Hey all!
Okay, so I discovered ASMR about three/four months ago and... wow! So much content and it has been quite a nice thing for me to get into when life gets a bit tricky. After reading/listening to a lot of people's work, I decided to write a script. I do not intend to record this myself - nobody needs to hear my voice lol!!
I'm not expecting anyone to read, or comment - I wrote this for fun and curious to see what people think! However, if you do, thankyou!! Please feel free to leave a comment, and constructive feedback. Still learning the ropes, so to speak.
I'm definitely not expecting any voice artists to want to pick this up, but again, if you do, thankyou so much!! Feel free to post on Youtube, Patreon etc and I'm fine with monetization. Just please provide full credit to me and a link to the script :)
Also, I know I include a lot of directions on background noise, but I leave that entirely up to the artist! It's mainly to break up big blocks of exposition, but from the stuff I've listened to, I do prefer background noises. I just find it much more immersive.
As put in the title, I've deliberately kept both Yandere and listener gender neutral. Both Yandere and listener can be any gender! I wrote this for everyone! My personal preference would be Yandere girl, listener boy, but again, I'm not fussed if that's not your thing!
Finally, and I hope she doesn't mind me doing this, but I wanted to do a little plug to HuskyWolfGirl's YT channel. She was one of the first ASMR channels I found and really helped influence me in seeking out other content, both on Reddit and YouTube, and wanting to write my own stuff. Her work is really good and she deserves a much bigger following. Link here https://www.youtube.com/@huskywolfgirlasmr
So, the premise is you've been dating someone for a couple of weeks and you're starting to really like them. You've even been thinking that things could get pretty serious. That said, they are a bit odd, only ever meeting up with you at night, not eating a huge amount, and always being cold. One night, you finally get intimate with each other and something happens. They change into a strange creature right in front of you, with wings, big fangs and red eyes. The last thing you see is them coming at you, and everything goes dark...
Muffled noises. Fire crackling in a grate. Maybe some distant wind through the window.
A chair creaking. The sound of straining rope, which starts soft and then increases in volume. Someone has been restrained and is trying to free themselves.
Footsteps, loud and clunky as someone approaches.

Yandere
Thank God! You’re awake. Finally! You’ve been asleep ages.

More staining rope noises, increasing in intensity.

Yandere
(sounding worried)
Please don’t struggle. You’re only going to hurt yourself. I’ve been around a while. I know my way around a knot. Please. I said STOP.

The word ‘stop’ is echoey. It has power in it. The noises stop.

Yandere
Okay. Thankyou.

Noise of a chair being pulled across the room.

Yandere
Look, I’m sorry, okay. This was not the plan. I just want you to know that. I’m not going to hurt you, or do anything bad. I mean yeah, okay, tying you up isn’t great, I admit. But I just want to sit and talk with you for a little bit. If that’s okay.

Sound of Yandere sitting down. A slight rope strain.


Yandere
Ah, you don’t think it’s okay. I get that. Honest, I’m sorry for having to restrain you like this. I tried not to make it too tight. Are you in pain? You are? Damn. I’ll try to keep this quick. I really am not going to hurt you. I promise.
(sighs)
I only had to tie you up because I need you to listen to me. And after what happened last night, I figured you’d only run if you saw me again. I wouldn’t blame you. But if you did try to get away before we’ve spoken, and I had to stop you, I could hurt you. Not intentionally or anything, but… ah, now you look even more confused.
(sighs again)
You want to say something to me. I’ll take the gag out in a minute, I promise. I know you probably hate me right now. This is all just typical me. Diving in head first, not thinking things through! And now we’re…I… I’m in trouble.
Don’t look at me like that!

The rope straining sounds start again. The listener really wants to get free.

Yandere
Trust me when I say you’re not going anywhere. I’m hundreds of years old and you’re not the first person I’ve had to tie up in my time. Oh Jesus, that sounds so wrong.

At that, the straining stops. The listener is probably trying to get their head around what was just said.

Yandere
Ahh yeah, urm, so that was a slip. I guess I just better get to it. Fact is, I know we’ve only been on a few dates, but things have been so good so far. You’re just so cool to hang out with. I really loved spending time with you, and I think you felt the same.
(beat, Yandere is studying the listener for an answer, but they are keeping still for now)
Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you before. You make me feel something I haven’t felt in years. Decades. I’ve been alone a while, you know? I was kind of happy to be, until I saw you. I remember seeing you with your friends in the restaurant. Remember, the one I work at? You looked so happy, so full of life. You remember the first night we met? How you spilt a drink on me? Well, that wasn’t actually your fault. I just wanted an excuse to talk to you, so I tripped up near you. I’m pretty clumsy at the best of times, but I didn’t exactly put on an Oscar winning performance.
(yandere chuckles)
I kinda got the impression you figured that out to be honest. But you didn’t seem to care. I don’t think anyone has ever looked at me the way you did. I felt like the most special person in the room. In the whole universe. Are you cold? I’ll put more wood on the fire.

Sound of wood being added to the fire, and flames. Yandere sits down, hissing.

Yandere
Shit, burned my hand! Typical. Is that better though? Don’t worry. I heal quickly, trust me. See? Ah damn, you look so pale. Please believe me. I won’t do anything to you. You’re everything to me. I know it’s fast. I know it’s odd! But you’re wonderful, and amazing, and beautiful and… I’m in love with you.
Remember what you kept saying to me? That you wanted to wait before we spent a night together until it was the right time? That we should get to know each other properly first? Well last night was just… wow. Being with you made it feel like my heart was beating again. It’s probably why… well, what happened last night happened.
What you saw was my true form. It happens sometimes when we lose control of our emotions. I’m usually so good at keeping myself in check. Lots of practice, you know? But I couldn’t help it. And once things got, urm, good last night…
(beat)
I’m such an idiot. I shouldn’t have let it happen. But I was just enjoying it so much.
Oh my, you’re crying. Please stop.
(echoey)
Stop!
Thankyou. Oh, now you look confused. When I want to, I can compel people to do things. Well, kind of. It doesn’t always work. Never really something I mastered, you know? I don’t like doing it anyway. I just don’t want you to be scared. I need you calm. I can hear your heart beating and it’s… distracting.
(beat)
I can see you really want that gag out. I suppose I can do. Just don’t scream. Nobody is going to hear you.

Sounds of material as the gag is removed.

Yandere
There we go. Oh, no, honey, please don’t… I said there’s no point screaming. Oh, go on then. May as well get it out your system, I guess.

Sounds of strained rope, a creaking chair and footsteps as the listener struggles and Yandere walks to the other end of the room. We hear water being poured into a glass and more footsteps as Yandere comes back.

Yandere
Would you like some water? I can hold it up to… there you go. Not too fast! You’ve spilt it all down yourself now! I know it’s kind of cold in here for you. I can’t really feel it, you know? The cold, I mean. Well, my body is always cold. Kind of comes with the territory of… What? Let you go? I promise, I will do, okay? But there’s just a few things I need to discuss with you first.
(beat)
I won’t hurt you! I would never… why don’t you believe… okay, yeah, I know it looks bad I tied you up like this.
(beat)
Okay, no need to be rude. I know you’re upset and…
(echoey)
That’s enough!
(beat)
Now, I took your gag out because you asked me to, but you will listen to me. Neither of us have a choice in that now. I was gonna wait to tell you this, you know? I mean, I don’t even know when I was gonna tell you. I hadn’t made my mind up. It’s kind of a hard thing to bring up, believe me. Like when do you do it? Third date? Just before I meet your parents? Wedding night? Honeymoon? Kinda hard to jump on a plane to the sunny Amalfi Coast if you run the risk of bursting into flame. But…
Ah, I’m rambling. Okay, I’m just gonna say it. Thing is, well the truth is, I… I’m a Vampire.
(beat)
Okay, so now you think I’m crazy, wonderful. What? That ship had already… okay, you’re being rude again.

Sound of strained ropes again.

Yandere
If you keep struggling like that you’re going to start bleeding. Not a very good idea, you think, given what I’ve just told you? Oh, there’s no such thing huh? Well then. Ask yourself if you can explain what you saw last night. My wings, my hair… my fangs. Like my entire body changed in front of you. I know you saw it.
(beat)
Wait… no, you weren’t drunk.
(beat)
And I certainly did not put anything in your drink! I mean, I did have to knock you out but that was just a small bump on the head! I didn’t plan this, you know! This isn’t some Baby Reindeer rip-off.
(beat)
What? You hated that show? Me too, to be honest. Kind of creeped me out. I mean, how pathetic is that? I’m a 700 year old Vampire who kidnaps and ties up the person I’m in love with, and a crazy Scottish gal is too much for me. I mean, what the actual hell. You probably think I’m the worst Vampire ever.
(beat)
I’m not lying to you. I promise. I wouldn’t lie to you about something like this. Here, feel my skin! It’s room temp, it’s always room temp! You always used to comment on how cold I was. Didn’t you ever wonder why we only ever met up at night? Why I never really ate that much when we went out to dinner? What, you think I live for Caesar Salad without dressing? Why do you think my face is always white?
(beat)
Yeah, I knew you thought it was weird. But I knew you never wanted to say anything. I think I loved you for that even more. Despite everything, you still wanted to know me. Do you know how rare it is to find someone you really click with? Someone who sparkles for you like the brightest star, and the way they look at you means they might, just might, feel the same way? I mean, I thought you did.
(hopeful)
Do you?
(beat)
If you say yes, will I let you go? I don’t want you to say yes because you’re scared of me!
(beat)
If I loved you, I’d untie your hands? Are they hurting? I… look, okay, I’ll untie you if it’ll make you feel better. But please don’t try anything. Please don’t. Thing is, the main thing I need to tell you is that you’re in danger. We both are, now you know what I am. Stay still.

Sound of rope being untangled.

Yandere
Okay, there you go. Oh, your wrists look sore. I told you not to struggle too much! I can give you something for that. Okay, sorry, I know you’re still a bit nervous. I won’t try to touch you again unless I have to, so please stay in the chair. The ropes can go back on if they need to.
(beat)
Why are we in danger? Well, it’s a bit complicated. Trying to condense two thousand years of Vampire lore into one conversation is a little hard, you know? I mean, there’s so much crap out there about Vampires. Half the stuff paints us as some sort of wild animal, whilst the other half… I swear I wanted to bite Stephanie Myer. But through all the literal shit they do get some things right. We exist. We live in secret in the human world. We used to be human, until another of our kind turned us, and we became what we are. We drink blood to survive.
(beat)
Okay, I’ll ignore your sarcastic tone. How many are there of us? I’m really not sure, you know? Less than there was when I was first turned, I think. We spend a lot of time in hiding. We really don’t want the human world knowing about us. That part is true as well.
(beat)
Because we are better off! When I was first turned, humans did know about us, and they hunted us. We Vampires, we are stronger than the average human. We also have faster instincts, and we’re very good at hiding. I don’t know for sure, but I think we kind of evolved to be really good at hunting, well… humans. No, please don’t move! I don’t do that anymore! I haven’t fed… I mean, I don’t drink human blood. That’s not what this is about! No…

Sound of running, and a whooshing sound like material flying through the air. Then creaks as the listener is sat in the chair, followed by the sound of rope.

Yandere
I told you not to try anything! I’m going to have to tie you up again now! How am I so fast? Have you not been listening? What? You think I want to keep you tied up? You promise you won’t try that again? Fine, I won't put the ropes back on, but please don’t.
(beat)
I know this sounds crazy, but trust me, it’s real. I’m real. Vampires are real! I’m standing right in front of you! Can you not see me?
(beat)
Where are we all? Well that’s the thing. Most of us tend to keep to ourselves. A while back now, I’m not sure when exactly, a decision was kind of made that we would avoid contact with humans. For every human we hunted, ten would spring up to hunt us back and it looked like it was to be all out war. So, we hid. Got the blood we need from animals. Only some of the bad ones still feed on humans, and even then they do it stealthily. They’re very smart. They use human laws and influence to hide themselves. It’s easy to get very rich when you’ve been around for hundreds of years. They’re the really bad ones.
(beat)
Yeah, quite a few famous people are Vampires. But not all of us are like that. I don’t want to hurt anyone. Most of us try to live with humans. We get our blood from butchers, or hunting wild animals, and we just get by.
(beat)
No. I haven’t seen any of my kind for a long time. Not directly anyway. I’m alone.
(beat)
That’s a very long story. I will tell you, but I first need you to decide something. The thing is, the decision to keep away from humans and to hide, well, it was more than a decision. It was a general order. The accepted nature of a Vampire is that we do not reveal ourselves to humans unless… well unless we plan to make them one of us.
(beat)
Please don’t move. I need to explain… don’t even think about it.
(echoey)
STOP!
(beat)
Don’t you understand? I can’t let you go because you know about us now! And you shouldn’t do. Sit down, please, or I will have to make you.

A chair creaks as the listener sits back down.

Yandere
If we come into contact with humans, we take a lot of steps to avoid revealing who we really are. What we are. Most of us don’t risk getting close to anyone in case they figure it out. We can blend in, but the closer someone gets, the more they see us. Like you were starting to. And in moments of heightened emotion… well, you saw what happened.
(beat)
Why am I telling you now? Because you saw me. You may not have known what I was, but you saw enough. And if you told someone, and they told someone… before you know it someone hears who we don’t want to hear. And then, they’d come for you. They’d come for both of us.
(beat)
Remember I mentioned there are some powerful famous ones amongst us? Well, they like their lives. Exposing Vampires to the world could jeopardize that. And that is something that they won’t… believe me, you don’t want to piss them off.
(beat)
I’m sorry, it’s not that I didn’t trust you, but I couldn’t take that chance. As long as you knew about me, you’d be in danger. Anyone you told would be in danger. Anyone who you might have told. Leaving you free, knowing about me… I just couldn’t do it. It’s why I had to kidnap you. I didn’t really have a lot of time to think.
(emotionally, like Yandere is holding back tears)
And now we’re done, aren’t we? I can see it in the way you’re looking at me. Please believe me. I would never have done this to you. I had no choice. I really didn’t. I swear. Being with you has been the best time in my life. And I’ve lived forever. It’s a long time to be alone.
(beat)
Please say something.
(beat)
What happens now? Well, this is where it gets a bit, urm, complicated.
(beat)
I get it, you won’t tell anyone. And I believe you, I do. But it goes beyond that now. You know about us, and that knowledge is a curse. I know you, I know how conscientious you are. You’ll see Vampires in everything now. What if someone goes missing and you think a Vampire did it? What if you tell the wrong person? You’ll be dooming yourself, and you wouldn’t even know it.
(beat)
Yeah, I said I’ll let you go, and I will do. Well, that’s kind of up to you. You’ve seen that I have the power of compulsion. Vampires can use this to alter memories. It’s hard, and we avoid doing it unless we absolutely have to, but we can. If you want to leave, right now, then you can. But I would need to remove from your mind any memory of me. All the times we spent together would need to go.
(beat)
I could just try to remove what happened last night, yeah. But if I just disappear, you’ll look for me. Better you never met me. Better that I never existed for you.
(Yandere sniffs)
That is the price for your freedom, and for your safety. I will let you go, but you will go forever. We will never see each other again.
(beat)
The process won’t harm you! I have done it before. You would simply go to sleep, and wake up at home. You could get on with your life.
(beat)
Yes, I did mention you have a choice. The other option is that you don’t leave. You stay here with me.
(beat)
No, not as my prisoner. Haven’t I told you I don’t want to hurt you? I have no interest in holding you against your will. If you were to stay, it would be your own choice. But the only way to guarantee your safety would be, well, the thing is, I would need to… you would need to become like me. A Vampire.
(beat)
I’m afraid there isn’t another way. If you were to become a Vampire, you would be safe. Nobody would come after you. It would be in your best interests to not tell others about us. About what you were. But it’s more than that.
When I first entered into a relationship with you, I knew that if we were going to get serious, I would need to have this conversation eventually. I hoped we would be much further along than this, but there we go. It’s a lot to put on you, especially from someone you’ve not known that long.
If you were to become a Vampire, you could stay with me. Forever if you wanted. We could share eternity. Watch as this world grows and changes. There’s a lot of bad in it, but a lot of good as well. I could show it to you. We could see it together. For hundreds and hundreds of years.
There’s props to being a Vampire too. As I said, you have increased strength, and agility. You never get sick. Your body never changes, or ages. As long as you consume the blood you need, you don’t need any other form of sustenance. We don’t even need toilets! If nobody harms you, you can go on forever.
(beat)
Yes. I’m serious. I’m offering you the world, if you want to take it.
(Yandere’s voice quivers. This next bit is hard for them to say)
Of course, you wouldn’t have to stay with me forever. Once fully turned, if you wanted to, you could leave. Make your own way in the world. But this couldn’t happen straight away. Becoming a Vampire is an intense experience that I can’t even begin to describe to you. Everything is turned up like 1,000 percent. It’s a lot, and it can be very hard to get used to. If I were to change you, you would need to stay with me and learn how to control this power. And it could take a while. You would not be able to even think about returning to your old life for months, possibly years. If you went back too soon, you would run the risk of hurting those you loved.
(beat)
Yes. You would need to disappear. You would not be able to speak to your family, your friends, or anyone, for a long time.
(beat)
Yeah, I already said you can stay with me. I would help you, and bring you anything you needed. In time, there’s no reason why you could not reconnect with your old life. But you would have to be so careful. No matter how well you manage to integrate, or how well you hide who you really are, you would be a Vampire. Always.

The fire crackles in the grate as the listener takes all of this in.

Yandere
I know this is a lot, so I have one more thing I want to offer you. Stay with me, here in my home. Let me show you my world over the next few days. What it really means to be like me. You would not be allowed to leave here without me, and if you tried I would need to tie you up again, but if you promised me not to, then you can stay as long as you like. Or at least, until you make your final decision. Become a Vampire and accept a whole new life, or let me take your memories and return home. You can decide whenever you like, but just know that once you do, whenever that is, there is no going back.
(beat)
So. My love. What would you like to do?

And that's it! I leave the ending open really. Either it can end here, or I write more!
If you made it this far, thanks for reading, and have a good day!!

Final Fantasy is one of the biggest(if not the biggest) RPG franchises out there. As an anthology series, the games each hold a different world, every single numbered installment, as well as a different story. The patterns that connect the stories are there in order to keep a Final Fantasy game a Final Fantasy game. They’ve been able to make these games feel consistent in their approach for about 10 installments, with the titles after 10 being more on the subversion side. Now that Final Fantasy 7 is getting a remake “trilogy”, this subversion has become a complete deconstruction of what made the series well loved. The new people in charge of the IP seemed to have lost the magic, resulting in the series becoming a hollow husk of its former self.
With so many RPG Maker people wanting to recapture the magic, as well as Square Enix itself, this brings up the question: what exactly is a Final Fantasy plot?
In the 80s, Final Fantasy was conceived as a response to TTRPG games like Dungeon and Dragons and computer RPG games like Wizardry, with Dragon’s Quest being an influence and sharing the same influences itself. These fantasy game influences created a lot of the gameplay, with the story coming from what came prior in the form of Tolkienesque stories. To further the chain of influence, these Tolkienesque stories were inspired by Arthurian romance and mythology, holding a big focus on how alchemy approached the combination of mythologies to express a monomyth. Carl Jung helped popularize the monomyth, along with Joseph Campbell, which would later establish the media usage of the hero’s journey. When Lord of the Rings came out, the prevention of the world ending by the usage of a MacGuffin became a staple in heroic fantasy storytelling.
Final Fantasy began with nameless characters of unknown origins, having you play as the 4 warriors of light. 4 warriors were picked to represent the 4 elements, the 4 corners of the world, with 4 monsters of the elements acting as their main form of opposition as they head to the final boss. Fire, water, air, and earth were treated as vulnerable crystals that must be restored, bringing order back to a chaotic world, with the final boss being Chaos itself, to end the game with a peaceful kingdom. Rather than a single ring to rule them all, the MacGuffins in FF1 are instead key items, each one unlocking a new location to move the story forward. The world map is entirely used, from land to sea to air, forcing a journey process across different areas as these heroes attempt to fix the world.
The gameplay focuses on classes, with each class serving a different party purpose, forcing the player to pick different types for easier results. Each class was given a different outfit, easy to tell the difference between their roles, with each one symbolically having a different personality. It’s not that they had a personality in the game where they never speak, but rather the roles they hold grant them different paths on how they got there. For example, the fighter would have to become physically stronger and knighted to become a knight, while the thief would have to sneak around and learn black magic to become a ninja. In fact, having more thieves in your team was a way to make the game harder, because of their lower HP.
This combination of classes and a quest to save the world changed upon the second installment, where characters were finally given names and backstories. Due to this held history, their hometown was presented as the catalyst for the story to begin, being saved by a princess this time as they start a rebellion against an evil Emperor. Sounds familiar? This is where Star Wars comes in more full, acting as an inspiration for the science fantasy elements that come in during the later half of this game and the first one. The final location of a floating island could be considered part of Star War’s Cloud City, but it can also be tied to the more Japanese inspiration of Castle in the Sky.
Studio Ghibli, the “Japanese Disney”, came out with this movie a year prior to Final Fantasy 1’s release. In this movie, steampunk retrofuturism was inspired by science romanticism books of the 1800s, while its castle in the sky was inspired by the floating island in the satirical novel Gulliver's Travels (1726). All of these are still directly inspired by both the hero’s journey of alchemical study (through Star Wars) and mythological journeys(with floating islands being found in Homer’s Odyssey). The steampunk style continued into later titles, allowing the usage of swords with the combination of robots to make sense to the player. This also reinforces a romantic approach to storytelling, as Arthurian romance and scientific romance are combined into a mythological premise concerning the end of the world and heroes who go out to save it with MacGuffins.
Two creatures that would play important roles for the heroes were both made by the same designer: Koichi Ishii. The Chocobo would be used as a giant bird that you ride like a horse, while the Moogle was meant to be a spiritual assistant that has a pom-pom growing out of its head, symbolically declaring itself as your personal cheerleader. The cat-like body of the Moogle, as well as its infinite source of magical assistance, could easily be traced back to the 60s blue cat named Doraemon. While the cute Moogle was based on a culturally significant source (as well as the kami of Japanese folklore), the chocobo turned itself into one by becoming a cute form of transportation, both allowing the game to become more appealing to kids and animal lovers. These additions allowed the traveling merchants of the game, as well as the trusty galliform, to serve more of a story purpose when their significant locations are visited.
By the time we hit Final Fantasy 6, the classes are changed from choosing outfits to become character locked. At this point, the characters themselves are the class, with more classes collected as more characters are collected along the way. Their backstories come with their discovery, allowing their hometowns to become different locations across the map, and their relationships growing into pre-game histories and future romances. The summoner, a special type of mage, is treated as the most important type of character, due to their control of creatures that are based on our polytheistic gods and some mythological characters. Their role is to serve as a humorous deus ex machina, a reference to how plays would use a god of mythology to interfere with a story and set things right when the writer usually wrote themselves into a corner.
The roles of characters each become a repetition of this setup from 6, causing several key plot points to occur. The main “leader” is a young male who holds a bladed weapon, in the form of a sword or dagger. This is the “Luke Skywalker” of the group who is aided by an older magician or mentor who shows him the ropes. Along the way, they find a “princess” with access to ancient powers who is able to lead them to the MacGuffin that will save the world. From the beginning, they are opposed by a “black knight” who is the shadow of the leader, with an emperor antagonist that is overshadowed by this black knight, leading to the final showdown that is fought in several stages.
Three stages are utilized to represent the destruction of the antagonist’s body, mind, and spirit. Their presence throughout the story is in the form of stages, acting as spiritual checkpoints for the heroic leader to confront their shadow. Once the evil “emperor” is defeated, the shadow's presence brings in the apocalypse that threatens the world, as well as their symbolic four horsemen. Across the journey of the main party, they unlock the 4 forms of transportation: earth(main map), water(boat), air (airship), and fire (combustion vehicle/chocobo). Each quest unlocks the next quest with the next ability to access it, whether it’s a key item or a form of this transportation.
Each game comes with about 10 hours of storylines, making up about a fifth of total gameplay for an average playthrough. This sounds like a lot, but when split up by the 5 point story structure, this gives about 2 hours per point. When we realize there are an average of 70 locations per game, we can feel overwhelmed by the amount of locations to visit. Thankfully, only a small handful are actual story locations and the majority are battle locations for gameplay. The trick to figuring out their location planning is all in the types of locations they go through.
Locations are split into two types: 1. Hub 2. Dungeon
Hubs come in: 1. Small merchant 2. Rest stop(usually a save point) 3. Village (people but no shops) 4. Town (people and shops) 5. City (people, shops, side quests) 6. Castle (people, shops, main quests)
The dungeons come in the variety of: 1. Grassy 2. Desert 3. Snowy 4. Mountain 5. underwater 6. Cave 7. Forest 8. Haunted House 9. Laboratory 10. Castle 11. Space/unknown
When we view it in this way, those 70 locations get split into 35 each, with about 4- 5 hubs for each type and 3 - 4 dungeons of each type. With how each game needs a main hub as the kingdom, the emperor’s tower, the shadow’s fortress, a hometown(plus dungeon) for each side character, 3 to 4 main islands, and remakes of locations caused by running themes(like the gardens in 8), the tall order becomes far more shorter than presumed. The gathering of the side characters make up the bulk of act 2, which include: 1. A driver of the airship 2. An unconventional “mancer” 3. A gag character 4. One who betrays the empire (sometimes comes as an NPC or temporary character) 5. Secret characters 6. A tragic character (seeks revenge on the empire) 7. A dragoon (or sniper in the case of FF8
These character types can be combined in any way, but the goal is to include them for a full experience.
As for villains, the typical boss will be based on a particular weakness to a single(or theme based) type of attack. Reoccurring “Team Rocket” style battles will act as another form of story checkpoint, with these goons being a creature like Ultros or a trio like The Turks. In the final dungeon, a boss rush will either summon a lot of previous bosses to take you on at a higher level, or introduce a cast of new bosses that are to be fought at different layers. The defeat of a boss is meant to be the ending of a quest and the expansion into the next quest area until the game is over, with optional bosses causing neither of these(hence the name “optional”). The normal enemies of the area are (supposed) to train the player for the encounter with the boss of that same area.
Final Fantasy followed this simple formula for about 10 installments until the PS2 era started to make it shaky and then Final Fantasy 12 removed the doomsday weapon. 13 removed the male lead and any coherent recollection of a main antagonist. Once we got to 15, the doomsday weapon was back but now the summonings are treated like main characters. The remake of 7 flips everything on its head as it tries to force Midgar to be a world of its own, not realizing that the journey requires the player to leave the castle and get on an airship within the same game. As time goes on, the romanticism of its origins will be lost and it will just be building over itself without understanding where any of the structure comes from, because each installment comes with more deconstruction.
Final Fantasy started as romantic mythology, tied together with the fairy tale magic of Disney and Studio Ghibli. Everything about it is supposed to be cute, aimed at kids, hits hard enough to make an adult cry, and blessed by the presence of consistency. We don’t need the games to be more realistic, we need them to be more enjoyable. But hopefully, with this guide, you will be able to make your own Final Fantasy one day. You will make it better, make it proper, and it will certainly not be the final time we see it.

