Cataudella funeral home methuen ma obituaries

I know it's not exactly fan art, but it's the most fitting for this kind of thing. Another fanfiction has it as its flair when it was posted here. Anyway, this is my output for the OnK fanfic train. I hope you guys enjoy! The link to the fanfiction.net page will be at the bottom.
***
With the rise of violence against celebrities also comes the rise of elements that protect against them. A rookie agent finds himself assigned to a famous idol with a promise to defend. And what was supposed to be a training assignment would eventually grow to so much more.
***
The young man grumbled as he trudged the halls of his home towards his father’s office. His hand would rake through his black hair in his face in annoyance while his two emerald eyes with four-point star-shaped irises focused forward. He already knew what was gonna happen and he wished he could refuse. He had been hoping to devote his time to honing his gaming skills with the hope of maybe one day joining a pro-E-sports team. But, because his father was an old man with a small scope of the modern world, he laughed and told him to do something real with his life. And something real meant taking over the family business one day.
Kurosawa Security Services, or simply KSS, is a Japanese family-owned security company based in Kyoto although they have offices all over the country and even abroad. KSS provides everything from security guards for convenience stores to close protection agents for top government figures. They can also provide security consultation and training. The service is rated as the best Japan has to offer with highly trained agents. KSS agents regularly train with the police and military elements like the Security Police and Special Forces Group. And in rare occasions, they would even train with the US Secret Service abroad. KSS is also the best because of the long history of the organization which dates back to the feudal era when Kurosawa Saitō picked up the sword and protected the local Daimyo from an attack. In other words, they had a long time to hone their craft.
Now, what makes a security company like KSS so big in a country where crime is almost non-existent? Isn’t Japan a safe nation? Those would be your first mistakes if you thought of them. It doesn’t matter which part of the world you’re on, good and evil exist everywhere. And good must be protected from evil. That’s why KSS exists.
And soon enough, the company will be in Akio’s hands when it's his father’s time to retire. That’s how the system works, despite what he thinks of it. So, now his ultimate tests will begin. His first assignment.
After walking for what seemed like hours he reached a pair of large doors. He knocked on them and was asked to come in by a voice on the other side, so he complied. Entering, he was greeted with a fairly large office for only one man. And that man was currently seated behind a desk reading through some papers.
“Hey, Dad,” He greeted as he sat down on one of the chairs before across from him.
Kurosawa Tadao put the papers down and then looked at his son before smiling. He was an aging man with black hair that was already greying and blue eyes that had four-point star-shaped irises.
“Hey, Son! How’re ‘ya doing?” He asked.
“Just fine. I was finally getting my KDR up in Black Ops and I was planning on getting my skills up in CSGO later. But, here we are,” Akio answered.
“Staying inside is not good for your body you know.”
“I planned to play basketball tomorrow and I have band with the boys this weekend.”
“It’s still unhealthy because it’s exactly anything productive. You’re 17, Son, you need to start shaping up for your career,” Tadao said.
“I’ve been shaping it up since I was five,” Akio muttered.
“And that’s why we’re here right now. Your first assignment, son! It’s the moment of truth! Aren’t you excited?” Tadao asked with a wide grin as he picked up a folder from the side.
“No, not really,” Akio answered flatly.
“Well, maybe you’ll be excited once you find out who I’m assigning you to. Spoiler alert, she’s an idol,” He said with a grin, whispering that last part as he handed him the file.
“I’m not into idols, Dad,” He said flatly as he took the file.
“Your little brother a good chunk of this company’s personnel, and hell, a good chunk of the population are though,” He commented.
“That doesn’t make sense. Everyone can have different interests. And Goro, well, I guess being tied to a hospital bed for years does that to you,” He said sadly.
“You’re one weird kid, you know.”
“Well, I was raised by the likes of you, Dad,” Akio retorted with a sly grin which made his father laugh.
“Well, you got me there,” He chuckled and promptly silenced himself to let his son read.
“Hoshino Ai? Never heard of her. Although I admit she is pretty cute,” He mumbled as read through the file with her picture on it. He took in her personal information like date of birth, age, physical appearance, and all the usual things. And then he got to a part that listed her status— “What the fuck?! She’s pregnant?!”
“Language, Akio!” Tadao scolded. “Anyway, officially, she’ll be taking a break from showbiz for a while due to ill health. Actually, she’s pregnant and they’re trying to keep it under wraps. Bad for business, because a lot of fans are a bunch of lonely losers, they’ll drop her just because she has kids.”
“Language, Dad,” Akio retorted and shook his head. “Well, teen pregnancy is bad, but it’s unfair for her to be hated for that reason.”
“Yeah, the life of a celebrity is a lot shittier than most people would think. I know, your mother was a singer, she dealt with that too when we were found out,” Tadao said with a frown before smiling a bit. “She
“Please don’t tell me about your romances, Dad,” Akio cringed. “Anyway, Hoshino-sama will be my protectee, huh?”
“Yes. She’ll be heading here with her management agency soon to settle the contract. And then you’ll be heading to the countryside where she can lay low until she gives birth. That’s the basics of it.”
“Alright. Babysit a pregnant teenager and keep her from doing anything dumb. Should be easy enough,” He said.
“Do not underestimate the dangers tied to the entertainment world, Akio,” Tadao reminded. “As I’ve said, a lot of them are a bunch of lonely losers or generally just of questionable character. Some of them will go to great lengths just for attention. Fans can get really wacky after all. It’s already happened before. Not to mention, all the snakes in the industry. Someone might want to up their game so they think about eliminating the competition. You get the point.”
“I’m very aware, Dad, don’t worry,” He assured then sighed. “Just doing this and my studies at the same time? What am I gonna do?”
“That’s rich coming from someone who was planning on just lazing around all day. Besides, you’ve been homeschooling for more than a year already, right? I’m sure you can get a read in every day without compromising your job.”
“Well, it’s not impossible, but it’s gonna suck,” He said then sighed. “Alright, I’ve got this. Not much of a choice anyway. Anything else I should know?”
“Yeah. Remember this, you do not ever let your protectee out of your sight. Wherever she goes, you go. That being said, don’t be too overbearing, and make sure to give her room to breathe. She is a woman, she will want her space. Also, try not to set such a tight atmosphere. Try being her friend, and she’ll be easier to work with. Tomita will meet you tomorrow too to evaluate you. You’ll also be reporting to him your progress during your task.”
“Noted, Dad. In that case,” Akio stood then positioned himself directly in front of the table before bowing. “I shall see this task to the end.”
***
Idol music was not his cup of tea and Hoshino Ai was a complete stranger to him till that moment. He’d spend a whole week with the pre-preparations with one of the senior agents until it was time to meet the latest customers. Then he would meet Hoshino Ai for the first time and they’d make their first impressions of one another.
***
“Are you really sure about this?”
“We’re going to need a shield just in case. Lot’s of wackos around here. Besides, we’ve already agreed to meet.”
“It’s just, there’s a lot of shady dealings in the security world.”
“Are we any better? Besides, KSS is the best this country can offer. I also know the company head personally too, we went to high school together, and he owes me. We’ll be just fine.”
“Um, o-okay…”
“I didn’t understand any of that, but okay!”
“Never change, Ai…”
How do you keep a secret from the world? Simple: you lie. You lie a lot. But then you realize it’s not so simple and every day is spent with fear that everything might fall apart. Just trying to get anywhere was a massive undertaking. For example, right now. Two adults and a pregnant teen in a car. Aside from the teen pregnancy, there’s nothing strange at all about it. But if you knew who the car’s passengers were, then you’d immediately understand.
After a couple of hours of driving (making occasional turns to make sure they weren’t followed and consequently getting lost a couple of times) they finally reached their destination which was a large estate in the outskirts of Kyoto. A guard met them at the gate, and after the driver talked and showed some credentials, they were let in. It took another minute or two until they reached the house where a group was waiting for them. The car group got out of their vehicle with the house group greeting them shortly after. A man with short blonde hair and yellowish-brown eyes underneath some shades stepped forward and led the group.
“Ichigo-san, you’re still about as ugly as when I last saw you,” Tadao greeted with a cheeky grin as he approached.
“Tadao-san, you’re clearly the most repulsive one here. I see you still haven’t taken my advice to get your face fixed,” Ichigo greeted with a snarky expression as he also approached.
Once close enough, they locked hands for a shake before pulling each other in for a hug.
“It’s nice to see you again, friend! How’re you doin', man? No troubles getting here?” Tadao asked.
“I’m just fine. Getting here was a lot smoother than we thought. But we are exhausted,” Ichigo replied.
“I imagine. Remember that time in Second Year when we bought booze with fake IDs and we had to run for it?”
“Ha, how can I forget?! I was terrified the cops would get us!”
As the two men shared stories and laughed, everyone else present could not help but be astonished at how casual the two were being. It almost was like this wasn’t a business meeting.
“Yeah, those were the days,” Tadao laughed and turned to the other two people to address them. “Before we continue any further, allow me to introduce myself. I am Kurosawa Tadao, head of Kurosawa Security Services, and I welcome you all to my home. It’s nice to meet you!”
He then stepped toward the next person. She was a rather tall woman with long strawberry-blonde hair and pinkish-brown eyes.
“And you must be Miyako, his wife, yes?” He asked.
“Yes, I am,” She said with a polite smile as they shook hands.
“You know, I’ve always wondered how someone with a face like his could get married. But here we are,” He joked earning a laugh from her.
“I sometimes wonder why I decided to marry him too,” She commented and they both laughed.
“Huh? What?” Ichigo said but was ignored.
Then, Tadao moved to the last person. She was a short girl with long violet hair with matching eyes that have stars in them. But her most distinct feature was the bulge in her abdomen showing her pregnancy. Moreover, she looked like she wasn’t even 18. This observation made his gut wrench due to feeling pity for this poor girl’s bad decision. Regardless, he put on his best smile and took her hand.
“And you must be Hoshino Ai,” He greeted. “I’ve heard all about you, but since I’m the stereotypical old man, I’m not into your music. Regardless of that, and after listening to a couple of songs, I think you’re doing some very great work in your field.”
Her lips curved into a smile that cured souls as her eyes seemed to shimmer. Tadao kept himself from reacting, but at that moment he knew why she was so popular.
“Thank you so much, Tadao-san! You know, I don’t think I’m that popular to begin with but I’m always so happy to hear that someone like what I do!” She said happily.
He chuckled a bit. “I used to be in a band in middle school and high school, so I still try to stay up to date with the latest musical trends these days. Although, I still don’t know much. I mostly get my info on that from my own agents.”
He glanced to the side followed by Ai shortly after to see three younger agents standing stiffly as they tried to ignore them. They knew exactly who she was. All three of them have her as their phone’s lock screen wallpaper. And it’s clear that they wanted to talk to her, but they couldn’t. And even if they could, they didn’t know how. Ai giggled in amusement while Tadao just stared.
“Anyway, now that introductions have been made, let’s go inside where it’s more comfortable. I know you’re here for business, so let’s dive right in. We’ve also prepared snacks and refreshments inside in case you want some. Ichigo, my valet will take care of your car, so give him the keys please,” Tadao said as he gestured for them to follow.
“Do you have ice cream?” Ai asked.
“We sure do!”
“Yay! Let’s go!”
After Ichigo handed over the keys to a valet, Tadao began leading them into his home with the trio following shortly after. But before that, a mischievous thought entered Ai’s mind and she acted quickly. She suddenly turned to look at the trio of agents who tensed up even more under her gaze. Worse, they realized that she was up to no good just from her grin. But before they could even speculate what she was up to, she suddenly did her signature love heart hand pose with a smile. In a flash, the three agents felt their knees go weak in the presence of such moe cuteness that they struggled to stay upright as they covered their mouths to silence their ecstatic screams. Satisfied with her handiwork, Ai giggled as she left the scene of the crime.
“Um, are they gonna be alright?” Ichigo asked nervously as he saw one of them falling over.
“They’ll be fine.”
They entered the huge house and led them through a series of hallways that were decorated with all sorts of interesting stuff. One of them was some sort of cannon on a towed carriage, except, aside from one big barrel, it’s got multiple little ones arranged in a circle with a crank.
“Kurosawa-san, what’s that?” Ai asked.
“Oh, this? This is a Model 1874 Gatling Gun. It fires a .45-70 caliber round from top-loaded 20-round box magazines with a rate of fire of about a thousand rounds per minute, although, it really depends on how fast you can crank it. It was one of the most revolutionary weapons ever designed and it changed the battlefield forever. This specific weapon here was used by the Imperial Army against revolting samurai during their last stand in the Battle of Mount Shiroyama, the last action of the Satsuma Rebellion,” He explained. “Sometimes I wonder what the samurai were thinking in their last moments just before they were all gunned down.”
“Wow,” Ai whispered in awe.
“Indeed. I don’t even know where my father dug up this gun,” He said before tracing across the black-painted barrels of the old weapon.
“That’s so cool!” She exclaimed happily then fished out her phone from her hoodie pocket. “Can I take a picture with it?”
“Ai, we’re here in business and the man’s likely very busy, so let’s not take anymore—” Ichigo said but was cut off.
“Sure thing! Our meeting is the only thing I have on my schedule today, so I’m basically free to do anything!” Tadao interjected with a wide smile as she took her phone.
What followed next was a comedic scene which was basically an old man doting on his granddaughter while he took pictures of her doing cute things. Meanwhile, everyone else present just stared with blank expressions.
“So much for not being into idols,” Ichigo muttered.
“These are so good! Thank you so much, Kurosawa-san!” She thanked him with a wide smile after going over the pictures.
“You’re very welcome! And you know, we’ve got a lot of goodies in this house, maybe you’d like to take some pictures with them too?” He offered.
“I’d love to!” She squealed.
“Mhmm!” Someone cleared their throat.
Looking in that direction, they saw a young man dressed in a nice business suit who was basically a younger version of Tadao. He approached them with his hands in his pockets and regarded them with a straight expression.
“You’re getting off track here, Dad. We’re still conducting a business,” He said as a matter of factly. “And what happened to ‘no touching of the expensive decor’?”
“Oh come on, son, do you honestly believe I can refuse that?” Tadao complained as he gestured to Ai who maintained a happy expression as she looked at the photos.
“Don’t enable her, Dad. Ma’am, please stop touching the gun, it’s very old and very expensive,” He said.
“Ai, get off of it,” Ichigo ordered.
“Aw, okay,” She said sadly as she backed off.
“Sorry for the trouble, but this stuff is crazy expensive. And oh, I’m Kurosawa Akio, by the way. It’s a pleasure to meet all of you,” He greeted with a polite smile.
“This is my son. He’ll be taking care of the business one day, so I’m bringing him along more now,” Tadao said.
Another round of handshakes was exchanged as the group introduced themselves to Akio. Ai expected the tone and body language of a fan holding himself back, the same kind she’s gotten used to seeing, but was rather surprised when he shook her hands normally with nothing but politeness in his eyes. Strange, now she’s curious. Akio on his part thought that she was a rather normal-looking girl, except for the bulging stomach, and didn’t find anything very special from just looking at her.
“Sorry for messing around. It’s just a really cool-looking thing!” Ai said.
“It sure is, ‘can’t argue with that. They don’t make weapons like these anymore these days. It’s all just big bombs now, which is boring,” Akio remarked.
“I don’t think death and destruction are supposed to be nice to see,” Miyako remarked.
“Exactly,” Tadao stated with a firm voice. “And that’s what we strive for in KSS. Every day must always be boring. Now come on, we’ve got business to attend to.” He said before turning and walking away.
“Is he always like this?” Miyako asked with a sweatdrop, noting the man’s sudden change of face.
“You’ll get used to it,” Both Ichigo and Akio replied in a flat tone.
They finished the walk toward their destination which was a conference room inside the house. The place was quite spacious and cozy looking, especially since it has a fireplace. They all immediately took their seats with KSS taking one side of the table and Ichigo Productions sitting opposite of them.
“Snacks will be brought in a little bit, so let’s get down to business to business shall we,” Tadao said as he placed a briefcase on the table and pulled out some papers. “By the way, everything we talk about will not leave this room, you can trust us. I think I also know the reason why you need an extra pair of hands. Your reason for getting a bodyguard is because you’re worried that you’ll be attacked like that idol that got stabbed recently, yes?”
They all nodded at that. It was already a month old, but the memory of it was still fresh on everyone’s minds, especially since it was covered on national news.
An idol named Hirose Keiko, who was pretty popular and only 16 like Ai, was recently murdered by a crazy fan in her own home. The autopsy report stated that the cause of death was cardiac arrest from severe bleeding after being stabbed three times and that she died in minutes.
The police captured the killer before he could jump off a bridge and took him in for questioning. He said that a Twitter post showing Keiko being all friendly with some guy somewhere made people think she had gotten a boyfriend. This enraged him because he felt betrayed by her actions, therefore he stalked her and plotted her murder for weeks. So, it was pretty awkward for him to find out that Keiko’s supposed boyfriend was actually her cousin and she was at a family get-together at that time.
The news shocked everyone in the country and many celebrities started taking their personal security more seriously. Ichigo was worried for Ai, and Ai was a bit scared herself. She knew Keiko, they did some collaborations together in the past, and she was upset she couldn’t attend her funeral. So, Ichigo Productions, though a bit cash-strapped, decided that it would be a good idea to have some form of security with them to help out in the long run. Especially now that Ai was pregnant… they couldn’t stomach the thought of some deranged lunatic stabbing her to death like what happened to Keiko.
“I don’t think I can forget that. I knew the girl and her agency, they were good people. I hope that bastard gets the chair,” Ichigo muttered.
“You and me both. And don’t worry, we’ll make sure nothing ever happens to you,” Tadao assured. “Alright, now, how do you want to be protected?”
“We just need someone with us to keep the creeps away, especially one that can lie low with us. Nothing flashy at all,” Ichigo answered.
“Hmm, I understand what you want. One or two agents on you at all times at least, covering your front and back. They’ll be in plain clothes too so as to not draw attention. Okay, I’ve got a lot of agents to spare for that kind of job,” Tadao said, as he wrote on a piece of paper.
“What else is there?” Ichigo asked.
“We’re gonna brief you on how we operate and how we intend to do this. None of them are hard to follow at all. The gist is that you need to tell us everything, your schedules, contacts, extra activities, etcetera.”
“So, I’ll basically be followed around everywhere?” Ai asked.
“Basically, yes. But the key difference is that it’ll be by people you can trust. However, that doesn’t mean we’ll be poking around your daily life and infringing on your space every day. We’ll create a system in which you’re safe but still comfortable. In fact, we even have methods to protect you without you or anyone seeing us, but that’s really expensive though,” Tadao explained. “We know our boundaries too, Hoshino-sama, you don’t have to worry.”
“Hmm,” Ai hummed as she considered his words before another thought occurred to her. “Will you kill people?”
“Only if they really force us to. Every agent has a loaded gun with him, but we’re also trained in ways to stop an attacker with non-lethal force. Besides, one of our tactics is that by simply being there, we can discourage anyone from trying anything funny. As I’ve said, the best days for us are the most boring ones.”
“I see.”
“What’s the price tag?” Miyako asked.
“Despite the low elements, you’re still looking at 500,000 yen per month. But…” He trailed off. “But… due to my debt to you, Ichigo, I’ve decided to give you half that price for six months. This is paid like a subscription service where you have to pay every month. Failure to pay means immediate termination of services.”
“Is there anything else?” Ichigo asked.
“There are a bunch more details that you need to know. Legality, protocols, company policy, and all that. But, there’s one detail that I threw in as a condition for this,” Tadao said then placed a hand on Akio’s shoulder who was sitting to his right. “My son will be the one to run point of your protection detail. This’ll also act as his first test, to prove his skill as a protection agent.”
“Although I’m inexperienced, I’m quick to learn and adapt, and I’m ready to take on whatever task is needed from me,” Akio said politely.
Ichigo and Miyako frowned at the prospect of being given someone who was inexperienced in the field. But if he was the son of the guy who runs the place, then he should be pretty good, right? Besides, this is possibly the best deal they’ll ever get, and they weren’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.
“Alright, that’s fine,” Ichigo said.
“I’m okay with it,” Ai said.
“Although, Akio will be running point so you’ll see him the most often, another rookie agent will also be there to learn too. He’ll be number two. A senior agent will also be dropping by occasionally to check on them and evaluate their performance, although you don’t need to pay him. And in case things get really bad, emergency services and other agents won’t be too far to assist,” Tadao added.
“Ah, alright,” Ichigo said.
“Now, for the rest of everything.”
They would spend the next thirty minutes getting into the details of how everything would be under their care. Snacks and refreshments were brought in at that time with Ai receiving a pint of ice cream, making her very happy. They got into some legal conditions that were implemented to protect both sides. They also got into how the protection detail would work and what to do under certain situations. And of course, company policy.
One such policy is that the client can sue the company for up to 30 million yen for disclosing any secrets entrusted to them without permission. And although KSS can definitely pay that amount, their reputation would be tarnished and they’d lose even more money. That was a fact that allowed Ichigo Productions to rest easier. Ai’s pregnancy needed to remain under wraps.
After a few more minutes and a couple more things were clarified, they finally moved on to the last piece of the puzzle. Tadao opened up his briefcase and pulled out one last set of papers.
“This is the contract. What’s is just a summary of everything we talked about, but I suggest you read it carefully so you’re not missing anything,” Tadao said.
Ichigo Productions took the document and carefully read through it to make sure they were not missing anything. It took another five minutes, but they confirmed that everything was in place.
“A service that tells you everything and makes you read the contract first? Finally!” Ichigo joked.
“We’re the guys that protect the Emperor, not some shady organization! We’ve got a reputation to uphold!” Tadao stated. “Anyway, if nothing is amiss, sign your name and seal on the space provided and we are officially under your employ.”
“Everything’s here. Let’s seal the deal,” Ichigo said.
He grabbed a pen that was provided to him and signed his name on the line at the bottom then stamped his seal on the side. Miyako did the same thing after him. And finally, Ai filled out the last line with her name and seal and even drew a little heart on it. Tadao took the document and looked through it before putting it down and giving them a smile.
“You are now under the protection of Kurosawa Security Services! With Hachiman, the divine protector of Japan, guiding our hands, you will not have to worry about anything as long as we are around! Rest assured that we will take care of you. And anyone that tries to harm you will die a horrible death!” He proclaimed.
“That’s… oddly specific,” Ichigo remarked.
“If you get hurt, we’ll cover the expenses of your medical bill. If you die under our watch, which you won’t, we’ll offer a full refund to your relatives, and we’ll even avenge you. That’s our policy, to treat our clientele as if they are our family,” He added.
“That’s very nice,” Miyako said.
“Only the best we provide our clients,” Tadao said. “And aside from giving you a copy of the documents, this concludes our business. Thank you for choosing our services. We promised not to disappoint.”
“We’ll be watching closely then.”
Both groups then stood up and gave each other one last bout of handshakes to truly seal the contract that was just signed.
“I’ll make sure your men get tickets to one of my concerts in the future!” Ai said and looked at Akio. “Especially you, Akio-san.”
“Oh, that’s very kind of you, Hoshino-sama. But, I’m not into idol music,” He replied politely.
“Huh?”
“Please excuse my son. We know he’s a weirdo,” Tadao jokingly said.
“I ain’t weird, Dad. I don’t hate idol music but I don’t exactly like it either. I just like other things,” Akio stated.
“It’s not impossible, but it’s a first for us. Everyone your age we’ve met is into idols,” Saitou said. “Looks like you’re the 10% we didn’t see coming.”
“Please just take it as less worry for you, since I won’t be prying for your attention all the time. I’ll always keep a respectful distance. I promise.”
“That’s all we can ever ask really. Thank you.”
“Now that business is concluded, we can all turn in for the night. But would you like something before you leave? Some more snacks or drinks perhaps? We’ve got a lot here,” Tadao offered but Ichigo shook his head.
“No, we’ve already been here too long, we don’t want to overstay our welcome. Besides, it’s late and we’re all tired. We should be getting back now,” he said.
“Alright. In that case, allow us to walk you out while I get the valet to get your car.”
“Alright then.”
Ichigo Productions prepared to leave while Tadao got on his phone. Ichigo and Miyako started discussing something with each other while Ai simply looked around the room. Her eyes would eventually land on Akio who was looking at his phone. He’d pocket it a moment later and his eyes would land on his protectee’s. She’d flashed him a wide smile, the kind that can captivate any man, while he returned with a simple smile and a nod. Ai began opening her mouth to speak before stopping short when there was a disturbance from Tadao.
“... Really? Alright, I’ll tell them,” He sighed before turning to the group.
“What’s wrong?” Ichigo asked.
Tadao smiled awkwardly. “A small problem just developed on your end.”
They’d find themselves outside again a moment later, watching a scene unfold before them. Ichigo Production’s car, a white rental Toyota Corolla, remained where Ichigo last left it although the hood was open and multiple guys were peering into the engine compartment with flashlights. One agent tried turning the key and starting the ignition, yet the engine remained quiet. A moment later, a middle-aged man with his sleeves rolled up walked up to Tadao while wiping his hands on a rag.
“I think it’s a broken sparkplug, Tadao-san. It just won’t start,” He reported.
“I told you it was broken!” Miyako scolded Ichigo in a hushed voice.
“Do we have spare parts, Hiro-san?” Tadao asked.
“No, we just ran out when our own rides needed maintenance and we haven’t resupplied yet,” He said with a shake of his head. “We can’t run to the shop too because it’s already closed at this time. This thing’s staying here till morning.”
Ichigo and Miyako groaned at their misfortune while the rest of them simply stared indifferently. Tadao then sighed and spoke again.
“Alright. In that case, Hiro-san, please get the van off the driveway and onto the side. We’ll deal with it tomorrow morning. Then please take one of the Land Cruisers and take them back to their hotel. The rest of you are free to leave for home too,” He ordered.
“Hai, Kurosawa-sama!” Everyone replied.
“Tadao-san, are you sure? This is probably too much—” Ichigo began but stopped when Tadoa raised a hand.
“It’s fine, I don’t mind at all. Just think of this as me helping a friend in need. And no, you don’t have to pay,” He replied.
Ichigo was unsure but ultimately allowed it and bowed a bit. “Alright, thank you.”
“No problem,” Tadao replied with a shallow nod.
While the adults addressed the issue of their ride, the two kids remained on the side and simply watched. Akio and Ai were still in their teens, so they were kids in the eyes of the adults present.
“So,” Ai began. “What kind of music do you listen to, Kurokawa-san?”
“Uh, I like rock music of all types from pop to death metal. I’ve been listening to them since I was five. And it’s Kurosawa, Hoshino-sama,” He replied, her sudden question and error of his name catching him off guard.
“Ah, really? Ahahaha, I’m so sorry! I'm not very good at memorizing people’s faces!” She laughed jovially.
“Ahaha, I can imagine. Since you probably see so many faces every day, it’s hard to keep track of them all, huh?” He laughed.
“Ah, yeah! It’s a bit of a problem for me, hehe. Sometimes, I even forget the President’s name too, haha!”
He laughed along with her but internally, he was cringing a bit.
Does every idol have such an airheaded personality? He wondered.
“It must be kinda hard for you too, having to work like this when you’re so young,” She remarked.
“Well, this is my first job ever, so it doesn’t seem hard at all right now. That’s definitely gonna change though,” He replied. “But, I don’t think my job will get anywhere as difficult as yours with you having to put up an act all the time. I don’t think I can handle that.”
“Yeah, tell me about it. I really like my job, but sometimes it gets pretty tiring. Taking a break like this is gonna help out a lot!” She said happily before taking a deep breath and looking around. “I think I’ve already said this, but your place is really nice.”
“Mhmm, and this is just our place here in Tokyo. We’re only here now because we need to be closer to some of our clients at the moment. Our main house in Kyoto is even bigger and cooler!” Akio replied.
“You guys are really loaded, huh?”
“For the past few decades, Kurosawa has been branching to other things that make money. We need the cash to pay for our stuff after all. Although, we’re still inferior to zaibatsus like Shinomiya and Shijo (who we provide services to, by the way) but also still better than most.”
“Wow.”
“Mhmm, but money still isn’t everything. We try to take a humble approach to things too. Dad doesn’t like spending money on anything that isn’t important and I don’t buy a lot of things myself,” He added and kept his mouth open to continue when he was interrupted.
“Don’t believe him! He eats yakiniku at least once a week!” One of the younger agents stated as he walked by with a bag over his shoulder, likely on his way home.
“Look who’s talking, idiot! You spend the most out of all of us!” He retorted angrily but only got a laugh in response. He turned back to Ai who was holding a hand over her mouth to stifle her giggles, prompting him to sigh in annoyance. “Alright, I admit that part and also I spend a lot quite a lot on video games and band equipment, but only on special occasions. I’m not some pompous rich jerk that throws money around, I promise you.”
“Hmm, alright, I believe you,” She giggled and then thought of something. “You could’ve totally left that part out or outright lied. Why didn’t you?”
“Uh, it was already out, so there’s no point in trying to lie about it anymore. Besides, I don’t believe you deserve to be lied to, Hoshino-sama,” He answered.
Her smile wavered ever so slightly as she processed his answer. I don’t deserve to be… lied to?
“Um—”
“Ai, our ride’s here! Let’s head back to the hotel!” Ichigo called out as one of the company’s Land Cruisers had been brought out to take them.
“I guess we’ll just have to continue this conversation some other time, but it’s been a nice talk. I look forward to working with you, Hoshino-sama,” He said with a wide smile and an outstretched hand.
“Ai.”
“Sorry?”
Ai smiled widely too, her eyes seemingly shimmering brighter as she took his hand and shook it. “Since we’ll be sticking so closely together for a while, you can just call me Ai, Akio-san.”
He blinked. “U-Uh, sure thing, Ai-san.”
“Just Ai,” She clarified.
“Just Ai,” He nodded and smiled widely, happy that she remembered his first know, even if he didn’t know why.
“If that’s what you want, you’re the boss,” Akio remarked, earning another laugh from her. “You have a good night, Ai, and I’ll see you again tomorrow.”
“You too, Akio-san.”
She’d head back to her group a moment later and they were leaving the estate shortly. Akio waved at the car as it drove past him and he could just barely see a human figure waving back through the darkness. As he watched the SUV disappear, he put his hand down and looked up at the sky.
“Wow,” He breathed. “Her eyes are something else.”
He’d retire for the night shortly after without another thought. He’d sleep soundly not knowing that he had just stepped on the path that would define his life.
***
This is the link to the ff.net page. Thank you very much for taking the time to read it, and thank you even more if you decide to support it on ff.net! Please also tell me what you think and/or if you have any ideas you'd like to share here or there!
For now, have a great day, and peace out!
Veritas vos liberabit.
The Truth will set you Free.

