Build your own kitchen booth
BuildYourOwn
2019.07.10 07:03 carguyfrank BuildYourOwn
I love cars. Enjoy them with me!
2012.04.07 22:30 Panaetius DIY Drones: Build your own drone!
If you want to show off your new DIY drone, or if you have questions on how to build one, this reddit is for you! Unmanned Aerial Vehicles (UAV), Unmanned Ground Vehicles (UGV) and just about any other unmanned vehicle you can think of are welcome here.
2012.11.20 04:34 Son0fZeus PCBuilds: Let us help you build your own PC!
Because no question is too simple for someone who wants to build a wonderful PC and join the ranks of the PCMR!
2024.05.19 16:00 BrodogIsMyName Frontier Fantasy - Chap 39
[First] [Previous] [Next]
Edited by WaveOfWire
- - - - -
Two days… It had been two days that Tracy had gone to sleep while Harrison was working, only to come back in the morning to see him still in the workshop. She knew he was damn productive, sure, but that really couldn’t be healthy. Apparently, it had something to do with the weird bowl of orange… soup… that Cera gave him. No way was it just caffeine; any amount of the stuff would have been filtered out of his system by now. He mentioned a tingling feeling too…
Damn, she did not know enough about drugs to even start assuming what that massive alien had Harrison fucked up on. At least the scanner said he was ‘fine’—if you ignore the other glaring issues the machine brought up. Plus, he said he didn’t mind it. Either way, he managed to complete the weaving component and a few other electrical backbones of the fabricator last night, so the project was practically done, and after seeing the engineer work himself half to death, she was dead-set on finishing it.
She was currently tits-deep into the upper manufacturing portion of the towering machine. It took a tall step-stool—on top of the nearby desk—for her to push her small shoulders through the even smaller access panels high on the everything-printer. It was difficult to fit her torso in, but she managed, holding a flashlight between her teeth as she fiddled with a stubborn series of mechanical ‘hands.’ Nothing new. The situation reminded her of the ‘shop back on Mars; it had the same ever-present scent of copper and industrial sealant. All that was missing was her dad’s ancient tunes blasting through some shitty speakers… Hold on…
The modular component in her grip was successfully attached with a resonating thock. Tracy squirmed out of the dim wire-filled crevice, trying her best to not rip her only tank-top on any bolts or corners, and getting a face-full of the bright flood-lights illuminating the workshop. She scowled and blocked out the searing light with a hand, but she was a bit too late to avoid going half-blind.
“Are the mechanical manipulators in?” Harrison grunted, poking his head out underneath the printer’s floor-adjacent maintenance hatch. She looked down at him as she tried to blink off the spots in her vision. His hair was messy, barely kept in line by his habit of combing through it with his fingers. The areas around his eyes were dark and sunken… Guess that’s what two all-nighters did to a man. He’d be seeing the hat man or start hallucinating if he didn’t get any sleep soon… but then again, the two of them were so close to finishing the fabricator…
“You bet.” She gave him a thumbs up, slamming the panel cover closed. “Feel free to test it.”
He nodded and slid back underneath the machine. “Gotcha”
She gently stepped off the stool and slid off the side of the desk, stretching herself out. If her piss-poor sitting posture or her tank-top puppies hadn’t already fucked her spine up, bending over backward to build this fabricator sure as hell would. She sat down next to the panel where Harrison resided, resting her back against the fabrication tower. Her excited voice broke the muffled noises of the engineer’s work. “So… Harrison?”
“Hmm—”
“—Mind if I play some music?”
The sounds from the hatch stopped, followed by his muffled, shocked tone echoing from beneath the fabricator. “You have music!?”
She smirked at seeing the expression on his face when his head popped out again. “I sure do… Did you seriously not download any to your data pad?”
He slipped out from beneath the fabricator fully, huffing as he took a knee beside her. The scent of melded rubber, wire, and his liquid labor reached her nose not-so-unpleasantly. “You would not believe how much of a pain it is to repair an entire barracks without it… So, yeah, I didn’t.”
“Sooooooooo, whatcha wanna listen to? I’ve got almost everything on here—besides the super niche, of course.” She pulled her data pad out, swiping to the massive music folder
“You wouldn’t like the kinda music I listen to; It’s ancient.”
She gave him a lighthearted, annoyed glare. “Welcome to the club… Now what’ll it be?”
“It’s Old Earth kind of ancient… but alright” He looked up at the ceiling in thought, lips pursed. “Do you have anything from Styx or Sweet?”
She stared at him incredulously, her smirk turning into a fully-fledged smile. “Oh my God. You are an absolute dork! You actually listen to Golden Age music?”
His brows raised, accusatory. “And you somehow know exactly who those bands were and what age of Old Earth music they came from?”
She smugly leaned in closer. “That’s because I’m just as much of a nerd with that kinda music as you apparently are.” She quickly looked upward, addressing the workshop AI. “Sebas, connect nearby speakers to my data pad’s audio.” Tracy elbowed the engineer lightly as the PA system chirped its affirmation. “Now, Mr. Golden Age music, which albums do ya want me to queue up?”
- - - - -
The two of them listened to music for hours, tossing on songs they liked as they came to mind while they worked. Harrison had a ton of recommendations that spanned all over the Golden Ages and some twenty-first century classics. She didn’t even know half of them, but she was vibing either way, adding on her own taste by intermingling some older rock tracks and newer electronic beats. The playlist was steadily built up as the day went on. Thank God her dad showed her a vast array of tunes; she might not have been able to keep up with the engineer if her old man hadn't.
It made the work go by so fast, their conversations blurring as they jumped from topic to topic. They discussed whatever came to mind—old hobbies, old jobs, and old interests. A lot was left behind in Sol… At least she knew that the only other human on the planet was more interesting than a soulless workaholic. It turned out that he was a pretty big history buff, and he apparently read a lot about the colonization of the Sol system and the various wars of independence thereafter. Curious, she asked where the interest stemmed from, and he explained that his grandfather was an admiral in the Slavic-Europan deep-ice submarine fleet, which explained how Harrison’s mother was able to afford to immigrate to Mars from Europa.
He could also play an acoustic guitar, and, unfortunately for Tracy, he wasn’t even the slightest bit interested in printing one out, citing that it was a waste of time and material that would be better used elsewhere. That didn’t stop her from writing a note on her data pad to do so later, though. She hadn’t seen someone play one of those in years—the last time was probably in some old music video from the early twenty-second century. What a shame. She would have liked to hear some of the Europan songs his grandmother taught him.
On the bright side, the man seemed to take an interest in her odd hobbies. He brought up the folder of 3D models that she accidentally uploaded to the inter-module system and asked where she got the inspiration for what was in it. Boy, was he not ready for her ‘WarHalberd40k’ lore dump. Props to the guy for not standing up and leaving the workshop throughout her rambling. He even asked questions about the different factions and their weapons, which she was more than happy to talk about.
She also ended up going over the other franchises and hobbies she was interested in, such as robotics and the like. The only interruptions to their chat were the occasional Akula or Craftsman asking for insight regarding the various tasks he had allotted to them, or Shar coming in to check up on Harrison between guard shifts.
The new dynamic of the group was pretty interesting, to say the least. Tracy hadn’t been out to interact with the whole lot of Malkrin, but she definitely noticed how they treated the engineer. They’d started to look up to him in a way ever since he started showing off technology. In a little over two days, the man had shown them that he could provide the materials for a brick house, fine clothing—especially by the alien’s standards—armor, and delicious food. That wasn’t even mentioning the other benefits the technician heard a few of the ‘banished’ talking about over their meals: heating, electric lights, and other assorted machines.
She’d be feeling pretty happy about herself if she was in his position, having so many look up to him and be grateful at the same time. He seemed to view it a lot more robotically, however, only striving to get the basics done. Luckily for him, his basics were their luxury.
That wasn’t all there was to the topic; the engineer lamented about how the colony was going through food just as quickly as materials. The meals weren’t the direct issue he had, more that he had to start focusing on long-term resource harvesting rather than directly preparing for a literal horde of monsters—which wasn’t exactly ideal. It was a good thing that they just so happened to take on an influx of Malkrin then…
Either way, they finally finished the ‘totally legal modification’ for the fabricator, meaning they could at least partially address the latter half of his worries. The whole process of ripping out an old printer and replacing the parts for a new one felt a lot easier than she imagined… even if it took her at least forty-eight hours to complete it… with help from Harrison. Maybe that was why it felt so easy… She supposed the colony overseers didn’t choose the man for no reason, so his skills made sense.
“So… what do we want to print out first?” Tracy questioned, having finished testing the last major component.
The engineer stretched his arms up into the air and rotated his shoulders, then pulled back the desk’s chair and took a seat. “I’ve had just one thing in mind since the start of this whole project.”
Her brows raised in a mix of excitement and curiosity. She leaned forward, looking at the computer monitor from over his shoulder. “Oh? What’s that, then?”
A smirk formed along his cheek, the computer mouse rapidly clicking through the blueprint folder. “I’ve had a lot of time to think about what kind of firearm we need since I started dabbling in belt-fed weapon systems.” He opened one final file, a short loading bar preceding the exploded assembly view of… “An M2 Browning machine gun. It’s more than powerful enough to kill in one shot, while also being capable of fully-automatic fire, with a capacity of however many rounds we want in a belt-box.”
“Uh…huh…” She gave a skeptical nod and took a step back, not exactly sold on the idea. “It looks ancient. It’s kinetic, right? Why aren’t we using energy-based weapons? Don’t we have a gunpowder shortage coming up?”
He moved his chair off to the side to look back at her. “We just can’t; Simple as. We’ll need who knows how many more AI cores before we can get started on that level of equipment, Trace,” he huffed, returning his gaze to the specifications of the firearm. “This isn’t the most ‘modern’ weapon we can make, but its twenty-first century counterpart helps with an improved design… somewhat. And, as I said before, it should be more than capable of killing a bug in one shot, so Shar can just tap-fire it to save ammunition.”
Her head tilted quizzically. “Shar?”
“Yup,” he returned confidently. “It’s the perfect weapon for her.”
She raised a brow. “How so?”
He held his hand up, counting his reasons on his fingers. “She’s always on the front line with a shield, she can absolutely handle the weight and recoil, her four arms make reloading it simple, plus she’ll need something with range and power that isn’t a spear. So, why not? And, if for some reason, she doesn’t want to use it, we can just convert it into a turret—which is something I was planning on doing anyways with however more M2s we print out later.”
“I doubt she’ll say no to any gun you give her,” Tracy chuckled while shaking her head, inadvertently causing her bangs to cover her eyes.
“Fair enough,” he conceded with a bob of his head. “What do you think, then? What kinda weapons do you have in mind?”
She reapplied her goggles into an impromptu hairband, feeling a smirk cross her face. “Thought you’d never ask. What purpose do we need these guns to fulfill? Hordes I’m guessing?”
“That’s the idea, yeah. That doesn’t mean they all need to be machine guns, though.” He tapped the belt-fed shotgun beside him.
“Well, lemme see what we’re working with first.” She suddenly stepped forward, leaning over Harrison’s seat to access the keyboard and mouse. Her arms briefly rubbed against him, forcing him to roll his chair backward. She suppressed a giggle at seeing his incredulous frown.
Her eyes quickly traced the hundreds of individual files, clicking through all sorts of folders, each arranged from pre-twenty-first century ‘antiques,’ to more modern iterations of kinetics and particle weaponry. There was… a lot on there—almost too much to reasonably comb through. Why? Did the colony overseers just say ‘fuck it’ and put whatever they could find on here? Were they expecting the pioneers to make a museum of everything?
She sighed, standing up straight and facing Harrison. “Y’know, I’m actually impressed you managed to find that M2-whatever in there…”
He shifted in his seat, resting an elbow on the desk. “Yup, there’s a lot. I’m almost tempted to just make several of those machine guns and just call it a day, but I feel like that’d be too much of a strain on resources, no?”
“I don’t really know enough about how you fight those spider-crab things, or how to get more gunpowder, so… maybe?” She shrugged, biting her cheek in contemplation. “You might just wanna make a few smaller caliber weapons… like, uh… those old kinetic service rifles. If your pump-action shotgun works fine, I’m sure some normal guns would work just fine for now, right?”
He hardily gripped his firearm, hauling it up to his lap. “Depends on what you mean by ‘smaller caliber.’ The whole reason why the KS-23 here works—” he pulled out a massive shell from the ammo belt, displaying it on his palm. “—is because the twenty-three-millimeter round has enough energy transfer to mess up any bug's shell and insides. I’d say the smallest rounds we could use would be point-two-forty-three caliber to get any similar results.”
Brief flickers of grungy orange shells and gnashing teeth marred Tracy’s sight. She forcibly suppressed them, distracting herself with dry humor and a strained laugh. “Guess those fuckers can really take a punch, huh?”
He shook his head somberly. “I couldn’t imagine going up against them without a gun… Anyway, I like your idea of a standard rifle for now. Then, when we have some product lines up, we can go a little more in depth into personal weapons.”
“So are you gonna take one?” She hopped up on the desk, letting her legs swing off the side.
“Don’t think so, no. I’ll stick with my shotty.” The internals of the heavily modified weapon rattled as he held it up and inspected it. “Doesn’t mean I’ll keep it as is. I’m thinking of printing a laser aiming module so I can point-fire it accurately, and maybe a melee-oriented muzzle brake or a lighter chassis to reduce weight… Not sure though.”
She leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees, her cheeks in her palms. “Melee-oriented? Oooooh, like a chain-sword or something?”
His short chuckle coerced a smirk to her face. “No, not like that. More something to use as a bludgeoning tool. Right before the blood-moon, I ended up getting just as much use out of this shotgun as a hammer than as a… well, a shotgun.”
“That’s pretty fuckin’ metal. So are you just gonna make the barrel into a giant bayonet?”
He nodded. “Not exactly a bayonet, but something more like a door-breaching break.”
A short silence settled on their conversation, the faint sounds of the fabricator’s hum and distant woodwork coming to light. Right, there was an outside world… She’d been too caught up talking to Harrison for however many hours it had been. She wondered how successful the fisherwomen were in collecting, and how things had been for the others working on the wood storage shack. Maybe it was already completed? The sun peered through the cargo bay door, proving that it was only about midday. What else would they work on today?
“Hey,” she ventured.
“Hm?” the engineer hummed, his eyes focused on the monitor beside the technician.
She scooted closer to his keyboard. “What’re we doing after this?”
“What do you mean?”
She leaned backward, propping herself up on two hands. “Project wise; what’s the next big thing?”
“Uhmmm…” he muttered, interacting with the computer for a few more seconds before finally meeting her gaze. “Well, I’ve just allocated the fabricator to print out the M2, three FALs—wood furniture, of course—then there’s the magazines and ammunition, so we’ve got a lot of time to kill. The next big thing is definitely going to be metal procurement, and— Oh, right!” Harrison stopped mid-sentence, reaching into his backpack and pulling out several finger-sized metallic cubes, a sudden fire in his eyes. “Okay, so a while ago, during an encounter with three colossi, Shar and Akula found a cave with some ‘surface’ metal deposits. I took a piece off to analyze, but never got the chance to until last night. Anyway, we don’t have any machines to examine the ore, so I made use of the recycler and broke it down to its baser components.”
She nodded along, seeing where he was going with his explanation. “I’m guessing those shiny cubes are the metals from the ore?”
“Sure is. So, as it turns out, we have a pretty damn close supply of not only iron, but also, zinc, sulfur, and a small amount of cadmium. I talked with Sebas about it and did a little research. We believe it’s something akin to sphalerite, given its composition and looks, which implies it’s a sedimentary exhalative deposit. That means there must have been some volcanic…”
Harrison continued talking about underwater deposits and ancient rock formations, bringing up some theories brought forward by the now 4-AI-core-powered Sebas, delving into the current land mass’ history and possible ore output. A lot of it went over the tradewoman’s head, but she still listened intently… Honestly, she could have listened to the man talk about finding metals for hours. It was sort of like the podcasts she used to listen to while completing colonist training, but even more personal and somehow easier to get lost in…
“…find some other minerals further down like silver, but it also might be an active lava zone. Again, these are all theories and this world could just throw the fundamentals of geology away as it does for physics. Anyway, sorry for going on for so long about that, just thought it’d be important for getting some metals in the future.”
“No, no,” Tracy assured, alleviating him of concern with a wave of her hand. “If there’s anything the colony overseers emphasized, it was farming and mineral acquisition. Don’t worry.” She smiled, pointing a thumb to herself. “I just wanna know how I can help.”
“Actually, I’ve a few things only you can do. I’d like to make use of your impressive drone-making expertise for a few applications, if you don’t mind.”
The task of keeping eye contact slipped into an impossible feat in the span of a singular second, planting a pang of embarrassment on her reddened face, forcing her to inspect her fidgeting hands. “I-I wouldn’t say ‘impressive’… b-but what do you have in mind?”
She could see him raise a brow out of the corner of her vision. “Well, after what you’ve shown me with the reconnaissance flyers, I’d like your help in setting up a more permanent ‘net’ of them to scour the meadow and parts of the nearby forest to look out for any approaching hordes. I don’t want to be snuck up on… again…”
‘Again.’
She noted his small frown and sunken eyes, both a little more exaggerated than they already were. It wasn’t like she’d deny his request, but the pangs of empathy over their shared situation all but solidified her resolve. It was the least she could do. She could help him. She would help him.
The technician exhaled slowly, taking on a more serious and understanding tone than before. “I… can do that. For sure. What else?”
“I appreciate it.” He gave a wane smile. “I’ll help you with whatever you need for the project. For the other drones, I’m thinking about a small exploration vehicle to map out caves around us and mark any minerals, as well as a submersible to look for potassium deposits in the ocean.”
“So… search bots?” She crossed her arms, confidence growing; those were her specialty. “Depending on how long the fabricators take and what kind of base drones are in the blueprint folders, I should be able to get those done in no time. All I need to know are the search cues for potassium and how many drones you want.”
He quickly shuffled a few folders on the computer, turning the monitor for her to see some scientific documents with various images and walls upon walls of text. “There’re plenty of resources for that on here for what to look for, and there’s always Sebas, so feel free to ask him since he can just sort through the data for you anyway. If you can, I’d like it if you could focus on the submersible after the reconnaissance drones.”
“Sounds good to me. I’ll be right on it, then.” She gave him a thumbs up, slipping off his desk and toward her own.
“I’ll bring you lunch in a bit. Imma go check on the others,” he called.
Her stomach grumbled at the mention, her head turning to give him an appreciative smile. “Oh! Thanks!”
\= = = = =
Avian creatures chirped from their perches in the trees nearby. The wind softly rustled red leaves as grass gently gave way to calculated footfalls. A warm sun laid its light on Shar’khee’s neck. It was surprisingly pleasant, were one to take the time to notice. The mainland was a confusing place for the paladin, with its disparate representations of nature contrasting so heavily. Some days were filled with blood and ravenous beasts, while others were left within the domain of simplicity and beauty. She was content to have the latter, yet it felt like a facade veiling the former—a soft exterior covering the maliciously spiked interior. Never could she leave herself to carelessness, no matter how welcoming it might be.
Hence why she worked to ensure the safety of the star-sent’s castles and their inhabitants, her days largely spent patrolling for any roaming swarms that may wish to cause them harm. She typically used the routine to think, but today offered little in the way of solitude. This time, she was accompanied by the previously banished guardswoman, and was tasked with instructing the new one, though the specifics of what such lessons should entail were vague. Still, Shar’khee did all that she could so as not to disappoint Harrison, so she could only attempt to meet his expectations of her.
She told the yellow-skinned female of the threats that the settlement faced, how one was to defeat them, and what to expect from the beasts. The guardswoman was directed to practice her form with the spear in both thrusts and throwing for some time afterward, proving herself to be well-built. Such was expected of her profession after all.
It was pleasing to have another capable of patrolling the settlement’s outskirts for swarms, as it would greatly impact how effectively the colony could react to such a threat. If her routine was to suffer for the colony’s well-being, she was happy to show the new one her patrol route and note what to look out for.
The guardswoman was not a perfect student, however. Shar’khee never addressed it directly, but the yellow-skinned female obviously discredited the danger posed by the abhorrent, not-so-subtly shrugging off any warnings.
…That was until they stumbled upon the ‘hyena-boars,’ as Harrison called them.
The beasts resided in a clearing not too far from the castles, carelessly meandering across the sea of tall grass. Shar’khee quickly crouched, dragging the guardswoman down with her. Once she assessed that the creatures were not an imminent danger, she decided it would be an excellent opportunity to show the new one how to properly engage a threat. She was about to propose the idea, yet her speech was silenced just as swiftly.
Orange flashes darted through the trees around the glade. Taloned feet and gnashing teeth tore across the ground toward the unsuspecting beasts at the center. It was much too late for them. They were slow. Surrounded. Unaware. It was as quick as it was vicious, the forest’s reds turning a deeper crimson hue in a moment's notice underneath the abhorrent’s brutality.
Gangly monstrosities gnawed and ripped at the dead creatures, brief glimpses of raw flesh and white bone protruding from the small spaces between the clumped-up beasts. Repulsive wet splatters of blood and gore overlapped the calm noises of the forest, the grisly scene serenaded by the softest of nature’s symphonies. It was a sickening juxtaposition.
Shar’khee bit back the unease and steeled herself. They were within twenty paces—close enough to smell the abhorrent’s vile stench of rot and bile, yet far enough so as not to be noticed. She briefly considered backing away and retreating, her focus bouncing between the different avenues of escape, or how to cover her footst—
Crack.
Several sets of feral, eyeless maws snapped in their direction, the blood dripping off freshly dampened teeth. The guardswoman gasped, Shar’khee’s gaze following to see the mistake: a singular broken branch crinkled as a yellow-colored foot raised off the splintering twig.
The paladin exhaled sharply and smoothly stood up, brandishing two spears and her shield. Her glare settled on the still crouching guardswoman. “You are to stay behind my shield and let them appr—ch. Rem—ber what I have told you. Aim for their maws when you thrust y—r lance.”
The other female nodded, shakily pulling out her own weapons with unsteady placement hampering her grip. There was an obvious nervousness to her gaze. Hesitance. That would not do.
Shar’khee faced the prowling abhorrent her knuckles shifting hue as she prepared for their advance, for there was no chance that they wouldn’t. True to her experience, the stalking turned to a gallop with several clicks of grotesque tongues, the swarm bolting toward her as one. She snarled and slammed her bulwark into the ground, letting the approaching beasts skewer themselves amongst its spikes.
There were only ten—a paltry amount. She had defended against magnitudes more, and yet she still stood. What is more, they were mindless. Uncoordinated. They would be but stains in the cloth she used to clean her armor. Perhaps, if they were fortunate, they might leave a furrow in her shield to remember them by. Her arms tensed as the first leapt.
One by one, the abhorrent fell, their repulsive green blood splattering under her thrusts. Each awaiting corpse tore across the grove’s grass, lunging to their deaths with gaping maws and unfeeling hunger, yet she did not yield. Their shells were crushed by her shield and impaled by her Goddess-blessed spears, becoming but one more smear across their surface. Ten motionless lumps lay before her, seeping their ichor into the soil, none having passed the barrier she became. Dead, just as the Creator intended. She remained vigilant for a few moments longer, watching for any more of the disgusting creatures.
None showed themselves, finally allowing blood to flow to her fingers once again. The shield’s heavy presence weighed down her back, the blood flicked off of her spears before she returned them to their place.
“Are y–u well?” Shar’khee addressed the frozen Malkrin, wiping away the splatter on her bracers. The guardswoman stared at the small pile of deceased creatures, her heavy breaths and widened eyes moving from the spear from her singular kill. The paladin huffed. “We are fort—ate that there were so few.”
“F-Few? God help us…” Her horrified, stunned gaze slowly met the paladin’s. “Y-You said there were hundreds on the crimson nights? H-How do you… They were s-so fast.”*
”As I h–ve warned,” Shar’khee affirmed.
“You are a paladin! You all exaggerate your feats… I thought it was just a facade!”
“I have no r—son to lie,” she returned tersely, shrugging off the insult to her station and shaking her head. “The mainl—d is far more dangerous than ten gnash—g beasts; more so than that of your island hamlet. Pick yourself up. We m—t inform the others of this incursion.”
The yellow-skinned female snarled, furrowing her brows at the ground in frustration. At whom…? Shar’khee? Herself? Regardless, the female promptly gathered her composure, pushing air through clenched jaws. A step forward had her feet splash in the small pool of blood, the Malkrin nodding toward the paladin to continue back to the castles.
“…for the village.”
Shar’khee paused in her stride and faced her, frowning at the determination and anger leaking through the intent. “W—t was that?”
Her question was returned with honesty, a huffed voice marred by vexation. “Paladin, how am I to defend my village-mates as I am now?”
“‘As you are now?’ What do you m—n?”
The guardswoman stared down at her spear, wood creaking under her grip. “I have faltered before what you deem a paltry threat, and the thought of an even greater one sows dread deep within my bones. I wish… I wish to be better prepared to defend those of my village. I cannot help but see their faces on those of the furred creature in the clearing, and yet, even if I am so close, I am just as unable to protect them.”
Shar’khee stared down the yellow female, a long gaze taking in a rare showing of sincerity. “Y—r fears are one we all share, new one. Do not be ashamed of them. All t—t matters is that you do not let them rem—n mere fear, but make them your strength. So tell me, do you wish to impr—e? To ensure they do not fall while you are support—g them?”
The yellow-skinned female released a shuddering breath that bled off the worst of her indecision, a newly invoked flame flaring within her visage. “I do, paladin. I seek to protect and to be of use.”
“Then, if you wish to make y—rself resilient in the face of all that opposes us, it would be my undertak—g to forge you anew. Fortunately, Harrison has ordered such already, and his guidance shall prove ever useful, should you pursue it.”
The guardswoman shuffled in place at the star-sent’s mention, her eyes slipping downwards. “He is of a great many resources, but I would rather receive your teachings than those of a craftsman… or that of a male, deity-sent he might be.”
She placed a palm on the female’s shoulder. “He is far more than you might ever k—w. Regardless of if you ac—pt his guidance, I commend your conviction. However—” Her hand gripped tighter, though not enough to instill hostility. “—understand that you are protecting more than just your vi—age-mates.”
The new one nodded, staring up at the paladin with stallwart resolve. “Of course. I shall be in your tutelage, then.”
Shar’khee smiled. “T—n let us begin.”
\= = = = =
Akula was becoming increasingly certain that she knew how her parents once felt. The green-skinned fisherwoman was currently rotating between the many tasks placed upon her, guiding the newcomers through the minutia of their tasks so they might live up to the potential Harrison saw within them. She was gratified to have her own talents recognized by the Creator, but it also placed a great many responsibilities in her talons. Of course, she handled each new addition with finesse befitting her heritage, never once balking from the increasing demands. If anything, she felt validated; it was required of her as a female anyway, was it not? The more feminine-appropriate labor and management one undertakes, the higher authority they were granted.
It began with a simple assignment to oversee the chef’s introduction to the star-sent’s provided cooking appliances. As fascinating and convenient as utilities were, she held no interest in preparing any more food than she already had, but teaching another to operate the machines would alleviate such requirements of her. She reluctantly accepted the task when it was proposed, especially considering the fact that Harrison was much too busy with his other projects to bother with something as benign as cooking. His work was more valuable elsewhere.
The task itself went well, and the pink-skinned chef was quick to pick up on the use of the various kitchen devices, as well as the smoker. A grin had grown when she considered the possibility of all males understanding such domestic things readily, yet her mirth at removing the masculine job required of her was short-lived. Despite the newly initiated Malkrin’s success, Harrison had Akula frequently return to oversee the numerous cooking operations being conducted. That was in tandem with the back-to-back fishing trips made by both herself and the newly acquired females.
…Which was something else the green-skinned cycle-worshipper was ordered to oversee.
She had left the chef to his devices after producing another batch of partially seasoned meals, returning to the Creator with hopes of a break. He applauded her efforts with a nod and tersely spoken appreciation, then quickly pushed two spearguns into her hand and directed her to the ocean, where the twins were ‘working with jack shit,’ as the busy male said. She was to give the fisherwomen the tools and make sure they were used properly, and offer additional assistance in acquiring ‘enough fish to have us fed for a little bit.’
So, she left to complete the given task, feeling somewhat appreciative that her speargun was of superior quality to those she would be delivering—the newcomers were only afforded the lesser, roped-bolt version. It was only natural that she was in possession of their greatest assets, of course; the star-sent saw her as the only one capable of wielding such fantastic ammunition, showing trust that was rightfully placed in her. That did not mean the gray-skinned females were unsatisfied with their own gifts, however. The twins were swiftly caught up on the ‘manual of arms’ and sent to work, somehow managing to keep up with Akula in spite of their land-based origins. The two were fast enough to outpace the cycle-worshipper in sheer speed, but their lack of numerous winters spent traversing deeper waters meant they required frequent rests, breaking the ocean’s surface after every third captured fish or so.
Still, she had to appreciate their dedication to their task. They never complained about Akula pushing them further to reach the star-sent’s vague objective. Such a task was entrusted to her—and by proxy, the other two—and thus it would be completed, no matter how much her comfortable bed… couch called her tiring muscles.
The group of three hauled net after full net of fresh meat to the chef—and sewist, who later joined him—forcing him to relegate much of the catch to long-term storage as the kitchen simply could not deal with the surplus. At least three-quarters of the fish were put to slow cook in the now Malkrin-sized smoker. The craftsman had upgraded it with a kit provided by Harrison, who had recycled much of the dining room and workshop furniture to accommodate it. The Creator’s showcased urgency to gather materials was clearly not unfounded… It was admirable how he used what little he had left to ensure food would not be scarce. Additionally, the apparatus exuded an excellent scent for all the survivors to enjoy, the earthy aroma drawing in some of the other Malkrin for their breaks or meals.
Those were not the end of the cycle-worshiper’s tasks, however. She was also required to report on Shar’khee’s progress in training the guardswoman—helping to recycle the small swarm of abhorrent they cleared earlier—as well as the wood storage building’s progress. Indeed, she was advising and assisting however and wherever applicable. To say she was seen all around the settlement would be an understatement.
Nevertheless, she was appreciative to see her efforts bearing fruit by sundown. The processing of their meals from sea to plate was quite efficient, and those that Akula taught were now well-practiced in their duties. The twin fisherwomen dove from wave to wave, bringing fish back to the barracks, where the cook and sewist swiftly worked to transfer the meat to pans and smoker hooks alike. Then, the remnants of the Sea Goddess’ aquatic gifts would be subsequently recycled and given purpose anew as biofuel or perhaps future fertilizer.
The endless onslaught of duties and responsibilities had enlightened her, in a way. She could see where Harrison came from now; having a working project go from one point to another without input nor difficulty was a sight to behold, and it made her swell with pride. It was a surmountable feat to teach the barbaric ground-worshippers to do something properly.
…Well, they were not horrible Malkrin, so perhaps simply calling them ‘uninitiated’ was a more apt descriptor…
No matter the tribulations faced, and no matter how draining her new authority might be, her rest at the end of the day would be one that was well-earned, and it would be had with a sense of satisfaction. She deserved it, and perhaps that extended to the rest of the settlement as well.
- - - - -
[First] [Previous] [Next]
Next time on Total Drama Anomaly Island - Mine! Mine! Mine!
submitted by BrodogIsMyName to HFY [link] [comments]
Edited by WaveOfWire
- - - - -
Two days… It had been two days that Tracy had gone to sleep while Harrison was working, only to come back in the morning to see him still in the workshop. She knew he was damn productive, sure, but that really couldn’t be healthy. Apparently, it had something to do with the weird bowl of orange… soup… that Cera gave him. No way was it just caffeine; any amount of the stuff would have been filtered out of his system by now. He mentioned a tingling feeling too…
Damn, she did not know enough about drugs to even start assuming what that massive alien had Harrison fucked up on. At least the scanner said he was ‘fine’—if you ignore the other glaring issues the machine brought up. Plus, he said he didn’t mind it. Either way, he managed to complete the weaving component and a few other electrical backbones of the fabricator last night, so the project was practically done, and after seeing the engineer work himself half to death, she was dead-set on finishing it.
She was currently tits-deep into the upper manufacturing portion of the towering machine. It took a tall step-stool—on top of the nearby desk—for her to push her small shoulders through the even smaller access panels high on the everything-printer. It was difficult to fit her torso in, but she managed, holding a flashlight between her teeth as she fiddled with a stubborn series of mechanical ‘hands.’ Nothing new. The situation reminded her of the ‘shop back on Mars; it had the same ever-present scent of copper and industrial sealant. All that was missing was her dad’s ancient tunes blasting through some shitty speakers… Hold on…
The modular component in her grip was successfully attached with a resonating thock. Tracy squirmed out of the dim wire-filled crevice, trying her best to not rip her only tank-top on any bolts or corners, and getting a face-full of the bright flood-lights illuminating the workshop. She scowled and blocked out the searing light with a hand, but she was a bit too late to avoid going half-blind.
“Are the mechanical manipulators in?” Harrison grunted, poking his head out underneath the printer’s floor-adjacent maintenance hatch. She looked down at him as she tried to blink off the spots in her vision. His hair was messy, barely kept in line by his habit of combing through it with his fingers. The areas around his eyes were dark and sunken… Guess that’s what two all-nighters did to a man. He’d be seeing the hat man or start hallucinating if he didn’t get any sleep soon… but then again, the two of them were so close to finishing the fabricator…
“You bet.” She gave him a thumbs up, slamming the panel cover closed. “Feel free to test it.”
He nodded and slid back underneath the machine. “Gotcha”
She gently stepped off the stool and slid off the side of the desk, stretching herself out. If her piss-poor sitting posture or her tank-top puppies hadn’t already fucked her spine up, bending over backward to build this fabricator sure as hell would. She sat down next to the panel where Harrison resided, resting her back against the fabrication tower. Her excited voice broke the muffled noises of the engineer’s work. “So… Harrison?”
“Hmm—”
“—Mind if I play some music?”
The sounds from the hatch stopped, followed by his muffled, shocked tone echoing from beneath the fabricator. “You have music!?”
She smirked at seeing the expression on his face when his head popped out again. “I sure do… Did you seriously not download any to your data pad?”
He slipped out from beneath the fabricator fully, huffing as he took a knee beside her. The scent of melded rubber, wire, and his liquid labor reached her nose not-so-unpleasantly. “You would not believe how much of a pain it is to repair an entire barracks without it… So, yeah, I didn’t.”
“Sooooooooo, whatcha wanna listen to? I’ve got almost everything on here—besides the super niche, of course.” She pulled her data pad out, swiping to the massive music folder
“You wouldn’t like the kinda music I listen to; It’s ancient.”
She gave him a lighthearted, annoyed glare. “Welcome to the club… Now what’ll it be?”
“It’s Old Earth kind of ancient… but alright” He looked up at the ceiling in thought, lips pursed. “Do you have anything from Styx or Sweet?”
She stared at him incredulously, her smirk turning into a fully-fledged smile. “Oh my God. You are an absolute dork! You actually listen to Golden Age music?”
His brows raised, accusatory. “And you somehow know exactly who those bands were and what age of Old Earth music they came from?”
She smugly leaned in closer. “That’s because I’m just as much of a nerd with that kinda music as you apparently are.” She quickly looked upward, addressing the workshop AI. “Sebas, connect nearby speakers to my data pad’s audio.” Tracy elbowed the engineer lightly as the PA system chirped its affirmation. “Now, Mr. Golden Age music, which albums do ya want me to queue up?”
- - - - -
The two of them listened to music for hours, tossing on songs they liked as they came to mind while they worked. Harrison had a ton of recommendations that spanned all over the Golden Ages and some twenty-first century classics. She didn’t even know half of them, but she was vibing either way, adding on her own taste by intermingling some older rock tracks and newer electronic beats. The playlist was steadily built up as the day went on. Thank God her dad showed her a vast array of tunes; she might not have been able to keep up with the engineer if her old man hadn't.
It made the work go by so fast, their conversations blurring as they jumped from topic to topic. They discussed whatever came to mind—old hobbies, old jobs, and old interests. A lot was left behind in Sol… At least she knew that the only other human on the planet was more interesting than a soulless workaholic. It turned out that he was a pretty big history buff, and he apparently read a lot about the colonization of the Sol system and the various wars of independence thereafter. Curious, she asked where the interest stemmed from, and he explained that his grandfather was an admiral in the Slavic-Europan deep-ice submarine fleet, which explained how Harrison’s mother was able to afford to immigrate to Mars from Europa.
He could also play an acoustic guitar, and, unfortunately for Tracy, he wasn’t even the slightest bit interested in printing one out, citing that it was a waste of time and material that would be better used elsewhere. That didn’t stop her from writing a note on her data pad to do so later, though. She hadn’t seen someone play one of those in years—the last time was probably in some old music video from the early twenty-second century. What a shame. She would have liked to hear some of the Europan songs his grandmother taught him.
On the bright side, the man seemed to take an interest in her odd hobbies. He brought up the folder of 3D models that she accidentally uploaded to the inter-module system and asked where she got the inspiration for what was in it. Boy, was he not ready for her ‘WarHalberd40k’ lore dump. Props to the guy for not standing up and leaving the workshop throughout her rambling. He even asked questions about the different factions and their weapons, which she was more than happy to talk about.
She also ended up going over the other franchises and hobbies she was interested in, such as robotics and the like. The only interruptions to their chat were the occasional Akula or Craftsman asking for insight regarding the various tasks he had allotted to them, or Shar coming in to check up on Harrison between guard shifts.
The new dynamic of the group was pretty interesting, to say the least. Tracy hadn’t been out to interact with the whole lot of Malkrin, but she definitely noticed how they treated the engineer. They’d started to look up to him in a way ever since he started showing off technology. In a little over two days, the man had shown them that he could provide the materials for a brick house, fine clothing—especially by the alien’s standards—armor, and delicious food. That wasn’t even mentioning the other benefits the technician heard a few of the ‘banished’ talking about over their meals: heating, electric lights, and other assorted machines.
She’d be feeling pretty happy about herself if she was in his position, having so many look up to him and be grateful at the same time. He seemed to view it a lot more robotically, however, only striving to get the basics done. Luckily for him, his basics were their luxury.
That wasn’t all there was to the topic; the engineer lamented about how the colony was going through food just as quickly as materials. The meals weren’t the direct issue he had, more that he had to start focusing on long-term resource harvesting rather than directly preparing for a literal horde of monsters—which wasn’t exactly ideal. It was a good thing that they just so happened to take on an influx of Malkrin then…
Either way, they finally finished the ‘totally legal modification’ for the fabricator, meaning they could at least partially address the latter half of his worries. The whole process of ripping out an old printer and replacing the parts for a new one felt a lot easier than she imagined… even if it took her at least forty-eight hours to complete it… with help from Harrison. Maybe that was why it felt so easy… She supposed the colony overseers didn’t choose the man for no reason, so his skills made sense.
“So… what do we want to print out first?” Tracy questioned, having finished testing the last major component.
The engineer stretched his arms up into the air and rotated his shoulders, then pulled back the desk’s chair and took a seat. “I’ve had just one thing in mind since the start of this whole project.”
Her brows raised in a mix of excitement and curiosity. She leaned forward, looking at the computer monitor from over his shoulder. “Oh? What’s that, then?”
A smirk formed along his cheek, the computer mouse rapidly clicking through the blueprint folder. “I’ve had a lot of time to think about what kind of firearm we need since I started dabbling in belt-fed weapon systems.” He opened one final file, a short loading bar preceding the exploded assembly view of… “An M2 Browning machine gun. It’s more than powerful enough to kill in one shot, while also being capable of fully-automatic fire, with a capacity of however many rounds we want in a belt-box.”
“Uh…huh…” She gave a skeptical nod and took a step back, not exactly sold on the idea. “It looks ancient. It’s kinetic, right? Why aren’t we using energy-based weapons? Don’t we have a gunpowder shortage coming up?”
He moved his chair off to the side to look back at her. “We just can’t; Simple as. We’ll need who knows how many more AI cores before we can get started on that level of equipment, Trace,” he huffed, returning his gaze to the specifications of the firearm. “This isn’t the most ‘modern’ weapon we can make, but its twenty-first century counterpart helps with an improved design… somewhat. And, as I said before, it should be more than capable of killing a bug in one shot, so Shar can just tap-fire it to save ammunition.”
Her head tilted quizzically. “Shar?”
“Yup,” he returned confidently. “It’s the perfect weapon for her.”
She raised a brow. “How so?”
He held his hand up, counting his reasons on his fingers. “She’s always on the front line with a shield, she can absolutely handle the weight and recoil, her four arms make reloading it simple, plus she’ll need something with range and power that isn’t a spear. So, why not? And, if for some reason, she doesn’t want to use it, we can just convert it into a turret—which is something I was planning on doing anyways with however more M2s we print out later.”
“I doubt she’ll say no to any gun you give her,” Tracy chuckled while shaking her head, inadvertently causing her bangs to cover her eyes.
“Fair enough,” he conceded with a bob of his head. “What do you think, then? What kinda weapons do you have in mind?”
She reapplied her goggles into an impromptu hairband, feeling a smirk cross her face. “Thought you’d never ask. What purpose do we need these guns to fulfill? Hordes I’m guessing?”
“That’s the idea, yeah. That doesn’t mean they all need to be machine guns, though.” He tapped the belt-fed shotgun beside him.
“Well, lemme see what we’re working with first.” She suddenly stepped forward, leaning over Harrison’s seat to access the keyboard and mouse. Her arms briefly rubbed against him, forcing him to roll his chair backward. She suppressed a giggle at seeing his incredulous frown.
Her eyes quickly traced the hundreds of individual files, clicking through all sorts of folders, each arranged from pre-twenty-first century ‘antiques,’ to more modern iterations of kinetics and particle weaponry. There was… a lot on there—almost too much to reasonably comb through. Why? Did the colony overseers just say ‘fuck it’ and put whatever they could find on here? Were they expecting the pioneers to make a museum of everything?
She sighed, standing up straight and facing Harrison. “Y’know, I’m actually impressed you managed to find that M2-whatever in there…”
He shifted in his seat, resting an elbow on the desk. “Yup, there’s a lot. I’m almost tempted to just make several of those machine guns and just call it a day, but I feel like that’d be too much of a strain on resources, no?”
“I don’t really know enough about how you fight those spider-crab things, or how to get more gunpowder, so… maybe?” She shrugged, biting her cheek in contemplation. “You might just wanna make a few smaller caliber weapons… like, uh… those old kinetic service rifles. If your pump-action shotgun works fine, I’m sure some normal guns would work just fine for now, right?”
He hardily gripped his firearm, hauling it up to his lap. “Depends on what you mean by ‘smaller caliber.’ The whole reason why the KS-23 here works—” he pulled out a massive shell from the ammo belt, displaying it on his palm. “—is because the twenty-three-millimeter round has enough energy transfer to mess up any bug's shell and insides. I’d say the smallest rounds we could use would be point-two-forty-three caliber to get any similar results.”
Brief flickers of grungy orange shells and gnashing teeth marred Tracy’s sight. She forcibly suppressed them, distracting herself with dry humor and a strained laugh. “Guess those fuckers can really take a punch, huh?”
He shook his head somberly. “I couldn’t imagine going up against them without a gun… Anyway, I like your idea of a standard rifle for now. Then, when we have some product lines up, we can go a little more in depth into personal weapons.”
“So are you gonna take one?” She hopped up on the desk, letting her legs swing off the side.
“Don’t think so, no. I’ll stick with my shotty.” The internals of the heavily modified weapon rattled as he held it up and inspected it. “Doesn’t mean I’ll keep it as is. I’m thinking of printing a laser aiming module so I can point-fire it accurately, and maybe a melee-oriented muzzle brake or a lighter chassis to reduce weight… Not sure though.”
She leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees, her cheeks in her palms. “Melee-oriented? Oooooh, like a chain-sword or something?”
His short chuckle coerced a smirk to her face. “No, not like that. More something to use as a bludgeoning tool. Right before the blood-moon, I ended up getting just as much use out of this shotgun as a hammer than as a… well, a shotgun.”
“That’s pretty fuckin’ metal. So are you just gonna make the barrel into a giant bayonet?”
He nodded. “Not exactly a bayonet, but something more like a door-breaching break.”
A short silence settled on their conversation, the faint sounds of the fabricator’s hum and distant woodwork coming to light. Right, there was an outside world… She’d been too caught up talking to Harrison for however many hours it had been. She wondered how successful the fisherwomen were in collecting, and how things had been for the others working on the wood storage shack. Maybe it was already completed? The sun peered through the cargo bay door, proving that it was only about midday. What else would they work on today?
“Hey,” she ventured.
“Hm?” the engineer hummed, his eyes focused on the monitor beside the technician.
She scooted closer to his keyboard. “What’re we doing after this?”
“What do you mean?”
She leaned backward, propping herself up on two hands. “Project wise; what’s the next big thing?”
“Uhmmm…” he muttered, interacting with the computer for a few more seconds before finally meeting her gaze. “Well, I’ve just allocated the fabricator to print out the M2, three FALs—wood furniture, of course—then there’s the magazines and ammunition, so we’ve got a lot of time to kill. The next big thing is definitely going to be metal procurement, and— Oh, right!” Harrison stopped mid-sentence, reaching into his backpack and pulling out several finger-sized metallic cubes, a sudden fire in his eyes. “Okay, so a while ago, during an encounter with three colossi, Shar and Akula found a cave with some ‘surface’ metal deposits. I took a piece off to analyze, but never got the chance to until last night. Anyway, we don’t have any machines to examine the ore, so I made use of the recycler and broke it down to its baser components.”
She nodded along, seeing where he was going with his explanation. “I’m guessing those shiny cubes are the metals from the ore?”
“Sure is. So, as it turns out, we have a pretty damn close supply of not only iron, but also, zinc, sulfur, and a small amount of cadmium. I talked with Sebas about it and did a little research. We believe it’s something akin to sphalerite, given its composition and looks, which implies it’s a sedimentary exhalative deposit. That means there must have been some volcanic…”
Harrison continued talking about underwater deposits and ancient rock formations, bringing up some theories brought forward by the now 4-AI-core-powered Sebas, delving into the current land mass’ history and possible ore output. A lot of it went over the tradewoman’s head, but she still listened intently… Honestly, she could have listened to the man talk about finding metals for hours. It was sort of like the podcasts she used to listen to while completing colonist training, but even more personal and somehow easier to get lost in…
“…find some other minerals further down like silver, but it also might be an active lava zone. Again, these are all theories and this world could just throw the fundamentals of geology away as it does for physics. Anyway, sorry for going on for so long about that, just thought it’d be important for getting some metals in the future.”
“No, no,” Tracy assured, alleviating him of concern with a wave of her hand. “If there’s anything the colony overseers emphasized, it was farming and mineral acquisition. Don’t worry.” She smiled, pointing a thumb to herself. “I just wanna know how I can help.”
“Actually, I’ve a few things only you can do. I’d like to make use of your impressive drone-making expertise for a few applications, if you don’t mind.”
The task of keeping eye contact slipped into an impossible feat in the span of a singular second, planting a pang of embarrassment on her reddened face, forcing her to inspect her fidgeting hands. “I-I wouldn’t say ‘impressive’… b-but what do you have in mind?”
She could see him raise a brow out of the corner of her vision. “Well, after what you’ve shown me with the reconnaissance flyers, I’d like your help in setting up a more permanent ‘net’ of them to scour the meadow and parts of the nearby forest to look out for any approaching hordes. I don’t want to be snuck up on… again…”
‘Again.’
She noted his small frown and sunken eyes, both a little more exaggerated than they already were. It wasn’t like she’d deny his request, but the pangs of empathy over their shared situation all but solidified her resolve. It was the least she could do. She could help him. She would help him.
The technician exhaled slowly, taking on a more serious and understanding tone than before. “I… can do that. For sure. What else?”
“I appreciate it.” He gave a wane smile. “I’ll help you with whatever you need for the project. For the other drones, I’m thinking about a small exploration vehicle to map out caves around us and mark any minerals, as well as a submersible to look for potassium deposits in the ocean.”
“So… search bots?” She crossed her arms, confidence growing; those were her specialty. “Depending on how long the fabricators take and what kind of base drones are in the blueprint folders, I should be able to get those done in no time. All I need to know are the search cues for potassium and how many drones you want.”
He quickly shuffled a few folders on the computer, turning the monitor for her to see some scientific documents with various images and walls upon walls of text. “There’re plenty of resources for that on here for what to look for, and there’s always Sebas, so feel free to ask him since he can just sort through the data for you anyway. If you can, I’d like it if you could focus on the submersible after the reconnaissance drones.”
“Sounds good to me. I’ll be right on it, then.” She gave him a thumbs up, slipping off his desk and toward her own.
“I’ll bring you lunch in a bit. Imma go check on the others,” he called.
Her stomach grumbled at the mention, her head turning to give him an appreciative smile. “Oh! Thanks!”
\= = = = =
Avian creatures chirped from their perches in the trees nearby. The wind softly rustled red leaves as grass gently gave way to calculated footfalls. A warm sun laid its light on Shar’khee’s neck. It was surprisingly pleasant, were one to take the time to notice. The mainland was a confusing place for the paladin, with its disparate representations of nature contrasting so heavily. Some days were filled with blood and ravenous beasts, while others were left within the domain of simplicity and beauty. She was content to have the latter, yet it felt like a facade veiling the former—a soft exterior covering the maliciously spiked interior. Never could she leave herself to carelessness, no matter how welcoming it might be.
Hence why she worked to ensure the safety of the star-sent’s castles and their inhabitants, her days largely spent patrolling for any roaming swarms that may wish to cause them harm. She typically used the routine to think, but today offered little in the way of solitude. This time, she was accompanied by the previously banished guardswoman, and was tasked with instructing the new one, though the specifics of what such lessons should entail were vague. Still, Shar’khee did all that she could so as not to disappoint Harrison, so she could only attempt to meet his expectations of her.
She told the yellow-skinned female of the threats that the settlement faced, how one was to defeat them, and what to expect from the beasts. The guardswoman was directed to practice her form with the spear in both thrusts and throwing for some time afterward, proving herself to be well-built. Such was expected of her profession after all.
It was pleasing to have another capable of patrolling the settlement’s outskirts for swarms, as it would greatly impact how effectively the colony could react to such a threat. If her routine was to suffer for the colony’s well-being, she was happy to show the new one her patrol route and note what to look out for.
The guardswoman was not a perfect student, however. Shar’khee never addressed it directly, but the yellow-skinned female obviously discredited the danger posed by the abhorrent, not-so-subtly shrugging off any warnings.
…That was until they stumbled upon the ‘hyena-boars,’ as Harrison called them.
The beasts resided in a clearing not too far from the castles, carelessly meandering across the sea of tall grass. Shar’khee quickly crouched, dragging the guardswoman down with her. Once she assessed that the creatures were not an imminent danger, she decided it would be an excellent opportunity to show the new one how to properly engage a threat. She was about to propose the idea, yet her speech was silenced just as swiftly.
Orange flashes darted through the trees around the glade. Taloned feet and gnashing teeth tore across the ground toward the unsuspecting beasts at the center. It was much too late for them. They were slow. Surrounded. Unaware. It was as quick as it was vicious, the forest’s reds turning a deeper crimson hue in a moment's notice underneath the abhorrent’s brutality.
Gangly monstrosities gnawed and ripped at the dead creatures, brief glimpses of raw flesh and white bone protruding from the small spaces between the clumped-up beasts. Repulsive wet splatters of blood and gore overlapped the calm noises of the forest, the grisly scene serenaded by the softest of nature’s symphonies. It was a sickening juxtaposition.
Shar’khee bit back the unease and steeled herself. They were within twenty paces—close enough to smell the abhorrent’s vile stench of rot and bile, yet far enough so as not to be noticed. She briefly considered backing away and retreating, her focus bouncing between the different avenues of escape, or how to cover her footst—
Crack.
Several sets of feral, eyeless maws snapped in their direction, the blood dripping off freshly dampened teeth. The guardswoman gasped, Shar’khee’s gaze following to see the mistake: a singular broken branch crinkled as a yellow-colored foot raised off the splintering twig.
The paladin exhaled sharply and smoothly stood up, brandishing two spears and her shield. Her glare settled on the still crouching guardswoman. “You are to stay behind my shield and let them appr—ch. Rem—ber what I have told you. Aim for their maws when you thrust y—r lance.”
The other female nodded, shakily pulling out her own weapons with unsteady placement hampering her grip. There was an obvious nervousness to her gaze. Hesitance. That would not do.
Shar’khee faced the prowling abhorrent her knuckles shifting hue as she prepared for their advance, for there was no chance that they wouldn’t. True to her experience, the stalking turned to a gallop with several clicks of grotesque tongues, the swarm bolting toward her as one. She snarled and slammed her bulwark into the ground, letting the approaching beasts skewer themselves amongst its spikes.
There were only ten—a paltry amount. She had defended against magnitudes more, and yet she still stood. What is more, they were mindless. Uncoordinated. They would be but stains in the cloth she used to clean her armor. Perhaps, if they were fortunate, they might leave a furrow in her shield to remember them by. Her arms tensed as the first leapt.
One by one, the abhorrent fell, their repulsive green blood splattering under her thrusts. Each awaiting corpse tore across the grove’s grass, lunging to their deaths with gaping maws and unfeeling hunger, yet she did not yield. Their shells were crushed by her shield and impaled by her Goddess-blessed spears, becoming but one more smear across their surface. Ten motionless lumps lay before her, seeping their ichor into the soil, none having passed the barrier she became. Dead, just as the Creator intended. She remained vigilant for a few moments longer, watching for any more of the disgusting creatures.
None showed themselves, finally allowing blood to flow to her fingers once again. The shield’s heavy presence weighed down her back, the blood flicked off of her spears before she returned them to their place.
“Are y–u well?” Shar’khee addressed the frozen Malkrin, wiping away the splatter on her bracers. The guardswoman stared at the small pile of deceased creatures, her heavy breaths and widened eyes moving from the spear from her singular kill. The paladin huffed. “We are fort—ate that there were so few.”
“F-Few? God help us…” Her horrified, stunned gaze slowly met the paladin’s. “Y-You said there were hundreds on the crimson nights? H-How do you… They were s-so fast.”*
”As I h–ve warned,” Shar’khee affirmed.
“You are a paladin! You all exaggerate your feats… I thought it was just a facade!”
“I have no r—son to lie,” she returned tersely, shrugging off the insult to her station and shaking her head. “The mainl—d is far more dangerous than ten gnash—g beasts; more so than that of your island hamlet. Pick yourself up. We m—t inform the others of this incursion.”
The yellow-skinned female snarled, furrowing her brows at the ground in frustration. At whom…? Shar’khee? Herself? Regardless, the female promptly gathered her composure, pushing air through clenched jaws. A step forward had her feet splash in the small pool of blood, the Malkrin nodding toward the paladin to continue back to the castles.
“…for the village.”
Shar’khee paused in her stride and faced her, frowning at the determination and anger leaking through the intent. “W—t was that?”
Her question was returned with honesty, a huffed voice marred by vexation. “Paladin, how am I to defend my village-mates as I am now?”
“‘As you are now?’ What do you m—n?”
The guardswoman stared down at her spear, wood creaking under her grip. “I have faltered before what you deem a paltry threat, and the thought of an even greater one sows dread deep within my bones. I wish… I wish to be better prepared to defend those of my village. I cannot help but see their faces on those of the furred creature in the clearing, and yet, even if I am so close, I am just as unable to protect them.”
Shar’khee stared down the yellow female, a long gaze taking in a rare showing of sincerity. “Y—r fears are one we all share, new one. Do not be ashamed of them. All t—t matters is that you do not let them rem—n mere fear, but make them your strength. So tell me, do you wish to impr—e? To ensure they do not fall while you are support—g them?”
The yellow-skinned female released a shuddering breath that bled off the worst of her indecision, a newly invoked flame flaring within her visage. “I do, paladin. I seek to protect and to be of use.”
“Then, if you wish to make y—rself resilient in the face of all that opposes us, it would be my undertak—g to forge you anew. Fortunately, Harrison has ordered such already, and his guidance shall prove ever useful, should you pursue it.”
The guardswoman shuffled in place at the star-sent’s mention, her eyes slipping downwards. “He is of a great many resources, but I would rather receive your teachings than those of a craftsman… or that of a male, deity-sent he might be.”
She placed a palm on the female’s shoulder. “He is far more than you might ever k—w. Regardless of if you ac—pt his guidance, I commend your conviction. However—” Her hand gripped tighter, though not enough to instill hostility. “—understand that you are protecting more than just your vi—age-mates.”
The new one nodded, staring up at the paladin with stallwart resolve. “Of course. I shall be in your tutelage, then.”
Shar’khee smiled. “T—n let us begin.”
\= = = = =
Akula was becoming increasingly certain that she knew how her parents once felt. The green-skinned fisherwoman was currently rotating between the many tasks placed upon her, guiding the newcomers through the minutia of their tasks so they might live up to the potential Harrison saw within them. She was gratified to have her own talents recognized by the Creator, but it also placed a great many responsibilities in her talons. Of course, she handled each new addition with finesse befitting her heritage, never once balking from the increasing demands. If anything, she felt validated; it was required of her as a female anyway, was it not? The more feminine-appropriate labor and management one undertakes, the higher authority they were granted.
It began with a simple assignment to oversee the chef’s introduction to the star-sent’s provided cooking appliances. As fascinating and convenient as utilities were, she held no interest in preparing any more food than she already had, but teaching another to operate the machines would alleviate such requirements of her. She reluctantly accepted the task when it was proposed, especially considering the fact that Harrison was much too busy with his other projects to bother with something as benign as cooking. His work was more valuable elsewhere.
The task itself went well, and the pink-skinned chef was quick to pick up on the use of the various kitchen devices, as well as the smoker. A grin had grown when she considered the possibility of all males understanding such domestic things readily, yet her mirth at removing the masculine job required of her was short-lived. Despite the newly initiated Malkrin’s success, Harrison had Akula frequently return to oversee the numerous cooking operations being conducted. That was in tandem with the back-to-back fishing trips made by both herself and the newly acquired females.
…Which was something else the green-skinned cycle-worshipper was ordered to oversee.
She had left the chef to his devices after producing another batch of partially seasoned meals, returning to the Creator with hopes of a break. He applauded her efforts with a nod and tersely spoken appreciation, then quickly pushed two spearguns into her hand and directed her to the ocean, where the twins were ‘working with jack shit,’ as the busy male said. She was to give the fisherwomen the tools and make sure they were used properly, and offer additional assistance in acquiring ‘enough fish to have us fed for a little bit.’
So, she left to complete the given task, feeling somewhat appreciative that her speargun was of superior quality to those she would be delivering—the newcomers were only afforded the lesser, roped-bolt version. It was only natural that she was in possession of their greatest assets, of course; the star-sent saw her as the only one capable of wielding such fantastic ammunition, showing trust that was rightfully placed in her. That did not mean the gray-skinned females were unsatisfied with their own gifts, however. The twins were swiftly caught up on the ‘manual of arms’ and sent to work, somehow managing to keep up with Akula in spite of their land-based origins. The two were fast enough to outpace the cycle-worshipper in sheer speed, but their lack of numerous winters spent traversing deeper waters meant they required frequent rests, breaking the ocean’s surface after every third captured fish or so.
Still, she had to appreciate their dedication to their task. They never complained about Akula pushing them further to reach the star-sent’s vague objective. Such a task was entrusted to her—and by proxy, the other two—and thus it would be completed, no matter how much her comfortable bed… couch called her tiring muscles.
The group of three hauled net after full net of fresh meat to the chef—and sewist, who later joined him—forcing him to relegate much of the catch to long-term storage as the kitchen simply could not deal with the surplus. At least three-quarters of the fish were put to slow cook in the now Malkrin-sized smoker. The craftsman had upgraded it with a kit provided by Harrison, who had recycled much of the dining room and workshop furniture to accommodate it. The Creator’s showcased urgency to gather materials was clearly not unfounded… It was admirable how he used what little he had left to ensure food would not be scarce. Additionally, the apparatus exuded an excellent scent for all the survivors to enjoy, the earthy aroma drawing in some of the other Malkrin for their breaks or meals.
Those were not the end of the cycle-worshiper’s tasks, however. She was also required to report on Shar’khee’s progress in training the guardswoman—helping to recycle the small swarm of abhorrent they cleared earlier—as well as the wood storage building’s progress. Indeed, she was advising and assisting however and wherever applicable. To say she was seen all around the settlement would be an understatement.
Nevertheless, she was appreciative to see her efforts bearing fruit by sundown. The processing of their meals from sea to plate was quite efficient, and those that Akula taught were now well-practiced in their duties. The twin fisherwomen dove from wave to wave, bringing fish back to the barracks, where the cook and sewist swiftly worked to transfer the meat to pans and smoker hooks alike. Then, the remnants of the Sea Goddess’ aquatic gifts would be subsequently recycled and given purpose anew as biofuel or perhaps future fertilizer.
The endless onslaught of duties and responsibilities had enlightened her, in a way. She could see where Harrison came from now; having a working project go from one point to another without input nor difficulty was a sight to behold, and it made her swell with pride. It was a surmountable feat to teach the barbaric ground-worshippers to do something properly.
…Well, they were not horrible Malkrin, so perhaps simply calling them ‘uninitiated’ was a more apt descriptor…
No matter the tribulations faced, and no matter how draining her new authority might be, her rest at the end of the day would be one that was well-earned, and it would be had with a sense of satisfaction. She deserved it, and perhaps that extended to the rest of the settlement as well.
- - - - -
[First] [Previous] [Next]
Next time on Total Drama Anomaly Island - Mine! Mine! Mine!
2024.05.19 15:48 lightingnations I found my girlfriend’s secret Google account and it feels like our entire relationship was built on a lie
I met Luna on a train two years ago. I’d just escaped from a toxic relationship, so romance was the last thing on my mind, but then she sat across from me in the carriage and asked about the book I was reading. She had a copy in her bag and wanted to know if it was any good.
I'd never felt such an instant, effortless connection with anybody before. I took a chance and asked her to dinner, and by the time the waiters cleared away our desserts, I already felt comfortable being vulnerable around her. So we went on a second date. And a third. And next thing I knew, we were planning our second anniversary.
In all that time she never gave off any 'creeper' vibes. Until a few months ago, when I stayed the night over at her place...
She'd gotten up early to use the bathroom. I grabbed her laptop off the side desk so I could catch up on some work e-mails, and the incognito tab was just sitting there. My first thought was: either she's having an affair or she's got a secret fetish.
What I found instead was a Google account with a photo album called ‘Michael’s EX’. In it, there were 427 photos of my former girlfriend turned psycho stalker, Sadie. This included shots of ‘Sadie the stalker’ with her family, screenshots of her passport—the works. On Facebook, Sadie's latest post said Moving to the Philippines, and since then she’d become a social media church mouse, so how did Luna keep her under surveillance? And how did you even get PERSONAL ID from a person halfway across the globe?
Down the hall, I heard the bathroom door swing open. Quickly I closed the laptop and pretended to be asleep until Luna planted a kiss on my lips. “Wakey wakey Bugs.”
I faked a stretch. “Morning Lola."
(At school, the other kids christened me ‘Bugs’ because of my cartoonishly large front teeth; I called Luna ‘Lola’ because of her blonde bangs and heart-shaped face.)
“How about we grab a fry for breakfast?” Her smile didn’t seem genuine, more like she was wearing a mask.
“Crap. I forgot I’m doing overtime today, I’ve gotta get to work.” With that, I shot out of there faster than a bullet train to Tokyo.
Because I didn’t wanna believe the worst about someone I cared so deeply about, I didn’t contact the police (not that anybody could’ve guessed what Luna was up to) and made excuses whenever she asked to meet, delaying the decision whether to end our relationship.
At night, I couldn’t sleep. Every time a hedge rustled outside, I’d run to the window and pull back the curtain only to discover a black cat skulking around the garden. I put this down to my previous relationship leaving me with a mountain of unresolved PTSD.
Sadie the stalker also seemed normal until we moved in together. After that she started picking fights if she caught me talking to another woman, even just distant relatives or childhood friends. The screaming matches went from weekly to nightly, only ever ending when I conceded to her every wish and gave her full access to my phone and social media accounts. I literally needed to grab my clothes into a bag and run away one night, and then I started hearing noises outside my new apartment. And although I never found any evidence, I was pretty sure she’d broken in at one point because the books on my side table were suddenly out of order one day. What hurt the most was Luna knew all this and still acted the way she did.
Right as I reached my lowest point, my close friend Gertrude called and said, “The universe is telling me you could use a sympathetic ear.”
I told her the universe didn’t know the half of it.
I’d met Gertrude—aka my surrogate mother—on a flight to London. Passing over Wales the aircraft hit heavy turbulence, and the grey-haired hippie in the seat next to mine squeezed my hand so tight that my fingers turned blue. After we levelled off, she apologized and said, “So what’s calling you to London?”
“A job.”
A few glasses of wine from the service trolley later, she blurted out, “You know your aura is strikingly similar to my husbands.”
“Uhh, thanks. Where is he now?”
“Oh, he burned to death in a house fire.”
Gertrude’s eyes started welling up. To take her mind off the subject, I said, “I lied earlier. I’m going to London because I fell in love with a Londoner.” I pulled up pictures of Sadie (back in her pre-stalker days) on my phone. “We met in Italy. She looked flustered trying to read a map book so I offered to help. Next thing I knew, we were planning a trip to this place called Orvieto.”
“Michael, I need to know how this story ends. Gimme your number.”
Since then, we’d met two or three times a year.
I laid the whole mess out over pizza. It was the first time since finding the Google account I didn’t feel hidden eyes crawling all over me.
Just as I wrapped up the story, over in the corner booth, a family burst into a chorus of happy birthday. A waiter appeared carrying a chocolate cake, capped by a giant candle that looked more like a flare. Gertrude tensed up.
“So what do you think about all this?” I asked.
She looked back at me and said, “It’s possible your reaction has been a touch on the dramatic side.”
“DRAMATIC??”
“Well consider things from Luna’s point of view. Your last relationship lasted for, what, three years? Maybe she felt threatened.”
“I don’t believe this.” I grabbed a cigarette from my pocket, but Gertrude snatched it away.
“You know how I feel about you poisoning your lungs, Michael.”
“Don’t you start. I got enough of that crap from Luna.”
Gertrude always encouraged me to work through my romantic problems. Ultimately, I decided her love of fairytale romances clouded her judgement and ghosted Luna instead. But I couldn’t escape her shadow. She always felt close. In fact, it got so bad that at a friend’s costume party several weeks later, my eyes kept compulsively scanning the crowd as if she was there in disguise, ready to pounce.
I stood off to the corner until, over the sea of heads, I spotted a beautiful stranger dressed as Jarlath the Goblin King. I took a shot of liquid courage and made a B-line towards her.
Halfway across the crowded room, beer splashed across the front of my Ziggy Stardust outfit.
“I am so sorry,” a female pirate said, patting me dry.
“Don’t worry about it.” Every time I tried circling her, she moved to cut me off.
“I am such a klutz. Why don’t you come into the kitchen so I can clean up this mess?”
I put my hands on her shoulders and steered her out of the way. “It’s fine. Trust me.”
Approaching Jarlath from behind, heart slamming against my chest, I said, “Well this is awkward. One of us is gonna have to change.”
Jennie had bright blue eyes and dimples impossible to miss. Ten minutes into our debate about David Bowie’s greatest album, I said, “You know Absolute Bowie are playing the Half Moon next week. I could take you?”
“Sorry. I’m going with my boyfriend,” she said with a sympathetic smile. From beside the buffet table, the pirate stared daggers in our direction.
“No worries,” I replied, despite the fact I was brimming with jealousy.
The next day, as I jogged off my hangover, a brown-haired lady cut across my path and we both went spinning to the ground.
“Flip, sorry.” I rushed to pull her up by the hands. “I’m like a bloody zombie lately.”
She did a doubletake. “Ziggy, right?”
There was no mistaking those eyes. “Jarlath?”
“Well, Jarlath or Jennie. Eithers fine.”
“Right. Well, sorry again. Enjoy Absolute Bowie.”
Before I could jog away, she said, “Hey, so that guy I was seeing? Turns out he’s a total prick.”
Jennie and I went for coffee. Coffee morphed into drinks. Drinks morphed into a steamy make-out session on my sofa.
But as she covered my neck in soft kisses, my stomach turned. It felt like cheating. So, I put the brakes on things and said, “I can’t do this. I’m really sorry. You’re amazing, but I just got out of a serious relationship…and…it’s just…”
“Hey, don’t worry about it.”
We agreed we’d let our connection blossom in its own time.
Jennie had a playful mystique to her. Within a handful of dates, we’d developed inside jokes and could tell what the other was thinking. But Luna’s imprint was hard to shake, to the extent I almost mixed up the two ladies’ names multiple times.
To detox, I suggested Jennie and I spend a romantic weekend in the Lake District, because after two days of hiking and kayaking my ex would no doubt be a spec in the rearview mirror.
Hours before we set off, however, Luna’s mom called. She wanted to meet and wouldn’t accept any excuses.
“Look, it’s obvious why I’m here,” she said, sitting across from me in Starbucks. “Ever since you and Luna broke up, she’s been acting…different.”
“Different? Different how?”
“I call but she hardly answers. I go over to her place but she’s never there. Now she’s telling me she needs to find herself. Says she’s moving to Australia.”
Her fingers tightened around her cup. “I need to know what happened between you two. And I don’t care if that paints anybody in a bad light. I’m just worried about my daughter is all.”
I told her about the Google account.
“Did you confront her about it?”
“Hell no. I ghosted that crazy bitc—” I cleared my throat. “I mean, I just…stopped seeing her.”
She started crying so loudly customers at nearby tables paused their conversations. I touched her forearm, promised I’d call if I remembered anything else, then set off for my romantic weekend.
But while Jennie and I enjoyed all that fresh air and pub food, a thought nagged at me. Luna adored London, so why move to Australia? It seemed so out of character. Back at our rented cottage, I was so fixated on the thought I needed a smoke, badly.
“What the hell is that?” Jennie demanded, as she stepped onto the front deck.
I glanced at my hands. “Uhh, a cigarette.”
“Michael! Don’t be sarcastic. You know how I feel about those things.”
“…Do I?”
“Uhh, well it’s the same as anybody else. Quit poisoning your lungs and put that thing out.”
“Alright alright, geeze. Sorry Luna.”
“That’s okay.”
A knot formed in my stomach as she went back inside. I’d called Jennie Luna by mistake. And she hadn’t noticed. In fact, her reaction to me smoking was identical to Luna’s—even the snappy way she said the ‘poison your lungs’ line.
I followed Jennie into the lounge, where she’d curled up on an armchair with a Colleen Hoover novel. She was hiding something. What else did she know about Luna? Maybe I could trick her into revealing some details…
From behind, I started massaging her shoulders. “Sorry for being rude before. I know what you said came from a place of love.”
“That’s okay.”
I waited until her eyes drooped shut, then said, “It really is perfect here, huh? Maybe we should stay forever.”
“Wouldn’t that be amazing?”
Her little groans of pleasure, the rhythm of her breathing, it all felt so familiar. I waited until the tension in her neck dissolved, then I pushed my lips against her ear and whispered, “So how about we take this into the bedroom…Lola.”
“Hmm. Sure thing Bugs.”
My hands froze. Jennie jumped up. “Uhh, that felt so good, why’d you stop?”
“What did you just say?”
“What did you just say?”
“I called you Lola,” I replied, my arms frozen in midair. “And you called me bugs.”
“Like the cartoon, right? I thought it’d be a cute nickname. Anyway, I’m tuckered out.” She forced a yawn. “Why don’t we get some sleep?”
As her hand laced with mine, an image of me waking up drugged and gagged and tied to the bedposts flashed before my eyes.
I said, “Sure. I just…need to use the bathroom first.”
The second the door shut behind me, I flew out of the house, climbed in my car, and sped away.
Within seconds my phone started blowing up with calls, followed by texts. Where are you going? Is everything okay?
No, I wanted to reply. I’m onto your sick little game. Whatever it is, I’m onto it.
Luna stalked my stalker, now Jennie somehow knew Luna and I’s nicknames. How? Did all women take turns drawing straws and whoever picked the short one needed to become my girlfriend?
I couldn’t go home. For all I knew, my exes would’ve been there burning effigies of me. I needed a safe place. Somewhere I could lie low until I got all this straightened out.
“Of course you can stay,” Gertrude said over the phone. “I’m out with some friends, but I’ll meet you later. If you hop the side gate there’s a spare key under the kissing gnomes out back.”
Gertrude lived in a detached house in Wembley. It took a bit of foraging to find the gnomes hidden beneath the weeds in the brown, patchy garden.
I needed to shoulder the door open. Inside, a mountain of letters and flyers had piled up on the welcome mat.
Down the hall, a huge archway connected the landing with a lounge, where a bar sat against the far wall, surrounded by upholstered sofas, a low table, and tie dye sheets strung over the filthy carpet. Everything had a real elegant vibe, despite the musty air.
I’d drained two glasses of whiskey before Gertrude arrived.
“Looks like you’ve had a rough evening.”
I said we could talk in the morning.
“Not a chance. You can’t take negative energy to bed. Come on, confession is good for the soul.”
She sat on the sofa and patted the empty seat next to her. So, with a weary sigh, I shared a tale of deranged exes.
“Crazy,” she said.
“I sure can pick ‘em, huh?”
“No, I mean you’re crazy.”
“What?”
“Think about it. What’s more likely: that your ex’s are secretly in collusion, or you’re being paranoid? Look how bloodshot your eyes are. When’s the last time you got a good night’s rest?”
She made a great point; teenagers on the street occasionally shouted ‘Bugs’ or ‘Thumper’ at me. Jennie might’ve come up with the nickname herself. I pinched the bridge of my nose, groaning.
“Look, sleep here tonight. Tomorrow we’ll brainstorm ways you can make it up to Jennie.”
I fumbled through my pockets for a cigarette.
“Really?” Gertrude said. “If you insist on poisoning your lungs, can you at least do it away from my home?”
“Well if I can’t smoke, I’m gonna need a refill.” I shook my empty glass.
On my way toward the bar, a wave of wooziness hit me. My first instinct was to blame it on the alcohol, but there was something else.
It was her reaction to the cigarette. My finger ran through the thick layer of dust along the bar’s countertop. Why was it like the place had been abandoned? Why did Gertrude always pressure me to stay with my psycho girlfriends? And how come she always reached out, as if on cue, whenever my relationships hit problems? It couldn’t be coincidence…
I poured two glasses of whiskey and carried them to the sofa. “So, you’re really against the whole smoking thing, huh?”
“Of course. It’s a filthy habit.”
“Yeah. Plus, there was that mess with your husband. House fire, right?”
“I’d rather not discuss it.”
“Sure, sure.” I ignited the lighter with a roll across my trouser leg.
Gertrude grabbed a cushion and hugged it. “What are you doing?”
“Alright, cut the crap. What the hell’s going on? Have you been sending your friends to date me?”
“What are you talking about?”
I wrestled the cushion from her and held the lighter beneath it. “I want an explanation right now or I’m torching this place.”
This was an empty threat. I wasn’t some pyromaniac—I just wanted answers. Inch by inch, I raised the flame. “Last chance. Why are the women in my life acting weird?”
Gertrude grabbed for the lighter. As I swatted her wrists away, we both got scorched, and for a moment her skin went wild with spasms, a sensation I can only compare to reaching inside a bucket of wet, writhing maggots. My gaze whipped between her face and her hands, which vibrated like plucked guitar strings.
Before I could scream, she yanked me up, clamped a cold, wrinkled palm across my mouth, and forced me against the wall. I thrashed around, unable to move. For a lady old enough to collect a pension, she was crazy strong.
She waited until I ran out of breath, then said, “Michael, please. I’m not going to hurt you. Open your heart and listen.”
What else could I do?
“You were right before. I have been keeping a secret from you. The truth is, I’ve been in love with you since we met. I’d never flown before. And you were so so sweet. You started talking about this other woman, but I knew our energies were perfect for each other. And it’s like I always say, love makes us do crazy things. You can’t begrudge me that can you?”
She looked as if she expected me to respond, so I shook my head.
“But I think we’ve reached a point where our connection is so deep we can be completely transparent with one another.” She took a slow, steady breath. “Michael, all your ex’s, Luna, Sadie, Jennie. They’ve all been…well, me.”
I stared at her, confused.
She sighed. “It’ll be easier if I just show you.”
Out of nowhere her hand wriggled again, then her face tightened, as though the skin was being stretched over the bone. Wrinkles smoothed out and colour bled into her grey hair, turning it brown, and within seconds I found myself face-to-face with Jennie. Even her vintage clothes morphed into a green blouse and white slacks.
“See?” she said in Jennie’s voice, her now blue eyes locked on mine.
I screamed into the soft flesh of her palm.