From the beginning...
Cast

Part 2, Chapter 8

Conferring briefly, Arthur strides across the bridge [1]. Before he gets halfway across, a voice rings out. “HALT. Come no further. We want nothing from you, and have nothing for you. Depart peaceably.” The voice is feminine, with a thick rural Damaran accent, not so dissimilar to Arthur’s.
Arthur comes to a stop. “We come in peace. We just want to know what is going on. We’re on a mission from the Council of Thanes in Ironspur. This is their forge.”
“No dwarves here. It’s ours now. You need know nothing more. Away!”
Arthur withdraws to the group, where suddenly Zander notices that Dillium has disappeared. One thing at a time. “Perhaps if we paid a toll.” Zander suggests.
“We’ll pay a toll to cross the bridge and converse.” Arthur booms.
“How much?”
“How much do you want?”
“Three figures. Leave it on the bridge.”
“We’ll give you a hundred pieces of silver.”
There is no reply. Through the haze of the heat and ash, the outlines of the people on the other side of the chasm appear to be lined up.
“Are you with the dragon?” Novos calls out.
“Of course not! He’s taken our people. Are you?”
“No. He stole our elf!” Zander calls out.
“We just want to look around,” Novos adds. He takes a few steps toward the bridge, but a dagger sails out of the darkness and misses Novos’ foot by … well, several feet.
“Go away!”
The argument goes back and forth. Daggers are thrown until the unknown assailant runs out or gets tired, then crossbow bolts are launched. Novos takes cover behind Zander, who good-naturedly holds his shield out in protection. After several shots, Novos makes out the shape of a shooter above and to his left. Aiming carefully, he fires back with his bow.
“Look, we’re coming across. I’ll give ten gold pieces to anyone who lays down arms and talks.” Novos announces.
“Don’t you dare!” the voice cuts through, though it looks like the shapes of people on the other side of the chasm are less decided. Several low conversations break out, and though nobody can make out the words, the tones range from willing to harsh.
Zander decides to take a position on the bridge. This of course means Novos is a clear target again, though it’s hard to make out anything through the haze and the crossbow bolts miss more frequently than they hit.
***
A pebble rolls across the floor and nudges Dillium’s foot. Looking around, she sees the redheaded young human put his finger to his lips in a universal "don't scream" gesture, then he beckons her over away from the party. Novos has disappeared again, and everyone else is intent on trying to see through the heat waves and ash rising from the river of red gelatinous goop. Zander or Felicity are busy arguing with the voice, so slipping away from the group, Dillium ducks around the corner with the man.
Up close, she sees he has a misshapen face and is slightly stooped. Looking at his eyes, she decides he sees poorly--if at all--from his left eye. His complexion is ruddy in a way that nearly obscures the freckles all over his face and neck, and his shocking red hair seems nearly too bright to be natural. Now that she gets a good look at him, Dillium thinks he might be near his thirtieth year. For all of being a bit hunch-backed, he doesn't seem to have any problem moving around. His low voice speaks to habitual whispering.
"You are of Ilmater? My gran said that a cleric in a horse-hair shirt saved his life after the battle at Goliad Ford [2]. He would give coppers to the monks that came through, and often gave them food. Can I trust you?"
The simple sincerity in his voice, and his look of concern and dread touch Dillium, and she nods. He beckons her further away from the group, but he doesn't seem to have any weapons on him so she follows. Slipping silently back through the rubble of the half-collapsed hall, the pair returns to the cell where the dead are still chained to the wall. He pays them no mind. He does leave the door open a sliver, though. Seating himself on the floor next to a burned-out fire, he speaks.
"My name is Febis. Look, I'm sorry for before. He doesn't like visitors, and I can't just go and tell the Hand that they can't use this place for their hide-out anymore. We only just got here when he showed up. He's not bad, once you get to know him. He sometimes brings me food if he killed too many sheep, and he doesn't come in this part of the cavern because he can't turn around right. Only you can't insult him or he gets very mad, and he sometimes can't control his temper. It really just would be better if you and your friends go."
Too many "he's" and "they's" for her to sort out. It's like Febis assumes she already knows who they all are. “Slow down, and start over,” Dillium says gently. “Who is ‘he’?”
Febis says that ‘he’ is a monstrous red dragon that calls himself The Mighty Flamestrike. He arrived in a blast of wind and a clatter of claws on the stone floor, and he made himself at home in the main hall. He likes the heat from the lava, and sometimes lays down on top of it, sinking slowly into it. During one of the recent earthshakes part of the roof caved in, and Flamestrike took up residence high up in some hollowed-out caves near the ceiling. Febis has never been up there, but Flamestrike sometimes leaves in the evening to go hunting, and returns before dawn.
Febis is a member of the Dread Order of the Ebon Hand, the most dangerous gang of bandits this side of the Assassin's Citadel. What do you mean you've never heard of them? They have been the most feared bandit gang in the country's history. Although, he hastens to add, he's only been with the gang since he left home in Helmsdale this spring. He hated being a farmer and he can't ride a horse [3] (and some of the soldiers made fun of him), so there really isn't anything else for him to do.
The Hand found the entrance to this cavern complex two or three months ago, and they moved in. It makes a great base to bandit from. Cletus says that it was carved out by dwarves. Fatima, the captain of the Hand, has been working on getting the place cleaned up, and is looking to be able to give everyone their own areas in which to live. That was easier before Flamestrike came along. Since his arrival, the Hand have been hiding in terror from the dragon, who sometimes plays with them "like a cat with a mouse", blowing fire down the corridor and making the whole complex shake. Fatima has been trying to get them to attack Flamestrike, but the last time they tried, Willie and Franso were badly burned and pelted with rocks dropping from the ceiling. Father Michael took days to heal them all the way back to health.
Febis himself was the second of the Hand caught by the dragon, but instead of eating him, the dragon talked to him, and made friends with Febis. Now Febis comes and goes as he pleases, but he knows that the dragon's temper is such that he could end up as a snack if he crosses The Mighty Flamestrike.
***
Novos does the thing where he disappears. Zipping across the chasm, he notes that there are nearly a dozen “thugs”, along with some armored war mastiffs. Bedrolls and a cot line one wall, and a makeshift cook stove is in the back corner. An archway leads off into the darkness. The thugs are not particularly ready for battle—they are indifferently armored and have a bevy of non-uniform weapons, but none of them have them raised as if they were ready to use them. There are several debates ongoing, and two of the thugs are wrestling.
Returning to the group, Novos quickly gives a report. Arthur asks Zander to move, and he leads the way across the bridge.
“CEASE!” A ripple flows through the Weave as a spell is cast, and the two wrestlers climb to their feed sheepishly. Before they know it, the entire party is on their side of the chasm, face to face.
“Go AWAY! WE DON’T WANT YOU HERE. You are invading our home!” A crossbow bolt accompanies the demand, but it misses everyone. Without the heat shimmer, Novos can finally make out his assailant through what appears to be an opening above and to the right of the large cave. She is peering out behind a large metal structure with carvings etched on it.
The thugs are still bickering amongst themselves to some extent, but only a few of them tentatively raise their weapons.
Another ripple in the Weave, and the thugs generally calm down, losing some of the edge in their bickering. Unfortunately, nothing calms the shooter, who manages to put a bolt into Novos. Novos shoots back, hitting the woman. In response, the several of the bandits reach out to stop Novos from attacking their captain.
***
“My friends and I are here at the request of the dwarves in Ironspur. They are worried that someone here was attempting to restart the forge, which is… haunted or something? They didn’t get into details. Have you seen it?”
"Forge? I don't know about that, but there is a big iron thingy up near where Fatima beds down. It kinda’ looks like something Jeran the Smith from my village might use. We don't do anything with it, but it's useful to put stuff on when we're eating. I mean, there's no chairs or nothin, but we can stand up and eat. Sometimes we just eat near the campfire, though."
"So, you aren't working the forge, or trying to craft things?" Dillium asks patiently.
"Gerk sometimes uses it to bang the dents of armor pieces, or to try to sharpen swords and stuff, but he doesn't have a hammer, so normally he just uses an iron bar to smack the back of armor piece. Sometimes it works."
Dillium explains that some of the people in Damara are worried about another war with Vaasa (“like the one with the Lich King”), and they are looking for allies who are willing to lend aid. Perhaps the Hand would like to assist?
Febis tells her in his own simple way that most of the men don’t want to be in a war. They’ve seen the soldiers in Helmsdale with their shiny armor and fancy horses, and they don’t have any of that stuff. “Being in a battle sounds dangerous. Besides, that sounds like we’d have to stop banditing, and that’s kinda’ fun sometimes. Maybe some of the guys might want to go legit, but Fatima just wants to keep us safe.”
“You know, the Hand could become an adventuring or mercenary group too. That way you all could be making money by completing different contracts. While it may not be as fun as being a bandit, it’s more sustainable for you all,” Dillium reasons.
"Don't you have to get a paper from the queen to be a mercenary group? And aren't those hard? I heard there was a group that had to fight like a whole lot of orcs once [4]. That's almost like being in a battle."
“Hmm. I guess I could see that, though there may come a time when you have to decide which side you’re on, just like your gran did.” After a pause to collect her thoughts, Dillium continues. She wonders aloud why the dragon likes Febis more than the others, and if there is a way to make everyone happy—to perhaps speak to Flamestike, to free the Hand from his torment, and for them to look over the forge for the dwarves.
"I don't know why he likes me more than the others. Maybe he's just lonely. Maybe it's on account of my hair being the same color as he is. Maybe it's because I don't call him names and stuff. Sometimes he comes out and talks to me about his brothers and how he's going to get his revenge on them all some day. Delfus used to talk to me that way when we lived in Helmsdale. His pa used to beat him when he didn't milk the cow in the morning, or dropped the egg basket. Delfus and I are good friends. He's the one who convinced me to join the Hand."
“What happened with his brothers that makes him want revenge on them? Who are his brothers?” Despite her need to keep on track, Dillium’s curiosity overcomes her.
"Oh, he doesn't like to talk about them. I guess brother stuff? I only have sisters, and they are annoying. Perhaps they called him names, or didn't want to use his whole name. Maybe they fart in the nest. Do dragons have nests? I heard that they lay eggs..."
***
Wordlessly, the party springs into action. There is a ripple in the Weave, and half of the bandits fall to the floor in a deep slumber, their war dogs with them. Arthur strides through the sleeping bodies to one who didn’t go down, and he slashes him from shoulder to hip. Momentarily surprised, the man falls to the floor, lifeless. His dog growls. Zander steps forward to face off against two other bandits. Two quick slashes and they fall to the floor. Novos disappears, then makes his way up to the opening where the crossbow shooter is taking aim at Felicity. She misses. The remaining bandit gestures, the Weave ripples from him, and a bolt of light streaks across the room to smash into Arthur’s back. The dog snaps at Arthur but misses. Novos reappears and stabs the crossbow-wielding woman in the back. Enraged, she pulls out a saber and slashes in vain at Novos. Before Novos can stab her again, Felicity pulls out a wand and fires an arc of electricity at the woman, killing her. The one-sided battle is over.
Quickly, Arthur and Zander bind up the four slumbering bandits and their war dogs. Felicity reaches into her purse and slides some gold into each of their coin pouches.
***
Novos peers around. He’s seen forges before, and this looks something like one, except instead of a standard coal-fired furnace, there is a trickle of red-hot lava, dribbling down a hole in the wall and forming a small rivulet through a makeshift furnace before falling off down the side of the cavern wall and into the lava river below. The forge area is cleaned out. There are pegs on the walls, presumably for tools, but they are bare, as are a pair of stout metal tables. Shrugging, Novos heads down a set of stairs and through a dark hallway. Some distance down, he spies a darker alcove, and in that alcove, a doorway. Pushing open the door, he sees bags, boxes, and barrels. One bag has conveniently fallen over, spilling its contents of coins onto the floor. “Hey! I found something!” He shouts.
***
"He doesn't much like visitors. I don't think he wants to talk to anyone. It's too bad they can't get along. Maybe The Mighty Flamestrike could go out with the Hand and help them find wagons to bandit, and then perhaps he could eat the horses after we bring the wagons back and get all the stuff? I don't think he wants to do that, though. It would be nice if all my friends could get along. Fatima would love to have a real dragon helping. I bet we could bandit like two wagons at a time!"
Dillium responds. "If we could help the Hand find a new place to live, how would they get out without ... Flamestrike—"
Febis interrupts. "The Mighty Flamestrike. He likes you to use his whole name."
"Fine, the mighty Flamestrike--"
"No, no. You're not doing it right. You have to use the whole thing. The Mighty Flamestrike. Here, you try it. The Mighty Flamestrike."
"The Mighty Flamestrike."
"Good! I knew you was smart!" Dillium sighs heavily.
"So, if my other friends and I could find a new place for the Hand to live, and perhaps a job so they could go legit, how would they get out of here without The Mighty Flamestrike eating them?"
"I suppose they could wait until he goes out to hunt, then leave real quick like in the middle of the night. He wouldn't be here to eat them, and if they went far away before dawn he wouldn't get them."
"You keep saying 'they'. Wouldn't you want to go with the Hand?"
"Yeah! I mean, I would be sad that The Mighty Flamestrike wouldn't have any friends left. Maybe he would let me come back and visit him?"
“I don’t really understand why he keeps the Hand here if he doesn’t like them.. but I am sure that he would be happy to have a friend like you visit him if the Hand does leave. It does seem like it would be lonely here in the mountains by himself…” Dillium trails off, waiting on a response.
“I think he lets the Hand stay here for something to do, but he really doesn't keep them here. They are just ascared of him on account of the breathing fire and all.
“I think I would like to come and visit him sometimes. Maybe I could bring him a sheep. He likes sheep."
***
Just as they are finishing tying up the bandits, they begin to wake. “Wha… what happened?” One of them sees Zander puling the dead and bleeding bodies off to the side. “Murderers! You murdered them!” “They killed Willie!” “You Bastards!” “Look, they murdered the Captain!”
“Arthur addresses them. “Hush. You are alive. That is enough. You attacked us, and we responded.”
“You murdered them in cold blood!” one of the braver bandits spits.
“If your captain is now dead, who’s the new captain of your company?” Zander asks.
“uh…..”
“Cletus!” “What? I don’t want—” “Cletus is!” “But I don’t—”
“Fine. Do you give your parole? If so we shall untie you.” Arther towers above the one that responded as Cletus.
“I don’t even have a payroll yet. How do I…” Felicity unties the group. Climbing to their feet, they leave the ropes on the ground. Blood coats the floor from the dead, and Zander’s dragging activity has spread around even more blood.
“Hey! I found something!” shouts Novos. His voice sounds like it comes from the archway to the left. Arthur tells Felicity and Zander to stay with the bandits while he goes to see what is the matter.
***
Dillium pauses for a second.
“Febus… are you by any chance the Mighty Flamestrike?”
"Me? No! He's my friend. He's big and beautiful and scary and eats people. I'm just... me. Besides, he's all big and scaly. I'm not scaly!" He pauses a moment.
"Sometimes I dream about flying, though."
“Ah, sorry. It’s just that the Mighty Flamestrike isn’t the only dragon we’ve encountered in our journey. I know you’ve said plenty of times before that the Mighty Flamestrike doesn’t like visitors and after what happened I understand. I’d like to apologize to him on behalf of my friends.” Dillium takes a deep breath. “They attacked him… do you think he’ll let me try to heal him? Being able to create some form of middle ground between us all would be beneficial, don’t you think? I may be able to convince my party to leave…”
"It's ~T~he Mighty Flamestrike. You have to say his name right if you ever want to talk to him." Febis mutters under his breath, "Man, I thought elfs were supposed to be smart."
"Anyway, they attacked The Mighty Flamestrike? And they're still alive? How many of them got burned up? How can you heal a big giant dragon like that? I thought they had to have an arrow in them or something for you to heal him? If he's hurt he's probably going to be very cross indeed. I don’t know if he will want to talk at all, but I guess we could try..."
“Well, there’s no harm in trying right? Do you think you can try to help me meet The Mighty Flamestrike?”
"There IS harm in trying. If he's mad, he'll just fire us, and fire us good. Or drop us in the hot rocks. He can do that. I could see if he wants to come down, but I don't know if he will."
“If you could please, that would mean a lot to me… I can meet him on my own unless you’d like to join me, but if you’re worried about getting flamed then I don’t blame you. I’d like a chance to right the wrongs that have happened today. Perhaps we should meet him in a room more accessible for him…”
***
Arthur appears in the doorway as Novos looks around the dimly lit room. “Loot! I’m sure this will pay some bills.”
“We’ll need to figure out how to get all this out of here—”
“Ahem.” A voice from behind Arthur. “I’ll have you know that this is the lawfully acquired possessions of the Hand, and are not for you to go carting it all off. I know exactly how much is in here, and I won’t see you take a copper, do you hear! We know our rights!”
Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose. This has the makings of an even longer day.
A couple of the remaining members of the bandits pile into the room. “Hey! Keep your hands off our stuff. It’s ours!”
Arthur turns on his heel and heads back toward the main room, but … something isn’t right. The wall along the corridor is caved in, but there’s something… odd. Climbing up on top of the pile, he notices heat and light coming through a crack. He pulls some rubble away and can clearly see another room beyond.
“Hey, that stuff in there is ours, too!” Cletus says.
***
"Oh, he won't go any further than the main hall. He doesn't want to get stuck, and he can't turn around very well in the smaller rooms." Febis pauses for a moment. "How will you keep from getting fired? He might be very angry."
Dillium pats his arm. “I’ll figure something out.”
"I could go out and call him and see if he will come down, I guess."
“To be completely honest Febus the only thing I have to protect myself from the flames is hope and faith. Is the main hall where the rest of my friends are? I have instinctual knowledge that if they are there then this whole plan won’t work… I really do appreciate you doing this for me. It’s very kind of you.”
"Is instinctual knowledge some fancy elf thing, or a fancy priest thing?”
“Hmm I would say the instinctual knowledge has come from spending nearly every waking moment of my journey so far with roughly the same people… their habits are frighteningly predictable and in some cases, suicidal.”
Febus nods. “Do you need to rest, or uhm... eat a last meal or something?"
Dillium sighs. “While rest and a meal would be great, I fear that time is not our friend.”
***
Pulling enough of the rubble away to fit his bulk through, Arthur scrapes his armor on the rock as he slides down into the next room. This one is very hot, and is dimly lit by a seeping pool of lava in the corner. After a moment, Novos slides down next to him. “Whatcha find?” he asks unnecessarily.
A head pokes up from the lava. Then another. Sensing fresh food, a group of bulky snake-like creatures slither out of the lava pool and make their way over to Arthur and Novos. Soundlessly they attack. Arthur slashes, but is badly burned by the heat given off by the creatures. Novos too tries to slash with his dagger, but the heat is too much. He falls back behind Arthur. Arthur calls out for aid, and with a mighty hack and a movement of the Weave, a tremendous roar of thunder smashes through the snakes, temporarily deafening everyone, including the two bandits who have followed.
“All our stuff.” Cletus intones when he can hear again.
***
“What was that?” Felicity asks in alarm.
“Dunno. Let’s find out,” Zander replies. The two race toward the pile of rubble in the corridor.
***
Febis stands. "If you're sure I can't talk you out of it..." He opens the door and steps through it.
Suddenly a huge thunder blast echoes through the cavern. It is definitely not a cave-in, or the clash of rock on ... anything, but rather the sound of a huge lightning strike hitting nearby. The sound is briefly deafening. It sounds like it came from the cavern where the Hand was last seen, rather than the direction of the main hall. There's the sound of distant yelling from the same direction.
Febis is startled. He looks off in the direction of the party (and his friends). "Oh, that's not good." Moments later, there is a roar from the direction of the main hall. "Very not good."
“Febis I believe you and I share the very same sentiment there- Uhhh change of plans. Let’s make sure our friends here don’t kill each other. Stay close to me, sound good?”
***
The eight humans look around. Apart from the lava pool and the very hot corpses of the snake creatures (everyone moves away from them), the room contains what Arthur, Novos and Zander identify as grave goods. They are similar to the urns, carvings, and paintings in the tomb they invaded in Ironspur. In fact, there is a fancy dwarven sarcophagus and an ornate hammer atop. Across is the carved family tree that stretches for nearly a thousand years, ending nearly three centuries before (in the dwarven calendar). Taking it all in, Arthur’s eye catches on some oddity. A misalignment of patterns on one wall. “Secret door,” he says. Novos checks quickly for traps, then pushes open the door.
Inside, two carved stone dwarves shamble to life. Raising their bronze axes, they silently stalk toward Novos and Arthur as Zander and Felicity look on in horror.
***
Grabbing Febis by the hand, Dillium quickly but cautiously makes her way back down the corridor. She passes through the outer chamber with the well that leads down to lava, and sees the rickety wooden bridge over the chasm that is still producing heat haze and ash. Nobody is visible on the other side. Quickly she slips across the bridge and into chaos.
Blood covers the floor. The dead bodies of several of the Hand, along with their war mastiffs, are pushed over to one side. Several ropes cut into ten or twelve foot lengths lie on the floor. Looking around, she sees a large room. A campfire and makeshift cooking stove are in the far corner. Bedrolls and a cot line one wall. There's what appears to be some sort of shrine along the back wall. An archway on the opposite wall leads off into darkness.
"DELFUS! What happened?" Febis runs over to the corpse of his childhood friend, slashed from shoulder to hip by a single broad stroke. The last of his blood pools on the floor, but the blood strewn across the floor makes it very much appear that he and the others were dragged from another part of the room. "And Gerk! And Father Michael!" Tears pour down Febis' face as he comes to grips with the loss of his only (human) friends, apparently savagely butchered. Sitting down on the cold floor oblivious to the standing blood, Febis cradles the lifeless head of his friend.
Meanwhile, the muffled sounds of battle are heard through the open archway.
"I thought you were going to be my friend," Febis cries to Dillium bitterly.
Dillium quickly checks the bodies. All have been dead for ten or fifteen minutes, beyond a simple revival. Dillium leaves Febis to his grief and dashes toward the open archway. On the other side is a moderately-sized room with rubble strewn around. It appears that one wall has collapsed. There is a hole at the top where some of the rubble has been pushed away, leaving a man-sized space to squeeze under the lintel of a hidden doorway. There is a dim red light (so, more lava), and voices. Dillium hears the sound of metal on stone and the grunts of men in battle. Scampering lightly up the pile of loose stones and rubble, she scootches through the hole at the top, sliding down the other side. There she finds several unknown people who are watching Arthur, Zander, and Novos in battle. As she arrives, the last of some sort of animated stone statues crumble to pebbles. Arthur's armor is scorched down one side, and he limps slightly. Novos is barely on his feet, and as Dillium arrives, he sinks to his knees, panting. Zander sheathes his sword, and Felicity puts away a wand. Three grubby men and what might charitably be called a woman (under many layers of dirt and grime) stand around, unarmed.
"Now you remember, all this is the lawful property of our company. You don't go gettin light fingers now," says one of the Hand in the most "southern drawl" Damaran accent ever.

End of Chapter 8

[1] Based very loosely on Fire Forge Caves by Dungeon Baker in FiveE magazine https://www.drivethrurpg.com/en/product/367470/fivee-magazine-august-2021
[2] https://forgottenrealms.fandom.com/wiki/Ford_of_Goliad
[3] The duke has a company of cavalry barracked just outside Helmsdale.
[4] Probably too far away for it to have been the party, back when they were called Dragon Force in Chapter 32. On the other hand, maybe it was?

Yo, if you take your own life where you gon go? I know life is hard but you gotta push through, Don't let nobody stop from doing what you wan do, Suicide's the question but never the answer Suicide's the question but never the answer, There's no room in heaven for commiting suicide ....suicide .... suicide, There no room in heaven for taking your life..... Suicide....suicide..... suicide....
Thinking about getting a gun, put the clip in and putting one in the head, To put the nozzle to your head, Looking at the branches of the trees measuring the thickness of the thread... ...Of the rope as you hope that that limb won't bend... Or break... Begging God to give you a fair shake, Forgive you for your mistakes, You just wan be something great, The distaste for you actions when you were wrong, Didn't understand right or wrong, Sleeping with any woman souveniring their things, With no understanding that you were tying up spiritual bonds, Now you in the slums, surviving off of popcorn and blueberry muffin crumbs, Want the razor to slide cross your wrist like the stick of the violin, Wondering when you die which form you gon be reincarnated in, When you close your eyes you seeing the grim reaper grin Although you born into sin, you can't let him win, You can't let him in, Fuckin medicine, fuck the medicine, Turn to come like you derived from Medellin, But that's not your thing, so you sit and think, Of a way to escape cuz faith ain't fulfilling, Ain't no settling though, gotta keep going and going, But how do you hold on to faith when it seems to keep letting you go? I apologize for my intelligence, I'm ignorant to it's extent, What you deem as smart I comprehend as common sense, You say it's admirable, I say to what end? Maybe you just pretend, maybe it's just pretend....

Astral projection tutorial: A-lot of terminology I use will make sense as you go along.
I have read several books on astral projection and skimmed through dozens for actual techniques. And scoured reddit and user reports. This is going to be somewhat a culmination of the data i have found to be helpful myself and recommend.
So one large problem with astral projection is you usually (except for a specific skillset) have to be asleep for it to happen. Or at least teetering very close to sleep. The way this is usually achieved is by people trying to learn meditation by getting in a comfortable position when they have free time and the energy to try this.
Then they try to focus on breathing or doing energy body stimulation (will be described how to later) basically the ability to create the vibrations. Till after 30 minutes or a hour if they are lucky they start to feel the vibrations and use a exit technique. (Will be covered) Then the exit technique can work, and then it goes to tips on what to do in the astral. But i probably won’t cover that in this text.
Yup. That’s it. Fall asleep, use a exit technique, walk or fly around the area you come out at. Sounds pretty simple when stripped to its barest parts… the problem is there are pitfalls where people get stuck not being able to to something. Weather they find it hard to fall asleep and can’t start the exit technique, or they get asleep and notice it and try to project and either nothing happens, or they get to excited or scared depending on the exit symptoms
(TIP 1) if you get to the exit phase you can experience very trippy psychedelic experiences. You can hallucinate smells, sounds, words, visions, shocks, vibrations, a heartbeat that goes incredibly fast, (not your actual heart) some mixture of all these… it can be a intense entry fee. And if you’re not mentally prepared by imagining these things happening you could get scared and think you are dying. Also some psychedelic experiences can prepare you for it.
(semi common for people who haven’t done psychedelics or had a near death experience and know what actually dying feels like) my first experience trying to project, I felt shocks in my face, with the shocks i saw strobe light flashes, i felt vibrations all over, i heard buzzing, my heart felt like it started to gradually increase to the speed of almost vibration… it was pretty intense, and as i felt myself starting to float up I thought for sure i was dying… so I stopped the exit.
After this, i built a block in my head with something in me saying “not ready for this experience yet” and alot of people believe this is the gatekeeper of the astral realm just making sure you are prepared for the wild ride that could happen. So hopefully you will imagine these experiences and prepare yourself mentally for them and not be scared like i was. And build a mindset of saying “heck yeah throw whatever psychedelic experience you want at me I’m ready and not afraid.”
Sorry to make a long part of this about the exit symptoms, and I in no way want to scare anyone away from this experience. But i do want you to be mentally prepared for possible obstacles and know that there is nothing to fear. Nobody is on record dying from astral projection from anything i have read was aware of. So that’s one pitfall covered.
The next will be the problem of feeling like you projected but you fall asleep or “nothing happens” first off,
(TIP 2) keep your first 3 or so trips really short. I follow and believe Robert Bruce’s advice here. Once you get out, scream I projected!! And if that doesn’t wake you up itself try finding your body and jumping in, or closing and opening your eyes, or falling backwards and closing your eyes then moving to get up, one of these should work. If not i don’t really know what else to say besides enjoy the trip and try to keep it as memorable as possible by dancing or something. So “trip short” covers staying too long and falling asleep, and even if you do fall asleep, here comes the next tip,
(TIP 3) learn to remember your dreams. I cannot stress enough the importance of this. If you don’t remember your dreams, you are unlikely to remember your projections. It’s like tying a worm to a fishing line and throwing it out there with no hook. Something might happen, but you can’t bring it back. The way to start remembering your dreams is to first start having more vivid dreams, which can easily be achieved by “oneirogens” drugs or herbs that can improve dreams. My favorite for this is the non wake psychoactive (won’t effect you while awake) herb Silene Capensis.
I love this stuff. It is a root that you can grind in a coffee grinder and measure out .5g or one gram of the herb by weight, and put in a tea bag or filter and put in boiling hot water and steep till warm or luke warm and then drink before bed. This specific herb usually has to be taken for several days before effects start to kick in. Then you should be having more memories and more vivid dreams. Which hugely effect astral projection probability by itself not including the tip after the next.
(TIP 4) is DREAM JOURNAL! get a app or notepad you already have or whatever and write any memory you can when you’re first starting out. As much detail as possible. The easiest way to trigger a memory is to think of common themes in your life or dreams if you remember some of them already is to think of the things you commonly dream about. Once you hit this groove on the record that is your memory there should be a notch there of the most recent memory related to that thing. Snow, your siblings, your spouse, your dog, your job, whatever you dream about. Then once you think of the thing that happened in your last few dreams it can trigger a memory of that dream. Then that can open up to more parts of that dream being remembered. As soon as you pull a piece to memory write it down and keep thinking. Start the dream journal while you’re waiting on your herb to come in.
(TIP 5) Once you have your dream journal for the day, in the middle of the day set a alarm to look at the dream journal and remember the dream or dreams you had. Doing this while more awake will build the gap between asleep memories and awake memories. Keep doing this. Once you remember more clearly only write a few key details at first, (saw friend, saw dog) then after the middle of the day alarm you set use these tips to try to remember the rest of what happened in the dream. Keep doing this consistently with the Silene Capensis (African dream root) I get mine from etsy. And you should be having vivid dreams that you remember in a couple weeks. Then you may start remembering two or three dreams when you wake up. Or more depending on how long you can sleep. That is the memory part.
(TIP 6) learn to lucid dream, then enter a projection from that lucid dream. So doing this method skips right over having to meditate to the point of projecting. Once you learn to lucid dream, all you have to do is fall backwards while closing your eyes in the dream. Then once you start to hit the ground and go black you should feel yourself float down some. This part can very on exactly what happened. Sometimes there’s no gravity and you have to try again or find something heavy to fall with, sometimes your whole perception view changes to third person like a video game and it’s harder to navigate, etc… but anyway, once you are in this point of asleep and fell backwards into darkness, you are in the mind awake body asleep stage in your body. This point comes with the problem of being really easy to be woken up, which is why you need to quickly start building vibrations, or do the rope technique. The ability to build the trigger of knowing the right thing to do goes into tip 7.
(TIP 7) how to start a lucid dream from a dream, learn to fall in the dream on command, learn to do projection techniques once you fall into the darkness, learn to do what you want to pre plan your projection to be, (usually for the first 4 times or at least 2 just short trips of getting out, then shouting I DID IT! then hopping back in. Which is “🌈imagination🌈” you take time throughout your day to do “reality checks” this is a lucid dreaming term that means to test if you are in awake or dream state. So every time you walk through a door is a good trigger, or set a bunch of alarms, or put your phone/smartwatch screen to say “am i dreaming?” Then you test if you are in a dream. Some people cover their nose and try to blow through. If they can then they’re in a dream. Or look at a watch and if it says anything but the right thing you’re in a dream. So you see your reminder or walk into a new room then test if you’re in a dream.
Then you “imagine” if the answer was yes. Then you “imagine” (please don’t fall backwards in reality….) falling backwards and closing your eyes. Once you get this pattern memorized your natural reaction once you realize you’re in a dream you will be to fall backwards. You build a muscle memory. Like when your arm knows what to do to shoot a basketball from a specific place. That place is when you’re in a dream. Then to not spend too much time daydreaming every time you walk through a door you can save the rest of the imagination for when you have a little more free time.
Then you imagine ““I’m in a dream” falling backwards, closing eyes, then imagine the first exit technique you want to use. I would recommend energy body stimulation. Then once you’re vibrating imagine floating up. Imagine bubbles coming from underneath you and lifting you away, or if that doesn’t work the rope technique. Then imagine the astral symptom’s happening. Take a second to imagine each possible symptom. Vibrating, flashing lights, “heart” pounding, etc… then imagine getting out of your body, then imagine shouting “eureka” or I projected!” Or whatever. Then open your eyes and go about the rest of your day till the next time.
If it helps right out your roadmap then rehearse each one in order. (“In dream”, fall back and close eyes, projection technique(‘s), out of body, scream, eyes open.) do this several times a day every day till you don’t have to look at the note or even think of the next thing to do, just “see” it happening in your imagination. See is used lightly for however you experience imaginations.
(TIP 8) Also i have to mention “flow state” and if you have a free day just spend the day looking at nature or whatever, and be 100% in the moment. Don’t think of something else, just perceive every crackle every bird chirp, every smell, (maybe carry something good smelling in a bag) taste something like a healthy apple washed, or something low calorie or your meal, combine as many senses as possible and be fully aware of all of these senses. Be fully aware of the moment and think nothing else but “am i in a dream” and look around and think about if you are.
Be present in the moment as a all day, or long session of a continuous reality check. Your probable best chance storm of the right things pulled together is, do whatever to have vivid dreams, set a alarm for 6 hours, (if you sleep less than 7.5 hours, than do whatever is 1.5 hours before you are supposed to wake up. Then wake up and do the “flow state” of constantly thinking about if you are awake, and chew on something that won’t leave a strong taste in your mouth but that you can clearly taste, then smell something, like a herb bag. Something calming. And look at something pretty, and feel something with your hands, focus on as many of these as you can while being in the state of (“am I dreaming?”)
then after 10 minutes of doing that, (write your dreams down as soon as you wake then do the “flow state” for 10 minutes) go back to sleep, and hope for a lucid dream. Then the rest should take over.
(TIP 9) this is the energy body stimulation method. hold your hand palm up, then start to brush over your hand with the tips of your fingers. Start with hard ish scratches so you can really feel it and swipe back and forth about a second each swipe, then slowly start to scratch more gently, try to notice and be aware as much as possible the feeling of your fingertips scratching your palm. If your palm is too ticklish, use the back of your hand, if that is, use from elbow to wrist. At a steady pace back and forth, really try to feel in the hand you’re not moving the feeling of it being scratched, try to follow along im your mind and kind of predict the feeling of it moving forward, then keep slowly lowering pressure till you are completely off your skin, then you are trying to continue to imagine this sweeping sensation on your non moving hand as the scratching hand hovers above it. Feel the sensation move up and down. This is energy body stimulation. And if you can do it well enough you should be able to trigger vibrations quite easily.
Work on making this sensation go all over your whole body. If you have to use your hand or a brush or something to get the feelings going till you can imagine it in that area. Sweep back and forth in your mind in your foot a little bit, then your shin then your knee to hip, then your hip to the other legs knee, down to the toes, then back to the hip, around the stomach, etc. throughout the whole body. Eventually it should start vibrating and you can build this till you start to float. Don’t stop till you float away. One method is to focus on a tiny area like a big toe, and do it till you feel vibrating.
Another way of creating the vibrations if you have a hard time with imagination, is to try to move a part of your body in the smallest possible distance known. You try to lift your pinky finger but without applying enough force to actually twitch a muscle. This sends focus to that part of your body and energy in turn. Then move the feeling from “lifting” your pinky to lifting your ring finger, again not actually using any muscles, but making a mental effort to move the muscle as small of an effort as possible. Just enough to feel the area, but not enough to move the muscles. This will stimulate the area and after enough practice and trance state cause the vibrations.
(TIP 10) THIS IS NOT A RECOMMENDATION…. But for informational purposes… when i use delta 9 thc edibles (merijuana active chemical) and try energy body stimulation it is almost instant and very easy. I do not recommend at all being high while you try to project because it could take from the real feeling of it and make it seem fake. But for myself I believe it’s a good practice for energy work just to build the vibrations and clear energies. I’d recommend during energy work learning about the chakras and stimulating each energy ball up your spine from your base to your crown. For a better explanation of this read Robert Bruce: “Astral dynamics” or “energy work” astral dynamics will also cover the rope method.
(TIP 11) “the rope method.” (TIP) Basically in my explanation you rub your hand on something resembling a rope. Preferably a rope, lol. and you start pulling gently with your hands so loose that the rope slides through your hands, keep doing this for a while at a steady speed. Then after a while let go of the rope and move your hands like they are going down the rope, this is your baseline for how to imagine this sensation, don’t move a muscle a inch, and imagine doing this same technique, feeling the rope sliding through your hands, till you actually start to feel your arms moving, once your astral arms are moving and you’re sure it’s your astral arms and you didn’t start moving your real arms, grab something near you. ( it will probably still be dark) and pull yourself away from your body gently. Then try to fly or keep pulling till you start to gain vision. And that is the rope technique basically.
(TIP 12) There is another method that is the ear ringing (often called tinnitus) method. Where you get it really quiet enough to not hear anything at all. Gun soundproofing muffs with cotton or earbuds on the inside so you hear absolutely nothing. Then you can start to hear a ringing noise. If you hear it just keep focusing on it till it gets so loud you start to experience projecting symptoms. I don’t recommend ear damage at all! But if you go to a loud concert then go home and meditate you should be able to hear it then. The temporary loss of hearing creates the tinnitus and you can use it.
(TIP 13) not sure if this works as i read it on reddit and haven’t tried it yet but it sounds reasonable. Start saying words that are unrelated to each other. So instead of couch then chair, or house then mansion, something like frog then chair then guitar. Apparently this can keep you conscious enough while also going deep enough into trance.
Well that’s about it for my hopefully helpful tips. Happy travels!

Chapter 12
Lacy awoke in a hallway. It was similar to the hallway that she first awoke in. Only exception was that it was covered in blood. Bodies laid on the floor with multiple lacerations. Lacy was already standing up when she had first opened her eyes. She could hear grunting coming from the other side of the hallway. When Lacy moved her eyes to the end of the hallway she saw herself. Looking directly at her was Lacy. This one was covered in blood and was holding the axe that she had. Her eyes looked deranged. In an instant the other Lacy dashed towards the real Lacy. Without hesitation Lacy lifted the axe and dropped it directly onto the imposter's head. The body slumped to the floor and Lacy breathed a sigh of relief. But as she began to continue forward the thought of what she had just done hit her like a bullet. Looking down at your own body would make a sane person go mad. Lacy barely reacted. Turning around she noticed a new hole. She could continue going further. Lacy had no emotion as she stepped into the hole. The only thing on her mind being the voice that she last heard the Elk use. It was unlike no other voice. It was calm but menacing. Like it knew that Lacy could not win. She brushed the thought off and continued pushing forward. She had to face whatever else this place had in store for her. She had to.
Chapter 13
As Lacy stepped through the hole she noticed that she was no longer passing out. Instead she just appears in these new areas. This time she was in a house. The home was run down. It gave Lacy a sense of dread. Walking around the building Lacy looked at the furniture. It was furnished as a normal house. Like a place that a family would enjoy their time in. A sofa was facing a TV. On the screen was an episode of some children's show that Lacy had probably enjoyed when she was younger. Directly in front of the TV was a childrens chair. Looking at the living room gave Lacy a feeling of nostalgia that drowned out the despair of this awful place. “Hello, is anyone here?” Lacy asked but got no reply. Looking around the room Lacy saw a hallway that led into the kitchen. The paint on the walls were peeled off. Entering the room Lacy smelled the stench of death. Moving further in she saw a girl on the table. The body was almost completely decayed. Just as Lacy was about to inspect the body a loud crash erupted from the living room. Picking up the axe and holding it close to her chest Lacy walked through the hallway. In the living room the sofa was flipped upside down as well as the TV. A ghostly wail cried out and Lacy felt herself become cold. Continuing through the living room Lacy noticed a staircase that led up that she had not seen before. Clutching the axe in her hands Lacy walked towards the stairs. As Lacy approached the bottom the lights began to flicker. The steps creaked as she made her way towards the top. Each step she took made her feel colder. Her eyes met the top of the stairs. A ghostly figure appeared to walk across the doorway out of sight. Lacy felt her legs freeze at the sight. The thing she saw seemed to be transparent. Lacy knew what that meant. “How the hell do I kill a ghost?” Pushing up the stairs there was a hallway. Two doors on each side with one door at the very end. Continuing forward Lacy opened the first door on her right. Inside was the bedroom of someone older. The bed was made and aside from the cobwebs and dust everything was in order. As Lacy turned around to go through the other door, another crash could be heard. Lacy turned around to the furniture ripped to shreds. The bed was torn in half and the dresser was opened with all of the clothes spread on the floor. Another chill ran through Lacy's body. A quiet whisper entered Lacy’s ears. The words were spoken too fast to be made out. It was so quiet Lacy had to focus to hear it. Continuing forward Lacy opened the first door on the left. Inside was a bathroom. The bathroom was pristine. No dust or cobwebs. Just a white pristine bathroom. The shower curtains were closed. Lacy walked towards the curtains. The curtains shifted as if there was someone behind them. Lacy reached her hand towards the curtains. Another chill ran through her body as the whispers got slightly louder. Moving the curtains, the tub was empty. Lacy breathed a sigh of relief. As she turned around to face the door the room became a dark blood red. Lacy looked at the doorway and saw a girl. The child could not have been older than twelve. Lacy froze at the sight. The kids arm outreached and pointed towards the door at the end of the hallway.
Chapter 14
Just as fast as the kid appeared she disappeared. Lacy peaked her head out of the door and viewed the door at the end of the hallway slowly open. A red light emitted from the room. Lacy stepped towards the open door. The whispers that she had heard were getting louder the closer she got to the room. As she got closer the whispering became clearer. It was gibberish. Nothing that she heard was legible and it was loud enough for Lacy to understand. The door was fully opened by the time Lacy got to it. In the room was a red symbol on the ground surrounded by candles. The room was dark, only lit by the candles and the miniscule glow of the symbol. The image was hex. In the middle was a book. Walking towards the hex Lacy noticed a mirror. Looking into the mirror Lacy found the source of the whispering. Floating behind her with its hands on her soldiers was the ghost child. The boy's eyes were black and was whispering in her ear at an inconceivable speed. The image shocked Lacy. Turning around, the boy was not there. Looking back at the mirror Lacy could still see the child behind her. Looking back at the hex, Lacy saw the girl sitting in front of the book. As Lacy stepped closer to the book the whispering became louder. Sitting in front of the girl Lacy grabbed the book. The title of the book was Goodnight Moon. The little girl pointed to the book. Lacy opened it and began reading from the pages. “In the great green room, there was a telephone and a red balloon and a picture of a cow jumping over the moon.” As Lacy read the whispering became even louder. “And there were three little bears sitting on chairs. And two little kittens and a pair of mittens.” Lacy continued reading. Lacy turned her head around to the doorway to see a multitude of people in robes coming up the stairs. The people were making a haunting moan as they stepped towards the room. Lacy read more and more. “Good night moon, goodnight cow jumping over the moon. Good night light and the red balloon, goodnight bears, goodnight chairs.” The choir was getting closer to the door and the whispering was growing louder and louder. Lacy continued reading. Just as the choir got to the door. “Goodnight stars, goodnight air, goodnight noises everywhere.” As Lacy said the last words, the noises around her went quiet. Lacy looked up and the girl was gone. The choir was no longer at the doorway. And looking into the mirror the boy was no longer whispering into her ear. The entire house was silent. Lacy looked back at where the book was. In its place was another hole. Lacy looked at it with dead eyes. Knowing what was about to happen.
Chapter 15
Lacy awoke in a study. The room was undisturbed. In front of her was a desk, multiple insect and other animal taxidermies were spread throughout the room. On the desk was a plaque that read Professor Crawford- Biology Expert. Above the desk on the wall was a quote marked in blood. The words read “Abandon All Hope, Ye Who Enter Here”.
Lacy looked behind the desk and in it was a skeleton holding a bible and a gun in his hand. Lacy looked back at the desk and found another tape recorder. Lacy grabbed it fearing what she was about to hear. Pressing the button Lacy heard a familiar voice.
Day one:
Our explorers found a mysterious hole in the middle of Israel. The men decided to not interact with it and instead immediately report it. The Overseer immediately demanded that a base should be made around the anomaly. Preparation immediately began on the base but unfortunately a couple managed to get past security and decided to step into the hole. That couple was not seen again. The building was finally made and studies on the hole began. Originally studies were done externally. The scientist discovered that it had no gravitational force, radiation, or mass. It dumbfounded them because of its existence as a hole. Then the physical tests started. At first they just threw things into the hole. The objects would just bounce off.
Day:15
Today is the day that they decided to send in a test subject. Some guy that worked in human resources. They offered him a high paying job, not telling him the gravity of the situation. They had a rope tied to him but when he stepped through the rope burned off. The man was never seen again. Later in the day they sent another man this time with a video recorder. When the man stepped into the hole the recording stopped abruptly. The scientists were confused at the entire situation. The only thing that they could do was monitor the size of it to make sure it was not growing.
Day: 23
The Overseer has lost her mind. She started kidnapping people to put into the hole. At first it was criminals, then it moved on to the homeless, then they started putting innocent people into the hole. She claimed it was to just see if someone could escape it. I have to tell the police what is going on. The people must know what has happened to their loved ones.
Day: 24
Someone found out I was going to tell the authorities. The Overseer has ordered me to go into the hole. I'm bringing this tape recorder with me. I will survive whatever this is. I will tell the world the horrors of these people.
Lacy Put down the recorder. Tears began to flow down her eyes. She didn't know if the truth made her feel better or worse than when she didn't know. She now knew that her chances of escaping were little to none. Looking at the corpse on the ground she noticed another tape recorder. Grabbing it Lacy pressed play.
Day:
I don’t know how long it has been. I don’t want to keep going. Hole after hole I can not find my way out of this place. I steppin into a place that had a lodge. I heard voices mocking me. Telling me things that I didn’t want to believe. Then an Elk appeared. In its voice I heard something that sounded malevolent. It speaked of this place referring to the holes in itself. The being was demonic. I shot it and another hole appeared. I kept going. I don’t even remember how many holes I have been through. This room will be my last. My hope is gone. That is what the Elk wanted. That is why I can feel myself rotting away. I'm sorry to those I left behind. I have given up. Hell has won.
The tape recorder ended. Lacy looked at the corpse. Looking back to the door of the room Lacy saw another hole. Tears ran down Lacy’s cheek as she stepped through the hole. Hanging on to what little hope she had left.
Chapter 16
Lacy awoke in a familiar place. The hallways were dingy. The lights were flickering. Lacy’s face was burning as her heart rate increased. “Lacy” The voice made Lacy’s blood run cold. Looking into the darkness The Smiling Man stepped into the blinking lights. Lacy’s legs could not move. She was crying so hard her eyes hurt. The Smiling Man walked towards her. His eyes widened as his smile became wider revealing the blood stained teeth. Lacy tried to move. She remembered the words on the recorder. It won't end. Lacy did not move. She looked directly at The Smiling Man. Lacy closed her eyes accepting what little mercy this place offered. The Smiling Man ran towards her plunging his teeth into her neck. Lacy felt her life fading away. Remembering her father she let out a smile.
Epilogue
Lacy awoke. She had remembered dying. “Lacy”. The same voice rang through her ears. Lacy stood up. She was holding the same kitchen knife she found in the beginning of all of this. Lacy could feel her body run cold. “It won't end.” Lacy muttered these words over and over again. The Smiling Man entered the light. Lacy raised the knife. Covered in blood, Lacy repeated the words.
“It won't end.”

