Highland hills apartments salmon creek

Hello, thank you for this community!
TLDR: Ninebot Max G30LP vs Uscooter GT Sport: 6 mile roundtrip commute, small apartment. Would like to occasionally use to drop kids off at events.
First time electric scooter, I live in NYC. I'm trying to decide between the Ninebot Max G30LP for ~$600 or the uscooter GT Sport for ~$1000. My commute is 6 miles round trip with 2/3 down the Hudson (paved, smooth) and 1/3 into midtown (NYC bike path, traffic). There is a 20% grade 100 ft hill on one of my trips and some mild hills into midtown. I plan to commute 5 days a week.
I'd like to use the scooter to zip around and pick up groceries, dinner etc for my family and occasionally take a kid up pathways to parks safely. I see parents doing this commonly up here on the UWS to drop kids off at school or events.
I'm really excited about the zippiness, portability and stowability of the GT Sport. I have concerns about recent trends of buildings banning e-scooters in doors and like the idea of being able to hide it in a duffle should my apartment building do the same. I'm also concerned, however, that it is too small and dangerous to have a kid for short trips to the park on pathways or that the deck is too small.
I like the price of the Ninebot, and the reliability, but I am concerned that it's size and weight would be obnoxious in my small apartment. Also not sure how it would handle the hills and if the lack of "zip" might be sad on the smooth bike lane of my commute on the Hudson.
Any insight would be appreciated!

Karni Mahal Jaisamand, also known as Karni Palace Jaisamand, is a palace located near Jaisamand Lake in Rajasthan, India. The palace is situated on a hill and offers stunning panoramic views of the lake and surrounding landscapes.
Jaisamand Lake is one of the largest artificial lakes in Asia and is known for its natural beauty. Karni Mahal Jaisamand is a heritage hotel that provides accommodation to visitors who wish to experience the regal charm of Rajasthan. The palace has been converted into a hotel while retaining its traditional architecture and grandeur.
The palace hotel offers comfortable rooms and suites that are adorned with elegant decor and furnishings. The rooms are equipped with modern amenities to ensure a pleasant stay for guests. The hotel also provides facilities such as a swimming pool, spa, restaurant, and banquet halls for various events and functions.
Apart from enjoying the luxurious accommodations, guests can explore the nearby attractions including the Jaisamand Wildlife Sanctuary, which is home to diverse flora and fauna. Boating on Jaisamand Lake is also a popular activity for visitors.
Overall, Karni Mahal Jaisamand offers a blend of heritage, natural beauty, and modern comforts, making it a memorable destination for travelers seeking a royal experience in Rajasthan.
Contact - 8058917093 9694505744

Hi guys, I’m the one who asked about recommendations in St Louis Here
Just wanted to say thank you. St Louis felt like a second home for us during our month stay. We stayed in Central West End which was good and people from Children’s hospital were wonderful.
My son’s surgery went well, and he is now recovered.
Thank you for the recommendations, St Louis weather wasn’t that bad and spring felt like almost winter for us so we enjoyed our time there.
The Magic house is amazing, the house is huge and the people inside very nice.
St Louis zoo visit was also good, loved the Polar bear and the Penguins enclosure.
Union station was a bit meh for us, the aquarium was nice, but we felt it was expensive for what it offers.
Cheers to the person who recommended Ices Plain & Fancy, it one of the best ice creams we have tasted. I suppose because it is made as you order it, it feels so fresh. I love the fact that it doesn’t melt much when you eat it.
Going to the Hill for some Italian food was a nice experience. Loved the toasted raviolis. We went to Mama’s On The Hill.
Steve’s hot dogs were amazing as well, I wish we could have gone back to try other hot dogs.
Salt and smoke was good but I expected better, I wanted to go to Pappy’s Smoke house but time went past and we didn’t go.
Forest Park is beautiful, same as Tower Grove Park and surroundings, loved the houses in front of Tower Grove Park.
St Louis Premium Outlets were a bit meh, I wasn’t interested much in shopping, but I also didn’t find anything interesting. Went in a weekday and it was almost empty.
St Louis Arch was amazing, also the Cardinals stadium is beautiful, I wanted to go to a game, but it was difficult to leave my wife and son at the apartment by themselves.
We also went to Grant’s farm, it was a nice experience, that farm is huge!
Shake Shack in Central West end was meh, and the attention there was appalling. But First Watch in front of Shake Shack was amazing, their black coffee was very good, and their attention was good too.
We saw many not so good parts of the city while driving but we also saw some nice ones, I remember driving along S McKnight Road to go to Laurie’s Shoes… beautiful house there, it felt so good. So many parks and greenery!
We left St Louis with mixed feelings, it really felt like a second home and in some ways, we were sad for leaving.

A Review of Golf Courses in Austin Texas
As in the title, this is a review of the golf courses in Austin. However it is not about course conditions, difficulty or enjoyability, this is strictly a review on the turtle sightings on each course which is why we all play.
Here are the parameters. 🐢indicates zero turtle sightings and a low potential for turtles. 🐢🐢2 indicates zero or few sightings but a potential for more turtles 🐢🐢🐢indicates some turtle sightings with a potential for more. 🐢🐢🐢🐢 indicates a large quantity of turtle sightings and a potential for variety 🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢 indicates a large quantity, healthy habitat, and a variety of species.
Lions: 🐢🐢 Sadly, there were no sightings in the peak of Spring to Summer. However, the back nine has 5 holes with water. Sadly, most of which seems quite still.
Roy Kizer & Jimmy Clay: 🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢 These municipal courses offer the widest variety of wildlife peacre than any of the other courses. Not only will you witness graceful dives of the local sliders and softshells that live here, but also turkeys, deer, ducks, and snakes. The cost per round for both of these adjacent courses are certainly worth a herpetologists playthrough. Although these may not be the best courses for total quantity of turtles, they certainly support the variety to keep a turtle gazers focus off of their tee shots and on the banks of a pond for some sweet sunbathing shell lads/lasses.
Terravista: 🐢🐢🐢 This course unfortunately has the pitfall of a deceitful scorecard. Many of the holes claim to have water but these are not exactly reliable. However, this course has some decent ponds/lakes that sustain a year round population of turtles. Miss the fairway on hole 12 with your diver and your ball will roll gently down the slope towards the pond where many skittish terrapins reside who would enjoy a strawberry or a leaf of cabbage.
Forest Creek: 🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢 This course is the best turtle friendly course in the area. 6 holes featuring water hazards and all of them were a smattering of sunbathing friends. The species varied across all the usual suspects but the star of the show was the large amount of Texas Spiny Softshell Turtles. There were 2 of those softshells that were the size of a large pizza and this was truly a delightful sighting. If you like to golf, this course is perfect for you to “shank” one near the bank to get a closer look at all these amazing turtle bros and lady bros.
Hancock: 🐢🐢🐢🐢 This historic course is only a 9 hole and it is smack dab in the middle of Austin but this course had it all. 5 holes had water features that has consistent depth and life surrounding it. This course also was home to 3 different species that were visible including a very large Snapping Turtle and a few Texas Spiny Softshell turtles. The only reason this course does not get the fifth turtle is for the sheer quantity since the water available is more limited.
Lago Vista: 🐢 The score card indicates 5 holes with water features but there is only 1 real hole with a water feature. This is a man made pod with a fountain that is small enough for a gimmick but too small to support a turtle population that would make this course worth it. Golf wise, we know this course is lacking by all measures but turtle wise it is just as poor.
Riverside: 🐢 This course has only about 3 real holes with water features on them indicated by the scorecard. Sadly, having played this course before and after rains, these features are mostly dry as a bone or not sustaining enough water to entice the habitation of our shelled friends.
Star Ranch: 🐢🐢🐢 This course has 6 holes that have water feature and there were some decent sightings of turtles. The sightings were extremely limited to Red Eared Sliders and the quantity was lacking on some holes all together. The potential however is high since there are some larger bodies of water that are consistent and support other life. Sadly, the hard shell truth is that this is a very pricy course and the turtles were less populous as they could have been.
Crystal Falls:🐢🐢 This course indicates 13 of 18 holes that have water features. Sadly, this is incredibly misleading. This course is stacked in a fun area of Leander geographically with some fun elevation changes that could allow for some decent lakes, ponds, and running water. Sadly, most of the water indicated on the scorecard are there as a potential for vernal rainfalls and not really an accurate depiction of consistent water. I recently played this course this spring and even after consistent and decent rainfall for the year, the standing water was scarce. Turtles were seen at some of the ponds and lakes but for this course to receive a higher score, the rain fall and standing water would need to be more consistent to support the diverse turtle species and awesome quantity that the hill country can sustain.
Courses that I have not played to review but will be adding as soon as I can play them. Shadow Glenn, Avery Ranch, Falcon Head, Mo Willy.
If you have suggestions for particularly Turtle featuring courses, please comment.

I have never seen an actual guide to where to find affordable housing. If you search realestate.com.au and sort by low-high price, you're probably going to be wasting days figuring this kind of thing out. If anybody has better resources on this sort of thing, do post them.
This post is not satire. There are people for whom the very cheapest properties are a lifeline. Do note, this guide doesn't take into account availability of school zones, which makes things a lot harder affordability wise.
So, if you're looking for the absolute cheapest 'habitable' dwellings:
Can you live in a very remote area? $50K
Andamooka, Coober Pedy
Can you live somewhere you essentially pay rent on top of buying your place? $100K
Caravan parks, retirement villages and properties on strata with special levies
Can you live somewhere rural and in a coal seam gas polluted area? $125K
Tara and region (where the cops were recently shot )
Can you live somewhere remote and in a lead polluted area *no pregnant women, children or other vulnerable people *$150K
Port Pirie, Broken Hill
Can you live a noise polluted area? $200K
The very cheapest units all across the country. Misc problems e.g. tobacco smells, meth residue
Can you live in an unauthorised dwelling, vacation zoned property, shed or caravan full time at risk you'll be kicked out by the Council? $225K
Misc rural properties
Can you live in a high crime area with lead paint and asbestos? $250K
Elizabeth and surrounds (in Adelaide), SA
Can you live rural and wait for your house to be be built for a few years? $300K
Menzies WA
Above $300K you can afford nice entry level studio and 1-bdr apartments. Congrats! Still may not be suitable for people sensitive to sound pollution (autism spectrum, PTSD, tinnitus etc)

So, as a lot of us expected, a recent report says that the Spurs have interest in making a rather unusual move by their standards to pick up a second first-rounder in the draft next month, presumably to acquire a PG that they hope can start next to Victor Wembanyama for the next decade-plus. It’s an idea that had been gaining traction with fans even before the real whispers started because of how much sense it seemed to make - this is seen as a relatively deep draft, with a lot of intriguing options at a position of need that are currently being mocked in the mid-to-late lottery. I'm sure most people have seen plenty of discussion about it on this sub over the past few days, and in every thread, people are asking the smart first question: "Okay, but what would it take?"
There's a lot of things that factor into that answer, and I'm just some internet dork who watches and reads about and talks about and thinks about basketball too much so I obviously have no idea what kind of discussions GMs are actually having on that front. But I thought it would at least help to look at what the positions we'd presumably be targeting have brought back in trade in the past decade, and then try to approximate value with the Spurs' assets. Firstly, though...
Why would San Antonio do this?
There's two ways to answer that question, and the first is to look at it from the perspective of what the Spurs don't have: a long-term starting Point Guard. I like Tre Jones a lot - he's everything we could've hoped for as a second-round pick and then some - but he's not a player that's going to feasibly run the offense for a contending team. He'd make a fantastic backup, and the Spurs are obviously hoping that Sochan and Victor and to a lesser extent Branham evolve into above-average playmakers, especially as the organization makes strides to get closer to their positionless basketball philosophy. But I don't think any of that is going to supersede a desire to bring a more traditional lead guard into the fold, especially considering what the team does have.
And what San Antonio has right now is a lot of picks. Maybe not as many as OKC or Utah, but a lot nonetheless. Six first-rounders that aren't our own, to be exact, plus the swap rights to Atlanta's 2026 first-rounder and over twenty second-rounders. Simply put, I can guarantee you that the team won't be making all of those picks, because it's not smart roster building to be quite so overloaded with very young players when the idea is to start being competitive again. Having a lot of young talent with promise is a good problem to have until you hit the point of having so many mouths to feed that it starts stunting their development, and we're already looking at a potential slight roster crunch this year. As an example, the Pacers, who are arguably behind us in terms of the rebuilding process now since we won the Wemby sweepstakes, have 5 picks in this year's draft, 3 of them first-rounders, and Kevin Pritchard has already come out and said they're not making all of them. The Spurs, by comparison, could potentially have FIVE first-rounders in 2025 depending on league standings over the next couple years. Eventually, some of these picks will be used as a package to get one better pick or a star player. And there's a good argument that, if it's going to be the former, now is the time, because again, this is a strong draft.
So what specific assets do we have?
I'll go ahead and rank them in descending order by my perception of their value, excluding Wemby because he's obviously the most untouchable of untouchables.

• Sochan and Vassell: Very clearly big parts of this team moving forward and likely starters when our theoretical championship window opens
• Atlanta 2027 unprotected FRP: The Hawks are such a dumpster fire right now in some ways that this could easily end up being a Top 5 pick - notably, the last year of Trae's current contract is 2026-27
• Keldon Johnson: Anyone else tired of talking about him? I'll have a more in-depth look at why trading him might make sense later in this post, but he's still just 23 years old with room to grow and even with his deficiencies, he's got a lot of attractive qualities even if his long-term ceiling might be "good sixth man."
• Atlanta 2025 unprotected FRP
• Atlanta 2026 pick swap: There's an argument that this should be above the 2025 unprotected pick because the 2025 class is looking kinda rough and 2026 includes Cameron Boozer and Cooper Flagg, but ultimately having an extra pick in an individual future draft is, I think, more valuable than a swap because it allows for a move-up package
• Toronto 2024 FRP protected 1-6: Masai Ujiri and the Raptors are a little hard to read right now, even more than usual, but I think there's a good chance this could convey next year and still be in the top 10 somewhere.
• Zach Collins: A good starting center on a bad team or a very good backup center on a better team. He's got the Pop endorsement and trading him would leave our C rotation very light unless we've got something else cooking (not a good thing with Victor coming in), but I wouldn't want him to be the sticking point that holds up a potential good deal. *Malaki Branham: I might be overrating him a bit here because I'm personally very high on Branham, but I think it's close enough. He's shown very promising flashes at the NBA level already, and if he can get more consistent from 3 it'll be very hard to stop him from scoring. Becoming even a passable defender on top of it would give him 6MOTY-level upside.
• Chicago 2025 FRP protected 1-10: I think Chicago's gonna be forced to blow it up soon. Multiple teams below them in the standings last year should be markedly improved already this season and they might even lose Vooch. So this may not convey for a while, if at all.
• Boston 2028 pick swap, protected for 1st overall: This is probably about even with the Chicago pick, really. Things can change quick in the NBA but I don't expect Boston to be bad for a while, and again, it's just a swap.
• Charlotte 2024 pick, lottery protected: This will almost definitely not convey next year. Maaaaybe in 2025, but I'm really starting to doubt LaMelo's ability to stay on the floor. And a pick outside of the lottery in a bad draft class won't be worth all that much.
• Blake Wesley: I've never been a Wesley believer and he didn't show anything last year to convince me I might be wrong, but maybe some team likes his upside enough that he could work as a sweetener.
• Doug McDermott: A knockdown perimeter movement shooter who isn't worth much on his own, but could be attractive as a veteran piece for a team that can't otherwise hit 3s.
• All of our 20+ SRPs

We also, again, have all of our own FRPs, but there's too many unknowns across the next couple years for me to try and predict their value. Suffice it to say that I wouldn't trade next year's under any circumstances, would only let go of 2025's if it was protected for the lottery, and would probably be willing to have talks about any of them in or after 2026.
Potential Trade Analysis
Before anything else, I want to be clear that I'm not advocating for all or even most of these trades. I'm simply doing my best to demonstrate what we might have to give up based on history.
And again, there are a lot of mitigating factors to these other recent trades. Draft class strength, roster makeup, financial situation, etc. - it's impossible to ever get 1-to-1 comparisons for something like this. But I think they work pretty well as rough examples.
Oh, and here's an aggregation of the current "professional" mock drafts out there in case anyone wants an idea of what prospects we'd be talking about in each position.
One last thing: When I'm talking about trades that have been made for these picks historically, I'm only including ones that were made between the lottery and draft day or on draft night specifically, since obviously the slots for future picks in other trades wouldn't have been known at the time of the deal.
Pick #5 (Detroit)

• 2018: DAL trades w/lightly-protected 2019 1st for pick 3 (the now-famous Luka/Trae trade)

PROPOSAL: This.
We don't have a great comparison point to open with here, but this feels about right to me. No one, media or fans, can agree on Keldon's trade value, and there's some teams I think he very much would not fit on, but I think it makes a lot of sense on Detroit’s end for the reasons Edwards laid out - he opens up a ton of options for the Pistons to experiment with assuming that they actually get a full year of Cade this season and, in the best-case scenario, can become a very good sixth man for them long-term. They really need a young wing, and after the gut punch of falling to #5 where they’re in the unenviable position of having to decide between a bunch of low-floor, high-ceiling guys, they might be tempted to take out the guesswork and go with someone who’s already shown what he can do for a couple years. I'll return to this comparison later, but if Detroit takes Cam Whitmore in this spot, for example, and he becomes what Keldon is now, I think they'd call it a successful pick.
MY EVALUATION: Spurs say no. I think Keldon has more value to SAS than anyone they could be targeting in this spot unless Amen Thompson is still there and the FO is supremely confident in him becoming a decent off-ball player.
Pick #6 (Orlando)

• 2013: NOP trades to PHI with protected 2014 first for Jrue Holiday and pick 42

PROPOSAL: SAS trades Devin Vassell, CHI 1st and pick 33 for picks 6 and 36
I’ve seen rumors that ORL might want to package this and their #11 pick to move up, but I don’t know where that comes from. Can’t see Charlotte taking a deal like that, Portland and allegedly Houston want immediate help instead of two more rookies, and the #5 from Detroit wouldn’t really be worth it from the Magic’s standpoint. Maybe they can send #6 and #11 plus Suggs to the Rockets? Either way, the Magic are another of those teams I was talking about earlier that already has a lot of young players that they want to get touches, so I wouldn’t be surprised if they move one of their two picks for something else.
Holiday was coming off an all-star season, and though Vassell is obviously not an all-star (at least not yet), I do think he's a pretty decent approximation of 2013 Jrue Holiday. Same age, and the best players on their respective teams. Good defense, good outside shot and still some room to grow as a self-creator. I think he was probably looking at some MIP votes last year if he hadn’t gotten hurt.
MY EVALUATION: Spurs say no, obviously. They're not trading Devin. I think they could theoretically get this slot just by giving up a big package of picks, but at that point the evaluation becomes too difficult to really be worth it for this exercise IMO.
Pick #7 (Indiana)

• 2017: MIN trades pick 7 with Kris Dunn and LaVine to CHI for Jimmy Butler and pick 16

