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[RF] ABP "Always Be Preparing"
2023.05.29 00:58 TSMaynard1 [RF] ABP "Always Be Preparing"
Pine needles brushed across Paul's arms as he charged through the trees with his bugout bag slung over his shoulders. Weighing in at forty pounds, it hardly slowed him down as he’d practiced this hike many times. He flicked his wrist and checked his Garmin Solar 2 Tactical Watch. The timer read: 2:23.
“You can do this, Paul.” He increased the pace and gritted his teeth, the weight finally having an effect. Paul bounded over a small creek, up a rolling hill, and pushed through a row of baby birches into a clearing. He doubled over to catch his breath and looked at his watch one more time. Two hours and twenty-eight minutes. Paul pumped his fist in victory.
After a short break, he approached a thorny bush in the center of the clearing. Paul brushed aside sand at the bush’s trunk, revealing a yellow rope. He pulled it, which lifted a hidden door in the ground covered with dirt, shrubbery, and other camouflage on the top side, and drab gray iron on the other. Underneath, wooden stairs descended into darkness. Paul retrieved a flashlight from his pack, clicked on the beam, and disappeared into the earth.
At the bottom of the steps, Paul faced a steel door and a combination lock. With several quick swipes of the dial, he opened the lock and tugged the metal door, which creaked as it cracked open. Paul flashed the beam on the offending hinges and shook his head. Something to fix later. He stepped into the secret chamber and pulled a hanging aluminum chain that turned on a large halogen light, illuminating a twenty-foot by eight-foot metal rectangle. The exposed corrugated walls revealed the bunker was nothing more than a shipping container. Paul buried it two years ago and had divided the interior into three spaces. The entry had a shelf with four dozen gallon jugs of sealed water along with a portable toilet, stacks of toilet paper, and a wastebasket. The middle section was the main living area and contained a futon, a TV with a DVD player, and a neat collection of movies underneath. A nightstand housed a small library of books, including the Bible, The Art of Meditation, Buddhism for Dummies, and other spiritual tomes. The back area of the unit had two shelves filled with canned food—black beans, green beans, peaches, peas, carrots, beef, and chicken. There was also a stationary bike, which was Paul’s proudest accomplishment because he had rigged it to a giant battery that provided power to all the electronics.
Paul was a prepper, and this would be his home when the end of the world came, an event he believed was imminent. The global economy was a house of cards built on greed, corruption, and inflated asset prices, but worst of all, it was based on a faith in paper and digital money.
His fear was triggered four years ago when he attended a lecture by a professor who explained the fragility of the world’s financial system. If a few banks failed, it would rattle people’s confidence, causing a herd-like response. Thousands of people would rush to withdraw their cash, which the banks no longer had because they’d invested it. The banks would either fail, and everyday folks would lose their life savings, or the government would print new money to replace the missing money, making all money worth a lot less. Anyone holding dollars would attempt to convert them to other assets.
Just like dominoes, the banks would topple over one by one, and as they crashed, people’s faith in money would crater. After all, what was money? It was just paper with printed images and numbers that we’d all accepted as having value. More recently, money had become numbers displayed on a computer screen, something Paul knew firsthand as he spent the first seven years of his career working at a regional bank in Asheville, North Carolina. Paul could literally change someone’s net worth with a few keystrokes. He could turn a pauper into a millionaire, or he could bankrupt the richest account holder. Sure, there were safeguards, but all were built on faith, which Paul believed was misplaced. Most people didn’t realize that the Federal Reserve only required each bank to hold at least ten percent of its deposits as a reserve. Ten percent. That’s it. The rest of the money was invested in loans or other financial instruments. As the rich bank owners and executives pushed for bigger and bigger returns, they invested in riskier and riskier assets. The lessons from the financial crisis of 2008 had been forgotten.
Once the monetary system collapsed, the entire economy would become paralyzed. Without a means of exchange, transactions would halt. Think about it. If someone tried to give you a slip of paper that you thought was worthless, would you give them anything of value in return?
The doomsday scenario would escalate. Food and water prices would skyrocket, but with no way to purchase them, many would starve. But people don’t just roll over and die, they would riot and take what they need to survive. Marshall Law would be implemented, but citizens would revolt against the government they felt had cheated them.
As Paul listened to the lecturer that fateful day, a depressing epiphany struck. Everything he’d learned and everything he’d spent his life acquiring was worthless.
Growing up, Paul had been taught the value of money, saving, and planning for retirement. He internalized these lessons as a teen after his father got sick and lost his job. His mother had died when he was very young, but his father still managed to provide him with a stable childhood, even though they were barely middle class. When his father fell ill, Paul witnessed firsthand how fast a family could sink into financial trouble, which couldn’t have come at a worse time. He was applying to colleges, and instead of choosing the one he liked best, he chose the one that gave him the most financial aid, which turned out to be a small school half-way across the country. He also didn’t choose a major he was excited about; he chose the one that would offer the safest financial prospects—economics with an emphasis on banking.
The distance from home meant that Paul didn’t see the rapid deterioration of his father. It wasn’t until he returned for the funeral that family friends told him how the disease had spread. His father had refused to let anyone tell Paul because he didn’t want that to distract Paul from his studies.
After graduating, Paul accepted a job at a bank, and immediately signed up for the company’s 401K match. Most college graduates can't grasp retirement when they enter the workforce, but a 401K match was free money. Over the next several years, Paul worked diligently to advance his career while saving most of his salary. He’d mapped out his life on an excel spreadsheet and calculated that he’d be financially secure at 53.
Everything went according to plan until that damn lecturer came along and blew it up. Sifting through the rubble of his grand scheme, Paul realized that in the new world order, he possessed no skills to survive. The savings he’d so meticulously built up would have little to no value. When the economy collapsed, he'd be like a baby, unable to do anything for himself.
After a week of wallowing in despair, Paul rallied himself. “I can still fix this” became a daily mantra. To start, he threw himself into survival classes. The first was a basic camping course where he learned how to create shelters and start a fire. The next class was more advanced and focused on water purification and building snares for small game.
Paul continued working at the bank, because he needed to pay for the classes and survival equipment he began hoarding, but on his next vacation, he put his training to the test. He planned to camp for a week in the Appalachian Mountains, but the temperature swings, especially at night, were too much. Paul lasted three nights in the wild. The humbling experience forced him to admit that he wasn’t a bushman. His depression returned until he stumbled upon an article about “preppers”—individuals who prepare for end of world disasters. Suddenly, things made sense. He didn’t need to abandon all the comforts of modern society. He needed to prepare for the end of the world the way he had planned for retirement.
As Paul traveled down the rabbit hole of prepping, he uncovered an underground society of people like him who knew the truth about the world’s demise. Of course, not everyone believed it would end because of an economic collapse. Some thought a nuclear war would destroy civilization. Others feared electromagnetic pulses from the sun would wipe out all modern electricity. And still others worried a massive volcanic eruption would spew enough ash and soot into the air to blot out the sun. There was no shortage of theories about the world ending, but one thing was clear. The world would end. Did it matter how it happened?
Paul began his prepping quest by purchasing ten acres an hour and a half outside of Asheville. It had plenty of small animals and a creek running through the middle. He then transported an unused cargo container to the land and buried it. This was the toughest part of the plan because it required heavy equipment. Next, he dug out a staircase and installed a steel door at the entrance. Finally, he furnished it with a mix of modern comforts and survival essentials.
Almost every weekend, Paul trekked to his underground sanctuary and made improvements. He also planned his bugout strategy. When the end of the world hit, he figured he needed to be safely hidden in his home within two and a half hours, a time he had achieved with this latest trip. Everything was set, and Paul could finally relax. He was prepared.
Paul slumped down on his futon and considered playing a movie or cracking the bottle of Jim Beam whiskey he stored in a special cabinet, but he shook off the urge. Those things were the rewards and comforts he’d enjoy after the world ended. His fingers rubbed the top of the Bible, something he planned to read cover to cover once the global economy cratered. He’d have plenty of time then to discover his spiritual side, but not now. Something else needed to be done. Something he’d missed.
The biggest mistake a prepper can make is assuming he had everything covered. This was the lesson taught by Yannis, the guru of the prepping world. He was so well-known within the doomsday community; he only went by one name. The guy was sharp as a whip and could live off the land, if necessary, but he preferred a more sophisticated lifestyle, so he created a luxurious cave that contained backup systems for all his backups. Food, water, shelter, and electricity were all taken care of, and it was projected that Yannis could survive ten years comfortably after the apocalypse. His famous blog titled “ABP” stood for Always Be Preparing. It was a motto Yannis lived by and something Paul aspired to, but as he sat in his bunker after the relentless hike, fatigue set in. He didn’t want to think about prepping or his bugout strategy. He wanted to just be.
Paul tilted his head back onto the futon’s cushion, and a loneliness crept into his mind. All his prepping left little time for relationships. He dated off and on in college, but it was never anything serious. It wasn’t like his high school sweetheart, Kristin Summer. They dated junior and senior year, but then Paul broke it off when his father got sick. Paul couldn’t focus on romance, and he knew the relationship wouldn’t have worked when he left for school 1,500 miles away. It still hurt when he learned from a friend that Kristin started dating Derek Gorman, an old classmate Paul hated. It hurt even more when he found out they had gotten married.
After college, Paul joined a couple of dating sites, but he hadn’t used them in over two years. Most women wouldn’t understand his prepping lifestyle, at least that’s what he feared, so he rejected dating before anyone could reject him. But most wasn't all, and with eight billion people on the planet, there had to be someone for him. Almost without thinking, Paul pulled out his phone and opened “My Match,” the site where he’d had the most luck. His profile still had a photo from his early banking days. He was clean shaven with a naïve smile. The face staring back in the picture differed greatly from the bearded survivalist he’d become. Would anyone consider a relationship with the new Paul? Only one way to find out. He snapped a selfie, uploaded it, and then updated his hobbies with the first being “prepping” followed by “survival skills training.” He finished by pressing the button that showed he was actively looking for someone. All he had to do now was wait.
After spending the night in his bunker, Paul checked the dating site in the morning. No response. “It was a stupid idea,” he told himself, and stuffed his phone back into his pocket. He locked his container and returned home.
Over the next two weeks, Paul received zero requests for a date. He didn’t even receive a message from anyone to start a conversation and test the waters. “Shake it off, dumbass,” he said alone in the confines of his cottage-style home. “The world is going to end, anyway.” He clenched his jaw and did what he always did. He researched more ways to survive. Paul poured over blog posts and imagined worst-case scenarios. How could his water be contaminated? Maybe he should bury some caches of water. What if someone finds his shelter? Maybe security cameras were needed. What if he gets lonely in his shelter? No ideas came to mind.
After his eyes got tired from reading, Paul clicked out of his browser, and the list of all his apps stared at him. For reasons unknown to him, he opened Facebook, something he hadn’t done for months. There were a handful of notifications and a couple of friend requests sent weeks ago. His heart raced when he saw the name of one—Kristin Summer. When he accepted, he saw she was on-line right then.
Should he message her? Would that be weird right after accepting her request? But wasn’t it weird that he hadn’t responded for several weeks? He pulled up the messenger and typed. “Hey. Sorry for the delay in accepting your request. Hadn’t been on Facebook in a while. Been busy. Hope you and Derek are well.”
He curled his lip in disgust as he typed Derek’s name and considered deleting it, but he took the moral high ground and hit “send” with his message unaltered.
Kristin Summer. Just the thought of her name brought a smile to Paul’s face.
Bing.
The sound alerted Paul to a response, which he read out loud. “Hey Paul. Good to hear from you. Derek and I divorced a little over a year ago. It was rough at first, but it was for the best. How are you?”
Paul’s eyes widened with shock and excitement. He couldn’t believe Derek was so stupid to let Kristin go. Paul could at least blame their breakup on his father’s illness. His fingers prattled away on the keyboard. “Things are amazing.” He stopped typing. That was a lie. Should he pretend like things were great or should he be honest and tell her about his prepping and the end of the world? Neither option sounded appealing. He tapped the keys without writing until he settled on something uncontroversial.
“Working at Trinity Bank in Asheville. It pays the bills. Where are you?”
Within a minute, the sweet sound of the notification binged. “I’m not too far away in Durham. If you’re ever in town, let me know.”
If you’re ever in town, let me know.
Paul couldn’t believe his eyes. Was Kristin asking him out? He shook his head. Nah, she’s probably just being polite. But maybe. If there was any chance, he had to find out. He chewed his lip and deliberated his next response. Fortune favors the bold, he told himself. Then he remembered Matt Damon telling people that in the now infamous commercial for FTX months before its collapse. When that occurred, Paul thought it was the beginning of the end, and he lived in his bunker for two days before emerging and finding the world still intact.
Paul clenched his fist. It was still good advice, and he had to try. Almost involuntarily, he typed, “I’ll be there tomorrow afternoon. If you want to get together, let me know.” His finger hit send before he could talk himself out of it. There was no qualification in the message. No waffling or hedging. It was clear Paul wanted to see Kristin. The only question now was whether she wanted to see him.
The next ten minutes felt like ten days. Paul paced back and forth with his hands over his head, and he glanced at the monitor every few seconds, just in case his ears had missed the notification alert.
There was nothing.
A dark depression filled the room. Why had he gotten his hopes up? What was the point, anyway? The world was going to end.
Bing.
Paul leapt to the computer and his eyes widened with each word he read. “How about a lunch at The Fig Tree Restaurant on 7th?”
People overuse the word literally, but Paul at least felt like his jaw was literally on the floor. He had a date with Kristin Summer, the one woman he had loved. His hands rattled away at the keyboard. “See you at 1 tomorrow.”
“Holy crap,” he muttered to himself.
Panic replaced his excitement when he imagined sitting down and talking to Kristin. What would he say? “Hey Kristin, what have you been up to? Oh me? I’ve been working at a job I hate and planning for the end of the world.”
He drifted into the bathroom and stared at the scruffy character in the mirror. Paul could only cringe at the thought of Kristin’s reaction upon seeing him. She might not recognize the bearded loner who resembled Ted Kaczynski more than the short-haired, clean-shaven teen she last saw.
Only one thing to do.
Paul had to prepare. He opened a drawer and pulled out a pair of clippers. He began trimming his beard and mustache as short as the clippers would allow. Next, he applied a generous amount of cream and shaved all of it off. Paul smirked at the young man hiding under the shabby beard, but it still wasn’t enough. He set the guard on the clippers to a four and began shaving his head. In college, Paul cut his own hair to save money, and the skill came back to him quickly. He dropped to a three and worked in a fade on the sides and then finished with a two. Paul turned to the left, then to the right, and assessed his work. Not bad.
Next thing to prepare was his outfit. Paul slid the door of his closet open and evaluated his choices. A banker’s suit was too stuffy, and his mountain man denim was too hermit inspired. He yanked the clothes aside and climbed deeper into the recesses of his wardrobe until he found a nice buttoned-down shirt and a dark pair of slacks. It gave just the right vibe of successful and stable, while not trying too hard to impress, even though that was his precisely his goal. Paul laid the selection on the chair by his bed. Durham was a three-and-a-half-hour drive away, and he wanted to make sure he got there with time to find parking, and maybe use the restroom. He set the alarm on his iPhone for 6 a.m. That would give him plenty of time to take a shower, have breakfast, and get dressed.
There was no chance of falling asleep easily. His mind raced with thoughts, questions, and various scenarios about what the day would bring. To relax, he poured himself a double whiskey, which he downed with a single slurp. He poured another and sipped.
Kristin Summer. He shook his head, still in disbelief.
As the effect of alcohol set in, Paul laid down on his bed and shut his eyes. Tomorrow would be a good day.
Paul slipped into a deep, satisfying sleep until his mind jolted him awake. It was past 6 a.m. He didn’t know how he knew. He just knew. Paul had slept through his alarm. He snatched his phone off the nightstand, but it was out of battery. He checked his watch and saw it was 7 a.m. There was still time to get to Durham.
Paul jumped out of bed and into the bathroom. He flicked on the light switch, but nothing came on. Paul toggled it on and off, but the outlet was dead.
Police sirens wailed in the distance. Paul meandered out of his house and onto the front lawn. Aside from the sirens, there was an uneasy stillness. Paul’s neighbor Kurt ran out from his home with two suitcases that he flung into the trunk of his car.
“Kurt. What’s going on?” Paul asked.
“Fort Knox was bombed. All the gold was obliterated. And something happened to the electricity and the internet. They shut it down.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know, man, but it’s not good. No one has access to news, no money, nothing.”
“Where are you going?” Paul asked.
“I don’t know. Somewhere isolated. I’m just hoping there are no more bombings or other attacks.” Kurt jumped into his car and sped away.
This was it. The world was ending. All of his preps were about to pay off. But what about Kristin? Paul didn’t want the world to end. If he tried to get Kristin, there was no chance he could reach his shelter before things get hairy. Plus, there was no way he could find her. He didn’t have her address, and she might have already left Durham for somewhere safe.
Paul forced himself to focus on his plan. This was what he had prepared for. He dashed back inside and changed into his camouflage gear, grabbed his bugout bag, and then sprinted to his truck. He drove through his neighborhood and reached the main road. His shelter and plans were to the left. Kristin and the unknown were to the right. The whites of Paul’s knuckles flared as he gripped the steering wheel. Now was not the time to waffle. He turned left and hit the accelerator.
Paul gritted his teeth and raced down the street. Keep going. Keep going. He urged himself on. Almost involuntarily, his foot slammed on the brakes. Paul couldn’t do it. He’d planned for the worst all his life, and while he sat alone with the engine idling, he had to admit the truth. He’d lived all his life in fear.
Paul yanked the wheel and turned around toward Durham.
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“You can do this, Paul.” He increased the pace and gritted his teeth, the weight finally having an effect. Paul bounded over a small creek, up a rolling hill, and pushed through a row of baby birches into a clearing. He doubled over to catch his breath and looked at his watch one more time. Two hours and twenty-eight minutes. Paul pumped his fist in victory.
After a short break, he approached a thorny bush in the center of the clearing. Paul brushed aside sand at the bush’s trunk, revealing a yellow rope. He pulled it, which lifted a hidden door in the ground covered with dirt, shrubbery, and other camouflage on the top side, and drab gray iron on the other. Underneath, wooden stairs descended into darkness. Paul retrieved a flashlight from his pack, clicked on the beam, and disappeared into the earth.
At the bottom of the steps, Paul faced a steel door and a combination lock. With several quick swipes of the dial, he opened the lock and tugged the metal door, which creaked as it cracked open. Paul flashed the beam on the offending hinges and shook his head. Something to fix later. He stepped into the secret chamber and pulled a hanging aluminum chain that turned on a large halogen light, illuminating a twenty-foot by eight-foot metal rectangle. The exposed corrugated walls revealed the bunker was nothing more than a shipping container. Paul buried it two years ago and had divided the interior into three spaces. The entry had a shelf with four dozen gallon jugs of sealed water along with a portable toilet, stacks of toilet paper, and a wastebasket. The middle section was the main living area and contained a futon, a TV with a DVD player, and a neat collection of movies underneath. A nightstand housed a small library of books, including the Bible, The Art of Meditation, Buddhism for Dummies, and other spiritual tomes. The back area of the unit had two shelves filled with canned food—black beans, green beans, peaches, peas, carrots, beef, and chicken. There was also a stationary bike, which was Paul’s proudest accomplishment because he had rigged it to a giant battery that provided power to all the electronics.
Paul was a prepper, and this would be his home when the end of the world came, an event he believed was imminent. The global economy was a house of cards built on greed, corruption, and inflated asset prices, but worst of all, it was based on a faith in paper and digital money.
His fear was triggered four years ago when he attended a lecture by a professor who explained the fragility of the world’s financial system. If a few banks failed, it would rattle people’s confidence, causing a herd-like response. Thousands of people would rush to withdraw their cash, which the banks no longer had because they’d invested it. The banks would either fail, and everyday folks would lose their life savings, or the government would print new money to replace the missing money, making all money worth a lot less. Anyone holding dollars would attempt to convert them to other assets.
Just like dominoes, the banks would topple over one by one, and as they crashed, people’s faith in money would crater. After all, what was money? It was just paper with printed images and numbers that we’d all accepted as having value. More recently, money had become numbers displayed on a computer screen, something Paul knew firsthand as he spent the first seven years of his career working at a regional bank in Asheville, North Carolina. Paul could literally change someone’s net worth with a few keystrokes. He could turn a pauper into a millionaire, or he could bankrupt the richest account holder. Sure, there were safeguards, but all were built on faith, which Paul believed was misplaced. Most people didn’t realize that the Federal Reserve only required each bank to hold at least ten percent of its deposits as a reserve. Ten percent. That’s it. The rest of the money was invested in loans or other financial instruments. As the rich bank owners and executives pushed for bigger and bigger returns, they invested in riskier and riskier assets. The lessons from the financial crisis of 2008 had been forgotten.
Once the monetary system collapsed, the entire economy would become paralyzed. Without a means of exchange, transactions would halt. Think about it. If someone tried to give you a slip of paper that you thought was worthless, would you give them anything of value in return?
The doomsday scenario would escalate. Food and water prices would skyrocket, but with no way to purchase them, many would starve. But people don’t just roll over and die, they would riot and take what they need to survive. Marshall Law would be implemented, but citizens would revolt against the government they felt had cheated them.
As Paul listened to the lecturer that fateful day, a depressing epiphany struck. Everything he’d learned and everything he’d spent his life acquiring was worthless.
Growing up, Paul had been taught the value of money, saving, and planning for retirement. He internalized these lessons as a teen after his father got sick and lost his job. His mother had died when he was very young, but his father still managed to provide him with a stable childhood, even though they were barely middle class. When his father fell ill, Paul witnessed firsthand how fast a family could sink into financial trouble, which couldn’t have come at a worse time. He was applying to colleges, and instead of choosing the one he liked best, he chose the one that gave him the most financial aid, which turned out to be a small school half-way across the country. He also didn’t choose a major he was excited about; he chose the one that would offer the safest financial prospects—economics with an emphasis on banking.
The distance from home meant that Paul didn’t see the rapid deterioration of his father. It wasn’t until he returned for the funeral that family friends told him how the disease had spread. His father had refused to let anyone tell Paul because he didn’t want that to distract Paul from his studies.
After graduating, Paul accepted a job at a bank, and immediately signed up for the company’s 401K match. Most college graduates can't grasp retirement when they enter the workforce, but a 401K match was free money. Over the next several years, Paul worked diligently to advance his career while saving most of his salary. He’d mapped out his life on an excel spreadsheet and calculated that he’d be financially secure at 53.
Everything went according to plan until that damn lecturer came along and blew it up. Sifting through the rubble of his grand scheme, Paul realized that in the new world order, he possessed no skills to survive. The savings he’d so meticulously built up would have little to no value. When the economy collapsed, he'd be like a baby, unable to do anything for himself.
After a week of wallowing in despair, Paul rallied himself. “I can still fix this” became a daily mantra. To start, he threw himself into survival classes. The first was a basic camping course where he learned how to create shelters and start a fire. The next class was more advanced and focused on water purification and building snares for small game.
Paul continued working at the bank, because he needed to pay for the classes and survival equipment he began hoarding, but on his next vacation, he put his training to the test. He planned to camp for a week in the Appalachian Mountains, but the temperature swings, especially at night, were too much. Paul lasted three nights in the wild. The humbling experience forced him to admit that he wasn’t a bushman. His depression returned until he stumbled upon an article about “preppers”—individuals who prepare for end of world disasters. Suddenly, things made sense. He didn’t need to abandon all the comforts of modern society. He needed to prepare for the end of the world the way he had planned for retirement.
As Paul traveled down the rabbit hole of prepping, he uncovered an underground society of people like him who knew the truth about the world’s demise. Of course, not everyone believed it would end because of an economic collapse. Some thought a nuclear war would destroy civilization. Others feared electromagnetic pulses from the sun would wipe out all modern electricity. And still others worried a massive volcanic eruption would spew enough ash and soot into the air to blot out the sun. There was no shortage of theories about the world ending, but one thing was clear. The world would end. Did it matter how it happened?
Paul began his prepping quest by purchasing ten acres an hour and a half outside of Asheville. It had plenty of small animals and a creek running through the middle. He then transported an unused cargo container to the land and buried it. This was the toughest part of the plan because it required heavy equipment. Next, he dug out a staircase and installed a steel door at the entrance. Finally, he furnished it with a mix of modern comforts and survival essentials.
Almost every weekend, Paul trekked to his underground sanctuary and made improvements. He also planned his bugout strategy. When the end of the world hit, he figured he needed to be safely hidden in his home within two and a half hours, a time he had achieved with this latest trip. Everything was set, and Paul could finally relax. He was prepared.
Paul slumped down on his futon and considered playing a movie or cracking the bottle of Jim Beam whiskey he stored in a special cabinet, but he shook off the urge. Those things were the rewards and comforts he’d enjoy after the world ended. His fingers rubbed the top of the Bible, something he planned to read cover to cover once the global economy cratered. He’d have plenty of time then to discover his spiritual side, but not now. Something else needed to be done. Something he’d missed.
The biggest mistake a prepper can make is assuming he had everything covered. This was the lesson taught by Yannis, the guru of the prepping world. He was so well-known within the doomsday community; he only went by one name. The guy was sharp as a whip and could live off the land, if necessary, but he preferred a more sophisticated lifestyle, so he created a luxurious cave that contained backup systems for all his backups. Food, water, shelter, and electricity were all taken care of, and it was projected that Yannis could survive ten years comfortably after the apocalypse. His famous blog titled “ABP” stood for Always Be Preparing. It was a motto Yannis lived by and something Paul aspired to, but as he sat in his bunker after the relentless hike, fatigue set in. He didn’t want to think about prepping or his bugout strategy. He wanted to just be.
Paul tilted his head back onto the futon’s cushion, and a loneliness crept into his mind. All his prepping left little time for relationships. He dated off and on in college, but it was never anything serious. It wasn’t like his high school sweetheart, Kristin Summer. They dated junior and senior year, but then Paul broke it off when his father got sick. Paul couldn’t focus on romance, and he knew the relationship wouldn’t have worked when he left for school 1,500 miles away. It still hurt when he learned from a friend that Kristin started dating Derek Gorman, an old classmate Paul hated. It hurt even more when he found out they had gotten married.
After college, Paul joined a couple of dating sites, but he hadn’t used them in over two years. Most women wouldn’t understand his prepping lifestyle, at least that’s what he feared, so he rejected dating before anyone could reject him. But most wasn't all, and with eight billion people on the planet, there had to be someone for him. Almost without thinking, Paul pulled out his phone and opened “My Match,” the site where he’d had the most luck. His profile still had a photo from his early banking days. He was clean shaven with a naïve smile. The face staring back in the picture differed greatly from the bearded survivalist he’d become. Would anyone consider a relationship with the new Paul? Only one way to find out. He snapped a selfie, uploaded it, and then updated his hobbies with the first being “prepping” followed by “survival skills training.” He finished by pressing the button that showed he was actively looking for someone. All he had to do now was wait.
After spending the night in his bunker, Paul checked the dating site in the morning. No response. “It was a stupid idea,” he told himself, and stuffed his phone back into his pocket. He locked his container and returned home.
Over the next two weeks, Paul received zero requests for a date. He didn’t even receive a message from anyone to start a conversation and test the waters. “Shake it off, dumbass,” he said alone in the confines of his cottage-style home. “The world is going to end, anyway.” He clenched his jaw and did what he always did. He researched more ways to survive. Paul poured over blog posts and imagined worst-case scenarios. How could his water be contaminated? Maybe he should bury some caches of water. What if someone finds his shelter? Maybe security cameras were needed. What if he gets lonely in his shelter? No ideas came to mind.
After his eyes got tired from reading, Paul clicked out of his browser, and the list of all his apps stared at him. For reasons unknown to him, he opened Facebook, something he hadn’t done for months. There were a handful of notifications and a couple of friend requests sent weeks ago. His heart raced when he saw the name of one—Kristin Summer. When he accepted, he saw she was on-line right then.
Should he message her? Would that be weird right after accepting her request? But wasn’t it weird that he hadn’t responded for several weeks? He pulled up the messenger and typed. “Hey. Sorry for the delay in accepting your request. Hadn’t been on Facebook in a while. Been busy. Hope you and Derek are well.”
He curled his lip in disgust as he typed Derek’s name and considered deleting it, but he took the moral high ground and hit “send” with his message unaltered.
Kristin Summer. Just the thought of her name brought a smile to Paul’s face.
Bing.
The sound alerted Paul to a response, which he read out loud. “Hey Paul. Good to hear from you. Derek and I divorced a little over a year ago. It was rough at first, but it was for the best. How are you?”
Paul’s eyes widened with shock and excitement. He couldn’t believe Derek was so stupid to let Kristin go. Paul could at least blame their breakup on his father’s illness. His fingers prattled away on the keyboard. “Things are amazing.” He stopped typing. That was a lie. Should he pretend like things were great or should he be honest and tell her about his prepping and the end of the world? Neither option sounded appealing. He tapped the keys without writing until he settled on something uncontroversial.
“Working at Trinity Bank in Asheville. It pays the bills. Where are you?”
Within a minute, the sweet sound of the notification binged. “I’m not too far away in Durham. If you’re ever in town, let me know.”
If you’re ever in town, let me know.
Paul couldn’t believe his eyes. Was Kristin asking him out? He shook his head. Nah, she’s probably just being polite. But maybe. If there was any chance, he had to find out. He chewed his lip and deliberated his next response. Fortune favors the bold, he told himself. Then he remembered Matt Damon telling people that in the now infamous commercial for FTX months before its collapse. When that occurred, Paul thought it was the beginning of the end, and he lived in his bunker for two days before emerging and finding the world still intact.
Paul clenched his fist. It was still good advice, and he had to try. Almost involuntarily, he typed, “I’ll be there tomorrow afternoon. If you want to get together, let me know.” His finger hit send before he could talk himself out of it. There was no qualification in the message. No waffling or hedging. It was clear Paul wanted to see Kristin. The only question now was whether she wanted to see him.
The next ten minutes felt like ten days. Paul paced back and forth with his hands over his head, and he glanced at the monitor every few seconds, just in case his ears had missed the notification alert.
There was nothing.
A dark depression filled the room. Why had he gotten his hopes up? What was the point, anyway? The world was going to end.
Bing.
Paul leapt to the computer and his eyes widened with each word he read. “How about a lunch at The Fig Tree Restaurant on 7th?”
People overuse the word literally, but Paul at least felt like his jaw was literally on the floor. He had a date with Kristin Summer, the one woman he had loved. His hands rattled away at the keyboard. “See you at 1 tomorrow.”
“Holy crap,” he muttered to himself.
Panic replaced his excitement when he imagined sitting down and talking to Kristin. What would he say? “Hey Kristin, what have you been up to? Oh me? I’ve been working at a job I hate and planning for the end of the world.”
He drifted into the bathroom and stared at the scruffy character in the mirror. Paul could only cringe at the thought of Kristin’s reaction upon seeing him. She might not recognize the bearded loner who resembled Ted Kaczynski more than the short-haired, clean-shaven teen she last saw.
Only one thing to do.
Paul had to prepare. He opened a drawer and pulled out a pair of clippers. He began trimming his beard and mustache as short as the clippers would allow. Next, he applied a generous amount of cream and shaved all of it off. Paul smirked at the young man hiding under the shabby beard, but it still wasn’t enough. He set the guard on the clippers to a four and began shaving his head. In college, Paul cut his own hair to save money, and the skill came back to him quickly. He dropped to a three and worked in a fade on the sides and then finished with a two. Paul turned to the left, then to the right, and assessed his work. Not bad.
Next thing to prepare was his outfit. Paul slid the door of his closet open and evaluated his choices. A banker’s suit was too stuffy, and his mountain man denim was too hermit inspired. He yanked the clothes aside and climbed deeper into the recesses of his wardrobe until he found a nice buttoned-down shirt and a dark pair of slacks. It gave just the right vibe of successful and stable, while not trying too hard to impress, even though that was his precisely his goal. Paul laid the selection on the chair by his bed. Durham was a three-and-a-half-hour drive away, and he wanted to make sure he got there with time to find parking, and maybe use the restroom. He set the alarm on his iPhone for 6 a.m. That would give him plenty of time to take a shower, have breakfast, and get dressed.
