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Uranium Glass - it glows!
2013.02.13 15:30 AbruptlyJaded Uranium Glass - it glows!
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2023.04.01 16:06 Matusz27 Harmful Alternatives. The Experiment Finally CW(Fucking Everyhing)
Soooo.... Happy Fools day!
Bubly Cauliflower this is for you!
Also well, as the title intails this is harmful alterantives, and my general haterade of Exterminators told me they would NEVER let predator go. So enjoy some nice ASHivication.
Also go and read the actual thing, if you want a good ending~ And thanks to them for allowing to use the story
Also enjoy Peacful alternative! Whos author begged me not to do it
And don't read this if you don't like PAIN and SUFFERING
It's just me being a dork, and deciding to fry some human tonight
Next chapter of ENOUGH is today or tomorrow if things go well
Memory Transcription Subject: Officer Sark, Venlil Extermination Officer
Date [standardized human time] August 25, 2136
I swayed in my seat next to my comrades as our shuttle hurtled through subspace, heading to the coordinates that had come with Predator’s Disease report.
The Extermination Guild had sent an entire strike force to deal with this. Between the horrors that this scientist had apparently committed, her small army of mercenaries at her back, and a feral Human in the mix, my superiors weren’t taking any chances.
Under normal circumstances, this mission would also entailed putting down the captive predator down at any cost, but after nearly two months of the Human race breathing down our necks, we were supposed to bring them back if possible.
“Exiting subspace now!” The pilot informed us over the PA.
I ordered my fellow officers to gather their weapons and supplies while I made my way to the cockpit. The viewport showcased a decently-sized research vessel.
“Hail them,” I ordered.
For a few moments, nobody responded. Then a voice speaking in the Kolshian tongue answered.
“This is Doctor Ka of the Kolshian research vessel, the Pasture. How may I help you?”
This was the one.
“Hello, Doctor,” I said, keeping my voice friendly. “I am Extermination Officer Sark of the Venlil Republic. We recently received a report of an individual onboard your ship who has been afflicted with Predator’s Disease. Please power down your engines and prepare docking sequences.”
There was no response.
“Doctor Ka?”
The officer manning the sensors spoke up.
“Sir, they’re powering up their hyperdrive!”
“Deploy FTL-disruptors, immediately!”
Thankfully, we reacted in time and the Doctor resorted to burning her sublight engines at full power and taking a few wild potshots at us.
“Follow them and hit their engines!”
The chase was short and our military-grade shuttle easily overpowered the civilian vessel.
“Doctor Ka, prepare to be boarded.”
I whipped around and joined my comrades as the shuttle docked. The Pasture’s airlock had been sealed, forcing us to spend a few minutes using plasma cutters to slice our way through the blast door. I raised my gun and readjusted my flamethrower on my back as the door finally toppled inward. I ducked away as a storm of bullets sprayed through the breach, one nailing Morop in the head. It was a good thing we’d brought so many officers.
The mercenaries, while certainly skilled, had no chance against a strike force of dozens of highly-trained Exterminators and quickly fell to our assault. I led my team through the ship, putting down any resistance along the way until I reached the bridge. After neutralizing the guards, I burst into the room to find a bunch of surrendering staff and officers, but no sign of Ka.
“Where’s the Head Doctor?” I demanded.
“She said that she was going to hide in the observation room,” one of them said.
“Take me.”
He swallowed and nervously led me to the doctor’s location.
“If you’re fucking with me, I’ll throw you out of an airlock.”
They gulped and stammered about how they’d never try to trick me. They stopped outside a door and coughed. Next to me, Officer Monrew wrinkled his nose.
“What’s the matter?” I asked the Gojid.
“It smells like… rotting meat.”
Monrew had a lot of experience with the aftermath of predator attacks, so it was no surprise that he knew what that smelled like. I inwardly cursed whatever higher power for deciding that us Venlil didn’t need a sense of smell.
They had a sick sense of humour if there was one.
I holstered my gun and took out my flamethrower, signalling for the rest of my team to do the same. The Human was kept in here if I recalled correctly and might’ve gotten loose in the chaos. I’d try to avoid killing it, but it will be hard.
Officer Sudeflen, being a Mazic, easily knocked down the locked door, allowing us to spill inside. There was no one inside. I flinched when I saw movement behind the nearly opaque glass that divided the room. Was that the-
More movement to my side made me turn my flamethrower to meet a Kolshian with a pistol in her hands rising up from behind a stack of crates. For a split-second, neither of us moved. Her tentacle twitched. In a panic, I lashed out and swatted the weapon from her grasp as a shot rang out and embedded itself in the ceiling. She tried to dive for the gun, only for Sudeflen to snag her with her trunk and pin her to the floor with an impossible-to-move foot.
“It’s over, Ka. Stop fighting,” I said.
The Predator Diseased woman huffed in defeat and fell limp, allowing me and Monrew to cuff her.
“Where’s the Human?”
She blinked in surprise.
“How-”
“Doesn’t matter. Where is it?”
She jabbed her tail to the opaque glass wall. A metal door to the side had been shut tight. At least the psycho scientist hadn’t been foolish enough to let it run amok. A console in the middle of our side of the room displayed a few options. I pressed the button to make the glass transparent and gasped in horror.
A dark-furred, Venlil child lay on the floor with a… monster roughly shaking the poor thing. The predator’s tattered shirt was covered in blood of different hues and there was a crazed look in its eyes.
I heard its muffled voice from behind the glass. I had to put this thing down before it could kill anyone else. I tightened my digits around my flamethrower.
“Sir? What are your orders?”
“Call a medic, now! That child doesn’t look too good. I’ll deal with the predator”
As I waited for help to arrive, the Human suddenly flicked its uncanny gaze onto me, making me stumble back a few steps. Hunger filling its eyes as it studied me.
It must have no sense of time and it was put through horrible experiments, while being fed people, it knows how we taste now. If we bring it back it will tell others what a delight we are, and they won’t be able to control themselves anymore.
From its perspective, we weren’t the noble Extermination Officers. We were food that just came in while it starves.
I pressed another button on the console and heard the door unlatch. The Human’s eyes widened and it scrambled backwards into a corner, carefully dragging the Venlil with it.
“Sir! What are you-”
“Hush!”
I stepped into the cell holding my flamethrower tight. On the other side of the glass, my squad mates were staring at me in shock, no doubt waiting for the vicious predator who couldn’t even stand to rip me to shreds.
The Human squeezed itself against the wall as I drew closer. Before I can deal with it, I need to remove the child, it seems to be still alive.
It was terrified to be certain, but Humans were naturally more aggressive than any prey species, and this one was feral.
I stopped as one of its hands curled into a shaking fist. My heart rate spiked as I looked at the disgusting monster, just need free the kid from it grasp and I can have it over with.
I reached for the battered body, but it snarled and growled at me! So… getting it’s food out of its clutches wasn’t going to be that easy. I looked at the kid orange blood leaked from multiple wounds. A fresh wave of disgust washed over me.
I can’t flame them both! The kid is still breathing it can be saved! The beast was looking at me in terror as it should. Soon it will be all over for both us. I end the suffering of your existence soon.
“Sark! What in the name of the Great Protector are you doing!?”
I snapped my head up to focus on a Gojid medic by the name of Visin, startling the Human and making her gasp.
“Wait outside! I am not done! Just need to get the kid out”
The human seemed to calm a little seeing Visin, odd, I guess more food means it won’t starve as easily.
Visin looked at me worried but complied, shooting nervous glances at the Human.
I reached for the kid again, this time no growls, good. Just let me take your snack away and we will be able to take care of you. My paws softly warping around the little battered body before I pulled it away from the human, it didn’t seem angry that her food had been taken away, with confused me.
I moved back and put the little Venlil outside the cell, watching the human stay in the corner, while I primed the flamer.
Now. Time to deal with the Predator.
I re-entered the cell, looking with disgust at the blood covered Predator, eating children. Well, it must be suffering quite immensely right now, what about I free it from it?
A glow of the flame illuminated the room, as I walked forward, I could hear the human yelp in terror. So they are afraid of fire. Good to know.
It didn’t even attempt lunging at me, despite knowing its fate, a ear pricing shirk filled the room, as the flame licked it’s body. Catching the fur and artificial pelt on fire.
A smidge of empathy run trough me, maybe I should just shoot it. Still it was against protocol to do so if the predator wasn’t actively lunging at you.
The screams continued, as the body started to melt, I caught a surprising glint on Ka’s face. Well, we deal with her later.
The smoke filled the room, the screams quietening, as the body of the beast slowly shrunk and curled up, the heat finally shutting down it’s organs. A fate worthy of a predator.
The humans burn their dead anyway, so we just scoop up whatever remains and said we couldn’t have done anything. A little lie won’t harm anybody.
-------------------------------
Officer Sark’s Personal Journal
The Human remains were returned to the UN shortly after. The UN was dismayed about us pacifying the predator, but they did received note “she” attacked us and was about to stab one of our members so they relented.
We send all of the documents relating to “Experiment 173” to the Venlil government for processing before it can be returned to the humans.
Doctor Ka was put trough standard tests to see how true the Predator Disease claims were, despite the tortures acts and usage of stamped victims she seemed to have no underlining Brain defects, her name will be scraped from the records and she will be transported to one of the remote predator testing labs.
The child recovered, but seemed confused when we told them what happened. They argued the predator was protecting it, definite deletions from stress, they also seemed to have no fear towards the predators anymore. Defiantly the encounter must have triggered dormant Predator Disease. They were send over for tests, we will see the results in few days.
The predator will never torment anyone ever again.
I never did find out who our contact was though.
submitted by Matusz27 to NatureofPredators [link] [comments]
Bubly Cauliflower this is for you!
Also well, as the title intails this is harmful alterantives, and my general haterade of Exterminators told me they would NEVER let predator go. So enjoy some nice ASHivication.
Also go and read the actual thing, if you want a good ending~ And thanks to them for allowing to use the story
Also enjoy Peacful alternative! Whos author begged me not to do it
And don't read this if you don't like PAIN and SUFFERING
It's just me being a dork, and deciding to fry some human tonight
Next chapter of ENOUGH is today or tomorrow if things go well
Memory Transcription Subject: Officer Sark, Venlil Extermination Officer
Date [standardized human time] August 25, 2136
I swayed in my seat next to my comrades as our shuttle hurtled through subspace, heading to the coordinates that had come with Predator’s Disease report.
The Extermination Guild had sent an entire strike force to deal with this. Between the horrors that this scientist had apparently committed, her small army of mercenaries at her back, and a feral Human in the mix, my superiors weren’t taking any chances.
Under normal circumstances, this mission would also entailed putting down the captive predator down at any cost, but after nearly two months of the Human race breathing down our necks, we were supposed to bring them back if possible.
“Exiting subspace now!” The pilot informed us over the PA.
I ordered my fellow officers to gather their weapons and supplies while I made my way to the cockpit. The viewport showcased a decently-sized research vessel.
“Hail them,” I ordered.
For a few moments, nobody responded. Then a voice speaking in the Kolshian tongue answered.
“This is Doctor Ka of the Kolshian research vessel, the Pasture. How may I help you?”
This was the one.
“Hello, Doctor,” I said, keeping my voice friendly. “I am Extermination Officer Sark of the Venlil Republic. We recently received a report of an individual onboard your ship who has been afflicted with Predator’s Disease. Please power down your engines and prepare docking sequences.”
There was no response.
“Doctor Ka?”
The officer manning the sensors spoke up.
“Sir, they’re powering up their hyperdrive!”
“Deploy FTL-disruptors, immediately!”
Thankfully, we reacted in time and the Doctor resorted to burning her sublight engines at full power and taking a few wild potshots at us.
“Follow them and hit their engines!”
The chase was short and our military-grade shuttle easily overpowered the civilian vessel.
“Doctor Ka, prepare to be boarded.”
I whipped around and joined my comrades as the shuttle docked. The Pasture’s airlock had been sealed, forcing us to spend a few minutes using plasma cutters to slice our way through the blast door. I raised my gun and readjusted my flamethrower on my back as the door finally toppled inward. I ducked away as a storm of bullets sprayed through the breach, one nailing Morop in the head. It was a good thing we’d brought so many officers.
The mercenaries, while certainly skilled, had no chance against a strike force of dozens of highly-trained Exterminators and quickly fell to our assault. I led my team through the ship, putting down any resistance along the way until I reached the bridge. After neutralizing the guards, I burst into the room to find a bunch of surrendering staff and officers, but no sign of Ka.
“Where’s the Head Doctor?” I demanded.
“She said that she was going to hide in the observation room,” one of them said.
“Take me.”
He swallowed and nervously led me to the doctor’s location.
“If you’re fucking with me, I’ll throw you out of an airlock.”
They gulped and stammered about how they’d never try to trick me. They stopped outside a door and coughed. Next to me, Officer Monrew wrinkled his nose.
“What’s the matter?” I asked the Gojid.
“It smells like… rotting meat.”
Monrew had a lot of experience with the aftermath of predator attacks, so it was no surprise that he knew what that smelled like. I inwardly cursed whatever higher power for deciding that us Venlil didn’t need a sense of smell.
They had a sick sense of humour if there was one.
I holstered my gun and took out my flamethrower, signalling for the rest of my team to do the same. The Human was kept in here if I recalled correctly and might’ve gotten loose in the chaos. I’d try to avoid killing it, but it will be hard.
Officer Sudeflen, being a Mazic, easily knocked down the locked door, allowing us to spill inside. There was no one inside. I flinched when I saw movement behind the nearly opaque glass that divided the room. Was that the-
More movement to my side made me turn my flamethrower to meet a Kolshian with a pistol in her hands rising up from behind a stack of crates. For a split-second, neither of us moved. Her tentacle twitched. In a panic, I lashed out and swatted the weapon from her grasp as a shot rang out and embedded itself in the ceiling. She tried to dive for the gun, only for Sudeflen to snag her with her trunk and pin her to the floor with an impossible-to-move foot.
“It’s over, Ka. Stop fighting,” I said.
The Predator Diseased woman huffed in defeat and fell limp, allowing me and Monrew to cuff her.
“Where’s the Human?”
She blinked in surprise.
“How-”
“Doesn’t matter. Where is it?”
She jabbed her tail to the opaque glass wall. A metal door to the side had been shut tight. At least the psycho scientist hadn’t been foolish enough to let it run amok. A console in the middle of our side of the room displayed a few options. I pressed the button to make the glass transparent and gasped in horror.
A dark-furred, Venlil child lay on the floor with a… monster roughly shaking the poor thing. The predator’s tattered shirt was covered in blood of different hues and there was a crazed look in its eyes.
I heard its muffled voice from behind the glass. I had to put this thing down before it could kill anyone else. I tightened my digits around my flamethrower.
“Sir? What are your orders?”
“Call a medic, now! That child doesn’t look too good. I’ll deal with the predator”
As I waited for help to arrive, the Human suddenly flicked its uncanny gaze onto me, making me stumble back a few steps. Hunger filling its eyes as it studied me.
It must have no sense of time and it was put through horrible experiments, while being fed people, it knows how we taste now. If we bring it back it will tell others what a delight we are, and they won’t be able to control themselves anymore.
From its perspective, we weren’t the noble Extermination Officers. We were food that just came in while it starves.
I pressed another button on the console and heard the door unlatch. The Human’s eyes widened and it scrambled backwards into a corner, carefully dragging the Venlil with it.
“Sir! What are you-”
“Hush!”
I stepped into the cell holding my flamethrower tight. On the other side of the glass, my squad mates were staring at me in shock, no doubt waiting for the vicious predator who couldn’t even stand to rip me to shreds.
The Human squeezed itself against the wall as I drew closer. Before I can deal with it, I need to remove the child, it seems to be still alive.
It was terrified to be certain, but Humans were naturally more aggressive than any prey species, and this one was feral.
I stopped as one of its hands curled into a shaking fist. My heart rate spiked as I looked at the disgusting monster, just need free the kid from it grasp and I can have it over with.
I reached for the battered body, but it snarled and growled at me! So… getting it’s food out of its clutches wasn’t going to be that easy. I looked at the kid orange blood leaked from multiple wounds. A fresh wave of disgust washed over me.
I can’t flame them both! The kid is still breathing it can be saved! The beast was looking at me in terror as it should. Soon it will be all over for both us. I end the suffering of your existence soon.
“Sark! What in the name of the Great Protector are you doing!?”
I snapped my head up to focus on a Gojid medic by the name of Visin, startling the Human and making her gasp.
“Wait outside! I am not done! Just need to get the kid out”
The human seemed to calm a little seeing Visin, odd, I guess more food means it won’t starve as easily.
Visin looked at me worried but complied, shooting nervous glances at the Human.
I reached for the kid again, this time no growls, good. Just let me take your snack away and we will be able to take care of you. My paws softly warping around the little battered body before I pulled it away from the human, it didn’t seem angry that her food had been taken away, with confused me.
I moved back and put the little Venlil outside the cell, watching the human stay in the corner, while I primed the flamer.
Now. Time to deal with the Predator.
I re-entered the cell, looking with disgust at the blood covered Predator, eating children. Well, it must be suffering quite immensely right now, what about I free it from it?
A glow of the flame illuminated the room, as I walked forward, I could hear the human yelp in terror. So they are afraid of fire. Good to know.
It didn’t even attempt lunging at me, despite knowing its fate, a ear pricing shirk filled the room, as the flame licked it’s body. Catching the fur and artificial pelt on fire.
A smidge of empathy run trough me, maybe I should just shoot it. Still it was against protocol to do so if the predator wasn’t actively lunging at you.
The screams continued, as the body started to melt, I caught a surprising glint on Ka’s face. Well, we deal with her later.
The smoke filled the room, the screams quietening, as the body of the beast slowly shrunk and curled up, the heat finally shutting down it’s organs. A fate worthy of a predator.
The humans burn their dead anyway, so we just scoop up whatever remains and said we couldn’t have done anything. A little lie won’t harm anybody.
-------------------------------
Officer Sark’s Personal Journal
The Human remains were returned to the UN shortly after. The UN was dismayed about us pacifying the predator, but they did received note “she” attacked us and was about to stab one of our members so they relented.
We send all of the documents relating to “Experiment 173” to the Venlil government for processing before it can be returned to the humans.
Doctor Ka was put trough standard tests to see how true the Predator Disease claims were, despite the tortures acts and usage of stamped victims she seemed to have no underlining Brain defects, her name will be scraped from the records and she will be transported to one of the remote predator testing labs.
The child recovered, but seemed confused when we told them what happened. They argued the predator was protecting it, definite deletions from stress, they also seemed to have no fear towards the predators anymore. Defiantly the encounter must have triggered dormant Predator Disease. They were send over for tests, we will see the results in few days.
The predator will never torment anyone ever again.
I never did find out who our contact was though.
2023.04.01 15:54 xPenguinzx I was hired to clean out archives of old patient data for a mental institution, this was what I found...
It started with an itch. An itch along the edge of my right eye. An itch that I scratched and rubbed. An itch that wouldn’t go away. It was like I’d gotten dust in it, or a speck dirt that I’d only been massaging deeper into my eye. Yet, no amount of tears that welled to the surface, or water that I splashed into my face seemed to fix it. It was an itch I tried to bear, thought I could bear, but I was wrong.
‘Do you want me to help?’
My brow furrowed, head twisting while I searched for who’d spoken. I was alone on the sidewalk, walking my daily route along the local park. The air was crisp that morning, a subtle breeze had been whistling in my ear all throughout the walk. I wondered if perhaps it had been the wind, its gentle caress that had whispered a tune into my ear. I felt ridiculous in the moment, the one eye I wasn’t covering with my hand swiveled to check my surroundings. There wasn’t even a tree for someone to have been hiding behind.
I smiled a slight grin, shaking my head as if it would help quell the rising embarrassment. Yet, there was an undeniable appeal to the offer. The constant rubbing and probing had started to morph into a pain, more a prickling annoyance than anything substantial. Yet, I’d long since become annoyed with the inconvenience. Mind drifting to such dramatic thoughts, I weighed the offer. I’d give anything to make the itch go away. Before I raised my hand to poke at the sensitive area once more, I glanced around with embarrassed trepidation. No one was near, yet my face was warm, flush from the unavoidable awkwardness. “Sure,” I said quietly, my voice nearly cracking, “help me out.”
I didn’t know how to explain it, but my eye stopped itching. More than that, the pain dissipated too. It was like it had never happened. I removed my hand from where it had been pressing against the socket, blinking away a moment of blurry half-vision.
I went about my day without giving it another thought, letting the warmth of the sun soothe my concerns until it dissipated back into an oddity of the otherwise mundane morning.
…
The next day, the itch returned. It was not the slow escalation that built over time, not like the morning last. It returned immediately, and without the encouragement of my touch a searing pain came to join it. It was sudden and brutal, like nothing I could have prepared myself for. I winced, sucking a short breath through clenched teeth while the agony felt like a nail had punctured my eye, an invisible hammer pounding the stake deeper through the orb as it burrowed towards my brain. Beneath it all, was the desire to wipe at my eye, to press into it deeper with the flesh of my palm, anything that would lessen the pain and overwhelming urge to scratch at it some more.
My jaw opened with a click, muscles tightening around clenched joints. I started to cry out, the overwhelming pain so profoundly unique, unlike anything I’d known before. A shaky hand rising to my face, I pressed the back of it into my face, wrist twisting as the bones of my knuckles rolled into my eye socket.
For a fraction of a second, the white hot poker that had been stabbed into the edge of my eye lessened. But it only lasted for part of a breath, just long enough for me to think that the worst of it might be done. Oh, how I was wrong.
The torture leaped from the edge of my eye to encompass the whole orb. With a feeling like knives were dragging their edges in sadistic figure eights against the gelatinous flesh. My stomach twisted, and I was sure that I would empty my breakfast onto the floor. All the while, my world was starting to spin, encompassing delirium gripping my mind. I cried out in pain once more, this time wetted by moisture that streamed down my cheeks and poured from my nose. I don’t know when, but I’d entered the fetal position, my free hand wrapping around my knees to pull them closer to my chest – as if that would somehow help me.
As the pain continued to increase, my thoughts became muddier, with every passing second it was becoming harder to form a cohesive thought. I knew my limited options were becoming even scarcer, I knew that soon I would black out from the pain and by then my fate would be sealed. I tried to think of something to try, except only my screams rattled my brain, the only brief respite being when a fresh inhale was needed to produce more of the painfilled noise. I didn’t know who would hear, I lived alone, and the walls leading to the outside world were fairly thick. Even if someone heard me, and happened to call the police; even if they made it to me before I gave myself a hernia - what could they possibly do?
Between a volley of screaming that my tucked head had been directing to my knees, I stopped to suck in a short inhale. When I started again, a new sound pulled at the back of my mind, barely audible over my own voice.
‘Do you want me to help?’
Silence filled my home. Jaw creaking from its fully extended position, vision blurred from the tears that covered both pupils while I hesitated. Did I hear that? I wondered for a fraction of a second. “What?” my voice rasped in a hoarse sound, my throat torn from my abrupt and violent usage of it. The voice was more like a whisper when it had spoken to me, I was unsure if I’d even heard it or if my mind had conjured it in the delirium.
“Would you like my help?”
My head nodded furiously, a new round of tears spilling to the surface. “Yes, yes,” I begged, “please make it stop.”
Same as the last time, the pain melted away as abruptly as it had come on. With shaky limbs, I rose from the floor, my breath still quivering as quiet whimpers escaped my lips. Blinking away the moisture I stared at the floor in a confused amazement, wondering what was going on, or if I’d maybe imagined the whole thing. Besides the constant shivers from the dump of adrenaline and the crust along my cheek I didn’t have any hard evidence, or witnesses to the strange episodes.
Dragging feet across the floor, the adrenaline gave way to such a heavy exhaustion, the urge to collapse on my bed and sleep for a day was an alluring proposition. After what felt like an extremely long minute of lumbering to the bathroom, I made it to the mirror, hoping to find some proof of my pain that I could show someone.
When I looked up at the reflective pane hanging above the sink, I flinched so hard that I nearly fell into the tub behind me. The image was distorted, like an object held so close to my face that part of it had duplicated. In the mirror, half of my face seemed the same as I’d seen it when I brushed my teeth a few hours earlier.
The other half of my face was a sickly green, holes pockmarked my flesh with red and pink beneath. Aside from my pumice stone complexion, gashes dragged deep wounds erratically at different angles across my face, many of the creases formed lips of hardened puss and gangrene. Some of the wounds dug deeper to show the milky white bone beneath. The front of my nose had also fallen off or decayed to a point where all that was left was the twin tunnel leading into my brain. In the ghoulish half of my now haunting visage, my eye popped from its socket. The eye lids long since decayed to leave a permanently wide-eyed expression, the gaps between the yellow stained orb and the socket gave it the appearance of floating inside my face.
My otherwise normal eye widened, panic and confusion crawling up from the depths. Directing my hand to rise to my face, I watched it slowly creep from the bottom of my vision. As it crossed into the half of my face that was closer to a mummified husk, my digits changed. The skin around my hand turned putrid, the digits became gangly, while fingernails curled and fell off. Waving my fingers in front of my face, I watched the bones and sagging skin sway like a tattered curtain. I gawked at the sight with a morbid curiosity for a few seconds before yanking it from view, a sudden urgency brought on by fear of it as atrophying if I held it out for any longer.
Hidden from view, I clenched my hand in a few investigatory squeezes, rubbing into it with deep massaging presses. It felt normal, but I needed to be sure. Eyes drifting down, I caught a glimpse of my exposed forearm. Like my hand, craters of decaying flesh marred the limb, some gaping holes as large as quarters, they patterned the limb like a macabre art piece.
Head snapping to the side, I quickly looked away from my hands and arms. As my vision swept from the normal scene into the altered sight the cabinets and walls transformed. In the edge of my vision, they were aged, wallpaper curling into a soaked yellow, spackles of black mold staining its surface.
What is this? I wondered, still struggling to comprehend what my eyes were showing me, each of them showing a different version of the same image. My neck craned to the side so I could look at the same spot along the wall with my other eye. In an instant, it returned to the plain taupe as soon as it entered the other half of my vision. The cheap replica painting and few family pictures, reformed into something cohesive.
Careful not to glance at the mirror or anything else that might show me my reflection, I rubbed my hand along the forearm that had been spackled with lesions and sores. Underneath my fingers, I felt the dry skin and thin hairs all standing at attention. But no holes, I remarked with a shaky breath. I stepped from the bathroom, with my eyes straight ahead. It’s in your head, it’s not there – I’m fine. The thought brought a measure of comfort, like the knowledge that I’d been imagining everything would leave my physical form intact. That was until I realized that viewing the world through a glass of atrophy and death was still far from normal.
Can I just cover it? The thought was so simple and would be an easy solution to my problem. Suddenly brimming with hopeful vigor, I shut my right eye, the one that had been so abruptly afflicted with the visions of decomposition.
Confusion battered at my mind when my sight remained unaltered. It was odd. I felt the side of my face scrunch, my eyelid closing over the orb, yet my view of the withering wall was unaltered. Cupping my hand to cover the eye, it didn’t block the twisted sight either. Investigating the other eye, I was quick to find that it could still be closed as normal, but all that did was limit my field of view while plunging the remainder of my vision in a gut-wrenching hellscape.
I grunted quietly at the new oddity, unsettled for what came next.
…
For six days, I shut myself out from the world. I hid. I got used to walking corpses handing me pizza, and me handing them money that had long since shriveled and faded into blank notes, yet they always accepted it with a smile. Have you ever witnessed a half-mummified body smile? Witnessed the lesions about his face twist and curl along bloated cheek bones, or the black stained teeth that hung at an angle loosely in his mouth by a stubborn corner. I of course could still see the man through my other eye, the image oscillating between decomposition and the youthful vigor of a young man trying to make a few bucks on the side by dropping off pizzas.
Each day I couldn’t stomach more than a few bites. The concept of eating was difficult when from the corner of my vision I constantly saw rotting food. Food I’d just ordered fresh that was shrunken and shriveled, taken over by carpets of mold black and green. The toppings turned from their vibrant colours of red and green to stomach churning shades of black and grey. Even if I looked to the ceiling to avoid glancing at my food, I was then treated to stained plaster, littered with holes that revealed the deteriorating wood behind it. If I could manage a few bites, it tasted like the pizza I’d known and loved before. But I couldn’t purge the images of the rotten meal from my mind, the thought was always there to shut down any thoughts of a meal.
It wasn’t just the lack of nutrients either, being unable to shut one of my eyes made sleep near impossible. Even with curtains drawn and the lights turned off, the pitch black surrounding was insufficient. Something about my brain knew that my eye was open, and refused to offer anything resembling acceptable sleep. After being awake for three days, I did eventually sleep – it wasn’t for very long. Three hours if I recall correctly, jolting awake immediately after my brain caught up to what it believed was the still open eye. The days after were profoundly lethargic, doing anything felt like it took hours, each moment of it like wading through a muddy bog. As well, the biological need for my brain to shut down every few hours left me nodding off constantly, only to wake a few minutes later.
I felt myself at my limit, my mind stretched to the absolute edge of what it could handle. How many more days can I go before a psychotic break? Until a stroke finally takes me? From my seat at the kitchen table, I glance to the counter, eyeing the arrangement of cleavers and blades with a quiet alluring. Quickly, my head shook. Not yet.
“Would you like my help?”
I jolted up from my chair. Snapping to attention with a sudden surge of energy. The quick movement dizzied my vision, pulling me to the side as I wobbled slightly. After recovering my wavy vision, my neck snapped to both sides for a quick examination of the small room. It was empty. “Hello?”
“Would you like my help?”
It was like the voice was in my head, echoing in both ears, seeming everywhere and nowhere all at the same time. I couldn’t tell if it was a man or woman, a perfectly balanced timber that betrayed no emotion, neither malicious nor benevolent – it was simply there.
“What are you?”
Pausing for a long bout of silence, the voice held its answer, before finally responding with the same question. “Would you like my help?”
My mouth opened, but I nearly bit my tongue with how quickly my jaw shut. Shaking my head violently, I rubbed my arms vigorously, hoping it would quell the hairs that had risen along each of them. I knew the truth. It doesn’t help. It was the voice that made my vision like this. The piercing pain is also thanks to the voice’s ‘help’. But, I couldn’t deny that the thought of a full night’s sleep, of a meal that I didn’t immediately evacuate afterwards was incredibly appealing.
Had I been more rested, had I not been so exhausted and desperate, I might have possessed the fortitude to turn down the proposition. However, I was not, and I did not. “Yes,” I croaked in a voice that was dried to the limit of what my body could handle. Like the food, water had a similar effect on my brain, taking on the look of liquified sewage, like pond scum with a wisp of foam atop it.
Almost immediately, I felt a pinch behind my eye. It forced a wince from me as I withstood the discomfort, only for it to dissolve a moment later. My vision had returned, in my kitchen I saw my cabinets and stove top, the table I was sitting at and the half-eaten slice of pizza from last night. I lunged for the twisted remains of the meat supreme, wolfing it down in two ambitious bites. Stumbling to the sink, I cupped my hands beneath the open faucet, frantically funneling warm tap water into my stomach.
I felt like a man lost in the desert, stumbling into an oasis after days of exhaustion. Ignoring the protestations of my stomach, I jumped to the fridge where I’d stored the rest of the leftovers. Ripping contents from the shelves, they were scattered onto the table in a chaotic feast that I couldn’t wait to dive into.
That was when I heard a sound. It was quiet like the voice had been, simultaneously all around me and nowhere at the same time. I’d heard it for the briefest of instances, like a word half caught at the end of it being spoken somewhere in the distance. Struggling to place it, the noise sang out again. The quiet screech of metal is what I heard, like a knife being dragged against steel somewhere in the distance, as if it was the faint echoes of someone sharpening a knife. Or a rusted pair of scissors opening.
It screeched once more, this time louder and closer, with the unmistakable click of shears closing. Instantly, the vision in my recovered eye blurred, as if they suddenly needed glasses. Stumbling backwards in surprise, I was mostly amazed to not be feeling any discomfort besides the few squeals of metal I’d heard in my ear. Once more the metal wailed, and this time the vision in my blurred eye shifted. The obfuscated items of green and red dulled, its hues becoming barely legible, closer to grey than their original colours.
My breath skipped, then drew short inhales quickly through my nose. Between my rapidly drawn breaths, my ears picked up the quiet screech once more. I froze, immediately clenching every muscle I could while even my lungs paused.
One second.
Two.
Nothing. Whatever was doing this to me was relishing in the fear that was starting to scratch at my mind.
Then the snip. I flinched at the subtle pinch, and the darkness that immediately fell on the side of my vision. It wasn’t like an eye was closed, where my field of view should have become narrower. There was only darkness. A dribble of moisture trickled down my cheek, not tears but something else. Raising cautious fingers, they poked towards the wetness that continued to flow down to my chin, quickly returning with tips dyed a crimson red.
A part of me was terrified, too terrified to stumble to the mirror and see what the voice had done to me. But the much louder part of my mind demanded sleep, so I curled up into a ball on the floor, grateful I could finally close my eyes. Tomorrow’s problem will be dealt with tomorrow.
…
The next morning I woke with a spasm coursing through my limbs, like I’d been jolted awake by a bolt of lightning. A stabbing pain raced down the back of my neck, creeping into my spine with its barbed wire touch. Along the side of my head was a different pain, this one dull and thumping to the steady beat of my heart. My arms and legs felt sore, with a sensation of pins and needle gripping the one arm that I seemed to have slept on.
My mind wandered while I struggled to my feet, trying to recall the faint lickings of the terrible dream that I’d suffered last night. But as my eyes drifted to the wall, and the black void covering half of my vision became more apparent, I remembered. It wasn’t a dream at all.
Wobbling legs carried me to the bathroom. Both hands gripping the sinks edge, I couldn’t look. Fear scratched at the back of my mind, I knew the truth, I didn’t need a reflection to confirm it. It was only after I felt my knuckles whitening from the pressure for several long seconds that I pushed through the heavy fog, gathering the will to look at the reflective pane across me.
Where there should have been my eye was a crater. With its true depth hidden by the shadow of my skull, I could only imagine how deep the cavern in my face went, the parts I could see were lined with the near black crimson of dried blood. Beneath the hollowed socket were also thin streams of dried blood, forming narrow paths towards my chin like pain filled tears. I raised a trembling hand to my eye, like I’d done before, but this time to see if what I was seeing was in fact real. I watched in the mirror while tremors rocked my extended finger, watched the finger descend into the crater that was the eye socket. As my hand flinched, part of a fingertip rubbed against the moist flesh that lined the inside of my socket. I felt no pain in my face, but the rest of me felt like I’d just been punched in the gut. My stomach immediately flipped and I suddenly had to contend with the urge to empty my stomach into the sink.
My breath was shaky, shuddering air that I tried to control before it got away from me. But I felt myself losing the battle, each breath harder to draw than the last. In, and out. My feeble commands were having little effect, the dread becoming stronger as I knew what would come next. Like a hunter in the night, one second I felt fine, the next second, a dryness at the edge of my remaining eye. It twitched slightly, a tremor in the nerves that could have come from anything. I couldn’t yet tell if it was a lack of moisture in the air or something more.
Then my eye started to sting, and I realized I’d been holding it open for a few seconds straight. Fear demanded it be held ajar, unsure if it was a natural discomfort or the beginnings of the next round of torture.
Only holding it open for a few seconds longer, I eventually blinked. Breath held, while my lungs froze. Still unsure if I conjured the new itch, I tested the feeling in my eye. Is it gone? I wondered when I couldn’t feel anything more than the slight stinging along its edges. Chest finally collapsing, I drew long breaths with shut eyes. With each shuddering breath, I analyzed the sensations that coursed through the nerve endings along my face. I’m fine, I promised myself.
Then the urge to rub at my eye became stronger, forcing twitches all along the side of my face, even down to my jaw. Don’t. Instead I clenched my hands while my mind drifted to something else that might distract me, like the stale air flowing in and out of my nose, the rattle of the furnace creeping through the vents.
I didn’t even realize what I was doing until it was done, the back of my hand pressing into my eye socket and slowly wiping across it. Dry skin from the back of my hand was wetted, the cracks along my skin filled with the moisture my eye had been producing. More tears joined it as I realized with a jolt what I’d done.
“Wait,” I whispered in a shuddered breath.
It didn’t wait. Like a needle, a stabbing pain pierced the side of my eye, feeling like it punctured through to the other side too. A howl of pain escaped my lips, echoing in the acoustics of my narrow bathroom. Legs immediately giving way, I fell to the floor, already half curling into a ball atop the small shag carpet I’d laid by the sink. Palm pressing against the eye, I let my vision go black while stars of white spackled my vision. Short hissing breaths filled the room as I grappled with the return of the violent pain. Even as it felt like the stake plunging through my eye was twisted, as the nerves and sinew wrapped around each other into an unimaginable squeezing – I fought it.
I don’t know where the strength had come from, the sudden urge to resist became everything that I set my mind towards. Grinding my teeth together, my waning strength was being battered, it had been seconds and already my will was on the precipice of collapsing all together.
Then an image fluttered into view. It stole my breath, air freezing as shock gripped my system. My stolen eye was still gone, the right side of my face covered with inky nothingness. The remaining one that had been covered by my hand, abruptly shifted into a sideway view of my floor. I saw my bathroom tiles, chipped and faded; the carpet, patchy and molded; the walls, chipped of its paint, made pale by years of sunlight, and stained from years of neglect. What I saw was not my bathroom, not the bathroom I’d been in when I collapsed to the floor.
Like a sadistic poem, the itching, pain, and macabre vision assaulted me all at once. It was like it knew that my will was brittle, that my desire to resist was hanging onto the edge of the cliff by only my finger tips.
Then something shifted in my mind, a final surge of resistance. A spiteful rebellion gripped my thoughts, a rage that flared up abruptly with the surging of a wildfire as it tore through a forest of dried kindling. I wished to confront the source of my torment, to grip it by the neck and throttle it into submission. As I tapped into this new reservoir of strength, my hands balled into fists. Where the fuck is it? I demanded in my mind. As if I’d summoned it myself, the voice spoke. “Would yo–”
“Fuck you!”
“Would you li–”
“No!” I screamed my throat raw.
“Would you like my help?”
“I would like you to leave me. I’m never going to ask for your help.”
For a few long seconds, the voice didn’t respond. It left me with the unbearable itch that no amount of rubbing could satisfy, the sadistic agony that I was powerless to quell, and the knowledge that my vision had been plunged back into the unescapable hellscape - but at least it was quiet.
Until it wasn’t.
“Would you like my help?!” It suddenly screamed in my ear. I flinched in surprise, it was the first time that the cool dispassion of the voice was broken. “Would you like my help?!” It repeated a fraction of a moment later. “Would you like my help?!” Shouting over and over, the voice didn’t pause to breathe, repeating the words as soon it had finished the furious request. As the vicious battery of the question continued, I tried to fight it, shaking my head violently as if it would loosen the sound and even screaming alongside it to drown out the noise. Nothing worked, the unending noise persisting in my mind.
With each attempt to break my will, the question was starting to sound different. It was changing slightly, with at first minor variance in its tone, and cadence. With each failed attempt, the difference in the request after it became more stark to the point where I was starting to hear different ages, genders, and even accents in the repeating petition.
Cupping both hands over my ears, it did nothing to mute the sound. I screamed to drown out the sound, but the voices were louder. My face grimaced in stalwart resistance. I’m not going to give in, I assured myself. The voice had taken enough, I would give it no more ground.
…
How foolish I was. I know this now.
My jaw was impossibly sore from clenching teeth into a twisted grimace; sweat matted down hair against my forehead, and stained my shirt with the proof of my defiance. My will was brittle, a resigned exhaustion filling every one of my muscles. “Would you like my help?!” A woman yelled, she sounded Asian, eerily close to the woman who worked the counter at the small Chinese market I used to shop at. The requests had changed their tone some time ago, I don’t know how long I’d been curled in the ball before it, and I don’t know how much time has passed since. There was a desperation to her sound, a brief and frantic plea before she was shunted to the side in place of the next voice in the endless queue.
“Would you li-” the next one started.
“Fine,” I whispered in a voice so soft I barely heard it myself. The voice heard me though, halting its request now that I’d finally caved. In the silence I thought I could feel it relishing in my pain, soaking in my surrender and what little fear I could muster for what comes next. And as one second drifted into the next, a part of me started to believe that nothing would happen.
That was when the voices responded. In a booming chorus, ten thousand voices spoke as one, “thank you.” The thundering voices were impossibly loud, simultaneously loud enough to fill a stadium but also bearable as it echoed in my head. They sounded as tired as I felt, and the relief in their tones gave me a measure of calm. I was exhausted, too exhausted to feel anything when the screech of the twin metal blades scratched my mind. Managing to get my feet under me, I rose to stand.
My vision had turned back to normal once more, and I knew it was all but a fact that it would be for the last time. I would have liked to look at a sunset if it was going to be the last thing I saw, but I doubted the cruel voices would allow me that mercy. So I stared at my haggard features in the mirror. The gaping maw that was my right eye no longer bothered me, a grim acceptance finally quelling the shock and revulsion I’d felt before. In three quick cuts, the view of my face went from blurry to grey, and then finally to black. With a relieved breath, my hand wiped the new trickle from what was my last eye.
…
That was a week ago. My friends and family thought I’d lost my mind, that I suffered a mental break and decided to scoop my eyes out with a spoon. At first I was in disbelief, then rage, but after a few days of quiet contemplation I’d made my peace with it.
Who could blame them if they didn’t believe my story; the voices in my head, the unscratchable itch, the unimaginable stabbing pain, the visions of rot and decay that had become everything I saw. Who could blame them if they didn’t believe me when I told them of the rusted scissors in my mind that snipped at my eye before plucking it from my head. I could barely believe it myself, some nights questioning if maybe they were right.
However, I could blame them for having me locked in an institution. In the solitude of my padded room, I was given time to think, to recall the events and search through what I felt. It was in that sterile room, beneath the quiet buzzing of what I could only assume were fluorescent lights, the truth solidified in my mind.
I am not crazy.
I am not delusional.
…
“How did that feel?”
“Good, I guess.”
“That’s good, it’s good to talk about these things.”
“You’re the doctor.”
“That I am. I’m going to leave this with you, use it to record your thoughts or whatever you’d like. It’s yours, you won’t have to share the recordings with anyone unless you want to.”
---
My throat is itching, and no amount of water, tea, lozenges, or even salt water gargled has helped. The men and women in flapping coats say that I’m sick. BUT I’M NOT SICK. I know it like I know that water is wet.
I tried to make them understand, but they wouldn’t listen. Even as the two larger men wrapped thick hands around both my arms and carried me to the far end of my padded cell. Even as I kicked and screamed and fought furiously. Even as the needle slipped into my skin to deliver the fluid that would ‘calm me down’. Even as I begged and pleaded with them to just kill me instead.
My throat is still itching.
…
I record this now, knowing I’m dead. It’s almost impossible to talk, each entry takes most of the day, but I need to record something of myself.
I’ve accepted that with a desperate trusting in whatever comes next. The only hope that I truly cling to in this life is that someone finds this, and that they believe me.
…
I can barely swallow. Water, saliva, even air all struggle to slip down my neck. I hear the quiet murmuring of the nurses and doctors when they check on me, they think I’m doing something to myself.
I try to tell them that it’s back, but they only give me more drugs.
“I don’t understand it,” I heard one of them say.
…
A nurse came by with my medicine. I asked her to kill me. She said the medicine was a muscle relaxant for my throat.
I told her it wouldn’t work.
I made her listen to my choked sobs as she locked the door behind her.
Why won’t they just kill me?