Obviously there’s no real similar deal to be found here - if we had a Jimmy Butler we’d be in a wildly different situation in the first place. I could try to put together a big picks package, but IND is guaranteed a very promising prospect at this spot and, in my opinion, they have too many holes in their team right now (or at least a very large defense-shaped hole) to move it for futures when they're already looking at more picks than they want to make.
MY EVAULATION: They'd ask for Vassell and they won't get him; this pick won't be ours. Moving on.
Pick #8 (Washington)

• 2016: SAC trades to PHX for picks 13 and 28, a future 2, and rights to Bogdan Bogdanovic

PROPOSAL: SAS trades Malaki Branham, Tre Jones, TOR 1st, CHA 1st for pick 8 and Delon Wright
Here’s where things start getting a little interesting, because this is the first slot where I can see one of the presumptive primary targets for the Spurs enter the mix in Anthony Black. Indiana might give him a look if they really value his defense and versatility, but I think Walker and Hendricks are more likely directions. So that brings us to Washington. That organization makes my head hurt but I have a hard time seeing a universe where they don’t make this pick. Either they keep smashing their head against the wall of irrelevance or they finally decide to tear it down, and either way it doesn’t make much sense for this pick to find its way to us.
But if the Wizards were to trade this pick, I imagine it'd be because they’re getting a young and high-upside prospect who’s already shown legit NBA flashes in Branham, which they’re sorely lacking and could reasonably be thought of as equivalent to or probably even a little bit better than Bogdanovic in 2016. This also gets them an uber-reliable young backup PG that can be had for a few cheap years (something you'd be pretty happy to get with a #28 pick) and the Spurs take back Wright for salary purposes and to have a veteran PG option of their own, though it’s entirely possible WAS values Wright more highly anyway for defensive purposes.
MY EVALUATION: Both teams say no, although if we put Wesley in there instead of Branham I think things get interesting from the Spurs' point of view. You can never predict the Wizards, but I think Michael Winger would have to be given an offer they can’t refuse to tempt them not to just stay here and pick Black or Hendricks or Whitmore or whoever else has fallen to them. Reportedly, he has the blessing to finally rebuild if he so chooses, and it’s hard to see them not starting the process off here. Not for nothing, but Winger used to work under Presti.
I do wonder what would happen if the Spurs offered Keldon for this pick straight-up, though. If Kuzma leaves, the Washington wing situation suddenly looks completely ghastly. Returning to the "Whitmore-Johnson test," if the Wizards picked Cam up here and he turned into Keldon, I think they'd be quite pleased. Not "all-time draft victory" pleased, but a huge win for a team that's mangled their draft a couple times recently.
Pick #9 (Utah)

• 2013: MIN trades to UTA for picks 14 and 21

PROPOSAL: SAS trades CHA 1st and CHI 1st for pick 9
Pretty simple here. If a team thinks that Chicago pick will convey, late lottery seems like a reasonable place to expect it to land. If the Charlotte pick conveys, it'll be in that 15-20 range.
MY EVALUATION: Utah says no because there's a good chance those picks don't convey, because picks in future drafts are always treated as less valuable than those in the same draft, and because Ainge doesn't make trades when he's not fleecing the other team for all their worth. Also, Utah doesn't really need more future picks either.
You know what? That was boring. How about another option?
PROPOSAL: SAS trades Keldon for pick 9
The Ainge factor remains, but in a vacuum I do think this is pretty fair value straight up. Let’s talk about the SAS rotation for a minute assuming they do indeed make SOME trade for a PG prospect. Wemby and Vassell are starting, no question. Collins got the Pop endorsement at the end of last season, so he’s in there too. That leaves four players fighting for two starting spots: Keldon, Sochan, Tre Jones, and the newly drafted PG. Sochan started 53 of the 56 games he played last year, and with the excellent upside he has, I have a hard time imagining he’s not getting the nod at the 3; even if he’s not, he’ll be getting tons of minutes. I and others have supported the Point Sochan experiment, but if we’re bringing in a real PG, I doubt we’ll see a whole lot more of that and they certainly won’t start a Sochan/Vassell/Keldon/Wemby/Collins lineup. So Keldon’s probably sliding to the sixth man role. And that’s fine - if he has a role on this team when they’re ready to contend again, it’ll be that one - but trading a sixth man for the right to select the guy you theoretically think can be Victor’s running mate for a decade, especially when there’s plenty of other guys off the bench that you want to keep giving minutes to, is more than reasonable all things considered.
As far as UTA goes, they need a PG prospect all on their own but I think they can get Kobe Bufkin with their #16 pick and I kinda love the fit there for him. If you’re the Jazz, would you rather have Keldon and Bufkin or, say, Wallace and Leonard Miller? I don’t know the answer to that, but I think there’s at least a chance they’d prefer the latter, as even with a pretty lean roster I don’t know how badly they want to find playing time for three first rounders this year. Keldon and Markkanen don’t even step on each other’s toes in the UTA system, and though they’ll definitely continue the tank this year to avoid losing their 2024 pick, Keldon could easily still be around on a very team-friendly deal by the time they’re ready to start pushing for the playoffs again.
MY EVALUATION: Utah says no strictly because Ainge gonna Ainge. I'm not sure I'd do it if I was the Spurs, either, because injuries will happen and Victor might get more DNPs for load management this year than any of us want to see. But it’s a conversation worth having and I can’t say I’d be falling to my knees in an HEB if it happened on draft night.
Pick #10 (Dallas)

• 2018: PHI trades to PHX for pick 16 and a Miami first in 2021
• 2017: SAC trades to POR for picks 15 and 20
• 2014: PHI trades to ORL for pick 12, 2015 second, and 2017 first*

Strap in, this is a fun one.
PROPOSAL: This.
This is the pick in the lottery that I think is most likely to move, outside of maaaybe #3. That’s kind of awkward, because Dallas wants (needs) talent to help them win now and we don’t have much of that. Specifically, they need defense and a real starting center - if they can get both of those in one guy, so much the better. Keldon doesn’t move the needle for them IMO and we’re obviously not gonna give up Vassell at this slot. The OTHER thing Dallas needs, though, is something we do have in spades: cap room. Our old friend Davis Bertans has one of the worst contracts in the league for next season - $17m for a guy whose defense deficiencies make him unplayable - and while he only has $5m guaranteed in 2024, I think Dallas needs help right now to keep from running a real risk of fracturing their relationship with their best player since Dirk.
I think it’s POSSIBLE Dallas just trades this pick with Bertans and, say, McGee for, the TOR 1st + CHA 1st + a bucket of SRPs or something, then tries their luck in free agency (to go for Jakob or Brook etc.) before using their new draft capital to seek another trade if need be, but I think it’s more likely that we’d be looking at a full-on three-teamer here. There’s a lot of options there depending on which teams are panicking or not, and most of them I don’t find overly likely. Does Boston overreact and give up Robert Williams in a psychotic episode? Does Atlanta move Capela? Eh. Maybe, I guess, but I doubt it. How about Cleveland, though?
This is a pretty skeletal framework of what a deal could look like so don’t take it as absolute gospel. Three-team trades are often complicated enough that there could easily be a few more moving pieces were such a trade to happen.
MY EVALUATION: This could be a winner. I don’t think CLE has to trade Allen yet, but if they’re not exploring the option and asking themselves some tough questions about whether the pairing with Mobley is the real long-term answer after what happened against the Knicks, they’re not doing their job. THJ shot almost the same percentage on 3s as Caris Levert did last year on over three more attempts per game, and his defense, while not amazing by any means, is better than it gets credit for. Getting rid of Rubio also gives them a little extra salary to play with in free agency - it’s not much, and it’s not a great class, but I think there’s enough there for Cleveland to find a way to make themselves a better playoff team than they were last year. This also lets them recoup some draft capital that is basically nonexistent for them right now after the Mitchell trade.
On the Spurs side, even if Rubio is basically washed, he’s an incredibly smart and experienced PG who could do a lot to mentor the young guy that we’d be bringing in at the position, and if he needs to come in for a few minutes here and there to hold down the fort, that’s fine too - we’re not trying to be good yet. I’d be surprised if we don’t bring in a vet guard in some fashion this offseason regardless. Plus, we have to get to the salary floor before the season starts anyway; why not kill three birds with one stone on this trade?
Cleveland probably still says no. I don't know if they're quite ready to pull the plug on Allen. But I don't think it's that far off.
Pick #11 (Orlando)

• 2022: NYK trades to OKC for 3 protected first-rounders (DET (protected), WAS (protected), DEN, all 2023)
• 2018: CHA trades to LAC for pick 12 and two 2s
• 2016: ORL trades with Oladipo and Ilyasova to OKC in return for Ibaka

PROPOSAL: SAS trades TOR 1st, CHI 1st, and Doug McDermott for pick 11
Last year's trade is the easiest comparison to make on this list. Not perfect, still, but with the added context of what other trades in this range have brought back, I think it still works. The DET and WAS picks were fairly heavily protected (top 18 and lottery, respectively) and I don’t think it surprised anyone that the Nuggets pick is as late as it is, so despite it being three first rounders the overall value OKC traded wasn’t huge. Even with the Knicks having financial incentive to move off the pick, the package was pretty well in line with historical trades in this range. That said, I think people are viewing the talent around this slot higher than 2022’s at the time, so the offer might need to still be a tiny bit stronger. But one could reasonably argue the TOR pick alone is more valuable than anything else that's been given for this slot in the last 10 years.
Let's talk about the Magic a little more. Let’s say Orlando is pretty happy with what they’ve got right now, which I think they should be. Banchero was a very deserving ROTY, Franz is a bucket, and they’ve got a lot of promising supplemental pieces. They looked pretty dangerous at times last year, especially in the second half of the season when they were healthy. What they DON’T have is a lot of excess draft capital. They own Denver’s pick in 2025 which isn’t likely to be very valuable, and other than that they have only their own firsts. A trade like this allows them the chance to keep adding lottery talent into the future even if they expectedly become a consistent playoff team, and since they also have #6 this year they don’t even have to completely go without a shiny new rookie to do it. Doug is included because the return still felt a tad light to me and because Orlando was 25th in the league in 3PT% last year - it’ll help if they get a full season of Gary Harris, but if they want to make a strong run at the play-in, they might need a little more. Lots of mocks like them to take Gradey Dick here, and while McDermott obviously wouldn’t figure into their long term plans, if they’re making to look a little noise this year, McDermott is almost definitely giving them more than what Dick would as a rookie.
MY EVALUATION: This is my favorite slot to target and I think it's a fair trade for both teams. Orlando doesn't necessarily need to add two more lottery guys to their roster this year when they can conceivably make a push for the play-in with what they already have, even while still getting touches for their foundational pieces. The Spurs like McDermott and I'm sure would love to keep him around all else being equal, but I don't think they'd let him stand in the way of getting their PG of the future. It might take the CHA pick as well or maybe a bunch of seconds or something, but I think we have something here all things considered.
Pick #12 (Oklahoma City)

• 2016: ATL acquires from UTA in three-team trade (sends Jeff Teague to IND who sends George Hill to UTA)

Now this spot on the other hand... There's nothing to be done here. There’s nothing to be done here. Teague averaged 15pts and 6ast per game as a starter for 5 years in ATL with an all-star season in ‘15. Hill had slightly worse stats in 4 years as a starter in Indiana. Tre Jones plus the TOR 1st might be comparable value, but OKC doesn’t need a PG even at the backup position and they already have more future picks than they know what to do with. The scuttlebutt seems to be saying OKC will trade up if anything, which makes sense, and they certainly don’t need to do anything drastic after the improvement they showed last year and Holmgren still waiting in the wings. I’ve done plenty of looking for an angle on this pick and I just don’t see one. They’ve even got plenty of cap room and no bad salary to begin with. We’ll just move on.
Pick #13 (Toronto)

• 2022: CHA trades to NYK for a Denver 1st and four 2nds, who then trade to DET after the draft with Kemba for a Milwaukee 1st in 2025
• 2017: DEN trades to UTA for pick 24 and Trey Lyles
• 2013: DAL trades to BOS for pick 16 and two future seconds

This one needs some intro first. I have no idea what the Raps are planning to do and allegedly the team doesn’t either. Reportedly, Masai still thinks they have the ability to win now - I don’t know if that means actually winning a championship or just getting to the playoffs, but I think he’s wrong either way. Regardless, he’s such a bizarre trader that it feels impossible to predict what may or may not get a deal done. He overvalues his own players to an absurd degree, but he seems to do the same with Spurs players too. How we ever got a first rounder (that became Branham) for Thad Young and Drew Eubanks I’ll never know. So yeah, there’s certainly a recent history of swaps between us and them, one of which famously worked out amazingly and a couple others that very much didn’t.
Whatever direction Toronto does decide to go in, I think they’d be best served just making this pick. Keldon doesn’t make sense for them and we’re way past the part of the lottery where we’d even consider trading him anyway. But how about another direction?
PROPOSAL: SAS trades CHA 1st and pick 44, plus more future SRPs, and extends protection on 2024 TOR 1st to top-12 in 2024, top 10 in 2025. In return, SAS receives pick 13.
I wonder if something this simple gets it done. Maybe what we can best offer Toronto is flexibility. Maybe they carry this whole “I dunno” mentality into the season and then they’re a completely mediocre team at the trade deadline again staring down the barrel of a lost season where they probably still have to give up a pick to us that could easily fall into the 7-10 range. Would they give up #13 this year to ensure they can’t lose, say, pick #8 next year if their season falls apart? I don’t know, but maybe. With this offer, they even still get to make a couple other picks this year, and they’ve had success with late firsts and early seconds recently on drafts that looked a good deal thinner. Hell, looking at recent swaps for this slot, this even feels almost like an overpay - I think PATFO would have to be very sure about the guy they’re picking to give up a top-6 protected selection from a team in TOR’s current position.
This is the pick right now that I think is the most up in the air as far as availability - it could change dramatically over the next month depending on what sorts of conversations are happening in Raptors HQ. They could move up, they could move down, they could stand pat. I have no idea. It’s also the deal that I think has the most potential to come together extremely quickly on draft night; I could see Toronto having a couple specific guys in mind here and then scrambling to make a deal if they’re suddenly off the board.
MY EVALUATION: Raptors say no, but they think long and hard about it first.
Pick #14 (New Orleans)
Has not been traded in the last decade.
Sorry to end with a whimper, but yeah, I don’t see a deal to be made here. If they’re healthy they’ll be a team no one wants to see in the playoffs, and if they’re not, there’s nothing much they can do about it at this juncture. They’ve got plenty of future picks, they won’t want anyone on the SAS squad that we’d give up for pick 14, and there will absolutely be talent here that can help them immediately; they’re keeping this. I GUESS they might look for someone to dump Valanciunas in favor of one of the free agent Centers, but that would be kinda risky on their part and they’d probably want a return that’s less abstract than just the cap room and a few second rounders or whatever.
JUST-FOR-FUN PROPOSAL: This hilariousness.
I expect PHX to have better offers on the table for Ayton, but after his disappearing act in the playoffs I wouldn’t say it’s a certainty. Maybe they’re so tired of him that this feels like an okay return, and maybe New Orleans thinks they can unlock whatever potential might be left. This also gets the Spurs the veteran C they reportedly want; JoVal isn’t exactly an elite rim protector but he’s a heck of a rebounder and can stretch the floor on the other end.
Like I said, though, this is just for kicks anyway for the people who want a wild idea; I don’t think the Pels want Ayton and I don’t think they should.
MY EVALUATION: New Orleans says no because they're not insane and Phoenix probably does too. But it was a fun time in the trade machine.
So, just to recap...

• Picks I can’t see us getting: 6-8, 12, 14
• Probably not, but I could believe it: 5, 9, 13
• Sweet spot: 10 and 11

Pick #11 is the one I’d spend most of my time going after on the phone if I was an executive. #10 has its merits, especially because I personally like the Rubio idea a lot, but we can get a Cory Joseph or George Hill in free agency just as easily to fill that role, and the larger problem is that we’re already going to be dealing with a roster crunch that Bertans and/or McGee would exacerbate. #11 could end up costing nothing but picks that we have an excess, plus maybe McDermott, who we were perfectly willing to move at the deadline anyway and who would actually open up one of those valuable roster spots as well. I also don’t think there’s much danger in Dallas taking the guy we want if he is still on the board at 10.
Again, don’t take my proposals as any kind of hard offers; several of them I wouldn’t even support myself, as you can see. This is just meant as a quick-and-dirty (well, at least dirty) reference for what kind of value we might be looking at in these discussions.

Looking to take my son fishing tomorrow at Hocking Hills. I read Hocking River is the part area to fish down there. Anyone know the best access point to fish off of on the river?
Edit: Also looking for recommendations for spots in Alum Creek.

How do I cope with a mother who just doesn't listen and only cares for herself?
Let me break it down my mom and I were best friends when I was younger. Once I turned 18 that's when it went down hill. (Note: I've always struggled with my mental health) When I was 17 I was in a residential group home to help regulate myself and I was there for my 18th birthday. I was supposed to stay until I graduated high school which would've been in the next couple of months. Keep in mind I am 20 now. I did end up graduating but a semester late. I discharged myself from the residential because I was 18 and I was legally able to at the time and I went a lived with one of my mothers siblings that's about 2 hours away from where she lives. I had made the decision one day to call her and go back "home" with her because I wanted to be able to protect my little sister who was 8 at the time. Once I got home it was all fine until she started to want me to move into the garage so my sister can have the room I was in. Keep in mind my sister ALWAYS ALWAYS slept with my mom NO MATTER WHAT and she just wanted me out of her house. Christmas had come and she got both me and my sister a laptop. (This plays a role here soon) I moved into the garage that January. Once I moved in there she stopped taking me places and I was ALWAYS at home. I wasn't allowed to get a job because of my anxiety could go off at any moment. LIES LIES LIES!! She just wanted me home to keep her house cleaned. There was times where she would "forget" to unlock the back door so I wasn't able to go inside. I didn't have any food, a bathroom to go potty or even a shower to clean myself and this was going on the summer time where it gets 100 degrees or more out and it gets hotter in the garage. Not only she did that but she also didn't allow me to have a phone. I didn't have a job so she had to pay for it. I am also 18 so an adult at the time. All I had was my laptop to communicate with people. Since I was never allowed to leave the house (unless it made her look good) I started sleeping around because I wanted that attention that my mother wasn't giving me. I started sneaking people in and out of my garage at night when she went to bed. (The garage is detached from the house) She eventually found out and she was livid but never did anything about it threaten to set a camera up but never did. I got into a relationship last year and its been almost a year that me and my partner have been together. After a month of us dating one our one month anniversary I decided that I wanted to have a sleep over with them and never came back. I stayed in contact but only for my sister and the things I have over there. She now wants to blame my partner for me leaving even though it was my doing. She got my family involved and tired to have me go back. I didn't and just made things worse. I went back over to her house for a few things 2 months later and she dropped me off at a gas station because that's where my partner was picking me up from. She had gotten us grocery's because we were really struggling and she does care but to an extent. Once she saw my partner is when the scene happened she yelled at the both of us and I stood my ground once she turned to my partner you can disrespect me fine but don't do it to my loved one. After we left she blocked me on everything besides my phone number. She cut all contact acting like she was in the right. We are slowly talking again and I am able to see my sister but how to I cope with all this and still be friendly? I'm only doing this for my sisters sake. I'm not going to allow my sister to think I choose someone else over her. I love my sister with all my heart and would kill for her. She saved me when I was at my lowest. I owe her everything. She's 9 now. How do I stay okay with my mother so I can stay apart of my sister life? How do I cope with what's going on? I love my mom but there's a line.

