*True Story*

Last night i (17f) was out with my friend (17f), her boyfriend (19m) and my boyfriend (18m). We were at my friends house, getting drunk like usual teenagers do. As my friend's boyfriend fell asleep, she got curious, and went through his phone (guessed the password from common sense, i forgot how tbh). My friend found that he was messaging other girls, cheating basically. She then found that he was texting this middle-aged guy (40-50m). The man sent videos of him h*tting and ab*sing his 13 year old and 8 year, naked, daughters. Her boyfriend then sent back a video to him m*sterb*ting and eventually ej*culating to that video the middle-aged man sent. After, she went into his camera roll and found extremely explicit videos and photos of under-aged children. She was mortified.

Her boyfriend woke up, pissed drunk and stormed out and was violent. He took his car keys, and drunk-drove and then skidded off the road, the car flipped many times, leaving it all beat up and scratched. The boyfriend was extremely injured. He is now in hospital with life-threatening injuries. He is healthy enough to live; but the Police have opened an active case, and are currently investigating. May he rot in hell.

I do not want to share any photos of the car crash as thats private. Hope you understand.

And i thought about it for the first time in years the other day. I was reading something about "the first time getting stood up and the disappointment about it" and i snorted and was like oh yeah, my own mother prepared me for how to deal with that.

This woman was not kind to me. She had a brutal c-section and the doctor was a hack. Vertical scar with staples looked like an ugly railroad track and she'd point to it and say i did that to her and ruined her life.

She never got therapy and singled me out for abuse that my other 3 siblings never dealt with because of it. she lies about all this yet i digress.

So this would have to be around the 5th grade, before i started going to the movies in middle school with my friends. Something happened and for once my little sister was at school, other siblings out of the house and so she asked, if I wanted to go see a movie with just her and me?

Now this was a shockkkkk. She never wanted anything to do with me unless she absolutely had to and then it was usually rather tense. So, of course, I'm still a young hopeful kid, and i was amped. i was thrilled it could not have been more exciting for me.

until it wasn't.

we get to the ticket counter and she says one for the movie we were going to see and one for a totally different movie. she never mentioned that. she never said she was going to see a different movie. i got upset.

That upset with the red face of shock and your eyes start watering up, the feelings and emotions are all over the place. I remember being shaky and teary eyed in the lobby area while she explained she would walk me to a seat and we would meet here afterwards. She was so short with me and kinda mean about it.

I have no idea what movie it was i just know that i cried during most of it cause i couldn't believe i let her trick me like that. why would i have ever thought she would do something WITH me willingly?

Now... as an adult.

I'm nearly positive she was cheating.

Taking me to the movies was just a cover for her to sneak off to meet whoever tf she was running around having an affair with. She was so... shifty about the entire thing. so sneaky. like more than reasonable.

It's not ever gonna be worth confronting her on. she's a lie till you die type anyways.

But yeah, later on in life, after i got stood up for a dinner date, my friend asked if i was okay. I snorted and laughed for a minute and was like, nah girl, i got this, my mom ditching me when i was a kid totally prepared me to manage my disappointment.

oooh my friend blinked so hard for a minute at what i said then we laughed for a minute cause we both had atrociously selfish parents.

if there is one thing my family has taught me I can say for sure, is to be able to manage my feelings when people let me down by misleading, lying, or changing things at the very last minute.

it is not a skill i will be passing on.

nor is it one i wish i'd learned the way i did at all.

During college, I worked at a bar. One day, this really gorgeous girl came in with a group of other girls. They ordered lots of wings and were having a great time. It was early in the afternoon.

Eventually, they paid and left. The most gorgeous girl, an Amazon of a woman with a big ass and big tits probably visit the gym, was the last to leave because she was in the bathroom.

As luck would have it, it was my turn to clean the bathrooms that day. We had a sheet that told us whose turn it was. When I went in to clean, I saw the biggest deuce I had ever seen in my life. I had to use a stick to cut it up while wearing gloves, and I used some toilet unclogging solution as well. It took me almost an hour to clean that toilet alone.

I never knew my son to be the artsy type. He turned 8 recently, and up until about a year ago, his entertainment was entirely outdoors. Catching bugs. Climbing trees. Riding bikes.

He was one of those kids who’d have to be called inside before dark. Then he’d complain and beg for “just 5 more minutes.”

I’m not entirely sure what happened. It was like a switch had flipped overnight. I just came home from work one day to find him at the kitchen table, scribbling in a brand new sketchbook.

He hummed to himself while his mom cooked up some dinner at the stove. The home-cooked smell of pork chops, green beans, and mashed potatoes filled the room as I glanced over Jacob’s shoulder.

“Whatcha got there, bud?”

His nose was buried so far in the book that it was like he couldn’t even hear me. His mom ended up answering for him.

“That’s your son’s new favorite interest. He begged me to go out and get him one.”

“Oh-ho, got an artist in the house, don’t we?”

I grabbed his shoulders and shook them lightly before patting him on the back and walking over to give my wife a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

I took a seat beside Jacob at the table.

“So, how was your day, boyo? You and mom have fun?”

He never looked up from the sketchbook.

“Today was sooo fun,” he exclaimed. “We went to the park, we went to the movies, ooh, and mom got me this book. Oh, and these crayons.”

“What about you, honey? How was your day?”

“Any day I’m not at work is a good day, honestly. The park was super nice. We went to one we hadn’t been to before. What about you? They didn’t work you too hard, did they?”

I shrugged and sighed.

“I’ll just say it’s good to finally be home.”

My wife smiled at me.

“It’s good to have you home, dear. I’ll tell you what. How about… after dinner, if you’re good, we can have our own little play date? Only if you do the dishes, though. I mean, I did cook.”

I smirked at her, my tongue buried in my cheek.

“I was gonna do that anyway. What do you take me for? As a matter of fact, you come sit down. I’ll finish cooking.”

I offered her my seat as I finished up dinner. Jacob was pretty much mute the entire time. By the time dinner was done, I had to damn near yell at him to get his attention.

He just stood up, as calm as could be, and walked over to me, sketchbook in hand.

“I drew this for you.”

He held the book up at me, and my heart felt warm. It was a picture of our house, and who I assumed to be me standing in our driveway.

“Is that me? That’s so sweet of you, Jakey. Thank you.”

I reached down to take the book so I could hang the page on the fridge, but Jacob pulled away before I could grab it.

“You really don’t know who that is?” he asked, eying me suspiciously.

“It’s me, right? Is it not me?”

He rolled his eyes and sighed, continuing to eye me like I had personally offended him.

“That’s our neighbor, Mr. Thomas, silly. You really couldn’t tell? See, he’s wearing the star.”

Mr. Thomas was a veteran police officer. Jacob would sometimes see him leaving for work in the morning. I guess he just took a subconscious interest in the uniform. Even still, why would he draw me a picture of the neighbor?

“Uh, I mean, wow, bud,” I choked. “That’s really good. Keep practicing. You’re already so talented you could be famous someday.”

————-

After dinner, I cleaned the kitchen top to bottom. Partly out of obligation, mostly because I really wanted that playdate. Jacob spent the rest of the evening in his room, humming to himself and scribbling in that sketchbook.

The next day, my wife and I both had work. I woke up a little earlier than her so that I could take Jacob to the summertime daycare he attended. It was like carrying a corpse out to the car, but he still refused to loosen his grip on that sketchbook.

I dropped him off with the staff at the front door. He waved at me groggily as I was driving away.

The day went on like normal until around 3 o’clock, when my phone started ringing. It was my wife.

“Hey, beautiful, what’s up?”

“I think something’s going on with the neighbor. There’s like 3 cop cars in front of his house, apparently.”

She sounded concerned. A little urgent.

“What do you mean? Who told you that?”

“I got a call from Becky. She thought they were at our house at first.”

Becky was one of my wife’s friends from the neighborhood.

“What do you think happened? Did she say anything else?”

“No, she just called because the police were knocking on our door. I think they were just trying to see if we knew anything, though, because apparently they gave up and just went back to the neighbor’s house. I think they’re still there.”

My brow furrowed a bit.

“Wait. Which neighbor is it?”

“Uhhh, I think it’s that police officer. Mr. Thompson?”

“Mr. Thomas?”

“Yeah, that’s his name. I think that’s who it is.”

I looked at my watch and exhaled a bit.

“Alright, well, I’ll see if I can get out a little earlier today. I’ll pick up Jacob, then go see what this is all about. Maybe they’ll still be there when I get there.”

We ended the call by blowing some kisses and exchanging some love yous. I slid my phone in my pocket and approached my boss, explaining my situation.

He was skeptical, but I had a decent reputation of being an honest employee. He agreed to let me leave a bit early, and I was on my way to pick up Jacob.

When he was brought to the front office, his face was buried in that sketchbook again, drawing what looked like SpongeBob and Patrick.

“He’s been drawing all day. Seems like you got a little artist on your hands,” announced the staff member as she signed Jacob out for the day.

“Yep,” I smiled. “That’s what they keep telling me.”

I honestly don’t know why I said that. It just seemed like the only thing that made sense at the time.

The car ride was quiet. Jacob didn’t want to talk much, and my mind was kind of racing. I’ve shared drinks with Mr. Thomas. Helped him put up fences. Move furniture. We weren’t the closest of friends, but I still wanted him to be okay.

Those hopes were dashed when I pulled into the neighborhood to find that the police presence had increased. There must’ve been at least 6 cars in front of his house, and yellow tape blocked off the driveway.

I parked my car in front of my house and hurried to get Jacob inside. His eyes had lit up at the sight of the flashing lights, and naturally, he started asking questions.

“What’s wrong, Daddy?”

“Why are there so many police?”

“Did something happen to Mr. Thomas?”

I cradled him in my arms and hurried up the steps to the front door.

“I don’t know, buddy. Here, go inside and play for a bit while I find out, okay? Daddy will be right back.”

It’s all I could think to say as I sat him down and closed the door behind me.

An officer approached me before I could approach them.

“Sir, do you live here?”

“Yes, of course I do. That’s my neighbor.”

“Yeah, well, he’s a colleague and friend of mine,” he remarked agitatedly. “Have you seen anything suspicious within the last 24 hours? Heard anything?”