…
I heard a sound. I know I heard this sound. It was like a whisper, gentle as a wisp of smoke, but it was there.
“Would you like me to help?”
submitted by xPenguinzx to nosleep [link] [comments]
‘Do you want me to help?’
My brow furrowed, head twisting while I searched for who’d spoken. I was alone on the sidewalk, walking my daily route along the local park. The air was crisp that morning, a subtle breeze had been whistling in my ear all throughout the walk. I wondered if perhaps it had been the wind, its gentle caress that had whispered a tune into my ear. I felt ridiculous in the moment, the one eye I wasn’t covering with my hand swiveled to check my surroundings. There wasn’t even a tree for someone to have been hiding behind.
I smiled a slight grin, shaking my head as if it would help quell the rising embarrassment. Yet, there was an undeniable appeal to the offer. The constant rubbing and probing had started to morph into a pain, more a prickling annoyance than anything substantial. Yet, I’d long since become annoyed with the inconvenience. Mind drifting to such dramatic thoughts, I weighed the offer. I’d give anything to make the itch go away. Before I raised my hand to poke at the sensitive area once more, I glanced around with embarrassed trepidation. No one was near, yet my face was warm, flush from the unavoidable awkwardness. “Sure,” I said quietly, my voice nearly cracking, “help me out.”
I didn’t know how to explain it, but my eye stopped itching. More than that, the pain dissipated too. It was like it had never happened. I removed my hand from where it had been pressing against the socket, blinking away a moment of blurry half-vision.
I went about my day without giving it another thought, letting the warmth of the sun soothe my concerns until it dissipated back into an oddity of the otherwise mundane morning.
…
The next day, the itch returned. It was not the slow escalation that built over time, not like the morning last. It returned immediately, and without the encouragement of my touch a searing pain came to join it. It was sudden and brutal, like nothing I could have prepared myself for. I winced, sucking a short breath through clenched teeth while the agony felt like a nail had punctured my eye, an invisible hammer pounding the stake deeper through the orb as it burrowed towards my brain. Beneath it all, was the desire to wipe at my eye, to press into it deeper with the flesh of my palm, anything that would lessen the pain and overwhelming urge to scratch at it some more.
My jaw opened with a click, muscles tightening around clenched joints. I started to cry out, the overwhelming pain so profoundly unique, unlike anything I’d known before. A shaky hand rising to my face, I pressed the back of it into my face, wrist twisting as the bones of my knuckles rolled into my eye socket.
For a fraction of a second, the white hot poker that had been stabbed into the edge of my eye lessened. But it only lasted for part of a breath, just long enough for me to think that the worst of it might be done. Oh, how I was wrong.
The torture leaped from the edge of my eye to encompass the whole orb. With a feeling like knives were dragging their edges in sadistic figure eights against the gelatinous flesh. My stomach twisted, and I was sure that I would empty my breakfast onto the floor. All the while, my world was starting to spin, encompassing delirium gripping my mind. I cried out in pain once more, this time wetted by moisture that streamed down my cheeks and poured from my nose. I don’t know when, but I’d entered the fetal position, my free hand wrapping around my knees to pull them closer to my chest – as if that would somehow help me.
As the pain continued to increase, my thoughts became muddier, with every passing second it was becoming harder to form a cohesive thought. I knew my limited options were becoming even scarcer, I knew that soon I would black out from the pain and by then my fate would be sealed. I tried to think of something to try, except only my screams rattled my brain, the only brief respite being when a fresh inhale was needed to produce more of the painfilled noise. I didn’t know who would hear, I lived alone, and the walls leading to the outside world were fairly thick. Even if someone heard me, and happened to call the police; even if they made it to me before I gave myself a hernia - what could they possibly do?
Between a volley of screaming that my tucked head had been directing to my knees, I stopped to suck in a short inhale. When I started again, a new sound pulled at the back of my mind, barely audible over my own voice.
‘Do you want me to help?’
Silence filled my home. Jaw creaking from its fully extended position, vision blurred from the tears that covered both pupils while I hesitated. Did I hear that? I wondered for a fraction of a second. “What?” my voice rasped in a hoarse sound, my throat torn from my abrupt and violent usage of it. The voice was more like a whisper when it had spoken to me, I was unsure if I’d even heard it or if my mind had conjured it in the delirium.
“Would you like my help?”
My head nodded furiously, a new round of tears spilling to the surface. “Yes, yes,” I begged, “please make it stop.”
Same as the last time, the pain melted away as abruptly as it had come on. With shaky limbs, I rose from the floor, my breath still quivering as quiet whimpers escaped my lips. Blinking away the moisture I stared at the floor in a confused amazement, wondering what was going on, or if I’d maybe imagined the whole thing. Besides the constant shivers from the dump of adrenaline and the crust along my cheek I didn’t have any hard evidence, or witnesses to the strange episodes.
Dragging feet across the floor, the adrenaline gave way to such a heavy exhaustion, the urge to collapse on my bed and sleep for a day was an alluring proposition. After what felt like an extremely long minute of lumbering to the bathroom, I made it to the mirror, hoping to find some proof of my pain that I could show someone.
When I looked up at the reflective pane hanging above the sink, I flinched so hard that I nearly fell into the tub behind me. The image was distorted, like an object held so close to my face that part of it had duplicated. In the mirror, half of my face seemed the same as I’d seen it when I brushed my teeth a few hours earlier.
The other half of my face was a sickly green, holes pockmarked my flesh with red and pink beneath. Aside from my pumice stone complexion, gashes dragged deep wounds erratically at different angles across my face, many of the creases formed lips of hardened puss and gangrene. Some of the wounds dug deeper to show the milky white bone beneath. The front of my nose had also fallen off or decayed to a point where all that was left was the twin tunnel leading into my brain. In the ghoulish half of my now haunting visage, my eye popped from its socket. The eye lids long since decayed to leave a permanently wide-eyed expression, the gaps between the yellow stained orb and the socket gave it the appearance of floating inside my face.
My otherwise normal eye widened, panic and confusion crawling up from the depths. Directing my hand to rise to my face, I watched it slowly creep from the bottom of my vision. As it crossed into the half of my face that was closer to a mummified husk, my digits changed. The skin around my hand turned putrid, the digits became gangly, while fingernails curled and fell off. Waving my fingers in front of my face, I watched the bones and sagging skin sway like a tattered curtain. I gawked at the sight with a morbid curiosity for a few seconds before yanking it from view, a sudden urgency brought on by fear of it as atrophying if I held it out for any longer.
Hidden from view, I clenched my hand in a few investigatory squeezes, rubbing into it with deep massaging presses. It felt normal, but I needed to be sure. Eyes drifting down, I caught a glimpse of my exposed forearm. Like my hand, craters of decaying flesh marred the limb, some gaping holes as large as quarters, they patterned the limb like a macabre art piece.
Head snapping to the side, I quickly looked away from my hands and arms. As my vision swept from the normal scene into the altered sight the cabinets and walls transformed. In the edge of my vision, they were aged, wallpaper curling into a soaked yellow, spackles of black mold staining its surface.
What is this? I wondered, still struggling to comprehend what my eyes were showing me, each of them showing a different version of the same image. My neck craned to the side so I could look at the same spot along the wall with my other eye. In an instant, it returned to the plain taupe as soon as it entered the other half of my vision. The cheap replica painting and few family pictures, reformed into something cohesive.
Careful not to glance at the mirror or anything else that might show me my reflection, I rubbed my hand along the forearm that had been spackled with lesions and sores. Underneath my fingers, I felt the dry skin and thin hairs all standing at attention. But no holes, I remarked with a shaky breath. I stepped from the bathroom, with my eyes straight ahead. It’s in your head, it’s not there – I’m fine. The thought brought a measure of comfort, like the knowledge that I’d been imagining everything would leave my physical form intact. That was until I realized that viewing the world through a glass of atrophy and death was still far from normal.
Can I just cover it? The thought was so simple and would be an easy solution to my problem. Suddenly brimming with hopeful vigor, I shut my right eye, the one that had been so abruptly afflicted with the visions of decomposition.
Confusion battered at my mind when my sight remained unaltered. It was odd. I felt the side of my face scrunch, my eyelid closing over the orb, yet my view of the withering wall was unaltered. Cupping my hand to cover the eye, it didn’t block the twisted sight either. Investigating the other eye, I was quick to find that it could still be closed as normal, but all that did was limit my field of view while plunging the remainder of my vision in a gut-wrenching hellscape.
I grunted quietly at the new oddity, unsettled for what came next.
…
For six days, I shut myself out from the world. I hid. I got used to walking corpses handing me pizza, and me handing them money that had long since shriveled and faded into blank notes, yet they always accepted it with a smile. Have you ever witnessed a half-mummified body smile? Witnessed the lesions about his face twist and curl along bloated cheek bones, or the black stained teeth that hung at an angle loosely in his mouth by a stubborn corner. I of course could still see the man through my other eye, the image oscillating between decomposition and the youthful vigor of a young man trying to make a few bucks on the side by dropping off pizzas.
Each day I couldn’t stomach more than a few bites. The concept of eating was difficult when from the corner of my vision I constantly saw rotting food. Food I’d just ordered fresh that was shrunken and shriveled, taken over by carpets of mold black and green. The toppings turned from their vibrant colours of red and green to stomach churning shades of black and grey. Even if I looked to the ceiling to avoid glancing at my food, I was then treated to stained plaster, littered with holes that revealed the deteriorating wood behind it. If I could manage a few bites, it tasted like the pizza I’d known and loved before. But I couldn’t purge the images of the rotten meal from my mind, the thought was always there to shut down any thoughts of a meal.
It wasn’t just the lack of nutrients either, being unable to shut one of my eyes made sleep near impossible. Even with curtains drawn and the lights turned off, the pitch black surrounding was insufficient. Something about my brain knew that my eye was open, and refused to offer anything resembling acceptable sleep. After being awake for three days, I did eventually sleep – it wasn’t for very long. Three hours if I recall correctly, jolting awake immediately after my brain caught up to what it believed was the still open eye. The days after were profoundly lethargic, doing anything felt like it took hours, each moment of it like wading through a muddy bog. As well, the biological need for my brain to shut down every few hours left me nodding off constantly, only to wake a few minutes later.
I felt myself at my limit, my mind stretched to the absolute edge of what it could handle. How many more days can I go before a psychotic break? Until a stroke finally takes me? From my seat at the kitchen table, I glance to the counter, eyeing the arrangement of cleavers and blades with a quiet alluring. Quickly, my head shook. Not yet.
“Would you like my help?”
I jolted up from my chair. Snapping to attention with a sudden surge of energy. The quick movement dizzied my vision, pulling me to the side as I wobbled slightly. After recovering my wavy vision, my neck snapped to both sides for a quick examination of the small room. It was empty. “Hello?”
“Would you like my help?”
It was like the voice was in my head, echoing in both ears, seeming everywhere and nowhere all at the same time. I couldn’t tell if it was a man or woman, a perfectly balanced timber that betrayed no emotion, neither malicious nor benevolent – it was simply there.
“What are you?”
Pausing for a long bout of silence, the voice held its answer, before finally responding with the same question. “Would you like my help?”
My mouth opened, but I nearly bit my tongue with how quickly my jaw shut. Shaking my head violently, I rubbed my arms vigorously, hoping it would quell the hairs that had risen along each of them. I knew the truth. It doesn’t help. It was the voice that made my vision like this. The piercing pain is also thanks to the voice’s ‘help’. But, I couldn’t deny that the thought of a full night’s sleep, of a meal that I didn’t immediately evacuate afterwards was incredibly appealing.
Had I been more rested, had I not been so exhausted and desperate, I might have possessed the fortitude to turn down the proposition. However, I was not, and I did not. “Yes,” I croaked in a voice that was dried to the limit of what my body could handle. Like the food, water had a similar effect on my brain, taking on the look of liquified sewage, like pond scum with a wisp of foam atop it.
Almost immediately, I felt a pinch behind my eye. It forced a wince from me as I withstood the discomfort, only for it to dissolve a moment later. My vision had returned, in my kitchen I saw my cabinets and stove top, the table I was sitting at and the half-eaten slice of pizza from last night. I lunged for the twisted remains of the meat supreme, wolfing it down in two ambitious bites. Stumbling to the sink, I cupped my hands beneath the open faucet, frantically funneling warm tap water into my stomach.
I felt like a man lost in the desert, stumbling into an oasis after days of exhaustion. Ignoring the protestations of my stomach, I jumped to the fridge where I’d stored the rest of the leftovers. Ripping contents from the shelves, they were scattered onto the table in a chaotic feast that I couldn’t wait to dive into.
That was when I heard a sound. It was quiet like the voice had been, simultaneously all around me and nowhere at the same time. I’d heard it for the briefest of instances, like a word half caught at the end of it being spoken somewhere in the distance. Struggling to place it, the noise sang out again. The quiet screech of metal is what I heard, like a knife being dragged against steel somewhere in the distance, as if it was the faint echoes of someone sharpening a knife. Or a rusted pair of scissors opening.
It screeched once more, this time louder and closer, with the unmistakable click of shears closing. Instantly, the vision in my recovered eye blurred, as if they suddenly needed glasses. Stumbling backwards in surprise, I was mostly amazed to not be feeling any discomfort besides the few squeals of metal I’d heard in my ear. Once more the metal wailed, and this time the vision in my blurred eye shifted. The obfuscated items of green and red dulled, its hues becoming barely legible, closer to grey than their original colours.
My breath skipped, then drew short inhales quickly through my nose. Between my rapidly drawn breaths, my ears picked up the quiet screech once more. I froze, immediately clenching every muscle I could while even my lungs paused.
One second.
Two.
Nothing. Whatever was doing this to me was relishing in the fear that was starting to scratch at my mind.
Then the snip. I flinched at the subtle pinch, and the darkness that immediately fell on the side of my vision. It wasn’t like an eye was closed, where my field of view should have become narrower. There was only darkness. A dribble of moisture trickled down my cheek, not tears but something else. Raising cautious fingers, they poked towards the wetness that continued to flow down to my chin, quickly returning with tips dyed a crimson red.
A part of me was terrified, too terrified to stumble to the mirror and see what the voice had done to me. But the much louder part of my mind demanded sleep, so I curled up into a ball on the floor, grateful I could finally close my eyes. Tomorrow’s problem will be dealt with tomorrow.
…
The next morning I woke with a spasm coursing through my limbs, like I’d been jolted awake by a bolt of lightning. A stabbing pain raced down the back of my neck, creeping into my spine with its barbed wire touch. Along the side of my head was a different pain, this one dull and thumping to the steady beat of my heart. My arms and legs felt sore, with a sensation of pins and needle gripping the one arm that I seemed to have slept on.
My mind wandered while I struggled to my feet, trying to recall the faint lickings of the terrible dream that I’d suffered last night. But as my eyes drifted to the wall, and the black void covering half of my vision became more apparent, I remembered. It wasn’t a dream at all.
Wobbling legs carried me to the bathroom. Both hands gripping the sinks edge, I couldn’t look. Fear scratched at the back of my mind, I knew the truth, I didn’t need a reflection to confirm it. It was only after I felt my knuckles whitening from the pressure for several long seconds that I pushed through the heavy fog, gathering the will to look at the reflective pane across me.
Where there should have been my eye was a crater. With its true depth hidden by the shadow of my skull, I could only imagine how deep the cavern in my face went, the parts I could see were lined with the near black crimson of dried blood. Beneath the hollowed socket were also thin streams of dried blood, forming narrow paths towards my chin like pain filled tears. I raised a trembling hand to my eye, like I’d done before, but this time to see if what I was seeing was in fact real. I watched in the mirror while tremors rocked my extended finger, watched the finger descend into the crater that was the eye socket. As my hand flinched, part of a fingertip rubbed against the moist flesh that lined the inside of my socket. I felt no pain in my face, but the rest of me felt like I’d just been punched in the gut. My stomach immediately flipped and I suddenly had to contend with the urge to empty my stomach into the sink.
My breath was shaky, shuddering air that I tried to control before it got away from me. But I felt myself losing the battle, each breath harder to draw than the last. In, and out. My feeble commands were having little effect, the dread becoming stronger as I knew what would come next. Like a hunter in the night, one second I felt fine, the next second, a dryness at the edge of my remaining eye. It twitched slightly, a tremor in the nerves that could have come from anything. I couldn’t yet tell if it was a lack of moisture in the air or something more.
Then my eye started to sting, and I realized I’d been holding it open for a few seconds straight. Fear demanded it be held ajar, unsure if it was a natural discomfort or the beginnings of the next round of torture.
Only holding it open for a few seconds longer, I eventually blinked. Breath held, while my lungs froze. Still unsure if I conjured the new itch, I tested the feeling in my eye. Is it gone? I wondered when I couldn’t feel anything more than the slight stinging along its edges. Chest finally collapsing, I drew long breaths with shut eyes. With each shuddering breath, I analyzed the sensations that coursed through the nerve endings along my face. I’m fine, I promised myself.
Then the urge to rub at my eye became stronger, forcing twitches all along the side of my face, even down to my jaw. Don’t. Instead I clenched my hands while my mind drifted to something else that might distract me, like the stale air flowing in and out of my nose, the rattle of the furnace creeping through the vents.
I didn’t even realize what I was doing until it was done, the back of my hand pressing into my eye socket and slowly wiping across it. Dry skin from the back of my hand was wetted, the cracks along my skin filled with the moisture my eye had been producing. More tears joined it as I realized with a jolt what I’d done.
“Wait,” I whispered in a shuddered breath.
It didn’t wait. Like a needle, a stabbing pain pierced the side of my eye, feeling like it punctured through to the other side too. A howl of pain escaped my lips, echoing in the acoustics of my narrow bathroom. Legs immediately giving way, I fell to the floor, already half curling into a ball atop the small shag carpet I’d laid by the sink. Palm pressing against the eye, I let my vision go black while stars of white spackled my vision. Short hissing breaths filled the room as I grappled with the return of the violent pain. Even as it felt like the stake plunging through my eye was twisted, as the nerves and sinew wrapped around each other into an unimaginable squeezing – I fought it.
I don’t know where the strength had come from, the sudden urge to resist became everything that I set my mind towards. Grinding my teeth together, my waning strength was being battered, it had been seconds and already my will was on the precipice of collapsing all together.
Then an image fluttered into view. It stole my breath, air freezing as shock gripped my system. My stolen eye was still gone, the right side of my face covered with inky nothingness. The remaining one that had been covered by my hand, abruptly shifted into a sideway view of my floor. I saw my bathroom tiles, chipped and faded; the carpet, patchy and molded; the walls, chipped of its paint, made pale by years of sunlight, and stained from years of neglect. What I saw was not my bathroom, not the bathroom I’d been in when I collapsed to the floor.
Like a sadistic poem, the itching, pain, and macabre vision assaulted me all at once. It was like it knew that my will was brittle, that my desire to resist was hanging onto the edge of the cliff by only my finger tips.
Then something shifted in my mind, a final surge of resistance. A spiteful rebellion gripped my thoughts, a rage that flared up abruptly with the surging of a wildfire as it tore through a forest of dried kindling. I wished to confront the source of my torment, to grip it by the neck and throttle it into submission. As I tapped into this new reservoir of strength, my hands balled into fists. Where the fuck is it? I demanded in my mind. As if I’d summoned it myself, the voice spoke. “Would yo–”
“Fuck you!”
“Would you li–”
“No!” I screamed my throat raw.
“Would you like my help?”
“I would like you to leave me. I’m never going to ask for your help.”
For a few long seconds, the voice didn’t respond. It left me with the unbearable itch that no amount of rubbing could satisfy, the sadistic agony that I was powerless to quell, and the knowledge that my vision had been plunged back into the unescapable hellscape - but at least it was quiet.
Until it wasn’t.
“Would you like my help?!” It suddenly screamed in my ear. I flinched in surprise, it was the first time that the cool dispassion of the voice was broken. “Would you like my help?!” It repeated a fraction of a moment later. “Would you like my help?!” Shouting over and over, the voice didn’t pause to breathe, repeating the words as soon it had finished the furious request. As the vicious battery of the question continued, I tried to fight it, shaking my head violently as if it would loosen the sound and even screaming alongside it to drown out the noise. Nothing worked, the unending noise persisting in my mind.
With each attempt to break my will, the question was starting to sound different. It was changing slightly, with at first minor variance in its tone, and cadence. With each failed attempt, the difference in the request after it became more stark to the point where I was starting to hear different ages, genders, and even accents in the repeating petition.
Cupping both hands over my ears, it did nothing to mute the sound. I screamed to drown out the sound, but the voices were louder. My face grimaced in stalwart resistance. I’m not going to give in, I assured myself. The voice had taken enough, I would give it no more ground.
…
How foolish I was. I know this now.
My jaw was impossibly sore from clenching teeth into a twisted grimace; sweat matted down hair against my forehead, and stained my shirt with the proof of my defiance. My will was brittle, a resigned exhaustion filling every one of my muscles. “Would you like my help?!” A woman yelled, she sounded Asian, eerily close to the woman who worked the counter at the small Chinese market I used to shop at. The requests had changed their tone some time ago, I don’t know how long I’d been curled in the ball before it, and I don’t know how much time has passed since. There was a desperation to her sound, a brief and frantic plea before she was shunted to the side in place of the next voice in the endless queue.
“Would you li-” the next one started.
“Fine,” I whispered in a voice so soft I barely heard it myself. The voice heard me though, halting its request now that I’d finally caved. In the silence I thought I could feel it relishing in my pain, soaking in my surrender and what little fear I could muster for what comes next. And as one second drifted into the next, a part of me started to believe that nothing would happen.
That was when the voices responded. In a booming chorus, ten thousand voices spoke as one, “thank you.” The thundering voices were impossibly loud, simultaneously loud enough to fill a stadium but also bearable as it echoed in my head. They sounded as tired as I felt, and the relief in their tones gave me a measure of calm. I was exhausted, too exhausted to feel anything when the screech of the twin metal blades scratched my mind. Managing to get my feet under me, I rose to stand.
My vision had turned back to normal once more, and I knew it was all but a fact that it would be for the last time. I would have liked to look at a sunset if it was going to be the last thing I saw, but I doubted the cruel voices would allow me that mercy. So I stared at my haggard features in the mirror. The gaping maw that was my right eye no longer bothered me, a grim acceptance finally quelling the shock and revulsion I’d felt before. In three quick cuts, the view of my face went from blurry to grey, and then finally to black. With a relieved breath, my hand wiped the new trickle from what was my last eye.
…
That was a week ago. My friends and family thought I’d lost my mind, that I suffered a mental break and decided to scoop my eyes out with a spoon. At first I was in disbelief, then rage, but after a few days of quiet contemplation I’d made my peace with it.
Who could blame them if they didn’t believe my story; the voices in my head, the unscratchable itch, the unimaginable stabbing pain, the visions of rot and decay that had become everything I saw. Who could blame them if they didn’t believe me when I told them of the rusted scissors in my mind that snipped at my eye before plucking it from my head. I could barely believe it myself, some nights questioning if maybe they were right.
However, I could blame them for having me locked in an institution. In the solitude of my padded room, I was given time to think, to recall the events and search through what I felt. It was in that sterile room, beneath the quiet buzzing of what I could only assume were fluorescent lights, the truth solidified in my mind.
I am not crazy.
I am not delusional.
…
“How did that feel?”
“Good, I guess.”
“That’s good, it’s good to talk about these things.”
“You’re the doctor.”
“That I am. I’m going to leave this with you, use it to record your thoughts or whatever you’d like. It’s yours, you won’t have to share the recordings with anyone unless you want to.”
---
My throat is itching, and no amount of water, tea, lozenges, or even salt water gargled has helped. The men and women in flapping coats say that I’m sick. BUT I’M NOT SICK. I know it like I know that water is wet.
I tried to make them understand, but they wouldn’t listen. Even as the two larger men wrapped thick hands around both my arms and carried me to the far end of my padded cell. Even as I kicked and screamed and fought furiously. Even as the needle slipped into my skin to deliver the fluid that would ‘calm me down’. Even as I begged and pleaded with them to just kill me instead.
My throat is still itching.
…
I record this now, knowing I’m dead. It’s almost impossible to talk, each entry takes most of the day, but I need to record something of myself.
I’ve accepted that with a desperate trusting in whatever comes next. The only hope that I truly cling to in this life is that someone finds this, and that they believe me.
…
I can barely swallow. Water, saliva, even air all struggle to slip down my neck. I hear the quiet murmuring of the nurses and doctors when they check on me, they think I’m doing something to myself.
I try to tell them that it’s back, but they only give me more drugs.
“I don’t understand it,” I heard one of them say.
…
A nurse came by with my medicine. I asked her to kill me. She said the medicine was a muscle relaxant for my throat.
I told her it wouldn’t work.
I made her listen to my choked sobs as she locked the door behind her.
Why won’t they just kill me?
…
I heard a sound. I know I heard this sound. It was like a whisper, gentle as a wisp of smoke, but it was there.
“Would you like me to help?”
2023.04.01 15:35 MermaidRiotGrrrl Rare Latin book from the 17th century about a town going mad?
Many years ago, I was visiting a friend in London and she took me to her favourite bookshop. It was a cute little place run by a lovely man who, along with his selection, traded and sold antique books. There was this absolutely gorgeous book locked up in a glass case, the cover was leather with cliffs and mountains against a night sky. The man was telling us about all the rare books in his collection and how this one was about a town who was trying to combat a creature plaguing the town and how they eventually threw themselves off the mountain out of madness. I always thought it was a cool story but I can't find any record of it existing online, has anyone else heard of this?
submitted by MermaidRiotGrrrl to whatsthatbook [link] [comments]
2023.04.01 15:10 Turboreacteur Teraphobia as an adult, please help ?
Hello, it seems my case isn't documented enough (or I just suck at searching for information) so I thought I'd ask about it on an appropriate subreddit.
Okay so first, I don't really have a litteral fear of the dark, but a real paranoid fear of "monsters". I'm fully aware that it is irrational (as well as my other phobias) but I just can't "stop being afraid".
This fear isn't only present at night but also during the day when I'm home alone. It's just worst at night.
There's days when I couldn't sleep and would wait until the morning to actually get some sleep. When I need to go out of my bedroom and everyone's sleeping, it terrifies me. I have this fear that something (whatever that is) will come for me, whether it would be to kill me, torture me, or whatever that would be.
I try to avoid mirrors at night. When I'm alone it's fine but it depends.
I avoid taking naps alone because when it ends with a nightmare, it usually tricks me by thinking I'm awake and I saw some monster behind the glass door.
Sometimes I can't really listen to music because I fear I can't hear what's happening around me ; what if there was some entity in my house coming for me ? That's completely dumb and I know it but despite being conscious of it, I can't stop it.
Oh I also have this fear of inanimate objects. My definition of monster is very broad. Inanimate objects shouldn't be moving / "conscious" or anything and that's what I fear.
This list could be endless but I'll stop with this : words can trigger me. I mean, when I'm with people it's fine because well, I'm not alone so I at least feel kind of protected. But yeah some words just increase my paranoia because they lead to these thoughts and terrifying images in my head. They remind me of this intense phobia.
So, it seems I have teraphobia (or is it ?) as an adult, what can I do ? How can my paranoia stop ? I can't find any case similar to mine, I feel helpless. I hope I'm on the right subreddit.
PS: I don't have a prefect English because it's not my first language, sorry.
And edits are for typos 👍
submitted by Turboreacteur to Phobia [link] [comments]
Okay so first, I don't really have a litteral fear of the dark, but a real paranoid fear of "monsters". I'm fully aware that it is irrational (as well as my other phobias) but I just can't "stop being afraid".
This fear isn't only present at night but also during the day when I'm home alone. It's just worst at night.
There's days when I couldn't sleep and would wait until the morning to actually get some sleep. When I need to go out of my bedroom and everyone's sleeping, it terrifies me. I have this fear that something (whatever that is) will come for me, whether it would be to kill me, torture me, or whatever that would be.
I try to avoid mirrors at night. When I'm alone it's fine but it depends.
I avoid taking naps alone because when it ends with a nightmare, it usually tricks me by thinking I'm awake and I saw some monster behind the glass door.
Sometimes I can't really listen to music because I fear I can't hear what's happening around me ; what if there was some entity in my house coming for me ? That's completely dumb and I know it but despite being conscious of it, I can't stop it.
Oh I also have this fear of inanimate objects. My definition of monster is very broad. Inanimate objects shouldn't be moving / "conscious" or anything and that's what I fear.
This list could be endless but I'll stop with this : words can trigger me. I mean, when I'm with people it's fine because well, I'm not alone so I at least feel kind of protected. But yeah some words just increase my paranoia because they lead to these thoughts and terrifying images in my head. They remind me of this intense phobia.
So, it seems I have teraphobia (or is it ?) as an adult, what can I do ? How can my paranoia stop ? I can't find any case similar to mine, I feel helpless. I hope I'm on the right subreddit.
PS: I don't have a prefect English because it's not my first language, sorry.
And edits are for typos 👍
2023.04.01 14:53 doomedgeek I was a security guard until an encounter with a monster hunter changed my life
I was scraping a living working as a security guard.
I was stationed in shopping malls where my days were spent asking teenagers to move on. I sat behind desks in the lobbies of office blocks staring at CCTV monitors where nothing happened for hour after hour. And I patrolled construction sites on freezing cold nights, actually wishing someone would try and break in and steal some of the building materials. At least then I could get warm by chasing them.
My job was garbage.
One night, I was responding to an alarm which had gone off at the lot of a car dealership.
I parked up outside. The alarm was flashing but there was no sign of damage to the building so I assumed it was yet another waste of time.
I stood in front of the window and looked at the sleek, high-performance vehicles on display that cost more than I would earn in a lifetime on my pathetic wage. My reflection peered back at me: a sad figure dressed in a grey security guard’s uniform.
I sighed, turned away and headed back to my car. I had left my work phone on the passenger seat. I had to use it to fill in an online form after every call out before leaving the scene and would get my wages docked if I did not complete all the boxes correctly. It felt so futile.
I unlocked the car and was reaching for the door handle when I saw movement across the road. A glimpse of something running on all fours.
It slipped down an alley and away out of sight.
I thought at first that it might have been a fox.
There were a small number of exclusive restaurants in the surrounding blocks and their refuse would be packed with tasty morsels for scavengers. They wouldn’t care that it was leftovers from haute cuisine prepared by a chef with his own show on cable tv.
But my hand hovered over the door handle.
What if it had been a dog? I wondered. A stray destined for the pound that would eventually, heartbreakingly, be put to sleep.
I had always liked dogs a lot. I admired their loyalty and their tenacity, though my circumstances over the years had meant I had not owned one since I was a teenager.
And though I should have got busy filling in the mind-numbing online form, I decided that could wait.
I wanted to see if it was a dog. If it was, maybe I could rescue it and give it a home. That would give my empty life some kind of purpose.
Trying not to think about how I was going to afford to pay for dog food and veterinarian’s bills, I set off on the animal’s trail.
The alley I had entered was narrow and dark. I gave my eyes a moment to adjust then carried on. I moved slowly, not wanting to spook the animal.
I knew that if it felt threated it could lash out, and the last thing I needed was a trip to ER to get treated for a bite.
But there was no sign of it and the only sound was a drunk singing in the distance.
I shook my head sadly. I would have to give up and get back to the car. There would be another job lined up for me by now and the supervisor would be wondering where I was.
I turned – but did not take another step.
A pair of eyes glowed in the darkness ahead of me. They were red and burning with rage.
I could see the snout of the animal now as well and its teeth… only they were not the teeth of any kind of dog or fox. They were way too big, way too sharp.
They were fangs. And they were coming my way.
My guts cramped with fear.
I needed to get out of there or stand and fight. I clenched my firsts.
The animal was close. It began to snarl and crouch. I realised with horror that it was about to go for me.
Suddenly the alley was filled with the sound of screeching tyres and an engine roaring like it was fit to burst.
A car sped into view. It was backing in and barely fit into the cramped space. Its sides scraped along the sides of the alley with a sickening screech. Then it slammed to a halt.
I heard a door open, and a man stepped out of the driver’s seat.
He wore a battered leather coat that reached almost to his ankles. A fedora was balanced at a rakish angle on his head.
He smiled, and I saw the glint of a gold tooth.
“Well, howdy,” he said to me, “I will take it from here.”
The animal had not moved since he had arrived on the scene. It had remained low to the ground, its teeth bared, its hackles raised.
The man stood tall before it, patted a holster on his hip and said, “I got six silver pieces in here. I will need only one. There will be no morning after regrets then. The only thing waiting for you will be a cold hard grave.”
It was insane. He was speaking to a crazed animal as if it could understand him.
The animal responded with a howl, then leapt at him.
Moving with lightning speed and agility, the man rolled out of the way and was back on his feet in a flash. He drew, and a loud retort filled the alley – all while the animal was still mid-air.
The impact of the projectile sent it spiralling down. It hit the ground heavily and did not move.
I stood there transfixed, barely able to breathe.
The man opened the trunk of his car, picked the animal up and placed it inside.
As he closed the trunk, I could swear I saw pale human skin appearing beneath the animal’s fur.
The man turned back to me. “Word of advice, stranger. Stay out of dark alleys on nights like these. The full moon’s real pretty, but she brings out the beast.”
Then he tapped the brim of his fedora in a relaxed salute and climbed back into his car.
I was left standing watching open-mouthed as he drove away.
I had not noticed that it was a full moon but, when I looked up, I saw it burning bright in the dark city night.
I took a deep breath and headed back to my car.
There were missed calls on my work phone and a red-flagged email telling me to report to personnel in the morning.
I did not tell the drone in the suit who I met in the security company’s headquarters at 9.30 the next day what had happened in the alley. I knew that was pointless. There was no way he would believe me – and, it turned out, the damage was already done.
I listened as he told me that I was fired for taking an unauthorised break.
It took all my self-control not to reach over the desk, grab him and tell him exactly what I thought of his organisation and his stupid face.
With my head held high, I walked out onto the street. I had my dignity but nothing else. I was unemployed and close to broke.
I needed to think. I decided it was too early to go to a bar and consider my options over a stiff drink, and my cramped apartment was the last place I wanted to be when I was already feeling down, so I set off walking.
I had no destination in mind, I just drifted.
As I paced the streets, my mood got bleaker and bleaker. I could not see a way out of the dire situation I was in.
Finally, as dusk fell, I gave in to the temptation of a drink. There was a bar on the corner. It had no windows and there was broken glass and cigarette ends scattered across the sidewalk in front of it.
It was a dive.
Ideal for a loser like me then, I figured, and headed in.
The inside of the bar was hazy with smoke and dimly lit by a fluorescent strip that was dancing with flies. There were half a dozen patrons nursing beers, and a juke box was playing a song about looking for love.
The only thing anyone was going to find in this place was regret and stale breath.
I headed to the bar and ordered a double bourbon neat. The barman slid over a glass and poured out the drink.
The rim of the glass had more fingerprints on it than a crime scene. Telling myself that alcohol was a very effective disinfectant, I downed the bourbon in one, then turned to leave.
Call it the ambiance, call it the dirty looks I was getting because my eyebrows did not meet in the middle, but this bar was not helping my mood one little bit.
I was almost back at the door, when it swung open and the man from the alley strolled in.
His fedora, long leather coat and confident strut made him stand out a mile in the seedy bar.
He looked at me and I saw recognition in his eyes, but he carried on right by me without a word and made his way towards a lone figure sitting at a corner table.
I’d paid this man no heed before. He was keeping to the shadows and, even as he was approached, he had eyes only for the drink that sat in front of him.
Common sense was telling me that there was about to be trouble and I should leave, but I had not ended up one step away from the gutter by listening to my common sense.
So I leant against a wall and watched and waited.
The man wearing the fedora had reached the table. He had his back to me, but I imagined a gold tooth glinting as he said, “It is time to end this.”
His voice was calm and cold. He meant business.
The lone figure responded by taking a long drink, then placing his glass back down slowly and deliberately. The sound of the glass clinking on the tabletop was the loudest sound in the bar by now.
The juke box was silent and everyone else in there seemed transfixed by the encounter as well.
The lone figure got to his feet. He was slender and dressed all in black. In the gloom, his eyes were two points of darkness and his skin looked drained of all colour.
Then he smiled, and I felt a cold chill run through my body.
The tips of his teeth were viciously sharp points. Had he had filed them down to be like that? I wondered. Or was there another explanation?
One that belonged far from the light of day, in a dank, dark place like this.
The lone figure kept smiling as he said, “That’s not going to happen. It’s night now, so I will be leaving here to get myself a drink that satisfies my thirst. The plasma they keep behind the bar for me here just doesn’t cut it. In fact, this whole situation lacks bite.”
Then he snarled and his jaws snapped open. His grotesque teeth looked like a steel trap. One that was about to close around the neck of the man in the fedora.
But, once again, he moved at speed, producing a sharp wooden stake from inside his leather coat and striking it into the heart of the lone figure – who screamed then crumbled into dust.
The man in the fedora turned to walk away.
Only his path to the door was blocked by the barman. He held a sawn-off. “You should not have done that,” he said. “Vampires are my best customers.”
Then he let loose with both barrels.
There was nothing the man in the fedora could do. He was sent flying backwards, crashing through chairs and tables before sliding to a halt.
Appalled at this vicious assault, I threw myself at the barman and knocked him out with a right hook.
Then I scrambled over to the man in the fedora. He was in a bad way, but he was still breathing. His eyes flickered opened.
I forced a reassuring smile onto my face and said, “Don’t try and move. I’ll call 911.”
“No, there’ll be too many questions.” he gasped and tried to sit up. His face contorted with pain and he swore. Then, through gritted teeth, he said, “Help me get out of here.”
I had no idea what he was talking about and still thought calling the authorities was the best thing to do, but I saw that the other customers were giving us filthy looks and that the barman was coming round. I decided that getting out of there as soon as possible was the wisest option after all.
I helped the man in the fedora get to his feet and took as much of his weight as I could as we struggled towards the door and out into the night.
I recognised his car parked across from the bar. He gave me the keys and collapsed into the passenger seat.
I was about to tell him I was not insured to drive his vehicle when I saw the door of the bar open and the barman emerge.
Getting pulled over for a traffic offense was small change compared to the volley that was about to come our way, so I dived into the car, gunned the engine and gripped the wheel as we sped away.
I almost hit a car at the next intersection but swerved just in time. My heart was beating way too fast and I was coated in sweat. Then the headlights of a truck filled my line of vision and its horn blasted out a warning.
It missed us by inches.
I could not take it anymore. I pulled up at the side of the road and sat there shaking.
I glanced over at the man in the fedora and was amazed to see he was grinning.
“What in Hades’ name is going on?” I snapped.
“I am a freelance operative,” he replied. “I am paid by the government to eliminate monsters.”
I looked at him, lost for words.
“Sounds crazy, I know,” he continued. “But I assure you I don’t need a straight-jacket, just one more favour. I live a couple of blocks from here. I’m figuring it would be safer to walk the rest of the way and, while my Kevlar vest, soaked up most of the blast I’m still in a world of pain…”
He left it hanging there.
I sighed then told him I’d help him get home but that was it.
A day that had started with me being fired had descended into chaos and my nerves were shredded.
With him leaning on me we made our way slowly through the streets, until finally we reached what looked to me like a derelict warehouse. Even though it was late, a steady stream of traffic passed by. This city never slept.
“This is my place,” he said, while unlocking the door with a big brass key. The door opened with a creak and I helped him inside.
He flicked a light switch on, revealing a long open plan room that was a strange mix of workshop and living space.
An old and very comfortable looking sofa sat in front of a tv that looked about thirty years old. There was a fridge nearby, a stove, and a sink that was piled high with dishes.
A tool box stood open on the floor near to the sink, and a wide wooden workbench ran along the side of one wall.
There was an unmade bed as well, and an empty clothes hanger. Rumpled clothes lay scattered across the floor.
“I’m guessing you live here alone,” I said.
He shrugged and responded with, “Wherever I lay my stakes, that’s my home.”
I thought he was joking until I saw the row of wooden stakes lined up against one of the walls. The tip of each was sharpened – just like the one he had used in the bar.
He tapped the nearest one and said, “I like to keep plenty of replacements. Always seem to be leaving the things behind.”
Then he made his way over to the sofa and sunk down onto it.
I could see he was still in a lot of pain, but his breathing was regular and as I watched his eyelids closed and he started to snore quietly.
It was time for me to make my exit – only I could hear the rain falling heavily against the roof of the building. It sounded filthy outside, and I was beat.
There was an armchair in one corner of the room. It looked ancient and the lining was split open in a bunch of places. At that moment in time, it also looked incredibly comfortable.
I dragged myself over and pretty much collapsed onto it.
I don’t even remember closing my eyes.
The next thing I knew, I was blinking and yawning and rubbing my face. The morning sun was reaching into the room from a skylight and there was a pot of coffee brewing on the stove.
There was also a fax machine whirring into life.
I thought they’d gone the way of the dinosaurs so was bemused by the spectacle as a printout appeared. I went over to see what was on the sheet of paper.
It was a two-tone reproduction of a mug shot. Whoever it was, was not going to win any beauty contests. He looked desperate and dangerous. He also appeared human, but I assumed there was more to him than met the eye, if he was of interest to a monster hunter.
Below the picture there was a dollar sign followed by four figures.
I whistled quietly to myself. To a man in my dire financial straits, it was a substantial sum.
I was thinking how having that kind of money in my pocket would have made my life a whole lot better, when the man who I had helped the night before came into the room.
He took the printout from me, studied it, then said, “Looks like it’s time for me to go back to work.”
His leather coat and fedora were on the floor. He started to bend over to pick them up but pulled up in pain.
“Look,” I said. “If I understand this right, and you’re going to try and take out that desperado for that fee, then I would say you are going to fail. I reckon at the best you’ve cracked a couple of ribs. What you need is a partner, with a fifty-fifty split of the money when we succeed.”
He did not look happy about my suggestion and replied, “It will be dangerous in the extreme. You must realise that after seeing the last couple of vermin I took out?”
Unease trickled through me. But I wasn’t going to be put off that easily. I really wanted the money.
I pointed at the mug shot and asked, “What kind of monster is this?”
He grabbed a second page that had appeared from the fax machine, read it, then told me, “It says he is a shapeshifter. He is more dangerous than the lycanthrope I killed in the alley because he can change at will, not just during the full moon, and he could well share the cold logic of the vampire from the bar. The amount of the fee reflects this.”
I swallowed and tried to pretend like I was not scared as I said, “My offer to partner up with you still stands.”
He felt his ribs then looked me in the eye and growled, “Let’s do this thing.”
He drove this time, wincing every time we hit a pothole.
I had the two printouts on my lap and was leafing through an old A to Z of the city. I was looking for the street name that was among the details provided on the second sheet of paper.
“You do know it’s much easier to do this online,” I told him, as yet another bump in the road made me lose my page.
“Easier, but risky,” he told me. “Emails and messaging services are frequently hacked but no one is looking for information sent by fax. And who’s to say someone is not looking at the results of your internet searches the moment you bring them up.”
“I guess you don’t trust money being wired into banks either. So how do you get paid?” I said with a cynical tone.
He replied without missing a beat: “In cash. Used notes. Collected from drop off points, and never the same place. Do you like being given cash in hand? I know I do.”
I had to smile. He had me there. I went back to the A to Z.
After a couple of unnecessary detours caused by my rusty map reading, we finally turned into the right street. The apartment block we were looking for was on our left.
Finding monsters in alleys and dive bars had made sense. I also assumed monsters would hang out in graveyards, crumbling mansions, and other generally creepy and run down locations.
As I climbed out of the car and looked up, I was surprised.
