Brown bear car wash everett wa
We broke into the Egyptian Theatre in Coos Bay to go ghost hunting. I wish we never had.
2023.06.05 05:49 JLGoodwin1990 We broke into the Egyptian Theatre in Coos Bay to go ghost hunting. I wish we never had.
“I just had an idea pop into my head about something to do this coming weekend, and I wanted to bounce it off you two before it slips my mind” My friend Natasha said those words as the three of us sat on my couch one afternoon. I found myself sitting up slightly. Normally, Natasha was the last of our group to suggest things to do, letting Vinny, the third member of our group, or I come up with the plans to keep our free time occupied. The fact she was about to suggest something intrigued me. “What have you got in mind?” I asked her. A smile played over her face as her brown eyes seemed to flash. “How about a little ghost hunting?”
I felt Vinny sit straight up beside me. She had clearly grabbed both our attention now. The three of us were what you might call amateur ghost hunters, using very basic items we bought offline to visit some of the spookier places in the area and posting our adventures on YouTube, sort of like a crappier version of Ghost Adventures. “Now that’s one hell of a good idea” Vinny said, before a puzzled expression spread over his face. “But, I mean, where? We’ve already done most of the places around town. The Tioga building won’t let us in after that…well, what that one resident claims we stirred up in the old ballroom, and I’m not about to make the hours long drive to the Wolf Creek Inn” Natasha’s smile grew wider. “No, we don’t have to even go out of town for this one” she said, her voice dropping low, “What I’m suggesting, is we check out…” her voice trailed off, letting the suspense grow for a few seconds before finishing, “The Egyptian Theatre”
Instantly, Vinny let out a harsh bark of laughter. “HA! Now that’s a good one. You know damn good and well that the society that runs the theater won’t allow us in after hours to ghost hunt. As far as I know, they’ve never allowed any paranormal teams into the place” He pulled a face. “So, how exactly do you propose we get in there? You flutter your eyelashes for the night janitor and use your feminine charms to get us in?” Natasha still grinned, but rolled her eyes at our friend’s quip. “No, actually, I was thinking about using my lock picking skills to get us in” she declared. It was my turn to give her an incredulous look. “You’re joking, right?” I asked. She shook her head. “Nope, I’m dead serious” I let out an incredulous, almost baffled snort of laughter and pulled my glasses off my face, rubbing my eyes.
The country, and, to a large extent, the entire world, became gripped in an interest, sometimes bordering on obsession with all things Egyptian when King Tut’s tomb was discovered over a century ago. Many things came out of this, including the classic 1932 monster movie The Mummy. But, one thing that also came of this fever gripping the country was a desire to build many Egyptian style buildings. And one of the buildings which took this design and ran with it, were the movie theatres. A decade after the legendary discovery, over a hundred theatres had gone up all around the country, their interiors clad with fake temple columns, paintings of sphinxes and Egyptian gods such as Anubis decorating the walls, and hieroglyphs adorning the archways. People flocked in droves to them, both to watch movies, and live performances. But, like all trends, eventually, the interest began to wane, and as the late 20th Century approached, many began to shut down and be either remodeled, or straight up demolished. Today, there’s only between five and eight Egyptian style theatres left in the entire country.
And one just so happens to be right in the town I live in.
When I moved to Coos Bay, Oregon nine years ago, I immediately fell in love with the place. Even though it’s the largest coastal town on the Oregon coast, it’s a place which is more or less perpetually frozen in time, still looking pretty much as it did between thirty and seventy years ago. And, as someone who is not exactly into the modern world, it made a perfect place for me to live and escape away from the 21st Century. I began exploring right away, driving every street of it and the town neighboring it, North Bend, along with walking every alley and back road I could to learn the layout. That’s how I learned about the supernatural element to the town.
There are many places in town which people claim supernatural occurrences take place. From the remains of the old logging buildings on the estuary, to the old Tioga Hotel which has been remodeled into apartments, there is no shortage of ghostly tales. There was even the old McCauley Hospital, which had once been the focal point of the town’s annual ghost walks until it was demolished in 2018. As a side note, I heard a rumor that a couple people broke into that place right before it got torn down. Something sure spooked them, because a friend of mine on the police force told me they gave him a fright, bursting in the night before Easter and rambling about something. I always wondered what they saw in there.
But, for me, the place in town I always loved the most, and enjoyed the most hearing about the ghostly accounts told, was the Egyptian Theatre.
Originally built as a garage in 1922, it was renovated by a man named Charles Noble into a movie theatre in 1925, where it drew in droves of people from around the area to watch films, and enjoy live vaudeville performances. It continued to operate almost to the end of the 20th Century, when other theatres began to attract younger moviegoers, and for a while, it almost seemed as though the historic building might even be closed for good and gutted. But, thanks to the efforts of local preservation societies, it was saved, and now operates as a theatre once again. They mostly play only older movies, along with live performances.
And, of course, it draws curious people for the paranormal rumors surrounding it.
For years, people have reported strange occurrences happening inside the building, both when it’s open, and after hours. Patrons and employees alike have spoken about a pervasive feeling of being watched inside the building, but finding no one there when the place was searched. There have been reports of being touched by invisible hands, a few even pushed slightly. Beyond physical interaction, employees have reported the sounds of old film projectors playing and unseen audiences laughing after hours, along with the eerie playing of the theatre’s Wurlitzer pipe organ, along with a host of other occurrences. No ghost hunting team has ever gone in to try and document these events. And to Natasha, that was too good of an opportunity to pass up. Legal, or not.
“Are you freaking nuts?!” Vinny exclaimed, “Do you have any idea how much trouble we’d be in if we got caught breaking and entering? The cops around here are already a bit twitchy with the druggies and the homeless. You wanna give them a reason to throw us into jail alongside them?” Natasha held up a finger, flipping her black hair over her shoulder. “They won’t find out, because I have not one, but two aces in the hole here. The first is that thanks to being friends with Scott, I know the nighttime police sweeps, where they’re going to be and everything. There’ll be an hour long window where they’re not anywhere near the alley where the back door to the theatre is. We can get in and out with no threat of being spotted at all. And the second is, did you forget I’m dating Dylan now?” The realization washed over me like a wave; she had started dating the man who helped the preservation society run the theatre a month or so ago. Damn, she’s been planning this one for a while, I thought.
Vinny had a thoughtful look on his face, his green eyes darting around rapidly, but not seeing. “Hmm” he muttered, then looked at Natasha. “And you’re sure that there’s no chance of us getting caught?” he asked slowly. “Absolutely none” she said, then looked at both of us. “So, how about it?” For a few moments, there was silence, and then Vinny let out a chuckle. “What the hell, why not? The most exciting thing we’ve done the last few weeks is go down to the farmer’s market. This could shake things up a bit” I suddenly became aware that the two of them were looking at me, waiting for me to make my decision. I was always the most sensible of the three of us, doing all I could to keep us out of trouble with others as well as the law. But, I always had one nasty Achilles Heel ever since I had been a child, and that was peer pressure. So, despite the overwhelming feeling that I should tell them no, that I should say we should just find something else to do, I nodded. “Alright, let’s do it” I said simply, causing grins to break out on both of my friend’s faces.
I wish to God in retrospect that I’d just had the damn spine to stand up and say “No”
The rest of the week seemed to pass by faster than usual. Before I knew it, the weekend had arrived. We’d decided that late Saturday night would be the best time to do this, as most places downtown closed up between eleven and midnight, aside from the bars and strip club. To say I felt anxious about breaking the law, something I wasn’t used to doing at all, would be like calling a Megalodon a goldfish, but my worries about disappointing my friends ended up outweighing it. And so, at eleven-thirty, the three of us piled into my beat up Chevy Tahoe, and made our way towards downtown. As I drove us down Ocean Boulevard, which connected the two sides of town, something settled over me. I can’t exactly place it, even to this day. But it was the most uneasy feeling I’ve ever experienced. But I did my best to push it away. It’s nothing, Troy. It’s just because you’re, understandably, worried about this. Plus, the road being deserted isn’t helping much.
My mental chiding seemed to help center me a bit, which was a good thing. The road was now angling downward, and a moment later, we drove into downtown. The darkened shapes of the closed stores seemed to rise up higher on either side of us than they looked during the daytime. We’d decided to cruise by the front entrance first, just to see if anyone were still inside. As I turned the truck onto the main drag, the sign for the theatre rose high above us, a depiction of an Egyptian pharaoh next to the yellow and white letters which proclaimed its name to everyone who drove through town. I spared a glance as we passed it. The lit up marquee windows showed that The Blues Brothers and Jaws would be shown soon. For whatever reason, though, I couldn’t bring myself to look through the glass doors that showed the building’s darkened interior. The uneasy feeling had returned, and, for a moment, it felt as though if I did look, I would see someone, or something staring back out at me. And then we passed it, taking the next right and looping back around to Anderson Ave.
I turned the truck into the narrow alley drive which ran along the back of the theatre and neighboring buildings. Parking right next to the rear doors would be extremely conspicuous, so I pulled up a bit further and parked in a carport like area. Shutting off the engine, I turned to my two friends. “Well, this is it” I said, “Last chance to turn back if anyone’s having second thoughts” I’d hoped that either Vinny or Natasha would’ve gotten cold feet in the last few minutes, allowing us to go do something else. But there was no such luck. “Are you kidding me?” Natasha said from the passenger seat, “We are far too close to back out now!” Vinny grunted from behind me. Well, shit. Resigning myself to the fact they were determined to go through with this, I let a deep breath out through my nose and nodded. The others opened their doors and hopped out. A moment later, I followed.
The night air was cool and crisp on my skin as we slowly walked back down the alley to the rear of the yellow-ish, tan building. Three different sets of red double doors were built into the back of the theatre. Natasha pulled something out of her coat pocket, and I realized, with a small pang of surprise, that it was a lock pick set. A legitimate lock pick set. “Where the hell did you get that?” I whispered to her. She shrugged and smiled. “I have my ways of getting things” she said simply, then pointed to the far right set of doors. “We’ll have a bit of cover from that electrical box. You two keep an eye out while I deal with the lock” And with that, she scurried forward, bending down in front of the door handles. Vinny and I stood guard, each of us looking down both ends of the alley. As the soft sound of Natasha messing with the lock filtered over to me, I realized just how quiet it was. And how eerie hearing downtown so quiet was. Aside from a few distant booms and bangs, and the far off sound of a dog barking, all I could hear was the whistle of the wind as it whipped between the old buildings.
An involuntary shiver cascaded up my spine, and I tried again to reason myself back to a relative sense of calm. “Get a grip, dude, you’re gonna be fine” I whispered under my breath. But this time, it felt as though I weren’t able to entirely convince myself. I suddenly became aware of a creeping sensation, one which made me shoot a look around. Nothing moved in the stillness, no indication of anyone besides us being in the alley. And, yet…I was overcome with the distinct feeling of being watched. Not by either of my friends. But…by someone else. Before I had a chance to even think about it, I heard a rather loud click, and Natasha let out a soft laugh of triumph. “We’re in, ladies and gentleman!” she declared, standing up and pulling on the door. It opened silently, the streetlight in the alley casting a small shaft of light into the darkness beyond. Turning, she waved an arm at Vinny and I. “Come on, let’s get inside”
Before either of us could say anything, she turned and disappeared into the dark. I shot a look at Vinny, who simply shrugged. “After you, my man” he whispered. I let out a deep sigh, and then moved to the door. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out the small flashlight, and then pulled on the heavy metal, slipping inside, Vinny right behind me. The darkness swallowed us as the door closed. For a moment, a small rush of panic from not being able to see flashed through me, before a light appeared beside me. It wasn’t from a flashlight, though; instead, a small, orange flame flickered beside me. “Don’t turn on your flashlights yet, just follow me” Natasha said, the flame making her face seem to dance and move behind it. She turned and headed away, leaving us no choice but to follow. I listened to her and didn’t turn on my flashlight. But every fiber of my being was screaming at me to. Because the feeling of being watched out in the alleyway? Had quintupled in here. The best way to describe it, was that we were angrily being stared at. And I didn’t like the sensation one bit.
Natasha led us up a flight of steps and pushed open another door. “We’re here” she said, still keeping her voice low, “You can turn on your flashlights now” Thank you, God, I silently said, snapping mine on and casting a bright white light into the room we’d entered. A moment later, so did my two friends’ lights. The beams played around, and I heard Vinny let out a bit of a gasp. “Ho-lyyyy shit” he muttered.
Natasha had guided us into the main theatre. The ceiling rose high above our heads, almost out of sight of even the flashlights. Rows upon rows of red movie seats stretched out and away from us, seeming almost unending in the shadows. The walls were all covered in hieroglyphs, all still original from the 1920s. To our left, the second story, which housed a smaller row of seats, along with the projection room rose about twenty feet above us. And to the right, was the stage itself. It was flanked by two huge columns, the screen rolled up and revealing a mosaic of an Egyptian building on the back wall, with two men clutching staffs sitting on either side. Directly in front of the stage sat the organ, its seating bench tucked beneath it.
“Okay, this is a trip to be in at night!” Natasha exclaimed excitedly, then pulled the backpack she’d been wearing off her shoulders. Dropping it into a seat, she unzipped it and began pulling items from it. “Guys, here” she said, holding them out. Vinny stepped forward and grabbed the camcorder from her; as someone who’d had a lifelong dream of being a filmmaker, he was our resident cameraman. I stepped forward and took two items from her: an infrared thermometer and an EVP recorder. The rest, she placed on the ground, and then faced Vinny. “Alright, tell me when you’re recording” He fumbled with the camcorder for a second, then shot her a thumbs up. Instantly, she took on a somber, eerie expression, giving an admittedly creepy look at the camera. “Well, well, welcome back to The Three Ghostkuteers, everyone. I hope you all have been well since our last trip. Tonight, you join us in a very, very special place, and one close to home for us. We are currently in the Egyptian Theatre in Coos Bay, Oregon, one of the last remaining in the country. It was built in the 1920s by a man named Charles Noble-“
I turned away, tuning her out as I did. The woman really, really enjoys being in front of the camera. Better her than me. Shining my light around, I looked up at the balcony. I could see the small hole in the projection booth where the movie projector would shine out onto the screen. Something caught the beam’s light, reflecting off it slightly, and I aimed the light at the wall. It was a wrought iron light fixture, one which had been shaped into the figure of a King Cobra, poised to strike. Gazing around, I saw they adorned much of the walls. I let out a small shudder at it. God, do I hate snakes. Thankfully, though, the feeling of being watched I’d had in the alley and the darkened back of the theatre had seemingly disappeared. Yeah, see, what’d I tell you, Troy? Nothing but your nerves.
Natasha had finished her opening monologue and moved to the edge of the stage, on which she placed the small, square spirit box. “And now, let’s see if anyone would like to speak with us” she said, flicking it on. Instantly, the silence of the theatre was shattered by the sound of static, intermittently interrupted by quick snippets of radio shows being picked up. “Is there anyone here who’d like to talk to us?” she called out into the huge room. The static and snippets were the only sound to answer her. After a minute, she tried again. “Are there any spirits who’d like to communicate with us?” There was still nothing. Vinny panned the camera from the box to Natasha as she paced back and forth for a few minutes. A small look of disappointment flooded over her face, but she instantly plastered it over with the same look she’d given the camera before. “Well, it looks like the spirit box isn’t gonna work tonight, so we’re gonna have to try something else” She pulled out an EVP recorder identical to mine and switched it on. “Let’s try this instead, shall we? Remember, by the way guys, if you’re new here and want to see more, to like and subscribe-“
I turned away again, feeling a small pang of irritation flow through me. This is freakin’ ridiculous, man. The longer we stay in here, the more chance we have of getting caught. Truth be told, as much as I enjoyed ghost hunting, I didn’t even really believe in the paranormal. In all the years the three of us had filmed together, not once had we caught anything, on tape or otherwise. In fact, many times we’d had to fake spooky occurrences in order to make sure our videos got any views at all. This is your own fault, man, I silently chided myself, you’re the one who couldn’t stand up to them and say no. You really, seriously need to grown a spine and learn how to say no. The mental self lecture was furthering my rotten mood, and I began to feel a wave of anger at my two friends, as well as myself boil up.
“Hell with this” I finally muttered, then turned and began walking up the aisle. “Troy, where the hell are you going?” I heard Natasha call out behind me. I stopped, not looking over my shoulder, but quietly aiming my voice behind me and allowing a hint of irritation to seep into it. “I’m gonna go check out the second floor balcony, okay? I don’t exactly like just standing here” For a moment, there was silence, and then her voice came, soft and almost apologetic. “Okay, go ahead” Before she could say anything more, I strode away, walking to the open doorway which led out of the theater and into the concession area. I hooded my flashlight beam with one hand to make sure it wouldn’t accidentally shine out of the glass entrance doors into the street and looked around. The lobby and concession stand took up most of the front area, the darkened shape of it stretching along the far wall.
Taking a few steps ahead, I turned and looked up at the wall above me. Large, blue letters stretched out from one side of it to the other. Through these doors pass the most wonderful people. I snorted softly. “Yeah, unfortunately, not tonight” I shook my head, then looked around. And nearly jumped out of my skin. Something also seemed to jump back. I felt my heartbeat begin to race in my chest and my breath quickened. “Shit…” I let out weakly, then slowly moved forward. After a few steps, I suddenly realized what I’d seen and let out a soft laugh of relief.
“Your own damn reflection, you fucking pussy” Shaking my head, I turned away from the glass wall and headed for the stairs to the second floor. At the base of them, I stopped and shone my flashlight up. “Ooh, boy” I said quietly. Sitting next to the stairway like a sentry, was a huge, golden statue of a pharaoh. It towered over me, and I estimated that, were it be standing straight up, it’d easily be between eight and ten feet tall. It stared straight ahead at the wall ahead of it, and I couldn’t help but let out a small shiver as I stared at it. It just seemed so damn eerie in the dark, and I quickly moved past it, heading up the stairs and stepping out onto the second story balcony.
I shone my light around. Red seats again surrounded me, though this time far fewer. Ahead of me, I could see the balcony’s edge and the hulking shape of the main stage beyond. I could also see the beams of my friends’ flashlights playing over it, and hear both of their voices speaking softly. Deciding while I was up here to at least check out the projection booth, I strode over to the door and tried to turn the handle. It was locked. Feeling my irritation bubble over into exasperation, I jiggled the handle in some stupid attempt to open it. But the door stayed shut. I turned away and rubbed my eyes, again hearing the voices of my friends softly filtering up to me from down below.
“Hey, if there really are any ghosts, or spooks, or specters, or whatever in here? If you’re actually real, could you appear to us, please?” I whispered to no one, “That way my friends can get what they want and I can go home” I received only silence in reply. I hadn’t really expected anything, anyways. You know what? Screw this, I’m going back down there and telling them I’m going home, with or without them. This is beyond stupid, I just broke the law for what? For nothing! For something dumb as hell. And with that, I turned to walk away. But I hadn’t even taken a single step when something crashed into me like a wave. The breath was driven from my lungs as I felt a massive chill shoot through me, as though I’d been doused with ice water. “What the fuck?!” I hissed through gritted teeth, then froze, my eyes going wide. The feeling of being watched had returned with a vengeance, and it had seemingly been ramped up in its intensity. I shot a look around, but saw nobody.
Still, the feeling remained, and with each passing second, it almost seemed to grow stronger. Chill after chill rolled up my spine, and even though I didn’t really believe, something deep inside me told me that it was time to get out. Okay, time to leave, I said in my head, and headed quickly for the stairs. As I reached the head, I turned to look back one final time. That’s when I saw something. It disappeared when I aimed my flashlight at it, but I swear a second earlier it had been the outline of a person, standing in the shadows and watching me. The split second sight catapulted me into motion, and I hurried down the steps, shining my light every which way but loose. Believer or not, I knew something wanted us out. I’d planned on jumping off the second to last stair and running for the main theatre floor. But as I reached the bottom, I froze.
For a moment, I couldn’t place why. And then, the realization fell over me like a tsunami. I let out an involuntary gasp, and fear like I’d never felt before surged through me. I didn’t want to turn around and look. I wanted to pretend I hadn’t seen it. I desperately wanted to. But, like a dumbass character in a horror movie, I couldn’t help it. I needed to look. I slowly turned, aiming my flashlight back up. And I couldn’t help but let out a strangled scream, falling backwards over my own feet as I began to backpedal rapidly.
The statue of the pharaoh still sat where it had. It still towered over me, looking as imposing and eerie as ever. But it’s carved and painted eyes were no longer staring straight ahead at the wall. Instead, they had somehow moved. And when I’d turned, I’d come to find they were staring directly at me.
I scrambled to my feet, snatching the flashlight from the floor where I’d dropped it and aiming it at the statue again. It stared straight out at nothing again. But I knew what I’d seen. It hadn’t been a trick of my mind, or the light. The freaking thing’s eyes had moved to watch me as I passed down by it. I began to stammer out as I backed away from it. “Okay, that’s it, no no no no, we’re done here, fuck this shit, I’m officially a believer, we’re leaving, right now” I kept backing towards the doorway to the theatre, never taking my eyes off the statue. I was terrified I’d seen it suddenly stand up and turn to lumber after me like Boris Karloff or something.
The blaring sound of the theatre’s organ slashed through the silence, causing me to let out another strangled scream and jump almost a foot off the ground. I whipped around, thinking I would see my moronic friends tinkering with the instrument. Instead, I froze again. The theatre was no longer dark. Both of my friends had seemingly vanished from the room, as I could no longer see them. The movie screen had somehow been pulled down, and above me, I heard the whir of the movie projector playing. An old, black and white movie, one which had no sound, played on the screen, occasionally changing to show dialogue being displayed in white letters.
It was also no longer empty.
The entire theatre was packed. I saw people sitting at almost every single seat in the huge room. I could only see the backs of their heads as they watched the movie playing. At the edge of the stage, what looked like a man now sat at the organ, playing it in time with the film. A slapstick moment came across the screen, and the audience began laughing. In any other situation, it would’ve been a comforting sound. But at that moment, it was the most spine chilling sound I’d ever heard. Especially as another wave of realization crashed into me. From the little I could see, everyone in the theatre looked to be dressed in long passed fashions.
That’s when the voice, low and quiet, came from behind me. “Good evening, sir” it said. It sounded like a man’s voice, one rather low and deep pitched, but something about it paralyzed me on the spot. The voice continued, putting on an air of pleasant politeness. “We’re so glad you could make it, it’s been so long since we’ve had new patrons arrive at a showing. If I could just see your ticket, please?”
For a moment, I couldn’t speak. Then, I managed to squeak out two words. “Uh, ticket?” The tone of the voice seemed to change somewhat. “Yes, your ticket. That’s the only way you could’ve gotten in. Please, let me verify it and show you to your seat” Ohhh, shit. Whoever, or whatever the voice belonged to, thought I had shown up like a regular moviegoer. The voice’s tone became less polite. “You do have a ticket, right, sir?” I was beyond terrified to answer, but I was more terrified to remain silent. For a moment, I considered lying. But I feared what might happen if I did. So I told the truth.
“I….uh, I, uh….I don’t have a ticket, sir” I stammered out, my voice barely above a whisper. Instantly, all sound stopped in the room like someone had flipped a switch. “You…don’t have a ticket?” the voice said, all pretense of manners vanishing from it, “Then how did you get in here for the late night showing?” Oh, god. I forced myself to speak, still unable to say anything except the truth. “My…my friends and I….broke in…through the back door…to…ghost hunt…” There was silence for a few moments, and then a heavy hand dropped onto my shoulder. My head swiveled to look at it. Oh, fuck me sideways. It wasn’t a regular hand. It was a fucking claw. One with black skin, tipped with what looked like razor sharp nails. It sat there for a moment, then tightened; almost painfully so, making me let out a small whimper of pain.
That’s when I looked up. Everyone in the theatre had turned to look at me. My initial thought had been correct; they all wore clothing from almost a century ago, and not the stuff cosplayers wear, either. They also had very angry expressions on their faces, as if they’d just noticed the intruder among their midst. The voice finally came again, almost directly behind me. Its tone lowered, almost sounding guttural and animal, making my legs almost melt into jelly from the fear. “Then, might I make a suggestion to you and your trespassing little friends?” My breath came in rapid, ragged gasps, and I barely managed to force out the one word. “Yes?”
“LEAVE”
At the single word reply, which now more closely resembled a growl than a word, I did something I will forever wish I hadn’t. I finally turned and looked up at who was addressing me. The only way I can describe what happened is, my mind shattered. The next thing I remember, I was crashing into the back doors of the theatre into the night.
And I was screaming.
That was a month or so ago. When I’d stumbled back into the alley, I’d turned and, in what I can only call blind fear and panic, bolted for my truck. I hadn’t even heard my friends chasing after me. Not until Vinny caught up to me as I scrambled with my keys, grabbing me from behind and turning me to face him. He said the look I’d had on my face scared him and Natasha more than anything ever had before. I’d been pale as a sheet, my eyes wider than they ever thought a human’s could be. I'd been babbling softly. I’d been saying the words “They want us to leave” over and over. They didn’t ask me what had happened. They just pushed me into the backseat of my truck and drove away from there. It was clear, as I found out later on, that both of them hadn’t seen anything. As far as they were concerned before seeing me dash to the rear doors, it was just an empty theatre. Neither one of them ever asked me what I saw that night. And for that, I’m thankful. Because I could never utter from my lips what I did see.
But I’ve had nightmares since then. Horrible ones. Ones that’ve been so bad, I had to let out what happened to me, deciding to just post it here, regardless of whether people believe me or not.
Nightmares about being back in that theatre after hours. About seeing that pharaoh statue’s eyes flick in its painted sockets to look at me. About seeing all those people, people long since dead, sitting and watching the films they did when they were alive. About seeing that hand fall on my shoulder, hearing that voice, telling me not to come back until I have a ticket.
And about turning to see who the hand and voice belonged to.
The Egyptian Theatre will be celebrating its centennial this year. People are planning to show up in 1920s cars, dressed in period clothing. They’re even going to show an old, silent film as part of the festivities. But I won’t be attending it. I won’t ever go anywhere near it again. The one time I tried, a week or so ago, I started trembling with fear. And the mental image played over and over in my head.
The image of turning to see that horrible canine head attached to the human-like body, red, glowing eyes glaring down at me as it’s sharp teeth glinted in the light.
I pray to god I never will end up with a ticket to one of its late night showings.
But I can't help but fear that, like those packed into the theatre, sooner or later, we all will.
submitted by JLGoodwin1990 to nosleep [link] [comments]
I felt Vinny sit straight up beside me. She had clearly grabbed both our attention now. The three of us were what you might call amateur ghost hunters, using very basic items we bought offline to visit some of the spookier places in the area and posting our adventures on YouTube, sort of like a crappier version of Ghost Adventures. “Now that’s one hell of a good idea” Vinny said, before a puzzled expression spread over his face. “But, I mean, where? We’ve already done most of the places around town. The Tioga building won’t let us in after that…well, what that one resident claims we stirred up in the old ballroom, and I’m not about to make the hours long drive to the Wolf Creek Inn” Natasha’s smile grew wider. “No, we don’t have to even go out of town for this one” she said, her voice dropping low, “What I’m suggesting, is we check out…” her voice trailed off, letting the suspense grow for a few seconds before finishing, “The Egyptian Theatre”
Instantly, Vinny let out a harsh bark of laughter. “HA! Now that’s a good one. You know damn good and well that the society that runs the theater won’t allow us in after hours to ghost hunt. As far as I know, they’ve never allowed any paranormal teams into the place” He pulled a face. “So, how exactly do you propose we get in there? You flutter your eyelashes for the night janitor and use your feminine charms to get us in?” Natasha still grinned, but rolled her eyes at our friend’s quip. “No, actually, I was thinking about using my lock picking skills to get us in” she declared. It was my turn to give her an incredulous look. “You’re joking, right?” I asked. She shook her head. “Nope, I’m dead serious” I let out an incredulous, almost baffled snort of laughter and pulled my glasses off my face, rubbing my eyes.
The country, and, to a large extent, the entire world, became gripped in an interest, sometimes bordering on obsession with all things Egyptian when King Tut’s tomb was discovered over a century ago. Many things came out of this, including the classic 1932 monster movie The Mummy. But, one thing that also came of this fever gripping the country was a desire to build many Egyptian style buildings. And one of the buildings which took this design and ran with it, were the movie theatres. A decade after the legendary discovery, over a hundred theatres had gone up all around the country, their interiors clad with fake temple columns, paintings of sphinxes and Egyptian gods such as Anubis decorating the walls, and hieroglyphs adorning the archways. People flocked in droves to them, both to watch movies, and live performances. But, like all trends, eventually, the interest began to wane, and as the late 20th Century approached, many began to shut down and be either remodeled, or straight up demolished. Today, there’s only between five and eight Egyptian style theatres left in the entire country.
And one just so happens to be right in the town I live in.
When I moved to Coos Bay, Oregon nine years ago, I immediately fell in love with the place. Even though it’s the largest coastal town on the Oregon coast, it’s a place which is more or less perpetually frozen in time, still looking pretty much as it did between thirty and seventy years ago. And, as someone who is not exactly into the modern world, it made a perfect place for me to live and escape away from the 21st Century. I began exploring right away, driving every street of it and the town neighboring it, North Bend, along with walking every alley and back road I could to learn the layout. That’s how I learned about the supernatural element to the town.
There are many places in town which people claim supernatural occurrences take place. From the remains of the old logging buildings on the estuary, to the old Tioga Hotel which has been remodeled into apartments, there is no shortage of ghostly tales. There was even the old McCauley Hospital, which had once been the focal point of the town’s annual ghost walks until it was demolished in 2018. As a side note, I heard a rumor that a couple people broke into that place right before it got torn down. Something sure spooked them, because a friend of mine on the police force told me they gave him a fright, bursting in the night before Easter and rambling about something. I always wondered what they saw in there.
But, for me, the place in town I always loved the most, and enjoyed the most hearing about the ghostly accounts told, was the Egyptian Theatre.
Originally built as a garage in 1922, it was renovated by a man named Charles Noble into a movie theatre in 1925, where it drew in droves of people from around the area to watch films, and enjoy live vaudeville performances. It continued to operate almost to the end of the 20th Century, when other theatres began to attract younger moviegoers, and for a while, it almost seemed as though the historic building might even be closed for good and gutted. But, thanks to the efforts of local preservation societies, it was saved, and now operates as a theatre once again. They mostly play only older movies, along with live performances.
And, of course, it draws curious people for the paranormal rumors surrounding it.
For years, people have reported strange occurrences happening inside the building, both when it’s open, and after hours. Patrons and employees alike have spoken about a pervasive feeling of being watched inside the building, but finding no one there when the place was searched. There have been reports of being touched by invisible hands, a few even pushed slightly. Beyond physical interaction, employees have reported the sounds of old film projectors playing and unseen audiences laughing after hours, along with the eerie playing of the theatre’s Wurlitzer pipe organ, along with a host of other occurrences. No ghost hunting team has ever gone in to try and document these events. And to Natasha, that was too good of an opportunity to pass up. Legal, or not.
“Are you freaking nuts?!” Vinny exclaimed, “Do you have any idea how much trouble we’d be in if we got caught breaking and entering? The cops around here are already a bit twitchy with the druggies and the homeless. You wanna give them a reason to throw us into jail alongside them?” Natasha held up a finger, flipping her black hair over her shoulder. “They won’t find out, because I have not one, but two aces in the hole here. The first is that thanks to being friends with Scott, I know the nighttime police sweeps, where they’re going to be and everything. There’ll be an hour long window where they’re not anywhere near the alley where the back door to the theatre is. We can get in and out with no threat of being spotted at all. And the second is, did you forget I’m dating Dylan now?” The realization washed over me like a wave; she had started dating the man who helped the preservation society run the theatre a month or so ago. Damn, she’s been planning this one for a while, I thought.
Vinny had a thoughtful look on his face, his green eyes darting around rapidly, but not seeing. “Hmm” he muttered, then looked at Natasha. “And you’re sure that there’s no chance of us getting caught?” he asked slowly. “Absolutely none” she said, then looked at both of us. “So, how about it?” For a few moments, there was silence, and then Vinny let out a chuckle. “What the hell, why not? The most exciting thing we’ve done the last few weeks is go down to the farmer’s market. This could shake things up a bit” I suddenly became aware that the two of them were looking at me, waiting for me to make my decision. I was always the most sensible of the three of us, doing all I could to keep us out of trouble with others as well as the law. But, I always had one nasty Achilles Heel ever since I had been a child, and that was peer pressure. So, despite the overwhelming feeling that I should tell them no, that I should say we should just find something else to do, I nodded. “Alright, let’s do it” I said simply, causing grins to break out on both of my friend’s faces.
I wish to God in retrospect that I’d just had the damn spine to stand up and say “No”
The rest of the week seemed to pass by faster than usual. Before I knew it, the weekend had arrived. We’d decided that late Saturday night would be the best time to do this, as most places downtown closed up between eleven and midnight, aside from the bars and strip club. To say I felt anxious about breaking the law, something I wasn’t used to doing at all, would be like calling a Megalodon a goldfish, but my worries about disappointing my friends ended up outweighing it. And so, at eleven-thirty, the three of us piled into my beat up Chevy Tahoe, and made our way towards downtown. As I drove us down Ocean Boulevard, which connected the two sides of town, something settled over me. I can’t exactly place it, even to this day. But it was the most uneasy feeling I’ve ever experienced. But I did my best to push it away. It’s nothing, Troy. It’s just because you’re, understandably, worried about this. Plus, the road being deserted isn’t helping much.
My mental chiding seemed to help center me a bit, which was a good thing. The road was now angling downward, and a moment later, we drove into downtown. The darkened shapes of the closed stores seemed to rise up higher on either side of us than they looked during the daytime. We’d decided to cruise by the front entrance first, just to see if anyone were still inside. As I turned the truck onto the main drag, the sign for the theatre rose high above us, a depiction of an Egyptian pharaoh next to the yellow and white letters which proclaimed its name to everyone who drove through town. I spared a glance as we passed it. The lit up marquee windows showed that The Blues Brothers and Jaws would be shown soon. For whatever reason, though, I couldn’t bring myself to look through the glass doors that showed the building’s darkened interior. The uneasy feeling had returned, and, for a moment, it felt as though if I did look, I would see someone, or something staring back out at me. And then we passed it, taking the next right and looping back around to Anderson Ave.
I turned the truck into the narrow alley drive which ran along the back of the theatre and neighboring buildings. Parking right next to the rear doors would be extremely conspicuous, so I pulled up a bit further and parked in a carport like area. Shutting off the engine, I turned to my two friends. “Well, this is it” I said, “Last chance to turn back if anyone’s having second thoughts” I’d hoped that either Vinny or Natasha would’ve gotten cold feet in the last few minutes, allowing us to go do something else. But there was no such luck. “Are you kidding me?” Natasha said from the passenger seat, “We are far too close to back out now!” Vinny grunted from behind me. Well, shit. Resigning myself to the fact they were determined to go through with this, I let a deep breath out through my nose and nodded. The others opened their doors and hopped out. A moment later, I followed.
The night air was cool and crisp on my skin as we slowly walked back down the alley to the rear of the yellow-ish, tan building. Three different sets of red double doors were built into the back of the theatre. Natasha pulled something out of her coat pocket, and I realized, with a small pang of surprise, that it was a lock pick set. A legitimate lock pick set. “Where the hell did you get that?” I whispered to her. She shrugged and smiled. “I have my ways of getting things” she said simply, then pointed to the far right set of doors. “We’ll have a bit of cover from that electrical box. You two keep an eye out while I deal with the lock” And with that, she scurried forward, bending down in front of the door handles. Vinny and I stood guard, each of us looking down both ends of the alley. As the soft sound of Natasha messing with the lock filtered over to me, I realized just how quiet it was. And how eerie hearing downtown so quiet was. Aside from a few distant booms and bangs, and the far off sound of a dog barking, all I could hear was the whistle of the wind as it whipped between the old buildings.
An involuntary shiver cascaded up my spine, and I tried again to reason myself back to a relative sense of calm. “Get a grip, dude, you’re gonna be fine” I whispered under my breath. But this time, it felt as though I weren’t able to entirely convince myself. I suddenly became aware of a creeping sensation, one which made me shoot a look around. Nothing moved in the stillness, no indication of anyone besides us being in the alley. And, yet…I was overcome with the distinct feeling of being watched. Not by either of my friends. But…by someone else. Before I had a chance to even think about it, I heard a rather loud click, and Natasha let out a soft laugh of triumph. “We’re in, ladies and gentleman!” she declared, standing up and pulling on the door. It opened silently, the streetlight in the alley casting a small shaft of light into the darkness beyond. Turning, she waved an arm at Vinny and I. “Come on, let’s get inside”
Before either of us could say anything, she turned and disappeared into the dark. I shot a look at Vinny, who simply shrugged. “After you, my man” he whispered. I let out a deep sigh, and then moved to the door. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out the small flashlight, and then pulled on the heavy metal, slipping inside, Vinny right behind me. The darkness swallowed us as the door closed. For a moment, a small rush of panic from not being able to see flashed through me, before a light appeared beside me. It wasn’t from a flashlight, though; instead, a small, orange flame flickered beside me. “Don’t turn on your flashlights yet, just follow me” Natasha said, the flame making her face seem to dance and move behind it. She turned and headed away, leaving us no choice but to follow. I listened to her and didn’t turn on my flashlight. But every fiber of my being was screaming at me to. Because the feeling of being watched out in the alleyway? Had quintupled in here. The best way to describe it, was that we were angrily being stared at. And I didn’t like the sensation one bit.
Natasha led us up a flight of steps and pushed open another door. “We’re here” she said, still keeping her voice low, “You can turn on your flashlights now” Thank you, God, I silently said, snapping mine on and casting a bright white light into the room we’d entered. A moment later, so did my two friends’ lights. The beams played around, and I heard Vinny let out a bit of a gasp. “Ho-lyyyy shit” he muttered.
Natasha had guided us into the main theatre. The ceiling rose high above our heads, almost out of sight of even the flashlights. Rows upon rows of red movie seats stretched out and away from us, seeming almost unending in the shadows. The walls were all covered in hieroglyphs, all still original from the 1920s. To our left, the second story, which housed a smaller row of seats, along with the projection room rose about twenty feet above us. And to the right, was the stage itself. It was flanked by two huge columns, the screen rolled up and revealing a mosaic of an Egyptian building on the back wall, with two men clutching staffs sitting on either side. Directly in front of the stage sat the organ, its seating bench tucked beneath it.
“Okay, this is a trip to be in at night!” Natasha exclaimed excitedly, then pulled the backpack she’d been wearing off her shoulders. Dropping it into a seat, she unzipped it and began pulling items from it. “Guys, here” she said, holding them out. Vinny stepped forward and grabbed the camcorder from her; as someone who’d had a lifelong dream of being a filmmaker, he was our resident cameraman. I stepped forward and took two items from her: an infrared thermometer and an EVP recorder. The rest, she placed on the ground, and then faced Vinny. “Alright, tell me when you’re recording” He fumbled with the camcorder for a second, then shot her a thumbs up. Instantly, she took on a somber, eerie expression, giving an admittedly creepy look at the camera. “Well, well, welcome back to The Three Ghostkuteers, everyone. I hope you all have been well since our last trip. Tonight, you join us in a very, very special place, and one close to home for us. We are currently in the Egyptian Theatre in Coos Bay, Oregon, one of the last remaining in the country. It was built in the 1920s by a man named Charles Noble-“
I turned away, tuning her out as I did. The woman really, really enjoys being in front of the camera. Better her than me. Shining my light around, I looked up at the balcony. I could see the small hole in the projection booth where the movie projector would shine out onto the screen. Something caught the beam’s light, reflecting off it slightly, and I aimed the light at the wall. It was a wrought iron light fixture, one which had been shaped into the figure of a King Cobra, poised to strike. Gazing around, I saw they adorned much of the walls. I let out a small shudder at it. God, do I hate snakes. Thankfully, though, the feeling of being watched I’d had in the alley and the darkened back of the theatre had seemingly disappeared. Yeah, see, what’d I tell you, Troy? Nothing but your nerves.
Natasha had finished her opening monologue and moved to the edge of the stage, on which she placed the small, square spirit box. “And now, let’s see if anyone would like to speak with us” she said, flicking it on. Instantly, the silence of the theatre was shattered by the sound of static, intermittently interrupted by quick snippets of radio shows being picked up. “Is there anyone here who’d like to talk to us?” she called out into the huge room. The static and snippets were the only sound to answer her. After a minute, she tried again. “Are there any spirits who’d like to communicate with us?” There was still nothing. Vinny panned the camera from the box to Natasha as she paced back and forth for a few minutes. A small look of disappointment flooded over her face, but she instantly plastered it over with the same look she’d given the camera before. “Well, it looks like the spirit box isn’t gonna work tonight, so we’re gonna have to try something else” She pulled out an EVP recorder identical to mine and switched it on. “Let’s try this instead, shall we? Remember, by the way guys, if you’re new here and want to see more, to like and subscribe-“
I turned away again, feeling a small pang of irritation flow through me. This is freakin’ ridiculous, man. The longer we stay in here, the more chance we have of getting caught. Truth be told, as much as I enjoyed ghost hunting, I didn’t even really believe in the paranormal. In all the years the three of us had filmed together, not once had we caught anything, on tape or otherwise. In fact, many times we’d had to fake spooky occurrences in order to make sure our videos got any views at all. This is your own fault, man, I silently chided myself, you’re the one who couldn’t stand up to them and say no. You really, seriously need to grown a spine and learn how to say no. The mental self lecture was furthering my rotten mood, and I began to feel a wave of anger at my two friends, as well as myself boil up.
“Hell with this” I finally muttered, then turned and began walking up the aisle. “Troy, where the hell are you going?” I heard Natasha call out behind me. I stopped, not looking over my shoulder, but quietly aiming my voice behind me and allowing a hint of irritation to seep into it. “I’m gonna go check out the second floor balcony, okay? I don’t exactly like just standing here” For a moment, there was silence, and then her voice came, soft and almost apologetic. “Okay, go ahead” Before she could say anything more, I strode away, walking to the open doorway which led out of the theater and into the concession area. I hooded my flashlight beam with one hand to make sure it wouldn’t accidentally shine out of the glass entrance doors into the street and looked around. The lobby and concession stand took up most of the front area, the darkened shape of it stretching along the far wall.
Taking a few steps ahead, I turned and looked up at the wall above me. Large, blue letters stretched out from one side of it to the other. Through these doors pass the most wonderful people. I snorted softly. “Yeah, unfortunately, not tonight” I shook my head, then looked around. And nearly jumped out of my skin. Something also seemed to jump back. I felt my heartbeat begin to race in my chest and my breath quickened. “Shit…” I let out weakly, then slowly moved forward. After a few steps, I suddenly realized what I’d seen and let out a soft laugh of relief.
“Your own damn reflection, you fucking pussy” Shaking my head, I turned away from the glass wall and headed for the stairs to the second floor. At the base of them, I stopped and shone my flashlight up. “Ooh, boy” I said quietly. Sitting next to the stairway like a sentry, was a huge, golden statue of a pharaoh. It towered over me, and I estimated that, were it be standing straight up, it’d easily be between eight and ten feet tall. It stared straight ahead at the wall ahead of it, and I couldn’t help but let out a small shiver as I stared at it. It just seemed so damn eerie in the dark, and I quickly moved past it, heading up the stairs and stepping out onto the second story balcony.
I shone my light around. Red seats again surrounded me, though this time far fewer. Ahead of me, I could see the balcony’s edge and the hulking shape of the main stage beyond. I could also see the beams of my friends’ flashlights playing over it, and hear both of their voices speaking softly. Deciding while I was up here to at least check out the projection booth, I strode over to the door and tried to turn the handle. It was locked. Feeling my irritation bubble over into exasperation, I jiggled the handle in some stupid attempt to open it. But the door stayed shut. I turned away and rubbed my eyes, again hearing the voices of my friends softly filtering up to me from down below.
“Hey, if there really are any ghosts, or spooks, or specters, or whatever in here? If you’re actually real, could you appear to us, please?” I whispered to no one, “That way my friends can get what they want and I can go home” I received only silence in reply. I hadn’t really expected anything, anyways. You know what? Screw this, I’m going back down there and telling them I’m going home, with or without them. This is beyond stupid, I just broke the law for what? For nothing! For something dumb as hell. And with that, I turned to walk away. But I hadn’t even taken a single step when something crashed into me like a wave. The breath was driven from my lungs as I felt a massive chill shoot through me, as though I’d been doused with ice water. “What the fuck?!” I hissed through gritted teeth, then froze, my eyes going wide. The feeling of being watched had returned with a vengeance, and it had seemingly been ramped up in its intensity. I shot a look around, but saw nobody.
Still, the feeling remained, and with each passing second, it almost seemed to grow stronger. Chill after chill rolled up my spine, and even though I didn’t really believe, something deep inside me told me that it was time to get out. Okay, time to leave, I said in my head, and headed quickly for the stairs. As I reached the head, I turned to look back one final time. That’s when I saw something. It disappeared when I aimed my flashlight at it, but I swear a second earlier it had been the outline of a person, standing in the shadows and watching me. The split second sight catapulted me into motion, and I hurried down the steps, shining my light every which way but loose. Believer or not, I knew something wanted us out. I’d planned on jumping off the second to last stair and running for the main theatre floor. But as I reached the bottom, I froze.
For a moment, I couldn’t place why. And then, the realization fell over me like a tsunami. I let out an involuntary gasp, and fear like I’d never felt before surged through me. I didn’t want to turn around and look. I wanted to pretend I hadn’t seen it. I desperately wanted to. But, like a dumbass character in a horror movie, I couldn’t help it. I needed to look. I slowly turned, aiming my flashlight back up. And I couldn’t help but let out a strangled scream, falling backwards over my own feet as I began to backpedal rapidly.
The statue of the pharaoh still sat where it had. It still towered over me, looking as imposing and eerie as ever. But it’s carved and painted eyes were no longer staring straight ahead at the wall. Instead, they had somehow moved. And when I’d turned, I’d come to find they were staring directly at me.
I scrambled to my feet, snatching the flashlight from the floor where I’d dropped it and aiming it at the statue again. It stared straight out at nothing again. But I knew what I’d seen. It hadn’t been a trick of my mind, or the light. The freaking thing’s eyes had moved to watch me as I passed down by it. I began to stammer out as I backed away from it. “Okay, that’s it, no no no no, we’re done here, fuck this shit, I’m officially a believer, we’re leaving, right now” I kept backing towards the doorway to the theatre, never taking my eyes off the statue. I was terrified I’d seen it suddenly stand up and turn to lumber after me like Boris Karloff or something.
The blaring sound of the theatre’s organ slashed through the silence, causing me to let out another strangled scream and jump almost a foot off the ground. I whipped around, thinking I would see my moronic friends tinkering with the instrument. Instead, I froze again. The theatre was no longer dark. Both of my friends had seemingly vanished from the room, as I could no longer see them. The movie screen had somehow been pulled down, and above me, I heard the whir of the movie projector playing. An old, black and white movie, one which had no sound, played on the screen, occasionally changing to show dialogue being displayed in white letters.
It was also no longer empty.
The entire theatre was packed. I saw people sitting at almost every single seat in the huge room. I could only see the backs of their heads as they watched the movie playing. At the edge of the stage, what looked like a man now sat at the organ, playing it in time with the film. A slapstick moment came across the screen, and the audience began laughing. In any other situation, it would’ve been a comforting sound. But at that moment, it was the most spine chilling sound I’d ever heard. Especially as another wave of realization crashed into me. From the little I could see, everyone in the theatre looked to be dressed in long passed fashions.
That’s when the voice, low and quiet, came from behind me. “Good evening, sir” it said. It sounded like a man’s voice, one rather low and deep pitched, but something about it paralyzed me on the spot. The voice continued, putting on an air of pleasant politeness. “We’re so glad you could make it, it’s been so long since we’ve had new patrons arrive at a showing. If I could just see your ticket, please?”
For a moment, I couldn’t speak. Then, I managed to squeak out two words. “Uh, ticket?” The tone of the voice seemed to change somewhat. “Yes, your ticket. That’s the only way you could’ve gotten in. Please, let me verify it and show you to your seat” Ohhh, shit. Whoever, or whatever the voice belonged to, thought I had shown up like a regular moviegoer. The voice’s tone became less polite. “You do have a ticket, right, sir?” I was beyond terrified to answer, but I was more terrified to remain silent. For a moment, I considered lying. But I feared what might happen if I did. So I told the truth.
“I….uh, I, uh….I don’t have a ticket, sir” I stammered out, my voice barely above a whisper. Instantly, all sound stopped in the room like someone had flipped a switch. “You…don’t have a ticket?” the voice said, all pretense of manners vanishing from it, “Then how did you get in here for the late night showing?” Oh, god. I forced myself to speak, still unable to say anything except the truth. “My…my friends and I….broke in…through the back door…to…ghost hunt…” There was silence for a few moments, and then a heavy hand dropped onto my shoulder. My head swiveled to look at it. Oh, fuck me sideways. It wasn’t a regular hand. It was a fucking claw. One with black skin, tipped with what looked like razor sharp nails. It sat there for a moment, then tightened; almost painfully so, making me let out a small whimper of pain.
That’s when I looked up. Everyone in the theatre had turned to look at me. My initial thought had been correct; they all wore clothing from almost a century ago, and not the stuff cosplayers wear, either. They also had very angry expressions on their faces, as if they’d just noticed the intruder among their midst. The voice finally came again, almost directly behind me. Its tone lowered, almost sounding guttural and animal, making my legs almost melt into jelly from the fear. “Then, might I make a suggestion to you and your trespassing little friends?” My breath came in rapid, ragged gasps, and I barely managed to force out the one word. “Yes?”
“LEAVE”
At the single word reply, which now more closely resembled a growl than a word, I did something I will forever wish I hadn’t. I finally turned and looked up at who was addressing me. The only way I can describe what happened is, my mind shattered. The next thing I remember, I was crashing into the back doors of the theatre into the night.
And I was screaming.
That was a month or so ago. When I’d stumbled back into the alley, I’d turned and, in what I can only call blind fear and panic, bolted for my truck. I hadn’t even heard my friends chasing after me. Not until Vinny caught up to me as I scrambled with my keys, grabbing me from behind and turning me to face him. He said the look I’d had on my face scared him and Natasha more than anything ever had before. I’d been pale as a sheet, my eyes wider than they ever thought a human’s could be. I'd been babbling softly. I’d been saying the words “They want us to leave” over and over. They didn’t ask me what had happened. They just pushed me into the backseat of my truck and drove away from there. It was clear, as I found out later on, that both of them hadn’t seen anything. As far as they were concerned before seeing me dash to the rear doors, it was just an empty theatre. Neither one of them ever asked me what I saw that night. And for that, I’m thankful. Because I could never utter from my lips what I did see.
But I’ve had nightmares since then. Horrible ones. Ones that’ve been so bad, I had to let out what happened to me, deciding to just post it here, regardless of whether people believe me or not.
Nightmares about being back in that theatre after hours. About seeing that pharaoh statue’s eyes flick in its painted sockets to look at me. About seeing all those people, people long since dead, sitting and watching the films they did when they were alive. About seeing that hand fall on my shoulder, hearing that voice, telling me not to come back until I have a ticket.
And about turning to see who the hand and voice belonged to.
The Egyptian Theatre will be celebrating its centennial this year. People are planning to show up in 1920s cars, dressed in period clothing. They’re even going to show an old, silent film as part of the festivities. But I won’t be attending it. I won’t ever go anywhere near it again. The one time I tried, a week or so ago, I started trembling with fear. And the mental image played over and over in my head.
The image of turning to see that horrible canine head attached to the human-like body, red, glowing eyes glaring down at me as it’s sharp teeth glinted in the light.
I pray to god I never will end up with a ticket to one of its late night showings.
But I can't help but fear that, like those packed into the theatre, sooner or later, we all will.
2023.06.05 05:47 EzekialX Vulturebeard: Bad Roomies Part 3
Part 1: https://www.reddit.com/ReddXReads/comments/13lfqkw/vulturebeard_the_legbeard_that_ruined_roomies_fo Part 2: https://www.reddit.com/ReddXReads/comments/13u79ht/vulturebeard_bad_roomies_part_2/
Hi again, it’s the bunny. I’ve just barely stepped into Reddx’s discord, but Ezekial is still posting this saga for me so thank you, Z.
Trigger warning: This will deal with a lot of aspects relating to child neglect (and possible abuse) and Kid being ignored or taking the brunt of Vulture’s anger. Sorry for the spoiler as well, but I think we saw this coming, too (especially if you’ve seen Z talk in the discord). Don’t push yourself to read if you’re not okay with these concepts.
The Cast List
Bunny (author): 33, female. Recovering lifelong doormat slowly building a spine. Neuro spicy gym rat with major depressive disorder, general anxiety disorder, and most recently diagnosed with ADHD. Unfortunately, very familiar with surviving trauma.
Z (poster): My partner. 31, nonbinary (they/them), also neuro spicy with depression, anxiety, OCD, BPD, autism, and also familiar with lifelong trauma.
One Liner Beard (OLB): 33, male, neuro spicy with ADHD and depression. His nickname here comes from the fact that in messenger, he usually has one-word replies like “oof” or “mmm” as an acknowledgement he had seen the message but has nothing further to contribute.
VultureBeard (Vulture): 30, female, neuro spicy and disabled with multiple conditions. She has Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, POTs (postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome), autism, depression, anxiety, chronic migraines, but also possibly a list of things that may or may not be real. The star of this unfortunate circus. Her name comes from how she always pops up when I’m cooking food, complaining about how hungry is and how she’s unable to cook.
Kid: 3. Female. OLB and Vulture’s child. Likely neuro spicy like we all are, but she’s also only 3 years old. Slightly speech delayed and not potty trained yet.
Take a deep breath. Now take another one. This chapter will likely make you mad.
Chapter Three: “Do You Want Bologna?” Or, Vulture as a Parent
Imagine this: it’s eight in the morning and you’re cozy in bed. The blankets are warm, and you hit snooze on your early alarm so you can sleep in before you have to get up.
Your peace is shattered by a toddler crying, followed by the screech of, “WHAT!” or “GET DOWN FROM THERE!”
Yeah, welcome to The Life.
Vulture has a messed-up sleep schedule. It’s partially because Kid doesn’t sleep soundly through the night, but it’s also because Vulture’s sleep schedule is essentially flipped backwards to where she stays up all night and wants to sleep during the day. Vulture says it’s “insomnia” but sometimes she’s up late gaming with Discord friends or watching anime. I couldn’t tell you which issue it was day by day. Sometimes if I go to sleep late, I hear Kid crying from her room because she had night terrors or had potty troubles. Sometimes I hear OLB and Vulture awake shuffling between rooms in the hallway.
Because of this, Vulture and mornings don’t mesh well. Kid is usually put in her room for bedtime around 7 PM, usually with her tablet to keep her company and either give her something to watch, or to play white noises for sleeping. Kid does not have a real sleep routine as well. She’s just kind of shut in her room. Sometimes there’s a bit of a routine like winding her down with chocolate milk and giving her a countdown of “okay, ten more minutes and then bedtime,” but for the most part she just does not want to go to bed. Bedtimes are met with a lot of crying, and the beardy parents telling us that she will be upset for a bit.
Kid has an attempted daily schedule, if Vulture is awake enough. Theoretically:
Sometimes because Kid won’t go to sleep, she’ll still be up at 9 PM and that breaks her schedule too. A lot of times, it works out that OLB is the “fun” parent while he’s home, because he’s up at 4 AM to leave for work by 6 and doesn’t come home until between 4 or 5 PM. Then she spends time with him while he’s home.
There’s also a child lock on the inside of Kid’s bedroom door, those doorknob covers that you have to push and turn, so she can’t open the door and wander around unsupervised. I was originally the one who suggested the child lock, back when she was younger, and they didn’t have the secondary child gate they currently do now that’s stored in the garage. Since then, with her potty training and Vulture’s likewise awful sleep schedule, I’ve suggested more than once that they take the door handle blocker off and put up the second kiddy gate they have to block the living room and kitchen off, so she can get up if she needs to, but the child lock still remains. At most, she would have access to their room, since it doesn’t have a kiddy lock on it. Me and Z’s bedroom has a child lock on it, as well as the bathroom door. She could freely wander between her room and her parents’ room that way.
I hear Kid playing in her room by herself a lot, squealing and having fun and playing pretend. Or moving her furniture around. And no, the furniture is not secured to the wall, so she can move her bed around the room. I’ve also told OLB and Vulture they needed to make sure she can’t topple it and chain it to the wall but, yeah, that hasn’t been dealt with.
When Kid really needs attention, she will cry and wail. And I mean wail. The two beardy parents don’t have baby monitors or anything that can hear into her bedroom, so she has to wail loudly enough to be heard through the walls. Luckily, the house has thin walls. Because of her early bedtime, she’s often awake early in the morning. Sometimes Vulture will respond, sometimes Vulture won’t wake up until around noon.
Yes, that means Kid is by herself a lot.
Kid is a bubbly three-year-old. She loves it when Z and I give her attention, which admittingly isn’t as often as I would like to give her. With my own Depression™, I spend so much time fighting to just gather enough mental energy to be a productive human. Despite me wandering in a mental fog, Kid remains a bright spot in my day. I met her when she was a fresh baby bean just barely out of the hospital, and I immediately fell in love. Since then, I’ve seen her grow almost her whole life, except for when they were all in north Texas. She has blue eyes and brown hair that will curl on its own. She loves dinosaurs, Baby Shark, Octonauts, and occasionally whatever anime the parents are watching. Don’t ask me how many times I’ve heard the Baby Shark song. I don’t want it stuck in my head for another solid week.
She used to watch a lot of Ms. Rachel’s Songs For Little videos, because originally Vulture wanted Kid to learn sign language to help communicate. I’ve rarely seen Vulture attempt to upkeep the sign language lessons. She did at one point. I think after Kid started becoming more vocal, the idea was dropped. I have heard some of the familiar videos so often that even I learned the kid’s songs, but I guess that’s also part of the collateral when dealing with kid’s media.
Kid usually exists in a half-dressed state, usually just wearing a pull up and that’s it. Unfortunately, because Vulture is so hard on her tangles when she tries to brush her hair, Kid doesn’t like hair care and will fight being brushed. Her hair used to exist in a perpetual state of being matted with at least one major knot, until Vulture’s mom ended up giving her a bath and getting her to stay still enough to endure the brushing, even with the wailing of a protesting Kid going strong. Her hair was then cut to make it more manageable, and strangely, that fixed a lot of the matting problems.
Kid is let out of her room when Vulture wakes up, usually needing a diaper change. At three years old, Kid is not potty trained yet. Just from what I’ve heard from my bedroom, it sounds like OLB and Vulture are finally starting to step up on potty training, but it’s been an uphill fight. I know a few of my other parent friends have had an extremely hard time potty training their kid. I’m not a parent, so I don’t actually know how challenging it can be. I do know though that it shouldn’t sound like the toilet is some kind of punishment for peeing in her cloth panties that they’re trying to switch her to. Or, that they try to get her to sit on the toilet when she has no interest in it and she ends up throwing a tantrum. Unfortunately, without much context, that’s how some bathroom trips sound.
Kid wears pull-ups to bed and the cloth underwear during the day, or sometimes just pull-ups. They’re trying to teach her how to recognize when her body has the potty urge, which she still doesn’t quite get right now. She has literally peed on the tile floor through her cloth undies. Vulture messaged the house chat once saying, “Kid just lifted her leg while in the rolling chair and peed all over the floor.”
You know. Like a dog.
With the potty-training trouble and Kid only sometimes in pull-ups that can contain her mess, Z and I don’t let her into our room as often as we’d like to, because she doesn’t recognize when she has to go. It sucks, because Kid adores spending time with us and our room has cool animals, like my retired psychiatric service dog and our three ferrets. She loves the ferrets. But if we spend time out in the living room with everyone, Z’s patience tends to have a shorter fuse because they can’t stand Vulture (that’s also another tale I have). We’re also stuck out in the general mess of the living room if we are out there with her. It’s either the general mess that toddlers make, spilled food, and general filth. The best times we’ve had spending time with Kid is just chilling in our room as she ooh’s and ahh’s over the ferrets or watches TV with us. Z and I quote SpongeBob line by line daily, and she has watched some of the show with us.
I feel awful about shutting Kid out so much, when I see the way Vulture interacts with her. On Vulture’s bad days (if you read the previous post, that’s almost every day), she acts like Kid is a chore. She will snap at Kid, act like Kid is choosing to act out of maliciousness and make “tired mom” jokes that sound like she just flat out doesn’t like Kid. When I had liquor in the fridge, Vulture would ask if she could take a shot because, “I need it. She’s trying me today.”
Some choice quotes talking down about the kid:
“I’m being hard on her because she’s not using her words. Like I know she can. She just doesn’t want to.” This was what Vulture said to me after Kid kept trying to get her attention and wouldn’t explain what she wanted. Kid was just making noises at her and getting frustrated. Vulture full on shouted, “WHAT!” at her, then turned to me to try and explain why she shouted.
“This is the bad part about being a mom. She’s not letting me do anything right now.” This was said after Vulture cleaned her desk and was attempting to watch YouTube videos and play her Switch.
On her good days, Vulture will be that kind of smiling parent that does some art activities and engages with Kid in a way that’s more than just screaming. They color together. She offers Kid choices so Kid can have some control over what happens in her day, like, “Do you want bologna or fruit?” It has helped Kid become more vocal and even though she’s still speech delayed, she talks more and has a bigger vocabulary.
The house has a different atmosphere when OLB is home, compared to when Vulture is just watching Kid by herself. I’ve told OLB that I think Vulture is burned out. Her entire life is her disabilities and being a mom. She only has friends on Discord really, and OLB had to push her to start talking to them again just so she had someone to socialize with.
Old Doormat me pitied her at the beginning of our friendship. I tried being her friend. I tried to include her and Kid in a lot of things. My own mental health, my daily obligations, my gym schedule, and just me changing rapidly since 2020 altered my life, exhausted me, and left me unable to deal with Vulture talking a million miles a minute, info dumping about whatever she’s currently doing every single time I run into her. And as I shed my doormat self, I started seeing her clearly.
I told OLB once that if Vulture is truly burned out or if her health problems are causing that much trouble, Kid might need daycare or another caregiver to help. OLB is aware but can’t afford other care. He’s working for bottom of the barrel pay at a full-time job. Most days after work, he just wants to zone out to his own games in front of his computer but has to step in and parent both Vulture and Kid, because Vulture often needs help organizing through executive dysfunction to do something. Or, because she will call for his help.
There was one time where Kid climbed on top of her, and Vulture called for OLB – who was in the same room – to pull Kid off her. There are quite a few times where Vulture calls for OLB for help with Kid, and I’ve heard him say that he’s also busy too. One time he asked, “Why are you asking for my help when you’re closer?”
Z has offered to look after Kid at times because they don’t mind Kid being in our room or just hanging out. She has hung out with us when I also have the mental energy and the room is clean enough to accommodate a toddler crawling on everything. The problem that we both see is that our stepping in isn’t a full solution. She can spend a few hours with us, but ultimately after, she goes right back to Vulture and OLB. Vulture is the one who acts like being a parent is a chore.
There are times that OLB has snapped at Vulture for the way she gets on to Kid, emphasizing, “She’s just a child.” Their parenting styles are like looking at two entirely different planets and trying to find similarities. OLB is very much into the gentle parenting side of Tik Tok. He talks about breaking generational trauma. He’s usually gentle with Kid, explaining why she’s not allowed to do things like stand on top of her highchair or why I’m too busy to play with her as I’m zooming around the house in and out repeatedly some days. He has talked her down from meltdowns and keeps his voice even to where she can’t bounce off him to amplify her tantrums. He spanks her, but as a last resort, and then also talks to her about why the punishment happened. She will wail through everything and likely isn’t fully listening, but ultimately, I see him trying to work with her. He very rarely loses his actual temper with her.
Vulture is the total opposite. She yells at Kid, spanks with no hesitation and doesn’t explain why. One of Kid’s favorite games to play is “Block the door” when I’m trying to get through the house. She will block my bedroom door, cling to me, then circle around me as Vulture or OLB tries to distract her or lure her away by asking “do you want chocolate” or some other treat. Sometimes Kid just likes to play ring-around-the-rosie around my legs, as her parents try to grab her. I try to make it fun and seem like I’m not mad at her, because I’m never actually mad at her for blocking my way. Usually, I’m just in the middle of some arbitrary task or running an errand or coming back from the gym with my one remaining brain cell barely hanging on for dear life. I try to engage with her and play it off as a game because she’s not actually doing anything wrong.
Vulture has lured her away with chocolate and treats, with offers of food, with trying to get her to pick a show to watch. If that fails, she will come and fetch Kid by hand. One time involved yanking her physically off me and spanking her on the bare bottom because Kid was happy playing a game instead of listening.
The bare bottom is a thing, too. Because Kid used to live in soiled diapers for much longer than she was supposed to, she had constant diaper rash that she had to see the doctor for sometimes. She also didn’t want OLB or Vulture to change her diapers and would scream when it was diaper change time. I don’t blame her. The diaper rash hurt, and Vulture wasn’t exactly gentle with changing. Kid bled sometimes with the changings. So now, sometimes Kid will be dressed like Donald Duck in only a top to air out her bottom. Or because now, with the cloth undies, she will pee straight through them, and they just let her air out after.
Kid always smells a bit like pee. So does her room. And her bedding. After I pointed out that her bedding straight out of the dryer smelled like urine, OLB went about cleaning the washing machine with a machine cleaner, and bought scent beads to help cut the smell, after I told him that a little vinegar in the wash load will cut the smells down. Now her bedding doesn’t smell so much like urine, but it’s still there.
Her bedroom frequently smells like a public bathroom. It always looks like her bedroom has been turned upside down, with toys everywhere, her bed pushed to the middle of the room, the mattress on the floor. Books she was given were shredded, even the cardboard ones. There was straight up garbage left in her room because she was given food to eat there that had wrappers. It usually takes Vulture a full day of cleaning to get the room organized when she had the energy to do it, but she usually sanitizes with just a baby wipe, if she does at all. Maybe a pet cleaner sometimes.
There was one time where I was letting the dogs outside and I stepped in a puddle on the tile floor. That was when I realized that it was a pee puddle and Kid’s cloth underwear was dripping. I asked Vulture to clean the puddle up. When she asked to use my steam mop, she didn’t clean the cloth pad after, so when I turned the mop on next, it smelled like hot, steamed urine. I had to clean the mop pad off myself and rinse the pee out of it. When Kid again peed in front of the TV in her cloth undies, I told OLB that if they’re going to use my steam mop to make sure that the mop pad is rinsed off or it will smell like pee the next time it’s used, but he said he was just going to use his mop and bucket. Thankfully.
Because of the diet that OLB and Vulture has, Kid also eats like them. She gets a lot of macaroni, a lot of random odds and ends like pieces of bread, baggies of cheerios, sometimes fruit and vegetables. Lots of chicken nuggets and frozen instant food. Occasionally, Kid will have an interest in vegetables she sees us cook with or that she’s never had. Like once she insisted that she wanted to eat canned peas, until she tasted them. She chewed on a lettuce leaf and put it down, then asked for another one because she wanted to eat something, and it looked tasty to her.
The two halves of the household make separate foods now and keep out of each other’s food, but sometimes Vulture will give Kid some of the food I cooked because Kid saw my spaghetti noodles in a bowl and insisted on having them by way of tantrum. Instead of asking me if it’s okay (which obviously, I’d say yes, Kid can have some), Vulture just gave her my food and then told me after. Maybe I’m just projecting my own frustration, but it feels like Vulture uses Kid as a shield sometimes, to get food. Unless I have a specific purpose for food like what I put in my meal prep containers, I wouldn’t say no to Kid.
Kid’s diet makes me worried for her as she grows up. OLB is big and tall, over 6 feet tall and over 300lbs. They aren’t an active family at all. Kid drinks soda when they get fast food. She eats as much processed food as Vulture. Right now, she’s growing like a weed and is tall and actually has some power in her tiny limbs, which is most noticeable when she climbs you like a ladder, but her parents are gamers that just sit around. Her own screen time is almost as lengthy as theirs is.
I worry about Kid, constantly. Z does too. We have theorized calling CPS, or trying to adopt her, or just getting her away from Vulture. We have thrown around ideas about talking to OLB and convincing him that Vulture isn’t a good person for Kid. A lot of it has stayed in theory because the anxious part of me is still afraid to make life-altering waves like that. I second-guess and gaslight myself into realizing how bad things are, but then telling myself, maybe I’m just blowing it out of proportion. Maybe it's just something they have to handle. Maybe it’s something a first-time parent needs to learn. Maybe Vulture just isn’t feeling good that day. Maybe, maybe, maybe.
It’s a leftover of the doormat I used to be, and I know that. The tiny fragment of anxiety that tells me I’m blowing things up into too big a deal. The tiny fragment that escaped a toxic marriage and just wants peace after arguing every single day. The side that hates confrontation.
Maybe I’m just a plain ol’ coward. I don’t know yet. I just know my patience is running thinner with every passing day.
I don’t think I could convince OLB to dump Vulture. From what I’ve seen on the surface, they’re not openly affectionate. Vulture complains all the time that OLB doesn’t give her any physical affection, and she (unfortunately) tells me when they’re intimate, which doesn’t sound often. They almost look like they could be friends that are co-parenting. She calls him her husband when they’re out in public, and OLB has stated that he doesn’t want anything to happen to her, because he doesn’t want a single parent. I assume at the very least that he does love her, even though he sounds exhausted all the time. Z and I wonder if maybe he feels trapped.
OLB is good at asking for help if he needs it, although he hates being a burden to others. He will speak up if Vulture needs a ride to a doctor’s office, and he forgot to leave the car seat at home. I’ve driven to his work to pick it up after he messaged me asking if I could. They ask his family to babysit Kid if they want to go out and just have a good date or see a movie together. They are clearly capable of asking for help.
This is just an acceptable standard for both, or at least that’s the way it seems to me. Sometimes, I don’t truly know if OLB is aware of what Vulture does while he’s at work. He didn’t know that she used his 11-year-old dog as a vacuum cleaner to clean up spilled table scraps until I pointed it out and then he pieced together why his dog wasn’t losing weight on a reduced kibble diet. Sometimes I have pointed out things to him that he might not notice in the house chat.
I started keeping a log in Google Docs about things I notice, and Z and I talk about it in discord, so it’s not heard by ears that are too close to our bedroom. The log started helping me see that I’m not just blowing out of proportion and that in turn helped me come here to reddit. As a former doormat in recovery, I still have to tell myself that it’s okay to realize that something is wrong, and that I may need help getting my voice to speak up.
I haven’t worked since 2017, when my mental health took a sharp nosedive. Z is currently looking for work. Both of us are home all day exposed to Vulture and how she treats Kid. With my own daily tasks, errands, struggling with mental health, there’s still a side of me that berates me that I need to be taking care of Kid. Getting her up, making sure she eats. Pestering Vulture to get up. This is also where I tangle with the former doormat that still lives in me, because one, I don’t want to enable Vulture to get even worse. With someone taking the burden off of her, that gives her more free time to just sit back and game. It isn’t my job to make sure that Vulture is a good parent, yet somehow, I feel like it’s also my fault that she’s as bad as she is while I sit by the wayside and just talk about her behind her back. There are times where I have pestered OLB through discord about Kid crying, or how Kid is trying to beat the door down, or asking if Vulture is up for the day because I haven’t seen her up at three in the afternoon.
I started speaking up when I noticed something that’s off. I call this the “cheese incident.” We had a block of cheese that was cut in the wrapper and not in anything else, so the exposed end got all hard and inedible. I cut it off and threw it away. Vulture made her way into the kitchen because Kid saw me cutting cheese and wanted some.
Vulture: Who threw away that cheese?
(SHE PICKS IT UP OUT OF THE TRASH CAN)
Me: Yeah, it’s got that hard bit
Vulture: So? I know someone who will eat it.
(She calls Kid over)
Me: But it was in the trash.
Vulture: It’s okay, I cut off the part that was touching the trash.
Me: Dude, that’s fucked up.
Vulture: (hesitating now) Should I not?
Me: That’s probably going to make her sick again.
(Kid has been sick back-to-back at this point)
Vulture: Okay, then I won’t.
(To this day, I don’t know if she threw the cheese away or ate it herself, and I’m afraid to ask)
That was the point where I started pointing out that what she’s doing is problematic. It’s a slow process, but it’s helped me put the doormat side of me away again. I’ve explained to Vulture that Kid isn’t crying to be malicious, she just can’t express what she wants. Especially with Kid’s speech delay! Kid gets frustrated fast when adults don’t understand her, and the wailing begins. There’s no maliciousness behind it, just frustration. Or how Kid doesn’t like being told “no” because she doesn’t always understand why. Strangely, every time I call something out, she doesn’t really have much of a fight against it.
But why am I having to say it in the first place?
There’s little things that just rub me the wrong way in how they interact. Sometimes Vulture will call Kid over in the same way you’d call a dog. Repeatedly. Sometimes Vulture, in a state of migraine or other illness-related grouchiness will scream at her “Leave me alone!” and OLB will have to fetch Kid. One time, Z told me that Vulture outright mocked her crying by making her own crying noise.
What’s awful to watch in person is that when Vulture’s mom or siblings are over, Vulture is suddenly a doting mom who isn’t perpetually exhausted or loudly complaining about how her “everything” hurts. She talks in an overly sweet voice to Kid. It unsettles me with how two-faced it seems. OLB, Vulture, and Kid go have dinner with OLB’s family every Sunday evening, and I can’t help but wonder how two-faced she is there, as well. Some of OLB’s family doesn’t like Vulture to begin with.
Slowly, I am losing patience at how Vulture behaves, especially with the Kid. I had to un-gaslight myself, start logging her behavior, and talk to other people to really see it for what it was. I told multiple friends about it and we all generally have the same consensus that Vulture is just an unfit parent. If her chronic illnesses are truly interfering with her life that much, she shouldn’t be the majority caregiver through the day. But it’s not like OLB would be able to work from home or be the stay-at-home parent. In a perfect world, I would be able to help more as well, but I’m barely the “fun” aunt. I’m barely equipped to help care for a three-year-old. Hell, most days I’m barely an actual person.
Kid deserves better.
Bottom line, Kid deserves better than what this house can give. I am upset with myself over my lack of action, but the logs have only been growing bigger. Every day, the doormat dies a little more.
Vulture herself though, will likely always be a side show. One thing that Z pointed out to me was that, as the doormat I used to be, I would give everything to help someone even when I was mentally exhausted. I enmeshed myself too much into the lives of my friends because I loved making them happy and making their lives easier. It’s gotten me into some awkward territory with Vulture, because some things were interpreted as more than friendship.
You ready to cringe more? Because the next part is going to deal with polyamory, the desire for open relationships, and the main reason why Z despises her – and that’s putting it mildly.
Take a moment to un-cringe yourself. It ain’t over yet.
submitted by EzekialX to ReddXReads [link] [comments]
Hi again, it’s the bunny. I’ve just barely stepped into Reddx’s discord, but Ezekial is still posting this saga for me so thank you, Z.
Trigger warning: This will deal with a lot of aspects relating to child neglect (and possible abuse) and Kid being ignored or taking the brunt of Vulture’s anger. Sorry for the spoiler as well, but I think we saw this coming, too (especially if you’ve seen Z talk in the discord). Don’t push yourself to read if you’re not okay with these concepts.
The Cast List
Bunny (author): 33, female. Recovering lifelong doormat slowly building a spine. Neuro spicy gym rat with major depressive disorder, general anxiety disorder, and most recently diagnosed with ADHD. Unfortunately, very familiar with surviving trauma.
Z (poster): My partner. 31, nonbinary (they/them), also neuro spicy with depression, anxiety, OCD, BPD, autism, and also familiar with lifelong trauma.
One Liner Beard (OLB): 33, male, neuro spicy with ADHD and depression. His nickname here comes from the fact that in messenger, he usually has one-word replies like “oof” or “mmm” as an acknowledgement he had seen the message but has nothing further to contribute.
VultureBeard (Vulture): 30, female, neuro spicy and disabled with multiple conditions. She has Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, POTs (postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome), autism, depression, anxiety, chronic migraines, but also possibly a list of things that may or may not be real. The star of this unfortunate circus. Her name comes from how she always pops up when I’m cooking food, complaining about how hungry is and how she’s unable to cook.
Kid: 3. Female. OLB and Vulture’s child. Likely neuro spicy like we all are, but she’s also only 3 years old. Slightly speech delayed and not potty trained yet.
Take a deep breath. Now take another one. This chapter will likely make you mad.
Chapter Three: “Do You Want Bologna?” Or, Vulture as a Parent
Imagine this: it’s eight in the morning and you’re cozy in bed. The blankets are warm, and you hit snooze on your early alarm so you can sleep in before you have to get up.
Your peace is shattered by a toddler crying, followed by the screech of, “WHAT!” or “GET DOWN FROM THERE!”
Yeah, welcome to The Life.
Vulture has a messed-up sleep schedule. It’s partially because Kid doesn’t sleep soundly through the night, but it’s also because Vulture’s sleep schedule is essentially flipped backwards to where she stays up all night and wants to sleep during the day. Vulture says it’s “insomnia” but sometimes she’s up late gaming with Discord friends or watching anime. I couldn’t tell you which issue it was day by day. Sometimes if I go to sleep late, I hear Kid crying from her room because she had night terrors or had potty troubles. Sometimes I hear OLB and Vulture awake shuffling between rooms in the hallway.
Because of this, Vulture and mornings don’t mesh well. Kid is usually put in her room for bedtime around 7 PM, usually with her tablet to keep her company and either give her something to watch, or to play white noises for sleeping. Kid does not have a real sleep routine as well. She’s just kind of shut in her room. Sometimes there’s a bit of a routine like winding her down with chocolate milk and giving her a countdown of “okay, ten more minutes and then bedtime,” but for the most part she just does not want to go to bed. Bedtimes are met with a lot of crying, and the beardy parents telling us that she will be upset for a bit.