Link for all the chapters available here: Engines of Arachnea on Royal Road
Having said his piece, Rene had expected the woman to accept her role as a prisoner of the Fleet. But no sooner had he taken his knee of her back than she was at him again, rolling over and cursing as she tried to spit him on her claws. Training kicked in and Rene applied the wrestling component of his hand-to-hand combat course. He secured underhooks with his arms, locking them together with his hands and hugging her tight from behind. Zildiz bucked and twisted around in a futile attempt to make room for her blades, even managing to get one of her knees beneath her and push off the ground. Rene allowed her to gain her feet, cunningly using the opening to slip the loop of his encircling arms around her waist. Now in complete control of her center of gravity, Rene swung his leg out and arched his back, heaving her up and over like a sack of turnips in a textbook suplex. A fraction of a second before he smashed the top of her skull into the hard ground, he remembered that he was supposed to keep prisoners alive and preferably not in a vegetative state, and so he cushioned the fall with his own body, falling on his side to increase surface area and dissipate the force.
Zildiz was caught totally by surprise. Unlike Rene she had neglected to tuck in her chin before the moment of impact, a vital detail which was one of the first things a recruit was taught to do on the mats.
“Oof!” she said as all the breath slammed out of her by the throw. Rene felt her body go limp as her dazed senses tried to adjust to the violent change of orientation. He took advantage of this moment of weakness and looped his legs around her body, locking his ankles together to form a full body triangle. His left forearm punched up and took her neck in a rear naked choke, a suffocating vise formed by the insides of his elbow crushing her windpipe and carotid arteries.
“I warned you,” he told her. His choking hand grabbed the inside of his other elbow, right forearm sneaking behind her neck and under his armpit, tightening the garrote even further.
“Had enough?”
“Hrrnnkk…” Zildiz choked. She lifted an arm and slid back the blade until it was the length of a finger, deliberately giving Rene the universal gesture to go and fornicate with himself, before sheathing the claw entirely and aiming her fist at him over her shoulder.
Rene ducked as the blade shot out again, only just avoiding it going through his eye socket and into his brain. As it was, it only nicked his temple, sending warm lines of blood trickling down his visor. Rene hugged her even tighter, constricting the chokehold until he heard her breathing reduced to an agonized wheeze. He throttled her until she stopped moving, her struggles weakening until she went completely lax. Then he held the choke for exactly three seconds longer, counting carefully to avoid giving her lasting brain damage. He let go and was relieved to hear her snoring faintly. Gently rolling her onto her back so she didn’t suffocate in the dirt, Rene cast about for a means to secure his prisoner. He had only a few seconds before she regained consciousness. Quickly he cut some vines from the surrounding trees and knotted them into a crude rope. He flipped her back over again and tied her hands at the wrists and elbows. He had no illusions that it would hold her for long. He tied her wings together at their bases for good measure. She had two sets of them, but the larger pair was missing one of its partners that had been torn off at the socket to reveal a gaping wound. They were wondrously tough membranes considering how thin and flexible they were, as sturdy as ultrapod leather. Rene looked over his work and loosened it a bit so as not to cut off the circulation in her arms. It wasn’t bad for something done on the fly. Then again, he’d been playing this whole thing by ear ever since the ambush that had cut his unit to pieces. Ye gods, but that whole experience felt like a lifetime ago. He had not expected to ever use that component of his hand-to-hand training designed for fighting human opponents. Of course, he’d helped put down a fair share of civil unrest in his time, but even during the worst of the food riots in Mound Ulysses he’d never so much as given a person a light shove. The civilians knew better than to antagonize a battalion of the Fleet’s finest over something as routine and reoccurring as a government rationing in the face of crop failure.
He felt quite bad about having to roughhouse the woman, that is, until she sat up awake and glowered hatefully at him, coughing and retching.
“Don’t,” he pleaded with her in exasperation as she gave him the old stink eye, “I don’t want to fight you again.”
“Why?” she spat defiantly, “Afraid you’d lose?”
“Uh huh,” Rene grunted, amused and even a little impressed by her spunk. She couldn’t have weighed more than sixty kilos soaking wet and was at least half a foot shorter than him even with that exomorph of hers, but this woman was all fight and no quit. She would have to be, living on the surface world and facing these abominations day after day. Rene looked at the dismembered corpses of the black-furred devils and had a sudden jolt of inspiration. As Zildiz tested the strength of her restraints Rene went over to the monster he had chopped to bits and poked the misshapen hump on its back, which had excreted thick ribbons of silk at the moment of death. Feeling more than a little squeamish, Rene pulled on the threads of silk. He had only meant to collect two or three meters of the material, but more and more of the stuff kept unwinding out its glands like a handkerchief from a magician’s pocket. Eventually his hands became enmeshed in the horrid stuff and he had to struggle like the dickens to unstick himself and scrape it off onto a bush where it stuck like a lumpy hammock. Remembering how his enemy had plugged the stab wound in its gut, Rene snapped off a twig and curled it into the white mess like those vendors at the fairs did with candy cloud treats, ending up with a spool of silk. He applied it to the cut on his temple by winding it around his head like a bandage, and was gratified when it stopped the bleeding almost immediately. He heard the rustle of dead leaves and turned around to find Zildiz furtively attempting to sidle away from him.
“Don’t even try it,” he told her, “Or I’ll run you down and knock you senseless. I’m taking you back to civilization. The Fleet needs to know what it’s up against out here, and you’re a veritable trove of information.”
Zildiz squatted back down and stared at him, simmering with resentment. Rene shook his head and continued his work, moving on to the monster that had been the first to die at the woman’s hands. Cutting open its hump, Rene was rewarded with a dense lump of thread still packed inside its spinneret. He took another twig and spooled it in, then wrapped the bundle of silk in a large leaf.
A leg twitched of its own accord. Rene nearly dropped the bundle as he sprang back, sword upraised. The devil’s limbs began doing a tap dance and Rene relaxed a bit, recognizing it as the onset of rigor mortis. The side of its face was split open and hanging loosely by a strap of flesh. Struck by a nagging suspicion, Rene stooped down and peeled off the segments of its head, holding the edge of his sword against its neck to decapitate it in the event that it proved too lively for his liking.
The musculature and armor tore away just like it had with Zildiz’s helm, and for the second time that night he found himself staring into the face of another living human being. Only this time it was a man whose face was utterly disfigured, a perversion of the basic form. In the place of his lower jaw were fingerlike protrusions of gummy tissue and exposed nerve endings. His nose cartilage was likewise missing, leaving only a pair of holes dribbling with snot. The man blinked, and glassy eyes with almost no whites at their edges fixed Rene in their gaze.
“Kill…me…” the man whispered.
Rene began to shake uncontrollably, wiping a trembling hand across his mouth as he was forced to consider the carnage he’d just wrought in a new and horrifying light. These weren’t three dead monsters littering the jungle floor; these were three dead men, and some of them he had killed himself.
“Kill me!” the man begged him. He was young, barely Rene’s age, his smooth skin untroubled by the wrinkles of age and worry. He had clear brown pupils and dark, expressive brows. If it weren’t for all the rest of him, Rene might’ve mistaken him for a fresh-faced recruit at the academy, or a paperboy climbing up the terraced apartments of inner hive to deliver news of the Fleet’s latest victory.
On unsteady legs Rene staggered back to Zildiz’s side and away from the awful truth he had uncovered.
“Something the matter?” Zildiz asked in a gleeful tone, “Feeling a little worse for wear, are we?”
“Shut it,” Rene said distantly. He dragged Zildiz to her feet and began winding the silk around her wrists, layering them over thick and tying them off with a simple knot. He kept the vines on her for added insurance and told her to start walking.
“Where to?” she demanded.
“I’m not feeding you to my children, if that’s what you’re asking,” he muttered, “I don’t have any to begin with, and even if I did, I sure as hell wouldn’t raise them to be cannibals.”
Zildiz didn’t move, so Rene grabbed her and frog marched her away. He had no real destination in mind—he just had to get away from this place and the bodies he’d made. Zildiz rounded on Rene, saying:
“Aren’t you going to deal with him? I only severed his neural connection to paralyze his exomorph. He’s still very much alive.”
“No!” Rene yelled, “That’s not how I—how people do things. Almighty ancestors, is that so hard for you to grasp?”
“Yes,” Zildiz replied quite candidly.
“He’s a living, breathing human being. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but those are pretty rare on Arachnea and worth keeping around.”
“No. He is a Leaper. After extracting your gilt helix, he and his packmates would devoured you right then and there.”
“That’s why you saved me, isn’t it? So they couldn’t obtain this shiny helix thing?”
Zildiz ignored his question, continuing:
“If you leave him here, at best he will die of exposure. At worst, his tribe will come looking for him, and if they find him, they will run us down and kill us anyway.”
Rene bit his lip. She spoke the truth and they both knew it. But after all this world had already taken from him, there remained one thing which he refused to part with. And Rene knew that if he gave in now and took the expedient option—the sensible option—he would be surrendering it forever.
“Sorry,” he said finally, “That’s against the rules.”
He dragged Zildiz over to the Leaper and spoke to him, saying:
“I won’t kill you. I’m not about to eat you either, so you can stop begging for a quick death. As long as you tell me what I want to know, we’ll leave you here and go our separate ways. I might even patch your wounds if you’re cooperative. Does that strike you as a fair bargain?”
The Leaper met this pronouncement with a look of utter perplexity that mirrored the one on Zildiz’s face.
“I’ll take that silence as a yes,” Rene said impatiently, “You’ll begin by telling me your name.”
“Kryptusshh,” the Leaper said slowly, as if not daring to hope.
“Very good. Are there any more of your people out there, Kryptus?”
“Why sshhould I trusht you? I would only be dooming more of my kindred, and there issh no certainty you would not kill me afterwardssh.”
“It’s a chance you have to take,” Rene shrugged, “Either that, or I’ll let this woman do as she pleases with you. And just between you and me,” he said in a loud stage whisper, “She doesn’t seem all that fond of your sort.”
Zildiz and Kryptus locked eyes with each other. Rene could almost feel the waves of hatred coming off her as she bristled, every tendon in her body tensing expectantly. Kryptus must have seen something he didn’t like, for he looked away and said:
“I am a warrior of the Weeping Vipersh. We are roughly eleven hundred sshtrong. One tenth of that number are bravesshh like me.”
“He lies,” Zildiz said, baring her teeth in a snarl, “That is less than half their true strength. He does not count the adolescents and the old loom-mothers, who are the deadliest of their kind.”
“Three hundred, then, if they are consshidered,” Kryptman quickly admitted, “Your pardon, merciful one.”
“I’ll excuse your forgetfulness just this once,” Rene warned, “But your memory better not fail you again.”
He questioned the Leaper closely. Kryptus claimed that only he and his pack had seen the safety pod’s crash landing, and that they had told no one else as they wished to claim the great prize all for themselves. The Weeping Vipers were the largest tribe in the rainforest and were always looking for an advantage over their numerous and belligerent neighbors. Apparently Kryptus had hoped to gain a modicum of the Divine Engine’s power by extracting something called a ‘gilt helix’ from Rene’s blood.
“Jussht one sample would have shatishfied uss,” Kryptus swore, “Then we would have taken you back to the Loom alive.”
“I’m sure nothing would’ve pleased you better,” Rene said wryly, all too cognizant of Zildiz’s earlier assumption that he planned to feed her to the Fleet’s youth.
Rene learned from Kryptus that the Divine Engine had ignited a blazing wildfire that was swiftly spreading north and west. The tribes would likely have noticed it by now, and would all be sending braves in a joint effort to douse the flames. For some reason all the Leapers felt collectively responsible for the wellbeing of the region, and could not allow it to come to harm for fear of dire repercussions.
“Last question. Is anyone going to come looking for you?”
“Not till the morning.”
“Good!” said Zildiz, breaking out of Rene’s grip and aiming a vicious kick at the side of the Leaper’s head. Rene barely caught her and yanked her back, shouting:
“Blood and thunder, woman! Is there nothing you won’t do to piss me off?”
“Are you insane? You cannot possibly mean to leave him alive!” the Gallivant hissed.
“That’s exactly what I’m going to do. Now come here!”
Rene took her by the elbow and pulled her forward, leaving Kryptus where he lay.
“You promished you would tend to my woundssh!” the Leaper cried after them.
“Don’t push your luck!” Rene said over his shoulder, “Anyone who follows us will meet the same end as your friends.”
He and his prisoner went tramping off into the night, Zildiz raging at him all the while.
“Fool! We will both come to regret that decision!”
“You’re probably right,” Rene had to agree.
“Then why did you do it?”
“For the same reason I’m letting you strut around and screech into my ear. What can I say? I’m a conversationalist.”
Link for all the chapters available here: Engines of Arachnea on Royal Road

I am considering getting a neotraditional goldfish tattoo, and I notice on browsing instagram and other locations that a lot of goldfish tats, especially japanese style tattoos, have rope/string wrapped around them. They're often tied up to attach flowers or bells or masks or skulls to the goldfish. Does anyone have a history on this? Do things get tied to goldfish in Japan? Is there a deeper meaning?
Examples:
https://www.instagram.com/tattoosnob/p/CHUKzXHFrmQ/
https://www.instagram.com/tattoosnob/p/Cv5LYfGxqs6/?img_index=1
https://www.instagram.com/spacehustle/p/C4SB56XuPjy/
https://www.instagram.com/speakeasytat/p/CxT6IAqRfQn/

Hello,
First time Reddit poster. Started watching in 1998 and wound down in 2011.
I read/hear a lot about how Shawn Michaels/HHH pulled a last minute swerve for Shawn to win the European Championship over The British Bulldog at the 1997 One Night Only PPV. The detractors say that although Shawn's excuse was that he was doing it for "heat" and to make the title mean something, he didn't really do much with it and treated it as an afterthought joke. The D-X vs Hart Foundation feud happened a little bit before I started tuning in, but over the last 10-15 years, especially with more "shoot" interviews available, books/articles published, etc. it's possible the narrative of what happened at One Night Only is a mischaracterization of Shawn Michaels.
What We Know: In 1997, The British Bulldog aka Davey Boy Smith -- a member of the heel stable, The Hart Foundation -- is the European Champion and is always expected to "go over" whenever the WWE travels to Europe. 9/20/97 is the One Night Only PPV, in Birmingham, England.
What has been said by a few sources: Up till the day of the show, Davey was under the assumption that he was not going to lose the title to Shawn Michaels, since England is obviously within Europe. What made this event extra special is that there had been a plan for him to be escorted to the ring by his sister who was sadly stricken with a terminal illness. There would've then been cheers all around for this valiant hero and the 11,000 fans would then be sent home happy with a feel-good story.
Here is where things get murky: The same sources state that Shawn and HHH decided to pull a fast one on Vince McMahon an hour or so before it was show time. The two demanded that Shawn beat Davey for the European Championship. Has Shawn or HHH ever independantly admitted that it was in that short of a turnaround and that the two went behind Davey's back? Even Jim Ross says that Davey was with Shawn and HHH when the idea to change the finish was pitched and blames Davey for not "protecting himself." That means Davey agreed and was not forced. As mentioned earlier, the excuse that has been used is that Shawn felt that it would be a great way to draw "heat" since there was very much a pro-Davey crowd watching and so the return match in the Spring of 1998 (when they headed back to not just the UK, but this time in Manchester which was The Bulldog's billed hometown) would have a massive redemption arc which would be that much greater for the fans. In the meantime, Shawn would have good matches and elevate the European Championship, something, quite frankly, he was better at than Davey. It ties into the reasoning that has been given in that Shawn (arguably being at the peak of his ability), would be able to make that title mean something (like what he did for the Intercontinental Championship).
However, because of the backstage Kliq stories which continue to come out, the manner in which Shawn later dropped the European Championship, and the fact that there really was no return match for Shawn vs. Davey since both were out of the WWE by then, many fans have pointed to this PPV as an "obvious" example of the weight Shawn and HHH carried backstage. In recent shoot interviews, Bret Hart (who would leave the WWF six weeks later in spectacular fashion) has said this match was simply a way to make Davey and the rest of the Harts look foolish.
What you can't deny is the heat in the arena, after the match, was white-hot.
Okay with that background established, let's look to see why I feel that what happened at the One Night Only PPV is a mischaracterization of Shawn Michaels:

• The Hart narrative.
  • It's hard to put a lot of stock into "he said, she said," but in case you want to take it as gospel...in Page 256 of Shawn's book (yeah, yeah, I know) Heartbreak & Triumph, he details that Davey was on board with the plans -- with no mentions of if it was pitched an hour before or days earlier. If fans are ready to believe Bret, why can't they leave wiggle room for Shawn?
    • While Shawn certainly has excuses (and apologized) for his sophomoric hijinx and makes himself sound like a creative genius, Bret has consistently come off as two things: 1) Making himself look heroic 2) Making himself look like he's had a perpetual gloomy cloud over him at every stage of life. His book, My Real Life in the Cartoon World of Wrestling, briefly mentions this match and some nonsense of how he "saw the light die in Davey's eyes that day, darkness seeping into a heart that was giving out." Statements like that (and ones he continues to say) are dangerous, essentially telling fans that Shawn is partly responsible for the death of Davey Boy, stemming from this match. Huge mischaracterization.
  • Bret points to how Davey told everyone he expected to win, promised everyone that he was going to win the match for his English fans and especially his sister...as proof that Shawn swerved plans at the last minute just to needle the Harts ("It was designed to make us all look stupid." -- Inside The Ropes ).
    • What? There's literally thousands of instances where wrestlers lose in their hometown and use real life to push stories. And finishes change all the time. The new storyline made long term sense and Vince/Creative agreed. It could have been great, but no one expected Bulldog to quit six weeks later because of the Screwjob. No one expected Shawn's back injury to happen a couple months after that.
  • Diana Hart Smith (Davey's wife and Bret/Owen's sister) in 2012 said, regarding the changed finish, you "have to do what you're told." However, she is not credible, by Bret's own words, stemming from his reaction to a largely fictional biography on the Hart Family, written by Diana (Under the Mat).
• Davey was still booked to look strong, despite losing.
  • The RAW before the event, Davey had his knee "injured" from chair shots by HBK/HHH. And yet Davey still didn't "quit" when locked into the Figure Four at the PPV (even with HBK getting help from all the members of D-X). The match was stopped, akin to Stone Cold vs Bret Hart at WrestleMania 13. Diana Hart Smith even got involved in the post match antics with Chyna.
  • I don't believe, for a moment, the Hart family -- especially Bret -- didn't fully agree to how it all precisely happened especially when you're getting non-wrestlers involved inside the ring. If they wanted to change it, they could've.
    • There's been no mention from Bret about going to bat for Davey and them getting rejected.
• Bret Hart and the Hart Foundation still had a lot of backstage influence.
  • This wasn't Savio Vega or Dean Douglas eating an unnecessary pin. There is an established history of the Harts wanting to do things their way. Bret was World Champion and by far the highest paid wrestler on the roster so although Shawn had stroke, Bret certainly did too. And Davey had been with the company and had success far longer than Shawn (though in interrupted stages). DQ/Countout results are a common occurrence for situations where two powerful wrestlers/factions don't want to "job" to one another. In fact, the 10/6/97 RAW had Bret changing a finish where he was supposed to eat a pin from HHH (via HBK interference) into a Countout.
  • Yes, certainly, maturity was something Shawn and HHH lacked but you have to remember that unlike the Harts, they were not nepo-babies raised in the industry. And they were much younger (Shawn is 8 years younger than Bret whereas HHH is 12 years younger). Even Davey could be considered a nepo-baby since Dynamite Kid was his first cousin and he debuted in the WWF largely because Stu Hart cut a deal to include his son-in-law.
• Bret's possible thought process
  • My opinion (yes, speculation) is that Bret knew he was out the door and so he didn't care too much about what happened to Davey's European Championship since he had his own issues he was dealing with, regarding WCW contracts, Wrestling with Shadows, and dropping the World Championship. He mentioned how stressful all that was. What is fact though is that Davey wasn't someone Bret held in high regard. From talking about him not being able to construct matches, to being under the influence, to personal life issues, to even forcing Davey to cut his long braided hair because according to Davey's family, Bret said it was starting to look too much like his (even though it wasn't the same type nor color).
  • I also feel that with everything that happened between that period, and to Brian Pillman, Owen, and Davey dying very young, it understandably left an awful taste in their mouths. It all gets magnified a bit. Then add that Bret's time with WCW wasn't really anything extraordinary (for his standard), and his constant reminding us of how Goldberg ended his career makes me believe that there still is a grudge with HBK/HHH which will never truly go away. And unlike Shawn who seemingly has moved on, Bret hasn't. Which is why he keeps establishing the narrative that the Hart Foundation was always in the right and the D-X was always in the wrong.
• Finances
  • 1997, the WWF was in peril. House shows and merchandise were selling, but PPVs were not. Having a swerve on a PPV makes the next one "must see TV" (again, this was a world before streaming). In this instance, the next time they came to England. Nitro was still beating RAW.
• Storyline
  • Shawn had only recently turned heel (after SummerSlam, a month earlier). The plan was established from back then to have a heel Shawn face Austin at WrestleMania XIV. This was an era where there really was only one major show per week (and some on tape delay) and most fans did not have internet access at home, so establishing quick, obvious heat was important. What better way than to "screw" Davey in front of his fans and family? Beating Davey in the USA wasn't going to do it because, remember, Davey was a heel in the USA. 9/29/97 (two days later) Davey faced Vader in New York. Vader was about to beat him clean and then the Harts stormed in and used weapons on Vader, resulting in a DQ.
    • If not beat Davey, a former Intercontinental Champion, then who? The talent roster was quite thin and a memorable Undertaker program was upcoming. Also, Shawn had not had a singles belt since Feb 1997. Nevertheless, the ratings jumped towards the end of 1997.
• Defending the European Championship
  • How many of you remember Davey ever defending the European Championship on RAW or a PPV? From the moment he won it on 2/26/97, over the next seven months, he defended it only four times on non-house shows. Even if you include house shows, the vast majority of the defenses were in the USA so it was hardly a Europe-only belt. All the four RAW or PPV matches ended in DQ/Countout type finishes. I'll be honest, I haven't watched every single one of those matches but I do see that he beat HHH via pinfall, as one of his first defenses on 2/28/97. Davey regained the belt on 10/26/99 after he came back, but lost it six weeks later on 12/12/99 as he started spiraling, defending it only a handful of times on TV.
  • Shawn, unlike Davey, really could make that belt mean something so I do believe the Manchester return match in the Spring of 1998, after he dropped the World title to Austin, would've been big (not unlike Hart vs Bulldog at SummerSlam 1992). Even his most ardent haters will admit to HBK's talent. Yes, he dropped it to HHH in a comedic fashion on 12/11/97 but what was the alternative? With Bret leaving/gone and Shawn in a program with The Undertaker (who didn't need the European Championship since he was about to face Kane), as a World Champion (earlier than he thought he was going to be -- Screwjob plans were hatched later than Sept) him randomly losing the European title would've made him look bad even if it was lost in an underhanded fashion. Losing it to Owen could've been a possibility but Owen would win the Intercontinental Championship on 10/5/97 so that wouldn't really make sense neither. That said, the two of them faced one another on 10/20/97 in a title for title clash (No Contest). Owen later beat HHH for the European title on 2/26/98 (and then lost it back) and the two later had a WrestleMania XIV match for it. So dropping it to HHH made sense. Look at the roster back then and tell me who an alternative could have been?
  • Shawn gets a lot of heat for not defending the European title as often as some feel he should have. But as of 9/20/97, the WWE didn't know what Bret was going to do. Shawn infamously won the World Championship on 11/9/97. I'm not going to rehash the backstage Montreal play-by-play but I firmly believe that if Bret stayed with the WWE for a bit longer, Shawn would have had more time to have matches for the European title. The problem is everything happened so quickly. Unlike Davey, it's not like Shawn spent seven months as European Champion and defended it only four times on TV. Shawn did defend it three times on TV but in 2 1/2 months including an epic with Shamrock on RAW on 11/3/97, before he won the World title from Bret. Between a program with The Undertaker, leading D-X, and becoming World Champion sooner than he expected, there was no time (or really justification) to defend the European title even more often, when he had a program with Austin coming (in arguably the biggest title change in history).

TL:DR Even if (big, if) the finish was changed an hour before showtime, Davey agreed to the finish (with what I believe is with the Hart family on board -- but seeing how it all played out over the next few months and years left a bad taste and narrative change). Shawn winning the European Championship was what was best for business. Therefore Shawn flexing his backstage power "just because" or "only to hate on the Harts" makes zero sense.

I woke up blindfolded tied to a chair. They had tied up my hands and legs so I couldn't move. I didn't know where I was exactly but I knew it had to be one of their offices.
"So Jason, You finally got caught. You've been giving us a lot of trouble lately you know?" said a female voice in front of me.
"Where am I and who are you?" I asked
"I'm gonna be the one asking questions here , We both know what you did so let's cut to the chase. Where is the pendrive?" the voice said.
"Do you really think I'm going to tell you? I don't even know you , One thing I can tell you is that pendrive had some really interesting stuff on there" I replied.
"You don't have to make it any harder for us or you Jason. Just tell me where it is and we can be on our way" the voice said.
I started laughing hysterically, There were other noises from behind me which made me realise there were more people there than I thought.
"If I tell you where the pendrive is , You'll have no use of me anymore and will dispose of me. Won't you?" I questioned back.
"It didn't have to be this way Jason" the voice said before I heard footsteps coming closer.
BANG
There was suddenly a banging sound , There started to be noises of panic around me.
BANG BANG BANG
The banging sound started getting louder and louder . The noise around me started getting higher.
I took the opportunity to make my chair fall. Finally my blindfold fell off my face.
I was in a white room surrounded by people with guns. They seemed to ignore me and discuss something else.
There was suddenly another loud sound followed by the sound of a huge metal thing dropping.
"SHOOT HIM" commanded the voice.
There were a lot of gunshots fired then. I couldn't see what they were shooting at because I was still tied to the chair. The sound of gunshots were soon replaced by screams and the smell of blood.
"Are you alright Jason?" a familiar voice called out to me.
The footsteps of the person got closer and soon I was able to see his face.
"Tracey?" I cried out
Tracey then started untying me. "I received a message saying you were in trouble ,so I came to help" he explained.
"A message by who?" I asked him
"I don't know , They called themself DS" He replied . The ropes were finally untied and I could move freely.
"Here , take this. It'll help us stay in contact." Tracey said to me as he tossed a phone to me. It was fully charged and had his number saved. It also had a sim-card installed with cellular data.
"Now let's get out of here, Uh ignore the bodies" he said to me.
The room was filled with blood and dead bodies. It was truly a massacre.
We started leaving through the doors Tracey broke through. But we were quickly intercepted by more armed people.
"This way!" I exclaimed running the opposite way of where he came from. He started following me.
"Where does this lead?" He asked
"I don't know , Somewhere where there aren't armed people trying to shoot us hopefully" I replied.
They were right behind us , We kept running then I noticed a weird hallway with red vines. It had a metal door with a panel.
We ran in and then I pushed a button on the panel which made the door close.
"We're safe for now huh" I exclaimed
"No......Look behind you" He said in a terrified voice.
I turned around and saw it. At the end of the hallway, The thing I barely escaped from last time was looking at us. Except it had grown 2 arms now , The flesh monster had arms and a huge red and black eye in the middle.
"Another unnatural huh" Tracey exclaimed.
"No......It's human" I replied.
"THAT THING IS A HUMAN?" Tracey said while looking at me with shock.
"Well it was , I'll explain later." I replied
"What is it supposed to be then?" He asked
"It's name is Dave , Spare the rest of the details for when we are out of her-"
Dave started charging towards us before I could finish my sentence.
"I'll take care of this" Tracey said before enlarging his left arm and throwing a punch towards it.
"NO-" I screamed
Too late , He had already punched it. It crashed behind me into a wall.
"What do you mean NO? We'd be dead if I didn't punch it" he exclaimed
"We need to get to the other side of the hallway NOW" I said as I started running
"Why are we running?" Tracey asked about halfway through.
"Just look back!" I exclaimed.
Dave was getting up on its feet , While it had 4 arms now instead of 2.
"WHY DOES IT HAVE 4 ARMS NOW?" Tracey screamed while running.
"It absorbs impact and grows , That's why I told u NOT TO PUNCH IT" I replied.
"A WARNING BEFOREHAND WILL BE APPRECIATED" he said to me furiously.
Dave started charging at us again , Faster than before. Tracey and I finally made it to the end of the hallway and through the door.
"I can't reach the button to close the door , It's too far away!" I cried out.
Tracey then stretched his left arm to hit the button. The doors closed just before Dave could make it in , He crashed into the door but wasn't able to break it.
"It should keep it out for sometime" I said while finally catching a breath.
"Now what is that?" Tracey asked in the same tone as when he saw Dave.
I turned around and realised that Tracey and I were not the only ones in the room.

Going off the excellent theory that Ben is our Laurel and the show has been HAMMERING home why he will vote Kenzie over Charlie in a tiebreaker scenario, here’s my prediction for the 4-4 situation that will get us there:
Soda - Charlie
Soda’s a wildcard but something tells me she’ll gravitate towards the strategic/physical game of Charlie over Kenzie’s social game. I also think she’d respect Charlie for helping orchestrate her blindside. Plus, we never really saw Soda or Kenzie work together.
Tevin - Charlie
Less of a wildcard then Soda but still could vote either ways, especially considering Hunter’s almost a locked Kenzie vote and could sway him. But, I think similarly to Soda, Tevin will respect Charlie’s game more than Kenzie’s. Also, we were shown their game relationship during the early merge. Their conversations and working together on the Soda blindside could lead to a Charlie vote for Tevin.
Hunter - Kenzie
She was his #1 and didn’t vote for him on the initial tie vote. While there’s an outside shot Hunter could respect Charlie’s immunity wins and strategic moves, I think the show MADE SURE to communicate to us how much Hunter trusted Kenzie during his boot round all the way through his last tribal. Charlie and Hunter were almost always at odds so this feels pretty locked for Kenzie.
Tiffany - Kenzie
Number ones and didn’t vote for her on the way out. According to exit press, Tiffany and Charlie had a working relationship but we weren’t shown it really. The fact that Kenzie can claim that she wanted to cut Tiffany but it happened without any blood on her hands feels like a slam dunk Tiffany vote.
Venus - Kenzie
The most wild one to predict. She clearly respects Charlie’s game and clocked him as a threat early. They’ve also been shown talking game at multiple points. With the biggest evidence for their relationship being her advantage reveal to him. However, I think Charlie’s role as “second in command” to Maria (who Venus clearly dislikes) and his overall reluctance to really pull Venus in as a number will hurt him. With the final blow being that he blindsided her after her offering to play an advantage for him next round.
Despite Kenzie dunking on Venus in confessionals, they were shown talking game just as often (if not more than Charlie) and Venus saw Kenzie willing to search for an idol right in front of her. They were also BOTH out of the loop on the Kenzie vote so there’s camaraderie there.
This really is one that can go either way but Kenzie’s stronger support of Venus throughout the merge feels like it’ll win her the jury vote.
Q - Charlie
We were shown the downfall of the Kenzie/Q relationship for a reason. Their conversation around the waterwell was maybe the only time all game where Kenzie rejected the idea of working with someone. She felt burned by him and so I think he’ll return the favor with a Charlie vote. Plus, he, Maria, and Charlie all worked together on votes and I see Maria/Q as a voting block.
Maria - Charlie
Number ones and game respects game, especially if Charlie takes her out at 5.
Liz - Kenzie
Another iffy one but I think this is where the endgame will be critical. Liz/Kenzie were just swing votes on the Q blindside. While they weren’t as directly aligned for other votes (like the Tiffany boot), they feel more personally connected than Liz and Charlie. While Liz may perceive her relationship with Charlie as strategic, she may see her relationship with Kenzie as more personal. Clearly for Liz, the personal and emotional aspect to the game is important and when she’s already associating Maria with Q; she may rope in Charlie with that duo and side with Kenzie at FTC.
Theory - Charlie wins final immunity and chooses Ben over Liz to take to the end. Liz loses to Kenzie in fire (as many are predicting) and is bitter that she came up just short of FTC.
To recap, Soda - Charlie Tevin - Charlie Hunter - Kenzie Tiffany - Kenzie Venus - Kenzie Q - Charlie Maria - Charlie Liz - Kenzie
And now, to break the tie…
Ben - Kenzie
Despite the Sega connection, the show has gone OUT OF THEIR WAY to sell us the Kenzie/Ben bond. All the way back to the merge. The show isn’t gonna sell us the night terrors story for no reason, especially when Ben had a LITERAL VOTE for Kenzie that they could have used as a reason for a wedge between them. The story of the season is that admits all the chaos, all the characters, all the misplays, all the blindsides, Survivor is a social game and Kenzie understood the assignment.