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Hello everyone,
I've been developing a software-as-a-service (SaaS) platform that allows users to create online obituaries efficiently. It's a tool I've designed with funeral homes in mind, hoping to streamline their operations and offer additional value to their clients.
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I'd greatly appreciate any feedback from this community regarding the following:

1. The Website: Any suggestions about the design, usability, functionality, or any features you think would be beneficial to add?
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4. Market Demand: Do you think there's a demand for this kind of service? Are there any other markets you think I should be targeting?

You can access the platform at https://elysianmemorials.io/. Thank you in advance for your time and feedback.

TLDR: I just need to vent becuase I'm so heartbroken right now. I just want some support. My friend/ex died and before he died he told his other friend that he didn't ever love me.
My friend's celebration of life was a few hours ago and I can't stop crying. I loved him so much. We met eachother in kindergarten but weren't close until after high school. I grew up around him. He was just such an amazing, unique person but he really struggled with alcoholism. It was like I met the person of my dreams. When he was sober he was so charming, funny, intelligent, creative, passionate, energetic, and loving. We had such an intense connection and I've never had butterflies like that before. But I broke up with him only after a week of being official becuase he wasn't very reliable. He was blacking out, canceling plans to get drunk and then lying about how much he had been drinking. We took a break and then started being friends again and I would hear from him from time to time. I moved on to other relationships after that, but I still cared about him deeply as a friend. I just couldn't tolerate his alcoholism anymore as a girlfriend.
I had a dream about him saying goodbye, so I tried to reach out to him but I couldn't becuase all his accounts were deactivated. After that dream I would wake up comforted just to the thought of him and memories of him just kept popping up everywhere. there was one moment it genuinely felt like he was hugging me and resting his head on my shoulder. Until one night I get home from work and I start feeling an intense sense of grief and dread without reason. I could almost hear his name in my room, even though I live alone. So I google him and the first result is his obituary. It says his funeral happened just a few hours ago so I didn't make it. But I still went to the celebration of life. At the celebration of life one of his friends told me that they called him before he passed, and he was talking about me and how much he never loved me. That really broke my heart. I saw his mother too and she said he wouldn't stop talking about me in a good way and that he really loved me and cared. He just wasn't in his right mind to continue a relationship when he isn't sober. His best friends told me not to look too much into it becuase he wasn't well and before he got to that point in his alcoholism he really did care. I'm just so sad that he is gone and I just wanted him to care becuase I cared. I still care.

So I’ve been down the rabbit hole, trying to chase every off-the-cuff reference, stray allegory, allusion, comparison, and tangent. I’m going to need you to bear (hug) with me for a bit because I think I’ve stumbled on some truly insane parallels between this show and the myriad of references it makes and it will take a lot of text to justify to you that I'm not crazy (or that I am, but at least I do my research).
This is a show that employs a ton of intertextuality and what the poet T.S. Eliot (someone quoted frequently throughout the series) calls “the mythic method”: essentially using historical, literary, and mythological allusions to draw parallels between characters on the show and characters throughout history (real and imagined).
This method helps the audience to build both conscious and unconscious associations with each of the characters and, ultimately, underscores the Roys’ (and humanity’s) damning commitment to making the same mistakes over and over again. The show seems to draw a lot from Greek mythology, Arthurian legend, biblical parables, Shakespearean tragedy, and modernist poetry (among many other things).
These networks of symbolism span from the earliest recorded history to modern celebrity culture and yet they reveal frighteningly unchanged elements in the stories they tell. The parallels of these references throughout the show serve to highlight the cyclical (the illusion of progress) and deterministic (the illusion of free will) nature of existence.
While I will be dipping in and out of the existing references, I want to call particular attention to the poetry of the aforementioned T.S. Eliot (who champions the mythic method) and John Berryman’s poem Dream Song 29 because I believe much of their work has served as a foundation for characters.
In the show, Frank makes mention of his poem “The Long Song Of J Alfred Prufrock” more than once. Outside of the show, Matthew McFayden (the actor who plays Tom) references the same poem to describe his character. Jeremy Strong (the actor who plays Kendall) says Eliot’s work The Four Quartets is a huge inspiration to his acting and character. A line from this particular work did strike me as being quite on the nose, which is why I continued to comb the poem for more (which it does deliver on):

"In my beginning is my end. In succession Houses rise and fall, crumble, are extended, Are removed, destroyed, restored, or in their place Is an open field, or a factory, or a by-pass. Old stone to new building, old timber to new fires, Old fires to ashes, and ashes to the earth Which is already flesh, fur and faeces, Bone of man and beast, cornstalk and leaf."

This will probably be a monster of a post, so I will attempt to break down the following sections between poetic parallels, visual and dialogic symbolism of eternal recurrence, and an exploration of the historical and mythological allusions. Ultimately, I believe all of these clues point to the overwhelming conclusion that we will end where we began, in some way or another.
Circles & Cycles: Endless Recurrence & The Futility Of Progress
The show toys a lot with the philosophical concept of eternal recurrence, which postulates that “time repeats itself in an infinite loop, and that exactly the same events will continue to occur in exactly the same way, over and over again, for eternity.”
These eternal loops are symbolized visually with mirrors, water, fractal reflections; in the “uh-huh” and “mhmms” of repeated, near-palindromic dialogue; and in the show events that echo and repeat: in-air death scares, asynchronous business deals, family betrayal, weddings, retreats, implosions, family reunions, trauma bonding, baptism, funerals, etc.
In this understanding of time, there is no linear progress — or even progress at all. Time is cyclical. People are cyclical. As are the events that transpire. This is particularly interesting in a show like Succession whose title alone implies the phrase “line of succession.” Viewers would expect to see what comes next — who comes next — but as Logan himself yells, “Nothing is a line. Everything is moving all the time.”
Logan consistently evokes the circle shape in his speech, “Put a circle around him” he tells Shiv. “We’ve been circling for an hour, tell them we’re out of gas,” he complains in a moment of grim foreshadowing on his plane. “Crawl in a circle and close your eyes,” he shouts during the game of Boar on the Floor.
And he is the bright, burning nebulous center of this circle. He’s described as “carr[ying] his gravity. He's not a man, he's a f*cking planet.” And the people around him are described like satellites and moons. Characters exist in his orbit. And every complete orbit (or “revolution”) leaves characters in exactly the same place. There are motions, there is the illusion of progress, but the result is the same. Eliot again:

“every attempt Is a wholly new start, and a different kind of failure”

With this understanding, the show may just end where it begins. Not only in “nothing” happening, but in repeating the same events ad infinitum: A kid tries to take over the family business, they try to align with their siblings, they eventually backstab their siblings, they end out in the cold, and then they reunite, swear not to do it again, until it all repeats.
As most of us are aware, the show has made very direct mention of the John Berryman poem Dream Song 29. The names of the past three season finales (as well as the name of the upcoming fourth) are all direct excerpts from the poem, which deals with grief and sadness and the guilt of killing someone when you can’t even confirm there’s been someone killed at all.
Berryman consistently wrote about the guilt and grief he experienced from his father’s suicide. Berryman himself would eventually end up taking his own life, which on its own is a brutal reminder of the cycles of trauma. It also doesn’t feel insignificant that Berryman jumped off a bridge.
What’s really interesting is how each subsequent finale is named for a line that comes earlier and earlier in the poem. It also toys with this concept that things come full circle and end where they begin. This echoes Eliot’s essential thesis of the poem:

“What we call the beginning is often the end And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from.”

But while the speaker of the poem comes to realize he has not murdered “nobody” by the poem’s last line; Kendall, moving through the poem backward, must reckon with the idea that he may have killed somebody even if they were a “nobody.” And while we may encounter this as a moment in which Kendall is genuinely despairing over his season 1 inadvertent murder, I believe we are far more likely to see Kendall embrace this moment.
We see "nobody" and "no one mentioned" a lot when it comes to Logan, who believes most people are "fungible as f*ck," and "pygmies" while he's "1,000 feet tall." When Kendall is involved in the accident, we see him echo "NRPI" or no real person involved.
The reason Kendall couldn’t live up to his father’s expectations is that he couldn’t be the killer his father needed him to be (even if his morality or basis of being a good person is off). This retroactive movement through the poem could be Kendall realizing he is, in fact, the killer his father always needed him to be, enabling him to take the necessary steps of seizing the crown on his own.
Allegories & Allusions: Mythic Comparisons & Determinism
It’s Shakespearean, like Roman says, “I kill Kendall, get crowned king, like we’re in f*cking Hamlet or something.” But it’s not just Hamlet, it’s King Lear, King Richard III, Coriolanus, Macbeth. And it’s not just Shakespeare, it’s Oedipus Rex, The Odyssey, The Waste Land, Thus Spoke Zarathustra, Cronus devouring his children, Romulus killing Remus, Noah cursing his child for looking upon him naked.
The concept of the monomyth was popularized in "The Hero With 1000 Faces" and discusses throughout history, throughout different times and places, different cultures, different religions, different people have developed stories with relatively similar fundamental elements. The show is rife with allusions of stories that follow that same thread. Logan is Cronus who is King Lear who is Romulus who is who is. This is another form of endless recurrence: the inability to break the cycle. Or, in a very Hamlet reference, "maybe the poison drips through."
The themes of patricide, fratricide, and incest in particular are rampant. Rhea (like Rhea Jarell) in Greek mythology is both sister and consort to Cronus. Both are part of the first generation of aptly named Titan gods. Cronus overthrew his father Uranus and learns his children are fated to overthrow him. So he eats them as soon as they are born. Logan does refer to people as food a surprising amount throughout the show, varying from red meat to vegetables. He outright calls for blood sacrifice, which evokes the language of the gods.
Logan is referenced specifically as one of the last real American titans in his obituaries and eulogies. The language around him is frequently god-like. He's known as "the big man" or even "the big man upstairs." Tom tells Greg to "be his representative here on earth"; Roman asks the audience, "who is going to climb Mt. Olympus and be the next Dr. Zeus?" And that's where the myth gets interesting.
The only child not to be eaten is Zeus, who does end up killing his father and was surprisingly interested in marrying his mother. We're familiar with this plot formula through a different archetype: the Oedipus Complex, which we see referenced in the show with “Oedipus Roy,” “Oedipussy,” and “stabbing my eyes out.” The same story is repeated again in Hamlet with brother killing and brother and son yelling at his mother about her milky breasts (something Roman does to Shiv more than once). In the show when Logan says to Roman, “You may want to f*ck your mother but I don’t.” We know none of these stories end well. As Connor muses, “It’s not right to kill one’s father; history teaches us that.”
In the story of Romulus and Remus (whose mother’s name is also Rhea), the two brothers were initially chased out of their city as potential threats to the King (yet again). They were left by the river to die and were saved by the river god (important). After successfully overthrowing the kingdom that left them for dead, they agree to found a new city. They ultimately disagreed on which hill to found it and decided to have a bird-watching competition to see who could see the most omens indicating they had divine approval for the hill. Remus says he saw 6 auspicious birds but Romulus claims to see 12. Romulus kills Remus over this.
It should remind you of Logan visiting his childhood home with Ewan: “I saw a mistle thrush at the bandstand,” and the log book he kept as a child of birds he “saw” that Ewan would cross out if he didn’t believe him. It may also echo a part of The Four Quartets, “Other echoes/ Inhabit the garden. Shall we follow?/ Quick, said the bird, find them, find them,/ Round the corner. Through the first gate,/ Into our first world, shall we follow/ The deception of the thrush?"
There is much to be said about the themes of warring brothers. Also the themes of fathers worried their children would one day overthrow them who take action to thwart or murder their children, which inadvertently sets into motion the very outcome they fear. It happens over and over again in stories old and new. As Panhandle Pete says, “I push him, he pushes me, and around and around we go.” Or as Eliot puts it, “that the wheel may turn and still / Be forever still.”
Much of these works touch on a sort of determinism, or the slow crushing reality that every action you take — even if that action is an attempt to thwart your fate — will ultimately lead to the same inevitable ending. This is the illusion of free will on top of the illusion of progress. And Logan, in fearing his children would usurp him (and also disparaging his children for not being able to), set into motion his own death and his own messy succession.
It’s also a reminder that the greatest men in life are all the same when laid to rest:

"O dark dark dark. They all go into the dark, The vacant interstellar spaces, the vacant into the vacant, The captains, merchant bankers, eminent men of letters, The generous patrons of art, the statesmen and the rulers, Distinguished civil servants, chairmen of many committees, Industrial lords and petty contractors, all go into the dark…"

Structure & Symbolism: Water As Rebirth & Destruction
The show has very much been structured around Kendall, and we watch him move through bodies of water with what feels like different symbolism each time. Is he drowning, is he reborn? We witness Kendall at his lowest point face down in a pool and at one of his highest, splashing into the Pacific ocean. We watch a man drown. We watch Logan beg Kendall for water as they walk through Adrien Brody’s maze. We watch Roman clamor for water at the funeral when he needs to calm down. Poetry has long played with this life and death dynamic in water, like the sailors dying of thirst in Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s The Rime of the Ancient Mariner who cry:

“Water, water, every where,. And all the boards did shrink;. Water, water, every where,. Nor any drop to drink. The very deep did rot: O Christ!”

This sub has noted Kendall’s connection to water, which has been represented over and over visually. But once you realize every metaphor, analogy, and simile he uses is water-based, you can’t unhear it. He calls his father “a tsunami of corruption” and describes things “as more precious than water”; he calls deals “choppy” and “dead in the water,” and asks to “help steady the ship”; he offers to “row back” on business deals, says timing is “high tide,” and that he has “bigger fish to fry.”
Logan is apt to use similar water symbolism, even telling Shiv that she’s marrying a man “fathoms” beneath her. As Rhea tells him, fearful of his own monstrosity, “I can’t see the bottom of the pool. I don’t know if you care about anything. It scares me.” ATN’s major scandal was “death cruises.” Even his operating nemesis is called “Sandy.”
In fact, there is mention of all elements and seasons — in particular, fire from Shiv, air from Roman, and earth from Connor. T.S. Eliot’s The Four Quartets confront these same themes and share some surprising similarities with show scene locations, dialogue, and plot points.
That’s because Succession is an allegory for the micro and the macro: the rise and fall of families, civilizations, monarchies, dynasties, and empires. Ashes to ashes and dust to dust, the cycles rinse and repeat. Eliot modeled the four quartets on the 4 elements and the 4 seasons. And you can see even in Succession a similar manifestation of 4 elements. And, well, 4 seasons of the show. (And what occurs after 4 seasons? A full revolution around the sun, bringing you to where you began.)
Water seems to be at the root of it all. Even Ewan’s eulogy meditates on his and Logan’s journey on a boat. Even their abusive uncle is named Noah. In the show, we watch our nobody die by water, we watch our main character nearly die by water, and then we watch him revive in the ocean. As Kendall and his father wind their way through Adrien Brody’s circuitous Long Island home, Kendall remarks, “I think this leads to the ocean.” Because every path leads to the sea in some way or another.
The overarching narration from T.S. Eliot’s The Waste Land is the Arthurian Legend of The Fisher King. This story is told a million different ways with a million different outcomes, but always boils down to an injured or maimed monarch ruling over a dying land. Or as Ewan refers to his "empire of shit": “He’s built a wasteland and called it an empire.”
He’s looking for someone, anyone, to heal him, rescue the kingdom, and ensure the dynasty survives. This is the myth of the holy grail, which, in this show, can be seen as the throne: The original stories of the holy grail were not Christian/religious but they do employ a lot of the same mythmaking from earlier religions and mythologies to tell their stories and thus construct their new realties. As Eliot says in The Four Quartets:

"The whole earth is our hospital Endowed by the ruined millionaire, Wherein, if we do well, we shall Die of the absolute paternal care That will not leave us, but prevents us everywhere."

I believe Kendall (and the other children) represent the grail knights who try to save the king. (On the same level they stand in for the gods, the elements, or anything at all). When Christianity became more popular, these myths adapted to Christian overtones, but they still had the Celtic and pagan myths at their core: the grail becomes the chalice from the last supper.
That’s why Kendall’s easy comparisons of himself to Jesus feel less blasphemous than revelatory. Jesus is another hero archetype in the show’s mythology. He is willing to sacrifice himself, which Kendall must do in order to become the successor his father wanted. As he says, "this is a culmination of my life's journey to be crucified for you morons."
(It’s worth noting: In some legends, the knight saves the king; in others, he inadvertently destroys him. We know Logan dies, but it does feel less likely that Waystar Royco survives.) Drowning is a constant feature of Eliot's poems, but so is baptism and renewed life. It is difficult to determine the meaning of water in either instance, except that it doesn't discriminate as a life or death bringer, which is both beautiful and terrifying.
Parallels & Predictions: Piecing The Plot & Poetry Together
To repeat again, as this show is wont to do: “Crawl in a circle and close your eyes!” Logan Roy shouts during a game of Boar On A Floor. It’s an allegory, like many games on the series, and proudly says the quiet part out loud: Logan always wins. Here’s a little boar on the floor reference in The Four Quartets:

"We move above the moving tree In light upon the figured leaf And hear upon the sodden floor Below, the boarhound and the boar Pursue their pattern as before But reconciled among the stars."

We’ve seen the L.O.G.A.N. system at work many times and with many people. He dangles a carrot, a morsel of love, as each character attempts to play the game over and over while expecting different results. They are doomed to crawl in that circle, to play that blind game, as Logan angrily shouts, “It’s fun!” And this game doesn't end in death. The children still ask. "What would dad do?"
Games on Succession (which are a consistent refrain), it turns out, are rarely fun and are often designed to humiliate or inflict pain. The same goes when characters say “I’m just kidding” after an eviscerating remark. Logan thinks life is a game, and as he says, games should be taken seriously. And because Logan explicitly makes the rules, there is no winning, just trudging around the board, passing Go, and collecting $200. The games are essentially Sisyphean tasks that the kids wouldn’t be able to win even if they were actually competent enough to run the company. And yet they keep rolling the boulder. It’s endless. The repetition. It ends where it begins.

"Every phrase and every sentence is an end and a beginning, Every poem an epitaph. And any action Is a step to the block, to the fire, down the sea's throat Or to an illegible stone: and that is where we start. We die with the dying: See, they depart, and we go with them. We are born with the dead: See, they return, and bring us with them. The moment of the rose and the moment of the yew-tree Are of equal duration. A people without history Is not redeemed from time, for history is a pattern Of timeless moments."

Please also note the use of “the rose” and “the yew tree,” which are the names of Logan’s siblings Rose and Ewan, which derives from yew-tree. Other important name comparisons include Kendall’s association to spring/river valley; Siobhan’s nickname either a knife (Shiv) or Pinky (a variation of the name Rose); Roman’s connection to Romulus/Corialanus; Tom’s name meaning “twin” because there was already someone named Judas in the bible HELLO; Logan’s name meaning little hollow, which recalls another Eliot poem, The Hollow Men.
We know this show is a game, one that isn't fun at all, and one whose rules Logan made up. Even when there's a winner, there's no winner. So it's almost futile to play at all. That said, it’s impossible to make sense of any of it all without the ending — to confirm this ball has been rolling toward an inevitable conclusion, but given the show’s ending has probably occurred already, here are my thoughts:

• Kendall drowns

This may feel a bit on the nose given we’ve already seen this almost happen to “the Kurt Cobain of floaties,” but it would certainly be poetic. This could be sad (launched from a bridge); empowering (a la The Awakening); or metaphorical (a drug overdose). At some point Kendall says, "If dad didn’t need me right now I wouldn’t know what I would be for." The kids exist with Logan as their sun; they are moons, satellites, in orbit. And when their sun dies out, they repeat the motions in the cold, slowly losing their patterns and motions. The term is science is a rogue planet and the following lines from the poem remind me of Kendall and his broken, hollow stare.
“It would be the same at the end of the journey, If you came at night like a broken king, If you came by day not knowing what you came for, It would be the same, when you leave the rough road And turn behind the pig-sty to the dull facade And the tombstone. And what you thought you came for Is only a shell, a husk of meaning From which the purpose breaks only when it is fulfilled If at all. Either you had no purpose Or the purpose is beyond the end you figured And is altered in fulfilment.”

• Kendall is king of the ashes

Any victory feels like it will be a Pyrrhic victory regardless when you've had to systematically take down everyone you love to achieve it. The same lines above can echo here "the purpose is beyond the end you figured/And is altered in fulfilment." A hollow victory. The Fisher King question Logan poses is, "Who can replace me?" Logan wanted each of his children to display the killer instinct. Kendall’s backwards journey through Dreamsong 29 may very well see him realize he is, in fact, the killer his dad always wanted — with open eyes. This will probably involve taking down his siblings. In this version, winning is a lot like losing, which feels very Succession.

• Mattson wins it all

These Shakespearean histories and tragedies rarely end well for existing houses. With Richard III (the-multiple-lineage-ending war of the roses) and Hamlet (the-whole-house-dies-but-a-norwegian-king-swoops-in-to-take-it-all dynastic struggle) references abound. We may just see a new house rise up and rinse and repeat. This would probably also occur if the kids take each other down and leave it open for another party. We saw last season that Roman thought he had an in with Mattson until it didn’t serve Mattson anymore. I see the same thing happening between Roman and Mencken. This puts Mencken and Mattson in a position to take over, which may make Mattson win it or…

• Mattson destroys it all

When Mattson is introduced, he is referenced as a trickster. Generally, in mythology, this character is quite intelligent or in possession of secret knowledge, and he uses it for trickery and commandeering situations. (Is that blood thing real???). Hamlet concludes with every major character killing the other with their own tragic flaws until a third party Scandinavian comes in to take the crown with no necessary action or bloodshed at all. We already know he's unscrupulous; what is his end game? It reminds me of one of his early lines to Roman, which would be an eerie foreshadowing:
“Success doesn’t really interest me anymore, it’s too easy. Analysis + capital + execution. Fucking, anyone can do that. But failure, that’s a secret. Just as much failure as possible as fast as possible, burn that shit out, that’s interesting.”