There was no chance of falling asleep easily. His mind raced with thoughts, questions, and various scenarios about what the day would bring. To relax, he poured himself a double whiskey, which he downed with a single slurp. He poured another and sipped.
Kristin Summer. He shook his head, still in disbelief.
As the effect of alcohol set in, Paul laid down on his bed and shut his eyes. Tomorrow would be a good day.
Paul slipped into a deep, satisfying sleep until his mind jolted him awake. It was past 6 a.m. He didn’t know how he knew. He just knew. Paul had slept through his alarm. He snatched his phone off the nightstand, but it was out of battery. He checked his watch and saw it was 7 a.m. There was still time to get to Durham.
Paul jumped out of bed and into the bathroom. He flicked on the light switch, but nothing came on. Paul toggled it on and off, but the outlet was dead.
Police sirens wailed in the distance. Paul meandered out of his house and onto the front lawn. Aside from the sirens, there was an uneasy stillness. Paul’s neighbor Kurt ran out from his home with two suitcases that he flung into the trunk of his car.
“Kurt. What’s going on?” Paul asked.
“Fort Knox was bombed. All the gold was obliterated. And something happened to the electricity and the internet. They shut it down.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know, man, but it’s not good. No one has access to news, no money, nothing.”
“Where are you going?” Paul asked.
“I don’t know. Somewhere isolated. I’m just hoping there are no more bombings or other attacks.” Kurt jumped into his car and sped away.
This was it. The world was ending. All of his preps were about to pay off. But what about Kristin? Paul didn’t want the world to end. If he tried to get Kristin, there was no chance he could reach his shelter before things get hairy. Plus, there was no way he could find her. He didn’t have her address, and she might have already left Durham for somewhere safe.
Paul forced himself to focus on his plan. This was what he had prepared for. He dashed back inside and changed into his camouflage gear, grabbed his bugout bag, and then sprinted to his truck. He drove through his neighborhood and reached the main road. His shelter and plans were to the left. Kristin and the unknown were to the right. The whites of Paul’s knuckles flared as he gripped the steering wheel. Now was not the time to waffle. He turned left and hit the accelerator.
Paul gritted his teeth and raced down the street. Keep going. Keep going. He urged himself on. Almost involuntarily, his foot slammed on the brakes. Paul couldn’t do it. He’d planned for the worst all his life, and while he sat alone with the engine idling, he had to admit the truth. He’d lived all his life in fear.
Paul yanked the wheel and turned around toward Durham.
2023.05.28 19:23 SchlesingerMindy323 [HIRING] 25 Jobs in KY Hiring Now!
2023.05.28 17:34 Gargus-SCP Related Works - Wesley Dodds as The Sandman (Jan-Jul 1941): Troubled Sleep
After a 1940 defined by gathering strengths and refinement across the feature, the early months of 1941 bring a few troubling portents behind-the-scenes for Fox's affectionately termed Grainy Gladiator. Nothing ruinous in itself, but signs of an upcoming radical shift away from what the character represented to start.
For one, the April issue of Adventure Comics (#61) brings with it a new cover feature, Ted Knight AKA Starman, courtesy writer-artist Jack Burnley. Already the second lengthiest entry in the book at nine pages, Starman quickly managed what neither Sandman nor Hourman could during their respective years as star attractions and upgraded to a full thirteen pages by his third appearance in #63. For context, Sandman only went from six pages to ten with its upgrade, while Hourman has remained rockstaedy at eight pages, and neither took down another non-superhero supporting feature to justify the page increase like Starman did Barry O'Neil and Mark Lansing. Moreover, from Starman's second appearance on, he is only drawn by Burnley; writing duties now belong to the Sandman's own Gardner Fox.
Which loops in with two other issues at play over Wesley's tossing, turning figure. Starting with issue #61, available online sources no longer fully agree who wrote what for the Sandman feature. You must understand, outside superstar figures with major pull like the creators of Superman or Batman, very few creative teams are properly credited in these Golden Age comics - my credits the last few posts have all been crossreferenced across numerous wikis and databases who owe their credits to investigative work by fans like Jerry Bails back in the 1960s. Such work was sadly not exhaustive, and while a few places (like DC Continuity Project and Wikipedia) state or else imply Fox stayed on as writer for the next few issues, from June to November there is no consensus as to who penned the stories.
I shouldn't be surprised if Fox's involvement terminated with the March issue, for April also saw All-Star Comics shift its format slightly, with Fox writing all nine interior stories for the 64 page mag in addition to his duties on the longer Starman feature. Man would have to work double time to keep pace, even if Sandman didn't drop to eight pages with #62 in May. Either way, Fox is certainly gone following #64 in July, as that issue features the final story drawn by regular artist and co-creator Creig Flessel, who departs to work on Shining Knight later in the year. As I say, things are changing fast for Sandman, and not all changes seem necessarily for the better. Best, however, to take the stories on their own level before drawing any final conclusions!
Coverage note: This entry goes to July rather than June for the sake of my sanity. If I stopped midway through the year, I'd only need cover seven features here, but the back half of '41 would require coverage of eleven. A nine-nine split feels much more feasible.
An alright yarn to kick of the calendar year. As per usual when Fox tries for a somewhat complicated mystery, he's no adequate means of tying off loose ends other than large blocks of text, but it's lively and keeps the situation evolving with decent justifications for mid-story action and dragging Bill along for further fisticuffs. Hooking the entire mystery on, "Oh, the bad guy misspoke," is a tad lame, if understandable in the context of Fox's passion for slipping general knowledge flexes into his stories. Flessel and Grothkopf get some good mileage out've the skull imagery that crops up whenever the flower kills, and I rather like the brief bout of fisticuffs towards the end. The minor social awkwardness when Bill gets in the car with Wes and Dian is pretty good too, and I'm sorry to report I can't add this story to the "Wesley getting shot" count, as the bad guy only plugs his hat. Kinda funny having a Golden Age Sandman story involving orchids given Neil's own pre-Sandman work with Black Orchid, innit?
Same basic mystery structure and resolution type here as last month, complete with overly-wordy explanation, although I find the hook of pitting Dian and Wesley against one another gives it a minor leg up, as does the relatively straightforward nature of the criminal operation compared to planting microfilm in deadly flowers. There's a more even balance between the rush in bust 'em up style of crime-fighting the feature has developed and the stealthy skullduggery I think suits the character best, with nice action art to match each. Dian has some silly faces whenever she wakes from her hypnosis, and the four panel sequence of Wes halting her murder attempt works pretty well. This is, unfortunately, the final pencil-inking collaboration between Flessel and Grothkopf, and much as I've kvetched over the second man's solo work, I'm sorry to see the back of him in this capacity. When the two were in proper tune, they were the best artistic team Sandman enjoyed yet.
(Stop dodging bullets, I want to see you gunshot.)
What's this? Dian breaking into a notorious criminal slumlord's safe in the bad part of town? A safe, as Wes discovers after he scares the lady off, filled to the brim with poison gas! Evidently not, as Dian is sound asleep when Wes arrives at Belmont manor to investigate, and a subsequent visit to Mister Mac reveals the only person who'd know the safe was booby-trapped is a local kidnapping organizer. Some blind, flailing fists turns up the girl, Dian's perfect duplicate, snatched from out of state to replace Dian and gain leverage over the cops. Too bad the kidnapper's made of strong stuff, knocking out Sandman and taking both woman for a ride to get back at Mac. Fortunately, Dian leaves Wes a trail of jewelry out the window, enabling him to follow and take down all the crooks with one throw of his gas pistol, revealing in the process 'twas Mac himself who tipped Dian's duplicate to his safe, in hopes of spoiling his rival's big plot.
Art-wise, this is probably Grothkopf's best work for Sandman to date. His tendency to exaggerate is translated into some properly goonish faces for the villains and really, really strong action poses, with some properly atmospheric shots sprinkled in for good measure. He cannot draw the gasmask for piss, but there's such an improvement I almost thought this was a Flessel joint before checking the wiki credits. Makes me wish we could see what he'd do if he kept on as a solo artist - free from the impulse to treat the feature as a cartoon, he produces damn fine work. As a story, this makes good time to mention my misgivings with Wesley's tendency to burst through windows and start swinging long before he thinks to use his sleeping gas. While it's great fun to describe and hype up as the mark of a madman who's even cooler as the badass normal than Batman, it also encourages a faster degradation in the character's identity. I'm sure you'll notice it's been yonks since lurking in the shadows and thinning the ranks by knocking them out in advance has factored into the stories. That Wes handles the bad guy by literally clonking him over the head with the gas gun rather than pulling the trigger speaks to the influence other, punchier superhero features have exerted over the strip.
Action is the name of the game here, and even without Grothkopf's inking enhancements, I think Flessel does a fine job on his own. I'm wary of the wirepoon in the future, as by year's end it will completely replace the gas gun as Sandman's sidearm of choice in further drift from the original Christman concept, but taken as a neutral in its debut, giving Sandman greater aerial mobility does lead to some cool shots and enhance the sense Wes goes stark bananas in the mask by pulling some stunts that would almost certainly pull his arms from their sockets in real life. There are, however, some particularly stiff action shots, and in one panel Flessel cocks up the design on the mask worse than Grothkopf last ish. Based on the opening vignette, Borloff decimated millions of innocent lives in addition to all the planes he melted out of the sky, making him easily the deadliest foe Wes has faced to date, and in turn making the "We did it, gang, everything is bright and peachy again!" ending sorta offputting. They'll have to organize mass funerals tomorrow, Wes. Show a little respect.
(Also Doctor Fate alerts Wesley to the identity and location of the ringleader before his mission starts rather than letting him figure it out on his own like everyone else. Prick.)
For his six-page leg of the assignment, the Sandman is off to El Paso, Texas to assist a local newspaper under threat from the Grey Shirts for printing pro-democracy and anti-Hitler editorials. Of course, this being Wesley Dodds on the job, he gets this information by roughing his way into the newspaper offices, then acts on it by beating on the guard at the Grey Shirts' camp and pounding down a band of brainwashed young men to prove he's a better American than them. After sending the wannabe Nazis for a whirl by running their bomb shipment off the road, Wesley doubles back to completely break the recruits' spirits, daring them to prove their hard enough by shooting an unarmed man in Hitler's name, chiefly himself. When none can cut the mustard, he marches them back into town with collars strapped to his car, and inspires the lot to join the Army to a few shirtless bars of "God Bless America."
Cripes but jingoism produces some heady results, doesn't it? I'm not sure I can rightly condone the ridiculous levels of patriotism on display here, even against such classically anti-American enemies as Nazis, yet at the same time, look at this and tell me it isn't the hardest shit you'll see all week. Again, though I've my misgivings about Wes as a brawler no matter how entertaining the results prove, there's something endearing about him being so raring for a fight his first move is to altercate the receptionist at the place he's assigned to defend. On the whole, Grothkopf's final Sandman contribution also shows refinement from his earlier works, the broader, thicker elements of his linework now tempers on a somewhat more grounded approach. Certainly the Sandman himself keeps a consistent look better than he does in any other issue published thus far this year. I DO notice he reused Flessel's design for the District Attorney wholesale on the newspaper publisher. Since he's going and heading out on a job well done, let's not hold it against him, eh?
See, while I'm skeptical about the growing presence of science-fiction elements in the series, they make fine fodder when they play to Sandman's strengths. Lurking high above a crowd of people seeking the answer to some deadly mystery is exactly Wes' bag, and plus or minus some strange mask drawings, Flessel captures that thrill of closely examining a big deadly machine in secret before it fires. I'd submit the page where Sandman saves the judge from the beam as an easy contender for best of the year thus far, and the shot where Wes pushes Dian away from the killer's bullet is another fine piece of work. My memories of this one before sitting down to reread and write were a lot chillier, probably because I wish the series remained in crime pulp rather than raygun pulp, but a good outcome is a good outcome. Seriously, though, why is the mask going so bobble-eyed of late?
Hmm, ah, see, on the one hand, it IS nice that the voodoo guy is innocent of everything except a lapse in judgement and the real twist is an unassuming little man exploiting the mystery and fears around the craft to cast suspicion off his person. On the other hand, eek, yike, zoinks! None good. Bad, even. Outside unfortunate depictions of non-white persons from the 1940s, the story's pretty weak for a murder mystery, as numerous elements are evidently known to the characters well in advance, yet only made clear to the reader right before they become relevant, like the exact identity of the murdered man. It's only eight pages, so there's little opportunity to piece information together on your own time, and as such it is heavily reliant on narrative cheats to generate cheap surprise. About the best thing here is the big page-dominating panel of Wesley swinging through the city on his wirepoon, unconscious woman tucked under arm. Kinda hard to convincingly raise my dander about what it means for the character and his feature when it's successfully operating on the long-standing principle of "masked mystery men swinging on a wire through skyscrapers looks really cool." S'like a solid fifth of the formula behind why Spider-Man is so enduringly popular.
(Also not a big fan of how Wes dismisses Dian from participating in the case without any adequate reason why. She calls him out over it, even, and nothing in the story justifies his decision to fly solo on this one.)
Alright, it's definitely not Gardner Fox writing anymore, because I cannot imagine Fox treating Dian so poorly. I gave her some dignity in summary, but this story is plain dumping all over her as a fussy, incompetent tryhard who fails at investigating on her own on account her womanly ways. Just look at the sheer antagonism between her and Wes; you two are partners, she's saved Sandman's skin like a dozen times, worn his costume and wielded his gas gun to do it once, even! Don't try to BS me into thinking Wes would run this paternalist "let me handle it, Dian, I wear the pants in this relationship" crap on her. You're only alive because she's worn your fucking pants. Otherwise, 'nother instance where the story and art alike don't give me much of note. I reckon Flessel was about done with the series with Fox gone and sorta phoned in his last few assignments. They're nowhere near the standard of his early solo artistic duties on the title. There IS another good wirepoon swinging shot, if one counterbalanced by a crummier instance with yet another weirdly-proportioned mask.
For his six-page part in the game, Sandman must contend against the kidnapper's union, who naturally enough have abducted Dian to get his attention. Not only have these lowlives taken Dian hostage (though she doesn't particularly mind), they've taken out phony accident insurance claims against themselves should the hero injure any of them en route to his untimely death! Nobody quite expects Wes to avoid the sniper-guarded roads to their remote hilltop hideout, though, and a quick wirepoon swing over the canyon (complete with Mister X - hats off - sighting) puts him right in the criminal den. From there, it's a simple biff wham boom to take down the punks and disarm their supporting fire. Alas, Sandman is once again only in the loop on the true nature of the threat against the JSA because someone notifies him from their own investigation, this time Flash via telegram. Let him do his own detective work, you pricks!
Right. You see these panels? You see Dian being calm and collected in the midst of a kidnapping operation? You see Wes trusting her with a submachine gun to keep watch on the fools who mean them harm? Yeah, THAT'S Fox writing Dian. Whoever's writing the Adventure feature at this time ought've taken notes. Artistically, Young makes a fine replacement for Grothkopf and Flessel in Adventure - he can match the first for goons, the second for action, manages a nice turnaround effect before Wes swings on his wirepoon, and even gives us a by-now all-too-rare heavy shadow shot on Wes and Dian. I'm a big fan of the lead kidnapper who calls the JSA the "Justiss Sassiety," and find this instance of Mister X (hats off) the second best in the book, behind only his appearance in the Hourman story, which I think speaks for itself. Probably the only time I'll express preference for something Hourman related over Sandman.
The loss of all three major contributors to the Sandman feature across early 1941 and the crunch down to eight pages has certainly made the Adventure Comics side of the Sandman line a rockier experience. It's still possible to derive enjoyment from the wonky mysteries and higher-concept criminals, but one must accept atmosphere and and particularity have been near-entirely sacrificed for generalized bombast and louder appeal. Don't misunderstand, I've become a fan of Wesley Dodds, Fist-Swinging Bullet Sponge, and my past praises for him aren't diminished by the realization of what this has done to his integrity as a character circa today's stopping point. The trouble is, while I enjoy this half-mad, impossibly reckless read on the character, it simply no longer bears any resemblance to the early days' lurking and creeping through the seedier parts of town. There's a great series of justifications running through the Sandman concept - he's no powers, so he uses the gas gun, so he needs the gas mask, which hides his identity so perfectly it frees him to wear the ordinary business suit, which highlights his vulnerability. Fling him around like a ragdoll who knows no fear of injury or death, although I'll clap for the bravado of it all, I must object if it means any notion he should be sneaky or cautious degrades.
Especially if it means the gas gun vanishes from the character. It hasn't met its final end just yet, but for this seven month block it's proven a very perfunctory aspect of the strip, hung by his side and occasionally brandished without acting as an integral part of the action or storytelling. The wirepoon has subsumed its function as the sidearm, and while I must stress there are plenty aces shots of Wes swinging that fully justify its prominence, taking precedence over the thing that makes him the Sandman, Crimefighter What Fights Crime By Putting The Criminals To Sleep plain rubs me the wrong way. Be awful nice i we could have both without the new toy putting the old out to pasture, y'know? It's not led to anything I'd full-throatedly object over just yet, but... ach, you'll see next time. Speaking of...
Next time! 1941 comes to a close as Wesley picks up another feature to his name, and also a stupid, ugly new costume!
(Previous write-ups: 1939, 1940 pt 1, 1940 pt 2)
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For one, the April issue of Adventure Comics (#61) brings with it a new cover feature, Ted Knight AKA Starman, courtesy writer-artist Jack Burnley. Already the second lengthiest entry in the book at nine pages, Starman quickly managed what neither Sandman nor Hourman could during their respective years as star attractions and upgraded to a full thirteen pages by his third appearance in #63. For context, Sandman only went from six pages to ten with its upgrade, while Hourman has remained rockstaedy at eight pages, and neither took down another non-superhero supporting feature to justify the page increase like Starman did Barry O'Neil and Mark Lansing. Moreover, from Starman's second appearance on, he is only drawn by Burnley; writing duties now belong to the Sandman's own Gardner Fox.
Which loops in with two other issues at play over Wesley's tossing, turning figure. Starting with issue #61, available online sources no longer fully agree who wrote what for the Sandman feature. You must understand, outside superstar figures with major pull like the creators of Superman or Batman, very few creative teams are properly credited in these Golden Age comics - my credits the last few posts have all been crossreferenced across numerous wikis and databases who owe their credits to investigative work by fans like Jerry Bails back in the 1960s. Such work was sadly not exhaustive, and while a few places (like DC Continuity Project and Wikipedia) state or else imply Fox stayed on as writer for the next few issues, from June to November there is no consensus as to who penned the stories.
I shouldn't be surprised if Fox's involvement terminated with the March issue, for April also saw All-Star Comics shift its format slightly, with Fox writing all nine interior stories for the 64 page mag in addition to his duties on the longer Starman feature. Man would have to work double time to keep pace, even if Sandman didn't drop to eight pages with #62 in May. Either way, Fox is certainly gone following #64 in July, as that issue features the final story drawn by regular artist and co-creator Creig Flessel, who departs to work on Shining Knight later in the year. As I say, things are changing fast for Sandman, and not all changes seem necessarily for the better. Best, however, to take the stories on their own level before drawing any final conclusions!
- ADVENTURE COMICS #58 (January)
Orchids of Doom - Gardner Fox, Creig Flessel, Chad GrothkopfOnce again, a socialite friend to Wes and Dian is at the center of a minor mystery with big implications - namely, how can Pedro Nogades, father to Carla, rightly claim he breeds otherwise purely wild orchids in captivity? Investigating as the Sandman, Wes and Dian find a dead man in the Nogades greenhouse with his head stripped to the bone, and in following another fellow who sniffed an orchid before promising a shipment of such to some ruffians on the bad side of town, see his own face dissolve to bare skull. A visit to the police chemist reveals the orchids on the dead men's persons were laced to release a deadly flesh-eating gas on exposure to natural air, which is enough probably cause for Wesley to enlist Carla's boyfriend Bill in staging a raid on the Nogades manor. Some close shaves and fisticuffs end with the group discovering a diorama of the local coast, laid out to assist enemy agents in an invasion. Pedro is put away and the orchids revealed as concealing microfilm copies of the coastal plans, but how do we square the mystery that started it all? Simple: Nogades was no botanist, and called the flower by the wrong name when concocting his cover story!
An alright yarn to kick of the calendar year. As per usual when Fox tries for a somewhat complicated mystery, he's no adequate means of tying off loose ends other than large blocks of text, but it's lively and keeps the situation evolving with decent justifications for mid-story action and dragging Bill along for further fisticuffs. Hooking the entire mystery on, "Oh, the bad guy misspoke," is a tad lame, if understandable in the context of Fox's passion for slipping general knowledge flexes into his stories. Flessel and Grothkopf get some good mileage out've the skull imagery that crops up whenever the flower kills, and I rather like the brief bout of fisticuffs towards the end. The minor social awkwardness when Bill gets in the car with Wes and Dian is pretty good too, and I'm sorry to report I can't add this story to the "Wesley getting shot" count, as the bad guy only plugs his hat. Kinda funny having a Golden Age Sandman story involving orchids given Neil's own pre-Sandman work with Black Orchid, innit?
- ADVENTURE COMICS #59 (February)
The Story of the Flaming Ruby - Fox, Flessel, GrothkopfThere exists a ruby of blazing red, which has driven men to rage and madness wherever it appears, and today it sits in the hand of a young man in the local jeweler's shop, who flashes it cross Dian's vision. Later in the evening, she wakes in a trance consumed with the urge to kill her father, stopped only by Sandman as he rushes in from investigating a similarly queer case. A bank teller friend from his private life has found himself driven to steal from the vault and deliver it to some crooks on a lonely road every night, all after one of those men flashed him the ruby. Wes and Dian are unable to stop this night's transaction (on account of the ruby briefly turning Dian against Sandman), but seeing the gem in action gives Wes an idea on how to counteract its effects, and go into battle during the next drop armed with blue cobalt glasses. A brawl puts down all the blackmailers except one, but Wes opts instead to go after the head of the operation, knocking him out and lurking in the dark to catch the last as he reports in, revealing the bank teller! Turns out the ruby DOES have hypnotic properties and was used to assist their robberies, but the teller - hoping by playing at the victim to lure Sandman into his cohorts' midst and rub him out - spoke as if he remembered the whole experience, where Dian forgot herself on every exposure. Oops!
Same basic mystery structure and resolution type here as last month, complete with overly-wordy explanation, although I find the hook of pitting Dian and Wesley against one another gives it a minor leg up, as does the relatively straightforward nature of the criminal operation compared to planting microfilm in deadly flowers. There's a more even balance between the rush in bust 'em up style of crime-fighting the feature has developed and the stealthy skullduggery I think suits the character best, with nice action art to match each. Dian has some silly faces whenever she wakes from her hypnosis, and the four panel sequence of Wes halting her murder attempt works pretty well. This is, unfortunately, the final pencil-inking collaboration between Flessel and Grothkopf, and much as I've kvetched over the second man's solo work, I'm sorry to see the back of him in this capacity. When the two were in proper tune, they were the best artistic team Sandman enjoyed yet.
(Stop dodging bullets, I want to see you gunshot.)
- ADVENTURE COMICS #60 (March)
Mystery at Malay Mac's - Fox, GrothkopfHey, a rare post-Hourman, pre-redesign cover appearance! That's always nice. "Hello, officer? Yeah, coupla chucklefucks right here, the alley off Fourth, can't miss 'em."
What's this? Dian breaking into a notorious criminal slumlord's safe in the bad part of town? A safe, as Wes discovers after he scares the lady off, filled to the brim with poison gas! Evidently not, as Dian is sound asleep when Wes arrives at Belmont manor to investigate, and a subsequent visit to Mister Mac reveals the only person who'd know the safe was booby-trapped is a local kidnapping organizer. Some blind, flailing fists turns up the girl, Dian's perfect duplicate, snatched from out of state to replace Dian and gain leverage over the cops. Too bad the kidnapper's made of strong stuff, knocking out Sandman and taking both woman for a ride to get back at Mac. Fortunately, Dian leaves Wes a trail of jewelry out the window, enabling him to follow and take down all the crooks with one throw of his gas pistol, revealing in the process 'twas Mac himself who tipped Dian's duplicate to his safe, in hopes of spoiling his rival's big plot.
Art-wise, this is probably Grothkopf's best work for Sandman to date. His tendency to exaggerate is translated into some properly goonish faces for the villains and really, really strong action poses, with some properly atmospheric shots sprinkled in for good measure. He cannot draw the gasmask for piss, but there's such an improvement I almost thought this was a Flessel joint before checking the wiki credits. Makes me wish we could see what he'd do if he kept on as a solo artist - free from the impulse to treat the feature as a cartoon, he produces damn fine work. As a story, this makes good time to mention my misgivings with Wesley's tendency to burst through windows and start swinging long before he thinks to use his sleeping gas. While it's great fun to describe and hype up as the mark of a madman who's even cooler as the badass normal than Batman, it also encourages a faster degradation in the character's identity. I'm sure you'll notice it's been yonks since lurking in the shadows and thinning the ranks by knocking them out in advance has factored into the stories. That Wes handles the bad guy by literally clonking him over the head with the gas gun rather than pulling the trigger speaks to the influence other, punchier superhero features have exerted over the strip.
- ADVENTURE COMICS #61 (April)
The Menace of the Metal Gun - Fox?, FlesselFrom aboard a mysterious aircraft, a madman fires upon the city with a metal-melting ray that dissolves the skyscrapers into slag! Alerted to Doctor Borloff's activities, Wesley meets with swift defeat when the rogue scientist melts his gas gun and escapes in his cylindercraft to terrorize afresh. There IS a bright side, as seeing the ray firsthand gives Wesley some idea how to counteract its effects, and he sends Dian and her father warning for the local airforce to coat their planes in sand as a silicate buffer against the ray. Alas, only one officer heeds his message, leaving Sandman alone to get aboard the machine via his new wirepoon gun and defeat Borloff from within. For his brawling process, a good midflight fight is nothing if the hero gets tossed out an open door, but fortunately he can grapple onto the lone surviving plane, recover his bearings, zip back up, and put a stop to Borloff's dreams of world conquest once and for all!
Action is the name of the game here, and even without Grothkopf's inking enhancements, I think Flessel does a fine job on his own. I'm wary of the wirepoon in the future, as by year's end it will completely replace the gas gun as Sandman's sidearm of choice in further drift from the original Christman concept, but taken as a neutral in its debut, giving Sandman greater aerial mobility does lead to some cool shots and enhance the sense Wes goes stark bananas in the mask by pulling some stunts that would almost certainly pull his arms from their sockets in real life. There are, however, some particularly stiff action shots, and in one panel Flessel cocks up the design on the mask worse than Grothkopf last ish. Based on the opening vignette, Borloff decimated millions of innocent lives in addition to all the planes he melted out of the sky, making him easily the deadliest foe Wes has faced to date, and in turn making the "We did it, gang, everything is bright and peachy again!" ending sorta offputting. They'll have to organize mass funerals tomorrow, Wes. Show a little respect.
- ALL-STAR COMICS #4 (April)
For America and Democracy: The Grey Shirts - Fox, GrothkopfIn the top-level story, the JSA learn of their mission for the FBI: a group of Nazi insurgents known as the Grey Shirts are plotting subversive and destructive activities all across America, and are now posed to badly destabilize the nation in a series of disruptive attacks. Each is assigned a mission at critical points cross the nation, though given the widely-ranging disparity in their powers, their usefulness to the cause varies equally wildly. The Atom humiliates some goons spreading Nazi ideology at a single college, Hawkman barely prevents the destruction of an aviation plant in California, and Hourman's defense of an Oklahoma oil field ends with him toppling one of the oil towers to stop his quarry. Meanwhile, Green Lantern detonates a zeppelin secretly jamming radio transmissions nationwide, the Spectre casually annihilates some otherworldly vampiric globes sympathetic to Hitler's cause, and Doctor Fate uses his magic to out every single spy on the eastern seaboard. Uneven efforts or not, the group converge on the Grey Shirts' ringleader, and with a little help from Johnny Thunder, turn him over to good ol' J. Edgar Hoover's custody. Alas, Wesley does not get the blood he's thirsting after.
(Also Doctor Fate alerts Wesley to the identity and location of the ringleader before his mission starts rather than letting him figure it out on his own like everyone else. Prick.)
For his six-page leg of the assignment, the Sandman is off to El Paso, Texas to assist a local newspaper under threat from the Grey Shirts for printing pro-democracy and anti-Hitler editorials. Of course, this being Wesley Dodds on the job, he gets this information by roughing his way into the newspaper offices, then acts on it by beating on the guard at the Grey Shirts' camp and pounding down a band of brainwashed young men to prove he's a better American than them. After sending the wannabe Nazis for a whirl by running their bomb shipment off the road, Wesley doubles back to completely break the recruits' spirits, daring them to prove their hard enough by shooting an unarmed man in Hitler's name, chiefly himself. When none can cut the mustard, he marches them back into town with collars strapped to his car, and inspires the lot to join the Army to a few shirtless bars of "God Bless America."
Cripes but jingoism produces some heady results, doesn't it? I'm not sure I can rightly condone the ridiculous levels of patriotism on display here, even against such classically anti-American enemies as Nazis, yet at the same time, look at this and tell me it isn't the hardest shit you'll see all week. Again, though I've my misgivings about Wes as a brawler no matter how entertaining the results prove, there's something endearing about him being so raring for a fight his first move is to altercate the receptionist at the place he's assigned to defend. On the whole, Grothkopf's final Sandman contribution also shows refinement from his earlier works, the broader, thicker elements of his linework now tempers on a somewhat more grounded approach. Certainly the Sandman himself keeps a consistent look better than he does in any other issue published thus far this year. I DO notice he reused Flessel's design for the District Attorney wholesale on the newspaper publisher. Since he's going and heading out on a job well done, let's not hold it against him, eh?
- ADVENTURE COMICS #62 (May)
The Purple Death Ray - Fox?, FlesselAt the nightly planetarium show, a member of the audience screams and falls down dead, stricken by a litany of strange symptoms with no obvious cause. Wesley, believing the man was killed by a death ray, examines the auditorium's projector, only to find no obvious alterations or fault. Undeterred, he purchases himself a seat next to the murdered man's for the next show, which is now occupied by another fellow who received a last-second courtesy invitation. Acting quickly, the Sandman reexamines the projector from the shadows and finds a replacement bulb screwed into the socket pointed directly at the man's chair. With assistance from his wirepoon, Sandman swings down and wrenches the man from his seat just as the show starts, the bulb bathing his seat in deadly radiation. On learning the man is a former judge and the deceased a former DA, it's not long before Wes ferrets out the killer; it's the cashier, a former scientist sent to jail for misappropriating university funds years ago, out for revenge and now stopped cold.
See, while I'm skeptical about the growing presence of science-fiction elements in the series, they make fine fodder when they play to Sandman's strengths. Lurking high above a crowd of people seeking the answer to some deadly mystery is exactly Wes' bag, and plus or minus some strange mask drawings, Flessel captures that thrill of closely examining a big deadly machine in secret before it fires. I'd submit the page where Sandman saves the judge from the beam as an easy contender for best of the year thus far, and the shot where Wes pushes Dian away from the killer's bullet is another fine piece of work. My memories of this one before sitting down to reread and write were a lot chillier, probably because I wish the series remained in crime pulp rather than raygun pulp, but a good outcome is a good outcome. Seriously, though, why is the mask going so bobble-eyed of late?
- ADVENTURE COMICS #63 (June)
The Voodoo Sorcerer - ???, FlesselAs Dian and Wesley tiff over his interest in an exotic dancer they know through a mutual friend, the woman's tail-lashing dance is interrupted when she sees a great glowing triangle materialize before her eyes. With the shock straining her bad heart, the Sandman brings her to boyfriend's house, where he reveals the triangle is a voodoo witch doctor's means of accusing someone of murder - just as news comes over the wire that the man the woman lashed with her costume tail has died! Smelling a rat, Wes rushes to the scene of the crime to find the taile barbed with poison quills, only for the titular sorcerer to bumrush him out the window. It's a big misunderstanding, thankfully: he's as shocked by the murder as Sandman, and only summoned the triangle on suggestion from an acquaintance, forgetting the dancer would know its significance through her partner. By happiest coincidence, this provides Wesley the solution to the mystery right quick, for only his friend's chauffeur would have motive, opportunity, and knowledge to frame his employers and their associates for the murder of a stock broker who owed them money.