As far back as I can remember, I had always been passionate about the great outdoors. My love for the wilderness began when I joined the scouts, exploring the diverse landscapes of Southern California, Nevada, Arizona, and Utah. I was never a huge fan of the dry, barren landscapes, but camping provided a much-needed escape from the monotony of Orange County suburbia.
The first time I visited the Pacific Northwest, I was enchanted. The scenery was breathtaking—majestic mountains, lush fields, and meandering rivers. It was clear that anyone who praised the desert's beauty had never laid eyes on the Cascades. Seeing grass and wildflowers growing without irrigation was practically a revelation.
When I was old enough, I moved to Washington state, immersing myself in nature every weekend. My adventures took me hiking through dense forests, camping by serene lakes, and occasionally taking mushrooms under peaceful waterfalls.
I joined several online forums dedicated to outdoor enthusiasts. One community that particularly fascinated me was the Northwest Tomb Raiders. This group of history buffs and thrill-seekers was dedicated to uncovering artifacts, whether Native American relics or treasures hidden in modern ruins. Many members were collectors, fencing their finds to museums and archaeologists, which made it a rather profitable side gig, should you be lucky enough.
In the fall of 2009, an intriguing post appeared on the forum. A user named Lokk claimed to have discovered a cache of artifacts with Scandinavian origins. He couldn't carry everything back due to the treacherous terrain and his age, so he shared the coordinates, hoping someone else could retrieve the items. I scrolled down to see a few posts of people planning to loot it in the Spring, when the paths have reopened. One user, Patagooner, planned on going as early as possible.
Excited by the prospect, I gathered my two friends, Carl and Noah, for the expedition. They weren't as enthusiastic about camping as I was, but after I told them how much a single arrowhead goes for on the black market, they were on board. It was the start of winter now, which had its advantages and disadvantages. On the plus side, the rangers would have a harder time spotting us. On the downside, the harsh conditions posed a serious challenge for two inexperienced hikers.
I must’ve blown about four grand at REI on gear for them, justifying it with the knowledge of how much more I would make with two extra packs. That is of course assuming there really were as many artifacts as Lokk had said, and Patagooner hadn’t beaten me there.
The journey began like any other. We met in the pre-dawn darkness and went over our supplies, ensuring we had everything we needed. By mid-morning, we were on our way, my pickup truck winding up the mountain paths. The roads of Olympic National Park were the epitome of the raw, untamed beauty of the Pacific Northwest.
They snake through ancient forests, where towering Douglas firs and Western hemlocks create a verdant canopy overhead. Mist clings to the trees, giving the landscape an ethereal quality. Occasionally, the forest would open up to reveal breathtaking vistas of snow-capped peaks and deep, shadowy valleys.
As we climbed higher, the landscape grew increasingly desolate. The dense forest thinned out, replaced by rugged terrain and jagged rock formations. The air grew colder, and the first flurries of snow began to fall, dusting the ground in a thin, white layer. The road became narrower and more treacherous, winding precariously along the edge of steep cliffs.
Finally, a road closure blockade signaled the end of our journey in the truck. We unloaded three dirt bikes—one mine, two rentals—and continued up the trail. The bikes roared to life, carrying us several more miles into the wilderness. The trail twisted and turned, cutting through dense underbrush and over fallen logs. The snow began to fall more heavily, blanketing the forest floor and muffling the sound of our engines. The world around us grew quieter, more isolated.
Eventually, the snow became too deep to traverse by bike. We dismounted and prepared to continue on foot. The silence of the forest was profound, broken only by the occasional rustle of branches in the wind. I checked my modern GPS, its screen displaying the coordinates and a relief map of our destination.
The cold air bit into our cheeks as we trudged through the snow-laden forest. The silence was almost oppressive, broken only by the crunch of our footsteps and the occasional call of distant wildlife. The GPS indicated we were close to our destination, but the dense underbrush and uneven terrain made progress slow.
Suddenly, Carl's excited whisper cut through the stillness. "Hey, look at that!"
He pointed to a small, furry creature ambling through the trees. It took a moment to realize what it was—a bear cub, innocently exploring its surroundings.
My heart sank. "Carl, get back," I hissed, my voice low but urgent. "Where there's a cub, there's a..."
Before I could finish, a massive shape exploded from the trees. The mother bear, easily three times the size of the cub, charged at Carl with a ferocity. She was a blur of dark fur and powerful muscles, her roar echoing through the forest.
"Run!" I yelled, but it was too late. The bear was upon Carl, swiping at him with her massive paws. He screamed as he fell to the ground, the bear towering over him. Desperation and adrenaline surged through me. I grabbed the nearest heavy branch and swung it at the bear, hoping to distract her.
Noah joined in, shouting and waving his arms. We had to be careful; one wrong move and she would turn on us. The bear snarled, turning her attention away from Carl for just a moment. It was enough for him to scramble backwards, clutching his bleeding arm.
"We have to get him out of here," I shouted to Noah, who nodded, fear etched on his face. The bear, still enraged, seemed torn between attacking us and protecting her cub.
Using the brief respite, we hauled Carl to his feet. His face was white, and he was clearly in shock. Blood soaked his sleeve, dripping onto the snow. "There's a ranger station about two miles from here," I said, my voice shaking. "We need to get him there. Now."
We half-carried, half-dragged Carl through the forest, every shadow and sound heightening our paranoia.
Finally, after what felt like forever, the small, wooden structure of the ranger station came into view. We had been avoiding the rangers to keep our expedition secret, but now it was our only hope.
Pounding on the door, I prayed for a quick response. The door creaked open, and a weathered face appeared. "What happened?" the ranger demanded, taking in the sight of Carl's bloodied form.
"Bear attack," I gasped. "We need help."
The ranger's expression shifted from suspicion to urgency. "Get him inside. We've got a first aid kit and a radio."
As we eased Carl onto a makeshift bed, the ranger inspected his wounds. "You're lucky," he said after a moment. "The cuts are deep, but they missed any major arteries. He'll need stitches, but we can handle that here. No need for an airlift."
The ranger's face darkened as he turned to me. "What the hell are you boys doing out here?”
I hesitated, "We... we were just exploring."
The ranger's eyes narrowed, his anger palpable. "Exploring? In a restricted area? In the middle of winter? Are you out of your minds?"
He worked quickly and efficiently, cleaning and stitching Carl's wounds. Carl winced but stayed silent, his eyes closed in pain.
"Do you have any idea how dangerous it is out here?" the ranger continued, his voice rising. "The storm, the wildlife... This area is off-limits for a reason! You should have known better." he said, pushing a finger into my chest.
"We'll stay here for the night," he continued, "The storm's getting worse, and it's too dangerous to move him now. We'll reassess in the morning. And count yourself lucky I don't arrest your asses."
Night fell quickly, the storm outside growing more ferocious with each passing minute. The howling wind battered the small ranger station, and the walls creaked under the pressure. We huddled in the main room, the tension thick in the air.
The ranger looked at us sternly. "I need to check the perimeter and make sure everything is secure. There are things out there you don’t want to encounter, especially in this storm."
"Things? What do you mean?" Noah asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
The ranger's expression hardened. "Just stay put. No matter what you see or hear, do not leave this cabin. Understood?"
We nodded, the seriousness in his tone leaving no room for argument. "We'll stay put," I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt.
The ranger grabbed his coat and shotgun. "I'll be back in an hour. Do not leave this cabin." With that, he opened the door and stepped into the raging storm, disappearing into the darkness.
As soon as the door closed, I turned to Noah. "We need to go. Now."
Noah's eyes widened. "Are you crazy? He said to stay put."
"If we wait until morning, we'll be escorted out of here and lose our chance. This might be our only opportunity to find those artifacts."
Noah hesitated with uncertainty "But... what about Carl?"
"He'll be fine here. The ranger can take care of him. We have to do this now."
Reluctantly, Noah nodded. "Alright. Let's take what we can and go."
We quickly looted extra gear from the cabin. I checked the GPS one last time before we slipped out into the storm, the cold wind battering us.
The snow fell heavily, obscuring our vision as we slogged through the forest. The ranger was nowhere in sight as we made our way towards the our destination, each step filled with trepidatious excitement.
The storm began to die down as we approached the coordinates. We stepped into a clearing where the undisturbed snow lay like a pristine white blanket. In the center stood an ancient, weathered stone altar, encircled by intricate wooden carvings, delicate metalwork, and beautifully crafted statues. The sight was breathtaking, a treasure trove, a veritable museum of paganism.
Noah and I exchanged glances, our eyes wide with amazement. "Do you see this?" I whispered, barely able to contain my excitement.
"We're going to be rich," Noah replied, his voice trembling with awe. "These must be worth a fortune!"
We approached cautiously, as if the vision before us might disappear. The craftsmanship was stunning. I reached out to touch a carved wooden idol, marveling at the detail. "This is incredible," I said, my voice barely audible.
We began to load our packs with as many artifacts as we could carry, each one more exquisite than the last. It was beyond our wildest dreams. We were so engrossed in our task that we didn't notice the small figure watching us from the ridge.
It wasn't until I turned to leave that I saw her. A young girl, maybe eight years old, stood there, her blue eyes wide with curiosity. She was dressed in simple, rustic clothing, her blonde straight hair blowing gently in the wind. For a moment, we just stared at each other.
"Noah," I whispered urgently, nudging him. "Look."
He turned, his eyes following my gaze. "What the...?" he muttered, his voice trailing off.
The girl took a tentative step forward, her eyes fixed on the items in our hands. There was no fear in her gaze, only a quiet intensity that made my skin crawl.
"Who are you?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
She tilted her head slightly. "My name is Sigyn."
"What are you doing out here, Sigyn?" Noah asked, his voice shaky.
"I live here,"
"You live here?" I echoed, incredulous. "Is there anyone else around?"
"Yes," she whispered.
"Where?" Noah demanded, looking around nervously.
"Everywhere," she said with a giggle.
The way she said it, so matter-of-factly, bothered me deeply. Noah and I exchanged a look, both of us trying to figure out what to do next.
"We can't take her back to the ranger," Noah started, "We'll lose everything."
I nodded, my mind racing. "Sigyn," I said slowly, "we need to know who else is here. Can you help us?"
She looked at me with her piercing blue eyes, then said, "I'm sorry."
"For what?" Noah asked.
"For what's going to happen to you," she replied, her voice tinged with sadness.
"You need to tell us what's going on," Noah said, grabbing her arm roughly. "Why are you out here alone?"
She looked up at him, unperturbed. "I am not alone," she said softly.
Before we could press her further, a loud, guttural mooing sound echoed through the clearing. We turned towards the direction the girl had come from, and there, emerging from the shadows, was the silhouette of an elk. As it approached, my stomach dropped. Its body was a grotesque amalgamation of life and decay. Its skull was fully exposed, the eye sockets dark and empty. Large patches of its ribs were visible, the flesh around them rotted away.
The elk's movements were slow and deliberate, its head swaying as if in a trance. It walked directly towards us, its hollow eyes fixed on Sigyn. The closer it got, the more the stench of death filled the air—a nauseating mix of decay and earth. I fought the urge to retch.
Sigyn stood up, her expression calm. The monster sniffed her gently, its nostrils flaring. Without a word, she climbed onto its back, mounting it like a horse. It was a surreal and horrifying scene ripped straight from a nightmare.
As she settled onto the elk, she looked back at us, "A thief in the night shall reap what he sows," she said, her voice carrying an otherworldly echo. "Beware the price of stolen dreams."
With that, the beast turned and began to walk away, Sigyn riding it into the shadows of the forest. We stood there, frozen in place. The realization that we were in far over our heads began to sink in. This started to feel like a trap.
We need to get out of here," My voice trembling. "Now."
We turned to leave, our packs heavy with the pilfered goods. But as we took our first steps, the forest around us seemed to come alive. Shadows moved among the trees, and whispers floated on the wind. I quickened my pace, glancing nervously over my shoulder.
"Did you hear that?" Noah asked sharply,
"Just keep moving," I commanded.
A figure emerged from the shadows, blocking our path. It was a man, tall and gaunt, his eyes burning with an intense light. "Where do you think you're going?" he asked, his voice cold and menacing.
"We're leaving," I stammered. "We didn't mean any harm."
The man smirked, and with a swift motion, he raised his hand. More figures appeared, closing in on us from all sides. We were surrounded.
"Run!" I shouted, shoving Noah forward.
We sprinted through the forest, branches whipping at our faces and legs. The figures pursued us, their footsteps silent and relentless.
Noah stumbled and fell, his pack spilling open. Statues scattered across the ground, glinting in the moonlight. "Help!" he cried, scrambling to gather the items.
"Leave them!" I shouted, pulling him to his feet. "We have to keep moving!"
But it was too late, their hands seizing us. I struggled, kicking and thrashing, but their grips were too strong. They forced us to the ground, binding our hands with rough, coarse ropes.
"Please," I begged, "Don't hurt us."
The man who had first appeared stepped forward, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "A thief in the night," he mocked.
They dragged us through the forest, the trees closing in around us like a cage. We were at their mercy.
In the distance, I could see the elk standing at the edge of the clearing, Sigyn still astride its back. Her eyes met mine, and for a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of pity. But then they turned away, disappearing into the shadows once more.
We were dragged into the heart of the forest, our struggles futile against the unyielding grip of our captors. As we broke through the treeline, a massive bonfire came into view, its flames licking the night sky. Shadows danced around the clearing, cast by the flickering light. A woman stood at the forefront, her presence commanding.
Her eyes were milk white, devoid of pupils, and her long, flowing white hair cascaded down her back. She was completely naked, her skin pale and marked with intricate symbols. Atop her head, she wore an elk skull, its antlers extending like eerie, skeletal fingers. She beat a drum emblazoned with more of the same cryptic symbols, each thud resonating deep within my chest.
Around the fire, about two dozen people stood, all drinking from crude, horned cups. Their faces were solemn, eyes fixed on the woman as she led them in a haunting chant. The atmosphere was thick with a mix of reverence and intoxication.
We were forced to our knees before the woman, who paused her drumming to look down at us. Her gaze was haunting, as if she could see into the very depths of our souls.
"Who are you?" Noah demanded, his voice trembling.
The woman ignored him, raising her arms to the sky. The chanting grew louder, the rhythm of the drum faster and more frenzied. The air around us seemed to vibrate with energy, the flames of the bonfire growing higher and more intense.
I glanced at Noah, fear mirrored in his eyes. The woman began to speak, her voice low and melodic, but filled with power, in a language I couldn't understand. Suddenly, she stopped, lowering her arms. The chanting ceased, and an silence fell over the clearing. She looked directly at me, her white eyes unblinking.
En tjuv i natten skördar vad han sår, akta dig för drömmar som du stjäl och får.
Hans skratt bevakar lundens gömda stig, där skuggor sveper över skogens liv.
För varje stulet andetag och svek, måste en tjuv möta sitt smärtsamma ödelek.
Tricksterns vilja, vår ande här, så i hans nåd, våra liv bär.
I was terrified and confused. She started again, softer, in a way I could understand.
A thief in the night shall reap what he sows, beware the price of stolen dreams.
His laughter guards our hidden groves, where shadows cloak the forest's seams.
For every stolen breath and lie, a thief must meet his painful end.
The tricksters will, our spirits tie, so in his grace, our lives suspend.
The crowd surged forward, grabbing Noah first. He screamed, his terror echoing through the trees as they pulled him towards a makeshift altar beside the bonfire. The woman chanted louder, her voice rising in a hypnotic rhythm as they began their gruesome work.
They stripped him of his shirt and bound his arms to a wooden frame. I tried to move, to help him, but the grip on my shoulders tightened, pinning me to the ground.
The woman approached Noah, holding a knife with a blade that gleamed in the firelight. She started to slice into his back, her movements deliberate and unhurried. Noah's screams pierced the night as she methodically carved the shape of wings into his flesh.
Blood poured from the wounds, soaking the ground beneath him. The crowd's chant grew louder, almost drowning out his cries. I watched in horror as the woman reached into the incisions, breaking the ribs and pulling them outward, creating a parody of wings.
Noah's agony was unbearable to witness. His screams turned to whimpers, his body convulsing in pain. The woman didn't stop until the work was complete, his lungs exposed and hanging grotesquely from his back.
They lifted Noah's broken body and placed him over the fire. The smell of burning flesh filled the air, making me gag. His life ebbed away as the flames consumed him, the once vibrant light in his eyes fading to nothing.
The woman turned to me, her expression devoid of mercy. "You will meet the same fate," she said, "He demands it."
The smell of burning flesh and the sight of his broken body over the fire was seared into my mind. Despair settled over me as I closed my eyes.
A deafening blast shattered the night. My eyes flew open to see the shaman stumbling backward, a gaping wound in her chest. She collapsed to the ground, her white eyes staring lifelessly into the void.
The villagers turned in shock as another shot rang out, this time hitting one of the men holding me. I twisted free from their grasp and saw the park ranger standing at the edge of the clearing, a pump-action shotgun in his hands. He fired again, the sound echoing through the forest, before one of them tackled him to the ground.
"Run!" he shouted, his voice raw and desperate. "Get the hell out of here!"
I didn't need to be told twice. I sprinted into the darkness, the chaos of the clearing fading behind me. Branches whipped at my face, and the snow underfoot made every step a struggle. I could hear the sounds of fighting and gunshots, but I forced myself to keep moving.
The cold air burned in my lungs, but adrenaline pushed me forward. I didn't stop until I reached the station, my legs threatening to give out from under me. I burst through the door and slammed it behind me.
Inside, Carl lay where we had left him, his face pale and twisted in pain. I stumbled to the radio, my hands trembling as I fumbled with the controls.
"Mayday, mayday!" I yelled into the microphone. "This is an emergency! We need help! Please, someone, come quickly!"
Static filled the room, punctuated by my ragged breaths. I repeated the call, my voice growing more frantic with each passing second. Finally, a voice crackled through the speaker. "This is Ranger Station Bravo. What's your location? Over."
I could barely form the words. "Olympic National Park! The ranger station near mount Christie! We're under attack! Please, send help!"
"Copy that. Help is on the way. Stay put and stay safe. Over."
I collapsed to the floor, my body trembling with exhaustion and fear. Carl moaned softly, his eyes fluttering open. "What… What happened? Where's Noah?”
Tears streamed down my face and I found myself choked up. “He’s gone, man. Help is coming.”
The minutes stretched into an eternity as we waited. The wind howled around the station, and every creak and groan of the structure set my nerves on edge. I couldn't shake the feeling that we were being watched, that the forest itself was closing in on us.
The radio crackled again, this time with a different voice. "Helicopter en route, ETA fifteen minutes. Prepare for extraction."
I glanced at Carl, his eyes filled with confusion. "Hang on. We're getting out of here."
As the minutes ticked by, I couldn't help but think about the ranger. He had saved my life, but he hadn't made it back. My mind conjured up images of what might have happened to him, the cultists overwhelming him in the darkness. A sense of guilt gnawed at me, knowing he had sacrificed himself for us.
The sound of rotors cut through the night, growing louder as the helicopter approached. I ran to the window and saw its searchlight piercing the treetops, scanning for the station.
I helped Carl to his feet, supporting his weight as we made our way to the hatch. The helicopter hovered above, lowering a rescue basket. The wind from the rotors whipped the snow into a frenzy, but I didn't care. Salvation was finally here.
We secured Carl in the basket first, and I watched as he was hoisted up, disappearing into the safety of the helicopter. My turn was next. I realized that I was now alone and exposed. Fear coursing through me as I scanned around the edge of the forest, expecting to be grabbed and taken seconds before my rescue. But the moment never came. As I gripped the rope, I took one last look at the forest below. The flames of the bonfire still flickered in the distance.
I was lifted into the air, the ground falling away beneath me. The helicopter's crew pulled me inside, and I collapsed onto the floor still holding onto my pack, my body finally giving in to exhaustion. The doors closed, and the helicopter banked away, leaving the horrors of the park behind.
Weeks had passed since the harrowing events, but the memories clung to me like the bitter cold. I had returned to civilization, seeking solace in the familiar chaos of the city. I found a wealthy collector through a network of contacts. The artifacts fetched a price tenfold the cost of gear. The money was substantial, but as I held the cash, it felt like a hollow victory.
Noah's absence weighed heavily on me. His disappearance was chalked up as a missing persons case, and despite my best efforts to explain what had happened, no one believed me. The authorities conducted a search of the area, but they found no trace of the cult, the artifacts, or the clearing. It was as if the forest had swallowed up all the evidence.
I returned to the site where we had parked the truck. The dirt bikes were gone, stolen by opportunistic thieves, but the truck remained. I drove back in silence, the road winding through the dense forest. For a moment, I thought I saw the girl watching me from atop a ridge until I realized it was just paranoia. I stepped on the gas a little harder.
Back home, I checked the Tomb Raiders forum again. The post that had led us into the forest was gone, deleted without a trace. I messaged the mods, but apparently, they don’t keep records to maintain confidentiality. I wrote about our experience, detailing every terrifying moment, but the responses were skeptical at best. Most dismissed it as a work of fiction or a desperate cry for attention.
Time passed, and I tried to return to a semblance of normalcy. Yet, the wilderness called to me stronger than ever. It was my sanctuary, the only place where I could find peace amidst the turmoil. I spent more and more time outdoors than ever before, but now it always felt like I was just running from something.
Determined to prove what had happened, I returned to the forest with a camera and recording equipment. This time, I documented every step, capturing footage of the trees, the snow, and the eerie silence that hung in the air. I retraced our path, hoping to find the clearing again. But each night, as I reviewed the footage, something strange would happen. The files would be corrupted or entire segments missing.
I pressed on. I found the site where Noah had fallen, the ground still bearing faint traces of what had happened. I set up the camera and began to speak, recounting the events in detail. As I spoke, a cold wind swept through the clearing, and the camera's screen flickered. I finished my account and turned to check the recording, only to find the file corrupted once again, the footage replaced by static and a faint, mocking laughter.
I returned home, defeated and exhausted. My attempts to share what I had experienced were met with disbelief and ridicule. The files I managed to save were corrupted beyond recognition. It was as if the forest itself was conspiring against me.
Almost exactly one year later, as I browsed the forums, a new post caught my eye. It was cryptic, eerily similar to the one that had led us into the nightmare. It spoke of another trove of artifacts, hidden deep within the wilderness, waiting to be claimed.
The post was signed with a new name: Skygge. Different handle, same style. Another trap. They had taken so much from me, left scars that would never heal. I opened my drawer, my fingers brushing over the cold metal of my weapons. This was the moment I had been waiting for. This time, I'll be ready.
The forest’s secrets won't remain hidden forever.

DC Next Proudly Presents:

THE NEW TITANS

In Shadow of Kestrel
Issue Nine: War Dove
Written by AdamantAce, GemlinTheGremlin & PatrollinTheMojave
Edited by Deadislandman1 and Voidkiller826
 
Next Issue > Coming Next Month
 
 
“Raven!”
Slade’s gruff voice pierced through the deafening, wave-like roars in Raven’s head, but the rage was too much to bear. Her hands sizzled as hellfire danced in her palms, her body readying for another attack. She locked eyes with a reptilian soldier, dismounting his simian steed and charging on foot, but as she lunged forwards to strike him, she watched a man fly into her path. Slade Wilson caught the young Titan’s hand and pushed, throwing Raven backwards.
“Come on, kid, snap out of it!” But as Slade’s words fell on deaf ears, he felt the familiar sting of a fist to his jaw, a crack echoing in his ears. He recoiled from the attack but powered through his injury and stood his ground. Sinking his heels into the ground, he locked eyes with the girl before him. Her face seemed contorted and uncanny, as if all of the rage she was feeling was pouring out of her. She groaned angrily as she thrusted her head downwards, her forehead making contact with Slade’s teeth, before pulling her head back up again in preparation for another attack.
Before she could make one, however, one of the lizardmen had almost reached the warring duo’s sides, and as he lunged forward with his long spear, he made contact with Raven’s side. A small rip formed in the side of Raven’s outfit, which seemed to only anger her further. However, it did seem to distract her enough; Mar’i fired off a single Starbolt which struck only the ground - a warning shot.
“Raven! Please!” the half-Tamaranean cried out. But the Raven she knew was buried under unfathomable amounts of fury; she ignored her teammate’s call and instead flew forwards and swung out at the reptiloid. The strike glowed with red flame, sending the creature skidding across the floor, barely conscious. Slade spotted a flash of something else on her face, as if she was finally able to fight back against the endless rage - pain, perhaps, or anguish. But in an instant, it was gone.
That flicker of something other than white-hot anger was enough for Slade.
He clutched his side as his still open wound began to ache, the bandages feeling wet with fresh blood. His jaw felt crooked, and as he gritted his teeth, it felt as though they sat differently atop each other. And yet, he clutched his staff tightly in one hand, and with the other he beckoned to Raven.
“Kid, you’re fighting it, I know you are!” Slade felt his mouth filling with blood rather than saliva.
Within a moment, Raven’s attention was locked on the white-haired man once again. She fired bolt after bolt of black and red flame, but Slade was still dextrous despite his pain. He dodged and dived, weaving through the fire, until he finally managed to make contact with his opponent. He drove his staff into her chest and pushed his weight against the weapon, forcing her backwards. She rose into the air, a black mist pouring from her arms and over her face, a large ghostly corvid taking her place. He felt the deathly cold shadow of the bird’s wing fall over him, his feet leaving the ground as she scooped him into the air.
He looked down at the ground far beneath him. A fall from this height would kill anyone, he thought, let alone someone beaten half to death.
Then, as a verdant bolt of energy struck it in the side, Raven’s Soul Self shrieked and the shadows retreated inwards. Slade felt himself falling through the air for a second, then two, before he felt his back collide with something soft and cushioned. As he looked up, he met the gaze of Conner, who soared to the ground in an instant, placing the snow-haired man on the ground and giving a swift nod.
Raven let out a pained, frustrated yell as she returned to the ground, aided by a grappling line expertly positioned by Tim, and in response, Conner jetted off towards the sound of her cries. Slade’s feet faltered beneath him, and he stumbled to keep his balance. His breathing was laboured and his vision was becoming fuzzy. It felt as though, he realised, all the blood loss and violence he had suffered over the past few hours were finally catching up to him. Was this what dying felt like?
“Slade!” shouted a voice, followed by the dulled drumming of hurried footsteps. Slade pulled his hand across his face to wipe away the mental haze and drops of blood. It was Don, sprinting towards him. When Slade felt Don clasp him by shoulders, he realized just how slowed he was by his injuries. “Plan?” Slade coughed out.
“You’ve seen what she can do. I only see one way out of these without one of the kids getting hurt. I’d do it myself, but I’m out of practice and this is too important to leave to chance.” Don looked around anxiously, his face betraying that he had a lot on his mind. “I’m giving you the powers of a god.” Slade opened his mouth to ask a question, a million came to mind. He glanced across the battlefield. Through a blurry film, he saw Raven’s Soul Self bat Conner away with its wing. He careened into the trunk of a thick tree, uprooting it with a deep crunch. “Are you sure?,” Slade asked, breathless.
“I’m not losing another Titan.” Don squeezed his eyes shut. His grip on Slade tightened as pale, almost blinding light enveloped them. It felt warm. No, better than that: it felt peaceful. With his enhanced senses, Slade could hear his erratic heartbeat slow. Fleeting visions bubbled up in his mind, opening up his awareness beyond the wildest dreams of Project Veritas. He felt rivers of magical energy flowing through the air and earth. Each of them spiralled towards a depression. Towards Raven, he knew instinctively. Iridescent blue light spread outward from his shoulders. It washed over his body armor, bleaching the jet black panels until his entire body shone with radiance. The pain from wounds old and new faded, replaced by serenity - and power. Don opened his eyes again and sighed gently; a concoction and joy, relief, and quiet mourning.
“There,” Don remarked. Slade felt lighter, less angry, less burdened. He looked down at the iridescent light enveloping his body. Magical energy buzzed against the surface of his skin. “The powers of the Dove - officially yours.”
Slade sucked in a nervous breath. “Don…” Even rejuvenated, he was still lost for words.
“They’re yours now,” Don smiled weakly. “Now go earn them. There’s a Titan in dire need of our help.”
Conner floated out of the dense jungle, rubbing his forehead. “Is Slade glowing or do I have a concussion?”
Slade looked over at Raven. She seemed less erratic, her movements driven by her brain rather than her gut. Tim’s staff batted fiercely against her, each strike buffeting her back more and more, but it was clear to Slade that Raven was not any weaker physically - her mind, however, was another story.
Slade began marching towards her, the ache in his side dulled. “Raven. You’re strong. Fight this rage inside of you.” Raven glared at him, a spark of something in her eyes, as she swooped in towards him at top speed. As she neared him, however, Slade readied his staff, stretching it out in front of him. As the tip of the weapon struck Raven, a beam of white energy coursed through her, as if she had been struck by lightning, and her body was flung backwards across the dirt.
Slade danced a hand over his rifle, but something felt different. He pulled it into his hands and inspected it swiftly; nothing seemed out of order. Raven rose slowly from her supine position, snarling softly to herself. Her movements had slowed, the expression on her face becoming closer to horror than rage. She was doing it.
“You’re nearly there, kid,” Slade soothed, his words suddenly like butter. He watched Raven’s shoulders start to relax. “That’s it. Just fight this, Raven. You’re almost there.”
Despite her tremendous progress, Raven’s blistering fury won out once more, and she charged a large bolt of hellfire in her hands. Slade fiddled with his rifle and crossed his fingers. There was a standstill between the two. Slade analysed his rifle again; there was something different about the barrel, as if it had been swapped out for another similar model. The stock felt lighter, too, as if the weight had been–
Raven roared at him, swiping wildly with glowing fists, and in an instant Slade instinctively pulled the trigger.
What fired from the gun was not a silvery bullet, but a familiar glowing bolt of white light, cloud-like in appearance. As it struck Raven, she sucked in a deep breath, the energy engulfing her. Her face softened and her posture relaxed. Then she swung out for the man’s weakened side, his bandages poking through the aura of light. And yet, as he stayed steadfast, not even attempting to dodge the attack. Sparks flew from the point of contact. Slade just readied another shot and fired.
Her body swayed with the blow. Slade closed the gap between them and focused on the new warmth he felt, concentrating it into his staff as best he could. Then, as he held it out in front of him at arm’s length, he swiped at Raven and struck her in the side of the shoulder. Each blow seemed to be more effective than the last, but as Raven’s movements continued to slow, Slade held fire.
“You’re doing it, Raven,” Slade encouraged. He watched as the other Titans surrounded Raven, each of them ready for any further attacks. Everyone watched with bated breath as their teammate and friend thrashed and recoiled from the hit. Her breathing was rapid, although it felt closer to panic than unabashed fury. She clasped her hands over her head, groaning. Then, suddenly, she stopped.
Her face had softened completely, her jaw slack, and tears filled her vision. She looked up at Slade with a comfort in her eyes. The aura emanating from him was pervasive and contagious, and although she had felt lost in a sea of impossibly vast emotions, its warmth and comfort cut through. The anger was still there somewhat, the last remaining dregs still working its way out of her system, but the comfort, the peace that Slade was providing was the anchor for her to stabilise herself. She had only ever seen this kind of power when Don…
Raven’s eyes widened as she realised what that meant. She collapsed to her knees, suddenly feeling the bone-deep fatigue her rage had suppressed. Her teammates rushed in around her. Mar’i dropped to a knee by her side and put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s OK. You’re safe. Everyone’s OK.”
“Don I’m—” She wiped away a stream of tears, stumbling her way out of the emotional vortex she’d been sucked into. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened. I’ve lost control before, but never like this.”
Don looked older. Creases ran across his forehead and around his eyes. His smile hadn’t changed. “Raven, my brother and I got those powers when I was a kid. We didn’t ask for them. We weren’t ready for them. We didn’t know how to use them, let alone control them.” He laughed dryly, recalling Hank. “I don’t regret anything. Giving my powers to Slade is the best thing I’ve done with them in years. I know Hank would feel the same way.”
In the moment of silence that followed, Raven rose to her feet and pulled her cloak tightly around herself. She was still shaking. Tim’s eyes drifted from her to Slade. “Something’s gnawing at me. Kestrel’s powers are weakened in Skartaris. Don’s…” He coughed, “Slade’s powers are amplified. If this place is what affected you—”
Mar’i’s face flashed with recognition, “—your powers must be tied to the Lords of Order and Chaos!”
Tim furrowed his brow. “Maybe.” He hardly had time to consider further when a thundering crack tore open the sky. Two bolts of swirling energy - one red and one blue - met above them, forming a swirling portal at their vertex. The Titans readied their weapons, expecting the worst.
“It’s them.” Slade murmured, still put off by his uncanny awareness. Terataya and T’Charr descended from the sky, one wreathed in mist, the other, magma. The two elementals stopped a few feet above the ground, hovering.
Terataya was the first to speak. Even at a whisper, her voice reverberated through the air. “I don’t usually care for surprises, Don, but this was a pleasant one.” A thin smile appeared on her face.
“Slade Wilson.” Terataya’s neck turned at an unnatural angle to face him. “You wield the powers of Order with great skill. Who understands the dangers of unchecked War better than a soldier. Become my champion. Protect the balance.”
Slade took a step back, then glanced at Don.
“She’s right.” Don said, with only a hint of hesitation. “It took me years to use the powers like you used them today. You’re a natural.”
Slade looked at his hands, still gently pulsing with pale blue light. “Thanks.” He allowed himself a weak smile. “But no thanks.”
“What.” T’Charr’s voice boomed.
“It doesn’t take Zatanna to realize an old soldier like me makes a piss-poor Avatar of Peace. I fight for a living, and I’m not deluded enough to think that makes me good at anything but fighting. If you want someone who understands the need for balance, Don just sacrificed everything special about him for it.”
Don raised an eyebrow. “None taken.”
“His actions today were noble, but they do not make up for years spent squandering the gift.”
“Squandering? The Titans wouldn’t exist today if he hadn’t pulled them together. Everything they’ve done. Everything they’ve achieved for your balance wouldn’t have happened without him, including stopping that monster you made.”
“Watch your tone, mortal.” T’Charr threatened.
“There may be a vein of truth to his words, lover.” Terataya said. “But *if we were to restore Don Hall’s power, we would need assurances. His indecision led down this path.”*
Rocks ground against each other as T’Charr landed beside Don. “You would have weeks, not years, to select a counterpart and return to your duties.”
Don’s response was instantaneous. “I’ve made a decision.”
“You’ve decided if you’ll take up the mantle of Dove again?”
Don nodded. “And who should be the new Hawk.”
Terataya giggled. “Full of surprises today. T’Charr?”
“We should discuss this.” He said. “In private.”
The three of them vanished, leaving the Titans and Slade alone on a battlefield riddled with bits of dino meat and ape fur.
 
