Preface… oh goodness, you know it is a long post if I have to write “preface” first thing. Thank you so much to everyone who stays and reads!!!I’ve been a TBM guy for nearly my whole life (I left when I was a super depressed teenager 9 years ago, went back 7 years ago). Baptized at 8, priesthood of Aaron at 12. Applied to go on a mission at 18, was “honorably dismissed” from serving due to passed anxiety and depression issues.
Married at 19 (3 months after mission dismissal letter, 6 months of dating before marriage), baby at 20, divorced at 21 (she just wanted a baby but not me. I don’t have to pay alimony, just child support, so hoorah!). To be clear, I don’t regret my beautiful baby girl (I’ll call her “A”), but I do regret that I didn’t wait longer to a - know my ex better before getting married, & b - to know my ex better after getting married to have a baby. But, the past is in the past and I am doing everything I can to be an amazing father to that little girl of mine. Fast forward to today, I am now dating an incredible woman (I’ll call her “V”) and have been for nearly a year. She and I are TBM at this point in the story.
My current beliefs: I believe in Jesus Christ, the Atonement, resurrection, and opportunity for everyone to live in Eternity with their loved ones. I have no idea what Eternity looks like because Jesus hasn’t spoken about it in the bible (at least, not the parts that I’ve read. I’m reading the NKJV for the first time because I never had the chance in the BoM church). I don’t believe there is any one person on Earth who has God’s power and allows us to use it. I don’t believe God will condemn anyone for being part of the “wrong” church. I think the only thing that matters is genuinely trying to be a good person. I have no issue with personal beliefs and practices of other churches, members of this church, agnostics, atheists, LGBT community, etc… I know a lot of people here are atheistic or agnostic. Just like I respect your belief system, please respect mine.
Story time… 2 months ago, I was at an Institute class with V (not my class, just visiting her’s) and A was with us for visitation. A was restless and wanted to run around and play in the church halls like any 2 y/o girl does. So, I took her into the hall and quietly chased her around. This is when I heard one of the teachers pose the question/statement to his students: “isn’t it so sad when people leave the church?”
This question seemed so off to me. First, I feel absolutely no sorrow when people leave the church. They are simply choosing to follow their own belief system and to be their own individual person. Wasn’t Jesus super accepting and loving of everyone? Second, it seemed manipulative to me for a teacher to suggest to these college students, who are just figuring out life, that it is automatically a bad thing when someone leaves the church.
Anyway, being a TBM at the time, I had no idea why someone would want to leave the church. My concerns with that question was the first red flag I actually noticed. So, being an incredibly curious person, I decided to google it. Queue the smug looks of every exmo in this community who know what I found, haha! All of my research came from a place of trying to disprove the exmos and anti-mos wrong, so I focussed on diving deep into any topic that concerned me. Each point of research includes exmo, neutral, modern LDS, and LDS archive sources to ensure I had all of the information. Everything in this post I validated from church posts or archives unless I explicitly state otherwise. The CES letter beautifully summarized (is 130 somethings pages actually a summary though?) everything I was feeling and also addressed something things I don’t actually find concerning about the church.
So, my concerns boil down to the following: *The First Vision accounts of who Joseph allegedly saw. Did he see an angel, just Jesus/God/spirit as one being (God), both Jesus and the Father, or both of them and a host of angels? Why did it take him 20 years to tell anyone about it? Why does the church teach that he immediately told people about it when he didn’t? Why did the church actively tell members that he did NOT see God or Jesus, but an angel, for ~40 years after the vision? Any other details of the first vision itself are of no concern to me as it feels like he was simply discussing different parts of what happened. Yes, I’ve read each account.
*Joseph started off his youth by treasure hunting and defrauding people of their money using his peep/seer stone. Sure, he could have just been a kid who didn’t know what it was he was doing (scams) but also… this goes against what I was taught about him being the most honest person you could meet (the phrase “more honest than honest Abe” comes to mind for some reason).
*He used his peep/seer stone to “translate” a large part of the BoM. Most of his translation efforts didn’t require the BoM to be visible or even be near him. I always imagined he held the Urim and Thumim over the plates to see the characters transcribed, much like live google translate. Additionally, his mother recalled him telling stories about the Lamanites and Nephites before the BoM was a thing (I don’t remember my source on this one or if I validated it with church archives). The BoM has many parallels with another book that it may be heavily based on (I forgot the name). The BoM lifts text straight from the KJV and includes non-JST verses that Joseph later “corrected” for the JST.
*He later “translated” the Book of Abraham from Egyptian Papyri which were just ancient burial records. He later “translated” the Kinderhook plates but they were fakes that some of his “disciples” pranked him with. His ability to translate seems fake at best… and a fake ability is no ability in my book.
*Polygamy and polyandry. Do I even need to list any details here? The fact he started the practices before the “revelation” to do so was received, had to manipulate Emma into “letting him” do it, was caught cheating at least once (Emma documented it), married teens, married already married women, wasn’t sealed to Emma until he was already sealed to 20-something other women, never sealed to his parents or children, etc…
*SEC fines. I thought my tithing money was being used to help the poor and needy. It’s frustrating to know it is actually being used to run a business. Yes, the choices the church made were shady but were also comparable to many other businesses. My biggest problem here is the lack of transparency and that my money wasn’t being used for the Lord’s work. If I want to support a business I’ll invest time or money. I prefer not to be scammed out of it by being told it is being used for service and providing for thosein need.
*BITE model. I won’t even start listing any of the items in the BITE model I have issue with. I think about 90-95% of the BITE model red flags are met by the cult. I mean church.
I spoke briefly with V about this a week or so ago, during a camping trip in which we got to share a tent. She was concerned we were sinning but I expressed to her I wasn’t worried about it. I told her I was struggling with the church’s history and current practices. Jesus didn’t teach not to sleep together, he taught not to cheat. She wasn’t ready to discuss it further so we decided to set it aside and we slept side by side in the tent anyway.
A couple nights later, she was feeling sick and wanted to stay with me. Normally she has slept on my couch but she chose to sleep with me in bed. I took care of her that night and the next day and we haven’t slept together since. We also haven’t had sex or performed any sexual acts together. I have no issue with pre-martially sleeping and/or having sex with her as it is a committed relationship that we both are committed to making last (obviously, this isn’t cheating).
Fast forward to 2-3 nights ago. She wanted to stay over again but was feeling guilty and anxious about it. I expressed to her I don’t want to make her feel guilty of anxious about sleeping with me. I gave her a standing invitation to stay whenever she wants but that I would support her in not sleeping together. Then the topic of my beliefs came up again. I told her slightly more but she wasn’t (and still isn’t) emotionally prepared to hear my concerns with the church. She’s concerned my leaving the church would cause her to lose her connection with Jesus (I told her I want to attend a non-denominational christian church with similar morals and beliefs to ours). She asked that we both speak with our bishops and I agreed.
I expressed my concerns to my bishop and it went slightly better than expected. He shared a story about when he was a missionary. Two months in, he met a super aggressive anti-mormon who attacked their beliefs for 30-minutes straight. They left without saying a word. Bishop says he has many questions still but has chosen to “shelve” them for now. He basically told me two things: 1 - to read a particular talk about dissecting difficult questions with V. 2 - that I would have to grapple with this and come to my own conclusion. He’s just grateful I have a strong belief in Jesus, regardless of if I leave the church or not.
V spoke with her bishop and he is convinced I won’t leave. He doesn’t know me very well. He also doesn’t know I would leave in a heartbeat if V would come with me. I know my TBM family would accept my decision. When I left as a teenager they still loved me. When my brother left they didn’t shun him one bit. I know they would do the same for me. But V… I don’t know.
We both got blessings tonight (I honestly believe anyone living a good life who is trying to follow Jesus can speak in his name) and I felt so much peace as I contemplated the direction I want to take my life in… except for the part of not knowing if V will accept me. The young men who gave the blessing stated that “my father in heaven is proud of me” and I believe that is in regard to my dedication to knowing the truth about Jesus, accepting everyone for who they are (including mormons), and forgiving the church as it is God’s place to judge them and not mine.
I adore V and genuinely want to spend my life and eternity with her. She’s the only reason I’m PIMO and not exmo. She clearly, truly loves me. She and I have dreams of raising a small family together, we often laugh together (even when discussing difficult topics such as these ones), and we are able to communicate very well. But, when I’ve asked if she would stay with me if I left the church she skirts around the question and tells me she is confident I’ll come back before I leave. She’s never been afraid to hear the details of why I am struggling with something, until I brought all of this up to her. I really want to tell her what I am feeling and why. I wonder if she won’t agree and choose to find another church together if only she would take time to understand.
She wants both of us to meet together with her bishop because he has a similar style of communicating as I do. I think she might maybe be willing to hear my side if her bishop is there. I’m not sure he’ll actually give me a chance to say my side though. If he does, I’m not really convinced she won’t be torn apart between me and the church. We have agreed to take this one step at a time and to try to figure it all out piece by piece. We’re still talking wedding plans or even eloping if we both still feeling confident in us (I won’t let any marriage happens if we aren’t able to reconcile these differences).
Anyway, I’m just really not sure what to do next. Help? :’(

A Reddit submission:
# On the 5th of September... On the 5th of September, 2024, we will discuss the 5th and the 6th editions in the “On The Five Horses”. This will be a long-term update, but we’ll get a full report on the rest later. (2/7) ¶806051627198709760:> (((817887824086387515))) "I'm Still Talking!" - Official Music Video DALIGTER'S OUT NOW! Find it at: www.youtube.com/covmalltronicism.tv/iMganter_in-theory ¶456226577798135808:> ((((349895471489426518))) I AM THE ONE AND NOT ONLY WHY THIS IS BECAUSE IT WAS DIVERSE TO BE HENGE? & THAT YOU MUST WATCH!!! I AM IN AN AGENDA DEATHED WITHIN SCIENCE FOR ALL OF THINGS WE CAN DO BY LANDING. IF YOUR GENERATION WOULD HELP PLEASE SUBSCRIBE & JOIN US AS I FILL OUT OUR PRIVATE CONTENT OR CHECK SOMETHICS ON EVERYTHING WHILE HELPING, GO HEAD BACK OR IM DROPPING ITS CREDIT VERSION OR OTHERWISE PLANNEL LIKE MY OWN QUESTIONS WILL LEARN MORE WORK AND TAKE ME THRASH IN PERSON BUT SO TONIGHT WE DIDNT SAY WHAT NEVER RIGHTS EVEN EXIST.. THANK GOD FOR GIVING AFTER PRAYING HEY AND GRATERINGS AT CIFE ACTIONS HAS COMMINITE RESULTS BUT NO END IS GETTING... ¶251161711099248641:> You know what, yes that was my thought process, when I first put myself into communication with another person, without even speaking in a way wordless. Lol ¶20372685462976935:> <@1055900