Plz not the boujee reseller boutiques or antique shops, but the ones full of donations. Which thrift store has the cheapest prices?
I found that certain thrift stores are super affordable in one section but then inflation hits the other sections such as the dresses and shoes. Is there a thrift store that has similar to the prices before the inflation? I am also willing to travel outside of SJ like Fremont, Walnut Creek, Morgan hill, etc.

Pine needles brushed across Paul's arms as he charged through the trees with his bugout bag slung over his shoulders. Weighing in at forty pounds, it hardly slowed him down as he’d practiced this hike many times. He flicked his wrist and checked his Garmin Solar 2 Tactical Watch. The timer read: 2:23.
“You can do this, Paul.” He increased the pace and gritted his teeth, the weight finally having an effect. Paul bounded over a small creek, up a rolling hill, and pushed through a row of baby birches into a clearing. He doubled over to catch his breath and looked at his watch one more time. Two hours and twenty-eight minutes. Paul pumped his fist in victory.
After a short break, he approached a thorny bush in the center of the clearing. Paul brushed aside sand at the bush’s trunk, revealing a yellow rope. He pulled it, which lifted a hidden door in the ground covered with dirt, shrubbery, and other camouflage on the top side, and drab gray iron on the other. Underneath, wooden stairs descended into darkness. Paul retrieved a flashlight from his pack, clicked on the beam, and disappeared into the earth.
At the bottom of the steps, Paul faced a steel door and a combination lock. With several quick swipes of the dial, he opened the lock and tugged the metal door, which creaked as it cracked open. Paul flashed the beam on the offending hinges and shook his head. Something to fix later. He stepped into the secret chamber and pulled a hanging aluminum chain that turned on a large halogen light, illuminating a twenty-foot by eight-foot metal rectangle. The exposed corrugated walls revealed the bunker was nothing more than a shipping container. Paul buried it two years ago and had divided the interior into three spaces. The entry had a shelf with four dozen gallon jugs of sealed water along with a portable toilet, stacks of toilet paper, and a wastebasket. The middle section was the main living area and contained a futon, a TV with a DVD player, and a neat collection of movies underneath. A nightstand housed a small library of books, including the Bible, The Art of Meditation, Buddhism for Dummies, and other spiritual tomes. The back area of the unit had two shelves filled with canned food—black beans, green beans, peaches, peas, carrots, beef, and chicken. There was also a stationary bike, which was Paul’s proudest accomplishment because he had rigged it to a giant battery that provided power to all the electronics.
Paul was a prepper, and this would be his home when the end of the world came, an event he believed was imminent. The global economy was a house of cards built on greed, corruption, and inflated asset prices, but worst of all, it was based on a faith in paper and digital money.
His fear was triggered four years ago when he attended a lecture by a professor who explained the fragility of the world’s financial system. If a few banks failed, it would rattle people’s confidence, causing a herd-like response. Thousands of people would rush to withdraw their cash, which the banks no longer had because they’d invested it. The banks would either fail, and everyday folks would lose their life savings, or the government would print new money to replace the missing money, making all money worth a lot less. Anyone holding dollars would attempt to convert them to other assets.
Just like dominoes, the banks would topple over one by one, and as they crashed, people’s faith in money would crater. After all, what was money? It was just paper with printed images and numbers that we’d all accepted as having value. More recently, money had become numbers displayed on a computer screen, something Paul knew firsthand as he spent the first seven years of his career working at a regional bank in Asheville, North Carolina. Paul could literally change someone’s net worth with a few keystrokes. He could turn a pauper into a millionaire, or he could bankrupt the richest account holder. Sure, there were safeguards, but all were built on faith, which Paul believed was misplaced. Most people didn’t realize that the Federal Reserve only required each bank to hold at least ten percent of its deposits as a reserve. Ten percent. That’s it. The rest of the money was invested in loans or other financial instruments. As the rich bank owners and executives pushed for bigger and bigger returns, they invested in riskier and riskier assets. The lessons from the financial crisis of 2008 had been forgotten.
Once the monetary system collapsed, the entire economy would become paralyzed. Without a means of exchange, transactions would halt. Think about it. If someone tried to give you a slip of paper that you thought was worthless, would you give them anything of value in return?
The doomsday scenario would escalate. Food and water prices would skyrocket, but with no way to purchase them, many would starve. But people don’t just roll over and die, they would riot and take what they need to survive. Marshall Law would be implemented, but citizens would revolt against the government they felt had cheated them.
As Paul listened to the lecturer that fateful day, a depressing epiphany struck. Everything he’d learned and everything he’d spent his life acquiring was worthless.
Growing up, Paul had been taught the value of money, saving, and planning for retirement. He internalized these lessons as a teen after his father got sick and lost his job. His mother had died when he was very young, but his father still managed to provide him with a stable childhood, even though they were barely middle class. When his father fell ill, Paul witnessed firsthand how fast a family could sink into financial trouble, which couldn’t have come at a worse time. He was applying to colleges, and instead of choosing the one he liked best, he chose the one that gave him the most financial aid, which turned out to be a small school half-way across the country. He also didn’t choose a major he was excited about; he chose the one that would offer the safest financial prospects—economics with an emphasis on banking.
The distance from home meant that Paul didn’t see the rapid deterioration of his father. It wasn’t until he returned for the funeral that family friends told him how the disease had spread. His father had refused to let anyone tell Paul because he didn’t want that to distract Paul from his studies.
After graduating, Paul accepted a job at a bank, and immediately signed up for the company’s 401K match. Most college graduates can't grasp retirement when they enter the workforce, but a 401K match was free money. Over the next several years, Paul worked diligently to advance his career while saving most of his salary. He’d mapped out his life on an excel spreadsheet and calculated that he’d be financially secure at 53.
Everything went according to plan until that damn lecturer came along and blew it up. Sifting through the rubble of his grand scheme, Paul realized that in the new world order, he possessed no skills to survive. The savings he’d so meticulously built up would have little to no value. When the economy collapsed, he'd be like a baby, unable to do anything for himself.
After a week of wallowing in despair, Paul rallied himself. “I can still fix this” became a daily mantra. To start, he threw himself into survival classes. The first was a basic camping course where he learned how to create shelters and start a fire. The next class was more advanced and focused on water purification and building snares for small game.
Paul continued working at the bank, because he needed to pay for the classes and survival equipment he began hoarding, but on his next vacation, he put his training to the test. He planned to camp for a week in the Appalachian Mountains, but the temperature swings, especially at night, were too much. Paul lasted three nights in the wild. The humbling experience forced him to admit that he wasn’t a bushman. His depression returned until he stumbled upon an article about “preppers”—individuals who prepare for end of world disasters. Suddenly, things made sense. He didn’t need to abandon all the comforts of modern society. He needed to prepare for the end of the world the way he had planned for retirement.
As Paul traveled down the rabbit hole of prepping, he uncovered an underground society of people like him who knew the truth about the world’s demise. Of course, not everyone believed it would end because of an economic collapse. Some thought a nuclear war would destroy civilization. Others feared electromagnetic pulses from the sun would wipe out all modern electricity. And still others worried a massive volcanic eruption would spew enough ash and soot into the air to blot out the sun. There was no shortage of theories about the world ending, but one thing was clear. The world would end. Did it matter how it happened?
Paul began his prepping quest by purchasing ten acres an hour and a half outside of Asheville. It had plenty of small animals and a creek running through the middle. He then transported an unused cargo container to the land and buried it. This was the toughest part of the plan because it required heavy equipment. Next, he dug out a staircase and installed a steel door at the entrance. Finally, he furnished it with a mix of modern comforts and survival essentials.
Almost every weekend, Paul trekked to his underground sanctuary and made improvements. He also planned his bugout strategy. When the end of the world hit, he figured he needed to be safely hidden in his home within two and a half hours, a time he had achieved with this latest trip. Everything was set, and Paul could finally relax. He was prepared.
Paul slumped down on his futon and considered playing a movie or cracking the bottle of Jim Beam whiskey he stored in a special cabinet, but he shook off the urge. Those things were the rewards and comforts he’d enjoy after the world ended. His fingers rubbed the top of the Bible, something he planned to read cover to cover once the global economy cratered. He’d have plenty of time then to discover his spiritual side, but not now. Something else needed to be done. Something he’d missed.
The biggest mistake a prepper can make is assuming he had everything covered. This was the lesson taught by Yannis, the guru of the prepping world. He was so well-known within the doomsday community; he only went by one name. The guy was sharp as a whip and could live off the land, if necessary, but he preferred a more sophisticated lifestyle, so he created a luxurious cave that contained backup systems for all his backups. Food, water, shelter, and electricity were all taken care of, and it was projected that Yannis could survive ten years comfortably after the apocalypse. His famous blog titled “ABP” stood for Always Be Preparing. It was a motto Yannis lived by and something Paul aspired to, but as he sat in his bunker after the relentless hike, fatigue set in. He didn’t want to think about prepping or his bugout strategy. He wanted to just be.
Paul tilted his head back onto the futon’s cushion, and a loneliness crept into his mind. All his prepping left little time for relationships. He dated off and on in college, but it was never anything serious. It wasn’t like his high school sweetheart, Kristin Summer. They dated junior and senior year, but then Paul broke it off when his father got sick. Paul couldn’t focus on romance, and he knew the relationship wouldn’t have worked when he left for school 1,500 miles away. It still hurt when he learned from a friend that Kristin started dating Derek Gorman, an old classmate Paul hated. It hurt even more when he found out they had gotten married.
After college, Paul joined a couple of dating sites, but he hadn’t used them in over two years. Most women wouldn’t understand his prepping lifestyle, at least that’s what he feared, so he rejected dating before anyone could reject him. But most wasn't all, and with eight billion people on the planet, there had to be someone for him. Almost without thinking, Paul pulled out his phone and opened “My Match,” the site where he’d had the most luck. His profile still had a photo from his early banking days. He was clean shaven with a naïve smile. The face staring back in the picture differed greatly from the bearded survivalist he’d become. Would anyone consider a relationship with the new Paul? Only one way to find out. He snapped a selfie, uploaded it, and then updated his hobbies with the first being “prepping” followed by “survival skills training.” He finished by pressing the button that showed he was actively looking for someone. All he had to do now was wait.
After spending the night in his bunker, Paul checked the dating site in the morning. No response. “It was a stupid idea,” he told himself, and stuffed his phone back into his pocket. He locked his container and returned home.
Over the next two weeks, Paul received zero requests for a date. He didn’t even receive a message from anyone to start a conversation and test the waters. “Shake it off, dumbass,” he said alone in the confines of his cottage-style home. “The world is going to end, anyway.” He clenched his jaw and did what he always did. He researched more ways to survive. Paul poured over blog posts and imagined worst-case scenarios. How could his water be contaminated? Maybe he should bury some caches of water. What if someone finds his shelter? Maybe security cameras were needed. What if he gets lonely in his shelter? No ideas came to mind.
After his eyes got tired from reading, Paul clicked out of his browser, and the list of all his apps stared at him. For reasons unknown to him, he opened Facebook, something he hadn’t done for months. There were a handful of notifications and a couple of friend requests sent weeks ago. His heart raced when he saw the name of one—Kristin Summer. When he accepted, he saw she was on-line right then.
Should he message her? Would that be weird right after accepting her request? But wasn’t it weird that he hadn’t responded for several weeks? He pulled up the messenger and typed. “Hey. Sorry for the delay in accepting your request. Hadn’t been on Facebook in a while. Been busy. Hope you and Derek are well.”
He curled his lip in disgust as he typed Derek’s name and considered deleting it, but he took the moral high ground and hit “send” with his message unaltered.
Kristin Summer. Just the thought of her name brought a smile to Paul’s face.
Bing.
The sound alerted Paul to a response, which he read out loud. “Hey Paul. Good to hear from you. Derek and I divorced a little over a year ago. It was rough at first, but it was for the best. How are you?”
Paul’s eyes widened with shock and excitement. He couldn’t believe Derek was so stupid to let Kristin go. Paul could at least blame their breakup on his father’s illness. His fingers prattled away on the keyboard. “Things are amazing.” He stopped typing. That was a lie. Should he pretend like things were great or should he be honest and tell her about his prepping and the end of the world? Neither option sounded appealing. He tapped the keys without writing until he settled on something uncontroversial.
“Working at Trinity Bank in Asheville. It pays the bills. Where are you?”
Within a minute, the sweet sound of the notification binged. “I’m not too far away in Durham. If you’re ever in town, let me know.”
If you’re ever in town, let me know.
Paul couldn’t believe his eyes. Was Kristin asking him out? He shook his head. Nah, she’s probably just being polite. But maybe. If there was any chance, he had to find out. He chewed his lip and deliberated his next response. Fortune favors the bold, he told himself. Then he remembered Matt Damon telling people that in the now infamous commercial for FTX months before its collapse. When that occurred, Paul thought it was the beginning of the end, and he lived in his bunker for two days before emerging and finding the world still intact.
Paul clenched his fist. It was still good advice, and he had to try. Almost involuntarily, he typed, “I’ll be there tomorrow afternoon. If you want to get together, let me know.” His finger hit send before he could talk himself out of it. There was no qualification in the message. No waffling or hedging. It was clear Paul wanted to see Kristin. The only question now was whether she wanted to see him.
The next ten minutes felt like ten days. Paul paced back and forth with his hands over his head, and he glanced at the monitor every few seconds, just in case his ears had missed the notification alert.
There was nothing.
A dark depression filled the room. Why had he gotten his hopes up? What was the point, anyway? The world was going to end.
Bing.
Paul leapt to the computer and his eyes widened with each word he read. “How about a lunch at The Fig Tree Restaurant on 7th?”
People overuse the word literally, but Paul at least felt like his jaw was literally on the floor. He had a date with Kristin Summer, the one woman he had loved. His hands rattled away at the keyboard. “See you at 1 tomorrow.”
“Holy crap,” he muttered to himself.
Panic replaced his excitement when he imagined sitting down and talking to Kristin. What would he say? “Hey Kristin, what have you been up to? Oh me? I’ve been working at a job I hate and planning for the end of the world.”
He drifted into the bathroom and stared at the scruffy character in the mirror. Paul could only cringe at the thought of Kristin’s reaction upon seeing him. She might not recognize the bearded loner who resembled Ted Kaczynski more than the short-haired, clean-shaven teen she last saw.
Only one thing to do.
Paul had to prepare. He opened a drawer and pulled out a pair of clippers. He began trimming his beard and mustache as short as the clippers would allow. Next, he applied a generous amount of cream and shaved all of it off. Paul smirked at the young man hiding under the shabby beard, but it still wasn’t enough. He set the guard on the clippers to a four and began shaving his head. In college, Paul cut his own hair to save money, and the skill came back to him quickly. He dropped to a three and worked in a fade on the sides and then finished with a two. Paul turned to the left, then to the right, and assessed his work. Not bad.
Next thing to prepare was his outfit. Paul slid the door of his closet open and evaluated his choices. A banker’s suit was too stuffy, and his mountain man denim was too hermit inspired. He yanked the clothes aside and climbed deeper into the recesses of his wardrobe until he found a nice buttoned-down shirt and a dark pair of slacks. It gave just the right vibe of successful and stable, while not trying too hard to impress, even though that was his precisely his goal. Paul laid the selection on the chair by his bed. Durham was a three-and-a-half-hour drive away, and he wanted to make sure he got there with time to find parking, and maybe use the restroom. He set the alarm on his iPhone for 6 a.m. That would give him plenty of time to take a shower, have breakfast, and get dressed.
There was no chance of falling asleep easily. His mind raced with thoughts, questions, and various scenarios about what the day would bring. To relax, he poured himself a double whiskey, which he downed with a single slurp. He poured another and sipped.
Kristin Summer. He shook his head, still in disbelief.
As the effect of alcohol set in, Paul laid down on his bed and shut his eyes. Tomorrow would be a good day.
Paul slipped into a deep, satisfying sleep until his mind jolted him awake. It was past 6 a.m. He didn’t know how he knew. He just knew. Paul had slept through his alarm. He snatched his phone off the nightstand, but it was out of battery. He checked his watch and saw it was 7 a.m. There was still time to get to Durham.
Paul jumped out of bed and into the bathroom. He flicked on the light switch, but nothing came on. Paul toggled it on and off, but the outlet was dead.
Police sirens wailed in the distance. Paul meandered out of his house and onto the front lawn. Aside from the sirens, there was an uneasy stillness. Paul’s neighbor Kurt ran out from his home with two suitcases that he flung into the trunk of his car.
“Kurt. What’s going on?” Paul asked.
“Fort Knox was bombed. All the gold was obliterated. And something happened to the electricity and the internet. They shut it down.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know, man, but it’s not good. No one has access to news, no money, nothing.”
“Where are you going?” Paul asked.
“I don’t know. Somewhere isolated. I’m just hoping there are no more bombings or other attacks.” Kurt jumped into his car and sped away.
This was it. The world was ending. All of his preps were about to pay off. But what about Kristin? Paul didn’t want the world to end. If he tried to get Kristin, there was no chance he could reach his shelter before things get hairy. Plus, there was no way he could find her. He didn’t have her address, and she might have already left Durham for somewhere safe.
Paul forced himself to focus on his plan. This was what he had prepared for. He dashed back inside and changed into his camouflage gear, grabbed his bugout bag, and then sprinted to his truck. He drove through his neighborhood and reached the main road. His shelter and plans were to the left. Kristin and the unknown were to the right. The whites of Paul’s knuckles flared as he gripped the steering wheel. Now was not the time to waffle. He turned left and hit the accelerator.
Paul gritted his teeth and raced down the street. Keep going. Keep going. He urged himself on. Almost involuntarily, his foot slammed on the brakes. Paul couldn’t do it. He’d planned for the worst all his life, and while he sat alone with the engine idling, he had to admit the truth. He’d lived all his life in fear.
Paul yanked the wheel and turned around toward Durham.