Hmm, ah, see, on the one hand, it IS nice that the voodoo guy is innocent of everything except a lapse in judgement and the real twist is an unassuming little man exploiting the mystery and fears around the craft to cast suspicion off his person. On the other hand, eek, yike, zoinks! None good. Bad, even. Outside unfortunate depictions of non-white persons from the 1940s, the story's pretty weak for a murder mystery, as numerous elements are evidently known to the characters well in advance, yet only made clear to the reader right before they become relevant, like the exact identity of the murdered man. It's only eight pages, so there's little opportunity to piece information together on your own time, and as such it is heavily reliant on narrative cheats to generate cheap surprise. About the best thing here is the big page-dominating panel of Wesley swinging through the city on his wirepoon, unconscious woman tucked under arm. Kinda hard to convincingly raise my dander about what it means for the character and his feature when it's successfully operating on the long-standing principle of "masked mystery men swinging on a wire through skyscrapers looks really cool." S'like a solid fifth of the formula behind why Spider-Man is so enduringly popular.
(Also not a big fan of how Wes dismisses Dian from participating in the case without any adequate reason why. She calls him out over it, even, and nothing in the story justifies his decision to fly solo on this one.)
- ADVENTURE COMICS #64 (July)
The Unseen Man - ???, FlesselDian's purchase of paints from a local hobby shop includes quite the unusual accidental item: a paint that turns anything and everything invisible on contact. Determined to solve this mystery on her own, Dian investigates the shop with the dealer's cooperation, only for the dread Unseen Man to get the drop on her. Fortunately, Sandman is there to save her because he won't let Dian do anything on her own; unfortunately, Dian doesn't know Wes can see her attacker through his blue cobalt lenses and pulls him away, thinking him mad and letting the Unseen Man go free. As reward for her screw up, she's targeted in her home the next night, only for Wes to barge in again, having anticipated the only possible secret identity for the crook would make him likely to strike back at Dian. It is, unsurprisingly, the hobby shop owner, who Wes turns over to the police before heading out to patent his invisibility paint with the United States Army.
Alright, it's definitely not Gardner Fox writing anymore, because I cannot imagine Fox treating Dian so poorly. I gave her some dignity in summary, but this story is plain dumping all over her as a fussy, incompetent tryhard who fails at investigating on her own on account her womanly ways. Just look at the sheer antagonism between her and Wes; you two are partners, she's saved Sandman's skin like a dozen times, worn his costume and wielded his gas gun to do it once, even! Don't try to BS me into thinking Wes would run this paternalist "let me handle it, Dian, I wear the pants in this relationship" crap on her. You're only alive because she's worn your fucking pants. Otherwise, 'nother instance where the story and art alike don't give me much of note. I reckon Flessel was about done with the series with Fox gone and sorta phoned in his last few assignments. They're nowhere near the standard of his early solo artistic duties on the title. There IS another good wirepoon swinging shot, if one counterbalanced by a crummier instance with yet another weirdly-proportioned mask.
The Mysterious Mr. X: The Kidnapper's Union - Fox, Cliff YoungThe Justice Society are bored. Bored, bored, bored. Why are they bored? There is no crime. Not a single ruffian or scoundrel or roughneck lawbreaker anywhere in the city! Where did crime go? Crime has taken an enforced vacation, courtesy the plans of big crime boss Mister X (hats off), as prelude to his scheme for taking out the JSA and putting all his criminal enterprises back on easy street. It's quite the collection of rackets out against the superheroes - an arsonist ring for Flash, a jewel snatching gang for Hawkman, leader of the phony fortune teller underworld against Doctor Fate, even hard-pressing gym membership shakedowns for the Atom! Naturally our heroes triumph, though every one also encounters a strange little man idly strolling through their battlegrounds. He's so omnipresent despite his mousiness, he's even there when they convene at the police station to organize Mister X's (hats off) arrest. Except this unassuming slip of a man? He IS Mister X (hats off), and with the Justice Society having taken all the fun out've crime, he's turning himself in to live comfortably on the state's dollar in jail. WHOOPSY-DOODLE!
For his six-page part in the game, Sandman must contend against the kidnapper's union, who naturally enough have abducted Dian to get his attention. Not only have these lowlives taken Dian hostage (though she doesn't particularly mind), they've taken out phony accident insurance claims against themselves should the hero injure any of them en route to his untimely death! Nobody quite expects Wes to avoid the sniper-guarded roads to their remote hilltop hideout, though, and a quick wirepoon swing over the canyon (complete with Mister X - hats off - sighting) puts him right in the criminal den. From there, it's a simple biff wham boom to take down the punks and disarm their supporting fire. Alas, Sandman is once again only in the loop on the true nature of the threat against the JSA because someone notifies him from their own investigation, this time Flash via telegram. Let him do his own detective work, you pricks!
Right. You see these panels? You see Dian being calm and collected in the midst of a kidnapping operation? You see Wes trusting her with a submachine gun to keep watch on the fools who mean them harm? Yeah, THAT'S Fox writing Dian. Whoever's writing the Adventure feature at this time ought've taken notes. Artistically, Young makes a fine replacement for Grothkopf and Flessel in Adventure - he can match the first for goons, the second for action, manages a nice turnaround effect before Wes swings on his wirepoon, and even gives us a by-now all-too-rare heavy shadow shot on Wes and Dian. I'm a big fan of the lead kidnapper who calls the JSA the "Justiss Sassiety," and find this instance of Mister X (hats off) the second best in the book, behind only his appearance in the Hourman story, which I think speaks for itself. Probably the only time I'll express preference for something Hourman related over Sandman.
Especially if it means the gas gun vanishes from the character. It hasn't met its final end just yet, but for this seven month block it's proven a very perfunctory aspect of the strip, hung by his side and occasionally brandished without acting as an integral part of the action or storytelling. The wirepoon has subsumed its function as the sidearm, and while I must stress there are plenty aces shots of Wes swinging that fully justify its prominence, taking precedence over the thing that makes him the Sandman, Crimefighter What Fights Crime By Putting The Criminals To Sleep plain rubs me the wrong way. Be awful nice i we could have both without the new toy putting the old out to pasture, y'know? It's not led to anything I'd full-throatedly object over just yet, but... ach, you'll see next time. Speaking of...
Next time! 1941 comes to a close as Wesley picks up another feature to his name, and also a stupid, ugly new costume!
(Previous write-ups: 1939, 1940 pt 1, 1940 pt 2)
2023.05.27 12:53 Stardust_and_Wishes What makes these nest-like structures? Found alongside multiple creeks in Louisville, KY.
 | submitted by Stardust_and_Wishes to animalid [link] [comments] |
2023.05.26 15:49 CIAHerpes I found a memorial to a horrifying battle that no one has ever heard of
“To those who fell in the Battle of Scarville,” the stone memorial read. “Your sacrifices were not in vain. October 24th, 1918- October 27th, 1918.” Above the base stood a statue of an American soldier with a round cap and a long rifle with a bayonet attached. His face had a perpetual scowl, his eyes slightly squinted as the statue looked at something far off in the distance. I heard a throat clearing. I looked around in confusion.
“Beautiful memorial, eh?” a voice said from behind me. I turned and saw an ancient-looking man in a suit. His face had so many wrinkles that it reminded me of a raisin. His ears and nose stood out massively on his shaking frame. I wondered just how old this man really was.
“Yes, it certainly is,” I admitted, glancing once more at the shining marble statue which seemed to glow under the bright summer sun. “But what is the Battle of Scarville? I’ve never even heard of it.” The ranger shook his head sadly at this.
“Most of you younger people haven’t,” he said gruffly. “But my family was involved in the Battle of Scarville. If you have a few minutes, I can tell you all about it.” He motioned to a bench next to the statue, one that I could have sworn wasn’t there just a few seconds earlier. I shrugged it off though, admitting to myself that I might have missed it due to the glare of the sun, which was slowly disappearing behind the trees. We both sat down. He told me his name was Franklin, and I told him mine was Ted. We shook after we had introduced ourselves, the small, bird-like bones of his fragile hand feeling almost weightless under my grasp. And then Franklin began to tell me a story that would change my life forever.
*****
I was just a kid when this happened. My father was a soldier in the area, but he never liked to talk about what he did. Then one day, he came running in the living room, his eyes all wide, telling me and my mom to get all our stuff, quick, it was time to go, and all this other nonsense. My mother asks why. He starts screaming gibberish about monsters and this and that. And my mother says the strangest goddamn thing- “Oh, is it that time again?”
Right then, the shaking starts outside.
“Oh, God, it’s too late,” my father says, and he puts his face in his hands, crying. Now, my father was not a man who ever cried. I didn’t even see him cry at my grandfather’s funeral. He was made of stone, one of the toughest men I will ever know. So when he started crying, I knew something bad was happening.
The sky started to go dark, as if there were a solar eclipse. My mom grabs a canvas bag and starts trying to go around the house, grabbing some food and drinks. But my dad yells, says we have no time for that. He tells her to grab his other gun, the 12-gauge in the closet upstairs. He runs downstairs and grabs his rifle, shoving a magazine in it and standing at the door, straight as a board and as pale as a sheet. The sky seemed to go dark, even though it was still over an hour until sunset.
Out of the darkness, I saw silhouettes, stumbling shapes with twisted legs, broken arms, long necks and strange eyes. They continued forward at a much faster pace than any walking man. Their eyes seemed to glow in the dark, and the closer they got, the more hypnotized I felt. There was a strange, pulsating light that came out of their faces, you see. If you stared at it too long, you would get carried away by that light…
My da, though, didn’t hesitate for a moment. He started shooting as soon as they were within range of the 30 aught 6. The nearest one’s head exploded in a shower of dark blood. The rest of them began hissing like snakes and running forwards. My da empties his whole magazine, taking down six of them, then slams and locks the door.
“Where’s that fucking gun?” he screamed. My ma came running down the hallway with the big black thing in one hand and a box full of slugs in the other. He grabs the gun from her hand and gives it to me.
“You know how to shoot, boy,” he says. “Now is the time for you to prove yourself. Protect your family and home.” By this point dozens of those things are slamming on the other side of the door, still hissing and gurgling in some strange language I’ve never heard before. I nodded at my da, and started slamming slugs into the shotgun.
They were practically breaking the door down by this point. The lock had started to bust and twist, and the door was separating from the threshold. A couple more good hits and it would have been all over the floor anyway. I know a good slug will shoot through doors, hell, they’ll shoot through walls, so I point the shotgun at the door, point blank, and begin shooting through the door. Some of those things start screaming and falling over, dead, exit wounds the size of grapefruit in their backs and chests. But the door is in a sorry state by this point, full of massive holes and splintering apart. I had to reload, and they started busting through, coming into the house.
Now that they were close, I could tell they were not human, though from a distance they almost looked human. But they had these strange, pulsating black veins going up their neck and stretching out across their face, and their eyes were all the same silver color, glowing as if they had some inner light. It wasn’t just a reflection, like you see with some animals at night who run in front of your headlights. This light was coming from within them, and it was bright.
Some of them had blood caked around their mouths, running down their clothes and the entire fronts of their bodies. Whose blood, I didn’t yet know, but when I saw the casualties in the town later on, I would figure it out.
Just when I thought we were going to be overwhelmed, my neighbor and some of his family members ran over. He starts screaming at me from the yard, firing his gun at the creatures in a frenzy of violence. He had his two sons with him, and they all had shotguns. They were whooping and hollering, blowing the creatures apart with buckshot. When one of them stopped to reload, the other two would cover them, so that they had a nearly constant rate of fire. My da and I ran out the door, shooting and reloading. I saw the skull of the nearest creature disintegrate as I fired into its head from less than five feet away, but its eyes seemed to hover in the air a moment after it was gone. It reminded me of the Cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland, how its face seemed to hang in the air after its body had gone.
By this point, we had finished off the entire group of them. A couple dozen bodies lay around us. My heart was beating and my blood was up. I could almost relate to the sons of my neighbor; part of me wanted to whoop and holler too. Part of it was fun and exciting, even though I knew that one wrong move would mean likely death.
I used the break in the action to move closer to one of the corpses and look at it. In its basic shape, it looked human, but up close, you could tell it was no such thing. For one thing, they all had six fingers on each hand, and they were twisted, long things. They almost looked vampiric- and, as I would find out later, that was right on the money, or at least as close to it as we could understand. Their skin had thin black veins running every which way, and they appeared to all be wearing some sort of coarse brown cloth, formed into shapeless pants and shirts. They even covered their feet with it, though they had some sort of leather on the bottom. It didn’t look like any leather I had ever seen, however. It shone and shimmered, and it looked inflexible and thick. It looked chitinous.
Out in the field, we heard a sound like a screaming woman. It broke the silence and caused us all to jump, spinning around and pointing our guns. But what we saw there was no scared lady. It was some sort of animal, standing over ten feet tall. It looked like some huge praying mantis, except its hide was shiny and black. Massive pinchers extended from the front of its face, big enough to chop a man in half down the middle I reckon. The eyes were huge and black, but as the light moved across them, they seemed to shimmer like rainbows.
“What in God’s name is that?” my da yelled, but the neighbors only shook their heads in amazement. Then one of the boys, a red-headed and skinny lad by the name of Wesley, said something that caught me off guard.
“I saw some of those things coming out of the caves,” he said. I looked at him, eyes wide. So did everyone else. “When I was fishing earlier at the stream. I thought it was just people exploring the tunnels at first, until I saw their eyes and those veins…” His father grabbed his shoulder and shook him.
“When was it?” his father asked him, looking scared and uncertain. “How long ago, son?” His son shook his head slowly, trying to remember.
“An hour ago, maybe,” Wesley said. “As soon as I saw them I started running home, and not five minutes after I got there, they started coming across the yard…”
People from town were running down the road now, screaming in terror and pain. I saw them driven on like herds of sheep, and our giant praying mantis friend also noticed. Its head went up, antennae flicking, head cocked to the side in a way that would have been comical in other circumstances. Its pinchers moved faster, opening and closing constantly, as if it were trying to taste the air. Then it started running. It was just a black blur in the dim light, flying across the yard at an impossible speed. I couldn’t even see its legs moving.
It grabbed the nearest person, a young woman with huge terrified eyes, and used its pincers to snap her head right off. The decapitated head rolled across the ground, an expression of mortal terror still etched into her expression. Then the mantis creature began to suck at the bleeding stump of her neck- drinking until it looked like the body was sucking in on itself, until the skin was pale and bloodless as a mannequin. The other people were stumbling and running around it, still praying and cursing and shrieking, but it took no notice of them. Once it was full, it looked bigger- more swelled up, like a tick. Its chitinous black shell seemed to expand, looking more rounded, and it even looked a little more red in the pale light- as if the blackness of its hide had lightened into a shade of darkest crimson.
“We’re being invaded by vampires!” I screamed. Everyone looked at me, but no one argued. They didn’t even have time to. At that moment, the next wave started.
Our home was on a road with houses every few hundred feet, a forest behind the houses and a grassy field on the other side. The road itself sat between the field and the homes. The trees pressed in on the houses, being only twenty or thirty feet behind them. The woods were old and thick with brush and prickers and endless ferns. It was hard enough to see in it at daytime, but it was now nearly night, and trying to see into it was a fool’s errand.
The enemy used our disadvantage to surprise us. We had all reloaded, of course, and we had five men with guns. I wished I had another one to give to my ma, who stood behind my da, both of them looked scared and far too pale.
I saw it was the mantis creatures that were approaching, though a few of the vampires walked through silently, their eyes glowing. The two apex predators didn’t seem inclined to attack each other. I wondered if maybe the vampires had even domesticated the giant mantis creatures somehow. It didn’t seem likely, but who knew?
We started shooting as soon as they broke the boundary of the woods. The mantis creatures shrieked like dying women, emitting deafening wails as their legs, chests and heads were blown apart by shotgun and rifle fire. But more and more kept coming, and some were now coming from the field and road as well. We were slowly being surrounded, and our ammo was not unlimited.
A vampire ran at my mother. I saw it in slow motion, the creature popping out from the grassy field and sprinting. My father was busy firing that rifle like a madman, trying to keep the mantis creatures from overtaking us. I knew it was a hopeless task. But I could at least save my ma. I raised the shotgun, the vampire only a few feet away from me now, and shot it point-blank in the face.
Its head disintegrated into a mask of gore, droplets of blood flying. My mouth had been open; I was breathing hard, terrified and in the middle of battle fever, you see. And a few droplets of that strange, dark blood splattered directly into my mouth. I hadn’t even realized what had happened until I tasted it. It tasted nothing at all like human blood, nothing like sucking on a cut thumb after a small injury, nothing like the taste of a bloody, rare steak. No, this blood was sweet and somehow cloying. It was an artificial sweetness, like some fake sugar you might put in coffee, combined with a vague metallic aftertaste. I started to spit after I realized what had happened, but by that point, we were being overrun.
My neighbor was ripped apart in front of me, his old, weather-beaten face showing a final expression of shock and horror as a mantis bit him across his body right where his heart lay. Blood spurted from the wound. The mantis gingerly pushed the body parts apart and began to suck at the blood from the spurting injuries. Another followed silently behind and started feeding on the other half. I watched it all in horror, until a hand grabbed my shoulder. I spun and saw Wesley.
“We need to go, now,” he said, pulling me.
“My da and ma and the others!” I screamed. He shook his head. He was closest to me. As we became overrun, the creatures had split us into smaller groups. Wesley’s brother and my ma and da were one of them. We had at least five mantis creatures and a few more vampires between us. As dozens more came running towards us, towards commotion and the prospect of a warm meal, I realized Wesley was right. But I fired all the same, taking down one of the mantis creatures with a slug to the torso. Its dark blood covered the dirt as it squealed and fell over, kicking its legs slowly and rhythmically like a flipped turtle as it died.
My da and Wesley’s brother were still shooting. I thanked God that we each had a sack of ammo. But mine was feeling light. I looked down and saw only a dozen more slugs, maybe. They must be getting low too. I knew I would have to come back for them when things had calmed down. But for now, I fled.
Wesley ran ahead of me, his coarse work clothes flapping in the wind. We sprinted across the yard. I looked back and saw one of the mantis creatures running us down, moving much faster than either of us could ever hope to run. I stopped, turning. It felt like I was facing down a charging train. I raised the gun, and with a shot to the head, I dropped it only ten feet away from me. It kept running for a second, a body without any brain to run it, then it began to fall forward, sliding, its legs kicking and trembling as it died.
He had a shelter behind his house, apparently. It was little more than a root cellar in the backyard of his house, but it was hidden and underground. He pulled the latch on the hatchway, opening it and motioning for me to go first. I ran forward, climbing down the short ladder. He followed, keeping the hatchway open for light while he started a gas lamp with some flint. Once we were situated, he closed the hatch. It was able to be locked from the inside, and was reinforced against tornados, with wood and concrete forming the walls. We also had some supplies down there, water and jars of pickled foods and jerky. Not much variety, but it would do.
We stayed down there for two days. When we came back up, the creatures were gone. They had even taken their dead with them. I didn’t know where they had gone, though I assumed it was back into the caves.
They had left our dead, however. Countless bodies lay all around the surrounding towns. I saw endless dead in the downtown area when I went down there. And I never saw my da or ma again. I never even found their bodies. Perhaps they had been dragged off into the woods, or perhaps the creatures took a few bodies back with them- maybe as souvenirs, or just for some fresh meat.
All of the people who died in the Battle of Scarville were reported as casualties from the Great War, or the Spanish Flu. But those of us who were there know what we saw, and these were no flu victims. Thousands of bodies around the town had all the blood drained from them.
I wonder why those creatures from underground didn’t keep going. After all, they had won the “Battle” of Scarville, which was really just more of a massacre. But then I thought about how deer hunters are only allowed to hunt so many per season, to allow their population to regrow every year. And I thought about those abominations under the earth. And I wondered if maybe, just maybe, they might not be doing the same to us- waiting for the human population to grow for a hundred years or so, then, when the population is fat and healthy and lazy, come back out to feed on the herd.
*****
The old man stopped, clearing his throat and looking over at me. His story had apparently come to an end. He smiled slightly at me, but I kept looking at him suspiciously, waiting for some sort of punchline.
“You realize how insane that whole story sounds?” I asked after a few moments. The old man with his withered face just grinned at me.
And in the dying light of the setting sun, I could have sworn his eyes were glowing.
submitted by CIAHerpes to nosleep [link] [comments]
“Beautiful memorial, eh?” a voice said from behind me. I turned and saw an ancient-looking man in a suit. His face had so many wrinkles that it reminded me of a raisin. His ears and nose stood out massively on his shaking frame. I wondered just how old this man really was.
“Yes, it certainly is,” I admitted, glancing once more at the shining marble statue which seemed to glow under the bright summer sun. “But what is the Battle of Scarville? I’ve never even heard of it.” The ranger shook his head sadly at this.
“Most of you younger people haven’t,” he said gruffly. “But my family was involved in the Battle of Scarville. If you have a few minutes, I can tell you all about it.” He motioned to a bench next to the statue, one that I could have sworn wasn’t there just a few seconds earlier. I shrugged it off though, admitting to myself that I might have missed it due to the glare of the sun, which was slowly disappearing behind the trees. We both sat down. He told me his name was Franklin, and I told him mine was Ted. We shook after we had introduced ourselves, the small, bird-like bones of his fragile hand feeling almost weightless under my grasp. And then Franklin began to tell me a story that would change my life forever.
*****
I was just a kid when this happened. My father was a soldier in the area, but he never liked to talk about what he did. Then one day, he came running in the living room, his eyes all wide, telling me and my mom to get all our stuff, quick, it was time to go, and all this other nonsense. My mother asks why. He starts screaming gibberish about monsters and this and that. And my mother says the strangest goddamn thing- “Oh, is it that time again?”
Right then, the shaking starts outside.
“Oh, God, it’s too late,” my father says, and he puts his face in his hands, crying. Now, my father was not a man who ever cried. I didn’t even see him cry at my grandfather’s funeral. He was made of stone, one of the toughest men I will ever know. So when he started crying, I knew something bad was happening.
The sky started to go dark, as if there were a solar eclipse. My mom grabs a canvas bag and starts trying to go around the house, grabbing some food and drinks. But my dad yells, says we have no time for that. He tells her to grab his other gun, the 12-gauge in the closet upstairs. He runs downstairs and grabs his rifle, shoving a magazine in it and standing at the door, straight as a board and as pale as a sheet. The sky seemed to go dark, even though it was still over an hour until sunset.
Out of the darkness, I saw silhouettes, stumbling shapes with twisted legs, broken arms, long necks and strange eyes. They continued forward at a much faster pace than any walking man. Their eyes seemed to glow in the dark, and the closer they got, the more hypnotized I felt. There was a strange, pulsating light that came out of their faces, you see. If you stared at it too long, you would get carried away by that light…
My da, though, didn’t hesitate for a moment. He started shooting as soon as they were within range of the 30 aught 6. The nearest one’s head exploded in a shower of dark blood. The rest of them began hissing like snakes and running forwards. My da empties his whole magazine, taking down six of them, then slams and locks the door.
“Where’s that fucking gun?” he screamed. My ma came running down the hallway with the big black thing in one hand and a box full of slugs in the other. He grabs the gun from her hand and gives it to me.
“You know how to shoot, boy,” he says. “Now is the time for you to prove yourself. Protect your family and home.” By this point dozens of those things are slamming on the other side of the door, still hissing and gurgling in some strange language I’ve never heard before. I nodded at my da, and started slamming slugs into the shotgun.
They were practically breaking the door down by this point. The lock had started to bust and twist, and the door was separating from the threshold. A couple more good hits and it would have been all over the floor anyway. I know a good slug will shoot through doors, hell, they’ll shoot through walls, so I point the shotgun at the door, point blank, and begin shooting through the door. Some of those things start screaming and falling over, dead, exit wounds the size of grapefruit in their backs and chests. But the door is in a sorry state by this point, full of massive holes and splintering apart. I had to reload, and they started busting through, coming into the house.
Now that they were close, I could tell they were not human, though from a distance they almost looked human. But they had these strange, pulsating black veins going up their neck and stretching out across their face, and their eyes were all the same silver color, glowing as if they had some inner light. It wasn’t just a reflection, like you see with some animals at night who run in front of your headlights. This light was coming from within them, and it was bright.
Some of them had blood caked around their mouths, running down their clothes and the entire fronts of their bodies. Whose blood, I didn’t yet know, but when I saw the casualties in the town later on, I would figure it out.
Just when I thought we were going to be overwhelmed, my neighbor and some of his family members ran over. He starts screaming at me from the yard, firing his gun at the creatures in a frenzy of violence. He had his two sons with him, and they all had shotguns. They were whooping and hollering, blowing the creatures apart with buckshot. When one of them stopped to reload, the other two would cover them, so that they had a nearly constant rate of fire. My da and I ran out the door, shooting and reloading. I saw the skull of the nearest creature disintegrate as I fired into its head from less than five feet away, but its eyes seemed to hover in the air a moment after it was gone. It reminded me of the Cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland, how its face seemed to hang in the air after its body had gone.
By this point, we had finished off the entire group of them. A couple dozen bodies lay around us. My heart was beating and my blood was up. I could almost relate to the sons of my neighbor; part of me wanted to whoop and holler too. Part of it was fun and exciting, even though I knew that one wrong move would mean likely death.
I used the break in the action to move closer to one of the corpses and look at it. In its basic shape, it looked human, but up close, you could tell it was no such thing. For one thing, they all had six fingers on each hand, and they were twisted, long things. They almost looked vampiric- and, as I would find out later, that was right on the money, or at least as close to it as we could understand. Their skin had thin black veins running every which way, and they appeared to all be wearing some sort of coarse brown cloth, formed into shapeless pants and shirts. They even covered their feet with it, though they had some sort of leather on the bottom. It didn’t look like any leather I had ever seen, however. It shone and shimmered, and it looked inflexible and thick. It looked chitinous.
Out in the field, we heard a sound like a screaming woman. It broke the silence and caused us all to jump, spinning around and pointing our guns. But what we saw there was no scared lady. It was some sort of animal, standing over ten feet tall. It looked like some huge praying mantis, except its hide was shiny and black. Massive pinchers extended from the front of its face, big enough to chop a man in half down the middle I reckon. The eyes were huge and black, but as the light moved across them, they seemed to shimmer like rainbows.
“What in God’s name is that?” my da yelled, but the neighbors only shook their heads in amazement. Then one of the boys, a red-headed and skinny lad by the name of Wesley, said something that caught me off guard.
“I saw some of those things coming out of the caves,” he said. I looked at him, eyes wide. So did everyone else. “When I was fishing earlier at the stream. I thought it was just people exploring the tunnels at first, until I saw their eyes and those veins…” His father grabbed his shoulder and shook him.
“When was it?” his father asked him, looking scared and uncertain. “How long ago, son?” His son shook his head slowly, trying to remember.
“An hour ago, maybe,” Wesley said. “As soon as I saw them I started running home, and not five minutes after I got there, they started coming across the yard…”
People from town were running down the road now, screaming in terror and pain. I saw them driven on like herds of sheep, and our giant praying mantis friend also noticed. Its head went up, antennae flicking, head cocked to the side in a way that would have been comical in other circumstances. Its pinchers moved faster, opening and closing constantly, as if it were trying to taste the air. Then it started running. It was just a black blur in the dim light, flying across the yard at an impossible speed. I couldn’t even see its legs moving.
It grabbed the nearest person, a young woman with huge terrified eyes, and used its pincers to snap her head right off. The decapitated head rolled across the ground, an expression of mortal terror still etched into her expression. Then the mantis creature began to suck at the bleeding stump of her neck- drinking until it looked like the body was sucking in on itself, until the skin was pale and bloodless as a mannequin. The other people were stumbling and running around it, still praying and cursing and shrieking, but it took no notice of them. Once it was full, it looked bigger- more swelled up, like a tick. Its chitinous black shell seemed to expand, looking more rounded, and it even looked a little more red in the pale light- as if the blackness of its hide had lightened into a shade of darkest crimson.
“We’re being invaded by vampires!” I screamed. Everyone looked at me, but no one argued. They didn’t even have time to. At that moment, the next wave started.
Our home was on a road with houses every few hundred feet, a forest behind the houses and a grassy field on the other side. The road itself sat between the field and the homes. The trees pressed in on the houses, being only twenty or thirty feet behind them. The woods were old and thick with brush and prickers and endless ferns. It was hard enough to see in it at daytime, but it was now nearly night, and trying to see into it was a fool’s errand.
The enemy used our disadvantage to surprise us. We had all reloaded, of course, and we had five men with guns. I wished I had another one to give to my ma, who stood behind my da, both of them looked scared and far too pale.
I saw it was the mantis creatures that were approaching, though a few of the vampires walked through silently, their eyes glowing. The two apex predators didn’t seem inclined to attack each other. I wondered if maybe the vampires had even domesticated the giant mantis creatures somehow. It didn’t seem likely, but who knew?
We started shooting as soon as they broke the boundary of the woods. The mantis creatures shrieked like dying women, emitting deafening wails as their legs, chests and heads were blown apart by shotgun and rifle fire. But more and more kept coming, and some were now coming from the field and road as well. We were slowly being surrounded, and our ammo was not unlimited.
A vampire ran at my mother. I saw it in slow motion, the creature popping out from the grassy field and sprinting. My father was busy firing that rifle like a madman, trying to keep the mantis creatures from overtaking us. I knew it was a hopeless task. But I could at least save my ma. I raised the shotgun, the vampire only a few feet away from me now, and shot it point-blank in the face.
Its head disintegrated into a mask of gore, droplets of blood flying. My mouth had been open; I was breathing hard, terrified and in the middle of battle fever, you see. And a few droplets of that strange, dark blood splattered directly into my mouth. I hadn’t even realized what had happened until I tasted it. It tasted nothing at all like human blood, nothing like sucking on a cut thumb after a small injury, nothing like the taste of a bloody, rare steak. No, this blood was sweet and somehow cloying. It was an artificial sweetness, like some fake sugar you might put in coffee, combined with a vague metallic aftertaste. I started to spit after I realized what had happened, but by that point, we were being overrun.
My neighbor was ripped apart in front of me, his old, weather-beaten face showing a final expression of shock and horror as a mantis bit him across his body right where his heart lay. Blood spurted from the wound. The mantis gingerly pushed the body parts apart and began to suck at the blood from the spurting injuries. Another followed silently behind and started feeding on the other half. I watched it all in horror, until a hand grabbed my shoulder. I spun and saw Wesley.
“We need to go, now,” he said, pulling me.
“My da and ma and the others!” I screamed. He shook his head. He was closest to me. As we became overrun, the creatures had split us into smaller groups. Wesley’s brother and my ma and da were one of them. We had at least five mantis creatures and a few more vampires between us. As dozens more came running towards us, towards commotion and the prospect of a warm meal, I realized Wesley was right. But I fired all the same, taking down one of the mantis creatures with a slug to the torso. Its dark blood covered the dirt as it squealed and fell over, kicking its legs slowly and rhythmically like a flipped turtle as it died.
My da and Wesley’s brother were still shooting. I thanked God that we each had a sack of ammo. But mine was feeling light. I looked down and saw only a dozen more slugs, maybe. They must be getting low too. I knew I would have to come back for them when things had calmed down. But for now, I fled.
Wesley ran ahead of me, his coarse work clothes flapping in the wind. We sprinted across the yard. I looked back and saw one of the mantis creatures running us down, moving much faster than either of us could ever hope to run. I stopped, turning. It felt like I was facing down a charging train. I raised the gun, and with a shot to the head, I dropped it only ten feet away from me. It kept running for a second, a body without any brain to run it, then it began to fall forward, sliding, its legs kicking and trembling as it died.
He had a shelter behind his house, apparently. It was little more than a root cellar in the backyard of his house, but it was hidden and underground. He pulled the latch on the hatchway, opening it and motioning for me to go first. I ran forward, climbing down the short ladder. He followed, keeping the hatchway open for light while he started a gas lamp with some flint. Once we were situated, he closed the hatch. It was able to be locked from the inside, and was reinforced against tornados, with wood and concrete forming the walls. We also had some supplies down there, water and jars of pickled foods and jerky. Not much variety, but it would do.
We stayed down there for two days. When we came back up, the creatures were gone. They had even taken their dead with them. I didn’t know where they had gone, though I assumed it was back into the caves.