“Sssh, it’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt you. Watch.”
Her entire body jerked and twitched, the muscles spasming as she shifted from Jennie to Luna. “See? Think of these as costumes”—from Luna to Sadie—"the important thing is what’s underneath. And you’ve fallen in love with what’s underneath three times. Now I’m going to let go, but I need you to promise you won’t overreact. Understand?”
On the verge of a panic attack, I nodded furiously.
The second she pulled away I made a break for the exit. The thing posing as Sadie grabbed me and hurled me backwards against the wall.
Like a disappointed teacher, she put her hands on her hips. “I’ve been so patient with you, Michael. So very, very patient.”
She blocked off any hope of escape. I sidestepped around the outer edge of the room, towards the bar.
“All those years moulding you. Trying to grow you into the man I know you can be. I really thought we had it this time. For the record, I wanted to do this the easy way. But drastic times...”
I was so scared I slammed right into the cabinet and yelped. Glass bottles chattered together, and then something wet ran down the back of my shirt. It was whiskey, leaking from the overturned bottle onto the carpeted floor.
Speaking more to herself now, Gertrude said, “I’ll just have to keep you here until you love me as much as I love you. Of course, that means posing as you so nobody gets suspicious, but that’s no trouble. I’ll tell your dad you’re moving to Italy. You always loved Italy.”
Pose as me? She'd been killing my ex's and taking their place, I was just the latest in a long line. She’d keep me as a personal sugar baby if I didn’t escape, but how? She was impossibly strong, and the only thing that seemed to scare her was…
Snatching the bottle, I doused the remaining whiskey all over the carpet and furniture. As I flicked the lighter open, Sadie’s hands shot up.
“Bugs…darling…what are you doing?”
I took three slow, steady breaths. “Breaking up with you, you crazy bitch.”
I tossed the lighter forward. Within seconds flames sprung up all around us, spreading as far as the sofa. Sadie’s shoe caught fire, and as she stamped around, unintentionally fanning the blaze, her body writhed again, starting with the ankles. Fat boils climbed up every inch of exposed skin, milky white and with the consistency of frog spawn, like she’d had a killer allergic reaction to poison ivy.
She dropped to her knees, wailing like a wounded animal. This was my chance.
I made a break for the exit, giving the creature as wide a berth as possible. But as I got one foot planted in the hall something clamped tight around my ankles. My chin hit the floor, then I started sliding backwards.
I twisted onto my back. Where Sadie’s left arm should’ve been, a tentacle-like appendage stretched across the length of the room, a distance of over twenty feet. It reeled me toward her like a fish on a line. Whatever that thing was no longer looked human. It melted like an ice statue, with no bones or connective tissue inside, its lips nose and mouth becoming hideously elongated before dripping off in huge globs like melted candlewax. A fire alarm started wailing as the tentacle dragged me through the flames, scorching my arms and legs.
The loose mass of skin reached out and encased me like a mother bird sheltering its eggs.
“WHY WON’T YOU LOVE ME?” all my ex’s voices screamed at once. Whichever direction I looked, silhouettes of faces rose and fell, as if trying to burst through. Parts of them dripped inside my mouth, disgustingly warm with a bitter taste worse than Vaseline.
I put everything into clawing my way out if there. What was left of the beast had the consistency of wet clay and came apart just as easily. I tore away chunks until there was a hole large enough to squeeze through. Then, I crawled along surrounded by black smoke.
At the far side of the room I risked a glance back and saw a bumpy, uneven hand reaching out of a puddle of ooze. Soon I was crawling over the bristly welcome mat, then fumbling for the door. All I remember after that are paramedics wrestling me into an ambulance…
A specialist officer came to see me at the hospital the next morning. They’d been unable to contact the homeowner, Gertrude Huyton, and through his line of questioning I could tell they hadn’t found her ‘remains’ inside the charred house. Like the wicked witch of the West, my stalker had melted. I told the officer she said I could stay the night, and that I probably started the fire by dropping a cigarette.
“In that case, we’ll keep trying to reach her.” He walked to the curtain surronding my bed and paused. “Oh, and I almost forgot to mention, her cat is missing.”
“Her...cat?”
“Yeah. The little black one. One of the firemen pulled it out of the wreckage. The poor thing had burns over its legs but it ran off before anybody could take it to the vet.”
I swallowed a gulp and thanked him for telling me.
And now I’m still sitting here listening while nurses rush back and forth, terrified any one of them might be Gertrude…
submitted by lightingnations to nosleep [link] [comments]
I'd never felt such an instant, effortless connection with anybody before. I took a chance and asked her to dinner, and by the time the waiters cleared away our desserts, I already felt comfortable being vulnerable around her. So we went on a second date. And a third. And next thing I knew, we were planning our second anniversary.
In all that time she never gave off any 'creeper' vibes. Until a few months ago, when I stayed the night over at her place...
She'd gotten up early to use the bathroom. I grabbed her laptop off the side desk so I could catch up on some work e-mails, and the incognito tab was just sitting there. My first thought was: either she's having an affair or she's got a secret fetish.
What I found instead was a Google account with a photo album called ‘Michael’s EX’. In it, there were 427 photos of my former girlfriend turned psycho stalker, Sadie. This included shots of ‘Sadie the stalker’ with her family, screenshots of her passport—the works. On Facebook, Sadie's latest post said Moving to the Philippines, and since then she’d become a social media church mouse, so how did Luna keep her under surveillance? And how did you even get PERSONAL ID from a person halfway across the globe?
Down the hall, I heard the bathroom door swing open. Quickly I closed the laptop and pretended to be asleep until Luna planted a kiss on my lips. “Wakey wakey Bugs.”
I faked a stretch. “Morning Lola."
(At school, the other kids christened me ‘Bugs’ because of my cartoonishly large front teeth; I called Luna ‘Lola’ because of her blonde bangs and heart-shaped face.)
“How about we grab a fry for breakfast?” Her smile didn’t seem genuine, more like she was wearing a mask.
“Crap. I forgot I’m doing overtime today, I’ve gotta get to work.” With that, I shot out of there faster than a bullet train to Tokyo.
Because I didn’t wanna believe the worst about someone I cared so deeply about, I didn’t contact the police (not that anybody could’ve guessed what Luna was up to) and made excuses whenever she asked to meet, delaying the decision whether to end our relationship.
At night, I couldn’t sleep. Every time a hedge rustled outside, I’d run to the window and pull back the curtain only to discover a black cat skulking around the garden. I put this down to my previous relationship leaving me with a mountain of unresolved PTSD.
Sadie the stalker also seemed normal until we moved in together. After that she started picking fights if she caught me talking to another woman, even just distant relatives or childhood friends. The screaming matches went from weekly to nightly, only ever ending when I conceded to her every wish and gave her full access to my phone and social media accounts. I literally needed to grab my clothes into a bag and run away one night, and then I started hearing noises outside my new apartment. And although I never found any evidence, I was pretty sure she’d broken in at one point because the books on my side table were suddenly out of order one day. What hurt the most was Luna knew all this and still acted the way she did.
Right as I reached my lowest point, my close friend Gertrude called and said, “The universe is telling me you could use a sympathetic ear.”
I told her the universe didn’t know the half of it.
I’d met Gertrude—aka my surrogate mother—on a flight to London. Passing over Wales the aircraft hit heavy turbulence, and the grey-haired hippie in the seat next to mine squeezed my hand so tight that my fingers turned blue. After we levelled off, she apologized and said, “So what’s calling you to London?”
“A job.”
A few glasses of wine from the service trolley later, she blurted out, “You know your aura is strikingly similar to my husbands.”
“Uhh, thanks. Where is he now?”
“Oh, he burned to death in a house fire.”
Gertrude’s eyes started welling up. To take her mind off the subject, I said, “I lied earlier. I’m going to London because I fell in love with a Londoner.” I pulled up pictures of Sadie (back in her pre-stalker days) on my phone. “We met in Italy. She looked flustered trying to read a map book so I offered to help. Next thing I knew, we were planning a trip to this place called Orvieto.”
“Michael, I need to know how this story ends. Gimme your number.”
Since then, we’d met two or three times a year.
I laid the whole mess out over pizza. It was the first time since finding the Google account I didn’t feel hidden eyes crawling all over me.
Just as I wrapped up the story, over in the corner booth, a family burst into a chorus of happy birthday. A waiter appeared carrying a chocolate cake, capped by a giant candle that looked more like a flare. Gertrude tensed up.
“So what do you think about all this?” I asked.
She looked back at me and said, “It’s possible your reaction has been a touch on the dramatic side.”
“DRAMATIC??”
“Well consider things from Luna’s point of view. Your last relationship lasted for, what, three years? Maybe she felt threatened.”
“I don’t believe this.” I grabbed a cigarette from my pocket, but Gertrude snatched it away.
“You know how I feel about you poisoning your lungs, Michael.”
“Don’t you start. I got enough of that crap from Luna.”
Gertrude always encouraged me to work through my romantic problems. Ultimately, I decided her love of fairytale romances clouded her judgement and ghosted Luna instead. But I couldn’t escape her shadow. She always felt close. In fact, it got so bad that at a friend’s costume party several weeks later, my eyes kept compulsively scanning the crowd as if she was there in disguise, ready to pounce.
I stood off to the corner until, over the sea of heads, I spotted a beautiful stranger dressed as Jarlath the Goblin King. I took a shot of liquid courage and made a B-line towards her.
Halfway across the crowded room, beer splashed across the front of my Ziggy Stardust outfit.
“I am so sorry,” a female pirate said, patting me dry.
“Don’t worry about it.” Every time I tried circling her, she moved to cut me off.
“I am such a klutz. Why don’t you come into the kitchen so I can clean up this mess?”
I put my hands on her shoulders and steered her out of the way. “It’s fine. Trust me.”
Approaching Jarlath from behind, heart slamming against my chest, I said, “Well this is awkward. One of us is gonna have to change.”
Jennie had bright blue eyes and dimples impossible to miss. Ten minutes into our debate about David Bowie’s greatest album, I said, “You know Absolute Bowie are playing the Half Moon next week. I could take you?”
“Sorry. I’m going with my boyfriend,” she said with a sympathetic smile. From beside the buffet table, the pirate stared daggers in our direction.
“No worries,” I replied, despite the fact I was brimming with jealousy.
The next day, as I jogged off my hangover, a brown-haired lady cut across my path and we both went spinning to the ground.
“Flip, sorry.” I rushed to pull her up by the hands. “I’m like a bloody zombie lately.”
She did a doubletake. “Ziggy, right?”
There was no mistaking those eyes. “Jarlath?”
“Well, Jarlath or Jennie. Eithers fine.”
“Right. Well, sorry again. Enjoy Absolute Bowie.”
Before I could jog away, she said, “Hey, so that guy I was seeing? Turns out he’s a total prick.”
Jennie and I went for coffee. Coffee morphed into drinks. Drinks morphed into a steamy make-out session on my sofa.
But as she covered my neck in soft kisses, my stomach turned. It felt like cheating. So, I put the brakes on things and said, “I can’t do this. I’m really sorry. You’re amazing, but I just got out of a serious relationship…and…it’s just…”
“Hey, don’t worry about it.”
We agreed we’d let our connection blossom in its own time.
Jennie had a playful mystique to her. Within a handful of dates, we’d developed inside jokes and could tell what the other was thinking. But Luna’s imprint was hard to shake, to the extent I almost mixed up the two ladies’ names multiple times.
To detox, I suggested Jennie and I spend a romantic weekend in the Lake District, because after two days of hiking and kayaking my ex would no doubt be a spec in the rearview mirror.
Hours before we set off, however, Luna’s mom called. She wanted to meet and wouldn’t accept any excuses.
“Look, it’s obvious why I’m here,” she said, sitting across from me in Starbucks. “Ever since you and Luna broke up, she’s been acting…different.”
“Different? Different how?”
“I call but she hardly answers. I go over to her place but she’s never there. Now she’s telling me she needs to find herself. Says she’s moving to Australia.”
Her fingers tightened around her cup. “I need to know what happened between you two. And I don’t care if that paints anybody in a bad light. I’m just worried about my daughter is all.”
I told her about the Google account.
“Did you confront her about it?”
“Hell no. I ghosted that crazy bitc—” I cleared my throat. “I mean, I just…stopped seeing her.”
She started crying so loudly customers at nearby tables paused their conversations. I touched her forearm, promised I’d call if I remembered anything else, then set off for my romantic weekend.
But while Jennie and I enjoyed all that fresh air and pub food, a thought nagged at me. Luna adored London, so why move to Australia? It seemed so out of character. Back at our rented cottage, I was so fixated on the thought I needed a smoke, badly.
“What the hell is that?” Jennie demanded, as she stepped onto the front deck.
I glanced at my hands. “Uhh, a cigarette.”
“Michael! Don’t be sarcastic. You know how I feel about those things.”
“…Do I?”
“Uhh, well it’s the same as anybody else. Quit poisoning your lungs and put that thing out.”
“Alright alright, geeze. Sorry Luna.”
“That’s okay.”
A knot formed in my stomach as she went back inside. I’d called Jennie Luna by mistake. And she hadn’t noticed. In fact, her reaction to me smoking was identical to Luna’s—even the snappy way she said the ‘poison your lungs’ line.
I followed Jennie into the lounge, where she’d curled up on an armchair with a Colleen Hoover novel. She was hiding something. What else did she know about Luna? Maybe I could trick her into revealing some details…
From behind, I started massaging her shoulders. “Sorry for being rude before. I know what you said came from a place of love.”
“That’s okay.”
I waited until her eyes drooped shut, then said, “It really is perfect here, huh? Maybe we should stay forever.”
“Wouldn’t that be amazing?”
Her little groans of pleasure, the rhythm of her breathing, it all felt so familiar. I waited until the tension in her neck dissolved, then I pushed my lips against her ear and whispered, “So how about we take this into the bedroom…Lola.”
“Hmm. Sure thing Bugs.”
My hands froze. Jennie jumped up. “Uhh, that felt so good, why’d you stop?”
“What did you just say?”
“What did you just say?”
“I called you Lola,” I replied, my arms frozen in midair. “And you called me bugs.”
“Like the cartoon, right? I thought it’d be a cute nickname. Anyway, I’m tuckered out.” She forced a yawn. “Why don’t we get some sleep?”
As her hand laced with mine, an image of me waking up drugged and gagged and tied to the bedposts flashed before my eyes.
I said, “Sure. I just…need to use the bathroom first.”
The second the door shut behind me, I flew out of the house, climbed in my car, and sped away.
Within seconds my phone started blowing up with calls, followed by texts. Where are you going? Is everything okay?
No, I wanted to reply. I’m onto your sick little game. Whatever it is, I’m onto it.
Luna stalked my stalker, now Jennie somehow knew Luna and I’s nicknames. How? Did all women take turns drawing straws and whoever picked the short one needed to become my girlfriend?
I couldn’t go home. For all I knew, my exes would’ve been there burning effigies of me. I needed a safe place. Somewhere I could lie low until I got all this straightened out.
“Of course you can stay,” Gertrude said over the phone. “I’m out with some friends, but I’ll meet you later. If you hop the side gate there’s a spare key under the kissing gnomes out back.”
Gertrude lived in a detached house in Wembley. It took a bit of foraging to find the gnomes hidden beneath the weeds in the brown, patchy garden.
I needed to shoulder the door open. Inside, a mountain of letters and flyers had piled up on the welcome mat.
Down the hall, a huge archway connected the landing with a lounge, where a bar sat against the far wall, surrounded by upholstered sofas, a low table, and tie dye sheets strung over the filthy carpet. Everything had a real elegant vibe, despite the musty air.
I’d drained two glasses of whiskey before Gertrude arrived.
“Looks like you’ve had a rough evening.”
I said we could talk in the morning.
“Not a chance. You can’t take negative energy to bed. Come on, confession is good for the soul.”
She sat on the sofa and patted the empty seat next to her. So, with a weary sigh, I shared a tale of deranged exes.
“Crazy,” she said.
“I sure can pick ‘em, huh?”
“No, I mean you’re crazy.”
“What?”
“Think about it. What’s more likely: that your ex’s are secretly in collusion, or you’re being paranoid? Look how bloodshot your eyes are. When’s the last time you got a good night’s rest?”
She made a great point; teenagers on the street occasionally shouted ‘Bugs’ or ‘Thumper’ at me. Jennie might’ve come up with the nickname herself. I pinched the bridge of my nose, groaning.
“Look, sleep here tonight. Tomorrow we’ll brainstorm ways you can make it up to Jennie.”
I fumbled through my pockets for a cigarette.
“Really?” Gertrude said. “If you insist on poisoning your lungs, can you at least do it away from my home?”
“Well if I can’t smoke, I’m gonna need a refill.” I shook my empty glass.
On my way toward the bar, a wave of wooziness hit me. My first instinct was to blame it on the alcohol, but there was something else.
It was her reaction to the cigarette. My finger ran through the thick layer of dust along the bar’s countertop. Why was it like the place had been abandoned? Why did Gertrude always pressure me to stay with my psycho girlfriends? And how come she always reached out, as if on cue, whenever my relationships hit problems? It couldn’t be coincidence…
I poured two glasses of whiskey and carried them to the sofa. “So, you’re really against the whole smoking thing, huh?”
“Of course. It’s a filthy habit.”
“Yeah. Plus, there was that mess with your husband. House fire, right?”
“I’d rather not discuss it.”
“Sure, sure.” I ignited the lighter with a roll across my trouser leg.
Gertrude grabbed a cushion and hugged it. “What are you doing?”
“Alright, cut the crap. What the hell’s going on? Have you been sending your friends to date me?”
“What are you talking about?”
I wrestled the cushion from her and held the lighter beneath it. “I want an explanation right now or I’m torching this place.”
This was an empty threat. I wasn’t some pyromaniac—I just wanted answers. Inch by inch, I raised the flame. “Last chance. Why are the women in my life acting weird?”
Gertrude grabbed for the lighter. As I swatted her wrists away, we both got scorched, and for a moment her skin went wild with spasms, a sensation I can only compare to reaching inside a bucket of wet, writhing maggots. My gaze whipped between her face and her hands, which vibrated like plucked guitar strings.
Before I could scream, she yanked me up, clamped a cold, wrinkled palm across my mouth, and forced me against the wall. I thrashed around, unable to move. For a lady old enough to collect a pension, she was crazy strong.
She waited until I ran out of breath, then said, “Michael, please. I’m not going to hurt you. Open your heart and listen.”
What else could I do?
“You were right before. I have been keeping a secret from you. The truth is, I’ve been in love with you since we met. I’d never flown before. And you were so so sweet. You started talking about this other woman, but I knew our energies were perfect for each other. And it’s like I always say, love makes us do crazy things. You can’t begrudge me that can you?”
She looked as if she expected me to respond, so I shook my head.
“But I think we’ve reached a point where our connection is so deep we can be completely transparent with one another.” She took a slow, steady breath. “Michael, all your ex’s, Luna, Sadie, Jennie. They’ve all been…well, me.”
I stared at her, confused.
She sighed. “It’ll be easier if I just show you.”
Out of nowhere her hand wriggled again, then her face tightened, as though the skin was being stretched over the bone. Wrinkles smoothed out and colour bled into her grey hair, turning it brown, and within seconds I found myself face-to-face with Jennie. Even her vintage clothes morphed into a green blouse and white slacks.
“See?” she said in Jennie’s voice, her now blue eyes locked on mine.
I screamed into the soft flesh of her palm.
“Sssh, it’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt you. Watch.”
Her entire body jerked and twitched, the muscles spasming as she shifted from Jennie to Luna. “See? Think of these as costumes”—from Luna to Sadie—"the important thing is what’s underneath. And you’ve fallen in love with what’s underneath three times. Now I’m going to let go, but I need you to promise you won’t overreact. Understand?”
On the verge of a panic attack, I nodded furiously.
The second she pulled away I made a break for the exit. The thing posing as Sadie grabbed me and hurled me backwards against the wall.
Like a disappointed teacher, she put her hands on her hips. “I’ve been so patient with you, Michael. So very, very patient.”
She blocked off any hope of escape. I sidestepped around the outer edge of the room, towards the bar.
“All those years moulding you. Trying to grow you into the man I know you can be. I really thought we had it this time. For the record, I wanted to do this the easy way. But drastic times...”
I was so scared I slammed right into the cabinet and yelped. Glass bottles chattered together, and then something wet ran down the back of my shirt. It was whiskey, leaking from the overturned bottle onto the carpeted floor.
Speaking more to herself now, Gertrude said, “I’ll just have to keep you here until you love me as much as I love you. Of course, that means posing as you so nobody gets suspicious, but that’s no trouble. I’ll tell your dad you’re moving to Italy. You always loved Italy.”
Pose as me? She'd been killing my ex's and taking their place, I was just the latest in a long line. She’d keep me as a personal sugar baby if I didn’t escape, but how? She was impossibly strong, and the only thing that seemed to scare her was…
Snatching the bottle, I doused the remaining whiskey all over the carpet and furniture. As I flicked the lighter open, Sadie’s hands shot up.
“Bugs…darling…what are you doing?”
I took three slow, steady breaths. “Breaking up with you, you crazy bitch.”
I tossed the lighter forward. Within seconds flames sprung up all around us, spreading as far as the sofa. Sadie’s shoe caught fire, and as she stamped around, unintentionally fanning the blaze, her body writhed again, starting with the ankles. Fat boils climbed up every inch of exposed skin, milky white and with the consistency of frog spawn, like she’d had a killer allergic reaction to poison ivy.
She dropped to her knees, wailing like a wounded animal. This was my chance.
I made a break for the exit, giving the creature as wide a berth as possible. But as I got one foot planted in the hall something clamped tight around my ankles. My chin hit the floor, then I started sliding backwards.
I twisted onto my back. Where Sadie’s left arm should’ve been, a tentacle-like appendage stretched across the length of the room, a distance of over twenty feet. It reeled me toward her like a fish on a line. Whatever that thing was no longer looked human. It melted like an ice statue, with no bones or connective tissue inside, its lips nose and mouth becoming hideously elongated before dripping off in huge globs like melted candlewax. A fire alarm started wailing as the tentacle dragged me through the flames, scorching my arms and legs.
The loose mass of skin reached out and encased me like a mother bird sheltering its eggs.
“WHY WON’T YOU LOVE ME?” all my ex’s voices screamed at once. Whichever direction I looked, silhouettes of faces rose and fell, as if trying to burst through. Parts of them dripped inside my mouth, disgustingly warm with a bitter taste worse than Vaseline.
I put everything into clawing my way out if there. What was left of the beast had the consistency of wet clay and came apart just as easily. I tore away chunks until there was a hole large enough to squeeze through. Then, I crawled along surrounded by black smoke.
At the far side of the room I risked a glance back and saw a bumpy, uneven hand reaching out of a puddle of ooze. Soon I was crawling over the bristly welcome mat, then fumbling for the door. All I remember after that are paramedics wrestling me into an ambulance…
A specialist officer came to see me at the hospital the next morning. They’d been unable to contact the homeowner, Gertrude Huyton, and through his line of questioning I could tell they hadn’t found her ‘remains’ inside the charred house. Like the wicked witch of the West, my stalker had melted. I told the officer she said I could stay the night, and that I probably started the fire by dropping a cigarette.
“In that case, we’ll keep trying to reach her.” He walked to the curtain surronding my bed and paused. “Oh, and I almost forgot to mention, her cat is missing.”
“Her...cat?”
“Yeah. The little black one. One of the firemen pulled it out of the wreckage. The poor thing had burns over its legs but it ran off before anybody could take it to the vet.”
I swallowed a gulp and thanked him for telling me.
And now I’m still sitting here listening while nurses rush back and forth, terrified any one of them might be Gertrude…
2024.05.19 15:30 xiaolii [H] Lots of Games [W] Trade for Games or Paypal (EU)
Last Updated List: 19/05/2024
I'm primarily looking to trade for games from my wishlist, otherwise I am also open to selling them. I am not interested in games I already have and all games I'm getting are for me and activated on my own account. Other than that feel free to offer your list of Steam games and something I may not have and fulfills my criteria I could/would be willing to trade for it/them.
Info:
I kindly ask of you is to be reasonable when making offers to make it a fair trade for both of us.
Let's have a good exchange/trade!
List of games:
submitted by xiaolii to GameTrade [link] [comments]
I'm primarily looking to trade for games from my wishlist, otherwise I am also open to selling them. I am not interested in games I already have and all games I'm getting are for me and activated on my own account. Other than that feel free to offer your list of Steam games and something I may not have and fulfills my criteria I could/would be willing to trade for it/them.
- To trade you must respond to this thread first, I will not respond or accept anyone outside of this thread, only exception are unless we've traded more than once before.
- Only interested in trading for games on Steam.
- I don't do Humble gifts whether receiving or giving, all my keys are in unrevealed form right after purchase.
- No interest in any keys from an unofficial retailesource (aka grey market), curatoreviewer keys (aka beta/reviewebeta-testing/etc.), abandonware, keys for games that are already free on Steam itself, Steam profile-limited keys, and only slight interest in VR-titles and/or de-listed games (no banned games).
- Anything marked as wishlist/paypal, it's self-explanatory and I won't look through lists.
- All my keys are EU keys, if you are outside of EU, make sure you double check for any region locks for your country. For quite a few which I was aware of I already listed the region lock, however this is not my responsibility as I did specify the key's region.
- When buying, I only accept payments in Euro's. Minimum purchase of €1,00. Fees are on buyer.
Info:
- Region (and keys region): Europe
- IGS Rep Page
- SteamTrades
- SteamRep
I kindly ask of you is to be reasonable when making offers to make it a fair trade for both of us.
Let's have a good exchange/trade!
List of games:
- 100% Orange Juice
- 16bit Trader
- 20XX
- 4089: Ghost Within
- 9 Years of Shadows
- 911 Operator
- A Demon's Game - Episode 1
- A Game of Changes
- A Juggler's Tale
- A Normal Lost Phone
- A Plague Tale: Innocence (wishlist or Paypal only)
- A Tale of Paper: Refolded
- ABZU
- Aces and Adventures
- Adventure Time: Pirates of the Enchiridion
- Afterimage (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Afterparty
- Airborne Kingdom
- Alien Breed 2: Assault
- Alone in the Dark (2008)
- Amanda the Adventurer
- AMID EVIL
- Amnesia: Rebirth
- An Elder Scrolls Legend: Battlespire
- Animal Shelter (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Anomaly II
- Anomaly: Warzone Earth
- Arcade Paradise
- Arcade Spirits
- Archipelago
- Arizona Sunshine: Deluxe Edition
- Arto (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Ary and the Secret of Seasons
- As Far As The Eye
- Ashina: The Red Witch
- Athena Trivia
- Attack of the Earthlings
- Autonauts
- Autonauts vs PirateBots
- Axiom Verge
- Axiom Verge 2 (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Back 4 Blood (Region Lock: Sub ID) (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Backstage Pass
- Baobabs Mausoleum Ep. 1 Ovnifagos Don't Eat Flamingos
- Batman: Arkham Asylum Game of the Year Edition
- Batman: Arkham City - Game of the Year Edition
- Batman: Arkham Knight Premium Edition
- Batman: Arkham Origins
- Battlestar Galactica Deadlock Season One
- BattleTrucks
- Beacon Pines (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Beat Or Die The MiniGames
- Beholder
- Ben 10: Power Trip
- Beyond the Long Night
- Big Crown®: Showdown
- Bighead Runner
- Bionic Commando
- Biosys Inc
- bit Dungeon II
- Black Book
- Black Paradox
- Black Skylands
- Blackguards
- Blackguards 2
- Blasphemous (Region Lock: EU/US only)
- Bleep Bloop
- Blind Fate: Edo no Yami
- BLOCKADE War Stories
- Blood And Zombies
- Bloodstained: Ritual of the Night (wishlist or Paypal only)
- BomberZone
- BPM: BULLETS PER MINUTE
- Brick Breaker
- Brothers: A Tale of Two Sons
Bud Spencer & Terence Hill - Slaps And Beans- Buggos
- Calico
- Caliper
- Call of Juarez: Gunslinger
- Cardboard Town
- Carton
- Castle Defender
- CastleStorm
- Cat on a Diet
- Caveblazers
- Cavity Busters
- CHESS CROWN
- Chicago 1930 : The Prohibition
- Children of Silentown
- Chorus (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Chronicon
- Citizen Sleeper
- City Siege: Faction Island
- Cobra Kai: The Karate Kid Saga Continues
- Colortone
- Commandos: Behind Enemy Lines
- Company of Heroes 2
- Company of Heroes 2 - Ardennes Assault
- Company of Heroes 2 - The Western Front Armies: Oberkommando West
- Company of Heroes: Tales of Valor
- Cook, Serve, Delicious!
- Cook, Serve, Delicious! 3?!
- Cookie Cutter (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Copy Kitty
- Coromon
- Corrupted
- Cosmic Star Heroine
- Crash Drive 2
- Crazy Machines 3
- Creepy Tale 3: Ingrid Penance
- CRYPTARK
- Crystals of Time
- Cthulhu Saves Christmas
- Curse: The Eye of Isis
- Cybercube
- Dad Quest
- Dark Deity
- Daymare: 1998
- Dead Estate
- Deadlink (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Dear Esther: Landmark Edition
- Death's Gambit: Afterlife
- Deathtrap
- Decarnation (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Decay: The Mare
- Deceive Inc.
- Decks Of Power
- Deep Despair 2
- Deflector
- Deponia
- Desert Parkour
- DESOLATE
- Destroy All Humans!
- Dicey Dungeons
- Dinosaur Fossil Hunter
- Disciples II: Rise of the Elves
- Dishonored
- Dogfight 1942
- DOOM II
- Drawful 2
- Dread Templar
- Dread X Collection
- Dread X Collection 2
- Dread X Collection 3
- Dread X Collection 5
- Dread X Collection: The Hunt
- Dreamscaper
- DreamWorks Dragons: Dawn of New Riders
- Driftland: The Magic Revival
- Drunken Robot Pornography
- Dungeons
- Dungeons 2
- Dungeons 3
- DUSK
- EARTH DEFENSE FORCE 4.1 The Shadow of New Despair + 18 DLCs (Complete)
- EARTH DEFENSE FORCE 4.1 WINGDIVER THE SHOOTER
- Eldest Souls
- ELEX II (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Eternal Threads
- Everhood
- Evil Genius 2: World Domination
- Evoland Legendary Edition
- Expect The Unexpected
- Extinction: Deluxe Edition
- Factory Town
- Fairy Escape
- Fall of Porcupine (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Fallout 3: Game of the Year Edition (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Fantasy Kingdom Simulator
- FAR: Lone Sails
- Fast & Furious: Spy Racers Rise of SH1FT3R
- Feel-A-Maze
- Fight'N Rage
- Figment
- Finding Paradise
- Firelight Fantasy: Resistance
- First Class Trouble
- Fishermurs
- Flashback
- Fly O'Clock
- For The King
- Forgive me Father
- Fred3ric
- Frederic: Evil Strikes Back
- Frederic: Resurrection of Music
- From Space
- Frostpunk
- Fury Unleashed
- Garden In!
- Garfield Kart
- Garfield Kart - Furious Racing
- Generation Zero
- Get In The Car, Loser!
- Gloria Victis
- Going Under
- Golden Light
- Golf It!
- Gone: Survival
- Good Night, Knight
- Gotham Knights (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Graveyard Keeper
- Gray Dawn
- GRIP: Combat Racing
- Guilty Gear X2 #Reload
- Guts and Glory
- GYLT (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Haegemonia: Legions of Iron
- Hamilton's Great Adventure
- Hands of Necromancy
- Hard West
- Heads Will Roll
- Hell Pie
- Hellbound
- HELLCARD
- Hellslave
- Hi-Fi RUSH (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Hollow Knight (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Holy Potatoes! A Spy Story?!
- Homestead Arcana
- Home Sweet Home
- Homeworld Remastered Collection
- Honey, I Joined a Cult
- Hue
- Human Fall Flat
- I Am Fish
- Ice Age: Scrat's Nutty Adventure
- ICEY
- Inertial Drift
- Inexistence Rebirth
- Injustice 2 Legendary Edition
- Internet Cafe Simulator 2
- Interstellar Space: Genesis
- Is Simon There?
- ITORAH
- Jagged Alliance: Rage!
- JANITOR BLEEDS
- Jotun: Valhalla Edition
- JUMANJI: The Video Game
- Junkyard Fury 2
- Just Die Already
- Ken Follett's The Pillars of the Earth
- Killing Floor 2 Digital Deluxe Edition
- King Arthur Collection (Sub ID 25825)
- King of Dragon Pass
- King Of The Castle
- Kingdom Come: Deliverance + Band of Bastards DLC (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Kingdom Wars 2: Definitive Edition
- Kingdom Wars 4
- King's Bounty: Armored Princess
- Kitaria Fables
- Kitchen Simulator 2015
- Kraken Academy!!
- Kyle is Famous: Complete Edition
- Legend of Keepers: Career of a Dungeon Manager
- Leisure Suit Larry 7 - Love for Sail
- Life is Strange: True Colors (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Lila’s Sky Ark
- Little Orpheus
- Loddlenaut
- Loop Hero
- Lord of the Dark Castle
- Lords and Villeins
- Lords of Football
- Lost Castle
- Lost Planet 3 Complete Pack
- Lucius III
- Lumberhill
- LunarLux
- Mad Max
- Mafia III: Definitive Edition (Region Lock: Sub ID) (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Mago
- Maid of Sker
- Mail Time
- Main Assembly
- Maneater
- MARSUPILAMI - HOOBADVENTURE (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Marvel's Midnight Suns + DLC (Region Lock: Sub ID) (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Mechs & Mercs: Black Talons
- Medieval Kingdom Wars
- Mega Man Legacy Collection
- MegaRace 1
- MegaRace 2
- MegaRace 3
- Men of War
- Metal: Hellsinger (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Metamorphosis
- Metro Simulator
- Middle-earth: Shadow of Mordor GOTY
- Middle-earth: Shadow of War Definitive Edition
- Midnight Fight Express
- Minute of Islands
- MirrorMoon EP
- Monaco
- Moon Hunters
- Morbid: The Seven Acolytes
- Mortal Kombat 11 Ultimate (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Mortal Kombat XL
- Moto Racer Collection
- Moving Out + Movers in Paradise DLC
- Music Racer
- My Little Universe Soundtrack (DLC)
- My Little Worms
- Mystery of Unicorn Castle: The Beastmaster
- Mythforce (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Mythic Ocean
- Nadir: A Grimdark Deckbuilder
- NARUTO TO BORUTO: SHINOBI STRIKER
- Nash Racing: Pursuit
- Nearly Dead
- Necronator: Dead Wrong
- NecroWorm
- Neon Abyss Deluxe Edition
- Nickelodeon All-Star Brawl
- Nimble Fish
- Nioh 2 – The Complete Edition (wishlist or Paypal only)
- No Place Like Home
- Nobody Saves the World
- Nomad Survival
- Oaken
- Oddworld: Abe's Oddysee
- Oddworld: New 'n' Tasty
- OlliOlli World
- Onde
- One Finger Death Punch 2
- One Hand Clapping
- Onee Chanbara Origin (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Operation Tango
- Orange Cast: Sci-Fi Space Action Game
- Orbital Racer
- Orcs Must Die! 3 Complete Bundle
- OTXO
- Out of Space
- Overcooked
- Owlboy (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Paint the Town Red
- Papo & Yo
- Patch Quest
- PAYDAY 2
- PC Building Simulator
- Pathfinder: Kingmaker - Enhanced Plus Edition (Region Lock: Sub ID)
- Plunger Simulator
- Police Stories
- POSTAL 2
- Primal Carnage: Extinction
- Prodeus
- Push The Box 3D
- Qbik
- QUAKE II
- qubo
- RAD
- Rad Rodgers Radical Edition
- Radio Commander
- Railway Empire
- Recipe For Disaster
- Red Faction: Armageddon
- Red Faction Guerrilla Re-Mars-tered
- Red Solstice 2: Survivors
- Redout: Enhanced Edition + 5 DLCs
- Regency Solitaire
- Regions Of Ruin
- Remnant: From the Ashes - Complete Edition (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Remnants of Naezith
- Repetendium
- Resident Evil 0 HD REMASTER
- Resident Evil 4 (2005)
- Resident Evil 5 Gold Edition
- Resident Evil 6
- Resident Evil Revelations
- Resident Evil Revelations 2 Deluxe Edition
- Retrowave
- Reventure
- RHEM I SE: The Mysterious Land
- Rhythm Sprout: Sick Beats & Bad Sweets
- River City Girls
- River City Ransom: Underground
- Road 96 (Region Lock: Sub ID)
- Röki
- Royal Battleships
- Rustler
- Saints Row (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Salt and Sanctuary
- Sanctum 2
- Sands of Aura
- SATAZIUS
- Satellite Repairman
- Say No! More
- Scarlet Tower
- Scars Above
- Scorn
- School Years
- SEGA Bass Fishing
- Sense - 不祥的预感: A Cyberpunk Ghost Story
- Severed Steel
- Shadows: Awakening
- She Sees Red - Interactive Movie
- Shift Happens
- Shing!
- Shut Up And Dig
- Sid Meier's Ace Patrol
- Sine Mora EX
- Sigma Theory: Global Cold War
- Silent Service
- Sinking Island
- Sir Whoopass™: Immortal Death
- Skeletal Avenger
- Slaycation Paradise
- Small World + 1 DLC
- Snafu
- Sneak Thief
- Sniper Elite 4 Deluxe Edition (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Sniper Ghost Warrior Contracts
- Snowtopia: Ski Resort Builder
- SONG OF HORROR COMPLETE EDITION
- Sorry, James
- Soul Grabber
- Soulblight
- Soulstice
- Space Crew: Legendary Edition
- Sparkle 2 Evo
- Sparkle 3 Genesis
- Sparkle ZERO
- Spirit of the Island
- SPOOKWARE
- STAR WARS Jedi Knight - Jedi Academy
- STAR WARS Jedi Knight II - Jedi Outcast
- Stacking
- Starblast
- Starpoint Gemini 2 Gold Pack
- Starpoint Gemini Warlords
- Startide
- STASIS
- Stick Fight: The Game
- Steel Rats
- Steelrising (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Strange Brigade
- Streets of Fury EX
- Strider
- Stygian: Reign of the Old Ones
- SuchArt: Genius Artist Simulator
- Sucker for Love: First Date
- Suite 776
- Sunblaze
- Sunlight
- Sunset Overdrive
- Super Catboy
- Super Indie Karts
- Super Magbot
- Super Meat Boy
- Superbugs: Awaken
- Superliminal (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Survive the Nights
- Swag and Sorcery
- Switchball HD
- Sword of the Necromancer
- Syberia
- Symphony of War: The Nephilim Saga (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Synergia
- SYNTHETIK: Legion Rising
- System Crash
- S.W.I.N.E. HD Remaster
- Tacoma
- Tallowmere
- Tenta Shooter
- TERRACOTTA (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Terraformers
- Terror of Hemasaurus
- Tesla Force
- The Amazing American Circus
- The Banner Saga Trilogy Deluxe Pack (Sub ID) (wishlist or Paypal only)
- The Bluecoats: North & South
- The Callisto Protocol (wishlist or Paypal only)
- The Chronicles of Nyanya
- The Citadel
- The Dark Pictures Anthology: House of Ashes (wishlist or Paypal only)
- The Dark Pictures Anthology: Man of Medan (wishlist or Paypal only)
- The Dark Eye: Memoria
- The Dream Machine: Chapter 1 & 2
- The Dungeon Beneath
- The Dungeon of Naheulbeuk: The Amulet of Chaos
- The Elder Scrolls Adventures: Redguard
- The Esoterica: Hollow Earth
- The Evil Within 2
- The eXceed Collection: Aural Brutality Edition
- The Executioner
- The Falconeer
- THE GAME OF LIFE
- THE GAME OF LIFE 2 (wishlist or Paypal only)
- The Gunk
- The Haunting of Billy Classic
- The Incredible Adventures of Van Helsing: Final Cut
- The Initiate
- The Initiate 2: The First Interviews
- The Inner World
- The Knight Witch (wishlist or Paypal only)
- The Legend of Tianding
- The Long Reach
- The Moment of Silence
- The Quarry - Deluxe Edition (wishlist or Paypal only)
- The Quarry – Horror History Visual Filter Pack (DLC)
- The Red Lantern
- The Sapper
- The Talos Principle
- The Talos Principle: Gold Edition (wishlist or Paypal only)
- The Tarnishing of Juxtia
- The Tenants (wishlist or Paypal only)
- The Town of Light
- The Undying Plague
- The Witness (wishlist or Paypal only)
- There Is No Light: Enhanced Edition
- This War of Mine
- Those Who Remain
- Through Abandoned: The Refuge
- Ticket to Ride
- Timberman
- Time Lock VR
- Time on Frog Island
- Tiny Tina's Wonderlands: Chaotic Great Edition (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Tinykin (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Titan Quest Anniversary Edition
- Toki
- Toodee and Topdee
- Totally Reliable Delivery Service
- Tower of Time
- Townsmen - A Kingdom Rebuilt
- Train Simulator Classic + 2 DLCs
- Trifox
- Tropico 3 Gold Edition
- Tropico 4 Collector's Bundle
- Troublemaker
- Trover Saves the Universe
- Turbo Overkill (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Turmoil
- Turnip Boy Commits Tax Evasion
- Turok
- Turok 2: Seeds of Evil
- Twin Mirror
- Two Point Campus (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Ultimate Zombie Defense
- Undying (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Unity of Command Trilogy
- Up and Down
- Vampire Survivors
- Vanguard Princess
- Verdun
- Violett Remastered
- VirtuaVerse
- Voltaire: The Vegan Vampire
- Wanted: Dead (wishlist or Paypal only)
- War for the Overworld
- Wargroove
- Warhammer 40,000: Armageddon + Soundtrack DLC
- Warhammer 40,000: Armageddon - Da Orks
- Warhammer 40,000: Battlesector
- Warhammer 40,000: Sanctus Reach
- Warhammer: End Times - Vermintide
- Warhammer: Vermintide 2
- Wayward
- West of Dead
- What the Fog
- Where The Water Tastes Like Wine
- Who Pressed Mute on Uncle Marcus?
- Within Skerry
- Within the blade
- Wobbledogs (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Wolfenstein 3D
- Worms Rumble
- WWE 2K23 (Region Lock: Sub ID) (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Yoku's Island Express
- Yooka-Laylee
- XEL
- XIII - Classic
- X-Morph: Defense Complete Pack
- Yakuza 4 Remastered
- Yakuza: Like a Dragon (wishlist or Paypal only)
- You Deserve
- Zombie Army Trilogy
- Zombie Driver HD
- Zool Redimensioned
2024.05.19 15:30 xiaolii [H] Lots of Games [W] Trade for Games or Paypal (EU)
Last Updated List: 19/05/2024
I'm primarily looking to trade for games from my wishlist, otherwise I am also open to selling them. I am not interested in games I already have and all games I'm getting are for me and activated on my own account. Other than that feel free to offer your list of Steam games and something I may not have and fulfills my criteria I could/would be willing to trade for it/them.
Info:
I kindly ask of you is to be reasonable when making offers to make it a fair trade for both of us.
Let's have a good exchange/trade!
List of games:
submitted by xiaolii to indiegameswap [link] [comments]
I'm primarily looking to trade for games from my wishlist, otherwise I am also open to selling them. I am not interested in games I already have and all games I'm getting are for me and activated on my own account. Other than that feel free to offer your list of Steam games and something I may not have and fulfills my criteria I could/would be willing to trade for it/them.
- To trade you must respond to this thread first, I will not respond or accept anyone outside of this thread, only exception are unless we've traded more than once before.
- Only interested in trading for games on Steam.
- I don't do Humble gifts whether receiving or giving, all my keys are in unrevealed form right after purchase.
- No interest in any keys from an unofficial retailesource (aka grey market), curatoreviewer keys (aka beta/reviewebeta-testing/etc.), abandonware, keys for games that are already free on Steam itself, Steam profile-limited keys, and only slight interest in VR-titles and/or de-listed games (no banned games).
- Anything marked as wishlist/paypal, it's self-explanatory and I won't look through lists.
- All my keys are EU keys, if you are outside of EU, make sure you double check for any region locks for your country. For quite a few which I was aware of I already listed the region lock, however this is not my responsibility as I did specify the key's region.
- When buying, I only accept payments in Euro's. Minimum purchase of €1,00. Fees are on buyer.
Info:
- Region (and keys region): Europe
- IGS Rep Page
- SteamTrades
- SteamRep
I kindly ask of you is to be reasonable when making offers to make it a fair trade for both of us.
Let's have a good exchange/trade!
List of games:
- 100% Orange Juice
- 16bit Trader
- 20XX
- 4089: Ghost Within
- 9 Years of Shadows
- 911 Operator
- A Demon's Game - Episode 1
- A Game of Changes
- A Juggler's Tale
- A Normal Lost Phone
- A Plague Tale: Innocence (wishlist or Paypal only)
- A Tale of Paper: Refolded
- ABZU
- Aces and Adventures
- Adventure Time: Pirates of the Enchiridion
- Afterimage (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Afterparty
- Airborne Kingdom
- Alien Breed 2: Assault
- Alone in the Dark (2008)
- Amanda the Adventurer
- AMID EVIL
- Amnesia: Rebirth
- An Elder Scrolls Legend: Battlespire
- Animal Shelter (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Anomaly II
- Anomaly: Warzone Earth
- Arcade Paradise
- Arcade Spirits
- Archipelago
- Arizona Sunshine: Deluxe Edition
- Arto (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Ary and the Secret of Seasons
- As Far As The Eye
- Ashina: The Red Witch
- Athena Trivia
- Attack of the Earthlings
- Autonauts
- Autonauts vs PirateBots
- Axiom Verge
- Axiom Verge 2 (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Back 4 Blood (Region Lock: Sub ID) (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Backstage Pass
- Baobabs Mausoleum Ep. 1 Ovnifagos Don't Eat Flamingos
- Batman: Arkham Asylum Game of the Year Edition
- Batman: Arkham City - Game of the Year Edition
- Batman: Arkham Knight Premium Edition
- Batman: Arkham Origins
- Battlestar Galactica Deadlock Season One
- BattleTrucks
- Beacon Pines (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Beat Or Die The MiniGames
- Beholder
- Ben 10: Power Trip
- Beyond the Long Night
- Big Crown®: Showdown
- Bighead Runner
- Bionic Commando
- Biosys Inc
- bit Dungeon II
- Black Book
- Black Paradox
- Black Skylands
- Blackguards
- Blackguards 2
- Blasphemous (Region Lock: EU/US only)
- Bleep Bloop
- Blind Fate: Edo no Yami
- BLOCKADE War Stories
- Blood And Zombies
- Bloodstained: Ritual of the Night (wishlist or Paypal only)
- BomberZone
- BPM: BULLETS PER MINUTE
- Brick Breaker
- Brothers: A Tale of Two Sons
Bud Spencer & Terence Hill - Slaps And Beans- Buggos
- Calico
- Caliper
- Call of Juarez: Gunslinger
- Cardboard Town
- Carton
- Castle Defender
- CastleStorm
- Cat on a Diet
- Caveblazers
- Cavity Busters
- CHESS CROWN
- Chicago 1930 : The Prohibition
- Children of Silentown
- Chorus (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Chronicon
- Citizen Sleeper
- City Siege: Faction Island
- Cobra Kai: The Karate Kid Saga Continues
- Colortone
- Commandos: Behind Enemy Lines
- Company of Heroes 2
- Company of Heroes 2 - Ardennes Assault
- Company of Heroes 2 - The Western Front Armies: Oberkommando West
- Company of Heroes: Tales of Valor
- Cook, Serve, Delicious!
- Cook, Serve, Delicious! 3?!
- Cookie Cutter (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Copy Kitty
- Coromon
- Corrupted
- Cosmic Star Heroine
- Crash Drive 2
- Crazy Machines 3
- Creepy Tale 3: Ingrid Penance
- CRYPTARK
- Crystals of Time
- Cthulhu Saves Christmas
- Curse: The Eye of Isis
- Cybercube
- Dad Quest
- Dark Deity
- Daymare: 1998
- Dead Estate
- Deadlink (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Dear Esther: Landmark Edition
- Death's Gambit: Afterlife
- Deathtrap
- Decarnation (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Decay: The Mare
- Deceive Inc.
- Decks Of Power
- Deep Despair 2
- Deflector
- Deponia
- Desert Parkour
- DESOLATE
- Destroy All Humans!
- Dicey Dungeons
- Dinosaur Fossil Hunter
- Disciples II: Rise of the Elves
- Dishonored
- Dogfight 1942
- DOOM II
- Drawful 2
- Dread Templar
- Dread X Collection
- Dread X Collection 2
- Dread X Collection 3
- Dread X Collection 5
- Dread X Collection: The Hunt
- Dreamscaper
- DreamWorks Dragons: Dawn of New Riders
- Driftland: The Magic Revival
- Drunken Robot Pornography
- Dungeons
- Dungeons 2
- Dungeons 3
- DUSK
- EARTH DEFENSE FORCE 4.1 The Shadow of New Despair + 18 DLCs (Complete)
- EARTH DEFENSE FORCE 4.1 WINGDIVER THE SHOOTER
- Eldest Souls
- ELEX II (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Eternal Threads
- Everhood
- Evil Genius 2: World Domination
- Evoland Legendary Edition
- Expect The Unexpected
- Extinction: Deluxe Edition
- Factory Town
- Fairy Escape
- Fall of Porcupine (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Fallout 3: Game of the Year Edition (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Fantasy Kingdom Simulator
- FAR: Lone Sails
- Fast & Furious: Spy Racers Rise of SH1FT3R
- Feel-A-Maze
- Fight'N Rage
- Figment
- Finding Paradise
- Firelight Fantasy: Resistance
- First Class Trouble
- Fishermurs
- Flashback
- Fly O'Clock
- For The King
- Forgive me Father
- Fred3ric
- Frederic: Evil Strikes Back
- Frederic: Resurrection of Music
- From Space
- Frostpunk
- Fury Unleashed
- Garden In!
- Garfield Kart
- Garfield Kart - Furious Racing
- Generation Zero
- Get In The Car, Loser!
- Gloria Victis
- Going Under
- Golden Light
- Golf It!
- Gone: Survival
- Good Night, Knight
- Gotham Knights (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Graveyard Keeper
- Gray Dawn
- GRIP: Combat Racing
- Guilty Gear X2 #Reload
- Guts and Glory
- GYLT (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Haegemonia: Legions of Iron
- Hamilton's Great Adventure
- Hands of Necromancy
- Hard West
- Heads Will Roll
- Hell Pie
- Hellbound
- HELLCARD
- Hellslave
- Hi-Fi RUSH (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Hollow Knight (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Holy Potatoes! A Spy Story?!
- Homestead Arcana
- Home Sweet Home
- Homeworld Remastered Collection
- Honey, I Joined a Cult
- Hue
- Human Fall Flat
- I Am Fish
- Ice Age: Scrat's Nutty Adventure
- ICEY
- Inertial Drift
- Inexistence Rebirth
- Injustice 2 Legendary Edition
- Internet Cafe Simulator 2
- Interstellar Space: Genesis
- Is Simon There?
- ITORAH
- Jagged Alliance: Rage!
- JANITOR BLEEDS
- Jotun: Valhalla Edition
- JUMANJI: The Video Game
- Junkyard Fury 2
- Just Die Already
- Ken Follett's The Pillars of the Earth
- Killing Floor 2 Digital Deluxe Edition
- King Arthur Collection (Sub ID 25825)
- King of Dragon Pass
- King Of The Castle
- Kingdom Come: Deliverance + Band of Bastards DLC (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Kingdom Wars 2: Definitive Edition
- Kingdom Wars 4
- King's Bounty: Armored Princess
- Kitaria Fables
- Kitchen Simulator 2015
- Kraken Academy!!
- Kyle is Famous: Complete Edition
- Legend of Keepers: Career of a Dungeon Manager
- Leisure Suit Larry 7 - Love for Sail
- Life is Strange: True Colors (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Lila’s Sky Ark
- Little Orpheus
- Loddlenaut
- Loop Hero
- Lord of the Dark Castle
- Lords and Villeins
- Lords of Football
- Lost Castle
- Lost Planet 3 Complete Pack
- Lucius III
- Lumberhill
- LunarLux
- Mad Max
- Mafia III: Definitive Edition (Region Lock: Sub ID) (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Mago
- Maid of Sker
- Mail Time
- Main Assembly
- Maneater
- MARSUPILAMI - HOOBADVENTURE (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Marvel's Midnight Suns + DLC (Region Lock: Sub ID) (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Mechs & Mercs: Black Talons
- Medieval Kingdom Wars
- Mega Man Legacy Collection
- MegaRace 1
- MegaRace 2
- MegaRace 3
- Men of War
- Metal: Hellsinger (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Metamorphosis
- Metro Simulator
- Middle-earth: Shadow of Mordor GOTY
- Middle-earth: Shadow of War Definitive Edition
- Midnight Fight Express
- Minute of Islands
- MirrorMoon EP
- Monaco
- Moon Hunters
- Morbid: The Seven Acolytes
- Mortal Kombat 11 Ultimate (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Mortal Kombat XL
- Moto Racer Collection
- Moving Out + Movers in Paradise DLC
- Music Racer
- My Little Universe Soundtrack (DLC)
- My Little Worms
- Mystery of Unicorn Castle: The Beastmaster
- Mythforce (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Mythic Ocean
- Nadir: A Grimdark Deckbuilder
- NARUTO TO BORUTO: SHINOBI STRIKER
- Nash Racing: Pursuit
- Nearly Dead
- Necronator: Dead Wrong
- NecroWorm
- Neon Abyss Deluxe Edition
- Nickelodeon All-Star Brawl
- Nimble Fish
- Nioh 2 – The Complete Edition (wishlist or Paypal only)
- No Place Like Home
- Nobody Saves the World
- Nomad Survival
- Oaken
- Oddworld: Abe's Oddysee
- Oddworld: New 'n' Tasty
- OlliOlli World
- Onde
- One Finger Death Punch 2
- One Hand Clapping
- Onee Chanbara Origin (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Operation Tango
- Orange Cast: Sci-Fi Space Action Game
- Orbital Racer
- Orcs Must Die! 3 Complete Bundle
- OTXO
- Out of Space
- Overcooked
- Owlboy (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Paint the Town Red
- Papo & Yo
- Patch Quest
- PAYDAY 2
- PC Building Simulator
- Pathfinder: Kingmaker - Enhanced Plus Edition (Region Lock: Sub ID)
- Plunger Simulator
- Police Stories
- POSTAL 2
- Primal Carnage: Extinction
- Prodeus
- Push The Box 3D
- Qbik
- QUAKE II
- qubo
- RAD
- Rad Rodgers Radical Edition
- Radio Commander
- Railway Empire
- Recipe For Disaster
- Red Faction: Armageddon
- Red Faction Guerrilla Re-Mars-tered
- Red Solstice 2: Survivors
- Redout: Enhanced Edition + 5 DLCs
- Regency Solitaire
- Regions Of Ruin
- Remnant: From the Ashes - Complete Edition (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Remnants of Naezith
- Repetendium
- Resident Evil 0 HD REMASTER
- Resident Evil 4 (2005)
- Resident Evil 5 Gold Edition
- Resident Evil 6
- Resident Evil Revelations
- Resident Evil Revelations 2 Deluxe Edition
- Retrowave
- Reventure
- RHEM I SE: The Mysterious Land
- Rhythm Sprout: Sick Beats & Bad Sweets
- River City Girls
- River City Ransom: Underground
- Road 96 (Region Lock: Sub ID)
- Röki
- Royal Battleships
- Rustler
- Saints Row (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Salt and Sanctuary
- Sanctum 2
- Sands of Aura
- SATAZIUS
- Satellite Repairman
- Say No! More
- Scarlet Tower
- Scars Above
- Scorn
- School Years
- SEGA Bass Fishing
- Sense - 不祥的预感: A Cyberpunk Ghost Story
- Severed Steel
- Shadows: Awakening
- She Sees Red - Interactive Movie
- Shift Happens
- Shing!
- Shut Up And Dig
- Sid Meier's Ace Patrol
- Sine Mora EX
- Sigma Theory: Global Cold War
- Silent Service
- Sinking Island
- Sir Whoopass™: Immortal Death
- Skeletal Avenger
- Slaycation Paradise
- Small World + 1 DLC
- Snafu
- Sneak Thief
- Sniper Elite 4 Deluxe Edition (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Sniper Ghost Warrior Contracts
- Snowtopia: Ski Resort Builder
- SONG OF HORROR COMPLETE EDITION
- Sorry, James
- Soul Grabber
- Soulblight
- Soulstice
- Space Crew: Legendary Edition
- Sparkle 2 Evo
- Sparkle 3 Genesis
- Sparkle ZERO
- Spirit of the Island
- SPOOKWARE
- STAR WARS Jedi Knight - Jedi Academy
- STAR WARS Jedi Knight II - Jedi Outcast
- Stacking
- Starblast
- Starpoint Gemini 2 Gold Pack
- Starpoint Gemini Warlords
- Startide
- STASIS
- Stick Fight: The Game
- Steel Rats
- Steelrising (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Strange Brigade
- Streets of Fury EX
- Strider
- Stygian: Reign of the Old Ones
- SuchArt: Genius Artist Simulator
- Sucker for Love: First Date
- Suite 776
- Sunblaze
- Sunlight
- Sunset Overdrive
- Super Catboy
- Super Indie Karts
- Super Magbot
- Super Meat Boy
- Superbugs: Awaken
- Superliminal (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Survive the Nights
- Swag and Sorcery
- Switchball HD
- Sword of the Necromancer
- Syberia
- Symphony of War: The Nephilim Saga (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Synergia
- SYNTHETIK: Legion Rising
- System Crash
- S.W.I.N.E. HD Remaster
- Tacoma
- Tallowmere
- Tenta Shooter
- TERRACOTTA (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Terraformers
- Terror of Hemasaurus
- Tesla Force
- The Amazing American Circus
- The Banner Saga Trilogy Deluxe Pack (Sub ID) (wishlist or Paypal only)
- The Bluecoats: North & South
- The Callisto Protocol (wishlist or Paypal only)
- The Chronicles of Nyanya
- The Citadel
- The Dark Pictures Anthology: House of Ashes (wishlist or Paypal only)
- The Dark Pictures Anthology: Man of Medan (wishlist or Paypal only)
- The Dark Eye: Memoria
- The Dream Machine: Chapter 1 & 2
- The Dungeon Beneath
- The Dungeon of Naheulbeuk: The Amulet of Chaos
- The Elder Scrolls Adventures: Redguard
- The Esoterica: Hollow Earth
- The Evil Within 2
- The eXceed Collection: Aural Brutality Edition
- The Executioner
- The Falconeer
- THE GAME OF LIFE
- THE GAME OF LIFE 2 (wishlist or Paypal only)
- The Gunk
- The Haunting of Billy Classic
- The Incredible Adventures of Van Helsing: Final Cut
- The Initiate
- The Initiate 2: The First Interviews
- The Inner World
- The Knight Witch (wishlist or Paypal only)
- The Legend of Tianding
- The Long Reach
- The Moment of Silence
- The Quarry - Deluxe Edition (wishlist or Paypal only)
- The Quarry – Horror History Visual Filter Pack (DLC)
- The Red Lantern
- The Sapper
- The Talos Principle
- The Talos Principle: Gold Edition (wishlist or Paypal only)
- The Tarnishing of Juxtia
- The Tenants (wishlist or Paypal only)
- The Town of Light
- The Undying Plague
- The Witness (wishlist or Paypal only)
- There Is No Light: Enhanced Edition
- This War of Mine
- Those Who Remain
- Through Abandoned: The Refuge
- Ticket to Ride
- Timberman
- Time Lock VR
- Time on Frog Island
- Tiny Tina's Wonderlands: Chaotic Great Edition (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Tinykin (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Titan Quest Anniversary Edition
- Toki
- Toodee and Topdee
- Totally Reliable Delivery Service
- Tower of Time
- Townsmen - A Kingdom Rebuilt
- Train Simulator Classic + 2 DLCs
- Trifox
- Tropico 3 Gold Edition
- Tropico 4 Collector's Bundle
- Troublemaker
- Trover Saves the Universe
- Turbo Overkill (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Turmoil
- Turnip Boy Commits Tax Evasion
- Turok
- Turok 2: Seeds of Evil
- Twin Mirror
- Two Point Campus (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Ultimate Zombie Defense
- Undying (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Unity of Command Trilogy
- Up and Down
- Vampire Survivors
- Vanguard Princess
- Verdun
- Violett Remastered
- VirtuaVerse
- Voltaire: The Vegan Vampire
- Wanted: Dead (wishlist or Paypal only)
- War for the Overworld
- Wargroove
- Warhammer 40,000: Armageddon + Soundtrack DLC
- Warhammer 40,000: Armageddon - Da Orks
- Warhammer 40,000: Battlesector
- Warhammer 40,000: Sanctus Reach
- Warhammer: End Times - Vermintide
- Warhammer: Vermintide 2
- Wayward
- West of Dead
- What the Fog
- Where The Water Tastes Like Wine
- Who Pressed Mute on Uncle Marcus?
- Within Skerry
- Within the blade
- Wobbledogs (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Wolfenstein 3D
- Worms Rumble
- WWE 2K23 (Region Lock: Sub ID) (wishlist or Paypal only)
- Yoku's Island Express
- Yooka-Laylee
- XEL
- XIII - Classic
- X-Morph: Defense Complete Pack
- Yakuza 4 Remastered
- Yakuza: Like a Dragon (wishlist or Paypal only)
- You Deserve
- Zombie Army Trilogy
- Zombie Driver HD
- Zool Redimensioned
2024.05.19 15:09 DrYangHF7 Guan Yin Citta Dharma Door cured my paralysis (瘫痪)
I am grateful to the Greatly Merciful and Greatly Compassionate Guan Yin Bodhisattva for offering me this precious opportunity to share my experience of practising Buddhism with you.
I am 62 years old. Today, I can eat, sleep and walk like a normal person. However, did you know that I once was a paralyzed woman who could not even get up from bed, had difficulty turning over, and could not take care of myself? Through practising Buddhism and reciting Buddhist scriptures, I have completely freed myself from the misery of hell. I want to tell you with hard facts that practising Buddhism and reciting the scriptures has not only given me a second life, but has also benefited me immensely. I want to share with you how I transformed myself from paralysis to health within four years without undergoing any surgery! May my presentation plant the seeds of bodhi in your hearts, so that more people will have faith in Guan Yin Bodhisattva who has boundless supernatural power, and recite Buddhist scriptures as soon as possible to be free from suffering and gain happiness!
1. When I was young, I opened two bars so I created bad karma, and karmic retribution is right on my heels!
I am the eldest daughter of my family and the eldest daughter-in-law of my in-laws family. Both my mother and mother-in-law are Buddhist practitioners and urged me to practise Buddhism as well. However, because of my youthful ambition and good fortune, at the age of about 36, I ran two bars and enjoyed the pleasure of earning money, not bothering to practise Buddhism at all. By then, I was young and foolish, in the bars I gained filthy money by means of woman’s charms, which invariably created a lot of bad karma. How many people lost their morals and conscience for my sake of monetary gain? How many families have been broken up behind the scenes? How many people have done many things against ethics and morality under the paralysis of alcohol? I hereby express my deepest repentance to Guan Yin Bodhisattva! Karmic retribution is inescapable. I planted the evil cause so I reap the evil effect. The bad karma I created within two years of running the bars has brought me a tragic retribution 13 years later! (So, dear fellow practitioners, please take this as a warning!)
In 2010, I was 49, my predestined 369 calamity arrived. One day in July, my karma exploded. I suddenly collapsed at home kitchen while stirring frying vegetables. In an instant, I felt that the sky was falling, and I had nowhere to turn for help. An otherwise healthy me entered a life of hell on earth from then on. Every day, I ate, drank, pooped and peed in bed, had difficulty turning over, couldn't wash my hands and face, had trouble swallowing, so it was worse than death. I was paralyzed in bed from then on. The doctor said I had a herniated disc in my lower back. All the bones in my back were misaligned. Both knee bones were necrotic and so swollen. I have visited all the local city and provincial hospitals, big and small, to seek medical care. I almost spent all the several hundreds of thousands of RMB I had gained from my bar business. However, the condition got worse and worse.
2. Since encountering the excellent Guan Yin Citta Dharma Door, I have been practicing Buddhism hard to overcome any obstacles on the way and finally achieved a new life.
Perhaps it was the blessing from my family members who had been making offerings to the Buddha and practising Buddhism for years. Thanks to the mercy of Guan Yin Bodhisattva, I finally encountered the Guan Yin Citta Dharma Door in 2012 when I was in the most desperate situation in my life. The person next door to my bar heard that I was sick and came to see me. She brought me Buddhist scripture, recitation device, Buddhism in Plain Terms, counters and many other Dharma gems. She told me the Guan Yin Citta Dharma Door was very efficacious, and asked me to try it. Although I could not move on bed, I listened all Master Lu's recordings like a thirst. I was pleasantly surprised to hear cases of patients who had been cured of cancer and serious illnesses by practising Buddhism and reciting the scriptures. The recordings of Master Lu's programs were like a bright beacon in the darkness, bringing me hope for life and giving me great encouragement. I felt I was awakened by a powerful energy, stirring up my strong desire to live. I told myself: I must survive; I must save myself! I started to practice Buddhism and recite scriptures as if I had grabbed a lifeline.
I am illiterate, so I had to lie in bed every day and learn to recite word by word with the recitation device. Due to the heavy karma, there was no virtuous and the high-minded practitioner around to teach me how to burn the Little Houses in a rational and lawful way. I foolishly took an ashtray instead of a plate to burn the Little Houses, which resulted in the ashtray blowing up. In order to eliminate karma quickly, I was foolishly reciting the Heart Sutra and Amitabha Pure Land Rebirth Mantra after ten o'clock at night, which resulted in the light bulbs breaking several times (Here, I sincerely remind my fellow practitioners: Master Lu enlightened us not to recite the Heart Sutra and Amitabha Pure Land Rebirth Mantra after ten o'clock at night. Please make sure to read the Introduction to Guan Yin Citta Dharma Door carefully in order to avoid practising Buddhism irrationally). Therefore, we must follow the instructions of Master Lu, and never do what the Master does not allow us to do. The whole process of reciting Buddhist scriptures to eliminate karma is very bumpy. It is really easy to create karma, but very hard to eliminate it! However, I firmly believed that the Bodhisattva is infinitely powerful. As long as I diligently practised Buddhism, my fate would definitely get changed. Hence, I relied on the blissful cases in Master Lu's recordings as my spiritual support. I kept persevering, not afraid of any difficulties, and recklessly recited Buddhist scriptures.
Since I ate, drank and pooped in bed, my aura was very bad. As I could not get up by myself, so I had to lie in bed to recite the sacred Buddhist scriptures. I felt guilty and torn, wondering if this was the appropriate way to recite the sacred Buddhist scriptures. Will it affect the effect of the recitation? Gratitude to Guan Yin Bodhisattva for Her compassion, and I dreamed of Master Lu that night. Master Lu who was dressed in a black suit smiled at me and kindly comforted me: “don't worry.” After I woke up, I was very grateful for Master Lu's compassion. Master Lu knew about my special situation, so this is a sympathy and a condolence to me. After I recited Buddhist scriptures 4 to 5 months late, my neck and head were able to turn significantly. Such a Dharma blissful change thrilled me. All the trials and perseverance I had gone through in the past had not been in vain. Guan Yin Bodhisattva has boundless supernatural power, which had given me a glimmer of hope for recovery! (Here, I sincerely remind my fellow practitioners: In the absence of illness, recitation of Buddhist scriptures must be respectful. A point of respect harvests a point of benefit.)
3. The unique characteristics of attending the Dharma conference and formally acknowledging Jun Hong Lu as my master allow my physical health to improve with Dharma joy
In February 2017, I befriended a fellow practitioner. She invited me to attend the Macau Dharma Convention together. I thought to myself: “can I take the bus by myself?” “Can I attend the conference?” With a strong faith from my inner heart, I attended the conference via keeping reciting the Great Compassion Mantra on the trip. Unbelievably, I arrived at the conference as I wished with the blessing and protection of Guan Yin Bodhisattva, although my bulky legs could only barely support my body in the seat. I was in tears when I listened Master Lu's wise words and saw the holy icon of Guan Yin Bodhisattva. On the night of the conference, I dreamed of Guan Yin Bodhisattva! Gratitude to Greatly Merciful and Greatly Compassionate Guan Yin Bodhisattva for saving me from suffering and giving me a new life. At the end of the Macau Dharma Convention, I instantly made two vows: to be a vegetarian for 15 days per month and liberate 10,000 fish.
Before I attended the Macau Dharma Convention, I had to take a break whenever I walked two steps, and my body was not able to move much. After returning, my legs started to become strong enough to support my body and I could walk on flat ground. Despite they were not very flexible, they were no longer the same as when I was paralyzed like a limp in bed. My whole body is getting better and better in essence, vital energy, and spirit. I was very surprised! Master Lu has enlightened that there are many Buddhas and Bodhisattvas coming to bless attendees at each Dharma conference!
In August 2017, before the Dharma Convention in Malaysia, my fellow practitioners urged me to formally acknowledge Jun Hong Lu as my master. Since I am an illiterate, compassionate fellow practitioners helped me to fill out the application form of seeking discipleship. My fellow practitioners told me that there were so many people wanted to formally acknowledge Jun Hong Lu as their master that I might not be able to reach my wish this time. Then, I had to wait for the opportunity next Dharma Convention. I told myself that whether I could reach my wish or not this time, I would actively participate in Master Lu’s Dharma Convention. Considering my age, it is a blessing for me to attend one more Dharma Convention. To my surprise, one week later, my application for seeking discipleship was approved. Gratitude to Greatly Merciful and Greatly Compassionate Guan Yin Bodhisattva!
On the day of seeking discipleship, I was very excited. During the process of seeking discipleship, I heard a voice in stereo that was very loud. When I opened my eyes, I was surprised to see Tathagata Buddha, and many other Bodhisattvas coming down from heaven. At that moment, I saw that the upper half of Master Lu's Dharmakaya appeared transparent with a huge lotus flower. I was suddenly moved to tears. I was oblivious to the fact that Master Lu had come to my side until the time of issuing the discipleship certificate. Master Lu was very compassionate and empowered me with blessing. Master Lu enlightened, "Because five people opened their eyes during the worship ceremony, they have no lotuses planted in the pure land. But it's okay, when the ceremony is over, you can go to the front and kowtow to ask the Bodhisattva (to plant a lotus)." I then rushed to the front to worship. Before I finished worshiping Bodhisattva, a young fellow practitioner came over. He asked, "How do you feel? Did you see anything?" I said, "I saw Tathagata Buddha." He asked, "How are you sure that was Tathagata Buddha?" I said, "Both my mother and mother-in-law are Buddhist disciples, and Tathagata Buddha has curly hair."
I was grateful for the compassionate blessing from Guan Yin Bodhisattva and Master Lu. When I returned home after seeking discipleship, I made two vows: to be a vegetarian for the rest of my life and never kill (animals). The power of a vow outweighs the force of karma. After I made the vows, Master Lu’s Dharmakaya came to help me heal my legs in my dreams. Once, I saw Master Lu’s Dharmakaya passing by my room while I was half-squinted. Master Lu asked me, "Which foot is uncomfortable? Where is aching?" Instantly I woke up and then I found that my feet didn't feel as heavy as they used to be and I walked more lightly. I excitedly shared the news with my old father, "Master Lu has come to bless me again!" I am grateful to Master Lu for his compassionate care for every sentient being. Every time I dreamed of Master Lu, he would always compassionately endow me with abundance of blessing, and I was always surprised by the improvement in my health.
In a short time, I could not only separate my feet and take turns to walk up and down the stairs independently. Moreover, I could bend back and forth freely with my arms crossed. The bones in my back, which were all misaligned and uneven, were now completely normal again. Previously, I couldn't raise my hands to wash my face, brush my teeth or comb my hair because the bones in my back would pull the nerves and cause severe pain when I raised my hands. In those days, whenever I sneezed or defecated, I felt like to cheat death on pain. In those hellish day I went through unimaginable pain and suffering. Now, however, I can take care of myself completely and move around freely. Sometimes I get a little tired after walking for too long, but I can recover after 10 minutes of rest in bed. Although it is still slightly bumpy while I was walking, if you don't look closely, you can't see it. My family was overwhelmed to see the dramatic change from being paralyzed and bedridden to walking independently since I practised Buddhism. My old father, who was taking care of me at the bedside, complimented me straight away: you have completely changed, becoming healthier and healthier now! I was so excited that I had tears in my eyes. Without the rescue of Greatly Compassionate Guan Yin Bodhisattva and Master Lu, I really wouldn't have the blissful transformation I have today!
In 2019, at the Dharma conferences of Indonesia and Singapore, I pleaded with my fellow practitioners to be merciful to give me the opportunity to volunteer. According to the rules of the Dharma conference, I was already overage. However, I was adamant that I must do volunteer work. Guan Yin Bodhisattva has given me a second life, so I have to serve all sentient beings physically. I am grateful for Greatly Compassionate Guan Yin Bodhisattva who helped me out. When I came back from the conferences, I found that I could bend and squat easily and freely, and I had no problem even sitting on the floor. I am grateful to Guan Yin Bodhisattva for compassionately helping me to eliminate my karma at every conference, so that I can obtain incredible blessings and improvement occur every time.
4. The incredible blessing of setting up the Buddhist altar accelerated my health recovery and created a medical miracle.
From the time I set up the Buddhist altar in 2017, I insisted on offering Bodhisattvas incenses morning and evening every day. At first, the body was still straight and could not bend and bow. For two years, in front of the Buddhist altar, I prayed for Bodhisattvas to bless me so that I could recover my health a little better so I can use my own experience as an example to convince sentient beings to gain faith on Dharma and practise Dharma. Gradually, I was able to stand to offer incense to Bodhisattvas, to bend and bow, and finally to kneel in front of the Buddhist altar to recite the scriptures. I was full of Dharma joy! Initially, my back still hurt from kneeling. With the karmic obstacles being removed, my back didn't hurt anymore. Sometimes when I went out with fellow practitioners to set up the Buddhist altar, particularly on the Buddha's Birthday, I could kneel to recite the Eighty-eight Buddhas Great Repentance for an hour and a half. My fellow practitioners couldn't keep it up, so I was the only one who kept it up until the end. I am so grateful to Guan Yin Bodhisattva for Her compassionate blessing!
At one time, the doctor at the provincial hospital told me that I had to have surgery to put two steel plates into the bone, but I refused. Because I firmly believe that with the of blessings of Guan Yin Bodhisattva and Master Lu, I am afraid of nothing. Buddha is an extraordinary doctor. The only way to recover completely is to repent sincerely and practise Buddhism. I can now move as freely as a normal person. This medical miracle achieved was completely relied on practising Buddhism, reciting scriptures, being a vegetarian, helping new practitioners to set up Buddhist altars, volunteering at Dharma conferences, and actively propagating the Dharma. To improve my family economic financial, I went out to work on construction sites as a helper, do cleaning and housekeeping!
Those patients who were once slightly paralyzed did not recover as quickly and well as I did, even with surgery.
Dear readers, when you see such a dramatic change in me, what are you hesitating for? Hurry up and pick up the Buddhist scriptures to recite! I am the living example, the ironclad evidence. Guan Yin Bodhisattva does exist, and She is Greatly Merciful and Greatly Compassionate, answers any prayers.
Thinking of the bad karma I created in the two bars when I was young, I feel grievously sinful. I have earned ill-gotten wealth, but the karma was produced, and karmic retribution is inescapable. If one hasn't been retributed, the time hasn't come yet. After I got old, all the retribution came to me. Not only did I use up all my money, but I also had to suffer from physical illness and paralysis. I advise everyone to remember Master Lu's enlightenment: Do not do anything that is evil; Do not fail to do good no matter how petty the deed; Do not engage in evil no matter how trivial the deed. Dear readers, please consider it carefully before earning any money, and don’t commit such deep sins as I did for the sake of monetary gain, or else the consequences will follow you!
Without the merciful salvation and blessings of Guan Yin Bodhisattva and Master Lu, I would not have been reborn today! I made a few great wows: honour the teacher and respect his teachings, live an ascetic life for lifetime, be a vegetarian lifetime, not kill, not eat eggs, not smoke, not drink; transcend the cycle of rebirth for good and attain enlightenment in one lifetime. In this life, I will follow Guan Yin Bodhisattva to cultivate my mind and change my behaviour and never quit. I will follow my benefactor, the Compassionate father, Master Lu, to propagate Guan Yin Citta Dharma Door and never stop! Although I am over 60 years, I will continue using my own experience as an example to convince sentient beings to gain faith on Dharma and practise Buddhism. Together with my fellow practitioners, I will get up early and go home late to help set up Buddha altars for new practitioners. No matter how far and how difficult the trip is, I will always be strict with myself. I will go wherever I am needed. Even if I am eating, as soon as I receive a mission for propagating Dharma, I will put down my chopsticks and set off without delay.