Kid has an attempted daily schedule, if Vulture is awake enough. Theoretically:
- 9 AM: Awake and watching TV while Vulture is on her computer in the same room
- 1 PM: In the room for naptime (but it’s usually play time)
- 4 PM: Free to run around while dad is home
- 7 PM: Bedtime (but she’s usually playing then too)
Sometimes because Kid won’t go to sleep, she’ll still be up at 9 PM and that breaks her schedule too. A lot of times, it works out that OLB is the “fun” parent while he’s home, because he’s up at 4 AM to leave for work by 6 and doesn’t come home until between 4 or 5 PM. Then she spends time with him while he’s home.
There’s also a child lock on the inside of Kid’s bedroom door, those doorknob covers that you have to push and turn, so she can’t open the door and wander around unsupervised. I was originally the one who suggested the child lock, back when she was younger, and they didn’t have the secondary child gate they currently do now that’s stored in the garage. Since then, with her potty training and Vulture’s likewise awful sleep schedule, I’ve suggested more than once that they take the door handle blocker off and put up the second kiddy gate they have to block the living room and kitchen off, so she can get up if she needs to, but the child lock still remains. At most, she would have access to their room, since it doesn’t have a kiddy lock on it. Me and Z’s bedroom has a child lock on it, as well as the bathroom door. She could freely wander between her room and her parents’ room that way.
I hear Kid playing in her room by herself a lot, squealing and having fun and playing pretend. Or moving her furniture around. And no, the furniture is not secured to the wall, so she can move her bed around the room. I’ve also told OLB and Vulture they needed to make sure she can’t topple it and chain it to the wall but, yeah, that hasn’t been dealt with.
When Kid really needs attention, she will cry and wail. And I mean wail. The two beardy parents don’t have baby monitors or anything that can hear into her bedroom, so she has to wail loudly enough to be heard through the walls. Luckily, the house has thin walls. Because of her early bedtime, she’s often awake early in the morning. Sometimes Vulture will respond, sometimes Vulture won’t wake up until around noon.
Yes, that means Kid is by herself a lot.
Kid is a bubbly three-year-old. She loves it when Z and I give her attention, which admittingly isn’t as often as I would like to give her. With my own Depression™, I spend so much time fighting to just gather enough mental energy to be a productive human. Despite me wandering in a mental fog, Kid remains a bright spot in my day. I met her when she was a fresh baby bean just barely out of the hospital, and I immediately fell in love. Since then, I’ve seen her grow almost her whole life, except for when they were all in north Texas. She has blue eyes and brown hair that will curl on its own. She loves dinosaurs, Baby Shark, Octonauts, and occasionally whatever anime the parents are watching. Don’t ask me how many times I’ve heard the Baby Shark song. I don’t want it stuck in my head for another solid week.
She used to watch a lot of Ms. Rachel’s Songs For Little videos, because originally Vulture wanted Kid to learn sign language to help communicate. I’ve rarely seen Vulture attempt to upkeep the sign language lessons. She did at one point. I think after Kid started becoming more vocal, the idea was dropped. I have heard some of the familiar videos so often that even I learned the kid’s songs, but I guess that’s also part of the collateral when dealing with kid’s media.
Kid usually exists in a half-dressed state, usually just wearing a pull up and that’s it. Unfortunately, because Vulture is so hard on her tangles when she tries to brush her hair, Kid doesn’t like hair care and will fight being brushed. Her hair used to exist in a perpetual state of being matted with at least one major knot, until Vulture’s mom ended up giving her a bath and getting her to stay still enough to endure the brushing, even with the wailing of a protesting Kid going strong. Her hair was then cut to make it more manageable, and strangely, that fixed a lot of the matting problems.
Kid is let out of her room when Vulture wakes up, usually needing a diaper change. At three years old, Kid is not potty trained yet. Just from what I’ve heard from my bedroom, it sounds like OLB and Vulture are finally starting to step up on potty training, but it’s been an uphill fight. I know a few of my other parent friends have had an extremely hard time potty training their kid. I’m not a parent, so I don’t actually know how challenging it can be. I do know though that it shouldn’t sound like the toilet is some kind of punishment for peeing in her cloth panties that they’re trying to switch her to. Or, that they try to get her to sit on the toilet when she has no interest in it and she ends up throwing a tantrum. Unfortunately, without much context, that’s how some bathroom trips sound.
Kid wears pull-ups to bed and the cloth underwear during the day, or sometimes just pull-ups. They’re trying to teach her how to recognize when her body has the potty urge, which she still doesn’t quite get right now. She has literally peed on the tile floor through her cloth undies. Vulture messaged the house chat once saying, “Kid just lifted her leg while in the rolling chair and peed all over the floor.”
You know. Like a dog.
With the potty-training trouble and Kid only sometimes in pull-ups that can contain her mess, Z and I don’t let her into our room as often as we’d like to, because she doesn’t recognize when she has to go. It sucks, because Kid adores spending time with us and our room has cool animals, like my retired psychiatric service dog and our three ferrets. She loves the ferrets. But if we spend time out in the living room with everyone, Z’s patience tends to have a shorter fuse because they can’t stand Vulture (that’s also another tale I have). We’re also stuck out in the general mess of the living room if we are out there with her. It’s either the general mess that toddlers make, spilled food, and general filth. The best times we’ve had spending time with Kid is just chilling in our room as she ooh’s and ahh’s over the ferrets or watches TV with us. Z and I quote SpongeBob line by line daily, and she has watched some of the show with us.
I feel awful about shutting Kid out so much, when I see the way Vulture interacts with her. On Vulture’s bad days (if you read the previous post, that’s almost every day), she acts like Kid is a chore. She will snap at Kid, act like Kid is choosing to act out of maliciousness and make “tired mom” jokes that sound like she just flat out doesn’t like Kid. When I had liquor in the fridge, Vulture would ask if she could take a shot because, “I need it. She’s trying me today.”
Some choice quotes talking down about the kid:
“I’m being hard on her because she’s not using her words. Like I know she can. She just doesn’t want to.” This was what Vulture said to me after Kid kept trying to get her attention and wouldn’t explain what she wanted. Kid was just making noises at her and getting frustrated. Vulture full on shouted, “WHAT!” at her, then turned to me to try and explain why she shouted.
“This is the bad part about being a mom. She’s not letting me do anything right now.” This was said after Vulture cleaned her desk and was attempting to watch YouTube videos and play her Switch.
On her good days, Vulture will be that kind of smiling parent that does some art activities and engages with Kid in a way that’s more than just screaming. They color together. She offers Kid choices so Kid can have some control over what happens in her day, like, “Do you want bologna or fruit?” It has helped Kid become more vocal and even though she’s still speech delayed, she talks more and has a bigger vocabulary.
The house has a different atmosphere when OLB is home, compared to when Vulture is just watching Kid by herself. I’ve told OLB that I think Vulture is burned out. Her entire life is her disabilities and being a mom. She only has friends on Discord really, and OLB had to push her to start talking to them again just so she had someone to socialize with.
Old Doormat me pitied her at the beginning of our friendship. I tried being her friend. I tried to include her and Kid in a lot of things. My own mental health, my daily obligations, my gym schedule, and just me changing rapidly since 2020 altered my life, exhausted me, and left me unable to deal with Vulture talking a million miles a minute, info dumping about whatever she’s currently doing every single time I run into her. And as I shed my doormat self, I started seeing her clearly.
I told OLB once that if Vulture is truly burned out or if her health problems are causing that much trouble, Kid might need daycare or another caregiver to help. OLB is aware but can’t afford other care. He’s working for bottom of the barrel pay at a full-time job. Most days after work, he just wants to zone out to his own games in front of his computer but has to step in and parent both Vulture and Kid, because Vulture often needs help organizing through executive dysfunction to do something. Or, because she will call for his help.
There was one time where Kid climbed on top of her, and Vulture called for OLB – who was in the same room – to pull Kid off her. There are quite a few times where Vulture calls for OLB for help with Kid, and I’ve heard him say that he’s also busy too. One time he asked, “Why are you asking for my help when you’re closer?”
Z has offered to look after Kid at times because they don’t mind Kid being in our room or just hanging out. She has hung out with us when I also have the mental energy and the room is clean enough to accommodate a toddler crawling on everything. The problem that we both see is that our stepping in isn’t a full solution. She can spend a few hours with us, but ultimately after, she goes right back to Vulture and OLB. Vulture is the one who acts like being a parent is a chore.
There are times that OLB has snapped at Vulture for the way she gets on to Kid, emphasizing, “She’s just a child.” Their parenting styles are like looking at two entirely different planets and trying to find similarities. OLB is very much into the gentle parenting side of Tik Tok. He talks about breaking generational trauma. He’s usually gentle with Kid, explaining why she’s not allowed to do things like stand on top of her highchair or why I’m too busy to play with her as I’m zooming around the house in and out repeatedly some days. He has talked her down from meltdowns and keeps his voice even to where she can’t bounce off him to amplify her tantrums. He spanks her, but as a last resort, and then also talks to her about why the punishment happened. She will wail through everything and likely isn’t fully listening, but ultimately, I see him trying to work with her. He very rarely loses his actual temper with her.
Vulture is the total opposite. She yells at Kid, spanks with no hesitation and doesn’t explain why. One of Kid’s favorite games to play is “Block the door” when I’m trying to get through the house. She will block my bedroom door, cling to me, then circle around me as Vulture or OLB tries to distract her or lure her away by asking “do you want chocolate” or some other treat. Sometimes Kid just likes to play ring-around-the-rosie around my legs, as her parents try to grab her. I try to make it fun and seem like I’m not mad at her, because I’m never actually mad at her for blocking my way. Usually, I’m just in the middle of some arbitrary task or running an errand or coming back from the gym with my one remaining brain cell barely hanging on for dear life. I try to engage with her and play it off as a game because she’s not actually doing anything wrong.
Vulture has lured her away with chocolate and treats, with offers of food, with trying to get her to pick a show to watch. If that fails, she will come and fetch Kid by hand. One time involved yanking her physically off me and spanking her on the bare bottom because Kid was happy playing a game instead of listening.
The bare bottom is a thing, too. Because Kid used to live in soiled diapers for much longer than she was supposed to, she had constant diaper rash that she had to see the doctor for sometimes. She also didn’t want OLB or Vulture to change her diapers and would scream when it was diaper change time. I don’t blame her. The diaper rash hurt, and Vulture wasn’t exactly gentle with changing. Kid bled sometimes with the changings. So now, sometimes Kid will be dressed like Donald Duck in only a top to air out her bottom. Or because now, with the cloth undies, she will pee straight through them, and they just let her air out after.
Kid always smells a bit like pee. So does her room. And her bedding. After I pointed out that her bedding straight out of the dryer smelled like urine, OLB went about cleaning the washing machine with a machine cleaner, and bought scent beads to help cut the smell, after I told him that a little vinegar in the wash load will cut the smells down. Now her bedding doesn’t smell so much like urine, but it’s still there.
Her bedroom frequently smells like a public bathroom. It always looks like her bedroom has been turned upside down, with toys everywhere, her bed pushed to the middle of the room, the mattress on the floor. Books she was given were shredded, even the cardboard ones. There was straight up garbage left in her room because she was given food to eat there that had wrappers. It usually takes Vulture a full day of cleaning to get the room organized when she had the energy to do it, but she usually sanitizes with just a baby wipe, if she does at all. Maybe a pet cleaner sometimes.
There was one time where I was letting the dogs outside and I stepped in a puddle on the tile floor. That was when I realized that it was a pee puddle and Kid’s cloth underwear was dripping. I asked Vulture to clean the puddle up. When she asked to use my steam mop, she didn’t clean the cloth pad after, so when I turned the mop on next, it smelled like hot, steamed urine. I had to clean the mop pad off myself and rinse the pee out of it. When Kid again peed in front of the TV in her cloth undies, I told OLB that if they’re going to use my steam mop to make sure that the mop pad is rinsed off or it will smell like pee the next time it’s used, but he said he was just going to use his mop and bucket. Thankfully.
Because of the diet that OLB and Vulture has, Kid also eats like them. She gets a lot of macaroni, a lot of random odds and ends like pieces of bread, baggies of cheerios, sometimes fruit and vegetables. Lots of chicken nuggets and frozen instant food. Occasionally, Kid will have an interest in vegetables she sees us cook with or that she’s never had. Like once she insisted that she wanted to eat canned peas, until she tasted them. She chewed on a lettuce leaf and put it down, then asked for another one because she wanted to eat something, and it looked tasty to her.
The two halves of the household make separate foods now and keep out of each other’s food, but sometimes Vulture will give Kid some of the food I cooked because Kid saw my spaghetti noodles in a bowl and insisted on having them by way of tantrum. Instead of asking me if it’s okay (which obviously, I’d say yes, Kid can have some), Vulture just gave her my food and then told me after. Maybe I’m just projecting my own frustration, but it feels like Vulture uses Kid as a shield sometimes, to get food. Unless I have a specific purpose for food like what I put in my meal prep containers, I wouldn’t say no to Kid.
Kid’s diet makes me worried for her as she grows up. OLB is big and tall, over 6 feet tall and over 300lbs. They aren’t an active family at all. Kid drinks soda when they get fast food. She eats as much processed food as Vulture. Right now, she’s growing like a weed and is tall and actually has some power in her tiny limbs, which is most noticeable when she climbs you like a ladder, but her parents are gamers that just sit around. Her own screen time is almost as lengthy as theirs is.
I worry about Kid, constantly. Z does too. We have theorized calling CPS, or trying to adopt her, or just getting her away from Vulture. We have thrown around ideas about talking to OLB and convincing him that Vulture isn’t a good person for Kid. A lot of it has stayed in theory because the anxious part of me is still afraid to make life-altering waves like that. I second-guess and gaslight myself into realizing how bad things are, but then telling myself, maybe I’m just blowing it out of proportion. Maybe it's just something they have to handle. Maybe it’s something a first-time parent needs to learn. Maybe Vulture just isn’t feeling good that day. Maybe, maybe, maybe.
It’s a leftover of the doormat I used to be, and I know that. The tiny fragment of anxiety that tells me I’m blowing things up into too big a deal. The tiny fragment that escaped a toxic marriage and just wants peace after arguing every single day. The side that hates confrontation.
Maybe I’m just a plain ol’ coward. I don’t know yet. I just know my patience is running thinner with every passing day.
I don’t think I could convince OLB to dump Vulture. From what I’ve seen on the surface, they’re not openly affectionate. Vulture complains all the time that OLB doesn’t give her any physical affection, and she (unfortunately) tells me when they’re intimate, which doesn’t sound often. They almost look like they could be friends that are co-parenting. She calls him her husband when they’re out in public, and OLB has stated that he doesn’t want anything to happen to her, because he doesn’t want a single parent. I assume at the very least that he does love her, even though he sounds exhausted all the time. Z and I wonder if maybe he feels trapped.
OLB is good at asking for help if he needs it, although he hates being a burden to others. He will speak up if Vulture needs a ride to a doctor’s office, and he forgot to leave the car seat at home. I’ve driven to his work to pick it up after he messaged me asking if I could. They ask his family to babysit Kid if they want to go out and just have a good date or see a movie together. They are clearly capable of asking for help.
This is just an acceptable standard for both, or at least that’s the way it seems to me. Sometimes, I don’t truly know if OLB is aware of what Vulture does while he’s at work. He didn’t know that she used his 11-year-old dog as a vacuum cleaner to clean up spilled table scraps until I pointed it out and then he pieced together why his dog wasn’t losing weight on a reduced kibble diet. Sometimes I have pointed out things to him that he might not notice in the house chat.
I started keeping a log in Google Docs about things I notice, and Z and I talk about it in discord, so it’s not heard by ears that are too close to our bedroom. The log started helping me see that I’m not just blowing out of proportion and that in turn helped me come here to reddit. As a former doormat in recovery, I still have to tell myself that it’s okay to realize that something is wrong, and that I may need help getting my voice to speak up.
I haven’t worked since 2017, when my mental health took a sharp nosedive. Z is currently looking for work. Both of us are home all day exposed to Vulture and how she treats Kid. With my own daily tasks, errands, struggling with mental health, there’s still a side of me that berates me that I need to be taking care of Kid. Getting her up, making sure she eats. Pestering Vulture to get up. This is also where I tangle with the former doormat that still lives in me, because one, I don’t want to enable Vulture to get even worse. With someone taking the burden off of her, that gives her more free time to just sit back and game. It isn’t my job to make sure that Vulture is a good parent, yet somehow, I feel like it’s also my fault that she’s as bad as she is while I sit by the wayside and just talk about her behind her back. There are times where I have pestered OLB through discord about Kid crying, or how Kid is trying to beat the door down, or asking if Vulture is up for the day because I haven’t seen her up at three in the afternoon.
I started speaking up when I noticed something that’s off. I call this the “cheese incident.” We had a block of cheese that was cut in the wrapper and not in anything else, so the exposed end got all hard and inedible. I cut it off and threw it away. Vulture made her way into the kitchen because Kid saw me cutting cheese and wanted some.
Vulture: Who threw away that cheese?
(SHE PICKS IT UP OUT OF THE TRASH CAN)
Me: Yeah, it’s got that hard bit
Vulture: So? I know someone who will eat it.
(She calls Kid over)
Me: But it was in the trash.
Vulture: It’s okay, I cut off the part that was touching the trash.
Me: Dude, that’s fucked up.
Vulture: (hesitating now) Should I not?
Me: That’s probably going to make her sick again.
(Kid has been sick back-to-back at this point)
Vulture: Okay, then I won’t.
(To this day, I don’t know if she threw the cheese away or ate it herself, and I’m afraid to ask)
That was the point where I started pointing out that what she’s doing is problematic. It’s a slow process, but it’s helped me put the doormat side of me away again. I’ve explained to Vulture that Kid isn’t crying to be malicious, she just can’t express what she wants. Especially with Kid’s speech delay! Kid gets frustrated fast when adults don’t understand her, and the wailing begins. There’s no maliciousness behind it, just frustration. Or how Kid doesn’t like being told “no” because she doesn’t always understand why. Strangely, every time I call something out, she doesn’t really have much of a fight against it.
But why am I having to say it in the first place?
There’s little things that just rub me the wrong way in how they interact. Sometimes Vulture will call Kid over in the same way you’d call a dog. Repeatedly. Sometimes Vulture, in a state of migraine or other illness-related grouchiness will scream at her “Leave me alone!” and OLB will have to fetch Kid. One time, Z told me that Vulture outright mocked her crying by making her own crying noise.
What’s awful to watch in person is that when Vulture’s mom or siblings are over, Vulture is suddenly a doting mom who isn’t perpetually exhausted or loudly complaining about how her “everything” hurts. She talks in an overly sweet voice to Kid. It unsettles me with how two-faced it seems. OLB, Vulture, and Kid go have dinner with OLB’s family every Sunday evening, and I can’t help but wonder how two-faced she is there, as well. Some of OLB’s family doesn’t like Vulture to begin with.
Slowly, I am losing patience at how Vulture behaves, especially with the Kid. I had to un-gaslight myself, start logging her behavior, and talk to other people to really see it for what it was. I told multiple friends about it and we all generally have the same consensus that Vulture is just an unfit parent. If her chronic illnesses are truly interfering with her life that much, she shouldn’t be the majority caregiver through the day. But it’s not like OLB would be able to work from home or be the stay-at-home parent. In a perfect world, I would be able to help more as well, but I’m barely the “fun” aunt. I’m barely equipped to help care for a three-year-old. Hell, most days I’m barely an actual person.
Kid deserves better.
Bottom line, Kid deserves better than what this house can give. I am upset with myself over my lack of action, but the logs have only been growing bigger. Every day, the doormat dies a little more.
Vulture herself though, will likely always be a side show. One thing that Z pointed out to me was that, as the doormat I used to be, I would give everything to help someone even when I was mentally exhausted. I enmeshed myself too much into the lives of my friends because I loved making them happy and making their lives easier. It’s gotten me into some awkward territory with Vulture, because some things were interpreted as more than friendship.
You ready to cringe more? Because the next part is going to deal with polyamory, the desire for open relationships, and the main reason why Z despises her – and that’s putting it mildly.
Take a moment to un-cringe yourself. It ain’t over yet.
2023.06.05 04:42 ThrowRAwasteofspace Wondering if I'm (M25) ready for marriage to the mother (F23) of 2 of my children(3 & newborn), or if we should (for the best) go our separate ways in the future. Z
Throwaway account, as i don't want this connected to my other accounts.
My thoughts are erratic, forgive me for bouncing all over the point but I'm trying to include everything I've been thinking and feeling with my reasoning so please bear with me. Gonna be a long one. If you take the time to read all this and provide genuine, thoughtful feedback, know that I'm beyond appreciative.
I had my first child at 19, and his mother and I didn't stay together. He was given a hyphenated combination of our last names, and now all these years later his mother is engaged to another man with their own newborn, and my son calls said man "his other daddy". I understand that as even though i am active in my son's life, my own dad wasn't around and i ended up calling my temporary step-dad "daddy" for a period of time. My son's mom and her fiancé of course have been living together for a while so i don't see anything wrong with that, nor am i bothered by it as long as my son and Mr. Fiancé don't forget who his actual father is.
All that to say that this has led to me being unwilling to have my other children calling another man "daddy", which is one of a few reasons making me feel like i have to stay in my current relationship and eventually tie the knot with my girlfriend - even if i am currently unhappy more often than not and feel as if marriage would be dooming myself to a life of tolerance rather than contentment.
I feel like my current girlfriend is a great person, friend and mother, but many of her tendencies and thought processes tend to irk/frustrate me. I know no one is perfect and any relationship requires work and effort, but I can't help but feel as if there would be someone out there better suited for myself, or if I would just be better off alone.
Before I talk (or complain) about everything I'm unhappy about, I'd like to make it known that I've been 10 relationships before my current one, and i ended 8 of them with 2 of them ended by the girl- much to my chagrin. Those 2 had a pretty big impact on me but not as much as 2 that i ended due to being cheated on. The rest I ended i guess out of boredom? This made me feel as if I wasn't cut out for relationships and I should be alone, but then I end up lonely wanting a relationship. I ended one relationship with a cheater right before the relationship that gave me my firstborn. I never took the time to heal from that and I wasn't ready for a child at the time, so even though i love my son and have always been active in his life, i never thought his mother and I would have a longstanding relationship.
We separated and then i met and began a relationship with the second cheater. At the time I was 21 and she was 33, but i could've swore she was the best thing to ever happen to me. Thing was, she was still living with her ex and I'm sure you can imagine how that went. That whole relationship left me feeling emasculated.
I left that relationship and began a relationship with my current girlfriend not even 3 months later. Needless to say I did no healing, took no time for myself. To make things worse we moved in together within another 3 months, and she found out she was pregnant by the end of the year.
I was actually perfectly content with my only child and had no desire to sire another child at this point in time, but my girlfriend had gotten pregnant in her previous relationship and ended up losing the baby, so her baby fever was at an all time high and she would get depressed whenever we would have sex and I'd cum anywhere other than inside of her. She'd roll over and put her back to me and sulk about it until she went to sleep, sometimes even crying about it. This made me feel Tee-totally terrible so I eventually just 🤷🏾♂️ and started finishing inside her to give her the child she wanted. This pregnancy gave me my daughter and I love her to death, she's amazing. We were staying in an apartment complex with roommates, but after finding out she was pregnant we went to stay with her mom. I broke up with her after welcoming the baby due to feelings of discontentment, although we got together again a few months later.
We got our own place and stayed there about a year and a half before I broke up with her again because i felt like i just wasn't the man for her. I told her i didn't want to marry and i don't want anymore kids, mainly just to drive the point as these are things she wants. We separated for 3 or 4 months this time, in which period of time I had sex once with an ex and she had sex once with a coworker. Despite that, we got back together because i had "thought about it" and decided that i didn't mind marrying and having more children. Fast forward a year and we moved to a better home and welcomed our second child together, my 3rd child and 2nd son.
I've thought about and pretty much accepted the concept/fate of marrying my girlfriend. She's been insistent bordering on impatient which I understand. This last time we got back together I told her we'd be wed before our son got here, which was rash on my part. I rush a lot of things but marriage isn't one of them.
I don't know if it's because my girlfriend is the partner in question, but marriage just feels like a huge shackle to me and divorce is a hassle from what I've heard. I don't want to marry just for it to be unhappy and end up in divorce.
Back to: I feel like my current girlfriend is a great person, friend and mother, but many of her tendencies and thought processes tend to irk/frustrate me. I know no one is perfect and any relationship requires work and effort, but I can't help but feel as if there would be someone out there better suited for myself, or if I would just be better off alone.
Here comes the complaining.
I'm an introvert, through and through. I like reading books, i like quiet time, i enjoy having time to myself, I enjoy doing/accomplishing things alone.
My girlfriend has to be the antithesis. She can talk on and on and on for hours on end without nary a breath in between. This isn't as much of an issue as the subject of her conversation- most of the time, there isn't one. It's like 95% of her thoughts come out of her mouth and she expects me to reply and vividly react to it all. It's really kind of draining. I get that as the man i should be glad that I'm the one she's talking to, but sometimes I'd rather enjoy the song that's playing or just have time alone with my thoughts. So most of her dialogue has no real meaning to me, and she often talks/asks questions about things that would be clear to her with just a little observation on her end. A little thought. She's so busy spitting out that 95% thought that she can't use the remaining 5 to come to her own conclusions.
For example, we're riding in the car. It's sunny outside, yet starts to rain. She says, "The devil must be beating his wife". I just look at her like 😐 while internally doing the wtf Jackie Chan face because what kind of sense does that make? She says, "What you've never heard that?" No, because it doesn't make sense. The devil is in theory beneath us so even if he did have a wife and beat her, why would these tears be coming from the sky? Perhaps I'm just a dull rock and too analytical but i feel like we could've both saved our breath on that whole exchange.
Another example. We went to eat, i got a coke to go. It was riding in the front cup holder until i finished it, and threw the empty cup into the trash. A whole ten, fifteen minutes later she asks, "Did you finish your coke?" I just look at her like 😐 while internally doing the wtf Jackie Chan face because are you telling me you didn't see me throw it away while you're right beside me? Do you not see the empty cup holder? I say yea, to which she asks me to hand her her water bottle. I just feel as if she could've taken the time to do some looking and thinking on her own, and just ask me for her water.
We're driving with a gps, she says that she needs me to help her because she doesn't know if it's this exit or the next one. 😐 idk if i can do this for the rest of my life. The route is highlighted on the screen, instead of oh so many feet, the distance is point something miles, and the exit number is on the screen. I tell her to think about it. She takes the wrong exit and gets mad at me.
Other times she is literally just voicing her inner dialogue like "I want a coke", "I'm hot, need to turn on the air", "My head is itching" and she just looks at me waiting for me to say something when I feel like none of this really warrants a reply. I hate small talk but maybe I'm just a stick in the mud.
She asks for help ridiculously often when she doesn't really need any. She could do things on her own most of the time just by freeing up one of her hands or literally thinking about the issue more. She probably tells me "hold this" 15 to 93 times a day. Just put it down? We were eating chinese takeout one night, and with a table right in front of her, she tells me to hold her plate. You know they give you enough food to feed a small village in those flimsy ass trays so the styrofoam bends and she drops her plate on my legs and in the floor before i can get a hold of it. I can't tell you how many times she's asked me for help with something that literally has instructions on it; she just didn't take the time to read it. I point it out and she's like "Oh 😜". It's gotten to the point where other than "think about it", when she asks for help i ask "do you really" and when i feel like she doesn't i resort to a childhood saying of my mother: "USE YOUR NOODLE! And when you're done with your noodle, put it back in your soup and finish your dinner".
To sum these points up, my pride doesn't want my kids acknowledging yet another dad, my girlfriend spits faster than Eminem when I'm a quiet guy, and her problem solving skills are near nonexistent when I'm a self-dependent, figure it out type of guy. I guess these personality differences might stem from our upbringing, as she was raised in a volatile home with her brother, bouncing between her mother and grandmother who both talk just as much as she, while i was raised alone with my mother who also enjoyed quiet time and liked reading and such. BUT-
In addition to this, I don't feel like my girlfriend and I are as sexually compatible as we could be. Our preferences and things we want aren't that different, but i have a much broader taste than she does and I don't ever think I'll achieve sexual freedom with her. I know that some of my fantasies are off the table for her, and others I'm too ashamed to even open up about due to what she's made clear of her stance. She doesn't like the lights on during, she doesn't like eye contact, she isn't very vocal. I wanna see her, look her in the eye, when i talk to her she doesn't talk back and doesn't mention it till we're done. These differences probably come from our experience and lack of with porn and sexual partners. I think I'm her third or fourth relationship. The guy before me she was with for 5 years. I started watching porn at 12 or 13, was running a NSFW tumblr page before tumblr stopped being cool, regularly masturbated. I don't think my girlfriend ever really touched herself before me, and the only time i know of her masturbating was to send me a video like 2 years ago. I want more from out sex life but trying to bring it up is met with mild disgust before rejection. Ideally I want my partner to want to masturbate sometimes, for us both to have toys, for us to explore with ourselves and other people and explore our fantasies. My girlfriend doesn't even have any. This makes me reluctant to marry because I don't wanna give up on all of this without having experienced it.
On top of this is her style of living. Bathroom sink and tub full of hair. Throwing something away- KOBE! -she misses and doesn't pick it up. Preparing food and leaving the scraps and trash on the counter for roaches, rats and ants, i can't stand it. Her side of the bed looks like the empty water bottle monster threw up and she loves to eat before bed but rarely takes her dishes to the kitchen before sleeping, and just throws her trash in the general direction of the can without bothering to just lean over and place it in or at least see if she made it. I'll say something and she'll do better for 2 days and a half, then i feel like i wasted my words. 8 used wash rags left in the shower, not flushing the toilet, she just really kinda sucks at cleaning up after herself until the stars align or mercury is in retrograde or some divine intervention where she wants to do everything in a day. She's a manager at McD's now so she's working a bit more, but she used to be a server with multiple off days through the week while I've had the same job for 6 years working 6 days out the week from 7a-3p, sometimes working 3-3 or 7-7 and it's frustrating to come home with her having laid on the couch all day amidst a house that a torndado ran through. Then when I get home she wants us to clean together, nah I'm tryna sit down somewhere. I still help pickup but why could you not do this in the 10, 12 hours i was gone? At least start on it and i can come in with the assist like an alley-oop.
To top it off is her style of parenting/communication. Her dad is a loud man and he's to thank for the genes I guess, but she's quick to resort to yelling whenever things bother her or the kids don't listen, as if the louder you are the easier it is to understand. Like I said I'm a quiet guy and i consider myself rational so i like to slow down and calmly talk about things, talk to kids with a level head and tone when they're wrong and talk to her in a calm tone whenever we have any altercations. She normally beats me to the punch with child reprimands since those thoughts have been bubbling in her mouth, and i don't like the yelling at all. After she gets done yelling I'll usually come behind to tell the kids what went wrong and why it was/why they shouldn't do that. But due to my level-headedness she sees that as me not caring, and when i ask her to calm her tone she says it's just how she reacts when upset. The kids act drastically different when they're alone with me versus alone with her, going from minding to whiny/crying whenever she gets to yelling.
Besides the yelling and too high expectations for small children, i do think she's a good mom, i just wish she'd handle things differently sometimes.
To sum these points up, I'm worried about sexual fulfillment, cleanliness (having to pick up after 3 kids and an adult), and temperament/attitude once married.
I know these things take effort but I feel like she just isn't as conscious about it as I am, and when i try to explain why i think she could/should do things differently/more efficiently, she takes it as me criticizing her and belittling her. It feels like I'm in a relationship with a child sometimes as far as her tendencies go.
Is marriage really the best option? Should we spend some time apart or end things for good?
Despite all of this we don't have a bad 1 on 1 relationship, when it's good it's great but when it's bad i can't help but wonder. I get pensive. Is marriage the best course of action for my life, for her life, for our kids? Would we all be able to grow and develop better with mom and dad separated? Is there someone better for me, someone better for her out there?
I've already gotten the supplies I had in mind ready to propose to her in a way she would love and i am happy with, i just have yet to buy a ring. It's a huge commitment that i don't want to end in disaster and resentment.
Sorry for the book. Thoughts/advice greatly appreciated.
submitted by ThrowRAwasteofspace to relationship_advice [link] [comments]
My thoughts are erratic, forgive me for bouncing all over the point but I'm trying to include everything I've been thinking and feeling with my reasoning so please bear with me. Gonna be a long one. If you take the time to read all this and provide genuine, thoughtful feedback, know that I'm beyond appreciative.
I had my first child at 19, and his mother and I didn't stay together. He was given a hyphenated combination of our last names, and now all these years later his mother is engaged to another man with their own newborn, and my son calls said man "his other daddy". I understand that as even though i am active in my son's life, my own dad wasn't around and i ended up calling my temporary step-dad "daddy" for a period of time. My son's mom and her fiancé of course have been living together for a while so i don't see anything wrong with that, nor am i bothered by it as long as my son and Mr. Fiancé don't forget who his actual father is.
All that to say that this has led to me being unwilling to have my other children calling another man "daddy", which is one of a few reasons making me feel like i have to stay in my current relationship and eventually tie the knot with my girlfriend - even if i am currently unhappy more often than not and feel as if marriage would be dooming myself to a life of tolerance rather than contentment.
I feel like my current girlfriend is a great person, friend and mother, but many of her tendencies and thought processes tend to irk/frustrate me. I know no one is perfect and any relationship requires work and effort, but I can't help but feel as if there would be someone out there better suited for myself, or if I would just be better off alone.
Before I talk (or complain) about everything I'm unhappy about, I'd like to make it known that I've been 10 relationships before my current one, and i ended 8 of them with 2 of them ended by the girl- much to my chagrin. Those 2 had a pretty big impact on me but not as much as 2 that i ended due to being cheated on. The rest I ended i guess out of boredom? This made me feel as if I wasn't cut out for relationships and I should be alone, but then I end up lonely wanting a relationship. I ended one relationship with a cheater right before the relationship that gave me my firstborn. I never took the time to heal from that and I wasn't ready for a child at the time, so even though i love my son and have always been active in his life, i never thought his mother and I would have a longstanding relationship.
We separated and then i met and began a relationship with the second cheater. At the time I was 21 and she was 33, but i could've swore she was the best thing to ever happen to me. Thing was, she was still living with her ex and I'm sure you can imagine how that went. That whole relationship left me feeling emasculated.
I left that relationship and began a relationship with my current girlfriend not even 3 months later. Needless to say I did no healing, took no time for myself. To make things worse we moved in together within another 3 months, and she found out she was pregnant by the end of the year.
I was actually perfectly content with my only child and had no desire to sire another child at this point in time, but my girlfriend had gotten pregnant in her previous relationship and ended up losing the baby, so her baby fever was at an all time high and she would get depressed whenever we would have sex and I'd cum anywhere other than inside of her. She'd roll over and put her back to me and sulk about it until she went to sleep, sometimes even crying about it. This made me feel Tee-totally terrible so I eventually just 🤷🏾♂️ and started finishing inside her to give her the child she wanted. This pregnancy gave me my daughter and I love her to death, she's amazing. We were staying in an apartment complex with roommates, but after finding out she was pregnant we went to stay with her mom. I broke up with her after welcoming the baby due to feelings of discontentment, although we got together again a few months later.
We got our own place and stayed there about a year and a half before I broke up with her again because i felt like i just wasn't the man for her. I told her i didn't want to marry and i don't want anymore kids, mainly just to drive the point as these are things she wants. We separated for 3 or 4 months this time, in which period of time I had sex once with an ex and she had sex once with a coworker. Despite that, we got back together because i had "thought about it" and decided that i didn't mind marrying and having more children. Fast forward a year and we moved to a better home and welcomed our second child together, my 3rd child and 2nd son.
I've thought about and pretty much accepted the concept/fate of marrying my girlfriend. She's been insistent bordering on impatient which I understand. This last time we got back together I told her we'd be wed before our son got here, which was rash on my part. I rush a lot of things but marriage isn't one of them.
I don't know if it's because my girlfriend is the partner in question, but marriage just feels like a huge shackle to me and divorce is a hassle from what I've heard. I don't want to marry just for it to be unhappy and end up in divorce.
Back to: I feel like my current girlfriend is a great person, friend and mother, but many of her tendencies and thought processes tend to irk/frustrate me. I know no one is perfect and any relationship requires work and effort, but I can't help but feel as if there would be someone out there better suited for myself, or if I would just be better off alone.
Here comes the complaining.
I'm an introvert, through and through. I like reading books, i like quiet time, i enjoy having time to myself, I enjoy doing/accomplishing things alone.
My girlfriend has to be the antithesis. She can talk on and on and on for hours on end without nary a breath in between. This isn't as much of an issue as the subject of her conversation- most of the time, there isn't one. It's like 95% of her thoughts come out of her mouth and she expects me to reply and vividly react to it all. It's really kind of draining. I get that as the man i should be glad that I'm the one she's talking to, but sometimes I'd rather enjoy the song that's playing or just have time alone with my thoughts. So most of her dialogue has no real meaning to me, and she often talks/asks questions about things that would be clear to her with just a little observation on her end. A little thought. She's so busy spitting out that 95% thought that she can't use the remaining 5 to come to her own conclusions.
For example, we're riding in the car. It's sunny outside, yet starts to rain. She says, "The devil must be beating his wife". I just look at her like 😐 while internally doing the wtf Jackie Chan face because what kind of sense does that make? She says, "What you've never heard that?" No, because it doesn't make sense. The devil is in theory beneath us so even if he did have a wife and beat her, why would these tears be coming from the sky? Perhaps I'm just a dull rock and too analytical but i feel like we could've both saved our breath on that whole exchange.
Another example. We went to eat, i got a coke to go. It was riding in the front cup holder until i finished it, and threw the empty cup into the trash. A whole ten, fifteen minutes later she asks, "Did you finish your coke?" I just look at her like 😐 while internally doing the wtf Jackie Chan face because are you telling me you didn't see me throw it away while you're right beside me? Do you not see the empty cup holder? I say yea, to which she asks me to hand her her water bottle. I just feel as if she could've taken the time to do some looking and thinking on her own, and just ask me for her water.
We're driving with a gps, she says that she needs me to help her because she doesn't know if it's this exit or the next one. 😐 idk if i can do this for the rest of my life. The route is highlighted on the screen, instead of oh so many feet, the distance is point something miles, and the exit number is on the screen. I tell her to think about it. She takes the wrong exit and gets mad at me.
Other times she is literally just voicing her inner dialogue like "I want a coke", "I'm hot, need to turn on the air", "My head is itching" and she just looks at me waiting for me to say something when I feel like none of this really warrants a reply. I hate small talk but maybe I'm just a stick in the mud.
She asks for help ridiculously often when she doesn't really need any. She could do things on her own most of the time just by freeing up one of her hands or literally thinking about the issue more. She probably tells me "hold this" 15 to 93 times a day. Just put it down? We were eating chinese takeout one night, and with a table right in front of her, she tells me to hold her plate. You know they give you enough food to feed a small village in those flimsy ass trays so the styrofoam bends and she drops her plate on my legs and in the floor before i can get a hold of it. I can't tell you how many times she's asked me for help with something that literally has instructions on it; she just didn't take the time to read it. I point it out and she's like "Oh 😜". It's gotten to the point where other than "think about it", when she asks for help i ask "do you really" and when i feel like she doesn't i resort to a childhood saying of my mother: "USE YOUR NOODLE! And when you're done with your noodle, put it back in your soup and finish your dinner".
To sum these points up, my pride doesn't want my kids acknowledging yet another dad, my girlfriend spits faster than Eminem when I'm a quiet guy, and her problem solving skills are near nonexistent when I'm a self-dependent, figure it out type of guy. I guess these personality differences might stem from our upbringing, as she was raised in a volatile home with her brother, bouncing between her mother and grandmother who both talk just as much as she, while i was raised alone with my mother who also enjoyed quiet time and liked reading and such. BUT-
In addition to this, I don't feel like my girlfriend and I are as sexually compatible as we could be. Our preferences and things we want aren't that different, but i have a much broader taste than she does and I don't ever think I'll achieve sexual freedom with her. I know that some of my fantasies are off the table for her, and others I'm too ashamed to even open up about due to what she's made clear of her stance. She doesn't like the lights on during, she doesn't like eye contact, she isn't very vocal. I wanna see her, look her in the eye, when i talk to her she doesn't talk back and doesn't mention it till we're done. These differences probably come from our experience and lack of with porn and sexual partners. I think I'm her third or fourth relationship. The guy before me she was with for 5 years. I started watching porn at 12 or 13, was running a NSFW tumblr page before tumblr stopped being cool, regularly masturbated. I don't think my girlfriend ever really touched herself before me, and the only time i know of her masturbating was to send me a video like 2 years ago. I want more from out sex life but trying to bring it up is met with mild disgust before rejection. Ideally I want my partner to want to masturbate sometimes, for us both to have toys, for us to explore with ourselves and other people and explore our fantasies. My girlfriend doesn't even have any. This makes me reluctant to marry because I don't wanna give up on all of this without having experienced it.
On top of this is her style of living. Bathroom sink and tub full of hair. Throwing something away- KOBE! -she misses and doesn't pick it up. Preparing food and leaving the scraps and trash on the counter for roaches, rats and ants, i can't stand it. Her side of the bed looks like the empty water bottle monster threw up and she loves to eat before bed but rarely takes her dishes to the kitchen before sleeping, and just throws her trash in the general direction of the can without bothering to just lean over and place it in or at least see if she made it. I'll say something and she'll do better for 2 days and a half, then i feel like i wasted my words. 8 used wash rags left in the shower, not flushing the toilet, she just really kinda sucks at cleaning up after herself until the stars align or mercury is in retrograde or some divine intervention where she wants to do everything in a day. She's a manager at McD's now so she's working a bit more, but she used to be a server with multiple off days through the week while I've had the same job for 6 years working 6 days out the week from 7a-3p, sometimes working 3-3 or 7-7 and it's frustrating to come home with her having laid on the couch all day amidst a house that a torndado ran through. Then when I get home she wants us to clean together, nah I'm tryna sit down somewhere. I still help pickup but why could you not do this in the 10, 12 hours i was gone? At least start on it and i can come in with the assist like an alley-oop.
To top it off is her style of parenting/communication. Her dad is a loud man and he's to thank for the genes I guess, but she's quick to resort to yelling whenever things bother her or the kids don't listen, as if the louder you are the easier it is to understand. Like I said I'm a quiet guy and i consider myself rational so i like to slow down and calmly talk about things, talk to kids with a level head and tone when they're wrong and talk to her in a calm tone whenever we have any altercations. She normally beats me to the punch with child reprimands since those thoughts have been bubbling in her mouth, and i don't like the yelling at all. After she gets done yelling I'll usually come behind to tell the kids what went wrong and why it was/why they shouldn't do that. But due to my level-headedness she sees that as me not caring, and when i ask her to calm her tone she says it's just how she reacts when upset. The kids act drastically different when they're alone with me versus alone with her, going from minding to whiny/crying whenever she gets to yelling.
Besides the yelling and too high expectations for small children, i do think she's a good mom, i just wish she'd handle things differently sometimes.
To sum these points up, I'm worried about sexual fulfillment, cleanliness (having to pick up after 3 kids and an adult), and temperament/attitude once married.
I know these things take effort but I feel like she just isn't as conscious about it as I am, and when i try to explain why i think she could/should do things differently/more efficiently, she takes it as me criticizing her and belittling her. It feels like I'm in a relationship with a child sometimes as far as her tendencies go.
Is marriage really the best option? Should we spend some time apart or end things for good?
Despite all of this we don't have a bad 1 on 1 relationship, when it's good it's great but when it's bad i can't help but wonder. I get pensive. Is marriage the best course of action for my life, for her life, for our kids? Would we all be able to grow and develop better with mom and dad separated? Is there someone better for me, someone better for her out there?
I've already gotten the supplies I had in mind ready to propose to her in a way she would love and i am happy with, i just have yet to buy a ring. It's a huge commitment that i don't want to end in disaster and resentment.
Sorry for the book. Thoughts/advice greatly appreciated.
2023.06.05 02:03 JonathanS223 I Faced a Bone Walker and Lived
Hey all, it’s me Frank Jones again. I wrote that post a while ago about why you shouldn’t be a paranormal investigator and a lot of you liked it. Since settling into my hideaway in the mountains, life has become quiet and I thought about checking in. The plague hit us like nothing and now that everyone is wanting to travel again, I thought to say hi. I want to say thanks to all of you who commented and gave me those weird pointy thingies this social media does. Some of you even figured out my post office box address and sent me letters. I appreciate it (and don’t do it again).
The common strain among your posts was wanting to know if I had ever encountered other things as an auditor. Of course I have but I have been reluctant to tell you because I don’t want to shine some sort of light on all of it or make it sound like some romantic adventure. It’s “pissing yourself” fear all wrapped up in a waking nightmare with a side of gory terror. I am one of the few who actually made it to retirement…if that’s what you could call this life I’m living now.
But, I have nothing else to do really. Carl only visits once in a while when he’s passing through and I cannot risk any other sort of company knowing I’ve pissed off a lot of people…and things. So, I’m back on this internet board and sharing. So many are curious, I thought maybe another story can scare you all straight. This was the first time complacency almost got me and another killed.
This story takes place somewhere in the 90s in a small New England town. It was one of those places nestled along the banks of a serene river, historic brick buildings line the winding streets, their facades adorned with weathered signs that hint at the town's seafaring heritage. A place where everything smelled like either the ocean or decaying fish. I’m not going to specifically name the town to protect the young lady that may still be living there but in the heart of the town, there’s a renowned drawbridge which stands as a testament to the place’s affinity for water. Its ancient mechanisms creak and groan when allowing vessels to pass through the calm waterway. It also had some of the best outdoor markets I had a chance to stop and check out.
I didn’t pass through this part of the country that often as my boss preferred me to do the long hauls across the country but there was a dead haul nobody wanted.I took it cause I wanted a change of scenery. I was already working as an auditor and part of a loose alliance of others who investigated and dealt with any weird things. I actually had a few monsters under my belt. I honestly had the foolhardy idea that I could handle anything out there. God, I was an idiot.
The supernatural never crossed my mind until that evening, stopping to fuel up my red 1992 Peterbilt 379 and paying for the gas with the attendant and restocking up on those beef jerky sticks and coffee.
That was when I noticed her. She was a young woman about in her mid 30s looking like one of the corporate types with the short hair cut and business suit. I would have not paid her any mind if it wasn’t for the touch of apprehension on her face as she talked on one of those new fangled bright yellow Nokia cellphones. Soft strands of chestnut hair framed her face, their gentle sway moving as she glanced around while talking on the phone. As I observed her, I couldn't help but notice the way her fingers trembled slightly, when trying to get money out of her pocket. I’ve seen that type of fear before. So, like a creep, I eavesdropped on her call.
“Yes, it happened again,” she had said as the nickels finally made it to the counter to pay for her snacks. “I could have sworn there was something outside the window near the edge of the forest….no, of course the security cameras didn’t pick up anything. They’re cheap. Ronald was a skinflint when it came to things like this. Hope he’s rotting in hell wherever he is.”
My mind began to drift away, more annoyed I couldn’t get a move on it. It sounded like a problem for the police and if anything, I was gonna tell her that. It was what she said next that made me stop and brought back the reality of the world.
“Yeah. like nine or ten feet tall. I’m thinking kids are playing around with scarecrows or something. Won’t come from the edge of the forest and when I check, I can see foot impressions and stuff. I already put in a call to the cops. They found nothing.“
“Did it sway a bit and its eyes seem to glint like a cats or owl?” I asked without thinking.
The look I got from both her and the gas attendant made me realize what I had done. Well, too late now.
“I’ll call you back,” she said quickly, eyeing me as she hung up the phone and slipped it back into her purse.
“You need me to walk you to your car, ma’am?” the attendant asked, staring at me.
Of course, I forgot that The Truck Stop Killer had only been arrested a few years before.
“I’m fine, thank you,” she said, quickly gathering her stuff and making for the door. I slapped the one hundred and seventy bucks on the counter to pay for my diesel guzzler ignoring the change and followed her out but making sure to not move in a way that caused the teenager in the station to call the cops.
“Ma’am,” I called out to her and she turned to me while hurrying up her pace.
“I’ve got pepper spray. Stay away from me.”
“The thing in the woods. You could have sworn you smelled fresh dirt like mulch and it seemed to sway back and forth like it could not keep its balance.” I threw it out there in desperation.
She froze and turned to look at me. Eying me up and down as I kept my distance and angled to head towards my truck.
“How do you know?”
“I…uh…dealt with something like that before. On a job in Canada.”
“Who are you?” she asked, looking at my faded shirt and company logo. “A trucker?”
“I moonlight as a problem solver. Like an auditor of sorts.”
“Who is it?” she demanded, eyes still affixed to me and hand in her purse.
“Better question is ‘what is it?’,” I answered.
I have learned to pick up on the contempt and disbelief from people who hadn’t seen what I have. I was already being dismissed as a whack job.
“You have tracks on your porch you have written off as animals, especially if you own a dog. If you did own a dog, it’s missing. Cops told you it ran away. You got a garden?”
“Yes,” the certainty had started to leave her voice. “A walled garden.”
“And anytime you’re in there, you feel like you’re being watched.”
At that, her hand came out of her purse empty and she approached me with the fear I had seen in her eyes now on her face.
“How did you know?”
“I’d rather not explain out here,” I said sheepishly running my hand through my sandy brown hair that only started getting flecks of gray. “But you got a…pest problem.”
“And you can do something about it? I’ve had exterminators, cops, nature lovers…even a priest.”
“None of those won’t do you any good and I don’t want to scare ya but it’s more active which is not a good sign.”
For a few moments, I could see the indecision in her eyes. The desperate want to dismiss me as a lunatic but whatever she had heard or seen won over.
“Fine. You can follow me to the house.”
“Mind if I hitch a ride?”
The woman started but then looked at my truck. “Promise. I mean you no harm. I really think you’re in danger.”
That was when I found her name was Isabelle Walker.
We left my truck in long-term parking after she told the attendant that I was a long lost relative and that’s why the change of demeanor. I don’t know if he believed her but at that point, I don’t think he cared. I left my truck with its metallic frame standing tall and proud amidst the rows of other vehicles.
I did not realize how desperate this woman was until we got going on the road. I had loaded myself in the passenger seat after pulling out my military backpack from the war which I also used for my auditing services and tried to look as harmless as a man of my stature could.
For the first fifteen minutes of the drive, her focus was on the lonely road, those beautiful eyes darting to me anytime I shifted my weight. I didn’t want to scare her so it was her that spoke first.
“What is it?”
“I really don’t know but the people in my profession call it a Bone Walker.”
The nose crinkled in disbelief.
“Halloween is not for a few more months, Mister…”
“Jones. Frank Jones.”
The James Bond reference caused her to snort in amusement.
“I don’t know what to tell ya, ma’am, except I’ve dealt with some pretty scary things out there. Normally I’m never this forward as most people try to call the cops on me or dismiss me as a lunatic. I mean, I could be a lunatic but I know what I’ve seen.”
“And that is…?”
“You know. Ghosts, vampires, werewolves. They’re real. They’re not common but real nevertheless.”
“Really?”
There was still the disbelief in Isabelle’s voice but I grew to ignore things like this.
“Sure. I mean, think of all the things you experienced and be open to alternate answers.”
Isabelle was quiet for a few minutes and then sighed. “Either you are telling the truth or you're the biggest liar and I’m a fool that’s not going to live through this night.”
“I promise,” I tried to reassure her. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
After a few more minutes and off the main highway, we approached her home. The large house stood resolute amidst the dense, ancient forest, its weathered exterior a testament to the passing of time. It was a grand structure, its imposing presence commanding attention. The sprawling estate exuded an air of mystery and faded grandeur, as if it held stories whispered through generations.
As we pulled in, the main house loomed before me, its facade adorned with intricate woodwork and worn stone. Ivy crept along the walls, weaving an emerald tapestry that hinted at the passage of years. The windows, framed by elegant yet slightly cracked panes, stared out into the world with a mixture of curiosity and melancholy.
To the side, a large shed stood detached from the main house, its weathered boards echoing tales of forgotten tools and lost endeavors. The wooden structure sagged under the weight of time, its roof covered in a patchwork quilt of moss. Inside, shadows danced amidst remnants of a bygone era, rusty equipment and dusty shelves attesting to the once-bustling activity that had long since ceased.
Not far from the shed, a family cemetery nestled amongst the ancient trees. Tombstones, adorned with intricate carvings and weathered inscriptions, dotted the landscape. The hallowed ground exuded a solemn tranquility, as if time stood still in reverence for those who rested eternally in its embrace. Wisps of fog clung to the grassy knolls, lending an ethereal quality to the sacred space.
At the far end of the property, an old walled garden stood as a testament to the house's former splendor. Once vibrant and lush, the garden now appeared overgrown and untamed. Stone paths meandered through a sea of tangled foliage, leading to hidden nooks and forgotten corners. Dilapidated stone benches, adorned with intricate carvings, sat scattered throughout the garden, silent witnesses to a time when laughter and conversation filled the air.
As I stood amidst the silence of the forest, the house, shed, cemetery, and walled garden formed a tapestry of history and mystery. They were a testament to the ebb and flow of life, the remnants of a bygone era that clung to the present. Within their weathered walls, secrets whispered and memories danced, waiting to be discovered by those who dared to venture into their enigmatic embrace.
“Great place to be haunted, huh?” she said with sarcasm. “My ex left it to me in the divorce. Was only going to be here long enough to sell it but no one wants it and my job wants me to move to this state anyway.”
“Where are you originally from?”
“California.”
“So, this is definitely a change of scenery for you,”
Isabelle only hummed back at me as she fumbled for her keys in the dying light of evening. I pulled my backpack closer to me as my eyes scanned the treeline where the shadows had begun to deepen. Nothing stood out against the silhouettes of ancient trees which was a good sign. I wasn’t too late.
Stepping through the weathered front door, I entered the interior of the old house, greeted by a mix of nostalgia and faded elegance. The air carried a hint of mustiness, a reminder of the countless years the house had to have witnessed. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light filtering through the stained-glass windows, I could make out the clash between old decor and the modern furniture Isabelle had bought.
The foyer, adorned with a worn, threadbare rug. The walls, once adorned with portraits and intricate wallpaper, now bore the markings of time's passage. The wooden banister of the grand staircase, polished with use, creaked softly under my touch as we made our way towards the living room.
Moving further into the house, I found myself in a spacious living room. Large, ornate windows which would have allowed slivers of daylight to filter through the heavy velvet curtains. The walls were adorned with faded wallpaper. An aged fireplace, its stone mantle adorned with trinkets and old photographs, served as the heart of the room.
“You want some coffee?” Isabelle asked, throwing her keys on to the coffee table. I sat down on her couch and dropped my backpack on it with a clunk.
“Sure.”
“Sugar?”
“A lot.”
The kitchen light clicked on and I heard her moving about setting up the coffee pot. The adrenalin was now pumping through me as my mind raced. I’m not going to go into a lot of detail on what a Bone Walker is but it’s a creature that usually haunts the western coast. It being so far out east was strange. I pulled out my old gun bag and unrolled it. My Stevens Model 520-30 “Trench” shotgun was the first thing I reached for as I popped open the internal pouch holding he high flash shells I was glad I packed. It was the startled sound from Isabelle that made me quickly look up.
She stood there with my coffee, eyes locked on the shotgun in my hand. I slowly held up one of the cartridges I was planning to load.
“Flash powder shotgun shells. No load. Just makes a loud noise and a bright white light. What we’re facing lives in the shadows and hates light…normally,” I had heard stories that they could strike in the day but it was extremely rare. She didn’t need to know that.
“Oh,” was her quiet response. “Do…do I need a gun?”
“You know how to use one?”
“No.”
“Then it’ll do more harm than good. You got any flashlights?”
Isabelle nodded mutely, the gravity of the situation sinking in at the array of weapons and items in my pack laid out in front of her.
“Go get them.”
While she was gone, I quickly unloaded the silver bullets out of my Makarov pistol (a gift from a Viet Cong officer and a story for another time) and placed normal 9mm rounds in the clip. I had it holstered under my jacket with the two back up clips when she returned with three cheap flashlights.
“One in your hand and one in your pocket.”
“Why?”
“In case you drop the one you are holding.”
The woman obeyed silently.
As night fell quickly around us, I slung my shotgun over my shoulder and with Isabelle close, we made our way upstairs. There were tell tale signs I needed to check as the only advantage I had over this thing was the fact it stuck to a pattern. If it was at the stage I thought it was, there would be signs.
“Which room is yours?” I asked.
Isabelle pointed to a door down the hallway across from a large window. Approaching it, I quickly shined my flashlight at the mahogany door frame. It was the glint that caught my eye. Deep gouges in the wood.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Claw marks,” I responded. There was no use sugar coating anything now.
“This thing was in my house?” Isabelle said horrified.
“For the last few weeks now,” I said, my nose picking up the faint odor of dirt and mud.
“Why didn’t it attack me then?”
“It wasn’t time.”
“What?”
Talking was going to be the only thing to keep her focused. I had felt the world shift a bit as night fell and I needed her not to panic.
“Bone Walkers are ritualistic creatures. They are very choosy over their prey. It can take a month or two before they move in. That’s why they are so hard to catch.”
“Criteria? Like what?”
“We don’t know.”
That was the honest truth. The only reason we knew their existence and patterns was thanks to blind luck and people surviving their encounters. I showed my light around looking for other signs. Discolored stains in the corners where shadows would naturally form, healthy moss and mold that shouldn’t be there. I found a patch around her bed. She did not notice and I did not want to tell her that it probably stood over her through the night watching her sleep. The sooner I buried this thing, the better.
“Frank!”
There was a trill of terror in Isabelle’s voice and I immediately looked to where she was. The woman was standing by her bedroom window staring out at something. I quickly moved and spotted what she saw. In the forest, at the edge of the shadow cast by the moonlight was an almost, imperceptible form. It stood nine feet, hunched over like a broken scarecrow, its owl like eyes staring back at us.
“Shit,” I muttered. Thank god we had turned on the lights as we went.
It was the flash of light and the crack of thunder that heralded the arrival of the storm. The lights of this old houses flickered which caused my belly to flop a few times. My brain was on fire as I glanced back from the lightbulb to where the creature was and found it had vanished.
“Where did it go?”
I did not have time to explain as another crack of lightning caused the lights to dim. I grabbed Isabelle roughly by the arm and yanked her back down the hallway towards the living room where I had left my stuff. We barely made it to the living room when the lights dimmed low. I grasped the glow sticks out of the bag, cracked a handful and scattered them about, their bright yellow light beginning to glow. The power then went out bathing us only in the eerie glow of the emergency lighting.
As we waited in breathless anticipation, the storm struck, its wrath manifesting in torrential rain. The mansion seemed to respond, succumbing to a power outage that plunged us into an abyss of blackness only moments before.
A trill of terror coursed through me. I knew this Bone Walker thrived in darkness, using it as a cloak to conceal its malevolence. We auditors were not sure if it actually teleported or it preferred to move in pitch darkness. I just knew that the black was our biggest threat.
For a few moments, we could only hear the ragged breathing of the two of us being drowned out by the pounding rain against shingle and glass. Isabelle had wound her hand into my jacket pocket and was gripping it tightly, I could feel her shaking with terror. I kept my shotgun gripped tightly in my hand listening for the tell tale sound of its arrival.
It was the movement out of the corner of my eye and the fact her grip got tighter on my jacket. I swiftly turned on my high-powered flashlight as I spun around and the brilliant beam pierced the obscure corner of the room. No matter what I had read or seen before did not prepare me for what I saw.
It stood there in the corner, its eight foot height engulfing that section of the house. My eyes strained as it appeared the thing was struggling to stay in focus. Its arms were too long for its body, spindly and almost to the floor while the legs appeared backwards giving it a strange forward leaning look. It wore a hunter’s long coat and trousers but through the rips and tears I could make out something squirming and moving underneath. The air filled with the stench of decaying plants and diseased vegetation. Its face was covered with what looked like the remnants of a cheap bandanna but its owl-like eyes gleaned back with malevolence.
Isabelle whimpered, her fear palpable in the room and the Bone Walker lunged toward us. Even though my fear was ripping through me like an unstoppable train, I had the sense to pull the trigger of my shotgun aimed in its direction. The flash and resounding roar painted the entire room in a brilliant black and white shadow causing every corner and edge to appear thick and vivid. The creature screamed and fell to the side into the shadow not illuminated by the weapon’s fire.
Isabelle had thrown herself on the couch and was huddled there, trembling with terror, while I moved quickly to crack a few more glow sticks and toss them into the dark corners of the room. In one, I saw its foot recoil back into the kitchen where it was darker than night itself. This was quicker than I had anticipated. The plans I had been formulating on the drive were no longer viable. I wanted to lure it to where I controlled the battlefield but that was not an option anymore. This had become a cat and mouse game and I knew this was with a predator I could not even hope to understand and had years to hone.
Out of the kitchen again this thing charged forward, relentless in its pursuit, it was trying to find a way around my light barrier which only appeared to slow it down. With shaking hands, I fired several more rounds, each blast forcing the creature to retreat and the girl to scream in terror. As soon as it retreated to a dark part of the house, I turned to where the woman of the house had been. To my horror, Isabelle's fear had gotten the best of her. In that moment of panic, she darted from the safety of the light, towards the hallway and the door outside.
“Isabelle! Stop!” I yelled trying to command her back with my voice but I doubted she heard me. Between the abject horror and the relentless rain, she was going to take her chance. A chance I knew she did not have.
I only took a step when I sensed it. The musty smell of an organic landfill overwhelmed me as the form silently darted past me, its long arm clobbering me up the side of the head. The world spun as pain burst through my brain. I felt the world tilt and fall heavily to the ground, flashlight and shotgun falling away.
As I slipped in and out of consciousness, I knew I was a sitting duck for this thing. There was no way for me to stop it from ripping me to shreds like some of the corpses I had seen. As I blinked, I came to my senses and realized I was alone. How long I had actually been on the ground, I did not know.
I sat up, my head pounding and I could see the door hanging open, the wind slamming the door on its hinges and the rain soaking the hallway floor. Struggling, I found my flashlight and gun and pulled myself together.
There was a slim chance that Isabelle was still alive. I had to think. Where would it go? I ran all the stories I could think of and then it hit me. The garden. The walled garden.
I charged into the rain-soaked night. I sprinted toward the enclosed garden at the edge of the property. As I grew closer, I saw that the rusted door was open and hope flickered in my soul. As I came to a stop, I brought my flashlight up again with my shotgun and saw it.
This creature stood there in the middle of the overgrown garden, its massive clawed hand wrapped around Isabelle’s chest and holding her up. Out from under its bandanna mask, putrid vines had appeared and led up to Isabelle’s face where they were forcing their way down her throat and up her nose. I could see the wide terror in her eyes as vines were snaking their way around her waist and I did not want to think about what they were planning to do.
I brought up the shotgun again and fired. Knowing that I had distance, the flash of light caught the creature by surprise. It shrieked as it fell back. Trying desperately not to release its prey. I did not hesitate to grab the machete at my side and hack at its arm until Isabelle fell down free of it.
It’s claw swiped at me striking me on the leg and easily tearing through my pants leaving bloody lacerations but I put the weapon point blank and fired another round. I do not know if it was the flash, the combination of the creature, or that the almighty above was looking out for me, but the creature caught ablaze from the spark.
It fell back swinging wildly as the fire spread unnaturally fast catching the plants around it on fire. Within a matter of seconds, the walled garden had become ablaze with the bone walker in the center. As I ripped the vines out of Isabelle’s mouth and dragged her towards the door, I looked up to see those owl-like eyes looking at me with such abject hatred that the look stick with me today.
I honestly don’t know how we survived. I had helped Isabelle to her porch and we both passed out against our will from the sheer terror and exhaustion. We were awoken by the sound of a siren. The lights had come back on sometime in our sleep and the rain had drifted off to a comforting drizzle. The fire was still raging in the garden but contained by the ancient walls. At least two fire trucks, an ambulance and cops were flying up the private road towards us.
This entire hunt had been ill-planned and stupid. I knew it. As the cops approached with their hand on their pistols, I knew that I had allowed my own ego to get in the way. I should have taken Isabelle somewhere else until I had done a proper reconnaissance. I shouldn’t have taken her home where it was waiting. And now, the cops were looking at two thoroughly soaked humans, one a trucker with a wound and a gun and a young lady in distress. I was pretty sure I was going to go to jail.
“Isabelle?” One of the cops and his voice caused her to sit up, relief washing over her.
“Derek!” she wailed. “We were attacked! In the garden!”
Another two cops that had arrived had taken off in that direction while Derek helped the girl up and took her towards the ambulance. The other cop with a comically large mustache looked at me with keen eyes, his hand still on his pistol, sergeant stripes glowing in the light.
“Attacked?”
“Yeah,” I said, sitting up slowly and keeping my hand away from the shotgun and trying not to show the one under my jacket. “Someone came after Mrs. Walker. They were in the garden.”
The cop watched me closely but there seemed to be a recognition in his eyes.
“You by any chance Frank Jones?”
My heart jumped and I must have looked startled as the cop’s face broke into a smile. To my relief, his hand fell away from his holstered sidearm.
“I’ll take that for a yes. My guess is you don’t remember me. Clay Wilson. Santa Fe PD, about six years ago. You helped my partner with a...problem. Nellie Nelson?”
I knew the name but the face escaped me.
“She told me you helped her audit a police union building.”
“Ah, yes,” I said, remembering dealing with the wraith and the twinge in my right arm from it’s bite.
The cop looked towards the fire that was slowly being put out by the fire fighters.
“Any chance this will be one of your audits?”
“Yeah.”
He seemed to think for a few minutes and then nodded.
“Then I think you need to grab that shotgun of yours and hitch a ride with me before too many people ask questions. Whatcha think?”
I nodded. I was not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. I collected my stuff quickly from the living room and made my way back out where he was waiting. As I limped with the cop to his car, I looked towards Isabelle who was being held by the other. She gave me a look of thankfulness as the cop looked at his partner with confusion.
“Her brother’s got her,” Clay said, opening the back door for me. I was not gonna argue or fight. If he took me to jail or not.
And that was it. My leg was not as bad off as I thought and wrapped it in the back of the police car. Clay only asked where I wanted to go and he took me back to my truck. With that time, I was back on the road with that small town in the rear view mirror.
I never did find out what happened to Isabelle after that, if another creature came looking for her or if she had a chance to live in peace. I just knew that we both barely made it out alive and that was due to my own stupidity. I was furious with myself for weeks after that and told myself I wouldn’t put another person in jeopardy like that again. At least, despite my idiocy, another life was saved and another monster was put in the ground...I hoped. I never did find out if they found a body.
submitted by JonathanS223 to joinmeatthecampfire [link] [comments]
The common strain among your posts was wanting to know if I had ever encountered other things as an auditor. Of course I have but I have been reluctant to tell you because I don’t want to shine some sort of light on all of it or make it sound like some romantic adventure. It’s “pissing yourself” fear all wrapped up in a waking nightmare with a side of gory terror. I am one of the few who actually made it to retirement…if that’s what you could call this life I’m living now.
But, I have nothing else to do really. Carl only visits once in a while when he’s passing through and I cannot risk any other sort of company knowing I’ve pissed off a lot of people…and things. So, I’m back on this internet board and sharing. So many are curious, I thought maybe another story can scare you all straight. This was the first time complacency almost got me and another killed.
This story takes place somewhere in the 90s in a small New England town. It was one of those places nestled along the banks of a serene river, historic brick buildings line the winding streets, their facades adorned with weathered signs that hint at the town's seafaring heritage. A place where everything smelled like either the ocean or decaying fish. I’m not going to specifically name the town to protect the young lady that may still be living there but in the heart of the town, there’s a renowned drawbridge which stands as a testament to the place’s affinity for water. Its ancient mechanisms creak and groan when allowing vessels to pass through the calm waterway. It also had some of the best outdoor markets I had a chance to stop and check out.
I didn’t pass through this part of the country that often as my boss preferred me to do the long hauls across the country but there was a dead haul nobody wanted.I took it cause I wanted a change of scenery. I was already working as an auditor and part of a loose alliance of others who investigated and dealt with any weird things. I actually had a few monsters under my belt. I honestly had the foolhardy idea that I could handle anything out there. God, I was an idiot.
The supernatural never crossed my mind until that evening, stopping to fuel up my red 1992 Peterbilt 379 and paying for the gas with the attendant and restocking up on those beef jerky sticks and coffee.
That was when I noticed her. She was a young woman about in her mid 30s looking like one of the corporate types with the short hair cut and business suit. I would have not paid her any mind if it wasn’t for the touch of apprehension on her face as she talked on one of those new fangled bright yellow Nokia cellphones. Soft strands of chestnut hair framed her face, their gentle sway moving as she glanced around while talking on the phone. As I observed her, I couldn't help but notice the way her fingers trembled slightly, when trying to get money out of her pocket. I’ve seen that type of fear before. So, like a creep, I eavesdropped on her call.
“Yes, it happened again,” she had said as the nickels finally made it to the counter to pay for her snacks. “I could have sworn there was something outside the window near the edge of the forest….no, of course the security cameras didn’t pick up anything. They’re cheap. Ronald was a skinflint when it came to things like this. Hope he’s rotting in hell wherever he is.”
My mind began to drift away, more annoyed I couldn’t get a move on it. It sounded like a problem for the police and if anything, I was gonna tell her that. It was what she said next that made me stop and brought back the reality of the world.
“Yeah. like nine or ten feet tall. I’m thinking kids are playing around with scarecrows or something. Won’t come from the edge of the forest and when I check, I can see foot impressions and stuff. I already put in a call to the cops. They found nothing.“
“Did it sway a bit and its eyes seem to glint like a cats or owl?” I asked without thinking.
The look I got from both her and the gas attendant made me realize what I had done. Well, too late now.
“I’ll call you back,” she said quickly, eyeing me as she hung up the phone and slipped it back into her purse.
“You need me to walk you to your car, ma’am?” the attendant asked, staring at me.
Of course, I forgot that The Truck Stop Killer had only been arrested a few years before.
“I’m fine, thank you,” she said, quickly gathering her stuff and making for the door. I slapped the one hundred and seventy bucks on the counter to pay for my diesel guzzler ignoring the change and followed her out but making sure to not move in a way that caused the teenager in the station to call the cops.
“Ma’am,” I called out to her and she turned to me while hurrying up her pace.
“I’ve got pepper spray. Stay away from me.”
“The thing in the woods. You could have sworn you smelled fresh dirt like mulch and it seemed to sway back and forth like it could not keep its balance.” I threw it out there in desperation.
She froze and turned to look at me. Eying me up and down as I kept my distance and angled to head towards my truck.
“How do you know?”
“I…uh…dealt with something like that before. On a job in Canada.”
“Who are you?” she asked, looking at my faded shirt and company logo. “A trucker?”
“I moonlight as a problem solver. Like an auditor of sorts.”
“Who is it?” she demanded, eyes still affixed to me and hand in her purse.
“Better question is ‘what is it?’,” I answered.
I have learned to pick up on the contempt and disbelief from people who hadn’t seen what I have. I was already being dismissed as a whack job.
“You have tracks on your porch you have written off as animals, especially if you own a dog. If you did own a dog, it’s missing. Cops told you it ran away. You got a garden?”
“Yes,” the certainty had started to leave her voice. “A walled garden.”
“And anytime you’re in there, you feel like you’re being watched.”
At that, her hand came out of her purse empty and she approached me with the fear I had seen in her eyes now on her face.
“How did you know?”
“I’d rather not explain out here,” I said sheepishly running my hand through my sandy brown hair that only started getting flecks of gray. “But you got a…pest problem.”
“And you can do something about it? I’ve had exterminators, cops, nature lovers…even a priest.”
“None of those won’t do you any good and I don’t want to scare ya but it’s more active which is not a good sign.”
For a few moments, I could see the indecision in her eyes. The desperate want to dismiss me as a lunatic but whatever she had heard or seen won over.
“Fine. You can follow me to the house.”
“Mind if I hitch a ride?”
The woman started but then looked at my truck. “Promise. I mean you no harm. I really think you’re in danger.”
That was when I found her name was Isabelle Walker.
We left my truck in long-term parking after she told the attendant that I was a long lost relative and that’s why the change of demeanor. I don’t know if he believed her but at that point, I don’t think he cared. I left my truck with its metallic frame standing tall and proud amidst the rows of other vehicles.
I did not realize how desperate this woman was until we got going on the road. I had loaded myself in the passenger seat after pulling out my military backpack from the war which I also used for my auditing services and tried to look as harmless as a man of my stature could.
For the first fifteen minutes of the drive, her focus was on the lonely road, those beautiful eyes darting to me anytime I shifted my weight. I didn’t want to scare her so it was her that spoke first.
“What is it?”
“I really don’t know but the people in my profession call it a Bone Walker.”
The nose crinkled in disbelief.
“Halloween is not for a few more months, Mister…”
“Jones. Frank Jones.”
The James Bond reference caused her to snort in amusement.
“I don’t know what to tell ya, ma’am, except I’ve dealt with some pretty scary things out there. Normally I’m never this forward as most people try to call the cops on me or dismiss me as a lunatic. I mean, I could be a lunatic but I know what I’ve seen.”
“And that is…?”
“You know. Ghosts, vampires, werewolves. They’re real. They’re not common but real nevertheless.”
“Really?”
There was still the disbelief in Isabelle’s voice but I grew to ignore things like this.
“Sure. I mean, think of all the things you experienced and be open to alternate answers.”
Isabelle was quiet for a few minutes and then sighed. “Either you are telling the truth or you're the biggest liar and I’m a fool that’s not going to live through this night.”
“I promise,” I tried to reassure her. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
After a few more minutes and off the main highway, we approached her home. The large house stood resolute amidst the dense, ancient forest, its weathered exterior a testament to the passing of time. It was a grand structure, its imposing presence commanding attention. The sprawling estate exuded an air of mystery and faded grandeur, as if it held stories whispered through generations.
As we pulled in, the main house loomed before me, its facade adorned with intricate woodwork and worn stone. Ivy crept along the walls, weaving an emerald tapestry that hinted at the passage of years. The windows, framed by elegant yet slightly cracked panes, stared out into the world with a mixture of curiosity and melancholy.
To the side, a large shed stood detached from the main house, its weathered boards echoing tales of forgotten tools and lost endeavors. The wooden structure sagged under the weight of time, its roof covered in a patchwork quilt of moss. Inside, shadows danced amidst remnants of a bygone era, rusty equipment and dusty shelves attesting to the once-bustling activity that had long since ceased.
Not far from the shed, a family cemetery nestled amongst the ancient trees. Tombstones, adorned with intricate carvings and weathered inscriptions, dotted the landscape. The hallowed ground exuded a solemn tranquility, as if time stood still in reverence for those who rested eternally in its embrace. Wisps of fog clung to the grassy knolls, lending an ethereal quality to the sacred space.
At the far end of the property, an old walled garden stood as a testament to the house's former splendor. Once vibrant and lush, the garden now appeared overgrown and untamed. Stone paths meandered through a sea of tangled foliage, leading to hidden nooks and forgotten corners. Dilapidated stone benches, adorned with intricate carvings, sat scattered throughout the garden, silent witnesses to a time when laughter and conversation filled the air.
As I stood amidst the silence of the forest, the house, shed, cemetery, and walled garden formed a tapestry of history and mystery. They were a testament to the ebb and flow of life, the remnants of a bygone era that clung to the present. Within their weathered walls, secrets whispered and memories danced, waiting to be discovered by those who dared to venture into their enigmatic embrace.
“Great place to be haunted, huh?” she said with sarcasm. “My ex left it to me in the divorce. Was only going to be here long enough to sell it but no one wants it and my job wants me to move to this state anyway.”
“Where are you originally from?”
“California.”
“So, this is definitely a change of scenery for you,”
Isabelle only hummed back at me as she fumbled for her keys in the dying light of evening. I pulled my backpack closer to me as my eyes scanned the treeline where the shadows had begun to deepen. Nothing stood out against the silhouettes of ancient trees which was a good sign. I wasn’t too late.
Stepping through the weathered front door, I entered the interior of the old house, greeted by a mix of nostalgia and faded elegance. The air carried a hint of mustiness, a reminder of the countless years the house had to have witnessed. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light filtering through the stained-glass windows, I could make out the clash between old decor and the modern furniture Isabelle had bought.
The foyer, adorned with a worn, threadbare rug. The walls, once adorned with portraits and intricate wallpaper, now bore the markings of time's passage. The wooden banister of the grand staircase, polished with use, creaked softly under my touch as we made our way towards the living room.
Moving further into the house, I found myself in a spacious living room. Large, ornate windows which would have allowed slivers of daylight to filter through the heavy velvet curtains. The walls were adorned with faded wallpaper. An aged fireplace, its stone mantle adorned with trinkets and old photographs, served as the heart of the room.
“You want some coffee?” Isabelle asked, throwing her keys on to the coffee table. I sat down on her couch and dropped my backpack on it with a clunk.
“Sure.”
“Sugar?”
“A lot.”
The kitchen light clicked on and I heard her moving about setting up the coffee pot. The adrenalin was now pumping through me as my mind raced. I’m not going to go into a lot of detail on what a Bone Walker is but it’s a creature that usually haunts the western coast. It being so far out east was strange. I pulled out my old gun bag and unrolled it. My Stevens Model 520-30 “Trench” shotgun was the first thing I reached for as I popped open the internal pouch holding he high flash shells I was glad I packed. It was the startled sound from Isabelle that made me quickly look up.
She stood there with my coffee, eyes locked on the shotgun in my hand. I slowly held up one of the cartridges I was planning to load.
“Flash powder shotgun shells. No load. Just makes a loud noise and a bright white light. What we’re facing lives in the shadows and hates light…normally,” I had heard stories that they could strike in the day but it was extremely rare. She didn’t need to know that.
“Oh,” was her quiet response. “Do…do I need a gun?”