The apartment block was sleek and modern. Balconies extended below each window. The views from the upper ones must have been stunning. And back down at ground level there was no graffiti or trash anywhere in sight.
“Are you sure this is the right place?” I asked.
He looked me at me and said, “The fax never lies.”
Then, hiding his pain behind a swagger, he strode up to the entrance and pressed a bunch of intercom buttons all at once.
“Someone is bound to be expecting a delivery,” he said, and sure enough we were buzzed in straight away.
We made our way through the plush lobby and waited on the elevator. The details we had been given also told us the shapeshifter lived in the penthouse suite.
“Must be profitable being a monster,” I said as the display showed the elevator descending.
The man in the fedora kept his attention on the display as he replied, “For some it can be. They use their differences to gather fortunes and power, sometimes through deluded acolytes, sometimes through violence and cunning. For others, though, being different is a curse, pure and simple. They wallow in filth, driven by base instincts to feed and hide. Either way, it is only a matter of time before they are identified as monsters and an operative is sent to end them.”
The elevator arrived and the doors slid open. The interior was wallpapered and there was a small, ornate sofa on one side. More signs that the shapeshifter had clearly done very well for himself.
That was all about to change.
The elevator ride was smooth and swift, and we emerged into a corridor where our boots sank into a thick, white carpet. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed a security camera fixed high on the wall turn to face us.
I pointed it out and whispered, “Motion activated.”
The man in the fedora drew and obliterated the camera. “Not anymore,” he said and walked up to the door leading to the penthouse.
“It’s over,” he yelled then slammed his boot into the door. I noticed for the first time that he had steel toe caps and steel heels. The door cracked, he forced it open and stepped inside.
I followed. I could feel the adrenaline pushing my fear away.
The downtrodden security guard was history, I was a monster hunter’s partner now.
The vestibule of the penthouse was larger than any of the rooms in my apartment. There were oil paintings on the wall and light fittings that sparkled like jewels. A door opened up off it.
The man in the fedora was already barging through it. I hurried after him, into a living room with a floor to ceiling window. High rises soared in the distance.
A man sat in an antique chair in one corner of the room. I recognised him from the mug shot.
He had an arrogant sneer on his face. An arrogance that spread to his voice when he said, “Breaking into my home was a mistake. The last one you will ever make.”
Then he rose to his feet – and began to change.
His entire body expanded and within seconds he loomed over us. His skin cracked and dark fur began to appear. His fingers split open and claws unfurled, and the sneering face that looked down on us was now that of a beast.
It growled and with dizzying speed went for the man in the fedora.
He made to draw, but his injuries must have slowed him because the shapeshifter reached him before he could.
The shapeshifter lashed out with one of its claw-tipped paws, and the man in the fedora was sent flying across the room.
He lay there looking dazed. His leather coat and Kevlar vest were ripped and blood was seeping out.
The shapeshifter raised its claws, ready to inflict a fatal blow.
I had to act. I grabbed a chair and swung this at the shapeshifter. It turned and smashed the chair out of my grip.
I was left standing there as the shapeshifter snarled at me. The only thing I had achieved was to move up the victim chain. I would be diced and sliced and left as a gory mess on the floor.
My life flashed before my eyes, and I felt sick to the core as I realised my last thought would be: I have wasted my time on this earth.
Then something whipped into sight, a blur of silver. The shapeshifter looked confused, then its head toppled to the floor.
The man in the fedora dragged himself into view. He was holding a silver boomerang. “An excellent weapon,” he drawled, “Portable, with an edge that will cut through most anything, and very loyal. It always comes back.”
The decapitated head was already changing back into that of a man. A very dead man.
I turned away and was violently sick.
By the time I had recovered, the man in the fedora had left the room. I ran after him and called out, “Do we still have a deal? I get half of the fee.”
He was stepping into the elevator and did not turn round as he replied, “Yeah, sure. I’m going to collect it now. I’ll meet you later to hand over your share. Be at the alley where we first met, at midnight. And don’t be late.”
The doors slid closed behind him.
I punched the air and said, “Yes!”
I was too wired to head home or go for a drink so once again found myself pacing the streets.
I was excited at the prospect of the cash coming my way, but I wanted more than a pay-off. I wanted to be back on the trail of a monster. I wanted the rush of the confrontation. The elation of victory.
Sure, I was green and I knew there was no way I could strike out on my own. But the way forward was obvious. I had persuaded the man in the fedora to partner up with me once. I would do that again.
I was still telling myself that as I waited for him in the alley. It was five minutes to midnight.
Then midnight came and went and there was no sign of him.
I told myself not to worry. He would be there soon, with my money, and I would seize my opportunity to change my life forever.
But, by one a.m., I was still alone.
I cursed the man in the fedora. Did he think he could rip me off?
Well, there was no way I was going to let that happen.
I set off for his base.
It took me hours to get there on foot. I was exhausted but still furious, until I saw that his door was hanging open.
I knew that someone as security conscious as him would never have left it like that, and my anger dissipated.
My nerves tingling with dread, I slipped inside – to be met by a shocking sight.
The man in the fedora was lying on the floor in a pool of blood.
“No,” I cried out and ran forwards. I knelt next to him and tried to find a pulse, but there was nothing.
I began to weep. And as I did so, laughter drifted from the edge of the room.
I span round. A tall, pale figure dressed all in black walked into view. His eyes were pools of darkness. My mind flashed back to the lone figure in the bar.
The vampire.
Was this his kin?
“You did this.” I spat the accusation out.
The pale figure smiled. “I took my revenge.”
I was shaking as I screamed at him, “You murderer!”
The pale figure shook his head. “No. I did not kill him, because there are worse things than death I can inflict. You will see.”
Then, he walked away, out into the night.
My mind was racing. I needed to do something. But, what?
I decided I should take care of the body first. It was an empty shell now, but I still wanted to treat it with respect.
I grabbed a towel from among the things on the floor and began to clean away the blood. I stopped when I saw two wounds on the neck.
They were small and deep and I knew in my heart what they were.
Bite marks.
I recalled the vampire’s words: … there are worse things than death I can inflict.
And now when I looked down at the man in the fedora’s chest, I could see it was moving. This was so slight, it was no wonder I had missed it, but there was no question now. He was not dead.
He was undead.
I knelt there and watched as his chest rose and fell, as his eyes opened.
I could see the pain in them, the confusion.
“What happened?” he asked. His voice was very faint.
I told him. There was no point in lying. No way back.
And he knew that. Better than me.
“I can’t exist like this. As a monster,” he said in a quiet, weary voice.
Then he asked me to help him get up. I supported him as he struggled to his feet. He took off his fedora and handed it to me.
It was dawn by now and the sun was starting to reach into the room through the skylight.
He began to move through the shadows that remained towards the still open door.
He hesitated for a moment on the threshold, perhaps remembering his own life, perhaps summoning the courage he needed, then he stepped outside.
Through the gap, I could see the smoke rising from his exposed skin as the sunlight touched him.
I closed my eyes. I could not bear to watch.
I stayed like that for a long time. After a while, I moved over to the sofa and collapsed onto it.
I felt more alone and lost than I had ever done in my whole miserable life. The world was infected by evil. How could I find my place in it now my eyes had been opened to this?
At dusk, I made a decision.
There was one thing l could do. One thing I had to do:
Take revenge.
The need for this burnt white hot inside me.
I put the fedora on, picked up a stake and stepped outside.
The rain struck the streets as I stared out into the night. The lights of cars blurred as they passed, and sirens rose and fell in their endless serenade.
I took a deep breath. Excitement and fear mingled inside me. It was time to go to work.
submitted by doomedgeek to mrcreeps [link] [comments]
I was stationed in shopping malls where my days were spent asking teenagers to move on. I sat behind desks in the lobbies of office blocks staring at CCTV monitors where nothing happened for hour after hour. And I patrolled construction sites on freezing cold nights, actually wishing someone would try and break in and steal some of the building materials. At least then I could get warm by chasing them.
My job was garbage.
One night, I was responding to an alarm which had gone off at the lot of a car dealership.
I parked up outside. The alarm was flashing but there was no sign of damage to the building so I assumed it was yet another waste of time.
I stood in front of the window and looked at the sleek, high-performance vehicles on display that cost more than I would earn in a lifetime on my pathetic wage. My reflection peered back at me: a sad figure dressed in a grey security guard’s uniform.
I sighed, turned away and headed back to my car. I had left my work phone on the passenger seat. I had to use it to fill in an online form after every call out before leaving the scene and would get my wages docked if I did not complete all the boxes correctly. It felt so futile.
I unlocked the car and was reaching for the door handle when I saw movement across the road. A glimpse of something running on all fours.
It slipped down an alley and away out of sight.
I thought at first that it might have been a fox.
There were a small number of exclusive restaurants in the surrounding blocks and their refuse would be packed with tasty morsels for scavengers. They wouldn’t care that it was leftovers from haute cuisine prepared by a chef with his own show on cable tv.
But my hand hovered over the door handle.
What if it had been a dog? I wondered. A stray destined for the pound that would eventually, heartbreakingly, be put to sleep.
I had always liked dogs a lot. I admired their loyalty and their tenacity, though my circumstances over the years had meant I had not owned one since I was a teenager.
And though I should have got busy filling in the mind-numbing online form, I decided that could wait.
I wanted to see if it was a dog. If it was, maybe I could rescue it and give it a home. That would give my empty life some kind of purpose.
Trying not to think about how I was going to afford to pay for dog food and veterinarian’s bills, I set off on the animal’s trail.
The alley I had entered was narrow and dark. I gave my eyes a moment to adjust then carried on. I moved slowly, not wanting to spook the animal.
I knew that if it felt threated it could lash out, and the last thing I needed was a trip to ER to get treated for a bite.
But there was no sign of it and the only sound was a drunk singing in the distance.
I shook my head sadly. I would have to give up and get back to the car. There would be another job lined up for me by now and the supervisor would be wondering where I was.
I turned – but did not take another step.
A pair of eyes glowed in the darkness ahead of me. They were red and burning with rage.
I could see the snout of the animal now as well and its teeth… only they were not the teeth of any kind of dog or fox. They were way too big, way too sharp.
They were fangs. And they were coming my way.
My guts cramped with fear.
I needed to get out of there or stand and fight. I clenched my firsts.
The animal was close. It began to snarl and crouch. I realised with horror that it was about to go for me.
Suddenly the alley was filled with the sound of screeching tyres and an engine roaring like it was fit to burst.
A car sped into view. It was backing in and barely fit into the cramped space. Its sides scraped along the sides of the alley with a sickening screech. Then it slammed to a halt.
I heard a door open, and a man stepped out of the driver’s seat.
He wore a battered leather coat that reached almost to his ankles. A fedora was balanced at a rakish angle on his head.
He smiled, and I saw the glint of a gold tooth.
“Well, howdy,” he said to me, “I will take it from here.”
The animal had not moved since he had arrived on the scene. It had remained low to the ground, its teeth bared, its hackles raised.
The man stood tall before it, patted a holster on his hip and said, “I got six silver pieces in here. I will need only one. There will be no morning after regrets then. The only thing waiting for you will be a cold hard grave.”
It was insane. He was speaking to a crazed animal as if it could understand him.
The animal responded with a howl, then leapt at him.
Moving with lightning speed and agility, the man rolled out of the way and was back on his feet in a flash. He drew, and a loud retort filled the alley – all while the animal was still mid-air.
The impact of the projectile sent it spiralling down. It hit the ground heavily and did not move.
I stood there transfixed, barely able to breathe.
The man opened the trunk of his car, picked the animal up and placed it inside.
As he closed the trunk, I could swear I saw pale human skin appearing beneath the animal’s fur.
The man turned back to me. “Word of advice, stranger. Stay out of dark alleys on nights like these. The full moon’s real pretty, but she brings out the beast.”
Then he tapped the brim of his fedora in a relaxed salute and climbed back into his car.
I was left standing watching open-mouthed as he drove away.
I had not noticed that it was a full moon but, when I looked up, I saw it burning bright in the dark city night.
I took a deep breath and headed back to my car.
There were missed calls on my work phone and a red-flagged email telling me to report to personnel in the morning.
I did not tell the drone in the suit who I met in the security company’s headquarters at 9.30 the next day what had happened in the alley. I knew that was pointless. There was no way he would believe me – and, it turned out, the damage was already done.
I listened as he told me that I was fired for taking an unauthorised break.
It took all my self-control not to reach over the desk, grab him and tell him exactly what I thought of his organisation and his stupid face.
With my head held high, I walked out onto the street. I had my dignity but nothing else. I was unemployed and close to broke.
I needed to think. I decided it was too early to go to a bar and consider my options over a stiff drink, and my cramped apartment was the last place I wanted to be when I was already feeling down, so I set off walking.
I had no destination in mind, I just drifted.
As I paced the streets, my mood got bleaker and bleaker. I could not see a way out of the dire situation I was in.
Finally, as dusk fell, I gave in to the temptation of a drink. There was a bar on the corner. It had no windows and there was broken glass and cigarette ends scattered across the sidewalk in front of it.
It was a dive.
Ideal for a loser like me then, I figured, and headed in.
The inside of the bar was hazy with smoke and dimly lit by a fluorescent strip that was dancing with flies. There were half a dozen patrons nursing beers, and a juke box was playing a song about looking for love.
The only thing anyone was going to find in this place was regret and stale breath.
I headed to the bar and ordered a double bourbon neat. The barman slid over a glass and poured out the drink.
The rim of the glass had more fingerprints on it than a crime scene. Telling myself that alcohol was a very effective disinfectant, I downed the bourbon in one, then turned to leave.
Call it the ambiance, call it the dirty looks I was getting because my eyebrows did not meet in the middle, but this bar was not helping my mood one little bit.
I was almost back at the door, when it swung open and the man from the alley strolled in.
His fedora, long leather coat and confident strut made him stand out a mile in the seedy bar.
He looked at me and I saw recognition in his eyes, but he carried on right by me without a word and made his way towards a lone figure sitting at a corner table.
I’d paid this man no heed before. He was keeping to the shadows and, even as he was approached, he had eyes only for the drink that sat in front of him.
Common sense was telling me that there was about to be trouble and I should leave, but I had not ended up one step away from the gutter by listening to my common sense.
So I leant against a wall and watched and waited.
The man wearing the fedora had reached the table. He had his back to me, but I imagined a gold tooth glinting as he said, “It is time to end this.”
His voice was calm and cold. He meant business.
The lone figure responded by taking a long drink, then placing his glass back down slowly and deliberately. The sound of the glass clinking on the tabletop was the loudest sound in the bar by now.
The juke box was silent and everyone else in there seemed transfixed by the encounter as well.
The lone figure got to his feet. He was slender and dressed all in black. In the gloom, his eyes were two points of darkness and his skin looked drained of all colour.
Then he smiled, and I felt a cold chill run through my body.
The tips of his teeth were viciously sharp points. Had he had filed them down to be like that? I wondered. Or was there another explanation?
One that belonged far from the light of day, in a dank, dark place like this.
The lone figure kept smiling as he said, “That’s not going to happen. It’s night now, so I will be leaving here to get myself a drink that satisfies my thirst. The plasma they keep behind the bar for me here just doesn’t cut it. In fact, this whole situation lacks bite.”
Then he snarled and his jaws snapped open. His grotesque teeth looked like a steel trap. One that was about to close around the neck of the man in the fedora.
But, once again, he moved at speed, producing a sharp wooden stake from inside his leather coat and striking it into the heart of the lone figure – who screamed then crumbled into dust.
The man in the fedora turned to walk away.
Only his path to the door was blocked by the barman. He held a sawn-off. “You should not have done that,” he said. “Vampires are my best customers.”
Then he let loose with both barrels.
There was nothing the man in the fedora could do. He was sent flying backwards, crashing through chairs and tables before sliding to a halt.
Appalled at this vicious assault, I threw myself at the barman and knocked him out with a right hook.
Then I scrambled over to the man in the fedora. He was in a bad way, but he was still breathing. His eyes flickered opened.
I forced a reassuring smile onto my face and said, “Don’t try and move. I’ll call 911.”
“No, there’ll be too many questions.” he gasped and tried to sit up. His face contorted with pain and he swore. Then, through gritted teeth, he said, “Help me get out of here.”
I had no idea what he was talking about and still thought calling the authorities was the best thing to do, but I saw that the other customers were giving us filthy looks and that the barman was coming round. I decided that getting out of there as soon as possible was the wisest option after all.
I helped the man in the fedora get to his feet and took as much of his weight as I could as we struggled towards the door and out into the night.
I recognised his car parked across from the bar. He gave me the keys and collapsed into the passenger seat.
I was about to tell him I was not insured to drive his vehicle when I saw the door of the bar open and the barman emerge.
Getting pulled over for a traffic offense was small change compared to the volley that was about to come our way, so I dived into the car, gunned the engine and gripped the wheel as we sped away.
I almost hit a car at the next intersection but swerved just in time. My heart was beating way too fast and I was coated in sweat. Then the headlights of a truck filled my line of vision and its horn blasted out a warning.
It missed us by inches.
I could not take it anymore. I pulled up at the side of the road and sat there shaking.
I glanced over at the man in the fedora and was amazed to see he was grinning.
“What in Hades’ name is going on?” I snapped.
“I am a freelance operative,” he replied. “I am paid by the government to eliminate monsters.”
I looked at him, lost for words.
“Sounds crazy, I know,” he continued. “But I assure you I don’t need a straight-jacket, just one more favour. I live a couple of blocks from here. I’m figuring it would be safer to walk the rest of the way and, while my Kevlar vest, soaked up most of the blast I’m still in a world of pain…”
He left it hanging there.
I sighed then told him I’d help him get home but that was it.
A day that had started with me being fired had descended into chaos and my nerves were shredded.
With him leaning on me we made our way slowly through the streets, until finally we reached what looked to me like a derelict warehouse. Even though it was late, a steady stream of traffic passed by. This city never slept.
“This is my place,” he said, while unlocking the door with a big brass key. The door opened with a creak and I helped him inside.
He flicked a light switch on, revealing a long open plan room that was a strange mix of workshop and living space.
An old and very comfortable looking sofa sat in front of a tv that looked about thirty years old. There was a fridge nearby, a stove, and a sink that was piled high with dishes.
A tool box stood open on the floor near to the sink, and a wide wooden workbench ran along the side of one wall.
There was an unmade bed as well, and an empty clothes hanger. Rumpled clothes lay scattered across the floor.
“I’m guessing you live here alone,” I said.
He shrugged and responded with, “Wherever I lay my stakes, that’s my home.”
I thought he was joking until I saw the row of wooden stakes lined up against one of the walls. The tip of each was sharpened – just like the one he had used in the bar.
He tapped the nearest one and said, “I like to keep plenty of replacements. Always seem to be leaving the things behind.”
Then he made his way over to the sofa and sunk down onto it.
I could see he was still in a lot of pain, but his breathing was regular and as I watched his eyelids closed and he started to snore quietly.
It was time for me to make my exit – only I could hear the rain falling heavily against the roof of the building. It sounded filthy outside, and I was beat.
There was an armchair in one corner of the room. It looked ancient and the lining was split open in a bunch of places. At that moment in time, it also looked incredibly comfortable.
I dragged myself over and pretty much collapsed onto it.
I don’t even remember closing my eyes.
The next thing I knew, I was blinking and yawning and rubbing my face. The morning sun was reaching into the room from a skylight and there was a pot of coffee brewing on the stove.
There was also a fax machine whirring into life.
I thought they’d gone the way of the dinosaurs so was bemused by the spectacle as a printout appeared. I went over to see what was on the sheet of paper.
It was a two-tone reproduction of a mug shot. Whoever it was, was not going to win any beauty contests. He looked desperate and dangerous. He also appeared human, but I assumed there was more to him than met the eye, if he was of interest to a monster hunter.
Below the picture there was a dollar sign followed by four figures.
I whistled quietly to myself. To a man in my dire financial straits, it was a substantial sum.
I was thinking how having that kind of money in my pocket would have made my life a whole lot better, when the man who I had helped the night before came into the room.
He took the printout from me, studied it, then said, “Looks like it’s time for me to go back to work.”
His leather coat and fedora were on the floor. He started to bend over to pick them up but pulled up in pain.
“Look,” I said. “If I understand this right, and you’re going to try and take out that desperado for that fee, then I would say you are going to fail. I reckon at the best you’ve cracked a couple of ribs. What you need is a partner, with a fifty-fifty split of the money when we succeed.”
He did not look happy about my suggestion and replied, “It will be dangerous in the extreme. You must realise that after seeing the last couple of vermin I took out?”
Unease trickled through me. But I wasn’t going to be put off that easily. I really wanted the money.
I pointed at the mug shot and asked, “What kind of monster is this?”
He grabbed a second page that had appeared from the fax machine, read it, then told me, “It says he is a shapeshifter. He is more dangerous than the lycanthrope I killed in the alley because he can change at will, not just during the full moon, and he could well share the cold logic of the vampire from the bar. The amount of the fee reflects this.”
I swallowed and tried to pretend like I was not scared as I said, “My offer to partner up with you still stands.”
He felt his ribs then looked me in the eye and growled, “Let’s do this thing.”
He drove this time, wincing every time we hit a pothole.
I had the two printouts on my lap and was leafing through an old A to Z of the city. I was looking for the street name that was among the details provided on the second sheet of paper.
“You do know it’s much easier to do this online,” I told him, as yet another bump in the road made me lose my page.
“Easier, but risky,” he told me. “Emails and messaging services are frequently hacked but no one is looking for information sent by fax. And who’s to say someone is not looking at the results of your internet searches the moment you bring them up.”
“I guess you don’t trust money being wired into banks either. So how do you get paid?” I said with a cynical tone.
He replied without missing a beat: “In cash. Used notes. Collected from drop off points, and never the same place. Do you like being given cash in hand? I know I do.”
I had to smile. He had me there. I went back to the A to Z.
After a couple of unnecessary detours caused by my rusty map reading, we finally turned into the right street. The apartment block we were looking for was on our left.
Finding monsters in alleys and dive bars had made sense. I also assumed monsters would hang out in graveyards, crumbling mansions, and other generally creepy and run down locations.
As I climbed out of the car and looked up, I was surprised.
The apartment block was sleek and modern. Balconies extended below each window. The views from the upper ones must have been stunning. And back down at ground level there was no graffiti or trash anywhere in sight.
“Are you sure this is the right place?” I asked.
He looked me at me and said, “The fax never lies.”
Then, hiding his pain behind a swagger, he strode up to the entrance and pressed a bunch of intercom buttons all at once.
“Someone is bound to be expecting a delivery,” he said, and sure enough we were buzzed in straight away.
We made our way through the plush lobby and waited on the elevator. The details we had been given also told us the shapeshifter lived in the penthouse suite.
“Must be profitable being a monster,” I said as the display showed the elevator descending.
The man in the fedora kept his attention on the display as he replied, “For some it can be. They use their differences to gather fortunes and power, sometimes through deluded acolytes, sometimes through violence and cunning. For others, though, being different is a curse, pure and simple. They wallow in filth, driven by base instincts to feed and hide. Either way, it is only a matter of time before they are identified as monsters and an operative is sent to end them.”
The elevator arrived and the doors slid open. The interior was wallpapered and there was a small, ornate sofa on one side. More signs that the shapeshifter had clearly done very well for himself.
That was all about to change.
The elevator ride was smooth and swift, and we emerged into a corridor where our boots sank into a thick, white carpet. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed a security camera fixed high on the wall turn to face us.
I pointed it out and whispered, “Motion activated.”
The man in the fedora drew and obliterated the camera. “Not anymore,” he said and walked up to the door leading to the penthouse.
“It’s over,” he yelled then slammed his boot into the door. I noticed for the first time that he had steel toe caps and steel heels. The door cracked, he forced it open and stepped inside.
I followed. I could feel the adrenaline pushing my fear away.
The downtrodden security guard was history, I was a monster hunter’s partner now.
The vestibule of the penthouse was larger than any of the rooms in my apartment. There were oil paintings on the wall and light fittings that sparkled like jewels. A door opened up off it.
The man in the fedora was already barging through it. I hurried after him, into a living room with a floor to ceiling window. High rises soared in the distance.
A man sat in an antique chair in one corner of the room. I recognised him from the mug shot.
He had an arrogant sneer on his face. An arrogance that spread to his voice when he said, “Breaking into my home was a mistake. The last one you will ever make.”
Then he rose to his feet – and began to change.
His entire body expanded and within seconds he loomed over us. His skin cracked and dark fur began to appear. His fingers split open and claws unfurled, and the sneering face that looked down on us was now that of a beast.
It growled and with dizzying speed went for the man in the fedora.
He made to draw, but his injuries must have slowed him because the shapeshifter reached him before he could.
The shapeshifter lashed out with one of its claw-tipped paws, and the man in the fedora was sent flying across the room.
He lay there looking dazed. His leather coat and Kevlar vest were ripped and blood was seeping out.
The shapeshifter raised its claws, ready to inflict a fatal blow.
I had to act. I grabbed a chair and swung this at the shapeshifter. It turned and smashed the chair out of my grip.
I was left standing there as the shapeshifter snarled at me. The only thing I had achieved was to move up the victim chain. I would be diced and sliced and left as a gory mess on the floor.
My life flashed before my eyes, and I felt sick to the core as I realised my last thought would be: I have wasted my time on this earth.
Then something whipped into sight, a blur of silver. The shapeshifter looked confused, then its head toppled to the floor.
The man in the fedora dragged himself into view. He was holding a silver boomerang. “An excellent weapon,” he drawled, “Portable, with an edge that will cut through most anything, and very loyal. It always comes back.”
The decapitated head was already changing back into that of a man. A very dead man.
I turned away and was violently sick.
By the time I had recovered, the man in the fedora had left the room. I ran after him and called out, “Do we still have a deal? I get half of the fee.”
He was stepping into the elevator and did not turn round as he replied, “Yeah, sure. I’m going to collect it now. I’ll meet you later to hand over your share. Be at the alley where we first met, at midnight. And don’t be late.”
The doors slid closed behind him.
I punched the air and said, “Yes!”
I was too wired to head home or go for a drink so once again found myself pacing the streets.
I was excited at the prospect of the cash coming my way, but I wanted more than a pay-off. I wanted to be back on the trail of a monster. I wanted the rush of the confrontation. The elation of victory.
Sure, I was green and I knew there was no way I could strike out on my own. But the way forward was obvious. I had persuaded the man in the fedora to partner up with me once. I would do that again.
I was still telling myself that as I waited for him in the alley. It was five minutes to midnight.
Then midnight came and went and there was no sign of him.
I told myself not to worry. He would be there soon, with my money, and I would seize my opportunity to change my life forever.
But, by one a.m., I was still alone.
I cursed the man in the fedora. Did he think he could rip me off?
Well, there was no way I was going to let that happen.
I set off for his base.
It took me hours to get there on foot. I was exhausted but still furious, until I saw that his door was hanging open.
I knew that someone as security conscious as him would never have left it like that, and my anger dissipated.
My nerves tingling with dread, I slipped inside – to be met by a shocking sight.
The man in the fedora was lying on the floor in a pool of blood.
“No,” I cried out and ran forwards. I knelt next to him and tried to find a pulse, but there was nothing.
I began to weep. And as I did so, laughter drifted from the edge of the room.
I span round. A tall, pale figure dressed all in black walked into view. His eyes were pools of darkness. My mind flashed back to the lone figure in the bar.
The vampire.
Was this his kin?
“You did this.” I spat the accusation out.
The pale figure smiled. “I took my revenge.”
I was shaking as I screamed at him, “You murderer!”
The pale figure shook his head. “No. I did not kill him, because there are worse things than death I can inflict. You will see.”
Then, he walked away, out into the night.
My mind was racing. I needed to do something. But, what?
I decided I should take care of the body first. It was an empty shell now, but I still wanted to treat it with respect.
I grabbed a towel from among the things on the floor and began to clean away the blood. I stopped when I saw two wounds on the neck.
They were small and deep and I knew in my heart what they were.
Bite marks.
I recalled the vampire’s words: … there are worse things than death I can inflict.
And now when I looked down at the man in the fedora’s chest, I could see it was moving. This was so slight, it was no wonder I had missed it, but there was no question now. He was not dead.
He was undead.
I knelt there and watched as his chest rose and fell, as his eyes opened.
I could see the pain in them, the confusion.
“What happened?” he asked. His voice was very faint.
I told him. There was no point in lying. No way back.
And he knew that. Better than me.
“I can’t exist like this. As a monster,” he said in a quiet, weary voice.
Then he asked me to help him get up. I supported him as he struggled to his feet. He took off his fedora and handed it to me.
It was dawn by now and the sun was starting to reach into the room through the skylight.
He began to move through the shadows that remained towards the still open door.
He hesitated for a moment on the threshold, perhaps remembering his own life, perhaps summoning the courage he needed, then he stepped outside.
Through the gap, I could see the smoke rising from his exposed skin as the sunlight touched him.
I closed my eyes. I could not bear to watch.
I stayed like that for a long time. After a while, I moved over to the sofa and collapsed onto it.
I felt more alone and lost than I had ever done in my whole miserable life. The world was infected by evil. How could I find my place in it now my eyes had been opened to this?
At dusk, I made a decision.
There was one thing l could do. One thing I had to do:
Take revenge.
The need for this burnt white hot inside me.
I put the fedora on, picked up a stake and stepped outside.
The rain struck the streets as I stared out into the night. The lights of cars blurred as they passed, and sirens rose and fell in their endless serenade.
I took a deep breath. Excitement and fear mingled inside me. It was time to go to work.
2023.04.01 14:46 eZGjBw1Z New and Changed Products - April 2023
Usually around the first of the month we have a batch of price changes and this month is no different. According to the "How to Become a Contract Liquor Agent" document, "The Agent must also complete price changes that occur at the first of the month..."
The changes today seem to be mostly price decreases, some with a corresponding change to De-Listed status which suggests they're now "Last Call" products. There are also quite a few new products. I had to separate Vodka changes into its own reply below.
I plan to reply to this post throughout the month if I notice other significant changes happening or at the end of the month before the next update to keep the changes in one place. Here's a link back to what changed in March 2023.
For each category I've sorted by the amount of the price increase or decrease. New products are shown first, then price decreases are shown in decreasing order followed by price increases in increasing order. At the end are products with other changes unrelated to price.
Current product status is indicated on each line as follows. OHLQ hasn't publicly explained what these things mean but I've included my best guess below.
submitted by eZGjBw1Z to OhioLiquor [link] [comments]
The changes today seem to be mostly price decreases, some with a corresponding change to De-Listed status which suggests they're now "Last Call" products. There are also quite a few new products. I had to separate Vodka changes into its own reply below.
I plan to reply to this post throughout the month if I notice other significant changes happening or at the end of the month before the next update to keep the changes in one place. Here's a link back to what changed in March 2023.
For each category I've sorted by the amount of the price increase or decrease. New products are shown first, then price decreases are shown in decreasing order followed by price increases in increasing order. At the end are products with other changes unrelated to price.
Current product status is indicated on each line as follows. OHLQ hasn't publicly explained what these things mean but I've included my best guess below.