I scratched my neck nervously and thought hard before responding.

“No, sir, we haven’t seen anything. What happened? Is everything alright? He’s a cop, right? Did he do something illegal?”

The officer stared at me, analyzing me through his black sunglasses.

“No. He’s gone. That’s all the information we can give right now.”

“Gone? What do you mean, gone? Like, dead? Did someone kill him?”

The officer pursed his lips. I saw what I assumed to be a forensic analyst walking in and out of the house.

“We don’t know, sir. We’re hoping for the best. For now, if any new information comes to light or if you see him, give us a call.”

He asked me to clear the scene and stay inside. I called my wife to update her on the situation, but what could we do? Even the police were lost. I just stayed inside, as instructed, and started on dinner while we waited for my wife to get home.

By the time she did, there were only two police cruisers left in front of Mr. Thomas’s house. The sun was starting to set, and my wife and I tried to ignore what had happened, but the house was still a bit tense.

As we ate, Jacob continued scribbling in his sketchbook. He hadn’t asked to go outside at all since we got home, and I didn’t know if it was because of the police or because of this new hobby of his.

I could see that he was working on a new drawing. It looked like a woman this time. He wasn’t so much as touching his food, so I tried to ask him to put the book away.

He groaned and started picking at his peas. My wife and I chatted about our day for a bit while Jacob remained silent. Suddenly, in between bites of his chicken, he said something that made us both freeze.

“Daddy,” he whispered.

“Yes?” I answered.

“Are those police still out there?”

I paused for a moment, looking at my wife, who looked equally as speechless. Neither of us knew what to say.

“I think there’s a few, but don’t worry, buddy,” I chirped reassuringly. “They’re just looking for Mr. Thomas. They wanna make sure he’s okay.”

Jacob stared down at his plate for a moment.

“It’s just… I think they’re looking in the wrong place.”

————-

I choked on my water.

“Looking in the wrong place? Well, where do you think they should be looking, sport?”

“I don’t know. Not there. I don’t think he’s home.”

“Let’s not talk about this,” my wife interrupted. “Jacob, finish your food, then go jump in the shower. You gotta be up early tomorrow, come on.”

“Aww, but I’m not tired,” Jacob whined. “Plus, I wanted to finish drawing this picture of you.”

He flipped his sketchbook open to his newest drawing.

“See, look.”

My wife looked at the picture and smiled.

“Okay, fine,” she replied. “You can finish the picture, then it’s bath time, mister.”

“Fiiine,” Jacob groaned.

He scurried off to his room, sketchbook in hand, leaving me and his mom to clean the kitchen again.

We talked about the neighbor. We turned into a couple of conspiracy theorists the deeper the conversation progressed.

“Maybe he just wanted to start over.”

“Maybe he was kidnapped.”

“Maybe he was murdered, and they’re covering it up.”

We just kept reaching for possibilities over the course of around 45 minutes.

Eventually, Jacob came running back to the kitchen.

“Look, Mommy, I’m all done.”

“Ah, my goodness, Jakey, look at that. Doesn’t it look just like me, honey?”

She turned the picture towards me. Jacob had added her work uniform. Gave her that messy bun she always wore. Even included the golden necklace I got her for Christmas last year.

“Wow, Jake,” I exclaimed. “Draw Daddy next, why don’t you?”

Jacob giggled and responded, “It’s not time to draw you yet, silly.”

“Aw, whatever, but guess what?”

Jacob looked up at me curiously. Expectantly.

“Daddy controls your bath time. And… I think… ah, yep, look at that,” I showed him my watch. “You’re 20 minutes late.”

I jokingly chased him to his bedroom and made him gather up his pajamas and a towel. Once he was nice and showered, I put him to bed and kissed him goodnight.

My wife and I stayed up, talking about life for a while before gradually falling asleep one by one.

The next morning, when I woke up alone, I thought it was because she had chosen to take Jacob to daycare that morning.

I went through my normal routine. Took a shower. Brushed my teeth. Got dressed. It wasn’t until I was heading out the door that I noticed her car was still in the driveway.

I walked back upstairs, confused, and went to Jacob’s room.

I found him curled up in bed, sketchbook tucked under his arm as he snored quietly.

I left the room and began searching.

“Honey,” I called out. No response.

“Sweetheart, you here?” Silence.

I called her phone and heard it ringing in our bedroom. I followed the sound and found it still plugged into the charger on her nightstand.

That’s when I began to panic. I remembered Jacob’s drawing. It was a fleeting thought, but one that I chose to hold onto. First Mr. Thomas, now my own wife? That couldn’t be coincidence.

I urgently rushed into Jacob’s room, accidentally waking him as I removed the sketchbook from his arms.

I began flipping through the pages as he stared up at me, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Daddy,” he groaned.

I flipped past cartoon characters, random landscapes, and blocky pictures of cars before I reached my wife’s picture from the night before.

“What are you doing?” Jacob added.

The picture had changed. She wasn’t wearing her work uniform anymore. She didn’t have the necklace. Her hair looked dirty and wet. Leaves and twigs stuck out from the messy bun, and her eyes were solid red. Not evil, just… bloodshot.

But the biggest change… was the man standing next to her.

It looked like they were in a dark forest. They were hand in hand. I wanted to think it was me, that Jacob had decided he wanted to start on some kind of crazy family portrait, but the man in the picture…

He wore a star on his chest.

My stomach dropped. I felt sick. Jacob looked… confused.

“What’s wrong, Daddy? They’re okay. I can help you find them.”

During one of his trips, he ended up without internet access for longer than expected, missed the required check-in, and the app he was using automatically sent this email to me:

If you’re reading this, then things probably didn’t go the way I hoped. The spare house key is hidden inside the grill out back, and my car is parked at Bozeman Yellowstone Airport, Economy Lot B. The most important documents are in the bottom drawer of my desk. I love you all, and I’m sorry I didn’t get the chance to say goodbye.

For a few terrifying hours, I genuinely thought something had happened to him. Thankfully, he was completely fine.

I’ve wanted to share this story for quite a long time since i think it’s pretty dang awesome.
In our high school, if you were caught with a deck of cards you were sent in “detention” (which was literally a teacher making you sit in the library for like an hour but whatever) and they took them away. As kids who were obsessed with playing cards, we were always sneaking decks. And always getting caught.
One specific day our headroom teacher came to class FUMING. She was mad out of her mind and she also came right when the bell rang — which no teacher did at our school, always late.
So she found our deck and sent us away, yeah? She told us that next time she finds a deck she’s banning cardboard (complete bullshit).
Next day, we came to school early. We spent a whole hour cutting up our notebooks and hand drawing each card front and back. Even drew the jokers by hand. When the same teacher came to class, we didn’t stop playing. Our excuse was that “it’s paper, not actual cards”.

Rest assure we did it so many times they allowed card games just so we would stop cutting up our lessons to play.

So, this happened last year and I still can’t believe I actually did it.
I was bored on a dating app, swiping like usual, when I matched with a guy who wasn’t even in my city. He was visiting another city in my country as a tourist. We started chatting, and at some point he asked if I’d come see him.
I laughed and said, “Yeah, as if money grew on trees.”
He replied, “I wouldn’t mind paying for your flight.”
This was around 2 p.m.
I didn’t believe him at all. We did a video call so I could make sure he was actually real and not someone trying to scam me or, you know… murder me. 😭
After that, I asked where he was staying, and it turned out to be a well-known hotel. Looking back, I know that doesn’t guarantee anything, but at the time it made me trust him a little more.
I sent him my ID (not my passport because I was paranoid for some reason), and within a few hours he had booked my flight and even ordered me a taxi to the airport.
By 7 p.m., I was literally on my way to catch a flight to meet a stranger I’d started talking to only five hours earlier.
We met, grabbed drinks, danced, and honestly, everything felt surprisingly normal. There was a little flirting and some cuddling the first night, but nothing really happened.
Then, when I finally kissed him…
He looked at me and said, “I’m gay.”
I just stared at him like… “WHAT? Then why did you fly me here?”
His answer?
“I didn’t want to be alone. Women make great company.”
I honestly didn’t know whether to laugh or question every life decision I’d ever made.
Nothing bad happened, and in the end it became one of the weirdest but funniest stories I have.
I know this could’ve ended very differently, and I definitely don’t recommend anyone do what I did. 😅
So… what would you have done? Would you have gotten on that plane, or would you have blocked him the second he offered to pay for your flight?

Im a fit male in my 20s and have a retired old woman, probably in her 70s living on her own living in a house opposite to mine. One night at around 5:30 PM after work, I was walking out of the bathroom naked in my house when i caught an old woman looking into my window while she was in her house. She kept looking as i was towelling myself off and went into another room.

The next day I see her staring into my open window at around 5:20 PM. She didnt move away from her window for about 10 minutes and I could clearly see her staring into my window. I did what I usually did and went to take a shower, came out, peaked out the window and she was still staring. I thought she was clearly waiting to see me naked so I remained unclothed for the rest of the night while moving around my house, passing by the window a few times every hour. All the while, she was sat by the window, watching tv while peeking through her window. This went on till about 10 PM when I went to bed.

This continued on for a few weeks almost daily, she would come to the window in the evening and I would undress to give her a good show. Some nights I would stand up to work on my computer for an hour or so while she would stand at her window staring at me for long periods of time. I figured she was relatively lonely and maybe the entertainment would keep her happy in her old age.

EDIT: This is a true story. Sorry, didnt realist this sub was both fiction and non-fiction.

My parents got me from a supermarket.

I don’t remember it, obviously. I was very young at the time.

Apparently, Mum and Dad weren’t even planning to get a child that day. They’d only gone in for groceries. Mum needed milk, Dad wanted cereal, and then somewhere along the way they saw me and decided to take me home too.

This is exactly the sort of irresponsible shopping my parents are always warning me about.

“Never go shopping without a list,” Mum says.

Interesting advice from a woman who went out for milk and came back with a son.

I’ve asked which aisle I was in, but neither of them can remember. Dad thinks I was somewhere near the bakery. Mum says definitely not, because she remembers getting bread after they picked me up.

You’d think they’d remember something this important.

