Ear pain and wind
TMJ: Physiologic Treatment of TMJ Disorders and Neuromuscular Dentistry Testimonials
2016.09.13 16:17 TMJ-Doc TMJ: Physiologic Treatment of TMJ Disorders and Neuromuscular Dentistry Testimonials
TMJ: Neuromuscular Dentistry is the Physiologic Approach to eliminating and/or treating chronic headaches, migraines, jaw pain, TMJoint pain, myofascial pain, ear pain and neck associated with TMJ disorders and postural issues including sleep apnea and snoring. It is the ideal method to approach cosmetic Dentistry and dental reconstruction. This Reddit is primarily a site for Neuromuscular Dentistry Testimonials. #TMJtesttimonial, #Testimonialtmj, #neuromusculardentistrytestimonial
2014.06.23 05:55 Prokofiev26 A Resourse and Forum for all music teachers.
This subreddit is designed mainly for private music instructors to exchange teaching/pedagogy techniques. I teach guitar, piano, and bass. I've also been involved in orchestras and wind ensembles. This can be a common disussion for how to teach specific instrument techniques/ear training/music theory/etc.
2016.06.03 22:25 darianb1031 Corporate: Welcome to Hampton DeVille.
For news and discussion of the Comedy Central show 'Corporate' starring Matt Ingebretson and Jake Weisman. Step inside the offices of Hampton DeVille.
2024.05.08 03:36 Mysterious_Cat_1706 Gribble - Chapter 17
New Chapter on every MWF (Monday, Wednesday,Friday)
[First] [[Next>]
Chapter 17: The Escape Plan
Gribble huddled in the corner of his cramped, gloomy cell. The damp stone walls seemed to close in around him, making him feel even smaller than he already was. A chill seeped into his bones, causing him to shiver and wrap his arms tightly around himself. The only sound was the steady drip, drip, drip of water echoing in the dungeon.
The heavy iron cuffs clamped around Gribble's wrists felt as cold as ice against his skin. They weighed him down, a constant reminder that he was trapped in this awful place. Gribble's mind raced with frantic thoughts, zipping around like angry bees in his head. He knew he had to find a way out, and fast. If he didn't escape soon, the wicked goblin king Grimrock would surely snatch him up.
Gribble squeezed his eyes shut tight and tried to calm the whirlwind of worries swirling inside him. "Come on, Gribble, think!" he muttered to himself, his voice small and shaky in the gloom. "You've got to come up with a plan. You can't let Grimrock win!"
As Gribble sat there, his back pressed against the rough stone wall, a tiny flicker of an idea began to glow in his mind. His eyes popped open wide as he remembered his special power - the ability to create itty-bitty flames no bigger than a seed. A surge of hope bloomed in his chest, spreading through him like a warm sip of tea on a chilly day. Maybe, just maybe, his little flame seeds could help him break free!
Gribble took a deep breath, trying to steady the nervous fluttering in his stomach. He knew he had to be extra careful and sneaky if he wanted his plan to work. The guards couldn't catch even a hint of what he was up to, or else he'd be in even bigger trouble.
Moving as quietly as a mouse, Gribble inched his hands towards the lock on his cuffs. His heart thumped wildly in his chest as he peeked around the cell, making absolutely sure no one was watching. The sturdy metal of the cuffs seemed to mock him, daring him to even try to break free. But Gribble set his jaw in determination, refusing to let a silly old lock get the best of him.
With trembling fingers, Gribble brought his hands close to the lock, so close he could almost feel the chill of the metal against his skin. He took one more quick look around the cell, double-checking that the coast was clear. "It's now or never," he whispered to himself, gathering every scrap of courage he had.
Gribble closed his eyes and pictured the inside of the lock in his mind, like a tiny metal puzzle waiting to be solved. He focused hard, calling forth the tiniest flame seed he could muster. The little spark danced on his fingertip, no bigger than a grain of sand.
As Gribble was concentrating, he wondered for a moment, a little question began to niggle at the back of his mind, like an itch he couldn't quite scratch. Why hadn't the magic cuff stopped his own special powers from working? Gribble tilted his head to one side, his brow furrowed in thought. "Hmm, maybe what I can do isn't really magic after all," he mused, tapping his chin with one finger.
But then, quick as a wink, a big grin spread across Gribble's face, and he gave a carefree shrug. "Ah, who cares about all that complicated stuff anyway?" he chuckled, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
With the utmost care, Gribble guided the flame seed towards the lock, his forehead crinkled in concentration. The bitty flame twirled and spun like a playful fairy as it slipped into the nooks and crannies of the cuff. Gribble held his breath as he watched it work, his heart thumping in anticipation.
The flame seed nestled into the lock like a baby bird in its nest, its soft glow casting eerie shadows on the dungeon walls. Slowly, slowly, it began to heat the metal from the inside, sapping the strength from the cuff bit by bit. Gribble felt a flicker of pride as he sensed the metal starting to yield to his clever little flame.
"That's it, just a little more," Gribble whispered encouragingly to the flame seed. He kept his eyes glued to the cuff, watching for any telltale signs of weakening. The warmth of the metal seeped into his skin, a tangible reminder of the progress he was making.
As the flame seed worked its magic, Gribble's ears perked up at the sound of distant footsteps echoing down the dungeon corridor. His whole body tensed, and he fought the urge to yank his hands away from the cuff. "Steady, Gribble," he told himself firmly. "You can't stop now."
The footsteps grew louder, the clomping of heavy boots against stone getting closer and closer. Gribble's heart raced like a galloping horse, and beads of sweat formed on his brow. He silently pleaded with the flame seed to work faster, knowing he was running out of time.
Just as the footsteps reached a crescendo, the metal of the cuff finally gave way with a soft, barely audible click. Gribble's eyes flew open wide, hardly daring to believe it. The flame seed had done it! The cuff was weakened, compromised by the heat.
Gribble quickly extinguished the flame seed and tried to arrange his features into a look of hopeless defeat. He couldn't let the guards suspect anything was amiss. The cell door creaked open, and two burly trolls stomped in, their faces twisted into sneers.
"On your feet, prisoner," one of them growled, roughly hauling Gribble up by his arms. Gribble let himself hang limp in their grasp, playing the part of the beaten-down captive. Inside, though, his heart soared with a flicker of hope.
As the guards marched him out of the cell and into the winding dungeon corridors, Gribble's mind raced ahead, already plotting his next move. He knew he had to bide his time and wait for just the right moment to make his escape.
The damp air closed in around him as they walked, the guards' tight grips digging into his arms. Gribble stumbled along between them, his bare feet scraping against the rough stone floor. With each step, he focused inward, reaching out with his mind to the slumbering earth vines he knew lay hidden beneath the dungeon.
"Wake up, my green friends," Gribble called out silently, pouring all his strength and will into the plea. "I need your help to bust out of here!" He felt a stirring deep in the ground, a faint pulsing of life answering his summons.
The guards, completely oblivious to Gribble's mental conversation with the earth, trudged onward, their heavy boots thudding against the floor. They yanked him around corners and down narrow passageways, the labyrinth of the dungeon seeming to close in around them.
As they walked, Gribble sent tendrils of his thoughts snaking through the cracks and crevices beneath the dungeon, coaxing the earth vines to follow. He could sense them stretching and unfurling, their roots creeping through the soil like a thousand tiny fingers.
Gribble's heart hammered against his ribs as he gathered his power, readying himself for the crucial moment. Just as they turned down a particularly dark and dank corridor, he unleashed a silent command to the earth vines, urging them upward with all his might.
The vines burst through the stone floor in an explosion of dirt and rubble, their green tendrils writhing and twisting like angry serpents. The guards cried out in shock, their grips on Gribble's arms loosening for a split second as they tried to dodge the sudden eruption.
Seizing his chance, Gribble wrenched himself free from the guards' slackened grasp. He summoned the earth vines to his aid, directing them towards the weakened cuff on his wrist. The vines surged forward, their strong fibers seeking out the cuff's vulnerabilities and latching on tight.
Gribble gritted his teeth as the vines constricted around the compromised metal, their grip as unyielding as iron. The cuff groaned and strained under the onslaught, hairline cracks spiderwebbing across its surface.
The guards, recovering from their initial surprise, lunged for Gribble with outstretched hands. But the vines held fast, anchoring Gribble in place and fending off the guards' grasping fingers. Gribble poured every ounce of his strength and focus into the vines, willing them to crush the cuff once and for all.
With a final, wrenching twist, the vines shattered the weakened metal, sending shards of the cuff flying through the air like glittering confetti. Gribble's hand was free at last! He flexed his fingers, marveling at the rush of liberation that flooded through him.
The guards, their faces contorted with rage and disbelief, redoubled their efforts to recapture him. But Gribble was too quick, too slippery. He ducked and wove between them, his small size and agility working to his advantage in the narrow confines of the dungeon corridor.
Desperation lending speed to his feet, Gribble raced down the passageway, the earth vines slithering along beside him like loyal companions. The guards gave chase, their angry shouts and pounding footsteps echoing off the stone walls.
Gribble's lungs burned and his legs ached as he ran, but he pushed himself onwards, knowing that stopping meant capture and a fate worse than death at the hands of Grimrock. He had to find a way out, had to taste the sweet air of freedom once more.
Just as the guards began to close in, their hot breath panting at his heels, Gribble made a snap decision. Gathering every last scrap of power within him, he focused his mind on the one place he longed to be more than anything - outside the dungeon walls, beneath the open sky.
With a blinding flash of light and a rush of displaced air, Gribble vanished from the dungeon corridor, leaving the guards grasping at empty space. He materialized in a sprawl of limbs on the soft grass outside, the sudden brightness of the sun making him blink and shade his eyes.
For a moment, Gribble simply lay there, his chest heaving as he gulped in lungfuls of fresh, sweet air. The vastness of the sky stretched above him, an endless expanse of blue that seemed to welcome him into its embrace. Gribble felt a grin spreading across his face, a bubble of pure, unadulterated joy welling up inside him.
He had done it. Against all odds, he had outsmarted the guards and won his freedom. Gribble pushed himself to his feet, his legs still shaky from the wild rush of his escape. He knew he couldn't linger here for long - Grimrock and his army would surely be searching for him, eager to drag him back to the dungeon and make him pay for his defiance.
But for now, in this one perfect moment, Gribble reveled in the feeling of the moonlight on his face and the earth beneath his feet. He had proven to himself that he was more than just a small, insignificant goblin - he was a force to be reckoned with, a master of his own destiny.
submitted by Mysterious_Cat_1706 to HFY [link] [comments]
[First] [
Chapter 17: The Escape Plan
Gribble huddled in the corner of his cramped, gloomy cell. The damp stone walls seemed to close in around him, making him feel even smaller than he already was. A chill seeped into his bones, causing him to shiver and wrap his arms tightly around himself. The only sound was the steady drip, drip, drip of water echoing in the dungeon.
The heavy iron cuffs clamped around Gribble's wrists felt as cold as ice against his skin. They weighed him down, a constant reminder that he was trapped in this awful place. Gribble's mind raced with frantic thoughts, zipping around like angry bees in his head. He knew he had to find a way out, and fast. If he didn't escape soon, the wicked goblin king Grimrock would surely snatch him up.
Gribble squeezed his eyes shut tight and tried to calm the whirlwind of worries swirling inside him. "Come on, Gribble, think!" he muttered to himself, his voice small and shaky in the gloom. "You've got to come up with a plan. You can't let Grimrock win!"
As Gribble sat there, his back pressed against the rough stone wall, a tiny flicker of an idea began to glow in his mind. His eyes popped open wide as he remembered his special power - the ability to create itty-bitty flames no bigger than a seed. A surge of hope bloomed in his chest, spreading through him like a warm sip of tea on a chilly day. Maybe, just maybe, his little flame seeds could help him break free!
Gribble took a deep breath, trying to steady the nervous fluttering in his stomach. He knew he had to be extra careful and sneaky if he wanted his plan to work. The guards couldn't catch even a hint of what he was up to, or else he'd be in even bigger trouble.
Moving as quietly as a mouse, Gribble inched his hands towards the lock on his cuffs. His heart thumped wildly in his chest as he peeked around the cell, making absolutely sure no one was watching. The sturdy metal of the cuffs seemed to mock him, daring him to even try to break free. But Gribble set his jaw in determination, refusing to let a silly old lock get the best of him.
With trembling fingers, Gribble brought his hands close to the lock, so close he could almost feel the chill of the metal against his skin. He took one more quick look around the cell, double-checking that the coast was clear. "It's now or never," he whispered to himself, gathering every scrap of courage he had.
Gribble closed his eyes and pictured the inside of the lock in his mind, like a tiny metal puzzle waiting to be solved. He focused hard, calling forth the tiniest flame seed he could muster. The little spark danced on his fingertip, no bigger than a grain of sand.
As Gribble was concentrating, he wondered for a moment, a little question began to niggle at the back of his mind, like an itch he couldn't quite scratch. Why hadn't the magic cuff stopped his own special powers from working? Gribble tilted his head to one side, his brow furrowed in thought. "Hmm, maybe what I can do isn't really magic after all," he mused, tapping his chin with one finger.
But then, quick as a wink, a big grin spread across Gribble's face, and he gave a carefree shrug. "Ah, who cares about all that complicated stuff anyway?" he chuckled, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
With the utmost care, Gribble guided the flame seed towards the lock, his forehead crinkled in concentration. The bitty flame twirled and spun like a playful fairy as it slipped into the nooks and crannies of the cuff. Gribble held his breath as he watched it work, his heart thumping in anticipation.
The flame seed nestled into the lock like a baby bird in its nest, its soft glow casting eerie shadows on the dungeon walls. Slowly, slowly, it began to heat the metal from the inside, sapping the strength from the cuff bit by bit. Gribble felt a flicker of pride as he sensed the metal starting to yield to his clever little flame.
"That's it, just a little more," Gribble whispered encouragingly to the flame seed. He kept his eyes glued to the cuff, watching for any telltale signs of weakening. The warmth of the metal seeped into his skin, a tangible reminder of the progress he was making.
As the flame seed worked its magic, Gribble's ears perked up at the sound of distant footsteps echoing down the dungeon corridor. His whole body tensed, and he fought the urge to yank his hands away from the cuff. "Steady, Gribble," he told himself firmly. "You can't stop now."
The footsteps grew louder, the clomping of heavy boots against stone getting closer and closer. Gribble's heart raced like a galloping horse, and beads of sweat formed on his brow. He silently pleaded with the flame seed to work faster, knowing he was running out of time.
Just as the footsteps reached a crescendo, the metal of the cuff finally gave way with a soft, barely audible click. Gribble's eyes flew open wide, hardly daring to believe it. The flame seed had done it! The cuff was weakened, compromised by the heat.
Gribble quickly extinguished the flame seed and tried to arrange his features into a look of hopeless defeat. He couldn't let the guards suspect anything was amiss. The cell door creaked open, and two burly trolls stomped in, their faces twisted into sneers.
"On your feet, prisoner," one of them growled, roughly hauling Gribble up by his arms. Gribble let himself hang limp in their grasp, playing the part of the beaten-down captive. Inside, though, his heart soared with a flicker of hope.
As the guards marched him out of the cell and into the winding dungeon corridors, Gribble's mind raced ahead, already plotting his next move. He knew he had to bide his time and wait for just the right moment to make his escape.
The damp air closed in around him as they walked, the guards' tight grips digging into his arms. Gribble stumbled along between them, his bare feet scraping against the rough stone floor. With each step, he focused inward, reaching out with his mind to the slumbering earth vines he knew lay hidden beneath the dungeon.
"Wake up, my green friends," Gribble called out silently, pouring all his strength and will into the plea. "I need your help to bust out of here!" He felt a stirring deep in the ground, a faint pulsing of life answering his summons.
The guards, completely oblivious to Gribble's mental conversation with the earth, trudged onward, their heavy boots thudding against the floor. They yanked him around corners and down narrow passageways, the labyrinth of the dungeon seeming to close in around them.
As they walked, Gribble sent tendrils of his thoughts snaking through the cracks and crevices beneath the dungeon, coaxing the earth vines to follow. He could sense them stretching and unfurling, their roots creeping through the soil like a thousand tiny fingers.
Gribble's heart hammered against his ribs as he gathered his power, readying himself for the crucial moment. Just as they turned down a particularly dark and dank corridor, he unleashed a silent command to the earth vines, urging them upward with all his might.
The vines burst through the stone floor in an explosion of dirt and rubble, their green tendrils writhing and twisting like angry serpents. The guards cried out in shock, their grips on Gribble's arms loosening for a split second as they tried to dodge the sudden eruption.
Seizing his chance, Gribble wrenched himself free from the guards' slackened grasp. He summoned the earth vines to his aid, directing them towards the weakened cuff on his wrist. The vines surged forward, their strong fibers seeking out the cuff's vulnerabilities and latching on tight.
Gribble gritted his teeth as the vines constricted around the compromised metal, their grip as unyielding as iron. The cuff groaned and strained under the onslaught, hairline cracks spiderwebbing across its surface.
The guards, recovering from their initial surprise, lunged for Gribble with outstretched hands. But the vines held fast, anchoring Gribble in place and fending off the guards' grasping fingers. Gribble poured every ounce of his strength and focus into the vines, willing them to crush the cuff once and for all.
With a final, wrenching twist, the vines shattered the weakened metal, sending shards of the cuff flying through the air like glittering confetti. Gribble's hand was free at last! He flexed his fingers, marveling at the rush of liberation that flooded through him.
The guards, their faces contorted with rage and disbelief, redoubled their efforts to recapture him. But Gribble was too quick, too slippery. He ducked and wove between them, his small size and agility working to his advantage in the narrow confines of the dungeon corridor.
Desperation lending speed to his feet, Gribble raced down the passageway, the earth vines slithering along beside him like loyal companions. The guards gave chase, their angry shouts and pounding footsteps echoing off the stone walls.
Gribble's lungs burned and his legs ached as he ran, but he pushed himself onwards, knowing that stopping meant capture and a fate worse than death at the hands of Grimrock. He had to find a way out, had to taste the sweet air of freedom once more.
Just as the guards began to close in, their hot breath panting at his heels, Gribble made a snap decision. Gathering every last scrap of power within him, he focused his mind on the one place he longed to be more than anything - outside the dungeon walls, beneath the open sky.
With a blinding flash of light and a rush of displaced air, Gribble vanished from the dungeon corridor, leaving the guards grasping at empty space. He materialized in a sprawl of limbs on the soft grass outside, the sudden brightness of the sun making him blink and shade his eyes.
For a moment, Gribble simply lay there, his chest heaving as he gulped in lungfuls of fresh, sweet air. The vastness of the sky stretched above him, an endless expanse of blue that seemed to welcome him into its embrace. Gribble felt a grin spreading across his face, a bubble of pure, unadulterated joy welling up inside him.
He had done it. Against all odds, he had outsmarted the guards and won his freedom. Gribble pushed himself to his feet, his legs still shaky from the wild rush of his escape. He knew he couldn't linger here for long - Grimrock and his army would surely be searching for him, eager to drag him back to the dungeon and make him pay for his defiance.
But for now, in this one perfect moment, Gribble reveled in the feeling of the moonlight on his face and the earth beneath his feet. He had proven to himself that he was more than just a small, insignificant goblin - he was a force to be reckoned with, a master of his own destiny.
2024.05.08 03:28 Resident-Platypus254 Feeling more crushed than before *after* deciding I wanted to move on from her entirely after everything... What's wrong with me?
VENT POST
In the summer of 2020, my girlfriend who I had been dating since late 2018 from that point had cheated on me and it wrecked me terribly. She tried to lie to me about it and had the audacity to feel hurt when I as a result found myself a short-stop rebound, as if I was supposed to think her clearly cheating on me was all just a misunderstanding. From then on, we wouldn't talk again and no longer had contact on social media by any means.
In January of 2023, she shows up in my life again via following me on Instagram but this time she has a boyfriend which she had been dating since the end of 2020. Part of me had hopes that she was meaning to get back with me and was at the end of her terms with this guy. To help support this belief, she did in fact end up romancing me that week, which was her cheating on this boyfriend in question. The week after she shifted back to him and left me dry, crushing me emotionally and making me realize that she just screwed me over.
It took some time and courage but about two months later I'd confront her via DM on Instagram and tell her what she has caused me; all the stress, depression, and other pains that she has done. I immediately blocked her after that but it made me feel slightly worse than before.
Before long her boyfriend caught wind of the situation and tried to text me to ask me what was going on, instead of exposing her for cheating on him and causing me pain, I blocked him too. I spent the whole day and weekend feeling very crappy from the situation and what transpired.
That Monday, I decided to unblock her... Not long later my ex noticed this and began to like a number of my photos on Instagram and my friend's photo with me tagged in it. As if she were thankful or remorseful for what I did and what she did...
That was a year ago... now a few days ago I revisited her Instagram page and now I feel torn just from seeing her face, which made me regret even stopping by and made any positive feelings I had for her practically none. I told myself to bare ill feelings to the fullest against her but now all that did is making me feel even more crushed than before... That's my situation now.
Tldr; but thanks anyone who made it to the end.
submitted by Resident-Platypus254 to BreakUps [link] [comments]
In the summer of 2020, my girlfriend who I had been dating since late 2018 from that point had cheated on me and it wrecked me terribly. She tried to lie to me about it and had the audacity to feel hurt when I as a result found myself a short-stop rebound, as if I was supposed to think her clearly cheating on me was all just a misunderstanding. From then on, we wouldn't talk again and no longer had contact on social media by any means.
In January of 2023, she shows up in my life again via following me on Instagram but this time she has a boyfriend which she had been dating since the end of 2020. Part of me had hopes that she was meaning to get back with me and was at the end of her terms with this guy. To help support this belief, she did in fact end up romancing me that week, which was her cheating on this boyfriend in question. The week after she shifted back to him and left me dry, crushing me emotionally and making me realize that she just screwed me over.
It took some time and courage but about two months later I'd confront her via DM on Instagram and tell her what she has caused me; all the stress, depression, and other pains that she has done. I immediately blocked her after that but it made me feel slightly worse than before.
Before long her boyfriend caught wind of the situation and tried to text me to ask me what was going on, instead of exposing her for cheating on him and causing me pain, I blocked him too. I spent the whole day and weekend feeling very crappy from the situation and what transpired.
That Monday, I decided to unblock her... Not long later my ex noticed this and began to like a number of my photos on Instagram and my friend's photo with me tagged in it. As if she were thankful or remorseful for what I did and what she did...
That was a year ago... now a few days ago I revisited her Instagram page and now I feel torn just from seeing her face, which made me regret even stopping by and made any positive feelings I had for her practically none. I told myself to bare ill feelings to the fullest against her but now all that did is making me feel even more crushed than before... That's my situation now.
Tldr; but thanks anyone who made it to the end.
2024.05.08 03:28 LucidFeverDreams This is my story. I hope it inspires someone. I beg of you to read until the end.
It was September of 2016 when I met the love of my life.
It was ninth grade, high school. And yah, I still call him the love of my life, cause unfortunately for better or for worse, that’s what he is. Up until this point, he’s the best I’ve ever felt, and I’m okay with that. I’ve learned to live with that for now, until another love comes along.
He didn’t like me, actually. Even as an acquaintance. I once heard through the grapevine that he called me a bitch to one of his friends. I never knew why he disliked me, since we hardly ever spoke. But for some reason, some twisted strange reason, I could see the inside of his soul and what I saw was beautiful beyond words. It was unexplainable, yet unavoidable. I feel like it was always meant to be that way.
I was secretly in love with him for a few years. Sure, I got with other people, forgot about him periodically. But I could never quite shake the beauty I saw, the rainbow colours behind the mask of grey he so loved to wear.
In December of 2022, the unthinkable happened. He talked to me. It was totally out of the blue. Followed me on instagram, got to talking. The connection was near immediate, 2 magnets of the opposite magnetism slamming together, as if to say finally. Finally, I’m home.
He was every single thing I always knew he was, and more. I’ll keep the details to myself, but oh man, did that boy make my heart soar.
That is, until he didn’t.
You see, even the best relationships end. Yes, even the ones that seem meant to be, even the ones where it feels like fate or destiny. There are no storybook endings in this world. The world doesn’t care about your feelings; it ebbs and flows, like wind or a river. It is merely a passive observer of humankind. It giveth, then it taketh away. The ebb, and the eventual flow.
I noticed him growing distant, as per the usual growing distant of relationships past. The not texting, not calling, not coming around as much. The real obvious stuff. But I didn’t want it to end; I willed myself into obliviousness.
Even when he hit me one day. Slapped me right across the face super hard twice. I had told him months before I wasn’t into that, even in a sexual context. I told him about my past trauma. Guess he didn’t care. Or worse, he didn’t even remember. And still, I adored the very ground he walked on.
A week later he broke my heart to pieces on my front porch. It was snowing, it was cold. Wet and damp from the winter rain. It was everything a sad scene from a movie should be. Even the lighting was grey, kinda like the mask he used to wear.
He went on to block me on everything a while later, even though he promised he wouldn’t. Promises don’t mean much from people who can’t keep them, as it turns out. He’s got a new girlfriend now, some mildly cute blonde in a far away city.
I couldn’t sleep in my own bed for about a week after the breakup. I cried, I screamed. All I could think of over and over and fucking over again was, “I thought this was supposed to be my happy ending. Finally.”
I then had the most depressing 6 months of my entire life. But guess what?
I made it out. It’s been a year and 2 months now. I still think about him, I won’t lie. I won’t lie to you, reader, you don’t deserve to be lied to. Not again. But what I will do is tell you the honest to God truth: it gets better. You’re probably so used to hearing that right now, you’ve probably got ‘it gets better’s’ coming out of your bloody ears after all the people you’ve complained to about the breakup. You’ve probably told anyone with a physically capable shoulder to cry on because you’re in so much pain, god, pain up to your nose, you can hardly breathe.
But it gets better. And that’s the truth.
If I can make it through destiny, or who I thought was my destiny, you can too. I believe in you, just as much as I believe in things like stars at night and pancakes for breakfast. I believe in these things just as much as I believe in you, reader. You can, and you will. Repeat that to yourself.
You can, AND YOU WILL get over this person.
And guess what? I’ll go as far to say it’s unavoidable. The passing of time is a healer, and there’s no stopping time passing by.
So get on your feet. Do what you’ve always wanted to do. Go out and live. Promise me. Live for me, live for you, live for the world and the life you haven’t seen yet. Live.
submitted by LucidFeverDreams to ExNoContact [link] [comments]
It was ninth grade, high school. And yah, I still call him the love of my life, cause unfortunately for better or for worse, that’s what he is. Up until this point, he’s the best I’ve ever felt, and I’m okay with that. I’ve learned to live with that for now, until another love comes along.
He didn’t like me, actually. Even as an acquaintance. I once heard through the grapevine that he called me a bitch to one of his friends. I never knew why he disliked me, since we hardly ever spoke. But for some reason, some twisted strange reason, I could see the inside of his soul and what I saw was beautiful beyond words. It was unexplainable, yet unavoidable. I feel like it was always meant to be that way.
I was secretly in love with him for a few years. Sure, I got with other people, forgot about him periodically. But I could never quite shake the beauty I saw, the rainbow colours behind the mask of grey he so loved to wear.
In December of 2022, the unthinkable happened. He talked to me. It was totally out of the blue. Followed me on instagram, got to talking. The connection was near immediate, 2 magnets of the opposite magnetism slamming together, as if to say finally. Finally, I’m home.
He was every single thing I always knew he was, and more. I’ll keep the details to myself, but oh man, did that boy make my heart soar.
That is, until he didn’t.
You see, even the best relationships end. Yes, even the ones that seem meant to be, even the ones where it feels like fate or destiny. There are no storybook endings in this world. The world doesn’t care about your feelings; it ebbs and flows, like wind or a river. It is merely a passive observer of humankind. It giveth, then it taketh away. The ebb, and the eventual flow.
I noticed him growing distant, as per the usual growing distant of relationships past. The not texting, not calling, not coming around as much. The real obvious stuff. But I didn’t want it to end; I willed myself into obliviousness.
Even when he hit me one day. Slapped me right across the face super hard twice. I had told him months before I wasn’t into that, even in a sexual context. I told him about my past trauma. Guess he didn’t care. Or worse, he didn’t even remember. And still, I adored the very ground he walked on.
A week later he broke my heart to pieces on my front porch. It was snowing, it was cold. Wet and damp from the winter rain. It was everything a sad scene from a movie should be. Even the lighting was grey, kinda like the mask he used to wear.
He went on to block me on everything a while later, even though he promised he wouldn’t. Promises don’t mean much from people who can’t keep them, as it turns out. He’s got a new girlfriend now, some mildly cute blonde in a far away city.
I couldn’t sleep in my own bed for about a week after the breakup. I cried, I screamed. All I could think of over and over and fucking over again was, “I thought this was supposed to be my happy ending. Finally.”
I then had the most depressing 6 months of my entire life. But guess what?
I made it out. It’s been a year and 2 months now. I still think about him, I won’t lie. I won’t lie to you, reader, you don’t deserve to be lied to. Not again. But what I will do is tell you the honest to God truth: it gets better. You’re probably so used to hearing that right now, you’ve probably got ‘it gets better’s’ coming out of your bloody ears after all the people you’ve complained to about the breakup. You’ve probably told anyone with a physically capable shoulder to cry on because you’re in so much pain, god, pain up to your nose, you can hardly breathe.
But it gets better. And that’s the truth.
If I can make it through destiny, or who I thought was my destiny, you can too. I believe in you, just as much as I believe in things like stars at night and pancakes for breakfast. I believe in these things just as much as I believe in you, reader. You can, and you will. Repeat that to yourself.
You can, AND YOU WILL get over this person.
And guess what? I’ll go as far to say it’s unavoidable. The passing of time is a healer, and there’s no stopping time passing by.
So get on your feet. Do what you’ve always wanted to do. Go out and live. Promise me. Live for me, live for you, live for the world and the life you haven’t seen yet. Live.
2024.05.08 03:26 Positive-Basket8262 Bactrim Side Effects
Hi, I just started getting allergic reactions to Bactrim (for uti) on my 5th night of Bactrim when I started getting flu-like symptoms. I had a headache, body aches, pain in my eyes, chills, fever of 100.4, lymph nodes behind my ears swollen, middle back pain and lower back ache. I stopped taking my 6th day dose yesterday and went to urgent care today and the dr on staff said he’s never seen the swollen lymph nodes before and didn’t know what to think of it. He told me I should go to the ER if it gets worse but prescribed me a new antibiotic and Benadryl and sent me on my way. I got home later tonight and showered and noticed I now have a rash developing even after I stopped taking the medication. I didn’t start my new antibiotic either. I’m freaking about and I’m not sure what to do since I’ve never had an issue with antibiotics before and don’t know what is severe or not. My lymph nodes behind my ear hurt a bit and are still swollen. Should I go to the ER or will this pass?
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2024.05.08 03:26 Plenty_Activity_7871 Lol you puta
Lost in a sea of thought Words are but a dream disposition of hostility A language needle threaded with pain of the present a jewel with the dreams of tomorrow in a caskets treasure of wisdom Sown for for another day I've swallowed time I've watched the grains of sand pass my hands hourglass held the fabrics of crimson life diamonds in my eyes grit in teeth chewed and clawed to find the spark to keep out the light as darkness falls the willows stand and the winds sing of a time once present a resentment of speech a silent song felt in the breeze of your life
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2024.05.08 03:14 loveandjen Ears feel warmer than normal?
Hi all. My cat had a dental + some teeth extracted today. She’s right under 7 lbs, and had some pain medication applied to her skin (makes her super loopy). I’ve noticed that her ears feel warmer than normal? I am calling her vet first thing in the AM, but is that a sign of a fever in a cat? Never had this issue. Not asking for medical advice as in how to treat, just for signs.
Thanks all!
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Thanks all!
2024.05.08 03:14 karenvideoeditor The Zoo [Part 2]
So, if you’re just joining us, I work at a haunted zoo now. Since I’ve gotten some rest, it feels like I’ve got my head on straight, at least, so I’d like to continue where I left off.
I sat on the floor in the office after meeting the ghost until I’d settled my rattled mind (and realized I’d forgotten to ask her name, how rude is that?). I took a deep breath and got up off the floor. Walking over and falling into the rolling chair in front of the large screen of camera views, when I brought up the camera that covered the area in which I’d spotted her, she was still there, and it seemed she hadn’t moved an inch.
Sitting there, at a loss, I continued to watch her. The ghost hung around for another five minutes or so, appearing to look at a few things off-screen, though I’m not sure what. Then she walked off into the forest and left the view of the cameras. I wasn’t sure if she vanished into the ether or if she’d gone looking into the trees to look for something.
