Chocolate chip cake from scratch

My sister is obsessed with feeding me!
Ever since my sister, Sophie, was a teenager, she has had a feeding disorder, that most likely has evolved from what I assume to be her own eating disorder. The more she feeds others, the more relieved, and delighted she feels. She becomes irritated when I refuse to eat what she has cooked/brought because of what I believe to be a sophisticated eating disorder.
Preparing food and feeding others is like a manifestation of her unfilled needs, some kind of resolution to her restriction on food (her refusal to eat carbs and chocolate). For example, when I broke my arm, we sat in the hospital from 3pm in the afternoon til late. She was insistent on getting me dinner at the hospital and I agreed since I was hungry and bored in the waiting room. She returned with a pie, chips, reeses pieces, and choccy milk, (she does not refrain from feeding me junk lol), however when I finished I noticed she was eating just a mere pack of popcorn for her dinner – a stark juxtaposition to what she brought for me.
Unfortunately, this is only one occasion of her obsession with feeding me, if I refuse the food, she will scold me and make negative remarks like, ‘You aren’t eating enough, you will become scrawny’. She manipulates me to feel guilty if I do not consume what she has brought me, it has gotten to a point where I don’t even want to see her anymore, because I feel so pressured to consume to junk she has brought for me.
Does anyone else have a family member or friend who is an obsessive feeder? Has anyone dealt with this issue?

Here is the recap of the 11 monetized posts from Kylea G Weight loss Journey on 05/18/24.
"Greed is a never-ending hunger, that drives people to sacrifice morals and values for personal gain." -Unknown
⚠️ Compulsive Buying Disorder (CBD), aka shopping addiction, Disordered Eating, Gaslighting, Grief, Illness, Infertility, TTC (trying to conceive) Community, and Religion will be discussed.
Disclaimers: I am not a physician, influencer, or paid content creator. I am not affiliated with WW. I am semi-retired from the healthcare field with multiple college degrees. These opinions are my own based on social media content. I wish no harm to Kylea or Joseph "Joe" Gomez.
☎️ If you or someone you know is struggling or in crisis, please call or text 988 for assistance.
Behind the Scenes Family Update: Kylea Gomez has been exploiting a life-changing medical diagnosis of a close relative (without their permission and against their wishes) to internet strangers in social media messages. She has claimed that she is supporting this relative (which is a lie) to justify her work ethic, productivity, and even basic hygiene issues. Let that sink in for a moment...
To this relative: You, your family, and your medical team are in my prayers. ✝️
To Kylea's Biological Parents: Your daughter disparages your name and relationship for personal and financial gain frequently. No concert, trip, or gift provided to you with money obtained under (allegedly) false and deceptive pretenses justifies Kylea's disturbing behaviors. Stop enabling her.
California Clarification: Kylea was rejected by a Cavapoo breeder from adopting the Original Birdie (OB) during her California trip. I am thankful to the breeders of OB for making a tough decision in the best interest of the puppy. For me, this seals the deal that Kylea falsified details of this California trip and rushed home to find Backup Birdie (BB), who is the focus of today's content.
The tagline of Kylea G Weight loss Journey is, "I changed my entire life with prayer and a playlist of songs. No surgery, no meds. Just Jesus."
DAILY STATS: 05/18/24
0/11 posts discussed prayer
0/11 posts discussed music
0/11 posts discussed exercise
3/11 posts discussed a recipe
1/11 posts was about takeout "coffee" at 5 am
7/11 posts were about Birdie Mae 🐶
📢 For our friends at Meta, that means 63% of Kylea's monetized content had nothing to do with weight loss, which is the tagline and purpose of her page. Her weight loss journey ended July 2023 per her content. Why do you continue to pay her for non-weight loss content?
⚠️ Disordered Eating- Daily WW Points Used (Data compiled from monetized content):
1 WW Point: Crazy Llama "coffee" with almond milk, sugar-free vanilla, sugar-free peppermint, and sugar-free white chocolate
3 WW Points: Taco Soup with 12 Trader Joe's Rolled Corn Chili & Lime flavored Tortilla Chips
📢 For our friends at Meta, Kylea consumed 4 WW points out of (up to) 30 daily WW points= SEVERE disordered eating. This messaging is deadly for those on a weight loss journey. Follow your policies and take action.
Recipes Shared: 1. Taco Soup: 🚨 This recipe has dangerous sodium levels. Please know your daily sodium recommendations before making this recipe. 🚨

1. Taco Rice Bowls: The soup is drained and added to 1 minute jalapeño rice with cheese. 🚨 The sodium alert is the same as above. 🚨

☎️ Please speak with a medical professional about any questions or concerns you have about your health.
Comments: To the animal lovers, I am sending you good vibes to get through this nonsense. Here we go...

1. Coffee at 5am: Kylea and Joe are pictured in their vehicle outside Crazy Llama Coffee with the sun shining bright. Kylea claims she was home at 5 am, and Joe took her right away to get her "favorite coffee."

⏸️ The sun rises in Joplin after 6 am. Why lie? ⏸️ Her facial sunburn that disappeared yesterday is back today. How did that happen? ⏸️ Kylea claims she does not have cravings or temptations. However, she is addicted to sweet. Her "coffee" is beige colored at best, and she needed it right away...

1. Backup Birdie Part 1: Her airline approved pet travel accessory backpack is shown in the vehicle. "All my dog mom dreams are coming true today 💖 🐶"
   
2. Backup Birdie Part 2: "My heart is so full!!! 💖 🐶 I got the cuddliest, cutest, sweetest girl. 😭 I cried when I met my puppy for the first time because I love her so much already!!"
   

⏸️ Kylea's followers immediately started asking to see pictures and were told they needed to wait until after Kylea's family met her first. HoWeVeR, some influencers (bestie Drue Basham, Drue's SIL Sierra, Brittany Bryant, etc.) got to see her first and comment from their influencer accounts about Birdie. I'm sorry, loyal top fans and followers, possible cross-engagement from "trusted" influencers is more important than respecting your loyalty. Welcome inside the mind of a 🐈 🐟 er. Always trying to boost engagement, the algorithm, and gain new followers...

1. Taco Soup Recipe: 🚨 This sodium monstrosity has canned beans, jarred salsa, enchilada sauce, rotel, roasted corn, a ranch seasoning packet, a taco seasoning packet, fresh chicken, and water. 😲
   
2. Backup Birdie Part 3: "Welcome home 🏠 to our forever girl 🎀 Birdie Mae 🐶 She's already following Joseph and I around and has brought us so much joy. 🌈 🎀"
   

⏸️ The puppy shown does not appear to be a Cavapoo, and Kylea refuses to answer follower questions about her breed. Remember, Birdie was not supposed to come home until May 20th, then May 19th.
To all individuals in the TTC Community, I know the 🌈 is a powerful symbol for you. I have experienced pregnancy loss and fertility care. My heart hurts for anyone triggered by the language Kylea uses and humanizing pets in reference to pregnancy loss. 🙏

1. Backup Birdie Part 4: "The moment I held her, I just knew she was meant for me.🎀 🐶 She loves all of the cuddles which is good because I do too. 💖"

⏸️ Not one reference of her "sweet boy" Oliver or Alice. Where are the cats? BB is asleep on Kylea.

1. Taco Soup Part 2: 🚨 Since it wasn't salty enough, why not put some chili & lime tortilla chips on top? Chef's 💋. Kylea held the bowl, showing her barefoot on the floor. I did NOT miss her feet content. 🤢
   
2. Backup Birdie Part 5: "We already love her so much 🎀 💖" BB is asleep in a fuzzy blanket on her puppy bed.
   
3. Backup Birdie Part 6: Within 30 minutes of this writer posting info in Reddit chat of how to file an animal complaint in Joplin, MO as a PSA (not a threat) encouraging Kylea & Joe to be crystal clear about Alice's whereabouts, a picture of Joe cuddling BB with Alice behind him on the couch is posted. "Joseph loves Birdie Mae too 💖 🐶 So far she loves to sleep 😴"
   

⏸️ 3 animals are now housed in a small apartment. Two cats with behavioral issues and a young puppy. Kylea can claim she will have no issues because "it will be fine," but she is ignorant, immature, and selfish. Wise followers will remove their rose-colored glasses and see the truth. There is a theory Alice was edited into the photo again...

1. Taco Soup Part 3: 🚨 No more takeout for Joe! He gets to eat Taco Soup Rice Bowls for work lunches this week.

⏸️ On the recent McDonalds post, a smart follower asked what Joe eating McDonalds had to do with WW. Kylea replied it was a "balanced lifestyle." Remember, Kylea & Joe want you to believe Joe has not gained weight no matter what he eats, with photo evidence (even modified) proving differently. Kylea's chains were broken 07/05/21. No cravings, temptations, plateaus, weight gain...a perfect journey to this day (and forever). 😇 Please disregard her obvious eating disorder and mental illnesses. Seek medical care, Kylea Gomez. ☮️

1. Backup Birdie Part 7: A 12-second video is shared of BB playing with a squeaky toy on the carpet.

⏸️ No Oliver, Grams, or Gibson content today. Kylea told her followers (in a comment) that Oliver had not met the puppy. It's good to see your "sweet boy" and subject of a ridiculous amount of monetized content is already booted engagement wise.
Final thoughts: Money reveals people's true colors. 👀 Buckle in for a nauseating amount of BB nontent.
Takeout: Crazy Llama takeout for 2: $16 est + tip;
All info from Reddit. ✌️

Well, I guess I should start by saying today is our 2 year anniversary. I’m a stay at home mom with limited personal income so gifting looks slightly different these days. Nonetheless I made him some chocolate covered strawberries, took care of our dinner and order him a cake in the shape of a 2, a romantic playlist with songs that made me think of him and a home made charcuterie board ECT. He works 9-5 the actual anniversary date so we agreed to celebrate Friday night and Saturday since Saturday was his day off. Saturday morning (yesterday) he spent a good bit of the day playing his PlayStation which usually isn’t a problem for me, but our anniversary weekend I anticipated us getting our children settled (with my mom) and to have his full attention. Friday night was the same story, on the game with his friends until around 11 pm so I’m a little tired by this point. I still try to stay awake and make the most of it, no big deal but then flash forward to Saturday evening after the day was pretty much finished, my mom calls and asks if we still planned on leaving the house and if she needed to come up and watch the kids, so i look to my boyfriend (who can hear my mom talking) and ask if he still wanted to go somewhere and he shrugged his shoulders. My mom said “just talk about it and give me a call back when you decide “ so we talk about it and finally decided we can do find something to do “he said he doesn’t need to plan anything” so we were going to go figure out something to do for our anniversary. I call her back and we decided that around 6:30 pm we could manage to be dressed and ready to go. He gets in the shower while I get the gets ready (we decided to bring them to my parents house instead of my mom coming to ours) I walk into the bathroom to tell my fiance I was excited and of course to join him in the shower but when I came in the bathroom he acted suspicious and turned around. I noticed he was slightly hard but I didn’t pay it much attention since he covered it with his hand but then I look up and see his phone playing a video. So I drawback because I was home, I was available but yet you chose yourself over me? I just honestly feel like this weekend wasn’t important to him like it was to me. I felt like we were growing and moving past some pain from the past and finally getting to an us again but I feel like he doesn’t want me. I ask for sex often and he’s not all that interested. (I’m 5 months PP) and it feels like he hasn’t been attracted to me since I’ve had the baby. I haven’t been angry towards him cause it’s not like he cheated but my heart hurts. Honestly and I just feel unwanted, undesired and lonely.