“You know how to use one?”
“No.”
“Then it’ll do more harm than good. You got any flashlights?”
Isabelle nodded mutely, the gravity of the situation sinking in at the array of weapons and items in my pack laid out in front of her.
“Go get them.”
While she was gone, I quickly unloaded the silver bullets out of my Makarov pistol (a gift from a Viet Cong officer and a story for another time) and placed normal 9mm rounds in the clip. I had it holstered under my jacket with the two back up clips when she returned with three cheap flashlights.
“One in your hand and one in your pocket.”
“Why?”
“In case you drop the one you are holding.”
The woman obeyed silently.
As night fell quickly around us, I slung my shotgun over my shoulder and with Isabelle close, we made our way upstairs. There were tell tale signs I needed to check as the only advantage I had over this thing was the fact it stuck to a pattern. If it was at the stage I thought it was, there would be signs.
“Which room is yours?” I asked.
Isabelle pointed to a door down the hallway across from a large window. Approaching it, I quickly shined my flashlight at the mahogany door frame. It was the glint that caught my eye. Deep gouges in the wood.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Claw marks,” I responded. There was no use sugar coating anything now.
“This thing was in my house?” Isabelle said horrified.
“For the last few weeks now,” I said, my nose picking up the faint odor of dirt and mud.
“Why didn’t it attack me then?”
“It wasn’t time.”
“What?”
Talking was going to be the only thing to keep her focused. I had felt the world shift a bit as night fell and I needed her not to panic.
“Bone Walkers are ritualistic creatures. They are very choosy over their prey. It can take a month or two before they move in. That’s why they are so hard to catch.”
“Criteria? Like what?”
“We don’t know.”
That was the honest truth. The only reason we knew their existence and patterns was thanks to blind luck and people surviving their encounters. I showed my light around looking for other signs. Discolored stains in the corners where shadows would naturally form, healthy moss and mold that shouldn’t be there. I found a patch around her bed. She did not notice and I did not want to tell her that it probably stood over her through the night watching her sleep. The sooner I buried this thing, the better.
“Frank!”
There was a trill of terror in Isabelle’s voice and I immediately looked to where she was. The woman was standing by her bedroom window staring out at something. I quickly moved and spotted what she saw. In the forest, at the edge of the shadow cast by the moonlight was an almost, imperceptible form. It stood nine feet, hunched over like a broken scarecrow, its owl like eyes staring back at us.
“Shit,” I muttered. Thank god we had turned on the lights as we went.
It was the flash of light and the crack of thunder that heralded the arrival of the storm. The lights of this old houses flickered which caused my belly to flop a few times. My brain was on fire as I glanced back from the lightbulb to where the creature was and found it had vanished.
“Where did it go?”
I did not have time to explain as another crack of lightning caused the lights to dim. I grabbed Isabelle roughly by the arm and yanked her back down the hallway towards the living room where I had left my stuff. We barely made it to the living room when the lights dimmed low. I grasped the glow sticks out of the bag, cracked a handful and scattered them about, their bright yellow light beginning to glow. The power then went out bathing us only in the eerie glow of the emergency lighting.
As we waited in breathless anticipation, the storm struck, its wrath manifesting in torrential rain. The mansion seemed to respond, succumbing to a power outage that plunged us into an abyss of blackness only moments before.
A trill of terror coursed through me. I knew this Bone Walker thrived in darkness, using it as a cloak to conceal its malevolence. We auditors were not sure if it actually teleported or it preferred to move in pitch darkness. I just knew that the black was our biggest threat.
For a few moments, we could only hear the ragged breathing of the two of us being drowned out by the pounding rain against shingle and glass. Isabelle had wound her hand into my jacket pocket and was gripping it tightly, I could feel her shaking with terror. I kept my shotgun gripped tightly in my hand listening for the tell tale sound of its arrival.
It was the movement out of the corner of my eye and the fact her grip got tighter on my jacket. I swiftly turned on my high-powered flashlight as I spun around and the brilliant beam pierced the obscure corner of the room. No matter what I had read or seen before did not prepare me for what I saw.
It stood there in the corner, its eight foot height engulfing that section of the house. My eyes strained as it appeared the thing was struggling to stay in focus. Its arms were too long for its body, spindly and almost to the floor while the legs appeared backwards giving it a strange forward leaning look. It wore a hunter’s long coat and trousers but through the rips and tears I could make out something squirming and moving underneath. The air filled with the stench of decaying plants and diseased vegetation. Its face was covered with what looked like the remnants of a cheap bandanna but its owl-like eyes gleaned back with malevolence.
Isabelle whimpered, her fear palpable in the room and the Bone Walker lunged toward us. Even though my fear was ripping through me like an unstoppable train, I had the sense to pull the trigger of my shotgun aimed in its direction. The flash and resounding roar painted the entire room in a brilliant black and white shadow causing every corner and edge to appear thick and vivid. The creature screamed and fell to the side into the shadow not illuminated by the weapon’s fire.
Isabelle had thrown herself on the couch and was huddled there, trembling with terror, while I moved quickly to crack a few more glow sticks and toss them into the dark corners of the room. In one, I saw its foot recoil back into the kitchen where it was darker than night itself. This was quicker than I had anticipated. The plans I had been formulating on the drive were no longer viable. I wanted to lure it to where I controlled the battlefield but that was not an option anymore. This had become a cat and mouse game and I knew this was with a predator I could not even hope to understand and had years to hone.
Out of the kitchen again this thing charged forward, relentless in its pursuit, it was trying to find a way around my light barrier which only appeared to slow it down. With shaking hands, I fired several more rounds, each blast forcing the creature to retreat and the girl to scream in terror. As soon as it retreated to a dark part of the house, I turned to where the woman of the house had been. To my horror, Isabelle's fear had gotten the best of her. In that moment of panic, she darted from the safety of the light, towards the hallway and the door outside.
“Isabelle! Stop!” I yelled trying to command her back with my voice but I doubted she heard me. Between the abject horror and the relentless rain, she was going to take her chance. A chance I knew she did not have.
I only took a step when I sensed it. The musty smell of an organic landfill overwhelmed me as the form silently darted past me, its long arm clobbering me up the side of the head. The world spun as pain burst through my brain. I felt the world tilt and fall heavily to the ground, flashlight and shotgun falling away.
As I slipped in and out of consciousness, I knew I was a sitting duck for this thing. There was no way for me to stop it from ripping me to shreds like some of the corpses I had seen. As I blinked, I came to my senses and realized I was alone. How long I had actually been on the ground, I did not know.
I sat up, my head pounding and I could see the door hanging open, the wind slamming the door on its hinges and the rain soaking the hallway floor. Struggling, I found my flashlight and gun and pulled myself together.
There was a slim chance that Isabelle was still alive. I had to think. Where would it go? I ran all the stories I could think of and then it hit me. The garden. The walled garden.
I charged into the rain-soaked night. I sprinted toward the enclosed garden at the edge of the property. As I grew closer, I saw that the rusted door was open and hope flickered in my soul. As I came to a stop, I brought my flashlight up again with my shotgun and saw it.
This creature stood there in the middle of the overgrown garden, its massive clawed hand wrapped around Isabelle’s chest and holding her up. Out from under its bandanna mask, putrid vines had appeared and led up to Isabelle’s face where they were forcing their way down her throat and up her nose. I could see the wide terror in her eyes as vines were snaking their way around her waist and I did not want to think about what they were planning to do.
I brought up the shotgun again and fired. Knowing that I had distance, the flash of light caught the creature by surprise. It shrieked as it fell back. Trying desperately not to release its prey. I did not hesitate to grab the machete at my side and hack at its arm until Isabelle fell down free of it.
It’s claw swiped at me striking me on the leg and easily tearing through my pants leaving bloody lacerations but I put the weapon point blank and fired another round. I do not know if it was the flash, the combination of the creature, or that the almighty above was looking out for me, but the creature caught ablaze from the spark.
It fell back swinging wildly as the fire spread unnaturally fast catching the plants around it on fire. Within a matter of seconds, the walled garden had become ablaze with the bone walker in the center. As I ripped the vines out of Isabelle’s mouth and dragged her towards the door, I looked up to see those owl-like eyes looking at me with such abject hatred that the look stick with me today.
I honestly don’t know how we survived. I had helped Isabelle to her porch and we both passed out against our will from the sheer terror and exhaustion. We were awoken by the sound of a siren. The lights had come back on sometime in our sleep and the rain had drifted off to a comforting drizzle. The fire was still raging in the garden but contained by the ancient walls. At least two fire trucks, an ambulance and cops were flying up the private road towards us.
This entire hunt had been ill-planned and stupid. I knew it. As the cops approached with their hand on their pistols, I knew that I had allowed my own ego to get in the way. I should have taken Isabelle somewhere else until I had done a proper reconnaissance. I shouldn’t have taken her home where it was waiting. And now, the cops were looking at two thoroughly soaked humans, one a trucker with a wound and a gun and a young lady in distress. I was pretty sure I was going to go to jail.
“Isabelle?” One of the cops and his voice caused her to sit up, relief washing over her.
“Derek!” she wailed. “We were attacked! In the garden!”
Another two cops that had arrived had taken off in that direction while Derek helped the girl up and took her towards the ambulance. The other cop with a comically large mustache looked at me with keen eyes, his hand still on his pistol, sergeant stripes glowing in the light.
“Attacked?”
“Yeah,” I said, sitting up slowly and keeping my hand away from the shotgun and trying not to show the one under my jacket. “Someone came after Mrs. Walker. They were in the garden.”
The cop watched me closely but there seemed to be a recognition in his eyes.
“You by any chance Frank Jones?”
My heart jumped and I must have looked startled as the cop’s face broke into a smile. To my relief, his hand fell away from his holstered sidearm.
“I’ll take that for a yes. My guess is you don’t remember me. Clay Wilson. Santa Fe PD, about six years ago. You helped my partner with a...problem. Nellie Nelson?”
I knew the name but the face escaped me.
“She told me you helped her audit a police union building.”
“Ah, yes,” I said, remembering dealing with the wraith and the twinge in my right arm from it’s bite.
The cop looked towards the fire that was slowly being put out by the fire fighters.
“Any chance this will be one of your audits?”
“Yeah.”
He seemed to think for a few minutes and then nodded.
“Then I think you need to grab that shotgun of yours and hitch a ride with me before too many people ask questions. Whatcha think?”
I nodded. I was not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. I collected my stuff quickly from the living room and made my way back out where he was waiting. As I limped with the cop to his car, I looked towards Isabelle who was being held by the other. She gave me a look of thankfulness as the cop looked at his partner with confusion.
“Her brother’s got her,” Clay said, opening the back door for me. I was not gonna argue or fight. If he took me to jail or not.
And that was it. My leg was not as bad off as I thought and wrapped it in the back of the police car. Clay only asked where I wanted to go and he took me back to my truck. With that time, I was back on the road with that small town in the rear view mirror.
I never did find out what happened to Isabelle after that, if another creature came looking for her or if she had a chance to live in peace. I just knew that we both barely made it out alive and that was due to my own stupidity. I was furious with myself for weeks after that and told myself I wouldn’t put another person in jeopardy like that again. At least, despite my idiocy, another life was saved and another monster was put in the ground...I hoped. I never did find out if they found a body.
2023.06.05 01:12 FaithlessnessFar6242 Demon bear
I was driving to my aunt house and then I saw a bear he was muddy and dirty I wouldn’t leave him so I put him inside of my car I wash him up I decided to let him stay with me and feed him l decided to name the bear Jeffrey I put the baby bear outside I left to go an store when I came back my dogs were dead they lungs were out I saw blood on the bear I think the bear did it I ran inside my house I lock the doors I went to sleep the next day Sunday 1:09.pm I woke up my window was broken I got out the bed. I felt something bite my ankle. it was the bear I kicked it in the face I tried to call animal control I turned around the bear jumped to my face the bear was on my face he was scratching my face I flew the bear to the floor he stand up he actually did he said something he actually did spoke out my name in an child he said “ I will kill you, Carlos and I will eat yo dead” I kick him in the face so hard his nose was bleeding i ran as I could I took a match a gasoline bottle I went outside I grab some wood I set them on fire I heard an demonic ton behind me it said “ I found you“ I turned around it was from the bear he ran to me I dodge he got in the fire blood was dripping down his eyes his eyes became black, he was screaming he said something in an hyper demonic tone he said “ YOU BASTARD I HOPE YOU BURN IN HELL” he fell down and he burned to the ground and i was sent to the hospital The scars on my face went away I swear to God I would never adopt a baby bear again
submitted by FaithlessnessFar6242 to Horror_stories [link] [comments]
2023.06.05 01:04 North-Message4754 Our sleepy town has a secret that can't be revealed. [PART 1]
Please note that names have been changed for the sake of anonymity, as have also some events for the sake of simplicity and to help you understand the personalities.
Our city, once a humble town nestled in the embrace of the Andes Mountains, has undergone a remarkable transformation over the years. Evolving into a bustling capital and a prominent city within our country, it now stands as a symbol of progress and growth. Yet, beneath its surface of modernity and development, lies a hidden truth, a dark side that lurks in the shadows, concealed from the eyes of the uninitiated. It is a truth woven into the fabric of our city's history, whispered in tales of terror, and attributed to the elusive and enigmatic presence known as the "Twilight Menace." While outsiders may dismiss it as mere legend or the machinations of a criminal underworld, we, the locals, know better. We live in perpetual fear of this unseen terror that haunts our city.
And now, I find myself compelled to share this story with you, even as the memetic hazard surrounding the Twilight Menace threatens to erode my sense of reason. It is as if I am speaking to an inanimate object rather than a person, yet something within me tells me that you, a foreigner, possess the curiosity and open-mindedness necessary to understand and appreciate the fascinating and eerie history of our city.
Let me provide you with some much-needed context. The Twilight Menace is a term we have assigned to a group of nocturnal predators that have plagued our city for generations. They consist of ten distinct subspecies, each possessing its own unique characteristics and hunting techniques. Allow me to shed light on a few of them.
First among them are the Shadow Stalkers. These humanoid creatures boast pale or dark skin, sharp features, and unnaturally elongated limbs. Strikingly, they lack eyes, relying instead on their heightened sense of smell and acute hearing to track their unsuspecting prey. Like all members of the Twilight Menace, they are vaporized upon exposure to sunlight. Shadow Stalkers move with eerie silence within the shadows, patiently observing their targets for hours, waiting for the opportune moment to strike. It is worth noting that the largest known hunting party of Shadow Stalkers comprised a mere four members, prompting them to refrain from attacking when faced with a numerical advantage or disadvantage. The only known defense against them is to gather in groups of five or more, for it seems that their hunting instincts are deterred by such a formidable force.
Next, we encounter the Night Terrors, smaller and more agile than their Shadow Stalker counterparts. These creatures are adorned with fur as dark as the night itself, possessing razor-sharp jaws, claws, and piercing, luminescent eyes that aid their vision in the darkest of environs. What sets them apart is their uncanny ability to create illusions, disorienting their prey and rendering them vulnerable to capture. Similar to their brethren, they dissipate into nothingness upon exposure to sunlight. Unlike the Shadow Stalkers, however, the Night Terrors exhibit no hesitation in attacking their victims even when faced with a numerical disadvantage.
Another subspecies of the Twilight Menace is the Dread Fiends, hulking creatures draped in dark fur and bearing piercing yellow eyes that emit an otherworldly glow. They possess unmatched speed and move through the darkness with uncanny silence, often launching surprise attacks from behind. Their powerful jaws and claws allow them to mercilessly rend their victims apart, reveling in sadistic pleasure as they toy with their prey before finally delivering the fatal blow.
We must also contend with the Blood Mist Creatures, amorphous blobs of mist capable of shape-shifting at will. These entities often assume the form of a menacing, misty cloud, complete with glowing red eyes that flicker ominously. Their method of attack involves engulfing their prey in their ethereal mist, suffocating them while simultaneously absorbing their life-giving blood.
The ranks of the Twilight Menace also include the Silent Horrors, tall and gaunt figures reminiscent of the Shadow Stalkers. They possess long, spindly limbs and an eerie absence of facial features. Swift and soundless in their movements, they strike from the shadows, relying on their ability to induce paralyzing fear within their victims before delivering the final, fatal blow.
Another formidable adversary is the Dark Whispers, small and ghostly creatures resembling a swirling black mist adorned with gleaming green eyes. These elusive entities can effortlessly traverse through walls and floors, making them virtually impossible to evade. With their insidious whispers, they sow seeds of madness in the minds of their victims, driving them to the brink of insanity before ultimately sealing their fate.
The Graveyard Ghosts, skeletal apparitions with glowing red eyes, haunt the resting places of the deceased, emerging from the ground to assail unsuspecting victims. Their unique ability to phase through solid objects grants them an advantage in their pursuit of prey.
Among the Twilight Menace, we also encounter the Moon Howlers, creatures reminiscent of wolves with their black fur and hauntingly radiant blue eyes. These formidable hunters operate in packs, utilizing their sharp teeth and claws to bring down their chosen targets. Their haunting howls under the moonlight have a paralyzing effect, rendering their victims immobile with fear and vulnerability. The Moon Howlers are known to encircle their prey, amplifying the terror and panic experienced before delivering the final, fatal strike.
No discussion of the Twilight Menace would be complete without mentioning the Soul Snatchers, small and elusive creatures cloaked in shadows, their purple eyes glowing with an unholy light. Possessing an ethereal nature, they can effortlessly phase through walls and floors, rendering physical barriers futile. The Soul Snatchers are infamous for their ability to steal the very souls of their victims, leaving behind only empty shells of once vibrant beings.
Lastly, we have the Phantom Hunters, tall and ethereal figures that appear ghostlike, their piercing white eyes glowing with an otherworldly radiance. Often found in areas burdened by great tragedy or loss, these relentless hunters show no mercy to their prey. With the ability to pass through solid objects, they haunt their victims relentlessly, seizing control of their very essence before ultimately snuffing out their lives.
The abilities possessed by these entities may indeed instill terror and a sense of hopelessness. It may appear as though there is no conceivable way to counter their menace. However, there exists a method to confront and challenge them, albeit one that is only accessible to a chosen few. Fortunately, I am among the privileged individuals bestowed with this ability. My means of defense manifests in the form of a sword, an instrument of freezing cold capable of temporarily banishing these entities back to their home realm, known as the twilight lands.
You may wonder about the fate of those who lack the means to defend themselves. Do they inevitably succumb to the Twilight Menace? This is where the second part of the legend takes hold. We possess a protector, a human chosen from the multitude, tasked with wielding the fabled sword of Nott. Despite its connotation in certain languages, the sword stands as a potent tool bestowed upon the most loyal subject of the sun god, harnessing the very power of the sun itself. Any adversary unfortunate enough to cross paths with this radiant weapon is instantly consumed by its searing light, vanishing into oblivion. This chosen protector assumes the mantle of "Phantome."
The enigmatic Phantome remains veiled in mystery, an elusive figure who seemingly possesses the ability to be present in multiple locations simultaneously. They are the sole individuals granted permission to traverse the realm of the Twilight Menace, engaging in communication with these ethereal beings. Although no one has ever laid eyes upon Phantome, the blinding brilliance of the sword's collision with the enemy stands as a testament to their unwavering presence and devotion.
Let me introduce myself properly. My name is Sean van Delphi, and I'm no ordinary teenager. At just 15 years old, I have already faced more dangers and challenges than most adults. As a monster hunter, it's my job to protect the city from supernatural threats that lurk in the shadows. But that's not all there is to my life. When I'm not fighting monsters, I'm just a regular high school student. I attend New Lands, a private school located near my home. To get there, I ride my trusty electric bicycle - I mean, why waste energy on pedaling when I can conserve it for hunting down creatures of the night?
My house may be small, but it's my home. It was built when this area was still rural, but over time it has become a suburban haven, located just outside the bustling capital city. And believe me, when I say that what I'm about to tell you might sound unbelievable, I really mean it. But I need you to trust me, because what I'm about to share is the truth - and the truth can be stranger than fiction.
I live with the monsters I hunt.
My last name is not commonly found in this part of the world, with its European roots (until I experienced the supernatural firsthand, I was skeptical of the legends). My parents, a Dutch father and a Polish mother, chose this small Andean city as the place to start their new life together, and I was born shortly after their arrival. While I wish I could say more about them, my memories of my parents are few, but I do know that they loved me dearly and sacrificed everything for me. Their loss is one of the main reasons why I hunt monsters.
After my parents' death, I was left alone in the world. I spent at least a year wandering the city like a vagabond before stumbling upon my new family: a group of Phantom Hunters. They were searching for survivors of an explosion that had occurred in a nearby restaurant and, in my desperation, I was prepared to become possessed by a supernatural entity. Instead, they took me in and brought me to their home. I still don't understand why they were willing to take such a risk on a stranger, but I am eternally grateful for their kindness and generosity.
With the context out of the way, I’ll tell you my story and how it changed this city forever. It was a normal day, as normal as it can get in this city. I was at school, bored out of my mind, the teacher was giving a lecture about Figurative Language. I guess it was important to learn English but the way the teacher spoke about it just made me want to sleep. I yawned, then nudged my friend Mike to keep him awake. If I was going to be tormented by idioms, he was going to be tormented by metaphors and similes too. I glanced at the clock, it read 1:15 p.m.. Only 5 more minutes until recess, I thought, you just need to stay awake for 5 more minutes Sean. I then glanced at the schedule, I groaned, it was a monday, which meant we had English, recess and then English again. I wanted to kill myself, I wouldn’t be able to last those last 40 minutes. Time ticked by extremely slowly, I swear I nodded off at least 15 times before the bell rang, indicating that recess had started.
As I did every day, I headed to the nearest court, where all my friends were, to play volleyball. Today, however, the teacher denied us a ball, so we were left on our own trying to find what to do. I remember myself thinking Oh god, first English class and then this while I made my way to the parking lot, where there are 2 basketball courts. On the way, I passed through some young ones playing soccer. I figured I had nothing else to do so I took a seat at the edge of the field and watched the game unfold. I knew some of the people that were playing because my adoptive… foster brother was their age and up until some years ago he had been in the same school as me, that was until he decided to change to his old school. Oh, sorry I forgot, over the years, my family has adopted 2 other people, my brother (not related by blood) who is 12 years old, and my little sister (also not related by blood) who just turned 5 last week.
As I was saying, I had just taken a seat to admire the game when I was approached by 3 girls, they seemed the same age as my brother so I dismissed it as probably some of his friends coming to ask me “Oh, are you Jean’s older brother?”. I won’t disclose a lot of details about this conversation because I don’t really remember it that much, but I remember the start of the conversation because it was hilarious.
“Hi! Do you know she likes you?” the girl to the left, she was of average height, had a slightly tanned skin tone and wore glasses, greeted me cheerfully at the end of her dialogue she pointed to the one in the middle, a little bit taller than the first had a pale skin tone and a dark brown hair, the latter put a hand on the girl’s mouth only to recoil with an “EWWW”; they started bickering and wouldn’t calm down for at least five minutes.
“I’m sorry for my friends’ behavior,” The third girl interrupted, by far the tallest of them, standing just five or six inches shorter than me, even though I’m a good 5’9”, she had the appearance of a foreigner, I didn’t know many locals who were blonde with blue eyes, she spoke with a slightly off tone and when I looked at her in the eyes, I felt like my fight or flight instinct was kicking in, panic bells rang off inside my head, but not because I was talking to someone I liked, I didn’t, this feeling… I had only felt this feeling when my life was in imminent danger, like if I was being followed by a shadow stalker. “Name’s Zeph” It took me a moment to react, “Sean”. “Good to meet you” she said, and then proceeded to introduce her still bickering friends. “She’s Holly” she said as she pointed to the one in the middle, “and she is Sam” she pointed to the one on the left. The conversation that ensued in something I can’t recall, the only thing I remember is feeling weary all the time. There was this aura of calmness emanating from Zeph, it was so calm that it bothered me, like how a silent horror would attack its prey.
After the conversation, I left the soccer field and headed to the basketball court where Mike and the others were. I quickly told them what had happened, and Mike was ecstatic. “You’ve got yourself a girlfriend, Sean!” he said, with a huge grin on his face. “Shut up, Mike, I don’t even know if she likes me like that,” I replied, rolling my eyes. We started playing basketball, and I couldn’t stop thinking about Zeph. There was something strange about her, something that made me feel uneasy.
The bell rang, indicating that recess was over, and we headed back to class. I couldn’t focus on the lecture, my mind kept wandering back to Zeph. I decided to look her up on social media, and to my surprise, I found her profile easily. I scrolled through her pictures, trying to learn more about her. There were pictures of her at the beach, pictures of her with her friends, and even pictures of her playing guitar. I couldn’t shake off the feeling that there was something off about her, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.
The next day passed by slowly, and as soon as the bell rang, indicating that classes were over, I rushed home. I went straight to my room, turned on my computer, and started researching. I spent hours reading about different cultures, different religions, and different beliefs. I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with Zeph, but I knew that there was something.
Days passed, and I couldn’t get Zeph out of my head. I tried talking to her, but every time I did, I felt the same uneasiness that I felt the first time we talked. I decided to talk to my parents about her, but they didn’t seem to know anything about her. I tried talking to my friends, but they just laughed at me, thinking it was some sort of lame excuse to try to throw them off of bothering me with her. Then, one day out of the blue, the group of three decided that I was their perfect victim to their bickering.
As I waited for my parents to come and pick me up from school, I couldn't shake off the uneasy feeling that crept up on me. My bicycle had been totaled in an earlier fight, and I didn't feel comfortable walking, especially in the areas where darkness lingered, tempting unsuspecting victims into traps. Ignoring the ominous atmosphere, I tried to focus on something else, anything else.
"Hey!" Suddenly, I felt someone grab my arm, sending shivers down my spine. Sensitivity to touch was a part of my condition, and physical contact with others often made me feel claustrophobic. I turned to see who had grabbed me and found myself face to face with Holly. The proximity made me jump, and I knew I had to keep my guard up in case of a fight.
As I tried to compose myself, I felt something move behind me. I tried to turn around, but when I did, there was nothing there. Dread filled me, and I debated whether to draw my sword or not. In the end, I decided against it.
I turned my attention back to Holly, only to be met by Zeph, who appeared out of nowhere and scared me out of my wits. The uneasy feeling in my gut grew stronger, and I couldn't help but wonder what kind of trouble I had gotten myself into.
Out of the shadows emerged Sam, whom I hadn't noticed before. My gut feeling intensified as I looked around, trying to find a way to escape. I was trapped, backed against a tree and surrounded by a group of wild 12-year-olds.
"How are you doing?" Sam grinned, her glasses reflecting the sun, hiding her eyes. I searched for a way out and saw Holly standing arrogantly in front of me, while Zeph was on my right. As soon as I met Zeph's gaze, I expected to feel a sense of dread, but instead, I felt nothing.
“Hey, don’t be rude. Sam asked you a question,” Holly said, stepping closer to me. I could feel her breath on my face.
“I’m fine,” I managed to say, trying to keep my voice steady. “Just waiting for my parents.”
“Oh, we know,” Zeph said, stepping closer to me as well. “We just wanted to chat. You know, get to know each other better.”
I swallowed hard, feeling like a trapped animal. “I really need to go. My parents are waiting.”
“Oh, come on,” Sam said, moving closer to me too. “We’re not going to hurt you.”
But I knew better. These kids were trouble, and I had a feeling that they were up to no good. I looked around, trying to find an escape route, but I was surrounded.
Just as I was about to panic, I heard the sound of a car pulling up. Relief washed over me as I saw my parents getting out of the car. The group of kids scattered, disappearing into the shadows like they had never been there
I quickly walked towards my parents, feeling safe now that they were there. As we drove away, I couldn't help but wonder what kind of trouble those kids would get into next. And I made a mental note to avoid them at all costs in the future.
I got into the car, my dad was there, the vehicle was dark, so his shining white eyes were so easily found. “Who are those people that were talking with you” He said, his speech a mix of natural sounds and low screeches, it was the Twilight Lang, their form of speech I had learnt through the years.
“They are some weird friends” I answered him, shuddering, then added “Thanks for saving me there, you were just on time”
I don’t know if he knew something was off or he was just suspicious of something but he looked directly at me through the rearview mirror, his pale face a mix of worry and relief.
“I’m glad to be of help, as always” We didn’t speak more during the return trip, he left me to wonder what my fate would’ve been if he hadn’t shown up just then.
As we arrived home, I went straight to my room, feeling exhausted and relieved at the same time. I lay on my bed, thinking about the events that had just occurred. I knew I had to be more careful in the future and avoid getting into situations like that.
But the nagging feeling in my gut wouldn't go away. I couldn't shake off the feeling that there was more to the encounter than what I had seen. I wondered why those kids had targeted me, and what they had wanted from me.
I went to school the next day, still feeling a bit uneasy after the encounter with the group of kids. As I walked through the halls, I caught glimpses of the girls from the day before. It was strange, but I didn't feel the same sense of dread that I had before. In fact, Zeph seemed different somehow, as if her aura of calmness had suddenly disappeared, at least for me.
As the day went on, I tried to avoid them as much as possible. I didn't want to get involved with them again, especially after what had happened the day before. However, they seemed to be everywhere, like they were purposely trying to cross paths with me.
At lunchtime, I sat alone in the cafeteria, trying to eat my sandwich in peace. But soon enough, Holly and Sam appeared at my table, uninvited.
"Hey there," Holly said, smirking at me. "Mind if we join you?"
I didn't really have a choice, so I just shrugged and nodded. They sat down across from me, and I couldn't help but feel uneasy.
"So" Holly said, looking expectantly at me. She didn't say anything more so silence reigned over our table.
"So?" I asked, eager to break the muteness in the air
Holly leaned forward, a wicked glint in her eye. "We were just wondering if you've changed your mind yet. About joining our group, I mean."
I shook my head, they hadn’t asked me anything before, but I wasn’t going to join their group even if I wanted to die. "No, I haven't changed my mind. I don't think I want to be a part of your group."
Holly's smile faded, and her expression turned cold. "Well, that's too bad. We could've had some fun together."
I tried not to let her words affect me, but I couldn't help feeling a little scared. What did she mean by "fun"? And why did they seem so fixated on me?
The rest of lunch was uncomfortable, and I couldn't wait to leave the cafeteria. As I walked down the hallway, I heard footsteps behind me. I turned around and saw Zeph walking towards me.
"Hey," she said, her voice soft and hesitant. "Can we talk?"
I was surprised by her sudden change in demeanor, but I nodded anyway. We walked to an empty classroom and sat down at a desk.
"I just wanted to apologize," Zeph said, looking down at her hands. "For what happened yesterday. We didn't mean to scare you like that."
I wasn't sure if I believed her, but I appreciated the apology nonetheless. "Thanks," I said, still feeling wary.
Zeph looked up at me, her eyes searching mine. "I know Holly and Sam can be a bit intense sometimes. But they're not all bad. We just...we have our own way of having fun, you know?"
I raised an eyebrow. "What kind of fun?"
Zeph hesitated for a moment before speaking. "It's hard to explain. We just like to do things that are a little...different. Things that other people might not understand."
I couldn't help but feel a little intrigued. "Like what?"
Zeph smiled, seeming to relax a little. "Well, for example, we like to explore abandoned buildings. Or go on night hikes in the woods. Stuff like that."
I wasn't sure how to respond. On one hand, it sounded kind of exciting. On the other hand, it also sounded kind of dangerous.
Zeph must have sensed my hesitation because she quickly added, "But of course, we only do those things when it's safe. We're not stupid or anything."
I nodded, still not completely convinced. "I don't know, it just seems kind of risky."
Zeph shrugged. "It's not for everyone, I guess. But if you ever change your mind, you're always welcome to come along."
With that, our conversation ended, and we left the classroom. As I walked away, I couldn't help but think about what she had said. Maybe there was more to these girls than I had originally thought.
Oh how correct I was.
submitted by North-Message4754 to nosleep [link] [comments]
Our city, once a humble town nestled in the embrace of the Andes Mountains, has undergone a remarkable transformation over the years. Evolving into a bustling capital and a prominent city within our country, it now stands as a symbol of progress and growth. Yet, beneath its surface of modernity and development, lies a hidden truth, a dark side that lurks in the shadows, concealed from the eyes of the uninitiated. It is a truth woven into the fabric of our city's history, whispered in tales of terror, and attributed to the elusive and enigmatic presence known as the "Twilight Menace." While outsiders may dismiss it as mere legend or the machinations of a criminal underworld, we, the locals, know better. We live in perpetual fear of this unseen terror that haunts our city.
And now, I find myself compelled to share this story with you, even as the memetic hazard surrounding the Twilight Menace threatens to erode my sense of reason. It is as if I am speaking to an inanimate object rather than a person, yet something within me tells me that you, a foreigner, possess the curiosity and open-mindedness necessary to understand and appreciate the fascinating and eerie history of our city.
Let me provide you with some much-needed context. The Twilight Menace is a term we have assigned to a group of nocturnal predators that have plagued our city for generations. They consist of ten distinct subspecies, each possessing its own unique characteristics and hunting techniques. Allow me to shed light on a few of them.
First among them are the Shadow Stalkers. These humanoid creatures boast pale or dark skin, sharp features, and unnaturally elongated limbs. Strikingly, they lack eyes, relying instead on their heightened sense of smell and acute hearing to track their unsuspecting prey. Like all members of the Twilight Menace, they are vaporized upon exposure to sunlight. Shadow Stalkers move with eerie silence within the shadows, patiently observing their targets for hours, waiting for the opportune moment to strike. It is worth noting that the largest known hunting party of Shadow Stalkers comprised a mere four members, prompting them to refrain from attacking when faced with a numerical advantage or disadvantage. The only known defense against them is to gather in groups of five or more, for it seems that their hunting instincts are deterred by such a formidable force.
Next, we encounter the Night Terrors, smaller and more agile than their Shadow Stalker counterparts. These creatures are adorned with fur as dark as the night itself, possessing razor-sharp jaws, claws, and piercing, luminescent eyes that aid their vision in the darkest of environs. What sets them apart is their uncanny ability to create illusions, disorienting their prey and rendering them vulnerable to capture. Similar to their brethren, they dissipate into nothingness upon exposure to sunlight. Unlike the Shadow Stalkers, however, the Night Terrors exhibit no hesitation in attacking their victims even when faced with a numerical disadvantage.
Another subspecies of the Twilight Menace is the Dread Fiends, hulking creatures draped in dark fur and bearing piercing yellow eyes that emit an otherworldly glow. They possess unmatched speed and move through the darkness with uncanny silence, often launching surprise attacks from behind. Their powerful jaws and claws allow them to mercilessly rend their victims apart, reveling in sadistic pleasure as they toy with their prey before finally delivering the fatal blow.
We must also contend with the Blood Mist Creatures, amorphous blobs of mist capable of shape-shifting at will. These entities often assume the form of a menacing, misty cloud, complete with glowing red eyes that flicker ominously. Their method of attack involves engulfing their prey in their ethereal mist, suffocating them while simultaneously absorbing their life-giving blood.
The ranks of the Twilight Menace also include the Silent Horrors, tall and gaunt figures reminiscent of the Shadow Stalkers. They possess long, spindly limbs and an eerie absence of facial features. Swift and soundless in their movements, they strike from the shadows, relying on their ability to induce paralyzing fear within their victims before delivering the final, fatal blow.
Another formidable adversary is the Dark Whispers, small and ghostly creatures resembling a swirling black mist adorned with gleaming green eyes. These elusive entities can effortlessly traverse through walls and floors, making them virtually impossible to evade. With their insidious whispers, they sow seeds of madness in the minds of their victims, driving them to the brink of insanity before ultimately sealing their fate.
The Graveyard Ghosts, skeletal apparitions with glowing red eyes, haunt the resting places of the deceased, emerging from the ground to assail unsuspecting victims. Their unique ability to phase through solid objects grants them an advantage in their pursuit of prey.
Among the Twilight Menace, we also encounter the Moon Howlers, creatures reminiscent of wolves with their black fur and hauntingly radiant blue eyes. These formidable hunters operate in packs, utilizing their sharp teeth and claws to bring down their chosen targets. Their haunting howls under the moonlight have a paralyzing effect, rendering their victims immobile with fear and vulnerability. The Moon Howlers are known to encircle their prey, amplifying the terror and panic experienced before delivering the final, fatal strike.
No discussion of the Twilight Menace would be complete without mentioning the Soul Snatchers, small and elusive creatures cloaked in shadows, their purple eyes glowing with an unholy light. Possessing an ethereal nature, they can effortlessly phase through walls and floors, rendering physical barriers futile. The Soul Snatchers are infamous for their ability to steal the very souls of their victims, leaving behind only empty shells of once vibrant beings.
Lastly, we have the Phantom Hunters, tall and ethereal figures that appear ghostlike, their piercing white eyes glowing with an otherworldly radiance. Often found in areas burdened by great tragedy or loss, these relentless hunters show no mercy to their prey. With the ability to pass through solid objects, they haunt their victims relentlessly, seizing control of their very essence before ultimately snuffing out their lives.
The abilities possessed by these entities may indeed instill terror and a sense of hopelessness. It may appear as though there is no conceivable way to counter their menace. However, there exists a method to confront and challenge them, albeit one that is only accessible to a chosen few. Fortunately, I am among the privileged individuals bestowed with this ability. My means of defense manifests in the form of a sword, an instrument of freezing cold capable of temporarily banishing these entities back to their home realm, known as the twilight lands.
You may wonder about the fate of those who lack the means to defend themselves. Do they inevitably succumb to the Twilight Menace? This is where the second part of the legend takes hold. We possess a protector, a human chosen from the multitude, tasked with wielding the fabled sword of Nott. Despite its connotation in certain languages, the sword stands as a potent tool bestowed upon the most loyal subject of the sun god, harnessing the very power of the sun itself. Any adversary unfortunate enough to cross paths with this radiant weapon is instantly consumed by its searing light, vanishing into oblivion. This chosen protector assumes the mantle of "Phantome."
The enigmatic Phantome remains veiled in mystery, an elusive figure who seemingly possesses the ability to be present in multiple locations simultaneously. They are the sole individuals granted permission to traverse the realm of the Twilight Menace, engaging in communication with these ethereal beings. Although no one has ever laid eyes upon Phantome, the blinding brilliance of the sword's collision with the enemy stands as a testament to their unwavering presence and devotion.
Let me introduce myself properly. My name is Sean van Delphi, and I'm no ordinary teenager. At just 15 years old, I have already faced more dangers and challenges than most adults. As a monster hunter, it's my job to protect the city from supernatural threats that lurk in the shadows. But that's not all there is to my life. When I'm not fighting monsters, I'm just a regular high school student. I attend New Lands, a private school located near my home. To get there, I ride my trusty electric bicycle - I mean, why waste energy on pedaling when I can conserve it for hunting down creatures of the night?
My house may be small, but it's my home. It was built when this area was still rural, but over time it has become a suburban haven, located just outside the bustling capital city. And believe me, when I say that what I'm about to tell you might sound unbelievable, I really mean it. But I need you to trust me, because what I'm about to share is the truth - and the truth can be stranger than fiction.
I live with the monsters I hunt.
My last name is not commonly found in this part of the world, with its European roots (until I experienced the supernatural firsthand, I was skeptical of the legends). My parents, a Dutch father and a Polish mother, chose this small Andean city as the place to start their new life together, and I was born shortly after their arrival. While I wish I could say more about them, my memories of my parents are few, but I do know that they loved me dearly and sacrificed everything for me. Their loss is one of the main reasons why I hunt monsters.
After my parents' death, I was left alone in the world. I spent at least a year wandering the city like a vagabond before stumbling upon my new family: a group of Phantom Hunters. They were searching for survivors of an explosion that had occurred in a nearby restaurant and, in my desperation, I was prepared to become possessed by a supernatural entity. Instead, they took me in and brought me to their home. I still don't understand why they were willing to take such a risk on a stranger, but I am eternally grateful for their kindness and generosity.
With the context out of the way, I’ll tell you my story and how it changed this city forever. It was a normal day, as normal as it can get in this city. I was at school, bored out of my mind, the teacher was giving a lecture about Figurative Language. I guess it was important to learn English but the way the teacher spoke about it just made me want to sleep. I yawned, then nudged my friend Mike to keep him awake. If I was going to be tormented by idioms, he was going to be tormented by metaphors and similes too. I glanced at the clock, it read 1:15 p.m.. Only 5 more minutes until recess, I thought, you just need to stay awake for 5 more minutes Sean. I then glanced at the schedule, I groaned, it was a monday, which meant we had English, recess and then English again. I wanted to kill myself, I wouldn’t be able to last those last 40 minutes. Time ticked by extremely slowly, I swear I nodded off at least 15 times before the bell rang, indicating that recess had started.
As I did every day, I headed to the nearest court, where all my friends were, to play volleyball. Today, however, the teacher denied us a ball, so we were left on our own trying to find what to do. I remember myself thinking Oh god, first English class and then this while I made my way to the parking lot, where there are 2 basketball courts. On the way, I passed through some young ones playing soccer. I figured I had nothing else to do so I took a seat at the edge of the field and watched the game unfold. I knew some of the people that were playing because my adoptive… foster brother was their age and up until some years ago he had been in the same school as me, that was until he decided to change to his old school. Oh, sorry I forgot, over the years, my family has adopted 2 other people, my brother (not related by blood) who is 12 years old, and my little sister (also not related by blood) who just turned 5 last week.
As I was saying, I had just taken a seat to admire the game when I was approached by 3 girls, they seemed the same age as my brother so I dismissed it as probably some of his friends coming to ask me “Oh, are you Jean’s older brother?”. I won’t disclose a lot of details about this conversation because I don’t really remember it that much, but I remember the start of the conversation because it was hilarious.
“Hi! Do you know she likes you?” the girl to the left, she was of average height, had a slightly tanned skin tone and wore glasses, greeted me cheerfully at the end of her dialogue she pointed to the one in the middle, a little bit taller than the first had a pale skin tone and a dark brown hair, the latter put a hand on the girl’s mouth only to recoil with an “EWWW”; they started bickering and wouldn’t calm down for at least five minutes.
“I’m sorry for my friends’ behavior,” The third girl interrupted, by far the tallest of them, standing just five or six inches shorter than me, even though I’m a good 5’9”, she had the appearance of a foreigner, I didn’t know many locals who were blonde with blue eyes, she spoke with a slightly off tone and when I looked at her in the eyes, I felt like my fight or flight instinct was kicking in, panic bells rang off inside my head, but not because I was talking to someone I liked, I didn’t, this feeling… I had only felt this feeling when my life was in imminent danger, like if I was being followed by a shadow stalker. “Name’s Zeph” It took me a moment to react, “Sean”. “Good to meet you” she said, and then proceeded to introduce her still bickering friends. “She’s Holly” she said as she pointed to the one in the middle, “and she is Sam” she pointed to the one on the left. The conversation that ensued in something I can’t recall, the only thing I remember is feeling weary all the time. There was this aura of calmness emanating from Zeph, it was so calm that it bothered me, like how a silent horror would attack its prey.
After the conversation, I left the soccer field and headed to the basketball court where Mike and the others were. I quickly told them what had happened, and Mike was ecstatic. “You’ve got yourself a girlfriend, Sean!” he said, with a huge grin on his face. “Shut up, Mike, I don’t even know if she likes me like that,” I replied, rolling my eyes. We started playing basketball, and I couldn’t stop thinking about Zeph. There was something strange about her, something that made me feel uneasy.
The bell rang, indicating that recess was over, and we headed back to class. I couldn’t focus on the lecture, my mind kept wandering back to Zeph. I decided to look her up on social media, and to my surprise, I found her profile easily. I scrolled through her pictures, trying to learn more about her. There were pictures of her at the beach, pictures of her with her friends, and even pictures of her playing guitar. I couldn’t shake off the feeling that there was something off about her, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.
The next day passed by slowly, and as soon as the bell rang, indicating that classes were over, I rushed home. I went straight to my room, turned on my computer, and started researching. I spent hours reading about different cultures, different religions, and different beliefs. I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with Zeph, but I knew that there was something.
Days passed, and I couldn’t get Zeph out of my head. I tried talking to her, but every time I did, I felt the same uneasiness that I felt the first time we talked. I decided to talk to my parents about her, but they didn’t seem to know anything about her. I tried talking to my friends, but they just laughed at me, thinking it was some sort of lame excuse to try to throw them off of bothering me with her. Then, one day out of the blue, the group of three decided that I was their perfect victim to their bickering.
As I waited for my parents to come and pick me up from school, I couldn't shake off the uneasy feeling that crept up on me. My bicycle had been totaled in an earlier fight, and I didn't feel comfortable walking, especially in the areas where darkness lingered, tempting unsuspecting victims into traps. Ignoring the ominous atmosphere, I tried to focus on something else, anything else.
"Hey!" Suddenly, I felt someone grab my arm, sending shivers down my spine. Sensitivity to touch was a part of my condition, and physical contact with others often made me feel claustrophobic. I turned to see who had grabbed me and found myself face to face with Holly. The proximity made me jump, and I knew I had to keep my guard up in case of a fight.
As I tried to compose myself, I felt something move behind me. I tried to turn around, but when I did, there was nothing there. Dread filled me, and I debated whether to draw my sword or not. In the end, I decided against it.
I turned my attention back to Holly, only to be met by Zeph, who appeared out of nowhere and scared me out of my wits. The uneasy feeling in my gut grew stronger, and I couldn't help but wonder what kind of trouble I had gotten myself into.
Out of the shadows emerged Sam, whom I hadn't noticed before. My gut feeling intensified as I looked around, trying to find a way to escape. I was trapped, backed against a tree and surrounded by a group of wild 12-year-olds.
"How are you doing?" Sam grinned, her glasses reflecting the sun, hiding her eyes. I searched for a way out and saw Holly standing arrogantly in front of me, while Zeph was on my right. As soon as I met Zeph's gaze, I expected to feel a sense of dread, but instead, I felt nothing.
“Hey, don’t be rude. Sam asked you a question,” Holly said, stepping closer to me. I could feel her breath on my face.
“I’m fine,” I managed to say, trying to keep my voice steady. “Just waiting for my parents.”
“Oh, we know,” Zeph said, stepping closer to me as well. “We just wanted to chat. You know, get to know each other better.”
I swallowed hard, feeling like a trapped animal. “I really need to go. My parents are waiting.”
“Oh, come on,” Sam said, moving closer to me too. “We’re not going to hurt you.”
But I knew better. These kids were trouble, and I had a feeling that they were up to no good. I looked around, trying to find an escape route, but I was surrounded.
Just as I was about to panic, I heard the sound of a car pulling up. Relief washed over me as I saw my parents getting out of the car. The group of kids scattered, disappearing into the shadows like they had never been there
I quickly walked towards my parents, feeling safe now that they were there. As we drove away, I couldn't help but wonder what kind of trouble those kids would get into next. And I made a mental note to avoid them at all costs in the future.
I got into the car, my dad was there, the vehicle was dark, so his shining white eyes were so easily found. “Who are those people that were talking with you” He said, his speech a mix of natural sounds and low screeches, it was the Twilight Lang, their form of speech I had learnt through the years.
“They are some weird friends” I answered him, shuddering, then added “Thanks for saving me there, you were just on time”
I don’t know if he knew something was off or he was just suspicious of something but he looked directly at me through the rearview mirror, his pale face a mix of worry and relief.
“I’m glad to be of help, as always” We didn’t speak more during the return trip, he left me to wonder what my fate would’ve been if he hadn’t shown up just then.
As we arrived home, I went straight to my room, feeling exhausted and relieved at the same time. I lay on my bed, thinking about the events that had just occurred. I knew I had to be more careful in the future and avoid getting into situations like that.
But the nagging feeling in my gut wouldn't go away. I couldn't shake off the feeling that there was more to the encounter than what I had seen. I wondered why those kids had targeted me, and what they had wanted from me.
I went to school the next day, still feeling a bit uneasy after the encounter with the group of kids. As I walked through the halls, I caught glimpses of the girls from the day before. It was strange, but I didn't feel the same sense of dread that I had before. In fact, Zeph seemed different somehow, as if her aura of calmness had suddenly disappeared, at least for me.
As the day went on, I tried to avoid them as much as possible. I didn't want to get involved with them again, especially after what had happened the day before. However, they seemed to be everywhere, like they were purposely trying to cross paths with me.
At lunchtime, I sat alone in the cafeteria, trying to eat my sandwich in peace. But soon enough, Holly and Sam appeared at my table, uninvited.
"Hey there," Holly said, smirking at me. "Mind if we join you?"
I didn't really have a choice, so I just shrugged and nodded. They sat down across from me, and I couldn't help but feel uneasy.
"So" Holly said, looking expectantly at me. She didn't say anything more so silence reigned over our table.
"So?" I asked, eager to break the muteness in the air
Holly leaned forward, a wicked glint in her eye. "We were just wondering if you've changed your mind yet. About joining our group, I mean."
I shook my head, they hadn’t asked me anything before, but I wasn’t going to join their group even if I wanted to die. "No, I haven't changed my mind. I don't think I want to be a part of your group."
Holly's smile faded, and her expression turned cold. "Well, that's too bad. We could've had some fun together."
I tried not to let her words affect me, but I couldn't help feeling a little scared. What did she mean by "fun"? And why did they seem so fixated on me?
The rest of lunch was uncomfortable, and I couldn't wait to leave the cafeteria. As I walked down the hallway, I heard footsteps behind me. I turned around and saw Zeph walking towards me.
"Hey," she said, her voice soft and hesitant. "Can we talk?"
I was surprised by her sudden change in demeanor, but I nodded anyway. We walked to an empty classroom and sat down at a desk.
"I just wanted to apologize," Zeph said, looking down at her hands. "For what happened yesterday. We didn't mean to scare you like that."
I wasn't sure if I believed her, but I appreciated the apology nonetheless. "Thanks," I said, still feeling wary.
Zeph looked up at me, her eyes searching mine. "I know Holly and Sam can be a bit intense sometimes. But they're not all bad. We just...we have our own way of having fun, you know?"
I raised an eyebrow. "What kind of fun?"
Zeph hesitated for a moment before speaking. "It's hard to explain. We just like to do things that are a little...different. Things that other people might not understand."
I couldn't help but feel a little intrigued. "Like what?"
Zeph smiled, seeming to relax a little. "Well, for example, we like to explore abandoned buildings. Or go on night hikes in the woods. Stuff like that."
I wasn't sure how to respond. On one hand, it sounded kind of exciting. On the other hand, it also sounded kind of dangerous.
Zeph must have sensed my hesitation because she quickly added, "But of course, we only do those things when it's safe. We're not stupid or anything."
I nodded, still not completely convinced. "I don't know, it just seems kind of risky."
Zeph shrugged. "It's not for everyone, I guess. But if you ever change your mind, you're always welcome to come along."
With that, our conversation ended, and we left the classroom. As I walked away, I couldn't help but think about what she had said. Maybe there was more to these girls than I had originally thought.
Oh how correct I was.
2023.06.05 00:30 Trash_Tia Camp Redwood are running out of counselors! These children ARE NOT CHILDREN. Update: our counsellors are not who they say they are.
Welcome to Camp Redwood! The feel-good camp for ALL AGES.
We toast marshmallows around the fire, tell spooky ghost stories, and hide in random secret military bunkers under the campgrounds! Because SOMETHING IS HERE WITH US.
Camp Redwood is the PERFECT PLACE for a summer getaway where we start EVERY DAY with a CAMP REDWOOD SMILE. Where our counselors disappear every five minutes, and our campers disembowel us for funsies! Did I forget to mention our littles aren’t actually eight years old, but fully grown adults?
We hope you enjoy your fucking stay!
We are also not responsible for any counselors revealing they are not who they said they are—and not who they appear to be.
...
So. There’s a LOT to tell you and not a lot of time to tell it.
Right now, I suppose you could say we are under lockdown—if that is the word. I want to go over the last several days to get you up to date. That’s all I can do right now. I can hope and pray the thing with Teddy’s voice does not get in here, and once again cry out for help—that I know is not coming. Not from the authorities, at least. But hey, if any of you fancy coming to rescue us, we’re in the middle of the Canadian wilderness. The closest rest-stop is maybe three fucking hours away. So have fun. Has it really almost been a week since I posted? Well, we’re still here!
And surprise, surprise, help is not coming. So, please excuse the salt. I am seventeen years old and I have been abandoned by the adults who were supposed to be looking after us.
Who were supposed to act under protocol if something like this happened. I know they were waiting for it—there are specific fucking guidelines on an emergency evacuation for counselors if this ever happened. But then the little shits took over before we could do anything. I guess I’ll start by letting you know that there are two of us left. (three, if we count Rowan, but I’m not). What I thought was going to be a quiet summer getaway with kids my age has turned into a nightmare.
For one, we have been cornered inside the head counselor’s underground secret bunker. If you want to know why she has a secret military bunker, I guess you should keep reading.
Because shit gets weirder than animal crackers having the power to turn adults into kids, and vice versa. When I made my first post, I thought that was it for us. I thought for sure there must have been a self-destruct somewhere—which meant whoever was running this camp was waiting for something like this. I was sure we were going to die, so after making the post, I have to admit with ya’ll—I just slept. I curled up, tried to ignore Harry and Carmel calling our names through childish laugher, and went to sleep with the thought in my head that I was completely at peace with what I had done with my life.
Sure, I was young. Seventeen years old is too young to be ripped apart by littles who are in fact grown adults. But as I was falling into slumber and allowing myself to fall, with my head resting in my lap, my head turned towards a separate pile of files on the other side of the room—I realized I really wanted to know how this was possible. There was so much I needed to know. Why did eight-year-old Eleanor Summers have a file where here birthday dated back to 1979? Why had supposedly innocent sugary snacks turned our adorable littles into mini psychopaths?
These kids were not kids, somehow. But how? How was that even possible? Could it be that the files were wrong?
1979 was definitely 45.
But Eleanor Summers couldn’t be 45 years old. I knew what 45 looked like. I knew that they thought like. They spent half of their time on Facebook laughing at outdated memes, and the other half… I don’t know, working? They have job’s! They’re happily married with kids, maybe soon grandkids! That was not Eleanor Summers. Because Eleanor Summers was most definitely eight years old. I had played several rounds of teddy-bears picnic, and spent hours reassuring her that Harry's ghost stories were in fact not real, enough times for me to know that this little kid was little—and a kid.
But something was bothering me. More than the secret military bunker, and magic age-regressing animal crackers. When I first signed up to Camp Redwood, one of the tag-lines to gain attraction had been, “Solve mysteries in the woods in the dead of night, with nothing but a flashlight and your fellow campers!” I had no idea I would be solving this thing on my own, trapped inside a bunker.
“What are you doing?” Rowan, who was still looking through Allison’s dinosaur laptop, turned to me with half lidded eyes, when I slowly got to my feet, careful not to make too much noise, and crept over to the pile of separate files which seemed to be crumbling apart from age. He kept his voice low, but it sounded almost like a whine. He could have been scared, but from the way he was sitting, cross-legged with a frowny face, I figured something must have been going on with him. The guy looked tired. More tired than normal.
The bags under his eyes were practically shadowing his face, and were an odd contrast to unusually ashy colored cheeks and slightly dilated eyes. Still though, Rowan refused to look vulnerable. I caught glimpse of Harry’s raybans sitting on his head, pinning back thick dark brown curls from falling in front of sleepy eyes. Maybe he was finally losing his cool and breaking out of the well-constructed façade he had been hiding behind since Teddy disappeared.
We had just narrowly escaped a crowd of psycho littles high on age-regressing sugary snacks who were doing who-the-fuck knows to the other counselors who had been captured, so I didn’t blame him looking like that. I guess he couldn’t look me in the eye, because in Rowan’s mind, he was the reason why this happened. He was the leader, and the camp had fallen to psychopathic little eight year olds who had taken half of the counselors hostage, and the other half—most likely taken apart in the physical sense, after what we had witnessed in Cassie’s cabin. Still though, it wasn’t Rowan’s fault. He could sit there and pull a face all he wanted, it’s not like I was going to blow up at him for getting us stuck down here. He actually saved us.
And trapped us, judging from the footsteps upstairs, Carmel and Harry still bouncing around looking for us.
It was a game in their heads. The little’s thought it was cat and mouse. Harry and Carmel were the oblivious cats prowling, while we were the mice, hoping to fucking GOD we weren’t caught and eaten. Ignoring Rowan, I glimpsed what looked like a box full of DVD’S—all of which were labelled with dates and names. I saw familiar ones, my heart racing into my throat. Phoebe. Eli. Cassandra.
Each DVD had one of the kid’s names scribbled on the front, as well as a date.
I found Eleanor’s right at the back of the box.
Eleanor Summers.
08/05/2021. (PM)
Before I could hesitate and think what I was doing, I slid the DVD into the portable player attached to the MacBook. Rowan, to my surprise, didn’t move. But he did make an acknowledging noise when the screen flickered to what looked like video footage. Peering at the screen, I found myself staring at a small white room. There was no door. Only a wooden desk and a chair, and sitting on it was a middle aged woman with dark blonde curls tied into a strict ponytail. She was wearing what looked like a prison jumpsuit.
Her eyes were eerily glued to the camera, unblinking. Her wrists were cuffed in front of her. Though from the look on her face, she saw the restraints as a game. Her eyes lit up with intrigue and I could practically see the cogs in her mind starting to turn as she struggled with them.
As soon as I saw this woman, I felt all of my nerve endings set alight. I wanted to turn the screen off, or look away. But once I was looking at the screen, I couldn’t bring myself to tear my eyes away. “Let’s try this again.” There was a woman offscreen. She sounded young. Too young to be in that kind of authority. I figured there was no way teenagers were being hired as special ops agents, but I guessed I was wrong. She cleared her throat. “It is 4:35 exactly. August 5th 2021. My name is Agent Lemrac,” she stated. “I am asking once again for you to comply with us. As I have said several times, the court are willing to lessen your sentence if you plead guilty with insanity.”
The woman surprised me with a snorting laugh. She seemed to come alive, leaning forward with animated features, her brow reaching her hairline. She was acting like a child, bouncing up and down in the seat, her lips stretching into a wider grin. “What did you just say?”
There was a pause. I could tell the woman was intentionally antagonising the interviewer.
“It means you have been legally declared insane,” the interviewer stumbled over her words slightly. “Mrs Summers, it would be in your best interest to work with us to lessen your current sentence which at the moment is standing at,” the sounds of shuffling paper crackled through the speakers. The interviewer cleared her throat again rustling paper. “Thirty six years. Without parole.”
The woman didn’t speak, only continued to smile—and the interviewer delved further into the sentence. “If you do in fact plead guilty with declared insanity, you will be sentenced to a program which is in the process of supporting and rehabilitating people with your…” she caught herself for a moment. I could tell this interviewer had a biased opinion and it was definitely showing through her interviewing style. I could hear the rapid intakes of her breath as she hurried through what seemed to be a script she was reading from. “Conditions.” She finished. “The Redwood program aims to help people exactly like you.”
Redwood? I thought.
Like… Camp Redwood?
Rowan whistled behind me. I guess I could call that a reaction. The guy was probably still in shock after seeing Café de Teddy splattered all over little Cassie’s cabin floor. I should have known those little bitches weren’t playing Operation for eight hours straight. Turning my attention from Rowan and back to the screen, the woman in the jumpsuit appeared to have changed tactics. Her expression twisted into nonchalance. She leaned back in her chair. “I am not pleading insane because I am not insane.”
“Mrs Summers—”
The woman cut her off. “I am not crazy.” She raised her hands “I am doing what needs to be done.” She leaned forward. “Humanity suffers in the skin. We age and die— and how is that fair? What if we want to see the next millennium? And the next two millennia after that? Why should our bodies dictate our lifespan? Why should we sit here and wait to rot and wither and die when we have the intelligence and mindset to do it? If nobody else is willing to throw ethics aside to take a step forwards in human evolution, I should do it myself.” She folded her arms across her chest, again, like a child. “I did what was to be done.”
“Dr. Summers.” The interviewer’s tone grew stiff. “You and your colleagues conducted illegal and unethical procedures on your family and friends—as well as four other victims.”
The woman inclined her head. “You have a daughter, am I correct? I have a son.”
“A child you killed, Dr Summers.” The interviewer retorted in a hiss which was definitely expressing emotion. She ignored the mention of her daughter, but I could tell it had rattled her to her core. Her voice had cracked. This case was close to her.
That was obvious. Without seeing the interviewer herself, I could sense how uncomfortable she was, shuffling in the chair. Every so often I would hear the sound of her rubbing her hands on her knees and tapping her shoe against the chair leg. She oozed anxiety, not just from her tone of voice, but the way the frame seemed to move with her. “Dr. Summers, you used your son in your research, along with several of his friends. This was not science.” Her voice shook. I heard her sharp inhale. Unprofessional, but very human. Instead of staying stoic and keeping to script, this agent was cracking apart. “It was murder.”
“Agent Lemrac, concentrate on the interview only.” An official voice crackled through what sounded like an intercom on screen.
“Got it.” She spoke through her teeth.
The woman was finding wounds and pressing on them. She was scanning the interviewer for vulnerabilities and preying on every insecurity. She leaned back speaking through a sigh. “Without my son’s sacrifice we wouldn’t have created an answer to death. To growing old and dying, and leaving loved ones behind.” Her voice softened into a murmur, but I didn’t trust it.
After identifying the shattering pieces of this interviewer which were very clear visible in her view, the woman was taking advantage.
“Agent Lemrac, you have a daughter. Am I correct in saying her name is Mari?
“That… that is not relevant.”
“Glioblastoma.” Dr. Summers lips curved into a sickening smile hidden behind mocking sympathy. “A sickness of the brain--which, unfortunately, I cannot fix. If your daughter’s brain was in my hands, I would try. However, not even a brand new body would help her. One which would never age or grow sick. And for that, I am deeply, deeply sorry.” She reached her cuffed hands forwards. “My condolences, Agent Lemrac. Honestly. I have to hand it to you. You are incredibly brave for coming here today and talking to me while abandoning your sick child.” She shook her head.
“Your daughter is dying of an incurable illness, suffering inside fragile skin which will break and fall apart and be unable to keep her standing for much longer. While my son will live on forever. He will see every millennia, a planet which will crumble and build itself back together. And maybe the end of the universe itself.” There was a twitch in her expression and a glitter in her eye I did not recognise. Insanity.
She was fucking insane. I was seeing the pure of it, the depraved and disgusting gleam in eyes empty of remorse and regret. This woman did not care what she had done. I could tell from the look on her face. If she had the chance, she would do this again.
But there was no way they were trying to say her cruelty and complete disregard for her son’s life was due to insanity.
“You are sick, Dr. Summers.” The interviewer said after a moment of gathering herself.
The woman shook her head with a chuckle. “I told you. I am not sick--”
“Sick in the head!” The interviewer’s voice exploded through the speakers in a shriek—a terrified cry she had been trying to hold in. I finally saw her—or at least the back of her. She was a young woman with light blonde hair falling loose on her shoulders. She was trembling. Slamming her hands down on the table, she screamed at the orange jumpsuit woman.
“You are psychologically fucked in the head! You psycho bitch! That is my sister!” She spoke through strangled sobs rattling her whole body. “Mari is my little sister. She is not my child.”
Her breaths were strangled and harboured. I noticed figures looming in the background, but she was continuing. “You killed your own fucking son,” she spat. “You are not legally insane, you are sick!” she shrieked. “You planned and put this together! You sit there and you talk about your son like he’s a… like he’s a tool! You deserve to rot. Do you hear me?” I noticed the orange jumpsuit woman was still smiling, satisfied with the interview’s reaction. Her words were spoken in a vicious poison as she leaned forward and spat directly in orange jumpsuit’s face.
“Agent Lemrac!” Whoever her superiors were—were panicking. “I told you not to turn it off. I knew this was going to happen. Can we stop the demonstration, please? Human emotions present inside an Aceville soldier are too powerful—"
Voices were murmuring in the background, and Agent Lemrac raised her hands. “I want to stop.” She choked out, her hands trembling. She spoke like she still had control over the situation and wasn’t being apprehended. “I want to stop. Do you hear me?” The interviewer was crying, I realized. “Stop the recording! I can’t do this. Oh god, I think I’m going to be sick—”
When the footage ended in a burst of static, I found myself backing away, something slimy creeping its way up my throat.
The woman in the orange jumpsuit who had murdered her son and countless others in what sounded like an attempt at playing god, was Eleanor Summers. I thought back to Teddy’s corpse, and the surgical precision of every organ’s removal. The young interviewer had mentioned colleagues of Eleanor.
Was it possible that Camp Redwood was in fact nothing more than a rehabilitation camp for murderous criminals? There was a loud bang from above, and I was torn from my thoughts.
I turned to Rowan, who had been unusually quiet. And I realized why, when I twisted around to find him three inches from my face, his laboured breath tickling my cheek.
The boy jumped back with a chuckle—like me noticing him was some kind of game, before diving back into the chair. I did notice something odd, as my thoughts spiralled. Rowan couldn’t sit still. Slumped in the leather spinning chair, he fingers tapped a rhythm on the armrests while his feet jumped up and down. In the dim light of the bunker, I glimpsed a sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead and the flesh of his neck. He looked to be… feverish—and now that I was looking at him properly, all of my attention on the boy, I noticed small things which seemed… off about him.
For one, he wasn’t coming up with a plan. Rowan always had a plan. Even if he wasn’t completely sure of it, or was completely winging it. This time though, he was strangely quiet. I found my voice when he stuck out his tongue at me. “What are you looking at?”
“Rowan.” I spoke softly, careful not to garner attention from above us where Harry and Carmel were still clamouring around, playing games. “Are you… feeling okay?” I asked, when he turned back to the laptop, manically biting his fingernails.
“I dunnnooooo, Josie! Am I feeeeeeling okaaaaaayyyyy?” He surprised me with an uncharacteristic laugh.
But I did know it.
I knew it from earlier when he reacted to Allison’s bunker and I had been too freaked out to realize that I was dragging along the enemy with me.
Because the fucking idiot had consumed animal crackers. I had seen him for myself earlier, pouring a pack into his mouth for a snack. Which meant either the ‘kids’ had intentionally dosed him with mind altering sugary snacks, or the more likely, he could not resist those preservatives which was the equivalent of caffeine. It’s not like I could blame him when he harboured the weight of an entire camp, but come on, did he really have to sacrifice his own fucking mind to keep himself awake?
Rowan wasn’t just biting. His nails. He was gnawing. Which he previously thought was a filthy habit. He had yelled at a camper for chewing on her nails a few days earlier.
Now that I was noticing it, I couldn’t… stop noticing it. The boy’s whole demeanour had changed; the way he was sinking into the chair, instead of sitting up straight like usual—- I used to call it having a stick up his ass. The boy started typing on the laptop, ignoring me. But when I watched the pattern of his fingers, he was just typing gibberish. Footsteps pounded above us, Harry and Carmel acting as the kid’s’ brainwashed foot-soldiers. Or, more likely somehow, if the animal crackers had caused the littles, or I guess, the fully grown forty year old criminals, to relapse in age-- then maybe it was possible for the same thing to happen to us. To Rowan.
I could feel myself starting to back away, but there was nowhere to run. I just slammed into a cupboard. My gaze flicked to Rowan again, who was tapping a beat on the laptop tracking pad, swaying back and forth, his eyes elsewhere before his gaze found mine. “Marcoooooo!” Harry shouted from above, giggling with Carmel.
I had to guess their mental age had to be at least 8-10 years old. Which meant I wasn’t just dealing with a camp full of forty-year-old psycho’s, I was also dealing with mentally relapsed counselors acting like toddlers.
Rowan seemed to jolt in the chair, twisting his head around, his eyes suddenly incredibly childlike and playful, and very Un-Rowan, were finding the ceiling, his mouth stretching into a smile, like he was seeing butterflies. His eyes flashed to me, and I caught a twitch in his lip. I knew that look. It was the look on my seven year old sister, who knew mom was mad at me, and wanted to make it even worse.
His cheeks were starting to blossom scarlet from what must have been the overwhelming urge to laugh. Rowan pressed his lips together and held in a breath like a hamster, and the asshole was fucking with me. Waiting for me to beat him to it by accident. Kids were fucking ruthless, but there was something terrifying about an 18 year old with a little kid’s mind.
I lifted my index to my lips, miming for him not to even try, but the boy just mimicked me, bugging out his eyes and pressing his finger to his grinning mouth. “Don’t you fucking dare.” I managed to whisper. The boy was definitely playing his own game, moving in twitching movements, baiting me. When he cupped his mouth, I almost let out a cry, but then he dropped his arms with a giggle, as if to say, “I’m just kidding!”
Slowly, I turned around, grabbed the salt I’d found in Allison’s cupboard, and a flat can of soda. Without making too much movement, I poured a handful of salt into the can. But Rowan seemed to know exactly what I was doing. Because in the time it was taking me to advance towards him with the can of salty soda, one arm shakily ready to grab hold of him, and put him into a headlock, he was cupping his mouth, all logic and everything adult, everything he had been as our leader, igniting in playful eyes, leaving me the last one standing.
“Pollloooooo!”
By the time Rowan had managed to reveal our hiding place in a spluttered laugh, I had hold of the squirming boy, one arm wrapped around his neck, my other forcing the can of soda into his mouth. I had definitely miscalculated his strength. During camp Redwood activities, he was always the last one to come back from the trail, holding his knees and panting. I figured he was unfit. However, I was wrong. Underneath his shirt, the guy had some serious muscles.
It was like attacking a brick wall. However, Rowan was mentally a kid. So, I had my intelligence and logic on my side. When it became obvious I wasn’t going to get anywhere with brute strength, I resorted to tickling him, which made him squirm, squeaking out a laugh. When he opened his mouth to yell at me to stop, I took my chance, thrusting the can into his lips and holding his nose so he swallowed it down.
“No!” His laughter turned into muffled yelling, as he batted his fists at my chest. “No, no, no! Get off, get off!”
His body convulsed as the salt did its job, causing the boy to lurch to his knees and choke up forbidden animal crackers in a gooish sludge which turned my stomach. By the time Rowan seemed half himself and half not, still kneeling, his head pressed against the floor, Harry was poking his head through the door with a goonish grin. “Found you!” He giggled, before forcing the door open, allowing Carmel and Callen, freshly caught and mentally turned into littles, to advance down the stairs with equally terrifying grins. There was something wrong with Harry’s face, and I only realized it when the guy himself was hauling me from the bunker, Carmel dragging a barely responsive Rowan. There was nothing in Harry’s expression, only blind childish excitement at winning the game. When he dragged me out of Allison’s cabin and threw me to the ground, I realized he too had insane strength I had not been expecting. But that thought quickly retracted when I was seeing his face in the light of a crescent moon lighting up the sky an eerie glow. Harry’s cheeks were puffy and swollen, his right eye way bigger than it should have been.
When he spoke, his voice was more of a lisp. This was something far more realistic than magical animal crackers fucking with his brain.
“He needs help!” I managed to choke out when Carmel wrapped jump-rope around my wrists. Next to me, Rowan was refusing to get up, still choking up salty soda, groaning into his hands. Every time Callen tried to restrain him, he hissed out like an animal.
“Do you hear me?!” I struggled violently. “Harry needs—”
BANG.
Is what it felt like. The feeling of something—what felt and sounded like a toy car—colliding with my temples, sent me onto the ground, my head spinning itself off of its axis. I remember lying on my back and frowning at the moon which almost looked like it was getting closer to me, blurring into a white ball of light—before reality sunk in, and it was in fact Carmel’s converse coming down to finish me off. I didn’t stay knocked out for long. But I did dream.
I think you can call it a dream? I was lying in bed at home; my room drowned in the dark. I was cosy, curled up in my blankets, when a clammy hand slammed over my mouth, rousing me from slumber. There were two figures in my room. They didn’t have faces. They just existed as shadows, silhouettes. Before one of them raised something above their head, and… impact.
It was the same impact as the toy car hitting me, snapping me back to that night. It wasn’t a dream. Because I remembered his clammy fingers over my mouth, and his hisses for me to shut up as he dragged me from my room.
My parents stood in front of me with expressions of sympathy. Basked in warm light, my mom and dad looked almost otherworldly. “For the best.” Was what they mouthed when my own phantom screams slammed into me. I asked them why, and they didn’t reply, allowing him to pull me further and further from what I knew, from my life as I knew it. But.. that couldn’t be real. I had memories of getting on the bus to camp Redwood. I could recall the whole journey. So, why… why was my tangled mind saying otherwise?
When I gathered myself, the first thing I realized was I was sitting down. I was outside, cool night air grazing my bare arms. There was something attached to me, jerking violently, And it took me several disorienting blinks to understand that I was tied back to back with Rowan. My head pounded, and something wet and warm dripped down my temple. Great. I could add head injury to the long list of things to worry about.
“Let me go you little fucking witch.”
Rowan was back to himself, though from the muffled hissing and the sound of choking—I had to guess he was being force-fed animal crackers.
“Let me—mpphmmm. little…. fucking… mphmmphhmhppmm!”
“Rowan.” I managed to get out in a croak. Through flickering eyes, I caught glimpse of a familiar figure dancing around us. Shivers rocketed down my spine, and I wrenched at the jump-rope restraints, but they did a surprisingly job of restraining my arms behind my back.
Eleanor was with Rowan, while Eli was knelt in front of me. Looking at him, the boy had definitely aged in the face—and I couldn’t help wondering what exactly he had done as a forty something year old to be sent to this place.
“Josie!” Rowan responded in a wail. “Josie. Wake the FUCK up.”
“Stop swearing.”
Eleanor spoke with the cold tone of her actual age.
“Oh, yeah?” Rowan spluttered. “Fuck you.” The boy’s laugh was still rough from almost vomiting his insides out from too much salt intake. “I’m sorry, you were a fucking boomer all along?!” He wriggled in the restraints, lunging forwards, which sent me backwards.
“Stop swearing, Rowan.” Was all the girl responded with calmly.
“Like I’m going to listen to you!” He sneered. “Fuck, fuck, fuckity, fucking fuck!” What are you going to do, huh? Bite me with your false teeth?” The sound of saliva hitting skin made me wince. He was pissed. I had no doubt his completely rational anger was going to get us killed. Rowan was also somehow getting mixed up between forty and eighty. Though he was unwillingly snacking on mind bending sugary goodness.
“Fudge, Rowan.” Eleanor spoke in a giggle.
“What?!”
“Say fudge. Not fuck.”
“No.”
His hiss of pain caught me off guard. I don’t know what she was doing to him, but it was hurting him.
“You fudging fudge! I’m going to fudging kill you when I get out of these fudging ropes—“ his manic cursing became a muffled yell.
“Say fudge,” Eleanor hummed, followed by his hiss when the palm of her hand skinned his cheek. “Fuck is a bad word. You even said so yourself and you’re my favourite counselor.”
He heaved out a breath.
“You fudge,” Rowan spat. “When I get out of this, I am going to fudging kill you, you fudging—” His manic ranting morphed, once again, into muffled yelling, after another fistful of animal crackers were forced into his mouth. When I risked twisting around, I could see his rebellion slowly starting to simmer out as he relaxed slightly. I wanted to yell at him to keep a clear head before cold fingers were dipping under my chin and forcing my head around where I found myself face to face with Eli.
“I like you, Josie,” he said, before untying me and pulling me to my feet. Now at the age of nine or ten, he was a lot stronger. When I tried to pull away, the cruel blade of a knife grazed my gut. I caught his grin. “But we don’t need you.” Eli pointed to Rowan.
“We just want them.”
I followed his pointer finger which went from Rowan to Harry and Carmel, who were just standing there like fucking idiots, probably awaiting the next game. Harry’s face was getting redder. It looked like he was suffocating, and yet his grin was growing wider and wider, splitting his lips apart. “Rowan Atlas.” Eleanor said, dragging him to his feet. Something was stapled to his forehead head, which caused him to howl in pain, hissing another strangled line of “Fudge”. but I couldn’t read what it was.
“Camp leader. Intelligent, and problem solving skills.”
“Harry Carlisle.” Eli nodded his head with a smile. “Quick thinker. Strong minded.”
“Carmel Locke.” Cassie spoke behind me. She had her arms folded, a wry smile on her lips. “Smarter than she makes out—- an independent learner, and can work well under pressure.”
Looking at these kids, I felt sick to my stomach. They were planning something—and had the intelligence of renowned scientists, which was what I gathered from the footage on the MacBook. “What?” was all I could hiss out, as Eli prodded the blade of the knife into my back, ushering me to walk. “What are you talking about?”
“Duh.” He spoke in a more tweeny giggle. “Like I said, Miss Josie. You’re my favorite counselor but we don’t need you, so I’m going to use you for parts.” He laughed when a shiver spiderwebbed down my spine. “See! I told you I was going to show you my collection!”
“But… what do you need them for?”
Eli pressed his index finger to his lips with a laugh before forcing me to face forwards. “That’s a secret!”
When I didn’t, or couldn’t move, he shoved me into a stumbling power-walk, and I managed to turn my head quickly, making feverish eye contact with Rowan.
“Rowan.” I said calmly through the gutter in my throat. “Get…. Get help.”
If I was going to die, I needed him to get a hold of himself and somehow alert the outside world what was going on.
“From whom, Josie?!” He wailed back—and as I was dragged away, I could once again sense the childish undertones in his voice.
I had no choice but to obey Eli’s orders. If I didn’t want a knife in my back. He took me to the main lunch cabin, which, when I set foot inside, almost sent me to my knees.
Something lurched inside me, and I was screaming with no voice, staggering backwards, only to be shoved onto my face. In front of me was what had been the lunch hall, fully converted into the beginning of a laboratory.
What had been cafeteria tables were fashioned into makeshift gurney’s and beds, and I was looking at all of the missing counselors. Yuri and Noah had been skinned completely, their faces laid out on a makeshift surgical table. Joey had been ripped open, his heart and brain removed, a glittering metallic substance creeping its way across his forehead. It was then when I remembered Eleanor Summers words.