I am a newbie writer, I'd love to hear some criticism (I can imagine there's a lot) so please tell me what you think I did right and wrong.
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I pull my head away from the sink a second or so after I splash the cold water into my face, I blink a number of times as I reach down and turn the tap’s handle. I then grab a small towel and rub my face with it.
Hmm, that never wakes me up as much as I'd like to, I’m more awake than I was, which is a victory I suppose.
I turn and walk past the barely functional shower and the clean toilet, which isn’t too impressive till you see the rest of the outpost.
I open the door and walk out into the main room. The room’s somewhat divided into two, the front door is right in the middle of the wall, and to its right is the kitchen. Well, the kitchen might be giving too much credit, a few counters with a fridge, sink, and microwave. We did have a coffee maker till Baron got drunk and broke it, which left us with no more coffee and no more drinks as Cleo had us pour the rest of the alcohol so it wouldn’t happen again with something more important.
To the left of the door is a living room, an old orange sofa, which looks like it’s seen more combat than us, honestly I have no clue where Baron and Jakob found this bloody thing. We also have a lounge chair, also orange and also in the same state that the sofa is in. We have a small wooden coffee table between the sofa and our TV. It’s a small screen and it’s black and white but it works, mostly works, the machine is fine but, well, it’s held up by these four legs and I’ll just say it, those skinny chicken legs are not aging well, we’ve already nailed boards and pipes onto these legs as braces.
We have a bit of a bet going on about how long it’ll last, I’m giving the legs three months, and Baron’s doing the repairs and is giving about six months, Cleo better hopes it breaks within the week or she’s lost her money, and Jakob didn’t place a bet.
I turn around and close the bathroom door, as I do I get a view on this side of the room, three doors stand.
On the far left is the second biggest room in the outpost, only beaten by the main/common room, Baron and Jakob have that room, it’s about twice the size of the bathroom, and Jakob and Baron were just barely able to fit a double sized bed in there, although they lost the room for a desk or anything more a pair of small bedside cabinets.
In the middle of the three is the bathroom, again, pretty small, damaged shower, clean toilet.
On the far right is Cleo’s room, about the same size as the bathroom. She was able to get a desk and signal bed.
And of course, there’s the radio desk, packed just into the far right corner, just past Cleo’s door is the radio desk, it has a ton of radio equipment on it so we can get orders from HQ.
I turn around, walk a bit further over to the living area and sit down on the lounge chair, Baron is laying down on the sofa with his head turned to face the TV, and Cleo is preparing an MRE for herself, I don’t know how she can stomach those things.
Baron is a mountain of muscle, while incredibly strong he’s not the brightest bulb, still a lovely guy to be around. He’s currently wearing some old jeans and a turtleneck.
Cleo’s very strict and pretty reserved, she’s not shy, she just doesn’t talk unless she has something to say. Currently, she’s wearing some baggy green camo trousers and a brown tank top.
“How ya doing Milo?” Baron turns his head and asks.
“Hmm, fine I guess, you?” I reply and ask back,
“Fighting fit” He answers with a smile as he looks back at the TV. I look over to the TV to see what he’s watching, it’s some kind of mechanical show.
“Feeling homesick?” I sarcastically ask.
“As if” he laughed, “Hey, If I go back into mechanics then I want you to shoot me” he adds.
We both laugh at the joke. After we calm ourselves a bit he says “Anyway, I’m only watching it because it’s between this or that bloody ‘live at the capital’ with that, umm, what's-her-faces?”
“Sue Stone?” I answer.
“Aye that’s her” He snaps his fingers
“yeah, I see your point, both her and that entire show are horrible”
“The part that gets on my nerves is that it’s always on, we never get the signal for anything good here” he continues to rant and I can’t help but chuckle, it’s always a bit funny watching him get annoyed.
“Like that ‘Lies on the coast’ show, I mean that show got another season for god sake”
“Wait really?” He asks, turning a bit and starting to sit up.
“Yeah, it’s ridiculous” I answer.
He sighs and facepalms, “I wish you hadn’t told me that”
“Hmm?”
He sighs again and leans back into the sofa “That’s gone and ruined my mood”
I laugh as I stand up “Heh, sorry man, anyway, I’m off, any idea where Jakob is?”
“ umm, I think he’s on the porch ‘though he might have gone off for a walk or something” He answers.
I nod and walk off towards the cabin door and open the old door. I see Jakob as I open the door, he’s in his late twenties and has long black hair, and is wearing combat boots, black jeans, and a gray shirt, he normally has a knee-long leather jacket on but he isn’t wearing it currently. He’s sitting on a chair with his legs on the small metal table here on the porch, he’s reading a book.
“How are you?” I ask as I walk over, he looks up from the booms quickly.
“O-oh, I-I didn’t see you t-there” He speaks as he sits up more and takes his legs off the table, “and I’m good, you?”
He has a bit of a stutter, something he said he was born with, he’s tried to get rid of it, apparently to no avail.
“I’m fine” I answer as I sit down across from him. “What’ you reading there?” I ask as I reach over and grab one of the bottles of water on the table.
“Oh, it’s a S-strange man in a st-strange land” He answers, “It’s about a-a man who from Mars who c-comes to e-earth"
“Hmm, sounds interesting” I add as I uncap the bottle.
“It is! Err, w-would you like to borrow it af-after I’m done with it?”
“Sure!” I answer before taking a mouthful of the water, “Just tell me when you’ve finished it” I add.
“will do!”
And with that, I turn my head off and look out into the forest ahead of the cabin. I then look back over at Jakob. You know it's a shame, it’s always nice to speak with him yet he almost never speaks.
Let me correct that, he’s always happy to speak and always has something interesting to say, yet he almost never starts the conversation. I’ve had to guess it would stem from his past.
His past. His past is a bit of a mystery to me. I know he was once a slave to the Dominion, I know he and Baron escaped the Dominion together and I know they later joined the Freedom Fighters, I also think, but am in no way sure, that he’s a tribal.
Two main reasons, funnily, both of which also make up his role in the team.
For one, he’s a helluva sniper, he once killed a person from two thousand meters away. He also handles the hunting for our squad, getting fresh meat is fantastic when all you’ve only been eating MREs for months.
Second of all, he’s a skilled tracker, if he’s on someone’s trail then he’ll find them. There was this guy who used to be with the Freedom Fighter, but he turned traitor and used a bomb to kill a whole unit, and then Jakob was sent after him.
Jakob tracked him across the entire wasteland, he followed him north, all the way up to the ruins of those old-world cities of Calaye and that City of Lights
I had always thought places like these either weren’t real or were greatly exaggerated, but according to Jakob, they're real.
“Hey,” Jakob says, I look away from the forest and over to Jakob, “I w-was going to go on a-a hunt, wanna join?” He asks as he stands up.
I take a second to think before replying “Sure, that sounds fun” I answer as I get up
“Yeah, I h-have a pair of rifles in the c-car” He speaks as we start to walk off the porch, but then we hear a yell.
“Everyone! Here now” we both hear Cleo yell from inside. We both turn on the spot and charge into the cabin, pushing past the door.
We see Cleo sitting by the radio, Baron standing by her. “Incoming broadcast, directly from the Colonel! Get over here”
Jakob and I rush over, albeit with a lot less worry and a lot more interest.
Colonel Barnaby is the leader of the Freedom Fighters, not our founder, that was General Margaret. Officially she is still our leader, yet she went missing over three years ago, Colonel Barnaby has refused to take her position officially until he sees proof of her death.
We stand behind Cleo as she flips a few switches and turns a couple of dials, trying to get the best connection.
After a few moments we can hear a voice. “-Re you there, Sergeant Laidlaw?” His voice can be heard cutting through the static.
“Yes Colonel Barnaby, what seems to be the problem?” Cleo answers and asks.
“09-10?” He asks. A password.
Cleo turns her head towards a small open book on the desk, the book’s filled with a series of dates and names. What the Colonel asked was a date, with the day being brought down by one, and the month being brought up by one.
“01-31-09-26” She answers. Her answer is the date of birth of everyone in the squad, in days. All the dates are off by a few days, the amount depends on the current date, the amount to change by is listed in that book.
“Good, now Sergeant Laidlaw I have an important task for you and your squad” Jakob and Baron exchange a few glances at this news, “Are you familiar with the town of Pinkton?”
And there goes my excitement for this operation.
“A member of my squad is” She answers.
“Then I’ll let them fill you in on what the town is like, The more dead air the better” He mumbles the last bit, “Now listen, upon wolf street there is a warehouse, at 02:10 a shipment will be brought into it, I need you to go there and steal a crate with a serial code of ‘01-12-20-06’. Did you get that?”
“Warehouse on Wolf Street, get a crate, serial code ‘01-12-20-06’, got it” She answers as she grabs a pencil and starts jotting it down.
“Good, after receiving this crate I need you to bring it back to your base, a team will be ‘round to pick up at some point, understood?”
“Yes sir”
“On the other side,” He says as the line goes dead, leaving our squad alone again. A few moments of silence follow before Cleo turns in her chair and stands up.
“Baron, Jakob, go get your gear” She speaks, Jakob and Baron nod before quickly turning and rushing to their rooms.
She then turns to me and asks “You’re from Pinkton right? Tell me about it”
I sigh, “It’s the crown prince of rust belt towns, it peaked twenty years ago and has been on a cliff face of a decline since”.
“Without the sarcasm?” She follows.
I sigh again, “It's a small town, it used to be incredibly important as it has a port, and it has a railway going through it since the old world made it very important for getting resources from the islands to the mainland.”
“I assume that was the peak?”
“You’d be right” I continue “Pinkton is down a river, which limits the size of ships that can go there, when new rails were built to towns on the coast Pinkton fell out of favour. It won’t have much security and most people there are in their eighties so we won’t have to worry too much about noise as they’ll likely be deaf.”
“I see, well thanks, I’ll go get my gear, you go get yours” She states and turns off, going to her room to get ready.
I turn around and walk over to the couch, I kneel down and grab a suitcase from under it, my gear is stored in there. I pull it out and walk off to the bathroom to get ready.

Gosh it's so hard to write this. I have tears falling down my face, but I just want some thoughts and advice. Please no hate.
I've been with my husband for 7 years and I love him so much. He is a wonderful person... but he's shit at emotional intimacy and I've never enjoyed sex with him. To start with he was a smoker so he always tasted horrible, by the time he gave up I realised he just didn't kiss me in a way I enjoyed. We struggled with sex, I've only slept with him. I had been brought up in a highly religious family and believed sex was more than I now think it is. We didn't have sex for a while into the relationship and maybe even then I wasn't really ready. I struggled to relax and found it painful, he has a large penis. This was true right up until after our first child. Since then vagina is so much bigger and his penis inside me actually feels great. I want sex SO MUCH more now. Sadly he doesn't.. years of it being difficult and now SSRIs and chronic fatigue has meant he has no libido. Bolt onto that he's gained so much weight I find him completely unattractive in that way. I love to hug him, talk to him, be with him. We have such a wonderful son together and I don't regret a thing.
But.. I want sex. Hes never made me orgasm without a vibratory to help. He doesn't want sex now or make any efforts. We sleep in separate beds because his chronic fatigue means any disturbances greatly affect him the next day.
And now the bit you'll all hate me for.. Before I met my husband I was, for 4 yrs, on off having a fling (without sex) with another bloke. It started when we were both single, he ended it when I didnt want to have sex with him and wanted to wait.. for an undetermined amount of time, not necessarily until we were married. It never turned into a publically known about relationship. We played in the same sports team and still saw each other a lot. I have never fancied someone so much. He'd have relationships, I tried but nothing worked out. We also saw each other as he was my physio. One day the sexual tension got too much and we kissed. He had a girlfriend..over time that lead to hand jobs too. Wed see each other when I needed physio, and sometimes it would go that way,.sometimes it would not. Never any further because of my resolve around not having sex until marriage/love/certainly a committed relationship. I walked away from him as my physio when I met my husband as I didn't trust myself and wanted to make things work with this wonderful guy.
Roll on 5yrs and during covid he was the only physio accepting online patients. I was pregnant and struggling. A friend told me he was working and I got in touch. He started treating me virtually and it really helped, he's good at his job. When the rules lifted he treated me in person. I felt differently I was happy in my relationship (even if the sex was a bit crap). I trusted myself, but oh my god he was still as sexy as the day I met him.
1yr on and I have Post parturm depression and my body hasn't healed from birth. I was sad, one day he offered a hug, I accepted. I felt something Id not felt in years with my husband. All that sexual tension and feeling came back. I was going weekly for treatment. I loved the hugs. One day I noticed he got a boner during a hug, he tried to kiss me, I said no and walked out. Ever since then I've been walking this tight rope of intense sexual feelings and not crossing a line. My line. You might say it was an emotional affair at this point and put hate on me, I don't know, maybe it was. 1yr on and due to time constraints and my husband getting a virus and developing CFS I am in a not great place..I'm struggling. I'm getting nothing at home. I'd gone to his house a few times for treatment because I could only go out after id put our toddler to bed as my husband couldn't look after him. You can prob see where this is going. He massaged me, God my skin was on fire, he suddenly rolled me over, lay over me and just looked. I've never wanted him so badly.. he grinded on my fully clothed. It was intense. I wanted to kiss him SO much but I just lay there for a short while and let him touch me (through clothed, not near my vagina). Eventually I said stop, got up and left and havent seen him since.
5 months later and I think about him all the time. I desperately want to have sex with him. Partly to know if it will be good, to see what sex with someone else is like. To fill the void in my own relationship. I want these feelings with my husband. I don't think I'll ever get them.
I don't know what to do. I'm sad. But I don't want to leave husband, I love him. I don't want to cheat on him but now I'm wanting good sex, I think about it all the time. I want to go and have sex with this guy, but I don't want to hurt my husband. I want someone to touch me and not need to be asked.
Well done for getting this far. I guess this is just a plee for some perspective and some help and advice. Thanks team Reddit. Xx

i think watching the women in my life choose so many horrible men has made me believe that my idea of love doesn’t exist. i want love. genuine, honest, deep love that is felt by both of you for each other and ONLY each other. but after everything i’ve seen, i don’t think that’s real.
my mom has had three major relationships. the first one was her high school sweetheart, with whom she had my older sister. he didn’t know how to grow up, so she left. the next was my dad, and that relationship was toxic on so many levels. the ab*se was mostly physical. and though i got better versions of both of my parents after they split, that doesn’t erase the almost 13 years of trauma i have carried with me, and that has affected every potential relationship i’ve had. her last major relationship is with my stepdad. he is the most narcissistic, negative man i have ever met. i hate the way he speaks to her. she wants to leave so bad, but can’t, because every time she has worked, he has accused her of cheating, and every other thing in the book. and she’s almost not allowed to go anywhere without him. for example: when she took my prom dress shopping, he threw a fit because we were out all day. so prom dress shopping is supposed to take five minutes…?
and then there’s my sister. who moved to fast in a relationship and now has a kid barely two years in. and while i wouldn’t trade my nephew for anything, she wasn’t ready. and now she’s seeing someone else (who we’ll call Tyler). she broke it off with the father of her kid (we’ll call him John) supposedly, but he gave her an engagement ring today. and now she’s saying she doesn’t know if they’re actually separated. what frustrates me the most is that when John found out about Tyler, he got upset, rightfully so, and my sister acted like he had no reason to get upset. my problem with my sister is that she keeps acting like she’s the victim in the situation. and i get she’s hurting too, but she’s the one that cheated. and John has two kids of his own that are being affected by this too. she keeps saying she wants to make it work with John, but she refuses to let Tyler go. so basically, it’s a mess and i have to keep hearing about it and it takes everything i have to keep my mouth shut. honestly, if my nephew wasn’t here, i would say something. but now i’m scared that if i do say something, she won’t allow me to see my nephew.
i guess what i’m getting is that i’m scared that i’m gonna end up like my mom and sister. my sister was supposed to learn from my mother’s mistakes. so what if i can’t either? i want love so badly. i’m not a single and living my best life girl. i’m a relationship girl who has so much love to give and is so ready to give it and is so ready to be in love. i want my person. but i don’t wanna settle, and i don’t wanna choose a crappy man and end up unhappy.
i’ve cried and prayed about this so many times. and i’m not saying that i can’t be happy single, or i’m just a codependent person. i’m very capable of taking care of myself, i’ve done it my entire life, and i’m really happy with where my life is at right now. but as my old therapist put it, i’m a “relationship person.” i love connections with people and sharing love, no matter the kind, with people. that’s just the person i am. and i’m so ready to have that romantic, loving, genuine, honest connection with someone. and i want to believe in that kind of connection, but my mom and sister also swore they found their person, and look where that’s gotten them.
i’ve just decided that it’s going to have to take God Himself coming down and telling me to my face that a man is the one before i settle down with someone, because that’s how scared i am.
if you made it this far, i could really use some advice. or you can tell me to get the stick out of my a**, i don’t really care at this point.
thanks :)