Race information

• What? 3 Days at the Fair 50K
• When? May 18, 2024 ‡
• How far? 31.1mi
• Where? Augusta, NJ
• Website: https://sites.google.com/site/njtrailseries/fair
• Strava activity: https://www.strava.com/activities/11441314526
• Finish time: 4:40:46

Goals

Goal	Description	Completed?
A	4:30:00	No
B	< 5 hours	Yes

Splits

Mile	Time
1	0:39 *
2	7:33
3	7:31
4	8:01
5	7:45
6	7:56
7	8:08
8	8:00
9	8:00
10	8:27
11	8:04
12	8:11
13	8:08
14	8:10
15	8:06
16	8:10
17	8:43
18	8:09
19	8:40
20	8:21
21	8:38
22	8:39
23	9:06
24	9:05
25	9:56
26	9:45
27	9:40
28	10:16
29	11:07
30	10:20
31	11:46
32	11:00
33	6:30 **

• "Lap 1" was from the 50K start to the timing mat. ** "Lap 33" was the remainder from my GPS watch auto-split to the end of the lap/race. ‡ "3 Days at the Fair" went from 13 May to 19 May 2024 (yep!). I was there 18 May.

Training

This was a spring full of sharp turns and hard knocks. The original training went towards the Cheap Marathon in Derry, NH. (That race was reported upon by flocculus here.) Training then consisted of maintaining 30-40 weekly miles, with a weekly long run adding two miles from the prior week, with some fluctuation. My hometown is quite hilly, so I foregone specific hill training as all of my runs were not near flat. My final long run was 21.5 miles March 6 before tapering down my weekly long runs.
A freak snowstorm delayed the Cheap Marathon from 4/6 to 4/20, however on 4/9 I fell in my gym shower. Either a rib contusion or hairline fracture paused any running or training for nearly two weeks. Scrambling for some sort of race to scratch the itch and not toss away months of prior training, I found 3 Days at the Fair online – a six day affair featuring ultramarathon categories from 50K to 144H races. They offered a marathon category, with an alluring 50K at similar start times. Naturally, I signed up for shy of 5 more miles than a marathon. One of my running mates gave me the best advice that "ultra running is more of an eating contest than anything else." Considering that during prior marathons I had salt tabs and 3 or 4 GU packets, I thought more about this statement. Hoping my ribs and legs would stand up, I went for the race.
Note: If registering for this race, you can choose the specific date and time you wish to start it. Just stick to that time. I would end up toeing the line with three other 50K runners who opted for the Saturday 9AM start. One could have theoretically started their run any day between Monday and Saturday, at 9AM or 6PM.

Pre-race

The Sussex County NJ fairgrounds were easy enough for me to get to. Those who were not running longer ultra races had plenty of parking mere steps from the registration/food/starting line. (Those running longer races have opportunities to park campers, tents, and so forth.) Weather was gray and cool, at 58˚F/14˚C -ish. I ended up playing with how I'd pack for the run, before noticing racks set up after the start line into which you could place your water bottle so as to not hold it the entire time.

Race

For check-in, I picked up my swag (a plush bathrobe) and timing ankle chip. No bibs here! At 8:50, marathoners and 50K'ers were brought to the respective start lines, 0.1 and 0.2 miles after the timing mat. At 9AM, we would run against the sea of all other runners back to the starting mat, turn around, and continue in the anti-clockwise 1 mile loop course. This is why marathons are 27 laps and 50K is 32 laps – that quarter lap registered as "lap 1 completed," so 31.1 miles registers as 32 at the end. I'm getting ahead of myself!
I found the course compelling enough to follow. After the timing mat, there is a short uphill that weaves past the toilet and shower area, and toward a hairpin. While the 'pin itself was set wide, most of the time I would walk it because of traffic or weakening knees. This continued straight past a Camper's Row of sorts with mild downhill. The second half runs a long arch around the grounds, with a gradual gentle uphill. The course is paved except for a 200m segment of packed gravel – if it had rained, this part could've been muddy. The course completed after a shot down a causeway, and left turning back to the mat. It's this area where registration, fuel/food/catering, and timing is displayed. Overall, no real potholes to be concerned about, just 31 total laps of this!
Hydration and food – tons of everything including Impossible Burgers, PB&J, cola, and sports vitamins – was supplied after the timing mat. I kept track of which lap I was on with a big-screen projection. My name, lap number, prior lap time, and total time appeared. Every 30 minutes or so I decided to take in calories. This included GU Rocktane, GU Vanilla (sooooo good), two stroopwaffels, two ice pops, and a few salt tabs. It was roughly 400 or so more calories than I would have consumed during a race. Hydration was also a factor, that the course was completely uncovered made me feel hotter and "drier" than normal. I might have taken on about 50 fl oz / 1.5 liters of water. My stomach tolerated this!
The main causeway/timing mat area is where I stopped for water and stowed my foods so I didn't have to carry it around. Early on, I didn't understand where the timing screen was, so took minor detours in the registration area. These factors are why my paces seem inconsistent by 30-odd seconds per mile at points.
The people here are amazing! Other runners were highly supportive, chatty, upbeat. One person was dressed up like a chicken (the race logo featured one), and another person blasted some pretty appropriate and popular tunes. It would be a game for me to guess the artist or song on every lap – we had a great banter going! Another group had a dry-erase board and changed it every few minutes or so with a new dad joke. Naturally, I had to stop to retort with another. For example, they wrote, "3.14% of sailors are pi-rates!" I replied, "if it's $4.50 in Jamaica for a beef patty, $3.50 in DR, and $2 in Trinidad, are those the pie rates of the Caribbean?" Sorry, not sorry.
The lack of proper training began to present itself around mile 22. Pacing was targeted at 8:00-8:15 per mile, with goal half-marathon splits at 1h45m or so. After mile 26, I was 3h40m44s, ten minutes off goal pace. Around that point I slowed, taking more walk breaks but promising myself to run at least half every lap. Landmarks were mentally set to designate where walking and running would occur. When I crossed the line I was done.

Post-race

From a mental standpoint, the concept of so many laps did not bother me. My daily runs more often than not are laps in my parking lot, and I've completed a few half marathons on traditional 400m tracks a few times prior – especially during the Global Pandemilovato of '20. Physically, my legs did not feel any worse than they would have after 26.2 miles. My stomach was actually doing quite alright – nausea and headache would set in within a few minutes of finishing other marathons, but not today. My buddy's advice is making me rethink my marathon strategy.
As the event is ultra-marathon focused, finishers of marathon and 50K received a coin. The longer the distance, the larger the coin, with special awards for those who have invested 100+ miles with the organization. (A paver brick [!] stamped with the runner's name is awarded after 1,500 miles with the organization.) Either way, I circled back to the registration area to press my luck at burger availability. Unfortunately they were out, yet making more. While at the beginning of the race the smell of bacon and pancakes wafted onto the line, the sweet smell of success – naturally, manifest as deliciously greasy burgers – greeted us at the end.
Post-race nutriton in my car included Gatorlyte electrolytes, SiS Rego Rapid recovery, and 1.5 liters of water. I opted against the on-site showers and made the long ride home for one which was far more satisfying.
EDIT: Added info about registration. EDIT 2: Grammar.

Please pray for me.
I just had door dash deliver me a dozen donuts. And there’s some left over cake that I didn’t eat last night on the counter. Oh, and I’m going to stock up on candy bars and potato chips at the market. But I’m trying to lose weight, so please pray for me.
Oh, and while you’re at it, pray for my wife. She’s a recovering alcoholic and we keep booze everywhere. Beer and wine in the fridge, a fully stocked liquor cabinet. But hey, pray that she doesn’t go back to drinking.
There was a man who owned a house next to the river. And it rained heavily and he prayed that God would keep him safe. And the river rose up until the water was near his porch. And the fire department came by and offered him a ride to higher ground. But he declined and told them that God would save him. Later still, the water rose up even higher so that he had to go upstairs to his bedroom to stay dry. And along came a dude in a boat, and offered to take him to higher ground and safety. But he refused and told the boat guy that God would save him. And the water rose some more, and the guy retreated to his rooftop. A coast guard helicopter spotted him and dropped a basket to take him away. But he refused, knowing God would save him.
And he was swept away by the water.
And drowned.
And as he arrived in Heaven, he asked God “why didn’t you save me?”
And God replied “I sent the fire department, a boat and a helicopter.”
God isn’t gonna “take away” your urges. Prayer ain’t gonna solve this. Jesus told you what to do. Cut off. Cast away.
What’s keeping you from obedience?