- A = Active
- Regularly supplied and available for purchase
- D = De-Listed
- No longer carried by OHLQ, may still be available in some stores or the warehouse. Sometimes considered a Last Call product
- I = Inactive
- Discontinued by the supplier or otherwise unavailable to OHLQ
- S = Special Order
- Regularly available but in limited supply. Not available in very many stores
- V = Value-Added-Pack
- Bottle comes with some kind of extra gift like a glass/mug/etc
American Whiskey
- New Products
- [A] 291 COLORADO BOURBON WHISKEY BARREL PROOF SINGLE ($95.36 / 750 ML)
- [A] 291 COLORADO WHISKEY BARREL PROOF SINGLE BARREL ($95.36 / 750 ML)
- [A] A.M. SCOTT DISTILLERY SCOTTY'S BOURBON WHISKEY ($39.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] A.M.SCOTT DISTILLERY FOUNDER'S SELECT BOURBON ($59.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] BARDSTOWN BOURBON COMPANY ORIGINS RYE ($69.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] BARDSTOWN FOUR SQUARE COLLAB ($159.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] BERNHEIM WHEAT BARREL PROOF ($64.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] BRAIN BREW DEXTER SMALL BATCH WHEAT ($59.97 / 750 ML)
- [A] BUZZARD'S ROOST CHAR 1 BOURBON ($54.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] BUZZARD'S ROOST CHAR 1 RYE ($45.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] CEDAR RIDGE STRAIGHT BOURBON WHISKEY ($32.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] CHICKEN COCK DOUBLE OAK BOURBON ($99.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] CLERMONT STEEP AMERICAN SINGLE MALT ($59.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] ECHO SPIRITS DISTILLING CO BARREL PROOF BOURBON ($49.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] ECHO SPIRITS DISTILLING CO BARREL PROOF RYE ($49.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] ECHO SPIRITS DISTILLING CO BOURBON WHISKEY ($38.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] EZRA BROOKS 99 RYE ($24.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] FIVE TRAIL BLENDED AMERICAN WHISKEY ($49.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] FOX & ODEN AMERICAN SINGLE MALT WHISKEY ($69.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] FOX & ODEN STRAIGHT BOURBON WHISKEY ($89.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] GREEN RIVER BOURBON ($34.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] GREEN RIVER WHEATED BOURBON ($34.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] HAYNER HONEY RYE WHISKEY ($59.95 / 750 ML)
- [A] HAYNER MAPLE RYE WHISKEY ($59.95 / 750 ML)
- [S] HEAVEN HILL HERITAGE COLLECTION 2ND EDITON ($289.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] HIGH N' WICKED 5YR CASK STRENGTH BOURBON ($89.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] HIGH N' WICKED 5YR KY STRAIGHT RYE WHISKEY ($79.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] HIGH N' WICKED KY STRAIGHT BOURBON ($79.99 / 750 ML)
- [S] JACK DANIELS SINGLE BARREL PC BARREL PROOF ($65.99 / 750 ML)
- [S] JACK DANIELS SINGLE BARREL PERSONAL COLLECTION ($49.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] LAKE ERIE MAPLE WHISKY ($51.54 / 750 ML)
- [A] LAKE ERIE WHISKY ($28.51 / 750 ML)
- [A] MICHTER'S SMALL BATCH SOUR MASH ($48.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] NORTHERN YANKEE SUGAR SHINE ($34.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] NULU DOUBLE OAKED SMALL BATCH BOURBON ($84.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] OAK & EDEN BOURBON & BREW ($52.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] OAK & EDEN WHEAT & HONEY ($52.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] OLD ELK CIGAR CUT ($129.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] OLD ELK WHEAT N RYE ($99.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] PENELOPE ROSE CASK ($69.99 / 750 ML)
- [S] PENELOPE ROSE CASK PRIVATE BARREL ($79.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] PINHOOK HIGH PROOF RYE WHISKEY ($49.99 / 750 ML)
- [S] RABBIT HOLE CAVEHILL SINGLE BARREL ($149.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] REBEL 100 RYE ($21.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] SAGAMORE SPIRIT ($79.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] SMOKE WAGON SMALL BATCH BOURBON WHISKEY ($47.33 / 750 ML)
- [A] SMOKE WAGON STRAIGHT BOTTLED IN BOND RYE WHISKEY ($57.44 / 750 ML)
- [A] SMOKE WAGON STRAIGHT MALTED BARLEY RYE WHISKEY ($68.40 / 750 ML)
- [A] SMOKE WAGON STRAIGHT WHISKEY BOURBON ($25.42 / 750 ML)
- [A] SMOKE WAGON UNCUT THE YOUNGER BOURBON WHI ($36.37 / 750 ML)
- [A] SMOKE WAGON UNCUT UNFILTERED BOURBON WHISKEY ($65.03 / 750 ML)
- [A] UNCLE NEAREST SINGLE BARREL WHISKEY ($79.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] VON PAYNE BLACK ($59.97 / 750 ML)
- [A] WATERSHED UNCUT UNFILTERED BOURBON ($69.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] WHISTLEPIG BEHOLDEN 21 YR. OLD ($800.00 / 750 ML)
- [S] WHISTLEPIG PIGGYBACK RYE SINGLE BARREL ($59.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] WHISTLEPIG PIGGYBACK RYE BROTHER OSBORNE SERIES ($49.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] WHISTLEPIG PIGLETS ($24.90 / 50 ML)
- [A] WOODSTONE CREEK RIVER CITY BLACK LABEL ($37.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] YELLOWSTONE AMERICAN SINGLE MALT ($54.99 / 750 ML)
- Price decreases
- [D] KENTUCKY OWL BOURBON ($149.99 / 750 ML) - $150.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] WILD TURKEY MASTER'S KEEP BOTTLED IN BOND 17 YEAR ($99.99 / 750 ML) - $100.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] ELIJAH CRAIG 23 ($99.99 / 750 ML) - $99.99↓
- [D] AMADOR 12 YEAR BOURBON ($74.99 / 750 ML) - $50.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] SAM HOUSTON 14 YEAR OLD BOURBON ($71.99 / 750 ML) - $48.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] OLD ELK RYE WHISKEY ($59.99 / 750 ML) - $40.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] SAM HOUSTON KENTUCKY STRAIGHT BOURBON WHISKEY ($59.99 / 750 ML) - $40.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] JEFFERSONS TWIN OAK SMALL BATCH ($50.99 / 750 ML) - $34.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] REMUS REPEAL RESERVE IV ($50.99 / 750 ML) - $34.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] RANSOM THE EMERALD 1865 WHISKEY ($49.49 / 750 ML) - $32.50↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] UNCLE NEAREST MASTER BLEND EDITION ($44.99 / 750 ML) - $30.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [S] WIDOW JANE LUCKY 13 SMALL BATCH BOURBON ($99.99 / 750 ML) - $25.00↓
- [D] NASHVILLE BARREL CO SMALL BATCH RYE ($35.99 / 750 ML) - $24.00↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] BACK ROOM DEAL HUDSON PEATED RYE ($32.99 / 750 ML) - $22.00↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] BAKER BIRD ($32.99 / 750 ML) - $22.00↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] ROSSVILLE UNION BARREL SELECT RYE WHISKEY ($32.99 / 750 ML) - $22.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [A] BOURBON LEGENDS GIFT ($29.99 / 375 ML) - $20.71↓
- [D] JEFFERSONS CHEFS ($34.99 / 750 ML) - $15.00↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] SMOOTH AMBLER OLD SCOUT RYE CASK ($34.99 / 750 ML) - $15.00↓
- [D] STRAIGHT EDGE BURBON ($31.49 / 750 ML) - $13.03↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] BOONE COUNTY SMALL BATCH RYE WHISKEY ($29.49 / 750 ML) - $12.50↓, Active to De-Listed
- [A] HIGH WEST MANHATTAN BARREL FINISHED COCKTAIL RTD ($27.99 / 750 ML) - $12.00↓
- [A] HUDSON BABY BOURBON ($27.99 / 750 ML) - $12.00↓
- [D] HUDSON DO THE RYE THING ($27.99 / 750 ML) - $12.00↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] HUDSON SINGLE BABY BOURBON BARREL ($27.99 / 750 ML) - $12.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] YELLOW ROSE RYE WHISKEY ($27.49 / 750 ML) - $11.50↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] JIM BEAM ORANGE ($25.99 / 1.75 Liter) - $11.00↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] MAKERS MARK 46 WITH 2 COASTERS ($25.99 / 750 ML) - $11.00↓, Value Added Packs to De-Listed
- [D] MAKER'S MARK 46 WITH STOPPER ($25.99 / 750 ML) - $11.00↓, Value Added Packs to De-Listed
- [D] MAKERS MARK GIFT ($24.99 / 375 ML) - $10.35↓, Value Added Packs to De-Listed
- [D] SLAUGHTER HOUSE WHISKEY ($24.49 / 750 ML) - $10.20↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] BOWMAN BROTHERS SMALL BATCH ($20.99 / 750 ML) - $9.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [A] DASHFIRE BOURBON OLD FASHIONED COCKTAIL RTD ($20.99 / 750 ML) - $9.00↓
- [D] GENTLEMAN JACK GIFT ($20.99 / 750 ML) - $9.00↓, Value Added Packs to De-Listed
- [D] HOTEL TANGO BOURBON BOTTLED IN BOND ($20.99 / 750 ML) - $9.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] NELSON'S GREEN BRIER TENNESSEE WHISKEY ($20.99 / 750 ML) - $9.00↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] 2BAR STRAIGHT BOURBON WHISKEY 80 PROOF ($20.99 / 750 ML) - $8.76↓, Active to De-Listed
- [A] CLEVELAND UNDERGROUND BLACK CHERRY ($34.99 / 750 ML) - $8.00↓
- [A] CLEVELAND WHEAT PENNY BOURBON ($34.99 / 750 ML) - $8.00↓
- [D] MAKERS MARK WITH MUGS ($18.99 / 750 ML) - $8.00↓, Value Added Packs to De-Listed
- [D] MAKER'S MARK WITH ORNAMENT ($18.99 / 750 ML) - $8.00↓, Value Added Packs to De-Listed
- [D] CASK & CREW WALNUT TOFFEE ($19.99 / 750 ML) - $5.00↓, Active to De-Listed
- [A] CLEVELAND MAGIC RABBIT WHISKEY ($21.99 / 750 ML) - $5.00↓
- [D] JACK DANIELS HONEY & ICE MOLD ($19.99 / 750 ML) - $5.00↓, Value Added Packs to De-Listed
- [D] JACK DANIELS MUSIC CTN WITH SHOT GLASS ($19.99 / 750 ML) - $5.00↓, Value Added Packs to De-Listed
- [D] JACK DANIELS HISPANIC CTN WITH 2 ROCK GLASSES ($19.49 / 750 ML) - $4.50↓, Value Added Packs to De-Listed
- [D] JIM BEAM BLACK WITH COASTERS ($17.99 / 750 ML) - $4.00↓, Value Added Packs to De-Listed
- [D] WHISKEYSMITH CHOCOLATE FLAVORED WHISKEY ($17.99 / 750 ML) - $4.00↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] CATDADDY SPICED MOONSHINE ($15.99 / 750 ML) - $3.96↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] JIM BEAM GIFT ($15.49 / 750 ML) - $3.50↓, Value Added Packs to De-Listed
- [D] JIM BEAM PEACH WITH HIGHBALL GLASS ($15.49 / 750 ML) - $3.50↓, Value Added Packs to De-Listed
- [D] ROBERSON'S TENNESSEE MELLOMOON ($14.49 / 750 ML) - $3.42↓, Active to De-Listed
- [A] CLEVELAND BRIDGE AND MAIN AMERICAN WHEAT ($24.99 / 750 ML) - $3.00↓
- [D] SENATORS CLUB ($11.99 / 1.75 Liter) - $3.00↓, Active to De-Listed
- [A] WESTERN RESERVE SMALL BATCH BOURBON ($36.99 / 750 ML) - $3.00↓
- [D] HOOTERS SPIRITS AMERICAN STRAIGHT WHISKEY ($12.99 / 1 Liter) - $2.84↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] HOOTERS SPIRITS HEAT CINNAMON WHISKEY ($11.49 / 1 Liter) - $2.73↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [A] QUALITY HOUSE ($10.49 / 1 Liter) - $2.50↓
- [A] CLYDE MAYS ALABAMA STYLE WHISKEY 85P ($32.99 / 750 ML) - $2.00↓
- [A] CLYDE MAYS STRAIGHT BOURBON 92P ($34.99 / 750 ML) - $2.00↓
- [A] HIGH WEST BOURBON ($37.99 / 750 ML) - $2.00↓
- [A] HIGH WEST DOUBLE RYE ($37.99 / 750 ML) - $2.00↓
- [A] OLE SMOKY COOKIE DOUGH WHISKEY ($17.99 / 750 ML) - $2.00↓
- [A] OLE SMOKY PEANUT BUTTER WHISKEY ($17.99 / 750 ML) - $2.00↓
- [A] OLE SMOKY SALTY CARAMEL WHISKEY ($17.99 / 750 ML) - $2.00↓
- [S] GOODWOOD BOURBON FINISHED IN WALNUT BROWN BARRELS ($67.99 / 750 ML) - $0.41↓
- [A] GOODWOOD HONEY ALE FINISHED BOURBON ($67.99 / 750 ML) - $0.41↓
- [A] GOODWOOD RYE ($67.99 / 750 ML) - $0.41↓
- [A] GOODWOOD STOUT FINISHED BOURBON ($67.99 / 750 ML) - $0.41↓
- Price increases
- [S] COLONEL E.H. TAYLOR STRAIGHT RYE ($69.99 / 750 ML) - $28.00↑, De-Listed to Special Order
- Changed products
- [D] JIM BEAM ORANGE PET ($34.99 / 1.75 Liter) - Active to De-Listed
- [D] KNOB CREEK RYE CASK STRENGTH 2019 ($69.99 / 750 ML) - Active to De-Listed
- [D] REBEL 100 PROOF ($2.00 / 50 ML) - Active to De-Listed
- [S] BROWN SUGAR BOURBON ($17.99 / 750 ML) - $7.00↑, De-Listed to Special Order
Brandy
- New Products
- [A] MEUKOW VS COGNAC ($7.99 / 200 ML)
- [A] PAUL MASSON VS TRAVELER ($9.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] R JELINEK SLIVOVITZ 5 YEAR ($23.95 / 700 ML)
- [A] TAKOVO PRIRODNA PREPECENICA PLUM BRANDY ($29.73 / 1 Liter)
- Price decreases
- [D] BRANSON XO COGNAC ($149.99 / 750 ML) - $100.01↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] HENNESSY XO ICE EXPERIENC ($149.49 / 750 ML) - $99.50↓, Value Added Packs to De-Listed
- [D] BRANSON VSOP COGNAC ($41.99 / 750 ML) - $28.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] HENNESSY VSOP PRIVILEGE MANHATTAN VAP ($38.49 / 750 ML) - $25.50↓
- [D] BRANSON VSOP ROYAL COGNAC ($35.99 / 750 ML) - $24.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] NONINO MERLOT ($34.49 / 750 ML) - $22.50↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] REMY MARTIN VSOP HERITAGE EDITION ($34.99 / 750 ML) - $15.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] COPPER & KINGS CRAFT BRANDY ($24.49 / 750 ML) - $10.50↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] FLORES ZUTA OSA ($21.99 / 750 ML) - $9.19↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] MASION GAUTIER COGNAC VS ($19.99 / 750 ML) - $8.00↓, Active to De-Listed
- [S] CONCIERE BRANDY ($13.69 / 1 Liter) - $1.21↓
Canadian Whiskey
- New Products
- [A] CROWN ROYAL GOLDEN APPLE 23YR ($249.99 / 750 ML)
- Price decreases
- [A] 18 YEAR CARIBBEAN CASK RYE WHISKEY ($124.99 / 750 ML) - $50.00↓
- [D] REVEL STOKE ROASTED PINEAPPLE ($11.49 / 750 ML) - $2.50↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [A] CROWN ROYAL PEACH ($26.99 / 750 ML) - $1.00↓
- [A] BLACK VELVET ($4.99 / 375 ML) - $0.50↓
- Changed products
- [D] MCMASTERS CANADIAN ($7.49 / 750 ML) - Active to De-Listed
Cordial
- New Products
- [A] CROOKED FINGER BASIL LIQUEUR ($34.69 / 750 ML)
- [A] FIREBALL 100ML 6 PACK CARRIER ($10.99 / 600 ML)
- [A] FIREBALL 20 PACK WINDOW BOX ($15.99 / 600 ML)
- Price decreases
- [D] DESTILLARE ORANGE CURACAO ($20.99 / 750 ML) - $9.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] RIGA BLACK BALSAM ($20.99 / 750 ML) - $9.00↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] VECCHIO AMARO DEL CAPO ($20.99 / 750 ML) - $9.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [A] JAGERMEISTER ($39.99 / 1.75 Liter) - $8.50↓
- [D] JAGERMEISTER SUSTAINABLE MUG VAP ($19.49 / 750 ML) - $4.50↓, Value Added Packs to De-Listed
- [D] MOLINARI EXTRA ($19.49 / 750 ML) - $4.50↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] AMARO ALTA VERDE ($16.99 / 750 ML) - $4.00↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] IICHIKO SILHOUETTE SHOCHU ($15.99 / 750 ML) - $4.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] ST ELDER BLOOD ORANGE LIQUEUR ($15.99 / 750 ML) - $4.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] WEST 32 RESERVE SOJU ($15.99 / 750 ML) - $4.00↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] DRAMBUIE ($15.49 / 375 ML) - $3.50↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] PARAMOUNT PEPPERMINT ($14.49 / 1.75 Liter) - $3.50↓, Active to De-Listed
- [S] CONCIERE AMARETTO ($7.49 / 1 Liter) - $3.42↓
- [D] CONCIERE COFFEE LIQUEUR ($8.99 / 1 Liter) - $1.92↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- Changed products
- [D] BOLS BLUE CURACAO ($8.65 / 750 ML) - Active to De-Listed
- [S] MARTINI & ROSSI BITTER ($19.99 / 750 ML) - De-Listed to Special Order
Gin
- New Products
- [A] A.M. SCOTT DISTILLERY GIN ($24.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] BOMBAY PREMIUM CRU ($34.99 / 700 ML)
- [S] BRECKENRIDGE GIN ($18.64 / 1 Liter)
- [A] HENDRICK'S FLORA ADORA GIN ($40.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] LAKE ERIE 5 BOTANICAL GIN ($50.14 / 750 ML)
- [V] MALFY ROSA COPA GLASS GIFT SET ($28.99 / 750 ML)
- Price decreases
- [D] THE BOTANIST ($27.99 / 750 ML) - $12.00↓
- [D] MONKEY 47 GIN W 2 CUPS ($25.99 / 375 ML) - $11.00↓, Value Added Packs to De-Listed
- [D] LONEWOLF CLOUDY LEMON GIN ($22.49 / 750 ML) - $9.50↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] LONEWOLF GIN ($22.49 / 750 ML) - $9.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] JUNIPERO ($22.49 / 750 ML) - $8.97↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [A] WESTERN RESERVE ORGANIC PREMIUM GIN ($24.99 / 750 ML) - $4.96↓
- [D] BIERCEE PEKET DE HOUYEU ($17.49 / 750 ML) - $4.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [A] MALFY GIN CON ARANCIA ($28.99 / 750 ML) - $3.00↓
- [A] MALFY GIN CON LIMONE ($28.99 / 750 ML) - $3.00↓
- [V] Malfy Gin Con Limone With 2 Glasses ($28.99 / 750 ML) - $3.00↓
- [A] MALFY ORIGINALE GIN ($28.99 / 750 ML) - $3.00↓
- [A] MALFY ROSA GIN ($28.99 / 750 ML) - $3.00↓
- [D] RIVES 1880 ($13.99 / 750 ML) - $3.00↓, Active to De-Listed
- [A] GILBEYS GIN ($9.49 / 1 Liter) - $2.00↓
- [D] HOOTERS SPIRITS GIN ($8.49 / 1 Liter) - $1.72↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [S] PRAIRIE GIN ($17.99 / 750 ML) - $1.50↓, De-Listed to Special Order
- Changed products
- [D] INDOGGO GIN ($0.99 / 50 ML) - Active to De-Listed
- [D] SEAGRAMS EXTRA DRY GIN ($1.00 / 50 ML) - Active to De-Listed
Irish Whisky
- New Products
- [A] GLENDALOUGH 7YR MIZUNARA ($99.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] GLENDALOUGH DOUBLE BARREL IRISH WHISKEY ($29.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] GLENDALOUGH POT STILL IRISH WHISKEY ($49.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] SAILOR'S HOME HORIZON ($64.99 / 750 ML)
- Price decreases
- [D] REDBREAST SMALL BATCH ($62.49 / 750 ML) - $41.50↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] TYRCONNELL 10 YEAR MADEIRA CASK ($32.99 / 750 ML) - $22.00↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] TYRCONNELL 10 YEAR PORT CASK ($32.99 / 750 ML) - $22.00↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] IRISH AMERICAN ($22.49 / 750 ML) - $9.51↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- Changed products
- [S] JAMESON 18 YEAR ($169.99 / 750 ML) - Active to Special Order
- [S] JAMESON MINI BAR ($3.99 / 600 ML) - Active to Special Order
Rum
- New Products
- [A] BACARDI MANGO CHILE ($13.99 / 750 ML)
- [S] CALYPSO SPICED RUM ($8.51 / 1 Liter)
- [A] CHAIRMAN'S RESERVE 1931 ($99.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] RHUM J M VSOP ($57.99 / 700 ML)
- [A] RHUM J.M. GOLD ($39.99 / 700 ML)
- Price decreases
- [D] HAMPDEN ESTATE OVERPROOF ($44.49 / 750 ML) - $29.50↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] ANGOSTURA 1919 RUM ($26.99 / 750 ML) - $11.00↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] AVUA CACHACA PRATA ($22.49 / 750 ML) - $9.50↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] RUM BAR JAMAICAN GOLD RUM ($20.49 / 1 Liter) - $8.68↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] FIVE HUNDRED CUTS BOTANICAL RUM ($18.49 / 750 ML) - $7.50↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [A] TIKI LOVERS DARK RUM ($19.99 / 750 ML) - $5.00↓
- [S] CONCIERE GOLD RUM ($8.69 / 1 Liter) - $4.23↓
- [D] ANGOSTURA 5 YEAR RUM ($15.99 / 750 ML) - $4.00↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] BAYOU RUM SILVER ($15.99 / 750 ML) - $4.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [A] SALTWATER WOODY REAL GRAPEFRUIT ($14.49 / 750 ML) - $3.49↓
- [D] GOSLINGS GOLD SEAL ($13.99 / 750 ML) - $3.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] SAO PAULO CACHACA ($10.49 / 1 Liter) - $2.53↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] CONCIERE SPICED RUM ($10.49 / 1 Liter) - $2.43↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] CRUZAN CITRUS RUM ($7.99 / 750 ML) - $2.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] HOOTERS SPIRITS DARK RUM ($9.49 / 1 Liter) - $1.81↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] HOOTERS SPIRITS LIGHT RUM ($9.49 / 1 Liter) - $1.81↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [A] WESTERN RESERVE DISTILLERS PREMIUM RUM ($24.99 / 750 ML) - $1.00↓
- Price increases
- [S] CRUZAN SINGLE BARREL ($22.99 / 750 ML) - $4.60↑, De-Listed to Special Order
- Changed products
- [D] CAPTAIN MORGAN SLICED APPLE RUM ($1.00 / 50 ML) - Special Order to De-Listed
Scotch
- New Products
- [A] BUCHANANS PINEAPPLE ($34.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] LOCH LOMOND ORIGINAL SINGLE MALT SCOTCH WHISKY ($29.99 / 750 ML)
- Price decreases
- [S] MACALLAN 30 ($2,500.01 / 750 ML) - $2,499.96↓
- [D] TALISKER 30 YEAR OLD SINGLE MALT SCOTCH WHISKY ($499.99 / 750 ML) - $500.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] LAPHROAIG 25 YEAR 2015 ($449.99 / 750 ML) - $300.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] LAPHROAIG 25 YEAR 2019 ($449.99 / 750 ML) - $300.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] ARDBEG 22 YEAR OLD ($274.99 / 750 ML) - $275.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] HAKUSHU 18 YEAR ($359.99 / 750 ML) - $240.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] GLENFIDDICH GRAND CRU 23 YO ($185.99 / 750 ML) - $124.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] ABERLOUR 18 YEAR FIRST FILL SHERRY ($179.99 / 750 ML) - $120.00↓
- [D] CARDHU 16 YEAR OLD SINGLE MALT SCOTCH WHISKY ($107.99 / 750 ML) - $72.00↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] GLENMORANGIE TALE OF WINTER GB ($59.99 / 750 ML) - $40.00↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] PAUL JOHN CHRISTMAS 2020 EDITION ($50.99 / 750 ML) - $34.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] HIGHLAND PARK VALKYRIE ($47.99 / 750 ML) - $32.00↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] SIGNATORY 2008 MORTLACH UNCHILLFILTERED ($44.99 / 750 ML) - $30.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] EDRADOUR 10 YEAR SINGLE MALT SCOTCH ($41.99 / 750 ML) - $28.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [A] GLENFIDDICH INDIA PALE ALE CASK ($31.99 / 750 ML) - $21.00↓
- [D] AUCHENTOSHAN AMERICAN OAK ($34.99 / 750 ML) - $15.00↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] SPEYBURN COMPANION CASK ($31.49 / 750 ML) - $13.49↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] SHINJU ($26.99 / 750 ML) - $11.07↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] GLENMORANGIE 10 YEAR OLD GIRAFFE TIN ($30.49 / 750 ML) - $9.50↓, Value Added Packs to De-Listed
- [S] CONCIERE SCOTCH ($11.79 / 1 Liter) - $6.12↓
- [A] ARDBEG 10 ($59.99 / 750 ML) - $5.00↓
- Price increases
- [A] DEWARS 8 CARIBBEAN SMOOTH ($24.99 / 750 ML) - $6.50↑, De-Listed to Active
- Changed products
- [S] GLENLIVET XXV ($449.97 / 750 ML) - Active to Special Order
Tequila
- New Products
- [S] 818 EIGHT RESERVE ANEJO ($200.00 / 750 ML)
- [A] ASOMBROSO LA ROSA REPOSADO TEQUILA ($59.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] CAZADORES 100 YEAR ANNIVERSARY ($39.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] CENOTE ANEJO ($54.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] CENOTE REPOSADO ($49.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] CODIGO 1530 14 YEAR EXTRA ANEJO ($6,574.83 / 750 ML)
- [A] CODIGO 1530 TEQUILA ANEJO RARE HARE PLAYBOY BLACK ($1,687.83 / 1 Liter)
- [A] DOS PRIMOS ANEJO ($54.99 / 750 ML)
- [S] EL TEQUILENO BLANCO ($23.95 / 750 ML)
- [A] HERRADURA ULTRA ($32.99 / 375 ML)
- [A] KARRIKIN ANEJO BLAZE ($49.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] KARRIKIN BLAZE REPOSADO ($34.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] LAKE ERIE BLANCO AGAVE SPIRITS ($51.54 / 750 ML)
- [A] LAKE ERIE EL AGAVE SILVER ($51.54 / 750 ML)
- [A] LALO TEQUILA BLANCO ($49.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] LUNAZUL REPOSADO ($25.63 / 375 ML)
- [A] MANGO SHOTTA ($19.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] MARGARITAVILLE SILVER TEQUILA 10 PACK ($9.99 / 600 ML)
- [A] MILAGRO MARGARITA RTD ($16.99 / 375 ML)
- [A] PIEDRA AZUL BLANCO ($19.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] SIETE LEGUAS D'ANTANO EXTRA ANEJO ($299.99 / 750 ML)
- [A] TEREMANA BLANCO TEQUILA ($36.99 / 1 Liter)
- Price decreases
- [D] CINCORO ANEJO TEQUILA ($239.99 / 1.75 Liter) - $160.00↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] EL MAYOR EXTRA ANEJO RUM CASK TEQUILA ($77.99 / 750 ML) - $52.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] DEL MAGUEY CHICHICAPA ($44.99 / 750 ML) - $30.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] DEL MAGUEY MINERO ($44.99 / 750 ML) - $30.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] HERRADURA REPOSADO BARREL ($35.99 / 750 ML) - $24.00↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] PATRON SILVER SPEC ($35.99 / 1 Liter) - $24.00↓, Active to De-Listed
- [A] TEQUILA TROMBA ANJEO ($35.99 / 750 ML) - $24.00↓
- [D] LA ADELITA REPOSADO TEQUILA ($31.99 / 750 ML) - $21.00↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] PATRON SILVER WINDOW PACK ($34.49 / 750 ML) - $14.50↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] PATRON SILVER HERITAGE TIN ($33.99 / 750 ML) - $14.00↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] EL COBRE ($31.49 / 750 ML) - $13.50↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] LA ADELITA BLANCO ($31.49 / 750 ML) - $13.50↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] CABEZA TEQUILA ($30.99 / 1 Liter) - $13.14↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] IXA SILVER ($30.49 / 1 Liter) - $12.86↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [A] ASTRAL REPOSADO ($27.99 / 750 ML) - $12.00↓
- [D] SAN DIMAS MEZCAL ($27.99 / 750 ML) - $12.00↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] TEQUILA TROMBA REPOSADO ($27.99 / 750 ML) - $12.00↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] JAJA BLANCO TEQUILA ($24.49 / 750 ML) - $10.50↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] TEQUILA TROMBA BLANCO ($24.49 / 750 ML) - $10.50↓, Active to De-Listed
- [A] SUAVECITO EXTRA ANEJO ($139.99 / 750 ML) - $10.00↓
- [D] TALERO TEQUILA SILVER ($23.99 / 750 ML) - $9.86↓, Active to De-Listed
- [D] TRES AGAVES BLANCO GIFT ($20.49 / 750 ML) - $8.50↓, Value Added Packs to De-Listed
- [D] HORNITOS REPOSADO W/2 SHOT GLASSES ($18.49 / 750 ML) - $7.50↓, Value Added Packs to De-Listed
- [A] WESTERN RESERVE ORGANIC ANEJO ($39.99 / 750 ML) - $6.00↓
- [A] WESTERN RESERVE ORGANIC REPOSADO ($29.99 / 750 ML) - $5.00↓
- [A] ASTRAL TEQUILA BLANCO ($24.99 / 750 ML) - $5.00↓
- [A] CODIGO 1530 BLANCO ($42.99 / 750 ML) - $5.00↓
- [A] CODIGO REPOSADO TEQUILA ($59.99 / 750 ML) - $5.00↓
- [A] WESTERN RESERVE ORGANIC BLANCO ($24.99 / 750 ML) - $4.96↓
- [A] CABO WABO BLANCO ($32.99 / 750 ML) - $4.00↓
- [A] CABO WABO REPOSADO ($37.99 / 750 ML) - $4.00↓
- [D] HOOTERS SPIRITS TEQUILA GOLD ($17.49 / 1 Liter) - $3.81↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [D] HOOTERS SPIRITS TEQUILA SILVER ($17.49 / 1 Liter) - $3.81↓, Special Order to De-Listed
- [A] TILENO ESPADIN JOVEN MEZCAL ($49.99 / 750 ML) - $3.00↓
Vodka
See below2023.04.01 13:50 CIAHerpes Corpse lights have taken over the woods near my home. Something is living within them.
As I stood sipping a cup of green tea in the middle of the night, sitting on my porch and looking into the swamp beyond my house, sickly lights began to dance and flash in front of my eyes. I remembered my grandmother’s warning about the corpse lights.
“Teddie,” she said to me, sitting on the same porch twenty years earlier, smoking a cigarette and drinking a glass of wine, “do you see those lights? The ones that stay close to the ground, change colors and disappear or reappear constantly?” My small five-year-old self nodded.
“Yes, Grammie,” I said. “They’re pretty.” She nodded at this, taking another long drag off of her cigarette.
“Yes, they sure are,” she said gravely. “They’re also dangerous. You should never go into those woods at night, but especially when those lights are there. Where I’m from, we call them corpse lights. It means the fae are nearby. They like to hide behind the lights.” I nodded quietly at this. She had told me about the fae, how they sometimes kidnapped children and took them to their underground lairs, never to be seen again. She didn’t tell me what the fae did to those children, or why they wanted children at all. She simply said they were not to be trusted and that I should always avoid areas where they frequented, especially at nighttime.
“There are lots of fae haunting grounds near here,” she said to me. “It has been that way since before the Europeans settled this land centuries ago. The Native Americans used to consider that swamp sacred ground.”
But now I was an adult, and moreover, I was curious. I had looked up the scientific explanations for these lights that appeared and disappeared in flashes all over the forest and swamp, showing up in blue, green, red or white flashes that shimmered and vibrated. Supposedly it had something to do with the decomposition of plant matter and the resulting gasses that appeared. People had been seeing them for thousands of years, calling them by many names.
As I sat there, thinking about Grammie Greylock, who had died just a few years earlier, the old-style TV on the porch changed from some sitcom with too much fake laughter into the nightly news. A pretty young reporter sat at a desk, staring into the camera.
“And we start with some breaking news: the latest victim of the Westland Ripper was found today. Police say a woman in her thirties was found sexually assaulted and tortured to death by her father, who later told police he hadn’t heard from her in a week. This latest murder brings the known number of victims up to twelve. With us, we have Special Agent Ellis of the FBI. What can you tell us about this serial killer and the investigations?” The nondescript agent appeared on the screen, speaking deadpan into the camera.
“Well, unlike most known serial killers, this suspect targets both males and females. He is an equal opportunity killer. And he is extremely organized, planning his crimes in meticulous detail before…” I shut the TV off, rising and stretching out my arms and back. The news was always so depressing, and the latest crime had happened only a twenty minute drive from where I live, which made it even worse. My attention returned to those floating lights behind my house.
I got up out of my chair, chugging the last of my green tea quickly, and went inside to grab a flashlight. Without a second thought, I walked out towards the trail that wound its way through the swamp and deep into the forest.
At first, it was just a beautiful night hike. The stars were bright overhead, as there was no light pollution for miles in any direction. The moon looked nearly full, and my light caught many bats flashing through the trees, hunting bugs and squeaking in their eerie way.
Then I heard something that didn’t sound like any animal I had ever heard. It was a deafening screaming noise, but it wasn’t a fox or a fisher cat. I knew the cries of both of those animals, having heard them frequently living out here in the country. This was a sound like a woman overcome by the deepest grief, like the wail of a mother who just lost her only child.
“Hello?” I called into the darkness. The corpse lights began to drift towards me, floating a few inches off the ground and shimmering with colors. I stopped, an eerie creeping feeling coming over me. I immediately turned around and tried to walk back home as fast as I could.
But within a few feet of walking, the corpse lights started to cover the trail, smaller ones seeming to congeal into larger bubbles of flashing light. I saw flashes within, as if tiny bolts of lightning were flicking across the clouds.
Hesitating, taking a deep breath in, I put my right hand into the corpse light, the white shimmering seeming to lessen for a moment as I touched its surface. And then I could see every vein, artery and capillary in my entire hand.
Shrieking, I pulled it back out, looking down. My skin was back and my hand seemed totally fine. But my heart was still beating fast, and I felt eyes all over me.
“What in the hell was that?” I whispered to myself, regretting ever stepping foot in the woods.
I stared deeper into the corpse lights, and realized the surface looked like it was zooming into itself- as if it were a fractal image. I saw the same sparks of lightning arranged in the same way over and over as it moved faster, the white light on the outside shimmering as it moved towards the center.
And then a naked, sickly-looking woman stepped out of it, breaking my hypnosis instantly. At least, I thought it was a woman, until I looked at her face.
Her face was melting off, like candle wax. It deformed, beads of skin dripping off her nose and chin constantly, but it constantly reformed itself. Her eyes would be covered by the constantly shifting skin and muscle, but then reappear again, shining silver in the moonlight.
The body of the thing was thin and emaciated, looking like a cancer patient in the last days of life. I could see every single rib, and her hip bones stuck out over legs that looked like twigs.
But her hair was somehow the most disturbing part. It was stringy, black, and clotted together with what looked like blood. Drips of black fluid and dozens of writhing maggots constantly fell off the ends of each clump of hair, which was so long it reached nearly to her knees, being the only covering on her diseased-looking body.
Time seemed to slow down, and in a moment, I flashed back to a conversation I had with my grandmother.
***
“Never run from a fae,” she said as we sat on the back porch in the afternoon sunlight. “They will tear you apart. When I was a little girl, my grandmother told me the same thing, and it saved my life. I accidentally stumbled into one as a teenager.” I tried to think of her as a teenager, but my mind failed completely. I had always known her as a sweet, old woman. “And like my grandmother told me, you grab it, hug it as tight as you can, and it will hug you back.” I giggled at this, thinking of hugging a fairy. She smiled down at me.
“It’s not like a real hug, though,” she continued. “It’s like you’re hugging it with your mind, and its mind hugs you back. And it will take you someplace else, and if you keep hugging it long enough, it will be under your power. The fae cannot lie. You can even tell it to come to you if you ever need it, though I don’t recommend it. When it comes, it won’t be under your power any longer- it will be free, and it will be angrier and stronger than ever.”
“Why can’t they lie, Grammie?” I asked, snuggling closer to her on the bench, feeling her warm, comforting presence next to me. She shrugged.
“They worship the truth, live in the truth,” she said. “It’s like their religion. They don’t worship God, but they worship power, life and death and sometimes, evil. All those things spring from the truth- they have existed since the beginning of time. The fae cannot think except through that which has always existed, so it limits them and their minds.”
I shuddered, my small, five-year-old mind trying to comprehend it- and failing. I just hoped I would never run into one.
***
Trembling, a sickly sweet sweat starting to pop out all over my body as my adrenaline soared, I ran forward, arms out. I grabbed the thing across the chest, but part of me knew I was not grabbing it with my physical body at all. It was more like my mind wrapped around its heart. Its mouth widened into an O that took over most of its melting face, its silver eyes widened, and then I was out of my body completely.
We were descending through the ground together. I smelled the grass and leaves as we rushed through them like ghosts, and then we entered the dirt underneath. The corpse lights had expanded to become the entire world around us as we sped faster, forever going straight downwards. It felt as if I were descending through some gas giant, Jupiter or Saturn maybe. Multi-colored, thick gasses swirled all around us, huge lightning bolts sending white light shooting out in all directions, yet making no sound.
The melting face of the woman grinned up at me, lengthening fangs showing underneath the waxy dripping of her skin. I smiled back, even though inside I was terrified, and even thought I might die of a heart attack if this went on too long. I tightened my mind around her, seeing it like a rope twisting around her bony, naked chest, and I saw her grin turn into a grimace. She did the same back at me, and I felt my chest tightening, a suffocating feeling overtaking me. I couldn’t breathe, but the more anxiety and fear I felt, the more I kept tightening my consciousness around her body.
“Stop that,” she said in my mind, speaking telepathically instead of physically, her real mouth now opened into a silent scream. “You’re hurting me. You’re killing me. Release me now.”
“No,” I grunted through the suffocating tightness. “Not until you give up.”
“Release me, or I will drop you down here,” she responded, now yelling in my mind, sending all other thoughts scattering like scared fish in a pond. The corpse lights had begun to clear, and we were in some horrific landscape, deep under the Earth.
All around us, massive leeches crawled, ten feet long. Tortured beings of all kinds tried to run, but their tormentors were too fast. Some had massive holes on their chests and back and faces, clotted gore running out, but they healed again, and new swarms of leeches slithered over and lunged at them in turn.
Out of the ponds and lakes all around us, black water hid eldritch monstrosities underneath. But tentacles flew out anytime anyone ran too close to the water, fanged suckers ripping through the victims’ flesh, dragging them upside down and plunging them into the water. The echoing of the screams and the splashing of the water resounded back and forth across the light brown stones of the caverns, soft light spilling out from the rocks themselves. I saw other fae like the woman standing here and there, some of them sleeping in small nooks dug out in the cave walls, others helping to torment the beings and laughing about it as they did so.
“You… cannot…” I said through gritted teeth. She could not drop me unless I let go first. I felt her will beginning to give.
“I’m dying,” her voice screamed in my mind. “You’re killing me!”
“Then give up,” I whispered, though I also felt close to death. My vision was beginning to turn black, my head bursting with pain.
“I release you,” her voice said, and the pain was gone instantly. I kept hold on her for a few more seconds.
“Do you promise to do what I ask if I let go?” I said.
“Yes!” her voice said in my head, and I released her. Floating, I fell back a few inches, taking in deep, sweet breaths, my vision returning to normal, my heart no longer so tight it felt like a fist was closing over it.
“First, what is your name?” I gasped.
“My name is Lilin,” she said, her face melting faster, her eyes blazing with hatred and fury. Out of nowhere, an idea came to me- a dangerous one, but my instincts told me to go with it.
“OK, Lilin. Mine is Teddie. When I say ‘Come to me now, Lilin’ in the future, you will come.” She nodded, her eyes seeming to smile now, the look of hatred receding from her face.
“Yes, when you say, ‘Come to me now, Lilin,’ I will come.” Her voice sounded so spiteful and full of hate that I flinched slightly when she sent this message out.
“Now bring me back up!” I said, feeling relieved to have survived and not gotten stuck in this underground Hell on Earth. I drew close to her again, wrapping my mind around hers, seeing my mind’s projection of arms wrap around her strange, sickly body, and within moments, we were back in the dark woods. I was standing in my body at the same spot that I had been when I first saw her, hyperventilating as I swayed unsteadily on my feet.
“Get out of these woods,” she whispered in a low, demonic voice, “and the next time I see you, I will kill you.”
I walked out of there, pouring myself a huge glass of whiskey when I got home. But I still didn’t sleep that night. I was afraid of what I would see if I did. My hands were trembling so badly that, when I poured myself the fourth glass of whiskey around dawn, I dropped the entire bottle, seeing it shatter all over the porch.
***
A few weeks passed, and I began to wonder whether I had imagined the entire thing, maybe while sleepwalking or during some strange, isolated seizure event. After all, every day that passed made the encounter seem more and more like a dream.
The night that I saw Lilin again, I had just gotten home from work. I felt exhausted. It was Friday, and I just wanted to lay down and catch up on my sleep. I fell down heavily on the bed, and I was out almost instantly.
My dream was bizarre. I kept seeing that fae woman from the forest, her face dripping off the bones. When all the flesh was gone and puddled on the floor at her feet, she smiled at me, just a skull, and pointed up at the sky.
I looked up and saw a symbol I had never seen before- it looked like a backwards silver-colored seven with a diagonal slash through it, surrounded by a glowing white circle.
“Soon, I will be free,” she said to me, her skull chattering out of sync with the words, yet her voice still coming through loudly and clearly. “That symbol will guarantee it. And I will never stop hunting you until we are even.”
A crash brought me back to waking life. I sat up in my bed, looking at the alarm clock. 11:47 AM.
I heard footsteps crunching on broken glass in the kitchen. A few seconds later, a man with an executioner’s hood over his head walked calmly into my bedroom. On his forehead, he had painted the same symbol I had seen in my dream- the backwards seven with the circle around it. In his hand, he had an old-looking revolver, which he pointed directly at my face.
“Freeze, maggot,” he said, a tone of mirth in his voice.
“Who are you? What do you want?” I asked, now wide awake and frozen in terror.
“Well, the news calls me the Westland Ripper,” he said, giggling an insane, high-pitched laugh. “I guess it is as good a name as any.”
“Get the fuck out of my house,” I said coldly. He pulled the gun back, pistol whipping me across the jaw. I felt something in it give, my mouth filling with the warm taste of blood. I spit out a tooth.
“Why? What are you going to do about it?
“Now you’re going to be a good boy,” he said, his voice now as emotionless as a robot’s. “I’m going to tie you up, unless you want me to shoot your dick off first. Try anything, and that will be the result.” He pointed the gun at my crotch to emphasize his point, and then proceeded to pull out a coil of thick rope from his back pocket.
Though I rarely watched TV, even I had heard about the Westland Ripper. He had injected corrosive acids into the flesh of some of his victims, burned others alive, and the FBI allegedly believed he had killed dozens of people above and beyond his official body count. Not only was he a serial killer, but an extremely sadistic torturer.
I knew if he got me tied up, that would be the end of me. I did the only thing I could think of.
“Come to me now, Lilin!” I screamed, my broken, swelling jaw muffling my words slightly. I spit out small droplets of blood as I yelled. The killer raised his gun to pistol-whip me across the face again, but he never got a chance to bring it down.
The entire room filled with the corpse lights in an instant. Flashes of light shone on the insane, melting face of Lilin as she materialized behind the intruder, grabbing his gun arm and forcing it up higher with her bony, claw-like fingers.
In a flash, her mouth opened wide, and she bit into his armpit. Shaking her head from side to side like a rabid dog, she ripped off a huge chunk of skin and muscle. He was screaming now, blood pouring down his all-black outfit.
As she ate him alive, I got out of bed, sprinting out to my car. The screams of the man followed me, growing more and more desperate. When I reached the threshold of the front door, Lilin’s voice echoed in my mind.
“Where are you going, friend?” she asked in a mirthful voice. “I’m not done with you yet. You can run, but you can’t hide.” I pulled my phone out to call 911 and report the armed intruder, driving out of that town well above the speed limit.
The police only found a mess of gore in my bedroom when they arrived, an eyeball in one corner, a finger under the bed, and so on. Most of the body was just gone.
I never returned to that town. I sold my grandmother’s house that I had inherited, using the money to leave the state entirely. But I don’t think that will keep me safe.
Lilin isn’t gone. Despite moving three hundred miles away, I just looked out the window.
Under the streetlight outside, I saw the silhouette of a naked, emaciated woman with long, black hair.
submitted by CIAHerpes to nosleep [link] [comments]
“Teddie,” she said to me, sitting on the same porch twenty years earlier, smoking a cigarette and drinking a glass of wine, “do you see those lights? The ones that stay close to the ground, change colors and disappear or reappear constantly?” My small five-year-old self nodded.
“Yes, Grammie,” I said. “They’re pretty.” She nodded at this, taking another long drag off of her cigarette.
“Yes, they sure are,” she said gravely. “They’re also dangerous. You should never go into those woods at night, but especially when those lights are there. Where I’m from, we call them corpse lights. It means the fae are nearby. They like to hide behind the lights.” I nodded quietly at this. She had told me about the fae, how they sometimes kidnapped children and took them to their underground lairs, never to be seen again. She didn’t tell me what the fae did to those children, or why they wanted children at all. She simply said they were not to be trusted and that I should always avoid areas where they frequented, especially at nighttime.
“There are lots of fae haunting grounds near here,” she said to me. “It has been that way since before the Europeans settled this land centuries ago. The Native Americans used to consider that swamp sacred ground.”
But now I was an adult, and moreover, I was curious. I had looked up the scientific explanations for these lights that appeared and disappeared in flashes all over the forest and swamp, showing up in blue, green, red or white flashes that shimmered and vibrated. Supposedly it had something to do with the decomposition of plant matter and the resulting gasses that appeared. People had been seeing them for thousands of years, calling them by many names.
As I sat there, thinking about Grammie Greylock, who had died just a few years earlier, the old-style TV on the porch changed from some sitcom with too much fake laughter into the nightly news. A pretty young reporter sat at a desk, staring into the camera.
“And we start with some breaking news: the latest victim of the Westland Ripper was found today. Police say a woman in her thirties was found sexually assaulted and tortured to death by her father, who later told police he hadn’t heard from her in a week. This latest murder brings the known number of victims up to twelve. With us, we have Special Agent Ellis of the FBI. What can you tell us about this serial killer and the investigations?” The nondescript agent appeared on the screen, speaking deadpan into the camera.
“Well, unlike most known serial killers, this suspect targets both males and females. He is an equal opportunity killer. And he is extremely organized, planning his crimes in meticulous detail before…” I shut the TV off, rising and stretching out my arms and back. The news was always so depressing, and the latest crime had happened only a twenty minute drive from where I live, which made it even worse. My attention returned to those floating lights behind my house.
I got up out of my chair, chugging the last of my green tea quickly, and went inside to grab a flashlight. Without a second thought, I walked out towards the trail that wound its way through the swamp and deep into the forest.
At first, it was just a beautiful night hike. The stars were bright overhead, as there was no light pollution for miles in any direction. The moon looked nearly full, and my light caught many bats flashing through the trees, hunting bugs and squeaking in their eerie way.
Then I heard something that didn’t sound like any animal I had ever heard. It was a deafening screaming noise, but it wasn’t a fox or a fisher cat. I knew the cries of both of those animals, having heard them frequently living out here in the country. This was a sound like a woman overcome by the deepest grief, like the wail of a mother who just lost her only child.
“Hello?” I called into the darkness. The corpse lights began to drift towards me, floating a few inches off the ground and shimmering with colors. I stopped, an eerie creeping feeling coming over me. I immediately turned around and tried to walk back home as fast as I could.
But within a few feet of walking, the corpse lights started to cover the trail, smaller ones seeming to congeal into larger bubbles of flashing light. I saw flashes within, as if tiny bolts of lightning were flicking across the clouds.
Hesitating, taking a deep breath in, I put my right hand into the corpse light, the white shimmering seeming to lessen for a moment as I touched its surface. And then I could see every vein, artery and capillary in my entire hand.
Shrieking, I pulled it back out, looking down. My skin was back and my hand seemed totally fine. But my heart was still beating fast, and I felt eyes all over me.
“What in the hell was that?” I whispered to myself, regretting ever stepping foot in the woods.
I stared deeper into the corpse lights, and realized the surface looked like it was zooming into itself- as if it were a fractal image. I saw the same sparks of lightning arranged in the same way over and over as it moved faster, the white light on the outside shimmering as it moved towards the center.
And then a naked, sickly-looking woman stepped out of it, breaking my hypnosis instantly. At least, I thought it was a woman, until I looked at her face.
Her face was melting off, like candle wax. It deformed, beads of skin dripping off her nose and chin constantly, but it constantly reformed itself. Her eyes would be covered by the constantly shifting skin and muscle, but then reappear again, shining silver in the moonlight.
The body of the thing was thin and emaciated, looking like a cancer patient in the last days of life. I could see every single rib, and her hip bones stuck out over legs that looked like twigs.
But her hair was somehow the most disturbing part. It was stringy, black, and clotted together with what looked like blood. Drips of black fluid and dozens of writhing maggots constantly fell off the ends of each clump of hair, which was so long it reached nearly to her knees, being the only covering on her diseased-looking body.
Time seemed to slow down, and in a moment, I flashed back to a conversation I had with my grandmother.
***
“Never run from a fae,” she said as we sat on the back porch in the afternoon sunlight. “They will tear you apart. When I was a little girl, my grandmother told me the same thing, and it saved my life. I accidentally stumbled into one as a teenager.” I tried to think of her as a teenager, but my mind failed completely. I had always known her as a sweet, old woman. “And like my grandmother told me, you grab it, hug it as tight as you can, and it will hug you back.” I giggled at this, thinking of hugging a fairy. She smiled down at me.
“It’s not like a real hug, though,” she continued. “It’s like you’re hugging it with your mind, and its mind hugs you back. And it will take you someplace else, and if you keep hugging it long enough, it will be under your power. The fae cannot lie. You can even tell it to come to you if you ever need it, though I don’t recommend it. When it comes, it won’t be under your power any longer- it will be free, and it will be angrier and stronger than ever.”
“Why can’t they lie, Grammie?” I asked, snuggling closer to her on the bench, feeling her warm, comforting presence next to me. She shrugged.
“They worship the truth, live in the truth,” she said. “It’s like their religion. They don’t worship God, but they worship power, life and death and sometimes, evil. All those things spring from the truth- they have existed since the beginning of time. The fae cannot think except through that which has always existed, so it limits them and their minds.”
I shuddered, my small, five-year-old mind trying to comprehend it- and failing. I just hoped I would never run into one.
***
Trembling, a sickly sweet sweat starting to pop out all over my body as my adrenaline soared, I ran forward, arms out. I grabbed the thing across the chest, but part of me knew I was not grabbing it with my physical body at all. It was more like my mind wrapped around its heart. Its mouth widened into an O that took over most of its melting face, its silver eyes widened, and then I was out of my body completely.
We were descending through the ground together. I smelled the grass and leaves as we rushed through them like ghosts, and then we entered the dirt underneath. The corpse lights had expanded to become the entire world around us as we sped faster, forever going straight downwards. It felt as if I were descending through some gas giant, Jupiter or Saturn maybe. Multi-colored, thick gasses swirled all around us, huge lightning bolts sending white light shooting out in all directions, yet making no sound.
The melting face of the woman grinned up at me, lengthening fangs showing underneath the waxy dripping of her skin. I smiled back, even though inside I was terrified, and even thought I might die of a heart attack if this went on too long. I tightened my mind around her, seeing it like a rope twisting around her bony, naked chest, and I saw her grin turn into a grimace. She did the same back at me, and I felt my chest tightening, a suffocating feeling overtaking me. I couldn’t breathe, but the more anxiety and fear I felt, the more I kept tightening my consciousness around her body.
“Stop that,” she said in my mind, speaking telepathically instead of physically, her real mouth now opened into a silent scream. “You’re hurting me. You’re killing me. Release me now.”
“No,” I grunted through the suffocating tightness. “Not until you give up.”
“Release me, or I will drop you down here,” she responded, now yelling in my mind, sending all other thoughts scattering like scared fish in a pond. The corpse lights had begun to clear, and we were in some horrific landscape, deep under the Earth.
All around us, massive leeches crawled, ten feet long. Tortured beings of all kinds tried to run, but their tormentors were too fast. Some had massive holes on their chests and back and faces, clotted gore running out, but they healed again, and new swarms of leeches slithered over and lunged at them in turn.
Out of the ponds and lakes all around us, black water hid eldritch monstrosities underneath. But tentacles flew out anytime anyone ran too close to the water, fanged suckers ripping through the victims’ flesh, dragging them upside down and plunging them into the water. The echoing of the screams and the splashing of the water resounded back and forth across the light brown stones of the caverns, soft light spilling out from the rocks themselves. I saw other fae like the woman standing here and there, some of them sleeping in small nooks dug out in the cave walls, others helping to torment the beings and laughing about it as they did so.
“You… cannot…” I said through gritted teeth. She could not drop me unless I let go first. I felt her will beginning to give.
“I’m dying,” her voice screamed in my mind. “You’re killing me!”
“Then give up,” I whispered, though I also felt close to death. My vision was beginning to turn black, my head bursting with pain.
“I release you,” her voice said, and the pain was gone instantly. I kept hold on her for a few more seconds.
“Do you promise to do what I ask if I let go?” I said.
“Yes!” her voice said in my head, and I released her. Floating, I fell back a few inches, taking in deep, sweet breaths, my vision returning to normal, my heart no longer so tight it felt like a fist was closing over it.
“First, what is your name?” I gasped.
“My name is Lilin,” she said, her face melting faster, her eyes blazing with hatred and fury. Out of nowhere, an idea came to me- a dangerous one, but my instincts told me to go with it.
“OK, Lilin. Mine is Teddie. When I say ‘Come to me now, Lilin’ in the future, you will come.” She nodded, her eyes seeming to smile now, the look of hatred receding from her face.
“Yes, when you say, ‘Come to me now, Lilin,’ I will come.” Her voice sounded so spiteful and full of hate that I flinched slightly when she sent this message out.
“Now bring me back up!” I said, feeling relieved to have survived and not gotten stuck in this underground Hell on Earth. I drew close to her again, wrapping my mind around hers, seeing my mind’s projection of arms wrap around her strange, sickly body, and within moments, we were back in the dark woods. I was standing in my body at the same spot that I had been when I first saw her, hyperventilating as I swayed unsteadily on my feet.
“Get out of these woods,” she whispered in a low, demonic voice, “and the next time I see you, I will kill you.”
I walked out of there, pouring myself a huge glass of whiskey when I got home. But I still didn’t sleep that night. I was afraid of what I would see if I did. My hands were trembling so badly that, when I poured myself the fourth glass of whiskey around dawn, I dropped the entire bottle, seeing it shatter all over the porch.