• Tom betrays Shiv

We’ve seen it happen before (which is why it should happen again). We’ve also seen Tom remove the thin veneer of his ambitions to the point where he almost feels like Richard III. He has played the fool, which is Shakespearean estimation, is often equivalent to the trickster. This would be a fun and distorted parallel to Shiv offering this job to him for Logan to offer it to her. This would probably happen in conjunction with Mattson winning. As I mentioned earlier, the name Tom means “twin” and the apostle Tom was only called as such because there were already one too many “Judas” in the mix. He's also from Minnesota (the twin cities!), so this is becoming very real, you know???

• Greg betrays Tom

While we know Tom has betrayed Shiv before, we also know Greg betrayed Shiv and Tom when he spoke to Geri in the first season about Tom having a press conference on cruises. He leads Tom to believe Shiv has betrayed him, getting one over on both of them. There may also be something with the Rule of 3 and being betrayed 3 times that feels biblical. The show also makes TONS of references to holding on to blackmail for opportune moments. Will we see something like this?
I’m not a big believer that Greg will fail so far upwards that he will win (this would feel like a betrayal in its own right), but do I believe there’s a world where Greg gets himself on a piece of paper with a question mark. Maybe???

• Geri finally beats Tom

This is my personal hope because I want the Tom and Jerry allusion to be real more than any other I put together (we love a good cat and mouse game). If Mattson wins, he needs a US CEO. Geri has collected a massive amount of dirt on everyone. And to call back to season 1’s interim CEO discussions, Shiv says, “I don’t like Geri. But I don’t hate Geri either.” It would feel particularly good given how much time and effort Logan spent clarifying Geri would be terrible at the position. Especially as Logan disparaging someone generally means he’s afraid of what they can do.
I’ll end at the ending. Or conclude where Eliot did on The Four Quartets:

"We shall not cease from exploration And the end of all our exploring Will be to arrive where we started And know the place for the first time. Through the unknown, unremembered gate When the last of earth left to discover Is that which was the beginning; At the source of the longest river The voice of the hidden waterfall And the children in the apple-tree Not known, because not looked for But heard, half-heard, in the stillness Between two waves of the sea. Quick now, here, now, always— A condition of complete simplicity (Costing not less than everything) And all shall be well and All manner of thing shall be well When the tongues of flames are in-folded Into the crowned knot of fire And the fire and the rose are one."

PS. Given ‘Pinky’ is another name for ‘Rose’ does this mean Shiv wins??? JK let’s just watch the show tonight and laugh at our predictions in the morning.

My brother died in a car accident a week ago and I went and stayed a week at my parents with our daughter (1) so i could help plan the funeral while my husband stayed home and worked. He came for the funeral and had to leave that afternoon. He’s been as supportive as he can before the funeral. Me, my daughter, and sister (21) came back home to my house the night after the funeral because my sister didn’t want to be alone. After I got in bed last night, I said goodnight to my husband and he mumbled something that I couldn’t understand and he snipped at me saying that he said goodnight. I was annoyed at that point and said nothing else. And he said “I love you” and I said it back and he just sighed and said “why do I always have to say it first?” I got so angry and just snapped. I asked him why did he have to pick a fight with me right now, and he just turned over and went to sleep. I have so much grief with losing my brother, and I had to pick up the pieces of my parents and do everything. I created the obituary, I had to take clothes for them to put my brother in for the funeral, I had to pick up his belongings form the funeral home they sent. I haven’t been able to have a single moment alone to process my own grief. For my husband to obviously think I’m going to snap back into our life of normalcy just makes me so angry. I have felt no compassion from him since I’ve come back home. I’m almost considering divorce. Advice?
ETA:
The divorce comment seems extreme, I know. It’s just that this isn’t the first time he’s snapped or came at me while I’ve already been upset about something. It just feels like he’s lacking compassion. Do I truly want to divorce him? Of course not. I just want him to have some compassion. I have had to be strong for everyone this past week, and I just really needed his support and love. Not for him to already kick me while I’m down.

Hey y'all! I've been posting here quite often since my MIL moved in and I'm grateful for this sub to let me blow off some steam. Here comes a wall of text because this is my one way of venting!
For a recap, my MIL is 78. She's always been the selfless angel type every time I've seen her prior to moving in. She was always hyper polite, always cooked drawn out amazing meals just for us, and got to spoil my son for our visits. Sure, she's old fashioned and a little batty in her own quirky way, but was always incredibly courteous and doting.
So, long story short, MIL was kicked out of her home where she paid next to no rent her entire life. Her sister (92 and still kicking) owned it until it recently went up for sale due to having multiple strokes and no longer being capable of managing it. MIL is broke. She only gets minimal social security every month. She's relied on her son, my husband, our entire marriage to solve her problems, financial or otherwise. He has taken care of her siblings as well out of love and not because he's obligated. It's been a rollercoaster of dementia homes, stories funeral costs, and nursing homes for as long as we've been married. We didn't want her to go searching for section 8 housing on such short notice, nor could we afford to get her her own place. She also lived about a 2 hour drive from hell away.
Our solution seemed simple. We went out of our way to rent a new home with an extra bedroom for her and one for her sister for when we may be able to employ a part time home nurse. She swore she would help out with her meals in between and I would take care of diapers when the nurse was off the clock. We thought, hey, it'll be a bit of a learning curve, but she's so sweet, there's no way we won't find a groove and get a little extra help with the kids. I was 32 weeks pregnant when she moved in. It seemed like a no brainer to get grandma to enjoy the birth of her second grandson and save us a fortune on elder care at the same time. We thought she would be happy to be with her son and his kids in a nice neighborhood.
I detailed it in my first post here, but long story short, MIL shocked me with her inability to adapt. Fist thing I noticed was that she had debilitating cataracts to the point where she's basically blind. She holds up a magnifying glass inches away from literally everything to see. On top of that, she's also basically deaf. We are taking care of these things but it's taking time.
But it went beyond that. She has no hobbies. I caught her staring at the TV on the "are you still watching" page as if there was a show on. She must feel like she's staring at a wall all the time every day. She has no interest in doing anything else except for chores.
BUT. She will only do these chores HER way and becomes extremely offended if I try to show her how we like to do things/ask her nicely to let me, say, let me put my own laundry away. I showed her how I like to fold my clothes and she smiled and pretended to listen, then literally IMMEDIATELY continued folding them the way I asked her not to. Multiple times to the point where telling her again would be too awkward. I literally picked then up and refolded everything she did one after another right in front of her and she just continued. She's also so blind that she was putting my bras in the pile with my son's shirts... and when I asked her to let me sort, since she mixed everything up so badly, she ignored me again.
Lastly, she undermines our parenting a lot. I've always been a believer that grandma gets to spoil the kids a bit more than parents, but my son (8) is on the spectrum and he is the type who has only made many of the strides he has due to our strictness in making him care for himself when capable. He's smart but can be lazy when things are done for him. He can't be babied or he regresses. Everything he knows how to do he had to be pushed into doing for himself, but he always learns to love the independence once he masters these life skills. I caught MIL literally spoon-feeding him within the first week. She was wiping his butt and now he leaves streaks in his underwear, waiting for somebody to wipe him. She dresses him. She brushes his teeth. These are all things we have worked tirelessly in getting him to do for himself. And when I politely remind her that this is not good for him and to let him be independent, I can tell that she gets mad.
All this time, MIL has proven herself to be the type to smile to my face and then slowly boil over her grievances. She will smile at me and then blow up on SO like he's her scapegoat. Lately, that simmering resentment has finally boiled over, and that's kind of the point if this post.
Here are some things, not limited to, that have slowly accumulated and eventually set my MIL off:

1. The other day, she cooked sausage links. She forgot to put the raw ones away in a ziploc bag so, overnight, they went bad and turned rock solid having been exposed to the open air. I saw them in the fridge and said "oh, please remember to put them in a bag! It's okay though, it's just a couple pieces of sausage!" It was a non-thing. Within moments, she teared up and ran to her room to cry. I followed her to reassure her that mistakes happen, that she can't beat herself up over nothing. Nobody doesn't make mistakes. She insisted that no, this was a huge deal.
   
2. She was sucking her teeth excessively a week ago. So loud that it sounded like she was eating a bag of chips with her mouth open. SO said "hey ma, don't forget your tick!". She ran to her room to cry and said that she felt like she lived in a big dark hole. It was very sad to hear her say that. I felt bad, but this was something we talked to her about before with no issue. Suddenly it's a HUGE problem. I personally have a thing where certain excessive mouth noises just obliterate my mood. I can't help it, it's genetic as far as I can tell, but I still do my best to tolerate the occasional teeth sucking. But this? It's nonstop and LOUD. Unlike anything I've heard before. Louder then smacking gum by a LOT.
   
3. The day we got home from the hospital after a traumatic preterm birth, the first thing she did was complain that it had been a week since she wanted to get her eyebrows waxed. We had to stay in the hospital that entire week and I guess she took that personally. Never mind the excessive pain I was in coming home for due to complications.
   
4. I asked her nicely multiple times to try and limit the amount of candies and cookies she put in the pantry while I acclimated to my PP diet. She can still have them, but I asked her to store them in her room for now, because my success in dieting is directly correlated to how many temptations I have at home and she will usually only eat a single cookie out of a box a day (so they last forever). She has instead taken it upon herself to build a small stash of candy bars and cakes in the pantry, of which she has eaten NONE. She then offers me foods she knows I can't have and then gets upset with me for denying them, as that's "impolite".
   
5. She would douse herself in perfume multiple times a day. Perfume makes me physically ill to the point where I had to go lay down with nausea and headaches whenever she did. Some helpful redditors pointed out that it would be toxic for my baby, so we asked her nicely to tone it down for the sake of the newborn's health. She freaked out and said that she had no control over her life. I felt bad about this one, as I know she enjoys her perfume a lot, but it was just too much. Her room still smells like a thick musk and I just don't go in there.
   

Now, this is the big blowup...
Today, a repairman came to fix a piece of furniture. MIL asked me if she should take the dog outside so he didn't bother him and I told her no, the dog will calm down after a moment of excitement, but she was free to go outside anyway if she wanted to. I thought she went out to enjoy herself- she does it often and says she likes the sun. Well, the repairman left while I was pumping breast milk and hubs was feeding our new 2 week old. She eventually came in about 5 minutes after he left and BLEW UP. She was crying, yelling us that it was SO RUDE to not come and get her immediately. We told her that we thought she was out there in her own accord but she didn't listen. SO kept saying "it was only five minutes, we have had our hands full and we didn't know", and she stormed out of the house for two hours. I was supposed to go to sleep (newborn schedule) but stayed up because DH went out to chase her and talk.
During this talk, since I was not around, she let it all out. Said she lives in hell. She's mad at ME for pointing out how the sausage went bad. Says I should've never mentioned it, let her leave it out as much as she wanted, and that it was rude of me to correct her. She used the phrase "I know you have kids with her so she's not going anywhere" and my husband defended me, asking her wtf I had done that was so wrong and if I should've eaten bad meat just to please her. He told her that, if she couldn't live with us, she wouldn't make it with anyone else who didn't bend over backwards, which she denied. Apparently she expected us to let her do literally anything she wanted and says that she "walks on eggshells" around me because I ask her not to baby my son (I'm watching all of my hard work crumble before my eyes with how she treats him and I will NOT stand by and watch my son wither away into a helpless blob). She said that it wasn't fair that the dog had rules and the cats don't, going so far as to pantomime a hunched over servant, to which SO had to explain that cats are incapable of learning manners the way dogs are and the dogisn't allowed to just jump on people and beg for food. She thinks him having a crate is cruel and unusual. She even said that it makes her upset when I don't jump out of my seat and shout an enthusiastic "Good morning!!" when she wakes up.
Forget that I've been up since the wee hours taking care of a newborn. Forget all of my pains and aches, my disfigured and bloody nipples from trying to find the right pump, and my also being on a strict diet. Oh, and forget that I'm in MY OWN HOME where I shouldn't feel like I have to feign enthusiasm every time I see a family member. It's not like I'm rude! I always smile and put on a chipper tone no matter HOW I feel. But, on the days where my pains are just too much, when I'm dizzy or dealing with a migraine, she takes personal offense to my smile not sparkling in the sun. How dare I be somewhat stoic but still polite!
I went to sleep after she got back (we talked about it at length until then) and, when I woke up to pump, she was gone. Apparently she went to bed early in a huff. On Saturdays, my son looks forward to a "sleepover" in her room. He looks forward to it all week. He was just getting ready for bed and my husband was explaining to him that it probably wasn't happening tonight. He ended up opening her door loudly and we had to pull him away and reprimand him for opening her door without knocking, knowing that she was asleep.
Well, after he did that twice, I went over to him to console him and tell him that we would make up for it. She BURST out of her room and started yelling at us: why won't you let him have his sleepover?!
We told her that we thought she was sleeping, as per what she said (she apparently even said goodnight to my son when she went to bed), and that regardless, he shouldn't be bursting into her room without knowing that she was awake and willing to have this sleepover. She just kept yelling, not listening: WHY are you not letting him stay with me?! It's Saturday! He ALWAYS sleeps in here!
And ultimately, he got to go have his sleepover after we were completely undermined for trying to teach him manners. I'm glad that he got to, he didn't deserve to be shafted, but how dare she make US the bad guys for not letting him force his way inside when we thought she had specifically wanted to be alone?? I was already annoyed with HER for going to bed without him on his special day, but instead she made a whole show about how we were keeping him from her and how she was the big savior in the end!
After all this, DH is fuming. I've never seen him this mad at his mother. He loves her tremendously. He's bent under backwards for her multiple times over the course of our marriage. He's taken care of EVERYTHING in her life. But now that she's pointing fingers at him and treating him like he's the bad guy, he is OVER it. He said to me that, if she has anther unfair outburst like that, he's gonna tell her to call around and find somebody willing to house her, because she's out of here. She's destroying our newborn period. We won't get these days back.
But what gets me is that... I think that's what she expects from him. She expects him to just dish out 2k per month of his own money, of his children's money, to get her her own apartment where she can wander around like Mr. Magoo and eat rancid sausages to her heart's content. It's almost a powerplay. The initial plan was to move her sister in, save a fortune on elder care, and she would help keep her sister company since I'm not bilingual and they were spending every day together before she moved in with us. But she just... stopped talking to her sister altogether? It's so bizarre. It's like she randomly decided to drop her from her life when she moved in with us and it's clear that her sister is hurt by this. When we ask her, she just goes "oh, I don't know :)" or just makes a dismissive "mmm".
But she won't talk about anything. She won't listen to our side of anything. She just wants to explode, bitch, and then pretend it never happened in a cycle. She expects us to just grit our teeth and live in hell with her when our lives are supposed to be happy right now with the new baby. She thinks that burying problems and periodically freaking out is the right way to live and everything else is rude. I can't even enjoy my newborn. I have angry MIL sitting beside me, staring depressedly at the wall for hours on end every day. I can't so much as be a parent to my oldest anymore without incurring her silent ire, which she unloads on DH when they're alone. If I try to talk about it with her, it's all "don't worry about it, everything's fine :)".
What gets me, what I take personally (since I'm thinking that the rest may be dementia or something), is how she treats our family finances like a bottomless bank. She thinks that DH is Scrooge McDuck with a pool of gold despite me telling her about our struggles and how DH has literally been crying over the whole situation with her sister. She KNOWS that our financial plan was to save money on her living costs and on her sister's elder care because we can't afford to take care of everybody, but DH loves her too much to just stick her into section 8 (which takes time, too). BUT, she wants us to buy her her own apartment ANYWAY as well as forgo the plan on saving five figures a month on her sister, all while treating us like trash for not allowing her to bulldoze the household. Who is this woman and what has she done with the MIL I knew?! If we don't get to live out our plan as intended, I will hold this against her forever, and there will be no reconciliation. DH understands. He thinks I've been more than understanding and that it's MIL who is acting like a dictator while claiming to be the victim.
TLDR: MIL thinks that the normal course of life is to endure misery and never talk openly and honestly, so she expects us to wallow in her own personal Hell beside her for a long as she will live. Does not believe in reconciliation, seems to have zero consideration for others in any capacity (except our dog?), and makes unreasonable seen like the understatement of the century.
Oh, and I've gotten a lot of advice on my aunt in law's elder care in the last couple of threads, so not a lot is needed! DH has been on top of it and all suggestions were things he already considered and knew about. It's rather complicated and i can't get into it here, as this is just meant to be a rant. We have an elder care lawyer who is helping out.
As for assisted living for MIL, that's apparently not going to happen without significant costs until she meets certain cognitive thresholds, which she has not yet. So, it's either section 8 (and I'm petrified of letting her live alone, tbh) or another small fortune to get her out of the house... I think we need to find a relative willing to take her, because with my kids, she's turning my once bright and sunny household into a goddamn war zone.

 Je vis en Amérique, mais ma mère est née en France. C'était toujours son souhait d'avoir des cendres dispersées aux Sables D'Olonnes. J'ai déjà trouvé l'entreprise qui fait ce service aux Sables. Mais il est très difficile de trouver le temps d'y aller et d'organiser le voyage. Mon père me dit que c'est la loi que je dois faire cette cérémonie dans l'année suivant sa mort. Je ne trouve aucune loi en ligne, mais je me demande si c'est parce que je cherche les mauvais termes. Je suis citoyen français mais je n'ai pas mes papiers ni mon passeport qui le prouvent. Elle est dans une urne approuvée par la TSA, et j'ai un document du salon funéraire qui dit qu'il est approuvé pour les voyages. Quelqu'un peut-il dire si mon père dit la vérité ou non ? Désolé pour le mauvais français, j'ai utilisé un traducteur français. 

elle est décédée le 7 novembre 2022
American translation…..
I live in America, but My mom was born in France. It was always her wish to have ashes scattered at Les Sables D’Olonnes. I already found the company who does that service in Les Sables. But it’s very hard to find the time to go there and organize the trip. My dad is telling me that it is the law that I have to do this ceremony within 1 year of her death. I cannot find any law online but I wonder if it’s because I’m searching the wrong terms.
I am a French citizen but I do not have my papers or passport that show it. She is in a TSA approved urn, and I do have a document from the funeral home that says it’s approved for travel.
Can anyone advise if my dad is saying the truth or not? Sorry for bad French I used a French translator..

“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.