Guan Yin Citta Dharma Door is peerlessly efficacious, and Guan Yin Bodhisattva is Greatly Merciful and Greatly Compassionate, saves beings from suffering, has supernatural power, and answer all prayers. As long as we have a devout heart and we persist in reciting Buddhist scriptures and practicing Buddhism, no difficulty can defeat us! My physical changes are the most powerful evidence! May my true presentation give some inspiration to those people who are still suffering from illnesses, so that they can acquire faith to practising Buddhism, and pick up the Buddhist scriptures to recite. May more sentient beings having affinity with Buddha break free from delusion and attain enlightenment, balance egoism and altruism, and free from suffering and gain happiness.
My deepest gratitude to the Greatly Merciful and Greatly Compassionate Guan Yin Bodhisattva!
My deepest gratitude to all Buddhas and Bodhisattvas from ten directions and three periods of time!
My deepest gratitude to the Dharma protectors!
My deepest gratitude to the selfless and altruistic Master Jun Hong Lu!
If there is anything that is not rational or in line with the truth in the presentation, I’d like to seek forgiveness from the Greatly Merciful and Greatly Compassionate Guan Yin Bodhisattva, all Buddhas and Bodhisattvas, Dharma protectors, and Master Jun Hong Lu.
I’d also like to seek forgiveness from my fellow Buddhist practitioners.
I, not my fellow practitioners, will be responsible for my own karma!
Shared by: Dharma Practitioner Ganen, Gratitude and Namaste!
Translated by: Frank
Statement by Translator
It would be greatly appreciated if you would forward this presentation to all sentient beings you know, sick or healthy. You will accumulate immeasurable merits and virtues. Saving a life is more meritorious than building a seven-floor pagoda!
Would you like to change your destiny?
We will show you how to do the Five Golden Buddhist Practices of Guan Yin Citta Dharma Door: (1) making vows, (2) reciting Buddhist scriptures (sutras and mantras), (3) performing life liberation, (4) reading Buddhism in Plain Terms, and (5) repenting. You will personally witness how you and your family can achieve physical and mental stability, relief from illness and grievances, wisdom growth, academic progress, career advancement, and family happiness through Dharma. It’s free of charge.
Contact
Buddhist practitioner: Lily
Email: [sunnypurplelily@gmail.com](mailto:sunnypurplelily@gmail.com)
WeChat: HanJing20210820
原文如下:
从瘫痪卧床到行走自如做家政，心灵法门创造了医学奇迹
感恩南无大慈大悲救苦救难广大灵感观世音菩萨摩诃萨！
感恩十方三世一切诸佛菩萨！
感恩龙天护法金刚菩萨！
感恩恩师慈父卢军宏台长！
感恩师兄们！
感恩大慈大悲观世音菩萨慈悲，让我能有这个宝贵的机会与大家分享我的学佛经历。我今年62岁，现在是一个能吃、能睡、能走路的正常人了。但是，你们可曾知道，曾经，我是一个连床都起不了、翻身都困难，生活完全无法自理的瘫痪老人！如今，通过学佛念经，我把自己从地狱的苦海里完全挣脱了出来。我要用铁一般的事实告诉大家：学佛念经不仅给了我第二次生命，更让我受益无穷。我要跟大家分享，在这患病的四年里，在没有经历任何手术的情况下，如何让自己从瘫痪到健康的蜕变！愿我今天的分享给有缘人种下菩提种子，让更多的人相信观世音菩萨法力无边，早日学佛念经，离苦得乐！
1. 年轻时开酒吧造恶业，得现世报！
我是家中的长女、婆家的长媳。母亲和婆婆都是学佛人，都劝我也学佛。但是，由于年轻时好胜心强，加之财运不错，36岁左右，我经营两家酒吧，享受挣钱的快乐，根本无心学佛。年轻愚痴的我经营酒吧时靠女色来赚取黑钱，赚的都是不正之财，无形中造了很多恶业。在这种灯红酒绿中生活，我为了金钱利益，让多少人丧失了自己的道德与良知？背后又造成多少个家庭的破裂？又有多少人在酒精的麻痹下做出多少违背伦理道德的事情？弟子在此向观世音菩萨深深忏悔！因果报应丝毫不爽，种恶因得恶果。开酒吧这两年中我所造下的恶业，在十几年后让我得到悲惨的现世报！所以，请大家引以为戒！
2010年我49岁，正逢“三六九”关劫。7月的一天，我的业障大爆发，在家炒菜时突然间倒下。瞬间，我感觉天塌下来，叫天天不应，叫地地不灵。一个原本健康的我从此进入人间地狱般的生活。每天，我吃喝拉撒都在床上，翻身都很困难，没法自己洗手洗脸，吞咽困难，简直生不如死。我从此瘫痪在床。医生说我是腰椎间盘突出。后背的所有骨头都错位。两个膝盖骨头坏死，肿得很大。当地市里、省里大大小小的医院我都看过了。我几乎把我做酒吧生意所赚到的几十万块钱都花光了。然而，病情越来越严重。
2. 得遇殊胜法门，坎坷学佛路中坚持不懈地修行换来重生
也许是家人一直供佛学佛的福德。承蒙观世音菩萨慈悲，在我人生绝境之时，我终于在2012年得遇心灵法门。以前我开店隔壁的人听说我病倒了，就来看我。她给我送来了经书、念佛机、《白话佛法》、计数器等很多法宝。她告诉我心灵法门很灵验，让我试试。我躺在床上虽然无法动弹，却如饥似渴地把师父的录音听了个遍。听到人们通过学佛念经把癌症、重症都治愈的案例，我惊喜万分。师父的节目录音就像黑暗中的一盏明灯，让我看到了生活的希望，给了我很大的鼓舞。在这个过程中我像被一股强大的能量加持唤醒，激起了求生的强烈欲望。我告诉自己：我一定要活过来；我一定要自己救自己！我像抓住了救命稻草似地开始拼命学佛念经。
我不识字，只能每天躺在床上跟着念佛机一字一句地学着念。由于业力牵引，身边没有遇到善知识教我如理如法地烧送小房子。愚痴的我曾拿个烟灰缸代替盘子烧送经文组合小房子，结果烟灰缸炸掉了。为了抓紧时间消业，我晚上十点后还在念《心经》和《往生咒》，结果家里的灯坏了好几次（趁此机会我诚心提醒师兄们：师父开示，晚上十点后不要念诵《心经》和《往生咒》，请师兄们一定要好好看《心灵法门入门手册》，避免操作不如理不如法）。所以，我们一定要听师父的话，师父不让做的就不做。念经消业的整个过程非常坎坷。真是造业容易，消业难啊！但是，我坚信菩萨法力无边，只要精进努力，一定会得到改变的。于是，我依靠师父录音中的法喜案例作为精神支撑。我一直坚持不懈，不怕万难，拼命念经。
由于吃喝拉撒都在床上，气场非常不好，自己又无法起身，只能躺在床上念经。我内心愧疚又纠结，不知道这样念经是否如理如法？会不会影响念经效果？感恩菩萨慈悲，当晚我就梦见师父了。师父身穿着黑西装，一边慈祥地笑着一边安慰我：不要担心。醒来后，我非常感恩师父的慈悲。师父知道我的特殊情况，这是对我的宽容和安慰啊。后来，大概念经差不多4～5个月后，我的脖子和头也能明显地转动了。这样法喜的变化，让我激动万分。我过去所经历的磨难与坚持都没有白费。观世音菩萨法力无边，让我看到了康复的一丝希望！（作者提醒：师兄们，在没有病痛的情况下，念经一定要体态恭敬，一分恭敬一分受益。）
3. 参加法会与拜师的殊胜，让我的身体不断法喜蜕变
2017年2月份，我结识了一位师兄。她邀请我一起去参加澳门法会。我心想：我能自己坐车吗？能去法会吗？凭着内心坚定的信念，路途中我一直念《大悲咒》。虽然我笨重的双腿只能勉强支撑着身体坐在座位上，但在观世音菩萨一路加持护佑下，我竟然能够如愿到了法会现场。现场听到师父开示、看到观世音菩萨的圣像，我泪如雨下。大法会当天晚上，我就梦到了观世音菩萨！感恩大慈大悲救苦救难观世音菩萨救我于苦海，给了我新的生命和生活。澳门法会结束，我当即发愿：一个月吃素15天，放生一万条鱼。参加澳门法会前，只要走两步路我就要歇一歇，而且我的身体没办法大幅度活动。
澳门法会回来后，我的双腿开始变得有力，可以支撑起身子在平地上走路了。虽然还不是很灵活，但是比起原来像软泥一样瘫痪在床的状态，已经不可同年而语了。我整个人精、气、神也越来越好。我非常惊喜！师父开示过，每场法会有很多佛菩萨来加持大家！
2017年8月，马来西亚法会前，师兄们让我拜师，但我不识字。慈悲的师兄们帮助我代笔填写拜师申请表。师兄们告诉我，这次拜师的人太多，有可能排不上队，得等到下一场法会才有机会。我告诉自己，无论这次能不能拜师，我都一定积极参加师父的法会。我这么大年纪了，能参加多一场法会都是我的福报啊。让我惊喜的是，一个星期后，我的拜师申请通过了。感恩观世音菩萨慈悲！
拜师当天，我激动万分。在拜师过程中，我听到一个非常立体、非常响亮的声音。我睁开眼睛时，我竟然看到了如来佛祖，还有好多菩萨都从天上下来了。这时，我看到师父上半身的法身呈现透明状，有一朵大大的莲花。我顿时感动得泪如雨下。直到颁发弟子证的时候，我浑然不觉师父已经走到我的身边。师父非常慈悲，给我灌顶加持。师父说:“因为拜师过程中有5个人睁开了眼睛，所以莲花没有种上去。不过没关系，等拜师仪式结束后，可以到前面去磕头求菩萨。”我就赶紧跑到前面去拜。我还没拜完，就过来了一个年轻师兄。他问我：“您感觉怎么样？有没有看到什么？” 我告诉他：“我看到如来佛祖了。” 他说：“您怎么确定那是如来佛祖呢？”我说：”我家母和家婆是学佛人，如来佛祖头发卷卷的。”
感恩观世音菩萨与师父的慈悲加持。拜师结束回家我就发愿: 终生吃全素，不杀生。真是愿力大于业力，发愿后，师父又来梦里帮我治疗双腿。有一次，我半眯着眼睛看到师父从我的房间经过。师父问我：“还有哪只脚不舒服？还有哪个地方疼痛的？” 瞬间我就醒了，醒来我发现我的双脚没有了原来的沉重感，走起路来更加轻盈了。我激动地跟老父亲分享：“师父又来加持我啦！”感恩师父慈悲关怀着每一位众生。每次梦见师父，师父都慈悲给予加持，我的身体总会有惊喜的好转。
没过多久，我不仅可以分开双脚，轮流迈开步伐独立上下楼梯。而且，我双手叉腰，可以前后自如地弯腰。后背的骨头原本因为全部错位并高低不平，如今完全恢复正常了。原本我没办法把手举起来洗脸、刷牙和梳头，因为手一抬，后背的骨头扯神经会导致剧烈的疼痛。每次打喷嚏或排泄的时候，都有种痛不欲生的感觉，就像死里逃生一样。这种地狱般的日子让我历经常人难以想象的苦痛折磨。然而现在，我的生活可以完全自理并且行动自如。有时候走太久会有一点点累，但是卧床休息十几分钟就可以恢复过来。虽然走路还有一点点高低现象，但如果不仔细看，是看不出来的。看到我学佛念经以来，从瘫痪卧床到独立行走的巨大变化，我的家人无比震惊。当年在床头边照顾我的老父亲直夸我：现在整个人完全变了，变得越来越健康了！我激动得泪眼婆娑。没有观世音菩萨与师父的大慈大悲救苦救难，真的不会有我今天的法喜蜕变！
2019年印尼法会和新加坡法会上，我恳请师兄们慈悲给我做义工的机会。按照法会规定，我已经超龄了。但是，我坚决一定要做义工。观世音菩萨给了我第二次生命，我就要身体力行地为众生服务。感恩观世音菩萨的慈悲，让我能如愿以偿。从法会做完义工回来，我发现我可以轻松自如地弯腰和下蹲，就连坐在地板上也没有问题了。感恩菩萨每次法会上都慈悲帮我消业，让我每次都能有不可思议的加持，变化。
4. 设佛台的不可思议加持，加速我身体恢复健康，创造医学奇迹
从2017年设佛台起，我每天坚持上早晚香。起初，身体还是直直的，不能弯腰鞠躬。两年里，我每天在佛台前上香求菩萨加持，让我身体能恢复得更好一些，能为众生表法。慢慢地，我从站着上香到弯腰鞠躬，到最后可以跪在佛台前念经。真是法喜充满啊！刚开始跪着后背还是很痛。随着业障的消除，我的后背也不疼痛了。有时候和师兄们出去设佛台，遇到佛诞日，我跪着念诵《礼佛大忏悔文》足足有一个半小时的时间。许多师兄都坚持不下来，唯独我坚持到结束。真是感恩菩萨慈悲加持！
曾经，省医院的医生告诉我，必须做手术把两块钢板放进骨头里，但我回绝了。因为我坚信有观世音菩萨和师父两座靠山，我什么都不怕。在因果面前，佛是大药王。唯有诚心忏悔，学佛修行才能彻底康复。我完全靠学佛念经吃素、设佛台、参加法会做义工，积极弘法度人，才创造了医学奇迹：现在和正常人一样行动自如。我甚至去工地做小工，搞卫生、做家政弥补家用！那些曾经轻微瘫痪的患者就算做手术，也没有我恢复得快，恢复到如此好的状态。
读者朋友们，你们看到我如此天翻地覆的变化，还犹豫什么呢？赶快捧起经书念经吧！我就是活生生的例子，铁一般的证据。观世音菩萨真实存在，并且大慈大悲有求必应啊！
现在回想起年轻时开酒吧所造下的恶业，真是罪孽深重。不正之财赚到了，可是，因果报应丝毫不爽，不是不报，时候未到。在我人到老年时，所有的报应一涌而来。不但钱财全部用尽，还要遭受肉体病痛的瘫痪之苦，因果不空啊！奉劝大家一定要谨记师父的教诲：诸恶莫作，众善奉行！不以善小而不为；不以恶小而为之！挣任何钱财之前都要三思，切记不可为了金钱利益而像我一样造下如此深重的罪孽，否则果报如影随形！
没有观世音菩萨和师父的慈悲救度与加持，就没有我今天的重生！弟子许愿尊师重道、一生清修、终生吃全素、不杀生、不吃鸡蛋、不抽烟、不喝酒；一世修成，永断轮回。今生跟着观世音菩萨修心修行，永不退转。跟着恩师慈父卢军宏台长弘扬心灵法门永不停息！我虽然60多岁了，但是我要身体力行地为大家表法，起早贪黑地和共修组师兄们一起去助缘设佛台。无论路程多么遥远，多么艰辛，我都严格要求自己。哪里需要我，我就走到哪里。哪怕我在吃饭，只要接到弘法任务，我一定当即放下筷子，一刻也不能耽误地出发。
心灵法门灵验无比，观世音菩萨大慈大悲，救苦救难，法力无边，有求必应。只要我们有一颗虔诚的心，只要我们坚持念经修行，没有什么困难可以打倒我们！我的身体变化就是最有力的证据！愿我的真实分享给那些还在受着病痛折磨的人们一些启发，让大家生起学佛念经的信念，捧起经书念经，愿更多的有缘众生能够早日破迷开悟，自利利他，离苦得乐！
我的分享结束了，分享中如有不如理不如法的地方，请观世音菩萨慈悲原谅！请十方三世一切诸佛菩萨和龙天护法菩萨慈悲原谅！请师父慈悲原谅！请师兄们批评指正！我自己的业障自己背，不让师兄们背！感恩合十！
分享人：感恩～全素
2022-02-28
请将本文慈悲转发给瘫痪病人及其家属
请转发这篇文章给瘫痪病人及其家属，您会积累无量功德。救人一命，胜造七级浮屠！！！
您想改变命运吗？
我们手把手传授您观世音菩萨的心灵法门五大法宝：“许愿”、“放生”、“念经”、“看《白话佛法》”、”大忏悔”。您将亲自见证如何通过佛法让自己及家人获得身心安定、病苦解除、冤结化解、智慧增长、学业进步、事业提升、家庭幸福。
欢迎联络我们
Lily佛友：sunnypurplelily@gmail.com
Lily微信：HanJing20210820
Disclaimer of Liability:
The contents of the presentation and answers, including text, images, and other information obtained from Dharma practitioners, are provided strictly for reference purposes. Due to the unique nature of individual karma, results similar to those experienced by the authors may not be replicated. The experiences and advice shared should not be construed as medical advice or a diagnosis.
In the event of an emergency, it is crucial to promptly contact your doctor or emergency services by dialing 911. Relying on any information found in the answers is done solely at your own risk. The translator and answerer bear no responsibility for the consequences. By using or misusing the contents, you accept liability for any personal injury, including death. It is imperative to exercise caution and seek professional medical guidance for health-related concerns.
submitted by DrYangHF7 to CittaPureLand [link] [comments]
I am 62 years old. Today, I can eat, sleep and walk like a normal person. However, did you know that I once was a paralyzed woman who could not even get up from bed, had difficulty turning over, and could not take care of myself? Through practising Buddhism and reciting Buddhist scriptures, I have completely freed myself from the misery of hell. I want to tell you with hard facts that practising Buddhism and reciting the scriptures has not only given me a second life, but has also benefited me immensely. I want to share with you how I transformed myself from paralysis to health within four years without undergoing any surgery! May my presentation plant the seeds of bodhi in your hearts, so that more people will have faith in Guan Yin Bodhisattva who has boundless supernatural power, and recite Buddhist scriptures as soon as possible to be free from suffering and gain happiness!
1. When I was young, I opened two bars so I created bad karma, and karmic retribution is right on my heels!
I am the eldest daughter of my family and the eldest daughter-in-law of my in-laws family. Both my mother and mother-in-law are Buddhist practitioners and urged me to practise Buddhism as well. However, because of my youthful ambition and good fortune, at the age of about 36, I ran two bars and enjoyed the pleasure of earning money, not bothering to practise Buddhism at all. By then, I was young and foolish, in the bars I gained filthy money by means of woman’s charms, which invariably created a lot of bad karma. How many people lost their morals and conscience for my sake of monetary gain? How many families have been broken up behind the scenes? How many people have done many things against ethics and morality under the paralysis of alcohol? I hereby express my deepest repentance to Guan Yin Bodhisattva! Karmic retribution is inescapable. I planted the evil cause so I reap the evil effect. The bad karma I created within two years of running the bars has brought me a tragic retribution 13 years later! (So, dear fellow practitioners, please take this as a warning!)
In 2010, I was 49, my predestined 369 calamity arrived. One day in July, my karma exploded. I suddenly collapsed at home kitchen while stirring frying vegetables. In an instant, I felt that the sky was falling, and I had nowhere to turn for help. An otherwise healthy me entered a life of hell on earth from then on. Every day, I ate, drank, pooped and peed in bed, had difficulty turning over, couldn't wash my hands and face, had trouble swallowing, so it was worse than death. I was paralyzed in bed from then on. The doctor said I had a herniated disc in my lower back. All the bones in my back were misaligned. Both knee bones were necrotic and so swollen. I have visited all the local city and provincial hospitals, big and small, to seek medical care. I almost spent all the several hundreds of thousands of RMB I had gained from my bar business. However, the condition got worse and worse.
2. Since encountering the excellent Guan Yin Citta Dharma Door, I have been practicing Buddhism hard to overcome any obstacles on the way and finally achieved a new life.
Perhaps it was the blessing from my family members who had been making offerings to the Buddha and practising Buddhism for years. Thanks to the mercy of Guan Yin Bodhisattva, I finally encountered the Guan Yin Citta Dharma Door in 2012 when I was in the most desperate situation in my life. The person next door to my bar heard that I was sick and came to see me. She brought me Buddhist scripture, recitation device, Buddhism in Plain Terms, counters and many other Dharma gems. She told me the Guan Yin Citta Dharma Door was very efficacious, and asked me to try it. Although I could not move on bed, I listened all Master Lu's recordings like a thirst. I was pleasantly surprised to hear cases of patients who had been cured of cancer and serious illnesses by practising Buddhism and reciting the scriptures. The recordings of Master Lu's programs were like a bright beacon in the darkness, bringing me hope for life and giving me great encouragement. I felt I was awakened by a powerful energy, stirring up my strong desire to live. I told myself: I must survive; I must save myself! I started to practice Buddhism and recite scriptures as if I had grabbed a lifeline.
I am illiterate, so I had to lie in bed every day and learn to recite word by word with the recitation device. Due to the heavy karma, there was no virtuous and the high-minded practitioner around to teach me how to burn the Little Houses in a rational and lawful way. I foolishly took an ashtray instead of a plate to burn the Little Houses, which resulted in the ashtray blowing up. In order to eliminate karma quickly, I was foolishly reciting the Heart Sutra and Amitabha Pure Land Rebirth Mantra after ten o'clock at night, which resulted in the light bulbs breaking several times (Here, I sincerely remind my fellow practitioners: Master Lu enlightened us not to recite the Heart Sutra and Amitabha Pure Land Rebirth Mantra after ten o'clock at night. Please make sure to read the Introduction to Guan Yin Citta Dharma Door carefully in order to avoid practising Buddhism irrationally). Therefore, we must follow the instructions of Master Lu, and never do what the Master does not allow us to do. The whole process of reciting Buddhist scriptures to eliminate karma is very bumpy. It is really easy to create karma, but very hard to eliminate it! However, I firmly believed that the Bodhisattva is infinitely powerful. As long as I diligently practised Buddhism, my fate would definitely get changed. Hence, I relied on the blissful cases in Master Lu's recordings as my spiritual support. I kept persevering, not afraid of any difficulties, and recklessly recited Buddhist scriptures.
Since I ate, drank and pooped in bed, my aura was very bad. As I could not get up by myself, so I had to lie in bed to recite the sacred Buddhist scriptures. I felt guilty and torn, wondering if this was the appropriate way to recite the sacred Buddhist scriptures. Will it affect the effect of the recitation? Gratitude to Guan Yin Bodhisattva for Her compassion, and I dreamed of Master Lu that night. Master Lu who was dressed in a black suit smiled at me and kindly comforted me: “don't worry.” After I woke up, I was very grateful for Master Lu's compassion. Master Lu knew about my special situation, so this is a sympathy and a condolence to me. After I recited Buddhist scriptures 4 to 5 months late, my neck and head were able to turn significantly. Such a Dharma blissful change thrilled me. All the trials and perseverance I had gone through in the past had not been in vain. Guan Yin Bodhisattva has boundless supernatural power, which had given me a glimmer of hope for recovery! (Here, I sincerely remind my fellow practitioners: In the absence of illness, recitation of Buddhist scriptures must be respectful. A point of respect harvests a point of benefit.)
3. The unique characteristics of attending the Dharma conference and formally acknowledging Jun Hong Lu as my master allow my physical health to improve with Dharma joy
In February 2017, I befriended a fellow practitioner. She invited me to attend the Macau Dharma Convention together. I thought to myself: “can I take the bus by myself?” “Can I attend the conference?” With a strong faith from my inner heart, I attended the conference via keeping reciting the Great Compassion Mantra on the trip. Unbelievably, I arrived at the conference as I wished with the blessing and protection of Guan Yin Bodhisattva, although my bulky legs could only barely support my body in the seat. I was in tears when I listened Master Lu's wise words and saw the holy icon of Guan Yin Bodhisattva. On the night of the conference, I dreamed of Guan Yin Bodhisattva! Gratitude to Greatly Merciful and Greatly Compassionate Guan Yin Bodhisattva for saving me from suffering and giving me a new life. At the end of the Macau Dharma Convention, I instantly made two vows: to be a vegetarian for 15 days per month and liberate 10,000 fish.
Before I attended the Macau Dharma Convention, I had to take a break whenever I walked two steps, and my body was not able to move much. After returning, my legs started to become strong enough to support my body and I could walk on flat ground. Despite they were not very flexible, they were no longer the same as when I was paralyzed like a limp in bed. My whole body is getting better and better in essence, vital energy, and spirit. I was very surprised! Master Lu has enlightened that there are many Buddhas and Bodhisattvas coming to bless attendees at each Dharma conference!
In August 2017, before the Dharma Convention in Malaysia, my fellow practitioners urged me to formally acknowledge Jun Hong Lu as my master. Since I am an illiterate, compassionate fellow practitioners helped me to fill out the application form of seeking discipleship. My fellow practitioners told me that there were so many people wanted to formally acknowledge Jun Hong Lu as their master that I might not be able to reach my wish this time. Then, I had to wait for the opportunity next Dharma Convention. I told myself that whether I could reach my wish or not this time, I would actively participate in Master Lu’s Dharma Convention. Considering my age, it is a blessing for me to attend one more Dharma Convention. To my surprise, one week later, my application for seeking discipleship was approved. Gratitude to Greatly Merciful and Greatly Compassionate Guan Yin Bodhisattva!
On the day of seeking discipleship, I was very excited. During the process of seeking discipleship, I heard a voice in stereo that was very loud. When I opened my eyes, I was surprised to see Tathagata Buddha, and many other Bodhisattvas coming down from heaven. At that moment, I saw that the upper half of Master Lu's Dharmakaya appeared transparent with a huge lotus flower. I was suddenly moved to tears. I was oblivious to the fact that Master Lu had come to my side until the time of issuing the discipleship certificate. Master Lu was very compassionate and empowered me with blessing. Master Lu enlightened, "Because five people opened their eyes during the worship ceremony, they have no lotuses planted in the pure land. But it's okay, when the ceremony is over, you can go to the front and kowtow to ask the Bodhisattva (to plant a lotus)." I then rushed to the front to worship. Before I finished worshiping Bodhisattva, a young fellow practitioner came over. He asked, "How do you feel? Did you see anything?" I said, "I saw Tathagata Buddha." He asked, "How are you sure that was Tathagata Buddha?" I said, "Both my mother and mother-in-law are Buddhist disciples, and Tathagata Buddha has curly hair."
I was grateful for the compassionate blessing from Guan Yin Bodhisattva and Master Lu. When I returned home after seeking discipleship, I made two vows: to be a vegetarian for the rest of my life and never kill (animals). The power of a vow outweighs the force of karma. After I made the vows, Master Lu’s Dharmakaya came to help me heal my legs in my dreams. Once, I saw Master Lu’s Dharmakaya passing by my room while I was half-squinted. Master Lu asked me, "Which foot is uncomfortable? Where is aching?" Instantly I woke up and then I found that my feet didn't feel as heavy as they used to be and I walked more lightly. I excitedly shared the news with my old father, "Master Lu has come to bless me again!" I am grateful to Master Lu for his compassionate care for every sentient being. Every time I dreamed of Master Lu, he would always compassionately endow me with abundance of blessing, and I was always surprised by the improvement in my health.
In a short time, I could not only separate my feet and take turns to walk up and down the stairs independently. Moreover, I could bend back and forth freely with my arms crossed. The bones in my back, which were all misaligned and uneven, were now completely normal again. Previously, I couldn't raise my hands to wash my face, brush my teeth or comb my hair because the bones in my back would pull the nerves and cause severe pain when I raised my hands. In those days, whenever I sneezed or defecated, I felt like to cheat death on pain. In those hellish day I went through unimaginable pain and suffering. Now, however, I can take care of myself completely and move around freely. Sometimes I get a little tired after walking for too long, but I can recover after 10 minutes of rest in bed. Although it is still slightly bumpy while I was walking, if you don't look closely, you can't see it. My family was overwhelmed to see the dramatic change from being paralyzed and bedridden to walking independently since I practised Buddhism. My old father, who was taking care of me at the bedside, complimented me straight away: you have completely changed, becoming healthier and healthier now! I was so excited that I had tears in my eyes. Without the rescue of Greatly Compassionate Guan Yin Bodhisattva and Master Lu, I really wouldn't have the blissful transformation I have today!
In 2019, at the Dharma conferences of Indonesia and Singapore, I pleaded with my fellow practitioners to be merciful to give me the opportunity to volunteer. According to the rules of the Dharma conference, I was already overage. However, I was adamant that I must do volunteer work. Guan Yin Bodhisattva has given me a second life, so I have to serve all sentient beings physically. I am grateful for Greatly Compassionate Guan Yin Bodhisattva who helped me out. When I came back from the conferences, I found that I could bend and squat easily and freely, and I had no problem even sitting on the floor. I am grateful to Guan Yin Bodhisattva for compassionately helping me to eliminate my karma at every conference, so that I can obtain incredible blessings and improvement occur every time.
4. The incredible blessing of setting up the Buddhist altar accelerated my health recovery and created a medical miracle.
From the time I set up the Buddhist altar in 2017, I insisted on offering Bodhisattvas incenses morning and evening every day. At first, the body was still straight and could not bend and bow. For two years, in front of the Buddhist altar, I prayed for Bodhisattvas to bless me so that I could recover my health a little better so I can use my own experience as an example to convince sentient beings to gain faith on Dharma and practise Dharma. Gradually, I was able to stand to offer incense to Bodhisattvas, to bend and bow, and finally to kneel in front of the Buddhist altar to recite the scriptures. I was full of Dharma joy! Initially, my back still hurt from kneeling. With the karmic obstacles being removed, my back didn't hurt anymore. Sometimes when I went out with fellow practitioners to set up the Buddhist altar, particularly on the Buddha's Birthday, I could kneel to recite the Eighty-eight Buddhas Great Repentance for an hour and a half. My fellow practitioners couldn't keep it up, so I was the only one who kept it up until the end. I am so grateful to Guan Yin Bodhisattva for Her compassionate blessing!
At one time, the doctor at the provincial hospital told me that I had to have surgery to put two steel plates into the bone, but I refused. Because I firmly believe that with the of blessings of Guan Yin Bodhisattva and Master Lu, I am afraid of nothing. Buddha is an extraordinary doctor. The only way to recover completely is to repent sincerely and practise Buddhism. I can now move as freely as a normal person. This medical miracle achieved was completely relied on practising Buddhism, reciting scriptures, being a vegetarian, helping new practitioners to set up Buddhist altars, volunteering at Dharma conferences, and actively propagating the Dharma. To improve my family economic financial, I went out to work on construction sites as a helper, do cleaning and housekeeping!
Those patients who were once slightly paralyzed did not recover as quickly and well as I did, even with surgery.
Dear readers, when you see such a dramatic change in me, what are you hesitating for? Hurry up and pick up the Buddhist scriptures to recite! I am the living example, the ironclad evidence. Guan Yin Bodhisattva does exist, and She is Greatly Merciful and Greatly Compassionate, answers any prayers.
Thinking of the bad karma I created in the two bars when I was young, I feel grievously sinful. I have earned ill-gotten wealth, but the karma was produced, and karmic retribution is inescapable. If one hasn't been retributed, the time hasn't come yet. After I got old, all the retribution came to me. Not only did I use up all my money, but I also had to suffer from physical illness and paralysis. I advise everyone to remember Master Lu's enlightenment: Do not do anything that is evil; Do not fail to do good no matter how petty the deed; Do not engage in evil no matter how trivial the deed. Dear readers, please consider it carefully before earning any money, and don’t commit such deep sins as I did for the sake of monetary gain, or else the consequences will follow you!
Without the merciful salvation and blessings of Guan Yin Bodhisattva and Master Lu, I would not have been reborn today! I made a few great wows: honour the teacher and respect his teachings, live an ascetic life for lifetime, be a vegetarian lifetime, not kill, not eat eggs, not smoke, not drink; transcend the cycle of rebirth for good and attain enlightenment in one lifetime. In this life, I will follow Guan Yin Bodhisattva to cultivate my mind and change my behaviour and never quit. I will follow my benefactor, the Compassionate father, Master Lu, to propagate Guan Yin Citta Dharma Door and never stop! Although I am over 60 years, I will continue using my own experience as an example to convince sentient beings to gain faith on Dharma and practise Buddhism. Together with my fellow practitioners, I will get up early and go home late to help set up Buddha altars for new practitioners. No matter how far and how difficult the trip is, I will always be strict with myself. I will go wherever I am needed. Even if I am eating, as soon as I receive a mission for propagating Dharma, I will put down my chopsticks and set off without delay.
Guan Yin Citta Dharma Door is peerlessly efficacious, and Guan Yin Bodhisattva is Greatly Merciful and Greatly Compassionate, saves beings from suffering, has supernatural power, and answer all prayers. As long as we have a devout heart and we persist in reciting Buddhist scriptures and practicing Buddhism, no difficulty can defeat us! My physical changes are the most powerful evidence! May my true presentation give some inspiration to those people who are still suffering from illnesses, so that they can acquire faith to practising Buddhism, and pick up the Buddhist scriptures to recite. May more sentient beings having affinity with Buddha break free from delusion and attain enlightenment, balance egoism and altruism, and free from suffering and gain happiness.
My deepest gratitude to the Greatly Merciful and Greatly Compassionate Guan Yin Bodhisattva!
My deepest gratitude to all Buddhas and Bodhisattvas from ten directions and three periods of time!
My deepest gratitude to the Dharma protectors!
My deepest gratitude to the selfless and altruistic Master Jun Hong Lu!
If there is anything that is not rational or in line with the truth in the presentation, I’d like to seek forgiveness from the Greatly Merciful and Greatly Compassionate Guan Yin Bodhisattva, all Buddhas and Bodhisattvas, Dharma protectors, and Master Jun Hong Lu.
I’d also like to seek forgiveness from my fellow Buddhist practitioners.
I, not my fellow practitioners, will be responsible for my own karma!
Shared by: Dharma Practitioner Ganen, Gratitude and Namaste!
Translated by: Frank
Statement by Translator
- Story was translated from Chinese into English by meaning, not word by word. If there is anything that is not rational or in line with the true meaning of the Chinese version, I’d like to seek forgiveness from the Greatly Merciful and Greatly Compassionate Guan Yin Bodhisattva, all Buddhas and Bodhisattvas, Dharma protectors and Master Jun Hong Lu.
- Author Ganen was interviewed by Frank during the translation for the detailed information.
It would be greatly appreciated if you would forward this presentation to all sentient beings you know, sick or healthy. You will accumulate immeasurable merits and virtues. Saving a life is more meritorious than building a seven-floor pagoda!
Would you like to change your destiny?
We will show you how to do the Five Golden Buddhist Practices of Guan Yin Citta Dharma Door: (1) making vows, (2) reciting Buddhist scriptures (sutras and mantras), (3) performing life liberation, (4) reading Buddhism in Plain Terms, and (5) repenting. You will personally witness how you and your family can achieve physical and mental stability, relief from illness and grievances, wisdom growth, academic progress, career advancement, and family happiness through Dharma. It’s free of charge.
Contact
Buddhist practitioner: Lily
Email: [sunnypurplelily@gmail.com](mailto:sunnypurplelily@gmail.com)
WeChat: HanJing20210820
原文如下:
从瘫痪卧床到行走自如做家政，心灵法门创造了医学奇迹
感恩南无大慈大悲救苦救难广大灵感观世音菩萨摩诃萨！
感恩十方三世一切诸佛菩萨！
感恩龙天护法金刚菩萨！
感恩恩师慈父卢军宏台长！
感恩师兄们！
感恩大慈大悲观世音菩萨慈悲，让我能有这个宝贵的机会与大家分享我的学佛经历。我今年62岁，现在是一个能吃、能睡、能走路的正常人了。但是，你们可曾知道，曾经，我是一个连床都起不了、翻身都困难，生活完全无法自理的瘫痪老人！如今，通过学佛念经，我把自己从地狱的苦海里完全挣脱了出来。我要用铁一般的事实告诉大家：学佛念经不仅给了我第二次生命，更让我受益无穷。我要跟大家分享，在这患病的四年里，在没有经历任何手术的情况下，如何让自己从瘫痪到健康的蜕变！愿我今天的分享给有缘人种下菩提种子，让更多的人相信观世音菩萨法力无边，早日学佛念经，离苦得乐！
1. 年轻时开酒吧造恶业，得现世报！
我是家中的长女、婆家的长媳。母亲和婆婆都是学佛人，都劝我也学佛。但是，由于年轻时好胜心强，加之财运不错，36岁左右，我经营两家酒吧，享受挣钱的快乐，根本无心学佛。年轻愚痴的我经营酒吧时靠女色来赚取黑钱，赚的都是不正之财，无形中造了很多恶业。在这种灯红酒绿中生活，我为了金钱利益，让多少人丧失了自己的道德与良知？背后又造成多少个家庭的破裂？又有多少人在酒精的麻痹下做出多少违背伦理道德的事情？弟子在此向观世音菩萨深深忏悔！因果报应丝毫不爽，种恶因得恶果。开酒吧这两年中我所造下的恶业，在十几年后让我得到悲惨的现世报！所以，请大家引以为戒！
2010年我49岁，正逢“三六九”关劫。7月的一天，我的业障大爆发，在家炒菜时突然间倒下。瞬间，我感觉天塌下来，叫天天不应，叫地地不灵。一个原本健康的我从此进入人间地狱般的生活。每天，我吃喝拉撒都在床上，翻身都很困难，没法自己洗手洗脸，吞咽困难，简直生不如死。我从此瘫痪在床。医生说我是腰椎间盘突出。后背的所有骨头都错位。两个膝盖骨头坏死，肿得很大。当地市里、省里大大小小的医院我都看过了。我几乎把我做酒吧生意所赚到的几十万块钱都花光了。然而，病情越来越严重。
2. 得遇殊胜法门，坎坷学佛路中坚持不懈地修行换来重生
也许是家人一直供佛学佛的福德。承蒙观世音菩萨慈悲，在我人生绝境之时，我终于在2012年得遇心灵法门。以前我开店隔壁的人听说我病倒了，就来看我。她给我送来了经书、念佛机、《白话佛法》、计数器等很多法宝。她告诉我心灵法门很灵验，让我试试。我躺在床上虽然无法动弹，却如饥似渴地把师父的录音听了个遍。听到人们通过学佛念经把癌症、重症都治愈的案例，我惊喜万分。师父的节目录音就像黑暗中的一盏明灯，让我看到了生活的希望，给了我很大的鼓舞。在这个过程中我像被一股强大的能量加持唤醒，激起了求生的强烈欲望。我告诉自己：我一定要活过来；我一定要自己救自己！我像抓住了救命稻草似地开始拼命学佛念经。
我不识字，只能每天躺在床上跟着念佛机一字一句地学着念。由于业力牵引，身边没有遇到善知识教我如理如法地烧送小房子。愚痴的我曾拿个烟灰缸代替盘子烧送经文组合小房子，结果烟灰缸炸掉了。为了抓紧时间消业，我晚上十点后还在念《心经》和《往生咒》，结果家里的灯坏了好几次（趁此机会我诚心提醒师兄们：师父开示，晚上十点后不要念诵《心经》和《往生咒》，请师兄们一定要好好看《心灵法门入门手册》，避免操作不如理不如法）。所以，我们一定要听师父的话，师父不让做的就不做。念经消业的整个过程非常坎坷。真是造业容易，消业难啊！但是，我坚信菩萨法力无边，只要精进努力，一定会得到改变的。于是，我依靠师父录音中的法喜案例作为精神支撑。我一直坚持不懈，不怕万难，拼命念经。
由于吃喝拉撒都在床上，气场非常不好，自己又无法起身，只能躺在床上念经。我内心愧疚又纠结，不知道这样念经是否如理如法？会不会影响念经效果？感恩菩萨慈悲，当晚我就梦见师父了。师父身穿着黑西装，一边慈祥地笑着一边安慰我：不要担心。醒来后，我非常感恩师父的慈悲。师父知道我的特殊情况，这是对我的宽容和安慰啊。后来，大概念经差不多4～5个月后，我的脖子和头也能明显地转动了。这样法喜的变化，让我激动万分。我过去所经历的磨难与坚持都没有白费。观世音菩萨法力无边，让我看到了康复的一丝希望！（作者提醒：师兄们，在没有病痛的情况下，念经一定要体态恭敬，一分恭敬一分受益。）
3. 参加法会与拜师的殊胜，让我的身体不断法喜蜕变
2017年2月份，我结识了一位师兄。她邀请我一起去参加澳门法会。我心想：我能自己坐车吗？能去法会吗？凭着内心坚定的信念，路途中我一直念《大悲咒》。虽然我笨重的双腿只能勉强支撑着身体坐在座位上，但在观世音菩萨一路加持护佑下，我竟然能够如愿到了法会现场。现场听到师父开示、看到观世音菩萨的圣像，我泪如雨下。大法会当天晚上，我就梦到了观世音菩萨！感恩大慈大悲救苦救难观世音菩萨救我于苦海，给了我新的生命和生活。澳门法会结束，我当即发愿：一个月吃素15天，放生一万条鱼。参加澳门法会前，只要走两步路我就要歇一歇，而且我的身体没办法大幅度活动。
澳门法会回来后，我的双腿开始变得有力，可以支撑起身子在平地上走路了。虽然还不是很灵活，但是比起原来像软泥一样瘫痪在床的状态，已经不可同年而语了。我整个人精、气、神也越来越好。我非常惊喜！师父开示过，每场法会有很多佛菩萨来加持大家！
2017年8月，马来西亚法会前，师兄们让我拜师，但我不识字。慈悲的师兄们帮助我代笔填写拜师申请表。师兄们告诉我，这次拜师的人太多，有可能排不上队，得等到下一场法会才有机会。我告诉自己，无论这次能不能拜师，我都一定积极参加师父的法会。我这么大年纪了，能参加多一场法会都是我的福报啊。让我惊喜的是，一个星期后，我的拜师申请通过了。感恩观世音菩萨慈悲！
拜师当天，我激动万分。在拜师过程中，我听到一个非常立体、非常响亮的声音。我睁开眼睛时，我竟然看到了如来佛祖，还有好多菩萨都从天上下来了。这时，我看到师父上半身的法身呈现透明状，有一朵大大的莲花。我顿时感动得泪如雨下。直到颁发弟子证的时候，我浑然不觉师父已经走到我的身边。师父非常慈悲，给我灌顶加持。师父说:“因为拜师过程中有5个人睁开了眼睛，所以莲花没有种上去。不过没关系，等拜师仪式结束后，可以到前面去磕头求菩萨。”我就赶紧跑到前面去拜。我还没拜完，就过来了一个年轻师兄。他问我：“您感觉怎么样？有没有看到什么？” 我告诉他：“我看到如来佛祖了。” 他说：“您怎么确定那是如来佛祖呢？”我说：”我家母和家婆是学佛人，如来佛祖头发卷卷的。”
感恩观世音菩萨与师父的慈悲加持。拜师结束回家我就发愿: 终生吃全素，不杀生。真是愿力大于业力，发愿后，师父又来梦里帮我治疗双腿。有一次，我半眯着眼睛看到师父从我的房间经过。师父问我：“还有哪只脚不舒服？还有哪个地方疼痛的？” 瞬间我就醒了，醒来我发现我的双脚没有了原来的沉重感，走起路来更加轻盈了。我激动地跟老父亲分享：“师父又来加持我啦！”感恩师父慈悲关怀着每一位众生。每次梦见师父，师父都慈悲给予加持，我的身体总会有惊喜的好转。
没过多久，我不仅可以分开双脚，轮流迈开步伐独立上下楼梯。而且，我双手叉腰，可以前后自如地弯腰。后背的骨头原本因为全部错位并高低不平，如今完全恢复正常了。原本我没办法把手举起来洗脸、刷牙和梳头，因为手一抬，后背的骨头扯神经会导致剧烈的疼痛。每次打喷嚏或排泄的时候，都有种痛不欲生的感觉，就像死里逃生一样。这种地狱般的日子让我历经常人难以想象的苦痛折磨。然而现在，我的生活可以完全自理并且行动自如。有时候走太久会有一点点累，但是卧床休息十几分钟就可以恢复过来。虽然走路还有一点点高低现象，但如果不仔细看，是看不出来的。看到我学佛念经以来，从瘫痪卧床到独立行走的巨大变化，我的家人无比震惊。当年在床头边照顾我的老父亲直夸我：现在整个人完全变了，变得越来越健康了！我激动得泪眼婆娑。没有观世音菩萨与师父的大慈大悲救苦救难，真的不会有我今天的法喜蜕变！
2019年印尼法会和新加坡法会上，我恳请师兄们慈悲给我做义工的机会。按照法会规定，我已经超龄了。但是，我坚决一定要做义工。观世音菩萨给了我第二次生命，我就要身体力行地为众生服务。感恩观世音菩萨的慈悲，让我能如愿以偿。从法会做完义工回来，我发现我可以轻松自如地弯腰和下蹲，就连坐在地板上也没有问题了。感恩菩萨每次法会上都慈悲帮我消业，让我每次都能有不可思议的加持，变化。
4. 设佛台的不可思议加持，加速我身体恢复健康，创造医学奇迹
从2017年设佛台起，我每天坚持上早晚香。起初，身体还是直直的，不能弯腰鞠躬。两年里，我每天在佛台前上香求菩萨加持，让我身体能恢复得更好一些，能为众生表法。慢慢地，我从站着上香到弯腰鞠躬，到最后可以跪在佛台前念经。真是法喜充满啊！刚开始跪着后背还是很痛。随着业障的消除，我的后背也不疼痛了。有时候和师兄们出去设佛台，遇到佛诞日，我跪着念诵《礼佛大忏悔文》足足有一个半小时的时间。许多师兄都坚持不下来，唯独我坚持到结束。真是感恩菩萨慈悲加持！
曾经，省医院的医生告诉我，必须做手术把两块钢板放进骨头里，但我回绝了。因为我坚信有观世音菩萨和师父两座靠山，我什么都不怕。在因果面前，佛是大药王。唯有诚心忏悔，学佛修行才能彻底康复。我完全靠学佛念经吃素、设佛台、参加法会做义工，积极弘法度人，才创造了医学奇迹：现在和正常人一样行动自如。我甚至去工地做小工，搞卫生、做家政弥补家用！那些曾经轻微瘫痪的患者就算做手术，也没有我恢复得快，恢复到如此好的状态。
读者朋友们，你们看到我如此天翻地覆的变化，还犹豫什么呢？赶快捧起经书念经吧！我就是活生生的例子，铁一般的证据。观世音菩萨真实存在，并且大慈大悲有求必应啊！
现在回想起年轻时开酒吧所造下的恶业，真是罪孽深重。不正之财赚到了，可是，因果报应丝毫不爽，不是不报，时候未到。在我人到老年时，所有的报应一涌而来。不但钱财全部用尽，还要遭受肉体病痛的瘫痪之苦，因果不空啊！奉劝大家一定要谨记师父的教诲：诸恶莫作，众善奉行！不以善小而不为；不以恶小而为之！挣任何钱财之前都要三思，切记不可为了金钱利益而像我一样造下如此深重的罪孽，否则果报如影随形！
没有观世音菩萨和师父的慈悲救度与加持，就没有我今天的重生！弟子许愿尊师重道、一生清修、终生吃全素、不杀生、不吃鸡蛋、不抽烟、不喝酒；一世修成，永断轮回。今生跟着观世音菩萨修心修行，永不退转。跟着恩师慈父卢军宏台长弘扬心灵法门永不停息！我虽然60多岁了，但是我要身体力行地为大家表法，起早贪黑地和共修组师兄们一起去助缘设佛台。无论路程多么遥远，多么艰辛，我都严格要求自己。哪里需要我，我就走到哪里。哪怕我在吃饭，只要接到弘法任务，我一定当即放下筷子，一刻也不能耽误地出发。
心灵法门灵验无比，观世音菩萨大慈大悲，救苦救难，法力无边，有求必应。只要我们有一颗虔诚的心，只要我们坚持念经修行，没有什么困难可以打倒我们！我的身体变化就是最有力的证据！愿我的真实分享给那些还在受着病痛折磨的人们一些启发，让大家生起学佛念经的信念，捧起经书念经，愿更多的有缘众生能够早日破迷开悟，自利利他，离苦得乐！
我的分享结束了，分享中如有不如理不如法的地方，请观世音菩萨慈悲原谅！请十方三世一切诸佛菩萨和龙天护法菩萨慈悲原谅！请师父慈悲原谅！请师兄们批评指正！我自己的业障自己背，不让师兄们背！感恩合十！
分享人：感恩～全素
2022-02-28
请将本文慈悲转发给瘫痪病人及其家属
请转发这篇文章给瘫痪病人及其家属，您会积累无量功德。救人一命，胜造七级浮屠！！！
您想改变命运吗？
我们手把手传授您观世音菩萨的心灵法门五大法宝：“许愿”、“放生”、“念经”、“看《白话佛法》”、”大忏悔”。您将亲自见证如何通过佛法让自己及家人获得身心安定、病苦解除、冤结化解、智慧增长、学业进步、事业提升、家庭幸福。
欢迎联络我们
Lily佛友：sunnypurplelily@gmail.com
Lily微信：HanJing20210820
Disclaimer of Liability:
The contents of the presentation and answers, including text, images, and other information obtained from Dharma practitioners, are provided strictly for reference purposes. Due to the unique nature of individual karma, results similar to those experienced by the authors may not be replicated. The experiences and advice shared should not be construed as medical advice or a diagnosis.
In the event of an emergency, it is crucial to promptly contact your doctor or emergency services by dialing 911. Relying on any information found in the answers is done solely at your own risk. The translator and answerer bear no responsibility for the consequences. By using or misusing the contents, you accept liability for any personal injury, including death. It is imperative to exercise caution and seek professional medical guidance for health-related concerns.
2024.05.19 15:01 ibid-11962 Writing and Publishing Eragon [Post Murtagh Christopher Paolini Q&A Wrap Up #6]
As discussed in the first post, this is my ongoing compilation of the remaining questions Christopher has answered online between August 1st 2023 and April 30th 2024 which I've not already covered in other compilations.
As always, questions are sorted by topic, and each Q&A is annotated with a bracketed source number. Links to every source used and to the other parts of this compilation will be provided in a comment below.
The previous post focused on details about the writing of Murtagh. This installment will focus on The Writing and Publication of Eragon, including the early abandoned starts and drafts the preceded the self-published version and Christopher's journey towards getting traditionally published. In this post the topics are arranged in almost a chronological order. The next post will focus on the writing of the Fractalverse, and so will be posted on /Fractalverse.
submitted by ibid-11962 to Eragon [link] [comments]
As always, questions are sorted by topic, and each Q&A is annotated with a bracketed source number. Links to every source used and to the other parts of this compilation will be provided in a comment below.
The previous post focused on details about the writing of Murtagh. This installment will focus on The Writing and Publication of Eragon, including the early abandoned starts and drafts the preceded the self-published version and Christopher's journey towards getting traditionally published. In this post the topics are arranged in almost a chronological order. The next post will focus on the writing of the Fractalverse, and so will be posted on /Fractalverse.
Writing and Publishing Eragon
The Original Idea[When I start to write a new book] I have an image. There’s always a strong emotional component to the image, and it’s that emotion that I want to convey to readers. Everything I do after that, all of the worldbuilding, plotting, characterization, writing, and editing—all of it—is done with the goal of evoking the desired reaction from readers. In the case of the Inheritance Cycle, the image was that of a young man finding a dragon egg (and later having the dragon as a friend). [10]
Who's your favorite character to write? Well, for me, it's the dragon Saphira. She's the reason I got into writing a dragon. She came first? She came before Eragon? Like she was the catalyst? The relationship came first, her and Eragon. [33]
I was specifically inspired by a YA book called Jeremy Thatcher Dragon Hatcher by Bruce Coville, which is a delightful book. I just loved that idea so much of finding a dragon egg, I was like, "Well, what sort of a world would a dragon come from?" And I knew I wanted the sort of bond between rider and dragon that Anne McCaffrey had, but I wanted the intelligence of the dragons that you find elsewhere, and the language and the magic. And I wanted sparkly scales because it just seemed like dragons are fabulous creatures and they ought to have sparkly scales. That's the fun thing about writing your own books. You can make them exactly the way you want to make them, and hopefully then that appeals to the audience as well. [30]
All of that kind of was swirling around in my head, and I wanted to write about dragons in a way that kind of combined a lot of elements in a way that, "I like this", and "I like this piece", and "I like this piece", but I kind of wanted to have all these different pieces in one type of dragon, and no one had quite done it exactly the way I wanted. [30]
I live in Montana, and our library is an old Carnegie or Rockefeller library, and especially back in the 90s, it didn't have that many books. So once I read all the fantasy in the library, I thought I had read all the fantasy there was to read. Because I was not the smartest kid in the world sometimes. And I kind of thought, "Well, it's the library. They have all the books that exist, right? All the books that matter are in the library." And I really had no idea what to read after that. So I decided to start writing myself and to try and write the sort of story that I would enjoy reading. And of course, what I enjoyed reading was books about flying on dragons and fighting monsters and having adventures. [35]
Reading and literature was always important in our family. My father's mother was a professor of comparative literature and wrote books on Dante and all sorts of stuff like that. Was the myths and folklore part of your life at this time? Yes, but I should clarify that it wasn't formally introduced to me. It was in the house. People weren't wandering around talking about. It was just like the Aeneid is sitting on the shelf. I would go read things. I have a great uncle. He's 90 now, my mother's uncle. Guy is still sharp as a tack. It's amazing. But he gave me a set of cassette tapes of Joseph Campbell, who did Hero of a Thousand Faces. So that was my exposure to his theories of the monomyth and the eternal hero and all sorts of things like that. That got me very much interested in and thinking about the origins of the fantasy that I was reading because I was reading Tolkien and David Eddings and Anne McCaffrey and Raymond Feist and Jane Yolan and Andre Norton and Brian Jaques, and all of these you know authors who were popular at the time. I was very curious where does this come from. Tolkien, of course, felt like sort of the origin in a lot of cases but then I was discovering that, there are earlier stories that even Tolkien was drawing from. That was really a revelation to me. I really sort of got enamored with it. A lot of fantasy is nostalgic and that appealed to me because I was homeschooled and my family didn't really have a lot of relatives in the area, so I felt very unmoored from the rest of society. I think I was looking for a sense of tradition or continuity with the past and fantasy helped provide that. That's an incredibly articulate thought for a 15-year-old author. Or has that come with age? No, it was something I was feeling at the time. You were conscious of it at the time? Well, listening to the Joseph Campbell stuff, I was looking: Where are our coming of age traditions? Where is the great quest to go on to prove yourself as a young adult, as a man? Where's the great adventure? What do I do in life? Those are all things that are part of the adolescent experience and always have been which is why so many mythic stories about coming of age deal with those questions. I think it's a universal thing. That's why Harry Potter, Eragon, Twilight, all of these have appealed so much because they deal with adolescence. They deal with finding your place in the world as an adult when you're starting as a young adult or a child. [28]
What games have taught you to be a better writer either in creating characters or worldbuilding or plotting even? All of my gaming experience was computer games, video games. One that had a huge influence on me was the old Myst series. Personally I love solving puzzles, so that's the first thing. And also the concept of the series, especially with the second game, Riven, it's all based around people writing books that create new worlds. And you get to go in them and solve puzzles and understand how that world works. And that just tickled every single part of my brain back in the day. Now, I'm going to be slightly unkind here, and I apologize if the author [David Wingrove] is listening to this, but there were a couple of novels based off of Myst. And I was such a fan of the series that I got the books, and I started reading them. And my first thought was, "I could do better than this." And so I decided to rewrite the first Myst novel. And I created a document in MS Word, and I got exactly three sentences into my rewrite. And I thought to myself, "okay, I think I can do this, but I could never sell it. So I better go write something of my own." And the next thing I did was Eragon. So video games kind of had a direct influence on me writing. But actually reading something that I felt was not particularly successful was such an inspiration. Because it was like, "this got published, I know I can at least get to this level." And it was published. And then maybe I can shoot for a little bit higher. [pause] I think some people have had that experience with Eragon. [26]
Early Abandoned Starts
I had the original idea, the concept of boy finding dragon egg, and I tried writing a couple of very short versions of Eragon when I was fourteen, and none of them panned out so I stopped writing for a while. [28]Real World Version
What do you remember about the early days of writing “Eragon?” Originally, Eragon was named Kevin and the story was set in the real world. But I only finished around 10 pages. [16]Arya Opening Fantasy Version
I wrote three versions of Eragon before I wrote the version that had the unicorn, which was the first major draft. The first version was set in the real world, and that's why he's named Kevin. And the reason it was set in the real world is I was inspired by Jeremy Thatcher Dragon Hatcher, which is set in the real world. [32]
I was specifically inspired by a book called Jeremy Thatcher Dragon Hatcher by Bruce Coville. By the way, Bruce knows this. If you haven't read it, it's a great book about this young man in the real world who, spoiler, goes into an antique shop and buys a stone that ends up turning out to be a dragon egg. And I really loved that idea of a stone that was actually a dragon egg and the young man becoming joined with the dragon. And so I tried writing the story. And I got exactly five pages or six pages into it and I ran into a brick wall, because a boy finding a dragon egg is a good event, but it is not a good story. And I needed to figure out what was going to happen after that. I didn't know that at first. [36]
But then I was going down the rabbit hole of, "Well, if there's a dragon, where did the dragon come from? What if it were an actual fantasy world where the dragons were native?" And then that led me to then write a second beginning--I didn't get very far with this--that was more of a traditional fantasy story, and it opened with Arya and a couple other elves escaping a dungeon with a big battle, and at the very end of the battle, they send the dragon egg away, and Kevin finds it. But I didn't have the rest of the story, so I stopped writing it in that format. [32]Research Break
So I tried writing a second version of the story. So the first version of that story I wrote was set in the real world. Second version was more of like a fantasy world. [36]
I had the original idea when I was fourteen. I even wrote an early version of the story where it was set in the real world. But I soon realized that it was a lot more interesting to have a dragon in a fantastical setting. [8]
I tried writing before and I always failed because I would only get like four to six pages into a story and then I didn't know what to do next. And that was because I didn't actually have my story. All I really had were the inciting incidents, like a boy finds a dragon egg in the middle of a forest. Great. But that's not a story, that's just one event. What happens as a result? So before starting Eragon, I was very methodical about this. I read a whole bunch of books on how to write, how to plot stories. [35]Unused Arya Outline
I realized I wasn't getting anywhere. And I didn't know how to do what I was trying to do. Now, fortunately for me, my parents had noticed that I was getting interested in writing. And all of a sudden, books appeared in the house. There was no comment, no one forced it, these just magically appeared, and I read them. Some of the books that were incredibly helpful to me were these books that were called The Writer's Handbook, which was a collection of essays published each year by The Writer's Digest magazine. I had one from 1998, and I had one from, I think, 1993, or something like that. And there were essays from Stephen King and John Grisham and I think Ursula Le Guin and all sorts of other authors about what it was like to be an author both professionally and creatively. And that was incredibly helpful to me because again, the internet was not a resource. But the book that really made the difference for me was a book called Story by Robert McKee. It's a book for screenwriters and it's all about the structure of story. And up until that moment, I had never really consciously thought about the fact that stories have structure and that you can control that structure for the effect on the readers. So I devoured that book and I said, okay, I'm going to try this again. [36]
Did you very much sit down and study structure and character development and etc? I did. It wasn't a formal course or anything, it's just that my parents started buying these books and they started showing up. In fact, I still have them here on my shelf. This bookcase to my right is full of research books, technical books, language books. I read a book called Story by Robert McKee, which is a screenwriting book, that was and often has been very popular in Hollywood. It's a fairly technical look at story structure. I would never say do everything he says because of course you shouldn't necessarily follow any one formula, but that book really got me thinking about the fact that stories do have structure, which I hadn't really thought about before that. And that one can control that structure, and that this gives you something to work with. Before Eragon, I tried writing a number of stories and I never got past the first four to six pages, ten pages, because I never had the plot. All I would ever have was the inciting incident which, in the case of Eragon, is a young man finds a dragon egg. Ok, fine, but that's not a story. So when I read that book, then I was like wow, so I can control the structure of this. [28]
The problem with all of my early writing was that I’d get an idea and just start — I didn’t actually have a plot. But I was a pretty methodical kid, so I started reading about how to write. Fortunately, my parents are observant, and these kinds of books magically began appearing in the house. And I read all of them. [16]
So at this point, I was 15, that's when I graduated from high school and I was very methodical about it because I hate failing. So I said, okay, I'm going to create a fantasy world. And I did that. And then I said, I'm gonna plot out an entire book in this fantasy world. And I did that too. And then I said, but I'm not gonna write this. This is just a thought exercise. I'm gonna do this and I'm gonna stick it in a drawer. And I still have that to this day, that world and that story, I still have it sitting in a drawer somewhere. [36]
Then I spent some time and I created an entire fantasy world and I plotted out an entire fantasy novel in that world and I did not write it. I just stuck it in a drawer and that's where it's been sitting for 25 years now. And then I just did that to prove to myself that I could plot out an entire book. [35]
Before writing Eragon, again I was very methodical even as a teenager, I created an entire fantasy world. Wrote pages and pages about the worldbuilding, and then I plotted out an entire story in that world just to prove to myself that I could plot a story, create a world, and then I didn't write it. I put it aside. I still have it all saved. Put it in a drawer. [28]
Kevin
Writing The First Full DraftAnd then I decided okay now I'm going to plot out a trilogy, because all great fantasy stories are trilogies. I'm going to do it as the heroic monomyth, because that is, at least my understanding back then, is this is one of the oldest forms of stories. I know it works on a general sense. It's going to give me a safety net, and then I'm going to write the first book as a practice book just to see if I'm capable of producing something that's three, four, five hundred pages long. And that's what I did. That was about two and a half months of worldbuilding, plotting, creating this. Then I wrote the first book and that was Eragon. That was my practice book. I never actually planned on publishing Eragon. It was only after I'd put so much work into it and my parents read it that then we proceeded with it. I was aware of story structure. I continue to read lots of books on it. [28]The First Draft
And then version three is the version that everyone generally knows. And that's where I spent the time to plot out the whole series before writing, because having a idea of where you're going seems to help with the writing, at least for me. Usually. [32]
I originally saw Eragon as a practice novel, which is part of why it’s a very typical hero’s story. I knew that structure worked and it gave me the safety net I needed. [16]
The first draft went super fast. It went really fast because I had no idea what I was doing. And I just wrote that sucker. I wrote the first 60 pages by hand with ballpoint pen, cause I didn't know how to type on a computer. And then by the time I typed all that into the computer, I knew how to type. I did the rest in the computer. But this was back in the day when computers were fairly new. We had a Mac classic, which only had two megabytes of RAM. And the problem is that the operating system chewed up some of that memory. And my book file was around two megabytes large. So I actually had to split the book into two because I couldn't open the whole file on the computer or the computer would crash. So I had to open half the book and then close that and then open the other half. [35]
Once I finished the first draft, I was super excited and I thought, "well all of these things on how to write say that you should read your own book and see if there's any tweaks you wanna make." But I was really excited because I was getting to read my own book for the first time, and I thought this is gonna be awesome. And it didn't take very long while reading it to realize that it was awful. It was horrible. And just to give you an idea of just how bad that first draft was, in the very first draft of Eragon, Eragon wasn't named Eragon, Eragon was named Kevin. And there was also a unicorn in that first draft at one point, so you know it wasn't very good. [35]Releasing the Kevin Cut
If I heard correctly as I was reading, Eragon wasn't originally called Eragon? No, in the first draft of the book he was called Kevin. There's a reason! Look I have an explanation for it, okay. The explanation is that my original inspiration was Jeremy Thatcher Dragon Hatcher which is set in the real world. The original version of Eragon that I was developing was set in the real world and when I decided that it would make more sense to have a world where the dragons were native to and switched it over to this fantasy world and began to develop that, I just kept the name that I'd been working with, which was Kevin. Naming a main character is hard, especially when you get used to a certain name. I don't want to say I was lazy. I want to focus on the world building and writing the first draft and I'll worry about the name later. [28]
There is an early version of Eragon that no one's seen, that even my editor at Random House never saw. And that was my first draft. And in that first draft, Eragon encountered a unicorn in the Beor Mountains on the way to the Varden. And the unicorn touches him and essentially affects the transformation that he goes under during the blood oath ceremony with the elves in the second book, in Eldest. And his whole storyline with the Varden once he gets to Farthen Dûr is completely different because now he has these abilities and he and a team of people ends up getting sent on a scouting mission in the dwarven tunnels to go find the Urgal army and then they have to flee back through the tunnels to warn everyone of this huge army and I had a underground cave full of lava, and multiple shades, and a huge Urgal army. There was there was a lot of dramatic stuff. Finding the Ra'zac in Dras-Leona was completely different. This is the draft where Eragon was named Kevin. [32]
I haven't thought about that version in ages. I think Arya was awake all the way from Gil'ead to Farthen Dûr in that version. That's right, I had to completely rewrite that. It's an unpleasant ride for her. No, no, no, she was awake and healed. She was awake. That's right, God, I had to rewrite most of the last chunk of the book now that I think back, it's been a long time. [32]
The worst thing is, I think Kevin would actually take a larger budget [to adapt to film]. No, stop. Why would Kevin take a larger budget? Because the battles were bigger, there was more stuff going on. Seriously, there were more creatures, more travel. Yeah, I think Kevin would actually take more money than Eragon. [32]
You said that Eragon's name was originally Kevin. Was Eragon's name originally Kevin? It was. And I really regret I didn't stick with it because I think that as many books as I've sold, the series would have been at least twice as successful if it had been about the adventures of the great dragon writer Kevin. Especially just seeing Kevin on the front cover. Imagine the appeal to the modern youth. Kevin the dragon writer. I mean Eragon, it's confusing with Aragorn. Oregano. Oregon. But Kevin, Kevin stands out, Kevin's original. That's why I had to move away from it. [31]
So do you wanna share some of those drafts with us, Christopher? Just kidding. Well, I actually had a fan reach out to me. He's one of the big members of the online fan community on Reddit and elsewhere. And he's kind of interested in some of these early versions from almost an archivist point of view, a scholarly point of view. Which is certainly an interesting idea. I mean, there is an early version of Eragon that no one's seen, that even my editor at Random House never saw. ... I cannot describe how much the Internet absolutely needs for you to put out an edition of Eragon that just says Kevin. Should this be like Mistborn or Way of Kings Prime? This is the Kevin edition of Eragon. The Kevin cut. Oh my god. It's "Eragon: Kevin's Version". ... We absolutely need Kevin's Version of Eragon. That's something we need. It's bad. It's bad. Look, there are certainly people who can look at Eragon, the version we have now, and say, "we can tell this was a younger writer." I look at it and I can tell. I could do so much more now with the material than I could then. But if you think that about the published version of Eragon, man, if you saw the unpublished version, the early version, it really is the raw writing of a homeschooled 15-year-old, who wrote a 500 page book about Kevin. I don't know, the internet is very unhinged these days. They would love this. It needs to exist somewhere on the internet. [32]
Publishing
EditingSo I wrote Eragon, and then I read the first draft and it wasn't particularly good, so I spent a good chunk of a year rewriting it as best as I could. I didn't know what I was doing but I was trying. I've heard it said that being displeased with your own work is actually a good thing because it means you know what is good work, and if you're not happy with your work because it's not good, it means you could at least have a goal to shoot for. If you read your work and you're like this is the best thing that's ever been written, you're never going to get any better. [28]Self-publishing
But I could see that the book needed work, so I decided to try to fix it as best I could, and I spent the better part of that year revising, rewriting, changing Kevin to Eragon. And then I gave the book to my parents and fortunately for me, they actually enjoyed what I had done. And they said, we think you have something, let's try to take it out into the world and see if anyone else wants to read it. [35]
[We] decided to self-publish the book as a joint venture since we didn't know anyone in the publishing world. That was again a good chunk of a year where we were editing the book as best the three of us could. Preparing it for publication, formatting, I drew the cover. [28]Promotion
Now you have to understand, my parents were always self-employed, have always been self-employed and we were always looking for things we could work on together as a family business. And Eragon was like the perfect opportunity for that. They'd had some experience self-publishing a couple of small educational books my mom had worked on. Because she was a trained Montessori teacher, and so she was trying to use that expertise to write some material herself. But I don't even think we sold 100 copies of those. So we spent another good chunk of a year preparing the book for publication with doing more editing, doing the layout, designing the cover. [35]
The first set of 50 books showed up while we were watching Roman Polanski's Macbeth, which seemed fitting because those first 50 books were all miscut from the printer. And as a result, we had to rip the covers off, send them back for credit from the printer, and then burn the insides of the books. So we had a proper book burning in our yard, and I actually saved some of those burnt pages just as a memory of that event. [35]
Self publishing wasn’t as viable then as a pathway to a career as an author as it is today. Why did it work for you? Everything completely changed because of e-readers. If you wanted to read an e-book, you had to have a PDF on your computer. There were no distribution systems like Amazon and Barnes & Noble. Back then, the lowest amount you could print and not have the book be too expensive was probably about 10,000 copies. But we were fortunate because print-on-demand had just become a thing, so books were just printed as needed. Self publishing is a lot easier these days. Of course, today’s marketplace is a lot more crowded as a result. [16]
My family and I were going around the western half of the United States with the self-published edition of Eragon. I was cold calling schools, libraries, and bookstores to set up events. I was doing two to three one-hour long presentations every single day for months on end at various times. You have to understand that because my parents were self-employed, the time they took to help prepare Eragon for publication was time they weren't working on other freelance projects that would have been bringing in money. So by the time we actually had Eragon printed and in hand, if it had taken another two to three months to start turning a profit, we were going to have to sell our house, move to a city, and get any jobs we could. Because of that financial pressure I was willing to do things I probably would have been too uncomfortable to do otherwise. Like doing all those presentations. [28]Getting traditionally published
We were doing a lot of self-promotion. I was cold calling schools and libraries and talking them into letting me do presentations. And that worked pretty well because the librarians could take pre-orders for us. If we went into a bookstore, by hand selling, I could maybe sell anywhere between 13 to 40 books in a day. 42 was like the best I ever did, but usually it was around 15 or so books, which just didn't cover printing costs and travel and food and all of that. But going into the schools, we were doing about 300 books a day, which was excellent. [34]
Can you tell me a little bit about how you and your family self-published the first Eragon book and what marketing strategies you did? Oh, it was all nepotism, you know. I wouldn't have gotten published without my parents. There's nothing as powerful as a publishing company that's four people sitting around a kitchen table in the middle of rural Montana. So yeah, without Nepotism, I wouldn't have gotten published. You have to embrace something like Nepotism if you really wanna succeed in today's world. In fact, people don't realize that you actually get a Nepotism card. There's a secret club. You go to New York and there's huge network opportunities. There's branches of the club everywhere, especially strong in Hollywood, of course, in music. Taylor Swift is an example. So if you can get into the nepotism club, I won't say you're guaranteed success, but you got about 80% chance of actually making it that you wouldn't have otherwise. Do you think your mom and dad would be willing to be my mom and dad? No, absolutely not. No, no. You don't have brown hair, so it doesn't work. You have to have brown hair to be a Paolini. Okay, I'll try to find a different way in, I guess. [31]
So you were very much looking for that partnership? Well we were wary. But the thing is is we were selling enough copies of Eragon that to scale it up we were going to have to start duplicating all the things that a regular publisher does. We were actually looking at partnering with a book packager or a book distributor just to get more copies out. To do everything a traditional publisher could do for me was a huge amount of work so it made sense to pair with Random House or someone else at that point. But it was still nerve-wracking because the book was being a success and then handing it off to another company, we didn't know if it was just going to end up in the remainder bin two weeks after it came out. [28]Gaining Confidence
People in the book world were starting to take notice because of course, if you've been to public school, you may remember the Scholastic Book Fairs and all of the Scholastic reps in the different schools were seeing me come to the schools and selling these books and hearing the kids talk about it. And it was getting attention. So we would have gotten a publisher, I would have gotten a publisher eventually. [34]
The book sold enough copies and bounced around enough that we'd heard that Scholastic—because Scholastic does all the Book Fairs in schools in the US—was interested and that we might get an offer from them. Before that happened though... [34]
Eventually another author by the name of Carl Hiaasen ended up buying a copy of the self-published edition of Eragon in a local bookstore. Which now that I'm older, I'm rather shocked at because it takes a lot to get me to buy a self-published book. It's got to look really good. [35]
Carl Hiaasen wrote the young adult book Hoot as well as many adult books. He comes up to Montana, I think he's got a vacation home here in the valley, but he was up here fly fishing and he bought a copy of Eragon for his then 12 year old son, Ryan. And fortunately for me, Ryan liked the book and Carl recommended it to Random House and it sort of bounced around among the editors for a couple of months before my editor-to-be grabbed it and said, "Yes, we will. I want to take a chance on this teenage author and we're going to offer him money for a trilogy that only exists in his head and see what happens." [34]
How did you find an agent? We had the offer from Random House, and like two days later, we had the offer from Scholastic. And so we knew we didn't know what we didn't know. My dad participated in some online self-publishing forum sort of thing. So he posted up a question and said, look, this is the situation we're in. Does anyone have any advice? And another one of the members said, "well, I was just at this publishing writing conference and there was this young agent there and I was really impressed with his presentation, or him talking about the industry." So my dad got his information online and did what you're never supposed to do, which is he called the agent directly and left this long rambling voicemail message because it was lunchtime in New York and you take your lunch breaks in New York. And only at the end of the message did he say, "oh, yes, and by the way, we have two competing offers from two publishing houses." And when I asked him, I said, "why did you do that?" He said, "well, because if he's any good as an agent, he's going to listen to the whole message before he deletes it." And we found out later that he nearly deleted the message. Because my dad started off like, "I got this teenage son, and he's written this book", and yeah, that, OK. So it was like two hours later we got a call from Simon. And Simon said overnight me a copy of Eragon and if I like it I'll represent you. And Simon has been my agent for 21 years now. [34]
It was a big risk for Random House. And it was a big risk for me because the book was successful, self-published, and we knew that giving it to a publisher, you lose the rights to a degree, and most books don't turn a profit, and it could have just ended up in the remainder bin. So what really worked in my favor is that Random House, and specifically Random House Children's Books, and specifically the imprint of Knopf, which is where I'm at were looking for their own Harry Potter, essentially. Scholastic was publishing Harry Potter. And Scholastic also gave me an offer for Eragon, but I could tell that Random House was the one that really loved the book and Scholastic was doing it because they thought it was a good business opportunity. Scholastic actually offered more money than Random House. But I went with Random House and it was the right choice. And I found out after the fact that Chip Gibson who was the head of the children's department at the time basically chose to use Eragon as sort of something to rally the troops and put the entire children's division behind it, and I was the very fortunate recipient of that love and attention. Which of course would only get you so far if people didn't enjoy reading the book. But fortunately for me, they did a great job marketing it and then people actually enjoyed the book. Which is why when people ask me how to get published, it's like, what am I supposed to say? The answer ultimately is you write a book that people want to read, and that's a facile answer, but it is true. If people want to read it, it makes everything else easier. The agent wants you, the publishers want you, and ultimately the public wants you. [34]
And I didn't realize how much was behind that email, because large publishers do not just casually say, "hey, we want to publish your book". There was a whole plan there, and they had a plan. And so they did. Eragon came out and then I had to figure out how to write a book with everyone expecting the sequel. [36]
So you kind of went and peddled your books at schools, as I understand, right? It seems to have paid off though, because it eventually landed in the hands of bestselling author Carl Hiaasen, but not right away. First, your book got in the hands of his stepson, and the kid liked it so much that he told Hiaasen about it, who then got Eragon fast-tracked with Penguin Random House. I really admire the way that you went for the weakest links, manipulating the minds of our youth and using them to shill your book for you. It's a tried and true marketing strategy from Girl Scout Cookies to coupon books, and I applaud you for your ingenuity. My biggest question here is, do you pay Carl Hiaasen's stepson the agent royalties he so rightfully deserves? He tried to collect one time, but I had to hire a couple of guys to drive him off. But, no, you always go for the weakest link. Back when I was self-published and all that I even tried to get Eragon reviewed by Entertainment Weekly, so I called up the subscription number on the back of the magazine and told them I'd made a mistake and asked them to transfer me over to corporate, and managed to get right to their book reviewer and tried to talk him into reviewing Eragon. So you always go for, as you said, the weakest link. Which is corporate. Ryan, Carl's son, though, yeah, I probably owe him a ridiculous amount of royalties. I'd say so. He made you. Oh, he did, absolutely. Without him, I'd be nothing. I guess the lesson here for aspiring authors is that it's not really about finding your target audience, necessarily. You just have to find your target prolific author's stepson and let the kid take it from there. Yeah, absolutely. As I said, that's part of the nepotism package. The sort of networking inside the industry. This is the stuff that you can never access otherwise, and you'll never get published otherwise. So it's not like you can just grow up in the middle of nowhere in Montana, self-publish a book, and then just become a success, by promoting it. You have to have connections. That's genius. I think you could have had an incredible career in designing loot boxes for mobile games based on how good you are at manipulating the world. Absolutely, microtransactions are God's work. [31]
Was anxiety something you felt moving to this deal with Random House? Was that quite pressuring? Yes, it was a big change to go from writing for yourself as a teenager, homeschooled, living in the middle of nowhere, to knowing that there was a large audience for your next book and that they had expectations. I got criticized quite a bit, critiqued quite a bit when Eragon came out for, shall we say, my lack of experience on the technical side of things with the writing. I'd say some of those were certainly fair critiques. The great advantage of youth is that you don't know how difficult things are and you have a lot of energy. The great disadvantage of youth is you don't have experience, and there's no fixing that aside from time and effort. All of that was definitely in my head when I really started work on Eldest and it was pretty nerve-wracking quite honestly. [28]
When you finished the book, I mean your parents believed in it obviously. Did you too? Or were you like, "You know what, maybe the second book, maybe go all in on the second one?" I didn't feel like I was actually an author until my third book was published. Because the first one, well, that could be a fluke. Well, the second one, yeah, but you know. But once the third book came out, then I was like, okay, maybe I'm actually a writer. But even then, even after I finished the series, I still felt like, okay, now I have to write something that's not Eragon, just to prove that I can. So every book has been its own challenge and has been a way for me to keep feeling like I'm growing as an artist and learning to become a better and better writer. [2]
It took me, I wanna say almost 10 years to feel like I wasn't an imposter and that it wasn't just gonna get yanked away. You know what my dream was when Eragon was was going to get published by Random House? Like this was my pie in the sky because I didn't think it was going to happen. But this was my dream. I did all the math and I was like, man, if I could somehow someday sell 100,000 books, which is impossible. But man, if I could sell 100,000 books, that's a darn good living. Man, I could really make a living off that. I could support a family and 100,000 books. Man, that'd be amazing. And then it kind of took off from there. [33]
2024.05.19 13:22 Count-Daring243 Best Case Damascus Knives
 | submitted by Count-Daring243 to u/Count-Daring243 [link] [comments] https://preview.redd.it/74t0oz63bd1d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=b64e07721d6f41e6930726df6cd71bcd274a9847 Welcome, dear reader, to our comprehensive review of Case Damascus Knives! If you're a follower of fine craftsmanship, artistry, and sharp blades, we invite you to journey with us as we explore the world of Case Damascus Knives. From their rich history to the precise blades they've mastered, we promise to provide you with an engaging and information-packed introduction to these exceptional tools. The Top 7 Best Case Damascus Knives
Reviews🔗Damascus Folding Knife with Leather Sheathhttps://preview.redd.it/zlnjakn3bd1d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=9ada70181c321ff062a8ac49574784bc891f0edc Oh, the Damascus Knives 1320BL Prideful Fang Caper, such a mouthful, isn't it? But let's just cut right to it and talk about the knife itself. Now, I'm not exactly what you'd call a knife aficionado, but this one sure did feel different in the hand. The blade, about 6-1/2 inches long and 1-1/2 inches wide, was made of Damascus steel - a beautiful fusion of metals that gives it a unique, patterned look. That's what I noticed first, actually. It's like having a piece of art you can actually use! But it wasn't all looks, that's for sure. The handle, a simple wooden design, was sturdy and well-balanced, even with the leather sheath included. This felt like a tool built to last, just from the feel of it. But let's not forget about those laws, either. The ownership, carry, and use of knives certainly vary from one community to another, so it's essential to know and follow the specific guidelines in place. And if you're planning on letting kids play with it? Well, that's a big no-no. It's not a toy, folks. It's a serious tool designed for serious work. All in all, the Damascus Knives 1320BL Prideful Fang Caper caught my attention right away, not just for its eye-catching design, but also for its build quality. It's not a knife for everyone, and it's certainly not a toy. But if you're looking for a real, sturdy knife that carries its own beauty, then this might be the one for you. 🔗W.R. Case & Sons Damascus Steel Pocket Knife, Handcrafted in the USA, Limited Editionhttps://preview.redd.it/xprgzi04bd1d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=0560aa7f07f4363c664eee80b3bc113b1afc8133 As someone who loves pocket knives, I was thrilled to get my hands on the Swell Center Jack Vintage Bone. This distinctive knife stands out with its Damascus Steel and Vintage Bone Handle. Handcrafted in the U. S. A. , the 77462 from W. R. Case & Sons Cutlery Co. is a rare gem, as only 1,400 of these beauties were created. Weighing in at 1.7 oz, the knife is light enough to carry around effortlessly yet strong enough for day-to-day tasks. While it's a work of art in itself, the user experience could be improved with a smoother opening mechanism. Overall, this knife is a testament to the craftsmanship and elegance of Damascus Steel, making it a worthwhile investment for any pocket knife enthusiast. 🔗Buffalo Horn Hunter Fixed Blade with Tru-Sharp Surgical Steel by Case XXhttps://preview.redd.it/9jjvfoa4bd1d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=68ea980b72425d6071c335fa1649ce8086f957dd The Case XX Buffalo Horn Hunter Fixed Blade really is a gem in my collection. I was initially drawn to its Tru-Sharp Surgical Stainless Steel, which truly holds up well over time. The natural buffalo horn handle adds a touch of elegance and makes it easy to grasp when in use. The handcrafted nature of the knife, combined with the fact that it's made in the U. S. A. , only adds to its credibility. Although the black leather case it comes with is functional, it would be nice if it were a bit more durable. Also, the weight of the knife is quite noticeable, especially for everyday carry. However, these minor drawbacks do not detract from the overall quality and craftsmanship of this knife. It's definitely a tool you'd want to have in your belt if you're into hunting or survival situations. 🔗Handcrafted Purple Curly Maple Damascus Knifehttps://preview.redd.it/bpldq7q4bd1d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=75d217ca5b650a5afaa89318988ea19aee0c3305 Using this beautiful Case 80541 Stockman Purple Curly Maple combination in my daily life has been a delightful experience. The eye-catching Purple Curly Maple Wood Handle adds a touch of elegance that catches everyone's attention. The famous Case Ichthus shield and mirror-polished Tru-Sharp surgical steel blades truly stand out, making this a unique and reliable choice. Of course, there are some minor drawbacks to this stunning knife. The handle could be a bit larger, and the overall weight might feel a bit heavy in the hand. However, the quality and craftsmanship of the blade itself make up for these minor issues. Overall, this Case 80541 Stockman Purple Curly Maple is a stunning and reliable knife that I've come to enjoy using in my everyday life. The handcrafted design and exceptional materials make it the perfect addition to any collection. 🔗Antique Bone Handle Tru-Sharp Surgical Stainless Steel Damascus Knifehttps://preview.redd.it/j53meww4bd1d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=43e13036b3f5f21f661a546211698dc028ba414a I've been using the Case XX Congress Antique pocket knife for a while now, and I must say, it's a beautiful and functional piece. The antique bone handle makes the knife feel sturdy and grippy in my hand. The Tru-Sharp Surgical Stainless Steel blades give it its sharp and shiny edge, while the sheepsfoot and pen blades lend versatility to its functionality. One of the things that stood out to me is its handcrafted nature, knowing that it's made in the USA with pride. It's also relatively light, weighing about 1.2 ounces. However, the only negative aspect for me is the rather small size, which sometimes makes it a bit less ideal for larger tasks. But overall, I'm a fan of this knife and its classic design. 🔗Case Patriot Trapper Knife with Kirinite Handlehttps://preview.redd.it/ye7lphb5bd1d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=9fa6329e272d2c6c35af47f59c083079a2026ba4 As a product reviewer, I've had the chance to put the Patriot Kirinite Trapper Pocket Knife to the test in my daily life. The knife boasts mirror-polished Tru-Sharp surgical stainless steel blades that provide a reliable and long-lasting edge, perfect for a variety of tasks. The smooth Kirinite handles, with their striking red, white, and blue design, lend both style and substance to this compact yet versatile piece. During my time with the knife, I was particularly impressed by its metal oval-shaped shield inlay which bears the prestigious Case logo, adding a touch of prestige to its already impressive design. As it is a product "made in the USA", I feel confident in its durability and craftsmanship. However, just like any other product, it's not without its drawbacks. My only concern is the price point, which may seem a touch steep for some users. Despite this, I would still highly recommend the Patriot Kirinite Trapper Pocket Knife for those who seek quality, style, and versatility in a reliable blade. 🔗Buffalo Horn Handle Fixed Blade Hunter Knife from USA Craftsmenhttps://preview.redd.it/t2famtr5bd1d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=ef68e361ac50cde935aaef579b12e244c35ca081 The Case 17916 Hunter Knife, sporting a unique Buffalo Horn Handle, was my go-to companion during recent hunting trips. Its handcrafted design in the U. S. A. adds a touch of pride and authenticity. The Tru-Sharp Surgical Stainless Steel blade held an edge like a dream and offered exceptional strength and resistance to corrosion. However, what stood out the most was the knife's compatibility with the leather belt sheath. It provided an easy carrying solution for my daily life. The only downside was the limited color options for the belt sheath, which might not suit everyone's personal style. Overall, this fixed blade knife is a reliable and durable companion for hunting and outdoor adventures, and the buffalo horn handle adds a unique touch to its design. Buyer's GuideCase Damascus knives are a popular choice among knife enthusiasts for their unique design and superior craftsmanship. These knives are typically handmade and feature intricate patterns, making each piece one of a kind. This buyer's guide will help you understand the important features, considerations, and general advice for purchasing a Case Damascus knife.Understanding Damascus SteelDamascus steel is a type of steel known for its unique wavy pattern, formed through a process called differential heat treatment. This method involves alternating layers of steel with different carbon content, which creates the distinctive pattern when the steel is cut. Each Case Damascus knife showcases these patterns, making them a visually appealing choice. https://preview.redd.it/jn8hsz76bd1d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=2362baa42daf5efc85f1e644d268b1f30e8bfc1a Quality and DurabilityCase Damascus knives are known for their quality and durability. The company uses high-quality materials and follows strict manufacturing processes to ensure the knives can withstand everyday use. Look for knives with full tang construction, indicating that the steel runs all the way through the handle for added strength.Handle MaterialsThe handles of Case Damascus knives come in various materials, including bone, brass, and micarta. Each material offers different benefits, such as grip, durability, and weight. Choose a handle material that suits your preferences and needs.Blade Shapes and SizesCase Damascus knives come in a variety of blade shapes and sizes, catering to different tasks and preferences. Some common blade shapes include drop-point, clip-point, and spear-point. Consider what type of knife you'll use most often and choose accordingly. Additionally, blade sizes range from small pocket knives to larger hunting or utility knives. https://preview.redd.it/j175cii6bd1d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=3a98fb507503d0decd17969ce4951e560912b528 Maintenance and CareProper maintenance and care are essential for keeping your Case Damascus knife in top condition. Avoid soaking the knife in water and clean it after use with a non-abrasive cloth and a small amount of oil. Regular sharpening using a whetstone or honing steels will also help maintain the edge's quality.Warranty and Customer SupportBefore purchasing a Case Damascus knife, research the company's warranty policy and customer support. A reputable company should offer a reasonable warranty period and be responsive to customer inquiries and concerns.Personal Preferences and BudgetFinally, consider your personal preferences and budget when choosing a Case Damascus knife. Decide what features are most important to you and set a budget to ensure you can find a high-quality knife without going over your financial limit.Case Damascus knives are a beautiful and functional investment for any knife enthusiast. By understanding the important features, considerations, and general advice outlined in this buyer's guide, you'll be better equipped to choose the right Case Damascus knife for your needs and preferences. https://preview.redd.it/jd8n0t27bd1d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=1970030c0262d810004c57f6d61b90cb1223c381 FAQWhat are Case Damascus Knives?Case Damascus Knives are a line of high-quality, handcrafted knives produced by the Case Cutlery Company. These knives are known for their unique Damascus steel blades, which are created through a forging process that alternates layers of iron and steel.What makes Case Damascus Knives stand out from other knives?Case Damascus Knives stand out due to their detailed craftsmanship, impressive Damascus steel blades, and various handle materials available. The combination of these elements creates a visually appealing and functional knife that sets them apart from other mass-produced knives. https://preview.redd.it/3j9e0cd7bd1d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=92ef346c2a0d93092f50a81b990fcecef5fc1987 What types of Case Damascus Knives are available?Case Damascus Knives come in various styles, such as pocket knives, hunting knives, and kitchen knives. Some popular collections include the Case Damascus Field Knife, the Case Damascus Elk Hunter Knife, and the Case Damascus Chef's Knife.How do I care for my Case Damascus Knife?