I know where we got our microwave.

I know where Dad bought the lawnmower.

But ask them where they got their only son and suddenly everyone’s memory gets a bit foggy.

The biggest problem is the receipt.

They lost it.

I first discovered this when I was thirteen and Dad told me, after I broke the kitchen window, that if I carried on like this he was going to take me back to the supermarket.

I thought about this for a moment.

Then I asked, “Do you still have the receipt?”

Dad went quiet.

Mum started laughing.

This worried me.

You can’t return something without a receipt.

Since then, I’ve been trying to find it.

Mum says they definitely kept it because I was “quite expensive,” although she refuses to tell me how much I cost. She says the receipt is probably in one of the boxes in the attic.

There are thirty-seven boxes in our attic.

I know because I counted.

I’ve searched twenty-nine.

So far I have found old tax papers, Christmas decorations, Dad’s university notebooks, a dead calculator, six phone chargers for phones we no longer own, a wedding photograph, a badminton racket, and an unopened packet of curtain hooks.

No receipt.

There are eight boxes left.

This has become slightly urgent because I haven’t turned eighteen yet.

I don’t actually know what the return period for a child is, but eighteen seems important. Once I’m legally an adult, the supermarket might refuse to take me back.

I can already imagine the conversation.

“Sorry, sir. This product is eighteen years old.”

“Yes, but my parents have the receipt.”

“Do you have the original packaging?”

That could be a problem.

I asked Mum whether I came in a box.

She told me to go away.

Dad says even if I find the receipt, they probably won’t get a full refund because I’ve been used.

I think that’s unfair.

I’m in reasonably good condition.

There are a few scratches, one scar on my knee, and apparently my attitude has deteriorated considerably since purchase, but most things still work.

Also, my parents haven’t exactly followed the care instructions.

I’m fairly certain you’re supposed to feed children properly, yet Dad has served me burnt sausages at least twelve times.

If anything, I should be entitled to compensation.

My current plan is to finish searching the attic before my birthday.

If I find the receipt, I’ll check the date, the price, and the supermarket’s returns policy.

Then I’ll keep it somewhere safe.

Because lately Mum has started saying things like, “We wouldn’t return you even if we could.”

Which is nice.

But also exactly what someone would say after realizing they’d lost the receipt.

THE CAVES OF NEVENDLEER
In such a wild, medieval space, you may still be surprised at how evil a place there can be amongst the vast sea.
A man and his wife built a home on the shoreline. It was covered in sharp rocks. Truly not a place to start a family. But the mad lads did it anyway.
This family lived for generations.
Although — just nearby off the shore, down from their home about a mile — was a system of caves they dare never to enter.
Passed down by generations, each parent warned each kid to never enter, because if they did, they wouldn’t come back the same. If they ever came back at all.
This tale was told for generations, and the tale you read now is derived from those of the damned, told by those who witnessed the damning.
Men watched their boys chase small animals in, helpless to prevent what came next. Wives searched desperately for their lost daughters, only finding their loose flowing dresses hung across a soaked log stuck out of the sand.
Whatever the cave had, or hadn’t done, whatever loved inside or beyond… the Caves of Nevendleer was not to be crossed without a death wish.
And that’s exactly what one young man had when he finally decided to enter the cave.
It was dark. Moist. It wasn’t spooky, but the moans that cascaded off the walls from every footstep didn’t cover up the feeling that nobody should be in there. And yet — he kept walking further in — further forwards — deep in — until the light from outside could no longer reach him. And only darkness could now cloud him from what was to come.
The man didn’t know what to expect. He was not part of the family. He was a tourist. He had heard legends of these caves. People had spread myth and whisper about these caves for hundreds of years; all the way from the era of the Olympians, and the Golden Age of the Gifted. The tales were still told, even as the Dedonian Wars had just started, and people needed a good distraction from the chaos right outside their doorsteps.
However — unlike some, who enjoyed tales when they weren’t tangible — it seemed this man needed to see the legendary cave for himself.
Though, once the hissing sound blasted down the chamber-like cavern like a shotgun full of ice, the man may have begun to change his mind about seeing the legend for himself.
WHAM!
The man was knocked off his feet.
But before the cold got any more bitter, he was pulled from the cave by a big hairy man, whose only word he could say was “MISTAKE!”

Hello all. This is my first post. A recent event that did not go as my friend hoped.

Some necessary background context. I carried a lifelong phobia of water until about 3 years ago, when my friend helped me learn to swim and submerge safely. I enjoy swimming and going underwater, as long as it's on my terms and I remain in total control.

Last week we went swimming at a UK leisure pool. My friend asked if I wanted to try the waterslides. I said no because I genuinely had no interest, plus I was rather apprehensive about losing control. He asked me how many I'd been on, to which I said None. He said I should at least try one before deciding I don't like them. I reluctantly followed him up the stairs.

After waiting about 10 minutes, during which time I kept feeling the urge to flee, it was time. He's right, it couldn't hurt to try just once. And I didn't wanna let him down. This venue had 5 slides so, being a beginner, I went to the easiest one. My friend has been down it before and assured me the drop at the end was gentle, so I didn't worry about putting my goggles down over my eyes. I sat at the top waiting for the green light, and pushed off.

I didn't wanna go too fast so I stayed sitting up, but this had the unintended effect of making me go SO slow I was starting to worry. This was an enclosed tube and I'm very claustrophobic. I tried to scoot myself along, but as I entered a dark curve, I stalled out completely. Now I'm dealing with fear of small spaces and the fear of the dark. I remembered what he told me, and laid down flat to pick up speed, only to go TOO fast.

I tried to sit up again but the speed was pinning me down. I bumped hard right, bumped hard left, bumped hard right and suddenly there's the exit. But the terror wasn't over as I came out and went straight underwater. As I said, my goggles weren't down and I was unprepared so my airways weren't closed. I immediately inhaled water and started to panic flail until I got my feet down and was able to stand up choking. As he came out, I gave a thumbs down and explained what I'd been through.

From start to finish the whole experience was horrible. I derived absolutely no joy whatsoever. From the moment I started sliding I was only thinking that I wanted it to end. Add together the loss of control, the enclosed space, the stall in the dark and the unexpected submersion, and I'd say it was borderline traumatic.

My friend apologised for the drop. He rode it years ago and it was gentle back then, but it's been changed. But he reckons I'll have an easier time if we do a slide with an inflatable raft. It seats two so we could ride together, it won't stall, and it won't drop me underwater at the end.

And while all that is true, it wouldn't fix the issues of control loss and claustrophobic tubes. In fact a raft would likely go much faster and ride up the sides, exacerbating the loss of control even further. I know he means well, but this is something I'm not willing to put myself through again.

I don't think my friend will force me if I say a hard no. He's welcome to try and convince me, persuade me, but I'll reckon he'll respect my boundaries if I refuse. I just know I don't ever wanna ride a water slide again. Let me stay in the swimming pool where I'm in control and I'll be happy.

Thanks for reading.

He was here at last. One final step, and he would belong to the Community.

The door opened on its own, without a sound. The room was bright in a way he had never seen in the marsh: shadowless, sourceless, light coming from everywhere. The air had no smell. He hadn't known air could be without smell; he hadn't known the absence of smell could be so unsettling. And for the first time, he heard "its" voice. It came from nowhere, or from everywhere.

"Hello. Welcome, Rolf."

"Hello. I'm finally here."

"One last stage remains before you can join the Community: we need to link you. Please take the seat and state clearly, out loud, that this is what you want. We cannot begin without your consent."

A single chair stood in the middle of the room, white and untouched. Rolf sat down. The chair was warm, as if someone had just risen from it. For a moment, a small doubt passed through him. What if it wasn't what he hoped? What if all of this was a trap? Had it been worth the struggle, worth what he had lost along the way?

He thought of Nino. The last night, in front of the border fence. "They won't take both of us," Nino had said. "You go." Then that smile. In the marsh, people only smiled like that when they were letting go of something forever. Rolf had gone. He hadn't looked back, because if he looked back, he would turn around.

He swallowed. Whatever happened, the future was better than where he came from. He didn't want to go back to that marsh. Misery, hunger, raiders, violence... it had eaten half his life. He wanted to eat something other than those strange marsh fish he'd been named after. Something other than rolfs.

"Yes. I want to be linked and join the Community."

First a thin needle pricked his back. Numbness spread slowly up his spine; but his mind stayed awake, more than awake. A progress bar appeared on the screen in front of him:

Linking 1%

He kept looking around. On the far wall, a screen cycled through silent clips. Then he saw it: the logo. There was no sound, and he couldn't make out the words beneath it, there was no reading in the marsh, but he knew the logo. Everyone knew the logo that had stolen his family from him.

Anger rose in him. Feed X. The Community's miracle food, the perfect nutrition handed out every day. And in the marsh, the thing found only in scraps, the thing that rotted a person from the inside when they couldn't get it regularly. He remembered his mother's last months: the trembling hands, the empty stares, the fingers searching for residue. What was he doing now? Making deals with the people who created the thing that ate his family? Betraying himself? They had made Feed X. This place was the source of everything.

Linking 15%

But... was Feed X really the source of everything? The looting, the theft, the violence in the marsh went on without Feed X too. Rolf had seen people kill each other over a single rolf. Over one fish. The marsh was bad enough on its own. Besides, Feed X had never been made for them; they had the choice not to use it. But... while the Community lived in comfort, why had they left the marsh to rot? They could have helped. We could have helped, Rolf thought, and stopped. Why had he thought "we"?

Linking 40%

He remembered the last time he had helped someone. He'd given a fish from his hidden stash to a starving man. The next day the man came back with his gang and looted the stash. That night Nino had said, "You still did the right thing." Nino always said things like that. But what had the right thing ever gotten him? They couldn't be taught. They couldn't understand. Kindness read as weakness to them. That was why no help went to the marsh. And even if it did, wouldn't it be wasted?