Buster growled softly, baring his teeth at me as he stood in defiance. His stance rigid and unyielding, his tail stiff, and ears pinned back - he watched my every move with alert eyes.
My 3-year-old German shepherd had intuitively figured out the prospect of an upcoming bath when he saw me reach for the towel, and decided to give me a hard time over it.
“I know buddy. I am not happy about it either. But I will make it quick. I promise,” I tried to reason, holding up both hands to reassure him.
‘But it’s not even been a week…’ I could almost imagine him saying those exact words to me when he growled back in protest.
“You’re right...But listen, man. You’re dirty. I can feel your presence from here,” I said, standing ten feet away and pretending to cover my nostrils with my finger.
Buster, of course, didn’t care and continued to defy without hesitation.
I put my hands on my hip and sighed. My glance immediately shifted to a hose attached to a tap outside my quarters.
“Tell you what. I’ll make it worth your while. You don’t mind the jet spray, right? In fact, you even tolerate it sometimes,” I said, pointing to the hose located only a few feet away.
“How about a little cooperation now, and I’ll make you your favorite meal a little later?” I asked him, while reaching out to pick a can of chicken liver from the kitchen.
As I dangled the can in my hand, I could see it slowly chipping away at his resolve, his mind grappling with the pros and cons of my new proposal.
A moment later, Buster barked at me twice and slowly made his way out of the house. He sat by the garden tap, ready to receive his bath.
I took a handful of lotion and began to rub it against his torso to remove all the muck and grime that was sticking to his body. We had been quite busy lately, guarding the base and conducting multiple patrols along the perimeter every day. The rain a few hours ago certainly didn't help matters, with Buster leaping over puddles of water and actively rolling in the mud to escape the desert heat. I had to use a brush to remove the layers of dirt that had caked all over his body.
It’s been a strange week, to say the least. The days were busy but peaceful, while the nights brought scattered, random sounds. Their origins were a mystery, as they appeared not to originate from the base. But I wasn’t too worried about it, not yet anyway.
There is an air base located a couple of hours away from the facility, and it wasn’t unusual for them to conduct sorties at odd hours in the night. I assumed they were probably testing out some new technology.
My colleague Joe thought the same thing as well. But we couldn’t take any chances, and we both had a job to do. So we conducted regular patrols around the base just as a precautionary measure.
But deep down, I felt something nagging at me, like I was being watched by someone or something. I couldn’t exactly put it into words.
For a second, I wondered if Buster too felt the same way when I saw him suddenly lift his head up, listening intently with his ears up in attention.
I quickly turned back to check if there was anybody standing behind me, but I found no one. When I turned around to face him again, I saw him looking up at the night sky, his gaze focused and unwavering.
“What’s it buddy? You see something?” I asked him as I cleared away the foam from his face. Moments went by slowly. And then, just like that, as if nothing had happened, he put his head down and began pawing my leg, urging me to finish his bath. I sighed again and turned on the hose, to wash off all the soap.
He finally looked presentable and I have to admit, his coat glistened beautifully under the moonlight.
Before I could reach for his towel, Buster swiftly moved in to close the gap between us and looked me in the eye dead serious. He then shook his body vigorously, much like a wet dog trying to rid itself of wetness, and trotted off without bothering to look back.
I laughed out loud as I sat there, drenched in water. I knew I should have seen that coming. However, my smile quickly faded, as it also reminded me of Jessica, my ailing wife.
Before another thought could take shape in my mind, I heard a familiar voice blare across the radio.
“Mike, I need you down here. Get to the post quick.”
It was my colleague Joe and I replied back in the affirmative. I quickly grabbed my gear and signaled Buster to follow after me.
When I reached the post, I saw Joe standing there armed with his rifle. As a seasoned war veteran with two tours under his belt, Joe was a dangerous man and not to be trifled with. But he was also compassionate and wise beyond his years.
“What’s up Joe?” I inquired, as I approached him near the entrance of the base.
“I am not sure yet. I thought I heard something at a distance. It could well be nothing.” he replied, after a brief pause.
‘Well, we’ve had a lot of that going around all week’, I thought to myself.
He then turned around to look at me. “I want you to run a perimeter sweep first. Then go on patrol again. Take Buster with you” he said, before heading back to his post.
I started the jeep and drove out towards the perimeter. The engine hummed softly as I navigated the rough terrain, with Buster sitting alertly beside me. After finding nothing suspicious during my initial sweep, I decided to broaden my search radius.
A mile into the drive, Buster suddenly started barking, prompting me to stop the jeep immediately. He leaped onto the ground and dashed towards a boulder located a short distance away. I picked up my rifle and cautiously followed after him.
When I reached the spot, I keyed the mic attached to my shirt and said, "Boss, you need to come see this."
I knew he wasn’t going to be happy about leaving the guard post unmanned, but I thought he would prefer to come and inspect this himself.
Joe arrived ten minutes later, parking his vehicle next to mine. He walked towards the boulder overlooking a small pond, and switched on his torch to get a better look at the skeletal remains of an animal dumped nearby. Three other animal remains lay next to it, all appearing to be in a similar condition.
“These look like coyotes, probably stopping by to drink water from the pond before they were killed,” he observed, his voice expressing concern. “Did you find them like this?”
“Yes”, I replied. “And they weren’t here when I drove through the same place this morning. I thought it was quite odd to be honest, to find four of them out here all at once in the middle of the desert, that too at this hour.”
Joe simply nodded in agreement.
“What sort of creature do you think did this Joe?”
“I mean it must have a ravenous appetite to chew every sinew of flesh from the bone, and lick it this clean.” I said, leaning in take another look.
“Do you think it could be the Chupacabra or something similar?” I continued, knowing fully well my question was a bit far-fetched, but I had to still get it off my chest.
Joe finally stood up, switched off his torch, and looked around the vast open desert in quiet contemplation.
“This is in fact the fifth sighting in less than a week, Mike, and all have occurred in close proximity to secure government installations. The one before this was even stranger, and happened near a military base, where an old buddy of mine continues to serve.”
“He told me in that instance, the remains belonged to a dog. There were no signs of flesh or connecting tissue from the nasal region to the abdominal section, while the region spanning from the abdominal cavity to the tail bone was left fully intact. The whole thing was carried out with surgical precision, and drew morbid praise from even the medic back at the base.”
"But how is that even possible? What are you suggesting, Joe?" I asked, surprised by the tone of my own voice and my inability to hide my disappointment upon hearing about it for the first time.
“This is not a hunt for prey, Mike. This is a hunt for attention. Somebody is trying to make a point. And I’d say they are accomplishing their objective.” Joe said.

Hello, and thank you for reading this question.
I recently made rhubarb muffins from a recipe online and added 20% less brown sugar than called for (1 cup vs 1 1/4 cups). They turned out fine, though I would have preferred them a little less sweet. Same with a chocolate cake recipe I got from Martha Stewart Kids (don't knock it, it's a great cake). My question is: should I be substituting something else for the sugar I'm removing? What would make a good substitute?
Keep in mind, this is about sweetness, not calories, and I'm not looking for low-cal sweeteners to put in their place.

Hi all. So I think I’m one of the biggest people on here (Sw 467lbs). I have a lot to lose and it will be a long journey. I started 28th of March and I’m in week 8 I believe. I weigh daily to see what my body is doing. Sometimes it’s up, sometimes down sometimes it stays the same. It’s interesting to see the trend.
Today I have crossed the 40lbs lost milestone. I’m ecstatic and can’t quite believe it. I’ve never lost this much before. I don’t feel like I’m deprived and I’ve worked hard in staying within calories (1500 daily). As mentioned before I have had treats too, I’ve had 1 McDonald’s, 2 Nando’s, 1 takeaway , chocolate, cake, fizzy drinks. But all tracked and all in moderation and not consumed as how I would normally have.
I’ve not binged once. I have upped my steps from 2000 to 5000. Walking instead of driving short distances, parking further away or just walking to the park with the children.
My life is definitely improving, I am certainly healthier. My stamina when walking is great, my back doesn’t hurt when I walk anymore. Before I would need to take painkillers if I were to go out shopping or anything walking related. I’m seriously contemplating signing up to the gym to boost my cardio and start weights, but I don’t want to push myself too much too quick because that has been my downfall previously.
I am currently on 5mg and will stay on 5 in my next round. I just wanted to share my happiness. Give hope to those starting on their journey and especially to those with a large number to lose.
No one knows about the weight loss bar my husband and parents and no one else has mentioned the weight loss so it’s probably not as noticeable but I don’t care. I’m not doing this for them. I’m doing it for me and my future and to be with my kids as long as I can.

I started noticing my AGS symptoms late at night after having a baby a couple of years ago. At first I thought it was from the c-section.... googled getting sick at night and was surprised it asked have you been bitten by a tick and has the bite not healed normally. Realized, hey I have been bit 7 times and one particular bite on my leg hadn't healed but looked like a bruise for months. Stopped eating meat, felt better. Ate it again, felt like dying. Ok. Got this. I'll stop meat and maybe soon-ish I can get better....but then get bit again. Then ate a pre-packaged chocolate snack cake that eventually had me crawling on the floor to the bathroom. Checked ingredients- tallow. Tallow? Oh, animal fat. It's worse. Got tested and AGS was 0.62. Worst club to join-no offense. Months go by, got bit again, bite takes months to heal, looks like bruise, etc. A turkey meatloaf got me next. Ingredients: enzymes. Enzymes? What the..... Download the Fig app. It helps. Fall and winter pass, it's spring get bit again by a lone star nymph. Haven't even been outside but to go in/out of the car. Avoided meat, lard, enzymes.... but now my stomach hurts most nights, I get super sluggish and getting chest pains. It's been over a month and the bite won't heal, it oozes now. Call the only allergist nearby that said Alpha-gal on their website but the next available appointment is three months away. Popping antihistamines to get by. Feels like I was hit by a car the next day. Stop dairy and all byproducts. This crap is in everything. Fig says no sugar and I finally relent. Ok not even sugar now. Brings me to now, I just woke up at 2:45 am by a stinging feeling. Pulled another nymph off me. Probably got it unloading groceries earlier? Who knows. I hate this. I don't want to be done in by a damn tick, tic tac or jello. If you've read all this, thanks for listening and what the hell do you guys do to keep these little assholes away? Any and all advice will be appreciated.