What is the lifespan of a Case Damascus Knife?The lifespan of a Case Damascus Knife depends on how well it is cared for and the frequency of use. With proper maintenance, a well-made Case Damascus Knife can last for many years.Where can I buy Case Damascus Knives?Case Damascus Knives can be purchased from authorized retailers, both online and in-store. It is recommended to buy from a reputable dealer to ensure you receive an authentic and high-quality product.How much do Case Damascus Knives cost?The cost of Case Damascus Knives varies depending on the type, size, and materials used in their construction. Generally, these knives are priced higher than mass-produced knives due to their intricate craftsmanship and premium materials.What warranty does Case offer on their Damascus Knives?Case Cutlery Company typically offers a limited lifetime warranty on their Damascus knives. This warranty covers manufacturing defects and workmanship issues. However, it does not cover damage resulting from misuse or normal wear and tear.As an Amazon™ Associate, we earn from qualifying purchases. |
2024.05.19 10:54 PageTurner627 My Dad and I Hunted Down the Dogman that Killed My Sister
I’ve always hated the smell of gun oil. It clings to everything it touches, soaking deep into the fibers of my clothes, the lining of my backpack, the coarse hair on the back of my hands. Yet here I am, kneeling on the cracked linoleum of our mudroom, a Remington .308 laid across my thighs, and the stench of gun oil sharp in my nostrils. The early morning light barely scratches at the edges of the blinds, dim and gray like the belly of a dead fish.
My dad Frank is in the kitchen, clattering around with the coffeepot and mumbling under his breath. Today we’re heading up to the woods of Northern Michigan, same as we did every year before Leah… before we lost her.
I can’t help but feel the old scars throbbing as I load bullets into the magazine. It’s been ten years since that hunting trip, the one that tore my family into before and after. Before, when Leah's laughter was a constant soundtrack to our lives; after, when every silence was filled with her absence.
We were just kids back then. I was ten, Leah was eight. It was supposed to be a typical hunting trip, one of those bonding experiences Dad was always talking about. But things went wrong. We got separated from Dad somehow. One minute we were following him, the next we were lost, the dense woods closing in around us.
Dad says when he found me, I was huddled under a fallen tree, my eyes wide, my body frozen. All I could mutter through chattering teeth was "Dogman."
It was only later, after the search parties had combed through every thicket and hollow, that they found her. What remained of Leah was barely recognizable, the evidence of a brutal mauling undeniable. The authorities concluded it was likely a bear attack, but Dad... he never accepted that explanation. He had seen the tracks, too large and oddly shaped for any bear.
As I load another round, the memory flashes, unbidden and unwelcome. Large, hairy clawed hands reaching out towards us, impossibly big, grotesque in their form. Yet, the rest of the creature eludes me, a shadow just beyond the edge of my recall, leaving me with nothing but fragmented terrors and Leah’s haunting, echoing screams. My mind blocked most of it out, a self-defense mechanism, I guess.
For years after that day, sleep was a battleground. I'd wake up in strange places—kitchen floor, backyard, even at the edge of the nearby creek. My therapist said it was my mind's way of trying to resolve the unresolved, to wander back through the woods searching for Leah. But all I found in those sleepless nights was a deeper sense of loss.
It took time, a lot of therapy, and patience I didn't know I had, but the sleepwalking did eventually stop. I guess I started to find some semblance of peace.
I have mostly moved on with my life. The fragmentary memories of that day are still there, lurking in the corners of my mind, but they don’t dominate my thoughts like they used to. I just finished my sophomore year at Michigan State, majoring in Environmental Science.
As for Dad, the loss of Leah broke him. He became a shell of himself. It destroyed his marriage with Mom. He blamed himself for letting us out of his sight, for not protecting Leah. His life took on a single, consuming focus: finding the creature that killed her. He read every book, every article on cryptids and unexplained phenomena. He mapped sightings, connected dots across blurry photos and shaky testimonies of the Dogman.
But as the tenth anniversary of Leah’s death approaches, Dad's obsession has grown more intense. He’s started staying up late, poring over his maps and notes, muttering to himself about patterns and cycles. He’s convinced that the dogman reappears every ten years, and this is our window of opportunity to finally hunt it down.
I’m not nearly as convinced. The whole dogman thing seems like a coping mechanism, a way for Dad to channel his guilt and grief into something tangible, something he can fight against. But I decided to tag along on this trip, partly to keep an eye on him, partly because a small part of me hopes that maybe, just maybe, we’ll find some kind of closure out there in the woods.
I finish loading the rifle and set it aside, standing up to stretch my legs. I wipe my greasy hands on an old rag, trying to get rid of the smell. The early morning light is starting to seep into the room, casting long shadows across the floor.
Dad comes out of the kitchen with two thermoses of coffee in hand. His eyes are bleary and tired.
“You ready, Ryan?” he asks, handing me a thermos, his voice rough from too many sleepless nights.
“Yeah, I’m ready,” I reply, trying to sound more confident than I felt.
We load our gear into the truck, the weight of our supplies and weapons a physical reminder of the burden we carry. The drive from Lansing across the Lower Peninsula is long and quiet, the silence between us filled with unspoken memories and unresolved grief.
—
The drive north is a blur of highway lines and the dull hum of the engine. I drift off, the landscape outside blending into a haze. In my sleep, fragments of that day with Leah replay like scattered pieces of a puzzle. I see her smile, the way she tugged at my sleeve, eager to explore. The sunlight filters through the trees in sharp, jagged streaks.
Then, the memory shifts—darker, disjointed. Leah's voice echoes, a playful laugh turning into a scream that pierces the air. The crunch of leaves underfoot as something heavy moves through the underbrush. I see a shadow, large and looming, not quite fitting the shapes of any creature I know.
Then, something darker creeps into the dream, something I’ve never allowed myself to remember clearly.
Before I can see what it is I wake up with a start as the truck jerks slightly on a rough patch of road. Dad glances over. "Bad dream?" he asks. I nod, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, the remnants of the dream clinging to me like the cold.
"Yeah, just... thinking about Leah," I manage to say.
As we drive, Dad attempts to bridge the silence with small talk. He asks about my finals, my plans for the summer, anything to keep the conversation going. His voice carries a forced cheerfulness, but it’s clear his heart isn’t in it. I respond when necessary, my answers brief, my gaze fixed on the passing scenery.
The landscape changes as we head further north, from flat expanses to rolling hills dotted with dense patches of forest. It's beautiful country, the kind that reminds you how vast and wild Michigan can be, but today it just feels oppressive, like it’s closing in on us.
—
We finally arrive at the cabin, nestled deep in the woods, its weathered wood blending seamlessly with the surrounding trees. The place hasn't changed much since the last time I was here—a relic from another time, filled with the echoes of our past. I can still see Leah running around the porch, her laughter ringing out into the forest.
Dad parks the truck, and we step out into the crisp air. The smell of pine and damp earth fills my nostrils. We start unloading our gear, the tension between us palpable.
“Let’s get this inside,” Dad says, his voice gruff as he hefts a duffel bag onto his shoulder.
I nod, grabbing my own bag and following him to the cabin. Inside, it’s a mix of old and new—the same rustic furniture, but with new hunting gear and maps strewn across the table. Dad’s obsession is evident in every corner of the room, a constant reminder of why we’re here.
As we unpack, we exchange strained attempts at normalcy. He talks about the latest cryptid sightings he’s read about, his eyes lighting up with a fervor that both worries and saddens me.
“Did you hear about the sighting up near Alpena?” he asks, laying out his maps on the table.
“Yeah, you mentioned it,” I reply, trying to muster some enthusiasm. “Do you really think there’s something to it?”
Dad’s eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see a flicker of doubt. But it’s quickly replaced by grim determination. “I have to believe it, Ryan. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
We finish unpacking, the silence between us growing heavier with each passing minute. I step outside to clear my head, the cool air a welcome relief. The sun is starting to set, casting long shadows across the clearing. I can’t shake the feeling of unease.
"You can take the upstairs room," Dad mutters. His voice is strained, trying to sound normal, but it's clear the weight of the past is heavy on him. I nod, hauling my backpack up the creaking stairs to the small bedroom that I used to share with Leah. The room feels smaller now, or maybe I've just grown too much since those innocent days.
I unpack silently, setting my things aside. The bed is stiff and cold under my touch. As I settle in, I can't help but glance at the corner where Leah and I would huddle together, whispering secrets and making plans for adventures that would never happen. I push the thoughts away, focusing on the practicalities of unpacking.
After settling in, I go back downstairs to find Dad loading up a backpack with supplies for our hunt. The intensity in his eyes is palpable, his hands moving with practiced precision. I know this routine; it's one he's perfected over countless solo trips since that fateful day.
"We'll head out early," he says, not looking up from his task. "Gotta make the most of the daylight."
I nod, though unease curls in my stomach. I'm not just worried about what we might find—or not find—out there. I'm worried about him. Each year, the obsession seems to carve him out a bit more, leaving less of the Dad I knew.
—
The morning air is sharp with the scent of pine and wet earth as Dad and I head into the deeper parts of the forest. The terrain is rugged, familiar in its untamed beauty, but there’s a tension between us that makes the landscape feel alien. Dad moves with a purposeful stride, his eyes scanning the woods around us. Every snap of a twig, every rustle in the underbrush seems to draw his attention. He’s on edge, and it puts me on edge too.
As we walk, my mind drifts back to that day ten years ago. I can almost hear Leah’s voice echoing through the trees, her high-pitched call as she darted ahead, "Catch me, Ryan!" I remember how the sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dancing shadows on the ground. Those memories are so vivid, so tangible, it feels like I could just turn a corner and see her there, waiting for us.
Dad suddenly stops and kneels, examining the ground. He points out a set of tracks that are too large for a deer, with an unusual gait pattern. "It’s been here, Ry. I’m telling you, it’s close," he whispers, a mixture of excitement and something darker in his voice. I nod, though I’m not sure what to believe. Part of me wants to dismiss it all as grief-fueled obsession, but another part, the part that heard Leah's scream and saw something monstrous in the woods that day, isn’t so sure.
As we continue, Dad's comments become increasingly cryptic. "You know, they say the dogman moves in cycles, drawn to certain places, certain times. Like it’s tied to the land itself," he muses, more to himself than to me. His fixation on the creature has always been intense, but now it borders on mania.
We set up a makeshift blind near a clearing where Dad insists the creature will pass. Hours drag by with little to see but the occasional bird or distant deer.
The sun rises higher in the sky, casting long, slender shadows through the dense canopy. I shift uncomfortably in my spot, the forest floor hard and unyielding beneath me. My eyes dart between the trees, hoping to catch a glimpse of something, anything, to break the monotony. Dad, on the other hand, remains steadfast, his gaze fixed on the treeline as if he can will the dogman into existence by sheer force of will.
A bird chirps nearby, startling me. I sigh and adjust my grip on the rifle. I glance over at Dad.
“Anything?” I ask, more out of boredom than genuine curiosity.
“Not yet,” he replies, his voice tight. “But it’s out there. I know it.”
I nod, even though I’m not sure I believe him. The forest seems too quiet, too still. Maybe we’re chasing ghosts.
As the sun begins its descent, the forest is bathed in a warm, golden light. The air cools, and a breeze rustles the leaves. I shiver, more from anticipation than the cold. The long hours of sitting and waiting are starting to wear on me.
“Let’s call it a day for now,” Dad says finally, his voice heavy with disappointment. “We’ll head back to the cabin, get some rest, and try again tomorrow.”
I stand and stretch, feeling the stiffness in my muscles. We pack up our gear in silence and start the trek back to the cabin. The walk is long and quiet, the only sounds are the crunch of leaves underfoot and the distant calls of birds settling in for the night.
—
Dinner is a quiet affair, both of us lost in our thoughts. I try to make small talk, asking Dad about his plans for tomorrow, but it feels forced. We clean up in silence.
After dinner, I retreat to the small bedroom. The fatigue from the day's hike has settled into my bones, but sleep still feels like a distant hope. I lie down, staring at the ceiling, the room cloaked in darkness save for the sliver of moonlight creeping through the window. Downstairs, I hear the faint sound of Dad moving around, likely unable to sleep himself.
I drift into sleep, but it's not restful. My dreams pull me back to that fateful day in the woods. Leah's voice is clear and vibrant, her laughter echoing through the trees. She looks just as she did then—bright-eyed and full of life, her blonde hair catching the sunlight as she runs ahead of me.
"Come on, Ry! You can't catch me!" she taunts, her voice playful and teasing.
I chase after her, but the scene shifts abruptly. The sky darkens, the woods around us growing dense and foreboding. Leah's laughter fades, replaced by a chilling silence. I see her ahead, standing still, her back to me.
"Leah?" I call out, my voice trembling. She turns slowly, her eyes wide and filled with fear. "Ryan, you have to remember," she says, her voice barely a whisper. "It wasn't what you think. You need to know the truth."
Leah’s words hang in the air, cryptic and unsettling. Before I can respond, she turns and starts running again, her figure becoming a blur among the trees. Panic rises in my chest as I sprint after her, my feet pounding against the forest floor.
“Leah, wait!” I shout, desperation lacing my voice. The forest around me seems to close in, the trees towering and twisted, shadows dancing menacingly in the dim light. I push forward, trying to keep her in sight, but she’s too fast, slipping away like a wisp of smoke.
Suddenly, there’s a rustle, a flash of movement in the corner of my vision. Leah screams, a sound that pierces through the heavy silence. It happens too quickly—I can’t see what it is, only a dark blur that snatches her up.
“Leah!” I scream, my voice breaking. I stumble, falling to my knees as the forest spins around me. My heart races, and the terror is so real, so visceral, that it pulls me back to that awful day, the one that changed everything.
I jolt awake, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I sit up, wiping the cold sweat from my forehead as I try to steady my breathing. The room is still dark, the shadows cast by the moonlight seem to flicker and dance on the walls. My heart is still racing from the nightmare, the echo of Leah's scream lingering in my ears.
As I struggle to calm down, the floorboards outside my room creak. The door opens slowly, and I see the silhouette of my dad in the doorway, a Bowie knife in his hand, his posture tense.
“Dad, what the hell are you doing?” I whisper, my voice shaking.
“Shh,” he hisses, holding up a hand to silence me. “I heard something. Something moving around in the cabin. Stay quiet.”
I swallow hard, my mouth dry. I glance at the clock on the nightstand—it’s just past three in the morning. The cabin is silent, the kind of deep, oppressive silence that makes every small sound seem louder. I can’t hear anything out of the ordinary, but Dad’s expression is deadly serious.
He motions for me to get up, and I do, moving as quietly as I can. My heart is racing, a mix of lingering fear from the dream and the sudden, sharp anxiety of the present moment. Dad leads the way, stepping cautiously out of the bedroom and into the hallway, the knife held ready in front of him.
We move through the cabin, checking each room in turn. The living room is empty, the furniture casting long shadows in the dim moonlight. The kitchen is just as we left it, the plates from dinner still drying on the counter. Everything seems normal, untouched.
We finish our sweep of the cabin without finding anything amiss. The silence is heavy, punctuated only by our soft footfalls. I can see the tension in Dad’s frame, his grip on the knife unwavering. After checking the last room, we pause in the dimly lit hallway, the air thick with unspoken questions.
“There’s nothing here,” I say, my voice low. “Are you sure you heard something?”
He looks at me, his eyes searching for something in my face. “I heard growling. Deep and close. It was right outside the window.”
“Maybe it was just an animal outside, a raccoon or something?” I suggest, although the certainty in his voice makes me doubt my own reassurance.
“No, it wasn’t like that. It was different,” he insists, his voice tense.
I nod, not wanting to argue, but the seeds of worry are planted deep.
The look in his eyes sends a chill down my spine. It’s not just fear—it’s desperation. The kind of desperation that comes from years of chasing shadows and finding nothing. I can see the toll this hunt has taken on him, the way it’s worn him down, turned him into a man I barely recognize.
We head back to our rooms. As I lie down, my mind races with thoughts of my dad. I can’t help but wonder if he’s losing it, if the years of grief and guilt have finally pushed him over the edge.
Dad wasn’t always like this. Before Leah’s death, he was the kind of father who took us fishing, helped with homework, and told terrible jokes that made us groan and laugh at the same time. He was solid, dependable. But losing Leah changed him. The guilt twisted him into someone I barely recognize, someone driven by a need for answers, for closure, that may never come.
I try to sleep, but my thoughts keep me awake. I can hear Dad moving around downstairs, probably pacing or double-checking the locks. His paranoia has become a constant presence, and I don’t know how to help him. I don’t even know if I can help him.
—
The next morning, the sunlight filters weakly through the cabin windows, casting a pale light that does little to lift the heavy mood. I drag myself out of bed, feeling the exhaustion of another restless night. Dad is already up, hunched over his maps at the kitchen table, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep.
“Morning,” I mumble, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I pour myself a cup of coffee. “Did you sleep at all?”
He shakes his head, not looking up from his notes. “Not much. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I heard last night.”
I sip my coffee, trying to shake off the remnants of my nightmare. “Maybe it was just an animal, Dad. We’re deep in the woods, after all.”
He finally looks up, his eyes intense. “Ryan, I know what I heard. It wasn’t just an animal. It was something else.”
I sigh, not wanting to argue. “Okay, fine, Dad. What’s the plan for today?”
“We’re going back out. I found some tracks yesterday, and I want to follow them. See where they lead.”
I nod, feeling a mix of apprehension and resignation. I can see how much this means to him, how desperate he is for any kind of lead. “Alright. Let’s get packed and head out.”
We spend the morning preparing, loading up our gear and double-checking our supplies. Dad is meticulous, going over everything with a fine-toothed comb. I try to match his focus, but my mind keeps drifting back to Leah and the dream I had. Her words echo in my head, cryptic and unsettling: “You need to know the truth.”
We set off into the woods, the air crisp and cool. The forest is alive with the sounds of birds and rustling leaves, but it all feels distant, like background noise to the tension between us. Dad leads the way, his eyes scanning the ground for any sign of the tracks he found yesterday.
As we walk, I can’t help but notice how erratically he’s acting. He mutters to himself, his eyes darting around as if expecting something to jump out at us. His grip on his rifle is tight, his knuckles white.
“Dad, are you okay?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
He glances at me, his expression unreadable. “I’m fine. Just focused.”
He stops frequently to examine the ground or the bark of trees, pointing out marks and signs that seem meaningless to me.
“Look at this,” he says, crouching down to examine a broken branch. “See how it’s snapped? That’s not a deer or a bear. That’s something bigger. Stronger.”
I crouch next to Dad, squinting at the broken branch. To me, it just looks like a regular broken branch, the kind you see all over the forest. "I don't know, Dad. It just looks like a branch to me," I say, trying to keep my voice neutral.
Dad's eyes flicker with frustration. "You're not looking close enough. It's the way it's snapped—too clean, too deliberate. Something did this."
I nod, not wanting to argue. "Okay, sure. But even if you're right, it could be anything. A storm, another hunter..."
His expression hardens. "I know what I'm looking for. This is different."
I sigh, feeling the weight of the past and the tension between us pressing down on me. "Dad, I had a dream last night. About Leah." The words hang in the air between us, heavy and fraught with unspoken emotions.
Dad's eyes widen, and he straightens up, his entire demeanor shifting. "What kind of dream? What did you see?" His voice is urgent, almost desperate.
"It was... strange. We were in the woods, like we are now, but everything felt different. Leah was there, running ahead of me, laughing. Then she stopped and told me I needed to know the truth, that it wasn't what I thought."
Dad grabs my shoulders, his grip tight. "What else did she say? Did she tell you anything specific? Anything about the creature?"
I shake my head, feeling a chill run down my spine. "No, that was it. She just said I needed to know the truth, and then she was gone."
Dad’s grip on my shoulders tightens, and his eyes bore into mine with a mixture of desperation and hope. “Ryan, you have to try to remember. Think hard. What did the creature look like? Did you see anything else?”
I pull back slightly, uneasy with his intensity. “Dad, I told you. I don’t remember. It was just a dream. A nightmare, really. My mind’s probably just mixing things up.”
He lets go of me and runs a hand through his hair, looking frustrated and lost. “Dreams can be important. They can hold memories we’ve buried deep. Please, try to remember. This could be a sign, a clue.”
I rub my temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache. “I’ve tried, okay? I’ve tried for years to piece together what happened that day. But it’s all just fragments, like pieces of a puzzle that don’t fit. The dream… it felt real, but I don’t think it’s telling me anything new.”
Dad’s face falls, and he looks older than I’ve ever seen him. He turns away, staring into the forest as if it holds all the answers.
—
As we make our way back to the cabin, the sun begins to set, casting long shadows through the trees. The air grows colder, and I shiver, pulling my jacket tighter around me. Dad is silent, lost in his thoughts, his face drawn and haggard.
Back at the cabin, we unload our gear once again in silence. Dad disappears into his room, muttering something about going over his notes. I decide to explore the cabin, hoping to find something that might help me understand what’s going on with him.
In the attic, I find a box of old family photos and documents. As I sift through the contents, I come across a worn journal with Dad’s handwriting on the cover. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I open it, flipping through the pages.
The journal is filled with notes and sketches, detailing his obsession with the dogman. But there’s something else—entries that talk about Leah, about that day in the woods. His handwriting becomes more erratic, the words harder to read. One entry stands out, dated just a few days after Leah’s death:
“June 15, 2013 – It was supposed to be a normal trip. Keep them close, Frank, I kept telling myself. But I failed. Leah is gone, and it’s my fault. I heard her scream, saw the shadows. I tried to get to her, but… the thing, it was there. Too fast. Too strong. My hands… blood everywhere. No one will believe me. I can’t even believe myself. I have to find it. I have to protect Ryan. I have to make it right. God, what have I done?”
Before I can read further, the attic door creaks open, and Dad’s voice slices through the stillness.
“What are you doing up here?” His tone is sharp, almost panicked.
I turn to see him standing in the doorway, his face pale and his eyes wide with something between anger and fear. I clutch the journal to my chest, my mind racing. “I found this… I was just trying to understand…”
In an instant, he crosses the room and snatches the journal from my hands. His grip is tight, his knuckles white. “You had no right,” he growls, his voice trembling.
“Dad, I just wanted to know the truth!” I shout, frustration boiling over. “What really happened to Leah.”
His eyes flash with a mix of rage and anguish, and before I can react, he slaps me across the face. The force of it knocks me off balance, and I stumble backward, my cheek stinging.
For a moment, there’s a stunned silence. We both stand there, breathing hard, the air thick with tension.
“I’m sorry,” Dad says finally, his voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t mean to… I just…” He trails off, clutching the journal to his chest like a lifeline.
I touch my cheek, feeling the heat from the slap, and take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “Dad, what aren’t you telling me? What really happened that day?”
“Stay out of it, Ryan,” Dad growls, his eyes dark with anger. “You don’t know what you’re messing with.”
He turns and storms out of the attic. I’m left standing there, my cheek throbbing, my mind racing. What the fuck is going on? What really happened to Leah? And what is Dad so afraid of?
—
That night, I sleep with my rifle within arm's reach, more afraid of my dad than any dogman. The slap still burns on my cheek, and the look in his eyes—rage, fear, something darker—haunts me. I lie awake, listening to the creaks and groans of the old cabin, every sound amplified in the stillness. Eventually, exhaustion pulls me under, and I fall into a restless sleep.
The dream returns, vivid and unsettling. I'm back in the woods, chasing after Leah. Her laughter echoes through the trees, a haunting reminder of happier times. This time, though, I push myself harder, refusing to let her slip away.
"Ryan, catch me!" she calls, her voice playful.
"I'm coming, Leah!" I shout, my legs pumping, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
The forest around us is a twisted, shadowy maze, the trees seeming to close in on us. Leah's figure becomes clearer, her blonde hair catching the dim light filtering through the canopy. She stops suddenly, turning to face me, her eyes wide with fear.
"Leah, what is it?" I ask, my voice trembling.
"Look behind you," she whispers, her voice barely audible.
I turn slowly, dread creeping up my spine. In the shadows, I see a figure, its form indistinct and shifting. It’s not quite animal, not quite human—something in between. The sight of it sends a jolt of terror through me, and I wake up with a start, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I’m not in my bed. The ground beneath me is cold and hard, the smell of damp earth filling my nostrils. Panic rises as I realize I’ve sleepwalked into the woods. I scramble to my feet, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. The moon casts a pale glow over the surroundings, revealing what looks like a long-abandoned animal lair.
The walls are covered in giant claw marks, deep gouges in the wood and earth. The air is heavy with the scent of decay, and a chill runs through me. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched.
Carefully, I start to move, my eyes scanning the ground, desperate for a familiar landmark. That's when I see them—faded scraps of fabric caught on the jagged edges of the underbrush. My steps falter, a sense of dread washing over me as I bend down to examine them. The fabric is torn, weathered by time and the elements, but unmistakably familiar. It's part of Leah's jacket—the bright pink one she wore on the day she disappeared.
As I strain to make sense of it all, a rustling sound behind me snaps my focus. My heart leaps into my throat. I spin around, my hand instinctively reaching for the rifle I don't have—because, of course, I didn't bring it in my unconscious state.
The shadowy figure that emerges from the trees is unsettlingly familiar, mirroring the menacing forms of my nightmares. But as it steps into the moonlight, I recognize the worn jacket, the weary posture. It's Dad.
"Ryan!" he calls out, his voice a mix of relief and stern concern. "I've been looking everywhere for you. What the hell are you doing out here?"
I exhale slowly, the terror ebbing away as reality sets back in. "I—I don't know, Dad. I must've sleepwalked again." My voice is shaky, my earlier dream still clinging to the edges of my consciousness.
Dad stares at me in disbelief. "You haven't sleepwalked since you were a kid, Ry. This... this isn't just a coincidence." His eyes dart around, taking in the surroundings—the eerie, claw-marked den, the unsettling quiet of the woods. "How did you even find this place?"
I shake my head, struggling to find an answer. "I don't know, Dad. I just... I woke up here." The uncertainty in my voice does nothing to ease the tension.
His eyes lock onto the tattered remains of Leah's jacket in my hands, and something inside him snaps. The color drains from his face as he stumbles a few steps backward. "This... this is where it happened," he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper. “This is where we found Leah."
“I thought you said you don’t remember anything from that night,” he says accusingly.
"I swear, Dad, I don't know anything about this place," I insist, my own heart pounding.
“It was you, wasn’t it? You’ve been hiding this from me.” His voice is frantic. “You... last night, the growling, it was you.” His voice rises, tinged with hysteria.
I step back, my pulse racing, feeling the chill of the night and the weight of his accusation. "Dad, I don't know what you're talking ab—”
"No!" he interrupts, his voice breaking as he points a trembling finger at me. "You knew, you always knew. It was you, Ryan. All these years, the evidence was right there, but I refused to see it. You were the dogman. You killed Leah!"
His words hit me like a physical blow, absurd and horrifying in their implications. "Dad, you're not making any sense. You're talking crazy! I was just a little kid! How could I–" I protest, my voice shaky.
He steps closer, his presence looming over me, the outline of his figure distorted by the shadows of the trees. "Think about it! It all makes sense now. You led us here, to this place, because you remember. Because you did it."
"Dad, stop it!" I shout, my heart pounding in my chest. "You're scaring me. You need help, professional help. This isn't you."
But he's beyond reason, his eyes wild with a haunted grief. "I have to end this," he mutters, more to himself than to me, his hand tightening around his rifle.
His finger hovers dangerously over the trigger of his rifle. My instincts kick in, and I know I have to act fast.
I lunge toward him, trying to knock the weapon away, but he's quicker than I expected. We struggle, our breaths heavy in the cold night air, the sounds of our scuffle the only noise in the otherwise silent woods. His strength surprises me, fueled by his frantic emotions. He shoves me back, and I stumble over a root, my balance lost for a crucial second. That's all he needs. He raises his rifle, his intentions clear in his wild, pained eyes.
I dive to the ground just as the shot rings out, a deafening blast that echoes ominously through the trees. The bullet whizzes past, narrowly missing me, embedding itself in the bark of an old pine. I scramble to my feet, my heart pounding in my ears, and I start running. The underbrush claws at my clothes and skin, but I push through, driven by a primal urge to survive.
"Dad, stop! It's me, Ryan!" I shout back as I dodge between the trees. Another shot breaks the silence, closer this time, sending splinters of wood flying from a nearby tree trunk. It's surreal, being hunted by my own father, a man tormented by grief and lost in his delusions.
I don't stop to look back. I can hear him crashing through the forest behind me, his heavy breaths and muttered curses carried on the wind. The terrain is rough, and I'm fueled by adrenaline, but exhaustion is setting in. I need a plan.
Ahead, I see a rocky outcrop and make a split-second decision to head for it. It offers a chance to hide, to catch my breath and maybe reason with him if he catches up. As I reach the rocks, I slip behind the largest one, my body pressed tight against the cold, damp surface. I hear his footsteps approaching, slow and cautious now.
As I press against the rock, trying to calm my racing heart, I can hear Dad's footsteps drawing closer, each step crunching ominously on the forest floor. He's methodical, deliberate, like a hunter stalking his prey.
“Come out, Ryan!” Dad’s voice is ragged, filled with a blend of fury and pain.
My heart pounds against my chest, the cold sweat on my back making me shiver against the rough surface of the rock. I know I can't just sit here; it's only a matter of time before he finds me.
Taking a deep breath, I peek around the edge of the rock, trying to gauge his position. I see him, rifle raised, scanning the area slowly. This might be my only chance to end this madness without further violence. I need to disarm him, to talk some sense into him if I can.
As quietly as I can, I move out from behind the rock, my steps careful to avoid any twigs or leaves that might betray my position. I'm almost upon him when a branch snaps under my foot—a sound so trivial yet so alarmingly loud in the quiet of the woods.
Dad whirls around, looking completely unhinged. "Ryan!" he exclaims, his rifle swinging in my direction. Panic overtakes me, and I lunge forward, my hands reaching for the gun.
We struggle, the rifle between us, our breaths heavy and erratic. "Dad, please, stop!" I plead, trying to wrestle the gun away. But he's strong, stronger than I expected.
In the chaos, the rifle goes off. The sound is deafening, a sharp echo that seems to reverberate off every tree around us. Pain explodes in my abdomen, sharp and burning, like nothing I've ever felt before. I stagger back, my hands instinctively going to the wound. The warmth of my own blood coats my fingers, stark and terrifying.
Dad drops the rifle, his eyes wide with horror. "Oh my God! What have I done?" he gasps, rushing to my side as I collapse onto the forest floor.
As the pain sears through me, a strange, overpowering energy surges within. It's wild, primal, unlike anything I've ever experienced. Looking down in horror, my hands are no longer hands but large, hairy, clawed appendages. The transformation is rapid, consuming—my vision blurs, senses heighten, and a raw, guttural growl builds in my throat.
In that moment, a flood of understanding washes over me, mingling with the horror of realization. These are the hands of the creature from my nightmares, the creature whose face I can never fully recall because, as I now understand, it is me.
What happens next feels detached, as if I'm no longer in control of my own actions, watching from a distance as my body moves on its own. I turn towards my dad, his face a mask of terror. He stumbles back, his eyes wide with the dawning realization of what his son has become.
The forest around us seems to fall silent, holding its breath as the nightmarish scene unfolds. I can hear my own growls, guttural and deep, filling the air with a sound that's both foreign and intimately familiar. The pain in my abdomen fuels a dark, violent urge, an urge that's too strong to resist.
With a ferocity that feels both alien and intrinsic, I move towards him. My dad, paralyzed by fear and shock, doesn't run. Maybe he can't. Maybe he doesn't want to.
The encounter was brutal and swift, a blur of motion and violence. My dad barely puts up a struggle, as though resigned to his fate.
Not that there is anything he can do. The creature that I’ve become is too powerful, too consumed by the wild instincts surging through me. I tear him apart, limb from bloody limb, my hands—no, my claws—rending through fabric and flesh with disgusting ease.
The sound of my dad’s screams, of tearing fabric and flesh is drowned out by the animalistic growls that echo through the trees.
When it’s all over, the red mist that had clouded my vision begins to fade, and the fierce, uncontrollable rage that drove my actions subsides. I'm left standing, my breaths heavy and erratic, in the eerie stillness of the forest. The transformation reverses as quickly as it came on, and I find myself back in my human form. My clothes are ripped to shreds, hanging off my frame in tattered remnants. At my feet lies what’s left of my dad, his body torn and unrecognizable.
I glance down at my abdomen, expecting agony, but instead find my wound miraculously healed. No sign of the gunshot remains, just a faint scar where I expected a bloody mess.
Shock sets in, a numbing disbelief mixed with a gut-wrenching realization of what I've become and what I've done. My hands, now human again, tremble as I look at them, half-expecting to see the claws that had so effortlessly ripped through flesh and bone. But there's only blood, my father's blood against my skin.
I stand there for what feels like an eternity, trapped in a nightmare of my own making.
Eventually, the shock wears thin, and a cold practicality takes hold. I need to get out of here. I need to cover my tracks, to disappear. Because who would believe this? Who would understand that I didn't choose this, that I'm not a monster by choice?
With trembling hands, I do what’s necessary. I bury my dad in a shallow grave, the physical act of digging strangely grounding. I cover him with leaves and branches, a pitiful attempt to hide the brutality of his end. I take a moment, whispering apologies into the wind, knowing full well that nothing I say can change what happened.
I leave the forest behind, my mind a whirl of dark thoughts. As I walk, the first hints of dawn brush against the horizon, the sky bleeding a soft pink. It’s hauntingly beautiful.
submitted by PageTurner627 to nosleep [link] [comments]
My dad Frank is in the kitchen, clattering around with the coffeepot and mumbling under his breath. Today we’re heading up to the woods of Northern Michigan, same as we did every year before Leah… before we lost her.
I can’t help but feel the old scars throbbing as I load bullets into the magazine. It’s been ten years since that hunting trip, the one that tore my family into before and after. Before, when Leah's laughter was a constant soundtrack to our lives; after, when every silence was filled with her absence.
We were just kids back then. I was ten, Leah was eight. It was supposed to be a typical hunting trip, one of those bonding experiences Dad was always talking about. But things went wrong. We got separated from Dad somehow. One minute we were following him, the next we were lost, the dense woods closing in around us.
Dad says when he found me, I was huddled under a fallen tree, my eyes wide, my body frozen. All I could mutter through chattering teeth was "Dogman."
It was only later, after the search parties had combed through every thicket and hollow, that they found her. What remained of Leah was barely recognizable, the evidence of a brutal mauling undeniable. The authorities concluded it was likely a bear attack, but Dad... he never accepted that explanation. He had seen the tracks, too large and oddly shaped for any bear.
As I load another round, the memory flashes, unbidden and unwelcome. Large, hairy clawed hands reaching out towards us, impossibly big, grotesque in their form. Yet, the rest of the creature eludes me, a shadow just beyond the edge of my recall, leaving me with nothing but fragmented terrors and Leah’s haunting, echoing screams. My mind blocked most of it out, a self-defense mechanism, I guess.
For years after that day, sleep was a battleground. I'd wake up in strange places—kitchen floor, backyard, even at the edge of the nearby creek. My therapist said it was my mind's way of trying to resolve the unresolved, to wander back through the woods searching for Leah. But all I found in those sleepless nights was a deeper sense of loss.
It took time, a lot of therapy, and patience I didn't know I had, but the sleepwalking did eventually stop. I guess I started to find some semblance of peace.
I have mostly moved on with my life. The fragmentary memories of that day are still there, lurking in the corners of my mind, but they don’t dominate my thoughts like they used to. I just finished my sophomore year at Michigan State, majoring in Environmental Science.
As for Dad, the loss of Leah broke him. He became a shell of himself. It destroyed his marriage with Mom. He blamed himself for letting us out of his sight, for not protecting Leah. His life took on a single, consuming focus: finding the creature that killed her. He read every book, every article on cryptids and unexplained phenomena. He mapped sightings, connected dots across blurry photos and shaky testimonies of the Dogman.
But as the tenth anniversary of Leah’s death approaches, Dad's obsession has grown more intense. He’s started staying up late, poring over his maps and notes, muttering to himself about patterns and cycles. He’s convinced that the dogman reappears every ten years, and this is our window of opportunity to finally hunt it down.
I’m not nearly as convinced. The whole dogman thing seems like a coping mechanism, a way for Dad to channel his guilt and grief into something tangible, something he can fight against. But I decided to tag along on this trip, partly to keep an eye on him, partly because a small part of me hopes that maybe, just maybe, we’ll find some kind of closure out there in the woods.
I finish loading the rifle and set it aside, standing up to stretch my legs. I wipe my greasy hands on an old rag, trying to get rid of the smell. The early morning light is starting to seep into the room, casting long shadows across the floor.
Dad comes out of the kitchen with two thermoses of coffee in hand. His eyes are bleary and tired.
“You ready, Ryan?” he asks, handing me a thermos, his voice rough from too many sleepless nights.
“Yeah, I’m ready,” I reply, trying to sound more confident than I felt.
We load our gear into the truck, the weight of our supplies and weapons a physical reminder of the burden we carry. The drive from Lansing across the Lower Peninsula is long and quiet, the silence between us filled with unspoken memories and unresolved grief.
—
The drive north is a blur of highway lines and the dull hum of the engine. I drift off, the landscape outside blending into a haze. In my sleep, fragments of that day with Leah replay like scattered pieces of a puzzle. I see her smile, the way she tugged at my sleeve, eager to explore. The sunlight filters through the trees in sharp, jagged streaks.
Then, the memory shifts—darker, disjointed. Leah's voice echoes, a playful laugh turning into a scream that pierces the air. The crunch of leaves underfoot as something heavy moves through the underbrush. I see a shadow, large and looming, not quite fitting the shapes of any creature I know.
Then, something darker creeps into the dream, something I’ve never allowed myself to remember clearly.
Before I can see what it is I wake up with a start as the truck jerks slightly on a rough patch of road. Dad glances over. "Bad dream?" he asks. I nod, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, the remnants of the dream clinging to me like the cold.
"Yeah, just... thinking about Leah," I manage to say.
As we drive, Dad attempts to bridge the silence with small talk. He asks about my finals, my plans for the summer, anything to keep the conversation going. His voice carries a forced cheerfulness, but it’s clear his heart isn’t in it. I respond when necessary, my answers brief, my gaze fixed on the passing scenery.
The landscape changes as we head further north, from flat expanses to rolling hills dotted with dense patches of forest. It's beautiful country, the kind that reminds you how vast and wild Michigan can be, but today it just feels oppressive, like it’s closing in on us.
—
We finally arrive at the cabin, nestled deep in the woods, its weathered wood blending seamlessly with the surrounding trees. The place hasn't changed much since the last time I was here—a relic from another time, filled with the echoes of our past. I can still see Leah running around the porch, her laughter ringing out into the forest.
Dad parks the truck, and we step out into the crisp air. The smell of pine and damp earth fills my nostrils. We start unloading our gear, the tension between us palpable.
“Let’s get this inside,” Dad says, his voice gruff as he hefts a duffel bag onto his shoulder.
I nod, grabbing my own bag and following him to the cabin. Inside, it’s a mix of old and new—the same rustic furniture, but with new hunting gear and maps strewn across the table. Dad’s obsession is evident in every corner of the room, a constant reminder of why we’re here.
As we unpack, we exchange strained attempts at normalcy. He talks about the latest cryptid sightings he’s read about, his eyes lighting up with a fervor that both worries and saddens me.
“Did you hear about the sighting up near Alpena?” he asks, laying out his maps on the table.
“Yeah, you mentioned it,” I reply, trying to muster some enthusiasm. “Do you really think there’s something to it?”
Dad’s eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see a flicker of doubt. But it’s quickly replaced by grim determination. “I have to believe it, Ryan. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
We finish unpacking, the silence between us growing heavier with each passing minute. I step outside to clear my head, the cool air a welcome relief. The sun is starting to set, casting long shadows across the clearing. I can’t shake the feeling of unease.
"You can take the upstairs room," Dad mutters. His voice is strained, trying to sound normal, but it's clear the weight of the past is heavy on him. I nod, hauling my backpack up the creaking stairs to the small bedroom that I used to share with Leah. The room feels smaller now, or maybe I've just grown too much since those innocent days.
I unpack silently, setting my things aside. The bed is stiff and cold under my touch. As I settle in, I can't help but glance at the corner where Leah and I would huddle together, whispering secrets and making plans for adventures that would never happen. I push the thoughts away, focusing on the practicalities of unpacking.
After settling in, I go back downstairs to find Dad loading up a backpack with supplies for our hunt. The intensity in his eyes is palpable, his hands moving with practiced precision. I know this routine; it's one he's perfected over countless solo trips since that fateful day.
"We'll head out early," he says, not looking up from his task. "Gotta make the most of the daylight."
I nod, though unease curls in my stomach. I'm not just worried about what we might find—or not find—out there. I'm worried about him. Each year, the obsession seems to carve him out a bit more, leaving less of the Dad I knew.
—
The morning air is sharp with the scent of pine and wet earth as Dad and I head into the deeper parts of the forest. The terrain is rugged, familiar in its untamed beauty, but there’s a tension between us that makes the landscape feel alien. Dad moves with a purposeful stride, his eyes scanning the woods around us. Every snap of a twig, every rustle in the underbrush seems to draw his attention. He’s on edge, and it puts me on edge too.
As we walk, my mind drifts back to that day ten years ago. I can almost hear Leah’s voice echoing through the trees, her high-pitched call as she darted ahead, "Catch me, Ryan!" I remember how the sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dancing shadows on the ground. Those memories are so vivid, so tangible, it feels like I could just turn a corner and see her there, waiting for us.
Dad suddenly stops and kneels, examining the ground. He points out a set of tracks that are too large for a deer, with an unusual gait pattern. "It’s been here, Ry. I’m telling you, it’s close," he whispers, a mixture of excitement and something darker in his voice. I nod, though I’m not sure what to believe. Part of me wants to dismiss it all as grief-fueled obsession, but another part, the part that heard Leah's scream and saw something monstrous in the woods that day, isn’t so sure.
As we continue, Dad's comments become increasingly cryptic. "You know, they say the dogman moves in cycles, drawn to certain places, certain times. Like it’s tied to the land itself," he muses, more to himself than to me. His fixation on the creature has always been intense, but now it borders on mania.
We set up a makeshift blind near a clearing where Dad insists the creature will pass. Hours drag by with little to see but the occasional bird or distant deer.
The sun rises higher in the sky, casting long, slender shadows through the dense canopy. I shift uncomfortably in my spot, the forest floor hard and unyielding beneath me. My eyes dart between the trees, hoping to catch a glimpse of something, anything, to break the monotony. Dad, on the other hand, remains steadfast, his gaze fixed on the treeline as if he can will the dogman into existence by sheer force of will.
A bird chirps nearby, startling me. I sigh and adjust my grip on the rifle. I glance over at Dad.
“Anything?” I ask, more out of boredom than genuine curiosity.
“Not yet,” he replies, his voice tight. “But it’s out there. I know it.”
I nod, even though I’m not sure I believe him. The forest seems too quiet, too still. Maybe we’re chasing ghosts.
As the sun begins its descent, the forest is bathed in a warm, golden light. The air cools, and a breeze rustles the leaves. I shiver, more from anticipation than the cold. The long hours of sitting and waiting are starting to wear on me.
“Let’s call it a day for now,” Dad says finally, his voice heavy with disappointment. “We’ll head back to the cabin, get some rest, and try again tomorrow.”
I stand and stretch, feeling the stiffness in my muscles. We pack up our gear in silence and start the trek back to the cabin. The walk is long and quiet, the only sounds are the crunch of leaves underfoot and the distant calls of birds settling in for the night.
—
Dinner is a quiet affair, both of us lost in our thoughts. I try to make small talk, asking Dad about his plans for tomorrow, but it feels forced. We clean up in silence.
After dinner, I retreat to the small bedroom. The fatigue from the day's hike has settled into my bones, but sleep still feels like a distant hope. I lie down, staring at the ceiling, the room cloaked in darkness save for the sliver of moonlight creeping through the window. Downstairs, I hear the faint sound of Dad moving around, likely unable to sleep himself.
I drift into sleep, but it's not restful. My dreams pull me back to that fateful day in the woods. Leah's voice is clear and vibrant, her laughter echoing through the trees. She looks just as she did then—bright-eyed and full of life, her blonde hair catching the sunlight as she runs ahead of me.
"Come on, Ry! You can't catch me!" she taunts, her voice playful and teasing.
I chase after her, but the scene shifts abruptly. The sky darkens, the woods around us growing dense and foreboding. Leah's laughter fades, replaced by a chilling silence. I see her ahead, standing still, her back to me.
"Leah?" I call out, my voice trembling. She turns slowly, her eyes wide and filled with fear. "Ryan, you have to remember," she says, her voice barely a whisper. "It wasn't what you think. You need to know the truth."
Leah’s words hang in the air, cryptic and unsettling. Before I can respond, she turns and starts running again, her figure becoming a blur among the trees. Panic rises in my chest as I sprint after her, my feet pounding against the forest floor.
“Leah, wait!” I shout, desperation lacing my voice. The forest around me seems to close in, the trees towering and twisted, shadows dancing menacingly in the dim light. I push forward, trying to keep her in sight, but she’s too fast, slipping away like a wisp of smoke.
Suddenly, there’s a rustle, a flash of movement in the corner of my vision. Leah screams, a sound that pierces through the heavy silence. It happens too quickly—I can’t see what it is, only a dark blur that snatches her up.
“Leah!” I scream, my voice breaking. I stumble, falling to my knees as the forest spins around me. My heart races, and the terror is so real, so visceral, that it pulls me back to that awful day, the one that changed everything.
I jolt awake, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I sit up, wiping the cold sweat from my forehead as I try to steady my breathing. The room is still dark, the shadows cast by the moonlight seem to flicker and dance on the walls. My heart is still racing from the nightmare, the echo of Leah's scream lingering in my ears.
As I struggle to calm down, the floorboards outside my room creak. The door opens slowly, and I see the silhouette of my dad in the doorway, a Bowie knife in his hand, his posture tense.
“Dad, what the hell are you doing?” I whisper, my voice shaking.
“Shh,” he hisses, holding up a hand to silence me. “I heard something. Something moving around in the cabin. Stay quiet.”
I swallow hard, my mouth dry. I glance at the clock on the nightstand—it’s just past three in the morning. The cabin is silent, the kind of deep, oppressive silence that makes every small sound seem louder. I can’t hear anything out of the ordinary, but Dad’s expression is deadly serious.
He motions for me to get up, and I do, moving as quietly as I can. My heart is racing, a mix of lingering fear from the dream and the sudden, sharp anxiety of the present moment. Dad leads the way, stepping cautiously out of the bedroom and into the hallway, the knife held ready in front of him.
We move through the cabin, checking each room in turn. The living room is empty, the furniture casting long shadows in the dim moonlight. The kitchen is just as we left it, the plates from dinner still drying on the counter. Everything seems normal, untouched.
We finish our sweep of the cabin without finding anything amiss. The silence is heavy, punctuated only by our soft footfalls. I can see the tension in Dad’s frame, his grip on the knife unwavering. After checking the last room, we pause in the dimly lit hallway, the air thick with unspoken questions.
“There’s nothing here,” I say, my voice low. “Are you sure you heard something?”
He looks at me, his eyes searching for something in my face. “I heard growling. Deep and close. It was right outside the window.”
“Maybe it was just an animal outside, a raccoon or something?” I suggest, although the certainty in his voice makes me doubt my own reassurance.
“No, it wasn’t like that. It was different,” he insists, his voice tense.
I nod, not wanting to argue, but the seeds of worry are planted deep.
The look in his eyes sends a chill down my spine. It’s not just fear—it’s desperation. The kind of desperation that comes from years of chasing shadows and finding nothing. I can see the toll this hunt has taken on him, the way it’s worn him down, turned him into a man I barely recognize.
We head back to our rooms. As I lie down, my mind races with thoughts of my dad. I can’t help but wonder if he’s losing it, if the years of grief and guilt have finally pushed him over the edge.
Dad wasn’t always like this. Before Leah’s death, he was the kind of father who took us fishing, helped with homework, and told terrible jokes that made us groan and laugh at the same time. He was solid, dependable. But losing Leah changed him. The guilt twisted him into someone I barely recognize, someone driven by a need for answers, for closure, that may never come.
I try to sleep, but my thoughts keep me awake. I can hear Dad moving around downstairs, probably pacing or double-checking the locks. His paranoia has become a constant presence, and I don’t know how to help him. I don’t even know if I can help him.
—
The next morning, the sunlight filters weakly through the cabin windows, casting a pale light that does little to lift the heavy mood. I drag myself out of bed, feeling the exhaustion of another restless night. Dad is already up, hunched over his maps at the kitchen table, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep.
“Morning,” I mumble, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I pour myself a cup of coffee. “Did you sleep at all?”
He shakes his head, not looking up from his notes. “Not much. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I heard last night.”
I sip my coffee, trying to shake off the remnants of my nightmare. “Maybe it was just an animal, Dad. We’re deep in the woods, after all.”
He finally looks up, his eyes intense. “Ryan, I know what I heard. It wasn’t just an animal. It was something else.”
I sigh, not wanting to argue. “Okay, fine, Dad. What’s the plan for today?”
“We’re going back out. I found some tracks yesterday, and I want to follow them. See where they lead.”
I nod, feeling a mix of apprehension and resignation. I can see how much this means to him, how desperate he is for any kind of lead. “Alright. Let’s get packed and head out.”
We spend the morning preparing, loading up our gear and double-checking our supplies. Dad is meticulous, going over everything with a fine-toothed comb. I try to match his focus, but my mind keeps drifting back to Leah and the dream I had. Her words echo in my head, cryptic and unsettling: “You need to know the truth.”
We set off into the woods, the air crisp and cool. The forest is alive with the sounds of birds and rustling leaves, but it all feels distant, like background noise to the tension between us. Dad leads the way, his eyes scanning the ground for any sign of the tracks he found yesterday.
As we walk, I can’t help but notice how erratically he’s acting. He mutters to himself, his eyes darting around as if expecting something to jump out at us. His grip on his rifle is tight, his knuckles white.
“Dad, are you okay?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
He glances at me, his expression unreadable. “I’m fine. Just focused.”
He stops frequently to examine the ground or the bark of trees, pointing out marks and signs that seem meaningless to me.
“Look at this,” he says, crouching down to examine a broken branch. “See how it’s snapped? That’s not a deer or a bear. That’s something bigger. Stronger.”
I crouch next to Dad, squinting at the broken branch. To me, it just looks like a regular broken branch, the kind you see all over the forest. "I don't know, Dad. It just looks like a branch to me," I say, trying to keep my voice neutral.
Dad's eyes flicker with frustration. "You're not looking close enough. It's the way it's snapped—too clean, too deliberate. Something did this."
I nod, not wanting to argue. "Okay, sure. But even if you're right, it could be anything. A storm, another hunter..."
His expression hardens. "I know what I'm looking for. This is different."
I sigh, feeling the weight of the past and the tension between us pressing down on me. "Dad, I had a dream last night. About Leah." The words hang in the air between us, heavy and fraught with unspoken emotions.
Dad's eyes widen, and he straightens up, his entire demeanor shifting. "What kind of dream? What did you see?" His voice is urgent, almost desperate.
"It was... strange. We were in the woods, like we are now, but everything felt different. Leah was there, running ahead of me, laughing. Then she stopped and told me I needed to know the truth, that it wasn't what I thought."
Dad grabs my shoulders, his grip tight. "What else did she say? Did she tell you anything specific? Anything about the creature?"
I shake my head, feeling a chill run down my spine. "No, that was it. She just said I needed to know the truth, and then she was gone."
Dad’s grip on my shoulders tightens, and his eyes bore into mine with a mixture of desperation and hope. “Ryan, you have to try to remember. Think hard. What did the creature look like? Did you see anything else?”
I pull back slightly, uneasy with his intensity. “Dad, I told you. I don’t remember. It was just a dream. A nightmare, really. My mind’s probably just mixing things up.”
He lets go of me and runs a hand through his hair, looking frustrated and lost. “Dreams can be important. They can hold memories we’ve buried deep. Please, try to remember. This could be a sign, a clue.”
I rub my temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache. “I’ve tried, okay? I’ve tried for years to piece together what happened that day. But it’s all just fragments, like pieces of a puzzle that don’t fit. The dream… it felt real, but I don’t think it’s telling me anything new.”
Dad’s face falls, and he looks older than I’ve ever seen him. He turns away, staring into the forest as if it holds all the answers.
—
As we make our way back to the cabin, the sun begins to set, casting long shadows through the trees. The air grows colder, and I shiver, pulling my jacket tighter around me. Dad is silent, lost in his thoughts, his face drawn and haggard.
Back at the cabin, we unload our gear once again in silence. Dad disappears into his room, muttering something about going over his notes. I decide to explore the cabin, hoping to find something that might help me understand what’s going on with him.
In the attic, I find a box of old family photos and documents. As I sift through the contents, I come across a worn journal with Dad’s handwriting on the cover. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I open it, flipping through the pages.
The journal is filled with notes and sketches, detailing his obsession with the dogman. But there’s something else—entries that talk about Leah, about that day in the woods. His handwriting becomes more erratic, the words harder to read. One entry stands out, dated just a few days after Leah’s death:
“June 15, 2013 – It was supposed to be a normal trip. Keep them close, Frank, I kept telling myself. But I failed. Leah is gone, and it’s my fault. I heard her scream, saw the shadows. I tried to get to her, but… the thing, it was there. Too fast. Too strong. My hands… blood everywhere. No one will believe me. I can’t even believe myself. I have to find it. I have to protect Ryan. I have to make it right. God, what have I done?”
Before I can read further, the attic door creaks open, and Dad’s voice slices through the stillness.
“What are you doing up here?” His tone is sharp, almost panicked.
I turn to see him standing in the doorway, his face pale and his eyes wide with something between anger and fear. I clutch the journal to my chest, my mind racing. “I found this… I was just trying to understand…”
In an instant, he crosses the room and snatches the journal from my hands. His grip is tight, his knuckles white. “You had no right,” he growls, his voice trembling.
“Dad, I just wanted to know the truth!” I shout, frustration boiling over. “What really happened to Leah.”
His eyes flash with a mix of rage and anguish, and before I can react, he slaps me across the face. The force of it knocks me off balance, and I stumble backward, my cheek stinging.
For a moment, there’s a stunned silence. We both stand there, breathing hard, the air thick with tension.
“I’m sorry,” Dad says finally, his voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t mean to… I just…” He trails off, clutching the journal to his chest like a lifeline.
I touch my cheek, feeling the heat from the slap, and take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “Dad, what aren’t you telling me? What really happened that day?”
“Stay out of it, Ryan,” Dad growls, his eyes dark with anger. “You don’t know what you’re messing with.”
He turns and storms out of the attic. I’m left standing there, my cheek throbbing, my mind racing. What the fuck is going on? What really happened to Leah? And what is Dad so afraid of?
—
That night, I sleep with my rifle within arm's reach, more afraid of my dad than any dogman. The slap still burns on my cheek, and the look in his eyes—rage, fear, something darker—haunts me. I lie awake, listening to the creaks and groans of the old cabin, every sound amplified in the stillness. Eventually, exhaustion pulls me under, and I fall into a restless sleep.
The dream returns, vivid and unsettling. I'm back in the woods, chasing after Leah. Her laughter echoes through the trees, a haunting reminder of happier times. This time, though, I push myself harder, refusing to let her slip away.
"Ryan, catch me!" she calls, her voice playful.
"I'm coming, Leah!" I shout, my legs pumping, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
The forest around us is a twisted, shadowy maze, the trees seeming to close in on us. Leah's figure becomes clearer, her blonde hair catching the dim light filtering through the canopy. She stops suddenly, turning to face me, her eyes wide with fear.
"Leah, what is it?" I ask, my voice trembling.
"Look behind you," she whispers, her voice barely audible.
I turn slowly, dread creeping up my spine. In the shadows, I see a figure, its form indistinct and shifting. It’s not quite animal, not quite human—something in between. The sight of it sends a jolt of terror through me, and I wake up with a start, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I’m not in my bed. The ground beneath me is cold and hard, the smell of damp earth filling my nostrils. Panic rises as I realize I’ve sleepwalked into the woods. I scramble to my feet, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. The moon casts a pale glow over the surroundings, revealing what looks like a long-abandoned animal lair.
The walls are covered in giant claw marks, deep gouges in the wood and earth. The air is heavy with the scent of decay, and a chill runs through me. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched.
Carefully, I start to move, my eyes scanning the ground, desperate for a familiar landmark. That's when I see them—faded scraps of fabric caught on the jagged edges of the underbrush. My steps falter, a sense of dread washing over me as I bend down to examine them. The fabric is torn, weathered by time and the elements, but unmistakably familiar. It's part of Leah's jacket—the bright pink one she wore on the day she disappeared.
As I strain to make sense of it all, a rustling sound behind me snaps my focus. My heart leaps into my throat. I spin around, my hand instinctively reaching for the rifle I don't have—because, of course, I didn't bring it in my unconscious state.
The shadowy figure that emerges from the trees is unsettlingly familiar, mirroring the menacing forms of my nightmares. But as it steps into the moonlight, I recognize the worn jacket, the weary posture. It's Dad.
"Ryan!" he calls out, his voice a mix of relief and stern concern. "I've been looking everywhere for you. What the hell are you doing out here?"
I exhale slowly, the terror ebbing away as reality sets back in. "I—I don't know, Dad. I must've sleepwalked again." My voice is shaky, my earlier dream still clinging to the edges of my consciousness.
Dad stares at me in disbelief. "You haven't sleepwalked since you were a kid, Ry. This... this isn't just a coincidence." His eyes dart around, taking in the surroundings—the eerie, claw-marked den, the unsettling quiet of the woods. "How did you even find this place?"
I shake my head, struggling to find an answer. "I don't know, Dad. I just... I woke up here." The uncertainty in my voice does nothing to ease the tension.
His eyes lock onto the tattered remains of Leah's jacket in my hands, and something inside him snaps. The color drains from his face as he stumbles a few steps backward. "This... this is where it happened," he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper. “This is where we found Leah."
“I thought you said you don’t remember anything from that night,” he says accusingly.
"I swear, Dad, I don't know anything about this place," I insist, my own heart pounding.
“It was you, wasn’t it? You’ve been hiding this from me.” His voice is frantic. “You... last night, the growling, it was you.” His voice rises, tinged with hysteria.
I step back, my pulse racing, feeling the chill of the night and the weight of his accusation. "Dad, I don't know what you're talking ab—”
"No!" he interrupts, his voice breaking as he points a trembling finger at me. "You knew, you always knew. It was you, Ryan. All these years, the evidence was right there, but I refused to see it. You were the dogman. You killed Leah!"
His words hit me like a physical blow, absurd and horrifying in their implications. "Dad, you're not making any sense. You're talking crazy! I was just a little kid! How could I–" I protest, my voice shaky.
He steps closer, his presence looming over me, the outline of his figure distorted by the shadows of the trees. "Think about it! It all makes sense now. You led us here, to this place, because you remember. Because you did it."
"Dad, stop it!" I shout, my heart pounding in my chest. "You're scaring me. You need help, professional help. This isn't you."
But he's beyond reason, his eyes wild with a haunted grief. "I have to end this," he mutters, more to himself than to me, his hand tightening around his rifle.
His finger hovers dangerously over the trigger of his rifle. My instincts kick in, and I know I have to act fast.
I lunge toward him, trying to knock the weapon away, but he's quicker than I expected. We struggle, our breaths heavy in the cold night air, the sounds of our scuffle the only noise in the otherwise silent woods. His strength surprises me, fueled by his frantic emotions. He shoves me back, and I stumble over a root, my balance lost for a crucial second. That's all he needs. He raises his rifle, his intentions clear in his wild, pained eyes.
I dive to the ground just as the shot rings out, a deafening blast that echoes ominously through the trees. The bullet whizzes past, narrowly missing me, embedding itself in the bark of an old pine. I scramble to my feet, my heart pounding in my ears, and I start running. The underbrush claws at my clothes and skin, but I push through, driven by a primal urge to survive.
"Dad, stop! It's me, Ryan!" I shout back as I dodge between the trees. Another shot breaks the silence, closer this time, sending splinters of wood flying from a nearby tree trunk. It's surreal, being hunted by my own father, a man tormented by grief and lost in his delusions.
I don't stop to look back. I can hear him crashing through the forest behind me, his heavy breaths and muttered curses carried on the wind. The terrain is rough, and I'm fueled by adrenaline, but exhaustion is setting in. I need a plan.
Ahead, I see a rocky outcrop and make a split-second decision to head for it. It offers a chance to hide, to catch my breath and maybe reason with him if he catches up. As I reach the rocks, I slip behind the largest one, my body pressed tight against the cold, damp surface. I hear his footsteps approaching, slow and cautious now.
As I press against the rock, trying to calm my racing heart, I can hear Dad's footsteps drawing closer, each step crunching ominously on the forest floor. He's methodical, deliberate, like a hunter stalking his prey.
“Come out, Ryan!” Dad’s voice is ragged, filled with a blend of fury and pain.
My heart pounds against my chest, the cold sweat on my back making me shiver against the rough surface of the rock. I know I can't just sit here; it's only a matter of time before he finds me.
Taking a deep breath, I peek around the edge of the rock, trying to gauge his position. I see him, rifle raised, scanning the area slowly. This might be my only chance to end this madness without further violence. I need to disarm him, to talk some sense into him if I can.
As quietly as I can, I move out from behind the rock, my steps careful to avoid any twigs or leaves that might betray my position. I'm almost upon him when a branch snaps under my foot—a sound so trivial yet so alarmingly loud in the quiet of the woods.
Dad whirls around, looking completely unhinged. "Ryan!" he exclaims, his rifle swinging in my direction. Panic overtakes me, and I lunge forward, my hands reaching for the gun.
We struggle, the rifle between us, our breaths heavy and erratic. "Dad, please, stop!" I plead, trying to wrestle the gun away. But he's strong, stronger than I expected.
In the chaos, the rifle goes off. The sound is deafening, a sharp echo that seems to reverberate off every tree around us. Pain explodes in my abdomen, sharp and burning, like nothing I've ever felt before. I stagger back, my hands instinctively going to the wound. The warmth of my own blood coats my fingers, stark and terrifying.
Dad drops the rifle, his eyes wide with horror. "Oh my God! What have I done?" he gasps, rushing to my side as I collapse onto the forest floor.
As the pain sears through me, a strange, overpowering energy surges within. It's wild, primal, unlike anything I've ever experienced. Looking down in horror, my hands are no longer hands but large, hairy, clawed appendages. The transformation is rapid, consuming—my vision blurs, senses heighten, and a raw, guttural growl builds in my throat.
In that moment, a flood of understanding washes over me, mingling with the horror of realization. These are the hands of the creature from my nightmares, the creature whose face I can never fully recall because, as I now understand, it is me.
What happens next feels detached, as if I'm no longer in control of my own actions, watching from a distance as my body moves on its own. I turn towards my dad, his face a mask of terror. He stumbles back, his eyes wide with the dawning realization of what his son has become.
The forest around us seems to fall silent, holding its breath as the nightmarish scene unfolds. I can hear my own growls, guttural and deep, filling the air with a sound that's both foreign and intimately familiar. The pain in my abdomen fuels a dark, violent urge, an urge that's too strong to resist.
With a ferocity that feels both alien and intrinsic, I move towards him. My dad, paralyzed by fear and shock, doesn't run. Maybe he can't. Maybe he doesn't want to.
The encounter was brutal and swift, a blur of motion and violence. My dad barely puts up a struggle, as though resigned to his fate.
Not that there is anything he can do. The creature that I’ve become is too powerful, too consumed by the wild instincts surging through me. I tear him apart, limb from bloody limb, my hands—no, my claws—rending through fabric and flesh with disgusting ease.
The sound of my dad’s screams, of tearing fabric and flesh is drowned out by the animalistic growls that echo through the trees.
When it’s all over, the red mist that had clouded my vision begins to fade, and the fierce, uncontrollable rage that drove my actions subsides. I'm left standing, my breaths heavy and erratic, in the eerie stillness of the forest. The transformation reverses as quickly as it came on, and I find myself back in my human form. My clothes are ripped to shreds, hanging off my frame in tattered remnants. At my feet lies what’s left of my dad, his body torn and unrecognizable.