The whirring blades of my MD-902 throbbed against the warm evening air, and I smiled.
From 5,000 feet, the ground flew by in a carpet of dark forests and kelly-green fields. The sun hung low on the horizon in a picturesque array of dazzling orange and gold, and I could make out the narrow strip of the Ohio River to my left, glistening in the fading daylight. This time of year, the trees would be full of the sweet aroma of fresh blossoms, and the frequent rains kept small pockets of fluffy white mist hanging in the treetops. It was a beautiful view, one that reminded me of why being a helicopter pilot trumped flying in a jumbo jet far above the clouds every day of the week.
Fourteen more days, and I’m debt free.
That made me grin even more. I’d been working as a charter pilot ever since I obtained my license at age 19, and after years of keeping my nose to the grindstone, I was closing on the final payment for real-estate in western Pennsylvania. With no debt, a fixer-upper house on 30 rural acres all to myself, and a respectable wage for a 26-year-old pilot, I looked forward to the financial freedom I could now enjoy. Maybe I’d take a vacation, somewhere exotic like Venice Italy, or the Dominican Republic. Or perhaps I’d sock the money back for the day I started a family.
“Remember kleineun, a real man looks after his own.”
My elderly ouma’s voice came back from the depths of my memories, her proud, sun-tanned face rising from the darkness. She and my Rhodesian grandfather had emigrated to the US when they were newlyweds, as the violence against white Boer descendants in South Africa spiraled out of control. My mother and father both died in a car crash when I was six, and it had been my grandparents who raised me. Due to this, I’d grown up with a slight accent that many of my classmates found amusing, and I could speak both English, and Afrikaans, the Boer tongue of our former home.
I shifted in my seat, stretched my back muscles, and glanced at the picture taped to my console. Both my parents flanked a grinning, gap-toothed six-year-old me, at the last Christmas we’d spent together. My mother beamed, her dark hair and Italian features a sharp contrast to my father’s sandy blonde hair and blue eyes. Sometimes, I liked to imagine they were smiling at me with pride at how well I flew the old silver-colored bird my company had assigned to me, and that made the long, lonely flights easier to bear.
A flicker caught my eye, and I broke my gaze away from the photograph.
Perched in its small cradle above the controls, my little black Garmin fuzzed over for a few seconds, its screen shifting from brightly colored maps to a barrage of grey static.
Did the power chord come loose?
I checked, ensuring the power-cable for the unit’s battery was plugged into the port on the control panel. It was a brand-new GPS unit, and I’d used it a few times already, so I knew it wasn’t defective. Granted, I could fly and navigate without it, but the Garmin made my time as a pilot so much easier that the thought of going blind was dreadful.
My fuel gauge danced, clicked to empty, then to full, in a bizarre jolt.
More of the gauges began to stutter, the entire panel seeming to develop terrets all at once, and my pulse began to race. Something was wrong, very wrong, and the sludge inside my bowels churned with sour fear.
“Come on, come on.” I flicked switches, turned dials, punched buttons, but nothing seemed to fix the spasming electronics. Every gauge failed, and without warning, I found myself plunged into inky darkness.
Outside, the sun surrendered to the pull of night, the sky darker than usual. A distant rumble of thunder reverberated above the roar of my helicopter’s engine, and I thought I glimpsed a streak of yellowish lightning on the far horizon to my left.
Calm down Chris. We’re still flying, so it must just be a blown fuse. Stay in control and find a place to set her down.
My sweaty palm slid on the cyclic stick, and both feet weighed heavy on the yaw pedals. The collective stuck to my other hand with a nervous vibration, and I squinted against the abyss outside.
Beep.
I jumped despite myself, as the little Garmin on my panel flared back to life, the static pulling aside to reveal a twitching display. Each time the screen glitched, it showed the colorful map detailing my flight path over the ground below, but I noticed that some of the lines changed, the names shifting, as if the device couldn’t decide between two different versions of the world.
One name jutted out at me, slate gray like most of the major county names, appearing with ghostly flickers from between two neighboring ones.
Barron County.
I stared, confused. I’d flown over this section of southeastern Ohio plenty of times, and I knew the counties by heart. At this point, I should have been over the southern end of Noble County, and maybe dipping lower into Washington. There was no Barron County in Ohio. I was sure of it.
And yet it shown back at me from the digital landscape, a strange, almost cigar-shaped chunk of terrain carved from the surrounding counties like a tumor, sometimes there, sometimes not, as my little Garmin struggled to find the correct map. Rain began to patter against my cockpit window, and the entire aircraft rattled from a strong gust of wind. Thick clouds closed over my field of vision like a sea of gray cotton.
The blood in my veins turned to ice, and I sucked in a nervous breath.
Land. I had to land. There was nothing else to do, my flight controls weren’t responding, and only my Garmin had managed to come back to life. Perhaps I’d been hit by lightning, and the electronics had been fried? Either way, it was too dark to tell, but a storm seemed to be brewing, and if I didn’t get my feet on the ground soon, I could be in real trouble.
“Better safe than sorry.” I pushed down on the collective to start my slow descent and clicked the talking button for my headset. “Any station, this is Douglass Three-One-Four-Foxtrot, over.”
Nothing.
“Any station, this is Douglass Three-One-Four-Foxtrot, requesting emergency assistance, over.”
Still nothing.
If the radio’s dead, I’m really up a creek.
With my hand shaking, I clicked on the mic one more time. “Any station, this is—”
Like a curtain pulling back, the fog cleared from around my window, and the words stuck in my throat.
Without my gauges, I couldn’t tell just how far I’d descended, but I was definitely very low. Thick trees poked up from the ground, and the hills rolled into high ridges with flat valley floors, fields and pastures pockmarking them. Rain fell all around in cold, silvery sheets, a normal feature for the mid spring in this part of Ohio.
What wasn’t normal, were the fires.
At first, I thought they were forest fires for the amount of smoke and flames that bellowed from each spot, but as I swooped lower, my eyes widened in horror.
They were houses.
Farms, cottages, little clusters that barely constituted villages, all of them belched orange flames and black pillars of sooty smoke. I couldn’t hear above the helicopter blades, but I could see the flashes on the ground, along the road, in between the trees, and even coming from the burning buildings, little jets of golden light that spat into the darkness with anger.
Gunfire. That’s rifle fire, a whole lot of it.
Tiny black figures darted through the shadows, barely discernable from where I sat, several hundred feet up. I couldn’t see much, but some were definitely running away, the streaks of yellow gunfire chasing them. A few dark gray vehicles rumbled down one of the gravel roads, and sprayed fire into the houses as it went. They were fighting, I realized, the people in the trucks and the locals. It was horrific, like something out of war-torn Afghanistan, but worse.
Then, I caught a glimpse of the others.
They didn’t move like the rest, who either fled from the dark vehicles, or fired back from behind cover. These skinny figures loped along with haphazard gaits, many running on all fours like animals, swarming from the trees by the dozens. They threw themselves into the gales of bullets without flinching, attacking anyone within range, and something about the way they moved, so fluid, so fearless, made my heart skip a beat.
What is that?
“Echo Four Actual to unknown caller, please respond, over.”
Choking back a cry of shock, I fumbled at the control panel with clumsy fingers, the man’s voice sharp and stern. I hadn’t realized that I’d let go of the talking button and clicked it down again. “Hello? Hello, this is Douglass Three-One-Four-Foxtrot out of Pittsburgh, over.”
An excruciating moment passed, and I continued to zoom over the trees, the fires falling away behind me as more silent forest took over.
“Roger that Douglass Three-One-Four-Foxtrot, we read you loud and clear. Please identify yourself and any passengers or cargo you might be carrying, over.”
Swallowing hard, I eyed the treetops, which looked much closer than they should have been. How far had I descended? “Echo Four Actual, my name is Christopher Dekker, and I am alone. I’m a charter flight from PA, carrying medical equipment for OSU in Columbus. My controls have been damaged, and I am unable to safely carry on due to the storm. Requesting permission to land, over.”
I watched the landscape slide by underneath me, once catching sight of what looked like a little white church surrounded by smaller huts, dozens of figures in the yard staring up at me as I flew over a nearby ridgeline.
“Solid copy on that Douglass Three-One-Four-Foxtrot. Be advised, your transponder shows you to be inside a restricted zone. Please cease all radio traffic, reduce your speed, climb to 3,000 feet and proceed north. We’ll talk you in from there. How copy, over?”
My heart jumped, and I let out a sigh of relief. “Roger that Echo Four Actual, my altimeter is down, but I’ll do my best to eyeball the altitude, over.”
With that, I pulled the collective upward, and tried my best to gauge how far I was by eyesight in the gathering night, rain still coming down all around me. This had to be some kind of disaster or riot, I decided. After all, the voice over the radio sounded like military, and those vehicles seemed to have heavy weapons. Maybe there was some kind of unrest going on here that I hadn’t heard about yet?
Kind of weird for it to happen in rural areas though. Spoiled college kids I get, but never saw farmers get so worked up before. They usually love the military.
Something moved in the corner of my eye, and I turned out of reflex.
My mouth fell open, and I froze, unable to scream.
In the sky beside me, a huge shadow glided along, and its leathery wings effortlessly carved through the gloom, flapping only on occasion to keep it aloft. It was too dark for me to see what color it was, but from the way it moved, I knew it wasn’t another helicopter. No, this thing was alive, easily the size of a small plane, and more than twice the length of my little McDonald Douglass. A long tail trailed behind it, and bore a distinct arrow-shaped snout, with twig-like spines fanned out around the back of its head. Whatever legs it had were drawn up under it like a bird, yet its skin appeared rough and knobby, almost resembling tree bark. Without pause, the gigantic bat-winged entity flew along beside me, as if my presence was on par with an annoying fly buzzing about its head.
Gripping the microphone switch so tight, I thought I’d crack the plastic, I whispered into my headset, forgetting all radio protocol. “T-There’s something up here.”
Static crackled.
“Douglas Three-One-Four-Foxtrot, say again your last, you’re coming in weak and unreadable, over.”
“There’s something up here.” I snarled into the headset, still glued to the controls of the helicopter, afraid to deviate even an inch from my course in case the monstrosity decided to turn on me. “A freaking huge thing, right beside me. I swear, it looks like a bat or . . . I don’t know.”
“Calm down.” The man on the other end of the radio broke his rigorous discipline as well, his voice deep, but level. “It won’t attack if you don’t move too fast. Slowly ease away from it and follow that course until you’re out of sight.”
I didn’t have time to think about how wrong that sounded, how the man’s strict tone had changed to one of knowledge, how he hadn’t been the least surprised by what I’d said. Instead, I slowly turned the helicopter away from the huge menace and edged the speed higher in tiny increments.
As soon as I was roughly two football fields away, I let myself relax, and clicked the mic switch. “It’s not following.”
“You’re sure?”
Eyeing the huge flapping wings, I nodded, then remembered he couldn’t see me. “Yeah, I’m well clear.”
“Good. Thank you, Mr. Dekker.”
Then, the radio went dead.
Something in my chest dropped, a weight that made my stomach roil. This wasn’t right, none of it. Who was that man? Why did he know about the thing I’d just seen? What was I supposed to—
A flash of light exploded from the trees to my right and shot into the air with a long finger of smoke.
What the . . .
On instinct, I jerked the cyclic stick to one side, and the helicopter swung to avoid the rocket.
Boom.
My world shook, metal screeched, and a dozen alarms began to go off inside the cockpit in a cacophony of beeps and sirens. Orange and red flames lit up the night sky just behind me, and the horizon started to spin wildly outside. Heat gushed from the cockpit door, and I smelled the greasy stench of burning oil. The safety belts dug into my shoulders, and with a final slip, the radio headset ripped free from my scalp.
I’m hit.
Desperate, I yanked on the controls, fought the bird even as she spun toward the ground in a wreath of flames, the inky black trees hurtling up to meet me. The helicopter went into full auto-rotation, the sky blurring past outside, and the alarms blared in a screech of doom. Panic slammed through my temples, I screamed at the top of my lungs, and for one brief second, my eyes locked on the little black Garmin still perched atop my control panel.
Its screen stopped twitching and settled on a map of the mysterious Barron County, with a little red arrow at the center of the screen, a few words popping up underneath it.
You are here.
Trees stabbed up into the sky, the belts crushed at my torso, glass shattered all around me, and the world went dark.
Copper, thick, warm, and tangy.
It filled my mouth, stank metallic in my nose, clogged my throat, choking me. In the murkiness, I fought for a surface, for a way out, blind and numb in the dark.
This way, kleineun.
My ouma’s voice echoed from somewhere in the shadows.
This way.
Both eyes flew open, and I gagged, spitting out a stream of red.
Pain throbbed in my ribs, and a heavy pressure sent a tingling numbness through my shoulders. Blood roared inside my temples, and stars danced before my eyes with a dizzying array. Humid night air kissed my skin, and something sticky coated my face, neck, and arms that hung straight up toward the ceiling.
Wait. Not up. Down.
I blinked at the wrinkled, torn ceiling of the cockpit, the glass all gone, the gray aluminum shredded like tissue paper. Just outside the broken windows, thick Appalachian bluegrass and stemmy underbrush swished in a feeble breeze, backlit by flashes of lightning from the thunderstorm overhead. Green and brown leaves covered everything in a wet carpet of triangles, and somewhere nearby, a cricket chirped.
Turning my head from side to side, I realized that I hung upside down inside the ruined helicopter, the top half burrowed into the mud. I could hear the hissing and crackling of flames, the pattering of rain falling on the hot aluminum, and the smaller brush fires around the downed aircraft sizzling out in the damp long grass. Charred steel and burning oil tainted the air, almost as strong as the metallic, coppery stench in my aching nose.
They shot me down. That military dude shot me out of the sky.
It didn’t make sense. I’d followed their orders, done everything they’d said, and yet the instant I veered safely away from whatever that thing in the sky had been, they’d fired, not at it, but at me.
Looking down (or rather, up) at my chest, I sucked in a gasp, which was harder to do that before.
The navy-blue shirt stuck to my torso with several big splotches of dark, rusty red. Most were clean slashes, but two held bits of glass sticking out of them, one alarmingly bigger than the other. They dripped cherry red blood onto my upturned face, and a wave of nausea hit me.
I gotta get down.
I flexed my arms to try and work some feeling back into them, praying nothing was broken. Half-numb from hanging so long, I palmed along my aching body until I felt the buckled for the seat belts.
“Okay.” I hissed between gritted teeth, in an effort to stave off my panic. “You can do this. Just hold on tight. Nice and tight. Here we go . . .”
Click.
Everything seemed to lurch, and I slid off the seat to plummet towards the muck-filled hole in the cockpit ceiling. My fingers were slick with blood and slipped over the smooth faux-leather pilot’s seat with ease. The shoulder belt snagged on the bits of glass that lay just under the left lowest rib, and a flare of white-hot pain ripped through me.
Wham.
I screamed, my right knee caught the edge of the aluminum ceiling, and both hands dove into a mound of leaf-covered glass shards on the opposite side of the hole. My head swam, being right-side-up again enough to make shadows gnaw at the corner of my eyes.
Forcing myself to breath slowly, I fought the urge to faint and slid back to sit on the smooth ceiling. I turned my hands over to see half a dozen bits of clear glass burrowed into my skin like greedy parasites, red blood weeping around the new cuts.
“Screw you.” I spat at the rubbish with angry tears in my eyes. “Screw you, screw you, screw you.”
The shards came out easy enough, and the cuts weren’t that deep, but that wasn’t what worried me. On my chest, the single piece of cockpit glass that remined was almost as big as my palm, and it really hurt. Just touching it felt like self-inflicted torture, but I knew it had to come out sooner or later.
Please don’t nick a vein.
Wiping my hands dry on my jeans, I gripped the shard with both hands, and jerked.
Fire roared over my ribs, and hot blood tickled my already grimy pale skin. I clapped a hand over the wound, pressing down hard, and grunted out a string of hateful expletives that my ouma would have slapped me for.
Lying on my back, I stared around me at the messy cargo compartment of the MD-902. Most of the medical supplies had been in cardboard boxes strapped down with heavy nylon tow-straps, but several cases had ruptured with the force of the impact, spraying bandages, syringes, and pill bottles all over the cluttered interior. Orange flames chewed at the crate furthest to the rear, the tail section long gone, but the foremost part of the hold was intact. Easily a million-dollar mess, it would have made me faint on any other trip, but today it was a godsend.
Half-blind in the darkness, I crawled along with only the firelight and lightning bolts to guide me, my right knee aching. Like a crippled raccoon, I collected things as I went, conscious of the two pallets of intact supplies weighing right over my head. I’d taken several different first-aid courses with some hunting buddies of mine, and the mental reflexes kicked in to help soothe my frazzled mind.