I Accepted a Job to Film on the Dark Web
Man, I am pumped to tell you chronically online content addicts my story. Wait is that too mean of an intro? Will this get taken down for harassment since I painted too accurate a picture of the people on this site? Sorry, everyone, I’m sure you all smell like an expensive bakery and have touched grass this morning. Anyway, I promise I have something interesting. It even involves the dark web you uncreative writers cream yourselves over! I mean, totally real people speaking about their strangely similar experiences. Okay, fine I’ll stop bullying you through the screen before you click off.
This all started when I was seven years old and my parents were killed in front of me in an anti-indigenous hate crime, but let's be real you don’t care. I’m just some annoying Cherokee kid with dead parents so I’ll skip to the good parts. I spent years in an orphanage, gradually becoming more interested in death and violence. As bad as it is, I went out of my way to expose myself to that content in the hopes of desensitizing myself. Which ended up working too well, since now I’m obsessed with causing and viewing pain, though I don’t find any joy in hurting myself.
I got adopted at twelve and after a few months of staying at my new family’s home on the reservation, I went with them to a state sweatier than the average Reddit user, California. Long story short, both of my caretakers, whom I referred to as Uncle and Auntie because they could never be my parents, died. Leaving me in the care of their older son, who I call cousin. I’m not stupid enough to give up any real names, so I’ll call him Brick, cause he’s as dumb as one. He was in his early 20s when he was tasked with taking care of me and is the world’s worst excuse for a babysitter.
I’m almost always alone at the apartment, with him only coming by to drop off supplies and stay for a few hours so the neighbors don’t get too worried. Unless I get in trouble at school, then he’d suddenly give a shit. It's useful because he doesn't about the gory stuff I look at, but some display of interest would be nice. Oh well, ninety percent of the population sucks so he’s just part of the majority. Now, with that said, you’ll be able to understand the perfect storm that led me here. During my time on the deep web, I found a particular website that caught my eye. They had new footage relatively consistently and they were the easiest for me to access since I didn't go too far into the dark web, especially with all the honey pots lying around.
I even bought a couple of files for myself to study and admire. One thing irritated me though, the cameraman. He was always sobbing, breathing, shaking, or some combination of those. It seriously killed the vibe of the killings. Something I commented on under many videos, often saying I would do a better job filming. A choice that in hindsight was me asking to end up in one of those recordings. I didn't think anything of it at the time. I was mostly the only one who commented but I was sure they wouldn't care. I was embarrassingly wrong.
I was staying up like usual, but it was past one AM on a school night, and back then that was a lot so I tried to sleep. Closing my eyes, tossing and turning, the works. I had just started drifting off when I heard the front door open. I remained calm but immediately found it weird since Brick never showed up this late. The thuds of the individual's feet grew louder as they got closer to my bedroom. I tried to convince myself it wasn't a stranger, especially since they got in with ease, but I knew that was wishful thinking.
They hummed as they opened my door. My dumbass had left it unlocked. I remained on my side, trying to look like I was asleep. They turned on the flashlight of their phone, shining it in my face. It was hard but I stayed still while they traced it over my features. I could tell they were smiling as they clicked their tongue.
“Heh, I knew it was a brat,” they whispered to themselves, pulling tangles out of my hair. Something I struggled not to groan from. They pulled up the hair over my ear and got so close spit got on my ear lobe.
“I know you’re awake kid,” they murmured, putting a blade to my neck. I let them grab my shoulder and move me onto my back, I knew how to fight but I wasn't about to take that big a risk with the position they had me in.
“You think you’re so cool saying you can do better than our guy.” they snickered, kneeling, their flashlight still shining in my face.
“Do you seriously believe that?” they questioned, moving the light away.
“Yeah, I do.” I stood my ground, they might have been intimidating but I wasn't gonna let that stop me from being honest.
“I wouldn't sound like I’m gonna piss myself every time it gets gory. I’m confident I could get better footage too, getting up close is something I’ve fantasized about.”
They clicked their tongue again and ran their finger over the bridge of my nose.
”Well, I know you’re a big fan of what we do, and you’re confidence makes me think you got something to back those claims up, so how’d you like a deal?”
I was surprised by how civil they were being aside from the touching and weapon against my throat.
“What kind of deal?” I asked, for all I knew this guy wanted me to lick their feet or some weird shit like that. They placed a finger underneath my eye, tracing a half moon with their nail.
“You have till this Friday to film a video of you killing an animal and put it on a flash drive that I’ll pick up here. If it impresses me and the crew we’ll hire ya with a handsome salary.” They began, moving their hand down to my cheek.
“But if you don't show, or it doesn't meet our standards, then I’m fucking up one of the parts of your face.” They warned, pinching my skin harshly.
“And if I say no to this deal?”
They put their hand over my mouth, scratching my lips.
“That’s cute, if you say no I’ll just slit your throat.” they grinned.
“Or rip it open with my teeth if you got a preference,” they smirked, before running their tongue across their sharp teeth.
“Okay, since I have no choice I’ll go with it, but I’m telling you now I can give you something way better than what you likely expect of me.” I prefaced, looking into their sunken eyes. They scratched my scalp, including the side of my head that was shaved.
“Good choice, I’ll be back to pick it up and if you're not here I’ll assume you don’t have the video. I genuinely wish you luck, because you’ll need it.” they removed the blade from my neck and walked away. I sat still for a few minutes in the dark, processing what had happened and wondering how they got into my apartment with such ease. I was confident I could blow their sniveling excuse of a cameraman out of the water, but I was worried about the people I was getting caught up with.
Sure, I had been on a lot of gore sites over the years but I was always just watching and occasionally commenting. Compared to most in the scene I wasn't much of a threat. I could defend myself and have contemplated killing for years but I hadn't murdered anyone or worse. Plus, I am part of way too many targeted groups to not be constantly at risk. Teenage, fem-leaning, two-spirit, indigenous kid with trauma? Yeah, I might as well be walking sign screaming “Hate crime me”.
So yeah, there was a lot to worry about. Regardless, I couldn't let that fear hold me back. I had a job to do and a group of sickos to appease. The next morning was rough, I got no sleep cause I’d spent all night brainstorming. I barely mustered the energy to change and drank straight mouthwash instead of brushing my teeth. Slogging onto the bus with drool on my cheek, I went to the back like usual. No one sat there cause, the seats were extra worn down, and I scared off anyone who attempted to with my active, rabies-infected bitch face. That day was different though.
I blanked on his name and where I knew him from, but I recognized his wavy hair and prominent curved nose. He glanced at each seat on the bus, before somehow settling on my area. He tried to give me space but ultimately seated himself beside me after realizing it was the only spot that didn't look like it would give him cancer. I glared at him as I did with everyone, but it didn't phase him.
“You know you could pick anywhere else right?” I murmured. He stared at the floor, then at me.
“I’m aware, but a few months ago I started a mission to sit on every part of this bus, and this is the last place.” he smiled, his lips softly curving at the sides.
“What’s the point of that?”
His mouth moved into a more neutral position, but his eyes kept smiling.
“I just thought it would be neat to see the same place from a bunch of different perspectives.” he took out his phone and snapped a photo from the point of view where he was sitting. Maybe my sleepiness made my bitch face less effective, cause he hadn't shown a hint of fear, which kind of annoyed me.
“That’s cool I guess, but I wouldn't do that if I were you. I’ve done some back here alone that would make your skin crawl.” in hindsight my attempt at unnerving him just made me sound like a pervert, which is probably why he held back laughter. Trying to hide a chuckle by clearing his throat.
“Hey, it's not my business what you do, no matter how Haram it is. It’s your life so that’s between you and whatever you believe in. Just don’t shake hands with me.” he joked, playfully putting his hands up. Strangely, I remembered his name at that moment.
“Oh shit, you’re Abdul! We have art together.” I sat up, haphazardly slamming my hand down on my leg.
“Uh yeah, I’ve seen some of your paintings, they’re pretty cool. I like the way you texture them, I’m trying to work on that.” he complimented, seeming more weirded out by my sudden energy than my accidental insinuation. I felt a little stupid for yelling his name but decided not to dwell on it.
“Thanks, you’re stuff is nice, and you’re good at shading.”
He stretched his arms while thanking me. We talked for a few more minutes, taking jabs at each other throughout. Turns out he was better at being an asshole than his artsy charismatic appearance made me think. The thing setting our insults apart being that you could tell he was a loving person underneath. It was the nicest conversation I had with anyone in a while. Though he could tell I was tired so he quieted down, letting me sleep, waking me when we got to school. We went our separate ways until the last two periods we shared. All that time, I spent my remaining energy plotting how I was going to handle the video. What I’d kill, record with, and how to dispose of the evidence. It was a lot to consider, but through three classes I devised a plan.
I’d find a stray around my apartment complex and take it out in my room. Record it on a portable camera since I broke the ones on my phone, no, I will not be answering how that happened. Then once I had my footage I’d put the body in a trash bag, throw it in the complex’s garbage, and clean the blood off my floor. It didn't seem like Brick would come by so he wasn't a factor I thought I’d have to consider. The plan was almost too easy, but I decided to believe in Occam’s razor. I got so lost in thought that by the time I reached Art, which was my second-to-last period, I didn't process that we were moving seats.
“She called your name,” Abdul reminded me. Our teacher placed us next to each other at our four-person table. The two girls sitting with us were already friends, so I didn't bother to say anything, but I was interested in talking to him more.
“So, what do you think of this assignment?” He shrugged, taking out his sketchbook.
“I’m not that good at drawing people, but the idea of combining two people’s faces into a portrait seems interesting. Any ideas on who you’ll pick?”
“Probably the members of the music duo Brain Tumor, they’re my favorite artists and they both look weird as hell.”
“Wow way to talk about your favorites, if that’s what you say about them I can‘t imagine what you have to say about me.” he joked, pulling up reference pictures.
“First, it’s not an insult, second I don’t have anything to say about you. Brain and Tumor have features and styles that make them stand out. Sure they’re ugly, but it just adds to their visual charm. Hot people are boring, there’s nothing to pick at.” I explained, unzipping my bag.
“Oh, so you’re saying you think I’m hot.”
His comment wasn’t serious but it kind of got to me.
“Shit, that’s not what I meant, I was trying to say you’re boring. All hot people are boring, but not all boring people are hot, okay?” I explained, flipping to a clean page.
“Alright, but if I’m so bland then why talk to me?”
I hesitated, contemplating how much of a dick I was gonna be.
“Because it means you probably need some spice in your life, which I can provide.”
He began sketching a head on his paper.
“I like spices, but I feel like you’re the kind of person to dump a cabinet’s worth onto me.”
I flicked my pencil over to his side of the desk, putting on a mocking grin.
“Aww, you scared I’m gonna get you into trouble?”
He picked up the pencil and started using it, putting his on my side.
“No, ‘cause I’m good at setting boundaries. I’m more concerned that you’ll get annoyed with how unafraid of you I am.”
I stared at him for a moment, I hadn't expected to hear that.
“Jeez, man you didn't have to read me like that.”
He shrugged, observing the red paint from past projects that lay on my pencil.
“It's not hard to figure out, just this morning you were trying to push me away on the bus. Lucky, or unlucky, for you I want you to have a friend and you seem like a fun person.”
“Wait are you saying I have no friends?” I squinted at him.
“Well, do you?”
I didn't answer.
“If your response is silence I suggest you take up my offer.”
I was stunned, to be honest. No one had offered to be my friend since 6th grade, and that didn't last long. Of course, I accepted it, but for the rest of the period, there was an awkwardness in my mind. As pathetic as it sounds I wasn't used to others genuinely enjoying my company like he did. Which was partly by design cause I get joy out of scaring people away, but still. I forgot how it felt to have conversations about normal things like art. He had such a nice smile too, usually when I see a grin I want to slap it off, but I liked his. His voice was also nice, it’s hard to describe what in particular but it was easy on the ears.
Okay, I’m starting to get off-topic. I’ll skip to the important part. Toward the end of class, he started talking about how he was interested in filmmaking and got a portable video camera as a gift at last year’s Eid. He didn't have it on him, but he showed me a picture.
“Heh, that’s funny, I bought the same one a month ago.” I pointed out.
“Yeah, it's a popular model, I’m still getting the hang of it though cause I’m so used to using my phone.”
“Well, maybe I could bring you over to my place or vice versa after school and I can help you out.” I suggested.
He smiled, putting his phone back in his pocket.
“I thought you said you’ve only had it for a month? You know I can always look up tutorials from trained professionals.” he reminded me with a notable smugness that I'd used with him before.
“Well those guys are stuffy and I’m a fast learner.”
He redirected his attention back to his page, picking his pencil up.
“Alright, I suggest we go somewhere public instead. You’re not exactly the kind of person I want to bring home to my parents right away. Plus they always need to meet my friends and their guardians before I hang out at their home.”
I gave an exaggerated sigh, stretching my back.
“Aw man, looks like we can’t get high in my murder pit during our first hangout.”
He didn't respond for a solid few seconds.
“Wait, you do know I'm joking right?”
He shrugged, the smile in his eyes appearing again.
“I mean, one of those things is a little less believable than the other.” he snickered, and I laughed with him.
We set up a time and a date, which is where I screwed myself. He ended up being busy with projects from his other classes and family which just left us with Friday, the same day I had to submit the video. Now, did I tell him I wouldn't be able to make it? No, of course not, because I decided to be stupid and even more overconfident. I said that I’d one hundred percent be able to hang out with him after school like I didn't have a mutilator who was going to drop by my place at an unknown time.
The rest of the day went over fine but that bad timing led me to feel like a dick later. When I got home I was able to write out my plan, even sketching a few specifics of what I’d do. It was more exciting than when I’d been brainstorming, but this is when the gravity of the situation began to set in. When I said I’d fantasized about killings I meant it. I mean my teddy with twenty-five stab wounds should say enough. Regardless this would be the first time real blood was on my hands.
It made me feel powerful, but a little afraid. I’ve heard stories of people thinking that it would be an awesome experience and then feeling like shit. I doubted I’d be one of those people but still. Plus, I didn't exactly trust the guy who gave me this job. There was a good chance that this whole situation was rigged and they’d kill me no matter how good the video was. Or worse turn me into the feds and expose my collection. Honestly, if that happened I’d probably eat a shot to avoid going to jail. Wait, can I say that on this platform? Okay to the mods, that was a joke, I want to live a long life. Ugh, I’m doing a terrible job of staying on track. The point is there was a lot up in the air despite it being a matter of life or death.
I knew I’d go through with it but it was still a lot less straightforward than it initially seemed. I wracked my brain to remember where most of the cats stayed and tried to come up with a good way to lure one without raising suspicion. This also proved harder than first thought because I didn't think to account for the cat man, an old guy who lived alone and fed all the cats in our dingy complex while also housing a few. Knowing how obsessive he was he’d probably notice if one of them disappeared. Then again not all the cats return consistently or at all. It makes more sense that he’d think one of them was run over rather than slaughtered. It was getting late again so I rested my head for a moment, a bad move cause I ended up falling asleep at my desk. Not even changing out of the clothes I’d worn before, I woke up late and barely caught the bus the next morning.
I went to my usual spot but Abdul had already taken it. He patted the area next to it, which he’d covered in a towel, a smart move knowing how nasty it was. People gave me a few dirty looks as normal, which I smiled at. I stretched, my mind slightly less out of it than the previous morning.
“Uh, you do realize that-”
“Yeah, I know I’m wearing the same clothes.”
Abdul looked me up and down, his eyes remaining soft, but with a mix of concern and judgment. He set his backpack down and took off his sweater handing it to me.
“Dude what are you-”
“Look I don't know what led to you not being able to change but I think you should at least have a fresh top.”
I was surprised he was offering me something to wear but I took it.
“Uh, thanks, I’ll change into it later.”
He nodded as I put it in my backpack.
“You know you didn't have to do that.” I reminded him.
“Well there’s a lot of stuff I don’t have to do, but I do it because I want to, and I wanted to help you out.”
He smiled, his face still warmer than an Arizona summer. I got a strange feeling in my chest at that moment, I still can’t tell if it was good or bad.
“Well, thanks, I'll give it back to you tomorrow.”
We talked a little more and he mentioned something that caught my attention.
“Have you heard about all the animals that have been turning up dead?”
My eyes widened with surprise.
“No, I haven't, when did you hear about that?”
He pulled on his long-sleeve shirt.
“My sister said her friend who works at a shelter noticed a bunch of animals were getting adopted by people around the same time, and since then gore videos with them have been showing up. She found out through her co-worker who was emailed it by some random creep.”
I covered my mouth and looked away to hide the smile growing on my face. He had just given me the perfect cover-up without knowing. Now if I killed an animal people had an entire violent ring to connect it to instead of me! I stayed quiet for a minute because I could tell he’d likely see through any phony sad sounds I made.
“Oh wow, that’s awful, do you think they’ll ever find out the people behind it?”
He sighed, running his hand through his wavy hair.
“I hope so, for now, all we can do is pray that no more animals get hurt.”
I couldn't contain my grin as he said that so sincerely like animals and people didn't die constantly and that taking down one group would somehow stop the issue.
“Is there some joke I don’t get?” he furrowed his brow.
“Uh, no, sorry I smile when nervous.”
His gaze softened again, and he didn't press further.
His bringing up the animal killings ended up being the exact push I needed to get my hands dirty. I’d spent the entire day before planning so it was time to put that plan into action. I stole some cat treats that the cat man had laid out and spread them around my apartment which was on the bottom floor. Waiting for one of them to take the bate outside my window was pretty boring but one of them came after a few minutes. A scraggly brown and black cat with a tuft of fur missing on one side of his head. It's messed up but I felt like a little less of an asshole for taking him in since he looked like he was already struggling. I scooped him up and he didn't attempt to fight back.
“Hey there buddy” I waved, feeding him some more food. His eyes had a lot of crust on them, it was kinda gross but I don’t have the right to say with how often I wash my jeans. After a minute or two he let me pet him. I knew making any kind of attachment was bad but I thought it was the right thing to do so he’d fall into a sense of security. I was just about to take him into my room when the door opened.
“Hey, I’m back with groceries!” my shithead cousin announced with two plastic bags in his hands. He looked down to see me with the cat, his eyebrows raising.
“Aw come on, you know we can’t afford a pet.”
He groaned placing the bags on a table and unloading them.
“I know, but he doesn't look like he’s got a lot of life in him I at least want to help him feel better before he kicks the bucket!”
Brick rolled his eyes, putting the cereal box on top of the fridge
“Jeez, did you even think about what diseases he might have? His eyes look puffy what if he has something that can get you sick?”
He had valid concerns which was surprising since he’s usually stupid, but I was still annoyed with him.
“I’m sure he’s fine, I’ll even try to wash him, just please let me hold onto him for a little.”
He folded his arms looking down at us.
“Have you even named him?”
I froze for a second, before using the first thing that came to mind, which ended up being pretty awful knowing my plans.
“Cash cow.” I blurted, awkwardly patting his head.
“Honestly that’s better than what I was expecting. I was sure you’d pick ‘Hellspawn Mcgee’ or something else corny.”
He meant to make fun of me but honestly, I would have named him that if I had more time.
“Ugh, anyway I got those dumb chips you like.”
He then pulled out a bag of the wrong chips.
“Dude those are the wrong ones, this is the third time you’ve mixed up the flavors.”
He threw them at me, scaring the cat slightly.
“Well, I pay for it so you shouldn't be so picky. Anyway, while I was in line I picked up something you might be into.”
He then tossed me a trashy teen magazine. One of my least favorite sorry excuses for an influencer on the cover.
“This is a joke, right?”
I couldn't believe my own adopted brother gave such little shit in my interests.
“I don't know, you decided to start being a girl for real this time so I thought the makeup tips on page ten would help you out.”
I scrunched my face at his comment.
“Dude I’ve been this way for years, just because I started wearing more makeup and dresses doesn't mean I’m more of a girl than when I didn't. I know you won’t get the two-spirit thing but come on.”
He shrugged, seeing me done with me even though he’d just shown up.
“Yeah well hey I’m trying. Anyway, just so you know a friend of mine is coming here Friday.”
My heart stopped.
“Wait why here? You live elsewhere why can’t you assholes go there or their place!”
He slammed his fist on the table.
“Will you shut the fuck up!”
He screamed with a phrase I’d grown numb to.
“I don't know, to be honest, something about wanting to move into this complex and this being a way to scout it out. I’m just letting you know now so you don’t act like a complete freak.”
“Jokes on you I’ll piss in whatever shitty beer you bring just cause you said that!”
I yelled back raising my voice higher than his. He face-palmed before putting the plastic bags in the drawer under the sink.
“Whatever, you and your ketamine-addict-looking cat have fun,” he told me while seating himself on the couch. I picked up the cat and walked into the bathroom to clean it. I closed the door and placed him in the dry tub. Using a small disposable mouthwash cup I got a little bit of water. I hadn't had a pet before so I wasn't sure how to approach the task. I dipped my fingers in the water and carefully pet it while pouring s small bit down his back. Any other cat would fight back but he just made pissed-off noises without doing anything.
I scrapped my old shampoo bottle and kneaded it into his thin fur. His skin was bumpy and dry beneath the hair so scrubbing it was uncomfortable. I made sure to avoid getting soap in its eyes but I did pull away some of the crust on its lids. His pupils were so clouded I was surprised that he could see at all, making me feel even more sure that he would be on its way out with or without me.
After drying him I set him on a beat-up shirt I wore when modifying clothes. He sunk his claws into it a few times, playing with a loose string. I ignored him for the rest of the night, hopping into the shower and changing for bed. His meows woke me up a few times but I tuned it out after a while, reminding myself that he wouldn’t be my cat for long.
The next day was Thursday and there wasn't a second that passed by where the weight of the murder I’d have to commit didn't weigh on me. I seriously shot myself in the foot by taking care of that scruffy, pubic hair pile. I was supposed to be hyped about killing it, after all, I’d dreamed and seen way worse than what I was going to do. Yet once I got home and started setting up I felt grosser with each step. I decided to record it in my bathroom instead of my bedroom so it would be harder to connect to me. I set down a few fabric scraps and a worn-out beach towel, placing it all inside a tub for easier cleanup later.
“Okay, I guess it's time,” I mumbled to myself. I brought the cat in and placed it down, setting up my camera once it was comfortable. I also wore my most generic clothes in addition to a mask, putting my hair in a bun for sanitation. When I saw the flicker of red showing that the camera was on I felt I was dreaming. I smiled, excited that I’d get to live out my violent desires. Yet, when I looked down at its pathetic frame and confused expression those urges left me.
I rationalized what I was doing, reminding myself how many animals die all the time and that I’d been forced into this, but it didn't help much in the end. I won’t get into it but under the pressure of impressing the group Cash Cow didn't go out as fast as I would have liked for a first task. Getting rid of the evidence was especially rough, the textures were pretty nasty, to put it mildly. It was surreal watching the blood go down the tub drain and gradually drip off my hands as I rinsed them. I couldn't conjure a single thought the entire time I cleaned it up.
Whether I was wringing out the clothes or putting the remains in plastic bags, it didn't matter. All I could focus on was the task at hand, with hints of disgust along the way. I ended up finishing at three AM. My hands were wrinkled and shook once I settled. I won’t deny that during the murder I didn't hate it. Slashing into something was fun and it made me feel strong. Still, it wasn't nearly as fulfilling as I expected it to be. Part of it was guilt, but it was mostly disappointment. I’d built it up for years and it wasn't earth shatteringly good or bad.
Overall, I expected to feel more, but it just left me hollow with an uncomfortable itch. There was no way I’d ever be able to see the tub the same way, hell I don’t think I’ll ever use it again. Luckily I almost always shower anyway so it's not too big of a deal. I watched a few horror game videos, trashed everything, changed and went to bed.
My scalp hurt like a bitch the morning since I kept my hair in that stupid bun. Despite getting less sleep than the past two days I held myself together a bit better in the morning. I brushed my teeth, changed, and had some fried bread before getting on the bus. Regardless I looked like complete shit and struggled to slump into my seat.
“Rough night?” Abdul asked
“Uh, yeah.” I quietly responded looking to the floor.
He frowned, looking at me with concern.
“You can talk about it if you're comfortable,” he assured me. I contemplated giving him a thinly veiled metaphor or vague explanation so he'd comfort me but stopped myself before my mouth could run a muck. He wouldn't be able to do much of anything and I don’t like opening up.
“Uhm, thanks but it's something I have to deal with alone.”
He nodded, respecting my boundaries.
“You know, I understand if you can’t hang out today it seems like you have a lot going on.”
I avoided eye contact with him as he spoke. For once I was feeling hints of guilt toward a person. I wanted to spend time with him, but I knew that I wasn't in the state to do that.
“Yeah, I think it’ll have to wait, I’m-” I cut myself off before apologizing. A fact about me that should surprise no one is that I hate apologizing. Even when I do feel kinda bad the act fills me with embarrassment.
“You what?” he asked, his eyes telling me that he knew what I was going to say.
“I’m emotionally not great.” I spat out in an admittedly poor attempt to get out of saying sorry. As always he remained calm but I could tell he saw through me.
“Okay, like I said I understand, whatever it is I hope you feel better.”
I told him thank you and we didn't speak for the rest of the day. At home I changed into more comfortable clothes and brushed my teeth. Unfortunately, I wasn't bouncing back from killing nearly as much as I expected.
“It wasn't even that bad! That thing was on its last legs anyway.” I grumbled to myself, smacking my forehead. I was feeling worse than when I did it which is weird. I ended up spontaneously decorating a ratty tie from the bottom of an accessory drawer to distract myself. It helped me get my mind off things, for a little. I had zero plan, just wanting to make something needlessly complex. Hours that felt like minutes passed and soon it was covered in patches, frills, and beads. I just tried it on when I heard the front door open.
“Man, that shit was wild!” I heard Brick laugh groggily. I didn't have to see or smell him to know he’d gotten lit. I rolled my eyes, closing my bedroom door.
“Hey, who’s there?” his friend asked, seemingly referring to me.
“Oh, that’s my little sis, don’t mind her she’s just on her emo shit!” he joked, which pissed me off for the petty reason that I didn't even listen or dress emo.
“Hey, that’s alright with me, I went through one of those phases,” they responded, their words less slurred than my cousin’s.
I fucked up and forgot to lock it when I closed it so they were able to swing it open, almost smacking my desk.
“Hey emo girl!” they waved as Brick haphazardly pulled them back.
“Okay, man, seriously I think she wants to be left alone.”
The way his friend looked at me made me uncomfortable. Like they’d snap my neck if I pissed them off. They clicked their tongue while stepping through the door frame.
“Alright, but I gotta say calling her an emo is inaccurate, they look like they watch gore and most emos just say they do.” they flashed a sharp toothy grin. At that moment I began to connect the dots.
“Easy, she’ll get pissy with you dude, now come on.” Brick warned tugging their opened button pushed him away. They looked me dead in the eyes.
“I don’t think she minds, in truth, I feel like we’ll have a lot to discuss later.” they smiled again, finally walking back into the living room. A chill ran up my spine when I saw them. The sharp teeth, New York accent, unsettling gaze, that motherfucker was the person who recruited me! They were able to get into my place so easily cause my dumbass cousin probably gave them a spare key or the opportunity to make one, and now they were a room away from me!
I dug my hands into my pillow as I contemplated what to do, no matter what happened next, I knew it was gonna be a rough visit.