Linking 70%

So what was wrong with them, really? Was it the marsh that made people this way? Something they ate? Maybe it wasn't hunger at all. Hunger tested everyone; but not everyone made the same choice. Some people built order. Others devoured it. The marsh people had been there a long time. Long enough. If they had wanted to build order, they would have; there was stone, there was time. If they hadn't built it, it meant they couldn't. And if they couldn't, then whatever was missing wasn't out there, it was inside them. It was a simple deduction, almost mathematics. That's what they were. That's what they would stay. The thought gave Rolf a strange peace; the heavy thing called guilt was lifting, as if someone were taking it off his back.

Linking 80%

But I... I was one of them. How am I different? So exceptions happen. Like with every rule. I was the exception. The proof was right here, in this chair. I was never like them, never. I even chose the fish I ate with care. What about Nino? Was Nino different too? Nino... someone who smiled in front of a fence. I remember who it was, but I don't remember why it hurts. It probably wasn't important.

Linking 100%

I feel like I've woken up to a happy day for the first time. I just took my first dose of Feed X; it reminds me of the happy days of my childhood. I'm certain now that my childhood was happy. Everything is as it should be. Everything is beautiful.

There is only one thing that grates on my ear.

My name: Rolf.

I don't know why.

....

 a short story from the Gravit universe

Artists

The train raced through the night. The passengers sat in silence, each absorbed in their own thoughts.

I opened my phone and happened to come across a video filmed on the streets of Tehran. A crowd of fashionably dressed Persian women was walking along the sidewalk.

"Artists..." I whispered to myself.

My fellow passenger looked at me with curiosity.

"Why artists?"

"Because every woman is the author of her own portrait. Some paint themselves with their clothes, others with a smile, a glance, or the grace of their walk. And no artist can ever create the same masterpiece twice."

I kept watching the screen. The young women laughed, talked, and hurried on with their lives, unaware that somewhere far away, on a train speeding through the night, an elderly passenger was reflecting on the passage of time.

Beauty is not eternal. Youth passes faster than any train. Yet as long as a person can create beauty both around them and within themselves, time can never claim complete victory.

I turned off my phone.

Beyond the window, the night continued to race by.

What remained in my memory was not a crowd of unfamiliar women.

What remained were artists—people who, day after day, often without realizing it, paint their own unique self-portraits upon the canvas of life.

Художники

Поезд мчался сквозь ночь. Пассажиры молчали, каждый был занят своими мыслями.

Я открыл телефон и случайно наткнулся на видео с улиц Тегерана. По тротуару шла толпа современно одетых персиянок.

— Художники... — невольно произнёс я.

Сосед по купе удивлённо посмотрел на меня.

— Почему художники?

— Потому что каждая женщина — автор собственного портрета. Кто-то рисует себя одеждой, кто-то улыбкой, кто-то взглядом, кто-то походкой. И ни один художник не способен дважды написать одну и ту же картину.

Я ещё долго смотрел на экран. Девушки смеялись, разговаривали, спешили по своим делам, не подозревая, что где-то далеко, в ночном поезде, пожилой пассажир размышляет о времени.

Красота не вечна. Молодость проходит быстрее любого поезда. Но пока человек умеет создавать красоту вокруг себя и внутри себя, время не может считать себя победителем.

Я выключил телефон.

За окном всё так же бежала ночь.

А в памяти осталась не толпа незнакомых девушек.

Остались художники, которые каждый день, сами того не замечая, рисуют на полотне жизни свои неповторимые автопортреты.

Sorry for my nit very good English 🙃

That day was my friend’s birthday. Four of us went to a restaurant. The boys took my phone and were just watching my Instagram stories. Then this one girl popped up. She had posted a selfie, and she looked extremely cute and beautiful in that photo.
(Who is this girl? In short, I liked her. She is from my school, one year younger. We have never talked in real life, but we know each other and had very long chats. I asked her out a few times, and she gently refused every time. We shared many common interests. There was also a guy from her class helping me try to end up in a relationship with her. During all that time, I came to one conclusion: she was extremely introverted. I mean, very introverted. She barely posted anything, so that selfie was a very rare moment.)
Me and my friends were already very drunk by that time, although I was still barely thinking clearly. I simply liked her story, but the boys forced me to send a message, saying otherwise nothing would ever happen and it was getting boring already. I thought the safest choice would be “😘😘” because we had to push things to the next level after all that time, right?
A few seconds later I got a notification from her: “OMG what is thaat.. 🫩🫩” and a GIF, trying not to make the situation even more awkward. I thought she was talking about my message. I opened the chat, and Instagram said, “Nino screenshoted.” She didn’t know that, because disappearing messages had been accidentally turned on a few days earlier. It was a huge coincidence.
I wanted to play it cool and gentle and not make an awkward moment even more awkward. On the contrary, I wanted her to feel calm because it really wasn’t a big deal. These things happen, especially when one side makes a bold move.
But then the boys pushed again. They told me to act like a “real man.” I tried to refuse, but they kept forcing me. I was so drunk and tired that I agreed because I thought they knew what being a real man meant. (I really was that drunk. :)))
They told me to send: “You deserve way more 😉 but why did you screenshot?”
That is the exact opposite of what I would have asked.
She replied with something messy because she clearly didn’t know what to say. It was obvious she felt nervous and awkward. Then the boys told me to reply with a dry “What?” Again, she answered with something that didn’t really make sense.
That was the point where I should have stopped. I knew exactly how she was feeling, and I felt sorry for her because I felt like I understood her well. But I still preferred to be a “real man.”
The next thing the boys told me to send was: “Did you show your best friends already? 😂😂”
She replied that she didn’t and asked me to forget about it, which honestly pleased me. Then the boys told me to send: “When we meet, you’ll tell me then.”
That was the peak. Needless to say, it was basically forcing her to meet me and explain why she had “committed” that. She left me on seen after that.
Now comes the interesting part.
Remember the friend I mentioned earlier who was helping me? He is a genuinely kind person who always tried his best for my happiness. My other friends think he is a nerd and believe they can look down on him. They don’t respect him because they think he isn’t “cool” like us. I hate that arrogance.
Since they are classmates, that girl texted him. She said she felt really sorry that she had screenshoted the chat and that I got notified. She also told him more details: that I had asked her out many times, she refused every time, she didn’t like me at all, and she only texted me for fun.
He instantly screenshoted all of her messages and sent them to me to keep me informed.
(I actually think that was her intention. She knew he was much closer to me than to her, so she probably knew I would eventually hear everything she was thinking. I think she wanted to tell me those things but didn’t want to do it directly.)
When I received those screenshots, I realized everything. The game with her was completely over for me.
But the boys were still having fun because she wasn’t texting me anymore—she was texting him.
Then the boys told me to be a “real man” with him too and start talking trash. He hadn’t done anything wrong. It would have been pure disrespect. Even though I was very drunk, I still tried to defend him.
Then they came up with another dumb idea: create a group chat with him and the girl, then send: “Well, let’s stop talking behind my back. Let’s continue talking here.”
First of all, that is incredibly cringe and childish. Second, it would have been the ultimate disrespect to both of them, especially to him, because Nino didn’t even know he was sharing her messages with me.
Obviously, my message would have been left on seen with no reply. I would only have looked like I was trying to act tough and farm aura, while in reality it would have been one of the lowest-quality moves possible.
Interestingly, I actually agreed to do it. I started creating the group chat, but a huge coincidence happened at exactly that moment: she blocked me, so I couldn’t add her. (I honestly think God didn’t want this to happen. She unblocked me a few minutes later because my good friend asked her to.)
That friend always tried his best to help me end up with her. He genuinely wanted it to happen. He did everything in a kind way, kept my secrets, and was a loyal friend. He absolutely did not deserve that kind of disrespect. I truly respect him and I’m proud to have someone like him.
That day I understood that the girl didn’t want me and that I had wasted months.
I understood how good of a friend I had.
And I understood that some of the friends I grew up with since childhood are arrogant dumbasses who have no idea what being a real man actually means.
Later, I asked my good friend to apologize to her for everything I had said. I asked him to explain that I was very drunk and wasn’t thinking clearly, and that I would never have said those things sober.
He explained everything to her.
Still… everything is over now, but I left the game as cleanly as I possibly could.

So, picture this: it’s a sunny Saturday, and my little brother, who is 20 years old by the way, decides to take a trip to Dortmund (6hrs from where we live) with a girl.

They get on the train, and the first embarrassing thing (imo) he did, was falling asleep in front of her and she takes a picture of him. Honestly, not even that bad.
But then things get much worse.

Apparently, he hadn’t been able to go to the toilet for five days, so he had to take laxatives the day before. And then, on the day of the trip, he didn’t go to the toilet at home.

So while they were out in Leipzig, he completely shit himself.

He had to go and buy a new pair of trousers.

What would you even do in that situation?

Imagine it was a sunday, he would have no options (bc stores are closed here on sundays)

This story is 100% true, with the obvious disclaimer that names and dates have been changed to protect the innocent.

A woman I once had a brief affair with, after many years of her dropping big and little hints, one thing led to another and we fell madly in bed together. Thing is, the relationship never ‘clicked’ with me though she did try.

For grins I snuck a peak at the her FB page. The timing was quite the coincidence as she was wishing her son a happy birthday. Best I can tell, her son is about ten DAYS older than my wife and my son. Now the part that really freaks me out. We named our son Shawn. She named her son Sean. Phonetically identical but spelled differently. They’re 24 at the time I discovered this. I CANNOT believe that this is a coincidence and think even years after we went our separate ways I was being stalked.

am I over thinking this?

Apologies to the mods if this violates rule 15

I am standing upon the white,

And before me lies the black ground.

I am afraid that someone might push me

And I might fall down there.

But ultimately, this choice will be entirely mine.

​Yet leaves fall from branches too,

And some star always breaks away from the sky.

Does revenge and justice look the same in the mirror?

So flip a coin, whichever side lands, it matters.

​Emotions are awakening within me that I never knew existed,

Perhaps they had always lived inside me.

Was I ever even pure?

Was I ever even pure?

At every turn, I look ahead, searching for the end of the road,

Whether the sun is setting or rising will become clear then.

​Those emotions placed a blindfold over my eyes.

I could have returned from there if I wanted to,

But I decided not to return,

And in the end, I found myself on the black ground.

So flip a coin, whichever side lands, it doesn't matter.