Check for bleeds, stop the worst, then move on.
Aside from my battered chest and stomach, the rest of me remained mostly unharmed. I had nasty bruises from the seatbelts, my right knee swelled, my nose slightly crooked and crusted in blood, but otherwise I was intact. Dowsing every scratch and cut with a bottle of isopropyl alcohol I found, I used butterfly closures on the smaller lacerations that peppered my skin. I wrapped soft white gauze over my abused palms and probed at the big cut where the last shard had been, only stopping when I was sure there were no pieces of glass wedged inside my flesh.
“Not too bad.” I grunted to myself, trying to sound impassive like a doctor might. “Rib must have stopped it. Gonna need stitches though. That’ll be fun.”
Pawing through the broken cases, I couldn’t find any suture chord, but just as I was about to give up, I noticed a small box that read ‘medical skin stapler’.
Bingo.
I tore the small white plastic stapler free from its packaging and eyeballed the device. I’d never done this before, only seen it in movies, and even though the cut in my skin hurt, I wondered if this wouldn’t be worse.
You’ve gotta do it. That bleeding needs to stop. Besides, no one’s coming to rescue you, not with those rocket-launching psychos out there.
Taking a deep breath, I pinched the skin around the gash together, and pressed the mouth of the stapler to it.
Click.
A sharp sting, like that of a needle bit at the skin, but it didn’t hurt nearly as bad as the cut itself. I worked my way across the two-inch laceration and gave out a sigh of relief when it was done.
“Not going to bleed to death today.” I daubed ointment around the staples before winding more bandages over the wound.
Popping a few low-grade painkillers that tumbled from the cargo, I crawled wriggled through the nearest shattered window into the wet grass.
Raindrops kissed my face, clean and cool on my sweaty skin. Despite the thick cloud cover, there was enough constant lightning strikes within the storm to let me get glimpses of the world around me. My helicopter lay on its back, the blades snapped like pencils, with bits and pieces of it burning in chunks all around the small break in the trees. Chest-high scrub brush grew all around the low-lying ground, with pockets of standing water in places. My ears still rang from the impact of the crash, but I could start to pick up more crickets, frogs, and even some nocturnal birds singing into the darkness, like they didn’t notice the huge the hulk of flaming metal that had fallen from the sky. Overhead, the thunder rumbled onward, the feeble wind whistling, and there were other flashes on the horizon, orange and red ones, with crackles that didn’t sound quite like lightning.
The guns. They’re still fighting.
Instinctively, I pulled out my cellphone, and tapped the screen.
It fluttered to life, but no matter how I tried, I couldn’t get through to anyone, not even with the emergency function designed to work around having no service. The complicated wonder of our modern world was little better than a glorified paperweight.
Stunned, I sat down with my back to the helicopter and rested my head against the aluminum skin of the craft. How I’d gone from a regular medical supply run to being marooned in this hellish parody of rural America, I didn’t know, but one thig was certain; I needed a plan. Whoever fired the missile could have already contacted my charter company and made up some excuse to keep them from coming to look for me. No one else knew I was here, and even though I now had six staples holding the worst of my injuries shut, I knew I needed proper medical attention. If I wanted to live, I’d have to rescue myself.
My bag. I need to get my go-bag, grab some gear and then . . . head somewhere else.
It took me a while to gather my green canvas paratrooper bag from its place behind the pilot’s seat and fill it with whatever supplies I could scrounge. My knee didn’t seem to be broken, but man did it hurt, and I dreaded the thought of walking on it for miles on end. I focused instead on inventorying my gear and trying to come up with a halfway intelligent plan of action.
I had a stainless-steel canteen with one of those detachable cups on the bottom, a little fishing kit, some duct tape, a lighter, a black LED flashlight with three spare batteries, a few tattered road maps with a compass, a spare pair of socks, medical supplies from the cargo, and a simple forest green plastic rain poncho. I also managed to unearth a functioning digital camcorder my ouma had gotten me for Christmas a few years back, though I wasn’t sure I wanted to do any filming in such a miserable state. Lastly, since it was a private supply run from a warehouse area near Pittsburgh to a direct hospital pad in Ohio, I’d been able to bring my K-Bar, a sturdy, and brutally simple knife designed for the Marine Corps that I used every time I went camping. It was pitiful in comparison to the rifle I wished I had with me, but that didn’t matter now. I had what I had, and I doubted my trusty Armalite would have alleviated my sore knee anyway.
Clicking on my flashlight, I huddled with the poncho around my shoulders inside the wreck of the chopper and peered at the dusty roadmaps. A small part of me hoped that a solution would jump out from the faded paper, but none came. These were all maps of western PA and eastern Ohio. None of them had a Barron County on them anywhere.
The man on the radio said to head north, right before they shot me down. That means they must be camped out to the north of here. South had that convoy and those burning houses, so that’s a no-go. Maybe I can backtrack eastward the way I came.
As if on cue, a soft pop echoed from over the eastern horizon, and I craned to look out the helicopter window, spotting more man-made flashes over the tree tops.
“Great.” I hissed between clenched teeth, aware of how the temperature dipped to a chilly 60 degrees, and how despite the conditions, my stomach had begun to growl. “Not going that way, are we? Westward it is.”
Walking away from my poor 902 proved to be harder than I’d anticipated. Despite the glass, the fizzling fires, and the darkness, it still held a familiar, human essence to it. Sitting inside it made me feel secure, safe, even calm about the situation. In any other circumstance, I would have just stayed with the downed aircraft to wait for help, but I knew the men who shot me down would likely find my crash site, and I didn’t want to be around when they did.
Unlike much of central and western Ohio, southeastern Ohio is hilly, brushy, and clogged with thick forests. Thorns snagged at my thin poncho and sliced at my pant legs. My knee throbbed, every step a form of self-inflicted torture. The rain never stopped, a steady drizzle from above just cold enough to be problematic as time went on, making me shiver. Mud slid under my tennis shoes, and every tree looked ten times bigger in the flickering beam of my cheap flashlight. Icy fear prickled at the back of my neck at some of the sounds that greeted me through the gloom. I’d been camping loads of times, both in Pennsylvania and elsewhere, but these noises were something otherworldly to me.
Strange howls, screeches, and calls permeated the rain-soaked sky, some almost roars, while others bordered on human in their intonation. The more I walked, the softer the distant gunfire became, and the more prevalent the odd sounds, until the shadows seemed to fill with them. I didn’t dare turn off my flashlight, or I’d been completely blind in the dark, but a little voice in the back of my head screamed that I was too visible, crunching through the gloomy forest with my long beam of light stabbing into the abyss. It felt as though a million eyes were on me, studying me, hunting me from the surrounding brush, and I bitterly recalled how much I’d loved the old Survivor Man TV series as a kid.
Not so fun being out in the woods at night. Especially alone.
A twig snapped somewhere behind me, and I whirled on the spot, one trembling hand resting on the hilt of my K-Bar.
Nothing. Nothing but trees, bushes, and rain dripping down in the darkness.
“This is stupid.” I whispered to myself to keep my nerves in check as I slowly spun on the spot. “I should have went eastward anyway. God knows how long I’m going to have to—”
Creak.
A groan of metal-on-metal echoed from somewhere to my right, and I spun to face it, yanking the knife on my belt free from its scabbard. It felt so small and useless in my hand, and I choked down a wave of nauseas fear.
Ka-whump. Creak. K-whump. Creak.
Underbrush cracked and crunched, a few smaller saplings thrashed, and from deep within the gloom, two yellow orbs flared to life. They poked through the mist in the trees, forming into slender fingers of golden light that swept back and forth in the dark.
The soldiers . . . they must be looking for me.
I swallowed hard and turned to slink away.
Ice jammed through my blood, and I froze on the spot, biting my tongue to stop the scream.
It stood not yards away, a huge form that towered a good twelve feet tall in the swirling shadows. Unpolished chrome blended with flash-rusted spots in the faded red paint, and grime-smeared glass shone with dull hues in the flashes of lightning. Where the wheels should have been, the rounded steel axels curved like some enormous hand had bent them, and the tires lay face-down on the muddy ground like big round feet, their hubcaps buried in the dirt. Dents, scrapes, and chips covered the battered thing, and its crooked little radio antenna pointed straight up from the old metal fender like a mast. I could barely make out the mud-coated VW on the rounded hood, and my mind reeled in shock.
Is . . . is that a car?
Both yellow headlights bathed me in a circle of bright, blinding light, and neither I nor the strange vehicle moved.
Seconds ticked by, the screech-thumping in the background only growing closer. I realized that I couldn’t hear any engine noises and had yet to see any soldiers or guns pointed my way. This car looked old, really old, like one of those classic Volkswagen Beetles that collectors fought over at auctions. Try as I might, I couldn’t see a driver inside the murky, mold-smeared windows.
Because there wasn’t one.
Lightning arched across the sky overhead, and the car standing in front of me blinked.
Its headlights slid shut, as if little metal shades had crawled over the bulbs for a moment and flicked open again. Something about that movement was so primal, so real, so lifelike, that every ounce of self-control I had melted in an instant.
Cursing under my breath, I lunged into the shrubs, and the world erupted around me.
Under my shoes, the ground shook, and the car surged after me in a cacophony of ka-thumps that made my already racing heart skip several beats. A weather-beaten brown tow truck from the 50’s charged through the thorns to my left, it’s headlights ablaze, and a dilapidated yellow school bus rose from its hiding place in the weeds to stand tall on four down-turned axel-legs. They all flicked their headlights on like giants waking from their slumber, and as I dodged past them, they each blared their horn into the night in alarm.
My breaths came short and tight, my knee burned, and I crashed through thorns and briars without thought to how badly I was getting cut up.
The cheap poncho tore, and I ripped it away as it caught on a tree branch.
A purple 70’s Mustang shook off its blanket of creeping vines and bounded from a stand of trees just ahead, forcing me to swerve to avoid being run over, my adrenaline at all-time highs.
This can’t be happening, this can’t be happening, this can’t be happening.
Slipping and sliding, I pushed through a stand of multiflora rose, and stumbled out into a flat, dark expanse.
I almost skidded to a stop.
What had once been a rather large field stood no taller than my shoestrings, the grass charred, and burnt. The storm above illuminated huge pieces of wreckage that lay scattered over the nearly 40-acre plot, and I could just make out the fire-blackened hulk of a fuselage resting a hundred yards away. The plane had been brought down a while ago it seemed, as there weren’t any flames left burning, and I threw myself toward it in frenzied desperation.
Burned grass and greasy brown topsoil slushed underfoot, and I could hear the squelching of the cars pursing me. Rain soaked me to the bone, and my lungs ached from sucking down the damp night air. A painful stich crept into my side, and I cursed myself for not putting in more time for cardio at the gym.
Something caught my left shoelace, and I hurtled to the ground, tasting mud and blood in between my teeth.
They’ve got me now.
I clawed at the mud, rolled, and watched a tire slam down mere inches from where my head had been. The Mustang loomed over me and jostled for position with the red Volkswagen and brown tow truck, the school bus still a few yards behind them. They couldn’t seem to decide who would get the pleasure of stomping me to death, and like a herd of stampeding wildebeest, they locked bumpers in an epic shoving match.
On all fours, I scampered out from under the sparring brutes, and dashed for the crumpled airplane, a white-painted DC-3 that looked like it had been cut in half by a gargantuan knife blade. I passed a snapped wing section, the oily remains of a turbo-prop engine, and a mutilated wheel from the landing gear. Climbing over a heap of mud, I squeezed into the back of the ruined flight cabin and dropped down into the dark cargo hold.
Wham.
No sooner had my sneakers hit the cold metal floor, and the entire plane rocked from the impact of something heavy ramming it just outside. I tumbled to my knees, screaming in pain as, once again, I managed to bash the sore one off a bracket in the wall.
My hand smeared in something gooey, and I scrabbled for my flashlight.
It clicked on, a wavering ball of white light in the pitch darkness, and I fought the urge to gag. “Oh man . . .”
Three people, or what was left of them, lay strewn over the narrow cargo area. Claret red blood coated the walls, caked on the floor, and clotted under my mud-spattered shoes. Bits of flesh and viscera were stuck to everything, and tatters of cloth hung from exposed sections of broken bone. An eerie set of bloody handprints adorned the walls, and the only reason I could tell it had been three people were the shoes; all of them bore anklebones sticking out above blood-soaked socks. It smelled sickly sweet, a strange, nauseas odor that crept into my nose and settled on the back of my tongue like an alien parasite.
Something glinted in the beam of my flashlight, and my pulse quickened as I pried the object loose from the severed arm that still clung to it.
“Hail Mary full of Grace.” I would have grinned if it weren’t for the fact that the plane continued to buck and roll under the assault from the cars outside.
The pistol looked old, but well-maintained, aside from the light coating of dark blood that stained its round wooden handle. It felt heavy, but good in my hand, and I turned it over to read the words, Waffenfabrik Mauser stenciled into the frame, with a large red 9 carved into the grip. For some reason, it vaguely reminded me of the blasters from Star Wars.
I fumbled with a little switch that looked like a safety on the back of the gun and stumbled toward a gap in the plane’s dented fuselage to aim out at the surrounding headlights.
Bang.
The old gun bucked reliably in my hand, its long barrel spitting a little jet of flame into the night. I had no idea if I hit anything, but the attacking cars recoiled, their horns blaring in confusion.
They turned, and scuttled for the tree line as fast as their mechanical legs could go, the entire ordeal over as fast as it had begun.
Did I do that?
Perplexed, I stared down at the pistol in my hand.
Whoosh.
A large, inky black shadow glided down from the clouds, and the yellow school bus moved too slow to react in time.
With a crash, the kicking nightmarish vehicle was thrown onto its side, spraying glass and chrome trim across the muddy field. Its electro-synth horn blared with wails of mechanical agony, as two huge talon-like feet clamped down on it, and the enormous head of the flying creature lowered to rip open its engine compartment.
The horn cut out, and the enormous flying entity jerked its head back to gulp down a mass of what looked like sticky black vines from the interior of the shattered bus.
At this range, I could see now that the flying creature bore two legs and had its wings half-tucked like a vulture that had descended to feed on roadkill. Its head turned slightly, and in the glow of another lightning bolt, my jaw went slack at the realization of what it was.
A tree trunk. It’s a rotted tree trunk.
I couldn’t tell where the reptilian beast began, and where the organic tree components ended, the upper part of the head shaped like a log, while the lower jaw resembled something out of a dinosaur movie. Its skin looked identical to the outside of a shagbark hickory but flexed with a supple featheriness that denoted something closer to skin. Sharp branch-like spines ranged down its back, and out to the end of its tail, which bore a massive round club shaped like a diseased tree-knot. Crouched on both hind legs, it braced the hooked ends of its folded wings against the ground like a bat, towering higher than a semi-truck. Under the folds of its armored head, a bulging pair of chameleon-like eyes constantly spun in their sockets, probing the dark for threats while it ate.
One black pupil locked onto the window I peered through, and my heart stopped.
The beast regarded me for a moment, making a curious, sideways sniff.
With a proud, contemptful head-toss, the shadow from the sky parted rows of razor-sharp teeth to let out a roar that shook the earth beneath my feet. It was the triumphant war cry of a creature that sat at the very top of the food chain, one that felt no threat from the fragile two-legged beings that walked the earth all around it. It hunted whenever it wanted, ate whatever it wanted, and flew wherever it wanted. It didn’t need to rip the plane apart to devour me.
Like my hunter-gatherer ancestors from thousands of years ago, I wasn’t even worth the energy it would take to pounce.
I’m hiding in the remains of the cockpit now, which is half-buried under the mud of the field, enough to shield the light from my screen so that thing doesn’t see it. My service only now came back, and it’s been over an hour since the winged beast started in on the dead bus. I don’t know when, or how I’m going to get out of here. I don’t know when anyone will even see this post, or if it will upload at all. My phone battery is almost dead, and at this point, I’m probably going to have to sleep among the corpses until daylight comes.
A dead man sleeping amongst friends.
If you live in the Noble County area in southeastern Ohio, be careful where you drive, fly, and boat. I don’t know if it’s possible to stumble into this strange place by ground, but if so, then these things are definitely headed your way.
If that happens . . . pray that they don’t find you.