I was in a drive thru and the line was wrapped around the parking lot. While inching forward slowly my two yr old distracted me for a second and I bumped into the car in front of me.
I got out of my car and the girl in the car in front of me got out. She was a teenager, her car is looks like it’s 10 yrs old and her bumper had scratches all over it from what looks like various different incidents and chipped paint. She also had a dent in her passenger side. Basically this car looked like it had been through hell. I looked at the front of my new car and there was no damage. I stupidly said I was sorry for bumping her car because I genuinely was. But I also didn’t see any damage to my car and I honestly was waiting for her to admit there’s nothing more to do because I had to have been going like 1 mph.
She made a fuss, said some confusing stuff like, “oh I guess there’s nothing wrong” then thought about it and then said, “well I have scratches on my car.” I didn’t know what to do in the situation. I didn’t want to be accused of a hit a run, but I’m not going to let this kid take advantage and try to get me to pay for a new bumper. We moved out of the drive thru and in the parking lot I just sat there and let her go on without saying anything. She eventually asked for my information and after thinking about it I said I didn’t feel comfortable with the situation but if she felt like she needed to call the police I would wait for them to come and take a report. She then got very sketchy seemed like she didn’t want to call the police, she said she didn’t have time. I offered her $300 dollars on the spot because that’s what I had paid to have a scratch repair on my bumper on another car a year ago. She asked for $600 instead, so that’s when I said if she didn’t want to call the police or take my offer I would just leave. Again, not wanting to be accused of a hit and run I just left her my business card and she seemed to be ok with that and then drove off.
She texted me hours later and said she was taking her car to a bodyshop to get an estimate on her bumper (eyes rolling over here). I didn’t respond to her text and I feel bad because I honestly would just suck it up and take the insurance hit if I thought I had caused damage.
Assuming that any reasonable insurance adjuster can tell immediately her scratched up bumper has been in multiple different incidents and there’s no damage to my car (we are both in the same foreign sedan, just different years) what can she do? I gave her my card so she can’t claim a hit and run, no one was injured. I’m assuming if she wanted to press the issue maybe they have camera footage from the drive thru. Should I contact my insurance? Or a lawyer? Or wait and call her bluff?

