It was clinging to the bottom of the trestle bridge, and I imagine it had been a bad spot to hang when the trains still ran. I spotted a slight movement to its left and found a second one hanging not far from it. In total, there were four of them, and when one of them shifted its wings to look down at me with a red, unhappy eye, I turned off the flashlight and zipped up the tent.
The guys had some strong words when I started turning off the lanterns, but I told them to be quiet and get down.
"What?" Frank asked, "Did you see something out there?"
"Was it the bear?" Brian asked, keeping his voice low as we hunkered doen.
"What bear?" Justin asked, but I waved a hand at them, trying to get them to be quiet.
"It's not bear," I hissed, but about that time, there was a weird sound from outside.
It sounded like a high-pitched yawn as something came awake followed by the rustle of wings. The talk in the tent had ceased now, and you could have heard a mouse fart. In the dark of the undercroft, we heard something huge and leathery take flight, rustling the canvas of the tent as it left the darkness. A second took flight a moment after, and I heard water cascade down as it shook the top of the trees. We all lay on our stomachs, panting for breath as we listened for more.
I had seen four, and only two had left so far.
When something hit the ground about a foot from our tent, Justin had to slap a hand over his mouth to stop from screaming. The hushed remnants squeaked from between his fingers like a deflating balloon, but if the creature heard it, it never showed any sign. I could see the vague outline of it as it rose to its full height, and as it flapped its wings and took flight, the tent rustled like it had in the wind.
"Is that all of them?" Brian asked, three sets of eyes turning my way.
I started to tell them there had been a fourth, but that was when the fourth fell on top of the tent. We were very lucky, all things considered. It landed right in the middle of the tent, shattering the plastic pole and sending the plastic material down around us. The creature's toenails scrabbled across it noisily as it tried to find purchase, and when it took off I was afraid it would simply carry us off with it. Instead, it just ripped a hole in the top as it flew off, all of us still reeling as we lay under the canvas.
After a few minutes, it was decided that we would take our sleeping bags and our packs and leave the tent behind.
We spent a miserable night huddled under the biggest tree we could find. We probably looked like fat cata pillars as we hunkered against the roots of the big tree, but we were as dry as we could manage. We all kept looking towards the skies, afraid the giant bat things would come after us, but they never did. We didn't talk, we didn't dare, and when the sun came up, we made our way out of the woods. We arrived at my house cold, scared, and unwilling to talk about what we had seen. My parents probably thought we had run afoul of something like a bear or a cougar, but they had no idea.
That was about two weeks ago, and we haven't been back in the woods since. Just knowing that those things are in the woods makes us not want to be there after dark. It's a shame because the woods were our spot, our sanctuary, and now it seems tainted. Brian doesn't even leave the house after sunset these days, and Justin looks at the sky when he's walking. Frank says he doesn't really want to talk about it, and I think he's stoned a lot of the time.
I dream about it sometimes, the way that one big red eye looked at me when I shone the flashlight on it, and I can't help but wonder what something that big eats?
I think it will be a good long time before I talk any of them back into the woods, and our camping days may be at an end.