She wanted to prevent death and preserve the human mind. Looking at what was in front of me, this was the start of it. There was equipment I had never seen before. Lily’s body was empty, carved out completely, tubes forced inside her. When I glimpsed her fingers move and begin to ball into a fist, I saw red. I saw fucking red. The exit was so close and yet Eli, fucking Eli, wielded his knife. I think that is when part of me gave up. My brain just stopped. It short circuited. Seeing my friends murdered and yet somehow being kept alive through playing god, my body slumped to the ground. I was numb. Completely numb.
I’m not sure what would have happened if those bloody saws and instruments which had been used on my friends were used on me too.
Luckily, that did not happen. Before Eli could get his slimy hands on me, he crumpled to the ground in an almost cartoon-like fashion, and standing over me was Harry. Who was looking better. When he grasped hold of me and helped me up, I only had one word. “Out.” And he was nodding, his eyes glistening as he drunk in our friends’ fate.
“How?” I managed to sputter out, when we made it out of the cabin, ducking behind a tree. Harry turned to me, motioning for me to shut up. There was a group of now ten to eleven year olds already running around, searching for what I guessed was him.
“I’m allergic to peanut butter,” Harry murmured, his grasp tightening on my wrist as he led me across the camp, the two of us stumbling.
“What, and you just magically healed?”
He didn’t respond to that, which bothered me.
“The bunker is our best shot,” I hissed out. “I think we can get in contact with someone down there.” I paused, unable to stop myself. “What makes you so important?”
“Dunno. Maybe I’m their favorite.”
When we found Allison’s cabin, which was more of a safehouse (an exposed safehouse) I found Rowan sitting on the wooden porch with his legs swinging over the side. “Rowan!” Harry groaned. I found it hard to believe their roles had been switched. Now he was the one yelling at the camp-leader. “I told you to stay inside!”
He ushered the boy inside, before barricading the door with some hefty looking equipment. I could tell from the grin on his face that our so-called leader was once again no longer himself.
I had to bite back a groan. “You’re kidding.” I said, pointing to Rowan, who buried his head in his knees and blew a raspberry. “Does he look and act like our leader right now?!”
“It’s Rowan, Josie.”
“He’s a liability.”
“He’s our friend! Wouldn’t Rowan do the same?”
Yes, he would. But. He would also realize we’re lost causes.
“Gag him with something.” I said. “If he makes any more noise, we’re dumping him.”
“He’s a kid!”
“Just the mind of one.”
I don’t know how animal crackers worked, but his age seemed to be progressively younger. This time he just sat with wide eyes watching us.
Harry almost tore apart the place looking for means of communication, before an old fashioned ringing sound made me jump.
“What was that?” Harry turned to me with his lip curled.
“How am I supposed to know?!” I hissed. “Keep looking!” But when I ducked under the table, my hands crawled under the desk, finding a wire—and attached to that, an ancient looking phone which looked straight out of a 1940’s movie, a bright green rotary phone.
Hesitantly, I answered it, lifting the phone to my ear. “Hello?”
“Did you awaken the subjects, Agent Salta?"
The voice on the other end was a woman, an oldish sounding woman with the tinge of a British accent.
“What?” I shot a look at Harry before shaking my head. “No. My name is Josie Greenfield. We’re at Camp Redwood, and we need help.”
The woman paused.
“Where is Agent Salta?” She cleared her throat. “This line is reserved for communication with agents only.”
“I don’t know who the fuck you’re talking about!" I squeaked out. “My name is Josie, and whatever is happening here, we need help!”
“Josie. Did you awaken the subjects?”
I paused after a moment, shooting Harry a look when he tried to take the phone off of me. “Yes.”
“And… are our agents unavailable?”
“I don’t understand.”
“When a health and safety breach is activated, our agents are awakened to deal with the Project Spearhead subjects if they were to ever go rogue, or become conscious enough to think. Josie, can you tell me what is in front of you? Describe it to me.”
I held my breath. Next to the hidden phone under the desk was what looked like mismatched wires, all of which had been severed. I lowered myself slowly, poking at mess. “Wires. I see… cut up wires.” I whispered. “Does this mean they know about you?”
She hummed. “Ah…That makes sense. The only way to activate our sleeper handlers would be to send out the signal. You appear to have been sabotaged. Unless activated manually, our agents cannot help you. I am sorry. They are your problem now.” The woman paused.
“If I were you, I would hope and pray they have not sabotaged the self-destruct. If you find that, then you may be able to save yourselves and find peace.” She cleared her throat. “Thank you for your service, Josie Greenfield.”
“Wait.” I managed to get out. “Wait, no! You can’t just… you can’t leave us! We need help!”
I found myself yelling at nothing when the phone went dead. The dull tone of the dead ringtone was clanging in my ears before footsteps from up above. “Fuck this.” Harry picked up a lead pipe. “They’re still little kids, right? I mean, their head must still be partly kids—- so let’s fucking beat their heads in.”
He noticed something, then, starting forwards towards the mess of files I had left earlier. Harry knelt on the ground and picked up Eli’s file, his eyes wide. But he wasn’t staring at the dates confirming the little boy’s age.
Instead, Harry pointed at the bottom of the file. “I don’t want to freak you out, Josie,” he whispered. Initially, I didn’t know what he was trying to show before I glimpsed notes scrawled at the bottom of the file, followed by a signature. “But I’m pretty sure that is my fucking writing.”
Harry was right.
I pulled the paperwork off of him, flicking through each file before turning my eyes to him. “Who the fuck are you?”
A clanging sound from above broke the tension, and whatever Harry was about to reply with was strangled in his throat. He slammed a hand over his mouth.
“Guys?”
The voice twisted me up inside, threatening to release a shriek from my mouth I had managed to clamp shut.
Teddy.
“Are you down here?” His voice was strained, and had an odd tone to it. “I can’t… I can’t see you.”
…
Can someone please tell me what the fuck is going on?! It’s been a blur of a week. We’ve managed to stay down here, surviving off of Allison’s rations. Rowan isn’t getting any better. He seems to have stopped mentally de-ageing at the age of maybe six. Harry has spent the last few days trying to get in contact with anyone, but it’s like they are IGNORING US.
I’ve been looking through everything I can find on Project Spearhead, but nothing points to Harry being involved. So. How is his signature all over the files? How is it possible that two friends I thought I knew several days ago, are now complete strangers?
Teddy keeps coming back.
He’s crying out to us.
I think he’s… in pain.
My god, I can’t stand this anymore. Please. CAMP REDWOOD NEEDS HELP.
submitted by Trash_Tia to TheCrypticCompendium [link] [comments]
We toast marshmallows around the fire, tell spooky ghost stories, and hide in random secret military bunkers under the campgrounds! Because SOMETHING IS HERE WITH US.
Camp Redwood is the PERFECT PLACE for a summer getaway where we start EVERY DAY with a CAMP REDWOOD SMILE. Where our counselors disappear every five minutes, and our campers disembowel us for funsies! Did I forget to mention our littles aren’t actually eight years old, but fully grown adults?
We hope you enjoy your fucking stay!
We are also not responsible for any counselors revealing they are not who they said they are—and not who they appear to be.
...
So. There’s a LOT to tell you and not a lot of time to tell it.
Right now, I suppose you could say we are under lockdown—if that is the word. I want to go over the last several days to get you up to date. That’s all I can do right now. I can hope and pray the thing with Teddy’s voice does not get in here, and once again cry out for help—that I know is not coming. Not from the authorities, at least. But hey, if any of you fancy coming to rescue us, we’re in the middle of the Canadian wilderness. The closest rest-stop is maybe three fucking hours away. So have fun. Has it really almost been a week since I posted? Well, we’re still here!
And surprise, surprise, help is not coming. So, please excuse the salt. I am seventeen years old and I have been abandoned by the adults who were supposed to be looking after us.
Who were supposed to act under protocol if something like this happened. I know they were waiting for it—there are specific fucking guidelines on an emergency evacuation for counselors if this ever happened. But then the little shits took over before we could do anything. I guess I’ll start by letting you know that there are two of us left. (three, if we count Rowan, but I’m not). What I thought was going to be a quiet summer getaway with kids my age has turned into a nightmare.
For one, we have been cornered inside the head counselor’s underground secret bunker. If you want to know why she has a secret military bunker, I guess you should keep reading.
Because shit gets weirder than animal crackers having the power to turn adults into kids, and vice versa. When I made my first post, I thought that was it for us. I thought for sure there must have been a self-destruct somewhere—which meant whoever was running this camp was waiting for something like this. I was sure we were going to die, so after making the post, I have to admit with ya’ll—I just slept. I curled up, tried to ignore Harry and Carmel calling our names through childish laugher, and went to sleep with the thought in my head that I was completely at peace with what I had done with my life.
Sure, I was young. Seventeen years old is too young to be ripped apart by littles who are in fact grown adults. But as I was falling into slumber and allowing myself to fall, with my head resting in my lap, my head turned towards a separate pile of files on the other side of the room—I realized I really wanted to know how this was possible. There was so much I needed to know. Why did eight-year-old Eleanor Summers have a file where here birthday dated back to 1979? Why had supposedly innocent sugary snacks turned our adorable littles into mini psychopaths?
These kids were not kids, somehow. But how? How was that even possible? Could it be that the files were wrong?
1979 was definitely 45.
But Eleanor Summers couldn’t be 45 years old. I knew what 45 looked like. I knew that they thought like. They spent half of their time on Facebook laughing at outdated memes, and the other half… I don’t know, working? They have job’s! They’re happily married with kids, maybe soon grandkids! That was not Eleanor Summers. Because Eleanor Summers was most definitely eight years old. I had played several rounds of teddy-bears picnic, and spent hours reassuring her that Harry's ghost stories were in fact not real, enough times for me to know that this little kid was little—and a kid.
But something was bothering me. More than the secret military bunker, and magic age-regressing animal crackers. When I first signed up to Camp Redwood, one of the tag-lines to gain attraction had been, “Solve mysteries in the woods in the dead of night, with nothing but a flashlight and your fellow campers!” I had no idea I would be solving this thing on my own, trapped inside a bunker.
“What are you doing?” Rowan, who was still looking through Allison’s dinosaur laptop, turned to me with half lidded eyes, when I slowly got to my feet, careful not to make too much noise, and crept over to the pile of separate files which seemed to be crumbling apart from age. He kept his voice low, but it sounded almost like a whine. He could have been scared, but from the way he was sitting, cross-legged with a frowny face, I figured something must have been going on with him. The guy looked tired. More tired than normal.
The bags under his eyes were practically shadowing his face, and were an odd contrast to unusually ashy colored cheeks and slightly dilated eyes. Still though, Rowan refused to look vulnerable. I caught glimpse of Harry’s raybans sitting on his head, pinning back thick dark brown curls from falling in front of sleepy eyes. Maybe he was finally losing his cool and breaking out of the well-constructed façade he had been hiding behind since Teddy disappeared.
We had just narrowly escaped a crowd of psycho littles high on age-regressing sugary snacks who were doing who-the-fuck knows to the other counselors who had been captured, so I didn’t blame him looking like that. I guess he couldn’t look me in the eye, because in Rowan’s mind, he was the reason why this happened. He was the leader, and the camp had fallen to psychopathic little eight year olds who had taken half of the counselors hostage, and the other half—most likely taken apart in the physical sense, after what we had witnessed in Cassie’s cabin. Still though, it wasn’t Rowan’s fault. He could sit there and pull a face all he wanted, it’s not like I was going to blow up at him for getting us stuck down here. He actually saved us.
And trapped us, judging from the footsteps upstairs, Carmel and Harry still bouncing around looking for us.
It was a game in their heads. The little’s thought it was cat and mouse. Harry and Carmel were the oblivious cats prowling, while we were the mice, hoping to fucking GOD we weren’t caught and eaten. Ignoring Rowan, I glimpsed what looked like a box full of DVD’S—all of which were labelled with dates and names. I saw familiar ones, my heart racing into my throat. Phoebe. Eli. Cassandra.
Each DVD had one of the kid’s names scribbled on the front, as well as a date.
I found Eleanor’s right at the back of the box.
Eleanor Summers.
08/05/2021. (PM)
Before I could hesitate and think what I was doing, I slid the DVD into the portable player attached to the MacBook. Rowan, to my surprise, didn’t move. But he did make an acknowledging noise when the screen flickered to what looked like video footage. Peering at the screen, I found myself staring at a small white room. There was no door. Only a wooden desk and a chair, and sitting on it was a middle aged woman with dark blonde curls tied into a strict ponytail. She was wearing what looked like a prison jumpsuit.
Her eyes were eerily glued to the camera, unblinking. Her wrists were cuffed in front of her. Though from the look on her face, she saw the restraints as a game. Her eyes lit up with intrigue and I could practically see the cogs in her mind starting to turn as she struggled with them.
As soon as I saw this woman, I felt all of my nerve endings set alight. I wanted to turn the screen off, or look away. But once I was looking at the screen, I couldn’t bring myself to tear my eyes away. “Let’s try this again.” There was a woman offscreen. She sounded young. Too young to be in that kind of authority. I figured there was no way teenagers were being hired as special ops agents, but I guessed I was wrong. She cleared her throat. “It is 4:35 exactly. August 5th 2021. My name is Agent Lemrac,” she stated. “I am asking once again for you to comply with us. As I have said several times, the court are willing to lessen your sentence if you plead guilty with insanity.”
The woman surprised me with a snorting laugh. She seemed to come alive, leaning forward with animated features, her brow reaching her hairline. She was acting like a child, bouncing up and down in the seat, her lips stretching into a wider grin. “What did you just say?”
There was a pause. I could tell the woman was intentionally antagonising the interviewer.
“It means you have been legally declared insane,” the interviewer stumbled over her words slightly. “Mrs Summers, it would be in your best interest to work with us to lessen your current sentence which at the moment is standing at,” the sounds of shuffling paper crackled through the speakers. The interviewer cleared her throat again rustling paper. “Thirty six years. Without parole.”
The woman didn’t speak, only continued to smile—and the interviewer delved further into the sentence. “If you do in fact plead guilty with declared insanity, you will be sentenced to a program which is in the process of supporting and rehabilitating people with your…” she caught herself for a moment. I could tell this interviewer had a biased opinion and it was definitely showing through her interviewing style. I could hear the rapid intakes of her breath as she hurried through what seemed to be a script she was reading from. “Conditions.” She finished. “The Redwood program aims to help people exactly like you.”
Redwood? I thought.
Like… Camp Redwood?
Rowan whistled behind me. I guess I could call that a reaction. The guy was probably still in shock after seeing Café de Teddy splattered all over little Cassie’s cabin floor. I should have known those little bitches weren’t playing Operation for eight hours straight. Turning my attention from Rowan and back to the screen, the woman in the jumpsuit appeared to have changed tactics. Her expression twisted into nonchalance. She leaned back in her chair. “I am not pleading insane because I am not insane.”
“Mrs Summers—”
The woman cut her off. “I am not crazy.” She raised her hands “I am doing what needs to be done.” She leaned forward. “Humanity suffers in the skin. We age and die— and how is that fair? What if we want to see the next millennium? And the next two millennia after that? Why should our bodies dictate our lifespan? Why should we sit here and wait to rot and wither and die when we have the intelligence and mindset to do it? If nobody else is willing to throw ethics aside to take a step forwards in human evolution, I should do it myself.” She folded her arms across her chest, again, like a child. “I did what was to be done.”
“Dr. Summers.” The interviewer’s tone grew stiff. “You and your colleagues conducted illegal and unethical procedures on your family and friends—as well as four other victims.”
The woman inclined her head. “You have a daughter, am I correct? I have a son.”
“A child you killed, Dr Summers.” The interviewer retorted in a hiss which was definitely expressing emotion. She ignored the mention of her daughter, but I could tell it had rattled her to her core. Her voice had cracked. This case was close to her.
That was obvious. Without seeing the interviewer herself, I could sense how uncomfortable she was, shuffling in the chair. Every so often I would hear the sound of her rubbing her hands on her knees and tapping her shoe against the chair leg. She oozed anxiety, not just from her tone of voice, but the way the frame seemed to move with her. “Dr. Summers, you used your son in your research, along with several of his friends. This was not science.” Her voice shook. I heard her sharp inhale. Unprofessional, but very human. Instead of staying stoic and keeping to script, this agent was cracking apart. “It was murder.”
“Agent Lemrac, concentrate on the interview only.” An official voice crackled through what sounded like an intercom on screen.
“Got it.” She spoke through her teeth.
The woman was finding wounds and pressing on them. She was scanning the interviewer for vulnerabilities and preying on every insecurity. She leaned back speaking through a sigh. “Without my son’s sacrifice we wouldn’t have created an answer to death. To growing old and dying, and leaving loved ones behind.” Her voice softened into a murmur, but I didn’t trust it.
After identifying the shattering pieces of this interviewer which were very clear visible in her view, the woman was taking advantage.
“Agent Lemrac, you have a daughter. Am I correct in saying her name is Mari?
“That… that is not relevant.”
“Glioblastoma.” Dr. Summers lips curved into a sickening smile hidden behind mocking sympathy. “A sickness of the brain--which, unfortunately, I cannot fix. If your daughter’s brain was in my hands, I would try. However, not even a brand new body would help her. One which would never age or grow sick. And for that, I am deeply, deeply sorry.” She reached her cuffed hands forwards. “My condolences, Agent Lemrac. Honestly. I have to hand it to you. You are incredibly brave for coming here today and talking to me while abandoning your sick child.” She shook her head.
“Your daughter is dying of an incurable illness, suffering inside fragile skin which will break and fall apart and be unable to keep her standing for much longer. While my son will live on forever. He will see every millennia, a planet which will crumble and build itself back together. And maybe the end of the universe itself.” There was a twitch in her expression and a glitter in her eye I did not recognise. Insanity.
She was fucking insane. I was seeing the pure of it, the depraved and disgusting gleam in eyes empty of remorse and regret. This woman did not care what she had done. I could tell from the look on her face. If she had the chance, she would do this again.
But there was no way they were trying to say her cruelty and complete disregard for her son’s life was due to insanity.
“You are sick, Dr. Summers.” The interviewer said after a moment of gathering herself.
The woman shook her head with a chuckle. “I told you. I am not sick--”
“Sick in the head!” The interviewer’s voice exploded through the speakers in a shriek—a terrified cry she had been trying to hold in. I finally saw her—or at least the back of her. She was a young woman with light blonde hair falling loose on her shoulders. She was trembling. Slamming her hands down on the table, she screamed at the orange jumpsuit woman.
“You are psychologically fucked in the head! You psycho bitch! That is my sister!” She spoke through strangled sobs rattling her whole body. “Mari is my little sister. She is not my child.”
Her breaths were strangled and harboured. I noticed figures looming in the background, but she was continuing. “You killed your own fucking son,” she spat. “You are not legally insane, you are sick!” she shrieked. “You planned and put this together! You sit there and you talk about your son like he’s a… like he’s a tool! You deserve to rot. Do you hear me?” I noticed the orange jumpsuit woman was still smiling, satisfied with the interview’s reaction. Her words were spoken in a vicious poison as she leaned forward and spat directly in orange jumpsuit’s face.
“Agent Lemrac!” Whoever her superiors were—were panicking. “I told you not to turn it off. I knew this was going to happen. Can we stop the demonstration, please? Human emotions present inside an Aceville soldier are too powerful—"
Voices were murmuring in the background, and Agent Lemrac raised her hands. “I want to stop.” She choked out, her hands trembling. She spoke like she still had control over the situation and wasn’t being apprehended. “I want to stop. Do you hear me?” The interviewer was crying, I realized. “Stop the recording! I can’t do this. Oh god, I think I’m going to be sick—”
When the footage ended in a burst of static, I found myself backing away, something slimy creeping its way up my throat.
The woman in the orange jumpsuit who had murdered her son and countless others in what sounded like an attempt at playing god, was Eleanor Summers. I thought back to Teddy’s corpse, and the surgical precision of every organ’s removal. The young interviewer had mentioned colleagues of Eleanor.
Was it possible that Camp Redwood was in fact nothing more than a rehabilitation camp for murderous criminals? There was a loud bang from above, and I was torn from my thoughts.
I turned to Rowan, who had been unusually quiet. And I realized why, when I twisted around to find him three inches from my face, his laboured breath tickling my cheek.
The boy jumped back with a chuckle—like me noticing him was some kind of game, before diving back into the chair. I did notice something odd, as my thoughts spiralled. Rowan couldn’t sit still. Slumped in the leather spinning chair, he fingers tapped a rhythm on the armrests while his feet jumped up and down. In the dim light of the bunker, I glimpsed a sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead and the flesh of his neck. He looked to be… feverish—and now that I was looking at him properly, all of my attention on the boy, I noticed small things which seemed… off about him.
For one, he wasn’t coming up with a plan. Rowan always had a plan. Even if he wasn’t completely sure of it, or was completely winging it. This time though, he was strangely quiet. I found my voice when he stuck out his tongue at me. “What are you looking at?”
“Rowan.” I spoke softly, careful not to garner attention from above us where Harry and Carmel were still clamouring around, playing games. “Are you… feeling okay?” I asked, when he turned back to the laptop, manically biting his fingernails.
“I dunnnooooo, Josie! Am I feeeeeeling okaaaaaayyyyy?” He surprised me with an uncharacteristic laugh.
But I did know it.
I knew it from earlier when he reacted to Allison’s bunker and I had been too freaked out to realize that I was dragging along the enemy with me.
Because the fucking idiot had consumed animal crackers. I had seen him for myself earlier, pouring a pack into his mouth for a snack. Which meant either the ‘kids’ had intentionally dosed him with mind altering sugary snacks, or the more likely, he could not resist those preservatives which was the equivalent of caffeine. It’s not like I could blame him when he harboured the weight of an entire camp, but come on, did he really have to sacrifice his own fucking mind to keep himself awake?
Rowan wasn’t just biting. His nails. He was gnawing. Which he previously thought was a filthy habit. He had yelled at a camper for chewing on her nails a few days earlier.
Now that I was noticing it, I couldn’t… stop noticing it. The boy’s whole demeanour had changed; the way he was sinking into the chair, instead of sitting up straight like usual—- I used to call it having a stick up his ass. The boy started typing on the laptop, ignoring me. But when I watched the pattern of his fingers, he was just typing gibberish. Footsteps pounded above us, Harry and Carmel acting as the kid’s’ brainwashed foot-soldiers. Or, more likely somehow, if the animal crackers had caused the littles, or I guess, the fully grown forty year old criminals, to relapse in age-- then maybe it was possible for the same thing to happen to us. To Rowan.
I could feel myself starting to back away, but there was nowhere to run. I just slammed into a cupboard. My gaze flicked to Rowan again, who was tapping a beat on the laptop tracking pad, swaying back and forth, his eyes elsewhere before his gaze found mine. “Marcoooooo!” Harry shouted from above, giggling with Carmel.
I had to guess their mental age had to be at least 8-10 years old. Which meant I wasn’t just dealing with a camp full of forty-year-old psycho’s, I was also dealing with mentally relapsed counselors acting like toddlers.
Rowan seemed to jolt in the chair, twisting his head around, his eyes suddenly incredibly childlike and playful, and very Un-Rowan, were finding the ceiling, his mouth stretching into a smile, like he was seeing butterflies. His eyes flashed to me, and I caught a twitch in his lip. I knew that look. It was the look on my seven year old sister, who knew mom was mad at me, and wanted to make it even worse.
His cheeks were starting to blossom scarlet from what must have been the overwhelming urge to laugh. Rowan pressed his lips together and held in a breath like a hamster, and the asshole was fucking with me. Waiting for me to beat him to it by accident. Kids were fucking ruthless, but there was something terrifying about an 18 year old with a little kid’s mind.
I lifted my index to my lips, miming for him not to even try, but the boy just mimicked me, bugging out his eyes and pressing his finger to his grinning mouth. “Don’t you fucking dare.” I managed to whisper. The boy was definitely playing his own game, moving in twitching movements, baiting me. When he cupped his mouth, I almost let out a cry, but then he dropped his arms with a giggle, as if to say, “I’m just kidding!”
Slowly, I turned around, grabbed the salt I’d found in Allison’s cupboard, and a flat can of soda. Without making too much movement, I poured a handful of salt into the can. But Rowan seemed to know exactly what I was doing. Because in the time it was taking me to advance towards him with the can of salty soda, one arm shakily ready to grab hold of him, and put him into a headlock, he was cupping his mouth, all logic and everything adult, everything he had been as our leader, igniting in playful eyes, leaving me the last one standing.
“Pollloooooo!”
By the time Rowan had managed to reveal our hiding place in a spluttered laugh, I had hold of the squirming boy, one arm wrapped around his neck, my other forcing the can of soda into his mouth. I had definitely miscalculated his strength. During camp Redwood activities, he was always the last one to come back from the trail, holding his knees and panting. I figured he was unfit. However, I was wrong. Underneath his shirt, the guy had some serious muscles.
It was like attacking a brick wall. However, Rowan was mentally a kid. So, I had my intelligence and logic on my side. When it became obvious I wasn’t going to get anywhere with brute strength, I resorted to tickling him, which made him squirm, squeaking out a laugh. When he opened his mouth to yell at me to stop, I took my chance, thrusting the can into his lips and holding his nose so he swallowed it down.
“No!” His laughter turned into muffled yelling, as he batted his fists at my chest. “No, no, no! Get off, get off!”
His body convulsed as the salt did its job, causing the boy to lurch to his knees and choke up forbidden animal crackers in a gooish sludge which turned my stomach. By the time Rowan seemed half himself and half not, still kneeling, his head pressed against the floor, Harry was poking his head through the door with a goonish grin. “Found you!” He giggled, before forcing the door open, allowing Carmel and Callen, freshly caught and mentally turned into littles, to advance down the stairs with equally terrifying grins. There was something wrong with Harry’s face, and I only realized it when the guy himself was hauling me from the bunker, Carmel dragging a barely responsive Rowan. There was nothing in Harry’s expression, only blind childish excitement at winning the game. When he dragged me out of Allison’s cabin and threw me to the ground, I realized he too had insane strength I had not been expecting. But that thought quickly retracted when I was seeing his face in the light of a crescent moon lighting up the sky an eerie glow. Harry’s cheeks were puffy and swollen, his right eye way bigger than it should have been.
When he spoke, his voice was more of a lisp. This was something far more realistic than magical animal crackers fucking with his brain.
“He needs help!” I managed to choke out when Carmel wrapped jump-rope around my wrists. Next to me, Rowan was refusing to get up, still choking up salty soda, groaning into his hands. Every time Callen tried to restrain him, he hissed out like an animal.
“Do you hear me?!” I struggled violently. “Harry needs—”
BANG.
Is what it felt like. The feeling of something—what felt and sounded like a toy car—colliding with my temples, sent me onto the ground, my head spinning itself off of its axis. I remember lying on my back and frowning at the moon which almost looked like it was getting closer to me, blurring into a white ball of light—before reality sunk in, and it was in fact Carmel’s converse coming down to finish me off. I didn’t stay knocked out for long. But I did dream.
I think you can call it a dream? I was lying in bed at home; my room drowned in the dark. I was cosy, curled up in my blankets, when a clammy hand slammed over my mouth, rousing me from slumber. There were two figures in my room. They didn’t have faces. They just existed as shadows, silhouettes. Before one of them raised something above their head, and… impact.
It was the same impact as the toy car hitting me, snapping me back to that night. It wasn’t a dream. Because I remembered his clammy fingers over my mouth, and his hisses for me to shut up as he dragged me from my room.
My parents stood in front of me with expressions of sympathy. Basked in warm light, my mom and dad looked almost otherworldly. “For the best.” Was what they mouthed when my own phantom screams slammed into me. I asked them why, and they didn’t reply, allowing him to pull me further and further from what I knew, from my life as I knew it. But.. that couldn’t be real. I had memories of getting on the bus to camp Redwood. I could recall the whole journey. So, why… why was my tangled mind saying otherwise?
When I gathered myself, the first thing I realized was I was sitting down. I was outside, cool night air grazing my bare arms. There was something attached to me, jerking violently, And it took me several disorienting blinks to understand that I was tied back to back with Rowan. My head pounded, and something wet and warm dripped down my temple. Great. I could add head injury to the long list of things to worry about.
“Let me go you little fucking witch.”
Rowan was back to himself, though from the muffled hissing and the sound of choking—I had to guess he was being force-fed animal crackers.
“Let me—mpphmmm. little…. fucking… mphmmphhmhppmm!”
“Rowan.” I managed to get out in a croak. Through flickering eyes, I caught glimpse of a familiar figure dancing around us. Shivers rocketed down my spine, and I wrenched at the jump-rope restraints, but they did a surprisingly job of restraining my arms behind my back.
Eleanor was with Rowan, while Eli was knelt in front of me. Looking at him, the boy had definitely aged in the face—and I couldn’t help wondering what exactly he had done as a forty something year old to be sent to this place.
“Josie!” Rowan responded in a wail. “Josie. Wake the FUCK up.”
“Stop swearing.”
Eleanor spoke with the cold tone of her actual age.
“Oh, yeah?” Rowan spluttered. “Fuck you.” The boy’s laugh was still rough from almost vomiting his insides out from too much salt intake. “I’m sorry, you were a fucking boomer all along?!” He wriggled in the restraints, lunging forwards, which sent me backwards.
“Stop swearing, Rowan.” Was all the girl responded with calmly.
“Like I’m going to listen to you!” He sneered. “Fuck, fuck, fuckity, fucking fuck!” What are you going to do, huh? Bite me with your false teeth?” The sound of saliva hitting skin made me wince. He was pissed. I had no doubt his completely rational anger was going to get us killed. Rowan was also somehow getting mixed up between forty and eighty. Though he was unwillingly snacking on mind bending sugary goodness.
“Fudge, Rowan.” Eleanor spoke in a giggle.
“What?!”
“Say fudge. Not fuck.”
“No.”
His hiss of pain caught me off guard. I don’t know what she was doing to him, but it was hurting him.
“You fudging fudge! I’m going to fudging kill you when I get out of these fudging ropes—“ his manic cursing became a muffled yell.
“Say fudge,” Eleanor hummed, followed by his hiss when the palm of her hand skinned his cheek. “Fuck is a bad word. You even said so yourself and you’re my favourite counselor.”
He heaved out a breath.
“You fudge,” Rowan spat. “When I get out of this, I am going to fudging kill you, you fudging—” His manic ranting morphed, once again, into muffled yelling, after another fistful of animal crackers were forced into his mouth. When I risked twisting around, I could see his rebellion slowly starting to simmer out as he relaxed slightly. I wanted to yell at him to keep a clear head before cold fingers were dipping under my chin and forcing my head around where I found myself face to face with Eli.
“I like you, Josie,” he said, before untying me and pulling me to my feet. Now at the age of nine or ten, he was a lot stronger. When I tried to pull away, the cruel blade of a knife grazed my gut. I caught his grin. “But we don’t need you.” Eli pointed to Rowan.
“We just want them.”
I followed his pointer finger which went from Rowan to Harry and Carmel, who were just standing there like fucking idiots, probably awaiting the next game. Harry’s face was getting redder. It looked like he was suffocating, and yet his grin was growing wider and wider, splitting his lips apart. “Rowan Atlas.” Eleanor said, dragging him to his feet. Something was stapled to his forehead head, which caused him to howl in pain, hissing another strangled line of “Fudge”. but I couldn’t read what it was.
“Camp leader. Intelligent, and problem solving skills.”
“Harry Carlisle.” Eli nodded his head with a smile. “Quick thinker. Strong minded.”
“Carmel Locke.” Cassie spoke behind me. She had her arms folded, a wry smile on her lips. “Smarter than she makes out—- an independent learner, and can work well under pressure.”
Looking at these kids, I felt sick to my stomach. They were planning something—and had the intelligence of renowned scientists, which was what I gathered from the footage on the MacBook. “What?” was all I could hiss out, as Eli prodded the blade of the knife into my back, ushering me to walk. “What are you talking about?”
“Duh.” He spoke in a more tweeny giggle. “Like I said, Miss Josie. You’re my favorite counselor but we don’t need you, so I’m going to use you for parts.” He laughed when a shiver spiderwebbed down my spine. “See! I told you I was going to show you my collection!”
“But… what do you need them for?”
Eli pressed his index finger to his lips with a laugh before forcing me to face forwards. “That’s a secret!”
When I didn’t, or couldn’t move, he shoved me into a stumbling power-walk, and I managed to turn my head quickly, making feverish eye contact with Rowan.
“Rowan.” I said calmly through the gutter in my throat. “Get…. Get help.”
If I was going to die, I needed him to get a hold of himself and somehow alert the outside world what was going on.
“From whom, Josie?!” He wailed back—and as I was dragged away, I could once again sense the childish undertones in his voice.
I had no choice but to obey Eli’s orders. If I didn’t want a knife in my back. He took me to the main lunch cabin, which, when I set foot inside, almost sent me to my knees.
Something lurched inside me, and I was screaming with no voice, staggering backwards, only to be shoved onto my face. In front of me was what had been the lunch hall, fully converted into the beginning of a laboratory.
What had been cafeteria tables were fashioned into makeshift gurney’s and beds, and I was looking at all of the missing counselors. Yuri and Noah had been skinned completely, their faces laid out on a makeshift surgical table. Joey had been ripped open, his heart and brain removed, a glittering metallic substance creeping its way across his forehead. It was then when I remembered Eleanor Summers words.
She wanted to prevent death and preserve the human mind. Looking at what was in front of me, this was the start of it. There was equipment I had never seen before. Lily’s body was empty, carved out completely, tubes forced inside her. When I glimpsed her fingers move and begin to ball into a fist, I saw red. I saw fucking red. The exit was so close and yet Eli, fucking Eli, wielded his knife. I think that is when part of me gave up. My brain just stopped. It short circuited. Seeing my friends murdered and yet somehow being kept alive through playing god, my body slumped to the ground. I was numb. Completely numb.
I’m not sure what would have happened if those bloody saws and instruments which had been used on my friends were used on me too.
Luckily, that did not happen. Before Eli could get his slimy hands on me, he crumpled to the ground in an almost cartoon-like fashion, and standing over me was Harry. Who was looking better. When he grasped hold of me and helped me up, I only had one word. “Out.” And he was nodding, his eyes glistening as he drunk in our friends’ fate.
“How?” I managed to sputter out, when we made it out of the cabin, ducking behind a tree. Harry turned to me, motioning for me to shut up. There was a group of now ten to eleven year olds already running around, searching for what I guessed was him.
“I’m allergic to peanut butter,” Harry murmured, his grasp tightening on my wrist as he led me across the camp, the two of us stumbling.
“What, and you just magically healed?”
He didn’t respond to that, which bothered me.
“The bunker is our best shot,” I hissed out. “I think we can get in contact with someone down there.” I paused, unable to stop myself. “What makes you so important?”
“Dunno. Maybe I’m their favorite.”
When we found Allison’s cabin, which was more of a safehouse (an exposed safehouse) I found Rowan sitting on the wooden porch with his legs swinging over the side. “Rowan!” Harry groaned. I found it hard to believe their roles had been switched. Now he was the one yelling at the camp-leader. “I told you to stay inside!”
He ushered the boy inside, before barricading the door with some hefty looking equipment. I could tell from the grin on his face that our so-called leader was once again no longer himself.
I had to bite back a groan. “You’re kidding.” I said, pointing to Rowan, who buried his head in his knees and blew a raspberry. “Does he look and act like our leader right now?!”
“It’s Rowan, Josie.”
“He’s a liability.”
“He’s our friend! Wouldn’t Rowan do the same?”
Yes, he would. But. He would also realize we’re lost causes.
“Gag him with something.” I said. “If he makes any more noise, we’re dumping him.”
“He’s a kid!”
“Just the mind of one.”
I don’t know how animal crackers worked, but his age seemed to be progressively younger. This time he just sat with wide eyes watching us.
Harry almost tore apart the place looking for means of communication, before an old fashioned ringing sound made me jump.
“What was that?” Harry turned to me with his lip curled.
“How am I supposed to know?!” I hissed. “Keep looking!” But when I ducked under the table, my hands crawled under the desk, finding a wire—and attached to that, an ancient looking phone which looked straight out of a 1940’s movie, a bright green rotary phone.
Hesitantly, I answered it, lifting the phone to my ear. “Hello?”
“Did you awaken the subjects, Agent Salta?"
The voice on the other end was a woman, an oldish sounding woman with the tinge of a British accent.
“What?” I shot a look at Harry before shaking my head. “No. My name is Josie Greenfield. We’re at Camp Redwood, and we need help.”
The woman paused.
“Where is Agent Salta?” She cleared her throat. “This line is reserved for communication with agents only.”
“I don’t know who the fuck you’re talking about!" I squeaked out. “My name is Josie, and whatever is happening here, we need help!”
“Josie. Did you awaken the subjects?”
I paused after a moment, shooting Harry a look when he tried to take the phone off of me. “Yes.”
“And… are our agents unavailable?”
“I don’t understand.”
“When a health and safety breach is activated, our agents are awakened to deal with the Project Spearhead subjects if they were to ever go rogue, or become conscious enough to think. Josie, can you tell me what is in front of you? Describe it to me.”
I held my breath. Next to the hidden phone under the desk was what looked like mismatched wires, all of which had been severed. I lowered myself slowly, poking at mess. “Wires. I see… cut up wires.” I whispered. “Does this mean they know about you?”
She hummed. “Ah…That makes sense. The only way to activate our sleeper handlers would be to send out the signal. You appear to have been sabotaged. Unless activated manually, our agents cannot help you. I am sorry. They are your problem now.” The woman paused.
“If I were you, I would hope and pray they have not sabotaged the self-destruct. If you find that, then you may be able to save yourselves and find peace.” She cleared her throat. “Thank you for your service, Josie Greenfield.”
“Wait.” I managed to get out. “Wait, no! You can’t just… you can’t leave us! We need help!”
I found myself yelling at nothing when the phone went dead. The dull tone of the dead ringtone was clanging in my ears before footsteps from up above. “Fuck this.” Harry picked up a lead pipe. “They’re still little kids, right? I mean, their head must still be partly kids—- so let’s fucking beat their heads in.”
He noticed something, then, starting forwards towards the mess of files I had left earlier. Harry knelt on the ground and picked up Eli’s file, his eyes wide. But he wasn’t staring at the dates confirming the little boy’s age.
Instead, Harry pointed at the bottom of the file. “I don’t want to freak you out, Josie,” he whispered. Initially, I didn’t know what he was trying to show before I glimpsed notes scrawled at the bottom of the file, followed by a signature. “But I’m pretty sure that is my fucking writing.”
Harry was right.
I pulled the paperwork off of him, flicking through each file before turning my eyes to him. “Who the fuck are you?”
A clanging sound from above broke the tension, and whatever Harry was about to reply with was strangled in his throat. He slammed a hand over his mouth.
“Guys?”
The voice twisted me up inside, threatening to release a shriek from my mouth I had managed to clamp shut.
Teddy.
“Are you down here?” His voice was strained, and had an odd tone to it. “I can’t… I can’t see you.”
…
Can someone please tell me what the fuck is going on?! It’s been a blur of a week. We’ve managed to stay down here, surviving off of Allison’s rations. Rowan isn’t getting any better. He seems to have stopped mentally de-ageing at the age of maybe six. Harry has spent the last few days trying to get in contact with anyone, but it’s like they are IGNORING US.
I’ve been looking through everything I can find on Project Spearhead, but nothing points to Harry being involved. So. How is his signature all over the files? How is it possible that two friends I thought I knew several days ago, are now complete strangers?
Teddy keeps coming back.
He’s crying out to us.
I think he’s… in pain.
My god, I can’t stand this anymore. Please. CAMP REDWOOD NEEDS HELP.
2023.06.04 23:27 truedilemma What happened to these six older and elderly women? A write up of five women who went missing under mysterious circumstances.
This post is about a couple of older and elderly women who vanished without a trace. I wanted to include women who disappeared without much of an explanation. When elderly people go missing, their disappearances can often be chalked up to a dementia-related event. I believe many elderly people who vanished with their cars may be in the bottom of lakes and rivers. Those who lived near wilderness may have gotten lost and died of exposure. Those who were picked up or hitchhiked could've been brought to a hospital where they were unable to communicate their true identity. The women I included went missing under more suspicious circumstances.
Mayme Hart Johnson - Disappeared June 12th, 2000 from Nashville, Tennessee.
Mayme is the first on the list and the reason I decided to do this post. On June 12th, 2000, Mayme Hart Johnson, a local historian, researcher, and teacher went missing from Nashville, Tennessee. Mayme, who was 85, lived in the 100 block of Bosley Springs Road in West Nashville with her son, Sam, in his apartment. At 6:30 am that morning, her son woke to find his mother gone. While he reported that he wasn't initially concerned because Mayme occasionally left the apartment around that time, he became alarmed when she didn't return by lunchtime. Where Mayme would go/what she would do at that time is not known. Richland Creek is close by to the apartments, but from what I've seen, it's narrow and a body would probably soon be found if it was in there, despite it being 28 miles long. Of course, there is always a chance she made it into a larger body of water that concealed her. A maintenance man from the Johnson's building told authorities that he had seen Mayme at 6:30 am the day she went missing. This was around the time Sam woke up. Whether this employee saw her outside the building, inside the building, near or on her apartment floor, or down the street is not mentioned. At the time of her disappearance Mayme was 5'5, 120 pounds, with brown eyes and gray hair, and last seen wearing pink pants and a pink blouse. Whether these were pajamas or not (possibly indicating a dementia-like episode, where she got up out of the house and left without telling her son or getting dressed) is, like many things in this case, unknown. Mayme, as I mentioned, was a historian and if you google her name you will find a few sites that show her body of work. In 1986, she published "A Treasury of Tennessee Churches". A search for Mayme was conducted in the Nashville area and extended to Huntingdon, TN, where her husband's grave was, and where she had been visiting the weekend before she vanished. There was also an aerial search of Eastern Maury County that took place in July 2000 after law enforcement came up with a theory that she could be a target of the I-65 rapist. I'm not sure where police got this idea from. The I-65/Days Inn Killer, now identified as Harry Edward Greenwell, murdered three hotel clerks (ages 21, 24, 34) in the late 1980s. He also sexually assaulted a 21 year old hotel clerk in 1990. While LE does believe he's connected to more violent crimes, I'm not sure how they link Mayme to him--if you know, please add your knowledge in the comments. After the aerial search, nothing was found linking anything to Mayme. In 2008 she was declared deceased.
-
Helen Joyce Rawley - disappeared June 4th, 2003 from College Park, Maryland
Helen Joyce Rawley lived in a bungalow on the 4600 block of Knox Road in College Park, Maryland with her son. 75 year old Helen went by her middle name "Joyce" so that is how I'll refer to her. Seventy-five year old Joyce and her son, Tom, had lived together since the death of Joyce's husband of 48 years, Nelson, in 2001. Between 6:45 and 7:00 am on June 4th, 2003, Joyce was last seen by her tenant, a man who had rented a room at the Rawley home for the last eight years. Joyce was seen by him on her porch that morning as he returned home from work. Beginning the day after her husband died in February 2001, Joyce suffered two strokes four days apart. Because of the strokes, she was unable to talk and considered disabled because of her inability to communicate. In 2002, Joyce underwent chemotherapy and radiation for rectal cancer. She was on medication that made her tired and weak. She didn't go out anywhere by herself except to get the mail. Her mind remained "sound", according to her son. The day she went missing, her son returned home from his foreman job at 3:30 pm, and found the house empty with the lights off. Joyce's purse and wallet remained left behind in her bedroom, everything was in place, and there were no signs of a robbery. Police tracked Joyce's scent out the front door which she never used, and to the corner of the block. However, she went missing on a "rain-soaked" and "dreary" day and it's possible the bad weather could've washed away any more of her scent outside. Since the death of her husband who died unexpectedly in his sleep, and her two other sons who died together in a 1982 boating accident, Joyce's immediate family consisted of her remaining child Tom, who was unmarried and childless at the time of his mother's disappearance. If she had other family out of the area is unknown. She does have a beach house in Annapolis, Maryland, but had not visited there after she went missing. She was 75 when she disappeared, standing between 5'4-5'5 and 110 pounds. Due to her cancer, she wore a colostomy bag and was on several medications that she can't go long without. Fliers with Joyce's information went out, woods were searched, local bus drivers were notified and questioned if they had seen her, and hospitals had been checked. A helicopter flew over the city at night with a heat-detecting device. No sight of her was ever found. She had brown eyes and white hair and was last seen in a sweatshirt and slacks. She enjoys gardening, crossword puzzles, and reading. Police don't suspect foul play and Tom isn't considered a suspect (neither is the tenant who was the last to see her), but they aren't sure what could've happened.
-
Maebell Dawson - disappeared January 3rd, 1998 from Jefferson Township, Ohio
68 year old Maebell Dawson had lived in a one bedroom apartment on the 2nd floor of the Martin Luther Manor Living Center on Liscum Drive for about a year when she went missing. Maebell was divorced, had two daughters, and had retired from a hospital housekeeping job two years prior. Maebell was close to her family, and when calls to reach her went unanswered for two days, by January 5th, her residence was checked. Nothing in the second-story apartment was missing or out of place. Her winter coat was draped over a chair, her wallet, credit cards, cash, and a check for rent dated 1/8/98 were all found in her purse on the table. Her bank account was never accessed again. There were no signs of forced entry, a struggle or robbery inside the apartment. LE does not believe Maebell was attacked from her apartment or lured from the premises, but they do believe foul play was involved. According to CharleyProject, suicide "has not been ruled out but has been deemed unlikely". In 1998, Maebell was between 5'4 - 5'6 and 180 pounds. She had brown eyes and gray hair, wore glasses, and was last seen in a tan jogging suit. She was last seen entering her apartment at 9:30 pm on January 3rd. Five and a half years after her disappearance, Maebell was declared legally dead.
-
Norma Mae Maynard - disappeared February 3rd, 1979 from Boone, Iowa.
Norma Mae Maynard went missing in early February of 1979, just two weeks after the unexpected death of her husband, Carl, on January 19th. Norma and Carl had been married for three decades and Norma was deeply grieving the loss. Norma lived with her 30 year old son, and he was the last to see his mother. He stated that shortly before noon on February 2nd, he found a note from his 61 year old mother that stated she was on her way to Los Angeles, not to look for her, and that she'd get in touch again someday. The validity of this note (if seen by LE, if handwritten analysis was performed, etc) is not known. Norma's purse and a few items of clothing were missing, but her checkbook and jewelry were left behind. There was no sign of a break-in at the house. Her husband's pension which she lived off of and her bank account with savings was not touched. Norma was a shy woman who spent most of her time at home and had a regular routine. She didn't drive and her brothers stated that she had never been more than a few miles from her hometown. Her husband's funeral bill was paid for by a check dated four days after she vanished and signed by "Mrs. Carl Maynard". According to Charley Project, "The signature appeared to match Maynard's handwriting, and her son said she had signed a blank check and left it with him to fill in and pay the bill". The validity of this is not known either. A sighting of a woman matching Norma's description was seen by a local Greyhound bus station employee. The woman was boarding a bus bound for Los Angeles. Police are not sure of the accuracy of this sighting and consider it "shaky". Norma didn't drive but she didn't normally travel by bus, and why she allegedly went to Los Angeles is unknown: she had no friends or family there. Norma's son was not considered a suspect in her case, though some members of her family believe he was involved in her disappearance. He has maintained his innocence and has since moved out of state. Norma was 5'3 tall and weight 175 pounds, with blue eyes and gray hair. If she was alive today, she'd be 105. I believe someone close to her knows what happened and made up the story about her leaving for California. My second theory would be suicide, and she made up the California story so her family wouldn't worry.
-
Yu Chin Goodson - disappeared March 25th, 2005 from Russellville, Franklin County, Alabama.
Yu Chin Goodson is one of the youngest on my list, and at 57, I wouldn't classify her as elderly, but she is an older woman with a lot of mental and physical issues, who went missing under mysterious circumstances like these other women. Yu Chin is an Asian woman suffering from paranoid schizophrenia, diabetes, and a heart problem which required daily medication. In 2005, she was living in group home for patients with mental disabilities in Russellville, Alabama. On March 25th, 2005, a witness claimed to see Yu Chin enter a small, older grey or silver car with a loud muffler. The car was headed toward the Decatur, Alabama area, which is where her son lives. Staff at the group home were informed that Yu Chin was gone, and within 15 minutes of her disappearance, the police were notified and a search for Yu Chin began. No trace of her was ever found. Her son, who lives in the Decatur area, was never contacted by his mother. There has been no mention of foul play, and authorities believe she could currently be homeless and living in shelters. At the time of this write up, she has been missing for almost twenty years and would be around 75 if still alive.
-
Barbara B. Blount - disappeared May 2nd, 2008 from Holden, Louisiana
Barbara B. Blount was a 58 year old widow who lived on the same road as her children, kept in regular contact with her family and friends, and was active in her local church. It came as a surprise one morning when her nephew came over to visit her residence in rural Livingston Parish, Louisiana, and Barbara was nowhere to be found. A neighbor had just spoken to her over the phone, and Barbara had said she was cleaning out her kitchen cabinets. By the time her nephew had arrived for a visit, the front door was wide open, Barbara's phone was lying on the floor with the battery pulled out, her car was gone, and Barbara was missing. Besides for the unusual circumstances in the home, police didn't find any proof of forced entry. A few hours later in the late afternoon, the silver four door 2006 Toyota Camry Barbara owned was found a quarter of a mile from her home. It was found 25-30 yards off the main road and out of sight, hidden by trees. No trace of Barbara was discovered, baffling friends and family who described Barbara as a cautious individual who carried a gun when she went outside to milk the cows and didn't open the door to strangers. Waterways and woods were searched in attempt to find Barbara, but nothing was ever found.
edit: ooof messed up the title.
submitted by truedilemma to UnresolvedMysteries [link] [comments]
Mayme Hart Johnson - Disappeared June 12th, 2000 from Nashville, Tennessee.
Mayme is the first on the list and the reason I decided to do this post. On June 12th, 2000, Mayme Hart Johnson, a local historian, researcher, and teacher went missing from Nashville, Tennessee. Mayme, who was 85, lived in the 100 block of Bosley Springs Road in West Nashville with her son, Sam, in his apartment. At 6:30 am that morning, her son woke to find his mother gone. While he reported that he wasn't initially concerned because Mayme occasionally left the apartment around that time, he became alarmed when she didn't return by lunchtime. Where Mayme would go/what she would do at that time is not known. Richland Creek is close by to the apartments, but from what I've seen, it's narrow and a body would probably soon be found if it was in there, despite it being 28 miles long. Of course, there is always a chance she made it into a larger body of water that concealed her. A maintenance man from the Johnson's building told authorities that he had seen Mayme at 6:30 am the day she went missing. This was around the time Sam woke up. Whether this employee saw her outside the building, inside the building, near or on her apartment floor, or down the street is not mentioned. At the time of her disappearance Mayme was 5'5, 120 pounds, with brown eyes and gray hair, and last seen wearing pink pants and a pink blouse. Whether these were pajamas or not (possibly indicating a dementia-like episode, where she got up out of the house and left without telling her son or getting dressed) is, like many things in this case, unknown. Mayme, as I mentioned, was a historian and if you google her name you will find a few sites that show her body of work. In 1986, she published "A Treasury of Tennessee Churches". A search for Mayme was conducted in the Nashville area and extended to Huntingdon, TN, where her husband's grave was, and where she had been visiting the weekend before she vanished. There was also an aerial search of Eastern Maury County that took place in July 2000 after law enforcement came up with a theory that she could be a target of the I-65 rapist. I'm not sure where police got this idea from. The I-65/Days Inn Killer, now identified as Harry Edward Greenwell, murdered three hotel clerks (ages 21, 24, 34) in the late 1980s. He also sexually assaulted a 21 year old hotel clerk in 1990. While LE does believe he's connected to more violent crimes, I'm not sure how they link Mayme to him--if you know, please add your knowledge in the comments. After the aerial search, nothing was found linking anything to Mayme. In 2008 she was declared deceased.
-
Helen Joyce Rawley - disappeared June 4th, 2003 from College Park, Maryland
Helen Joyce Rawley lived in a bungalow on the 4600 block of Knox Road in College Park, Maryland with her son. 75 year old Helen went by her middle name "Joyce" so that is how I'll refer to her. Seventy-five year old Joyce and her son, Tom, had lived together since the death of Joyce's husband of 48 years, Nelson, in 2001. Between 6:45 and 7:00 am on June 4th, 2003, Joyce was last seen by her tenant, a man who had rented a room at the Rawley home for the last eight years. Joyce was seen by him on her porch that morning as he returned home from work. Beginning the day after her husband died in February 2001, Joyce suffered two strokes four days apart. Because of the strokes, she was unable to talk and considered disabled because of her inability to communicate. In 2002, Joyce underwent chemotherapy and radiation for rectal cancer. She was on medication that made her tired and weak. She didn't go out anywhere by herself except to get the mail. Her mind remained "sound", according to her son. The day she went missing, her son returned home from his foreman job at 3:30 pm, and found the house empty with the lights off. Joyce's purse and wallet remained left behind in her bedroom, everything was in place, and there were no signs of a robbery. Police tracked Joyce's scent out the front door which she never used, and to the corner of the block. However, she went missing on a "rain-soaked" and "dreary" day and it's possible the bad weather could've washed away any more of her scent outside. Since the death of her husband who died unexpectedly in his sleep, and her two other sons who died together in a 1982 boating accident, Joyce's immediate family consisted of her remaining child Tom, who was unmarried and childless at the time of his mother's disappearance. If she had other family out of the area is unknown. She does have a beach house in Annapolis, Maryland, but had not visited there after she went missing. She was 75 when she disappeared, standing between 5'4-5'5 and 110 pounds. Due to her cancer, she wore a colostomy bag and was on several medications that she can't go long without. Fliers with Joyce's information went out, woods were searched, local bus drivers were notified and questioned if they had seen her, and hospitals had been checked. A helicopter flew over the city at night with a heat-detecting device. No sight of her was ever found. She had brown eyes and white hair and was last seen in a sweatshirt and slacks. She enjoys gardening, crossword puzzles, and reading. Police don't suspect foul play and Tom isn't considered a suspect (neither is the tenant who was the last to see her), but they aren't sure what could've happened.
-
Maebell Dawson - disappeared January 3rd, 1998 from Jefferson Township, Ohio
68 year old Maebell Dawson had lived in a one bedroom apartment on the 2nd floor of the Martin Luther Manor Living Center on Liscum Drive for about a year when she went missing. Maebell was divorced, had two daughters, and had retired from a hospital housekeeping job two years prior. Maebell was close to her family, and when calls to reach her went unanswered for two days, by January 5th, her residence was checked. Nothing in the second-story apartment was missing or out of place. Her winter coat was draped over a chair, her wallet, credit cards, cash, and a check for rent dated 1/8/98 were all found in her purse on the table. Her bank account was never accessed again. There were no signs of forced entry, a struggle or robbery inside the apartment. LE does not believe Maebell was attacked from her apartment or lured from the premises, but they do believe foul play was involved. According to CharleyProject, suicide "has not been ruled out but has been deemed unlikely". In 1998, Maebell was between 5'4 - 5'6 and 180 pounds. She had brown eyes and gray hair, wore glasses, and was last seen in a tan jogging suit. She was last seen entering her apartment at 9:30 pm on January 3rd. Five and a half years after her disappearance, Maebell was declared legally dead.
-
Norma Mae Maynard - disappeared February 3rd, 1979 from Boone, Iowa.
Norma Mae Maynard went missing in early February of 1979, just two weeks after the unexpected death of her husband, Carl, on January 19th. Norma and Carl had been married for three decades and Norma was deeply grieving the loss. Norma lived with her 30 year old son, and he was the last to see his mother. He stated that shortly before noon on February 2nd, he found a note from his 61 year old mother that stated she was on her way to Los Angeles, not to look for her, and that she'd get in touch again someday. The validity of this note (if seen by LE, if handwritten analysis was performed, etc) is not known. Norma's purse and a few items of clothing were missing, but her checkbook and jewelry were left behind. There was no sign of a break-in at the house. Her husband's pension which she lived off of and her bank account with savings was not touched. Norma was a shy woman who spent most of her time at home and had a regular routine. She didn't drive and her brothers stated that she had never been more than a few miles from her hometown. Her husband's funeral bill was paid for by a check dated four days after she vanished and signed by "Mrs. Carl Maynard". According to Charley Project, "The signature appeared to match Maynard's handwriting, and her son said she had signed a blank check and left it with him to fill in and pay the bill". The validity of this is not known either. A sighting of a woman matching Norma's description was seen by a local Greyhound bus station employee. The woman was boarding a bus bound for Los Angeles. Police are not sure of the accuracy of this sighting and consider it "shaky". Norma didn't drive but she didn't normally travel by bus, and why she allegedly went to Los Angeles is unknown: she had no friends or family there. Norma's son was not considered a suspect in her case, though some members of her family believe he was involved in her disappearance. He has maintained his innocence and has since moved out of state. Norma was 5'3 tall and weight 175 pounds, with blue eyes and gray hair. If she was alive today, she'd be 105. I believe someone close to her knows what happened and made up the story about her leaving for California. My second theory would be suicide, and she made up the California story so her family wouldn't worry.
-
Yu Chin Goodson - disappeared March 25th, 2005 from Russellville, Franklin County, Alabama.
Yu Chin Goodson is one of the youngest on my list, and at 57, I wouldn't classify her as elderly, but she is an older woman with a lot of mental and physical issues, who went missing under mysterious circumstances like these other women. Yu Chin is an Asian woman suffering from paranoid schizophrenia, diabetes, and a heart problem which required daily medication. In 2005, she was living in group home for patients with mental disabilities in Russellville, Alabama. On March 25th, 2005, a witness claimed to see Yu Chin enter a small, older grey or silver car with a loud muffler. The car was headed toward the Decatur, Alabama area, which is where her son lives. Staff at the group home were informed that Yu Chin was gone, and within 15 minutes of her disappearance, the police were notified and a search for Yu Chin began. No trace of her was ever found. Her son, who lives in the Decatur area, was never contacted by his mother. There has been no mention of foul play, and authorities believe she could currently be homeless and living in shelters. At the time of this write up, she has been missing for almost twenty years and would be around 75 if still alive.
-
Barbara B. Blount - disappeared May 2nd, 2008 from Holden, Louisiana
Barbara B. Blount was a 58 year old widow who lived on the same road as her children, kept in regular contact with her family and friends, and was active in her local church. It came as a surprise one morning when her nephew came over to visit her residence in rural Livingston Parish, Louisiana, and Barbara was nowhere to be found. A neighbor had just spoken to her over the phone, and Barbara had said she was cleaning out her kitchen cabinets. By the time her nephew had arrived for a visit, the front door was wide open, Barbara's phone was lying on the floor with the battery pulled out, her car was gone, and Barbara was missing. Besides for the unusual circumstances in the home, police didn't find any proof of forced entry. A few hours later in the late afternoon, the silver four door 2006 Toyota Camry Barbara owned was found a quarter of a mile from her home. It was found 25-30 yards off the main road and out of sight, hidden by trees. No trace of Barbara was discovered, baffling friends and family who described Barbara as a cautious individual who carried a gun when she went outside to milk the cows and didn't open the door to strangers. Waterways and woods were searched in attempt to find Barbara, but nothing was ever found.
edit: ooof messed up the title.
2023.06.04 22:39 Desperate-Car-Wife Cars, Trucks, Turbos.. Oh My! Part.7
Desperate Car Wife: A Journey in the Making (part.7)
My husband's next "victim" .... A golden brown 1997 Chevy K/1500 Extended Cab
I had a feeling he'd buy this truck at some point... A buddy of his owned it and he would always make comments and cash offers whenever he saw the truck. About 3 or 4 years later my hubby finally got his wish! I still remember the night we brought it home... Unfortunately, that same night, during the wee hours, some delinquent teens went around the neighborhood and were keying cars down our street! He parked it on the street since he had planned to wash it first thing.... Hub was up early the next day, so excited to have his new baby; ready to give her a good wash and start marking his "territory" with that good 'ol "JB Treatment".. We walked out and discovered the truck had been keyed all the way from the driver's side door to the rear fender!! I can't describe how super p@##ed off he was without using a list of colorful words, but I'm sure y'all can imagine... I'm just glad I was there to help calm him down; to this very day I truly feel that had he given into his anger, he would've gone off his rocker, and that day would've been much like that famous line from Liam Neeson in Taken!! But after about an hour of watching what looked like a crazy man, pacing back and forth, looking over and over at the nearly 7' long scratch, while cursing up a storm, he managed to calm down "somewhat" and immediately ran down to AutoZone... $150 later, he had what he needed to make it as invisible as possible. It was deep in spots; the entire scratch had passed through the top coat and in some areas it was all the way to the base paint :(
Over the next year, he went over the entire body with a clay bar, compound buffed, then waxed and polished... She was easily a 10 footer for sure! Eventually he found some wheels and bought matching tires.. (He has a thing about mismatched tires LOL) She was lookin' like a pretty nice truck, so shiny and new, nearly flawless on the outside.
Side Note: I remember one night, not too long after he finished all that hard work, we were bbqing at our friend's house; the one who sold us the truck. It was well after midnight when we were finally ready to leave, (hubby was highly intoxicated), I ended up having to pull the truck out first because a huge bush was on the other side where he had backed in too close and couldn't open the passenger side door. Well he was too drunk and way too tall to try to climb over the center console thru the driver's side, so he wanted me to pull the truck out and he'd just hop in. I was like "there are branches sticking out of the bush and I think I might scratch the truck"... I insisted my hubby just pull it out a little and then I'd take over. (if anyone was gonna scratch it, I'd rather it be him!) To give some insight: there was another car parked on the driver's side, giving me very little room to work with... But he refused and said he'd guide me.. Famous. Last. Words!!!! As soon as I started to pull away, I heard scraping sounds!!!! I stopped and was sooo upset because I knew it would happen! I thought for sure he would be so p@##ed at me for scratching it! I had tears, I felt so bad!! He had just finished getting that truck looking new again and the hours of labotime spent doing so... I couldn't stop sobbing, even when he, surprisingly, wasn't mad at all!! He actually blamed himself because he made me move it.. I blame the alcohol for his chill response!!! After repeated "sorry's" and "it's okay's".. we get home and he grabs his container of Mother's compound and starts buffing out the scratch.... Next morning I looked at the spot and to my excitement, the scratch was gone... it didn't go through the top coat!! Couldn't even tell that there was ever even a scratch!!!! \Wipes sweaty forehead* What a relief that was!*
Next came the.......... you got it! The Sound system! \ insert smirky laugh here LOL **
A slimbox would just not do.. he tried, but at this point in his obsession with bass style audio, he wanted more bass. Well for those of you that don't know, more bass means not only bigger subs and bigger boxes for those subs, you also need higher quality tweeters and mids with their own amp system plus crossovers, a powerful amp just for the bass, bigger batteries (yes, that's plural), a bigger alternator, fuses galore, expensive wiring , etc... Not only is that crazy expensive to do, but it also required him to eventually remove the bench seat. I had no clue to all of this till I started going with him more often to the car audio shops. Needless to say, I was not a happy wife when it came to the price tags... I was perfectly happy with decent sound and a small sub, but something so crazy loud wasn't that big of a deal to me, however, our bank account would say otherwise LOL ... it wasn't my daily driver, so I didn't really care other than the costs for everything... he just could never be happy with the sound and continuously changed out the subs, boxes, decks, you name it... he did it more than once over on everything! So that was the first strike to this truck and I... (I know it sounds a bit harsh for a 1st strike, but I wanted a nice family vacation, not bigger and bigger subs... Remember my "limits" motto??)
I liked driving it around town, though the driver's seat was broken in the upright position, so I had to drive with a pillow behind me. (Strike 2!!) It never bothered him because he's so dang tall, and I rarely drove it as it was, so the seat wasn't a priority... Then I took it on the freeway, the steering became very loose. I don't know how to describe how it felt to me, other than it felt like it was severely out of play... My hubby never seemed to have the same issue and always would reassure me that "it's just how the truck drives''... So he hasn't messed around with the steering column at all. Well, I don't trust it or feel safe in it, so I refuse to drive it. I have had to take it on the freeway a couple more times since then and I still hate driving it... it still felt way out of whack for me; taking curvy turns was the worst, I couldn't even keep it centered in my lane! Nerves shot and blood pressure at its highest.... Strike 3!!! I absolutely hate driving that truck!!! She is a pretty thing after a good waxing, but that's as far as I take a liking to her...
$10k later, including a rebuilt tranny and 2 DIY transfer case replacements, the truck is nearly perfect in my husband's eyes.... but then the poor thing falls to vandalism once again! :( :( :( Only this time it was 2 slashed tires and a broken windshield! This time we filed a police report! But of course nothing ever came of it, unfortunately.... It was easy to replace, but costly and getting no justice after being vandalized twice (parked in the driveway the 2nd time), left us feeling sour and foul mouthed.... Now we have cameras on the driveway and street! Regardless of the vandalism, there's always something needing to be replaced it seems... this truck feels like a money pit in my mind... strike 4...
Special Note: If you have found or follow me on Twitter (DsCarWife) and come here to read my posts... I have a little treat tweet coming! Stay Tuned!
Part. 8 coming soon
submitted by Desperate-Car-Wife to DesperateCarWife [link] [comments]
My husband's next "victim" .... A golden brown 1997 Chevy K/1500 Extended Cab
I had a feeling he'd buy this truck at some point... A buddy of his owned it and he would always make comments and cash offers whenever he saw the truck. About 3 or 4 years later my hubby finally got his wish! I still remember the night we brought it home... Unfortunately, that same night, during the wee hours, some delinquent teens went around the neighborhood and were keying cars down our street! He parked it on the street since he had planned to wash it first thing.... Hub was up early the next day, so excited to have his new baby; ready to give her a good wash and start marking his "territory" with that good 'ol "JB Treatment".. We walked out and discovered the truck had been keyed all the way from the driver's side door to the rear fender!! I can't describe how super p@##ed off he was without using a list of colorful words, but I'm sure y'all can imagine... I'm just glad I was there to help calm him down; to this very day I truly feel that had he given into his anger, he would've gone off his rocker, and that day would've been much like that famous line from Liam Neeson in Taken!! But after about an hour of watching what looked like a crazy man, pacing back and forth, looking over and over at the nearly 7' long scratch, while cursing up a storm, he managed to calm down "somewhat" and immediately ran down to AutoZone... $150 later, he had what he needed to make it as invisible as possible. It was deep in spots; the entire scratch had passed through the top coat and in some areas it was all the way to the base paint :(
Over the next year, he went over the entire body with a clay bar, compound buffed, then waxed and polished... She was easily a 10 footer for sure! Eventually he found some wheels and bought matching tires.. (He has a thing about mismatched tires LOL) She was lookin' like a pretty nice truck, so shiny and new, nearly flawless on the outside.
Side Note: I remember one night, not too long after he finished all that hard work, we were bbqing at our friend's house; the one who sold us the truck. It was well after midnight when we were finally ready to leave, (hubby was highly intoxicated), I ended up having to pull the truck out first because a huge bush was on the other side where he had backed in too close and couldn't open the passenger side door. Well he was too drunk and way too tall to try to climb over the center console thru the driver's side, so he wanted me to pull the truck out and he'd just hop in. I was like "there are branches sticking out of the bush and I think I might scratch the truck"... I insisted my hubby just pull it out a little and then I'd take over. (if anyone was gonna scratch it, I'd rather it be him!) To give some insight: there was another car parked on the driver's side, giving me very little room to work with... But he refused and said he'd guide me.. Famous. Last. Words!!!! As soon as I started to pull away, I heard scraping sounds!!!! I stopped and was sooo upset because I knew it would happen! I thought for sure he would be so p@##ed at me for scratching it! I had tears, I felt so bad!! He had just finished getting that truck looking new again and the hours of labotime spent doing so... I couldn't stop sobbing, even when he, surprisingly, wasn't mad at all!! He actually blamed himself because he made me move it.. I blame the alcohol for his chill response!!! After repeated "sorry's" and "it's okay's".. we get home and he grabs his container of Mother's compound and starts buffing out the scratch.... Next morning I looked at the spot and to my excitement, the scratch was gone... it didn't go through the top coat!! Couldn't even tell that there was ever even a scratch!!!! \Wipes sweaty forehead* What a relief that was!*
Next came the.......... you got it! The Sound system! \ insert smirky laugh here LOL **
A slimbox would just not do.. he tried, but at this point in his obsession with bass style audio, he wanted more bass. Well for those of you that don't know, more bass means not only bigger subs and bigger boxes for those subs, you also need higher quality tweeters and mids with their own amp system plus crossovers, a powerful amp just for the bass, bigger batteries (yes, that's plural), a bigger alternator, fuses galore, expensive wiring , etc... Not only is that crazy expensive to do, but it also required him to eventually remove the bench seat. I had no clue to all of this till I started going with him more often to the car audio shops. Needless to say, I was not a happy wife when it came to the price tags... I was perfectly happy with decent sound and a small sub, but something so crazy loud wasn't that big of a deal to me, however, our bank account would say otherwise LOL ... it wasn't my daily driver, so I didn't really care other than the costs for everything... he just could never be happy with the sound and continuously changed out the subs, boxes, decks, you name it... he did it more than once over on everything! So that was the first strike to this truck and I... (I know it sounds a bit harsh for a 1st strike, but I wanted a nice family vacation, not bigger and bigger subs... Remember my "limits" motto??)
I liked driving it around town, though the driver's seat was broken in the upright position, so I had to drive with a pillow behind me. (Strike 2!!) It never bothered him because he's so dang tall, and I rarely drove it as it was, so the seat wasn't a priority... Then I took it on the freeway, the steering became very loose. I don't know how to describe how it felt to me, other than it felt like it was severely out of play... My hubby never seemed to have the same issue and always would reassure me that "it's just how the truck drives''... So he hasn't messed around with the steering column at all. Well, I don't trust it or feel safe in it, so I refuse to drive it. I have had to take it on the freeway a couple more times since then and I still hate driving it... it still felt way out of whack for me; taking curvy turns was the worst, I couldn't even keep it centered in my lane! Nerves shot and blood pressure at its highest.... Strike 3!!! I absolutely hate driving that truck!!! She is a pretty thing after a good waxing, but that's as far as I take a liking to her...
$10k later, including a rebuilt tranny and 2 DIY transfer case replacements, the truck is nearly perfect in my husband's eyes.... but then the poor thing falls to vandalism once again! :( :( :( Only this time it was 2 slashed tires and a broken windshield! This time we filed a police report! But of course nothing ever came of it, unfortunately.... It was easy to replace, but costly and getting no justice after being vandalized twice (parked in the driveway the 2nd time), left us feeling sour and foul mouthed.... Now we have cameras on the driveway and street! Regardless of the vandalism, there's always something needing to be replaced it seems... this truck feels like a money pit in my mind... strike 4...
Special Note: If you have found or follow me on Twitter (DsCarWife) and come here to read my posts... I have a little treat tweet coming! Stay Tuned!
Part. 8 coming soon
2023.06.04 19:48 lets-split-up I went on a cruise, and all the passengers were dead…
If I’d only followed my instincts, I’d never have boarded that doomed ship. When the Azure Seastar left port, its passengers were all alive, each with smart phones and watches and tablets, as well as the cruise ship’s own communications… yet not a single message was sent before it went missing! No distress call.
The fates of over a thousand passengers and crew remain unknown, with only a handful recovered from a lifeboat, days after the Seastar herself vanished. But the coast guard’s only statement on the lifeboat’s recovery was that “the passengers did not survive.” Rumors circulated about a “thermos full of eyeballs” and a “passenger whose mouth was stuffed full of severed fingers”—but these details have been denounced as lies, sensationalizing and capitalizing on a tragedy.
The official cause of the Seastar’s disappearance is a rogue wave. No survivors. No witnesses.
Well… one witness…
… but perhaps I shouldn’t tell. Better for the world if that ship stay lost forever!
The families of the missing, however, deserve the truth… which is why I am posting.
But first, a warning—the gruesome snippets I recounted above barely scratch the surface of the horror I am about to share, some of which I took part in. I wake screaming every night. I sleep with the lights on. I never enter darkened hallways or stairwells. And I do not ever shake hands. Although I’ve always had some quirks (the handshake one is an old habit), most of these are fresh, a consequence of my time aboard that doomed cruise ship. I do not intend to gloss over any details, but rather to give a complete accounting, including of my own involvement… so be forewarned.
And understand that my story is one of unimaginable horror.
***
To explain what really happened aboard the Seastar, I need to first tell a little about myself. Sorry, I know I’m like a bit of decorative wallpaper—just sort of there. But I see things.
It all started when I was very young (I do promise this is relevant). I didn’t want to swim in the community pool with my brother because the water was cloudy, hiding a shadowy figure in the deep end. I distinctly remember standing at the pool’s edge, crying inconsolably while my father urged, “Go on, jump in!”
My brother set the example, diving down to the bottom of the foggy water. When he came up, a silver dollar glinted in his fingers, which he dropped back into the pool before I could snatch it. “Oops! Guess you gotta dive for it!” He laughed, the sun shimmering off his sunburned shoulders. “Come on, there’s quarters down here, too!”
Diving for coins was a game we often played, so I plunged in after him, kicking my way down with my eyes squeezed shut. When my hands grazed the rough cement bottom, I patted around.
Silky hair tangled around my fingers like seaweed.
I forced my eyes open against the stinging chlorine—and shrieked.
Wide, empty eyes stared back at me from a bloated face.
When I shot to the surface, wailing about a dead woman in the water, other swimmers looked on, perplexed. My older brother tried to console me and swore there were nothing but coins.
He was correct—not until a week later would a woman drown in that pool, and sink to the bottom of the foggy water while swimmers unwittingly raced laps above her.
***
The next time I saw was when I threw a tantrum over my grandmother’s armchair. It smelled so bad I grabbed my nose and exclaimed, “Ewwww!”
My parents scolded me for my rudeness. Grandma occasionally struggled with incontinence, so for her chair to stink was, they assumed, the result of an accident. They thought I was exaggerating to make fun of her, but in the sweltering summer, the smell was truly unbearable—like rotting meat and diarrhea and cheap perfume all churned together. I threw such a fit we left, though Grandma insisted on hugging me despite my being an “awful brat.” Her skin was wrinkled, papery-thin and soft as silk, but despite the uncomfortable warmth of her apartment, her embrace was ice cold.
Less than a week later the call came. My grandmother had been found after a neighbor’s complaint about the smell…
She’d died in her chair.
***
But when the seeing really clicked was in my tween years, two separate incidents. The first was after a classmate of my brother’s pulled up in a car reeking of burnt meat, the interior charred and black. He stepped out of the car seeming not to notice that behind him, another version of him remained belted into the front seat, unrecognizable through the char beyond the glint of a gold chain melted into his neck. I burst into hysterical tears and screamed at my brother not to let him drive. The classmate laughed and called me a weirdo.
He crashed later that week.
The second incident began at a school function, where my brother chaperoned me. A man pulled up in the school drop-off zone—he was one of the more popular teachers, famous for his yearly pizza parties. In the car with him were two young kids. I can’t remember their names, just that the littlest boy was giggling and clinging to a toy T-rex when he hopped out. My brother and I were asked to help carry the party supplies and drinks from the teacher’s car. But the moment I opened the passenger door to grab a box, the reek of fetid pond water made my stomach lurch. I staggered back, clapping a hand to my nose and mouth.
“Hey! Everything all right?” the teacher asked.
My brother, no doubt remembering what happened to his classmate weeks earlier, took me aside.
“C-c-c-c-cold!” I burst to him. “D-dark! The smell! Like the rot in the bottom of a lake…”
While I wrung my hands and sniffled, my brother watched the two young kids follow the teacher into the school. He shook my shoulder and said, “Hey—hey, we’re going to save them.”
“How? No one ever believes me!”
“I believe you, Hope. Hey…” He gave me a squeeze and looked in my eyes. “‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers…”
What a dork. That line was from Emily Dickinson—my brother’s favorite quote for me for when I was upset. It was corny, but encouraged me.
A few minutes later, we were careening along backwoods roads in the teacher’s car. To this day, I don’t know how my brother got the keys. His plan was we’d stow the car in a garage for a couple weeks, long enough to outlast the vision, since my predictions always came true within about six days. But it hadn’t occurred to either of us how being inside the car would affect me. The damp and rot washed over my skin. COLD. Every hair on my body stood erect, floating as if underwater. I couldn’t breathe… gagging on the fetid water, I rolled down my window. Raindrops from outside pelted my face, and something… something clicked. A sudden terrible question. When I’d peered into the darkened interior, I hadn’t been able to see… who was inside the car?
“Hey,” my brother said, apparently struck by the same thought. “You’re not foreseeing our deaths, are you?”
I don’t know if it was fate that caused us to fishtail just as he spoke. But also he might have hit something, because there was a bump. All I know is suddenly we were flying, off the road and over the side toward a lake, and then plunging, and I snatched for his hand as the impact slammed us forward into the dashboard. Then the water wasn’t just in my mind. It was real. It was pouring in through the car window.
I fought, flailing. Unbuckled. Floundered through the half-open window. Luckily I was still small enough to get through, swimming up and breaking the surface.
“Cory!” I screamed. “CORY!!!”
But I knew already that my brother wasn’t coming up—his hand had been cold when I’d touched it.
***
Naturally, his death feels like my fault. Oh, in kinder moments I remember that I was a child, and try to forgive myself for letting him get behind that wheel. But for a time, I was driven by the fierce need to atone. I sought desperately to save even one life… ANY life. I’d see a body swaying from a beam in a construction site. Legs dangling from a trunk in the car on the highway ahead of me. A suitcase on sale in a luggage store, dripping blood. Every time I tried to prevent the death… only to fail or worse, cause it. Each loss drove home more deeply my shame, my failure… until eventually…
I gave up.
I don’t try to prevent the deaths anymore. These days I catch a whiff of that familiar sickly putrid scent, and I leave. I avoid human touch, especially handshakes.
I’ve truly become wallpaper. Able to see. Powerless to prevent.
My name, incidentally, is Cassandra… I changed it because I could no longer bear my birth name. If “Hope” is the thing with feathers, I was an angel of death, harbinger of doom to my brother and others. So instead I call myself after the Greek priestess doomed to foresee the future but never to be believed… unable to prevent even one single tragedy.