But that wasn’t the end of the job interview, so let me jump back there. It continued into what kind of animals the zoo had, with Andrew asking me how much experience I had with dangerous animals.
I took a moment to consider the question. “So, ah…I’ve been going hunting and fishing with a neighbor since I was sixteen,” I told him. “We always have to keep an eye out for gators, bears, and hogs. Then there’s snakes, of course…snapping turtles… Since I’ve lived here my whole life and been aiming for a job with wildlife for a long time, I know a lot about the animals in Arkansas in general. But good advice for all of the above is avoid them, so I’ve had encounters, but I don’t know if you’d say I have experience with them.”
“That’s fine,” Andrew said, nodding. “That’s an answer I’m satisfied with. Now, the ghost was the appetizer, Ripley; here’s the main course. To start with, the pay isn’t twenty-five an hour. It’s fifty.”
Staring in shock for a moment, I asked, “Are you serious?”
“Yeah. But that’d be weird to post online considering what applicants think we need, so I halved it.”
“That’s… Okay, why?”
“The animals are already here. You just can’t see them.”
I stared at him for a long moment, some disbelief worming its way into my expression, before saying, “Sorry, what?”
“There’s a chance you’d naturally never see them, or at least some of them,” he continued casually. “It depends on both your genetics and how long you stay on the job. I can naturally see six of them, but that’s it. Suzanne can see all of them, and more. Some are what people would label demons or ghosts. Or magic. Mostly you’d call them cryptids. The ghost was just a warm-up; I mentioned her first because it never takes more than a week to see her if you work the night shift. If you manage to handle her okay, soon you’ll be able to see the animals too. The more time you spend on the grounds, for weird reasons,” he said, wiggling his fingers in the direction of the back door, “the more you’ll be able to see.”
“So, this…this is a zoo for cryptids,” I echoed slowly. He nodded once, waiting to find out what kind of reaction I would have. I gestured vaguely around the room. “If this is a hidden camera show, will you cut me a check for showing up and participating?”
Andrew coughed out a chuckle and shook his head. “No joke. There are a ton of stories out there that have been written to death, pulverized until they’re not the Grimm stories of old and instead they’re Disney films. A lot of those stories come from what some humans have seen. There are dozens of other worlds pressed up against ours, and occasionally things come through by accident. If they’re smart, they’ll lay low and then make their way back when they can. If not, they become local folklore until someone helps them back. I’m just from London, but Suzanne is from somewhere else. She hires people like us for this zoo. Humans.”
Sighing, I shook my head. “That makes no sense. Why would she hire a muggle for a magic zoo?”
Andrew burst out laughing at that, and then waited to gather himself before he continued. “Fair point, but this is less about magic and more about animals, and you’re missing some information that will explain it. First of all, if I misjudge an employee, and they think they can make bank by outing the endangered and valuable animals we have, it’s easy to relocate the zoo.”
“Because magic?” I asked.
“Exactly,” he replied, ignoring the thread of skepticism in my tone. “That means it isn’t the end of the world if that happened, though it is a pain in the arse. But second…let me ask you a question. Speaking of reality shows, say the Discovery Channel put out a call to replace Steve Irwin when he passed. Imagine they had a line out the door,” he said with a gesture, “of people who thought they had the skill and natural talent to replace him, to take on everything he’d been doing his whole life. How many do you reckon would lose an arm, a leg, or their life, by the end of the day?”
My lips parted in surprise and I narrowed my eyes at him. “You’re saying people from…wherever…they’re just as dumb as humans, but they’re worse, because they actually think they can handle these things.”
Andrew pointed the pen at me. “Things. Exactly. You called them things. Suzanne and her friends grew up with them and would call them animals. These animals have dispositions and temperaments that we’ve studied for as long as there have been scientists. Where Suzanne’s from, they know the weaknesses of these animals, and also they’re in enclosures here, even if you and I can’t see the walls because they’re invisible things called ‘wards’. If I hire someone who’s got magic on top of all that, they’ll have almost no instinctive fear.
“Everything here is nocturnal, and every one of them is a hunter. Some of these things? Humans see them and they pass out. Not that I want you passing out, but I need someone who is scared of these things, who knows to stay out of the enclosures no matter what. Not someone who thinks they can train them to do tricks, who gets close enough for them to grab a mouthful of hair and drown them. Once, we had a night shift manager injured, and once killed, because they didn’t take these animals seriously enough.”
Thinking back to the Sea World orca incident I knew he’d been referencing, I remembered wondering how someone at that level of her profession could be so careless as I watched the video on YouTube. It made sense when he explained it like that. I hesitated before mentally throwing my hands up and going all in. “So, why put this place here, then? If they’re endangered and also dangerous, why have a zoo at all instead of just a small reserve?”
He pursed his lips, looking disappointed in me. “Ripley. You know that already. You already said as much.”
Thinking back through our conversation, I said, “The rich humans who pay top dollar to see supernatural animals.”
“Not humans,” he told me. “But people, yes, and they are rich, and they’re making donations and spending their money on a ticket here because everything we have is endangered.”
“So…”
I just let my voice trail off and my mind started to drift. Andrew remained silent, letting me do so. There’s that thing people say, ‘I believe that you believe it,’ which is just a kinder way of saying, ‘Bullshit.’ Parents say it about closet monsters. Psychologists say it to people who say they’ve been abducted and probed by aliens. I wanted to say it to Andrew.
But I also wanted a job. If it meant working overnight at an empty zoo, that was fine. When it came down to it, especially when I took the tone of our conversation into account, this was a zoo specifically focused on preserving endangered ‘animals’, and it was allegedly doing important work. Also, if this turned out to be the real deal and I started seeing the animals, I would deal with it, just like I would deal with an enclosure that had a lion or tiger or gorilla. If it came with a ghost and invisible creatures, I really didn’t see what the difference was, if I couldn’t go in the enclosures either way.
On that note, I’d like you to imagine a kid who looks at a roller coaster, watching everyone screaming and grinning as they go up and down and all around and they’re like, ‘Heck, I could do that! That looks like a blast!’
Then they get on, the first drop hits, and they realize they’ve made a terrible mistake.
“All right,” I sighed. “I can’t say I’m going to turn down a job just because it’s going to be scary. Especially not one with this paycheck.”
Andrew smiled. “Awesome. There’s an adjustment process for anyone working here, similar to a dog that gets adopted, actually. I know the general guidelines of, ‘three days, three weeks, three months’ in terms of milestones, until they finally feel they’re where they’re supposed to be,” he told me, “and you can think of your time here along those lines. I really think you’re a great fit, and once you reach the milestone of working here for three months, I’ll officially consider you our new night shift guard. And I hope you’ll stay with us for many years.”
I nodded and smiled at the flattery of an employer wanting me to work a great job for them for a long time. I’d never had a dog, but those milestones were well-known among anyone who knew animals, especially dogs. The first three days, the dog is getting to know its new digs, exploring, and decompressing. At three weeks, they’ve gotten used to their environment and are starting to get comfortable with their surroundings and the routines of the humans they live with. By three months, they know the rules and follow them, they trust you, and they feel they are where they’re meant to be. I could only hope to be so lucky.
I saw the ghost two days ago and she has yet to make another appearance (for those who are curious, I asked, and her name is Leila), and I still hadn’t seen any animals. I did hear one, though, I feel compelled to note. A growling roar sounded from the lake on occasion, echoing across the vast zoo, sending a shiver down my spine. Whatever that animal was, it sounded gigantic.
Andrew said there was apparently a group that wanted to visit for a birthday and they were offering a huge donation, so he let me know they were making an exception and that this group would be walking through the park that night. That meant I’d be watching people watching animals that, as far as I could tell, weren’t there.
It was anticlimactic. Even the three people who came for the tour just looked like people, not like aliens or something eldritch from another dimension, and I stayed in the security office the whole time. Andrew was the one giving the tour. I watched them spend about five minutes at each enclosure, the hour or so that they were there passing without incident. It was clear that they were able to see all the animals, though, since they motioned excitedly at each enclosure and spoke to Andrew, who presumably answered any questions they had.
If they could see the animals, that was that. There was still that niggle in the back of my head, from my twenty-three years of life never encountering anything like ghosts or cryptids, telling me that this was ridiculous. Waiting for someone to knock on the door, a camera mounted on their shoulder, to tell me that it was a big joke and they wanted to see how long I’d play along. But from all I saw, this was a real place with real, invisible animals.
I do carry a taser and pepper spray in my capacity as a security guard. Though it isn’t for the animals, since they’re in the enclosures; they’re actually for the rare instance of a break-in. Andrew mentioned that it had happened several times it the past, someone trying to steal an animal in the hopes of selling it on the black market. They’d been successful before, but apparently my predecessor Roger was good at his job, and mostly they left in handcuffs.
I’ll be honest, I’m not a huge fan of confrontation, but my job was to call Andrew and then confront the person, not kick their ass. That’s what the police were for, or rather, the people Andrew would call in lieu of police in certain situations.
Fifty bucks an hour. That’s the key here.
Andrew hadn’t set up direct deposit, since he was sticking with a strategy of waiting to see if I’d continue to work there once I found out myself dealing with the animals (I’ve decided I am going to just call them animals). Instead, I got an old-fashioned check after my shift every Friday. The number on the first check was delightful. I went out that evening and had a big dinner at the local diner, order my most expensive favorites on the menu and a big slice of pie for dessert.
When it came to the paychecks in general, though, I had this weird feeling of not wanting to tell my dad and brother about the fact that it was actually $50/hr. I previously mentioned that my dad, his name’s Nathan if you’re curious, works at a local grocery store. Our town has a couple food franchises, but I think its size is just short of whatever threshold Walmart uses to decide where to open. He earns $14/hr. and that’s after the tiny raises he’s gotten over the past thirteen years.
That’s not to say he’d feel bad about not making as much as me. On the contrary, he would be ecstatic for me and really proud. But, like me, he’d be suspicious. That hourly rate was the biggest hint that this was more than just a private zoo for cryptids. And as soon as that fat check cleared without problems, my dad wouldn’t be satisfied with reassurances; he’d want to come visit the zoo and look around.
I’d told him it’s a private preservation with scheduled (expensive) visits only and that it had only eleven animals, so he’d been appeased by me brushing off the idea of a visit. Also, I took a few photos of my workplace; one of the security room, one of me sitting in my chair, one photo of the many screens I watched, and a selfie where I was feigning sleep out of boredom, slouched in my chair with my mouth open in a faux snore. That let him feel like he knew where I was and what I was doing, and that I was safe.
But if I told him I was making double what he thought, my father would practically order me to quit. No job was worth my safety, he’d tell me. I was quite of the opposite opinion, however, considering how crucial any and all conservation efforts were these days. Especially with the steep extinction levels due to humans competing with other animals for space, not to mention climate change. Working in any job that helped preserve species and keep ecosystems in balance, or put them back in balance, was so important.
Then again, my father would also point out something I had realized right away: the fact was that I was working with endangered species that were not from Earth. I wasn’t helping my planet. To be honest, though…that didn’t matter to me. Especially after that talk with Andrew about why he hired a human for this job, I figured whichever dimension these animals came from had the equivalent of us, razing forests to the ground, clouding the planet with pollution, and leaving the animals with no avenue of recourse when yet more land was taken from them.
I really do hope to keep working here for a long time, though, and not just because of the money. I can’t help it; I want to know what these things were, and I want to work with them, to do the job of a zookeeper. The same way you go up to the chain-link fence to get close to a carnivore on the other side who thinks you’d make a nice afternoon snack. You just want to be closer to them, to experience that incredible, daunting feeling of being in their presence.
Unsurprisingly, it wasn’t long before I got what I wanted.
The day after we had the tour go through, I was doing my sweep when I saw the ghost again. She was sitting on a small boulder in the same area I’d seen her the first time, looking identical, blood covering the front of her slashed shirt, the wounds visible underneath. I stopped and stood there for a moment before I decided to raise my hand in a small wave.
The young woman cocked her head at me and raised a hand in the air in an imitation of my gesture, her expression showing a bit of curiosity.
She was low-key, seemingly not concerned with my presence, looking at me as a novel phenomenon in her world. I wondered what that world consisted of. Was she always here, sometimes visible and sometimes not? Or did she have another world next to ours, in the ether, where she left everything in this world behind and floated in her disembodied form? Did she still feel emotions? Was that really curiosity on her face, or was I projecting? Did she feel happiness? Fear? Did she have the option of moving on, or was she stuck here?
Many questions that I might never get the answers too. And that was assuming Andrew knew the answers, since I’d never met Suzanne Cooper and he hadn’t even mentioned that possibility. This place was clearly her baby, but I’m sure running it was a lot of work. Plus, if she was rich enough to own it, she was rich enough to have other businesses and charities to run.
When it comes to the enclosures, they’re all wrapped by a barrier of some kind, though never one that seems adequate. There was not a single place with the ugly metal weavings of a chain-link fence, and no stretches of circular razor wire. Instead, there are nice fences. Black iron, or wrought steel fencing in a similar style to the one circling the perimeter of the zoo, just shorter and with different patterns. Or a spaced picket fence, the wood stained in some tone of brown, or a split two-rail fence. As if to say, ‘This is the border of your enclosure, but we’re just letting you know out of courtesy.’
When I started to pass enclosure number seven last night, a young woman’s voice spoke, “Hello.”
I startled, unaware that I hadn’t been alone. “Oh. Hi,” I said, staring at her standing a few yards in.
She had been next to a large tree and I hadn’t seen her. This enclosure was behind a picket fence, and she walked through the large area of wild grasses and flowers that stretched across the other side of the fence. There were fewer tall grasses closer to the fence, which I guessed was because it had been tromped down by her regular pacing along it when there were visitors, or if she wanted to see the various enclosures of the zoo. Her sudden appearance was a bit weird, considering I had been expecting to see a cryptid and instead I was looking at, it seemed, an attractive Asian woman.
She wore a black kimono, the soft silk robe draped gently over her body, with beautiful patterns of cherry blossoms, more so over her left side, and red and blue birds with their wings spread. A sash wrapped around her abdomen, she wore socks and sandals on her feet, and her hair was up in those rolls that gave volume to the style.
I was no expert on any fashion, much less that of another country, so I just assumed it was all traditional Japanese clothing. Most likely, the visitors who came liked to see a certain time-honored style and that’s what she stuck with. Or maybe she played on stereotypes. That would be amusing.
“I’m Yui. It’s nice to meet you,” she spoke, arriving at the border of the fence and holding out a hand for me to shake.
I’d been standing about three yards away from her, and I’ll be honest, muscle memory tried to kick in. But I only made it two steps, my hand starting to rise, before I froze, the hand falling limply at my side. “Nice to meet you, too,” I answered, my voice quiet.
Damn. I wonder how many times that honey trap works back where she comes from.
The pleasant look on her face faded, and she lowered her hand. “You won’t shake hands with me? Isn’t that rude?”
“I mean, I kind of like my hand where it is. You know, attached to me.”
Her demure smile widened into something more amused. “I would never do something so revolting.”
Looking her up and down, as if more visual information would give me more knowledge of what she was, I asked her, “What would you do?”
“I would be less wasteful,” she said softly.
A finger of ice trailed down my spine, and I had the sudden image in my head of her grabbing my outstretched hand in an iron grip and yanking me over the fence, leaving me to sprawl on the ground. Then killing and consuming me efficiently, without a single careless step, the same way humans slaughtered pigs, using everything from the hog but the squeal. I was struck with a shiver at the idea of her consuming everything from me but my screams.
Slowly, I took one step further down the path, then another. Just as I got to a walking pace, though, I realized the woman had started walking too, in the same direction. I’d have eventually gotten to the end of her enclosure and keep going, leaving her behind, but she spoke up. “Are you leaving?”
I came to a stop, meeting her gaze again. “My job is to walk the zoo every hour. Then I’ll get back to the security room and stay there until my next walk.”
“Have you met the others yet?”
I hesitated before saying, “Just Leila.”
She blinked languidly. “That means nobody welcomed you here.”
“Andrew did.”
She didn’t reply to that. Instead, she slowly started to lean forward, and I flinched backward a few steps further as I saw insect legs start curling out from her back.
No. Not insect. Arachnid.
The eight legs ended in small ‘paws’ with tiny claws, a layer of hairs covering the leg from top to bottom, like any typical tarantula. I took two more slow steps back and my mouth went dry as the jointed legs just kept lengthening, until they were large enough to lever her off the ground.
My gaze had been on the spider legs, but my heart skipped a beat as I realized her human legs had melded together and turned into a bulging an abdomen. Her skin was shifting to a carapace, eventually all the way up to her shoulders and down her arms, her fingers elongating and her nails stretching to claws. From there down, her body was that of a pale tarantula with pedipalps the size of my arms and piercing fangs in her jaws that looked like they could take my head off.
There was a moment, my vision blurring, where I was worried that I might piss myself. The part of my brain that still had its humor intact in that moment told me that I should keep an emergency set of clothes in my car, or at the very least, start wearing Depends to work.
“I show you my true form,” she said softly, her voice now raspy like an eighty-year-old after a lifelong smoking habit. “Welcome to Suzanne Cooper’s zoo. The night shift guard for many years was Roger, before he retired and the zoo moved, and I miss him dearly. What should I call you?”
I choked on my words. There was no way my throat was going to cooperate enough for me to clearly get a sentence out. Instead, I realized my legs had taken control of the situation themselves, unsatisfied with my conscious brain’s decision to stand and stare, taking steps backward. I backed up a yard, then five yards, then ten.
My mind focused on the fact that spiders don’t waste anything, and pictured my demise. I’d be wrapped in a cocoon, killed, and made nice and mushy before she had me for dinner.
The whole time, my brain was a frenzied mess, my pupils were probably the size of dimes, and I was staring at that tiny, pathetic fence between her and me. There was so much adrenaline pumping through my body that I felt like my bones were vibrating. The fence was, to my eyes, the only thing between us. The only thing keeping her from tackling and killing me. My only hope was that she’d do it quickly.
But she didn’t move. As I absorbed her innocent, polite words, the look on her face was calm, and I wondered if this was typically the way a conversation went before she devoured her prey. I wondered how many people she’d eaten. Not humans, not people from Earth, but the ones from where she came from. The fact that she doesn’t scare the shit out of those people means they’re staggeringly dumber than humans.
Finally, I rounded a corner, both relieved at having her out of my sight and worried that she would take that moment to come find me. When she’d been within eyeshot, I had at least known where she was and could run in the other direction. But I didn’t hear the sound of faint footsteps moving rapidly toward me. All was quiet, in that deep, smothering way that only an empty business in the middle of the night in small town America could be.
My hands trembling, I barely paid attention to anything but the confirmation that my surroundings were free of the colossal spider as I finally got back to the door. Grabbing the handle and letting my eyes dart around for about ten seconds and my ears prick for the slightest sound, I finally swiped my key card across the pad and went inside, shutting the door behind me and engaging the backup deadbolt.
Maybe that was why they had decided on keycards. If I was running from something and panicking, using an actual key or inserting the card like at a hotel would keep me from getting to safety considering my hands were shaking enough to mix a margarita.
Walking over to my chair, I fell into it, letting my body flush itself of terror as I looked up at the cameras. There she was, still in arachnid form, exactly where I’d left her behind that rinky-dink fence, casually looking around and slowly pacing back and forth. I stared at her as my racing heart gradually slowed, and a minute or so later she turned on her eight legs and walked back into the trees.
Whatever invisible fences the enclosures have apparently work, which is nice, because I wasn’t keen on getting killed by one of the creatures here. And that’s what brings me here, spilling out everything that’s happened so far. Because nearly passing out from terror isn’t something I wanted to deal with at work, obviously, but I keep going over what she did in my head again and again, and I feel like I reacted like a child who spotted a wolf spider on their bed. I started to worry for my overactive sense of self-preservation, at least in my capacity as an employee here.
The spider didn’t even try to hurt me, and so I was feeling a bit foolish. Even annoyed, actually, at the fact that I’d freaked out so hard and took off instead of trying to engage in at least basic conversation. I got the sense that she wasn’t at human-level intelligence, but I was never going to be able to hold any level of conversation with an alligator.
Sure, she did mention that she wouldn’t be so crass as to yank off my hand because she’d rather just have my entire corpse, but wouldn’t a wolf do the same if it was hungry? Wouldn’t any carnivore? Actually, they probably would’ve been satisfied with one of my hands. The fear here was from the fact that she turned into a giant spider. If she’d turned into Clifford, I would’ve reacted the same way, if not better than, meeting Leila.
With that, I decided I’m staying on the job. Considering how frustrated I can get with foolish people, it’s a bit hypocritical, and I’m being a bit of an idiot. But…there are definitely wards keeping them in their enclosures. Also, I signed up for creatures for another dimension, whether or not I believed in them at the time, and I will not let encountering my first one in an objectively boring way be the reason I quit.
The money is a factor, I’ll grant you. Of course it is. And I can’t spend it if I’m dead, but all signs point to surviving as long as I don’t do anything dumb. Also, yes, I’ll admit there’s a not-so-little voice in the back of my head that’s desperate to know what else is here. I never thought I’d do something like this, but finding out these things are real, I honestly do want to learn more about them.
Still, though, I decided to call Andrew at the end of my shift to ask if the pepper spray and taser I carried worked on a certain spider, as well as the other animals I’d yet to meet.
***
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/storiesbykaren
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I sat on the floor in the office after meeting the ghost until I’d settled my rattled mind (and realized I’d forgotten to ask her name, how rude is that?). I took a deep breath and got up off the floor. Walking over and falling into the rolling chair in front of the large screen of camera views, when I brought up the camera that covered the area in which I’d spotted her, she was still there, and it seemed she hadn’t moved an inch.
Sitting there, at a loss, I continued to watch her. The ghost hung around for another five minutes or so, appearing to look at a few things off-screen, though I’m not sure what. Then she walked off into the forest and left the view of the cameras. I wasn’t sure if she vanished into the ether or if she’d gone looking into the trees to look for something.
But that wasn’t the end of the job interview, so let me jump back there. It continued into what kind of animals the zoo had, with Andrew asking me how much experience I had with dangerous animals.
I took a moment to consider the question. “So, ah…I’ve been going hunting and fishing with a neighbor since I was sixteen,” I told him. “We always have to keep an eye out for gators, bears, and hogs. Then there’s snakes, of course…snapping turtles… Since I’ve lived here my whole life and been aiming for a job with wildlife for a long time, I know a lot about the animals in Arkansas in general. But good advice for all of the above is avoid them, so I’ve had encounters, but I don’t know if you’d say I have experience with them.”
“That’s fine,” Andrew said, nodding. “That’s an answer I’m satisfied with. Now, the ghost was the appetizer, Ripley; here’s the main course. To start with, the pay isn’t twenty-five an hour. It’s fifty.”
Staring in shock for a moment, I asked, “Are you serious?”
“Yeah. But that’d be weird to post online considering what applicants think we need, so I halved it.”
“That’s… Okay, why?”
“The animals are already here. You just can’t see them.”
I stared at him for a long moment, some disbelief worming its way into my expression, before saying, “Sorry, what?”
“There’s a chance you’d naturally never see them, or at least some of them,” he continued casually. “It depends on both your genetics and how long you stay on the job. I can naturally see six of them, but that’s it. Suzanne can see all of them, and more. Some are what people would label demons or ghosts. Or magic. Mostly you’d call them cryptids. The ghost was just a warm-up; I mentioned her first because it never takes more than a week to see her if you work the night shift. If you manage to handle her okay, soon you’ll be able to see the animals too. The more time you spend on the grounds, for weird reasons,” he said, wiggling his fingers in the direction of the back door, “the more you’ll be able to see.”
“So, this…this is a zoo for cryptids,” I echoed slowly. He nodded once, waiting to find out what kind of reaction I would have. I gestured vaguely around the room. “If this is a hidden camera show, will you cut me a check for showing up and participating?”
Andrew coughed out a chuckle and shook his head. “No joke. There are a ton of stories out there that have been written to death, pulverized until they’re not the Grimm stories of old and instead they’re Disney films. A lot of those stories come from what some humans have seen. There are dozens of other worlds pressed up against ours, and occasionally things come through by accident. If they’re smart, they’ll lay low and then make their way back when they can. If not, they become local folklore until someone helps them back. I’m just from London, but Suzanne is from somewhere else. She hires people like us for this zoo. Humans.”
Sighing, I shook my head. “That makes no sense. Why would she hire a muggle for a magic zoo?”
Andrew burst out laughing at that, and then waited to gather himself before he continued. “Fair point, but this is less about magic and more about animals, and you’re missing some information that will explain it. First of all, if I misjudge an employee, and they think they can make bank by outing the endangered and valuable animals we have, it’s easy to relocate the zoo.”
“Because magic?” I asked.
“Exactly,” he replied, ignoring the thread of skepticism in my tone. “That means it isn’t the end of the world if that happened, though it is a pain in the arse. But second…let me ask you a question. Speaking of reality shows, say the Discovery Channel put out a call to replace Steve Irwin when he passed. Imagine they had a line out the door,” he said with a gesture, “of people who thought they had the skill and natural talent to replace him, to take on everything he’d been doing his whole life. How many do you reckon would lose an arm, a leg, or their life, by the end of the day?”
My lips parted in surprise and I narrowed my eyes at him. “You’re saying people from…wherever…they’re just as dumb as humans, but they’re worse, because they actually think they can handle these things.”
Andrew pointed the pen at me. “Things. Exactly. You called them things. Suzanne and her friends grew up with them and would call them animals. These animals have dispositions and temperaments that we’ve studied for as long as there have been scientists. Where Suzanne’s from, they know the weaknesses of these animals, and also they’re in enclosures here, even if you and I can’t see the walls because they’re invisible things called ‘wards’. If I hire someone who’s got magic on top of all that, they’ll have almost no instinctive fear.
“Everything here is nocturnal, and every one of them is a hunter. Some of these things? Humans see them and they pass out. Not that I want you passing out, but I need someone who is scared of these things, who knows to stay out of the enclosures no matter what. Not someone who thinks they can train them to do tricks, who gets close enough for them to grab a mouthful of hair and drown them. Once, we had a night shift manager injured, and once killed, because they didn’t take these animals seriously enough.”
Thinking back to the Sea World orca incident I knew he’d been referencing, I remembered wondering how someone at that level of her profession could be so careless as I watched the video on YouTube. It made sense when he explained it like that. I hesitated before mentally throwing my hands up and going all in. “So, why put this place here, then? If they’re endangered and also dangerous, why have a zoo at all instead of just a small reserve?”
He pursed his lips, looking disappointed in me. “Ripley. You know that already. You already said as much.”
Thinking back through our conversation, I said, “The rich humans who pay top dollar to see supernatural animals.”
“Not humans,” he told me. “But people, yes, and they are rich, and they’re making donations and spending their money on a ticket here because everything we have is endangered.”
“So…”
I just let my voice trail off and my mind started to drift. Andrew remained silent, letting me do so. There’s that thing people say, ‘I believe that you believe it,’ which is just a kinder way of saying, ‘Bullshit.’ Parents say it about closet monsters. Psychologists say it to people who say they’ve been abducted and probed by aliens. I wanted to say it to Andrew.
But I also wanted a job. If it meant working overnight at an empty zoo, that was fine. When it came down to it, especially when I took the tone of our conversation into account, this was a zoo specifically focused on preserving endangered ‘animals’, and it was allegedly doing important work. Also, if this turned out to be the real deal and I started seeing the animals, I would deal with it, just like I would deal with an enclosure that had a lion or tiger or gorilla. If it came with a ghost and invisible creatures, I really didn’t see what the difference was, if I couldn’t go in the enclosures either way.
On that note, I’d like you to imagine a kid who looks at a roller coaster, watching everyone screaming and grinning as they go up and down and all around and they’re like, ‘Heck, I could do that! That looks like a blast!’
Then they get on, the first drop hits, and they realize they’ve made a terrible mistake.
“All right,” I sighed. “I can’t say I’m going to turn down a job just because it’s going to be scary. Especially not one with this paycheck.”
Andrew smiled. “Awesome. There’s an adjustment process for anyone working here, similar to a dog that gets adopted, actually. I know the general guidelines of, ‘three days, three weeks, three months’ in terms of milestones, until they finally feel they’re where they’re supposed to be,” he told me, “and you can think of your time here along those lines. I really think you’re a great fit, and once you reach the milestone of working here for three months, I’ll officially consider you our new night shift guard. And I hope you’ll stay with us for many years.”
I nodded and smiled at the flattery of an employer wanting me to work a great job for them for a long time. I’d never had a dog, but those milestones were well-known among anyone who knew animals, especially dogs. The first three days, the dog is getting to know its new digs, exploring, and decompressing. At three weeks, they’ve gotten used to their environment and are starting to get comfortable with their surroundings and the routines of the humans they live with. By three months, they know the rules and follow them, they trust you, and they feel they are where they’re meant to be. I could only hope to be so lucky.
I saw the ghost two days ago and she has yet to make another appearance (for those who are curious, I asked, and her name is Leila), and I still hadn’t seen any animals. I did hear one, though, I feel compelled to note. A growling roar sounded from the lake on occasion, echoing across the vast zoo, sending a shiver down my spine. Whatever that animal was, it sounded gigantic.
Andrew said there was apparently a group that wanted to visit for a birthday and they were offering a huge donation, so he let me know they were making an exception and that this group would be walking through the park that night. That meant I’d be watching people watching animals that, as far as I could tell, weren’t there.
It was anticlimactic. Even the three people who came for the tour just looked like people, not like aliens or something eldritch from another dimension, and I stayed in the security office the whole time. Andrew was the one giving the tour. I watched them spend about five minutes at each enclosure, the hour or so that they were there passing without incident. It was clear that they were able to see all the animals, though, since they motioned excitedly at each enclosure and spoke to Andrew, who presumably answered any questions they had.
If they could see the animals, that was that. There was still that niggle in the back of my head, from my twenty-three years of life never encountering anything like ghosts or cryptids, telling me that this was ridiculous. Waiting for someone to knock on the door, a camera mounted on their shoulder, to tell me that it was a big joke and they wanted to see how long I’d play along. But from all I saw, this was a real place with real, invisible animals.
I do carry a taser and pepper spray in my capacity as a security guard. Though it isn’t for the animals, since they’re in the enclosures; they’re actually for the rare instance of a break-in. Andrew mentioned that it had happened several times it the past, someone trying to steal an animal in the hopes of selling it on the black market. They’d been successful before, but apparently my predecessor Roger was good at his job, and mostly they left in handcuffs.
I’ll be honest, I’m not a huge fan of confrontation, but my job was to call Andrew and then confront the person, not kick their ass. That’s what the police were for, or rather, the people Andrew would call in lieu of police in certain situations.
Fifty bucks an hour. That’s the key here.
Andrew hadn’t set up direct deposit, since he was sticking with a strategy of waiting to see if I’d continue to work there once I found out myself dealing with the animals (I’ve decided I am going to just call them animals). Instead, I got an old-fashioned check after my shift every Friday. The number on the first check was delightful. I went out that evening and had a big dinner at the local diner, order my most expensive favorites on the menu and a big slice of pie for dessert.
When it came to the paychecks in general, though, I had this weird feeling of not wanting to tell my dad and brother about the fact that it was actually $50/hr. I previously mentioned that my dad, his name’s Nathan if you’re curious, works at a local grocery store. Our town has a couple food franchises, but I think its size is just short of whatever threshold Walmart uses to decide where to open. He earns $14/hr. and that’s after the tiny raises he’s gotten over the past thirteen years.
That’s not to say he’d feel bad about not making as much as me. On the contrary, he would be ecstatic for me and really proud. But, like me, he’d be suspicious. That hourly rate was the biggest hint that this was more than just a private zoo for cryptids. And as soon as that fat check cleared without problems, my dad wouldn’t be satisfied with reassurances; he’d want to come visit the zoo and look around.
I’d told him it’s a private preservation with scheduled (expensive) visits only and that it had only eleven animals, so he’d been appeased by me brushing off the idea of a visit. Also, I took a few photos of my workplace; one of the security room, one of me sitting in my chair, one photo of the many screens I watched, and a selfie where I was feigning sleep out of boredom, slouched in my chair with my mouth open in a faux snore. That let him feel like he knew where I was and what I was doing, and that I was safe.
But if I told him I was making double what he thought, my father would practically order me to quit. No job was worth my safety, he’d tell me. I was quite of the opposite opinion, however, considering how crucial any and all conservation efforts were these days. Especially with the steep extinction levels due to humans competing with other animals for space, not to mention climate change. Working in any job that helped preserve species and keep ecosystems in balance, or put them back in balance, was so important.