○○ Ⓣ ○○
 
“You don’t think they’re gonna come back in like, 200 years, right?” Conner asked. He sat beside the depowered Slade Wilson, who was downing aspirin to make up for the sudden deficit in peace energy.
“I don’t know.” Tim said. “But we should give them more than fifteen minutes.”
As if on cue, the skies opened again. Again, the chromatic energy lit the sky and again a portal opened its swirling maw. This time, however, it wasn’t two elemental Lords to descend. Raven squinted to make the figures out.
“Oh my god.” Conner said, having a far easier time with his super-vision.
“What? Who is it?” Tim asked.
“Donna!” Mar’i shouted. She shot off the ground towards her. Her black combat armor was replaced with a crimson and white bodysuit studded with stars that seemed to twinkle as the light shifted around her. The sword at her side was gone too, replaced with a coiled loop of rope suffused with the same brilliant energy. The two collided into an embrace, spinning through the air as they held each other tightly.
Don was the first to land, restored with the powers of Dove. He looked stronger than ever, and maybe more importantly, happier. Even Tim’s typical thoughtful brooding has been pierced by an unimpeachable joy.
“I don’t understand,.” Raven said. “S-She’s alive. How is this possible?”
“I knew there was only one person who could be trusted with the powers of War, with Hank’s abilities.” He scratched the back of his neck, a bit guilty. “And she’d been staring me in the face for years. It took some doing, but eventually T’Charr and Terataya saw that too.”
Donna landed beside him, Mar’i only a step behind. By now Conner had stepped forward. He tried not to choke over his words. “I’m sorry. If I’d—”
Donna didn’t let him get the words out before pulling him into a grapple-turned-hug that quickly grew as the rest of the team piled in. Slade flicked another aspirin into his mouth.
“Danyah!” A voice called out from over the ridge. It was Travis, mounted atop a fanged reptilian creature in the vague shape of a horse and flanked on either side by his gold-armored honor guard. He broke into a gallop, stopping just short of the Titans. “When I saw the skies, I feared the worst. Is it really you? Has sorcery brought you back to us?”
“It’s me, Travis. A Lord of Chaos brought me back.”
“Not to interrupt,.” Slade said, still nursing his wounds. “But did either of you ask them to bring us back to Chicago?”
“I…” Don grimaced. “Donna, how do we get home?”
“How did you get here? Surely you could return the way you came.” Travis said.
“No, we can’t.” Tim said, pressing a few buttons on his wrist’s holographic display. “Whatever magic pervades Skartaris is also causing some extreme time dilation. I can’t guarantee we’d return to the 21st century, or even to Earth.”
“I spent a decade in Skartaris and returned to Earth nearly two centuries later. It’s the influence of Chaos. We’d need a Skartaran mage of overwhelming power to stabilize our return.” She spat the word mage with disgust. Travis’s expression seemed to confirm the reputation of Skartaran spellcasters.
Before their anxiety could spiral, the sky above began to churn. Moments later, the ground shook as a violent bolt of lightning cleaved the air, striking with such ferocity that all but Conner and Donna were flung backward. Mar'i skidded across the damp undergrowth, her senses overwhelmed by the acrid scent of ozone. Her mind was racing; their victory was hard fought, and she doubted they had much left in the tank for another confrontation. She dug her hands into the ground and pushed herself up as she choked from the smell. The Warlord Morgan and his military guards snapped to attention, forming a protective ring around the crater that now marred the earth.
From the smoking pit, a figure rose, unfolding from a crouch like something out of Terminator. Adorned in a red and white jumpsuit that accentuated his lithe build, the young man's appearance was marked by a red cowl and goggles, with sandy brown hair rebelliously spilling out.
Conner squinted through the dissipating smoke, murmuring under his breath, “A speedster?” The Flashes had had a variety of different sidekicks and other allies over the years, but none of them recognised this one
With a nonchalant flair that seemed at odds with the charged atmosphere, the newcomer greeted them. “Hey, everyone chillax. I'm here to get you guys back home.”
Donna, ever the leader, stepped forward and spoke with a commanding curiosity, now emboldened with the war aura of Hawk. “And who are you exactly? Why should we trust you with such a claim?”
Flashing a cheeky grin, he tilted his head and responded, “Well, I’m a speedster for one. Name’s Impulse. If I run fast enough, then I can… well, I guess bend time.”
Behind Donna, the group exchanged sceptical glances. Raven's face remained shadowed by recovery, Mar'i and Conner braced for action, and Tim discretely checked his gadgets, no doubt for something that he could use on a speedster should the need arise.
“Yeah, we figured that much,” Don cut through the tension, his voice calm yet insistent. “Who sent you?”
Impulse chuckled, his demeanour remaining unfazed by their scrutiny. “Look, the details aren't the fun part. Trust me, I can get us back.”
As a silence thick with doubt and scepticism settled over the group, Impulse seemed to realise his casual assurances weren't sufficient. With a theatrical sigh, he reached up and removed his mask, revealing a face familiar to both Mar'i and Raven.
“Brody!?” Mar'i exclaimed, her surprise echoing through the clearing as she stared at the boy who had once hobbled through their college classes with his leg in a cast.
The young man’s grin widened, his eyes sparkling with mischief and a hint of pride. “Actually, it’s Bart.”
 
○○ Ⓣ ○○
 
When Slade emerged from the shower, his skin was glistening with moisture, the water tracing the contours of his scars. He wrapped a stark white towel around his waist, and crossed the plush carpet to sit on the edge of the hotel room bed. He released a slow, deep breath; it was a good job the speedster kid arrived when he did. The notion of being stranded in an alien land or, worse, a different time had gnawed at him with a ferocity that was hard to admit. Without Bart’s intervention, every one of Slade’s meticulously crafted plans would have been utterly dashed.
Facing him, a wall-mounted mirror caught his rugged reflection. Drawn to his own image, Slade studied the scars that mapped his trials, the slick white hair that crowned his head, and the deep lines etched into his face. A familiar discomfort nagged at him, focusing his attention on his right eye. Unable to alleviate the irritation through the skin, Slade exhaled heavily and carefully removed the eye altogether. The movement, fluid and practised, spoke of years of adaptation.
He placed the prosthetic gently on the bed beside him and as he massaged the socket, a decades-old habit, his mind wandered. He wasn't accustomed to keeping the prosthetic in for extended periods. Showering with it had been an uncomfortable experiment in necessity - he didn't like it, but understood the importance of maintaining the facade. The Slade he would have people believe he was would have never lost an eye, because that Slade had led a life far from by the darker paths Slade had truthfully trodden.
His thoughts wandered to his brief time wielding the potent powers of Dove, and Slade felt a twinge of regret at their loss. The clarity and strength those powers had provided were intoxicating, yet he recognised that he had a more important goal, one he couldn’t compromise. His current role demanded not the accumulation of power but the perfection of his deceit, ensuring that all believed he was not the Slade Wilson they knew, but a Reawakened, more innocent doppelganger.
Now, with the glass eye resting beside him, Slade stared at his unmasked visage. Maintaining the myth of the noble Slade was critical. The ruthless mercenary, the World’s Deadliest Killer - those identities had to remain buried. The Titans had believed him enough to entrust him with divine powers, their faith a testament to his performance, but the game was far from over; in fact, it was entering its most critical phase.
 
 
Next: Return to normality in The New Titans #10
 

Animal‌-Man/Swamp‌ ‌Thing

Issue‌ 32:‌ ‌ The Pale Wanderer
Written‌ ‌by‌ ‌Deadislandman1
Edited‌ ‌by‌ PatrollinTheMojave
 
Next‌ ‌Issue‌ ‌> ‌Coming‌ ‌Soon
 
Arc: Flesh and Bark‌ ‌
 ‌ ‌
‌  ‌ ‌
Then
An arc of purple lightning flashed across the night sky of the Boneyard, splitting the dark sky in twain as Capucine trudged across the ashy wastes of the realm. A cold gale ripped through the land, chilling the warrior to the bone, yet after centuries of time living in the Rot’s home realm, it felt identical to the ocean breeze that graced her every evening of her monastic childhood. Anxious, she fiddled with her leather armor, tightening every strap and support to make sure they were all in the right positions. She double checked that her sheath was properly tied to her belt, and that the steel sword within was sharp and clean.
He would catch up to her sooner or later, almost certainly before she made it to the portal. It wasn’t hard to pick that fact up. The Boneyard always became a little rougher when he wasn’t happy. She’d endeavored to spare him a difficult conversation, but perhaps that was too optimistic a hope. He was smart for someone his age, even if he’d made such a grave mistake.
Perhaps she was trying to spare herself the labor of having a conversation, rather than trying to keep the adolescent Avatar’s emotions in check. Perhaps she was just running from her problems, something she couldn’t remember ever doing before. Perhaps her ambitions to steer the young Avatar towards better decisions was the wrong choice on her part.
…No. Her advice was invaluable, she knew that much, and William Holland took that advice well. She just wasn’t in much of a position to give advice anymore.
Climbing atop an gray, dusty hill, Capucine gazed at the portal back to the physical world, composed of a miasma of swirling bones and inky fluids. To the unadjusted nose, it smelled absolutely foul, but to Capucine it smelled no different than the rest of the Boneyard. This was her ticket back, to somewhere where she’d do… something.
She didn’t know what that something was. In fact, she felt nauseous at the idea of wandering the world for centuries yet again with no real goal or purpose, though when considering the alternative, Capucine was ready to step right through the portal, even if her reason for leaving was so small in the grand scheme of things.
Breathless, Capucine took one step towards the portal, only for a boom of thunder to shake the realm. Capucine stopped dead in her tracks, sighing. William didn’t need to say anything to get her attention, as she turned around, coming face to face with the young Avatar.
He’d grown quite a bit in the three years she’d been advising him. His mane of red hair had regained some of its color, and across his pale face stood the beginnings of a beard, with bits of pronounced stubble around his chin and above his lips. He remained as gaunt as ever, yet he’d also grown much taller since his beginning as the Rot’s leader. He looked Capucine in the eyes, keeping his expression as blank as possible, “I got your note.”
Capucine narrowed her eyes, “So you did.”
William’s bottom lip quivered, “There’s no way I can change your mind…is there?”
“Not that I can see,” Capucine remarked.
William’s head drifted to the side as he attempted to avert his gaze, hiding his eyes from Capucine behind his wild hair. He choked back something, maybe a sob, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I said. It was a mistake.”
Capucine took a step forward, feeling the urge to console the boy, yet as she reached out towards him, she found herself frozen by trepidation. She was not a woman of gentle words, and this was a situation that called for them. Rescinding her hand, she stepped back towards the portal, “What’s done is done. I do not hate you, William Arcane, but I cannot stay here.”
Capucine turned her back on William, readying herself to step through the portal. She took one step, then another before William spoke once more, “Tefé.”
Capucine stopped, electing not to turn back and face the young Avatar. Realizing that she was waiting for him to continue, William spoke again, “My sister. I know her, she’s got a good heart, but she’s not like me. She’s not an Avatar. She could always use someone to watch her back.”
For a moment, Capucine did not answer, and the silence seemed to push William to take a few steps back. Turning, he began to walk away, unable to think of much else to say, when Capucine finally answered back, “If she is the sister of William Arcane…then I know her to be someone of good character. Your advice is invaluable, Avatar. Thank you.”
Without another word, Capucine stepped through the portal, disappearing from the Boneyard. William stared at the portal for what felt like hours before he finally shuddered, his shaky breathing accompanied by a single tear that froze up on its way down his cheek, stopping short as a bead of ice just before it fell off of his jaw.
Now
“So you’re here because my brother suggested it?”
“That’s correct.”
Capucine answered Tefé’s inquiry in a dry manner, keeping most of her focus on cleaning the gasoline off her sword with a rag. She sat upon the corpse of the formerly living infected tree, using it as a comfortable log of sorts while Maxine and Tefé remained in their canoe, having managed to dock it by tying it to a nearby set of protruding roots. It was about noon now, and the Florida heat had become unbearable. Maxine wiped her forehead, expecting that she’d probably be dead without the trees as a shield from the sun.
Tefé rubbed her throat, recovering from the vice grip of the tree, “I…how is he? He’s not in trouble is he?”
“Far from it. Your brother is doing better than most. He’s got a keen mind for leadership, and the Rot endures with him as its head,” Capucine sheathed her sword. “He doesn’t need my advice anymore, and I do the world no favors remaining at his side. If I am to continue the preservation of a better world, then it’s best I accompany you instead.”
Tefé grumbled a little, but also couldn’t help but smile, “So the little rascal thinks I need a hand, huh? Thinks I need advice.”
Tefé smirked, then looked up at Capucine, “Got any words of wisdom for me?”
Capucine looked down at the tree carcass, then back at Tefé, “Don’t get grabbed by monstrous trees.”
Tefé swallowed, “Yeah…sound advice.”
Maxine stared at the water, noting that its viscosity had remained unchanged, “Uh…guys? I think there are more gasoline trees somewhere out there. I feel like it would’ve cleared up at least a little bit.”
Capucine jumped into the canoe, breaking the rope keeping it moored with her bare hands, “Then we find the source of the infestation, and remove it.”
Maxine and Tefé didn’t do anything to impede Capucine’s actions, though they were certainly taken aback by this old English era woman taking charge of their mission. Without a word, Capucine grabbed a paddle and began rowing upstream, her toned build making what was a laborious task for Tefé effortless. The trio moved upstream at a rapid pace, with Capucine barely making a single grunt or noise as she paddled onward. As the hours went by, the water to gasoline ratio of the river continued to tip in the gasoline’s favor, to the point that eventually Capucine looked like she was putting real effort into her paddling.
Tefé stared at the woman, unsure of what to make of her, “So…Capucine?”
“Yes?”
“I know your name, I know you’ve been…advising my brother. What else do you do? What’s your story?”
Capucine frowned, “To be brief…I was born over a thousand years ago in Lindisfarne Abbey. What happened after is a personal matter, and one I’d rather not discuss. Similarly, discussing how I came to be immortal, and what I’ve done in the many centuries afterwards would doubtlessly be a fruitless and boring exercise. That energy is better spent rowing.”
Tefé raised an eyebrow, “Okay….then, why are you doing any of this? What drives you to help us?”
Capucine paused for a moment, allowing the canoe to slow in its approach upriver. Then, she snorted, a small smile forming as she began to paddle once more, “I’ve lived long enough to know this is a good place, a good world. I like it intact and alive, and I’d do whatever it takes to keep it that way.”
“Uh…good answer,” Tefé turned her attention to the rest of the forest, watching carefully for threats. Capucine was certainly blunt, and maybe a little scary looking, but from what she could tell the woman wasn’t much of a danger. If she wanted to learn more, she could do that after the case of Silver Springs was solved.
Maxine grimaced, staring at the thick gasoline they were rowing through, “What do you think is causing this stuff? The closest thing I can think of is the Rot but…part of me can’t put that picture together.”
“Because this is not the Rot’s doing. William is well aware of these kinds of problems, and manages them well. He would never allow something like this to escalate as far as it has,” Capucine grunted, her sheath rattling against the interior of the canoe. “This is something different.”
“Oil’s a fossil fuel, right?” Maxine asked, “Could there be any connection?”
“Perhaps, but this isn’t just oil, it’s gasoline. It’s processed,” Capucine grunted, the act of rowing becoming tougher. “Something is turning the oil into Gasoline. Maybe it’s the trees, maybe it’s something else.”
“But what force would do that? There’s definitely something magical going on about these things,” Maxine asked.
Capucine frowned, “I am…unsure. I’ve not heard of any force that pertains to these properties. Perhaps one of them has evolved. Such an occurrence is not unheard of; the Red does it all the time.”
“Or maybe…someone’s twisting a force into something it isn’t,” said Tefé. “Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out soon enough.”
Eventually, the boat rounded a corner, passing another infected tree. Maxine and Tefé readied themselves, only for Capucine to keep paddling, “Do not bother with them. They’re symptoms, not the cause.”
Maxine raised an eyebrow, “And the cause is….where?”
Capucine pointed down the river, and past a muddy, poisoned shore sat an entire row of the ailing cypresses, encircling a clearing of some kind. As the canoe pushed up against the mid, Capucine trudged out, making her way towards the clearing with her hand on her longsword’s hilt. The trees seemed to regard her, blatantly still conscious, yet they did not attack. Maxine and Tefé followed in trepidation, eyeing the trees in suspicion.
“Why aren’t they attacking?” Maxine asked.
“I don’t know,” Capucine remarked. “Perhaps they’re afraid.”
“Of you…or of something else?” Tefé wondered aloud.
As the three entered the clearing, they came across a sight none of them would have expected…a human heart.
It laid in the mud, rooted by cartilage that snaked its way beneath the earth. It beat with a satisfying rhythm, pulsating as if it still rested inside the body of a living man. A thick liquid permeated the mud, shifting outward from the heart.
Gasoline.
Capucine drew her sword, preparing to stab the heart with it. Eyes wide, Maxine jumped in front of her, “Woah woah woah, what are you doing?!”
“I’m removing the problem,” Capucine remarked.
“But…but…we don’t know what this thing even is?”
Capucine sneered at Maxine, “Is it not obvious? Someone or something has perverted an object of the Red, and that infection is spreading to the Green. With its removal, this area can begin healing.”
“How can you know that for sure? I’m the Avatar of the Red, and I can’t feel any trace of the Red in there,” Maxine exclaimed.
“Then the corruption of the object has completely overridden its connection to the Red. All the more reason to destroy it.”
Maxine whirled around, staring at Tefé for help. Tefé opened her mouth to protest, yet she was unsure of how to proceed. On the one hand, the Green was suffering, this place was suffering. Getting rid of the heart seemed like the right answer, yet Maxine was right as well. They knew practically nothing about this heart, and if the trees weren’t attacking them, maybe it was an invitation to learn more.
Before she could voice her opinion on one approach or the other though, a new voice made itself known, a raspy, texan accent that came from vocal chords that didn’t realize they were long past their expiration date.
“Well, if you’d let me speak…I’d love to tell you why I deserve to live!”
The trio assumed defensive stances as the ground rumbled around the heart, at which point a dozen or so ribs began to poke out of the mud around the heart, followed by rotten yet well preserved flesh. The heart and ribs rose with the flesh, revealing a man with an open chest as he picked himself up from out of the mud. He was wearing an old coat and pants, and wore only one sock on his feet. Inconsistent, matted hair hung from his head, covered up slightly by a ruined cowboy hat. An ugly stubble dotted his cheeks, paired with yellow teeth and milky white eyes. He smiled, raising what looked to be an old revolver to his chin to scratch it with the barrel. With the other hand, he reached out to shake any of the trio’s hands, “Howdy folks. Pale Wanderer, representing the Parliament of Gears…how are you doing this fine day?”
The trio looked at each other in confusion, then Capucine spoke, “What are you? Are you the cause of the Malady plaguing this land.”
“Well…I wouldn’t call it a malady per-se! More of a necessary sacrifice.” The Pale Wanderer tipped his hat up. “As for what I am? Well honey…I’m a crusader. A force meant to alleviate suffering, and right now? That suffering is…well, it’s not exactly something any of the flora or fauna here really give a shit about.”
“And what’s that?” Tefé asked.
“Well…it’s a bit of a logistical nightmare to explain, but it starts with oil!” The Pale Wanderer gestured towards the ground. “We’re a car based society, here in the United States I mean! Trouble is, gas prices are fuckin’ outrageous these days, right?”
Capucine narrowed her eyes, “I do not see how that should concern us.”
“I’m not finished!” The Pale Wanderer remarked. “The average American has to pay an arm and a leg for gas nowadays, and they need gas if they want to get anywhere. Have a job, wanna see family, need to make a trip to the grocery store? Need to pay for gas if you wanna to any of that! Trouble is, gas comes from oil, and oil? It’s getting rarer by the minute…that’s why I made this place!”
The Pale Wanderer raised his arms, gesturing to the gasoline laced mud and the producing trees, “Think about it! More Gasoline means the market price of Gasoline’s gonna go down, which means gas is cheaper for everyone! At least, I think that’s how it works! Plus, my Gas is A+ quality, even comes in Diesel!”
As The Pale Wanderer continued on about his tirade on Gas prices, Maxine and Tefé shared a confused glance at each other. They’d never encountered something like this before, something this unusual, this keyed in and calculated in purpose yet scattershot in reasoning. The only thing two of them seemed to fixate on though was something the Pale Wanderer said when he introduced himself.
The Parliament of Gears.
Tefé stepped forward, “You said you were part of the Parliament of Gears? What is that? I’ve never heard of them.”
“Oh, That’s cause we’re new on the block, sweetie, but glad to be here,” The Pale Wanderer remarked. “Not qualified to sell them overall though, you’ll have to talk to marketing for that.”
“Enough!” Capucine declared, holding the point of the sword at the Pale Wanderer. “Your reasons for poisoning this place are simplistic and needless. Leave, or I will make you leave!”
The Pale Wanderer raised an eyebrow, “See, now I don’t like comments like that! We’re all just having a lovely discussion and now all you wanna do is escalate! Things don’t have to be this way! Maybe we can work something out?”
Tefé glanced between Capucine and the Pale Wanderer, making an educated guess that Capucine wasn’t the type to back down in these sorts of situations. Furthermore, she had a point. This place was suffering, and no matter the Pale Wanderer’s intentions, that was something that wouldn’t stand, “We don’t want to fight you, but what you’re doing is…horrifying. You’re killing everything around here for…Gasoline! We can’t stand by and let that happen.”
The Pale Wanderer glanced at Tefé, a glum look on his face. Maxine seemed to be holder her breath somewhat, but there was no question that she was on Tefé and Capucine’s side. Sighing, The Pale Wanderer scratched his thigh with his gun, “So that’s how it is?”
Capucine’s grip on her sword tightened, “That’s how it is.”
The Pale Wanderer pursed his lips, “...Well, if we’ve got no more words to share…I guess we better hop to it.”
The wanderer raised his revolver, only for Capucine to surge forward at lightning speed, piercing him in the heart with her sword. For a moment, he was still, motionless, and Capucine stared him dead in the eyes. Then, he shifted, and after meeting her gaze, he began to laugh, his guffawing causing gasoline to spurt from his heart and onto Capucine’s sword and armor, “Hah! Good try!”
Capucine attempted to back away from the Wanderer, only for him to grab her wrist, keeping her and the sword wedged firmly in his body. Raising his weapon, he prepared to put a bullet in Capucine’s eyes, only for her to deliver a swift fist to his arm, knocking the gun out of his hands. Smiling, he took advantage of his newly freed hand, grabbing her by the throat and squeezing tight. As Capucine struggled for air, the Wanderer could only hoot and holler, “Whooo-weeee! We’re getting down to it now!”
Maxine and Tefé rushed to help the ancient warrior, only for a mob of living trees to encroach upon them, blocking their way while attempting to grab or smash them with their heavy branched arms. Maxine dove to the left, dodging the crushing slam of one tree, while Tefé slipped through the roots of another, narrowly avoiding being picked up again. Separated, the two tried to get a read on each other while avoiding harm, yet it was difficult for either of them to really do anything to help Capucine.
They were both far from the Red and the Green’s safety. No animal would go anywhere near the Pale Wanderer, meaning Maxine’s powers were utterly neutered. Similarly, there was no living plant life near the battlefield, meaning Tefé couldn’t use her powers either. If they wanted to get out of this, they would need to think outside the box.
And that’s when Tefé spotted the Wanderer’s revolver sitting in the mud, and a wild idea crossed her mind as she scanned it and the gasoline laden ground around it. She glanced at Maxine, then to the gun, and Maxine seemed to pick up on what she was thinking. It was a gambit, an insane gambit, but without much power to draw on, it might be their only shot.
Together, the two began to race for the gun, trying desperately to keep out of the reach of the trees. Tefé tried to get there quickly, yet she found herself pursued by a half dozen trees, pressured by their presence. Maxine was closer, and managed to pick up the gun as Tefé was halfway over, only for a tree to come barreling towards her. She whirled around to run, only to snag her foot on a dead root, causing her to trip and fall. Afraid of losing their one chance at Victory, Maxine shared a split second look with Tefé before throwing the gun towards the Pale Wanderer, just as the tree came down on her. It stretched out its arms, its branches ensnaring her and trapping her in place.
Her mind in overdrive, Tefé pivoted and raced for the Pale Wanderer, leaping over the swinging branches of another tree in order to catch the gun. Capucine gasped for air, her eyes glazing over as the Wanderer choked the life out of her, laughing like a madman. With the trees about to grab her, Tefé leapt for the Wanderer’s back, looping one arm around his neck to hold on while planting the gun’s barrel against the gasoline soaked sword, “Stop!”
The trees froze in place, including the one holding Maxine captive. The Pale Wanderer raised his eyebrow, loosening his grip on Capucine and allowing her to breath, “What’s this now? Ready to call it quits?”
Tefé gritted her teeth, “I’m ready to make a deal, and if you refuse, I’ll blow us all sky high! Even you won’t survive that, will you?”
“The hell’re you…” The Pale Wanderer looked down at the gun planted against the sword, and finally realized what was at stake. There was a reason smoking a cigarette at a gas station was a stupid idea, and Tefé was willing to demonstrate. A bullet crashing against steel would cause sparks, and sparks can light many fires, especially ones where the ground was soaked in gasoline. She’s set miles of forest on fire, to nuke the entire place from the ground up….and from the tone of her words, the Wanderer knew Tefé meant it, “Ohhhhh…Clever girl….Ha! So, you’ve got me. What do you want from me?”
Tefé let out a grunt of exhaustion, “I want you…to fuck off and never come back here. Got it?”
The Wanderer chuckled, then winked at Capucine, letting go of her and allowing her to pull out the sword, “Well then, a deal’s a deal.”
Snapping his fingers, The Wanderer watched as every tree around him began to dissolve into an inky ooze, including the one holding onto Maxine, who became drencheds in the stuff. Similarly, the Wanderer himself began to dissolve, though much more slowly. As he sank into the earth, he looked up at Tefé and Capucine, “This place’ll return to what it once was, but don’t count me out just yet. We’ll be seeing each other…oh, and keep the gun. Think of it as a gift from little ol’ me.”
Eventually, the Pale Wanderer was gone, not even his hat remaining, leaving Maxine, Tefé, and Capucine to stare at the spot he once occupied. The crisis at hand was solved, at least as far as they knew, but the problems were only just beginning.
A new force of nature was here, and it did not seem to be a peaceful one.
 
Next Issue: A Trip to somewhere new!
 

If you are Brad the Bard, Fabreechio the Rogue, or Fel the Warlock, look away!
​
I'm running Light of Xaryxis with my group, and the rogue had a magical "Shortsword of eavesdropping" where they can use an action to hear whatever sounds are around the sword as long as it's on the same plane.
Now, they just fought Hastain the reigar - and won - and wanted to tow along the dying esthetic. They hopped on it with some rope, and couldn't find a good way to tie it up, so the rogue decided to stab into it with this shortsword. As the esthetic was drifting away from their ship, the rogue's tether became taut - he held on to the sword to start towing the esthetic, but bombed the strength save, leaving the sword behind, embedded in the esthetic, as the party reeled him back onto their ship.
So I'm looking for a variety of fun ideas to happen here. Maybe pirates come across the corpse and the sword goes into some black market for magic weapons, maybe the corpse becomes food for a lunar dragon and the sword becomes part of its hoard. What else could happen?

Mr. Winslow accused my mother of stealing his dead wife’s jewelry.
I explained it was impossible. He was welcome to search the tiny apartment I shared with my mother and aunt, he could look wherever he wanted.
“We share a tiny space,” I said. “We barely have enough room for our clothes. I don’t even know where she would hide jewelry.”
I was worried we would lose him as a client. Which would suck because cleaning his house was basically the majority of our rent cheque. But a week later he found the pearl necklace, it had somehow travelled down to his basement.
“I’m still missing the gold bangle though,” he said. “And some earrings.”
I told him I was sorry, but I had no idea. If my mom or aunt found it on their next clean, I promised they would let him know right away.
He hummed and hawed. There might’ve been a week where he hired a different maid service, but eventually he called back, asking if he could hire all three of us on-site again.
I thanked him profusely. I told him we’d keep an eye out for the missing valuables.
***
On our drive over, I had my mom and aunt practice the apology we would give him in English. Even though we didn’t steal anything, I explained we should still say sorry.
“Why?” My aunt asked. “That’s so stupid.”
“Everyone apologizes for everything in Canada. Just trust me. He will want it.”
“We need the work,” my mom said.
For a second my aunt revved up to say something else, but then let it go. We did need the work.
When we arrived, Mr. Winslow was on a phone call, watching his two large goldendoodles play in the front yard. He waved, then gestured to the front door. My mom and aunt gave small bows and carried their cleaning supplies inside.
Before I could enter, he put the phone behind his ear and approached me.
“Ida, hi. Good to see you again. Listen, don't worry about the jewelry. Water under the bridge. Hey. I’m leaving in an hour or so, and I won’t be back until late tonight. I’m wondering if you’d be interested in dog-sitting? You’ve been around Toto and Kipper. What do you think? I’d really appreciate the help.”
I never liked the way he looked at me. It was always too close, and it lingered for too long. My aunt may have been right in that he hired us back just to see me again, but I ignored the thought.
“And don’t worry, I can cover your cab back. My usual walker is just out on holiday. You can help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge. How does six hundred sound?”
I looked at his house and imagined if I would be comfortable there. Alone at night.
“I’ll make it seven-hundred. I know it's last minute. I just hate leaving them alone. Plus Toto has his medicine. You would do me a real solid.”
My apron needed adjusting so I put down my bucket. I focused on the polyester knot, keeping my gaze away from his. I really didn’t want to be doing this, but my aunt would call me stupid for refusing easy money. And frankly, so would I.
“I had plans, but I’m willing to give them up.” I said with a straight face. “Eight hundred and it’s a done deal.”
He paused for a second, observing me scrupulously. Then he found his usual, smarmy half-smile. “You’re a life saver, you know that? An Angel.”
His hand gripped my shoulder. Then patted it twice.
***
Both my mom and aunt were pleased about the extra cash, they said I deserved to make extra for all the bookkeeping I do. But they also both voiced their concerns for safety. They said they could stay with me if I wanted.
“Safety? Mamãe I’m just watching two dogs.”
My mom wiped a caked red stain off his counter. An old wine spill. “Yes, but so late in his house? You’re not worried he might … I don’t know …”
Might what? Exploit me?
I met his groundskeeper once, another immigrant contractor. Except the groundskeeper was being paid far less, because he never properly negotiated. Mr. Winslow was certainly capable of exploiting people when he wanted to, and I’m sure he would try the same on my family.
But I was different. I’d gone to school in Banniver, and I knew the little maneuvers played by the so-called “progressive people in North America.”
And Winslow knew it too.
He didn’t realize a Canadian-raised daughter organized her mom’s cleaning service. Or that she would show up on the first day as a statement. That statement being: You can’t get away with mistreating these old Brazilian women. And you certainly can’t swindle them out of the going rates in his neighborhood. I’m onto you.
I had asserted myself with this Mr. Winslow, and felt confident that I could stand my ground if he tried any bullshit.
“Mamãe I’m not worried about him. Really, I’m not. He’s a pushover.”
***
6:00PM rolled around, it was just me and the goldendoodles.
My mom and aunt were back at home, watching low-res soaps on a Macbook, but they said if I encountered anything strange—a sound, a smell, an unexpected car in the driveway—to give them a call right away.
“Mamãe, its two dogs. I’ll be fine.”
“Just keep your phone close Ida. Your auntie has sensed things in that house. Unpleasant things.”
I forgot to mention my aunt thinks of herself as an amateur medium. In the village she grew up in, she claimed she could sometimes see people who were recently deceased.
But I never really believed her. Mostly because it was also my auntie’s idea to charge families who wanted to forward messages to the very same people who were recently deceased.
“Okay mamãe, whatever you say. I’ll phone you if I get scared.”
“That house has a history Ida, you could feel it in the walls. The outside too.”
It sure does. A history of being owned by a wealthy prick.
***
The sun slinked below the overcast horizon like a dying lantern. It got dark much faster than I expected.
I kept all the lights on, and played with the dogs a bit, trying to encourage them to try piss on the shag rug. Neither did. They mostly wanted naps.
I tried napping for a bit too, but the leather couch felt like it was made of rock. I just couldn’t get comfortable.
Eventually I made myself dinner—some pasta that had been bought from Whole Foods—and ate it while scrolling on my phone.
I was just about done, ready to take my dirty plate in the sink when I first heard it.
The first explosion.
It came from the basement. A vibrating KAPOW that rattled the windows and chandelier on my floor. It sounded like someone had set off a cherry bomb.
What the hell?
I turned to the dogs who were just as scared as I was. They came whimpering with tails between their legs.
Could a pipe have burst or something?
I looked at the basement door, an area we were not instructed to clean, and then heard another explosion.
Vases shook. A painting went tilted. It sounded louder. Like full grade firework. I had lived in Rio de Janeiro, by Prianha beach, where they often launched celebratory fireworks. This was just as deafening.
I didn’t want to go down to the basement. In fact, I sat by the front door.
Both dogs huddled around me.
***
Twenty minutes passed. It had been quiet.
Out of pride I refused to call my mom—I didn’t want to admit I was scared. Instead, I spent the time going through all the rational answers in my head that could explain away the noise. Plumbing, terrorism, teen pranks … hot springs?
There were hot springs all over West Bann.
Obviously, some kind of pent-up geyser had lay dormant for a while, and it was now suddenly unleashing a ton of energy below Mr. Winslow’s house. To distract myself, I Wikipedia’d the history of West Banniver, and satisfied this theory.
During the 1850’s gold rush, West Banniver saw rapid settlement as a mining town. The proliferation of mine shafts soon led to a discovery of underground hot springs. Mayfield Briggs Ltd which was the first company to seize the opportunity as a tourist attraction…
That’s all it was. A hot spring releasing a buildup of pressure.
Then a third explosion came.
It was so loud and violent that the door to the basement flew open. I fell to the ground and covered my head as several books went flying off nearby shelves.
The dogs yipped and barked like crazy. They stood in front of me, guarding against an unseen force. A voice shrieked from the basement.
“HELP!!! HELLLLP!”
Rivets shot through my hands and knees. I was frozen to the floor.
“PLEEEEEEASE!”
It had the high-pitched desperation of someone whose life was about to end. I raised my head and listened closely to hear haggard, dusty coughing. It sounded like an old man’s cough. It echoed through the basement and into the living room. Between coughs the man continued to plead for his life.
HELLLLP!”
I had no idea who it could be or how he got down there.
Before I could think, one of the dogs shot past me, bolting down the basement steps, barking ferociously.
“Kipper!”
I tried to grab the loose leash, but I could only hold the collar of his sibling. “Kipper come back here!”
“HELLO?” The voice from below seemed to recognize my presence. “PLEASE, YOU’VE GOT TO HELP!”
I was now upright, breathing as fast as Toto was panting. I tied Toto to the thick rails on the stairs. I had to save the other dog.
Instinctually I grabbed my phone, slipped an AirPod in one ear, and dialed my mother without even looking at the screen.
“Mãe. There’s … something terrible is happening.”
My mother was suitably confused. Even more so when she heard the screaming of the man downstairs as his voice echoed in the living room. It was a cry of immense, awful pain.
After two slower, more detailed explanations of what I just heard, my mother told me to call the fire department. “Poke your head through the basement, see what’s happening. Then call the fire department.”
That made sense to me. I inched my way to the basement entrance and tried to see past the doorway. It was complete darkness. There was no light switch.
I turned the torch on my phone, and my aunt’s voice came blaring. “Get out of there Ida! I am telling you, there is darkness in that house!”
As I illuminated the dusty wooden stairs, I saw that they only lead only to more pitch black. Yup, plenty of darkness here.
There was some phone-wrestling. My mother came back on. “What is it? What did you see?”
“Don’t encourage her! Get her to leave!” my auntie yelled in the background.
I told them to pipe down because I could suddenly hear the gentle whimpering at the base of the stairs. The dog sounded close.
“Kipper come! This way! Follow my voice!”
I went down a few steps further, expecting the basement floor to appear any second, but there were only more wooden steps. How long was this staircase?
“Kipper?”
There was a flat, cold wall on my left, and no guard rail to speak of. I stepped down each step very carefully to maintain my balance, sliding my hand along the wall.
Then the wall disappeared. I flew forward.
***
I woke up lying face-first on rocky floor. My phone was cracked next to me. My mother was crying in my ear. “Ida! Ida! Oh my god! Ida!”
I looked up to see I was not at the bottom of someone’s basement. There were lights all above me. Lanterns. They were illuminating a cavernous, rocky chamber that led to many tunnels with train tracks and wooden carts. I was in the opening of a massive underground mine.
I coughed, and gave out a weak “… what?”
“Ida is that you? Are you… brrzzzzz” My mom’s voice faded.
Before I could reply, I saw the crooked form of a man in tan coveralls, shaking the immobile body of another person in coveralls next to him. In fact, there was a small row of half a dozen miners all slumped against a blasted rock wall. There were bits of granite, wood, rope, and what looked like entrails splattered all throughout.
“Oh the cruelty …” the one, standing miner said. He went from body to body and jostled each of his coworkers. “Must I find you all like this … every time?”
I crawled up to a half-standing pose and tried to see the face of the hunched over survivor.
My heart dropped.
He had no face.
The explosion which must have killed some of friends had also blasted away this man’s entire sternum, neck and skull. The miner wasn’t hunched over or leaning away with his head, he just simply … had no head.
And up there, floating right in the middle of where his face should be, were a set of eyeballs, glistening under the yellow lights.
The eyes turned to me. “Oh. Why hello. Hello there.”
Terrified, I rose to complete standing and opened both my palms in a show of total deference. “I don’t know. I don’t know who you are or what this is.”
The headless miner walked toward me. I noticed he carried a pickaxe in his right arm. He gestured with his left to where his ear would be.
“I’m sorry I can’t hear you. Had an accident.”
Despite him having no head, his voice still came from where his mouth would be. There was an earnestness in his speech, it might have had something to do with his very old-timey accent, but I still felt like he was trying to be friendly.
“Another batch of faulty dynamite. Everyone’s dead. But what else is new.”
He brought his left palm to his face, perhaps to wipe away tears, but instead his hand travelled through his nonexistent head to scratch a small portion of his back.
“Been dead for many years I’m afraid. But I’ve kept busy. Been a good man. Worked very hard for the boss upstairs.”
He gestured upwards with the pickaxe. I looked up, and out in the distance, I saw a large, ancient, set of wooden stairs that I must have fallen from. They extended far up into the mine’s ceiling and kept going.
“He’s gotten good ore from me. Good, shining, golden ore. I have a knack for it you see. The same knack that killed me so many years ago. It's probably what’s still keeping me around though.”
He came closer. I could see he had brown irises, with one of the cataracts deteriorating into milky white haze. The eyes stared at me, unblinking.
“Because I’m not done, see. This mine isn’t empty. I know there’s more gold. Much more. And it’s not all for the boss. No, I’m keeping some to myself. Don’t tell him, but I’ve been stashing a large deposit for myself. It can’t all be his of course. It’s my mine after all. Half these tunnels were dug entirely by me. So of course I deserve some. It’s only natural.”
I lifted my hand and pointed at the staircase behind him. I mouthed very big, obvious words. “I have to go back. I’m going back up those stairs.”
He shifted his body. His two eyes turned in the air as if they were still inside an invisible skull. I saw nerve endings at the back undulate and twist.
“Yes, that is the only way up.”
My heart was in my throat. At least I found some form of communication. I gestured to knee height and nervously asked if he had seen a “large, shaggy dog.”
“Ah yes. I’ve seen the pooches. They come down here sometimes. When the booms don’t scare em that is. Hahah.”
I gave a thumbs up. It felt like a ridiculous interaction with a ghost, or zombie or whatever this was, but at least it was working.
“I think I saw his little tail run over that way. They like the smell of the mineral spring.”
I turned behind to see the long tunnel he was pointing at. It was dimly lit by a chain of smaller lanterns.
I thought I saw a flutter of movement, and I would have kept looking further if it wasn’t for my aunt’s voice that suddenly exploded in my ear. “Brrrzt … Ida! If you can hear us, we are calling the police to your location. Help is coming soon! … ”
I winced and stepped back—which saved my life. I just so happened to step right out of the way of a pickaxe. It sparked the ground.
I gasped and stared at the headless miner. His eyes were shimmering with a dark focus, staring directly at mine.
“Oh I’ll help you find the dog. I’ll help you find whatever you want. But I’ll need those clean new eyes of yours first.”
He swung at my head. I ducked. He went for the backswing. I ran.
Stupidly, I ran in the opposite direction of the stairs. I ran straight into the long tunnel lined with dim lanterns.
But I couldn’t turn around. I had no idea how quick he could move. And the speed of his pickaxe felt supernatural.
The tunnel was narrow, and lined with wooden tracks, I had to skip-run-jump over the panels with immense precision to make sure I didn’t trip. Behind me, his voice chased.
“Go ahead. Run. I know where these all lead.”
I ignored the words and kept going. The tunnel bent left, then right, then left again. I ignored several exits before the tunnel spat me out into an open, cavernous room filled with dozens and dozens of minecarts.
I investigated the room for anything useful. A far opposite wall appeared to be the site of the latest digging, loose rock lay everywhere.
There was a small mineshaft holding a chained up cart. And something in the cart shimmered…
It was gold.
And not just ore either. There were bars, coins, medallions, and jewelry. Mrs. Winslow’s bangles were right on top.
I ran to the cart furthest from the entrance and ducked behind it, breathing heavily, coughing from all the dust.
The headless man emerged from the tunnel, pickaxe raised and scanning where I could have hid. “I may not be able to hear you. But I can follow footprints pretty easily hah. I know you’re in here.”
He grabbed the closest minecart available and pushed it into the tunnel entrance. With an immense show of strength, he lifted and dislodged the cart off the track, cramming it sideways, creating a massive obstacle.
I was sealed inside.
Trying to stay absolutely still, I coughed through my teeth. Lungs burning. My mom’s voice came through.
“Brrzzztt… The police should be there! I told them you were in danger! They said they sent a unit over. Maybe they broke down the front door?”
I looked up at the mine shaft next to me. If it did connect to the surface upstairs, this was my only chance.
I gave a couple good yells. “HEEEEELP!!! DOWN HERE!! HELP!”
I don’t know if it did any good, but it was better than nothing. I turned to see if the miner had heard anything.
He hadn't.
The pickaxe tapped and clanged awkwardly around minecart after minecart.
I had a bigger advantage than I thought.
Although the miner had two floating eyeballs, only the left one was really capable of seeing anything.
So I kept my distance and watched where he was going, always staying behind.
As he limped and peered around minecarts, I was able to evade him, move from behind rock piles and other carts, careful not to leave a trail in the rock dust.
It was all going well until I heard a familiar panting.
“Oh look. If it isn’t precious.”
The dog had managed to jump over the miner’s blockade. It must have heard my yells. Surprisingly, Kipper was unafraid of the headless villain, and even approached him to receive pets.
“Now why don’t you go say hello to our other friend here huh? I know she's here somewhere.”
No. Kipper. Please. Don’t.
The dog started sniffing. Within seconds he found my scent. Kipper skipped towards me like Lassie and excitedly licked my face.
“Aww there we are. Now isn’t that a good boy?”
I stood up and stared at the filthy, ash-stained coveralls. Despite the lack of teeth, I could sense a menacing grin where the mouth should be.
He wasn't going to lose sight of me now. I had nowhere to go.
So I did the thing my auntie said worked on all spirits. I fell to my knees and prayed.
“Please. I only came here for work. I’m too young to die. Let me go and I won't tell anyone that you're here.”
He stood over me. Both of his pupils started to quiver. In just a few seconds, his eyes were swimming excitedly within the space of his head.
I took off the only valuable I had. A gold necklace with a miniature version of Christ the Redeemer. A gift I had received as a teen in Rio. I held it out in my shaking hands.
“Please. Take it. Take everything.”
Suddenly both the eyeballs stared forward again, entranced by the gold.
“Well look at that. How generous. How generous of her. We should reward generosity shouldn’t we?”
***
It was hard for me to describe to the police officer how exactly I got out, because I have no idea.
The fiery pain where my eyes used to be overwhelmed my entire reality for hours. All I wanted was for it to stop.
They found me half inside a dumbwaiter bleeding to death from the gouges in my face.
I was taken to the hospital, where I would spend the next four weeks recovering.
The police did not in fact storm the house like my mom said. They waited outside for the homeowner to return. But when they heard my screams coming from the top floor, they broke the back door and eventually came to my rescue.
I’m told they did a thorough investigation but could not find any of the things I described.
The basement door led into a regular basement. It was filled with old furniture, unused decor, and paint cans. No Mine.
The dumbwaiter was also just a dumbwaiter. It wasn’t some mine shaft, and it didn’t lead any deeper than the basement. Nothing special.
There were definitely hot springs close by, but nothing close enough to damage Mr. Winslow's property. And there was an old, depleted gold mine not far away either, but it was completely abandoned, closed off, and nowhere near as big as the one I had described.
***
The police, paramedics and doctors all thought my story was some hallucination. That I had been on drugs or had some mental breakdown (even though they couldn’t find anything in me other than small traces of weed.)
Thankfully, my mother and aunt believed me. They believed every word. My aunt is the one who encouraged me to make this post, so others could hear my story.
I know it was real.
I know it was.
And Mr. Winslow is fully aware of the mine’s existence.
Putting the dots together, I realized it was likely the source of his wealth. Winslow had some control over that one headless miner down there.
Did Winslow intentionally entrap me? Was he trying to get the miner a new set of eyes? Or was it all an unfortunate accident?
I might never know.
But what I do know is that Mr. Winslow has been paying for our rent ever since the accident.
He feels “terrible about the situation” and “can’t possibly imagine” what I’ve been through.
But he knows what happened.
He knows if I really pushed, If I really forced the police, or some private investigator to look into it—they would uncover something awful. Something really really bad.
“Anything you need. Anything at all. I will cover it, Ida.” He said. “You helped me out, protected my dogs, and I will never forget it.”
He’s offered to pay for the rest of my University schooling. And once my face heals up, he’s even offered to cover for some very expensive, experimental eye-transplant. We’ll see how that goes.
“You and your family will live comfortably from now on. You’ll want for nothing. Tell me exactly what you need, And you’ll get it.”
So I told him I'd like my necklace back. It was an heirloom. I said I lost it somewhere in his house.
A few days later, he returned with the usual smug, half-crooked smirk in his voice. He brought the necklace back in a box, pretending he had bought me a new one. Except it felt exactly like my old one.
It was all shined up, completely buffed of scratches, but it weighed the same. It was my old one for sure.
When my mom saw it she asked, “did it always have it? This dedication?”
As far as I remembered, the backside of the tiny Christ the Redeemer was always plain. I fingered its shape in my hands.
“What dedication?”
The new little divots caught my nails. There was writing that was definitely not there before.
My mom described it as a curly, serif font. Like a gift for a lover.
~ You’re an angel ~
~ W ~