***
But let’s get back to the cruise. The missing passengers. The eyeballs in the thermos—oh, those grisly details! Mind you, once you know you can’t un-know, no matter how much you drink, or smoke, or however you drown your despair. Speaking of drowning, a month ago today, I hit the big 4-O. I celebrated my four decades of life by doing the one thing I’ve done consistently since I was old enough—drinking away my failures. Every icy grip. Every unheeded warning. And especially the times I’ve well and truly fucked up. Oh yes. Those are the ones that call for some hard forgetting.
I was on my second or seventh drink at my favorite bar when a voice exclaimed, “’Evening, friend!”
A woman with shimmering purple eyeliner and matching purple hair approached. It was the musician who often played there, Lily Tsuki. To be honest, she was the primary reason I frequented that bar, though we’d hardly spoken beyond my occasional compliments about her playing. She slid into the seat next to mine and clinked my glass.
“Roy at the bar told me it’s your fortieth. I see you in here once a week, always tipping well and drinking like you’re trying to drown yourself. Someone did something kind for me recently, so I’m trying to pass it on…” She fished a hand into her pocket, and to my surprise produced a gift card for a cruise. I didn’t catch all of her story in the noisy bar, but apparently, one of her admirers was very rich, always offering her gifts verging on inappropriate. After finding out she’d be playing on the Azure Seastar, said admirer sent her the card so she could spoil herself on the cruise. She didn’t feel comfortable accepting, so she gifted it to me. “… There’s enough on there to cover your fare. Don’t thank me—thank you, I needed to get rid of it. Enjoy your fortieth, friend!”
As she handed me the card, her fingers brushed mine.
Warm. Alive.
I mumbled my thanks, cheeks warm. Why? Because she chose me? Blushes! I’m an idiot.
Still, I was glowing, and not just because I was tipsy. Why not? I thought. Why not treat myself, this once? The Azure Seastar… it sounded like a dream. I’d go see Lily Tsuki play at the piano bar against the backdrop of a glimmering ocean. I’d drink under the stars. Get a tan. Get my sea legs! And every hand would be warm and every breath would taste of the summer breeze!
***
Nine decks (eleven including the crew-only levels). Over a thousand people. Pool, bars, restaurants, lounges, cafés, spa, cabaret—the Seastar truly was the Ritz Carlton on the water! I was absolutely giddy! Of course before the luxury came the wait—just like the airport, parking, luggage, ticketing, security. It was as I neared the entrance for ticketing, enjoying the summer breeze, that I caught traces of a sour odor… a whiff of decay… so faint beneath the car exhaust and the smell of the saltwater that I might have missed it, were I not so attuned to death. At port, it was likely some unfortunate animal packed into a shipping crate and decomposing. I’d even read horror stories of people, trafficked in sealed shipping containers and asphyxiating. That faint whiff made my insides curdle.
Then I was inside the air conditioned terminal, packed with passengers—and inhaling nothing but the blessed AC.
The check in was surprisingly quick. I followed the embarkation signs up the escalator to the terminal’s upper level, through the double glass doors, greeted on my right by printed images of pool decks and steaks and wine glasses. On my left, through the enormous paned wall of glass, the Seastar herself loomed. My God, she was enormous!
So many decks! So many balconies!
Then I squinted a little closer. What was that speck? A tiny figure, draped on a railing?
My heart dropped to my toes.
Something was horribly wrong.
The figure, small against the massive width of the ship… had no face. Only a torso and most of its arms. It had been decapitated, and dried blood spattered the rail.
My footsteps slowed. I pressed against the glass, eyes rapidly roving the rest of the ship. Was it just one…? One incidence of violence, or…
Perhaps I wasn’t seeing correctly. It was a stunt. A practical joke. A mannequin. I needed to get closer. I hurried along the terminal, joining the line out to the gangplank.
The bowl of the sky had turned deep purple, the sun lowering toward the horizon, and in the Seastar’s deep shadow, the temperature dropped. A sudden chill gripped me as I trotted out onto the gangplank. I sniffed. Sniffed again, more deeply.
Rot.
The same putrid odor I’d caught outside. A passenger ahead of me noticed me grabbing my nose, and remarked, “Not used to that ocean smell?” I did not respond, because now that I was close enough to see the ship more clearly, I noticed… cracked glass… broken panes in the sliding glass doors of the cabins… no! I gasped, sinking to my knees, and the passenger kindly leaned to help me up. As her hand seized mine—it was cold.
I jerked back so fast I actually collapsed into the passengers behind us—a mother and her daughter.
“Oh!” exclaimed the mother.
My hand brushed the daughter’s bare arm. Cold.
“Are you okay?” asked the daughter, a child of about twelve.
I crawled back from her, and another person, an elderly gentleman, leaned down to help me up, his hand on my elbow. Cold!
“Miss?” he asked. “Miss—” But I bolted, barely hearing their cries as I launched myself back toward the terminal. No no no no no no no no—my eyes watered and my belly bunched into knots and my heart lurched into my throat and oh God oh God—the ship! The whole. Entire. Ship. It was… dark… windows broken… Not a single light shining in the interior, and spatters of blood here and there visible on its decks and balconies… But worst of all was the smell. I hadn’t even entered the ship yet and already I knew, knew, in the way only I can know, that the smell wasn’t just one body or two. Not if I could detect it all the way out on the gangplank. All the way at the entrance to the terminal. For the whiff of putrefaction to have spread so far, the source was something massive. A colossal pile of decomposing bodies like a herd of dead elephants.
That ship… no one on that ship was going to make it back…
As I entered the terminal with its blessed filtered air and the windows between me and the ship, I turned and looked at the line stretching behind me. Passengers laughing. Chatting. Dressed in their finest. Flirting. Teasing. Buzzing with excitement. Old and young couples. Children.
Everyone on this ship is going to die…
... and I’m the only one who knows…
submitted by lets-split-up to nosleep [link] [comments]
The fates of over a thousand passengers and crew remain unknown, with only a handful recovered from a lifeboat, days after the Seastar herself vanished. But the coast guard’s only statement on the lifeboat’s recovery was that “the passengers did not survive.” Rumors circulated about a “thermos full of eyeballs” and a “passenger whose mouth was stuffed full of severed fingers”—but these details have been denounced as lies, sensationalizing and capitalizing on a tragedy.
The official cause of the Seastar’s disappearance is a rogue wave. No survivors. No witnesses.
Well… one witness…
… but perhaps I shouldn’t tell. Better for the world if that ship stay lost forever!
The families of the missing, however, deserve the truth… which is why I am posting.
But first, a warning—the gruesome snippets I recounted above barely scratch the surface of the horror I am about to share, some of which I took part in. I wake screaming every night. I sleep with the lights on. I never enter darkened hallways or stairwells. And I do not ever shake hands. Although I’ve always had some quirks (the handshake one is an old habit), most of these are fresh, a consequence of my time aboard that doomed cruise ship. I do not intend to gloss over any details, but rather to give a complete accounting, including of my own involvement… so be forewarned.
And understand that my story is one of unimaginable horror.
***
To explain what really happened aboard the Seastar, I need to first tell a little about myself. Sorry, I know I’m like a bit of decorative wallpaper—just sort of there. But I see things.
It all started when I was very young (I do promise this is relevant). I didn’t want to swim in the community pool with my brother because the water was cloudy, hiding a shadowy figure in the deep end. I distinctly remember standing at the pool’s edge, crying inconsolably while my father urged, “Go on, jump in!”
My brother set the example, diving down to the bottom of the foggy water. When he came up, a silver dollar glinted in his fingers, which he dropped back into the pool before I could snatch it. “Oops! Guess you gotta dive for it!” He laughed, the sun shimmering off his sunburned shoulders. “Come on, there’s quarters down here, too!”
Diving for coins was a game we often played, so I plunged in after him, kicking my way down with my eyes squeezed shut. When my hands grazed the rough cement bottom, I patted around.
Silky hair tangled around my fingers like seaweed.
I forced my eyes open against the stinging chlorine—and shrieked.
Wide, empty eyes stared back at me from a bloated face.
When I shot to the surface, wailing about a dead woman in the water, other swimmers looked on, perplexed. My older brother tried to console me and swore there were nothing but coins.
He was correct—not until a week later would a woman drown in that pool, and sink to the bottom of the foggy water while swimmers unwittingly raced laps above her.
***
The next time I saw was when I threw a tantrum over my grandmother’s armchair. It smelled so bad I grabbed my nose and exclaimed, “Ewwww!”
My parents scolded me for my rudeness. Grandma occasionally struggled with incontinence, so for her chair to stink was, they assumed, the result of an accident. They thought I was exaggerating to make fun of her, but in the sweltering summer, the smell was truly unbearable—like rotting meat and diarrhea and cheap perfume all churned together. I threw such a fit we left, though Grandma insisted on hugging me despite my being an “awful brat.” Her skin was wrinkled, papery-thin and soft as silk, but despite the uncomfortable warmth of her apartment, her embrace was ice cold.
Less than a week later the call came. My grandmother had been found after a neighbor’s complaint about the smell…
She’d died in her chair.
***
But when the seeing really clicked was in my tween years, two separate incidents. The first was after a classmate of my brother’s pulled up in a car reeking of burnt meat, the interior charred and black. He stepped out of the car seeming not to notice that behind him, another version of him remained belted into the front seat, unrecognizable through the char beyond the glint of a gold chain melted into his neck. I burst into hysterical tears and screamed at my brother not to let him drive. The classmate laughed and called me a weirdo.
He crashed later that week.
The second incident began at a school function, where my brother chaperoned me. A man pulled up in the school drop-off zone—he was one of the more popular teachers, famous for his yearly pizza parties. In the car with him were two young kids. I can’t remember their names, just that the littlest boy was giggling and clinging to a toy T-rex when he hopped out. My brother and I were asked to help carry the party supplies and drinks from the teacher’s car. But the moment I opened the passenger door to grab a box, the reek of fetid pond water made my stomach lurch. I staggered back, clapping a hand to my nose and mouth.
“Hey! Everything all right?” the teacher asked.
My brother, no doubt remembering what happened to his classmate weeks earlier, took me aside.
“C-c-c-c-cold!” I burst to him. “D-dark! The smell! Like the rot in the bottom of a lake…”
While I wrung my hands and sniffled, my brother watched the two young kids follow the teacher into the school. He shook my shoulder and said, “Hey—hey, we’re going to save them.”
“How? No one ever believes me!”
“I believe you, Hope. Hey…” He gave me a squeeze and looked in my eyes. “‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers…”
What a dork. That line was from Emily Dickinson—my brother’s favorite quote for me for when I was upset. It was corny, but encouraged me.
A few minutes later, we were careening along backwoods roads in the teacher’s car. To this day, I don’t know how my brother got the keys. His plan was we’d stow the car in a garage for a couple weeks, long enough to outlast the vision, since my predictions always came true within about six days. But it hadn’t occurred to either of us how being inside the car would affect me. The damp and rot washed over my skin. COLD. Every hair on my body stood erect, floating as if underwater. I couldn’t breathe… gagging on the fetid water, I rolled down my window. Raindrops from outside pelted my face, and something… something clicked. A sudden terrible question. When I’d peered into the darkened interior, I hadn’t been able to see… who was inside the car?
“Hey,” my brother said, apparently struck by the same thought. “You’re not foreseeing our deaths, are you?”
I don’t know if it was fate that caused us to fishtail just as he spoke. But also he might have hit something, because there was a bump. All I know is suddenly we were flying, off the road and over the side toward a lake, and then plunging, and I snatched for his hand as the impact slammed us forward into the dashboard. Then the water wasn’t just in my mind. It was real. It was pouring in through the car window.
I fought, flailing. Unbuckled. Floundered through the half-open window. Luckily I was still small enough to get through, swimming up and breaking the surface.
“Cory!” I screamed. “CORY!!!”
But I knew already that my brother wasn’t coming up—his hand had been cold when I’d touched it.
***
Naturally, his death feels like my fault. Oh, in kinder moments I remember that I was a child, and try to forgive myself for letting him get behind that wheel. But for a time, I was driven by the fierce need to atone. I sought desperately to save even one life… ANY life. I’d see a body swaying from a beam in a construction site. Legs dangling from a trunk in the car on the highway ahead of me. A suitcase on sale in a luggage store, dripping blood. Every time I tried to prevent the death… only to fail or worse, cause it. Each loss drove home more deeply my shame, my failure… until eventually…
I gave up.
I don’t try to prevent the deaths anymore. These days I catch a whiff of that familiar sickly putrid scent, and I leave. I avoid human touch, especially handshakes.
I’ve truly become wallpaper. Able to see. Powerless to prevent.
My name, incidentally, is Cassandra… I changed it because I could no longer bear my birth name. If “Hope” is the thing with feathers, I was an angel of death, harbinger of doom to my brother and others. So instead I call myself after the Greek priestess doomed to foresee the future but never to be believed… unable to prevent even one single tragedy.
***
But let’s get back to the cruise. The missing passengers. The eyeballs in the thermos—oh, those grisly details! Mind you, once you know you can’t un-know, no matter how much you drink, or smoke, or however you drown your despair. Speaking of drowning, a month ago today, I hit the big 4-O. I celebrated my four decades of life by doing the one thing I’ve done consistently since I was old enough—drinking away my failures. Every icy grip. Every unheeded warning. And especially the times I’ve well and truly fucked up. Oh yes. Those are the ones that call for some hard forgetting.
I was on my second or seventh drink at my favorite bar when a voice exclaimed, “’Evening, friend!”
A woman with shimmering purple eyeliner and matching purple hair approached. It was the musician who often played there, Lily Tsuki. To be honest, she was the primary reason I frequented that bar, though we’d hardly spoken beyond my occasional compliments about her playing. She slid into the seat next to mine and clinked my glass.
“Roy at the bar told me it’s your fortieth. I see you in here once a week, always tipping well and drinking like you’re trying to drown yourself. Someone did something kind for me recently, so I’m trying to pass it on…” She fished a hand into her pocket, and to my surprise produced a gift card for a cruise. I didn’t catch all of her story in the noisy bar, but apparently, one of her admirers was very rich, always offering her gifts verging on inappropriate. After finding out she’d be playing on the Azure Seastar, said admirer sent her the card so she could spoil herself on the cruise. She didn’t feel comfortable accepting, so she gifted it to me. “… There’s enough on there to cover your fare. Don’t thank me—thank you, I needed to get rid of it. Enjoy your fortieth, friend!”
As she handed me the card, her fingers brushed mine.
Warm. Alive.
I mumbled my thanks, cheeks warm. Why? Because she chose me? Blushes! I’m an idiot.
Still, I was glowing, and not just because I was tipsy. Why not? I thought. Why not treat myself, this once? The Azure Seastar… it sounded like a dream. I’d go see Lily Tsuki play at the piano bar against the backdrop of a glimmering ocean. I’d drink under the stars. Get a tan. Get my sea legs! And every hand would be warm and every breath would taste of the summer breeze!
***
Nine decks (eleven including the crew-only levels). Over a thousand people. Pool, bars, restaurants, lounges, cafés, spa, cabaret—the Seastar truly was the Ritz Carlton on the water! I was absolutely giddy! Of course before the luxury came the wait—just like the airport, parking, luggage, ticketing, security. It was as I neared the entrance for ticketing, enjoying the summer breeze, that I caught traces of a sour odor… a whiff of decay… so faint beneath the car exhaust and the smell of the saltwater that I might have missed it, were I not so attuned to death. At port, it was likely some unfortunate animal packed into a shipping crate and decomposing. I’d even read horror stories of people, trafficked in sealed shipping containers and asphyxiating. That faint whiff made my insides curdle.
Then I was inside the air conditioned terminal, packed with passengers—and inhaling nothing but the blessed AC.
The check in was surprisingly quick. I followed the embarkation signs up the escalator to the terminal’s upper level, through the double glass doors, greeted on my right by printed images of pool decks and steaks and wine glasses. On my left, through the enormous paned wall of glass, the Seastar herself loomed. My God, she was enormous!
So many decks! So many balconies!
Then I squinted a little closer. What was that speck? A tiny figure, draped on a railing?
My heart dropped to my toes.
Something was horribly wrong.
The figure, small against the massive width of the ship… had no face. Only a torso and most of its arms. It had been decapitated, and dried blood spattered the rail.
My footsteps slowed. I pressed against the glass, eyes rapidly roving the rest of the ship. Was it just one…? One incidence of violence, or…
Perhaps I wasn’t seeing correctly. It was a stunt. A practical joke. A mannequin. I needed to get closer. I hurried along the terminal, joining the line out to the gangplank.
The bowl of the sky had turned deep purple, the sun lowering toward the horizon, and in the Seastar’s deep shadow, the temperature dropped. A sudden chill gripped me as I trotted out onto the gangplank. I sniffed. Sniffed again, more deeply.
Rot.
The same putrid odor I’d caught outside. A passenger ahead of me noticed me grabbing my nose, and remarked, “Not used to that ocean smell?” I did not respond, because now that I was close enough to see the ship more clearly, I noticed… cracked glass… broken panes in the sliding glass doors of the cabins… no! I gasped, sinking to my knees, and the passenger kindly leaned to help me up. As her hand seized mine—it was cold.
I jerked back so fast I actually collapsed into the passengers behind us—a mother and her daughter.
“Oh!” exclaimed the mother.
My hand brushed the daughter’s bare arm. Cold.
“Are you okay?” asked the daughter, a child of about twelve.
I crawled back from her, and another person, an elderly gentleman, leaned down to help me up, his hand on my elbow. Cold!
“Miss?” he asked. “Miss—” But I bolted, barely hearing their cries as I launched myself back toward the terminal. No no no no no no no no—my eyes watered and my belly bunched into knots and my heart lurched into my throat and oh God oh God—the ship! The whole. Entire. Ship. It was… dark… windows broken… Not a single light shining in the interior, and spatters of blood here and there visible on its decks and balconies… But worst of all was the smell. I hadn’t even entered the ship yet and already I knew, knew, in the way only I can know, that the smell wasn’t just one body or two. Not if I could detect it all the way out on the gangplank. All the way at the entrance to the terminal. For the whiff of putrefaction to have spread so far, the source was something massive. A colossal pile of decomposing bodies like a herd of dead elephants.
That ship… no one on that ship was going to make it back…
As I entered the terminal with its blessed filtered air and the windows between me and the ship, I turned and looked at the line stretching behind me. Passengers laughing. Chatting. Dressed in their finest. Flirting. Teasing. Buzzing with excitement. Old and young couples. Children.
Everyone on this ship is going to die…
... and I’m the only one who knows…
2023.06.04 15:59 Simonistan_for_real Wrote this while I was bored during my English term😅I feel like something is missing and I’d love to hear what I can add in!
Juliet Menton whistled along to the chipper tunes emitted by the radio. She stomped on the gas, selected a higher gear and let the Suburban growl as it accelerated. Large pine trees and rocks zoomed past her, mist hanging in the damp, moist air. She halted at a t-junction, checking her map again though it was pointless as one of the signs at the junction clearly read Forks, 15 miles. Juliet huffed, turning the car in the direction the sign pointed. She rolled though down a window though turning up the heat, drawing the crisp cool Washington air deep into her lungs. The Suburban ventured in between another patch of trees, the radio tuning out crackling static as no signals managed penetrating the thick forests. Typical. Normally she would have easily found some local station to tune into. Juliet growled, shutting off the radio and switched her attention to the cassette player on the dash. She sunk a hand down into the glove box, retrieving a tape. Fingers drumming impatiently on the steer wheel, Juliet inserted the tape into the player and cranked up the volume. Seconds after, the unmistakable opening tunes of Bruce Springsteen’s Born in the USA croaked out and filled the car. Juliet snorted with a laugh. Perfect song for the occasion, after all she wasn’t in Canada any longer. She turned her gaze beyond the road, attempting to find something interesting to look while she drove. Only trees, rocks and hills meet her eyes, interrupted by a small creek occasionally. Honestly, it wasn’t any worse than the Saskatchewan prairie, only offering fields of oats, wheat and canola interlaced by stretch of unbroken grasslands. Her tongue ran across her eye teeth. She was undeniably thirsty. Stowed away in the trunk were a few bags of animal blood, some of it being deer and elk, other bags cow blood. Juliet closed her eyes, imagine the sweet irony liquid washing down her throat. Her eye teeth finally elongated, shaping into their proper curved, pointed form. she shook her head with annoyance and vanquished her thoughts, her fangs slowly retracting and becoming flat again. It was her father’s fault that she could not just go out and feed right now. He had insisted that she move somewhere and learn to control her desire to drink. Away from the lonesome farm that lay embraced by the fields and great plains. A gleeful smile crept onto her lips. At least she would not have run the deplorable swather in the summer nights with its broken-down air-conditioner that sucked canola pods, chaff and what else into the too often scorching cap. Juliet was much content with leaving that job to her brothers. Her father had built his farm away from humans. It kept them busy enough from journeying to the nearest town to feed. Buildings started to appear out of the low laying mist, mostly bungalows from the early 20th century. Juliet sighed, slowing down from fifty-five to thirty-five miles an hour as she entered the sleepy town. Forks, Washing was not much to look at, though that was compared to the only town, Juliet had ever been to, the town of Ravensfield. It was a small prarie town dotted with grain elevators and cattle merchants. Forks seemed to possess a gloomy gray tint. Perfect for Juliet though as her cool pale skin would likely go less noticed here. She turned down a street, attempting to find the local high school where she was to enroll. She adjusted the brown worn-out pilot jacket, her feet sweaty in her thick hiking boots
submitted by Simonistan_for_real to writers [link] [comments]
2023.06.04 13:19 saintsweatshirt [RF] A Man of Some Renown
The Order of Prince Yaroslav the Wise, fifth class, is the highest rank a Ukrainian foreign national can achieve. Its newest inductee is back home in Florida and has been in the shower so long he’s lost track of time. His feel for the present moment will return in about thirty seconds when the hot water runs out. His hair has been both shampooed and conditioned. His body throughly soaped. It’s the shower’s warm solitude he cannot leave. There is plenty to do today; an interview at a radio station at eleven, lunch with his sponsor, an early dinner at his mom’s pastor’s. All of them want to know more about his experience overseas, they want to know how the war is progressing, they want to hear how he went from Highland Hills High School to war hero. What they don’t want to hear, what David does not want to hear, is how cold his new found notoriety makes him feel. Before can explore his melancholy any further, the hot water goes. The steam rising above the shower clears as a lukewarm solution rinses the remaining soap and warmth off David’s body. He remembers taking similarly cold showers in Ukraine, and how happy he was to have them. It’s shocking how clean a man can get with a half full bucket of water and a couple of towels.
“Ah look at Abie! Clean enough for a Russian bitch.” says Bone in his thick provincial accent. Words David can’t remember Bone actually saying or they only sound like something he would say. Sitting around waiting for mechanics, waiting on orders, waiting on food, waiting on the Russians to start shooting, David didn’t know war could be so boring. The only thing Bone said he liked more than killing Russians was fucking them. The rest of the guys in the platoon knew Bone was probably lying, but he was their instructor, and they were the international volunteers, so he was never questioned. He was the only person in their platoon who spoke Russian and Ukrainian and English. One guy, this kid from Belgium, called Bone a cunt after failing to pull the pen on a grenade during a training exercise, and Bone gave it to him.
“What is this? You do not have to pull pens in Belgium? Or do you like to give your enemies the grenade so they can throw it back?” said Bone. He then effeminately ran around the kid saying, “Here Mr. German. Take my grenade. They are loud and I am afraid.” Bone comes back to his real voice. “Killing Russians is no different than driving a truck. It is your job. Don’t think. Don’t be like this Belgian. Pull the pin. Kill Russians.” The Belgian kid said something to Bone but no one knew what it was because no one spoke French. This didn’t stop Bone from hitting him in the face so hard it broke his nose. The kid quit later that day, and Bone got written up which David told him is like a kid being put in timeout during a house invasion.
“What is this time out?” Bone asked.
The water is cold so David gets out. In the kitchen his mother goes over the day’s itinerary again, just to be thorough she adds.
“Do you know where you are going David? No, sorry. Do you know where you are going Abie?” she asks as David grabs a breakfast banana.
“Yes ma’am.”
“You know parking can be difficult downtown. Be sure to take quarters for the meter.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“And be sure to be yourself. I hope they are nice to you. You know how the media likes to spin things these days. I don’t think they are too liberal but don’t let them put words in your mouth. If they ask you something you don’t want to answer, you just say ‘No comment'. You just tell your story. You are a hero. And then you’ll meet with Fred, and then dinner at Pastor's. Be there at four. If it’s ok with you I’m going to bring the medal. Pastor will want to see it. He’s a big fan of Zelensky.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Ok. Enough doting. That’s all you’re getting out to me today. Are you excited? Isn’t this exciting? News Radio 950 is doing a story about you. They want to hear about their local war hero…and that’s you. Give me a hug and get going before you are late.”
“Yes ma’am.”
In his car, David listens to Domination by Pantera at full volume. The heavy riffs, screaming and terrifying drums raise his spirit. Bone used to play it all the time. David hasn’t prepared anything for save his memory of his time in Ukraine. Perhaps Bone is giving an interview somewhere? You didn’t do anything wrong, he tells himself as he opens the station’s door. Inside he finds an attractive, young woman named Sara who has been emailing him for the past several weeks.
“Nice to officially meet. Right this way.”
David does his best not to stare at her as she leads him through corridor of offices and hallways.
“She looks nice. Go into an office with her.” says Bone.
“We’ve all been looking forward to having a more in-depth conversation with you. Our programming producer, who is also named David, will be asking you most of the questions. But I begged him to let me ask some too, so you might say I will also be interviewing you. I hope that’s ok?”
Sara’s blonde hair folds into a neat part on the left side of her head. David pictures her styling it in her bathroom, in a bathrobe. It’s been a while since he has smelled perfume. He found a bottle in an abandoned apartment in Zaporizhzhia and kept it. It had some Chinese lettering he couldn’t read, but it smelt nice. Some of the guys teased him when they found it saying he was going to attract Russian because he smelt like an Asian. Sara’s perfume smells expensive and French. She introduces him to David the producer and the three of them find three seats on the end of a conference room table. Sara sits on the same side as David. After introductions, David starts the interview by saying even though he is not sure exactly when the piece will air, he is certain it will before the end of the month. He then adds something about how David is a hero for doing what he did.
“So tell us how you found yourself in Ukraine?”
“Well it was pretty easy really. I went online and volunteered for the IVB, that was the name of my unit, the International Volunteer Brigade. I don’t think I talked to a real person until I booked my flight to Poland. It was mostly just forms I was filling out online. So yeah it was pretty easy. So I landed in Krakow and my recruiter picked me up. I stayed in a hotel for a few days while we waited on a couple more guys to show up. One was from Spain, another from Portugal. The Portuguese guy never showed, or if he did he didn’t come with us. I guess he could have volunteered with another outfit. I guess that’s the thing about the war I didn’t really expect. We were always just kinda losing people. And I don’t mean they were killed, although a lot of them were. I mean guys would just be with you one minute and gone the next. And then you’d find them a week later and I go, ‘Where have you been?’ ‘Oh I’ve been in Dnipro’ or ‘Oh I got picked up by the Regs.’ It was crazy. The only place where that didn’t happen was the front.”
“Who do you mean by ‘the Regs?’” asks David.
“The regular army. The Ukrainians. The good guys we were there to help. Sometimes they would be short a man so they’d just nab one of the volunteers. That was a bad gig. The Ukrainians wanted their most motivated guys fighting in the worst places. I only had to do it a couple of times, but…it was not something I did and wanted to do again. ”
David rubs his hand over his arm. He can’t smell the hot blonde anymore, only trench dirt and gun oil. The soil of Donetsk had a deep brown color to it he always enjoyed. Even with snipers supposedly in the area, digging was one of his favorite jobs. The earth smelled vibrant, full of worms and nitrogen and reminded him of his granddad, coming in from a day of field work, his jeans and boots caked in a rich layer of his land.
“So tell us what is it like being a hometown celebrity?” asks Sara. “You’re from here so people already know you, but what’s it like now? I mean now, gosh, everyone i know has been talking about this kid from Highland who won a medal from Zelensky. Did you get to bring it by the way? You were on the national news. It was NBC, but still…”
A bouquet of scents and questions. David looks across the room and sees Bone sitting with a heavy slouch in a chair at the other end of the conference table. He looks rough; still alive but not by much. He sits holding his side, his chin on his chest.
“It’s neat I guess. I walk down the street and people call my name. I take lots of pictures with people. Everyone is really nice. I felt like I was kinda a wallflower before.It’s something I think lots of people think about experiencing. I know I did, I just never thought it would be for this.”
“What did you want to be when you were a boy?” asks Sara.
“I don’t know. The normal stuff; doctor, fireman, my Dad was in sales, so not that. I think about it a lot. I think mostly I just wanted to be good. I didn’t like getting into trouble.”
“Oh my gosh, I was the exact same.” says Sara. Then durning her boss she adds “David, I don’t know if you knew this about me and this David, but we actually went to Highland High at the same time. I was a senior when you would have been a freshman, but I swear I remember you. I thought you were cute.”
“Don’t be trying to steal my assistant Dave. Can I call you Dave?”
“David’s fine.”
Bone perks up and tells them to call him Abie
“Ok so let’s get back on track. You’re over there, you’re fighting Russians, you’re helping the Ukrainians, can you tell us, what was that like?”
“What is war like?”
“Yeah the war, but you’re doing a good thing. You volunteered to help an oppressed people, to fight against tyranny, something I think our listeners think our government should have done a long time ago. But while our President sits on his ass, you bravely go do the thing that needs be done. God it must have been exhilarating, but I don’t know, I don’t want to put words in your mouth.”
Bone lays his head back on the desk and says something David can’t quite make out but thinks he knows what his commander is saying.
“Meta.”
“What?” asks David.
“It’s a Ukrainian word I learned while over there. It means purpose, but more than just doing a job, it’s your calling. It’s a word the priests with the beards use a lot. Everyday I knew exactly what was expected of me and what I could expect from everyone around me. I had clarity for the first time in my life. I felt like I could see for miles in every direction, like sitting on the roof watching all the cars going by.”
Bone stands up out of his chair and walks out of the office.
“Even when I was scared I knew that was to be expected. And when I was tired, I knew that too was to be expected. And when I was hungry, and wet, and cold, and angry enough to kill. I knew that too was to be expected because war is a cauldron. Everything gets boiled into a singularity. It’s terrifying but also pretty damn motivating. What sucks is that I can already feel everything starting to get cloudy again.”
Leaning his belly against the table, David leans in to ask his next question as if he does not want to be heard.
“Did you, you know…and this will be off the record…did you kill anyone else?”
Sara places her empty hand on the table, an offering for David to hold should his answer prove too much. But David knows the answer is not too much for his has thought of little else.
“Nope. Just the one.”
After another few minutes of hearing how brave he has been, how proud his family must be and how grateful the station is to have him come in, the interview is over. The producer shakes David’s hand and Sara walks him out. She mentions that friends of her’s are going to a new bar in the Depot and suggests David should come too. He says he can come but it will be late because he has dinner plans. “That’s ok. I’ll be there pretty late.”
—————————
Only a few blocks from the radio station, David pulls into a Waffle House parking lot. There is condensation on the windows of the building and cigarette butts near the door. Nothing here breathes well, David notes. Inside he finds his old sponsor sitting at booth by himself. David sees Fred before Fred sees him and for a moment considers leaving. However, he sees Bone sits in the corner of the restaurant, smiling and looking to flirt with a chubby waitress with grown sons.
“How the hell are you Abie?” says Fred. No turning back now.
“Sober for today.”
“Me too.”
The pair order eggs, toast and bacon. The cook makes each of them a waffle on the house after recognizing David. He finishes his plate before Fred can finish a piece of toast. Meals happen quick on the battlefield and David can’t seem to slow himself down long to enjoy his food. Bone is no longer in the corner. David sees him moving around the room; following an old lady into the restroom. He comes out with a grotesque look on his face. “That little woman took the biggest shit I’ve ever seen! Abie, come and look at it. It won’t flush. Call in a drone strike. We are going to have to pull back!”
“So” says Fred, “Mr. War Hero, how are you really? You’ve got recognition, a war recommendation, you’re doing interviews, you still got your sobriety. Life seems to be going well, but…”
“How I am really?” When he was in NA Fred could always sniff out if he was high. As his sponsor that was his job, but David never liked it. I know you say you’re fine, but how are your really. Effective, but crude. Fred taps his finger to the tip of his nose. Bingo kid. David looks around the room for Bone but doesn’t find him.
“I’m good man. Things are going well. Everyone always asks me how I’m doing, but I’m really fine. I honestly don’t feel much different than when I left. Same shit different day you know? Girls come up to me now, so that’s different I guess. So…yeah…things are good. Still sober. No real temptation to go back down that road. Been working the Steps since I got back. Doing the work. I didn’t even think about getting high when I was over there. I’m serious. Not once. I’ve got a therapist that I’m seeing. She’s really smart. And I get to see her for free. It’s part of some rehabilitation program from the federal government. I’m moving out of my Mom’s soon. I found an apartment through the church she goes to. There is a guy there who owns a bunch of places and he hooked me up with a really nice place for really cheap. He gave us a really good deal on it. The same guy said I could come work for him too when I felt I was ready. He has a real estate business and said he is always looking for new realtors. With my story, he told me, he thinks I could to really well.”
Bone sits in the booth next to Fred. His face his clean, empty. Without blinking, moving or saying anything he stares at David; human mirror he is unsure is alive or dead, in a Waffle House in Florida or an expensive dirty tank in Ukraine.
“But then I think, do I really wanna use my story to sell real estate? Some douchebag buys an apartment I’m selling him because I killed a Russian general. That’s not why I went over there. And who would even ask me to that? They don’t know what it was like. They make it seem like going over there was no big deal, that killing generals is something that happens all the time, or that the war is going well. Really man, I got so lucky with that shot. I’ve had trained snipers tell me they probably couldn’t hit a target at that range. But I did. I did that and I know I could never do it again. Even if I could, I don’t know if I’d want to. I didn’t know that guy. I mean I now know a bunch of stuff about him, but it’s only what I’ve been told. They told me that he supported Putin from the beginning and that a lot of the war planning was his idea. Ok. If you say so Bone. But I looked this guy up, he has a wikipedia page, and a wife, and kids, probably grandkids. I don’t know if his family is proud of him or not, but I know they will never see him again. And then just the charade of it all. So I got to meet the Ukrainian War Minister, Zelensky’s right hand man. Still not worth it. There’s just nothing noble or romantic about it. It’s all just a cold, black hole that runs on death and killing and for some reason you have to look at it…at least I do. I suppose I thought at some point I would see something. Never did though.”
Bone breaks his stare and cracks a smile.
“And for who, for what Fred? What is going to happen when all of this is over other than the same thing that happens after every war. A cabal of erudite assholes are going to meet in an overly secure room in the Netherlands and draw a new line in between Ukraine and Russia which is exactly what those same assholes did seventy years ago, and seventy years before that, and in seventy years we’ll do the same thing all over again. Wash, rinse and repeat. That line makes about as much sense as the first day of Spring. Sure, there is an official first day of Spring, March 20th or whatever, but we all know that there was some really warm days before the 20th and there is going to be some real cold days afterwards. But the 20th is the official day. It doesn’t make Spring happen. It just kinda helps sense out of a blurry situation. It wasn’t two days after getting there I realized the whole thing is so complicated. Half the regs were guys who had either lived in Russia at some point, gone to school there mostly, or had family living there. It felt like trying to break up a fight at a family reunion, only everyone is holding ARs as they argue about whether or not the 20th is the first day of Spring. The conflict goes back so far you can’t make out the start. And the profiteering my god, that’s what really gets me. Just like that asshole who wants to use the war to sell real estate, all the arms manufacturers who are pouring guns and bullets and tanks into Ukraine, propping this war machine so they can win another government contract. It’s sick. The people running those companies have the first available seat in hell. And Putin too. He started this whole mess. First him, then a nice row of CEOs and shareholders, that’s who I want to in hell. And there is never talk of any alternative. None. Not even a whisper. Just two sides trying to exhaust the other for a better seat at the bargaining table.”
Bone gets up to leave, but not before stretching his back, revealing a large, dark red stain in his uniform, just above his waist line.
“So here I am in all my hometown glory.” says David, “The renown Prince of the Order of the Ukrainian Shit-Show.”
There is a wet spot on David’s pants which he is not sure how it got there. He looks at Bone who is already out the door and running down the street. It’s ok, David thinks to himself, I know where he is going. ———————————————— At the 7-11 next to Waffle House David buys two tall boys and two shots of Jack. He pours the whiskey into the cans and kills the second one as he pulls into Pastor’s driveway where several Mercedes, Teslas and BMWs are parked. David clears his throat, spits into the bushes and unwraps a stick of gum. He enters the house after two hard knocks.
“Oh I think that is him.” David hears his mom say after shutting the large, dark front door. She comes around the corner of the corridor to tell him he is late and to take his shoes off.
“But my socks don’t match.”
“Well take those off too! Pastor just put down new carpet.”
“Ah well, since there is new carpet involved. Let’s not walk on the new carpet.”
The rest of the dinner party comes around the corridor in their socks. Each of them personally thanks David for coming and for his service. The men shake his hand. The women all give him hugs. By the end of introductions David has met two bankers, two retirees, and handful of housewives, as well as two more pastors and their wives. Bone is the last to shake his hand. He tells Abie he smells like old lady perfume. Elenor, Pastor’s wife, takes David’s arm, sliding her’s underneath his, leading him into their recently renovated kitchen. The rest of the group follows.
“Well dinner is almost ready. As we wait, why don’t you tell us about Ukraine.”
“Leave him alone Ellie,” says Pastor, “maybe he’s tired of talking about it.”
“I don’t mind.” says Abie. “I don’t mind telling people about blowing some Russian guy’s head off.”
“David Absalom!”
“It’s ok Mom. Yeah so I saw this column of tanks approaching our trench, which ran parallel to this road running west outta Horlivka. I don’t think they knew it was there, or if they did know, they sure as shit didn’t know we were in it, which was weird because we’d been trading fire with them all day. We were all scared shitless. It was only me and Jizzy and Bone. Right Bone? Oh yeah, it wasn’t Jizz it was that kid from Croatia. The one who fucking just ran off one day. I don’t remember his name. Anyways, Bone tells us to all be real still, play like we are dead. So this entire tank column passes by us. Takes for fucking ever. Couldn’t have been more than an hour, but it felt like ten. Finally it starts to let up you know, the last tank passes. So Bone takes the radio and tries to find a spot to call it in. As he is doing that I see the last tank, which was what Bone, about four hundred yards from us? Anyway, he comes to a stop, and out pops the unluckiest son of bitch in the whole war. The General gets out to take a piss, I take aim, figuring I’ll just scare him. And yeah. Bam. Headshot. He didn’t feel a thing; killed him with his dick in his hand. Speaking of which…if you will excuse me.”
“The bathroom is back down the hallway, first door on your left.” says Pastor.
“Is it a full bath?” ask Abie.
“Three-quarter.”
“Close enough.”
No one looks him in the eye, no one except Bone and Pastor. The bathroom has been redone in the same tile as the kitchen. David takes off his clothes, turns the steel knob in the shower to red, sits one floor and waits for the water to get warm.
submitted by saintsweatshirt to shortstories [link] [comments]
“Ah look at Abie! Clean enough for a Russian bitch.” says Bone in his thick provincial accent. Words David can’t remember Bone actually saying or they only sound like something he would say. Sitting around waiting for mechanics, waiting on orders, waiting on food, waiting on the Russians to start shooting, David didn’t know war could be so boring. The only thing Bone said he liked more than killing Russians was fucking them. The rest of the guys in the platoon knew Bone was probably lying, but he was their instructor, and they were the international volunteers, so he was never questioned. He was the only person in their platoon who spoke Russian and Ukrainian and English. One guy, this kid from Belgium, called Bone a cunt after failing to pull the pen on a grenade during a training exercise, and Bone gave it to him.
“What is this? You do not have to pull pens in Belgium? Or do you like to give your enemies the grenade so they can throw it back?” said Bone. He then effeminately ran around the kid saying, “Here Mr. German. Take my grenade. They are loud and I am afraid.” Bone comes back to his real voice. “Killing Russians is no different than driving a truck. It is your job. Don’t think. Don’t be like this Belgian. Pull the pin. Kill Russians.” The Belgian kid said something to Bone but no one knew what it was because no one spoke French. This didn’t stop Bone from hitting him in the face so hard it broke his nose. The kid quit later that day, and Bone got written up which David told him is like a kid being put in timeout during a house invasion.
“What is this time out?” Bone asked.
The water is cold so David gets out. In the kitchen his mother goes over the day’s itinerary again, just to be thorough she adds.
“Do you know where you are going David? No, sorry. Do you know where you are going Abie?” she asks as David grabs a breakfast banana.
“Yes ma’am.”
“You know parking can be difficult downtown. Be sure to take quarters for the meter.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“And be sure to be yourself. I hope they are nice to you. You know how the media likes to spin things these days. I don’t think they are too liberal but don’t let them put words in your mouth. If they ask you something you don’t want to answer, you just say ‘No comment'. You just tell your story. You are a hero. And then you’ll meet with Fred, and then dinner at Pastor's. Be there at four. If it’s ok with you I’m going to bring the medal. Pastor will want to see it. He’s a big fan of Zelensky.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Ok. Enough doting. That’s all you’re getting out to me today. Are you excited? Isn’t this exciting? News Radio 950 is doing a story about you. They want to hear about their local war hero…and that’s you. Give me a hug and get going before you are late.”
“Yes ma’am.”
In his car, David listens to Domination by Pantera at full volume. The heavy riffs, screaming and terrifying drums raise his spirit. Bone used to play it all the time. David hasn’t prepared anything for save his memory of his time in Ukraine. Perhaps Bone is giving an interview somewhere? You didn’t do anything wrong, he tells himself as he opens the station’s door. Inside he finds an attractive, young woman named Sara who has been emailing him for the past several weeks.
“Nice to officially meet. Right this way.”
David does his best not to stare at her as she leads him through corridor of offices and hallways.
“She looks nice. Go into an office with her.” says Bone.
“We’ve all been looking forward to having a more in-depth conversation with you. Our programming producer, who is also named David, will be asking you most of the questions. But I begged him to let me ask some too, so you might say I will also be interviewing you. I hope that’s ok?”
Sara’s blonde hair folds into a neat part on the left side of her head. David pictures her styling it in her bathroom, in a bathrobe. It’s been a while since he has smelled perfume. He found a bottle in an abandoned apartment in Zaporizhzhia and kept it. It had some Chinese lettering he couldn’t read, but it smelt nice. Some of the guys teased him when they found it saying he was going to attract Russian because he smelt like an Asian. Sara’s perfume smells expensive and French. She introduces him to David the producer and the three of them find three seats on the end of a conference room table. Sara sits on the same side as David. After introductions, David starts the interview by saying even though he is not sure exactly when the piece will air, he is certain it will before the end of the month. He then adds something about how David is a hero for doing what he did.
“So tell us how you found yourself in Ukraine?”
“Well it was pretty easy really. I went online and volunteered for the IVB, that was the name of my unit, the International Volunteer Brigade. I don’t think I talked to a real person until I booked my flight to Poland. It was mostly just forms I was filling out online. So yeah it was pretty easy. So I landed in Krakow and my recruiter picked me up. I stayed in a hotel for a few days while we waited on a couple more guys to show up. One was from Spain, another from Portugal. The Portuguese guy never showed, or if he did he didn’t come with us. I guess he could have volunteered with another outfit. I guess that’s the thing about the war I didn’t really expect. We were always just kinda losing people. And I don’t mean they were killed, although a lot of them were. I mean guys would just be with you one minute and gone the next. And then you’d find them a week later and I go, ‘Where have you been?’ ‘Oh I’ve been in Dnipro’ or ‘Oh I got picked up by the Regs.’ It was crazy. The only place where that didn’t happen was the front.”
“Who do you mean by ‘the Regs?’” asks David.
“The regular army. The Ukrainians. The good guys we were there to help. Sometimes they would be short a man so they’d just nab one of the volunteers. That was a bad gig. The Ukrainians wanted their most motivated guys fighting in the worst places. I only had to do it a couple of times, but…it was not something I did and wanted to do again. ”
David rubs his hand over his arm. He can’t smell the hot blonde anymore, only trench dirt and gun oil. The soil of Donetsk had a deep brown color to it he always enjoyed. Even with snipers supposedly in the area, digging was one of his favorite jobs. The earth smelled vibrant, full of worms and nitrogen and reminded him of his granddad, coming in from a day of field work, his jeans and boots caked in a rich layer of his land.
“So tell us what is it like being a hometown celebrity?” asks Sara. “You’re from here so people already know you, but what’s it like now? I mean now, gosh, everyone i know has been talking about this kid from Highland who won a medal from Zelensky. Did you get to bring it by the way? You were on the national news. It was NBC, but still…”
A bouquet of scents and questions. David looks across the room and sees Bone sitting with a heavy slouch in a chair at the other end of the conference table. He looks rough; still alive but not by much. He sits holding his side, his chin on his chest.
“It’s neat I guess. I walk down the street and people call my name. I take lots of pictures with people. Everyone is really nice. I felt like I was kinda a wallflower before.It’s something I think lots of people think about experiencing. I know I did, I just never thought it would be for this.”
“What did you want to be when you were a boy?” asks Sara.
“I don’t know. The normal stuff; doctor, fireman, my Dad was in sales, so not that. I think about it a lot. I think mostly I just wanted to be good. I didn’t like getting into trouble.”
“Oh my gosh, I was the exact same.” says Sara. Then durning her boss she adds “David, I don’t know if you knew this about me and this David, but we actually went to Highland High at the same time. I was a senior when you would have been a freshman, but I swear I remember you. I thought you were cute.”
“Don’t be trying to steal my assistant Dave. Can I call you Dave?”
“David’s fine.”
Bone perks up and tells them to call him Abie
“Ok so let’s get back on track. You’re over there, you’re fighting Russians, you’re helping the Ukrainians, can you tell us, what was that like?”
“What is war like?”
“Yeah the war, but you’re doing a good thing. You volunteered to help an oppressed people, to fight against tyranny, something I think our listeners think our government should have done a long time ago. But while our President sits on his ass, you bravely go do the thing that needs be done. God it must have been exhilarating, but I don’t know, I don’t want to put words in your mouth.”
Bone lays his head back on the desk and says something David can’t quite make out but thinks he knows what his commander is saying.
“Meta.”
“What?” asks David.
“It’s a Ukrainian word I learned while over there. It means purpose, but more than just doing a job, it’s your calling. It’s a word the priests with the beards use a lot. Everyday I knew exactly what was expected of me and what I could expect from everyone around me. I had clarity for the first time in my life. I felt like I could see for miles in every direction, like sitting on the roof watching all the cars going by.”
Bone stands up out of his chair and walks out of the office.
“Even when I was scared I knew that was to be expected. And when I was tired, I knew that too was to be expected. And when I was hungry, and wet, and cold, and angry enough to kill. I knew that too was to be expected because war is a cauldron. Everything gets boiled into a singularity. It’s terrifying but also pretty damn motivating. What sucks is that I can already feel everything starting to get cloudy again.”
Leaning his belly against the table, David leans in to ask his next question as if he does not want to be heard.
“Did you, you know…and this will be off the record…did you kill anyone else?”
Sara places her empty hand on the table, an offering for David to hold should his answer prove too much. But David knows the answer is not too much for his has thought of little else.
“Nope. Just the one.”
After another few minutes of hearing how brave he has been, how proud his family must be and how grateful the station is to have him come in, the interview is over. The producer shakes David’s hand and Sara walks him out. She mentions that friends of her’s are going to a new bar in the Depot and suggests David should come too. He says he can come but it will be late because he has dinner plans. “That’s ok. I’ll be there pretty late.”
—————————
Only a few blocks from the radio station, David pulls into a Waffle House parking lot. There is condensation on the windows of the building and cigarette butts near the door. Nothing here breathes well, David notes. Inside he finds his old sponsor sitting at booth by himself. David sees Fred before Fred sees him and for a moment considers leaving. However, he sees Bone sits in the corner of the restaurant, smiling and looking to flirt with a chubby waitress with grown sons.
“How the hell are you Abie?” says Fred. No turning back now.
“Sober for today.”
“Me too.”
The pair order eggs, toast and bacon. The cook makes each of them a waffle on the house after recognizing David. He finishes his plate before Fred can finish a piece of toast. Meals happen quick on the battlefield and David can’t seem to slow himself down long to enjoy his food. Bone is no longer in the corner. David sees him moving around the room; following an old lady into the restroom. He comes out with a grotesque look on his face. “That little woman took the biggest shit I’ve ever seen! Abie, come and look at it. It won’t flush. Call in a drone strike. We are going to have to pull back!”
“So” says Fred, “Mr. War Hero, how are you really? You’ve got recognition, a war recommendation, you’re doing interviews, you still got your sobriety. Life seems to be going well, but…”
“How I am really?” When he was in NA Fred could always sniff out if he was high. As his sponsor that was his job, but David never liked it. I know you say you’re fine, but how are your really. Effective, but crude. Fred taps his finger to the tip of his nose. Bingo kid. David looks around the room for Bone but doesn’t find him.
“I’m good man. Things are going well. Everyone always asks me how I’m doing, but I’m really fine. I honestly don’t feel much different than when I left. Same shit different day you know? Girls come up to me now, so that’s different I guess. So…yeah…things are good. Still sober. No real temptation to go back down that road. Been working the Steps since I got back. Doing the work. I didn’t even think about getting high when I was over there. I’m serious. Not once. I’ve got a therapist that I’m seeing. She’s really smart. And I get to see her for free. It’s part of some rehabilitation program from the federal government. I’m moving out of my Mom’s soon. I found an apartment through the church she goes to. There is a guy there who owns a bunch of places and he hooked me up with a really nice place for really cheap. He gave us a really good deal on it. The same guy said I could come work for him too when I felt I was ready. He has a real estate business and said he is always looking for new realtors. With my story, he told me, he thinks I could to really well.”
Bone sits in the booth next to Fred. His face his clean, empty. Without blinking, moving or saying anything he stares at David; human mirror he is unsure is alive or dead, in a Waffle House in Florida or an expensive dirty tank in Ukraine.
“But then I think, do I really wanna use my story to sell real estate? Some douchebag buys an apartment I’m selling him because I killed a Russian general. That’s not why I went over there. And who would even ask me to that? They don’t know what it was like. They make it seem like going over there was no big deal, that killing generals is something that happens all the time, or that the war is going well. Really man, I got so lucky with that shot. I’ve had trained snipers tell me they probably couldn’t hit a target at that range. But I did. I did that and I know I could never do it again. Even if I could, I don’t know if I’d want to. I didn’t know that guy. I mean I now know a bunch of stuff about him, but it’s only what I’ve been told. They told me that he supported Putin from the beginning and that a lot of the war planning was his idea. Ok. If you say so Bone. But I looked this guy up, he has a wikipedia page, and a wife, and kids, probably grandkids. I don’t know if his family is proud of him or not, but I know they will never see him again. And then just the charade of it all. So I got to meet the Ukrainian War Minister, Zelensky’s right hand man. Still not worth it. There’s just nothing noble or romantic about it. It’s all just a cold, black hole that runs on death and killing and for some reason you have to look at it…at least I do. I suppose I thought at some point I would see something. Never did though.”
Bone breaks his stare and cracks a smile.
“And for who, for what Fred? What is going to happen when all of this is over other than the same thing that happens after every war. A cabal of erudite assholes are going to meet in an overly secure room in the Netherlands and draw a new line in between Ukraine and Russia which is exactly what those same assholes did seventy years ago, and seventy years before that, and in seventy years we’ll do the same thing all over again. Wash, rinse and repeat. That line makes about as much sense as the first day of Spring. Sure, there is an official first day of Spring, March 20th or whatever, but we all know that there was some really warm days before the 20th and there is going to be some real cold days afterwards. But the 20th is the official day. It doesn’t make Spring happen. It just kinda helps sense out of a blurry situation. It wasn’t two days after getting there I realized the whole thing is so complicated. Half the regs were guys who had either lived in Russia at some point, gone to school there mostly, or had family living there. It felt like trying to break up a fight at a family reunion, only everyone is holding ARs as they argue about whether or not the 20th is the first day of Spring. The conflict goes back so far you can’t make out the start. And the profiteering my god, that’s what really gets me. Just like that asshole who wants to use the war to sell real estate, all the arms manufacturers who are pouring guns and bullets and tanks into Ukraine, propping this war machine so they can win another government contract. It’s sick. The people running those companies have the first available seat in hell. And Putin too. He started this whole mess. First him, then a nice row of CEOs and shareholders, that’s who I want to in hell. And there is never talk of any alternative. None. Not even a whisper. Just two sides trying to exhaust the other for a better seat at the bargaining table.”
Bone gets up to leave, but not before stretching his back, revealing a large, dark red stain in his uniform, just above his waist line.
“So here I am in all my hometown glory.” says David, “The renown Prince of the Order of the Ukrainian Shit-Show.”
There is a wet spot on David’s pants which he is not sure how it got there. He looks at Bone who is already out the door and running down the street. It’s ok, David thinks to himself, I know where he is going. ———————————————— At the 7-11 next to Waffle House David buys two tall boys and two shots of Jack. He pours the whiskey into the cans and kills the second one as he pulls into Pastor’s driveway where several Mercedes, Teslas and BMWs are parked. David clears his throat, spits into the bushes and unwraps a stick of gum. He enters the house after two hard knocks.
“Oh I think that is him.” David hears his mom say after shutting the large, dark front door. She comes around the corner of the corridor to tell him he is late and to take his shoes off.
“But my socks don’t match.”
“Well take those off too! Pastor just put down new carpet.”
“Ah well, since there is new carpet involved. Let’s not walk on the new carpet.”
The rest of the dinner party comes around the corridor in their socks. Each of them personally thanks David for coming and for his service. The men shake his hand. The women all give him hugs. By the end of introductions David has met two bankers, two retirees, and handful of housewives, as well as two more pastors and their wives. Bone is the last to shake his hand. He tells Abie he smells like old lady perfume. Elenor, Pastor’s wife, takes David’s arm, sliding her’s underneath his, leading him into their recently renovated kitchen. The rest of the group follows.
“Well dinner is almost ready. As we wait, why don’t you tell us about Ukraine.”
“Leave him alone Ellie,” says Pastor, “maybe he’s tired of talking about it.”
“I don’t mind.” says Abie. “I don’t mind telling people about blowing some Russian guy’s head off.”
“David Absalom!”
“It’s ok Mom. Yeah so I saw this column of tanks approaching our trench, which ran parallel to this road running west outta Horlivka. I don’t think they knew it was there, or if they did know, they sure as shit didn’t know we were in it, which was weird because we’d been trading fire with them all day. We were all scared shitless. It was only me and Jizzy and Bone. Right Bone? Oh yeah, it wasn’t Jizz it was that kid from Croatia. The one who fucking just ran off one day. I don’t remember his name. Anyways, Bone tells us to all be real still, play like we are dead. So this entire tank column passes by us. Takes for fucking ever. Couldn’t have been more than an hour, but it felt like ten. Finally it starts to let up you know, the last tank passes. So Bone takes the radio and tries to find a spot to call it in. As he is doing that I see the last tank, which was what Bone, about four hundred yards from us? Anyway, he comes to a stop, and out pops the unluckiest son of bitch in the whole war. The General gets out to take a piss, I take aim, figuring I’ll just scare him. And yeah. Bam. Headshot. He didn’t feel a thing; killed him with his dick in his hand. Speaking of which…if you will excuse me.”
“The bathroom is back down the hallway, first door on your left.” says Pastor.
“Is it a full bath?” ask Abie.
“Three-quarter.”
“Close enough.”
No one looks him in the eye, no one except Bone and Pastor. The bathroom has been redone in the same tile as the kitchen. David takes off his clothes, turns the steel knob in the shower to red, sits one floor and waits for the water to get warm.
2023.06.04 12:06 dupj some symbols for pikograph
 | submitted by dupj to neography [link] [comments] |
2023.06.04 07:52 Justhuman963 Killer 60s
I started renting this house a few weeks ago. It was a nice 2 bedroom 1 bathroom house with a 2 car garage and a sizable driveway. The grass was in very good health and the wooden fence was always painted a very bright and clean shade of white every few weeks. It was like a house from the 50s because it was. There was something charming about it, the wooden paneling, the porch with the backyard deck, the grill, the cozy little shack out back full of tools, and the lawnmower. I was allowed to rent this out for as long as I needed so I could write a report about a murder. One that happened in this very house in fact. Back in the 60s a couple lived here, they were crazy about each other. And about some of the neighbors as well. For over 2 decades they poisoned, stabbed, and shot various other families. It was never clear why they did it or what motives they had.
In the very end, it was chalked up as pure insanity, a pair of psychopaths married together. They had a son and daughter, but the grandparents had taken them out of that household after finding out about the first murder, they kept quiet. This house has been turned into a sort of museum and rental space over the past few years. It was closed off to the public for over 3 decades but recently opened back up for people to look at. Turns out that renting out and giving tours of a haunted house was profitable.
Oh, I forgot to mention that it was haunted by the souls of the couple who killed those families back in the day. This was something I was having a hard time documenting in the report I was writing. I mean, come on, a haunted house? What the hell is this, a horror novel? I was dead wrong about it though. It all started one night when this one song started playing on a phonograph in the living room. It was Put Your Head On My Shoulder by Paul Anka. I can't get it out of my head. It played over and over every night.
The nights would go the same way over and over. I would go to bed at around 10 PM. After that, the house would fall into an odd silence. The lights came on in the living room and that song would start playing itself. The movement of footsteps could be heard as they creaked against the hardwood floors.
"Please, come out and join us. It's quite a fine night.", a female voice would call out.
"Come now, be our guest, and take a seat out here. We'll drink tea and listen to the radio.", a male voice would soon follow up with the woman's voice.
It was not safe to get up and check it out, despite their words of assurance. Doing so could bring unknown results. It may have been safe, but something in my body told me otherwise. I would stay in bed until 6 AM, that's the time everything would fade away and turn to normal. Their little dance and music would go on all night, but I would still be able to sleep. While dozing off it seems like the music would go silent despite still playing. I guess their only goal at first is to draw you out.
It's been a few days of this before things took a step up. I've been hearing...people? It's almost like a party happened during the night hours. Again I find that I cease to hear it once I fall asleep. I guess these little events are mere attempts at giving incentives for me to leave the room rather than to torture me. Although every so often there'll be a knock on the door asking me to come out. It only lasts a second before the person walks away. They're very polite about it though and they don't stick around, merely ask me and then vanish once they don't hear an answer in 5 seconds.
During the daytime, I've been logging this information into my reports. I feel like I'm going insane slightly, these can't be real, right? I must be breathing some sort of hallucinogenic gas being pumped in here. Got the vents checked out, nothing wrong with them. They did need to be cleaned though so at least I had an excuse to get them worked on without looking like a crazy person. I never find a trace of this couple during the day. No shoes, footprints, altered objects, nothing. Not a single thing moved out of place or touched. Hell, things seem slightly cleaner in the morning. It may be the fact that I try to keep things as they are though.
I spend my days walking around the neighborhood. The people living around here are mostly millennials. The ones who either inherited these houses and chose to rent them out or live in them instead of selling them. Or renting them to cut down certain parts of the mortgage. I drive into the city and head to a coffee shop I like for a few hours. I leech off the free wifi so I can get my things done. There's free wifi at the house, but it's a gamble on the speeds and connection. I also like starting my day off with coffee and going about my hours getting cake and a few sandwiches.
It's now week 3 and I'm almost done. I was given 4 weeks before the deadline to make a report on this house so the people I work for can get some info. They're not exactly well informed since most of the people have either died, "killed themselves", or simply walked out after a few days. The only reason I've survived this long is that I read every last bit of data I could from both historical records and the half-assed papers people put together before throwing their badges to the side and working for another newspaper. I'm barely getting anything interesting so far aside from the fever dream of a stay I'm getting from this place.
These days during the third week have been weird. I wake up at the same time only to hear humming. Musical humming, no particular song, just random notes. This is the wife humming while making some sort of breakfast. Her name is Rose, and her husband is Clark. Can't believe I've been referring to them as the husband and the wife all this time. It changes during these days but it ranges from bacon and eggs to cereal and orange juice with toast to a full pancake breakfast. They got bigger and bigger every day. On day one I stayed in my room until the humming stopped. Only lasted for about 15-20 minutes. After that, I would check the kitchen to find a freshly cooked breakfast. Rose wasn't anywhere in sight though.
I was hesitant to eat it at first since I wasn't sure what would happen. But I was hungry that morning and didn't feel like making the drive to the city so early in the morning. The food was good and I didn't feel poisoned or anything. I would set the dishes in the sink and take a shower. Not even 15 minutes later after getting out of the shower and getting dressed, the dishes were washed, dry, and sitting in the cupboards. I'm honestly not sure why people have been dying or quitting this trip. So far I've stayed out of their way and never really messed with anything. I feel like a guest here and act as one which is probably the key here. You can't live here, merely stay for a certain amount of time. I don't know how long that time frame is though.
Week 4, these last 7 days are my final chances to wrap this up before the deadline. I am nowhere closer to finding out how these past journalists died, why this couple did what they did, or anything like that. The best I'm going to do is probably pump out a short guide on how not to die here. This week was the hardest. The haunting extends all day. You see, the morning would start off as normal like last week. Waking up, hearing the humming, waiting for it to stop, eating breakfast, putting the dishes in the sink, etc. The real difference is that they are now visible and active all day and night.
Clark spends his day sitting on an armchair reading a newspaper, funny detail is that the date of the newspaper follows our date, Only the month and day, not the year. He is always dressed in a white dress shirt with the top button left undone. Simple ironed black dress pants with a leather belt neatly wrapped around them. Brown leather shoes, more like loafers actually. The kind of dress shoes you slip on. They were always shined and clean. His right leg is on the floor with his left leg stretched over his right. The newspaper covered his face. The only thing that could be seen from the other side was the occasional cigarette smoke puffing up.
The cigarette never had a scent though, phantom tobacco, funny. Rose would be sitting on the couch most of the time either knitting, reading a magazine, or watching the TV. It was a large black and white tv, the outside made of hardwood, the thick glass of the display, and the antenna sticking out of the top. Can't miss those two large dials on it. There was always something different on TV, one moment it was a cooking show, the news, and even a Western movie. The volume was always able to be heard but sort of faint as well. Kind of like a sort of background noise you barely notice after a while.
It was not a good idea to verbally or physically interact with them in any way. Not even looking at them was an option. I've never seen either of their face outside of photos because I'm always staring at my phone, or laptop, even intentionally staring at the floor. The carpet was very pleasant to look at. They never spoke during the day. Rose would sometimes clean the house. Sometimes dusting, vacuuming, and even washing the dishes. I lied, I've caught small glimpses of their faces from reflections. They are in their young age from the 60s, the prime of their life right before the major kill streak.
I can't even explain any of this. This house could slowly be turning into a self-contained instance of time. But that wouldn't make sense since the wifi here works, my money is up to date, and my tech can be charged. A few of the outlets were swapped out for more modern ones. Only the ones not already connected to appliances or the TV itself. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner would always appear on the table at different times of the day. Breakfast at 6 AM, lunch at noon, and dinner at 6 PM. I would always eat in silence and put the dishes in the sink. I've tried rinsing the dishes before at least but the water never touched them. I don't know how to explain it, but I would turn on the water and it would just phase through the dishware. I gave up after one day.
Well, this is the final day. I'll be scheduling this report to send itself in a few hours. I don't even want to manually do it since I'm rinsing my hands off this worthless paperwork once I leave. There was one thing I wanted to check out though. I'm going to continue this bit on my phone.
I always wanted to check out the basement. I forgot that it even existed this whole time. The door wasn't blocked or locked at all luckily. The door opened just fine, but the lightbulb turned on for about a second before blowing out. It didn't actually explode, but the light sort of just flashed and burned out like a flashbang. The steps are quite loud as they creak. I'm not sure what this smell is, it's like a mixture of gas and...rotten meat?
The door just closed itself, the only light I have down here is from my phone flashlight. There's some kind of red puddle leading to a room down here. I'm not liking it. I'm writing this live so my boss can read this. Yes, I know, hard to believe I'm actually being productive.
This...this is blood. There's a body in here. No wait, multiple bodies down here. I can see dozens or even hundreds of flies just covering these bodies. I think I recognize some of the badges around the necks. All of these bodies smell fresh. Is time frozen down here or something?
...shit. There are footsteps coming down here. I'm squeezed behind a broken-down fridge, perhaps Clark will just give up his search in a few minutes. My 911 alert just failed. This one message will probably be the last thing that'll automatically upload. I think I just made a horrible mistake. I wasn't supposed to come down here. If you're reading this, please call for hel---
*Connection lost*
*Report upload incoming*
I recently got to rent out a home from the 60s. This house is famous because of a couple that used to live here from the 60s to the 80s. They were known for killing people and families during this time period before finally being caught by the police. These were the things I've learned during my stay in this house:
- During the first week there will be dancing. From 10 PM to 6 AM there will be activity in the living room. The couple will appear out there and dance to a song called Put Your Head On My Shoulder along with a few others.
- They will assure you that it's fine to come out and join them. Don't do it. I've never attempted so I don't know if anything happens, but trust your gut.
- During week 2 they will start hosting a "party". The sound of many people will come from the living room as if people have come over for the evening. Every few hours the door will knock as someone on the other end will invite you to join everyone.
- During week 3 the haunting will break into the day. During the morning the wife will be in the kitchen making breakfast, do not leave your room until she is done. You can use the bathroom, just don't look or enter the kitchen. You will hear her humming for about 20 minutes. Once it stops, you can go about your day. The food is perfectly fine to eat and is actually encouraged. Make sure you put your dishes in the sink.
- During week 4, if you've survived this long, they will roam the house 24/7. Do not make eye contact with either of them. They'll mainly stay in the living room. The husband sitting on the armchair reading a newspaper and the wife reading a magazine or knitting. Occasionally she'll clean the house. If you are going to be in the living room, keep your eyes low and do not verbally interact with them.
- If you do...I'm not sure. There have been reports of them killing people during this time. Acting hostile at them or trying to kill them will not end well. Many have rented this place out and almost all of them have died. Some were filled with stab wounds, some were in the tub, drowned, and others were framed as if it were suicide. You may wonder why the government hasn't merely torn the house down. I'm not sure. It seems like the money they make from this place keeps it running longer.
- They will not force themselves into the room during the night. Unless you interact with them, they will not attack or come your way. Any food or snacks prepared is fully safe and encouraged to consume. Make sure you set dishes and silverware in the sink. They'll be cleaned when you're not working. Staying outside of the house is your best chance to live. Follow these rules.
submitted by Justhuman963 to StoryLaboratory [link] [comments]
In the very end, it was chalked up as pure insanity, a pair of psychopaths married together. They had a son and daughter, but the grandparents had taken them out of that household after finding out about the first murder, they kept quiet. This house has been turned into a sort of museum and rental space over the past few years. It was closed off to the public for over 3 decades but recently opened back up for people to look at. Turns out that renting out and giving tours of a haunted house was profitable.
Oh, I forgot to mention that it was haunted by the souls of the couple who killed those families back in the day. This was something I was having a hard time documenting in the report I was writing. I mean, come on, a haunted house? What the hell is this, a horror novel? I was dead wrong about it though. It all started one night when this one song started playing on a phonograph in the living room. It was Put Your Head On My Shoulder by Paul Anka. I can't get it out of my head. It played over and over every night.
The nights would go the same way over and over. I would go to bed at around 10 PM. After that, the house would fall into an odd silence. The lights came on in the living room and that song would start playing itself. The movement of footsteps could be heard as they creaked against the hardwood floors.
"Please, come out and join us. It's quite a fine night.", a female voice would call out.
"Come now, be our guest, and take a seat out here. We'll drink tea and listen to the radio.", a male voice would soon follow up with the woman's voice.
It was not safe to get up and check it out, despite their words of assurance. Doing so could bring unknown results. It may have been safe, but something in my body told me otherwise. I would stay in bed until 6 AM, that's the time everything would fade away and turn to normal. Their little dance and music would go on all night, but I would still be able to sleep. While dozing off it seems like the music would go silent despite still playing. I guess their only goal at first is to draw you out.
It's been a few days of this before things took a step up. I've been hearing...people? It's almost like a party happened during the night hours. Again I find that I cease to hear it once I fall asleep. I guess these little events are mere attempts at giving incentives for me to leave the room rather than to torture me. Although every so often there'll be a knock on the door asking me to come out. It only lasts a second before the person walks away. They're very polite about it though and they don't stick around, merely ask me and then vanish once they don't hear an answer in 5 seconds.
During the daytime, I've been logging this information into my reports. I feel like I'm going insane slightly, these can't be real, right? I must be breathing some sort of hallucinogenic gas being pumped in here. Got the vents checked out, nothing wrong with them. They did need to be cleaned though so at least I had an excuse to get them worked on without looking like a crazy person. I never find a trace of this couple during the day. No shoes, footprints, altered objects, nothing. Not a single thing moved out of place or touched. Hell, things seem slightly cleaner in the morning. It may be the fact that I try to keep things as they are though.
I spend my days walking around the neighborhood. The people living around here are mostly millennials. The ones who either inherited these houses and chose to rent them out or live in them instead of selling them. Or renting them to cut down certain parts of the mortgage. I drive into the city and head to a coffee shop I like for a few hours. I leech off the free wifi so I can get my things done. There's free wifi at the house, but it's a gamble on the speeds and connection. I also like starting my day off with coffee and going about my hours getting cake and a few sandwiches.
It's now week 3 and I'm almost done. I was given 4 weeks before the deadline to make a report on this house so the people I work for can get some info. They're not exactly well informed since most of the people have either died, "killed themselves", or simply walked out after a few days. The only reason I've survived this long is that I read every last bit of data I could from both historical records and the half-assed papers people put together before throwing their badges to the side and working for another newspaper. I'm barely getting anything interesting so far aside from the fever dream of a stay I'm getting from this place.
These days during the third week have been weird. I wake up at the same time only to hear humming. Musical humming, no particular song, just random notes. This is the wife humming while making some sort of breakfast. Her name is Rose, and her husband is Clark. Can't believe I've been referring to them as the husband and the wife all this time. It changes during these days but it ranges from bacon and eggs to cereal and orange juice with toast to a full pancake breakfast. They got bigger and bigger every day. On day one I stayed in my room until the humming stopped. Only lasted for about 15-20 minutes. After that, I would check the kitchen to find a freshly cooked breakfast. Rose wasn't anywhere in sight though.
I was hesitant to eat it at first since I wasn't sure what would happen. But I was hungry that morning and didn't feel like making the drive to the city so early in the morning. The food was good and I didn't feel poisoned or anything. I would set the dishes in the sink and take a shower. Not even 15 minutes later after getting out of the shower and getting dressed, the dishes were washed, dry, and sitting in the cupboards. I'm honestly not sure why people have been dying or quitting this trip. So far I've stayed out of their way and never really messed with anything. I feel like a guest here and act as one which is probably the key here. You can't live here, merely stay for a certain amount of time. I don't know how long that time frame is though.
Week 4, these last 7 days are my final chances to wrap this up before the deadline. I am nowhere closer to finding out how these past journalists died, why this couple did what they did, or anything like that. The best I'm going to do is probably pump out a short guide on how not to die here. This week was the hardest. The haunting extends all day. You see, the morning would start off as normal like last week. Waking up, hearing the humming, waiting for it to stop, eating breakfast, putting the dishes in the sink, etc. The real difference is that they are now visible and active all day and night.
Clark spends his day sitting on an armchair reading a newspaper, funny detail is that the date of the newspaper follows our date, Only the month and day, not the year. He is always dressed in a white dress shirt with the top button left undone. Simple ironed black dress pants with a leather belt neatly wrapped around them. Brown leather shoes, more like loafers actually. The kind of dress shoes you slip on. They were always shined and clean. His right leg is on the floor with his left leg stretched over his right. The newspaper covered his face. The only thing that could be seen from the other side was the occasional cigarette smoke puffing up.
The cigarette never had a scent though, phantom tobacco, funny. Rose would be sitting on the couch most of the time either knitting, reading a magazine, or watching the TV. It was a large black and white tv, the outside made of hardwood, the thick glass of the display, and the antenna sticking out of the top. Can't miss those two large dials on it. There was always something different on TV, one moment it was a cooking show, the news, and even a Western movie. The volume was always able to be heard but sort of faint as well. Kind of like a sort of background noise you barely notice after a while.
It was not a good idea to verbally or physically interact with them in any way. Not even looking at them was an option. I've never seen either of their face outside of photos because I'm always staring at my phone, or laptop, even intentionally staring at the floor. The carpet was very pleasant to look at. They never spoke during the day. Rose would sometimes clean the house. Sometimes dusting, vacuuming, and even washing the dishes. I lied, I've caught small glimpses of their faces from reflections. They are in their young age from the 60s, the prime of their life right before the major kill streak.
I can't even explain any of this. This house could slowly be turning into a self-contained instance of time. But that wouldn't make sense since the wifi here works, my money is up to date, and my tech can be charged. A few of the outlets were swapped out for more modern ones. Only the ones not already connected to appliances or the TV itself. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner would always appear on the table at different times of the day. Breakfast at 6 AM, lunch at noon, and dinner at 6 PM. I would always eat in silence and put the dishes in the sink. I've tried rinsing the dishes before at least but the water never touched them. I don't know how to explain it, but I would turn on the water and it would just phase through the dishware. I gave up after one day.
Well, this is the final day. I'll be scheduling this report to send itself in a few hours. I don't even want to manually do it since I'm rinsing my hands off this worthless paperwork once I leave. There was one thing I wanted to check out though. I'm going to continue this bit on my phone.
I always wanted to check out the basement. I forgot that it even existed this whole time. The door wasn't blocked or locked at all luckily. The door opened just fine, but the lightbulb turned on for about a second before blowing out. It didn't actually explode, but the light sort of just flashed and burned out like a flashbang. The steps are quite loud as they creak. I'm not sure what this smell is, it's like a mixture of gas and...rotten meat?
The door just closed itself, the only light I have down here is from my phone flashlight. There's some kind of red puddle leading to a room down here. I'm not liking it. I'm writing this live so my boss can read this. Yes, I know, hard to believe I'm actually being productive.
This...this is blood. There's a body in here. No wait, multiple bodies down here. I can see dozens or even hundreds of flies just covering these bodies. I think I recognize some of the badges around the necks. All of these bodies smell fresh. Is time frozen down here or something?
...shit. There are footsteps coming down here. I'm squeezed behind a broken-down fridge, perhaps Clark will just give up his search in a few minutes. My 911 alert just failed. This one message will probably be the last thing that'll automatically upload. I think I just made a horrible mistake. I wasn't supposed to come down here. If you're reading this, please call for hel---
*Connection lost*
*Report upload incoming*
I recently got to rent out a home from the 60s. This house is famous because of a couple that used to live here from the 60s to the 80s. They were known for killing people and families during this time period before finally being caught by the police. These were the things I've learned during my stay in this house:
- During the first week there will be dancing. From 10 PM to 6 AM there will be activity in the living room. The couple will appear out there and dance to a song called Put Your Head On My Shoulder along with a few others.
- They will assure you that it's fine to come out and join them. Don't do it. I've never attempted so I don't know if anything happens, but trust your gut.
- During week 2 they will start hosting a "party". The sound of many people will come from the living room as if people have come over for the evening. Every few hours the door will knock as someone on the other end will invite you to join everyone.
- During week 3 the haunting will break into the day. During the morning the wife will be in the kitchen making breakfast, do not leave your room until she is done. You can use the bathroom, just don't look or enter the kitchen. You will hear her humming for about 20 minutes. Once it stops, you can go about your day. The food is perfectly fine to eat and is actually encouraged. Make sure you put your dishes in the sink.
- During week 4, if you've survived this long, they will roam the house 24/7. Do not make eye contact with either of them. They'll mainly stay in the living room. The husband sitting on the armchair reading a newspaper and the wife reading a magazine or knitting. Occasionally she'll clean the house. If you are going to be in the living room, keep your eyes low and do not verbally interact with them.
- If you do...I'm not sure. There have been reports of them killing people during this time. Acting hostile at them or trying to kill them will not end well. Many have rented this place out and almost all of them have died. Some were filled with stab wounds, some were in the tub, drowned, and others were framed as if it were suicide. You may wonder why the government hasn't merely torn the house down. I'm not sure. It seems like the money they make from this place keeps it running longer.
- They will not force themselves into the room during the night. Unless you interact with them, they will not attack or come your way. Any food or snacks prepared is fully safe and encouraged to consume. Make sure you set dishes and silverware in the sink. They'll be cleaned when you're not working. Staying outside of the house is your best chance to live. Follow these rules.
2023.06.04 04:00 Kazevenikov Cryptid Chronicle - Chapter 31
Thanks and Credits in the Comments Section due to LONG chapter.
Chapter 31: A Whale of a Tale and it’s All True
“IT’S FUCKING J-POD!”
Kalai watched in shock and awe as the two humans collectively lost their minds, hopping up and down and letting loose a series of high pitched vocalizing as she, Papa, and Mama Sakalbi stared in confusion at the two ecstatic aliens.
Andy turned and ran back to where Kalai and her parents were still staring in amazement and held his hand out, face alight and happier than she’d ever seen him before. “Binoculars! Quick! I want to see who’s out there!” Mama Sakalbi tentatively held them out, and he took them with a nod of thanks before rushing back to the bow. Kalai started as he jumped up on the bow and balanced against the roller horns to spot the black and white whales that were swimming fast towards the net.
“Eyes on Mama Shachi! Look, over there, see her?” Kalai approached cautiously as Andy pointed in the direction of a cluster of porpoising black shapes that were coming nearer.