I am still not the Original Poster. That is u/throraway_23. She posted in AmItheAsshole. This is an short update to my previous BORU post here.
New Update marked with ***\*
Mood Spoiler: still bizarre but even more sad
Original Post: April 14, 2023
Hi all, first time posting so sorry for any mistakes.
I (17f) have eight older brothers. Without getting into too much detail, there's a few adoptions and half siblings in the mix but I'm close to all of them and while my life can be crazy sometimes, I wouldn't trade them for the world. It's also relevant that I don't have either of my parents in my life and haven't since I was 11.
The issue involves my close friend, (17f) who I've known since we were 4. For about a year now, she's been consistently posting on social media about her "best friends suuuuuuper hot older brothers" and "the terrible tale of how she ended up in a love triangle with her best friends brothers" and it's seriously annoying.
She's never really had anything to do with my brothers, they know her as "my little sisters friend" and nothing more so I really don't get where this is all coming from. Over the last few weeks however, it's gotten so much worse. She'll actively tell stories to people at our school about the "steamy romance that is her life" and it's bringing me a lot of unwanted attention.
I've tried to talk to her about it but she always says that she'd never do anything to hurt me and she's just "living her life" which doesn't even make sense? I've mentioned it so many times that I've started to avoid hanging out with her because I know my brothers will come into it and I'll have to ask her to knock it off again.
Everything came to a head yesterday. We went out with some friends and 4 of my brothers dropped us both off. When we got inside half of the girls in the group immediately started talking to my best friend about the "good looking guys in the car" and whether those were the hot men she was talking about.
I snapped and yelled "Those are my brothers and I swear to God (friends name) if you don't stop using my life to get petty clout I'm cutting you off. Quit living your fantasy through me, do it somewhere else." and left, which I feel like was really harsh and probably could've waited until we were in private.
She called me later to tell me she wanted space from our friendship because I was become jealous, needy and controlling ever since she got close with my brothers, which isn't even remotely true. all of my brothers so far have told me to just stop being friends with her, but she's been really important in my life for a long time and I don't want to ruin what we have, but at the same time I don't want to keep letting her use my life for her fantasy. AITA?
Relevant Comments:
Did you check with your brothers to make sure there was no hookup or anything misconstrued?
"I have said that I already spoke to them and they were disgusted to say the least. My brothers are all in their 20's, so it's not only weird but it's also illegal. She's also never been around them long enough for something like that to happen."
How does she act when your brothers are around?
"She's always been flirty with them, which they never reciprocated and eventually they stopped being around when I had her over because of the comments. She isn't close with them at all, and I've asked her to stop a few times but she never does. The one time I asked her why she was doing this she told me to stop being controlling so I really don't know where this came from."
More about OOP's background:
"I don't know the full deal with my parents, even when they were around they weren't really active in my life but when I was 11 they lost a custody battle for me over drug use I think. I'm really not sure, it isn't something I like knowing so I've only ever asked to be told the basics. I know 8 older brothers is a lot, but I wouldn't say they're "hot" so to speak. I think people are more attracted to the 'movie romance' idea."
Why are you friends with her?
"I've been friends with her for over ten years so it's not easy to let that go, plus she's the only friend I have. I have friendly acquaintances, but no other friends. She only started acting like this about a year ago and I thought it was normal I guess? So I didn't really do anything because it didn't hurt anybody, or at least I thought it didn't."
OOP is voted NTA
Update Post: April 16, 2023 (2 days later)
Hi everyone, I have a small update for those who'd like to hear it, and I'd also like to say thank you to all the people who gave advice and opinions.
So the first thing I did was have a proper talk with my brothers about everything that's been going on. I showed them the post and all the comments I received, and they took a minute to read them before speaking. One of my brothers "Sam", assured me they had never been flirty, romantically interested or sexual with my friend at any point in time. There was never a time when any of them were alone with her for more than a minute.
Not gonna lie, that made everything so much easier, I was terrified one of them was going to admit to having done something with her. We also talked about her recent behavior's, I told them about what she'd been saying and then Sam spoke up.
He said that in the past, they had heard my friend intentionally telling people strange things about me in order to make it seem like I wasn't a person who you'd want to be friends with. (They'd overheard these conversations at my house when I wasn't around or doing something and she was waiting for me.) Things like "She's too clingy" or "She's controlling" to even telling people I'd slept with one of my brothers. It hurt. A lot. So you guys were right, she has been isolating me from people.
After our talk, I needed to get some air so I went for a walk. My friend ended up calling me and I answered. I know, stupid, but I was hurt and wanted to know if she really had done those things. The conversation went like this:
HER: "Listen, (my name) we've been friends for a long time and I don't want to hurt you but this friendship has become really toxic."
ME: Are you serious? I know what you've been saying about me. You're a liar and a creep and the only toxic thing in this friendship is you.
HER: I've literally never lied to you in my life, so I don't know what you think I've said or done but you're wrong. It's not my fault people don't want to be you're friend because you're weirdly possessive.
ME: You literally told people you were dating my brothers, that's gross and really messed up.
HER: This is what I mean, you aren't acting like yourself anymore. I feel like ever since we got older, you've started to become obsessed with attention. I don't like this version of you, it isn't my best friend.
I hung up after that and now I feel like shit. She was my best friend, I have no idea what to do next because she hasn't stopped blowing up my phone since the call. I want to block her but I just can't do it. I feel like an absolute failure. So yeah, that's where I'm at right now. I don't have a clue what I'm going to do next, I want to tell her parents but what would I even say?
"You're daughter's fetishizing my brothers?" I have literally no evidence whatsoever and I don't know what she's told them about me. Who knows. Any advice would be appreciated, since my brain isn't working right now and all I've been doing is crying.
****NEW Post: May 26, 2023 (7.5 weeks from Original Post)***\*
So hi, me again. I don't actually know if anyone's still interested in what's happening but I thought I'd update just for those who've followed me.
Long story short, I took your advice. I called my (ex) friend and told her the following.
"I don't want you in my life anymore." And that was it. I know some people told me to set her reputation of fire because why not, but I feel like that would do more harm than good. And if she ever does grow up, I'm sure she doesn't want this whole drama fest to be tied to her forever.
The first few days after that phone call were hectic. I couldn't stop crying, which made me feel pathetic, and I overall just felt lost. I haven't really made friends at school, most people think of me as a weirdo who dropped her best friend of ten years because she was jealous of her own brothers. So I guess lunch in the bathrooms from now on.
I also got calls from my ex friends sister, who called me some names and ranted about my brothers "loved ex friend so much and that I was such a cow for separating them", so I guess she's sticking to her story.
So yeah. That's kind of it. I'm just spending time with myself and my bed.
I don't know if I'll update again, but for now that's it. Thanks again everyone.

Dear W,
I know. I know that you were hurting. I knew that the entire time and I tried so hard to tell myself that whenever you would hurt my feelings. Anytime you’d ask me to stop talking or tell me that I was too much of something, I knew. Maybe that’s why I stayed. I told myself that you were hurt and that if you weren’t, you’d treat me like you really loved me. You spoke of feeling alone sitting next to me when I tried to just be friends with you. I felt alone for most of our relationship. I was being fed crumbs and was convincing myself that it was a meal. Because I never wanted to think badly of you. But you never saw the way I watched you while you slept next to me. All I could do was cry. Looking at you hurt, because I knew deep down that, one day, I’d have to tell you goodbye. I hate goodbyes. I’m very bad with them for reasons you could probably guess. I wanted you to walk me to my car. I wanted you to listen when I needed to talk about the heavy things. I wanted to call you and tell you I loved you before I went to bed, but you hated phone calls. I wanted you to support me. But all of these things shouldn’t have been things that I had to ask for. Not if you loved me the way you said. And I never wanted to ask, because if you truly wanted to, you would have done things gladly. Right? My friends told me I looked unhappy. Everyone told me to run. They told me you weren’t the one for me. My best friend even went so far as to beg me not to go back, but I wanted to. I wanted so badly to get the version of you that I knew you could be if you had just let me in. I did not have the self-esteem at the time to know that I deserved better than the actions you were giving me. You told me your friends didn’t like me essentially because I was a drag. I just needed someone to talk to, God damn it. Nowadays, I still find myself apologizing for talking too much or talking about heavy things.
There was so much good, too. It was not all bad, and I am thankful for the times it wasn’t. I’m thankful for you always trying to make my birthdays special. I am thankful for our shared love of all things cats. I am thankful for all the spaghetti. I am thankful that you tried when you could. I am thankful for a wonderful first date and for breaking into cemeteries and for lots of good Mexican food. I am thankful for the endless cat videos that kept me going some days. There is so much of you to remember, and I won’t forget. The positive things are the things I try to keep closest. Now, I have unexpectedly found someone new. After I broke up with you, I planned on being single for as long as it took. I was never going to settle for just any type of treatment ever again. And in he walked. We worked together and I never even thought twice about him. Then, one day, we sat down and we started really talking, and we haven’t stopped since. He never gets tired of me. He is so patient and so kind. We can speak for hours and never tire of each other’s company. I have complete freedom to be me, and I am never judged. He respects that I want to take things slow and he never pushes. He is talkative just like me, and he’s so goofy. People tell me that I look happy now. I am happy. I have so many good people in my life and so many things to be grateful for. We all do. I’ve always said that it’s all about perspective and I stand on that.
I want you to know that I’ve forgiven you. I know that, in your own way, you did your best. You taught me so much and it really means the world. I will always want the best for you and I truly want you to be happy. I know that you will be. You have infinite potential. Use it. Don’t throw it away. Not for a bottle. You are worth so much more.
Love, M

“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.

Audible is having a massive sale on almost all their audiobooks this month so it seems like the perfect time to recommend your favorite audiobooks so others may pick them up. Please share and share alike in hopes of spreading the love. As an audiobook author myself, Supervillainy Saga and Cthulhu Armageddon, I want to make sure as many lesser loved works get the attention they deserve as the big names.
Superhero Fiction

• Velveteen Versus by Seanan Maguire: About a former child hero on the run from the evil version of Disney.
• Super Powered by Drew Hayes: The perfect college experience for those training to be heroes but terrified of washing out.
• Wearing the Cape by Marion G. Harmon: A Supergirl EXPY struggles to get her groove once she acquires her powers.
• Dreadnought by April Daniels: Perfect for Pride month as well as the sale. A young trans youth gets the chance to have the body she always wanted. Too bad not everyone is willing to accept the world's most powerful hero is trans.
• Andrea Vernon and the Superhero Industrial Complex by Alexander C. Kane: Andrea Vernon takes a secretary job at New York's largest superhero company.

Cyberpunk/Dystopian SciFi

• Bubbles in Paradise by SC Jensen: The worst cyberpunk detective of all time escapes from her enemies by taking on a space cruise. It gets worse.
• Behind Blue Eyes by Anna Mocikat: A assassin cyborg temporarily gets her free will back and must struggle with learning to be human again.
• The Immorality Clause by Brian Parker: A detective in New Orleans in 2060s investigates the many vice related crimes of cyborgs and androids. But never sleep with a robot.
• Technomancer: To Beat the Devil by MK Gibson: A post apocalypse snarky wiseass like Harry Dresden lives in a world where the Biblical Revelation happened--and God didn't show up. Now the world is a science fiction hellhole ruled by demons. Our hero? He's just a courier.
• Prime Suspects: A Clone Detective Mystery by Jim Bernheimer: A man is cloned to solve his own murder on a far away space colony. He's also the most likely suspect.
• Mercury's Son by Luke Hindmarsh: A post apocalypse thriller where the world's last cyborg works for a Luddite cult that employs him as a legbreaker.

Urban Fantasy/Fantasy

• Bill the Vampire by Rick Guallatiri: The hilariously irreverent stories of a nerdy vampire created as cannon fodder who turns out to have a very useful ability: he can't be mind controlled.
• Get Bent by Rick Gualtieri: Bentley is a daughter of a werewolf and a witch. Which is a forbidden romance that only her small town cares about--until it comes out she's not adopted.
• Fred the Vampire Accountant by Drew Hayes: I absolutely love these books as cozy urban fantasy. Nuff said.
• Steel, Fire, and Blood by Allan Batchelder: A retired mercenary is brought out of his funk to deal with a genocidal warlord. So he gets the band back together.

Share the books you'd love more people to read.