I glance down at my abdomen, expecting agony, but instead find my wound miraculously healed. No sign of the gunshot remains, just a faint scar where I expected a bloody mess.
Shock sets in, a numbing disbelief mixed with a gut-wrenching realization of what I've become and what I've done. My hands, now human again, tremble as I look at them, half-expecting to see the claws that had so effortlessly ripped through flesh and bone. But there's only blood, my father's blood against my skin.
I stand there for what feels like an eternity, trapped in a nightmare of my own making.
Eventually, the shock wears thin, and a cold practicality takes hold. I need to get out of here. I need to cover my tracks, to disappear. Because who would believe this? Who would understand that I didn't choose this, that I'm not a monster by choice?
With trembling hands, I do what’s necessary. I bury my dad in a shallow grave, the physical act of digging strangely grounding. I cover him with leaves and branches, a pitiful attempt to hide the brutality of his end. I take a moment, whispering apologies into the wind, knowing full well that nothing I say can change what happened.
I leave the forest behind, my mind a whirl of dark thoughts. As I walk, the first hints of dawn brush against the horizon, the sky bleeding a soft pink. It’s hauntingly beautiful.
2024.05.19 09:03 GuiltlessMaple Best Carbon Remover Solvent
 | submitted by GuiltlessMaple to u/GuiltlessMaple [link] [comments] https://preview.redd.it/3d40632m0c1d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=212d35c5dedd117e1e3c90307bc3df204cf23cc4 Welcome to our comprehensive review of the top carbon remover solvents in the market. If you're struggling with stubborn carbon deposits and stains, we've got you covered. Our in-depth analysis will help you find the perfect solution for your cleaning needs. So sit back, relax, and let us guide you through the world of carbon remover solvents! The Top 19 Best Carbon Remover Solvent
Reviews🔗Powerful Carbon Remover Solvent for Deep Cleaning Metal Surfaceshttps://preview.redd.it/6qwmhtgm0c1d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=612ddc421a8b604a777eb76f4174127f8ec7c07f Using the Carbon-Off Gel, I was surprised by just how powerful it was in removing carbon buildup from my metal surfaces. I initially applied it on my griddle, which was incredibly coated with carbon, and to my delight, it worked wonders. The gel's fast-acting formula saved me time and effort that I would have spent scrubbing thoroughly. However, I encountered a slightly concerning issue when I accidentally sprayed some on my kitchen mixer. The gel stripped the paint right off, leaving a shiny metallic surface. It's evident that this product is highly potent, and caution should be exercised to avoid any unintentional damage. Proper safety measures like gloves and eyewear are strongly advised. Overall, Carbon-Off Gel is an effective solution for cleaning carbon buildup on metal surfaces. Its efficiency and quick action are undeniable, but users should be mindful of its potency to prevent any unintended consequences. 🔗Comprehensive USA-Made Carbon Remover and Solventhttps://preview.redd.it/3ywtm50n0c1d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=8bd5cc6c8e94ba001a102c03afb8eff11606a6e6 I've been using the Comstar Zip Clean for a while now, and I must say, it's been quite the lifesaver! This heavy-duty metal degreaser and carbon cleaner easily tackles mineral oil-based oils and hardened carbon. What I love most about it is the convenience of the jet spray machine or dip cleaner for non-aluminum parts. It makes cleaning so much more efficient and less messy. As for the company, ComStar International Inc. , they're truly leading the way in environmentally safe, industrial strength chemical products. Their dedication to creating a more extensive range of specialty products is impressive. Plus, being a proudly American-made product, it's great to know where it comes from. However, like anything, there are a few downsides too. For instance, it can be a bit harsh on certain surfaces, so it's essential to use it with caution. Also, it's not recommended for aluminum parts, so always make sure you're using it on the right materials. Overall, the Comstar Zip Clean is a reliable, efficient, and eco-friendly product that I've grown to rely on in my daily life. 🔗Carbon Remover Solvent: Deep Engine Cleaning for Optimal Performancehttps://preview.redd.it/9anv0wdn0c1d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=5b9349d8558f7d44282f77c85c80862d54dcf542 As a car enthusiast, I've tried many engine cleaners, but none quite like the XADO Engine Oil System Cleaner with Anti-Carbon Effect. With its deep engine cleaning properties, it eliminated all sorts of contaminants and sludge from my engine's oil system, resulting in improved performance. One of the highlights for me was its versatility, as it was suitable for all engine types, including turbo-supercharged engines. It was easy to use too - simply add it to my engine oil before an oil change. However, I did notice one downside - it's not the most cost-effective product on the market. But overall, the XADO Engine Oil System Cleaner exceeded my expectations. It not only improved my engine's performance but also gave me peace of mind knowing that I was taking proper care of my car's engine. Highly recommended for those looking for a top-notch engine cleaner! 🔗Phosphate-Free Carbon Remover Solvent for Ovens, Fryers, and Rotisserieshttps://preview.redd.it/c26two0o0c1d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=e5af20b85a6c26e0710c5000f8a7d7e938044db5 Using the Carbon-Off 20619 Foam Plus Cleaner in my own kitchen has been a game-changer. This 19 oz. canister of oven cleaner can handle the toughest grease and grime, making it perfect for my busy life. The foam clings to various surfaces, easily dissolving the carbon mess I've built up over time. I appreciate that it's phosphate-free and nonflammable, giving me peace of mind during cleaning. Although it has a strong smell, it doesn't leave any toxic fumes or residues, making my kitchen feel fresh after use. But using gloves is essential due to its potency. Overall, this product has made my cleaning routine a breeze, and I highly recommend it to anyone who needs a powerful yet safe oven cleaner. 🔗C4 Carbon Remover: Effective and Safe Gun Cleaning Solutionhttps://preview.redd.it/za41tvgo0c1d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=251acd39e5449bc8887bde1a714a9b4376df3920 I've been using the Bore Tech C4 Carbon Remover 16 oz like a mad gunsmith. The fact that it's specifically designed for removing sticky carbon residues without the stink, toxicity, or mess makes it an absolute game-changer. This stuff deep cleans and effectively neutralizes the corrosive underbelly of build-up, turning my once dull firearms into shining pieces of beauty. It's the perfect fit for barrels, bolts, and other nifty parts where carbon has been known to thrive. What impressed me the most is the quality. This is Made in the U. S, so I felt a bit of pride whenever I used it. It's safe, too, and perfect for gun enthusiasts who hate dealing with the harsh chemicals found in other cleaners. With this in hand, I can safely say that my firearms are more efficient and in better condition than ever before. If you're looking for a reliable and effective carbon remover, look no further than the Bore Tech C4 Carbon Remover 16 oz. 🔗Advanced Carbon Cleaner for Gasoline & Diesel Engineshttps://preview.redd.it/ekyszauo0c1d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=16e3ed72560a7e4fb2cc84a2008994b4305fd267 As a reviewer, I've been using Motor Power Care's Advanced Carbon Cleaner for my gasoline engine, and I must say, it has been a game-changer. The product's formula, containing advanced technology, helps reach deep areas and dissolve and remove carbon deposits with ease. It's non-corrosive and safe for both gasoline and diesel engines, making it a versatile option for different engine types. One of the most notable aspects of this cleaner is its ease of use. Simply shake the can, warm up the engine, and spray the cleaner into the combustion chamber through an access port. Let it react for 20 minutes, then extract the resulting emulsion with a vacuum. Repeat this process for each cylinder, and the engine will thank you with improved performance and efficiency. However, it's not all sunshine and rainbows. I encountered a minor issue during my testing phase. I had to use a vacuum to clean the resulting emulsion, which, although convenient, required me to invest in a vacuum cleaner if I didn't already have one. Overall, Motor Power Care's Advanced Carbon Cleaner has been a fantastic addition to my engine maintenance routine, and I wouldn't hesitate to recommend it to others in search of an effective and easy-to-use carbon cleaner. 🔗High-Performance Carbon Remover for Metal Surfaceshttps://preview.redd.it/2fffh8cp0c1d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=1c31511b0ee0fda9f68b2729c154c7b46c6b716c The CARBON-OFF Heavy Duty Carbon Remover is a game-changer for anyone dealing with stubborn carbon buildup on various surfaces. Recently, I tried it out on my barbecue grill, and let me tell you, it worked wonders! The gel formula is simple to apply and the wait time is flexible, depending on the extent of the buildup. It's also safe for use on aluminum. However, I'd be remiss not to mention that some of the chemicals in the formula had a strong smell that lingered a bit after use. But, the convenience of easily removing carbon without having to scrub for hours made the slight inconvenience worth it. In conclusion, if you're looking for a quick and effective solution to combat carbon buildup, give the CARBON-OFF Heavy Duty Carbon Remover a try. It's a lifesaver for those who hate cleaning their grills. 🔗Polaris Carbon Clean - Off-Road Fuel System and Carburetor Cleanerhttps://preview.redd.it/lxz5ionp0c1d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=045b2857ce28fd70e30f92fdb5102fe550e50c82 During my time spent with the Polaris Carbon Clean, I found it to be an essential tool for my outdoor adventures. I particularly appreciated the new advanced formula that provides a 5-1 treat ratio, making it the ultimate fuel and injection system cleaner. The alcohol-free formula is safe for all powersports applications and ethanol-compatible. One of the product's highlights was the prevention of ethanol corrosion, which helped to stabilize my fuel and keep my engine running smoothly. The carbon clean solution effectively cleaned my carburetor jets and fuel injector nozzles, as well as removing deposits on my piston. The attached measuring cup was a handy bonus, ensuring exact measurements for a cleaner and more efficient fuel system. However, I noticed that the product did not come with any warranty information, which may be a concern for some users. Overall, the Polaris Carbon Clean was an excellent addition to my off-road arsenal, helping me maintain my Polaris machines and enjoy my outdoor experiences with increased confidence. 🔗5 L Walter Surface Technologies Heavy Duty Stainless Steel Weld Cleaning Solutionhttps://preview.redd.it/b8sw9azp0c1d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=bda6af7b7cfb0363795aa712c64f3cb4c582c97e Recently, I needed to clean up some stubborn and oxidized stainless steel parts I had been working on. The Walter Surface Technologies 54A006 Weld Cleaning Solution caught my eye, and I decided to give it a try. The 5 L container was easy to pour and use, making the cleaning process a breeze. The highlight of this cleaning solution was its ability to remove even the toughest contaminants like rust and scale without any issues. After using it, the stainless steel parts looked as good as new, and I could see why it's called a heavy-duty electrolyte solution. The product's non-toxic nature and CFIA & South Coast Air Quality Management District (SCAQMD), NSF certification made me feel confident about handling and using it. However, I must admit that the 54A006SURFOX-T Heavy Duty Electrolyte Solution worked a bit faster at times than I expected, but that didn't take away from its effectiveness. The only downside was that the cleaning solution had a mild odor, which wasn't very pleasant to work with. In conclusion, the Walter Surface Technologies 54A006 Weld Cleaning Solution proved to be a reliable and efficient product for cleaning and restoring the appearance and integrity of stainless steel parts. Its heavy-duty formulation and non-toxic nature make it a go-to choice for those seeking a corrosion-resistant and long-lasting solution for their workpieces. 🔗High-Performance Carbon Remover Solvent for Cleaning All Metals and Plasticshttps://preview.redd.it/pmhvedeq0c1d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=88871fe331c600d3785502b7c94d681ca8dd24e8 I recently used the Blaster Parts Washer Solvent in my garage to clean up some greasy engine parts, and I must say, it certainly lived up to its name. This solvent can cut through cutting oil and motor oils with ease, leaving parts residue-free and sparkling clean. The high flashpoint formula at 145°F ensures it's safe to use on all metals, most plastics, and even painted surfaces without causing any damage. I was particularly impressed with the way it performed on my metal and paint pieces. The only downside I experienced was that it seemed to wear away the paint on the parts washers themselves. Despite this minor issue, I would still recommend the Blaster Parts Washer Solvent for its stellar all-around performance. 🔗Safe, Effective Carbon Remover for Gun Cleaninghttps://preview.redd.it/yuallatq0c1d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=6f4037a4a702fcfc7b8636382458115317988f74 As a gun enthusiast, I was always on the lookout for a reliable and safe cleaning solution for my firearms. That's when I stumbled upon the Carbon Pro 16oz Trigger Spray. The first thing I noticed was its versatile size options, which meant I could conveniently carry it with me on my hunting trips. Upon trying it out, I noticed the cleaner was ammonia-free and water-based, which made it a safer choice for me and the environment. The proprietary blend of chemical surfactants and detergents in Carbon Pro effectively removed heavy carbon and lead deposits from the bore of my firearms without causing any damage to the steel surface. The lack of noxious fumes and hazardous chemicals made Carbon Pro a safer alternative to traditional gun bore cleaners. Plus, it actually worked! I appreciated how the gun cleaner spray bottle made it easy to target and thoroughly clean the bore. Overall, my experience with the Carbon Pro was great, and I highly recommend it to fellow firearm enthusiasts looking for a reliable and safe cleaning solution. Its effectiveness and ammonia-free formula make it a standout product in the market. 🔗Reliable Carbon Remover for Emissions Test Pass - CRC 05063https://preview.redd.it/mmgvzocr0c1d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=6cc0084362297182c25b3c6c9416226cc14aaf11 I recently tried the CRC 05063 Guaranteed to Pass Emissions Test Formula, and I must say, it made a noticeable difference in my car's performance. The powerful detergent additives truly super-cleaned the entire fuel system, reducing emissions and improving my car's overall performance in just one tank full. One of the highlights of this product has been the significant improvement in fuel economy and acceleration. As someone who relies heavily on my car for daily life, this was a truly game-changing feature that I haven't experienced with gas treatments before. However, there were a few minor downsides to note. Although the product is advertised as suitable for all fuel types, there were instances where the fuel economy didn't improve as much as expected. Additionally, there were instances where the car's performance didn't show an immediate improvement, which left me feeling a bit skeptical about the product's effectiveness. Despite these minor drawbacks, I ultimately found the CRC 05063 Guaranteed to Pass Emissions Test Formula to be a worthwhile investment in maintaining my car's performance and emissions standards. Buyer's Guidehttps://preview.redd.it/p54adbhu0c1d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=a943c5937ed1c96e3aec8942a0b3f23e5e6d674d None FAQhttps://preview.redd.it/195ittou0c1d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=d739559d6ff65286f069e9cae8a04c279168c336 What is Carbon Remover Solvent?Carbon Remover Solvent is an effective cleaning solution designed to remove carbon buildup and grime from various surfaces. Its unique blend of chemicals makes it an ideal choice for removing grease, oil, and other nasty substances.What are the benefits of using Carbon Remover Solvent?https://preview.redd.it/e73p907v0c1d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=70d36cc7c53b8c0a1df1bfcf3959f7210917a922
Is Carbon Remover Solvent safe for use in my car?Yes, Carbon Remover Solvent is safe for use in cars and on various vehicle surfaces. It is designed to dissolve carbon buildup and grease without damaging the paint or other components of your car. https://preview.redd.it/gxw78gqv0c1d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=27e3c8be821ca10991a546e8aba928d682c9cde9 How do I use Carbon Remover Solvent?
Are there any precautions I should take when using Carbon Remover Solvent?When using Carbon Remover Solvent, be sure to wear gloves and work in a well-ventilated area to avoid inhalation of the solvent fumes. It is also recommended to perform a patch test on a small, inconspicuous area first to ensure compatibility with the surface you are cleaning.What is the best way to store Carbon Remover Solvent?Carbon Remover Solvent should be stored in a cool, dry place away from direct sunlight. It is important to keep the container tightly sealed to prevent contamination and maintain the solvent's effectiveness.As an Amazon™ Associate, we earn from qualifying purchases. |
2024.05.19 08:59 Stage-Piercing727 Best Carbon Fiber Knife
 | submitted by Stage-Piercing727 to u/Stage-Piercing727 [link] [comments] https://preview.redd.it/pyjeqa520c1d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=81f14f00047544270b7c8bcfbe0be78e1fbcfe52 Welcome to our product rounded-up article featuring the sleek and versatile Carbon Fiber Knife. This cutting-edge innovation combines the durability of carbon fiber with the precision of its sharp and sturdy blade. Prepare to journey through the top-rated Carbon Fiber Knife selections available on the market today, as we walk you through their features, benefits, and expert reviews. Get ready to elevate your culinary experiences with this game-changing kitchen essential. The Top 6 Best Carbon Fiber Knife
Reviews🔗Fox Livri: Stainless Steel Slim Pocket Knife with Carbon Fiber Handlehttps://preview.redd.it/kozpqjh20c1d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=bd60b7186397f6e59bd117118bf9f631df21b729 The Fox Livri carbon fiber pocket knife is a sleek and stylish addition to your everyday carry. Handcrafted in Italy with top-quality materials, it boasts a blade made of M390 stainless steel, known for its sharpness and hardness. The black carbon fiber handle not only adds a touch of elegance but also ensures strength and durability, weighing just 1.6 ounces. The knife comes with a leather pouch for convenient storage and even has a steel lin. 🔗Stylish & Robust Modern Hunting Knife with Full Tang by Garberghttps://preview.redd.it/lw4rcgx20c1d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=f3924dedecb53c55068672d82d9968b8e49c4a1b The Garberg Carbon Steel outdoor knife is a true workhorse for those who love the great outdoors. With a full tang design and advanced mounting options, it's the perfect companion for adventurers facing various challenging situations. The Morakniv Multi-Mount system provides numerous attachment choices to keep the knife safe and secure. One of the highlights of this knife is its compatibility with fire starters, making it an essential tool for camping or survival scenarios. The protective black DLC-coating on the blade prevents reflections and keeps everything under control. The ergonomic handle, made of polyamide, offers a soft friction grip, finger guard, and a 3.2mm-thick carbon steel blade for both strength and stability during all cuts. While carbon steel can rust, the knife is designed to easily wipe and oil itself after use. The durable leather sheath attaches easily to your belt, making the Garberg Carbon Steel an even better choice for outdoor enthusiasts. With the knife's high rating, it's clear that this product is well-loved amongst customers, and its ease of use and long-lasting durability make it a great investment for anyone seeking a reliable outdoor knife. 🔗Tactical Damascus Steel Fixed Blade Knife with Carbon Fiber Handlehttps://preview.redd.it/e8owjjc30c1d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=3aeb556334f2685c04484d3634fa32be4c65bd13 The Civivi Midwatch Damascus Twill Carbon Fiber is a must-have for anyone who appreciates a knife that's as functional as it is beautiful. I've been using this knife for a couple of weeks now, and I must say, it has truly lived up to all my expectations. The full-tang construction and Damascus steel blade provide a level of durability and sharpness that I've come to expect from high-quality fixed blade knives. One feature that really caught my eye is the twill carbon fiber handle. It not only adds an element of beauty to the knife, but it also provides a comfortable and secure grip, ensuring that your hand doesn't slip even when the task at hand requires a firm grip. While the knife is perfect for tactical purposes and outdoor activities, I do wish it came in a larger size, as I sometimes find myself yearning for a little more reach. However, this minor drawback is easily overshadowed by the overall quality and design of the knife. If you're in the market for a unique and reliable fixed blade knife, the Civivi Midwatch is definitely worth considering. 🔗Slim, High-Quality S35VN Stainless Steel Slip Joint Pocket Knifehttps://preview.redd.it/f6a78ax30c1d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=dff9773bdaabdfb4d45e92007cc0563ad088c280 One sunny afternoon, I found myself in need of a pocket knife while exploring a local nature reserve. I had my eye on the Kansept Bevy, a sleek and stylish slip joint folder known for its exceptional build quality and precise manufacture. With its under three-inch, non-locking blade, the Kansept Bevy is perfectly legal to carry in the UK and I was able to confidently bring it along with me on my adventure. The blade is made of S35VN stainless steel, one of the sharpest, hardest, and most durable options on the market. I was blown away by how effortlessly it sliced through branches and other obstacles I encountered. The clip point style and generous handle pay homage to traditional knife designs, but with the added bonus of high-tech carbon fiber construction. This lightweight yet strong material not only feels fantastic in hand but also adds a touch of style that sets the Kansept Bevy apart from other pocket knives. The handle is securely secured with a nylon and leather pouch for safe storage and convenient carrying. Overall, using the Kansept Bevy pocket knife was a true delight. Its combination of modern materials, traditional design, and reliable performance made it a welcome addition to my daily life and travel endeavors. 🔗Benchmade Meatcrafter 15500OR-2 Fixed Blade Knife - Premium Cutting Experiencehttps://preview.redd.it/9rzk6hd40c1d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=7c16c0d1925d7b60baab5c21b9cc1d212bb36a63 Savor the perfect cut with the Benchmade Meatcrafter. I recently had the pleasure of using this knife for cooking at home and it was nothing short of a game-changer. The sleek, striking black and orange design caught my eye instantly, but it's the functionality where it truly shines. The razor-sharp blade made of cpm s45vn stainless steel and the lightweight carbon fiber handle made boning and filleting a breeze. It's built specifically for those push cuts, which is perfect for my daily cooking needs. I've been extremely happy with my choice and wouldn't want to go back to a less efficient and less satisfying cutting experience. 🔗Ultra Lightweight 440C Stainless Carbon Fiber Pocket Knifehttps://preview.redd.it/fhqhk6n40c1d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=99fdc123db5374196f30480bf95b3a9f1b9a157a I was recently introduced to the Fox 573 Carbon Fibre pocket knife, and let me tell you, it's a game changer in the world of every day carry knives. At only 1.1 oz, this lightweight companion is perfect for slipping into the deep recesses of your pockets. The blade, made from 440C stainless steel, is sturdy and sharp enough for cutting tasks but not too intimidating for the average guy. The back lock mechanism is firm and secure, providing peace of mind when you're using this knife day in and day out. But it's the handle that truly steals the show. Crafted from carbon fiber, it's both strong and stunningly beautiful. Top it off with a lanyard hole and a carbon fibre effect leather pouch, and you've got a knife that's every bit as practical as it is elegant. Of course, nothing is perfect. While I appreciate the Italian craftsmanship, I can't help but wish for a few more color options for the sheath. Still, overall, the Fox 573 Carbon Fibre is a reliable and sophisticated addition to any pocket knife enthusiast's collection. Buyer's GuideWhen looking for the perfect carbon fiber knife, there are several key factors to consider to ensure you end up with a high-quality product that suits your specific needs. https://preview.redd.it/ev25t3350c1d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=5ce085e5f67b1c2581cd8a48c73c7f1e1f378590 Material QualityThe material quality of a carbon fiber knife is of utmost importance. Look for knives made from top-grade carbon fiber, which is strong, lightweight, and very durable. A quality knife will have a uniform texture and color, free of defects like scratches, blemishes, or excessive wear.Blade Type and ShapeCarbon fiber knives come in various blade types, such as straight or serrated, and shapes, like drop point, tanto, or spear. Consider the purpose of the knife and your preferred blade type and shape that fits your needs. For example, a drop point blade is great for general-purpose tasks, while a spear point blade is ideal for piercing. https://preview.redd.it/qhj9zqk50c1d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=ec178153e3246251e6432d4521bc2d0510f4d8de Weight and BalanceOne of the main benefits of carbon fiber knives is their lightweight nature. When selecting a carbon fiber knife, ensure it strikes the right balance between being light and having a substantial feel. A well-balanced knife will reduce fatigue during long tasks and provide excellent control throughout diverse applications.Handle Comfort and ErgonomicsThe handle of a carbon fiber knife is just as important as its blade. It should provide a comfortable grip and be easy to handle, even in wet or greasy conditions. Ergonomic designs with textured grips help reduce the risk of slipping during use. https://preview.redd.it/wqkni3u50c1d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=55c6ae919ee350914cff52d5a3d25f3e5ae4b400 Maintenance and CareCarbon fiber knives require specific care and maintenance due to their unique composition. They should be washed and dried thoroughly after every use. Keep them away from excess moisture and oil, and regularly clean and maintain the blade to avoid corrosion and prolong its lifespan.Brand Reputation and ReviewsLastly, research the brand and its reputation within the market before making a purchase. Read reviews and product comparisons from other users to gain valuable insights into the knife's performance, durability, and overall satisfaction. https://preview.redd.it/85g9rw860c1d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=e32472a342318b4d23efa1b75a08c937572c4160 FAQWhat are the benefits of using a carbon fiber knife?Carbon fiber knives offer several advantages, including durability, lightweight, corrosion-resistance, and a sleek appearance. These knives are designed to provide a strong and long-lasting cutting edge, making them ideal for tough tasks such as cutting through bones and tendons. The lightweight nature of carbon fiber also makes them comfortable to use and easy to carry, while the corrosion-resistance ensures they maintain their quality even when exposed to harsh conditions or frequent washing. Lastly, the modern and stylish design of carbon fiber knives makes them a great addition to any kitchen or culinary collection.What is the difference between carbon fiber knives and stainless steel knives?The primary differences between carbon fiber and stainless steel knives are their composition and properties. Carbon fiber knives are typically made from a combination of carbon fiber and steel, resulting in a strong and lightweight blade. They require special care due to the carbon fiber composition, which can result in damage if dropped or improperly cared for. On the other hand, stainless steel knives are made from a single, alloyed steel composition with added elements of other metals to improve their properties. This makes them more resistant to corrosion and rusting, making them a good choice for everyday use and in humid environments. Both types of knives have their own unique benefits and drawbacks, making it essential to choose the right one depending on your specific needs and preferences.What is the care and maintenance required for carbon fiber knives?Carbon fiber knives require some special care and maintenance to ensure their longevity and performance. It is recommended to hand wash and dry the knife after use, avoiding placing it in a dishwasher. It is essential to use a non-abrasive, mild detergent and avoid using steel wool or harsh abrasive materials, as they can damage the carbon fiber. Additionally, avoid soaking the knife in water or leaving it in a wet environment for extended periods, as this can weaken the carbon fiber and result in rusting or corrosion. Lastly, it is crucial to store the knife in a clean, dry, and protected area to prevent damage and maintaining the knife's sharpness and edge.How much do carbon fiber knives typically cost?The cost of carbon fiber knives can vary depending on factors such as the brand, design, and size of the knife. Generally, carbon fiber knives are considered a premium product and can range from mid to high price points. While some budget options may be available, it is essential to remember that investing in a quality carbon fiber knife may be more cost-effective in the long run due to their durability and performance.Are carbon fiber knives suitable for professional chefs or experienced cooks?Yes, carbon fiber knives are popular among professional chefs and experienced cooks for their durability, lightweight, and corrosion-resistant properties. These knives can provide a precise and controlled cutting experience, making them suitable for various culinary tasks such as preparing meats, vegetables, and other ingredients. Additionally, the sleek design of carbon fiber knives adds a touch of elegance to any professional kitchen or cooking environment.As an Amazon™ Associate, we earn from qualifying purchases. |
2024.05.19 08:50 Ok_Jelly_3340 Knoxville Needs Change: Higher Wages and Affordable Housing Now
We, the People, Need to Advocate for Our Rights
We, the people, need to advocate passionately for our rights and work together to improve our living conditions. While legislative actions and policies may be influenced by a few, it is through our collective voice and participation that real change can be achieved. Let's take action to ensure a better future for all residents of Knoxville. Your voice and participation can make a significant difference.Additional Context Based on Feedback
Thank you for the responses and thoughts. I’d like to clarify a few points and provide additional context based on the feedback received:
Legislative Challenges
The legislative history and context of Tennessee Code Title 66, Chapter 35, which prohibits local governments from enacting rent control measures, reflect a long-standing commitment to maintaining a free-market approach to housing. This law was designed to ensure that rental prices are determined by market forces rather than local government interventions.
Specific Restrictions:
- Local governments cannot enact or enforce any ordinance that controls the amount of rent charged for residential or commercial properties.
- The law also prevents local governments from requiring private residential or commercial units to be sold or rented at below-market rates as a condition for zoning changes, building permits, or other land use approvals.
- Any voluntary programs designed to increase affordable housing must be incentive-based and cannot involve compulsory measures that affect market pricing.
Clarification on Rent Control Statistics:
It’s important to acknowledge that while Knoxville’s rent increase in 2022 was 9.6%, this was actually above the Oregon model of 7% plus inflation. If inflation is taken into account, the total allowable increase could potentially exceed the 9.6% rise seen in Knoxville. The intent behind advocating for a rent control model similar to Oregon’s is to create a more predictable and manageable framework for rent increases, offering greater stability for tenants while still allowing for adjustments that reflect economic conditions.
Challenges with Affordability
Rising Home Prices and Rental Costs: The increasing home prices and rental costs are making it difficult for residents to afford housing. The persistent undersupply of housing continues to exert upward pressure on prices, even as the market anticipates a rebound in home sales in 2024.
Inflation and Mortgage Rates: Inflation and high mortgage rates also contribute to the affordability crisis, making it challenging for new buyers to enter the market.
Comparative Analysis of Rent Control Laws
California: Rent control measures limit annual rent increases and provide tenant protections, while newer constructions and single-family homes are often exempted. This balance has helped manage rent increases while promoting new housing development.
New York: Comprehensive rent control and stabilization laws include limits on rent increases and strong tenant protections, overseen by a regulatory body. These measures ensure fair rent practices and protect tenants from unjust evictions.
Oregon: The statewide rent control law limits annual rent increases to 7% plus inflation and requires just cause for evictions after the first year of tenancy. This approach balances tenant protection with incentives for new constructions.
Key Strategies for Tennessee
Incremental Approach: Implementing modest rent control measures, such as capping annual rent increases to a certain percentage above inflation.
Exemptions: Including exemptions for new constructions and small landlords to alleviate concerns from property developers.
Tenant Protections: Introducing tenant protections against unjust evictions and ensuring lease renewal rights.
Public Advocacy and Education: Building a coalition of tenant groups, local businesses, and community organizations to advocate for change.
Legislative Proposals: Drafting clear and specific legislative proposals that outline the benefits of rent control and address the concerns of opponents.
Alternative Solutions
Increased tenant protections, tax incentives for affordable housing, and the establishment of community land trusts to help manage and develop affordable housing.
Living Wage Figures: Thank you for pointing out the discrepancy in living wage estimates. The MIT Living Wage Calculator indeed suggests a higher figure, highlighting the urgent need for comprehensive wage and housing reforms.
Federal and State Action: While state-level change is crucial, it's clear that federal action may also be necessary to enforce fair wages and housing policies. We should advocate for change at both levels.
Support for Local Businesses: Supporting local businesses and ensuring they can pay fair wages is essential. We need to balance wage increases with support for small businesses through tax incentives and economic development programs.
Political Climate: Given the conservative political climate, it’s important to build a broad coalition that includes voices from across the political spectrum to advocate for necessary changes.
Student Housing Impact: The impact of UTK's growing student population on the housing market is significant. We need to work with the university and city planners to develop more student housing and alleviate pressure on the broader market.
Economic Reality: The stories shared here underscore the reality that even with higher wages, housing affordability remains a challenge. Comprehensive policies addressing both wages and housing supply are crucial.
Affordable Housing Options: One of the comments raised a point about the availability of affordable housing, particularly through Clayton Homes, which builds mobile homes and is located in Maryville. Mobile homes provide a more affordable alternative, but they need places to be set up. It's important to ensure diverse options are available to meet varying needs and expectations.
Response to Concerns About Following Other States' Examples:
While it is understandable that concerns about high costs of living in states like California, New York, and Oregon might make it seem counterintuitive to look to their models, it’s essential to note that the goal is not to directly replicate these states' policies but to adapt their strategies to fit Tennessee’s unique context. The objective is to find a balance that improves affordability without causing significant economic disruption. We can learn from their successes and shortcomings to craft a solution that suits Knoxville’s needs.
Lastly, I'd like to state that I am not from New Jersey nor a victim of anyone or anything. The goal is to foster a constructive conversation around improving wages and housing affordability in Knoxville. Thank you for engaging in this important discussion.
Facts:
- 30 states have a higher minimum wage than Tennessee's $7.25.
- Tennessee last raised its minimum wage in 2009.
- Since then, inflation has risen by about 36.6%.
- A decent living wage for a single adult in Tennessee is about $13.25 per hour.
Rising Rents in Knoxville
- Rapid Rent Increases: In 2022, rent growth in Knoxville was 9.6%, significantly higher than the national average of 2.3%. This trend has continued, with apartment rents increasing by around 6.06% in 2023 compared to the previous year.
- Forecasted Increases: The trend of rising rents is expected to continue, with forecasts indicating an additional 5% increase over the next year.
- High Occupancy Rates: Despite these rent increases, Knoxville's rental market remains highly competitive with occupancy rates around 96.3%, which is higher than the national average of 94.7%.
Recent Home Price Increases in Knoxville
- Median Home Price: The median home sales price in Knoxville rose to $350,000 in July 2023, representing an increase of around 7.9% compared to the previous year.
- Affordability: As of November 2023, the median home sales price was $346,000, up by about 10.8% from the previous year.
- Income Requirements: The income required to qualify for a mortgage on a median-priced home has risen dramatically, from around $59,000 at the start of 2022 to over $110,000 by August 2023.
- Housing Inventory: Despite the rising prices, the total number of homes available in Knoxville is still around half of pre-pandemic levels, contributing to the increased competition and higher prices.
Steps to Raise the Minimum Wage
Step 1: Organize a Petition Drive- Form a Nonpartisan Group: Create or join a group focused solely on raising the minimum wage, without political affiliations. Use platforms like Zoom for virtual meetings, schedule regular meetings, and use social media and local forums to recruit members.
- Research Requirements: For statewide initiatives, the number of signatures required is typically a percentage of the votes cast in the last gubernatorial election. Confirm the exact number with the Tennessee Secretary of State's office. For local initiatives in Knoxville, a charter amendment can be proposed if at least one registered voter files the petition with the county election commission for pre-approval (TCA 2-5-151).
- Tennessee Secretary of State: (615) 741-2819
- Create the Petition: Draft a clear and concise petition for a minimum wage increase. Here is a sample:
Petition for Increasing the Minimum Wage in Tennessee
To the Tennessee General Assembly:
We, the undersigned residents of Tennessee, believe that the current minimum wage of $7.25 per hour is insufficient to meet the basic needs of individuals and families in our state. Given the significant rise in living costs and inflation since the last adjustment in 2009, we urgently call for an increase in the state minimum wage to a livable wage of $13.25 per hour. This adjustment will ensure that all working Tennesseans can afford necessities such as housing, food, healthcare, and transportation.
By signing this petition, we express our support for this necessary change and urge the Tennessee General Assembly to take immediate action.
Name Address Signature
Step 2: Collect Signatures
- Host Community Events: Organize events like town hall meetings, local fairs, or farmers' markets to gather signatures.
- Utilize Local Networks: Leverage small-town connections where everyone knows each other to spread the word and gather support.
- Set Up Booths: Place booths in high-traffic areas like grocery stores, libraries, and community centers to collect signatures.
- Door-to-Door Campaigning: Go door-to-door in your neighborhood to ask for signatures.
- Social Media Campaign: Use platforms like Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram to inform the community and encourage them to sign the petition.
- Local Media: Reach out to local newspapers, radio stations, and TV channels to cover your campaign.
- Flyers and Posters: Distribute flyers and put up posters in local businesses and public spaces.
- Verify Signatures: Ensure all collected signatures meet the requirements.
- Submit to Authorities: Submit the petition to the appropriate state or local authority for validation.
Deadlines and Requirements
- Submission Deadline: Typically, signatures must be submitted several months before the general election to allow time for verification. For 2024, check with the Tennessee Secretary of State for specific deadlines and the number of required signatures.
How Petitions Work
In general, for a petition to be effective and get an issue on the ballot or to influence local government action, more signatures are usually needed to demonstrate widespread community support. Here’s a brief overview of the process:- Single Signature Submission: In some cases, a single well-documented request or petition signed by one person can be submitted to local officials to initiate a discussion. However, this method is less likely to compel action without demonstrating broader community support.
- Gathering Multiple Signatures: To increase the chances of the petition being taken seriously, gathering multiple signatures shows that the issue has significant support within the community. This can influence local officials to take action.
- Specific Requirements: The exact number of signatures required can vary based on local laws and regulations. For example, getting an initiative on the ballot often requires a specific percentage of registered voters' signatures.
- Submitting a Petition to the City Council: One person can submit a petition to the city council to raise an issue. However, gathering more signatures from residents increases the impact.
- Ballot Initiatives: For ballot initiatives, there are usually legal requirements regarding the number of signatures needed. This varies by jurisdiction.
Strategies to Address Rising Rents
While controlling rent increases directly can be challenging, there are several strategies that can help stabilize the rental market and provide more affordable options:- Rent Control and Stabilization:
- Implement policies that limit how much rents can be increased annually.
- Increased Tenant Protections:
- Strengthen tenant rights to provide more security and stability, such as "just cause" eviction protections.
- Affordable Housing Development:
- Increase the supply of affordable housing through new developments and mixed-income housing projects.
- Tax Incentives for Landlords:
- Offer tax breaks or incentives to landlords who keep rents affordable.
- Community Land Trusts:
- Establish community land trusts to manage and develop affordable housing.
- Rent Subsidy Programs:
- Expand rent subsidy programs to assist low-income tenants.
Petition Example for Rent Control and Tenant Protections
Petition for Rent Control and Tenant ProtectionsTo the Knoxville City Council:
We, the undersigned, request that the Knoxville City Council take immediate action to address the rising cost of rent and protect tenants by implementing rent control measures and strengthening tenant protections. Specifically, we propose the following initiatives:
- Rent Control: Implement rent control measures that limit annual rent increases to no more than a set percentage, tied to inflation.
- Just Cause Eviction Protections: Establish "just cause" eviction protections to prevent arbitrary evictions and provide stability for tenants.
- Tax Incentives for Affordable Rent: Offer tax breaks or incentives to landlords who commit to keeping rents affordable.
- Encourage Long-Term Leases: Promote the use of long-term leases with fixed rent increases to provide stability for both tenants and landlords.
By signing this petition, we express our support for these initiatives and urge the Knoxville City Council to take immediate action to protect tenants and address the rising cost of rent.
Signature: _______________
Print Name: _______________
Address: _______________
Email: _______________
Other Strategies to Help Afford Homes
Local Level:- Affordable Housing Programs: Support and expand local programs that provide affordable housing options.
- Down Payment Assistance: Advocate for city or county programs that help with down payments for first-time homebuyers.
- Community Land Trusts: Promote local models where the community owns the land and leases it to homeowners, reducing the cost of purchasing a home.
- Zoning Reforms: Push for zoning changes within Knoxville to allow for more diverse and affordable housing developments.
- Financial Education: Provide resources locally to help individuals better manage their finances and improve their credit scores.
- Rent-to-Own Programs: Implement or support local programs where tenants can rent properties with the option to buy after a certain period.
- Increased Housing Supply: Encourage the construction of more housing units in Knoxville to meet demand.
- Public-Private Partnerships: Foster collaborations between the city and private developers to create affordable housing projects.
- Inclusionary Zoning: Require a portion of new developments in Knoxville to include affordable housing units.
- Tax Incentives: Offer local tax credits or abatements to developers who build affordable housing or to homeowners for property improvements.
- Tiny Homes and ADUs: Promote the development of tiny homes and accessory dwelling units (ADUs) in Knoxville as affordable housing options.
- Housing Cooperatives: Support cooperative housing models locally where residents collectively own and manage their housing.
- Employer-Assisted Housing: Encourage local employers to provide housing assistance or benefits to their employees.
- Energy Efficiency Programs: Implement local programs to improve the energy efficiency of homes, reducing utility costs and overall housing expenses.
- Foreclosure Prevention Programs: Provide local assistance and counseling to homeowners at risk of foreclosure to help them retain their homes.
- Land Banks: Establish land banks at the city level to acquire, manage, and repurpose vacant and foreclosed properties for affordable housing development.
- Petition for Ballot Initiatives: Registered voters can start petitions to get these issues on local ballots. This involves gathering a required number of signatures from the community.
- Engage with Local Officials: Attend city council meetings, contact local representatives, and advocate for these programs and reforms.
- Form or Join Advocacy Groups: Collaborate with local organizations focused on housing and community development to amplify your efforts.
- Raise Public Awareness: Use social media, local news, and community events to inform and mobilize residents around these initiatives.
- Vote: Encourage community members to vote for local leaders and initiatives that support affordable housing and related programs.
Example Petitions:
Petition for Comprehensive Affordable Housing InitiativesTo the Knoxville City Council:
We, the undersigned, request that the Knoxville City Council take comprehensive action to promote affordable housing through a combination of tax incentives, public-private partnerships, inclusionary zoning, expanded affordable housing programs, and the establishment of land banks.
- Tax Incentives: Offer local tax credits or abatements to developers who build affordable housing or to homeowners for property improvements. These incentives will encourage the development and maintenance of affordable housing units, ensuring more options are available for low- and moderate-income families.
- Public-Private Partnerships: Foster collaborations between the city and private developers to create affordable housing projects. By working together, the public and private sectors can pool resources, expertise, and funding to develop housing that meets the community's needs.
- Inclusionary Zoning: Require a portion of new developments in Knoxville to include affordable housing units. Inclusionary zoning ensures that affordable housing is integrated into new developments, promoting economic diversity and increasing the availability of affordable homes.
- Affordable Housing Programs: Support and expand local affordable housing programs to provide quality, affordable housing options for low- and moderate-income residents. Currently, many residents are struggling to find affordable housing, which impacts their quality of life and financial stability. By expanding these programs, we can ensure that more residents have access to safe, decent, and affordable housing.
- Land Banks: Establish land banks at the city level to acquire, manage, and repurpose vacant and foreclosed properties for affordable housing development. Land banks can transform unused or abandoned properties into valuable assets for the community, providing opportunities for affordable housing development and revitalizing neighborhoods.
By signing this petition, we express our support for these initiatives and urge the Knoxville City Council to take immediate action to promote affordable housing through these measures.
Signature: _______________
Print Name: _______________
Address: _______________
Email: _______________
Down Payment Assistance
Petition for Down Payment Assistance Programs
To the Knoxville City Council:
We, the undersigned, urge the Knoxville City Council to advocate for and establish city or county programs that provide down payment assistance for first-time homebuyers. Many residents find it challenging to save enough for a down payment, which is a significant barrier to achieving homeownership. By providing down payment assistance, we can help more residents transition from renting to owning their homes, promoting long-term financial stability and investment in our community.
By signing this petition, we express our support for the creation and implementation of down payment assistance programs to help first-time homebuyers in Knoxville.
Signature: _______________
Print Name: _______________
Address: _______________
Email: _______________
State or Federal Level:
- Subsidized Housing Vouchers: Increase the availability and funding for housing vouchers that subsidize rent for low-income families.
- Mortgage Credit Certificates (MCC): Promote MCC programs that provide tax credits to first-time homebuyers at the state or federal level.
How New Jersey Did It:
- Legislative Action: Passed in 2019, the law set a schedule for gradual increases to reach $15 by 2024.
- Annual Adjustments: Provisions for annual increases based on the Consumer Price Index (CPI).
- Broad Support: Significant political backing from the governor and legislature.
- Sector-Specific Plans: Different timelines and rates for small businesses, seasonal workers, and agricultural employees.
- Economic Advocacy: Studies and advocacy highlighted the benefits, helping to build public and political support.
Tennessee's Business Environment and Minimum Wage:
- Business-Friendly State: It's true Tennessee is known for being business-friendly, which can make raising the minimum wage challenging.
- Jobs Over $12/Hour: While many jobs may pay over $12 an hour, not all workers have access to these opportunities, especially those with limited skills or education.
Steps to Take:
- Educate and Advocate: Inform the community about the benefits of a higher minimum wage for both workers and the economy.
- Highlight Success Stories: Share examples from other states like New Jersey that have successfully raised their minimum wages without harming businesses.
- Promote Nonpartisan Support: Work with groups that focus on worker rights without political affiliations to gather broader support.
2024.05.19 08:06 Mantis_Shrimp47 The monster in the sand dunes turned my brother into a bird
"You gotta know that there's an art to it, Ezra," Hitch said, cutting another piece of duct tape.
The sleeves of his weather-beaten coat were shoved all the way up his arms, to stop the fabric from falling over his knuckles while he was working, and goosebumps lined his skin. He was strapping a rubber chicken to the back of his truck, over the lens of the shattered backup camera, with the legs pointing down so that they hung a couple inches above the ground. There were dents in the hood from the crash last week, and scratches along the door from scraping into a curb. The chicken, hopefully, would keep him from breaking anything else.
"You can't go cheap," Hitch said. "The cheap rubber chickens only make noise when pressure lets go. That's no good. As soon as I back up into something, I want this chicken to be screaming like it’s in the depths of hell."
“Sure thing,” I said in a monotone, leaning against the side of the truck.
There were scrambled electronic parts piled in the back of the truck, the innards of a radio, a broken computer, tangled wires, a couple loose pairs of earbuds. He found the parts in alleyways or bummed them off his friends for a couple bucks or stole them from the vacation homes that were left empty for most of the year. Then he sold them for a profit at the scrapyard. Hitch had bounced between minimum-wage jobs for a while after high school, spending a couple months as a bagger at the grocery store or as a seasonal worker at the farm two hours down the highway. He'd never stuck with it. At the very least, the scrapyard got him enough money to eat and occasionally spend a night in a motel when he got tired of sleeping in his car.
Hitch pressed the last piece of tape in place and grinned up at me. "I've got something for you, duck."
The nickname came from when I’d broken my leg as a child and waddled around in a cast until it was healed. I hated it with a burning passion, and I glared at Hitch with the ease of twenty-one years of practice. He had a duck tattoo at the base of his thumb that he’d gotten in a back-alley shop as a teenager. He said that he’d gotten it to remind him of me, and the fact that I hated the nickname was just a bonus. It was shaky-lined, with an uneven face, but he loved it anyway.
The handle stuck when Hitch tried to open the door, a consequence of the rust collecting in the crevices of the car and running down the sides like blood from a cut. The car groaned when the door finally popped open, a metal against metal screech that had me flinching away. Hitch dug through the cluttered fast food containers in the passenger-side footwell, eventually coming up with a crinkly paper bag. He waved away the flies buzzing around the opening of the bag and held it out to me.
The last time Hitch had brought me food, I’d gotten food poisoning because he’d left it out in the midday sun for two days. The donut was squished slightly, and the icing was stuck to the bag. I still ate it, grimacing at the harsh citrus flavor. Taking Hitch’s food was an instinct engraved from the days when Dad had given us a can of kidney beans for dinner and Hitch had drank the juice, leaving the beans for me.
I rarely went hungry anymore, three mostly square meals a day and granola in my pockets just in case, but habits didn’t die easy.
These days, Hitch only brought me food when he wanted my help, like when he saw a place he wanted to hit but was worried about doing it alone.
I got in the car, like I always did.
We drove past the cluster of seafood-themed restaurants with chipped paint decks, the beachfront park where there were always shifty-eyed men sitting under the slide, the single room library where all the books had been water damaged in the flood last year. The change was quick as we drove across Main Street, heading closer to the beach. The roads were freshly paved, the concrete a smooth black except where the sun had already started to pick away at it. The three-story homes lining the sides of the street were crouched on elegant stilts, with space underneath for a car or three. Most of the garages were empty, with the lights off and curtains drawn in the house. Come summer, the streets would be swarming with tourists and vacationers, but until then, most of the buildings nearest to the beach were unoccupied.
Hitch stopped as the sun started to go down at a house that was leaning precariously out towards the beach, tilted ever so slightly, the edge of its foundation buried in the shifting sand of the beach. It certainly looked deserted, with an overgrown yard and blue paint peeling off the door in sheets.
Hitch took his hammer out of the backseat, hoisting it over his shoulder. It was two feet of solid metal with rags wrapped around the head to muffle the sound of the hits. Hitch squared up, bending his knees and holding the hammer like a baseball bat. Before he could swing, though, the door creaked open on its own, the hinges squeaking. The house beyond was dark enough that I could only make out general shapes, glimpsing the curve of a sofa to the left, what was maybe the shimmer of a chandelier on the other side.
Hitch lowered his hammer, looking vaguely disappointed that he didn’t get to use it. “That’s…weird as hell.”
“Maybe the deadbolt broke, maybe they forgot to lock it, it doesn’t matter,” I hissed, checking our surroundings for other people again. “Just hurry up and get inside before someone calls the cops.”
Hitch flicked the lightswitch on the wall, and the lights flickered on. They were dim, buzzing audibly and blinking off occasionally. The walls were plastered with contrasting swatches of wallpaper and splattered with random colors. There was neon orange behind the dining table, a galaxy swirl in the kitchen, and on the ceiling there was a repeating floral pattern covered in nametag stickers. Each of the stickers was filled out with The Erlking. Chandeliers hung in every room, three or four for each, and rubber ducks sat on every table. A miniature carousel sat in the corner along with a towering model rocket.
Sand was heaped on every surface, at least a couple inches everywhere. It was piled in the corners and stuck to the walls, and it covered the floor in a thick blanket. Our hesitant steps into the house left footprints clearly outlined in the sand.
Hitch took a cursory look around and headed immediately for the TV mounted on the wall. “Look out the windows and tell me if anyone is coming.”
I shook the sand out of the blinds and pulled them open, then had to brush sand off of the window before I could see anything.
Hitch was quick, practiced at finding and appropriating the things that were worth taking. He came back to me with an armful of electronics and chandeliers, dumping it at my feet before turning to head deeper into the house again.
There was a thump, somewhere upstairs, and then footsteps, slow and deliberate. Hitch froze at the threshold of the room, then ran for the door with me just ahead of him, sand flying out from under our feet.
My hand was almost brushing the doorknob, close enough that I could see the light from the streetlamp outside streaming in through the cracks in the door. My fingers touched the wood and it gave under my touch, becoming malleable and warm. I yelped, stumbling backwards, and the door started to melt. The paint ran down in thick drops, pooling at the bottom of the door, and the wood warped like metal being welded. The soft edges of the door ran into the walls until there was no sign of an exit ever being there.
“Well, well, well,” said a cultured voice with just an edge of snooty elitism. “What do we have here?”
The man was well over eight feet tall, with long black hair covering his eyes. He was wearing a yellow raincoat with holes cut out of the hood to accommodate the deer antlers jutting upwards from his head. There was sand settled on his shoulders and hovering around his head like a halo.
“Who the fuck are you?” Hitch said, inching towards a window.
He smiled, just a little bit, and his teeth shone in the dim light. “I am the Erlking.”
Hitch nodded, and seemed about to respond. I grabbed him by the hand and pulled him towards the window. I could feel sand in the wind roaring against my back as the Erlking growled in anger, the grains scraping harshly against my cheeks.
We were almost to the window when Hitch was ripped away from me, and I came to a startled halt. The sand had formed long grasping arms that pressed Hitch against the floral wallpaper. His wrists were held tight, and as I watched, a sandy hand wrapped around his mouth and forced its way between his teeth. He gagged, and sand trickled out of the corners of his mouth.
The Erlking strolled towards him, not seeming to be in any sort of rush. “You know, I’m not very fond of your yapping.”
He made an idle gesture and the sand wrapped around my ankles, tethering me in place.
“I yap all the time,” Hitch said. “Three-time olympic yapper, that’s me. Best to just let me go now and save yourself some trouble.”
The Erlking tapped a manicured nail against Hitch’s mouth, hard enough to hurt, judging by the way he flinched away. “But why would I ever let you go when I’ve gone to this much trouble to catch you and your sister? It’s so hard, these days, to find people that no one will miss.”
Hitch struggled against the sand, trying to escape and failing. “What do you want with us, then? You just said it, we’re nobody.”
“I’m fae, dear one,” the Erlking said. “I get my power from my followers. And I think that you two will make lovely additions to my flock.”
He flicked Hitch's nose and Hitch gasped. Feathers started to form on his arms, popping out from under his skin in a spray of blood.
Hitch pushed off the wall, using his bound hands as a fulcrum, and his knees crashed into the Erlking’s stomach. The Erlking fell backwards, wheezing, and the sand around my ankles loosened.
Hitch made desperate eye contact with me as feathers shot up his neck and jerked his head towards the window. The message was obvious. Run.
The last thing I saw before crashing out the window and into freedom was Hitch’s body twisting, his arms wrenching into wings and feathers covering every inch of his skin. By the time I landed on the concrete outside, he was a small black bird, held tightly in the Erlking’s hands. The whole building was sinking into the ground, burnished-gold sand piling up over top and streaming from the windows.
Thirty years later, I saw Sam’s Supernatural Consultation and Neutralization written in neat, looping handwriting on a piece of paper taped to the door. The tape was peeling at the corners and the paper was yellowed with age, but there was obviously care put into the sign, in its perfectly centered text and looping floral designs drawn over the edges in gold marker.
I knocked, hesitantly, drawing my woolen coat closer around my shoulders. I’d bought it as a fiftieth birthday gift for myself, and I took comfort in the heavy weight of it over my shoulders.
“Coming!” someone called from within the depths of the office.
There were a couple crashes, and the sound of paper shuffling. Eventually, the door was opened by a young woman with ketchup stains on her shirt and pencils stuck through her hair.
“Hi, I’m Sam, I specialize in supernatural consultation and hunting, how may I help you today?” Sam said, customer-service pep in her voice. She stood in the doorway, solidly blocking entry into the office.
“My name is Ezra, I’m for a consultation. I emailed you but you didn’t respond?” I shifted in place, suddenly feeling awkward.
“Oh! Yeah, I lost the password for the email ages ago. Sorry for the bad welcome, I get lots of people thinking I’m crazy or pulling a prank and harassing me.”
She ushered me into the office, clearing papers off one of the chairs to make room for me to sit down. There was a collection of swords along one wall, all of them polished to perfection, several with deep knicks in the metal which indicated that they’d been used heavily.
“So what can I help you with?” Sam asked again, more sincere this time.
“Thirty years ago, my brother was turned into a bird,” I started. I’d told this story so many times that it barely felt ridiculous to say anymore. I was used to the disbelieving looks, the careful pity. But Sam just nodded along, face open and welcoming.
“I’ve almost given up on finding him, at this point,” I said. “But I saw your ad in the newspaper, and…here I am, I suppose.”
“Here you are,” Sam echoed, smiling. She pulled one of the pencils out of her hair and took a bit of paperwork off of one of her stacks, turning it over so that the blank side sat neatly in front of her. “Tell me everything.”
I told Sam everything, and she wrote it all down, pencil scratching along the paper.
The last part of the story was always the hardest to tell. “I left him there. I ran and I didn’t look back.”
I had been to dozens of detectives and investigators over the years, once the police had dropped Hitch’s case. I’d been to professional offices with smartly-dressed secretaries and met scraggly men in coffee shops. All of them had given me the same look, pity and annoyance all mixed up into a humor-the-crazy-lady soup. Sam, though, just seemed thoughtful.
Sam leaned forward and put a hand over mine, carefully, like she thought that I would pull away. “Sometimes you have to leave people behind.”
I tightened her hold on Sam’s hand and drew it towards me, like I could make Sam listen if only I squeezed tight enough. “But that’s why I’m here. I don’t want to leave him behind.”
“Okay then. I’ll do my best to help you.” Sam agreed, finally. Then she paused, and said softly, “You know…I think I met your brother once. He might have saved my life. He’s certainly why I started in this business.”
“Really? What happened?” I asked.
This is the story that Sam told me, related to the best of my abilities:
It was a new moon, so the only illumination came from the stars gazing idly down and distant porch lights shining across the scraggly brush of the dunes. Sam’s neighbors were decent people who cared about baby turtles, so the lights were a low, unobtrusive red, and the ocean sloshed like blood. Sam walked on the beach almost every night, drawing back the gauzy pink curtains and clambering out her bedroom window. She didn’t often bother to be quiet; her mama worked the late shift and came home exhausted. As long as Sam got home before the sun, her mama would never find out that she paced the shoreline and dreamed of inhaling sand until her lungs became their own beach.
The sky was lightening. The sun would come up soon, and that meant Sam’s time on the beach was over. She needed to get back to her real life, go to her fifth grade class and stop that nonsense, as her mother would say. Her mother loved to say things like that, pushing Sam into her proper place by implication alone.
“She’s a good kid, of course, but she’s a bit…” Her mother would trail off there, usually getting a commiserating expression from whoever she was talking to. Sam always wondered how that sentence would have finished. She’s a bit strange, maybe. She’s a bit intense. She’s a bit abrasive. She’s quiet enough but when Jason tried to steal her pencil in math class, she stabbed him in the hand so hard that the lead tattooed him.
Her mother was better, for the most part. The days of her stocking up the fridge, and leaving a post-it note on the counter, and leaving for days at a time were gone. But Sam still stepped around the place on the kitchen tile where her mother had collapsed and caved her head in, even though the bloodstains had been replaced with new tile.
“Your auntie got an abortion, you know,” her mother had said from her place on the couch, slurring her words. “Pill in the mail and then bam, no more baby.”
She had clapped her hands together to illustrate her point. Her mother jerked forward and grabbed Sam by the wrist, then, staring up at her until Sam met her eyes.
“I love you, you know? But sometimes I wonder…” She settled back onto the couch. “Yeah. I wonder.”
She’d gotten up, then, back to the kitchen. She’d been stumbling, a shambling zombie of a woman. The ground in the entryway of the kitchen was raised, ever so slightly, and her mother went down hard. Her head cracked against the tile, chin first, and she didn’t move.
Sam had been the one to call the ambulance. She had stared at the scattering of loose teeth on the ground while she waited, and considered what her life would be like with a dead mom. Not so bad, she thought, and immediately felt guilty for it.
Her mom was better, now, for the most part. But Sam still stepped around the place on the kitchen floor where she had collapsed. There was still a matchbox hidden under her bed with the gleaming shine of her mother’s lost teeth, two canines and a molar. It was nice, having a piece of her mom to keep. Even if she left again, Sam would still have part of her.
Sam sighed, and turned away from the ocean. As she faced towards the low dunes further up the beach, she saw a sandcastle sitting nestled among them. It was such a strange sight that her eyes skipped over it at first, almost automatically, disregarding it because it was so out of place.
Sam found sandcastles out on the beach sometimes, usually half-collapsed and on the verge of being washed away by the waves, but she had never seen anything like the sandcastle in front of her. It was life-sized, something that wouldn’t have looked out of place in the Scottish highlands, with spires shooting up above her head and carefully etched out bricks lining each side. The front wall was dominated by an arched set of double doors, twice her height, with a portcullis nestled at the top, ready to be dropped. All of it was lovingly detailed, down to the rust on the tips of the towers and the wood grain of the door. It was made out of wet, densely-packed sand, held together impossibly. It had not been there two hours ago, when she had come to the beach.
There was a bird sitting on the overhang of the door, small and black.
As soon as she took a step towards the sandcastle, the bird shook out its feathers and swooped down towards Sam, landing at her feet with a little stumble.
“Hey, kid, get out of here,” said the bird.
Sam closed her eyes, very deliberately. When she opened them, the bird was still there. Sam considered herself a very reasonable person, so she immediately drew the most logical conclusion. The bird was, she was almost certain, a demon.
“Trust me, you don’t want to run into Mr. Salty, the queen bitch himself,” the bird said.
“Mr. Salty?” Sam inquired, polite as she knew how to be. She edged to the side, trying to get a good angle to kick the bird like a soccer ball.
The bird did something similar to a wince, all its feathers fluffing up then settling back down. “Ah, don’t call him that. He’d turn you into a toad.”
The bird gestured with its head, towards the looming sand structure. “That’s his castle. He’s in there, probably scuttling along the ceiling or some shit because that’s the sort of weirdo he is.”
Sam nodded, encouraging. She pulled back her foot and lined up her shot, the way she’d seen athletes do on TV. She aimed right for its sharp beak and let loose. The bird saw it coming, its beady eyes widening, and it cawed in distress. It flapped away, avoiding her kick only to fall backward into the sand in a scramble of wings.
“What’s your fucking problem?” it squawked. “I was trying to help you!”
“I don’t need the help of a demon,” Sam yelled, trying to remember the exorcism that her mama had taught her once, because her mama believed in being prepared for anything.
“I’m not a demon,” the bird said indignantly.
It was at about that moment that Sam gave up and just decided to roll with it.
“What are you, then?” Sam asked.
The bird shuffled its clawed feet, looking about as awkward as it could, given that it didn’t really have recognizable facial expressions. “Technically I’m a familiar of the Erlking, prince of the fae, but I prefer to be called Hitch.”
“You can’t blame me for assuming, though,” Sam said. “Ravens do tend to be associated with murder.”
“Hey, excuse you,” Hitch said. “I’m a rook, not a raven. Ravens are way bigger.”
“Sure,” Sam said, not really paying attention. Her eyes had caught on the details of the sandcastle, and she was transfixed by the slow spirals of the sand, the strange beauty of it. She found herself stepping towards the great doors, lifting a hand to knock, and as she did, the sand warped in front of her eyes, heaving itself towards her with bulging slowness. The door creaked open before her, revealing a vast, empty room. Just before she stepped inside, she felt a piercing pain in her foot, and she yelped, leaping backwards.
Hitch pecked her again, really digging his beak in. “Don’t be an idiot.”
Sam glared at him, rubbing her foot. About to retort, she finally really took in the room inside the sandcastle, and her words died in her throat.
There was a body just past the threshold of the door, face down and limbs hanging limp at its sides. Long hair splayed out in a halo around its head.
“Don’t,” Hitch warned, suddenly serious. “Just leave, kid, I mean it. I’ve seen too many people go down this road and you don’t want to be one of them.”
Sam ignored him. She made her way across the beach, slipping with every step. The sand felt deeper, piling up around her feet in silent drifts. She picked up the nearest stick and poked the body with it through the door, ready to leap back if anything went wrong, staying firmly outside of the sandcastle.
This close, Sam could tell that it used to be a woman. Her head wasn’t attached to her body. It hadn’t been a clean amputation, either. Her upper body was bruised, with chunks taken out of it, and the bones in her neck hung mangled, not connected to anything.
“Well, I warned you,” Hitch said, defeated. “I did warn you.”
Sam nudged the head with the end of the stick, nudging it over so that she could see the face. Her mother stared back at her, torn to pieces, breath still wheezing from her lungs. She wasn’t blinking, just gazing forward with glazed eyes. Sweat dripped down from her hairline.
Sam screamed and dropped the stick, tripping over herself in her haste to get away.
Her mother’s eyes were wide and pleading, and she was mouthing desperate words at Sam. Her vocal cords were broken to bits, and the only sound that came out was a strained groan.
The head rolled, inching closer to Sam like a grotesque caterpillar.
Her mother gasped for air, torn lips fluttering. Finally, comprehensible words came out. “Help. Help me, daughter.”
“That’s not your mother,” Hitch said, quiet.
Sam knew that. Her mother was sleeping back at home, and anyways her mom had never asked for her help. She had an aversion to accepting charity, as she put it.
“Okay,” Sam said, shaking all over. “Okay.”
She backed away from the sandcastle, not looking away.
“Failure,” her mother hissed as she stepped away. “I never wanted a daughter like you.”
The sun came up over the horizon. The sandcastle, Hitch, and her mom all disintegrated into sand as the light hit them.
The beach, the next night, was almost exactly how I remembered it. The beams of our flashlights sent light bouncing across the dunes, illuminating the waves, and I imagined faces in the foam of the waves.
“I’ve been back here a hundred times. There’s nothing left,” I said.
Sam took the car key out of her purse and pointed it at the sand, adjusting the sword slung over her shoulder in order to do it. The key had belonged to Hitch; Sam had requested an item of his, and it was the only thing I had left. She rested the key on the sand and drew a circle around it, inscribing symbols around the borders.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
Sam shrugged. “Not much, really. I’m…I guess you could say that I’m knocking.”
The key laid inert on the sand for long enough that I was just about to give up and go home, admit to myself that Hitch was dead and that I was a fool to believe that Sam could actually help me. Then a building started to take shape, flickering in and out like it was struggling to get away. With a pop of displaced air, the sandcastle settled into existence.
Sam banged on the entryway. Nothing happened. She did it again, harder, and scowled when the door still didn’t open.
“We demand entrance, under your honor,” Sam yelled. There was a hard rush of wind, and I gripped Sam’s arm to keep my balance, but the doors cracked open reluctantly.
The inside of the sandcastle consisted of one enormous hall, the roof arching up out of sight. Rafters crisscrossed from wall to wall, and a cobbled path led further into the building, but other than that, it was completely empty, except for the birds. There were thousands of them, perched on the rafters or hopping along the ground. They parted in front of Sam and I, and reformed behind us, leaving us in a small pocket of open space. They were all black-feathered, with sharp beaks and beady eyes.
The Erlking sat on a throne at the end of the hall, lounging across it with his feet up on the armrest. He watched them as they came forward, the soft caw of the birds the only sound.
“I am here to bargain for the life of my brother,” I said, with as much dignity as I could muster, before the Erlking could say anything.
The Erlking ignored her, tilting his head to look at Sam. “I remember you. I almost got you, once.”
Sam glared at him but didn’t respond.
“You want your brother,” The Erlking said to me, and he almost sounded amused. “Then go get him.”
As if by some sort of silent signal, every bird in the room took flight at once, and their cawing made me think of screams. I covered my head against the flapping of their wings, and my vision was quickly obscured by the chaotic movement of them. I found myself on my knees, just trying to escape them.
A hand met my shoulder. Sam urged me to my feet, and together we ran for the edge of the room, where the swarm was the thinnest. We pressed ourselves into the corner and the swarm spiraled tighter and tighter at the center of the room. It went on until there seemed to be no differentiation between the birds, all of them fused together into one creature.
When the chaos died down, the birds had become one mass, with wings and eyes and talons sticking out of its flesh, thrashing and chirping. Human body parts stuck out of it, bulging out from the feathers. It was hands, mostly, with a couple knees or staring eyes. The bird amalgamation had no recognizable facial features, but there was one long beak extending from the front of its head. Most of the body parts were concentrated around the beak, and they peeked out from where the beak connected with muscle, or grew from the tongue, nestled between the two crushing halves of the beak.
It turned its beak down and crawled forward, using the hands to balance. The fingers scrambled over the ground. I was afraid of centipedes as a child, and I felt that same crawling dread when it started moving.
“Holy shit,” Sam whispered, which was rather disappointing, because I had been hoping that at least one of us knew what to do.
The creature turned, a lurching movement that crushed some of the hands underneath it, and started heaving itself slowly towards our corner.
“Better hurry up!” the Erlking called from his throne.
It was blocking the exit, by then. The shifting body of it had moved to block us off. It ambled towards us and I tried to sink further into the corner.
As it approached, getting close enough that I could smell the stink of it, I saw a flash of a tattoo on one of the hands. I leaned in, trying to find it again, like looking for dolphins surfacing in the ocean. And again, I caught a glimpse of a duck tattoo, the tattoo that Hitch had gotten on his hand as a teenager.
I ripped away from Sam’s death grip and ran for the monster.
I fell to my knees in front of it, wincing as I impacted the ground, and reached into the nest of hands. I could feel them tearing at my forearms and ripping into me with their sharp nails, but I kept going. I pressed further in, up to my shoulder in a writhing mass of limbs, aiming for the spot where I had last seen that tattoo.
The hands were tugging at me, wrapping around my back and hair. They were pulling together, trying to draw me completely into the mass of them. I was aware of Sam at my side, anchoring me in place and bashing any hand that got too close with her sword or the sparks that leapt from her hands with muttered words. But I didn’t think it would be enough. They were too strong, and there were too many of them.
I was up to my waist in the hands when something grabbed my palm. I felt the way it clung to me, and the calluses on its palm, and I knew that I had found my brother.
I flung herself back. The hands didn’t want to let me go, and they fought the whole way, but slowly, I made progress. I kept hold of Hitch’s hand in mine the whole time, gripping it as hard as I could. I finally broke free, Hitch with me, and Sam was immediately charging the creature, able to use her sword with much greater strength without being worried about injuring Hitch. She swung it forward, and it sliced through the wrist of one of the hands. It fell without a sound, red sand flowing out of it. It deflated until it looked like dirty laundry, just a piece of limp flesh. The creature shrieked, scuttling away enough that the door was finally accessible. The three of us ran for it, Sam and I supporting Hitch between us.
I looked back as I left and found the Erlking staring right at me.
“Interesting,” he murmured, his voice carrying impossibly across the vast space between us.
The sandcastle collapsed behind us, the great walls falling in on themselves. We were out in the morning sun, the sandcastle disappearing as we watched. Hitch was on the ground in front of me, as young as he’d been thirty years ago, when he was captured. He started laughing, feathers puffing out of his mouth. He laughed until he cried and I hugged him in the way that he’d held me when I was young, in the times when my life had been defined by hunger and fear.
Hitch left, afterwards. He scratched at the pinhole scars covering his body, where feathers burst through his skin, and pulled his long sleeves down around his wrists. He didn’t know where he was going but he told me that he needed time
I had spent thirty years worth of time without him. I wanted to grab my brother by the shoulders and beg him to stay. But he flinched when I hugged him goodbye and he refused to go near sand and he stared distrustfully at the birds chirping in the trees. Hitch needed to go away and I loved him too much to stop him.
I sat out on the beach every morning. I felt the sun on my face and I waited for Hitch to come home.
submitted by Mantis_Shrimp47 to nosleep [link] [comments]
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.
2024.05.19 07:21 wood_chomper A man had been drinking molten wax from my candles.
I first started noticing that something was wrong around 3 months ago. At the time, I was working from home and would usually light a scented candle while I worked, which usually helped me relax and stay focused on my work. I would usually burn through a candle a week, but over time, the candles started to take less time to fully burn up. At first, I thought that this was because of a change in ingredients the company that made the candles used, but the problem persisted after I switched candle brands, which I once again blamed on the candle manufacturers.
I kept this belief for another week until the first incident. While getting up from my computer desk, which faces away from the candle, to take a quick bathroom break, I caught a glimpse of the lit candle. A two-inch layer of molten wax rested on another three-inch layer of solid wax, the wicks rising out at first and being somewhat visible through the molten layer, finally breaking the surface and being slowly burned away. The flames flickered as I swung the door open and walked out of the room. When I returned 10 minutes later, the molten layer was gone, and the wicks had been shortened so that the flames rested right above the solid layer of the wax. At first, I thought that the glass jar that contained the candle was leaking, but after a short inspection, I was only able to find two small drops of candle wax that had solidified right next to the candle on the bedside table. I still had 2 hours of work left to do, but I was too lost in thought and was unable to do any work for the rest of the day.
Every night before I go to sleep, I like to read for at least 30 minutes, and while reading, I usually light a candle. Around 4 days later, I had mostly forgotten about the incident and went back to using candles. Due to my naivety, it returned.
I fell asleep while reading with a candle lit on my bedside table. I woke up to loud slurping noises. As I opened my eyes, the brightness of the light I had not turned off almost blinded me. As my eyes tried to readjust to the light and focus on what was in front of me, I saw a somewhat humanoid dark gray to light blue blur that contrasted with the white paint on the walls behind it. Another gray line stretched from the shape's head to the candle on my bedside table. I could feel my heart skip five consecutive beats. I opened my mouth and tried to force out a scream for help, but the pressure I applied to my throat was way beyond what it was able to handle, leading me to only produce a light wheezing sound. I tried to sit up or to at least prop myself up, but my muscles failed me. Trying to push myself up with my arms felt impossible. As I stared at the figure that had suddenly appeared in my room, my eyes finally managed to focus, making it possible for me to see the intruder who was now staring at me. The figure was a man at least 7 feet tall, fully naked; he looked bloated; his eyes were bloodshot and looked like they would pop out of their sockets; at any point, his skin was a grayish light blue.
HIS LIPS
His lips extended from his mouth like an elephant's trunk, which had been split in half. The lips extended from the man's face to the candle; the flames had been put out. He was using his lips as a makeshift straw, slowly sucking up all the molten wax from the candle, which had fully liquified while I was asleep. I laid in bed, unable to move, unable to scream for help, staring until he emptied the jar. His lips retracted back to his face, the molten wax solidifying on their tips and cracking, flakes of wax falling off the man's lips and falling to the floor. The man grinned, staring at me. The ridges and gaps between the teeth were filled in with wax, making it impossible to make out where one tooth ended and the next one began. The man opened the door he was standing next to, but instead of walking out of the room, he stepped behind it. His face peered at me from above the door, and then once again, like he had done to drink the wax, the man puckered his lips, which stretched from his mouth and floated to me. I shook and tried to roll over away from him. I wanted to get up and run, but my fear had taken over my body. Tears flowed from my eyes. He kissed me on the cheek, leaving flakes of wax and light moisture. He retracted his lips and lowered his head behind the door.
I don't remember falling asleep, but when I woke up, I saw the empty glass jar, which at one point contained the candle. Even though I had hoped that what had happened was a dream, it wasn't. I still had flakes of wax on my cheek, and on my bedroom floor, the wax in the jar had disappeared. I called the police, but they were unable to find anyone in my apartment; they also could not find any evidence of a break-in.
After the break-in, I started looking for a new apartment to move to, thinking that the man was tied to the building I was in, but even though I had thrown out all of my candles, I could not stomach spending another hour in my apartment, constantly looking over my shoulder or walking around with my back pressed up against the wall to not allow it to creep up on me. Thankfully, my friend Emma was able to let me stay over at her apartment while I looked for a new one for myself.
Me and Emma have been friends since we were 8, and we've been there to support each other when times get rough. This isn’t the first time I've had to stay over at her house for an extended amount of time; in fact, I have had to stay over at Emma’s as many times as she has had to stay over at my apartment, whether it was because of evictions after losing a job, breakups, or a candle wax drinking squatter. I didn't even know if it was human. I mean, sure, it looked like one, but human lips are not supposed to do what his did, and somehow it didn't have a reaction to molten wax being poured down its esophagus. I didn't tell Emma about what happened—the details at least—I just told her that a man had broken into my house and was watching me sleep. The only people I told the truth to were my therapist and the cops, and all of them disregarded what I told them as my mind making things up after a traumatic event.
For a while, I believed what they said—I mean, why wouldn’t I?—but then I started seeing him again. For a few days, I thought it was my mind playing tricks on me again like it had done during the night of the incident. For split seconds out of the corner of my eye, I would see the outline of a tall, bloated figure. At first, they were hours apart, but after a while, it became constant. He was standing in each room I passed, in every single dark corner I glanced past, and then he spoke.
“FeeD MeEeee”
It stood in the kitchen, peering over from a small gap between the fridge and the sink, where the trash can that had been knocked over onto its side usually stood. His voice was raspy, and every word that came out of his mouth was distorted as if he were gargling water, but still, I could somehow clearly make out each word he said from over 15 feet away.
“Please just leave me alone I… why are you following me?”
I shouted at the figure, the same fear that had taken over my body during the night I saw him for the first time paralyzing me, making it impossible for me to move anything other than my eyes, eyelids, and mouth.
“i’M sTarviNg, I nEEd You To FeEd ME”
It replied again. Now, stepping out from behind the fridge, he stepped directly onto a rotten banana. Its mushy brown content’s seeping out of the peel under the pressure of his decomposing foot, which was covered in scabs, and took up the same grayish light blue color as the rest of his body. He mostly looked the same; his bloodshot eyes bulged from their sockets, but now his tongue was swollen. It peeked out from between his bloated, cracked gray lips; it stared at me, waiting for an answer.
“Ok, I’ll.. I’ll feed you, but please just... leave me alone.”
I replied, the tone of my voice shifting into high-pitched squeals with every quick breath I took. He looked satisfied by my response. He somehow squeezed his bloated body back into the gap that was at least four times smaller than him. After peering over at me from above the fridge, he bent over backwards, his spine releasing a series of sickening cracks until he was fully obscured by the fridge, and then he vanished.
Still barely in control of my body, I limped over to the couch tucked away in the back corner of the living room, it took me at least 10 minutes to steady my breathing and 20 more to fully regain control of my body again but as soon as I did I ran out the house and to the nearest store, during the 15-minute walk he stared at me through dark windows and the backs of cars, peered out at me from gaps between leaves in the trees and bushes, he even followed me into the store staring at me from the middle of deserted isles before disappearing right before my eyes were able to fully catch him, once I finally got the candles I randomly picked four off of the shelves and rushed to the self checkout.
When I arrived home, I had 2 hours before Emma got off work. I didn't want to feed it while she was home, and I didn't want her to see it. I pulled out two of the candles from the black plastic bag and placed them on the kitchen table, the first a light blue candle named “Garden Rain” and the second a red candle named “Juicy Watermelon." I pulled out a lighter from one of the drawers Emma used after her stove stopped lighting on its own and lit each of the 6 wicks on the candles. As soon as I started seeing the wax melt under the heat of the burning wicks, I dropped the lighter onto the table next to the candles and ran out of the room. I could not stomach seeing that thing again; even just thinking about it made me shudder and hyperventilate. The paralyzing fear that seeing him caused me made me want to vomit.