“Eyes on! I got Grammie Slick out there too; the WHOLE POD’S HERE!” Jackie cut loose an undulating cry and waved her hands as little geysers of water and air shot out from the water on the other side of the net.
Kalai nearly jumped when a miniature version of the Orcas from the clone tank at Headquarters breached the water, leaping almost twice her height into the air before splashing back down in a massive wave.
“Look at that! Butterball’s getting some good air these days!” Andy crowed as he hopped back down from the bow and passed the binoculars to Jackie.
“Butterball?” Mama Sakalbi asked as she and Papa joined them. Kalai stared as the Orcas formed a line and charged at the middle of the ‘S’ bend in the net before diving down in front of it, sending a wave that pushed the corks back. She saw the spouts and the dorsal fins rise again for another charge at the net.
“He’s the baby, only about four years old. Grammie Slick’s taking the family hunting, see how they’re flattening the net out? We’re about to have a great fucking day!” Andy took Jackie’s shotgun and took it back to the cabin as Kalai and her parents crowded the rail.
“What are they doing?” Mama Sakalbi’s question was directed at Jackie and the woman turned to answer with a gigantic smile.
“Herding! See the ones circling around the net?” Jackie pointed to the two dorsal fins that were almost invisible in the fog that was starting to burn off in the morning sun that had started to clear the eastern mountains. “They’ll be starting to round up small schools of salmon once they’re done turning our net into a reef. Right now, they’re running along the line and probably seeing what they have to work with.”
Mama Sakalbi did a double take, “You must be joking, that level of intelligence would almost be-”
“Human?” Jackie interrupted with a smile, “Yeah, that’s our original teachers out there. We learned to fish from them.”
“I was going to say ‘sentient’, but I take your point. What I want to know is, what are they doing?” Mama Sakalbi gestured out at them, with a bewildered look on her face.
“They’re using the net as a sea wall. Thing is, the net’s hard to see in the water, but the fish can feel it. They’ll put their heads into the net, but that doesn’t catch them. They’ll try to swim around it so that’s why we put an ‘S’ bend. That’s where most of the fish get tangled.” Andy returned and picked up the explanation. “See in the center of the line? That fin with the black and white little checkmark behind it? That’s Grammie Slick, the Matriarch. She’s around sixty now, and grew up out here LONG before you all came down. They don’t always do this, but I guess with you all keeping the fishing fleets docked, she saw the net and wanted a big meal for the family. They’re going to keep pushing the net until it’s in the shape of a crescent and herd a bunch of small schools into a big baitball with pickets to keep the fish pinned in the middle. You watch, there’ll be salmon jumping all over in the middle as they school up.”
“That’s when you’ll see them charge up the center and take big old mouthfuls of salmon. It’ll be a smorgasbord for ‘em!” Jackie pulled up Andy’s omnipad and started recording.
“Wait, but you hate seals for competing with you for food, why are you this excited about Orcas who take so much more?” Papa asked as he also took out his omnipad and started recording as the pod of Orcas finished repositioning their net just as Andy described.
“Because they’re using the nets as a reef to trap the fish! See? Look! There they go! The wolves are out scaring every salmon in the area here!” Kalai dug her own omnipad out at Andy’s words and watched as the dorsal fins sank below the waves, with only a faint and fading wake to tell where they’d gone.
“Now watch ‘em set pickets! They’re going to start patrolling the outside of the net. When they get enough salmon in the middle, they’re going to charge. When they do, watch the entire middle section of our corks go under from the salmon trying to get away. They get whole heaping mouthfuls of food and we get a full net!”
Kalai watched the Orcas swimming in circles around the net like Helix Sharks, and felt a pang of fear seeing the big predators that seemed so gentle and inquisitive in the tank. “But what if they get caught in the net?”
Jackie suppressed a laugh before sweeping an arm out at the net. “I’ve never seen that happen before, and I haven’t even heard of it happening before… at least not here in the Salish Sea. All our Orcas grew up around these nets, so they’ll either avoid them or use them like they are right now.”
“I think it’s because they can see them and the fish can’t. Either way, we’re in for a show!” Andy patted Kalai on the back before pushing Kalai and Mama Sakalbi forward.
For a long while, the surface was calm, save for the circling Orcas as they all watched. Then, by degrees, there was movement on the surface of the water as fish the length of Kalai’s arm started to jump and kick in the baitball. Kalai watched, fascinated, as Orcas seemed to appear and disappear along the edges but never approached the middle of the net.
All the fins disappeared from the surface and an eerie stillness settled over the water. Suddenly, the water in the middle of the crescent erupted, with hundreds of fish shooting out of the water and a sudden surge that hit and pushed the corks outward before they sank completely out of sight. Jackie and Andy started vocalizing those strange undulating cries again, raising their fists in the air before shouting something in their language. From as best as Kalai could guess, it was encouragement as the Orcas started breaching and jumping. In those moments, Kalai could catch glimpses of their mouths full of salmon.
Kalai watched as the terrified fish swarmed towards the net, and watched as many seemed to jump over it and swim away as the Orcas gorged themselves on the enormous school of salmon they had trapped. It was an awe inspiring sight to see, and Kalai lost herself in the moment watching the amazing display of symbiotic hunting and fishing between them and the Orcas.
The engine of the boat turning over broke the spell they were all under as Andy moved the boat at a dead slow pace back towards the net. “Alright, let’s haul it in and reset for ‘em! Jackie! Get on the bow with the billhook!” Jackie whooped in agreement and gently pushed passed Kalai to grab a long pole with a small metal hook at the end.
“We’re gonna have to work fast. They’re hungry, and we all want salmon today,” Andy called over the sound of the engine as they approached the giant buoy that marked the end of the net. “Doc! Open that hatch back there and watch your step! Mrs. Vaida, stand clear in the cabin; I want no accidents today, and three on deck’s going to be a crowd with how many fish we’re going to be taking in. Kalai, I want you back in the-”
Kalai shook her head as she put her omnipad away. “I can do it! Let me help!” she was riding the high feeling of watching the Orcas, and seeing Andy and Jackie preparing to go to work while she was to be just a passenger galled her.
Kalai saw Andy give Jackie a look that she couldn’t quite interpret. “Alright, but you’ll work with me picking fish. Jackie, you’re on the Drum; trade places with me!”
Kalai saw Jackie huff and give Andy a piercing look as she handed off the billhook. “Watch out for jellies, they tend to explode,” the native woman muttered to Kalai as she took over at the net drum’s controls. Kalai was about to volunteer to grab the line with the hook, given her longer reach, but Andy had already leaned almost all the way over the side. Kalai had a momentary scare as Andy seemed to dip forward, seemingly in danger of falling overboard, until he seemed to almost levitate himself using his lower legs back into the boat and pulled the line over the roller horns. She stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do when Andy braced a foot against the side and began to pull on the line and feed it back towards Jackie.
“Way, haul away, we’ll hang and haul together! Way, haul away, haul away Joe!”
Though she didn’t understand the words, Kalai knew a sailing song when she heard one and didn’t wait for any instruction. She moved forward opposite Andy and lent a hand, pulling the heavy line in to the cadence of his chant. After two verses, Kalai heard the whine of hydraulics and the slack in the line behind them went taught.
“Stand back! Here we go!” Andy called to her and the line began pulling the net back aboard. Kalai looked back to see that Jackie had wrapped the line around the center pole of the drum, with the wheel turning to pull the line and net in out of the water. A small set of guide poles that moved when Jackie twitched the controls kept the line evenly distributed on the drum as the first corks and the dripping wet net began to appear out of the water.
“Put your hoods up!” Andy yelled at her over the noise of the machines, and demonstrated the motion. “It’ll keep the water, seaweed and Jellies out of your face and eyes, and take this!” Andy tossed her what appeared to be a handkerchief and he mimed the act of tying it around her face like a mask.
“What about you? You’re sleeveless!” Kalai’s voice was slightly muffled from the cloth as she tied it around her face before pulling up both hoods.
Andy didn’t respond, except to grin at her as he leaned out to watch the net coming up out of the water before it got pulled aboard.
From behind her, Kalai heard Jackie start singing another human sailing song. It was a bit fast paced, and Andy joined in for the chorus. On the third time she heard it, she joined in too.
“Blow ye winds in the mornin’, Blow ye winds, high ho! Haul away your running gear, And blow ye winds, high ho!”
“Coming up!” Andy shouted as there were several loud thunks before six large salmon appeared in the giant fluorescent green tangle of the net. The drum stopped, bringing the fish to a halt as Andy pulled on the corkline and scurried his hands back and forth, gathering the net up as he did until he reached the first fish. Kalai watched in awe as he seemed to magically pull the fish from the tangle and shake it out onto the deck. The second one seemed to be resting on top of the tangle and he flipped it over the corkline and shook the fish out onto the deck.
“Just watch these first few. When you get a feel for how I’m doing this, jump in. Until then, slide these beauties back towards the stern. Jackie’ll pitch ‘em into the hold.”
Kalai nodded and watched Andy’s movements intently. It looked like sorcery, with how fast he moved his hands and zeroed in on a fish. As soon as he was done, he’d whistle to Jackie, who kept singing the cadence out to pull more of the net in, only to stop when more fish were pulled up and over the horns.
The song changed twice before Kalai felt confident enough to jump in. She almost got tangled in the net herself trying to pull out her first fish, but Andy gave the net a quick tug and she was free again. Maddeningly, the fish had simply fallen out of the net without any help from her, and she fumed just long enough for Andy to point to one that was closer to her.
“Hoist up the thing, batten down the whatsit! What’s that thing spinning, somebody should stop it! Turn hard to Port! That’s not Port, NOW I GOT IT! Trust me, I’m in control!”
On the second refrain, Kalai managed to dig her first fish out and drop it to the deck. She let out a whoop, and Andy paused for a moment to give her a quick applause.
“That’s one, girl! There’s a thousand left if we’re lucky!” Jackie called out as Andy sang a verse and tackled another fish in the net.
“Keep an eye on the lead line; make sure it doesn’t go over the corks!” Andy called as Kalai ran down her second fish and was about to throw the excess net over the other side. She stopped, and Andy helped her get the fish without tangling the net.
It took until the end of the song for Kalai to find her rhythm, and soon she and Andy were running down fish in the net in a crisp and quick manner. Kalai felt like she could go faster, but Andy had cautioned her to keep pace with the songs, as there was still a lot of net to go. When Kalai spared a glance at the length of net still in the water, she saw that Andy wasn’t kidding. It looked like they hadn’t even really started to reel it all in. Ok, it’s hard work, but so is sailing, and he’s my size so I should be able to keep up with him. If he can do it, I can do it!
“Haul away you rollin’ kings! Heave away, Haul away! Haul away you’ll hear me sing, We’re bound for South Australia!”
Andy was impressed. Kalai had jumped in without complaint, and she was very coachable. He could feel himself start to flag as they were starting to come to the last third of the net, but Kalai’s persistence, even though she was sweatier and more haggard than he was, kept him going.
The pile of salmon was almost as deep as their calves, and the deck was getting slick with fish slime. For that matter, so was Andy. In a momentary lull in the fish coming over the horns, Andy caught a glimpse of himself shimmering with all the scales that had flown off the fish as they scraped against the net to hit the deck, flopping. He took a big gulp of air and Kalai groaned as she straightened up, cracking her back as she twisted and bent to relieve her aching muscles.
Andy groaned a bit and looked back towards the stern. It was getting hard to see over the amount of net they’d pulled back in, but he could see Doc and Mrs. Vaida doing their best to help throw and shove the piles of salmon into the hold. Everybody’s getting their hands dirty today. Andy smiled and heaved a happy sigh. This, this is what I want. Being out on the water and doing good, hard work.
“SHIT, JELLYFISH!” Kalai shouted as she twisted away to hide her face behind her rain slicker hood. Andy blinked just in time as a wet squelching sound sent a spray of disintegrating jellyfish exploding all over the bow as the net bunched up and got squeezed together.
Andy felt it splatter all over his arms, neck, and face, before he felt it start to slide down his shirt to his chest. Almost immediately, he started to feel the burn. His arms, neck, and chest he could stand, but the blossoming pain on his lips, eyelids, cheeks, and most horribly the inside of his nose overwhelmed all his conditioned pain tolerance.
“FUCK!” Andy screamed. “FUCKING FUCKER! RIGHT IN MY FUCKING FACE! GOD FUCKING DAMNIT! FUCK!” Andy only barely avoided bringing his hands to his face. It was a hard fought thing to deny his instinct to try and scrape it off, but he felt his boots loose purchase and his feet slide out from under him. He hit the pile of fish that surrounded him hard. He was aware of Kalai yelling for her father and Mrs. Vaida, while Jackie’s braying laugh carried over everything else.
Andy felt Kalai trying to grab him, but her gloves were too slick to get a grip and all she did was spread the stingers more evenly over his arms. Andy kept his eyes squeezed shut as he heard Jackie start to direct the confused and panicking aliens.
“Hold your breath, cuz, vinegar incoming!”
Andy felt the bitter stinging splash as Jackie poured a steady stream of vinegar out from what he assumed was the giant jug he kept for these occasions underneath the little kitchenette in the cabin. Though nothing about the intensity of the burn changed, in the back of his mind, Andy knew that it was killing the stinging cells.
“Alright, Kally, take that bucket and fill it with seawater from over the side, then dump it on him.”
Andy sputtered a bit and spit as he scrabbled onto his knees. He steadied himself with one hand on the rail beside him and the other which found the corkline. He kept his eyes shut and growled as the burning spread from his hairline down to his navel. A sudden bracing splash of cold water nearly bowled him back over. Without warning, Andy hadn't had time to get a breath and he sputtered and yowled as the water soaked down under his rain gear.
Andy shook his head like a dog, whipping his braid back and forth before daring to open his eyes. “Son of a BITCH!” Andy growled as he got a look at Kalai holding an empty bucket, while Jackie was shoo’ing Mrs. Vaida and Dr. He’osforos away to give him some room.
“Jesus, quit your bawlin,’ you big baby, you’re acting like you’ve never been stung before!” Jackie called back to him as Andy ripped the gloves off his hands and plunged them over the side to clean off the stingers.
“It’s in my fucking nose you horse’s ass!” Andy shouted back as he splashed his face. A few strings of purple stingers fell into the water and Andy reared back aboard. “Ugh, get another bucket of seawater! I can still feel this shit!”
“Andrei, as a medical professional, I advise you to cease work and-”
Andy looked over as Dr. He’osforos spoke but waved him off mid sentence. “I appreciate it Doc, but I’ve had it far worse than this. There’s a brown and yellow bottle in one of the drawers under the bench that says ‘Motrin’. Get me the bottle or enough to tranq a cow, and I’ll go back to work just fine.”
Kalai let loose a piercing scream and Andy looked over just in time to see her rocketed herself backwards, dropping the bucket over the side. The Doctor caught his daughter before she fell into the hold, but he too had a look of fear plastered on his face. Andy and Jackie moved to the side to see what had scared her so badly, and the two of them couldn’t help but laugh out loud.
Grammie Slick and two of her daughters were there, sticking their heads out of the water with their mouths open, while Butterball was playing with the bucket.
Jackie laughed and stuck her hand out, rubbing the Orca matriarch on the snout. “Raggedy Andy’s fine, Grammie Slick! He’s just milking it for sympathy from these gullible hwun’eetums!”
“What in the Balance of Nature is going on here?” Mrs. Vaida’s shocked voice caused Andy and Jackie to look at her as she stared dumbfounded at the Orcas that were gathering alongside the boat.
“Oh they’re just saying ‘hi.’” Andy shrugged with a smile, despite the burning.
“More like ‘What the hell, cousins, you still got fish to pick. Quit loafin’ around and get another set in!’”
“Jackie, Motrin… NOW!” Andy growled at her. Jackie blew a raspberry at him before diving into the cabin.
“They’re pretty friendly, if you’d like to be introduced,” Andy held out a hand and motioned for Kalai and her father to step forward. Andy dipped his hand in again to make sure it was clear of any stinging cells, before he gently guided the hesitant Kalai to stick her ungloved hand out toward Grammie Slick.
One of the daughters blew a spout before sliding back under water, but Grammie gave a few clicks before briefly touching Kalai’s outstretched hand. “Kalai, this is Grammie Slick, Matriarch of J-Pod. Grammie, this is Kalai… a purple hwun’eetum.” Andy laughed a bit at the look of incredulity on Kalai’s face and the concern on her father’s.
There was a series of shutter clicks from behind Andy, and he turned to see Sakalbi snapping pictures as fast as she could. Kalai was clearly torn between fear and wonder as she held perfectly still and silent for Grammie, who was letting her touch her before she slid back under the water herself. Andy laughed as several clicks and whistles from the pod reverberated through the hull of the boat and he leaned back in.
“Alright, break’s over,” Andy called as he caught the flying bottle of pills Jackie threw at him. He popped two and swallowed them dry before washing the gloves off and putting them on. The extra rinse would have to wait, and he’d have to tough it out until they got back to shore. His boots squelched as he picked his way through the fish on the deck to get back to his station and nodded for Jackie to restart the drum.
It was another twenty minutes before the last of the net was pulled aboard and they were able to clear away all the fish into the hold. Andy stuck his head in and smiled. In a single set, they’d filled three quarters of it, and they had more than enough fish for the gathering and to feed another ten to fifteen families besides. The spouts and the clicks of J-Pod hanging around the boat, however, told Andy that they wanted their reef back and were still hungry.
Andy ordered them to prep the net for another set and helmed his boat again, only to bomb out in a straight line and let J-Pod take care of the fishing from that point on. Once they’d finished, Andy moved the boat out of the Orcas’ way and stood outside the cabin with Jackie while the three aliens crowded the bow, watching and recording the whales going to work a second time.
“Ok, I think we might get a moment to talk,” Andy muttered to Jackie in Salishian. “New orders from the Council. There’s going to be a raid.”
Jackie sucked in a breath and looked at him, all levity gone. “Cambrians, Militia, or the Dummy Bunnies?”
“Militia and the Interior.”
Jackie whistled softly in surprise as her eyebrows shot up. “Really poking the bear, cuz… When and where?”
“Uncle Willy wants us to hit the Militia Supply Depot out by Tanner on Saturday,” Andy growled quietly as he watched Kalai pointing to Grammie Slick’s dorsal as she swam out on the picket around the net.
“You mean the one close to the Snoqualmish?”
“Yeah. Full raid, we’re to hit it and take any supplies, especially military, that we can and destroy what we can’t. The messier we can make it the better. We’ll meet up with the Resistance on the old Bessemer Logging road by Hancock Creek and they get half for taking the credit. Me and Chuck’ve been assigned to ‘lead’ you.” Andy nodded and tried to flick some of the fish scales off himself, but got nowhere.
Jackie sat down on the rail with a groan before looking back up at him with a smirk. “You mean babysit on overwatch while we do the real work.”
Andy pursed his numb lips together and considered the ramifications of folding his arms on the jellyfish burns that had started to go quiet thanks to the Motrin. “Grandma and the Council want me to ‘get my hands dirty.’” He gritted his teeth in frustration.
“What? I’m sorry, that sentence made zero sense.” Jackie shook her head like she’d just been slapped.
Andy couldn’t keep the frustration and anger out of his tone when he spoke. “Apparently there are doubts about my loyalty to the tribe and whether or not I’ve lost my way.”
Jackie huffed in amusement. “Everyone knows the Council’s fucking stupid, but this is a new level of dumb. You got us land back, you got them to allow you to break the rules to feed our people, they’re fixing the fuck ups on our waterways because of you and they think you’ve gone to the dark side?” Jackie started laughing at the nonsense of the politics.
“Last time we talked, you thought I was playing with fire and-” Andy started to throw back at her before she snorted loudly.
“Results talk, cuz. Three of our Hatcheries returned, and my whole family drawing good money in Imperial Credits? Fuck, even if you had sold out, we need more Clan Heads doing the same thing.” She smiled as she nodded towards their guests on the bow.
“They still don’t trust that I know what I’m doing,” Andy growled as he folded his arms unconsciously and immediately regretted it.
Jackie snorted. “Of course they don’t. You didn’t talk to them or get their permission first. Hell, I’m surprised your grandma didn’t chuck you out on your ear for even suggesting that you should work for the dummy bunnies.” Jackie stretched and hopped up and around Andy to grab a water bottle. “But it’s working out. There’s land being returned, money in our hands, and food about to be on our table. You’re doin’ what a Chief is supposed to do.”
Andy scoffed and started to object. “I’m no Chief-”
Jackie gave his shoulder a slap and grinned evilly as a starburst of pain and burning cut through the painkillers, shutting Andy up mid-protest. “You keep saying you aren’t, but that don’t make it true.” She resumed her seat as Andy fought the yowl of pain back so as not to give her the satisfaction. “I mean, case in point, what are you going to do with all these fish Grammie’s catching for us right now?”
Andy blinked a few times as he regained his composure and thought seriously about his answer. “We’ll pull fifteen for the gathering they got invited to… Then all the fish you can pack into the truck goes to the Exiles. The rest? I’ll call Chuck and get some folks from the Council to claim the rest and distribute it to the families that need it.”
Jackie deepened her voice and adopted a cowboy drawl. “He never eats until he sees the pots are full of meat in the lodges of the widows and orphans-”
“That’s Comanche Law, not Salish, and that’s from a John Wayne movie, you ass.” Andy huffed and Jackie giggled wickedly, flipped him off.
“Still haven’t refuted my point, cuz.” Jackie’s singsong voice caused Andy to glare spitefully at her, until she raised her hands defensively. “Alright, you’re not a Chief. So, Not Chief Tsu’titsi’uqw; you need to get your hands dirty and lead a raid. I’ll scrape up what we need and scout the target. You just meet up with us Saturday night at the Snoqualmish Casino and I’ll put a gun in your hands. Don’t worry, we’ll only get dirty enough to make the Council happy.”
“I’ll be a bit late; I’m escorting them to the Hwatcom Family Gathering on Friday.” Andy took a step back as Jackie stood up and twisted a bit to stretch out.
“No surprise there, grandpa’s an old school traditional Indian. They’re dummies, but they’re trying to do right by us, finally. Again, thanks to you, Chie-” Andy slapped the back of her head hard and growled at her, but she just started laughing, making him even madder.
“Alright, enough. Let’s get on the bow and not look like we’re sketchy Indians plotting to attack an Imperial fort.” Andy snarled, shoving her past him while she just kept laughing.
Andy stomped forward, aware of the wet sounds his boots made as he walked. Kalai turned and smiled at him as he moved to stand beside her and her father. “So how are they doing out there?”
“They just started their attack. This is fascinating! Their coordination, their ingenuity, and adaptation to human activity is astounding! I wish I had brought observation drones!” Sakalbi was glued to the binoculars and holding her omnipad up while she muttered observations into the speaker. Andy was content to watch as the pod put on a repeat performance and the net sagged again until they all came up and started swimming lazily around the net and the boat. All of them except Butterball and one of his older brothers. The two seemed to be getting into a jumping contest.
“He’s feeling a bit hyper. Must be nice to be full,” Jackie commented as the two whales took turns jumping out of the water and twisting in the air. Andy smiled and nodded and felt a hand go to his shoulder. He looked down and saw it was Kalai making eyes at him. Andy hid the grimace at the burn and gave her a wink.
“That one’s getting closer, should we be concerned?” Andy looked over at Dr. He’osforos and Kalai quickly moved her hand as they watched Butterball getting closer and closer with each jump.
Jackie hopped up and straddled the railing as Andy and Kalai shared a concerned look. Jackie hooked a hand around one of the roller horns and peered down into the water. “I don’t think so, I mean he knows we’re-”
The sudden appearance of a flying adolescent Orca only a scant few feet away from the boat right next to the lot of them cut Jackie off. Most of them only had enough time to watch the little playful bastard hang in the air for a moment before he twisted to almost shoulder punch the water as he came back down. Andy had just enough presence of mind to pull Kalai and her father down, and braced himself as the plume of water rose from where Butterball landed.
“Oh shi-” Andy heard Jackie say before water cascaded down on them and drenched them all, sending the boat rocking violently.
It took a moment for Andy to recover and he helped the two Shil back to their feet. “Quick check, is everyone alright?”
“HEY! WHAT THE HELL, BUTTERBALL! GRAMMIE! YOU HAVE A TALK WITH YOUR GRANDSON! HE’S GONNA GET SOMEONE KILLED ONE OF THESE DAYS!” Jackie screamed at the water, shaking her fist.
A camera shutter sounded and a dripping wet Mrs. Vaida stood, wide eyed in fear, staring out over the water.
Andy started laughing at the sight of his boss soaked to the bone, her hair and her fur a dripping mess. “That picture right there? You can title it: ‘Angry Native Woman Yells at Whale.’”
Kalai looked like she was on Krek’s doorstep. Akil’eas knelt next to her as he finished his examination and was looking over the readings on his omnipad. His daughter sat in front of the cabin on the little step, legs splayed out in front of her while she leaned against the railing on the side of the boat. Her father stood next to her as he finished a quick check of her vitals and her viral load.
“Unsurprisingly, you’re a bit elevated, but given your numbers over the last week, that’s saying that you’ve come back up to your normal levels.” Akil’eas had been worried. When they’d hauled in the net the second time, Kalai had stayed on the bow with the boy, Andy, while Akil’eas’d stood over the human woman’s shoulder and studied the controls.
Akil’ieas had also pitched in and helped fill the hold, but when he and Sakalbi could no longer stuff them in, they’d given up and stood out of the way. His old friend and colleague had spent the rest of the time recording, either the large predators that continued to circle and play around the boat, or the seemingly inefficient fishing practice of Andy and his people. No wonder he was so big, and his brother had been that strong. It beggared belief that their people worked at that backbreaking pace for so long, but there Andy stood, proud and tall at the end of it, while he and Sakalbi struggled to stay standing.
Akil’eas had to focus on keeping his hands from shaking and retrieved another water bottle for his exhausted daughter. Andy had them moving at a slow pace back towards a different harbor from the one they’d left that morning. They’d stopped briefly at the pier they’d started from to allow Jackie to disembark. The two humans packed all the fish that couldn’t fit in the hold up to Jackie’s truck and filled the bed of it without any help. She drove off with close to a hundred fish.
Now with the deck cleared, Andy told them they were on their way to the harbor most of his Band used. The trip had been slower going than the morning had been, but only because they were riding much lower in the water than they had been.
“King Triton’s farewell,” Kalai muttered looking up. Akil’eas followed his daughter’s gaze up to see a flock of white and gray seabirds calling out loudly as they kept pace with the boat as it headed towards the docks.
“It means work’s almost over. It’s a great sound, isn’t it?” Andy called out from the cabin where he sat at the helm.
Kalai shifted herself with great effort to look around the door to the cabin. “It sounds amazing.”
The smile Andy gave Kalai caused Akil’eas to have a pang of fatherly protectiveness, and only fatigue kept the scowl off his face. “Just wait, we’ll clean a few once we’ve off-loaded to the families. Fresh salmon tonight for everyone, and I’m cooking! Doc, we’d love to have you, too.”
“I’d love to but-”
Kalai grabbed his arm and stopped him. “Trust me, Papa, you don’t want to miss it.”
Akil’eas chewed his tongue for a moment, looking from Andy to Kalai. Sakalbi caught his eye and nodded emphatically. “Alright, if you’ll allow me to help. You must be exhausted.”
Andy beamed at Akil’eas, “You won’t hear me turn down free help.”
“Vaascon fellas don’t have no frills, Haul away, haul away! They’re plain and skinny as a lodthfish gill, And we’re bound away for Vaasconia!”
Kalai sat back and started singing between sips of water. Akil’eas sat down next to her and joined in the chorus for a Vaascon sailing song. It was strange to think that these humans also sang to their sea gods to placate them and coordinate the work. What else could you expect from a sailorman? Some things call to the soul across time and evidently even the gulf space and peoples.
“So heave him up my Turry Turry girls, Haul away, haul away! Heave him up and let the sails unfurl! And we’re bound away for Vaasconia!”
Andy’s voice joining in on the chorus startled Akil’eas and Kalai and they both turned to look back at him.
He gave them another wide grin, “I started learning some of the sail songs after Kalai told me about sailing on Shil.”
“Akil’eas, a word?” Sakalbi motioned with her head towards the bow and offered him a hand up. He followed her to the bow, leaving the two children singing together.
The harbor mouth was coming up fast, and between the noise of the engine and the net drum keeping them out of sight, there was some privacy. “I’ve heard some rumors about your feelings toward humans…” Sakalbi leaned against the railing, giving him the look that every teacher and professor had when questioning a belligerent student. When Akil’eas didn’t answer her, save to throw her back his own look, she continued. “Kalai is quite taken with Andy. It’s been quite a refreshing thing to see her come out of her shell.”
“It’s a vacation romance, nothing more.” Akil’eas felt his stomach clench and couldn’t stop himself from looking back.
“I don’t think so, Akil’eas. This is the first time I’ve seen her so on thorns and thistles around anyone, much less a male. She’s been very keen around him.” The smile she gave him was a bit galling, but he had to admit, he didn’t really know Kalai as well as Sakalbi and her spouses.
“He is… I’m sure he is a very nice young man, but as a fit consort for a soon to be Duchess? No, and I’ve yet to meet a human that is.” The thought of a human becoming the next Duke He’osforos was absurd. Sure there had been the occasional non-Shil Kho-liebhaberin or even the one Duke Aurar’ian He’osforos who was a Triki, but a human? “They’re far too individualistic and self centered to rise to the responsibilities of the Peerage.”
“That’s not exactly as large a sample size as you think it is, Leas. If you had Andy in your class, or on your crew, disregarding the fact that he’s human, what would your read on him be?”
Akil’eas locked his jaw and pursed his lips, defiantly. “I don’t know.”
“Come on, Leas, you’re better than me at reading people, and I’m damn good at it.” He hated how Sakalbi’s eyes flashed and her right ear would twitch when she thought she had the upper hand in an argument. He huffed a sigh and decided to play her little game, just to humor her enough so that she’d drop the subject.
“Dependable, fastidious and competent, judging by the state of his equipment and his boat. Self sacrificing, diligent, hard working, given what I’ve observed today. He’s got a temper, but it takes a bit to get there, and he’s carrying some pretty heavy emotional scars.” He’d not seen very much of Andy, but the old Sailing Master and Professor in him started to come out and assess the boy just as he would any of his students or junior sailors.
“That’s my read, too. Doesn’t sound so individualistic and self-centered to me. Blighted Nature, Leas, from what I’ve learned about him and his people, he broke with several of their traditions and customs to help us. He’s stuck his neck out far further for us than we would have for him and his people, for no other reason than to try and save his homeland. Were he an Erbian on Myr or even back home in Vaasconia, there’d be Groom-War over his hand.”
Akil’eas was a bit piqued about her statement, “What about your daughter? Kalai made no secret about little Sitry mooning after him, and her disapproval of their courtship.”
“She thinks she’s in love, and it very well might be that she is, but Kalai’s disapproval should tell you what it tells me, given your own rather astute assessment of the man.”
“HEY DOC! TAKE THE WHEEL, I GOTTA DRUM US IN!” Andy’s voice cut their conversation short as Akil’eas turned to look back around the drum. Andy waved him back as he slowed their approach to come in. “Take us to Dock 5, straight back and to port.”
“Straight back and to larboard, aye!” Akil’eas rattled off as he traded places with Andy at the helm.
Kalai heaved herself up to stand as Andy grabbed a large leather circle and ran forward to jump up on the bow. As Akil’eas piloted the boat into the harbor and made the turn, he saw a large crowd of humans gathered on the pier and the shore. As soon as they were in sight, he watched as Andy, standing tall, began to drum a beat and vocalize, projecting his voice over the water to those on shore. Akil’eas sputtered a bit in surprise as he guided the boat slowly towards the open mooring.
“That’s their call. His family’s song lets the people on shore know who he is and that he’s friendly.” Kalai looked back at Akil’eas before moving inside the cabin to stand next to her father. “All the families know it, but only he is allowed to sing it. It’s their version of a family crest and coat of arms. Elder Hwatcom taught us about those. There’ll be a reply in a second granting us permission to come ashore.”
There was indeed a response of drumming and singing from the assembly of humans as many started to crowd forward carrying what appeared to be coolers. Andy reappeared and took the controls back and reversed to kill their forward momentum as Sakalbi threw out their mooring lines to the waiting humans. Andy killed the engine and moved quickly out of the cabin to speak in a language that Akil’eas did not recognize. There seemed to be a bit of confusion from those gathered on the dock, but Andy opened the hatch to show the hold full of fish.
“Don’t thank me, thank them. Sockeye and Kings to all comers, courtesy of the Vaidas and the Vaida Warren!” Andy shouted happily in Vatikre as he pulled two giant fish out by their gills and handed them off to the applauding humans.
Sakalbi managed to shoot Akil’eas a smug look before she plunged her hands into the mass of fish and began helping Andy hand them out to the people.
First:
https://www.reddit.com/Sexyspacebabes/comments/yz0u3h/the_cryptid_chronicle_chapter_1/
Previous:
https://www.reddit.com/Sexyspacebabes/comments/13tppad/cryptid_chronicle_chapter_30/
Next:
Possible Late Post Due to Vacation. I will try to post on time, but it may be as late as 6/12/23
submitted by Kazevenikov to Sexyspacebabes [link] [comments]
Chapter 31: A Whale of a Tale and it’s All True
“IT’S FUCKING J-POD!”
Kalai watched in shock and awe as the two humans collectively lost their minds, hopping up and down and letting loose a series of high pitched vocalizing as she, Papa, and Mama Sakalbi stared in confusion at the two ecstatic aliens.
Andy turned and ran back to where Kalai and her parents were still staring in amazement and held his hand out, face alight and happier than she’d ever seen him before. “Binoculars! Quick! I want to see who’s out there!” Mama Sakalbi tentatively held them out, and he took them with a nod of thanks before rushing back to the bow. Kalai started as he jumped up on the bow and balanced against the roller horns to spot the black and white whales that were swimming fast towards the net.
“Eyes on Mama Shachi! Look, over there, see her?” Kalai approached cautiously as Andy pointed in the direction of a cluster of porpoising black shapes that were coming nearer.
“Eyes on! I got Grammie Slick out there too; the WHOLE POD’S HERE!” Jackie cut loose an undulating cry and waved her hands as little geysers of water and air shot out from the water on the other side of the net.
Kalai nearly jumped when a miniature version of the Orcas from the clone tank at Headquarters breached the water, leaping almost twice her height into the air before splashing back down in a massive wave.
“Look at that! Butterball’s getting some good air these days!” Andy crowed as he hopped back down from the bow and passed the binoculars to Jackie.
“Butterball?” Mama Sakalbi asked as she and Papa joined them. Kalai stared as the Orcas formed a line and charged at the middle of the ‘S’ bend in the net before diving down in front of it, sending a wave that pushed the corks back. She saw the spouts and the dorsal fins rise again for another charge at the net.
“He’s the baby, only about four years old. Grammie Slick’s taking the family hunting, see how they’re flattening the net out? We’re about to have a great fucking day!” Andy took Jackie’s shotgun and took it back to the cabin as Kalai and her parents crowded the rail.
“What are they doing?” Mama Sakalbi’s question was directed at Jackie and the woman turned to answer with a gigantic smile.
“Herding! See the ones circling around the net?” Jackie pointed to the two dorsal fins that were almost invisible in the fog that was starting to burn off in the morning sun that had started to clear the eastern mountains. “They’ll be starting to round up small schools of salmon once they’re done turning our net into a reef. Right now, they’re running along the line and probably seeing what they have to work with.”
Mama Sakalbi did a double take, “You must be joking, that level of intelligence would almost be-”
“Human?” Jackie interrupted with a smile, “Yeah, that’s our original teachers out there. We learned to fish from them.”
“I was going to say ‘sentient’, but I take your point. What I want to know is, what are they doing?” Mama Sakalbi gestured out at them, with a bewildered look on her face.
“They’re using the net as a sea wall. Thing is, the net’s hard to see in the water, but the fish can feel it. They’ll put their heads into the net, but that doesn’t catch them. They’ll try to swim around it so that’s why we put an ‘S’ bend. That’s where most of the fish get tangled.” Andy returned and picked up the explanation. “See in the center of the line? That fin with the black and white little checkmark behind it? That’s Grammie Slick, the Matriarch. She’s around sixty now, and grew up out here LONG before you all came down. They don’t always do this, but I guess with you all keeping the fishing fleets docked, she saw the net and wanted a big meal for the family. They’re going to keep pushing the net until it’s in the shape of a crescent and herd a bunch of small schools into a big baitball with pickets to keep the fish pinned in the middle. You watch, there’ll be salmon jumping all over in the middle as they school up.”
“That’s when you’ll see them charge up the center and take big old mouthfuls of salmon. It’ll be a smorgasbord for ‘em!” Jackie pulled up Andy’s omnipad and started recording.
“Wait, but you hate seals for competing with you for food, why are you this excited about Orcas who take so much more?” Papa asked as he also took out his omnipad and started recording as the pod of Orcas finished repositioning their net just as Andy described.
“Because they’re using the nets as a reef to trap the fish! See? Look! There they go! The wolves are out scaring every salmon in the area here!” Kalai dug her own omnipad out at Andy’s words and watched as the dorsal fins sank below the waves, with only a faint and fading wake to tell where they’d gone.
“Now watch ‘em set pickets! They’re going to start patrolling the outside of the net. When they get enough salmon in the middle, they’re going to charge. When they do, watch the entire middle section of our corks go under from the salmon trying to get away. They get whole heaping mouthfuls of food and we get a full net!”
Kalai watched the Orcas swimming in circles around the net like Helix Sharks, and felt a pang of fear seeing the big predators that seemed so gentle and inquisitive in the tank. “But what if they get caught in the net?”
Jackie suppressed a laugh before sweeping an arm out at the net. “I’ve never seen that happen before, and I haven’t even heard of it happening before… at least not here in the Salish Sea. All our Orcas grew up around these nets, so they’ll either avoid them or use them like they are right now.”
“I think it’s because they can see them and the fish can’t. Either way, we’re in for a show!” Andy patted Kalai on the back before pushing Kalai and Mama Sakalbi forward.
For a long while, the surface was calm, save for the circling Orcas as they all watched. Then, by degrees, there was movement on the surface of the water as fish the length of Kalai’s arm started to jump and kick in the baitball. Kalai watched, fascinated, as Orcas seemed to appear and disappear along the edges but never approached the middle of the net.
All the fins disappeared from the surface and an eerie stillness settled over the water. Suddenly, the water in the middle of the crescent erupted, with hundreds of fish shooting out of the water and a sudden surge that hit and pushed the corks outward before they sank completely out of sight. Jackie and Andy started vocalizing those strange undulating cries again, raising their fists in the air before shouting something in their language. From as best as Kalai could guess, it was encouragement as the Orcas started breaching and jumping. In those moments, Kalai could catch glimpses of their mouths full of salmon.
Kalai watched as the terrified fish swarmed towards the net, and watched as many seemed to jump over it and swim away as the Orcas gorged themselves on the enormous school of salmon they had trapped. It was an awe inspiring sight to see, and Kalai lost herself in the moment watching the amazing display of symbiotic hunting and fishing between them and the Orcas.
The engine of the boat turning over broke the spell they were all under as Andy moved the boat at a dead slow pace back towards the net. “Alright, let’s haul it in and reset for ‘em! Jackie! Get on the bow with the billhook!” Jackie whooped in agreement and gently pushed passed Kalai to grab a long pole with a small metal hook at the end.
“We’re gonna have to work fast. They’re hungry, and we all want salmon today,” Andy called over the sound of the engine as they approached the giant buoy that marked the end of the net. “Doc! Open that hatch back there and watch your step! Mrs. Vaida, stand clear in the cabin; I want no accidents today, and three on deck’s going to be a crowd with how many fish we’re going to be taking in. Kalai, I want you back in the-”
Kalai shook her head as she put her omnipad away. “I can do it! Let me help!” she was riding the high feeling of watching the Orcas, and seeing Andy and Jackie preparing to go to work while she was to be just a passenger galled her.
Kalai saw Andy give Jackie a look that she couldn’t quite interpret. “Alright, but you’ll work with me picking fish. Jackie, you’re on the Drum; trade places with me!”
Kalai saw Jackie huff and give Andy a piercing look as she handed off the billhook. “Watch out for jellies, they tend to explode,” the native woman muttered to Kalai as she took over at the net drum’s controls. Kalai was about to volunteer to grab the line with the hook, given her longer reach, but Andy had already leaned almost all the way over the side. Kalai had a momentary scare as Andy seemed to dip forward, seemingly in danger of falling overboard, until he seemed to almost levitate himself using his lower legs back into the boat and pulled the line over the roller horns. She stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do when Andy braced a foot against the side and began to pull on the line and feed it back towards Jackie.
“Way, haul away, we’ll hang and haul together! Way, haul away, haul away Joe!”
Though she didn’t understand the words, Kalai knew a sailing song when she heard one and didn’t wait for any instruction. She moved forward opposite Andy and lent a hand, pulling the heavy line in to the cadence of his chant. After two verses, Kalai heard the whine of hydraulics and the slack in the line behind them went taught.
“Stand back! Here we go!” Andy called to her and the line began pulling the net back aboard. Kalai looked back to see that Jackie had wrapped the line around the center pole of the drum, with the wheel turning to pull the line and net in out of the water. A small set of guide poles that moved when Jackie twitched the controls kept the line evenly distributed on the drum as the first corks and the dripping wet net began to appear out of the water.
“Put your hoods up!” Andy yelled at her over the noise of the machines, and demonstrated the motion. “It’ll keep the water, seaweed and Jellies out of your face and eyes, and take this!” Andy tossed her what appeared to be a handkerchief and he mimed the act of tying it around her face like a mask.
“What about you? You’re sleeveless!” Kalai’s voice was slightly muffled from the cloth as she tied it around her face before pulling up both hoods.
Andy didn’t respond, except to grin at her as he leaned out to watch the net coming up out of the water before it got pulled aboard.
From behind her, Kalai heard Jackie start singing another human sailing song. It was a bit fast paced, and Andy joined in for the chorus. On the third time she heard it, she joined in too.
“Blow ye winds in the mornin’, Blow ye winds, high ho! Haul away your running gear, And blow ye winds, high ho!”
“Coming up!” Andy shouted as there were several loud thunks before six large salmon appeared in the giant fluorescent green tangle of the net. The drum stopped, bringing the fish to a halt as Andy pulled on the corkline and scurried his hands back and forth, gathering the net up as he did until he reached the first fish. Kalai watched in awe as he seemed to magically pull the fish from the tangle and shake it out onto the deck. The second one seemed to be resting on top of the tangle and he flipped it over the corkline and shook the fish out onto the deck.
“Just watch these first few. When you get a feel for how I’m doing this, jump in. Until then, slide these beauties back towards the stern. Jackie’ll pitch ‘em into the hold.”
Kalai nodded and watched Andy’s movements intently. It looked like sorcery, with how fast he moved his hands and zeroed in on a fish. As soon as he was done, he’d whistle to Jackie, who kept singing the cadence out to pull more of the net in, only to stop when more fish were pulled up and over the horns.
The song changed twice before Kalai felt confident enough to jump in. She almost got tangled in the net herself trying to pull out her first fish, but Andy gave the net a quick tug and she was free again. Maddeningly, the fish had simply fallen out of the net without any help from her, and she fumed just long enough for Andy to point to one that was closer to her.
“Hoist up the thing, batten down the whatsit! What’s that thing spinning, somebody should stop it! Turn hard to Port! That’s not Port, NOW I GOT IT! Trust me, I’m in control!”
On the second refrain, Kalai managed to dig her first fish out and drop it to the deck. She let out a whoop, and Andy paused for a moment to give her a quick applause.
“That’s one, girl! There’s a thousand left if we’re lucky!” Jackie called out as Andy sang a verse and tackled another fish in the net.
“Keep an eye on the lead line; make sure it doesn’t go over the corks!” Andy called as Kalai ran down her second fish and was about to throw the excess net over the other side. She stopped, and Andy helped her get the fish without tangling the net.
It took until the end of the song for Kalai to find her rhythm, and soon she and Andy were running down fish in the net in a crisp and quick manner. Kalai felt like she could go faster, but Andy had cautioned her to keep pace with the songs, as there was still a lot of net to go. When Kalai spared a glance at the length of net still in the water, she saw that Andy wasn’t kidding. It looked like they hadn’t even really started to reel it all in. Ok, it’s hard work, but so is sailing, and he’s my size so I should be able to keep up with him. If he can do it, I can do it!
Andy was impressed. Kalai had jumped in without complaint, and she was very coachable. He could feel himself start to flag as they were starting to come to the last third of the net, but Kalai’s persistence, even though she was sweatier and more haggard than he was, kept him going.
The pile of salmon was almost as deep as their calves, and the deck was getting slick with fish slime. For that matter, so was Andy. In a momentary lull in the fish coming over the horns, Andy caught a glimpse of himself shimmering with all the scales that had flown off the fish as they scraped against the net to hit the deck, flopping. He took a big gulp of air and Kalai groaned as she straightened up, cracking her back as she twisted and bent to relieve her aching muscles.
Andy groaned a bit and looked back towards the stern. It was getting hard to see over the amount of net they’d pulled back in, but he could see Doc and Mrs. Vaida doing their best to help throw and shove the piles of salmon into the hold. Everybody’s getting their hands dirty today. Andy smiled and heaved a happy sigh. This, this is what I want. Being out on the water and doing good, hard work.
“SHIT, JELLYFISH!” Kalai shouted as she twisted away to hide her face behind her rain slicker hood. Andy blinked just in time as a wet squelching sound sent a spray of disintegrating jellyfish exploding all over the bow as the net bunched up and got squeezed together.
Andy felt it splatter all over his arms, neck, and face, before he felt it start to slide down his shirt to his chest. Almost immediately, he started to feel the burn. His arms, neck, and chest he could stand, but the blossoming pain on his lips, eyelids, cheeks, and most horribly the inside of his nose overwhelmed all his conditioned pain tolerance.
“FUCK!” Andy screamed. “FUCKING FUCKER! RIGHT IN MY FUCKING FACE! GOD FUCKING DAMNIT! FUCK!” Andy only barely avoided bringing his hands to his face. It was a hard fought thing to deny his instinct to try and scrape it off, but he felt his boots loose purchase and his feet slide out from under him. He hit the pile of fish that surrounded him hard. He was aware of Kalai yelling for her father and Mrs. Vaida, while Jackie’s braying laugh carried over everything else.
Andy felt Kalai trying to grab him, but her gloves were too slick to get a grip and all she did was spread the stingers more evenly over his arms. Andy kept his eyes squeezed shut as he heard Jackie start to direct the confused and panicking aliens.
“Hold your breath, cuz, vinegar incoming!”
Andy felt the bitter stinging splash as Jackie poured a steady stream of vinegar out from what he assumed was the giant jug he kept for these occasions underneath the little kitchenette in the cabin. Though nothing about the intensity of the burn changed, in the back of his mind, Andy knew that it was killing the stinging cells.
“Alright, Kally, take that bucket and fill it with seawater from over the side, then dump it on him.”
Andy sputtered a bit and spit as he scrabbled onto his knees. He steadied himself with one hand on the rail beside him and the other which found the corkline. He kept his eyes shut and growled as the burning spread from his hairline down to his navel. A sudden bracing splash of cold water nearly bowled him back over. Without warning, Andy hadn't had time to get a breath and he sputtered and yowled as the water soaked down under his rain gear.
Andy shook his head like a dog, whipping his braid back and forth before daring to open his eyes. “Son of a BITCH!” Andy growled as he got a look at Kalai holding an empty bucket, while Jackie was shoo’ing Mrs. Vaida and Dr. He’osforos away to give him some room.
“Jesus, quit your bawlin,’ you big baby, you’re acting like you’ve never been stung before!” Jackie called back to him as Andy ripped the gloves off his hands and plunged them over the side to clean off the stingers.
“It’s in my fucking nose you horse’s ass!” Andy shouted back as he splashed his face. A few strings of purple stingers fell into the water and Andy reared back aboard. “Ugh, get another bucket of seawater! I can still feel this shit!”
“Andrei, as a medical professional, I advise you to cease work and-”
Andy looked over as Dr. He’osforos spoke but waved him off mid sentence. “I appreciate it Doc, but I’ve had it far worse than this. There’s a brown and yellow bottle in one of the drawers under the bench that says ‘Motrin’. Get me the bottle or enough to tranq a cow, and I’ll go back to work just fine.”
Kalai let loose a piercing scream and Andy looked over just in time to see her rocketed herself backwards, dropping the bucket over the side. The Doctor caught his daughter before she fell into the hold, but he too had a look of fear plastered on his face. Andy and Jackie moved to the side to see what had scared her so badly, and the two of them couldn’t help but laugh out loud.
Grammie Slick and two of her daughters were there, sticking their heads out of the water with their mouths open, while Butterball was playing with the bucket.
Jackie laughed and stuck her hand out, rubbing the Orca matriarch on the snout. “Raggedy Andy’s fine, Grammie Slick! He’s just milking it for sympathy from these gullible hwun’eetums!”
“What in the Balance of Nature is going on here?” Mrs. Vaida’s shocked voice caused Andy and Jackie to look at her as she stared dumbfounded at the Orcas that were gathering alongside the boat.
“Oh they’re just saying ‘hi.’” Andy shrugged with a smile, despite the burning.
“More like ‘What the hell, cousins, you still got fish to pick. Quit loafin’ around and get another set in!’”
“Jackie, Motrin… NOW!” Andy growled at her. Jackie blew a raspberry at him before diving into the cabin.
“They’re pretty friendly, if you’d like to be introduced,” Andy held out a hand and motioned for Kalai and her father to step forward. Andy dipped his hand in again to make sure it was clear of any stinging cells, before he gently guided the hesitant Kalai to stick her ungloved hand out toward Grammie Slick.
One of the daughters blew a spout before sliding back under water, but Grammie gave a few clicks before briefly touching Kalai’s outstretched hand. “Kalai, this is Grammie Slick, Matriarch of J-Pod. Grammie, this is Kalai… a purple hwun’eetum.” Andy laughed a bit at the look of incredulity on Kalai’s face and the concern on her father’s.
There was a series of shutter clicks from behind Andy, and he turned to see Sakalbi snapping pictures as fast as she could. Kalai was clearly torn between fear and wonder as she held perfectly still and silent for Grammie, who was letting her touch her before she slid back under the water herself. Andy laughed as several clicks and whistles from the pod reverberated through the hull of the boat and he leaned back in.
“Alright, break’s over,” Andy called as he caught the flying bottle of pills Jackie threw at him. He popped two and swallowed them dry before washing the gloves off and putting them on. The extra rinse would have to wait, and he’d have to tough it out until they got back to shore. His boots squelched as he picked his way through the fish on the deck to get back to his station and nodded for Jackie to restart the drum.
It was another twenty minutes before the last of the net was pulled aboard and they were able to clear away all the fish into the hold. Andy stuck his head in and smiled. In a single set, they’d filled three quarters of it, and they had more than enough fish for the gathering and to feed another ten to fifteen families besides. The spouts and the clicks of J-Pod hanging around the boat, however, told Andy that they wanted their reef back and were still hungry.
Andy ordered them to prep the net for another set and helmed his boat again, only to bomb out in a straight line and let J-Pod take care of the fishing from that point on. Once they’d finished, Andy moved the boat out of the Orcas’ way and stood outside the cabin with Jackie while the three aliens crowded the bow, watching and recording the whales going to work a second time.
“Ok, I think we might get a moment to talk,” Andy muttered to Jackie in Salishian. “New orders from the Council. There’s going to be a raid.”
Jackie sucked in a breath and looked at him, all levity gone. “Cambrians, Militia, or the Dummy Bunnies?”
“Militia and the Interior.”
Jackie whistled softly in surprise as her eyebrows shot up. “Really poking the bear, cuz… When and where?”
“Uncle Willy wants us to hit the Militia Supply Depot out by Tanner on Saturday,” Andy growled quietly as he watched Kalai pointing to Grammie Slick’s dorsal as she swam out on the picket around the net.
“You mean the one close to the Snoqualmish?”
“Yeah. Full raid, we’re to hit it and take any supplies, especially military, that we can and destroy what we can’t. The messier we can make it the better. We’ll meet up with the Resistance on the old Bessemer Logging road by Hancock Creek and they get half for taking the credit. Me and Chuck’ve been assigned to ‘lead’ you.” Andy nodded and tried to flick some of the fish scales off himself, but got nowhere.
Jackie sat down on the rail with a groan before looking back up at him with a smirk. “You mean babysit on overwatch while we do the real work.”
Andy pursed his numb lips together and considered the ramifications of folding his arms on the jellyfish burns that had started to go quiet thanks to the Motrin. “Grandma and the Council want me to ‘get my hands dirty.’” He gritted his teeth in frustration.
“What? I’m sorry, that sentence made zero sense.” Jackie shook her head like she’d just been slapped.
Andy couldn’t keep the frustration and anger out of his tone when he spoke. “Apparently there are doubts about my loyalty to the tribe and whether or not I’ve lost my way.”
Jackie huffed in amusement. “Everyone knows the Council’s fucking stupid, but this is a new level of dumb. You got us land back, you got them to allow you to break the rules to feed our people, they’re fixing the fuck ups on our waterways because of you and they think you’ve gone to the dark side?” Jackie started laughing at the nonsense of the politics.
“Last time we talked, you thought I was playing with fire and-” Andy started to throw back at her before she snorted loudly.
“Results talk, cuz. Three of our Hatcheries returned, and my whole family drawing good money in Imperial Credits? Fuck, even if you had sold out, we need more Clan Heads doing the same thing.” She smiled as she nodded towards their guests on the bow.
“They still don’t trust that I know what I’m doing,” Andy growled as he folded his arms unconsciously and immediately regretted it.
Jackie snorted. “Of course they don’t. You didn’t talk to them or get their permission first. Hell, I’m surprised your grandma didn’t chuck you out on your ear for even suggesting that you should work for the dummy bunnies.” Jackie stretched and hopped up and around Andy to grab a water bottle. “But it’s working out. There’s land being returned, money in our hands, and food about to be on our table. You’re doin’ what a Chief is supposed to do.”
Andy scoffed and started to object. “I’m no Chief-”
Jackie gave his shoulder a slap and grinned evilly as a starburst of pain and burning cut through the painkillers, shutting Andy up mid-protest. “You keep saying you aren’t, but that don’t make it true.” She resumed her seat as Andy fought the yowl of pain back so as not to give her the satisfaction. “I mean, case in point, what are you going to do with all these fish Grammie’s catching for us right now?”
Andy blinked a few times as he regained his composure and thought seriously about his answer. “We’ll pull fifteen for the gathering they got invited to… Then all the fish you can pack into the truck goes to the Exiles. The rest? I’ll call Chuck and get some folks from the Council to claim the rest and distribute it to the families that need it.”
Jackie deepened her voice and adopted a cowboy drawl. “He never eats until he sees the pots are full of meat in the lodges of the widows and orphans-”
“That’s Comanche Law, not Salish, and that’s from a John Wayne movie, you ass.” Andy huffed and Jackie giggled wickedly, flipped him off.
“Still haven’t refuted my point, cuz.” Jackie’s singsong voice caused Andy to glare spitefully at her, until she raised her hands defensively. “Alright, you’re not a Chief. So, Not Chief Tsu’titsi’uqw; you need to get your hands dirty and lead a raid. I’ll scrape up what we need and scout the target. You just meet up with us Saturday night at the Snoqualmish Casino and I’ll put a gun in your hands. Don’t worry, we’ll only get dirty enough to make the Council happy.”
“I’ll be a bit late; I’m escorting them to the Hwatcom Family Gathering on Friday.” Andy took a step back as Jackie stood up and twisted a bit to stretch out.
“No surprise there, grandpa’s an old school traditional Indian. They’re dummies, but they’re trying to do right by us, finally. Again, thanks to you, Chie-” Andy slapped the back of her head hard and growled at her, but she just started laughing, making him even madder.
“Alright, enough. Let’s get on the bow and not look like we’re sketchy Indians plotting to attack an Imperial fort.” Andy snarled, shoving her past him while she just kept laughing.
Andy stomped forward, aware of the wet sounds his boots made as he walked. Kalai turned and smiled at him as he moved to stand beside her and her father. “So how are they doing out there?”
“They just started their attack. This is fascinating! Their coordination, their ingenuity, and adaptation to human activity is astounding! I wish I had brought observation drones!” Sakalbi was glued to the binoculars and holding her omnipad up while she muttered observations into the speaker. Andy was content to watch as the pod put on a repeat performance and the net sagged again until they all came up and started swimming lazily around the net and the boat. All of them except Butterball and one of his older brothers. The two seemed to be getting into a jumping contest.
“He’s feeling a bit hyper. Must be nice to be full,” Jackie commented as the two whales took turns jumping out of the water and twisting in the air. Andy smiled and nodded and felt a hand go to his shoulder. He looked down and saw it was Kalai making eyes at him. Andy hid the grimace at the burn and gave her a wink.
“That one’s getting closer, should we be concerned?” Andy looked over at Dr. He’osforos and Kalai quickly moved her hand as they watched Butterball getting closer and closer with each jump.
Jackie hopped up and straddled the railing as Andy and Kalai shared a concerned look. Jackie hooked a hand around one of the roller horns and peered down into the water. “I don’t think so, I mean he knows we’re-”
The sudden appearance of a flying adolescent Orca only a scant few feet away from the boat right next to the lot of them cut Jackie off. Most of them only had enough time to watch the little playful bastard hang in the air for a moment before he twisted to almost shoulder punch the water as he came back down. Andy had just enough presence of mind to pull Kalai and her father down, and braced himself as the plume of water rose from where Butterball landed.
“Oh shi-” Andy heard Jackie say before water cascaded down on them and drenched them all, sending the boat rocking violently.
It took a moment for Andy to recover and he helped the two Shil back to their feet. “Quick check, is everyone alright?”
“HEY! WHAT THE HELL, BUTTERBALL! GRAMMIE! YOU HAVE A TALK WITH YOUR GRANDSON! HE’S GONNA GET SOMEONE KILLED ONE OF THESE DAYS!” Jackie screamed at the water, shaking her fist.
A camera shutter sounded and a dripping wet Mrs. Vaida stood, wide eyed in fear, staring out over the water.
Andy started laughing at the sight of his boss soaked to the bone, her hair and her fur a dripping mess. “That picture right there? You can title it: ‘Angry Native Woman Yells at Whale.’”
“Unsurprisingly, you’re a bit elevated, but given your numbers over the last week, that’s saying that you’ve come back up to your normal levels.” Akil’eas had been worried. When they’d hauled in the net the second time, Kalai had stayed on the bow with the boy, Andy, while Akil’eas’d stood over the human woman’s shoulder and studied the controls.
Akil’ieas had also pitched in and helped fill the hold, but when he and Sakalbi could no longer stuff them in, they’d given up and stood out of the way. His old friend and colleague had spent the rest of the time recording, either the large predators that continued to circle and play around the boat, or the seemingly inefficient fishing practice of Andy and his people. No wonder he was so big, and his brother had been that strong. It beggared belief that their people worked at that backbreaking pace for so long, but there Andy stood, proud and tall at the end of it, while he and Sakalbi struggled to stay standing.
Akil’eas had to focus on keeping his hands from shaking and retrieved another water bottle for his exhausted daughter. Andy had them moving at a slow pace back towards a different harbor from the one they’d left that morning. They’d stopped briefly at the pier they’d started from to allow Jackie to disembark. The two humans packed all the fish that couldn’t fit in the hold up to Jackie’s truck and filled the bed of it without any help. She drove off with close to a hundred fish.
Now with the deck cleared, Andy told them they were on their way to the harbor most of his Band used. The trip had been slower going than the morning had been, but only because they were riding much lower in the water than they had been.
“King Triton’s farewell,” Kalai muttered looking up. Akil’eas followed his daughter’s gaze up to see a flock of white and gray seabirds calling out loudly as they kept pace with the boat as it headed towards the docks.
“It means work’s almost over. It’s a great sound, isn’t it?” Andy called out from the cabin where he sat at the helm.
Kalai shifted herself with great effort to look around the door to the cabin. “It sounds amazing.”
The smile Andy gave Kalai caused Akil’eas to have a pang of fatherly protectiveness, and only fatigue kept the scowl off his face. “Just wait, we’ll clean a few once we’ve off-loaded to the families. Fresh salmon tonight for everyone, and I’m cooking! Doc, we’d love to have you, too.”
“I’d love to but-”
Kalai grabbed his arm and stopped him. “Trust me, Papa, you don’t want to miss it.”
Akil’eas chewed his tongue for a moment, looking from Andy to Kalai. Sakalbi caught his eye and nodded emphatically. “Alright, if you’ll allow me to help. You must be exhausted.”
Andy beamed at Akil’eas, “You won’t hear me turn down free help.”
“Vaascon fellas don’t have no frills, Haul away, haul away! They’re plain and skinny as a lodthfish gill, And we’re bound away for Vaasconia!”
Kalai sat back and started singing between sips of water. Akil’eas sat down next to her and joined in the chorus for a Vaascon sailing song. It was strange to think that these humans also sang to their sea gods to placate them and coordinate the work. What else could you expect from a sailorman? Some things call to the soul across time and evidently even the gulf space and peoples.
“So heave him up my Turry Turry girls, Haul away, haul away! Heave him up and let the sails unfurl! And we’re bound away for Vaasconia!”
Andy’s voice joining in on the chorus startled Akil’eas and Kalai and they both turned to look back at him.
He gave them another wide grin, “I started learning some of the sail songs after Kalai told me about sailing on Shil.”
“Akil’eas, a word?” Sakalbi motioned with her head towards the bow and offered him a hand up. He followed her to the bow, leaving the two children singing together.
The harbor mouth was coming up fast, and between the noise of the engine and the net drum keeping them out of sight, there was some privacy. “I’ve heard some rumors about your feelings toward humans…” Sakalbi leaned against the railing, giving him the look that every teacher and professor had when questioning a belligerent student. When Akil’eas didn’t answer her, save to throw her back his own look, she continued. “Kalai is quite taken with Andy. It’s been quite a refreshing thing to see her come out of her shell.”
“It’s a vacation romance, nothing more.” Akil’eas felt his stomach clench and couldn’t stop himself from looking back.
“I don’t think so, Akil’eas. This is the first time I’ve seen her so on thorns and thistles around anyone, much less a male. She’s been very keen around him.” The smile she gave him was a bit galling, but he had to admit, he didn’t really know Kalai as well as Sakalbi and her spouses.
“He is… I’m sure he is a very nice young man, but as a fit consort for a soon to be Duchess? No, and I’ve yet to meet a human that is.” The thought of a human becoming the next Duke He’osforos was absurd. Sure there had been the occasional non-Shil Kho-liebhaberin or even the one Duke Aurar’ian He’osforos who was a Triki, but a human? “They’re far too individualistic and self centered to rise to the responsibilities of the Peerage.”
“That’s not exactly as large a sample size as you think it is, Leas. If you had Andy in your class, or on your crew, disregarding the fact that he’s human, what would your read on him be?”
Akil’eas locked his jaw and pursed his lips, defiantly. “I don’t know.”
“Come on, Leas, you’re better than me at reading people, and I’m damn good at it.” He hated how Sakalbi’s eyes flashed and her right ear would twitch when she thought she had the upper hand in an argument. He huffed a sigh and decided to play her little game, just to humor her enough so that she’d drop the subject.
“Dependable, fastidious and competent, judging by the state of his equipment and his boat. Self sacrificing, diligent, hard working, given what I’ve observed today. He’s got a temper, but it takes a bit to get there, and he’s carrying some pretty heavy emotional scars.” He’d not seen very much of Andy, but the old Sailing Master and Professor in him started to come out and assess the boy just as he would any of his students or junior sailors.
“That’s my read, too. Doesn’t sound so individualistic and self-centered to me. Blighted Nature, Leas, from what I’ve learned about him and his people, he broke with several of their traditions and customs to help us. He’s stuck his neck out far further for us than we would have for him and his people, for no other reason than to try and save his homeland. Were he an Erbian on Myr or even back home in Vaasconia, there’d be Groom-War over his hand.”
Akil’eas was a bit piqued about her statement, “What about your daughter? Kalai made no secret about little Sitry mooning after him, and her disapproval of their courtship.”
“She thinks she’s in love, and it very well might be that she is, but Kalai’s disapproval should tell you what it tells me, given your own rather astute assessment of the man.”
“HEY DOC! TAKE THE WHEEL, I GOTTA DRUM US IN!” Andy’s voice cut their conversation short as Akil’eas turned to look back around the drum. Andy waved him back as he slowed their approach to come in. “Take us to Dock 5, straight back and to port.”
“Straight back and to larboard, aye!” Akil’eas rattled off as he traded places with Andy at the helm.
Kalai heaved herself up to stand as Andy grabbed a large leather circle and ran forward to jump up on the bow. As Akil’eas piloted the boat into the harbor and made the turn, he saw a large crowd of humans gathered on the pier and the shore. As soon as they were in sight, he watched as Andy, standing tall, began to drum a beat and vocalize, projecting his voice over the water to those on shore. Akil’eas sputtered a bit in surprise as he guided the boat slowly towards the open mooring.
“That’s their call. His family’s song lets the people on shore know who he is and that he’s friendly.” Kalai looked back at Akil’eas before moving inside the cabin to stand next to her father. “All the families know it, but only he is allowed to sing it. It’s their version of a family crest and coat of arms. Elder Hwatcom taught us about those. There’ll be a reply in a second granting us permission to come ashore.”
There was indeed a response of drumming and singing from the assembly of humans as many started to crowd forward carrying what appeared to be coolers. Andy reappeared and took the controls back and reversed to kill their forward momentum as Sakalbi threw out their mooring lines to the waiting humans. Andy killed the engine and moved quickly out of the cabin to speak in a language that Akil’eas did not recognize. There seemed to be a bit of confusion from those gathered on the dock, but Andy opened the hatch to show the hold full of fish.
“Don’t thank me, thank them. Sockeye and Kings to all comers, courtesy of the Vaidas and the Vaida Warren!” Andy shouted happily in Vatikre as he pulled two giant fish out by their gills and handed them off to the applauding humans.
Sakalbi managed to shoot Akil’eas a smug look before she plunged her hands into the mass of fish and began helping Andy hand them out to the people.
First:
https://www.reddit.com/Sexyspacebabes/comments/yz0u3h/the_cryptid_chronicle_chapter_1/
Previous:
https://www.reddit.com/Sexyspacebabes/comments/13tppad/cryptid_chronicle_chapter_30/
Next:
Possible Late Post Due to Vacation. I will try to post on time, but it may be as late as 6/12/23
2023.06.04 02:59 PinkFrogT-T Haunted dolls
When I was around 8 years old I purchased a few dolls from my school gala. I want to say I got 3, I swear I had 3 but when we moved houses and had to clean out and we found the dolls (we hid them after strange things started happening) there were only 2. They were old school ceramic dolls, I'd have to do some research to find any exact details about them.
They came with spare clothes and accessories like hats, socks and shoes. There was a female doll- very pretty with pale skin, fluffy eyelashes, long, curly, blonde hair, blue eyes, red lips and she was wearing a velvety deep blue dress and blue boots. She was also wearing a matching hat, I think they are called bonnet hats, very old school style. The other, I think it was supposed to be a male one, had short brown hair, brown eyes, eyelashes aswell and was wearing a faded brown and green plaid long sleeve collared shirt topped with brown overalls and brown boots.
At home, my dad told me not to actually play with them as they were fragile and made more for display (they also came with a stand each). Despite that, I played some sort of 'house' game with them as kids do. Randomly I got a sore throat and was no longer motivated to play with them so I put them away. The sore throat went away and after awhile I returned to them, only to get another sore throat. We stored them in a cupboard by the front door and barely touched them. (They were eventually moved to the garage)
1). Afterwards my parents would always hear a little girl either screaming or giggling. They thought it was my sister and I but we would either be playing outside, sleeping or quietly playing in our rooms whenever it happened. One time it was around 7-9am and my sister and I had changed the TV to one of the channels that streamed music. We danced in the lounge while my mum was in the kitchen doing dishes. She had placed her coffee on the other side of the bench from her while she washed the dishes but all of a sudden the cup fell over and the coffee went everywhere. My mum turned around ready to tell me off (I was the naughty kid always getting told off lol) but not one was there. She looked around but there was no sign of us, we were still in the lounge singing, dancing and laughing. We told her we hadn't been in there so it wasn't us but the cup was no where near the edge, nor were we dancing hard enough to knock over a cup and there was no wind strong enough to push over a full cup of coffee.
This is in chronological order and from between all these event we would all see dark figures floating or just randomly go by but never in too much detail, just like a blob and I would hear my name being called. Once I heard my dad shout out one of my nicknames from the forest that surrounded our house but my dad was in front of me. There was also 4 small holes in the wall next to a power outlet in my room, perfectly fitting a fork.
2.) My mum saw a little girl in a white dress, very similar to one that I owned at that time. She was home alone and had gotten up from the couch to go to her room and she saw a little girl move from the lounge doorway to down the hall somewhere.
3.) Maybe a few months later, my mum and my sister went down the driveway (we lived out in the country and the driveway was very long) to lock the gate while my dad and I stayed in the lounge. My dad sat on the couch adjacent to the TV as he watched rugby or smth and I sat on a couch that faced the lounge doorway and into the kitchen. After a little while I see, what I thought was my sister, walk into the kitchen turn around and walk back out to the hallway. She had brown hair and wore a deep blue skirt. I was confused as I hadn't seen my mum and sister come back yet but I happily shouted my sisters name "Brianna!" and went to go to her but the figure just disappeared (almost dissolved) in the hallway. My dad look over to me weirdly and said "Brianna's down the driveway?".
4.) Some time after, my mum was just chilling with my sister, minding her own business when she starts feeling a burning sensation on her wrist. She looks down and theres fresh red cuts spelling out "1 7 1". Now there could be a rational explanation to this, maybe she brushed past something sharp but the scratches didn't show up immediately. 1 and 7 is only really made up of lines, so it could be possible that it just coincidentally made the number "1 1 7" but based off the pervious events we believed it was a grave number, maybe the little girls grave number. There is 2 cemeteries outside the house, 1 one on a mountain that can be seen outside my (at the time) room window and 1 that is about a 2 minute drive away. Believe whatever you want here, I just thought I should mention it as it creeped us out.
By now we are convinced there's a little girl haunting our house, we would speak of it like it's just a fact and we just carry on with our lives. Items would randomly disappear, even if u placed smth down then left for 1 minute, it would be gone by the time u go back. We all blamed the ghost and eventually I got mad at as a bag of photos I had went missing after I had left it on my bed while I went to go do smth else for 5 minutes and then came back to it missing. I searched everywhere but gave up and got mad and decided to try my luck at threatening the ghost? My mum had told me u can get a "blessing" on a house and it will get rid of the ghosts so I started saying things like "if u don't return that bag, I'm gonna get a blessing on the house and u will be gone" blah blah. I come back into my room defeated after chanting it down the hall. I look at my bed and there it is, the pink bag containing the photos. The bag I had lost and searched everywhere for for 5 minutes was just sitting in plain sight on my bed.
4.) A few months or so later, I was awake at midnight not able to sleep. My bed was in a place where I could directly see out my door. I was just absent mindedly looking around my room and tryna fall asleep when I see a dark figure on all 4's quickly crawl past my door and into my sisters room. I was horrified and hid under the covers for hours until I fell asleep.
I don't remember anything really happening afterwards. Those events all took place over the span of 1-2 years when I was 8-10.
5.) When I was around 11 or 12, I went to bed one night at around 8 or 9. After getting into bed I realised I had forgotten to push my desk chair in but I couldn't be bothered so I just left it and went on my phone. At around 10 I put my phone down and and tried to sleep but there were weird sounds coming from the corner of my room. I was too tired to check at first but after awhile it became really annoying so I grabbed my phone to use the light and pointed in that corner. It was the corner my chair was in. My chair had spun around. It was now facing me when it was facing the opposite way before. There was absolutely no wind, all the doors and windows shut and everyone else was alseep. I had read online that spirits like to sit in unoccupied chairs at night so I was terrified. From then on, I would always tuck my chair in before bed and I sometimes put a pillow or smth on it.
In the morning I was in the car with my mum, I think she was dropping me off at school maybe? And I told her what had happened that night. She replied saying "That's funny, cause around 2am last night I felt my bed and blanket down by my feet go down as if someone was sitting there".
Later on the day, my mum and sister had gone to the Supermarket or smth and my dad and I were home alone. Around this time we we were planning on subdividing our property so we were started getting set up down the opposite end of the current house. My dad told me to get ready, change to clothes that can get dirty, get gunboots on and my water bottle so we could go do some work down there. My dad was already ready and left while I was still in the house. I finished eating something in the kitchen then went down to my room to grab my drink bottle. As I was just about to turn into my room, my t-shirt gets pulled back as if someone tugged on it and then I get these really cold chills. There was no wind and it was a fairly warm day, nor were there any door knobs for my shirt to get caught on. I panicked and leapt forwards to grab my drink bottle then sprinted put of the house as fast as I could. I slammed the door shut snd ended up filling my drink bottle with the hose outside cause I was too scared to go back in.
When my mum got back I told her about it as she walked from the car to the house. She was spooked and decided it would be funny if we used a ghost app on our phone to see if there was someone there. We opened the ghost app and it picks up "hello" and then the 2nd thing it says was "chair". I was so scared as the my chair had moved by itself that night. My mum and I looked at each other blankly.
After that, not much happened, my sister heard weird things in her room, my friend and I took the ghost app out on a dinghy with us and we paddled out around the river by our house and it said a girl drowned there, I had a dream of this elderly lady warning me that there were 2 little ghost girls across the river (that's where the cemetery is) is coming for my mum and I.
We subdivided our property and moved out to the opposite end. We took the dolls with us but nothing else has happned since. What do you think about it? Are the dolls haunted or is there a little girl attached to that house? I can also get pictures of the dolls since we still own them if anyone would like to see.
submitted by PinkFrogT-T to Ghoststories [link] [comments]
They came with spare clothes and accessories like hats, socks and shoes. There was a female doll- very pretty with pale skin, fluffy eyelashes, long, curly, blonde hair, blue eyes, red lips and she was wearing a velvety deep blue dress and blue boots. She was also wearing a matching hat, I think they are called bonnet hats, very old school style. The other, I think it was supposed to be a male one, had short brown hair, brown eyes, eyelashes aswell and was wearing a faded brown and green plaid long sleeve collared shirt topped with brown overalls and brown boots.
At home, my dad told me not to actually play with them as they were fragile and made more for display (they also came with a stand each). Despite that, I played some sort of 'house' game with them as kids do. Randomly I got a sore throat and was no longer motivated to play with them so I put them away. The sore throat went away and after awhile I returned to them, only to get another sore throat. We stored them in a cupboard by the front door and barely touched them. (They were eventually moved to the garage)
1). Afterwards my parents would always hear a little girl either screaming or giggling. They thought it was my sister and I but we would either be playing outside, sleeping or quietly playing in our rooms whenever it happened. One time it was around 7-9am and my sister and I had changed the TV to one of the channels that streamed music. We danced in the lounge while my mum was in the kitchen doing dishes. She had placed her coffee on the other side of the bench from her while she washed the dishes but all of a sudden the cup fell over and the coffee went everywhere. My mum turned around ready to tell me off (I was the naughty kid always getting told off lol) but not one was there. She looked around but there was no sign of us, we were still in the lounge singing, dancing and laughing. We told her we hadn't been in there so it wasn't us but the cup was no where near the edge, nor were we dancing hard enough to knock over a cup and there was no wind strong enough to push over a full cup of coffee.
This is in chronological order and from between all these event we would all see dark figures floating or just randomly go by but never in too much detail, just like a blob and I would hear my name being called. Once I heard my dad shout out one of my nicknames from the forest that surrounded our house but my dad was in front of me. There was also 4 small holes in the wall next to a power outlet in my room, perfectly fitting a fork.
2.) My mum saw a little girl in a white dress, very similar to one that I owned at that time. She was home alone and had gotten up from the couch to go to her room and she saw a little girl move from the lounge doorway to down the hall somewhere.
3.) Maybe a few months later, my mum and my sister went down the driveway (we lived out in the country and the driveway was very long) to lock the gate while my dad and I stayed in the lounge. My dad sat on the couch adjacent to the TV as he watched rugby or smth and I sat on a couch that faced the lounge doorway and into the kitchen. After a little while I see, what I thought was my sister, walk into the kitchen turn around and walk back out to the hallway. She had brown hair and wore a deep blue skirt. I was confused as I hadn't seen my mum and sister come back yet but I happily shouted my sisters name "Brianna!" and went to go to her but the figure just disappeared (almost dissolved) in the hallway. My dad look over to me weirdly and said "Brianna's down the driveway?".
4.) Some time after, my mum was just chilling with my sister, minding her own business when she starts feeling a burning sensation on her wrist. She looks down and theres fresh red cuts spelling out "1 7 1". Now there could be a rational explanation to this, maybe she brushed past something sharp but the scratches didn't show up immediately. 1 and 7 is only really made up of lines, so it could be possible that it just coincidentally made the number "1 1 7" but based off the pervious events we believed it was a grave number, maybe the little girls grave number. There is 2 cemeteries outside the house, 1 one on a mountain that can be seen outside my (at the time) room window and 1 that is about a 2 minute drive away. Believe whatever you want here, I just thought I should mention it as it creeped us out.
By now we are convinced there's a little girl haunting our house, we would speak of it like it's just a fact and we just carry on with our lives. Items would randomly disappear, even if u placed smth down then left for 1 minute, it would be gone by the time u go back. We all blamed the ghost and eventually I got mad at as a bag of photos I had went missing after I had left it on my bed while I went to go do smth else for 5 minutes and then came back to it missing. I searched everywhere but gave up and got mad and decided to try my luck at threatening the ghost? My mum had told me u can get a "blessing" on a house and it will get rid of the ghosts so I started saying things like "if u don't return that bag, I'm gonna get a blessing on the house and u will be gone" blah blah. I come back into my room defeated after chanting it down the hall. I look at my bed and there it is, the pink bag containing the photos. The bag I had lost and searched everywhere for for 5 minutes was just sitting in plain sight on my bed.