Then again, my father would also point out something I had realized right away: the fact was that I was working with endangered species that were not from Earth. I wasn’t helping my planet. To be honest, though…that didn’t matter to me. Especially after that talk with Andrew about why he hired a human for this job, I figured whichever dimension these animals came from had the equivalent of us, razing forests to the ground, clouding the planet with pollution, and leaving the animals with no avenue of recourse when yet more land was taken from them.
I really do hope to keep working here for a long time, though, and not just because of the money. I can’t help it; I want to know what these things were, and I want to work with them, to do the job of a zookeeper. The same way you go up to the chain-link fence to get close to a carnivore on the other side who thinks you’d make a nice afternoon snack. You just want to be closer to them, to experience that incredible, daunting feeling of being in their presence.
Unsurprisingly, it wasn’t long before I got what I wanted.
The day after we had the tour go through, I was doing my sweep when I saw the ghost again. She was sitting on a small boulder in the same area I’d seen her the first time, looking identical, blood covering the front of her slashed shirt, the wounds visible underneath. I stopped and stood there for a moment before I decided to raise my hand in a small wave.
The young woman cocked her head at me and raised a hand in the air in an imitation of my gesture, her expression showing a bit of curiosity.
She was low-key, seemingly not concerned with my presence, looking at me as a novel phenomenon in her world. I wondered what that world consisted of. Was she always here, sometimes visible and sometimes not? Or did she have another world next to ours, in the ether, where she left everything in this world behind and floated in her disembodied form? Did she still feel emotions? Was that really curiosity on her face, or was I projecting? Did she feel happiness? Fear? Did she have the option of moving on, or was she stuck here?
Many questions that I might never get the answers too. And that was assuming Andrew knew the answers, since I’d never met Suzanne Cooper and he hadn’t even mentioned that possibility. This place was clearly her baby, but I’m sure running it was a lot of work. Plus, if she was rich enough to own it, she was rich enough to have other businesses and charities to run.
When it comes to the enclosures, they’re all wrapped by a barrier of some kind, though never one that seems adequate. There was not a single place with the ugly metal weavings of a chain-link fence, and no stretches of circular razor wire. Instead, there are nice fences. Black iron, or wrought steel fencing in a similar style to the one circling the perimeter of the zoo, just shorter and with different patterns. Or a spaced picket fence, the wood stained in some tone of brown, or a split two-rail fence. As if to say, ‘This is the border of your enclosure, but we’re just letting you know out of courtesy.’
When I started to pass enclosure number seven last night, a young woman’s voice spoke, “Hello.”
I startled, unaware that I hadn’t been alone. “Oh. Hi,” I said, staring at her standing a few yards in.
She had been next to a large tree and I hadn’t seen her. This enclosure was behind a picket fence, and she walked through the large area of wild grasses and flowers that stretched across the other side of the fence. There were fewer tall grasses closer to the fence, which I guessed was because it had been tromped down by her regular pacing along it when there were visitors, or if she wanted to see the various enclosures of the zoo. Her sudden appearance was a bit weird, considering I had been expecting to see a cryptid and instead I was looking at, it seemed, an attractive Asian woman.
She wore a black kimono, the soft silk robe draped gently over her body, with beautiful patterns of cherry blossoms, more so over her left side, and red and blue birds with their wings spread. A sash wrapped around her abdomen, she wore socks and sandals on her feet, and her hair was up in those rolls that gave volume to the style.
I was no expert on any fashion, much less that of another country, so I just assumed it was all traditional Japanese clothing. Most likely, the visitors who came liked to see a certain time-honored style and that’s what she stuck with. Or maybe she played on stereotypes. That would be amusing.
“I’m Yui. It’s nice to meet you,” she spoke, arriving at the border of the fence and holding out a hand for me to shake.
I’d been standing about three yards away from her, and I’ll be honest, muscle memory tried to kick in. But I only made it two steps, my hand starting to rise, before I froze, the hand falling limply at my side. “Nice to meet you, too,” I answered, my voice quiet.
Damn. I wonder how many times that honey trap works back where she comes from.
The pleasant look on her face faded, and she lowered her hand. “You won’t shake hands with me? Isn’t that rude?”
“I mean, I kind of like my hand where it is. You know, attached to me.”
Her demure smile widened into something more amused. “I would never do something so revolting.”
Looking her up and down, as if more visual information would give me more knowledge of what she was, I asked her, “What would you do?”
“I would be less wasteful,” she said softly.
A finger of ice trailed down my spine, and I had the sudden image in my head of her grabbing my outstretched hand in an iron grip and yanking me over the fence, leaving me to sprawl on the ground. Then killing and consuming me efficiently, without a single careless step, the same way humans slaughtered pigs, using everything from the hog but the squeal. I was struck with a shiver at the idea of her consuming everything from me but my screams.
Slowly, I took one step further down the path, then another. Just as I got to a walking pace, though, I realized the woman had started walking too, in the same direction. I’d have eventually gotten to the end of her enclosure and keep going, leaving her behind, but she spoke up. “Are you leaving?”
I came to a stop, meeting her gaze again. “My job is to walk the zoo every hour. Then I’ll get back to the security room and stay there until my next walk.”
“Have you met the others yet?”
I hesitated before saying, “Just Leila.”
She blinked languidly. “That means nobody welcomed you here.”
“Andrew did.”
She didn’t reply to that. Instead, she slowly started to lean forward, and I flinched backward a few steps further as I saw insect legs start curling out from her back.
No. Not insect. Arachnid.
The eight legs ended in small ‘paws’ with tiny claws, a layer of hairs covering the leg from top to bottom, like any typical tarantula. I took two more slow steps back and my mouth went dry as the jointed legs just kept lengthening, until they were large enough to lever her off the ground.
My gaze had been on the spider legs, but my heart skipped a beat as I realized her human legs had melded together and turned into a bulging an abdomen. Her skin was shifting to a carapace, eventually all the way up to her shoulders and down her arms, her fingers elongating and her nails stretching to claws. From there down, her body was that of a pale tarantula with pedipalps the size of my arms and piercing fangs in her jaws that looked like they could take my head off.
There was a moment, my vision blurring, where I was worried that I might piss myself. The part of my brain that still had its humor intact in that moment told me that I should keep an emergency set of clothes in my car, or at the very least, start wearing Depends to work.
“I show you my true form,” she said softly, her voice now raspy like an eighty-year-old after a lifelong smoking habit. “Welcome to Suzanne Cooper’s zoo. The night shift guard for many years was Roger, before he retired and the zoo moved, and I miss him dearly. What should I call you?”
I choked on my words. There was no way my throat was going to cooperate enough for me to clearly get a sentence out. Instead, I realized my legs had taken control of the situation themselves, unsatisfied with my conscious brain’s decision to stand and stare, taking steps backward. I backed up a yard, then five yards, then ten.
My mind focused on the fact that spiders don’t waste anything, and pictured my demise. I’d be wrapped in a cocoon, killed, and made nice and mushy before she had me for dinner.
The whole time, my brain was a frenzied mess, my pupils were probably the size of dimes, and I was staring at that tiny, pathetic fence between her and me. There was so much adrenaline pumping through my body that I felt like my bones were vibrating. The fence was, to my eyes, the only thing between us. The only thing keeping her from tackling and killing me. My only hope was that she’d do it quickly.
But she didn’t move. As I absorbed her innocent, polite words, the look on her face was calm, and I wondered if this was typically the way a conversation went before she devoured her prey. I wondered how many people she’d eaten. Not humans, not people from Earth, but the ones from where she came from. The fact that she doesn’t scare the shit out of those people means they’re staggeringly dumber than humans.
Finally, I rounded a corner, both relieved at having her out of my sight and worried that she would take that moment to come find me. When she’d been within eyeshot, I had at least known where she was and could run in the other direction. But I didn’t hear the sound of faint footsteps moving rapidly toward me. All was quiet, in that deep, smothering way that only an empty business in the middle of the night in small town America could be.
My hands trembling, I barely paid attention to anything but the confirmation that my surroundings were free of the colossal spider as I finally got back to the door. Grabbing the handle and letting my eyes dart around for about ten seconds and my ears prick for the slightest sound, I finally swiped my key card across the pad and went inside, shutting the door behind me and engaging the backup deadbolt.
Maybe that was why they had decided on keycards. If I was running from something and panicking, using an actual key or inserting the card like at a hotel would keep me from getting to safety considering my hands were shaking enough to mix a margarita.
Walking over to my chair, I fell into it, letting my body flush itself of terror as I looked up at the cameras. There she was, still in arachnid form, exactly where I’d left her behind that rinky-dink fence, casually looking around and slowly pacing back and forth. I stared at her as my racing heart gradually slowed, and a minute or so later she turned on her eight legs and walked back into the trees.
Whatever invisible fences the enclosures have apparently work, which is nice, because I wasn’t keen on getting killed by one of the creatures here. And that’s what brings me here, spilling out everything that’s happened so far. Because nearly passing out from terror isn’t something I wanted to deal with at work, obviously, but I keep going over what she did in my head again and again, and I feel like I reacted like a child who spotted a wolf spider on their bed. I started to worry for my overactive sense of self-preservation, at least in my capacity as an employee here.
The spider didn’t even try to hurt me, and so I was feeling a bit foolish. Even annoyed, actually, at the fact that I’d freaked out so hard and took off instead of trying to engage in at least basic conversation. I got the sense that she wasn’t at human-level intelligence, but I was never going to be able to hold any level of conversation with an alligator.
Sure, she did mention that she wouldn’t be so crass as to yank off my hand because she’d rather just have my entire corpse, but wouldn’t a wolf do the same if it was hungry? Wouldn’t any carnivore? Actually, they probably would’ve been satisfied with one of my hands. The fear here was from the fact that she turned into a giant spider. If she’d turned into Clifford, I would’ve reacted the same way, if not better than, meeting Leila.
With that, I decided I’m staying on the job. Considering how frustrated I can get with foolish people, it’s a bit hypocritical, and I’m being a bit of an idiot. But…there are definitely wards keeping them in their enclosures. Also, I signed up for creatures for another dimension, whether or not I believed in them at the time, and I will not let encountering my first one in an objectively boring way be the reason I quit.
The money is a factor, I’ll grant you. Of course it is. And I can’t spend it if I’m dead, but all signs point to surviving as long as I don’t do anything dumb. Also, yes, I’ll admit there’s a not-so-little voice in the back of my head that’s desperate to know what else is here. I never thought I’d do something like this, but finding out these things are real, I honestly do want to learn more about them.
Still, though, I decided to call Andrew at the end of my shift to ask if the pepper spray and taser I carried worked on a certain spider, as well as the other animals I’d yet to meet.
***
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2024.05.08 03:06 Trash_Tia I was part of a junior detective gang in a small town with no monsters. So, we decided to make our own.
When I was ten, I formed a junior detective squad.
Mom bought me the entire box set of What's New Scooby Doo, and I was inspired to start my very own detective gang. I held auditions outside the gymnasium at recess (serious enquiries only) after a number of kids tried to apply for the role of Scooby Doo despite me reiterating I was not interested in playing make believe.
When I was laughed at in class, I made posters strictly asking for SERIOUS wannabe detectives, even going as far as using my Mom’s printer to make flyers, sticking them all over the school.
Auditions were simple. I asked them to solve a simple riddle.
Whoever impressed me got to sign their name down, and I’d get back to them.
I spent three days sifting through kids who definitely had charm, but they lacked the intelligence of a junior detective. Most kids were only auditioning to make fun of me, anyway.
Still, though, I didn't give up.
My flyers had five requirements:
1). You had to be smart.
2). You were not allowed to be a scaredy cat.
3). You had to accept your inevitable death at the hands of our town’s evil villains.
4). You had to have a fully registered driving licence (I quickly changed this to a bike).
5). You cannot have a criminal record.
(I later scribbled this one out, writing over it. *“You cannot have any tardies.”
Narrowing the applicants down to three kids, all of whom failed to share my enthusiasm for solving cases. The kids I picked didn't even know how to make plans, and when I invited them to my house, they stole my Mom’s necklace.
I didn't even need to solve the mystery of who stole Mom’s necklace. The girl was wearing it at school. I punched her in the face, and was immediately sent to the principal’s office. When I was being given the mother all lectures, the door quietly opened, a head peeking through.
It was Ben Callows, a freckly kid with overgrown brown hair hanging in his eyes. Ben really needed a haircut.
He was always wearing the exact same baseball cap, and I found myself wondering if it was permanently glued to his head, stuck on top of unruly brown curls practically matted to his forehead.
In class, Ben was also known as Bloody Ben. In the second grade, the boy had a nosebleed in the middle of a spelling test, bleeding all over his paper.
It's not like he didn't try and detach himself from the name.
Ben brought in Digimon cards, so kids would call him Digimon Ben instead.
Then he “accidentally” spilled yoghurt down his shirt in hopes we would call him Yoghurt Ben. But no. The kids in our class were relentless in reminding him of his name. No matter what he did, he was still Bloody Ben, and when anything related to blood came up in class, fifteen pairs of eyes would swivel to him, like he had invented the concept of bleeding.
I feared the nickname would follow him to junior high.
Ben didn't wait to be let in. He didn't even knock, striding in with his arms folded. Over the years, Bloody Ben, had definitely soured his personality.
He smiled rarely, and when he did smile, someone was falling over or hurting themselves.
Which definitely strengthened the claims of him being a sociopath.
The rumor mill was churning, with the latest claiming Bloody Ben killed his cat. That wasn't true. Ben’s cat was seventeen with cancer, and that was why he was sobbing all the way through reading time.
According to Ellie Daly, however, Ben had killed and dissected his kitty, and buried her in his Mom’s flowers.
Now, my principal did not like being interrupted, especially when she was in the middle of screaming at me.
Principal Marrow was old old (like, thirty, in my ten year old mind) stick thin like a pencil, and always wore the same stained sweater.
She used to be pretty, but I was convinced she had kissed a frog and been cursed. After our old principal suffered a stroke, she stepped in as a temporary replacement, and since becoming principal, had banned my favorite book series, colored shoe laces, and hamburger helper, even officiating a uniform.
(vomit green shorts and a tee, and plain white sneakers).
Kids were convinced she was a witch, and I kind of believed it.
Principal Marrow’s whole existence was built on sucking the fun out of school.
I was already reprimanded for my mystery gang flyers.
Her office smelled of peppermint and she was definitely sneaking sips of whisky in her coffee cup. I could see the bottle sticking out of the trash.
She straightened up, folding her arms across her chest, squinty eyes narrowing at the boy. I had spent the whole time she was lecturing me trying not to cry, my fists bunched in my lap.
I took the distraction as the perfect opportunity to swipe at my eyes, allowing myself to breathe.
Ben Callows was her victim now.
I was right. The woman's voice was like a thunderclap in my ears.
“You better have a good reason for not knocking, young man.”
Ben wasn't fazed by her tone. “You took my Switch two weeks ago,” he said, “I want it back, or I’m telling my Mom.”
At first, I thought I'd misheard him.
No, I was pretty sure he'd threatened our principal.
I swore I heard all of the breath sucked from the room.
“I'm sorry,” Principal Marrow cleared her throat. Her soft tone was dangerous.
She wasn't being nice. The lady was about to explode.
I could see visible veins straining in her temples, her right eye twitching.
It was straight out of a cartoon.
“Did you forget something, Ben?”
Ben sighed, like she was inconveniencing him.
He held out his hand. “Please can I have my Switch back? It counts as stolen property. Give it back, or I'm telling my Mom.”
The kid put so much emphasis on the word please, I couldn't resist a smile.
I think our principal was too shocked to get angry.
“Get out.” She said, firmly. “I don't have your gaming device.”
“It's in your drawer.” Ben nodded to her desk, “Under your divorce papers and the restraining order ordered by Jake Willow, the seventeen year old boy you've been having math ‘tutoring sessions’ with.” He quoted the air, his gaze lazily rolling to me. “Tutoring”
Principal Marrow went deathly pale, her eyes darkening.
“Benjamin Callows–”
“The school already knows about the restraining order, but your uncle is the head of the Board of Education, so all you get is a slap on the wrist and a warning to leave the boy alone."
Ben continued, and I found myself mesmerised by his words. He was a natural, his expression stoic, mouth curved with satisfaction that wasn't quite a smile. “However.” He held up his phone, pulling it away at the exact moment the teacher attempted to grab it. “You were outside Jake Willow’s house at 6:12am, drunk, and trying to climb through his window, which, I think violates the restraining order, does it not?”
Ben pretended to think real hard, his gaze flicking to the ceiling.
“I mean, I'm just a kid, right?” His mouth curled into the hint of a smirk
“What do I know, huh?”
Principal Marrow’s expression twisted, her lip wobbling.
“Mr Callows, remove yourself from my office, or I am calling your father.”
Leaning comfortably against the door, Ben’s lip twitched.
“Why? Are you planning on telling my Dad about your relations with a teenage boy, or will I have to tell him instead?”
I was enthralled, and fully disgusted, making a move to inch away from the woman.
“But it doesn't end there.” Ben continued. He straightened up, taking slow, intimidating steps towards the woman's desk. “You don't even want Jake, do you? Because, once upon a time, you were in love with his father. Jason Willow. You despised him for rejecting you, so you decided to defile his son.” Ben leaned over the principal’s desk, slipping his hand into the drawer, and pulling out his switch.
Painfully slowly.
She stood there, speechless, her shoulders trembling.
Ben smiled, and I found myself liking it.
“Thank you!” He said, waving the console in her face. Ben mimed locking his mouth and throwing away the key.
“My lips are sealed.”
Ben’s half lidded eyes found mine. “Are ya coming, Panda?”
I forgot my own nickname.
Panda.
I wore my Mom’s eyeliner because I thought it looked cool.
It did not.
Finding my breath, I snapped out of it.
Jumping up, I followed him out of the office, and when the two of us were safely on the hallway, I burst into hysterical giggles. “How did you know all of that?!” I whisper- shrieked.
Ben surprised me with a splutter. “Wait. You believed me?”
Something very cold trickled down my spine.
I stopped walking. “You lied?”
He shrugged. “I had a dig around her office before she caught me a few days ago,” Ben swung his arms, a smile curling on his mouth. “There's no restraining order, but there is prescription anti-psychosis medicine, and an extremely detailed story on her laptop about a teachestudent romance, which I presume is a self insert.”
Ben shot me a sickly grin. “The school refused to make her condition public.”
He prodded at his own cotton shirt embroidered with the school emblem.
“Why do you think she's made all these dumb rules? The woman is a certified Looney Tune.”
I nodded slowly. “Wait. What about Jake and his dad?”
“I made them up.”
I choked out a laugh. “And… the video?”
Ben walked faster, pulling out his phone and shoving it in my face. The video was real. Principal Marrow was walking around in circles, draped in her nightgown. “It's her own house,” he explained. “She locked herself out.”
Nodding slowly, I was in awe. Bloody Ben was kind of fucking amazing.
“But the restraining order isn't real.”
Ben raised a brow, coming to an abrupt halt. It was his smile that cemented his place in my gang. His lack of empathy for a woman he had gaslit into being a disgusting human being. Ben Callows wasn't exactly what I was looking for, but he fascinated me. Maybe for the wrong reasons. “Her filing cabinets are filled with tinned cat food, Panda,” he said with an exaggerated sigh, “I’m not psychic, but I thiiiiink we’ll be okay.”
I turned to him, unable to stop myself jumping up and down with excitement.
“Will you be my first?!”
Ben inclined his head. “Will I be your what?”
I shook my head. “Sorry. I mean, will you join my mystery gang?”
The boy’s eyes lit up, and I shoved him playfully.
“To solve real cases,” I corrected myself. “Not make them up.”
Ben wore a real, proper smile. But there was something in his eyes, a darkness that was so hollow and polluted and wrong, I pretended not to see it for the sake of his smarts and intellect. “Well, if you insist, sure!” Ben held out his hand, and I shook it. I'll be your first.”
We found our second member, who was, ironically, looking for her glasses under the table in class. Lucy Prescott, the quiet girl, was born to be with us.
The class eraser went missing, and she found it in the blink of an eye.
When questioned, Lucy’s face turned as red as her hair. “I asked everyone in the class and followed the clues to the last person who had it,” she pointed to Chase Simpson. “Which was Chase, who was throwing it at Marcus Calvin.”
Twisting around in my chair, I aimed to get Ben’s attention. But he was already looking at me, chin resting on his fist, eyes ignited with excitement.
The two of us cornered Lucy after class, and when she motioned for us to get back, I dragged Ben (who was a little too excited) to my side.
Lucy looked mildly horrified when I said, dangerous cases, though her expression pricked with intrigue.
She agreed, her gaze lingering on Ben, cheeks smouldering.
Our last two members were a surprise.
Violet Evergreen was what you would call popular on the middle school hierarchy. Not just because her mother was the mayor, but because Violet could get away with murder. The girl refused to wear the school uniform, coloring a single purple streak in her hair to cement herself as the it girl.
She was also one of the girls who started the Bloody Ben rumor.
Ben, Lucy, and I were sitting on the grass during recess, trying to come up with a name for our detective service, when Violet came storming over, hands planted on her hips. She was copying how her mother held herself during town meetings.
“What are you doing?” Violet demanded.
Lucy opened her mouth to answer, Ben nudging her to shut up.
“Making a mystery gang.” I told her. “Why?”
Violet inclined her head. “Oh.” She folded her arms. “Well, can I join?”
Ben stood up, stepping in front of the girl. Violet didn't move, stubbornly standing her ground. “Sure.” Ben flashed a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. He stepped closer to her, his smile widening. “If you can pass the test.”
Violet’s lip curled. She took a single step back. “What kind of test?”
Ben nodded to me. “Meet us at the swimming pool at 8pm.”
To my surprise, Violet nodded. “Do I need to bring anything?”
“Nope!”
8pm. The four of us met outside the local swimming pool.
Violet was already on the other side of the fence, waving.
“Hey guys!”
I noticed Ben’s expression, his eyes darkening, lip curling.
Still though, he maintained positivity, vaulting over the fence.
“You made it!”
I followed him, helping Lucy, who was immediately freaking out. I didn't blame her. The pool looked cold and dark, a hollow oblivion carved into the ground.
Ben and Violet stood on the edge, the two of them shoulder to shoulder.
Violet Evergreen was braver than I thought.
Standing with her arms at her sides, Violet's hands clenched into fists.
“What's the test?” Violet said, her gaze glued to bleeding black depths.
“I don't know,” Ben said, his voice teetering on a giggle. He leaned forwards, arms spread out. “I didn't think you'd actually come and meet us.”
Violet hummed, stretching out her leg, teasing it across the surface. “Was that the test?”
The boy leaned back. I caught the glint of a grin under the floodlights. “Nah.”
Before I knew what was happening, he shoved Violet into the pool. The girl didn't scream or shriek, she just hit the surface, sinking into pitch dark nothing.
“Sink or swim,” Ben said in a low murmur, when Violet’s head bobbed under water. I could see her shadow under the surface, imagining the freezing cold depths pulling her down.
“Drown, and you can't join us.”
It was so quiet, suddenly. The three of us staring into rippling water.
A minute passed, and my tummy started to twist.
“Fuck.” Ben’s expression stayed stoic. I wasn't expecting him to say a bad word.
He cocked his head. “I thought she could swim.”
I hit him, holding in a cry. “You need to get our parents!”
But he didn't listen to me, taking a single step, and dropping into the pool.
I fell to my knees, scanning the water.
Lucy was crying. “Are they dead?!” she shrieked.
“Shhh!” I was watching two shadows lingering under the water.
Violet broke through. I expected her to be crying, but her expression was unwavering. She was silent. I thought the splashing underneath her was her legs trying and struggling to tread water, before Lucy shoved me. Hard.
“Panda! What do we do?!”
Looking closer, Violet was perfectly still, her gaze on the sky.
While she shoved Ben under the water, drowning him.
Violet’s eyes found mine, and somehow, I knew she belonged in my gang.
Her eyes found mine, glinting with that darkness, that poisonous streak I found myself drawn to. It was a starving, insatiable need to understand a fractured mind. Know your enemy.
“Do you want to see if Ben’s a witch?” Violet asked me, her tone something else entirely. This girl did not make sense, using barely her finger to drown Ben Callows. I knew she was wrong.
I knew there was something loose, something unlocked and unbridled and drowning inside her mind and heart.
But I wanted more of her. I wanted Violet Evergreen in my detective gang.
I think that is why I stood there, frozen.
When the thrashing stopped, Ben broke through.
He wasn't coughing or spluttering, his head inclined. “You didn't drown.”
Violet climbed out of the pool, offering her hand. “And you're not a witch.”
He declined her hand, taking the steps instead.
I asked Violet in a shaky voice. I was trembling with terror, but I was excited.
Exhilarated.
“Violet, will you join my gang?”
She didn't answer me until we were sharing hot cocoa in my house. I told Mom we fell in the pool, and she believed me. I should have told her that my friends were sociopaths, and I was kind of maybe in love. Violet sipped her cocoa, nodding with a smile I didn't recognise. Violet never smiled at school.
Well, she did. But it was always the prick of a cruel smirk.
I don't think her smile was genuine, but she was definitely enjoying herself.
Our last member came to us, instead of finding him.
Jules Howell, a straggly brunette pushed his way in front of me in the lunch line. I didn't really know the kid.
He sat at the back of the classroom and slept through most of class. I did like his accent though.
Jules had moved from Melbourne in the second grade. He didn't talk much.
When he did, I found myself enveloped in his voice, which sounded like water to me, a bleeding cadence to his tone.
Jules piled his plate with fries, smiling widely at the lunch ladies.
“I saw you last night.” He murmured through that perfectly moulded grin.
“Saw me where?”
“At the pool,” Jules said. “You, Bloody Ben, Violet Evergreen, and that Lucy girl. You were doing a suiciding pact.”
“That's not what we were doing.” I said, “What's a suiciding pact?”
“When you kill yourself together.” Jules said. “I saw it in a scary movie my Mom was watching.”
I grabbed a fork. “We weren't doing that.”
His eyes were strange when I took the time to notice them. The excited gleam had fizzled out. Jules’s hands tightened around the tray. “Then what were you doing?”
I didn't reply, making my way over to our usual table. Ben was already waving me over, Violet and Lucy holding up the flyers we were making.
**THE REDBLOOD DETECTIVES.”
Do YOU need our help? We can find/solve anything! Contact us on the number below. (We take donations!)
When I bothered turning around, the boy was lost in the crowd of kids.
We were on our first official case, searching for Mrs Lake’s missing mail, when Jules appeared seemingly out of nowhere. And with him, a golden retriever puppy he introduced as Arlo.
It took a dog jumping up at them for Violet and Ben to find their real smiles, their real selves slowly seeping through these facades they had built around themselves. Ben dropped to a crouch, ruffling the dog's ears, his smile faint.
“Who's a good boy?” He chuckled.
Arlo didn't move, tail wagging, eyes bright.
Ben motioned the dog towards him, but Arlo stayed put.
Jules joined us…quietly.
I don't remember asking him, or even him asking me.
He just became part of us, side by side with Arlo.
We soon came to quickly realize that our town was boring.
There were no monsters or thieves, or soul sucking demons. No criminals or serial killers. Not even one missing person. We did, however, get calls about missing cats. I turned eleven years old, patiently waiting for a murder or a kid going missing. But there was nothing.
All we did was chase cats, and the occasional dog. Maybe a budgie if we were lucky. Twelve years old, our detective club became a joke.
The five of us (and Arlo hiding under the table) were trying to pinpoint Mrs Tracy's lost hamster, when three girls came over, dumping their soda all over us.
We watched crime shows for inspiration on catching killers.
Ben’s favorite crime was one that happened in the 80’s in our town.
2 girls murdered.
Their intestines stuffed into envelopes and mailed to family members.
“That's what we should be solving,” he told me one night, “Not missing cats.”
Thirteen years old, we lay in Violet’s backyard under the cruel glare of the summer sun. We called it working and didn't like to admit it was hanging out, or that we were even friends. However.
That didn't stop us growing closer.
Even if it wasn't quite the way I’d expected.
I proposed a plan, standing up, wobbling a little off balance.
“I've got it.” I said, my voice kinda slurry from Violet’s special summer cocktail, which was just a random alcoholic beverages we found, thrown into a blender, and diluted with water.
The town wasn't taking us seriously.
So, we were going to make our own mysteries.
I ordered a full-scale assault on our small town. One that they could not ignore. Ben stamped on Mrs Mason’s flowers, and Lucy threw mud pies at people's cars. Jules trashed the high school gym, and Violet and I spray painted threats and warnings on every store window. Now, this did cause panic, but also an official curfew.
Thirty minutes before curfew, we met in our usual spot, deep in the forest near the lake. Ben yelled at me when I was three minutes late. He was real passionate about finding a real mystery.
“You're late.” Ben was sitting on a rock waving a stick in Arlo’s face.
The dog still wasn't going near him, whining softly.
I took my place, muttering an apology. “I had to lie to my Mom.”
Violet, sitting with her legs crossed, idly digging her manicure into the dirt, suggested we buy mannequins and masquerade them as dead bodies, hanging them from the school rafters.
Lucy, who had slowly grown out of her shell, becoming a lot more outspoken, nudged her. “That's a stupid idea.”
The girl groaned, leaning into her. “Urgh. You're right.”
Jules was the only energetic one, standing on the tireswing.
He jumped down, definitely twisting his ankle.
But his smile only widened, kind of like he enjoyed being in pain.
“Why don't we pretend to be kidnapped?” He said, pulling the hood of his sweatshirt over blondish curls growing out. Jules did a dramatic spin, his eyes shining. “We can ‘go missing’ for like a week, and then when our parents are really scared, we can turn up, and tell them we escaped a kidnapping.” His lips split into a grin.
“And then we solve our own kidnapping!”
Ben awkwardly patted Arlos head, only for the dog to pull away with a snort.
“I like it,” he murmured. “I'm in.”
Jules’s idea was stupid.
But.
It was worth a shot.
The five of us agreed to meet the morning after with enough food and supplies for a week. Then we were going to hike to the next town, and hide out for a week. It was an almost perfect plan, using ourselves as victims of our own mystery.
Packing as much as I could, I kissed my mother goodbye (I told her my pack was for a picnic) and set off to the rendezvous we agreed on.
When I arrived, I was the first one there. I checked and re-checked my pack.
I waited ten minutes, unable to contain my excitement.
Then 20 minutes.
It was getting kind of cold.
One hour.
I sat on a rock for enough time to watch the sky change color.
When the clouds were orange, I stood up and stumbled back home. They had gone without me. Mom lectured me when I got home, and I stuck to the plan of pretending my friends had gone missing, even if I they had betrayed me.
Ben said he'd text me when he arrived at the redervous. I at least expected him to text an explanation, but there was nothing. I was in the dark, and after three days of nothing, our town finally began to take us seriously.
“Our children have been kidnapped!” The adults were screaming.
Mom was crying in the kitchen, praying to a god I knew she didn't believe in that I wasn't taken next. I was interviewed and stuck with the exact same story I came up with when I was with the others. Our plan was to return after a week, claiming to be locked up in a dark room with a masked man.
I told my Mother and the other parents that I didn't know where my friends were, repeating the same thing over and over again until I was tongue tied.
“I saw them the day before they went missing, and… yes, everything seemed okay.” I slowly sipped my class of milk provided, looking the sheriff directly in the eyes. “No, I didn't notice anything suspicious, sheriff. Yes, I'm sure, sir. No, they didn't tell me anything.”
It was Ben’s mother who shattered my mask.
“Did I know about… what?” I whispered.
Something warm filled the back of my mouth, foul tasting milk erupting up my throat. I leaned forward, trying to look Mrs Callows in the eye. “No, I… I didn't know about Ben’s…condition.”
Mrs Callows was screaming at me about her son’s troubled past when I barfed all over myself, my eyes burning.
In the privacy of my own room, I sobbed until I couldn't breathe.
I tried to tell Mom, but we had come so close.
One more day, and the others would be back.
But that day came. I sat cross legged at our usual spot, which was now covered in police tape. I waited for their thudding footsteps, their laughter congratulating each other for coming up with a great plan. I waited, my face buried in my knees, for my friends.
It was dark when my phone vibrated, and I'd fallen asleep.
I wasn't scared, forcing myself to my feet.
“Where are you?” Mom sobbed down the phone, when I tapped answer.