They had left our dead, however. Countless bodies lay all around the surrounding towns. I saw endless dead in the downtown area when I went down there. And I never saw my da or ma again. I never even found their bodies. Perhaps they had been dragged off into the woods, or perhaps the creatures took a few bodies back with them- maybe as souvenirs, or just for some fresh meat.
All of the people who died in the Battle of Scarville were reported as casualties from the Great War, or the Spanish Flu. But those of us who were there know what we saw, and these were no flu victims. Thousands of bodies around the town had all the blood drained from them.
I wonder why those creatures from underground didn’t keep going. After all, they had won the “Battle” of Scarville, which was really just more of a massacre. But then I thought about how deer hunters are only allowed to hunt so many per season, to allow their population to regrow every year. And I thought about those abominations under the earth. And I wondered if maybe, just maybe, they might not be doing the same to us- waiting for the human population to grow for a hundred years or so, then, when the population is fat and healthy and lazy, come back out to feed on the herd.
*****
The old man stopped, clearing his throat and looking over at me. His story had apparently come to an end. He smiled slightly at me, but I kept looking at him suspiciously, waiting for some sort of punchline.
“You realize how insane that whole story sounds?” I asked after a few moments. The old man with his withered face just grinned at me.
And in the dying light of the setting sun, I could have sworn his eyes were glowing.
2023.05.25 18:30 herdingsquirrels A little help on daughters history project?
My daughter chose to do her final history project on first contact between indigenous peoples and Europeans. She was originally asked to do Columbus and the Spanish exploration but she wanted to expand on it and include written stories from Native tribes all over North America. She’s particularly interested in actual personal accounts that were recorded and written down. For example, she’s using our ancestor Lucy Young’s interview A True Indian Story Told By Lucy Young in which she tells her stories of what life was like before, what was done to her tribe, how she survived when most didn’t & what life was like after.
Does anyone here know of specific stories and can tell her where to find yours? She does have some already but they’re surprisingly difficult to find given that they often only exist in college archives & access to them is limited making them complicated to search for. While accounts of what happened to entire tribes are important, she wants to make it more personal. Be able to show an individual’s actual words & when possible give a face to those words through an old photograph or drawing of the speaker.
Any help would be so appreciated!
submitted by herdingsquirrels to NativeAmerican [link] [comments]
Does anyone here know of specific stories and can tell her where to find yours? She does have some already but they’re surprisingly difficult to find given that they often only exist in college archives & access to them is limited making them complicated to search for. While accounts of what happened to entire tribes are important, she wants to make it more personal. Be able to show an individual’s actual words & when possible give a face to those words through an old photograph or drawing of the speaker.
Any help would be so appreciated!
2023.05.25 15:57 macdaddyac22 Parking for Taylor Swift 6/30
Hey everyone. I searched the threads and most of them were talking about lodging for the event at paycor stadium. I will be driving back to my home after the concert, so I wanted to gather thoughts about the best areas to park / where to avoid? In my 20’s so don’t mind walking 20-30 minutes if needed. Will the Covington side be the better bet and then walk across the bridge?
Thank you!
Edit: forgot to include I will be coming from the Louisville ky area
submitted by macdaddyac22 to cincinnati [link] [comments]
Thank you!
Edit: forgot to include I will be coming from the Louisville ky area
2023.05.25 15:32 mtlebanonriseup We know that local elections and primaries matter, and this week we focus on Colorado, New Jersey, and reproductive rights in South Dakota! Updated 5-25-23
We know that local elections and primaries matter, and this week we focus on Colorado, New Jersey, and South Dakota!
Keep checking our volunteer from home spreadsheet! It’s been updated with opportunities to volunteer for important races! As always, important events are bolded, and it is being constantly updated
Donate to the Expand the Senate Fund to keep the Senate in 2024!
Take our survey so we can update you on volunteer opportunities near you!
Denver (Bear Valley) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Saturday, June 3, Sunday, June 4, and Tuesday, June 6
Denver (Berkeley) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (Berkeley) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Saturday, May 27
Denver (Berkeley) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (Central Park) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Saturday, May 27 and Wednesday, May 31
Denver (Central Park) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (Cherry Creek) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Sunday, May 28
Denver (Cherry Creek) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (City Park West) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (City Park West) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (Clayton) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Thursday, May 25, Sunday, May 28, and Thursday, June 1
Denver (Five Points) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Saturday, May 27 and Tuesday, May 30
Denver (Five Points) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (Highland) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Monday, June 5
Denver (Hilltop) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Sunday, May 28
Denver (Montbello) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Sunday, May 28
Denver (Montclair) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Sunday, May 28
Denver (North Park Hill) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Saturday, May 27 and Monday, May 29
Denver (North Park Hill) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (Park South) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Saturday, May 27
Denver (Regis) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Sunday, May 28
Denver (Regis) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (Sloan’s Lake) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Thursday, May 25, Sunday, May 28, and Thursday, June 1
Denver (Sloan’s Lake) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (Sunnyside) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Sunday, May 28
Denver (The Highlands) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Thursday, May 25, Monday, May 29, and Thursday, June 1
Denver (University Park) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (University Park) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (Washington Park) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Saturday, May 27 and Monday, May 29
Denver (Washington Park) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Saturday, June 3, Sunday, June 4, and Monday, June 5
Denver (West Colfax) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Saturday, May 27
Denver (West Highland) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Saturday, May 27 and Wednesday, May 31
Denver (West Highland) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Saturday, June 3
Denver - Candi CdeBaca for City Council District 9 - Various Dates
Denver - Candi CdeBaca for City Council District 9 - Saturday, May 27
Denver - Candi CdeBaca for City Council District 9 - Sunday, May 28
Denver - Shannon Hoffman for City Council District 10 - Saturday, May 27 and Sunday, May 28
Denver - Shontel Lewis for City Council District 8 - Weekends
Mike Johnston for Denver Mayor - Various Dates
Candi CdeBaca for Denver City Council District 9 - Thursday, May 25 and Thursday, June 1
Shannon Hoffman for Denver City Council District 10 - Wednesday, May 31
Shannon Hoffman for Denver City Council District 10 - Friday, May 26 and Friday, June 2
Shontel Lewis for Denver City Council District 8 - Tuesday, May 30 and Tuesday, June 6
Denver Municipal Runoff Elections - Tuesday, May 30
Denver Municipal Runoff Elections - Tuesday, June 6
Denver (Berkeley) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (Central Park) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (City Park West) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (City Park Farmer’s Market) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Saturday, May 27 and Saturday, June 3
Denver (Civic Center EATS) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Wednesdays and Thursdays
Denver (Colorado Boulevard and Colfax Avenue) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (Highland Square Farmer’s Market) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Sunday, May 28 and Sunday, June 4
Denver (North Speer and West 32nd) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (North Speer and West Colfax) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (South Pearl Street Farmer’s Market) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Sunday, May 28 and Sunday, June 4
Hamilton Park - Hudson Progressive Democrats - Saturday, May 27 and Saturday, June 3
Hoboken - Hudson Progressive Democrats - Saturday, May 27 and Saturday, June 3
Jersey City - Hudson Progressive Democrats - Sunday, May 28
North Bergen / North Hudson - Hudson Progressive Democrats - Thursday, May 25
Primary Elections - Black Caucus - Wednesday, May 31
Brookings - Roe v. Wade Ballot Campaign - Saturdays
Rapid City - Roe v. Wade Ballot Campaign - Saturdays
Sioux Falls - Roe v. Wade Ballot Campaign - Thursdays and Saturdays
Sioux Falls - Roe v. Wade Ballot Campaign - Saturdays
Spearfish - Roe v. Wade Ballot Campaign - Monday, May 22 and Monday, May 29
Vermillion - Roe v. Wade Ballot Campaign - Saturday, May 27
You can also find volunteer and donation links for the candidates in upcoming runoff and special elections listed below. Elections are sorted by date.
Mike Johnston is running for mayor of Denver, Colorado. You can donate or volunteer. Visit his website, Facebook, Twitter, and Youtube.
Wendy Pieh is running for Maine House of Representatives District 45. You can donate via the Maine Clean Election Act Service! Sign up to canvass! Visit her website, Facebook page, and Instagram!
Andy Beshear is running for re-election as Governor of Kentucky. Please donate if you can, or sign up to volunteer! Visit his website, Facebook page, Twitter feed, and Instagram.
Pamela Stevenson is running for Kentucky Attorney General. Please volunteer or donate! Take a look at her website, Facebook, and Twitter.
Charles “Buddy” Wheatley is running for Kentucky Secretary of State. You can donate or visit his website or Facebook page!
Michael Bowman is running for Kentucky Treasurer. Please donate if you are able, or become a volunteer! Check out his website, Facebook, Twitter, or Youtube.
Kimberley Reeder is running for Kentucky Auditor of Public Accounts. You can visit her website or donate.
Sierra Enlow is running for Kentucky Commissioner of Agriculture. Please donate, volunteer, or attend an event. Visit her website, Facebook, Linked In, and Twitter.
Daniel McCaffery is running for Pennsylvania Supreme Court. If you are able, please make a donation or become a volunteer. Take a look at his website, Facebook page, and Instagram.
Jill Beck is running for Pennsylvania Superior Court. Please donate to her campaign, or sign up to volunteer. Check out her website, Facebook page, Twitter, and Instagram.
Timika Lane is running for Pennsylvania Superior Court. Consider making a donation. Visit her website, Facebook page, and Instagram.
Matt Wolf is running for Pennsylvania Commonwealth Court. Check out his website!
submitted by mtlebanonriseup to VoteDEM [link] [comments]
Keep checking our volunteer from home spreadsheet! It’s been updated with opportunities to volunteer for important races! As always, important events are bolded, and it is being constantly updated
Donate to the Expand the Senate Fund to keep the Senate in 2024!
Take our survey so we can update you on volunteer opportunities near you!
Colorado
Canvass
Denver (Bear Valley) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Tuesday, May 30Denver (Bear Valley) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Saturday, June 3, Sunday, June 4, and Tuesday, June 6
Denver (Berkeley) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (Berkeley) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Saturday, May 27
Denver (Berkeley) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (Central Park) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Saturday, May 27 and Wednesday, May 31
Denver (Central Park) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (Cherry Creek) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Sunday, May 28
Denver (Cherry Creek) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (City Park West) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (City Park West) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (Clayton) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Thursday, May 25, Sunday, May 28, and Thursday, June 1
Denver (Five Points) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Saturday, May 27 and Tuesday, May 30
Denver (Five Points) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (Highland) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Monday, June 5
Denver (Hilltop) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Sunday, May 28
Denver (Montbello) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Sunday, May 28
Denver (Montclair) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Sunday, May 28
Denver (North Park Hill) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Saturday, May 27 and Monday, May 29
Denver (North Park Hill) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (Park South) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Saturday, May 27
Denver (Regis) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Sunday, May 28
Denver (Regis) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (Sloan’s Lake) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Thursday, May 25, Sunday, May 28, and Thursday, June 1
Denver (Sloan’s Lake) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (Sunnyside) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Sunday, May 28
Denver (The Highlands) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Thursday, May 25, Monday, May 29, and Thursday, June 1
Denver (University Park) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (University Park) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (Washington Park) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Saturday, May 27 and Monday, May 29
Denver (Washington Park) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Saturday, June 3, Sunday, June 4, and Monday, June 5
Denver (West Colfax) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Saturday, May 27
Denver (West Highland) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Saturday, May 27 and Wednesday, May 31
Denver (West Highland) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Saturday, June 3
Denver - Candi CdeBaca for City Council District 9 - Various Dates
Denver - Candi CdeBaca for City Council District 9 - Saturday, May 27
Denver - Candi CdeBaca for City Council District 9 - Sunday, May 28
Denver - Shannon Hoffman for City Council District 10 - Saturday, May 27 and Sunday, May 28
Denver - Shontel Lewis for City Council District 8 - Weekends
Phone Bank from Home
Mike Johnston for Denver Mayor - Various DatesMike Johnston for Denver Mayor - Various Dates
Candi CdeBaca for Denver City Council District 9 - Thursday, May 25 and Thursday, June 1
Shannon Hoffman for Denver City Council District 10 - Wednesday, May 31
Shannon Hoffman for Denver City Council District 10 - Friday, May 26 and Friday, June 2
Shontel Lewis for Denver City Council District 8 - Tuesday, May 30 and Tuesday, June 6
Denver Municipal Runoff Elections - Tuesday, May 30
Denver Municipal Runoff Elections - Tuesday, June 6
Phone in Person
Denver (Berkeley) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Monday, May 29Denver (Berkeley) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (Central Park) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (City Park West) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Visibility Events
Denver (Cherry Creek Farmer’s Market) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Saturday, May 27 and Saturday, June 3Denver (City Park Farmer’s Market) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Saturday, May 27 and Saturday, June 3
Denver (Civic Center EATS) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Wednesdays and Thursdays
Denver (Colorado Boulevard and Colfax Avenue) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (Highland Square Farmer’s Market) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Sunday, May 28 and Sunday, June 4
Denver (North Speer and West 32nd) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (North Speer and West Colfax) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (South Pearl Street Farmer’s Market) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Sunday, May 28 and Sunday, June 4
New Jersey
Canvass
Camden County - Various Local Elections - Various DatesHamilton Park - Hudson Progressive Democrats - Saturday, May 27 and Saturday, June 3
Hoboken - Hudson Progressive Democrats - Saturday, May 27 and Saturday, June 3
Jersey City - Hudson Progressive Democrats - Sunday, May 28
North Bergen / North Hudson - Hudson Progressive Democrats - Thursday, May 25
Text Bank from Home
Primary Elections - Wednesday, May 31Primary Elections - Black Caucus - Wednesday, May 31
Poll Standing
Hudson County - Hudson Progressive Democrats - Tuesday, June 6Write Postcards from Home
Kate Delany and Sam Sweet for Camden County Commissioner - Various DatesSouth Dakota
Phone Bank from Home
Roe v. Wade Phone Bank - Thursday, May 25, Thursday, June 1, and Thursday, June 8Sign Petitions
Aberdeen - Roe v. Wade Ballot Campaign - Saturday, May 27 and Saturday, June 3Brookings - Roe v. Wade Ballot Campaign - Saturdays
Rapid City - Roe v. Wade Ballot Campaign - Saturdays
Sioux Falls - Roe v. Wade Ballot Campaign - Thursdays and Saturdays
Sioux Falls - Roe v. Wade Ballot Campaign - Saturdays
Spearfish - Roe v. Wade Ballot Campaign - Monday, May 22 and Monday, May 29
Vermillion - Roe v. Wade Ballot Campaign - Saturday, May 27
You can also find volunteer and donation links for the candidates in upcoming runoff and special elections listed below. Elections are sorted by date.
June 6th
Mike Johnston is running for mayor of Denver, Colorado. You can donate or volunteer. Visit his website, Facebook, Twitter, and Youtube.
June 13th
Wendy Pieh is running for Maine House of Representatives District 45. You can donate via the Maine Clean Election Act Service! Sign up to canvass! Visit her website, Facebook page, and Instagram!
November 7th
Andy Beshear is running for re-election as Governor of Kentucky. Please donate if you can, or sign up to volunteer! Visit his website, Facebook page, Twitter feed, and Instagram.
Pamela Stevenson is running for Kentucky Attorney General. Please volunteer or donate! Take a look at her website, Facebook, and Twitter.
Charles “Buddy” Wheatley is running for Kentucky Secretary of State. You can donate or visit his website or Facebook page!
Michael Bowman is running for Kentucky Treasurer. Please donate if you are able, or become a volunteer! Check out his website, Facebook, Twitter, or Youtube.
Kimberley Reeder is running for Kentucky Auditor of Public Accounts. You can visit her website or donate.
Sierra Enlow is running for Kentucky Commissioner of Agriculture. Please donate, volunteer, or attend an event. Visit her website, Facebook, Linked In, and Twitter.
Daniel McCaffery is running for Pennsylvania Supreme Court. If you are able, please make a donation or become a volunteer. Take a look at his website, Facebook page, and Instagram.
Jill Beck is running for Pennsylvania Superior Court. Please donate to her campaign, or sign up to volunteer. Check out her website, Facebook page, Twitter, and Instagram.
Timika Lane is running for Pennsylvania Superior Court. Consider making a donation. Visit her website, Facebook page, and Instagram.
Matt Wolf is running for Pennsylvania Commonwealth Court. Check out his website!
2023.05.25 15:32 mtlebanonriseup We know that local elections and primaries matter, and this week we focus on Colorado, New Jersey, and reproductive rights in South Dakota! Updated 5-25-23 Join r/VoteDEM for more!
Join VoteDEM to learn more!
We know that local elections and primaries matter, and this week we focus on Colorado, New Jersey, and South Dakota!
Keep checking our volunteer from home spreadsheet! It’s been updated with opportunities to volunteer for important races! As always, important events are bolded, and it is being constantly updated
Donate to the Expand the Senate Fund to keep the Senate in 2024!
Take our survey so we can update you on volunteer opportunities near you!
Denver (Bear Valley) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Saturday, June 3, Sunday, June 4, and Tuesday, June 6
Denver (Berkeley) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (Berkeley) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Saturday, May 27
Denver (Berkeley) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (Central Park) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Saturday, May 27 and Wednesday, May 31
Denver (Central Park) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (Cherry Creek) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Sunday, May 28
Denver (Cherry Creek) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (City Park West) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (City Park West) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (Clayton) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Thursday, May 25, Sunday, May 28, and Thursday, June 1
Denver (Five Points) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Saturday, May 27 and Tuesday, May 30
Denver (Five Points) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (Highland) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Monday, June 5
Denver (Hilltop) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Sunday, May 28
Denver (Montbello) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Sunday, May 28
Denver (Montclair) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Sunday, May 28
Denver (North Park Hill) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Saturday, May 27 and Monday, May 29
Denver (North Park Hill) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (Park South) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Saturday, May 27
Denver (Regis) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Sunday, May 28
Denver (Regis) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (Sloan’s Lake) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Thursday, May 25, Sunday, May 28, and Thursday, June 1
Denver (Sloan’s Lake) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (Sunnyside) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Sunday, May 28
Denver (The Highlands) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Thursday, May 25, Monday, May 29, and Thursday, June 1
Denver (University Park) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (University Park) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (Washington Park) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Saturday, May 27 and Monday, May 29
Denver (Washington Park) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Saturday, June 3, Sunday, June 4, and Monday, June 5
Denver (West Colfax) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Saturday, May 27
Denver (West Highland) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Saturday, May 27 and Wednesday, May 31
Denver (West Highland) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Saturday, June 3
Denver - Candi CdeBaca for City Council District 9 - Various Dates
Denver - Candi CdeBaca for City Council District 9 - Saturday, May 27
Denver - Candi CdeBaca for City Council District 9 - Sunday, May 28
Denver - Shannon Hoffman for City Council District 10 - Saturday, May 27 and Sunday, May 28
Denver - Shontel Lewis for City Council District 8 - Weekends
Mike Johnston for Denver Mayor - Various Dates
Candi CdeBaca for Denver City Council District 9 - Thursday, May 25 and Thursday, June 1
Shannon Hoffman for Denver City Council District 10 - Wednesday, May 31
Shannon Hoffman for Denver City Council District 10 - Friday, May 26 and Friday, June 2
Shontel Lewis for Denver City Council District 8 - Tuesday, May 30 and Tuesday, June 6
Denver Municipal Runoff Elections - Tuesday, May 30
Denver Municipal Runoff Elections - Tuesday, June 6
Denver (Berkeley) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (Central Park) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (City Park West) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (City Park Farmer’s Market) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Saturday, May 27 and Saturday, June 3
Denver (Civic Center EATS) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Wednesdays and Thursdays
Denver (Colorado Boulevard and Colfax Avenue) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (Highland Square Farmer’s Market) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Sunday, May 28 and Sunday, June 4
Denver (North Speer and West 32nd) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (North Speer and West Colfax) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (South Pearl Street Farmer’s Market) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Sunday, May 28 and Sunday, June 4
Hamilton Park - Hudson Progressive Democrats - Saturday, May 27 and Saturday, June 3
Hoboken - Hudson Progressive Democrats - Saturday, May 27 and Saturday, June 3
Jersey City - Hudson Progressive Democrats - Sunday, May 28
North Bergen / North Hudson - Hudson Progressive Democrats - Thursday, May 25
Primary Elections - Black Caucus - Wednesday, May 31
Brookings - Roe v. Wade Ballot Campaign - Saturdays
Rapid City - Roe v. Wade Ballot Campaign - Saturdays
Sioux Falls - Roe v. Wade Ballot Campaign - Thursdays and Saturdays
Sioux Falls - Roe v. Wade Ballot Campaign - Saturdays
Spearfish - Roe v. Wade Ballot Campaign - Monday, May 22 and Monday, May 29
Vermillion - Roe v. Wade Ballot Campaign - Saturday, May 27
You can also find volunteer and donation links for the candidates in upcoming runoff and special elections listed below. Elections are sorted by date.
Mike Johnston is running for mayor of Denver, Colorado. You can donate or volunteer. Visit his website, Facebook, Twitter, and Youtube.
Wendy Pieh is running for Maine House of Representatives District 45. You can donate via the Maine Clean Election Act Service! Sign up to canvass! Visit her website, Facebook page, and Instagram!
Andy Beshear is running for re-election as Governor of Kentucky. Please donate if you can, or sign up to volunteer! Visit his website, Facebook page, Twitter feed, and Instagram.
Pamela Stevenson is running for Kentucky Attorney General. Please volunteer or donate! Take a look at her website, Facebook, and Twitter.
Charles “Buddy” Wheatley is running for Kentucky Secretary of State. You can donate or visit his website or Facebook page!
Michael Bowman is running for Kentucky Treasurer. Please donate if you are able, or become a volunteer! Check out his website, Facebook, Twitter, or Youtube.
Kimberley Reeder is running for Kentucky Auditor of Public Accounts. You can visit her website or donate.
Sierra Enlow is running for Kentucky Commissioner of Agriculture. Please donate, volunteer, or attend an event. Visit her website, Facebook, Linked In, and Twitter.
Daniel McCaffery is running for Pennsylvania Supreme Court. If you are able, please make a donation or become a volunteer. Take a look at his website, Facebook page, and Instagram.
Jill Beck is running for Pennsylvania Superior Court. Please donate to her campaign, or sign up to volunteer. Check out her website, Facebook page, Twitter, and Instagram.
Timika Lane is running for Pennsylvania Superior Court. Consider making a donation. Visit her website, Facebook page, and Instagram.
Matt Wolf is running for Pennsylvania Commonwealth Court. Check out his website!
submitted by mtlebanonriseup to BlueMidterm2018 [link] [comments]
We know that local elections and primaries matter, and this week we focus on Colorado, New Jersey, and South Dakota!
Keep checking our volunteer from home spreadsheet! It’s been updated with opportunities to volunteer for important races! As always, important events are bolded, and it is being constantly updated
Donate to the Expand the Senate Fund to keep the Senate in 2024!
Take our survey so we can update you on volunteer opportunities near you!
Colorado
Canvass
Denver (Bear Valley) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Tuesday, May 30Denver (Bear Valley) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Saturday, June 3, Sunday, June 4, and Tuesday, June 6
Denver (Berkeley) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (Berkeley) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Saturday, May 27
Denver (Berkeley) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (Central Park) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Saturday, May 27 and Wednesday, May 31
Denver (Central Park) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (Cherry Creek) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Sunday, May 28
Denver (Cherry Creek) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (City Park West) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (City Park West) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (Clayton) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Thursday, May 25, Sunday, May 28, and Thursday, June 1
Denver (Five Points) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Saturday, May 27 and Tuesday, May 30
Denver (Five Points) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (Highland) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Monday, June 5
Denver (Hilltop) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Sunday, May 28
Denver (Montbello) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Sunday, May 28
Denver (Montclair) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Sunday, May 28
Denver (North Park Hill) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Saturday, May 27 and Monday, May 29
Denver (North Park Hill) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (Park South) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Saturday, May 27
Denver (Regis) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Sunday, May 28
Denver (Regis) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (Sloan’s Lake) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Thursday, May 25, Sunday, May 28, and Thursday, June 1
Denver (Sloan’s Lake) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (Sunnyside) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Sunday, May 28
Denver (The Highlands) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Thursday, May 25, Monday, May 29, and Thursday, June 1
Denver (University Park) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (University Park) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (Washington Park) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Saturday, May 27 and Monday, May 29
Denver (Washington Park) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Saturday, June 3, Sunday, June 4, and Monday, June 5
Denver (West Colfax) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Saturday, May 27
Denver (West Highland) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Saturday, May 27 and Wednesday, May 31
Denver (West Highland) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Saturday, June 3
Denver - Candi CdeBaca for City Council District 9 - Various Dates
Denver - Candi CdeBaca for City Council District 9 - Saturday, May 27
Denver - Candi CdeBaca for City Council District 9 - Sunday, May 28
Denver - Shannon Hoffman for City Council District 10 - Saturday, May 27 and Sunday, May 28
Denver - Shontel Lewis for City Council District 8 - Weekends
Phone Bank from Home
Mike Johnston for Denver Mayor - Various DatesMike Johnston for Denver Mayor - Various Dates
Candi CdeBaca for Denver City Council District 9 - Thursday, May 25 and Thursday, June 1
Shannon Hoffman for Denver City Council District 10 - Wednesday, May 31
Shannon Hoffman for Denver City Council District 10 - Friday, May 26 and Friday, June 2
Shontel Lewis for Denver City Council District 8 - Tuesday, May 30 and Tuesday, June 6
Denver Municipal Runoff Elections - Tuesday, May 30
Denver Municipal Runoff Elections - Tuesday, June 6
Phone in Person
Denver (Berkeley) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Monday, May 29Denver (Berkeley) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (Central Park) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (City Park West) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Visibility Events
Denver (Cherry Creek Farmer’s Market) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Saturday, May 27 and Saturday, June 3Denver (City Park Farmer’s Market) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Saturday, May 27 and Saturday, June 3
Denver (Civic Center EATS) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Wednesdays and Thursdays
Denver (Colorado Boulevard and Colfax Avenue) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (Highland Square Farmer’s Market) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Sunday, May 28 and Sunday, June 4
Denver (North Speer and West 32nd) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (North Speer and West Colfax) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Various Dates
Denver (South Pearl Street Farmer’s Market) - Mike Johnston for Mayor - Sunday, May 28 and Sunday, June 4
New Jersey
Canvass
Camden County - Various Local Elections - Various DatesHamilton Park - Hudson Progressive Democrats - Saturday, May 27 and Saturday, June 3
Hoboken - Hudson Progressive Democrats - Saturday, May 27 and Saturday, June 3
Jersey City - Hudson Progressive Democrats - Sunday, May 28
North Bergen / North Hudson - Hudson Progressive Democrats - Thursday, May 25
Text Bank from Home
Primary Elections - Wednesday, May 31Primary Elections - Black Caucus - Wednesday, May 31
Poll Standing
Hudson County - Hudson Progressive Democrats - Tuesday, June 6Write Postcards from Home
Kate Delany and Sam Sweet for Camden County Commissioner - Various DatesSouth Dakota
Phone Bank from Home
Roe v. Wade Phone Bank - Thursday, May 25, Thursday, June 1, and Thursday, June 8Sign Petitions
Aberdeen - Roe v. Wade Ballot Campaign - Saturday, May 27 and Saturday, June 3Brookings - Roe v. Wade Ballot Campaign - Saturdays
Rapid City - Roe v. Wade Ballot Campaign - Saturdays
Sioux Falls - Roe v. Wade Ballot Campaign - Thursdays and Saturdays
Sioux Falls - Roe v. Wade Ballot Campaign - Saturdays
Spearfish - Roe v. Wade Ballot Campaign - Monday, May 22 and Monday, May 29
Vermillion - Roe v. Wade Ballot Campaign - Saturday, May 27
You can also find volunteer and donation links for the candidates in upcoming runoff and special elections listed below. Elections are sorted by date.
June 6th
Mike Johnston is running for mayor of Denver, Colorado. You can donate or volunteer. Visit his website, Facebook, Twitter, and Youtube.
June 13th
Wendy Pieh is running for Maine House of Representatives District 45. You can donate via the Maine Clean Election Act Service! Sign up to canvass! Visit her website, Facebook page, and Instagram!
November 7th
Andy Beshear is running for re-election as Governor of Kentucky. Please donate if you can, or sign up to volunteer! Visit his website, Facebook page, Twitter feed, and Instagram.
Pamela Stevenson is running for Kentucky Attorney General. Please volunteer or donate! Take a look at her website, Facebook, and Twitter.
Charles “Buddy” Wheatley is running for Kentucky Secretary of State. You can donate or visit his website or Facebook page!
Michael Bowman is running for Kentucky Treasurer. Please donate if you are able, or become a volunteer! Check out his website, Facebook, Twitter, or Youtube.
Kimberley Reeder is running for Kentucky Auditor of Public Accounts. You can visit her website or donate.
Sierra Enlow is running for Kentucky Commissioner of Agriculture. Please donate, volunteer, or attend an event. Visit her website, Facebook, Linked In, and Twitter.
Daniel McCaffery is running for Pennsylvania Supreme Court. If you are able, please make a donation or become a volunteer. Take a look at his website, Facebook page, and Instagram.
Jill Beck is running for Pennsylvania Superior Court. Please donate to her campaign, or sign up to volunteer. Check out her website, Facebook page, Twitter, and Instagram.
Timika Lane is running for Pennsylvania Superior Court. Consider making a donation. Visit her website, Facebook page, and Instagram.
Matt Wolf is running for Pennsylvania Commonwealth Court. Check out his website!
2023.05.25 02:12 slade797 Lucky Cat Cafe needs help!
 | submitted by slade797 to BlueKentucky [link] [comments] |
2023.05.24 21:09 Delicious-Dog-6109 Lucky Cat Cafe needs help!
| | submitted by Delicious-Dog-6109 to Louisvillebeanclub [link] [comments] |
2023.05.24 20:36 panic_in_church Lucky Cat Cafe needs help! The ONLY non-profit cat cafe in Kentucky is in danger of closing.
| | submitted by panic_in_church to True_Kentucky [link] [comments] |
2023.05.24 19:32 MA-121Hunter My short time working for GS
When I was in my early 20's (40 now) my dream job was at a place I could spend all day at. When you're young and stupid you don't look at it like a job-job, but more of a line of being in a work environment that fits your hobbies. My best advice to anyone young working there: DON'T.
So in Louisville GS held a job fair back in 2006, I think. I am a socially awkward person. I'm not too chatty and I feel embarrassed by opening my mouth. This makes me a very easy target for being picked on and nothing has changed over the years. I met the GM and RM at the time and we'll call them Amanda and Christy. They were really nice people in person but my instincts were telling me something was off. My fiance at the time decided to go with me and we were both hired at separate locations.
On her 3rd day she was let go. They found out she was pregnant after a fall from a store they were opening up in the Fern Creek area. On my first day I got to meet most of my co-workers and there was another young female that started with me. These co-workers were d-bags. Amanda was really buddy buddy with these people and not only did she frequent our store daily, but one of the d-bags ran out store under her.
So, I try to be friendly, non-judgemental and get a long co-workers. I get so much crap from an unprofessional stand point it's unreal. One guy who worked there traded his own broken 360 in on the clock to buy another one. The boss was laughing about it.
Back then they had PS2 stuff and I collected everything SMT. They had a Devil Summoner guide and I had just got paid. Rang it up and it was a penny. The boss was like "You can't buy that. It means it's not in our inventory anymore." I pleaaded with him and wasn't a dick about it. I asked if he would be cool enough to turn the other cheek and let me have it since I saved up my paycheck for it. His response was something on the lines of "Come with me and I'll show you what we do to stuff that's not in inventory anymore" He takes me out back to the dumpster, unlocks it, and throws it in. While laughing he says "because I don't like you."
That shit hurt. I did nothing to deserve that and I sure didn't ruffle any feathers there.
Well that d-bag got cozy with the other young female that started there. My hours got cut. She got more. Eventually I was off the schedule. Weeks went by and I went to buy a SMT game when I walked in the guy and his new gf are there and of course he wants to flex by saying "by the way, Matt, You're fired!" As I'm checking out with this game. I laugh about it because I wanted that SMT game and they were the only ones that had it. Leaving in my car, I cried. I felt humiliated and I was beating myself up for letting them treat me in a way all because I wanted a job there.