4.) A few months or so later, I was awake at midnight not able to sleep. My bed was in a place where I could directly see out my door. I was just absent mindedly looking around my room and tryna fall asleep when I see a dark figure on all 4's quickly crawl past my door and into my sisters room. I was horrified and hid under the covers for hours until I fell asleep.
I don't remember anything really happening afterwards. Those events all took place over the span of 1-2 years when I was 8-10.
5.) When I was around 11 or 12, I went to bed one night at around 8 or 9. After getting into bed I realised I had forgotten to push my desk chair in but I couldn't be bothered so I just left it and went on my phone. At around 10 I put my phone down and and tried to sleep but there were weird sounds coming from the corner of my room. I was too tired to check at first but after awhile it became really annoying so I grabbed my phone to use the light and pointed in that corner. It was the corner my chair was in. My chair had spun around. It was now facing me when it was facing the opposite way before. There was absolutely no wind, all the doors and windows shut and everyone else was alseep. I had read online that spirits like to sit in unoccupied chairs at night so I was terrified. From then on, I would always tuck my chair in before bed and I sometimes put a pillow or smth on it.
In the morning I was in the car with my mum, I think she was dropping me off at school maybe? And I told her what had happened that night. She replied saying "That's funny, cause around 2am last night I felt my bed and blanket down by my feet go down as if someone was sitting there".
Later on the day, my mum and sister had gone to the Supermarket or smth and my dad and I were home alone. Around this time we we were planning on subdividing our property so we were started getting set up down the opposite end of the current house. My dad told me to get ready, change to clothes that can get dirty, get gunboots on and my water bottle so we could go do some work down there. My dad was already ready and left while I was still in the house. I finished eating something in the kitchen then went down to my room to grab my drink bottle. As I was just about to turn into my room, my t-shirt gets pulled back as if someone tugged on it and then I get these really cold chills. There was no wind and it was a fairly warm day, nor were there any door knobs for my shirt to get caught on. I panicked and leapt forwards to grab my drink bottle then sprinted put of the house as fast as I could. I slammed the door shut snd ended up filling my drink bottle with the hose outside cause I was too scared to go back in.
When my mum got back I told her about it as she walked from the car to the house. She was spooked and decided it would be funny if we used a ghost app on our phone to see if there was someone there. We opened the ghost app and it picks up "hello" and then the 2nd thing it says was "chair". I was so scared as the my chair had moved by itself that night. My mum and I looked at each other blankly.
After that, not much happened, my sister heard weird things in her room, my friend and I took the ghost app out on a dinghy with us and we paddled out around the river by our house and it said a girl drowned there, I had a dream of this elderly lady warning me that there were 2 little ghost girls across the river (that's where the cemetery is) is coming for my mum and I.
We subdivided our property and moved out to the opposite end. We took the dolls with us but nothing else has happned since. What do you think about it? Are the dolls haunted or is there a little girl attached to that house? I can also get pictures of the dolls since we still own them if anyone would like to see.
2023.06.04 02:21 kylexyz001 23 [M4F] Ohio/Worldwide- Let's Be Each Other's Everything (Longest post ever?)
Brace yourselves, this is gonna be a long one.
Table of Contents
1…… The Main Goal
2…… What I’m Seeking
3…… Personality
4…… Interests
5…… Physical Characteristics (with pics)
6…… Expectations of You
7…… Living Situation
8…… Deal Breakers
9…… Closing Remarks
(1)
The Main Goal:
Well if you’re browsing this subreddit then much like me, you were alone this weekend and I’m sure you’d like to change that as much as me. I won’t lie, I am going through a rough part of my life right now. It’s difficult for me to find the energy for anything at the moment and I’m just really seeking affection in general, anything that will give me a push. I don’t want to be that person who brings everyone down but I could really use someone to talk to right now. I’d really like to find someone who’s similar to me so much to the point that we do everything together and talk about everything while not having to pretend to be interested. I want someone with whom we can mutually spew our emotions onto and have those feelings reciprocated. Not an emotional punching bag, but an emotional teddy bear to hug and cuddle until everything feels better as many times as we need. There’s people who I’m sure have told you the same, they’ll be there no matter how many times you need the support, no matter how many times the insecurities and bad thoughts come back but they don’t mean it. I will be the exception, I’m not so ignorant to think some nice words and tales of relating to you will magically forever heal whatever ails you then get mad when you seek the same support again. Mental ailments are rarely temporary and I don’t care about someone because they’re perfect, caring about someone means being there no matter how many times they need you to be. It doesn’t feel like a chore, it doesn’t get old, and it never will.
(2)
(2.a)
What I'm Seeking:
I will upfront let you know if I’m clicking better with someone else or if you’re the one, I’m not here to tread the sea of fish or keep my options open, I’m here for one singular person.
(2.b)
Relationship:
A relationship is difficult for me right now, it’s been nearly half a year since I got out of my last relationship and the reasons for it ending are partially responsible for how I’ve been feeling and why it’s so hard for me to seek the comfort I so desperately crave. I will tell you about it but for the sake of not treating the entirety of the internet as my therapist, it’ll be in private. I really need the comfort of intimacy and the warmth of someone who cares. I'm not going to feel better if I just sulk and don’t move on. This is my attempt to get better, I’ll admit I’m not great right now and I don’t expect you to be either. If we can help each other heal, then I’d be more than happy :) A relationship isn’t just being there for when someone’s at their best. Even if a relationship is hard at the moment, I do want a life partner and I don’t want to be alone. Things aren’t going to get easier without you so I don’t want to hesitate. I view my other as an equal, I don’t like categorizing us into specific roles. We take care of each other and treat each other how we like to be treated, whatever that is, it's as simple as that. I don't care if you're "successful" or not, living simple lives with our days filled with love is the ultimate measure of success to me.
(3)
Personality:
(3.a)
On the Surface:
As you can tell I can be rather… stoic but that’s largely due to my current stressors, I truthfully am goofy and fun loving but I just can’t find it in me right now. I want to return to that but without someone to light up my world it’s been difficult to just have fun and enjoy stuff. I’m definitely more introverted, you won’t catch me at any parties or really outside at all. I definitely prefer being home though the occasional outing is not out of the question and one day I’d like to travel to other countries because I think that kind of perspective is important.
(3.b)
The Core of My Being:
I like being a spectator to it all and if we bear witness to humanity burning or its miraculous recovery, I want to watch it with you. I enjoy watching humanity advance, less so when it devolves but I want to watch it to the end nonetheless. I’m both a realist and someone who lives with my head in the clouds dreaming of scenarios or worlds that don’t exist. I’m saying that I enjoy a good narrative and can suspend my disbelief to enjoy something but you won’t catch me refusing vaccines or ignoring blatant facts for the sake of some pseudo science or witch doctor’s remedy. I’m an atheist but I do not rule out existence after death, not because I’m agnostic but because due to the nature of potentially infinite time at some point after how many googol years with a googol amount of 0s after that, something’s bound to replicate your consciousness perfectly at some point. It’s actually a really fascinating topic I like talking about. If infinite time and infinite possibilities exist, does non existence exist? Though that’s an awfully existentially dreadful thought process considering the ramifications of infinite existence and infinite possibilities during said infinite existence. I would say I’m confidently left leaning and I don’t think I could truly get along with anyone right leaning, at least America’s definition of right leaning. Left and right seems to have just become; do people deserve to suffer or do they deserve to live good lives? Being political is not something I expected to become but how can you not be when crimes against human rights are being passed on a daily basis and at the end of the day, everything’s political. Oftentimes I imagine the perfect moment as relaxing with my significant other playing games or cuddling in a cold room under blankets.
I value that special someone above all of the existential thoughts, the bad of the world, the good of the world, they practically become my world. So many worries wash away when I’m with them. I don’t know if that’s the defense mechanism my brain created to not feel bad 24/7 but if it is, I’m currently without it.
(3.c)
Insecurities:
I talk of philosophy and politics here but really I spend most of my time just playing games, watching stuff, and trying to not be sleep deprived. I’m also nowhere near as well spoken, heck sometimes I feel like my speech is broken. I won’t claim to be something I’m not, I sit at home while I complain about the world doing nothing about it wishing I had someone here with me. I’m not noble nor do I really want to be, I have morals I uphold but much like most other hypocrites I acknowledge that my comfortable life is built on the suffering of others without doing anything about it. Why? My sleep problems? Am I depressed? Is that why I have no energy to do anything? Do I just think nothing I could do could help? I can’t nail it down myself, maybe it’s a mix of everything, maybe I’m just a bad person. I have always told myself that if I had wealth I would help people but if I get that kind of wealth will I just become a wealth hoarder who tries to justify my riches as something I earned rather than something given to me through incredibly lucky circumstances? If I do help people is it because I’m a good person or out of guilt? Will I die alone? I feel like I drive everyone away with my clinginess, I get paranoid often and need reassurance often. It’s something I want to work on, something I’ve been trying to work on. Hearing that someone cares about me just never gets old. I value self awareness even if it’s painful.
(3.d)
Socializing:
I’m definitely a socially anxious/awkward mess, especially around strangers. I do feel a large amount of anxiety in public, people can’t tell by looking at my face since I kind of go stone faced in an attempt to block everything out but yeah you’ll notice that if we go out in public. Growing up my pediatrician said I was probably autistic, never got a formal diagnosis so that’s just great. But yeah that explains why I can’t make eye contact with people, I kinda just stare at the ground and avoid their gaze at all costs. A lot of these social struggles go away to a great degree once I know you for a bit but yeah I apologize for how terrible I am at socializing at first. Don’t let my social struggles fool you though, I love cuddling and being close with my person.
(3.e)
Sexuality:
I am a heterosexual male, though I’m not very masculine like at all. I may even be a bit feminine sometimes. Not that I believe any activity or manner of acting belongs to a gender but I don’t know how else to describe it. I’m definitely super affectionate and love it when my partner is too. I am open to dating demi people but I do have a libido so I don't think asexual would work out.
(4)
Interests:
(4.a)
Video Games:
As stated before, I do spend a lot of my time playing video games. It’s been hard lately with me having no energy but I really do want to play more games and have a good time playing them with you! I primarily play on PC though I do have a switch. I’m primarily into platform fighters, roguelikes, open world, survival, and sandbox games. As for single player story games, I enjoy watching them through twitch or youtube but for the most part I don’t play them myself. I’d watch you play them though!
Here’s a list of games we can play:
-Minecraft (Java)
-Risk of Rain 2
-Gunfire Reborn
-Roboquest
-7 Days to Die
-Phasmophobia
-Rust
-Unturned
-Bloons TD 6
-Platform fighters: Super Smash Bros. Melee, Slap City, Multiversus, Flash Party, Fraymakers
Whatever you want to play I’ll give it a shot! I will say that League bores me to death but I’ll play it for you :) I try to avoid MMOs, not because I don’t like them but because of how addicted I can get to them. I enjoy learning games in-depth so MMOs can be a fast track to addiction.
I recently got Kerbal Space Program 2 and ehhh not really worth it right now but hopefully later it will be? I’m super excited for Tears of the Kingdom! In the far off future I’m excited for Rivals of Aether 2 which is a platform fighter releasing in 2024, let me know of your most anticipated releases and I’ll see if I could play them with you!
Also I never got into FPS games but I could totally see myself playing like CoD with you or Escape From Tarkov. Any FPS really, I’m down.
I am a fan of Pokemon but with how things have been lately I don’t know how long that will last. Pixelmon is a common Pokemon mod I play for Minecraft if you want to play that! Also if I say I want to play something with you I mean it but there are often times when no matter how much I want to I'm just drained and can do little more than lay in bed so please don't think I'm making an excuse.
(4.b)
Science:
I really enjoy keeping up with the latest advances in pretty much everything, it could be biology, technology, astronomy, anything! I love seeing progression and I love talking about it! Really I could go on and on about what I’m obsessing about that day. I particularly love technology, ask me for my laptop specs I dare you. When I was little I always wanted to be a scientist of any kind but then insomnia and fear of college stuff hit me like a truck aaaand that’s the end of that dream.
(4.c)
Anime:
You got me, I like anime but I’d like to think my tastes are benign.
Here’s some of my favorites I can list from the top of my head:
- To Your Eternity
- Vinland Saga
- Spice and Wolf
- Re:Zero
- Mob Psycho
- Dr. Stone
- Attack on Titan
- Spy x Family
- My Hero Academia
- Ranking of Kings
- Demon Slayer
Okay I can go on and on but I will say I don’t like pointless fan service and the spamming of cliche anime moments. I mostly enjoy action and anything well animated if it doesn’t have a potato story. Heck Demon Slayer could be my top 3 out of season 2’s animation alone. I don’t watch slice of life often or romance but I would with you!
(4.d)
Misc:
I’m not going to go on and on about the tiniest little things when the main ones are covered but I’ll watch pretty much any show with you and anything really. I like random youtube videos that explain some kind of lore or mystery, sometimes mini documentaries too.
As for food I looove sushi and I’m a sucker for fast food. Okay and candy, definitely candy.
I used to play tennis but haven’t really had the opportunity nor friends to play it with and I’m way too socially anxious to seek it out. Also I will say that when we move to something like discord I type waaaay more casually. I’m not going to expect long paragraphs back and forth like we’re writing English papers for each other, I do enjoy long conversations but seriously don’t worry about having to put the utmost effort into every response, I just like making good first impressions I guess.
(5)
(5.a)
My Physical Characteristics:
I’m 5’8 (172cm), 128 pounds (58kg), with curly brown hair and blue eyes. I like keeping my hair long in the winter and cutting it in the summer. I’m pretty slim in general so if you’re looking for someone large, that’s not me. I don’t work out but my work is pretty physical so at least I’m not totally inactive. I don’t have the urge to work out or gain muscle but I do want to maintain my slim figure so if I start losing control of that I’ll work out. I like to keep my face shaved because I don’t think I look good with a beard/mustache so if you’re into those I apologize. I have an average amount of body hair? I’d prefer to be completely shaved but it’s easy to lose motivation with that battle, if you prefer shaved then I’d have no problem complying. Anyways here’s what I look like: https://imgur.com/a/MZZgf2t
(5.b)
My Physical Preferences:
Having physical preferences makes me feel shallow, if I could make myself not have them I would but unfortunately that’s now how that works. I don’t care if you’re shorter or taller than me and I don’t care if you weigh more or less than me. All I ask is that you’re slim-average weight. I would never ask for someone to be something I’m not. I don’t care about tattoos or piercings.**(6)Expectations of You (Relationship Only):**I am not looking for someone “exciting” or someone to “keep me on my toes” I’m not looking for someone to cater to my every whim or anything like that. I don’t care if you’re “boring” or if you aren’t “successful”. I know it’s a common thing for people to not want a “boring” relationship and to seek something argumentative or something with constant challenges but I just want to be with you. During the exciting times, the boring times, and everything in-between, all of it will be great with you! Maybe we do argue sometimes or maybe there will be challenges but that will never be something I purposefully seek out and I don’t want that to be something you seek out either. I will not play tricks on you and I will not play mind games, I expect the same from you. We all have personal measures of success we may or may not have lived up to but what I care about most is our commitment to each other. If we have each other we can get through tough times, near the ends of our lives I want us to look back and feel that this life together was worth more than anything. That’s not saying I want us to be haphazard, I don’t want us to make poor decisions for the sake of yolo and I want us to always be rational, especially with each other. I want you to be someone I can trust to make decisions and weigh the options with a level head, I’ll try my best to live up to the same for you. Most of all I want empathy, understanding, someone to feel the utmost comfort and trust in.
(7)
Living Situation:
Currently my life is pretty relaxed, I work 3 times a week as a night shift stocker. I currently live in a 2 bedroom apartment with my roommate but we’re looking to move into someplace larger by the end of the year if everything works out. The internet is weirdly great for Ohio too like I have fiber and later this year we’re supposed to be getting dedicated fiber so that’s neat. I’m not attached to Ohio so the ultimate goal living location wise is probably moving to a country that won’t send you into a lifetime of dealing with the repercussions from one medical emergency.
(8)
Deal Breakers:
Might as well make this simple and make it a list.
- Anti-vaxxers
- Unironically believing astrology
- Right wingers
- Hard drugs (occasional 420 and alcohol is fine, may even join you)
- Wanting children, there was a time when I was younger when I wanted children but with the state of the word that’s a definite no and I feel like I wouldn’t be able to handle the stress. I’d love a stress free life with as much time with you as possible.
- Homophobic
- Transphobic
- Racist
- Super Religious
- Don’t be a bigot and don’t deny facts.
(9)
Closing Remarks:
Well you made it, I was thinking that finding someone I’d be willing to put a lifetime of effort into at least required this much effort. If I think of anything more I’ll update the post. Also about timezones, it really doesn’t matter where in the world you are. I don’t have a sleep schedule and I have most of the week off from work so it really doesn’t matter.
I request that in your response you do put effort into it, it doesn’t have to be anywhere near as long as this but at least enough so I know that you read this and enough about you so I know why you saw potential compatibility. I will seriously read all of it and respond the best I can. I do also request a pic included in your response (sfw please) or one soon after we start talking to prove identity, I’ll send identity proving pics too. As long as this post is up, you can send a reply!
submitted by kylexyz001 to r4r [link] [comments]
Table of Contents
1…… The Main Goal
2…… What I’m Seeking
3…… Personality
4…… Interests
5…… Physical Characteristics (with pics)
6…… Expectations of You
7…… Living Situation
8…… Deal Breakers
9…… Closing Remarks
(1)
The Main Goal:
Well if you’re browsing this subreddit then much like me, you were alone this weekend and I’m sure you’d like to change that as much as me. I won’t lie, I am going through a rough part of my life right now. It’s difficult for me to find the energy for anything at the moment and I’m just really seeking affection in general, anything that will give me a push. I don’t want to be that person who brings everyone down but I could really use someone to talk to right now. I’d really like to find someone who’s similar to me so much to the point that we do everything together and talk about everything while not having to pretend to be interested. I want someone with whom we can mutually spew our emotions onto and have those feelings reciprocated. Not an emotional punching bag, but an emotional teddy bear to hug and cuddle until everything feels better as many times as we need. There’s people who I’m sure have told you the same, they’ll be there no matter how many times you need the support, no matter how many times the insecurities and bad thoughts come back but they don’t mean it. I will be the exception, I’m not so ignorant to think some nice words and tales of relating to you will magically forever heal whatever ails you then get mad when you seek the same support again. Mental ailments are rarely temporary and I don’t care about someone because they’re perfect, caring about someone means being there no matter how many times they need you to be. It doesn’t feel like a chore, it doesn’t get old, and it never will.
(2)
(2.a)
What I'm Seeking:
I will upfront let you know if I’m clicking better with someone else or if you’re the one, I’m not here to tread the sea of fish or keep my options open, I’m here for one singular person.
(2.b)
Relationship:
A relationship is difficult for me right now, it’s been nearly half a year since I got out of my last relationship and the reasons for it ending are partially responsible for how I’ve been feeling and why it’s so hard for me to seek the comfort I so desperately crave. I will tell you about it but for the sake of not treating the entirety of the internet as my therapist, it’ll be in private. I really need the comfort of intimacy and the warmth of someone who cares. I'm not going to feel better if I just sulk and don’t move on. This is my attempt to get better, I’ll admit I’m not great right now and I don’t expect you to be either. If we can help each other heal, then I’d be more than happy :) A relationship isn’t just being there for when someone’s at their best. Even if a relationship is hard at the moment, I do want a life partner and I don’t want to be alone. Things aren’t going to get easier without you so I don’t want to hesitate. I view my other as an equal, I don’t like categorizing us into specific roles. We take care of each other and treat each other how we like to be treated, whatever that is, it's as simple as that. I don't care if you're "successful" or not, living simple lives with our days filled with love is the ultimate measure of success to me.
(3)
Personality:
(3.a)
On the Surface:
As you can tell I can be rather… stoic but that’s largely due to my current stressors, I truthfully am goofy and fun loving but I just can’t find it in me right now. I want to return to that but without someone to light up my world it’s been difficult to just have fun and enjoy stuff. I’m definitely more introverted, you won’t catch me at any parties or really outside at all. I definitely prefer being home though the occasional outing is not out of the question and one day I’d like to travel to other countries because I think that kind of perspective is important.
(3.b)
The Core of My Being:
I like being a spectator to it all and if we bear witness to humanity burning or its miraculous recovery, I want to watch it with you. I enjoy watching humanity advance, less so when it devolves but I want to watch it to the end nonetheless. I’m both a realist and someone who lives with my head in the clouds dreaming of scenarios or worlds that don’t exist. I’m saying that I enjoy a good narrative and can suspend my disbelief to enjoy something but you won’t catch me refusing vaccines or ignoring blatant facts for the sake of some pseudo science or witch doctor’s remedy. I’m an atheist but I do not rule out existence after death, not because I’m agnostic but because due to the nature of potentially infinite time at some point after how many googol years with a googol amount of 0s after that, something’s bound to replicate your consciousness perfectly at some point. It’s actually a really fascinating topic I like talking about. If infinite time and infinite possibilities exist, does non existence exist? Though that’s an awfully existentially dreadful thought process considering the ramifications of infinite existence and infinite possibilities during said infinite existence. I would say I’m confidently left leaning and I don’t think I could truly get along with anyone right leaning, at least America’s definition of right leaning. Left and right seems to have just become; do people deserve to suffer or do they deserve to live good lives? Being political is not something I expected to become but how can you not be when crimes against human rights are being passed on a daily basis and at the end of the day, everything’s political. Oftentimes I imagine the perfect moment as relaxing with my significant other playing games or cuddling in a cold room under blankets.
I value that special someone above all of the existential thoughts, the bad of the world, the good of the world, they practically become my world. So many worries wash away when I’m with them. I don’t know if that’s the defense mechanism my brain created to not feel bad 24/7 but if it is, I’m currently without it.
(3.c)
Insecurities:
I talk of philosophy and politics here but really I spend most of my time just playing games, watching stuff, and trying to not be sleep deprived. I’m also nowhere near as well spoken, heck sometimes I feel like my speech is broken. I won’t claim to be something I’m not, I sit at home while I complain about the world doing nothing about it wishing I had someone here with me. I’m not noble nor do I really want to be, I have morals I uphold but much like most other hypocrites I acknowledge that my comfortable life is built on the suffering of others without doing anything about it. Why? My sleep problems? Am I depressed? Is that why I have no energy to do anything? Do I just think nothing I could do could help? I can’t nail it down myself, maybe it’s a mix of everything, maybe I’m just a bad person. I have always told myself that if I had wealth I would help people but if I get that kind of wealth will I just become a wealth hoarder who tries to justify my riches as something I earned rather than something given to me through incredibly lucky circumstances? If I do help people is it because I’m a good person or out of guilt? Will I die alone? I feel like I drive everyone away with my clinginess, I get paranoid often and need reassurance often. It’s something I want to work on, something I’ve been trying to work on. Hearing that someone cares about me just never gets old. I value self awareness even if it’s painful.
(3.d)
Socializing:
I’m definitely a socially anxious/awkward mess, especially around strangers. I do feel a large amount of anxiety in public, people can’t tell by looking at my face since I kind of go stone faced in an attempt to block everything out but yeah you’ll notice that if we go out in public. Growing up my pediatrician said I was probably autistic, never got a formal diagnosis so that’s just great. But yeah that explains why I can’t make eye contact with people, I kinda just stare at the ground and avoid their gaze at all costs. A lot of these social struggles go away to a great degree once I know you for a bit but yeah I apologize for how terrible I am at socializing at first. Don’t let my social struggles fool you though, I love cuddling and being close with my person.
(3.e)
Sexuality:
I am a heterosexual male, though I’m not very masculine like at all. I may even be a bit feminine sometimes. Not that I believe any activity or manner of acting belongs to a gender but I don’t know how else to describe it. I’m definitely super affectionate and love it when my partner is too. I am open to dating demi people but I do have a libido so I don't think asexual would work out.
(4)
Interests:
(4.a)
Video Games:
As stated before, I do spend a lot of my time playing video games. It’s been hard lately with me having no energy but I really do want to play more games and have a good time playing them with you! I primarily play on PC though I do have a switch. I’m primarily into platform fighters, roguelikes, open world, survival, and sandbox games. As for single player story games, I enjoy watching them through twitch or youtube but for the most part I don’t play them myself. I’d watch you play them though!
Here’s a list of games we can play:
-Minecraft (Java)
-Risk of Rain 2
-Gunfire Reborn
-Roboquest
-7 Days to Die
-Phasmophobia
-Rust
-Unturned
-Bloons TD 6
-Platform fighters: Super Smash Bros. Melee, Slap City, Multiversus, Flash Party, Fraymakers
Whatever you want to play I’ll give it a shot! I will say that League bores me to death but I’ll play it for you :) I try to avoid MMOs, not because I don’t like them but because of how addicted I can get to them. I enjoy learning games in-depth so MMOs can be a fast track to addiction.
I recently got Kerbal Space Program 2 and ehhh not really worth it right now but hopefully later it will be? I’m super excited for Tears of the Kingdom! In the far off future I’m excited for Rivals of Aether 2 which is a platform fighter releasing in 2024, let me know of your most anticipated releases and I’ll see if I could play them with you!
Also I never got into FPS games but I could totally see myself playing like CoD with you or Escape From Tarkov. Any FPS really, I’m down.
I am a fan of Pokemon but with how things have been lately I don’t know how long that will last. Pixelmon is a common Pokemon mod I play for Minecraft if you want to play that! Also if I say I want to play something with you I mean it but there are often times when no matter how much I want to I'm just drained and can do little more than lay in bed so please don't think I'm making an excuse.
(4.b)
Science:
I really enjoy keeping up with the latest advances in pretty much everything, it could be biology, technology, astronomy, anything! I love seeing progression and I love talking about it! Really I could go on and on about what I’m obsessing about that day. I particularly love technology, ask me for my laptop specs I dare you. When I was little I always wanted to be a scientist of any kind but then insomnia and fear of college stuff hit me like a truck aaaand that’s the end of that dream.
(4.c)
Anime:
You got me, I like anime but I’d like to think my tastes are benign.
Here’s some of my favorites I can list from the top of my head:
- To Your Eternity
- Vinland Saga
- Spice and Wolf
- Re:Zero
- Mob Psycho
- Dr. Stone
- Attack on Titan
- Spy x Family
- My Hero Academia
- Ranking of Kings
- Demon Slayer
Okay I can go on and on but I will say I don’t like pointless fan service and the spamming of cliche anime moments. I mostly enjoy action and anything well animated if it doesn’t have a potato story. Heck Demon Slayer could be my top 3 out of season 2’s animation alone. I don’t watch slice of life often or romance but I would with you!
(4.d)
Misc:
I’m not going to go on and on about the tiniest little things when the main ones are covered but I’ll watch pretty much any show with you and anything really. I like random youtube videos that explain some kind of lore or mystery, sometimes mini documentaries too.
As for food I looove sushi and I’m a sucker for fast food. Okay and candy, definitely candy.
I used to play tennis but haven’t really had the opportunity nor friends to play it with and I’m way too socially anxious to seek it out. Also I will say that when we move to something like discord I type waaaay more casually. I’m not going to expect long paragraphs back and forth like we’re writing English papers for each other, I do enjoy long conversations but seriously don’t worry about having to put the utmost effort into every response, I just like making good first impressions I guess.
(5)
(5.a)
My Physical Characteristics:
I’m 5’8 (172cm), 128 pounds (58kg), with curly brown hair and blue eyes. I like keeping my hair long in the winter and cutting it in the summer. I’m pretty slim in general so if you’re looking for someone large, that’s not me. I don’t work out but my work is pretty physical so at least I’m not totally inactive. I don’t have the urge to work out or gain muscle but I do want to maintain my slim figure so if I start losing control of that I’ll work out. I like to keep my face shaved because I don’t think I look good with a beard/mustache so if you’re into those I apologize. I have an average amount of body hair? I’d prefer to be completely shaved but it’s easy to lose motivation with that battle, if you prefer shaved then I’d have no problem complying. Anyways here’s what I look like: https://imgur.com/a/MZZgf2t
(5.b)
My Physical Preferences:
Having physical preferences makes me feel shallow, if I could make myself not have them I would but unfortunately that’s now how that works. I don’t care if you’re shorter or taller than me and I don’t care if you weigh more or less than me. All I ask is that you’re slim-average weight. I would never ask for someone to be something I’m not. I don’t care about tattoos or piercings.**(6)Expectations of You (Relationship Only):**I am not looking for someone “exciting” or someone to “keep me on my toes” I’m not looking for someone to cater to my every whim or anything like that. I don’t care if you’re “boring” or if you aren’t “successful”. I know it’s a common thing for people to not want a “boring” relationship and to seek something argumentative or something with constant challenges but I just want to be with you. During the exciting times, the boring times, and everything in-between, all of it will be great with you! Maybe we do argue sometimes or maybe there will be challenges but that will never be something I purposefully seek out and I don’t want that to be something you seek out either. I will not play tricks on you and I will not play mind games, I expect the same from you. We all have personal measures of success we may or may not have lived up to but what I care about most is our commitment to each other. If we have each other we can get through tough times, near the ends of our lives I want us to look back and feel that this life together was worth more than anything. That’s not saying I want us to be haphazard, I don’t want us to make poor decisions for the sake of yolo and I want us to always be rational, especially with each other. I want you to be someone I can trust to make decisions and weigh the options with a level head, I’ll try my best to live up to the same for you. Most of all I want empathy, understanding, someone to feel the utmost comfort and trust in.
(7)
Living Situation:
Currently my life is pretty relaxed, I work 3 times a week as a night shift stocker. I currently live in a 2 bedroom apartment with my roommate but we’re looking to move into someplace larger by the end of the year if everything works out. The internet is weirdly great for Ohio too like I have fiber and later this year we’re supposed to be getting dedicated fiber so that’s neat. I’m not attached to Ohio so the ultimate goal living location wise is probably moving to a country that won’t send you into a lifetime of dealing with the repercussions from one medical emergency.
(8)
Deal Breakers:
Might as well make this simple and make it a list.
- Anti-vaxxers
- Unironically believing astrology
- Right wingers
- Hard drugs (occasional 420 and alcohol is fine, may even join you)
- Wanting children, there was a time when I was younger when I wanted children but with the state of the word that’s a definite no and I feel like I wouldn’t be able to handle the stress. I’d love a stress free life with as much time with you as possible.
- Homophobic
- Transphobic
- Racist
- Super Religious
- Don’t be a bigot and don’t deny facts.
(9)
Closing Remarks:
Well you made it, I was thinking that finding someone I’d be willing to put a lifetime of effort into at least required this much effort. If I think of anything more I’ll update the post. Also about timezones, it really doesn’t matter where in the world you are. I don’t have a sleep schedule and I have most of the week off from work so it really doesn’t matter.
I request that in your response you do put effort into it, it doesn’t have to be anywhere near as long as this but at least enough so I know that you read this and enough about you so I know why you saw potential compatibility. I will seriously read all of it and respond the best I can. I do also request a pic included in your response (sfw please) or one soon after we start talking to prove identity, I’ll send identity proving pics too. As long as this post is up, you can send a reply!
2023.06.04 02:21 kylexyz001 23 [M4F] [Relationship] Ohio/Worldwide- Let's Be Each Other's Everything (Longest post ever?) Looking for Love
Brace yourselves, this is gonna be a long one.
Table of Contents
1…… The Main Goal
2…… What I’m Seeking
3…… Personality
4…… Interests
5…… Physical Characteristics (with pics)
6…… Expectations of You
7…… Living Situation
8…… Deal Breakers
9…… Closing Remarks
(1)
The Main Goal:
Well if you’re browsing this subreddit then much like me, you were alone this weekend and I’m sure you’d like to change that as much as me. I won’t lie, I am going through a rough part of my life right now. It’s difficult for me to find the energy for anything at the moment and I’m just really seeking affection in general, anything that will give me a push. I don’t want to be that person who brings everyone down but I could really use someone to talk to right now. I’d really like to find someone who’s similar to me so much to the point that we do everything together and talk about everything while not having to pretend to be interested. I want someone with whom we can mutually spew our emotions onto and have those feelings reciprocated. Not an emotional punching bag, but an emotional teddy bear to hug and cuddle until everything feels better as many times as we need. There’s people who I’m sure have told you the same, they’ll be there no matter how many times you need the support, no matter how many times the insecurities and bad thoughts come back but they don’t mean it. I will be the exception, I’m not so ignorant to think some nice words and tales of relating to you will magically forever heal whatever ails you then get mad when you seek the same support again. Mental ailments are rarely temporary and I don’t care about someone because they’re perfect, caring about someone means being there no matter how many times they need you to be. It doesn’t feel like a chore, it doesn’t get old, and it never will.
(2)
(2.a)
What I'm Seeking:
I will upfront let you know if I’m clicking better with someone else or if you’re the one, I’m not here to tread the sea of fish or keep my options open, I’m here for one singular person.
(2.b)
Relationship:
A relationship is difficult for me right now, it’s been nearly half a year since I got out of my last relationship and the reasons for it ending are partially responsible for how I’ve been feeling and why it’s so hard for me to seek the comfort I so desperately crave. I will tell you about it but for the sake of not treating the entirety of the internet as my therapist, it’ll be in private. I really need the comfort of intimacy and the warmth of someone who cares. I'm not going to feel better if I just sulk and don’t move on. This is my attempt to get better, I’ll admit I’m not great right now and I don’t expect you to be either. If we can help each other heal, then I’d be more than happy :) A relationship isn’t just being there for when someone’s at their best. Even if a relationship is hard at the moment, I do want a life partner and I don’t want to be alone. Things aren’t going to get easier without you so I don’t want to hesitate. I view my other as an equal, I don’t like categorizing us into specific roles. We take care of each other and treat each other how we like to be treated, whatever that is, it's as simple as that. I don't care if you're "successful" or not, living simple lives with our days filled with love is the ultimate measure of success to me.
(3)
Personality:
(3.a)
On the Surface:
As you can tell I can be rather… stoic but that’s largely due to my current stressors, I truthfully am goofy and fun loving but I just can’t find it in me right now. I want to return to that but without someone to light up my world it’s been difficult to just have fun and enjoy stuff. I’m definitely more introverted, you won’t catch me at any parties or really outside at all. I definitely prefer being home though the occasional outing is not out of the question and one day I’d like to travel to other countries because I think that kind of perspective is important.
(3.b)
The Core of My Being:
I like being a spectator to it all and if we bear witness to humanity burning or its miraculous recovery, I want to watch it with you. I enjoy watching humanity advance, less so when it devolves but I want to watch it to the end nonetheless. I’m both a realist and someone who lives with my head in the clouds dreaming of scenarios or worlds that don’t exist. I’m saying that I enjoy a good narrative and can suspend my disbelief to enjoy something but you won’t catch me refusing vaccines or ignoring blatant facts for the sake of some pseudo science or witch doctor’s remedy. I’m an atheist but I do not rule out existence after death, not because I’m agnostic but because due to the nature of potentially infinite time at some point after how many googol years with a googol amount of 0s after that, something’s bound to replicate your consciousness perfectly at some point. It’s actually a really fascinating topic I like talking about. If infinite time and infinite possibilities exist, does non existence exist? Though that’s an awfully existentially dreadful thought process considering the ramifications of infinite existence and infinite possibilities during said infinite existence. I would say I’m confidently left leaning and I don’t think I could truly get along with anyone right leaning, at least America’s definition of right leaning. Left and right seems to have just become; do people deserve to suffer or do they deserve to live good lives? Being political is not something I expected to become but how can you not be when crimes against human rights are being passed on a daily basis and at the end of the day, everything’s political. Oftentimes I imagine the perfect moment as relaxing with my significant other playing games or cuddling in a cold room under blankets.
I value that special someone above all of the existential thoughts, the bad of the world, the good of the world, they practically become my world. So many worries wash away when I’m with them. I don’t know if that’s the defense mechanism my brain created to not feel bad 24/7 but if it is, I’m currently without it.
(3.c)
Insecurities:
I talk of philosophy and politics here but really I spend most of my time just playing games, watching stuff, and trying to not be sleep deprived. I’m also nowhere near as well spoken, heck sometimes I feel like my speech is broken. I won’t claim to be something I’m not, I sit at home while I complain about the world doing nothing about it wishing I had someone here with me. I’m not noble nor do I really want to be, I have morals I uphold but much like most other hypocrites I acknowledge that my comfortable life is built on the suffering of others without doing anything about it. Why? My sleep problems? Am I depressed? Is that why I have no energy to do anything? Do I just think nothing I could do could help? I can’t nail it down myself, maybe it’s a mix of everything, maybe I’m just a bad person. I have always told myself that if I had wealth I would help people but if I get that kind of wealth will I just become a wealth hoarder who tries to justify my riches as something I earned rather than something given to me through incredibly lucky circumstances? If I do help people is it because I’m a good person or out of guilt? Will I die alone? I feel like I drive everyone away with my clinginess, I get paranoid often and need reassurance often. It’s something I want to work on, something I’ve been trying to work on. Hearing that someone cares about me just never gets old. I value self awareness even if it’s painful.
(3.d)
Socializing:
I’m definitely a socially anxious/awkward mess, especially around strangers. I do feel a large amount of anxiety in public, people can’t tell by looking at my face since I kind of go stone faced in an attempt to block everything out but yeah you’ll notice that if we go out in public. Growing up my pediatrician said I was probably autistic, never got a formal diagnosis so that’s just great. But yeah that explains why I can’t make eye contact with people, I kinda just stare at the ground and avoid their gaze at all costs. A lot of these social struggles go away to a great degree once I know you for a bit but yeah I apologize for how terrible I am at socializing at first. Don’t let my social struggles fool you though, I love cuddling and being close with my person.
(3.e)
Sexuality:
I am a heterosexual male, though I’m not very masculine like at all. I may even be a bit feminine sometimes. Not that I believe any activity or manner of acting belongs to a gender but I don’t know how else to describe it. I’m definitely super affectionate and love it when my partner is too. I am open to dating demi people but I do have a libido so I don't think asexual would work out.
(4)
Interests:
(4.a)
Video Games:
As stated before, I do spend a lot of my time playing video games. It’s been hard lately with me having no energy but I really do want to play more games and have a good time playing them with you! I primarily play on PC though I do have a switch. I’m primarily into platform fighters, roguelikes, open world, survival, and sandbox games. As for single player story games, I enjoy watching them through twitch or youtube but for the most part I don’t play them myself. I’d watch you play them though!
Here’s a list of games we can play:
-Minecraft (Java)
-Risk of Rain 2
-Gunfire Reborn
-Roboquest
-7 Days to Die
-Phasmophobia
-Rust
-Unturned
-Bloons TD 6
-Platform fighters: Super Smash Bros. Melee, Slap City, Multiversus, Flash Party, Fraymakers
Whatever you want to play I’ll give it a shot! I will say that League bores me to death but I’ll play it for you :) I try to avoid MMOs, not because I don’t like them but because of how addicted I can get to them. I enjoy learning games in-depth so MMOs can be a fast track to addiction.
I recently got Kerbal Space Program 2 and ehhh not really worth it right now but hopefully later it will be? I’m super excited for Tears of the Kingdom! In the far off future I’m excited for Rivals of Aether 2 which is a platform fighter releasing in 2024, let me know of your most anticipated releases and I’ll see if I could play them with you!
Also I never got into FPS games but I could totally see myself playing like CoD with you or Escape From Tarkov. Any FPS really, I’m down.
I am a fan of Pokemon but with how things have been lately I don’t know how long that will last. Pixelmon is a common Pokemon mod I play for Minecraft if you want to play that! Also if I say I want to play something with you I mean it but there are often times when no matter how much I want to I'm just drained and can do little more than lay in bed so please don't think I'm making an excuse.
(4.b)
Science:
I really enjoy keeping up with the latest advances in pretty much everything, it could be biology, technology, astronomy, anything! I love seeing progression and I love talking about it! Really I could go on and on about what I’m obsessing about that day. I particularly love technology, ask me for my laptop specs I dare you. When I was little I always wanted to be a scientist of any kind but then insomnia and fear of college stuff hit me like a truck aaaand that’s the end of that dream.
(4.c)
Anime:
You got me, I like anime but I’d like to think my tastes are benign.
Here’s some of my favorites I can list from the top of my head:
- To Your Eternity
- Vinland Saga
- Spice and Wolf
- Re:Zero
- Mob Psycho
- Dr. Stone
- Attack on Titan
- Spy x Family
- My Hero Academia
- Ranking of Kings
- Demon Slayer
Okay I can go on and on but I will say I don’t like pointless fan service and the spamming of cliche anime moments. I mostly enjoy action and anything well animated if it doesn’t have a potato story. Heck Demon Slayer could be my top 3 out of season 2’s animation alone. I don’t watch slice of life often or romance but I would with you!
(4.d)
Misc:
I’m not going to go on and on about the tiniest little things when the main ones are covered but I’ll watch pretty much any show with you and anything really. I like random youtube videos that explain some kind of lore or mystery, sometimes mini documentaries too.
As for food I looove sushi and I’m a sucker for fast food. Okay and candy, definitely candy.
I used to play tennis but haven’t really had the opportunity nor friends to play it with and I’m way too socially anxious to seek it out. Also I will say that when we move to something like discord I type waaaay more casually. I’m not going to expect long paragraphs back and forth like we’re writing English papers for each other, I do enjoy long conversations but seriously don’t worry about having to put the utmost effort into every response, I just like making good first impressions I guess.
(5)
(5.a)
My Physical Characteristics:
I’m 5’8 (172cm), 128 pounds (58kg), with curly brown hair and blue eyes. I like keeping my hair long in the winter and cutting it in the summer. I’m pretty slim in general so if you’re looking for someone large, that’s not me. I don’t work out but my work is pretty physical so at least I’m not totally inactive. I don’t have the urge to work out or gain muscle but I do want to maintain my slim figure so if I start losing control of that I’ll work out. I like to keep my face shaved because I don’t think I look good with a beard/mustache so if you’re into those I apologize. I have an average amount of body hair? I’d prefer to be completely shaved but it’s easy to lose motivation with that battle, if you prefer shaved then I’d have no problem complying. Anyways here’s what I look like: https://imgur.com/a/MZZgf2t
(5.b)
My Physical Preferences:
Having physical preferences makes me feel shallow, if I could make myself not have them I would but unfortunately that’s now how that works. I don’t care if you’re shorter or taller than me and I don’t care if you weigh more or less than me. All I ask is that you’re slim-average weight. I would never ask for someone to be something I’m not. I don’t care about tattoos or piercings.**(6)Expectations of You (Relationship Only):**I am not looking for someone “exciting” or someone to “keep me on my toes” I’m not looking for someone to cater to my every whim or anything like that. I don’t care if you’re “boring” or if you aren’t “successful”. I know it’s a common thing for people to not want a “boring” relationship and to seek something argumentative or something with constant challenges but I just want to be with you. During the exciting times, the boring times, and everything in-between, all of it will be great with you! Maybe we do argue sometimes or maybe there will be challenges but that will never be something I purposefully seek out and I don’t want that to be something you seek out either. I will not play tricks on you and I will not play mind games, I expect the same from you. We all have personal measures of success we may or may not have lived up to but what I care about most is our commitment to each other. If we have each other we can get through tough times, near the ends of our lives I want us to look back and feel that this life together was worth more than anything. That’s not saying I want us to be haphazard, I don’t want us to make poor decisions for the sake of yolo and I want us to always be rational, especially with each other. I want you to be someone I can trust to make decisions and weigh the options with a level head, I’ll try my best to live up to the same for you. Most of all I want empathy, understanding, someone to feel the utmost comfort and trust in.
(7)
Living Situation:
Currently my life is pretty relaxed, I work 3 times a week as a night shift stocker. I currently live in a 2 bedroom apartment with my roommate but we’re looking to move into someplace larger by the end of the year if everything works out. The internet is weirdly great for Ohio too like I have fiber and later this year we’re supposed to be getting dedicated fiber so that’s neat. I’m not attached to Ohio so the ultimate goal living location wise is probably moving to a country that won’t send you into a lifetime of dealing with the repercussions from one medical emergency.
(8)
Deal Breakers:
Might as well make this simple and make it a list.
- Anti-vaxxers
- Unironically believing astrology
- Right wingers
- Hard drugs (occasional 420 and alcohol is fine, may even join you)
- Wanting children, there was a time when I was younger when I wanted children but with the state of the word that’s a definite no and I feel like I wouldn’t be able to handle the stress. I’d love a stress free life with as much time with you as possible.
- Homophobic
- Transphobic
- Racist
- Super Religious
- Don’t be a bigot and don’t deny facts.
(9)
Closing Remarks:
Well you made it, I was thinking that finding someone I’d be willing to put a lifetime of effort into at least required this much effort. If I think of anything more I’ll update the post. Also about timezones, it really doesn’t matter where in the world you are. I don’t have a sleep schedule and I have most of the week off from work so it really doesn’t matter.
I request that in your response you do put effort into it, it doesn’t have to be anywhere near as long as this but at least enough so I know that you read this and enough about you so I know why you saw potential compatibility. I will seriously read all of it and respond the best I can. I do also request a pic included in your response (sfw please) or one soon after we start talking to prove identity, I’ll send identity proving pics too. As long as this post is up, you can send a reply!
submitted by kylexyz001 to MeetPeople [link] [comments]
Table of Contents
1…… The Main Goal
2…… What I’m Seeking
3…… Personality
4…… Interests
5…… Physical Characteristics (with pics)
6…… Expectations of You
7…… Living Situation
8…… Deal Breakers
9…… Closing Remarks
(1)
The Main Goal:
Well if you’re browsing this subreddit then much like me, you were alone this weekend and I’m sure you’d like to change that as much as me. I won’t lie, I am going through a rough part of my life right now. It’s difficult for me to find the energy for anything at the moment and I’m just really seeking affection in general, anything that will give me a push. I don’t want to be that person who brings everyone down but I could really use someone to talk to right now. I’d really like to find someone who’s similar to me so much to the point that we do everything together and talk about everything while not having to pretend to be interested. I want someone with whom we can mutually spew our emotions onto and have those feelings reciprocated. Not an emotional punching bag, but an emotional teddy bear to hug and cuddle until everything feels better as many times as we need. There’s people who I’m sure have told you the same, they’ll be there no matter how many times you need the support, no matter how many times the insecurities and bad thoughts come back but they don’t mean it. I will be the exception, I’m not so ignorant to think some nice words and tales of relating to you will magically forever heal whatever ails you then get mad when you seek the same support again. Mental ailments are rarely temporary and I don’t care about someone because they’re perfect, caring about someone means being there no matter how many times they need you to be. It doesn’t feel like a chore, it doesn’t get old, and it never will.
(2)
(2.a)
What I'm Seeking:
I will upfront let you know if I’m clicking better with someone else or if you’re the one, I’m not here to tread the sea of fish or keep my options open, I’m here for one singular person.
(2.b)
Relationship:
A relationship is difficult for me right now, it’s been nearly half a year since I got out of my last relationship and the reasons for it ending are partially responsible for how I’ve been feeling and why it’s so hard for me to seek the comfort I so desperately crave. I will tell you about it but for the sake of not treating the entirety of the internet as my therapist, it’ll be in private. I really need the comfort of intimacy and the warmth of someone who cares. I'm not going to feel better if I just sulk and don’t move on. This is my attempt to get better, I’ll admit I’m not great right now and I don’t expect you to be either. If we can help each other heal, then I’d be more than happy :) A relationship isn’t just being there for when someone’s at their best. Even if a relationship is hard at the moment, I do want a life partner and I don’t want to be alone. Things aren’t going to get easier without you so I don’t want to hesitate. I view my other as an equal, I don’t like categorizing us into specific roles. We take care of each other and treat each other how we like to be treated, whatever that is, it's as simple as that. I don't care if you're "successful" or not, living simple lives with our days filled with love is the ultimate measure of success to me.
(3)
Personality:
(3.a)
On the Surface:
As you can tell I can be rather… stoic but that’s largely due to my current stressors, I truthfully am goofy and fun loving but I just can’t find it in me right now. I want to return to that but without someone to light up my world it’s been difficult to just have fun and enjoy stuff. I’m definitely more introverted, you won’t catch me at any parties or really outside at all. I definitely prefer being home though the occasional outing is not out of the question and one day I’d like to travel to other countries because I think that kind of perspective is important.
(3.b)
The Core of My Being:
I like being a spectator to it all and if we bear witness to humanity burning or its miraculous recovery, I want to watch it with you. I enjoy watching humanity advance, less so when it devolves but I want to watch it to the end nonetheless. I’m both a realist and someone who lives with my head in the clouds dreaming of scenarios or worlds that don’t exist. I’m saying that I enjoy a good narrative and can suspend my disbelief to enjoy something but you won’t catch me refusing vaccines or ignoring blatant facts for the sake of some pseudo science or witch doctor’s remedy. I’m an atheist but I do not rule out existence after death, not because I’m agnostic but because due to the nature of potentially infinite time at some point after how many googol years with a googol amount of 0s after that, something’s bound to replicate your consciousness perfectly at some point. It’s actually a really fascinating topic I like talking about. If infinite time and infinite possibilities exist, does non existence exist? Though that’s an awfully existentially dreadful thought process considering the ramifications of infinite existence and infinite possibilities during said infinite existence. I would say I’m confidently left leaning and I don’t think I could truly get along with anyone right leaning, at least America’s definition of right leaning. Left and right seems to have just become; do people deserve to suffer or do they deserve to live good lives? Being political is not something I expected to become but how can you not be when crimes against human rights are being passed on a daily basis and at the end of the day, everything’s political. Oftentimes I imagine the perfect moment as relaxing with my significant other playing games or cuddling in a cold room under blankets.
I value that special someone above all of the existential thoughts, the bad of the world, the good of the world, they practically become my world. So many worries wash away when I’m with them. I don’t know if that’s the defense mechanism my brain created to not feel bad 24/7 but if it is, I’m currently without it.
(3.c)
Insecurities:
I talk of philosophy and politics here but really I spend most of my time just playing games, watching stuff, and trying to not be sleep deprived. I’m also nowhere near as well spoken, heck sometimes I feel like my speech is broken. I won’t claim to be something I’m not, I sit at home while I complain about the world doing nothing about it wishing I had someone here with me. I’m not noble nor do I really want to be, I have morals I uphold but much like most other hypocrites I acknowledge that my comfortable life is built on the suffering of others without doing anything about it. Why? My sleep problems? Am I depressed? Is that why I have no energy to do anything? Do I just think nothing I could do could help? I can’t nail it down myself, maybe it’s a mix of everything, maybe I’m just a bad person. I have always told myself that if I had wealth I would help people but if I get that kind of wealth will I just become a wealth hoarder who tries to justify my riches as something I earned rather than something given to me through incredibly lucky circumstances? If I do help people is it because I’m a good person or out of guilt? Will I die alone? I feel like I drive everyone away with my clinginess, I get paranoid often and need reassurance often. It’s something I want to work on, something I’ve been trying to work on. Hearing that someone cares about me just never gets old. I value self awareness even if it’s painful.
(3.d)
Socializing:
I’m definitely a socially anxious/awkward mess, especially around strangers. I do feel a large amount of anxiety in public, people can’t tell by looking at my face since I kind of go stone faced in an attempt to block everything out but yeah you’ll notice that if we go out in public. Growing up my pediatrician said I was probably autistic, never got a formal diagnosis so that’s just great. But yeah that explains why I can’t make eye contact with people, I kinda just stare at the ground and avoid their gaze at all costs. A lot of these social struggles go away to a great degree once I know you for a bit but yeah I apologize for how terrible I am at socializing at first. Don’t let my social struggles fool you though, I love cuddling and being close with my person.
(3.e)
Sexuality:
I am a heterosexual male, though I’m not very masculine like at all. I may even be a bit feminine sometimes. Not that I believe any activity or manner of acting belongs to a gender but I don’t know how else to describe it. I’m definitely super affectionate and love it when my partner is too. I am open to dating demi people but I do have a libido so I don't think asexual would work out.
(4)
Interests:
(4.a)
Video Games:
As stated before, I do spend a lot of my time playing video games. It’s been hard lately with me having no energy but I really do want to play more games and have a good time playing them with you! I primarily play on PC though I do have a switch. I’m primarily into platform fighters, roguelikes, open world, survival, and sandbox games. As for single player story games, I enjoy watching them through twitch or youtube but for the most part I don’t play them myself. I’d watch you play them though!
Here’s a list of games we can play:
-Minecraft (Java)
-Risk of Rain 2
-Gunfire Reborn
-Roboquest
-7 Days to Die
-Phasmophobia
-Rust
-Unturned
-Bloons TD 6
-Platform fighters: Super Smash Bros. Melee, Slap City, Multiversus, Flash Party, Fraymakers
Whatever you want to play I’ll give it a shot! I will say that League bores me to death but I’ll play it for you :) I try to avoid MMOs, not because I don’t like them but because of how addicted I can get to them. I enjoy learning games in-depth so MMOs can be a fast track to addiction.
I recently got Kerbal Space Program 2 and ehhh not really worth it right now but hopefully later it will be? I’m super excited for Tears of the Kingdom! In the far off future I’m excited for Rivals of Aether 2 which is a platform fighter releasing in 2024, let me know of your most anticipated releases and I’ll see if I could play them with you!
Also I never got into FPS games but I could totally see myself playing like CoD with you or Escape From Tarkov. Any FPS really, I’m down.
I am a fan of Pokemon but with how things have been lately I don’t know how long that will last. Pixelmon is a common Pokemon mod I play for Minecraft if you want to play that! Also if I say I want to play something with you I mean it but there are often times when no matter how much I want to I'm just drained and can do little more than lay in bed so please don't think I'm making an excuse.
(4.b)
Science:
I really enjoy keeping up with the latest advances in pretty much everything, it could be biology, technology, astronomy, anything! I love seeing progression and I love talking about it! Really I could go on and on about what I’m obsessing about that day. I particularly love technology, ask me for my laptop specs I dare you. When I was little I always wanted to be a scientist of any kind but then insomnia and fear of college stuff hit me like a truck aaaand that’s the end of that dream.
(4.c)
Anime:
You got me, I like anime but I’d like to think my tastes are benign.
Here’s some of my favorites I can list from the top of my head:
- To Your Eternity
- Vinland Saga
- Spice and Wolf
- Re:Zero
- Mob Psycho
- Dr. Stone
- Attack on Titan
- Spy x Family
- My Hero Academia
- Ranking of Kings
- Demon Slayer
Okay I can go on and on but I will say I don’t like pointless fan service and the spamming of cliche anime moments. I mostly enjoy action and anything well animated if it doesn’t have a potato story. Heck Demon Slayer could be my top 3 out of season 2’s animation alone. I don’t watch slice of life often or romance but I would with you!
(4.d)
Misc:
I’m not going to go on and on about the tiniest little things when the main ones are covered but I’ll watch pretty much any show with you and anything really. I like random youtube videos that explain some kind of lore or mystery, sometimes mini documentaries too.
As for food I looove sushi and I’m a sucker for fast food. Okay and candy, definitely candy.
I used to play tennis but haven’t really had the opportunity nor friends to play it with and I’m way too socially anxious to seek it out. Also I will say that when we move to something like discord I type waaaay more casually. I’m not going to expect long paragraphs back and forth like we’re writing English papers for each other, I do enjoy long conversations but seriously don’t worry about having to put the utmost effort into every response, I just like making good first impressions I guess.
(5)
(5.a)
My Physical Characteristics:
I’m 5’8 (172cm), 128 pounds (58kg), with curly brown hair and blue eyes. I like keeping my hair long in the winter and cutting it in the summer. I’m pretty slim in general so if you’re looking for someone large, that’s not me. I don’t work out but my work is pretty physical so at least I’m not totally inactive. I don’t have the urge to work out or gain muscle but I do want to maintain my slim figure so if I start losing control of that I’ll work out. I like to keep my face shaved because I don’t think I look good with a beard/mustache so if you’re into those I apologize. I have an average amount of body hair? I’d prefer to be completely shaved but it’s easy to lose motivation with that battle, if you prefer shaved then I’d have no problem complying. Anyways here’s what I look like: https://imgur.com/a/MZZgf2t
(5.b)
My Physical Preferences:
Having physical preferences makes me feel shallow, if I could make myself not have them I would but unfortunately that’s now how that works. I don’t care if you’re shorter or taller than me and I don’t care if you weigh more or less than me. All I ask is that you’re slim-average weight. I would never ask for someone to be something I’m not. I don’t care about tattoos or piercings.**(6)Expectations of You (Relationship Only):**I am not looking for someone “exciting” or someone to “keep me on my toes” I’m not looking for someone to cater to my every whim or anything like that. I don’t care if you’re “boring” or if you aren’t “successful”. I know it’s a common thing for people to not want a “boring” relationship and to seek something argumentative or something with constant challenges but I just want to be with you. During the exciting times, the boring times, and everything in-between, all of it will be great with you! Maybe we do argue sometimes or maybe there will be challenges but that will never be something I purposefully seek out and I don’t want that to be something you seek out either. I will not play tricks on you and I will not play mind games, I expect the same from you. We all have personal measures of success we may or may not have lived up to but what I care about most is our commitment to each other. If we have each other we can get through tough times, near the ends of our lives I want us to look back and feel that this life together was worth more than anything. That’s not saying I want us to be haphazard, I don’t want us to make poor decisions for the sake of yolo and I want us to always be rational, especially with each other. I want you to be someone I can trust to make decisions and weigh the options with a level head, I’ll try my best to live up to the same for you. Most of all I want empathy, understanding, someone to feel the utmost comfort and trust in.
(7)
Living Situation:
Currently my life is pretty relaxed, I work 3 times a week as a night shift stocker. I currently live in a 2 bedroom apartment with my roommate but we’re looking to move into someplace larger by the end of the year if everything works out. The internet is weirdly great for Ohio too like I have fiber and later this year we’re supposed to be getting dedicated fiber so that’s neat. I’m not attached to Ohio so the ultimate goal living location wise is probably moving to a country that won’t send you into a lifetime of dealing with the repercussions from one medical emergency.
(8)
Deal Breakers:
Might as well make this simple and make it a list.
- Anti-vaxxers
- Unironically believing astrology
- Right wingers
- Hard drugs (occasional 420 and alcohol is fine, may even join you)
- Wanting children, there was a time when I was younger when I wanted children but with the state of the word that’s a definite no and I feel like I wouldn’t be able to handle the stress. I’d love a stress free life with as much time with you as possible.
- Homophobic
- Transphobic
- Racist
- Super Religious
- Don’t be a bigot and don’t deny facts.
(9)
Closing Remarks:
Well you made it, I was thinking that finding someone I’d be willing to put a lifetime of effort into at least required this much effort. If I think of anything more I’ll update the post. Also about timezones, it really doesn’t matter where in the world you are. I don’t have a sleep schedule and I have most of the week off from work so it really doesn’t matter.
I request that in your response you do put effort into it, it doesn’t have to be anywhere near as long as this but at least enough so I know that you read this and enough about you so I know why you saw potential compatibility. I will seriously read all of it and respond the best I can. I do also request a pic included in your response (sfw please) or one soon after we start talking to prove identity, I’ll send identity proving pics too. As long as this post is up, you can send a reply!
2023.06.03 22:48 PostReplyKarmaRepeat Defending the Draft: Detroit Lions
HOW WE GOT HERE:
Brad Holmes is a wizard. What he has done as the Detroit GM in just 3 years has been a playoff push away from being quite remarkable, especially considering the context of succeeding prior general manager Bob Quinn which ended in typical Lions losing fashion. Brad Holmes would immediately come out swinging and first transaction as general manager was trading longtime franchise quarterback Matthew Stafford to the Los Angeles Rams in exchange for two first round picks, a third round pick, and quarterback Jared Goff. At the time, it was bittersweet for fans, as Stafford was the practically the lone bright spot in the last decade (outside of Megatron), but the haul they got in return was at least something. Stafford was injured and already likely leaving to chase a Super Bowl and Detroit was going into full rebuild mode so Detroit fans were just happy with what they could get. Brad ended up hiring a one time Head Coach, Dan Campbell. A pick made purely on the potential he would be able to change the culture with his grind it out, Football attitude Campbell was known for. All in all, it was business as usual for Detroit as they begin yet another rebuild....
Oh parity in sports.... You never cease to amaze us....
Somehow and someway, In Holmes' first draft, Penei Sewell falls to Detroit at #7 and the Lions draft room goes bananas on camera! At the time we did not know it, but Detroit just landed their future Pro Bowl leader in the trenches. In round 4, the Lions scoop a literal Sun God in Amon-Ra St. Brown. Little did we all know the impact both of these players would have today. Both players are arguably top 10 in their position.
Fast forward to 2022 and the Lions are coming off one of the most promising 3-13-1 seasons that you could ever ask for. The team and coaches have bought in to Dan Campbell's grind it out style of Football. The culture seemed to finally be changing and it felt like Jared Goff turning into a solid Stafford replacement, despite being considered a throw on by most in the Stafford trade.
The 2022 draft Brad Holmes' statement to the NFL. It does not matter where you take guys. If you know how to evaluate talent, you go for YOUR guys and you can be successful. Holmes was able to draft Aiden Aiden Hutchinson at #2 (some say he should have been #1), Jameson Williams (best receiver in the draft at 12 via trade), Kerby Joseph (who picked off Aaron Rodgers THREE TIMES IN ONE GAME!), and drafted James Houston and Malcolm Rodriguez in the 6th round. Both players are looking like future defensive stars. Dare I say the best 6th round success since the Pats drafted TB12? Don't @ me lol
The Lions followed up the draft with a MUCH improved 2022, landing a 9-8 winning record and going 8-2 in their final 10 games. Jared Goff is looking like the guy who took the Rams to the Superbowl, every position has young talent and this upcoming 2023 draft is looking like it could seriously push the Lions into serious playoff contention if the cards are played correctly.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________
Key Offseason Additions:
CB Cameron Sutton -- Signed to three-year, $33 million contract
CB Emmanuel Moseley -- Signed to one-year, $6 million contract.
RB David Montgomery -- Signed to three-year, $18 million contract
OL Graham Glasgow -- Signed one-year, $4.5 million contract
S Chauncey Gardner-Johnson -- Signed to one-year, $8.5 million contract
WR Marvin Jones -- Signed to one-year, $3 million contract
Key Offseason Losses:
Safety DeShon Elliott -- Signed to one-year, $1.77 million contract with Dolphins.
Running back Jamaal Williams -- Signed to three-year, $12 million contract with Saints.
WR DJ Chark -- Signed to one-year, $5 million deal with Panthers.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Round 1: No. 12 (from CLE through HOU and ARI) – Jahmyr Gibbs, RB, Alabama
Flashback! Remember that Stafford trade where they got got the Rams draft pick? You know that pick that was supposed to be in the upper 20s because LA is so good and are coming off winning a Super Bowl? Yea, well they sucked.... Somehow they sucked so bad that that pick turned into the number 6th overall pick.
Odds makers had the Lions grabbing Devon Witherspoon as their secondary was a big need. However when Seattle took him at 5, who knew what would follow? Well, the last thing fans expected.... The Lions ended up passing on Tyree Wilson, Jalen Carter, AND Bijan Robinson by trading down to 12 to take Alabama running back, Jahmyr Gibbs. Hindsight is 2020, but reports now show the Lions wanted Jahmyr over Bijan, which means Holmes and co. got THEIR guy.
Immediately fans realized the inevitable. Fan favorite and oft injured running back, DeAndre Swift, was going to be cut or traded. Almost immediately they traded D'Andre Swift and a 7th round pick for the Saints' 2025 fourth-round pick and a 2023 7th round pick.
This pick is exactly why you and I are sitting on the couch and Brad Holmes gets paid the big bucks. "HoW cAn YoU dRaFt a RuNnInG BaCk ThAt hIgH". Well, the dude is a straight up baller. If I asked you who led Alabama in receiving last year you would probably say some 5 star Wide Receiver. It was Gibbs. Gibbs is being compared Alvin Kamara in the way he can run and catch. He was listed as running a 4.36 at the combine. Gibbs transferred to Alabama last season after spending the first two seasons of his career at Georgia Tech. He carried the ball 151 times for the Crimson Tide in 2022, averaging 6.1 yards per carry and scoring seven touchdowns. He also caught 44 passes for 444 yards and three catching scores. With the departure of Swift and the newly acquired bowling ball back in Montgomery, Gibbs is going to be an immediate impact as a "weapon" and less of a conventional running back. The thunder and lightning combo the Lions will have will be fun to watch behind their top 5 O Line.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________
Round 1: No. 18 – Jack Campbell, LB, Iowa
"HoW cAn YoU dRaFt a RuNnInG BaCk ThAt hIgH" made sense with the Gibbs pick, but drafting a Linebacker at 18 with other glaring needs like lineman and secondary left Lions fans a bit puzzled by this pick. It hurt a little less when you remember this was their 2nd pick in the first round. Also, many people had Jack Campbell on their board for later in the draft so in terms of liking a guy for who they are, very few people are against this pick. But like I said before, Brad Holmes and Dan Campbell go after guys they have faith in. Until they screw up, fans cant complain too much!
But who is this guy and what makes him so good? Well if you care about RAS or "Relative Athletic Score" Jack is outstanding. He scored a 9.98 RAS out of a possible 10.00. This ranked 6 out of 2600 LB from 1987 to 2023. He possesses rare athleticism for being 6-5 and that allows him to be exceptional in coverage. PFF rated him as the highest coverage grade since 2018 Devin White at LSU. He also has great leadership skills as he was Iowa's team captain and won Big10 Defensive Player of the year.
Jack Campbell is going to join a much improving linebacking core that is led by team captain Alex Anzalone and 2nd year stars Malcolm Rodriguez and James Houston. The Lions will likely play him on the outside because off his athleticism but I am certain he will be moved all around the field.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________
Round 2: No. 34 (from ARI) – Sam LaPorta, TE, Iowa
This is getting a bit out of hand for the Lions fans that appreciate positional value when you draft. Clearly Holmes has totally thrown conventional wisdom out of the window. However, tight end IS a need. Of all of the positional units Tight End is probably the weakest. In 2022 the Lions trotted Brock Wright, James Mitchell, and Shane Zylstra....WHOOOO?!?! Exactly...they needed help. Outside of when they took him, most pundits are pretty happy about this pick. Not only did the Lions get their second Iowa captain, but Sam might have landed the best tight end in the entire class.
With LaPorta, the Lions get a player that can do a variety of things. He can play in the slot, in-line or even out wide. This is EXTRA important when you remember that Jameson Williams is suspended for 6 games due to gambling. During his career at Iowa, he had 513 snaps in-line and 304 snaps out of the slot (per PFF). It really wouldn’t be surprising if LaPorta walks into Detroit and earns the starting tight end spot. He has the talent to do it and by being the 34th overall pick, there is going to be some high expectations for him.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Round 2: No. 45 (from DET) – Brian Branch, S, Alabama
For the first time all draft it felt like a player fell to Detroit and they werent reaching for their guy (for better or worse). At 45, the Lions were already drafting their 4th player and wasnt even the end of the 2nd round. Scouts said that Branch was one of the safest picks in the draft due to his lack of a jarring weakness. Branch is siad to have extremely high football IQ which led him to play all around the defense for the Crimson Tide. Branch has primarily handled nickel coverage, but has the range and instincts for single-high or split safety looks. He’s quick, fast and strong with the ability to match up with shifty slots, bigger possession receivers and pass-catching tight ends. Branch is also tough and gritty which makes himu a perfec fit for this Lions team. He has a nose for the ball and is capable of making game-changing plays. He had two interceptions and two forced fumbles during his freshman season at Bama.
Branch made headlines on draft day to be the only guy to stay into day 2 in the greenroom as he was projected to go in the first round. I think that shows how much he cares about this opportunity and has his heart in it.
Also, Branch as a great opportunity to learn from newly acquired Safety, Chauncy Gardner-Johnson who is one of the best young safeties in the league.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Round 3: No. 68 (from DEN) – Hendon Hooker, QB, Tennessee
You ever feeling a little uncomfortable and then you let out a massive fart and all of your uneasiness washes away? Yea, well thats the feeling Lions fans got when they landed Hendon Hooker with the 68th pick. QB wasnt a terrible need, but once we got him, a sense of relief was felt across the fanbase. When the Lions ended up getting Goff in the Stafford trade, it was sort of unsaid that Goff was just the bridge before they draft a QB of the future. However Goff has played way better than expectations and less and less fans are calling for a replacment. So, instead of using one of their first round picks on a QB, they waited and got a guy with first round updside! Now, they are in a much more confortable position at QB with a very solid back up.
The Lions used the 68th pick in order to take the former Tennessee quarterback. The pick came just before the Rams and Raiders were scheduled to pick and been teams have been seen as possible landing spots for a quarterback in this year’s draft. Hooker is recovering from a torn ACL, but his doctor recently informed teams that he is expected to be ready to go by the first week of the regular season. With Jared Goff in place as the starter in Detroit, there won’t be any need for Hooker to rush back for what will likely be a redshirt season if all goes according to plan in Detroit.
This pick was safe, exciting, and sets the Lions up with a solid back up QB. The first time that they can say that since they had Shaun Hill.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Round 3: No. 96 (from ARI) – Brodric Martin, DT, Western Kentucky
Before the draft, a need that was discussed as a hole in the Lions defense was interior line. They got their big boy in the middle with nose tackle, Brodric Martin. After starting his career at North Alabama, Martin transferred to Western Kentucky to play his final two seasons at the FBS level. Since 2021, Martin has played in 26 total games, and has managed to contribute 62 total tackles to the Western Kentucky cause. He’s piled up six tackles for-loss as well as four sacks, one fumble recovery and one forced fumble. This move with help the Lions run defense that ranked 4th to last in the NFL last year.
It is no surprise that winning is won in the trenches. The Lions have done a great job of drafting players to build out this line with the likes of Alim McNeill, Isaiah Buggs, and John Cominsky, but with big interior guys like Martin, they usually operate best in a rotation. This move should be huge in terms of depth and opening up even more opportunities for Aiden Hutchison to get to the QB.
This move didn't feel flashy, but it felt needed.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Round 5: No. 152 – Colby Sorsdal, OL, William & Mary
The Lions had to finally wait a bit before this pick due to moving around in the draft and trading away their pick round 4. They elected to add depth to their O-Line by taking Colby Sorsdal out of William and Mary. Sometimes its fun being the big fish in the small pond. Sorsdal started in all 46 games he appeared in during his five-year stint at William & Mary. He spent the duration of his college career at Right Tackle. Sorsdal is the first Tribe player to be drafted since 2016, when the Chicago Bears selected safety DeAndre Houston-Carson in the sixth round.
Serving as an offensive co-captain and starting all 13 games at Right Tackle, Sorsdal anchored an offensive line that helped the Tribe rank third in total rushing offense and fourth in fewest sacks allowed. Behind one of the best offensive line units in the country, the Tribe accumulated an 11-2 record and won the CAA Conference Championship for the first time since 2015.
He will be joining a elite O-line led by Penei Sewell, Frank Ragnow and Taylor Decker. Colby wont start, but he will add in needed depth for a team that's success will only goes as far as their line will take them.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Round 7: No. 219 (from HOU through MIN via PHI) – Antoine Green, WR, North Carolina
With the Lions last pick in a very intense draft, they selected Wide Receiver, Antoine Green out of UNC. Most projected Antoine to be signed to a team after the draft so it is a but of a peculiar pick. In the late 7th round, you are just hoping to take a flier on a guy and hoping they pan out.
The 6-foot-3, 199-pound receiver impressed Detroit's coaching staff at the East-West Shrine Bowl, and has the opportunity to compete for playing time his rookie season. According to NFL Draft Bible, Green is a "technically sound, fluid athlete that can give you a little bit of everything as a wide receiver. Green runs routes, it is as if he is attacking his defender rather than going about his route without considering what the defense is doing. Green has a good release off the line of scrimmage and does not get held up too much when facing press coverage. He uses his hands well to reduce contact against the press and accelerate off the line. He analyzes coverages well and makes quick decisions on how to break down his defender throughout his route. He can read zone defenses and has a knack for finding spaces to make himself an easier target."
With Jameson Williams missing 6 games to start the year, there is an opportunity for Green to poach snaps away from anyone not named Amon-Ra or Marvin Jones. There is also a chance he doesn't make it out of camp. Unlikely, but we will see.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Conclusion:
The 2023 NFL draft for the Detroit Lions was a resounding success. They were able to draft 6 times....BEFORE THE FOURTH ROUND!! The extra picks allowed Detroit to really control the draft and move around in a way to get the guys they wanted. They did not care about who they got and when. They just simply got the guys they wanted. After reflecting on its entirety, they landed a lot of great talent. They were able to add a player at every single positional unit and several will end up starting and making an immediate impact.
Look, the Lions are going to Lions so hold your breath a little longer, however Brad Holmes and Jack Campbell have really turned this franchise around and are making them a legit playoff contender. Right now the Lions are favored to win the NFC North for the first time since god knows when. I am projecting a record of 12 and 5 and a NFL North Division Win.
GO LIONS!!!! (FTP)
submitted by PostReplyKarmaRepeat to NFL_Draft [link] [comments]
Brad Holmes is a wizard. What he has done as the Detroit GM in just 3 years has been a playoff push away from being quite remarkable, especially considering the context of succeeding prior general manager Bob Quinn which ended in typical Lions losing fashion. Brad Holmes would immediately come out swinging and first transaction as general manager was trading longtime franchise quarterback Matthew Stafford to the Los Angeles Rams in exchange for two first round picks, a third round pick, and quarterback Jared Goff. At the time, it was bittersweet for fans, as Stafford was the practically the lone bright spot in the last decade (outside of Megatron), but the haul they got in return was at least something. Stafford was injured and already likely leaving to chase a Super Bowl and Detroit was going into full rebuild mode so Detroit fans were just happy with what they could get. Brad ended up hiring a one time Head Coach, Dan Campbell. A pick made purely on the potential he would be able to change the culture with his grind it out, Football attitude Campbell was known for. All in all, it was business as usual for Detroit as they begin yet another rebuild....
Oh parity in sports.... You never cease to amaze us....
Somehow and someway, In Holmes' first draft, Penei Sewell falls to Detroit at #7 and the Lions draft room goes bananas on camera! At the time we did not know it, but Detroit just landed their future Pro Bowl leader in the trenches. In round 4, the Lions scoop a literal Sun God in Amon-Ra St. Brown. Little did we all know the impact both of these players would have today. Both players are arguably top 10 in their position.
Fast forward to 2022 and the Lions are coming off one of the most promising 3-13-1 seasons that you could ever ask for. The team and coaches have bought in to Dan Campbell's grind it out style of Football. The culture seemed to finally be changing and it felt like Jared Goff turning into a solid Stafford replacement, despite being considered a throw on by most in the Stafford trade.
The 2022 draft Brad Holmes' statement to the NFL. It does not matter where you take guys. If you know how to evaluate talent, you go for YOUR guys and you can be successful. Holmes was able to draft Aiden Aiden Hutchinson at #2 (some say he should have been #1), Jameson Williams (best receiver in the draft at 12 via trade), Kerby Joseph (who picked off Aaron Rodgers THREE TIMES IN ONE GAME!), and drafted James Houston and Malcolm Rodriguez in the 6th round. Both players are looking like future defensive stars. Dare I say the best 6th round success since the Pats drafted TB12? Don't @ me lol
The Lions followed up the draft with a MUCH improved 2022, landing a 9-8 winning record and going 8-2 in their final 10 games. Jared Goff is looking like the guy who took the Rams to the Superbowl, every position has young talent and this upcoming 2023 draft is looking like it could seriously push the Lions into serious playoff contention if the cards are played correctly.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________
Key Offseason Additions:
CB Cameron Sutton -- Signed to three-year, $33 million contract
CB Emmanuel Moseley -- Signed to one-year, $6 million contract.
RB David Montgomery -- Signed to three-year, $18 million contract
OL Graham Glasgow -- Signed one-year, $4.5 million contract
S Chauncey Gardner-Johnson -- Signed to one-year, $8.5 million contract
WR Marvin Jones -- Signed to one-year, $3 million contract
Key Offseason Losses:
Safety DeShon Elliott -- Signed to one-year, $1.77 million contract with Dolphins.
Running back Jamaal Williams -- Signed to three-year, $12 million contract with Saints.
WR DJ Chark -- Signed to one-year, $5 million deal with Panthers.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Round 1: No. 12 (from CLE through HOU and ARI) – Jahmyr Gibbs, RB, Alabama
Flashback! Remember that Stafford trade where they got got the Rams draft pick? You know that pick that was supposed to be in the upper 20s because LA is so good and are coming off winning a Super Bowl? Yea, well they sucked.... Somehow they sucked so bad that that pick turned into the number 6th overall pick.
Odds makers had the Lions grabbing Devon Witherspoon as their secondary was a big need. However when Seattle took him at 5, who knew what would follow? Well, the last thing fans expected.... The Lions ended up passing on Tyree Wilson, Jalen Carter, AND Bijan Robinson by trading down to 12 to take Alabama running back, Jahmyr Gibbs. Hindsight is 2020, but reports now show the Lions wanted Jahmyr over Bijan, which means Holmes and co. got THEIR guy.
Immediately fans realized the inevitable. Fan favorite and oft injured running back, DeAndre Swift, was going to be cut or traded. Almost immediately they traded D'Andre Swift and a 7th round pick for the Saints' 2025 fourth-round pick and a 2023 7th round pick.