“Coming home now.” I muttered. “Sorry.” I paused, holding my breath against a cry. “Mom.” I broke down, forcing my fist into my mouth to hide my sobs. “Mom, did they come back?”
Mom didn't reply for a moment.
“I'm so sorry, baby.” She whispered, ending the call.
I took my time walking home that night.
There were no stars in the sky.
When a hand clamped over my mouth, I could smell him.
When he dragged me back, stabbing a kitchen knife into my throat, I stared at the sky and looked for stars. His arms were warm around me, violently pulling me into the back of a pickup truck. The pickup truck he'd said he was bringing.
It was his grandfather's, and he could just about drive it.
Hitting the backseat, my body was numb, my thoughts in a whirlwind.
The pickup flew forwards, and I remembered how to move.
I rolled off the seat, my hands pinned behind my back.
Twisting around, blinking in the dim, I could feel something warm, something seeping across upholstery seats. Blood. It was everywhere, sticky on my hands and wet on my face when I struggled to get up. I was lying in someone's blood.
A scream clawed its way out of my throat.
The pickup flew over a pothole, and something dropped off the seat.
Arlo’s leash.
I screamed again, this time his name gritted between my teeth.
I didn't stop screaming until the jerking movement stopped. The doors opened, pale light hitting me in the face.
Flashlight. Warm arms wrapped around me, pulling me from the car, and then, pulling me by my hair, into our old tree house. It was always our secret place, our saving grace on the edge of town.
The flickering candlelight caught me off guard, illuminating my surroundings.
Two bodies slumped over each other, lying in stemming red.
I felt suffocated, like I was going to die. I screamed, and that warm hand cradled my mouth again, gagging my cries.
Violet and Jules.
There was something wrong with them. And it was only when I forced myself to look closer, when I realized their insides had been carved out, heart, stomach, everything, pulled out.
There was paper on the floor.
No, not paper. Envelopes.
Envelopes stuffed with gore, bright red leaking through white.
Shuffling back, my brain was too slow to react, while my body was trying to vault to my feet, only to be violently pulled back by my ponytail.
I felt his fingers twining around my hair, revelling in my screams.
With another tug, my head was forced forwards.
Orange candlelight felt almost homely, this time lighting up a third body.
Lying on their back, curled up, pooling scarlet dried into the floorboards, their wrists restricted with duct-tape.
I could feel blood underneath me, sticky, a congealing paste.
“Do you know what happened on October 3rd, 1987, in our town?”
Lucy Prescott stood over me, her arms folded across her chest.
I managed to shake my head, when she grabbed Ben’s legs, dragging him under the candlelight. I dazedly watched her stroke the blade of a carving knife, the teeth already stained scarlet. “The intestine murders.” Lucy hummed, tracing the knife down the floorboards.
“A man murdered two high school girls, carving out their insides and sending their pieces to their loved ones.”
Lucy's eyes found mine, ignited in a familiar gleam. I saw it in Principal Marrow’s office. Then the swimming pool. The cafeteria. “It was the sheriff's only murder case, Panda. Ever since then, our town has been boring. There's no mysteries to solve. Nothing to find.”
The girl jumped to her feet, retrieving a blood stained envelope.
She held it up, a smile curved on her lips. The girl turned around, and I heard a horrific squelching sound. Lucy held up a bright red sausage, ripped into it, and slipped it into the white paper.
“But I can change that.” she said, in a giggle.
“I can create a real serial killer, who we can hunt down together.”
Lucy stabbed the blade into the floor, laughing.
“Or! I can bring a fan-favorite back! I can bring the intestine killer back from the dead!”
Her gaze flicked to the others. “There are casualties, of course. The story is, I was kidnapped with Ben, Violet, and Jules. The scary intestine killer killed them, and I managed to get away.”
Lucy shuffled over to me, her eyes wide. “Then! He came back and struck again!”
With those words, she shoved me onto my back.
“First he took Violet,” Lucy hummed, tracing the blade down my shirt. “Then… Jules.” I squeezed my eyes shut, pulling at the restraints around my wrists. “Then Ben.” her breath tickled my cheek. “And finally… Panda.”
Lucy lifted the knife, and I accepted my death.
Until a low rumble in my ears.
Shouting.
Thundering footsteps, followed by the pitter-patter of paws.
“Lucy!” The sheriff was screaming, and the girl stumbled to her feet, the knife slipping from her fingers. Lucy stumbled, tripping over Ben’s body.
“He got away!” she shrieked. “He…he killed them! Oh, god, please help me!”
I don't think Lucy even realised the traces she'd left behind.
The blood slick on her fingers, her manic, grinning smile full of mania.
I was looking for stars when an officer crouched over me.
I couldn't understand what she was saying.
Her voice was white noise.
“Rachel? Hey, try and sit up, honey. You Mom is on her way.”
Instead of listening to her, I curled into myself.
My gaze found Arlo sticking his nose in Ben’s hair, trying to nudge the boy awake.
I didn't fully register the next few days.
They went by in a confusing blur.
Part of me tried to eat, and spent hours with my head pressed against the toilet seat.
I could still see the slithering, scarlet remains of my friends every time I closed my eyes. There was so much red, soaked in that hunting orange light.
Blood that I could still see, a starless sky that stretched on forever.
Weeks went by.
Then months.
I think I turned 14. I wasn't sure. I didn't feel alive anymore.
I stood at my friend’s funerals with a single rose I dropped into their casket.
Violet’s mother was quick to cover the whole thing up.
Lucy's plan didn't work after all.
Our town’s murder cases stayed stagnant at one.
It's been four years since my friends were murdered by our ’Velma’.
Now, at seventeen, Mom asked if I wanted to visit Lucy in juvie.
I'm not even upset or angry anymore.
I want to know why.
Ben picked me up. Arlo was at his side, wagging his tail.
Ben was…different. He'd dumped his baseball cap and gotten a haircut, swapping his old wardrobe of drab colors for an attempt at changing style.
That day, he looked awkward in a short sleeved tee and shorts.
At school, Ben is no longer Bloody Ben.
Now, he is Survivor Ben.
I’m still Panda.
Every time I was with him, I felt like my soul was being sucked out.
Guilt so deep, so fucking painful, I lost my breath.
I live every day knowing that I immediately assumed it was him that day. Ben was barely alive when I found him. Lucy had started to carve into him before remembering she needed me.
After admitting it to him, his lips formed a small smile.
“Can I tell you a secret?” He said to me, at sixteen.
Yeah?
Whatever the boy was going to say, Ben never told me.
Presently, I nodded at the dog’s new collar.
“Peppa Pig themed?”
The boy shrugged, ruffling Arlo’s ears. “FYI, he chose it.”
“It's cute.” I said. “Very… chic.”
We didn't speak the whole ride, but Ben did entangle his hand in mine.
We spent half an hour outside the detention centre. I was panicking, and Ben was trying to hide that he was panicking. In the end, we joined hands, and strode through the doors together.
Lucy greeted us with a wide smile. Just as psychotic.
The orange jumpsuit suited her, though I had zero idea why.
“Hey Arlo!” she giggled at the dog, and Ben pulled the pup onto his lap.
“Ben.” She sighed. “I wish I got to finish you. I would have loved to solve the mystery of your gutted corpse.”
Ben’s smile was wry. “Nice to see you too.”
Behind a glass screen, I asked Lucy one simple question.
“Why?”
Lucy didn't reply. Or she did, but it was just nonsensical bullshit.
But there was one thing she said has stuck with me, chilling me to the core.
I am fucking terrified of Lucy. Of what's she's done, and what she's capable of doing.
It was a throwaway line, and I don't even think Ben noticed.
Or he did, and was in denial.
Lucy's smile was wide, her eyes empty pools of nothing.
The exact same glint in Ben’s eyes.
Jules’s eyes.
Violet’s eyes.
Like something was gnawing away at their psyche, twisting and contorting it, filling them with darkness, poison, that was so vast, so endless, I had craved it as a child. I still don't know what it is.
But I'm going to find it.
Lucy's laugh was shrill, and next to me, Ben didn't move a muscle.
“I don't even wear glasses!”
submitted by Trash_Tia to nosleep [link] [comments]
Mom bought me the entire box set of What's New Scooby Doo, and I was inspired to start my very own detective gang. I held auditions outside the gymnasium at recess (serious enquiries only) after a number of kids tried to apply for the role of Scooby Doo despite me reiterating I was not interested in playing make believe.
When I was laughed at in class, I made posters strictly asking for SERIOUS wannabe detectives, even going as far as using my Mom’s printer to make flyers, sticking them all over the school.
Auditions were simple. I asked them to solve a simple riddle.
Whoever impressed me got to sign their name down, and I’d get back to them.
I spent three days sifting through kids who definitely had charm, but they lacked the intelligence of a junior detective. Most kids were only auditioning to make fun of me, anyway.
Still, though, I didn't give up.
My flyers had five requirements:
1). You had to be smart.
2). You were not allowed to be a scaredy cat.
3). You had to accept your inevitable death at the hands of our town’s evil villains.
4). You had to have a fully registered driving licence (I quickly changed this to a bike).
5). You cannot have a criminal record.
(I later scribbled this one out, writing over it. *“You cannot have any tardies.”
Narrowing the applicants down to three kids, all of whom failed to share my enthusiasm for solving cases. The kids I picked didn't even know how to make plans, and when I invited them to my house, they stole my Mom’s necklace.
I didn't even need to solve the mystery of who stole Mom’s necklace. The girl was wearing it at school. I punched her in the face, and was immediately sent to the principal’s office. When I was being given the mother all lectures, the door quietly opened, a head peeking through.
It was Ben Callows, a freckly kid with overgrown brown hair hanging in his eyes. Ben really needed a haircut.
He was always wearing the exact same baseball cap, and I found myself wondering if it was permanently glued to his head, stuck on top of unruly brown curls practically matted to his forehead.
In class, Ben was also known as Bloody Ben. In the second grade, the boy had a nosebleed in the middle of a spelling test, bleeding all over his paper.
It's not like he didn't try and detach himself from the name.
Ben brought in Digimon cards, so kids would call him Digimon Ben instead.
Then he “accidentally” spilled yoghurt down his shirt in hopes we would call him Yoghurt Ben. But no. The kids in our class were relentless in reminding him of his name. No matter what he did, he was still Bloody Ben, and when anything related to blood came up in class, fifteen pairs of eyes would swivel to him, like he had invented the concept of bleeding.
I feared the nickname would follow him to junior high.
Ben didn't wait to be let in. He didn't even knock, striding in with his arms folded. Over the years, Bloody Ben, had definitely soured his personality.
He smiled rarely, and when he did smile, someone was falling over or hurting themselves.
Which definitely strengthened the claims of him being a sociopath.
The rumor mill was churning, with the latest claiming Bloody Ben killed his cat. That wasn't true. Ben’s cat was seventeen with cancer, and that was why he was sobbing all the way through reading time.
According to Ellie Daly, however, Ben had killed and dissected his kitty, and buried her in his Mom’s flowers.
Now, my principal did not like being interrupted, especially when she was in the middle of screaming at me.
Principal Marrow was old old (like, thirty, in my ten year old mind) stick thin like a pencil, and always wore the same stained sweater.
She used to be pretty, but I was convinced she had kissed a frog and been cursed. After our old principal suffered a stroke, she stepped in as a temporary replacement, and since becoming principal, had banned my favorite book series, colored shoe laces, and hamburger helper, even officiating a uniform.
(vomit green shorts and a tee, and plain white sneakers).
Kids were convinced she was a witch, and I kind of believed it.
Principal Marrow’s whole existence was built on sucking the fun out of school.
I was already reprimanded for my mystery gang flyers.
Her office smelled of peppermint and she was definitely sneaking sips of whisky in her coffee cup. I could see the bottle sticking out of the trash.
She straightened up, folding her arms across her chest, squinty eyes narrowing at the boy. I had spent the whole time she was lecturing me trying not to cry, my fists bunched in my lap.
I took the distraction as the perfect opportunity to swipe at my eyes, allowing myself to breathe.
Ben Callows was her victim now.
I was right. The woman's voice was like a thunderclap in my ears.
“You better have a good reason for not knocking, young man.”
Ben wasn't fazed by her tone. “You took my Switch two weeks ago,” he said, “I want it back, or I’m telling my Mom.”
At first, I thought I'd misheard him.
No, I was pretty sure he'd threatened our principal.
I swore I heard all of the breath sucked from the room.
“I'm sorry,” Principal Marrow cleared her throat. Her soft tone was dangerous.
She wasn't being nice. The lady was about to explode.
I could see visible veins straining in her temples, her right eye twitching.
It was straight out of a cartoon.
“Did you forget something, Ben?”
Ben sighed, like she was inconveniencing him.
He held out his hand. “Please can I have my Switch back? It counts as stolen property. Give it back, or I'm telling my Mom.”
The kid put so much emphasis on the word please, I couldn't resist a smile.
I think our principal was too shocked to get angry.
“Get out.” She said, firmly. “I don't have your gaming device.”
“It's in your drawer.” Ben nodded to her desk, “Under your divorce papers and the restraining order ordered by Jake Willow, the seventeen year old boy you've been having math ‘tutoring sessions’ with.” He quoted the air, his gaze lazily rolling to me. “Tutoring”
Principal Marrow went deathly pale, her eyes darkening.
“Benjamin Callows–”
“The school already knows about the restraining order, but your uncle is the head of the Board of Education, so all you get is a slap on the wrist and a warning to leave the boy alone."
Ben continued, and I found myself mesmerised by his words. He was a natural, his expression stoic, mouth curved with satisfaction that wasn't quite a smile. “However.” He held up his phone, pulling it away at the exact moment the teacher attempted to grab it. “You were outside Jake Willow’s house at 6:12am, drunk, and trying to climb through his window, which, I think violates the restraining order, does it not?”
Ben pretended to think real hard, his gaze flicking to the ceiling.
“I mean, I'm just a kid, right?” His mouth curled into the hint of a smirk
“What do I know, huh?”
Principal Marrow’s expression twisted, her lip wobbling.
“Mr Callows, remove yourself from my office, or I am calling your father.”
Leaning comfortably against the door, Ben’s lip twitched.
“Why? Are you planning on telling my Dad about your relations with a teenage boy, or will I have to tell him instead?”
I was enthralled, and fully disgusted, making a move to inch away from the woman.
“But it doesn't end there.” Ben continued. He straightened up, taking slow, intimidating steps towards the woman's desk. “You don't even want Jake, do you? Because, once upon a time, you were in love with his father. Jason Willow. You despised him for rejecting you, so you decided to defile his son.” Ben leaned over the principal’s desk, slipping his hand into the drawer, and pulling out his switch.
Painfully slowly.
She stood there, speechless, her shoulders trembling.
Ben smiled, and I found myself liking it.
“Thank you!” He said, waving the console in her face. Ben mimed locking his mouth and throwing away the key.
“My lips are sealed.”
Ben’s half lidded eyes found mine. “Are ya coming, Panda?”
I forgot my own nickname.
Panda.
I wore my Mom’s eyeliner because I thought it looked cool.
It did not.
Finding my breath, I snapped out of it.
Jumping up, I followed him out of the office, and when the two of us were safely on the hallway, I burst into hysterical giggles. “How did you know all of that?!” I whisper- shrieked.
Ben surprised me with a splutter. “Wait. You believed me?”
Something very cold trickled down my spine.
I stopped walking. “You lied?”
He shrugged. “I had a dig around her office before she caught me a few days ago,” Ben swung his arms, a smile curling on his mouth. “There's no restraining order, but there is prescription anti-psychosis medicine, and an extremely detailed story on her laptop about a teachestudent romance, which I presume is a self insert.”
Ben shot me a sickly grin. “The school refused to make her condition public.”
He prodded at his own cotton shirt embroidered with the school emblem.
“Why do you think she's made all these dumb rules? The woman is a certified Looney Tune.”
I nodded slowly. “Wait. What about Jake and his dad?”
“I made them up.”
I choked out a laugh. “And… the video?”
Ben walked faster, pulling out his phone and shoving it in my face. The video was real. Principal Marrow was walking around in circles, draped in her nightgown. “It's her own house,” he explained. “She locked herself out.”
Nodding slowly, I was in awe. Bloody Ben was kind of fucking amazing.
“But the restraining order isn't real.”
Ben raised a brow, coming to an abrupt halt. It was his smile that cemented his place in my gang. His lack of empathy for a woman he had gaslit into being a disgusting human being. Ben Callows wasn't exactly what I was looking for, but he fascinated me. Maybe for the wrong reasons. “Her filing cabinets are filled with tinned cat food, Panda,” he said with an exaggerated sigh, “I’m not psychic, but I thiiiiink we’ll be okay.”
I turned to him, unable to stop myself jumping up and down with excitement.
“Will you be my first?!”
Ben inclined his head. “Will I be your what?”
I shook my head. “Sorry. I mean, will you join my mystery gang?”
The boy’s eyes lit up, and I shoved him playfully.
“To solve real cases,” I corrected myself. “Not make them up.”
Ben wore a real, proper smile. But there was something in his eyes, a darkness that was so hollow and polluted and wrong, I pretended not to see it for the sake of his smarts and intellect. “Well, if you insist, sure!” Ben held out his hand, and I shook it. I'll be your first.”
We found our second member, who was, ironically, looking for her glasses under the table in class. Lucy Prescott, the quiet girl, was born to be with us.
The class eraser went missing, and she found it in the blink of an eye.
When questioned, Lucy’s face turned as red as her hair. “I asked everyone in the class and followed the clues to the last person who had it,” she pointed to Chase Simpson. “Which was Chase, who was throwing it at Marcus Calvin.”
Twisting around in my chair, I aimed to get Ben’s attention. But he was already looking at me, chin resting on his fist, eyes ignited with excitement.
The two of us cornered Lucy after class, and when she motioned for us to get back, I dragged Ben (who was a little too excited) to my side.
Lucy looked mildly horrified when I said, dangerous cases, though her expression pricked with intrigue.
She agreed, her gaze lingering on Ben, cheeks smouldering.
Our last two members were a surprise.
Violet Evergreen was what you would call popular on the middle school hierarchy. Not just because her mother was the mayor, but because Violet could get away with murder. The girl refused to wear the school uniform, coloring a single purple streak in her hair to cement herself as the it girl.
She was also one of the girls who started the Bloody Ben rumor.
Ben, Lucy, and I were sitting on the grass during recess, trying to come up with a name for our detective service, when Violet came storming over, hands planted on her hips. She was copying how her mother held herself during town meetings.
“What are you doing?” Violet demanded.
Lucy opened her mouth to answer, Ben nudging her to shut up.
“Making a mystery gang.” I told her. “Why?”
Violet inclined her head. “Oh.” She folded her arms. “Well, can I join?”
Ben stood up, stepping in front of the girl. Violet didn't move, stubbornly standing her ground. “Sure.” Ben flashed a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. He stepped closer to her, his smile widening. “If you can pass the test.”
Violet’s lip curled. She took a single step back. “What kind of test?”
Ben nodded to me. “Meet us at the swimming pool at 8pm.”
To my surprise, Violet nodded. “Do I need to bring anything?”
“Nope!”
8pm. The four of us met outside the local swimming pool.
Violet was already on the other side of the fence, waving.
“Hey guys!”
I noticed Ben’s expression, his eyes darkening, lip curling.
Still though, he maintained positivity, vaulting over the fence.
“You made it!”
I followed him, helping Lucy, who was immediately freaking out. I didn't blame her. The pool looked cold and dark, a hollow oblivion carved into the ground.
Ben and Violet stood on the edge, the two of them shoulder to shoulder.
Violet Evergreen was braver than I thought.
Standing with her arms at her sides, Violet's hands clenched into fists.
“What's the test?” Violet said, her gaze glued to bleeding black depths.
“I don't know,” Ben said, his voice teetering on a giggle. He leaned forwards, arms spread out. “I didn't think you'd actually come and meet us.”
Violet hummed, stretching out her leg, teasing it across the surface. “Was that the test?”
The boy leaned back. I caught the glint of a grin under the floodlights. “Nah.”
Before I knew what was happening, he shoved Violet into the pool. The girl didn't scream or shriek, she just hit the surface, sinking into pitch dark nothing.
“Sink or swim,” Ben said in a low murmur, when Violet’s head bobbed under water. I could see her shadow under the surface, imagining the freezing cold depths pulling her down.
“Drown, and you can't join us.”
It was so quiet, suddenly. The three of us staring into rippling water.
A minute passed, and my tummy started to twist.
“Fuck.” Ben’s expression stayed stoic. I wasn't expecting him to say a bad word.
He cocked his head. “I thought she could swim.”
I hit him, holding in a cry. “You need to get our parents!”
But he didn't listen to me, taking a single step, and dropping into the pool.
I fell to my knees, scanning the water.
Lucy was crying. “Are they dead?!” she shrieked.
“Shhh!” I was watching two shadows lingering under the water.
Violet broke through. I expected her to be crying, but her expression was unwavering. She was silent. I thought the splashing underneath her was her legs trying and struggling to tread water, before Lucy shoved me. Hard.
“Panda! What do we do?!”
Looking closer, Violet was perfectly still, her gaze on the sky.
While she shoved Ben under the water, drowning him.
Violet’s eyes found mine, and somehow, I knew she belonged in my gang.
Her eyes found mine, glinting with that darkness, that poisonous streak I found myself drawn to. It was a starving, insatiable need to understand a fractured mind. Know your enemy.
“Do you want to see if Ben’s a witch?” Violet asked me, her tone something else entirely. This girl did not make sense, using barely her finger to drown Ben Callows. I knew she was wrong.
I knew there was something loose, something unlocked and unbridled and drowning inside her mind and heart.
But I wanted more of her. I wanted Violet Evergreen in my detective gang.
I think that is why I stood there, frozen.
When the thrashing stopped, Ben broke through.
He wasn't coughing or spluttering, his head inclined. “You didn't drown.”
Violet climbed out of the pool, offering her hand. “And you're not a witch.”
He declined her hand, taking the steps instead.
I asked Violet in a shaky voice. I was trembling with terror, but I was excited.
Exhilarated.
“Violet, will you join my gang?”
She didn't answer me until we were sharing hot cocoa in my house. I told Mom we fell in the pool, and she believed me. I should have told her that my friends were sociopaths, and I was kind of maybe in love. Violet sipped her cocoa, nodding with a smile I didn't recognise. Violet never smiled at school.
Well, she did. But it was always the prick of a cruel smirk.
I don't think her smile was genuine, but she was definitely enjoying herself.
Our last member came to us, instead of finding him.
Jules Howell, a straggly brunette pushed his way in front of me in the lunch line. I didn't really know the kid.
He sat at the back of the classroom and slept through most of class. I did like his accent though.
Jules had moved from Melbourne in the second grade. He didn't talk much.
When he did, I found myself enveloped in his voice, which sounded like water to me, a bleeding cadence to his tone.
Jules piled his plate with fries, smiling widely at the lunch ladies.
“I saw you last night.” He murmured through that perfectly moulded grin.
“Saw me where?”
“At the pool,” Jules said. “You, Bloody Ben, Violet Evergreen, and that Lucy girl. You were doing a suiciding pact.”
“That's not what we were doing.” I said, “What's a suiciding pact?”
“When you kill yourself together.” Jules said. “I saw it in a scary movie my Mom was watching.”
I grabbed a fork. “We weren't doing that.”
His eyes were strange when I took the time to notice them. The excited gleam had fizzled out. Jules’s hands tightened around the tray. “Then what were you doing?”
I didn't reply, making my way over to our usual table. Ben was already waving me over, Violet and Lucy holding up the flyers we were making.
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When I bothered turning around, the boy was lost in the crowd of kids.
We were on our first official case, searching for Mrs Lake’s missing mail, when Jules appeared seemingly out of nowhere. And with him, a golden retriever puppy he introduced as Arlo.
It took a dog jumping up at them for Violet and Ben to find their real smiles, their real selves slowly seeping through these facades they had built around themselves. Ben dropped to a crouch, ruffling the dog's ears, his smile faint.
“Who's a good boy?” He chuckled.
Arlo didn't move, tail wagging, eyes bright.
Ben motioned the dog towards him, but Arlo stayed put.
Jules joined us…quietly.
I don't remember asking him, or even him asking me.
He just became part of us, side by side with Arlo.
We soon came to quickly realize that our town was boring.
There were no monsters or thieves, or soul sucking demons. No criminals or serial killers. Not even one missing person. We did, however, get calls about missing cats. I turned eleven years old, patiently waiting for a murder or a kid going missing. But there was nothing.
All we did was chase cats, and the occasional dog. Maybe a budgie if we were lucky. Twelve years old, our detective club became a joke.
The five of us (and Arlo hiding under the table) were trying to pinpoint Mrs Tracy's lost hamster, when three girls came over, dumping their soda all over us.
We watched crime shows for inspiration on catching killers.
Ben’s favorite crime was one that happened in the 80’s in our town.
2 girls murdered.
Their intestines stuffed into envelopes and mailed to family members.
“That's what we should be solving,” he told me one night, “Not missing cats.”
Thirteen years old, we lay in Violet’s backyard under the cruel glare of the summer sun. We called it working and didn't like to admit it was hanging out, or that we were even friends. However.
That didn't stop us growing closer.
Even if it wasn't quite the way I’d expected.
I proposed a plan, standing up, wobbling a little off balance.
“I've got it.” I said, my voice kinda slurry from Violet’s special summer cocktail, which was just a random alcoholic beverages we found, thrown into a blender, and diluted with water.
The town wasn't taking us seriously.
So, we were going to make our own mysteries.
I ordered a full-scale assault on our small town. One that they could not ignore. Ben stamped on Mrs Mason’s flowers, and Lucy threw mud pies at people's cars. Jules trashed the high school gym, and Violet and I spray painted threats and warnings on every store window. Now, this did cause panic, but also an official curfew.
Thirty minutes before curfew, we met in our usual spot, deep in the forest near the lake. Ben yelled at me when I was three minutes late. He was real passionate about finding a real mystery.
“You're late.” Ben was sitting on a rock waving a stick in Arlo’s face.
The dog still wasn't going near him, whining softly.
I took my place, muttering an apology. “I had to lie to my Mom.”
Violet, sitting with her legs crossed, idly digging her manicure into the dirt, suggested we buy mannequins and masquerade them as dead bodies, hanging them from the school rafters.
Lucy, who had slowly grown out of her shell, becoming a lot more outspoken, nudged her. “That's a stupid idea.”
The girl groaned, leaning into her. “Urgh. You're right.”
Jules was the only energetic one, standing on the tireswing.
He jumped down, definitely twisting his ankle.
But his smile only widened, kind of like he enjoyed being in pain.
“Why don't we pretend to be kidnapped?” He said, pulling the hood of his sweatshirt over blondish curls growing out. Jules did a dramatic spin, his eyes shining. “We can ‘go missing’ for like a week, and then when our parents are really scared, we can turn up, and tell them we escaped a kidnapping.” His lips split into a grin.
“And then we solve our own kidnapping!”
Ben awkwardly patted Arlos head, only for the dog to pull away with a snort.
“I like it,” he murmured. “I'm in.”
Jules’s idea was stupid.
But.
It was worth a shot.
The five of us agreed to meet the morning after with enough food and supplies for a week. Then we were going to hike to the next town, and hide out for a week. It was an almost perfect plan, using ourselves as victims of our own mystery.
Packing as much as I could, I kissed my mother goodbye (I told her my pack was for a picnic) and set off to the rendezvous we agreed on.
When I arrived, I was the first one there. I checked and re-checked my pack.
I waited ten minutes, unable to contain my excitement.
Then 20 minutes.
It was getting kind of cold.
One hour.
I sat on a rock for enough time to watch the sky change color.
When the clouds were orange, I stood up and stumbled back home. They had gone without me. Mom lectured me when I got home, and I stuck to the plan of pretending my friends had gone missing, even if I they had betrayed me.
Ben said he'd text me when he arrived at the redervous. I at least expected him to text an explanation, but there was nothing. I was in the dark, and after three days of nothing, our town finally began to take us seriously.
“Our children have been kidnapped!” The adults were screaming.
Mom was crying in the kitchen, praying to a god I knew she didn't believe in that I wasn't taken next. I was interviewed and stuck with the exact same story I came up with when I was with the others. Our plan was to return after a week, claiming to be locked up in a dark room with a masked man.
I told my Mother and the other parents that I didn't know where my friends were, repeating the same thing over and over again until I was tongue tied.
“I saw them the day before they went missing, and… yes, everything seemed okay.” I slowly sipped my class of milk provided, looking the sheriff directly in the eyes. “No, I didn't notice anything suspicious, sheriff. Yes, I'm sure, sir. No, they didn't tell me anything.”
It was Ben’s mother who shattered my mask.
“Did I know about… what?” I whispered.
Something warm filled the back of my mouth, foul tasting milk erupting up my throat. I leaned forward, trying to look Mrs Callows in the eye. “No, I… I didn't know about Ben’s…condition.”
Mrs Callows was screaming at me about her son’s troubled past when I barfed all over myself, my eyes burning.
In the privacy of my own room, I sobbed until I couldn't breathe.
I tried to tell Mom, but we had come so close.
One more day, and the others would be back.
But that day came. I sat cross legged at our usual spot, which was now covered in police tape. I waited for their thudding footsteps, their laughter congratulating each other for coming up with a great plan. I waited, my face buried in my knees, for my friends.
It was dark when my phone vibrated, and I'd fallen asleep.
I wasn't scared, forcing myself to my feet.
“Where are you?” Mom sobbed down the phone, when I tapped answer.
“Coming home now.” I muttered. “Sorry.” I paused, holding my breath against a cry. “Mom.” I broke down, forcing my fist into my mouth to hide my sobs. “Mom, did they come back?”
Mom didn't reply for a moment.
“I'm so sorry, baby.” She whispered, ending the call.
I took my time walking home that night.
There were no stars in the sky.
When a hand clamped over my mouth, I could smell him.
When he dragged me back, stabbing a kitchen knife into my throat, I stared at the sky and looked for stars. His arms were warm around me, violently pulling me into the back of a pickup truck. The pickup truck he'd said he was bringing.
It was his grandfather's, and he could just about drive it.
Hitting the backseat, my body was numb, my thoughts in a whirlwind.
The pickup flew forwards, and I remembered how to move.
I rolled off the seat, my hands pinned behind my back.
Twisting around, blinking in the dim, I could feel something warm, something seeping across upholstery seats. Blood. It was everywhere, sticky on my hands and wet on my face when I struggled to get up. I was lying in someone's blood.
A scream clawed its way out of my throat.
The pickup flew over a pothole, and something dropped off the seat.
Arlo’s leash.
I screamed again, this time his name gritted between my teeth.
I didn't stop screaming until the jerking movement stopped. The doors opened, pale light hitting me in the face.
Flashlight. Warm arms wrapped around me, pulling me from the car, and then, pulling me by my hair, into our old tree house. It was always our secret place, our saving grace on the edge of town.
The flickering candlelight caught me off guard, illuminating my surroundings.
Two bodies slumped over each other, lying in stemming red.
I felt suffocated, like I was going to die. I screamed, and that warm hand cradled my mouth again, gagging my cries.
Violet and Jules.
There was something wrong with them. And it was only when I forced myself to look closer, when I realized their insides had been carved out, heart, stomach, everything, pulled out.
There was paper on the floor.
No, not paper. Envelopes.
Envelopes stuffed with gore, bright red leaking through white.
Shuffling back, my brain was too slow to react, while my body was trying to vault to my feet, only to be violently pulled back by my ponytail.
I felt his fingers twining around my hair, revelling in my screams.
With another tug, my head was forced forwards.
Orange candlelight felt almost homely, this time lighting up a third body.
Lying on their back, curled up, pooling scarlet dried into the floorboards, their wrists restricted with duct-tape.
I could feel blood underneath me, sticky, a congealing paste.
“Do you know what happened on October 3rd, 1987, in our town?”
Lucy Prescott stood over me, her arms folded across her chest.
I managed to shake my head, when she grabbed Ben’s legs, dragging him under the candlelight. I dazedly watched her stroke the blade of a carving knife, the teeth already stained scarlet. “The intestine murders.” Lucy hummed, tracing the knife down the floorboards.
“A man murdered two high school girls, carving out their insides and sending their pieces to their loved ones.”
Lucy's eyes found mine, ignited in a familiar gleam. I saw it in Principal Marrow’s office. Then the swimming pool. The cafeteria. “It was the sheriff's only murder case, Panda. Ever since then, our town has been boring. There's no mysteries to solve. Nothing to find.”
The girl jumped to her feet, retrieving a blood stained envelope.