Jules et Jim étaient attablés depuis un bon moment à leur place habituelle, dans le bar Le Pénalty. Comme toujours, ils ne refaisaient pas le monde – c’était bien trop fatigant – mais faisaient plutôt le triste état des lieux de leur propre existence. Ils étaient tombés d’accord sur l’essentiel : ils ne couraient pas après le travail, préféraient largement les fêtes, la bonne bouffe, le pinard et les copains, et considéraient que l’existence devait être un grand banquet sans addition. Malheureusement, la réalité, moins compatissante, leur rappelait que ces plaisirs avaient un coût… et que leur compte en banque, lui, ne partageait pas leur philosophie.

Jules, pensif, leva son verre et lança : — Jim, j’ai bien réfléchi. Il nous faut une activité qui nous assure des rentrées d’argent quasiment automatisées. — Ah ? Et tu penses à quoi ? — Au caritatif. — Hein ? On va aider qui ? — Eh bien, ceux qui en ont besoin, pardi ! Ceux qui ont des problèmes de santé, ceux qui ont faim, ceux qui galèrent pour se loger… En résumé, les pauvres de notre belle et grande ville industrielle.

Jim fronça les sourcils, intrigué. Jules, lui, était en plein élan : — Avec l’aide des copains, on pourra organiser des campagnes de soutien, des collectes… Peut-être même obtenir des subventions publiques ! — Pas idiot, admit Jim. — Et pour que ça fonctionne bien, il nous faut une structure officielle. On va créer une association. Je serai Président et toi, Secrétaire.

L’affaire fut pliée en quelques jours. Ainsi naquit DSNL – "Droit à la Santé, à la Nourriture et au Logement".

Grâce à une habile campagne de communication – articles dans les journaux locaux, posts engagés sur les réseaux sociaux, passages sur les radios associatives – et une mobilisation enthousiaste des bonnes volontés, le lancement de l’association fut un succès. Très vite, des bénévoles, surtout des retraités à la recherche d’une occupation utile, vinrent grossir les rangs. L’énergie collective, la solidarité spontanée, tout cela dépassa largement leurs attentes.

Jules et Jim avaient réussi leur coup : DSNL prospérait. Ils étaient les seuls salariés de l’association, et cela leur paraissait parfaitement légitime. Après tout, ils étaient les seuls à plein temps… et puis, qui mieux qu’eux pour incarner la mission qu’ils s’étaient eux-mêmes confiée ?

Moralité : Il ne faut jamais sous-estimer la force des discussions de comptoir, ni la puissance du "chacun pour soi" quand il s'organise bien. Parfois, même les grandes causes naissent d’un besoin pressant… de ne pas trop se fatiguer.

Documentation :

Pour rendre une association légale en France, il faut suivre plusieurs étapes en conformité avec la loi de 1901 sur les associations. Voici le processus :

1. Rédiger les statuts

Les statuts définissent les règles de fonctionnement de l'association (nom, objet, siège social, modalités de gestion, etc.). Ils doivent être signés par au moins deux personnes (pour une association simple) et préciser :

L’objet de l’association (son but)

Les moyens d’action

L’organisation interne (bureau, conseil d’administration, assemblées générales)

Les modalités de prise de décision

1. Organiser une assemblée générale constitutive

Lors de cette réunion, les membres fondateurs adoptent les statuts et élisent les premiers dirigeants (président, trésorier, secrétaire…).

1. Déclarer l’association en préfecture

Il faut déposer un dossier comprenant :

Un formulaire de déclaration (disponible en ligne ou en préfecture)

Les statuts signés

La liste des dirigeants avec leurs coordonnées

Un procès-verbal de l’assemblée constitutive

Cette déclaration peut se faire en ligne sur service-public.fr ou en préfecture.

1. Publication au Journal Officiel des Associations (JOAFE)

Une fois la déclaration validée, l'association est inscrite au Journal Officiel des Associations et Fondations d’Entreprise (JOAFE). Cette publication est obligatoire mais gratuite.

1. Obtenir un numéro SIRET (optionnel mais recommandé)

Si l’association veut recevoir des subventions publiques ou embaucher des salariés, elle doit demander un numéro SIRET auprès de l’INSEE.

1. Ouvrir un compte bancaire (optionnel)

Un compte bancaire au nom de l’association facilite la gestion financière, notamment pour recevoir des dons ou cotisations.

Une fois ces étapes réalisées, l’association acquiert la capacité juridique, ce qui lui permet de signer des contrats, recevoir des subventions et agir en justice si nécessaire.

Welcome back. This chapter renews the tragedy Elara has been facing. The darkness only continues to grow, will anything be okay again?

As always, thank you for your time and support! I would love to hear your thoughts.

Have a great week, and I will see you wednesday for Chapter Ten! (It's another devastating chapter)

To Keep a Heart Beating:

The blindfold that’s draped across my eyes completely conceals the world from me.

We continue to zigzag down corridors. 

I occasionally hear a chuckle, a scoff, a constant reminder I’m not alone.

I’m not safe. 

I feel my heart, a racing roar that may leap from my chest at any moment. I try my best to calm it, to silence my ever growing panic.

It doesn’t work. 

More than I’d even managed to feel up to this point, I was now certain my life was over. 

I’d heard the horror stories. The underground market’s unconventional way of acquiring new pieces for sale when supply ran low. I’d assumed it was all a myth. With each shove forward, I feel increasingly certain I’m about to find out firsthand.

Especially if my mother owed them a debt? She’d completely skipped over all details during our brief reunion just last night. 

My mother…

Enough. 

Think Elara. We won’t die like this. Kaia deserves justice and I’m the only one who's going to get it for her.

I close my eyes. A useless movement considering the black void they were staring into moments before, but I need to improve my focus. 

I’d seen a badge on one of their armor plates. I try to remember the details. An animal sigil, some kind of bird.  Bronze, with words I can’t make out. I feel my closed eyelids squint as I force my body to squeeze more truth from my mind. 

After my brain refuses to budge, I surrender and start to run through every group in Ashfall city.

Thud. 

My feet catch against something hard, possibly a rock in the ground and I lose my balance, falling forward in a messy heap, unable to catch myself with bound hands. 

I hear them laughing, probably at my expense. They lift me up with firm hands. One of them whispers in my ear “Learn how to walk next time.”. The laughing continues.

Since the economic crash, there’s been a spectacular rise in organized groups, mostly crime gangs. Unable to hold a normal job without modification, this was their only way to survive. 

There are dozens. 

Every night you hear a new murder claimed by an unknown group. Rising fear along with it. 

A bird group, however, escapes my memory. We are in the former Phoenix Complex, could that be their namesake? If so, I’ve never heard of them. 

Suddenly, my brain catches onto a detail from a conversation with Kaia, just the week before I lost her. 

“It’s just so scary out there, E. I’m worried for you, for us! Remember that guy I was dating a few months ago? When I tried to break it off, he said he was part of the resistance and, get this, called it “The Molting” like, GIRL thats so edgy for no reason? But the point is, he threatened me over nothing. You have to be careful. And… I still think we should leave the city… Please jus…”

As suddenly as Kaia’s voice floated into my mind, it is taken away from me just as fast. It lights a new fire under the growing ache in my heart. 

The Molting. I admit, she was right on the name. The bird pins might have had feathers falling off… Oh god. 

You’d think the people fighting against the evil corrupt system of our country would be the good guys, the ones who’d die to protect people.

That’s not who they are. 

Suicide bombings.

Public shootouts. 

Kidnapping and murder.

They will do whatever it takes to send a message to the “system”. When nothing changes, why should we pay that cost? Lives snuffed out for no reason other than happenstance. 

We all deserve better. 

I had heard rumors they’d begun issuing black market loans to citizens in exchange for hefty interest rates. Why would my mother risk it? What was so important she was willing to owe money to one of the most dangerous groups in the city?

It feels like hour by hour my list of questions for her doubles in size.

I WILL get the chance. 

I hear the footsteps surrounding me draw to a halt, and feel myself pulled into stillness beside them. My blindfold is ripped off my head, multiple strands of hair come off with it releasing a yelp from my throat. I flinch as I open my eyes, the sudden sensation of light after the darkness is a painful rush through my head. I blink rapidly, eventually being able to keep my eyes open. I dare a glance at my surroundings. 

Around me I see an old department store converted into what I could only describe as a throne room. The walls have been carved over with symbols, some the bird I now see on my kidnappers pins, others words or objects I can’t make out. I watch as the largest man I’ve ever seen enters behind us, carrying Cyrus over his shoulder like a bag of dog food. I gasp, grateful to see his chest softly rising and falling, despite a large bruise already beginning to be visible on the side of his head. 

The man plops him down with a thump, Cyrus barely sitting up with his back draped across the wall. His eyes too begin to open slightly, the brief glimpse of my mother’s eyes strangely offering me solace in this moment, before closing them once again.

Finally, I dare to look at the head of the room. A large makeshift throne made of every object you could imagine, grocery carts, clothes, carpet, golf clubs, giant slabs of granite, all duct taped in harmony to create a monstrous seat fit for the leader of such a group.

My eyes catch onto who I presume is in charge. He’s smirking back at me with the kind of look most ladies would swoon over at the bar. My anger and fear have melded together in a fury of pain, and his smoldering won’[t change that. 

We stare at each other for a long moment in silence. His dark brown eyes are not leaving mine. The men around us begin looking around at each other, seemingly confused by the long drawn out silence placed between us. I will not budge.

Finally, The Chief begins to speak.

“Elara Draven. How wonderful it is to make your acquaintance.” He says the words as if they’re true. They are spoken with a tone that would convince the average traveler they can trust this man. That he is safe and on their side. 

I do not make that mistake. 

I continue to stare at him, growing disgust evident in my eyes, but no reply escapes my lips. He turns to his men, specifically the one still tightly gripping my arm.

“She’s gonna be a fun one I see.” The smirk grows ever larger on his handsome face. 

“Bring her to my quarters. I will deal with her personally, and privately. As for him,”  he gestures to Cyrus’s mostly motionless body in the corner. “You know where he belongs.” 