This pick is exactly why you and I are sitting on the couch and Brad Holmes gets paid the big bucks. "HoW cAn YoU dRaFt a RuNnInG BaCk ThAt hIgH". Well, the dude is a straight up baller. If I asked you who led Alabama in receiving last year you would probably say some 5 star Wide Receiver. It was Gibbs. Gibbs is being compared Alvin Kamara in the way he can run and catch. He was listed as running a 4.36 at the combine. Gibbs transferred to Alabama last season after spending the first two seasons of his career at Georgia Tech. He carried the ball 151 times for the Crimson Tide in 2022, averaging 6.1 yards per carry and scoring seven touchdowns. He also caught 44 passes for 444 yards and three catching scores. With the departure of Swift and the newly acquired bowling ball back in Montgomery, Gibbs is going to be an immediate impact as a "weapon" and less of a conventional running back. The thunder and lightning combo the Lions will have will be fun to watch behind their top 5 O Line.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________
Round 1: No. 18 – Jack Campbell, LB, Iowa
"HoW cAn YoU dRaFt a RuNnInG BaCk ThAt hIgH" made sense with the Gibbs pick, but drafting a Linebacker at 18 with other glaring needs like lineman and secondary left Lions fans a bit puzzled by this pick. It hurt a little less when you remember this was their 2nd pick in the first round. Also, many people had Jack Campbell on their board for later in the draft so in terms of liking a guy for who they are, very few people are against this pick. But like I said before, Brad Holmes and Dan Campbell go after guys they have faith in. Until they screw up, fans cant complain too much!
But who is this guy and what makes him so good? Well if you care about RAS or "Relative Athletic Score" Jack is outstanding. He scored a 9.98 RAS out of a possible 10.00. This ranked 6 out of 2600 LB from 1987 to 2023. He possesses rare athleticism for being 6-5 and that allows him to be exceptional in coverage. PFF rated him as the highest coverage grade since 2018 Devin White at LSU. He also has great leadership skills as he was Iowa's team captain and won Big10 Defensive Player of the year.
Jack Campbell is going to join a much improving linebacking core that is led by team captain Alex Anzalone and 2nd year stars Malcolm Rodriguez and James Houston. The Lions will likely play him on the outside because off his athleticism but I am certain he will be moved all around the field.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________
Round 2: No. 34 (from ARI) – Sam LaPorta, TE, Iowa
This is getting a bit out of hand for the Lions fans that appreciate positional value when you draft. Clearly Holmes has totally thrown conventional wisdom out of the window. However, tight end IS a need. Of all of the positional units Tight End is probably the weakest. In 2022 the Lions trotted Brock Wright, James Mitchell, and Shane Zylstra....WHOOOO?!?! Exactly...they needed help. Outside of when they took him, most pundits are pretty happy about this pick. Not only did the Lions get their second Iowa captain, but Sam might have landed the best tight end in the entire class.
With LaPorta, the Lions get a player that can do a variety of things. He can play in the slot, in-line or even out wide. This is EXTRA important when you remember that Jameson Williams is suspended for 6 games due to gambling. During his career at Iowa, he had 513 snaps in-line and 304 snaps out of the slot (per PFF). It really wouldn’t be surprising if LaPorta walks into Detroit and earns the starting tight end spot. He has the talent to do it and by being the 34th overall pick, there is going to be some high expectations for him.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Round 2: No. 45 (from DET) – Brian Branch, S, Alabama
For the first time all draft it felt like a player fell to Detroit and they werent reaching for their guy (for better or worse). At 45, the Lions were already drafting their 4th player and wasnt even the end of the 2nd round. Scouts said that Branch was one of the safest picks in the draft due to his lack of a jarring weakness. Branch is siad to have extremely high football IQ which led him to play all around the defense for the Crimson Tide. Branch has primarily handled nickel coverage, but has the range and instincts for single-high or split safety looks. He’s quick, fast and strong with the ability to match up with shifty slots, bigger possession receivers and pass-catching tight ends. Branch is also tough and gritty which makes himu a perfec fit for this Lions team. He has a nose for the ball and is capable of making game-changing plays. He had two interceptions and two forced fumbles during his freshman season at Bama.
Branch made headlines on draft day to be the only guy to stay into day 2 in the greenroom as he was projected to go in the first round. I think that shows how much he cares about this opportunity and has his heart in it.
Also, Branch as a great opportunity to learn from newly acquired Safety, Chauncy Gardner-Johnson who is one of the best young safeties in the league.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Round 3: No. 68 (from DEN) – Hendon Hooker, QB, Tennessee
You ever feeling a little uncomfortable and then you let out a massive fart and all of your uneasiness washes away? Yea, well thats the feeling Lions fans got when they landed Hendon Hooker with the 68th pick. QB wasnt a terrible need, but once we got him, a sense of relief was felt across the fanbase. When the Lions ended up getting Goff in the Stafford trade, it was sort of unsaid that Goff was just the bridge before they draft a QB of the future. However Goff has played way better than expectations and less and less fans are calling for a replacment. So, instead of using one of their first round picks on a QB, they waited and got a guy with first round updside! Now, they are in a much more confortable position at QB with a very solid back up.
The Lions used the 68th pick in order to take the former Tennessee quarterback. The pick came just before the Rams and Raiders were scheduled to pick and been teams have been seen as possible landing spots for a quarterback in this year’s draft. Hooker is recovering from a torn ACL, but his doctor recently informed teams that he is expected to be ready to go by the first week of the regular season. With Jared Goff in place as the starter in Detroit, there won’t be any need for Hooker to rush back for what will likely be a redshirt season if all goes according to plan in Detroit.
This pick was safe, exciting, and sets the Lions up with a solid back up QB. The first time that they can say that since they had Shaun Hill.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Round 3: No. 96 (from ARI) – Brodric Martin, DT, Western Kentucky
Before the draft, a need that was discussed as a hole in the Lions defense was interior line. They got their big boy in the middle with nose tackle, Brodric Martin. After starting his career at North Alabama, Martin transferred to Western Kentucky to play his final two seasons at the FBS level. Since 2021, Martin has played in 26 total games, and has managed to contribute 62 total tackles to the Western Kentucky cause. He’s piled up six tackles for-loss as well as four sacks, one fumble recovery and one forced fumble. This move with help the Lions run defense that ranked 4th to last in the NFL last year.
It is no surprise that winning is won in the trenches. The Lions have done a great job of drafting players to build out this line with the likes of Alim McNeill, Isaiah Buggs, and John Cominsky, but with big interior guys like Martin, they usually operate best in a rotation. This move should be huge in terms of depth and opening up even more opportunities for Aiden Hutchison to get to the QB.
This move didn't feel flashy, but it felt needed.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Round 5: No. 152 – Colby Sorsdal, OL, William & Mary
The Lions had to finally wait a bit before this pick due to moving around in the draft and trading away their pick round 4. They elected to add depth to their O-Line by taking Colby Sorsdal out of William and Mary. Sometimes its fun being the big fish in the small pond. Sorsdal started in all 46 games he appeared in during his five-year stint at William & Mary. He spent the duration of his college career at Right Tackle. Sorsdal is the first Tribe player to be drafted since 2016, when the Chicago Bears selected safety DeAndre Houston-Carson in the sixth round.
Serving as an offensive co-captain and starting all 13 games at Right Tackle, Sorsdal anchored an offensive line that helped the Tribe rank third in total rushing offense and fourth in fewest sacks allowed. Behind one of the best offensive line units in the country, the Tribe accumulated an 11-2 record and won the CAA Conference Championship for the first time since 2015.
He will be joining a elite O-line led by Penei Sewell, Frank Ragnow and Taylor Decker. Colby wont start, but he will add in needed depth for a team that's success will only goes as far as their line will take them.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Round 7: No. 219 (from HOU through MIN via PHI) – Antoine Green, WR, North Carolina
With the Lions last pick in a very intense draft, they selected Wide Receiver, Antoine Green out of UNC. Most projected Antoine to be signed to a team after the draft so it is a but of a peculiar pick. In the late 7th round, you are just hoping to take a flier on a guy and hoping they pan out.
The 6-foot-3, 199-pound receiver impressed Detroit's coaching staff at the East-West Shrine Bowl, and has the opportunity to compete for playing time his rookie season. According to NFL Draft Bible, Green is a "technically sound, fluid athlete that can give you a little bit of everything as a wide receiver. Green runs routes, it is as if he is attacking his defender rather than going about his route without considering what the defense is doing. Green has a good release off the line of scrimmage and does not get held up too much when facing press coverage. He uses his hands well to reduce contact against the press and accelerate off the line. He analyzes coverages well and makes quick decisions on how to break down his defender throughout his route. He can read zone defenses and has a knack for finding spaces to make himself an easier target."
With Jameson Williams missing 6 games to start the year, there is an opportunity for Green to poach snaps away from anyone not named Amon-Ra or Marvin Jones. There is also a chance he doesn't make it out of camp. Unlikely, but we will see.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Conclusion:
The 2023 NFL draft for the Detroit Lions was a resounding success. They were able to draft 6 times....BEFORE THE FOURTH ROUND!! The extra picks allowed Detroit to really control the draft and move around in a way to get the guys they wanted. They did not care about who they got and when. They just simply got the guys they wanted. After reflecting on its entirety, they landed a lot of great talent. They were able to add a player at every single positional unit and several will end up starting and making an immediate impact.
Look, the Lions are going to Lions so hold your breath a little longer, however Brad Holmes and Jack Campbell have really turned this franchise around and are making them a legit playoff contender. Right now the Lions are favored to win the NFC North for the first time since god knows when. I am projecting a record of 12 and 5 and a NFL North Division Win.
GO LIONS!!!! (FTP)
2023.06.03 21:06 Trash_Tia Camp Redwood are running out of counselors! These children ARE NOT CHILDREN. Update: our counsellors are not who they say they are.
Welcome to Camp Redwood! The feel-good camp for ALL AGES.
We toast marshmallows around the fire, tell spooky ghost stories, and hide in random secret military bunkers under the campgrounds! Because SOMETHING IS HERE WITH US.
Camp Redwood is the PERFECT PLACE for a summer getaway where we start EVERY DAY with a CAMP REDWOOD SMILE. Where our counselors disappear every five minutes, and our campers disembowel us for funsies! Did I forget to mention our littles aren’t actually eight years old, but fully grown adults?
We hope you enjoy your fucking stay!
We are also not responsible for any counselors revealing they are not who they said they are—and not who they appear to be.
...
So. There’s a LOT to tell you and not a lot of time to tell it.
Right now, I suppose you could say we are under lockdown—if that is the word. I want to go over the last several days to get you up to date. That’s all I can do right now. I can hope and pray the thing with Teddy’s voice does not get in here, and once again cry out for help—that I know is not coming. Not from the authorities, at least. But hey, if any of you fancy coming to rescue us, we’re in the middle of the Canadian wilderness. The closest rest-stop is maybe three fucking hours away. So have fun. Has it really almost been a week since I posted? Well, we’re still here!
And surprise, surprise, help is not coming. So, please excuse the salt. I am seventeen years old and I have been abandoned by the adults who were supposed to be looking after us.
Who were supposed to act under protocol if something like this happened. I know they were waiting for it—there are specific fucking guidelines on an emergency evacuation for counselors if this ever happened. But then the little shits took over before we could do anything. I guess I’ll start by letting you know that there are two of us left. (three, if we count Rowan, but I’m not). What I thought was going to be a quiet summer getaway with kids my age has turned into a nightmare.
For one, we have been cornered inside the head counselor’s underground secret bunker. If you want to know why she has a secret military bunker, I guess you should keep reading.
Because shit gets weirder than animal crackers having the power to turn adults into kids, and vice versa. When I made my first post, I thought that was it for us. I thought for sure there must have been a self-destruct somewhere—which meant whoever was running this camp was waiting for something like this. I was sure we were going to die, so after making the post, I have to admit with ya’ll—I just slept. I curled up, tried to ignore Harry and Carmel calling our names through childish laugher, and went to sleep with the thought in my head that I was completely at peace with what I had done with my life.
Sure, I was young. Seventeen years old is too young to be ripped apart by littles who are in fact grown adults. But as I was falling into slumber and allowing myself to fall, with my head resting in my lap, my head turned towards a separate pile of files on the other side of the room—I realized I really wanted to know how this was possible. There was so much I needed to know. Why did eight-year-old Eleanor Summers have a file where here birthday dated back to 1979? Why had supposedly innocent sugary snacks turned our adorable littles into mini psychopaths?
These kids were not kids, somehow. But how? How was that even possible? Could it be that the files were wrong?
1979 was definitely 45.
But Eleanor Summers couldn’t be 45 years old. I knew what 45 looked like. I knew that they thought like. They spent half of their time on Facebook laughing at outdated memes, and the other half… I don’t know, working? They have job’s! They’re happily married with kids, maybe soon grandkids! That was not Eleanor Summers. Because Eleanor Summers was most definitely eight years old. I had played several rounds of teddy-bears picnic, and spent hours reassuring her that Harry's ghost stories were in fact not real, enough times for me to know that this little kid was little—and a kid.
But something was bothering me. More than the secret military bunker, and magic age-regressing animal crackers. When I first signed up to Camp Redwood, one of the tag-lines to gain attraction had been, “Solve mysteries in the woods in the dead of night, with nothing but a flashlight and your fellow campers!” I had no idea I would be solving this thing on my own, trapped inside a bunker.
“What are you doing?” Rowan, who was still looking through Allison’s dinosaur laptop, turned to me with half lidded eyes, when I slowly got to my feet, careful not to make too much noise, and crept over to the pile of separate files which seemed to be crumbling apart from age. He kept his voice low, but it sounded almost like a whine. He could have been scared, but from the way he was sitting, cross-legged with a frowny face, I figured something must have been going on with him. The guy looked tired. More tired than normal.
The bags under his eyes were practically shadowing his face, and were an odd contrast to unusually ashy colored cheeks and slightly dilated eyes. Still though, Rowan refused to look vulnerable. I caught glimpse of Harry’s raybans sitting on his head, pinning back thick dark brown curls from falling in front of sleepy eyes. Maybe he was finally losing his cool and breaking out of the well-constructed façade he had been hiding behind since Teddy disappeared.
We had just narrowly escaped a crowd of psycho littles high on age-regressing sugary snacks who were doing who-the-fuck knows to the other counselors who had been captured, so I didn’t blame him looking like that. I guess he couldn’t look me in the eye, because in Rowan’s mind, he was the reason why this happened. He was the leader, and the camp had fallen to psychopathic little eight year olds who had taken half of the counselors hostage, and the other half—most likely taken apart in the physical sense, after what we had witnessed in Cassie’s cabin. Still though, it wasn’t Rowan’s fault. He could sit there and pull a face all he wanted, it’s not like I was going to blow up at him for getting us stuck down here. He actually saved us.
And trapped us, judging from the footsteps upstairs, Carmel and Harry still bouncing around looking for us.
It was a game in their heads. The little’s thought it was cat and mouse. Harry and Carmel were the oblivious cats prowling, while we were the mice, hoping to fucking GOD we weren’t caught and eaten. Ignoring Rowan, I glimpsed what looked like a box full of DVD’S—all of which were labelled with dates and names. I saw familiar ones, my heart racing into my throat. Phoebe. Eli. Cassandra.
Each DVD had one of the kid’s names scribbled on the front, as well as a date.
I found Eleanor’s right at the back of the box.
Eleanor Summers.
08/05/2021. (PM)
Before I could hesitate and think what I was doing, I slid the DVD into the portable player attached to the MacBook. Rowan, to my surprise, didn’t move. But he did make an acknowledging noise when the screen flickered to what looked like video footage. Peering at the screen, I found myself staring at a small white room. There was no door. Only a wooden desk and a chair, and sitting on it was a middle aged woman with dark blonde curls tied into a strict ponytail. She was wearing what looked like a prison jumpsuit.
Her eyes were eerily glued to the camera, unblinking. Her wrists were cuffed in front of her. Though from the look on her face, she saw the restraints as a game. Her eyes lit up with intrigue and I could practically see the cogs in her mind starting to turn as she struggled with them.
As soon as I saw this woman, I felt all of my nerve endings set alight. I wanted to turn the screen off, or look away. But once I was looking at the screen, I couldn’t bring myself to tear my eyes away. “Let’s try this again.” There was a woman offscreen. She sounded young. Too young to be in that kind of authority. I figured there was no way teenagers were being hired as special ops agents, but I guessed I was wrong. She cleared her throat. “It is 4:35 exactly. August 5th 2021. My name is Agent Lemrac,” she stated. “I am asking once again for you to comply with us. As I have said several times, the court are willing to lessen your sentence if you plead guilty with insanity.”
The woman surprised me with a snorting laugh. She seemed to come alive, leaning forward with animated features, her brow reaching her hairline. She was acting like a child, bouncing up and down in the seat, her lips stretching into a wider grin. “What did you just say?”
There was a pause. I could tell the woman was intentionally antagonising the interviewer.
“It means you have been legally declared insane,” the interviewer stumbled over her words slightly. “Mrs Summers, it would be in your best interest to work with us to lessen your current sentence which at the moment is standing at,” the sounds of shuffling paper crackled through the speakers. The interviewer cleared her throat again rustling paper. “Thirty six years. Without parole.”
The woman didn’t speak, only continued to smile—and the interviewer delved further into the sentence. “If you do in fact plead guilty with declared insanity, you will be sentenced to a program which is in the process of supporting and rehabilitating people with your…” she caught herself for a moment. I could tell this interviewer had a biased opinion and it was definitely showing through her interviewing style. I could hear the rapid intakes of her breath as she hurried through what seemed to be a script she was reading from. “Conditions.” She finished. “The Redwood program aims to help people exactly like you.”
Redwood? I thought.
Like… Camp Redwood?
Rowan whistled behind me. I guess I could call that a reaction. The guy was probably still in shock after seeing Café de Teddy splattered all over little Cassie’s cabin floor. I should have known those little bitches weren’t playing Operation for eight hours straight. Turning my attention from Rowan and back to the screen, the woman in the jumpsuit appeared to have changed tactics. Her expression twisted into nonchalance. She leaned back in her chair. “I am not pleading insane because I am not insane.”
“Mrs Summers—”
The woman cut her off. “I am not crazy.” She raised her hands “I am doing what needs to be done.” She leaned forward. “Humanity suffers in the skin. We age and die— and how is that fair? What if we want to see the next millennium? And the next two millennia after that? Why should our bodies dictate our lifespan? Why should we sit here and wait to rot and wither and die when we have the intelligence and mindset to do it? If nobody else is willing to throw ethics aside to take a step forwards in human evolution, I should do it myself.” She folded her arms across her chest, again, like a child. “I did what was to be done.”
“Dr. Summers.” The interviewer’s tone grew stiff. “You and your colleagues conducted illegal and unethical procedures on your family and friends—as well as four other victims.”
The woman inclined her head. “You have a daughter, am I correct? I have a son.”
“A child you killed, Dr Summers.” The interviewer retorted in a hiss which was definitely expressing emotion. She ignored the mention of her daughter, but I could tell it had rattled her to her core. Her voice had cracked. This case was close to her.
That was obvious. Without seeing the interviewer herself, I could sense how uncomfortable she was, shuffling in the chair. Every so often I would hear the sound of her rubbing her hands on her knees and tapping her shoe against the chair leg. She oozed anxiety, not just from her tone of voice, but the way the frame seemed to move with her. “Dr. Summers, you used your son in your research, along with several of his friends. This was not science.” Her voice shook. I heard her sharp inhale. Unprofessional, but very human. Instead of staying stoic and keeping to script, this agent was cracking apart. “It was murder.”
“Agent Lemrac, concentrate on the interview only.” An official voice crackled through what sounded like an intercom on screen.
“Got it.” She spoke through her teeth.
The woman was finding wounds and pressing on them. She was scanning the interviewer for vulnerabilities and preying on every insecurity. She leaned back speaking through a sigh. “Without my son’s sacrifice we wouldn’t have created an answer to death. To growing old and dying, and leaving loved ones behind.” Her voice softened into a murmur, but I didn’t trust it.
After identifying the shattering pieces of this interviewer which were very clear visible in her view, the woman was taking advantage.
“Agent Lemrac, you have a daughter. Am I correct in saying her name is Mari?
“That… that is not relevant.”
“Glioblastoma.” Dr. Summers lips curved into a sickening smile hidden behind mocking sympathy. “A sickness of the brain--which, unfortunately, I cannot fix. If your daughter’s brain was in my hands, I would try. However, not even a brand new body would help her. One which would never age or grow sick. And for that, I am deeply, deeply sorry.” She reached her cuffed hands forwards. “My condolences, Agent Lemrac. Honestly. I have to hand it to you. You are incredibly brave for coming here today and talking to me while abandoning your sick child.” She shook her head.
“Your daughter is dying of an incurable illness, suffering inside fragile skin which will break and fall apart and be unable to keep her standing for much longer. While my son will live on forever. He will see every millennia, a planet which will crumble and build itself back together. And maybe the end of the universe itself.” There was a twitch in her expression and a glitter in her eye I did not recognise. Insanity.
She was fucking insane. I was seeing the pure of it, the depraved and disgusting gleam in eyes empty of remorse and regret. This woman did not care what she had done. I could tell from the look on her face. If she had the chance, she would do this again.
But there was no way they were trying to say her cruelty and complete disregard for her son’s life was due to insanity.
“You are sick, Dr. Summers.” The interviewer said after a moment of gathering herself.
The woman shook her head with a chuckle. “I told you. I am not sick--”
“Sick in the head!” The interviewer’s voice exploded through the speakers in a shriek—a terrified cry she had been trying to hold in. I finally saw her—or at least the back of her. She was a young woman with light blonde hair falling loose on her shoulders. She was trembling. Slamming her hands down on the table, she screamed at the orange jumpsuit woman.
“You are psychologically fucked in the head! You psycho bitch! That is my sister!” She spoke through strangled sobs rattling her whole body. “Mari is my little sister. She is not my child.”
Her breaths were strangled and harboured. I noticed figures looming in the background, but she was continuing. “You killed your own fucking son,” she spat. “You are not legally insane, you are sick!” she shrieked. “You planned and put this together! You sit there and you talk about your son like he’s a… like he’s a tool! You deserve to rot. Do you hear me?” I noticed the orange jumpsuit woman was still smiling, satisfied with the interview’s reaction. Her words were spoken in a vicious poison as she leaned forward and spat directly in orange jumpsuit’s face.
“Agent Lemrac!” Whoever her superiors were—were panicking. “I told you not to turn it off. I knew this was going to happen. Can we stop the demonstration, please? Human emotions present inside an Aceville soldier are too powerful—"
Voices were murmuring in the background, and Agent Lemrac raised her hands. “I want to stop.” She choked out, her hands trembling. She spoke like she still had control over the situation and wasn’t being apprehended. “I want to stop. Do you hear me?” The interviewer was crying, I realized. “Stop the recording! I can’t do this. Oh god, I think I’m going to be sick—”
When the footage ended in a burst of static, I found myself backing away, something slimy creeping its way up my throat.
The woman in the orange jumpsuit who had murdered her son and countless others in what sounded like an attempt at playing god, was Eleanor Summers. I thought back to Teddy’s corpse, and the surgical precision of every organ’s removal. The young interviewer had mentioned colleagues of Eleanor.
Was it possible that Camp Redwood was in fact nothing more than a rehabilitation camp for murderous criminals? There was a loud bang from above, and I was torn from my thoughts.
I turned to Rowan, who had been unusually quiet. And I realized why, when I twisted around to find him three inches from my face, his laboured breath tickling my cheek.
The boy jumped back with a chuckle—like me noticing him was some kind of game, before diving back into the chair. I did notice something odd, as my thoughts spiralled. Rowan couldn’t sit still. Slumped in the leather spinning chair, he fingers tapped a rhythm on the armrests while his feet jumped up and down. In the dim light of the bunker, I glimpsed a sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead and the flesh of his neck. He looked to be… feverish—and now that I was looking at him properly, all of my attention on the boy, I noticed small things which seemed… off about him.
For one, he wasn’t coming up with a plan. Rowan always had a plan. Even if he wasn’t completely sure of it, or was completely winging it. This time though, he was strangely quiet. I found my voice when he stuck out his tongue at me. “What are you looking at?”
“Rowan.” I spoke softly, careful not to garner attention from above us where Harry and Carmel were still clamouring around, playing games. “Are you… feeling okay?” I asked, when he turned back to the laptop, manically biting his fingernails.
“I dunnnooooo, Josie! Am I feeeeeeling okaaaaaayyyyy?” He surprised me with an uncharacteristic laugh.
But I did know it.
I knew it from earlier when he reacted to Allison’s bunker and I had been too freaked out to realize that I was dragging along the enemy with me.
Because the fucking idiot had consumed animal crackers. I had seen him for myself earlier, pouring a pack into his mouth for a snack. Which meant either the ‘kids’ had intentionally dosed him with mind altering sugary snacks, or the more likely, he could not resist those preservatives which was the equivalent of caffeine. It’s not like I could blame him when he harboured the weight of an entire camp, but come on, did he really have to sacrifice his own fucking mind to keep himself awake?
Rowan wasn’t just biting. His nails. He was gnawing. Which he previously thought was a filthy habit. He had yelled at a camper for chewing on her nails a few days earlier.
Now that I was noticing it, I couldn’t… stop noticing it. The boy’s whole demeanour had changed; the way he was sinking into the chair, instead of sitting up straight like usual—- I used to call it having a stick up his ass. The boy started typing on the laptop, ignoring me. But when I watched the pattern of his fingers, he was just typing gibberish. Footsteps pounded above us, Harry and Carmel acting as the kid’s’ brainwashed foot-soldiers. Or, more likely somehow, if the animal crackers had caused the littles, or I guess, the fully grown forty year old criminals, to relapse in age-- then maybe it was possible for the same thing to happen to us. To Rowan.
I could feel myself starting to back away, but there was nowhere to run. I just slammed into a cupboard. My gaze flicked to Rowan again, who was tapping a beat on the laptop tracking pad, swaying back and forth, his eyes elsewhere before his gaze found mine. “Marcoooooo!” Harry shouted from above, giggling with Carmel.
I had to guess their mental age had to be at least 8-10 years old. Which meant I wasn’t just dealing with a camp full of forty-year-old psycho’s, I was also dealing with mentally relapsed counselors acting like toddlers.
Rowan seemed to jolt in the chair, twisting his head around, his eyes suddenly incredibly childlike and playful, and very Un-Rowan, were finding the ceiling, his mouth stretching into a smile, like he was seeing butterflies. His eyes flashed to me, and I caught a twitch in his lip. I knew that look. It was the look on my seven year old sister, who knew mom was mad at me, and wanted to make it even worse.
His cheeks were starting to blossom scarlet from what must have been the overwhelming urge to laugh. Rowan pressed his lips together and held in a breath like a hamster, and the asshole was fucking with me. Waiting for me to beat him to it by accident. Kids were fucking ruthless, but there was something terrifying about an 18 year old with a little kid’s mind.
I lifted my index to my lips, miming for him not to even try, but the boy just mimicked me, bugging out his eyes and pressing his finger to his grinning mouth. “Don’t you fucking dare.” I managed to whisper. The boy was definitely playing his own game, moving in twitching movements, baiting me. When he cupped his mouth, I almost let out a cry, but then he dropped his arms with a giggle, as if to say, “I’m just kidding!”
Slowly, I turned around, grabbed the salt I’d found in Allison’s cupboard, and a flat can of soda. Without making too much movement, I poured a handful of salt into the can. But Rowan seemed to know exactly what I was doing. Because in the time it was taking me to advance towards him with the can of salty soda, one arm shakily ready to grab hold of him, and put him into a headlock, he was cupping his mouth, all logic and everything adult, everything he had been as our leader, igniting in playful eyes, leaving me the last one standing.
“Pollloooooo!”
By the time Rowan had managed to reveal our hiding place in a spluttered laugh, I had hold of the squirming boy, one arm wrapped around his neck, my other forcing the can of soda into his mouth. I had definitely miscalculated his strength. During camp Redwood activities, he was always the last one to come back from the trail, holding his knees and panting. I figured he was unfit. However, I was wrong. Underneath his shirt, the guy had some serious muscles.
It was like attacking a brick wall. However, Rowan was mentally a kid. So, I had my intelligence and logic on my side. When it became obvious I wasn’t going to get anywhere with brute strength, I resorted to tickling him, which made him squirm, squeaking out a laugh. When he opened his mouth to yell at me to stop, I took my chance, thrusting the can into his lips and holding his nose so he swallowed it down.
“No!” His laughter turned into muffled yelling, as he batted his fists at my chest. “No, no, no! Get off, get off!”
His body convulsed as the salt did its job, causing the boy to lurch to his knees and choke up forbidden animal crackers in a gooish sludge which turned my stomach. By the time Rowan seemed half himself and half not, still kneeling, his head pressed against the floor, Harry was poking his head through the door with a goonish grin. “Found you!” He giggled, before forcing the door open, allowing Carmel and Callen, freshly caught and mentally turned into littles, to advance down the stairs with equally terrifying grins. There was something wrong with Harry’s face, and I only realized it when the guy himself was hauling me from the bunker, Carmel dragging a barely responsive Rowan. There was nothing in Harry’s expression, only blind childish excitement at winning the game. When he dragged me out of Allison’s cabin and threw me to the ground, I realized he too had insane strength I had not been expecting. But that thought quickly retracted when I was seeing his face in the light of a crescent moon lighting up the sky an eerie glow. Harry’s cheeks were puffy and swollen, his right eye way bigger than it should have been.
When he spoke, his voice was more of a lisp. This was something far more realistic than magical animal crackers fucking with his brain.
“He needs help!” I managed to choke out when Carmel wrapped jump-rope around my wrists. Next to me, Rowan was refusing to get up, still choking up salty soda, groaning into his hands. Every time Callen tried to restrain him, he hissed out like an animal.
“Do you hear me?!” I struggled violently. “Harry needs—”
BANG.
Is what it felt like. The feeling of something—what felt and sounded like a toy car—colliding with my temples, sent me onto the ground, my head spinning itself off of its axis. I remember lying on my back and frowning at the moon which almost looked like it was getting closer to me, blurring into a white ball of light—before reality sunk in, and it was in fact Carmel’s converse coming down to finish me off. I didn’t stay knocked out for long. But I did dream.
I think you can call it a dream? I was lying in bed at home; my room drowned in the dark. I was cosy, curled up in my blankets, when a clammy hand slammed over my mouth, rousing me from slumber. There were two figures in my room. They didn’t have faces. They just existed as shadows, silhouettes. Before one of them raised something above their head, and… impact.
It was the same impact as the toy car hitting me, snapping me back to that night. It wasn’t a dream. Because I remembered his clammy fingers over my mouth, and his hisses for me to shut up as he dragged me from my room.
My parents stood in front of me with expressions of sympathy. Basked in warm light, my mom and dad looked almost otherworldly. “For the best.” Was what they mouthed when my own phantom screams slammed into me. I asked them why, and they didn’t reply, allowing him to pull me further and further from what I knew, from my life as I knew it. But.. that couldn’t be real. I had memories of getting on the bus to camp Redwood. I could recall the whole journey. So, why… why was my tangled mind saying otherwise?
When I gathered myself, the first thing I realized was I was sitting down. I was outside, cool night air grazing my bare arms. There was something attached to me, jerking violently, And it took me several disorienting blinks to understand that I was tied back to back with Rowan. My head pounded, and something wet and warm dripped down my temple. Great. I could add head injury to the long list of things to worry about.
“Let me go you little fucking witch.”
Rowan was back to himself, though from the muffled hissing and the sound of choking—I had to guess he was being force-fed animal crackers.
“Let me—mpphmmm. little…. fucking… mphmmphhmhppmm!”
“Rowan.” I managed to get out in a croak. Through flickering eyes, I caught glimpse of a familiar figure dancing around us. Shivers rocketed down my spine, and I wrenched at the jump-rope restraints, but they did a surprisingly job of restraining my arms behind my back.
Eleanor was with Rowan, while Eli was knelt in front of me. Looking at him, the boy had definitely aged in the face—and I couldn’t help wondering what exactly he had done as a forty something year old to be sent to this place.
“Josie!” Rowan responded in a wail. “Josie. Wake the FUCK up.”
“Stop swearing.”
Eleanor spoke with the cold tone of her actual age.
“Oh, yeah?” Rowan spluttered. “Fuck you.” The boy’s laugh was still rough from almost vomiting his insides out from too much salt intake. “I’m sorry, you were a fucking boomer all along?!” He wriggled in the restraints, lunging forwards, which sent me backwards.
“Stop swearing, Rowan.” Was all the girl responded with calmly.
“Like I’m going to listen to you!” He sneered. “Fuck, fuck, fuckity, fucking fuck!” What are you going to do, huh? Bite me with your false teeth?” The sound of saliva hitting skin made me wince. He was pissed. I had no doubt his completely rational anger was going to get us killed. Rowan was also somehow getting mixed up between forty and eighty. Though he was unwillingly snacking on mind bending sugary goodness.
“Fudge, Rowan.” Eleanor spoke in a giggle.
“What?!”
“Say fudge. Not fuck.”
“No.”
His hiss of pain caught me off guard. I don’t know what she was doing to him, but it was hurting him.
“You fudging fudge! I’m going to fudging kill you when I get out of these fudging ropes—“ his manic cursing became a muffled yell.
“Say fudge,” Eleanor hummed, followed by his hiss when the palm of her hand skinned his cheek. “Fuck is a bad word. You even said so yourself and you’re my favourite counselor.”
He heaved out a breath.
“You fudge,” Rowan spat. “When I get out of this, I am going to fudging kill you, you fudging—” His manic ranting morphed, once again, into muffled yelling, after another fistful of animal crackers were forced into his mouth. When I risked twisting around, I could see his rebellion slowly starting to simmer out as he relaxed slightly. I wanted to yell at him to keep a clear head before cold fingers were dipping under my chin and forcing my head around where I found myself face to face with Eli.
“I like you, Josie,” he said, before untying me and pulling me to my feet. Now at the age of nine or ten, he was a lot stronger. When I tried to pull away, the cruel blade of a knife grazed my gut. I caught his grin. “But we don’t need you.” Eli pointed to Rowan.
“We just want them.”
I followed his pointer finger which went from Rowan to Harry and Carmel, who were just standing there like fucking idiots, probably awaiting the next game. Harry’s face was getting redder. It looked like he was suffocating, and yet his grin was growing wider and wider, splitting his lips apart. “Rowan Atlas.” Eleanor said, dragging him to his feet. Something was stapled to his forehead head, which caused him to howl in pain, hissing another strangled line of “Fudge”. but I couldn’t read what it was.
“Camp leader. Intelligent, and problem solving skills.”
“Harry Carlisle.” Eli nodded his head with a smile. “Quick thinker. Strong minded.”
“Carmel Locke.” Cassie spoke behind me. She had her arms folded, a wry smile on her lips. “Smarter than she makes out—- an independent learner, and can work well under pressure.”
Looking at these kids, I felt sick to my stomach. They were planning something—and had the intelligence of renowned scientists, which was what I gathered from the footage on the MacBook. “What?” was all I could hiss out, as Eli prodded the blade of the knife into my back, ushering me to walk. “What are you talking about?”
“Duh.” He spoke in a more tweeny giggle. “Like I said, Miss Josie. You’re my favorite counselor but we don’t need you, so I’m going to use you for parts.” He laughed when a shiver spiderwebbed down my spine. “See! I told you I was going to show you my collection!”
“But… what do you need them for?”
Eli pressed his index finger to his lips with a laugh before forcing me to face forwards. “That’s a secret!”
When I didn’t, or couldn’t move, he shoved me into a stumbling power-walk, and I managed to turn my head quickly, making feverish eye contact with Rowan.
“Rowan.” I said calmly through the gutter in my throat. “Get…. Get help.”
If I was going to die, I needed him to get a hold of himself and somehow alert the outside world what was going on.
“From whom, Josie?!” He wailed back—and as I was dragged away, I could once again sense the childish undertones in his voice.
I had no choice but to obey Eli’s orders. If I didn’t want a knife in my back. He took me to the main lunch cabin, which, when I set foot inside, almost sent me to my knees.
Something lurched inside me, and I was screaming with no voice, staggering backwards, only to be shoved onto my face. In front of me was what had been the lunch hall, fully converted into the beginning of a laboratory.
What had been cafeteria tables were fashioned into makeshift gurney’s and beds, and I was looking at all of the missing counselors. Yuri and Noah had been skinned completely, their faces laid out on a makeshift surgical table. Joey had been ripped open, his heart and brain removed, a glittering metallic substance creeping its way across his forehead. It was then when I remembered Eleanor Summers words.
She wanted to prevent death and preserve the human mind. Looking at what was in front of me, this was the start of it. There was equipment I had never seen before. Lily’s body was empty, carved out completely, tubes forced inside her. When I glimpsed her fingers move and begin to ball into a fist, I saw red. I saw fucking red. The exit was so close and yet Eli, fucking Eli, wielded his knife. I think that is when part of me gave up. My brain just stopped. It short circuited. Seeing my friends murdered and yet somehow being kept alive through playing god, my body slumped to the ground. I was numb. Completely numb.
I’m not sure what would have happened if those bloody saws and instruments which had been used on my friends were used on me too.
Luckily, that did not happen. Before Eli could get his slimy hands on me, he crumpled to the ground in an almost cartoon-like fashion, and standing over me was Harry. Who was looking better. When he grasped hold of me and helped me up, I only had one word. “Out.” And he was nodding, his eyes glistening as he drunk in our friends’ fate.
“How?” I managed to sputter out, when we made it out of the cabin, ducking behind a tree. Harry turned to me, motioning for me to shut up. There was a group of now ten to eleven year olds already running around, searching for what I guessed was him.
“I’m allergic to peanut butter,” Harry murmured, his grasp tightening on my wrist as he led me across the camp, the two of us stumbling.
“What, and you just magically healed?”
He didn’t respond to that, which bothered me.
“The bunker is our best shot,” I hissed out. “I think we can get in contact with someone down there.” I paused, unable to stop myself. “What makes you so important?”
“Dunno. Maybe I’m their favorite.”
When we found Allison’s cabin, which was more of a safehouse (an exposed safehouse) I found Rowan sitting on the wooden porch with his legs swinging over the side. “Rowan!” Harry groaned. I found it hard to believe their roles had been switched. Now he was the one yelling at the camp-leader. “I told you to stay inside!”
He ushered the boy inside, before barricading the door with some hefty looking equipment. I could tell from the grin on his face that our so-called leader was once again no longer himself.
I had to bite back a groan. “You’re kidding.” I said, pointing to Rowan, who buried his head in his knees and blew a raspberry. “Does he look and act like our leader right now?!”
“It’s Rowan, Josie.”
“He’s a liability.”
“He’s our friend! Wouldn’t Rowan do the same?”
Yes, he would. But. He would also realize we’re lost causes.
“Gag him with something.” I said. “If he makes any more noise, we’re dumping him.”
“He’s a kid!”
“Just the mind of one.”
I don’t know how animal crackers worked, but his age seemed to be progressively younger. This time he just sat with wide eyes watching us.
Harry almost tore apart the place looking for means of communication, before an old fashioned ringing sound made me jump.
“What was that?” Harry turned to me with his lip curled.
“How am I supposed to know?!” I hissed. “Keep looking!” But when I ducked under the table, my hands crawled under the desk, finding a wire—and attached to that, an ancient looking phone which looked straight out of a 1940’s movie, a bright green rotary phone.
Hesitantly, I answered it, lifting the phone to my ear. “Hello?”
“Did you awaken the subjects, Agent Salta?"
The voice on the other end was a woman, an oldish sounding woman with the tinge of a British accent.
“What?” I shot a look at Harry before shaking my head. “No. My name is Josie Greenfield. We’re at Camp Redwood, and we need help.”
The woman paused.
“Where is Agent Salta?” She cleared her throat. “This line is reserved for communication with agents only.”
“I don’t know who the fuck you’re talking about!" I squeaked out. “My name is Josie, and whatever is happening here, we need help!”
“Josie. Did you awaken the subjects?”
I paused after a moment, shooting Harry a look when he tried to take the phone off of me. “Yes.”
“And… are our agents unavailable?”
“I don’t understand.”
“When a health and safety breach is activated, our agents are awakened to deal with the Project Spearhead subjects if they were to ever go rogue, or become conscious enough to think. Josie, can you tell me what is in front of you? Describe it to me.”
I held my breath. Next to the hidden phone under the desk was what looked like mismatched wires, all of which had been severed. I lowered myself slowly, poking at mess. “Wires. I see… cut up wires.” I whispered. “Does this mean they know about you?”
She hummed. “Ah…That makes sense. The only way to activate our sleeper handlers would be to send out the signal. You appear to have been sabotaged. Unless activated manually, our agents cannot help you. I am sorry. They are your problem now.” The woman paused.
“If I were you, I would hope and pray they have not sabotaged the self-destruct. If you find that, then you may be able to save yourselves and find peace.” She cleared her throat. “Thank you for your service, Josie Greenfield.”
“Wait.” I managed to get out. “Wait, no! You can’t just… you can’t leave us! We need help!”
I found myself yelling at nothing when the phone went dead. The dull tone of the dead ringtone was clanging in my ears before footsteps from up above. “Fuck this.” Harry picked up a lead pipe. “They’re still little kids, right? I mean, their head must still be partly kids—- so let’s fucking beat their heads in.”
He noticed something, then, starting forwards towards the mess of files I had left earlier. Harry knelt on the ground and picked up Eli’s file, his eyes wide. But he wasn’t staring at the dates confirming the little boy’s age.
Instead, Harry pointed at the bottom of the file. “I don’t want to freak you out, Josie,” he whispered. Initially, I didn’t know what he was trying to show before I glimpsed notes scrawled at the bottom of the file, followed by a signature. “But I’m pretty sure that is my fucking writing.”
Harry was right.
I pulled the paperwork off of him, flicking through each file before turning my eyes to him. “Who the fuck are you?”
A clanging sound from above broke the tension, and whatever Harry was about to reply with was strangled in his throat. He slammed a hand over his mouth.
“Guys?”
The voice twisted me up inside, threatening to release a shriek from my mouth I had managed to clamp shut.
Teddy.
“Are you down here?” His voice was strained, and had an odd tone to it. “I can’t… I can’t see you.”
…
Can someone please tell me what the fuck is going on?! It’s been a blur of a week. We’ve managed to stay down here, surviving off of Allison’s rations. Rowan isn’t getting any better. He seems to have stopped mentally de-ageing at the age of maybe six. Harry has spent the last few days trying to get in contact with anyone, but it’s like they are IGNORING US.
I’ve been looking through everything I can find on Project Spearhead, but nothing points to Harry being involved. So. How is his signature all over the files? How is it possible that two friends I thought I knew several days ago, are now complete strangers?
Teddy keeps coming back.
He’s crying out to us.
I think he’s… in pain.
My god, I can’t stand this anymore. Please. CAMP REDWOOD NEEDS HELP.
submitted by Trash_Tia to nosleep [link] [comments]
We toast marshmallows around the fire, tell spooky ghost stories, and hide in random secret military bunkers under the campgrounds! Because SOMETHING IS HERE WITH US.
Camp Redwood is the PERFECT PLACE for a summer getaway where we start EVERY DAY with a CAMP REDWOOD SMILE. Where our counselors disappear every five minutes, and our campers disembowel us for funsies! Did I forget to mention our littles aren’t actually eight years old, but fully grown adults?
We hope you enjoy your fucking stay!
We are also not responsible for any counselors revealing they are not who they said they are—and not who they appear to be.
...
So. There’s a LOT to tell you and not a lot of time to tell it.
Right now, I suppose you could say we are under lockdown—if that is the word. I want to go over the last several days to get you up to date. That’s all I can do right now. I can hope and pray the thing with Teddy’s voice does not get in here, and once again cry out for help—that I know is not coming. Not from the authorities, at least. But hey, if any of you fancy coming to rescue us, we’re in the middle of the Canadian wilderness. The closest rest-stop is maybe three fucking hours away. So have fun. Has it really almost been a week since I posted? Well, we’re still here!
And surprise, surprise, help is not coming. So, please excuse the salt. I am seventeen years old and I have been abandoned by the adults who were supposed to be looking after us.
Who were supposed to act under protocol if something like this happened. I know they were waiting for it—there are specific fucking guidelines on an emergency evacuation for counselors if this ever happened. But then the little shits took over before we could do anything. I guess I’ll start by letting you know that there are two of us left. (three, if we count Rowan, but I’m not). What I thought was going to be a quiet summer getaway with kids my age has turned into a nightmare.
For one, we have been cornered inside the head counselor’s underground secret bunker. If you want to know why she has a secret military bunker, I guess you should keep reading.
Because shit gets weirder than animal crackers having the power to turn adults into kids, and vice versa. When I made my first post, I thought that was it for us. I thought for sure there must have been a self-destruct somewhere—which meant whoever was running this camp was waiting for something like this. I was sure we were going to die, so after making the post, I have to admit with ya’ll—I just slept. I curled up, tried to ignore Harry and Carmel calling our names through childish laugher, and went to sleep with the thought in my head that I was completely at peace with what I had done with my life.
Sure, I was young. Seventeen years old is too young to be ripped apart by littles who are in fact grown adults. But as I was falling into slumber and allowing myself to fall, with my head resting in my lap, my head turned towards a separate pile of files on the other side of the room—I realized I really wanted to know how this was possible. There was so much I needed to know. Why did eight-year-old Eleanor Summers have a file where here birthday dated back to 1979? Why had supposedly innocent sugary snacks turned our adorable littles into mini psychopaths?
These kids were not kids, somehow. But how? How was that even possible? Could it be that the files were wrong?
1979 was definitely 45.
But Eleanor Summers couldn’t be 45 years old. I knew what 45 looked like. I knew that they thought like. They spent half of their time on Facebook laughing at outdated memes, and the other half… I don’t know, working? They have job’s! They’re happily married with kids, maybe soon grandkids! That was not Eleanor Summers. Because Eleanor Summers was most definitely eight years old. I had played several rounds of teddy-bears picnic, and spent hours reassuring her that Harry's ghost stories were in fact not real, enough times for me to know that this little kid was little—and a kid.
But something was bothering me. More than the secret military bunker, and magic age-regressing animal crackers. When I first signed up to Camp Redwood, one of the tag-lines to gain attraction had been, “Solve mysteries in the woods in the dead of night, with nothing but a flashlight and your fellow campers!” I had no idea I would be solving this thing on my own, trapped inside a bunker.
“What are you doing?” Rowan, who was still looking through Allison’s dinosaur laptop, turned to me with half lidded eyes, when I slowly got to my feet, careful not to make too much noise, and crept over to the pile of separate files which seemed to be crumbling apart from age. He kept his voice low, but it sounded almost like a whine. He could have been scared, but from the way he was sitting, cross-legged with a frowny face, I figured something must have been going on with him. The guy looked tired. More tired than normal.
The bags under his eyes were practically shadowing his face, and were an odd contrast to unusually ashy colored cheeks and slightly dilated eyes. Still though, Rowan refused to look vulnerable. I caught glimpse of Harry’s raybans sitting on his head, pinning back thick dark brown curls from falling in front of sleepy eyes. Maybe he was finally losing his cool and breaking out of the well-constructed façade he had been hiding behind since Teddy disappeared.
We had just narrowly escaped a crowd of psycho littles high on age-regressing sugary snacks who were doing who-the-fuck knows to the other counselors who had been captured, so I didn’t blame him looking like that. I guess he couldn’t look me in the eye, because in Rowan’s mind, he was the reason why this happened. He was the leader, and the camp had fallen to psychopathic little eight year olds who had taken half of the counselors hostage, and the other half—most likely taken apart in the physical sense, after what we had witnessed in Cassie’s cabin. Still though, it wasn’t Rowan’s fault. He could sit there and pull a face all he wanted, it’s not like I was going to blow up at him for getting us stuck down here. He actually saved us.
And trapped us, judging from the footsteps upstairs, Carmel and Harry still bouncing around looking for us.
It was a game in their heads. The little’s thought it was cat and mouse. Harry and Carmel were the oblivious cats prowling, while we were the mice, hoping to fucking GOD we weren’t caught and eaten. Ignoring Rowan, I glimpsed what looked like a box full of DVD’S—all of which were labelled with dates and names. I saw familiar ones, my heart racing into my throat. Phoebe. Eli. Cassandra.
Each DVD had one of the kid’s names scribbled on the front, as well as a date.
I found Eleanor’s right at the back of the box.
Eleanor Summers.
08/05/2021. (PM)
Before I could hesitate and think what I was doing, I slid the DVD into the portable player attached to the MacBook. Rowan, to my surprise, didn’t move. But he did make an acknowledging noise when the screen flickered to what looked like video footage. Peering at the screen, I found myself staring at a small white room. There was no door. Only a wooden desk and a chair, and sitting on it was a middle aged woman with dark blonde curls tied into a strict ponytail. She was wearing what looked like a prison jumpsuit.
Her eyes were eerily glued to the camera, unblinking. Her wrists were cuffed in front of her. Though from the look on her face, she saw the restraints as a game. Her eyes lit up with intrigue and I could practically see the cogs in her mind starting to turn as she struggled with them.
As soon as I saw this woman, I felt all of my nerve endings set alight. I wanted to turn the screen off, or look away. But once I was looking at the screen, I couldn’t bring myself to tear my eyes away. “Let’s try this again.” There was a woman offscreen. She sounded young. Too young to be in that kind of authority. I figured there was no way teenagers were being hired as special ops agents, but I guessed I was wrong. She cleared her throat. “It is 4:35 exactly. August 5th 2021. My name is Agent Lemrac,” she stated. “I am asking once again for you to comply with us. As I have said several times, the court are willing to lessen your sentence if you plead guilty with insanity.”
The woman surprised me with a snorting laugh. She seemed to come alive, leaning forward with animated features, her brow reaching her hairline. She was acting like a child, bouncing up and down in the seat, her lips stretching into a wider grin. “What did you just say?”
There was a pause. I could tell the woman was intentionally antagonising the interviewer.
“It means you have been legally declared insane,” the interviewer stumbled over her words slightly. “Mrs Summers, it would be in your best interest to work with us to lessen your current sentence which at the moment is standing at,” the sounds of shuffling paper crackled through the speakers. The interviewer cleared her throat again rustling paper. “Thirty six years. Without parole.”
The woman didn’t speak, only continued to smile—and the interviewer delved further into the sentence. “If you do in fact plead guilty with declared insanity, you will be sentenced to a program which is in the process of supporting and rehabilitating people with your…” she caught herself for a moment. I could tell this interviewer had a biased opinion and it was definitely showing through her interviewing style. I could hear the rapid intakes of her breath as she hurried through what seemed to be a script she was reading from. “Conditions.” She finished. “The Redwood program aims to help people exactly like you.”
Redwood? I thought.
Like… Camp Redwood?
Rowan whistled behind me. I guess I could call that a reaction. The guy was probably still in shock after seeing Café de Teddy splattered all over little Cassie’s cabin floor. I should have known those little bitches weren’t playing Operation for eight hours straight. Turning my attention from Rowan and back to the screen, the woman in the jumpsuit appeared to have changed tactics. Her expression twisted into nonchalance. She leaned back in her chair. “I am not pleading insane because I am not insane.”
“Mrs Summers—”
The woman cut her off. “I am not crazy.” She raised her hands “I am doing what needs to be done.” She leaned forward. “Humanity suffers in the skin. We age and die— and how is that fair? What if we want to see the next millennium? And the next two millennia after that? Why should our bodies dictate our lifespan? Why should we sit here and wait to rot and wither and die when we have the intelligence and mindset to do it? If nobody else is willing to throw ethics aside to take a step forwards in human evolution, I should do it myself.” She folded her arms across her chest, again, like a child. “I did what was to be done.”
“Dr. Summers.” The interviewer’s tone grew stiff. “You and your colleagues conducted illegal and unethical procedures on your family and friends—as well as four other victims.”
The woman inclined her head. “You have a daughter, am I correct? I have a son.”
“A child you killed, Dr Summers.” The interviewer retorted in a hiss which was definitely expressing emotion. She ignored the mention of her daughter, but I could tell it had rattled her to her core. Her voice had cracked. This case was close to her.
That was obvious. Without seeing the interviewer herself, I could sense how uncomfortable she was, shuffling in the chair. Every so often I would hear the sound of her rubbing her hands on her knees and tapping her shoe against the chair leg. She oozed anxiety, not just from her tone of voice, but the way the frame seemed to move with her. “Dr. Summers, you used your son in your research, along with several of his friends. This was not science.” Her voice shook. I heard her sharp inhale. Unprofessional, but very human. Instead of staying stoic and keeping to script, this agent was cracking apart. “It was murder.”
“Agent Lemrac, concentrate on the interview only.” An official voice crackled through what sounded like an intercom on screen.
“Got it.” She spoke through her teeth.
The woman was finding wounds and pressing on them. She was scanning the interviewer for vulnerabilities and preying on every insecurity. She leaned back speaking through a sigh. “Without my son’s sacrifice we wouldn’t have created an answer to death. To growing old and dying, and leaving loved ones behind.” Her voice softened into a murmur, but I didn’t trust it.
After identifying the shattering pieces of this interviewer which were very clear visible in her view, the woman was taking advantage.
“Agent Lemrac, you have a daughter. Am I correct in saying her name is Mari?
“That… that is not relevant.”
“Glioblastoma.” Dr. Summers lips curved into a sickening smile hidden behind mocking sympathy. “A sickness of the brain--which, unfortunately, I cannot fix. If your daughter’s brain was in my hands, I would try. However, not even a brand new body would help her. One which would never age or grow sick. And for that, I am deeply, deeply sorry.” She reached her cuffed hands forwards. “My condolences, Agent Lemrac. Honestly. I have to hand it to you. You are incredibly brave for coming here today and talking to me while abandoning your sick child.” She shook her head.
“Your daughter is dying of an incurable illness, suffering inside fragile skin which will break and fall apart and be unable to keep her standing for much longer. While my son will live on forever. He will see every millennia, a planet which will crumble and build itself back together. And maybe the end of the universe itself.” There was a twitch in her expression and a glitter in her eye I did not recognise. Insanity.
She was fucking insane. I was seeing the pure of it, the depraved and disgusting gleam in eyes empty of remorse and regret. This woman did not care what she had done. I could tell from the look on her face. If she had the chance, she would do this again.
But there was no way they were trying to say her cruelty and complete disregard for her son’s life was due to insanity.
“You are sick, Dr. Summers.” The interviewer said after a moment of gathering herself.
The woman shook her head with a chuckle. “I told you. I am not sick--”
“Sick in the head!” The interviewer’s voice exploded through the speakers in a shriek—a terrified cry she had been trying to hold in. I finally saw her—or at least the back of her. She was a young woman with light blonde hair falling loose on her shoulders. She was trembling. Slamming her hands down on the table, she screamed at the orange jumpsuit woman.
“You are psychologically fucked in the head! You psycho bitch! That is my sister!” She spoke through strangled sobs rattling her whole body. “Mari is my little sister. She is not my child.”
Her breaths were strangled and harboured. I noticed figures looming in the background, but she was continuing. “You killed your own fucking son,” she spat. “You are not legally insane, you are sick!” she shrieked. “You planned and put this together! You sit there and you talk about your son like he’s a… like he’s a tool! You deserve to rot. Do you hear me?” I noticed the orange jumpsuit woman was still smiling, satisfied with the interview’s reaction. Her words were spoken in a vicious poison as she leaned forward and spat directly in orange jumpsuit’s face.
“Agent Lemrac!” Whoever her superiors were—were panicking. “I told you not to turn it off. I knew this was going to happen. Can we stop the demonstration, please? Human emotions present inside an Aceville soldier are too powerful—"
Voices were murmuring in the background, and Agent Lemrac raised her hands. “I want to stop.” She choked out, her hands trembling. She spoke like she still had control over the situation and wasn’t being apprehended. “I want to stop. Do you hear me?” The interviewer was crying, I realized. “Stop the recording! I can’t do this. Oh god, I think I’m going to be sick—”
When the footage ended in a burst of static, I found myself backing away, something slimy creeping its way up my throat.
The woman in the orange jumpsuit who had murdered her son and countless others in what sounded like an attempt at playing god, was Eleanor Summers. I thought back to Teddy’s corpse, and the surgical precision of every organ’s removal. The young interviewer had mentioned colleagues of Eleanor.
Was it possible that Camp Redwood was in fact nothing more than a rehabilitation camp for murderous criminals? There was a loud bang from above, and I was torn from my thoughts.
I turned to Rowan, who had been unusually quiet. And I realized why, when I twisted around to find him three inches from my face, his laboured breath tickling my cheek.
The boy jumped back with a chuckle—like me noticing him was some kind of game, before diving back into the chair. I did notice something odd, as my thoughts spiralled. Rowan couldn’t sit still. Slumped in the leather spinning chair, he fingers tapped a rhythm on the armrests while his feet jumped up and down. In the dim light of the bunker, I glimpsed a sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead and the flesh of his neck. He looked to be… feverish—and now that I was looking at him properly, all of my attention on the boy, I noticed small things which seemed… off about him.
For one, he wasn’t coming up with a plan. Rowan always had a plan. Even if he wasn’t completely sure of it, or was completely winging it. This time though, he was strangely quiet. I found my voice when he stuck out his tongue at me. “What are you looking at?”
“Rowan.” I spoke softly, careful not to garner attention from above us where Harry and Carmel were still clamouring around, playing games. “Are you… feeling okay?” I asked, when he turned back to the laptop, manically biting his fingernails.
“I dunnnooooo, Josie! Am I feeeeeeling okaaaaaayyyyy?” He surprised me with an uncharacteristic laugh.
But I did know it.
I knew it from earlier when he reacted to Allison’s bunker and I had been too freaked out to realize that I was dragging along the enemy with me.
Because the fucking idiot had consumed animal crackers. I had seen him for myself earlier, pouring a pack into his mouth for a snack. Which meant either the ‘kids’ had intentionally dosed him with mind altering sugary snacks, or the more likely, he could not resist those preservatives which was the equivalent of caffeine. It’s not like I could blame him when he harboured the weight of an entire camp, but come on, did he really have to sacrifice his own fucking mind to keep himself awake?
Rowan wasn’t just biting. His nails. He was gnawing. Which he previously thought was a filthy habit. He had yelled at a camper for chewing on her nails a few days earlier.
Now that I was noticing it, I couldn’t… stop noticing it. The boy’s whole demeanour had changed; the way he was sinking into the chair, instead of sitting up straight like usual—- I used to call it having a stick up his ass. The boy started typing on the laptop, ignoring me. But when I watched the pattern of his fingers, he was just typing gibberish. Footsteps pounded above us, Harry and Carmel acting as the kid’s’ brainwashed foot-soldiers. Or, more likely somehow, if the animal crackers had caused the littles, or I guess, the fully grown forty year old criminals, to relapse in age-- then maybe it was possible for the same thing to happen to us. To Rowan.
I could feel myself starting to back away, but there was nowhere to run. I just slammed into a cupboard. My gaze flicked to Rowan again, who was tapping a beat on the laptop tracking pad, swaying back and forth, his eyes elsewhere before his gaze found mine. “Marcoooooo!” Harry shouted from above, giggling with Carmel.
I had to guess their mental age had to be at least 8-10 years old. Which meant I wasn’t just dealing with a camp full of forty-year-old psycho’s, I was also dealing with mentally relapsed counselors acting like toddlers.
Rowan seemed to jolt in the chair, twisting his head around, his eyes suddenly incredibly childlike and playful, and very Un-Rowan, were finding the ceiling, his mouth stretching into a smile, like he was seeing butterflies. His eyes flashed to me, and I caught a twitch in his lip. I knew that look. It was the look on my seven year old sister, who knew mom was mad at me, and wanted to make it even worse.
His cheeks were starting to blossom scarlet from what must have been the overwhelming urge to laugh. Rowan pressed his lips together and held in a breath like a hamster, and the asshole was fucking with me. Waiting for me to beat him to it by accident. Kids were fucking ruthless, but there was something terrifying about an 18 year old with a little kid’s mind.
I lifted my index to my lips, miming for him not to even try, but the boy just mimicked me, bugging out his eyes and pressing his finger to his grinning mouth. “Don’t you fucking dare.” I managed to whisper. The boy was definitely playing his own game, moving in twitching movements, baiting me. When he cupped his mouth, I almost let out a cry, but then he dropped his arms with a giggle, as if to say, “I’m just kidding!”
Slowly, I turned around, grabbed the salt I’d found in Allison’s cupboard, and a flat can of soda. Without making too much movement, I poured a handful of salt into the can. But Rowan seemed to know exactly what I was doing. Because in the time it was taking me to advance towards him with the can of salty soda, one arm shakily ready to grab hold of him, and put him into a headlock, he was cupping his mouth, all logic and everything adult, everything he had been as our leader, igniting in playful eyes, leaving me the last one standing.
“Pollloooooo!”
By the time Rowan had managed to reveal our hiding place in a spluttered laugh, I had hold of the squirming boy, one arm wrapped around his neck, my other forcing the can of soda into his mouth. I had definitely miscalculated his strength. During camp Redwood activities, he was always the last one to come back from the trail, holding his knees and panting. I figured he was unfit. However, I was wrong. Underneath his shirt, the guy had some serious muscles.
It was like attacking a brick wall. However, Rowan was mentally a kid. So, I had my intelligence and logic on my side. When it became obvious I wasn’t going to get anywhere with brute strength, I resorted to tickling him, which made him squirm, squeaking out a laugh. When he opened his mouth to yell at me to stop, I took my chance, thrusting the can into his lips and holding his nose so he swallowed it down.
“No!” His laughter turned into muffled yelling, as he batted his fists at my chest. “No, no, no! Get off, get off!”
His body convulsed as the salt did its job, causing the boy to lurch to his knees and choke up forbidden animal crackers in a gooish sludge which turned my stomach. By the time Rowan seemed half himself and half not, still kneeling, his head pressed against the floor, Harry was poking his head through the door with a goonish grin. “Found you!” He giggled, before forcing the door open, allowing Carmel and Callen, freshly caught and mentally turned into littles, to advance down the stairs with equally terrifying grins. There was something wrong with Harry’s face, and I only realized it when the guy himself was hauling me from the bunker, Carmel dragging a barely responsive Rowan. There was nothing in Harry’s expression, only blind childish excitement at winning the game. When he dragged me out of Allison’s cabin and threw me to the ground, I realized he too had insane strength I had not been expecting. But that thought quickly retracted when I was seeing his face in the light of a crescent moon lighting up the sky an eerie glow. Harry’s cheeks were puffy and swollen, his right eye way bigger than it should have been.
When he spoke, his voice was more of a lisp. This was something far more realistic than magical animal crackers fucking with his brain.
“He needs help!” I managed to choke out when Carmel wrapped jump-rope around my wrists. Next to me, Rowan was refusing to get up, still choking up salty soda, groaning into his hands. Every time Callen tried to restrain him, he hissed out like an animal.
“Do you hear me?!” I struggled violently. “Harry needs—”
BANG.
Is what it felt like. The feeling of something—what felt and sounded like a toy car—colliding with my temples, sent me onto the ground, my head spinning itself off of its axis. I remember lying on my back and frowning at the moon which almost looked like it was getting closer to me, blurring into a white ball of light—before reality sunk in, and it was in fact Carmel’s converse coming down to finish me off. I didn’t stay knocked out for long. But I did dream.
I think you can call it a dream? I was lying in bed at home; my room drowned in the dark. I was cosy, curled up in my blankets, when a clammy hand slammed over my mouth, rousing me from slumber. There were two figures in my room. They didn’t have faces. They just existed as shadows, silhouettes. Before one of them raised something above their head, and… impact.
It was the same impact as the toy car hitting me, snapping me back to that night. It wasn’t a dream. Because I remembered his clammy fingers over my mouth, and his hisses for me to shut up as he dragged me from my room.
My parents stood in front of me with expressions of sympathy. Basked in warm light, my mom and dad looked almost otherworldly. “For the best.” Was what they mouthed when my own phantom screams slammed into me. I asked them why, and they didn’t reply, allowing him to pull me further and further from what I knew, from my life as I knew it. But.. that couldn’t be real. I had memories of getting on the bus to camp Redwood. I could recall the whole journey. So, why… why was my tangled mind saying otherwise?
When I gathered myself, the first thing I realized was I was sitting down. I was outside, cool night air grazing my bare arms. There was something attached to me, jerking violently, And it took me several disorienting blinks to understand that I was tied back to back with Rowan. My head pounded, and something wet and warm dripped down my temple. Great. I could add head injury to the long list of things to worry about.
“Let me go you little fucking witch.”
Rowan was back to himself, though from the muffled hissing and the sound of choking—I had to guess he was being force-fed animal crackers.
“Let me—mpphmmm. little…. fucking… mphmmphhmhppmm!”
“Rowan.” I managed to get out in a croak. Through flickering eyes, I caught glimpse of a familiar figure dancing around us. Shivers rocketed down my spine, and I wrenched at the jump-rope restraints, but they did a surprisingly job of restraining my arms behind my back.
Eleanor was with Rowan, while Eli was knelt in front of me. Looking at him, the boy had definitely aged in the face—and I couldn’t help wondering what exactly he had done as a forty something year old to be sent to this place.
“Josie!” Rowan responded in a wail. “Josie. Wake the FUCK up.”
“Stop swearing.”
Eleanor spoke with the cold tone of her actual age.
“Oh, yeah?” Rowan spluttered. “Fuck you.” The boy’s laugh was still rough from almost vomiting his insides out from too much salt intake. “I’m sorry, you were a fucking boomer all along?!” He wriggled in the restraints, lunging forwards, which sent me backwards.
“Stop swearing, Rowan.” Was all the girl responded with calmly.
“Like I’m going to listen to you!” He sneered. “Fuck, fuck, fuckity, fucking fuck!” What are you going to do, huh? Bite me with your false teeth?” The sound of saliva hitting skin made me wince. He was pissed. I had no doubt his completely rational anger was going to get us killed. Rowan was also somehow getting mixed up between forty and eighty. Though he was unwillingly snacking on mind bending sugary goodness.
“Fudge, Rowan.” Eleanor spoke in a giggle.
“What?!”
“Say fudge. Not fuck.”
“No.”
His hiss of pain caught me off guard. I don’t know what she was doing to him, but it was hurting him.
“You fudging fudge! I’m going to fudging kill you when I get out of these fudging ropes—“ his manic cursing became a muffled yell.
“Say fudge,” Eleanor hummed, followed by his hiss when the palm of her hand skinned his cheek. “Fuck is a bad word. You even said so yourself and you’re my favourite counselor.”
He heaved out a breath.
“You fudge,” Rowan spat. “When I get out of this, I am going to fudging kill you, you fudging—” His manic ranting morphed, once again, into muffled yelling, after another fistful of animal crackers were forced into his mouth. When I risked twisting around, I could see his rebellion slowly starting to simmer out as he relaxed slightly. I wanted to yell at him to keep a clear head before cold fingers were dipping under my chin and forcing my head around where I found myself face to face with Eli.
“I like you, Josie,” he said, before untying me and pulling me to my feet. Now at the age of nine or ten, he was a lot stronger. When I tried to pull away, the cruel blade of a knife grazed my gut. I caught his grin. “But we don’t need you.” Eli pointed to Rowan.
“We just want them.”
I followed his pointer finger which went from Rowan to Harry and Carmel, who were just standing there like fucking idiots, probably awaiting the next game. Harry’s face was getting redder. It looked like he was suffocating, and yet his grin was growing wider and wider, splitting his lips apart. “Rowan Atlas.” Eleanor said, dragging him to his feet. Something was stapled to his forehead head, which caused him to howl in pain, hissing another strangled line of “Fudge”. but I couldn’t read what it was.
“Camp leader. Intelligent, and problem solving skills.”
“Harry Carlisle.” Eli nodded his head with a smile. “Quick thinker. Strong minded.”
“Carmel Locke.” Cassie spoke behind me. She had her arms folded, a wry smile on her lips. “Smarter than she makes out—- an independent learner, and can work well under pressure.”
Looking at these kids, I felt sick to my stomach. They were planning something—and had the intelligence of renowned scientists, which was what I gathered from the footage on the MacBook. “What?” was all I could hiss out, as Eli prodded the blade of the knife into my back, ushering me to walk. “What are you talking about?”
“Duh.” He spoke in a more tweeny giggle. “Like I said, Miss Josie. You’re my favorite counselor but we don’t need you, so I’m going to use you for parts.” He laughed when a shiver spiderwebbed down my spine. “See! I told you I was going to show you my collection!”
“But… what do you need them for?”
Eli pressed his index finger to his lips with a laugh before forcing me to face forwards. “That’s a secret!”
When I didn’t, or couldn’t move, he shoved me into a stumbling power-walk, and I managed to turn my head quickly, making feverish eye contact with Rowan.
“Rowan.” I said calmly through the gutter in my throat. “Get…. Get help.”
If I was going to die, I needed him to get a hold of himself and somehow alert the outside world what was going on.
“From whom, Josie?!” He wailed back—and as I was dragged away, I could once again sense the childish undertones in his voice.
I had no choice but to obey Eli’s orders. If I didn’t want a knife in my back. He took me to the main lunch cabin, which, when I set foot inside, almost sent me to my knees.
Something lurched inside me, and I was screaming with no voice, staggering backwards, only to be shoved onto my face. In front of me was what had been the lunch hall, fully converted into the beginning of a laboratory.
What had been cafeteria tables were fashioned into makeshift gurney’s and beds, and I was looking at all of the missing counselors. Yuri and Noah had been skinned completely, their faces laid out on a makeshift surgical table. Joey had been ripped open, his heart and brain removed, a glittering metallic substance creeping its way across his forehead. It was then when I remembered Eleanor Summers words.
She wanted to prevent death and preserve the human mind. Looking at what was in front of me, this was the start of it. There was equipment I had never seen before. Lily’s body was empty, carved out completely, tubes forced inside her. When I glimpsed her fingers move and begin to ball into a fist, I saw red. I saw fucking red. The exit was so close and yet Eli, fucking Eli, wielded his knife. I think that is when part of me gave up. My brain just stopped. It short circuited. Seeing my friends murdered and yet somehow being kept alive through playing god, my body slumped to the ground. I was numb. Completely numb.
I’m not sure what would have happened if those bloody saws and instruments which had been used on my friends were used on me too.
Luckily, that did not happen. Before Eli could get his slimy hands on me, he crumpled to the ground in an almost cartoon-like fashion, and standing over me was Harry. Who was looking better. When he grasped hold of me and helped me up, I only had one word. “Out.” And he was nodding, his eyes glistening as he drunk in our friends’ fate.
“How?” I managed to sputter out, when we made it out of the cabin, ducking behind a tree. Harry turned to me, motioning for me to shut up. There was a group of now ten to eleven year olds already running around, searching for what I guessed was him.
“I’m allergic to peanut butter,” Harry murmured, his grasp tightening on my wrist as he led me across the camp, the two of us stumbling.
“What, and you just magically healed?”
He didn’t respond to that, which bothered me.
“The bunker is our best shot,” I hissed out. “I think we can get in contact with someone down there.” I paused, unable to stop myself. “What makes you so important?”
“Dunno. Maybe I’m their favorite.”
When we found Allison’s cabin, which was more of a safehouse (an exposed safehouse) I found Rowan sitting on the wooden porch with his legs swinging over the side. “Rowan!” Harry groaned. I found it hard to believe their roles had been switched. Now he was the one yelling at the camp-leader. “I told you to stay inside!”
He ushered the boy inside, before barricading the door with some hefty looking equipment. I could tell from the grin on his face that our so-called leader was once again no longer himself.
I had to bite back a groan. “You’re kidding.” I said, pointing to Rowan, who buried his head in his knees and blew a raspberry. “Does he look and act like our leader right now?!”
“It’s Rowan, Josie.”
“He’s a liability.”
“He’s our friend! Wouldn’t Rowan do the same?”
Yes, he would. But. He would also realize we’re lost causes.
“Gag him with something.” I said. “If he makes any more noise, we’re dumping him.”
“He’s a kid!”
“Just the mind of one.”
I don’t know how animal crackers worked, but his age seemed to be progressively younger. This time he just sat with wide eyes watching us.
Harry almost tore apart the place looking for means of communication, before an old fashioned ringing sound made me jump.
“What was that?” Harry turned to me with his lip curled.
“How am I supposed to know?!” I hissed. “Keep looking!” But when I ducked under the table, my hands crawled under the desk, finding a wire—and attached to that, an ancient looking phone which looked straight out of a 1940’s movie, a bright green rotary phone.
Hesitantly, I answered it, lifting the phone to my ear. “Hello?”
“Did you awaken the subjects, Agent Salta?"
The voice on the other end was a woman, an oldish sounding woman with the tinge of a British accent.
“What?” I shot a look at Harry before shaking my head. “No. My name is Josie Greenfield. We’re at Camp Redwood, and we need help.”
The woman paused.
“Where is Agent Salta?” She cleared her throat. “This line is reserved for communication with agents only.”
“I don’t know who the fuck you’re talking about!" I squeaked out. “My name is Josie, and whatever is happening here, we need help!”
“Josie. Did you awaken the subjects?”
I paused after a moment, shooting Harry a look when he tried to take the phone off of me. “Yes.”
“And… are our agents unavailable?”
“I don’t understand.”
“When a health and safety breach is activated, our agents are awakened to deal with the Project Spearhead subjects if they were to ever go rogue, or become conscious enough to think. Josie, can you tell me what is in front of you? Describe it to me.”
I held my breath. Next to the hidden phone under the desk was what looked like mismatched wires, all of which had been severed. I lowered myself slowly, poking at mess. “Wires. I see… cut up wires.” I whispered. “Does this mean they know about you?”
She hummed. “Ah…That makes sense. The only way to activate our sleeper handlers would be to send out the signal. You appear to have been sabotaged. Unless activated manually, our agents cannot help you. I am sorry. They are your problem now.” The woman paused.
“If I were you, I would hope and pray they have not sabotaged the self-destruct. If you find that, then you may be able to save yourselves and find peace.” She cleared her throat. “Thank you for your service, Josie Greenfield.”
“Wait.” I managed to get out. “Wait, no! You can’t just… you can’t leave us! We need help!”
I found myself yelling at nothing when the phone went dead. The dull tone of the dead ringtone was clanging in my ears before footsteps from up above. “Fuck this.” Harry picked up a lead pipe. “They’re still little kids, right? I mean, their head must still be partly kids—- so let’s fucking beat their heads in.”
He noticed something, then, starting forwards towards the mess of files I had left earlier. Harry knelt on the ground and picked up Eli’s file, his eyes wide. But he wasn’t staring at the dates confirming the little boy’s age.
Instead, Harry pointed at the bottom of the file. “I don’t want to freak you out, Josie,” he whispered. Initially, I didn’t know what he was trying to show before I glimpsed notes scrawled at the bottom of the file, followed by a signature. “But I’m pretty sure that is my fucking writing.”
Harry was right.
I pulled the paperwork off of him, flicking through each file before turning my eyes to him. “Who the fuck are you?”
A clanging sound from above broke the tension, and whatever Harry was about to reply with was strangled in his throat. He slammed a hand over his mouth.
“Guys?”
The voice twisted me up inside, threatening to release a shriek from my mouth I had managed to clamp shut.
Teddy.
“Are you down here?” His voice was strained, and had an odd tone to it. “I can’t… I can’t see you.”
…
Can someone please tell me what the fuck is going on?! It’s been a blur of a week. We’ve managed to stay down here, surviving off of Allison’s rations. Rowan isn’t getting any better. He seems to have stopped mentally de-ageing at the age of maybe six. Harry has spent the last few days trying to get in contact with anyone, but it’s like they are IGNORING US.
I’ve been looking through everything I can find on Project Spearhead, but nothing points to Harry being involved. So. How is his signature all over the files? How is it possible that two friends I thought I knew several days ago, are now complete strangers?
Teddy keeps coming back.
He’s crying out to us.
I think he’s… in pain.
My god, I can’t stand this anymore. Please. CAMP REDWOOD NEEDS HELP.
2023.06.03 20:53 Hitch42 Audio-Drama.com links from May 28 to June 3, 2023
 | Audio-Drama.com is an online directory of audio drama and spoken word websites, with at least one new link added to it every day, and 100 or more new entries created each month. As of this post, there are 9,310 published articles. Here are the newest articles from the past week: submitted by Hitch42 to audiodrama [link] [comments] https://preview.redd.it/hlrllmq3nu3b1.jpg?width=2400&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=65644c4afc1b5296566725ff9ca9fc93c2e9b1d4
Compiling these link takes a lot of time and is something that I work on many hours every day. If you appreciate this effort and would like to help support it, please consider visiting the Audio-Drama.com Patreon page. Audio-Drama.com will always remain free for everyone. Previous weekly Audio-Drama.com links |
2023.06.03 20:02 aviqua Similar melodies like Maroon and KOMH
I wanted to share this list I've been working on since I heard the similarity in the melodies between king of my heart and maroon. Interested in what you think about it, is it coincidence? Is it TS scheming? Or am I just delusional? Some are more obvious, some are reaching, but here's the list:
submitted by aviqua to TaylorSwift [link] [comments]
- With all these nights were spending (king of my heart) – your roomates cheap-ass screw top rose (maroon)
- He's the song in the car I keep singing (Teardrops On My Guitar) - Wind in my hair, I was there I remember it (all too well)
- Keychain on the ground (all too well) - meet me behind the mall/wanting was enough (august)
- What I need is (other side of the door) - was she worth this (should've said no)
- Spinning faster than the plane that took you (come back be here) – Something's made your eyes go cold (haunted)
- I feel (Lavender haze) – heart beat (I think he knows)
- Well you stood there with me in the doorway (fearless) – if I was standing there in your apartment (forever winter)
- I wash my hands of us at the club (hits different) – I wish I could fly (the very first night)
- Don’t call me kid (illicit affairs) – snow at the beach (snow on the beach)
- Always remember (the great war) - James get in (betty)
- Didn’t it all seem new and exciting (wonderland) – I knew you were trouble (I knew you were trouble)
- Like waiting for a bus (hits different) – I dress to kill my time (death by a thousand cuts)
- And you'll poke that bear till her claws come out (mad woman) – god rest my soul I miss who I used to be (would’ve could’ve should've)
- And I fell from the pedestal right down the rabbit hole (long story short) – but now I'm right down in it, all the years ive given (happiness)
- Baby what about about the ending (if this was a movie) – and I didn’t like the ending (exile)
- Should’ve said no - no body no crime intro
- Fearless (Fearless) – don’t you (don’t you)