"You gotta know that there's an art to it, Ezra," Hitch said, cutting another piece of duct tape.
The sleeves of his weather-beaten coat were shoved all the way up his arms, to stop the fabric from falling over his knuckles while he was working, and goosebumps lined his skin. He was strapping a rubber chicken to the back of his truck, over the lens of the shattered backup camera, with the legs pointing down so that they hung a couple inches above the ground. There were dents in the hood from the crash last week, and scratches along the door from scraping into a curb. The chicken, hopefully, would keep him from breaking anything else.
"You can't go cheap," Hitch said. "The cheap rubber chickens only make noise when pressure lets go. That's no good. As soon as I back up into something, I want this chicken to be screaming like it’s in the depths of hell."
“Sure thing,” I said in a monotone, leaning against the side of the truck.
There were scrambled electronic parts piled in the back of the truck, the innards of a radio, a broken computer, tangled wires, a couple loose pairs of earbuds. He found the parts in alleyways or bummed them off his friends for a couple bucks or stole them from the vacation homes that were left empty for most of the year. Then he sold them for a profit at the scrapyard. Hitch had bounced between minimum-wage jobs for a while after high school, spending a couple months as a bagger at the grocery store or as a seasonal worker at the farm two hours down the highway. He'd never stuck with it. At the very least, the scrapyard got him enough money to eat and occasionally spend a night in a motel when he got tired of sleeping in his car.
Hitch pressed the last piece of tape in place and grinned up at me. "I've got something for you, duck."
The nickname came from when I’d broken my leg as a child and waddled around in a cast until it was healed. I hated it with a burning passion, and I glared at Hitch with the ease of twenty-one years of practice. He had a duck tattoo at the base of his thumb that he’d gotten in a back-alley shop as a teenager. He said that he’d gotten it to remind him of me, and the fact that I hated the nickname was just a bonus. It was shaky-lined, with an uneven face, but he loved it anyway.
The handle stuck when Hitch tried to open the door, a consequence of the rust collecting in the crevices of the car and running down the sides like blood from a cut. The car groaned when the door finally popped open, a metal against metal screech that had me flinching away. Hitch dug through the cluttered fast food containers in the passenger-side footwell, eventually coming up with a crinkly paper bag. He waved away the flies buzzing around the opening of the bag and held it out to me.
The last time Hitch had brought me food, I’d gotten food poisoning because he’d left it out in the midday sun for two days. The donut was squished slightly, and the icing was stuck to the bag. I still ate it, grimacing at the harsh citrus flavor. Taking Hitch’s food was an instinct engraved from the days when Dad had given us a can of kidney beans for dinner and Hitch had drank the juice, leaving the beans for me.
I rarely went hungry anymore, three mostly square meals a day and granola in my pockets just in case, but habits didn’t die easy.
These days, Hitch only brought me food when he wanted my help, like when he saw a place he wanted to hit but was worried about doing it alone.
I got in the car, like I always did.
We drove past the cluster of seafood-themed restaurants with chipped paint decks, the beachfront park where there were always shifty-eyed men sitting under the slide, the single room library where all the books had been water damaged in the flood last year. The change was quick as we drove across Main Street, heading closer to the beach. The roads were freshly paved, the concrete a smooth black except where the sun had already started to pick away at it. The three-story homes lining the sides of the street were crouched on elegant stilts, with space underneath for a car or three. Most of the garages were empty, with the lights off and curtains drawn in the house. Come summer, the streets would be swarming with tourists and vacationers, but until then, most of the buildings nearest to the beach were unoccupied.
Hitch stopped as the sun started to go down at a house that was leaning precariously out towards the beach, tilted ever so slightly, the edge of its foundation buried in the shifting sand of the beach. It certainly looked deserted, with an overgrown yard and blue paint peeling off the door in sheets.
Hitch took his hammer out of the backseat, hoisting it over his shoulder. It was two feet of solid metal with rags wrapped around the head to muffle the sound of the hits. Hitch squared up, bending his knees and holding the hammer like a baseball bat. Before he could swing, though, the door creaked open on its own, the hinges squeaking. The house beyond was dark enough that I could only make out general shapes, glimpsing the curve of a sofa to the left, what was maybe the shimmer of a chandelier on the other side.
Hitch lowered his hammer, looking vaguely disappointed that he didn’t get to use it. “That’s…weird as hell.”
“Maybe the deadbolt broke, maybe they forgot to lock it, it doesn’t matter,” I hissed, checking our surroundings for other people again. “Just hurry up and get inside before someone calls the cops.”
Hitch flicked the lightswitch on the wall, and the lights flickered on. They were dim, buzzing audibly and blinking off occasionally. The walls were plastered with contrasting swatches of wallpaper and splattered with random colors. There was neon orange behind the dining table, a galaxy swirl in the kitchen, and on the ceiling there was a repeating floral pattern covered in nametag stickers. Each of the stickers was filled out with The Erlking. Chandeliers hung in every room, three or four for each, and rubber ducks sat on every table. A miniature carousel sat in the corner along with a towering model rocket.
Sand was heaped on every surface, at least a couple inches everywhere. It was piled in the corners and stuck to the walls, and it covered the floor in a thick blanket. Our hesitant steps into the house left footprints clearly outlined in the sand.
Hitch took a cursory look around and headed immediately for the TV mounted on the wall. “Look out the windows and tell me if anyone is coming.”
I shook the sand out of the blinds and pulled them open, then had to brush sand off of the window before I could see anything.
Hitch was quick, practiced at finding and appropriating the things that were worth taking. He came back to me with an armful of electronics and chandeliers, dumping it at my feet before turning to head deeper into the house again.
There was a thump, somewhere upstairs, and then footsteps, slow and deliberate. Hitch froze at the threshold of the room, then ran for the door with me just ahead of him, sand flying out from under our feet.
My hand was almost brushing the doorknob, close enough that I could see the light from the streetlamp outside streaming in through the cracks in the door. My fingers touched the wood and it gave under my touch, becoming malleable and warm. I yelped, stumbling backwards, and the door started to melt. The paint ran down in thick drops, pooling at the bottom of the door, and the wood warped like metal being welded. The soft edges of the door ran into the walls until there was no sign of an exit ever being there.
“Well, well, well,” said a cultured voice with just an edge of snooty elitism. “What do we have here?”
The man was well over eight feet tall, with long black hair covering his eyes. He was wearing a yellow raincoat with holes cut out of the hood to accommodate the deer antlers jutting upwards from his head. There was sand settled on his shoulders and hovering around his head like a halo.
“Who the fuck are you?” Hitch said, inching towards a window.
He smiled, just a little bit, and his teeth shone in the dim light. “I am the Erlking.”
Hitch nodded, and seemed about to respond. I grabbed him by the hand and pulled him towards the window. I could feel sand in the wind roaring against my back as the Erlking growled in anger, the grains scraping harshly against my cheeks.
We were almost to the window when Hitch was ripped away from me, and I came to a startled halt. The sand had formed long grasping arms that pressed Hitch against the floral wallpaper. His wrists were held tight, and as I watched, a sandy hand wrapped around his mouth and forced its way between his teeth. He gagged, and sand trickled out of the corners of his mouth.
The Erlking strolled towards him, not seeming to be in any sort of rush. “You know, I’m not very fond of your yapping.”
He made an idle gesture and the sand wrapped around my ankles, tethering me in place.
“I yap all the time,” Hitch said. “Three-time olympic yapper, that’s me. Best to just let me go now and save yourself some trouble.”
The Erlking tapped a manicured nail against Hitch’s mouth, hard enough to hurt, judging by the way he flinched away. “But why would I ever let you go when I’ve gone to this much trouble to catch you and your sister? It’s so hard, these days, to find people that no one will miss.”
Hitch struggled against the sand, trying to escape and failing. “What do you want with us, then? You just said it, we’re nobody.”
“I’m fae, dear one,” the Erlking said. “I get my power from my followers. And I think that you two will make lovely additions to my flock.”