***
A few weeks passed, and I began to wonder whether I had imagined the entire thing, maybe while sleepwalking or during some strange, isolated seizure event. After all, every day that passed made the encounter seem more and more like a dream.
The night that I saw Lilin again, I had just gotten home from work. I felt exhausted. It was Friday, and I just wanted to lay down and catch up on my sleep. I fell down heavily on the bed, and I was out almost instantly.
My dream was bizarre. I kept seeing that fae woman from the forest, her face dripping off the bones. When all the flesh was gone and puddled on the floor at her feet, she smiled at me, just a skull, and pointed up at the sky.
I looked up and saw a symbol I had never seen before- it looked like a backwards silver-colored seven with a diagonal slash through it, surrounded by a glowing white circle.
“Soon, I will be free,” she said to me, her skull chattering out of sync with the words, yet her voice still coming through loudly and clearly. “That symbol will guarantee it. And I will never stop hunting you until we are even.”
A crash brought me back to waking life. I sat up in my bed, looking at the alarm clock. 11:47 AM.
I heard footsteps crunching on broken glass in the kitchen. A few seconds later, a man with an executioner’s hood over his head walked calmly into my bedroom. On his forehead, he had painted the same symbol I had seen in my dream- the backwards seven with the circle around it. In his hand, he had an old-looking revolver, which he pointed directly at my face.
“Freeze, maggot,” he said, a tone of mirth in his voice.
“Who are you? What do you want?” I asked, now wide awake and frozen in terror.
“Well, the news calls me the Westland Ripper,” he said, giggling an insane, high-pitched laugh. “I guess it is as good a name as any.”
“Get the fuck out of my house,” I said coldly. He pulled the gun back, pistol whipping me across the jaw. I felt something in it give, my mouth filling with the warm taste of blood. I spit out a tooth.
“Why? What are you going to do about it?
“Now you’re going to be a good boy,” he said, his voice now as emotionless as a robot’s. “I’m going to tie you up, unless you want me to shoot your dick off first. Try anything, and that will be the result.” He pointed the gun at my crotch to emphasize his point, and then proceeded to pull out a coil of thick rope from his back pocket.
Though I rarely watched TV, even I had heard about the Westland Ripper. He had injected corrosive acids into the flesh of some of his victims, burned others alive, and the FBI allegedly believed he had killed dozens of people above and beyond his official body count. Not only was he a serial killer, but an extremely sadistic torturer.
I knew if he got me tied up, that would be the end of me. I did the only thing I could think of.
“Come to me now, Lilin!” I screamed, my broken, swelling jaw muffling my words slightly. I spit out small droplets of blood as I yelled. The killer raised his gun to pistol-whip me across the face again, but he never got a chance to bring it down.
The entire room filled with the corpse lights in an instant. Flashes of light shone on the insane, melting face of Lilin as she materialized behind the intruder, grabbing his gun arm and forcing it up higher with her bony, claw-like fingers.
In a flash, her mouth opened wide, and she bit into his armpit. Shaking her head from side to side like a rabid dog, she ripped off a huge chunk of skin and muscle. He was screaming now, blood pouring down his all-black outfit.
As she ate him alive, I got out of bed, sprinting out to my car. The screams of the man followed me, growing more and more desperate. When I reached the threshold of the front door, Lilin’s voice echoed in my mind.
“Where are you going, friend?” she asked in a mirthful voice. “I’m not done with you yet. You can run, but you can’t hide.” I pulled my phone out to call 911 and report the armed intruder, driving out of that town well above the speed limit.
The police only found a mess of gore in my bedroom when they arrived, an eyeball in one corner, a finger under the bed, and so on. Most of the body was just gone.
I never returned to that town. I sold my grandmother’s house that I had inherited, using the money to leave the state entirely. But I don’t think that will keep me safe.
Lilin isn’t gone. Despite moving three hundred miles away, I just looked out the window.
Under the streetlight outside, I saw the silhouette of a naked, emaciated woman with long, black hair.
2023.04.01 13:47 BluebirdSimple1130 Antique booth owners - how far is “too far” to live from an antique mall where you have a booth?
I’m considering renting out a showcase (glass front, locked) at an antique mall in my area. Rent is $95/month and they take 5% commission if customer pays cash, 8% if customer pays credit card. They do not require us to work the front desk.
Issue with this is the mall is 31 miles (30 minutes) away. Those of you with antique booths - do you see this as being an issue? I was thinking I’d go down once, maybe twice a month to refresh/pay rent but even then it’s not like I can just hop over and add new inventory.
Also - there really are no closer antique malls to me. Unfortunately they’re all outside my local metro area by at least 25 miles.
submitted by BluebirdSimple1130 to Flipping [link] [comments]
Issue with this is the mall is 31 miles (30 minutes) away. Those of you with antique booths - do you see this as being an issue? I was thinking I’d go down once, maybe twice a month to refresh/pay rent but even then it’s not like I can just hop over and add new inventory.
Also - there really are no closer antique malls to me. Unfortunately they’re all outside my local metro area by at least 25 miles.
2023.04.01 13:28 alex_kitchen Cheesecake with strawberries 🍓🍓🍓🍓
 | for the base 260 g of oatmeal cookies 100 g of butter for the cream 500 gr kwark (you can also use strained yogurt or labneh) 3 eggs 1 pack of cream (200 ml) 1 glass of sugar 1 vanilla pod 2 spoons of flour 1 spoon of starch For the sauce 300-400 g of frozen wild berries or strawberries 1 teaspoon of sugar (you can adjust it according to your taste) 1 dessert spoon of starch First, we put baking paper at the bottom of a 24-26 cm pan. We take out the cookies from the robot and turn them into flour, mix them with melted butter and mix them in the mold. Cut them and put them in the refrigerator. Add the liquid cream and add the eggs one by one, beating them one by one. After the eggs, stir a little more and press the mixture into the mold. Cover the sides of the mold with paper and pour a container of water. in the oven and put the cheesecake in the oven at a temperature of 175 degrees at the lowest temperature. We bake it until it is very lightly browned. Turn off the oven and open the door and let the cheesecake stand for half an hour. Then we take it out and let it cool. sauce; when the frozen fruit melts, put it in a blender, add sugar and starch and mix it. When the sauce is heated, pour the cheesecake and rise submitted by alex_kitchen to easy_cooking [link] [comments] |
2023.04.01 13:25 ManicSheep The white lie that led to my 'exorcism'
Obligatory Precursor: This happened 15 years ago in my final year of high school. It was an event that changed my view on life and still haunts me to this day.
Some background: In my country, they took Christianity seriously. You were raised Christian, at school, we had Bible lessons/ scripture readings every morning before class started and your social life pretty much revolved around the church. When this event occurred, I was a youth leader in my church and even had a key to open the church every Friday evening and Sunday. I was a pretty awkward kid though; a bit weird and perhaps a little eccentric. So didn’t have that many friends in school (2 to be exact). Was a real social outcast back then. We also lived about 60 km away from school and I had to wait 4 to 5 hours after school for my mom to pick me up so we could go home. All these facts will be important for later.
So there were a bunch of things that happened leading up to the event.
It all started in January of my final year in high school. As last year students we had slightly more ‘privileges’ than all the other students. For one, every Monday morning we would all meet in a big Hall for Bible reading and the announcements for the week. Here all the younger students would sit on the icy cold floor at the bottom, and the final year students (and the very few girls) would sit in on chairs at the top of the gallery overlooking the big Hall. This was always made out to be a major privilege. We also had a choice to attend sports events like rugby or athletics (where for the younger students, it was obligatory).
One of the major sporting events at the beginning of the year was this inter-high school athletics competition. On one day in January, all the schools in the area would compete against each other to find the best athletes so they could be nominated to represent the area in provincial competitions. At these competitions, all the students from each school would need to attend as 'spectators'. Final-year students had a choice of whether or not they wanted to go. However, this year this event was moved to another school and there wasn't enough space for each school's entire populous. Therefore only the first-year and final-year students were 'forced' to go. Given that final-year students always had a choice in the past, and that this event was on a Friday...me and my two friends (Let's call them Dr Dre and The Wizard) decided to stay at home on that day and make a long weekend out of it.
Dr Dre was the only 'normal' one in my little group of friends. Dr Dre was really into rap music, he had good relationships with the teachers, all the different clicks of students (from the jocks to the geeks) liked him and he was overall a really decent kid (very wise and intelligent for his age). The Wizard, on the other hand was a very tall, blond Dutch boy that was into bizarre things. People found him to be extremely weird but didn't pick on him. He liked catching mice in the field, skinning them, and making stuff from their skins. He was (in his own mind) into wizardry (he identified as a dark wicca - dark witch). He was just overall very weird.
Anyway, the Monday morning after the athletics event, my two friends and I went to the big hall for the daily weekly Bible lesson and announcements as was customary. We sat at the top of the gallery and waited for the 'plebs' to fill the hall at the bottom. When everyone took their seats, two prefects (student leaders) came to the gallery and said that everyone that wasn't at the event on Friday would need to sit at the bottom with the plebs for the rest of the year. Apparently, they handed out little cards on Friday and well, we didn't have them... So my friends and I awkwardly stood up and made out way down the stairs. Halfway down, I told them that it was bullshit that we had to go sit with the 'kids'. The Wizard then said : "I say we just go sit outside the hall and refuse to go in... Make a statement".
At the time, we thought it was a good idea and went to go sit outside. About 15 mins later, a prefect (student leader) came to ask us why we were sitting outside. I responded, "it's none of your business" and he proceeded to go call one of the teachers. Our mathematics teacher (a short, mid-40s balding Greek man) came outside and asked why we were sitting there.... Without thinking, The Wizard said : "It's against our religion". The teacher asked what religion it was and we didn't respond. He turned around and walked away.We didn't mention which religion we were and at the time, we thought it was a brilliant response.
Later the day, we were in our homeroom class. The intercom went off (it broadcasts over the entire school), and an old woman's voice asked The Wizard, Dr Dre and I to go to the principal's office. Obviously the story had already spread across the entire school and everyone knew what this was about. We went to his office and sat on the old wooden benches in in front of his door. Dr Dre was the first to be asked to go in. Ten mins later, he comes out and returns to class. The Wizard and I were then asked to come in together.
The principal asked us to sit down and proceeded to ask us to explain the situation. Not willing to give up on the jig... We proceeded to stick to our story. He then asked if we were Satanists. The Wizard then responded and said something that would put me on a path prolonged psychological trauma. The Wizard said.... Yes. (Although he obviously wasn't). The principal then proceeded to ask questions why and how and when... It felt like we were sitting there for hours. The Wizard said that he was in it for power and control.. (All the time I'm thinking... WTF Dude!). I was quite throughout the entire session.. Mostly because I was afraid but primarily because I was shocked of the things that came out of his mouth. Around an hour later, we were asked to leave and return to class... And I thought the situation was resolved...
The next day at 7am all the students lined up in the quad as we always did from Tuesday till Friday. The principal did his Bible reading and the did his announcements. His final announcement sent shivers down my spine. He said that he made it his mission to destroy the satanic rituals and satanists in the school. At this stage it felt like all the students heads turned towards me.
With the 'extra' incentive, most students started to bully me, and I was consistently made fun of. Given that both Dr Dre and The Wizard were mucho gym junkies, no one picked on them... So I took the brunt of the students' and teachers' wrath. This went on for about 3 months. By the end of the three months, people already forgot that Dr Dre and The Wizard were involved in the matter... And I was basically now labelled as the school demon.... The face of the 'satanic cult' in the school. Already an outcast, my life was now an absolute living hell... The smart-ass remark to get us not to sit at the bottom of the hall, had now turned into a life of constant physical and psychological torture (from students and teachers).
Although I kept telling everyone that I wasn't a satanist and it was The Wizard lying to get us out of sitting with the younger students, no one believed me. Everything 'weird' that happened at the school was now always made out to be my fault. I even talked to the principal and even had my pastor from the church phone him. But nothing ever came of it. I just wanted the torture to stop, but no one would believe me.
So this brings me to D-day. The last Friday of the semester, the school came out at 11:00 (it usually came out at 14:00). Although the school was out and everyone was on their way home for the start of the summer vacation, I still had to stay at school till around 17:30 for my mom to come pick me up after work so we could go home. Around 11:30 the school was empty and I went to sit under my usual tree and entertained myself with SNAKE on my Nokia 5110.
Mid-game I saw the vice principal and the teacher that was in charge of religious studies walk up to me. They asked very politely if I wanted to take a ride with them. I declined, saying that my mom would be here at any moment to pick me up. The vice principal said he already spoke to my mom (which turned out to be a lie!) and she would only be there around 18:00. Fair enough. He caught me out in my BS excuse, and given that that was the usual time she would pick me up... I didn't think to question it further.
We walked to his car and I asked where we were going. He said he wanted to introduce me to 'a friend' of his. We climbed into his car and drove about 15 mins to a church. I knew the church because that was where the school's Minister (kinda like a priest) worked. This Minister was big and wobbly... And looked as if he could afford to skip a few meals. A pudgy fellow with rosy cheeks, a massive belly and this weird blueish-grey eyes that always seemed as if they stared through you when he looked at you. Let's call him Minister Bear.
So we get there and I felt my heart sink into my shoes. I knew where this was going. I was escorted around the church and led into a darkish room at the back of the building. As my eyes adjusted from the bright sun, to the darkish room, I saw Minister Bear, sitting behind his antique yellow wood desk. He welcomed my two teachers, stood up, and walked around the desk. As his friendly eyes move slowly away from my teachers, towards me... It systematically turned into this deep look of concern and fear. He locked the door next to me and said in a deep serious voice, "I feel a very dark presence in this room". And thanked my teachers for bringing me there.
He told my teachers to sit in the corner and ushered me to a chair in front of his desk. He sat down and proceeded to ask me a bunch of personal questions. It started innocent enough, like who I was and where I lived, through to have I ever had sex and if I'm gay (a taboo subject where I was from). The questions became ever darker and each time I would answer he would tell my teacher's "This isn't ManicSheep talking".
He then asked me if I was a satanist, to which I responded with a clear NO! I told him I was a youth leader in my church and that he could phone my pastor to ask. He would then respond by saying things like "Don't lie to me demon! Release this child of God ". The more I woud deny his claims, the more he would tell my teacher's that they needed to pray because the demon has a very strong hold over me.
This went on for about 2 hours. I looked at my watch and it was already 14:30. He would ask me what the demon in me's name was and how many of them were in me. I kept denying it and eventually burst out in tears, begging him to let me go. He said to my teachers that this was the demons way to want to escape, that he was getting closer to getting 'them' to release me. He asked me about satanist rituals and between every question he would ask... He would pray under his breath. No matter how much I cried, he didn't want to stop. I stood up and screamed that I am going to phone the police and ran to the door... Tried to open it... Shakes the handle... But the door was locked.
"You won't escape this room with this child l, demon" he would yell. I fell on the ground crying, saying my mom was looking for me and I just wanted to go home. At this stage, he picked me up with both hands and held me in the air. He pushed me against the wall and started praying louder. As I struggled to get free he yelled for my teachers to come put their hands on me and pray .. As the demons were loosing Control.
I was afraid for my life. As a kid of 17, I didn't know what was going on. I remember thinking about how can they feel a dark presence as I spend all my time at church. Why don't they want to phone my pastor? Why won't they believe me.
At this stage I realized that the only way out of this was to act out the role they clearly wanted me to play. That would be the only way out of the locked room. I tried to pull my tears back and looked him in the eyes.. And tried to push the quiver in my voice down. "OK you got me Minister." I said." You can have the child". He immediately dropped me and took a couple of steps back.
He started repeating the questions from earlier and told my teachers to pray harder as we were now getting to the crux of the matter. They needed to 'cast him out'. I kept responding to the questions in the way I thought they wanted. I then started speaking German backwards as they started praying harder. At this stage I just wanted to get out of there.
After what felt like years, they finally stopped and I fell to the ground. Minister Bear said... It's done. Laying on the ground, the tears again started balling out my eyes (this time out of total relief). They asked me how I felt and I couldn't stop crying. I just wanted to go home. I lied again and said I felt relieved and lighter and was unsure what was going on or how I got there.
The Minister then told me I was possessed by a series of demons (I can't remember the name he gave it) and that they were holding on deeply to my soul. That it took hours for them to cast them out. But I am free now, and that is why I felt so light and that crying is normal. He prayed one more time and gave me his number. He told me to come see him next week and that I should phone him if I feel something is coming back.
They finally unlocked the door. I stood there silently, not knowing if I was actually free to go. Still shaking I looked at my watch... It was 17:45 and I knew my mom was waiting for me at school. The teachers then asked if it was OK to go. They then took me back to the school and dropped me off at my mom's car.
I climbed in and burst into tears. My mom asked what was wrong and I explained. She then told me that I probably just misunderstood what was going on and that she would speak to the principal. Nothing ever came of this.
This was by far one of the most traumatic events in my life. Although I know I contributed to the situation, 15 years later, as a trained and registered psychologist, the matter still haunts me...
submitted by ManicSheep to LetsReadOfficial [link] [comments]
Some background: In my country, they took Christianity seriously. You were raised Christian, at school, we had Bible lessons/ scripture readings every morning before class started and your social life pretty much revolved around the church. When this event occurred, I was a youth leader in my church and even had a key to open the church every Friday evening and Sunday. I was a pretty awkward kid though; a bit weird and perhaps a little eccentric. So didn’t have that many friends in school (2 to be exact). Was a real social outcast back then. We also lived about 60 km away from school and I had to wait 4 to 5 hours after school for my mom to pick me up so we could go home. All these facts will be important for later.
So there were a bunch of things that happened leading up to the event.
It all started in January of my final year in high school. As last year students we had slightly more ‘privileges’ than all the other students. For one, every Monday morning we would all meet in a big Hall for Bible reading and the announcements for the week. Here all the younger students would sit on the icy cold floor at the bottom, and the final year students (and the very few girls) would sit in on chairs at the top of the gallery overlooking the big Hall. This was always made out to be a major privilege. We also had a choice to attend sports events like rugby or athletics (where for the younger students, it was obligatory).
One of the major sporting events at the beginning of the year was this inter-high school athletics competition. On one day in January, all the schools in the area would compete against each other to find the best athletes so they could be nominated to represent the area in provincial competitions. At these competitions, all the students from each school would need to attend as 'spectators'. Final-year students had a choice of whether or not they wanted to go. However, this year this event was moved to another school and there wasn't enough space for each school's entire populous. Therefore only the first-year and final-year students were 'forced' to go. Given that final-year students always had a choice in the past, and that this event was on a Friday...me and my two friends (Let's call them Dr Dre and The Wizard) decided to stay at home on that day and make a long weekend out of it.
Dr Dre was the only 'normal' one in my little group of friends. Dr Dre was really into rap music, he had good relationships with the teachers, all the different clicks of students (from the jocks to the geeks) liked him and he was overall a really decent kid (very wise and intelligent for his age). The Wizard, on the other hand was a very tall, blond Dutch boy that was into bizarre things. People found him to be extremely weird but didn't pick on him. He liked catching mice in the field, skinning them, and making stuff from their skins. He was (in his own mind) into wizardry (he identified as a dark wicca - dark witch). He was just overall very weird.
Anyway, the Monday morning after the athletics event, my two friends and I went to the big hall for the daily weekly Bible lesson and announcements as was customary. We sat at the top of the gallery and waited for the 'plebs' to fill the hall at the bottom. When everyone took their seats, two prefects (student leaders) came to the gallery and said that everyone that wasn't at the event on Friday would need to sit at the bottom with the plebs for the rest of the year. Apparently, they handed out little cards on Friday and well, we didn't have them... So my friends and I awkwardly stood up and made out way down the stairs. Halfway down, I told them that it was bullshit that we had to go sit with the 'kids'. The Wizard then said : "I say we just go sit outside the hall and refuse to go in... Make a statement".
At the time, we thought it was a good idea and went to go sit outside. About 15 mins later, a prefect (student leader) came to ask us why we were sitting outside. I responded, "it's none of your business" and he proceeded to go call one of the teachers. Our mathematics teacher (a short, mid-40s balding Greek man) came outside and asked why we were sitting there.... Without thinking, The Wizard said : "It's against our religion". The teacher asked what religion it was and we didn't respond. He turned around and walked away.We didn't mention which religion we were and at the time, we thought it was a brilliant response.
Later the day, we were in our homeroom class. The intercom went off (it broadcasts over the entire school), and an old woman's voice asked The Wizard, Dr Dre and I to go to the principal's office. Obviously the story had already spread across the entire school and everyone knew what this was about. We went to his office and sat on the old wooden benches in in front of his door. Dr Dre was the first to be asked to go in. Ten mins later, he comes out and returns to class. The Wizard and I were then asked to come in together.
The principal asked us to sit down and proceeded to ask us to explain the situation. Not willing to give up on the jig... We proceeded to stick to our story. He then asked if we were Satanists. The Wizard then responded and said something that would put me on a path prolonged psychological trauma. The Wizard said.... Yes. (Although he obviously wasn't). The principal then proceeded to ask questions why and how and when... It felt like we were sitting there for hours. The Wizard said that he was in it for power and control.. (All the time I'm thinking... WTF Dude!). I was quite throughout the entire session.. Mostly because I was afraid but primarily because I was shocked of the things that came out of his mouth. Around an hour later, we were asked to leave and return to class... And I thought the situation was resolved...
The next day at 7am all the students lined up in the quad as we always did from Tuesday till Friday. The principal did his Bible reading and the did his announcements. His final announcement sent shivers down my spine. He said that he made it his mission to destroy the satanic rituals and satanists in the school. At this stage it felt like all the students heads turned towards me.
With the 'extra' incentive, most students started to bully me, and I was consistently made fun of. Given that both Dr Dre and The Wizard were mucho gym junkies, no one picked on them... So I took the brunt of the students' and teachers' wrath. This went on for about 3 months. By the end of the three months, people already forgot that Dr Dre and The Wizard were involved in the matter... And I was basically now labelled as the school demon.... The face of the 'satanic cult' in the school. Already an outcast, my life was now an absolute living hell... The smart-ass remark to get us not to sit at the bottom of the hall, had now turned into a life of constant physical and psychological torture (from students and teachers).
Although I kept telling everyone that I wasn't a satanist and it was The Wizard lying to get us out of sitting with the younger students, no one believed me. Everything 'weird' that happened at the school was now always made out to be my fault. I even talked to the principal and even had my pastor from the church phone him. But nothing ever came of it. I just wanted the torture to stop, but no one would believe me.
So this brings me to D-day. The last Friday of the semester, the school came out at 11:00 (it usually came out at 14:00). Although the school was out and everyone was on their way home for the start of the summer vacation, I still had to stay at school till around 17:30 for my mom to come pick me up after work so we could go home. Around 11:30 the school was empty and I went to sit under my usual tree and entertained myself with SNAKE on my Nokia 5110.
Mid-game I saw the vice principal and the teacher that was in charge of religious studies walk up to me. They asked very politely if I wanted to take a ride with them. I declined, saying that my mom would be here at any moment to pick me up. The vice principal said he already spoke to my mom (which turned out to be a lie!) and she would only be there around 18:00. Fair enough. He caught me out in my BS excuse, and given that that was the usual time she would pick me up... I didn't think to question it further.
We walked to his car and I asked where we were going. He said he wanted to introduce me to 'a friend' of his. We climbed into his car and drove about 15 mins to a church. I knew the church because that was where the school's Minister (kinda like a priest) worked. This Minister was big and wobbly... And looked as if he could afford to skip a few meals. A pudgy fellow with rosy cheeks, a massive belly and this weird blueish-grey eyes that always seemed as if they stared through you when he looked at you. Let's call him Minister Bear.
So we get there and I felt my heart sink into my shoes. I knew where this was going. I was escorted around the church and led into a darkish room at the back of the building. As my eyes adjusted from the bright sun, to the darkish room, I saw Minister Bear, sitting behind his antique yellow wood desk. He welcomed my two teachers, stood up, and walked around the desk. As his friendly eyes move slowly away from my teachers, towards me... It systematically turned into this deep look of concern and fear. He locked the door next to me and said in a deep serious voice, "I feel a very dark presence in this room". And thanked my teachers for bringing me there.
He told my teachers to sit in the corner and ushered me to a chair in front of his desk. He sat down and proceeded to ask me a bunch of personal questions. It started innocent enough, like who I was and where I lived, through to have I ever had sex and if I'm gay (a taboo subject where I was from). The questions became ever darker and each time I would answer he would tell my teacher's "This isn't ManicSheep talking".
He then asked me if I was a satanist, to which I responded with a clear NO! I told him I was a youth leader in my church and that he could phone my pastor to ask. He would then respond by saying things like "Don't lie to me demon! Release this child of God ". The more I woud deny his claims, the more he would tell my teacher's that they needed to pray because the demon has a very strong hold over me.
This went on for about 2 hours. I looked at my watch and it was already 14:30. He would ask me what the demon in me's name was and how many of them were in me. I kept denying it and eventually burst out in tears, begging him to let me go. He said to my teachers that this was the demons way to want to escape, that he was getting closer to getting 'them' to release me. He asked me about satanist rituals and between every question he would ask... He would pray under his breath. No matter how much I cried, he didn't want to stop. I stood up and screamed that I am going to phone the police and ran to the door... Tried to open it... Shakes the handle... But the door was locked.
"You won't escape this room with this child l, demon" he would yell. I fell on the ground crying, saying my mom was looking for me and I just wanted to go home. At this stage, he picked me up with both hands and held me in the air. He pushed me against the wall and started praying louder. As I struggled to get free he yelled for my teachers to come put their hands on me and pray .. As the demons were loosing Control.
I was afraid for my life. As a kid of 17, I didn't know what was going on. I remember thinking about how can they feel a dark presence as I spend all my time at church. Why don't they want to phone my pastor? Why won't they believe me.
At this stage I realized that the only way out of this was to act out the role they clearly wanted me to play. That would be the only way out of the locked room. I tried to pull my tears back and looked him in the eyes.. And tried to push the quiver in my voice down. "OK you got me Minister." I said." You can have the child". He immediately dropped me and took a couple of steps back.
He started repeating the questions from earlier and told my teachers to pray harder as we were now getting to the crux of the matter. They needed to 'cast him out'. I kept responding to the questions in the way I thought they wanted. I then started speaking German backwards as they started praying harder. At this stage I just wanted to get out of there.
After what felt like years, they finally stopped and I fell to the ground. Minister Bear said... It's done. Laying on the ground, the tears again started balling out my eyes (this time out of total relief). They asked me how I felt and I couldn't stop crying. I just wanted to go home. I lied again and said I felt relieved and lighter and was unsure what was going on or how I got there.
The Minister then told me I was possessed by a series of demons (I can't remember the name he gave it) and that they were holding on deeply to my soul. That it took hours for them to cast them out. But I am free now, and that is why I felt so light and that crying is normal. He prayed one more time and gave me his number. He told me to come see him next week and that I should phone him if I feel something is coming back.
They finally unlocked the door. I stood there silently, not knowing if I was actually free to go. Still shaking I looked at my watch... It was 17:45 and I knew my mom was waiting for me at school. The teachers then asked if it was OK to go. They then took me back to the school and dropped me off at my mom's car.
I climbed in and burst into tears. My mom asked what was wrong and I explained. She then told me that I probably just misunderstood what was going on and that she would speak to the principal. Nothing ever came of this.
This was by far one of the most traumatic events in my life. Although I know I contributed to the situation, 15 years later, as a trained and registered psychologist, the matter still haunts me...
2023.04.01 13:20 marine775 How many did you already know about?
 | submitted by marine775 to chefknives [link] [comments] |
2023.04.01 12:59 FelicitySmoak_ On This Day In Michael Jackson HIStory - April 1st
Disclaimer: Some of these have unknown April dates. They are identified with a '*'
1968 - The J5 perform at a campaign rally for Richard Hatcher in Gary with Bobby Taylor and Diana Ross & The Supremes among others. Hatcher was the first African-American mayor of Gary, Indiana for 20 years, from 1968 to 1988. At the time of his first election on November 7, 1967, he and Carl Stokes were the first African-Americans to be elected mayors of a U.S. city with more than 100,000 people*
https://imgur.com/a/QPykxSx
1970 - The J5 rehearse for their first concert tour, which would start on May 2nd*
1971 - The Jackson 5 play at the Mid-South Auditorium, Memphis, Tennessee
1972 - J5's cover of Bobby Day's “Little Bitty Pretty One” is released by Motown. It is also the first song where you can clearly hear Marlon's voice. It will reach #13 on the Hot 100*
https://imgur.com/a/77uT4hU
1981- Michael does backing vocals on Carole Bayer Sager’s song “Just Friends”. Michael had previously recorded Sager's "It's the Falling in Love" for Off the Wall. He was visiting Carole in the studio when she invited him to join the session. He came up with such a special part on the Bacharach/Sager composition "Just Friends" that they happily offered him a co-production credit*
https://youtu.be/bfGtCjIgnsU
1985 - Michael and seven members of USA For Africa are on the cover of Life Magazine
https://imgur.com/a/ZnDLbeA
1987 - Michael withdraws from The Jeovah’s Witness, a step that normally means he must be shunned by family members and friends who remain in the religious sect.
A representative of the Woodland Hills congregation where Jackson belonged said that the entertainer “disassociated” himself from the congregation and “no longer wants to be known as a Jehovah’s Witness.”
The official would not state what the implications of “disassociation” are, but when asked if they are serious, he responded, “Correct.”
Though Jackson’s anti-drug stance in public appearances was in keeping with the Witnesses’ clean-living codes, the entertainer’s Grammy-winning album Thriller produced tensions with the sect leaders in 1983 because of allegations the record and short film encouraged occult beliefs*
1988 - Michael plays the last of three nights at the Civic Center in Hartford, Connecticut
https://imgur.com/a/g5555p4
The story of Anne Miner: Anne is a great-grandmother who never attended a rock concert and prefers Big Band-era music. She says she is 'excited' about going to see Michael Jackson with tickets she won from a radio station but plans on taking cotton with her for her ears
'I'm excited. It's a chance of a lifetime experience,' said Anne Miner, 70. 'How many times are you going to see Michael Jackson in concert?'
The Greenfield woman, who admitted her favorite group was the Glenn Miller Band, big in the 1940s, won the tickets in a Michael Jackson Trivia Contest sponsored by WHAI radio and the Pepsi Co.
A chauffeur-driven white stretch limousine complete with champagne were to pick up Miner and a guest at her home and drive them to Hartford Civic Center in Connecticut and back.
She even considered wearing her old black-leather coat to the concert. She intends to go with her 20-year-old nephew, Michael J. Smith.
Smith said he prefers hard-rock bands like Bon Jovi over Jackson, but still expected to enjoy the concert. 'I'm just glad (Jackson) doesn't wear that white glove anymore.'
The two were given floor seats worth $22.50 each to the concert, which sold out just hours after tickets went on sale.
To earn the tickets, Miner answered three questions:
'I'm always winning something,' said Miner, a retired waitress of 41 years. She said she's a compulsive contest player who occasionally gambles on the Massachusetts State Lottery and always buys raffle tickets.
Miner said she has seen Jackson 'shaking around' on television and thinks he is a lot like Elvis Presley, but adds he 'looks like a girl.'
1989 -Michael is on the cover of Ebony magazine.
https://imgur.com/a/UeLPsn8
1989 - Filming of "Liberian girl" short film takes place over 2 days. Veteran video director, Jim Yukich, was brought in to help craft a memorable clip.
“CBS Epic called and Michael Jackson wants to do a video for this song ‘Liberian Girl’ and I hadn’t heard this song yet,” said Yukich. “I’m thinking like ‘Off the Wall’ or ‘Rock with You’ or just I figure it will be one of those classic Michael Jackson killer songs, right? And ‘Liberian Girl’ is not a killer song. It’s funny — what do you do? So again, we’re throwing the kitchen sink at it, and so I pitched the idea to Michael that we would have him shoot the video while all these are people waiting to begin the video, and they don’t realize it until the end is that he’s directing.”
“He loved the idea. We started calling people, and we just called in favors from friends. I had just done a television special with Richard Dreyfuss, and Richard said he’d love to be in it. He said, ‘Can I call up Steven?’ and I said, ‘Steven who?’ and he said ‘Steve Spielberg and Amy Irving, and I said, “Yeah!” So he called Spielberg and Amy, and then you start calling people saying you have these people, and I’d start naming names and it was easy. It was very easy to get people because as soon as you get a couple of big names, everybody wants to be in it.”
The shooting day basically consisted of Yukich and his crew filming all the celebrities on a soundstage as they wait for Michael to show up. The final list of guest stars served as, in retrospect, a truly strange snapshot of that year in showbusiness.Comedy writers were given the task of writing some interesting things for the cast to say on camera while they waited.
“So we just had two days, and we had the live audio with John Travolta and Olivia Newton-John doing the scene when they sang together, and they hadn’t sang together onscreen since ‘Grease’, so it was something to do that, and we just shot this grand stuff of people talking, and the outtakes are incredible because it’s just people talking. The song is not even playing! It’s just great getting all these stars in a room and you’re just filming and they’re saying, ‘What are you supposed to do?’ and we’d say, ‘We’ll get back to you,’ and you’d just mike everybody and shoot stuff.”
Yukich said that in a room filled with stars, Steven Spielberg’s uneasiness on the other side of the camera was the biggest surprise. Yukich used a push-pull camera shot on Spielberg, who was the director that made that camera shot popular, hence its industry nickname – 'The Jaws Shot'
“He was nervous. We did that push-pull move for that shot, and he was more nervous than I was, you know, being on camera. He wanted to try to do this favor for Michael because he wanted Michael for a movie.” Yukich also said that working with Michael was an amazing experience, but required some on-set preparation.
“Incredible,” he said. “I mean, at first, it was funny because he sent his handlers in first, and they check, and they said he is coming in 10 minutes. They go in all the different rooms to make sure that no bombs were there and there were no fans hanging out, and they kicked people out, and it was almost like going through airport security or something. They basically kicked people out there who weren’t supposed to be there, and they bring in a microwave oven with bananas for Bubbles the monkey and Max which was the baby monkey. It was like a real rigmarole, and then when he showed up, you know, he was unbelievably nice. Such a pleasant person and a nice guy.”
Jackson also had only one request involving the removal of a person from the final cut.“He called me a couple of times after he saw the edit. He would make us do some things, like he took out David Spade. David Spade was in the original cut. He called me up and he said, ‘Jim, this is Michael,’ and you think somebody was fooling with you, basically. You would never know if it was really him until he started talking about specifics and you could say, okay, that is Michael. So he called us up and he on a walkie-talkie phone or something, or he’s up in Santa Barbara, and says, ‘You know, in 3 minutes and 20 seconds, there’s a guy blonde here. Who is that guy?’ I said his name is David Spade. ‘I don’t know who he is, take him out.’ So Spade was out, and I’m sure Spade was, like, pissed!” (Spade had not yet joined SNL)
Yukich is still aggravated that the song, and hence the video, was never released in America.
When Jackson died suddenly, Yukich immediately thought back to the video and a conversation the two had.
“To this day, I’ve been – I guess not so much anymore, because years have gone by — but I was convinced when he died that he didn’t die. We made that video, and he said to me, ‘I would love to be hiding and see what people say about me, you know?’ I mean, having shot all that footage and then he died? It was just kind of weird.”
The video is dedicated to Liz Taylor, who is in fact not a Liberian girl *
1996 - Michael starts filming the “Ghost” short film in Van Nuys studios in California. During breaks, he visits his family at Hayvenhurst disguised as the “Mayor”*
2002 - Michael is about to start shooting the “Unbreakable” short film when Sony announces that they won’t release the single. The promotion of the Invincible album is over with only 2 singles!!! *
2002 -Michael’s former business manager Myung-Ho Lee files a $13 million lawsuit claiming that on September 14, 2001 Michael met him in Los Angeles and signed an agreement to pay him fees but he never got them. Michael’s lawyer Zia Moddaber answsers that his client never signed anything and was not even in Los Angeles on that date…
In his suit, Lee claimed that Jackson hired him in the late 1990s to put the musician’s finances in order, only to turn a deaf ear when it came to taking Lee’s advice by refusing to curb spending. Lee then claimed Jackson never paid him, instead relying on “charlatans” and “hucksters” for advice.
In his court papers, Lee called Jackson a “ticking financial time bomb waiting to explode” who owed banks hundreds of millions of dollars in loans.
Michael would countersue claiming Lee and Union Finance swindled millions from him and destroyed financial records to cover up their misdeeds.
2003 - Michael and Chris Tucker visit lawyer Willie Gary in Stuart, Florida.
2003 - Vanity Fair (#tabloidtrash) reported that Michael Jackson had attended a voodoo ritual in 2000 where a witch doctor promised that Steven Spielberg and 24 other people would die. The people noted were on Jackson's list of enemies. Jackson also wired $150,000 to a voodoo chief named Baba who sacrificed 42 cows for the ceremony. The article also reported that Jackson wore a prosthesis that serves as the tip of his nose
https://archive.vanityfair.com/article/2003/4/losing-his-grip
2004 - Michael attended the Ethiopian Embassy in Washington DC to support The African Ambassadors' Spouses Association (A.A.S.A.). He was accompanied by the ambassador of Niger's wife, Haoua Piatta, and Mazie Green Holland. He watched a children's group dance before being awarded the Golden Elephant award for his worldwide humanitarian efforts, particularly the fight against AIDS in Africa.
https://imgur.com/a/HEpLUIO
https://youtu.be/gFBUiPkfisU
2005 - Trial Day 24
Michael goes to court with Katherine & Joe. Testimonies of Jeff Klapackis, Jack Green, Larry Feldman & Jesus Salas.
Larry Feldman, the attorney who first interviewed Michael Jackson's accuser testified that he was never asked to file a lawsuit against the singer.
However, he did acknowledge under cross examination, that the boy and his younger brother could file civil lawsuits until they turn 20 years old, the accuser being 15 years old now.
The prosecution had called Feldman to explain how the alleged molestation came to the attention of the authorities, but the defense used his appearance to try to show its belief, that the accuser and his family were out to get money from Jackson.
Jackson's defense lawyer, Thomas Mesereau grilled Feldman about the the impact of a criminal conviction, whether or not it would make a financial judgment easier.
"If Mr. Jackson was convicted of felony child molestation in this case, (the boy or his brother) could use that case to win a civil case alleging similar of same facts against Mr. Jackson, is that correct?" asked Mesereau.
"That is correct" said Feldman.
The two lawyers sparred over the exact requirements of a civil suit, and Feldman denied accusations of encouraging the criminal action, in an attempt to avoid incurring costs involved in preparing a civil lawsuit.
However, Feldman insisted that there would still be litigation expenses.
DA Tom Sneddon asked Feldman whether he was planning a lawsuit at the time, that he referred the accusing family to Santa Barbara prosecutors, to which Feldman replied "There was no lawsuit and there were no plans to file a lawsuit. It was up to you to investigate"
Feldman was permitted to tell jurors of a previous accusation against Jackson in 1993, where Feldman represented another boy, who won a monetary settlement. Jurors were not told how much the boy was paid, but Feldman said there were no trouble collecting it. An amount which has been reported to be millions of dollars.
Sneddon projected a photograph of the boy from the previous allegations on a courtroom screen, and asked Feldman to identify him.
"He was much better looking at that age. He was adorable," Feldman said, a remark which the judge ordered stricken from the record.
The picture showed a boy who many believe bears a striking resemblance to the current accuser.
Feldman said that while he met with the current accuser's mother many times after he ceased to represent her officially, he has "never been asked to file any lawsuit against Michael Jackson"
When Feldman walked outside the courthouse in an afternoon break in testimony, fans yelled "liar", "tell the truth" and "you're making money off the backs of these people"
Feldman said, he was first contacted by the family because of a dispute over the boy's appearance in the documentary, Living With Michael Jackson where he appeared holding hands with Jackson. Feldman then referred the family to psychologist Stan J. Katz "to make out some heads and tails of what was being told to me by the family"
Katz reported suspicions of molestation to authorities after interviewing the family.
Also on the stand Friday, was an an investigator who testified that linens seized by police from Michael's bed, had failed to yield any DNA linked to the teenage accuser or his brother.
In other testimony, Sheriff's Lt. Jeff Klapackis defends the scale of the effort, when 69 investigators served a search warrant at Neverland on Nov. 18, 2003.
The large number of investigators were needed, he said, because they had only been allowed one day to carry out the search, because the district attorney didn't want to "burden the ranch and its employees with our presence longer than that," Klapackis said. He also said that there were large buildings to search at the 2,800-acre ranch.
Klapackis also said, that they took all bedding during the search, because that is where the accuser and his brother claim to have frequently slept, and where they allege the molestation took place.
During cross-examination, Klapackis said authorities did not test bottle and glasses containing alcohol for fingerprints - found in Jackson's bedroom as well as the home's wine cellar and kitchen. Nor did investigators test furniture, boxes, mannequin toys and rails along Jackson's stairwell, or his bedroom doors for fingerprints.
When asked on redirect why, Klapackis said, "It didn't enter in the investigation at the time."
However, they did test pornographic magazines. The boy's brother testified how Jackson showed them magazines. A fingerprint analyst has testified earlier, that the prints of Jackson and his accuser were recovered from the same magazine.
Jack Green, president of a Ventura telephone systems company, testified that he had inspected Neverland's phone systems. He explained that it had a function to allow someone to listen in on other's calls, but there was nothing to prevent anyone from calling 911.
Prosecutors allege the family's calls were monitored by Jackson, whereas the defense say the family could have called for help, if they truly were captives.
https://imgur.com/a/DNEfibQ
2005 - Whoopi Goldberg defends him on Real Time With Bill Maher
https://youtu.be/wwDmVnXIT2Q
2009 - Michael has a business meeting with Dr. TohmeTohme at the Bel Air Hotel
https://imgur.com/a/XEhBA68
2009 - Miko Brando, Michael Bush, Dennis Tompkins & Karen Faye are back on the MJ team*
2014 - The album Xscape was made available for pre-order on iTunes, Amazon and MichaelJackson.com.
submitted by FelicitySmoak_ to MichaelJackson [link] [comments]
1968 - The J5 perform at a campaign rally for Richard Hatcher in Gary with Bobby Taylor and Diana Ross & The Supremes among others. Hatcher was the first African-American mayor of Gary, Indiana for 20 years, from 1968 to 1988. At the time of his first election on November 7, 1967, he and Carl Stokes were the first African-Americans to be elected mayors of a U.S. city with more than 100,000 people*
https://imgur.com/a/QPykxSx
1970 - The J5 rehearse for their first concert tour, which would start on May 2nd*
1971 - The Jackson 5 play at the Mid-South Auditorium, Memphis, Tennessee
1972 - J5's cover of Bobby Day's “Little Bitty Pretty One” is released by Motown. It is also the first song where you can clearly hear Marlon's voice. It will reach #13 on the Hot 100*
https://imgur.com/a/77uT4hU
1981- Michael does backing vocals on Carole Bayer Sager’s song “Just Friends”. Michael had previously recorded Sager's "It's the Falling in Love" for Off the Wall. He was visiting Carole in the studio when she invited him to join the session. He came up with such a special part on the Bacharach/Sager composition "Just Friends" that they happily offered him a co-production credit*
https://youtu.be/bfGtCjIgnsU
1985 - Michael and seven members of USA For Africa are on the cover of Life Magazine
https://imgur.com/a/ZnDLbeA
1987 - Michael withdraws from The Jeovah’s Witness, a step that normally means he must be shunned by family members and friends who remain in the religious sect.