“I know how men in exile feed on dreams of hope”
-Aeschylus
IT WAS JUST PAST sunrise on Herenveen Prime and Charlotte Elizabeth Mackenzie-Nanda, Queen Consort of the Herenveen Staats-Republic, was still enjoying her coffee when she heard the distant rumble of a sonic boom that indicated an arriving shuttle had entered the upper atmosphere, bound for the spaceport. She set her cup down on the small table next to her.
“Grimsby?”
“Yes ma’am?” Her ever-present steward stepped forward.
“Do you have the omnioculars close at hand?”
“Always ma’am,” he replied. He stepped over to a small cabinet on the far side of the terrace, opened it, and, retrieving the omnioculars, brought them back to her. “Here you are, ma’am.”
“Thank you, Grimsby,” she said. Raising the omnioculars to her eyes, she began to scan the skies. Let’s see, she thought to herself. I’m on the eastern side of the palace, overlooking the gardens and that means the approach vector to the spaceport in Herenveen Town should be about… there. There was a faint trail of exhaust. She pressed a green button on top of the omnioculars and the readout confirmed her findings. There was a ship and it was- the readout directed her to move to the right and she did so, hoping that she would be able to catch a glimpse of the arriving ship before it disappeared behind the Palace and-
She froze and pulled back from the omnioculars. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t- she made herself look again. There was no mistaking it this time. It was a clipper ship, one of the ultra-fast pickets that the Star Union’s defense contractors were marketing to every buyer from here to the rim. Along its prow was its registration number (SU-76463) and its name, the Star Clipper. None of that was particularly of note. What was, however, was the red, white, and blue roundel of the Star Union’s space force and, she noted, the golden gryphon symbol of the Duchy of New Georgia underneath it.
She set the omnioculars down on the table and picked up her coffee again, staring out at the Palace Gardens. She was not ill-informed, of course. Even now, after decades in exile, she still had friends in the Star Union. She had heard about the failing health of her Grandfather, the King-Emperor, and- there’s only one reason why they would send a clipper ship. The thought whispered to her. Only one.
“Grimsby?”
A step forward. “Yes ma’am?”
“Where is she this morning? She usually tells you, doesn’t she?”
“I believe Her Majesty was convinced that the roses needed some attention this morning, ma’am.”
“Ah yes, Grimsby, but which roses? She has so many.”
“The Austins I believe were her primary concern, ma’am. She is worried about how they are adapting to our soil after the long journey from Terra.”
“Very well.” She made herself sit and finish her coffee, drinking in the view and soaking up the peace and serenity of the early morning. There was no better view than she could think of and if she was right- but what if you’re not? The Star Union has plenty of clipper ships. It could be anything.
Keep telling yourself that, she told herself, but no good news comes early in the morning. She drained the last of her coffee, placed the mug on the saucer and stood up, walking towards the edge of the grand staircase that lead down into the gardens, Grimsby just behind her, a constant presence at her side.
Decades before, she had been too young to know what was going on in the Star Union. She had been carefully shielded from the politics of it all. She knew the history. Everyone knew the history, but… she remembered the hands shaking her, waking her in the night. Urging her to get up, quickly, there was no time to pack. She remembered her mother’s face, creased with worry and realizing that she was afraid, seeing her fall behind on her little legs and sweeping her up into her arms. She was safe there. She was happy there.
There were only flashes of memory now, The sound of shoes echoing on the deserted hallways of the Palace. The night sky, so warm, so clear, the stars shimmering above her. She was placed in the transport, near the window and soon they were lifting off. The city was half cast in darkness, flickers of fire and columns of smoke dimly visible, split by the sinuous line of the River Nanda, running through the capitol city.
She remembered her face, pressed against the window, clutching her stuffed gryphon, Archie close as they reached the terminator line between night and day and she caught one last glimpse of the beautiful oceans and the green land of Astralis Prime, heart of the Star Union and then…
Then it was exile and her family had gone back to the Potentate of Cosmara once again, barely a generation after the First Restoration of their dynasty back to the great throne of the Star Union.
A delicate cough interrupted her train of thought. “Ma’am.”
“Hmm?”
“The roses are… that way,” Grimsby nodded to her left.
“Thank you, Grimsby,” she replied, annoyed at her absent-mindedness. It’s because it’s early, she told herself. No good news comes early in the morning. Father would say it all the time. Mother believed it. You believe it too, she admitted to herself.
Finally heading in the right direction, it was the work of a few moments before she finally came around the well-manicured hedge, ducked under a delicate moongate and stepped into the rose garden. There, she caught sight of her wife, Chief Stadtholder and Queen of the Herenveen Staats-Republic, Chief Executive Officer of it’s associated trading conglomerates and companies, Juliana Beatrix Oranje-Nassau, Fifth of her name.
“You bloody thing, I don’t know where you’re coming from, but I will find you and I will-” Juliana was on all fours, gloved hand buried deep into a rose bush, trying to trace back an offending weed of some kind. Charlotte stopped and just watched for a long moment. They were both getting older now. Their children were grown and in the case of their son, Eduardo had just secured the line of succession and made them both grandmothers. Even with the prolong treatments, streaks of grey were creeping into her hair now, but still-
“Enjoying the view?” Juliana asked archly, turning her head to notice her for the first time.
“You know I always do,” she replied. “You also do know that we have gardeners that can do things like this.”
Juliana growled and gave the offending weed an almighty pull before pulling her gloved hand out of the rose bush and holding it up triumphantly.
“We pay them quite a bit of money, you know,” she continued idly as Juliana stood up. “They’re experts at-”
“I know, Charlotte,” Juliana rolled her eyes. “It’s just, I like to sneak out-”
“-leaving me alone in our bed-”
“-and just get some gardening in before the tedious business of the day begins,” Juliana continued.
Charlotte smiled fondly at her wife, fully aware of how quickly she would abdicate should the Staats-General ever get around to deeming Eduardo to be a worthy successor to her. Juliana was a creature of nature, more than anything, far more at home puttering about the Palace gardens or strapping on big, practical waterproof boots to go tramping through fields. She was happiest getting her hands dirty. “I love you, wife.”
Juliana’s face softened and she stepped towards Charlotte, slipping her ungloved hand into hers and leaning forward to kiss her firmly on the lips. “And I adore you, my queen.” She creased her eyebrows, realizing something. “What brings you out into the gardens at this hour, anyway? You should be eating your breakfast still.”
“I started early when I woke to find an empty space in my bed,” Charlotte replied somewhat tartly.
“But, I came looking for you when I heard the ship coming in.”
“Is that what that was? I wondered, but I was…” Juliana raised her gloved hand, still clenched around the offending weed and looked a little sheepish.
“Preoccupied?” Charlotte finished.
“Yes, let’s go with that. So, a ship? It’s a little early for a ship.”
“I thought so as well, so I tracked it with the omnioculars.”
“Anyone important?”
“It was from the Star Union,” Charlotte said. “One of their new ultra-fast pickets. It…” she sighed. “It had the livery of the Duchy of New Georgia on it.”
“Your cousin. David, no, Dean, no-” Juliana frowned in irritation.
“Drake,” Charlotte supplied.
“Yes, him. That’s the one,” Juliana said. “Has he sent any messages? Any word that he’s coming?”
“No,” Charlotte admitted.
“So, it could be just another ship on urgent business for anything, right?” Juliana said. “There might be no need to worry at all.”
“Maybe,” Charlotte said. “But-”
“No good news comes early in the morning.” Juliana finished. She pulled the glove off of her hand and tossed it next to the pile of weeds she had placed to one side along with the garden implements. “Would it ease your mind if we went and find out what the ship wanted?”
“It would, my love, but…” she glanced pointedly at the mess and Juliana flapped her hand dismissively with a mischievous grin playing about her face. “The gardeners can get it.”
“Juliana!” Charlotte sounded scandalized.
“As you pointed out, my love, we do pay people- experts, some of them, to take care of things like this,” Juliana slipped her arm into Charlotte’s and with Charlotte rolling her eyes, but smiling as well, the two of them began to walk arm in arm back out of the gardens and toward the Palace, Grimsby an ever-present shadow in their wake. Charlotte was just about convinced that maybe Juliana was right and maybe she had nothing to worry about, but just as they turned the last corner and the terrace came into view, her heart sank. There was Mr. Vanderbeek, Juliana’s chief secretary, waiting at the top of the stairs for them.
Juliana felt her stiffen and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Pieter,” she called as they made their way toward the steps. “Good morning!”
Mr. Vanderbeek bowed. “Good morning, your majesties.”
“You’re up early,” Juliana noted as they reached the bottom of the steps and climbed up onto the terrace. “What brings you to the Palace at this hour?”
“A delegation from the Star Union has arrived, your majesty. They’re requesting to meet with Queen Charlotte most urgently.”
“Did they say what about?” Charlotte tried to make the question sound casual but realized she probably failed at that and shook her head ruefully.
“They did not, your majesty,” Mr. Vanderbeek said. “But I am told that his Grace, the Duke of New Georgia is the head of their delegation.”
“Drake?” Charlotte broke in, surprised. “He’s here himself?”
“Yes, your majesty.”
“Who else?” Juliana asked.
“Intelligence is working on that,” Mr. Vanderbeek said. “But so far, we have identified the Archbishop of Astralis Prime, the Earl of New Shaftesbury and a Parliamentarian we believe to be Beatrice Boothroyd.”
“When do they want to meet?” Charlotte asked.
“As soon as possible, they say, your majesty,” Mr. Vanderbeek replied.
“Has the government been informed?” Juliana asked.
“Yes, your majesty.”
“Very well, since they’re still renovating Noordiende, we’ll have to receive them at the Voorhout Palace. See to it, please and prepare a ground car for her majesty and myself. We won’t keep them waiting long,” Juliana ordered.
Mr. Vanderbeek bowed. “As you wish, your majesty.” He retreated the requisite five steps, taking care not to turn his back on either woman before, having reached the appropriate distance, he turned and hurried away to make the arrangements.
~
Receiving an official delegation from a foreign power required more of the Queen than it did the Queen Consort, so while Juliana allowed herself to be herded away by various functionaries and ladies in waiting to be cleaned and dressed, Charlotte was left to her own devices. Having decided on a sonic shower over the more decadent option of a water shower, she soon found herself opening the door to her closet, robe wrapped tightly around her.
It was less of a closet and more of a room, but that was the privilege of being a Queen Consort. There were dresses and suits and uniforms for every occasion. The chattering classes tended to notice if she wore the same dress twice, which had bothered Charlotte when she was younger, but now, she no longer cared. Dresses could be worn more than once. She had done so throughout her childhood on Cosmara if for no other reason than her family's reduced circumstances had made it a necessity.
She walked down the length of the closet, lightly running her hands along the dresses, wondering what she should wear. Cousin Drake, the Archbishop, the Earl of New Shaftesbury, and whoever that Parliamentarian is… there is only one reason to send a delegation like that to see me. Her hand stopped and, reaching up, she pushed the dresses back to reveal a simple, unadorned red dress.
Even with the prolong treatments, humanity was not immortal. Her father’s cancer had advanced, inexorably, resistant to every treatment they had tried.
Grandfather even sent his personal physician, she remembered. The Doctor arrived in secret, towards the end, in the dead of night, and tried her best, but… Juliana, always so careful to never even give the appearance of asking for favors or getting special privileges had made a quiet call to the government and bundled her onto the fastest ship Herenveen Prime had. It had not been enough. She arrived an hour after he had gone, quietly, without much fuss, as was his way.
He had not wanted an elaborate funeral. Juliana had brought the children. Cousin Drake had arrived as well, which had been a surprise at the time. All of them, clad in their funeral red, on the lip of the hillside of their small farm, the towers of Cosmara City in the distance, watching as the flames of the funeral pyre climbed higher and higher.
She ran her hands over the red mourning dress, remembering. She had not worn it since that day. It seemed a lifetime ago, but there was only one reason they would be sending a delegation like this. Charlotte took the dress down out of the closet and carried it back into the bedroom laying it across her bed. Then she went back into the closet and walked all the way to the back where the jewelry was kept. She did not hesitate this time. Opening the top drawer, she pulled out her mother’s sapphire necklace, the famous Star of Astralis, the one thing she had taken from the Palace when they had fled into exile.
Charlotte held it up to the light and, leaning forward blew some offending dust from it before nodding to herself in approval. “Yes, this will do quite nicely.”
Half an hour later, Charlotte made her way down the grand staircase to the main entrance of the Palace, where Juliana was waiting for her. She was dressed more modestly- in her usual grey suit with a simple string of pearls and a matching purse, but her lips pursed appreciatively as she watched Charlotte descend, Grimsby behind her as always.
Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Juliana smiled at Charlotte and then said, “Grimsby?”
“Yes, your majesty,” Grimsby stepped forward.
“Can you check to see where our ground car has gotten to?”
“At once, your majesty,” Grimsby inclined his head and then crossed over to the front doors of the palace and, opening them, slipped through.
Once they were alone, Juliana, cocked an eyebrow at Charlotte. “Red? That’s the color of mourning in the Star Union.”
“There’s only one reason I can think of for them to send an urgent delegation to meet with me,” Charlotte replied. “If my Grandfather has finally died, I will not show anything less than the utmost respect for his memory.”
“Well, you look lovely,” Juliana said. “Every inch an exiled Princess of the Star Union.”
“I hope so,” Charlotte replied.
Grimsby was returning and Juliana stood up as they both walked over to meet him. “You said you can only think of one reason,” Juliana noted.
“What else could it be?” Charlotte asked.
Juliana looked as if she was about to say something, but instead, shrugged and gave Charlotte a reassuring smile. “You’re right,” she said. “Let’s go see what they have to say.”
~
It was half an hour later when they finally arrived in the grand hall of the Voorhout Palace. That wasn’t entirely unexpected. They were both Queens (well, Juliana was the Queen, Charlotte was the Queen Consort,) and as the two of them, arm in arm, walked out of the antechamber onto the dais of the Throne Room, Charlotte had to admit that they both looked the part. Juliana guided Charlotte to her throne at Juliana’s right, before stepping up onto the main dais and taking her place on the Oranjetanuki Throne.
Mr. Vanderbeek was already in place off to Juliana’s left and after a moment to smooth out her skirt, she nodded to him Mr. Vanderbeek stepped down off the dais and walked the length of the throne room before opening the door and vanishing for a moment onto the other side. Charlotte felt her heart begin to beat faster and forced herself to take a slow deep breath to calm down. Juliana is right. Let’s see what they have to say. Another slow, deep breath and she became irritated with herself. Why are you acting like a spoiled Princess? You’re a grown woman and Queen Consort
The doors opened and Mr. Vanderbeek lead the delegation into the throne room and walked about halfway down before stopping, bowing, and then saying: “Your Majesties, an urgent delegation from the Star Union wishes an audience.”
“Their request is granted,” Juliana replied.
Mr. Vanderbeek stepped smoothly aside and the delegation advanced. As they came closer, Charlotte recognized her cousin, Drake. He was grown now, of course, but even behind the beard, she could still recognize him. The delegation advanced and went down to one knee as both Charlotte and Juliana rose to greet them.
“Your majesty,” Drake said. “We bring sad tidings. Your grandfather, the King Emperor of the Star Union is dead.”
Even though she had been expecting the news, the words fell like a hammer blow and Charlotte was surprised at the surge of emotion she felt. After the Revolt that sent her family into exile, her grandfather had been dragged out of retirement as the only acceptable option to both warring factions in the Star Union. Quietly, he had done what he could to make sure her family was comfortable in exile but had never once contacted them. Her only memories of him were happy ones, from her childhood, before they were exiled. She couldn’t bring herself to resent the old man, even now– and if either of her parents had harbored any bitterness towards him, they had never shown it.
“These are sad tidings indeed, cousin,” Charlotte replied. “I appreciate you coming all this way to tell me in person, but a vid-message or a tight beam would have been just as welcome.”
“Your majesty,” Drake said. “While those tidings are the official reason for our visit, we have another purpose here. A purpose of great urgency and import.”
Charlotte frowned. “What other purpose could bring you here so urgently, cousin?”
“We are here to offer you the Crown of the Star Union.”
If the news of her grandfather’s passing had been a hammer blow, this was news that nearly made her stumble and Charlotte felt herself swaying in shock, her mouth open in astonishment. Suddenly, Juliana was there beside her, gently tucking her arm into hers and steering her safely back into her seat. Charlotte smoothed her skirts out, trying to compose herself as she grappled with the enormity of what Drake had just said.
Juliana stood beside her, hand on her shoulder. “On whose authority do you make such an offer, your Grace?”
“Your majesty, with me I have representatives from the nobility, the church, and the commons. Our common desire is that which her majesty’s father and those who came before fought for and represented: a Monarch who governs in the name of the duly elected Parliament of the Star Union.”
“And how is that different from what you have now?” Juliana asked. Charlotte was dizzy with shock, but still managed to nod in agreement, still not trusting herself to speak. This had to be a joke, a prank, something- whatever it was, it couldn’t be real. The Crown? Her?
You could go home. A whisper from deep inside of her.
Drake grimaced. “The succession is contested. My Uncle Phillip-” Drake smiled knowingly as he saw the expression of disgust flash across Charlotte’s face, “-believes that he has the strongest claim. He is opposed by my cousin Hubert-” and his smile was genuine now as Charlotte covered an incipient laugh with a well-timed if artificial cough. “Your majesty, may I…” he shifted uncomfortably. “May I speak freely to my cousin for a moment, not the Queen Consort of Herenveen Prime?”
Juliana glanced down at Charlotte who nodded her assent.
“Cousin, I understand your skepticism and even your hesitation, but…” Drake sighed. “Invite me to dinner tonight. We can have a real conversation about what this actually means.”
Charlotte and Juliana exchanged glances for a long moment before Charlotte nodded and Juliana looked at Drake. “Your grace, it will be our pleasure to have you join us for dinner tonight at our residence at Het Loo. Seven o’clock, sharp.”
Drake inclined his head. “Thank you for your most gracious and kind invitation, your majesty.”
“We will withdraw then and make preparations,” Juliana said slipping her hand from Charlotte’s shoulder. She stood and the two of them left through the entrance they had come in, arm in arm once again.
Charlotte felt like she was in a daze, but allowed Juliana to lead her back towards their ground car. Mr. Vanderbeek was waiting at the courtyard entrance. “Mr. Vanderbeek, I take it you heard?”
“I did, your majesty.”
“If you would inform the Prime Minister and ask him for a full briefing later tonight. I would like to know the government’s opinion of this… unexpected offer.”
“Yes ma’am,” Mr. Vanderbeek replied. “Will the two of you be returning to Het Loo?”
“Yes, we will. The Duke of New Georgia will be joining us for dinner as well,” Juliana said.
“Very well, ma’am.”
“Thank you, Mr. Vanderbeek.”
He bowed and then stood as still as a statue until they had both walked out into the courtyard proper and reached their ground car. Charlotte slid into the seat, still trying to process the offer that Drake had made back in the throne room. The crown? Me?
You could go home, that whisper again, tinged with hope. But where is home? Charlotte replied in the silence of her head as the ground car manuevered out of the courtyard and onto the city streets. She watched as they made their way down the row of embassies from across the galaxy and then a thought occurred to her.
“Juliana?”
“Yes, darling?”
“Did you know?” Charlotte said. “When I said I could only think of one reason why they would want to see me…”
Juliana said nothing for a long moment before finally taking a breath. “I wondered.”
“But did you know?”
“No,” Juliana replied. “I didn’t. I about fell over when he made his offer..”
Charlotte chuckled. “That makes two of us.” She pursed her lips again and stared out the window, the brief burst of amusement leaving her. “I just wish I knew how real it was.”
Juliana reached over and took her hand. “My love, as soon as we are back at Het Loo I am going to be making all kinds of vid-calls to all kinds of people to see if I can get you an answer to that question.”
~
It was much later. Juliana had withdrawn after the main course, informing them she had some late calls to make. The stewards cleared away the last of the dessert and Drake leaned back in his chair and emitted a loud groan. “God, that was excellent food. I haven’t eaten that well in years.”
“The position does have some privileges,” Charlotte smiled. “We pay our chefs very well.”
“How well?” Drake asked. “That chocolate mousse was to die for.”
“Hands off,” Charlotte said with mock ferocity. “You can’t have him.”
Drake raised his hands in mock innocence. “All right, I surrender,” he said. Charlotte pushed back her chair and stood up, making her way to a small cart of liquor bottles at the side of the dining room. “Shall we adjourn to the terrace?” Charlotte asked.
“With whiskey, one hopes?” Drake sounded eager but pushed his own chair out to stand up.
“Of course,” Charlotte said. She unstoppered a decanter and poured out two generous measures into a pair of elegant crystal glasses before putting the stopper back in the decanter and turning back to Drake. She held out a glass to him and he closed the distance between them and took it from her, Grimsby having heard her proposal and waiting patiently, holding open the door to the terrace, the two of them walked out onto the terrace, and the warm summer night. Charlotte lead them to a pair of lounge chairs and gestured for Drake to sit down before smoothing out her skirts and sitting opposite him.
Charlotte took a sip of whiskey, unsure of how to begin. Happily, Drake did it for her.
“Ask me the question, cousin.”
“What question?” Charlotte asked, a picture of innocence.
Drake snorted in derision. “The one you’ve been wanting to ask me all night. The one we’ve been dancing around through an appetizer, two main courses, a dessert, and now a glass of whiskey.”
“Direct as always, Drake,” Charlotte smiled. “But, very well.” She took a sip of whiskey. “Why me?”
“Why not you?” Drake leaned back in the chair. “Your claim is just as strong as Phillip’s and it’s certainly stronger than that idiot Hubert’s. You have just as much right to the throne as they do if not more.”
“That’s not enough of a reason,” Charlotte replied. “My family has been in exile from the Star Union for a lifetime now. My children grew up here. My life is here. To the people, I would be a historical relic trotted out to serve some political agenda at best and at worst… a foreigner.”
“You say that your life is here now, but you knew the news we were bringing you and still wore your funeral red. Your sleeves hide them well, but you wear the bidari bracelets as well. I’m willing to bet if asked your children, they would tell me of the food and the traditions you still practice as well-”
“So, we celebrate Diwali and Christmas,” Charlotte said. “What of it? There is a thriving emigrant community here and on a dozen other worlds as well. Maintaining and honoring my heritage doesn’t mean I’m fit to lead a country I haven’t seen in decades.” She took another sip of whiskey. “You need to work on your pitch, Drake. I’m not persuaded.”
Drake considered that for a moment, taking another sip of whiskey. “You could secure your father’s legacy, once and for all.” He sat up straight. “Grandfather’s health had been failing for the past five years. Phillip has been defacto regent the entire time and his regency has not been a happy one. Your father was ousted for backing a government that at the time was seen as dangerously radical.”
“I know the history.”
“Yes, but what you don’t know is that your father was ultimately right,” Drake said. “Back then, he knew the Radicals were right. The tax avoidance of the entire nobility was a weight around the neck of the Star Union. The people resented it. The government was drowning in debt because of it, but when the Radicals tried to move their bill through, it was blocked in the Lords, and the only remedy they had to get it through after the second reading was-”
“The Royal Prerogative?” Charlotte asked, surprised.
Drake nodded. “It was a risk, but one he felt worth taking- unfortunately the nobility disagreed- but after the banking crisis a decade back, even the most diehard of the Lords was forced to concede that the tax exemptions were fiscally ruinous and it ended up being a Conservative government that suspended them.”
“And what of it?” Charlotte asked. “My father took on the Star Union’s political elites and it touched off a rebellion that cost him his throne.”
“Phillip has made it clear that he views the suspension as temporary. More importantly, he’s indicated that he doesn’t believe Parliament has the authority to overrule him on the question of taxation and many are beginning to be concerned that he doesn’t believe in the necessity of a Parliament at all.”
“So he’s a would-be Dictator in the making?” Charlotte grimaced.
“That’s what I’m afraid,” Drake said. “But you, on the other hand, would be untouched by the politics of the Star Union. Your father is remembered with affection amongst the common people and Grandfather, to his credit, did nothing to discourage that. You would be able to preserve the Union without plunging us headlong into either an economic crisis or worse, a Civil War.”
“Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown,” Charlotte sighed. “You’ve fitted me for a crown that I have yet to agree to take and already my head itches at the thought of it.”
“It doesn’t have to be forever,” Drake said. “With prolong treatments these days you could a decade or two, secure your family's legacy, and then step aside for someone else. You could even unify the crowns of Herenveen and the Star Union if you wanted to.”
“Do you ever find the notion of crowns and all this frippery to be a bit ridiculous in this day and age?” Charlotte asked. “Humanity has become a space-faring civilization. We’re spreading further and further out every year, terraforming as we go, and yet they still want us to put crowns on our heads. I’m surprised we haven’t grown beyond it yet.”
“Human society organizes itself somehow into strata. Doesn’t matter what flavor or ideology. We have the titles we have merely because our family was amongst the first stakeholders of the original colony of Astralis Prime. Doesn’t make us better than anyone, not anymore.” Drake drained the last of his whiskey.
“Well said,” Charlotte chuckled.
Drake grinned ruefully. “I’m not selling you on this, am I?”
Charlotte said nothing for a long moment before she too drained the last of her whiskey. “Do you remember that summer lodge Grandfather had down by the coast? Near the village with the funny name?”
“Etretat?” Drake said.
“Yes, that’s the one… named after some old Terran painting.”
“I saw it once when we went to Terra,” Drake said. “The cliffs near that village look nothing like the ones in the painting. And they pronounce it differently too.”
“How do they pronounce it?”
“Etret-ah,” Drake said. He shrugged. “Some weird quirk of an old Terran language. They were surprised that the locals pronounced the ‘t’ at the end.”
“Anyway,” Charlotte said. “Do you remember the hill, right by the beach?”
“I remember it being more of a vertical climb,” Drake said. “But yes, I do.”
“I loved the view from the top,” Charlotte said. “It’s one of the clearest memories I have. You could see that whole stretch of the south coast…” she trailed off, lost in the memory.
“And?” Drake prompted.
“I think,” Charlotte said slowly. “I think it would be nice to climb that hill again.”
Drake smiled. “So you are thinking about it?”
“I might be,” Charlotte said. She stood up and Drake stood with her. “But now, cousin, I need to go to bed.”
“Until tomorrow, cousin.”
~
Charlotte slept better than she expected and still managed to slip out of bed the next morning and make her way out onto the terrace where Grimsby awaited her with her usual morning coffee. She wrapped her robe around her tightly, for the cool of the evening still hung in the air. In the light of the day, she was forced to admit the uncomfortable truth to herself: she didn’t know what to think.
Part of her was tempted: she hadn’t been lying to Drake last night and even though he had shamelessly tried to trade on her nostalgia for her childhood at first, his arguments about her father’s legacy had been more persuasive than she wanted to admit. Phillip would be a disaster for the Star Union and if several members of the extended Royal line were suddenly afflicted with terminal illness or enough of them dropped dead that Hubert’s claim went from punchline to reality, he might be an even worse choice for the Star Union.
There were others, of course, but no one had a stronger claim than she.
On the other hand, this was home. This was where she and Juliana had built a family, raised the children, and- the sound of footsteps behind her broke her reverie.
“Now it’s your turn to leave me alone in our bed, I see,” Juliana smiled as she pulled her robe tightly around herself and sat down in the lounge chair opposite her. Grimsby produced another cup and held it up questioningly for a moment before Juliana nodded and he poured a cup, placed it on a saucer, and handed it over to her.
“I was up late enough and still didn’t hear you come in,” Charlotte replied. “What were you up to last night?”
“Meetings,” Juliana replied. “Too many to count, I’m afraid. Did you and Drake talk?”
“We did.”
“And?”
“I don’t know,” Charlotte said. “It’s tempting. But-” she gestured around her. “We built all this together. It’s our life. Our home. I’m not sure I want to leave it, however tempting it might be.”
“Would it help to know that his offer does appear to be genuine?” Juliana asked. “Our intelligence people were working all night to confirm it, but they’ve got enough sources to be sure that he’s on the level.”
“That doesn’t solve the question of how we do it.”
“The General Staff is of the opinion it wouldn’t take much. Their best plan calls for a lightning-fast surgical strike. You isolate and blockade key points, proclaim yourself, and proceed to Astralis Prime to take the throne.”
“Oh, that easy, huh?”
Juliana shrugged. “That’s what they tell me, anyway. The government also doesn’t hate the idea and is frankly enthusiastic about the possibility of gaining more direct access to their markets.”
“But what about you?” Charlotte asked. “I can’t go to rule the Star Union by myself and leave you here alone. I would… miss you.”
“As I would miss you, my darling,” Juliana replied. “That’s why, if you decide to do this, the government would convene the Staats-General and appoint Eduardo regent in my absence. It’s well past time he was given some real responsibility, anyway, and that way- what? Have I done something-” Juliana looked concerned because Charlotte’s eyes were full and the first tears were beginning to roll down her cheeks.
“You would…give it all up? For me?” Charlotte asked, in a voice thick with emotion.
“Of course,” Juliana replied. “I love you, after all. For decades now, you’ve stood by me, had children with me, and been the best Queen Consort I could have wished for. It is more than past time for you to be Queen in your own right.” She smiled. “Besides, I hear the royal gardens on Astralis Prime are a mess. Your grandfather evidently did not have the greenest of thumbs.”
Charlotte smiled. “I think the real expert was my grandmother, to be totally honest.”
“The only question, my love, remains the biggest one of all. Our children are grown. I have been looking for an excuse to give Eduardo some responsibilities mainly so I could tend to the roses here, but I could just as easily fix up the gardens on Astralis Prime. Drake’s offer appears to be genuine. We can bring the military force to bear quickly enough and easy enough to put you on the throne. So, what do you want to do?
“It seems absurd. I haven’t been back there in decades. I’ve lived in exile my whole life. This is home.”
“It’s not absurd. It also doesn’t have to be forever.”
“Drake said that too,” Charlotte said. “Also said we could unify the crowns if we wanted to.”
“So you are thinking about it?”
Charlotte nodded. “Do you remember the first time we met?”
Juliana smiled. “How could I forget? I chased you up a hill near the University on Cosmara. There was a beautiful view at the top.”
“I loved that hill because it reminded me of a hill along the coast near my grandfather’s summer lodge,” Charlotte said. “If I- no, we do this… will you climb it with me?”
“Yes, my love, I will,” Juliana said. “I won’t ask you to decide now but know this. I think it is well past time for you to be Queen in your own right on a throne of your own. I think the people of the Star Union would welcome a ruler who will respect the government they elect and actually advocate for their welfare. I think everyone who lives in exile harbors a secret dream, a hope of returning home someday. But, my love, my home is with you. Wherever you go.”
It came down to that in the end. That one simple sentence decided it. Charlotte Elizabeth Mackenzie-Nanda, Queen Consort of the Herenveen Staats-Republic looked over at her wife, Juliana Beatrix Oranje-Nassau Chief Stadtholder and Queen of Herenveen Staats-Republic, Chief Executive Officer of it’s associated trading conglomerates and companies. She reached over and took Juliana’s hand in hers. “My Queen, my love, my life,” Charlotte said. “I think I would like to go home again.”