He flicked Hitch's nose and Hitch gasped. Feathers started to form on his arms, popping out from under his skin in a spray of blood.
Hitch pushed off the wall, using his bound hands as a fulcrum, and his knees crashed into the Erlking’s stomach. The Erlking fell backwards, wheezing, and the sand around my ankles loosened.
Hitch made desperate eye contact with me as feathers shot up his neck and jerked his head towards the window. The message was obvious. Run.
The last thing I saw before crashing out the window and into freedom was Hitch’s body twisting, his arms wrenching into wings and feathers covering every inch of his skin. By the time I landed on the concrete outside, he was a small black bird, held tightly in the Erlking’s hands. The whole building was sinking into the ground, burnished-gold sand piling up over top and streaming from the windows.
Thirty years later, I saw Sam’s Supernatural Consultation and Neutralization written in neat, looping handwriting on a piece of paper taped to the door. The tape was peeling at the corners and the paper was yellowed with age, but there was obviously care put into the sign, in its perfectly centered text and looping floral designs drawn over the edges in gold marker.
I knocked, hesitantly, drawing my woolen coat closer around my shoulders. I’d bought it as a fiftieth birthday gift for myself, and I took comfort in the heavy weight of it over my shoulders.
“Coming!” someone called from within the depths of the office.
There were a couple crashes, and the sound of paper shuffling. Eventually, the door was opened by a young woman with ketchup stains on her shirt and pencils stuck through her hair.
“Hi, I’m Sam, I specialize in supernatural consultation and hunting, how may I help you today?” Sam said, customer-service pep in her voice. She stood in the doorway, solidly blocking entry into the office.
“My name is Ezra, I’m for a consultation. I emailed you but you didn’t respond?” I shifted in place, suddenly feeling awkward.
“Oh! Yeah, I lost the password for the email ages ago. Sorry for the bad welcome, I get lots of people thinking I’m crazy or pulling a prank and harassing me.”
She ushered me into the office, clearing papers off one of the chairs to make room for me to sit down. There was a collection of swords along one wall, all of them polished to perfection, several with deep knicks in the metal which indicated that they’d been used heavily.
“So what can I help you with?” Sam asked again, more sincere this time.
“Thirty years ago, my brother was turned into a bird,” I started. I’d told this story so many times that it barely felt ridiculous to say anymore. I was used to the disbelieving looks, the careful pity. But Sam just nodded along, face open and welcoming.
“I’ve almost given up on finding him, at this point,” I said. “But I saw your ad in the newspaper, and…here I am, I suppose.”
“Here you are,” Sam echoed, smiling. She pulled one of the pencils out of her hair and took a bit of paperwork off of one of her stacks, turning it over so that the blank side sat neatly in front of her. “Tell me everything.”
I told Sam everything, and she wrote it all down, pencil scratching along the paper.
The last part of the story was always the hardest to tell. “I left him there. I ran and I didn’t look back.”
I had been to dozens of detectives and investigators over the years, once the police had dropped Hitch’s case. I’d been to professional offices with smartly-dressed secretaries and met scraggly men in coffee shops. All of them had given me the same look, pity and annoyance all mixed up into a humor-the-crazy-lady soup. Sam, though, just seemed thoughtful.
Sam leaned forward and put a hand over mine, carefully, like she thought that I would pull away. “Sometimes you have to leave people behind.”
I tightened her hold on Sam’s hand and drew it towards me, like I could make Sam listen if only I squeezed tight enough. “But that’s why I’m here. I don’t want to leave him behind.”
“Okay then. I’ll do my best to help you.” Sam agreed, finally. Then she paused, and said softly, “You know…I think I met your brother once. He might have saved my life. He’s certainly why I started in this business.”
“Really? What happened?” I asked.
This is the story that Sam told me, related to the best of my abilities:
It was a new moon, so the only illumination came from the stars gazing idly down and distant porch lights shining across the scraggly brush of the dunes. Sam’s neighbors were decent people who cared about baby turtles, so the lights were a low, unobtrusive red, and the ocean sloshed like blood. Sam walked on the beach almost every night, drawing back the gauzy pink curtains and clambering out her bedroom window. She didn’t often bother to be quiet; her mama worked the late shift and came home exhausted. As long as Sam got home before the sun, her mama would never find out that she paced the shoreline and dreamed of inhaling sand until her lungs became their own beach.
The sky was lightening. The sun would come up soon, and that meant Sam’s time on the beach was over. She needed to get back to her real life, go to her fifth grade class and stop that nonsense, as her mother would say. Her mother loved to say things like that, pushing Sam into her proper place by implication alone.
“She’s a good kid, of course, but she’s a bit…” Her mother would trail off there, usually getting a commiserating expression from whoever she was talking to. Sam always wondered how that sentence would have finished. She’s a bit strange, maybe. She’s a bit intense. She’s a bit abrasive. She’s quiet enough but when Jason tried to steal her pencil in math class, she stabbed him in the hand so hard that the lead tattooed him.
Her mother was better, for the most part. The days of her stocking up the fridge, and leaving a post-it note on the counter, and leaving for days at a time were gone. But Sam still stepped around the place on the kitchen tile where her mother had collapsed and caved her head in, even though the bloodstains had been replaced with new tile.
“Your auntie got an abortion, you know,” her mother had said from her place on the couch, slurring her words. “Pill in the mail and then bam, no more baby.”
She had clapped her hands together to illustrate her point. Her mother jerked forward and grabbed Sam by the wrist, then, staring up at her until Sam met her eyes.
“I love you, you know? But sometimes I wonder…” She settled back onto the couch. “Yeah. I wonder.”
She’d gotten up, then, back to the kitchen. She’d been stumbling, a shambling zombie of a woman. The ground in the entryway of the kitchen was raised, ever so slightly, and her mother went down hard. Her head cracked against the tile, chin first, and she didn’t move.
Sam had been the one to call the ambulance. She had stared at the scattering of loose teeth on the ground while she waited, and considered what her life would be like with a dead mom. Not so bad, she thought, and immediately felt guilty for it.
Her mom was better, now, for the most part. But Sam still stepped around the place on the kitchen floor where she had collapsed. There was still a matchbox hidden under her bed with the gleaming shine of her mother’s lost teeth, two canines and a molar. It was nice, having a piece of her mom to keep. Even if she left again, Sam would still have part of her.
Sam sighed, and turned away from the ocean. As she faced towards the low dunes further up the beach, she saw a sandcastle sitting nestled among them. It was such a strange sight that her eyes skipped over it at first, almost automatically, disregarding it because it was so out of place.
Sam found sandcastles out on the beach sometimes, usually half-collapsed and on the verge of being washed away by the waves, but she had never seen anything like the sandcastle in front of her. It was life-sized, something that wouldn’t have looked out of place in the Scottish highlands, with spires shooting up above her head and carefully etched out bricks lining each side. The front wall was dominated by an arched set of double doors, twice her height, with a portcullis nestled at the top, ready to be dropped. All of it was lovingly detailed, down to the rust on the tips of the towers and the wood grain of the door. It was made out of wet, densely-packed sand, held together impossibly. It had not been there two hours ago, when she had come to the beach.
There was a bird sitting on the overhang of the door, small and black.
As soon as she took a step towards the sandcastle, the bird shook out its feathers and swooped down towards Sam, landing at her feet with a little stumble.
“Hey, kid, get out of here,” said the bird.
Sam closed her eyes, very deliberately. When she opened them, the bird was still there. Sam considered herself a very reasonable person, so she immediately drew the most logical conclusion. The bird was, she was almost certain, a demon.
“Trust me, you don’t want to run into Mr. Salty, the queen bitch himself,” the bird said.
“Mr. Salty?” Sam inquired, polite as she knew how to be. She edged to the side, trying to get a good angle to kick the bird like a soccer ball.
The bird did something similar to a wince, all its feathers fluffing up then settling back down. “Ah, don’t call him that. He’d turn you into a toad.”
The bird gestured with its head, towards the looming sand structure. “That’s his castle. He’s in there, probably scuttling along the ceiling or some shit because that’s the sort of weirdo he is.”
Sam nodded, encouraging. She pulled back her foot and lined up her shot, the way she’d seen athletes do on TV. She aimed right for its sharp beak and let loose. The bird saw it coming, its beady eyes widening, and it cawed in distress. It flapped away, avoiding her kick only to fall backward into the sand in a scramble of wings.
“What’s your fucking problem?” it squawked. “I was trying to help you!”
“I don’t need the help of a demon,” Sam yelled, trying to remember the exorcism that her mama had taught her once, because her mama believed in being prepared for anything.
“I’m not a demon,” the bird said indignantly.
It was at about that moment that Sam gave up and just decided to roll with it.
“What are you, then?” Sam asked.
The bird shuffled its clawed feet, looking about as awkward as it could, given that it didn’t really have recognizable facial expressions. “Technically I’m a familiar of the Erlking, prince of the fae, but I prefer to be called Hitch.”
“You can’t blame me for assuming, though,” Sam said. “Ravens do tend to be associated with murder.”
“Hey, excuse you,” Hitch said. “I’m a rook, not a raven. Ravens are way bigger.”
“Sure,” Sam said, not really paying attention. Her eyes had caught on the details of the sandcastle, and she was transfixed by the slow spirals of the sand, the strange beauty of it. She found herself stepping towards the great doors, lifting a hand to knock, and as she did, the sand warped in front of her eyes, heaving itself towards her with bulging slowness. The door creaked open before her, revealing a vast, empty room. Just before she stepped inside, she felt a piercing pain in her foot, and she yelped, leaping backwards.
Hitch pecked her again, really digging his beak in. “Don’t be an idiot.”
Sam glared at him, rubbing her foot. About to retort, she finally really took in the room inside the sandcastle, and her words died in her throat.
There was a body just past the threshold of the door, face down and limbs hanging limp at its sides. Long hair splayed out in a halo around its head.
“Don’t,” Hitch warned, suddenly serious. “Just leave, kid, I mean it. I’ve seen too many people go down this road and you don’t want to be one of them.”
Sam ignored him. She made her way across the beach, slipping with every step. The sand felt deeper, piling up around her feet in silent drifts. She picked up the nearest stick and poked the body with it through the door, ready to leap back if anything went wrong, staying firmly outside of the sandcastle.
This close, Sam could tell that it used to be a woman. Her head wasn’t attached to her body. It hadn’t been a clean amputation, either. Her upper body was bruised, with chunks taken out of it, and the bones in her neck hung mangled, not connected to anything.
“Well, I warned you,” Hitch said, defeated. “I did warn you.”
Sam nudged the head with the end of the stick, nudging it over so that she could see the face. Her mother stared back at her, torn to pieces, breath still wheezing from her lungs. She wasn’t blinking, just gazing forward with glazed eyes. Sweat dripped down from her hairline.
Sam screamed and dropped the stick, tripping over herself in her haste to get away.
Her mother’s eyes were wide and pleading, and she was mouthing desperate words at Sam. Her vocal cords were broken to bits, and the only sound that came out was a strained groan.
The head rolled, inching closer to Sam like a grotesque caterpillar.
Her mother gasped for air, torn lips fluttering. Finally, comprehensible words came out. “Help. Help me, daughter.”
“That’s not your mother,” Hitch said, quiet.
Sam knew that. Her mother was sleeping back at home, and anyways her mom had never asked for her help. She had an aversion to accepting charity, as she put it.
“Okay,” Sam said, shaking all over. “Okay.”
She backed away from the sandcastle, not looking away.
“Failure,” her mother hissed as she stepped away. “I never wanted a daughter like you.”
The sun came up over the horizon. The sandcastle, Hitch, and her mom all disintegrated into sand as the light hit them.
The beach, the next night, was almost exactly how I remembered it. The beams of our flashlights sent light bouncing across the dunes, illuminating the waves, and I imagined faces in the foam of the waves.
“I’ve been back here a hundred times. There’s nothing left,” I said.
Sam took the car key out of her purse and pointed it at the sand, adjusting the sword slung over her shoulder in order to do it. The key had belonged to Hitch; Sam had requested an item of his, and it was the only thing I had left. She rested the key on the sand and drew a circle around it, inscribing symbols around the borders.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
Sam shrugged. “Not much, really. I’m…I guess you could say that I’m knocking.”
The key laid inert on the sand for long enough that I was just about to give up and go home, admit to myself that Hitch was dead and that I was a fool to believe that Sam could actually help me. Then a building started to take shape, flickering in and out like it was struggling to get away. With a pop of displaced air, the sandcastle settled into existence.
Sam banged on the entryway. Nothing happened. She did it again, harder, and scowled when the door still didn’t open.
“We demand entrance, under your honor,” Sam yelled. There was a hard rush of wind, and I gripped Sam’s arm to keep my balance, but the doors cracked open reluctantly.
The inside of the sandcastle consisted of one enormous hall, the roof arching up out of sight. Rafters crisscrossed from wall to wall, and a cobbled path led further into the building, but other than that, it was completely empty, except for the birds. There were thousands of them, perched on the rafters or hopping along the ground. They parted in front of Sam and I, and reformed behind us, leaving us in a small pocket of open space. They were all black-feathered, with sharp beaks and beady eyes.
The Erlking sat on a throne at the end of the hall, lounging across it with his feet up on the armrest. He watched them as they came forward, the soft caw of the birds the only sound.
“I am here to bargain for the life of my brother,” I said, with as much dignity as I could muster, before the Erlking could say anything.
The Erlking ignored her, tilting his head to look at Sam. “I remember you. I almost got you, once.”