She held it up, a smile curved on her lips. The girl turned around, and I heard a horrific squelching sound. Lucy held up a bright red sausage, ripped into it, and slipped it into the white paper.
“But I can change that.” she said, in a giggle.
“I can create a real serial killer, who we can hunt down together.”
Lucy stabbed the blade into the floor, laughing.
“Or! I can bring a fan-favorite back! I can bring the intestine killer back from the dead!”
Her gaze flicked to the others. “There are casualties, of course. The story is, I was kidnapped with Ben, Violet, and Jules. The scary intestine killer killed them, and I managed to get away.”
Lucy shuffled over to me, her eyes wide. “Then! He came back and struck again!”
With those words, she shoved me onto my back.
“First he took Violet,” Lucy hummed, tracing the blade down my shirt. “Then… Jules.” I squeezed my eyes shut, pulling at the restraints around my wrists. “Then Ben.” her breath tickled my cheek. “And finally… Panda.”
Lucy lifted the knife, and I accepted my death.
Until a low rumble in my ears.
Shouting.
Thundering footsteps, followed by the pitter-patter of paws.
“Lucy!” The sheriff was screaming, and the girl stumbled to her feet, the knife slipping from her fingers. Lucy stumbled, tripping over Ben’s body.
“He got away!” she shrieked. “He…he killed them! Oh, god, please help me!”
I don't think Lucy even realised the traces she'd left behind.
The blood slick on her fingers, her manic, grinning smile full of mania.
I was looking for stars when an officer crouched over me.
I couldn't understand what she was saying.
Her voice was white noise.
“Rachel? Hey, try and sit up, honey. You Mom is on her way.”
Instead of listening to her, I curled into myself.
My gaze found Arlo sticking his nose in Ben’s hair, trying to nudge the boy awake.
I didn't fully register the next few days.
They went by in a confusing blur.
Part of me tried to eat, and spent hours with my head pressed against the toilet seat.
I could still see the slithering, scarlet remains of my friends every time I closed my eyes. There was so much red, soaked in that hunting orange light.
Blood that I could still see, a starless sky that stretched on forever.
Weeks went by.
Then months.
I think I turned 14. I wasn't sure. I didn't feel alive anymore.
I stood at my friend’s funerals with a single rose I dropped into their casket.
Violet’s mother was quick to cover the whole thing up.
Lucy's plan didn't work after all.
Our town’s murder cases stayed stagnant at one.
It's been four years since my friends were murdered by our ’Velma’.
Now, at seventeen, Mom asked if I wanted to visit Lucy in juvie.
I'm not even upset or angry anymore.
I want to know why.
Ben picked me up. Arlo was at his side, wagging his tail.
Ben was…different. He'd dumped his baseball cap and gotten a haircut, swapping his old wardrobe of drab colors for an attempt at changing style.
That day, he looked awkward in a short sleeved tee and shorts.
At school, Ben is no longer Bloody Ben.
Now, he is Survivor Ben.
I’m still Panda.
Every time I was with him, I felt like my soul was being sucked out.
Guilt so deep, so fucking painful, I lost my breath.
I live every day knowing that I immediately assumed it was him that day. Ben was barely alive when I found him. Lucy had started to carve into him before remembering she needed me.
After admitting it to him, his lips formed a small smile.
“Can I tell you a secret?” He said to me, at sixteen.
Yeah?
Whatever the boy was going to say, Ben never told me.
Presently, I nodded at the dog’s new collar.
“Peppa Pig themed?”
The boy shrugged, ruffling Arlo’s ears. “FYI, he chose it.”
“It's cute.” I said. “Very… chic.”
We didn't speak the whole ride, but Ben did entangle his hand in mine.
We spent half an hour outside the detention centre. I was panicking, and Ben was trying to hide that he was panicking. In the end, we joined hands, and strode through the doors together.
Lucy greeted us with a wide smile. Just as psychotic.
The orange jumpsuit suited her, though I had zero idea why.
“Hey Arlo!” she giggled at the dog, and Ben pulled the pup onto his lap.
“Ben.” She sighed. “I wish I got to finish you. I would have loved to solve the mystery of your gutted corpse.”
Ben’s smile was wry. “Nice to see you too.”
Behind a glass screen, I asked Lucy one simple question.
“Why?”
Lucy didn't reply. Or she did, but it was just nonsensical bullshit.
But there was one thing she said has stuck with me, chilling me to the core.
I am fucking terrified of Lucy. Of what's she's done, and what she's capable of doing.
It was a throwaway line, and I don't even think Ben noticed.
Or he did, and was in denial.
Lucy's smile was wide, her eyes empty pools of nothing.
The exact same glint in Ben’s eyes.
Jules’s eyes.
Violet’s eyes.
Like something was gnawing away at their psyche, twisting and contorting it, filling them with darkness, poison, that was so vast, so endless, I had craved it as a child. I still don't know what it is.
But I'm going to find it.
Lucy's laugh was shrill, and next to me, Ben didn't move a muscle.
“I don't even wear glasses!”
2024.05.08 03:06 cyanea_passerina Facial Nerve Pain .. teeth are ok… WTH
Anyone else experience this? It’s facial nerve pain (trigemimal(?)).. no pain in teeth. Just tissue around mouth and the muscles in the cheek.
I sailed thru my aligners with no problems. Until my last aligner before refiners, when I experienced what felt like tmj. The pain started after 10 days of wearing this aligner, with zero problems.
However, once the pain started, it increased and got so bad that I went to the ER. Not a lot of help there. They didn’t scan me or anything.. I haven’t slept in days… So they gave me a scrip for painkillers and sent me on my way.
I followed up with my old dentist, who shaved the plastic on the bottom tray so I wasn’t putting pressure on one side. This dentist felt that the tendons were inflamed and leading to the nerve pain and muscular pain.
Next I consulted with a new dentist- again, teeth checked out fine, no sensitivity, tissue looks good. This dentist assessed jaw for bruxism/ tmj, and found no evidence of it at all.. no sensitivity at tmj point. No clicking. No pain opening or closing.. nada. Although, this dentist advised not taking Advil as it interferes with the Invisalign process (??? This was news to me).
Off to see dentist who is doing my Invisalign- this dentist does a 3D scan - nothing. No abnormalities. This dentist then scans me for new trays - the modification trays (?) and says to continue with current trays, but take them out for several hours a day and see if that helps. Oooookkkkkkaaaaayyyy ????? Then this dentist says if this keeps up she’s sending me on to a surgeon?!?!?? Ummm why????!!!?!!??
Put a call into neurologist- waiting to see when can get in.
The neurological pain is crazy— and it comes in waves… mostly affecting tissue around mandible to below the ear and occasionally up same side of head and across upper cheek. Just ONE side.
I’m so ready for this journey to be over!!!
Long story. But I’m hoping that someone on this forum may have gone thru something similar- and can lend insight. Thx
submitted by cyanea_passerina to Invisalign [link] [comments]
I sailed thru my aligners with no problems. Until my last aligner before refiners, when I experienced what felt like tmj. The pain started after 10 days of wearing this aligner, with zero problems.
However, once the pain started, it increased and got so bad that I went to the ER. Not a lot of help there. They didn’t scan me or anything.. I haven’t slept in days… So they gave me a scrip for painkillers and sent me on my way.
I followed up with my old dentist, who shaved the plastic on the bottom tray so I wasn’t putting pressure on one side. This dentist felt that the tendons were inflamed and leading to the nerve pain and muscular pain.
Next I consulted with a new dentist- again, teeth checked out fine, no sensitivity, tissue looks good. This dentist assessed jaw for bruxism/ tmj, and found no evidence of it at all.. no sensitivity at tmj point. No clicking. No pain opening or closing.. nada. Although, this dentist advised not taking Advil as it interferes with the Invisalign process (??? This was news to me).
Off to see dentist who is doing my Invisalign- this dentist does a 3D scan - nothing. No abnormalities. This dentist then scans me for new trays - the modification trays (?) and says to continue with current trays, but take them out for several hours a day and see if that helps. Oooookkkkkkaaaaayyyy ????? Then this dentist says if this keeps up she’s sending me on to a surgeon?!?!?? Ummm why????!!!?!!??
Put a call into neurologist- waiting to see when can get in.
The neurological pain is crazy— and it comes in waves… mostly affecting tissue around mandible to below the ear and occasionally up same side of head and across upper cheek. Just ONE side.
I’m so ready for this journey to be over!!!
Long story. But I’m hoping that someone on this forum may have gone thru something similar- and can lend insight. Thx
2024.05.08 02:55 Salty_Eye9692 I 24M have a gf 28F of only a few months. I really want this to work I care about her deeply. But today I messed up and a bunch came out in a i don't wanna say argument but I wanna say conversation where she was mad. Can it be saved? What do I do? Below is her last message.
I do everything under the sun for you. Yes it is my choice to do so. There are times I can feel like you are taking advantage of the fact that you have learned how I can be (it doesn’t matter if it’s subconsciously or not. that’s not the point). But in a comparison… I don’t feel like things are reciprocated. I know you care for me. I don’t expect money or things spent on me. But the amount of times I give you whatever massage. Yes it is my choice to still do it regardless of my own pain, but I have to always just ask, and when I do, it’s all of 5 minutes. You have often fallen asleep when I’ve been in the middle of talking. So you cannot blame me for not wanting to be open on stuff. You are so used to me saying yes and giving you everything. It’s not all your fault, bc I still have chosen to ignore myself and brush things aside. You have asked for my help on things, and I do it. But it falls upon deaf ears with things I say to do/try to do to help. Bc you do the opposite, don’t do it, or saying I need help, idk how to not do it. Etc. When I am sitting trying to provide every damn tool possible. It could be like well maybe I’ll see how far I can push things to see the extent she’ll keep helping me type of thing. Idk. But I am becoming unhappy, but also feeling-less.
How the hell do I improve or fix this because I don't want to lose her. We went to high school together and she an I kinda had a thing then she got older an wasn't comfortable. I really do care about her and I wanna change and fix my problems. What the hell do I do????
Also a large issue I think is her messaging her bestie and taking all of her advice instead of talking. I guess that's my fault too for not being there
submitted by Salty_Eye9692 to relationship_advice [link] [comments]
How the hell do I improve or fix this because I don't want to lose her. We went to high school together and she an I kinda had a thing then she got older an wasn't comfortable. I really do care about her and I wanna change and fix my problems. What the hell do I do????
Also a large issue I think is her messaging her bestie and taking all of her advice instead of talking. I guess that's my fault too for not being there
2024.05.08 02:50 adulting4kids Rejected
It's essential to focus on continual improvement and resilience. Many successful authors faced rejection before achieving success. J.K. Rowling, author of the Harry Potter series, received numerous rejections initially. Stephen King's first novel was rejected dozens of times. Agatha Christie, Dr. Seuss, and Margaret Mitchell all encountered rejection before finding success. Remember, rejection is a part of the journey, and perseverance in honing your craft is key. Focus on refining your writing, seeking feedback, and staying persistent in your pursuit.
Here are a few strategies to help navigate the journey as a writer:
6Here are a few more tips to help maintain motivation and progress as a writer:
Here are quotes from some well-known authors who faced rejection before finding success:
Here are a few more quotes from authors who experienced rejection before achieving success:
💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫🐔🐔🐔🐔 So in handling rejection as a writer and finding inspiration from authors who faced rejection before achieving success, this article has provided:
submitted by adulting4kids to writingthruit [link] [comments]
Here are a few strategies to help navigate the journey as a writer:
- Persistency: Keep writing and submitting your work. Each rejection can provide valuable lessons and insights into improving your writing. Don't let setbacks deter you from continuing to create.
- Feedback and Improvement: Seek feedback from peers, writing groups, or mentors. Constructive criticism can help identify areas for improvement and guide your growth as a writer.
- Diversify Submissions: Consider submitting your work to various publishers, agents, or literary magazines. Sometimes, a rejection from one might not reflect the response you'll receive from another.
- Stay Motivated: Surround yourself with inspiration. Read books, attend writing workshops, or engage with other creatives to stay motivated and connected within the writing community.
- Self-Care: Take care of your mental and emotional well-being. Rejections can be tough, so it's crucial to practice self-compassion and maintain a healthy perspective on your writing journey.
6Here are a few more tips to help maintain motivation and progress as a writer:
- Set Realistic Goals: Establish achievable writing goals. Whether it's a daily word count, finishing a chapter, or completing a manuscript by a specific deadline, setting realistic targets can keep you focused and motivated.
- Embrace Revisions: Recognize that writing is rewriting. Embrace the revision process as an opportunity to polish your work. Revisions often lead to stronger storytelling and better-crafted prose.
- Connect with the Writing Community: Engage with other writers through social media, forums, or local writing groups. Networking can provide support, encouragement, and valuable insights into the publishing industry.
- Learn from Rejections: Instead of viewing rejections as failures, consider them as stepping stones toward success. Analyze feedback, if available, and use it constructively to refine your writing.
- Believe in Your Voice: Each writer has a unique voice. Embrace your style and perspective. Authenticity in storytelling often resonates with readers.
Here are quotes from some well-known authors who faced rejection before finding success:
- J.K. Rowling (Author of Harry Potter series):
"Failure meant a stripping away of the inessential. I stopped pretending to myself that I was anything other than what I was, and began to direct all my energy into finishing the only work that mattered to me."
- Stephen King (Author of numerous bestsellers):
"By the time I was fourteen the nail in my wall would no longer support the weight of the rejection slips impaled upon it. I replaced the nail with a spike and kept on writing."
- Agatha Christie (Renowned mystery novelist):
"I don't think necessity is the mother of invention. Invention, in my opinion, arises directly from idleness, possibly also from laziness - to save oneself trouble."
- Dr. Seuss (Author of beloved children's books):
"I like nonsense, it wakes up the brain cells. Fantasy is a necessary ingredient in living. It's a way of looking at life through the wrong end of a telescope."
- Margaret Mitchell (Author of "Gone with the Wind"):
"Life's under no obligation to give us what we expect. We take what we get and are thankful it's no worse than it is."
Here are a few more quotes from authors who experienced rejection before achieving success:
- Louisa May Alcott (Author of "Little Women"):
"I am not afraid of storms, for I am learning how to sail my ship."
- George Orwell (Author of "1984" and "Animal Farm"):
"Writing a book is a horrible, exhausting struggle, like a long bout of some painful illness. One would never undertake such a thing if one were not driven on by some demon whom one can neither resist nor understand."
- John Grisham (Bestselling author of legal thrillers):
"I faced rejection and constant criticism, but I never let up. I continued to persevere and pursued my writing passion."
- Madeleine L'Engle (Author of "A Wrinkle in Time"):
"You have to write the book that wants to be written. And if the book will be too difficult for grown-ups, then you write it for children."
- Ray Bradbury (Author of "Fahrenheit 451"):
"You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you."
💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫🐔🐔🐔🐔 So in handling rejection as a writer and finding inspiration from authors who faced rejection before achieving success, this article has provided:
- Strategies to stay motivated and improve as a writer, including persistence, seeking feedback, diversifying submissions, staying motivated, and practicing self-care.
- Additional tips like setting goals, embracing revisions, connecting with the writing community, learning from rejections, and embracing your unique voice.
- Quotes from various renowned authors such as J.K. Rowling, Stephen King, Agatha Christie, Dr. Seuss, Margaret Mitchell, Louisa May Alcott, George Orwell, John Grisham, Madeleine L'Engle, and Ray Bradbury. These quotes highlight their resilience, determination, and belief in their craft despite facing rejection, ultimately leading to their success as authors.
2024.05.08 02:47 onlyalittledumb “Then the wind stopped. But the pain I had been keeping at bay rushed in with the force of a hurricane. I closed my eyes, gave myself over to Katara’s arms, and cried harder than I had ever cried in my life.” -Aang [lanjun_lazy]
![“Then the wind stopped. But the pain I had been keeping at bay rushed in with the force of a hurricane. I closed my eyes, gave myself over to Katara’s arms, and cried harder than I had ever cried in my life.” -Aang [lanjun_lazy]](https://preview.redd.it/f93k3igsn3zc1.jpeg?width=640&crop=smart&auto=webp&s=527345261fd6ea7291cbe2a703b1cb86c7e0d038 "“Then the wind stopped. But the pain I had been keeping at bay rushed in with the force of a hurricane. I closed my eyes, gave myself over to Katara’s arms, and cried harder than I had ever cried in my life.” -Aang [lanjun_lazy]") | Quote from The Earth Kingdom Chronicles - Tale of Aang submitted by onlyalittledumb to TheLastAirbender [link] [comments] |
2024.05.08 02:37 r1poster Hello, I am new
For the past few months, I have been experiencing pressure in my head and neck. Sometimes I would wake up with whooshing in my ears, like being able to hear my blood flow. When I would lay down or stand, I would experience an immense, painful throbbing in my head when standing or lying down.
I never gave any of these symptoms much thought—the blood whooshing would pass after I had my morning coffee, and the head pains were only momentary experiences
It seems these symptoms came to a crux last Saturday, where I almost completely fainted while out and about at an animal shelter. My ears started plugging and I would have to continuously yawn to pop them. Then, before I knew it, I had a complete overload in my entire system and almost fainted. My mom had to take care of me for the next couple of days due to headaches and weakness.
As this week has gone by, the pressure in my head has not ceased. I have headaches all day long, and any sort of activity seems to make it worse. Sometimes the pressure gets so bad, I feel I can barely talk.
I went to the ER on day 4 of continuous headaches and head pressure. CT scans and bloodwork clear.
Today, I saw the eye doctor for horizontal double vision related to the headaches and tested negative for optic nerve swelling/inflammation, and was directed to neurology under urgent referral. My double vision is due to my eyes not properly "resetting" after looking at something close to my face, which gets worse depending on the severity of the headache.
The eye doctor told me to head back to the ER if things get worse so I can have an emergent lumbar puncture. As of this evening, I'm considering doing just that.
The intermittent ibuprofen and tylenol doses are getting less effective. The ice packs are not helping. The coffee only helps slightly now. All I can really do is lie down in discomfort all day long. I tried to do yoga last night and was immediately punished for it with worsening symptoms.
Context on me: 27, F, 5'3", 96lbs. I have a history with chronic inflammatory disorders (tachycardia, IBS, non-specific brain fog and fatigue), and I fully admit I may have brought this upon myself by being bedbound off and on the last few years. I also do not have a healthy relationship with my bladder and bowels (constipation, bloating, water retention.)
The ER doctor suspected IIH, but until I get the lumbar test, it's still up in the air.
I don't really know what the goal of this post is, since I don't even know if it's IIH. I'm just feeling so stressed, lonely, and hopeless. I'm in so much pain.
Are my symptoms sounding familiar to you guys? What should I be doing as of now?
Thank you.
submitted by r1poster to iih [link] [comments]
I never gave any of these symptoms much thought—the blood whooshing would pass after I had my morning coffee, and the head pains were only momentary experiences
It seems these symptoms came to a crux last Saturday, where I almost completely fainted while out and about at an animal shelter. My ears started plugging and I would have to continuously yawn to pop them. Then, before I knew it, I had a complete overload in my entire system and almost fainted. My mom had to take care of me for the next couple of days due to headaches and weakness.
As this week has gone by, the pressure in my head has not ceased. I have headaches all day long, and any sort of activity seems to make it worse. Sometimes the pressure gets so bad, I feel I can barely talk.
I went to the ER on day 4 of continuous headaches and head pressure. CT scans and bloodwork clear.
Today, I saw the eye doctor for horizontal double vision related to the headaches and tested negative for optic nerve swelling/inflammation, and was directed to neurology under urgent referral. My double vision is due to my eyes not properly "resetting" after looking at something close to my face, which gets worse depending on the severity of the headache.
The eye doctor told me to head back to the ER if things get worse so I can have an emergent lumbar puncture. As of this evening, I'm considering doing just that.
The intermittent ibuprofen and tylenol doses are getting less effective. The ice packs are not helping. The coffee only helps slightly now. All I can really do is lie down in discomfort all day long. I tried to do yoga last night and was immediately punished for it with worsening symptoms.
Context on me: 27, F, 5'3", 96lbs. I have a history with chronic inflammatory disorders (tachycardia, IBS, non-specific brain fog and fatigue), and I fully admit I may have brought this upon myself by being bedbound off and on the last few years. I also do not have a healthy relationship with my bladder and bowels (constipation, bloating, water retention.)
The ER doctor suspected IIH, but until I get the lumbar test, it's still up in the air.
I don't really know what the goal of this post is, since I don't even know if it's IIH. I'm just feeling so stressed, lonely, and hopeless. I'm in so much pain.
Are my symptoms sounding familiar to you guys? What should I be doing as of now?
Thank you.
2024.05.08 02:34 Lucy8595 3 weeks post op
I still have pain in my ear and it Feels full and numb. Has anyone experienced this 3 weeks after surgery for cholestoma removal?
submitted by Lucy8595 to cholesteatoma [link] [comments]
2024.05.08 02:23 0th3rw0rldli3 How bad are these ear infections?
7 year old female Diagnoses: asthma, chronic ear infections Medications: albuterol, atrovent, flovent Procedures: ear tube placement (they've since fallen out)
She just had a cold last week and seems to be feeling better. She has no pain in either ear but is feeling itchiness inside them. Is it possible she could get rid of this on her own or does she need a round of antibiotics? How much longer would you give it?
Pictures here
submitted by 0th3rw0rldli3 to AskDocs [link] [comments]
She just had a cold last week and seems to be feeling better. She has no pain in either ear but is feeling itchiness inside them. Is it possible she could get rid of this on her own or does she need a round of antibiotics? How much longer would you give it?
Pictures here
2024.05.08 02:15 ladymajestic2022 Painful swollen lymph nodes, night sweats, no sore throat
24F
A few days ago on Friday, I noticed I had a pressure headache and pain in my neck. I thought it was due to the way I was laying on my neck in bed in an improper position, so I thought nothing of it. The next day, I noticed the headache was on and off, but I mainly noticed it standing up after sitting for a prolonged period of time. I woke up drenched in sweat late at night Friday night-Sunday night. On Monday night, i woke up a tad drenched, but not too much. On Sunday, I took my temp and had a fever of 101 with chills. I took Covid/flu test, they said it was negative but I’m not sure if it was false negative. My fever went away after taking theraflu starting Sunday.
Today is Tuesday, I no longer have a fever, at least I don’t think so. I took my temp and it says 100 but that could be false given I just came in the house from outside (it’s hot out) and I was chewing gum. So I’ll take my temp again in about 30 mins. My lymph nodes hurt moreso on the right side under neck, I noticed I have red spots on the roof of my mouth, doesn’t hurt when I swallow only my lymph node hurts when I swallow, I also had a bit of eye pain in my right eye but it surprisingly just disappeared. I also have an on and off pressure headache. What could this be? I know this was long so I’m so sorry. The urgent care doc told me to just let it pass because it’s most likely a virus and it didn’t make sense to come in and get retested :/ should I be concerned? How long should I wait to go to a different doc for testing if symptoms continue to persist? I saw people speaking about lymphoma. I don’t feel ill whatsoever. I just have a headache, sore lymph nodes with mild ear pain that comes and goes every now & again.
**Edit: I’m not sure if this info is necessary, but I haven’t been drinking as much water as I should so I’ve been dehydrated (I started drinking water again on Friday though). I’ve also been REALLY stressed beyond measure with just work, trying to save up money with my move in the next month, stressing about a potential career transition, stability, etc. just a lot of stress. I even picked up a second job and yeah, that’s been real stressful too. So I’m not sure if this is impacting me or something else.
submitted by ladymajestic2022 to AskDocs [link] [comments]
A few days ago on Friday, I noticed I had a pressure headache and pain in my neck. I thought it was due to the way I was laying on my neck in bed in an improper position, so I thought nothing of it. The next day, I noticed the headache was on and off, but I mainly noticed it standing up after sitting for a prolonged period of time. I woke up drenched in sweat late at night Friday night-Sunday night. On Monday night, i woke up a tad drenched, but not too much. On Sunday, I took my temp and had a fever of 101 with chills. I took Covid/flu test, they said it was negative but I’m not sure if it was false negative. My fever went away after taking theraflu starting Sunday.
Today is Tuesday, I no longer have a fever, at least I don’t think so. I took my temp and it says 100 but that could be false given I just came in the house from outside (it’s hot out) and I was chewing gum. So I’ll take my temp again in about 30 mins. My lymph nodes hurt moreso on the right side under neck, I noticed I have red spots on the roof of my mouth, doesn’t hurt when I swallow only my lymph node hurts when I swallow, I also had a bit of eye pain in my right eye but it surprisingly just disappeared. I also have an on and off pressure headache. What could this be? I know this was long so I’m so sorry. The urgent care doc told me to just let it pass because it’s most likely a virus and it didn’t make sense to come in and get retested :/ should I be concerned? How long should I wait to go to a different doc for testing if symptoms continue to persist? I saw people speaking about lymphoma. I don’t feel ill whatsoever. I just have a headache, sore lymph nodes with mild ear pain that comes and goes every now & again.
**Edit: I’m not sure if this info is necessary, but I haven’t been drinking as much water as I should so I’ve been dehydrated (I started drinking water again on Friday though). I’ve also been REALLY stressed beyond measure with just work, trying to save up money with my move in the next month, stressing about a potential career transition, stability, etc. just a lot of stress. I even picked up a second job and yeah, that’s been real stressful too. So I’m not sure if this is impacting me or something else.
2024.05.08 02:09 HorrorJunkie123 I Was Sent to a Mental Asylum in 1958. Things Have Taken a Turn for the... Sinister. [Final]
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
My mouth involuntarily fell open. Did I hear them correctly?
“How?” I asked, still trying to process the revelation.
“George has powerful contacts. They’ve arranged for us to start new lives,” Mary said, glancing around anxiously.
“That is correct. Elizabeth, before I extend this offer to you, there is something that I need you to know,” George said, his intense stare unwavering.
“And that is?”
He paused for a moment, choosing his next words cautiously. “This is irreversible. Once we escape, there is no turning back. You will not be able to make contact with anyone from your past life. No one can know your whereabouts. You will be given a completely new identity. Is that something you can handle?”
I bit my lip and broke my gaze. That would mean I would never be able to see my parents again. I was at a crossroads. Start over and never be able to contact my loved ones, or stay in that hopeless cesspit, only to be disfigured beyond recognition or worse on the off chance that I might someday be released.
“May I have some time to think it over? This is a life-altering decision, after all.”
“I understand. But time is not on our side, Elizabeth. I need your answer by the end of recreation time today. That gives you around five hours… Look. I know how daunting this is, I really do. But I would strongly advise you to accompany us. No good will result from you rotting away in this prison for the rest of your life. You have a real chance at freedom here. I-”
“George. I said I will need to consider it. I would appreciate it if you allowed me to do so in peace.”
He pursed his lips, his eyes falling to the slop on his tray. “Very well. I understand.”
The remainder of our “meal” was spent in tense silence. George and Mary stared stoically at the table, while Robert nervously glanced between the three of us. Needless to say, once it was time to move on to the recreational room, I had still not reached a conclusion. How could I? With a decision of that magnitude, I was understandably conflicted.
I soon found myself sitting in one of the rickety, splintered rocking chairs. My cohorts were huddled around me, lost in their own conversation.
“Oh yeah? I bet I can still play just fine. I’ll show you,” Robert pouted, glancing down at his nub of a middle finger.
“I bet you can’t. Have you ever seen a four-fingered guitarist? No? Neither have I,” Mary giggled.
“There’s gotta be at least one out there. And if there isn’t, I’ll be the first. I will make my dream come-”
“I’ll do it. I’ll accompany you.”
Everyone’s eyes suddenly shifted to me. “Shhh. Quiet. We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves,” Robert hissed, head on a swivel.
“Robert is right for once,” Mary chimed in, “We’re all ecstatic that you’re coming, but you need to keep your voice down.”
“Right. My apologies. So, what are the details?” I whispered, my cheeks burning red. I hadn’t realized that I’d been so loud. The weight of the decision must have affected me more than I’d initially thought.
George claimed the seat to my right. He began to relay the plan to me, never making eye contact in order to appear as discreet as possible in the event that we had attracted any unwelcome onlookers.
“We are to execute my scheme once we return to our rooms for the evening. In case you were not aware, all patients must be in their rooms by nine o’clock sharp. We will wait until exactly three minutes past ten. The caretakers will be rotating out with the night guard at that time. Fortunately for us, that guard has been at least fifteen minutes late every night for the past year, allowing us a prime opportunity to escape. Are you following thus far?”
“I believe so. But how will we exit our rooms? We are locked in each night, correct?”
“Jumping the gun a bit there, Elizabeth,” George continued, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “We have someone on the inside, who, if I have been informed correctly, is quite fond of you. His name rhymes with ‘Stick,’ if that gives you any indication.”
I couldn’t stop a smile from spreading across my face. Erik. My intuition about him had been spot-on.
“As I was saying, ‘Stick’ is going to conveniently ‘forget’ to lock our rooms tonight. We are to convene here. Do you see that emergency exit?”
I nodded.
“That is where we will take our leave. It requires a key, but to our immense luck, Mary has taken care of that for us. You see, she has acquired a set of skills that some may deem… unethical.”
“So she is a pickpocket. Understood,” I said, motioning for him to continue.
“Once outside, we will need to flee to the driver awaiting our arrival. I will guide you to his position. Following our departure, we will be delivered to a central meeting point, where we will be given a vehicle and everything we will need to begin a new life. Afterward, our paths will never cross again. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Then, relay everything I just told you. I need to be certain that we can pull this off correctly.”
I sighed. “Fine. We are to meet here at exactly three minutes past ten… wait. How are we to know the time? Our rooms do not come furnished with clocks.”
“Good catch. See? This is why I wanted to review it again. Place your hand behind my chair and open it.”
I obliged, trying to draw as little attention to myself as possible. Something cold and metallic fell into my grasp.
“Mary managed to snag that for you earlier today. Please continue.”
I stole a glance at the object in my hand. A shiny, golden pocket watch glimmered back at me.
“Once we meet here, you unlock the door, and we make a break for it. We pile into the waiting vehicle and begin our new lives. Did I leave anything out?”
“Quite a bit, actually, but you’ve retained the important points. In a few short hours, we will all be free once again.”
A battle of emotions waged within me at those words. Rage mingled with sadness, which dissolved into solemn reflection. Would we truly be free? Forced to remain hidden from the world and those who cared about us the most? That did not seem like freedom to me… but, it was worlds better than the alternative.
We bided the remainder of our time discussing trivial matters, such as whether or not cigarettes have negative health effects. (Hats off to George. He pinned the tail on the donkey there.) Once recreational time was complete, I was sent to bread baking. The entire time, my heart was beating like a drum. I waited on pins and needles for some strange incident to befall the class… but to my surprise, nothing did.
I steadied my breathing as I walked down the grungy corridor and back to my room. This was it. Just over an hour and I would never be subjected to live in such squalor ever again.
My mind raced as I lay on the hard ground beside my mattress. I couldn’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of it all. I had spent a tad over twenty-four hours in the most run-down, dysfunctional facility on the planet, and I was already about to take part in a prison break of sorts. It was an unbelievable set of circumstances, yet there I was, seeing them to fruition.
I suddenly knocked my brain back into focus, glancing at the stolen pocket watch. 10:02. I had less than a minute left until my salvation. The hands on the watch moved agonizingly slowly.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Five seconds. Four seconds. Three. Two. One.
The time had finally arrived. I crept up to the door and cautiously pushed it open, peering in both directions. I was met with an empty hallway. Perfect.
I sprinted to the recreational room as fast as my legs could carry me, the soles of my cheaply made shoes slapping against the floor as I went. I pushed open the doors, and there they were. Mary, Robert, and George were all standing by the exit, awaiting my arrival.
“Is everyone ready? I will need you all to run like your lives depend on it. Especially you, Robert. Have I made myself clear?”
“Hey! Yeah, whatever. I got it.”
“Good. Then, you will lead the charge. You are sure to fall behind due to your lack of stamina, so it is imperative to place you in the front. Once I unlock this door, you bolt for it.”
“Sheesh, George. Point taken. The new me’ll go on a diet, okay? Just unlock the friggin’ door already, will ya?”
George nodded, producing a shiny silver key. He inserted it into the lock and shoved the door open with all his might. Robert put his head down and ran as fast as he could… for about half a second.
Robert’s face slammed straight into a stark white uniform.
Samson grinned as he snatched Robert by the neck, holding a rusted kitchen knife to his throat. My eyes grew wide, and I nearly regurgitated my dinner. No. We were so close. This couldn’t be happening.