This is the only time in my life I have ever felt like a victim in anything. Turns out the GM and RM were for getting me off the schedule. They knew that their friend didn't like me and they knew he was fucking a very young employee and let him get away with it.
I have rarely went in there to this day. I had a close friend that stuck it out and he had told me a few years ago that they all had left and that guy and girl were married now.
Employees get on here all the time talking about how unfair management is and while that was nearly 20 years ago, the circle can run deeper than what you read on Reddit. To anyone that thinks they want to work there, fucking don't. Do not ever work anywhere if it's a circle cause all it takes is one mother fucker that wants to be an asshole cunt and that's it. If it don't feel right to you, don't take any job. Find somewhere your skills are valued and they treat you like, you know, a person. I rather work McDonald's any day of the week with down to earth people than somewhere I want to work at dealing with cunts.
Do not make my mistake.
submitted by MA-121Hunter to GameStop [link] [comments]
So in Louisville GS held a job fair back in 2006, I think. I am a socially awkward person. I'm not too chatty and I feel embarrassed by opening my mouth. This makes me a very easy target for being picked on and nothing has changed over the years. I met the GM and RM at the time and we'll call them Amanda and Christy. They were really nice people in person but my instincts were telling me something was off. My fiance at the time decided to go with me and we were both hired at separate locations.
On her 3rd day she was let go. They found out she was pregnant after a fall from a store they were opening up in the Fern Creek area. On my first day I got to meet most of my co-workers and there was another young female that started with me. These co-workers were d-bags. Amanda was really buddy buddy with these people and not only did she frequent our store daily, but one of the d-bags ran out store under her.
So, I try to be friendly, non-judgemental and get a long co-workers. I get so much crap from an unprofessional stand point it's unreal. One guy who worked there traded his own broken 360 in on the clock to buy another one. The boss was laughing about it.
Back then they had PS2 stuff and I collected everything SMT. They had a Devil Summoner guide and I had just got paid. Rang it up and it was a penny. The boss was like "You can't buy that. It means it's not in our inventory anymore." I pleaaded with him and wasn't a dick about it. I asked if he would be cool enough to turn the other cheek and let me have it since I saved up my paycheck for it. His response was something on the lines of "Come with me and I'll show you what we do to stuff that's not in inventory anymore" He takes me out back to the dumpster, unlocks it, and throws it in. While laughing he says "because I don't like you."
That shit hurt. I did nothing to deserve that and I sure didn't ruffle any feathers there.
Well that d-bag got cozy with the other young female that started there. My hours got cut. She got more. Eventually I was off the schedule. Weeks went by and I went to buy a SMT game when I walked in the guy and his new gf are there and of course he wants to flex by saying "by the way, Matt, You're fired!" As I'm checking out with this game. I laugh about it because I wanted that SMT game and they were the only ones that had it. Leaving in my car, I cried. I felt humiliated and I was beating myself up for letting them treat me in a way all because I wanted a job there.
This is the only time in my life I have ever felt like a victim in anything. Turns out the GM and RM were for getting me off the schedule. They knew that their friend didn't like me and they knew he was fucking a very young employee and let him get away with it.
I have rarely went in there to this day. I had a close friend that stuck it out and he had told me a few years ago that they all had left and that guy and girl were married now.
Employees get on here all the time talking about how unfair management is and while that was nearly 20 years ago, the circle can run deeper than what you read on Reddit. To anyone that thinks they want to work there, fucking don't. Do not ever work anywhere if it's a circle cause all it takes is one mother fucker that wants to be an asshole cunt and that's it. If it don't feel right to you, don't take any job. Find somewhere your skills are valued and they treat you like, you know, a person. I rather work McDonald's any day of the week with down to earth people than somewhere I want to work at dealing with cunts.
Do not make my mistake.
2023.05.24 00:04 fadedlikeastar Leggo my eggo! Err… hot pocket!
 | submitted by fadedlikeastar to facepalm [link] [comments] |
2023.05.23 22:04 DannyLumpy Summer Events in the Denver Area
I'm trying to make a list of all of the things to do in Denver for this summer. Does anyone know of anything I should add?
DOUBLE CHECK BEFORE YOU GO. THIS LIST MAY NOT BE UP TO DATE
• 06/03 Denver Day of Rock - 1:15PM-9:30PM FREE All Ages 15 Bands, 3 Stages; Mainly Rock; Food Trucks LODO Denver
• 06/07 Holiday Theater Music and Poetry Showcase - 7PM FREE All Ages Guitar, Low-Rock, Spoken Word, Poetry, Jazz MCA Denver at the Holiday Theater 2644 West 32nd Avenue Denver, CO 80211
• 06/10 Five Points Jazz Festival - 12PM-8PM FREE All Ages 140+ Jazz Performances Five Points, Denver
• 06/17 First Harvest Music Vestival - 4PM-8PM $10 12 and Below; $35 1+ All Ages Various Musicans Including the Flobots, The Snakes, and Brothers of Brass; Foodtrucks, To Show Solidarity for Refugees DeLaney Community Farm 170 South Chambers Road Aurora, CO 80017
• 07/14-07/16 Compost Heap Music Festival - Times TBA FREE (Suggested Donations) Underground Music of Various Genres Seventh Circle Music Collective, 2935 W 7th Ave, Denver CO
• 07/15 Blues & BBQ Festival – 10AM-6PM $10 All Ages Live Blues Music and BBQ Citizen’s Park, 5560 W 24th Ave, Edgewater, CO 80214
• 07/21-07/22 Global Dance Festival – 3PM-11PM $99/Day All Ages EDM, Art Installations, Circus Performers, Silent Disco. Performers Include Kaskade, Deadmau5, Loud Luxury, Surf Mesa, Troyboi, Zedd and Many More! Empower Field. 1701 Bryant St, Denver, CO 80204
• 07/28-07/30 Underground Music Showcase - 3PM-12AM $120 Weekend Pass *Independent Music of Various Genres - Broadway // 6th Ave to Alameda, 21 S Broadway, Denver, CO 80209
• 08/25-08/27 Meow Wolf Vortex Music and Art Festival - 2:30PM-?? $60-$100 / Day, -$229 Weekend Pass Electronic Music Festival Feat. Griz, Armani White, BLOND:ISH and many more The Junkyard, 2323 W. Mulberry Place, Denver, CO 80204
• 08/12 Ghost Canyon Fest – 6PM-12AM $50 21+ Noise, Punk, and Post Punk Bands Hi Dive, 7 S Broadway, Denver, CO 80223
• 09/09 Sunnyside Music Festival – 12PM-7:15PM FREE All Ages Local Bands, Food, Vendos Chaffe Park near 2001 W 44th Ave, Denver, CO 80211
• 09/16 Viva Southwest Mariachi Fest – 4:30PM-10PM FREE All Ages Mariachi Bands, Food, Vendos Levitt Pavilion, 1380 W Florida Ave, Denver, CO 80223
• 06/09-06/11 ayA Con - F 4PM-7PM; Sa 10AM-6PM; Su 10AM-5PM $15-$30 All Ages Indigenous Comics, Art, Fashion, Performance, Film, and Music McNichols Civic Center Building, 144 W Colfax Ave, Aver, CO 80202
• 06/09-06/11 Denver Greek Festival - F 11AM-11PM; Sa 11AM-12AM; Su 11AM-7PM FREE All Ages Celebration of Greek Heritage with Food, Music, Vendors, and Art Assumption of the Theotokos Greek Orthodox Cathedral, 4610 E Alameda Ave, Denver, CO 80246
• 06/17-06/18 Juneteenth Festival - 12PM-8PM FREE All Ages Celebration of Black Culture and Liberation with a Parade, Live Music, Vendors Five Points, Denver
• 06/17-06/18 Cherry Blossom Festival - 5k Sa 8AM; Parade Sa 9:30AM FREE All Ages Celebration of Japanese Heritage with Taiko Drumming, Teriyaki Chicken, Sake, Japanese Art Sakura Square, Denver
• 06/24-06/25 Denver Pridefest - Sa 11AM-6PM; Su 11AM-4PM FREE All Ages Celebration of LGBTQ+ Culture with 5k Run, Parade, Venors, Concerts, Drag Events Civic Center Park, 101 W 14th Ave, Denver, CO 80202 (Parade Starts at Cheeseman Park)
• 07/07 -07/09 Colorado Black Arts Festival - F 1PM-8PM; Sa 11AM-8PM; Su 11AM-7PM FREE All Ages * Celebration of Black Culture with Performances, Visual Art, Scavenger Hunts, Food, Parade, Vendors* City Park, 2001 Colorado Blvd, Denver, CO 80205
• 07/15-07/16 Mile High Global Bazaar - 11AM-7PM FREE All Ages Cultural Exhibits and Vendors from around the World Skyline Park, Denver, CO 80202
• 07/22-07/23 Colorado Dragon Boat Festival – Races Start 8AM; Festival Sa 10AM-7PM. Su 10AM-5PM FREE All Ages *Dragon Boat Races, Food, Vendors, Performances – FREE – Sloan's Lake Park W Bryon Pl, Denver, CO 80212
• 05/14, 06/04, 07/09 A Taste of Colorado 10AM-6PM Free All Ages Live Music, 6 Food Trucks, Drinks, Live Music, Kids Activities, Vendors Civic Center Park, 101 W 14th Ave, Denver, CO 80202
• 05/27-05/28 BBQ Fest 11AM-8PM $35 Under 20; $109 Adult All Ages * All You Can Eat BBQ, All You Can Drink, Cooking Demos, Live Music* Empower Field at Mile High, 1701 Bryant St, Denver, CO, 80204
• 05/27 Taste Around the World! Spring Wine Event - 3PM-6:30PM $90 All Ages * Tastings for 25 Bottles of Wine with Help From Wine Experts* Ironton Distillery (RiNo) - 3636 Chestnut Pl, Denver, CO 80216
• 07/20 The Big Eat - 6PM-9PM $85 21+ 50+ Restaurants All You Can Eat, Live Music* Denver Performing Arts Complex, 1400 Curtis St, Denver, CO 80204
• 07/22 - Summer Brewfest - 1PM-10PM $55 Advance, $60 Day of Only Allowed Half of Time) 21+ *Unlimited Tastings of Local Beer Brews Mile High Station, 2027 West Colfax Avenue, Denver Co 80204
• 08/03 Denver Burger Battle - Price TBA 21+ 20+ Restaurants Best Burger Competition; Unlimited Drinks and Burgers* Tivoli Quad, 1000 Larimer St, Denver CO 80204?
• 08/19 Sloan’s Lake Beer Fest - $5 DD, $35 if Drinking 21+ 1970s Themed Beer Tasting with Live Music* 1610 Raleigh Street Denver, CO 80204
• 08/26 Denver Summer Whiskey Tasting Festival - 2:30PM-6PM $45 21+ Tasting of 20+ Whiskey, Tasting Lessons, Live Music, Food Location TBA
• 09/06-09/09 Denver Food and Wine Festivals 11AM-8PM $60-$95 21+ * Food and Wine Showcase, Tastings, Seminars, Cocktail Competition* Tivoli Quad on the Auraria Campus, 1000 Larimer St, Denver
• 05/05, 06/02, 07/07, 08/04, 09/01 RiNo First Friday Art Walks - 5:30PM-9PM FREE All Ages Art,Vendors Larimer St // Broadway to Downing
• 05/05, 06/02, 07/07, 08/04, 09/01 Dairy Block First Friday Art Walks - 5PM-9PM FREE All Ages Art, Vendors 1800 Wazee St, Denver, CO 80202
• 05/05, 06/02, 07/07, 08/04, 09/01 Lakewood First Friday Art Walks - 6PM-9PM FREE All Ages Galleries, Drinks, Music 6501 W Colfax Ave, Lakewood, CO 80214
• 05/20-05/21 Spring Bazaar - 12PM-6PM FREE All Ages 80+ Vendors, Live DJ, Food Hall Outside Zeppelin Station, 3501 Wazee St #100, Denver, CO 80216
• 05/27-05/28 Denver Arts Festival - Sa 10AM-6PM, Su 10AM-5PM FREE All Ages Local Art Conservatory Green, Central Park, 8304 E. 49th Pl. Denver 80216
• 06/08-06/11 Denver Fringe Festival - Hours Vary $15 (Some FREE Street Performances) All Ages 55+ Shows of Performance Art, Plays, Comedy, Improv, Cabaret, Magic, Dance, Aerial, Immersive Experiences, & More Across 12 Venues RiNo and Five Points Denver
• 06/10-06/11 Denver Chalk Art Festival - Sa 10AM-10PM; Su 10AM-8PM FREE All Ages Chalk Art on the Street 123 W. 12th Avenue, Denver, CO 80204
• 07/01-07/03 Cherry Creek Arts Festival Sa-Su 10AM-8PM; M 10AM-6PM FREE All Ages Art Vendors Cherry Creek North, 2401 E 2nd Ave #150, Denver, CO 80206
• 07/22-07/23 Cheeseman Park Art Festival – 9AM-5PM FREE All Ages 150+ Artists, Live Music, Food & Drinks Cheeseman Park, 1599 East 8th Avenue, Denver CO 80218
• 05/14, 05/22, 06/11, 06/25; 07/09, 07/23, 08/13, 08/27 Thrift Pop – 12PM-5PM FREE All Ages Vintage Clothing, Thrifting, Collectibles Denver Central Market 2669 Larimer St, Denver CO
• 05/20 Rocky Mountain Tree Festival – 12PM-6PM FREE All Ages Live Music, Art Vendors; All Funds Go to Planting Trees New Terrain Brewing Co, 16401 Table Mountain Pkwy, Golden, CO
• 05/12; 06/04; 07/09; 08/06 !Viva! Streets – 8AM-2PM FREE 3.5 Miles of Car Free Streets; Food; Crafts Broadway, Denver From Alameda to 20th
• 06/10-06/11 Unicorn Festival – 10AM-5PM $25 All Things Fairy and Unicorn Including the Unicorns Themselves Clement Park, 7306 W Bowles Ave, Littleton, CO 80123
• 06/10-06/11 Big Gear Show – Sa 10AM-6PM; Su 10AM-4PM FREE Outdoor Goods Consumer Show Colorado Convention Center, 700 14th St, Denver, CO 80202
• 06/30-07/02 Fan Expo – F 4PM-9PM; Sa 10AM-7PM; Su 10AM-5PM $38-$58 / Day; $90 3-Day Pass All Ages Convention for Fans of Comics, Sci F, Horror, Anime, Gaming Colorado Convention Center, 700 14th St, Denver, CO 80202
• 07/15-07/16 Lavender Festival – 9AM-5PM $13 Adults, $11 Seniors, $9 Children All Ages Lavender Fields, Artists, Live Music, Demonstrationsof Dye Garden and Blacksmith ShopDenver Botanic Gardens - Chatfield Farms, 8500 W Deer Creek Canyon Road, Littleton, CO 80128
Free Outdoor Concerts
Concert Lists (by Genre, Search, Etc)
Splash Parks
Theatres Without Current Shows That You Should Still Keep an Eye On
• The Source Theatre Company Local Performing Arts Theatre 721 Santa Fe Dr, Denver, CO 80204
• Lone Tree Arts Center Contemporary Center Which Hosts Plays, Concerts, and Events 10075 Commons St, Lone Tree, CO 80124
• Cherry Creek Theatre Performance Art Center 350 S Dahlia St, Denver, CO 80246
• 07/05-08/13 Cirque du Soleil: Kooza - 7:30PM $54- $64 All Ages Circus and Gymnastics Show Ball Arena, 1000 Chopper Circle, Denver, CO 80202
• 07/06-07/08 Colorado Burlesque Festival - 7PM-10PM $25- $35 / Day, $75 / Weekend 18+ Burlesque, Drag, Aerial, & Variet Performance Reelworks, 1399 35th St, Denver, CO
• 07/02 -07/31– Central City Opera’s 2022 Festival – (Opera and Theatre) – Central City Opera House
• Eat Around the World in Denver Join us over at /denverfood where we're trying to make a list of restaurants that represent each of the world's countries all in the larger Denver area!
• Mile High on the Cheap
• 303 Magazine Events Calendar
• Colorado.com Events Schedule
• Denver-Co Events
• Vesta Events
• AllEvents
• Metro Denver
• Dairy Block Event Calendar 1800 Wazee St, Denver, CO 80202
submitted by DannyLumpy to Denver [link] [comments]
DOUBLE CHECK BEFORE YOU GO. THIS LIST MAY NOT BE UP TO DATE
Music Festivals
• Saturdays 05/27-09/02 Swingin Under the Stars - 7:30PM-10PM FREE All Ages Swing Dancing, Lessons, Ice Cream, Live Music Little Man Ice Cream, 2620 16th Street Denver, CO 80211• 06/03 Denver Day of Rock - 1:15PM-9:30PM FREE All Ages 15 Bands, 3 Stages; Mainly Rock; Food Trucks LODO Denver
• 06/07 Holiday Theater Music and Poetry Showcase - 7PM FREE All Ages Guitar, Low-Rock, Spoken Word, Poetry, Jazz MCA Denver at the Holiday Theater 2644 West 32nd Avenue Denver, CO 80211
• 06/10 Five Points Jazz Festival - 12PM-8PM FREE All Ages 140+ Jazz Performances Five Points, Denver
• 06/17 First Harvest Music Vestival - 4PM-8PM $10 12 and Below; $35 1+ All Ages Various Musicans Including the Flobots, The Snakes, and Brothers of Brass; Foodtrucks, To Show Solidarity for Refugees DeLaney Community Farm 170 South Chambers Road Aurora, CO 80017
• 07/14-07/16 Compost Heap Music Festival - Times TBA FREE (Suggested Donations) Underground Music of Various Genres Seventh Circle Music Collective, 2935 W 7th Ave, Denver CO
• 07/15 Blues & BBQ Festival – 10AM-6PM $10 All Ages Live Blues Music and BBQ Citizen’s Park, 5560 W 24th Ave, Edgewater, CO 80214
• 07/21-07/22 Global Dance Festival – 3PM-11PM $99/Day All Ages EDM, Art Installations, Circus Performers, Silent Disco. Performers Include Kaskade, Deadmau5, Loud Luxury, Surf Mesa, Troyboi, Zedd and Many More! Empower Field. 1701 Bryant St, Denver, CO 80204
• 07/28-07/30 Underground Music Showcase - 3PM-12AM $120 Weekend Pass *Independent Music of Various Genres - Broadway // 6th Ave to Alameda, 21 S Broadway, Denver, CO 80209
• 08/25-08/27 Meow Wolf Vortex Music and Art Festival - 2:30PM-?? $60-$100 / Day, -$229 Weekend Pass Electronic Music Festival Feat. Griz, Armani White, BLOND:ISH and many more The Junkyard, 2323 W. Mulberry Place, Denver, CO 80204
• 08/12 Ghost Canyon Fest – 6PM-12AM $50 21+ Noise, Punk, and Post Punk Bands Hi Dive, 7 S Broadway, Denver, CO 80223
• 09/09 Sunnyside Music Festival – 12PM-7:15PM FREE All Ages Local Bands, Food, Vendos Chaffe Park near 2001 W 44th Ave, Denver, CO 80211
• 09/16 Viva Southwest Mariachi Fest – 4:30PM-10PM FREE All Ages Mariachi Bands, Food, Vendos Levitt Pavilion, 1380 W Florida Ave, Denver, CO 80223
Culture Festivals
• 06/02 Chrom - 5PM-10PM FREE All Ages A Pride Queer Art Showcase and Vendor Market, Live DJ Skylight, 833 Santa Fe Drive, Denver, United States• 06/09-06/11 ayA Con - F 4PM-7PM; Sa 10AM-6PM; Su 10AM-5PM $15-$30 All Ages Indigenous Comics, Art, Fashion, Performance, Film, and Music McNichols Civic Center Building, 144 W Colfax Ave, Aver, CO 80202
• 06/09-06/11 Denver Greek Festival - F 11AM-11PM; Sa 11AM-12AM; Su 11AM-7PM FREE All Ages Celebration of Greek Heritage with Food, Music, Vendors, and Art Assumption of the Theotokos Greek Orthodox Cathedral, 4610 E Alameda Ave, Denver, CO 80246
• 06/17-06/18 Juneteenth Festival - 12PM-8PM FREE All Ages Celebration of Black Culture and Liberation with a Parade, Live Music, Vendors Five Points, Denver
• 06/17-06/18 Cherry Blossom Festival - 5k Sa 8AM; Parade Sa 9:30AM FREE All Ages Celebration of Japanese Heritage with Taiko Drumming, Teriyaki Chicken, Sake, Japanese Art Sakura Square, Denver
• 06/24-06/25 Denver Pridefest - Sa 11AM-6PM; Su 11AM-4PM FREE All Ages Celebration of LGBTQ+ Culture with 5k Run, Parade, Venors, Concerts, Drag Events Civic Center Park, 101 W 14th Ave, Denver, CO 80202 (Parade Starts at Cheeseman Park)
• 07/07 -07/09 Colorado Black Arts Festival - F 1PM-8PM; Sa 11AM-8PM; Su 11AM-7PM FREE All Ages * Celebration of Black Culture with Performances, Visual Art, Scavenger Hunts, Food, Parade, Vendors* City Park, 2001 Colorado Blvd, Denver, CO 80205
• 07/15-07/16 Mile High Global Bazaar - 11AM-7PM FREE All Ages Cultural Exhibits and Vendors from around the World Skyline Park, Denver, CO 80202
• 07/22-07/23 Colorado Dragon Boat Festival – Races Start 8AM; Festival Sa 10AM-7PM. Su 10AM-5PM FREE All Ages *Dragon Boat Races, Food, Vendors, Performances – FREE – Sloan's Lake Park W Bryon Pl, Denver, CO 80212
Food / Drink Festivals
• W-Th 05/15-09/?? Civic Center Eats - 11AM-7PM Free All Ages 10-20 Food Trucks of Various Cuisines Civic Center Park, 101 W 14th Ave, Denver, CO 80202• 05/14, 06/04, 07/09 A Taste of Colorado 10AM-6PM Free All Ages Live Music, 6 Food Trucks, Drinks, Live Music, Kids Activities, Vendors Civic Center Park, 101 W 14th Ave, Denver, CO 80202
• 05/27-05/28 BBQ Fest 11AM-8PM $35 Under 20; $109 Adult All Ages * All You Can Eat BBQ, All You Can Drink, Cooking Demos, Live Music* Empower Field at Mile High, 1701 Bryant St, Denver, CO, 80204
• 05/27 Taste Around the World! Spring Wine Event - 3PM-6:30PM $90 All Ages * Tastings for 25 Bottles of Wine with Help From Wine Experts* Ironton Distillery (RiNo) - 3636 Chestnut Pl, Denver, CO 80216
• 07/20 The Big Eat - 6PM-9PM $85 21+ 50+ Restaurants All You Can Eat, Live Music* Denver Performing Arts Complex, 1400 Curtis St, Denver, CO 80204
• 07/22 - Summer Brewfest - 1PM-10PM $55 Advance, $60 Day of Only Allowed Half of Time) 21+ *Unlimited Tastings of Local Beer Brews Mile High Station, 2027 West Colfax Avenue, Denver Co 80204
• 08/03 Denver Burger Battle - Price TBA 21+ 20+ Restaurants Best Burger Competition; Unlimited Drinks and Burgers* Tivoli Quad, 1000 Larimer St, Denver CO 80204?