Sam glared at him but didn’t respond.
“You want your brother,” The Erlking said to me, and he almost sounded amused. “Then go get him.”
As if by some sort of silent signal, every bird in the room took flight at once, and their cawing made me think of screams. I covered my head against the flapping of their wings, and my vision was quickly obscured by the chaotic movement of them. I found myself on my knees, just trying to escape them.
A hand met my shoulder. Sam urged me to my feet, and together we ran for the edge of the room, where the swarm was the thinnest. We pressed ourselves into the corner and the swarm spiraled tighter and tighter at the center of the room. It went on until there seemed to be no differentiation between the birds, all of them fused together into one creature.
When the chaos died down, the birds had become one mass, with wings and eyes and talons sticking out of its flesh, thrashing and chirping. Human body parts stuck out of it, bulging out from the feathers. It was hands, mostly, with a couple knees or staring eyes. The bird amalgamation had no recognizable facial features, but there was one long beak extending from the front of its head. Most of the body parts were concentrated around the beak, and they peeked out from where the beak connected with muscle, or grew from the tongue, nestled between the two crushing halves of the beak.
It turned its beak down and crawled forward, using the hands to balance. The fingers scrambled over the ground. I was afraid of centipedes as a child, and I felt that same crawling dread when it started moving.
“Holy shit,” Sam whispered, which was rather disappointing, because I had been hoping that at least one of us knew what to do.
The creature turned, a lurching movement that crushed some of the hands underneath it, and started heaving itself slowly towards our corner.
“Better hurry up!” the Erlking called from his throne.
It was blocking the exit, by then. The shifting body of it had moved to block us off. It ambled towards us and I tried to sink further into the corner.
As it approached, getting close enough that I could smell the stink of it, I saw a flash of a tattoo on one of the hands. I leaned in, trying to find it again, like looking for dolphins surfacing in the ocean. And again, I caught a glimpse of a duck tattoo, the tattoo that Hitch had gotten on his hand as a teenager.
I ripped away from Sam’s death grip and ran for the monster.
I fell to my knees in front of it, wincing as I impacted the ground, and reached into the nest of hands. I could feel them tearing at my forearms and ripping into me with their sharp nails, but I kept going. I pressed further in, up to my shoulder in a writhing mass of limbs, aiming for the spot where I had last seen that tattoo.
The hands were tugging at me, wrapping around my back and hair. They were pulling together, trying to draw me completely into the mass of them. I was aware of Sam at my side, anchoring me in place and bashing any hand that got too close with her sword or the sparks that leapt from her hands with muttered words. But I didn’t think it would be enough. They were too strong, and there were too many of them.
I was up to my waist in the hands when something grabbed my palm. I felt the way it clung to me, and the calluses on its palm, and I knew that I had found my brother.
I flung herself back. The hands didn’t want to let me go, and they fought the whole way, but slowly, I made progress. I kept hold of Hitch’s hand in mine the whole time, gripping it as hard as I could. I finally broke free, Hitch with me, and Sam was immediately charging the creature, able to use her sword with much greater strength without being worried about injuring Hitch. She swung it forward, and it sliced through the wrist of one of the hands. It fell without a sound, red sand flowing out of it. It deflated until it looked like dirty laundry, just a piece of limp flesh. The creature shrieked, scuttling away enough that the door was finally accessible. The three of us ran for it, Sam and I supporting Hitch between us.
I looked back as I left and found the Erlking staring right at me.
“Interesting,” he murmured, his voice carrying impossibly across the vast space between us.
The sandcastle collapsed behind us, the great walls falling in on themselves. We were out in the morning sun, the sandcastle disappearing as we watched. Hitch was on the ground in front of me, as young as he’d been thirty years ago, when he was captured. He started laughing, feathers puffing out of his mouth. He laughed until he cried and I hugged him in the way that he’d held me when I was young, in the times when my life had been defined by hunger and fear.
Hitch left, afterwards. He scratched at the pinhole scars covering his body, where feathers burst through his skin, and pulled his long sleeves down around his wrists. He didn’t know where he was going but he told me that he needed time
I had spent thirty years worth of time without him. I wanted to grab my brother by the shoulders and beg him to stay. But he flinched when I hugged him goodbye and he refused to go near sand and he stared distrustfully at the birds chirping in the trees. Hitch needed to go away and I loved him too much to stop him.
I sat out on the beach every morning. I felt the sun on my face and I waited for Hitch to come home.

I love Atavista. The crispy quality in sound improvements are wonderful. Some song changes are better and some are worst but there's one thing unforgivable for me and it's tearing me apart ( mainly my apple music playlist) but it should bother everyone.
My absolute favorite thing from 3.15 and life in general was that transition from the end of 12:38 to 19:10. It's immaculate. It scratches the music ear perfectly. I listen to 12:38 so that I can enjoy 19:10 fully, and I love 12:38 on its worth, but not like I love 19:10. It's a journey. The dissonance of the end of 12:38 is the universe jumping apart and giving you something experimental and fun to enjoy and then WHAM, the hard cut drums of 19:10 come in and converge the multiverse back into one.
Atavista stole that from me. Why is there this intro for To Be Hunted? Why can't I have my chaotic cake drums and eat it too?
It's not the biggest dealio because I can go on YouTube or something, the original still exists out there. But not on apple music. Not on my dank music playlist , that small section of my playlist won't be the same now.
Anyway, idk if anyone feels as passionate as this change, but that transition between those two tracks was one of the greatest music moments for me.

So I'm trying to narrow down what type of cake I want for my birthday, and honestly, I can't pick.
Here are some ideas I have:

1. Lemon cake. Passion fruit & swiss cream filling. Icing ??? I don't know, I got stuck here.
2. Vanilla cake. Key lime and coconut filling. Coconut buttercream.
3. Matcha cake. vanilla cream filling. white chocolate ganache for icing. dusting of some of the matcha powder on top.
4. Matcha cake. hazelnut mousse filling. Swiss meringue buttercream frosting. dusting of the powder on top again.
5. Almond Cake. Orange & Lemon Curd filling. Vanilla buttercream frosting.

I am trying to stay away from anything strawberry since I've done that two years in a row. I had a strawberry, pistachio, and bavarian cream cake last year that was really good, and I don't want to keep doing strawberries (even though I LOVE them).
Out of these flavors, what would you choose? I know its my birthday so it should be what I want but i'm indecisive.
Thank you!