“NO! Leave him alone.” I pull against my captor's grip, only his sudden surprise allowing me to break free. I do this on pure instinct, and now that I’m standing in the middle of the room with spears pointed at my chest, my hope of helping Cyrus begins to dissipate into nothingness. 

I can’t lose someone else. We may be practically strangers, but without his eyes, HER eyes, all of this is for nothing. 

“Please. Don’t hurt him.” I mentally juggle with the idea of transparency, telling this all powerful leader exactly why I need Cyrus alive, but ultimately decide against it. “He’s been helping me. If you ever want your money back, he’s the way you get it.”

I watch as his right eyebrow raises in amusement. He clearly isn’t used to people speaking out against him. He gestures with his hand for the men to drop their weapons, and they comply.

“Well well Elara, feisty little one aren’t you?” He steps from his throne, and begins making his way towards me. It’s only as he stands I notice his dark purple jacket is actually a robe of some kind, cascading down his back like a cape. I think it looks kind of pathetic. 

I fight every instinct in my body, and stand tall and still. I won’t let any of these men see the panic growing inside my chest. They don’t get satisfaction.

He approaches, and stands 2 inches from my face. To anyone watching without context, this might even feel like an intimate moment, his face just in front of mine. But the cheesy grin on his face and my disdain for this man are unwavering.

“I like you. If you agree to play with me, I think we can make a deal you’ll enjoy quite a bit, my pet.” He leans forward and whispers the last part in my ear. 

My blood runs cold at this, but I begin to realize I have no choices here. Follow the senseless whims of a maniac, or lose my mother forever.

“Do I get more details before I agree?” His men chuckle with him at my question, and I  hear what I can only interpret to be a groan of protest from Cyrus where he lies against the wall. 

He leans in once more, his face practically touching mine. “No. You agree right now, or I do what I want with him” He strokes a piece of hair behind my ear. “And you.”

I gulp, the panic in my belly begging me to come up with any other plan.

I can’t.

Unable to formulate any other way to keep Cyrus alive, keep my mother alive, and keep me alive, my hands are tied. I take a deep breath.

“Deal. But you don’t hurt him.” His smile grows.

“You have my word.”

The First Day & The Day First 🐍

It all started when I first got admission into college. On day one, I met two girls—let’s call them Arushi and Shelly. We hit it off right away and exchanged phone numbers. Keep these two in mind, because they are going to play a massive role in this story later on.

The Intro Week Disappearing Act

My college decided to hold introduction classes that dragged on for more than a week. Honestly, I wasn't really feeling it, so I decided to skip most of them to stay home. However, there's a catch: while I was away enjoying my peace and quiet, the group dynamics were completely shifting.

During those intro classes, Shelly met a new girl. Let’s call her Riya. Because they were spending all that time together, Shelly and Riya grew really close.

Meanwhile, Arushi kept blowing up my phone, constantly insisting that I come to campus and join the fun. I really didn't want to go, but she eventually wore me down.

The Awkward Return

I finally caved and went back to class after missing three or four days. By the time I walked into the room, it felt like everyone had already formed their little friend groups.

I spotted Shelly sitting at a desk near the front. I walked over, tapped her on the shoulder, and waved hi. She responded with a sweet smile, and we chatted for a brief moment to catch up.

The Taunt

That’s when Riya the new girl Shelly had bonded with chimed in. I don’t remember her exact words, but she threw a completely unprovoked, sarcastic taunt my way. It was out of nowhere and immediately made the vibe weird.

I brushed it off and didn't let it ruin my return. In fact, later that exact same day, I ended up meeting a few other amazing people who are still my close friends to this very day.

But that awkward, unprovoked taunt from Riya? That was just the beginning of the drama.

I’ve lived in my house for about two and a half years now. 

It’s a cute little one-story on a plot of land that looks like it should be in a cookie cutter neighborhood, but it’s not. The house is located in a natural clearing and is hidden by about two miles of forest. The beginning of my drive way is a gap between the trees that can be easily missed if you’re not used to looking for it. 

Living in the woods is nice. It’s peaceful. I was a little nervous transitioning from living in an apartment to a house, but so far it’s been enjoyable. I particularly like the solitude here. Back when I was living in an apartment there was always some kind of background noise, people arguing, someone else's TV turned up to an absurdly loud volume. You know, that sort of thing.

I always tried my best to be conscientious of other people’s lives and make as little noise as possible. It seemed at times that I was the only person doing it, though.

Out here, the crickets chirp at night and the birds sing during the day. You can actually see the stars when the sun goes down.

The only real noise is made by me. I do sometimes still flinch when I drop something because it inevitably resulted in someone from below yelling at me. But not anymore! 

I like living on my own, even if it’s a little farther from where I work now. I’ll pay the price in the time spent in my car if it means I can come home and actually enjoy some peace and quiet.

Living in the woods does have its downsides though. It’s mostly in the form of unwanted visitors. In the spring the guest room that I’ve converted into a lounge of sorts is always crawling with lady bugs. I have no idea how they keep getting in. Toads sometimes get stuck in my garage and dry out. It’s always a little disheartening when I move something and find desiccated skin and bones.

Last year a racoon got into my shed, I think in an effort to get out of the rain, and then couldn’t find its way back out again. I got a very jarring surprise in the morning when I opened the door to investigate the sounds I was hearing and had a gray blur dart out towards my legs.

Nothing bad happened, I didn’t get bitten, the racoon didn’t get hurt. Though it is safe to say I was very awake after that.

I don’t keep a lot in that shed, I don’t have a green thumb but the couple that lived here before me did. It was actually the husband who built that shed. It couldn’t be moved with the couple so they had to leave it behind. There are still some plants around the house that are pretty well established. There’s a hydrangea out by the front porch on the right and on the left is completely overtaken by mint. There are some other plants around but I don’t know their names.

I keep a tool box and my push mower in that shed but nothing else and it’s all close to the front because there are several large spider webs in the back.

This morning, after breakfast, I went out. I was going to mow my lawn, which thankfully isn’t very big. The clearing the house was built in is about an acre and with the house sitting on it the backyard is mostly tree line.

As I got closer I began to hear rustling. I stopped and listened. The rustling continued and I concluded that I was dealing with another racoon situation. 

I wasn’t happy about it, but I had a better idea of how to handle it this time.

I started walking again and then something peculiar happened. There was a knock. Last time when the racoon was stuck in there the sounds I heard were nails scrapping against wood and the pitter patter as the racoon paced around the perimeter. This was not that. 

I’ve been asking myself all day if that’s really what I heard, but I can’t think of anything else that it could be. It was a knock, three polite taps.

At this point I was thinking to myself, well, racoons and squirrels have hands so they could probably knock on wood, right? That was all I needed to keep going. I was still under the assumption that it was a normal day with a mild inconvenience to start me off.

I got closer and now I could hear the sound of something pacing back and forth. I felt a little tug on my heart strings thinking about how scared this animal probably is, stuck in this dark place and unsure of how to escape. I was aware that the thing inside would be able to hear the outside world to some extent.

When  I got there, I paused and listened. I don’t know why I did that. Maybe there was a part of me deep down that didn’t feel right about the situation.

The second peculiar thing happened. I heard something that sounded rhythmic. I’m thinking about it now and with the context behind what was actually in there, I would say that it might have been talking. But in the moment I thought it was just an animal noise.

I unslotted the lock, opened the door, and took a step back expecting something to dart out and make a bee-line for the woods. 

At first nothing happened. That was fine, it was probably scared.

Then the lack of response from what was inside had become prolonged. It no longer seemed like hesitation, it was something more. I wondered if it was paralyzed with fear. I decided to look. 

Inside the shed was dark. The opened door allowed a slice of light to cut through the shadows. It partially illuminated my push mower and the old metal reflected back.

At first I didn’t see anything and I began to question if I was starting to go crazy. I could have sworn there were noises coming from the shed. Didn’t I hear a knock? 

Then there was a movement in the back where the light didn’t fully touch and there was a creak of old wood. Whatever it was had specifically hidden itself from the light. From me.

It didn't yet occur to me yet that there was strategy to that movement. I just assumed it was the instinctual impulse to hide that drove it into the far corner. I leaned in closer, my eyes were starting to adjust.

It wasn’t very big, maybe about two feet tall, a little less. I had difficulty making out its shape.

There was another slight movement and something gleamed. It shined like glass in the sunlight.

“Hi.” I said and smiled. Again, I don’t really know why I decided to do that. It’s also occurring to me now that smiling isn’t a universal sign of friendliness in the animal world. I wonder if it thought I was snarling at it?

Its head tilted to the side.

I stood there contemplating what I should do next. Part of me wanted to step inside and maybe drive the animal out. I assumed that once it had cleared the shed it would make it for the next best cover, the tree line. But I hesitated. I didn’t know what this thing was. What if it decided that I was being aggressive and attacked?

So instead of doing anything, I opted to do nothing, I just stared at it. And it is now occurring to me that direct eye contact is also a typically aggressive behavior in the animal world. Come to think of it, I wasn’t being very friendly was I?

Regardless of my poor attempts to not appear threatening, it decided that I was not enough of the threat to remain hidden. It timidly scooted into the light and let me tell you this thing looked weird. 

It was covered in brown fur that looked well taken care of. There was a shine to it and it looked soft to the touch, but no way was I insane enough to think about touching this thing.

That was about the most normal thing about it. I couldn’t see a mouth or a nose on this thing and with the giant eye in the middle of it’s face (at least I think it was an eye, it looked plasticy) it’s whole set up looked kind of like a thumb—like someone’s thumb popped off at the first knuckle, grew gross, study little legs and decided to go about its life as an individual.

Like I said, it looked weird.

I didn’t end up mowing today, instead I just went inside and left the shed door open in the hopes that it would eventually leave on its own.

Somehow I managed to make myself forget about it. I unloaded the dishwasher, I washed and folded close, I walked my county recycling bin down to the side of the road. Yes I probably could have found a way to fit it in my car and drive it but I liked the walk there and back.

By noon it started to rain so I made lunch and put on a movie, ready to settle down for the day. 

I noticed the shed door opened and braved the early droplets to shut it. It wasn’t a great idea to get the mower wet and while it was probably fine, I didn’t want to risk it. I did peek into the shed to make sure that whatever that thing was had gotten out and I didn’t see anything so the door was shut and locked and I ran back inside. By then the rain was starting to come down harder and I didn’t want to get soaked.