At least 30 minutes later I started to hear it drink even though the living room and kitchen were separated by a wall, even though I had closed the door I could still hear what at first started as slurping sounds which were followed up by loud gulps, then it stopped, and once again 30 minutes later it started drinking, as the slurping started once again I heard the door to the apartment crack open, it was Emma, as she stepped through the door I saw her carrying two large brown paper bags of groceries in her hands, she was headed to the kitchen.
“Hey let me grab those for you”
I said running over to her, my voice shaking.
“Oh, thanks. Are you… okay, you look scared?”
My eyes shot wide open in a mixture of fear and surprise. I said the first thing that came to mind.
“Yeah just umm… I didn't expect you to come home so early and I got a bit spooked”
“shit sorry, I know I should have called you, work let me off early today,”
I started to turn away from her walking to the kitchen.
Trying to keep her away from the kitchen I told her to wait for me in the living room because I wanted to talk to her about something. I didn't know what I would talk to her about but that was a problem for future me to resolve, somehow it worked.
“What's that sound?”
She called out to me while walking towards the living room couch. It took me a few seconds to come up with an excuse.
“I think it’s the sink, or the pipes at least”
I opened the door to the kitchen with my eyes closed at first hesitant to look knowing what would be greeting me. slowly prying my eyes open I started to see its outline, my muscles started to lose strength as the details of the man came into my view, I felt the grocery bags start to slip from my arms, my knees buckled, face first I fell onto the kitchen floor scattering the groceries all over the floor, I mixture of a light scream and a yelp escaped from my mouth as my body made contact with the floor, Emma concerned for my safety ran into the kitchen, she didn't scream, using all of the strength and mobility I had left in my muscles I rolled over expecting to see her face drenched in terror, her body frozen still unable to move just like my body had done the first time that I saw him, but Emma looked concerned, the man was gone, she crouched down beside me.
“Oh my god are you ok? What happened?”
I looked around observing my surroundings.
“I um… I… I tripped on the little thing at the bottom of the doorframe”
I finally managed to blurt out another excuse, not being able to remember what the name of a door sill was. I started to sit up using a part of the energy that had returned to my body, pain pulsed through my chest and arms, Emma looked at me with a concerned face.
“You've been acting really weird since I got home, are you sure you're ok?”
“Yeah… I think I’m just having one of those days you know”
The confusion on Emma’s face said that she didn’t know and to be honest I didn't either, I guess my luck of pulling random excuses out of my ass ran out, Emma thought that she triggered some sort of PTSD response after barging into the house unannounced at first apologizing then trying to change the subject to stop my trembling which I was still unsuccessfully trying to hide from her.
“Did you buy candles?”
Emma asked picking the groceries apart from the garbage that spilled out the can that the man had knocked over, placing them on the table next to the now half-empty glass jars, the flames flickered above the inch or so of molten wax the man was unable to finish drinking.
“Yeah I’ve been struggling with work lately, they usually help me focus”
“Huh Interesting combination you’ve got going on here”
She looked at me and smiled slightly, I smiled back and chuckled to seem normal.
“Yeah even I don't know what I was trying to accomplish here, to be honest”
I tried to help Emma clean up the spilled groceries but she did not let me, she told me that I needed to recover like I had been in a car crash instead of having taken a little tumble. After a few seconds of silence, Emma spoke again.
“Anyway, what did you want to talk to me about earlier?”
A quick jolt of stress shot through my body, in a jumbled mess of lies and fear I had forgotten what I had told Emma, I sat there in silence for a few seconds unable to come up with an excuse
“I…umm… I don’t remember, it wasn't anything serious though”
“Damn did you hit your head too?”
She said once again proudly smiling at her joke.
At this point Emma picked up the last bag of potato chips from the floor and placed it on the table, then she opened the fridge and started loading the groceries into it.
“Anyway I gotta go get back to work’’
I blurted out after a few more seconds of awkward silence.
“Alright well good luck”
I walked over into the living room and sat down in front of my workstation, which now consisted of a laptop sitting on a small foldable TV tray that had just barely enough room left on it to fit a small USB mouse.
The last thing I remember, before I fell asleep, was me mindlessly scrolling through apartment listings while Emma watched a random 90’s horror movie I’m positive only had a budget of $500.
I woke up with a light stinging pain shooting through my dry throat, and a dim hissing sound caused by thousands of water drops striking the ground outside filled the room. I pressed the spacebar on my laptop, the brightness of the screen blinding me temporarily, after taking a few seconds to let my eyes readjust I managed to make out the time, 3:45 AM. A strong smell I was unable to make out the origin of assaulted my nostrils. Lavender.
The smell hitting my nose had the same effect on me that I would expect smelling salts would have on a weightlifter right before they set a world record. Before I knew it my legs were moving on their own at an almost uncontrollable pace, fighting back against my mind which was telling them to slow down after years of being used to navigating both mine and Emma’s apartment as steadily as possible to not bother the neighbors.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity I stood before Emma’s bedroom door, a faint, yellow, pulsating light radiated from a lamp and snuck out of a small gap between the door and the doorframe, reluctantly I pushed my left hand up against the door, my right hand grasping onto the door frame for a sense of stability, once the door was fully agape I scanned the inside of the room my heart skipping a beat for every humanoid shadow cast up onto the wall by the lights from the wicks which were set ablaze and were being slowly burnt away.
I walked into Emma’s room and made my way over to her bedside table to put out the candle, as I stepped closer towards her, her face became more defined, I could finally make out her features, she was awake, but no she could not have been, even though her eyes were wide open they never blinked, she didn't even move slightly, as I moved closer I finally managed to fully make out the expression of pure terror on her face, her mouth wide agape as if she was about to release a deafening screach, but she could not have, a single drop of solidified wax dribbled out of the corner of her mouth and clung to her cheek, my eyes traced the cream colored path back towards her mouth, first up her cheek then between the corner of her mouth and finally behind her teeth, there instead of her tongue or the roof of her mouth I saw a wall of wax which had filled in the entirety of her mouth.
I fell to my knees and hunched forward supporting my body weight with my arms, I was too late, I resisted the urge to vomit and got back up onto my feet, a mixture of tears and snot slid down my face and onto my lips, shaking now I slowly started limping over towards my phone which I had left on the couch next to where I had awoken just minutes before, just minutes before my life was destroyed because of my lies if I had just told Emma what I had gone through, if I had just told her what had happened on the night of the incident which now seemed trivial, even if she thought that I was crazy, I know that she would have complied just to make me feel comfortable.
It took me at least 30 seconds of repeated attempts to stabilize my hands enough to properly dial 911. “Someone broke into my apartment and hurt my friend” was the only reasonable explanation I could come up with that would not get the operator to hang up on me thinking that this was a prank call.
I sat there in the living room for an agonizing 10 minutes, crying, my sadness slowly transformed into anger towards myself, and my mind raced thinking of all the lies I’d told, I kept thinking that if I had just told her the truth she would not have been laying there in her bed, her body bloated, “every single orifice has signs of forced penetration and has been filled with what seems to be candle wax” is what was written on her autopsy report.
For a few days I was the main suspect in Emma’s murder, but due to the almost unstoppable crying and the unresponsive state that I was in when the police arrived, mixed with the lack of evidence of me having a way to produce 30 pounds of candle wax led to me being released out of police custody, but because I was the main suspect I was not told any details about what had fully happened to Emma, for days all I had to work off of was the image of her face frozen in terror, and a short glance I caught of her bloated body as she was being carted out on a stretcher.
I recounted every single word of our last conversations over and over again until they became permanently etched into my brain.
Emma’s parents originally wanted to cremate her, as that is what she had somewhat jokingly asked for whenever the topic of funerals came up, well she had joked about wanting to have had unpopped popcorn shoved down her throat before she was sent off to “scare the shit out of the guy cremating me” but due to all the wax which would have been impossible to get out of her body they were forced to bury her.
A few days before Emma’s funeral her body disappeared.
After Emma’s death, her parents took me into their home, after reading the autopsy reports and seeing her corpse they had thrown out every single candle they owned which made their home the safest choice I had, still, this did not stop me from buying a machete and keeping it under my bed, just in case.
I was laying on the bed in their guest bedroom The day that the police informed Emma’s parents about her disappearance, the bedroom is right above the front porch of the house, at first I heard them ring the doorbell which was followed up by 3 powerful knocks on the door, for about a minute I laid there on the bed listening to muffled voices exchanging distorted words I was barely able to make out which slowly transformed into distorted weeps, curious I lifted myself up from the bed, made my way over to the window and carefully lifted the bottom panel making Shure to not make too much noise, the distorted muffled sounds started forming into coherent words “We checked the security footage but the only strange thing we could see was a 5 second time jump” one of the officers spoke in a serious and almost monotone voice “which meant that the security guard who was the only person in the building had to climb down 2 flights of stairs walk through a 40 foot long hallway and then drag her body back up stairs and out of the building in 5 seconds” Emma’s mom let out yelp “ but don’t worry ma'am that’s actually good news because we know that her corpse is still somewhere within the building and was probably brought to the wrong floor by an intern, we’ve already warned all of the staff at the hospital to keep an eye out, and we also sent 5 officers to search the hospital”
I could not believe what I was hearing, my breathing quickened, but this time instead of fear I felt anger, that fucker stole her corpse and was probably in the weird separate plane of existence he always went back to after terrorizing me, cutting off chunks of her body, melting her, and drinking her.
I closed the window Emma’s mom's cries once again turned into a muffled rumble which was only possible to make out if you knew what to look for, I took a few steps back away from the window planning to lay back down, not wanting to bother Emma’s parents. I bumped into something, not something, someone, its fleshy towering form as solid as a wall sent me tumbling forward, I knew it was him, he had returned to take me too, to stretch his swollen cracked lips, push them down my esophagus, fill my lungs and stomach with wax. But despite all of that this time I was not scared, I was angry, and I was not going to stand there in terror like I had the last time I saw him.
I fell forward onto my knees my face missing the window sill just by mere inches, I put my hands onto the floor, lifted one of my knees, and rotated 180 degrees now facing the monster, to the right of him pushed up against the wall was the bed, light from the sun reflected off of the metallic button which kept my machete in it’s sheathe, the man started to stretch his lips, they were moving towards me, waving a wiggling through the air like a snake slithering towards me.
I dove towards the bed one of my feet pushing off of the floor and the other pushing against the wall which creaked under the pressure applied to it, I flew for a few moments before slamming down onto the carpet and sliding forward, the heat generated by my skin brushing against the carpet released a sharp stinging pain throughout my body, my outstretched arm landed just a few inches short of the machete, I quickly bent my arms, pushing my body up and crawled towards the machete. my fingers wrapped around the handle I spun around, my back pushed up against the bedside table, once again facing the man, he was still facing the window but his lips faced me and were just a few feet away from me, for what felt like minutes but was most likely no longer than a second, I struggled to hook my finger under the strap securing the machete into its sheath, as the lips inched towards me the man started producing gurgling noises, he was regurgitation wax.
I finally pulled the machete out of its sheath, I swung the blade at the man's lips, the blade was not met with any resistance as it sliced through the man’s lips which landed on the carpeted floor with an audible thud, the man did not have a physical reaction to my counter-attack, his lips kept creeping towards me, once again I slashed at the lips, still no reaction, I repeated this at least 3 more times.
I wanted to kill him, I wanted to take revenge for what he had done to Emma, but fighting back was pointless. I realized that no matter how much I tried to hurt it, I could not kill him, I could not get rid of him.
My rage dissipated and a mixture of fear and sadness crept in, and soon took over my body, I screamed for help, I screamed in fear, in agony, tears streamed down my face as the man's lips finally reached my face, he wasn’t met with any resistance as his lips snuck between mine, pried my jaw open and finally started to slide down my esophagus.
I heard the cops run up the stairs, they started banging on the door asking if I was okay only to have been met with muffled screams, hot wax started to pour down inside of me, the stinging pain of the heat made me want to plunge the machete which I had dropped onto the ground next to me into my stomach to create a gaping wound that the wax would hopefully funnel out of, the texture of the man's slippery, oily lips matched with the poison like flavor of the wax caused me to start gagging, I felt my insides bulging like at any moment my intestines would have been filled to the point where they would pop, I wanted to vomit, the drain myself of the filth I was filled with, but his lips had plugged my throat not allowing anything to get out.
Hearing my muffled screams the cops started kicking the door down, the man retracted his lips, the suction aided my attempts at cleansing my insides, I got onto my hands and knees streams of molten wax pouring out of me, solidifying on the the carpet, with another loud thud the door swung open slamming into the wall, the man was gone.
That’s the last thing I remember before I passed out, but according to one of the doctors who was in the ambulance that brought me to the hospital, I was still semi-responsive during the first 10 minutes of the ride to the hospital.
Approximately 13.4 pounds of wax were removed from my body, the doctors said that I was in a critical condition and some of them did not expect me to make it.
One of the officers who was there the day the man attacked me took a report of what had happened to me, due to the unmistakable evidence of what had happened to both me and Emma, and the fact that this was the 3rd instance of me reporting something like this the police finally started investigating who this man might have been.
Around a month later I was discharged from the hospital and once again have been staying in the living room of Emma’s parent's house.
I’ve been seeing the man again, candles were not allowed in the hospital I stayed at, which means that he’s probably very hungry, he’s close to attacking me again, I know it, he wants to finish what he started and I don't know if I have the power to fight back, I’m not sure if defeating him is even possible, I’m tired.
I’ve been seeing Emma too, her bloated, reanimated corpse often appears to be standing next to the man. If I let him take me will I get to join them? I’ve tried asking but they don’t answer, they just stare, I can’t keep living in constant fear, always looking over my shoulder, I miss Emma.
submitted by wood_chomper to nosleep [link] [comments]
I kept this belief for another week until the first incident. While getting up from my computer desk, which faces away from the candle, to take a quick bathroom break, I caught a glimpse of the lit candle. A two-inch layer of molten wax rested on another three-inch layer of solid wax, the wicks rising out at first and being somewhat visible through the molten layer, finally breaking the surface and being slowly burned away. The flames flickered as I swung the door open and walked out of the room. When I returned 10 minutes later, the molten layer was gone, and the wicks had been shortened so that the flames rested right above the solid layer of the wax. At first, I thought that the glass jar that contained the candle was leaking, but after a short inspection, I was only able to find two small drops of candle wax that had solidified right next to the candle on the bedside table. I still had 2 hours of work left to do, but I was too lost in thought and was unable to do any work for the rest of the day.
Every night before I go to sleep, I like to read for at least 30 minutes, and while reading, I usually light a candle. Around 4 days later, I had mostly forgotten about the incident and went back to using candles. Due to my naivety, it returned.
I fell asleep while reading with a candle lit on my bedside table. I woke up to loud slurping noises. As I opened my eyes, the brightness of the light I had not turned off almost blinded me. As my eyes tried to readjust to the light and focus on what was in front of me, I saw a somewhat humanoid dark gray to light blue blur that contrasted with the white paint on the walls behind it. Another gray line stretched from the shape's head to the candle on my bedside table. I could feel my heart skip five consecutive beats. I opened my mouth and tried to force out a scream for help, but the pressure I applied to my throat was way beyond what it was able to handle, leading me to only produce a light wheezing sound. I tried to sit up or to at least prop myself up, but my muscles failed me. Trying to push myself up with my arms felt impossible. As I stared at the figure that had suddenly appeared in my room, my eyes finally managed to focus, making it possible for me to see the intruder who was now staring at me. The figure was a man at least 7 feet tall, fully naked; he looked bloated; his eyes were bloodshot and looked like they would pop out of their sockets; at any point, his skin was a grayish light blue.
HIS LIPS
His lips extended from his mouth like an elephant's trunk, which had been split in half. The lips extended from the man's face to the candle; the flames had been put out. He was using his lips as a makeshift straw, slowly sucking up all the molten wax from the candle, which had fully liquified while I was asleep. I laid in bed, unable to move, unable to scream for help, staring until he emptied the jar. His lips retracted back to his face, the molten wax solidifying on their tips and cracking, flakes of wax falling off the man's lips and falling to the floor. The man grinned, staring at me. The ridges and gaps between the teeth were filled in with wax, making it impossible to make out where one tooth ended and the next one began. The man opened the door he was standing next to, but instead of walking out of the room, he stepped behind it. His face peered at me from above the door, and then once again, like he had done to drink the wax, the man puckered his lips, which stretched from his mouth and floated to me. I shook and tried to roll over away from him. I wanted to get up and run, but my fear had taken over my body. Tears flowed from my eyes. He kissed me on the cheek, leaving flakes of wax and light moisture. He retracted his lips and lowered his head behind the door.
I don't remember falling asleep, but when I woke up, I saw the empty glass jar, which at one point contained the candle. Even though I had hoped that what had happened was a dream, it wasn't. I still had flakes of wax on my cheek, and on my bedroom floor, the wax in the jar had disappeared. I called the police, but they were unable to find anyone in my apartment; they also could not find any evidence of a break-in.
After the break-in, I started looking for a new apartment to move to, thinking that the man was tied to the building I was in, but even though I had thrown out all of my candles, I could not stomach spending another hour in my apartment, constantly looking over my shoulder or walking around with my back pressed up against the wall to not allow it to creep up on me. Thankfully, my friend Emma was able to let me stay over at her apartment while I looked for a new one for myself.
Me and Emma have been friends since we were 8, and we've been there to support each other when times get rough. This isn’t the first time I've had to stay over at her house for an extended amount of time; in fact, I have had to stay over at Emma’s as many times as she has had to stay over at my apartment, whether it was because of evictions after losing a job, breakups, or a candle wax drinking squatter. I didn't even know if it was human. I mean, sure, it looked like one, but human lips are not supposed to do what his did, and somehow it didn't have a reaction to molten wax being poured down its esophagus. I didn't tell Emma about what happened—the details at least—I just told her that a man had broken into my house and was watching me sleep. The only people I told the truth to were my therapist and the cops, and all of them disregarded what I told them as my mind making things up after a traumatic event.
For a while, I believed what they said—I mean, why wouldn’t I?—but then I started seeing him again. For a few days, I thought it was my mind playing tricks on me again like it had done during the night of the incident. For split seconds out of the corner of my eye, I would see the outline of a tall, bloated figure. At first, they were hours apart, but after a while, it became constant. He was standing in each room I passed, in every single dark corner I glanced past, and then he spoke.
“FeeD MeEeee”
It stood in the kitchen, peering over from a small gap between the fridge and the sink, where the trash can that had been knocked over onto its side usually stood. His voice was raspy, and every word that came out of his mouth was distorted as if he were gargling water, but still, I could somehow clearly make out each word he said from over 15 feet away.
“Please just leave me alone I… why are you following me?”
I shouted at the figure, the same fear that had taken over my body during the night I saw him for the first time paralyzing me, making it impossible for me to move anything other than my eyes, eyelids, and mouth.
“i’M sTarviNg, I nEEd You To FeEd ME”
It replied again. Now, stepping out from behind the fridge, he stepped directly onto a rotten banana. Its mushy brown content’s seeping out of the peel under the pressure of his decomposing foot, which was covered in scabs, and took up the same grayish light blue color as the rest of his body. He mostly looked the same; his bloodshot eyes bulged from their sockets, but now his tongue was swollen. It peeked out from between his bloated, cracked gray lips; it stared at me, waiting for an answer.
“Ok, I’ll.. I’ll feed you, but please just... leave me alone.”
I replied, the tone of my voice shifting into high-pitched squeals with every quick breath I took. He looked satisfied by my response. He somehow squeezed his bloated body back into the gap that was at least four times smaller than him. After peering over at me from above the fridge, he bent over backwards, his spine releasing a series of sickening cracks until he was fully obscured by the fridge, and then he vanished.
Still barely in control of my body, I limped over to the couch tucked away in the back corner of the living room, it took me at least 10 minutes to steady my breathing and 20 more to fully regain control of my body again but as soon as I did I ran out the house and to the nearest store, during the 15-minute walk he stared at me through dark windows and the backs of cars, peered out at me from gaps between leaves in the trees and bushes, he even followed me into the store staring at me from the middle of deserted isles before disappearing right before my eyes were able to fully catch him, once I finally got the candles I randomly picked four off of the shelves and rushed to the self checkout.
When I arrived home, I had 2 hours before Emma got off work. I didn't want to feed it while she was home, and I didn't want her to see it. I pulled out two of the candles from the black plastic bag and placed them on the kitchen table, the first a light blue candle named “Garden Rain” and the second a red candle named “Juicy Watermelon." I pulled out a lighter from one of the drawers Emma used after her stove stopped lighting on its own and lit each of the 6 wicks on the candles. As soon as I started seeing the wax melt under the heat of the burning wicks, I dropped the lighter onto the table next to the candles and ran out of the room. I could not stomach seeing that thing again; even just thinking about it made me shudder and hyperventilate. The paralyzing fear that seeing him caused me made me want to vomit.
At least 30 minutes later I started to hear it drink even though the living room and kitchen were separated by a wall, even though I had closed the door I could still hear what at first started as slurping sounds which were followed up by loud gulps, then it stopped, and once again 30 minutes later it started drinking, as the slurping started once again I heard the door to the apartment crack open, it was Emma, as she stepped through the door I saw her carrying two large brown paper bags of groceries in her hands, she was headed to the kitchen.
“Hey let me grab those for you”
I said running over to her, my voice shaking.
“Oh, thanks. Are you… okay, you look scared?”
My eyes shot wide open in a mixture of fear and surprise. I said the first thing that came to mind.
“Yeah just umm… I didn't expect you to come home so early and I got a bit spooked”
“shit sorry, I know I should have called you, work let me off early today,”
I started to turn away from her walking to the kitchen.
Trying to keep her away from the kitchen I told her to wait for me in the living room because I wanted to talk to her about something. I didn't know what I would talk to her about but that was a problem for future me to resolve, somehow it worked.
“What's that sound?”
She called out to me while walking towards the living room couch. It took me a few seconds to come up with an excuse.
“I think it’s the sink, or the pipes at least”
I opened the door to the kitchen with my eyes closed at first hesitant to look knowing what would be greeting me. slowly prying my eyes open I started to see its outline, my muscles started to lose strength as the details of the man came into my view, I felt the grocery bags start to slip from my arms, my knees buckled, face first I fell onto the kitchen floor scattering the groceries all over the floor, I mixture of a light scream and a yelp escaped from my mouth as my body made contact with the floor, Emma concerned for my safety ran into the kitchen, she didn't scream, using all of the strength and mobility I had left in my muscles I rolled over expecting to see her face drenched in terror, her body frozen still unable to move just like my body had done the first time that I saw him, but Emma looked concerned, the man was gone, she crouched down beside me.
“Oh my god are you ok? What happened?”
I looked around observing my surroundings.
“I um… I… I tripped on the little thing at the bottom of the doorframe”
I finally managed to blurt out another excuse, not being able to remember what the name of a door sill was. I started to sit up using a part of the energy that had returned to my body, pain pulsed through my chest and arms, Emma looked at me with a concerned face.
“You've been acting really weird since I got home, are you sure you're ok?”
“Yeah… I think I’m just having one of those days you know”
The confusion on Emma’s face said that she didn’t know and to be honest I didn't either, I guess my luck of pulling random excuses out of my ass ran out, Emma thought that she triggered some sort of PTSD response after barging into the house unannounced at first apologizing then trying to change the subject to stop my trembling which I was still unsuccessfully trying to hide from her.
“Did you buy candles?”
Emma asked picking the groceries apart from the garbage that spilled out the can that the man had knocked over, placing them on the table next to the now half-empty glass jars, the flames flickered above the inch or so of molten wax the man was unable to finish drinking.
“Yeah I’ve been struggling with work lately, they usually help me focus”
“Huh Interesting combination you’ve got going on here”
She looked at me and smiled slightly, I smiled back and chuckled to seem normal.
“Yeah even I don't know what I was trying to accomplish here, to be honest”
I tried to help Emma clean up the spilled groceries but she did not let me, she told me that I needed to recover like I had been in a car crash instead of having taken a little tumble. After a few seconds of silence, Emma spoke again.
“Anyway, what did you want to talk to me about earlier?”
A quick jolt of stress shot through my body, in a jumbled mess of lies and fear I had forgotten what I had told Emma, I sat there in silence for a few seconds unable to come up with an excuse
“I…umm… I don’t remember, it wasn't anything serious though”
“Damn did you hit your head too?”
She said once again proudly smiling at her joke.
At this point Emma picked up the last bag of potato chips from the floor and placed it on the table, then she opened the fridge and started loading the groceries into it.
“Anyway I gotta go get back to work’’
I blurted out after a few more seconds of awkward silence.
“Alright well good luck”
I walked over into the living room and sat down in front of my workstation, which now consisted of a laptop sitting on a small foldable TV tray that had just barely enough room left on it to fit a small USB mouse.
The last thing I remember, before I fell asleep, was me mindlessly scrolling through apartment listings while Emma watched a random 90’s horror movie I’m positive only had a budget of $500.
I woke up with a light stinging pain shooting through my dry throat, and a dim hissing sound caused by thousands of water drops striking the ground outside filled the room. I pressed the spacebar on my laptop, the brightness of the screen blinding me temporarily, after taking a few seconds to let my eyes readjust I managed to make out the time, 3:45 AM. A strong smell I was unable to make out the origin of assaulted my nostrils. Lavender.
The smell hitting my nose had the same effect on me that I would expect smelling salts would have on a weightlifter right before they set a world record. Before I knew it my legs were moving on their own at an almost uncontrollable pace, fighting back against my mind which was telling them to slow down after years of being used to navigating both mine and Emma’s apartment as steadily as possible to not bother the neighbors.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity I stood before Emma’s bedroom door, a faint, yellow, pulsating light radiated from a lamp and snuck out of a small gap between the door and the doorframe, reluctantly I pushed my left hand up against the door, my right hand grasping onto the door frame for a sense of stability, once the door was fully agape I scanned the inside of the room my heart skipping a beat for every humanoid shadow cast up onto the wall by the lights from the wicks which were set ablaze and were being slowly burnt away.
I walked into Emma’s room and made my way over to her bedside table to put out the candle, as I stepped closer towards her, her face became more defined, I could finally make out her features, she was awake, but no she could not have been, even though her eyes were wide open they never blinked, she didn't even move slightly, as I moved closer I finally managed to fully make out the expression of pure terror on her face, her mouth wide agape as if she was about to release a deafening screach, but she could not have, a single drop of solidified wax dribbled out of the corner of her mouth and clung to her cheek, my eyes traced the cream colored path back towards her mouth, first up her cheek then between the corner of her mouth and finally behind her teeth, there instead of her tongue or the roof of her mouth I saw a wall of wax which had filled in the entirety of her mouth.
I fell to my knees and hunched forward supporting my body weight with my arms, I was too late, I resisted the urge to vomit and got back up onto my feet, a mixture of tears and snot slid down my face and onto my lips, shaking now I slowly started limping over towards my phone which I had left on the couch next to where I had awoken just minutes before, just minutes before my life was destroyed because of my lies if I had just told Emma what I had gone through, if I had just told her what had happened on the night of the incident which now seemed trivial, even if she thought that I was crazy, I know that she would have complied just to make me feel comfortable.
It took me at least 30 seconds of repeated attempts to stabilize my hands enough to properly dial 911. “Someone broke into my apartment and hurt my friend” was the only reasonable explanation I could come up with that would not get the operator to hang up on me thinking that this was a prank call.
I sat there in the living room for an agonizing 10 minutes, crying, my sadness slowly transformed into anger towards myself, and my mind raced thinking of all the lies I’d told, I kept thinking that if I had just told her the truth she would not have been laying there in her bed, her body bloated, “every single orifice has signs of forced penetration and has been filled with what seems to be candle wax” is what was written on her autopsy report.
For a few days I was the main suspect in Emma’s murder, but due to the almost unstoppable crying and the unresponsive state that I was in when the police arrived, mixed with the lack of evidence of me having a way to produce 30 pounds of candle wax led to me being released out of police custody, but because I was the main suspect I was not told any details about what had fully happened to Emma, for days all I had to work off of was the image of her face frozen in terror, and a short glance I caught of her bloated body as she was being carted out on a stretcher.
I recounted every single word of our last conversations over and over again until they became permanently etched into my brain.
Emma’s parents originally wanted to cremate her, as that is what she had somewhat jokingly asked for whenever the topic of funerals came up, well she had joked about wanting to have had unpopped popcorn shoved down her throat before she was sent off to “scare the shit out of the guy cremating me” but due to all the wax which would have been impossible to get out of her body they were forced to bury her.
A few days before Emma’s funeral her body disappeared.
After Emma’s death, her parents took me into their home, after reading the autopsy reports and seeing her corpse they had thrown out every single candle they owned which made their home the safest choice I had, still, this did not stop me from buying a machete and keeping it under my bed, just in case.
I was laying on the bed in their guest bedroom The day that the police informed Emma’s parents about her disappearance, the bedroom is right above the front porch of the house, at first I heard them ring the doorbell which was followed up by 3 powerful knocks on the door, for about a minute I laid there on the bed listening to muffled voices exchanging distorted words I was barely able to make out which slowly transformed into distorted weeps, curious I lifted myself up from the bed, made my way over to the window and carefully lifted the bottom panel making Shure to not make too much noise, the distorted muffled sounds started forming into coherent words “We checked the security footage but the only strange thing we could see was a 5 second time jump” one of the officers spoke in a serious and almost monotone voice “which meant that the security guard who was the only person in the building had to climb down 2 flights of stairs walk through a 40 foot long hallway and then drag her body back up stairs and out of the building in 5 seconds” Emma’s mom let out yelp “ but don’t worry ma'am that’s actually good news because we know that her corpse is still somewhere within the building and was probably brought to the wrong floor by an intern, we’ve already warned all of the staff at the hospital to keep an eye out, and we also sent 5 officers to search the hospital”
I could not believe what I was hearing, my breathing quickened, but this time instead of fear I felt anger, that fucker stole her corpse and was probably in the weird separate plane of existence he always went back to after terrorizing me, cutting off chunks of her body, melting her, and drinking her.
I closed the window Emma’s mom's cries once again turned into a muffled rumble which was only possible to make out if you knew what to look for, I took a few steps back away from the window planning to lay back down, not wanting to bother Emma’s parents. I bumped into something, not something, someone, its fleshy towering form as solid as a wall sent me tumbling forward, I knew it was him, he had returned to take me too, to stretch his swollen cracked lips, push them down my esophagus, fill my lungs and stomach with wax. But despite all of that this time I was not scared, I was angry, and I was not going to stand there in terror like I had the last time I saw him.
I fell forward onto my knees my face missing the window sill just by mere inches, I put my hands onto the floor, lifted one of my knees, and rotated 180 degrees now facing the monster, to the right of him pushed up against the wall was the bed, light from the sun reflected off of the metallic button which kept my machete in it’s sheathe, the man started to stretch his lips, they were moving towards me, waving a wiggling through the air like a snake slithering towards me.
I dove towards the bed one of my feet pushing off of the floor and the other pushing against the wall which creaked under the pressure applied to it, I flew for a few moments before slamming down onto the carpet and sliding forward, the heat generated by my skin brushing against the carpet released a sharp stinging pain throughout my body, my outstretched arm landed just a few inches short of the machete, I quickly bent my arms, pushing my body up and crawled towards the machete. my fingers wrapped around the handle I spun around, my back pushed up against the bedside table, once again facing the man, he was still facing the window but his lips faced me and were just a few feet away from me, for what felt like minutes but was most likely no longer than a second, I struggled to hook my finger under the strap securing the machete into its sheath, as the lips inched towards me the man started producing gurgling noises, he was regurgitation wax.
I finally pulled the machete out of its sheath, I swung the blade at the man's lips, the blade was not met with any resistance as it sliced through the man’s lips which landed on the carpeted floor with an audible thud, the man did not have a physical reaction to my counter-attack, his lips kept creeping towards me, once again I slashed at the lips, still no reaction, I repeated this at least 3 more times.
I wanted to kill him, I wanted to take revenge for what he had done to Emma, but fighting back was pointless. I realized that no matter how much I tried to hurt it, I could not kill him, I could not get rid of him.
My rage dissipated and a mixture of fear and sadness crept in, and soon took over my body, I screamed for help, I screamed in fear, in agony, tears streamed down my face as the man's lips finally reached my face, he wasn’t met with any resistance as his lips snuck between mine, pried my jaw open and finally started to slide down my esophagus.
I heard the cops run up the stairs, they started banging on the door asking if I was okay only to have been met with muffled screams, hot wax started to pour down inside of me, the stinging pain of the heat made me want to plunge the machete which I had dropped onto the ground next to me into my stomach to create a gaping wound that the wax would hopefully funnel out of, the texture of the man's slippery, oily lips matched with the poison like flavor of the wax caused me to start gagging, I felt my insides bulging like at any moment my intestines would have been filled to the point where they would pop, I wanted to vomit, the drain myself of the filth I was filled with, but his lips had plugged my throat not allowing anything to get out.
Hearing my muffled screams the cops started kicking the door down, the man retracted his lips, the suction aided my attempts at cleansing my insides, I got onto my hands and knees streams of molten wax pouring out of me, solidifying on the the carpet, with another loud thud the door swung open slamming into the wall, the man was gone.
That’s the last thing I remember before I passed out, but according to one of the doctors who was in the ambulance that brought me to the hospital, I was still semi-responsive during the first 10 minutes of the ride to the hospital.
Approximately 13.4 pounds of wax were removed from my body, the doctors said that I was in a critical condition and some of them did not expect me to make it.
One of the officers who was there the day the man attacked me took a report of what had happened to me, due to the unmistakable evidence of what had happened to both me and Emma, and the fact that this was the 3rd instance of me reporting something like this the police finally started investigating who this man might have been.
Around a month later I was discharged from the hospital and once again have been staying in the living room of Emma’s parent's house.
I’ve been seeing the man again, candles were not allowed in the hospital I stayed at, which means that he’s probably very hungry, he’s close to attacking me again, I know it, he wants to finish what he started and I don't know if I have the power to fight back, I’m not sure if defeating him is even possible, I’m tired.
I’ve been seeing Emma too, her bloated, reanimated corpse often appears to be standing next to the man. If I let him take me will I get to join them? I’ve tried asking but they don’t answer, they just stare, I can’t keep living in constant fear, always looking over my shoulder, I miss Emma.
2024.05.19 06:52 lukmapache [F4M] ghost girl wants you to notice her [ghost speaker x human listener] [tsundere-ish] [comedy] [wholesome] [slice of life] An ASMR script by Luk Mapache.
It's okay to record, post and monetize (as long as you don't put it behind a paywall), just credit me.
Feel free to tweak it, change the roles and pronouns, correct my orthography, just don't change it too much.
Feedback is appreciated.
“hehehe, today is the day”
[pause]
“Finally, after months of frustration and failed attempts”
[pause]
“Today is the day I'll scare him!!!”
[pause]
“I'm sure he is going to say, “oh no a scary ghost, I have to leave this haunted place immediately”, and he will leave my house”
[pause]
“...”
[pause]
“He... is... late today...”
[pause]
“He is never this late”
[pause]
“Could it be that something has happened to him?”
[pause]
“What if he died?”
[pause]
“He better not have died before I had a chance to scare him”
[pause]
(SFX: keys on the door)
“Oh, there he is”
[pause]
“Okay, put you bag down, just like that and now...”
(SFX: door slams)
“ohohoho, I bet that scared him a lot!!!!”
[pause]
“...”
[pause]
“He isn’t even startled...”
[pause]
“Fine, time to get serious”
[pause]
“I’ll turn off the lights as soon as he walks into the kitchen”
[pause]
“One...”
[pause]
“Two...”
[pause]
“Three...”
[pause]
“That should do it”
[pause]
“What?”
[pause]
“No!!!!”
[pause]
“It isn’t your lightbulb, when has it been your lightbulb in the past six weeks?”
[pause]
“it’s me, it’s always been me”
[pause]
“See me!!! Fear me!!!”
[pause]
“What do I have to do, push you down the stairs?”
[pause]
“Actually, scratch that, last time you almost died”
[pause]
“Oh, he is about to sit, maybe I could...”
[pause]
(SFX: chair moves)
[pause]
“The chair moved on its own, surely you at least found that weird, right?”
[pause]
“No!! No!! No!! No!!”
[pause]
“don’t just sit on the chair...”
[pause]
“This wasn’t this difficult in the 80’s”
[pause]
“What is he doing now?”
[pause]
“Instant ramen again?”
[pause]
“He really should stop eating that”
[pause]
“It can’t be good for him”
[pause]
“I wonder what they taste like thought”
[pause]
“Idea, I'll turn on the stove and overboil his noodles”
[pause]
“As soon as he looks away...”
[pause]
“now”
[pause]
“What do you think about that mister I fear nothing”
[pause]
“What is he doing?”
[pause]
“You are just going to leave with the stove turned up like that?”
[pause]
“Well, I'm not turning it down...”
[pause]
“it’s starting to boil...”
[pause]
“And now is boiling...”
[pause]
“And now is spilling!!”
[pause]
“Hey!!! Can't you hear it?”
[pause]
“don’t you care about your soup? your pot? the kitchen? Your safety?”
[pause]
“fine”
[pause]
“I'll turn it off gee”
[pause]
“There you are, the kitchen could have burn you know?”
[pause]
“And you are just going to serve the noodles and move on, because of course you are”
[pause]
“What do I have to do?”
[pause]
“I have tried all the tricks, moving objects, making things disappear, weird noises, turning the lights on and off”
[pause]
“I would appear outside your bedroom wearing a bedsheet at this point”
[pause]
“I would lose my pride as a ghost if I did that”
[pause]
(sight)
“What to do? What to do?”
[pause]
“Hey where did you go?”
[pause]
(SFX: tv turning on)
“Oh, it is that time of the day”
[pause]
“Hey, what are we watching?”
[pause]
“Is it cartoons?”
[pause]
“Ugh, I can’t stand this campy 80’s horror movies, I didn’t like them when they were new, and I don’t like them now”
[pause]
“If you don’t change the channel I will”
[pause]
“Excuse me, did you just flinch?”
[pause]
“Oh no, you are not getting scared watching this garbage?”
[pause]
“You really just screamed?”
[pause]
“Okay, that is it”
[pause]
“What was that trick jerry the poltergeist taught me back in 09?”
[pause]
“haven’t had to do this in a while”
[pause]
(SFX: static noises)
“Hey...”
[pause]
“Hey...”
[pause]
“HEY!!!!!”
[pause]
“Yes, I’m talking to you”
[pause]
“No, this is not part of your movie, your terrible, terrible, stupid movie, I really am talking to you”
[pause]
“what’s the big idea dude?”
[pause]
“For weeks I have been moving chairs and slamming doors, without even getting a single reaction out of you”
[pause]
“Just to see you get scared and literally scream watching a boring 80’s horror movie, that aged like milk”
[pause]
“Point is, not cool”
[pause]
“of course, is only now that you realize I’m here, well about time!!!”
[pause]
“I’m a ghost, I haunt this house”
[pause]
“I'm talking through the tv, it’s a trick I learn from a poltergeist that lived in a radio once”
[pause]
“Yeah, yeah nice to meet you too, whatever moving on”
[pause]
“How can you not notice the house is haunted? Even I literally pushed you down the stairs that one time”
[pause]
“Yeah, sorry, that was me”
[pause]
“I wasn’t trying to kill you or anything, I was just trying to scare you and make you live my house”
[pause]
“Yes, this is my house, I was born here, grew up here and I died here, it’s mine”
[pause]
“I am not sharing it with anyone, I have scared off anyone who has moved here”
[pause]
“First it was the Jeffers in 82, they were a family of five, they were only here for 2 months before they packed up and left”
[pause]
“I took it slow, saw what they were like before starting doing things”
[pause]
“They were nice enough; the kids were a little annoying”
[pause]
“Then in 94, a woman and her daughter, the girl was into spooky stuff, her mom hoped it was just a phase”
[pause]
“After two weeks of things happening, she took a Ouija board and convinced the mom to have a seance, it only took shaking up the table a little and saying get out, for them to pack and leave the next day”
[pause]
“Then 2001, a painter, or was it a writer? Doesn’t matter... he thought he was crazy, and that I was a product of his mind”
[pause]
“Well, he was crazy, but the house was also haunted”
[pause]
“He didn’t run away though, he was hospitalized... it was better for him...”
[pause]
“After that it was a couple of newlyweds, a week of moving objects and they set a bunch cameras allover”
[pause]
“I decided to give them a show, there were out in a week”
[pause]
“What year it was?”
[pause]
“2007, why?”
[pause]
“Anyway, then it was 2012, let’s just say a sorority had to look for a new house, in only three days... that was my proudest moment...”
[pause]
“Which brings us to you”
[pause]
“Six weeks and you didn’t even notice there’s something going on”
[pause]
“Are you that dense?”
[pause]
“What do you mean you knew?”
[pause]
“Well yeah, I don’t want to hurt you, but still, I think you would at least get scared, you live in a seclude house, alone, in the woods”
[pause]
“Why would you willingly live somewhere like this?”
[pause]
“The rent is what?”
[pause]
“That is... so little...”
[pause]
“How dare they rent my house for just that?
[pause]
“My father spent a fortune building it!!!”
[pause]
“It pisses me off”
[pause]
“What valid reasons?”
[pause]
“Yes, I guess the garden could use some work”
[pause]
“And the roof is a little moldy”
[pause]
“Come on, is not as if anyone knows for sure that is haunted”
[pause]
“It was in the contract?”
[pause]
“And you still moved here?”
[pause]
“you’ll really settle for anything, huh?”
[pause]
“...”
[pause]
“Say...”
[pause]
“If I, hypothetically, agreed to share the house”
[pause]
“Under the condition on not putting anymore stupid horror movies”
[pause]
“And let me watch at least an hour of cartoons”
[pause]
“And constantly speaking to me even if you can’t hear me when I'm not in the tv”
[pause]
“Yes, I could move to any other screen”
[pause]
“What? No, I’m not moving to the screen of your phone, i have seen the stuff you look in it”
[pause]
“Your laptop isn’t as bad, but you still haven’t answer me”
[pause]
“Would you do all that?”
[pause]
“Yes?”
[pause]
“Then, will agree to share the place with you”
[pause]
“Because this is the first conversation I had in like a century”
[pause]
“Is rude to ask the age of a lady”
[pause]
“Hmm... what year is this?
[pause]
“a little less than a hundred then”
[pause]
“I don’t speak like an old lady because, I try to keep up with the lingo, why not, I mean, YOLO, you know?”
“Why are you looking at me like that? What did I say?”
[end]
submitted by lukmapache to ASMRScriptHaven [link] [comments]
Feel free to tweak it, change the roles and pronouns, correct my orthography, just don't change it too much.
Feedback is appreciated.
“hehehe, today is the day”
[pause]
“Finally, after months of frustration and failed attempts”
[pause]
“Today is the day I'll scare him!!!”
[pause]
“I'm sure he is going to say, “oh no a scary ghost, I have to leave this haunted place immediately”, and he will leave my house”
[pause]
“...”
[pause]
“He... is... late today...”
[pause]
“He is never this late”
[pause]
“Could it be that something has happened to him?”
[pause]
“What if he died?”
[pause]
“He better not have died before I had a chance to scare him”
[pause]
(SFX: keys on the door)
“Oh, there he is”
[pause]
“Okay, put you bag down, just like that and now...”
(SFX: door slams)
“ohohoho, I bet that scared him a lot!!!!”
[pause]
“...”
[pause]
“He isn’t even startled...”
[pause]
“Fine, time to get serious”
[pause]
“I’ll turn off the lights as soon as he walks into the kitchen”
[pause]
“One...”
[pause]
“Two...”
[pause]
“Three...”
[pause]
“That should do it”
[pause]
“What?”
[pause]
“No!!!!”
[pause]
“It isn’t your lightbulb, when has it been your lightbulb in the past six weeks?”
[pause]
“it’s me, it’s always been me”
[pause]
“See me!!! Fear me!!!”
[pause]
“What do I have to do, push you down the stairs?”
[pause]
“Actually, scratch that, last time you almost died”
[pause]
“Oh, he is about to sit, maybe I could...”
[pause]
(SFX: chair moves)
[pause]
“The chair moved on its own, surely you at least found that weird, right?”
[pause]
“No!! No!! No!! No!!”
[pause]
“don’t just sit on the chair...”
[pause]
“This wasn’t this difficult in the 80’s”
[pause]
“What is he doing now?”
[pause]
“Instant ramen again?”
[pause]
“He really should stop eating that”
[pause]
“It can’t be good for him”
[pause]
“I wonder what they taste like thought”
[pause]
“Idea, I'll turn on the stove and overboil his noodles”
[pause]
“As soon as he looks away...”
[pause]
“now”
[pause]
“What do you think about that mister I fear nothing”
[pause]
“What is he doing?”
[pause]
“You are just going to leave with the stove turned up like that?”
[pause]
“Well, I'm not turning it down...”
[pause]
“it’s starting to boil...”
[pause]
“And now is boiling...”
[pause]
“And now is spilling!!”
[pause]
“Hey!!! Can't you hear it?”
[pause]
“don’t you care about your soup? your pot? the kitchen? Your safety?”
[pause]
“fine”
[pause]
“I'll turn it off gee”
[pause]
“There you are, the kitchen could have burn you know?”
[pause]
“And you are just going to serve the noodles and move on, because of course you are”
[pause]
“What do I have to do?”
[pause]
“I have tried all the tricks, moving objects, making things disappear, weird noises, turning the lights on and off”
[pause]
“I would appear outside your bedroom wearing a bedsheet at this point”
[pause]
“I would lose my pride as a ghost if I did that”
[pause]
(sight)
“What to do? What to do?”
[pause]
“Hey where did you go?”
[pause]
(SFX: tv turning on)
“Oh, it is that time of the day”
[pause]
“Hey, what are we watching?”
[pause]
“Is it cartoons?”
[pause]
“Ugh, I can’t stand this campy 80’s horror movies, I didn’t like them when they were new, and I don’t like them now”
[pause]
“If you don’t change the channel I will”
[pause]
“Excuse me, did you just flinch?”
[pause]
“Oh no, you are not getting scared watching this garbage?”
[pause]
“You really just screamed?”
[pause]
“Okay, that is it”
[pause]
“What was that trick jerry the poltergeist taught me back in 09?”
[pause]
“haven’t had to do this in a while”
[pause]
(SFX: static noises)
“Hey...”
[pause]
“Hey...”
[pause]
“HEY!!!!!”
[pause]
“Yes, I’m talking to you”
[pause]
“No, this is not part of your movie, your terrible, terrible, stupid movie, I really am talking to you”
[pause]
“what’s the big idea dude?”
[pause]
“For weeks I have been moving chairs and slamming doors, without even getting a single reaction out of you”
[pause]
“Just to see you get scared and literally scream watching a boring 80’s horror movie, that aged like milk”
[pause]
“Point is, not cool”
[pause]
“of course, is only now that you realize I’m here, well about time!!!”
[pause]
“I’m a ghost, I haunt this house”
[pause]
“I'm talking through the tv, it’s a trick I learn from a poltergeist that lived in a radio once”
[pause]
“Yeah, yeah nice to meet you too, whatever moving on”
[pause]
“How can you not notice the house is haunted? Even I literally pushed you down the stairs that one time”
[pause]
“Yeah, sorry, that was me”
[pause]
“I wasn’t trying to kill you or anything, I was just trying to scare you and make you live my house”
[pause]
“Yes, this is my house, I was born here, grew up here and I died here, it’s mine”
[pause]
“I am not sharing it with anyone, I have scared off anyone who has moved here”
[pause]
“First it was the Jeffers in 82, they were a family of five, they were only here for 2 months before they packed up and left”
[pause]
“I took it slow, saw what they were like before starting doing things”
[pause]
“They were nice enough; the kids were a little annoying”
[pause]
“Then in 94, a woman and her daughter, the girl was into spooky stuff, her mom hoped it was just a phase”
[pause]
“After two weeks of things happening, she took a Ouija board and convinced the mom to have a seance, it only took shaking up the table a little and saying get out, for them to pack and leave the next day”
[pause]
“Then 2001, a painter, or was it a writer? Doesn’t matter... he thought he was crazy, and that I was a product of his mind”
[pause]
“Well, he was crazy, but the house was also haunted”
[pause]
“He didn’t run away though, he was hospitalized... it was better for him...”
[pause]
“After that it was a couple of newlyweds, a week of moving objects and they set a bunch cameras allover”
[pause]
“I decided to give them a show, there were out in a week”
[pause]
“What year it was?”
[pause]
“2007, why?”
[pause]
“Anyway, then it was 2012, let’s just say a sorority had to look for a new house, in only three days... that was my proudest moment...”
[pause]
“Which brings us to you”
[pause]
“Six weeks and you didn’t even notice there’s something going on”
[pause]
“Are you that dense?”
[pause]
“What do you mean you knew?”
[pause]
“Well yeah, I don’t want to hurt you, but still, I think you would at least get scared, you live in a seclude house, alone, in the woods”
[pause]
“Why would you willingly live somewhere like this?”
[pause]
“The rent is what?”
[pause]
“That is... so little...”
[pause]
“How dare they rent my house for just that?
[pause]
“My father spent a fortune building it!!!”
[pause]
“It pisses me off”
[pause]
“What valid reasons?”
[pause]
“Yes, I guess the garden could use some work”
[pause]
“And the roof is a little moldy”
[pause]
“Come on, is not as if anyone knows for sure that is haunted”
[pause]
“It was in the contract?”
[pause]
“And you still moved here?”
[pause]
“you’ll really settle for anything, huh?”
[pause]
“...”
[pause]
“Say...”
[pause]
“If I, hypothetically, agreed to share the house”
[pause]
“Under the condition on not putting anymore stupid horror movies”
[pause]
“And let me watch at least an hour of cartoons”
[pause]
“And constantly speaking to me even if you can’t hear me when I'm not in the tv”
[pause]
“Yes, I could move to any other screen”
[pause]
“What? No, I’m not moving to the screen of your phone, i have seen the stuff you look in it”
[pause]
“Your laptop isn’t as bad, but you still haven’t answer me”
[pause]
“Would you do all that?”
[pause]
“Yes?”
[pause]
“Then, will agree to share the place with you”
[pause]
“Because this is the first conversation I had in like a century”
[pause]
“Is rude to ask the age of a lady”
[pause]
“Hmm... what year is this?
[pause]
“a little less than a hundred then”
[pause]
“I don’t speak like an old lady because, I try to keep up with the lingo, why not, I mean, YOLO, you know?”
“Why are you looking at me like that? What did I say?”
[end]
2024.05.19 06:51 lukmapache [F4M] ghost girl wants you to notice her [ghost speaker x human listener] [tsundere-ish] [comedy] [wholesome] [slice of life] An ASMR script by Luk Mapache.
It's okay to record, post and monetize (as long as you don't put it behind a paywall), just credit me.
Feel free to tweak it, change the roles and pronouns, correct my orthography, just don't change it too much.
Feedback is appreciated.
“hehehe, today is the day”
[pause]
“Finally, after months of frustration and failed attempts”
[pause]
“Today is the day I'll scare him!!!”
[pause]
“I'm sure he is going to say, “oh no a scary ghost, I have to leave this haunted place immediately”, and he will leave my house”
[pause]
“...”
[pause]
“He... is... late today...”
[pause]
“He is never this late”
[pause]
“Could it be that something has happened to him?”
[pause]
“What if he died?”
[pause]
“He better not have died before I had a chance to scare him”
[pause]
(SFX: keys on the door)
“Oh, there he is”
[pause]
“Okay, put you bag down, just like that and now...”
(SFX: door slams)
“ohohoho, I bet that scared him a lot!!!!”
[pause]
“...”
[pause]
“He isn’t even startled...”
[pause]
“Fine, time to get serious”
[pause]
“I’ll turn off the lights as soon as he walks into the kitchen”
[pause]
“One...”
[pause]
“Two...”
[pause]
“Three...”
[pause]
“That should do it”
[pause]
“What?”
[pause]
“No!!!!”
[pause]
“It isn’t your lightbulb, when has it been your lightbulb in the past six weeks?”
[pause]
“it’s me, it’s always been me”
[pause]
“See me!!! Fear me!!!”
[pause]
“What do I have to do, push you down the stairs?”
[pause]
“Actually, scratch that, last time you almost died”
[pause]
“Oh, he is about to sit, maybe I could...”
[pause]
(SFX: chair moves)
[pause]
“The chair moved on its own, surely you at least found that weird, right?”
[pause]
“No!! No!! No!! No!!”
[pause]
“don’t just sit on the chair...”
[pause]
“This wasn’t this difficult in the 80’s”
[pause]
“What is he doing now?”
[pause]
“Instant ramen again?”
[pause]
“He really should stop eating that”
[pause]
“It can’t be good for him”
[pause]
“I wonder what they taste like thought”
[pause]
“Idea, I'll turn on the stove and overboil his noodles”
[pause]
“As soon as he looks away...”
[pause]
“now”
[pause]
“What do you think about that mister I fear nothing”
[pause]
“What is he doing?”
[pause]
“You are just going to leave with the stove turned up like that?”
[pause]
“Well, I'm not turning it down...”
[pause]
“it’s starting to boil...”
[pause]
“And now is boiling...”
[pause]
“And now is spilling!!”
[pause]
“Hey!!! Can't you hear it?”
[pause]
“don’t you care about your soup? your pot? the kitchen? Your safety?”
[pause]
“fine”
[pause]
“I'll turn it off gee”
[pause]
“There you are, the kitchen could have burn you know?”
[pause]
“And you are just going to serve the noodles and move on, because of course you are”
[pause]
“What do I have to do?”
[pause]
“I have tried all the tricks, moving objects, making things disappear, weird noises, turning the lights on and off”
[pause]
“I would appear outside your bedroom wearing a bedsheet at this point”
[pause]
“I would lose my pride as a ghost if I did that”
[pause]
(sight)
“What to do? What to do?”
[pause]
“Hey where did you go?”
[pause]
(SFX: tv turning on)
“Oh, it is that time of the day”
[pause]
“Hey, what are we watching?”
[pause]
“Is it cartoons?”
[pause]
“Ugh, I can’t stand this campy 80’s horror movies, I didn’t like them when they were new, and I don’t like them now”
[pause]
“If you don’t change the channel I will”
[pause]
“Excuse me, did you just flinch?”
[pause]
“Oh no, you are not getting scared watching this garbage?”
[pause]
“You really just screamed?”
[pause]
“Okay, that is it”
[pause]
“What was that trick jerry the poltergeist taught me back in 09?”
[pause]
“haven’t had to do this in a while”
[pause]
(SFX: static noises)
“Hey...”
[pause]
“Hey...”
[pause]
“HEY!!!!!”
[pause]
“Yes, I’m talking to you”
[pause]
“No, this is not part of your movie, your terrible, terrible, stupid movie, I really am talking to you”
[pause]
“what’s the big idea dude?”
[pause]
“For weeks I have been moving chairs and slamming doors, without even getting a single reaction out of you”
[pause]
“Just to see you get scared and literally scream watching a boring 80’s horror movie, that aged like milk”
[pause]
“Point is, not cool”
[pause]
“of course, is only now that you realize I’m here, well about time!!!”
[pause]
“I’m a ghost, I haunt this house”
[pause]
“I'm talking through the tv, it’s a trick I learn from a poltergeist that lived in a radio once”
[pause]
“Yeah, yeah nice to meet you too, whatever moving on”
[pause]
“How can you not notice the house is haunted? Even I literally pushed you down the stairs that one time”
[pause]
“Yeah, sorry, that was me”
[pause]
“I wasn’t trying to kill you or anything, I was just trying to scare you and make you live my house”
[pause]
“Yes, this is my house, I was born here, grew up here and I died here, it’s mine”
[pause]
“I am not sharing it with anyone, I have scared off anyone who has moved here”
[pause]
“First it was the Jeffers in 82, they were a family of five, they were only here for 2 months before they packed up and left”
[pause]
“I took it slow, saw what they were like before starting doing things”
[pause]
“They were nice enough; the kids were a little annoying”
[pause]
“Then in 94, a woman and her daughter, the girl was into spooky stuff, her mom hoped it was just a phase”
[pause]
“After two weeks of things happening, she took a Ouija board and convinced the mom to have a seance, it only took shaking up the table a little and saying get out, for them to pack and leave the next day”
[pause]
“Then 2001, a painter, or was it a writer? Doesn’t matter... he thought he was crazy, and that I was a product of his mind”
[pause]
“Well, he was crazy, but the house was also haunted”
[pause]
“He didn’t run away though, he was hospitalized... it was better for him...”
[pause]
“After that it was a couple of newlyweds, a week of moving objects and they set a bunch cameras allover”
[pause]
“I decided to give them a show, there were out in a week”
[pause]
“What year it was?”
[pause]
“2007, why?”
[pause]
“Anyway, then it was 2012, let’s just say a sorority had to look for a new house, in only three days... that was my proudest moment...”
[pause]
“Which brings us to you”
[pause]
“Six weeks and you didn’t even notice there’s something going on”
[pause]
“Are you that dense?”
[pause]
“What do you mean you knew?”
[pause]
“Well yeah, I don’t want to hurt you, but still, I think you would at least get scared, you live in a seclude house, alone, in the woods”
[pause]
“Why would you willingly live somewhere like this?”
[pause]
“The rent is what?”
[pause]
“That is... so little...”
[pause]
“How dare they rent my house for just that?
[pause]
“My father spent a fortune building it!!!”
[pause]
“It pisses me off”
[pause]
“What valid reasons?”
[pause]
“Yes, I guess the garden could use some work”
[pause]
“And the roof is a little moldy”
[pause]
“Come on, is not as if anyone knows for sure that is haunted”
[pause]
“It was in the contract?”
[pause]
“And you still moved here?”
[pause]
“you’ll really settle for anything, huh?”
[pause]
“...”
[pause]
“Say...”
[pause]
“If I, hypothetically, agreed to share the house”
[pause]
“Under the condition on not putting anymore stupid horror movies”
[pause]
“And let me watch at least an hour of cartoons”
[pause]
“And constantly speaking to me even if you can’t hear me when I'm not in the tv”
[pause]
“Yes, I could move to any other screen”
[pause]
“What? No, I’m not moving to the screen of your phone, i have seen the stuff you look in it”
[pause]
“Your laptop isn’t as bad, but you still haven’t answer me”
[pause]
“Would you do all that?”
[pause]
“Yes?”
[pause]
“Then, will agree to share the place with you”
[pause]
“Because this is the first conversation I had in like a century”
[pause]
“Is rude to ask the age of a lady”
[pause]
“Hmm... what year is this?
[pause]
“a little less than a hundred then”
[pause]
“I don’t speak like an old lady because, I try to keep up with the lingo, why not, I mean, YOLO, you know?”
“Why are you looking at me like that? What did I say?”
[end]
submitted by lukmapache to talkingtalltales [link] [comments]
Feel free to tweak it, change the roles and pronouns, correct my orthography, just don't change it too much.
Feedback is appreciated.
“hehehe, today is the day”
[pause]
“Finally, after months of frustration and failed attempts”
[pause]
“Today is the day I'll scare him!!!”
[pause]
“I'm sure he is going to say, “oh no a scary ghost, I have to leave this haunted place immediately”, and he will leave my house”
[pause]
“...”
[pause]
“He... is... late today...”
[pause]
“He is never this late”
[pause]
“Could it be that something has happened to him?”
[pause]
“What if he died?”
[pause]
“He better not have died before I had a chance to scare him”
[pause]
(SFX: keys on the door)
“Oh, there he is”
[pause]
“Okay, put you bag down, just like that and now...”
(SFX: door slams)
“ohohoho, I bet that scared him a lot!!!!”
[pause]
“...”
[pause]
“He isn’t even startled...”
[pause]
“Fine, time to get serious”
[pause]
“I’ll turn off the lights as soon as he walks into the kitchen”
[pause]
“One...”
[pause]
“Two...”
[pause]
“Three...”
[pause]
“That should do it”
[pause]
“What?”
[pause]
“No!!!!”
[pause]
“It isn’t your lightbulb, when has it been your lightbulb in the past six weeks?”
[pause]
“it’s me, it’s always been me”
[pause]
“See me!!! Fear me!!!”
[pause]
“What do I have to do, push you down the stairs?”
[pause]
“Actually, scratch that, last time you almost died”
[pause]
“Oh, he is about to sit, maybe I could...”
[pause]
(SFX: chair moves)
[pause]
“The chair moved on its own, surely you at least found that weird, right?”
[pause]
“No!! No!! No!! No!!”
[pause]
“don’t just sit on the chair...”
[pause]
“This wasn’t this difficult in the 80’s”
[pause]
“What is he doing now?”
[pause]
“Instant ramen again?”
[pause]
“He really should stop eating that”
[pause]
“It can’t be good for him”
[pause]
“I wonder what they taste like thought”
[pause]
“Idea, I'll turn on the stove and overboil his noodles”
[pause]
“As soon as he looks away...”
[pause]
“now”
[pause]
“What do you think about that mister I fear nothing”
[pause]
“What is he doing?”
[pause]
“You are just going to leave with the stove turned up like that?”
[pause]
“Well, I'm not turning it down...”
[pause]
“it’s starting to boil...”
[pause]
“And now is boiling...”
[pause]
“And now is spilling!!”
[pause]
“Hey!!! Can't you hear it?”
[pause]
“don’t you care about your soup? your pot? the kitchen? Your safety?”
[pause]
“fine”
[pause]
“I'll turn it off gee”
[pause]
“There you are, the kitchen could have burn you know?”
[pause]
“And you are just going to serve the noodles and move on, because of course you are”
[pause]
“What do I have to do?”
[pause]
“I have tried all the tricks, moving objects, making things disappear, weird noises, turning the lights on and off”
[pause]
“I would appear outside your bedroom wearing a bedsheet at this point”
[pause]
“I would lose my pride as a ghost if I did that”
[pause]
(sight)
“What to do? What to do?”
[pause]
“Hey where did you go?”
[pause]
(SFX: tv turning on)
“Oh, it is that time of the day”
[pause]
“Hey, what are we watching?”
[pause]
“Is it cartoons?”
[pause]
“Ugh, I can’t stand this campy 80’s horror movies, I didn’t like them when they were new, and I don’t like them now”
[pause]
“If you don’t change the channel I will”
[pause]
“Excuse me, did you just flinch?”
[pause]
“Oh no, you are not getting scared watching this garbage?”
[pause]
“You really just screamed?”
[pause]
“Okay, that is it”
[pause]
“What was that trick jerry the poltergeist taught me back in 09?”
[pause]
“haven’t had to do this in a while”
[pause]
(SFX: static noises)
“Hey...”
[pause]
“Hey...”
[pause]
“HEY!!!!!”
[pause]
“Yes, I’m talking to you”
[pause]
“No, this is not part of your movie, your terrible, terrible, stupid movie, I really am talking to you”
[pause]
“what’s the big idea dude?”
[pause]
“For weeks I have been moving chairs and slamming doors, without even getting a single reaction out of you”
[pause]
“Just to see you get scared and literally scream watching a boring 80’s horror movie, that aged like milk”
[pause]
“Point is, not cool”
[pause]
“of course, is only now that you realize I’m here, well about time!!!”
[pause]
“I’m a ghost, I haunt this house”
[pause]
“I'm talking through the tv, it’s a trick I learn from a poltergeist that lived in a radio once”
[pause]
“Yeah, yeah nice to meet you too, whatever moving on”
[pause]
“How can you not notice the house is haunted? Even I literally pushed you down the stairs that one time”
[pause]
“Yeah, sorry, that was me”
[pause]
“I wasn’t trying to kill you or anything, I was just trying to scare you and make you live my house”
[pause]
“Yes, this is my house, I was born here, grew up here and I died here, it’s mine”
[pause]
“I am not sharing it with anyone, I have scared off anyone who has moved here”
[pause]
“First it was the Jeffers in 82, they were a family of five, they were only here for 2 months before they packed up and left”
[pause]
“I took it slow, saw what they were like before starting doing things”
[pause]
“They were nice enough; the kids were a little annoying”
[pause]
“Then in 94, a woman and her daughter, the girl was into spooky stuff, her mom hoped it was just a phase”
[pause]
“After two weeks of things happening, she took a Ouija board and convinced the mom to have a seance, it only took shaking up the table a little and saying get out, for them to pack and leave the next day”
[pause]
“Then 2001, a painter, or was it a writer? Doesn’t matter... he thought he was crazy, and that I was a product of his mind”
[pause]
“Well, he was crazy, but the house was also haunted”
[pause]
“He didn’t run away though, he was hospitalized... it was better for him...”
[pause]
“After that it was a couple of newlyweds, a week of moving objects and they set a bunch cameras allover”
[pause]
“I decided to give them a show, there were out in a week”
[pause]
“What year it was?”
[pause]
“2007, why?”
[pause]
“Anyway, then it was 2012, let’s just say a sorority had to look for a new house, in only three days... that was my proudest moment...”
[pause]
“Which brings us to you”
[pause]
“Six weeks and you didn’t even notice there’s something going on”
[pause]
“Are you that dense?”
[pause]
“What do you mean you knew?”
[pause]
“Well yeah, I don’t want to hurt you, but still, I think you would at least get scared, you live in a seclude house, alone, in the woods”
[pause]
“Why would you willingly live somewhere like this?”
[pause]
“The rent is what?”
[pause]
“That is... so little...”
[pause]
“How dare they rent my house for just that?
[pause]
“My father spent a fortune building it!!!”
[pause]
“It pisses me off”
[pause]
“What valid reasons?”
[pause]
“Yes, I guess the garden could use some work”
[pause]
“And the roof is a little moldy”
[pause]
“Come on, is not as if anyone knows for sure that is haunted”
[pause]
“It was in the contract?”
[pause]
“And you still moved here?”
[pause]
“you’ll really settle for anything, huh?”
[pause]
“...”
[pause]
“Say...”
[pause]
“If I, hypothetically, agreed to share the house”
[pause]
“Under the condition on not putting anymore stupid horror movies”
[pause]
“And let me watch at least an hour of cartoons”
[pause]
“And constantly speaking to me even if you can’t hear me when I'm not in the tv”
[pause]
“Yes, I could move to any other screen”
[pause]
“What? No, I’m not moving to the screen of your phone, i have seen the stuff you look in it”
[pause]
“Your laptop isn’t as bad, but you still haven’t answer me”
[pause]
“Would you do all that?”
[pause]
“Yes?”
[pause]
“Then, will agree to share the place with you”
[pause]
“Because this is the first conversation I had in like a century”
[pause]
“Is rude to ask the age of a lady”
[pause]
“Hmm... what year is this?
[pause]
“a little less than a hundred then”
[pause]
“I don’t speak like an old lady because, I try to keep up with the lingo, why not, I mean, YOLO, you know?”
“Why are you looking at me like that? What did I say?”
[end]
2024.05.19 05:13 eqp95 Sublet in Roslindale avail June 1
Hi all, I am in search of a subletter, preferably female to sublet from June 1 to early to mid August. Rent is $1425. The apartment has three bedrooms and two bathrooms. You would have your own bathroom, and the spare bedroom is currently used as a storage space / work from home space / workout room. You would also have the largest bedroom of the three. The apartment is on the whole second floor of the building, and it overlooks a small park. It gets lots of natural light in the kitchen / living room area, especially in the summer. There is a washer and dryer in the apartment, and a large deck on the back of the apartment.
submitted by eqp95 to bostonhousing [link] [comments]
2024.05.19 04:12 OkPromise7163 Ouroboros (short story written during my junior year in hs)
ACT 1. Sunday afternoon after visiting the local market two brothers wait for their train to arrive. If they were even a minute late, they knew their mother would surely scold them and scold the elder of the two far worse. The idea of another beating did not bother the elder brother; he had been through far worse just dealing with the brat and his attempted jailbreaks, though something did begin to make him painfully nauseous forcing him to feel pressured by the light breeze as if gravity had suddenly been increased tenfold. All his senses were heightening beyond anything he had thought possible.All around him he saw that the once energetic and hyperactive passengers had become little more than mannequins; their movements slowing to a standstill. They had all gone silent. The station was no longer filled with the cries of children or the gentle laughs of their parents. He had never heard such silence in such a crowded location. He did not feel panicked, nor did he feel a need to act for this silence was oddly comforting to him. However, the newly calm atmosphere would quickly be the source of a lifetime of suffering.His hand began to reach for his brother in an attempt to call his attention. Though in a moment of both unprecedented shock and exhaustion John shoved his younger brother onto the rails of an oncoming train. Local news would report the incident as nothing more than a tragic manic episode of a young sixteen-year-old. However, for John this single visceral instant in which all of his brother's bones were instantly crushed was stretched into hours. He was painfully aware of how every bone in his brother's body contorted in inhuman ways some nearly resembling perfect right angles, until eventually, they snapped and sent insurmountable pain throughout his nervous system. His blood curling screams were made mute by the screech of the train coming to a halt, though, by the time they stopped, his brother had torn his every vocal cord and had long ago lost consciousness. Still on the platform, the elder brother stood still, attempting to process what exactly he had done. He had no idea what force had compelled him to push his brother, but that instant would forever define what he saw as reality.That however was nineteen years ago, in present day he lived in isolation far from any person. He spent his isolated days wandering the land around his cabin completing house chores that distracted him from reminiscing about his days in the asylum or as he liked to call it “The Echo Room” where he was transferred after the incident. He headed inside after spending a portion of his morning counting all one-hundred-and-thirty-two trees that were showing signs of life after the harsh winter that nearly forced him to cut down two of them for firewood. Once inside he began preparing his morning coffee when he heard a loud creak come from the hall. He (after many incidents) learnt to avoid the boards that creaked, so in his mind immediately an intruder was breaking into his cabin searching for food or his stash of special edition coffee. Deciding to investigate he walked towards the noise when suddenly he heard two knocks at his front door. Confused and slightly worried, he proceeded to walk towards the door making sure not to step on any of the annoyingly loud floorboards.He approached and looked through the peephole and saw only what remained of the melting snow outside. Opening the door, he saw that only his steps led to the doormat. He glanced around and saw no indication of any life aside a few dark patches on the snow. He was about to close the door when he noticed a tiny red package wrapped in a radiant red bow placed clear from where the door would open. Cautiously picking it up, he noticed how it had almost no weight to it; as if empty. He walked inside and sat at his desk planning to journal later about the weird morning he had been having. He examined the exterior of the package and saw how not only was it near perfect condition but it was also slightly warm to the touch; as if recently held. He undid the bow and cautiously opened the package, half expecting an explosive of some sort. Though, all he found was a ragged ripped piece of paper. Unremarkable aside from the fact that it was inside such a carefully constructed package. On the other side he saw that it had some scarlet lettering inscribed into it reading.“Ouroboros”. At first believing it to be a prank by the kids who had heard rumors about him, and his incident, nearly caused him to dismiss it entirely deeming it little more than a slightly humorous event. He decided to put it aside for now as he had coffee left to drink that was quickly getting cold. He walked back towards the kitchen still distracted by the idea of no trace being left by whoever had left the gift. Was it even a gift? Maybe it was just some well-executed prank? In any manner he would later have a better look at it. He absentmindedly, reached for his cup and immediately pulled his hand back shocked by the temperature of the cup. It was frozen! Almost to a complete solid. He thought himself slightly distracted but not enough to freeze his morning coffee especially not his special edition coffee. First The Box and now this, it was all adding up to an annoying morning. Was it still morning? No, that’s not right. He had just spent the day counting trees. How could it still possibly be morning?The thought of Dr. Lumis being correct about his mental condition after so many years sent a chill down his spine especially since last time they talked, he did not exactly behave amicably. He was sure that both incidents had been isolated events that could never happen again. Sure, he had heard the echoes every once in a while, but he was never insane like the others; this he knew to be a fact. If he was insane, how could he have ever left? Disoriented and beginning to sweat, his legs suddenly gave out causing him to fall backward landing on the cold wooden floorboards. He looked around hurriedly expecting to see an intruder that had somehow found him. After seeing nothing but his pristine furniture, he steadied himself and began to control his breathing. He slowly got up causing the wood underneath to creak under the sudden release of weight. Deciding to further assure himself he went around the cabin checking in all four rooms. He found nothing aside from his own disturbances. Still feeling slightly nervous and disturbed he headed back towards the living room in search for The Box with the red bow determining that it had somehow triggered his current situation. The Box was still where he placed it; much to his relief. He sat down. He looked once again at the scarlet lettering.
Act 2. Back in the asylum he would often spend his days wondering how he could have ever been grouped alongside individuals who had purposefully and viciously committed heinous crimes against innocent victims. He was not insane like them. Whatever had caused his hand to shove his brother had long abandoned him. His routine now consisted of cleaning whatever mess the older residents made in the halls and transporting lab waste to the crematorium. He would clean from the southern stalls all the way to the northern cemetery and make his rounds gathering the waste from the rooms. It was a simple job but lonely, nonetheless. The halls were often only illuminated by tiny flickering red lights that indicated the position of the cameras through which Dr.Lumis would often monitor John during his nightly crusades. Though incredibly distasteful, John did not mind, he accepted that odd situations would be easier to explain if someone of credit had seen them. Yet despite this, he felt he was being watched by someone other than the doctor. He assumed that this feeling was due to the paranoia he had been diagnosed with a few months back. On a particular night, moments after dumping another bag of soft solids and dense liquids down the chute, he heard footsteps, just outside the room. Expecting to see the doctor he begrudgingly walked towards the door. Exiting and seeing no one he called out for the doctor but got no response aside from the echo of his own voice. He began to walk towards where he had heard the footsteps come from when he suddenly collapsed out of exhaustion. The same exhaustion that had plagued him during the moment of his brother’s death. He tried to reach for his panic button (a gift from Lumis) but it had disappeared from his chain. He tried to scream but not a single whisper was heard. He gazed into the dark corridor where he had thought Dr.Lumis had gone, but saw nothing but soft shadows. Though something was unnervingly wrong about them. They moved as if following an order, all synchronized, all heading towards him. That night in the asylum had left him scared to even return to the disposal area; he feared that The Shadows might eventually be able to reach him. The Shadows did not haunt him unaccompanied: they followed alongside The Echo tormenting his nights. While The Shadows could not reach him during daylight, he could never escape The Echo. It followed wherever he went and tracked everything he did. Dr.Lumis explained that he merely suffered from an extreme case paranoia but John saw the others; who yelled and who screamed true nonsense, he was perfectly aware of himself and the ones around him. Dr. Lumis secretly believed patient #132 experienced Hyper-sanity though this he would never verbally confess. It was term he decided would for now adequately describe his patient’s acute awareness of The Shadows and The Echo. John would for many years go without hearing The Echo after that night, only ever hearing what seemed like the final moans of a dying voice. Back in present day, he hoped he wasn’t suffering another hallucination as they tended to leave him in an embarrassing shocked state. He questioned what “Ouroboros” could possibly mean in relation to himself. He considered the possibility of it being an early warning of some threat to the sanctity of his home. He quickly dismissed it as he had not interacted with anyone long enough to possibly annoy them. Weird them out? Sure. Offend them? Maybe with his sense of fashion. Following his incredibly fine-tuned survival instincts he put on a light coat and went outside to walk among the trees. A mundane task, but one he truly enjoyed especially since he hoped it would distract him for a short while. Just before he closed the door behind him, he took one more look at The Box sitting on his desk and decided to take it with him in case he met the person who had left it. The sun had begun to set marking the end of the day. He watched the sun hide behind the mountain range letting the world bathe in darkness for another night. John did not dislike the night (he had worked nightshifts in The Echo Room for years) but he didn’t find the freezing cold to be ideal. He had not left his land for what was a few years now and the idea of even slightly stepping out of his comfort was making him incredibly anxious. Still, he walked forward towards wherever the path took him. The night only got darker and quieter, and he only got colder. He did not see the lightning bugs that usually warded away the dark near the edge of his hill. Without the soft hum of bugs or soft breeze that would brush against his beard he felt alone. Even the nights back in the asylum did not possess this level of quiet. He kept moving hoping that eventually he would find something that could break the uncomfortable silence. As he continued down the hill, he realized he could no longer distinguish the path from the dirt surrounding it. He considered heading back when he realized he had not kept track of where he had come from. Not only was he lost but alone with his thoughts and whatever had been watching him from the start. He walked a step forward and then another one back repeatedly. What he was attempting to achieve was beyond reason. Had he gone mad? No, he was perfectly sane. “Wait, I can hear them clearly now” he spoke, his voice dried from the cold.“This is not a hallucination” he spoke softly.“i-I AM NOT HALLUCINATING” he proclaimed. He heard The Echo once more though they were not of his voice but rather of Another. He had long been aware of “The Echo” but he could never fully determine whether it was a dream or an effect of the chemicals but this Other was undoubtedly real. “I don’t know where you are but please. Are you real?” he asked the night. He could now hear The Echo or rather feel the pressure of its words upon his reality. Had it been trying to hide the Other? He walked forward and pulled out The Box. “You gave me this right? What for? What purpose does it serve?” No one responded.Annoyed, he threw it as far as he could down the hill. “THERE! THIS CAN’T CONTINUE WITHOUT IT, RIGHT?” He shouted at the endless empty. That’s when out of the darkness emerged a faint light. Was it a lightning bug or maybe a sign of civilization?