I recently came across a post about an expat who participated in a night wedding. After reading the accounts I began to do research on my own. Not because I believe in any of that stuff. I'm a magician after all. Illusion is my bread and butter. And I can detect trickery better than most. Which in my line of work has its benefits. But old traditions are the best places to pick up new techniques. Old ways that are new to others that delight and even scare people. Because, if I can make them afraid. Make them look away. For even a second. I can pull off some astounding magic.
My gig at the cruise line was coming to an end as we neared the port of Shanghai. And for my last several shows, where I'd normally start to include my greatest tricks in order to leave a lasting impression. I developed a new act that I called "The Sneaky Bride", it involved a mannequin in a wedding dress, a beautiful train, veil, flowers on the ground - the whole nine yards some would say. The trick was that the bride would sneak bites as my assistants who are dressed as servers pass by with their trays.
I begin the trick by placing a mannequin center stage for all to see so that they know it's a dummy. I show them there are no holes, and the entire thing is solid. Then we dress it up and set the stage for a wedding. And with a bit of lighting, another assistant switches places with the mannequin and is being fed under the veil. We later changed it to more slight of hand techniques as the assistant complained she wasn't able to chew fast enough as the items of course have to get larger and larger for comedic effect as the guests were wowed by the disappearing act as the fake wedding progressed.
At the end we even invited the unmarried men up to the stage and then threw out a fake bouquet, and watched them clamber over each other in good fun to catch it. The act was an instant hit and had the crowd roaring every night. Which was why I decided to take a firsthand look at the original, and see if there were any other staging techniques I could learn from this old tradition.
With some help from Bing and its ChatGPT features I was able to get a relatively good idea of where it was practiced. So I booked the next flight out to begin my quest for a real night wedding.
Upon arrival at my hotel, I asked the concierge for information about the local practice.
"Yes. I know of this one. We practice it often for children who were taken too early."
"But they are all scams?"
The concierge smiled, "In most cases the pouches mean no harm, and they're simply for families who want to provide peace for themselves and to complete a lasting tradition. Sometimes the dowries are quite lucrative as well, and it is the families who are scammed by those who go and collect these ghost wives as concubines. We call it a blue procession for the trail of ghosts the husband leaves behind wherever he goes." He leans in, "But between you and me? They're mostly all scams."
I laughed, and I can't stress this next part enough, tip your concierge! Which I did. "Thank you, and also. Do you know where I could get a good start on finding more information about these ghost dowries? Or even find one of these pouches myself?"
"The temple down this first street to the left, about half a kilometer, would be a good place to start. But finding a pouch is a bit more difficult as they pop up sporadically. However, if traditions are to be believed it is the pouch who chooses the spouse."
I thanked him again and began to make my way through the early morning rush toward the temple. The streets were lined with open markets full of food from local farmers, which were common in the morning in this part of the world. They would disappear before the afternoon and then return again to sell wares at night when it was cooler. It made the city feel as if it were breathing as the locals rose and ebbed outside with day and night.
On my way, I searched the ground and around alleys for loose pouches. But I had no such luck by the time I arrived at the temple. Large red pillars that were thicker than any tree I've personally had the pleasure of meeting held up the high ceiling. Inside, the locals were already starting to disperse as the work hours were amongst us. Which left me nearly alone in this temple at about 8:00 in the morning.
A monk or priest was kneeling on a mat in front of a wooden shrine, throwing pieces of wood in the shape of dumplings on the floor. I waited patiently for him to finish. Taking in the sights and the delicate features of the temple. When he rose I approached him.
"You don't speak English by any chance do you?"
He smiled.
"What about the middle tongue?" I asked in Mandarin.
"Oh," he seemed surprised. "Yes. How may I be of assistance?"
"What were you doing just now?"
He held out his hand and showed me two red wooden pieces that were, with closer inspection, in the shape of moons. "Jiaobei," he told me. "We use these to seek divine guidance."
"How does it work?"
The monk shows me the two sides, one was smooth and flat, the other side rounded. "You ask a question and then throw it on the ground. One block flat and one block round, means yes. Both blocks showing round means no. Or depending on the question. Anger from the Gods. Or crying in sadness as it is commonly known. And finally, both blocks showing flat means laughter. Which could mean a number of things." He hands them to me, "You throw it three times to get a better answer."
"I'm guessing if it's the same all three times, the answer is definitive?"
The monk nodded.
"Will I..."
"Ah ah ah, in silence."
I didn't want my first question to be too convoluted or difficult. So I kept it simple and asked if I was a good magician. Then I threw the Jiaobei on the floor. It clattered and rolled on its rounded back, showing two flat sides.
The monk smiled.
"That usually happens the first time anyone tries Jiaobei. But in my experience, it generally means you asked a pure question."
"What happens if I didn't ask a pure question and it came back as angry?"
"The gods will remember it. They will remember you."
"No bad first impression then huh," I whispered under my breath. "Okay. Do I need to throw it two more times or can I ask a different question?"
"You may ask a different question or throw it twice more."
"What is my name?" I threw it on the floor. And to my surprise, as the ends are pointed and difficult to balance, one of the damn things stood tall and erect.
The monk bowed to the pieces. "Truly you have been picked by the gods to be answered. Lijiao or a standing answer like this is uncommonly rare. The gods generally choose to laugh at a nonsensical question. And often get angry if you throw it two more times. And rarely do they ever answer ones asked aloud."
I bent forward, skeptical, though a temple this was, at how the thing worked. In my head I could only think that the switchboard guy was quick on his feet. But looking around I couldn't find any cameras. Though in this day an age, they're made smaller than a fly. So it was difficult to tell. I picked up the pieces, feeling for any sense of magnetism, but there were none.
I asked one last question before I left that day. I asked their gods, would I find the real deal? And I threw it on the ground three times. All three times it came up yes. But for two months I scoured the city, and the country side. And I did chance upon several pouches. Some were obviously scams as I watched each bag carefully before approaching. Especially noticeable are the ones in the city which would be laying on the sidewalk, filled with bills for people passing by. But I observed that if a local went to go pick it up, two or three men from around the corner would come and threaten him to put it back. But if a foreigner picked it up, an old man or woman would come and start calling them son before leading them away.
There were of course others that were genuinely following tradition. I chanced upon several of them and was married several times. But each one was playful almost. And performed by their parents in the day. Leaving me with several small bags of pocket change, a good dinner, as I went on my way.
During one of these fake night weddings I even saw a child playfully munching on a corn cob in the corner under one of the tables as I fed the effigy they constructed of my fake bride. Which was when I think I decided to call it quits. Believing that I'd never find the real deal. Although I did learn a lot as tradition can be translated by me into performance. Which helped me ground 'The Sneaky Bride' act further. All in all, this was time well spent.
My visa was coming to an end and I had mostly been enjoying the sights, the city, and their way of life. When on one the last day, as I was leaving from a faraway eatery that the concierge had recommended, that I saw a red pouch made of silk with a thick yarn around its throat, stuffed full of money. I looked around and didn't see a single person there, nothing except flat farmland and water gullies for miles.
Odd, I thought to myself, as it looked truly abandoned.
For a second I played with the idea of picking it up. Wondering if somehow a relative of the deceased would pop up magically next to me and I could change the world of magic by studying their technique. But I didn't want to spend my few hours chasing ghosts. I wanted to enjoy my time. So I kept walking.
I got back to the city and spent the remainder of my day eating and drinking, meeting new friends at the bar, newfound lads who I invited a hundred times to visit me in Melbourne one day. Who all agreed that if fate ever brought us back together we would drink until the sun rose. So yeah, I was fairly drunk when I got back to my hotel room, and didn't believe what I saw when I opened the door. It was a red pouch sitting on my coffee table.
"Someone's trying to play a trick on me," I mused. "They must have heard me talking at the bar." I circled the table studying the pouch. Any magician worth his smoke, likes a good bag. So there was no doubt to me that this was the same one I saw earlier. Which made me start putting two and two together. "It must be the concierge. He's the one who sent me out that far." I laughed and picked up the bag, even though I knew the rules. I opened it and thumbed through the bills. "It's much more than what I tipped him. Much more." Curious, I wondered what he would have done if I didn't return this to him. It must have been quite a few months worth of wages. I threw the bag up in the air and caught it as if I were juggling before I tossed it on my nightstand. "I'm going to let him sweat for a little bit and pretend I didn't find it tomorrow as I check out," I mused as I went to go take a shower.
I opened the door and felt the words stick to the roof of my mouth as the bag appeared on the counter next to the sink. I shot a glance back to the nightstand and indeed the bag I had just thrown on there was missing.
"This is a good fucking trick. That, or I'm drunker than I thought." I started questioning did I somehow fall asleep beforehand? Or walked into the bathroom and put it there as I mused my little scheme of making the concierge nervous at the lost pouch? Had I somehow in my drunken state done something without realizing it? No. That couldn't be it. I touched my chest to check my heart rate and put my fingers on my face. A bit flushed, but heart rate adequate. I was fine for the most part. Just drunk.
I looked at the pouch on the counter, and peered gingerly into the bathroom as if I've never stepped foot in one, before deciding to grab the bag and close the door. "Okay," I said loudly. "Whoever's doing this. Come on out." Of course no one appeared, not that I expected them to because the credo I lived by is that a good magician never reveals his trick.
"Okay, let's see how good you guys really are," I mused. Going over to my closet and placed the pouch on the shelf. Closing the door. Then I went back to the bathroom and opened the door. It was empty. I checked the nightstand drawer, mpty. I looked all over, and it was still mty. I breathed a sigh and went over to the closet door, "I guess you're just a bag after all." Except when I looked inside. MT. I couldn't find the bag behind any other nook or cranny. I know, I checked them all. And they were all .
I stumbled backwards and looked around, glancing at the ceiling corners in case someone had crawled up there. And even looked under the bed. But there was no one else here. I felt my chest tighten as I tried to make sense of what was happening. "Its got to be the walls I reasoned." And so for the next half hour I scoured the entire room with my hands, pushing, pressing, pulling anywhere and everywhere I could. Using all my years of experience to figure out what was going on. But there was nothing.
I couldn't stay in that room another minute so I rushed outside and nearly stepped on it! The bag! It was right at the foot of my doorstep.
My mind tried to wrap around how that was possible, "It's got to be a dupe. They've got more than one bag. I've been had, that has to be it. And the furniture inside, they have secret compartments. God, they really put a lot of effort into this," I laughed. "I have to know how this trick is done." So I opened the pouch and pulled out the note inside.
The notes generally contained their name, their current would-be age (she was 20 this year, older than most), what time they were born (8:07), a picture if they had one (she did), and how old they when they died (5). If the deceased were a bit older, perhaps a tidbit from their family is included about their personality. But most importantly, it always contained their address.
I looked at my watch, it was late and my flight was in the morning but perhaps I could still make it. So I gathered the rest of my things, my luggage, the mannequin for my act, and other bag of tricks in case I needed to go to the airport right after. "Come on," I yelled out loud to my pranksters. "Let's go see what other tricks you have up your sleeve."
I went down to the lobby and had the front desk call me a cab. I looked around for the concierge but he was nowhere to be found. So I left a note for him. And then left.
The cab drove until the city faded away. We were practically on the other side of the island by the time its tires skipped to a stop. I got out and knocked on the giant half circle doors of the address. I noticed that we were deep in the countryside. There were hardly any lights dotting the night.
I knocked several more times before I heard shuffling behind the door. And then it opened. An old man stood in front of me in his drawers.
"What do you want," he asked angrily. "Do you know what time it is?"
"I'm sorry for disturbing you at such a late hour. But," I pulled out the pouch. And his eyes widened up.
"Meju-eh. You're back." He looked at me up and down. "What are you supposed to be," he asked but then shook his head. "No, no. Come in. Come in, please."
"I don't have much time," I told him. "I have to leave in the morning."
"Sit, sit." He ushered me to a chair in the courtyard.
I placed the bag on the table next to it, "I have a flight in the morning, so if we're going to do this. We have to do it now."
Instead of fighting me, he nodded, "Yes. I agree. I don't have much time either. And Meju-eh is older than most ghost brides. The bull demon might not let her through his gets if she gets any older. And then she'll be a husbandless spinster for eternity." He ushered around, "We don't have many living relatives either. So it shouldn't be too troublesome to hurry this along." He called into the house and a young woman came out, "This is my granddaughter. Ah-ahn. Meju-eh's older sister. They were close as children."
Ah-ahn was quite beautiful. I almost couldn't take my eyes off of her.
"Go and start preparations and rouse anyone you can get a hold of. We must have the wedding tonight. Even if it isn't grand as I would like."
"Will we make it in time," I asked. "It's a lot of work for one person. Perhaps I could help?"
The old man nodded, "That's a good idea. But forgive me, I must retire for now. Or else have no energy for the wedding." He turned to his granddaughter, "Fetch me when the preparations are ready." As he left us alone in the courtyard.
"What can I do," I asked her.
"We're going to need flowers for decoration."
I pulled a rose out from behind her ear, "I happen to have a case of these on hand at all times." I put the flower in her hair.
She smiled, "Thank you."
"What else?"
"Um, we already have tables for family gatherings. There should be enough food in the freezers that we can just heat up. I need to call my aunt to come help. And wake up some of the kids. Also...we kind of need a statue of some sort, as a stand-in for my sister."
"Statue? I think I have just the thing."
Hours went by and it was the dead of the night, but watching all the people bustling around the courtyard, the kids in excited whispers, you'd never guess that all of us should have been sleeping. Soon the tables were set, the food was hot, even the decorations were strung, and I had procured my mannequin from my luggage and a few of the menfolk were putting it together inside the main living room.
Several times I found myself laughing and having a good time with the others, although chasing that hen made me look quite ridiculous, and several times I bumped into Ah-ahn and we would talk and exchange a few words. In the beginning she talked mostly about her sister. How she was troublesome as a child. Always hiding things. I told her about the pouch appearing and disappearing in my hotel. And we both had a good laugh. Eventually we talked about ourselves. I learned she wanted to get away from here, "To see the world," she told me. The more we talked the closer we got. I could feel it. Soon we were bumping into each other just to feel our bodies touch. But before anything else transpired the wedding preparations were complete.
The old man was retrieved from his bedroom and everyone gathered outside in the courtyard, looking into the main living room. There was a wooden shrine in the back of the room and the mannequin had been traditionally dressed. From an old box the grandfather retrieved several personal items that belonged to Meju. And I was then asked to enter the living room.
The grandfather said a few words, and then gave us his blessing. Ah-ahn handed me a bowl of sticky rice ball soup. I had been through this process before and knew what to do. I ate one of the pink balls and then went to go feed my new bride.
Now I've traveled with this mannequin for some time. Seen it at a dozen of my own shows. Slept with it in the room. Knew that it was in fact a dummy for all intents and purposes. However, as I started moving my spoon toward it. I swear I saw it's chest rise as if it were breathing.
I couldn't tell if it was from the alcohol ebbing away from earlier or a trick of the light. But even its shoulders looked softer than usual. My hand started shaking as it got closer to her mouth. It was like watching an out of body experience as the spoon inched under her veil. And then the CRUNCH. It scared the fucking shit out of me. I looked around hoping to see some kid in the corner playing a dumb joke. But there were none. And I didn't believe what I was seeing even as the veil started moving as her jaws chewed the sticky material back and forth.
"No way," I shook. "There's just no way." My hand was so close to the veil. "Oh God. Please. I have to know how this is done." I ripped off the veil.
Meju looked very much like her picture. But older. And then older. And older. As if her face was starting to rot away as it contorted. People behind me screamed. The lightbulbs we had strung popped. Kids were running around and the grandfather fell to the floor clutching his heart.
I backed away, the spoon clattering to the ground as I watched the mannequin crick and crack as its arms and legs bent in a tangled mess until it was walking on all fours!
The thing grabbed the bent down to the grandfather and started chewing!
I turned around and saw the other guests were piling out of the courtyard. The tables were upturned and only the dim crescent light of the moon bore down on us. Everyone was screaming trying to get out. I ran and bumped into Ah-ahn. She whirled terrified and then realized it was me. She yelled, "You never! Look at the bride before it's time!"
"I'm so sorry! I didn't know. I thought it was a trick!"
She grabbed her face, her nails leaving streaks behind as she clawed at her skin, "Now she's going to kill every living blood relative. And then you." Ah-ahn laughed manically. "She's going to torture you!"
The people kept pushing around us until we got separated. Her final words still ringing in my ears as I took to the dirt road outside and started running. I ran for nearly a mile before I spotted a cab sitting outside of someone's house. I banged on their door and then begged them to take me to the airport. Throwing at them all the money from the dowry.
When I arrived at the airport I hurried through the TSA. Relieved at the lights and normal looking people. I boarded my flight. Tapping my foot nervously the entire time, staring out the small squarish window as we prepared to take off. The sun was starting to rise as the engine roared. I took one last look at the island as we flew away. Still trying to catch my breath at what I had just caused.
My mind was reeling as I heard two knocking noises, they sounded oddly familiar, and for a second I thought that Meju had finished with her family and had somehow come boarded. But then I realized the noise was coming from my carry-on. I reached inside and pulled out two red shaped crescents that the Monk at the temple had given to me. And I realized that if I ever needed any form of divine guidance this was it.
So right there in the tiny aisle. I asked the gods if I had escaped and threw the Jiaobei.
No.
I asked the gods if I would be safe.
No.
I asked them would Meju kill me.
Both flat.
Both flat.
Both flat.
s