• 08/19 Sloan’s Lake Beer Fest - $5 DD, $35 if Drinking 21+ 1970s Themed Beer Tasting with Live Music* 1610 Raleigh Street Denver, CO 80204
• 08/26 Denver Summer Whiskey Tasting Festival - 2:30PM-6PM $45 21+ Tasting of 20+ Whiskey, Tasting Lessons, Live Music, Food Location TBA
• 09/06-09/09 Denver Food and Wine Festivals 11AM-8PM $60-$95 21+ * Food and Wine Showcase, Tastings, Seminars, Cocktail Competition* Tivoli Quad on the Auraria Campus, 1000 Larimer St, Denver
Art / Crafts / Shopping Festival
• 05/05, 06/02, 07/07, 08/04, 09/01 Sante Fe First Friday Art Walks - 5:30PM-9PM FREE All Ages Galleries , Vendors, Food Trucks, Music Sante Fe // 5th Ave to 11th Ave, Denver, CO 80204• 05/05, 06/02, 07/07, 08/04, 09/01 RiNo First Friday Art Walks - 5:30PM-9PM FREE All Ages Art,Vendors Larimer St // Broadway to Downing
• 05/05, 06/02, 07/07, 08/04, 09/01 Dairy Block First Friday Art Walks - 5PM-9PM FREE All Ages Art, Vendors 1800 Wazee St, Denver, CO 80202
• 05/05, 06/02, 07/07, 08/04, 09/01 Lakewood First Friday Art Walks - 6PM-9PM FREE All Ages Galleries, Drinks, Music 6501 W Colfax Ave, Lakewood, CO 80214
• 05/20-05/21 Spring Bazaar - 12PM-6PM FREE All Ages 80+ Vendors, Live DJ, Food Hall Outside Zeppelin Station, 3501 Wazee St #100, Denver, CO 80216
• 05/27-05/28 Denver Arts Festival - Sa 10AM-6PM, Su 10AM-5PM FREE All Ages Local Art Conservatory Green, Central Park, 8304 E. 49th Pl. Denver 80216
• 06/08-06/11 Denver Fringe Festival - Hours Vary $15 (Some FREE Street Performances) All Ages 55+ Shows of Performance Art, Plays, Comedy, Improv, Cabaret, Magic, Dance, Aerial, Immersive Experiences, & More Across 12 Venues RiNo and Five Points Denver
• 06/10-06/11 Denver Chalk Art Festival - Sa 10AM-10PM; Su 10AM-8PM FREE All Ages Chalk Art on the Street 123 W. 12th Avenue, Denver, CO 80204
• 07/01-07/03 Cherry Creek Arts Festival Sa-Su 10AM-8PM; M 10AM-6PM FREE All Ages Art Vendors Cherry Creek North, 2401 E 2nd Ave #150, Denver, CO 80206
• 07/22-07/23 Cheeseman Park Art Festival – 9AM-5PM FREE All Ages 150+ Artists, Live Music, Food & Drinks Cheeseman Park, 1599 East 8th Avenue, Denver CO 80218
• 05/14, 05/22, 06/11, 06/25; 07/09, 07/23, 08/13, 08/27 Thrift Pop – 12PM-5PM FREE All Ages Vintage Clothing, Thrifting, Collectibles Denver Central Market 2669 Larimer St, Denver CO
Other Festivals
• 05/18-05/21 Somebody’s Friend Movement and Music Festival – Times Vary FREE All Ages Dance and Live Music Festival Denver Central Market 2669 Larimer St, Denver CO• 05/20 Rocky Mountain Tree Festival – 12PM-6PM FREE All Ages Live Music, Art Vendors; All Funds Go to Planting Trees New Terrain Brewing Co, 16401 Table Mountain Pkwy, Golden, CO
• 05/12; 06/04; 07/09; 08/06 !Viva! Streets – 8AM-2PM FREE 3.5 Miles of Car Free Streets; Food; Crafts Broadway, Denver From Alameda to 20th
• 06/10-06/11 Unicorn Festival – 10AM-5PM $25 All Things Fairy and Unicorn Including the Unicorns Themselves Clement Park, 7306 W Bowles Ave, Littleton, CO 80123
• 06/10-06/11 Big Gear Show – Sa 10AM-6PM; Su 10AM-4PM FREE Outdoor Goods Consumer Show Colorado Convention Center, 700 14th St, Denver, CO 80202
• 06/30-07/02 Fan Expo – F 4PM-9PM; Sa 10AM-7PM; Su 10AM-5PM $38-$58 / Day; $90 3-Day Pass All Ages Convention for Fans of Comics, Sci F, Horror, Anime, Gaming Colorado Convention Center, 700 14th St, Denver, CO 80202
• 07/15-07/16 Lavender Festival – 9AM-5PM $13 Adults, $11 Seniors, $9 Children All Ages Lavender Fields, Artists, Live Music, Demonstrationsof Dye Garden and Blacksmith ShopDenver Botanic Gardens - Chatfield Farms, 8500 W Deer Creek Canyon Road, Littleton, CO 80128
Farmers Markets
Sundays- Sundays 05/07-11/12 South Pearl Street – 9AM-1PM 1527 S Pearl St, Denver, CO 80210
- Sundays 06/25-10/08 Central Park – 8:30AM-12:30 PM South Green 7601 29th Ave, Denver, CO 80238
- Sundays 04/07-10/29 Metro Denver Famers Market - Highlands Ranch – 10AM-2PM 9288 Dorchester St, Highlands Ranch, CO 80126
- Sundays 06/04-09/24 Arvada Farmer’s Market – 9AM-1:30PM Olde Town Square, 5702 Olde Wadsworth Blvd. Arvada, CO 80002
- Sundays 05/21-10/15 HighlandsSquare – 9AM-1PM 3600 W 32nd Ave, Denver, CO 80211
- Sundays 05/14-10/29 Parker – 8AM-1PM – 19565 Mainstreet, Parker, CO 80138
- Sundays 05/28-10/15 Festival Park – 9AM-2PM – 300 2nd St, Castle Rock, CO 80104
- Sundays 06/04-09/24 People + Produce – (Food Trucks Beer Garden Live Music) - 9AM-1PM – 4190 S Newport St, Denver, CO 80237
- Second Sundays May-Aug Stanley Summer Series Farmer’s Market - 1PM-6PM Stanley Marketplace, 2501 Dallas St, Aurora, CO 80010
- Tuesdays 05/30-09/26 Evergreene – 10AM-2PM 1036 El Rancho Road, Evergreen, CO 80439
- Wednesdays 06/07-08/30 Green Valley Ranch – 5PM-8PM Green Valley Ranch Town Center Park, 4890 Argonne St., Denver, CO 80249
- Wednesdays 06/14-08/16 Cherry Creek – 9AM-1PM Cherry Creek Shopping Center, 3000 E 1st Ave, Denver, CO 80206
- Wednesdays 06/14-09/27[Littleton]((https://www.denverfarmersmarket.com/) – 10AM-2PM 7301 S Santa Fe Dr, Littleton, CO 80120
- **Thursdays 05/11-09/3140 - Real Farmers Market - Erie – 5PM-8PM – Briggs Street // Wells and Moffatt, Erie 80516
- Saturday 05/06-11/04 Cherry Creek Fresh Market – 9AM-2PM Cherry Creek Shopping Center, 3000 E 1st Ave, Denver, CO 80206
- Saturdays 05/13-10/28 University Hills – 9AM-1PM – 2500 S Colorado Blvd, Denver, CO 80222
- Saturdays 06/10-09/30 [Lakewood]((https://www.denverfarmersmarket.com/) – 10AM-2PM Mile Hi Church. 9077 W Alameda Ave, Denver, CO 80226
- Saturdays 04/06-10/28 Southwest Plaza – 8AM-2PM 8501 W Bowles Ave, Littleton, CO 80123
- Saturdays 05/13-09/30* Southland – 8AM-1PM – 6155 S Main St, Aurora, CO 80016
- Saturdays 06/03-09/16 Union Station – 9AM-1PM 1701 Wynkoop, Denver, CO 80202
- Saturdays 5/13-10/28 City Park – 8AM-1PM 2551 E Colfax Ave, Denver, CO 80206
- Saturdays 06/03-10/07 Golden 8AM-1PM 1019 10th St, Golden, CO 80401
- Saturdays 5/13-10/14 Real Farmer’s Market - Louisville – 9AM-1PM 824 Front Street, Louisville, CO 80027
- 1st and 3rd Saturdays 5/13-10/21 Rebels in the Garden - 9PM-1PM Activist Group Rebel Marketplace, S Del Mar Circle, Aurora, CO, USA
Concerts
LIST OF ALMOST ALL CONCERTS AND LIVE MUSIC IN DENVER SUMMER 2023Free Outdoor Concerts
- Sundays 06/04-08/06 City Park Jazz - 6PM-8PM FREE All Ages Jazz, Blues, Brass, and More City Park Pavilion, Denver
- Dates Vary 05/19-09/29Levitt Pavilion Free Concerts Series - Times Vary FREE All Ages Free Concerts, Various Genres Levitt Pavilion, 1380 W Florida Ave, Denver, CO 80223
- Central Park Concert Schedule - 6PM or 6:30 PM FREE All Ages Central Park, Denver
- Green Valley Ranch Sunday Concerts in the Park - 4PM-6:30PM FREE All Ages Green Valley Ranch Town Center Park, 5050 Argonne St, Denver, CO 80249
- Downtown Lakewood Summer Concert Series - 6PM-8PM FREE All Ages Belmar Shopping Center, Downtown Lakewood, 7337 W Alaska Dr, Lakewood, CO 80226
- Orchard Town Center Til’ Dark 3rd Friday’s Concert Series - 6:30PM-8:30PM FREE All Ages The Orchard Town Center, 14697 Delaware St, Westminster, CO 80023
- Highlands Ranch Community Association Summer Concert Series - 6:30PM-8:00PM FREE All Ages Highland Heritage Regional Park, 9651 S Quebec, Highlands Ranch, CO 80129
- Red Rocks Event Schedule 303-319 CO-8, Morrison, CO 80465
- Empower Field Event Schedule 1701 Bryant St, Denver, CO 80204
- Fiddler’s Green Event Schedule 6350 Greenwood Plaza Blvd, Greenwood Village, CO 80111
- Denver Botanical Gardens Music at the Gardens Schedule Denver Botanic Gardens, 1007 York St, Denver, CO 80206
- Evenings El Pastor at the Denver Botanic Gardens Small Ensembles Hidden Throughout the Gardens Denver Botanic Gardens, 1007 York St, Denver, CO 80206
- Civic Center Park Concert Schedule Civic Center Park, 101 W 14th Ave, Denver, CO 80202
- Dick’s Sporting Goods Park Concert Schedule Dick’s Sporting Goods Park, 6000 Victory Way, Commerce City, CO 80022
- Arvada Center Outdoor Amphitheater & Front Porch Concerts Arvada Center for the Arts and Humanities, 6901 Wadsworth Blvd, Arvada, CO 80003
- Shady Grove Concert Series at Four Mile Historic Park - 6:30PM $15 Four Mile Historic Park, 715 S Forest St, Denver, CO 80246
- Mile High Music Series - 6:30PM-10PM Ticket Comes with 1 Free Frink Four Mile Historic Park, 715 S Forest St, Denver, CO 80246
Concert Lists (by Genre, Search, Etc)
Parks / Nature
National Parks- Rocky Mountain National Park $15-$35; $70 Annual; $80 Interagency All Ages 415 Square Miles of Mountain Environments FREE DAYS: 08/04, 09/24, 11/11
- Mesa Verde National Park $15-$30; $55 Annual; $80 Interagency World Heritage Site of Pueblo Ruins FREE DAYS: 08/04, 09/24, 11/11
- Great Sand Dunes National Park $25; $40 Annual; $80 INteragencyFREE DAYS: 08/04, 09/24, 11/11
- Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park $15-$30; $55 Annual; $80 Interagency FREE DAYS: 08/04, 09/24, 11/11
- Barr Lake
- Cheyenne Mountain
- Crawford
- Eleven Mile
- Jackson Lake
- John Martin
- Lake Pueblo
- Mancos
- Ridgway
- St. Vrain
- Staunton
- Steamboat Lake
- Trinidad Lake
- City Park Lake, Science Museum, Zoo, Golf 17th and York, Denver, CO
- Skyline Park * Beer Garden, Ice Skating Rink in Winter* 16th and Arapaho, Denver, CO
- Civic Center Park * Lots of Festivals, Art Museum, Library, Government Buildings* 101 W 14th Ave Pkwy, Denver, CO, 80203
- Confluence Park Aquarium, Children’s Museum, Elitch Gardens, S Platte River 2250 15th St, Denver, CO
- Centennial Flower Gardens Gardens, S Platte River, Elitch Gardens 1101 Little Raven St, Denver, CO
- Commons Park S Platte River, Sand Prairie 17th and York, Denver, CO
- Sloans Lake Park Lake, Festival 1700 Sheridan Blvd, Denver, CO
- Washington Park Lakes, Boat Rentals, Gardens, Playgrounds, Sports, Tennis Courts, Soccer Field Virginia Ave and Downing St, Denver, CO
- Cheeseman Park Paths, Playgrounds 1599 E 8th St, Denver, CO
- Bear Creek Park 2,600 Acres, Hiking, Biking, Horseback Riding, Swim Beach, Boat Rentals 15600 W Morrison Rd, Lakewood, CO
- Paco Sanchez Park Hilly expanse with unique playgrounds 1290 Knox Court, 3240 W 14th Ave, Denver, CO 80204
- Ruby Hill Bike Park 7 Acre Park for Bike Riders with Ramps and Tracks W Jewell Ave, Denver, CO 80223
- Smaller / More Distant City Parks include: Berkeley Lake Park, Rocky Mountain Lake Park. McDonough Park, City of Cuernavaca Park, Benedict Fountain (Triangle) Park AND MANY MORE…
- Day Hikes Near Denver Great List with Many Categories to Sort From
- Top 10 Day Hikes Near Denver * Made by guides at Day Hikes Near Denver .com*
Water Activities
Beaches- Cherry Creek State Park Swim Beach Smoky Hill Trail, Aurora, CO 80015
- Aurora Reservoir Swimming Beach S Powhaton Rd, Aurora, CO 80016
- Aurora Reservoir SCUBA Beach E Reservoir Dam Rd, Aurora, CO 80016
- Platte River Highlands Bridge and Swimming in Confluence Park 2250 15th St, Denver, CO 80202
- Soda Lake Beach in Bear Creek Lake Park Near 15600 W Morrison Rd, Lakewood, CO 80228
- Chatfield Park Swim Beach Near Perimeter Rd, Littleton, CO 80128
Splash Parks
- List of Splash Parks in the Denver Metro Area May be out of date
- List of Water Parks in the Denver Metro Area May be out of date
- 05/29-09/04 Island Kingdom Waterpark at Elitch Gardens - Varies between 9AM and 8:30PM (Closes at Dusk) $50/Day, $75/Season All Ages Water Park with Thrill Slides, Family Slides, Wave Pool, and Lazy River; Attached to Theme Park (No extra cost) 2000 Elitch Cir, Denver, CO 80204
- 05/26-09/04 Water World - Varies between 9AM and 6PM $28-$55 Adults, $24-$45 Children All Ages Water Park with Thrill Slides, Family Slides, Wave Pool, Lazy River, and Surf Wave 8801 N Pecos St, Federal Heights, CO 80260
- 05/27-08/13 The Splash at Fossil Trace - 10AM-5:30PM Park; 10AM-5PM Pools $12.50 Day Pass, $194 Season Pass All Ages Pools and Water Slides 3151 Illinois St, Golden, CO 80401
- 05/27-09/04 Pirate’s Cove - 10AM-5:30PM $18 Day Pass; $120 Season Pass All Ages Pools and Water Slides 1225 W Belleview Ave, Littleton, CO 80120
Amusement
Theme Parks / Roller Coasters- Year Round, Dates Vary Elitch Gardens - Varies between 9AM and 9PM $50/Day, $75/Season All Ages Theme Park and Water Park 2000 Elitch Cir, Denver, CO 80204
- 05/13-09/10 Lakeside Amusement Park - Varies between 1PM and 11:30PM $30 All Ages Theme Park Built in 1908 4601 Sheridan Boulevard, Lakeside, CO 80212
- Saturdays & Sundays, 06/17-08/06 Colorado Renaissance Festival - 10:30AM-6:30PM $28 Adult, $12 Child All Ages Renaissance Themed Food, Drink, And Entertainment including Comedy, Sword Swallowing, Fire Breathing, Music, Jousting, and More 650 Perry Park Ave, Larkspur, CO 80118
Outdoor Movies
Local Projections- Denver.org List Mostly not announced yet List of Outdoor Movie Showings in Denver Including: Avanti, Town Center Park Auditorium, Ironton Distillery & Crafthouse, Elitch Gardens (in the Wave Pool), South Green in Central Park
- Denver.org List Mostly not announced yet List of Outdoor Movie Showings Near Denver Including: Red Rocks, Stanley Marketplace, Parfet Park in Golden, Parks Across Westminster, Backcountry Base Camp in Littleton, Memorial Park in Northglenn, Infinity Park in Glendale, Citizen Park in and Edgewater
- 88 Drive In - 7PM $12 Double Features Drive in Theatre, Film Schedule 5 Days in Advance 8780 Rosemary Street, Commerce City, CO 80022
Theatre / Opera / Symphony Shows
• Denver Center for the Performing Arts Big Performing Arts Complex with Several Auditoriums for Plays, Concerts, Symphonies, Shows, and More 1350 Curtis Street, Denver, CO 80202- 04/14-06/18 The 39 Steps- Singleton Theatre
- 05/31-06/04 Riverdance - Buell Theatre
- 06/13-06/18 Aladdin - Buell Theatre
- 06/21-07/02 Book of Mormon - Buell Theatre
- 08/16-08/19 Jagged Little Pill - Buell Theatre
- 09/01-10/08 A Little Night Music - Wolf Theatre
- 09/15-09/17 Beetlejuice - Buell Theatre
- 05/19-06/11 The Oldest Boy
- 05/27-06/24 Robin Hood
- 05/02-05/27 Bootlegger’s Murder
- 05/13-05/31 A Dark and Stormy Murder
- 06/02-08/03 Mystery in Pirate’s Cove
- 06/02-08/05 Murder on Pirate’s Island
- 08/10- 09/16 An Artful Murder
- 09/22-09/30 They Came From Below
- ** 09/08-10/15** Beautiful: The Carol King Musical
- 06/02-07/09 Driving Miss Daisy
- 07/22-07/30 In the Heights
- 06/03-07/01 A Mexican Trilogy: Charty
- 05/18-06/15 Cullud Wattah
Theatres Without Current Shows That You Should Still Keep an Eye On
• The Source Theatre Company Local Performing Arts Theatre 721 Santa Fe Dr, Denver, CO 80204
• Lone Tree Arts Center Contemporary Center Which Hosts Plays, Concerts, and Events 10075 Commons St, Lone Tree, CO 80124
• Cherry Creek Theatre Performance Art Center 350 S Dahlia St, Denver, CO 80246
Dance / Performance Art / Burlesque / Etc
• 05/18-06/04 Strange Natures - TH-Su 7PM $20 Immersive Dance Theatre Show 1801 Brentwood St., Lakewood, CO 80214• 07/05-08/13 Cirque du Soleil: Kooza - 7:30PM $54- $64 All Ages Circus and Gymnastics Show Ball Arena, 1000 Chopper Circle, Denver, CO 80202
• 07/06-07/08 Colorado Burlesque Festival - 7PM-10PM $25- $35 / Day, $75 / Weekend 18+ Burlesque, Drag, Aerial, & Variet Performance Reelworks, 1399 35th St, Denver, CO
• 07/02 -07/31– Central City Opera’s 2022 Festival – (Opera and Theatre) – Central City Opera House
Museums / Exhibits / Gardens
Art- Denver Art Museum - 10AM-5PM $12-$19 ALL AGES Daily 10AM-5PM General Art Museum 100 W. 14th Avenue Pkwy Denver, CO 80204 - FREE DAYS: 05/09, 05/14, 06/13, 07/11, 07/30, 09/09, 09/12, 10/10, 11/04, 11/14, 12/12)
- Museum of Contemporary Art Denver - T-F 12PM-7PM; Sa-Su 10AM-5PM $7-$10 All Ages Contemporary and Modern Art 1485 Delgany St Denver, CO 80202 - FREE DAYS: 06/03, 07/01, 08/05, 09/02, 10/07, 11/04, 12/02
- Meow Wolf - Su-Th 10AM-10PM; F-Sa 10AM-12AM $40-$55 ALL AGES Psychedelic Immersive Alien Art Experience 1338 1st St, Denver, CO 80204
- Spectra Art Space: Spookadelia - 11AM-9/10PM $12-$30 ALL AGES * Psychedelic, Immersive Local Art Experience* 1842 S Broadway Denver, CO 80210
- Clyfford Still Museum - 10AM-5PM $6-$10 ALL AGES Art by the Artist Clyfford Still 1250 Bannock St Denver, CO 80204 - FREE DAYS: 05/31, 06/25, 07/23, 08/18, 09/06, 10/05, 11/04, 12/03
- Museo de las Americas - 12PM-5/6PM $5-$8 ALL AGES Latin American Art 861 Santa Fe Dr, CO 80204 - FREE DAYS: 06/02, 07/07, 08/04, 09/01, 10/06, 11/03, 12/01
- American Museum of Western Art 10AM-4:30PM $5 All Ages Art Depicting the American West from 1800s to Present 1727 Tremont Place, Denver, CO 80202
- Kirkland Museum of Fine and Decorative Art- T-Sa 11AM-5PM; Su12PM-5PM $10-$12 All Ages Fine and Decorative Art 1201 Bannock St Denver, CO 80204
- History Colorado Center - 10AM-5PM $14 ALL AGES General History Museum with Emphasis on Colorado History 1200 Broadway Denver, CO 80203
- Four Mile Historic Park 10AM-4PM $6-$8 ALL AGES Celebration of Denver’s Western Heritage 715 S Forest St, Denver, CO 80246 - FREE DAYS: 05/26, 06/23, 08/25, 09/22, 10/27, 11/24, 12/22
- Black American West Museum - 10AM-2PM $10-$15 All Ages History of Black and African American in the Wild West 3091 California St Denver, CO 80205
- Denver Museum of Nature and Science - 9AM-5PM $17-$23 All Ages Nature, Science, Technology, and History; Planetarium; Laser Fantasy 2001 Colorado Blvd Denver, CO 80205 - FREE DAYS: 06/28, 08/16, 09/06, 09/18, 10/15, 12/04
- Botanical Gardens - York St (Downtown) - 9AM-8PM $15 Gardens with Plants from All Over the World 1007 York St, Denver, CO 80206 - FREE DAYS: 06/06, 07/05, 08/15, 11/24
- Botanical Gardens - Chatfield Farms) - 9AM-8PM $10 Gardens and a Full Working Farm 8500 W Deer Creek Canyon Rd, Littleton, CO 80128 - FREE DAYS: 06/06, 07/05, 08/15, 11/24
- Plains Conservation Center M-F 8AM-4PM; Sa 9AM-5PM $10 All Ages Prairie Conservation Center / Activities / Educational Experiences 21901 E Hampden Ave Aurora, CO 80013
- Denver Zoo - 9AM-5PM $24 Adults, $18 Kids All Ages Animals, Conversation, Education 2300 Steele St, Denver, CO 80205 - FREE DAYS: 10/07, 11/07, 11/12
- Butterfly Pavillion - 10AM-5PM $15 Adults, $10 Kids All Ages Butterfly Garden, Insect Exhibits, Tarantula Holdings, Education 6252 W 104th Ave, Westminster, CO 80020
- Denver Downtown Aquarium - M-Th 10AM-8:30PM; F-S 11AM-10PM; Su 11AM-8PM $19-$25 Plus Add-ons All Ages Aquarium / Restaurant / 4D Theatre / Mermaid Shows 700 Water Street Denver, CO 80211
- Wild Animal Sanctuary - 10AM-5PM $50 Adults, $30 Kids All Ages Learn About Wildlife Rescue and See Animals from Elevated Platforms - Stresses It's Not a Zoo but you can see many "zoo" animals 2999 Co Rd 53, Keenesburg, CO 80643
Things to Do Year Round
• WIP of Places to Eat, Drink, and Have Fun Around Downtown I'm still building this. Please let me know if you have anything to add or change!• Eat Around the World in Denver Join us over at /denverfood where we're trying to make a list of restaurants that represent each of the world's countries all in the larger Denver area!
Other Resources
General Compilations• Mile High on the Cheap
• 303 Magazine Events Calendar
• Colorado.com Events Schedule
• Denver-Co Events
• Vesta Events
• AllEvents
• Metro Denver
• Dairy Block Event Calendar 1800 Wazee St, Denver, CO 80202
2023.05.23 02:47 ralo_ramone An Otherworldly Scholar - Chapter 1
Chapter 1
Hackberry Creek, Connecticut, was a remote town of less than a thousand inhabitants, lost among the Appalachians. If anything, it was a picturesque place and a sufficiently good enough hunting spot. Not the place I’d choose to visit in my free time, and yet, I was supposed to be there four hours ago. But again, I was the kind of fool who drove over 120 miles fantasizing about dragons and magic spells before realizing the navigation app on my smartphone was taking me in the wrong direction.
My stomach growled. The last gas station alluringly waved its colorful sign by the side of the road more than an hour ago but I wasn’t in time to eat a greasy burger with a nice and expensive side of fries. I steeled my resolve, knowing in the back of my head the law firm wasn’t going to cover all of my fuel expenses for those extra miles. It was another harsh blow to my already scrawny wallet but I deserved it for not triple checking the address my baboon of a boss sent me.
One couldn’t just glance at the lush vegetation of the mountains and not think of epic deeds and perilous travels.
The engine of my old car revved weakly as I pressed the gas pedal. I took the next exit and got onto a solitary rural highway, getting further and further away from civilization. The green signage flew over my head. Hackberry Creek. I prayed the address was the tight one this time.
Over the passenger’s seat, my phone buzzed for the eighth time that hour. The detestable sack of flesh masquerading as a human being that was my boss didn’t seem to understand my car wasn’t the USS Enterprise, and it absolutely couldn’t cover two hundred miles in a matter of nanoseconds. I silenced my phone and threw it back on the passenger’s seat.
Better not to pick it up while driving.
My boss wasn’t particularly good with directions, but he was right about one thing. I fucking needed this job. Between my student loans, always growing rent, and health insurance piling over my shoulders, I was uncomfortably close to bankruptcy. In the end, I had to suck it up and pick up my phone.
“Hey, boss,” I said, trying to maintain a calm voice even knowing an ass chewing of extreme proportions was nigh. “Sorry for not answering earlier, the signal here is awful.”
“What’s taking you so long?” my boss barked through the phone. He had seemed to forget what I had told him not half an hour earlier. “I need to close this proceeding today. You better not mess up.”
“I’m doing my best, sir,” I tried not to let my frustration show. “But the direction you…”
“Just figure it out,” my boss snapped back. I knew he had one more thing before ending the call, he always did. “Just figure it out or find another job.”
Figure things out.
My knuckles turned white as I clenched my hand around the wheel. I sighed, wondering how my life had come to this. Shitty apartment, shitty job, shitty salary, shitty boss. To think there was a time where I had things figured out seemed inconceivable for my current self.
I pressed the gas pedal all the way down and my car sped across the highway far above the speed limit. The trees at the side of the road became furious blurs of green and despite the fact I wasn’t on a roll, a hint of a smile drew on my face. It had been years since the last time I drove out of the city, since I went hunting with my father for the last time.
Work at the firm left me little time to partake in activities far from the central office and I never was an outdoor enthusiast myself but I liked nature nonetheless. There was something soothing about it. If I was somewhat savvy with camping gear it was because my father liked to go hunting and my mother insisted I had to tag along. And in our house, my mother’s word was law.
Me and my father didn’t have a lot in common except for those times we passed together camping out in the forest. He was a baseball guy, I was a soccer guy, he liked to be alone in the woods, I liked to be alone with my books. In hindsight I came to understand my mother’s insistence because now they were gone I was left with a lot of great memories.
My phone buzzed again.
What I couldn’t understand was why my boss was so eager to finish the proceeding. I could understand there was a shitload of money on the table, but Mr. Byrne was dead and his money wasn’t going to go anywhere. Not unless a powerful necromancer reanimated him. But luckily for my boss, there were no necromancers on planet Earth.
Mr. Byrne, one of our biggest clients, has been missing for years now. No known address, no new driver’s license, no movements in his bank account. And most importantly, no heirs. Only a dubious will that would leave a generous portion of his fortune to the firm. So, like the leech he was, my boss wanted to declare Mr. Byrne legally dead to liquidate his assets and take a generous cut from his estate.
To my knowledge, my boss had tried the same stunt years before but Mr. Byrne was still alive, living peacefully in one of his multiple properties near the Appalachians, covering his expenses only with ‘mattress money’. The old man was beyond loaded.
Consequently, I was driving across the state to check if Mr. Byrne wasn’t peacefully living in his property of Hackberry Creek. I was also in charge of finding any important documents that might come into conflict with the will the firm had. And it was kind of exciting. I felt like an astronaut visiting a long lost derelict filled to the brim with mysterious artifacts.
Surely, visiting an old cabin in the woods wasn’t as exciting as lost space derelicts but considering how predictable my life was, this was beyond exciting. Also, I would rather be anywhere than commuting to work, trapped in a sea of cars.
A mysterious cabin of a wealthy and eccentric man was a great place for something magical to happen. God, if Narnia needed me I was fucking ready to yeet myself through the wardrobe. Most likely, the cabin would be just a dusty old building with dusty old magazines and rotten shingles. But that wasn’t a reason to stop dreaming.
Or daydreaming.
Suddenly I returned to my senses and the panic got a hold of me. How long since I had zoned out? A sign just over my head warned me the next exit led to Hackberry Creek. I violently turned the wheel, almost tipping the car over. I was not going to drive another hour because I missed the exit.
“Safe,” I muttered to myself.
A tattered road led me to a small town, if a single street with shabby buildings in the middle of nowhere could be called a town. Except for a couple of rusty trucks parked on the street, the place was empty. I cruised through the street until I found an open store. ‘Sam’s Outdoors’.
Looked like a great place to get directions so I parked my car and entered the store.
Sam was the most rustic person I had ever seen. A bear of a man dressed like the caricature of a redneck with a bulbous nose and Brezhnev level of eyebrows. We greeted each other and I walked to the counter. Sam seemed surprised to see a new face.
“What can I do for you?” he sounded like he had smoked a pack a day for the last thirty years washed down with the strongest moonshine in the county.
If anything, he reminded me of the other hunters I had met with my father.
“I’m searching for this place. If you could point me in the right direction it would be great,” I asked, handing him a small piece of paper with the direction of the cabin. 1 Elk Road, Hackberry Creek.
Sam clicked his tongue and shook his head.
“You got the wrong Hackberry Creek, kid,” the man said with a sympathetic tone but, after seeing my face lose all its color, he quickly added. “Kidding, kidding. People usually confuse us with...”
“Hackberry Creek Township, yes. Was just there earlier today,” I gave him a tiresome smile.
Sam laughed without a hint of malice.
“May I ask what brought you here, son? You are not the cabin’s owner unless you are that weird old man’s kid. No offense,” Sam said. His straightforward character was a nice change of pace compared with the tortuous customs of my workplace. Until I started working in the firm, I didn’t know a smile could mean so many different things.
I handed him my business card. Robert Clarke, Administrative Assistant, Connor & Connor LLP.
“Administrative assistant?” Sam asked, arching one of his populated eyebrows.
“Sugar coated title for errand boy, but hey, the bills don’t pay themselves,” I replied and the man gave me a sympathetic smile. “We are in charge of managing Mr. Byrne’s real estate.”
Sam nodded and gave me the business card back.
“To get to the cabin, continue down the main road, make a left turn just after the end of the pavement and turn left again at the fork. Easy as it goes,” the man explained as he vaguely pointed down the road.
I thanked Sam and prepared to go but felt bad for not buying anything. I glanced at the showcase and saw a red Swiss Army knife. My father always carried one of those when he took me hunting or fishing, admittedly, he rarely used it but he carried it anyway.
After a moment of tension, my credit card was accepted.
“Would you like a bag?” Sam asked me.
“No, I’ll carry it in my pocket.”
“Good luck then, Robert Clarke, and remember, left and left again. Don’t let the fairies lead you down the wrong path,” the man laughed as I exited the store.
I thanked him one last time and returned to the car.
As I reached the edge of the town, the street suddenly turned into a rough dirt road. I took a left turn and a second one at the fork just as Sam told me to do. Regrettably, no fairies appeared to distract me. Elk Road was neglected and riddled with potholes. Branches overhanging prevented me from seeing where I was going and weeds had slowly colonized the tire tracks, making it difficult to distinguish the road from the surroundings.
Finally, when I was getting anxious that I had made a wrong turn somewhere, the cabin poked out from the forest. It looked like the place a hermit would live. The lush green ferns had invaded the surroundings and the lichen had conquered the northern face of the cabin, almost camouflaging it against the forest. It was quite the view but I didn’t stop for more than a second.
Remembering my boss’ words, I quickly parked the car and ventured out to examine the place. The cabin was an old one story wooden structure, with rotten shutters and a ruined shed. There was no trace of recent inhabitants. I peeked through a hole in the ruined shed and I saw an old diesel generator half crushed by a wooden beam.
All shutters were closed although equally rotten. I asked myself if this wasn’t considered trespassing given that Mr. Byrne wasn’t legally dead yet but I didn't give it a second thought. My job depended on this.
I put the key into the keyhole and opened the rotten door.
Stupidly enough, the first thing I tried to do was to turn on the lights. Then I remembered the busted generator. Realizing my mistake, I stumbled across the darkened room and opened the shutters one by one until the interior of the cabin was illuminated by the dim rays of sun that managed to pass through the canopy.
The interior was a mess to the point it seemed someone had broken inside and ransacked the place. There were old pieces of paper with scrawled notes scattered over almost every available surface, worn out books with leather covers, some of them eerily similar to human flesh, and brass instruments that seemed taken from the laboratory of a Victorian mad scientist.
“Nice,” I muttered to myself as my eyes fell on the table.
The notes were written in an alphabet I couldn’t recognize, let alone read, but the diagrams and sigils were oddly familiar. If I had to guess, the owner of the cabin was either obsessed with the occult or with obscure JRPG games.
Normal amounts of madness so far.
As I examined the table, an eerie feeling suddenly got a hold on me. There were books over books filled with the strange language I had never seen before. Not only a few pages but full tomes of five hundred or more pages. Even for the most passionate roleplayer, this was no common foolishness of a bored mind, this was advanced madness.
Maybe I should let my boss know about this?
I grabbed my cell phone to call back at the office but I had no signal.
“Come on, Rob. These are just scribbles of an old man,” I said nervously. I didn’t want to get trapped in the shenanigans of a weird cult.
I decided to investigate the rest of the cabin. As much as the frantic handwriting unnerved me, the rest of the cabin was unremarkable. There was basic camping gear stored in a wardrobe and surprisingly mundane clothing in the main room. As much as I expected cultist robes and sacrificial knives, the only thing remotely mysterious, other than the notes, was an old character sheet from those pen and paper role playing games. Maybe all the paraphernalia was just a little bit of worldbuilding that got out of hand along the years.
“Okay, Rob, let’s wrap this up,” I psyched myself up.
There was no indication Mr. Byrne had visited the cabin in the last years, I just needed to search for any official documentation regarding ownership of the property or other legally binding documents and I was done.
I searched through every single crate and drawer to no avail. I found a hidden gun cabinet between the wardrobe and the bedside table, sealed with a see-through metallic door and a padlock, but other than that the house was clear of anything that could even hold important documents.
I returned to the main room and glanced at the table covered in old handwritten notes. They were written with a fountain pen as I could see the occasional smear of ink scattered across the pages. I rummaged through the notes searching for a trace of the English language to no avail. There was nothing near related to legal documentation nor anything I could actually read.
Mr. Byrne was a strange man and I was not surprised that he was also interested in the occult. A lonely and eccentric man with outlandish tastes and an almost endless fortune. If there was a real magician on Earth, that would be Mr. Byrne. Unfortunately for me, he was just a slightly crazy old man with a cabin far into the woods.
For some reason, I felt bad for him. Even if I only saw him once, from afar, I could tell he was a fool who dreamed with dragons and magic spells just like me. His fortune gave him the glamor I lacked though.
The task ended up being more banal than I expected, but it was my fault for expecting something remarkable to happen. I was only a small cog inside a cold, unfeeling legal machine. In a couple of hours I was going to be back in the office with only a moderately odd story to tell and nobody who cared enough to listen to it.
I closed the shutters, leaving the notes untouched, and closed the front door.
The car puttered to life and I was ready to go when I remembered about the basement. My boss had been insistent about it.
“Fuck,” I was glad I remembered, I didn’t trust my temper to endure two ass chewings the same day.
The entrance to the basement wasn’t around the perimeter.
“It might be inside,” I muttered to myself even if I hadn’t seen any trapdoor.
As I entered for the second time, the handwritten notes didn’t seem half sinister as before, now looking more like childish scribbles than magic spells. I ignored them and searched for the hatch. It wasn’t hard to find. It was under an old rug.
“So, no satanic circle or anything under the carpet,” I sighed, half relieved and half disappointed.
Outside, the light was dimming quickly so I grabbed my cell phone flashlight and pulled the handle up. At first it didn’t budge, the hinges were rusty and despite the woody appearance, the thing had the weight of a metal door. With my pride a bit wounded, I anchored my feet firmly on the floor and pulled up the lid, revealing a narrow gap on the floor.
“The things I do for a paycheck,” I muttered as I aimed the light into the dark hole revealing a staircase.
I stepped down into the darkness with my cellphone pointing at the wooden steps.
Suddenly, the wooden step collapsed under my weight and as my body passed through the hole my head violently slammed against the edge of the wooden planks. My whole world went black.
I woke up lying on a warm wooden floor with a throbbing pain on my forehead. Slowly, the world regained shape around me. The sun projected a weak pale gleam through the windows of the cabin.
I counted up to ten before sitting on the floor, my head was killing me and I had to blink repeatedly to focus on what was in front of me.
A closed trap door.
“What?” I mumbled. Objects, and people in particular, usually fell downwards.
I looked around, searching for whomever had dragged me upstairs but I was alone. There was nearly zero possibility that my boss had sent someone to check on me. Sam from Sam’s Outdoors then? It was a possibility within reason. He seemed like a decent man.
I gave up any attempt to stand up for the foreseeable future and laid on my back. The mere effort of rolling around made me want to vomit. My head pulsated with pain. This time I counted to one hundred before trying to stand again.
I let out the longest ‘fuck’ of my life and sat down.
The morning rays streamed through the windows and the crisp aroma of clean air filled my lungs. I panicked. I was supposed to come back with news about Mr. Byrne more than twelve hours ago. I had been knocked out for far too long.
Pulling myself together, I went back to my car. First thing I had to do was to return to civilization and call the office. Maybe visit a hospital. But that had to wait. I was rehearsing an apology in my mind when another wave of panic washed over me.
My car was nowhere to be found. I felt my pockets. The keys were still there. If someone stole it it might have needed a tow, and it was even more unlikely for a tow truck to drive down Elk Road.
“What the hell?”
Something else was out of place and it wasn’t just my car. At first, I couldn’t put my finger on what was wrong but it suddenly came to me. The canopy of the forest, lush and green mere hours before, was adorned by dry autumn leaves.
My heart rushed as I counted the months of the year with my fingers. Before I could come to the conclusion that fall was still months away, a feral roar boomed through the forest. It sounded like a bear but not quite a bear.
My eyes darted towards the direction of the sound, searching for any signs of movement. Whatever was stalking me, it was dangerously close.
What was I even doing trying to locate the animal?
I regained my sense of judgment and bolted back into the cabin, slamming the door shut behind me. Hastily, I secured the shutters and stood still, listening, but the forest remained ominously silent.
The rustle of leaves and crunching gravel made my heart race even faster. Whatever had roared, it was getting closer. I held my breath and waited in silence for it to lose interest and leave. But it didn’t. The animal circled the cabin and, to my horror, it started scratching at the rotten door.
“Fuck,” I muttered.
I should’ve paid more attention to what my father tried to teach me during the hunting trips instead of looking for Wonderland among the rabbit holes. Sure, I knew how to shoot but I never actually did it on a living animal. With trembling hands, I grabbed the key ring and crossed the room towards the gun locker. Luckily for me, Mr. Byrne had left a copy of the locker’s keys in our possession. I opened the thing, almost slamming the metallic door to the side of the locker.
Inside the locker there was a dusty double barrel shotgun and a single ammo box. Without hesitation, I loaded two shells into the gun and returned to the main room. I could only hope the shotgun worked after who knew how many years of abandonment.
Regretting my words, I realized I wasn’t ready to fling myself through Narnia’s wardrobe.