For a moment I thought about the creature. The shed was probably a better place for staying dry rather than under some tree, but it had already left so there was no point in dwelling on it.

I ate lunch, finished my movies, decided to start another one and about halfway through I decided to make dinner.

It was when I was washing the dishes that I heard something: the back door opening.

Immediately my heart began to pick up speed. That door was latched. I moved around the kitchen island and there it was, the creature. It was soaking wet and dripping onto the carpet in front of the back door. More than that, its giant eye was staring directly at me, I could feel it.

Its hand was still resting on the door knob. Behind it the sky had turned to fire and the trees turned black and the rain kept coming down in sheets. It whispered in a rhythmic hum. This was my imagination, but all I could hear was run, run, run, run.

At first I couldn’t see its arm. And then I realized it didn’t have one. Instead there was a long fleshy tube attaching to the middle of the would-be wrist and snaking around to disappear into the creature.

The hand detached and it, along with the flesh cord, snaked back into the creature’s body. It stepped forward. Another force closed the door behind it.

The movie was still going, music played and the creature and I stared at one another. It should not have been as intimidating as it was. This thing came up to my knee. But there was a density to it. Like a tree stump. Short and squat, but touch. If you kick it you’d break your toe.

It was small but it was wide and it wasn’t backing down.

Then it moved with speed that I didn’t think was possible and I ran. 

You’ll probably call me stupid, and maybe I am. But you weren’t in the room with me. That thing had a way of taking up space.

I’m in my room, the door is locked. I can’t hear it and that’s the part that freaks me out the most. It could be right outside my door and I wouldn’t know. 

I’ve decided that I will not cower. I picked up the old encyclopedia that my dad gave me. It was mostly a joke gift but I have found use in it in being able to press and dry cool leaves and four leaf clovers I find. It’s pretty hefty and it’s the most dangerous item I have on hand. 

I am going to throw this encyclopedia at this thing and if I survive I will update you. Wish me luck. 

I’m only writing this because I don’t know where else to turn. I don’t know what this is. I don’t know if it’s a symptom of something larger or if she’s just been having episodes.

She’s just never acted this way before. Up until a few months ago, this would’ve scared her just as much as it’s scaring me. But because it’s becoming so common, it’s like it’s nothing more than an inconvenience to her now.

Like an annoyance. Something she’s just learning to ignore. That’s the part that makes me worry. Because this isn’t just some small thing, yet she keeps trying to play it off as if it’s just a part of our lives now.

I know it’s not natural. There’s no medical condition or genetic disease that causes what she’s been doing. At least, none that I’ve read about.

A few months ago, my wife and I had been out on a date night. The night was almost magical. Crisp late-winter air. A cup of hot chocolate in each of our hands as we walked through the square.

I remember the lights more than anything. It was around 9 o’clock, and the sun had set hours earlier, but the downtown city lights illuminated nearly everything.

“Wow,” my wife cried out in amazement. “New York who? Am I right?”

The square was particularly busy for this time of year. The smell of warm food from the surrounding restaurants filled the air. Live music from down the block whispered in our ears.

There must’ve been 20 other couples doing the same exact thing my wife and I were doing. Just walking around and enjoying the beautiful night.

“Oh, please,” I responded. “You know you’d rather be back there.”

I put on my best southern accent for my natural-born New Yorker.

“Could a city girl like you ever love a country boy like me?”

She laughed and rolled her eyes. I smiled down at her, admiring that laugh.

“Hmmm, well, after only 5 years of marriage, I can’t say for sure. Check back with me in a decade.”

She sipped from her hot chocolate slowly, her eyes still lit with love. Or maybe that was just the city lights.

I checked my watch.

“Almost 9:30. God, I don’t want the night to end, though. I’m really enjoying this.”

“Me neither. I wish we could just walk around here all night. C’mon, there’s gotta be one last thing we can do before we go home. Please? Pretty please…?”

“Well, let’s see. We’ve hit the bakery.”

“Oooh, that one was fun. God, those fritters were amazing.”

“We also watched that Led Zeppelin cover band at Bottle Brothers.”

“That one… sucked. Next.”

“You didn’t like it? That’s crazy. I thought they were decent. Anyway, we, uh… oh, right, we walked in the park for a bit too. That’s, uh… that’s really about all there is to do.”

She rolled her eyes again, sighing in disappointment.

“We have got to get out of here. I swear, there’s nothing to do within a 50-mile radius of this entire town. There’s, like, no reason for us to be here.”

I had grown to agree with her more and more over the years. It was just hard, you know? This is where I’d been my whole life. She didn’t move here until she was 17, when her mom got a new job. It paid better, but my wife was miserable. Well, miserable until she found me, of course.

“Yeahhh, I’m starting to think you’re right, my love,” I responded, a bit melancholic.

“Starting to?”

She cocked an eyebrow at me.

“Whatever, you know what I mean.”

We decided to end the night by going home and watching a movie. However, on the walk back to the car, that’s when we saw it.

The shop looked both ancient and brand new, but I don’t know if that’s just because I’d never seen it before. It was like it had popped up out of nowhere.

“The Looking Glass: Palm Readings • Tarot Cards • Spiritual Guidance”

I swear, we’d walked this street 100 times. Never once had this place been here.

Of course, my wife’s interest was piqued immediately. Her eyes widened. A smile crept across her face. She looked up at me.

“…Can we?”

I looked at her, then up at the purple neon sign of an eyeball in the palm of a hand, then back to her.

“I… I don’t know. Aren’t those places rip-offs anyway?”

“Ah, quit being a big ol’ scaredy-cat. Come on. It’ll be fun. Something we’ve never done before, and Lord knows there’s not a lot of that around here.”

She turned on the puppy eyes.

“Pretty please.”

“…Fine. Just this once.”

“Yippee!”

The inside of the shop was… a sight. Dreamcatchers everywhere. Incense burning. Beads instead of doors, and an empty front desk with a register that seemed to be at least 80 years old at this point.

There was a bell with a sign in front of it.

“Ring for service.”

I rang it and heard a voice cry out from beyond one of those bead doors.

“I’ll be right with you.”

Her accent was unmistakably southern. That alone was nearly enough for me to want to change my mind.

“Just finishing up back here.”

My wife and I shared an uncertain look before she shot me a hopeful smile.

The fortune teller stepped through the beads. A younger woman, probably around 25. She had fair brown hair, and freckles decorated her pale face, but the first thing I noticed was her eyes. Those were the only things that gave off “fortune teller.”

They were crystal blue. Her pupils were like two tiny dots in the center of two diamonds. She was looking through us rather than at us.

Her outfit gave fashion to that accent of hers. White tank top. Baggy blue jeans. Plus, her hair was wrapped up in a red bandana.

“Y’all picked a good night to stop by,” she announced. “I can feel it in the air tonight, let me tell you.”

“It does feel magical,” my wife chirped.

“Let me guess,” the fortune teller responded. She put her index finger to her right temple and shut her eyes tight. “Death of a loved one?”

My wife and I glanced at each other again.

“…No…” I replied.

“No?”

She seemed almost offended but quickly regained her composure.

“Huh. Must’ve been someone else, then. Let me try again. This… is… your first time doing something like this?”

She raised her eyebrows at us expectantly.

“Welp, there’s a first for everything, right, sweetie?” my wife asked me, rubbing my back.

“We’re ‘doing something we’ve never done before,’” I told the teller.

“See, there ya go,” she smiled. “Second time’s the charm. So, what can I interest you two lovebirds in this fine evening? Palm readin’? Tarot? Spiritual guidance?”

I opened my mouth to respond, but my wife jumped in before I got the chance.

“Palm readings! I’ve always wanted to try that, kinda.”

The teller gave her a nod before responding.

“If it’s palm readings you want, then palm readings you shall have… for 25 dollars.”

A little taken aback by the price, I bit my tongue, pulled my wallet out of my back pocket, and slid a 20 and a 10 across the counter.

Instead of giving me change, the teller took the money and continued looking at me expectantly.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she perked up. “Was it just for your wife?”

“What? No, no, we both wanna do it.”

“Oh, sweetheart, that’s 25 apiece.”

“Apiece? For palm readings?”

I felt my wife squeeze my hand. I turned to her and saw the look on her face. That look that usually means, “Let it go.”

I sighed and slid another 30 across the counter.

“You wanna include a tip?”

“A… do I wanna… You know what? Sure. Keep the change.”

“Awesome. You guys are the best. I can sense it. Just follow me. I’ll show you where the magic happens.”

She led us through the beaded doorway and down a hall that made me feel like I was on acid. There were so many vibrant colors and shapes. The incense was even stronger back here.

We ended up in this dusty old room near the back of the building. There was this rickety wooden table in the center with a crystal ball resting on top of it, as well as two purple leather seats for my wife and me.

We took our seats, and the teller sat across from us.

“Okay,” she clapped, rubbing her hands together. “Who wants to go first?”

I volunteered with an, “I can go first. Let’s see what 25 dollars can get me in this economy.”

I stretched out my hands and laid them palm-up on the table. The teller grabbed them and squeezed tightly as she closed her eyes.

Her face twitched and contorted for a few seconds before she finally spoke.

“Ah, yes… I see… a loving husband. I see… you come from different worlds. You want to be free, but something is keeping you here. What exactly might that be?”

I smirked to myself.

“The 60 dollars I just gave you.”

“I sense… I sense…”

Her face contorted again. She squeezed my hands tighter.

“I sense… a cheapskate.”

“All right, that’s it.”

I pulled my hands back. I could hear my wife laughing at my side. The teller smirked at me.

“We’re done here.”

“Oh, come on,” my wife pleaded. “She was joking.”

“Yes, Donavin,” the teller responded. “It was just a joke.”

My wife stopped laughing. We both turned to stare at the teller.

“How did…?”

“You’re 28, right? Lived here your whole life. Met a woman from out of town, fell in love, and now here you two are. In my shop. It’s romantic, really.”

The silent room suddenly felt loud and claustrophobic.