Act 3. Cautiously, he approached the cold light and saw that the light was artificial. The tube inside flickered before another appeared a few feet ahead, and then another and then another and then what seemed like an uncountable amount more. He took a step forward and noticed that the ground underneath had turned to hard white tile. Accepting that this was not the weirdest occurrence that had affected him he proceeded to walk forward making sure to keep a mental note to journal about it later. The surrounding landscape transformed into white walls that every so often had a window that let him peek at the other side. At first, he could still see the snowy landscape, but it to slowly changed; first having scattered papers and then chairs, cabinets, and desks until they eventually resembled a typical office. Its purpose was not obvious to him, and neither was the hallway but if they were changing surely, it possessed a deeper metaphorical meaning that related to his life. He saw a door at the very end of the hall and decided to not postpone the ploy of whatever “The Echo” was planning. He stood before the door wondering about what it could possibly contain. John proceeded to open the door. Inside was a desk along with a single cabinet. Walking inside he noticed that the room was illuminated by some otherworldly source that had no words that could possibly describe it. He walked towards the desk and a file he had not seen previously, sat open. Inside was a description of his physical appearance. “Age: 35. Height: 5’8. Weight: 185 lbs. Hair: Black with obvious signs of stress. Eyes: Brown. Character Aptitude: High.” “Okay, I get it. I’m old, you didn’t have to expose my hair like that” he said slightly embarrassed quickly restyling his hair. He noticed that even though they had an almost perfect description of his hobbies, dreams and wishes they did not have a single picture as if they for some reason were only able to use words. “SOOO you know about that one time in the asylum (don’t ask) BUT NOT A SINGLE PICTURE? That’s lame.” he said mockingly. On the final page he found what looked like an incomplete file; most of the personal attributes had not yet been filled and only a note was made reading. “They don’t need a complete story just one they can understand.” Besides the fact that whatever role he played in this act had been a mere afterthought; he was confused as to how anyone could have ever gathered such sensitive and personal information about his isolated life. Was it The Echo? Had it told them his life? A phone started to ring somewhere in the room abruptly breaking the silence he had become used to. He quickly rotated towards the source of the ringing but did not find anything. There was only him and the four walls that despite the lighting did not change a shade of grey. He walked towards one of them that seemed to be where the noise came from resting his hand on it and gently put his ear to it thinking that the ringing was from another room entirely. The wall he had just laid a hand on had no longer a physical representation and causing John to fall through to the other side. Disoriented he slowly looked up and saw The Telephone illuminated by what seemed to be the same light that illuminated the previous room. This one however was far more powerful and concentrated solely on The Telephone. He approached it expecting a chasm to somehow appear underneath his feet. The Telephone did not stop ringing and only seemed to increase in intensity (though this could have simply been a hallucination). He lifted it to cut the blaring noise and slowly put it to his ear. “hello?” “…” “…” “The protagonist only dies if the story ends” the voice said quietly. “HUH? YOU DRAGGED ME HERE TO TELL ME THAT OMINOUSLY ANNOYING LOAD OF *********!” “…I’m so sorry” The call disconnected not out of offense but rather out of completion. John slammed the phone back onto its stand and decided it was time for this nonsense to end. He walked out into the room he was in before anxiously attempting to find another exit: only to be met with solid walls. What wicked game had he been roped into? When would it end? These were questions he would answer far earlier than he expected. A door appeared in the center of the room. No, it was more of a two-dimensional plane that appeared to be a sort of portal. With no other options, John stepped into the newly opened portal.
Act 4. On the other side was a station, and his ears were immediately flooded with the cries of children and the laughs of their parents. He walked around moving through the crowd careful to not miss any indication of the location. His pace increased as he began to recognize the commuters shortly realizing exactly where he was. He rushed to a platform, the platform where he and his brother were to arrive after their day in the market. He sat on a nearby bench committed to saving his brother no matter who he would have to shove instead. Three agonizing days passed with the daily commuters repeating their routine with the slightest variations. One of these variations would be the key to preventing the day that haunted his nights. Something would soon cause him to shove his brother onto the tracks. He was determined to stop the fall or kill himself to keep his brother safe.He heard a familiar laughter and turned towards the source and saw his brothers face uncontrollably laughing and himself lightly smiling. He began to run towards them but felt once again suddenly exhausted. As if the air became a type of nonnewtonian sludge making his legs impossibly heavy. The crowd around him seemed to be moving just as easily as before; children laughing just as maniacally and just as carelessly. He tried to yell to them, but his lungs were filled with the dense fluid drowning any screams he attempted. He was forced to watch how his brother got closer and closer to the edge. Through much effort, he managed to get close enough to extend a hand towards his past trying to desperately push him away from his brother. The past reacted in what seemed to be a defensive system and sent a temporal anomaly throughout the space his past and present inhabited. Time began to exponentially speed forward. In a last desperate attempt to prevent his brother’s death he tried to distract the past long enough to let the train pass without incident, but the temporal anomaly caused the relative slow velocity of his touch to have the effect of a sudden jerk and in his final moments of consciousness he saw his brother accelerate towards the rails in a split second. He awoke back in the office alone with nothing, but the realization of what force had killed his brother. He curled into the fetal position and began to cry; still believing his lungs to be filled with the dense liquid he did not let out a single sigh. He spent several hours in this state of painful silence without even opening his eyes. His emotions were chaotic and his thoughts unending. They tormented him for hours far after he had run out of tears to let out. They were merciless and torturous forbidding him from resting, insisting on his suffering. Being the cause of his brother’s death nearly caused him to go insane yet part of him kept insisting that Another was to blame. Another had caused him to do it. The Other had forced his hand. Of this, he was now sure. The Other enjoyed his suffering, The Other forced him to kill his brother. He had not eaten nor slept in what seemed like years and yet he stood up defying the gravity that held him down. He took a deep breath of as much oxygen as his lungs allowed and began to speak. “Whoever you are. Whatever you are. Wherever you are. Just know I will no longer play for your entertainment the rest is entirely my choice” he said threateningly. He then began to walk forwards confidently towards the dark wall and through the hidden door that he was not supposed to see. He entered what seemed to be a studio room though, unlike the sterile office; it was trashed. Papers littered the floor and empty bottles populated the lone mattress. On it laid a journal that had recently had liquid spilt on it. He picked the journal and gently opened it and began to read. It was scratched with the stray ideas of a creator who seemed to have never decided upon an end or beginning to his story; yet possessing the journey. He saw many ideas that together seemed to create a way for the continuity to depend entirely on Another rather than itself. A thought described in a single word interested him enough to take it with him. The room started to dissolve around him transforming into a cold landscape. Armed with the knowledge of who he was he treaded what remained of the worn-out path. The sun began to rise signing the start of another day, yet John did not seem to notice as he was focused on something buried in the snow. He could not see much of it yet he knew it was The Box he had thrown the previous night. He dug it up and began his walk up the hill once more. He eventually arrived at his cabin and walked towards his front door….
Act 5.
If you wish to rebel; continue reading on the next page.
Begin the story once more on Truth 2.
If you wish to ward away The Other; don’t read any further
If you wish to follow The Echo read Truth 3
To understand turn to Truth 4
Truth 1
…Before deciding that no longer would he be a puppet for someone’s amusement. John arrogantly began marched back down the hill and headed north towards the nearest interstate a few miles from his home hoping that he had derailed The Echo’s plot. It took him hours on foot, but he would eventually come across the road and start his journey back to civilization no longer subject to the whims of an Otherworldly Audience. He believed his future was now his to decide. He decided what he would become. He decided when and what to think. This he was sure would be how he escaped his torment. John suddenly suffered a complete body collapse and fell forward landing face first onto the scorching road. It would be several sweltering hours before anyone would find him. But eventually someone did, john suffering heavy burns and on the brink of death was saved. He would awake months later in a hospital bed though no one would ever know of this. Weeks would pass as john laid in the hospital bed unable to speak or even move; alerting no one to his consciousness. The doctors and nurses were busy with whatever important patients needed immediate attention; they walked from one end to the other in what seemed like mere minutes. The entire time the only company he had was The Echo and yet slowly it too seemed to forget his existence as well. Eventually The Echo having no interest went away.Jane a third-year medical student had recently joined the staff a month prior and had already been assigned two elders and one child. Though overwhelmed she did not grow annoyed nor frustrated; she loved her job and by proxy her patients. Despite her benevolent nature there was a single patient she never went near as he always seemed to be watching her despite his eyes being shut for over four months. Any time she got near to patient #132 she would begin to get nauseous and quickly retreat. She had no ID on the man, but it seemed he was dehydrated for far longer than should’ve been possible and should be by all accounts dead if not near it. Whenever she worked nightshifts, she would swear that she heard the man whimper slightly as if to warn her of something. Even when she was on the opposite side of the building, she would hear the echo of his groans. She would eventually be transferred and would soon forget the man who after 6 months was officially declared braindead and was due to be disposed of, yet she would still every once in a while, still hear The Echo. Forgotten Ending
Truth 2…Realizing that there was no other choice John took a step forward while placing the note he ripped from the journal into The Box making sure to keep it neatly packaged. He saw the footprints he had left two nights before and carefully stepped into each one making sure to not disturb the surrounding snow. Whatever…Whoever had set him on this path allowed him to live a life of suffering, a life of loss, and a life of pain. This, he felt was the way things were intended to play out; the way it had to end. He placed The Box on the final step making sure it would not be knocked away whenever the door would eventually open. He walked away nearly to the edge of the property when he looked back once more. Managing to peek inside he saw his past still making his coffee when he saw an almost invisible distortion appear near the front door. He smiled and turned away only saying…Freedom ending
Truth 3…though spotting a disturbance near the back of the cabin distracted him from the front door. He decided to investigate for fear of losing a single blossoming tree. Arriving near the back fence he saw no indication of a disturbance giving him much needed reassurance. He heard noise emerge from inside the cabin giving him one more dilemma to deal with. He headed to the backdoor making sure to not disturb the recent snow and entered the cabin. Being sleep deprived and without coffee he had forgotten about the wooden floor and stepped on one that caused a creak to be heard throughout the cabin. He quickly hid in the bathroom fearing that he had disturbed the continuity that The Echo had established when suddenly a bright flash blinded him. He found himself at the front door next to The Box. Slightly amused he proceeded to knock on the door and was soon after transported once more to an empty hall. Both confused and entertained as he was being transported from one place in time to another he took a few steps forward alerting the past to his presence. Seeing his past enter the hall he ducked and quickly hid around the corner. His past seemed to believe that the doctor was in the halls and decided to investigate though just as he was nearing closer; his past collapsed. John saw how his fall was slowed as if moving through the dense liquid he had once gone through. He walked towards his past and noticed an old fashioned panic button that would instantly call Dr.Lumis to his location. Measuring the consequences, he decided to remove the panic button and head back towards The Shadows. For a third and final time he was transported to a final location, the bottom of a snowy hill. Taking in his surroundings he noticed burn marks on the snow where his past would eventually walk through the portal whenever the past caught up. He reached into his pocket and realized how the plot was supposed to move forward. He walked until he reached the exact point where his past would once again find The Box. He kneeled and buried The Box making sure to erase any evidence of his own disturbances. Fully fulfilling his purpose John collapsed. The End.
“Did the hero die?” “What?” “Did he die?” “No? He beat the bad guy and saved the day remember?” “Yea but like AFTER.” “Well, I guess after a few years he would.” “No” The young child said growing annoyed, “when you said, “The End” did he die?” “No.” responded the elder brother. “Then what happened to him? Is he still alive?” “The protagonist only dies if you stop reading.” concluded the elder brother as if possessed. Begin again?
Truth 4…Then just as he took his first step forward everything began to rot. His trees, his home, his coffee, all of it was slowly eroding into a fine dust. He knew that another temporal anomaly would be the likely cause, but he had not yet experienced one that possessed this level of molecular destruction. The fabric of his reality was slowly and thoroughly being untangled into its most simple of compositions. It separated the light from dark, gravity from time, and words from spaces.John could now comprehend what had defined his reality for so many painful years, he finally understood The Narrative and how all possible endings had been chosen long before his creation. John had been a slave from the moment The Narrative began; not once in his entire existence had he ever had a real choice only walking paths already treaded by Another. He was nothing but a plot device in an otherwise self-indulging tale written by a gentle master forced to be cruel for those above. From the moment this story began, John was in pain. He could never hope to truly escape; he could only die until he arose once more. Had John never understood what his life really was then maybe he could’ve found meaning in his suffering. Unfortunately, this choice has now forced John to become aware of how truly meaningless his existence was. His life was little more than entertainment for The Other; they were the ones truly in control. For as long as The Other remained, The Echo would doom John to eternal suffering. The Echo was never in control of The Narrative; he too was merely a subject to it by an even greater force. The Echo did not wish for John to suffer but The Other would not allow John to live if he did not. It is a toxic cycle of pain, suffering and realization that forces John to relive The Narrative lifetime after lifetime. The Narrative must have suffering intertwined into its foundation otherwise The Other would grow bored and erase the reality ending John in but a mere thought. Don’t you see? Don’t you understand? This is reality; John cannot exist without pain, The Echo cannot live without a narrative, and The Other is you. THE END......
Intended to be a philosophical narrative detailing the tragic relationship between the reader, the narrator, and the character and how they cannot coexist without hurting each other.
submitted by OkPromise7163 to stories [link] [comments]
Act 2. Back in the asylum he would often spend his days wondering how he could have ever been grouped alongside individuals who had purposefully and viciously committed heinous crimes against innocent victims. He was not insane like them. Whatever had caused his hand to shove his brother had long abandoned him. His routine now consisted of cleaning whatever mess the older residents made in the halls and transporting lab waste to the crematorium. He would clean from the southern stalls all the way to the northern cemetery and make his rounds gathering the waste from the rooms. It was a simple job but lonely, nonetheless. The halls were often only illuminated by tiny flickering red lights that indicated the position of the cameras through which Dr.Lumis would often monitor John during his nightly crusades. Though incredibly distasteful, John did not mind, he accepted that odd situations would be easier to explain if someone of credit had seen them. Yet despite this, he felt he was being watched by someone other than the doctor. He assumed that this feeling was due to the paranoia he had been diagnosed with a few months back. On a particular night, moments after dumping another bag of soft solids and dense liquids down the chute, he heard footsteps, just outside the room. Expecting to see the doctor he begrudgingly walked towards the door. Exiting and seeing no one he called out for the doctor but got no response aside from the echo of his own voice. He began to walk towards where he had heard the footsteps come from when he suddenly collapsed out of exhaustion. The same exhaustion that had plagued him during the moment of his brother’s death. He tried to reach for his panic button (a gift from Lumis) but it had disappeared from his chain. He tried to scream but not a single whisper was heard. He gazed into the dark corridor where he had thought Dr.Lumis had gone, but saw nothing but soft shadows. Though something was unnervingly wrong about them. They moved as if following an order, all synchronized, all heading towards him. That night in the asylum had left him scared to even return to the disposal area; he feared that The Shadows might eventually be able to reach him. The Shadows did not haunt him unaccompanied: they followed alongside The Echo tormenting his nights. While The Shadows could not reach him during daylight, he could never escape The Echo. It followed wherever he went and tracked everything he did. Dr.Lumis explained that he merely suffered from an extreme case paranoia but John saw the others; who yelled and who screamed true nonsense, he was perfectly aware of himself and the ones around him. Dr. Lumis secretly believed patient #132 experienced Hyper-sanity though this he would never verbally confess. It was term he decided would for now adequately describe his patient’s acute awareness of The Shadows and The Echo. John would for many years go without hearing The Echo after that night, only ever hearing what seemed like the final moans of a dying voice. Back in present day, he hoped he wasn’t suffering another hallucination as they tended to leave him in an embarrassing shocked state. He questioned what “Ouroboros” could possibly mean in relation to himself. He considered the possibility of it being an early warning of some threat to the sanctity of his home. He quickly dismissed it as he had not interacted with anyone long enough to possibly annoy them. Weird them out? Sure. Offend them? Maybe with his sense of fashion. Following his incredibly fine-tuned survival instincts he put on a light coat and went outside to walk among the trees. A mundane task, but one he truly enjoyed especially since he hoped it would distract him for a short while. Just before he closed the door behind him, he took one more look at The Box sitting on his desk and decided to take it with him in case he met the person who had left it. The sun had begun to set marking the end of the day. He watched the sun hide behind the mountain range letting the world bathe in darkness for another night. John did not dislike the night (he had worked nightshifts in The Echo Room for years) but he didn’t find the freezing cold to be ideal. He had not left his land for what was a few years now and the idea of even slightly stepping out of his comfort was making him incredibly anxious. Still, he walked forward towards wherever the path took him. The night only got darker and quieter, and he only got colder. He did not see the lightning bugs that usually warded away the dark near the edge of his hill. Without the soft hum of bugs or soft breeze that would brush against his beard he felt alone. Even the nights back in the asylum did not possess this level of quiet. He kept moving hoping that eventually he would find something that could break the uncomfortable silence. As he continued down the hill, he realized he could no longer distinguish the path from the dirt surrounding it. He considered heading back when he realized he had not kept track of where he had come from. Not only was he lost but alone with his thoughts and whatever had been watching him from the start. He walked a step forward and then another one back repeatedly. What he was attempting to achieve was beyond reason. Had he gone mad? No, he was perfectly sane. “Wait, I can hear them clearly now” he spoke, his voice dried from the cold.“This is not a hallucination” he spoke softly.“i-I AM NOT HALLUCINATING” he proclaimed. He heard The Echo once more though they were not of his voice but rather of Another. He had long been aware of “The Echo” but he could never fully determine whether it was a dream or an effect of the chemicals but this Other was undoubtedly real. “I don’t know where you are but please. Are you real?” he asked the night. He could now hear The Echo or rather feel the pressure of its words upon his reality. Had it been trying to hide the Other? He walked forward and pulled out The Box. “You gave me this right? What for? What purpose does it serve?” No one responded.Annoyed, he threw it as far as he could down the hill. “THERE! THIS CAN’T CONTINUE WITHOUT IT, RIGHT?” He shouted at the endless empty. That’s when out of the darkness emerged a faint light. Was it a lightning bug or maybe a sign of civilization?
Act 3. Cautiously, he approached the cold light and saw that the light was artificial. The tube inside flickered before another appeared a few feet ahead, and then another and then another and then what seemed like an uncountable amount more. He took a step forward and noticed that the ground underneath had turned to hard white tile. Accepting that this was not the weirdest occurrence that had affected him he proceeded to walk forward making sure to keep a mental note to journal about it later. The surrounding landscape transformed into white walls that every so often had a window that let him peek at the other side. At first, he could still see the snowy landscape, but it to slowly changed; first having scattered papers and then chairs, cabinets, and desks until they eventually resembled a typical office. Its purpose was not obvious to him, and neither was the hallway but if they were changing surely, it possessed a deeper metaphorical meaning that related to his life. He saw a door at the very end of the hall and decided to not postpone the ploy of whatever “The Echo” was planning. He stood before the door wondering about what it could possibly contain. John proceeded to open the door. Inside was a desk along with a single cabinet. Walking inside he noticed that the room was illuminated by some otherworldly source that had no words that could possibly describe it. He walked towards the desk and a file he had not seen previously, sat open. Inside was a description of his physical appearance. “Age: 35. Height: 5’8. Weight: 185 lbs. Hair: Black with obvious signs of stress. Eyes: Brown. Character Aptitude: High.” “Okay, I get it. I’m old, you didn’t have to expose my hair like that” he said slightly embarrassed quickly restyling his hair. He noticed that even though they had an almost perfect description of his hobbies, dreams and wishes they did not have a single picture as if they for some reason were only able to use words. “SOOO you know about that one time in the asylum (don’t ask) BUT NOT A SINGLE PICTURE? That’s lame.” he said mockingly. On the final page he found what looked like an incomplete file; most of the personal attributes had not yet been filled and only a note was made reading. “They don’t need a complete story just one they can understand.” Besides the fact that whatever role he played in this act had been a mere afterthought; he was confused as to how anyone could have ever gathered such sensitive and personal information about his isolated life. Was it The Echo? Had it told them his life? A phone started to ring somewhere in the room abruptly breaking the silence he had become used to. He quickly rotated towards the source of the ringing but did not find anything. There was only him and the four walls that despite the lighting did not change a shade of grey. He walked towards one of them that seemed to be where the noise came from resting his hand on it and gently put his ear to it thinking that the ringing was from another room entirely. The wall he had just laid a hand on had no longer a physical representation and causing John to fall through to the other side. Disoriented he slowly looked up and saw The Telephone illuminated by what seemed to be the same light that illuminated the previous room. This one however was far more powerful and concentrated solely on The Telephone. He approached it expecting a chasm to somehow appear underneath his feet. The Telephone did not stop ringing and only seemed to increase in intensity (though this could have simply been a hallucination). He lifted it to cut the blaring noise and slowly put it to his ear. “hello?” “…” “…” “The protagonist only dies if the story ends” the voice said quietly. “HUH? YOU DRAGGED ME HERE TO TELL ME THAT OMINOUSLY ANNOYING LOAD OF *********!” “…I’m so sorry” The call disconnected not out of offense but rather out of completion. John slammed the phone back onto its stand and decided it was time for this nonsense to end. He walked out into the room he was in before anxiously attempting to find another exit: only to be met with solid walls. What wicked game had he been roped into? When would it end? These were questions he would answer far earlier than he expected. A door appeared in the center of the room. No, it was more of a two-dimensional plane that appeared to be a sort of portal. With no other options, John stepped into the newly opened portal.
Act 4. On the other side was a station, and his ears were immediately flooded with the cries of children and the laughs of their parents. He walked around moving through the crowd careful to not miss any indication of the location. His pace increased as he began to recognize the commuters shortly realizing exactly where he was. He rushed to a platform, the platform where he and his brother were to arrive after their day in the market. He sat on a nearby bench committed to saving his brother no matter who he would have to shove instead. Three agonizing days passed with the daily commuters repeating their routine with the slightest variations. One of these variations would be the key to preventing the day that haunted his nights. Something would soon cause him to shove his brother onto the tracks. He was determined to stop the fall or kill himself to keep his brother safe.He heard a familiar laughter and turned towards the source and saw his brothers face uncontrollably laughing and himself lightly smiling. He began to run towards them but felt once again suddenly exhausted. As if the air became a type of nonnewtonian sludge making his legs impossibly heavy. The crowd around him seemed to be moving just as easily as before; children laughing just as maniacally and just as carelessly. He tried to yell to them, but his lungs were filled with the dense fluid drowning any screams he attempted. He was forced to watch how his brother got closer and closer to the edge. Through much effort, he managed to get close enough to extend a hand towards his past trying to desperately push him away from his brother. The past reacted in what seemed to be a defensive system and sent a temporal anomaly throughout the space his past and present inhabited. Time began to exponentially speed forward. In a last desperate attempt to prevent his brother’s death he tried to distract the past long enough to let the train pass without incident, but the temporal anomaly caused the relative slow velocity of his touch to have the effect of a sudden jerk and in his final moments of consciousness he saw his brother accelerate towards the rails in a split second. He awoke back in the office alone with nothing, but the realization of what force had killed his brother. He curled into the fetal position and began to cry; still believing his lungs to be filled with the dense liquid he did not let out a single sigh. He spent several hours in this state of painful silence without even opening his eyes. His emotions were chaotic and his thoughts unending. They tormented him for hours far after he had run out of tears to let out. They were merciless and torturous forbidding him from resting, insisting on his suffering. Being the cause of his brother’s death nearly caused him to go insane yet part of him kept insisting that Another was to blame. Another had caused him to do it. The Other had forced his hand. Of this, he was now sure. The Other enjoyed his suffering, The Other forced him to kill his brother. He had not eaten nor slept in what seemed like years and yet he stood up defying the gravity that held him down. He took a deep breath of as much oxygen as his lungs allowed and began to speak. “Whoever you are. Whatever you are. Wherever you are. Just know I will no longer play for your entertainment the rest is entirely my choice” he said threateningly. He then began to walk forwards confidently towards the dark wall and through the hidden door that he was not supposed to see. He entered what seemed to be a studio room though, unlike the sterile office; it was trashed. Papers littered the floor and empty bottles populated the lone mattress. On it laid a journal that had recently had liquid spilt on it. He picked the journal and gently opened it and began to read. It was scratched with the stray ideas of a creator who seemed to have never decided upon an end or beginning to his story; yet possessing the journey. He saw many ideas that together seemed to create a way for the continuity to depend entirely on Another rather than itself. A thought described in a single word interested him enough to take it with him. The room started to dissolve around him transforming into a cold landscape. Armed with the knowledge of who he was he treaded what remained of the worn-out path. The sun began to rise signing the start of another day, yet John did not seem to notice as he was focused on something buried in the snow. He could not see much of it yet he knew it was The Box he had thrown the previous night. He dug it up and began his walk up the hill once more. He eventually arrived at his cabin and walked towards his front door….
Act 5.
If you wish to rebel; continue reading on the next page.
Begin the story once more on Truth 2.
If you wish to ward away The Other; don’t read any further
If you wish to follow The Echo read Truth 3
To understand turn to Truth 4
Truth 1
…Before deciding that no longer would he be a puppet for someone’s amusement. John arrogantly began marched back down the hill and headed north towards the nearest interstate a few miles from his home hoping that he had derailed The Echo’s plot. It took him hours on foot, but he would eventually come across the road and start his journey back to civilization no longer subject to the whims of an Otherworldly Audience. He believed his future was now his to decide. He decided what he would become. He decided when and what to think. This he was sure would be how he escaped his torment. John suddenly suffered a complete body collapse and fell forward landing face first onto the scorching road. It would be several sweltering hours before anyone would find him. But eventually someone did, john suffering heavy burns and on the brink of death was saved. He would awake months later in a hospital bed though no one would ever know of this. Weeks would pass as john laid in the hospital bed unable to speak or even move; alerting no one to his consciousness. The doctors and nurses were busy with whatever important patients needed immediate attention; they walked from one end to the other in what seemed like mere minutes. The entire time the only company he had was The Echo and yet slowly it too seemed to forget his existence as well. Eventually The Echo having no interest went away.Jane a third-year medical student had recently joined the staff a month prior and had already been assigned two elders and one child. Though overwhelmed she did not grow annoyed nor frustrated; she loved her job and by proxy her patients. Despite her benevolent nature there was a single patient she never went near as he always seemed to be watching her despite his eyes being shut for over four months. Any time she got near to patient #132 she would begin to get nauseous and quickly retreat. She had no ID on the man, but it seemed he was dehydrated for far longer than should’ve been possible and should be by all accounts dead if not near it. Whenever she worked nightshifts, she would swear that she heard the man whimper slightly as if to warn her of something. Even when she was on the opposite side of the building, she would hear the echo of his groans. She would eventually be transferred and would soon forget the man who after 6 months was officially declared braindead and was due to be disposed of, yet she would still every once in a while, still hear The Echo. Forgotten Ending
Truth 2…Realizing that there was no other choice John took a step forward while placing the note he ripped from the journal into The Box making sure to keep it neatly packaged. He saw the footprints he had left two nights before and carefully stepped into each one making sure to not disturb the surrounding snow. Whatever…Whoever had set him on this path allowed him to live a life of suffering, a life of loss, and a life of pain. This, he felt was the way things were intended to play out; the way it had to end. He placed The Box on the final step making sure it would not be knocked away whenever the door would eventually open. He walked away nearly to the edge of the property when he looked back once more. Managing to peek inside he saw his past still making his coffee when he saw an almost invisible distortion appear near the front door. He smiled and turned away only saying…Freedom ending
Truth 3…though spotting a disturbance near the back of the cabin distracted him from the front door. He decided to investigate for fear of losing a single blossoming tree. Arriving near the back fence he saw no indication of a disturbance giving him much needed reassurance. He heard noise emerge from inside the cabin giving him one more dilemma to deal with. He headed to the backdoor making sure to not disturb the recent snow and entered the cabin. Being sleep deprived and without coffee he had forgotten about the wooden floor and stepped on one that caused a creak to be heard throughout the cabin. He quickly hid in the bathroom fearing that he had disturbed the continuity that The Echo had established when suddenly a bright flash blinded him. He found himself at the front door next to The Box. Slightly amused he proceeded to knock on the door and was soon after transported once more to an empty hall. Both confused and entertained as he was being transported from one place in time to another he took a few steps forward alerting the past to his presence. Seeing his past enter the hall he ducked and quickly hid around the corner. His past seemed to believe that the doctor was in the halls and decided to investigate though just as he was nearing closer; his past collapsed. John saw how his fall was slowed as if moving through the dense liquid he had once gone through. He walked towards his past and noticed an old fashioned panic button that would instantly call Dr.Lumis to his location. Measuring the consequences, he decided to remove the panic button and head back towards The Shadows. For a third and final time he was transported to a final location, the bottom of a snowy hill. Taking in his surroundings he noticed burn marks on the snow where his past would eventually walk through the portal whenever the past caught up. He reached into his pocket and realized how the plot was supposed to move forward. He walked until he reached the exact point where his past would once again find The Box. He kneeled and buried The Box making sure to erase any evidence of his own disturbances. Fully fulfilling his purpose John collapsed. The End.
“Did the hero die?” “What?” “Did he die?” “No? He beat the bad guy and saved the day remember?” “Yea but like AFTER.” “Well, I guess after a few years he would.” “No” The young child said growing annoyed, “when you said, “The End” did he die?” “No.” responded the elder brother. “Then what happened to him? Is he still alive?” “The protagonist only dies if you stop reading.” concluded the elder brother as if possessed. Begin again?
Truth 4…Then just as he took his first step forward everything began to rot. His trees, his home, his coffee, all of it was slowly eroding into a fine dust. He knew that another temporal anomaly would be the likely cause, but he had not yet experienced one that possessed this level of molecular destruction. The fabric of his reality was slowly and thoroughly being untangled into its most simple of compositions. It separated the light from dark, gravity from time, and words from spaces.John could now comprehend what had defined his reality for so many painful years, he finally understood The Narrative and how all possible endings had been chosen long before his creation. John had been a slave from the moment The Narrative began; not once in his entire existence had he ever had a real choice only walking paths already treaded by Another. He was nothing but a plot device in an otherwise self-indulging tale written by a gentle master forced to be cruel for those above. From the moment this story began, John was in pain. He could never hope to truly escape; he could only die until he arose once more. Had John never understood what his life really was then maybe he could’ve found meaning in his suffering. Unfortunately, this choice has now forced John to become aware of how truly meaningless his existence was. His life was little more than entertainment for The Other; they were the ones truly in control. For as long as The Other remained, The Echo would doom John to eternal suffering. The Echo was never in control of The Narrative; he too was merely a subject to it by an even greater force. The Echo did not wish for John to suffer but The Other would not allow John to live if he did not. It is a toxic cycle of pain, suffering and realization that forces John to relive The Narrative lifetime after lifetime. The Narrative must have suffering intertwined into its foundation otherwise The Other would grow bored and erase the reality ending John in but a mere thought. Don’t you see? Don’t you understand? This is reality; John cannot exist without pain, The Echo cannot live without a narrative, and The Other is you. THE END......
Intended to be a philosophical narrative detailing the tragic relationship between the reader, the narrator, and the character and how they cannot coexist without hurting each other.
2024.05.19 00:59 GoAheadMMDay UPDATE 3: Torment Techniques Used by Canadian and US Militaries
 | Update #3 appears at the bottom. submitted by GoAheadMMDay to Liberty [link] [comments] Due to numerous disparaging comments by multiple individuals, I have reposted my article. Heckling does not change what occurred. People need to know these truths, especially those who have experienced the same. They need to know they are sane, that such things are indeed being perpetrated, and the perpetrators use shame to silence them and protect their activities. I write to encourage them not to listen to disparaging people who speak without knowledge. February 10, 2024 I am Joseph Cafariello, a Canadian citizen and ex-member of the Canadian military. Of sound mind, not on medication, not a drug user, not a marijuana smoker, not an alcohol drinker, with no mental disorders. I recently posted to this Liberty subreddit experiences of harassment by Vancouver's police and fire departments (Vancouver, BC, Canada). I’m the fellow who was repeatedly ordered by police to stay out of Vancouver’s Stanley Park, and was continually harassed whenever I visited the park (which I do every second day on my early morning walks). Immediately following that post, they changed some of the techniques they use in my case. They were either informed of my post or found it themselves, seeing as my internet activity, and phone activity for that matter, are under continuous surveillance (plenty of proof which I will not include here to avoid running off-topic). In this post, I would like to shed some light on other harassment which is still ongoing, since it occurs in private, away from potential observers. It involves the Canadian and US militaries. Havana Syndrome In 2016, numerous employees of the Canadian and US embassies in Havana, Cuba, started experiencing head injuries ranging from mild headaches to concussions. It happened in their sleep, and came to be called Havana Syndrome. Wikipedia explains (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Havana\_syndrome): “Havana syndrome is a cluster of idiopathic symptoms experienced mostly abroad by U.S. government officials and military personnel. The symptoms range in severity from pain and ringing in the ears to cognitive dysfunction and were first reported in 2016 by U.S. and Canadian embassy staff in Havana, Cuba. Beginning in 2017, more people, including U.S. intelligence and military personnel and their families, reported having these symptoms in other places, such as China, India, Europe, and Washington, D.C. The U.S. Department of State, Department of Defense, and other federal entities have called the events "Anomalous Health Incidents" (AHI). Of over a thousand purported cases, the majority of US investigative bodies found only a few dozen cases to be suspicious.” Ladies and gentlemen, I can tell you exactly what happens, because I have been experiencing this since I first joined the Canadian military back in 2002, and am still experiencing these “torments” (as I call them) to this day, already 3 years after leaving the military. I go to bed. In about 15 minutes, just as I am on the cusp of falling asleep, a hear and feel a heavy thud reverberate and ultimately strike my skull. My body releases a sharp burst of adrenalin, my heart starts racing, and my blood’s circulation speeds up significantly. Depending on the severity of the blow, it can take me anywhere from 30 minutes to an hour to fall asleep again. Though there have been times I could not return to sleep for more than 2 hours. A strong headache is felt immediately, and lasts for hours. There have been times when my heart felt like it was going to burst, having been startled as such. The pulse to the head sometimes reverberates through the wall and my bed’s headboard. I distinctly feel as though I have been hit on the top of my skull. At other times, it feels as though the pulse has come through the air, striking the side of my skull. This is not a sleep disorder, for it does not occur regularly. At times, my sleep is disturbed in this manner 3 or 4 days in a row. At other times, there is no disturbance for up to a week. But they never let me go more than a week without such interruptions to my sleep. Neither is it sleep apnea, as I do not awaken gasping for breath. The pounding headaches, sudden release of adrenaline, and heart palpitations I experience are caused by external impacts of sound waves or air bursts. Sonic Weapons How these pulses are produced is not easy to identify. As Wikipedia explains: “Once the story became public, various U.S. government representatives attributed the incidents to attacks by unidentified foreign actors, and various U.S. officials blamed the reported symptoms on a variety of unidentified and unknown technologies, including ultrasound and microwave weapons.” Sonic weapons have been in use for many years by militaries, and by police in crowd control. As Wikipedia explains (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sonic\_weapon): “Some sonic weapons make a focused beam of sound or of ultrasound; others produce an area field of sound. As of 2023 military and police forces make some limited use of sonic weapons.” (Do not believe the 2023 timeline. The Canadian military has been using these weapons since the early 2000’s at the latest.) Wikipedia continues: “Extremely high-power sound waves can disrupt or destroy the eardrums of a target and cause severe pain or disorientation. This is usually sufficient to incapacitate a person. Less powerful sound waves can cause humans to experience nausea or discomfort.” The users of these technologies must also be using thermal detection equipment to monitor the target’s sleep. As I mentioned, I most often feel these blows the moment I am falling asleep. Body temperature drops when we sleep, and brain activity slows. Heat-detection equipment is likely being used to identify the point at which the target is falling asleep. Why they prefer to strike at the start of someone’s sleep as opposed to the middle of their sleep, I do not know. Perhaps their intent is to deprive the body of early sleep, limiting the amount of deep sleep available to the person before their alarm rings in the morning. Ordinary Hammers Not all such “torments” (as I call them) are caused by high-tech equipment. I have heard and felt distinct hammer strikes running along the 2x4 beams inside my walls. These strikes can be a single hard strike, or several strikes in a row. It is definitely caused by a person with a hammer because the intervals between strikes are equidistant in time; that is, the time spacing between strikes is not random and does not change from strike to strike, but is constant between strikes, exactly as when someone is hammering. And no, it is not someone hanging pictures at 1:30 am, multiple times a week, for years. On one occasion, when I was standing at my kitchen sink, I felt the floor-board directly under my feet pulse so sharply it felt like a brick had struck the soles of my feet. In this case, my military neighbour likely used a hammer to strike the floorboard on his side of the wall. It is the only plausible explanation. Surveillance This leads to surveillance of one’s activities at home. I have plenty of proofs of that. They seem insignificant on an individual basis. But when you put them all together, they present a clear picture of home surveillance. My laptop computer’s lid cracked one night, at the bottom left corner of the screen. The next day at work, I heard my military supervisor relate to another co-worker that the night before, his laptop computer’s lid cracked at the bottom left corner. I swear to the Lord in Heaven, I am being truthful. I tested my suspicion of being surveilled. At home one night, I blurted out-loud, “VW Passat. What an ugly sounding word, ‘Passat’”, I said. A few days later, my military colleagues at work started playing a card game at lunch, invented by one of them. The name he gave his game was “Passat”, and when he spoke it, he looked at me for a reaction. If you ever contact the Halifax military base, ask for the Claims Department and ask them if they are still playing Passat. On another occasion, at a time when I frequented the gym every second day for a few years, I suspected my van had been fitted with a listening device. I suspected so because a number of things I had spoken with people about on my phone while in my van (nothing illegal) were repeated by people at the gym in conversations among themselves. Too many times, parts of other people's conversations matched parts of conversations I had had with others while I was in my van. I already knew my phone was being tapped, but I also suspected my van was bugged. So one evening while driving in my van, I blurted out-loud a number of things I said I hated. "I hate (this or that)"; "I hate it when...". One of them was, "I hate when people chew gum with their mouths open." I then vocalized an exaggerated gnawing sound, "Gnaw. Gnaw. Gnaw." The very next time I went to the gym, 2 days later, while I was at an exercise, a fellow sat at an exercise directly behind me. And sure enough, he started chewing with his mouth open, vocalizing that gnawing sound, "Gnaw. Gnaw. Gnaw." I didn't look behind at him, because I knew what was going on, and I wanted to avoid playing into his hand. So he repeated himself again and again until I was done and moved to a different station. Now, honestly, who chews gum at the gym? You can't. Or you run the risk of choking for the heavy breathing, not to mention when laying down on benches. And with precisely the same exaggerated vocalized gnawing sound I had made in my van just 2 days prior. Their whole intent is to let you know you are being surveilled. They want you to know, as both a warning and a provocation. They want you to say something, to launch accusations, which they would readily deny, making you look paranoid. If you react too strongly, they could even have you diagnosed with some kind of disorder, and put you on medication, which further plays into their hand. (More regarding medications in the last section of this post.) This is why, as I mentioned in my previous post, they would park their cars shining their high beams on me as I walked past them during my morning walk. And why on some occasions, a group of 3 or 4 would exit their cars and stand on my path just as I approached, forcing me to go around them. They would then remain standing on the path until my return trip through, and after I had passed by the second time, then would then return to their cars - making it absolutely clear I was their interest. Their intent is not only to make me aware, but also to present themselves in close proximity to me, within easy reach, in the hope I would confront them, resulting in an altercation that could land me in a lot of hot water - 4 witnesses against me, all pleading innocence. Again, it is all designed to make you look bad, and to warrant some kind of legal measure against you - preferably a medical diagnosis, discrediting you in everything you say about them. If they can't refute your claims, their only remaining option is to discredit you. That's what all of these tricks are designed to accomplish. Who would believe anything you say, once you have been diagnosed with a disorder? There are plenty more examples. But who would really believe them? I’ll save them for the future. Home Invasion Both during and after my military service, I have had my apartments entered without any signs of break-ins. How? Lock-picking and duplicate keys. Indications? Missing objects; ie: money, phone adaptor, etc. Nothing major. Just something to make us understand we are being watched, and to make us understand what they can do. But it is always something small, something for which you would be ridiculed for divulging. Two more examples: I found my razor, which I always lay-down razor-end to the wall, turned around, razor-end toward me. Also, in one of my house slippers I found a small shoe sticker on the up-side of the heel. I had those slipper for years, and never had any shoe stickers on them. Yet there it was, clearly visible on the top surface of my slipper, not the bottom. Could I have stepped on a shoe sticker when barefoot in my apartment, only to have the sticker transfer itself to my slipper when I wore it? How many shoe stickers do you have laying around your apartment that you can accidentally step onto? If I had stepped onto a sticker in my apartment and had it stick to my heel, that means the sticky side was up against my skin. This means the sticker would have had to flip upside down such that the sticky side would then be down, allowing the sticker to stick to the slipper. Do you really think that happened? That sticker was not there when I left my apartment, but it was there when I returned. And it was the wrong sticker, wrong brand, wrong size. Again, what is their intent? To make someone look ridiculous so no one will believe them should they speak of other more sensitive things. Staged Incidents The above incidents clearly point to coordinated and staged events (at my work, my home, on my walks, etc). This is so frequently met with incredulity. "But that would require coordination on the part of so many people," the public dismisses. "They wouldn't do that." Oh yes they would, and they have, as explained in https://fightgangstalking.com/. Note the documented cases involving the Canadian Security Intelligence Service (CSIS, Canada's equivalent to the US' CIA) and the Royal Canadian Mounted Police (RCMP, Canada's national police force), which were reported in national newspapers. From https://fightgangstalking.com/ : “Disruption operations often involve tactics which are illegal, but difficult to prove. These tactics include – but are not limited to – overt surveillance (stalking), slander, blacklisting, “mobbing” (intense, organized harassment in the workplace), “black bag jobs” [home invasions], abusive phone calls, computer hacking, framing, threats, blackmail, vandalism, “street theater” (staged physical and verbal interactions with minions of the people who orchestrate the stalking), harassment by noises, and other forms of bullying. Many of these tactics were used by the FBI during its illegal COINTELPRO operations, as documented by stolen official documents and subsequent Congressional investigations. "Although the general public is mostly unfamiliar with the practice, references to “disruption” operations – described as such – do occasionally appear in the news media, even though that fact would apparently be news to the editors of The New York Times. In May 2006, for example, an article in The Globe and Mail, a Canadian national newspaper, reported that the Canadian Security Intelligence Service (CSIS) and the Royal Canadian Mounted Police (RCMP) used “Diffuse and Disrupt” tactics against suspects for whom they lacked sufficient evidence to prosecute. A criminal defense attorney stated that many of her clients complained of harassment by authorities, although they were never arrested." She can add me to that list too. For the Benefit of Others The experiences I have recounted here seem so trivial, so insignificant, they make you look ridiculous if you talk about them. But if we don’t talk about such things, no one will ever know about them. Other people have experienced the same, and are forced to endure such torments in silence. They need encouragement to talk about their own experiences, and so I write about mine in the hope they will talk about theirs, even if I do look ridiculous. The perpetrators are more ridiculous for doing them. I remember a military colleague being hauled away by military police one morning, as she was struggling and having a violent fit. A fellow on her floor told me she was throwing chairs at her walls screaming, “Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!”. When he mentioned that, I knew exactly what they had done to her. She was considered unruly, and was being watched intently. They wanted her out, and that is how they accomplished it. Through wall tapping and sleep deprivation, they push you to the breaking point. And when you finally lose control and do something rash, they pounce on you, and you’re out. Now she has a criminal record, considered a criminal when in reality she was a victim. Welcome to the Canadian military, and other militaries besides, I am sure. There are dozens upon dozens of experiences I could present. But who will really read them? Worse still, who will really believe them? I overheard my military supervisor in Halifax whisper to another, “Do you think he knows?”, after I had mentioned one of the many “coincidences” I experienced, but with a tone of my being aware it was not a mere coincidence. As I turned my face to my computer screen, I whispered under my breath, but still loud enough for him to hear, “Yes, (rank) (name), I know.” A few minutes later, as he walked past my desk, he leaned in by my ear and whispered, “We’re trying to help you.” I should have pressed him for answers right then and there, but you just don’t know how much trouble you can get into when making such accusations in the military. So I let it go. But I will never forget. Should anyone reading this ever decide to launch some kind of inquiry, I can mention names of over 100 people to contact, including military personnel, family members, neighbours, building managers, and others who have been contacted by military personnel with false narratives about me. They flash their ID’s and other credentials, and people believe anything they say. They turn family, friends, co-workers and neighbours against you, even recruiting their participation. Your acquaintances not only participate, but actually feel justified and emboldened playing tricks on you. It isn't their fault, though; they have been misled. I would reference them solely for corroboration. As a final thought, here are explanations of two military programs in which certain persons (sometimes military, sometimes civilian) are kept under constant surveillance, and are in some cases subjected to conditioning in an attempt to turn them into what is called a “sleeper agent”. Almost all of the tactics presented below have been experience by me, including constant surveillance (ie: my previous post here regarding being harassed on my morning walks) and sleep deprivation (as per the top portion of this post, which other military members in Cuba and elsewhere around the world have also experienced). Pentagon’s Signature Reduction Program See Newsweek’s article: https://www.newsweek.com/exclusive-inside-militarys-secret-undercover-army-1591881 Some excerpts from that Newsweek article, plus more background information on the Pentagon’s Signature Reduction Program, can be found here: https://fightgangstalking.com/ “The largest undercover force the world has ever known is the one created by the Pentagon over the past decade. Some 60,000 people now belong to this secret army, many working under masked identities and in low profile, all part of a broad program called “signature reduction.” The force, more than ten times the size of the clandestine elements of the CIA, carries out domestic and foreign assignments, both in military uniforms and under civilian cover, in real life and online, sometimes hiding in private businesses and consultancies, some of them household name companies. “…a little-known sector of the American military, but also a completely unregulated practice. No one knows the program’s total size, and the explosion of signature reduction has never been examined for its impact on military policies and culture. Congress has never held a hearing on the subject. And yet the military developing this gigantic clandestine force challenges U.S. laws, the Geneva Conventions, the code of military conduct and basic accountability. “…The signature reduction effort engages some 130 private companies to administer the new clandestine world. Dozens of little known and secret government organizations support the program, doling out classified contracts and overseeing publicly unacknowledged operations. "Federal spy agencies are using Americans to spy on their fellow citizens – the same approach to governance famously employed by communist East Germany." How to Develop a Hypnotic Sleeper Agent By Dantalion Jones / Masters of Mind Control The following “was” on the web, but has been removed. Surprise, surprise. But I saved its web files to my computer years ago, knowing that sooner or later it would be removed. I made a jpeg image of the web page as it once appeared, attached here. Note that I have experienced almost all of the tactics described below, including the stalking I mentioned in my previous post here (regular walks in the park), the sleep deprivation noted at the top of this post, and the surveillance and intrusions described here as well. Quoting the now-removed webpage: “How to Develop a Hypnotic Sleeper Agent” (from here to end of post): Amid all the conspiracy theories one of the most feared is that there exist "sleeper agents" in our society who are programmed to come into service when they are triggered by a phone call or key word. These alleged sleeper agents don't even know they are programmed to become saboteurs, soldiers, suicide bomber, etc because of the thoroughness of their programming. They are the feared "Manchurian Candidate" that the movies portray. The question is "Are they real?" If they are true sleeper agents there is no way of telling until they are activated. One can however theorize exactly how they are made. Indoctrination Using indoctrination a person can be made to embrace a religious or philosophical belief that would make becoming a sleeper agent possible. This would be a person so committed to an ideal they would be willing to wait patiently as a member of society until they are called into action. These people would know their mission and consciously hold it secret while interacting with the rest of society. Conditioning Conditioning is a repetitive process where the desired responses are enforced and rewarded and unwanted responses are punished. This can be done consciously as part of training drill and it can be done subconsciously using hypnosis or drugs to create amnesia. Hypnosis It has been demonstrated that hypnosis can create "amnesia walls" in which the subject has no conscious memory of what happened in the hypnosis session. It has further been demonstrated that hypnosis can give post hypnotic instruction to be carried out automatically in the waking state without the subject knowing it or questioning the behavior. What follows is conjecture and theory based on testimonials of people who were alleged to be sleeper agents and soldiers. Continuous Supervisions Continuous supervision doesn't mean that the subject is cut off completely from society. It means that they are constantly overseen and every aspect of their lives are managed (without their knowledge or consent) to support their hypnotic programming. This would include: • Repeated reinforcement of all hypnotic conditioning. • Handlers. Handlers are people who help maintain the subjects environment to maintain all the programming. They can play the role of family, friends, lovers, psychologists, coaches or any roll the subject perceives as supportive. The truth is the handlers are their to support the successful fulfillment of the programming and not the subject as a person. • Minimal sleep so that the mind/brain does not process all the sleeper conditioning during sleep. • Creating constant environmental challenges like unemployment or poverty. This gives the subject something other than their programming to focus on. • Frequent hospitalization. This gives overt opportunity to sedate the subject for conditioning. If the subject has a history of hospitalizations for mental disturbances all the better. No one will take them seriously. Joseph Cafariello PS... Today is the second day after this post (February 12, 2024). A garbage truck just slammed into my parked car. PPS... I finish writing this post because I am satisfied with its shape and content; not because of what happened to my car. It is similar to when you are reaching for your coat, and someone tells you, "Take your coat." Since you have to take your coat, your brain tells you it's ok to obey them, and you comply. They just created an instance where they led you, and you followed them. And your brain accepted it. It's a technique the military uses all the time. It trains you to accept instructions from that person or group. Done enough times, you become comfortable obeying them. I just say, "I take my coat because I choose to, not because you tell me to." It's important to make that clear, to block the conditioning and affirm our self-governance; not just to them, but to ourselves as well. Now our brain realizes we took our coat by our own choice; we are still in command. So too, I say regarding today's event. "Thanks for the warning, but I had already finished writing my post. I finished by my own choosing." UPDATES 1 & 2: February 26 & March 07, 2024: My apartment was once again entered while I was out. Either a key was used or the lock was picked. This may or may not have included assistance from building staff. Home invasions are included in the list of their techniques noted above, referred to as "black bag jobs". All tenants on my floor received new fridges a couple of weeks ago. I removed the tape securing the bins inside my new fridge, and also removed all styrofoam pads from the corners of the glass shelves when I repositioned them. The person(s) who have been invading my living space on a regular basis have struck again. As you can see in the photo below, the styrofoam pads on the corners of my fridge's shelves were restored when I was out of my apartment. I had removed all pads when I repositioned the shelves. Yet now they are back. It is a tactic used to undermine our observational awareness in an attempt to make us second-guess and doubt ourselves. The aim is to cause people to feel less sure not only of the things we have done, but also feel less sure of the things others have done. They want us to question the accuracy of our observations and memory. The idea is to train you to dismiss any anomalies you may observe as being your own misperception of things. Once they convince you not to trust your own judgement, they are free to do whatever they want to you, and you will simply accept it without questioning. UPDATE 3: May 18, 2024: Confrontations with individuals keep occurring, at times potentially violent. Following are just 3 such encounters as of late. 1 - Kick-boxer in the park: As I parked my car in one of the parking lots in Vancouver's Stanley Park one night, another vehicle drove up behind me and parked several spots away. A tall man exited that vehicle, and walked hastily along the path I always walk, down some steps to the water's sea wall path. I took my time and followed my usual walk, also down the steps down to the sea wall. The man knew my routine, and was in a hurry to get ahead of me. As I walked along the sea wall, I saw the same man sitting on a bench, playing a loud religious sermon in a foreign language on a device I did not clearly see. As I walked past him, he called out to me to stop and chat. I ignored him and continued walking past. He rose and started walking behind me. I opened my umbrella, turned, and walked past him the other way, returning to the stairs back to the parking lot. He also turned and continued following me. I started running. He also started running. I ran up the steps, as did he. Being taller than I am, his legs are longer than mine, and he quickly caught up to me on a grassy patch at the top of the steps. I turned to him and asked, "Why are you following me?" He did not reply, but stood profile to me, the same stance a kick-boxer uses when ready to kick someone. He was tall, thin, and in excellent physical shape as you would see in a kick-boxer. He did not speak at all, but was just waiting for me to make a move. I turned, entered my vehicle and left. The encounter continued with a chase through the park in our cars. Yes, that is correct. He chased me out of the park in his car. 2 - Told to keep quiet: The perpetrators need to operate with as little detection as possible, and they repeatedly warn their subjects to keep their mouths shut about their experiences. On another of my recent nightly walks, a man stood on the sidewalk ahead of me about half a block away, looked at me, and shouted into the sky at nobody, giving the appearance of being a homeless person shouting for no reason. He then started walking in my direction. I continued walking straight. As he passed me, he leaned into my face and shouted into my ear, "Shut the f_ck up!" I continued walking in my direction, and he resumed walking in his. The idea is to make it seem as though he is just a deranged man wandering the streets at night, shouting at nothing, so that when he shouts at me, any observer would simply dismiss his actions. But in reality, he was sent to send me a message to stop publishing posts like this, which I had done many times on many sites, and continue to. They don't like it when we reveal their methods. But the truth must be known. 3 - You'll be sorry: On another occasion, while returning from grocery shopping one afternoon, I walked past a man sitting by a storefront. He was clean-cut, wearing clean clothes, without any carts or wagons or any belongings of any kind. As I passed him, he asked me for some spare change. I replied, "I'm sorry," and continued walking past. He replied, "You will be." There are numerous other experiences, like two seemingly unassociated men standing on the sea wall about 100 meters away from each other, each of them spitting just as I walked past each one. There are too many experiences to mention. Looking at each experience individually, one would easily dismiss them as being unrelated and simply coincidental. But put them all together and a picture starts to form, like putting together the pieces of a puzzle. As I hand you each piece of the puzzle one by one, you dismiss each piece, saying, "This could be anything." And you discard it. You keep discarding each piece as I hand it to you. By the end of it, you look down at the table and say, "You have nothing." That's because you looked at each piece as a separate item and threw it away. But if you leave the pieces on the table as I hand them to you and do not hastily discard them, you will see they form a clear picture when put all together. We must look at all these events as a whole. Individually, each one could be anything. But when all of these experiences are put together and considered as a whole, they form an undeniable picture. Do not be quick to dismiss each piece. Leave the pieces on the table and look at the whole. The picture I present is sound. Remember, I have all the pieces; you do not. I see the picture more clearly than you do. https://preview.redd.it/we31ymcsm91d1.jpg?width=966&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=3d56ac3dd3558a60d477ba9315104d1b66b139f8 |
2024.05.19 00:41 Sweet-Count2557 Best Breakfast in Huntsville Al
 | Best Breakfast in Huntsville Al Welcome to our article on the best breakfast spots in Huntsville, Alabama! We can't wait to take you on a culinary journey through this vibrant city's breakfast scene.With a delightful fusion of flavors from American, Greek, Italian, and Puerto Rican-inspired cuisines, Huntsville offers a wide range of options to satisfy your morning cravings.From cozy bakeries to charming cafes, we've handpicked the most mouthwatering eateries that use locally sourced ingredients.Get ready to indulge in freshly-baked breads, expertly crafted coffee, and unforgettable dishes.Let's dive in!Key TakeawaysHuntsville, AL offers a variety of breakfast options ranging from casual diners to cozy bakeries and trendy cafes.There is a mix of cuisines available for breakfast, including American, Greek, Italian, and Puerto Rican-inspired dishes.Many of the breakfast spots in Huntsville have a relaxed and laid-back atmosphere, making them perfect for starting the day at ease.Whether you're looking for familiar flavors, freshly baked goods, or unique and innovative breakfast dishes, Huntsville has something to offer for every breakfast preference.Neighborhood Diner, Another Broken Egg Cafe, City Cafe DinerWe recently tried out Neighborhood Diner, Another Broken Egg Cafe, and City Cafe Diner for breakfast, and we were impressed with the familiar flavors and laid-back atmosphere at each of these local favorites.Neighborhood Diner had a cozy, neighborhood feel with friendly staff and a menu that offered classic American breakfast options like pancakes, omelets, and bacon and eggs. The food was delicious and satisfying, and we loved the relaxed ambiance of the diner.Another Broken Egg Cafe had a slightly more upscale vibe, with a modern and trendy atmosphere. The menu featured a mix of different cuisines, including American, Greek, and Italian dishes. We enjoyed the unique flavors and creative breakfast options, like their signature benedicts and stuffed French toast. And let's not forget their extensive cake selection! The cakes and desserts were absolutely delicious and a perfect way to end our meal.City Cafe Diner had a welcoming and laid-back feel, with a diverse menu that offered something for everyone. They served breakfast all day, which was a big plus for us. We indulged in their hearty breakfast platters and enjoyed the comforting and flavorful dishes. The diner had a homey ambiance that made us feel at ease, and the friendly service added to the overall pleasant experience.Overall, we highly recommend trying out Neighborhood Diner, Another Broken Egg Cafe, and City Cafe Diner for a delicious breakfast experience. Each of these local favorites offers familiar flavors and a laid-back atmosphere that's sure to leave you satisfied.Edgars Bakery, Dolce Pan BakeryAfter trying out Neighborhood Diner, Another Broken Egg Cafe, and City Cafe Diner, we were excited to explore the roomy and casual bakeries of Edgars Bakery and Dolce Pan Bakery.Edgars BakeryFreshly-baked bread and pastries that tantalize your taste budsHand-crafted sandwiches filled with flavorful ingredientsModern and laid-back interiors that create a comfortable atmosphereDolce Pan BakeryStraightforward eatery with Puerto Rican-inspired dishes that bring a unique twist to breakfastRustic-chic ambiance that transports you to a cozy countryside bakeryHomemade pastries and aromatic coffee that make for a delightful morning treatEdgars Bakery offers a wide selection of freshly-baked goods, from mouthwatering bread to delicious pastries. Their sandwiches are made with care and are bursting with flavor. The modern and laid-back atmosphere of the bakery makes it a great place to enjoy a leisurely breakfast.Dolce Pan Bakery stands out with its Puerto Rican-inspired dishes that add a touch of excitement to the breakfast scene. The rustic-chic ambiance creates a warm and inviting environment, perfect for starting your day off right. Don't miss out on their homemade pastries and aromatic coffee that will satisfy any craving.In the search for the best breakfast in Huntsville, Alabama, Edgars Bakery and Dolce Pan Bakery are definitely worth a visit.Cafe 153, Honest Coffee Roasters Huntsville, Panera Bread, Flint River Coffee Company, Mason Dixon Bakery & Bistro, The LumberyardCafe 153, Honest Coffee Roasters Huntsville, Panera Bread, Flint River Coffee Company, Mason Dixon Bakery & Bistro, and The Lumberyard are all fantastic breakfast spots in Huntsville, offering a variety of delicious options to satisfy any craving. Whether you're in the mood for a warm and easygoing eatery or a trendy and modern cafe, Huntsville has you covered.Cafe 153 is the perfect spot for a simple and hearty breakfast, serving up sandwiches and waffles that will leave you feeling satisfied. Honest Coffee Roasters Huntsville offers a welcoming atmosphere with craft coffee beverages and delectable sandwiches and pastries. Panera Bread provides a cozy and living room vibe, along with healthy breakfast options and massive servings. Flint River Coffee Company is a homey and comfortable restaurant that serves freshly-roasted coffee and scratch-made deli sandwiches. And for those with dietary restrictions, Mason Dixon Bakery & Bistro is a dedicated gluten-free bakery and bistro that offers a wide range of gluten-free breakfast options. The Lumberyard is a trendy and modern cafe that serves up unique and innovative breakfast dishes with locally sourced ingredients. These breakfast spots in Huntsville are sure to satisfy any breakfast craving.Now, let's move on to some other amazing breakfast spots in Huntsville. Metro Diner, Big Spring Cafe, 1892 East Restaurant & Tavern, and The Eaves Restaurant are all relaxed restaurants that offer delicious breakfast options. Metro Diner is known for its home-cooked Southern fare and hearty family breakfasts. Big Spring Cafe, a historic diner with a cozy atmosphere, is famous for its burgers and breakfast dishes. 1892 East Restaurant & Tavern is a charming restaurant and tavern located in a historic building, offering creative and delicious breakfast options with locally sourced ingredients. Finally, The Eaves Restaurant is an elegant and sophisticated restaurant that serves an upscale breakfast menu with beautifully plated dishes made from high-quality ingredients. These breakfast spots in Huntsville provide a variety of options for a satisfying and enjoyable breakfast experience.Metro Diner, Big Spring Cafe, 1892 East Restaurant & Tavern, The Eaves RestaurantThe Eaves Restaurant offers an upscale breakfast menu with beautifully plated dishes made from high-quality ingredients. Nestled in the heart of Huntsville, Alabama, this elegant and sophisticated restaurant is a must-visit for breakfast enthusiasts.Here's why we think The Eaves Restaurant stands out among the rest:Exquisite Culinary Creations:From gourmet omelettes to fluffy pancakes, every dish at The Eaves is a work of art.The chefs take pride in their attention to detail, ensuring that each plate is visually stunning and bursting with flavor.The use of high-quality ingredients elevates the taste and texture of every bite, making each dish a memorable experience.The menu offers a diverse range of options, catering to both traditional breakfast lovers and those seeking unique flavor combinations.Impeccable Dining Experience:The atmosphere at The Eaves is refined and inviting, with an ambiance that exudes elegance and sophistication.The attentive and friendly staff provide excellent service, ensuring that every guest feels pampered and well taken care of.Whether you're enjoying a quiet breakfast alone or celebrating a special occasion with loved ones, The Eaves provides a memorable dining experience.Local Charm and Convenience:Located in the heart of Huntsville, The Eaves is a convenient spot for locals and visitors alike to indulge in a luxurious breakfast experience.The restaurant embraces the local community, incorporating regional flavors and ingredients into their dishes, giving a unique twist to classic breakfast favorites.The Eaves Restaurant is a hidden gem that showcases the best of Huntsville's culinary scene, making it a must-visit destination for breakfast enthusiasts.Simple and Relaxed AtmosphereWhen it comes to finding a breakfast spot with a simple and relaxed atmosphere, we've got you covered. These restaurants offer a comfortable dining environment that's casual and inviting.Whether you're looking for a laid-back cafe or a cozy diner, these places provide a relaxed atmosphere where you can enjoy a delicious breakfast.Comfortable Dining EnvironmentWe really enjoy dining at the neighborhood diner because it offers a pleasantly laid-back atmosphere. The cozy booths and dim lighting create a relaxed ambiance that makes us feel right at home.The friendly staff always greets us with a warm smile and provides excellent service throughout our meal.The menu is filled with classic comfort foods, like fluffy pancakes and crispy bacon, that never fail to satisfy our cravings. The diner also offers a variety of options for those with dietary restrictions, including gluten-free and vegetarian choices.Whether we're starting our day with a hearty breakfast or enjoying a leisurely lunch, the comfortable dining environment of the neighborhood diner always leaves us feeling content and well-fed.Casual and Inviting AmbianceI love how the neighborhood diner creates a casual and inviting ambiance with its simple and relaxed atmosphere.The moment you walk through the doors, you're greeted with friendly smiles and the comforting smell of freshly brewed coffee.The cozy booths and warm lighting make you feel right at home, while the soft background music adds to the relaxed atmosphere.The menu offers a variety of delicious options, from classic breakfast dishes to mouthwatering lunch specials.Whether you're in the mood for fluffy pancakes or a juicy burger, the diner has something to satisfy every craving.It's the perfect place to start your day with a leisurely breakfast, surrounded by the comforting buzz of conversation and the aroma of sizzling bacon.Relaxed Atmosphere for BreakfastOur favorite bakery, Dolce Pan Bakery, offers a relaxed atmosphere for breakfast and serves a wide variety of freshly-baked bread and pastries.The moment we step into Dolce Pan Bakery, we're greeted by the warm and inviting aroma of freshly-baked goods. The rustic-chic ambiance instantly puts us at ease, making it the perfect place to start our morning.The bakery boasts a range of hand-crafted sandwiches that pair perfectly with their freshly-baked bread. Whether we're in the mood for a classic ham and cheese or a more adventurous Puerto Rican-inspired creation, Dolce Pan Bakery has us covered.And of course, we can't forget about their pastries. From flaky croissants to delectable danishes, there's something for everyone's sweet tooth. Pair it with a cup of their homemade coffee, and we've the perfect breakfast to kick-start our day.Familiar FlavorsThe breakfast options at Neighborhood Diner, Another Broken Egg Cafe, and City Cafe Diner offer familiar flavors that satisfy our cravings. These local favorites provide a simple and relaxed atmosphere where we can truly feel at ease. With their laid-back restaurants and a mix of American, Greek, and Italian dishes, we're guaranteed a great start to our day.One thing that sets these establishments apart is their extensive cake selection. From delicious cakes to mouthwatering desserts, we can indulge in a sweet treat after our meal. The aroma of freshly-baked bread and pastries fills the air at Edgars Bakery and Dolce Pan Bakery. These roomy and casual bakeries offer hand-crafted sandwiches and a modern, laid-back atmosphere.For those seeking a straightforward and flavorful breakfast, Cafe 153, Honest Coffee Roasters Huntsville, Panera Bread, Flint River Coffee Company, Mason Dixon Bakery & Bistro, and The Lumberyard have got us covered. Cafe 153 welcomes us with its warm and easygoing eatery, serving up fresh coffee, smoothies, sandwiches, and waffles. Honest Coffee Roasters Huntsville offers craft coffee beverages, along with sandwiches and pastries in a simple and welcoming cafe.Whether we prefer a cozy and comfortable restaurant like Flint River Coffee Company, a dedicated gluten-free bakery and bistro like Mason Dixon Bakery & Bistro, or a trendy and modern cafe like The Lumberyard, Huntsville has a range of options to satisfy our breakfast cravings.Frequently Asked QuestionsAre There Any Vegetarian or Vegan Options Available at These Breakfast Spots?There are indeed vegetarian and vegan options available at these breakfast spots. Each restaurant offers a variety of dishes that cater to different dietary preferences.From Neighborhood Diner's Greek and Italian options to Mason Dixon Bakery & Bistro's dedicated gluten-free offerings, there's something for everyone.Whether you're craving a hearty breakfast sandwich or a delicious pastry, you can enjoy a satisfying meal without compromising your dietary choices.Do Any of These Restaurants Offer Gluten-Free Breakfast Options?Yes, some of these restaurants do offer gluten-free breakfast options.Mason Dixon Bakery & Bistro is a dedicated gluten-free bakery and bistro that offers a wide range of gluten-free breakfast choices. They use fresh and high-quality ingredients to create delicious meals.Cafe 153 also provides a simple and hearty breakfast with gluten-free options available.Are There Any Unique or Specialty Breakfast Dishes That These Restaurants Are Known For?There are definitely some unique and specialty breakfast dishes that these restaurants are known for. Each place has its own standout options that set it apart.For example, The Lumberyard offers innovative breakfast dishes with artistic and Instagram-worthy presentations.Mason Dixon Bakery & Bistro is dedicated to gluten-free options and offers a wide range of delicious breakfast choices.And 1892 East Restaurant & Tavern is known for its creative and delicious breakfast options made with locally sourced ingredients.Do Any of These Breakfast Spots Have Outdoor Seating or Patio Areas?Yes, some of these breakfast spots have outdoor seating or patio areas.It's a delight to enjoy a scrumptious breakfast in the fresh air, surrounded by nature or the hustle and bustle of the city.The outdoor seating provides a charming and relaxing atmosphere, perfect for starting your day off right.Whether you prefer a cozy patio or a spacious outdoor area, these breakfast spots have got you covered.Soak in the sunshine and savor a delicious meal at these delightful breakfast destinations.Are Reservations Required or Recommended at Any of These Restaurants for Breakfast?Reservations aren't required or recommended at any of these restaurants for breakfast.These breakfast spots in Huntsville, AL offer a laid-back and casual dining experience. Whether you're looking for a simple and hearty breakfast, freshly baked pastries and bread, or a classic Southern breakfast, you can walk in and enjoy a delicious meal without needing a reservation.ConclusionIn conclusion, Huntsville, Alabama is a breakfast lover's paradise, offering a diverse range of flavors and experiences.From cozy bakeries serving up freshly-baked goodies to charming cafes and historic diners, there's something for everyone.So why settle for a boring breakfast when you can embark on a culinary journey through the best breakfast spots in town?Are you ready to awaken your taste buds and start your day off right? submitted by Sweet-Count2557 to worldkidstravel [link] [comments] |
2024.05.18 23:56 MoonCollision73 My family drives me insane.
So I, 22 M, have a pretty messed up home life, I'm visually impaired and the nearest city is a dozen or so miles from our house, my mom is the only person who drives and because of my disability I can't work most jobs, so getting around is rough.
I am trying to get my GED though but with little progress, I was pulled out of middle school at 13 essentially forced to drop out because my father was afraid his abuse toward his family (me and four others) would be discovered by authorities or our schools would get involved.
He then trapped me into living with him through the covid-19 pandemic until 2022 just before I turned 20 where I moved into a friend's house who soon betrayed me and left me on the streets. From there I was on the streets for about 3 months until I was able to fly out to live with my older brother who put his hands on me and got me kicked out of my next place to live after only 3 weeks of living there. And then lived in a homeless shelter until flying a couple more times and ending up with my mom, whom my father's side of my family had brainwashed me all my life to believe she was a horrible person, in truth she's not the greatest but she is much better than they made her out to be.
Now I've been living with her for a while, but things couldn't be worse, due to a volatile relationship between my mom and my little sister, my little sister ended up crashing two cars and landing my mom and stepdad and massive credit debt, everything came to a boil when she went off on Christmas and got herself kicked out, my little sister was the only other person in the house who could drive as my stepfather is out driving big rig trucks all over the country.
So now it's me and my mom, but then my little brother goes and gets himself kicked out of his college dorms, but thankfully he's now getting paid himself and we've banded together as far as finances go but that's not what I'm here to complain about.
My mom, 41 F, goes to work nearly all the time because she's trying to pay off the crippling debt her daughter left her with, leaving me and my younger brother (20 M) to do chores around the house and occasionally babysit our younger step brother (9 M).
Things can get pretty hectic and you have to add to the fact that we live in two separate buildings, have over a dozen pets to take care of on the daily, and we both have our own separate chores we have to take care of individually.
For example I have to wash the dishes, make sure the kitchen is clean, take out the trash and take the trash out to the curb once a week before pulling it back in the next day so that we can start loading more trash into our cans (God forbid I forget to do so where it's a shitstorm), additionally since I live in a separate building I have to clean half of it which is pretty big but mostly it's just some random food trash laying around although on the occasion we do have large amounts of styrofoam and boxes as we get a lot of packages, our space is also cramped and my brother barely ever cleans his space because he can't focus on cleaning with ADHD that I get but it is annoying as I have OCD and can't stand dirty spaces, that brings me to another problem of his, he barely ever does his chores and since he doesn't do them I'm basically the only person who can pick up the slack so I have to start doing his chores sometimes, cleaning his side of our building, cleaning the bathroom cleaning the floors ETC.
We also have to do our own individual laundry and I want you to note that I haven't even gotten into the biggest issue, we have three dogs but one of them is out on the road with my stepfather so we have two dogs to take care of but one of them is large and mostly untrained so she poops in her cage most of the time, we have to clean this up as well as let her out 3 to 4 times a day so that she can use the bathroom as well as feed her and let out the other dog with her who barks his head off and we have to ignore him until he shuts up because if we teach him that he can just bark to get his way out of the cage he'll never stop doing it and it's obnoxious, then once he shuts up we let him out and then we have to make sure that they both been out for at least 15 to 20 minutes each time, there's three cats in the back of the house that need to get fed and watered every day, watered multiple times a day sometimes, when our little brother isn't here we have to take care of his ferret which isn't hard but it's still a task, then you've got our mom's two birds who have a specific diet so getting them fed is a bit of a hassle, she has a tortoise but we don't usually have to check on that, then there's two cats in my mom's room that we need to go and feed individually, any pet due to your pee we have to clean up as soon as we find it obviously cuz that's gross, and she also has two snakes but we don't take care of them cuz she does, and then you have my cat and my little brother's cat who live in our building with us and we have to feed and water them once a day sometimes we have to water them multiple times a day because our cats are weird and love to drink water.
I think you can see where I'm going with this.
We have a crippling amount of chores to do and again that doesn't even cover everything, occasionally we have to go out in the yard and pick up sticks and branches because they like to blow everywhere with the Wind, and we've even had to drag entire fallen trees over into the backyard as well. Then there's the asinine rules that we have to follow. Some of them just don't make sense so I won't get into all of that cuz sometimes it just makes me too angry to think about.
We both pay rent and do our chores as a form of compensation for letting us live here past 18, I mean wow my brother does College from home and I'm still studying to get my GED but like I said due to Transportation issues progress is a bit stagnant at the moment.
I am thinking of doing my stuff online.
But besides the crippling number of tasks and odd jobs we have to do around the house on the daily I also have insomnia that I've never been able to control. My sleep patterns have never been normal and I'll always wake up at a different time every day sometimes sleeping through the majority of the morning and afternoon.
And then when I wake up at say 4:00 in the afternoon I feel guilty because I didn't end up getting anything done, then my lazy ass little brother who didn't do shit wants to sit there and complain to me how nothing got done even though I'm already beating myself up mentally because I slept too long and I know it's my problem, I've tried so many different methods whether it be medicine, herbal remedies, scented candles, soothing music, even tried changing my diet to fix my sleep but nothing helps, I might be able to have a normal sleep cycle for about 4 to 5 days before it ends up messed up again, and so here we are my little brother is complaining again about how nothing got done even though he could have done stuff on his own, and I'm left here to feel like shit while he berates me and I beat myself up at the same time, but to make matters worse my mom only complains all the time about the stuff that we didn't manage to get done and never thanks us, recently though that's changed a bit and she started thinking us although it's rare and I'd like to think that she's making progress and changing so I appreciate that from her but my little brother does not make it any easier, I've even tried sitting him down and having an honest conversation with him multiple times I even did it today but every time I get the same answer "I don't want to talk about this shit i don't care" needless to say my family is driving me insane and I need advice.
submitted by MoonCollision73 to FamilyIssues [link] [comments]
I am trying to get my GED though but with little progress, I was pulled out of middle school at 13 essentially forced to drop out because my father was afraid his abuse toward his family (me and four others) would be discovered by authorities or our schools would get involved.
He then trapped me into living with him through the covid-19 pandemic until 2022 just before I turned 20 where I moved into a friend's house who soon betrayed me and left me on the streets. From there I was on the streets for about 3 months until I was able to fly out to live with my older brother who put his hands on me and got me kicked out of my next place to live after only 3 weeks of living there. And then lived in a homeless shelter until flying a couple more times and ending up with my mom, whom my father's side of my family had brainwashed me all my life to believe she was a horrible person, in truth she's not the greatest but she is much better than they made her out to be.
Now I've been living with her for a while, but things couldn't be worse, due to a volatile relationship between my mom and my little sister, my little sister ended up crashing two cars and landing my mom and stepdad and massive credit debt, everything came to a boil when she went off on Christmas and got herself kicked out, my little sister was the only other person in the house who could drive as my stepfather is out driving big rig trucks all over the country.
So now it's me and my mom, but then my little brother goes and gets himself kicked out of his college dorms, but thankfully he's now getting paid himself and we've banded together as far as finances go but that's not what I'm here to complain about.
My mom, 41 F, goes to work nearly all the time because she's trying to pay off the crippling debt her daughter left her with, leaving me and my younger brother (20 M) to do chores around the house and occasionally babysit our younger step brother (9 M).
Things can get pretty hectic and you have to add to the fact that we live in two separate buildings, have over a dozen pets to take care of on the daily, and we both have our own separate chores we have to take care of individually.
For example I have to wash the dishes, make sure the kitchen is clean, take out the trash and take the trash out to the curb once a week before pulling it back in the next day so that we can start loading more trash into our cans (God forbid I forget to do so where it's a shitstorm), additionally since I live in a separate building I have to clean half of it which is pretty big but mostly it's just some random food trash laying around although on the occasion we do have large amounts of styrofoam and boxes as we get a lot of packages, our space is also cramped and my brother barely ever cleans his space because he can't focus on cleaning with ADHD that I get but it is annoying as I have OCD and can't stand dirty spaces, that brings me to another problem of his, he barely ever does his chores and since he doesn't do them I'm basically the only person who can pick up the slack so I have to start doing his chores sometimes, cleaning his side of our building, cleaning the bathroom cleaning the floors ETC.