The banging on the door intensified. The hinges screeched and rotten wood was slowly ripped apart. A set of long claws emerged through the gap in the doorway, gaining hold on the door. I raised the shotgun. It wasn’t going to hold. The wood creaked as the beast tore the corner of the door, creating enough space to introduce both paws. Another big piece splintered off amidst deafening growls, revealing the face of the beast.
It wasn’t any creature I had ever seen.
A thick, black mane framed an elongated, almost wolf-like mouth full of vicious teeth emerged from the gap. The beast’s eyes were an electric blue and they shone with an unnatural hue, both focused squarely on me. The creature’s jaws opened with an unmistakable hunger.
Then, the door exploded into a thousand splinters and the wolf-bear hybrid from hell fell into the cabin. Adrenaline pumped through my body. As if the world moved in slow motion I aimed and fired. Pellets shredded the monster’s shoulder, turning it into an amalgamation of bloody fur and viscera. The stopping power of the first volley gave me enough time to correct my aim before the creature could lunge forward. I shot again and the wolf-bear fell heavily to the floor with its skull splattered into thousands of small splinters.
My shoulder hurt and my ears rang but that was the least of my concerns.
With my heart hammering against my chest, I loaded two more shots before approaching the monster. I don't know how my knees managed to keep me up straight, or how my bladder managed to keep its contents inside my body.
I touched the monster’s black fur with the tip of my shoe. It wasn't bear nor wolf. Even that comparison fell short, there was something strangely humanoid to it. Then it hit me. Due to the position of the front legs, I realized the creature was most certainly bipedal.
A sudden nausea took over me but I didn’t even have time to puke.
Suddenly, the mangled corpse emitted a ghastly glow and a blue radiance emerged from it. The blue mist raised like a haunting spirit and surrounded me. Panicking, I shot again to no effect other than intensifying the ringing in my ears and destroying a lamp in the corner of the room. The blue mist twirled around me, sticking to my skin. I painfully felt it enter each and every pore of my body.
A second of pain and then nothing. No. It wasn’t nothing. It felt great, greater than anything I had felt before. My head no longer hurt. Even my chronic back pain disappeared. Then a message appeared in front of me.
Greetings, Robert Clarke.
You have acquired Magic.
To receive the blessing of the Fractalis reach for the mana inside you.
“What in the everloving fuck,” I muttered.
I swatted the air, trying to get rid of the floating message but my hand cut cleanly through it. A hologram? My mind raced searching for answers. I had read somewhere about a treatment for people in coma with direct brain stimulation. Was I trapped inside some sort of medical Matrix?
There were two possibilities. The hit on my head had left me in a coma or I was going crazy. Either way was equally troubling. And either way it seemed I had to follow the instructions in front of me.
How in the seven hells was I going to ‘reach the mana’ inside me?
“Oh… that’s how.”
There it was. Mana. I could feel it like a foreign body where my heart was, waiting for me to tap into it. Maybe even calling me. It was a soothing sensation and probably the only thing that kept me from having a panic attack.
“Where am I?” I asked, looking at the ceiling. For some reason I assumed the being that was communicating with me was up in the sky.
You are far from home, Robert Clarke.
To return, you have to open the trap door and cross the portal.
Once crossed there is no way back.
My throat was suddenly dry. Madness or not, this was what I always yearned for. A second chance, an adventure, an enchanted wardrobe, a letter of acceptance to a prestigious magical academy, or whatever this was.
There was nothing much going for me back at home but at least there I wasn’t going to die mauled by a rabid chimera. I glanced at the mangled body of the monster and tried to swallow but my throat was still dry.
I slapped my face, my brain trying to make sense of all this freakshow. Dying a violent death was only marginally worse than withering away sitting in a cubicle. Suddenly my boss’ words echoed in my mind. Just figure things out or find another job.
For better or worse, this decision was going to haunt me from the rest of my life.
I reached for the mana inside my chest.
Fractalis system initializing…
Checking the contents of the foreign soul…
Checking past experiences…
My life flashed in front of my eyes. The happy early years, my parent’s death, the long study sessions to get my degree, the boys laughing at the club after fencing lessons, my high school sweetheart dumping me after an eight year relationship, the idealistic first years of my career as a school teacher. Then, slowly, everything getting more and more crooked. Finally, just an instant before the visions receded, a blue tesseract floating in the void.
Initialization complete.
Foreign Soul Robert Clarke is now a subject to the Fractalis System.
You have obtained Scholar’s unique skill [Identify]
This time I got on my knees and violently emptied my already empty gut over Mr. Byrne’s old carpet. When I thought everything was over, another prompt appeared between my face and the puddle of vomit.
One last bit of advice.
Don’t tell anybody where you came from.
To find civilization head south.
Good luck, Rob.
“Thanks… I guess,” was the only thing my mangled brain managed to articulate before one last prompt appeared in front of me.
Name: Robert Clarke, Human.
Class: Scholar Lv.1
Titles: Lonely Boy.
Passive: Lv.5 Swordsmanship, Mana Manipulation.
Skills: Identify.
_______________
Next
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Discord Royal Road
submitted by ralo_ramone to HFY [link] [comments]
Hackberry Creek, Connecticut, was a remote town of less than a thousand inhabitants, lost among the Appalachians. If anything, it was a picturesque place and a sufficiently good enough hunting spot. Not the place I’d choose to visit in my free time, and yet, I was supposed to be there four hours ago. But again, I was the kind of fool who drove over 120 miles fantasizing about dragons and magic spells before realizing the navigation app on my smartphone was taking me in the wrong direction.
My stomach growled. The last gas station alluringly waved its colorful sign by the side of the road more than an hour ago but I wasn’t in time to eat a greasy burger with a nice and expensive side of fries. I steeled my resolve, knowing in the back of my head the law firm wasn’t going to cover all of my fuel expenses for those extra miles. It was another harsh blow to my already scrawny wallet but I deserved it for not triple checking the address my baboon of a boss sent me.
One couldn’t just glance at the lush vegetation of the mountains and not think of epic deeds and perilous travels.
The engine of my old car revved weakly as I pressed the gas pedal. I took the next exit and got onto a solitary rural highway, getting further and further away from civilization. The green signage flew over my head. Hackberry Creek. I prayed the address was the tight one this time.
Over the passenger’s seat, my phone buzzed for the eighth time that hour. The detestable sack of flesh masquerading as a human being that was my boss didn’t seem to understand my car wasn’t the USS Enterprise, and it absolutely couldn’t cover two hundred miles in a matter of nanoseconds. I silenced my phone and threw it back on the passenger’s seat.
Better not to pick it up while driving.
My boss wasn’t particularly good with directions, but he was right about one thing. I fucking needed this job. Between my student loans, always growing rent, and health insurance piling over my shoulders, I was uncomfortably close to bankruptcy. In the end, I had to suck it up and pick up my phone.
“Hey, boss,” I said, trying to maintain a calm voice even knowing an ass chewing of extreme proportions was nigh. “Sorry for not answering earlier, the signal here is awful.”
“What’s taking you so long?” my boss barked through the phone. He had seemed to forget what I had told him not half an hour earlier. “I need to close this proceeding today. You better not mess up.”
“I’m doing my best, sir,” I tried not to let my frustration show. “But the direction you…”
“Just figure it out,” my boss snapped back. I knew he had one more thing before ending the call, he always did. “Just figure it out or find another job.”
Figure things out.
My knuckles turned white as I clenched my hand around the wheel. I sighed, wondering how my life had come to this. Shitty apartment, shitty job, shitty salary, shitty boss. To think there was a time where I had things figured out seemed inconceivable for my current self.
I pressed the gas pedal all the way down and my car sped across the highway far above the speed limit. The trees at the side of the road became furious blurs of green and despite the fact I wasn’t on a roll, a hint of a smile drew on my face. It had been years since the last time I drove out of the city, since I went hunting with my father for the last time.
Work at the firm left me little time to partake in activities far from the central office and I never was an outdoor enthusiast myself but I liked nature nonetheless. There was something soothing about it. If I was somewhat savvy with camping gear it was because my father liked to go hunting and my mother insisted I had to tag along. And in our house, my mother’s word was law.
Me and my father didn’t have a lot in common except for those times we passed together camping out in the forest. He was a baseball guy, I was a soccer guy, he liked to be alone in the woods, I liked to be alone with my books. In hindsight I came to understand my mother’s insistence because now they were gone I was left with a lot of great memories.
My phone buzzed again.
What I couldn’t understand was why my boss was so eager to finish the proceeding. I could understand there was a shitload of money on the table, but Mr. Byrne was dead and his money wasn’t going to go anywhere. Not unless a powerful necromancer reanimated him. But luckily for my boss, there were no necromancers on planet Earth.
Mr. Byrne, one of our biggest clients, has been missing for years now. No known address, no new driver’s license, no movements in his bank account. And most importantly, no heirs. Only a dubious will that would leave a generous portion of his fortune to the firm. So, like the leech he was, my boss wanted to declare Mr. Byrne legally dead to liquidate his assets and take a generous cut from his estate.
To my knowledge, my boss had tried the same stunt years before but Mr. Byrne was still alive, living peacefully in one of his multiple properties near the Appalachians, covering his expenses only with ‘mattress money’. The old man was beyond loaded.
Consequently, I was driving across the state to check if Mr. Byrne wasn’t peacefully living in his property of Hackberry Creek. I was also in charge of finding any important documents that might come into conflict with the will the firm had. And it was kind of exciting. I felt like an astronaut visiting a long lost derelict filled to the brim with mysterious artifacts.
Surely, visiting an old cabin in the woods wasn’t as exciting as lost space derelicts but considering how predictable my life was, this was beyond exciting. Also, I would rather be anywhere than commuting to work, trapped in a sea of cars.
A mysterious cabin of a wealthy and eccentric man was a great place for something magical to happen. God, if Narnia needed me I was fucking ready to yeet myself through the wardrobe. Most likely, the cabin would be just a dusty old building with dusty old magazines and rotten shingles. But that wasn’t a reason to stop dreaming.
Or daydreaming.
Suddenly I returned to my senses and the panic got a hold of me. How long since I had zoned out? A sign just over my head warned me the next exit led to Hackberry Creek. I violently turned the wheel, almost tipping the car over. I was not going to drive another hour because I missed the exit.
“Safe,” I muttered to myself.
A tattered road led me to a small town, if a single street with shabby buildings in the middle of nowhere could be called a town. Except for a couple of rusty trucks parked on the street, the place was empty. I cruised through the street until I found an open store. ‘Sam’s Outdoors’.
Looked like a great place to get directions so I parked my car and entered the store.
Sam was the most rustic person I had ever seen. A bear of a man dressed like the caricature of a redneck with a bulbous nose and Brezhnev level of eyebrows. We greeted each other and I walked to the counter. Sam seemed surprised to see a new face.
“What can I do for you?” he sounded like he had smoked a pack a day for the last thirty years washed down with the strongest moonshine in the county.
If anything, he reminded me of the other hunters I had met with my father.
“I’m searching for this place. If you could point me in the right direction it would be great,” I asked, handing him a small piece of paper with the direction of the cabin. 1 Elk Road, Hackberry Creek.
Sam clicked his tongue and shook his head.
“You got the wrong Hackberry Creek, kid,” the man said with a sympathetic tone but, after seeing my face lose all its color, he quickly added. “Kidding, kidding. People usually confuse us with...”
“Hackberry Creek Township, yes. Was just there earlier today,” I gave him a tiresome smile.
Sam laughed without a hint of malice.
“May I ask what brought you here, son? You are not the cabin’s owner unless you are that weird old man’s kid. No offense,” Sam said. His straightforward character was a nice change of pace compared with the tortuous customs of my workplace. Until I started working in the firm, I didn’t know a smile could mean so many different things.
I handed him my business card. Robert Clarke, Administrative Assistant, Connor & Connor LLP.
“Administrative assistant?” Sam asked, arching one of his populated eyebrows.
“Sugar coated title for errand boy, but hey, the bills don’t pay themselves,” I replied and the man gave me a sympathetic smile. “We are in charge of managing Mr. Byrne’s real estate.”
Sam nodded and gave me the business card back.
“To get to the cabin, continue down the main road, make a left turn just after the end of the pavement and turn left again at the fork. Easy as it goes,” the man explained as he vaguely pointed down the road.
I thanked Sam and prepared to go but felt bad for not buying anything. I glanced at the showcase and saw a red Swiss Army knife. My father always carried one of those when he took me hunting or fishing, admittedly, he rarely used it but he carried it anyway.
After a moment of tension, my credit card was accepted.
“Would you like a bag?” Sam asked me.
“No, I’ll carry it in my pocket.”
“Good luck then, Robert Clarke, and remember, left and left again. Don’t let the fairies lead you down the wrong path,” the man laughed as I exited the store.
I thanked him one last time and returned to the car.
As I reached the edge of the town, the street suddenly turned into a rough dirt road. I took a left turn and a second one at the fork just as Sam told me to do. Regrettably, no fairies appeared to distract me. Elk Road was neglected and riddled with potholes. Branches overhanging prevented me from seeing where I was going and weeds had slowly colonized the tire tracks, making it difficult to distinguish the road from the surroundings.
Finally, when I was getting anxious that I had made a wrong turn somewhere, the cabin poked out from the forest. It looked like the place a hermit would live. The lush green ferns had invaded the surroundings and the lichen had conquered the northern face of the cabin, almost camouflaging it against the forest. It was quite the view but I didn’t stop for more than a second.
Remembering my boss’ words, I quickly parked the car and ventured out to examine the place. The cabin was an old one story wooden structure, with rotten shutters and a ruined shed. There was no trace of recent inhabitants. I peeked through a hole in the ruined shed and I saw an old diesel generator half crushed by a wooden beam.
All shutters were closed although equally rotten. I asked myself if this wasn’t considered trespassing given that Mr. Byrne wasn’t legally dead yet but I didn't give it a second thought. My job depended on this.
I put the key into the keyhole and opened the rotten door.
Stupidly enough, the first thing I tried to do was to turn on the lights. Then I remembered the busted generator. Realizing my mistake, I stumbled across the darkened room and opened the shutters one by one until the interior of the cabin was illuminated by the dim rays of sun that managed to pass through the canopy.
The interior was a mess to the point it seemed someone had broken inside and ransacked the place. There were old pieces of paper with scrawled notes scattered over almost every available surface, worn out books with leather covers, some of them eerily similar to human flesh, and brass instruments that seemed taken from the laboratory of a Victorian mad scientist.
“Nice,” I muttered to myself as my eyes fell on the table.
The notes were written in an alphabet I couldn’t recognize, let alone read, but the diagrams and sigils were oddly familiar. If I had to guess, the owner of the cabin was either obsessed with the occult or with obscure JRPG games.
Normal amounts of madness so far.
As I examined the table, an eerie feeling suddenly got a hold on me. There were books over books filled with the strange language I had never seen before. Not only a few pages but full tomes of five hundred or more pages. Even for the most passionate roleplayer, this was no common foolishness of a bored mind, this was advanced madness.
Maybe I should let my boss know about this?
I grabbed my cell phone to call back at the office but I had no signal.
“Come on, Rob. These are just scribbles of an old man,” I said nervously. I didn’t want to get trapped in the shenanigans of a weird cult.
I decided to investigate the rest of the cabin. As much as the frantic handwriting unnerved me, the rest of the cabin was unremarkable. There was basic camping gear stored in a wardrobe and surprisingly mundane clothing in the main room. As much as I expected cultist robes and sacrificial knives, the only thing remotely mysterious, other than the notes, was an old character sheet from those pen and paper role playing games. Maybe all the paraphernalia was just a little bit of worldbuilding that got out of hand along the years.
“Okay, Rob, let’s wrap this up,” I psyched myself up.
There was no indication Mr. Byrne had visited the cabin in the last years, I just needed to search for any official documentation regarding ownership of the property or other legally binding documents and I was done.
I searched through every single crate and drawer to no avail. I found a hidden gun cabinet between the wardrobe and the bedside table, sealed with a see-through metallic door and a padlock, but other than that the house was clear of anything that could even hold important documents.
I returned to the main room and glanced at the table covered in old handwritten notes. They were written with a fountain pen as I could see the occasional smear of ink scattered across the pages. I rummaged through the notes searching for a trace of the English language to no avail. There was nothing near related to legal documentation nor anything I could actually read.
Mr. Byrne was a strange man and I was not surprised that he was also interested in the occult. A lonely and eccentric man with outlandish tastes and an almost endless fortune. If there was a real magician on Earth, that would be Mr. Byrne. Unfortunately for me, he was just a slightly crazy old man with a cabin far into the woods.
For some reason, I felt bad for him. Even if I only saw him once, from afar, I could tell he was a fool who dreamed with dragons and magic spells just like me. His fortune gave him the glamor I lacked though.
The task ended up being more banal than I expected, but it was my fault for expecting something remarkable to happen. I was only a small cog inside a cold, unfeeling legal machine. In a couple of hours I was going to be back in the office with only a moderately odd story to tell and nobody who cared enough to listen to it.
I closed the shutters, leaving the notes untouched, and closed the front door.
The car puttered to life and I was ready to go when I remembered about the basement. My boss had been insistent about it.
“Fuck,” I was glad I remembered, I didn’t trust my temper to endure two ass chewings the same day.
The entrance to the basement wasn’t around the perimeter.
“It might be inside,” I muttered to myself even if I hadn’t seen any trapdoor.
As I entered for the second time, the handwritten notes didn’t seem half sinister as before, now looking more like childish scribbles than magic spells. I ignored them and searched for the hatch. It wasn’t hard to find. It was under an old rug.
“So, no satanic circle or anything under the carpet,” I sighed, half relieved and half disappointed.
Outside, the light was dimming quickly so I grabbed my cell phone flashlight and pulled the handle up. At first it didn’t budge, the hinges were rusty and despite the woody appearance, the thing had the weight of a metal door. With my pride a bit wounded, I anchored my feet firmly on the floor and pulled up the lid, revealing a narrow gap on the floor.
“The things I do for a paycheck,” I muttered as I aimed the light into the dark hole revealing a staircase.
I stepped down into the darkness with my cellphone pointing at the wooden steps.
Suddenly, the wooden step collapsed under my weight and as my body passed through the hole my head violently slammed against the edge of the wooden planks. My whole world went black.
I woke up lying on a warm wooden floor with a throbbing pain on my forehead. Slowly, the world regained shape around me. The sun projected a weak pale gleam through the windows of the cabin.
I counted up to ten before sitting on the floor, my head was killing me and I had to blink repeatedly to focus on what was in front of me.
A closed trap door.
“What?” I mumbled. Objects, and people in particular, usually fell downwards.
I looked around, searching for whomever had dragged me upstairs but I was alone. There was nearly zero possibility that my boss had sent someone to check on me. Sam from Sam’s Outdoors then? It was a possibility within reason. He seemed like a decent man.
I gave up any attempt to stand up for the foreseeable future and laid on my back. The mere effort of rolling around made me want to vomit. My head pulsated with pain. This time I counted to one hundred before trying to stand again.
I let out the longest ‘fuck’ of my life and sat down.
The morning rays streamed through the windows and the crisp aroma of clean air filled my lungs. I panicked. I was supposed to come back with news about Mr. Byrne more than twelve hours ago. I had been knocked out for far too long.
Pulling myself together, I went back to my car. First thing I had to do was to return to civilization and call the office. Maybe visit a hospital. But that had to wait. I was rehearsing an apology in my mind when another wave of panic washed over me.
My car was nowhere to be found. I felt my pockets. The keys were still there. If someone stole it it might have needed a tow, and it was even more unlikely for a tow truck to drive down Elk Road.
“What the hell?”
Something else was out of place and it wasn’t just my car. At first, I couldn’t put my finger on what was wrong but it suddenly came to me. The canopy of the forest, lush and green mere hours before, was adorned by dry autumn leaves.
My heart rushed as I counted the months of the year with my fingers. Before I could come to the conclusion that fall was still months away, a feral roar boomed through the forest. It sounded like a bear but not quite a bear.
My eyes darted towards the direction of the sound, searching for any signs of movement. Whatever was stalking me, it was dangerously close.
What was I even doing trying to locate the animal?
I regained my sense of judgment and bolted back into the cabin, slamming the door shut behind me. Hastily, I secured the shutters and stood still, listening, but the forest remained ominously silent.
The rustle of leaves and crunching gravel made my heart race even faster. Whatever had roared, it was getting closer. I held my breath and waited in silence for it to lose interest and leave. But it didn’t. The animal circled the cabin and, to my horror, it started scratching at the rotten door.
“Fuck,” I muttered.
I should’ve paid more attention to what my father tried to teach me during the hunting trips instead of looking for Wonderland among the rabbit holes. Sure, I knew how to shoot but I never actually did it on a living animal. With trembling hands, I grabbed the key ring and crossed the room towards the gun locker. Luckily for me, Mr. Byrne had left a copy of the locker’s keys in our possession. I opened the thing, almost slamming the metallic door to the side of the locker.
Inside the locker there was a dusty double barrel shotgun and a single ammo box. Without hesitation, I loaded two shells into the gun and returned to the main room. I could only hope the shotgun worked after who knew how many years of abandonment.
Regretting my words, I realized I wasn’t ready to fling myself through Narnia’s wardrobe.
The banging on the door intensified. The hinges screeched and rotten wood was slowly ripped apart. A set of long claws emerged through the gap in the doorway, gaining hold on the door. I raised the shotgun. It wasn’t going to hold. The wood creaked as the beast tore the corner of the door, creating enough space to introduce both paws. Another big piece splintered off amidst deafening growls, revealing the face of the beast.
It wasn’t any creature I had ever seen.
A thick, black mane framed an elongated, almost wolf-like mouth full of vicious teeth emerged from the gap. The beast’s eyes were an electric blue and they shone with an unnatural hue, both focused squarely on me. The creature’s jaws opened with an unmistakable hunger.
Then, the door exploded into a thousand splinters and the wolf-bear hybrid from hell fell into the cabin. Adrenaline pumped through my body. As if the world moved in slow motion I aimed and fired. Pellets shredded the monster’s shoulder, turning it into an amalgamation of bloody fur and viscera. The stopping power of the first volley gave me enough time to correct my aim before the creature could lunge forward. I shot again and the wolf-bear fell heavily to the floor with its skull splattered into thousands of small splinters.
My shoulder hurt and my ears rang but that was the least of my concerns.
With my heart hammering against my chest, I loaded two more shots before approaching the monster. I don't know how my knees managed to keep me up straight, or how my bladder managed to keep its contents inside my body.
I touched the monster’s black fur with the tip of my shoe. It wasn't bear nor wolf. Even that comparison fell short, there was something strangely humanoid to it. Then it hit me. Due to the position of the front legs, I realized the creature was most certainly bipedal.
A sudden nausea took over me but I didn’t even have time to puke.
Suddenly, the mangled corpse emitted a ghastly glow and a blue radiance emerged from it. The blue mist raised like a haunting spirit and surrounded me. Panicking, I shot again to no effect other than intensifying the ringing in my ears and destroying a lamp in the corner of the room. The blue mist twirled around me, sticking to my skin. I painfully felt it enter each and every pore of my body.
A second of pain and then nothing. No. It wasn’t nothing. It felt great, greater than anything I had felt before. My head no longer hurt. Even my chronic back pain disappeared. Then a message appeared in front of me.
Greetings, Robert Clarke.
You have acquired Magic.
To receive the blessing of the Fractalis reach for the mana inside you.
“What in the everloving fuck,” I muttered.
I swatted the air, trying to get rid of the floating message but my hand cut cleanly through it. A hologram? My mind raced searching for answers. I had read somewhere about a treatment for people in coma with direct brain stimulation. Was I trapped inside some sort of medical Matrix?
There were two possibilities. The hit on my head had left me in a coma or I was going crazy. Either way was equally troubling. And either way it seemed I had to follow the instructions in front of me.
How in the seven hells was I going to ‘reach the mana’ inside me?
“Oh… that’s how.”
There it was. Mana. I could feel it like a foreign body where my heart was, waiting for me to tap into it. Maybe even calling me. It was a soothing sensation and probably the only thing that kept me from having a panic attack.
“Where am I?” I asked, looking at the ceiling. For some reason I assumed the being that was communicating with me was up in the sky.
You are far from home, Robert Clarke.
To return, you have to open the trap door and cross the portal.
Once crossed there is no way back.
My throat was suddenly dry. Madness or not, this was what I always yearned for. A second chance, an adventure, an enchanted wardrobe, a letter of acceptance to a prestigious magical academy, or whatever this was.
There was nothing much going for me back at home but at least there I wasn’t going to die mauled by a rabid chimera. I glanced at the mangled body of the monster and tried to swallow but my throat was still dry.
I slapped my face, my brain trying to make sense of all this freakshow. Dying a violent death was only marginally worse than withering away sitting in a cubicle. Suddenly my boss’ words echoed in my mind. Just figure things out or find another job.
For better or worse, this decision was going to haunt me from the rest of my life.
I reached for the mana inside my chest.
Fractalis system initializing…
Checking the contents of the foreign soul…
Checking past experiences…
My life flashed in front of my eyes. The happy early years, my parent’s death, the long study sessions to get my degree, the boys laughing at the club after fencing lessons, my high school sweetheart dumping me after an eight year relationship, the idealistic first years of my career as a school teacher. Then, slowly, everything getting more and more crooked. Finally, just an instant before the visions receded, a blue tesseract floating in the void.
Initialization complete.
Foreign Soul Robert Clarke is now a subject to the Fractalis System.
You have obtained Scholar’s unique skill [Identify]
This time I got on my knees and violently emptied my already empty gut over Mr. Byrne’s old carpet. When I thought everything was over, another prompt appeared between my face and the puddle of vomit.
One last bit of advice.
Don’t tell anybody where you came from.
To find civilization head south.
Good luck, Rob.
“Thanks… I guess,” was the only thing my mangled brain managed to articulate before one last prompt appeared in front of me.
Name: Robert Clarke, Human.
Class: Scholar Lv.1
Titles: Lonely Boy.
Passive: Lv.5 Swordsmanship, Mana Manipulation.
Skills: Identify.
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Next
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Discord Royal Road
2023.05.22 17:19 epicwizardcowboys HAS ANYONE HEARD FROM CHRISTOPHER FOSTER?
Information about Tom Soul, Missouri is scarce. No library or archive or website makes much mention of it, today. The only reference I managed to find to the town was a poster, dated to the 1960s that a fellow collector obtained when he purchased a rare book. The poster was folded up inside as a bookmark. He offered to sell it to me, but I declined. Something about it is wrong. It doesn't belong to us. I don’t want it in my home.
Published June 2006
Part One: The Interloper
Part Two: The Son
“The caves around Tom Soul are sick. A leaky kind of sick. That’s what the locals would tell you when they tell you to stay away. Can’t say I’d disagree.”
Dr. Malcolm Fisk, a historian and folklorist at the University of Missouri, was gracious enough to allow me to continue our interview after recounting the incidents involving the harrowing masked figure that plagued the town prior to the homicides of Theresa and Gideon Foster. The alarming description of the man,and his fixation on frightening people in town, made me feel like the Demon of Tom Soul was inextricably tied to the murders.
When I asked Dr. Fisk what sets the cave system within Tom Soul apart from the other caves and abandoned mines that are scattered around the rest of the Ozark Mountains,he provided me with resources to explore the history of Tom Soul from its founding. What I discovered was shockingly dark.
Tom Soul was founded in the early 1800s and spent much of that time as little more than a place for fur trappers and miners to stop and get a drink. This peaceful existence was violently interrupted by the start of Prohibition in 1920.
Without legal distilleries, moonshiners and bootleggers began to take full advantage of the extensive, natural hiding spots provided by the Ozarks herself, much to the chagrin of federal lawmen. Local police forces were happy to look the other way, likely because they were the recipient of cheap booze, but on a wider scale, Tom Soul was a problem.
Strong, quality alcohol without any real competition was being pumped out of the sleepy town without any real competition, quickly spreading into the surrounding counties. When federal agents came knocking, the moonshiners simply fled into the caves with their supplies, where the out-of-town agents were unable to follow safely.
On a chilly mountain night, in the fall of 1928, enforcers of Prohibition traveled to Tom Soul for what proved to be the last time. They had spent weeks whipping neighboring towns into a frenzy, convincing clergy, and law-abiding citizens that the bootleggers and outlaws in Tom Soul were a threat to American values,and to the good word of God.
Armed, they stormed the caves with little warning to the people inside. They knew that the moonshiners would flee into the caves. They brought matches.
When the moonshiners hid, the posse spilled the contents of the distilleries all along the cave, where it followed the moonshiners trail. The posse added firestarters, tinder, logs, anything they could think of, at the mouth of every cave in Tom Soul. Including Foster’s Cave.
Once the posse was satisfied, they lit it ablaze. The moonshiners tried to escape,facing the law over inevitable death, but they were not given a choice. The posse blocked the exits.
People choked on the smoke, lungs charring from the searing heat. They suffocated to death, fire consuming oxygen before they could get the chance. They burnt,clothes catching alight, and when fleeing to the exit for help, they were shot.
At Foster’s Cave, a man almost made it out of the fire before a federal officer shot the man in the knees. Witnesses say this was likely on purpose. The man fell into the fire, and tried to drag himself forward, but the stone floor of the cave was too hot, and he roasted alive. Nobody who went into the caves that night survived. It seemed as though even before that bloody night in June 1976, the Foster property was a harbor for savagery.
When I reached back out to the neighbor that I had previously interviewed, he claimed that Christopher Foster was preoccupied with the history of the town.
“Elroy- my brother- was buddies with Christopher, but I never liked the guy much. Don’t like to speak ill of the dead, but I’m just being honest. He was strange, even before he got sick. Not much of a church goin’ type, neither, which really riled up his pops. I don’t really remember much more than that, but hey, if you want’a talk to Elroy, I can give him a heads up.”
***
Elroy, who asked me to omit his last name on request of his brother, currently resides in California with a domestic partner, where he is employed as a schoolteacher. He was hesitant to speak about the murder of Theresa and Gideon Foster, but became happy to share information when I explained I was more interested in learning about their life, and specifically, their son.
“They didn’t deserve any of it,” Elroy told me. “Hate to say it, but in retrospect,part of me is relieved that Christopher passed when he did. Maybe it spared him in some way.
Growing up, I lived in a little house right on the outskirts of Tom Soul. I was the oldest of six boys, and desperate for some sense of privacy. Christopher was the same as I was, but he was an only child. I think we found a sort of solace with each other.
His house was somewhere I could escape to, and I think his parents were happy Chris had a pal his own age. They were always pleasant people. A little guarded, maybe, but pleasant. I think his dad had a hard time leaving his ‘pastor’ mask at the door.
We grew up doing just about everything together. Even though it was the sticks, there was a ton of things for wild young kids to get up to- maybe it was because we were way off in the sticks. We didn’t have an arcade, or a theatre, so we spent most of our when we weren’t at school or at home exploring the woods. If we were home before dark, and promised not to go into the caves, our parents were happy for us to be independent and out from under their feet. Different times, I suppose.
Chris was probably about 13 the first time he became seriously ill. He had to go to the hospital in Branson because he had pneumonia so bad. When he came home, it almost felt like he left whatever kept him a healthy young man behind. Never really recovered.
I think that’s when he started reading more about the town’s history. Maybe in retrospect it was a bit morbid, but after he got home, the doc had him on bedrest. Didn’t have a lot to do other than look at that damn cave and think. Started spending less time outside together and more time at the little library next to the mayor’s office. Helped me realize how much I loved classic literature, even if it wasn’t quite as exciting.
Nobody other than me and his parents really knew how bad his health had gotten until he started sleepwalking. To preface, this was a small enough town where everybody knew everybody. Today? Ina bigger town? Things wouldn’t have been like this. But in Tom Soul?” Elroy sighed. “It just made sense, to not make a big deal of things.
The first time it happened we were 14 or 15. Just starting high school. One of our neighbors went to get something from their cellar one night, and sitting down there in the dark was Christopher. Of course, the homeowner grabbed his gun and told him to leave, or he’d shoot him, but it was clear pretty quickly that Chris had no idea how he’d gotten down there. He was confused and crying, begging for his life, and that poor befuddled neighbor had to wake the Fosters up so they could come collect their son.
Nobody, not even his parents, could figure out how he got down there without waking anybody up or leaving a trail. Nobody knew how long he’d been sitting in that damp cellar. Alone, in the dark. Dreaming.