I park my car in the incredibly nice upper-middle class Huntington Beach neighborhood, just down the street from the ‘New Reality’ (editor's note: fake name) sober living I got kicked out of. I take a second to pull myself together while in the darkness. I’m starting to feel very weak, very frazzled. I’ve been awake for at least 60 hours straight now, and I’m well aware of that. It is 1AM. I can’t decide if I should get a hotel or not.
I am so weak. I need to eat. I need water. I need to sleep. My mouth tastes TERRIBLE – like I am decaying from the inside out. I need to shower. I am aware that I have many physical needs that go beyond my need for more drugs.
See how you feel after the next shot, Lonnie.
I text Kace:
Here
I pat my pockets, making sure I have two separate bags: a bag in my left pocket, which has my furanylfentanyl and clean syringes in it, and a bag in my right pocket, which has both their meth and their dilaudid pills in it. I do not want to sell them furanylfentanyl because I don’t want them to die in the sober living house that has already seen 2 overdoses because of it.
I get out of my car and lock it. I walk through the sprawling, meticulous Huntington Beach neighborhood full of spacious and decorous houses, heading towards the sober living, though I stay on the other side of the street. I walk past several houses, with perfect green lawns and perfect landscapes, walking past the sober living. I walk a few houses past it, and then cross the street. When I arrive on the other side of the street, I glance all around me, checking for surveillance.
I double back, heading towards the sober living. I cut into the side yard, heading for the side door that leads into the garage. It is already cracked open, just as we planned. I open the door just enough so that I am able to slide through. I see two phone lights on in the far corner of the big 3-car garage.
“Yo,” I whisper-yell in the direction of the phone lights. One of the lights starts moving in a circular motion, beckoning me closer. I walk up, moving as quietly as I can. It would be terrible if the house manager, Jack, came in here right now.
I pull out their bag of dilaudid and meth. I see a hand with money in it being held out in my direction. I take the money and replace it with their bag of drugs.
“Nice, thanks,” Kace whispers, as I count the money. It's right on. The phone lights move closer to the ground, so I move with them. I see 3 fresh bottles of water on the ground, just like I asked for. I pull out the bag of needles and hand each of them 2 clean needles, putting one on the ground for myself.
“You got the Q-tips,” I whisper, looking towards Kace. His hand is already outstretched, a Q tip in it. I open the water bottle and put the bottle cap on the floor, beginning to prepare my shot of furanylfentanyl as quietly as I can, while they break up their dilaudids. The phones are propped up on the floor, giving me an eerie feeling. I have seen this before.
Déjà vu hits, and something inside me works to flash me back to my horrible half-ounce psilocybin trip. I suppress the embodied, hellish memories and the feelings of absolute terror, doom, and panic by preparing the shot as fast as I can.
“Where are you going after this?” Kace whispers to me, while we all work. I don’t even know the third boy, I only know that his name is Shane, he is white, he came here from the east coast, he’s in his 20s, and that he came to the wrong place if he wants to survive and recover from his addiction.
“I might go get a hotel, depends on how I feel,” I whisper back.
“Well, take a piece of this, mix it in there, that’ll help,” Kace whispers, his hand outstretched with a shard of meth in it. Meth is Kace’s panacea. I hesitate for a second, only because I know that this meth came from Sloan, which means it came from Lucky, which means it is very clean and very, very strong.
A small amount added to my shot of furry would ensure that I could stay awake for a little while longer. Now that I am coming down from the 2-day cocaine binge and haven’t yet slept, I run the risk of passing out at any moment.
“Maybe I should, just to be on the safe side,” I whisper, before involuntarily watching my hand take the small shard of meth and add it to the bottle cap. I take pleasure in the fact that this is fresh water from a clean water bottle, a fresh cotton, a clean bottle cap, and drugs that I sourced myself and am familiar with.
Listen to you, Lonnie. This is your third day in a row, and now that you don’t have cocaine, you’re doing meth? You were chugging cough syrup, you went on a cocaine binge, now you’re doing some goddamn meth? The dirtiest, most disgusting drug on the planet? And you’re selling it to these poor kids, at their sober living? Shame on you.
I shake my head slightly, hoping to shut it up.
I push the limits in my preparation of the dose: adding meth to this shot enables me to add more furanylfentanyl than I normally would, since the meth will keep me awake and therefore alive. I look up from the phone light when I am done, and I am surprised to see somebody else is done prepping and has completed their injection before me.
“Whoa, god damn,” Shane whispers. I chuckle.
“He’s never done a dilaudid before,” Kace whispers. I can hear the smile on Kace’s face, even in the darkness. I don’t smile, for something terrible has happened on this night. Shane’s soul has been infected by another parasite, and I will burn in the deepest level of Hell for being the one that brought it to him.
“Can you light me up?” I ask. One of the phone lights turns towards me. I find a vein quickly and easily, though I am having to rotate injection sites constantly. I cap the needle when it’s done and lean back, putting my hands on the concrete floor of the garage behind me. I count mentally, and barely make it past 3.
Every cell that I consist of alights with the jolting electric euphoria of meth. My chest tightens with power and ecstasy. I feel electric light waves of raw energy emanating from my heart as my heart rate dramatically increases with feelings of excited arousal.
All weakness and negativity have disappeared from my body. I could fight a tiger right now. I should go play basketball right now. I’d be unstoppable. I’d win every game. Nobody else would even have a chance.
“Fuck, I hate meth,” I whisper, overly alert, my heart racing in my ears. Now it feels like the house manager will open the door any second. Police are certainly watching us. My heart races in nonstop anticipation; I can feel my heartbeat in my trembling hands. Only the massive shot of furry I did can prevent the paranoia from causing me to panic. I take solace in the sensations of peace and relaxation that underlie the meth high. My lady, the Opioid - even though She is the cold, robotic Miss Furryfent, She is with me. I have nothing to fear.
“Nobody hates meth,” Kace whispers.
“It’s too good. It makes me feel too powerful. It makes me feel crazy,” I say.
“Yeah, it’s awesome,” Shane whispers, as we watch Kace inject himself. There are a few seconds of silence, all of us waiting for Kace to get his rush.
“Shit, that dilaudid gives you a good rush. I forgot how good it is,” Kace whispers.
“I know,” I whisper back, before standing up. I walk to the exit, loath to be physically alone again, even though I feel lonely all the time. I wish I didn’t have to leave, but I know that this is another place that I am not welcome. The world is shrinking around me by the day. I am wearing out my welcome at the few places I am still allowed to go.
I need to go back to another treatment center, but life feels hopeless. More talk therapy, more 12-step meetings, more jail-rehabs, more vacation-rehabs – none of it has worked for me, and more of the same thing won’t help me. I am so hooked on these drugs; the drugs are a torrent, and every method of treatment is like a two-by-four piece of wood laying in the way. These drugs have my soul. Death is closing in on me.
“Thanks for coming out here. Be safe, brother,” Kace whispers, before closing the door behind me. I hear it lock, which hurts my feelings, even though I don’t blame him for locking me out. I’d lock me out, too.
I step out into a warm summer California night – back into a world that I don’t belong in; back into a world that doesn't want me.
Where are you going to go, Lonnie?
Not here. Anywhere but here. I start walking, and then start jogging across the street. Surprisingly, I feel no pain in my ankles at all. Jogging feels good. I make it across the street, and then keep jogging.
I jog up to my car. I open the door and get in it. I sit for a second. I check in on my body.
I feel amazing. I could run 3 miles right now. I feel great. I should keep moving.
I check in with my stomach. Although I couldn’t be less hungry, I know I need to consume some nutrients, even if they’re just liquid. I've been injecting cocaine continuously; I haven’t eaten a solid meal or slept in days.
I know what to do. I put my drugs and paraphernalia in the center console of my car. I get out of the car with only my phone, wallet, and keys in my pockets. I lock the car, checking it twice so it registers in my meth-addled brain, which is often riddled with unreasonable paranoia, that it is locked, and nobody can steal my drugs.
I start to walk away from my car, then stop mid-step. What if Kace or one of those guys comes looking for my car, knowing that it is full of drugs?
I am frozen with indecision. I notice I am licking my lips with overstimulation and force myself to stop my tongue. My heart is racing. I’m shaking with excitation. My brain is screaming at my body to do something, but I don't know what to do. They will certainly come looking for my car, hungry for more drugs.
You're being ridiculous, Lonnie. Nobody is going to steal your drugs.
I tell my feet to move. They won't move. I feel the urge to scream. I have to get away from here, I have to do something.
I start to jog again. I can get a quick workout in and get my brain to shut up at the same time. I start to jog, doing the old breathing trick I did when I was a kid trying to run the fastest 1-mile time in gym class.
I focus on my breath, to which I apply a specific breathing pattern. In, in, out. I jog, and I breathe. I jog, and then I jog faster, and my breathing sharpens – and then I jog even faster. I jog out of the neighborhood and onto the main road that connects these huge, gorgeous housing developments in Huntington Beach. I jog in the direction of a gas station that I know is just down the street from me.
I jog, and my mind turns to college basketball. I visualize myself playing in my mind, shooting 3-pointers and knowing that they’re in the hoop as soon as they leave my hand. I shoot a few more 3-pointers in my mind before losing myself completely.
The big, bright, lights, the smell of the hardwood, the sound of the ball bouncing on the floor and echoing off of every wall. The sound of solitude, and hard work, and everything that is good in life. The sound of the ball hitting nothing but net. Watching the net flip up after a perfect swish. I take myself back to some of my favorite moments playing basketball: back to Frederick, Maryland, where I scored 16 points on an overseas professional in a competitive men’s league game.
Back to West Palm Beach, Florida, where I got invited to try out for the semi-pro ABA team, the Miami Storm.
Back to Atlanta, GA, where I got made fun for doing ball handling drills with a tennis ball and then picked last, only to lead my team to victory several times in a row, scoring almost all of our points, winning in silence.
Showing up day in and day out, scoring and shooting and winning. Even when I was losing, I was getting better, so I was winning.
I press onward, jogging harder. I am going to play college basketball. Nothing is going to stop me. I notice that my shirt, which is drenched in sweat, is sticking to my skin. I peel my shirt off, barely slowing my pace. I glance up and to my right. There is a brown apartment complex. I throw my shirt in one of the bushes, making a mental note to get it out of the bush on my way back, certain that I’ll remember exactly how it landed in the bushes and precisely where it is.
I start to jog again, pretending that I have a basketball. I cross the invisible ball back and forth on the sidewalk, going out of my way to cross bushes up, crossing the imaginary ball hard and then going straight into a spin move. I lose myself in the movements. Thoughts cease, and there is nothing but my instinct telling me which dribble move to pantomime next against invisible defenders.
I stop. Why am I even going to the gas station? I should just get my car, go to 24-hour fitness, and play basketball for real. I turn around and start the journey back the way I came. I continue to run and do fake basketball moves on the shadow people. Finally, I find myself back in the residential neighborhood of Huntington Beach that my car is in.
I look around again. Is this the right neighborhood? Where am I? I walk around, looking for a landmark or something that I recognize.
There was something I was supposed to remember.
That’s right, I have to get to work. I need to find my car.
A white truck pulls up in the street next to me and stops.
That’s right, there’s a white truck coming to pick me up and take me to work! I walk up to the white truck, which has stopped in the middle of the road. Though the windows are tinted, I know that Todd is in this truck, and that he is here to pick me up to take me to Cinepolis for work. I pull on the passenger side door handle of the truck, so I can get in and go to work. The handle slips out of my hand when the door doesn’t pop open. The truck starts to drive away.
Why would Todd do that to me?! I look up at the sky. The sun is coming up? Shit, I’m going to be late for work now! I jog away from the truck. I need to go back to Todd’s house. I jog up to Todd’s house, which is the brown house right down the street. I walk up to the door and twist the doorknob. It doesn’t open.
Of course, it didn’t open, dumbass. Todd went to work.
I jog away. How am I going to get to work? I jog some more and start to feel sick.
Where am I?
“HEY! You left your stuff, like, way back there!” a random lady yells at me. I look at her, and then around at my surroundings. I don’t know where I am.
“What?” I yell back at her.
“You took your shorts off and left your stuff, like, way back there. I’ve been watching you. I think you should go home!” she yells, from across the street. I reach for my pockets.
I look down at my lower half. I have no shorts on. I am wearing nothing but black Nike compression underpants and basketball shoes. Realization strikes me like a thunderbolt: I have been running around in a state of meth-induced delusion for the entire night, playing with an invisible basketball.
I jog across the street, over to the lady.
“I’m sorry. I had a little too much to drink last night. Do you mind showing me where I left my stuff?” I ask, evaluating the woman. She is in her 40’s or 50’s, with long dark hair and a kind face. She has a small dog with her. He looks like a mutt.
“I figured. I was walking my dog, and saw you take your shorts off. I wanted to stop you when you tried to get in the truck, but I thought maybe you knew them. Then you tried to get in that house. You seemed very confused and out of it. Your pants are back this way,” she says, walking her dog down the sidewalk, back the way I came.
“Thanks,” I say, too embarrassed and ashamed to say much else. The sun is up. I try to walk naturally, like I am wearing pants instead of not wearing pants, which is a difficult thing to do. She leads me several minutes down the sidewalk, to somebody’s front yard. I see my shorts sitting in the grass in somebody’s yard, right by the sidewalk. I grab my shorts and put them on. My wallet and my phone are still in the pockets.
My keys. Shit, where are my keys?
“Do you know where my keys are?” I ask the woman, too embarrassed to look her in the eyes.
“No. I saw you take off your shorts here. I’ve been watching you, and I’m sure I’m not the only one. I wouldn’t be surprised if police are on their way,” she says, her eyebrows raised at me knowingly.
“Ok. Well, thanks for your help. I’m going to go. My house is in the neighborhood over there,” I lie, pointing further away from her and walking away. The word “police” forces me into action. I powerwalk until she is out of sight, and then I start to jog again.
Jog faster, Lonnie. Train harder.
No. I have to slow down. I’m becoming psychotic from overexertion, lack of nutrition, sleep deprivation, and methamphetamine. I have no drugs on me. I can slow down.
I force myself to start walking. I become aware, again, of my racing heart. It has been beating like this for days on end. It could easily explode and kill me at any second. Wait, when was the last time I did any opioids? The furanylfentanyl has been making me dopesick within 6 hours. I search my body for opioid effects. There are none.
I’m in the no man’s land between the opioid high and the withdrawal where I actually feel normal. The more I binge, the shorter the breaks become, and I’ve been binging, hard. If I feel normal now, that means I’ll be dopesick any second. I whine out loud. I want to scream up at the sky. My stomach starts to hurt terribly – it feels like it is bleeding.
I am dying.
I open my phone’s GPS and set it to my old sober living.
Shit, I don’t have a car key. I can’t get into my car! I call a locksmith, and then I start to run back towards the ironically named ‘sober living.’
I attempt to cling to reality.
My name is Lonnie. I am in Huntington Beach. I am going to Jack’s sober living, so I can do some fentanyl, so I don’t get dopesick. I did some meth, and I haven’t slept or ate in days, so I might hallucinate. Hallucinations aren’t real.
My name is Lonnie. I am in Huntington beach. I went to Florida for rehab for sniffing oxy, and I started to shoot dope. I came to California to stop shooting dope and picked up a meth habit.
STOP!
My name is Lonnie. The world would be better off if I were dead.
I start to walk. I can’t take this. I need some music. No, playing music would be suspicious. I start to jog again, trying not to think about my racing heart. I should focus on my breathing.
No, I can’t do that. That’s what made me go psychotic.
My name is Lonnie. I am going back to Jack’s sober living…