I stepped onto the front porch holding out the hope that there’d be a basket of pastries and cookies; There was nothing there. It had been two weeks since the Gibsons had popped by. The Gibsons, our neighbors from the farm next to us, sported several more acres of land than our family and with how amazing the early elderly couple were, they deserved it.
Melvin and Maya baked together, even as Melvin’s mind slipped it was one of the only things he could remember from his 37 years of marriage with Maya. They always brought us lots of their baking, and in turn we all would help them out with things around their farm. Maya’s mind was sharp, even if both of their bodies were giving out. It was the least we could do for such lovely neighbors.
So when more than a week had passed with no calls or basket drop-offs, I knew something was wrong.
“Where are you going? Sun’s almost down,” mom asked me as I threw on some boots.
“Checkin’ on the neighbors,” I replied, stone faced.
“Oh I’m sure they’re just fine, their son and his wife were supposed to be visiting, right?”
I didn’t have a real response to that. Something felt wrong, but maybe I was expecting far too much from them. If they had family over I shouldn’t be so bent out of shape.
“Maybe you’re right,” I relented. “Perhaps it’s just that-”
Sirens rushing down the road cut me off. They were headed west. Towards the Gibson’s farm.
“When was the last time you heard those around here, ma?” I asked.
“Five months,” I got back. The reality did hit me. We were roughly twenty minutes south of Albany, and I probably haven't been to Atlanta in maybe three months. I was grateful for my online friends, let alone having the internet in the first place.Which is why I’m writing what I’m writing.
“Jonah, where are ya going?” I heard my dad call out to me as I hurried into the truck. He’d been watering the tomato plants outside.
“Checkin the Gibsons!” I called back.
“Dammit, you’re gonna look silly when you crash their family bbq cause you was worried!”
“Explain the cops then!” I retorted before slamming the truck door and speeding west.
Melvin and Maya’s place was ten minutes away by vehicle. I had the windows down, and around the halfway mark I heard gunshots. I picked up speed, thrashing the poor truck on the dirt road.
I didn’t wanna be right, but sure as shit there were two cops and an ambulance parked outside of their place. I got out of the truck and rushed over. The law enforcement and paramedics were a little jumpy, and very pale.
“What’s going on..?” I asked much slower than I normally would. The sheriff looked back at the house, and that’s when I noticed the window had been smashed. The frame of the window was torn right off the house, too.
“An attack of some kind,” The sheriff told me. “It’s a gnarly scene there, kid. We suspect a-”
“Don’t bullshit him you saw it, too!” a much younger deputy called out. “That thing’s a monster!”
The sheriff sighed, giving this visibly shaken deputy a pat on the back. “We’ll see to it that someone destroys it.”
“A monster!?” I spat. “Y’all can’t be using that word lightly!”
“A big one, too,” the deputy rambled. “Damn thing took six of my bullets before it charged into the woods! I didn’t wanna believe it! Bigger than any bear I’d ever seen, and I damn well know it ain’t one!”
“Who are you anyways, kid?” the sheriff asked. “You shouldn’t be here, it’s dangerous.”
“The neighbor,” I said, pointing back down the road towards my house. I gestured to look around back, and I followed the sheriff and his deputy closely.
The Gibson’s crops were torn up in some spots, uprooted to be specific. There was a trail of blood smeared across a section of the field that led to a busted portion of their fence, trailing towards the woods and swamp. I wanted to check for tracks, but I was no detective nor would the police let me get close.
“I…did they make it?” I asked nervously. The sheriff shook his head, looking down at his badge shamefully.
“I don’t believe so, son. Couldn't find a body to tell ya.”
I bit my lip, trying my hardest not to cry. I walked back to the truck and drove off. I couldn’t hold anything back and cried for most of my drive back to my place. I grew up with them always down the road, and they were kind and gentle souls. It was the type of loving marriage I envisioned myself having later in life.
My parents had finished eating dinner by the time I had gotten back. I quietly scarfed down some food on my own before telling my parents what I had seen. They were upset, for sure.
“They couldn’t find a body?” My dad asked. “That means that there’s a chance they might be alive.”
“I want to believe that, I do…but the amount of blood that was there…” I said. “I don’t think anyone could’ve survived that.”
“What are you going to do about it, son? You can’t go and fight this ‘monster’ or whatever that they said they saw.”
“They were good people. I can’t do nothing about it, pops.”
“Live a good life, for them at least. They’d definitely want that for you."
A couple days went by, and I saw some vehicles pass our place to their property a few times. It was pretty quiet. I worked around our smaller farm, and helped my parents bring food to the nearby markets. Eventually their obituaries presented themselves in the newspaper.It was cited that Melvin, Maya, and their son and their daughter in-law all died from a bear attack. This ignited a fire of conviction in me. I wasn’t a sheriff or deputy or whatnot, but a “bear attack” was bullshit. I had to get to the bottom of it.I cared about the Gibsons. I wasn’t going to give up until I found out what really attacked them.
I drove to their property, much to my parents dismay, and saw nobody was there. Someone had boarded up the broken window, and I saw a toolbox laying about on the front porch. I hopped the fence behind the house and saw the smeared trail was drying up. Something was off, more of their crops were uprooted. There was also a vile smell in the air.
Whatever the thing was, it was here recently. I was also able to find some tracks.
Hooves. Larger ones at that.
“Couldn’t be a killer deer,” I chuckled to myself.
I circled back around the house and noticed something shocking on the side I hadn’t seen yet.There was a fresh trail of blood smeared towards the woods. Who was here recently that this thing killed?
I took a look and saw a small broken window that was halfway through being boarded up. Looking down at the trail, there were once again hoof tracks leading away from the house. I saw some torn denim, soaked in blood on the ground, as well as a screwdriver.
This thing killed whoever was patching the place up. I was too scared to follow the trail, I was unarmed.I checked the nearby barn that held their sheep and goats. They were massacred, dried blood everywhere. The only remains of any animal was in the form of a rotting goat carcass that was missing its backside.
In my disgust I thought of an effective but risky plan. I took the carcass back to my truck and drove back to the house.
Mom and Dad always were in bed early, and they were deep sleepers by 8:00pm. I did make an effort to be quiet with my sneaking, as I looted our compost, and added in some of the fresh tomatoes to my bucket of slop. I unlocked the gun safe, got the highest caliber hunting rifle, and loaded myself up with a handful of bullets. I grabbed a high powered flashlight for good measure, too.
The sun was still in the sky when I got back to the Gibson’s place. I took the carcass to the back of the house, dropping it on the blood trail. I dumped the compost slob on top, as well as the fresh tomatoes for extra measure. By the looks of it, the bait may not have been necessary but I wanted to speed things along.I managed to navigate the intact wooden railings on the back porch and climbed on top of the roof.
I got a view of most of their field, which was almost completely ransacked. I took out the gun and waited.
Nothing came for two hours. The moon was full with a clear sky; I didn’t even need the flashlight I brought. Disrespectful as it was, I also peed off the house towards the carcass. That was not part of the plan, but a part of me was glad I did.
About twenty or so minutes later I heard something from the woods. I quietly got the gun ready. It was a bear, and a pretty big one at that. No bear could’ve done this, right? It began sniffing where I had peed, as well as the bait I had laid out. I wanted to fire off a warning shot to scare it off. It was interfering with the “monster!”
As I prepared to fire off the gun, I heard a low grunt and snort from the woods. It was loud. Sounded like a wild boar, but not quite. I heard the sound of something slowly dragging through the underbrush. The bear noticed it, too, and ran away. A bear was running from something like a boar? What the hell?
It emerged from the woods and I understood why.
It was a massive boar, I’d argue it was taller and heavier than the bear. It didn’t have the thick hair your average feral pig had. No, it had a bristly mane but almost no hair on the sides. It looked like it had been stabbed or shot, its hide had dark, exposed holes. I could see from the moonlight that its tusks were stained with what I could make out was blood.
Its bloated gut dragged on the ground, and the thing wheezed each step it took. It reached the bait. Did it notice me? I took aim.
The thing began to heave and hack. First, a slew of blood and bile came from its mouth. It looked like it was struggling. Then something else came out of its mouth that will no doubt be burned into my brain for the rest of my life
.A set of flailing human arms.
They swayed as this creature heaved some more. More blood came out. The arms were hung up in its mouth, and tapped desperately on the snout. Oh god, the person it ate is still alive!?
I took aim and fired into its side. It gurgled and shrieked. It spat out more content that made me lose hope.
It opened its mouth wider and a slimy, half digested torso dropped onto the ground. It wasn’t done yet. It shook its head and the arms that were stuck in its teeth flung away.
It kept puking. A hammer, a half-melted hardhat, and two severed human legs came out of its mouth. It went back to the pile and began to gorge. This thing was simply making room.
No doubt, this was the monster.
Furious, I took another shot at it. I got it right in the ear. It squealed, and turned its gaze upward. Its cold, beady eyes locked onto me. I slowly began to back up, reloading another bolt into the rifle. It snorted and roared. It reared up at me, its oversized gut weighing it down. It began pacing from side to side, before charging towards the house.
It pressed its massive body against the house, and I could’ve sworn I heard some creaking from the wall. I took another shot at the top of its head, it drew blood, but I doubt it went close to the brain.It looked up at me, opening its massive, disgusting mouth. I instinctively gasped when I saw what was inside:
It was glinting in the moonlight, the gem on Maya’s wedding ring. My body must’ve moved on its own, because I don’t remember putting the flashlight in my hand, but before I knew it I turned it on and I couldn’t believe what I saw in the light.
The ring was attached to a slimy, mangled arm resting at the back of this thing’s throat. This monster pig ate her!
I screamed in terror and in rage and fired a shot into this thing’s mouth. It stumbled backwards, squealing and rolling. Its insides were still vulnerable. As I shakily went to reload, I realized I had ran out of bullets! Shit!
The giant pig squealed and roared. It took a few steps and began to retch once again. It vomited up Maya’s body, in pieces, before retreating into the woods. I could hear its gut dragging along the ground.
I was distraught, I could tell through the disgusting, slimy and bloody body that this was indeed one of my neighbors. It was far more gone than what I can only imagine was the gentleman who was patching the windows up.
I made it home, and my mind is still a bit hazy. I don’t think anyone is going to believe me when I tell them what killed our neighbors. I want to call the sheriff, hell even the military over. I cared so much about our neighbors in life, I want them to rest easy in death.
My parents didn't even come out to scold me, they must have really been sound asleep. I wonder if anyone else heard the gunshots. Our other neighbours are fairly far out. My ears are ringing, my heart won't stop beating, and my mind is racing far too quickly to fall asleep.
I knew it wasn't a bear that devoured our neighbours. I wish it were so simple, but I wish nobody had to die in the first place.
If there's more of those things out there, then I'm worried for us. When will that thing turn its attention towards our farm?I’ve been staring at my phone for about an hour now, ready to make a call.
I’ll be able to help them out just a little bit-By guiding them to the newest trail of blood, going into the woods.

After I (35) confronted my mother (55) about her abuse of me, I went no contact with her. Shortly after, her husband died under suspicious circumstances.
Her husband was a little over 20 years older than her and had dementia and alzheimer's. I had talked her into getting a home health nurse several times to help provide care because it was very obvious that she was not. She inevitability came up with reasons to fire each one and she made a big deal out of it every time. Without the care he needed, her husband continued to deteriorate and I wound up reporting for elder abuse, but nothing ever came of it. I really, really regret not pushing harder.
I had a sit-down with her a couple of years ago to talk about all the medical abuse she put me through as a child and an adult and confronted her about munchausen and munchausen by proxy. It went about as well as one would expect and she became super dodgy and passive aggressive with me after that, but maintained communication. However, it got to a point where I no longer found the relationship worth maintaining and went no-contact. After that, things escalated extremely quickly and very severely with her committing several state and federal crimes in attempt to get back at me for cutting contact with her. I have since moved (no one knows my address), do not own a phone, and have no contact with any members of either side of my family.
During the time she was escalating her lashing out and while I was moving, her husband died, and I know that she killed him. He had one of the most storied lives that I'd ever heard and his obituary is two sentence long. This is it, in it's entirety, with identifiers changed: "John Doe, age, passed away on Day, Month Date, Year. He was born on Month Date, Year, to Jack and Jill Smith in City, STATE. John is survived by his wife My Mom." He was cremated, which was against his wishes, and there was no funeral service or memorial. There are also things like how he had money set aside for donations that didn't get donated but that's not the point.
The last time I saw my mom's husband, I was at her house. He was wearing clothes that were extremely dirty and way too big on him due to weight loss. His hair and beard were unkempt where he used to always shave and get haircuts. It was also very clear that he hadn't been bathed in a very long time like on the scale of months. My mom and her roommate were constantly getting on to him for his pants falling down (talking about how they didn't want to see his body and how gross it was) or dropping cigarette ash/food crumbs on himself and making too much noise. It's like they were watching him just to catch him doing something they didn't like so they could scold him about it. I noticed that he didn't speak at all while I was there beyond a mumbled greeting when I came in. At one point I went to the bathroom and there was poop all over the toilet and sink and around that whole general area. I went to grab cleaning supplies hoping my mom wouldn't notice but she did. She all but physically rubbed his face in it like a shitty dog owner trying to housebreak a puppy. She was angrily chiding and shaming him like he did it on purpose to make her life even harder taking care of him. I left and went to the nearest health and senior services center and again reported what happened and what I saw and made several follow up calls, but I don't know if they ever even did anything.
On the outside, she presented herself as loving her husband and that she was a warrior sticking by the side of and taking on the care of someone with dementia and alzheimer's. Her whole thing was that she wasn't going to be like other people that put their loved ones in care facilities when things get tough. She's better than that.
I don't know if she did some of the same things to him as she did to me like the poisoning and inducing illness, but it's beyond clear that she neglected and berated him and got pleasure from seeing him deteriorate. I'm not entirely sure what happened with the exact circumstances of his death, but he was so frail from the abuse at that point that I assume either her or her and her roommate went too far with some sort of torture while they were all keyed up from doing shit to me that she/they wound up killing him either accidentally or intentionally. I didn't witness the act, but I know that she killed him.
One of the details that's always stuck out to me as strange is that, months after his death, my partner got a text from my mom telling them to pass on the message 'I thought you should know that "John" died'. No further information, no details, just 'my husband died'.
This has been weighing on me because I could have done more to stop it. I knew she was abusing her husband and I didn't get him out of there. I'm not saying this so someone can give me a hug and tell me I tried, I say it because I genuinely don't know why I didn't do more. I don't like the psychological implications there. I'm terrified of becoming something like her. My mom killed her husband, but I feel like I let it happen. I feel an immense amount of guilt but I also recognize that my mother is a monster and is the one that perpetrated these acts. It's a lot of complicated feelings and they're all bad. I almost feel ashamed of how much I let the trauma I carry from a life lived with her control me, because she at least never successfully killed me. I don't know. I don't know what to do with this.

Please feel free to correct me if any details are wrong. I literally whipped this up at work this morning. Also worth noting, some info was featured on the "extra footage" episode of the reunion on Peacock, the Call Her Daddy podcast Ariana was on, WWHL and VPR episodes. And lastly, anytime "Tom" is used, assume I'm talking about Sandoval.
Edit: watching again for the 3rd time and added a couple dates I missed and made a couple corrections.
Dec 2021 - James and Raquel call off their engagement.
Beginning of 2022 - Tom tells Andy during 1:1 this is around the time he starts having feelings for Raquel. 🧐 🤨
Mid April (at Coachella) – Allegedly, Tom tells Raquel that he and Ariana are in an open relationship. Raquel tells others, and it gets back to Scheana, who tells us this at the reunion. Rumors start swirling that Raquel and “Tom” were seen kissing at Coachella. It’s assumed to be Schwartz, but little did we know. 😠
Sometime in July – Schwartz tells us at the reunion Tom confided to him that he and Ariana are having problems. He's setting the narrative.
Aug 2 – Ariana’s Dog Charlotte passes away :(
Aug 3 – Guys night at the Mondrian hotel. Raquel and Charlie show up after leaving the girls trip.
Aug 4 – Schwartz tells us at the reunion that Tom told him he confided into Raquel about his relationship problems with Ariana and they had an "intimate moment”.
Aug 9 - After filming wrapped at “C-U-N-Tuesday” a bunch went to the Abby and that’s the night they had sex. Tom tells Andy this during his 1:1.
Aug 13 - Tom and Ariana host a pool party where Tom defends Raquel against Lala
Aug 23 – Scheana’s wedding in Mexico (Schwartz and Raquel kissed) Tom caught in footage smacking Raquel’s ass. There are rumors Tom and Raquel were seen making out in the hotel.
Aug 31 – Schwartz tells us at the reunion that’s when he finds out about the “one night stand” between Tom and Raquel. Says Tom blamed alcohol and it absolutely won’t happen again.
Sept 2 – Lala’s birthday – Katie tells Tom that Ally saw him and Raquel at the Abby “enjoying” each other.
Sept 5 – Ariana’s Grandmother dies (according to the obituary)
Sept 5 – Labor Day cook out in LA, Raquel is also in attendance. Tom says he “couldn’t get a Lyft” back home to Ariana while others confirmed Lyfts and Ubers were in and out of there all day long.
Sept 12 – Raquel’s B-day, she buys the Lightning Bolt necklace for herself around this time. Also Glamping trip. This is also when Schwartz confirmed at the reunion he was including Tom when he mentioned Raquel having a type of going after men that are taken.
Sept 16-18 Life is Beautiful festival in Las Vegas – Pictures shown of Raquel on Tom’s shoulders. Tom tells Andy at the reunion this is when the affair “amped up”. (Ariana was in attendance.)
Sept 19 - Raquel’s Instagram post from life is beautiful featuring her wearing the lightning bolt necklace. Captioned “It’s giving Harley Quinn falls in love with the joker vibes ⚡️”
Sept 24 – Ariana’s Grandmoms funeral. Ariana flies to Florida twice this month to be with family. Unclear what those dates were.
Sept - While Ariana is home in FL, Ken Todd drops the mother of all gossip bombs. “I can’t believe, that Tom Zandaville had Raquel, over, when Ariana’s away, in the ju… jacuzzi as well. AND SHE STAYED ALL NIGHT, YEAH?!”
Sept sometime - Tom tells show runner in unaired footage that he feels guilty he’s not sharing his issues on the show and thought it was unfair to the rest of the cast. Again, laying the groundwork.
Oct 14-16 Bravocon – Raquel shows up in TomTom hoodie. Schwartz tells Katie that Raquel isn’t there for him. 👀
Oct 31 – Tom dresses up as Raquel for Halloween
December – Tom takes Raquel home to STL for Christmas.
January - Scheana says she has a convo with Ariana and she said she and Tom are in a good place. Communication and intimacy were good.
January 2023 – Big Bear trip with Schwartz, Jo, Tom, and Raquel – Ariana was not invited. Schwartz claimed he did not know about the affair at this time.
“Mid/late Jan” – Tom tells us at the reunion that’s when he told Schwartz about the affair. Neither can get their stories straight however.
Feb 8 – Both Toms on WWHL. Schwartz is extremely nervous. Tom acts very composed and laid back. (Meanwhile, Raquel is in their hotel room based on info Ariana shared on the CHD podcast)
Feb 14 – Valentine’s Day, Ariana and Tom go to V-day dinner, Tom gifts her flowers. Fight all night about their relationship. (Details provided by Ariana on CHD podcast)
Feb 28- Tom records him and Raquel fapping to each other on Facetime at Schwartz’s apartment.
Mar 1 – Scheana & Raquel are guests on WWHL. Raquel calls Sandoval the “hotter Tom”. Ariana finds out about affair by looking in Tom’s phone in a bathroom stall at Tom Tom restaurant.
Mar 2 – Affair made public by TMZ.

Alone at college, I was unprepared to live alone - with loneliness. It was the thought of arriving in my apartment and walking through that silence to turn on lights and put something on tv - that depressed me. Some instinct to obtain a companion made me turn into the animal shelter. I adopted Miss Marvel, a rescued black cat.
Strange and unusual feelings were the first thing I noticed. I'd never had a pet before - so I attributed my sensation to her presence. There was one thought that I should have accepted. I did notice right away that Miss Marvel had two different personalities. Sometimes she was my friend, taking treats and letting me pet her and sleeping next to me. Other times she was like a pair of eyes in the shadows - watching me and making me feel menaced and hunted.
She had known her way around the apartment from the first moment I had opened her carrier. She went to a spot in the kitchen that was perfect for where I would put her food and water. If I squinted I could almost see where someone had kept two bowls on the floor, slightly cleaner where the floor was covered. The exact same spot.
I tried to meet her in her shadow realm but she made warning noises and even swatted at me, drawing a drop of blood. When I had rinsed it I heard her licking where the drop had spilled. I shuddered, wondering again if I had two different cats.
Other than that: I found her companionship to be the best that I could have. She was a lovely cat, purring and playful and responsive to my call. I didn't suspect her of the darkness that began to manifest in my home. Not her, yet it was all from her. I knew somehow that it was not right, my cat wasn't responsible.
My homework was shredded, things got broken and my plants wilted. The smell of ammonia became overwhelming and I'd have to leave my windows open. The swarm of flying insects swirling in my living room must have come in through the open window. It's how they went back out: all-at-once.
Then my own behavior began to change. I found myself waking up in strange places and missing time. I worried I might be losing my mind, until I noticed there was a pattern to my activities. Every time I slipped away I always came back with Miss Marvel sitting near me and staring intensely. She would hiss and run off when the spell wore off and I would think to myself:
"Is she somehow controlling me?"
After this had occurred a number of times I felt her power growing stronger. Miss Marvel would become the witch cat and mesmerize me and control me like a puppet. I filmed it with my webcam, but the recording wouldn't open. I took it to a college friend who worked in the campus IT and they said the file couldn't be repaired, because it wasn't broken. It had filmed just one frame and the software had interpreted it as a non-video file. They showed it to me, just one image of a weird star made out of triangles with a peculiar questionmark-like symbol emblazoned over it.
My investigations took me to the animal shelter. I determined that my cat was using witchcraft - entirely by my own instinct. I've always believed in witchcraft, found myself attracted to witches and living a charmed life. My involvement with Miss Marvel seemed to be part of my lifestory already. That didn't mean I wasn't frightened.
Knowing I was dealing with witchcraft of some insidious alignment made me afraid. I felt powerless to deal with her and I knew I couldn't escape. I felt drawn to my home, despite the horror I felt at opening that door.
The shelter had, after I convinced them, told me the address where Miss Marvel had come from. She'd belonged to on old woman who had lived alone and died mysteriously. The address was my own. Miss Marvel had lived in my apartment before.
I called my brother and convinced him to look into the police report. He told me he'd have to get back to me with it. When he came over he apologized for not coming over earlier, like when I had started college. Or at any point since.
"You're here now. That's what I need." I told him.
He stopped apologizing for neglecting me and told me what the police report had contained.
"It started as a wellness check that went into a possible homicide. Later it was ruled as a possible suicide and finally as a natural death of unknown cause."
"What does that even mean?" I felt the eyes of Miss Marvel, watching - her ears, listening. I looked around and saw her nowhere.
"The lady who lived here - she had died of fear. Screamed until her lungs boiled and collapsed and hit her head. It looked bad, but she got scared of something and then died. That's what happened." He explained.
After my brother was gone, I reflected that his career had made him so calloused. I remembered him different growing up. Miss Marvel found me sitting and thinking and she was my cat, so she came to me and loved on me.
The next morning, I was sipping tea, when I remembered a spell someone had shown me. It was a gesture and some magic words, a cheap charm, that would reveal the hidden nature of someone or something.
How did it go?
I spoke the rhyme and focused my intention on the syntax, while looking at my cat through the corner of my eye, between the 'window' of my pinky and pointer finger - while my other two fingertips were holding my thumb. Nothing happened. I didn't give up, because I know that magic rarely works without increasing one's efforts. I'd never cast a spell before, but I knew this from what I was told. I tried the charm again and again. Early in the evening, while she was eating and the sun was setting, my spell worked.
I could see the witch standing beside my cat, the horrible open mouth looking both dead and violent at the same time. She could see me too, knew that I knew. The eyes of the creature burned with hatred, my reflection a pyre light. I put my hand down and looked away. When I looked back I felt a cold shiver, fear in my spine, knowing she was standing there unseen.
My cat stopped eating suddenly and turned and faced me, staring with far more intensity than my cat. I knew it was the witch and not her. I knew it was up to me to figure out what to do. My only problem was that I was too afraid.
I had nightmares from that night on. I'd sometimes wake up somewhere else in my home, turning butter into ashes on my stove. I would be drawing symbols on the floor in ash. I was trying to do something when she had control over me. I kept breaking free of her control before she could make any progress. At the same time - every time she got ahold of me she seemed to hold me longer and do more. She was getting stronger and I was getting weaker.
I had to know what the old witch was trying to do. There was nothing else that I could do to free myself and Miss Marvel from her power. Moving or getting rid of the cat seemed impossible. Perhaps I could have tried one of those things, but the weight of such ideas felt like I was falling to even consider those options.
Instead, I did my homework. I found out who she was, a rotary and well-known occult bookstore owner. Her obituary mentioned that there was a guest registry at her funeral. At the local library I was able to find out who held the registry. I called on them and they allowed me to look at it. They even told me that most of the guests were members of her coven, a large group of witches that had practiced together.
"I just want to know about her life. All I know is about her death. It isn't how she should be remembered?" Were my exact words to them. They were convinced I should be loaned her diary. Nobody had taken the time to read it, but it was kept with the spellbook and the registry. Of her spellbook I was given no permissions.
I sat there and read her diary and discovered she had her own agenda within the coven. Some sort of personal spirit guide of her's was to manifest for her. When I described the creature to them, they told me I had misunderstood.
"Maroni is an ancient and powerful demon that grants eternal life. There is a bargain though, the use of a body for the demon, in such a consortment. No witch would fall prey to such a well-known scam."
Yet she had made a deal with it and learned of a dangerous spell to summon Maroni. It involved writing with ash and speaking the contract in the demon's own language. I guessed that the witch had tried and met the demon and died of terror.
Somehow, she could inhabit her cat and channel her magic through Miss Marvel to control me. She was trying to complete the spell, probably so she could become alive and immortal. I felt pale and cold with fear as I realized I was her choice of bodies to live in.
Every night my dreams showed me the ritual in different times and places. Different people, religions, civilizations had all come and gone. Each had danced with the demon upon the ashes of its summoning. All of them had tried to bargain with it. Always the demon won, always it got what it wanted and gave nothing in return.
I was falling asleep in lectures and having visions or sightings of the tormented souls trapped by the demon's spell. Shamans and druids, priestesses and warlocks, all as ghosts in their ritual garb, dead for whole chapters of history and trapped in our world, unseen. I felt sick, my body trying to reject the infection in my spirit.
As I deteriorated there became less and less of a distinction between her control and mine. I felt myself slipping into the embrace of her power, somehow relieved to stop struggling and just give up. My fear became a constant anxiety, knowing what was happening and helpless to stop it.
"Now you will perform the ritual." The voice of the witch spoke to me from Miss Marvel, contorted and barely human-sounding.
I gathered what little of my willpower was left. I thought about the good times with Miss Marvel, when she was my cat. I wanted to break free, to somehow throw off the weight that was crushing me. I needed to begin, whenever I start something - I finish it.
"No." I said weakly. Then I felt my voice, felt my willpower backing me up, motivating me to resist. I added: "No - I said. I won't do it."
"You will. You have no choice." The witch promised.
I began to move, despite my resistance. I was under her control and aware of it. I felt her power over me slip even further. In a moment I regained control and swept the symbols of ash on the floor, ruining the summoning.
"You insolent dog!" The witch exclaimed. "I've used it all up! Damn you!"
And with that she was coughed out of Miss Marvel like some kind of hellspawned hairball. I stared at the lumpy and bubbling ectoplasma and felt a nauseating revulsion and the last of the terrified feelings I had lived with for so long.
My cat lifted the stringy dead thing and brought it to me and dropped it at my feet. She meowed with expectation and I lifted her and took her with me while she purred. I was very tired and fell asleep right away.
Of Miss Marvel I can only say we are happy together. Whatever got into her was long gone, having slithered up the wall and down the drain, leaving a trail of slime. I cleaned it up and relaxed.
Together, at college, I live happily with my marvelous cat, Miss Marvel.