Samson forced Robert back into the room. Before the door could slam shut, someone followed him inside.
Doctor Cotton’s manic grin looked more depraved than I had ever seen it. His single eye bulged, and he appeared as if he was about to burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter.
“Did you really think that you would make your escape by adhering to such a hair-brained scheme? Surely, you had to think of the consequences.”
I glanced at my acquaintances for… reassurance, I suppose? Needless to say, I would receive none.
Mary’s mouth hung agape. George stared solemnly at his feet. A dark stain began to blossom around Robert’s private area. We were done for.
“And who of the sorry lot of you would have concocted such a flimsy plan? Perhaps it was the pickpocket?” Doctor Cotton cooed, smiling at Mary. She instantly averted her gaze.
“Or perhaps our most recent addition? Such a shame. I was beginning to take a liking to you.” Doctor Cotton’s menacing glare bore into me, sending a shiver down my spine.
“No, I think we are all well aware whose idea this was. It certainly did not arise from that nitwit’s puny excuse for a brain,” he grinned, motioning to Robert.
“So that only leaves one option,” Doctor Cotton purred, running a fingernail down the outline of George’s jaw. “The murd-”
George suddenly leapt into action, spinning the doctor around and pressing a crudely made shank to his neck. “Care to finish your statement, Doctor? The what? I had a bit of trouble hearing you.”
Doctor Cotton’s gleeful expression melted into one of pure fear. He’d lost the upper hand.
“What’s wrong?” George snarled, a wicked grin inching across his lips. “Cat got your tongue?”
Doctor Cotton began babbling incoherently. I couldn’t be certain if he was jumbling his words to spite George, or if it was a genuine reaction produced by unabated terror.
“Well, now that the jig is up, I might as well reveal why I’m here,” George growled.
There was a malevolence to his tone that made my skin crawl. It was almost as if he had transformed into an entirely different person. The man who I knew to be calm and composed now appeared manic and depraved. It frightened me to see him in that state.
“To satiate everyone’s curiosity,” George began, forcing Doctor Cotton closer to the exit, “I was admitted to Trenton Psychiatric Hospital on account of the jury’s verdict. I was deemed unfit to stand trial on seven counts of murder by reason of insanity. George began to cackle maliciously as he shuffled closer and closer to the door.
“Stop! Have you forgotten about your little friend here? I’ll kill him if you take one more step!” Samson shouted. A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead and the knife trembled slightly in his grasp, much to Robert’s dismay.
“You wouldn’t dare. Not if you value your precious doctor’s life, that is.” It seemed that Doctor Cotton had gone completely mute by that point, though he vehemently shook his head. “Come to think of it, ladies, why don’t you go on ahead? I will be with you shortly.”
Mary took my hand and began dragging me to the door. I was still shell shocked after George had dropped the murder bomb. The entire situation was utterly insane.
“Y-you can’t go. I’ll kill him! I will!” Samson shrieked as we proceeded to the door.
“Robert, best of luck. And you,” Mary said, turning to Doctor Cotton, “You can rot in Hell.” She spat into his only good eye, rendering him temporarily blind. Mary flipped the middle finger to Samson as she led me out the door. It felt wrong to leave George and Robert there, yet I knew that it was the safest option. The fewer people in harm’s way, the better.
I suddenly found myself outside next to Mary. The chirping of crickets and the buzz of cicadas filled my ears. The only light emitted from the building to our backs and the streetlamps before us. For a fleeting moment, I was wisped away from all the madness. I closed my eyes, allowing myself to feel the gentle caress of the summer breeze sweeping through my hair. It was heavenly. But then, reality came barreling back like a runaway freight engine.
“Elizabeth? Elizabeth, I need you to look at me,” Mary said, placing her hands on my shoulders, her eyes meeting mine. “Whatever happens, the moment George walks out of that building, we need to run like the wind, okay? Can you do that for me?”
I pursed my lips and nodded. I had to. I was certain that if we were caught, one way or another, none of us would make it out of that institution alive.
We suddenly heard a muffled commotion erupt from behind the door we had just exited from. Shouting and what sounded like violent stabbing noises drifted to our ears.
“Get ready,” Mary whispered.
CLANG!
George crashed through the door, his face drenched in crimson. “Go! Go! Go!” he screamed, as he sprinted past us. Mary and I immediately followed suit.
“Where’s Robert?!” Mary shouted amidst the chaos.
“Didn’t make it. It’s just us now,” George replied.
Without warning, we heard a sickening crash from somewhere behind us.
Samson had flung open the door so hard he’d nearly knocked it off its hinges. Blue, angry veins bulged from his temple, and upon locating us, he immediately gave chase.
I focused on running, willing my legs to move faster. I spared a glance back only once. My eyes grew wide as dinner plates. Samson was rapidly closing the distance.
“There!” George shouted, to my immense relief. A jet-black ‘58 Chevrolet Biscayne sat idling beneath a streetlamp. We just had to keep pushing a bit further.
George was the first to reach the vehicle. He leapt into the passenger seat, leaving Mary and me to fend for the back. Mary had fallen behind me, so I flung the door open and dove to the driver’s side, leaving ample room for her. I turned to Mary, and my heart dropped into my stomach.
Samson was nearly arm’s length away. He was foaming at the mouth, itching to catch up to her before she reached her salvation.
Come on, Mary. You can do this.
I said a silent prayer that she would be alright. Time seemed to slow down in that moment. I watched in both horror and anticipation, as with one final push, Mary leapt into the back seat beside me.
The driver didn’t wait for her to shut the door before our tires squealed against the asphalt. I breathed a sigh of relief and began helping Mary upright.
“I’m so glad that you- Mary. Mary?” My adrenaline roared back like a tidal wave, and my heart felt as if it would burst from my chest at a moment’s notice.
Samson had jumped onto the back of the car. He had a death grip on Mary’s ankle, and he was desperately trying to yank her from the vehicle. I instantly grabbed Mary’s arms and pulled with all my might.
“George! A little help here?” Mary shouted, holding back tears. Samson’s fingernails were embedded deep into her skin, drawing blood.
“Oh, my. What a predicament,” George said, finally taking notice of the scene behind him. “This should do the trick.” He produced the bloody shank we had seen moments prior and began bludgeoning Samson’s hand with it.
He yowled in pain and instinctively retracted it. We wasted no time in slamming the door shut.
“Hey! You can’t hide from me, you little shit stains!” Samson shouted, banging his fists against the glass.
The driver stomped on the brakes, sending the behemoth flying over the hood of the car. Samson lay sprawled out in the street, his right leg twisted at an odd angle. The driver simply swerved around him and continued on our path.
Once everyone had a chance to get their bearings, an eerie silence overtook the atmosphere. The tension was palpable.
“So,” George began, “Mary, Elizabeth. I forgot to introduce you. This is Pierre. He-”
“Why did you leave him.”
All the emotion had drained from Mary’s voice, leaving it flat and monotoned.
“Why did I leave… who?”
“George, don’t give me that shit. You know exactly who. I have a pretty good idea of what you did back there. You slit that maniac doctor’s throat and then you ran. You left Robert to… to die.”
George glanced at her momentarily, the light gleaming off his glass eyeball. Mary threw her hands over her face, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“You. You killed him.”
Mary continued to weep. I numbly rubbed her back, coming to the same realization. Mary was right. That was George’s plan all along. From the moment those two had foiled our scheme, George knew that Robert was going to die.
“I will hear none of that,” George hissed, a hint of sorrow creeping in amongst the rage as he spoke. “I did what had to be done. Robert was my friend too. Believe me, I would have saved him had there been any other way.”
“You could have saved him! We all could have. Maybe if we had just let them take us. If we had stayed and come up with another plan - a better plan - maybe then he would-”
“Mary, you know as well as anyone that letting those two apprehend us was not an option. We would have been dead by morning. As much as I hate the reality of it, Robert is gone, and we have to accept that.”
Mary didn’t respond. She cried and cried until she had no tears left. My heart shattered for her. I knew they were close, but I hadn’t realized how much she had truly cared for Robert until that moment. I would be lying if I told you that I didn’t shed a few tears of my own. For both their sakes.
The remainder of the ride is a blur. At some point, we stopped to clean ourselves up and change clothes. George assured us that our psychiatric garments would be burned to dispose of the evidence. Shortly afterward, we were brought to a warehouse in the middle of nowhere. Each of us was given an Oldsmobile, a week’s worth of clothing, enough money to last a year, documentation for our new identities, and directions to separate safehouses, where we had been instructed to lay low for six months.
“Thank you, George. You didn’t have to include me in your plans. I will be forever grateful to you for that,” I said, extending my hand. George readily accepted it, returning a hearty handshake.
“Make no mention of it. I wouldn’t dream of leaving you.”
We both turned to Mary, who was staring at the ground. She gazed up at us, her eyes puffy and red.
“George. I will never forgive you for what you did to Robert… But you managed to free us. So, I suppose I should thank you.”
“I understand. It has been a pleasure to get to know both of you. I hope that you will lead long and prosperous lives.”
“If only we had met under different circumstances. Take care of yourselves,” I said, offering a wave. The pair nodded and headed to their respective vehicles, never for our paths to cross again.
It has been over sixty-five years since that day. In that time, I followed the instructions to the letter. I eventually came out of hiding and started a family under my new alias. I never told my husband about my past life. To his dying day, he never knew who I truly was. Sadly, I lost him four years ago after a lengthy battle with leukemia. Raymond was a good man. Nothing at all like Allen.
I was never able to visit my parents again. That was the most difficult part. Knowing that they were out there, longing for me to return home, only for their prayers to fall on deaf ears. I wrote many letters to them, but I never managed to drop them off. My parents moved a year or so after my disappearance from the asylum, and I have been unable to locate them since. That is my biggest regret in life. One that still clings to me, even in my old age.
As for the others, I read in the newspaper that Mary was discovered in 1962 after she got into a bar fight. She was sent back to Trenton Psychiatric Hospital. I could find no records of her after that time. As far as I know, George was never found. His wealthy connections ensured that he would remain undetected, unless he seriously slipped up. As for Robert, I can only pray that he was given a proper burial. May his soul eternally rest in peace.
OD Post
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Part 2
Part 3
My mouth involuntarily fell open. Did I hear them correctly?
“How?” I asked, still trying to process the revelation.
“George has powerful contacts. They’ve arranged for us to start new lives,” Mary said, glancing around anxiously.
“That is correct. Elizabeth, before I extend this offer to you, there is something that I need you to know,” George said, his intense stare unwavering.
“And that is?”
He paused for a moment, choosing his next words cautiously. “This is irreversible. Once we escape, there is no turning back. You will not be able to make contact with anyone from your past life. No one can know your whereabouts. You will be given a completely new identity. Is that something you can handle?”
I bit my lip and broke my gaze. That would mean I would never be able to see my parents again. I was at a crossroads. Start over and never be able to contact my loved ones, or stay in that hopeless cesspit, only to be disfigured beyond recognition or worse on the off chance that I might someday be released.
“May I have some time to think it over? This is a life-altering decision, after all.”
“I understand. But time is not on our side, Elizabeth. I need your answer by the end of recreation time today. That gives you around five hours… Look. I know how daunting this is, I really do. But I would strongly advise you to accompany us. No good will result from you rotting away in this prison for the rest of your life. You have a real chance at freedom here. I-”
“George. I said I will need to consider it. I would appreciate it if you allowed me to do so in peace.”
He pursed his lips, his eyes falling to the slop on his tray. “Very well. I understand.”
The remainder of our “meal” was spent in tense silence. George and Mary stared stoically at the table, while Robert nervously glanced between the three of us. Needless to say, once it was time to move on to the recreational room, I had still not reached a conclusion. How could I? With a decision of that magnitude, I was understandably conflicted.
I soon found myself sitting in one of the rickety, splintered rocking chairs. My cohorts were huddled around me, lost in their own conversation.
“Oh yeah? I bet I can still play just fine. I’ll show you,” Robert pouted, glancing down at his nub of a middle finger.
“I bet you can’t. Have you ever seen a four-fingered guitarist? No? Neither have I,” Mary giggled.
“There’s gotta be at least one out there. And if there isn’t, I’ll be the first. I will make my dream come-”
“I’ll do it. I’ll accompany you.”
Everyone’s eyes suddenly shifted to me. “Shhh. Quiet. We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves,” Robert hissed, head on a swivel.
“Robert is right for once,” Mary chimed in, “We’re all ecstatic that you’re coming, but you need to keep your voice down.”
“Right. My apologies. So, what are the details?” I whispered, my cheeks burning red. I hadn’t realized that I’d been so loud. The weight of the decision must have affected me more than I’d initially thought.
George claimed the seat to my right. He began to relay the plan to me, never making eye contact in order to appear as discreet as possible in the event that we had attracted any unwelcome onlookers.
“We are to execute my scheme once we return to our rooms for the evening. In case you were not aware, all patients must be in their rooms by nine o’clock sharp. We will wait until exactly three minutes past ten. The caretakers will be rotating out with the night guard at that time. Fortunately for us, that guard has been at least fifteen minutes late every night for the past year, allowing us a prime opportunity to escape. Are you following thus far?”
“I believe so. But how will we exit our rooms? We are locked in each night, correct?”
“Jumping the gun a bit there, Elizabeth,” George continued, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “We have someone on the inside, who, if I have been informed correctly, is quite fond of you. His name rhymes with ‘Stick,’ if that gives you any indication.”
I couldn’t stop a smile from spreading across my face. Erik. My intuition about him had been spot-on.
“As I was saying, ‘Stick’ is going to conveniently ‘forget’ to lock our rooms tonight. We are to convene here. Do you see that emergency exit?”
I nodded.
“That is where we will take our leave. It requires a key, but to our immense luck, Mary has taken care of that for us. You see, she has acquired a set of skills that some may deem… unethical.”
“So she is a pickpocket. Understood,” I said, motioning for him to continue.
“Once outside, we will need to flee to the driver awaiting our arrival. I will guide you to his position. Following our departure, we will be delivered to a central meeting point, where we will be given a vehicle and everything we will need to begin a new life. Afterward, our paths will never cross again. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Then, relay everything I just told you. I need to be certain that we can pull this off correctly.”
I sighed. “Fine. We are to meet here at exactly three minutes past ten… wait. How are we to know the time? Our rooms do not come furnished with clocks.”
“Good catch. See? This is why I wanted to review it again. Place your hand behind my chair and open it.”
I obliged, trying to draw as little attention to myself as possible. Something cold and metallic fell into my grasp.
“Mary managed to snag that for you earlier today. Please continue.”
I stole a glance at the object in my hand. A shiny, golden pocket watch glimmered back at me.
“Once we meet here, you unlock the door, and we make a break for it. We pile into the waiting vehicle and begin our new lives. Did I leave anything out?”
“Quite a bit, actually, but you’ve retained the important points. In a few short hours, we will all be free once again.”
A battle of emotions waged within me at those words. Rage mingled with sadness, which dissolved into solemn reflection. Would we truly be free? Forced to remain hidden from the world and those who cared about us the most? That did not seem like freedom to me… but, it was worlds better than the alternative.
We bided the remainder of our time discussing trivial matters, such as whether or not cigarettes have negative health effects. (Hats off to George. He pinned the tail on the donkey there.) Once recreational time was complete, I was sent to bread baking. The entire time, my heart was beating like a drum. I waited on pins and needles for some strange incident to befall the class… but to my surprise, nothing did.
I steadied my breathing as I walked down the grungy corridor and back to my room. This was it. Just over an hour and I would never be subjected to live in such squalor ever again.
My mind raced as I lay on the hard ground beside my mattress. I couldn’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of it all. I had spent a tad over twenty-four hours in the most run-down, dysfunctional facility on the planet, and I was already about to take part in a prison break of sorts. It was an unbelievable set of circumstances, yet there I was, seeing them to fruition.
I suddenly knocked my brain back into focus, glancing at the stolen pocket watch. 10:02. I had less than a minute left until my salvation. The hands on the watch moved agonizingly slowly.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Five seconds. Four seconds. Three. Two. One.
The time had finally arrived. I crept up to the door and cautiously pushed it open, peering in both directions. I was met with an empty hallway. Perfect.
I sprinted to the recreational room as fast as my legs could carry me, the soles of my cheaply made shoes slapping against the floor as I went. I pushed open the doors, and there they were. Mary, Robert, and George were all standing by the exit, awaiting my arrival.
“Is everyone ready? I will need you all to run like your lives depend on it. Especially you, Robert. Have I made myself clear?”
“Hey! Yeah, whatever. I got it.”
“Good. Then, you will lead the charge. You are sure to fall behind due to your lack of stamina, so it is imperative to place you in the front. Once I unlock this door, you bolt for it.”
“Sheesh, George. Point taken. The new me’ll go on a diet, okay? Just unlock the friggin’ door already, will ya?”
George nodded, producing a shiny silver key. He inserted it into the lock and shoved the door open with all his might. Robert put his head down and ran as fast as he could… for about half a second.
Robert’s face slammed straight into a stark white uniform.
Samson grinned as he snatched Robert by the neck, holding a rusted kitchen knife to his throat. My eyes grew wide, and I nearly regurgitated my dinner. No. We were so close. This couldn’t be happening.
Samson forced Robert back into the room. Before the door could slam shut, someone followed him inside.
Doctor Cotton’s manic grin looked more depraved than I had ever seen it. His single eye bulged, and he appeared as if he was about to burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter.
“Did you really think that you would make your escape by adhering to such a hair-brained scheme? Surely, you had to think of the consequences.”
I glanced at my acquaintances for… reassurance, I suppose? Needless to say, I would receive none.
Mary’s mouth hung agape. George stared solemnly at his feet. A dark stain began to blossom around Robert’s private area. We were done for.
“And who of the sorry lot of you would have concocted such a flimsy plan? Perhaps it was the pickpocket?” Doctor Cotton cooed, smiling at Mary. She instantly averted her gaze.
“Or perhaps our most recent addition? Such a shame. I was beginning to take a liking to you.” Doctor Cotton’s menacing glare bore into me, sending a shiver down my spine.
“No, I think we are all well aware whose idea this was. It certainly did not arise from that nitwit’s puny excuse for a brain,” he grinned, motioning to Robert.
“So that only leaves one option,” Doctor Cotton purred, running a fingernail down the outline of George’s jaw. “The murd-”
George suddenly leapt into action, spinning the doctor around and pressing a crudely made shank to his neck. “Care to finish your statement, Doctor? The what? I had a bit of trouble hearing you.”
Doctor Cotton’s gleeful expression melted into one of pure fear. He’d lost the upper hand.
“What’s wrong?” George snarled, a wicked grin inching across his lips. “Cat got your tongue?”
Doctor Cotton began babbling incoherently. I couldn’t be certain if he was jumbling his words to spite George, or if it was a genuine reaction produced by unabated terror.
“Well, now that the jig is up, I might as well reveal why I’m here,” George growled.
There was a malevolence to his tone that made my skin crawl. It was almost as if he had transformed into an entirely different person. The man who I knew to be calm and composed now appeared manic and depraved. It frightened me to see him in that state.
“To satiate everyone’s curiosity,” George began, forcing Doctor Cotton closer to the exit, “I was admitted to Trenton Psychiatric Hospital on account of the jury’s verdict. I was deemed unfit to stand trial on seven counts of murder by reason of insanity. George began to cackle maliciously as he shuffled closer and closer to the door.
“Stop! Have you forgotten about your little friend here? I’ll kill him if you take one more step!” Samson shouted. A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead and the knife trembled slightly in his grasp, much to Robert’s dismay.
“You wouldn’t dare. Not if you value your precious doctor’s life, that is.” It seemed that Doctor Cotton had gone completely mute by that point, though he vehemently shook his head. “Come to think of it, ladies, why don’t you go on ahead? I will be with you shortly.”
Mary took my hand and began dragging me to the door. I was still shell shocked after George had dropped the murder bomb. The entire situation was utterly insane.
“Y-you can’t go. I’ll kill him! I will!” Samson shrieked as we proceeded to the door.
“Robert, best of luck. And you,” Mary said, turning to Doctor Cotton, “You can rot in Hell.” She spat into his only good eye, rendering him temporarily blind. Mary flipped the middle finger to Samson as she led me out the door. It felt wrong to leave George and Robert there, yet I knew that it was the safest option. The fewer people in harm’s way, the better.
I suddenly found myself outside next to Mary. The chirping of crickets and the buzz of cicadas filled my ears. The only light emitted from the building to our backs and the streetlamps before us. For a fleeting moment, I was wisped away from all the madness. I closed my eyes, allowing myself to feel the gentle caress of the summer breeze sweeping through my hair. It was heavenly. But then, reality came barreling back like a runaway freight engine.
“Elizabeth? Elizabeth, I need you to look at me,” Mary said, placing her hands on my shoulders, her eyes meeting mine. “Whatever happens, the moment George walks out of that building, we need to run like the wind, okay? Can you do that for me?”
I pursed my lips and nodded. I had to. I was certain that if we were caught, one way or another, none of us would make it out of that institution alive.
We suddenly heard a muffled commotion erupt from behind the door we had just exited from. Shouting and what sounded like violent stabbing noises drifted to our ears.
“Get ready,” Mary whispered.
CLANG!
George crashed through the door, his face drenched in crimson. “Go! Go! Go!” he screamed, as he sprinted past us. Mary and I immediately followed suit.
“Where’s Robert?!” Mary shouted amidst the chaos.
“Didn’t make it. It’s just us now,” George replied.
Without warning, we heard a sickening crash from somewhere behind us.
Samson had flung open the door so hard he’d nearly knocked it off its hinges. Blue, angry veins bulged from his temple, and upon locating us, he immediately gave chase.
I focused on running, willing my legs to move faster. I spared a glance back only once. My eyes grew wide as dinner plates. Samson was rapidly closing the distance.
“There!” George shouted, to my immense relief. A jet-black ‘58 Chevrolet Biscayne sat idling beneath a streetlamp. We just had to keep pushing a bit further.
George was the first to reach the vehicle. He leapt into the passenger seat, leaving Mary and me to fend for the back. Mary had fallen behind me, so I flung the door open and dove to the driver’s side, leaving ample room for her. I turned to Mary, and my heart dropped into my stomach.
Samson was nearly arm’s length away. He was foaming at the mouth, itching to catch up to her before she reached her salvation.
Come on, Mary. You can do this.
I said a silent prayer that she would be alright. Time seemed to slow down in that moment. I watched in both horror and anticipation, as with one final push, Mary leapt into the back seat beside me.
The driver didn’t wait for her to shut the door before our tires squealed against the asphalt. I breathed a sigh of relief and began helping Mary upright.
“I’m so glad that you- Mary. Mary?” My adrenaline roared back like a tidal wave, and my heart felt as if it would burst from my chest at a moment’s notice.
Samson had jumped onto the back of the car. He had a death grip on Mary’s ankle, and he was desperately trying to yank her from the vehicle. I instantly grabbed Mary’s arms and pulled with all my might.
“George! A little help here?” Mary shouted, holding back tears. Samson’s fingernails were embedded deep into her skin, drawing blood.
“Oh, my. What a predicament,” George said, finally taking notice of the scene behind him. “This should do the trick.” He produced the bloody shank we had seen moments prior and began bludgeoning Samson’s hand with it.
He yowled in pain and instinctively retracted it. We wasted no time in slamming the door shut.
“Hey! You can’t hide from me, you little shit stains!” Samson shouted, banging his fists against the glass.
The driver stomped on the brakes, sending the behemoth flying over the hood of the car. Samson lay sprawled out in the street, his right leg twisted at an odd angle. The driver simply swerved around him and continued on our path.
Once everyone had a chance to get their bearings, an eerie silence overtook the atmosphere. The tension was palpable.
“So,” George began, “Mary, Elizabeth. I forgot to introduce you. This is Pierre. He-”
“Why did you leave him.”
All the emotion had drained from Mary’s voice, leaving it flat and monotoned.
“Why did I leave… who?”
“George, don’t give me that shit. You know exactly who. I have a pretty good idea of what you did back there. You slit that maniac doctor’s throat and then you ran. You left Robert to… to die.”
George glanced at her momentarily, the light gleaming off his glass eyeball. Mary threw her hands over her face, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“You. You killed him.”
Mary continued to weep. I numbly rubbed her back, coming to the same realization. Mary was right. That was George’s plan all along. From the moment those two had foiled our scheme, George knew that Robert was going to die.
“I will hear none of that,” George hissed, a hint of sorrow creeping in amongst the rage as he spoke. “I did what had to be done. Robert was my friend too. Believe me, I would have saved him had there been any other way.”
“You could have saved him! We all could have. Maybe if we had just let them take us. If we had stayed and come up with another plan - a better plan - maybe then he would-”
“Mary, you know as well as anyone that letting those two apprehend us was not an option. We would have been dead by morning. As much as I hate the reality of it, Robert is gone, and we have to accept that.”
Mary didn’t respond. She cried and cried until she had no tears left. My heart shattered for her. I knew they were close, but I hadn’t realized how much she had truly cared for Robert until that moment. I would be lying if I told you that I didn’t shed a few tears of my own. For both their sakes.
The remainder of the ride is a blur. At some point, we stopped to clean ourselves up and change clothes. George assured us that our psychiatric garments would be burned to dispose of the evidence. Shortly afterward, we were brought to a warehouse in the middle of nowhere. Each of us was given an Oldsmobile, a week’s worth of clothing, enough money to last a year, documentation for our new identities, and directions to separate safehouses, where we had been instructed to lay low for six months.
“Thank you, George. You didn’t have to include me in your plans. I will be forever grateful to you for that,” I said, extending my hand. George readily accepted it, returning a hearty handshake.
“Make no mention of it. I wouldn’t dream of leaving you.”
We both turned to Mary, who was staring at the ground. She gazed up at us, her eyes puffy and red.
“George. I will never forgive you for what you did to Robert… But you managed to free us. So, I suppose I should thank you.”
“I understand. It has been a pleasure to get to know both of you. I hope that you will lead long and prosperous lives.”
“If only we had met under different circumstances. Take care of yourselves,” I said, offering a wave. The pair nodded and headed to their respective vehicles, never for our paths to cross again.
It has been over sixty-five years since that day. In that time, I followed the instructions to the letter. I eventually came out of hiding and started a family under my new alias. I never told my husband about my past life. To his dying day, he never knew who I truly was. Sadly, I lost him four years ago after a lengthy battle with leukemia. Raymond was a good man. Nothing at all like Allen.
I was never able to visit my parents again. That was the most difficult part. Knowing that they were out there, longing for me to return home, only for their prayers to fall on deaf ears. I wrote many letters to them, but I never managed to drop them off. My parents moved a year or so after my disappearance from the asylum, and I have been unable to locate them since. That is my biggest regret in life. One that still clings to me, even in my old age.
As for the others, I read in the newspaper that Mary was discovered in 1962 after she got into a bar fight. She was sent back to Trenton Psychiatric Hospital. I could find no records of her after that time. As far as I know, George was never found. His wealthy connections ensured that he would remain undetected, unless he seriously slipped up. As for Robert, I can only pray that he was given a proper burial. May his soul eternally rest in peace.
OD Post
2024.05.08 02:05 mssweetheart24 Do any of you ever get cheek or jaw pain on both sides?? It’s usually my right lower jaw that clicks and hurts but I’ve been having tension on both sides recently and I’m scared
Hey everyone. My TMJ started in 2014 after getting my braces off. I have anxiety and I think I clench and tense up without realizing. Only my right lower jaw clicks and gets locked up when I chew certain foods. My left cheek has been tight and I’m so worried it’s going to start clicking too. Having clicking on one side is bad enough. I also get tension headaches and tension/ occasional pain on the back of my head, neck and sometimes my ears pop and I feel off. I do work a sedentary job as well and my posture at my desk is not the best. Do any of you have any tips to release the tension?? Will TMJ get worse if I don’t treat it? My dentist said I can get a night guard or go to a tmj specialist. Thank you for reading
Edit to add: Could the shifting of my lower bottom teeth cause TMJ as well? I also didn’t get my retainer adjusted in 2014 after my braces removal so could that cause it?? I want to contact my orthodontist but would getting my teeth shifted to the right spot again help??
submitted by mssweetheart24 to TMJ [link] [comments]
Edit to add: Could the shifting of my lower bottom teeth cause TMJ as well? I also didn’t get my retainer adjusted in 2014 after my braces removal so could that cause it?? I want to contact my orthodontist but would getting my teeth shifted to the right spot again help??
2024.05.08 02:03 HorrorJunkie123 I Was Sent to a Mental Asylum in 1958. Things Have Taken a Turn for the... Sinister. [Final]
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
My mouth involuntarily fell open. Did I hear them correctly?
“How?” I asked, still trying to process the revelation.
“George has powerful contacts. They’ve arranged for us to start new lives,” Mary said, glancing around anxiously.
“That is correct. Elizabeth, before I extend this offer to you, there is something that I need you to know,” George said, his intense stare unwavering.
“And that is?”
He paused for a moment, choosing his next words cautiously. “This is irreversible. Once we escape, there is no turning back. You will not be able to make contact with anyone from your past life. No one can know your whereabouts. You will be given a completely new identity. Is that something you can handle?”
I bit my lip and broke my gaze. That would mean I would never be able to see my parents again. I was at a crossroads. Start over and never be able to contact my loved ones, or stay in that hopeless cesspit, only to be disfigured beyond recognition or worse on the off chance that I might someday be released.
“May I have some time to think it over? This is a life-altering decision, after all.”
“I understand. But time is not on our side, Elizabeth. I need your answer by the end of recreation time today. That gives you around five hours… Look. I know how daunting this is, I really do. But I would strongly advise you to accompany us. No good will result from you rotting away in this prison for the rest of your life. You have a real chance at freedom here. I-”
“George. I said I will need to consider it. I would appreciate it if you allowed me to do so in peace.”
He pursed his lips, his eyes falling to the slop on his tray. “Very well. I understand.”
The remainder of our “meal” was spent in tense silence. George and Mary stared stoically at the table, while Robert nervously glanced between the three of us. Needless to say, once it was time to move on to the recreational room, I had still not reached a conclusion. How could I? With a decision of that magnitude, I was understandably conflicted.
I soon found myself sitting in one of the rickety, splintered rocking chairs. My cohorts were huddled around me, lost in their own conversation.
“Oh yeah? I bet I can still play just fine. I’ll show you,” Robert pouted, glancing down at his nub of a middle finger.
“I bet you can’t. Have you ever seen a four-fingered guitarist? No? Neither have I,” Mary giggled.
“There’s gotta be at least one out there. And if there isn’t, I’ll be the first. I will make my dream come-”
“I’ll do it. I’ll accompany you.”
Everyone’s eyes suddenly shifted to me. “Shhh. Quiet. We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves,” Robert hissed, head on a swivel.
“Robert is right for once,” Mary chimed in, “We’re all ecstatic that you’re coming, but you need to keep your voice down.”
“Right. My apologies. So, what are the details?” I whispered, my cheeks burning red. I hadn’t realized that I’d been so loud. The weight of the decision must have affected me more than I’d initially thought.
George claimed the seat to my right. He began to relay the plan to me, never making eye contact in order to appear as discreet as possible in the event that we had attracted any unwelcome onlookers.
“We are to execute my scheme once we return to our rooms for the evening. In case you were not aware, all patients must be in their rooms by nine o’clock sharp. We will wait until exactly three minutes past ten. The caretakers will be rotating out with the night guard at that time. Fortunately for us, that guard has been at least fifteen minutes late every night for the past year, allowing us a prime opportunity to escape. Are you following thus far?”
“I believe so. But how will we exit our rooms? We are locked in each night, correct?”
“Jumping the gun a bit there, Elizabeth,” George continued, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “We have someone on the inside, who, if I have been informed correctly, is quite fond of you. His name rhymes with ‘Stick,’ if that gives you any indication.”
I couldn’t stop a smile from spreading across my face. Erik. My intuition about him had been spot-on.
“As I was saying, ‘Stick’ is going to conveniently ‘forget’ to lock our rooms tonight. We are to convene here. Do you see that emergency exit?”
I nodded.
“That is where we will take our leave. It requires a key, but to our immense luck, Mary has taken care of that for us. You see, she has acquired a set of skills that some may deem… unethical.”
“So she is a pickpocket. Understood,” I said, motioning for him to continue.
“Once outside, we will need to flee to the driver awaiting our arrival. I will guide you to his position. Following our departure, we will be delivered to a central meeting point, where we will be given a vehicle and everything we will need to begin a new life. Afterward, our paths will never cross again. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Then, relay everything I just told you. I need to be certain that we can pull this off correctly.”