We also have to do our own individual laundry and I want you to note that I haven't even gotten into the biggest issue, we have three dogs but one of them is out on the road with my stepfather so we have two dogs to take care of but one of them is large and mostly untrained so she poops in her cage most of the time, we have to clean this up as well as let her out 3 to 4 times a day so that she can use the bathroom as well as feed her and let out the other dog with her who barks his head off and we have to ignore him until he shuts up because if we teach him that he can just bark to get his way out of the cage he'll never stop doing it and it's obnoxious, then once he shuts up we let him out and then we have to make sure that they both been out for at least 15 to 20 minutes each time, there's three cats in the back of the house that need to get fed and watered every day, watered multiple times a day sometimes, when our little brother isn't here we have to take care of his ferret which isn't hard but it's still a task, then you've got our mom's two birds who have a specific diet so getting them fed is a bit of a hassle, she has a tortoise but we don't usually have to check on that, then there's two cats in my mom's room that we need to go and feed individually, any pet due to your pee we have to clean up as soon as we find it obviously cuz that's gross, and she also has two snakes but we don't take care of them cuz she does, and then you have my cat and my little brother's cat who live in our building with us and we have to feed and water them once a day sometimes we have to water them multiple times a day because our cats are weird and love to drink water.
I think you can see where I'm going with this.
We have a crippling amount of chores to do and again that doesn't even cover everything, occasionally we have to go out in the yard and pick up sticks and branches because they like to blow everywhere with the Wind, and we've even had to drag entire fallen trees over into the backyard as well. Then there's the asinine rules that we have to follow. Some of them just don't make sense so I won't get into all of that cuz sometimes it just makes me too angry to think about.
We both pay rent and do our chores as a form of compensation for letting us live here past 18, I mean wow my brother does College from home and I'm still studying to get my GED but like I said due to Transportation issues progress is a bit stagnant at the moment.
I am thinking of doing my stuff online.
But besides the crippling number of tasks and odd jobs we have to do around the house on the daily I also have insomnia that I've never been able to control. My sleep patterns have never been normal and I'll always wake up at a different time every day sometimes sleeping through the majority of the morning and afternoon.
And then when I wake up at say 4:00 in the afternoon I feel guilty because I didn't end up getting anything done, then my lazy ass little brother who didn't do shit wants to sit there and complain to me how nothing got done even though I'm already beating myself up mentally because I slept too long and I know it's my problem, I've tried so many different methods whether it be medicine, herbal remedies, scented candles, soothing music, even tried changing my diet to fix my sleep but nothing helps, I might be able to have a normal sleep cycle for about 4 to 5 days before it ends up messed up again, and so here we are my little brother is complaining again about how nothing got done even though he could have done stuff on his own, and I'm left here to feel like shit while he berates me and I beat myself up at the same time, but to make matters worse my mom only complains all the time about the stuff that we didn't manage to get done and never thanks us, recently though that's changed a bit and she started thinking us although it's rare and I'd like to think that she's making progress and changing so I appreciate that from her but my little brother does not make it any easier, I've even tried sitting him down and having an honest conversation with him multiple times I even did it today but every time I get the same answer "I don't want to talk about this shit i don't care" needless to say my family is driving me insane and I need advice.
2024.05.18 23:50 CDown01 Eagles Peak Pt.3
Previous Part
I woke up to the smell of sausage and eggs. Over by the side of my bed was a tray with a masterfully prepared omelet and sausage to match. That’s not what caught my eye though. What did that was the little note stuck to the side of they tray.
“Sorry for terrorizing you- R”
Was scrawled in barley legible hand writing, Rocco’s I imagined.
“So it can cook but not write?”
I muttered to myself as I got out of bed.
A fresh change of clothes was laid out for me and I decided just not to question it. The clothes fit perfectly and I tried not to let my mind wander as to why that was while I ate breakfast. Rocco’s omelet was outstanding, for a trash panda he made a great cook but I have no idea where he would’ve picked that up. After I finished I brought my dishes downstairs and ran into Stein in the kitchen.
“The clothes fit don’t they? My eyes aren’t what they used to be, I should’ve just sent Rocco up to ask your size.”
“No no, they fit fine, and please don’t send Rocco to do anything without telling me. I think that might just give me a heart attack on the spot. I’m still really not used to all… this going on”
I said gesturing to the raccoon who had wandered into the kitchen and was now flipping me the bird with both his paws.
Stein nodded to me with what I hoped was understanding. As much as Rocco seemed harmless (Maybe… hopefully?) I really didn’t want the furry little demon arriving anywhere near me unexpectedly. We already saw how that went in the basement yesterday. I finished washing my dishes in the sink as Stein ate his breakfast. He seemed so calm and normal, compared to the things I’d seen in this house so far. If you took one look at Bianca you say she looked too good to be true. Rocco is… well, he’s a talking raccoon, that’s immediately strange. But when it came to Frank and Stein you couldn’t tell there was anything off about them. Honestly I still had trouble seeing where they fit into this whole thing.
I was lost in this train of thought as I went through the motions of taking my groceries out of the refrigerator where someone had put them. I didn’t even realize Bianca was standing behind me till she tapped my shoulder. Jumping out of my skin I screeched out,
“Jesus Rocco what the hell!”
Bianca went from serious to laughing hysterically in no time flat.
“He really has you spooked after last night doesn’t he?”
She barely got out between bouts of laughter.
“I’m sorry really, oh and I’ve got this for you.”
Chuckled Bianca, handing me a wad of cash with a face that didn’t look remotely sorry for laughing at me.
“Just for that I’ll take it! But I’ve got to ask, how do you have this much cash just lying around, isn’t that a little risky?”
“You’d have to ask my unc… Frank or Stein.”
Bianca answered, stumbling on the apparently familiar lie. As she said this Stein stood up from the table and answered my question.
“Researching the supernatural isn’t always safe but Germany pays its scientists well, even if we don’t work for them anymore.”
“Germany? When did you work with the German government?”
I asked, a sinking suspicion settling into the pit of my stomach.
“1941, The Führer requested me specifically and I met Frank there. Oh don’t look at me like that! I didn’t support his cause, he simply wanted to look into forces outside his control and that was my specialty. It was business nothing more.”
Stein responded, pointing his finger at me and sounding a little annoyed.
“But that would make you… there’s no way you’re that old. Uh I don’t mean!”
“Think nothing of it, if anything, it means our serum worked. Distilled it from the DNA of a few pureblooded vampires and designed it to slow human aging to a crawl.”
Bianca cut him off,
“Stein, I think I can see steam coming out his ears. Can we maybe give the supernatural stuff a rest? I know you’ve been around it all your life but I think its a bit much for him.”
“Yes, I suppose your right Bianca. I’ll leave you two be then.”
Stein surrendered, as he turned and walked out of the room. Like he hadn’t just dropped yet another bomb on me.
I held myself together much better this time. After talking raccoons and succubi, learning vampires apparently existed in such an offhanded manner just didn’t surprise me as much. At this point I was just about ready to accept any supernatural entity I’d ever heard of existed in some capacity. In fact that might be the best policy moving forward.
“Hey you’re not going to pass out on us again right?”
Bianca asked turning back to me, genuine concern in her voice.
“No, I’ll be fine. The more I hear about this kind of thing the better I am at just accepting it. It’s a lot easier hearing it from one of you guys than having it drop out of the sky at me.”
I joked, walking with Bianca to the door. I noticed my poor attempt at a joke was the first time I said anything about Imalone without feeling like someone would call me crazy. I couldn’t dwell on that for too long right now though, I had to drop off the groceries that had taken me a full day to get. In hindsight though, I’ve had worst trips to the grocery store.
The next few days passed without any real issues, I got things set up in the house and ordered some furniture with the money I got from Bianca. On the second day I figured I should go out and explore the town a bit. I was getting bored being cooped up doing normal things and apparently I wanted to throw a wrench in all that.
“Maybe a bar” I thought to myself as I walked out the door just as the sun had started to think about setting, “Those are always a good place to meet people”.
This is where I tell you I may be just a little awkward. Even back home I didn’t really get out and meet new people much but I figured now is as good a time as any to start. I threw together a quick outfit with the clothes I brought with me from home. Hopefully I looked at least a little bit presentable in khakis and a red dress shirt. I walked out my door and immediately saw Bianca’s house peering out over the town. I considered dropping by to see if Bianca wanted to join me. I had told her about the reasons I ended up in Eagles Peak but I still knew precious little about her. I assumed her past wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows. I wanted to know what exactly drew someone like her to a sleepy little town like this. Maybe seeing if she wanted to join me would be a good opportunity to learn something about her? It’s entirely possible I just wanted to spend more time around her because she was drop dead gorgeous. Maybe it was because she was the first person I bumped into in town? I couldn’t put my finger on it and if we’re being honest I didn’t want to admit the real reason to myself.
That would have to wait for another day though. I had spent so much time thinking about it that by the time I snapped back to reality I was by the greyhound bus stop, well past her house. There was another bus stopped there and people were getting off of it. None of them looked like what I would call a local but its not like I’d really know what a “local” looked like here anyways. Still, this town couldn’t get this many visitors right? It was weird but probably had a completely reasonable explanation.
“The Eagle’s Roost” read the sign above the bar’s entrance, it was actually a pretty high class looking establishment. The fresh red paint gleamed against the faded whites and grays of the other buildings on the street. Inside, a well polished dark wood floor greeted me. The room was completed by a roaring stone fireplace and a well used set of stools by the counter.
“Hey there! Anyone home?!”
I called out into the empty bar.
“Give me a minute!”
Replied a deep gruff voice form the back room. Eventually a man emerged from the room, well I say man but what I mean was a mountain in human form. This guy had to be about 7 feet tall and built from solid granite. Seriously, the muscles on this guy would’ve put The Rock to shame.
“Little early to start drinkin’ isn’t it?”
The mountain grunted judgmentally.
“Well I’m new here I just wanted to see the town. I could come back later if you want.”
“New, why didn’t you say so! New here, I haven’t seen anyone new here in years! come sit down if you’ve got questions about this place I can probably answer them!”
The now elated giant boomed at me. He turned hospitable in an instant, offering me a drink on the house for his poor manners before. His name was Tucker and he’d come to the town years ago as a foreman for it’s mine. The mine dried up and the workers moved on but something about this town spoke to him and he decided to stay. He opened up this bar and the rest is history. Something about the way he talked about the mine did’t sit right with me though. He kept mentioning how it dried up like he was trying to convince me that was what happened. Plus a mine out here didn’t exactly make much sense to me.
“So you run this place alone then?”
I asked, more to be polite than out of genuine curiosity. We had started to run out of things to talk about after conversation about the mine dried up much like it apparently had.
“Never needed any help besides my wife’s, but most days I just run the place alone, yes. No sense in hiring help here, not many people looking for work outside of the ones working at that grocery store down the street. Anyways I should get back to work, its getting to be about time we actually open to the public.”
I turned my head to look at the sign I now realized was stuck to the door. “Eagle’s Roost Hours: 6PM-1AM every night”. I realized with embarrassment I had walked through the door an hour before opening. Tuck had been nothing but friendly though, and I almost felt bad for assuming the locals like him would want to shoo me away. After all, everyone I’d met so far had been nothing but nice, not including Rocco that is.
As I turned my attention back to my drink I thought about the mine again. I hadn’t seen any records of the mine Tuck mentioned in my internet searches of the town before I came here. Honestly it had been incredibly difficult to dig up anything on the town. I wasn’t necessarily the most thorough in my search, but mines tend to be a staple of the towns they’re located in. This mine in particular seems to be what the town was built on. I’m not sure what had me so worked up on this mine issue but I was sure it was important. I sat there at the bar, mulling it over and sipping on my drink when a hand slapped down on my shoulder.
The man it was attached to said something but I couldn’t catch it even if I wanted to. I was far to laser focused on the mark seared black into the mans hand, the exact same eagle that was burned into my back. I pushed him off and bolted for the door, all I heard behind me was the mans confused “What?” And Tuck shouting at him.
“Now what in the Blazes did you do to the poor kid Robert!”
I shot off into the street from the bar, no one was chasing me but the fact that the symbol was here had set me off like a deer running from a gunshot.
“What the hell happened to you?”
Called a now familiar, heavily accented voice from the alleyway.
“Rocco, what are you doing out here?”
I questioned, bewildered at finding him out in the open. I’d never admit it but seeing a familiar face, even Rocco’s, calmed me down a little
“I’m a raccoon in an alleyway, what do you think I’m doing, fishing? No, I’m rootin' around in the trash, Frank needs some lithium foil and he can’t be bothered to run out and buy some batteries himself, stingy bastard.”
He retorted, looking for all intents and purposes like a normal raccoon at the moment.
“Even if I were to guess I wouldn’t have even come close to that.”
“I live to surprise”
Rocco sneered, taking a bow dripping with sarcasm.
“Anyways Frank is back at the house right? There’s something I’ve got to tell him.”
I asked, turning and running as soon as I got a response in the affirmative.
“Yeah he is, what exactly is so importa…. And he’s gone”
I made it to their strange high house in record time and burst through the door like I owned the place. For some reason Bianca seemed completely unfazed as I crashed into the entryway without so much as a knock.
“You know, you don’t live here right?”
“Oh yeah, good to see you too Bianca. Anyways, were is Frank, or Stein for that matter I’ve got something to ask.”
“They’re in the basement.”
Bianca said pointing to the door without looking up from the book she was reading.
Her dismissive attitude didn’t even register to me as I made my way down the basement steps. I got to the bottom and an acrid scent assaulted my nostrils.
“Do I even want to know what that is?”
I called into the basement, announcing my presence. Frank emerged from a room to my side decked out in a full lab coat and goggles along with a hairnet to protect what little of his still remained.
“What do you need?”
“You guys seem to know a lot about the supernatural right? Well, does this symbol mean anything to you?”
I said pulling off my shirt and turning my back to show him the mark that woman had left me with. His reaction could best be described by the sound of shattering glass as he dropped the beaker he was holding as he saw the symbol.
“Where did you get that?!”
He yelled more than asked.
“Back in Imalone.”
“Imalone? What’s that supposed to mean?”
It dawned on me that I hadn’t explained it to him like I had Bianca, so I filled him in. I told him the whole truth this time, where the mark came from, what really drove me to Eagles Peak, all of it. Frank listened diligently looking more concerned by the minute, at some point Stein joined him. A similarly shocked look was plastered across his face. I swear he was turning white when he answered my question.
“It’s the mark of the Thunderbird, and from what you told us, you met… her in person.”
“So why do you look so worried about it?”
I asked, feeling a little worried.
“Well she’s marked you personally, most people that have that mark would’ve gotten it to show devotion or allegiance and it certainly wouldn’t have come directly from the Thunderbird.”
The way Stein talked about this “Thunderbird” made me think I may be in even deeper shit than I realized.
“So do you two actually know anything about the Thunderbird?”
I asked, hoping these two would know something considering their long study of the supernatural.
“Until recently I only knew of the native legends surrounding the creature. I heard of people marking themselves with that symbol so I assumed there must be some truth to the legends. But neither me nor Frank has ever seen the Thunderbird, much less seen it..er, her take a human form.”
Stein answered, sounding almost disappointed in himself. I got the sense that not knowing something like this really ate at him. Which was just further proven by what he said next, a grin suddenly appearing on his face.
“Frank, I think we have our next big research project on our hands then.”
“I’ll start pulling any records I can find of accounts like Keith’s here.”
Frank said, hurrying over to a computer in the basement corner that looked ancient.
“Yes and compare those to the various legends surrounding the Thunderbird.”
Stein responded, rifling through a row of cabinets against the far wall.
Those two seemed to be whipped into a frenzy by something they knew next to nothing about being dropped in their laps.
“Guys… Guys! Can we hold off on going full mad scientist mode for just a second I’ve got one more thing to ask!”
I yelled trying to get their attention. when they turned to me I could see the spark in both their eyes as they hastily responded in unison.
“Yes, what!”
“Have either of you heard about a mine in this town? Tuck at “Eagle’s Roost” mentioned it but I don’t remember seeing anything about it when I looked into this town.”
“Ah the mine, it’s out in the forest north of town somewhere. There was a collapse or something a few years after it opened and the town covered it up. It would’ve been very embarrassing for them to admit the screw up so they just… didn’t, that’s all there is too it.”
Frank answered, seemingly bothered by the mundaneness of that question.
“So the mine is still out there then?”
“Of course! What did you think it just walked away? No, leave us be we’ve got work to do.”
Stein snapped.
As I left the two to their business and made my way out of the house I ran into Rocco, several grimy batteries grasped in his paws.
“They uh… I don’t think they’ll need those batteries anymore bud.”
“God damnit! That’s what I get for trying to be helpful.”
Rocco yelled, as he threw the batteries against the wall. I had to chuckle at the absurdity of it all. Here I was walking past a talking raccoon on his way down to two scientists looking into a Thunderbird. That’s a real thing that’s currently happening to me. Just a few days ago simply seeing Rocco knocked me out almost immediately and now he was just a minor inconvenience. Could it be that I was actually adjusting to all the crazy things that had been happening around me? I sure thought so.
Upstairs, Bianca was still nose deep in her book at the kitchen table.
“Hey can I ask you something?”
“Yeah sure, what is it?”
“Ever been into the woods around town? There’s something I want to check out there.”
“I don’t usually leave the house all that much if I’m honest.”
Bianca answered, a touch of sadness in her voice.
“Do you want too? Leave the house I mean.”
“What are you getting at?”
“Well, I’m going to be headed out there tomorrow looking for the old mine.”
“And why are you looking for that?”
She questioned suspiciously.
“I have a feeling it has something to do with the mark that woman… and I forgot I didn’t tell you about that.”
Bianca looked up at me as she said with a smirk.
“I knew there was more to that story from the other night. Why didn’t you tell me?”
I’ll spare you the details but needless to say I told the story again. I really need to start bringing everyone together when I do these things, it would save me time.
“So that’s why you came here, and you think this mine has something to do with it?”
Bianca exclaimed excitedly. I could almost see the lightbulb going off over her head.
“Yeah that’s pretty much it, do you want to come with? I mean you don’t have to go but I”
She cut me off,
“You know what maybe I should go. Two sets of eyes gives us better odds right? And you have a bad history with forgotten places I seem to recall.”
Bianca said with a coy smile.
“That’s what we’ll do then, I’ll get some things ready and stop by tomorrow, we’ll leave from there.”
And before she had a chance to rethink her answer I left feeling pleased with myself.
My next stop was the hardware store on the other side of town. Of course I still had my travel bag from the good old Imalone trip but I figured I’d pick up some more tools that could come in handy.. I ended up with two heavy duty flashlights, some work gloves of various sizes cause I had no idea what size would fit Bianca, and a set of bolt cutters. It was only when I got up to the counter and the clerk gave me the stink eye that I noticed my mistake.
“You planning to break into something kid?”
Questioned the older guy cashing me out. I responded before my brain caught up with my mouth.
“I was planning on it but you guys didn’t sell balaclavas. So I guess I’ll have to wait.”
The man eyed me for a second then burst out laughing as he handed me my things. Which was good because I knew a few places back in Wisconsin where pulling that would’ve got me pulled into a backroom for questioning. Not a lot of people knew how to take a joke back home. Weirdly enough it was the first time I thought of home since coming here. Obviously I had family back there but we weren’t exactly close like I said before. I just found myself missing the familiarity of the area I had lived in for the past 24 years of my life. I think that’s why I came to the decision to call my mother when I got home later that night.
The whole walk home I had this strange feeling of being watched. No-one was there, I’m sure because I checked… several times. But even as I locked the door to my house and starting sorting out a bag of supplies for Bianca, the feeling didn’t go away. As I pulled out my phone to call my mother the feeling finally faded into the background as I got her familiar answering machine.
“Hi, you’ve reached Carla, leave your name and number after the tone.”
Straight and to the point as quickly as possible, that was the best way to describe mom and it showed even in her answering machine.
“Hi mom I bet you’re wondering where I ended up. Well I’m in New York now, in a sleepy little town. Its nice really, I already met some new people they’re… well they’re a bit strange but I think I might fit in with them. I’m still looking for a job but I had a really well paying temp thing the other day so I’ll be fine for a little while. Anyways, hope you’re doing well, love you.”
I teared up a bit as I ended the call, I hadn’t called my mother in at least a year. She never checked up on me and I never checked in with her. We’d see each other at family gatherings and talk but outside of that I didn’t really contact her much anymore. It was sort of a mutual agreement that we both had, we assumed the other was alright. But being this far from Wisconsin, this far from home, had finally caught up with me. I wanted to at least hear her voice, even if it was just a recording.
As I finished up packing for tomorrow I was quite proud of myself. I’d thought of just about everything, I dug some old hiking boots out for myself and some rope from my old travel bag. Several different sets of flint and steel and about three days worth of dehydrated food adorned the top pocket of both bags. I’d even found an old water purification kit that ended up in one of the duffle bags I brought from my apartment. In short, I was the most over prepared for an excursion like this I’d ever been. It did help push back the eyes I felt peering at me from somewhere over my shoulder, the feeling of being watched still not leaving me. Once I laid down and tried to fall asleep the feeling only intensified. Sounds of rolling thunder in the distance reminding me of my time in Imalone and the fury of the storm the Thunderbird brought. I felt strangely confident as well though, tomorrow Bianca and I may finally start to uncover some answers as to why I felt called to this town, and maybe even what this mark could mean for me.
submitted by CDown01 to AllureStories [link] [comments]
I woke up to the smell of sausage and eggs. Over by the side of my bed was a tray with a masterfully prepared omelet and sausage to match. That’s not what caught my eye though. What did that was the little note stuck to the side of they tray.
“Sorry for terrorizing you- R”
Was scrawled in barley legible hand writing, Rocco’s I imagined.
“So it can cook but not write?”
I muttered to myself as I got out of bed.
A fresh change of clothes was laid out for me and I decided just not to question it. The clothes fit perfectly and I tried not to let my mind wander as to why that was while I ate breakfast. Rocco’s omelet was outstanding, for a trash panda he made a great cook but I have no idea where he would’ve picked that up. After I finished I brought my dishes downstairs and ran into Stein in the kitchen.
“The clothes fit don’t they? My eyes aren’t what they used to be, I should’ve just sent Rocco up to ask your size.”
“No no, they fit fine, and please don’t send Rocco to do anything without telling me. I think that might just give me a heart attack on the spot. I’m still really not used to all… this going on”
I said gesturing to the raccoon who had wandered into the kitchen and was now flipping me the bird with both his paws.
Stein nodded to me with what I hoped was understanding. As much as Rocco seemed harmless (Maybe… hopefully?) I really didn’t want the furry little demon arriving anywhere near me unexpectedly. We already saw how that went in the basement yesterday. I finished washing my dishes in the sink as Stein ate his breakfast. He seemed so calm and normal, compared to the things I’d seen in this house so far. If you took one look at Bianca you say she looked too good to be true. Rocco is… well, he’s a talking raccoon, that’s immediately strange. But when it came to Frank and Stein you couldn’t tell there was anything off about them. Honestly I still had trouble seeing where they fit into this whole thing.
I was lost in this train of thought as I went through the motions of taking my groceries out of the refrigerator where someone had put them. I didn’t even realize Bianca was standing behind me till she tapped my shoulder. Jumping out of my skin I screeched out,
“Jesus Rocco what the hell!”
Bianca went from serious to laughing hysterically in no time flat.
“He really has you spooked after last night doesn’t he?”
She barely got out between bouts of laughter.
“I’m sorry really, oh and I’ve got this for you.”
Chuckled Bianca, handing me a wad of cash with a face that didn’t look remotely sorry for laughing at me.
“Just for that I’ll take it! But I’ve got to ask, how do you have this much cash just lying around, isn’t that a little risky?”
“You’d have to ask my unc… Frank or Stein.”
Bianca answered, stumbling on the apparently familiar lie. As she said this Stein stood up from the table and answered my question.
“Researching the supernatural isn’t always safe but Germany pays its scientists well, even if we don’t work for them anymore.”
“Germany? When did you work with the German government?”
I asked, a sinking suspicion settling into the pit of my stomach.
“1941, The Führer requested me specifically and I met Frank there. Oh don’t look at me like that! I didn’t support his cause, he simply wanted to look into forces outside his control and that was my specialty. It was business nothing more.”
Stein responded, pointing his finger at me and sounding a little annoyed.
“But that would make you… there’s no way you’re that old. Uh I don’t mean!”
“Think nothing of it, if anything, it means our serum worked. Distilled it from the DNA of a few pureblooded vampires and designed it to slow human aging to a crawl.”
Bianca cut him off,
“Stein, I think I can see steam coming out his ears. Can we maybe give the supernatural stuff a rest? I know you’ve been around it all your life but I think its a bit much for him.”
“Yes, I suppose your right Bianca. I’ll leave you two be then.”
Stein surrendered, as he turned and walked out of the room. Like he hadn’t just dropped yet another bomb on me.
I held myself together much better this time. After talking raccoons and succubi, learning vampires apparently existed in such an offhanded manner just didn’t surprise me as much. At this point I was just about ready to accept any supernatural entity I’d ever heard of existed in some capacity. In fact that might be the best policy moving forward.
“Hey you’re not going to pass out on us again right?”
Bianca asked turning back to me, genuine concern in her voice.
“No, I’ll be fine. The more I hear about this kind of thing the better I am at just accepting it. It’s a lot easier hearing it from one of you guys than having it drop out of the sky at me.”
I joked, walking with Bianca to the door. I noticed my poor attempt at a joke was the first time I said anything about Imalone without feeling like someone would call me crazy. I couldn’t dwell on that for too long right now though, I had to drop off the groceries that had taken me a full day to get. In hindsight though, I’ve had worst trips to the grocery store.
The next few days passed without any real issues, I got things set up in the house and ordered some furniture with the money I got from Bianca. On the second day I figured I should go out and explore the town a bit. I was getting bored being cooped up doing normal things and apparently I wanted to throw a wrench in all that.
“Maybe a bar” I thought to myself as I walked out the door just as the sun had started to think about setting, “Those are always a good place to meet people”.
This is where I tell you I may be just a little awkward. Even back home I didn’t really get out and meet new people much but I figured now is as good a time as any to start. I threw together a quick outfit with the clothes I brought with me from home. Hopefully I looked at least a little bit presentable in khakis and a red dress shirt. I walked out my door and immediately saw Bianca’s house peering out over the town. I considered dropping by to see if Bianca wanted to join me. I had told her about the reasons I ended up in Eagles Peak but I still knew precious little about her. I assumed her past wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows. I wanted to know what exactly drew someone like her to a sleepy little town like this. Maybe seeing if she wanted to join me would be a good opportunity to learn something about her? It’s entirely possible I just wanted to spend more time around her because she was drop dead gorgeous. Maybe it was because she was the first person I bumped into in town? I couldn’t put my finger on it and if we’re being honest I didn’t want to admit the real reason to myself.
That would have to wait for another day though. I had spent so much time thinking about it that by the time I snapped back to reality I was by the greyhound bus stop, well past her house. There was another bus stopped there and people were getting off of it. None of them looked like what I would call a local but its not like I’d really know what a “local” looked like here anyways. Still, this town couldn’t get this many visitors right? It was weird but probably had a completely reasonable explanation.
“The Eagle’s Roost” read the sign above the bar’s entrance, it was actually a pretty high class looking establishment. The fresh red paint gleamed against the faded whites and grays of the other buildings on the street. Inside, a well polished dark wood floor greeted me. The room was completed by a roaring stone fireplace and a well used set of stools by the counter.
“Hey there! Anyone home?!”
I called out into the empty bar.
“Give me a minute!”
Replied a deep gruff voice form the back room. Eventually a man emerged from the room, well I say man but what I mean was a mountain in human form. This guy had to be about 7 feet tall and built from solid granite. Seriously, the muscles on this guy would’ve put The Rock to shame.
“Little early to start drinkin’ isn’t it?”
The mountain grunted judgmentally.
“Well I’m new here I just wanted to see the town. I could come back later if you want.”
“New, why didn’t you say so! New here, I haven’t seen anyone new here in years! come sit down if you’ve got questions about this place I can probably answer them!”
The now elated giant boomed at me. He turned hospitable in an instant, offering me a drink on the house for his poor manners before. His name was Tucker and he’d come to the town years ago as a foreman for it’s mine. The mine dried up and the workers moved on but something about this town spoke to him and he decided to stay. He opened up this bar and the rest is history. Something about the way he talked about the mine did’t sit right with me though. He kept mentioning how it dried up like he was trying to convince me that was what happened. Plus a mine out here didn’t exactly make much sense to me.
“So you run this place alone then?”
I asked, more to be polite than out of genuine curiosity. We had started to run out of things to talk about after conversation about the mine dried up much like it apparently had.
“Never needed any help besides my wife’s, but most days I just run the place alone, yes. No sense in hiring help here, not many people looking for work outside of the ones working at that grocery store down the street. Anyways I should get back to work, its getting to be about time we actually open to the public.”
I turned my head to look at the sign I now realized was stuck to the door. “Eagle’s Roost Hours: 6PM-1AM every night”. I realized with embarrassment I had walked through the door an hour before opening. Tuck had been nothing but friendly though, and I almost felt bad for assuming the locals like him would want to shoo me away. After all, everyone I’d met so far had been nothing but nice, not including Rocco that is.
As I turned my attention back to my drink I thought about the mine again. I hadn’t seen any records of the mine Tuck mentioned in my internet searches of the town before I came here. Honestly it had been incredibly difficult to dig up anything on the town. I wasn’t necessarily the most thorough in my search, but mines tend to be a staple of the towns they’re located in. This mine in particular seems to be what the town was built on. I’m not sure what had me so worked up on this mine issue but I was sure it was important. I sat there at the bar, mulling it over and sipping on my drink when a hand slapped down on my shoulder.
The man it was attached to said something but I couldn’t catch it even if I wanted to. I was far to laser focused on the mark seared black into the mans hand, the exact same eagle that was burned into my back. I pushed him off and bolted for the door, all I heard behind me was the mans confused “What?” And Tuck shouting at him.
“Now what in the Blazes did you do to the poor kid Robert!”
I shot off into the street from the bar, no one was chasing me but the fact that the symbol was here had set me off like a deer running from a gunshot.
“What the hell happened to you?”
Called a now familiar, heavily accented voice from the alleyway.
“Rocco, what are you doing out here?”
I questioned, bewildered at finding him out in the open. I’d never admit it but seeing a familiar face, even Rocco’s, calmed me down a little
“I’m a raccoon in an alleyway, what do you think I’m doing, fishing? No, I’m rootin' around in the trash, Frank needs some lithium foil and he can’t be bothered to run out and buy some batteries himself, stingy bastard.”
He retorted, looking for all intents and purposes like a normal raccoon at the moment.
“Even if I were to guess I wouldn’t have even come close to that.”
“I live to surprise”
Rocco sneered, taking a bow dripping with sarcasm.
“Anyways Frank is back at the house right? There’s something I’ve got to tell him.”
I asked, turning and running as soon as I got a response in the affirmative.
“Yeah he is, what exactly is so importa…. And he’s gone”
I made it to their strange high house in record time and burst through the door like I owned the place. For some reason Bianca seemed completely unfazed as I crashed into the entryway without so much as a knock.
“You know, you don’t live here right?”
“Oh yeah, good to see you too Bianca. Anyways, were is Frank, or Stein for that matter I’ve got something to ask.”
“They’re in the basement.”
Bianca said pointing to the door without looking up from the book she was reading.
Her dismissive attitude didn’t even register to me as I made my way down the basement steps. I got to the bottom and an acrid scent assaulted my nostrils.
“Do I even want to know what that is?”
I called into the basement, announcing my presence. Frank emerged from a room to my side decked out in a full lab coat and goggles along with a hairnet to protect what little of his still remained.
“What do you need?”
“You guys seem to know a lot about the supernatural right? Well, does this symbol mean anything to you?”
I said pulling off my shirt and turning my back to show him the mark that woman had left me with. His reaction could best be described by the sound of shattering glass as he dropped the beaker he was holding as he saw the symbol.
“Where did you get that?!”
He yelled more than asked.
“Back in Imalone.”
“Imalone? What’s that supposed to mean?”
It dawned on me that I hadn’t explained it to him like I had Bianca, so I filled him in. I told him the whole truth this time, where the mark came from, what really drove me to Eagles Peak, all of it. Frank listened diligently looking more concerned by the minute, at some point Stein joined him. A similarly shocked look was plastered across his face. I swear he was turning white when he answered my question.
“It’s the mark of the Thunderbird, and from what you told us, you met… her in person.”
“So why do you look so worried about it?”
I asked, feeling a little worried.
“Well she’s marked you personally, most people that have that mark would’ve gotten it to show devotion or allegiance and it certainly wouldn’t have come directly from the Thunderbird.”
The way Stein talked about this “Thunderbird” made me think I may be in even deeper shit than I realized.
“So do you two actually know anything about the Thunderbird?”
I asked, hoping these two would know something considering their long study of the supernatural.
“Until recently I only knew of the native legends surrounding the creature. I heard of people marking themselves with that symbol so I assumed there must be some truth to the legends. But neither me nor Frank has ever seen the Thunderbird, much less seen it..er, her take a human form.”
Stein answered, sounding almost disappointed in himself. I got the sense that not knowing something like this really ate at him. Which was just further proven by what he said next, a grin suddenly appearing on his face.
“Frank, I think we have our next big research project on our hands then.”
“I’ll start pulling any records I can find of accounts like Keith’s here.”
Frank said, hurrying over to a computer in the basement corner that looked ancient.
“Yes and compare those to the various legends surrounding the Thunderbird.”
Stein responded, rifling through a row of cabinets against the far wall.
Those two seemed to be whipped into a frenzy by something they knew next to nothing about being dropped in their laps.
“Guys… Guys! Can we hold off on going full mad scientist mode for just a second I’ve got one more thing to ask!”
I yelled trying to get their attention. when they turned to me I could see the spark in both their eyes as they hastily responded in unison.
“Yes, what!”
“Have either of you heard about a mine in this town? Tuck at “Eagle’s Roost” mentioned it but I don’t remember seeing anything about it when I looked into this town.”
“Ah the mine, it’s out in the forest north of town somewhere. There was a collapse or something a few years after it opened and the town covered it up. It would’ve been very embarrassing for them to admit the screw up so they just… didn’t, that’s all there is too it.”
Frank answered, seemingly bothered by the mundaneness of that question.
“So the mine is still out there then?”
“Of course! What did you think it just walked away? No, leave us be we’ve got work to do.”
Stein snapped.
As I left the two to their business and made my way out of the house I ran into Rocco, several grimy batteries grasped in his paws.
“They uh… I don’t think they’ll need those batteries anymore bud.”
“God damnit! That’s what I get for trying to be helpful.”
Rocco yelled, as he threw the batteries against the wall. I had to chuckle at the absurdity of it all. Here I was walking past a talking raccoon on his way down to two scientists looking into a Thunderbird. That’s a real thing that’s currently happening to me. Just a few days ago simply seeing Rocco knocked me out almost immediately and now he was just a minor inconvenience. Could it be that I was actually adjusting to all the crazy things that had been happening around me? I sure thought so.
Upstairs, Bianca was still nose deep in her book at the kitchen table.
“Hey can I ask you something?”
“Yeah sure, what is it?”
“Ever been into the woods around town? There’s something I want to check out there.”
“I don’t usually leave the house all that much if I’m honest.”
Bianca answered, a touch of sadness in her voice.
“Do you want too? Leave the house I mean.”
“What are you getting at?”
“Well, I’m going to be headed out there tomorrow looking for the old mine.”
“And why are you looking for that?”
She questioned suspiciously.
“I have a feeling it has something to do with the mark that woman… and I forgot I didn’t tell you about that.”
Bianca looked up at me as she said with a smirk.
“I knew there was more to that story from the other night. Why didn’t you tell me?”
I’ll spare you the details but needless to say I told the story again. I really need to start bringing everyone together when I do these things, it would save me time.
“So that’s why you came here, and you think this mine has something to do with it?”
Bianca exclaimed excitedly. I could almost see the lightbulb going off over her head.
“Yeah that’s pretty much it, do you want to come with? I mean you don’t have to go but I”
She cut me off,
“You know what maybe I should go. Two sets of eyes gives us better odds right? And you have a bad history with forgotten places I seem to recall.”
Bianca said with a coy smile.
“That’s what we’ll do then, I’ll get some things ready and stop by tomorrow, we’ll leave from there.”
And before she had a chance to rethink her answer I left feeling pleased with myself.
My next stop was the hardware store on the other side of town. Of course I still had my travel bag from the good old Imalone trip but I figured I’d pick up some more tools that could come in handy.. I ended up with two heavy duty flashlights, some work gloves of various sizes cause I had no idea what size would fit Bianca, and a set of bolt cutters. It was only when I got up to the counter and the clerk gave me the stink eye that I noticed my mistake.
“You planning to break into something kid?”
Questioned the older guy cashing me out. I responded before my brain caught up with my mouth.
“I was planning on it but you guys didn’t sell balaclavas. So I guess I’ll have to wait.”
The man eyed me for a second then burst out laughing as he handed me my things. Which was good because I knew a few places back in Wisconsin where pulling that would’ve got me pulled into a backroom for questioning. Not a lot of people knew how to take a joke back home. Weirdly enough it was the first time I thought of home since coming here. Obviously I had family back there but we weren’t exactly close like I said before. I just found myself missing the familiarity of the area I had lived in for the past 24 years of my life. I think that’s why I came to the decision to call my mother when I got home later that night.
The whole walk home I had this strange feeling of being watched. No-one was there, I’m sure because I checked… several times. But even as I locked the door to my house and starting sorting out a bag of supplies for Bianca, the feeling didn’t go away. As I pulled out my phone to call my mother the feeling finally faded into the background as I got her familiar answering machine.
“Hi, you’ve reached Carla, leave your name and number after the tone.”
Straight and to the point as quickly as possible, that was the best way to describe mom and it showed even in her answering machine.
“Hi mom I bet you’re wondering where I ended up. Well I’m in New York now, in a sleepy little town. Its nice really, I already met some new people they’re… well they’re a bit strange but I think I might fit in with them. I’m still looking for a job but I had a really well paying temp thing the other day so I’ll be fine for a little while. Anyways, hope you’re doing well, love you.”
I teared up a bit as I ended the call, I hadn’t called my mother in at least a year. She never checked up on me and I never checked in with her. We’d see each other at family gatherings and talk but outside of that I didn’t really contact her much anymore. It was sort of a mutual agreement that we both had, we assumed the other was alright. But being this far from Wisconsin, this far from home, had finally caught up with me. I wanted to at least hear her voice, even if it was just a recording.
As I finished up packing for tomorrow I was quite proud of myself. I’d thought of just about everything, I dug some old hiking boots out for myself and some rope from my old travel bag. Several different sets of flint and steel and about three days worth of dehydrated food adorned the top pocket of both bags. I’d even found an old water purification kit that ended up in one of the duffle bags I brought from my apartment. In short, I was the most over prepared for an excursion like this I’d ever been. It did help push back the eyes I felt peering at me from somewhere over my shoulder, the feeling of being watched still not leaving me. Once I laid down and tried to fall asleep the feeling only intensified. Sounds of rolling thunder in the distance reminding me of my time in Imalone and the fury of the storm the Thunderbird brought. I felt strangely confident as well though, tomorrow Bianca and I may finally start to uncover some answers as to why I felt called to this town, and maybe even what this mark could mean for me.
2024.05.18 23:38 Saturdead Samuel came from a Strange Place
Back in 2016, I was working at a roadside diner west of St. Cloud, Minnesota. Neat little place, had a bit of a 60’s vibe to it, but without the hairdo. On the slow hours of the day, or whenever we just had locals around, I’d be humming along with the chefs playing radio out of the kitchen. It wasn’t an exciting time, but it was nice to have a workplace that felt like a second home.
A couple of weekends a month, we had an all-night crew to serve passing truckers. You usually never had to do more than one shift though, and we got to make own schedules. Our boss was pretty hands-off. It was during one of those shifts, at the first week of early summer, that my life took a turn for the worse – and I didn’t even realize it.
We were used to having the occasional odd customer during those hours of the day. When this guy walked in, I didn’t know what to think. He was about 6’2, bald, and pale as chalk. He wore this worn-out t-shirt that looked like it’d been on fire. With every step, he dragged his feet, and collapsed in one of our booths, seemingly exhausted.
I looked back at the chef, and he just shrugged. Guy wasn’t hurting anyone, but he didn’t look like he was all there. But a job’s a job, so I went up to him.
“You alright there?” I asked.
He looked up at me like I was speaking a foreign language, then sunk his head back down, gently shaking it.
“Nah,” he said. “I, uh… I don’t think I am.”
He had this voice on the knife’s edge between a hysterical laugh and a howling cry. He was trembling.
“You need me to call someone?”
“Call?”
“Yeah, call someone.”
“How?”
I didn’t understand the question. I figured he was coming down from some kind of binge, and I wasn’t about to take any chances. I asked the chef to get me a side of bacon to keep the guy calm while I called the police.
As I slid the plate over to him, he sunk his face into his hands, sobbing.
“T-thank you,” he cried. “I-I’m… please…”
I sat down across from him, instinctively reaching out to grab his hand. He let me. Even at a light touch, I could feel the scars on his palm and fingertips. Whatever’d happened to him, it must’ve been awful.
“I can’t go back,” he sniffled. “Don’t make me go back. I can’t. Please, I can’t.”
“You’re not going anywhere. It’s okay,” I smiled. “You’re safe here.”
“Can you help me?” he asked. “Can you keep him out?”
“I’m sure we can figure it out,” I nodded. “Just eat up. It’s okay.”
His fingers trembled as he tentatively bit off a piece of bacon. His teeth were black, and he flinched.
“I need time,” he said. “I need time to run.”
“Don’t worry,” I assured him. “We’ve called for help.”
“I just… I just need time.”
We just sat there for a while. He calmed his breathing but kept staring out the window. I could tell he was looking for something – or someone. All I could see was a road and a handful of moths. We sat there for some time, in silence, as he carefully nibbled on the slices of maple bacon.
As two police officers entered the diner, he got up from his seat. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bundle of scrunched-up trash. A couple of singles, a plastic card, dirt, and something resembling animal bones. He tried to straighten out the bills, pushing them into my hands along with the laminated card.
“Just… I need time. I’ll come back. Please.”
I didn’t understand. I just nodded and accepted it. Seconds later, the officers asked him to step outside and explain the situation. I got busy taking orders from a couple of passing truckers, watching glimpses of the scene through the window. A couple of minutes later, the strange man was taken away.
My shift ended at sunrise. I dragged myself to my car with a yawn, shuffling around my pockets for the keys. I hadn’t thought much about the items he’d handed me, but I took a closer look. I’d thrown away the animal bones and dirt, but there were a couple of dollar bills and that laminated card left. I checked the card first.
It looked like some kind of bookmark. On one side it was completely white, and on the other side there were dried blue flower petals arranged in a spiral. Kinda reminded me of a sunflower. And finally, there were the dollar bills.
I didn’t pay much attention to these at first. Just a couple of singles. But after a closer look, I noticed something unusual. There was a man on the bill that I didn’t recognize. It took me a couple of google searches to realize that this man was Walter Mondale – the man who’d lost to Ronald Reagan’s second run for president back in ’84. Why was this man on a one-dollar bill?
Before heading to bed, I put the items down on my nightstand. In a moment of silent wonder, I looked out the window. What had that man been looking for? What’d he been running from?
There was nothing out there.
Just a couple of moths.
Waking up the next morning, I had a full day off. I spent it cleaning my apartment, watching movies, having dinner with a couple of friends, and ending the night with a couple of drinks at the pub down on the corner. No binge or anything, just got a bit boozy. I was still gonna be in bed by midnight.
I took the scenic route home; a long walk. All the way down main street, past the lake. I took a shortcut through the park by the final stretch, speeding up a bit. That place was trouble.
As I hurried by the fountain, I spotted someone in the distance. A shrouded figure at the edge of the streetlights. I stopped to observe for a second, but as I did, the lights flickered. Coming back on, the figure was gone.
I chalked it up to imagination. I was a bit drunk, after all. Besides – it was small, like a child. What the hell would a kid be doing out at this hour?
A couple of days passed. I didn’t notice anything unusual, but I kept coming back to that distressing feeling of missing something important. Looking back at it now, I just feel dumb. He was there all along. Outside the supermarket. In the parking lot. Off the highway. Hell, he was outside my window at night sometimes, but just too short for me to spot.
I’m getting ahead of myself.
It wasn’t until one morning when I was driving to work that I got a clear view of him. I was crossing a four-way street, taking a sharp left turn, when I had to throw myself on the breaks. There was a kid in the middle of the street.
I hadn’t seen him that clearly before. He was probably around 6, maybe 7 years old. Wearing a plain black shirt and a pair of light blue canvas pants. Short black hair, dark eyes, and no shoes. That particular detail stuck with me. No shoes? Why?
I almost lost control, but I was lucky. There wasn’t much traffic, and I managed to stop further down the road. There were black lines in the pavement from my screeching tires swerving back and forth. Regaining my composure, I looked in the rear-view mirror.
The kid was gone.
But that was just the start.
I’d spot him every now and then. Looking out the window at work. At the gas station. A passing face in the crowd when shopping for groceries. Every now and then, something would pull on my attention, forcing me to whip my head around, looking for the source of that ill feeling crawling up my spine. Sometimes I saw him. And even worse – sometimes I didn’t.
I remember lying awake at night, hearing moths tap against my window. There was nothing else. Nothing outside. I patrolled my apartment six times, checking every window. I’d looked everywhere, and there was no reason for me to feel the way I did. I was growing paranoid.
And yet, in the morning, my front door was unlocked, and slightly open.
It all came to a head one afternoon when I was out on my smoke break. I’d barely slept for the past three nights, and you could kinda tell I was having a bad day. As I stood there, leaning against the side door of the diner, I see the kid again. This time just across the road, maybe 50 feet or so away. I’d had enough. This had to end.
I was furious. I stormed forward, calling him out with every slur and curse I could think of. I was psyching myself up. I was in the right, and I refused to be harassed anymore – kid or not. Didn’t matter. I crossed the road, barely dodging a speeding jeep, and met him face-to-face.
“What the hell do you want?!” I’d yell. “Why are you following me?!”
He was completely expressionless. He didn’t even flinch, no matter how much I pointed or screamed. I snapped my fingers in front of his eyes, and he didn’t even blink. He just stared at me, like a porcelain doll head on a swivel.
I wasn’t thinking about the bystanders though. A couple of middle-aged men stepped up, asking in no kind terms what the hell was wrong with me. I was held back and restrained. Someone called the police. Someone else called my manager – I’d forgotten to take off my apron, so they could see the diner logo. A couple of people filmed it. One of the videos got like 120k views in a day before it fell off the map. I still see it as a react gif sometimes.
It was a disaster. After a couple of officers came by to talk to me, he’d just disappeared into thin air. The officers took me down to the station – not to detain me, but to get me away from the heated crowd. That car ride downtown sobered me up to what the hell was going on. I was being stalked by this kid, but there wasn’t a living soul out there that would believe me.
Well, maybe one.
Maybe.
I was asked a couple of questions and released within about half an hour. They told me to go home and sleep this whole thing off. That wouldn’t be a problem. I didn’t have a job to go back to anyway, according to the (many) texts I’d gotten. I had all the goddamn time in the world.
I was just about to leave when something came to mind. The two officers who’d picked me up were still waiting by their car when I turned back to them.
“Sorry, you picked up the guy I called in about at the diner, right?” I asked.
“Sure did.”
“You got any idea what happened to him?”
The two looked at one another for a moment, shrugged, and turned to me.
“Didn’t have any ID and gave a fake name. I think they took him to psych.”
“Psych?”
“Well, he was saying some, uh… strange things. There were interviews with a, uh…”
The two quieted down and flashed me a smile.
“There’s not that much we can say.”
Coming home, I decided to get to the root of this. It didn’t take me that long to find the place where the guy’d been taken; there aren’t a lot of mental health facilities in this part of the country. Especially facilities that accept involuntary subjects.
But my eyes kept drifting back to the strange dollar bills he’d given me, resting neatly on my nightstand. They were so detailed. A bit old, sure, but that only made them seem more genuine. What the hell was he doing with a handful of clearly fake dollar bills? Like, what’s the purpose? There had to be a purpose.
That unnerved me.
I managed to arrange a meeting. It wasn’t easy, and I think a lot of it boiled down to the police having no idea what could make this guy talk. For some reason, he kept providing them with false information. Maybe a familiar face, for one reason or another, might make him talk.
Just a couple of days later, I was putting my items in a metal bowl on the second floor at a mental health institute in the next town over. I asked one of the nurses if I could keep one of my dollar bills. Apparently, that was okay.
I was shuffled through a couple of locked doors and escorted to an off-white side-room. No décor, no locks. The guy was already there.
He’d been dressed down into these neutral eggshell-white garbs. It was strange seeing him in a lit-up room like this. I didn’t know what to expect.
Getting a closer look at him, he was probably in his 50’s. It’d been hard to tell earlier. I couldn’t get over just how pale he was; it was almost a complete lack of pigment. It looked sickly. His thin arms didn’t help – he looked malnourished. And yet, he was smiling.
“Hello,” he said.
“Hello to you too,” I smiled. “You doing okay?”
“I’m… I’m pretty good,” he nodded. “Thank you.”
I sat down across from him and took out the dollar bill he’d given me.
“I wanted to ask you about this.”
“For the bacon,” he said, matter-of-factly.
“Excuse me?”
“Sorry, was that not enough?”
“No, it’s…”
I took a moment to compose myself. I had too many questions.
He sighed, took the bill, and looked it over. Looking back at me, I could tell there was something painful stirring in his mind. His smile slowly faded.
“Sorry,” he said. “I try to forget sometimes. It’s easier than making sense of it.”
“Let’s start with something simple,” I nodded. “Like… your name. Where you’re from.”
“Those things are pretty far from simple.”
He was looking straight through me; his eyes sinking back to deeper, more uncomfortable thoughts.
His name was Samuel, and he was born around these parts in back in the 1970’s. He’d worked as a telecommunications specialist out of St. Cloud back in the 90's. He had a wife, three children, and a four-bedroom house.
“But it… that was all before, see?” he explained. “Then it all just…”
“Just what?” I asked. “What happened?”
He looked at me, opening and closing his mouth, looking for the right words to come out. Nothing happened. He shook his head, trying again.
“It started with the street preachers,” he said. “Hundreds of them, marching on every city. All saying the same doomsday shit as always. World was dying. All coming to an end.”
“I haven’t seen anything like that.”
“Then there were storms,” he continued without skipping a beat. “Some would last for weeks. Others longer. Entire cities would be flooded or torn apart. Earthquakes causing monster waves along the east coast, sending shockwaves all the way to mainland Europe. Then, Yellowstone.”
“Yellowstone?”
“Yeah,” he nodded. “Lights out.”
Samuel was painting this apocalyptic vision of a world undone. Catastrophe after catastrophe. Hooded people marching the streets, screaming for the mercy of a mad god. But there was more to it.
“Then things stopped making sense. It’s as if the rules changed,” he continued. “Roads would stop leading home. Trees would change color. People turned twisted and corrupted. Like… one of our neighbors couldn’t eat anything but gunpowder. There was a woman just down the street who tried to kill anyone wearing glasses. It was… pandemonium.”
I didn’t say anything. What he was saying didn’t make any sense, but he was trying his best to keep his rambling coherent.
“The plants died. Trees too. The only thing that could grow in that environment were these twisted blue things that popped up out of nowhere. But people… people are what got twisted the most.”
He told me of these towering 7-foot-tall humanoid creatures that roamed the forests. Black as night – not even reflecting light. Arms reaching all the way to their knees. Elongated, inhuman things that all used to be someone he knew.
“The doomsayers all said the same thing,” he continued. “That God was a scared little boy, and that he was dying. Everything that was happening was just an expression of that ceaseless, bottomless, existential grief.”
Samuel looked back and forth, finally burying his face in his hands.
“It all broke down. Roads stopped leading anywhere. No power. No water. Julie changed. Ollie changed. Tobie made himself a mask and wandered off into the woods. Ira just… disappeared. And for… years? Has it been years? It’s just been me.”
“But you’re here, now,” I said. “And what you’re describing, it… it didn’t happen.”
“It happened,” he insisted. “Just not… here. But here.”
He tapped his finger on the single dollar bill.
“Somewhere, somehow, I must’ve taken a wrong turn. I slipped through something broken, and now I’m here. And… and he’s coming to bring me back. He doesn’t want anyone to leave.”
“Who?”
“Just! Just…” he chuckled. “Just a sad little boy who’s been told he’s going to die.”
I didn’t know what to say. I just sat with him for a while, holding his hand.
Before I left, Samuel got up from his chair. He looked at me, forcing himself to smile.
“If I go back, I’ll try not to… to be like them. I’ll try. And… and I’ll be the one to say something.”
He let out a painful little laugh, shaking his head.
“Maybe just a… hello.”
I left that day with more questions than answers. I couldn’t picture the world he’d lived through. Then again, how could it be true? None of it had happened. But what was he gaining from lying about it?
That was the last time I saw Samuel. A few days later, he went missing, as if he’d disappeared into thin air. I didn’t know what to think of it. There was nothing on the cameras – no one entering or leaving the building. No quick escapes, no clever plans. He’d just walked into his room and disappeared. Nothing left but a couple of moths fluttering about.
And for a while, that was it. That was the end of the story. I got busy looking for a new job, and all the little items given to me by Samuel was put away into a little box in my glove compartment. Life soldiered on, and no matter how many questions I had, there was no one around to answer them. Even the strange kid that’d been following me was, seemingly, gone.
A couple of months later, I was driving home from a friend’s place. I stopped at a four-way street, waiting for a couple of trucks to pass, when there was a knock on the passenger side window. I almost choked on my own spit. Scared me half to death.
Looking out, I could see that kid again. I hadn’t seen him for some time, and I quickly bounced between curiosity and downright anger.
“What do you want?” I yelled out.
There was no response. Instead, the door just opened. It’d been locked. As he opened the door, he pointed to the glove box.
“You want his things?” I asked. “Is that it?”
He nodded. I wanted to lash out, but there was something telling me I shouldn’t. Instead, I reached over, opened the glove compartment, and pointed to the box.
“Just take it and leave me alone,” I said. “Get it over with.”
He reached in and grabbed the box. So much effort for a couple of mementos. I turned my head back to face the road. The kid backed out. But of course, I had to get the last word in.
“Not even a thank you, huh?”
That made him pause. He looked at me, tilting his head. As he opened his mouth to speak, a moth fluttered out. Then another. And another.
Then – darkness.
What happened next is hard to describe. My memory of it is fragmented. It’s like trying to watch a buffering video, where long stretches of it are just nothing – but you know something was supposed to happen in-between.
Blink. I was sitting in my car. There was a dark blue sky. No clouds, no stars. Figures in the distance. An open field with blue flowers bending to a howling wind. A powerful stench of ammonia stinging my nostrils. Something to my immediate left, ripping the car door straight off the hinges.
Blink. Running. Ruins of a town. It seemed familiar, but there was barely anything left. My leg was bleeding. I was being followed. No matter where I turned, or where I ran, I seemed to end up at the same intersection.
Blink. A three-story building, brimming with life. Glimpses of arm-long antennae through the broken windows. Clickety-clack of bursting wings tapping against crumbling concrete. A loud warning shriek as something rubs its legs together; a call for prey.
Blink. Hiding in a tipped-over trash container. The rain has stopped in mid-air. Raindrops held in indefinite suspension. I suck water drops out of the air to quench my thirst. My hands are shaking from the blood loss.
Countless little images. Some in order, some not. I have no idea how much time passed. In the moment, it must’ve been much longer than I can remember. Days. Weeks, even. There’s no way to tell.
Blink. Walking through a barren field. It feels like walking through a dead forest, but there are no trees. Only those willingly impaled and wailing.
Blink. An abandoned booth by a broken highway. A sign offers phone calls, in exchange for “real teeth”. There are six sizes of pliers hanging on a wall within. All are bloodied – even the small ones.
Blink. The church that had burned down the night before had reappeared. The people inside, too. They couldn’t leave. Tonight, they would burn again.
Somewhere in this nightmarish puzzle-pieced fragment of nothing, there was a constant drive in me to get away. To get out. I knew that if I’d gotten there, I could get back home again. I just had no idea how. Maybe finding the kid. Asking. Begging. Something.
The last fragment of memory from that space was being cornered in a cellar. They were banging on the door. I’d tipped over a wardrobe to keep them out, but they weren’t going to stop. They were never going to stop. I couldn’t let them kill me again – not like that.
One of the Changed ones were coming. I don’t know what that means, or how I know the name, but I knew of it. There was a mirror, and I could see the signs. It stepped out. Seven feet tall, black as night. Elongated arms and neck. Barely a body at all – just a void space vaguely shaped like the remnants of a person.
Except this one felt… familiar. It was the first one to speak.
“H E L L O.”
Blink. Running. A cold hand. If I squeezed too hard, my fingers went straight through it. I had to keep up. He was showing me something.
Blink. They were flooding over the school bus, tipping it by their sheer numbers. Eruptions from the sewer grates. They were famished.
Blink. An open field. Sunflowers facing me, no matter where I turn. It’s not far.
Blink. I look back, as I’m pushed over the edge. He looks just like the rest of them. They aren’t angered by his betrayal.
They feel nothing, as I fall.
In February of 2017, I was found by the side of the road. I’d been gone for months. My car was too. I came back with nothing but the clothes on my back and countless scars. I’ve been told that I didn’t make any sense at first; I was just rambling nonsense. Or maybe it just sounded like nonsense to these people.
Over time, I forgot more and more of these fragmented images. And the less I remember, the more I can move on. Still, I’ve written them down over time, and they paint an ugly, insane picture of what I’d been going through. Some of which I, myself, have a hard time believing. Then again, I know myself well enough to see that there’s no point in lying.
I haven’t seen Samuel, or that strange kid ever since. I think this is all over, for now. There’s nothing left for me to give.
But even now, years later, I still wake up to that feeling at night. That there’s something wrong, or that I’m forgetting something. That there’s something near that I’m looking straight through, or past.
And every now and then, I hear the flutter of a moth’s wing, tapping against my bedroom window.
And I think I know what it wants.
It wants me to go back.
submitted by Saturdead to nosleep [link] [comments]
A couple of weekends a month, we had an all-night crew to serve passing truckers. You usually never had to do more than one shift though, and we got to make own schedules. Our boss was pretty hands-off. It was during one of those shifts, at the first week of early summer, that my life took a turn for the worse – and I didn’t even realize it.
We were used to having the occasional odd customer during those hours of the day. When this guy walked in, I didn’t know what to think. He was about 6’2, bald, and pale as chalk. He wore this worn-out t-shirt that looked like it’d been on fire. With every step, he dragged his feet, and collapsed in one of our booths, seemingly exhausted.
I looked back at the chef, and he just shrugged. Guy wasn’t hurting anyone, but he didn’t look like he was all there. But a job’s a job, so I went up to him.
“You alright there?” I asked.
He looked up at me like I was speaking a foreign language, then sunk his head back down, gently shaking it.
“Nah,” he said. “I, uh… I don’t think I am.”
He had this voice on the knife’s edge between a hysterical laugh and a howling cry. He was trembling.
“You need me to call someone?”
“Call?”
“Yeah, call someone.”
“How?”
I didn’t understand the question. I figured he was coming down from some kind of binge, and I wasn’t about to take any chances. I asked the chef to get me a side of bacon to keep the guy calm while I called the police.
As I slid the plate over to him, he sunk his face into his hands, sobbing.
“T-thank you,” he cried. “I-I’m… please…”
I sat down across from him, instinctively reaching out to grab his hand. He let me. Even at a light touch, I could feel the scars on his palm and fingertips. Whatever’d happened to him, it must’ve been awful.
“I can’t go back,” he sniffled. “Don’t make me go back. I can’t. Please, I can’t.”
“You’re not going anywhere. It’s okay,” I smiled. “You’re safe here.”
“Can you help me?” he asked. “Can you keep him out?”
“I’m sure we can figure it out,” I nodded. “Just eat up. It’s okay.”
His fingers trembled as he tentatively bit off a piece of bacon. His teeth were black, and he flinched.
“I need time,” he said. “I need time to run.”
“Don’t worry,” I assured him. “We’ve called for help.”
“I just… I just need time.”
We just sat there for a while. He calmed his breathing but kept staring out the window. I could tell he was looking for something – or someone. All I could see was a road and a handful of moths. We sat there for some time, in silence, as he carefully nibbled on the slices of maple bacon.
As two police officers entered the diner, he got up from his seat. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bundle of scrunched-up trash. A couple of singles, a plastic card, dirt, and something resembling animal bones. He tried to straighten out the bills, pushing them into my hands along with the laminated card.
“Just… I need time. I’ll come back. Please.”
I didn’t understand. I just nodded and accepted it. Seconds later, the officers asked him to step outside and explain the situation. I got busy taking orders from a couple of passing truckers, watching glimpses of the scene through the window. A couple of minutes later, the strange man was taken away.
My shift ended at sunrise. I dragged myself to my car with a yawn, shuffling around my pockets for the keys. I hadn’t thought much about the items he’d handed me, but I took a closer look. I’d thrown away the animal bones and dirt, but there were a couple of dollar bills and that laminated card left. I checked the card first.
It looked like some kind of bookmark. On one side it was completely white, and on the other side there were dried blue flower petals arranged in a spiral. Kinda reminded me of a sunflower. And finally, there were the dollar bills.
I didn’t pay much attention to these at first. Just a couple of singles. But after a closer look, I noticed something unusual. There was a man on the bill that I didn’t recognize. It took me a couple of google searches to realize that this man was Walter Mondale – the man who’d lost to Ronald Reagan’s second run for president back in ’84. Why was this man on a one-dollar bill?
Before heading to bed, I put the items down on my nightstand. In a moment of silent wonder, I looked out the window. What had that man been looking for? What’d he been running from?
There was nothing out there.
Just a couple of moths.
Waking up the next morning, I had a full day off. I spent it cleaning my apartment, watching movies, having dinner with a couple of friends, and ending the night with a couple of drinks at the pub down on the corner. No binge or anything, just got a bit boozy. I was still gonna be in bed by midnight.
I took the scenic route home; a long walk. All the way down main street, past the lake. I took a shortcut through the park by the final stretch, speeding up a bit. That place was trouble.
As I hurried by the fountain, I spotted someone in the distance. A shrouded figure at the edge of the streetlights. I stopped to observe for a second, but as I did, the lights flickered. Coming back on, the figure was gone.
I chalked it up to imagination. I was a bit drunk, after all. Besides – it was small, like a child. What the hell would a kid be doing out at this hour?
A couple of days passed. I didn’t notice anything unusual, but I kept coming back to that distressing feeling of missing something important. Looking back at it now, I just feel dumb. He was there all along. Outside the supermarket. In the parking lot. Off the highway. Hell, he was outside my window at night sometimes, but just too short for me to spot.
I’m getting ahead of myself.
It wasn’t until one morning when I was driving to work that I got a clear view of him. I was crossing a four-way street, taking a sharp left turn, when I had to throw myself on the breaks. There was a kid in the middle of the street.
I hadn’t seen him that clearly before. He was probably around 6, maybe 7 years old. Wearing a plain black shirt and a pair of light blue canvas pants. Short black hair, dark eyes, and no shoes. That particular detail stuck with me. No shoes? Why?
I almost lost control, but I was lucky. There wasn’t much traffic, and I managed to stop further down the road. There were black lines in the pavement from my screeching tires swerving back and forth. Regaining my composure, I looked in the rear-view mirror.
The kid was gone.
But that was just the start.
I’d spot him every now and then. Looking out the window at work. At the gas station. A passing face in the crowd when shopping for groceries. Every now and then, something would pull on my attention, forcing me to whip my head around, looking for the source of that ill feeling crawling up my spine. Sometimes I saw him. And even worse – sometimes I didn’t.
I remember lying awake at night, hearing moths tap against my window. There was nothing else. Nothing outside. I patrolled my apartment six times, checking every window. I’d looked everywhere, and there was no reason for me to feel the way I did. I was growing paranoid.
And yet, in the morning, my front door was unlocked, and slightly open.
It all came to a head one afternoon when I was out on my smoke break. I’d barely slept for the past three nights, and you could kinda tell I was having a bad day. As I stood there, leaning against the side door of the diner, I see the kid again. This time just across the road, maybe 50 feet or so away. I’d had enough. This had to end.
I was furious. I stormed forward, calling him out with every slur and curse I could think of. I was psyching myself up. I was in the right, and I refused to be harassed anymore – kid or not. Didn’t matter. I crossed the road, barely dodging a speeding jeep, and met him face-to-face.
“What the hell do you want?!” I’d yell. “Why are you following me?!”
He was completely expressionless. He didn’t even flinch, no matter how much I pointed or screamed. I snapped my fingers in front of his eyes, and he didn’t even blink. He just stared at me, like a porcelain doll head on a swivel.
I wasn’t thinking about the bystanders though. A couple of middle-aged men stepped up, asking in no kind terms what the hell was wrong with me. I was held back and restrained. Someone called the police. Someone else called my manager – I’d forgotten to take off my apron, so they could see the diner logo. A couple of people filmed it. One of the videos got like 120k views in a day before it fell off the map. I still see it as a react gif sometimes.
It was a disaster. After a couple of officers came by to talk to me, he’d just disappeared into thin air. The officers took me down to the station – not to detain me, but to get me away from the heated crowd. That car ride downtown sobered me up to what the hell was going on. I was being stalked by this kid, but there wasn’t a living soul out there that would believe me.
Well, maybe one.
Maybe.
I was asked a couple of questions and released within about half an hour. They told me to go home and sleep this whole thing off. That wouldn’t be a problem. I didn’t have a job to go back to anyway, according to the (many) texts I’d gotten. I had all the goddamn time in the world.
I was just about to leave when something came to mind. The two officers who’d picked me up were still waiting by their car when I turned back to them.
“Sorry, you picked up the guy I called in about at the diner, right?” I asked.
“Sure did.”
“You got any idea what happened to him?”
The two looked at one another for a moment, shrugged, and turned to me.
“Didn’t have any ID and gave a fake name. I think they took him to psych.”
“Psych?”
“Well, he was saying some, uh… strange things. There were interviews with a, uh…”
The two quieted down and flashed me a smile.
“There’s not that much we can say.”
Coming home, I decided to get to the root of this. It didn’t take me that long to find the place where the guy’d been taken; there aren’t a lot of mental health facilities in this part of the country. Especially facilities that accept involuntary subjects.
But my eyes kept drifting back to the strange dollar bills he’d given me, resting neatly on my nightstand. They were so detailed. A bit old, sure, but that only made them seem more genuine. What the hell was he doing with a handful of clearly fake dollar bills? Like, what’s the purpose? There had to be a purpose.
That unnerved me.
I managed to arrange a meeting. It wasn’t easy, and I think a lot of it boiled down to the police having no idea what could make this guy talk. For some reason, he kept providing them with false information. Maybe a familiar face, for one reason or another, might make him talk.
Just a couple of days later, I was putting my items in a metal bowl on the second floor at a mental health institute in the next town over. I asked one of the nurses if I could keep one of my dollar bills. Apparently, that was okay.
I was shuffled through a couple of locked doors and escorted to an off-white side-room. No décor, no locks. The guy was already there.
He’d been dressed down into these neutral eggshell-white garbs. It was strange seeing him in a lit-up room like this. I didn’t know what to expect.
Getting a closer look at him, he was probably in his 50’s. It’d been hard to tell earlier. I couldn’t get over just how pale he was; it was almost a complete lack of pigment. It looked sickly. His thin arms didn’t help – he looked malnourished. And yet, he was smiling.
“Hello,” he said.
“Hello to you too,” I smiled. “You doing okay?”
“I’m… I’m pretty good,” he nodded. “Thank you.”
I sat down across from him and took out the dollar bill he’d given me.
“I wanted to ask you about this.”
“For the bacon,” he said, matter-of-factly.
“Excuse me?”
“Sorry, was that not enough?”
“No, it’s…”
I took a moment to compose myself. I had too many questions.
He sighed, took the bill, and looked it over. Looking back at me, I could tell there was something painful stirring in his mind. His smile slowly faded.
“Sorry,” he said. “I try to forget sometimes. It’s easier than making sense of it.”
“Let’s start with something simple,” I nodded. “Like… your name. Where you’re from.”
“Those things are pretty far from simple.”
He was looking straight through me; his eyes sinking back to deeper, more uncomfortable thoughts.
His name was Samuel, and he was born around these parts in back in the 1970’s. He’d worked as a telecommunications specialist out of St. Cloud back in the 90's. He had a wife, three children, and a four-bedroom house.
“But it… that was all before, see?” he explained. “Then it all just…”
“Just what?” I asked. “What happened?”
He looked at me, opening and closing his mouth, looking for the right words to come out. Nothing happened. He shook his head, trying again.
“It started with the street preachers,” he said. “Hundreds of them, marching on every city. All saying the same doomsday shit as always. World was dying. All coming to an end.”
“I haven’t seen anything like that.”
“Then there were storms,” he continued without skipping a beat. “Some would last for weeks. Others longer. Entire cities would be flooded or torn apart. Earthquakes causing monster waves along the east coast, sending shockwaves all the way to mainland Europe. Then, Yellowstone.”
“Yellowstone?”
“Yeah,” he nodded. “Lights out.”
Samuel was painting this apocalyptic vision of a world undone. Catastrophe after catastrophe. Hooded people marching the streets, screaming for the mercy of a mad god. But there was more to it.
“Then things stopped making sense. It’s as if the rules changed,” he continued. “Roads would stop leading home. Trees would change color. People turned twisted and corrupted. Like… one of our neighbors couldn’t eat anything but gunpowder. There was a woman just down the street who tried to kill anyone wearing glasses. It was… pandemonium.”
I didn’t say anything. What he was saying didn’t make any sense, but he was trying his best to keep his rambling coherent.
“The plants died. Trees too. The only thing that could grow in that environment were these twisted blue things that popped up out of nowhere. But people… people are what got twisted the most.”
He told me of these towering 7-foot-tall humanoid creatures that roamed the forests. Black as night – not even reflecting light. Arms reaching all the way to their knees. Elongated, inhuman things that all used to be someone he knew.
“The doomsayers all said the same thing,” he continued. “That God was a scared little boy, and that he was dying. Everything that was happening was just an expression of that ceaseless, bottomless, existential grief.”
Samuel looked back and forth, finally burying his face in his hands.
“It all broke down. Roads stopped leading anywhere. No power. No water. Julie changed. Ollie changed. Tobie made himself a mask and wandered off into the woods. Ira just… disappeared. And for… years? Has it been years? It’s just been me.”
“But you’re here, now,” I said. “And what you’re describing, it… it didn’t happen.”
“It happened,” he insisted. “Just not… here. But here.”
He tapped his finger on the single dollar bill.
“Somewhere, somehow, I must’ve taken a wrong turn. I slipped through something broken, and now I’m here. And… and he’s coming to bring me back. He doesn’t want anyone to leave.”
“Who?”
“Just! Just…” he chuckled. “Just a sad little boy who’s been told he’s going to die.”
I didn’t know what to say. I just sat with him for a while, holding his hand.
Before I left, Samuel got up from his chair. He looked at me, forcing himself to smile.
“If I go back, I’ll try not to… to be like them. I’ll try. And… and I’ll be the one to say something.”
He let out a painful little laugh, shaking his head.
“Maybe just a… hello.”
I left that day with more questions than answers. I couldn’t picture the world he’d lived through. Then again, how could it be true? None of it had happened. But what was he gaining from lying about it?
That was the last time I saw Samuel. A few days later, he went missing, as if he’d disappeared into thin air. I didn’t know what to think of it. There was nothing on the cameras – no one entering or leaving the building. No quick escapes, no clever plans. He’d just walked into his room and disappeared. Nothing left but a couple of moths fluttering about.
And for a while, that was it. That was the end of the story. I got busy looking for a new job, and all the little items given to me by Samuel was put away into a little box in my glove compartment. Life soldiered on, and no matter how many questions I had, there was no one around to answer them. Even the strange kid that’d been following me was, seemingly, gone.
A couple of months later, I was driving home from a friend’s place. I stopped at a four-way street, waiting for a couple of trucks to pass, when there was a knock on the passenger side window. I almost choked on my own spit. Scared me half to death.
Looking out, I could see that kid again. I hadn’t seen him for some time, and I quickly bounced between curiosity and downright anger.
“What do you want?” I yelled out.
There was no response. Instead, the door just opened. It’d been locked. As he opened the door, he pointed to the glove box.
“You want his things?” I asked. “Is that it?”
He nodded. I wanted to lash out, but there was something telling me I shouldn’t. Instead, I reached over, opened the glove compartment, and pointed to the box.
“Just take it and leave me alone,” I said. “Get it over with.”
He reached in and grabbed the box. So much effort for a couple of mementos. I turned my head back to face the road. The kid backed out. But of course, I had to get the last word in.
“Not even a thank you, huh?”
That made him pause. He looked at me, tilting his head. As he opened his mouth to speak, a moth fluttered out. Then another. And another.
Then – darkness.
What happened next is hard to describe. My memory of it is fragmented. It’s like trying to watch a buffering video, where long stretches of it are just nothing – but you know something was supposed to happen in-between.
Blink. I was sitting in my car. There was a dark blue sky. No clouds, no stars. Figures in the distance. An open field with blue flowers bending to a howling wind. A powerful stench of ammonia stinging my nostrils. Something to my immediate left, ripping the car door straight off the hinges.
Blink. Running. Ruins of a town. It seemed familiar, but there was barely anything left. My leg was bleeding. I was being followed. No matter where I turned, or where I ran, I seemed to end up at the same intersection.
Blink. A three-story building, brimming with life. Glimpses of arm-long antennae through the broken windows. Clickety-clack of bursting wings tapping against crumbling concrete. A loud warning shriek as something rubs its legs together; a call for prey.
Blink. Hiding in a tipped-over trash container. The rain has stopped in mid-air. Raindrops held in indefinite suspension. I suck water drops out of the air to quench my thirst. My hands are shaking from the blood loss.
Countless little images. Some in order, some not. I have no idea how much time passed. In the moment, it must’ve been much longer than I can remember. Days. Weeks, even. There’s no way to tell.
Blink. Walking through a barren field. It feels like walking through a dead forest, but there are no trees. Only those willingly impaled and wailing.
Blink. An abandoned booth by a broken highway. A sign offers phone calls, in exchange for “real teeth”. There are six sizes of pliers hanging on a wall within. All are bloodied – even the small ones.
Blink. The church that had burned down the night before had reappeared. The people inside, too. They couldn’t leave. Tonight, they would burn again.
Somewhere in this nightmarish puzzle-pieced fragment of nothing, there was a constant drive in me to get away. To get out. I knew that if I’d gotten there, I could get back home again. I just had no idea how. Maybe finding the kid. Asking. Begging. Something.
The last fragment of memory from that space was being cornered in a cellar. They were banging on the door. I’d tipped over a wardrobe to keep them out, but they weren’t going to stop. They were never going to stop. I couldn’t let them kill me again – not like that.
One of the Changed ones were coming. I don’t know what that means, or how I know the name, but I knew of it. There was a mirror, and I could see the signs. It stepped out. Seven feet tall, black as night. Elongated arms and neck. Barely a body at all – just a void space vaguely shaped like the remnants of a person.
Except this one felt… familiar. It was the first one to speak.
“H E L L O.”
Blink. Running. A cold hand. If I squeezed too hard, my fingers went straight through it. I had to keep up. He was showing me something.
Blink. They were flooding over the school bus, tipping it by their sheer numbers. Eruptions from the sewer grates. They were famished.
Blink. An open field. Sunflowers facing me, no matter where I turn. It’s not far.
Blink. I look back, as I’m pushed over the edge. He looks just like the rest of them. They aren’t angered by his betrayal.
They feel nothing, as I fall.
In February of 2017, I was found by the side of the road. I’d been gone for months. My car was too. I came back with nothing but the clothes on my back and countless scars. I’ve been told that I didn’t make any sense at first; I was just rambling nonsense. Or maybe it just sounded like nonsense to these people.
Over time, I forgot more and more of these fragmented images. And the less I remember, the more I can move on. Still, I’ve written them down over time, and they paint an ugly, insane picture of what I’d been going through. Some of which I, myself, have a hard time believing. Then again, I know myself well enough to see that there’s no point in lying.
I haven’t seen Samuel, or that strange kid ever since. I think this is all over, for now. There’s nothing left for me to give.
But even now, years later, I still wake up to that feeling at night. That there’s something wrong, or that I’m forgetting something. That there’s something near that I’m looking straight through, or past.
And every now and then, I hear the flutter of a moth’s wing, tapping against my bedroom window.
And I think I know what it wants.
It wants me to go back.