They took him back to the doctor. Doc said it was just a severe case of sleepwalking, and they left it at that. Harmless. Chris wouldn’t feel rested after an episode, but it wasn’t going to hurt him. Word in town travels fast. The next time someone found Christopher in their house, they didn’t bother with theatrics. They just called his parents to come take him home.
After a while, it was normal. Creepy, of course, but just a quirk of the town. Nobody wanted to offend the pastor, anyways. Adults tried to be polite, but kids weren’t so beholden to small-town politics.
He was weird, sickly, spent a lot of time indoors. Christopher was a real beanpole by this time, too. Had his hair long. The two of us were a bit bohemian, I suppose you could say. Girls were all over him, but the other boys didn’t appreciate him much. I remember about halfway into our freshman year; a bunch of older teens jumped us on our walk to school. Beat the shit out of us. I had a black eye for what felt like six months. They held Christopher down and cut his hair, called him some choice names I don’t believe you’d be able to print in your article.
After that, it was just the two of us. When his illness got worse, I’d come around every day with food for him and his folks. On his bad days I’d read to him, or I’d bring my records with me, and we’d listen to music. I’d clean up after he threw up and listen to him when he bitched about all the pills and teas his mom would have him try.
I loved Christopher. Part of me still does. I loved him in a way I couldn’t tell anyone, until I moved far, far away from backwoods Missouri. But Chris knew. He wasn’t ever going to feel that way about a man, but he accepted me the same.
When we were about 21 or so, we went out to the creek on his parent’s property, mostly for old times’ sake,” Elroy pronounced creek more like crik, just about the only thing about his speech that betrayed his backwoods Missouri roots. “This was one of his last good days. It was morning, and the weather was sublime. We sat on the bank of the creek with our feet in the water, not even talking. Just enjoying being outside.
The water was latte-brown, but too shallow to hide much more beyond an errant minnow. And then it rippled.
A man rose from the water, exposing everything above his navel to the cool air of early spring. I knew he was, with that damn creepy mask on. It was the Demon of Tom Soul.
I scrambled backwards away from the bank through the brush, trying to put as much distance between myself and that creep as possible. Christopher hardly reacted. I wonder if part of him expected it.
‘Hey,’ it said. It sounded like it had Marlboros for vocal cords.
My breathing was ragged, but Christopher looked as collected as ever.
‘Need a smoke?’ Christopher asked. I wanted to tell him we needed to go, but I was frozen.
I couldn’t get control of my body enough to make a sound. Its eyes were glittering, and it rose the rest of the way from the water. It was totally naked, muscles defined and wiry, and it waded over to stand in front of Christopher.
Chris pulled a pack of cigarettes from his jacket. He never smoked. I don't know why he had them.
‘Thanks kid,’ it said. It stuck the whole cigarette in its mouth, and after a moment, flipped it back out between his lips. The end was lit. The smoke didn’t smell normal. It was tobacco smoke, sure, but there was something else there. Coppery, earthy.
Christopher turned to me, where I still lay on the ground. ‘You should leave, El,’ he told me. ‘This isn’t something you should be around for.’
And-… I-… Douglas Ray, I was a coward. That knocked me out of my paralysis enough to get back on my feet and run home.
I checked in with his parents, a few days later, to see how he was doing. Sick, they told me. But he was home. I couldn’t bring myself to visit him again. I carry that with me.
That day in the woods. That was the last time I saw Christopher Foster.”
According to the town’s paper, Christopher Foster’s funeral was unexpectedly large, held on an overcast day, and closed casket. He had died after a long battle with an immune system disorder. Elroy hadn’t reported his sighting of the Demon.
A few days after our interview, I got an email from Elroy. He told me that talking about his childhood and Christopher had jogged his memory. There was a story, about the town, that Christopher had been fascinated with.
Decades before the incident with the bootleggers, a stranger visited Tom Soul. He arrived in Missouri by train and claimed he was visiting his family deeper in the mountains. This visitor was strange. His hair was tangled and long, his face was clean-shaven, and his teeth were small and neat. The stranger laughed,high and manic, at inappropriate times, but seemed otherwise harmless. He stayed at a farmstead with a man, his wife, their son, and their daughter.
A week went by, and people saw the stranger in town. He’d play card tricks, make unusual but friendly conversation. Talked a lot about how beautiful it was in the caves. Glow-worms and gold, he’d repeat to shopkeepers.
A week went by, and nobody saw the family. Until one day a few men decided to go check on their property. It was burned to the ground. The stranger had been living in the ashes. His belongings were pristine among the wreckage.
Law enforcement scoured the woods. They found them, eventually. The bodies of the family. All but the teenaged daughter. Bloodless, wrapped in layers of plaster and cloth. Propped up against outcroppings of rock, deep in the first chamber of Foster’s Cave. Over the wrappings, the bodies had been dressed in their Sunday best.
The stranger staying with the family was quickly taken into custody and set to be executed without so much of a trial. Small town justice, despite the man’s claim of his innocence. On his day beneath the gallows, in a singsong voice, he said a prayer, and asked for chewing tobacco. He was hung with the dip spit running from his mouth.
Years later, a strange smell came from beneath the floor of the local grocery. The same store operating in Tom Soul today, in fact. Unmistakable rot.
The grocer insisted he didn’t know the cause. Perhaps produce had gotten stuck somewhere and gone off. It got stronger. He said he would fix it. Nothing improved. Too many people complained, and the townspeople pushed the hands of the law. The floorboards were torn up, one by one.
For years, unbeknownst to anyone, the townsfolk had been walking, shopping, and eating above the body of a teenage girl. She was wrapped in strips of cloth and plaster, like the rest of her family, and dressed in beautiful lace. A facsimile of her face had been painted onto the plaster on her head.
Decay had set in, and the grocer’s crime was revealed. He confessed. The unusual stranger had been just that- and a more sinister monster lurked amongst the townsfolk.
Over the years,the grocer had become obsessed with the teenaged daughter of the murdered family. He watched her grow up. He decided he wanted her, needed her, and the only way to do so was to kill her family and take her for himself. He needed to make sure she couldn’t run away, so he killed her too. He was hung and buried next to the unidentified stranger in an unmarked grave, somewhere outside of town. Some versions of the story have his body burned, or simply tossed into a mine shaft somewhere out in the woods.
I asked Elroy why he believed Christopher was interested in the story, and he said at the time, he just thought Christopher liked it for the same reason one might like any ghost story or local legend. But Elroy had been thinking, after our talk.
He had been thinking about the days and weeks leading up to Christopher’s death and the later murder of his parents. He reached out to people he knew from back then and managed to get his hands on the official record of the evidence recovered from the house that the Fosters had lived in until their untimely death. He thought I needed to see it, too.
***
ITEMS FOUND AT RESIDENCE OF THERESA AND GIDEON FOSTER
-BLOODIED PILLOWCASE (A-TYPE, THERESA FOSTER) CUT WITH KNIFE
-1 SHOTGUN BELONGING TO GIDEON FOSTER -SPENT SHELLS BELONGING TO GIDEON FOSTER
-1 “FRARY AND CLARK” BRAND HUNTING KNIFE, FOUND IN SINK (TRACES OF AB-TYPE BLOOD, GIDEON FOSTER)
-BLOOD SPATTER IN SINK (AB-TYPE, GIDEON FOSTER AND O-TYPE, PRESUMED INTRUDER)
- BURNT CLOTHES IN FIREPLACE, BELONGING TO THERESA AND GIDEON FOSTER
-BURNT SCALP FOUND IN FIREPLACE, BELONGING TO THERESA FOSTER
-BLOODIED JAWBONE, BELONGING TO WHITE-TAILED DEER (AB-TYPE, GIDEON FOSTER, AND O-TYPE,PRESUMED INTRUDER)
-BLOODIED SOCKPRINTS MATCHING MEN'S SIZE 8 SHOE, PRESUMED TO BELONG TO GIDEON FOSTER (BLOOD BOTH A-TYPE AND AB-TYPE)
- BARE FOOTPRINTS, BELONGING TO UNKNOWN SUSPECT
-1 PARTIAL FINGERPRINT, BELONGING TO UNKNOWN SUSPECT
-1 PARTIAL FINGERPRINT, UNIDENTIFIABLE
-1 SAMPLE BLOOD SPATTER IN FIREPLACE (B-TYPE, PRESUMED TO BELONG TO CHRISTOPHER FOSTER)
submitted by epicwizardcowboys to nosleep [link] [comments]
IT WAS A TERRIBLE THING THAT HAPPENED TO THE FOSTERS
By Douglas Ray CleavonPublished June 2006
Part One: The Interloper
Part Two: The Son
“The caves around Tom Soul are sick. A leaky kind of sick. That’s what the locals would tell you when they tell you to stay away. Can’t say I’d disagree.”
Dr. Malcolm Fisk, a historian and folklorist at the University of Missouri, was gracious enough to allow me to continue our interview after recounting the incidents involving the harrowing masked figure that plagued the town prior to the homicides of Theresa and Gideon Foster. The alarming description of the man,and his fixation on frightening people in town, made me feel like the Demon of Tom Soul was inextricably tied to the murders.
When I asked Dr. Fisk what sets the cave system within Tom Soul apart from the other caves and abandoned mines that are scattered around the rest of the Ozark Mountains,he provided me with resources to explore the history of Tom Soul from its founding. What I discovered was shockingly dark.
Tom Soul was founded in the early 1800s and spent much of that time as little more than a place for fur trappers and miners to stop and get a drink. This peaceful existence was violently interrupted by the start of Prohibition in 1920.
Without legal distilleries, moonshiners and bootleggers began to take full advantage of the extensive, natural hiding spots provided by the Ozarks herself, much to the chagrin of federal lawmen. Local police forces were happy to look the other way, likely because they were the recipient of cheap booze, but on a wider scale, Tom Soul was a problem.
Strong, quality alcohol without any real competition was being pumped out of the sleepy town without any real competition, quickly spreading into the surrounding counties. When federal agents came knocking, the moonshiners simply fled into the caves with their supplies, where the out-of-town agents were unable to follow safely.
On a chilly mountain night, in the fall of 1928, enforcers of Prohibition traveled to Tom Soul for what proved to be the last time. They had spent weeks whipping neighboring towns into a frenzy, convincing clergy, and law-abiding citizens that the bootleggers and outlaws in Tom Soul were a threat to American values,and to the good word of God.
Armed, they stormed the caves with little warning to the people inside. They knew that the moonshiners would flee into the caves. They brought matches.
When the moonshiners hid, the posse spilled the contents of the distilleries all along the cave, where it followed the moonshiners trail. The posse added firestarters, tinder, logs, anything they could think of, at the mouth of every cave in Tom Soul. Including Foster’s Cave.
Once the posse was satisfied, they lit it ablaze. The moonshiners tried to escape,facing the law over inevitable death, but they were not given a choice. The posse blocked the exits.
People choked on the smoke, lungs charring from the searing heat. They suffocated to death, fire consuming oxygen before they could get the chance. They burnt,clothes catching alight, and when fleeing to the exit for help, they were shot.
At Foster’s Cave, a man almost made it out of the fire before a federal officer shot the man in the knees. Witnesses say this was likely on purpose. The man fell into the fire, and tried to drag himself forward, but the stone floor of the cave was too hot, and he roasted alive. Nobody who went into the caves that night survived. It seemed as though even before that bloody night in June 1976, the Foster property was a harbor for savagery.
When I reached back out to the neighbor that I had previously interviewed, he claimed that Christopher Foster was preoccupied with the history of the town.
“Elroy- my brother- was buddies with Christopher, but I never liked the guy much. Don’t like to speak ill of the dead, but I’m just being honest. He was strange, even before he got sick. Not much of a church goin’ type, neither, which really riled up his pops. I don’t really remember much more than that, but hey, if you want’a talk to Elroy, I can give him a heads up.”
***
Elroy, who asked me to omit his last name on request of his brother, currently resides in California with a domestic partner, where he is employed as a schoolteacher. He was hesitant to speak about the murder of Theresa and Gideon Foster, but became happy to share information when I explained I was more interested in learning about their life, and specifically, their son.
“They didn’t deserve any of it,” Elroy told me. “Hate to say it, but in retrospect,part of me is relieved that Christopher passed when he did. Maybe it spared him in some way.
Growing up, I lived in a little house right on the outskirts of Tom Soul. I was the oldest of six boys, and desperate for some sense of privacy. Christopher was the same as I was, but he was an only child. I think we found a sort of solace with each other.
His house was somewhere I could escape to, and I think his parents were happy Chris had a pal his own age. They were always pleasant people. A little guarded, maybe, but pleasant. I think his dad had a hard time leaving his ‘pastor’ mask at the door.
We grew up doing just about everything together. Even though it was the sticks, there was a ton of things for wild young kids to get up to- maybe it was because we were way off in the sticks. We didn’t have an arcade, or a theatre, so we spent most of our when we weren’t at school or at home exploring the woods. If we were home before dark, and promised not to go into the caves, our parents were happy for us to be independent and out from under their feet. Different times, I suppose.
Chris was probably about 13 the first time he became seriously ill. He had to go to the hospital in Branson because he had pneumonia so bad. When he came home, it almost felt like he left whatever kept him a healthy young man behind. Never really recovered.
I think that’s when he started reading more about the town’s history. Maybe in retrospect it was a bit morbid, but after he got home, the doc had him on bedrest. Didn’t have a lot to do other than look at that damn cave and think. Started spending less time outside together and more time at the little library next to the mayor’s office. Helped me realize how much I loved classic literature, even if it wasn’t quite as exciting.
Nobody other than me and his parents really knew how bad his health had gotten until he started sleepwalking. To preface, this was a small enough town where everybody knew everybody. Today? Ina bigger town? Things wouldn’t have been like this. But in Tom Soul?” Elroy sighed. “It just made sense, to not make a big deal of things.
The first time it happened we were 14 or 15. Just starting high school. One of our neighbors went to get something from their cellar one night, and sitting down there in the dark was Christopher. Of course, the homeowner grabbed his gun and told him to leave, or he’d shoot him, but it was clear pretty quickly that Chris had no idea how he’d gotten down there. He was confused and crying, begging for his life, and that poor befuddled neighbor had to wake the Fosters up so they could come collect their son.
Nobody, not even his parents, could figure out how he got down there without waking anybody up or leaving a trail. Nobody knew how long he’d been sitting in that damp cellar. Alone, in the dark. Dreaming.
They took him back to the doctor. Doc said it was just a severe case of sleepwalking, and they left it at that. Harmless. Chris wouldn’t feel rested after an episode, but it wasn’t going to hurt him. Word in town travels fast. The next time someone found Christopher in their house, they didn’t bother with theatrics. They just called his parents to come take him home.
After a while, it was normal. Creepy, of course, but just a quirk of the town. Nobody wanted to offend the pastor, anyways. Adults tried to be polite, but kids weren’t so beholden to small-town politics.
He was weird, sickly, spent a lot of time indoors. Christopher was a real beanpole by this time, too. Had his hair long. The two of us were a bit bohemian, I suppose you could say. Girls were all over him, but the other boys didn’t appreciate him much. I remember about halfway into our freshman year; a bunch of older teens jumped us on our walk to school. Beat the shit out of us. I had a black eye for what felt like six months. They held Christopher down and cut his hair, called him some choice names I don’t believe you’d be able to print in your article.
After that, it was just the two of us. When his illness got worse, I’d come around every day with food for him and his folks. On his bad days I’d read to him, or I’d bring my records with me, and we’d listen to music. I’d clean up after he threw up and listen to him when he bitched about all the pills and teas his mom would have him try.
I loved Christopher. Part of me still does. I loved him in a way I couldn’t tell anyone, until I moved far, far away from backwoods Missouri. But Chris knew. He wasn’t ever going to feel that way about a man, but he accepted me the same.
When we were about 21 or so, we went out to the creek on his parent’s property, mostly for old times’ sake,” Elroy pronounced creek more like crik, just about the only thing about his speech that betrayed his backwoods Missouri roots. “This was one of his last good days. It was morning, and the weather was sublime. We sat on the bank of the creek with our feet in the water, not even talking. Just enjoying being outside.
The water was latte-brown, but too shallow to hide much more beyond an errant minnow. And then it rippled.
A man rose from the water, exposing everything above his navel to the cool air of early spring. I knew he was, with that damn creepy mask on. It was the Demon of Tom Soul.
I scrambled backwards away from the bank through the brush, trying to put as much distance between myself and that creep as possible. Christopher hardly reacted. I wonder if part of him expected it.
‘Hey,’ it said. It sounded like it had Marlboros for vocal cords.
My breathing was ragged, but Christopher looked as collected as ever.
‘Need a smoke?’ Christopher asked. I wanted to tell him we needed to go, but I was frozen.
I couldn’t get control of my body enough to make a sound. Its eyes were glittering, and it rose the rest of the way from the water. It was totally naked, muscles defined and wiry, and it waded over to stand in front of Christopher.
Chris pulled a pack of cigarettes from his jacket. He never smoked. I don't know why he had them.
‘Thanks kid,’ it said. It stuck the whole cigarette in its mouth, and after a moment, flipped it back out between his lips. The end was lit. The smoke didn’t smell normal. It was tobacco smoke, sure, but there was something else there. Coppery, earthy.
Christopher turned to me, where I still lay on the ground. ‘You should leave, El,’ he told me. ‘This isn’t something you should be around for.’
And-… I-… Douglas Ray, I was a coward. That knocked me out of my paralysis enough to get back on my feet and run home.
I checked in with his parents, a few days later, to see how he was doing. Sick, they told me. But he was home. I couldn’t bring myself to visit him again. I carry that with me.
That day in the woods. That was the last time I saw Christopher Foster.”
According to the town’s paper, Christopher Foster’s funeral was unexpectedly large, held on an overcast day, and closed casket. He had died after a long battle with an immune system disorder. Elroy hadn’t reported his sighting of the Demon.
A few days after our interview, I got an email from Elroy. He told me that talking about his childhood and Christopher had jogged his memory. There was a story, about the town, that Christopher had been fascinated with.
Decades before the incident with the bootleggers, a stranger visited Tom Soul. He arrived in Missouri by train and claimed he was visiting his family deeper in the mountains. This visitor was strange. His hair was tangled and long, his face was clean-shaven, and his teeth were small and neat. The stranger laughed,high and manic, at inappropriate times, but seemed otherwise harmless. He stayed at a farmstead with a man, his wife, their son, and their daughter.
A week went by, and people saw the stranger in town. He’d play card tricks, make unusual but friendly conversation. Talked a lot about how beautiful it was in the caves. Glow-worms and gold, he’d repeat to shopkeepers.
A week went by, and nobody saw the family. Until one day a few men decided to go check on their property. It was burned to the ground. The stranger had been living in the ashes. His belongings were pristine among the wreckage.
Law enforcement scoured the woods. They found them, eventually. The bodies of the family. All but the teenaged daughter. Bloodless, wrapped in layers of plaster and cloth. Propped up against outcroppings of rock, deep in the first chamber of Foster’s Cave. Over the wrappings, the bodies had been dressed in their Sunday best.
The stranger staying with the family was quickly taken into custody and set to be executed without so much of a trial. Small town justice, despite the man’s claim of his innocence. On his day beneath the gallows, in a singsong voice, he said a prayer, and asked for chewing tobacco. He was hung with the dip spit running from his mouth.
Years later, a strange smell came from beneath the floor of the local grocery. The same store operating in Tom Soul today, in fact. Unmistakable rot.
The grocer insisted he didn’t know the cause. Perhaps produce had gotten stuck somewhere and gone off. It got stronger. He said he would fix it. Nothing improved. Too many people complained, and the townspeople pushed the hands of the law. The floorboards were torn up, one by one.
For years, unbeknownst to anyone, the townsfolk had been walking, shopping, and eating above the body of a teenage girl. She was wrapped in strips of cloth and plaster, like the rest of her family, and dressed in beautiful lace. A facsimile of her face had been painted onto the plaster on her head.
Decay had set in, and the grocer’s crime was revealed. He confessed. The unusual stranger had been just that- and a more sinister monster lurked amongst the townsfolk.
Over the years,the grocer had become obsessed with the teenaged daughter of the murdered family. He watched her grow up. He decided he wanted her, needed her, and the only way to do so was to kill her family and take her for himself. He needed to make sure she couldn’t run away, so he killed her too. He was hung and buried next to the unidentified stranger in an unmarked grave, somewhere outside of town. Some versions of the story have his body burned, or simply tossed into a mine shaft somewhere out in the woods.
I asked Elroy why he believed Christopher was interested in the story, and he said at the time, he just thought Christopher liked it for the same reason one might like any ghost story or local legend. But Elroy had been thinking, after our talk.
He had been thinking about the days and weeks leading up to Christopher’s death and the later murder of his parents. He reached out to people he knew from back then and managed to get his hands on the official record of the evidence recovered from the house that the Fosters had lived in until their untimely death. He thought I needed to see it, too.
***
ITEMS FOUND AT RESIDENCE OF THERESA AND GIDEON FOSTER
-BLOODIED PILLOWCASE (A-TYPE, THERESA FOSTER) CUT WITH KNIFE
-1 SHOTGUN BELONGING TO GIDEON FOSTER -SPENT SHELLS BELONGING TO GIDEON FOSTER
-1 “FRARY AND CLARK” BRAND HUNTING KNIFE, FOUND IN SINK (TRACES OF AB-TYPE BLOOD, GIDEON FOSTER)
-BLOOD SPATTER IN SINK (AB-TYPE, GIDEON FOSTER AND O-TYPE, PRESUMED INTRUDER)
- BURNT CLOTHES IN FIREPLACE, BELONGING TO THERESA AND GIDEON FOSTER
-BURNT SCALP FOUND IN FIREPLACE, BELONGING TO THERESA FOSTER
-BLOODIED JAWBONE, BELONGING TO WHITE-TAILED DEER (AB-TYPE, GIDEON FOSTER, AND O-TYPE,PRESUMED INTRUDER)
-BLOODIED SOCKPRINTS MATCHING MEN'S SIZE 8 SHOE, PRESUMED TO BELONG TO GIDEON FOSTER (BLOOD BOTH A-TYPE AND AB-TYPE)
- BARE FOOTPRINTS, BELONGING TO UNKNOWN SUSPECT
-1 PARTIAL FINGERPRINT, BELONGING TO UNKNOWN SUSPECT
-1 PARTIAL FINGERPRINT, UNIDENTIFIABLE
-1 SAMPLE BLOOD SPATTER IN FIREPLACE (B-TYPE, PRESUMED TO BELONG TO CHRISTOPHER FOSTER)
2023.05.22 01:22 miataowner This is why MYP owners buy 18's
 | These pics are from our trip home today, Louisville KY metro area to Collierville TN (a sunburn of Memphis.) Blurberry is a 2022 MYP running Michelin Pilot Sport AS4 235/55ZR18XL wrapped around 18" Martian MW03 forged wheels. submitted by miataowner to TeslaModelY [link] [comments] First leg of the trip is 189 miles at 263whmi starting from the residential street of my inlaws house to the 150kw SC station in the Target parking lot at the I40 Charlotte exit in Nashville TN. I had FSD enabled and speed offset at +10%. We probably averaged closer to 70 on the freeway considering traffic and construction and one short slowdown right north of Nashville. Climate was on full auto at 73. Second leg was 196 miles at 272whmi starting at the same Target, stopping briefly at the bigass solar farm about 30mi east of Memphis on I40 for a quick kiddo potty break, then wrapping up at our driveway in north Collierville. Same FSD settings as above, however this time we encountered very few slow downs, so our interstate average was really close to the full 77mph setting. We changed the climate to 74 because the kids were complaining of being cold. The 18s let you run a less expensive tire, provide extra sidewall for a comfortable, quiet ride and also wheel protection from curbs, they enable your MYP to accelerate almost 10% faster in 0 to 60 tests, and as you can see above they kick ass for actual driving efficiency. 18's are the real performance option for the MYP. It's a shame Tesla offers only the enormous, heavy and woefully inefficient 21" wheels from the factory. |
2023.05.21 04:51 BrownEyedMurder This feels like a Dollop waiting to happen.
 | submitted by BrownEyedMurder to TheDollop [link] [comments] |
2023.05.18 22:13 Dismal-Jellyfish Inflation Alert! April 2023 Rental Report: The median asking rent was $1,734, up by $4 from last month and down by $43 from the peak but still $348 (25.1%) higher than the same time in 2019 (pre-pandemic).
 | submitted by Dismal-Jellyfish to Superstonk [link] [comments] Source: https://www.realtor.com/research/april-2023-rent/ In April 2023, the U.S. rental market experienced single-digit growth for the ninth month in a row after fifteen months of slowing from a high of 16.4% growth in January 2022. Median rent across the top 50 metros was up just 0.3% year-over-year for 0-2 bedroom properties, the lowest growth rate since the onset of the pandemic. The median asking rent was $1,734, up by $4 from last month and down by $43 from the peak but still $348 (25.1%) higher than the same time in 2019 (pre-pandemic). Figure 1: Year-over-Year Rent Trend:https://preview.redd.it/j7za6lrkcn0b1.png?width=1000&format=png&auto=webp&s=a51c460d2e6f9800693610afc97c301b955564f9Smaller Units See Faster Growth:In April 2023, the rent growth of two bedroom units increased just 0.9%, marking the slowest growth rate since the onset of the pandemic. Nevertheless, April is the fourth straight month that we saw positive rent gains in two-bedroom units on a monthly basis, a possible return to typical trends that have been absent amid the upheaval of the pandemic and subsequent recovery. The median rent for two bedrooms was $1,936 nationally, $17 (0.9%) higher than the same time last year but still $32 lower than the July 2022 peak. Even though rent for larger units had the smallest gains relative to last year, larger unit rents had the highest growth rate over the past four years, up by $430 (28.6%). Figure 2: National Rent Trend by Unit Size:https://preview.redd.it/72b7w0lpcn0b1.png?width=1000&format=png&auto=webp&s=743ef1204bba6abd14b09e7eb66298279f03faa3https://preview.redd.it/3s8ivf8ucn0b1.png?width=593&format=png&auto=webp&s=e0ea532bacba9bc654a3f5444cb1d1cdadc4e7ac Rents in Western Coastal Metros Cooling Faster Than Their Northeast Peers:The recent wave of job cuts in the tech industry has likely impacted the rental demand in large metros on the west coast. In April 2023, the median rent in the West was 2.6% lower than a year ago. Specifically, rents in Seattle, WA (-0.2%) saw the first year-over-year declines in nearly 2 years, and rents in San Diego, CA (-1.0%) saw the first decline in over 2.5 years. Although San Jose, CA (3.2%) appears to be an outlier in March, its growth rate was only one sixth of what it was a year ago (19%), and it is more likely to continue to trend downwards in the coming months. In contrast, rents in populous northeastern metros such as New York, NY (8.0%), Boston, MA (4.2%), and Washington D.C (4.9%) continued to experience faster growth. Rents in Sun Belt Markets DeclinedIn April 2023, the median asking-rent for 0-2 bedroom rental properties across Sun Belt metros was 2.5% lower than one year ago. The top 5 metros experiencing the most significant year-over-year rent declines are all clustered in the Sun Belt regions: Riverside, CA (-10.9%), Las Vegas, NV (-5.7%), Phoenix, AZ (-5.2%), Austin, TX (-4.8%), and Tampa, FL (-4.1%). Rents in Midwest Markets Continue to See Faster GrowthOn the flip side, rents in Midwest metros continued to see faster rent growth. In April 2023, the median rent growth rate was 4.9%. As the Midwest markets tend to have greater affordability, the stronger growth in these markets likely results from this benefit even as it may reduce existing affordability. Among the top 10 metros experiencing the fastest year-over-year growth, six of them are located in the Midwest: Cincinnati, OH (9.9%), Detroit, MI (8.9%), Columbus, OH (8.4%), Indianapolis, IN (8.1%), Milwaukee, WI (6.8%), and St. Louis, MO (5.7%). The other four metros are New York, NY (8.0%), Pittsburgh, PA (7.1%), Oklahoma City, OK (7.0%) and Louisville/Jefferson, KY-IN (6.0%). In addition, in 2023Q1, the rental vacancy rate in the Midwest was 6.6%, 0.8 percentage points higher than 12 months ago and 0.2 percentage points higher than the national average. Specifically, the rate was increased most in Minneapolis, MN, rising from 5.3% in 2022Q1 to 10.1% in 2023Q1. Faster Growth in Asking Rents and Decreasing Renter Mobility Make the Shelter Price Index StickierAs the largest regular expense for most households, shelter costs are a subject of significant interest to consumers and a significant component of the Consumer Price Index (CPI) data. Between April 2022 to April 2023, the U.S. city average for shelter increased by 8.1 percent, down from 8.2 percent in March, and the first slowing since March 2021. Both its primary components – owners’ equivalent rent of residences and rent of primary residence – experienced a year-over-year increase of 8.1 and 8.8 percent. The shelter index increased 0.4 percent on a monthly basis (seasonally adjusted), the smallest month-over-month change since February 2022. Figure 3: Year-over-Year Grown in Median Asking Rents and the CPI Shelter Index:https://preview.redd.it/3y4pdz92dn0b1.png?width=1000&format=png&auto=webp&s=37b78446228502a5d50ee21f9300ade2d7e9f17bAn important reason for this lag is because the rent growth we reported captures only asking-rents for advertised rentals, which are presumably advertised due to tenant turnover, whereas the CPI shelter index is survey-based and includes rents paid by both new and existing tenants. Existing tenants typically pay the same monthly rents for the entire lease period, and also tend to have smaller renewal increases, resulting in a “sticky” price. As a result, changes in shelter prices may take longer to show up in the CPI shelter index compared to other data sources. Figure 4: Percentage Change in Rent by Type of Tenant in the Last Six Months:As a result, many renters may prefer to remain in their current residences to avoid the higher cost of new rentals. In fact, the share of renters who moved in the past 12 months declined to its lowest rate in 2021 (Figure 5), suggesting a record-high lease renewal rate. Since more tenants chose to secure lower rents by renewing leases than before, a larger proportion of the growth in market rents has not yet been captured in the shelter index, amplifying the lags between the CPI shelter index and making it stickier. Figure 5: Renter Mobility Rates (Age 18+):https://preview.redd.it/lyatuh6adn0b1.png?width=1000&format=png&auto=webp&s=bceeafe43d1ad397cbdb279df12f712076c2a15chttps://preview.redd.it/n1b6ga4ndn0b1.png?width=828&format=png&auto=webp&s=3255cc972a7e4366bcebab01bb180cbdb28a6153 https://preview.redd.it/c40jx7hndn0b1.png?width=672&format=png&auto=webp&s=407e99bb3d6f79b7f943261f13e7660b910b4af7 TLDRS:
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2023.05.17 18:52 SchlesingerMindy323 [HIRING] 25 Jobs in KY Hiring Now!
2023.05.17 17:22 mynjay Black trans friends
Hi all I'm JD just turned 30 in January. 2 years into my journey now and I'm loving it.
Soooo I've had the same 1 best friend for like 12 years now, other friends come and go but she's always stayed and I love her for it. Lately I've been feeling like I don't have enough close friends to talk to, and the fact that my therapist keeps telling me I need new people to be around lol. I'm a home body and so is my best friend. I'd really like the meet some guys around my age still early in their transition to befriend and hang out with. I'm in Louisville ky. I tried meeting other black transmen in my community before but it got kinda messy with one guy I was dealing with and I never went back. If your in or around my area I'd love to hear from you.
Edit: Some things about me Love anime I work nights Tuesday thru Friday I have a partner and we raise a child together I'm a foodie (extra suckered for good Asian food) Love to grill 420 friendly
submitted by mynjay to FTMOver30 [link] [comments]
Soooo I've had the same 1 best friend for like 12 years now, other friends come and go but she's always stayed and I love her for it. Lately I've been feeling like I don't have enough close friends to talk to, and the fact that my therapist keeps telling me I need new people to be around lol. I'm a home body and so is my best friend. I'd really like the meet some guys around my age still early in their transition to befriend and hang out with. I'm in Louisville ky. I tried meeting other black transmen in my community before but it got kinda messy with one guy I was dealing with and I never went back. If your in or around my area I'd love to hear from you.
Edit: Some things about me Love anime I work nights Tuesday thru Friday I have a partner and we raise a child together I'm a foodie (extra suckered for good Asian food) Love to grill 420 friendly