Part 3
Day 14
Chloe walked into what had once been the beautiful home of the Garrisons. The room she walked into was the main hall. It was large and square-shaped with a room on both sides and a hall on the other side of the door. In the middle of the room, a large antler chandelier lay in a destroyed twisted mess on the hardwood floor. She looked over at the walls and saw a few small circular holes. Bullet holes. She thought, taking a step closer to get a better look. Herman followed her wagging his tail like nothing was wrong with this situation. She looked down toward the floor and spotted large claw marks on the hardwood floor. Some looked like hound claw marks (she became acquainted enough with the marks to recognize them) but others were much larger. Far too large to be from one of the hounds.
After scanning the room for another minute she decided she’d go into the left room first. The left room was a small lounge that seemed unassuming at first glance until she noticed the couch that had been thrown against the wall and the dried blood stains on the walls and carpet. It was human blood and was mostly frozen.
She walked across the main hall and into the room on the right. This room was unassuming with very little apart from bookshelves and a small desk. It also seemed relatively undisturbed with little to no damage.
She walked down the hall into the main part of the house. This main section had an open-air kitchen/dining room and a large living room. It looked horrible, it was clear a massacre had happened here. Blood was everywhere on the floors, the walls, and even the ceiling in certain spots. Most of the blood was a dark red with occasional splatters of yellow-greenish blood. She saw bits of muscle and tissue in the blood, and all around that was wreckage. Their large 100-inch flat-screen TV lay crushed on the floor. The leather couch was flipped over and ripped in countless places. The fan lay on the floor looking like it had a sledgehammer taken to it. The kitchen was worse though… slumped against the wall was a mostly eaten body. It was essentially just a skeleton with small bits of meat and tendon still clinging on. Despite being absolutely terrified something made her want to get a closer look. She noticed most of the bones were broken if not shattered, and it wasn’t until that point she realized everything below the rib cage was missing. She yelped and looked away. The rest of the kitchen was destroyed with the drawers and cupboards broken, and one section of cupboards laying on the ground with shattered glass all around it. Lastly, the dining room. Another antler chandelier lay destroyed on the ground and the table was leaned over like it had been used as firing cover.
She walked over to the dining table only to realize another destroyed body lay behind it. This one looked like it had been thrown around by the look of its breaks. This one only had half a skull with the frontal and parietal bones absent. She looked and saw this was wearing dog tags. She let out a small sob when she saw that. She knew who it had to be. It had to be Timothy Garrison. She and Timothy were the same age and had dated through most of high school. After they graduated they had a mutual break up and she met Joey in college, but she and Timothy remained good friends. He had come to their wedding and he was the one who taught her how to shoot a rifle, and he had been the only person in his family to serve in the military.
Herman slowly walked up to the body and started sniffing it.
“Get away from him!” She screamed at the dog.
She started to sob when her brain seemed to kick back into gear. Pull yourself together and cry later, She told herself. She stood up, wiped the tears off her face, and kept going. She went back over to the kitchen and yanked their fridge open. It was stocked to the brim with meats, fruits, vegetables, and bottles. She restrained her excitement at the sight but still grabbed as much as she could. She filled a duffel bag full of only a portion of the goodies in their fridge then moved on. CREAK! The loud sound interrupted her walk over to the pantry. It came from the wooden ceiling just above her, and whatever it was that caused it sounded large. She froze and listened for more sounds, but after a while of nothing she moved on hoping beyond all hope that it was just a house noise.
She and Herman crept over to the pantry and with a quick pull she opened it. The pantry was large and also stocked with food. Most of it was crap that would expire or had already expired, but what excited her was the large sack of potatoes sitting by the door. She grabbed the sack and set it on top of the duffle bag by the fridge.
CREAK! This one was louder than the last and sent a chill down her spine. She wasn’t sure whether or not she wanted to run out of the house or go upstairs and investigate. Her head was telling her she should leave but the other part of her so wanted to know what was making that sound. Finally, she made a decision. She’d search the bottom floor then she would go upstairs to check out the noise. CREAK! This one was the quietest so far, coming from below her. The basement, she thought, looking down at the floor.
She crept down a hall on the first floor with Herman right behind her. She was following a trail of blood like it was a trail of breadcrumbs. It was a deep crimson red and there was a lot of it. Whoever was bleeding definitely wasn’t alive anymore, she thought. She slowly followed the trail up to a white door which was now half covered in blood. Shakily she reached for the blood-covered knob and pulled the door open. It was the basement staircase but she looked at the way the blood had puddled and it told a story. They had hurried halfway down the stairs before something knocked them down to the bottom. There they are killed and then dragged into another section of the basement. She slowly walked down the stairs watching each step carefully until finally, her boot made contact with the linoleum floor.
Meanwhile…
I sat messing with and poking at the satellite phone trying to see why it wouldn’t send a call through. I’d looked through the manual and popped it open to see if anything had broken, but it was perfectly fine. I angrily smacked the phone against the coach, but still, nothing happened. At last, I set the phone down in defeat hoping Chloe was ok.
I turned from the couch to the window and saw Gretchen and Mom still busy with the shoveling. For the amount of snow on the driveway they’d made good work. Almost half of the driveway was clear of snow and covered in salt.
I watched on for a while before I heard a little beep. I looked over and saw the little screen of the satellite phone was showing an empty battery. I smacked my palm into my forehead annoyed by my stupidity.
“Hey Alby, can you get me some batteries?” I asked, looking over at him.
He nodded and disappeared into the kitchen a minute or two later he came back out holding the box of batteries.
“Thank you!” I said taking the box and quickly popping two new batteries in.
The basement was dark, very dark. Chloe could hardly see a thing, but she had thought of this scenario and pulled a flashlight from one of her pockets. Ca-Click! The thin beam of the flashlight kicked on. She was expecting to see the light illuminate the wall on the other side of the room or maybe a piece of furniture. But it illuminated a wall of webs. She saw through the webs at least a dozen cocoons far more than just the Garrison family. But even worse she saw dozens and dozens of stingers. They’d made the basement into a nest.
Bzzz…
The satellite phone continued to buzz and an uproar began to grow around her. Herman let out a growl and looked ready to pounce. Chloe in a hurry grabbed Herman’s collar and started running upstairs with him. The basement became full of the sound of screeches and she heard something big started moving down there. She sprinted as quickly as she could, making it to the top of the stairs and turning around to see at least a dozen stingers following her. Rat-a-tatatatatat!! She shot a barrage of bullets down at the stingers hitting most of them. Then something big appeared at the bottom of the stairs. Two things actually. Two hounds. She yelped and then slammed the door shut. She looked around quickly for something to barricade the door. Her eyes met a small dresser in a bedroom near the door. She pulled it out and shoved it against the door. CRACK! It came from the other side of the door and was quickly followed by a loud slam. She grabbed the still-growling Herman and started pulling him along with her. After a minute he started walking by her side and she let him go.
Suddenly she remembered the walkie and pressed the button.
“Joey… Joey, I'm here!” She yelled half excited and half still terrified.
I let out a sigh of relief; “Did you check out the Garrisons already?” He asked.
“Sort of… I’m still over there,” She explained.
She thought about telling me what she’d encountered but didn’t want to overly worry me. Plus recounting that day's events would just make things worse for her, not better.
“Ok, just be safe. I love you,” I told her.
“Love you too,” She said.
Bzzz…
She sat in the kitchen near her bags thinking for a minute. Since the crash, she hadn’t heard a thing from the basement door which made her start to suspect that the stairs had collapsed. Her curiosity had gotten desperate and she now felt like she had to check what was upstairs. She would never forgive herself if someone was still alive up there and died because she didn’t go and help them.
She slowly crept upstairs, her rifle trained and Herman at her side. The Garrison's house was set on a hill in such a way that the second floor was larger than the first. The second floor was made up of four halls that made a square with rooms within and outside of that square. The spiral stairs entered a corner of the square. Chloe reached the top stair and looked down the halls. Both were wrecked like upstairs but down one of the adjoining halls a body lay on the floor, or what was left of a body. She slowly walked over and saw this was by far the worst body she’d seen so far.
This one looked like it had been eaten similarly to Carl. The sternum and ribs were shattered and the spine was broken, but this one was worse. The bones were covered in bites and scratches, but worst of all the splatters around the body were immense; the person had likely struggled while they were being eaten alive. Chloe shivered at the thought and could only hope that they didn’t suffer long.
She stepped away from the body and got a better look around her. Apart from the body and the blood around it, there wasn’t much sign of death up there, but it still looked awful. Just like downstairs, the walls were covered in gashes and holes, and Chloe was becoming very surprised that they didn’t hear any of these gunshots.
CREAK! She looked down the hall where it had come from. For a brief second, she saw something at the end of the dark hall then it disappeared. It was only then that she noticed how dark it was up there, because of the houses set up there were no windows in the hall and the power had been out for days. She pulled out her flashlight Ca-Click! The narrow beam popped on and barely illuminated the end of the hall, but as she had thought whatever was there was gone now. She started to go about the search process methodically slowly going down the hall checking a room on the inside of the hall and then on the outside. The first room she poked her head into was a girl’s bedroom. It was decorated with a wallpaper of pink flowers and a small bed with pink covers. It was the stereotype of a little girl’s room. She noticed the covers were disheveled and a few things were knocked over. It looked like something had happened in the room but she wasn’t sure what.
She stepped out of the room and moved on to the next and the next. They were both similar with a similar disheveled nature. She started to realize whatever had happened it had woken them all up. She tried to push the last door in the hall open but it wouldn’t budge.
She continued up to the corner where she’d seen the thing. Multiple things then happened at once. She saw something massive lurking in the hall she began to turn down, she heard a creak behind her, Herman barked, and screeches began coming from downstairs sounding like the things had finally escaped the basement. Before she could stop Herman he started making a charge for the thing growling and barking. Chloe made a move after him but a gloved hand grabbed her and then covered her mouth. She watched Herman lung towards the thing then SLAM! It whacked Herman mid-air sending the dog flying back down the hall. He landed with a crash right next to her, a large bloody slash across his body. SCROAR! The sound came from the massive beast and nearly shattered her eardrums, and for one brief second, she raised the flashlight from Herman to the creature. She didn’t see much but that was enough.
She saw its face. It had four disturbing brown eyes, they were eyes she recognized. Those eyes… Those were the eyes of Mrs. Garrison. She gasped in horror through the gloved hand and she heard the person holding her let out a slight sob. The rest of its face wasn’t any better. Its top of head and forehead were all one bony plate. Its mouth was a black hole of teeth, and like the hounds, its lower jaw split into two mandibles. The back of its head had strange thin attachments that reminded her of the gills on an axolotl's head. Then in an instant, a few more things happened. The person holding her made a move for a door, the monster made a move for them, and the slamming footsteps of the hounds as they sprinted up the spiral staircase.
“Get in,” The person said, letting go of her and opening the door.
She turned around and saw the person who’d grabbed her and saw Fred Garrison standing next to the open door.
“NOW!” He yelled, grabbing her and pulling her into the room.
Fred hurried inside after her and quickly slid a fridge against the door. Seconds later angry screeches and slams rang out from the other side. They sounded like the hounds, not the big ones. Then she caught one other sound in the chaos, a wine. Oh gosh, Herman is still alive, She thought.
Fred stood by the door shotgun in hand while the slamming and screeching continued. She stood there and listened as they continuously tried to get in. Suddenly she heard Herman let out a growl, seconds later one of the hounds shrieked like they were in pain. CRUNCH! The sounds of Herman’s attack stopped and were replaced with sounds of meat ripping.
Chloe let out a small sob with her only comfort being that the crunch was likely Herman’s neck breaking.
Fred stepped away from the door and looked at her. He did not look like the man she remembered him as. His hair and beard looked like large rose bushes that were never cut. His blue eyes looked depressed like there was nothing there but sadness. Then she noticed a large bandage on his left arm. It looked like the whole arm had gotten cut open at some point.
Then her eyes wandered around the room. It was a small shop/man cave room. There were a few guns on the table, but more importantly, she noticed lit candles everywhere.
“I… I… I’m sorry,” He said with tears in his eyes.
She let down a quiet sob and Fred walked over helping her find a seat on the couch. After a minute of crying with Fred awkwardly trying to comfort her, she pulled herself together and looked up at the man.
“What happened?” She asked.
The man's face changed and she saw tears build up in his eyes; “A massacre,” He said grimly.
Then he followed with his story: “It happened around the fifth day I think. It was late and Jess and I were watching TV in the living room. Tim, Tom, Bart, and Gerry were chatting at the dinner table. Tom's wife and my four daughters were upstairs in bed. Everything was quiet and peaceful when suddenly my two dogs started barking outside. Now I know sometimes they’ll bark at dogs but this wasn’t that type of barking. This was get the heck away from me or I’ll kill you type barking. Then I started hearing weird screeching noises and at that point, I went over to the backdoor to check out the problem. I saw a bunch of massive spiders outside trying to attack my dogs, except they weren’t really spiders. Some of them had stingers and others kinda looked like slugs with spider legs. They’d stung one of my dogs a bunch and she was lying on the ground, the other was trying to stand her ground but it was a losing battle. I pulled at my revolver and started shooting at them. They were really fast. I think only one or two shots actually hit them. They started running over to me. One ran right in between my legs and a few of them tried to attack me. I shot those ones and turned around to try and stop the one that had gotten in, but it was already running havoc in the kitchen. My sons were chasing it, but they weren’t having the best of luck. Suddenly there was a crash, more spiders jumped through the now shattered windows, and something was banging on the front door. In an instant, the door was knocked off its hinges and one of those creeper things came through the door…”
Chloe interrupted him with: “I’m sorry but what are “those creeper things?””
“The… the big ones. The type that got your dog.” He explained.
“Anyways… it came running into the house, and before any of us could stop it. It threw Tom across the kitchen and into the wall. I came running to help him but that’s when it slashed my arm and threw me into the TV. The TV fell on top of me and then one of those spiders ran over and stung me in the thigh. I lay there with my eyes beginning to grow heavy. I saw Gerry, Tim, and Bart using the table as the shield. All three were hunched behind the table as the creeper began eating Tom. In a quick move, all three made a run for it. As they were running the creeper pounced and threw Tim into the table. Then it slashed Bart across the chest. Gerry managed to maneuver the creature and hurried over to help me. Bart ran down the hall to the basement and me and Gerry started hurrying upstairs. At some point, I blacked out and woke up here. Everyone was gone.” He finished with a somber look on his face.
“Oh gosh, I’m sorry.” She said looking at him.
“And somehow they turned my beloved Jess into one of those.” He said motioning to outside where the Creeper had been.
She stopped to listen and realized that she couldn’t hear the hounds anymore.
“Are they gone?” She asked, looking over at Fred.
“Probably, they eat fast for their size,” Fred said grimly.
They sat there again awkwardly before Chloe asked, “What are all the candles for anyway?”
“Well I started lighting them for warmth, but I realized those things don’t seem to like them. Especially the scented ones.” He explained.
She took a whiff of the air and realized how strong the scents were in the room. It almost gave her a headache smelling them.
“So why were you here anyway?” He asked.
She got a little nervous. She felt like a little kid in trouble with her parents. She didn’t want to tell the truth because she worried it would anger him.
“We were running out of supplies.” She said simply.
Her thoughts turned back towards me as she sat there.
I sat on the couch still watching them work. They were about two-thirds done now, but they were starting to really tire and it was getting late. It had started to darken and I knew soon night would fall, and I just hoped she would make it home before nightfall. I’d tried to call her again, but this time it would ring but not go through. I started to wonder if hers had run out of battery. Bang! I immediately turned to the window in a panic. I saw Gretchen standing holding the rifle a few feet away straight down the barrel as a dead stinger. I let out a sigh of relief and turned back toward the phone in my lap. I hope you’re an ok babe.
“Fred, we have a plan. Come with me, don’t stay here, you'll die,” Chloe pleaded.
“Maybe I want to die.” He said, “Look I’m not stopping you from leaving but I’m not going.”
“Well if I go alone I’ll die, please my family needs me,” She said desperately.
Memories of his family flooded through Fred’s mind. He remembered how he felt when his first kids, Tom and Tim, were born. She hadn’t even had a kid, and suddenly he found himself doing something he didn’t think he’d be doing.
“Fine, let's go send those things back to hell!” He yelled pushing the fridge out of the way.
“Follow my lead,” He ordered turning around to her.
Then he cocked his shotgun and slammed the door open. As he had suspected the hounds and creeper were both gone, but lying on the floor next to the door were two bodies. One was the sprawled-out body of a now-deceased hound. Its neck was broken in multiple places and its yellow-greenish blood was everywhere around it. The other body was ripped off most of its flesh, but she knew who it had belonged to. Herman wasn’t going to sit there and bleed out so he must’ve lunged for one of the hounds nailing it in the perfect spot on the neck killing it. Then the other hound quickly retaliated by feasting on the dying Herman, or maybe it was the creeper she wasn’t sure which one actually ate him. But what she did know was that the skeletal remains of Herman on top of the hound had its teeth in the hound's neck.
Chloe let out a small sob and in barely a whisper said: “You were such a good boy, but you can rest now.”
She reached down and picked up a ripped piece of leather near the bodies. It was what remained of Herman’s collar. She stuff the piece into her pocket and looked over at Fred. Fred had tears in his eyes as he saw the corpse of Gerry just down the hall.
“H… He was only 15,” Fred cried as he got a better look at the scene.
Chloe stood there unsure of what to do or say because Fred looked like he was about to have a meltdown. Then his sad face turned to one of anger. She moved the flashlight past the body and down to the corner and the staircase. Lurking next to the staircase its brown eyes glowing in the light was the creeper. It was guarding the stairs and most likely wasn’t going to let them leave for as long as it lived. Her curiosity was getting the better of her so she turned a dial on the flashlight to make it brighter. She wished she could go back and stop herself. Stop herself so she didn’t have to see the horror that was the creeper. Her first interpretation of the face was fairly accurate except for one part. Inside its gaping maw behind the mandibles almost looked like a separate set of jaws. The second set was much more human-like and looked ready to shred any meat to bits, but its head was nothing compared to the body it sat upon. It appeared to have six limbs, two very long front arms with two large claws at the end, and two more arms that attached to roughly where pectoral muscles would normally be. These arms were much shorter than the previous set. It had two back legs that appeared to be quadruple-jointed. It had the normal heel and knee joints, but it had one additional joint in the foot. Despite this the legs looked vaguely dogfish, but not nearly as those of the hounds. Coming out where the tail should be was a large thorax with two nasty stingers on the end. The thorax was curved like that of a wasp ready to strike when necessary. It almost looked like it had a shell of exoskeleton on its back and thorax, and spouting out of the thicker plates were large needle-like spikes.
It let out a demonic shriek as soon as the light brightened. It ducked out of sight and started making a loud clicking noise. Chloe and Fred kept their guns trained on where it had disappeared ready for it to come out charging, but unfortunately, they underestimated it. It made a loud ticking sound followed by CREAK! Before Chloe could even turn the hound that had crept from behind had her pinned to the ground and was bitting and slashing at her back. BANG!!!! BANG!!!! Fred had lowered his shotgun to its head. The first blast blew out two of its eyes and shattered part of its exoskeleton, and the second blast dug through the broken exoskeleton into the brain. The hound collapsed dead and with his gun pointed at where the creeper had been Fred helped push the body off of her.
Chloe got up a little shaken but relatively ok. She started guarding back while he guarded the front as they slowly made their way towards the stairs. Any second they were expecting the creeper to appear from around the corner, but it didn’t. The creeper was planning something again but they didn’t know what. Just as they made it to the stairs they turned down the other hall, but saw nothing. The creeper had likely walked into one of the rooms and was waiting, but they weren’t there to explore. They hurried down the spiral staircase, but just as they got to the bottom they saw the place was still swarming with stingers, slugs, and 3 hounds. A loud ticking sound came from upstairs and the three hounds charged towards them. They started running back upstairs only to see the creeper now lurking at the top of them. Cornered in the middle of the stairs back to back with each other they began to accept their fate.
I started to really worry about where Chloe was I hadn’t heard from her in a while and it was getting late. I sat there trying to call her every few minutes but it would not pick up. BANG! I dropped the phone and turned to the window. Gretchen stood there with the rifle pointed at something off in the snow, but I couldn’t see what the thing was. BANG! I saw for a brief millisecond the bullet flying into the blizzard then nothing. BANG! I tried to pull myself up to see what it was, but searing pain went through my body when I tried. I looked out again and saw something massive emerge from the blizzard charging for Gretchen.
“I’m sorry we should’ve stayed up there,” Chloe cried as the hounds slowly stepped closer.
“Kid, I would rather die here than die in the room a coward, but you ain’t going to die here!” He said triumphantly.
Suddenly he pulled out a small can of spray deodorant and sprayed it in the hound's faces. All three toppled over making loud hacking coughing noises.
“GO!” He yelled and she quickly made her way past the hounds and downstairs.
There were still dozens of stingers down there and she still wasn’t sure what to do. Before she could do anything. RAT-A-TATATATA! All around her, the stingers began exploding as Fred landed shot after shot.
“A little help would be nice!” He yelled.
She quickly pulled out her semi-automatic and started firing as well. RAT-A-TATATATA! The hall began to fill with the exploded bodies of stingers and slugs. Suddenly she heard shuffling behind her and saw the hounds getting up. Without a second thought, she sprinted down the hall and into the kitchen. Standing in the living room was another group of stingers and a hound. How many hounds are there? She thought, then she remembered how many people in their town had two or three hunting dogs. If all of them were changed they’d be a small army.
She ducked behind the island sitting uncomfortably close to Tom’s body. Fred sprinted in a second later and saw what she did. He jumped to the ground and shimmied over to her.
“Crap kid we really are screwed,” Fred said his momentary confidence completely diminished.
Before anyone could do anything the monster that had emerged from the blizzard was attacking Gretchen. In one quick motion, it slashed open her gut and she dropped the gun. I stared outside as my mom tried desperately to fire, but even from this distance, I could see she’d loaded the gun wrong. In an instant, she was on the ground bleeding. I looked over at the shotgun sitting next to me and fired a round through the window at the beast. The window shattered and I saw the creature get hit right solid in the chest, but it didn’t matter much. Like the dog beasts, this one had a thick darkly colored exoskeleton that the round didn’t pierce. The beast looked up from what it was doing and started charging for the house. I fired again but it didn’t even slow the creature it just kept on charging straight towards the house. The boys at some point had caught onto what was going on and started crying and screaming. I tried to get them to quiet down, but they were too distraught. I grabbed the box and loaded two more rounds just as the door was thrown out of its hinges. SCROAR! It charged into the house. BANG! I shot it directly in that face and saw one of its eyes explode. SCROAR!!!! It swung a large two-clawed hand straight across my face throwing me across the room. I landed against a wall and in my weak state I leaned over and felt myself begin to fall. Unfortunately, it had thrown me right next to the basement stairs. Every time I hit a stair only hurt more than the last. At some point, my bandaged left hand slammed into a wooden stair. The pain was so bad I almost passed out. Finally, with one lass unceremonious thud, I landed on the basement floor.
Chloe looked around her hope beginning to fade then her eyes locked with the pantry. The large pantry with a window.
“Follow me,” She whispered as she started crawling for the pantry.
Fred followed close behind. Chloe crawled into the pantry and ducked into it. She peeked out of the doorway and saw that Fred had froze. The four hounds had gathered right behind him. He looked horrified and clearly unsure of what to do. Suddenly with a loud creak, the creeper's head poked into the kitchen and it let out a loud ticking sound. The hounds started screeching and one began to slowly walk towards Fred. RAT-A-TATATATA! She struck the approaching one 9 times in the face and the sudden burst seemed to wake Fred from his fear. RAT-A-TATATATA! Yellow-greenish blood exploded from the approaching hound's mouth and it slammed its head into the wall in pain. Fred turned around and sprinted into the pantry with Chloe closing the door as soon as he was inside.
Instantly sounds of slamming and scratching erupted from the door. Chloe turned to the window in the pantry and slid it open diving out into the snow. Fred quickly followed slamming the window behind him to give them more time.
Chloe sprinted through the snowy evening as quickly as she could Fred trying his best to keep up with her. The man wasn’t exactly in his prime and combine that with him not having snow shoes to be frank Chloe was surprised he was able to stay caught up at all.
As she sprinted down the darkening street getting closer and closer to home she thought she heard a faint Bang! Followed quickly by SCROAR!!!! Her worries suddenly switched from her and Fred to her family. She hadn’t called them in hours and now there was clearly something going on. She sprinted ever faster looking up and realizing she’d already made it onto their street.
As soon as their house was in view she saw the shoveled driveway, but she also saw my mom laying in a pool of her own blood. Along with that, she saw Gretchen weakly trying to get up also bloody. Chloe ran over to Gretchen.
“Gretchen, what happened?” Chloe asked as she helped Gretchen stand.
“Something… something big.” Gretchen sputtered out.
Gretchen had a lost far away look on her face. She almost seemed drunk but Chloe knew that wasn’t the case. Gretchen was likely in shock. SCREAM! Chloe immediately recognized it as one of the boys. She gently sat Gretchen down and then pulled out the rifle. Fred had finally caught up and quickly but carefully Fred and Chloe made their way into the house guns drawn.
They hurried inside and saw the creeper looming over a now-still Alby. Without a second thought, Chloe raised her rifle RAT-A-TATATA! She shot the thing a few times in the back knowing that it probably wouldn’t do any real damage. It turned around and looked at the two of them standing there. The scene was eerie as the still-burning fireplace cast a strange glow on the creeper. Everything seemed to go still for a second the two of them staring at the creeper and the creeper staring right back at them. All three of them trying to make a decision but are not sure what to do. SCROAR! It dives forward slicing at the welding helmet Chloe was wearing and then pinning her to the ground with its four legs. BANG!! His shotgun blast hardly seemed to phase the thing as started digging its claws into Chloe. She let out a scream that I heard loud and clear from the basement.
I’d managed to pull myself halfway up the stairs with my good arm and leg but my energy was running out and I was feeling lightheaded. I had to save her I had to protect her. BANG! I heard another gunshot followed by an unfamiliar scream. I didn’t know at the time that Fred was putting everything he had into trying to protect my wife.
Chloe gunless and pinned down was beginning to accept her fate when she remembered what she’d done last time. She reached for her knife and stabbed one of its feet. SCROAR!! It backed up off of her clearly in pain. Quickly she pulled the sniper rifle off her back and Bang! The bullet went clean through one of the thing's legs. She’d quite literally found the creeper's Achilles heel. It half fell to the ground letting out another roar of pain and agony. Both its front legs were crippled and it lay there defeated. Fred stepped forward ready to put a shotgun blast to the temple when suddenly. The thing reared up onto its two back legs throwing Fred into the wall. It had to hunch a little as the ceiling wasn’t very high but it still was tall. Chloe figured that on two legs without a hunch it was probably 10 feet tall. SCROAR!! Bang! It lunged towards her and she used her first shot to shoot its arm. The bullet embedded into the exoskeleton but didn’t seem to hurt it. The creature stopped for a moment as if to think. Bang! She shot the creature in the belly. The exoskeleton cracked. Bang! The second shot sunk into its stomach and the creature's blood began to leak out. SCROAR! It bashed one of its arms into her. She felt her left shoulder get cut open and the helmet went flying off.
BANG!! BANG! Two shotgun blasts rang out at the exact same time. The first blast was Fred's. It hit the creeper directly in the back of the head causing it to stumble forward. The second was my blast hitting it directly in the face. The two shots managed to hit at the exact perfect times. The creeper collapsed to the ground critically wounded.
Fred ran over to Chloe who was in a daze on the ground.
“Are you alright kid?” He asked helping her up.
“I’ll live,” She said weakly.
The creeper let out a growl from where it lay on the floor. I pointed the shotgun from where I was on the stairs and fired one final blast into its head.
“Chloe who is that?” I asked cautiously.
“Fred,” She said sounding weak.
I crawled the rest of the way up and saw Alby laying near the fireplace motionless. I froze as I felt tears begin to well up in my eyes. Then I looked closer and saw besides a cut on his arm he wasn’t hurt, and better yet it looked like he was breathing.
“Alby!” I yelled trying my best to over to him with my broken body.
He lifted his head and turned it to look at me.
“Is the monster gone?” He asked.
“Yes it’s gone,” I said trying to sound comforting.
“Ba… Babe,” Chloe stammered, now leaning down over me.
Her eyes were locked with mine but she had a horrified expression on her face. I didn’t care and gave her a long tight hug.
“You’re not leaving me again,” I told her.
Finally, I pulled away and looked at her and for a second it was just the two of us and nothing else mattered.
Fred hurried into the house helping Gretchen walk.
“Everyone downstairs now!” He ordered and we all hurried down.
“Alby where’s your brothers?” I asked him as he followed us downstairs.
“They're down here.” He said pointing down the staircase.
“Fred, what’s happening?” Chloe asked the panic-stricken man as we all stepped into the basement.
“More, more of them are coming.” He said a look of fear on his face.
“Well then let's get ready for a fight!” Chloe said, cocking the shotgun she’d taken from me.