I am a recently born again christian. My journey began when my husband and I separated and i found out i was pregnant with his child. God really worked his hand in our lives. My husband and i our back together and God has become a part of our life. We now have a beautiful 2 month old. I was obviously sober for my pregnancy and never struggled with Alcoholism before being pregnant. I would drink occasionally at social gatherings but would be fine. Since having the baby i have drank a few times and each time has been really scary or it’s interrupted by God i think.
For example, i went to see a play with a friend and drank some wine there. I got so randomly depressed, i almost committed suicide after. Where i went mentally was terrifying. However i probably would have drank more though if i didnt loose my phone right before leaving to go to dinner before the play for like 45min. I am thankful that happened.
Another time I went to a birthday party and there was a tornado warning so we couldn’t really drink. Then when i was on my way home there was a random safety police alcohol check point.
Last night i went to a wedding and drank with friends there. I just drank uncontrollably, I ended up blacking out. The way i was described by friends is a level of drunk i have never been before.
Tonight i was supposed to go to a concert but I couldn’t find anyone to go with me. I asked like 4 people this week and they all had conflicts. Its just weird. I decided not to go because it felt like a sign.
I am going to give up alcohol completely. I just feel like it is so strange how alcohol is affecting me now. There seems to be no middle ground anymore. Has anyone else experienced something like this?

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
POV: Mavis
They were deep into the game when Mavis glanced at the black sky between the open blinds. The screen was suddenly so bright in the dark room, and her muscles ached when she stretched around the controller.
Her legs swung off the end of the bed as she tilted the controller. At some point, they switched places. Mavis looked at Zed, his glassy eyes frozen over and his tongue stuck out halfway in intense concentration.
She stifled a laugh.
Mavis had never seen anyone that deep in the zone, ever. It was inspiring.
“I have to pee,” Zed announced.
He stood and left the room, leaving the door cracked so the hall light came in. Mavis massaged her hands, then looked down at the controller in her lap. Everything about staying over was so natural. Zed didn’t seem put off by her either.
She was about to push her luck.
The toilet flushed and a minute later he walked back into the room.
“So, I was wondering if I could stay for the night,” Mavis said.
His impassive expression didn’t change in the slightest. She took a breath to go into a diatribe about moving and that her mattress wasn’t ready yet, that the couch had springs sticking out in awkward places and it was impossible to sleep.
“Okay,” he said.
Her breath deflated.
“Well, that was easy,” she said, half-jokingly.
Zed huffed, a laugh, Mavis realized. He sat next to her on the bed and picked up the other controller.
“Let’s continue our game,” Zed said.
“Actually, I think I’m good,” she said.
He shrugged.
Zed exited the game and played Forza Horizon instead.
After some time, Mavis braved the question that she’d been waiting to ask.
“Zed, are you doing anything this weekend?”
He was completely unfazed for a moment, and she thought that he hadn’t heard her.
“I’m going to my dad’s. It’s his birthday. Do you want to go?”
That was almost too easy.
Mavis was momentarily stunned.
“Yes,” she said.
Zed broke his focus from the screen and looked at her.
“Really? It’s going to be boring as hell. I need someone to talk to,” he said.
Zed clutched the controller a bit tighter.
Mavis didn’t know how to respond.
“Yes,” she said again.
He turned his eyes back to the screen, right as he ran into a tree in the middle of a field.
Later that night he slumped over onto her shoulder, dead to the world. Of course, only in a figurative sense, as Mavis would never hurt a blond hair on this angel’s head.
Every minute with him made her feel as close to a normal human being that she could ever possibly be. He made her laugh, made her forget that she could never be discovered. They both loved to drive fast.
She looked at his expression longingly, so beautiful when it was wiped of worry. His red buttondown rode up to expose a white underbelly like a fish, his skin so soft and if she could touch…
Her nose flared as the thought made her boil with pleasure, but she put it away before she thought of things she would regret.
Mavis could see that something was wrong, earlier, but she would take care of that.
That morning she was in his house, unbeknownst to him, before he left for work. From under his bed, Mavis overheard his conversation with his dad about the party they were having. There was an attendee who she was especially interested in meeting, one whose address she attained from Collins’ contact list.
He went by the name of SpinTop. God knew why. Anyone could grab his real moniker the second they saw that his face was plastered right there. He had dark brown hair that was really a rather unconvincing toupee, and a very distinct bump on the bridge of his nose.
She had followed the address to an unassuming house halfway back to the city, one of those bland McMansions that blend with the rest of the cookie-cutter homes where people go to rot in quiet suburbia.
There had been no one home that day, but there lived a man who threatened Collins in recent texts to make the killings look like accidents, or he would be next. But why? She had to know. Especially since this man just so happened to be close to Zed’s parents.
Mavis slipped off of the bed and made herself home on the couch.
The next morning they carpooled to work. His car unlocked with a couple of quick, short clicks and he slid into the passenger’s side.
“Did I ever say that I wanted to take it for a ride or did you read my mind about that?” she laughed, then snorted at the end.
Zed gave her an amused smile.
Her heart could have broken ribs.
“I think you told me, but I’m not sure,” he answered.
“Oh well. Let’s ride,” she said.
Mavis revved the engine. They took off down the long stretch of road. She didn’t care for how different it was from the city. The dull, empty fields of green raced by with hardly a thing in between. How much longer until the flowers bored her?
Mavis did not plan this through.
She turned the radio up slightly.
“Another victim found dead on the freeway Mike-”
The radio buzzed and crackled as Mavis quickly flipped the channel.
Electric Love by Børns drowned out the static, for the most part. The signal out here was abysmal.
“What do you like to listen to?” Mavis asked.
Zed turned a little red at the question.
“This is fine,” he said.
She grinned.
“Okay.”
Mavis had time to figure out what his favorite music was. Then she could take him back to the city with her, and they could hopefully get some better reception. Erica was sitting in her car when they pulled up next to her, with a peculiar expression as she stared at her phone.
The window was rolled down and so Zed greeted her with a hello.
“Hey,” Erica replied distantly.
She put her phone in her purse fast and stepped out of the car. Erica pushed up her glasses and gave them both a strange smile.
“I see you’re carpooling now,” she observed.
Zed shrugged.
Mavis gave her a nearly predatory grin.
“Maybe we could go for a ride sometime.”
Erica coughed.
“Well, that sounds good with all that’s…going on.”
Her hand waved in an airy manner.
Zed was a still statue, a million miles away.
He snapped back to life as Mavis looked at him.
“I’ll see you later, Mavis. Thanks for the ride,” he said.
“Yeah,” she said.
Mavis curled a lip as they walked together.
Why couldn’t she work in the same room with him? Why did it have to be Erica digging through bodies? Whatever. She still got to ride with him. Mavis made a smug humph and made her way to the morgue. It was right across from the pathology lab so it wasn’t a long walk away.
The typical clatter and chaos filled the space in which she thrived. Mavis had bigger plans, but this place would get her through the mundanity for now just fine. As she walked down to her room, she spotted two officers, one that she had met. Gram? Gramins?
The other was fat and tan with soft brown eyes.
They dipped their heads as she approached.
Mavis corked a brow.
“Hello,” she said.
“You’re Ms. Buckley, correct ma’am?” Stewart said.
Mavis looked between them awkwardly.
“Am I in trouble?”
The other laughed.
“No, but we do have a few questions,” she said.
Grant, that was her name. Her voice jogged something in Mavis. She dipped into a state of eerie calm, something which was honed over the years until Zed came along. She didn’t sweat a drop around these two, however.
Mavis hummed and conjured an easy smile.
“Yes sir, yes ma’am.”
They walked back up the stairs to a patrol car.
“Now what is all this? Am I under arrest?” she asked, affecting a high, squeaky voice as though she were alarmed.
Mavis was, deep down, but the emotion did not come through the thick walls in her mind should she need to find a clear exit out. It would be a real bummer if she missed the party because they found her out.
“Ma’am, we are questioning everyone who has come into contact with Sir Buck Collins. We have grounds to suspect that he was involved in a recent homicide,” Stewart said.
The man began to take on the same stoney appearance that Zed had, totally spaced out, as if he were in a Vietnam flashback.
They, Mavis concluded, had seen something that she wasn’t aware of. Yet they didn’t suspect her. Mavis was now truly at ease with them. In fact, this was quite the advantageous position. Collins was dead and he’d be pinned for her recent activities.
This was perfection.
She held down a grin, pleased inside like the cat that ate the canary.
Mavis got into the back of the car, the other two up front. They drove the short distance in silence to the police station.