Mr. Winslow accused my mother of stealing his dead wife’s jewelry.
I explained it was impossible. He was welcome to search the tiny apartment I shared with my mother and aunt, he could look wherever he wanted.
“We share a tiny space,” I said. “We barely have enough room for our clothes. I don’t even know where she would hide jewelry.”
I was worried we would lose him as a client. Which would suck because cleaning his house was basically the majority of our rent cheque. But a week later he found the pearl necklace, it had somehow travelled down to his basement.
“I’m still missing the gold bangle though,” he said. “And some earrings.”
I told him I was sorry, but I had no idea. If my mom or aunt found it on their next clean, I promised they would let him know right away.
He hummed and hawed. There might’ve been a week where he hired a different maid service, but eventually he called back, asking if he could hire all three of us on-site again.
I thanked him profusely. I told him we’d keep an eye out for the missing valuables.
***
On our drive over, I had my mom and aunt practice the apology we would give him in English. Even though we didn’t steal anything, I explained we should still say sorry.
“Why?” My aunt asked. “That’s so stupid.”
“Everyone apologizes for everything in Canada. Just trust me. He will want it.”
“We need the work,” my mom said.
For a second my aunt revved up to say something else, but then let it go. We did need the work.
When we arrived, Mr. Winslow was on a phone call, watching his two large goldendoodles play in the front yard. He waved, then gestured to the front door. My mom and aunt gave small bows and carried their cleaning supplies inside.
Before I could enter, he put the phone behind his ear and approached me.
“Ida, hi. Good to see you again. Listen, don't worry about the jewelry. Water under the bridge. Hey. I’m leaving in an hour or so, and I won’t be back until late tonight. I’m wondering if you’d be interested in dog-sitting? You’ve been around Toto and Kipper. What do you think? I’d really appreciate the help.”
I never liked the way he looked at me. It was always too close, and it lingered for too long. My aunt may have been right in that he hired us back just to see me again, but I ignored the thought.
“And don’t worry, I can cover your cab back. My usual walker is just out on holiday. You can help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge. How does six hundred sound?”
I looked at his house and imagined if I would be comfortable there. Alone at night.
“I’ll make it seven-hundred. I know it's last minute. I just hate leaving them alone. Plus Toto has his medicine. You would do me a real solid.”
My apron needed adjusting so I put down my bucket. I focused on the polyester knot, keeping my gaze away from his. I really didn’t want to be doing this, but my aunt would call me stupid for refusing easy money. And frankly, so would I.
“I had plans, but I’m willing to give them up.” I said with a straight face. “Eight hundred and it’s a done deal.”
He paused for a second, observing me scrupulously. Then he found his usual, smarmy half-smile. “You’re a life saver, you know that? An Angel.”
His hand gripped my shoulder. Then patted it twice.
***
Both my mom and aunt were pleased about the extra cash, they said I deserved to make extra for all the bookkeeping I do. But they also both voiced their concerns for safety. They said they could stay with me if I wanted.
“Safety? Mamãe I’m just watching two dogs.”
My mom wiped a caked red stain off his counter. An old wine spill. “Yes, but so late in his house? You’re not worried he might … I don’t know …”
Might what? Exploit me?
I met his groundskeeper once, another immigrant contractor. Except the groundskeeper was being paid far less, because he never properly negotiated. Mr. Winslow was certainly capable of exploiting people when he wanted to, and I’m sure he would try the same on my family.
But I was different. I’d gone to school in Banniver, and I knew the little maneuvers played by the so-called “progressive people in North America.”
And Winslow knew it too.
He didn’t realize a Canadian-raised daughter organized her mom’s cleaning service. Or that she would show up on the first day as a statement. That statement being: You can’t get away with mistreating these old Brazilian women. And you certainly can’t swindle them out of the going rates in his neighborhood. I’m onto you.
I had asserted myself with this Mr. Winslow, and felt confident that I could stand my ground if he tried any bullshit.
“Mamãe I’m not worried about him. Really, I’m not. He’s a pushover.”
***
6:00PM rolled around, it was just me and the goldendoodles.
My mom and aunt were back at home, watching low-res soaps on a Macbook, but they said if I encountered anything strange—a sound, a smell, an unexpected car in the driveway—to give them a call right away.
“Mamãe, its two dogs. I’ll be fine.”
“Just keep your phone close Ida. Your auntie has sensed things in that house. Unpleasant things.”
I forgot to mention my aunt thinks of herself as an amateur medium. In the village she grew up in, she claimed she could sometimes see people who were recently deceased.
But I never really believed her. Mostly because it was also my auntie’s idea to charge families who wanted to forward messages to the very same people who were recently deceased.
“Okay mamãe, whatever you say. I’ll phone you if I get scared.”
“That house has a history Ida, you could feel it in the walls. The outside too.”
It sure does. A history of being owned by a wealthy prick.
***
The sun slinked below the overcast horizon like a dying lantern. It got dark much faster than I expected.
I kept all the lights on, and played with the dogs a bit, trying to encourage them to try piss on the shag rug. Neither did. They mostly wanted naps.
I tried napping for a bit too, but the leather couch felt like it was made of rock. I just couldn’t get comfortable.
Eventually I made myself dinner—some pasta that had been bought from Whole Foods—and ate it while scrolling on my phone.
I was just about done, ready to take my dirty plate in the sink when I first heard it.
The first explosion.
It came from the basement. A vibrating KAPOW that rattled the windows and chandelier on my floor. It sounded like someone had set off a cherry bomb.
What the hell?
I turned to the dogs who were just as scared as I was. They came whimpering with tails between their legs.
Could a pipe have burst or something?
I looked at the basement door, an area we were not instructed to clean, and then heard another explosion.
Vases shook. A painting went tilted. It sounded louder. Like full grade firework. I had lived in Rio de Janeiro, by Prianha beach, where they often launched celebratory fireworks. This was just as deafening.
I didn’t want to go down to the basement. In fact, I sat by the front door.
Both dogs huddled around me.
***
Twenty minutes passed. It had been quiet.
Out of pride I refused to call my mom—I didn’t want to admit I was scared. Instead, I spent the time going through all the rational answers in my head that could explain away the noise. Plumbing, terrorism, teen pranks … hot springs?
There were hot springs all over West Bann.
Obviously, some kind of pent-up geyser had lay dormant for a while, and it was now suddenly unleashing a ton of energy below Mr. Winslow’s house. To distract myself, I Wikipedia’d the history of West Banniver, and satisfied this theory.
During the 1850’s gold rush, West Banniver saw rapid settlement as a mining town. The proliferation of mine shafts soon led to a discovery of underground hot springs. Mayfield Briggs Ltd which was the first company to seize the opportunity as a tourist attraction…
That’s all it was. A hot spring releasing a buildup of pressure.
Then a third explosion came.
It was so loud and violent that the door to the basement flew open. I fell to the ground and covered my head as several books went flying off nearby shelves.
The dogs yipped and barked like crazy. They stood in front of me, guarding against an unseen force. A voice shrieked from the basement.
“HELP!!! HELLLLP!”
Rivets shot through my hands and knees. I was frozen to the floor.
“PLEEEEEEASE!”
It had the high-pitched desperation of someone whose life was about to end. I raised my head and listened closely to hear haggard, dusty coughing. It sounded like an old man’s cough. It echoed through the basement and into the living room. Between coughs the man continued to plead for his life.
HELLLLP!”
I had no idea who it could be or how he got down there.
Before I could think, one of the dogs shot past me, bolting down the basement steps, barking ferociously.
“Kipper!”
I tried to grab the loose leash, but I could only hold the collar of his sibling. “Kipper come back here!”
“HELLO?” The voice from below seemed to recognize my presence. “PLEASE, YOU’VE GOT TO HELP!”
I was now upright, breathing as fast as Toto was panting. I tied Toto to the thick rails on the stairs. I had to save the other dog.
Instinctually I grabbed my phone, slipped an AirPod in one ear, and dialed my mother without even looking at the screen.
“Mãe. There’s … something terrible is happening.”
My mother was suitably confused. Even more so when she heard the screaming of the man downstairs as his voice echoed in the living room. It was a cry of immense, awful pain.
After two slower, more detailed explanations of what I just heard, my mother told me to call the fire department. “Poke your head through the basement, see what’s happening. Then call the fire department.”
That made sense to me. I inched my way to the basement entrance and tried to see past the doorway. It was complete darkness. There was no light switch.
I turned the torch on my phone, and my aunt’s voice came blaring. “Get out of there Ida! I am telling you, there is darkness in that house!”
As I illuminated the dusty wooden stairs, I saw that they only lead only to more pitch black. Yup, plenty of darkness here.
There was some phone-wrestling. My mother came back on. “What is it? What did you see?”
“Don’t encourage her! Get her to leave!” my auntie yelled in the background.
I told them to pipe down because I could suddenly hear the gentle whimpering at the base of the stairs. The dog sounded close.
“Kipper come! This way! Follow my voice!”
I went down a few steps further, expecting the basement floor to appear any second, but there were only more wooden steps. How long was this staircase?
“Kipper?”
There was a flat, cold wall on my left, and no guard rail to speak of. I stepped down each step very carefully to maintain my balance, sliding my hand along the wall.
Then the wall disappeared. I flew forward.
***
I woke up lying face-first on rocky floor. My phone was cracked next to me. My mother was crying in my ear. “Ida! Ida! Oh my god! Ida!”
I looked up to see I was not at the bottom of someone’s basement. There were lights all above me. Lanterns. They were illuminating a cavernous, rocky chamber that led to many tunnels with train tracks and wooden carts. I was in the opening of a massive underground mine.
I coughed, and gave out a weak “… what?”
“Ida is that you? Are you… brrzzzzz” My mom’s voice faded.
Before I could reply, I saw the crooked form of a man in tan coveralls, shaking the immobile body of another person in coveralls next to him. In fact, there was a small row of half a dozen miners all slumped against a blasted rock wall. There were bits of granite, wood, rope, and what looked like entrails splattered all throughout.
“Oh the cruelty …” the one, standing miner said. He went from body to body and jostled each of his coworkers. “Must I find you all like this … every time?”
I crawled up to a half-standing pose and tried to see the face of the hunched over survivor.
My heart dropped.
He had no face.
The explosion which must have killed some of friends had also blasted away this man’s entire sternum, neck and skull. The miner wasn’t hunched over or leaning away with his head, he just simply … had no head.
And up there, floating right in the middle of where his face should be, were a set of eyeballs, glistening under the yellow lights.
The eyes turned to me. “Oh. Why hello. Hello there.”
Terrified, I rose to complete standing and opened both my palms in a show of total deference. “I don’t know. I don’t know who you are or what this is.”
The headless miner walked toward me. I noticed he carried a pickaxe in his right arm. He gestured with his left to where his ear would be.
“I’m sorry I can’t hear you. Had an accident.”
Despite him having no head, his voice still came from where his mouth would be. There was an earnestness in his speech, it might have had something to do with his very old-timey accent, but I still felt like he was trying to be friendly.
“Another batch of faulty dynamite. Everyone’s dead. But what else is new.”
He brought his left palm to his face, perhaps to wipe away tears, but instead his hand travelled through his nonexistent head to scratch a small portion of his back.
“Been dead for many years I’m afraid. But I’ve kept busy. Been a good man. Worked very hard for the boss upstairs.”
He gestured upwards with the pickaxe. I looked up, and out in the distance, I saw a large, ancient, set of wooden stairs that I must have fallen from. They extended far up into the mine’s ceiling and kept going.
“He’s gotten good ore from me. Good, shining, golden ore. I have a knack for it you see. The same knack that killed me so many years ago. It's probably what’s still keeping me around though.”
He came closer. I could see he had brown irises, with one of the cataracts deteriorating into milky white haze. The eyes stared at me, unblinking.
“Because I’m not done, see. This mine isn’t empty. I know there’s more gold. Much more. And it’s not all for the boss. No, I’m keeping some to myself. Don’t tell him, but I’ve been stashing a large deposit for myself. It can’t all be his of course. It’s my mine after all. Half these tunnels were dug entirely by me. So of course I deserve some. It’s only natural.”
I lifted my hand and pointed at the staircase behind him. I mouthed very big, obvious words. “I have to go back. I’m going back up those stairs.”
He shifted his body. His two eyes turned in the air as if they were still inside an invisible skull. I saw nerve endings at the back undulate and twist.
“Yes, that is the only way up.”
My heart was in my throat. At least I found some form of communication. I gestured to knee height and nervously asked if he had seen a “large, shaggy dog.”
“Ah yes. I’ve seen the pooches. They come down here sometimes. When the booms don’t scare em that is. Hahah.”
I gave a thumbs up. It felt like a ridiculous interaction with a ghost, or zombie or whatever this was, but at least it was working.
“I think I saw his little tail run over that way. They like the smell of the mineral spring.”
I turned behind to see the long tunnel he was pointing at. It was dimly lit by a chain of smaller lanterns.
I thought I saw a flutter of movement, and I would have kept looking further if it wasn’t for my aunt’s voice that suddenly exploded in my ear. “Brrrzt … Ida! If you can hear us, we are calling the police to your location. Help is coming soon! … ”
I winced and stepped back—which saved my life. I just so happened to step right out of the way of a pickaxe. It sparked the ground.
I gasped and stared at the headless miner. His eyes were shimmering with a dark focus, staring directly at mine.
“Oh I’ll help you find the dog. I’ll help you find whatever you want. But I’ll need those clean new eyes of yours first.”
He swung at my head. I ducked. He went for the backswing. I ran.
Stupidly, I ran in the opposite direction of the stairs. I ran straight into the long tunnel lined with dim lanterns.
But I couldn’t turn around. I had no idea how quick he could move. And the speed of his pickaxe felt supernatural.
The tunnel was narrow, and lined with wooden tracks, I had to skip-run-jump over the panels with immense precision to make sure I didn’t trip. Behind me, his voice chased.
“Go ahead. Run. I know where these all lead.”
I ignored the words and kept going. The tunnel bent left, then right, then left again. I ignored several exits before the tunnel spat me out into an open, cavernous room filled with dozens and dozens of minecarts.
I investigated the room for anything useful. A far opposite wall appeared to be the site of the latest digging, loose rock lay everywhere.
There was a small mineshaft holding a chained up cart. And something in the cart shimmered…
It was gold.
And not just ore either. There were bars, coins, medallions, and jewelry. Mrs. Winslow’s bangles were right on top.
I ran to the cart furthest from the entrance and ducked behind it, breathing heavily, coughing from all the dust.
The headless man emerged from the tunnel, pickaxe raised and scanning where I could have hid. “I may not be able to hear you. But I can follow footprints pretty easily hah. I know you’re in here.”
He grabbed the closest minecart available and pushed it into the tunnel entrance. With an immense show of strength, he lifted and dislodged the cart off the track, cramming it sideways, creating a massive obstacle.
I was sealed inside.
Trying to stay absolutely still, I coughed through my teeth. Lungs burning. My mom’s voice came through.
“Brrzzztt… The police should be there! I told them you were in danger! They said they sent a unit over. Maybe they broke down the front door?”
I looked up at the mine shaft next to me. If it did connect to the surface upstairs, this was my only chance.
I gave a couple good yells. “HEEEEELP!!! DOWN HERE!! HELP!”
I don’t know if it did any good, but it was better than nothing. I turned to see if the miner had heard anything.
He hadn't.
The pickaxe tapped and clanged awkwardly around minecart after minecart.
I had a bigger advantage than I thought.
Although the miner had two floating eyeballs, only the left one was really capable of seeing anything.
So I kept my distance and watched where he was going, always staying behind.
As he limped and peered around minecarts, I was able to evade him, move from behind rock piles and other carts, careful not to leave a trail in the rock dust.
It was all going well until I heard a familiar panting.
“Oh look. If it isn’t precious.”
The dog had managed to jump over the miner’s blockade. It must have heard my yells. Surprisingly, Kipper was unafraid of the headless villain, and even approached him to receive pets.
“Now why don’t you go say hello to our other friend here huh? I know she's here somewhere.”
No. Kipper. Please. Don’t.
The dog started sniffing. Within seconds he found my scent. Kipper skipped towards me like Lassie and excitedly licked my face.
“Aww there we are. Now isn’t that a good boy?”
I stood up and stared at the filthy, ash-stained coveralls. Despite the lack of teeth, I could sense a menacing grin where the mouth should be.
He wasn't going to lose sight of me now. I had nowhere to go.
So I did the thing my auntie said worked on all spirits. I fell to my knees and prayed.
“Please. I only came here for work. I’m too young to die. Let me go and I won't tell anyone that you're here.”
He stood over me. Both of his pupils started to quiver. In just a few seconds, his eyes were swimming excitedly within the space of his head.
I took off the only valuable I had. A gold necklace with a miniature version of Christ the Redeemer. A gift I had received as a teen in Rio. I held it out in my shaking hands.
“Please. Take it. Take everything.”
Suddenly both the eyeballs stared forward again, entranced by the gold.
“Well look at that. How generous. How generous of her. We should reward generosity shouldn’t we?”
***
It was hard for me to describe to the police officer how exactly I got out, because I have no idea.
The fiery pain where my eyes used to be overwhelmed my entire reality for hours. All I wanted was for it to stop.
They found me half inside a dumbwaiter bleeding to death from the gouges in my face.
I was taken to the hospital, where I would spend the next four weeks recovering.
The police did not in fact storm the house like my mom said. They waited outside for the homeowner to return. But when they heard my screams coming from the top floor, they broke the back door and eventually came to my rescue.
I’m told they did a thorough investigation but could not find any of the things I described.
The basement door led into a regular basement. It was filled with old furniture, unused decor, and paint cans. No Mine.
The dumbwaiter was also just a dumbwaiter. It wasn’t some mine shaft, and it didn’t lead any deeper than the basement. Nothing special.
There were definitely hot springs close by, but nothing close enough to damage Mr. Winslow's property. And there was an old, depleted gold mine not far away either, but it was completely abandoned, closed off, and nowhere near as big as the one I had described.
***
The police, paramedics and doctors all thought my story was some hallucination. That I had been on drugs or had some mental breakdown (even though they couldn’t find anything in me other than small traces of weed.)
Thankfully, my mother and aunt believed me. They believed every word. My aunt is the one who encouraged me to make this post, so others could hear my story.
I know it was real.
I know it was.
And Mr. Winslow is fully aware of the mine’s existence.
Putting the dots together, I realized it was likely the source of his wealth. Winslow had some control over that one headless miner down there.
Did Winslow intentionally entrap me? Was he trying to get the miner a new set of eyes? Or was it all an unfortunate accident?
I might never know.
But what I do know is that Mr. Winslow has been paying for our rent ever since the accident.
He feels “terrible about the situation” and “can’t possibly imagine” what I’ve been through.
But he knows what happened.
He knows if I really pushed, If I really forced the police, or some private investigator to look into it—they would uncover something awful. Something really really bad.
“Anything you need. Anything at all. I will cover it, Ida.” He said. “You helped me out, protected my dogs, and I will never forget it.”
He’s offered to pay for the rest of my University schooling. And once my face heals up, he’s even offered to cover for some very expensive, experimental eye-transplant. We’ll see how that goes.
“You and your family will live comfortably from now on. You’ll want for nothing. Tell me exactly what you need, And you’ll get it.”
So I told him I'd like my necklace back. It was an heirloom. I said I lost it somewhere in his house.
A few days later, he returned with the usual smug, half-crooked smirk in his voice. He brought the necklace back in a box, pretending he had bought me a new one. Except it felt exactly like my old one.
It was all shined up, completely buffed of scratches, but it weighed the same. It was my old one for sure.
When my mom saw it she asked, “did it always have it? This dedication?”
As far as I remembered, the backside of the tiny Christ the Redeemer was always plain. I fingered its shape in my hands.
“What dedication?”
The new little divots caught my nails. There was writing that was definitely not there before.
My mom described it as a curly, serif font. Like a gift for a lover.
~ You’re an angel ~
~ W ~