Alone at college, I was unprepared to live alone - with loneliness. It was the thought of arriving in my apartment and walking through that silence to turn on lights and put something on tv - that depressed me. Some instinct to obtain a companion made me turn into the animal shelter. I adopted Miss Marvel, a rescued black cat.
Strange and unusual feelings were the first thing I noticed. I'd never had a pet before - so I attributed my sensation to her presence. There was one thought that I should have accepted. I did notice right away that Miss Marvel had two different personalities. Sometimes she was my friend, taking treats and letting me pet her and sleeping next to me. Other times she was like a pair of eyes in the shadows - watching me and making me feel menaced and hunted.
She had known her way around the apartment from the first moment I had opened her carrier. She went to a spot in the kitchen that was perfect for where I would put her food and water. If I squinted I could almost see where someone had kept two bowls on the floor, slightly cleaner where the floor was covered. The exact same spot.
I tried to meet her in her shadow realm but she made warning noises and even swatted at me, drawing a drop of blood. When I had rinsed it I heard her licking where the drop had spilled. I shuddered, wondering again if I had two different cats.
Other than that: I found her companionship to be the best that I could have. She was a lovely cat, purring and playful and responsive to my call. I didn't suspect her of the darkness that began to manifest in my home. Not her, yet it was all from her. I knew somehow that it was not right, my cat wasn't responsible.
My homework was shredded, things got broken and my plants wilted. The smell of ammonia became overwhelming and I'd have to leave my windows open. The swarm of flying insects swirling in my living room must have come in through the open window. It's how they went back out: all-at-once.
Then my own behavior began to change. I found myself waking up in strange places and missing time. I worried I might be losing my mind, until I noticed there was a pattern to my activities. Every time I slipped away I always came back with Miss Marvel sitting near me and staring intensely. She would hiss and run off when the spell wore off and I would think to myself:
"Is she somehow controlling me?"
After this had occurred a number of times I felt her power growing stronger. Miss Marvel would become the witch cat and mesmerize me and control me like a puppet. I filmed it with my webcam, but the recording wouldn't open. I took it to a college friend who worked in the campus IT and they said the file couldn't be repaired, because it wasn't broken. It had filmed just one frame and the software had interpreted it as a non-video file. They showed it to me, just one image of a weird star made out of triangles with a peculiar questionmark-like symbol emblazoned over it.
My investigations took me to the animal shelter. I determined that my cat was using witchcraft - entirely by my own instinct. I've always believed in witchcraft, found myself attracted to witches and living a charmed life. My involvement with Miss Marvel seemed to be part my lifestory already. That didn't mean I wasn't frightened.
Knowing I was dealing with witchcraft of some insidious alignment made me afraid. I felt powerless to deal with her and I knew I couldn't escape. I felt drawn to me home, despite the horror I felt at opening that door.
The shelter had, after I convinced them, to tell me the address where Miss Marvel had come from. She'd belonged to on old woman who had lived alone and died mysteriously. The address was my own. Miss Marvel had lived in my apartment before.
I called my brother and convinced him to look into the police report. He told me he'd have to get back to me with it. When he came over he apologized for not coming over earlier, like when I had started college. Or at any point since.
"You're here now. That's what I need." I told him.
He stopped apologizing for neglecting me and told me what the police report had contained.
"It started as a wellness check that went into a possible homicide. Later it was ruled as a possible suicide and finally as a natural death of unknown cause."
"What does that even mean?" I felt the eyes of Miss Marvel, watching - her ears, listening. I looked around and saw her nowhere.
"The lady who lived here - she had died of fear. Screamed until her lungs boiled and collapsed and hit her head. It looked bad, but she got scared of something and then died. That's what happened." He explained.
After my brother was gone, I reflected that his career had made him so calloused. I remembered him different growing up. Miss Marvel found me sitting and thinking and she was my cat, so she came to me and loved on me.
The next morning, I was sipping tea, when I remembered a spell someone had shown me. It was a gesture and some magic words, a cheap charm, that would reveal the hidden nature of someone or something.
How did it go?
I spoke the rhyme and focused my intention on the syntax, while looking at my cat through the corner of my eye, between the 'window' of my pinky and pointer finger - while my other two fingertips were holding my thumb. Nothing happened. I didn't give up, because I know that magic rarely works without increasing one's efforts. I'd never cast a spell before, but I knew this from what I was told. I tried the charm again and again. Early in the evening, while she was eating and the sun was setting, my spell worked.
I could see the witch standing beside my cat, the horrible open mouth looking both dead and violent at the same time. She could see me too, knew that I knew. The eyes of the creature burned with hatred, my reflection a pyre light. I put my hand down and looked away. When I looked back I felt a cold shiver, fear in my spine, knowing she was standing there unseen.
My cat stopped eating suddenly and turned and faced me, staring with far more intensity than my cat. I knew it was the witch and not her. I knew it was up to me to figure out what to do. My only problem was that I was too afraid.
I had nightmares from that night on. I'd sometimes wake up somewhere else in my home, turning butter into ashes on my stove. I would be drawing symbols on the floor in ash. I was trying to do something when she had control over me. I kept breaking free of her control before she could make any progress. At the same time - every time she got ahold of me she seemed to hold me longer and do more. She was getting stronger and I was getting weaker.
I had to know what the old witch was trying to do. There was nothing else that I could do to free myself and Miss Marvel from her power. Moving or getting rid of the cat seemed impossible. Perhaps I could have tried one of those things, but the weight of such ideas felt like I was falling to even consider those options.
Instead, I did my homework. I found out who she was, a rotary and well-known occult bookstore owner. Her obituary mentioned that there was a guest registry at her funeral. At the local library I was able to find out who held the registry. I called on them and they allowed me to look at it. They even told me that most of the guests were members of her coven, a large group of witches that had practiced together.
"I just want to know about her life. All I know is about her death. It isn't how she should be remembered?" Were my exact words to them. They were convinced I should be loaned her diary. Nobody had taken the time to read it, but it was kept with the spellbook and the registry. Of her spellbook I was given no permissions.
I sat there and read her diary and discovered she had her own agenda within the coven. Some sort of personal spirit guide of her's was to manifest for her. When I described the creature to them, they told me I had misunderstood.
"Maroni is an ancient and powerful demon that grants eternal life. There is a bargain though, the use of a body for the demon, in such a consortment. No witch would fall prey to such a well-known scam."
Yet she had made a deal with it and learned of a dangerous spell to summon Maroni. It involved writing with ash and speaking the contract in the demon's own language. I guessed that the witch had tried and met the demon and died of terror.
Somehow, she could inhabit her cat and channel her magic through Miss Marvel to control me. She was trying to complete the spell, probably so she could become alive and immortal. I felt pale and cold with fear as I realized I was her choice of bodies to live in.
Every night my dreams showed me the ritual in different times and places. Different people, religions, civilizations had all come and gone. Each had danced with the demon upon the ashes of its summoning. All of them had tried to bargain with it. Always the demon won, always it got what it wanted and gave nothing in return.
I was falling asleep in lectures and having visions or sightings of the tormented souls trapped by the demon's spell. Shamans and druids, priestesses and warlocks, all as ghosts in their ritual garb, dead for whole chapters of history and trapped in our world, unseen. I felt sick, my body trying to reject the infection in my spirit.
As I deteriorated there became less and less of a distinction between her control and mine. I felt myself slipping into the embrace of her power, somehow relieved to stop struggling and just give up. My fear became a constant anxiety, knowing what was happening and helpless to stop it.
"Now you will perform the ritual." The voice of the witch spoke to me from Miss Marvel, contorted and barely human-sounding.
I gathered what little of my willpower was left. I thought about the good times with Miss Marvel, when she was my cat. I wanted to break free, to somehow throw off the weight that was crushing me. I needed to begin, whenever I start something - I finish it.
"No." I said weakly. Then I felt my voice, felt my willpower backing me up, motivating me to resist. I added: "No - I said. I won't do it."
"You will. You have no choice." The witch promised.
I began to move, despite my resistance. I was under her control and aware of it. I felt her power over me slip even further. In a moment I regained control and swept the symbols of ash on the floor, ruining the summoning.
"You insolent dog!" The witch exclaimed. "I've used it all up! Damn you!"
And with that she was coughed out of Miss Marvel like some kind of hellspawned hairball. I stared at the lumpy and bubbling ectoplasma and felt a nauseating revulsion and the last of the terrified feelings I had lived with for so long.
My cat lifted the stringy dead thing and brought it to me and dropped it at my feet. She meowed with expectation and I lifted her and took her with me while she purred. I was very tired and fell asleep right away.
Of Miss Marvel I can only say we are happy together. Whatever got into her was long gone, having slithered up the wall and down the drain, leaving a trail of slime. I cleaned it up and relaxed.
Together, at college, I live happily with my marvelous cat, Miss Marvel.

Alone at college, I was unprepared to live alone - with loneliness. It was the thought of arriving in my apartment and walking through that silence to turn on lights and put something on tv - that depressed me. Some instinct to obtain a companion made me turn into the animal shelter. I adopted Miss Marvel, a rescued black cat.
Strange and unusual feelings were the first thing I noticed. I'd never had a pet before - so I attributed my sensation to her presence. There was one thought that I should have accepted. I did notice right away that Miss Marvel had two different personalities. Sometimes she was my friend, taking treats and letting me pet her and sleeping next to me. Other times she was like a pair of eyes in the shadows - watching me and making me feel menaced and hunted.
She had known her way around the apartment from the first moment I had opened her carrier. She went to a spot in the kitchen that was perfect for where I would put her food and water. If I squinted I could almost see where someone had kept two bowls on the floor, slightly cleaner where the floor was covered. The exact same spot.
I tried to meet her in her shadow realm but she made warning noises and even swatted at me, drawing a drop of blood. When I had rinsed it I heard her licking where the drop had spilled. I shuddered, wondering again if I had two different cats.
Other than that: I found her companionship to be the best that I could have. She was a lovely cat, purring and playful and responsive to my call. I didn't suspect her of the darkness that began to manifest in my home. Not her, yet it was all from her. I knew somehow that it was not right, my cat wasn't responsible.
My homework was shredded, things got broken and my plants wilted. The smell of ammonia became overwhelming and I'd have to leave my windows open. The swarm of flying insects swirling in my living room must have come in through the open window. It's how they went back out: all-at-once.
Then my own behavior began to change. I found myself waking up in strange places and missing time. I worried I might be losing my mind, until I noticed there was a pattern to my activities. Every time I slipped away I always came back with Miss Marvel sitting near me and staring intensely. She would hiss and run off when the spell wore off and I would think to myself:
"Is she somehow controlling me?"
After this had occurred a number of times I felt her power growing stronger. Miss Marvel would become the witch cat and mesmerize me and control me like a puppet. I filmed it with my webcam, but the recording wouldn't open. I took it to a college friend who worked in the campus IT and they said the file couldn't be repaired, because it wasn't broken. It had filmed just one frame and the software had interpreted it as a non-video file. They showed it to me, just one image of a weird star made out of triangles with a peculiar questionmark-like symbol emblazoned over it.
My investigations took me to the animal shelter. I determined that my cat was using witchcraft - entirely by my own instinct. I've always believed in witchcraft, found myself attracted to witches and living a charmed life. My involvement with Miss Marvel seemed to be part my lifestory already. That didn't mean I wasn't frightened.
Knowing I was dealing with witchcraft of some insidious alignment made me afraid. I felt powerless to deal with her and I knew I couldn't escape. I felt drawn to me home, despite the horror I felt at opening that door.
The shelter had, after I convinced them, to tell me the address where Miss Marvel had come from. She'd belonged to on old woman who had lived alone and died mysteriously. The address was my own. Miss Marvel had lived in my apartment before.
I called my brother and convinced him to look into the police report. He told me he'd have to get back to me with it. When he came over he apologized for not coming over earlier, like when I had started college. Or at any point since.
"You're here now. That's what I need." I told him.
He stopped apologizing for neglecting me and told me what the police report had contained.
"It started as a wellness check that went into a possible homicide. Later it was ruled as a possible suicide and finally as a natural death of unknown cause."
"What does that even mean?" I felt the eyes of Miss Marvel, watching - her ears, listening. I looked around and saw her nowhere.
"The lady who lived here - she had died of fear. Screamed until her lungs boiled and collapsed and hit her head. It looked bad, but she got scared of something and then died. That's what happened." He explained.
After my brother was gone, I reflected that his career had made him so calloused. I remembered him different growing up. Miss Marvel found me sitting and thinking and she was my cat, so she came to me and loved on me.
The next morning, I was sipping tea, when I remembered a spell someone had shown me. It was a gesture and some magic words, a cheap charm, that would reveal the hidden nature of someone or something.
How did it go?
I spoke the rhyme and focused my intention on the syntax, while looking at my cat through the corner of my eye, between the 'window' of my pinky and pointer finger - while my other two fingertips were holding my thumb. Nothing happened. I didn't give up, because I know that magic rarely works without increasing one's efforts. I'd never cast a spell before, but I knew this from what I was told. I tried the charm again and again. Early in the evening, while she was eating and the sun was setting, my spell worked.
I could see the witch standing beside my cat, the horrible open mouth looking both dead and violent at the same time. She could see me too, knew that I knew. The eyes of the creature burned with hatred, my reflection a pyre light. I put my hand down and looked away. When I looked back I felt a cold shiver, fear in my spine, knowing she was standing there unseen.
My cat stopped eating suddenly and turned and faced me, staring with far more intensity than my cat. I knew it was the witch and not her. I knew it was up to me to figure out what to do. My only problem was that I was too afraid.
I had nightmares from that night on. I'd sometimes wake up somewhere else in my home, turning butter into ashes on my stove. I would be drawing symbols on the floor in ash. I was trying to do something when she had control over me. I kept breaking free of her control before she could make any progress. At the same time - every time she got ahold of me she seemed to hold me longer and do more. She was getting stronger and I was getting weaker.
I had to know what the old witch was trying to do. There was nothing else that I could do to free myself and Miss Marvel from her power. Moving or getting rid of the cat seemed impossible. Perhaps I could have tried one of those things, but the weight of such ideas felt like I was falling to even consider those options.
Instead, I did my homework. I found out who she was, a rotary and well-known occult bookstore owner. Her obituary mentioned that there was a guest registry at her funeral. At the local library I was able to find out who held the registry. I called on them and they allowed me to look at it. They even told me that most of the guests were members of her coven, a large group of witches that had practiced together.
"I just want to know about her life. All I know is about her death. It isn't how she should be remembered?" Were my exact words to them. They were convinced I should be loaned her diary. Nobody had taken the time to read it, but it was kept with the spellbook and the registry. Of her spellbook I was given no permissions.
I sat there and read her diary and discovered she had her own agenda within the coven. Some sort of personal spirit guide of her's was to manifest for her. When I described the creature to them, they told me I had misunderstood.
"Maroni is an ancient and powerful demon that grants eternal life. There is a bargain though, the use of a body for the demon, in such a consortment. No witch would fall prey to such a well-known scam."
Yet she had made a deal with it and learned of a dangerous spell to summon Maroni. It involved writing with ash and speaking the contract in the demon's own language. I guessed that the witch had tried and met the demon and died of terror.
Somehow, she could inhabit her cat and channel her magic through Miss Marvel to control me. She was trying to complete the spell, probably so she could become alive and immortal. I felt pale and cold with fear as I realized I was her choice of bodies to live in.
Every night my dreams showed me the ritual in different times and places. Different people, religions, civilizations had all come and gone. Each had danced with the demon upon the ashes of its summoning. All of them had tried to bargain with it. Always the demon won, always it got what it wanted and gave nothing in return.
I was falling asleep in lectures and having visions or sightings of the tormented souls trapped by the demon's spell. Shamans and druids, priestesses and warlocks, all as ghosts in their ritual garb, dead for whole chapters of history and trapped in our world, unseen. I felt sick, my body trying to reject the infection in my spirit.
As I deteriorated there became less and less of a distinction between her control and mine. I felt myself slipping into the embrace of her power, somehow relieved to stop struggling and just give up. My fear became a constant anxiety, knowing what was happening and helpless to stop it.
"Now you will perform the ritual." The voice of the witch spoke to me from Miss Marvel, contorted and barely human-sounding.
I gathered what little of my willpower was left. I thought about the good times with Miss Marvel, when she was my cat. I wanted to break free, to somehow throw off the weight that was crushing me. I needed to begin, whenever I start something - I finish it.
"No." I said weakly. Then I felt my voice, felt my willpower backing me up, motivating me to resist. I added: "No - I said. I won't do it."
"You will. You have no choice." The witch promised.
I began to move, despite my resistance. I was under her control and aware of it. I felt her power over me slip even further. In a moment I regained control and swept the symbols of ash on the floor, ruining the summoning.
"You insolent dog!" The witch exclaimed. "I've used it all up! Damn you!"
And with that she was coughed out of Miss Marvel like some kind of hellspawned hairball. I stared at the lumpy and bubbling ectoplasma and felt a nauseating revulsion and the last of the terrified feelings I had lived with for so long.
My cat lifted the stringy dead thing and brought it to me and dropped it at my feet. She meowed with expectation and I lifted her and took her with me while she purred. I was very tired and fell asleep right away.
Of Miss Marvel I can only say we are happy together. Whatever got into her was long gone, having slithered up the wall and down the drain, leaving a trail of slime. I cleaned it up and relaxed.
Together, at college, I live happily with my marvelous cat, Miss Marvel.

Alone at college, I was unprepared to live alone - with loneliness. It was the thought of arriving in my apartment and walking through that silence to turn on lights and put something on tv - that depressed me. Some instinct to obtain a companion made me turn into the animal shelter. I adopted Miss Marvel, a rescued black cat.
Strange and unusual feelings were the first thing I noticed. I'd never had a pet before - so I attributed my sensation to her presence. There was one thought that I should have accepted. I did notice right away that Miss Marvel had two different personalities. Sometimes she was my friend, taking treats and letting me pet her and sleeping next to me. Other times she was like a pair of eyes in the shadows - watching me and making me feel menaced and hunted.
She had known her way around the apartment from the first moment I had opened her carrier. She went to a spot in the kitchen that was perfect for where I would put her food and water. If I squinted I could almost see where someone had kept two bowls on the floor, slightly cleaner where the floor was covered. The exact same spot.
I tried to meet her in her shadow realm but she made warning noises and even swatted at me, drawing a drop of blood. When I had rinsed it I heard her licking where the drop had spilled. I shuddered, wondering again if I had two different cats.
Other than that: I found her companionship to be the best that I could have. She was a lovely cat, purring and playful and responsive to my call. I didn't suspect her of the darkness that began to manifest in my home. Not her, yet it was all from her. I knew somehow that it was not right, my cat wasn't responsible.
My homework was shredded, things got broken and my plants wilted. The smell of ammonia became overwhelming and I'd have to leave my windows open. The swarm of flying insects swirling in my living room must have come in through the open window. It's how they went back out: all-at-once.
Then my own behavior began to change. I found myself waking up in strange places and missing time. I worried I might be losing my mind, until I noticed there was a pattern to my activities. Every time I slipped away I always came back with Miss Marvel sitting near me and staring intensely. She would hiss and run off when the spell wore off and I would think to myself:
"Is she somehow controlling me?"
After this had occurred a number of times I felt her power growing stronger. Miss Marvel would become the witch cat and mesmerize me and control me like a puppet. I filmed it with my webcam, but the recording wouldn't open. I took it to a college friend who worked in the campus IT and they said the file couldn't be repaired, because it wasn't broken. It had filmed just one frame and the software had interpreted it as a non-video file. They showed it to me, just one image of a weird star made out of triangles with a peculiar questionmark-like symbol emblazoned over it.
My investigations took me to the animal shelter. I determined that my cat was using witchcraft - entirely by my own instinct. I've always believed in witchcraft, found myself attracted to witches and living a charmed life. My involvement with Miss Marvel seemed to be part my lifestory already. That didn't mean I wasn't frightened.
Knowing I was dealing with witchcraft of some insidious alignment made me afraid. I felt powerless to deal with her and I knew I couldn't escape. I felt drawn to me home, despite the horror I felt at opening that door.
The shelter had, after I convinced them, to tell me the address where Miss Marvel had come from. She'd belonged to on old woman who had lived alone and died mysteriously. The address was my own. Miss Marvel had lived in my apartment before.
I called my brother and convinced him to look into the police report. He told me he'd have to get back to me with it. When he came over he apologized for not coming over earlier, like when I had started college. Or at any point since.
"You're here now. That's what I need." I told him.
He stopped apologizing for neglecting me and told me what the police report had contained.
"It started as a wellness check that went into a possible homicide. Later it was ruled as a possible suicide and finally as a natural death of unknown cause."
"What does that even mean?" I felt the eyes of Miss Marvel, watching - her ears, listening. I looked around and saw her nowhere.
"The lady who lived here - she had died of fear. Screamed until her lungs boiled and collapsed and hit her head. It looked bad, but she got scared of something and then died. That's what happened." He explained.
After my brother was gone, I reflected that his career had made him so calloused. I remembered him different growing up. Miss Marvel found me sitting and thinking and she was my cat, so she came to me and loved on me.
The next morning, I was sipping tea, when I remembered a spell someone had shown me. It was a gesture and some magic words, a cheap charm, that would reveal the hidden nature of someone or something.
How did it go?
I spoke the rhyme and focused my intention on the syntax, while looking at my cat through the corner of my eye, between the 'window' of my pinky and pointer finger - while my other two fingertips were holding my thumb. Nothing happened. I didn't give up, because I know that magic rarely works without increasing one's efforts. I'd never cast a spell before, but I knew this from what I was told. I tried the charm again and again. Early in the evening, while she was eating and the sun was setting, my spell worked.
I could see the witch standing beside my cat, the horrible open mouth looking both dead and violent at the same time. She could see me too, knew that I knew. The eyes of the creature burned with hatred, my reflection a pyre light. I put my hand down and looked away. When I looked back I felt a cold shiver, fear in my spine, knowing she was standing there unseen.
My cat stopped eating suddenly and turned and faced me, staring with far more intensity than my cat. I knew it was the witch and not her. I knew it was up to me to figure out what to do. My only problem was that I was too afraid.
I had nightmares from that night on. I'd sometimes wake up somewhere else in my home, turning butter into ashes on my stove. I would be drawing symbols on the floor in ash. I was trying to do something when she had control over me. I kept breaking free of her control before she could make any progress. At the same time - every time she got ahold of me she seemed to hold me longer and do more. She was getting stronger and I was getting weaker.
I had to know what the old witch was trying to do. There was nothing else that I could do to free myself and Miss Marvel from her power. Moving or getting rid of the cat seemed impossible. Perhaps I could have tried one of those things, but the weight of such ideas felt like I was falling to even consider those options.
Instead, I did my homework. I found out who she was, a rotary and well-known occult bookstore owner. Her obituary mentioned that there was a guest registry at her funeral. At the local library I was able to find out who held the registry. I called on them and they allowed me to look at it. They even told me that most of the guests were members of her coven, a large group of witches that had practiced together.
"I just want to know about her life. All I know is about her death. It isn't how she should be remembered?" Were my exact words to them. They were convinced I should be loaned her diary. Nobody had taken the time to read it, but it was kept with the spellbook and the registry. Of her spellbook I was given no permissions.
I sat there and read her diary and discovered she had her own agenda within the coven. Some sort of personal spirit guide of her's was to manifest for her. When I described the creature to them, they told me I had misunderstood.
"Maroni is an ancient and powerful demon that grants eternal life. There is a bargain though, the use of a body for the demon, in such a consortment. No witch would fall prey to such a well-known scam."
Yet she had made a deal with it and learned of a dangerous spell to summon Maroni. It involved writing with ash and speaking the contract in the demon's own language. I guessed that the witch had tried and met the demon and died of terror.
Somehow, she could inhabit her cat and channel her magic through Miss Marvel to control me. She was trying to complete the spell, probably so she could become alive and immortal. I felt pale and cold with fear as I realized I was her choice of bodies to live in.
Every night my dreams showed me the ritual in different times and places. Different people, religions, civilizations had all come and gone. Each had danced with the demon upon the ashes of its summoning. All of them had tried to bargain with it. Always the demon won, always it got what it wanted and gave nothing in return.
I was falling asleep in lectures and having visions or sightings of the tormented souls trapped by the demon's spell. Shamans and druids, priestesses and warlocks, all as ghosts in their ritual garb, dead for whole chapters of history and trapped in our world, unseen. I felt sick, my body trying to reject the infection in my spirit.
As I deteriorated there became less and less of a distinction between her control and mine. I felt myself slipping into the embrace of her power, somehow relieved to stop struggling and just give up. My fear became a constant anxiety, knowing what was happening and helpless to stop it.
"Now you will perform the ritual." The voice of the witch spoke to me from Miss Marvel, contorted and barely human-sounding.
I gathered what little of my willpower was left. I thought about the good times with Miss Marvel, when she was my cat. I wanted to break free, to somehow throw off the weight that was crushing me. I needed to begin, whenever I start something - I finish it.
"No." I said weakly. Then I felt my voice, felt my willpower backing me up, motivating me to resist. I added: "No - I said. I won't do it."
"You will. You have no choice." The witch promised.
I began to move, despite my resistance. I was under her control and aware of it. I felt her power over me slip even further. In a moment I regained control and swept the symbols of ash on the floor, ruining the summoning.
"You insolent dog!" The witch exclaimed. "I've used it all up! Damn you!"
And with that she was coughed out of Miss Marvel like some kind of hellspawned hairball. I stared at the lumpy and bubbling ectoplasma and felt a nauseating revulsion and the last of the terrified feelings I had lived with for so long.
My cat lifted the stringy dead thing and brought it to me and dropped it at my feet. She meowed with expectation and I lifted her and took her with me while she purred. I was very tired and fell asleep right away.
Of Miss Marvel I can only say we are happy together. Whatever got into her was long gone, having slithered up the wall and down the drain, leaving a trail of slime. I cleaned it up and relaxed.
Together, at college, I live happily with my marvelous cat, Miss Marvel.