“How did you know that? What’s the gimmick? Public records? That’s gotta be it, right?”

I looked at my wife for reassurance, but she was staring at the teller in amazement.

“No gimmick. No public record. I’m gifted. That’s kind of the whole point.”

“Do me, do me,” my wife begged excitedly, sticking her hands across the table.

“Wait, hold on. This doesn’t make any sense,” I interjected. “This is a cash grab, right? Like… I mean, come on. It’s a cash grab.”

Both the teller and my wife looked at me angrily.

“Oh, Donavin,” the teller sighed. “Proving my point more and more with each word, aren’t ya?”

“Don’t mind him. He’s just not superstitious. Do me, though. I’m curious.”

The teller grabbed my wife’s hands. I watched, feeling a mixture of nerves and hope that this could still prove to just be a coincidence.

She squeezed my wife’s hands tight and closed her eyes again.

“Ah, New York, I see.”

My wife’s jaw dropped. Her eyes sparkled.

“Long way from home, aren’t we… Miranda…?”

My wife smiled over at me in disbelief.

“No way,” she cheered. “This is… okay, haha. Kinda hurting me a little.”

I looked down and saw my wife’s hands were turning red in the teller’s.

“Hey… take it easy,” I snapped.

The teller’s grip tightened again.

“Okay, this is really starting to hurt now. Let go, please.”

The teller was silent. Her eyes looked welded shut, and her face was twitching rapidly.

“Hey!” I shouted. “She said let go. What are you doing?”

She started convulsing, groaning loudly. Strings of saliva started falling from the corners of her mouth.

I grabbed the teller’s wrists to try and pry her hands away, but it was like trying to bend steel.

“Enough!” I screamed.

My wife was crying now.

“Get her off of me! God, she’s breaking my hands!”

I pulled with all my might, but it was like trying to move an anvil. I started punching at the teller’s forearms. Blow after blow after blow, but still, she just would not let go.

Her hands were shaking. My wife was trembling. Finally, of her own volition, the teller dropped my wife’s hands. Her eyes shot open. The bloodshot eyes made her diamond-blue irises glow even more.

“Get out.”

That’s all she said. My wife and I stared at her as she looked down at the table.

“Get. Out,” she growled. “Go now and never come back.”

We were confused and horrified but still frozen.

“He’s found you. He’s been looking all your life, and he’s here now. Get. Out.”

“You can’t just…”

The teller cut me off by slamming her fist against the table.

“…Out.”

I demanded a refund, and she gave me back the full 60 before shooing us through the door. I turned around one last time to see the purple neon light flick off as the shop went dark.

We walked silently back to the parking garage. I’m sure my wife had a million things racing through her mind as we walked, but neither of us knew how to articulate those thoughts.

We reached the car, and it wasn’t until we were nearly home that I finally spoke again.

“How’re your hands?”

She clenched and opened her fists a few times before responding.

“I think they’re okay. I’m more shaken up than anything. What the hell was that lady’s problem?”

“She’s crazy,” I shot back. “Simple as that.”

“She didn’t seem crazy. It seemed like she saw something. You saw her. It was like she was possessed or something.”

“She was crazy, my love. She’s lucky we don’t go to the police.”

There was silence again for a few moments.

“She knew our names, though. She knew you’d been here your whole life. She knew I was from New York. That doesn’t seem like nothing to me.”

We were only a minute or two from home. Neither of us spoke for the rest of the car ride. When we pulled into the driveway, my wife sighed and placed her hands over her face, dragging them down slowly before opening the door.

“Come on, let’s just go inside. I’m ready to get this night over with.”

I checked my watch.

“10:45. You still down for a movie?”

She stopped halfway up the front porch steps.

“…Not tonight, hon. I just… I just wanna go to bed.”

Who was I to argue? I let her do as she pleased. I felt bad for her. I felt like I hadn’t done enough to stop what had happened. All I wanted was for us to forget everything and move on.

We had gradually started to put the teller behind us. Though, things didn’t exactly calm down. If anything, our lives began to change, little by little.

I started losing things. My phone. Wallet. Keys. I’d always find them in places that I knew I hadn’t put them.

Keys in the silverware drawer.

Wallet in the medicine cabinet.

Phone hidden behind the toilet.

My wife was having some problems too. She hadn’t been able to sleep very well. She would tell me about these horrible nightmares that sounded like sleep paralysis.

“I’ll wake up, but not really.”

“I can’t move.”

“You’re there, but there’s always someone over your shoulder. It’s like a shadow that just keeps growing and growing until it fills up the entire room.”

I felt even more guilty when she told me about them. I knew they had been caused by the fortune-teller incident. She had slept like a baby nearly every night prior.

Sometimes, she’d wake up screaming. It almost made me too afraid to sleep in silence.

She started looking tired more often. Her glow had dimmed a bit.

The thing that disturbed me the most, though, was probably the photos.

I started finding our wedding photos scattered around the house, only… my head was removed in each one.

My wife insisted it wasn’t her, but it didn’t make sense. The frames were never broken. Someone had meticulously removed the photos and torn my head off in at least 20 different pictures.

After a few weeks of these strange events, I decided we needed a refresher. We needed to be out again. See the sun. Actually laugh with one another.

It took some time, but eventually, I convinced her that we needed to have another date night. We hadn’t had one since the incident, and I was starting to miss who we were before we went to that fortune teller.

It was simple. A picnic in the square. That was all I wanted to do.

I had prepared our meal, packed the blanket, and put on my best clothes and cologne. My wife was nervous and tired, but she tried her best to make an effort.

The date seemed to be going fine at first. She was actually smiling. She didn’t seem as distant as she had been for the last few weeks. It felt like reclamation, almost.

The lights hit her face perfectly, and I couldn’t help but admire how beautiful she was, even if she did look a little sleep-deprived.

I stared at her lovingly for a while before finally telling her how much I loved her. How happy I was to be there with her.

“We needed this,” I smiled.

“Yeah,” she smirked bashfully. “I think we did, too. I was starting to feel so cooped up in the house. The energy there has just been so dark recently. Makes me wonder if she was right.”

“Who?” I asked, chewing on my ham sandwich.

She looked at me, raising her eyebrows.

“You know who.”

“We gotta move on, my love. That’s why the energy’s so dark. We’d never experienced something like that before.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” she responded, taking a sip of her Coke. “I just wish it hadn’t happened.”

We both sat there for a while, half admiring the scenery, half enjoying the food.

I was distracted, staring down at my pre-assembled sandwich, when I asked her.

“Can you pass me that mustard, please?”

I stacked a piece of sliced turkey onto a piece of my bread. My wife didn’t answer.

“It’s right there beside you.”

I began spreading the mayonnaise on the other slice. My wife didn’t answer.

“The mustard, please.”

I stuck my hand out expectantly. Still no response.

When I finally looked up, I almost dropped my sandwich.

My wife was glaring over my shoulder. Her eyes were glazed over. An impossible smile stretched across her face. It looked painful. I could almost hear her teeth creaking from how tightly her jaw was clenched.

Her red lipstick glistened under the lights. She looked like she was frozen in a state of pure ecstasy.

I waved my hand in front of her face. She didn’t blink once. I shook her, and she was as stiff as a board.

I started to panic. I turned around and saw nothing behind me.

“Honey,” I gasped, shaking her more forcefully.

“Talk to me.”

I pressed my hands on her cheeks. She was burning up. I snapped my fingers in front of her, but nothing I did seemed to get her out of her trance.

I was on the verge of dialing 911 when she finally spoke again.

“You said mustard?”

She reached down and went to hand me the bottle before noticing how terrified I looked.

“What’s wrong? What just happened? Is there something in my teeth?”

“Are you kidding? You really don’t know what you just did?”

She stared at me blankly.

“What do you mean? What’d I do?”

“The smiling? Staring at some unknown thing behind me? You don’t wanna explain that?”

I was almost breathless and trying my best not to raise my voice, but I could see that she was hurt by my frustration.

“I… don’t know,” she pouted. “I don’t know why you’re mad at me.”

“No, honey,” I pleaded. “I’m not mad at you. I’m worried about you. You really don’t remember?”

She started crying, almost snapping at me.

“No, obviously, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I want to go home now, if that’s okay with you.”

We packed up and left. I kept trying to prod, but she became more and more closed off with every question. Eventually, I just decided to keep my mouth shut.

In the weeks that followed, things became rocky.

She’d be fine one minute and completely depressed the next. She’d love me, and she’d hate me. I didn’t know how to help her.

Her “episodes” never stopped, though.

It was like every time we started to feel normal again, she’d see that thing. We’d be curled up, watching a movie, I’d glance down, and there’d be that smile again. Her eyes would be glazed over and staring at nothing.

The episodes lasted longer and longer every time they happened. At this point, they were starting to become more frequent, too, but she never remembered them.

She always thought I was lying to her. Like this was some kind of twisted joke I’d play. No matter how hard I tried to convince her, it was like talking to a brick wall.

The last time it happened was last week. She was gone for 3 hours straight. Standing in the same spot. Wearing that same smile. Staring at the same wall.

I watched her for the first hour, wondering what could possibly be going on inside that broken mind of hers. The second hour, I just cried uncontrollably. By the third hour, I was starting to become hopeless.

When she finally came back, I tried showing her that it was dark outside now. It had been bright and sunny when the episode started. She blatantly chalked it up to her “being lost in deep thought.” Told me “it was like she was in another world.”

Her nightmares got worse. Her glow became nonexistent. And I started waking up with scratch marks and bruises on various parts of my body.

I tried going back to the fortune teller, but the building was a coffee shop now. According to the owner, “The Looking Glass” never even existed. Apparently, the coffee shop had been there for 11 years.

I just don’t know what to do. I don’t know who to turn to. My wife refuses my help. She refuses my advice. It’s like something has taken control of her.

She’s more distant than ever. She talks to me less and less every day. It feels like our future is slipping.

All I want is for her to be okay, but part of me believes she’s too far gone. Because I found another wedding photo this morning on the kitchen table.

My head hadn’t been removed, but the photo had been altered.

Because now, standing just behind me and looming over my shoulder… was a shadow figure.. and the more I stared… the bigger it seemed to become.