Just curious, I was planning on buying the new Big Gold replica from WWE Shop but it is currently sold out. Has anyone seeing them sold at live events? I ask because I’ll be sitting ringside at the July 14 Smackdown show in Raleigh, NC. If they don’t have it back in stock, I’m just checking if WWE have been selling it at shows. Thanks for any help.
Edit: I’m talking about their new release of a better version of the Big Gold Flair wore, down the the brown strap. https://shop.wwe.com/en/wwe-big-gold-world-heavyweight-championship-replica-title-belt/p-16689320425805+z-9088-519404998

Its one of those random shower thoughts and I just think its a neat idea to talk about.
Disclaimer: This is my own observation considering what that Link has access to during the game AND what the game encourages you to do. Feel free to correct me if you feel any of these dont fit or may have some added Multiclassing.
About 99% of versions would fit the Fighter Class.
- Proficient with Multiple melee weapons, one or two handed.
- Uses different Items to aid him in combat like Bow and Arrow, Bombs, Grapling Hook.
- Horseback riding
- Magic Abilities always comes from external sources like Enchanted Equipment (Boots, Armor, Weapons), Medallions, Crystals, Potions, etc.
In most of those cases you could also say that he has a few levels in Bard, given his mastery in multiple instruments to cast Magical Melodies that range from Teleportation, Weather or even Time Manipulation.
I did say MOST Because there are a few version who may fit a different class
Majora's Mask Link
While the fighter role is still there gameplay wise this is a Link who started as a Fighter but then changed to Druid:
- 4 Mask change his shape (Goron, Zora, Deku, Fierce Deity)
- The other masks may not change his form but they still hold power, like fooling enemies to sneak, Speak with the Death, Call fairies to him, dance really well.
- While fighting is still important the key to gameplay is always managing the different masks and their abilities to progress
Here MM Link is a Druid first, with some Bard abilities. Depending on your interpretation of the story maybe he could also be a Bard First who leans on Druidic abilities, since most of the masks you get come from soothing restless spirits with music to change into their form later.
Hyrule Warriors Link
After playing for some time I say HW Link is actually a Paladin in his Sword and Shield or Horse Riding styles.
- Sticks to his sword for attacks
- Loyal knight of the Princess
- Literally calls down the Light of the gods to empower his sword on multiple attacks
And before you mention it yes, you can still use items like Bombs, Hookshot and such but they are clunky to use mid fight so He is still a Paladin who happens to have a few utility items in the bag.
Fire Rod Link, depending on how you take the Rods powers you could say he is a Fire Wizard or an Artificer. Could go either way with how many forms that weapon takes.
Breath of the Wild Link
Between the MANY weapons he can use and the Sheeka Slate abilities you could say that this version is a Fighter with some Artificer abilities.
On the other Hand you could also say BotW Link is a pure fighter who got a really powerful Magic item from their Friendly Artificer (Purah).
On the other other hand you can also say that he is a Ranger as the game does Emphasizes exploring and knowing the terrain to better face enemies, like:
- Explosive barrels or Lambs (Classic)
- Throwing Metal Weapons into enemies during a storm so Lightning hits them instead
- Setting grass on fire to catch an updraft before crashing down or avoid attacks
- Climbing terrain to avoid enemies or get a vantage point
- Stasis Momentum Shenanigans
Among other things.
In conclusion BotW Link could be considered a Ranger, with some Druid abilities as he calls Spirit of his fallen comrades to help him.
Tears of the Kingdom Link
A R T I F I C E R
Sure he can still fight with weapons and such but have you seen all the wacky contraptions people come up in the game?
TotK Link is a Fighter who got bored a few levels in, Multiclassed into Artificer and hasnt spent a single point in Fighter ever since.
Even in melee combat the Artificer still rules because you are encouraged to imbue stuff into your weapons like bone spikes into clubs, bombs into Shields, Eyes into Arrows to make it seek targets?
Artificer through and though, this is not an opinion, this is a fact.
Linkle
Linkle looks like just Link, but a WOMAN. But once you play Hyrule Warriors she is clearly her own character. An incarnation of Link that diverts from the original a LOT, like Toon Link in a way.
Gameplay wise she can fit a different classes depending on the weapon.
Dual Crossbows Linkle could be considered a Ranger with a few Artificer skills.
- Crossbows can be Single shot, spread shot or full auto
- Can fire bombs from the crossbow, constantly
- Mixes acrobatic kicks and such between shots, even setting her boots on fire for some attacks
Boots Linkle Is a multiclass Monk and Druid
- Gameplay focuses on Kick attacks and SPEED
- A lot of her moves make her kick several times in quick sucession
- Calls Cuccos (chickens) to aid some of her moves, like charging alongside her or clinging on one to get extra air for a flying kick
- Aside from moves, when playing Linkle your army will have Cuccos fighitng the enemies alongside regular troops
Instead of Druid you can say she is a Monk with some points in Beastmaster Ranger, that works too.
​
Thats all i got for now, if there is any Link that you think may fit a different class feel free to leave a comment, this is supposed to be a conversation after all.
Thanks for reading

I would like to know if it is possible to do the pre-marriage counseling in the State where I work, but then actually have the wedding in my home State? I figure it would be difficult to have the counseling in a place where I don't live since we would have to be doing virtual/remote meetings.
Has anyone had this issue before?
Thank you. God bless.

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.

Hello, friends.
Today, we're going to receive quite a lot of exposition about the nature of Strictland through the eyes of Seonghwa. There's a lot to discuss, so let's jump right in.

01: What are your thoughts on the page?

BobbyJ: I have a note on my page that says the Strictland government and economy are further explained in Pt. 3 Intro
GD: Okay. This is a big page
BobbyJ: It's interesting that emotions aren't fully abolished. They're just severely dulled. Which obviously reminds me of The Giver. And that only art has been abolished specifically.
GD: Yes, I think that's right. I feel like we should go paragraph by paragraph with this one because there is a lot
BobbyJ: From the top then?
Once again, it feels that we're left to infer what has happened in the meantime
GD: Yes, the first line makes it feel we're getting the Halateez story from the Grimes’ perspective, but then we get a lot of world building details to help us understand it. Are we to assume that the Grimes siblings think these boys look like Halateez? Or do they not know? Because Halateez wore masks?
BobbyJ: No, I think Ateez probably were like "What's the deal with this place?" And the Grimes Boy has been filling them in on the story. The entry starts at the end of the story and then fills us in
GD: A note: "the entire human race"
We've talked before about whether there is a world outside of strictland. And you know, I still don't know? Maybe that's a future goal? Or Z is in charge of the entire human race, which feels... big
BobbyJ: Yeah--it feels more like the simulation says "the entire human race would benefit from this thing" and Z just applies that structure to his world he somehow is in control of. And by his world, I mean more the country/area he's in charge of
GD: I'm in this second paragraph here, and I guess I'm just thinking that Z isn't wrong. Human emotions do cause crime and terrorism. But it reminds me of the gun debate we're currently having in our country? And all of the politicians who want to blame it on mental health? which is part of the problem, but it isn't the whole problem
BobbyJ: I disagree. It's true that we can't control our feelings. But our feelings do not dictate what we do or how we act. It's the will to do something wrong for the sake of selfishness or greed--which I don't classify as emotions
GD: I guess I'm saying that I think human emotions are a cause, but not the cause
BobbyJ: Mental health is also a factor, I think
GD: I think I am more sympathetic to Z and the simulation. I do think human emotions can lead to crime and terrorism, but they can just as easily lead to beauty and joy. So if you get rid of human emotions, you probably will stop some crime, but you will also stop other things.
BobbyJ: I am not sympathetic to Z because I don't feel this is as benevolent as it might appear. It feels very sinister to me. "This is all for you" is bullshit
GD: I can see Z as the hero of his own story--a Thanos type character--but we don't really know enough about him at this point.
BobbyJ: This is full speculation, but do we think Z also agreed to have his emotions limited and memories removed?
GD: Almost surely not. Those rules don't apply to people who can be trusted, I assume
BobbyJ: "Central government.” Implies, like, the existence of branches, no? Which makes me think the world is bigger than it feels
GD: Does the Korean government currently have branches? I know they have a president, but I guess I don't know much else about how power in the government works there. Like I don't know if they have legislative bodies, how powerful the judicial branch is, etc
BobbyJ: It appears it is similar to the U.S. After reading for two minutes
GD: Helpful context though
BobbyJ: Their president can only serve one five-year term. Means nothing but is interesting. Kinda wish we had that same policy these days
GD: For sure
I want to talk about art. Art with a capital A. Art=emotion
BobbyJ: Yes. The entire process of creating and engaging with art is based on emotions
GD: Sort of no matter how the individual members of Ateez feel about their lore, I have always felt that they embody that philosophy. Just this idea that Art is Important?
I talked about this the other day, but I was very impressed with KQ hiring a local artist for the billboard promotion during anchor. I thought it was very thematic, and also that it sort of embodied a lot of the ideas that they do put out in their diaries. Because as you mentioned earlier, art is the only thing that's banned
BobbyJ: I'm thinking about this idea of songs that give me negative feelings vs. songs that give me no feelings at all. I don't know exactly what I am thinking. But it reminds me of a chat I had with a fellow yearbook advisor years ago
He said that when his staff is trying to decide on their artistic direction for that year's volume, they'd go through a bunch of magazines and everyone would pick out spreads they really like. They'd pin them all to a bulletin board. Then each staffer would get two colors of push pins. They'd all use one color for spreads they like and one for spreads they hate. He said that after the exercise, they'd remove all the spreads that received none or few pins while those that had a lot of either love or hate pins they'd keep.
And I thought it was interesting that the hated spreads were kept. And his reasoning was that those spreads made the staffers feel something. It wasn't a good something, but it was something
GD: That is interesting
BobbyJ: And when I apply this idea to music or movies or tv or art--the things I actively dislike do stick with me while the things I just nothing fade away
GD: It reminds me of book clubs in a way? Like, in my book club, we have a great book club discussion when everyone loves or hates the book. If people are like, yeah, it's fine, the conversation is so.... nothing.
BobbyJ: Is it. . . harder to talk about things that we love actually?
I can't help but notice that whenever there's a heartfelt appreciation post, it gets very little traction and engagement. But if someone does an "unpopular opinion" or "things you hate about the group you love" post, suddenly everyone has something to share. Perhaps we've talked about this before. Justifying why you dislike something is easier than justifying why you love something?
GD: So I sometimes wonder if, when it comes to music, the problem is one of vocabulary more so than a lack of desire? Like, most people have taken a basic literature class, so when we love a book, we can all universally talk about things like plot, structure, characters--we have some sort of shared understanding of the parts of a story and can discuss and identify the things that we like
It's different for music. I do not know how to identify the parts of a song or the instruments or just the music things that are happening. Music knowledge and vocabulary is so much more niche, so I do think that makes it harder to discuss and pinpoint music that we really love--because we're experiencing it fully emotionally, the context and words all removed. So I do think with music especially, it is easier to talk about the things that we dislike.
BobbyJ: But shouldn't your dislike also require vocabulary? I remember when I was trying to rant about O.O I didn't have any of the words so I had to resort to metaphor
GD: I think it's possibly easier to come up with metaphors for things we dislike than things we love. I can only describe listening to Jongho as like looking into the face of god so many times before I start to sound like I'm slightly insane.
But you know, people don't have the right words to describe why they dislike something all the time--and they just go forward with the wrong words. How many times have you seen someone say "Ateez's music is too noisy for me" when Ateez has possibly two songs in their discography that could be labeled noise music? "I don't like the autotune" when there's barely any autotune
BobbyJ: People do seem to have Feelings about Ateez music. Which I would argue supports the idea that Ateez are making Art
I do wonder exactly what Z classifies as art
GD: I for sure agree with you. It's like that conversation about what a cover should be from the other day: you can like or dislike what Ateez does when covering another group's song, but they will be changing it to achieve their own artistic expression. They will not make you a copy. They will make new art.
We know paintings. Music seems implied.
BobbyJ: Fashion probably? Which makes me think it's interesting that Left Eye specifically is a former designer. But it wasn't the art ban that made him give up designing
Actually, reading ahead. I'm not sure fashion was banned after all? It's hard to tell
GD: I guess it's interesting to me because anything can be art. A house, a car, furniture? Given the right person making those things, they can be art just as easily as they might not be art.
So I do wonder if Z is defining Art more broadly... like, art is not this thing, but art is anything that incites an undue amount of emotion
BobbyJ: Right--I was just thinking, is all music art? And I would argue no if the person writing a song is not doing it for the sake of expression but for the sake of making money. But if that song evokes emotion in someone else, I'd say yes, it is art.
GD: We do have those prohibited signs from Rhythm Ta, which calls out "art, music, dance"? Am I remembering that correctly? Or is it "art, music, emotion"?
What does it mean for something to be defined as art is really a question courts have struggled with for many, many, many years. So it's possible that even in Z's world, what is art is a question that is constantly influx and being redefined
[BobbyJ provides screenshot of Rhythm Ta stage]
Okay, so art, dance, and music are Art specifically.
"Art" lower case art, I'm assuming is paintings, drawings, sculptures. The physical arts.
BobbyJ: Right. Literature and fashion aren't mentioned. Or acting. But maybe they fall under the general Art umbrella. Keeping it vague gives Z more control
GD: Do you know the supreme court case where the supreme court tries to define art?
I feel like I should look it up to get that quote. Hold on--I need to check something
[GD checks something]
So in Tutton v. Viti, the supreme court implied that it is up to the creators to define whether the thing they created is art. The case was about sculpture, and whether these sculptors who were copying sculptures were engaged in the act of creating art
BobbyJ: Just straight up copying?
GD: And basically, they said the sculptors were artists due to their skill despite the lack of creative merit. They weren't trying to like, sell them. It was creating replica sculptures in art class. Which would violate copyright (if they were selling them)
BobbyJ: So, like, if I do a cover of a BTS song and I sound identical to BTS, I'm still an artist . Hypothetically
GD: If you perform it with good enough skill, according to the US Supreme Court, it seems so
BobbyJ: Wait--they weren't selling them? Then what was the problem? How did it end up in the Supreme Court?
GD: I have not read the full case and it is extremely old, so hard to parse, but it seems the original sculptor did not want them making replicas in their art class and argued they were not allowed to do it because it wasn't real art
BobbyJ: Artists do studies all the time where they basically copy other artists' work in order to learn techniques
GD: And the supreme court said, no, they can do that. Which, exactly. This is a precedent that holds. If you do art and sell it, I can't copy it and also sell it. I can however copy it and use it for my own personal use (legally--that doesn't mean it's ethical, but legally)
BobbyJ: Well, it's the same idea as me copying a designer dress and making it myself and for myself because I don't want to spend $800 on a dress
GD: Like if someone made something on etsy that I wanted, and I didn't want to pay for it, I can legally copy it for myself. Right, the supreme court would define both of those things as artistic endeavors
BobbyJ: Huh. I mean--I don't disagree. I'm also not certain it needs to be termed as "art"
GD: Terming it "art" is how they protect it because art is a protected right under the constitution
BobbyJ: Wait--if art is also a protected right in the South Korean constitution, then that would imply that Z was able to change the constitution. Which is wild. How long did this process take?
(Also, assuming that Strictland was originally more like South Korea)
GD: We'd have to review the South Korean constitution. I don't know for sure that it is a right because I know nothing about their legal system. But because art is protected under our constitution, I have always defined art fairly broadly. So considering art being banned, is putting me in a different head space
BobbyJ: Article 22: All citizens shall enjoy freedom of learning and the arts.
GD: I'm now looking up how to make constitutional amendments in Korea
BobbyJ: I mean if they also had a National Assembly, he got the bill passed there
GD: It makes me think I've gone pretty far afield here
BobbyJ: If we're thinking about it, I guarantee the Intern also thought about it
GD: I would like to note that "people enjoyed material affluence"
BobbyJ: Yes, I have a sticky note about that
GD: And I am thinking of Maslow's hierarchy? Which I know is something we've also discussed a lot. But I am wondering, how many citizens weren't having their basic needs met when they agreed to give up art?
BobbyJ: Right. Is art part of our Maslow?
A lot probably. There had to have been problems in order for people to accept Z's proposal
GD: It's certainly easier to give up art if you're not currently able to eat
BobbyJ: Mingi comes to mind. Which I think is when we were discussing Maslow
GD: I have argued, and I will still argue it, that art should be part of human's basic needs. Like, it can make the rest of it all seem less grim for some people. But yeah, if you don't have a place to live, don't have any food, are struggling to just survive, giving up art for the promise of having your basic needs meet will be very appealing to many people
BobbyJ: I think I would argue that art belongs on the "love and belonging" tier which is about friends, family and connection. Art helps us connect with ourselves and others and the world around us. Like, you read a poem that perfectly describes how you feel. Or Ateez releases Turbulence and you swear they pulled the lyrics straight out of your soul
GD: Mmmmmm. . . and love and belonging aren't actually that low on the pyramid. High I mean. They're not that high--they're in the middle
BobbyJ: But you can't really fully reap the benefits of that tier if you are starving to death. And self-actualization is pretty meaningless if you aren't connected to other people in some way
GD: I spend a lot of time thinking about self-actualization which I forgot was even on this pyramid. I'm looking at the pyramid now, obviously
Yes. Art is love and belonging. I've decided you're right. So they've traded in love and belonging for the two things below it
In the next paragraph, they say that the songs had "the power to attract people" which I think is interesting
BobbyJ: The "various fields" is interesting to me. I think of people in different lines of work. Like scientists, teachers, lawyers, etc. But I'm not sure that's what it means
GD: I had long ago been confused about who the black pirates were and how they related to halaateez, but this line makes it pretty clear that halateez sort of inspired other people to get out of Z's control, and then those other people formed the black pirates
BobbyJ: Right. Halateez are "men wearing black fedora.” The Black Pirates is the name of the resistance
GD: Halateez "stimulated" them. Which, with what we know from Halazia, makes sense that the resistance seems to venerate them? Because they weren't necessarily a part of, and well known, to the resistance. They were merely the inspirational rallying cry. Does that make sense?
BobbyJ: Like Katniss. Not everyone knew her but they knew OF her
GD: Yes, and I'm interpreting Halazia as showing us what Strictland thought of halateez, not that halateez appear in the MV because I do not think they do.
Back to your point, what do you think people from various fields means if not different positions?
BobbyJ: I wondered if it meant more physical location. Although, if you have people with different skills and specialties, it would explain how the resistance is able to start fighting back
GD: Do you think it could mean something similar to stations too? Like, young, old, rich, poor, etc
BobbyJ: Could be.
GD: Skipping to the last line, we have Hwa sort of repeating a line similar to Hongjoong's in the first entry? What's important is getting back home. And they can't do that now
BobbyJ: Right. They haven't grasped their place in this story yet
GD: I read ahead because I couldn't stop myself and the jump is fascinating "we have to get back home" to "I won't come back home"
BobbyJ: I have also read ahead but a lot further
GD: Sounds right lol
BobbyJ: Because I became very curious about a different switch--how do they go from we need to get home to let's save this country
And I think I have an idea
GD: That is also the switch I was looking for
BobbyJ: This is way ahead, but after the Receiving of the Suits, in the very next chapter, San discovers the lost memories and feels "a surge of anger.” After that, Yeosang gets caught and all the drama happens with the museum and Yunho's brother. But I think that's the switch. I think it triggers San's empathy. And he spreads the agenda to the others
GD: I am very interested in what's happening with Yunho, but I suppose I need to save my interest for like 6 weeks. I do think we will need to cut this bible study in half
BobbyJ: Expected
GD: Well, this was a big page. It had a lot. We read some constitutions even
BobbyJ: Much was learned
GD: Do we have any more thoughts on the page? Or should we pick a patron saint to hold us to next week?
BobbyJ: I'm sure there's lots more to say. I just don't know what any of those things are.
GD: Perhaps we will have more thoughts on the page next week even. A double round of thoughts on the page
BobbyJ: Might even need a part 3
GD: I've been using an extra ES album to pin the postcard for my patron saint on my bulletin board, and I have appreciated it deeply. Hongjoong has been up for two weeks now
BobbyJ: I feel like the patron saints actually work. Except I didn't have one this past week and that probably explains a lot
GD: I kept Hongjoong, but I do think it would've been wise to have a refresher
BobbyJ: Let's just make sure we do it every Sunday, Bible study or not
GD: Right, even if we cancel bible study, a new, Very Important thing
So, this week, I need to finish the line edit of this book. Which means I need to focus and stay motivated. I think the boy I want to guide me through it is Jongho. I need his professionalism in the face of challenges and his commitment to doing the things that he doesn't like as much because he knows that it is part of his job.
Also, it's hard to think about anything other than his Immortal Songs stage, so I may as well lean in
BobbyJ: Let it be your battle cry
So. This is the last full week of classes. Which means a lot of work to finish off the semester. But, the list is so much shorter than it used to be. So that's something to be happy about.
But also, based on his condition today, I suspect that this might be the week I have to let go of Oliver. [Editor’s note: It was.]
And I think I need San. His ability to embody whatever moment he's in on stage. I don't fully understand how it translates, but I feel it's true
GD: Hmmm yes I think I understand, though I don't have the words either.
There's something about present-ness and humanity in there. I have always thought that San had a real ability to see the human-ness in others and to communicate the human-ness in himself. Which probably only makes sense to me.
BobbyJ: No, I think you're right. There's something extremely real about him
GD: I hope he helps guide you through what has the potential to be a very hard week
BobbyJ: Whatever happens, we keep moving forward. Which also feels very San.
-----
Thank you for joining us today. We'll be back next week with our Seonghwa Sacred Writing Practice. Have an excellent week, and may your personal patron saint guide you well.