A representative of the Woodland Hills congregation where Jackson belonged said that the entertainer “disassociated” himself from the congregation and “no longer wants to be known as a Jehovah’s Witness.”
The official would not state what the implications of “disassociation” are, but when asked if they are serious, he responded, “Correct.”
Though Jackson’s anti-drug stance in public appearances was in keeping with the Witnesses’ clean-living codes, the entertainer’s Grammy-winning album Thriller produced tensions with the sect leaders in 1983 because of allegations the record and short film encouraged occult beliefs*
1988 - Michael plays the last of three nights at the Civic Center in Hartford, Connecticut
https://imgur.com/a/g5555p4
The story of Anne Miner: Anne is a great-grandmother who never attended a rock concert and prefers Big Band-era music. She says she is 'excited' about going to see Michael Jackson with tickets she won from a radio station but plans on taking cotton with her for her ears
'I'm excited. It's a chance of a lifetime experience,' said Anne Miner, 70. 'How many times are you going to see Michael Jackson in concert?'
The Greenfield woman, who admitted her favorite group was the Glenn Miller Band, big in the 1940s, won the tickets in a Michael Jackson Trivia Contest sponsored by WHAI radio and the Pepsi Co.
A chauffeur-driven white stretch limousine complete with champagne were to pick up Miner and a guest at her home and drive them to Hartford Civic Center in Connecticut and back.
She even considered wearing her old black-leather coat to the concert. She intends to go with her 20-year-old nephew, Michael J. Smith.
Smith said he prefers hard-rock bands like Bon Jovi over Jackson, but still expected to enjoy the concert. 'I'm just glad (Jackson) doesn't wear that white glove anymore.'
The two were given floor seats worth $22.50 each to the concert, which sold out just hours after tickets went on sale.
To earn the tickets, Miner answered three questions:
- What's Jackson's current record label?
- What's the identity of the celebrity who discovered him
- Where did Jackson grow up?
'I'm always winning something,' said Miner, a retired waitress of 41 years. She said she's a compulsive contest player who occasionally gambles on the Massachusetts State Lottery and always buys raffle tickets.
Miner said she has seen Jackson 'shaking around' on television and thinks he is a lot like Elvis Presley, but adds he 'looks like a girl.'
1989 -Michael is on the cover of Ebony magazine.
https://imgur.com/a/UeLPsn8
1989 - Filming of "Liberian girl" short film takes place over 2 days. Veteran video director, Jim Yukich, was brought in to help craft a memorable clip.
“CBS Epic called and Michael Jackson wants to do a video for this song ‘Liberian Girl’ and I hadn’t heard this song yet,” said Yukich. “I’m thinking like ‘Off the Wall’ or ‘Rock with You’ or just I figure it will be one of those classic Michael Jackson killer songs, right? And ‘Liberian Girl’ is not a killer song. It’s funny — what do you do? So again, we’re throwing the kitchen sink at it, and so I pitched the idea to Michael that we would have him shoot the video while all these are people waiting to begin the video, and they don’t realize it until the end is that he’s directing.”
“He loved the idea. We started calling people, and we just called in favors from friends. I had just done a television special with Richard Dreyfuss, and Richard said he’d love to be in it. He said, ‘Can I call up Steven?’ and I said, ‘Steven who?’ and he said ‘Steve Spielberg and Amy Irving, and I said, “Yeah!” So he called Spielberg and Amy, and then you start calling people saying you have these people, and I’d start naming names and it was easy. It was very easy to get people because as soon as you get a couple of big names, everybody wants to be in it.”
The shooting day basically consisted of Yukich and his crew filming all the celebrities on a soundstage as they wait for Michael to show up. The final list of guest stars served as, in retrospect, a truly strange snapshot of that year in showbusiness.Comedy writers were given the task of writing some interesting things for the cast to say on camera while they waited.
“So we just had two days, and we had the live audio with John Travolta and Olivia Newton-John doing the scene when they sang together, and they hadn’t sang together onscreen since ‘Grease’, so it was something to do that, and we just shot this grand stuff of people talking, and the outtakes are incredible because it’s just people talking. The song is not even playing! It’s just great getting all these stars in a room and you’re just filming and they’re saying, ‘What are you supposed to do?’ and we’d say, ‘We’ll get back to you,’ and you’d just mike everybody and shoot stuff.”
Yukich said that in a room filled with stars, Steven Spielberg’s uneasiness on the other side of the camera was the biggest surprise. Yukich used a push-pull camera shot on Spielberg, who was the director that made that camera shot popular, hence its industry nickname – 'The Jaws Shot'
“He was nervous. We did that push-pull move for that shot, and he was more nervous than I was, you know, being on camera. He wanted to try to do this favor for Michael because he wanted Michael for a movie.” Yukich also said that working with Michael was an amazing experience, but required some on-set preparation.
“Incredible,” he said. “I mean, at first, it was funny because he sent his handlers in first, and they check, and they said he is coming in 10 minutes. They go in all the different rooms to make sure that no bombs were there and there were no fans hanging out, and they kicked people out, and it was almost like going through airport security or something. They basically kicked people out there who weren’t supposed to be there, and they bring in a microwave oven with bananas for Bubbles the monkey and Max which was the baby monkey. It was like a real rigmarole, and then when he showed up, you know, he was unbelievably nice. Such a pleasant person and a nice guy.”
Jackson also had only one request involving the removal of a person from the final cut.“He called me a couple of times after he saw the edit. He would make us do some things, like he took out David Spade. David Spade was in the original cut. He called me up and he said, ‘Jim, this is Michael,’ and you think somebody was fooling with you, basically. You would never know if it was really him until he started talking about specifics and you could say, okay, that is Michael. So he called us up and he on a walkie-talkie phone or something, or he’s up in Santa Barbara, and says, ‘You know, in 3 minutes and 20 seconds, there’s a guy blonde here. Who is that guy?’ I said his name is David Spade. ‘I don’t know who he is, take him out.’ So Spade was out, and I’m sure Spade was, like, pissed!” (Spade had not yet joined SNL)
Yukich is still aggravated that the song, and hence the video, was never released in America.
When Jackson died suddenly, Yukich immediately thought back to the video and a conversation the two had.
“To this day, I’ve been – I guess not so much anymore, because years have gone by — but I was convinced when he died that he didn’t die. We made that video, and he said to me, ‘I would love to be hiding and see what people say about me, you know?’ I mean, having shot all that footage and then he died? It was just kind of weird.”
The video is dedicated to Liz Taylor, who is in fact not a Liberian girl *
1996 - Michael starts filming the “Ghost” short film in Van Nuys studios in California. During breaks, he visits his family at Hayvenhurst disguised as the “Mayor”*
2002 - Michael is about to start shooting the “Unbreakable” short film when Sony announces that they won’t release the single. The promotion of the Invincible album is over with only 2 singles!!! *
2002 -Michael’s former business manager Myung-Ho Lee files a $13 million lawsuit claiming that on September 14, 2001 Michael met him in Los Angeles and signed an agreement to pay him fees but he never got them. Michael’s lawyer Zia Moddaber answsers that his client never signed anything and was not even in Los Angeles on that date…
In his suit, Lee claimed that Jackson hired him in the late 1990s to put the musician’s finances in order, only to turn a deaf ear when it came to taking Lee’s advice by refusing to curb spending. Lee then claimed Jackson never paid him, instead relying on “charlatans” and “hucksters” for advice.
In his court papers, Lee called Jackson a “ticking financial time bomb waiting to explode” who owed banks hundreds of millions of dollars in loans.
Michael would countersue claiming Lee and Union Finance swindled millions from him and destroyed financial records to cover up their misdeeds.
2003 - Michael and Chris Tucker visit lawyer Willie Gary in Stuart, Florida.
2003 - Vanity Fair (#tabloidtrash) reported that Michael Jackson had attended a voodoo ritual in 2000 where a witch doctor promised that Steven Spielberg and 24 other people would die. The people noted were on Jackson's list of enemies. Jackson also wired $150,000 to a voodoo chief named Baba who sacrificed 42 cows for the ceremony. The article also reported that Jackson wore a prosthesis that serves as the tip of his nose
https://archive.vanityfair.com/article/2003/4/losing-his-grip
2004 - Michael attended the Ethiopian Embassy in Washington DC to support The African Ambassadors' Spouses Association (A.A.S.A.). He was accompanied by the ambassador of Niger's wife, Haoua Piatta, and Mazie Green Holland. He watched a children's group dance before being awarded the Golden Elephant award for his worldwide humanitarian efforts, particularly the fight against AIDS in Africa.
https://imgur.com/a/HEpLUIO
https://youtu.be/gFBUiPkfisU
2005 - Trial Day 24
Michael goes to court with Katherine & Joe. Testimonies of Jeff Klapackis, Jack Green, Larry Feldman & Jesus Salas.
Larry Feldman, the attorney who first interviewed Michael Jackson's accuser testified that he was never asked to file a lawsuit against the singer.
However, he did acknowledge under cross examination, that the boy and his younger brother could file civil lawsuits until they turn 20 years old, the accuser being 15 years old now.
The prosecution had called Feldman to explain how the alleged molestation came to the attention of the authorities, but the defense used his appearance to try to show its belief, that the accuser and his family were out to get money from Jackson.
Jackson's defense lawyer, Thomas Mesereau grilled Feldman about the the impact of a criminal conviction, whether or not it would make a financial judgment easier.
"If Mr. Jackson was convicted of felony child molestation in this case, (the boy or his brother) could use that case to win a civil case alleging similar of same facts against Mr. Jackson, is that correct?" asked Mesereau.
"That is correct" said Feldman.
The two lawyers sparred over the exact requirements of a civil suit, and Feldman denied accusations of encouraging the criminal action, in an attempt to avoid incurring costs involved in preparing a civil lawsuit.
However, Feldman insisted that there would still be litigation expenses.
DA Tom Sneddon asked Feldman whether he was planning a lawsuit at the time, that he referred the accusing family to Santa Barbara prosecutors, to which Feldman replied "There was no lawsuit and there were no plans to file a lawsuit. It was up to you to investigate"
Feldman was permitted to tell jurors of a previous accusation against Jackson in 1993, where Feldman represented another boy, who won a monetary settlement. Jurors were not told how much the boy was paid, but Feldman said there were no trouble collecting it. An amount which has been reported to be millions of dollars.
Sneddon projected a photograph of the boy from the previous allegations on a courtroom screen, and asked Feldman to identify him.
"He was much better looking at that age. He was adorable," Feldman said, a remark which the judge ordered stricken from the record.
The picture showed a boy who many believe bears a striking resemblance to the current accuser.
Feldman said that while he met with the current accuser's mother many times after he ceased to represent her officially, he has "never been asked to file any lawsuit against Michael Jackson"
When Feldman walked outside the courthouse in an afternoon break in testimony, fans yelled "liar", "tell the truth" and "you're making money off the backs of these people"
Feldman said, he was first contacted by the family because of a dispute over the boy's appearance in the documentary, Living With Michael Jackson where he appeared holding hands with Jackson. Feldman then referred the family to psychologist Stan J. Katz "to make out some heads and tails of what was being told to me by the family"
Katz reported suspicions of molestation to authorities after interviewing the family.
Also on the stand Friday, was an an investigator who testified that linens seized by police from Michael's bed, had failed to yield any DNA linked to the teenage accuser or his brother.
In other testimony, Sheriff's Lt. Jeff Klapackis defends the scale of the effort, when 69 investigators served a search warrant at Neverland on Nov. 18, 2003.
The large number of investigators were needed, he said, because they had only been allowed one day to carry out the search, because the district attorney didn't want to "burden the ranch and its employees with our presence longer than that," Klapackis said. He also said that there were large buildings to search at the 2,800-acre ranch.
Klapackis also said, that they took all bedding during the search, because that is where the accuser and his brother claim to have frequently slept, and where they allege the molestation took place.
During cross-examination, Klapackis said authorities did not test bottle and glasses containing alcohol for fingerprints - found in Jackson's bedroom as well as the home's wine cellar and kitchen. Nor did investigators test furniture, boxes, mannequin toys and rails along Jackson's stairwell, or his bedroom doors for fingerprints.
When asked on redirect why, Klapackis said, "It didn't enter in the investigation at the time."
However, they did test pornographic magazines. The boy's brother testified how Jackson showed them magazines. A fingerprint analyst has testified earlier, that the prints of Jackson and his accuser were recovered from the same magazine.
Jack Green, president of a Ventura telephone systems company, testified that he had inspected Neverland's phone systems. He explained that it had a function to allow someone to listen in on other's calls, but there was nothing to prevent anyone from calling 911.
Prosecutors allege the family's calls were monitored by Jackson, whereas the defense say the family could have called for help, if they truly were captives.
https://imgur.com/a/DNEfibQ
2005 - Whoopi Goldberg defends him on Real Time With Bill Maher
https://youtu.be/wwDmVnXIT2Q
2009 - Michael has a business meeting with Dr. TohmeTohme at the Bel Air Hotel
https://imgur.com/a/XEhBA68
2009 - Miko Brando, Michael Bush, Dennis Tompkins & Karen Faye are back on the MJ team*
2014 - The album Xscape was made available for pre-order on iTunes, Amazon and MichaelJackson.com.
2023.04.01 12:55 Dr_Jackson_SG_1 A Dream Come True
 | In order to give you all context for this I need to tell you guys the events as they happened. A little background first. I'm a 21 year old rookie with my local GB franchise. I've been watching GB1 and GB2 religiously since I was about 3 or 4 and it was my first real "grown up" movie. It has always been my favorite. Ray has been a comfort character for me and The Ecto-1 has been my dream car from the first moment I saw her. submitted by Dr_Jackson_SG_1 to ghostbusters [link] [comments] I'm currently on vacation in North Carolina to celebrate my sister's and Step moms Birthdays. My step mom is a huge fan of the city of Gatlinburg. With it being just a few hours away from where we're staying we all decided to take a trip to Tennessee for a few and spend some time there. We did some pretty standard thing, ate at Bubba Gumps, checked out the Space Needle, crossed the glass bridge, went to the aquarium, etc. Then we started checking out some of the other attractions. Next to a haunted house we found a Hollywood car museum. On the billboard at the front of the shop they showed an Ecto-1. I could hardly contain my excitement. As we walked in we saw the Adam West Batmobile, The General Lee, and Grace from Ghost Rider. As I gtt ready to turn a corner on the second floor my heart stops. I see the grill and hood of Ecto as if she was looking around the corner. I took some pictures and got my picture taken standing next to her. In all my life I never thought I would see a screen used Ecto from 1984. As we are about to leave I see that they were selling photos of the cars. I figured that they were pre-taken. When I payed, the guy behind the counter pulled out a camera and told me to follow him. I figured "cool, a professional photo of me with Ecto" but something happened that I would never have anticipated. When we got to Ecto, the guy rolled down her window and poped open the passenger side door and gestured for me to take a seat. I was stunned. I knew I was going to at least get a picture with her. but get to sit inside? The thought had never crossed my mind. As I stepped inside I felt like a kid again. Waves of nostalgia and child memories washed over me. I was on hallowed ground. A piece of my Childhood that had always been locked away in the screen of my TV or local theater, I was sitting in. I was sitting where Bill Murry sat going to Central Park West, Sigourney Weever, Dan Aykroyd, Harold Ramis, Ernie Hudson all of them sat in the bench I was sitting on. My dream came true that day. If any of you happen to pass through Gatlinburg sometime. Go and pay Ecto a visit. Its an experience that you will never forget. |
2023.04.01 12:37 alanthecowboykill3r Advice needed on improving word count
I’m closing in on finishing the first draft of my first book where I have three character arcs, a couple of twists and a climactic ending and it looks like the word count will be just short of 50K. I feel like I have everything I need to make the story work but can’t seem to get the word count any higher and think it might be how I’m writing. An average scene (not chapter) is coming in at about 2000 words with some much less and wanted some advice on how to make scenes longer or what I could do to up the word count (more internal dialogue for example).
Below is a scene that comes in at 788 where we meet one of the main characters for the first time (Nisha) as she overhears some of the antagonist's plans:
It seemed to be about a posh lady having to pretend to be an even posher lady to fit in at a boat race but it was hard to make out over the noise of the kitchen. Somebody yelled at Nisha and she turned away from the TV.
'I can give this to someone else if you want, clearly you don’t need the tips,’ Chef said as he loomed over her in his whites. Speckled with food from a thousand dinners his jacket looked like an edible Jackson Pollock. Nisha was never sure if she should report the jacket to the council or frame it.
She looked at the ceiling. ‘No.'
'Pardon?'
'No Chef.’ Louder this time but still looking up.
'Good, take these.'
She held her breath as she pushed against the swing door that separated Chef’s fiefdom from the rest of the restaurant. She had done it hundreds of times but always expected someone to come the other way. She fixed her smile in the mirror before entering the private dining room. The room was filled with paraphernalia designed to soothe customers with a history that didn’t exist. Smiling sepoys, moustachioed white saviours delivering civilisation from the back of elephants, photos of English ladies in crisp linen teaching the gospel to willing ears.
The only table in the room could seat twenty but tonight only two seats were filled. A woman, facing the kitchen and wearing a bright red suit, and a man sat opposite, his clothes expensive but faded. A few years ago Nisha would have described him as old but now she would say early middle age. She was becoming all too aware that twenty-nine is a lot closer to forty than twenty-one.
'And then what happened?'
'I went down as far as his knuckle and he passed out from the pain.’ The woman's voice was slate, the result of a thousand years of breeding, it was designed to strike fear and respect into the population. The man laughed the laugh of someone who knew the other was buying dinner.
Crisp poppadoms were placed between them and Nisha poured them each a glass of pinot noir. She chanced a smile at the man who didn’t so much as look through her as fail to comprehend her existence. So much for the tips.
'Even if the food isn’t great at least you don’t have to worry about being overheard in a place like this.'
A bag of potatoes was dropped in her arms and Chef turned without waiting for a reply.
'Yes Chef.’
She thought of Chef as she peeled. The posh lady pretending to be a posher lady seemed to be involved in the race now, but Nisha had missed why.
The woman in red ran her finger around the rim of her glass as the man spoke.
'It if does what you say it does…’
Nisha approached with two plates of chicken tikka. The woman flicked her wrist and the man continued. 'Then it will just be a case of finding what triggers it in the body, stomach enzymes for example, and distilling it.'
Nisha topped up their glasses with more wine.
‘I’m glad you’re confident. We have a lot of tissue but I would hate to waste any.’
Nisha spooned steaming rice onto their plates and turned to leave. A hand grabbed her wrist, the woman leaned in and stared. 'Leave the rice.’ Nisha feigned confusion, gave a deep nod and placed the rice on the table with a smile.
She had fallen off the boat. Someone, maybe a friend, was trying to help her get back on board by lowering an oar. Nisha lent against the door frame leading to the alley and felt the warm night air on her back.
'Nisha! I swear to God do some work,'
'Yes Chef.'
She lost her grip and fell back in. Nisha smiled.
Plates hot from the heat lamp burned her hands as she passed into the dining room for the final time. She placed their creme brûlées in front of them and rubbed the heat from her hand onto her skirt while she poured the last of the wine.
'What will you do once you have all that power?' Nisha waited until they had ignored her the correct amount of time to show there was nothing else they needed before backing away.
'I think the issue with it at the moment is it’s spreading everything equally, like most things it needs some discipline, some direction. If we could focus it to benefit a few people, or a person it would be much better.'
'Then everyone would benefit by extension. Rising tides and all that,’ the man said as Nisha stood by the kitchen doors and listened.
submitted by alanthecowboykill3r to WritersGroup [link] [comments]
Below is a scene that comes in at 788 where we meet one of the main characters for the first time (Nisha) as she overhears some of the antagonist's plans:
It seemed to be about a posh lady having to pretend to be an even posher lady to fit in at a boat race but it was hard to make out over the noise of the kitchen. Somebody yelled at Nisha and she turned away from the TV.
'I can give this to someone else if you want, clearly you don’t need the tips,’ Chef said as he loomed over her in his whites. Speckled with food from a thousand dinners his jacket looked like an edible Jackson Pollock. Nisha was never sure if she should report the jacket to the council or frame it.
She looked at the ceiling. ‘No.'
'Pardon?'
'No Chef.’ Louder this time but still looking up.
'Good, take these.'
She held her breath as she pushed against the swing door that separated Chef’s fiefdom from the rest of the restaurant. She had done it hundreds of times but always expected someone to come the other way. She fixed her smile in the mirror before entering the private dining room. The room was filled with paraphernalia designed to soothe customers with a history that didn’t exist. Smiling sepoys, moustachioed white saviours delivering civilisation from the back of elephants, photos of English ladies in crisp linen teaching the gospel to willing ears.
The only table in the room could seat twenty but tonight only two seats were filled. A woman, facing the kitchen and wearing a bright red suit, and a man sat opposite, his clothes expensive but faded. A few years ago Nisha would have described him as old but now she would say early middle age. She was becoming all too aware that twenty-nine is a lot closer to forty than twenty-one.
'And then what happened?'
'I went down as far as his knuckle and he passed out from the pain.’ The woman's voice was slate, the result of a thousand years of breeding, it was designed to strike fear and respect into the population. The man laughed the laugh of someone who knew the other was buying dinner.
Crisp poppadoms were placed between them and Nisha poured them each a glass of pinot noir. She chanced a smile at the man who didn’t so much as look through her as fail to comprehend her existence. So much for the tips.
'Even if the food isn’t great at least you don’t have to worry about being overheard in a place like this.'
A bag of potatoes was dropped in her arms and Chef turned without waiting for a reply.
'Yes Chef.’
She thought of Chef as she peeled. The posh lady pretending to be a posher lady seemed to be involved in the race now, but Nisha had missed why.
The woman in red ran her finger around the rim of her glass as the man spoke.
'It if does what you say it does…’
Nisha approached with two plates of chicken tikka. The woman flicked her wrist and the man continued. 'Then it will just be a case of finding what triggers it in the body, stomach enzymes for example, and distilling it.'
Nisha topped up their glasses with more wine.
‘I’m glad you’re confident. We have a lot of tissue but I would hate to waste any.’
Nisha spooned steaming rice onto their plates and turned to leave. A hand grabbed her wrist, the woman leaned in and stared. 'Leave the rice.’ Nisha feigned confusion, gave a deep nod and placed the rice on the table with a smile.
She had fallen off the boat. Someone, maybe a friend, was trying to help her get back on board by lowering an oar. Nisha lent against the door frame leading to the alley and felt the warm night air on her back.
'Nisha! I swear to God do some work,'
'Yes Chef.'
She lost her grip and fell back in. Nisha smiled.
Plates hot from the heat lamp burned her hands as she passed into the dining room for the final time. She placed their creme brûlées in front of them and rubbed the heat from her hand onto her skirt while she poured the last of the wine.
'What will you do once you have all that power?' Nisha waited until they had ignored her the correct amount of time to show there was nothing else they needed before backing away.
'I think the issue with it at the moment is it’s spreading everything equally, like most things it needs some discipline, some direction. If we could focus it to benefit a few people, or a person it would be much better.'
'Then everyone would benefit by extension. Rising tides and all that,’ the man said as Nisha stood by the kitchen doors and listened.
2023.04.01 11:15 LiteraryLizard8_ Tricycle
The school bell rang, and Damien left with George to the bakery down the road to buy two coconut strawberry cakes, they found Lucy there, buying a Pepsi and chicken vegetable pie, “thank you” she said, moving to leave the shop, giving Damien a deep sideways look tainted with love, “wait” he said, “what,” “we are going into the woods after this,” it was 5.33pm, he and George had left school late after staying back in the library to finish their biology homework for the week, “sure,” she said, one black pant covered leg crossed over the other above cute AF1s with ruffle socks, twirling side to side, they left with the cakes, and walked through the train station to a secret entry on the other side through a small gap in trees down into a wide drainage system protected from sight by trees and apartment buildings, running through a large, graffiti littered pipe they existed the other side and jumped over rocks in a stream to a thick patch of trees and out into the woods, Lucy found her tricycle behind a thick moss-covered log, “when are you going to learn how to ride the bike without those training wheels,” “when you die,” she swung her leg over the bike and pushed it off through the trees, Damien and George in tow, Damien on the bike he left behind the same log, Damien on foot, the other two were soon far ahead of him, “I have to go guys,” George said, “ok, see you tomorrow” Damien said, he watched George’s form fade into the darkness and shifted his attention back to Lucy, she gave him a seductive smile, and pushed onward, she was the baddest girl in their sister school, wing eye-lined green eyes, dark hair falling off her perfectly symmetrical head in curls.
The moon was now full, just below the majority of bottom branches, bright orange eyes peeking out of halloween lanterns, and green light flickering from candles through green-stained hexagonal metal-glass containers hung on branches throughout the woods, casting a green-orange hue through the woods, Lucy’s tricycle squeaked through the night, Damien behind her on his two-wheeled bike, “I like your ass” he said, observing the soft expanse of her ass going up to a thin waist beneath the short black shirt she took out of her bag, she slowed down on her bike, pulling over next to a large tree, “oh yeah” “you wanna see it” “yeah” he said, blushing, she pulled the sides of her pants down, and stepped out of them, leaving an hourglass in a short black shirt and AF1s with ruffle socks alone with him in the dark woods, she walked to him and dragging her hands down his arms, putting his hands on her waist, she moved up to kiss him, he put one hand behind her neck, pulling at a chunk of the skin on the back of her waist with the other, ecstasy beginning to flow heavily through his body, a crack of twigs sounded behind her, she gasped and looked behind, his hands still connected to her, a pair of neutral appearing solid-orange circular eyes grew through the night toward them, they shifted through space up to them, a pair of sharp white teeth streaked with dark purple-black veins slowly coming out of its black face, a sharp black hand nearly imperceptible against the night reaching out and wrapping around her head, slamming it against the tree at a nearly imperceptible speed, leaving a bloody-bony splatter on the tree, and a body from the neck down on the ground.
The demon levitated backwards, “run” it said, Damien’s eyes widened in fear, turning to run directly away, he sprinted between trees with the demon shifting through space behind him, orange eye the only hint of its existence, each shift sending a cold wave of anxiety through him, a large dilapidated, wooden house came into view ahead, hope filled his eyes, he ran up the stairs, slamming his shoulder into the door, knocking it over and stumbling through into the house, he saw a door at the back and ran toward it, seeing a hallway to the right and a kitchen to the left he threw his bag into the kitchen and began to creep through the hallway on the right, going through an open door into a bedroom, he threw himself beneath the large ruffled blanket on the bed, next to a large teddy bear, lying flat, he heard a shift of wind near the door, and felt a darkness fall over the room, animalistic breathing sounded from the demon, Damien opened his eyes and saw two orange circles come over him, horrid breath seeping through the blanket, it took all his mental effort not to move, the eyes shifted up slightly and a sharp pain stung the bottom of his chin and top of his head.
submitted by LiteraryLizard8_ to nosleep [link] [comments]
The moon was now full, just below the majority of bottom branches, bright orange eyes peeking out of halloween lanterns, and green light flickering from candles through green-stained hexagonal metal-glass containers hung on branches throughout the woods, casting a green-orange hue through the woods, Lucy’s tricycle squeaked through the night, Damien behind her on his two-wheeled bike, “I like your ass” he said, observing the soft expanse of her ass going up to a thin waist beneath the short black shirt she took out of her bag, she slowed down on her bike, pulling over next to a large tree, “oh yeah” “you wanna see it” “yeah” he said, blushing, she pulled the sides of her pants down, and stepped out of them, leaving an hourglass in a short black shirt and AF1s with ruffle socks alone with him in the dark woods, she walked to him and dragging her hands down his arms, putting his hands on her waist, she moved up to kiss him, he put one hand behind her neck, pulling at a chunk of the skin on the back of her waist with the other, ecstasy beginning to flow heavily through his body, a crack of twigs sounded behind her, she gasped and looked behind, his hands still connected to her, a pair of neutral appearing solid-orange circular eyes grew through the night toward them, they shifted through space up to them, a pair of sharp white teeth streaked with dark purple-black veins slowly coming out of its black face, a sharp black hand nearly imperceptible against the night reaching out and wrapping around her head, slamming it against the tree at a nearly imperceptible speed, leaving a bloody-bony splatter on the tree, and a body from the neck down on the ground.
The demon levitated backwards, “run” it said, Damien’s eyes widened in fear, turning to run directly away, he sprinted between trees with the demon shifting through space behind him, orange eye the only hint of its existence, each shift sending a cold wave of anxiety through him, a large dilapidated, wooden house came into view ahead, hope filled his eyes, he ran up the stairs, slamming his shoulder into the door, knocking it over and stumbling through into the house, he saw a door at the back and ran toward it, seeing a hallway to the right and a kitchen to the left he threw his bag into the kitchen and began to creep through the hallway on the right, going through an open door into a bedroom, he threw himself beneath the large ruffled blanket on the bed, next to a large teddy bear, lying flat, he heard a shift of wind near the door, and felt a darkness fall over the room, animalistic breathing sounded from the demon, Damien opened his eyes and saw two orange circles come over him, horrid breath seeping through the blanket, it took all his mental effort not to move, the eyes shifted up slightly and a sharp pain stung the bottom of his chin and top of his head.
2023.04.01 09:58 Wood_oye Am I able to hinge the front door to the smaller frame
 | Our main front door sits in a frame with glass on one side. The way it is hinged on the main house frame though makes it very awkward for entering. We would prefer the door to open onto the alcove wall if possible. I wondered if the frame where the glass panel is would be strong enough to put the hinges on. If not, does anyone know the best way to overcome this? submitted by Wood_oye to AusRenovation [link] [comments] |
2023.04.01 09:37 masque9 3yr or 5yr warranty for Samsung Bespoke Refrigerator from Bestbuy?
Just bought Samsung - 24 cu. ft Bespoke Counter Depth 3-Door French Door Refrigerator with Family Hub - Gray Glass Model:RF24BB69006M/AASKU:6493504
Open box was $1450. Just got it for the looks and the screen.
From BestBuy, it was on open box, should I get the warranty??? --
3yr for $150 or 5yr for $250 from BB?
the product page says a lot of things in Bespoke range are already covered: https://device.report/samsung/rf24bb6900
submitted by masque9 to Appliances [link] [comments]
Open box was $1450. Just got it for the looks and the screen.
From BestBuy, it was on open box, should I get the warranty??? --
3yr for $150 or 5yr for $250 from BB?
the product page says a lot of things in Bespoke range are already covered: https://device.report/samsung/rf24bb6900
2023.04.01 09:20 Lem0n_Lord Displacement - Azur Lane
I decided to go through with it, and finished my first chapter. I've posted it on AO3 'n stuff, figured I'd put it here anyway. I also wanna preface the chapter by briefly saying what it's about to avoid (some) confusion.
"Displacement" is a line of self-insert fanfics I'm writing where a random person get's "Displaced" into the universe of the series it's based on. There's no lore to the teleporting, but the teleporting does happen more than once, and it happens at often crucial times to put the character into a new scenario.
Any text with italics without " " will be the thoughts of the MC, which I'll constantly just be referring to as "you". I really should start writing in 3rd person, but right now I'm stuck in a horrible loop where I keep writing in a mix.
I preface each chapter by putting lyrics from the song it's named after, which are emboldened and put in italics.
Chapter 1 - Dead On Arrival
As dawn arrives, we still survive.
Nobody knows what's goin' on, Tearin' my town limb by limb.
Where are your mom and dad..?
Was it shocking for you?
Somethin is scaring you?
Enemies will hunt you, no matter what you do!
But we'll fight for you, to defeat them all.
If not, there's no way out.
What in the hell just happened?
You'd landed on your hands, which ached immensely from the poor angle you somehow fell from. In absolute confusion, you flipped onto your back and used your elbows as supports to lean on, looking upwards.
Above you was but a regular ceiling with lights, nothing out of the ordinary. It seems you had fallen through the ground by some contrivance and into an archaic office of sorts.
There was a total lack of memory from anything that had transpired both leading up to the events that had just occurred, and even some memories predating that.
Such simple things such as your name were somehow eluding you. Questions of who you were rebounded in your head over and over like an echo-chamber filled with nothing.
As your thoughts spiraled, you had a splitting headache. A pained groan escaped your lips as you stood up in defiance. You looked around the room, trying to assess your situation the best you could.
Multiple red banners fit with black Iron Crosses decorated the walls.
An underlying sense of dread built up as you continued exploring the room in search for answers. You approached curtains behind the desk, they seemed relatively well cleaned. With a gentle tug, you pulled them back.
Lying beyond the curtains was a view you thought you'd never see.
Just where in the hell am I?
Looking down from the window, you could see huge warships docked at a port. Some people down below, the size of pinpricks, were walking along the concrete ground. More crimson banners littered the streets away from the docks.
"Oh, no, no, no, no, no..." You whispered to yourself, backing away from the glass.
In an attempt to find out where you were, you flew open the desk drawers. Paper flew like confetti as you looked for answers.
A date eventually stood out to you.
"1-1941?!" You said out loud, dumbfounded.
You continued sifting through the pages in denial, finding the very same date over and over again. After a while, you were surrounded by a sea of white sheets each imprinted with evidence of the impossible.
The drawers all lay empty with nothing more to prove.
You looked towards the multiple banners in the room and silently cursed.
Where the fuck am I? In the Führer's office?
Two doors were present in the room. One opposite the desk, and another to your right.
Testing your luck, you opened the one opposite where you currently were.
It was in the middle of a clean carpeted hallway. The walls were an ivory white, while the carpet was a bleeding vibrant red. Even more banners littered the walls.
This was no time to just start wandering around the Reichstag.
Well... Did Hitler live in the Reichstag? Was this the equivalent? The Reichstag was never built so close to the sea, let alone having a view right over a German port...
A figure turned the corner from down the hall, which you quickly noticed. After silently closing the door, you quietly opened the 2nd.
It was a relatively well kept bedroom with an unidentified blonde woman sleeping on the bed. On the bed-side table was an officers cap fitted with a rising golden eagle alongside a red and white band.
A window view facing the sea was left open; letting in a cooling breeze drift into the room.
An idea struck your mind.
If I'm were going to escape this place alive, I'm gonna need some kind of disguise. Atleast, something other than a T-shirt and shorts.
You could only imagine what they'd do to you if they'd found some random person in what you thought was the Führer's quarters.
As silently as was humanly possible, you crept up to the wardrobe.
You thought "What woman was high-ranking during World War 2? ".
Perhaps the woman sleeping was Hitlers wife or something?
The closet responded to your touch with a high pitched squeak. Despite it being an inanimate object, you motioned for it to shut up with your hand. Your head spun around to see if the woman had woken up.
She did not.
With a silent thank you to god, you looked inside for some kind of uniform. What you instead found was... Womens' apparel?
You reached further in and looked deeper. There was no men's uniforms, which was quite surprising. Further scanning the wardrobe, you came across what appeared to be her undergarments.
You would've slammed the door shut, but the sound of the woman behind you snoring left a constant reminder that there was a SLIGHT element of danger.
Instead of risking it making another creaking sound, you left it open and left the room with a blush. You dove back into the marked papers and read them more thoroughly. Mentions of... Ship girls? Wisdom cubes?
No, no, no, that can't be right.
Standing back up, you struggled to formulate any kind of plan.
If you were going to survive, you'd need a weapon. Surely you could kill one with a surprise attack, then take his gun, and perhaps find a way out of here.
...
The closest thing resembling a weapon was a pen on the table.
Yep, that's fine, I'll just John Wick them...
You huffed and sat down on the more throne-like chair. It was quite comfortable, but it didn't spin like an office chair. It'd be 35 years before office chairs would be invented unfortunately.
The pen wasn't a ballpoint such as the ones you were used to; instead it was a dip pen. A half empty inkwell laid next to it. Out of boredom, you opened it. The smell of ink wafted out of the glass container.
Didn't they have fountain pens by now? Weird.
Your eyes were drawn to a map on the wall to the right of you. It depicted a slightly distorted version of the world you once called home. If you were uneducated, it wouldn't be unfeasible to identify it as the real thing. Perhaps even interchangeable should you be intoxicated enough, there were only slight discrepancies which broke the illusion.
You shook your head in disbelief. Either you were truly out of your depth or what you thought were the Nazi's were just pitifully incompetent.
At that point, it felt like you were in one of those TV pranks. You started probing the room for cameras or hidden microphones. With one glance at the open doorway, you immediate ignored it and continued the search elsewhere.
With a sigh, you surveyed the room one last time while leaning in a corner.
This couldn't be some sort of prank or something. Nobody would spend all of this money just to get a reaction from someone.
Your eyes traced the boundaries of the window.
Especially with all of those battleships and the like. God, the steel alone would cost millions...
The door leading to the bedroom slammed shut due to the wind from the open window.
You snapped your neck around to look at it, terror and trepidation coiled around your soul like a knot. Well... Now that's just great, isn't it?
The noise was so loud, you unconsciously held your ears in reaction to it.
You ran towards the window behind the desk and tried to get it open. There was no handle or any sort of way to open the window unfortunately.
Panic rushed through your body as you heard rapid footsteps approaching from the hallway on the other side of the wall. Grabbing the pen, you dashed over to get yourself in a good position to stab whoever was going to enter.
By the time I kill the first guard, I'll easily be able to deal with the girl in the other room. Shouldn't be too difficult as long as I land this blow.
Eventually, a figure opened the doors.
"Bisma-"
The pen somehow deflected off of her head, even though you used all of your strength.
"Eh? "
A dumbfounded look was imprinted onto your face, and she returned the expression.
Both of you stared at each other awkwardly, both of your minds were trying to assess the situation. She had a skirt that was a mixture of a brilliant red and foggy grey. Despite the look on her face, she had quite an imposing stature. Alongside her flat chest were golden buttons fitted to the exterior; 8 in total.
The pen tip was completely bent and disfigured, unlike the persons face you'd just attempted stabbing. There wasn't a single scratch or mark from your inept strike.
You crept around the stunned girl and into the hall, almost tripping on your own feet. As you backed up, she turned around and apprehensively pointed at you.
"You! What do you think you're do-" She was interrupted by the door to the bedroom being burst open.
"That man! Hipper! Detain him at once!" A tall half-dressed blonde ordered from the doorway.
You started backing away, you knew you had to run but it almost felt like you'd forgotten how to.
The inimical woman in front of you was poised to lunge at you, but her eyes gazed at something beyond you. Eventually you had backed up into something warm.
With a gulp, you slowly turned around.
You were face to face with, yet, another female.
Why were they all women? It's only 1941, surely they're not being pushed on all fronts?
An Iron Cross adorned her neck along with two more embroidered onto the wrist section of her clothing. Instead of blonde, her hair was a chalky white that was tied up in twin tails. Something else you noticed is that they all had thigh-highs on.
"Eugen, I order you to capture that spy!"
"Whatever you say, sis~" Eugen replied with a teasing grin.
"This is a huge misunderstanding! If you'll just let me-" You squealed shortly before being picked up by your shoulders. Her strength was extremely surprising to say the least. You attempted to maneuver yourself out of her grasp, but had no such luck.
Eugen effortlessly tossed you like a speeding missile down the hall and through a door labeled "Canteen".
"Why did you- EUGH! YOU ALWAYS DO THIS!" A irked Hipper scolded before giving chase.
"Oops~ " Eugen giggled with content, following with a gait of elegance.
The blonde put on her cap, and finished getting dressed before rushing in the opposite direction.
...
You'd just breached the doors of the cafeteria, landing on your shoulder and tumbling into the floorboards. You released a loud groan of agony as you made a clumsy uncoordinated attempt of rising to your feet.
Your mind was briefly rendered into tomato soup for a good few seconds before you regained your bearings.
How the hell did she just whizz me around like that? And how did that other girl just completely ignore my strike? What in the name of Christ is going on here..?
As you finally stood on two feet, one of your hands instinctively reached for your shoulder. It really felt like you broke something, but you knew that if you really had broken something, you'd probably be on the floor crying.
"Who is that?"
Your eyes widened as you realized you were in a room full of women draped in all kinds of modified Kriegsmarine uniforms. Some of them forewent their uniforms entirely, wearing skimpy, very revealing clothing for god knows why.
They were of all shapes and sizes. Though, putting it like that makes it sound like they're abnormal godless creatures.
It wasn't too far from the truth, some of them had what seemed to be horns. A good number of them also looked like children.
You struggled to get some words out in a very poor attempt of deception.
"I-I, uh... Für den Kaiser? " You stuttered in a horrible German accent. Everyone was silent. "No? Too early? Damn..."
A feminine voice crackled in from the P.A system, a ringing alarm repeatedly blared.
"Intruder alert! Spy in the base! Prevent him from leaving at all costs!"
Chatter erupted all over the room.
"There's a spy in the base?" Someone repeated.
Only fragments of conversations were intelligible from the mess of different voices and German. The talking slowly died down until the room was in absolute silence. Every single one of them were staring at you.
Your eyes went from face to face, they were innumerable.
You immediately turned you back on them and began your great escape.
It started with a thundering of rushing and mangled cries of "Get him!" and other variations of apprehensive phrases. Multiple lunch trays clattered to the floor. The flat blonde you'd met before burst through the doors, using her arms in an X fashion as a brace.
Hipper didn't see you slip out of her way and slink back into the hallway before continuing into a sprint.
"W-where did he go?" She sputtered in a blunder. Her breath was raggedy and frequent.
They all pointed behind her, some of them started running towards her which prompted an annoyed groan from Hipper, who began to give chase to the human.
...
A look of steely determination was imprinted onto your face as you ran with all of your might. Crimson banners, vanilla wallpaper, and the wall-lamps all whizzed by in a amalgamated blur.
You looked behind you to see how much a lead you had.
They were gaining, Hipper was still leading the charge. In a panic, you hurriedly chose a random door flying by.
Eenie, meenie, miney, mo!
You braced and charged through the wooden pair of doors. What you saw in that room was interesting to say the least.
Yet another woman was sitting on some sort of throne. The masonry itself was crumbled at the edges, armrests draped in light amethyst hair.
The woman herself was crossing her legs with her hands joined in her lap. Behind her was a large cathedral-like window showering the room with light, unveiling the darkness. Unlit wax candles ran along the walls with two golden chandeliers hanging above.
She cocked her head slightly to the right, intrigued by your form. Her presence alone sent chills up your spine. Something about her gave off an incredibly ominous vibe.
As you stood there, stunned, the girls behind you had finally caught up. But instead of entering the room and apprehending you with shouts and whatnot, they were quietly gossiping behind closed doors.
"... Think he'll come out alive?"
"August is scary!"
"Quiet, morons!" Hipper hushed them with a quick strike to their foreheads. Muffled whimpers of pain came from the other side of the wall while the figure in front of you stared you down.
There was a profuse silence that was eventually broken by the woman speaking to you.
"It seems you're this Spy. "
She spoke with an air of sophistication and superiority. More silence followed before being broken up yet again. with a sigh she stood up, albeit slowly.
"I must admit, you caught me off guard. "
You watched in a combination of wonder and horror as a mass of azure cubes passed through the floor and walls, amassing themselves into a metal dragon. Instead of wings, it had half of a deck of an aircraft carrier on each wing.
"Your bravery is worthy of admiration, although whether it is folly or valor..." The dragon took a thunderous step towards you, turrets on the deck seemed to be locked onto your head. "I shall decide."
Each of the steps towards you made you flinch.
"You... Want me... To fight... That?" You said while backing up against the door. "What in the name of Christ..? "
What kind of world was this? A world where dragons just... Exist? A world where someone can just pick you up and hurl you without any effort?
This was but another wake-up call to where you had been thrown into.
"Will you falter in the face of such trials?" She ignored your very obvious indirect plea for mercy.