I sighed. “Fine. We are to meet here at exactly three minutes past ten… wait. How are we to know the time? Our rooms do not come furnished with clocks.”
“Good catch. See? This is why I wanted to review it again. Place your hand behind my chair and open it.”
I obliged, trying to draw as little attention to myself as possible. Something cold and metallic fell into my grasp.
“Mary managed to snag that for you earlier today. Please continue.”
I stole a glance at the object in my hand. A shiny, golden pocket watch glimmered back at me.
“Once we meet here, you unlock the door, and we make a break for it. We pile into the waiting vehicle and begin our new lives. Did I leave anything out?”
“Quite a bit, actually, but you’ve retained the important points. In a few short hours, we will all be free once again.”
A battle of emotions waged within me at those words. Rage mingled with sadness, which dissolved into solemn reflection. Would we truly be free? Forced to remain hidden from the world and those who cared about us the most? That did not seem like freedom to me… but, it was worlds better than the alternative.
We bided the remainder of our time discussing trivial matters, such as whether or not cigarettes have negative health effects. (Hats off to George. He pinned the tail on the donkey there.) Once recreational time was complete, I was sent to bread baking. The entire time, my heart was beating like a drum. I waited on pins and needles for some strange incident to befall the class… but to my surprise, nothing did.
I steadied my breathing as I walked down the grungy corridor and back to my room. This was it. Just over an hour and I would never be subjected to live in such squalor ever again.
My mind raced as I lay on the hard ground beside my mattress. I couldn’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of it all. I had spent a tad over twenty-four hours in the most run-down, dysfunctional facility on the planet, and I was already about to take part in a prison break of sorts. It was an unbelievable set of circumstances, yet there I was, seeing them to fruition.
I suddenly knocked my brain back into focus, glancing at the stolen pocket watch. 10:02. I had less than a minute left until my salvation. The hands on the watch moved agonizingly slowly.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Five seconds. Four seconds. Three. Two. One.
The time had finally arrived. I crept up to the door and cautiously pushed it open, peering in both directions. I was met with an empty hallway. Perfect.
I sprinted to the recreational room as fast as my legs could carry me, the soles of my cheaply made shoes slapping against the floor as I went. I pushed open the doors, and there they were. Mary, Robert, and George were all standing by the exit, awaiting my arrival.
“Is everyone ready? I will need you all to run like your lives depend on it. Especially you, Robert. Have I made myself clear?”
“Hey! Yeah, whatever. I got it.”
“Good. Then, you will lead the charge. You are sure to fall behind due to your lack of stamina, so it is imperative to place you in the front. Once I unlock this door, you bolt for it.”
“Sheesh, George. Point taken. The new me’ll go on a diet, okay? Just unlock the friggin’ door already, will ya?”
George nodded, producing a shiny silver key. He inserted it into the lock and shoved the door open with all his might. Robert put his head down and ran as fast as he could… for about half a second.
Robert’s face slammed straight into a stark white uniform.
Samson grinned as he snatched Robert by the neck, holding a rusted kitchen knife to his throat. My eyes grew wide, and I nearly regurgitated my dinner. No. We were so close. This couldn’t be happening.
Samson forced Robert back into the room. Before the door could slam shut, someone followed him inside.
Doctor Cotton’s manic grin looked more depraved than I had ever seen it. His single eye bulged, and he appeared as if he was about to burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter.
“Did you really think that you would make your escape by adhering to such a hair-brained scheme? Surely, you had to think of the consequences.”
I glanced at my acquaintances for… reassurance, I suppose? Needless to say, I would receive none.
Mary’s mouth hung agape. George stared solemnly at his feet. A dark stain began to blossom around Robert’s private area. We were done for.
“And who of the sorry lot of you would have concocted such a flimsy plan? Perhaps it was the pickpocket?” Doctor Cotton cooed, smiling at Mary. She instantly averted her gaze.
“Or perhaps our most recent addition? Such a shame. I was beginning to take a liking to you.” Doctor Cotton’s menacing glare bore into me, sending a shiver down my spine.
“No, I think we are all well aware whose idea this was. It certainly did not arise from that nitwit’s puny excuse for a brain,” he grinned, motioning to Robert.
“So that only leaves one option,” Doctor Cotton purred, running a fingernail down the outline of George’s jaw. “The murd-”
George suddenly leapt into action, spinning the doctor around and pressing a crudely made shank to his neck. “Care to finish your statement, Doctor? The what? I had a bit of trouble hearing you.”
Doctor Cotton’s gleeful expression melted into one of pure fear. He’d lost the upper hand.
“What’s wrong?” George snarled, a wicked grin inching across his lips. “Cat got your tongue?”
Doctor Cotton began babbling incoherently. I couldn’t be certain if he was jumbling his words to spite George, or if it was a genuine reaction produced by unabated terror.
“Well, now that the jig is up, I might as well reveal why I’m here,” George growled.
There was a malevolence to his tone that made my skin crawl. It was almost as if he had transformed into an entirely different person. The man who I knew to be calm and composed now appeared manic and depraved. It frightened me to see him in that state.
“To satiate everyone’s curiosity,” George began, forcing Doctor Cotton closer to the exit, “I was admitted to Trenton Psychiatric Hospital on account of the jury’s verdict. I was deemed unfit to stand trial on seven counts of murder by reason of insanity. George began to cackle maliciously as he shuffled closer and closer to the door.
“Stop! Have you forgotten about your little friend here? I’ll kill him if you take one more step!” Samson shouted. A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead and the knife trembled slightly in his grasp, much to Robert’s dismay.
“You wouldn’t dare. Not if you value your precious doctor’s life, that is.” It seemed that Doctor Cotton had gone completely mute by that point, though he vehemently shook his head. “Come to think of it, ladies, why don’t you go on ahead? I will be with you shortly.”
Mary took my hand and began dragging me to the door. I was still shell shocked after George had dropped the murder bomb. The entire situation was utterly insane.
“Y-you can’t go. I’ll kill him! I will!” Samson shrieked as we proceeded to the door.
“Robert, best of luck. And you,” Mary said, turning to Doctor Cotton, “You can rot in Hell.” She spat into his only good eye, rendering him temporarily blind. Mary flipped the middle finger to Samson as she led me out the door. It felt wrong to leave George and Robert there, yet I knew that it was the safest option. The fewer people in harm’s way, the better.
I suddenly found myself outside next to Mary. The chirping of crickets and the buzz of cicadas filled my ears. The only light emitted from the building to our backs and the streetlamps before us. For a fleeting moment, I was wisped away from all the madness. I closed my eyes, allowing myself to feel the gentle caress of the summer breeze sweeping through my hair. It was heavenly. But then, reality came barreling back like a runaway freight engine.
“Elizabeth? Elizabeth, I need you to look at me,” Mary said, placing her hands on my shoulders, her eyes meeting mine. “Whatever happens, the moment George walks out of that building, we need to run like the wind, okay? Can you do that for me?”
I pursed my lips and nodded. I had to. I was certain that if we were caught, one way or another, none of us would make it out of that institution alive.
We suddenly heard a muffled commotion erupt from behind the door we had just exited from. Shouting and what sounded like violent stabbing noises drifted to our ears.
“Get ready,” Mary whispered.
CLANG!
George crashed through the door, his face drenched in crimson. “Go! Go! Go!” he screamed, as he sprinted past us. Mary and I immediately followed suit.
“Where’s Robert?!” Mary shouted amidst the chaos.
“Didn’t make it. It’s just us now,” George replied.
Without warning, we heard a sickening crash from somewhere behind us.
Samson had flung open the door so hard he’d nearly knocked it off its hinges. Blue, angry veins bulged from his temple, and upon locating us, he immediately gave chase.
I focused on running, willing my legs to move faster. I spared a glance back only once. My eyes grew wide as dinner plates. Samson was rapidly closing the distance.
“There!” George shouted, to my immense relief. A jet-black ‘58 Chevrolet Biscayne sat idling beneath a streetlamp. We just had to keep pushing a bit further.
George was the first to reach the vehicle. He leapt into the passenger seat, leaving Mary and me to fend for the back. Mary had fallen behind me, so I flung the door open and dove to the driver’s side, leaving ample room for her. I turned to Mary, and my heart dropped into my stomach.
Samson was nearly arm’s length away. He was foaming at the mouth, itching to catch up to her before she reached her salvation.
Come on, Mary. You can do this.
I said a silent prayer that she would be alright. Time seemed to slow down in that moment. I watched in both horror and anticipation, as with one final push, Mary leapt into the back seat beside me.
The driver didn’t wait for her to shut the door before our tires squealed against the asphalt. I breathed a sigh of relief and began helping Mary upright.
“I’m so glad that you- Mary. Mary?” My adrenaline roared back like a tidal wave, and my heart felt as if it would burst from my chest at a moment’s notice.
Samson had jumped onto the back of the car. He had a death grip on Mary’s ankle, and he was desperately trying to yank her from the vehicle. I instantly grabbed Mary’s arms and pulled with all my might.
“George! A little help here?” Mary shouted, holding back tears. Samson’s fingernails were embedded deep into her skin, drawing blood.
“Oh, my. What a predicament,” George said, finally taking notice of the scene behind him. “This should do the trick.” He produced the bloody shank we had seen moments prior and began bludgeoning Samson’s hand with it.
He yowled in pain and instinctively retracted it. We wasted no time in slamming the door shut.
“Hey! You can’t hide from me, you little shit stains!” Samson shouted, banging his fists against the glass.
The driver stomped on the brakes, sending the behemoth flying over the hood of the car. Samson lay sprawled out in the street, his right leg twisted at an odd angle. The driver simply swerved around him and continued on our path.
Once everyone had a chance to get their bearings, an eerie silence overtook the atmosphere. The tension was palpable.
“So,” George began, “Mary, Elizabeth. I forgot to introduce you. This is Pierre. He-”
“Why did you leave him.”
All the emotion had drained from Mary’s voice, leaving it flat and monotoned.
“Why did I leave… who?”
“George, don’t give me that shit. You know exactly who. I have a pretty good idea of what you did back there. You slit that maniac doctor’s throat and then you ran. You left Robert to… to die.”
George glanced at her momentarily, the light gleaming off his glass eyeball. Mary threw her hands over her face, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“You. You killed him.”
Mary continued to weep. I numbly rubbed her back, coming to the same realization. Mary was right. That was George’s plan all along. From the moment those two had foiled our scheme, George knew that Robert was going to die.
“I will hear none of that,” George hissed, a hint of sorrow creeping in amongst the rage as he spoke. “I did what had to be done. Robert was my friend too. Believe me, I would have saved him had there been any other way.”
“You could have saved him! We all could have. Maybe if we had just let them take us. If we had stayed and come up with another plan - a better plan - maybe then he would-”
“Mary, you know as well as anyone that letting those two apprehend us was not an option. We would have been dead by morning. As much as I hate the reality of it, Robert is gone, and we have to accept that.”
Mary didn’t respond. She cried and cried until she had no tears left. My heart shattered for her. I knew they were close, but I hadn’t realized how much she had truly cared for Robert until that moment. I would be lying if I told you that I didn’t shed a few tears of my own. For both their sakes.
The remainder of the ride is a blur. At some point, we stopped to clean ourselves up and change clothes. George assured us that our psychiatric garments would be burned to dispose of the evidence. Shortly afterward, we were brought to a warehouse in the middle of nowhere. Each of us was given an Oldsmobile, a week’s worth of clothing, enough money to last a year, documentation for our new identities, and directions to separate safehouses, where we had been instructed to lay low for six months.
“Thank you, George. You didn’t have to include me in your plans. I will be forever grateful to you for that,” I said, extending my hand. George readily accepted it, returning a hearty handshake.
“Make no mention of it. I wouldn’t dream of leaving you.”
We both turned to Mary, who was staring at the ground. She gazed up at us, her eyes puffy and red.
“George. I will never forgive you for what you did to Robert… But you managed to free us. So, I suppose I should thank you.”
“I understand. It has been a pleasure to get to know both of you. I hope that you will lead long and prosperous lives.”
“If only we had met under different circumstances. Take care of yourselves,” I said, offering a wave. The pair nodded and headed to their respective vehicles, never for our paths to cross again.
It has been over sixty-five years since that day. In that time, I followed the instructions to the letter. I eventually came out of hiding and started a family under my new alias. I never told my husband about my past life. To his dying day, he never knew who I truly was. Sadly, I lost him four years ago after a lengthy battle with leukemia. Raymond was a good man. Nothing at all like Allen.
I was never able to visit my parents again. That was the most difficult part. Knowing that they were out there, longing for me to return home, only for their prayers to fall on deaf ears. I wrote many letters to them, but I never managed to drop them off. My parents moved a year or so after my disappearance from the asylum, and I have been unable to locate them since. That is my biggest regret in life. One that still clings to me, even in my old age.
As for the others, I read in the newspaper that Mary was discovered in 1962 after she got into a bar fight. She was sent back to Trenton Psychiatric Hospital. I could find no records of her after that time. As far as I know, George was never found. His wealthy connections ensured that he would remain undetected, unless he seriously slipped up. As for Robert, I can only pray that he was given a proper burial. May his soul eternally rest in peace.
submitted by HorrorJunkie123 to Odd_directions [link] [comments]
Part 2
Part 3
My mouth involuntarily fell open. Did I hear them correctly?
“How?” I asked, still trying to process the revelation.
“George has powerful contacts. They’ve arranged for us to start new lives,” Mary said, glancing around anxiously.
“That is correct. Elizabeth, before I extend this offer to you, there is something that I need you to know,” George said, his intense stare unwavering.
“And that is?”
He paused for a moment, choosing his next words cautiously. “This is irreversible. Once we escape, there is no turning back. You will not be able to make contact with anyone from your past life. No one can know your whereabouts. You will be given a completely new identity. Is that something you can handle?”
I bit my lip and broke my gaze. That would mean I would never be able to see my parents again. I was at a crossroads. Start over and never be able to contact my loved ones, or stay in that hopeless cesspit, only to be disfigured beyond recognition or worse on the off chance that I might someday be released.
“May I have some time to think it over? This is a life-altering decision, after all.”
“I understand. But time is not on our side, Elizabeth. I need your answer by the end of recreation time today. That gives you around five hours… Look. I know how daunting this is, I really do. But I would strongly advise you to accompany us. No good will result from you rotting away in this prison for the rest of your life. You have a real chance at freedom here. I-”
“George. I said I will need to consider it. I would appreciate it if you allowed me to do so in peace.”
He pursed his lips, his eyes falling to the slop on his tray. “Very well. I understand.”
The remainder of our “meal” was spent in tense silence. George and Mary stared stoically at the table, while Robert nervously glanced between the three of us. Needless to say, once it was time to move on to the recreational room, I had still not reached a conclusion. How could I? With a decision of that magnitude, I was understandably conflicted.
I soon found myself sitting in one of the rickety, splintered rocking chairs. My cohorts were huddled around me, lost in their own conversation.
“Oh yeah? I bet I can still play just fine. I’ll show you,” Robert pouted, glancing down at his nub of a middle finger.
“I bet you can’t. Have you ever seen a four-fingered guitarist? No? Neither have I,” Mary giggled.
“There’s gotta be at least one out there. And if there isn’t, I’ll be the first. I will make my dream come-”
“I’ll do it. I’ll accompany you.”
Everyone’s eyes suddenly shifted to me. “Shhh. Quiet. We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves,” Robert hissed, head on a swivel.
“Robert is right for once,” Mary chimed in, “We’re all ecstatic that you’re coming, but you need to keep your voice down.”
“Right. My apologies. So, what are the details?” I whispered, my cheeks burning red. I hadn’t realized that I’d been so loud. The weight of the decision must have affected me more than I’d initially thought.
George claimed the seat to my right. He began to relay the plan to me, never making eye contact in order to appear as discreet as possible in the event that we had attracted any unwelcome onlookers.
“We are to execute my scheme once we return to our rooms for the evening. In case you were not aware, all patients must be in their rooms by nine o’clock sharp. We will wait until exactly three minutes past ten. The caretakers will be rotating out with the night guard at that time. Fortunately for us, that guard has been at least fifteen minutes late every night for the past year, allowing us a prime opportunity to escape. Are you following thus far?”
“I believe so. But how will we exit our rooms? We are locked in each night, correct?”
“Jumping the gun a bit there, Elizabeth,” George continued, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “We have someone on the inside, who, if I have been informed correctly, is quite fond of you. His name rhymes with ‘Stick,’ if that gives you any indication.”
I couldn’t stop a smile from spreading across my face. Erik. My intuition about him had been spot-on.
“As I was saying, ‘Stick’ is going to conveniently ‘forget’ to lock our rooms tonight. We are to convene here. Do you see that emergency exit?”
I nodded.
“That is where we will take our leave. It requires a key, but to our immense luck, Mary has taken care of that for us. You see, she has acquired a set of skills that some may deem… unethical.”
“So she is a pickpocket. Understood,” I said, motioning for him to continue.
“Once outside, we will need to flee to the driver awaiting our arrival. I will guide you to his position. Following our departure, we will be delivered to a central meeting point, where we will be given a vehicle and everything we will need to begin a new life. Afterward, our paths will never cross again. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Then, relay everything I just told you. I need to be certain that we can pull this off correctly.”
I sighed. “Fine. We are to meet here at exactly three minutes past ten… wait. How are we to know the time? Our rooms do not come furnished with clocks.”
“Good catch. See? This is why I wanted to review it again. Place your hand behind my chair and open it.”
I obliged, trying to draw as little attention to myself as possible. Something cold and metallic fell into my grasp.
“Mary managed to snag that for you earlier today. Please continue.”
I stole a glance at the object in my hand. A shiny, golden pocket watch glimmered back at me.
“Once we meet here, you unlock the door, and we make a break for it. We pile into the waiting vehicle and begin our new lives. Did I leave anything out?”
“Quite a bit, actually, but you’ve retained the important points. In a few short hours, we will all be free once again.”
A battle of emotions waged within me at those words. Rage mingled with sadness, which dissolved into solemn reflection. Would we truly be free? Forced to remain hidden from the world and those who cared about us the most? That did not seem like freedom to me… but, it was worlds better than the alternative.
We bided the remainder of our time discussing trivial matters, such as whether or not cigarettes have negative health effects. (Hats off to George. He pinned the tail on the donkey there.) Once recreational time was complete, I was sent to bread baking. The entire time, my heart was beating like a drum. I waited on pins and needles for some strange incident to befall the class… but to my surprise, nothing did.
I steadied my breathing as I walked down the grungy corridor and back to my room. This was it. Just over an hour and I would never be subjected to live in such squalor ever again.
My mind raced as I lay on the hard ground beside my mattress. I couldn’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of it all. I had spent a tad over twenty-four hours in the most run-down, dysfunctional facility on the planet, and I was already about to take part in a prison break of sorts. It was an unbelievable set of circumstances, yet there I was, seeing them to fruition.
I suddenly knocked my brain back into focus, glancing at the stolen pocket watch. 10:02. I had less than a minute left until my salvation. The hands on the watch moved agonizingly slowly.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Five seconds. Four seconds. Three. Two. One.
The time had finally arrived. I crept up to the door and cautiously pushed it open, peering in both directions. I was met with an empty hallway. Perfect.
I sprinted to the recreational room as fast as my legs could carry me, the soles of my cheaply made shoes slapping against the floor as I went. I pushed open the doors, and there they were. Mary, Robert, and George were all standing by the exit, awaiting my arrival.
“Is everyone ready? I will need you all to run like your lives depend on it. Especially you, Robert. Have I made myself clear?”
“Hey! Yeah, whatever. I got it.”
“Good. Then, you will lead the charge. You are sure to fall behind due to your lack of stamina, so it is imperative to place you in the front. Once I unlock this door, you bolt for it.”
“Sheesh, George. Point taken. The new me’ll go on a diet, okay? Just unlock the friggin’ door already, will ya?”
George nodded, producing a shiny silver key. He inserted it into the lock and shoved the door open with all his might. Robert put his head down and ran as fast as he could… for about half a second.
Robert’s face slammed straight into a stark white uniform.
Samson grinned as he snatched Robert by the neck, holding a rusted kitchen knife to his throat. My eyes grew wide, and I nearly regurgitated my dinner. No. We were so close. This couldn’t be happening.
Samson forced Robert back into the room. Before the door could slam shut, someone followed him inside.
Doctor Cotton’s manic grin looked more depraved than I had ever seen it. His single eye bulged, and he appeared as if he was about to burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter.
“Did you really think that you would make your escape by adhering to such a hair-brained scheme? Surely, you had to think of the consequences.”
I glanced at my acquaintances for… reassurance, I suppose? Needless to say, I would receive none.
Mary’s mouth hung agape. George stared solemnly at his feet. A dark stain began to blossom around Robert’s private area. We were done for.
“And who of the sorry lot of you would have concocted such a flimsy plan? Perhaps it was the pickpocket?” Doctor Cotton cooed, smiling at Mary. She instantly averted her gaze.
“Or perhaps our most recent addition? Such a shame. I was beginning to take a liking to you.” Doctor Cotton’s menacing glare bore into me, sending a shiver down my spine.
“No, I think we are all well aware whose idea this was. It certainly did not arise from that nitwit’s puny excuse for a brain,” he grinned, motioning to Robert.
“So that only leaves one option,” Doctor Cotton purred, running a fingernail down the outline of George’s jaw. “The murd-”
George suddenly leapt into action, spinning the doctor around and pressing a crudely made shank to his neck. “Care to finish your statement, Doctor? The what? I had a bit of trouble hearing you.”
Doctor Cotton’s gleeful expression melted into one of pure fear. He’d lost the upper hand.
“What’s wrong?” George snarled, a wicked grin inching across his lips. “Cat got your tongue?”
Doctor Cotton began babbling incoherently. I couldn’t be certain if he was jumbling his words to spite George, or if it was a genuine reaction produced by unabated terror.
“Well, now that the jig is up, I might as well reveal why I’m here,” George growled.
There was a malevolence to his tone that made my skin crawl. It was almost as if he had transformed into an entirely different person. The man who I knew to be calm and composed now appeared manic and depraved. It frightened me to see him in that state.
“To satiate everyone’s curiosity,” George began, forcing Doctor Cotton closer to the exit, “I was admitted to Trenton Psychiatric Hospital on account of the jury’s verdict. I was deemed unfit to stand trial on seven counts of murder by reason of insanity. George began to cackle maliciously as he shuffled closer and closer to the door.
“Stop! Have you forgotten about your little friend here? I’ll kill him if you take one more step!” Samson shouted. A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead and the knife trembled slightly in his grasp, much to Robert’s dismay.
“You wouldn’t dare. Not if you value your precious doctor’s life, that is.” It seemed that Doctor Cotton had gone completely mute by that point, though he vehemently shook his head. “Come to think of it, ladies, why don’t you go on ahead? I will be with you shortly.”
Mary took my hand and began dragging me to the door. I was still shell shocked after George had dropped the murder bomb. The entire situation was utterly insane.
“Y-you can’t go. I’ll kill him! I will!” Samson shrieked as we proceeded to the door.
“Robert, best of luck. And you,” Mary said, turning to Doctor Cotton, “You can rot in Hell.” She spat into his only good eye, rendering him temporarily blind. Mary flipped the middle finger to Samson as she led me out the door. It felt wrong to leave George and Robert there, yet I knew that it was the safest option. The fewer people in harm’s way, the better.
I suddenly found myself outside next to Mary. The chirping of crickets and the buzz of cicadas filled my ears. The only light emitted from the building to our backs and the streetlamps before us. For a fleeting moment, I was wisped away from all the madness. I closed my eyes, allowing myself to feel the gentle caress of the summer breeze sweeping through my hair. It was heavenly. But then, reality came barreling back like a runaway freight engine.
“Elizabeth? Elizabeth, I need you to look at me,” Mary said, placing her hands on my shoulders, her eyes meeting mine. “Whatever happens, the moment George walks out of that building, we need to run like the wind, okay? Can you do that for me?”
I pursed my lips and nodded. I had to. I was certain that if we were caught, one way or another, none of us would make it out of that institution alive.
We suddenly heard a muffled commotion erupt from behind the door we had just exited from. Shouting and what sounded like violent stabbing noises drifted to our ears.
“Get ready,” Mary whispered.
CLANG!
George crashed through the door, his face drenched in crimson. “Go! Go! Go!” he screamed, as he sprinted past us. Mary and I immediately followed suit.
“Where’s Robert?!” Mary shouted amidst the chaos.
“Didn’t make it. It’s just us now,” George replied.
Without warning, we heard a sickening crash from somewhere behind us.
Samson had flung open the door so hard he’d nearly knocked it off its hinges. Blue, angry veins bulged from his temple, and upon locating us, he immediately gave chase.
I focused on running, willing my legs to move faster. I spared a glance back only once. My eyes grew wide as dinner plates. Samson was rapidly closing the distance.
“There!” George shouted, to my immense relief. A jet-black ‘58 Chevrolet Biscayne sat idling beneath a streetlamp. We just had to keep pushing a bit further.
George was the first to reach the vehicle. He leapt into the passenger seat, leaving Mary and me to fend for the back. Mary had fallen behind me, so I flung the door open and dove to the driver’s side, leaving ample room for her. I turned to Mary, and my heart dropped into my stomach.
Samson was nearly arm’s length away. He was foaming at the mouth, itching to catch up to her before she reached her salvation.
Come on, Mary. You can do this.
I said a silent prayer that she would be alright. Time seemed to slow down in that moment. I watched in both horror and anticipation, as with one final push, Mary leapt into the back seat beside me.
The driver didn’t wait for her to shut the door before our tires squealed against the asphalt. I breathed a sigh of relief and began helping Mary upright.
“I’m so glad that you- Mary. Mary?” My adrenaline roared back like a tidal wave, and my heart felt as if it would burst from my chest at a moment’s notice.
Samson had jumped onto the back of the car. He had a death grip on Mary’s ankle, and he was desperately trying to yank her from the vehicle. I instantly grabbed Mary’s arms and pulled with all my might.
“George! A little help here?” Mary shouted, holding back tears. Samson’s fingernails were embedded deep into her skin, drawing blood.
“Oh, my. What a predicament,” George said, finally taking notice of the scene behind him. “This should do the trick.” He produced the bloody shank we had seen moments prior and began bludgeoning Samson’s hand with it.
He yowled in pain and instinctively retracted it. We wasted no time in slamming the door shut.
“Hey! You can’t hide from me, you little shit stains!” Samson shouted, banging his fists against the glass.
The driver stomped on the brakes, sending the behemoth flying over the hood of the car. Samson lay sprawled out in the street, his right leg twisted at an odd angle. The driver simply swerved around him and continued on our path.
Once everyone had a chance to get their bearings, an eerie silence overtook the atmosphere. The tension was palpable.
“So,” George began, “Mary, Elizabeth. I forgot to introduce you. This is Pierre. He-”
“Why did you leave him.”
All the emotion had drained from Mary’s voice, leaving it flat and monotoned.
“Why did I leave… who?”
“George, don’t give me that shit. You know exactly who. I have a pretty good idea of what you did back there. You slit that maniac doctor’s throat and then you ran. You left Robert to… to die.”
George glanced at her momentarily, the light gleaming off his glass eyeball. Mary threw her hands over her face, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“You. You killed him.”
Mary continued to weep. I numbly rubbed her back, coming to the same realization. Mary was right. That was George’s plan all along. From the moment those two had foiled our scheme, George knew that Robert was going to die.
“I will hear none of that,” George hissed, a hint of sorrow creeping in amongst the rage as he spoke. “I did what had to be done. Robert was my friend too. Believe me, I would have saved him had there been any other way.”
“You could have saved him! We all could have. Maybe if we had just let them take us. If we had stayed and come up with another plan - a better plan - maybe then he would-”
“Mary, you know as well as anyone that letting those two apprehend us was not an option. We would have been dead by morning. As much as I hate the reality of it, Robert is gone, and we have to accept that.”
Mary didn’t respond. She cried and cried until she had no tears left. My heart shattered for her. I knew they were close, but I hadn’t realized how much she had truly cared for Robert until that moment. I would be lying if I told you that I didn’t shed a few tears of my own. For both their sakes.
The remainder of the ride is a blur. At some point, we stopped to clean ourselves up and change clothes. George assured us that our psychiatric garments would be burned to dispose of the evidence. Shortly afterward, we were brought to a warehouse in the middle of nowhere. Each of us was given an Oldsmobile, a week’s worth of clothing, enough money to last a year, documentation for our new identities, and directions to separate safehouses, where we had been instructed to lay low for six months.
“Thank you, George. You didn’t have to include me in your plans. I will be forever grateful to you for that,” I said, extending my hand. George readily accepted it, returning a hearty handshake.
“Make no mention of it. I wouldn’t dream of leaving you.”
We both turned to Mary, who was staring at the ground. She gazed up at us, her eyes puffy and red.
“George. I will never forgive you for what you did to Robert… But you managed to free us. So, I suppose I should thank you.”
“I understand. It has been a pleasure to get to know both of you. I hope that you will lead long and prosperous lives.”
“If only we had met under different circumstances. Take care of yourselves,” I said, offering a wave. The pair nodded and headed to their respective vehicles, never for our paths to cross again.
It has been over sixty-five years since that day. In that time, I followed the instructions to the letter. I eventually came out of hiding and started a family under my new alias. I never told my husband about my past life. To his dying day, he never knew who I truly was. Sadly, I lost him four years ago after a lengthy battle with leukemia. Raymond was a good man. Nothing at all like Allen.
I was never able to visit my parents again. That was the most difficult part. Knowing that they were out there, longing for me to return home, only for their prayers to fall on deaf ears. I wrote many letters to them, but I never managed to drop them off. My parents moved a year or so after my disappearance from the asylum, and I have been unable to locate them since. That is my biggest regret in life. One that still clings to me, even in my old age.
As for the others, I read in the newspaper that Mary was discovered in 1962 after she got into a bar fight. She was sent back to Trenton Psychiatric Hospital. I could find no records of her after that time. As far as I know, George was never found. His wealthy connections ensured that he would remain undetected, unless he seriously slipped up. As for Robert, I can only pray that he was given a proper burial. May his soul eternally rest in peace.
2024.05.08 01:56 cgstories The Devil's Bow and Strings (Ch. 8 Final)
First Chapter Previous Chapter
Mrs. Vilonte stood alone in the bathroom. In her hands, she cradled the urn containing her husband's ashes. The weight of it was surprisingly light, almost inconsequential, like the flutter of a moth's wing against her palm.
There was a tinge of sadness that grazed her heart. She had spent years by his side, experiencing the highs and lows of marriage. And now he was dead. The memorial service had been sparsely attended, with only a handful offering their condolences.
One photographer seemed overly eager to capture a shot of the grieving widow shedding a tear. But Mrs. Vilonte despised tears—seeing them, feeling them trickle down her face. The moment she felt her eyes sting and tears threatening to spill, she brushed them away before they had a chance to fall.
Now, the house was quiet. But mixed with that lingering sadness was a sense of relief, a subtle liberation that whispered to her from the shadows. He had betrayed her. His infidelity had cut deep.
She unscrewed the lid of the urn. The ashes inside seemed to shimmer in the faint light. Without hesitation, she emptied the contents into the toilet bowl and pulled the lever, watching as they spiraled downwards, swallowed by the rushing water.
XXXXXX
She once cherished two joys during her drives to Gabrielle's violin lessons. One was soaking in the serene landscape while indulging in her beloved soft jazz on the radio. The other was the comforting presence of her daughter beside her in the front passenger seat.
Now, she glanced at the vacant seat, and a wave of melancholy washed over her. Shaking off the emotion, she turned her attention back to the road, gripping the wheel tighter as she accelerated. After a stretch of driving, she eventually arrived at the mansion.
She had often wondered how the maestro accumulated such immense wealth. However, after meeting his benefactor and experiencing the allure of that wealth herself, she began to understand the price he had paid–the soul.
Was striking a deal with such a malevolent entity truly worth it? This question haunted her thoughts daily, and still, she had no definitive answer. The allure of luxury was intoxicating like the addictive sweetness of sugar. The more she indulged in it, the stronger her craving became, leaving her caught in a cycle of desire and uncertainty.
The mansion was as elegant and grand as she remembered. In the front yard, a splendid water fountain glistened under the sunlight. Surrounding the mansion was a manicured garden bloomed with vibrant colors and lush foliage.
Before stepping out of the car, she pulled a handgun from the glove compartment and carefully concealed it in her purse. Today was the day she planned to confront him, intent on demanding him to undo the unfortunate turn her life had taken.