Prologue
Greg will be here tomorrow, and I know almost nothing about him. What I do know has been gathered from a few sparse moments with my best friend and annoying roommate, Nico: Greg is down on his luck. Greg’s got shitty parents. Greg only needs a place to stay until he can find a new job.
I won’t even notice he’s here.
I told Nico that isn’t as reassuring as he means it to be.
I’m scrubbing the kitchen, Nico is wiping down the bathroom, and Munchie the Lab is in the living room curled up in his bed. A chew toy dangles from his tired muzzle.
The whole house smells of chemicals. Every once in a while, I’ll see Nico dragging a filthy bucket of water up and down the stairs, bringing with him a stench of muck and ammonia. The house hasn’t seen a lick of fresh air in hours; I’ve felt a building knot of nausea in my gut from the fumes.
“Hey Nico!” I stop scrubbing the stove to call up to him. A bump and a splash of water later, and the skinny little man is making his way downstairs. He once again brings the bucket with him. The dirty thing sloshes water down each of the wooden steps, and by the time he reaches the bottom, the bucket is half empty.
“Yeah, what’s up?” He wipes sweat off his forehead, but it does him no good. It’s soaked into his hair, his shirt collar, and the waistband of his jeans.
“Why does the place have to be medical-grade clean?” I ask. “Is this guy a germ freak or something?”
Nico shakes his head. The bucket looks heavy hanging from his arm and he’s trembling from the weight of it. “Nah, that’s just what you do when you’ve got a guest staying with you. You know, etiquette and whatnot.”
“Yeah, etiquette,” I look around the kitchen. “Is this good enough? I wanted to talk to you.”
“About what?” Nico drops the bucket, the last of the water threatening to churn out onto the floor. It’s brown and home to floating bits of soap scum and probably pubes.
“Who is this guy?”
“I told you, he’s my friend Greg.”
“Okay, that tells me nothing about your friend Greg.”
Nico rolls his eyes. I can see the annoyance building in one of the veins on his brow.
“Why do you need to know everything about him? You won’t even know he’s here.” There it is again.
“I’ve known you for five years, Nico,” I say, “you have never mentioned ‘Greg.’ You haven’t even slept with any Greg’s.”
“No, but you did that one time in Key West!” He winks at me, surveys my progress, picks at a speck of dried spaghetti sauce on the wall, and flicks it into his bucket. “Quick question: Do I tell you every man I associate myself with?”
“You do actually, so it pisses me off that we’re going to have this guy leeching off of our food and utilities when I know nothing about him.”
Nico takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly through his lips while massaging his temples.
“I’m sorry,” he says, a rare occurrence for him. “I've been busy getting the place ready like you have, and I have a shit ton to deal with at the club. We can talk about it before I go to work later.”
“Why can’t we talk now?”
“Oh my god, Marcus!” The air in the room feels stale now, and that’s without the contribution of Windex and floor cleaner. Munchie lets out a low whimper from his bed.
Nico picks up the near-empty bucket and starts making his way up the stairs. “We’ll talk later. I’ve got like three rooms left to clean.” He takes one last gaze at the kitchen. “It looks great, by the way. Really spectacular. Thanks for being such a helper!”
“Oh, fuck off, Nico. Genuinely fuck right off.”
“Gladly!” He waddles his way up the steps like a penguin, the bucket bouncing against his leg and splashing water down his pants.
“You’re a pain in the ass!” I shout after him.
“I’ve been told!” He reaches the upper landing, turns, and disappears into the bathroom.
“Can’t wait to meet your new man!” I try to get the last word in, but find I'm only talking to the kitchen appliances, Munchie, and myself.
A wind is picking up outside, whipping between the other rickety houses dotting our street, and warning of rain in the air. The screen on our front door rattles and for the first time since moving in, I feel alone.

My MIL has this deep need to get credit for things she does. And it's getting quite tiring to hear about. I need some advice on how to keep things cordial but deal with it in a way that protects my own feelings and energy.
I'll start by saying that I understand the why behind her actions. She dealt with horrible physical trauma early in her teens and has never really dealt with it until recently. So I feel that her need for so much external validation and constantly needing credit and praise for things stems from those traumas. She never felt worthy or appreciated, she felt like they didn't think she was smart or capable. So now it feels like it's gone too far in the other direction and she needs that validation/praise constantly, even for things that happened years ago.
It has always been tiring to hear but I've put up with it because we only see her a handful of times a year so it's never been worth unnecessary drama. She is the type of person who ruminates over things and will not let small 'slights' go for years. So I know that if I said anything to her, it would turn into WW3. She would be posting about it all over Facebook, constantly going on about it in family chats etc. Just way too much drama over something that, in the grand scheme of things, is not that big a deal.
I want to know how to deal with certain situations in a firm but non drama starting manner. Here's some examples:
Years ago, my spouse she pointed out a good piece of land for sale. My spouse and I ended up buying it, putting a house on it and actually my family have been really really hands on helping us to renovate and with whatever else we needed. My family have never sought praise or credit and they've helped us 10-fold. Yet years later every time the topic of our house comes up in discussion, within the first few minutes it's a guarantee that she will steer the conversation and make it about herself and how it was her that showed us the land. We've thanked her so many times already. At this point it's just tiring.
She's done this with other things as well. She tends to offer a lot of unsolicited advice. And god forbid if we ever took any of the advice, we would have to hear about it for the rest of our lives. I feel like because she keeps reiterating what she did for us or constantly needs that praise for every tiny thing(and we are not stingy with giving thanks), it detracts from the original nice action. It just feels like we are obligated to her. And so now I will never take any of her suggestions ever. I don't wanna have to hear about it every time we visit.
For our wedding, my family were heavily involved and helped out so so much and I'm grateful but they've never thrown it in our faces like "remember when we did this or that for you". They see it as just being family and helping each other out. MIL and FIL were not involved at all. Yet every time even our wedding is discussed, she finds a way to make the conversation about herself. I find it really draining on my energy. I've tried steering the conversation back, but both mil and fill are extremely chatty and tend to dominate the conversations whereas spouse and I are both pretty introverted and listen more that we speak. So the whole family has to just hear about her and her accomplishments constantly.
Spouse has tried talking to her in different ways but so far nothing has worked. She likes to give other people advice but is not aware of her own behaviour.
How do I handle this?
TL;Dr: MIL finds a way to make everything about herself, constantly wants credit/praise for things even if they happened years ago. I'm tired of hearing about it.

Hi, everyone! I am fairly new to Reddit, so I don't really know how to start this off lol but I struggle a lot with OCD, mainly related to religious matters. A little over a year ago, I got so burnt out and tired of OCD's demands that I stepped back from engaging in all religious activities (like reading the Bible, praying, attending church, etc.) because of all the pain it caused me. However, stepping away did not really ease my obsessive thoughts and even engaging in compulsions; in fact, it latched on to other things while somehow relating it back to God. I am trying to step back in to having a more healthy relationship with God, but it is a huge struggle. I go back and forth so often, which I often feel terrible for. It makes me afraid that God is angry with me for going back and forth. Additionally, what makes it worse is that lately I have no motivation or desire to go back to God. I choose daydreaming much of my time over Him. That is how I cope with these things. Even then, I feel terrible because I'm not going back to God and choosing other things above Him. But why am I going to go back to God when I was hurt so much in the past in matters related to Him? Why would I go back to God when I don't have peace with Him, but just the exact opposite?
I do not know if this is the right place to share this, but I feel so lonely and need advice.
That is a condensed version of my situation. If I were to type all of it, it would be a lot. Thank you for any advice. :)

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.