Your hands wrapped around the knob of the door and turned it violently. The door did not open. In a desperate escape attempt, you rammed your shoulder into it repeatedly to no avail.
Seeing how it wasn't working, you backed up towards the dragon and prepared to ram the door down one last time with all of your might.
"Have you given up already?" The woman sneered, a hint of disappointment rang in her voice.
You ran at the door and made one poor excuse of a dropkick while closing your eyes.
...
It felt... Warm. Your body impacted the ground without ever hitting anything with your feet.
For the second time that day, you were dropped onto the floor. Hard.
You let out an exasperated gasp after opening your eyes. Sunlight hit your body from above, no longer held back by a structure.
You were now in a street, occasionally people would pass by. Some looked on with concern, but without the courage to assist. Wooden buildings lined the busy streets, the archaic stone pathway was littered with the tapping of footsteps.
It was just like when you had first arrived here. Though this time, you remembered.
With a silent thank you to whatever deity might've saved you, you stood up with a grin.
Elsewhere...
"Where did he go?!"
"I'm afraid that's not something I know."
"B-but... How?! He can't just vanish! Unless..."
Hipper scratched her chin, her right eye twitching in increasing frustration.
"He must be a submarine! He might have some... Some sort of camouflage! Yes, that must be it!" She whipped around to the crowd of startled onlookers. "Scour the base! I want no stone unturned! Every cabinet, wardrobe and desk!"
Most of the ships saluted with a coordinated "Jawohl!" before dispersing in different directions. Some merely nodded in a sultry state, upset that their lunch had been ruined.
The ones remaining infront of her were none other than Bismarck and Prinz Eugen.
"I just got my rigging on too! Damn him!" Admiral Hipper raised her shaking fist to the sky in rage.
"I'm sure you'll get him next time~" Eugen jokingly assured Hipper, slinging her arm around her sisters neck.
Already teetering on the edge of rage, she had an outburst.
"IT'S YOUR FAULT ANYWAY!" She flew Eugens arm off her shoulder. "I-if you didn't toss him like you did, we could've easily-"
"Eugen, don't go overboard on your games. What is done is done, though do expect to hear from me in the coming days."
Eugen let out a "Hmpf. " and walked away.
Bismarck approached Hipper with a serious gaze. She immediately got the message and composed herself, straightening her posture.
"I believe you were closest to him. Can you describe his face? Eye color, or anything of the sort?"
Admiral Hipper profusely nodded.
"Good."
And that ends the first chapter. As you can probably tell, I'm a novice writer, and most of you are probably twice my age. (Surprisingly, most of you seem to be above the age of 20.) I'm also very new to the fandom, and am looking to improve my writing of dialogue and vast amount of personalities (most of which are tropes), and I'm quite afraid I wrote August/Eugen wrong.
I also have a few questions for any hard-core Azur Lane fans that I'd appreciate if you could answer:
1: Is the German language just called "Ironblood"? Is Japanese called "Sakura" or something? 2: Does the game or anime happen first? Or, are they in separate timelines? I haven't seen Crosswave myself, so I don't know. I was going to follow the events of the anime, then maybe into the game, then into Slow Ahead.
3: (most important one) Are men just... Really rare? Is there a reason why all the ships are females, or why we never see any men, anywhere?
If you've somehow read all of this, thank you, I appreciate people reading my work. Cheers from Australia.
submitted by Lem0n_Lord to AzureLane [link] [comments]
"Displacement" is a line of self-insert fanfics I'm writing where a random person get's "Displaced" into the universe of the series it's based on. There's no lore to the teleporting, but the teleporting does happen more than once, and it happens at often crucial times to put the character into a new scenario.
Any text with italics without " " will be the thoughts of the MC, which I'll constantly just be referring to as "you". I really should start writing in 3rd person, but right now I'm stuck in a horrible loop where I keep writing in a mix.
I preface each chapter by putting lyrics from the song it's named after, which are emboldened and put in italics.
Chapter 1 - Dead On Arrival
As dawn arrives, we still survive.
Nobody knows what's goin' on, Tearin' my town limb by limb.
Where are your mom and dad..?
Was it shocking for you?
Somethin is scaring you?
Enemies will hunt you, no matter what you do!
But we'll fight for you, to defeat them all.
If not, there's no way out.
What in the hell just happened?
You'd landed on your hands, which ached immensely from the poor angle you somehow fell from. In absolute confusion, you flipped onto your back and used your elbows as supports to lean on, looking upwards.
Above you was but a regular ceiling with lights, nothing out of the ordinary. It seems you had fallen through the ground by some contrivance and into an archaic office of sorts.
There was a total lack of memory from anything that had transpired both leading up to the events that had just occurred, and even some memories predating that.
Such simple things such as your name were somehow eluding you. Questions of who you were rebounded in your head over and over like an echo-chamber filled with nothing.
As your thoughts spiraled, you had a splitting headache. A pained groan escaped your lips as you stood up in defiance. You looked around the room, trying to assess your situation the best you could.
Multiple red banners fit with black Iron Crosses decorated the walls.
An underlying sense of dread built up as you continued exploring the room in search for answers. You approached curtains behind the desk, they seemed relatively well cleaned. With a gentle tug, you pulled them back.
Lying beyond the curtains was a view you thought you'd never see.
Just where in the hell am I?
Looking down from the window, you could see huge warships docked at a port. Some people down below, the size of pinpricks, were walking along the concrete ground. More crimson banners littered the streets away from the docks.
"Oh, no, no, no, no, no..." You whispered to yourself, backing away from the glass.
In an attempt to find out where you were, you flew open the desk drawers. Paper flew like confetti as you looked for answers.
A date eventually stood out to you.
"1-1941?!" You said out loud, dumbfounded.
You continued sifting through the pages in denial, finding the very same date over and over again. After a while, you were surrounded by a sea of white sheets each imprinted with evidence of the impossible.
The drawers all lay empty with nothing more to prove.
You looked towards the multiple banners in the room and silently cursed.
Where the fuck am I? In the Führer's office?
Two doors were present in the room. One opposite the desk, and another to your right.
Testing your luck, you opened the one opposite where you currently were.
It was in the middle of a clean carpeted hallway. The walls were an ivory white, while the carpet was a bleeding vibrant red. Even more banners littered the walls.
This was no time to just start wandering around the Reichstag.
Well... Did Hitler live in the Reichstag? Was this the equivalent? The Reichstag was never built so close to the sea, let alone having a view right over a German port...
A figure turned the corner from down the hall, which you quickly noticed. After silently closing the door, you quietly opened the 2nd.
It was a relatively well kept bedroom with an unidentified blonde woman sleeping on the bed. On the bed-side table was an officers cap fitted with a rising golden eagle alongside a red and white band.
A window view facing the sea was left open; letting in a cooling breeze drift into the room.
An idea struck your mind.
If I'm were going to escape this place alive, I'm gonna need some kind of disguise. Atleast, something other than a T-shirt and shorts.
You could only imagine what they'd do to you if they'd found some random person in what you thought was the Führer's quarters.
As silently as was humanly possible, you crept up to the wardrobe.
You thought "What woman was high-ranking during World War 2? ".
Perhaps the woman sleeping was Hitlers wife or something?
The closet responded to your touch with a high pitched squeak. Despite it being an inanimate object, you motioned for it to shut up with your hand. Your head spun around to see if the woman had woken up.
She did not.
With a silent thank you to god, you looked inside for some kind of uniform. What you instead found was... Womens' apparel?
You reached further in and looked deeper. There was no men's uniforms, which was quite surprising. Further scanning the wardrobe, you came across what appeared to be her undergarments.
You would've slammed the door shut, but the sound of the woman behind you snoring left a constant reminder that there was a SLIGHT element of danger.
Instead of risking it making another creaking sound, you left it open and left the room with a blush. You dove back into the marked papers and read them more thoroughly. Mentions of... Ship girls? Wisdom cubes?
No, no, no, that can't be right.
Standing back up, you struggled to formulate any kind of plan.
If you were going to survive, you'd need a weapon. Surely you could kill one with a surprise attack, then take his gun, and perhaps find a way out of here.
...
The closest thing resembling a weapon was a pen on the table.
Yep, that's fine, I'll just John Wick them...
You huffed and sat down on the more throne-like chair. It was quite comfortable, but it didn't spin like an office chair. It'd be 35 years before office chairs would be invented unfortunately.
The pen wasn't a ballpoint such as the ones you were used to; instead it was a dip pen. A half empty inkwell laid next to it. Out of boredom, you opened it. The smell of ink wafted out of the glass container.
Didn't they have fountain pens by now? Weird.
Your eyes were drawn to a map on the wall to the right of you. It depicted a slightly distorted version of the world you once called home. If you were uneducated, it wouldn't be unfeasible to identify it as the real thing. Perhaps even interchangeable should you be intoxicated enough, there were only slight discrepancies which broke the illusion.
You shook your head in disbelief. Either you were truly out of your depth or what you thought were the Nazi's were just pitifully incompetent.
At that point, it felt like you were in one of those TV pranks. You started probing the room for cameras or hidden microphones. With one glance at the open doorway, you immediate ignored it and continued the search elsewhere.
With a sigh, you surveyed the room one last time while leaning in a corner.
This couldn't be some sort of prank or something. Nobody would spend all of this money just to get a reaction from someone.
Your eyes traced the boundaries of the window.
Especially with all of those battleships and the like. God, the steel alone would cost millions...
The door leading to the bedroom slammed shut due to the wind from the open window.
You snapped your neck around to look at it, terror and trepidation coiled around your soul like a knot. Well... Now that's just great, isn't it?
The noise was so loud, you unconsciously held your ears in reaction to it.
You ran towards the window behind the desk and tried to get it open. There was no handle or any sort of way to open the window unfortunately.
Panic rushed through your body as you heard rapid footsteps approaching from the hallway on the other side of the wall. Grabbing the pen, you dashed over to get yourself in a good position to stab whoever was going to enter.
By the time I kill the first guard, I'll easily be able to deal with the girl in the other room. Shouldn't be too difficult as long as I land this blow.
Eventually, a figure opened the doors.
"Bisma-"
The pen somehow deflected off of her head, even though you used all of your strength.
"Eh? "
A dumbfounded look was imprinted onto your face, and she returned the expression.
Both of you stared at each other awkwardly, both of your minds were trying to assess the situation. She had a skirt that was a mixture of a brilliant red and foggy grey. Despite the look on her face, she had quite an imposing stature. Alongside her flat chest were golden buttons fitted to the exterior; 8 in total.
The pen tip was completely bent and disfigured, unlike the persons face you'd just attempted stabbing. There wasn't a single scratch or mark from your inept strike.
You crept around the stunned girl and into the hall, almost tripping on your own feet. As you backed up, she turned around and apprehensively pointed at you.
"You! What do you think you're do-" She was interrupted by the door to the bedroom being burst open.
"That man! Hipper! Detain him at once!" A tall half-dressed blonde ordered from the doorway.
You started backing away, you knew you had to run but it almost felt like you'd forgotten how to.
The inimical woman in front of you was poised to lunge at you, but her eyes gazed at something beyond you. Eventually you had backed up into something warm.
With a gulp, you slowly turned around.
You were face to face with, yet, another female.
Why were they all women? It's only 1941, surely they're not being pushed on all fronts?
An Iron Cross adorned her neck along with two more embroidered onto the wrist section of her clothing. Instead of blonde, her hair was a chalky white that was tied up in twin tails. Something else you noticed is that they all had thigh-highs on.
"Eugen, I order you to capture that spy!"
"Whatever you say, sis~" Eugen replied with a teasing grin.
"This is a huge misunderstanding! If you'll just let me-" You squealed shortly before being picked up by your shoulders. Her strength was extremely surprising to say the least. You attempted to maneuver yourself out of her grasp, but had no such luck.
Eugen effortlessly tossed you like a speeding missile down the hall and through a door labeled "Canteen".
"Why did you- EUGH! YOU ALWAYS DO THIS!" A irked Hipper scolded before giving chase.
"Oops~ " Eugen giggled with content, following with a gait of elegance.
The blonde put on her cap, and finished getting dressed before rushing in the opposite direction.
...
You'd just breached the doors of the cafeteria, landing on your shoulder and tumbling into the floorboards. You released a loud groan of agony as you made a clumsy uncoordinated attempt of rising to your feet.
Your mind was briefly rendered into tomato soup for a good few seconds before you regained your bearings.
How the hell did she just whizz me around like that? And how did that other girl just completely ignore my strike? What in the name of Christ is going on here..?
As you finally stood on two feet, one of your hands instinctively reached for your shoulder. It really felt like you broke something, but you knew that if you really had broken something, you'd probably be on the floor crying.
"Who is that?"
Your eyes widened as you realized you were in a room full of women draped in all kinds of modified Kriegsmarine uniforms. Some of them forewent their uniforms entirely, wearing skimpy, very revealing clothing for god knows why.
They were of all shapes and sizes. Though, putting it like that makes it sound like they're abnormal godless creatures.
It wasn't too far from the truth, some of them had what seemed to be horns. A good number of them also looked like children.
You struggled to get some words out in a very poor attempt of deception.
"I-I, uh... Für den Kaiser? " You stuttered in a horrible German accent. Everyone was silent. "No? Too early? Damn..."
A feminine voice crackled in from the P.A system, a ringing alarm repeatedly blared.
"Intruder alert! Spy in the base! Prevent him from leaving at all costs!"
Chatter erupted all over the room.
"There's a spy in the base?" Someone repeated.
Only fragments of conversations were intelligible from the mess of different voices and German. The talking slowly died down until the room was in absolute silence. Every single one of them were staring at you.
Your eyes went from face to face, they were innumerable.
You immediately turned you back on them and began your great escape.
It started with a thundering of rushing and mangled cries of "Get him!" and other variations of apprehensive phrases. Multiple lunch trays clattered to the floor. The flat blonde you'd met before burst through the doors, using her arms in an X fashion as a brace.
Hipper didn't see you slip out of her way and slink back into the hallway before continuing into a sprint.
"W-where did he go?" She sputtered in a blunder. Her breath was raggedy and frequent.
They all pointed behind her, some of them started running towards her which prompted an annoyed groan from Hipper, who began to give chase to the human.
...
A look of steely determination was imprinted onto your face as you ran with all of your might. Crimson banners, vanilla wallpaper, and the wall-lamps all whizzed by in a amalgamated blur.
You looked behind you to see how much a lead you had.
They were gaining, Hipper was still leading the charge. In a panic, you hurriedly chose a random door flying by.
Eenie, meenie, miney, mo!
You braced and charged through the wooden pair of doors. What you saw in that room was interesting to say the least.
Yet another woman was sitting on some sort of throne. The masonry itself was crumbled at the edges, armrests draped in light amethyst hair.
The woman herself was crossing her legs with her hands joined in her lap. Behind her was a large cathedral-like window showering the room with light, unveiling the darkness. Unlit wax candles ran along the walls with two golden chandeliers hanging above.
She cocked her head slightly to the right, intrigued by your form. Her presence alone sent chills up your spine. Something about her gave off an incredibly ominous vibe.
As you stood there, stunned, the girls behind you had finally caught up. But instead of entering the room and apprehending you with shouts and whatnot, they were quietly gossiping behind closed doors.
"... Think he'll come out alive?"
"August is scary!"
"Quiet, morons!" Hipper hushed them with a quick strike to their foreheads. Muffled whimpers of pain came from the other side of the wall while the figure in front of you stared you down.
There was a profuse silence that was eventually broken by the woman speaking to you.
"It seems you're this Spy. "
She spoke with an air of sophistication and superiority. More silence followed before being broken up yet again. with a sigh she stood up, albeit slowly.
"I must admit, you caught me off guard. "
You watched in a combination of wonder and horror as a mass of azure cubes passed through the floor and walls, amassing themselves into a metal dragon. Instead of wings, it had half of a deck of an aircraft carrier on each wing.
"Your bravery is worthy of admiration, although whether it is folly or valor..." The dragon took a thunderous step towards you, turrets on the deck seemed to be locked onto your head. "I shall decide."
Each of the steps towards you made you flinch.
"You... Want me... To fight... That?" You said while backing up against the door. "What in the name of Christ..? "
What kind of world was this? A world where dragons just... Exist? A world where someone can just pick you up and hurl you without any effort?
This was but another wake-up call to where you had been thrown into.
"Will you falter in the face of such trials?" She ignored your very obvious indirect plea for mercy.
Your hands wrapped around the knob of the door and turned it violently. The door did not open. In a desperate escape attempt, you rammed your shoulder into it repeatedly to no avail.
Seeing how it wasn't working, you backed up towards the dragon and prepared to ram the door down one last time with all of your might.
"Have you given up already?" The woman sneered, a hint of disappointment rang in her voice.
You ran at the door and made one poor excuse of a dropkick while closing your eyes.
...
It felt... Warm. Your body impacted the ground without ever hitting anything with your feet.
For the second time that day, you were dropped onto the floor. Hard.
You let out an exasperated gasp after opening your eyes. Sunlight hit your body from above, no longer held back by a structure.
You were now in a street, occasionally people would pass by. Some looked on with concern, but without the courage to assist. Wooden buildings lined the busy streets, the archaic stone pathway was littered with the tapping of footsteps.
It was just like when you had first arrived here. Though this time, you remembered.
With a silent thank you to whatever deity might've saved you, you stood up with a grin.
Elsewhere...
"Where did he go?!"
"I'm afraid that's not something I know."
"B-but... How?! He can't just vanish! Unless..."
Hipper scratched her chin, her right eye twitching in increasing frustration.
"He must be a submarine! He might have some... Some sort of camouflage! Yes, that must be it!" She whipped around to the crowd of startled onlookers. "Scour the base! I want no stone unturned! Every cabinet, wardrobe and desk!"
Most of the ships saluted with a coordinated "Jawohl!" before dispersing in different directions. Some merely nodded in a sultry state, upset that their lunch had been ruined.
The ones remaining infront of her were none other than Bismarck and Prinz Eugen.
"I just got my rigging on too! Damn him!" Admiral Hipper raised her shaking fist to the sky in rage.
"I'm sure you'll get him next time~" Eugen jokingly assured Hipper, slinging her arm around her sisters neck.
Already teetering on the edge of rage, she had an outburst.
"IT'S YOUR FAULT ANYWAY!" She flew Eugens arm off her shoulder. "I-if you didn't toss him like you did, we could've easily-"
"Eugen, don't go overboard on your games. What is done is done, though do expect to hear from me in the coming days."
Eugen let out a "Hmpf. " and walked away.
Bismarck approached Hipper with a serious gaze. She immediately got the message and composed herself, straightening her posture.
"I believe you were closest to him. Can you describe his face? Eye color, or anything of the sort?"
Admiral Hipper profusely nodded.
"Good."
And that ends the first chapter. As you can probably tell, I'm a novice writer, and most of you are probably twice my age. (Surprisingly, most of you seem to be above the age of 20.) I'm also very new to the fandom, and am looking to improve my writing of dialogue and vast amount of personalities (most of which are tropes), and I'm quite afraid I wrote August/Eugen wrong.
I also have a few questions for any hard-core Azur Lane fans that I'd appreciate if you could answer:
1: Is the German language just called "Ironblood"? Is Japanese called "Sakura" or something? 2: Does the game or anime happen first? Or, are they in separate timelines? I haven't seen Crosswave myself, so I don't know. I was going to follow the events of the anime, then maybe into the game, then into Slow Ahead.
3: (most important one) Are men just... Really rare? Is there a reason why all the ships are females, or why we never see any men, anywhere?
If you've somehow read all of this, thank you, I appreciate people reading my work. Cheers from Australia.
2023.04.01 09:08 BlueFishcake Sexy Space Babes - The Video Game
The gas giant loomed large in the viewport, ballooning as the ship coasted toward it, the colorful blue hues of its swirling bands reflecting the glow of the system’s star.
Darren could make out the bright, scarred surface of an ice moon drifting lazily past, framed against the rivers of flowing hydrogen and helium. Silhouetted against the Jupiter-mass object was their destination – Halfpoint Station.
Having come from Earth, which was still a backwater when compared to many of the Imperium’s more developed worlds, the sheer size and grandeur of the structure took his breath away.
It was hard to gauge its true scale in the vacuum of space where there was no atmospheric haze, and there were no landmarks for reference, the unfiltered light creating harsh shadows. As they drew nearer, however, he was able to pick out some of the massive fuel tankers that swarmed its ports like clouds of gnats.
Those vessels put anything created by Humanity to shame – their purpose being to dip into the upper atmosphere of the gas giant, harvesting its resources to fuel the ships that made their berth here.
Calling it enormous was an understatement. It must have been nine miles tall, the main hull of the station forming a long, relatively thin vertical shaft. Surrounding that shaft were half a dozen rotating rings, each one connected to the central column by spokes, the pinpoints of innumerable windows glinting as they slowly turned.
At its apex was a dome of immense proportions, sitting proudly atop the structure, the crystalline material that made up its transparent hull glittering in the starlight. Inside, he could make out glimpses of regal skyscrapers and patches of parkland – an entire city encapsulated in a habitat that had a breathtaking view of the planet.
Darren pursed his lips as he looked down at the device on his wrist, the tiny display showing the familiar text of an article he must have read at least a dozen times by this point.
Halfpoint Station was situated on the outskirts of the Imperium’s sphere of influence, a region of space known only as the Periphery. This put it soundly outside of Purp jurisdiction, but the place still saw a lot of traffic, as the station was right in the middle of a relatively well-traveled shipping route between the three big powers.
While it had started its life as little more than a place to fuel up and get resupplied, being located outside any of the major spheres of influence had its benefits, and the station had garnered a bit of a reputation for its more permissive policies. Now, it was said to be populated by hired guns, smugglers, gamblers, and anyone else who might appreciate discretion.
The Human frowned as he looked out the window once more and tried to reconcile the gleaming edifice before him with the dark reputation the article in his hands presented.
He didn’t have long to dwell on it before the pilot’s crackly voice came through a hidden intercom in the cabin, informing the passengers that they were commencing docking procedures.
The woman spoke in accented Shil. What that accent was, Darren had no clue, but he knew it wasn’t the same one spoken by his professors – linguistic or mechanical.
He glanced around at his fellow travelers, seeing a few species that he didn’t recognize, along with the more familiar Shil’vati. The aliens were easily identifiable by the purple hue of their skin, their sharp tusks, and their seven-foot height.
Several of them returned his gaze, some curious, some covetous.
Males were rare in the Imperium.
Hell, males were rare, period.
By the standards of most races out in the galaxy, Humanity were the strange ones for having an equal number of men and women. Even six years into the occupation, most were still struggling to adapt to the new paradigm brought on by that reality.
Darren was no exception.
Still, he managed to ignore the stares, turning his attention to the smart display on his wrist, bringing up his itinerary. He was headed to Hab-Ring Five, and the only information that he’d been given beyond that were some coordinates to who-knew-where.
He sighed, wishing – not for the first time – that he might have a fellow first timer to converse with.
Unfortunately, that was a pipe dream.
The lack of other Humans on his ship wasn’t surprising. The Imperium had only recently relaxed enough to begin authorizing travel visas allowing Humans to leave Earth, and his kind were still a rarity on the Galactic stage.
As to why he was out here out in the ass end of space?
He’d been offered a job.
He was an engineer by trade, at least according to his degree, and he specialized in the combination of alien and Human technology. It might seem like an oddly specific skillset, but it was one that was in high demand, as just about every industry on Earth was trying to take advantage of the opportunities provided by the Imperium’s literal space-age technology.
It was complicated work, but he was quite good at it, if he said so himself – and his professors seemed to agree. His gift had catapulted him through university and had apparently landed him a very lucrative offer to take up a position on Halfpoint.
How they’d heard of him, he wasn’t too sure. Nor did he truthfully know exactly what the job entailed. Apparently, he was to be briefed on-location.
Regardless, off-world work was a rare opportunity for any Human, let alone one fresh out of school, and visiting an alien space station was a lot more interesting than backpacking around Europe for a year.
Whatever happened, it was going to be an adventure.
The ship matched velocity with one of the rotating rings, the structure at least half a mile tall in its own right, covered in tiny windows that made it look like a whole city block had been condensed down into the shape of a donut.
Now that he was a little closer, Darren could see that the station was actually far from pristine. Its hull was pocked with haphazard repairs, the newer sections shining brighter than their older counterparts, its armored panels pitted with little craters from space debris and micro-meteorite impacts.
The ship lined up with a docking port, and an umbilical walkway began to extrude from the ring, reaching out towards them. It looked like the jib of a crane, covered over with a flexible material that bore a suspicious resemblance to a grey tarp.
Surely it wasn’t actually a tarp? No, it had to be some kind of alien supertech – too advanced for him to recognize at a glance.
Right?
His thoughts did little to reassure him as the umbilical connected to the shuttle’s airlock with a tangible thud.
Shaking his head, he retrieved his travel bag, then made his way down the aisle to join the queue of passengers who were waiting to disembark. More of them crammed in behind him, and he tried to ignore their uncomfortable proximity.
He hadn’t actually spent a lot of time around aliens during his schooling. One of his professors had been a Shil, but she had been professional to a fault and had always kept a healthy distance from her students.
Of course, she had still managed to be rather intimidating despite that, her head seeming to scrape the ceiling every time she stepped into the classroom. However, Darren was rapidly discovering that being surrounded by women who stood head and shoulders above him was a different experience altogether.
It was nothing to get worked up over, though. He just needed to-
The Shil standing behind him pressed close – uncomfortably close – Darren swearing that there was room enough in the aisle for her to keep her distance. Suddenly, he felt a sharp twinge in his rear.
Had she just...pinched him? No, it had to have been a mistake.
He turned to glance over his shoulder, looking up at the towering Purp. “Sorry, Ma’am, I must have bumped into you.”
Her sly smile faded as she furrowed her brow in confusion. Before she had time to formulate a reply, the intercom above the exit beeped.
“Oh, looks like we’re moving again!” Darren chimed as he began to follow the queue. “Sorry!”
He followed the procession of towering women into the passenger ship’s airlock. Both of the pressurized doors were open, and before him stretched the umbilical. The worryingly thin material that protected them from the deadly vacuum of space was wrapped taut around a metal frame, and the walkway beneath his feet was made up of a simple grate.
After a short walk, they emerged into a cavernous dock area, so large that it was more like standing in some kind of indoor stadium than anything that could be compared to a space station. There were stacks of shipping containers and unidentifiable machinery everywhere he looked.
It was a challenge not to stop and examine the equipment, each new sight piquing his interest, each strange device begging to be investigated. As he followed the other passengers to the far end of the room – his head on a swivel – he almost bumped into one of the containers. To his surprise, it was floating a foot off the ground, suspended on an anti-gravity cushion.
It was funny – no matter how many times he saw it, it never stopped being surreal to see something just…float.
As he stooped to look beneath it, an irritated dockworker leaned out from behind it to yell at whoever was in her way. She stopped when she saw him, raising a skeptical eyebrow. She was a Rakiri, if Darren remembered correctly. She resembled a towering werewolf, a pair of cat-like eyes peering out from beneath her black fur, her facial features strangely leonine. She was clad in dirty, yellow coveralls that hung loosely from her broad shoulders, exposing the ragged tank top that she wore beneath it. Tufts of her dark coat poked out around the faded garment, giving her a surprisingly fluffy appearance.
“You lost, boy?” she asked as she shooed him out of her path. “Stay behind the yellow warning markings unless you want to get that cute butt smushed,” she added with a nod toward the deck. She continued to push her heavy container, moving it effortlessly on its gravity cushion.
More dock workers were assembling to stare at him, perhaps having never seen a Human before. Or perhaps it was because he was male? It was hard to tell. Either way, a small crowd of yellow-clad women saw him off, a couple of them hooting at him and waving. Not sure if this was some kind of alien greeting, he shyly waved back, eliciting laughter from them after a moment of surprise.
One started to make her way over to him before a menacing growl from her superior made her freeze in place sheepishly. Darren took that as his cue to move on – he didn’t want to get anyone else in trouble by being in the way.
He arrived at a security gate, and after being asked to show his visa, he was subjected to a very thorough – and in his opinion unnecessary – pat-down. Once he was cleared, he emerged into the station proper. He stepped out of the way of the women behind him, then set his travel bag down on the metal deck, taking in the alien sights and sounds for a moment.
Far from being a sterile, clinical environment, he found himself in a bustling bazaar worthy of any city back on Earth. It scarcely felt like he was standing inside a station at all, what passed for the ceiling so high above his head that he could barely make out the crisscrossing support beams and maintenance catwalks.
It was styled like a cramped street, too small for cars, almost like the city center of some old European town had been reimagined in an industrial style. Civilian quarters that resembled apartment blocks rose up towards the ceiling, connecting to it in some places, likely leading up to higher levels of the station.
In every nook and cranny – anywhere there was room – the denizens of the hab-ring had set up little stalls where they were hawking their wares to the tourists who had just boarded. Colorful awnings fluttered in the artificial breeze from the air recyclers, and insulated cables that had been patched from the station’s systems trailed along walls and floors, powering streetside food stands and colorful neon signs.
Speaking of the denizens, they came in all shapes and sizes. Darren had never seen so many varieties of alien in one place before. He could make out a few Shil and Rakiri, but most were unknown to him, the varied hues of their skin and clothes creating a bustling sea of color.
He checked the device on his wrist again, pulling up the coordinates that his new employer had forwarded to him. This was indeed Hab-Ring Five, and he’d been given what passed for an address in this strange environment. Hefting his bag once more, he made his way into the throng, having to dodge and weave between the towering aliens. Many of them barely seemed to register his presence, probably due to his comparatively small stature, though some seemed to stop and stare in confusion.
Well, I suppose Humans are pretty new on the galactic scene, he thought to himself.
The scents of strange, alien food assailed him as he navigated the cramped streets, a few of the criers singling him out. They had sharp instincts, he’d give them that. It seemed the locals could smell a tourist at thirty paces.
Maybe it was all the staring he was doing?
Eventually, he arrived at his destination, glancing up from his display to see a dingy bar. It was open to the street, built into an overhang at the base of one of the many buildings, little more than a long counter with a few stools. Above it was a blinking neon sign in a script that he couldn’t read. As he made his way inside and struggled up onto one of the tall stools, the small handful of patrons who were sitting off to his left paused their conversation to examine him.
They were Nighkru, their goat-like horns and the bruise-purple hue of their skin giving them away. Their silver eyes were striking, almost seeming to glow in the dim light of the bar, as reflective as those of a cat. Their clothing was all tight leather and straps, their skin strategically exposed in places to show off their stunning bioluminescent tattoos, the swirling patterns trailing down slender limbs and across toned midriffs.
He kept his gaze aimed forward, knowing that their kind didn’t think much of the Imperium to which he now belonged.
…Then again, that was true for pretty much every race that wasn’t a part of the massive interstellar empire. Say what you would about the Purps, but they knew how to make an impression.
The bartender walked over to him, leaning on the counter as she looked him up and down skeptically. It was another Rakiri like the dockworkers, her feline nose twitching as she took in his scent.
“You lost, or do you want something to drink?” she asked.
“No thank you, I’m waiting for someone,” he replied sheepishly as he lowered his eyes to his device again.
He was right on time, but as he looked around, there was no sign of his contact. He was supposed to meet them here, right?
The Rakiri shrugged her furry shoulders, then left him to his own devices, moving over to the small group of Nighkru.
Perhaps one of them was his contact?
He certainly hoped not. While he didn’t have anything against a person enjoying themselves with a good drink after hours, it wasn’t a good way to make a positive first impression on a prospective employee.
Fortunately for him, the surprise on one of the trio’s grey skinned faces when she happened to blearily peer in his direction dashed that possibility. Just a trio of young women out for a drink.
Unfortunately for him, after a few hastily whispered words to her friends, the group made their way over to him.
“Don’t see many males round these parts,” one of them said, her faux leather getup creaking as she planted her hands on the bar to his left. Another leaned on the counter to his right, the third posting up behind him.
“A Human, too,” the woman to his right added with a sly chuckle. “Now, what’s a Human doing all alone out on the Periphery?”
“I didn’t think the Purps were letting their pets off the leash.” the one behind him snickered.
“I don’t know,” the first said with an exaggerated shrug. “Maybe he snuck out in search of a real woman? I think we’ve all heard how Humans can be.”
That set the three of them laughing.
All the while, Darren wasn’t sure where to look, turning his head left and right as he struggled to pick a Nighkru. He settled on the woman to his left, having to lift his head to meet her gaze, those reflective eyes shining like a pair of silver coins.
“I...uh...was actually supposed to be meeting someone here.” he stammered, a little of his anxiety bleeding through.
The Nighkru gave him a warm smile that wasn’t reflected in her eyes, leaning a little closer. He tried to pull away reflexively but found another Nighkru waiting for him, something rather soft pressing against his back.
“Well, I don’t see anyone else in here but me and my friends,” one of them said as she tutted dramatically. “Maybe they stood you up?”
“Poor form, that,” the one behind him whispered into his ear. He lurched in his seat, surprised by her proximity. “Leaving a pretty young thing like you hanging.”
The first one nodded, as if that was a piece of sagely wisdom. “I know – how about my friends and I give you a personal tour of the station to make up for it?” she asked, reaching out to brush a piece of errant fluff from his collar. “We’ll even carry your luggage for you – we’re nice like that.”
She signaled to one of her compatriots with a curt nod, who then plucked his travel bag off the deck.
“Oh, that’s really not-”
He tried to stand, but he was cut off as two of the women placed their hands on his shoulders, pushing him back down into his seat. Their touch was gentle, but firm, letting him know that he wasn't going anywhere.
Darren looked to the Rakiri bartender for help, feeling more than a little overwhelmed by the turn of events, but she was staying out of it. She was feigning disinterest, cleaning a glass with a rag that didn’t look clean enough for the job.
It was clear that he wouldn’t be getting any help from her.
Was this really going to be his first experience on the station – kidnapped by a gang of alien grifters?
Just as he was getting ready to – likely ineffectually – start swinging like his life depended on it, he heard a voice ring out in a language he didn’t recognize.
The Nighkru turned their heads as one, and he followed their gaze, seeing another of their kind step in from the street. Her skin had the same twilight hue, her silvery hair pulled back into a long ponytail that trailed behind her as she strode towards them. She wore a jet-black body suit that left little to the imagination, so tight that it might have been sewn onto her, the garment open at the front to expose a chiseled midriff and the beginnings of her cleavage. Her eyes were mesmerizing, his gaze drawn to the glowing tattoos that served to accentuate them.
Oddly, unlike the trio surrounding him, she had no horns.
The stranger walked with purpose, her heels clicking on the deck, her hair swishing behind her as she came to a stop to stare down the three other women. They were already backing off, the Nighkru who had taken his bag setting it back down gingerly beside his seat. Did they know this person? They seemed so wary of her.
“Maybe we’ll see you around,” one of them whispered, her hand lingering on his shoulder for a moment before she followed her friends out into the street.
Once they were finally out of sight, Darren breathed a sigh of relief and turned to thank the newcomer. Before he could utter so much as a word, she beat him to the punch.
“You shouldn’t wander around Halfpoint alone,” she said, skipping the preamble. Her voice had a melodic tone, one that was almost musical to Darren’s ears. She planted her hands on her hips, scrutinizing him with a skeptical expression. “You’re just asking for trouble.”
“I’m just...waiting for someone,” he replied. “Thank you, by the way. I’m-”
“Do you have a weapon on you?” she asked, cutting him off. “A handgun under that jacket? Defense spray? A pocket knife?”
“What? No,” he replied, his brow furrowing. “Why would I have a gun?”
Even with a few inches of titanium-alloy plating between everyone aboard and a messy death by explosive decompression, using a firearm on the station seemed risky.
She snorted derisively, almost as though she couldn’t believe his reply.
“For your sake, I hope that whoever you’re waiting for is smarter than you are,” she said with a roll of her silver eyes. “This isn’t Earth, boy. There are no Shil Marines around to babysit you. Next time you want to play tourist, go somewhere closer to home.”
With a flick of her long hair, she turned about, vanishing into the crowd once more to leave him sitting at the bar in confusion.
Darren felt another hand on his shoulder and turned to see an Edixi wearing grease-stained overalls standing behind him. The tool belt that hung loosely about her hips let him know that she was a mechanic before she’d even had time to open her mouth.
Her kind were evolved for an aquatic environment, and although they were fully amphibious, they retained many of their ancient features. Their bodies were smooth and streamlined, with lean, lightly-muscled frames that made them look like Olympic swimmers. Her eyes were a striking ocean-green, and her azure skin was patterned with faded tiger stripes, darkening as it neared her extremities.
“You’re the new engineer, right?” she chirped excitedly.
“Darren Fogle, pleased to meet you,” he confirmed as he extended a hand. She took it, shaking it eagerly, and he noted that her fingers were webbed.
He was a little surprised by how smooth her skin was. Given the sharklike appearance of the Edixi – and her vocation – he’d expected it to be rough and scaly. Maybe cold and slimy, too. By contrast, it was warm and soft, her small scales smooth like a snake’s rather than sharp like those of a fish.
Odd.
“Oh, it is. It very much is. The boss told me to fetch you,” she said before turning back towards the street. “Don’t get lost, you hear? There are some rough types around these parts.”
Yes, she could say that again. He stooped to pick up his bag, then hurried after her, trying not to lose sight of her in the crowd. He also belatedly realized that she hadn’t told him her own name.
Was that an Edixi thing or was she just in a hurry?
The mechanic led him through the streets, which seemed to be arranged in a kind of grid pattern, always flanked by the towering hab-blocks. It was as challenging as ever to navigate when so many of the station’s inhabitants stood a head taller than him. It made him feel like a bug that was trying to avoid being stepped on.
He could only assume he’d get used to it. His guide seemed to have no problem getting around, and she was a few inches shorter than him.
Their destination was some kind of service elevator – a large platform that seemed designed to carry heavy cargo up from the docks, wide enough that a couple of trucks could have parked on it side by side. There were still a few cargo containers stacked off to one side that hadn’t been unloaded yet.
He watched as the woman hit a touch panel beside the double doors, and they began to slide shut, the platform lurching as Darren felt it start to rise. There was no grinding of machinery, no vibrations, only a sensation of getting heavier. It was obviously gravity-manipulation tech. It wasn’t too surprising – the Shil seemed to use it for just about everything, so it wasn’t too strange that the rest of the universe did as well.
Convergent technological development, he could almost imagine his Shil instructor saying as they started to descend. Good tech is good tech.
The hab-ring’s many levels flashed by one by one, until finally, the elevator slid to a smooth stop. Darren followed the happily humming mechanic out into a garage, his eyes lighting up as he took in his new surroundings.
Were those… mecha?
The bay’s walls were lined with bulky harnesses that were obviously designed to hold the machines in place, a few of the berths already occupied by half-disassembled vehicles.
They were!
“Real life mecha,” he mumbled.
As a mechanic, he wasn’t ignorant of the genre. After all, what kind of engineer didn’t hold a soft spot for giant stompy robots? Of course, as an engineer, he also held an inherent disdain for anyone that actually thought said machines were even remotely practical outside of the realm of fiction.
The Square Cube Law was a harsh mistress.
The long and short of it was that if you doubled a machine's height while keeping it the same shape, you ended up with four times the muscle power moving eight times the mass. As a result, instead of having the same relative agility as the original, the double-sized machine actually had only half.
That was why ants could lift so much relative to their weight. If you scaled one up, you’d end up with a much less impressive power to weight ration.
And, the problem only got worse the bigger you went. Giant robots would be slow, cumbersome, and they would inevitably suffer from exploding ankles if they tried to move too fast. They’d also sink in just about any terrain that was even slightly porous.
All in all, mecha were a cool concept with absolutely zero real world applications.
Which was why he was so stunned to see some in real life. Sure, the Shil military liked to use exos, but they were really just power armor by any other name with thrusters attached. Besides, the only reason those things could skip around like they did was because they had anti-grav generators…
His thoughts trailed off as an idea occurred to him. He jogged over to the nearest machine, peering up at the twenty-foot humanoid monstrosity. Its legs had been detached, leaving only a bulky torso covered in half-stripped sensory equipment, lenses and scanners visible where their protective covers had been removed. The cockpit was open, revealing the pilot’s seat, along with the surrounding neural interface cables that hung loose like the entrails of some mechanical beast. Its weapon attachments were empty, but it was nonetheless an awe-inspiring sight.
Sure enough, there were two oversized humps on the back. One was clearly for the thing’s fusion engine – and the other must have held the anti-grav generator.
“Darren?” the mechanic asked, having only just realized that he wasn’t behind her. “Aren’t you coming?”
“Y-yeah,” he said, jogging for a few paces to catch up. “That’s a mecha!”
The blue-hued alien nodded slowly. “Yes?”
“A mecha,” he reiterated.
Which prompted another slow nod. “You’ve never seen a gladiator mech before?”
“No.”
“Didn’t they tell you what job you’d be doing?” the mechanic asked, cocking her head in a rather adorable manner.
“No?” This time it was his turn to cock his head.
Several emotions seemed to fly across the alien’s face. He saw surprise, confusion, and dismay before she finally settled on irritation.
“Typical,” she grunted. “Just… follow me.”
AN: https://youtu.be/a3Xp1WhRQ9Q
submitted by BlueFishcake to HFY [link] [comments]
Darren could make out the bright, scarred surface of an ice moon drifting lazily past, framed against the rivers of flowing hydrogen and helium. Silhouetted against the Jupiter-mass object was their destination – Halfpoint Station.
Having come from Earth, which was still a backwater when compared to many of the Imperium’s more developed worlds, the sheer size and grandeur of the structure took his breath away.
It was hard to gauge its true scale in the vacuum of space where there was no atmospheric haze, and there were no landmarks for reference, the unfiltered light creating harsh shadows. As they drew nearer, however, he was able to pick out some of the massive fuel tankers that swarmed its ports like clouds of gnats.
Those vessels put anything created by Humanity to shame – their purpose being to dip into the upper atmosphere of the gas giant, harvesting its resources to fuel the ships that made their berth here.
Calling it enormous was an understatement. It must have been nine miles tall, the main hull of the station forming a long, relatively thin vertical shaft. Surrounding that shaft were half a dozen rotating rings, each one connected to the central column by spokes, the pinpoints of innumerable windows glinting as they slowly turned.
At its apex was a dome of immense proportions, sitting proudly atop the structure, the crystalline material that made up its transparent hull glittering in the starlight. Inside, he could make out glimpses of regal skyscrapers and patches of parkland – an entire city encapsulated in a habitat that had a breathtaking view of the planet.
Darren pursed his lips as he looked down at the device on his wrist, the tiny display showing the familiar text of an article he must have read at least a dozen times by this point.
Halfpoint Station was situated on the outskirts of the Imperium’s sphere of influence, a region of space known only as the Periphery. This put it soundly outside of Purp jurisdiction, but the place still saw a lot of traffic, as the station was right in the middle of a relatively well-traveled shipping route between the three big powers.
While it had started its life as little more than a place to fuel up and get resupplied, being located outside any of the major spheres of influence had its benefits, and the station had garnered a bit of a reputation for its more permissive policies. Now, it was said to be populated by hired guns, smugglers, gamblers, and anyone else who might appreciate discretion.
The Human frowned as he looked out the window once more and tried to reconcile the gleaming edifice before him with the dark reputation the article in his hands presented.
He didn’t have long to dwell on it before the pilot’s crackly voice came through a hidden intercom in the cabin, informing the passengers that they were commencing docking procedures.
The woman spoke in accented Shil. What that accent was, Darren had no clue, but he knew it wasn’t the same one spoken by his professors – linguistic or mechanical.