Mr. Winslow accused my mother of stealing his dead wife’s jewelry.
I explained it was impossible. He was welcome to search the tiny apartment I shared with my mother and aunt, he could look wherever he wanted.
“We share a tiny space,” I said. “We barely have enough room for our clothes. I don’t even know where she would hide jewelry.”
I was worried we would lose him as a client. Which would suck because cleaning his house was basically the majority of our rent cheque. But a week later he found the pearl necklace, it had somehow travelled down to his basement.
“I’m still missing the gold bangle though,” he said. “And some earrings.”
I told him I was sorry, but I had no idea. If my mom or aunt found it on their next clean, I promised they would let him know right away.
He hummed and hawed. There might’ve been a week where he hired a different maid service, but eventually he called back, asking if he could hire all three of us on-site again.
I thanked him profusely. I told him we’d keep an eye out for the missing valuables.
***
On our drive over, I had my mom and aunt practice the apology we would give him in English. Even though we didn’t steal anything, I explained we should still say sorry.
“Why?” My aunt asked. “That’s so stupid.”
“Everyone apologizes for everything in Canada. Just trust me. He will want it.”
“We need the work,” my mom said.
For a second my aunt revved up to say something else, but then let it go. We did need the work.
When we arrived, Mr. Winslow was on a phone call, watching his two large goldendoodles play in the front yard. He waved, then gestured to the front door. My mom and aunt gave small bows and carried their cleaning supplies inside.
Before I could enter, he put the phone behind his ear and approached me.
“Ida, hi. Good to see you again. Listen, don't worry about the jewelry. Water under the bridge. Hey. I’m leaving in an hour or so, and I won’t be back until late tonight. I’m wondering if you’d be interested in dog-sitting? You’ve been around Toto and Kipper. What do you think? I’d really appreciate the help.”
I never liked the way he looked at me. It was always too close, and it lingered for too long. My aunt may have been right in that he hired us back just to see me again, but I ignored the thought.
“And don’t worry, I can cover your cab back. My usual walker is just out on holiday. You can help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge. How does six hundred sound?”
I looked at his house and imagined if I would be comfortable there. Alone at night.
“I’ll make it seven-hundred. I know it's last minute. I just hate leaving them alone. Plus Toto has his medicine. You would do me a real solid.”
My apron needed adjusting so I put down my bucket. I focused on the polyester knot, keeping my gaze away from his. I really didn’t want to be doing this, but my aunt would call me stupid for refusing easy money. And frankly, so would I.
“I had plans, but I’m willing to give them up.” I said with a straight face. “Eight hundred and it’s a done deal.”
He paused for a second, observing me scrupulously. Then he found his usual, smarmy half-smile. “You’re a life saver, you know that? An Angel.”
His hand gripped my shoulder. Then patted it twice.
***
Both my mom and aunt were pleased about the extra cash, they said I deserved to make extra for all the bookkeeping I do. But they also both voiced their concerns for safety. They said they could stay with me if I wanted.
“Safety? Mamãe I’m just watching two dogs.”
My mom wiped a caked red stain off his counter. An old wine spill. “Yes, but so late in his house? You’re not worried he might … I don’t know …”
Might what? Exploit me?
I met his groundskeeper once, another immigrant contractor. Except the groundskeeper was being paid far less, because he never properly negotiated. Mr. Winslow was certainly capable of exploiting people when he wanted to, and I’m sure he would try the same on my family.
But I was different. I’d gone to school in Banniver, and I knew the little maneuvers played by the so-called “progressive people in North America.”
And Winslow knew it too.
He didn’t realize a Canadian-raised daughter organized her mom’s cleaning service. Or that she would show up on the first day as a statement. That statement being: You can’t get away with mistreating these old Brazilian women. And you certainly can’t swindle them out of the going rates in his neighborhood. I’m onto you.
I had asserted myself with this Mr. Winslow, and felt confident that I could stand my ground if he tried any bullshit.
“Mamãe I’m not worried about him. Really, I’m not. He’s a pushover.”
***
6:00PM rolled around, it was just me and the goldendoodles.
My mom and aunt were back at home, watching low-res soaps on a Macbook, but they said if I encountered anything strange—a sound, a smell, an unexpected car in the driveway—to give them a call right away.
“Mamãe, its two dogs. I’ll be fine.”
“Just keep your phone close Ida. Your auntie has sensed things in that house. Unpleasant things.”
I forgot to mention my aunt thinks of herself as an amateur medium. In the village she grew up in, she claimed she could sometimes see people who were recently deceased.
But I never really believed her. Mostly because it was also my auntie’s idea to charge families who wanted to forward messages to the very same people who were recently deceased.
“Okay mamãe, whatever you say. I’ll phone you if I get scared.”
“That house has a history Ida, you could feel it in the walls. The outside too.”
It sure does. A history of being owned by a wealthy prick.
***
The sun slinked below the overcast horizon like a dying lantern. It got dark much faster than I expected.
I kept all the lights on, and played with the dogs a bit, trying to encourage them to try piss on the shag rug. Neither did. They mostly wanted naps.
I tried napping for a bit too, but the leather couch felt like it was made of rock. I just couldn’t get comfortable.
Eventually I made myself dinner—some pasta that had been bought from Whole Foods—and ate it while scrolling on my phone.
I was just about done, ready to take my dirty plate in the sink when I first heard it.
The first explosion.
It came from the basement. A vibrating KAPOW that rattled the windows and chandelier on my floor. It sounded like someone had set off a cherry bomb.
What the hell?
I turned to the dogs who were just as scared as I was. They came whimpering with tails between their legs.
Could a pipe have burst or something?
I looked at the basement door, an area we were not instructed to clean, and then heard another explosion.
Vases shook. A painting went tilted. It sounded louder. Like full grade firework. I had lived in Rio de Janeiro, by Prianha beach, where they often launched celebratory fireworks. This was just as deafening.
I didn’t want to go down to the basement. In fact, I sat by the front door.
Both dogs huddled around me.
***
Twenty minutes passed. It had been quiet.
Out of pride I refused to call my mom—I didn’t want to admit I was scared. Instead, I spent the time going through all the rational answers in my head that could explain away the noise. Plumbing, terrorism, teen pranks … hot springs?
There were hot springs all over West Bann.
Obviously, some kind of pent-up geyser had lay dormant for a while, and it was now suddenly unleashing a ton of energy below Mr. Winslow’s house. To distract myself, I Wikipedia’d the history of West Banniver, and satisfied this theory.
During the 1850’s gold rush, West Banniver saw rapid settlement as a mining town. The proliferation of mine shafts soon led to a discovery of underground hot springs. Mayfield Briggs Ltd which was the first company to seize the opportunity as a tourist attraction…
That’s all it was. A hot spring releasing a buildup of pressure.
Then a third explosion came.
It was so loud and violent that the door to the basement flew open. I fell to the ground and covered my head as several books went flying off nearby shelves.
The dogs yipped and barked like crazy. They stood in front of me, guarding against an unseen force. A voice shrieked from the basement.
“HELP!!! HELLLLP!”
Rivets shot through my hands and knees. I was frozen to the floor.
“PLEEEEEEASE!”
It had the high-pitched desperation of someone whose life was about to end. I raised my head and listened closely to hear haggard, dusty coughing. It sounded like an old man’s cough. It echoed through the basement and into the living room. Between coughs the man continued to plead for his life.
HELLLLP!”
I had no idea who it could be or how he got down there.
Before I could think, one of the dogs shot past me, bolting down the basement steps, barking ferociously.
“Kipper!”
I tried to grab the loose leash, but I could only hold the collar of his sibling. “Kipper come back here!”
“HELLO?” The voice from below seemed to recognize my presence. “PLEASE, YOU’VE GOT TO HELP!”
I was now upright, breathing as fast as Toto was panting. I tied Toto to the thick rails on the stairs. I had to save the other dog.
Instinctually I grabbed my phone, slipped an AirPod in one ear, and dialed my mother without even looking at the screen.
“Mãe. There’s … something terrible is happening.”
My mother was suitably confused. Even more so when she heard the screaming of the man downstairs as his voice echoed in the living room. It was a cry of immense, awful pain.
After two slower, more detailed explanations of what I just heard, my mother told me to call the fire department. “Poke your head through the basement, see what’s happening. Then call the fire department.”
That made sense to me. I inched my way to the basement entrance and tried to see past the doorway. It was complete darkness. There was no light switch.
I turned the torch on my phone, and my aunt’s voice came blaring. “Get out of there Ida! I am telling you, there is darkness in that house!”
As I illuminated the dusty wooden stairs, I saw that they only lead only to more pitch black. Yup, plenty of darkness here.
There was some phone-wrestling. My mother came back on. “What is it? What did you see?”
“Don’t encourage her! Get her to leave!” my auntie yelled in the background.
I told them to pipe down because I could suddenly hear the gentle whimpering at the base of the stairs. The dog sounded close.
“Kipper come! This way! Follow my voice!”
I went down a few steps further, expecting the basement floor to appear any second, but there were only more wooden steps. How long was this staircase?
“Kipper?”
There was a flat, cold wall on my left, and no guard rail to speak of. I stepped down each step very carefully to maintain my balance, sliding my hand along the wall.
Then the wall disappeared. I flew forward.
***
I woke up lying face-first on rocky floor. My phone was cracked next to me. My mother was crying in my ear. “Ida! Ida! Oh my god! Ida!”
I looked up to see I was not at the bottom of someone’s basement. There were lights all above me. Lanterns. They were illuminating a cavernous, rocky chamber that led to many tunnels with train tracks and wooden carts. I was in the opening of a massive underground mine.
I coughed, and gave out a weak “… what?”
“Ida is that you? Are you… brrzzzzz” My mom’s voice faded.
Before I could reply, I saw the crooked form of a man in tan coveralls, shaking the immobile body of another person in coveralls next to him. In fact, there was a small row of half a dozen miners all slumped against a blasted rock wall. There were bits of granite, wood, rope, and what looked like entrails splattered all throughout.
“Oh the cruelty …” the one, standing miner said. He went from body to body and jostled each of his coworkers. “Must I find you all like this … every time?”
I crawled up to a half-standing pose and tried to see the face of the hunched over survivor.
My heart dropped.
He had no face.
The explosion which must have killed some of friends had also blasted away this man’s entire sternum, neck and skull. The miner wasn’t hunched over or leaning away with his head, he just simply … had no head.
And up there, floating right in the middle of where his face should be, were a set of eyeballs, glistening under the yellow lights.
The eyes turned to me. “Oh. Why hello. Hello there.”
Terrified, I rose to complete standing and opened both my palms in a show of total deference. “I don’t know. I don’t know who you are or what this is.”
The headless miner walked toward me. I noticed he carried a pickaxe in his right arm. He gestured with his left to where his ear would be.
“I’m sorry I can’t hear you. Had an accident.”
Despite him having no head, his voice still came from where his mouth would be. There was an earnestness in his speech, it might have had something to do with his very old-timey accent, but I still felt like he was trying to be friendly.
“Another batch of faulty dynamite. Everyone’s dead. But what else is new.”
He brought his left palm to his face, perhaps to wipe away tears, but instead his hand travelled through his nonexistent head to scratch a small portion of his back.
“Been dead for many years I’m afraid. But I’ve kept busy. Been a good man. Worked very hard for the boss upstairs.”
He gestured upwards with the pickaxe. I looked up, and out in the distance, I saw a large, ancient, set of wooden stairs that I must have fallen from. They extended far up into the mine’s ceiling and kept going.
“He’s gotten good ore from me. Good, shining, golden ore. I have a knack for it you see. The same knack that killed me so many years ago. It's probably what’s still keeping me around though.”
He came closer. I could see he had brown irises, with one of the cataracts deteriorating into milky white haze. The eyes stared at me, unblinking.
“Because I’m not done, see. This mine isn’t empty. I know there’s more gold. Much more. And it’s not all for the boss. No, I’m keeping some to myself. Don’t tell him, but I’ve been stashing a large deposit for myself. It can’t all be his of course. It’s my mine after all. Half these tunnels were dug entirely by me. So of course I deserve some. It’s only natural.”
I lifted my hand and pointed at the staircase behind him. I mouthed very big, obvious words. “I have to go back. I’m going back up those stairs.”
He shifted his body. His two eyes turned in the air as if they were still inside an invisible skull. I saw nerve endings at the back undulate and twist.
“Yes, that is the only way up.”
My heart was in my throat. At least I found some form of communication. I gestured to knee height and nervously asked if he had seen a “large, shaggy dog.”
“Ah yes. I’ve seen the pooches. They come down here sometimes. When the booms don’t scare em that is. Hahah.”
I gave a thumbs up. It felt like a ridiculous interaction with a ghost, or zombie or whatever this was, but at least it was working.
“I think I saw his little tail run over that way. They like the smell of the mineral spring.”
I turned behind to see the long tunnel he was pointing at. It was dimly lit by a chain of smaller lanterns.
I thought I saw a flutter of movement, and I would have kept looking further if it wasn’t for my aunt’s voice that suddenly exploded in my ear. “Brrrzt … Ida! If you can hear us, we are calling the police to your location. Help is coming soon! … ”
I winced and stepped back—which saved my life. I just so happened to step right out of the way of a pickaxe. It sparked the ground.
I gasped and stared at the headless miner. His eyes were shimmering with a dark focus, staring directly at mine.
“Oh I’ll help you find the dog. I’ll help you find whatever you want. But I’ll need those clean new eyes of yours first.”
He swung at my head. I ducked. He went for the backswing. I ran.
Stupidly, I ran in the opposite direction of the stairs. I ran straight into the long tunnel lined with dim lanterns.
But I couldn’t turn around. I had no idea how quick he could move. And the speed of his pickaxe felt supernatural.
The tunnel was narrow, and lined with wooden tracks, I had to skip-run-jump over the panels with immense precision to make sure I didn’t trip. Behind me, his voice chased.
“Go ahead. Run. I know where these all lead.”
I ignored the words and kept going. The tunnel bent left, then right, then left again. I ignored several exits before the tunnel spat me out into an open, cavernous room filled with dozens and dozens of minecarts.
I investigated the room for anything useful. A far opposite wall appeared to be the site of the latest digging, loose rock lay everywhere.
There was a small mineshaft holding a chained up cart. And something in the cart shimmered…
It was gold.
And not just ore either. There were bars, coins, medallions, and jewelry. Mrs. Winslow’s bangles were right on top.
I ran to the cart furthest from the entrance and ducked behind it, breathing heavily, coughing from all the dust.
The headless man emerged from the tunnel, pickaxe raised and scanning where I could have hid. “I may not be able to hear you. But I can follow footprints pretty easily hah. I know you’re in here.”
He grabbed the closest minecart available and pushed it into the tunnel entrance. With an immense show of strength, he lifted and dislodged the cart off the track, cramming it sideways, creating a massive obstacle.
I was sealed inside.
Trying to stay absolutely still, I coughed through my teeth. Lungs burning. My mom’s voice came through.
“Brrzzztt… The police should be there! I told them you were in danger! They said they sent a unit over. Maybe they broke down the front door?”
I looked up at the mine shaft next to me. If it did connect to the surface upstairs, this was my only chance.
I gave a couple good yells. “HEEEEELP!!! DOWN HERE!! HELP!”
I don’t know if it did any good, but it was better than nothing. I turned to see if the miner had heard anything.
He hadn't.
The pickaxe tapped and clanged awkwardly around minecart after minecart.
I had a bigger advantage than I thought.
Although the miner had two floating eyeballs, only the left one was really capable of seeing anything.
So I kept my distance and watched where he was going, always staying behind.
As he limped and peered around minecarts, I was able to evade him, move from behind rock piles and other carts, careful not to leave a trail in the rock dust.
It was all going well until I heard a familiar panting.
“Oh look. If it isn’t precious.”
The dog had managed to jump over the miner’s blockade. It must have heard my yells. Surprisingly, Kipper was unafraid of the headless villain, and even approached him to receive pets.
“Now why don’t you go say hello to our other friend here huh? I know she's here somewhere.”
No. Kipper. Please. Don’t.
The dog started sniffing. Within seconds he found my scent. Kipper skipped towards me like Lassie and excitedly licked my face.
“Aww there we are. Now isn’t that a good boy?”
I stood up and stared at the filthy, ash-stained coveralls. Despite the lack of teeth, I could sense a menacing grin where the mouth should be.
He wasn't going to lose sight of me now. I had nowhere to go.
So I did the thing my auntie said worked on all spirits. I fell to my knees and prayed.
“Please. I only came here for work. I’m too young to die. Let me go and I won't tell anyone that you're here.”
He stood over me. Both of his pupils started to quiver. In just a few seconds, his eyes were swimming excitedly within the space of his head.
I took off the only valuable I had. A gold necklace with a miniature version of Christ the Redeemer. A gift I had received as a teen in Rio. I held it out in my shaking hands.
“Please. Take it. Take everything.”
Suddenly both the eyeballs stared forward again, entranced by the gold.
“Well look at that. How generous. How generous of her. We should reward generosity shouldn’t we?”
***
It was hard for me to describe to the police officer how exactly I got out, because I have no idea.
The fiery pain where my eyes used to be overwhelmed my entire reality for hours. All I wanted was for it to stop.
They found me half inside a dumbwaiter bleeding to death from the gouges in my face.
I was taken to the hospital, where I would spend the next four weeks recovering.
The police did not in fact storm the house like my mom said. They waited outside for the homeowner to return. But when they heard my screams coming from the top floor, they broke the back door and eventually came to my rescue.
I’m told they did a thorough investigation but could not find any of the things I described.
The basement door led into a regular basement. It was filled with old furniture, unused decor, and paint cans. No Mine.
The dumbwaiter was also just a dumbwaiter. It wasn’t some mine shaft, and it didn’t lead any deeper than the basement. Nothing special.
There were definitely hot springs close by, but nothing close enough to damage Mr. Winslow's property. And there was an old, depleted gold mine not far away either, but it was completely abandoned, closed off, and nowhere near as big as the one I had described.
***
The police, paramedics and doctors all thought my story was some hallucination. That I had been on drugs or had some mental breakdown (even though they couldn’t find anything in me other than small traces of weed.)
Thankfully, my mother and aunt believed me. They believed every word. My aunt is the one who encouraged me to make this post, so others could hear my story.
I know it was real.
I know it was.
And Mr. Winslow is fully aware of the mine’s existence.
Putting the dots together, I realized it was likely the source of his wealth. Winslow had some control over that one headless miner down there.
Did Winslow intentionally entrap me? Was he trying to get the miner a new set of eyes? Or was it all an unfortunate accident?
I might never know.
But what I do know is that Mr. Winslow has been paying for our rent ever since the accident.
He feels “terrible about the situation” and “can’t possibly imagine” what I’ve been through.
But he knows what happened.
He knows if I really pushed, If I really forced the police, or some private investigator to look into it—they would uncover something awful. Something really really bad.
“Anything you need. Anything at all. I will cover it, Ida.” He said. “You helped me out, protected my dogs, and I will never forget it.”
He’s offered to pay for the rest of my University schooling. And once my face heals up, he’s even offered to cover for some very expensive, experimental eye-transplant. We’ll see how that goes.
“You and your family will live comfortably from now on. You’ll want for nothing. Tell me exactly what you need, And you’ll get it.”
So I told him I'd like my necklace back. It was an heirloom. I said I lost it somewhere in his house.
A few days later, he returned with the usual smug, half-crooked smirk in his voice. He brought the necklace back in a box, pretending he had bought me a new one. Except it felt exactly like my old one.
It was all shined up, completely buffed of scratches, but it weighed the same. It was my old one for sure.
When my mom saw it she asked, “did it always have it? This dedication?”
As far as I remembered, the backside of the tiny Christ the Redeemer was always plain. I fingered its shape in my hands.
“What dedication?”
The new little divots caught my nails. There was writing that was definitely not there before.
My mom described it as a curly, serif font. Like a gift for a lover.
~ You’re an angel ~
~ W ~

Mr. Winslow accused my mother of stealing his dead wife’s jewelry.
I explained it was impossible. He was welcome to search the tiny apartment I shared with my mother and aunt, he could look wherever he wanted.
“We share a tiny space,” I said. “We barely have enough room for our clothes. I don’t even know where she would hide jewelry.”
I was worried we would lose him as a client. Which would suck because cleaning his house was basically the majority of our rent cheque. But a week later he found the pearl necklace, it had somehow travelled down to his basement.
“I’m still missing the gold bangle though,” he said. “And some earrings.”
I told him I was sorry, but I had no idea. If my mom or aunt found it on their next clean, I promised they would let him know right away.
He hummed and hawed. There might’ve been a week where he hired a different maid service, but eventually he called back, asking if he could hire all three of us on-site again.
I thanked him profusely. I told him we’d keep an eye out for the missing valuables.
***
On our drive over, I had my mom and aunt practice the apology we would give him in English. Even though we didn’t steal anything, I explained we should still say sorry.
“Why?” My aunt asked. “That’s so stupid.”
“Everyone apologizes for everything in Canada. Just trust me. He will want it.”
“We need the work,” my mom said.
For a second my aunt revved up to say something else, but then let it go. We did need the work.
When we arrived, Mr. Winslow was on a phone call, watching his two large goldendoodles play in the front yard. He waved, then gestured to the front door. My mom and aunt gave small bows and carried their cleaning supplies inside.
Before I could enter, he put the phone behind his ear and approached me.
“Ida, hi. Good to see you again. Listen, don't worry about the jewelry. Water under the bridge. Hey. I’m leaving in an hour or so, and I won’t be back until late tonight. I’m wondering if you’d be interested in dog-sitting? You’ve been around Toto and Kipper. What do you think? I’d really appreciate the help.”
I never liked the way he looked at me. It was always too close, and it lingered for too long. My aunt may have been right in that he hired us back just to see me again, but I ignored the thought.
“And don’t worry, I can cover your cab back. My usual walker is just out on holiday. You can help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge. How does six hundred sound?”
I looked at his house and imagined if I would be comfortable there. Alone at night.
“I’ll make it seven-hundred. I know it's last minute. I just hate leaving them alone. Plus Toto has his medicine. You would do me a real solid.”
My apron needed adjusting so I put down my bucket. I focused on the polyester knot, keeping my gaze away from his. I really didn’t want to be doing this, but my aunt would call me stupid for refusing easy money. And frankly, so would I.
“I had plans, but I’m willing to give them up.” I said with a straight face. “Eight hundred and it’s a done deal.”
He paused for a second, observing me scrupulously. Then he found his usual, smarmy half-smile. “You’re a life saver, you know that? An Angel.”
His hand gripped my shoulder. Then patted it twice.
***
Both my mom and aunt were pleased about the extra cash, they said I deserved to make extra for all the bookkeeping I do. But they also both voiced their concerns for safety. They said they could stay with me if I wanted.
“Safety? Mamãe I’m just watching two dogs.”
My mom wiped a caked red stain off his counter. An old wine spill. “Yes, but so late in his house? You’re not worried he might … I don’t know …”
Might what? Exploit me?
I met his groundskeeper once, another immigrant contractor. Except the groundskeeper was being paid far less, because he never properly negotiated. Mr. Winslow was certainly capable of exploiting people when he wanted to, and I’m sure he would try the same on my family.
But I was different. I’d gone to school in Banniver, and I knew the little maneuvers played by the so-called “progressive people in North America.”
And Winslow knew it too.
He didn’t realize a Canadian-raised daughter organized her mom’s cleaning service. Or that she would show up on the first day as a statement. That statement being: You can’t get away with mistreating these old Brazilian women. And you certainly can’t swindle them out of the going rates in his neighborhood. I’m onto you.
I had asserted myself with this Mr. Winslow, and felt confident that I could stand my ground if he tried any bullshit.
“Mamãe I’m not worried about him. Really, I’m not. He’s a pushover.”
***
6:00PM rolled around, it was just me and the goldendoodles.
My mom and aunt were back at home, watching low-res soaps on a Macbook, but they said if I encountered anything strange—a sound, a smell, an unexpected car in the driveway—to give them a call right away.
“Mamãe, its two dogs. I’ll be fine.”
“Just keep your phone close Ida. Your auntie has sensed things in that house. Unpleasant things.”
I forgot to mention my aunt thinks of herself as an amateur medium. In the village she grew up in, she claimed she could sometimes see people who were recently deceased.
But I never really believed her. Mostly because it was also my auntie’s idea to charge families who wanted to forward messages to the very same people who were recently deceased.
“Okay mamãe, whatever you say. I’ll phone you if I get scared.”
“That house has a history Ida, you could feel it in the walls. The outside too.”
It sure does. A history of being owned by a wealthy prick.
***
The sun slinked below the overcast horizon like a dying lantern. It got dark much faster than I expected.
I kept all the lights on, and played with the dogs a bit, trying to encourage them to try piss on the shag rug. Neither did. They mostly wanted naps.
I tried napping for a bit too, but the leather couch felt like it was made of rock. I just couldn’t get comfortable.
Eventually I made myself dinner—some pasta that had been bought from Whole Foods—and ate it while scrolling on my phone.
I was just about done, ready to take my dirty plate in the sink when I first heard it.
The first explosion.
It came from the basement. A vibrating KAPOW that rattled the windows and chandelier on my floor. It sounded like someone had set off a cherry bomb.
What the hell?
I turned to the dogs who were just as scared as I was. They came whimpering with tails between their legs.
Could a pipe have burst or something?
I looked at the basement door, an area we were not instructed to clean, and then heard another explosion.
Vases shook. A painting went tilted. It sounded louder. Like full grade firework. I had lived in Rio de Janeiro, by Prianha beach, where they often launched celebratory fireworks. This was just as deafening.
I didn’t want to go down to the basement. In fact, I sat by the front door.
Both dogs huddled around me.
***
Twenty minutes passed. It had been quiet.
Out of pride I refused to call my mom—I didn’t want to admit I was scared. Instead, I spent the time going through all the rational answers in my head that could explain away the noise. Plumbing, terrorism, teen pranks … hot springs?
There were hot springs all over West Bann.
Obviously, some kind of pent-up geyser had lay dormant for a while, and it was now suddenly unleashing a ton of energy below Mr. Winslow’s house. To distract myself, I Wikipedia’d the history of West Banniver, and satisfied this theory.
During the 1850’s gold rush, West Banniver saw rapid settlement as a mining town. The proliferation of mine shafts soon led to a discovery of underground hot springs. Mayfield Briggs Ltd which was the first company to seize the opportunity as a tourist attraction…
That’s all it was. A hot spring releasing a buildup of pressure.
Then a third explosion came.
It was so loud and violent that the door to the basement flew open. I fell to the ground and covered my head as several books went flying off nearby shelves.
The dogs yipped and barked like crazy. They stood in front of me, guarding against an unseen force. A voice shrieked from the basement.
“HELP!!! HELLLLP!”
Rivets shot through my hands and knees. I was frozen to the floor.
“PLEEEEEEASE!”
It had the high-pitched desperation of someone whose life was about to end. I raised my head and listened closely to hear haggard, dusty coughing. It sounded like an old man’s cough. It echoed through the basement and into the living room. Between coughs the man continued to plead for his life.
HELLLLP!”
I had no idea who it could be or how he got down there.
Before I could think, one of the dogs shot past me, bolting down the basement steps, barking ferociously.
“Kipper!”
I tried to grab the loose leash, but I could only hold the collar of his sibling. “Kipper come back here!”
“HELLO?” The voice from below seemed to recognize my presence. “PLEASE, YOU’VE GOT TO HELP!”
I was now upright, breathing as fast as Toto was panting. I tied Toto to the thick rails on the stairs. I had to save the other dog.
Instinctually I grabbed my phone, slipped an AirPod in one ear, and dialed my mother without even looking at the screen.
“Mãe. There’s … something terrible is happening.”
My mother was suitably confused. Even more so when she heard the screaming of the man downstairs as his voice echoed in the living room. It was a cry of immense, awful pain.
After two slower, more detailed explanations of what I just heard, my mother told me to call the fire department. “Poke your head through the basement, see what’s happening. Then call the fire department.”
That made sense to me. I inched my way to the basement entrance and tried to see past the doorway. It was complete darkness. There was no light switch.
I turned the torch on my phone, and my aunt’s voice came blaring. “Get out of there Ida! I am telling you, there is darkness in that house!”
As I illuminated the dusty wooden stairs, I saw that they only lead only to more pitch black. Yup, plenty of darkness here.
There was some phone-wrestling. My mother came back on. “What is it? What did you see?”
“Don’t encourage her! Get her to leave!” my auntie yelled in the background.
I told them to pipe down because I could suddenly hear the gentle whimpering at the base of the stairs. The dog sounded close.
“Kipper come! This way! Follow my voice!”
I went down a few steps further, expecting the basement floor to appear any second, but there were only more wooden steps. How long was this staircase?
“Kipper?”
There was a flat, cold wall on my left, and no guard rail to speak of. I stepped down each step very carefully to maintain my balance, sliding my hand along the wall.
Then the wall disappeared. I flew forward.
***
I woke up lying face-first on rocky floor. My phone was cracked next to me. My mother was crying in my ear. “Ida! Ida! Oh my god! Ida!”
I looked up to see I was not at the bottom of someone’s basement. There were lights all above me. Lanterns. They were illuminating a cavernous, rocky chamber that led to many tunnels with train tracks and wooden carts. I was in the opening of a massive underground mine.
I coughed, and gave out a weak “… what?”
“Ida is that you? Are you… brrzzzzz” My mom’s voice faded.
Before I could reply, I saw the crooked form of a man in tan coveralls, shaking the immobile body of another person in coveralls next to him. In fact, there was a small row of half a dozen miners all slumped against a blasted rock wall. There were bits of granite, wood, rope, and what looked like entrails splattered all throughout.
“Oh the cruelty …” the one, standing miner said. He went from body to body and jostled each of his coworkers. “Must I find you all like this … every time?”
I crawled up to a half-standing pose and tried to see the face of the hunched over survivor.
My heart dropped.
He had no face.
The explosion which must have killed some of friends had also blasted away this man’s entire sternum, neck and skull. The miner wasn’t hunched over or leaning away with his head, he just simply … had no head.
And up there, floating right in the middle of where his face should be, were a set of eyeballs, glistening under the yellow lights.
The eyes turned to me. “Oh. Why hello. Hello there.”
Terrified, I rose to complete standing and opened both my palms in a show of total deference. “I don’t know. I don’t know who you are or what this is.”
The headless miner walked toward me. I noticed he carried a pickaxe in his right arm. He gestured with his left to where his ear would be.
“I’m sorry I can’t hear you. Had an accident.”
Despite him having no head, his voice still came from where his mouth would be. There was an earnestness in his speech, it might have had something to do with his very old-timey accent, but I still felt like he was trying to be friendly.
“Another batch of faulty dynamite. Everyone’s dead. But what else is new.”
He brought his left palm to his face, perhaps to wipe away tears, but instead his hand travelled through his nonexistent head to scratch a small portion of his back.
“Been dead for many years I’m afraid. But I’ve kept busy. Been a good man. Worked very hard for the boss upstairs.”
He gestured upwards with the pickaxe. I looked up, and out in the distance, I saw a large, ancient, set of wooden stairs that I must have fallen from. They extended far up into the mine’s ceiling and kept going.
“He’s gotten good ore from me. Good, shining, golden ore. I have a knack for it you see. The same knack that killed me so many years ago. It's probably what’s still keeping me around though.”
He came closer. I could see he had brown irises, with one of the cataracts deteriorating into milky white haze. The eyes stared at me, unblinking.
“Because I’m not done, see. This mine isn’t empty. I know there’s more gold. Much more. And it’s not all for the boss. No, I’m keeping some to myself. Don’t tell him, but I’ve been stashing a large deposit for myself. It can’t all be his of course. It’s my mine after all. Half these tunnels were dug entirely by me. So of course I deserve some. It’s only natural.”
I lifted my hand and pointed at the staircase behind him. I mouthed very big, obvious words. “I have to go back. I’m going back up those stairs.”
He shifted his body. His two eyes turned in the air as if they were still inside an invisible skull. I saw nerve endings at the back undulate and twist.
“Yes, that is the only way up.”
My heart was in my throat. At least I found some form of communication. I gestured to knee height and nervously asked if he had seen a “large, shaggy dog.”
“Ah yes. I’ve seen the pooches. They come down here sometimes. When the booms don’t scare em that is. Hahah.”
I gave a thumbs up. It felt like a ridiculous interaction with a ghost, or zombie or whatever this was, but at least it was working.
“I think I saw his little tail run over that way. They like the smell of the mineral spring.”
I turned behind to see the long tunnel he was pointing at. It was dimly lit by a chain of smaller lanterns.
I thought I saw a flutter of movement, and I would have kept looking further if it wasn’t for my aunt’s voice that suddenly exploded in my ear. “Brrrzt … Ida! If you can hear us, we are calling the police to your location. Help is coming soon! … ”
I winced and stepped back—which saved my life. I just so happened to step right out of the way of a pickaxe. It sparked the ground.
I gasped and stared at the headless miner. His eyes were shimmering with a dark focus, staring directly at mine.
“Oh I’ll help you find the dog. I’ll help you find whatever you want. But I’ll need those clean new eyes of yours first.”
He swung at my head. I ducked. He went for the backswing. I ran.
Stupidly, I ran in the opposite direction of the stairs. I ran straight into the long tunnel lined with dim lanterns.
But I couldn’t turn around. I had no idea how quick he could move. And the speed of his pickaxe felt supernatural.
The tunnel was narrow, and lined with wooden tracks, I had to skip-run-jump over the panels with immense precision to make sure I didn’t trip. Behind me, his voice chased.
“Go ahead. Run. I know where these all lead.”
I ignored the words and kept going. The tunnel bent left, then right, then left again. I ignored several exits before the tunnel spat me out into an open, cavernous room filled with dozens and dozens of minecarts.
I investigated the room for anything useful. A far opposite wall appeared to be the site of the latest digging, loose rock lay everywhere.
There was a small mineshaft holding a chained up cart. And something in the cart shimmered…
It was gold.
And not just ore either. There were bars, coins, medallions, and jewelry. Mrs. Winslow’s bangles were right on top.
I ran to the cart furthest from the entrance and ducked behind it, breathing heavily, coughing from all the dust.
The headless man emerged from the tunnel, pickaxe raised and scanning where I could have hid. “I may not be able to hear you. But I can follow footprints pretty easily hah. I know you’re in here.”
He grabbed the closest minecart available and pushed it into the tunnel entrance. With an immense show of strength, he lifted and dislodged the cart off the track, cramming it sideways, creating a massive obstacle.
I was sealed inside.
Trying to stay absolutely still, I coughed through my teeth. Lungs burning. My mom’s voice came through.
“Brrzzztt… The police should be there! I told them you were in danger! They said they sent a unit over. Maybe they broke down the front door?”
I looked up at the mine shaft next to me. If it did connect to the surface upstairs, this was my only chance.
I gave a couple good yells. “HEEEEELP!!! DOWN HERE!! HELP!”
I don’t know if it did any good, but it was better than nothing. I turned to see if the miner had heard anything.
He hadn't.
The pickaxe tapped and clanged awkwardly around minecart after minecart.
I had a bigger advantage than I thought.
Although the miner had two floating eyeballs, only the left one was really capable of seeing anything.
So I kept my distance and watched where he was going, always staying behind.
As he limped and peered around minecarts, I was able to evade him, move from behind rock piles and other carts, careful not to leave a trail in the rock dust.
It was all going well until I heard a familiar panting.
“Oh look. If it isn’t precious.”
The dog had managed to jump over the miner’s blockade. It must have heard my yells. Surprisingly, Kipper was unafraid of the headless villain, and even approached him to receive pets.
“Now why don’t you go say hello to our other friend here huh? I know she's here somewhere.”
No. Kipper. Please. Don’t.
The dog started sniffing. Within seconds he found my scent. Kipper skipped towards me like Lassie and excitedly licked my face.
“Aww there we are. Now isn’t that a good boy?”
I stood up and stared at the filthy, ash-stained coveralls. Despite the lack of teeth, I could sense a menacing grin where the mouth should be.
He wasn't going to lose sight of me now. I had nowhere to go.
So I did the thing my auntie said worked on all spirits. I fell to my knees and prayed.
“Please. I only came here for work. I’m too young to die. Let me go and I won't tell anyone that you're here.”
He stood over me. Both of his pupils started to quiver. In just a few seconds, his eyes were swimming excitedly within the space of his head.
I took off the only valuable I had. A gold necklace with a miniature version of Christ the Redeemer. A gift I had received as a teen in Rio. I held it out in my shaking hands.
“Please. Take it. Take everything.”
Suddenly both the eyeballs stared forward again, entranced by the gold.
“Well look at that. How generous. How generous of her. We should reward generosity shouldn’t we?”
***
It was hard for me to describe to the police officer how exactly I got out, because I have no idea.
The fiery pain where my eyes used to be overwhelmed my entire reality for hours. All I wanted was for it to stop.
They found me half inside a dumbwaiter bleeding to death from the gouges in my face.
I was taken to the hospital, where I would spend the next four weeks recovering.
The police did not in fact storm the house like my mom said. They waited outside for the homeowner to return. But when they heard my screams coming from the top floor, they broke the back door and eventually came to my rescue.
I’m told they did a thorough investigation but could not find any of the things I described.
The basement door led into a regular basement. It was filled with old furniture, unused decor, and paint cans. No Mine.
The dumbwaiter was also just a dumbwaiter. It wasn’t some mine shaft, and it didn’t lead any deeper than the basement. Nothing special.
There were definitely hot springs close by, but nothing close enough to damage Mr. Winslow's property. And there was an old, depleted gold mine not far away either, but it was completely abandoned, closed off, and nowhere near as big as the one I had described.
***
The police, paramedics and doctors all thought my story was some hallucination. That I had been on drugs or had some mental breakdown (even though they couldn’t find anything in me other than small traces of weed.)
Thankfully, my mother and aunt believed me. They believed every word. My aunt is the one who encouraged me to make this post, so others could hear my story.
I know it was real.
I know it was.
And Mr. Winslow is fully aware of the mine’s existence.
Putting the dots together, I realized it was likely the source of his wealth. Winslow had some control over that one headless miner down there.
Did Winslow intentionally entrap me? Was he trying to get the miner a new set of eyes? Or was it all an unfortunate accident?
I might never know.
But what I do know is that Mr. Winslow has been paying for our rent ever since the accident.
He feels “terrible about the situation” and “can’t possibly imagine” what I’ve been through.
But he knows what happened.
He knows if I really pushed, If I really forced the police, or some private investigator to look into it—they would uncover something awful. Something really really bad.
“Anything you need. Anything at all. I will cover it, Ida.” He said. “You helped me out, protected my dogs, and I will never forget it.”
He’s offered to pay for the rest of my University schooling. And once my face heals up, he’s even offered to cover for some very expensive, experimental eye-transplant. We’ll see how that goes.
“You and your family will live comfortably from now on. You’ll want for nothing. Tell me exactly what you need, And you’ll get it.”
So I told him I'd like my necklace back. It was an heirloom. I said I lost it somewhere in his house.
A few days later, he returned with the usual smug, half-crooked smirk in his voice. He brought the necklace back in a box, pretending he had bought me a new one. Except it felt exactly like my old one.
It was all shined up, completely buffed of scratches, but it weighed the same. It was my old one for sure.
When my mom saw it she asked, “did it always have it? This dedication?”
As far as I remembered, the backside of the tiny Christ the Redeemer was always plain. I fingered its shape in my hands.
“What dedication?”
The new little divots caught my nails. There was writing that was definitely not there before.
My mom described it as a curly, serif font. Like a gift for a lover.
~ You’re an angel ~
~ W ~