Part 3
Day 14

Chloe walked into what had once been the beautiful home of the Garrisons. The room she walked into was the main hall. It was large and square-shaped with a room on both sides and a hall on the other side of the door. In the middle of the room, a large antler chandelier lay in a destroyed twisted mess on the hardwood floor. She looked over at the walls and saw a few small circular holes. Bullet holes. She thought, taking a step closer to get a better look. Herman followed her wagging his tail like nothing was wrong with this situation. She looked down toward the floor and spotted large claw marks on the hardwood floor. Some looked like hound claw marks (she became acquainted enough with the marks to recognize them) but others were much larger. Far too large to be from one of the hounds. After scanning the room for another minute she decided she’d go into the left room first. The left room was a small lounge that seemed unassuming at first glance until she noticed the couch that had been thrown against the wall and the dried blood stains on the walls and carpet. It was human blood and was mostly frozen. She walked across the main hall and into the room on the right. This room was unassuming with very little apart from bookshelves and a small desk. It also seemed relatively undisturbed with little to no damage. She walked down the hall into the main part of the house. This main section had an open-air kitchen/dining room and a large living room. It looked horrible, it was clear a massacre had happened here. Blood was everywhere on the floors, the walls, and even the ceiling in certain spots. Most of the blood was a dark red with occasional splatters of yellow-greenish blood. She saw bits of muscle and tissue in the blood, and all around that was wreckage. Their large 100-inch flat-screen TV lay crushed on the floor. The leather couch was flipped over and ripped in countless places. The fan lay on the floor looking like it had a sledgehammer taken to it. The kitchen was worse though… slumped against the wall was a mostly eaten body. It was essentially just a skeleton with small bits of meat and tendon still clinging on. Despite being absolutely terrified something made her want to get a closer look. She noticed most of the bones were broken if not shattered, and it wasn’t until that point she realized everything below the rib cage was missing. She yelped and looked away. The rest of the kitchen was destroyed with the drawers and cupboards broken, and one section of cupboards laying on the ground with shattered glass all around it. Lastly, the dining room. Another antler chandelier lay destroyed on the ground and the table was leaned over like it had been used as firing cover. She walked over to the dining table only to realize another destroyed body lay behind it. This one looked like it had been thrown around by the look of its breaks. This one only had half a skull with the frontal and parietal bones absent. She looked and saw this was wearing dog tags. She let out a small sob when she saw that. She knew who it had to be. It had to be Timothy Garrison. She and Timothy were the same age and had dated through most of high school. After they graduated they had a mutual break up and she met Joey in college, but she and Timothy remained good friends. He had come to their wedding and he was the one who taught her how to shoot a rifle, and he had been the only person in his family to serve in the military. Herman slowly walked up to the body and started sniffing it. “Get away from him!” She screamed at the dog. She started to sob when her brain seemed to kick back into gear. Pull yourself together and cry later, She told herself. She stood up, wiped the tears off her face, and kept going. She went back over to the kitchen and yanked their fridge open. It was stocked to the brim with meats, fruits, vegetables, and bottles. She restrained her excitement at the sight but still grabbed as much as she could. She filled a duffel bag full of only a portion of the goodies in their fridge then moved on. CREAK! The loud sound interrupted her walk over to the pantry. It came from the wooden ceiling just above her, and whatever it was that caused it sounded large. She froze and listened for more sounds, but after a while of nothing she moved on hoping beyond all hope that it was just a house noise. She and Herman crept over to the pantry and with a quick pull she opened it. The pantry was large and also stocked with food. Most of it was crap that would expire or had already expired, but what excited her was the large sack of potatoes sitting by the door. She grabbed the sack and set it on top of the duffle bag by the fridge. CREAK! This one was louder than the last and sent a chill down her spine. She wasn’t sure whether or not she wanted to run out of the house or go upstairs and investigate. Her head was telling her she should leave but the other part of her so wanted to know what was making that sound. Finally, she made a decision. She’d search the bottom floor then she would go upstairs to check out the noise. CREAK! This one was the quietest so far, coming from below her. The basement, she thought, looking down at the floor. She crept down a hall on the first floor with Herman right behind her. She was following a trail of blood like it was a trail of breadcrumbs. It was a deep crimson red and there was a lot of it. Whoever was bleeding definitely wasn’t alive anymore, she thought. She slowly followed the trail up to a white door which was now half covered in blood. Shakily she reached for the blood-covered knob and pulled the door open. It was the basement staircase but she looked at the way the blood had puddled and it told a story. They had hurried halfway down the stairs before something knocked them down to the bottom. There they are killed and then dragged into another section of the basement. She slowly walked down the stairs watching each step carefully until finally, her boot made contact with the linoleum floor. Meanwhile… I sat messing with and poking at the satellite phone trying to see why it wouldn’t send a call through. I’d looked through the manual and popped it open to see if anything had broken, but it was perfectly fine. I angrily smacked the phone against the coach, but still, nothing happened. At last, I set the phone down in defeat hoping Chloe was ok. I turned from the couch to the window and saw Gretchen and Mom still busy with the shoveling. For the amount of snow on the driveway they’d made good work. Almost half of the driveway was clear of snow and covered in salt. I watched on for a while before I heard a little beep. I looked over and saw the little screen of the satellite phone was showing an empty battery. I smacked my palm into my forehead annoyed by my stupidity. “Hey Alby, can you get me some batteries?” I asked, looking over at him. He nodded and disappeared into the kitchen a minute or two later he came back out holding the box of batteries. “Thank you!” I said taking the box and quickly popping two new batteries in. The basement was dark, very dark. Chloe could hardly see a thing, but she had thought of this scenario and pulled a flashlight from one of her pockets. Ca-Click! The thin beam of the flashlight kicked on. She was expecting to see the light illuminate the wall on the other side of the room or maybe a piece of furniture. But it illuminated a wall of webs. She saw through the webs at least a dozen cocoons far more than just the Garrison family. But even worse she saw dozens and dozens of stingers. They’d made the basement into a nest. Bzzz… The satellite phone continued to buzz and an uproar began to grow around her. Herman let out a growl and looked ready to pounce. Chloe in a hurry grabbed Herman’s collar and started running upstairs with him. The basement became full of the sound of screeches and she heard something big started moving down there. She sprinted as quickly as she could, making it to the top of the stairs and turning around to see at least a dozen stingers following her. Rat-a-tatatatatat!! She shot a barrage of bullets down at the stingers hitting most of them. Then something big appeared at the bottom of the stairs. Two things actually. Two hounds. She yelped and then slammed the door shut. She looked around quickly for something to barricade the door. Her eyes met a small dresser in a bedroom near the door. She pulled it out and shoved it against the door. CRACK! It came from the other side of the door and was quickly followed by a loud slam. She grabbed the still-growling Herman and started pulling him along with her. After a minute he started walking by her side and she let him go. Suddenly she remembered the walkie and pressed the button. “Joey… Joey, I'm here!” She yelled half excited and half still terrified. I let out a sigh of relief; “Did you check out the Garrisons already?” He asked. “Sort of… I’m still over there,” She explained. She thought about telling me what she’d encountered but didn’t want to overly worry me. Plus recounting that day's events would just make things worse for her, not better. “Ok, just be safe. I love you,” I told her. “Love you too,” She said. Bzzz… She sat in the kitchen near her bags thinking for a minute. Since the crash, she hadn’t heard a thing from the basement door which made her start to suspect that the stairs had collapsed. Her curiosity had gotten desperate and she now felt like she had to check what was upstairs. She would never forgive herself if someone was still alive up there and died because she didn’t go and help them. She slowly crept upstairs, her rifle trained and Herman at her side. The Garrison's house was set on a hill in such a way that the second floor was larger than the first. The second floor was made up of four halls that made a square with rooms within and outside of that square. The spiral stairs entered a corner of the square. Chloe reached the top stair and looked down the halls. Both were wrecked like upstairs but down one of the adjoining halls a body lay on the floor, or what was left of a body. She slowly walked over and saw this was by far the worst body she’d seen so far. This one looked like it had been eaten similarly to Carl. The sternum and ribs were shattered and the spine was broken, but this one was worse. The bones were covered in bites and scratches, but worst of all the splatters around the body were immense; the person had likely struggled while they were being eaten alive. Chloe shivered at the thought and could only hope that they didn’t suffer long. She stepped away from the body and got a better look around her. Apart from the body and the blood around it, there wasn’t much sign of death up there, but it still looked awful. Just like downstairs, the walls were covered in gashes and holes, and Chloe was becoming very surprised that they didn’t hear any of these gunshots. CREAK! She looked down the hall where it had come from. For a brief second, she saw something at the end of the dark hall then it disappeared. It was only then that she noticed how dark it was up there, because of the houses set up there were no windows in the hall and the power had been out for days. She pulled out her flashlight Ca-Click! The narrow beam popped on and barely illuminated the end of the hall, but as she had thought whatever was there was gone now. She started to go about the search process methodically slowly going down the hall checking a room on the inside of the hall and then on the outside. The first room she poked her head into was a girl’s bedroom. It was decorated with a wallpaper of pink flowers and a small bed with pink covers. It was the stereotype of a little girl’s room. She noticed the covers were disheveled and a few things were knocked over. It looked like something had happened in the room but she wasn’t sure what. She stepped out of the room and moved on to the next and the next. They were both similar with a similar disheveled nature. She started to realize whatever had happened it had woken them all up. She tried to push the last door in the hall open but it wouldn’t budge. She continued up to the corner where she’d seen the thing. Multiple things then happened at once. She saw something massive lurking in the hall she began to turn down, she heard a creak behind her, Herman barked, and screeches began coming from downstairs sounding like the things had finally escaped the basement. Before she could stop Herman he started making a charge for the thing growling and barking. Chloe made a move after him but a gloved hand grabbed her and then covered her mouth. She watched Herman lung towards the thing then SLAM! It whacked Herman mid-air sending the dog flying back down the hall. He landed with a crash right next to her, a large bloody slash across his body. SCROAR! The sound came from the massive beast and nearly shattered her eardrums, and for one brief second, she raised the flashlight from Herman to the creature. She didn’t see much but that was enough. She saw its face. It had four disturbing brown eyes, they were eyes she recognized. Those eyes… Those were the eyes of Mrs. Garrison. She gasped in horror through the gloved hand and she heard the person holding her let out a slight sob. The rest of its face wasn’t any better. Its top of head and forehead were all one bony plate. Its mouth was a black hole of teeth, and like the hounds, its lower jaw split into two mandibles. The back of its head had strange thin attachments that reminded her of the gills on an axolotl's head. Then in an instant, a few more things happened. The person holding her made a move for a door, the monster made a move for them, and the slamming footsteps of the hounds as they sprinted up the spiral staircase. “Get in,” The person said, letting go of her and opening the door. She turned around and saw the person who’d grabbed her and saw Fred Garrison standing next to the open door. “NOW!” He yelled, grabbing her and pulling her into the room. Fred hurried inside after her and quickly slid a fridge against the door. Seconds later angry screeches and slams rang out from the other side. They sounded like the hounds, not the big ones. Then she caught one other sound in the chaos, a wine. Oh gosh, Herman is still alive, She thought. Fred stood by the door shotgun in hand while the slamming and screeching continued. She stood there and listened as they continuously tried to get in. Suddenly she heard Herman let out a growl, seconds later one of the hounds shrieked like they were in pain. CRUNCH! The sounds of Herman’s attack stopped and were replaced with sounds of meat ripping. Chloe let out a small sob with her only comfort being that the crunch was likely Herman’s neck breaking. Fred stepped away from the door and looked at her. He did not look like the man she remembered him as. His hair and beard looked like large rose bushes that were never cut. His blue eyes looked depressed like there was nothing there but sadness. Then she noticed a large bandage on his left arm. It looked like the whole arm had gotten cut open at some point. Then her eyes wandered around the room. It was a small shop/man cave room. There were a few guns on the table, but more importantly, she noticed lit candles everywhere. “I… I… I’m sorry,” He said with tears in his eyes. She let down a quiet sob and Fred walked over helping her find a seat on the couch. After a minute of crying with Fred awkwardly trying to comfort her, she pulled herself together and looked up at the man. “What happened?” She asked. The man's face changed and she saw tears build up in his eyes; “A massacre,” He said grimly. Then he followed with his story: “It happened around the fifth day I think. It was late and Jess and I were watching TV in the living room. Tim, Tom, Bart, and Gerry were chatting at the dinner table. Tom's wife and my four daughters were upstairs in bed. Everything was quiet and peaceful when suddenly my two dogs started barking outside. Now I know sometimes they’ll bark at dogs but this wasn’t that type of barking. This was get the heck away from me or I’ll kill you type barking. Then I started hearing weird screeching noises and at that point, I went over to the backdoor to check out the problem. I saw a bunch of massive spiders outside trying to attack my dogs, except they weren’t really spiders. Some of them had stingers and others kinda looked like slugs with spider legs. They’d stung one of my dogs a bunch and she was lying on the ground, the other was trying to stand her ground but it was a losing battle. I pulled at my revolver and started shooting at them. They were really fast. I think only one or two shots actually hit them. They started running over to me. One ran right in between my legs and a few of them tried to attack me. I shot those ones and turned around to try and stop the one that had gotten in, but it was already running havoc in the kitchen. My sons were chasing it, but they weren’t having the best of luck. Suddenly there was a crash, more spiders jumped through the now shattered windows, and something was banging on the front door. In an instant, the door was knocked off its hinges and one of those creeper things came through the door…” Chloe interrupted him with: “I’m sorry but what are “those creeper things?”” “The… the big ones. The type that got your dog.” He explained. “Anyways… it came running into the house, and before any of us could stop it. It threw Tom across the kitchen and into the wall. I came running to help him but that’s when it slashed my arm and threw me into the TV. The TV fell on top of me and then one of those spiders ran over and stung me in the thigh. I lay there with my eyes beginning to grow heavy. I saw Gerry, Tim, and Bart using the table as the shield. All three were hunched behind the table as the creeper began eating Tom. In a quick move, all three made a run for it. As they were running the creeper pounced and threw Tim into the table. Then it slashed Bart across the chest. Gerry managed to maneuver the creature and hurried over to help me. Bart ran down the hall to the basement and me and Gerry started hurrying upstairs. At some point, I blacked out and woke up here. Everyone was gone.” He finished with a somber look on his face. “Oh gosh, I’m sorry.” She said looking at him. “And somehow they turned my beloved Jess into one of those.” He said motioning to outside where the Creeper had been. 