He glanced around at his fellow travelers, seeing a few species that he didn’t recognize, along with the more familiar Shil’vati. The aliens were easily identifiable by the purple hue of their skin, their sharp tusks, and their seven-foot height.
Several of them returned his gaze, some curious, some covetous.
Males were rare in the Imperium.
Hell, males were rare, period.
By the standards of most races out in the galaxy, Humanity were the strange ones for having an equal number of men and women. Even six years into the occupation, most were still struggling to adapt to the new paradigm brought on by that reality.
Darren was no exception.
Still, he managed to ignore the stares, turning his attention to the smart display on his wrist, bringing up his itinerary. He was headed to Hab-Ring Five, and the only information that he’d been given beyond that were some coordinates to who-knew-where.
He sighed, wishing – not for the first time – that he might have a fellow first timer to converse with.
Unfortunately, that was a pipe dream.
The lack of other Humans on his ship wasn’t surprising. The Imperium had only recently relaxed enough to begin authorizing travel visas allowing Humans to leave Earth, and his kind were still a rarity on the Galactic stage.
As to why he was out here out in the ass end of space?
He’d been offered a job.
He was an engineer by trade, at least according to his degree, and he specialized in the combination of alien and Human technology. It might seem like an oddly specific skillset, but it was one that was in high demand, as just about every industry on Earth was trying to take advantage of the opportunities provided by the Imperium’s literal space-age technology.
It was complicated work, but he was quite good at it, if he said so himself – and his professors seemed to agree. His gift had catapulted him through university and had apparently landed him a very lucrative offer to take up a position on Halfpoint.
How they’d heard of him, he wasn’t too sure. Nor did he truthfully know exactly what the job entailed. Apparently, he was to be briefed on-location.
Regardless, off-world work was a rare opportunity for any Human, let alone one fresh out of school, and visiting an alien space station was a lot more interesting than backpacking around Europe for a year.
Whatever happened, it was going to be an adventure.
The ship matched velocity with one of the rotating rings, the structure at least half a mile tall in its own right, covered in tiny windows that made it look like a whole city block had been condensed down into the shape of a donut.
Now that he was a little closer, Darren could see that the station was actually far from pristine. Its hull was pocked with haphazard repairs, the newer sections shining brighter than their older counterparts, its armored panels pitted with little craters from space debris and micro-meteorite impacts.
The ship lined up with a docking port, and an umbilical walkway began to extrude from the ring, reaching out towards them. It looked like the jib of a crane, covered over with a flexible material that bore a suspicious resemblance to a grey tarp.
Surely it wasn’t actually a tarp? No, it had to be some kind of alien supertech – too advanced for him to recognize at a glance.
Right?
His thoughts did little to reassure him as the umbilical connected to the shuttle’s airlock with a tangible thud.
Shaking his head, he retrieved his travel bag, then made his way down the aisle to join the queue of passengers who were waiting to disembark. More of them crammed in behind him, and he tried to ignore their uncomfortable proximity.
He hadn’t actually spent a lot of time around aliens during his schooling. One of his professors had been a Shil, but she had been professional to a fault and had always kept a healthy distance from her students.
Of course, she had still managed to be rather intimidating despite that, her head seeming to scrape the ceiling every time she stepped into the classroom. However, Darren was rapidly discovering that being surrounded by women who stood head and shoulders above him was a different experience altogether.
It was nothing to get worked up over, though. He just needed to-
The Shil standing behind him pressed close – uncomfortably close – Darren swearing that there was room enough in the aisle for her to keep her distance. Suddenly, he felt a sharp twinge in his rear.
Had she just...pinched him? No, it had to have been a mistake.
He turned to glance over his shoulder, looking up at the towering Purp. “Sorry, Ma’am, I must have bumped into you.”
Her sly smile faded as she furrowed her brow in confusion. Before she had time to formulate a reply, the intercom above the exit beeped.
“Oh, looks like we’re moving again!” Darren chimed as he began to follow the queue. “Sorry!”
He followed the procession of towering women into the passenger ship’s airlock. Both of the pressurized doors were open, and before him stretched the umbilical. The worryingly thin material that protected them from the deadly vacuum of space was wrapped taut around a metal frame, and the walkway beneath his feet was made up of a simple grate.
After a short walk, they emerged into a cavernous dock area, so large that it was more like standing in some kind of indoor stadium than anything that could be compared to a space station. There were stacks of shipping containers and unidentifiable machinery everywhere he looked.
It was a challenge not to stop and examine the equipment, each new sight piquing his interest, each strange device begging to be investigated. As he followed the other passengers to the far end of the room – his head on a swivel – he almost bumped into one of the containers. To his surprise, it was floating a foot off the ground, suspended on an anti-gravity cushion.
It was funny – no matter how many times he saw it, it never stopped being surreal to see something just…float.
As he stooped to look beneath it, an irritated dockworker leaned out from behind it to yell at whoever was in her way. She stopped when she saw him, raising a skeptical eyebrow. She was a Rakiri, if Darren remembered correctly. She resembled a towering werewolf, a pair of cat-like eyes peering out from beneath her black fur, her facial features strangely leonine. She was clad in dirty, yellow coveralls that hung loosely from her broad shoulders, exposing the ragged tank top that she wore beneath it. Tufts of her dark coat poked out around the faded garment, giving her a surprisingly fluffy appearance.
“You lost, boy?” she asked as she shooed him out of her path. “Stay behind the yellow warning markings unless you want to get that cute butt smushed,” she added with a nod toward the deck. She continued to push her heavy container, moving it effortlessly on its gravity cushion.
More dock workers were assembling to stare at him, perhaps having never seen a Human before. Or perhaps it was because he was male? It was hard to tell. Either way, a small crowd of yellow-clad women saw him off, a couple of them hooting at him and waving. Not sure if this was some kind of alien greeting, he shyly waved back, eliciting laughter from them after a moment of surprise.
One started to make her way over to him before a menacing growl from her superior made her freeze in place sheepishly. Darren took that as his cue to move on – he didn’t want to get anyone else in trouble by being in the way.
He arrived at a security gate, and after being asked to show his visa, he was subjected to a very thorough – and in his opinion unnecessary – pat-down. Once he was cleared, he emerged into the station proper. He stepped out of the way of the women behind him, then set his travel bag down on the metal deck, taking in the alien sights and sounds for a moment.
Far from being a sterile, clinical environment, he found himself in a bustling bazaar worthy of any city back on Earth. It scarcely felt like he was standing inside a station at all, what passed for the ceiling so high above his head that he could barely make out the crisscrossing support beams and maintenance catwalks.
It was styled like a cramped street, too small for cars, almost like the city center of some old European town had been reimagined in an industrial style. Civilian quarters that resembled apartment blocks rose up towards the ceiling, connecting to it in some places, likely leading up to higher levels of the station.
In every nook and cranny – anywhere there was room – the denizens of the hab-ring had set up little stalls where they were hawking their wares to the tourists who had just boarded. Colorful awnings fluttered in the artificial breeze from the air recyclers, and insulated cables that had been patched from the station’s systems trailed along walls and floors, powering streetside food stands and colorful neon signs.
Speaking of the denizens, they came in all shapes and sizes. Darren had never seen so many varieties of alien in one place before. He could make out a few Shil and Rakiri, but most were unknown to him, the varied hues of their skin and clothes creating a bustling sea of color.
He checked the device on his wrist again, pulling up the coordinates that his new employer had forwarded to him. This was indeed Hab-Ring Five, and he’d been given what passed for an address in this strange environment. Hefting his bag once more, he made his way into the throng, having to dodge and weave between the towering aliens. Many of them barely seemed to register his presence, probably due to his comparatively small stature, though some seemed to stop and stare in confusion.
Well, I suppose Humans are pretty new on the galactic scene, he thought to himself.
The scents of strange, alien food assailed him as he navigated the cramped streets, a few of the criers singling him out. They had sharp instincts, he’d give them that. It seemed the locals could smell a tourist at thirty paces.
Maybe it was all the staring he was doing?
Eventually, he arrived at his destination, glancing up from his display to see a dingy bar. It was open to the street, built into an overhang at the base of one of the many buildings, little more than a long counter with a few stools. Above it was a blinking neon sign in a script that he couldn’t read. As he made his way inside and struggled up onto one of the tall stools, the small handful of patrons who were sitting off to his left paused their conversation to examine him.
They were Nighkru, their goat-like horns and the bruise-purple hue of their skin giving them away. Their silver eyes were striking, almost seeming to glow in the dim light of the bar, as reflective as those of a cat. Their clothing was all tight leather and straps, their skin strategically exposed in places to show off their stunning bioluminescent tattoos, the swirling patterns trailing down slender limbs and across toned midriffs.
He kept his gaze aimed forward, knowing that their kind didn’t think much of the Imperium to which he now belonged.
…Then again, that was true for pretty much every race that wasn’t a part of the massive interstellar empire. Say what you would about the Purps, but they knew how to make an impression.
The bartender walked over to him, leaning on the counter as she looked him up and down skeptically. It was another Rakiri like the dockworkers, her feline nose twitching as she took in his scent.
“You lost, or do you want something to drink?” she asked.
“No thank you, I’m waiting for someone,” he replied sheepishly as he lowered his eyes to his device again.
He was right on time, but as he looked around, there was no sign of his contact. He was supposed to meet them here, right?
The Rakiri shrugged her furry shoulders, then left him to his own devices, moving over to the small group of Nighkru.
Perhaps one of them was his contact?
He certainly hoped not. While he didn’t have anything against a person enjoying themselves with a good drink after hours, it wasn’t a good way to make a positive first impression on a prospective employee.
Fortunately for him, the surprise on one of the trio’s grey skinned faces when she happened to blearily peer in his direction dashed that possibility. Just a trio of young women out for a drink.
Unfortunately for him, after a few hastily whispered words to her friends, the group made their way over to him.
“Don’t see many males round these parts,” one of them said, her faux leather getup creaking as she planted her hands on the bar to his left. Another leaned on the counter to his right, the third posting up behind him.
“A Human, too,” the woman to his right added with a sly chuckle. “Now, what’s a Human doing all alone out on the Periphery?”
“I didn’t think the Purps were letting their pets off the leash.” the one behind him snickered.
“I don’t know,” the first said with an exaggerated shrug. “Maybe he snuck out in search of a real woman? I think we’ve all heard how Humans can be.”
That set the three of them laughing.
All the while, Darren wasn’t sure where to look, turning his head left and right as he struggled to pick a Nighkru. He settled on the woman to his left, having to lift his head to meet her gaze, those reflective eyes shining like a pair of silver coins.
“I...uh...was actually supposed to be meeting someone here.” he stammered, a little of his anxiety bleeding through.
The Nighkru gave him a warm smile that wasn’t reflected in her eyes, leaning a little closer. He tried to pull away reflexively but found another Nighkru waiting for him, something rather soft pressing against his back.
“Well, I don’t see anyone else in here but me and my friends,” one of them said as she tutted dramatically. “Maybe they stood you up?”
“Poor form, that,” the one behind him whispered into his ear. He lurched in his seat, surprised by her proximity. “Leaving a pretty young thing like you hanging.”
The first one nodded, as if that was a piece of sagely wisdom. “I know – how about my friends and I give you a personal tour of the station to make up for it?” she asked, reaching out to brush a piece of errant fluff from his collar. “We’ll even carry your luggage for you – we’re nice like that.”
She signaled to one of her compatriots with a curt nod, who then plucked his travel bag off the deck.
“Oh, that’s really not-”
He tried to stand, but he was cut off as two of the women placed their hands on his shoulders, pushing him back down into his seat. Their touch was gentle, but firm, letting him know that he wasn't going anywhere.
Darren looked to the Rakiri bartender for help, feeling more than a little overwhelmed by the turn of events, but she was staying out of it. She was feigning disinterest, cleaning a glass with a rag that didn’t look clean enough for the job.
It was clear that he wouldn’t be getting any help from her.
Was this really going to be his first experience on the station – kidnapped by a gang of alien grifters?
Just as he was getting ready to – likely ineffectually – start swinging like his life depended on it, he heard a voice ring out in a language he didn’t recognize.
The Nighkru turned their heads as one, and he followed their gaze, seeing another of their kind step in from the street. Her skin had the same twilight hue, her silvery hair pulled back into a long ponytail that trailed behind her as she strode towards them. She wore a jet-black body suit that left little to the imagination, so tight that it might have been sewn onto her, the garment open at the front to expose a chiseled midriff and the beginnings of her cleavage. Her eyes were mesmerizing, his gaze drawn to the glowing tattoos that served to accentuate them.
Oddly, unlike the trio surrounding him, she had no horns.
The stranger walked with purpose, her heels clicking on the deck, her hair swishing behind her as she came to a stop to stare down the three other women. They were already backing off, the Nighkru who had taken his bag setting it back down gingerly beside his seat. Did they know this person? They seemed so wary of her.
“Maybe we’ll see you around,” one of them whispered, her hand lingering on his shoulder for a moment before she followed her friends out into the street.
Once they were finally out of sight, Darren breathed a sigh of relief and turned to thank the newcomer. Before he could utter so much as a word, she beat him to the punch.
“You shouldn’t wander around Halfpoint alone,” she said, skipping the preamble. Her voice had a melodic tone, one that was almost musical to Darren’s ears. She planted her hands on her hips, scrutinizing him with a skeptical expression. “You’re just asking for trouble.”
“I’m just...waiting for someone,” he replied. “Thank you, by the way. I’m-”
“Do you have a weapon on you?” she asked, cutting him off. “A handgun under that jacket? Defense spray? A pocket knife?”
“What? No,” he replied, his brow furrowing. “Why would I have a gun?”
Even with a few inches of titanium-alloy plating between everyone aboard and a messy death by explosive decompression, using a firearm on the station seemed risky.
She snorted derisively, almost as though she couldn’t believe his reply.
“For your sake, I hope that whoever you’re waiting for is smarter than you are,” she said with a roll of her silver eyes. “This isn’t Earth, boy. There are no Shil Marines around to babysit you. Next time you want to play tourist, go somewhere closer to home.”
With a flick of her long hair, she turned about, vanishing into the crowd once more to leave him sitting at the bar in confusion.
Darren felt another hand on his shoulder and turned to see an Edixi wearing grease-stained overalls standing behind him. The tool belt that hung loosely about her hips let him know that she was a mechanic before she’d even had time to open her mouth.
Her kind were evolved for an aquatic environment, and although they were fully amphibious, they retained many of their ancient features. Their bodies were smooth and streamlined, with lean, lightly-muscled frames that made them look like Olympic swimmers. Her eyes were a striking ocean-green, and her azure skin was patterned with faded tiger stripes, darkening as it neared her extremities.
“You’re the new engineer, right?” she chirped excitedly.
“Darren Fogle, pleased to meet you,” he confirmed as he extended a hand. She took it, shaking it eagerly, and he noted that her fingers were webbed.
He was a little surprised by how smooth her skin was. Given the sharklike appearance of the Edixi – and her vocation – he’d expected it to be rough and scaly. Maybe cold and slimy, too. By contrast, it was warm and soft, her small scales smooth like a snake’s rather than sharp like those of a fish.
Odd.
“Oh, it is. It very much is. The boss told me to fetch you,” she said before turning back towards the street. “Don’t get lost, you hear? There are some rough types around these parts.”
Yes, she could say that again. He stooped to pick up his bag, then hurried after her, trying not to lose sight of her in the crowd. He also belatedly realized that she hadn’t told him her own name.
Was that an Edixi thing or was she just in a hurry?
The mechanic led him through the streets, which seemed to be arranged in a kind of grid pattern, always flanked by the towering hab-blocks. It was as challenging as ever to navigate when so many of the station’s inhabitants stood a head taller than him. It made him feel like a bug that was trying to avoid being stepped on.
He could only assume he’d get used to it. His guide seemed to have no problem getting around, and she was a few inches shorter than him.
Their destination was some kind of service elevator – a large platform that seemed designed to carry heavy cargo up from the docks, wide enough that a couple of trucks could have parked on it side by side. There were still a few cargo containers stacked off to one side that hadn’t been unloaded yet.
He watched as the woman hit a touch panel beside the double doors, and they began to slide shut, the platform lurching as Darren felt it start to rise. There was no grinding of machinery, no vibrations, only a sensation of getting heavier. It was obviously gravity-manipulation tech. It wasn’t too surprising – the Shil seemed to use it for just about everything, so it wasn’t too strange that the rest of the universe did as well.
Convergent technological development, he could almost imagine his Shil instructor saying as they started to descend. Good tech is good tech.
The hab-ring’s many levels flashed by one by one, until finally, the elevator slid to a smooth stop. Darren followed the happily humming mechanic out into a garage, his eyes lighting up as he took in his new surroundings.
Were those… mecha?
The bay’s walls were lined with bulky harnesses that were obviously designed to hold the machines in place, a few of the berths already occupied by half-disassembled vehicles.
They were!
“Real life mecha,” he mumbled.
As a mechanic, he wasn’t ignorant of the genre. After all, what kind of engineer didn’t hold a soft spot for giant stompy robots? Of course, as an engineer, he also held an inherent disdain for anyone that actually thought said machines were even remotely practical outside of the realm of fiction.
The Square Cube Law was a harsh mistress.
The long and short of it was that if you doubled a machine's height while keeping it the same shape, you ended up with four times the muscle power moving eight times the mass. As a result, instead of having the same relative agility as the original, the double-sized machine actually had only half.
That was why ants could lift so much relative to their weight. If you scaled one up, you’d end up with a much less impressive power to weight ration.
And, the problem only got worse the bigger you went. Giant robots would be slow, cumbersome, and they would inevitably suffer from exploding ankles if they tried to move too fast. They’d also sink in just about any terrain that was even slightly porous.
All in all, mecha were a cool concept with absolutely zero real world applications.
Which was why he was so stunned to see some in real life. Sure, the Shil military liked to use exos, but they were really just power armor by any other name with thrusters attached. Besides, the only reason those things could skip around like they did was because they had anti-grav generators…
His thoughts trailed off as an idea occurred to him. He jogged over to the nearest machine, peering up at the twenty-foot humanoid monstrosity. Its legs had been detached, leaving only a bulky torso covered in half-stripped sensory equipment, lenses and scanners visible where their protective covers had been removed. The cockpit was open, revealing the pilot’s seat, along with the surrounding neural interface cables that hung loose like the entrails of some mechanical beast. Its weapon attachments were empty, but it was nonetheless an awe-inspiring sight.
Sure enough, there were two oversized humps on the back. One was clearly for the thing’s fusion engine – and the other must have held the anti-grav generator.
“Darren?” the mechanic asked, having only just realized that he wasn’t behind her. “Aren’t you coming?”
“Y-yeah,” he said, jogging for a few paces to catch up. “That’s a mecha!”
The blue-hued alien nodded slowly. “Yes?”
“A mecha,” he reiterated.
Which prompted another slow nod. “You’ve never seen a gladiator mech before?”
“No.”
“Didn’t they tell you what job you’d be doing?” the mechanic asked, cocking her head in a rather adorable manner.
“No?” This time it was his turn to cock his head.
Several emotions seemed to fly across the alien’s face. He saw surprise, confusion, and dismay before she finally settled on irritation.
“Typical,” she grunted. “Just… follow me.”
AN: https://youtu.be/a3Xp1WhRQ9Q
2023.04.01 09:00 Immediate_Pea_3725 White powder shedding from door glazing.
I’ve noticed white powder on my front door and it seems to be falling from the putty around the glass on my timber frame door. It’s a 1900 home in Australia but the door looks later than that. What’s the chances the glazing putty has asbestos in it and should I act quickly to resolve this? I have wiped it down with a wet wipe. But before I wiped it I ran my finger down the putty and a small about of white powder followed. The putty seems very solid with some cracks (not falling off the frame). I have a fair bit of asbestos anxiety as evidenced by my previous posts here. Overreacting or grave danger? And yes, I’m planning to get it tested, although I’ve been told it’s rare for it to contain any asbestos by professionals.
submitted by Immediate_Pea_3725 to asbestoshelp [link] [comments]
2023.04.01 08:43 windowsol Help with replacing these curtains in my kitchen they cover a glass sliding door.
 | I know my floor is warm toned and my kitchen is sorta cool toned. Is there a way I can tie it together by changing the curtains? submitted by windowsol to interiordecorating [link] [comments] |
2023.04.01 08:34 PappyStrangeLife Have you seen The Stranger? Have you met him? You need his blood.
Mirrors.
Our greatest fear.
There are no more anthropological demons.
Dark, predatory eyes no longer linger in the deep dark.
Winter doesn’t bring the paralyzing promise of starvation.
A needle, some gauze, and a little liquid removed terms like “blood fever” and "the sickness took him" from the lexicon.
The central nervous system is no longer powered by the night's terror and growls and disease and famine and war; it’s run on existential dread.
We bray, preach, beseech, and all scream, "apathy is the enemy!"
Why?
Because we felt ourselves jade, felt the soft lines of our hearts crystallize with cynicism.
And we want to save our children from the same fate we know, deep down, to be utterly inevitable.
You can't stop what's coming.
We, laughably, reasonably, and inescapably, are afraid of what we see in the mirror.
I am.
You might not want to come to terms with it, but you are, too.
Repulsed. Angry. Disappointed. Whatever.
Save me the thesaurus and just get down to the nitty gritty.
We’re afraid.
And we know that apathy spreads so easily, like a germ in an elementary school lunch room.
But let me tell you.
Don’t knock apathy.
Sometimes apathy keeps you from running that extra step and catching the leading bullet right in the temple.
Sometimes apathy is the time out from the moral puzzles that plague us.
Sometimes apathy is as close to Jesus as you get.
This is the story of how apathy saved my life.
At least, that's how you might see it.
I don't.
I’m not sure you would call of it much of a life.
Sure, I had a heartbeat, a pulse, and was one more clockwork orange spewing carbon dioxide out and stealing my share of the oxygen.
But that was about it.
I was trapped in the paradox of wanting to die fervently and being absolutely petrified of taking my life.
The mind; what a flawless design.
I don’t really want to bore you with my sob story.
Dead brother, health problems, no future.
If you are the sum of all your parts, if everything is shitty, aren’t you just shit?
I hadn’t left my apartment in weeks.
I decided to walk to a local bagel and coffee shop.
I didn’t want either, but I had to leave behind the stale air of my little hamster cage.
The prisons we build for ourselves are made of choices and regrets, and I needed a fucking walk in the yard.
That’s when I saw him.
The Stranger.
Have you seen The Stranger?
Have you met him?
I should hope not.
He was sitting at one of the fading cast iron café tables outside, the sort where the aqua green is slowly giving away to rust and the ugly underneath.
Like us, exposed for long enough, that mask just withers.
I stopped abruptly.
He looked uncomfortably out of place.
Everyone should have been gawking at him.
No one seemed to notice him.
Black cowboy boots with red roosters adorning the sides.
Black slacks, white dress shirt, black tie, black gloves.
Black beard and black hair under wide-brimmed black hat.
I almost snickered until our gazes locked.
Black eyes.
Pure obsidian.
Before I could utter a word, he was in front of me.
I never saw him move.
He held me by the throat, raised me up, his arm growing longer, and longer, and longer, until I felt myself growing dizzy from the thin air and the staggering blue of the sky and mist of the clouds and the scorch of the sun and –
And I woke up.
A blackened, dim room with a single dingy light bulb trying desperately to stave off the dark, like the rest of us.
It was cramped and there were five of us, including me.
In the middle of the room was a transparent glass square, an ominous cage illuminated by what little light was shed here in this dark little corner of the universe.
A single vial of impossibly red liquid lay next to a syringe inside.
I felt a stinging, deadened pain in my right arm.
Before any of us could utter any protestations, The Stranger was among us, speaking, words coming from every corner of the room, his dark visage and image disappearing and reappearing next to each of us, whispering echoes.
“Have you seen The Stranger?
Have you met him?
You have now.
All of you are worthless and undeserving of life.
So I have taken it…
…from four you.
You have all been injected with a poison.
My blood.
Have you seen The Stranger?
Have you met him?
In one hour, it will kill you.
You will rot from the inside.
You will vomit organs.
You will spew blood from your eyes.
You will shit out bones.
You are undone.
Have you seen The Stranger?
Have you met him?
You should have lived differently.
I weigh value.
I do not find you wanting.
I find you repulsive.
And that is so much the worse.
You live by my blood, you die my blood.
And you can live again by it.
Have you seen The Stranger?
Have you met him?
There is enough of my blood in there to save one of you from the blight in your veins.
Inject less than the whole and suffer the same fate as the rest.
Only one of you will live.
Have you seen The Stranger?
Have you met him?
You have now.
And you need his blood.”
And then he was gone, though the whispers lingered in the shadows, taunting and mocking.
I smelled piss.
It wasn’t mine but it was hard to miss that acrid scent.
I watched as my four fellow prisoners wailed incoherently, begged, screamed, impotently threatened.
Hands smashed against unbreakable glass.
I slunk to the floor, sliding out of the last reach of the light, dropping my head in my hands.
My right arm felt like dead weight, the gangrenous limb that would spell out my doom.
Every shift in my weight brought a wave of nauseating pain.
I’d finally found it. That horrible place where the Y and X axis of bullshit finally meet and cross over.
The place where you’re just too fucking tired to be afraid any longer.
I gave up.
Fuck this nightmare game.
The other four set about desperately trying to get into the box.
Quick introductions were made.
John, the pill popping firefighter.
Erin, the sex worker whose kids had been removed by the state.
Alexa, the borderline with cuts adorning her wrist.
Evan, the teacher with the ever-wandering eye. Maybe worse.
At least, that’s what I read between the lines of their half-truths.
They searched for links, argued, pushed, worked together.
They tried to think it out like this was a shitty Dan Brown novel or some 16th chapter of a gore porn horror series that should have had the decency to end.
I don’t know if they ever noticed me, or if they had simply forgotten about me.
I didn’t want to be a part of the world. This one or that one.
I sat in my little corner and waited for my Armageddon.
There wasn’t anything worth fighting for.
That’s when John made a mistake.
And so did I, I suppose.
He ambled over in the darkness, his vacuous machismo ridiculously parading for all to see, even at the end.
I felt myself lifted by my hoodie to my feet, having hardly been able to make him out in the dark.
“And what’s your deal, fa…”
I hit him with a direct jab in his windpipe with my left.
John had at least 50 pounds on me.
But I died a long time ago, killed off by a world of John’s.
And I never said I was a good man.
Far from it.
I had nothing to live for, but plenty to kill for.
John kept choking, hands intermittently clutching his throat and grasping at nothing, trying to find a breath that wasn’t there.
Do you let the half dead animal twitch to death in the street, or do you snap its neck in mercy?
You snap its neck in anger when it’s a piece of shit.
And it takes one to know one.
I screamed, sounding somewhere between a feral hog and a banshee, as adrenaline willed a dying arm to aid me in twisting his neck and putting him down for good.
At least there would be quiet.
I felt dizzy, woozy from the pain, and toppled over.
Somewhere in the deep dark, screams and shrieks.
“Fuck em,” I thought.
I had spent a life putting poison in my body, dooming myself, and I could feel The Stranger’s moving ever closer to my heart.
As the adrenaline wore off, I was beset with agony, the whole of my right side alight with pain.
Suddenly, silence.
“Look.”
Eric whispered and I saw what they were all staring at.
One of the walls of the square had begun to shatter.
In unison, the three begin frantically smashing the weakened glass wall to no avail.
John’s corpse lay inches from me.
I couldn’t tell if the piss was fresh from the kill, or if he’d been the one to wet himself from the get-go.
A chuckle left my lips.
I felt a bit of joy at either revelation.
And then he was there again.
Black hair, black wide brimmed hat, black eyes.
Have you seen The Stranger?
Have you met him?
Next to each of us, gone, reappearing.
Have you seen The Stranger?
Have you met him?
You have now.
“We…we have to kill each other to get into the box.”
Alexa whispered what we all knew.
“Ya think?” I muttered. “There’s only enough for one of us, anyway.”
Alexa ran her hand along the glass. “Maybe we could find a way to share it. Maybe we could…”
Evan began strangling her from behind.
Erica screamed, clawed, struck.
Nothing cleaved his desperation. She begged me to save her.
I wasn’t in the saving business.
Evan screamed like a boxer who finally TKO'd his better in the title bout. A bit much for a worm who’d snaked a girl half his size from behind.
There was a distinctive sound of glass slowly breaking.
The wall began to shatter even more.
Shards flew out, clunking along the hard, sightless floor.
Evan and Erica tried to smash through the square, sliced their fingers trying to reach through the small, oddly shaped holes where the glass had sprayed outward.
I dropped my head and my eyes back into my arms and knees and just waited.
Have you seen The Stranger?
Have you met him?
I could hear him, feel him, smell him, like sewage and lilacs and rotten milk and fresh cut grass, zipping around the room.
I heard the incoherent wails as Erica and Evan jostled and tumbled, a single ball of visceral flesh in the dim light.
Then there were no more words.
Just the sound of squishing and squelching.
Over and over and over.
I felt drops of wetness sprinkle over me.
Even in the pale of the tiny light, I could see Erica standing, like Carrie soaked in pig’s blood, a single thin shard of glass of held tightly in her left hand, slicing and drawing fresh blood to mix with the stew of the others’.
And he was there.
He was everywhere.
The Stranger gingerly ran a gloved black gloved hand across Erica’s cheek.
I felt him tussle my hair.
We heard his condescending laugh, his echoing whispers.
Have you seen The Stranger?
Have you met him?
“You have now.
And you need his blood.
Oh, you need his blood.”
And he was gone.
The glass square exploded, sending shards flying in every direction, slicing and dicing as they want.
Light exploded in the room, filling every corner.
Erica, dripping blood, slipping in the pools of it, tripping over bodies, picked up the vial and syringe.
She filled used the needle to fill the syringe with the furiously red liquid.
“We…could split it. I only killed him because I had to.”
I slowly lifted my head from my arms, still sitting in my little corner, my feet resting on John’s head and milky white eyes.
“Whatever you need to tell yourself. I didn’t. I don’t want to live. This is probably some fuckin’ bullshit lesson in fighting for your life, appreciating it. Take it. I’m good to go.”
Erica paused, looking at me, torn.
She was a good person. Probably.
I mustered a look of phony compassion and sincerity.
“Do it, please. Save yourself. Let me do one thing before I go.”
Truth is, I didn’t give a rat’s hairy ass about doing any good. I was just tired and wanted to clock out.
She stuck the syringe in her right arm and plunged, shooting the red into her veins.
“The end,” I thought, ready to get some fuckin’ peace.
Erica dropped dead instantly.
And there he was.
No zooming, no echoing whispers. Just a stride and a booming, decrepit voice.
The Stranger removed that wide brimmed black hat and knelt beside me, lifting my chin so my eyes could meet the darkness of his.
Have you seen The Stranger?
Have you met him?
“You have now.
And you need his blood.
…But that ain’t it.”
A grin broke out across his visage, his teeth now mangled and elongated and yellowed.
“Ain’t nothing in ya, nothin' wrong with ya.
Just stuck your arm hard with a knife some.
And that vial is poison, ya wretch.
Ya just need my blood to leave this place. To go from one Hell to another.”
I felt panic and bile rise up in me, jockeying for position.
“What the fucking fuckin?” I whined in a strained whisper.
“This ain’t no lesson. No fuckin’ morality tale. This is sadism and entertainment and punishment.
Ya wasted life, all of ya. You’re a horrible mirror and you make me want to puke. The reward for entertaining me a little is the exit it door. The reward for not…well…”
His mouth opened about a foot wide, a cavern of sharpened incisors, and blood and bile and blackness shot out, soaking me, drowning me, suffocating me.
And suddenly, I was sitting at the coffee and bagel shop.
What a horrible nightmare, I thought, until the dull pain in my right arm, barely tangible, snapped me back to the reality of it all.
And I heard a barely audible whisper.
Have you seen The Stranger?
Have you met him?
I looked at my hand.
There was a small red tattoo of a rooster and the word “John.”
I began to cry.
submitted by PappyStrangeLife to nosleep [link] [comments]
Our greatest fear.
There are no more anthropological demons.
Dark, predatory eyes no longer linger in the deep dark.
Winter doesn’t bring the paralyzing promise of starvation.
A needle, some gauze, and a little liquid removed terms like “blood fever” and "the sickness took him" from the lexicon.
The central nervous system is no longer powered by the night's terror and growls and disease and famine and war; it’s run on existential dread.
We bray, preach, beseech, and all scream, "apathy is the enemy!"
Why?
Because we felt ourselves jade, felt the soft lines of our hearts crystallize with cynicism.
And we want to save our children from the same fate we know, deep down, to be utterly inevitable.
You can't stop what's coming.
We, laughably, reasonably, and inescapably, are afraid of what we see in the mirror.
I am.
You might not want to come to terms with it, but you are, too.
Repulsed. Angry. Disappointed. Whatever.
Save me the thesaurus and just get down to the nitty gritty.
We’re afraid.
And we know that apathy spreads so easily, like a germ in an elementary school lunch room.
But let me tell you.
Don’t knock apathy.
Sometimes apathy keeps you from running that extra step and catching the leading bullet right in the temple.
Sometimes apathy is the time out from the moral puzzles that plague us.
Sometimes apathy is as close to Jesus as you get.
This is the story of how apathy saved my life.
At least, that's how you might see it.
I don't.
I’m not sure you would call of it much of a life.
Sure, I had a heartbeat, a pulse, and was one more clockwork orange spewing carbon dioxide out and stealing my share of the oxygen.
But that was about it.
I was trapped in the paradox of wanting to die fervently and being absolutely petrified of taking my life.
The mind; what a flawless design.
I don’t really want to bore you with my sob story.
Dead brother, health problems, no future.
If you are the sum of all your parts, if everything is shitty, aren’t you just shit?
I hadn’t left my apartment in weeks.
I decided to walk to a local bagel and coffee shop.
I didn’t want either, but I had to leave behind the stale air of my little hamster cage.
The prisons we build for ourselves are made of choices and regrets, and I needed a fucking walk in the yard.
That’s when I saw him.
The Stranger.
Have you seen The Stranger?
Have you met him?
I should hope not.
He was sitting at one of the fading cast iron café tables outside, the sort where the aqua green is slowly giving away to rust and the ugly underneath.
Like us, exposed for long enough, that mask just withers.
I stopped abruptly.
He looked uncomfortably out of place.
Everyone should have been gawking at him.
No one seemed to notice him.
Black cowboy boots with red roosters adorning the sides.
Black slacks, white dress shirt, black tie, black gloves.
Black beard and black hair under wide-brimmed black hat.
I almost snickered until our gazes locked.
Black eyes.
Pure obsidian.
Before I could utter a word, he was in front of me.
I never saw him move.
He held me by the throat, raised me up, his arm growing longer, and longer, and longer, until I felt myself growing dizzy from the thin air and the staggering blue of the sky and mist of the clouds and the scorch of the sun and –
And I woke up.
A blackened, dim room with a single dingy light bulb trying desperately to stave off the dark, like the rest of us.
It was cramped and there were five of us, including me.
In the middle of the room was a transparent glass square, an ominous cage illuminated by what little light was shed here in this dark little corner of the universe.
A single vial of impossibly red liquid lay next to a syringe inside.
I felt a stinging, deadened pain in my right arm.
Before any of us could utter any protestations, The Stranger was among us, speaking, words coming from every corner of the room, his dark visage and image disappearing and reappearing next to each of us, whispering echoes.
“Have you seen The Stranger?
Have you met him?
You have now.
All of you are worthless and undeserving of life.
So I have taken it…
…from four you.
You have all been injected with a poison.
My blood.
Have you seen The Stranger?
Have you met him?
In one hour, it will kill you.
You will rot from the inside.
You will vomit organs.
You will spew blood from your eyes.
You will shit out bones.
You are undone.
Have you seen The Stranger?
Have you met him?
You should have lived differently.
I weigh value.
I do not find you wanting.
I find you repulsive.
And that is so much the worse.
You live by my blood, you die my blood.
And you can live again by it.
Have you seen The Stranger?
Have you met him?
There is enough of my blood in there to save one of you from the blight in your veins.
Inject less than the whole and suffer the same fate as the rest.
Only one of you will live.
Have you seen The Stranger?
Have you met him?
You have now.
And you need his blood.”
And then he was gone, though the whispers lingered in the shadows, taunting and mocking.
I smelled piss.
It wasn’t mine but it was hard to miss that acrid scent.
I watched as my four fellow prisoners wailed incoherently, begged, screamed, impotently threatened.
Hands smashed against unbreakable glass.
I slunk to the floor, sliding out of the last reach of the light, dropping my head in my hands.
My right arm felt like dead weight, the gangrenous limb that would spell out my doom.
Every shift in my weight brought a wave of nauseating pain.
I’d finally found it. That horrible place where the Y and X axis of bullshit finally meet and cross over.
The place where you’re just too fucking tired to be afraid any longer.
I gave up.
Fuck this nightmare game.
The other four set about desperately trying to get into the box.
Quick introductions were made.
John, the pill popping firefighter.
Erin, the sex worker whose kids had been removed by the state.
Alexa, the borderline with cuts adorning her wrist.
Evan, the teacher with the ever-wandering eye. Maybe worse.
At least, that’s what I read between the lines of their half-truths.
They searched for links, argued, pushed, worked together.
They tried to think it out like this was a shitty Dan Brown novel or some 16th chapter of a gore porn horror series that should have had the decency to end.
I don’t know if they ever noticed me, or if they had simply forgotten about me.
I didn’t want to be a part of the world. This one or that one.
I sat in my little corner and waited for my Armageddon.
There wasn’t anything worth fighting for.
That’s when John made a mistake.
And so did I, I suppose.
He ambled over in the darkness, his vacuous machismo ridiculously parading for all to see, even at the end.
I felt myself lifted by my hoodie to my feet, having hardly been able to make him out in the dark.
“And what’s your deal, fa…”
I hit him with a direct jab in his windpipe with my left.
John had at least 50 pounds on me.
But I died a long time ago, killed off by a world of John’s.
And I never said I was a good man.
Far from it.
I had nothing to live for, but plenty to kill for.
John kept choking, hands intermittently clutching his throat and grasping at nothing, trying to find a breath that wasn’t there.
Do you let the half dead animal twitch to death in the street, or do you snap its neck in mercy?
You snap its neck in anger when it’s a piece of shit.
And it takes one to know one.
I screamed, sounding somewhere between a feral hog and a banshee, as adrenaline willed a dying arm to aid me in twisting his neck and putting him down for good.
At least there would be quiet.
I felt dizzy, woozy from the pain, and toppled over.
Somewhere in the deep dark, screams and shrieks.
“Fuck em,” I thought.
I had spent a life putting poison in my body, dooming myself, and I could feel The Stranger’s moving ever closer to my heart.
As the adrenaline wore off, I was beset with agony, the whole of my right side alight with pain.
Suddenly, silence.
“Look.”
Eric whispered and I saw what they were all staring at.
One of the walls of the square had begun to shatter.
In unison, the three begin frantically smashing the weakened glass wall to no avail.
John’s corpse lay inches from me.
I couldn’t tell if the piss was fresh from the kill, or if he’d been the one to wet himself from the get-go.
A chuckle left my lips.
I felt a bit of joy at either revelation.
And then he was there again.
Black hair, black wide brimmed hat, black eyes.
Have you seen The Stranger?
Have you met him?
Next to each of us, gone, reappearing.
Have you seen The Stranger?
Have you met him?
You have now.
“We…we have to kill each other to get into the box.”
Alexa whispered what we all knew.
“Ya think?” I muttered. “There’s only enough for one of us, anyway.”
Alexa ran her hand along the glass. “Maybe we could find a way to share it. Maybe we could…”
Evan began strangling her from behind.
Erica screamed, clawed, struck.
Nothing cleaved his desperation. She begged me to save her.
I wasn’t in the saving business.
Evan screamed like a boxer who finally TKO'd his better in the title bout. A bit much for a worm who’d snaked a girl half his size from behind.
There was a distinctive sound of glass slowly breaking.
The wall began to shatter even more.
Shards flew out, clunking along the hard, sightless floor.
Evan and Erica tried to smash through the square, sliced their fingers trying to reach through the small, oddly shaped holes where the glass had sprayed outward.
I dropped my head and my eyes back into my arms and knees and just waited.
Have you seen The Stranger?
Have you met him?
I could hear him, feel him, smell him, like sewage and lilacs and rotten milk and fresh cut grass, zipping around the room.
I heard the incoherent wails as Erica and Evan jostled and tumbled, a single ball of visceral flesh in the dim light.
Then there were no more words.
Just the sound of squishing and squelching.
Over and over and over.
I felt drops of wetness sprinkle over me.
Even in the pale of the tiny light, I could see Erica standing, like Carrie soaked in pig’s blood, a single thin shard of glass of held tightly in her left hand, slicing and drawing fresh blood to mix with the stew of the others’.
And he was there.
He was everywhere.
The Stranger gingerly ran a gloved black gloved hand across Erica’s cheek.
I felt him tussle my hair.
We heard his condescending laugh, his echoing whispers.
Have you seen The Stranger?
Have you met him?
“You have now.
And you need his blood.
Oh, you need his blood.”
And he was gone.
The glass square exploded, sending shards flying in every direction, slicing and dicing as they want.
Light exploded in the room, filling every corner.
Erica, dripping blood, slipping in the pools of it, tripping over bodies, picked up the vial and syringe.
She filled used the needle to fill the syringe with the furiously red liquid.
“We…could split it. I only killed him because I had to.”
I slowly lifted my head from my arms, still sitting in my little corner, my feet resting on John’s head and milky white eyes.
“Whatever you need to tell yourself. I didn’t. I don’t want to live. This is probably some fuckin’ bullshit lesson in fighting for your life, appreciating it. Take it. I’m good to go.”
Erica paused, looking at me, torn.
She was a good person. Probably.
I mustered a look of phony compassion and sincerity.
“Do it, please. Save yourself. Let me do one thing before I go.”
Truth is, I didn’t give a rat’s hairy ass about doing any good. I was just tired and wanted to clock out.
She stuck the syringe in her right arm and plunged, shooting the red into her veins.
“The end,” I thought, ready to get some fuckin’ peace.
Erica dropped dead instantly.
And there he was.
No zooming, no echoing whispers. Just a stride and a booming, decrepit voice.
The Stranger removed that wide brimmed black hat and knelt beside me, lifting my chin so my eyes could meet the darkness of his.
Have you seen The Stranger?
Have you met him?
“You have now.
And you need his blood.
…But that ain’t it.”
A grin broke out across his visage, his teeth now mangled and elongated and yellowed.
“Ain’t nothing in ya, nothin' wrong with ya.
Just stuck your arm hard with a knife some.
And that vial is poison, ya wretch.
Ya just need my blood to leave this place. To go from one Hell to another.”
I felt panic and bile rise up in me, jockeying for position.
“What the fucking fuckin?” I whined in a strained whisper.
“This ain’t no lesson. No fuckin’ morality tale. This is sadism and entertainment and punishment.
Ya wasted life, all of ya. You’re a horrible mirror and you make me want to puke. The reward for entertaining me a little is the exit it door. The reward for not…well…”
His mouth opened about a foot wide, a cavern of sharpened incisors, and blood and bile and blackness shot out, soaking me, drowning me, suffocating me.
And suddenly, I was sitting at the coffee and bagel shop.
What a horrible nightmare, I thought, until the dull pain in my right arm, barely tangible, snapped me back to the reality of it all.
And I heard a barely audible whisper.
Have you seen The Stranger?
Have you met him?
I looked at my hand.
There was a small red tattoo of a rooster and the word “John.”
I began to cry.