Mr. Winslow accused my mother of stealing his dead wife’s jewelry.
I explained it was impossible. He was welcome to search the tiny apartment I shared with my mother and aunt, he could look wherever he wanted.
“We share a tiny space,” I said. “We barely have enough room for our clothes. I don’t even know where she would hide jewelry.”
I was worried we would lose him as a client. Which would suck because cleaning his house was basically the majority of our rent cheque. But a week later he found the pearl necklace, it had somehow travelled down to his basement.
“I’m still missing the gold bangle though,” he said. “And some earrings.”
I told him I was sorry, but I had no idea. If my mom or aunt found it on their next clean, I promised they would let him know right away.
He hummed and hawed. There might’ve been a week where he hired a different maid service, but eventually he called back, asking if he could hire all three of us on-site again.
I thanked him profusely. I told him we’d keep an eye out for the missing valuables.
***
On our drive over, I had my mom and aunt practice the apology we would give him in English. Even though we didn’t steal anything, I explained we should still say sorry.
“Why?” My aunt asked. “That’s so stupid.”
“Everyone apologizes for everything in Canada. Just trust me. He will want it.”
“We need the work,” my mom said.
For a second my aunt revved up to say something else, but then let it go. We did need the work.
When we arrived, Mr. Winslow was on a phone call, watching his two large goldendoodles play in the front yard. He waved, then gestured to the front door. My mom and aunt gave small bows and carried their cleaning supplies inside.
Before I could enter, he put the phone behind his ear and approached me.
“Ida, hi. Good to see you again. Listen, don't worry about the jewelry. Water under the bridge. Hey. I’m leaving in an hour or so, and I won’t be back until late tonight. I’m wondering if you’d be interested in dog-sitting? You’ve been around Toto and Kipper. What do you think? I’d really appreciate the help.”
I never liked the way he looked at me. It was always too close, and it lingered for too long. My aunt may have been right in that he hired us back just to see me again, but I ignored the thought.
“And don’t worry, I can cover your cab back. My usual walker is just out on holiday. You can help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge. How does six hundred sound?”
I looked at his house and imagined if I would be comfortable there. Alone at night.
“I’ll make it seven-hundred. I know it's last minute. I just hate leaving them alone. Plus Toto has his medicine. You would do me a real solid.”
My apron needed adjusting so I put down my bucket. I focused on the polyester knot, keeping my gaze away from his. I really didn’t want to be doing this, but my aunt would call me stupid for refusing easy money. And frankly, so would I.
“I had plans, but I’m willing to give them up.” I said with a straight face. “Eight hundred and it’s a done deal.”
He paused for a second, observing me scrupulously. Then he found his usual, smarmy half-smile. “You’re a life saver, you know that? An Angel.”
His hand gripped my shoulder. Then patted it twice.
***
Both my mom and aunt were pleased about the extra cash, they said I deserved to make extra for all the bookkeeping I do. But they also both voiced their concerns for safety. They said they could stay with me if I wanted.
“Safety? Mamãe I’m just watching two dogs.”
My mom wiped a caked red stain off his counter. An old wine spill. “Yes, but so late in his house? You’re not worried he might … I don’t know …”
Might what? Exploit me?
I met his groundskeeper once, another immigrant contractor. Except the groundskeeper was being paid far less, because he never properly negotiated. Mr. Winslow was certainly capable of exploiting people when he wanted to, and I’m sure he would try the same on my family.
But I was different. I’d gone to school in Banniver, and I knew the little maneuvers played by the so-called “progressive people in North America.”
And Winslow knew it too.
He didn’t realize a Canadian-raised daughter organized her mom’s cleaning service. Or that she would show up on the first day as a statement. That statement being: You can’t get away with mistreating these old Brazilian women. And you certainly can’t swindle them out of the going rates in his neighborhood. I’m onto you.
I had asserted myself with this Mr. Winslow, and felt confident that I could stand my ground if he tried any bullshit.
“Mamãe I’m not worried about him. Really, I’m not. He’s a pushover.”
***
6:00PM rolled around, it was just me and the goldendoodles.
My mom and aunt were back at home, watching low-res soaps on a Macbook, but they said if I encountered anything strange—a sound, a smell, an unexpected car in the driveway—to give them a call right away.
“Mamãe, its two dogs. I’ll be fine.”
“Just keep your phone close Ida. Your auntie has sensed things in that house. Unpleasant things.”
I forgot to mention my aunt thinks of herself as an amateur medium. In the village she grew up in, she claimed she could sometimes see people who were recently deceased.
But I never really believed her. Mostly because it was also my auntie’s idea to charge families who wanted to forward messages to the very same people who were recently deceased.
“Okay mamãe, whatever you say. I’ll phone you if I get scared.”
“That house has a history Ida, you could feel it in the walls. The outside too.”
It sure does. A history of being owned by a wealthy prick.
***
The sun slinked below the overcast horizon like a dying lantern. It got dark much faster than I expected.
I kept all the lights on, and played with the dogs a bit, trying to encourage them to try piss on the shag rug. Neither did. They mostly wanted naps.
I tried napping for a bit too, but the leather couch felt like it was made of rock. I just couldn’t get comfortable.
Eventually I made myself dinner—some pasta that had been bought from Whole Foods—and ate it while scrolling on my phone.
I was just about done, ready to take my dirty plate in the sink when I first heard it.
The first explosion.
It came from the basement. A vibrating KAPOW that rattled the windows and chandelier on my floor. It sounded like someone had set off a cherry bomb.
What the hell?
I turned to the dogs who were just as scared as I was. They came whimpering with tails between their legs.
Could a pipe have burst or something?
I looked at the basement door, an area we were not instructed to clean, and then heard another explosion.
Vases shook. A painting went tilted. It sounded louder. Like full grade firework. I had lived in Rio de Janeiro, by Prianha beach, where they often launched celebratory fireworks. This was just as deafening.
I didn’t want to go down to the basement. In fact, I sat by the front door.
Both dogs huddled around me.
***
Twenty minutes passed. It had been quiet.
Out of pride I refused to call my mom—I didn’t want to admit I was scared. Instead, I spent the time going through all the rational answers in my head that could explain away the noise. Plumbing, terrorism, teen pranks … hot springs?
There were hot springs all over West Bann.
Obviously, some kind of pent-up geyser had lay dormant for a while, and it was now suddenly unleashing a ton of energy below Mr. Winslow’s house. To distract myself, I Wikipedia’d the history of West Banniver, and satisfied this theory.
During the 1850’s gold rush, West Banniver saw rapid settlement as a mining town. The proliferation of mine shafts soon led to a discovery of underground hot springs. Mayfield Briggs Ltd which was the first company to seize the opportunity as a tourist attraction…
That’s all it was. A hot spring releasing a buildup of pressure.
Then a third explosion came.
It was so loud and violent that the door to the basement flew open. I fell to the ground and covered my head as several books went flying off nearby shelves.
The dogs yipped and barked like crazy. They stood in front of me, guarding against an unseen force. A voice shrieked from the basement.
“HELP!!! HELLLLP!”
Rivets shot through my hands and knees. I was frozen to the floor.
“PLEEEEEEASE!”
It had the high-pitched desperation of someone whose life was about to end. I raised my head and listened closely to hear haggard, dusty coughing. It sounded like an old man’s cough. It echoed through the basement and into the living room. Between coughs the man continued to plead for his life.
HELLLLP!”
I had no idea who it could be or how he got down there.
Before I could think, one of the dogs shot past me, bolting down the basement steps, barking ferociously.
“Kipper!”
I tried to grab the loose leash, but I could only hold the collar of his sibling. “Kipper come back here!”
“HELLO?” The voice from below seemed to recognize my presence. “PLEASE, YOU’VE GOT TO HELP!”
I was now upright, breathing as fast as Toto was panting. I tied Toto to the thick rails on the stairs. I had to save the other dog.
Instinctually I grabbed my phone, slipped an AirPod in one ear, and dialed my mother without even looking at the screen.
“Mãe. There’s … something terrible is happening.”
My mother was suitably confused. Even more so when she heard the screaming of the man downstairs as his voice echoed in the living room. It was a cry of immense, awful pain.
After two slower, more detailed explanations of what I just heard, my mother told me to call the fire department. “Poke your head through the basement, see what’s happening. Then call the fire department.”
That made sense to me. I inched my way to the basement entrance and tried to see past the doorway. It was complete darkness. There was no light switch.
I turned the torch on my phone, and my aunt’s voice came blaring. “Get out of there Ida! I am telling you, there is darkness in that house!”
As I illuminated the dusty wooden stairs, I saw that they only lead only to more pitch black. Yup, plenty of darkness here.
There was some phone-wrestling. My mother came back on. “What is it? What did you see?”
“Don’t encourage her! Get her to leave!” my auntie yelled in the background.
I told them to pipe down because I could suddenly hear the gentle whimpering at the base of the stairs. The dog sounded close.
“Kipper come! This way! Follow my voice!”
I went down a few steps further, expecting the basement floor to appear any second, but there were only more wooden steps. How long was this staircase?
“Kipper?”
There was a flat, cold wall on my left, and no guard rail to speak of. I stepped down each step very carefully to maintain my balance, sliding my hand along the wall.
Then the wall disappeared. I flew forward.
***
I woke up lying face-first on rocky floor. My phone was cracked next to me. My mother was crying in my ear. “Ida! Ida! Oh my god! Ida!”
I looked up to see I was not at the bottom of someone’s basement. There were lights all above me. Lanterns. They were illuminating a cavernous, rocky chamber that led to many tunnels with train tracks and wooden carts. I was in the opening of a massive underground mine.
I coughed, and gave out a weak “… what?”
“Ida is that you? Are you… brrzzzzz” My mom’s voice faded.
Before I could reply, I saw the crooked form of a man in tan coveralls, shaking the immobile body of another person in coveralls next to him. In fact, there was a small row of half a dozen miners all slumped against a blasted rock wall. There were bits of granite, wood, rope, and what looked like entrails splattered all throughout.
“Oh the cruelty …” the one, standing miner said. He went from body to body and jostled each of his coworkers. “Must I find you all like this … every time?”
I crawled up to a half-standing pose and tried to see the face of the hunched over survivor.
My heart dropped.
He had no face.
The explosion which must have killed some of friends had also blasted away this man’s entire sternum, neck and skull. The miner wasn’t hunched over or leaning away with his head, he just simply … had no head.
And up there, floating right in the middle of where his face should be, were a set of eyeballs, glistening under the yellow lights.
The eyes turned to me. “Oh. Why hello. Hello there.”
Terrified, I rose to complete standing and opened both my palms in a show of total deference. “I don’t know. I don’t know who you are or what this is.”
The headless miner walked toward me. I noticed he carried a pickaxe in his right arm. He gestured with his left to where his ear would be.
“I’m sorry I can’t hear you. Had an accident.”
Despite him having no head, his voice still came from where his mouth would be. There was an earnestness in his speech, it might have had something to do with his very old-timey accent, but I still felt like he was trying to be friendly.
“Another batch of faulty dynamite. Everyone’s dead. But what else is new.”
He brought his left palm to his face, perhaps to wipe away tears, but instead his hand travelled through his nonexistent head to scratch a small portion of his back.
“Been dead for many years I’m afraid. But I’ve kept busy. Been a good man. Worked very hard for the boss upstairs.”
He gestured upwards with the pickaxe. I looked up, and out in the distance, I saw a large, ancient, set of wooden stairs that I must have fallen from. They extended far up into the mine’s ceiling and kept going.
“He’s gotten good ore from me. Good, shining, golden ore. I have a knack for it you see. The same knack that killed me so many years ago. It's probably what’s still keeping me around though.”
He came closer. I could see he had brown irises, with one of the cataracts deteriorating into milky white haze. The eyes stared at me, unblinking.
“Because I’m not done, see. This mine isn’t empty. I know there’s more gold. Much more. And it’s not all for the boss. No, I’m keeping some to myself. Don’t tell him, but I’ve been stashing a large deposit for myself. It can’t all be his of course. It’s my mine after all. Half these tunnels were dug entirely by me. So of course I deserve some. It’s only natural.”
I lifted my hand and pointed at the staircase behind him. I mouthed very big, obvious words. “I have to go back. I’m going back up those stairs.”
He shifted his body. His two eyes turned in the air as if they were still inside an invisible skull. I saw nerve endings at the back undulate and twist.
“Yes, that is the only way up.”
My heart was in my throat. At least I found some form of communication. I gestured to knee height and nervously asked if he had seen a “large, shaggy dog.”
“Ah yes. I’ve seen the pooches. They come down here sometimes. When the booms don’t scare em that is. Hahah.”
I gave a thumbs up. It felt like a ridiculous interaction with a ghost, or zombie or whatever this was, but at least it was working.
“I think I saw his little tail run over that way. They like the smell of the mineral spring.”
I turned behind to see the long tunnel he was pointing at. It was dimly lit by a chain of smaller lanterns.
I thought I saw a flutter of movement, and I would have kept looking further if it wasn’t for my aunt’s voice that suddenly exploded in my ear. “Brrrzt … Ida! If you can hear us, we are calling the police to your location. Help is coming soon! … ”
I winced and stepped back—which saved my life. I just so happened to step right out of the way of a pickaxe. It sparked the ground.
I gasped and stared at the headless miner. His eyes were shimmering with a dark focus, staring directly at mine.
“Oh I’ll help you find the dog. I’ll help you find whatever you want. But I’ll need those clean new eyes of yours first.”
He swung at my head. I ducked. He went for the backswing. I ran.
Stupidly, I ran in the opposite direction of the stairs. I ran straight into the long tunnel lined with dim lanterns.
But I couldn’t turn around. I had no idea how quick he could move. And the speed of his pickaxe felt supernatural.
The tunnel was narrow, and lined with wooden tracks, I had to skip-run-jump over the panels with immense precision to make sure I didn’t trip. Behind me, his voice chased.
“Go ahead. Run. I know where these all lead.”
I ignored the words and kept going. The tunnel bent left, then right, then left again. I ignored several exits before the tunnel spat me out into an open, cavernous room filled with dozens and dozens of minecarts.
I investigated the room for anything useful. A far opposite wall appeared to be the site of the latest digging, loose rock lay everywhere.
There was a small mineshaft holding a chained up cart. And something in the cart shimmered…
It was gold.
And not just ore either. There were bars, coins, medallions, and jewelry. Mrs. Winslow’s bangles were right on top.
I ran to the cart furthest from the entrance and ducked behind it, breathing heavily, coughing from all the dust.
The headless man emerged from the tunnel, pickaxe raised and scanning where I could have hid. “I may not be able to hear you. But I can follow footprints pretty easily hah. I know you’re in here.”
He grabbed the closest minecart available and pushed it into the tunnel entrance. With an immense show of strength, he lifted and dislodged the cart off the track, cramming it sideways, creating a massive obstacle.
I was sealed inside.
Trying to stay absolutely still, I coughed through my teeth. Lungs burning. My mom’s voice came through.
“Brrzzztt… The police should be there! I told them you were in danger! They said they sent a unit over. Maybe they broke down the front door?”
I looked up at the mine shaft next to me. If it did connect to the surface upstairs, this was my only chance.
I gave a couple good yells. “HEEEEELP!!! DOWN HERE!! HELP!”
I don’t know if it did any good, but it was better than nothing. I turned to see if the miner had heard anything.
He hadn't.
The pickaxe tapped and clanged awkwardly around minecart after minecart.
I had a bigger advantage than I thought.
Although the miner had two floating eyeballs, only the left one was really capable of seeing anything.
So I kept my distance and watched where he was going, always staying behind.
As he limped and peered around minecarts, I was able to evade him, move from behind rock piles and other carts, careful not to leave a trail in the rock dust.
It was all going well until I heard a familiar panting.
“Oh look. If it isn’t precious.”
The dog had managed to jump over the miner’s blockade. It must have heard my yells. Surprisingly, Kipper was unafraid of the headless villain, and even approached him to receive pets.
“Now why don’t you go say hello to our other friend here huh? I know she's here somewhere.”
No. Kipper. Please. Don’t.
The dog started sniffing. Within seconds he found my scent. Kipper skipped towards me like Lassie and excitedly licked my face.
“Aww there we are. Now isn’t that a good boy?”
I stood up and stared at the filthy, ash-stained coveralls. Despite the lack of teeth, I could sense a menacing grin where the mouth should be.
He wasn't going to lose sight of me now. I had nowhere to go.
So I did the thing my auntie said worked on all spirits. I fell to my knees and prayed.
“Please. I only came here for work. I’m too young to die. Let me go and I won't tell anyone that you're here.”
He stood over me. Both of his pupils started to quiver. In just a few seconds, his eyes were swimming excitedly within the space of his head.
I took off the only valuable I had. A gold necklace with a miniature version of Christ the Redeemer. A gift I had received as a teen in Rio. I held it out in my shaking hands.
“Please. Take it. Take everything.”
Suddenly both the eyeballs stared forward again, entranced by the gold.
“Well look at that. How generous. How generous of her. We should reward generosity shouldn’t we?”
***
It was hard for me to describe to the police officer how exactly I got out, because I have no idea.
The fiery pain where my eyes used to be overwhelmed my entire reality for hours. All I wanted was for it to stop.
They found me half inside a dumbwaiter bleeding to death from the gouges in my face.
I was taken to the hospital, where I would spend the next four weeks recovering.
The police did not in fact storm the house like my mom said. They waited outside for the homeowner to return. But when they heard my screams coming from the top floor, they broke the back door and eventually came to my rescue.
I’m told they did a thorough investigation but could not find any of the things I described.
The basement door led into a regular basement. It was filled with old furniture, unused decor, and paint cans. No Mine.
The dumbwaiter was also just a dumbwaiter. It wasn’t some mine shaft, and it didn’t lead any deeper than the basement. Nothing special.
There were definitely hot springs close by, but nothing close enough to damage Mr. Winslow's property. And there was an old, depleted gold mine not far away either, but it was completely abandoned, closed off, and nowhere near as big as the one I had described.
***
The police, paramedics and doctors all thought my story was some hallucination. That I had been on drugs or had some mental breakdown (even though they couldn’t find anything in me other than small traces of weed.)
Thankfully, my mother and aunt believed me. They believed every word. My aunt is the one who encouraged me to make this post, so others could hear my story.
I know it was real.
I know it was.
And Mr. Winslow is fully aware of the mine’s existence.
Putting the dots together, I realized it was likely the source of his wealth. Winslow had some control over that one headless miner down there.
Did Winslow intentionally entrap me? Was he trying to get the miner a new set of eyes? Or was it all an unfortunate accident?
I might never know.
But what I do know is that Mr. Winslow has been paying for our rent ever since the accident.
He feels “terrible about the situation” and “can’t possibly imagine” what I’ve been through.
But he knows what happened.
He knows if I really pushed, If I really forced the police, or some private investigator to look into it—they would uncover something awful. Something really really bad.
“Anything you need. Anything at all. I will cover it, Ida.” He said. “You helped me out, protected my dogs, and I will never forget it.”
He’s offered to pay for the rest of my University schooling. And once my face heals up, he’s even offered to cover for some very expensive, experimental eye-transplant. We’ll see how that goes.
“You and your family will live comfortably from now on. You’ll want for nothing. Tell me exactly what you need, And you’ll get it.”
So I told him I'd like my necklace back. It was an heirloom. I said I lost it somewhere in his house.
A few days later, he returned with the usual smug, half-crooked smirk in his voice. He brought the necklace back in a box, pretending he had bought me a new one. Except it felt exactly like my old one.
It was all shined up, completely buffed of scratches, but it weighed the same. It was my old one for sure.
When my mom saw it she asked, “did it always have it? This dedication?”
As far as I remembered, the backside of the tiny Christ the Redeemer was always plain. I fingered its shape in my hands.
“What dedication?”
The new little divots caught my nails. There was writing that was definitely not there before.
My mom described it as a curly, serif font. Like a gift for a lover.
~ You’re an angel ~
~ W ~

Mr. Winslow accused my mother of stealing his dead wife’s jewelry.
I explained it was impossible. He was welcome to search the tiny apartment I shared with my mother and aunt, he could look wherever he wanted.
“We share a tiny space,” I said. “We barely have enough room for our clothes. I don’t even know where she would hide jewelry.”
I was worried we would lose him as a client. Which would suck because cleaning his house was basically the majority of our rent cheque. But a week later he found the pearl necklace, it had somehow travelled down to his basement.
“I’m still missing the gold bangle though,” he said. “And some earrings.”
I told him I was sorry, but I had no idea. If my mom or aunt found it on their next clean, I promised they would let him know right away.
He hummed and hawed. There might’ve been a week where he hired a different maid service, but eventually he called back, asking if he could hire all three of us on-site again.
I thanked him profusely. I told him we’d keep an eye out for the missing valuables.
***
On our drive over, I had my mom and aunt practice the apology we would give him in English. Even though we didn’t steal anything, I explained we should still say sorry.
“Why?” My aunt asked. “That’s so stupid.”
“Everyone apologizes for everything in Canada. Just trust me. He will want it.”
“We need the work,” my mom said.
For a second my aunt revved up to say something else, but then let it go. We did need the work.
When we arrived, Mr. Winslow was on a phone call, watching his two large goldendoodles play in the front yard. He waved, then gestured to the front door. My mom and aunt gave small bows and carried their cleaning supplies inside.
Before I could enter, he put the phone behind his ear and approached me.
“Ida, hi. Good to see you again. Listen, don't worry about the jewelry. Water under the bridge. Hey. I’m leaving in an hour or so, and I won’t be back until late tonight. I’m wondering if you’d be interested in dog-sitting? You’ve been around Toto and Kipper. What do you think? I’d really appreciate the help.”
I never liked the way he looked at me. It was always too close, and it lingered for too long. My aunt may have been right in that he hired us back just to see me again, but I ignored the thought.
“And don’t worry, I can cover your cab back. My usual walker is just out on holiday. You can help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge. How does six hundred sound?”
I looked at his house and imagined if I would be comfortable there. Alone at night.
“I’ll make it seven-hundred. I know it's last minute. I just hate leaving them alone. Plus Toto has his medicine. You would do me a real solid.”
My apron needed adjusting so I put down my bucket. I focused on the polyester knot, keeping my gaze away from his. I really didn’t want to be doing this, but my aunt would call me stupid for refusing easy money. And frankly, so would I.
“I had plans, but I’m willing to give them up.” I said with a straight face. “Eight hundred and it’s a done deal.”
He paused for a second, observing me scrupulously. Then he found his usual, smarmy half-smile. “You’re a life saver, you know that? An Angel.”
His hand gripped my shoulder. Then patted it twice.
***
Both my mom and aunt were pleased about the extra cash, they said I deserved to make extra for all the bookkeeping I do. But they also both voiced their concerns for safety. They said they could stay with me if I wanted.
“Safety? Mamãe I’m just watching two dogs.”
My mom wiped a caked red stain off his counter. An old wine spill. “Yes, but so late in his house? You’re not worried he might … I don’t know …”
Might what? Exploit me?
I met his groundskeeper once, another immigrant contractor. Except the groundskeeper was being paid far less, because he never properly negotiated. Mr. Winslow was certainly capable of exploiting people when he wanted to, and I’m sure he would try the same on my family.
But I was different. I’d gone to school in Banniver, and I knew the little maneuvers played by the so-called “progressive people in North America.”
And Winslow knew it too.
He didn’t realize a Canadian-raised daughter organized her mom’s cleaning service. Or that she would show up on the first day as a statement. That statement being: You can’t get away with mistreating these old Brazilian women. And you certainly can’t swindle them out of the going rates in his neighborhood. I’m onto you.
I had asserted myself with this Mr. Winslow, and felt confident that I could stand my ground if he tried any bullshit.
“Mamãe I’m not worried about him. Really, I’m not. He’s a pushover.”
***
6:00PM rolled around, it was just me and the goldendoodles.
My mom and aunt were back at home, watching low-res soaps on a Macbook, but they said if I encountered anything strange—a sound, a smell, an unexpected car in the driveway—to give them a call right away.
“Mamãe, its two dogs. I’ll be fine.”
“Just keep your phone close Ida. Your auntie has sensed things in that house. Unpleasant things.”
I forgot to mention my aunt thinks of herself as an amateur medium. In the village she grew up in, she claimed she could sometimes see people who were recently deceased.
But I never really believed her. Mostly because it was also my auntie’s idea to charge families who wanted to forward messages to the very same people who were recently deceased.
“Okay mamãe, whatever you say. I’ll phone you if I get scared.”
“That house has a history Ida, you could feel it in the walls. The outside too.”
It sure does. A history of being owned by a wealthy prick.
***
The sun slinked below the overcast horizon like a dying lantern. It got dark much faster than I expected.
I kept all the lights on, and played with the dogs a bit, trying to encourage them to try piss on the shag rug. Neither did. They mostly wanted naps.
I tried napping for a bit too, but the leather couch felt like it was made of rock. I just couldn’t get comfortable.
Eventually I made myself dinner—some pasta that had been bought from Whole Foods—and ate it while scrolling on my phone.
I was just about done, ready to take my dirty plate in the sink when I first heard it.
The first explosion.
It came from the basement. A vibrating KAPOW that rattled the windows and chandelier on my floor. It sounded like someone had set off a cherry bomb.
What the hell?
I turned to the dogs who were just as scared as I was. They came whimpering with tails between their legs.
Could a pipe have burst or something?
I looked at the basement door, an area we were not instructed to clean, and then heard another explosion.
Vases shook. A painting went tilted. It sounded louder. Like full grade firework. I had lived in Rio de Janeiro, by Prianha beach, where they often launched celebratory fireworks. This was just as deafening.
I didn’t want to go down to the basement. In fact, I sat by the front door.
Both dogs huddled around me.
***
Twenty minutes passed. It had been quiet.
Out of pride I refused to call my mom—I didn’t want to admit I was scared. Instead, I spent the time going through all the rational answers in my head that could explain away the noise. Plumbing, terrorism, teen pranks … hot springs?
There were hot springs all over West Bann.
Obviously, some kind of pent-up geyser had lay dormant for a while, and it was now suddenly unleashing a ton of energy below Mr. Winslow’s house. To distract myself, I Wikipedia’d the history of West Banniver, and satisfied this theory.
During the 1850’s gold rush, West Banniver saw rapid settlement as a mining town. The proliferation of mine shafts soon led to a discovery of underground hot springs. Mayfield Briggs Ltd which was the first company to seize the opportunity as a tourist attraction…
That’s all it was. A hot spring releasing a buildup of pressure.
Then a third explosion came.
It was so loud and violent that the door to the basement flew open. I fell to the ground and covered my head as several books went flying off nearby shelves.
The dogs yipped and barked like crazy. They stood in front of me, guarding against an unseen force. A voice shrieked from the basement.
“HELP!!! HELLLLP!”
Rivets shot through my hands and knees. I was frozen to the floor.
“PLEEEEEEASE!”
It had the high-pitched desperation of someone whose life was about to end. I raised my head and listened closely to hear haggard, dusty coughing. It sounded like an old man’s cough. It echoed through the basement and into the living room. Between coughs the man continued to plead for his life.
HELLLLP!”
I had no idea who it could be or how he got down there.
Before I could think, one of the dogs shot past me, bolting down the basement steps, barking ferociously.
“Kipper!”
I tried to grab the loose leash, but I could only hold the collar of his sibling. “Kipper come back here!”
“HELLO?” The voice from below seemed to recognize my presence. “PLEASE, YOU’VE GOT TO HELP!”
I was now upright, breathing as fast as Toto was panting. I tied Toto to the thick rails on the stairs. I had to save the other dog.
Instinctually I grabbed my phone, slipped an AirPod in one ear, and dialed my mother without even looking at the screen.
“Mãe. There’s … something terrible is happening.”
My mother was suitably confused. Even more so when she heard the screaming of the man downstairs as his voice echoed in the living room. It was a cry of immense, awful pain.
After two slower, more detailed explanations of what I just heard, my mother told me to call the fire department. “Poke your head through the basement, see what’s happening. Then call the fire department.”
That made sense to me. I inched my way to the basement entrance and tried to see past the doorway. It was complete darkness. There was no light switch.
I turned the torch on my phone, and my aunt’s voice came blaring. “Get out of there Ida! I am telling you, there is darkness in that house!”
As I illuminated the dusty wooden stairs, I saw that they only lead only to more pitch black. Yup, plenty of darkness here.
There was some phone-wrestling. My mother came back on. “What is it? What did you see?”
“Don’t encourage her! Get her to leave!” my auntie yelled in the background.
I told them to pipe down because I could suddenly hear the gentle whimpering at the base of the stairs. The dog sounded close.
“Kipper come! This way! Follow my voice!”
I went down a few steps further, expecting the basement floor to appear any second, but there were only more wooden steps. How long was this staircase?
“Kipper?”
There was a flat, cold wall on my left, and no guard rail to speak of. I stepped down each step very carefully to maintain my balance, sliding my hand along the wall.
Then the wall disappeared. I flew forward.
***
I woke up lying face-first on rocky floor. My phone was cracked next to me. My mother was crying in my ear. “Ida! Ida! Oh my god! Ida!”
I looked up to see I was not at the bottom of someone’s basement. There were lights all above me. Lanterns. They were illuminating a cavernous, rocky chamber that led to many tunnels with train tracks and wooden carts. I was in the opening of a massive underground mine.
I coughed, and gave out a weak “… what?”
“Ida is that you? Are you… brrzzzzz” My mom’s voice faded.
Before I could reply, I saw the crooked form of a man in tan coveralls, shaking the immobile body of another person in coveralls next to him. In fact, there was a small row of half a dozen miners all slumped against a blasted rock wall. There were bits of granite, wood, rope, and what looked like entrails splattered all throughout.
“Oh the cruelty …” the one, standing miner said. He went from body to body and jostled each of his coworkers. “Must I find you all like this … every time?”
I crawled up to a half-standing pose and tried to see the face of the hunched over survivor.
My heart dropped.
He had no face.
The explosion which must have killed some of friends had also blasted away this man’s entire sternum, neck and skull. The miner wasn’t hunched over or leaning away with his head, he just simply … had no head.
And up there, floating right in the middle of where his face should be, were a set of eyeballs, glistening under the yellow lights.
The eyes turned to me. “Oh. Why hello. Hello there.”
Terrified, I rose to complete standing and opened both my palms in a show of total deference. “I don’t know. I don’t know who you are or what this is.”
The headless miner walked toward me. I noticed he carried a pickaxe in his right arm. He gestured with his left to where his ear would be.
“I’m sorry I can’t hear you. Had an accident.”
Despite him having no head, his voice still came from where his mouth would be. There was an earnestness in his speech, it might have had something to do with his very old-timey accent, but I still felt like he was trying to be friendly.
“Another batch of faulty dynamite. Everyone’s dead. But what else is new.”
He brought his left palm to his face, perhaps to wipe away tears, but instead his hand travelled through his nonexistent head to scratch a small portion of his back.
“Been dead for many years I’m afraid. But I’ve kept busy. Been a good man. Worked very hard for the boss upstairs.”
He gestured upwards with the pickaxe. I looked up, and out in the distance, I saw a large, ancient, set of wooden stairs that I must have fallen from. They extended far up into the mine’s ceiling and kept going.
“He’s gotten good ore from me. Good, shining, golden ore. I have a knack for it you see. The same knack that killed me so many years ago. It's probably what’s still keeping me around though.”
He came closer. I could see he had brown irises, with one of the cataracts deteriorating into milky white haze. The eyes stared at me, unblinking.
“Because I’m not done, see. This mine isn’t empty. I know there’s more gold. Much more. And it’s not all for the boss. No, I’m keeping some to myself. Don’t tell him, but I’ve been stashing a large deposit for myself. It can’t all be his of course. It’s my mine after all. Half these tunnels were dug entirely by me. So of course I deserve some. It’s only natural.”
I lifted my hand and pointed at the staircase behind him. I mouthed very big, obvious words. “I have to go back. I’m going back up those stairs.”
He shifted his body. His two eyes turned in the air as if they were still inside an invisible skull. I saw nerve endings at the back undulate and twist.
“Yes, that is the only way up.”
My heart was in my throat. At least I found some form of communication. I gestured to knee height and nervously asked if he had seen a “large, shaggy dog.”
“Ah yes. I’ve seen the pooches. They come down here sometimes. When the booms don’t scare em that is. Hahah.”
I gave a thumbs up. It felt like a ridiculous interaction with a ghost, or zombie or whatever this was, but at least it was working.
“I think I saw his little tail run over that way. They like the smell of the mineral spring.”
I turned behind to see the long tunnel he was pointing at. It was dimly lit by a chain of smaller lanterns.
I thought I saw a flutter of movement, and I would have kept looking further if it wasn’t for my aunt’s voice that suddenly exploded in my ear. “Brrrzt … Ida! If you can hear us, we are calling the police to your location. Help is coming soon! … ”
I winced and stepped back—which saved my life. I just so happened to step right out of the way of a pickaxe. It sparked the ground.
I gasped and stared at the headless miner. His eyes were shimmering with a dark focus, staring directly at mine.
“Oh I’ll help you find the dog. I’ll help you find whatever you want. But I’ll need those clean new eyes of yours first.”
He swung at my head. I ducked. He went for the backswing. I ran.
Stupidly, I ran in the opposite direction of the stairs. I ran straight into the long tunnel lined with dim lanterns.
But I couldn’t turn around. I had no idea how quick he could move. And the speed of his pickaxe felt supernatural.
The tunnel was narrow, and lined with wooden tracks, I had to skip-run-jump over the panels with immense precision to make sure I didn’t trip. Behind me, his voice chased.
“Go ahead. Run. I know where these all lead.”
I ignored the words and kept going. The tunnel bent left, then right, then left again. I ignored several exits before the tunnel spat me out into an open, cavernous room filled with dozens and dozens of minecarts.
I investigated the room for anything useful. A far opposite wall appeared to be the site of the latest digging, loose rock lay everywhere.
There was a small mineshaft holding a chained up cart. And something in the cart shimmered…
It was gold.
And not just ore either. There were bars, coins, medallions, and jewelry. Mrs. Winslow’s bangles were right on top.
I ran to the cart furthest from the entrance and ducked behind it, breathing heavily, coughing from all the dust.
The headless man emerged from the tunnel, pickaxe raised and scanning where I could have hid. “I may not be able to hear you. But I can follow footprints pretty easily hah. I know you’re in here.”
He grabbed the closest minecart available and pushed it into the tunnel entrance. With an immense show of strength, he lifted and dislodged the cart off the track, cramming it sideways, creating a massive obstacle.
I was sealed inside.
Trying to stay absolutely still, I coughed through my teeth. Lungs burning. My mom’s voice came through.
“Brrzzztt… The police should be there! I told them you were in danger! They said they sent a unit over. Maybe they broke down the front door?”
I looked up at the mine shaft next to me. If it did connect to the surface upstairs, this was my only chance.
I gave a couple good yells. “HEEEEELP!!! DOWN HERE!! HELP!”
I don’t know if it did any good, but it was better than nothing. I turned to see if the miner had heard anything.
He hadn't.
The pickaxe tapped and clanged awkwardly around minecart after minecart.
I had a bigger advantage than I thought.
Although the miner had two floating eyeballs, only the left one was really capable of seeing anything.
So I kept my distance and watched where he was going, always staying behind.
As he limped and peered around minecarts, I was able to evade him, move from behind rock piles and other carts, careful not to leave a trail in the rock dust.
It was all going well until I heard a familiar panting.
“Oh look. If it isn’t precious.”
The dog had managed to jump over the miner’s blockade. It must have heard my yells. Surprisingly, Kipper was unafraid of the headless villain, and even approached him to receive pets.
“Now why don’t you go say hello to our other friend here huh? I know she's here somewhere.”
No. Kipper. Please. Don’t.
The dog started sniffing. Within seconds he found my scent. Kipper skipped towards me like Lassie and excitedly licked my face.
“Aww there we are. Now isn’t that a good boy?”
I stood up and stared at the filthy, ash-stained coveralls. Despite the lack of teeth, I could sense a menacing grin where the mouth should be.
He wasn't going to lose sight of me now. I had nowhere to go.
So I did the thing my auntie said worked on all spirits. I fell to my knees and prayed.
“Please. I only came here for work. I’m too young to die. Let me go and I won't tell anyone that you're here.”
He stood over me. Both of his pupils started to quiver. In just a few seconds, his eyes were swimming excitedly within the space of his head.
I took off the only valuable I had. A gold necklace with a miniature version of Christ the Redeemer. A gift I had received as a teen in Rio. I held it out in my shaking hands.
“Please. Take it. Take everything.”
Suddenly both the eyeballs stared forward again, entranced by the gold.
“Well look at that. How generous. How generous of her. We should reward generosity shouldn’t we?”
***
It was hard for me to describe to the police officer how exactly I got out, because I have no idea.
The fiery pain where my eyes used to be overwhelmed my entire reality for hours. All I wanted was for it to stop.
They found me half inside a dumbwaiter bleeding to death from the gouges in my face.
I was taken to the hospital, where I would spend the next four weeks recovering.
The police did not in fact storm the house like my mom said. They waited outside for the homeowner to return. But when they heard my screams coming from the top floor, they broke the back door and eventually came to my rescue.
I’m told they did a thorough investigation but could not find any of the things I described.
The basement door led into a regular basement. It was filled with old furniture, unused decor, and paint cans. No Mine.
The dumbwaiter was also just a dumbwaiter. It wasn’t some mine shaft, and it didn’t lead any deeper than the basement. Nothing special.
There were definitely hot springs close by, but nothing close enough to damage Mr. Winslow's property. And there was an old, depleted gold mine not far away either, but it was completely abandoned, closed off, and nowhere near as big as the one I had described.
***
The police, paramedics and doctors all thought my story was some hallucination. That I had been on drugs or had some mental breakdown (even though they couldn’t find anything in me other than small traces of weed.)
Thankfully, my mother and aunt believed me. They believed every word. My aunt is the one who encouraged me to make this post, so others could hear my story.
I know it was real.
I know it was.
And Mr. Winslow is fully aware of the mine’s existence.
Putting the dots together, I realized it was likely the source of his wealth. Winslow had some control over that one headless miner down there.
Did Winslow intentionally entrap me? Was he trying to get the miner a new set of eyes? Or was it all an unfortunate accident?
I might never know.
But what I do know is that Mr. Winslow has been paying for our rent ever since the accident.
He feels “terrible about the situation” and “can’t possibly imagine” what I’ve been through.
But he knows what happened.
He knows if I really pushed, If I really forced the police, or some private investigator to look into it—they would uncover something awful. Something really really bad.
“Anything you need. Anything at all. I will cover it, Ida.” He said. “You helped me out, protected my dogs, and I will never forget it.”
He’s offered to pay for the rest of my University schooling. And once my face heals up, he’s even offered to cover for some very expensive, experimental eye-transplant. We’ll see how that goes.
“You and your family will live comfortably from now on. You’ll want for nothing. Tell me exactly what you need, And you’ll get it.”
So I told him I'd like my necklace back. It was an heirloom. I said I lost it somewhere in his house.
A few days later, he returned with the usual smug, half-crooked smirk in his voice. He brought the necklace back in a box, pretending he had bought me a new one. Except it felt exactly like my old one.
It was all shined up, completely buffed of scratches, but it weighed the same. It was my old one for sure.
When my mom saw it she asked, “did it always have it? This dedication?”
As far as I remembered, the backside of the tiny Christ the Redeemer was always plain. I fingered its shape in my hands.
“What dedication?”
The new little divots caught my nails. There was writing that was definitely not there before.
My mom described it as a curly, serif font. Like a gift for a lover.
~ You’re an angel ~
~ W ~