The front door was unlocked and it swung open effortlessly as she entered. It slammed shut behind her without her even touching it, and there was no wind to explain it.
“Ah, Mrs. Vilonte,” a familiar male voice greeted warmly, “It's been far too long since our last meeting. You look lovely as ever!”
She looked up to see the young Salerno, leaning casually against the railing at the top of the split staircase. His smirking face drew a scowl from her. She resented his mocking compliment about her looking “lovely as ever.” She wore the same black dress she'd worn since her husband's memorial, now creased from sleep and carrying a faint scent of dried scotch.
“You've had your fun, Salerno,” she retorted, her voice tinged with restrained anger. "I shouldn't have broken our agreement, and I've learned my lesson.”
“Have you?”
“Yes, and I assure you, it won't happen again.”
“So, what can I do for you?”
“I want my life back.”
Salerno's face was solemn, shrouded in silence. Unexpectedly, he erupted into mocking laughter.
“That's not the nature of consequences, my dear,” he remarked. “You must live with what you've done. Forgiveness is not in my nature.
“You've stripped me of my wealth–”
“It wasn't yours to begin with.”
“I have nothing left!”
“Oh, that isn't completely true. You still have your family.”
“You've torn my family apart! My husband is gone, my son imprisoned and now my daughter, too! You've taken her from me.”
“But soon you'll be reunited.”
“What do you mean?”
He motioned for her to ascend the stairs. “You've arrived just in time to witness something miraculous. Something beautiful!”
Confusion clouded Mrs. Vilonte's face until she heard an agonized moan coming from an upstairs room, followed by a cry she knew all too well.
“Gabrielle,” she gasped.
Salerno nodded. “You're about to be a grandmother to another child.”
The haunting images from the field of mirrors flooded back. The abomination—a monstrous entity—was on the brink of entering their world, and who knew what kind of hell it would bring. Suddenly, a powerful force propelled her towards the stairs, her movements no longer under her control. Before she knew it, she stood face to face with Salerno on the top landing. His grin exposed jagged, menacing teeth, and his eyes were pools of darkness. With talon-like fingers, he grasped her shoulders, their sharp points piercing her skin.
He led her into the master bedroom, where Gabrielle lay in a fitful sleep on a queen-size bed, her movements restless. Her eyes were closed, and sweat had matted her hair to her head. Beside her sat Victoria, whose skin showed signs of decay, and she moved with a robotic, disjointed motion as she wiped the sweat from Gabrielle's face with a cloth. When Victoria moved aside, Mrs. Vilonte shivered, finding herself staring into Victoria's empty, hollow eye sockets.
Salerno leaned in close to her ear, his voice a low whisper as he said, “My children are everywhere, and this newborn will join them, serving me in this world. You should feel honored to be part of something extraordinary, something greater than yourself.”
Slipping free from his hold, she quickly made her way to her daughter's bedside, sweeping aside stray locks from her face. The moment her fingers made contact with her skin, Gabrielle began to calm down.
“Gabby, it's Mom,” she whispered gently, a wave of relief washing over her as her daughter's eyes fluttered open in response.
“Did you enjoy the concert, Mom?” Gabrielle asked, faintly.
“Well, it was an unforgettable performance, that's for sure.”
“Didn’t I do a phenomenal job?”
“Let's talk about it when we get home.”
“Home?”
“Yes, you're coming home with me now.”
“I can't... the baby is going to arrive soon,” Gabrielle gasped, her voice strained with pain. "It hurts too much to move.”
“You’ll have to endure it! We need to get out of here!”
Mrs. Vilonte tossed aside the blanket and firmly grasped her arm, pulling her out of the bed. Gabrielle staggered and lost her footing, sliding down onto the floor. She reached for the edge of the bed, trying to soften her sudden fall.
“Run, run, but wherever you hide,” Salerno sang, “you'll never escape this hell.”
Mrs. Vilonte quickly drew the handgun from her purse, aiming it at him as he approached. Her eyes darted between Salerno and Victoria, the gun wavering between the two.
“Stay back! Just let us go.”
Salerno chuckled. “Mrs. Vilonte, really now? Violence won't solve your problems.”
A deafening bang echoed through the room. He staggered back, pressing a hand to his belly as blood began to seep through his white shirt. His mouth opened, releasing a plume of black smoke that coalesced into the silhouette of a large goat standing upright on its hind legs.
The creature glared at her with red eyes before the smoke dissipated. Then, as if the inevitable march of age had finally caught up to him within seconds, his vitality began to wane. His once smooth skin transformed into a web of wrinkles. His dark eyes dimmed, replaced by a cloudy haze. His jet-black hair turned a shocking shade of white, contrasting starkly with the pallor of his skin. His cheeks began to sink.
Salerno, aged and frail, sank to the floor, his hand stubbornly pressed against his wound as if hoping to halt the flow of blood. “Run, run, but wherever you hide, you'll never escape this hell.”
Mrs. Vilonte seized her daughter's arm, hauling her upright, all the while keeping the gun trained between Salerno and Victoria. Victoria lay collapsed on the floor, reduced to a heap of decomposed skin devoid of bones and muscle.
A deep rumble echoed through the room, causing it to tremble and sway. Cracks snaked across the walls, paint peeling away in tattered sheets. Twisting, blood-red vines crept from the fractures, weaving their way across walls and ceiling. Acting quickly, Mrs. Vilonte seized Gabrielle, who had collapsed to the floor, teeth clenched in pain from another surge of agony. She pulled her up by the arm, forcing her to her feet and pushing her towards the door.
The mansion, once a symbol of pride when she'd taken her daughter for the maestro’s lessons, was transforming into a nightmarish scene. Blood oozed from the decaying walls, while a noxious sulfuric odor filled the air, nearly suffocating Mrs. Vilonte and making each breath a struggle.
She didn't pause for rest or allow Gabrielle a moment to catch her breath until they were safely out of the house and speeding away in the car, putting as much distance as possible between them and the area.
“Mom, stop the car,” Gabrielle groaned in pain from the back seat.
“Hold on tight, honey. We'll go to the nearest hospital.”
“I can't wait anymore!”
“It won't be long. Twenty minutes.”
“I can feel the baby wanting to come out.”
Mrs. Vilonte looked up at the rearview mirror, where she saw Gabrielle's sweaty face scrunched up in pain, gripping her rounded belly with both hands.
“I know this isn’t easy,” she said, “but you need to hold out a little longer. We'll be at the hospital very soon.”
“STOP THE CAR!”
The car came to a sudden stop, jolting Mrs. Vilonte forward and almost throwing Gabrielle off from her seat.
“The baby is coming! Mom, help me!” Gabrielle cried.
“The baby…”
Mrs. Vilonte couldn't shake the thought that this creature couldn't possibly be human. The horrifying acts that it could be capable of frightened her, and the idea that it shared a bloodline with her sickened her even more. Her hand moved to the handgun resting on the passenger seat beside her, considering the one extreme solution she could think of for such an unusual situation.
It wasn't ideal, but she saw no other option.
She took hold of the gun and stepped out of the car, approaching the rear passenger side. Opening the door, she found her daughter propped on her elbows, lifting her dress to reveal the widening canal. Gabrielle let out a menacing growl as she pushed.
Mrs. Vilonte crouched to inspect closer, and instantly felt the unsettling, malevolent presence. The entity seemed to be trying to claw its way out from the depths of the abyss. It inched towards the light, its growls growing louder like a ravenous animal. As Gabrielle pushed further, its red, snouted face broke through, its eyes snapping open to lock onto hers with an intense, black-eyed glare.
Startled, she stumbled back, her hands grasping for the handgun that had slipped from her trembling fingers. As she aimed at the creature before her, an unseen force encircled her hands. She fought to maintain control, but the force twisted the weapon, redirecting it towards her. Suddenly, she found herself staring down the barrel of her gun.
The trees came alive with a flurry of motion as a group of birds took flight, their wings beating frantically against the sky. The once-quiet canopy echoed with the sound of panicked chirps and the movement of feathers, as the startled birds scattered in all directions, seeking refuge from the sudden disturbance caused by a blast.
XXXXX
In the forest of another realm, beyond the physical world, her skin melded seamlessly with the tree's bark, as vines snaked their way around her, ensnaring her limbs. Fungi blossomed from her mouth, rendering her voiceless as her tongue was entwined.
The goat-like creature approached her, brandishing a small mirror, coercing her to confront her distorted reflection. Little remained of her once recognizable features. Worms and roaches had taken residence in the hollow cavity where her nose and right eye had been. With her one remaining eye, she gazed into the mirror, waves of anguish coursing through her being as she beheld the grim reflection of what she had transformed into.
Then, as her ghastly reflection faded, a young man with dark hair and eyes as deep as coal materialized, wearing a black suit, standing with poise on a stage, holding up a violin. Upon closer look, she realized it to be the very violin Gabrielle had once owned.
“Behold what my child has become,” the entity proclaimed. “Are you not as proud of him as I am?”
XXXXX
A bright light beamed down on the young man standing center stage, his violin poised in his hands. His fingers glided over the strings, and with each passing note, the audience, their eyes fixed on him, was drawn deeper into his spell. It wrapped around the listeners' hearts and pulled them into a trance-like state. And as the last notes hung in the air, the audience were suspended in silence and left breathless. Then, they leaped to their feet in thunderous applause.
With a twisted smile, he relished the adulation. He knew he had sway over them, puppet master of their actions. He could simply issue a command, and they would eagerly comply, ready to enact his darkest fantasies. He imagined directing his willing servants to get up on the roof of a towering building and leap into the abyss below, willingly offering themselves as sacrifices.
He envisioned chaos unleashed upon the streets, cars overturned, windows shattered, and buildings engulfed in flames. All at his behest. The world lay at his fingertips, ripe for manipulation and destruction, as he thought about the countless ways he could bring about humanity’s demise.
After his final bow, the young man turned to face the audience, expressing heartfelt thanks for their attendance, eliciting both laughter and warm affection from the crowd. But, amidst the resounding applause, one figure remained still in the front row, confined to a wheelchair. He stared straight at her face which was hidden behind a thin black veil.
Though her body remained motionless in the chair, incapable of even the slightest movement, her one good eye was very much alive, fully engaged with her surroundings. And there was something else in her gaze. He could sense it from the stage, and it made him chuckle. It was an aroma he found intoxicating – the unmistakable stench of fear, seeping from every pore like primal pheromones.
The audience clamored for an encore, yearning to satisfy their insatiable thirst for more music. Their fervent cries echoed through tears. Lifting his violin once more, he hushed the audience with a single motion. The moment the red bow touched the strings, pandemonium broke loose. The spectators lost all self-control, leaping from their seats, clutching their heads, and tearing at their hair in a wild frenzy. They were completely entranced, surrendered to the power of the music.
As his crescendo intensified, a raging fire surged within them, mirrored by the frantic speed of his fingers on the strings. With each chord, they tore at their garments, sinking nails and teeth into one another's flesh. Chaos exploded, mingling with the scent of blood and the sound of rending flesh.
Mrs. Vilonte remained seated in her wheelchair, an impassive observer amidst the chaos, her voice silenced, her limbs still. She bore witness to the madness, her mind ensnared within its chaos, forever lost to its depths.
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Mrs. Vilonte stood alone in the bathroom. In her hands, she cradled the urn containing her husband's ashes. The weight of it was surprisingly light, almost inconsequential, like the flutter of a moth's wing against her palm.
There was a tinge of sadness that grazed her heart. She had spent years by his side, experiencing the highs and lows of marriage. And now he was dead. The memorial service had been sparsely attended, with only a handful offering their condolences.
One photographer seemed overly eager to capture a shot of the grieving widow shedding a tear. But Mrs. Vilonte despised tears—seeing them, feeling them trickle down her face. The moment she felt her eyes sting and tears threatening to spill, she brushed them away before they had a chance to fall.
Now, the house was quiet. But mixed with that lingering sadness was a sense of relief, a subtle liberation that whispered to her from the shadows. He had betrayed her. His infidelity had cut deep.
She unscrewed the lid of the urn. The ashes inside seemed to shimmer in the faint light. Without hesitation, she emptied the contents into the toilet bowl and pulled the lever, watching as they spiraled downwards, swallowed by the rushing water.
XXXXXX
She once cherished two joys during her drives to Gabrielle's violin lessons. One was soaking in the serene landscape while indulging in her beloved soft jazz on the radio. The other was the comforting presence of her daughter beside her in the front passenger seat.
Now, she glanced at the vacant seat, and a wave of melancholy washed over her. Shaking off the emotion, she turned her attention back to the road, gripping the wheel tighter as she accelerated. After a stretch of driving, she eventually arrived at the mansion.
She had often wondered how the maestro accumulated such immense wealth. However, after meeting his benefactor and experiencing the allure of that wealth herself, she began to understand the price he had paid–the soul.
Was striking a deal with such a malevolent entity truly worth it? This question haunted her thoughts daily, and still, she had no definitive answer. The allure of luxury was intoxicating like the addictive sweetness of sugar. The more she indulged in it, the stronger her craving became, leaving her caught in a cycle of desire and uncertainty.
The mansion was as elegant and grand as she remembered. In the front yard, a splendid water fountain glistened under the sunlight. Surrounding the mansion was a manicured garden bloomed with vibrant colors and lush foliage.
Before stepping out of the car, she pulled a handgun from the glove compartment and carefully concealed it in her purse. Today was the day she planned to confront him, intent on demanding him to undo the unfortunate turn her life had taken.
The front door was unlocked and it swung open effortlessly as she entered. It slammed shut behind her without her even touching it, and there was no wind to explain it.
“Ah, Mrs. Vilonte,” a familiar male voice greeted warmly, “It's been far too long since our last meeting. You look lovely as ever!”
She looked up to see the young Salerno, leaning casually against the railing at the top of the split staircase. His smirking face drew a scowl from her. She resented his mocking compliment about her looking “lovely as ever.” She wore the same black dress she'd worn since her husband's memorial, now creased from sleep and carrying a faint scent of dried scotch.
“You've had your fun, Salerno,” she retorted, her voice tinged with restrained anger. "I shouldn't have broken our agreement, and I've learned my lesson.”
“Have you?”
“Yes, and I assure you, it won't happen again.”
“So, what can I do for you?”
“I want my life back.”
Salerno's face was solemn, shrouded in silence. Unexpectedly, he erupted into mocking laughter.
“That's not the nature of consequences, my dear,” he remarked. “You must live with what you've done. Forgiveness is not in my nature.
“You've stripped me of my wealth–”
“It wasn't yours to begin with.”
“I have nothing left!”
“Oh, that isn't completely true. You still have your family.”
“You've torn my family apart! My husband is gone, my son imprisoned and now my daughter, too! You've taken her from me.”
“But soon you'll be reunited.”
“What do you mean?”
He motioned for her to ascend the stairs. “You've arrived just in time to witness something miraculous. Something beautiful!”
Confusion clouded Mrs. Vilonte's face until she heard an agonized moan coming from an upstairs room, followed by a cry she knew all too well.
“Gabrielle,” she gasped.
Salerno nodded. “You're about to be a grandmother to another child.”
The haunting images from the field of mirrors flooded back. The abomination—a monstrous entity—was on the brink of entering their world, and who knew what kind of hell it would bring. Suddenly, a powerful force propelled her towards the stairs, her movements no longer under her control. Before she knew it, she stood face to face with Salerno on the top landing. His grin exposed jagged, menacing teeth, and his eyes were pools of darkness. With talon-like fingers, he grasped her shoulders, their sharp points piercing her skin.
He led her into the master bedroom, where Gabrielle lay in a fitful sleep on a queen-size bed, her movements restless. Her eyes were closed, and sweat had matted her hair to her head. Beside her sat Victoria, whose skin showed signs of decay, and she moved with a robotic, disjointed motion as she wiped the sweat from Gabrielle's face with a cloth. When Victoria moved aside, Mrs. Vilonte shivered, finding herself staring into Victoria's empty, hollow eye sockets.
Salerno leaned in close to her ear, his voice a low whisper as he said, “My children are everywhere, and this newborn will join them, serving me in this world. You should feel honored to be part of something extraordinary, something greater than yourself.”
Slipping free from his hold, she quickly made her way to her daughter's bedside, sweeping aside stray locks from her face. The moment her fingers made contact with her skin, Gabrielle began to calm down.
“Gabby, it's Mom,” she whispered gently, a wave of relief washing over her as her daughter's eyes fluttered open in response.
“Did you enjoy the concert, Mom?” Gabrielle asked, faintly.
“Well, it was an unforgettable performance, that's for sure.”
“Didn’t I do a phenomenal job?”
“Let's talk about it when we get home.”
“Home?”
“Yes, you're coming home with me now.”
“I can't... the baby is going to arrive soon,” Gabrielle gasped, her voice strained with pain. "It hurts too much to move.”
“You’ll have to endure it! We need to get out of here!”
Mrs. Vilonte tossed aside the blanket and firmly grasped her arm, pulling her out of the bed. Gabrielle staggered and lost her footing, sliding down onto the floor. She reached for the edge of the bed, trying to soften her sudden fall.
“Run, run, but wherever you hide,” Salerno sang, “you'll never escape this hell.”
Mrs. Vilonte quickly drew the handgun from her purse, aiming it at him as he approached. Her eyes darted between Salerno and Victoria, the gun wavering between the two.
“Stay back! Just let us go.”
Salerno chuckled. “Mrs. Vilonte, really now? Violence won't solve your problems.”
A deafening bang echoed through the room. He staggered back, pressing a hand to his belly as blood began to seep through his white shirt. His mouth opened, releasing a plume of black smoke that coalesced into the silhouette of a large goat standing upright on its hind legs.
The creature glared at her with red eyes before the smoke dissipated. Then, as if the inevitable march of age had finally caught up to him within seconds, his vitality began to wane. His once smooth skin transformed into a web of wrinkles. His dark eyes dimmed, replaced by a cloudy haze. His jet-black hair turned a shocking shade of white, contrasting starkly with the pallor of his skin. His cheeks began to sink.
Salerno, aged and frail, sank to the floor, his hand stubbornly pressed against his wound as if hoping to halt the flow of blood. “Run, run, but wherever you hide, you'll never escape this hell.”
Mrs. Vilonte seized her daughter's arm, hauling her upright, all the while keeping the gun trained between Salerno and Victoria. Victoria lay collapsed on the floor, reduced to a heap of decomposed skin devoid of bones and muscle.
A deep rumble echoed through the room, causing it to tremble and sway. Cracks snaked across the walls, paint peeling away in tattered sheets. Twisting, blood-red vines crept from the fractures, weaving their way across walls and ceiling. Acting quickly, Mrs. Vilonte seized Gabrielle, who had collapsed to the floor, teeth clenched in pain from another surge of agony. She pulled her up by the arm, forcing her to her feet and pushing her towards the door.
The mansion, once a symbol of pride when she'd taken her daughter for the maestro’s lessons, was transforming into a nightmarish scene. Blood oozed from the decaying walls, while a noxious sulfuric odor filled the air, nearly suffocating Mrs. Vilonte and making each breath a struggle.
She didn't pause for rest or allow Gabrielle a moment to catch her breath until they were safely out of the house and speeding away in the car, putting as much distance as possible between them and the area.
“Mom, stop the car,” Gabrielle groaned in pain from the back seat.
“Hold on tight, honey. We'll go to the nearest hospital.”
“I can't wait anymore!”
“It won't be long. Twenty minutes.”
“I can feel the baby wanting to come out.”
Mrs. Vilonte looked up at the rearview mirror, where she saw Gabrielle's sweaty face scrunched up in pain, gripping her rounded belly with both hands.
“I know this isn’t easy,” she said, “but you need to hold out a little longer. We'll be at the hospital very soon.”
“STOP THE CAR!”
The car came to a sudden stop, jolting Mrs. Vilonte forward and almost throwing Gabrielle off from her seat.
“The baby is coming! Mom, help me!” Gabrielle cried.
“The baby…”
Mrs. Vilonte couldn't shake the thought that this creature couldn't possibly be human. The horrifying acts that it could be capable of frightened her, and the idea that it shared a bloodline with her sickened her even more. Her hand moved to the handgun resting on the passenger seat beside her, considering the one extreme solution she could think of for such an unusual situation.
It wasn't ideal, but she saw no other option.
She took hold of the gun and stepped out of the car, approaching the rear passenger side. Opening the door, she found her daughter propped on her elbows, lifting her dress to reveal the widening canal. Gabrielle let out a menacing growl as she pushed.
Mrs. Vilonte crouched to inspect closer, and instantly felt the unsettling, malevolent presence. The entity seemed to be trying to claw its way out from the depths of the abyss. It inched towards the light, its growls growing louder like a ravenous animal. As Gabrielle pushed further, its red, snouted face broke through, its eyes snapping open to lock onto hers with an intense, black-eyed glare.
Startled, she stumbled back, her hands grasping for the handgun that had slipped from her trembling fingers. As she aimed at the creature before her, an unseen force encircled her hands. She fought to maintain control, but the force twisted the weapon, redirecting it towards her. Suddenly, she found herself staring down the barrel of her gun.
The trees came alive with a flurry of motion as a group of birds took flight, their wings beating frantically against the sky. The once-quiet canopy echoed with the sound of panicked chirps and the movement of feathers, as the startled birds scattered in all directions, seeking refuge from the sudden disturbance caused by a blast.
XXXXX
In the forest of another realm, beyond the physical world, her skin melded seamlessly with the tree's bark, as vines snaked their way around her, ensnaring her limbs. Fungi blossomed from her mouth, rendering her voiceless as her tongue was entwined.
The goat-like creature approached her, brandishing a small mirror, coercing her to confront her distorted reflection. Little remained of her once recognizable features. Worms and roaches had taken residence in the hollow cavity where her nose and right eye had been. With her one remaining eye, she gazed into the mirror, waves of anguish coursing through her being as she beheld the grim reflection of what she had transformed into.
Then, as her ghastly reflection faded, a young man with dark hair and eyes as deep as coal materialized, wearing a black suit, standing with poise on a stage, holding up a violin. Upon closer look, she realized it to be the very violin Gabrielle had once owned.
“Behold what my child has become,” the entity proclaimed. “Are you not as proud of him as I am?”
XXXXX
A bright light beamed down on the young man standing center stage, his violin poised in his hands. His fingers glided over the strings, and with each passing note, the audience, their eyes fixed on him, was drawn deeper into his spell. It wrapped around the listeners' hearts and pulled them into a trance-like state. And as the last notes hung in the air, the audience were suspended in silence and left breathless. Then, they leaped to their feet in thunderous applause.
With a twisted smile, he relished the adulation. He knew he had sway over them, puppet master of their actions. He could simply issue a command, and they would eagerly comply, ready to enact his darkest fantasies. He imagined directing his willing servants to get up on the roof of a towering building and leap into the abyss below, willingly offering themselves as sacrifices.
He envisioned chaos unleashed upon the streets, cars overturned, windows shattered, and buildings engulfed in flames. All at his behest. The world lay at his fingertips, ripe for manipulation and destruction, as he thought about the countless ways he could bring about humanity’s demise.
After his final bow, the young man turned to face the audience, expressing heartfelt thanks for their attendance, eliciting both laughter and warm affection from the crowd. But, amidst the resounding applause, one figure remained still in the front row, confined to a wheelchair. He stared straight at her face which was hidden behind a thin black veil.
Though her body remained motionless in the chair, incapable of even the slightest movement, her one good eye was very much alive, fully engaged with her surroundings. And there was something else in her gaze. He could sense it from the stage, and it made him chuckle. It was an aroma he found intoxicating – the unmistakable stench of fear, seeping from every pore like primal pheromones.
The audience clamored for an encore, yearning to satisfy their insatiable thirst for more music. Their fervent cries echoed through tears. Lifting his violin once more, he hushed the audience with a single motion. The moment the red bow touched the strings, pandemonium broke loose. The spectators lost all self-control, leaping from their seats, clutching their heads, and tearing at their hair in a wild frenzy. They were completely entranced, surrendered to the power of the music.
As his crescendo intensified, a raging fire surged within them, mirrored by the frantic speed of his fingers on the strings. With each chord, they tore at their garments, sinking nails and teeth into one another's flesh. Chaos exploded, mingling with the scent of blood and the sound of rending flesh.
Mrs. Vilonte remained seated in her wheelchair, an impassive observer amidst the chaos, her voice silenced, her limbs still. She bore witness to the madness, her mind ensnared within its chaos, forever lost to its depths.
2024.05.08 01:47 BitsNDiodes I feel embarrassed going to the ER for my headaches
I still dont know if they are migraines or not but Topamax or sumatriptan doesnt work too well and I am tired as hell. My ears burn and ache, My eyes burn, pain varies from My forehead, on top of my head, the back of My head, and i have a stiff burning neck. My head burns and has a dull pain. I have dull burning pain on My cheeks. It hurts My head to chew. I also have chronic fatigue. I also suffer from post nasal drip, tonsil stones, and tonsilitis. My tonsils are scheduled to be removed in June. Im thinking this could be from My depo shot because I had My shot in August and my headaches have been progesssively been getting worse for 4 months. So I do not know. This is causing me significant depression and anxiety that I was hospitalized and I was given a CT scan due to My history of hydrocephalus. I also had a fever of 100.4. They thought i had meningitis but it was ruled out and treated with vancomycin Just in case. My CT scan was okay. However, the night before discharge i was not getting much better and I wanted to commit Suicide and was put in the mental hospital. So…im a bit embarrassed now for going to the ER. I dont know what else they would do if I went again.
submitted by BitsNDiodes to migraine [link] [comments]
2024.05.08 01:46 MelodyRuin WIBTA If I never told my husband the truth?
(First Post, Second Post, Third Post and Fourth Post to get newcomers caught up. Say hello to a new POV my returning readers! I will preface this by saying I didn't do any of this. This was story progression, I just added some of my own context to the already made story.)
Hello! I was told about this place by my husband a while back and need to get something off of my chest! Names will shorted to first letters to keep things private, so this doesn't get back to the wrong eyes!
I'll start from the beginning, which was when my mom, B (62f) brought home her new boyfriend, D (36m), six years after my dad died. It was a bit awkward, since he was around my age, but my mom had been quite a bit younger then my dad, so it wasn't anything new and we got used to him being around pretty quickly. Shortly after, I met my now husband, W (52m), and we hit it off as friends. As time went on, I got pretty close to both W and D, and one day, W asked me out on a date. I agreed, and it was really fun. He took me to the park, then over to the bar, and we ended the night back at my place, where things got more then a little heated. After that night, we started dating, and were practically inseparable. We were engaged nine months into dating, and our wedding happened ten months after that.
The night before my wedding, I went out to get some drinks with my brother, A (25m), and D, and well, one thing led to another.. and the next morning I woke up with D beside me. I don't know how we weren't caught by my mom, but we weren't. I kicked him out of my room, disgusted with the fact that I'd done that the day before I'd been planned to get married. I was going to tell W about the accidental affair as soon as I saw him, however, he was just so happy about marrying me, that I chickened out. I told myself that it wasn't like I'd do it again, so what's one little affair to a life time of happiness?
It was only going to be the one time, and it was, for about six months. Then, I got curious. What was the point in feeling guilty over an affair you couldn't remember? It wasn't fair for me to be so bent out of shape over an incident I can't even remember, so the night before my mother was set to marry D, I invited him out to a club, and we both drank a little, and then well..
We woke up in each others arms the next morning, and this time he kicked me out of his room. I went back to the room I shared with W, and after showering to get the stench of another man off of my skin, I joined him in bed. It was only supposed to be the one extra time, just so I had something to feel guilty about, but after that night, I just couldn't seem to keep myself away from him, and we ended up cheating on our partners a couple more times before finally calling the whole thing off when we'd almost gotten caught by my mom.
I learned just a few weeks after my last encounter with D that I was pregnant. I knew it was his, it had to be because W was practically infertile, and we'd also not slept together around that time, though we did do it a week after the final meeting, so I waited a week, and then told him. I was nervous, because he'd told me that the reason his last relationship hadn't worked was due to her winding up pregnant, as he'd never wanted kids. He was hesitant for the first trimester, not wanting to go through the hassle of a divorce but also not really wanting to have kids, but after the first time he felt the little baby inside of me kick against his hand, he was sold, and about six months later, my daughter, C (3f) was born.
I've never told W that C isn't his kid, though I did tell D that he's the father, and he's over the moon to have a child. He fawns over her constantly, but due to him technically being her grandfather, nobody suspects a thing. For a while, I was happy to pretend W was C's dad, as he was so happy about it, however, recently, A found out that C wasn't really W's kid after he overheard me and D somewhat flirting and chatting about C's future, and he confronted me, asking me if W knew, and when I was going to tell him. I said never, because it would only lead to a bunch of pain for W. My brother was furious at this, and insisted that I tell W and our mother because it wasn't right to leave them in the dark about something like this. I told him he had no room to talk, as he have five kids with four different married ladies. He got mad and hasn't talked to me or D since my argument with him, and I've been really thinking over his words, wondering if I made the right move or not, so I decided I'd come here to try and figure things out, since you managed to help W out in the past. Is A right? Would I be in the wrong if I never told W he's not C's real father, or is it better to just keep it from him and my mom, so they can be happy, like I have been doing?
submitted by MelodyRuin to AITASims [link] [comments]
Hello! I was told about this place by my husband a while back and need to get something off of my chest! Names will shorted to first letters to keep things private, so this doesn't get back to the wrong eyes!
I'll start from the beginning, which was when my mom, B (62f) brought home her new boyfriend, D (36m), six years after my dad died. It was a bit awkward, since he was around my age, but my mom had been quite a bit younger then my dad, so it wasn't anything new and we got used to him being around pretty quickly. Shortly after, I met my now husband, W (52m), and we hit it off as friends. As time went on, I got pretty close to both W and D, and one day, W asked me out on a date. I agreed, and it was really fun. He took me to the park, then over to the bar, and we ended the night back at my place, where things got more then a little heated. After that night, we started dating, and were practically inseparable. We were engaged nine months into dating, and our wedding happened ten months after that.
The night before my wedding, I went out to get some drinks with my brother, A (25m), and D, and well, one thing led to another.. and the next morning I woke up with D beside me. I don't know how we weren't caught by my mom, but we weren't. I kicked him out of my room, disgusted with the fact that I'd done that the day before I'd been planned to get married. I was going to tell W about the accidental affair as soon as I saw him, however, he was just so happy about marrying me, that I chickened out. I told myself that it wasn't like I'd do it again, so what's one little affair to a life time of happiness?
It was only going to be the one time, and it was, for about six months. Then, I got curious. What was the point in feeling guilty over an affair you couldn't remember? It wasn't fair for me to be so bent out of shape over an incident I can't even remember, so the night before my mother was set to marry D, I invited him out to a club, and we both drank a little, and then well..
We woke up in each others arms the next morning, and this time he kicked me out of his room. I went back to the room I shared with W, and after showering to get the stench of another man off of my skin, I joined him in bed. It was only supposed to be the one extra time, just so I had something to feel guilty about, but after that night, I just couldn't seem to keep myself away from him, and we ended up cheating on our partners a couple more times before finally calling the whole thing off when we'd almost gotten caught by my mom.
I learned just a few weeks after my last encounter with D that I was pregnant. I knew it was his, it had to be because W was practically infertile, and we'd also not slept together around that time, though we did do it a week after the final meeting, so I waited a week, and then told him. I was nervous, because he'd told me that the reason his last relationship hadn't worked was due to her winding up pregnant, as he'd never wanted kids. He was hesitant for the first trimester, not wanting to go through the hassle of a divorce but also not really wanting to have kids, but after the first time he felt the little baby inside of me kick against his hand, he was sold, and about six months later, my daughter, C (3f) was born.
I've never told W that C isn't his kid, though I did tell D that he's the father, and he's over the moon to have a child. He fawns over her constantly, but due to him technically being her grandfather, nobody suspects a thing. For a while, I was happy to pretend W was C's dad, as he was so happy about it, however, recently, A found out that C wasn't really W's kid after he overheard me and D somewhat flirting and chatting about C's future, and he confronted me, asking me if W knew, and when I was going to tell him. I said never, because it would only lead to a bunch of pain for W. My brother was furious at this, and insisted that I tell W and our mother because it wasn't right to leave them in the dark about something like this. I told him he had no room to talk, as he have five kids with four different married ladies. He got mad and hasn't talked to me or D since my argument with him, and I've been really thinking over his words, wondering if I made the right move or not, so I decided I'd come here to try and figure things out, since you managed to help W out in the past. Is A right? Would I be in the wrong if I never told W he's not C's real father, or is it better to just keep it from him and my mom, so they can be happy, like I have been doing?