Alone at college, I was unprepared to live alone - with loneliness. It was the thought of arriving in my apartment and walking through that silence to turn on lights and put something on tv - that depressed me. Some instinct to obtain a companion made me turn into the animal shelter. I adopted Miss Marvel, a rescued black cat.
Strange and unusual feelings were the first thing I noticed. I'd never had a pet before - so I attributed my sensation to her presence. There was one thought that I should have accepted. I did notice right away that Miss Marvel had two different personalities. Sometimes she was my friend, taking treats and letting me pet her and sleeping next to me. Other times she was like a pair of eyes in the shadows - watching me and making me feel menaced and hunted.
She had known her way around the apartment from the first moment I had opened her carrier. She went to a spot in the kitchen that was perfect for where I would put her food and water. If I squinted I could almost see where someone had kept two bowls on the floor, slightly cleaner where the floor was covered. The exact same spot.
I tried to meet her in her shadow realm but she made warning noises and even swatted at me, drawing a drop of blood. When I had rinsed it I heard her licking where the drop had spilled. I shuddered, wondering again if I had two different cats.
Other than that: I found her companionship to be the best that I could have. She was a lovely cat, purring and playful and responsive to my call. I didn't suspect her of the darkness that began to manifest in my home. Not her, yet it was all from her. I knew somehow that it was not right, my cat wasn't responsible.
My homework was shredded, things got broken and my plants wilted. The smell of ammonia became overwhelming and I'd have to leave my windows open. The swarm of flying insects swirling in my living room must have come in through the open window. It's how they went back out: all-at-once.
Then my own behavior began to change. I found myself waking up in strange places and missing time. I worried I might be losing my mind, until I noticed there was a pattern to my activities. Every time I slipped away I always came back with Miss Marvel sitting near me and staring intensely. She would hiss and run off when the spell wore off and I would think to myself:
"Is she somehow controlling me?"
After this had occurred a number of times I felt her power growing stronger. Miss Marvel would become the witch cat and mesmerize me and control me like a puppet. I filmed it with my webcam, but the recording wouldn't open. I took it to a college friend who worked in the campus IT and they said the file couldn't be repaired, because it wasn't broken. It had filmed just one frame and the software had interpreted it as a non-video file. They showed it to me, just one image of a weird star made out of triangles with a peculiar questionmark-like symbol emblazoned over it.
My investigations took me to the animal shelter. I determined that my cat was using witchcraft - entirely by my own instinct. I've always believed in witchcraft, found myself attracted to witches and living a charmed life. My involvement with Miss Marvel seemed to be part my lifestory already. That didn't mean I wasn't frightened.
Knowing I was dealing with witchcraft of some insidious alignment made me afraid. I felt powerless to deal with her and I knew I couldn't escape. I felt drawn to me home, despite the horror I felt at opening that door.
The shelter had, after I convinced them, to tell me the address where Miss Marvel had come from. She'd belonged to on old woman who had lived alone and died mysteriously. The address was my own. Miss Marvel had lived in my apartment before.
I called my brother and convinced him to look into the police report. He told me he'd have to get back to me with it. When he came over he apologized for not coming over earlier, like when I had started college. Or at any point since.
"You're here now. That's what I need." I told him.
He stopped apologizing for neglecting me and told me what the police report had contained.
"It started as a wellness check that went into a possible homicide. Later it was ruled as a possible suicide and finally as a natural death of unknown cause."
"What does that even mean?" I felt the eyes of Miss Marvel, watching - her ears, listening. I looked around and saw her nowhere.
"The lady who lived here - she had died of fear. Screamed until her lungs boiled and collapsed and hit her head. It looked bad, but she got scared of something and then died. That's what happened." He explained.
After my brother was gone, I reflected that his career had made him so calloused. I remembered him different growing up. Miss Marvel found me sitting and thinking and she was my cat, so she came to me and loved on me.
The next morning, I was sipping tea, when I remembered a spell someone had shown me. It was a gesture and some magic words, a cheap charm, that would reveal the hidden nature of someone or something.
How did it go?
I spoke the rhyme and focused my intention on the syntax, while looking at my cat through the corner of my eye, between the 'window' of my pinky and pointer finger - while my other two fingertips were holding my thumb. Nothing happened. I didn't give up, because I know that magic rarely works without increasing one's efforts. I'd never cast a spell before, but I knew this from what I was told. I tried the charm again and again. Early in the evening, while she was eating and the sun was setting, my spell worked.
I could see the witch standing beside my cat, the horrible open mouth looking both dead and violent at the same time. She could see me too, knew that I knew. The eyes of the creature burned with hatred, my reflection a pyre light. I put my hand down and looked away. When I looked back I felt a cold shiver, fear in my spine, knowing she was standing there unseen.
My cat stopped eating suddenly and turned and faced me, staring with far more intensity than my cat. I knew it was the witch and not her. I knew it was up to me to figure out what to do. My only problem was that I was too afraid.
I had nightmares from that night on. I'd sometimes wake up somewhere else in my home, turning butter into ashes on my stove. I would be drawing symbols on the floor in ash. I was trying to do something when she had control over me. I kept breaking free of her control before she could make any progress. At the same time - every time she got ahold of me she seemed to hold me longer and do more. She was getting stronger and I was getting weaker.
I had to know what the old witch was trying to do. There was nothing else that I could do to free myself and Miss Marvel from her power. Moving or getting rid of the cat seemed impossible. Perhaps I could have tried one of those things, but the weight of such ideas felt like I was falling to even consider those options.
Instead, I did my homework. I found out who she was, a rotary and well-known occult bookstore owner. Her obituary mentioned that there was a guest registry at her funeral. At the local library I was able to find out who held the registry. I called on them and they allowed me to look at it. They even told me that most of the guests were members of her coven, a large group of witches that had practiced together.
"I just want to know about her life. All I know is about her death. It isn't how she should be remembered?" Were my exact words to them. They were convinced I should be loaned her diary. Nobody had taken the time to read it, but it was kept with the spellbook and the registry. Of her spellbook I was given no permissions.
I sat there and read her diary and discovered she had her own agenda within the coven. Some sort of personal spirit guide of her's was to manifest for her. When I described the creature to them, they told me I had misunderstood.
"Maroni is an ancient and powerful demon that grants eternal life. There is a bargain though, the use of a body for the demon, in such a consortment. No witch would fall prey to such a well-known scam."
Yet she had made a deal with it and learned of a dangerous spell to summon Maroni. It involved writing with ash and speaking the contract in the demon's own language. I guessed that the witch had tried and met the demon and died of terror.
Somehow, she could inhabit her cat and channel her magic through Miss Marvel to control me. She was trying to complete the spell, probably so she could become alive and immortal. I felt pale and cold with fear as I realized I was her choice of bodies to live in.
Every night my dreams showed me the ritual in different times and places. Different people, religions, civilizations had all come and gone. Each had danced with the demon upon the ashes of its summoning. All of them had tried to bargain with it. Always the demon won, always it got what it wanted and gave nothing in return.
I was falling asleep in lectures and having visions or sightings of the tormented souls trapped by the demon's spell. Shamans and druids, priestesses and warlocks, all as ghosts in their ritual garb, dead for whole chapters of history and trapped in our world, unseen. I felt sick, my body trying to reject the infection in my spirit.
As I deteriorated there became less and less of a distinction between her control and mine. I felt myself slipping into the embrace of her power, somehow relieved to stop struggling and just give up. My fear became a constant anxiety, knowing what was happening and helpless to stop it.
"Now you will perform the ritual." The voice of the witch spoke to me from Miss Marvel, contorted and barely human-sounding.
I gathered what little of my willpower was left. I thought about the good times with Miss Marvel, when she was my cat. I wanted to break free, to somehow throw off the weight that was crushing me. I needed to begin, whenever I start something - I finish it.
"No." I said weakly. Then I felt my voice, felt my willpower backing me up, motivating me to resist. I added: "No - I said. I won't do it."
"You will. You have no choice." The witch promised.
I began to move, despite my resistance. I was under her control and aware of it. I felt her power over me slip even further. In a moment I regained control and swept the symbols of ash on the floor, ruining the summoning.
"You insolent dog!" The witch exclaimed. "I've used it all up! Damn you!"
And with that she was coughed out of Miss Marvel like some kind of hellspawned hairball. I stared at the lumpy and bubbling ectoplasma and felt a nauseating revulsion and the last of the terrified feelings I had lived with for so long.
My cat lifted the stringy dead thing and brought it to me and dropped it at my feet. She meowed with expectation and I lifted her and took her with me while she purred. I was very tired and fell asleep right away.
Of Miss Marvel I can only say we are happy together. Whatever got into her was long gone, having slithered up the wall and down the drain, leaving a trail of slime. I cleaned it up and relaxed.
Together, at college, I live happily with my marvelous cat, Miss Marvel.

All codes are HD unless indicated by a (4K or SD)
(4K/HD) means I have both.
Some codes might work on other redemption sites. Just ask, and I'll check!
Payments through PayPal FF and Venmo (DM me)
Digital Codes List:
12 Years a Slave (MA) ($3)
13 Hours: Benghazi (Vudu/Itunes) ($3)
1917 (MA) ($3)
47 Meters Down (Itunes/Vudu/Google) ($3)
47 Meters Down Uncaged (Itunes/Vudu/Google) ($3)
Adventures of Tintin (Vudu/Itunes) ($3)
Aladdin Live Action (MA) ($3)
Alex Cross (HD?) (Vudu) ($3)
Alita: Battle Angel (4K) (MA) ($2)
All Eyez on Me (Itunes/Vudu/Google) ($3)
All the Money in the World (MA) ($3)
Amazing Spiderman 2 (MA) ($3)
American Assassin (Itunes/Vudu/Google) ($3)
American Hustle (SD) (MA) ($2)
Ant-Man (MA) ($3)
A Simple Favor (Itunes/Vudu/Google) ($3)
Assassins Creed (4K) (MA) ($3)
Avengers Endgame (MA) ($3)
Avengers Infinity War (MA) ($3)
Batman 2021 (4K) (MA) ($5)
Bad Boys 4 Life (MA) ($3)
Blindspotting (Itunes/Vudu/Google) ($3)
Captain America Winter Soldier (MA) ($3)
Captain Underpants (MA) ($4)
Concussion (SD) (MA) ($2)
Dawn of the Planet of the Apes (MA) ($3)
Deadpool (MA) ($3)
Deepwater Horizon (Itunes/Vudu/Google) ($3)
The Devil Inside (SD) (Vudu) ($3)
Dirty Grandpa (Itunes/Vudu/Google) ($3)
Divergent (HD) (Vudu) ($2)
Django Unchained (Itunes/Vudu/Google) ($3)
Doctor Strange (MA) ($3)
Doolittle (MA) ($3)
Downton Abbey (MA) ($3)
Dragged Across Concrete (Itunes/Vudu/Google) ($3)
Dredd (SD?) (Vudu) ($3)
Dune (4K) (MA) ($5)
Dying of the Light (SD?) (Vudu) ($3)
Edward Scissorhands (MA) ($3)
Elysium (MA) ($3)
Ender’s Game (HD) (Vudu/Apple/Google) ($3)
Ex Machina (Vudu/Google) ($3)
Expendables 2 (SD) (Vudu/Itunes) ($2)
Expendables 3 (Vudu) ($3)
Fast and Furious 6 Ext. Ed (MA) ($3)
Fast and Furious: Hobbs & Shaw (MA) ($3)
The Fate of the Furious (4K) (MA) ($4)
Finding Dory (MA) ($3)
Five Feet Apart (Itunes/Vudu/Google) ($3)
Frozen 2 (4K) (MA) ($4)
Furious 7 (4K) (MA) ($4)
Fury (MA) ($3)
Gangs of New York (Itunes/Vudu/Google) ($4)
The Gentlemen (Itunes) ($3)
Get Out (MA) ($3)
Ghost in the Shell Anime Version (4K) (Vudu) ($4)
GI Joe Retaliation (Vudu/Itunes) ($3)
Girls Trip (MA) ($3)
The Greatest Showman (MA) ($3)
The Green Knight (Vudu) ($4)
Guardians of the Galaxy (MA) ($3)
Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 2 (MA) ($4)
Hacksaw Ridge (Itunes/Vudu/Google) ($3)
The Hateful Eight (Vudu/Google) ($3)
Heat (4K) (MA) ($4)
Hellboy 2019 (Itunes/Vudu/Google) ($3)
Hellfest (Itunes/Vudu/Google) ($3)
Hereditary (Vudu) ($3)
The Hitman’s Bodyguard (Itunes/Vudu/Google) ($3)
The Hitman’s Wife Bodyguard (4K/HD) (Itunes/Vudu/Google) ($4/$3)
Hostiles (Itunes/Vudu/Google) ($3)
Hotel Mumbai (MA) ($3)
Hours (SD?) (Vudu) ($3)
How to Train Your Dragon 2 (MA) ($3)
Hugo (SD) (Vudu/Itunes) ($2)
The Hunger Games (SD) (Vudu) ($2)
The Hunger Games Catching Fire (SD) (Vudu) ($2)
Hunger Games Mockingjay Pt 2 (SD) (Vudu) ($2)
Hunter Killer (Itunes/Vudu/Google) ($3)
Hustlers (Itunes) ($3)
I Can Only Imagine (Itunes/Vudu/Google) ($3)
I, Frankenstein (HD) (Vudu/Itunes/Google) ($3)
Independence Day Resurgence (MA) ($3)
Interstellar (Itunes/Vudu/Google) ($4)
The Invisible Man (MA) ($3)
I Still Believe (Itunes/Vudu/Google) ($3)
Iron Man 3 (MA) ($3)
Jigsaw (4K/HD) (Itunes/Vudu/Google) ($4/$3)
Joe (Vudu) ($4)
John Wick (Itunes/Vudu/Google) ($3)
John Wick 2 (Itunes/Vudu/Google) ($3)
John Wick 3 (4K/HD) (Itunes/Vudu/Google) ($4/$3)
Joy (MA) ($3)
Julie and Julia (MA) ($3)
Jurassic World (MA) ($3)
Kidnap (Itunes/Vudu/Google) ($3)
Knives Out (Itunes/Vudu/Google) ($3)
Lady Bird (Vudu) ($3)
La La Land (Itunes/Vudu/Google) ($3)
The Last Duel (MA) ($4)
Last Night in Soho (MA) ($4)
Leap! (Itunes/Vudu/Google) ($3)
Les Misérables (MA) ($3)
Let Him Go (MA) ($3)
Licorice Pizza (Itunes) ($3)
Life of Pi (MA) ($3)
Lightyear (MA) ($3)
Lion King Live Action (MA) ($3)
Logan Lucky (MA) ($4)
The Longest Ride (MA) ($3)
Looper (MA) ($3)
Maggie (SD) (Vudu) ($2)
Matrix Resurrections (MA) ($2)
Mechanic: Resurrection (Itunes/Vudu/Google) ($3)
Men in Black 3 (SD) (MA) ($3)
Midsommar (Vudu/Google) ($2)
Midway (Itunes/Vudu/Google) ($3)
Miss Peregrine’s Home for Extraordinary Children (MA) ($3)
Moana (4K/HD) (MA) ($4/$3)
Mortal Kombat 2020 (4K) (MA) ($4)
Mud (SD) (Vudu) ($3)
My Little Pony: The Movie (Itunes/Vudu/Google) ($3)
Nebraska (Vudu) ($3)
News of the World (MA) ($3)
The Night Before (MA) ($3)
Noah (Itunes/Vudu) ($3)
Now You See Me (Itunes/Vudu/Google) ($3)
Now You See Me 2 (Itunes/Vudu/Google) ($3)
Once Upon a Time in Hollywood (MA) ($4)
Paddington (Vudu) ($3)
Patriots Day (Itunes/Vudu/Google) ($3)
Pitch Perfect (MA) ($3)
Pitch Perfect 2 (MA) ($3)
Queen and Slim (MA) ($3)
Requiem for a Dream (4K) (Itunes/Vudu/Google) ($4)
Rise of the Guardians (MA) ($3)
Rock Dog (Itunes/Vudu/Google) ($3)
Room (Vudu) ($4)
Saw (4K) (Itunes/Vudu) ($4)
Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark (Itunes/Vudu/Google) ($3)
Scott Pilgrim vs the World (4K) (MA) ($5)
Scouts Guide to the Apocalypse (Itunes/Vudu) ($3)
Secret Life of Pets (MA) ($3)
Sicario (Itunes/Vudu) ($2)
Sing (MA) ($3)
Sinister (SD) (Vudu) ($3)
Snow White and the Huntsman (MA) ($3)
Soul (HD) (MA) ($3)
Spiral: Book of Saw (4K/HD) (Itunes/Vudu/Google) ($4/$3)
Spiderman No Way Home (MA) ($4)
Spiderman: Homecoming (MA) ($4)
Split (MA) ($4)
The Spy Who Dumped Me (Itunes/Vudu/Google) ($3)
Star Trek: Beyond (Itunes/Vudu) ($3)
Star Trek: Into Darkness (Itunes/Vudu) ($3)
Star Wars The Force Awakens (MA) ($3)
Survive the Game (Itunes/Vudu/Google) ($3)
Thor Love and Thunder (MA) ($5)
Thor Ragnarok (MA) (HD) ($4)
Toy Story 4 (4K) (MA) ($4)
Transformers: Dark Knight (4K/HD) (Itunes/Vudu) ($4/$3)
The Trust (SD) (Vudu) ($3)
Tyler Perry’s A Madea Family Funeral (Itunes/Vudu) ($3)
Unbroken (MA) ($3)
Uncharted (MA) ($4)
Uncut Gems (Vudu/Google) ($3)
Under the Skin (Vudu) ($3)
Unhinged (Itunes/Vudu/Google) ($3)
While We’re Young (SD) (Vudu) ($3)
Why Him? (MA) ($3)
The Witch (Vudu/Google) ($3)
The Wolf of Wallstreet (Itunes/Vudu) ($3)
Wonder (Vudu/Google) ($3)
The Word (SD) (MA) ($2)
World War Z (Itunes/Vudu) ($3)
Wreck it Ralph: Ralphs Breaks the Internet (4K) (MA) ($4)
X-Men Apocalypse (MA) ($3)
You Were Never Really Here (Vudu/Google) ($3)
You’re Next (Vudu) ($3)
Zero Dark Thirty (SD) (MA) ($3)
Zootopia (MA) ($3)
I also have some rewards sheets (Disney/Sony), but I don't know what to do with them if anyone wants to buy them.