She stopped to listen and realized that she couldn’t hear the hounds anymore.
“Are they gone?” She asked, looking over at Fred.
“Probably, they eat fast for their size,” Fred said grimly.
They sat there again awkwardly before Chloe asked, “What are all the candles for anyway?”
“Well I started lighting them for warmth, but I realized those things don’t seem to like them. Especially the scented ones.” He explained.
She took a whiff of the air and realized how strong the scents were in the room. It almost gave her a headache smelling them.
“So why were you here anyway?” He asked.
She got a little nervous. She felt like a little kid in trouble with her parents. She didn’t want to tell the truth because she worried it would anger him.
“We were running out of supplies.” She said simply.
Her thoughts turned back towards me as she sat there.
I sat on the couch still watching them work. They were about two-thirds done now, but they were starting to really tire and it was getting late. It had started to darken and I knew soon night would fall, and I just hoped she would make it home before nightfall. I’d tried to call her again, but this time it would ring but not go through. I started to wonder if hers had run out of battery. Bang! I immediately turned to the window in a panic. I saw Gretchen standing holding the rifle a few feet away straight down the barrel as a dead stinger. I let out a sigh of relief and turned back toward the phone in my lap. I hope you’re an ok babe.
“Fred, we have a plan. Come with me, don’t stay here, you'll die,” Chloe pleaded.
“Maybe I want to die.” He said, “Look I’m not stopping you from leaving but I’m not going.”
“Well if I go alone I’ll die, please my family needs me,” She said desperately.
Memories of his family flooded through Fred’s mind. He remembered how he felt when his first kids, Tom and Tim, were born. She hadn’t even had a kid, and suddenly he found himself doing something he didn’t think he’d be doing.
“Fine, let's go send those things back to hell!” He yelled pushing the fridge out of the way.
“Follow my lead,” He ordered turning around to her.
Then he cocked his shotgun and slammed the door open. As he had suspected the hounds and creeper were both gone, but lying on the floor next to the door were two bodies. One was the sprawled-out body of a now-deceased hound. Its neck was broken in multiple places and its yellow-greenish blood was everywhere around it. The other body was ripped off most of its flesh, but she knew who it had belonged to. Herman wasn’t going to sit there and bleed out so he must’ve lunged for one of the hounds nailing it in the perfect spot on the neck killing it. Then the other hound quickly retaliated by feasting on the dying Herman, or maybe it was the creeper she wasn’t sure which one actually ate him. But what she did know was that the skeletal remains of Herman on top of the hound had its teeth in the hound's neck.
Chloe let out a small sob and in barely a whisper said: “You were such a good boy, but you can rest now.”
She reached down and picked up a ripped piece of leather near the bodies. It was what remained of Herman’s collar. She stuff the piece into her pocket and looked over at Fred. Fred had tears in his eyes as he saw the corpse of Gerry just down the hall.
“H… He was only 15,” Fred cried as he got a better look at the scene.
Chloe stood there unsure of what to do or say because Fred looked like he was about to have a meltdown. Then his sad face turned to one of anger. She moved the flashlight past the body and down to the corner and the staircase. Lurking next to the staircase its brown eyes glowing in the light was the creeper. It was guarding the stairs and most likely wasn’t going to let them leave for as long as it lived. Her curiosity was getting the better of her so she turned a dial on the flashlight to make it brighter. She wished she could go back and stop herself. Stop herself so she didn’t have to see the horror that was the creeper. Her first interpretation of the face was fairly accurate except for one part. Inside its gaping maw behind the mandibles almost looked like a separate set of jaws. The second set was much more human-like and looked ready to shred any meat to bits, but its head was nothing compared to the body it sat upon. It appeared to have six limbs, two very long front arms with two large claws at the end, and two more arms that attached to roughly where pectoral muscles would normally be. These arms were much shorter than the previous set. It had two back legs that appeared to be quadruple-jointed. It had the normal heel and knee joints, but it had one additional joint in the foot. Despite this the legs looked vaguely dogfish, but not nearly as those of the hounds. Coming out where the tail should be was a large thorax with two nasty stingers on the end. The thorax was curved like that of a wasp ready to strike when necessary. It almost looked like it had a shell of exoskeleton on its back and thorax, and spouting out of the thicker plates were large needle-like spikes.
It let out a demonic shriek as soon as the light brightened. It ducked out of sight and started making a loud clicking noise. Chloe and Fred kept their guns trained on where it had disappeared ready for it to come out charging, but unfortunately, they underestimated it. It made a loud ticking sound followed by CREAK! Before Chloe could even turn the hound that had crept from behind had her pinned to the ground and was bitting and slashing at her back. BANG!!!! BANG!!!! Fred had lowered his shotgun to its head. The first blast blew out two of its eyes and shattered part of its exoskeleton, and the second blast dug through the broken exoskeleton into the brain. The hound collapsed dead and with his gun pointed at where the creeper had been Fred helped push the body off of her.
Chloe got up a little shaken but relatively ok. She started guarding back while he guarded the front as they slowly made their way towards the stairs. Any second they were expecting the creeper to appear from around the corner, but it didn’t. The creeper was planning something again but they didn’t know what. Just as they made it to the stairs they turned down the other hall, but saw nothing. The creeper had likely walked into one of the rooms and was waiting, but they weren’t there to explore. They hurried down the spiral staircase, but just as they got to the bottom they saw the place was still swarming with stingers, slugs, and 3 hounds. A loud ticking sound came from upstairs and the three hounds charged towards them. They started running back upstairs only to see the creeper now lurking at the top of them. Cornered in the middle of the stairs back to back with each other they began to accept their fate.
I started to really worry about where Chloe was I hadn’t heard from her in a while and it was getting late. I sat there trying to call her every few minutes but it would not pick up. BANG! I dropped the phone and turned to the window. Gretchen stood there with the rifle pointed at something off in the snow, but I couldn’t see what the thing was. BANG! I saw for a brief millisecond the bullet flying into the blizzard then nothing. BANG! I tried to pull myself up to see what it was, but searing pain went through my body when I tried. I looked out again and saw something massive emerge from the blizzard charging for Gretchen.
“I’m sorry we should’ve stayed up there,” Chloe cried as the hounds slowly stepped closer.
“Kid, I would rather die here than die in the room a coward, but you ain’t going to die here!” He said triumphantly.

Suddenly he pulled out a small can of spray deodorant and sprayed it in the hound's faces. All three toppled over making loud hacking coughing noises. “GO!” He yelled and she quickly made her way past the hounds and downstairs. There were still dozens of stingers down there and she still wasn’t sure what to do. Before she could do anything. RAT-A-TATATATA! All around her, the stingers began exploding as Fred landed shot after shot. “A little help would be nice!” He yelled. She quickly pulled out her semi-automatic and started firing as well. RAT-A-TATATATA! The hall began to fill with the exploded bodies of stingers and slugs. Suddenly she heard shuffling behind her and saw the hounds getting up. Without a second thought, she sprinted down the hall and into the kitchen. Standing in the living room was another group of stingers and a hound. How many hounds are there? She thought, then she remembered how many people in their town had two or three hunting dogs. If all of them were changed they’d be a small army. She ducked behind the island sitting uncomfortably close to Tom’s body. Fred sprinted in a second later and saw what she did. He jumped to the ground and shimmied over to her. “Crap kid we really are screwed,” Fred said his momentary confidence completely diminished. Before anyone could do anything the monster that had emerged from the blizzard was attacking Gretchen. In one quick motion, it slashed open her gut and she dropped the gun. I stared outside as my mom tried desperately to fire, but even from this distance, I could see she’d loaded the gun wrong. In an instant, she was on the ground bleeding. I looked over at the shotgun sitting next to me and fired a round through the window at the beast. The window shattered and I saw the creature get hit right solid in the chest, but it didn’t matter much. Like the dog beasts, this one had a thick darkly colored exoskeleton that the round didn’t pierce. The beast looked up from what it was doing and started charging for the house. I fired again but it didn’t even slow the creature it just kept on charging straight towards the house. The boys at some point had caught onto what was going on and started crying and screaming. I tried to get them to quiet down, but they were too distraught. I grabbed the box and loaded two more rounds just as the door was thrown out of its hinges. SCROAR! It charged into the house. BANG! I shot it directly in that face and saw one of its eyes explode. SCROAR!!!! It swung a large two-clawed hand straight across my face throwing me across the room. I landed against a wall and in my weak state I leaned over and felt myself begin to fall. Unfortunately, it had thrown me right next to the basement stairs. Every time I hit a stair only hurt more than the last. At some point, my bandaged left hand slammed into a wooden stair. The pain was so bad I almost passed out. Finally, with one lass unceremonious thud, I landed on the basement floor. 

Chloe looked around her hope beginning to fade then her eyes locked with the pantry. The large pantry with a window.

“Follow me,” She whispered as she started crawling for the pantry. Fred followed close behind. Chloe crawled into the pantry and ducked into it. She peeked out of the doorway and saw that Fred had froze. The four hounds had gathered right behind him. He looked horrified and clearly unsure of what to do. Suddenly with a loud creak, the creeper's head poked into the kitchen and it let out a loud ticking sound. The hounds started screeching and one began to slowly walk towards Fred. RAT-A-TATATATA! She struck the approaching one 9 times in the face and the sudden burst seemed to wake Fred from his fear. RAT-A-TATATATA! Yellow-greenish blood exploded from the approaching hound's mouth and it slammed its head into the wall in pain. Fred turned around and sprinted into the pantry with Chloe closing the door as soon as he was inside. Instantly sounds of slamming and scratching erupted from the door. Chloe turned to the window in the pantry and slid it open diving out into the snow. Fred quickly followed slamming the window behind him to give them more time. Chloe sprinted through the snowy evening as quickly as she could Fred trying his best to keep up with her. The man wasn’t exactly in his prime and combine that with him not having snow shoes to be frank Chloe was surprised he was able to stay caught up at all. As she sprinted down the darkening street getting closer and closer to home she thought she heard a faint Bang! Followed quickly by SCROAR!!!! Her worries suddenly switched from her and Fred to her family. She hadn’t called them in hours and now there was clearly something going on. She sprinted ever faster looking up and realizing she’d already made it onto their street. As soon as their house was in view she saw the shoveled driveway, but she also saw my mom laying in a pool of her own blood. Along with that, she saw Gretchen weakly trying to get up also bloody. Chloe ran over to Gretchen. “Gretchen, what happened?” Chloe asked as she helped Gretchen stand. “Something… something big.” Gretchen sputtered out. Gretchen had a lost far away look on her face. She almost seemed drunk but Chloe knew that wasn’t the case. Gretchen was likely in shock. SCREAM! Chloe immediately recognized it as one of the boys. She gently sat Gretchen down and then pulled out the rifle. Fred had finally caught up and quickly but carefully Fred and Chloe made their way into the house guns drawn. They hurried inside and saw the creeper looming over a now-still Alby. Without a second thought, Chloe raised her rifle RAT-A-TATATA! She shot the thing a few times in the back knowing that it probably wouldn’t do any real damage. It turned around and looked at the two of them standing there. The scene was eerie as the still-burning fireplace cast a strange glow on the creeper. Everything seemed to go still for a second the two of them staring at the creeper and the creeper staring right back at them. All three of them trying to make a decision but are not sure what to do. SCROAR! It dives forward slicing at the welding helmet Chloe was wearing and then pinning her to the ground with its four legs. BANG!! His shotgun blast hardly seemed to phase the thing as started digging its claws into Chloe. She let out a scream that I heard loud and clear from the basement. 

I’d managed to pull myself halfway up the stairs with my good arm and leg but my energy was running out and I was feeling lightheaded. I had to save her I had to protect her. BANG! I heard another gunshot followed by an unfamiliar scream. I didn’t know at the time that Fred was putting everything he had into trying to protect my wife.
Chloe gunless and pinned down was beginning to accept her fate when she remembered what she’d done last time. She reached for her knife and stabbed one of its feet. SCROAR!! It backed up off of her clearly in pain. Quickly she pulled the sniper rifle off her back and Bang! The bullet went clean through one of the thing's legs. She’d quite literally found the creeper's Achilles heel. It half fell to the ground letting out another roar of pain and agony. Both its front legs were crippled and it lay there defeated. Fred stepped forward ready to put a shotgun blast to the temple when suddenly. The thing reared up onto its two back legs throwing Fred into the wall. It had to hunch a little as the ceiling wasn’t very high but it still was tall. Chloe figured that on two legs without a hunch it was probably 10 feet tall. SCROAR!! Bang! It lunged towards her and she used her first shot to shoot its arm. The bullet embedded into the exoskeleton but didn’t seem to hurt it. The creature stopped for a moment as if to think. Bang! She shot the creature in the belly. The exoskeleton cracked. Bang! The second shot sunk into its stomach and the creature's blood began to leak out. SCROAR! It bashed one of its arms into her. She felt her left shoulder get cut open and the helmet went flying off.
BANG!! BANG! Two shotgun blasts rang out at the exact same time. The first blast was Fred's. It hit the creeper directly in the back of the head causing it to stumble forward. The second was my blast hitting it directly in the face. The two shots managed to hit at the exact perfect times. The creeper collapsed to the ground critically wounded.

Fred ran over to Chloe who was in a daze on the ground. “Are you alright kid?” He asked helping her up. “I’ll live,” She said weakly. The creeper let out a growl from where it lay on the floor. I pointed the shotgun from where I was on the stairs and fired one final blast into its head. “Chloe who is that?” I asked cautiously. “Fred,” She said sounding weak. I crawled the rest of the way up and saw Alby laying near the fireplace motionless. I froze as I felt tears begin to well up in my eyes. Then I looked closer and saw besides a cut on his arm he wasn’t hurt, and better yet it looked like he was breathing. “Alby!” I yelled trying my best to over to him with my broken body. He lifted his head and turned it to look at me. “Is the monster gone?” He asked. “Yes it’s gone,” I said trying to sound comforting. “Ba… Babe,” Chloe stammered, now leaning down over me. Her eyes were locked with mine but she had a horrified expression on her face. I didn’t care and gave her a long tight hug. “You’re not leaving me again,” I told her. Finally, I pulled away and looked at her and for a second it was just the two of us and nothing else mattered. Fred hurried into the house helping Gretchen walk. “Everyone downstairs now!” He ordered and we all hurried down. “Alby where’s your brothers?” I asked him as he followed us downstairs. “They're down here.” He said pointing down the staircase. “Fred, what’s happening?” Chloe asked the panic-stricken man as we all stepped into the basement. “More, more of them are coming.” He said a look of fear on his face. “Well then let's get ready for a fight!” Chloe said, cocking the shotgun she’d taken from me. 

I'm at a loss for words as I attempt to convey this without sounding completely unhinged. However, I'll make an attempt. (After consulting with my therapist, she suggested reaching out to Jerma regarding this matter.)
To keep it succinct, over the past five consecutive days, Jerma has been incessantly appearing in my dreams. For those who are interested, I'll provide detailed descriptions of these dreams below. I'm perplexed as to why he continues to invade my reveries. It's as if he's an unstoppable force, gradually engulfing and overwhelming my mind with each intrusion into my slumber. My therapist refers to him as 'The Entity' since I've never encountered him in real life or actively followed his content. The only exposure I have to him is through sporadic viral memes. Yet, despite this lack of connection, I cannot fathom why he occupies my dreams with such vividness and frequency.

It all began five days ago, with a dream set in a hyper-realistic version of my university library. Though the beginning of the dream eludes my memory, at some point, I found myself in the café/dining area on the ground floor. As I sat at the end of the bar table, adjacent to the snack displays, I noticed a person who initially resembled Troy Baker. Upon closer inspection, I realized it was Jerma, with his captivating face, silky long hair, and striking features. Intrigued, I struck up a conversation, uncertain of his identity but sensing a familiarity that prompted me to engage further. However, I soon realized that he didn't speak the local language. In an attempt to assist him with ordering food, he grew frustrated, standing up halfway from his chair and exclaiming, "DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHO I AM?" The commotion attracted the attention of everyone present, causing a scene. Eventually, he calmed down and apologized, and it was during this moment that he introduced himself as "Jerma." Little did I know that this encounter would be the start of an ongoing series of events haunting my every dream. I woke up feeling disoriented and perplexed by the interaction but didn't think much of it at the time.
The second dream unfolded in my apartment, where I heard a knock at the door. Never before had I experienced a dream so realistic, except for the fact that upon opening the door, there stood Jerma himself. He casually invited himself into my apartment, bringing along his belongings—an only a duffel bag containing clothes and an electric guitar in a slim gray-silver leather case. He asked if he could crash at my place for a few nights. Before I could respond, he tapped me on the shoulder, smiled, and headed straight to my bathroom to take a shower. Meanwhile, I busied myself with unpacking and arranging an inflatable mattress for him beside my bed and desk. Suddenly, I heard him call out, requesting that I turn on my PC as he needed a streaming setup to go live soon. I was bewildered by this request, considering the late hour and my exhaustion. I couldn't comprehend why he would want to stream while I was merely sleeping in the background of the webcam feed. Nonetheless, I complied with his wishes and promptly lay down to rest. As I drifted into my dreams, Jerma sat down at my desk after his shower and began streaming. His guitar, leaning against my bed, slipped and struck me on the forehead, jolting me into another dream. In this subsequent dream, I was convinced I had woken up, yet the presence of his guitar case next to me felt out of place. I stood up, feeling an overwhelming heaviness, drawn by curious sounds emanating from the bathroom—the shower was still running. Jerma was still there. Was this real? Was I still asleep? How could it be, considering I had just awakened? Then, he opened the bathroom door, and once again, I woke up, this time in actual reality. I immediately rushed to the bathroom only to find the door wide open, revealing an empty room. The guitar case and his clothes had vanished. He had never been there to begin with, but the experience felt incredibly vivid and tangible. At this point, I found it amusing how I had dreamt of the same person twice in a row, despite not having seen his face for months.
The third dream was intricate, extensive, and convoluted, but I'll provide a condensed version. The dream comprised a fusion of various video game elements and rules I've encountered throughout the years. Initially, everything appeared normal, with no sign of Jerma. However, as I traversed several doors in an attempt to return to a safe house, I encountered two bikers who were searching for their missing comrade. Offering to help, I embarked on a mission to rescue their friend. The dream took a surreal turn as the night descended, and monstrous beings from different games began hunting us on the empty streets. Before long, I discovered a fallen biker trapped under his dirt bike. I managed to free him, and together, we roller-skated back to safety (please refrain from asking for an explanation, as this dream is far too complex to unravel). Finally reaching the safe zone, the biker removed his enduro helmet, revealing himself as none other than Jerma "The Entity." He expressed gratitude for my assistance in surviving the night and offered to show me something the following morning. Thus, we waited for the sunrise within the safe zone. As the sun emerged (in a mere three minutes), the protective gates were lowered, and we skated down to a pleasant bench beside a solitary tree, situated at the beginning of a vast expanse of lush grass. We sat down, and Jerma initiated a conversation, delving into personal questions about my studies and aspirations for the future. Curiosity led me to inquire about his true identity and aspirations beyond the camera. During our discussion, I noticed the hill from the Windows XP wallpaper in the backdrop. As this realization dawned on me, Jerma tugged on my arm and exclaimed, "You need to get out of here. Find me; I'll be waiting." Suddenly, darkness consumed the scene, and I found myself back in my room.
The last two dreams have severely affected my sleep, as they lasted only a few seconds before being abruptly terminated by "The Entity" Jerma. In the fourth dream, I was engaged in a race to win my freedom as a slave burdened by significant economic debt. Just as I approached the final turn, Jerma materialized in the middle of the track, causing me to swerve and crash, thereby waking up.
The fifth and most recent appearance occurred just moments ago. I found myself walking down a beautifully sunlit and cozy alleyway until I reached the end, where Jerma suddenly appeared. In the blink of an eye, he teleported in front of me, wearing a grin that spanned his entire face. He exclaimed, "I TOLD YOU TO COME LOOK FOR ME!" before transforming the entire area into a highly bouncy material. I became trapped between the walls of the alley, continually ricocheting at an accelerating pace. Eventually, I was launched into the sky, beyond the clouds, bouncing within a maze-like structure reminiscent of The Maze Runner. Jerma floated alongside me, issuing a warning: "For the last time, you must contact me immediately. I will not tolerate this any longer." He then restored the world to its original state, causing me to crash into a wall at what felt like mach 4.

I'm terrified of falling asleep. I don't understand why this is happening or why it specifically involves Jerma, but I implore you to put an end to this. Jerma, I don't know if you're attempting to convey a message or to consume my mind until my former self is erased, but this is a desperate plea for help. I'm at a loss for what to do next.

UPDATE: the fire has now spread, and an evacuation order is now issued for Yankeetown (Highland Park) subdivision, Hammonds Plains. Evacuation ordered for Westwood Hills subdivision, Upper Tantallon, Nova Scotia due to ongoing multiple structure and forest fires. All residents in Westwood Hills ordered to evacuate. Comfort Centre opened at Blackpoint Community Centre, Black Point