Mom was driving with her elbows on the steering wheel, sorting through her CD case. When she finally picked one, it was one of her stupid God-is-strength audiobooks. The narrators always sounded like grandmas. After my incident, Mom started playing them more and more. Maybe she thought they would make me want to kill myself less.
As the grandma talked about how “faith was like a trust fall into God’s arms”, I thought back to “the night”. In my defense, my suicide attempt was heavy on the “attempt”. As soon as I had taken the pills, I regretted it. I felt really guilty. I didn’t want Mom to find me, so I ran into her room and immediately puked on her carpet. She gave me the dirtiest look.
“Don’t you know how rentals work?” she’d said.
That was the last thing I remembered. I woke up two days later in a hospital bed. My hair still smelled like puke.
In a way, I’d thought Mom would be happy I didn’t full-blown kill myself. But no. Instead, she thanked me by packing up everything we owned and moving us to the middle of nowhere.
She found Twin Pines in a book she borrowed from the library. It was called “America’s Sleepiest Towns”. Twin Pines was number one on the list, with three pages of colorful pictures to go along with it (not that it needed them). You could capture Twin Pines in a single picture. A main street with a dozen antique shops. A backdrop of two hills with abandoned ski trails running through them. An overgrown front lawn. That pretty much captured it.
At least our old town had character. It didn’t matter that it was squished between three highways.
When Mom pulled into our new driveway, she reached over and grabbed my hand. “Welcome to our new life,” she said, smiling.
I looked ahead. There was another family in the driveway. Mom’s smile quickly went away.
“What in the…”
They were throwing trash bags into the back of their station wagon. There was a mom, a dad, and a little boy hanging on the dad’s leg. The parents were hippies with long hair that curled down to their butt cracks.
As we parked, the couple seemed to get nervous. They packed faster. We stepped out of the car. Hippie mom waved but didn’t look at us. I felt the birds claw at my stomach. I didn’t like being the person taking away this family’s home.
The little boy didn’t seem sad, though. He let go of his dad’s leg and walked toward us. He had these big, blue eyes that for some reason made me nervous. The color reminded me of a frozen lake.
“Look out for Lisa,” the boy said.
Mom crossed her arms over her chest. It was her signature move before a “talking to”. “Excuse me, little boy?” she said.
“We’ll be out of here soon,” the boy’s mom said. She was trying to squeeze an acoustic bass into the backseat.
Mom gave her a thumbs up then turned back toward the town, leaving me alone with the boy. He kept standing there, looking at me with those pale blue eyes.
“She likes to walk across the lawn,” he said.
“She?” I asked.
The boy’s dad dropped a bag and walked toward us. He held out his hands in surrender.
“L-Y-S-S-A,” he said. His voice had a bounce to it, “Lyssa’s the Greek Goddess of Rage and Madness.
Jake and I are very into mythology. Are either of you fans?”
Mom turned back to face me. She rolled her eyes as if we were thinking the same thing. We weren’t.
“Marjorie said we would have the house by 10 AM,” Mom said. “It’s 10:30. Do I need to call her?” Hippie Mom finally squeezed the bass into the backseat. She slapped some dirt off her dress and walked over.
“Marjorie’s right across the street, ma’am,” she said, pointing behind us. “Why don’t you go over and introduce yourself?”
Mom looked at me with a dramatically dropped jaw. “Quite the guts for someone breaking the law,”
Mom said, turning back to the woman. “Why don’t you focus on packing your witchcraft and get out of our house?”
My cheeks burned. I wanted to shrink to the size of a mouse. I hated the way she talked to people, especially people who, in her words, were happy for “no reason”—hippies, waiters, people handing out flyers, neighbors, cashiers. The nicer they were, the meaner she got.
“Please stop,” I whispered.
Mom reached down and squeezed my wrist. “There’s no problem here, Emma, just a solution,” Mom said. “They have a problem. We have a solution.”
“We’re on our way out, ma’am,” the dad said.
The couple went back to packing. Mom huffed in victory. But, the boy didn’t move. He kept looking at us.
I stared back, but he didn’t break.
He was dressed like it was his first communion. His hair was perfectly swooshed and his shirt was free of wrinkles, an impressive feat for a little kid. He reminded me of a doll.
I don’t know why I didn’t look away. We were in a full-blown staring contest. I think I was trying to figure him out, the same way you stare at an abstract painting.
He reached out and grabbed my hand. It was ice cold.
“If you see Lyssa, tell her we moved to the city,” he said. “I don’t want her to think we left without her.”
Mom, who was back at the car looking at a map, tossed it on the seat and walked over. She shooed the boy’s hand away from mine.
“Go to your keepers, little devil,” Mom said.
I looked up at her and she winked at me. I could tell she was trying not to laugh. My mom’s emotional range always amazed me. She could go from yelling at strangers to making fun of children in the blink of an eye.
After the hippies left, Mom and I unpacked. We got a few boxes in before our new landlord walked over.
Marjorie lived across the street in a slightly larger, slightly newer-looking house. It was twice as tall as ours, with rooms built on top of rooms, each floor wider as it stretched into the sky. It looked like a giant dreidel.
She had two German Shepherds with her. Their fur was so dark it was almost black. They were taller than her hip and had big yellow eyes. As she walked on our lawn, they started barking. Spit hung from heir jaws.
“I’m Marjorie,” she yelled over the barking.
She was standing on the other side of the lawn, but the dogs were out ahead of her. She didn’t bother pulling them back. They came within a foot of my face. I ducked behind Mom.
“Yes, Ms. Marjorie, hello,” Mom said.
Mom stuck out her hand, which made the dogs snap. Mom didn’t seem to notice. Somehow, she managed to scratch behind their ears.
“Miss Dog Whisperer,” Marjorie said.
Marjorie was an older woman with a short bob and big square glasses. She walked with a slight hunch, as if the wind was too heavy for her. But, despite looking weak, she couldn’t stand still. Every few seconds, she shifted from chewing her lip to kicking the grass to snorting air. Between her and the snapping dogs, there was never a moment of peace. They were like a fever that wouldn’t break.
“Rent’s due first of the month,” she said. “Don’t be like those tree huggers. All they wanted to do was accuse me of horrible crimes and pray to their shrubbery gods.”
Marjorie spat onto our lawn. Mom laughed, as if she admired her bravery. Who would do something as vile as spit on someone else’s lawn?
“You’re a tough lady,” Mom said. “I like that.”
This time, I rolled my eyes. I don’t know if Marjorie saw it, but I didn’t care. I didn’t like Marjorie for the same reasons I didn’t like my mom. They were dressed like twins at a funeral, both of their outfits the same shade of shapeless grey. I missed the hippies. I missed their hair, their bright clothes, their inflections. I wanted to be like that, but I knew I was no better than Mom and Marjorie. My sweater was white and my pants were an off-white shade of the same white. I was at least wearing my “fun shoes”—green slippers with pink soles. Mom always said clothes were supposed to cover you up, not show you off. Somehow, she let the green slippers slide.
Clothes were just one of the million ways Mom liked to keep me in line. We never ate dinner after 6PM.
I was only allowed to read C.S. Lewis books (Mom liked how the lion was a metaphor for Jesus). And, I could only watch the church TV channel or Mom-approved VHSs.
On the night of my stupid mistake, we had just finished a dinner of angel hair pasta and butter. We had watched Angels in the Outfield, then went to bed at 9PM. When I got in bed, I had the strangest feeling, like I was at the top of a waterslide. I pulled the bottle of pills out from under my pillow. When I found them the week before in the CVS parking lot, I thought they would give me interesting dreams. But as I stared at them, I thought about all the dreams I could have if I was dead. No more Mom. No more buttered noodles. No more VHSs. If I took enough pills, maybe I’d be reincarnated in a different life where I wore pink shirts and yellow pants and sang at the top of my lungs just because I wanted to.
Marjorie’s dogs threw me out of my trance. They were barking a few inches from my face now. I grabbed a box off the lawn and walked inside.
Our new home was mostly dust. It was on the walls, in the floorboards, covering the sinks. As the light came in through the windows, I saw it all around me. I was used to it, though. Mom always picked dusty houses.
Our new house in Twin Pines was our thirteenth rental. Mom would flip-flop between different types of houses (apartments, two-families, trailers, etc.), but dusty Victorians seemed to be her favorite. She liked fragile houses, ones where if you used something twice, it would break. In one of the houses, the sink looked like something out of a fairy tale, with gold gooseneck faucets and hand-drawn hot/cold script. But, after two uses, the water shot toward the ceiling.
I dropped the box in the kitchen and went up to explore my new room. The house came “pre-furnished”, but all I was given was a bed and a mirror. The bed still had the creepy boy’s Toy Story comforter. The mirror was tall and oval-shaped with metal, human-looking feet.
I sat on the corner of the bed and stared at my reflection.
I didn’t like looking at myself. Reflections were like words you repeat so much they lose their meaning. After a few minutes, my whole body looked like a sack of potatoes. The only thing non-potato-like was my hair. I always liked my hair, even if I fantasized about shaving it off. One time, we were in a bookstore and I saw a Sinead O’Connor CD. I thought her shaved head was badass. She looked like an angry baby, but in a cool way.
I looked again in the mirror. I reached up and grabbed a clump of blonde. “One day,” I said.
I let go of it and stood up. I needed to get back to moving boxes. But, as I got to my feet, I heard something.
Footsteps.
They were inside my room. I turned to look, but no one was there.
The birds flew into my throat. All of a sudden, I felt terribly alone. Mom and Marjorie’s conversation fell quiet. The wind pushed against the window. The sun ducked behind a hill.
All that was left were me and the sound. It moved closer and closer. It was behind me.
I closed my eyes and scrunched my face. I took a long, slow breath, then whipped around, my hands out like a shield. I slapped the air.
I opened my eyes. No one, or nothing, was there. But, the sound grew louder. And closer.
ernnnnn
creeeeeak
ernnnnnn
creeeeeak
“Hello?” I said. My mouth was a sandbox. I put my hand on my chest. My heart was going crazy. Calm down, Emma. Breathe. Remember what that doctor told you? If you panic, you just need to breathe.
Each breath felt like licking sandpaper.
The footsteps came closer. Dust kicked up into clouds.
ernnnnn
creeeeeak
It was a few feet away now. Then, closer. Then inches.
I wanted to throw up, or scream, or cry. All of a sudden, the house felt huge. There were shadows holding shadows holding shadows. I was in dark water. How many rooms were here? Two? Three? Ten? One hundred? How many floors? Mom had never said. It was the biggest house we’d ever lived in. I wasn’t safe.
I didn’t know what I wasn’t safe from, but I knew I was in danger.
I looked down. The sound stopped right in front of my green slippers. It lingered there. I felt it breathe on my ankles. It was warm and wet.
“Please,” I whispered. “Don’t hurt me.”
There was a long pause. The sound didn’t move. An icky feeling ran up my arms. It was like a thousand fingertips.
I took a step back. I moved my right foot. The sound didn’t attack. I lifted my left.
Then…
SLASH!
The pain flew up my leg. I screamed and jumped back, landing hard on my butt. I crawled backward, desperate to move as far away as I could from that thing. I kicked. I swung. I spit. All of my nerves fired at once.
“Get away from me!”
I looked down at my ankle. Dark blood fell in lightning bolts down to my toes. My skin pulsed. There were three cuts. They weren’t deep, but it didn’t matter. I’d never been hurt by the air before. I felt naked. It could be behind me, above me, below me – crawling through my suitcase, tangled in my hair, hiding under the bed. I was surrounded, but, at the same time, totally alone.
I slid into the corner and curled into a ball. My eyes welled. I couldn’t stop it. I felt it all at once.
The new town.
The new house.
The new neighbors.
The thing, whatever it was.
The pain in my foot.
I slapped myself in the head. Why did I have to do such a stupid, stupid thing? I could be back in my old school, ignoring my teachers and eating lunch alone like a normal kid.
After a few minutes, my ankle stopped bleeding. I stood up and checked myself for more wounds. I was unscathed, but my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. I held my breath and listened for more footsteps. They were gone. The thing was gone. All I heard was Mom and Marjorie’s small talk. The dogs were still barking.
I wiped away my tears with the Toy Story comforter. I let the blood dry on my foot. Maybe Mom would see and ask me about it.
As I reached the top of the staircase, I hooked the sides of my mouth and pulled my face into a smile. Then, I walked downstairs to finish unpacking.
After a few hours of unpacking, Mom heated up two TV dinners and we watched Flubber. When the movie ended, Mom announced it was bedtime. The sun was still up, but I didn’t mind. Sleep would do me good. Maybe that thing was just an exhaustion-induced hallucination.
As Mom washed off our plastic trays, I watched her from the doorway of our new kitchen. I contemplated telling her about my ankle. It’s not like it was some sort of secret. If she looked at me, she’d see it. My foot was caked in blood. But, she didn’t look at me. She only looked at me when she had too. Instead, she hummed a gospel song and scrubbed like the marinara was devil’s blood.
So, I grabbed a glass of water, walked upstairs, and collapsed onto the bed.
I dug my face into the Toy Story comforter. It smelled like a home. Not quite my home, but someone’s home, and that was enough to relax me. My shoulders melted. My eyelids grew heavy. My breathing slowed. Outside, I heard the distant hum of thunder. A summer storm was on its way.
Darkness came in waves as the thunder moved closer. I knew sleep was coming. I felt so relaxed, eerily relaxed. I hadn’t been this relaxed since I was a little kid, before the incident, or the incident’s pre-incident, or the incident before that. There were too many to count. I just settled on the fact that I was cursed.
But, at this moment, I was at peace.
Unfortunately, it didn’t last long.
Someone knocked on the door.
“Emma?”
It was a familiar voice.
“Come in,” I said.
The door opened and Mom appeared. Her hair was brushed and she was wearing her flowing, white nightgown. Normally, that meant she wasn’t leaving her room for the night. She never came out to see me like this.
She sat on the edge of my bed.
“I was doing some reflecting,” she said, “and I just want you to know that all strength comes from God. Give him your time, and you will receive his strength.”
I nodded, like I always did. I’d heard this one before.
But, as she rambled, something felt different. She smiled, rubbed my arm, and spoke in a soft whisper.
It was like someone took my mom and smoothed the edges. I remembered a version of her like this, before Dad left. She would bake pies and sing Motown songs and wear sundresses. But, I hadn’t seen that Mom in a long time.
Then, I noticed something.
It was my mirror, the one with the weird, human feet. It held Mom’s reflection, or at least a version of her reflection. The back of her nightgown had tears in it. Mom never wore anything that wasn’t perfect.
“Maybe the move to Twin Pines was God’s plan,” she went on. “Do you feel that way?”
Mom cleared the hair from my face.
“Gosh, I love your hair,” she said. “So blonde and beautiful. Like an angel.”
I tried to look her in the eyes, but I couldn’t. The mirror kept drawing me in.
The Mom in the reflection was also leaning over me in bed. But, slowly, she turned her face back toward the mirror. I looked at the real Mom. Her head wasn’t moving. Mirror Mom kept going through. Her chin crossed her shoulder. She twisted like an owl. I could see a sliver of face, then half, then all of it. Her head was turned completely around. I looked at her eyes. A shiver crawled down my neck.
I looked away.
I was getting that feeling again, that flutter of panic, that scattering of birds. I tried to breathe. I tried to collect myself. I turned to look out the window.
Outside, dark clouds moved over the hills. Rain fell slow at first, then faster and faster until it was pounding on the windows. Wind shoved the walls. I heard the house’s frame shift. I’d been in old houses before, but none this old. One more gust and the whole thing could fall over.
The more I thought about it, the stranger it seemed that Mom was here. Whenever there was a storm, Mom locked herself in her room and blasted her Jesus tapes. She said rain made her think of all the evils in the world.
I looked back at the real Mom.
“Do you hear me, little angel?” Mom asked.
“Yes.”
“So answer.”
“Answer?”
“Answer my question.”
“What was your…”
“Do you feel moving to Twin Pines was God’s plan?”
“Oh,” I said.
Her face moved closer to mine. When did her teeth get so white?
“Yes, I do.”
“So you never want to leave here?”
She kept running her hands through my hair. Her fingertips were freezing.
I looked at the mirror Mom. She wasn’t smiling. She had a hard stare, her eyes as bright as the moon. She didn’t blink. I keep watching. Blink. Please blink. Mom, please. But, she never did. Her face was a statue.
“Is this a dream?” I asked the real Mom.
She didn’t answer.
“My sweet angel tried to go back to Heaven,” she whispered.
I pinched my thighs. I felt the pain. It was real. I was awake. I tried to sit up, but Mom pushed me back down. “Where are you going?” she asked. Her smile kept growing, closer and closer to her ears. I looked over at mirror Mom. The smile was inverted, her frown dripping toward the floor like melting wax.
“I need to pee,” I said.
“Are you lying to me?”
“No, I…”
“You wouldn’t lie to your mother, would you? Not again?”
“No, Mom,” I said. “I just…I…”
Mom didn’t like talking about why I did what I did, but she loved making me promise I’d never do it again. Not again. She’d make me repeat it. Not again, not again, not again. I wouldn’t lie to her. I wouldn’t hurt myself. I wouldn’t let the devil in.
The mirror woman started to change. She raised her arms then flipped them behind her, looking like one of the Barbies I used to torture. As she stood up, she walked closer to the mirror, lifting her backward hands and bringing them to her backward face. She grabbed two fistfuls of hair.
I wanted to warn the real Mom, but I couldn’t speak. It was that same feeling I always felt—powerless, scared, frozen in a dumb state of terror. All I could do was watch.
The mirror woman stood in front of her reflection and pulled on her hair. At first, she’d only rip out a strand or two. Then, it came in handfuls. The sound made me sick. It was like Velcro. Her frown kept sinking. Her face was saggy and bruised, with lips covered in scars. Drops of blood ran from her forehead down to her chin.
She started mouthing something.
NOT AGAIN.
NOT AGAIN.
NOT AGAIN!
She was screaming now, but there was no sound. She was silent.
“Not again, right?” real Mom said. She kept brushing my hair with her hand. It was starting to hurt. With each pull, small strands broke loose and tangled in her fingers.
“Stop, please,” I whispered.
“It’ll never stop, will it angel?” She chuckled.
Thunder rolled through the bed frame. The storm was here. We couldn’t run away. The storm was here. Tears streamed down my cheeks.
“I didn’t mean to do it,” I said.
“Do what, honey?”
“It,” I said. “You know, it. It was a stupid mistake.”
I looked back at the mirror. Mirror Mom was almost bald. All that remained were a few tufts of hair, the last stalks of a torched cornfield. Her frown stretched down to her clavicle.
“Are you cold?” Mom asked.
“What?”
She pulled the blankets up to my chin. She pressed down on my neck. I coughed, but she pressed harder.
“Moh—”
“You look so cold, angel.”
I gasped for air, pushing at the blanket. Mom pressed harder, using her body weight. She never stopped smiling.
“Angels shouldn’t be so cold. So blue. So frozen. Angels should be white and warm and flying. Why is my angel so blue?”
The thunder roared every few seconds—BAM, BOOM, CRASH. Mirror Mom dropped to her knees. She ran her hands across her bald head. She mouthed those same horrible words, the words Mom worked into her prayers loud enough so I would hear, the words she made me promise whenever I had a bad day or cried or didn’t laugh during the funny part in the movie.
My breaths came few and far between. The room went black. I saw stars. I kicked and pushed and squirmed, but I only sank deeper, and deeper, and deeper, and…
CRASH!
A flash of lightning filled the room. It sounded like our house was hit. It was the loudest crash I’d ever heard, like a car coming through my window.
The pressure left my neck. I gulped fresh air and pounced forward.
“Stop!” I yelled.
I looked up at Mom, but she was gone. The room was quiet. All that was left was the sound of rain.
I looked at the mirror, but it was empty too.
I was alone.
It was a nightmare.
I wiped the sweat off my forehead and reached down to grab my glass of water. It had a thin layer of dust on it, but I didn’t care. I was medically thirsty. As I drank, I placed my hand on my heart. It was galloping. How much could a heart really take? It was going to explode if I kept up with these nightmares and ghosts.
I looked at myself in the mirror. I was still intact. My head was not popped off. My hair was not torn to shreds. My mouth was not contorted in a horrific smile or frown.
I was okay.
I finished the water and put the empty glass on the ground. I went to lay back down, but I noticed something.
My reflection was disappearing.
A cloud of darkness came over it. It climbed around the edges of the mirror like black ink, swallowing me in its pulses. It kept eating me until the mirror was an oil spill, nothing but black.
Then, like the first stars of night, two yellow dots appeared. They were towards the bottom of the mirror, right at ankle height.
The darkness fled from the top down to the yellow circles. Black dots appeared in their centers. They were eyes. Two yellow eyes. Black ink circled around them in the vague shape of a head.
The face disappeared below the mirror’s rim.
Then, I heard it.
ernnnnn
creeeeeak
ernnnnnn
creeeeeak
It was moving toward me.
The footsteps would start, then stop, then start again. They went near the walls, under the bed, by the glass of water, near the door. But, they never left the room.
Meanwhile, the storm moved over our house. Rain pounded the roof. It wanted to be let in. Drops of water raced down the wall. The house was falling apart. Everything was falling apart.
I tried to focus on my breathing.
I didn’t want to think about the thing.
I looked out the window. It was a trick I learned in the hospital. Everything was always so loud. I’d hear my friends getting taken to the “quiet rooms” or parents yelling at the caretakers. I never wanted to be where I was, so I looked out the window. The hospital was in New Brunswick, right across from Rutgers University. I watched frat boys play frisbee. Girls with tattoos smoked cigarettes. I wanted to be there, to be older, to be in life instead of just watching other people live it.
But, in our new town, there were no college kids to fantasize about it. All I had were hills. So, I imagined I was in the Swiss Alps with the friends I made at the hospital. There were three girls I really connected with. We ate lunch together. They showed me their scars and visible rib cages. We made fun of the therapists. We had all been struggling, but now we were struggling together. Out in the Alps, we weren’t gloomy anymore. We were all drinking wine and smoking long cigarettes. The breeze was soft. Animals climbed the hills. My head was shaved. We were all happy, just like goats along the cliffs.
I closed my eyes and pulled the blanket over my face. Marjorie’s dogs were barking. The rain became like white noise.
For a moment, I felt myself fall asleep.
But then…
hessssssssssssssss
I opened my eyes.
The sound was high-pitched, like hissing. It started out soft. Then it built, higher and higher, rising from a match to a wildfire.
hesssSSSSSSSSS HEEESSSSSSS
I covered my ears. The sound cut through everything. I felt it in my stomach. It rattled the birdcage.
I kicked off the blankets and ran for the light switch. I flicked it on, but nothing happened. Everything was still dark.
I looked around. I was still alone. Was Mom hearing this kettle? It was like a train crashing into my temple. I felt like puking.
HEEEESSSSSS
HEEEEESSSSSS
I opened my suitcase and searched for a flashlight. Did I pack it? Did I even own a flashlight? Where do people buy flashlights?
The sound kept building. It was already stupidly loud. How was it getting louder? Yet, simultaneously, it grew deeper, churning from a hiss to a growl. It shook the house. I couldn’t tell what was from the storm or the thing. Rain ran down the walls in streams. The floor was covered in puddles.
I kept digging through my suitcase. I didn’t find a flashlight, but I did find my dad’s electric razor. It was the only thing he left behind. I always brought it with me in case he ever wanted it back.
I clicked it on and held it in front of me. It was my only protection.
I looked under my bed. Nothing.
In the closet. Nothing.
Behind the mirror. Nothing.
The sound kept building. I stood in the center of the room and spun around. This was it. This was the moment I get ripped apart, the moment I die. I couldn’t back out of it this time. I thought about Mom finding me, my jaw hanging off, my eyes chewed out, my guts scattered like confetti. Would she scream? Cry? Walk back into her room? Would she ever recover? What would happen when the paramedics found me? Would they jigsaw my limbs into a human shape? Would they go home and cry in their spouse’s arms? Would I be the worst day of their life?
It was always me.
Everything came back to me.
I was the root cause of every problem in the world.
“What did I do?!” I yelled.
I couldn’t hear my own voice. The room was too loud.
I kept spinning around, my puny razor in front of me.
“I’m sorry,” I went on. “Whatever I did, I’m sorry about it.”
Lightning struck our shed. The backyard filled with smoke.
I was getting dizzy from twisting around. I just wanted the noise to stop. I couldn’t take it anymore. I turned and turned and turned until…
All of a sudden…
THWAAAAAP!
Light passed through my skull. My eyelids snapped shut. The floor hit my back.
Everything went dark.
At first, it felt like my face was glued shut. The darkness was a weighted blanket. But, after a few attempts, I was able to open my eyes.
I looked up at the ceiling. There was a black web in the corner, the wood splintered and filled with pulsing embers. Smoke crowded the windows.
We’d been hit.
Lightning had hit our house.
I had to tell Mom. I tried to stand up, but my whole body was in pain. My legs were wet cement.
I laid back down.
I stared at the lightning strike. As the rain had attacked the roof, debris fell into the room. Black ash covered the bed. If I was sleeping, the coals would have smothered me. I imagined that death—my skin peeling back, burnt wood filling my mouth.
The clouds of smoke started to shrink. They were regathering, vacuuming back to the impact point.
It didn’t take long for the shape to appear.
First, I saw its head. The top of its skull was flat, with two horns on either side. The smoke reformed to fill the rest of its body. Two arms. Two legs. A massive, arched back. There were three claws on the end of its hands, just like the three slashes on my ankle. Only, this time, they were ten times the size. If the thing attacked me now, I’d be ground beef.
“What…do…you…want…?” I mouthed.
With each swell of the storm, the thing grew taller. Its eyes hovered over me. The smoke widened. It enveloped me. I couldn’t see. My spit turned to black sludge. My bedroom smelled like a campfire.
Then, slowly, the creature slunk through the shattered window and moved through the storm, right towards Marjorie’s house. In the distance, her dogs whimpered. Their violent barking was gone.
Now, they sounded sad, almost nervous, like they were about to be punished.
Once the shock from the lightning strike wore off, I was able to stand. I kept walking in small circles, chewing on my fingernails. The creature hung over Marjorie’s house like a thousand swarming bats.
The dogs stopped barking. There was a long, grueling silence. The rain grew soft as the thunder fell to a dull whisper. The storm was now a breeze.
Yet, I couldn’t help but feel like I was at the start of something much worse.
The cloud made a sound like a foghorn, then shifted. It broke into Marjorie’s windows and swarmed through her house, purring something deep and horrendous. This was not a please-pet-me purr. This was loud. End of the world loud. I felt the vibration run up my legs.
The monster twisted and turned as it went from room to room, rushing through doorways. Every once in a while, its eyes appeared. It was searching for something.
All of a sudden, Marjorie’s living room window shattered. Glass rained onto the lawn as the black cloud gathered on the first floor.
Then, something yelped.
An object flew through the shattered window. It rolled through the grass like a crash test dummy, thrashing and lifeless. It landed on the road.
The fog thinned out. An upstairs light turned on. I heard Marjorie’s voice.
“Beezle? Bub? Boys? Where are you!?”
I grabbed Dad’s razor and ran downstairs. I was still in my pajamas. I didn’t have time to change to confront this monster in some badass getup. No cape or steel-toed boots. Not even a rain jacket. Just me, Emma, in all my poorly prepared glory.
I ran through the house and pounced through the front door, my razor out in front of me like a sword. As I leaped through the muddy yard toward the road, I got a clearer picture of what flew out of Marjorie’s house. When I walked closer, I knew for sure; it’s black fur was unmistakable. I stopped running. The razor buzzed in my hand as my brief feeling of power went away. It clicked it off. I was too late.
I knelt beside the German Shepard and put my finger on its neck.
No pulse.
I couldn’t look at the animal for long. The sight of it made me sick. It was as if all of its features shifted a few inches in different directions. I never loved Marjorie’s dogs, but no crime justified this kind of punishment.
I stood up and looked at Marjorie’s house. The thing was gone. Marjorie walked from room to room, calling out for Beezle.
I let out a long sigh. Again, I was useless. Again, I lost. The monster won. Marjorie’s dog was dead.
Throughout the battle, I just stood and watched. Just like so many things in my life, I waited around for a better version of me to show up.
I turned to go back into our house, my head down. As I moped through the grass, I noticed something strange. There was a stream of mud running from our house to the road. In it, there were little specks of white. I reached down and grabbed one. It was pencil-thin, but dull at the ends.
It didn’t take me long to realize.
It was a bone.
I followed the bones to their origin, a dank space under our front steps. I knelt down in the mud and inspected. The bones multiplied as I crawled behind the cinder blocks. I couldn’t get my whole body through, just to my hips. But, I got far enough.
The skeleton was small, about purse-sized. It had a collar around its neck. I read the tag.
L-Y-S-S-A.
My eyes grew wide.
I imagined the little boy. I pictured him in the months leading up to this morning, running around the house, calling out with all his might.
Lyssa! Lyssa? Where are you?
I felt his cold hand on my own.
If you find Lyssa, tell her we moved to the city.
I don’t know what I thought Lyssa was when he said that, but I didn’t think she was a dead cat. But, somehow, I had found her anyway.
I was halfway inside the dead cat’s grave when I heard my mom’s voice.
“Emma?”
I squeezed my torso out from under the stairs. Mom was standing over me. There was mud on the bottom of her nightgown, and her hair was soaked. She crossed her arms over her chest—her yelling stance.
“Why are you out here?!”
I stood up and slapped the mud off my pajamas. It only made it smear.
Mom took a step closer. “I said why are you out here?”
My mind was racing. I couldn’t focus on Mom or my soon-to-be punishment. I kept thinking about Marjorie’s dog. I imagined its face, its look of confusion, dismay, regret. I pictured its broken teeth.
There was so much anger in its injuries, such revenge.
I imagined the thing, my ankle, the way it moved around my room, the way it purred, its shape in the upper corner of my room. I remembered how those dogs snapped at me, how prone to violence they were.
The pieces came together.
“Marjorie’s dogs killed Lyssa,” I blurted.
“That is not an answer to my question,” Mom said. “And who? What?”
“It was Marjorie’s dogs,” I said. “They killed the dead cat. Well, it wasn’t dead then. They made it dead.”
“Whose dead cat? What? Are you on drugs?”
“Lyssa,” I said. “Remember? The little boy?” I grabbed Mom by the wrist, so she’d know how serious I was. “He had a cat, Lyssa. I found it. I think Marjorie’s dogs killed it.”
“First of all, you shouldn’t get involved in other people’s problems,” Mom said. “That’s too messy for a little girl.”
I shuttered when she said it.
Little girl.
My thoughts ran off.
I was back in the hospital, in those first few days after my accident. I kept going in and out of consciousness. It was all blurred. It’s not like I had visitors to mark the days by. All I saw were nurses, strangers.
It wasn’t that no one wanted to see me. No one visited me because Mom didn’t tell anyone I was in the hospital. Mom didn’t visit me either. She said she would pick me up when I was “done”.
To this day, she’s never told anyone what happened.
Not even Dad.
So, the only people I saw were the hospital staff. There was one woman I saw a lot—she was old with a round face and soft, plump fingers. She spoke in an annoyingly cheerful Midwest drawl. She would adjust my pillow and give me medicine and hum lullabies—Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, Mary had a Little Lamb, Ring Around the Rosy. At first, I thought it was creepy. Then, I remembered I was in the children’s ward.
One day, she leaned in real close to my face. I don’t know if she thought I was sleeping, but I was wide awake. I kept my eyes closed. I didn’t want to scare her. She smelled like peppermint and sweat. For a moment, I was scared. I thought she was going to hurt me. But, she didn’t. Instead, she whispered directly into my face.
“This is too much pain for a little girl.”
Little girl.
Now, standing in the rain, I heard that old woman’s voice again.
Little girl.
Little girl.
Little girl.
That’s how Mom saw me. That’s how the world saw me. But, it wasn’t true. The things I felt were far from little. They were big and dark and thundering.
I turned back and looked at Lyssa. Her body was broken by the rain. She was little, even for a cat. But still, I felt her power, her rage, her revenge. In that state, she was bigger than me, the dog, our house, her pain. She could consume galaxies. She had my attention in the deepest, darkest way.
She wasn’t little.
And, neither was I.
I turned back to Mom. I pulled the razor out of my pocket and clicked it on.
“Honey?” she said.
She stepped toward me. I stepped back. She started to say something else, but I couldn’t hear her. The buzzing was too loud. I brought the razor to my forehead and went across my scalp. It was a rough, ticklish feeling. Wet hair fell into the mud, right around Lyssa’s bones. Mom lunged at me, but I jumped away. I kept shaving.
When Mom realized she couldn’t stop me, she clasped her hands in prayer and looked at the stars.
“God, please shine your light on Emma. Please just…”
She paused for a moment. Then, she shook her head and unclasped her hands. She looked confused, then sad. I could tell she wanted to say something. She looked at me, her eyelids flickering. But, she didn’t say it. Instead, she bit her fist and walked back into the house.
As I finished, lightning struck in the distance. The storm was now towns away. All that remained was a drizzle. It was cold as it hit my newly bald head.
Even after I finished, I stayed outside. The birds in my stomach whistled something cheerful. My hair was tangled in the razor. The morning sun was peeking over the hills. Marjorie was in her backyard, calling Beezle’s name into the wind.
I was happy, and sad, and confused.
But, more than anything, I was feeling, and that felt good.
Really, really good.
I looked out at Twin Pines, my new hometown. Everyone was still asleep. On normal mornings, most people stayed asleep. People didn’t wake up in a sleepy town. They were forever yawning, forever on the verge of sleep, forever wrestling with the dark. But, tomorrow morning, that would change. In the morning, the town would look into the eyes of a dead dog and wonder: what happened when we were all asleep?
I kept rubbing my newly shaved head. I smiled. It hurt my face. I don’t think I’d smiled in three years.
It was a new feeling, a new me.
Even if this town was forever sleepy, I was finally awake.
​
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This story is part of a larger dark fantasy series I wrote. The entire thing is free on Amazon through the end of the week. You can check out the link on my site: