The neighbors they adored him for his humor

I posted on here before that my sister Mellissa losing her kids she has 7 in total katelynne is 19 kay din is 13 Lillianna is 11 Miracle is 6 zanders are 8 and Ransom and Rytheme are 2 years old today is their birthday the whole problem started in 2019 when Melissa found her old crush from school his name is Aron.
Aron and Melissa are dating i knew from day one I didn't like him he was controlling in my eyes all he ever did was tell Melissa what to do I noticed this when we all gathered at my sister Jessica's house early for Christmas since she wouldn't be in town
Jessica is married to a Mexican who I adore his name is Andres so normally every other Christmas and summer she would go with her son to Mexico to spend time with his family we were having a good time until he began texting and calling Melissa
he had been living with her that next year in 2020 we found out some disturbing things Melissa didn't want to get pregnant again so she had an IUD inserted in her arm to prevent her from getting pregnant what Aron would do was squeeze her arm to break the IUD so he can get her pregnant
In April of 2020, I moved into my sister's house i was previously living with my mom under her landlord's radar until I got accused of stealing clothes which is ridiculous and then I got banned so I moved into my oldest sister's Jessica house
Just a few days after moving in my sister Jessica came into my room and told me that Aron had beat up Melissa and it was bad she had bruises and gashes all over her from her beating on her and DCFS had gotten involved
DCFS told her that if she did not get rid of Aron she would have no choice but to take her kids away because of what happened his kids also displayed abuse his son was violent and his daughter would sit there and watch as Zander who is Autisic was getting dressed disturbing
Then in May of 2021 Ransom and Rytheme were born Ransom was born with Cleft feet while Rytheme was normal but Aron's control over her got worse during this time we got calls from the kids more and more often asking for Jessica to come to get them because they were scared
Aron and Melissa were fighting again Melissa was also an alcoholic so they would fight when they were mostly drunk is when the fights they both wanted to run the household when it should have been Melissa since it was her house
Then 2022 started we did not hear much of Melissa leading up to this year she came over on Christmas and it seemed she was still under his control she would pick up immediately after he would call this worried us because she was pregnant
January nothing February nothing then March happened Kaydon her 12 year old called us saying Melissa was drinking again and that he found an empty vodka bottle in her trash can we told him to tell his bio dad stevie and Stevie told her case worker
this was March 2nd of 2022 that year was very eventful if you ask me multiple false police calls from her on us threats from Aron stalking us because he didn't like that we had his kids and multiple false reports to DCFS from her about us citing that we were abusing the kids
all reports came back unfounded of the course she also posted on Facebook slandering Jessica saying that she always wanted her to have her kids taken away which wasnt true she had gotten her kids taken away and then we had to immediately find babysitters for the babies
Jessica worked so did Andres and I and Jessica had a deal when I moved in that i didn't have to babysit if I didn't want to as you can tell babysitting 2 infants a 5-year-old and a 7-year-old autistic child was not an easy thing to do
At first, our babysitter Brooklyn just quit babysitting Zander saying his meltdowns were way to much and then she quit watching the babies so i took over it was from April- to October of 2022 in between that time I had given a lot of my time up to babysitting i never got a day off
on top of making sure I fed and changed the babies while making sure the older kids got to bed on time I had to also clean the house and this was proven to be too stressful on me the fact Jessica's son Zion would always contradict me this would lead to fights we had
In August of 2022, they went on vacation for 6 days and this was a saving grace for me since i got 6 whole days to myself in September of 2022 I had gotten into a fight with Zion her husband was supposed to be off that day but he went somewhere with the older kids
so it was just me Zion and the babies Zion wanted to watch tv i said no he tried to snatch the remote from me and a fight happened the fight got so heated because he kept trying to follow me around if i went into the kitchen where he was the livingroom there he was the bathroom there he was
Finally, i went outside and he tried grabbing me until the neighbor came out he then went inside and locked me out of the house twice once back inside I yelled WHAT THE HELL IS THE MATTER WITH YOU, YOU DONT HAVE A RIGHT TO LOCK ME OUT AND THERE ARE BABIES IN THE HOUSE!!!" he then shoved me so I called Jessica
Jessica sped home and she laid it on him thick saying that she was taking his game until he learned to keep his hands off of me Andres came just in time to see him try and put his hands on Jessica and he beat up Zion Jessica had to pull him off of Zion
the next two months he just went on walks until his mom would be home until October I was putting all the same colors of play dough in the same container and my vape was by the tv so I could just grab it and go outside he purposely knocked it to the ground
I asked him about it and he blamed the 5-year-old for it but there were 2 problems to this story 1 -I had it scooted back to where the 5-year-old couldn't reach the vape and 2- the 5-year-old is smarter than most and knows not to touch it
this is when the final fight happened Andres had already left for work and Jessica was already at work I didn't want to fight with him so I told him to stop but he didn't want to be kept it up he started following me around the house but this time I chose to ignore I got hungry
so I went to grab a knife and a potato so I could cut up a potato i can make myself a baked potato and he grabbed a knife of his own this made me feel threatened so I called Jessica no answer i texted Jessica no answer so then I tried his andres I called him no answer I texted him no answer this was after I told the older kids to go to the playroom
after no answer, I called the police the police came Zions Dimbass went outside with the knife to talk to the police I told the officer what happened and he told his side of the story too not long after they left Jessica came home instead of her yelling at Zion for starting a fight she yelled at me
so the next day Jerry told me he wanted me to come to the hills and talk to him and at the same time I felt like she was going to make me move out she said she would pick Melissa's kids over me every time which upset me
so I went and got papers for Indian Hills and signed them she tried to backtrack as soon as DCFS said it was unfounded but I told her I did not want to babysit anymore so she had Stevie and Jen babysit This only lasted a month so November thru December
after they quit it was Ricky Katenynnes boyfriend who babysat Kateynee came now and then to help out but she had her job and Ricky did not follow any rules Jessica had some strict rules when it came to ways to babysit the baby
such as cleaning up the mess and not vaping around the babies if one of the kids is sick keeping them away from the babies and letting the babies sleep whenever they wanted Jessica didn't want them sleeping past 5 pm so they would have a sleep schedule
After Ricky quit due to him accusing Zion of looking up porn on the internet on one of the kid's tablets and being told that maybe he was the one doing it then Jessica tried to pressure me into babysitting again even though in October we sat down in the kitchen and i told her how I felt
then she told me she understood the deal we made and that the only time that she would ask me to babysit was for school stuff and doctor appointments and when she went to the boat that's what she calls the casino so she had to quit her job at the restraint so that she didn't have to worry
January and February we were living off of food pantries and behind on bills then mom mentioned on Addus and working for Travis and so she signed up went to orientation and now she works for Travis
now for the update :
last day of court was today and they told Melissa she will not be getting her kids back She is back on medicine and she is doing her classes but the one thing she was not doing was accepting the fact that it was Aron who got her kids taken
thank you Reddit for joining me on this wild ride

Nature of Humanity Ch 67 A NoP fic
Under Pressure Part 10
A Fanfic of u/SpacePaladin15’s work “The Nature of Predators.” Thank you for the story!
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Memory transcription subject: Silvera, Factory 13 Manager
Date [standardized human time]: November 4th, 2136
If it wasn't for the clearly artificial sky above my head someone could possibly convince me I was outside in a new park. The neon blue screen with a white dot to represent the sun was nothing like the actual pale gray visage a mile above. Yet, it did have an enjoyable warmth to it.
A smooth artificial wind swept through the saplings ensuring that they would develop healthy stress wood. It also pleasantly cooled the fur of anyone in here, providing a nice little respite from the heater simulating the sun's unbearable hatred of us. Fuck you fake sun!
Any flora used to decorate the park would be exotic to Frozen Mountain, even if it came from the nearby tundra, but my humans decided to do something interesting. While they had covered most of the ground with a soft short-growing Terran clover, they chose to make the rest of the decorative plants functional. All of the saplings were different types of fruit trees that, when mature, would be free for anyone to harvest as much as they want. Even the decorative topiary isn't hardy tasteless plants, but berry bushes that would provide a variety of sweet treats relatively soon.
Agurcorp was more than happy to allow its failed startup out here to be turned into a local park. Well, so long as they didn't have to pay for this expensive mistake of theirs. The Mayor was all too happy with this, especially since my humans were happy to let him have all the credit so long as they got to design the park. With voting season right around the corner, the Mayor that ‘Brought life to this blighted land’ was a shoo-in to get re-elected. Or would be if he also wasn't ‘The idiot who allowed predators into the city.’
With everything that's happened I am still a bit surprised at everyone currently enjoying the park. A small herd of Venlil are exercising in the open field. A family of Gojids are walking along the cobblestone path. All the while, some humans are playing a very weird game of throwing a round plastic plate into chain nets. It's almost as if this city didn't have two separate riots on the same day.
The sound of wheels traveling across a bumpy path caught my attention. I glanced across the way to see an embarrassed-looking John driving an electric wheelchair over to me. His eyes locked onto mine before quickly switching to the ground. He tried to laze in a chair designed to enforce good posture and looked rather silly as he adjusted himself.
He came to a stop just a foot away from where I sat, “Hey Silv… I, uh… I don't actually need the wheelchair but Mikvia threatened to break my legs if I didn't use it, so I'm just humoring her.”
Oh, don't freaking tell me. Why are humans like this… “John… you were hospitalized with a punctured lung. Sure, doctors have some miracles they can perform these days, but you know you shouldn't be stressing yourself by walking.”
He huffed, “Please, I'm fine. Really. It wasn't as serious as everyone is making it out to be.”
I thumped my hind paw against the ground, “John.”
He threw his hands into the air with a huff, “I'm in the damn wheelchair ain't I? Gawd…”
He grasped his nose before calming down, “I apologize. Shouldn't have raised my voice like that. I mean… I am using the wheelchair and not lifting stuff. Doctor's orders. They even said getting out in this park would be fine. Said it might even help!”
We let out a deep sigh together. I hopped down from my bench and back up onto his lap, “Let's go for a ride… while we figure… us out…”
I could see John's guard drop as the exhaustion crept back onto his face, “...alright...” He pressed his controls forward, and we slowly began our first lap of the park.
John wrapped one of his lanky ape arms around me like a fleshy seatbelt and I laid my head on his chest appreciating the contrast of his warmth with the cool artificial breeze. I could have slept like this. The beating of his heart was rhythmic, and his deep breaths sounded a bit like waves washing up on a shore.
I even heard his heart quicken as I cleared my throat, “So… we aren't really dating are we?”
His exhaustion was quickly replaced with unease as he started to fidget a little, “I'm sorry…”
I held his hand and stared into the ocean blue eyes of his, “Don't be sorry. I think we were both drunk when we agreed to go on a date…”
He shook his head, “I still should have said something before then.”
It wasn't like I couldn't have taken the initiative and talked to him sooner too, “I know you were going through a lot. Actually, I know you still are… I'm really only able to guess but… Are you one of the types that thinks Xeno-dating is weird?”
He looked ashamed as he scrambled to smooth things over, “I- No- well, yes- but- it's just… ok. Let me start over… alright… yeah… so… uhm… the thing is… how do I put this… it sounds bad… well, it is bad… it’s just…”
My tail wagged involuntarily at the rather cute display of embarrassment radiating from John. I leaned in and let him have a doey-eyed look to help heap the embarrassment on.
It felt like John tried to stop the next words from rolling out of his mouth, “Sometimes I have trouble thinking of you all as people.”
John came to a complete stop as I just stared at him wide-eyed. My brain struggled to grasp what he was saying and the implications of it. He cringed and covered his face with his hands, “Gawd, that sounds horrible. It's just… It's not as bad with you and the others… I talk to y’all a lot. It's easier for it to click that you are people too.”
I was desperately trying to see this from his angle, “Wha- why does this happen in the first place?”
His hands drug down his face trying to drag the flesh with it, “I think it’s cause you are always naked. Like your back brace helps a little bit, but still everything else is… That and I hear your voice and the chip in my head then gives it meaning. Like its disjointed. Then it's the way your body language works and- and- fuck. Just…. Fuck me man. I don't even think that's all that's wrong with me. It’s just… like you look, sound, and smell like animals. It's just not really what my mind had in place for aliens. So- like- ugh! Why can't I just explain it!?”
It's difficult to explain, but his words connected to a deep sad memory, “It's like everything is just too… slightly wrong…”
It felt like I had been whisked back decades to my own childhood. I could still smell the bleached halls of the Venlil orphanage on Nevis. My heart whimpered when the Sivkits who came to adopt me shuddered with fear and disgust. Their strange voices sounded slow as they spoke a strange version of Klipic. Like hearing a pale imitation of yourself, try and pretend to be just like you.
My eyes locked with his as I carried on “It’s like you look at them and a part of you knows what they are, but your brain just snaps back to… to what you think reality is.”
I could see a glimmer of hope well up with his tears, “Y-you know? I-Iv've felt like such a monster! How can I- How can I look them in the eyes when they took me in and say- say- that I can't see them as people sometimes!? After everything they've done for me?! They want to adopt me and I- I- I can't even!”
I wrapped my arms around his neck as he buried his face in mine. It felt like he could crush me with his arms, yet they held me gently. What was causing me pain was this damn back brace. The blasted thing was trying to force my arms down while it hunched me over. I wiggled out of John's embrace and ripped the freaking thing off and chucked it as far as I could before burying myself in his embrace again.
We held each other as he drew in shuddering breaths and let his emotions flow out. John’s grip eventually began to loosen and we both took a moment to calm down. I gently tugged at the shirt covering John's torso, “So… Us not wearing clothes constantly is… disconnecting for you?”
He nodded his head, “Y-yeah… It’s like… every person I have ever known wears clothes. Animals never wear clothes and at most wear like a collar or harness if someone owns them. Then a few months ago, a bunch of nudist aliens show up and… well, my brain lops them into the animal category and the translator isn't helping.”
I glanced down at my body and suddenly felt… exposed, “So now that I am no longer wearing clothes…”
He cringed, “You look more like a large rabbit thing than a person… when you had the brace on it helped a little, but you were on all fours… When you were wearing your weather suit and had your hood off, It felt like you were a person, just different.”
An idea crossed into my skull, “Ok then… so your brain attaches personhood with a level of nudity, body plan, and familiarity… take your shirt off and give it to me- Don't give me that look! I know you’re male and are far less sensitive about people seeing your nipples. So gimme.”
He begrudgingly took off his shirt, revealing a pelt of fur that caught me off guard. I shook off the confusion as I slipped his shirt overhead and stuck my arms through the sleeves. It immediately tried to slip down my body and off. Mostly due to how large the hole for his head is, but also due to my utter lack of true shoulders. Another gift of my freak mutation. The ability to walk upright as well as sprint on all fours like a fucking Arxur.
I bunched up the collar and knotted it on itself, solving the slipping issue. With a small twirl, I spun in a circle, “So how is this?”
A smile formed on his face, “You look adorable!”
I happily flicked my tail, “Is that girlfriend adorable or pet animal adorable?”
His grin beamed with happy, mischievous energy, “Little sister adorable.”
I stomped my hind paw again, “Wha- why?!”
He held out his arms and I hopped back into his embrace, “Its cause it's my shirt. Jamie would wear my clothes sometimes, and they were so baggy on him, and well… on you that's practically a sundress! … you’d look really nice in like… a yellow sundress with like a straw hat.”
My mind tried and failed to make an image to match his description, “Hrm… well… I wouldn't know where to even start getting a… sundress.”
John carried on like clothes shopping was a normal intergalactic thing, “You would have to go to a tailor and have it custom-made. Like you already had to adjust my shirt cause you don't have shoulders like we or the Gojids do.”
We sat in a comfortable silence as John started the wheelchair back on its path. I almost fell asleep in his arms before I asked, “So… Are we dating?”
John didn't hesitate to bend over and freaking bite the top of my head! I, rather fruitlessly, slapped my paws against his face as fast as I could and only managed to elicit a laugh from him. Jumping up, I got a mouth full of his cheek in my teeth.
I made sure not to crush as I mimicked what he had done to me back, “Ah! The turns! They've tabled! I'm sorry! We're dating! Augh!” I spit out the lump of flesh between my teeth and sat down rather proudly.
It was only then I looked around to see most of the nearby groups staring at us. As well as three silver suited flame whack jobs walking our way. One of them held up his paws to try and seem as big as possible, “YOU! PREDATORS! DON'T MOVE!”
John growled at them, “YOU FUCKING IDIOTS. WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?”
The trio froze in their steps and reached for weapons they didn't have. The boldest one took another step forward and shouted, “SHUT UP PREDATOR!”
John held his issued jacket up, letting the reflective emblem of the guild shine for all to see, “I WORK WITH YOU NUMB NUTS! I'M JOHN! ADOPTED SON OF YOUR FUCKING CHIEF! RING ANY BELLS?”
The trio halted in their tracks and the most skittish of them turned a one-eighty on their paws and began to walk away. The boldest one’s paws slowly dropped, “J-John?! I- I've never seen you without the mask or artificial pelt… wait! You're supposed to be in the hospital!”
Johns voice grew cold, “They said I could go out around the park so long as I mostly stayed in the chair. If it pleases you, you can talk to Loke. He's right over there with his wife and two kids. I bet he'd be thrilled to learn you three are going around accusing people of being predators.”
The bold moron took a fearful half step back, “D-d-d-d-don't twist my words! You bit her and she bit you back! I have witnesses! That's predatory!”
John leaned back and stroked the fur on my cheek, “No, it’s erotic.”
I could see the gears turning in the bold one's head grind, “What.”
John pressed his lips into my neck, “Ya know… sexy. It’s like… gently grooming your significant other's neck from behind but more playful.”
They looked revolted, “That's disgusting.”
John cocked his head to the side like a confused Gojid, “That’s odd.”
The look of revulsion quickly transitioned back to confusion, “What?”
A smirk grew on John's face as his fingers massaged into the sore muscles on my back, “It's just, that’s exactly what your mom said last night, but she grew to like it.”
I slapped my paws to my mouth to avoid laughing as the rage flared up in the bold one's eyes, “WHAT!?”
I let out a happy purr as John began to work at my sore muscles and utterly humiliate the idiot bothering us, “Yeeeeah. You weren't supposed to find out like this, but I'm your dad now.”
Their ears pinned back in rage, “You're lying to me.”
John waved a hand at our surroundings, “We are in a hermetically sealed park. There is no way for any significantly threatening animal to get in here. You are only here looking for trouble and I assure you, this will be looked into. Go clean your nose and keep it clean. Understood?”
They both tucked their tails, “Understood, sir.”
John nodded his head and calmed his tone, “Dismissed.”
As the trio of troublemakers left, we sat in relative silence as John continued to work away at the stress in my muscles. If you proved this was how humans prepared their food before eating it, I would argue that it's still worth it.
His rough voice messaged my ears, “Hey Silv?”
I stretched and enjoyed the pops my spine made as it took its natural shape, “Hrm?”
A hint of curiosity hung in his voice, “Why did you understand what I meant? Shouldn't… You've lived with aliens being a part of everyday life for… Like… ever right?”
I slumped against John and thought. Dredging up old memories that I almost wished I didn't have, “It was… a very long time ago. My doctor told me I was making up false memories to cover up a traumatic event and make it to where I was normal and everyone around me were the weird ones…”
I could hear John doubt my doctor's claims, “That sounds… fishy.”
Despite John's odd word choice, the meaning still fit perfectly, “It feels like it, but I just have no proof. I swear to you, I remember running along a beach, with my parents on two legs. Every Sivkit I knew as a child walked on two legs. It’s like… well…”
I grabbed John's hand to stop it from distracting me, “One day I woke up, and I was unbelievably cold. I thought I was a corpse. There was this strange… tentacle thing with bulgy eyes standing above me. His words didn't match his lips, but I understood him. It was terrifying.”
“He scooped me up and started running. Said I was in grave danger, and he was going to keep me safe. I didn't trust him one bit. He jumped into some strange ship and told me I had to be very quiet. The bad people would attack us if they heard either of us talking.”
“Eventually, he crashed the ship into something and pulled me out of it. I was surprised to see we had been on a submarine that entire time. That and the sky was the wrong color. I didn't even have an opportunity to think about it as he carried me to a weird looking vehicle that once again surprised me as a giant wall turned into a window.”
“I had never even heard of spaceships before, and I watched as we went up and just moved into space like it was nothing. He tried to calm me down, but he told me my parents were dead. I- just remember sobbing in his tentacles for hours. Eventually, I calmed down enough for him to play with me.”
“For a few days it was just me and him. Then we met up with another ship, and he left that one to drift in the void. He said we were meeting his friend Aylin on Nevis… a Venlil colony not too far from here, actually. I got to meet more aliens on that ship but Kalova- sorry that was the name of the Kolshian who took me out here. Kalova didn't want me to talk about anything to anyone. Said to just say I was his adopted daughter, and he just got a job on Nevis managing the new colony.”
“He never saw it. I didn't know what they were at the time but the Arxur attacked. They were trying to raid the colony and the Gojids and Venlil where desperately trying to protect it. I remember the alarm going off the second the ship’s captain announced we were leaving FTL. Kalova sprinted through the ship carrying me. He placed me in an escape pod just before that terrible lizard spotted us. He pulled the lever and my pod jettisoned down to the surface.”
“I was in that pod for three days before the Venlil found me and put me in an orphanage. Every time I met other Sivkits… they made my skin crawl. There's something wrong with all of them. I swear to you, we Sivkits are supposed to walk on two legs. We also aren't supposed to be that… stupid. Between how they talk being just… off, and the fact what they said was often either retarded or downright wrong, I couldn't ever feel like one of the so-called Grand Herd.”
“Eventually, I aged out. Graduated college, top of my class. And started working out here when they began to rebuild my plant after it burned down. That’s all there… Well, there is more, but It's not actually relevant to your question.”
John leaned down and kissed the top of my head, “Thank you for sharing that with me.”
I groomed the tip of his nose in return, “You're welcome. … Hey John?”
I could see a small bit of… hope in the back of his eyes, “Yes Silv?”
“Can you tell me about your past?”
He frowned as memories came back to him, yet he smiled still. “Yeah… it’s not a happy story either.”
I pressed myself into him, “Well… we can both be sad together, at least.”
John's hands began to absentmindedly work through my fur again, “Yeah… That doesn't sound as bad.”
___/\___
Important question, do you want a chapter dedicated to John retelling his story? Or would you like it smash cut out in favor of more of their first real date? I am not sure how I want to do it and am happy with both, so please let me know.
John and Silvera finally had the relationship talk! Woooooo! John's confessed something he'd rather never bring up, but knows he needs to address to start living a happy life with his new family. Aaaaand, It's time for Silvera’s tragic backstory! (Trademark pending). Strange names though, right? Kalova… weird how John's old boss has a missing brother with the same name as an alien Ivan the Arxur knows! And Aylin… strange they share a name with Talen's dead wife! Man that's just weird!
Special thanks to u/JulianSkies for proofreading! Seriously it felt like my eyes were melting out of my skull and your feedback was everything I needed!
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So, something crazy happened today that left me pretty shaken. There's a stray dog who gave birth to five puppies right outside my house. Unfortunately, only two of them survived, but now they're thriving( their names are Stepz and Chris Brown). My brother and I absolutely adore these little guys. We live at the end of a quiet street, so there's no danger of cars, and we take care of them—feeding them, giving them water, milk, and sometimes non-veg treats, and also their medication. They're happy and secure here.
Today, I was inside when I heard the puppies crying. I rushed out and saw a man with a huge stick poking around the bushes where they usually sleep. He was with a woman and two kids, also poking with smaller sticks. I ran over and asked what he was doing. He said he was trying to catch a puppy because his kids wanted a new one after their old puppy was hit by a car.
I told him he couldn't take them because I've been taking care of them and they’re practically mine. He got really angry and started subtly threatening me, saying he knew my neighbor, who is involved in local politics (a subtle threat). I told him I knew my neighbor too and that it didn't matter—the puppies weren’t going anywhere.
He got even more furious, tried calling my neighbor, and then banged on my neighbor's door (who didn’t answer). When he came back to me, he started calling me names and threatening me more. He asked why I didn’t keep the puppies inside if I cared so much, but I already have a dog and my parents won’t let me keep them inside permanently. I do let them inside for a few hours a day and also when it's raining or really hot outside. Plus, their mother would be upset if I took them inside away from her.
I eventually convinced him to leave by suggesting there were other puppies in the neighborhood. But before he left, he again threatened me and told me that he would tell my neighbor that I said bad things about him (which I didn't) and then he will "take care of me."
Now, I’m back inside, wondering if I made the right call. Maybe I should have let them take one of the puppies. On one hand, the pup might have a good life. But on the other hand:

• I don’t know these people and their last puppy died because they were careless.
• They don't even have a proper house and told me that they live in a politician's office (just a 5-minute walk from my house) maybe as workers(they were not high profile people.
• What if they mistreat the puppy by beating him, keeping him chained, and not feeding him?
• What if they did something horrible to him, like a sacrificial ritual? I know it sounds crazy but I have heard some bad stories and I don't want that to happen to him.
• They don't even consider them as living beings. For the kids, it was just a toy. I could see it in their behavior as they just went to pick another one after the previous one died because of their negligence.
• Taking one puppy away would leave the other one lonely and sad.

I'm really conflicted now, especially since I might have to deal with my mean and aggressive neighbor because of this.
What do you guys think? AITAH?
(If someone want to see them then DM me I will send you their pics.)

"You gotta know that there's an art to it, Ezra," Hitch said, cutting another piece of duct tape.
The sleeves of his weather-beaten coat were shoved all the way up his arms, to stop the fabric from falling over his knuckles while he was working, and goosebumps lined his skin. He was strapping a rubber chicken to the back of his truck, over the lens of the shattered backup camera, with the legs pointing down so that they hung a couple inches above the ground. There were dents in the hood from the crash last week, and scratches along the door from scraping into a curb. The chicken, hopefully, would keep him from breaking anything else.
"You can't go cheap," Hitch said. "The cheap rubber chickens only make noise when pressure lets go. That's no good. As soon as I back up into something, I want this chicken to be screaming like it’s in the depths of hell."
“Sure thing,” I said in a monotone, leaning against the side of the truck.
There were scrambled electronic parts piled in the back of the truck, the innards of a radio, a broken computer, tangled wires, a couple loose pairs of earbuds. He found the parts in alleyways or bummed them off his friends for a couple bucks or stole them from the vacation homes that were left empty for most of the year. Then he sold them for a profit at the scrapyard. Hitch had bounced between minimum-wage jobs for a while after high school, spending a couple months as a bagger at the grocery store or as a seasonal worker at the farm two hours down the highway. He'd never stuck with it. At the very least, the scrapyard got him enough money to eat and occasionally spend a night in a motel when he got tired of sleeping in his car.
Hitch pressed the last piece of tape in place and grinned up at me. "I've got something for you, duck."
The nickname came from when I’d broken my leg as a child and waddled around in a cast until it was healed. I hated it with a burning passion, and I glared at Hitch with the ease of twenty-one years of practice. He had a duck tattoo at the base of his thumb that he’d gotten in a back-alley shop as a teenager. He said that he’d gotten it to remind him of me, and the fact that I hated the nickname was just a bonus. It was shaky-lined, with an uneven face, but he loved it anyway.
The handle stuck when Hitch tried to open the door, a consequence of the rust collecting in the crevices of the car and running down the sides like blood from a cut. The car groaned when the door finally popped open, a metal against metal screech that had me flinching away. Hitch dug through the cluttered fast food containers in the passenger-side footwell, eventually coming up with a crinkly paper bag. He waved away the flies buzzing around the opening of the bag and held it out to me.
The last time Hitch had brought me food, I’d gotten food poisoning because he’d left it out in the midday sun for two days. The donut was squished slightly, and the icing was stuck to the bag. I still ate it, grimacing at the harsh citrus flavor. Taking Hitch’s food was an instinct engraved from the days when Dad had given us a can of kidney beans for dinner and Hitch had drank the juice, leaving the beans for me.
I rarely went hungry anymore, three mostly square meals a day and granola in my pockets just in case, but habits didn’t die easy.
These days, Hitch only brought me food when he wanted my help, like when he saw a place he wanted to hit but was worried about doing it alone.
I got in the car, like I always did.
We drove past the cluster of seafood-themed restaurants with chipped paint decks, the beachfront park where there were always shifty-eyed men sitting under the slide, the single room library where all the books had been water damaged in the flood last year. The change was quick as we drove across Main Street, heading closer to the beach. The roads were freshly paved, the concrete a smooth black except where the sun had already started to pick away at it. The three-story homes lining the sides of the street were crouched on elegant stilts, with space underneath for a car or three. Most of the garages were empty, with the lights off and curtains drawn in the house. Come summer, the streets would be swarming with tourists and vacationers, but until then, most of the buildings nearest to the beach were unoccupied.
Hitch stopped as the sun started to go down at a house that was leaning precariously out towards the beach, tilted ever so slightly, the edge of its foundation buried in the shifting sand of the beach. It certainly looked deserted, with an overgrown yard and blue paint peeling off the door in sheets.
Hitch took his hammer out of the backseat, hoisting it over his shoulder. It was two feet of solid metal with rags wrapped around the head to muffle the sound of the hits. Hitch squared up, bending his knees and holding the hammer like a baseball bat. Before he could swing, though, the door creaked open on its own, the hinges squeaking. The house beyond was dark enough that I could only make out general shapes, glimpsing the curve of a sofa to the left, what was maybe the shimmer of a chandelier on the other side.
Hitch lowered his hammer, looking vaguely disappointed that he didn’t get to use it. “That’s…weird as hell.”
“Maybe the deadbolt broke, maybe they forgot to lock it, it doesn’t matter,” I hissed, checking our surroundings for other people again. “Just hurry up and get inside before someone calls the cops.”
Hitch flicked the lightswitch on the wall, and the lights flickered on. They were dim, buzzing audibly and blinking off occasionally. The walls were plastered with contrasting swatches of wallpaper and splattered with random colors. There was neon orange behind the dining table, a galaxy swirl in the kitchen, and on the ceiling there was a repeating floral pattern covered in nametag stickers. Each of the stickers was filled out with The Erlking. Chandeliers hung in every room, three or four for each, and rubber ducks sat on every table. A miniature carousel sat in the corner along with a towering model rocket.
Sand was heaped on every surface, at least a couple inches everywhere. It was piled in the corners and stuck to the walls, and it covered the floor in a thick blanket. Our hesitant steps into the house left footprints clearly outlined in the sand.
Hitch took a cursory look around and headed immediately for the TV mounted on the wall. “Look out the windows and tell me if anyone is coming.”
I shook the sand out of the blinds and pulled them open, then had to brush sand off of the window before I could see anything.
Hitch was quick, practiced at finding and appropriating the things that were worth taking. He came back to me with an armful of electronics and chandeliers, dumping it at my feet before turning to head deeper into the house again.
There was a thump, somewhere upstairs, and then footsteps, slow and deliberate. Hitch froze at the threshold of the room, then ran for the door with me just ahead of him, sand flying out from under our feet.
My hand was almost brushing the doorknob, close enough that I could see the light from the streetlamp outside streaming in through the cracks in the door. My fingers touched the wood and it gave under my touch, becoming malleable and warm. I yelped, stumbling backwards, and the door started to melt. The paint ran down in thick drops, pooling at the bottom of the door, and the wood warped like metal being welded. The soft edges of the door ran into the walls until there was no sign of an exit ever being there.
“Well, well, well,” said a cultured voice with just an edge of snooty elitism. “What do we have here?”
The man was well over eight feet tall, with long black hair covering his eyes. He was wearing a yellow raincoat with holes cut out of the hood to accommodate the deer antlers jutting upwards from his head. There was sand settled on his shoulders and hovering around his head like a halo.
“Who the fuck are you?” Hitch said, inching towards a window.
He smiled, just a little bit, and his teeth shone in the dim light. “I am the Erlking.”
Hitch nodded, and seemed about to respond. I grabbed him by the hand and pulled him towards the window. I could feel sand in the wind roaring against my back as the Erlking growled in anger, the grains scraping harshly against my cheeks.
We were almost to the window when Hitch was ripped away from me, and I came to a startled halt. The sand had formed long grasping arms that pressed Hitch against the floral wallpaper. His wrists were held tight, and as I watched, a sandy hand wrapped around his mouth and forced its way between his teeth. He gagged, and sand trickled out of the corners of his mouth.
The Erlking strolled towards him, not seeming to be in any sort of rush. “You know, I’m not very fond of your yapping.”
He made an idle gesture and the sand wrapped around my ankles, tethering me in place.
“I yap all the time,” Hitch said. “Three-time olympic yapper, that’s me. Best to just let me go now and save yourself some trouble.”
The Erlking tapped a manicured nail against Hitch’s mouth, hard enough to hurt, judging by the way he flinched away. “But why would I ever let you go when I’ve gone to this much trouble to catch you and your sister? It’s so hard, these days, to find people that no one will miss.”
Hitch struggled against the sand, trying to escape and failing. “What do you want with us, then? You just said it, we’re nobody.”
“I’m fae, dear one,” the Erlking said. “I get my power from my followers. And I think that you two will make lovely additions to my flock.”

He flicked Hitch's nose and Hitch gasped. Feathers started to form on his arms, popping out from under his skin in a spray of blood.
Hitch pushed off the wall, using his bound hands as a fulcrum, and his knees crashed into the Erlking’s stomach. The Erlking fell backwards, wheezing, and the sand around my ankles loosened.
Hitch made desperate eye contact with me as feathers shot up his neck and jerked his head towards the window. The message was obvious. Run.
The last thing I saw before crashing out the window and into freedom was Hitch’s body twisting, his arms wrenching into wings and feathers covering every inch of his skin. By the time I landed on the concrete outside, he was a small black bird, held tightly in the Erlking’s hands. The whole building was sinking into the ground, burnished-gold sand piling up over top and streaming from the windows.
Thirty years later, I saw Sam’s Supernatural Consultation and Neutralization written in neat, looping handwriting on a piece of paper taped to the door. The tape was peeling at the corners and the paper was yellowed with age, but there was obviously care put into the sign, in its perfectly centered text and looping floral designs drawn over the edges in gold marker.
I knocked, hesitantly, drawing my woolen coat closer around my shoulders. I’d bought it as a fiftieth birthday gift for myself, and I took comfort in the heavy weight of it over my shoulders.
“Coming!” someone called from within the depths of the office.
There were a couple crashes, and the sound of paper shuffling. Eventually, the door was opened by a young woman with ketchup stains on her shirt and pencils stuck through her hair.
“Hi, I’m Sam, I specialize in supernatural consultation and hunting, how may I help you today?” Sam said, customer-service pep in her voice. She stood in the doorway, solidly blocking entry into the office.
“My name is Ezra, I’m for a consultation. I emailed you but you didn’t respond?” I shifted in place, suddenly feeling awkward.
“Oh! Yeah, I lost the password for the email ages ago. Sorry for the bad welcome, I get lots of people thinking I’m crazy or pulling a prank and harassing me.”
She ushered me into the office, clearing papers off one of the chairs to make room for me to sit down. There was a collection of swords along one wall, all of them polished to perfection, several with deep knicks in the metal which indicated that they’d been used heavily.
“So what can I help you with?” Sam asked again, more sincere this time.
“Thirty years ago, my brother was turned into a bird,” I started. I’d told this story so many times that it barely felt ridiculous to say anymore. I was used to the disbelieving looks, the careful pity. But Sam just nodded along, face open and welcoming.
“I’ve almost given up on finding him, at this point,” I said. “But I saw your ad in the newspaper, and…here I am, I suppose.”
“Here you are,” Sam echoed, smiling. She pulled one of the pencils out of her hair and took a bit of paperwork off of one of her stacks, turning it over so that the blank side sat neatly in front of her. “Tell me everything.”
I told Sam everything, and she wrote it all down, pencil scratching along the paper.
The last part of the story was always the hardest to tell. “I left him there. I ran and I didn’t look back.”
I had been to dozens of detectives and investigators over the years, once the police had dropped Hitch’s case. I’d been to professional offices with smartly-dressed secretaries and met scraggly men in coffee shops. All of them had given me the same look, pity and annoyance all mixed up into a humor-the-crazy-lady soup. Sam, though, just seemed thoughtful.
Sam leaned forward and put a hand over mine, carefully, like she thought that I would pull away. “Sometimes you have to leave people behind.”
I tightened her hold on Sam’s hand and drew it towards me, like I could make Sam listen if only I squeezed tight enough. “But that’s why I’m here. I don’t want to leave him behind.”
“Okay then. I’ll do my best to help you.” Sam agreed, finally. Then she paused, and said softly, “You know…I think I met your brother once. He might have saved my life. He’s certainly why I started in this business.”
“Really? What happened?” I asked.
This is the story that Sam told me, related to the best of my abilities:
It was a new moon, so the only illumination came from the stars gazing idly down and distant porch lights shining across the scraggly brush of the dunes. Sam’s neighbors were decent people who cared about baby turtles, so the lights were a low, unobtrusive red, and the ocean sloshed like blood. Sam walked on the beach almost every night, drawing back the gauzy pink curtains and clambering out her bedroom window. She didn’t often bother to be quiet; her mama worked the late shift and came home exhausted. As long as Sam got home before the sun, her mama would never find out that she paced the shoreline and dreamed of inhaling sand until her lungs became their own beach.
The sky was lightening. The sun would come up soon, and that meant Sam’s time on the beach was over. She needed to get back to her real life, go to her fifth grade class and stop that nonsense, as her mother would say. Her mother loved to say things like that, pushing Sam into her proper place by implication alone.
“She’s a good kid, of course, but she’s a bit…” Her mother would trail off there, usually getting a commiserating expression from whoever she was talking to. Sam always wondered how that sentence would have finished. She’s a bit strange, maybe. She’s a bit intense. She’s a bit abrasive. She’s quiet enough but when Jason tried to steal her pencil in math class, she stabbed him in the hand so hard that the lead tattooed him.
Her mother was better, for the most part. The days of her stocking up the fridge, and leaving a post-it note on the counter, and leaving for days at a time were gone. But Sam still stepped around the place on the kitchen tile where her mother had collapsed and caved her head in, even though the bloodstains had been replaced with new tile.
“Your auntie got an abortion, you know,” her mother had said from her place on the couch, slurring her words. “Pill in the mail and then bam, no more baby.”
She had clapped her hands together to illustrate her point. Her mother jerked forward and grabbed Sam by the wrist, then, staring up at her until Sam met her eyes.
“I love you, you know? But sometimes I wonder…” She settled back onto the couch. “Yeah. I wonder.”
She’d gotten up, then, back to the kitchen. She’d been stumbling, a shambling zombie of a woman. The ground in the entryway of the kitchen was raised, ever so slightly, and her mother went down hard. Her head cracked against the tile, chin first, and she didn’t move.
Sam had been the one to call the ambulance. She had stared at the scattering of loose teeth on the ground while she waited, and considered what her life would be like with a dead mom. Not so bad, she thought, and immediately felt guilty for it.
Her mom was better, now, for the most part. But Sam still stepped around the place on the kitchen floor where she had collapsed. There was still a matchbox hidden under her bed with the gleaming shine of her mother’s lost teeth, two canines and a molar. It was nice, having a piece of her mom to keep. Even if she left again, Sam would still have part of her.
Sam sighed, and turned away from the ocean. As she faced towards the low dunes further up the beach, she saw a sandcastle sitting nestled among them. It was such a strange sight that her eyes skipped over it at first, almost automatically, disregarding it because it was so out of place.
Sam found sandcastles out on the beach sometimes, usually half-collapsed and on the verge of being washed away by the waves, but she had never seen anything like the sandcastle in front of her. It was life-sized, something that wouldn’t have looked out of place in the Scottish highlands, with spires shooting up above her head and carefully etched out bricks lining each side. The front wall was dominated by an arched set of double doors, twice her height, with a portcullis nestled at the top, ready to be dropped. All of it was lovingly detailed, down to the rust on the tips of the towers and the wood grain of the door. It was made out of wet, densely-packed sand, held together impossibly. It had not been there two hours ago, when she had come to the beach.
There was a bird sitting on the overhang of the door, small and black.
As soon as she took a step towards the sandcastle, the bird shook out its feathers and swooped down towards Sam, landing at her feet with a little stumble.
“Hey, kid, get out of here,” said the bird.
Sam closed her eyes, very deliberately. When she opened them, the bird was still there. Sam considered herself a very reasonable person, so she immediately drew the most logical conclusion. The bird was, she was almost certain, a demon.
“Trust me, you don’t want to run into Mr. Salty, the queen bitch himself,” the bird said.
“Mr. Salty?” Sam inquired, polite as she knew how to be. She edged to the side, trying to get a good angle to kick the bird like a soccer ball.
The bird did something similar to a wince, all its feathers fluffing up then settling back down. “Ah, don’t call him that. He’d turn you into a toad.”
The bird gestured with its head, towards the looming sand structure. “That’s his castle. He’s in there, probably scuttling along the ceiling or some shit because that’s the sort of weirdo he is.”
Sam nodded, encouraging. She pulled back her foot and lined up her shot, the way she’d seen athletes do on TV. She aimed right for its sharp beak and let loose. The bird saw it coming, its beady eyes widening, and it cawed in distress. It flapped away, avoiding her kick only to fall backward into the sand in a scramble of wings.
“What’s your fucking problem?” it squawked. “I was trying to help you!”
“I don’t need the help of a demon,” Sam yelled, trying to remember the exorcism that her mama had taught her once, because her mama believed in being prepared for anything.
“I’m not a demon,” the bird said indignantly.
It was at about that moment that Sam gave up and just decided to roll with it.
“What are you, then?” Sam asked.
The bird shuffled its clawed feet, looking about as awkward as it could, given that it didn’t really have recognizable facial expressions. “Technically I’m a familiar of the Erlking, prince of the fae, but I prefer to be called Hitch.”
“You can’t blame me for assuming, though,” Sam said. “Ravens do tend to be associated with murder.”
“Hey, excuse you,” Hitch said. “I’m a rook, not a raven. Ravens are way bigger.”
“Sure,” Sam said, not really paying attention. Her eyes had caught on the details of the sandcastle, and she was transfixed by the slow spirals of the sand, the strange beauty of it. She found herself stepping towards the great doors, lifting a hand to knock, and as she did, the sand warped in front of her eyes, heaving itself towards her with bulging slowness. The door creaked open before her, revealing a vast, empty room. Just before she stepped inside, she felt a piercing pain in her foot, and she yelped, leaping backwards.
Hitch pecked her again, really digging his beak in. “Don’t be an idiot.”
Sam glared at him, rubbing her foot. About to retort, she finally really took in the room inside the sandcastle, and her words died in her throat.
There was a body just past the threshold of the door, face down and limbs hanging limp at its sides. Long hair splayed out in a halo around its head.
“Don’t,” Hitch warned, suddenly serious. “Just leave, kid, I mean it. I’ve seen too many people go down this road and you don’t want to be one of them.”
Sam ignored him. She made her way across the beach, slipping with every step. The sand felt deeper, piling up around her feet in silent drifts. She picked up the nearest stick and poked the body with it through the door, ready to leap back if anything went wrong, staying firmly outside of the sandcastle.
This close, Sam could tell that it used to be a woman. Her head wasn’t attached to her body. It hadn’t been a clean amputation, either. Her upper body was bruised, with chunks taken out of it, and the bones in her neck hung mangled, not connected to anything.
“Well, I warned you,” Hitch said, defeated. “I did warn you.”
Sam nudged the head with the end of the stick, nudging it over so that she could see the face. Her mother stared back at her, torn to pieces, breath still wheezing from her lungs. She wasn’t blinking, just gazing forward with glazed eyes. Sweat dripped down from her hairline.
Sam screamed and dropped the stick, tripping over herself in her haste to get away.
Her mother’s eyes were wide and pleading, and she was mouthing desperate words at Sam. Her vocal cords were broken to bits, and the only sound that came out was a strained groan.
The head rolled, inching closer to Sam like a grotesque caterpillar.
Her mother gasped for air, torn lips fluttering. Finally, comprehensible words came out. “Help. Help me, daughter.”
“That’s not your mother,” Hitch said, quiet.
Sam knew that. Her mother was sleeping back at home, and anyways her mom had never asked for her help. She had an aversion to accepting charity, as she put it.
“Okay,” Sam said, shaking all over. “Okay.”
She backed away from the sandcastle, not looking away.
“Failure,” her mother hissed as she stepped away. “I never wanted a daughter like you.”
The sun came up over the horizon. The sandcastle, Hitch, and her mom all disintegrated into sand as the light hit them.
The beach, the next night, was almost exactly how I remembered it. The beams of our flashlights sent light bouncing across the dunes, illuminating the waves, and I imagined faces in the foam of the waves.
“I’ve been back here a hundred times. There’s nothing left,” I said.
Sam took the car key out of her purse and pointed it at the sand, adjusting the sword slung over her shoulder in order to do it. The key had belonged to Hitch; Sam had requested an item of his, and it was the only thing I had left. She rested the key on the sand and drew a circle around it, inscribing symbols around the borders.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
Sam shrugged. “Not much, really. I’m…I guess you could say that I’m knocking.”
The key laid inert on the sand for long enough that I was just about to give up and go home, admit to myself that Hitch was dead and that I was a fool to believe that Sam could actually help me. Then a building started to take shape, flickering in and out like it was struggling to get away. With a pop of displaced air, the sandcastle settled into existence.
Sam banged on the entryway. Nothing happened. She did it again, harder, and scowled when the door still didn’t open.
“We demand entrance, under your honor,” Sam yelled. There was a hard rush of wind, and I gripped Sam’s arm to keep my balance, but the doors cracked open reluctantly.
The inside of the sandcastle consisted of one enormous hall, the roof arching up out of sight. Rafters crisscrossed from wall to wall, and a cobbled path led further into the building, but other than that, it was completely empty, except for the birds. There were thousands of them, perched on the rafters or hopping along the ground. They parted in front of Sam and I, and reformed behind us, leaving us in a small pocket of open space. They were all black-feathered, with sharp beaks and beady eyes.
The Erlking sat on a throne at the end of the hall, lounging across it with his feet up on the armrest. He watched them as they came forward, the soft caw of the birds the only sound.
“I am here to bargain for the life of my brother,” I said, with as much dignity as I could muster, before the Erlking could say anything.
The Erlking ignored her, tilting his head to look at Sam. “I remember you. I almost got you, once.”

Sam glared at him but didn’t respond.
“You want your brother,” The Erlking said to me, and he almost sounded amused. “Then go get him.”
As if by some sort of silent signal, every bird in the room took flight at once, and their cawing made me think of screams. I covered my head against the flapping of their wings, and my vision was quickly obscured by the chaotic movement of them. I found myself on my knees, just trying to escape them.
A hand met my shoulder. Sam urged me to my feet, and together we ran for the edge of the room, where the swarm was the thinnest. We pressed ourselves into the corner and the swarm spiraled tighter and tighter at the center of the room. It went on until there seemed to be no differentiation between the birds, all of them fused together into one creature.
When the chaos died down, the birds had become one mass, with wings and eyes and talons sticking out of its flesh, thrashing and chirping. Human body parts stuck out of it, bulging out from the feathers. It was hands, mostly, with a couple knees or staring eyes. The bird amalgamation had no recognizable facial features, but there was one long beak extending from the front of its head. Most of the body parts were concentrated around the beak, and they peeked out from where the beak connected with muscle, or grew from the tongue, nestled between the two crushing halves of the beak.
It turned its beak down and crawled forward, using the hands to balance. The fingers scrambled over the ground. I was afraid of centipedes as a child, and I felt that same crawling dread when it started moving.
“Holy shit,” Sam whispered, which was rather disappointing, because I had been hoping that at least one of us knew what to do.
The creature turned, a lurching movement that crushed some of the hands underneath it, and started heaving itself slowly towards our corner.
“Better hurry up!” the Erlking called from his throne.
It was blocking the exit, by then. The shifting body of it had moved to block us off. It ambled towards us and I tried to sink further into the corner.
As it approached, getting close enough that I could smell the stink of it, I saw a flash of a tattoo on one of the hands. I leaned in, trying to find it again, like looking for dolphins surfacing in the ocean. And again, I caught a glimpse of a duck tattoo, the tattoo that Hitch had gotten on his hand as a teenager.
I ripped away from Sam’s death grip and ran for the monster.
I fell to my knees in front of it, wincing as I impacted the ground, and reached into the nest of hands. I could feel them tearing at my forearms and ripping into me with their sharp nails, but I kept going. I pressed further in, up to my shoulder in a writhing mass of limbs, aiming for the spot where I had last seen that tattoo.
The hands were tugging at me, wrapping around my back and hair. They were pulling together, trying to draw me completely into the mass of them. I was aware of Sam at my side, anchoring me in place and bashing any hand that got too close with her sword or the sparks that leapt from her hands with muttered words. But I didn’t think it would be enough. They were too strong, and there were too many of them.
I was up to my waist in the hands when something grabbed my palm. I felt the way it clung to me, and the calluses on its palm, and I knew that I had found my brother.
I flung herself back. The hands didn’t want to let me go, and they fought the whole way, but slowly, I made progress. I kept hold of Hitch’s hand in mine the whole time, gripping it as hard as I could. I finally broke free, Hitch with me, and Sam was immediately charging the creature, able to use her sword with much greater strength without being worried about injuring Hitch. She swung it forward, and it sliced through the wrist of one of the hands. It fell without a sound, red sand flowing out of it. It deflated until it looked like dirty laundry, just a piece of limp flesh. The creature shrieked, scuttling away enough that the door was finally accessible. The three of us ran for it, Sam and I supporting Hitch between us.
I looked back as I left and found the Erlking staring right at me.
“Interesting,” he murmured, his voice carrying impossibly across the vast space between us.
The sandcastle collapsed behind us, the great walls falling in on themselves. We were out in the morning sun, the sandcastle disappearing as we watched. Hitch was on the ground in front of me, as young as he’d been thirty years ago, when he was captured. He started laughing, feathers puffing out of his mouth. He laughed until he cried and I hugged him in the way that he’d held me when I was young, in the times when my life had been defined by hunger and fear.
Hitch left, afterwards. He scratched at the pinhole scars covering his body, where feathers burst through his skin, and pulled his long sleeves down around his wrists. He didn’t know where he was going but he told me that he needed time
I had spent thirty years worth of time without him. I wanted to grab my brother by the shoulders and beg him to stay. But he flinched when I hugged him goodbye and he refused to go near sand and he stared distrustfully at the birds chirping in the trees. Hitch needed to go away and I loved him too much to stop him.
I sat out on the beach every morning. I felt the sun on my face and I waited for Hitch to come home.

Quick summary: yes, it's cheap but heart and talent seemingly come cheap. My full review v
I've heard plenty about this non-equity Shrek tour, albeit AFTER I bought tickets because I saw the advertisement in my theater. I thought about getting a refund in the weeks before the show but in every review, I heard praise for the cast. Also, I've loved this musical for a while so I decided to take a risk and went today.
It was WELL worth it :D
To address the dragon in the room, yes, it's clear the budget wasn't high. If nothing else I say will convince you to try this show at the prices they're asking, you won't hurt my feelings finding another thread. I'll be clear that I hate that the cast and crew don't get pay much in a non-equity performance.
That said, the art direction was nice. I consider it akin to the 1st Toy Story, where the CGI is dated but the art direction still makes it nice to look at (not to mention the story and acting ;) ). There wasn't much in sets but what was there were nice, storybook-like structures and hangings. Nothing like Broadway's but the designers did what they could and succeeded.
I won't defend the Shrek make-up. I could see the edge of the bald cap from my seat (row P, orchestra section) while I can barely see the mesh ear holes in the proshot. That said, I do like the tour Shrek's proportions better; while it looked cool, I thought Broadway covered Brian d'Arcy James in too much padding and latex to make him look like the animated Shrek. You just need a bald head and the ears; Shrek's pretty distinctive :)
On that note, if you're not going with puppetry, it's hard to depict a lot of the characters in Shrek. The Broadway costumes DO look a lost better but the tour costumes did a good job to suggest their characters. Not exactly Tony-winning or Broadway caliber but serviceable (if I had unlimited power for a Shrek revival, comparisons to The Lion King would be apt; not a complete copy of LK's style but certainly puppet heavy like it).
Really, the only bad thing I can say about the tour is that there were a few moments where a cast member's mic isn't turned on in time for a lyric/line. That was annoying, especially during adult Fiona's big intro in "I Know It's Today." Otherwise, there were only a few moments where the mixing was off but it was overall good (and I don't think my theater has the best acoustics).
Now for the unabashedly good :D
The cast was phenomenal. If they agreed with this subreddit that the production was cheap, they didn't let that affect their performance (or it did and they worked harder to compensate). In particular, Nicholas Hambruch, Cecily Dionne Davis, and Naphtali Yaakov Curry as the main trio (Shrek, Fiona, & Donkey respectively) were excellent and up there with both their Broadway and animated counterparts (and the 1st tour that came years ago to the same theater, even if I don't remember their names). Everyone else was excellent. They sang, danced, and acted to the T and deserved every applause and laugh they got. I can't say enough.
Music was good. The six-person band did the show good (not sure if there were prerecorded tracks to make the music fuller). I didn't re-listen to the cast album as I like going to shows as fresh as I can so I can't judge between Broadway and tour arrangements but the tour did the score good.
It's also fun to see how the show evolved from the original version and proshot.
To those use "woke" the same way most people use "f", "s", or "autotune", the changes would drive them crazy. Quite frankly, the changes fit the show and does not hurt it. Heck, you'd only notice them if you're familiar with the proshot and cast album.
The most noticeable is that Farquaad is no longer short and the short jokes are gone. Turns out, Farquaad is still a campy, prima donna that's a hilarious parody of a typical dashing, brave prince. We lose his second song in favor of a brief reprise of "What's Up, Duloc" and his back story that's revealed there. I do miss it and the depth it gave him (even if it turned out to be bull-squirt at the end) but the show isn't really hurt by it.
Also, some songs have preludes with the ensemble acting as narrators/Greek chorus (I enjoy the fact that Shrek is the type of franchise where I have to clarify that I don't mean LITERALLY a Greek chorus :D). Doesn't really add much to the show but not bad changes. Them holding scenic elements does make some moments funnier, particularly the forest animals in "Morning Person" and flowers in "I Think I Got You Beat." The puppets used for the kid versions of Shrek and Fiona were pretty good too (and understandable if they're keeping costs down).
There's 2 lyric changes that I noticed (might be more but I'm not remembering) that were just as good as the original and only stood out because I've heard the cast album so many times. One is that the wolf is not called a hot & tranny mess but now mocked for his fashion sense dressing like a grandma. The other (I remember) is Shrek no longer calls Fiona fat during "When Words Fail" but gets flustered mentioning love. Like I said, more inclusive yet still keeping in spirit with the show.
A major change that I ADORE, and I'm not ashamed to admit it, is Shrek's participation in the "Freak Flag." Broadway's Shrek-less version isn't bad and I do miss "Build A Wall" but Shrek being a part of it means he gets to share in the fairytale creatures' epiphany of accepting yourself. Granted, the subtle approach of the film and Broadway production worked just as well but, if you're gonna make a big showstopper song out of the moral, it works really well including the main character.
We do lose "Don't Let Me Go" and "This Is How A Dream Comes True." It IS a little disappointing but, in fairness, I didn't realize until writing this review that "Don't Let Me Go" was missing and the reprise of "I Know It's Today" isn't a bad replacement (although I do wish "This Is How A Dream Comes True" was kept).
Also no "I'm A Believer" but, again, the tour's budget likely precluded it (being a song not written for the show and only ever used after the curtain call).
In summary, no, I can't defend paying normal tour prices for the less than Broadway/high school production value. However, if you can afford it, you get a production that keeps the Broadway production's heart and humor with updates that doesn't fundamentally change the show's DNA. I know it's disappointing Shrek isn't getting the budget it deserves but this tour proves Shrek is a strong enough show to survive a low budget with good actors/singers.
That said, at least the Broadway version exists as a proshot if my review wasn't persuasive :)
(Added some pics. Im not always comfortable posting my face online so please excuse the edits to my selfies. I think they improvements :P ;). The last 2 pics are of my souvenirs; I like magnets and the pen, a floating pen starring Donkey is cute :D)

Scott Masterson had first met Scarlett at a rooftop party in downtown Dallas. Their age and the time of year were both in late springtime, them in their mid twenties and the date in early May. He had on a sharp yet breezy blazer and she astonished in a thigh length sleeveless blue dress.
“Oh hey Scott I don’t believe you two have met…” his then happily married friend had remarked with a slow swinging open hand toward her.
“Scott Masterson…reluctant friend to this knucklehead” he said with a tight lipped grin, trying not to be so obvious with his instant rapture.
“Scarlett…a pleasure…”
Her hand was so delicate to Scott’s touch. They locked eyes. It was like looking back through centuries of connection, endless days of laying in the sun next to the Seine River, or rising to Hollywood fame in the 1940’s and only having each other who would understand the glory and the pain of it all, or generations of quiet, simple country love that would bear such beautiful, happy children that would go on to raise beautiful, happy children, all with their dark blue eyes. Yes, the memories of every love story since the beginning of time was swirling right there in Scarlett’s irises. Scott had to catch himself before he stared embarrassingly too long.
“Sorry Scottie here doesn’t get out often” his friend quipped, which Scott appreciated actually, it helped him snap back to professionalism.
“Well I don’t either…at least I prefer not to.” Scarlett’s words flowed through the air like a flock of rose petals.
“Hey, kindred spirits.” Scott was really sensing a rising energy out of her, they had barely broken eye contact.
“Well, I’ll let you two have at it, I got a wife around here somewhere. Hey…Scott and Scarlett…not bad, not bad.” His friend exited stage right with a sly chuckle.
“Nice guy…so…what are you drinking, Scarlett?” Scott looked around for the emptiest corner of the rooftop bar, hoping to find a nice place for them to be able to hear each other. This night had just become something.
“That depends, Scott…what do you like?”
Oh man.
Well, as you can expect, the evening blossomed into a beautiful, long winded conversation that etched a long list of similarities between the two. They both lived in the city, had never married, and had dreamed of stable, simpler lives far away from tall buildings and busy streets. The next morning Scott awoke in her arms, which warmed much deeper than just his skin. He could feel her soothing his very identity, his future, everything. Her arms were tailor made to fit his very soul, and he had never felt more safe and at home.
“Mmm…you can stay right here…” she whispered, eyes still closed.
“I will…I will”
They both fell back asleep, into a dream that wouldn’t end upon waking.
Two years passed and suddenly they lived that simple backwoods life, way out where acres of land far out-populated the few and far between people. They took a lovely home, which happily looked over a long backyard, right up to a lively yet mostly undisturbed river. Their only neighbor within a mile was an older ranch worker named Charles, who rarely made himself perceivable. Days were spent way on into town where they both had offices. They didn’t mind the commute. Nights were spent mostly like this night, cuddled outside near a lovely little fire, with a slowly shrinking amount of wine sitting between them. Enjoying their Kingdom. Tonight, however, would prove to be a special night, for many reasons, all unexpected.
“Honey, I’ve been thinking…” Scott began, sitting up and opening his hands to the warmth of the fire.
“Oh?” Scarlett also sat up, eyes widening.
“So look, Scarlett, the last two years have been the best of my life. An absolute dream…”
She held her breath, her focus darting between his eyes and mouth.
“Yeah?”
“We have everything we ever want out here. But…what if there’s more?”
“More?” She had envisioned this very conversation hundreds of times.
“Our dreams have come true, but what if we…made some new dreams?” Scott turned and embedded his eyes into hers. He burst into a big smile.
“Scott…I thought…”
“Nevermind what I said” he cut her off, which he always made a point to never do, but this was a good exception.
“I’m ready, Scarlett…let’s have a family.”
“Ohhhh Scott, oh Scott”
They hugged tight enough to where it hurt.
“Well, in that case, we may need to open another bottle.” She said playfully, bouncing her eyebrows twice.
“Excellent. I’ll be right up. I’ll put this fire out and then start yours up.”
“Oh stop!” She bounded away girlishly, up the snowy back steps and into the house.
Scott let out a big sigh that he could see in the cold air and sat back in his chair, taking in his decision. He really was ready. He had secretly been keeping a long list of names that he liked and that he thought would work in front of Masterson. Especially little girl names. He stared into the campfire flames, getting lost imagining the three of them sitting right here, a little girl resting securely in Scarlett’s arms, as Scott had found himself, and stayed within these past two years.
Suddenly his trance was broken when, from the road in front of their house, came the sound of a vehicle approaching at high speed. Scott snapped his head back toward the house to get a better listen. He could see, around the house and through the trees, a large truck barreling down the country road, its headlights racing and bouncing with intensity. In an instant, it had passed up the road and out of sight.
“Huh?”
Soon, after a moment of silence, another sound echoed into the night. This sound rattled Scott to the bone and tore all that was right in his world into pieces. A sharp, bellowing squeal. His eyes shot over to his neighbors house, which was about a tenth of a mile to his right but still had a couple dim lights on that he could see. The shriek seemed to come from there.
Then, more squeals. It was hellish. More than animal but not quite human. Scott stood up. He heard crashing and tearing and further destruction coming from Charles’ house.
“Scarlett!! Scarlett!” He yelled toward his house, where he looked and could see her silhouette behind the curtains at the kitchen window. She didn’t seem to hear him.
He turned back toward his neighbors. The chaos had gone quiet. Not a half a moment after, though, he heard something big barreling through the trees as fast as that truck had been sprinting. Running, running furiously between the two houses. Searching, hunting. Scott was taken aback so hard that his heel had caught the edge of the fire pit, throwing him down only inches away from severe burns. He had knocked his head in the whiplash, making him groan and take a moment to regain his bearings.
“SCARLETT!!!!”
He screamed out toward his home as he sat up, rubbing a quickly rising bump on the back of his head. He heard a loud breaching on the side of his house. The patio door. No. No. Then, all hell broke loose. Scarlett started wailing and crying and he could hear crashes of plates and glasses and deep guttural roars coming from the kitchen inside. Shadows danced in a frenzy from the curtained windows. Sounds of instinctual survival seemed to be thrown from Scarlett inside. Sounds of defeat. Sounds of agony. Sounds of insanity. Scott sprang to his feet, his equilibrium being more damaged than he realized after his fall. He had to catch his hand on a chair to stabilize himself. Scarlett’s symphony of pain had gone quiet. Soon after something burst back out the patio door again and off in the same direction as that truck before.
Scott struggled back up to the house, slowly climbing the wintered, crunching stairs that led to the patio. He no longer yelled for Scarlett. In fact, the only thing that came to his senses was the sound of his own heavy breathing. Everything else had been turned off, save for a heavy and sudden dread that he had prayed he would never feel. He came to the side of his house where indeed the patio door had been busted and forced open. It laid inside the kitchen, its hinges snapped like toothpicks. Scott, with eyes wide and twitching, slowly entered his home and looked into the kitchen.
He didn’t scream. He didn’t even change his breathing. He didn’t blink. He just got a good long look at what laid before him.
Everything was broken. The fridge was on its side, the door hanging open and food and drink scattered all over the floor. The table was upended, its legs to the ceiling. A chair was resting on the counter, possibly having been thrown in defense. And Scarlett. Oh Scarlett. She…was…everywhere. She was all over the floor. She was sprayed against the walls. She was stuck to the window. She was in the sink.
Scott gently walked through the carnal mess and sabotage of his world. Long ago he had known exactly what he would do if something anywhere near this bad were to happen to him. He politely stumbled through the kitchen, down the hall, and into the bedroom. He opened his closet door and lowered a fire safe from the top rack. He unlocked it with a passcode. 511, after that warm May date when he had first met Scarlett. In the safe was a Sig Sauer P320 handgun. Scott took it out, along with a box of bullets, loaded one into the gun, put the safe back on its rack, and walked out of the closet, sitting on his bed. Their bed. Where they should’ve been laying right at this very moment, working toward a happy future. Where he would’ve kissed her forehead and put a hand on her growing midsection. Where they would have awoken on Christmas morning to the sound of children who were way too excited to remain asleep. Where they would’ve grown old. Where they would’ve smiled at each other through wrinkles, satisfied with all the love they shared and passed on to the next generations. Where they would’ve held each other in deep peace as they finally fell asleep to this world.
“I will…I will”
In one quick motion Scott pulled back the hammer and stuck the barrel of that pistol right up against his Governor and blew himself away, far away, right back into Scarlett’s loving arms.
Jeremy “Smallmouth” Bassett quickly yet stealthily made his way back to his Uncle’s house. He hugged the sides of the dark country road, keeping his eyes and ears wide open as to notice any sounds pertaining to the event that he had just witnessed there in the field next to the huge blaze. His only thought was Uncle Chuck. His house was right on the warpath of that horrible thing and Smallmouth had to go to him and make sure he was safe. He dared not go back to his truck, which would bring a lot of unwanted attention. No, Smallmouth walked and walked and finally saw the lights of his Uncle’s house. He carefully approached the front door from the shadowed driveway. Suddenly it occurred to Smallmouth that something was very wrong here. The door was busted in, having been plowed through by something very large and very strong.
“No…no…no”
Smallmouth slowly entered the house. The kitchen and living room were a disaster, chairs and tables and bottles strewn about and shattered. Bloody hoof-prints covered the floors, each of them the size of dinner plates. Smallmouth heard no noise. He felt himself well with tears, his nose a faucet that he began to sniff up as he worked his way through to his Uncle’s room, the door there also being broken in. A small whine growing in his throat, Smallmouth peaked into his uncles bedroom.
It was all in tatters. The bed had been attacked and shredded, the mattress being ripped up and thrown about as if it were made of cotton candy. More bloody hoof-prints were painted all over the brown carpet. Smallmouth trembled and put a hand up to his wet face. He didn’t see a way that his Uncle was anywhere near alive, knowing what he knew about the monster that had been in this house.
Smallmouth slowly walked to the living room, to the only little table that had been untouched in the attack. It was almost as if the bottle of whiskey teleported into his hand from the overturned cabinet, unopened. He fixed that real quick.
Soon he was several pulls deep of the only thing in the world that he knew would make him feel better, even if only for a few hours. He found his pack of cigarettes in his coat pocket and lit one up, although he was indoors. What did it matter? He sat in a chair that he had turned right side up and set the bottle on the table and looked out the back window into the pitch black. He cried for his Uncle and he cried for the world. He cried for himself. He cried for broken promises and his own weakness. He drank and drank until his vision shook from right to left everywhere he looked. At first he didn’t even notice the figures on the back porch. Then his vibrating focus did pick up on them, but by then it was too late. It was so dark out there but in their outlines he could see they wore long robes and hoods.
“HA!! COME AND GET ME! HAHA!! YOU COME AND YOU GET ME!!” Smallmouth boasted with a delusional amount of courage.
A creak escaped from the kitchen and he drunkenly slung his head over toward it. Three more figures stood there. Or was it just one? Smallmouth was none the wiser. All at once the hooded intruders from both inside and outside began to chant a strange, twisted rhyme in strikingly low and dissonant harmony:
“A sliver…of liver…goes down…with a shiver… …and gives…your gullet…to gall… …but drink…the Cider…that drowns…the Spider… …and you…will be free…of it all… …so tighten the grip…that loosens your lips… …O raise…the bottle…of brown… …and wake tomorrow…to find…in sorrow… …ANOTHER…SPIDER…TO…DROWN”
Smallmouth groaned at them in dissatisfaction and turned his bottle up again and began to chug the whiskey. As he did they repeated the chant except this time it was louder and closer. By the time Smallmouth had finished his bottle he was quickly losing consciousness. This wasn’t just whiskey. As he closed his eyes he felt hands grabbing him from all sides.
Smallmouth pulled open his sticky eyelids. His head felt like someone had bowled a strike into it. Wind froze his face. The smell of sickly, wet iron stung his nostrils. His vantage was higher than usual. Way higher. He was looking out into another field, but from easily ten feet up. He saw an old church, formerly painted white but now a flaky pale-beige. He heard the friction of a quick pull of rope below him, matched with a slight, tight pain at his feet. He looked down. A red-robed figure was fastening him against a wooden structure of some kind. His feet sat on a small flat platform perpendicular to a post that went from the ground up past smallmouths head. He couldn’t move his arms, so he quickly shot his eyes side to side. They were also tied to another horizontal post. A cross. He was being tied to a crude wooden cross. His shirt had been removed, exposing a hairy, overweight belly. Smallmouth tried to speak, but all that came out was a slow, unintelligible grumble. He was still drunk. No, this was more than that. He was under the influence of something strong and absolutely inhibitive. He wallowed again, and took in a deep breath. The smell of iron once again hit his nose. He looked down at himself. He was covered in a thick, red liquid. That wasn’t just the smell of iron. He had been splashed full body with blood.
“Now now, young servant…” the figure at his feet had finished his task and took a couple of steps out to admire his own handiwork.
“Ahh…perfect. The picture of martyrdom. Yes, you will always be remembered, Brother Bassett. You are to be the first Saint of The New Bible.” He opened his arms in his declaration.
Smallmouth looked up into the cold night sky. The moon shown down, giving everything a midnight spotlight. It was a gorgeous waxing gibbous, big and bright but not quite full. Yes, he was in a great big snowy field that housed an old worn down church. From the windows of the church he saw candles glowing, showing dark heads and shoulders looking out to him, also covered in loose hoods, hiding faces. He was hanging on a cross about one hundred feet from the old church. In front of the cross was a partially covered pit, a couple of two by fours supporting double armfuls of branches and dead leaves.
The figure at the base of the cross put his arms back to his side. He was still looking right at the drugged Smallmouth’s dumbstruck face. Even with a veiled mouth you could hear the twisted smile in his voice.
“Tonight you will help us finally defeat this legion, Smallmouth. You see, it may have the evil spirits within it, but at its core, it is still an owned animal. An animal that knows its Master very well. An animal that will remember the smell of its Master. You, my friend, are covered in its Master right now. And you are hanging on a cross, the symbol of this brute’s most hated enemy. But take heart, young Brother. Before you is our pit of spears. Yes you will attract the beast, but our Divine plan will intercept it and the beast will fall and be pierced. And then, oh dear brother, you will forever be immortalized. You will be purified in fire by the hands of your church brethren. Out of your screams and into the smoke the iniquities of all will be released. We will go on to preach your good example and your sainthood forever and ever.”
Smallmouth began to drool and hum pathetically. He could hear and understand the words of the robed man but he couldn’t fight back. His body was useless, limp inside its rope confines. All he could do now is think, and watch, and wait, and dread his fate.
The figure turned away from him, walking over near the pit and gathering up a bundle of brambles and throwing them over the last open area, covering it completely. He then crunched through the snow over to the front door of the old church, groaning open the door. He stood at the dark doorway for a few seconds in silence, and then began to make a noise. An over exaggerated pig squealing noise, high pitched and infuriating. Soon after other voices from inside the church began to do the same, their wailing echoing out of the building and all across the field, loudly signaling, calling out. It may as well have been a dinner bell. Not a half minute after they began the distress signal it was loudly answered by a distant squall. A furious squall.
This was it. Either way it happened Smallmouth was about to die. Experience terror, and then die, and not even have the ability to put up any kind of defense. It wasn’t fair. He just slowly lifted up his head and watched out far into the moonlit, white field. He then raised his heavy head further and took a good gander at the moon and stars for the last time.
“God,” he thought to himself, still having full inner monologue yet no outer motor function, “I am so sorry. I am so sorry for being what I am. I am so sorry for ending up in this place. It’s only my own fault. If it wasn’t for me being so stupid and messy and drunk and terrible then this wouldnt be happening to me.”
He began to shed tears that washed lines into the blood on his face.
“Please forgive me God. Please, please, please forgive me for all of my sins. This is it. I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die. PLEASE FORGIVE ME!!!!” He yelled inside his own mind, hoping and trying to send his silent words as far up into heaven as they could go.
He lowered his eyes back to the ground. He looked over at the church again. The windows were empty, the candles were extinguished. Those hooded cowards were hiding from their own handmade sacrificial service. All was quiet for a long pause until a much louder, closer bleating began at the edge of the forest not even three hundred feet away from Smallmouth’s glazed over eyes. It was time, and it was too late for a miracle.
Out of the woods, slowly and heavily, stomped the massive hog. As it marched closer and closer Smallmouth could see its white, boiled over eyes and black-burnt skin. Its jaws were flying open and snapping its sharp, pocket knife-sized teeth together in an intimidating “clack”. It was now less than a hundred feet away, the dark old church to its right shoulder. It stopped, its pale glowing eyes fixed right on Smallmouth on the crude cross. It truly was a monster. It stood as tall as a man and as long as a canoe. Around its murderous mouth were stains of red, the remnants of all that it had taken from the world on this unholy night. In its clanging jaws were bits of flesh. It snorted and scowled.
Then, in a fury, it wailed that horrible squeal and started off into a dead sprint. It galloped and galloped toward Smallmouth at a high, blistering speed. It kept yawping and howling as it cut the distance from the cross down to fifty feet, forty feet, thirty, twenty. All at once it passed over the covered pit and plunged in. In his doomed, dead eyed stupor Smallmouth could hear what sounded like paint being dumped from a rooftop onto concrete. Trails of black liquid squirted and splashed up from the pit, which had been uncovered in the fall of the beast. Unbelieving, Smallmouth saw dozens of steel spear tips standing up from the dug-in ground. Right in the middle of them the beast was stuck. The sheer weight of the animal had caused the spears to pierce through its tough skin, sticking out of its back, soaked in black blood. One spear had stabbed right under the hogs chin, passing up through its jaws and out its black snout. It made agonized sounds. It roared and roared and shook the spears inside it, beginning furiously, then growing weaker and weaker within seconds. Finally, it let out one last weak little squeal, before it went still and quiet.
Smallmouth was frozen both physically by drugs and constraints and mentally by shock. His mouth hung open toward the pit of spears, his vision blurry. He took in a deep, troubled breath and let out a moan of disbelief and relief. The old church doors sprang open, and the sound of jubilation within flowed out into the night. The red robed figures flocked out of the building toward the pit, arms raised in celebration. They surrounded the hole, getting a good look at their success and their enemies defeat. Some held additional spears and began further stabbing the dead animal, causing more black blood to be shed up at them. They all yelled loudly and triumphantly. Some danced around the pit. Some skipped over to Smallmouth on the cross and danced around him, slapping his legs and spinning in circles.
Smallmouth looked on at the raucous celebration, both in utter disbelief of their trap actually working and also in turmoil. How long now until they fully execute their plan.
A taller robed man, whose voice matched the same one who spoke to Smallmouth as he tied his feet, spoke up, sounding almost happily intoxicated.
“Ahh yes my Brothers!! It is done!! We have won!!!”
They all whooped and cheered.
“Brother Norman, go into the church and bring me the small tank of fuel. Let us send our dear Saint Bassett to the Holy lands, where he will be adored for all eternity!”
They all clapped and hollered. One figure began childishly skipping away from the pit and over toward the front door of the church.
Then, it happened.
From the pit all of a sudden a great blaze erupted instantly. It stood as tall as the cross, and it burned a furious red and blue. It raged and raged, blinding Smallmouth and making him clumsily turn his face away from the heat.
All of the figures panicked, screaming and scattering away toward the church. They didn’t get far. Up from the fiery pit, dozens of long, long, black arms, adorned with six hooking claws emerged and stretched out of the flames and latched on to the legs of those trying to escape. Smallmouth heard crying and wailing from the men as the black, razor clawed-hands of the legion grabbed them and began pulling them back, into the blazes. One by one the red robed people were dragged into the flames, their clothes catching instantly. Smallmouth could see violently shaking bodies in the evil furnace. Oh, the screams. Above the tortured howling, the sound of laughing broke out. Deep, menacing laughter, hundreds of voices, echoed up into the air from the burning hole. Then, in one extinguishing squeeze, the ground swallowed the entirety of the fiery pit, leaving it completely covered in dirt, still and quiet. Soon after, and just like the pit of spears, the old church building caught in an instant and raging fire, quickly toppling the walls and dropping the steeple into its ruins. The smoke towered high in the night sky, which had just began to hint at a pale morning blue. Smallmouth hung on his cross in utter horror and surprise.
As the late evening hours glowed into early morning the smoke eventually tapered off, as Smallmouth’s drugs finally began to wear off as well. The fires of the church did garner long distance attention, though. Just as Smallmouth was able to regain control of his muscles and voice he heard emergency sirens call out into the cold morning air. Not long after, two fire trucks, an ambulance and a sheriffs truck tore into the field and toward Smallmouth on the cross. Not long after Smallmouth could feel the tied ropes being cut loose by firemen, their uniforms easily the best red clothes he had seen all night.
“What on God’s green Earth happened here son?” A bearded man with a dark hat and brown shirt and pants asked Smallmouth once he had been lowered down from the cross and sat on the ground with a shock blanket around his shoulders. The Sheriff, no doubt.
“God’s green Earth. It really is God’s, isn’t it?” Smallmouth whispered, staring out across the cold field. Then, at the very place he was staring, an old, familiar truck came barreling out of the gravel road in the woods and through the field in the steadily growing morning light. It was Uncle Chuck’s truck. It hurried over toward the other emergency vehicles, parked, the driver’s side door burst open, and Uncle Chuck came bounding out over to Smallmouth, his eyes wide and his mouth a wonderfully shocked “O”.
“JEREMY! JEREMY!!!” He basically fell on Smallmouth in a tight, warm hug. Smallmouth was caught off guard by Chuck using his real name.
His Uncle held him for several seconds and then let up, but kept his hands on Smallmouth’s shoulders.
“I thought you were dead.” Both of them said at almost the exact same time.
“I came back and your house was a mess and there was blood everywhere. I thought you were dead.” Smallmouth weakly spat out.
“Well, I woke up and you were gone, son, so I walked to the ranch to get my truck. I was worried bout ya son. I came back home and the whole place had been turned upside down. Blood on the carpet. I just thought the worst. Then I tried my neighbors house. Buddy, they’re dead. Looks like some wacko murder-suicide if I ever saw one. Scott probably tried to come kill us too and wrecked the place when he found it empty. I don’t know. But what I DO know is that you are right here! You are okay Jeremy!! Ahhh Praise Jesus!!”
“It’s not that, Uncle. That isn’t what happened out here. It’s..it was a..a, uh…”
Smallmouth’s fried brain couldn’t even comprehend what he had witnessed over the past few hours. It was all a violent blur.
“Dont worry bout it son, you can tell me everything on the way to the hospital. We gotta go get you checked out and cleaned up. C’mon.” He helped Smallmouth up and they walked over to the ambulance, his Uncle’s arm thrown around his shoulder.
Smallmouth would be sent home later that afternoon. It would take him and his Uncle a long time to sort through the chaos of that deadly night and rebuild their lives. But life kept on. Smallmouth would remain living with his Uncle, and would begin a job working with him down at the ranch. Together they started to attend a local church. Smallmouth never touched a drink or a drug or even a cigarette ever again, and remained steadfast in his newly revitalized faith.

Again thank you for to the fans it's a Saturday I'm you know essentially in bed you know struggling clinging on to life I got my James and Mike playlist on And I'm monitoring the interact with the community So I'm just going to go through some options here And try to have an open discussion when it comes to my thoughts on the dudes.
James:
Very to little vitality seems to be producing content less and less seems to be more and more disinterested in the current landscape of Gaming I seen flashes of excitement or Vitality in that new neighbor nerd series when they play games such as Super Mario World but other than that I mean it's just a long way away from what he wants was now when it comes to the excitement he can bring to fans I just feel it's almost becoming non-existent although I do feel there is some excitement when it comes to that Rex Viper project that they do.
Mike This is just a sad situation man in his 40s locked away hours at a time clearly looking not well streaming video games for money and I'm sure he is set for life when it comes to what he brought to the table in his early years but it just seems to me that his life is just falling apart essentially and what's wrong decided he's just boring I tried to get some deathbed Comfort by listening to his streams but they just have absolutely nothing to offer he just rants on as though everything he's going to say is going to be this big hit that inside fans are going to resignate with he just throws out ridiculous scenarios and questions to do with the games and he's just boring you know at one point I thought he could be that type of guy that you know has the interests like video games and movies and stuff like that but could go out to a restaurant and you know be a gentleman and have the waiter saying yes Mr mattei But as time goes on you know I just I don't really see that anymore
John
Now I feel at this time this is where the real energy is in the tunnel you know John you know I'd say somewhere around the 40s but seems to have a zest for life talks about barbecuing talks about going to concerts can talk about the past when it comes to video games like the Super Nintendo but can also celebrate the modern era certainly has a lot of enthusiasm and I think he really was a great choice to bring God to the channel at this stage when Vitality in general just really seems to be lacking especially from James
Ryan
Now Ryan in general just absolutely makes me sick and it doesn't have anything to do with his sexuality you know I just see him running around in the dress you know is just entitled Behavior but you know he is out there he's rubbing shoulders with the likes of WWE celebrities getting that big $10,000 line so he's out there you know he's celebrating openly his zest for life but it never translated on camera and I think somebody put it best here he just doesn't have a very friendly demeanor looks very much like a scared animal that's ready to attack most of the time and you know I just I never seen him as somebody likeable you know they did that Mike and Ryan talking about games and I think it was a complete blunder and I think it was some of the worst content that the channels ever done hey I just don't believe he's really has much of a life that would make him somebody that we want to celebrate openly
Justin
No I do believe that just didn't you know has some sort of zest for life has the very dry sense of humor but he's getting himself out there he's interacting with the fans and a moderate level of celebrity you know he's involved with that too many games production and you know I believe he gets ass always interacting with the fans you know I think has a very sharp mind for the industry and on the community and overall you know I'm kind of sad that we're not getting him on camera anymore in some sort of long form way like with the podcast or what the rental reviews it really is a shame cuz I think he was one of the young dudes that really did have you know some life going on and some enthusiasm

Walking my dog on a nice warm day.
Intermittently texting my friend about something. I pass by a man in a fluorescent yellow-green construction style jacket. He’s got a clipboard.
And a camo print ski mask.
It takes me a few more steps to realize that it’s highly unusual he’s wearing a ski mask. And in fact every inch of him is covered up vs me in flip flops and a T shirt.
I pretend to be busy on my phone and I spy him grabbing a box and some plastic-bagged item (yes, a la Amazon) from the row of townhomes, put them in his trunk (just a regular sedan).
I take a peek at his clipboard- it’s a blank sheet…
At this point I’m stopped at a mini park with benches 20-30 steps away so that it’s not obvious that I’ve stopped to observe him. I’m continuously pretending to be preoccupied with my phone by typing gibberish into the notes app. I wanted to catch a video of him just in case, but I was way too scared to lift/tilt my phone just-so to get identifiable info (eg. his license plate).
After he drives away I go to the apartment building that the townhouses are managed by to tell the guard. The guard is not present at the time so a female resident with an infant and an older looking fellow lets me in through the front door. They ask me why I need to talk to the guard. I tell them I saw something suspicious by the townhouses and described what I saw. I said maybe the guard would like to know this, in case they have cameras around there or at the least to inform the residents of those houses why their packages may be missing.
Turns out the old timer works in the building in some capacity and is real enthusiastic in informing me and the other lady that “they’re called porch pirates”. The other lady’s mind is blown by this, she looks at him like he’s a prophet and asks follow up questions. He doesn’t even ask specifically where I saw this happen before he exclaims that “they’ll never catch them, it’s pointless to tell anybody about it.”
I tell him I and my neighbors had multiple packages going missing when I lived in the very very big city just south of our county and even been broken into and we would all have appreciated people letting us know if it were likely a theft to at least avoid wasting time looking for them (or to encourage LL to up security eg. Cameras). Inform him I’m fine with waiting for the guard.
He goes, “look if you really want to, go ahead, but it’s a waste of time” and adds “That’s what they do for a living”. Me genuinely trying to understand, I ask “so are you saying that we should just leave them be?”.
I kinda cringed at this because it came off really passive aggressive, but that wasn’t my intention. I just wanted to parse out his motive for being seemingly adamant about discouraging me from talking to the guard- perhaps he did have the general belief that those less fortunate who resort to stealing to get by should be shown grace since their impact on the wealthy(er) is minimal? Like I was willing to have discourse, see his perspective, and be convinced. But both he and the lady were gasp aghast.
At this point I’m tired of this. From my perspective, I went out of my way to be potentially helpful to this community and this guy really made it seem like he had graciously condescended to speak with me.
I, smiling and very politely, tell him that I trust his wisdom on this so I’ll take his advice and get on with my day.
I dunno why but suddenly he shifts 180 and says I should wait for the guard. That, depending on where this is there may be cameras.
I’m like “ehhh, if it’s just to humor me and it won’t be helpful to anyone as you say. I’m alright.”
Walk back out with my dog. My parting greeting was “Good luck!”
Again, in retrospect that could be interpreted as sassy. In my defense, English isn’t my first language and even though I am fluent and can write well for academic and work purposes, sometimes I don’t have the best social phrases cued up…
Idk why that guy’s just bumming about in the lobby meddling with things. At least, as annoying as he was, since he works there I can tell myself that I informed an employee.

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Memory Transcription Subject: Taylor Trench, Human Colonist
Date [standardized human time]: July 15, 2160
With boot camp completed, I was free to leave the base in my off-duty hours. My plan for the rest day was to wander the city with Gress, who was eager to see Lecca and Juvre after weeks separated. His daughter had loved the idea of staying on “the human planet,” so we were heading to a hotel room where his ex-wife had planned a faceless handoff. The Krev hadn’t let me out of his sight since my abduction, because we’d yet to receive any leads on Mafani’s hideout. Where could that former black ops prick even be hiding, and why couldn’t Gress’ contact locate him? My exchange partner was worried the Resket would come back for me, and honestly, I shared those fears. I was jumpy and worried about going anywhere nobody had eyes on me.
It was a waiting game to see my persecutors get their comeuppance, and my patience was waning. General Radai was meticulous with his planning, instead of pressing our advantage before they’d have a chance to send another round of ships into our space. On the subject of lingering fears, when an armada twenty-thousand-strong burst in Tellus’ space, it had brought back memories of how the exterminator fleet had come to Earth. The greatest insult was that the bastards had figured out drones, most likely from studying my own species, so they weren’t pushovers we could use psychological warfare against anymore. Despite the advancements, the Consortium vanquished them; my faith was restored.
It’s cause for celebration. The scales—pun intended—are tipped in our favor. Now, it’s just a matter of waiting for the threefold decapitation strike to make the month-long journey; fighting a war across great distances will require patience. Persistence, some might say.
We hadn’t found too many hints in the wreckage, as the drone parts began to disintegrate almost as soon as their seams were undone. In my mind, there was no doubt they’d used our technology to some extent. Why worry about feckless crews when computers could do their dirty work? What we knew for certain was that their trails led back toward the Federation’s border, which left me wondering if our first strike didn’t need to include the Sivkits. This all started with their arrival, so they must be at the root of this conflict. Whatever General Radai might’ve thought, this proved that destroying their fleet was the right decision—who knew what kind of intel they might’ve gotten, if we spoke to them or allowed them any closer to our new home?
As much as I loved spending time with my Krev friend, perhaps the only person I’d ever felt close to, my heart was right in the thick of the war. No day wandering Tellus with Lecca could have a guarantee of safety, not until we convinced those Feddie bastards not to come knocking on our doors.
“I heard Quana was going on a tour of the caverns. She wanted to see how you lived; told Cherise it was insightful to witness a species’ conditions with your own eyes,” Gress said, as we ascended in the hotel elevator.
I tilted my head. “You two talked, voluntarily? Quana’s been less hostile since she was given the clearance to take Mafani out, but…”
“I overheard her talking with Cherise. Your Jaslip friend was interested in seeing the vault of your keepsakes from Earth. My guess is she likes the idea of making one for Esquo.”
“Jaslips had time to safeguard their artifacts, and plan the transition. I’m not sure what they’d need a vault for; they have more than fucking pictures and empty memories.”
The Krev looked at me with sad eyes, as the doors opened. “If we win this war, or are able to stop by Sol, maybe we could save a few artifacts. There has to be something, even if it’s at the bottom of the ocean, that we can save. I want to help, Taylor; my heart breaks for you and your people.”
“I know. I’m just fucked up, and I don’t know what I believe, other than that I don’t deserve you. Our history is me turning on you, doubting you, assaulting you.”
“You gave me a chance to get it right, like I couldn’t all those years ago. I’m going to save you as many times as it takes, even if it’s from yourself. You can’t push me away, or hide how you really feel.”
“How do I really feel, Gress?”
“I, um…you turned on me because you trusted me and were willing to be vulnerable. Because you care…we care deeply about each other. You express pain by blowing up, so you don’t have to admit it to yourself.”
“It’s not blowing up. I want to do something with my feelings.”
“There are other ways.”
That’s a nice statement from Captain Obvious, though he made it sound quite cryptic. Is there something more he’s not saying?
Gress steered me down the hallway, as I continued on in silence. We unlocked the door to Lecca’s room, and my leg was immediately latched onto by the little Krev. Her claws tore the fabric of my jeans, which caused her father to wince. The kid didn’t notice at all, instead bouncing up and down with excitement. Juvre crawled back into his cage, and began shaking it from the inside; of course the obor was acting possessed at the mere sight of me. He was basically a Fed. If it hadn’t been for how distraught Gress told me he was putting his first obor down, I’d suggest he give this primate some night-night syrup. There were better pets out there.
“Daddy, Daddy!” Lecca finally released me, diving on top of her father’s tail. Who made her so hyper? “Tell me something cute about the humans.”
Gress cast a sly glance at me. “Let’s see. Their celebrities walked down red carpets at big events, and pranced right on down the ‘fancy’ color strip.”
“I wanna see! If I make one for Taylor, can he walk down it? He has to show me!”
“Taylor would love to, wouldn’t he?”
“Absolutely not,” I protested. “What next, do I have to get petted by you?”
“You don’t have to, but…I figured out a way that humans will pay me to pet them. I hear you like massages: if I ran a massage parlor on Tellus, work would just be petting humans for hours. Might go for it after the war.”
“You can’t be serious, Gress.”
“That sounds like a great job, Daddy!” Lecca cheered. “That’s what I wanna do. I can’t believe we used to be scared of them; they’re so squishy, and adorable.”
“Yeah, I think I’m done with that conversation. Call me back when you figure out where Lecca wants to go. I’ll occupy myself snooping through your things.”
Juvre poked his head out of the cage as I ambled away, baring his teeth while on all fours. I found myself imagining the obor painted in clown makeup; perhaps I could persuade Gress’ daughter to do that to him, not knowing the true meaning. I rolled my hands into fists, faked a sad expression, then flapped them around near my eyes in mock crying. The primate made the motions of lunging at me, and I leapt away with a hint of fright. My friend’s worthless pet settled back on his haunches, and snickered in his shrieking register.
Demon. Diabolical little shit; I’m gonna rattle his cage in the middle of the night, right when he’s sleeping.
I took a closer look around the hotel, checking out the accommodations that visitors to Tellus would have; we had more guests on our world than ark settlers. The obor backpack Gress mentioned was sitting out on the couch, revealing a popup book about us for kids. I tugged the print media out, but was too lazy to get a visual translator to read the simplistic words. One picture showed a human kid playing on a swing set, and the child appeared on the next slide wearing a triangular hat and blowing out birthday candles. I turned the page, finding images of jump rope and hopscotch.
My hands slammed the book shut, feeling a bit deflated. We’d never done those kinds of things when I was a child in the caverns; our circumstances robbed me of almost every fun experience I could’ve had. I supposed this hardcover was about how human kids played, so that sated my curiosity. Perhaps it would’ve been better if I hadn’t been reminded about certain parts of our culture that I missed out on. Then again, it was never too late to start playing around and having fun, right? Something on the floor caught my eye; I reached my hand beneath the couch, pulling out some kind of puzzle cube.
“Well, what do we have here?” I picked up a four-sided figure with a few movable L-shapes fitted on the outside. Noticing a faint aroma, I brought it to my nose; it smelled fruity, and I wondered if this was some inverse, puzzle version of a Ring Pop. I shook it, feeling and hearing something inside. “Gotcha. Let’s see how to get this open…it’s like a Rubik’s Cube with an actual incentive.”
I rotated the L pieces enough to free one side, working to shift the square underneath into an upper layer. Getting parts of the cube to flip into an outer shell was easy, but the gaps were only big enough to jam my pinky into; it made a bit of a lattice pattern. I tried attacking it from two sides, freeing part of each surface—the contraption still defied me. Growling in frustration, I placed it between my feet and tried to tug it open. The commotion drew Gress and Lecca over to see what I was up to, and my Krev friend immediately morphed into a melty face. He caught himself, eyes shifting back and forth in a conflicted dance.
Stupid thing. I can’t get it open. This is a time waster: you’d have to be Einsteinian to solve it.
“Um, Taylor?” Gress ventured. “I…it’s natural and totally okay, of course, if you would share interests with other primates, but, well…that’s one of Juvre’s toys.”
I threw the cube away like a hot potato, bringing about a collision with the obor’s cage. “It just looked fun. Like a Rubik’s Cube, but it’s not solvable. Shit, I didn’t know. Only Juvre would be stupid enough to keep working on this; it’s a hamster wheel, man.”
The red-furred obor chittered, picking up the unsolvable puzzle. Juvre began unscrewing the pieces, moving certain blocks upward in various intervals. The primate seemed to be making tangible progress on it, and tinkered with it in silent focus. He screeched happily as he made an incision wide enough to squeeze his hand through. The monkey-like creature waved a red, powdery substance in the air, likely the source of the sugary scent; Gress called out, “Good obor!” There was a triumphant glint in the animal’s binocular eyes, as I gestured to him in indignant outrage; he popped the cookie in his mouth, crunching it in his molars.
“That’s not fair!” I shouted. “The bastard critter cheated. How come Juvre could get it open like nothing? He knows some trick, or gimmick you trained him in. He’s mocking me, chomping away at his treat like he earned it. Circus animal. Food thief gremlin!”
“I…uhhh...” Gress seemed at a loss for words; his tongue hung out of his mouth, twitching. “I can give you an obor treat too?”
“What? I don’t want pet food. Who knows what Krev put in that: you guys eat literal rocks.”
“Because we don’t have teeth. This would be perfectly edible, if that’s what you worried about. I don’t want you feeling, um, left out. There’s enough to go around, and it’s not a competition.”
“If it’s a competition, Juvre would’ve won,” Lecca said unhelpfully.
I scowled at the child. “Did your father teach you to lie? I did most of the hard work for the damn obor. He took what I already did.”
“Which is what exactly?”
“You little—”
Gress retrieved a treat bag from the kitchen, jingling it at me. “Will one of these make you stop arguing with my daughter?”
Juvre curled his lips upward, taunting me as he scooped crumbs off the floor.
“Fine. Give me one, just so that no-good obor can watch me eat it. Show him his place,” I huffed.
Gress’ eyes lit up, though he quickly attempted to mask his happiness. The Krev placed one of the cookies in my palm, and I held it up with suspicion. Maybe I should’ve asked if they’d crushed any dried insects in with the fruit paste, since I knew that was what they fed Juvre quite often. However, not wanting the pet to relish his feeling of superiority, I popped the treat into my mouth while staring right at him. My immediate instinct was to brace myself for a retching sensation, trying to hide my disgust. However, I wasn’t expecting it to taste fucking amazing. It was lighter than flour, singing with the juicy flavors of fruit snacks, then full of sodium in the center, reminding me of salted caramel.
“Shit,” I managed through a mouthful of food, raising my eyebrows at the Krev. “That’s…actually pretty good.”
Lecca stomped her foot, pouting. “Why don’t I get to give Taylor a treat, Daddy? You have all the fun!”
“Well…you can if he wants more, I guess. Just don’t throw it on the floor; hand it to him,” Gress ordered.
I searched for a glass of water, before holding out my palm. “If you want something to hand out at Halloween, this would definitely do. Maybe keep what they are on the down low.”
The Krev kid pranced over to me, carrying the bag. “So you want one?”
“Unfortunately for my little remaining self-respect, yes.”
“Okay then. Taylor, sit!”
I gaped at her. “The fuck did you just say?”
Gress wagged a scolding claw. “Lecca! How would you feel, being given commands like an animal?”
“I get told, ‘do your homework,’ take a bath,’ ‘go to bed’ as my whole life. At least he’ll get something for listening.”
“It’s not acceptable to treat my friend—a sapient being who I care about and respect very much—like Juvre.”
“You don’t care about or respect Juvre?”
“That’s not what I meant. I’m saying Taylor is capable of understanding much more than sit—as are you. Juvre couldn’t understand the concept of ‘do your homework,’ no matter the training he gets. Taylor can. It’s demeaning to the humans, and not how you treat someone as an equal, a friend.”
“I just wanna take care of them and be nice. I know he can talk, but look at him!”
“Lecca, what if there was someone out there who thought the same about Krev? Is it fair to disregard everything else about them?” Gress looked flustered, but walked over to me, placing a paw on my shoulder. “To another set of species, Taylor is a terrifying monster. He lost everyone he had in this universe, because they didn’t care about who he was—only what he was. How we treat people shouldn’t—must not be—based on how they look to us.”
I lowered my head. “Your father is right. I’m a primate, but I don’t want to be some caged animal that does tricks. I was that back in the cavern, going up to follow someone else’s commands. It hurt a part of my soul. Please don’t think of me as a pet. That’s not being nice.”
Lecca sighed, before setting the treat bag down. “I’m sorry. I don’t wanna hurt you, Taylor. Is it…mean that I think you’re reeeeeeally adorable?”
“No. It’s a welcome change after being treated like a monster that didn’t deserve to live, and having people cower at the mere sight of us.”
“Those aliens’ eyes are broken! I just wanted to see what you looked like sitting down, or rolling over.”
“You could’ve asked. I don’t need a treat. It’s enough to make you happy, as long as you don’t treat me like some object to gawk at.”
“Okay. Could you please sit on the floor? I like watching humans just walk around and do simple stuff, so it’d be cool…and I think everything you do is adorable, if that’s a reason?”
I chuckled. “Fine. After that, would you like to go to the playground with the human kids? I saw you liked swing sets, hopscotch, and some other things; if your dad is okay with it, maybe you could try it in real life.”
“Really? Yes! Please, Daddy, can we—can we?”
“Okay, but you’re going to be very careful on the swings. I don’t want you falling off,” Gress responded.
“Yay! Quick, Taylor, sit down so we can go to the playground! I wanna go right now…um, I mean, please do that because it’d be nice and I’m so excited!”
Deciding to humor Lecca since she was at least trying to make it a request, I flopped down on the floor. I didn’t think much about how I situated myself, bending my legs and placing one foot beneath each knee: the familiar diamond shape shown by children in a reading circle in an elementary school classroom. Gress’ expression changed to the annoying one, which meant I’d inadvertently done something cute to him; Lecca rushed to take a picture, and I made no attempt to stop her. The Krev child squealed, flailing her claws around in excitement at my mundane behavior.
Well, this is a new way to make a kid’s day. By…let me check my notes…sitting cross-legged on the ground.
“Is that a normal way that humans sit? Your legs are all folded up and overlapping,” Gress gushed. “And your feet are like little pedestals for your knees; it’d be even cuter if I could see your wiggly toes!”
I facepalmed, standing up in a hurry. “There’s nothing special about this. You can’t be serious. It’s called criss-cross applesauce.”
“Aw, even the name is the cutest thing. I heard that rhyme…and it mentions fruit mash, if ‘applesauce’ translated. I can imagine it smeared all over your face, replacing that fur you shave away, where you coat your chin in that white foam. That made you look more babyish and harmless! I can’t.”
“You’re horrible; and how can you say I’m harmless one sentence, then go ‘primates are violent’ in the next? You know I’m not harmless, because I literally whacked you over the head.”
“I don’t put continuity between one thought and the next, because I’ll think whatever is necessary to make you precious and pettable! You can’t stop me.”
“Precious? Nope, I can and will stop you; I’ll look really sad if you use that to describe me again. I know how to hurt you.”
“But I can hug you if you look sad.”
I scoffed. “Playground. Now.”
The Krev coaxed his daughter out of the hotel room, and I thought to myself that there were worse ways to be spending this limbo, waiting for news on Mafani and the Federation. Human kids playing together with aliens hadn’t been in my wildest imagination four months ago, but now, I could watch other children have the fun times that I never experienced. That was a reason to press on and keep fighting. It was wonderful to have people in my life who cared about me, no matter what happened, and who could explore the new and improved Tellus with me.
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I will start this by saying that I was advised not to read this volume’s Bonus Chapter for Roxy until after I have read Volume 5, so please keep that in mind when commenting.
Following the format of the previous post I made, I will start with Rudy.
Rudeus doesn’t seem to have changed all that much in this volume, it definitely feels like Rudy’s character progression was more in regards to his abilities rather than character development. Pretty standard this early into a series. So I will maintain that I don’t like him but am interested to see how he “grows up”. Though him attempting to make a full on sexual advance on a 12 year old was gross, and I’m glad Eris kicked his ass for it.
Eris is easily my favorite character so far. The way she carries herself as though she is extremely self confident and has a superiority complex when she actually has an inferiority complex and has a slew of insecurities was just a really unexpected and intriguing twist on his arctype of character. It definitely gives me the impression that the author of Mushoku Tensei puts a lot of effort into making his characters more complex than they seem at face value. It also helps that Rudy earns all the asskickings she dishes out.
I feel Aunt Ghislaine didn’t really get as much credit as she deserved, in regards to being a mentor, in universe. Basically every time Eris or Rudy asked her a question she had a surprisingly well thought out reply, given her reputation and silly behavior. Hell, she even sacrificed her small amount of time off just to humor Rudy and teach him the Beast God Tongue. Her coming in clutch against both Almanfi and the Kidnappers was incredible and really showed off how badass she was and how relatively weak/unprepared Rudy is for high level combat in this setting, which I’m glad to see, for a minute there I thought he was going to be an example of an overpowered MC, but the fact he couldn’t even beat a single Advanced Swordsman dispelled that notion. Also, Ghislaine taking interest in Rudy’s art was really cute, I wonder what he’s going to make her, probably a figure of Eris or something. Her essentially single handedly winning a war iand starting a religion in her mindless flailing around to find Eris and Rudy was equally terrifying and adorable.
Lord Sauros is quite the character. I can definitely tell where Eris gets it from. I hesitate to call him an “adorable old man” character, but that’s essentially what he is. Right now I just really wonder what he’s going to do after Roa got “teleportation bombed”. Honestly I wouldn’t he surprised to learn he didn’t survive and James used the opportunity to seize complete control over the house and have Phillip exiled or something. Given the context of Phillip’s final conversation with Rudy.
On to Phillip. He’s really the only character that felt off-putting to me. I’d almost be willing to call him psychopathic in regards to how he interacts or communicates with people. I feel this next chapter in his life will be a difficult one, I wouldn’t be surprised if James pins blame of Roa’s “destruction” on Phillip to have him removed as a threat to James’ position.
On Hilda, it’s been a long time since my opinion of a character has shifted so earth-shatteringly dramatically in spite of only having two or three appearances in the entire volume. She earns a seat on Zenith’s “Deserves Better” boat in my opinion.
Now, for the little compilation of POVs at the end. The Dragon God just walking through a horde of Dragons mostly unmolested simply because they’re too frightened to confront him is metal as fuck. The Sword God’s was a little confusing, but I get the gist that’s unbothered and incredibly powerful, it seems he was sparing, giving a philosophy lesson, and observing the teleportation thing simultaneously. I take it this Pax fellow will be a future antagonist, but it looks like our Master Roxy is going to be entering the fray soon. Perugius sending aid to Roa was pretty on brand for a living-hero, though it would appear the man is a bit ruthless and extremely cautious considering he gave a kill on sight order without knowing the context of the events unfolding. The Demon Empress is insane but I do have some interest about her demon eyes and what their abilities are.
Okay, so… the entire city of Roa and a chunk of the Fittoa Region has been hit by a teleport spell of some sort. Kinda makes me glad Zenith and Paul skipped out on Rudy’s birthday. Though I can’t imagine any of the Buena Greyrats would see the “fortune” in Rudeus vanishing in a teleportation incident. Right now I am assuming Rudy is headed to the Demon Contient given how much focus was put on him learning to speak Demon God Tongue. I don’t really have any theories as to why it happened or who is responsible for that crystal thing yet, it will probably be explored more in the future.
We got basically nothing on what Battle Aura is in this volume. A shame, I was looking forwards to it and this would have been the perfect time to do so.
On the topic of magic, I still don’t really see it’s supposed to be difficult. Sure, there are things like mental blocks and simply having a bad memory, but it really hasn’t been explained what makes different levels of magic more difficult to preform than the ones before it or why people can’t learn silent spell casting. I get the likes of Roxy not being able to due to a reliance on incantations, but why not these two girls who have never used magic before? Maybe Ghislaine can’t because she’s an adult or because she’s mentally blocked virtually every field of magic except fire. But why not Eris? She’s only three years older than Sylphy and can use most of the schools of magic. Why couldn’t they at least learn Silent spellcasting for Fire magic?
I feel all together that this volume was a lot less dense than Volume 1 was. Less focus on things happening and characters being introduced and more on the main trio, Rudy, Ghislaine, and Eris bouncing off each other. If I had to rank them I would probably put Volume 1 above Volume 2, but it was definitely still a fun read with great characters.

Short but serious relationship just ended, almost 5 months together. We’re both middle aged, divorced, he had been single for a long time, had a lot of structure and routine to his life. I had been single for a while, not as long but a while. I have a pretty full life, I wasn’t actively looking for someone but wanted a relationship if o did meet someone. We met in a cute way, not fireworks but more of an intuition that this was something, more than just chemistry, deeper than that. We Have a lot in common, common values, outlooks, interest, sense of humor. We laughed ALOt, talked for hours about anything and everything. I felt very safe to be my full self with him, he said he felt the same. That I was the only woman who “didn’t scare the bejesus out of me.”
We both were on the same page of being in love, committed, knowing there was a future here, and of taking things very slow, “we have time” is what we would say, we were just enjoying each other. He initiated becoming a couple, saying I love you, I wasn’t pushing even though o felt the same. He did make a lot of plans, things were on the calendar through fall. We talked about meeting his kids but agreed 6 months to a year, rushing things with and for kids is never good, we needed to know who we were as a couple first.
We saw each other one night a week and one during the weekend, I didn’t push for that schedule, it’s just the way things progressed. We rarely spent a night and full day together. He always said he wanted to spend more time together, he wanted to just be around me, he would talk about me bringing my computer there and working while he did his house projects, he talked about seeing each other more during the week, not spending the night but just hanging out, (I have a cat I won’t leave alone more than one night without a sitter, he needs meds), he said all these things but they never actually happened, if I broached the subject he would say that Sundays were his only free day or that he needed to make time for himself because between work, the kids, us, his time was limited. I completely understood that and didn’t push!! I have my own life too.
I did incorporate him into my life more, he met my family, my friends. I invited him to things with me but he never had to go anywhere if he didn’t want to. I don’t feel like I was making any demands on his time, I think I was giving him a lot of room, Both of us, because we had time. He didn’t have a big social circle so there wasn’t much for him to incorporate me into.
He made a big deal of making a drawer for me at his place, bringing things over to mine, he seemed happy! In retrospect maybe he was just playing house, which makes me sad. We were happy, playful, we were in love. Everyone who saw us together said it was clear we were a couple, and that we adored each other, and it was clear we had a friendship on top of love.
Everything seemed fine, I thought we were happy. Out of nowhere, in 3 weeks, he: -made a date to meet his kids? Without talking with me, he just arranged it with them. I tried to talk about my concerns of this happening so out of the blue, but he seemed fragile about it, so I didn’t push. I just told myself it’s just meeting them, it was going to be a very casual thing so no big deal. And I wanted to meet them!!! At some point, but this was just sprung on me and it seemed like something was pushing him.
-the following week he freaked out about his schedule and missing a car payment, I wasn’t honestly sure what he was trying to tell me because he was all over the place when we talked. I calmed him down, we didn’t see each other that week so he could get himself situated. He said how lucky he was to have found me and how supportive I was. I felt like that whole thing brought us closer.
-the next time we saw each other he brought up my living with him. I told him I loved him, and saw that future with him, and that there were steps that should happen before doing that, it was just 4 months, and living together is huge!! I thought we had a good talk and were on the same page.

• the next week, which was our first time spending two nights together - he said something like “two nights is big, we were at one night and now it’s two. I know I have to decompartmentalize, I know I have to make room for this, I know I have to force myself, and I know if you keep pushing me I’ll get used to it.”

I tried to clarify what he meant, it was kind of hurtful to hear him talk about us that way when I thought we were happy. I wanted to understand him, yeah it was hurtful and it might have been a tough conversation about feelings and boundaries, but those are necessary in relationships! He told me I was trying to start a fight and changed the subject.
I felt really off about this whole thing, and I couldn’t just move forward and pretend like he didn’t say it, or pretend like his actions and words weren’t li I g up. I didn’t spend the weekend, I left after the first night and told him why- that I was really confused by everything he had been doing and saying. I felt like I was intruding and that he was forcing something that didn’t need to be forced, and that maybe he was compromising his boundaries. I have done that enough in the past and recognize it when I see it, that’s not good for anybody or the relationship.
He refused to talk about it, and refused to actually speak to me. For a week I didn’t hear fro him unless I reached out first, only via text, he was extremely defensive and just kept putting it back on me that “how could I not comprehend when he was being very clear.” I tried reassuring him, telling him I loved him, asking to talk, I tried making a joke to break the tension…nothing was working and it just seemed crazy to me that he wouldn’t talk to me. I told him it wasn’t fair and that I didnt deserve this.
He ultimately said that he “just didn’t want to do it anymore.” That nothing particular happened but he “just didn’t feel like dating anymore and was going to be alone, maybe forever.” And that he had “been going through the motions for a while because you were fun.”
I think he put pressure on himself, overwhelmed himself, and bailed rather than talk about any of it. I have no idea why he was pushing things to move forward!! No normal person talks like that, and then says never mind, right?!
I was shocked, hurt, felt like I was punched in the gut. I loved him, still do but I’m trying to get over that. I thought he loved me.
All of this to say, it’s been about two weeks, and I feel like reality is kicking in more and more that it’s really over and I don’t know how to process it. I accepted what he said, I can’t fight that nor do I want someone who cannot be honest. I won’t chase him. Him saying he had been going through the motions is like a knife in my chest.
I was fine before I met him. I was happy. And my life is good, I know that. But I don’t know how to get back to normal again. I feel like each day it’s actually getting a little more challenging and I’m getting a little sadder. I’ve been through divorce, breakups, it’s nothing new. This one though, I just feel empty, hollow. I am trying to reconcile who I thought he was, what I thought we had, with everything that happened. I really thought we were something. This isn’t easy to find in life, and more difficult to find as you get older, and realizing I didn’t actually find anything is not easy. I just really miss my person, and am sad.
I don’t know, just sharing this all to get it out, and get other perspectives. Thanks for reading of you got this far.

Disclaimer: this is an old story. I've been out of the Army for like 2 and a half years now.
All the way back in 2013 when I first got to my unit, my sponsor was a man name PFC P. Not actually his name, but it's what everyone called him as his name was really hard to pronounce. He and I got close. Close to the point I'd call him a friend... or at least friend adjacent.
He was was a pretty vulgar and over the top guy with a grotesque sense of humor that I adored. He and I would joke with each other about all sorts of things I won't go into detail about. He and I also hung out from time to time to get lunch together or see movies together. Just chill out.
He soon promoted to SPC and then less than a year later promoted to SGT and was also my team lead. This is when his behavior began to change with me. From my perspective, it seemed like only me. Some of it I felt was fair. I wouldn't call him "sergeant" or stand at parade rest for talking to him which he'd scold me. Fair enough.
Other behaviors got weird. He'd criticize me for being unprofessional with my jokes even though they seemed about the same as when he was a junior enlisted, he'd smoke me A LOT for things which got less than funny after the 15th time he did, and he pushed me to do shit like Ranger School, Best Squad Competition, and Combatives, I failed Ranger School, BSC, and injured myself but did pass Combatives and later went onto pass 2 and 3 which was cool. He'd volunteer me for details WAY more than the other members of my team. One time, he counseled me for being like less than 5 minutes late for a closeout formation on Friday so I had to check in with fucking Staff Duty at 0800, 1200, 1500, 1700, and 2100 on a fucking Saturday in my OCPs, yet one of my battles was late for fucking everything every fucking day and he didn't seem to care.
I also noticed his attitude changed with me. He went from being playful to harsh as hell with me. He'd not smile when looking at me anymore, he'd yell at me a lot at PT to like run faster or push myself harder which he did not do with other members of the team, and not joke around with me anymore. He also stopped wanting to do things with me outside of work like go to the movies or play online games with me. He was all business, yet would STILL joke with some other guys there. I then started to wonder why he hated me. Was I a bad soldier, was it because I'm a woman, or something else? I grew resentful at this change in behavior toward me.
One day in the MP, he made some kind of off color joke with some guys there and I was at my limit. I knew that kind of joke was something he'd not do with me, so I yelled at him. I told him he was being a bad NCO for being so unprofessional. Yes, I did it in front of everyone. He got upset at me and told me to drop which I said no, I got up in his face and then asked to speak to him in private. He just nodded and agreed to talk to me.
We went somewhere private and I aired out my grievances with him basically saying all of this here with him and how it made me feel like I'm being singled out. He said that he saw potential in me and wanted me to be better than him. I thought this was BS because he seemed to down on me, so then I told him I didn't like this and it made me feel disrespected. We argued back and forth until I told him, "I hate you! No, not you as a sergeant, you as a person, P!"
He gave me a look that broke my heart. He looked horribly distraught and saddened by my remark. In a shaky voice he just said that he would leave me alone from here on out. He was only at the unit again for like a month before he PCS'd and indeed he left me alone, but I felt like an asshole for what I said to him.
I complained about my issues with some of my battles later and one told me that P was being pushed to not be quite as "buddy buddy" with people by our PLT SSG who was a former fucking drill sergeant. I then also thought maybe he really was pushing me to be better and I was just being whiny. That thinking this had anything with me being a woman was probably just me being sensitive.
I actually saw him again somewhat recently. I went back onto my old post to visit a PX and saw him there. He's an SFC now. I recognized him and he did me because he grimaced when he saw me. Yup, he recognized me after 10 fucking years and I felt like a huge fucking asshole. Clearly he's still sore about it.
So yeah, am I wrong here? Was he being unfair or was he trying to actually make me a better soldier and I was just whiny?

Short but serious relationship just ended, almost 5 months together. We’re both middle aged, divorced, he had been single for a long time, had a lot of structure and routine to his life. I had been single for a while, not as long but a while. I have a pretty full life, I wasn’t actively looking for someone but wanted a relationship if o did meet someone. We met in a cute way, not fireworks but more of an intuition that this was something, more than just chemistry, deeper than that. We Have a lot in common, common values, outlooks, interest, sense of humor. We laughed ALOt, talked for hours about anything and everything. I felt very safe to be my full self with him, he said he felt the same. That I was the only woman who “didn’t scare the bejesus out of me.”
We both were on the same page of being in love, committed, knowing there was a future here, and of taking things very slow, “we have time” is what we would say, we were just enjoying each other. He initiated becoming a couple, saying I love you, I wasn’t pushing even though o felt the same. He did make a lot of plans, things were on the calendar through fall. We talked about meeting his kids but agreed 6 months to a year, rushing things with and for kids is never good, we needed to know who we were as a couple first.
We saw each other one night a week and one during the weekend, I didn’t push for that schedule, it’s just the way things progressed. We rarely spent a night and full day together. He always said he wanted to spend more time together, he wanted to just be around me, he would talk about me bringing my computer there and working while he did his house projects, he talked about seeing each other more during the week, not spending the night but just hanging out, (I have a cat I won’t leave alone more than one night without a sitter, he needs meds), he said all these things but they never actually happened, if I broached the subject he would say that Sundays were his only free day or that he needed to make time for himself because between work, the kids, us, his time was limited. I completely understood that and didn’t push!! I have my own life too.
I did incorporate him into my life more, he met my family, my friends. I invited him to things with me but he never had to go anywhere if he didn’t want to. I don’t feel like I was making any demands on his time, I think I was giving him a lot of room, Both of us, because we had time. He didn’t have a big social circle so there wasn’t much for him to incorporate me into.
He made a big deal of making a drawer for me at his place, bringing things over to mine, he seemed happy! In retrospect maybe he was just playing house, which makes me sad. We were happy, playful, we were in love. Everyone who saw us together said it was clear we were a couple, and that we adored each other, and it was clear we had a friendship on top of love.
Everything seemed fine, I thought we were happy. Out of nowhere, in 3 weeks, he: -made a date to meet his kids? Without talking with me, he just arranged it with them. I tried to talk about my concerns of this happening so out of the blue, but he seemed fragile about it, so I didn’t push. I just told myself it’s just meeting them, it was going to be a very casual thing so no big deal. And I wanted to meet them!!! At some point, but this was just sprung on me and it seemed like something was pushing him.
-the following week he freaked out about his schedule and missing a car payment, I wasn’t honestly sure what he was trying to tell me because he was all over the place when we talked. I calmed him down, we didn’t see each other that week so he could get himself situated. He said how lucky he was to have found me and how supportive I was. I felt like that whole thing brought us closer.
-the next time we saw each other he brought up my living with him. I told him I loved him, and saw that future with him, and that there were steps that should happen before doing that, it was just 4 months, and living together is huge!! I thought we had a good talk and were on the same page.

• the next week, which was our first time spending two nights together - he said something like “two nights is big, we were at one night and now it’s two. I know I have to decompartmentalize, I know I have to make room for this, I know I have to force myself, and I know if you keep pushing me I’ll get used to it.”

I tried to clarify what he meant, it was kind of hurtful to hear him talk about us that way when I thought we were happy. I wanted to understand him, yeah it was hurtful and it might have been a tough conversation about feelings and boundaries, but those are necessary in relationships! He told me I was trying to start a fight and changed the subject.
I felt really off about this whole thing, and I couldn’t just move forward and pretend like he didn’t say it, or pretend like his actions and words weren’t li I g up. I didn’t spend the weekend, I left after the first night and told him why- that I was really confused by everything he had been doing and saying. I felt like I was intruding and that he was forcing something that didn’t need to be forced, and that maybe he was compromising his boundaries. I have done that enough in the past and recognize it when I see it, that’s not good for anybody or the relationship.
He refused to talk about it, and refused to actually speak to me. For a week I didn’t hear fro him unless I reached out first, only via text, he was extremely defensive and just kept putting it back on me that “how could I not comprehend when he was being very clear.” I tried reassuring him, telling him I loved him, asking to talk, I tried making a joke to break the tension…nothing was working and it just seemed crazy to me that he wouldn’t talk to me. I told him it wasn’t fair and that I didnt deserve this.
He ultimately said that he “just didn’t want to do it anymore.” That nothing particular happened but he “just didn’t feel like dating anymore and was going to be alone, maybe forever.” And that he had “been going through the motions for a while because you were fun.”
I think he put pressure on himself, overwhelmed himself, and bailed rather than talk about any of it. I have no idea why he was pushing things to move forward!! No normal person talks like that, and then says never mind, right?!
I was shocked, hurt, felt like I was punched in the gut. I loved him, still do but I’m trying to get over that. I thought he loved me.
All of this to say, it’s been about two weeks, and I feel like reality is kicking in more and more that it’s really over and I don’t know how to process it. I accepted what he said, I can’t fight that nor do I want someone who cannot be honest. I won’t chase him. Him saying he had been going through the motions is like a knife in my chest.
I was fine before I met him. I was happy. And my life is good, I know that. But I don’t know how to get back to normal again. I feel like each day it’s actually getting a little more challenging and I’m getting a little sadder. I’ve been through divorce, breakups, it’s nothing new. This one though, I just feel empty, hollow. I am trying to reconcile who I thought he was, what I thought we had, with everything that happened. I really thought we were something. This isn’t easy to find in life, and more difficult to find as you get older, and realizing I didn’t actually find anything is not easy. I just really miss my person, and am sad.
I don’t know, just sharing this all to get it out, and get other perspectives. Thanks for reading of you got this far.

I (23F) have been struggling with this issue for several months now and have been receiving somewhat mixed reviews, so advice is also welcome. I am also a first time poster and this is going to be long, so hello!
To start, let me give some context to my family dynamic. My parents divorced when I was very little and have since remarried (spouses will be referred to as bonus mom or bonus dad). My dad has always had 100% custody of my brother (20M) and I and we have also moved around a lot, so I have no friends dating before college friends.
With the exception of two seasons of a several month program, I have always lived with my father. He married my bonus mom when I was 18 and they have since had my two sisters (4 and 1 years old) and have a baby on the way. My bonus mom and I have had a good relationship, and while we have had some major rough patches, her and I have both put a lot of effort into our relationship and as a result our relationship grew much better and our respect for each other grew as well. I also very much adore my baby sisters.
My mother married my bonus dad while I was in middle school and have always adored him as well. He has been nothing but kind to myself and my brother and is a massive teddy bear. For a long time my mother and I have been somewhat distant from each other. I think we both just hurt from the decisions she had made in the past, but since then we've grown closer and this situation has made even more so.
All sets of parents are religious. My father and bonus mom are a niche kind of Christian. My mother and bonus dad are more of a typical kind of Christian. This piece is a very dynamic part of the story.
After my dad got a job in another state my bonus mom, brother, two sisters, and myself moved there. I quickly found a college to finish my associates degree that I fell in love with. I finished up my associates with little issue and had planned to stop there. However, when approached by the registrar with a degree audit letting me know I could finish my bachelor's within a year, all of my parents strongly encouraged me to pursue it. I was unsure at first because the amount of debt I had accumulated on this schooling venture made me nervous (the state where I had originally started my degree allowed me to pursue it for free, this one did not), but I chose to pursue it anyway.
That fall semester I started to pursue my bachelor's degree I got to know someone who I had previously noticed and admired from afar. He would become my boyfriend (21M). Let's call him Babe because he is one. Him and I have a lot of the same passions and our shy friendship developed into feelings over the course of the semester. To make the long story short, we ended up sleeping together and going on dates, and throughout this whole ordeal I never once felt used as I had in previous relationships with less intimacy. I felt 100% loved and cared for and I still do to this day.
At the end of the semester during finals week my bonus mom noticed him at the choir and jazz concert that my bonus mom and I both performed in. She had singled him out in the crowd when she noticed him observing me and later that evening asked who that "boy sitting alone" was. I tried to play dumb at first, but said he was a fellow classmate and friend. She asked if we had feelings for one another, to which I said yes. She asked me, "OP, why do you keep getting into these relationships that won't work?" Before this moment she had never seen him before and had never spoken to him before that. She informed me that we would have to talk to my father about this, and then I went to bed.
Side Note
In referring to "these relationships" she is making reference to a coworker I had liked that they also had not met. My dad and bonus mom instructed me to quit my job, which I did. There was also someone else who I had met online in a group of friends I had gotten close with, but they discouraged me from the group chat and from the guy, so I left the chat and him alone.
They had also not wanted me to go to a local Bible study because of how late it was at night and with how early I had to go to a different job in the morning. However, I think their real main concern "there are other young men there that are watching you and one of them could try and follow you home." Those parents live in the country just on the outskirts of town. The poor guy that would have supposedly followed me would have been lured into darkness and to a neighborhood that was very protective of its land.
When I have expressed that I wanted to go because I wanted friends, they told me, "Maybe God just wants you to be alone right now and just focus on Him." I at first thought this was legitimate, but later began to question that line of thinking.
Side Note Finished
Anyways, after that night I had texted Babe informing him what was happening. He told me if he needed to step back so I could work on my relationship with my parents he was more than willing to do so. He was also more than happy to be in my life. Just whatever was best for me. This was not the first time he had suggested this, and it honestly made me not want to let go of him more.
The next morning my father told me I needed to cut ties with Babe. I told Babe about this and we spent most of the day crying. Him and I performed our final concert that evening and I went to the grocery store to pick up some things for my bonus mom. She found out that I was at my concert and not at work and asked why she and my dad hadn't been invited. I told them that in the past I had tried to invite them to other concerts and things and had reminded them multiple times and put them on both calendars (monthly and weekly) for the family to see, but had been blamed for not informing them of my events the night of. I had grown tired of this and eventually stopped inviting them to things. They felt this wasn't fair since I tend to get my dates mixed up for different events, and said that they felt that trust had been broken.
Over the next few days (which was finals week, by the way) many conversations were had. I mostly listened and answered questions. Things seemed to be going well until they found out that we had slept together through a series of questions, and my father had blown up. He became so angry at Babe for "defiling [his] daughter" and described in detail how he wanted to hurt him. When they found out Babe was not a believer like ourselves, my father asked why I had stooped so low. It were these moments that sealed my decision to move out. My dad had assured me he was not angry with me, but I could not shake his anger towards Babe.
They also informed my brother what was going on, and him and I had a long conversation. He wanted me to stay with them at home, but was open to my boyfriend since " he must be really special if you slept with him." By the end of the conversation my brother had a positive impression of Babe and was decidedly Switzerland in this situation.
He had also asked me what I had done in return of my parents' kindness of letting me live rent-free in their home. I reminded him that any second that they needed something I would drop everything and do it for them. As long as I wasn't in class or at my in person job I would go wherever they wanted me to go and do whatever they wanted me to do. I would also help take care of my sisters on nights that I came home before they went to bed. I would give them baths and read them bedtime stories and get them dressed for bed and sometimes even put them to bed. I would watch them whenever I was asked to. If I had to do online work I either had to start late or it was cut short because my bonus mom would ask for help. Most anything that they would ask I would do. During days that I would be home all day I would help get the girls up and even watch them so that my bonus mom could nap and catch up on some much needed sleep. If my time and efforts were going unnoticed I was sadly displeased. I loved taking care of my sisters and helping around the house, but that doesn't mean that those things shouldn't be recognized. I also pointed out that I never asked for anything in return or ask for help with money. Sometimes I would get paid for watching them on date nights and whatnot (which were not often) but I never expected it.
This set of parents had also attempted to convince me to visit my mother and bonus dad and other family who live in another state. The irony of this is that they had thoroughly convinced me not to visit her on two occasions that I had planned to. The next evening my dad and bonus mom both told me the conditions of me living with them:

1. The truck would be taken away for two months. I would be taken to and from wherever I needed to go. This truck was my grandfather's truck who passed away last summer. My grandmother had been very insistent in wanting to put it in my name, but my dad and I insisted it be put in his name. At this point, the keys had been taken away and I was being transported to and from school. I was regretting not getting this truck in my name.
   
2. I would no longer be allowed to finish my bachelor's degree. Neither set of parents had ever contributed any money to my education or programs once high school finished up, with the exception of when I was asked to quit my job. Then my bonus mom and father paid maybe $400-$600 towards my tuition plus the other expenses and rent taken off for about two months before I got my online job with our friend.
   
3. I may also be asked to quit my in person job as well.
   

I told them I wanted to move out.
I had a college friend who was getting married that weekend offer her apartment to me while her and her husband went on their honeymoon for three weeks. That would give me enough time to cram my things into her place and search for a new one. That is where I was planning to stay temporarily. I had a feeling that this may fall through, and asked Babe if I could store some of my things like my furniture at his place and potentially stay there temporarily if my friend's place fell through. He had spoken with his landlord who also lives in the house, and his landlord said it would be okay.
Between all of this, Babe and I called my mother twice and explained the situation. She asked various questions about our relationship, including how to navigate and respect one another's beliefs as well as his family's (his family is Catholic), and we both had confidence that we could have compassion and respect for one another. She encouraged me to listen to my voice and covered the rest of what I needed in order to attend school the next semester. She thought my father putting me at this ultimatum with school was highly unfair and not very cash money (my words not hers).
I told Babe that if I was going to do this, he couldn't leave me and had to stick with me through it. He promised he would and has stuck to that promise to this day.
I removed my wall decor among other decor and hardware and wrapped them in clothes and garbage bags. Babe texted me throughout the night as I did this. I finished up at around 2:00 in the morning.
The next day as my father was taking me to school he asked if I was still with Babe. I said yes. He told me as long as I was still with him and sleeping with him I would have to move out, preferably by that night. The next 10 minutes or so of the drive consisted my father speaking curses over my life. Some of the more memorable include:
"You should take off your head covering. God is not covering you."
"You are rushing to sin and to shed man's blood."
"You will be a curse of destruction to anyone's home you come under."
Etc, etc.
I left the vehicle silently and went to my main building of work to weep. I called Babe crying and he assured me he would be there soon. He was, and him and his friend agreed to help me move some things out of the house before they left to see their families for the three week winter break. Their families lived in a different state. Them putting their break on hold meant a lot to me since his friend and I had hardly spoken before, and we were off. My parents were also on their way to an appointment for my sister about an hour away, so I knew the house would be empty and safe. I had also texted a coworker who knew what was happening and asked her if she could help move things and she agreed to come.
I let Babe and his friend only in the necessary parts of the house to collect my things. His friend mostly stayed by his truck in my driveway. I did my best to separate anything that may be of my parents since I was doing my best to move quickly. At one point I was informed that my bonus mom wanted to speak with me via our neighbor, so I went to go talk to my bonus mom on the phone. I was confused why she hadn't called me directly. I believe my neighbor had noticed unknown people carrying things out of the house and had informed my parents.
Apparently this was a conference call and my bonus mom and dad began to yell at me about how it was inappropriate to bring unknown men to the house and at the police and my father were both on their way. I apologize profusely and told them that I would leave immediately and ask them to call the police off since I was going to leave. I apologize saying that I didn't intend to disrespect them further or cause tensions to heighten, but they said that they would not call the police off and that my dad would not turn around. He also threatened to get in a fist fight with any unknown man on his property.
I told Babe that my father and police were on their way. He hurriedly gathered what he could while I grabbed important documents and things and rushed out of the house.
Lo and behold the cops had arrived and Babe and his friend were being searched. I set my purse down by Babe's friend's truck since it had a pocket knife and pepper spray in it and approached them with my hands up. I was also searched and the three of us were separated for questioning. Soon there were a total of 5 police cars and several police officers circulating between the 3 of us, hungry for the gossip. Unfortunately, Babe's friend was not terribly interesting since he was just trying to help and had no idea what was happening, so he got the least amount of attention. The cops mostly passed between Babe and I since we had the juicy details. All of the cops were confused why this whole situation was happening to begin with. Even those who were religious were confused how my parents could reject my boyfriend without ever speaking to him, and why that would cause me to need to move out in less than 24 hours.
They let us go and we got out of there as fast as we could. It was through this interaction that Babe and I became officially a couple since they had to ask "Who's that in relationship to you?" and boyfriend/girlfriend seemed to be the best response.
We dropped off what we could at my boyfriend's house and we all returned to school so I could ask for a place and they could get whatever Babe's friend needed for their trip. Babe and I said heartfelt goodbyes and I gathered what I could after some crying and a snack, and walked the 45 minutes or so it takes to get to his house. I collapsed into his bed, called out of work, and cried until I passed out.
My friend had still offered her place to me, but I refused saying that I wasn't going to intrude my sorrow on her during a time that was supposed to be joyous for her. I also realized that without a car it would be an hour or more to walk to and from work, and I close so that was not a good option. She did allow me to use her truck, so when my coworker picked me up from work that evening, we grabbed my friend's truck and went to my parents' house to grab everything I could think of that was mine. I informed them that I was coming, and they did not respond. My brother was also instructed not to help me with my move.
My father had locked up the place like Fort Knox so I could not get in through the way that would give me the easiest access to my room. I got in through the front door and went downstairs to open the garage (I lived on the garage level in the basement lol; which was actually quite a nice area; it resembled a little apartment) and found he had disconnected the power to it. When I went upstairs to wait I ran into my dad locking the front door. He turned towards me and looked at me and surprise and said, "You really came in here while we were praying?" I didn't know what to think of that. He reconnected the power to the garage and opened it, and watched coldly as my coworker and I moved things out. At the end, I returned my keys and told my dad that I loved him. He said he loved me too, and my coworker and I went to my boyfriend's house to unload my things.
Babe kept in constant contact with me and his landlord did his best to make sure I felt welcome and took great care of me when I needed it, between making sure I was fed and interacting with someone in my emotional fragility and even taking me to the ER when I was experiencing a lot of pain. His landlord even suggested I could move in, and that is when I began the excruciating process of sifting through all of my things and decorating the room. My mother and bonus dad also made sure to keep in closer contact with me as well, insisting I did nothing wrong but fall in love.
2 close family friends had also reached out to me during the week that followed my leaving. One was gently trying to guide me in the direction that she thought that I should go, but never shamed me. The second one sent me an angry text saying that I left God at my parents house and that I should return back to them, and that what I am doing is 100% wrong, and that I could block her if I want. She later texted me and apologized for her harsh words. I never have responded to either of them.
My father had also tried to withhold my paycheck from me, but eventually put it in the mail and it came to me via an address reroute. My bonus mom texted me saying the way I was speaking/not speaking to my father was dishonoring to him and I need to do better. She texted me that she missed me once. This was all within a week after moving out, and I never responded. I haven't heard from either of them since.
So now a little over 5 months have passed. I have army crawled through the semester and have successfully passed with honors and have graduated. My parents have missed all of the important events that have taken place during the semester, including the graduation ceremony. While I never invited them they also didn't exactly ask. My small group of friends have done their best to show support to me. Even small friends in unlikely places.
My father and bonus mom have not been in contact with me, but have insisted to others that they have tried to reach out to me and that this no contact situation has been 100% my doing. They had apparently been willing to talk until my friend from another state had come to see my graduation and pick up something of hers from my parents house that she had accidentally left with us, as well as my things. She had gone there twice asking for my things that day, and it had turned into a whole situation that ended up with them refusing to give her my items that I had left by accident and asking her to leave multiple times. There has also been a lot of other things that have happened but those are all stories of their own.
I am very happy with Babe as we journey through our relationship together. Well there have been so many emotional breakdowns, a few disagreements, and many, many tears, he has been so compassionate and gentle through it all. He has been so kind to me and has been gently guiding me to more healthy conflict-resolution tactics, lines of thoughts, and more. I had thought I was happy with my parents, but as time as gone on and as I reflected on my relationship with them I realized how shut down, isolated, and bottled up I was. I feel safe to cry in the arms of my beloved, to express my thoughts, make my own decisions, and to laugh with him too. When he is wrong he is quick to realize it and apologize. When I am feeling insecure his desire is to reassure me. I hope that I do the same for him. If I asked, I'm sure he would say so.
However, even despite all of this, I do miss my parents, my brother, and my sisters greatly. Especially my brother and my sisters. I am sad that I have missed my father's birthday and Mother's Day. I am sad that I will miss my new sibling's birth, and that they will miss my birthday. I want to reconcile with them, but I also want them to respect my decisions and especially respect Babe.
The few times that we have seen each other my father has not looked me in the eye or has barely acknowledged me. I know that it was my decision to move out, but with how quickly things went I feel like I was also kicked out. At first I only felt displaced, but now I also feel disowned. I'm not sure what they're telling people or even entirely what their side of the story is. My brother is still kind to me but our contact over the phone is very minimal. I'm sure that he has been discouraged to speak with me. When we run into each other we get to talk, but that's about it. I know that he is hurt and that he loves me, and I wish that there was more that I could do for him.
I am also scared of what my sisters' reactions will be if I do come back. I'm sure that they feel some level of abandoned, and I know that they have been crying about me because they miss me (via my aunt when she went and visited and ran into me). I don't wish for them to hate me, and I want to be involved, but I also don't want the Babe's vehicle that we share to be identified. If they called the cops on me once, what would stop them from doing it again? My trust for them completely dissipated after that incident, but the worst part of it all is that I didn't get to say goodbye to the girls or to my bonus mom. They had all gone to bed by the time I had come home from work and was finished moving out.
So... what should I do? AITA for trading my family for Babe and a bachelor's degree?

On the night when it all happened a young man called Smallmouth found himself in quite a pickle. He shivered and paced clumsily all over the second story porch of a cabin that used to be very nice, which overlooked a snowy down-sloping field that used to be kept up properly and carefully. He was already six packs deep into a carton of cigarettes he had bought only two days ago from a Casey’s General Store on his way up. He could recall the look on the young woman’s face at the register when he asked for a carton of Parliament Menthols, her eyes showing one blink of humorous surprise and another couple blinks of obvious concern, which faded to professional indifference as she rang in the sweet, icy killers. Smallmouth stopped his nervous dallying when he caught himself in the kitchen window; a large, shadowy figure sulking between the inside lights and the cold, almost glowing world downhill. His eyes still on his murky reflection, he patted his coat pockets for his seventh pack, pulling it out and smacking it against his left palm before cracking open and lighting it at his mouth. In a slow, warm flash, he could briefly see his own face in the window.
“Oh man, it’s bad” , he thought to himself.
He hadn’t shaved in weeks and his beard grew coarse and thick. A face that his mother had once called handsome had become a clean plate covered in steel wool. Well, maybe not so clean. Under and around his eyes were the obvious bruising of sleeplessness and his skin had lost its lively color and clarity of yesteryear.
“Ughhh” he groaned, turning away from the window to look over the porch and into the freezing, beckoning night.
The pickle that Jeremy “Smallmouth” Bassett found himself in involved his uncle, and his uncle’s evening logistics, to be precise. Smallmouth had been kicked out of his parents home on December 27th due to a slight misunderstanding at 2am when he believed the living room Christmas tree to be the downstairs bathroom. He had passed out on the couch after drinking a fire pit full of crushed Hamm’s cans and his brain tried desperately to get him up and to the nearby toilet. His little sister Stacy was tucked in fast asleep on a loveseat by the tree when she was brutally torn from her sugarplum dreams to hear the terrible hiss of Smallmouth’s folly. She screamed, the parents woke up, and, well, there you go. After well over three strikes, Smallmouth’s temporary residence had come to an end, and he was thrown to his mother’s brother’s cabin to dry up and straighten out before he could ever even be considered to return.
“You two deserve to live together. He can’t say no either because he owes me a lot more than this!” Smallmouth’s mother had screeched over him as he sat at the kitchen table the following morning with a cold bag of peas against his throbbing right temple. “You go there and you GET RIGHT!! I don’t care how long it takes just clean up your act and MAKE something of yourself! And for goodness sake tell Chuck to do the same, while he still has time!”
Yes, Uncle Chuck had his own shelf full of good time problems, and that’s what put Smallmouth in a bind tonight as he pondered over the white yonder that led to a black nothing, a black nothing that in the daylight pretended to be a forest. At night, it showed its true nature, an endless world of dark secrets and aching regret. At least that’s how Smallmouth saw it in this moment.
Chuck had gone down to the ranch he worked on for a New Years party with his work buddies. They liked to gather at the big barn where all of the vehicles and equipment were kept, sitting around a card table passing out stories about women and other trophy game that were either outright lied about or illegally poached. Oh, and they also liked to pass the bottle around. Therein lied the conundrum for Smallmouth.
Uncle Chuck was many things, but one thing he wasn’t was a drunk driver. Chuck’s wife Rebecca had been struck and killed by a drunk driver almost ten years ago when she was out jogging the back roads early one morning. Everyone assumed that’s what led him to his openly hard drinking and sneakily pill popping ways in the first place. For Chuck, most nights were kept at home, parked in front of a TV watching old westerns and cleaning out a full bottle of Wild Turkey 101 before snoring in his recliner. On the few nights he would go out, he would always call a ride if things got out of hand. As you can imagine, he tends to need a ride home.
“I should be home bout 11:30. Service ain’t so good up there near the barn so if it gets bout 11:15-11:20 and I ain’t home, go head and do me a favor and come grab me son.” Chuck had told Smallmouth before he left, closing the warped screen door behind him.
Smallmouth had spent the evening trying his best to stay entertained without the help of any chemical enhancement. His family’s anger and resentment really struck him and this time he was determined to truly get right and get his life back on the rails. He was 29 years old. He had gone through college clean as a whistle, bright and driven, receiving his MBA with plans to work his way up in a promising career in business. That worked for a couple years. Then he found a calling in ministry, deciding to quit the corporate world to fill an opening of a tiny country church in the area. They needed a deacon who could take care of things around the building and assist in the worship service. He wasn’t much for public speaking, haven been given the nickname Smallmouth at a young age due to his soft spoken nature, but he could pass plates and give a hushed prayer every now and then. He liked to mow and paint and help old ladies up the stairs. The quiet country life was really nice for him, for a while. Strange, radical ideas eventually spread through the church though, and half of its members left overnight to form their own congregation. Its funding cut in half, the church had to close its doors and the other members absorbed into other churches. Smallmouth rarely ever saw the people that had departed from the church, but rumors creeped that they met at an old abandoned building deep in the woods, performing all sorts of different acts and rituals that would purify themselves and destroy all evils. Nevertheless, Smallmouth was out of work and picked up shifts bartending at a small town dive. His soft fortitude was no match for the booze and drugs and women that would pass through there and soon he was out the door. That landed him mooching off of his parents, draining their sanity and eventually draining himself on their Christmas tree. The last strike.
So there he was all night, waiting up for uncle Chuck. He was two days clean of everything except caffeine and nicotine, a major improvement. He felt a boost of hope and confidence the first morning after a sober nights sleep. He found the mornings to be the best parts of the day. At least he had coffee and cigarettes to get him out of bed. That would wear off quickly and the rest of the day was filled with trying to find distractions until the sun set about 5pm. Then he would watch a movie or two with Chuck. Last night he had been able to call it early and go to sleep at 7pm shortly after Chuck started sawing logs in front of True Grit (the original John Wayne version of course). Tonight he saw 7pm struggle and churn into 8…….8:13……..8:48……9:05……9:29………..9:31………9:52……..9:58……….10:11…….10:12 (oh cmon)……10:27…….10:56…….and finally 11:08. It was like the clock was a 35 year old four cylinder engine oiled with crunchy peanut butter. Now, crunch time sat in the cold air as Smallmouth finished his cigarette and stewed over his decision. He really didn’t feel like going down to the barn and getting Chuck, even though it was only a couple miles. In the infancy of his sobriety he found the smallest of choices and activities to seem dire and at the very least upsettingly out of his way. Surely Chuck can get himself home on his own, right?
“No. Who knows if someone’s Aunt Rebecca or grandmother or son is out there on the road tonight” he thought.
As much as he had tried to screw up his life, Smallmouth usually knew what the right decision would be, even if he so often refused to listen. It was there ever so clearly on this New Year’s Eve, wailing in the back row of his mind like a misbehaved child during a church sermon. Smallmouth left the porch and went inside to grab his keys.
He walked out to his truck, got in, cranked it, let it sit down to one rpm, and started down the gravel driveway, which led to the gravel county road that Chuck and his few and far between neighbors lived on. He got to the mailbox and suddenly shot his attention up the road, where headlights revealed themselves out of the deep dark. It was rare to see any cars this far down Chuck’s road. In fact, there were no other houses to the right of Chuck’s cabin, spare for a couple of empty ones that were condemned but were attached to a lot of forest property.
Smallmouth squinted his eyes as a large black Dodge Ram 3500 came barreling by with a livestock trailer. Even inside his own truck he could hear a terrible noise coming from that trailer. He recognized it instantly as a pig squeal.
“The hell?” He whispered as the truck and trailer tore down the road, going around a nearby corner and out of sight. He couldn’t guess what on earth that could be about at this hour, and especially since nobody lived down there anyway. He shrugged it off though, and turned left out of the driveway, headed for drunk Uncle Chuck down at the ranch.
Ten minutes and a couple of snowy country miles later Smallmouth found himself through the metal gate of the ranch and up to the main barn, where a couple of smiling ranch hands had Chuck held up between them just outside one of two closed garage doors. A lamppost nearby cast a glow of debauchery on all of their faces, especially Chuck’s. Smallmouth got out and walked up to them smiling and shaking his head.
“Well well well…” he said with a slight laugh.
“Your Uncle put on one hell of a clinic tonight ‘Mouth” one of the hands said.
“I…..I….I don’t know what they’re tawlkin bout son” Chuck slang out before a high pitched giggle.
“I got another couple rounds in me I thinks!”
Smallmouth laughed.
“Yeah I ain’t so sure about that uncle! Let’s get on home now and let these fellas get on too.”
“Y’alright alright” Chuck said as Smallmouth took him from his buddies arms into one of his own and led him to the passenger seat of his truck.
“Happy New Years boys!!! Let’s do it all again okay?” He hollered to his waving buddies as they drove back away from the barn and through the metal gate toward home.
“You have a good time Uncle?”
“Oh…ohhh…I reckon I showed those boys how to do it” Another childish giggle.
A light snow shower seasoned the cold air as the truck rolled down the gravel country road. In the yellow headlights it made a pleasant white noise for the eyes. Chuck put his hands up staggered and vertically, fingers together and outstretched, pointing out in front of the truck down the road like he was aiming up for a rifle shot. He closed one eye.
“Straight as an arrow ole son. You’re good at this.”
“I ain’t drunk pops” Smallmouth chuckled.
“Sure ya are. Everybody’s drunk son. Even people that ain’t drink. Ticket is to get drunk on good stuff” Chuck’s face calmed from a goofy grin as he kept his eyes out front into the slow swirling tube of visible night.
“You sound like you’re drunk on some pretty damn good stuff” Smallmouth retorted as they shared a look and a good laugh.
“Suppose’n you ain’t wrong. Gotta work on that just like you are. Proud o’ you for a couple days clean man. We’ll get right. We’ll get right. All I meant was that man is born to get drunk on somethin’ or other. What I mean is God. Man is born to get drunk on his God.” Chuck said as Smallmouth shot him a raised eyebrow look of confusion.
“Once God gets ya drunk then you’re home free ol’ son. That distillery is never ending eternal forever. That land flows with whiskey and honey.” They both shared another laugh.
“Okay okay I think I somewhat understand now Uncle.”
They rode in a few seconds of comfortable silence before Chuck put his hands up in an aim position down the road again.
“You know…man….man….man has a GOVERNOR…..you know that right?”
“A what? A governor?”
“That’s right a GOVERNOR…that’s right…a little bitty device in his brain that keeps him on the road…keeps him from turning right off into the dark. You ever hear that little voice that tells you you can turn off into the ditch…into oncomin’ traffic? Tells you you can shoot your buddy instead of the deer? That you can jump off the top of the building and onto the pavement when you’re up there enjoying the view?”
“I…uh…I don’t know…I mean maybe? Pretty sure those are intrusive thoughts and they’re normal.”
“Well whatever they are that’s what the governor is for. Keeps ya straight. Keeps ya from harmin nothin.”
“Alright man, alright.”
They pulled back into Chuck’s driveway and parked. Smallmouth helped his uncle out of the truck and up into the cabin, snow starting to color the roof and pile against the side of the house near the door. Arms locked Smallmouth propped open the screen door, opened the inner door, and led Chuck through the kitchen and to his bedroom. Chuck layed down on his camo comforter with a deep, long exhale.
“Ahhhh yes……yes” he whispered with a smile.
“I love ya son…I’m glad you’re heeeeere. Let’s get better….your mom needs it…..stay in the Lord’s light son…don’t let them devils get ya….let’s get better….lets….” He was off into the distant deep ether almost immediately, and his mouth hung open.
“Goodnight uncle…love ya too.” Smallmouth patted the bed twice before walking over and closing the bedroom door behind him.
He went and sat at the kitchen table. He regretted his behavior earlier in the night. How it pained him to have to stay up a little later to go help out his uncle.
“Cmon…” he whispered.
He agreed with Chuck. He was here to get better. To do better. Maybe Chuck was right. If he couldn’t get drunk off booze, it was time to pick something else to drink. Better things. Maybe even God? Smallmouth hadn’t paid much mind to God since his church job fell through. God surely hadn’t been there for him these last few years when he was at his lowest. Or was He there the whole time? Had Smallmouth just ignored Him? These things floated heavily in his mind and soon he realized he had been staring at the front door for several minutes. Had he even blinked? Then something else came to mind.
“Wait hold up”
That truck and trailer from earlier. What WAS that? He meant to bring it up to the ranch hands. They would’ve seen it come barreling down the road right by their front gate. Oh he wished he had brought that up to them. Oh well. It’s probably nothing. Smallmouth looked at the clock. 12:12.
“Happy New Year old boy.” He said to himself.
He sat for a moment in the warm kitchen light, his eyes not leaving the front door. Well, he’s up this late already, why not go run down and check on the abandoned properties?
No…no…it can wait. It’s probably nothing. Right?
Wrong. There’s that wailing kid in the back pew of his mind again. Come on kid can’t you just be quiet and listen to the sermon? No, no it can’t. It must be heard. Always. He knew he had to go check it out.
“Ughhhh FINE!” Smallmouth got up and grabbed his truck keys, patted to make sure his cigarettes were still there, and was out the door again.
The snow shower had ended. As he pulled up to the edge of the drive, he stalled for a moment and peaked out as far to the right as he could down the dark road. Nothing. It wasn’t very far to the end of that road, where two out of service mailboxes should’ve stood in a small cul-de-sac if it weren’t for teenagers beating them to splinters. Can’t really blame them either. Smallmouth considered his plan. Whether or not that truck belonged to the landowner down there, he shouldn’t feel like he needs to sneak around. He is merely a concerned neighbor after all. He began down the road and around that same corner the stranger disappeared earlier.
After a couple of slow, curious minutes Smallmouth could see the evidence of a great big fire in the near distance, beyond where the road ended. Through the bare trees and against the snow it cast orange and red that could surely be seen a mile in every direction, that is, if there were anyone there to see it.
Slightly intimidated, Smallmouth decided to turn off his headlights and let the fire guide him as he slowed up to 5mph and gently crackled his last few yards of gravel up to the remnants of the nearest mailbox post. It seemed the fire was on the land of the farther property, whose mailbox posthole was about 30 feet from where he came to a stop and parked his truck. Smallmouth turned it off and quietly got out into the cold. He crouched down as he walked over to the farther driveway, getting down on one knee to give it a stealthy closer look.
The abandoned property boasted a busted up trailer that sat pitifully about 500 feet from the mailbox memorial. Beyond that was a good ten acres of field that ended at the forest edge, which marked the beginning of thousands of acres of wildlife refuge. As Smallmouth peered on, it was obvious that the fire was way out in that field, blocked by the old trailer, which wore the hot light and columns of smoke on it like a devilish crown. Given the cover, Smallmouth crept over to the trailer and started easing around the right side.
Rounding the corner he noticed a propane tank that would be perfect for hiding behind and getting the best look he could at the mysterious activity. He got down on his belly and crawled his way over to the tank, before sitting up and peeking slowly over the top and out into the field.
Way down there, a couple acres away from the tree line, was a huge fire, made up of about fifty wooden pallets. It raged and lit up the whole field like it was just the beginning of sunset. Somewhat near the fire was the black Dodge Ram 3500 and trailer. Smallmouth could see a group of people dressed in all red, as if covered in bloody bedsheets from head to toe, circled around a crude cage, seemingly fastened together by pieces of metal fencing. They stood still as the pines, and twice as silent. Smallmouth, in a rare moment of curious courage, decided he had to get closer. He got back on his stomach and began to crawl through the cold, knee high grass.
Using the fire light as his North Star he crawled and crawled, feeling his hands, clothes, and beard get wet with snow. He didn’t care. Something was up that wasn’t normal, wasn’t right. He could feel it in his cold gut. When he thought he was close enough without giving himself away he planted his palms and ever so slowly raised his torso up into a weak push up to try and see out. He was glad he didn’t go any further. He may have been too close already.
He was close enough to read the name of the truck and count the holes in the livestock trailer. There were seven strangers in red sheets all around the makeshift cage, all holding long spears. One of the figures had a crown of black thorns on his head. They all had two eyeholes and one hole for the mouth. They didn’t move a muscle for the longest time, before the Crowned One forcibly touched the end of his spear to the ground.
“Now is the time, Brother and Farmer Abraham…there is no more for us in waiting.”
Smallmouth had just noticed the passenger window to the black Dodge was down, and he could hear the driver door open and soon saw a normal looking older man in a ball cap at the back of the trailer. He was holding a leash of some sort. He opened up the trailer and whistled into the dark of it. After a couple of loud, heavy thuds a gigantic, and I mean GIGANTIC Yorkshire pig came slowly shrugging out of the trailer. It was light pink in color but filthy, and gave wet sounding oinks as it came to the man’s hands expecting food. The thing must’ve weighed 1500 pounds, and at least ten feet long. It actually had to lower its head to reach the man’s hands, its ears coming up to the man’s chest. Smallmouth couldn’t believe his eyes. The man reached in his pocket and revealed a handful of some type of feed, which he tossed on the ground at the pig. It started right in as the man fixed a collar on the pigs girthy neck, then attaching a leash. The pig gave a slight squeal.
“Good girl, good girl…cmon now” the man called Farmer Abraham sweetly coaxed the animal. He gave his end of the leash a tug and the monstrous swine reluctantly left its food and followed the man over close to the Crowned One. The fire raged and raged nearby, throwing crazy shadows all over the place.
“What have you brought us, Brother and Farmer Abraham?”
“Yeah, uh, this is Old Azazel, she’s been in my family for years, man.”
The Crowned One dropped his spear and knelt down to the jowls of the hog, the dark holes of his eyes meeting those of the animal. The other red cloaked figures remained statuesque around the cage.
“Ah, yes, Old Azazel, hello. You are to be of great importance in the history of the Earth tonight, old friend.”
The Crowned One got back up to address Brother and Father Abraham, who seemed obviously put off, yet submissive.
“And is this Old Azazel a natural specimen? Is it fed only of the earth and the filths therein?”
“Yessir, I’d reckon so.”
“This is necessary for a proper sacrifice, Brother and Farmer Abraham. You may only bring your best, your cleanest, your most dear to the alter of the Almighty.”
“I understand.”
“May I take her now?”
The farmer gave his end of the leash to the black gloved left hand of the Crowned One. The Crowned one stood with it for almost a full minute in total stillness and silence. The only noise Smallmouth could hear was the sloppy smacks and oinks from Old Azazel. The farmer anxiously waited, wringing his hands expecting the next move from the Crowned One.
“Turn away, Brother and Farmer Abraham. Turn away from us and toward the fire now.” The Crowned One finally spoke.
“Phew, alright. We’re still good on our deal? Do you still promise to make my little girl better? Like you said?” The farmer asked, with some hopeful desperation.
“Turn now.”
“Well okay” the farmer turned his back to the Crowned One and toward the fire.
“I can assure you with all of the knowledge in my mind and in my heart, you will never see your daughter sick again in this lifetime, Brother and Father Abraham. You may find peace and solace in this truth.”
The farmer nodded in relief as he looked upon the fire. Smallmouth, taking it all in with great confusion, could see a smile on the farmers fire lit face, and turned back to the Crowned One just in time to see him reach under his red garment and pull out a pistol and shoot a round into the back of the farmers head, blowing his cap off, which frisbeed down near his shaking, crumpled body. Old Azazel threw a fit immediately, screaming and trying her best to flee. The Crowned One held the immense beast with one hand, and with seemingly little effort. The other red clothed figures finally made noise, laughing deep and heartily around the cage. The Crowned One, keeping Old Azazel close, walked over to the doubled over farmer, putting two more bullets into his head, essentially hollowing it out into a carnal mess. The farmers shaking mercifully stopped.
Smallmouth had to slam his forearm up to his mouth to muffle the scream that would’ve come out and blown his cover. His eyes were flown wide open and his arms were shivering.
The Crowned One put the pistol back under his red cloak and led the great pig, still squealing as high pitched and piercing as the human ear can withstand, over to the mouth of the cage, which was opened by the nearest red clothed stranger. Old Azazel flew in to the cage, having been unleashed by The Crowned One. It struggled around the cage, which was no bigger than 15x15 feet, giving it no room to get comfortable. It circled the inner perimeter, showing impressive speed for such a large animal. It squealed and squealed. The sound stung Smallmouths ears, and he covered them with his hands. He was still out of sight in the tall grass. The Red People around the cage laughed at the hogs entrapment. The Crowned One raised a hand to signal silence. The Red People were still and quiet again.
“Now, my brothers, the sacrificial gift is in our possession. Tonight…is a HOLY NIGHT.” The Crowned One raised his voice as if getting to the climax of a fire and brimstone sermon.
“TONIGHT…WE WILL DESTROY WHAT WAS ONCE CAST OUT BUT NEVER VANQUISHED!! WE WILL RID THE EARTH OF A GREAT ARMY!! AN ARMY OF HELL THAT HAS FAR TOO LONG ROAMED AND SICKENED OUR LANDS AND KILLED OUR LOVES!! TONIGHT…WE WILL DESTROY THE DESTROYERS…THE LEGION OF SATANS SOLDIERS BORN JUST AFTER THE GARDEN OF EDEN FELL…”
The Crowned One fell to his knees, his arms up and stretched toward the frozen sky. A mighty wind began blowing at Smallmouths back. He had to lower his head as it roared over him. After a moment it calmed and he was able to lift up again to see. Winds from all corners of the field met at the cage, swirling over it in a great snowy funnel that led up to the clouds. Old Azazel screamed and screamed from the cage.
“I SEE YOU VILLIANS!! I HEAR YOU HOSTS OF HELL!! I KNOW YOU LIVE IN THESE TREES!! I KNOW YOU COWER WITHIN THE SOUND OF MY VOICE!! SHOW YOURSELF!! TAKE THE BODY OF THIS ANIMAL THAT I HAVE SET BEFORE YOU!! TAKE IT NOW!! TAKE IT NOW AND FACE ME!! TAKE IT NOW!! TAKE IT NOW!! TAKE I-“
The Crowned One’s vocal cord shredding performance was cut short by a single burst of black lightning that shot down from the middle of the snowy funnel cloud that surrounded the cage. The Crowned One and all the Red People were thrown several feet back from the blast. Thunder immediately exploded across the field. Smallmouth buried his face as the force and sound raced over him. Ears ringing, he kept his face down for a few seconds. He squinted back up to the strike zone.
The strange black lightning had blown the cage completely apart. Two of The Red People had been hit with the metal fencing. One laid motionless. The other gargled in pain as he put a hand to the pole that was sticking out of his sternum, having penetrated all the way through. His legs buckled and he fell forward, the end of the pole hitting the ground first and propping him up for a moment, before his body slowly slid down to the ground around the metal. He went silent. The other four Red People, yelling in surprise, gathered themselves, looking to the charred hole in the ground where Old Azazel should be, right in the center where the cage used to stand. The Crowned One got to his feet and picked up his spear.
“My brothers, gather your arms…” the Crowned One whispered, breathing heavily under his red cloak.
“The work is not over…”
The four remaining Red People grabbed their spears and slowly walked over to the burnt, smoking hole, holding an attack pose over it until further instructions were given.
“Are you with us, you age old tormentors?” This was the first time Smallmouth could hear fear in the tired voice of the Crowned One.
“Are you with us now? Are you ready to die, you infernal bastards? Are you ready to-“
The Crowned One was interrupted by a booming noise from the hole that tore Smallmouths wits to shreds. It was similar to the cry of Old Azazel, but much deeper and ten times louder and angrier. It was as if a freight train was blaring its horn and slamming its brakes at the same time.
“NOW MY BROTHERS!! STRIKE THE BEAST OF HELL WITH YOUR SPEARS! NOW!!!”
The Red People all threw their weapons down into the smoking hole. The hellish noise from within stopped in an instant. The Red People crowded closer to the edge of the hole, waiting for the smoke to clear. The Crowned One walked over to them, putting his black gloved hand on the shoulder of the nearest man.
“Oh, Brothers. Oh my dear, dear Brothers. Your acts tonight have rid the earth of a Great and Powerful Evil…”
Before he could continue, a fully enraged and re-inspired bellow thrust itself up and out of the hole like a serrated blade. Much, much louder and angrier than before. The Red People were taken aback in terror. Suddenly, from within the hole, a large head emerged and gaped a huge, disgusting maw up at the crowd. The head was burned black and its eyes were half boiled white and without pupils. It shrieked out that most terrible noise as if it didn’t need oxygen.
“There’s no way” Smallmouth heard himself say under his breath.
All in one motion, the beast leaped out of the hole, and turned to face its attackers. It was Old Azazel, except swollen with burnt mass. It appeared to have grown a half a size at least. Three spears stuck out of its sizzling, charcoal colored back. It snapped its gigantic jaws at the Red People, who shuddered in horror. The Crowned One spoke:
“DO NOT RELENT BROTHERS!! ATTACK!! ATTACK THE BRUTE!!”
He pulled his pistol back out of his cloak and fired the remaining three rounds on the new and horrible black burnt Old Azazel. The beast’s cloudy boiled egg eyes shot open along with its unnaturally stretched jaws. It took the three bullets as if they were tennis balls. At the speed of a charging grizzly and with multiple times the power Old Azazel raged over to The Crowned One and dove onto him mouth first, putting both front hooves on his chest as he was knocked down. The Crowned One cried out in a shockingly high pitched wail, like a man being electrocuted. The Beast bit right into the soft of his belly, and began to shake him around like an Orca trying to separate a seal from its pelt.
“OH GOD!!!! AHHHHHH GOD OHHHHH!!! HELP ME!!!! NOOOO!!!! OH GOD HELP ME!!!! MAMA!!!! OHHHH!!! MAMA!!!!!”
The beast ate and ate and shook and shook and tore and broke and destroyed while the Crowned One lost more and more of his body, all while crying out to the sky at the top of his punctured lungs. The other Red People sprinted to the black Dodge Ram, opened its doors and piled inside. Smallmouth heard it crank up and it began to speedily turn around and race away from the fire and back toward the road. The beast unhooked from the Crowned One and let out another ghastly roar of victory before biting into his neck, ending his screaming forever. The beast then left his half devoured body and began a tremendous and terrible charge after the truck, which was greatly slowed down by the trailer. Smallmouth put his face down as the beast passed him by only about 10 feet on its way to the truck, which had just made it back to the road and was using every RPM possible to get away from the demon charged killing machine on its heels. Smallmouth turned around to watch both parties disappear down the road, the echoes of that great and evil blasting noise stabbing his ears again. He remained on his stomach in the tall, snowy grass for another two minutes as he normalized his breath and tried to make any sense of what he just witnessed.
Eventually he slowly rose up and looked to make sure that terrible thing was indeed out of the area. No signs of life or death from up at the road. The danger was at least a couple miles away by now. Smallmouth then turned back toward the fire and to the dominated body of the Crowned One. He carefully walked up closer and closer. To his amazement he heard wheezy noises coming from the emptied out torso of the man, a scattering of insides and flesh and blood strewn all around him. Troubled, rattling breaths escaped from under the red clothed head, whose crown of thorns had flown off in the attack. Most of the red cloak had been ripped to shreds, and all that remained covered were his shoulders and above. The cloth slowly ebbed and flowed with breath. Smallmouth could not believe this man was still alive. His entire digestive system was eviscerated and his ribs were exposed. Smallmouth knelt down beside him and lifted his cloak over his head to let him at least breathe his last in the open air.
Smallmouth let out a gasp. This man had a face that Smallmouth knew very well. He recognized him immediately from the old church he worked at. The clean shaven face. The short, silver hair. The sharp nose. This was a man that had joined his church two weeks before the schism. He never spoke in church but it was rumored he would meet at the homes of different members and try to sway them to his strange ideas. He was the one rumored to have led the radical faction somewhere in the middle of the woods. To Smallmouth, it was all starting to make more sense.
“I know you,” Smallmouth said softly, “I know who you are. You tore a church in half didn’t you? You’re the crazy guy that split up my ole church! What the hell have you done?”
The man struggled to breathe and tried his best to spit up a couple of words. His neck had deep lacerations that flowed with escaping life.
“I…I…I…uhh…I only…I only…I only did what I believed…” he whispered before a wet, stifled breath.
“What did you do?!!!” Smallmouth grew angry, and his voice followed suit. This man had ruined his job and now he had unleashed something horrifying on his neighborhood. He had tampered with things that man has no business tampering with.
“I…I…I have…have…I have failed, Smallmouth Bassett” the man croaked. Smallmouth couldn’t believe he had bothered to remember his name.
“I have failed. I have failed. God help you all…” with that the man’s face fell and he let out one last slow exhale before all was still.
Smallmouth got back on his feet and looked away from the dead man and toward the fire, which towered and raged in the reflection of his eyes.
“Oh no…oh no…oh no” he said in between terrified breaths.
Then another though hit him like a wrecking ball.
“Uncle Chuck…”

On the night when it all happened a young man called Smallmouth found himself in quite a pickle. He shivered and paced clumsily all over the second story porch of a cabin that used to be very nice, which overlooked a snowy down-sloping field that used to be kept up properly and carefully. He was already six packs deep into a carton of cigarettes he had bought only two days ago from a Casey’s General Store on his way up. He could recall the look on the young woman’s face at the register when he asked for a carton of Parliament Menthols, her eyes showing one blink of humorous surprise and another couple blinks of obvious concern, which faded to professional indifference as she rang in the sweet, icy killers. Smallmouth stopped his nervous dallying when he caught himself in the kitchen window; a large, shadowy figure sulking between the inside lights and the cold, almost glowing world downhill. His eyes still on his murky reflection, he patted his coat pockets for his seventh pack, pulling it out and smacking it against his left palm before cracking open and lighting it at his mouth. In a slow, warm flash, he could briefly see his own face in the window.
“Oh man, it’s bad” , he thought to himself.
He hadn’t shaved in weeks and his beard grew coarse and thick. A face that his mother had once called handsome had become a clean plate covered in steel wool. Well, maybe not so clean. Under and around his eyes were the obvious bruising of sleeplessness and his skin had lost its lively color and clarity of yesteryear.
“Ughhh” he groaned, turning away from the window to look over the porch and into the freezing, beckoning night.
The pickle that Jeremy “Smallmouth” Bassett found himself in involved his uncle, and his uncle’s evening logistics, to be precise. Smallmouth had been kicked out of his parents home on December 27th due to a slight misunderstanding at 2am when he believed the living room Christmas tree to be the downstairs bathroom. He had passed out on the couch after drinking a fire pit full of crushed Hamm’s cans and his brain tried desperately to get him up and to the nearby toilet. His little sister Stacy was tucked in fast asleep on a loveseat by the tree when she was brutally torn from her sugarplum dreams to hear the terrible hiss of Smallmouth’s folly. She screamed, the parents woke up, and, well, there you go. After well over three strikes, Smallmouth’s temporary residence had come to an end, and he was thrown to his mother’s brother’s cabin to dry up and straighten out before he could ever even be considered to return.
“You two deserve to live together. He can’t say no either because he owes me a lot more than this!” Smallmouth’s mother had screeched over him as he sat at the kitchen table the following morning with a cold bag of peas against his throbbing right temple. “You go there and you GET RIGHT!! I don’t care how long it takes just clean up your act and MAKE something of yourself! And for goodness sake tell Chuck to do the same, while he still has time!”
Yes, Uncle Chuck had his own shelf full of good time problems, and that’s what put Smallmouth in a bind tonight as he pondered over the white yonder that led to a black nothing, a black nothing that in the daylight pretended to be a forest. At night, it showed its true nature, an endless world of dark secrets and aching regret. At least that’s how Smallmouth saw it in this moment.
Chuck had gone down to the ranch he worked on for a New Years party with his work buddies. They liked to gather at the big barn where all of the vehicles and equipment were kept, sitting around a card table passing out stories about women and other trophy game that were either outright lied about or illegally poached. Oh, and they also liked to pass the bottle around. Therein lied the conundrum for Smallmouth.
Uncle Chuck was many things, but one thing he wasn’t was a drunk driver. Chuck’s wife Rebecca had been struck and killed by a drunk driver almost ten years ago when she was out jogging the back roads early one morning. Everyone assumed that’s what led him to his openly hard drinking and sneakily pill popping ways in the first place. For Chuck, most nights were kept at home, parked in front of a TV watching old westerns and cleaning out a full bottle of Wild Turkey 101 before snoring in his recliner. On the few nights he would go out, he would always call a ride if things got out of hand. As you can imagine, he tends to need a ride home.
“I should be home bout 11:30. Service ain’t so good up there near the barn so if it gets bout 11:15-11:20 and I ain’t home, go head and do me a favor and come grab me son.” Chuck had told Smallmouth before he left, closing the warped screen door behind him.
Smallmouth had spent the evening trying his best to stay entertained without the help of any chemical enhancement. His family’s anger and resentment really struck him and this time he was determined to truly get right and get his life back on the rails. He was 29 years old. He had gone through college clean as a whistle, bright and driven, receiving his MBA with plans to work his way up in a promising career in business. That worked for a couple years. Then he found a calling in ministry, deciding to quit the corporate world to fill an opening of a tiny country church in the area. They needed a deacon who could take care of things around the building and assist in the worship service. He wasn’t much for public speaking, haven been given the nickname Smallmouth at a young age due to his soft spoken nature, but he could pass plates and give a hushed prayer every now and then. He liked to mow and paint and help old ladies up the stairs. The quiet country life was really nice for him, for a while. Strange, radical ideas eventually spread through the church though, and half of its members left overnight to form their own congregation. Its funding cut in half, the church had to close its doors and the other members absorbed into other churches. Smallmouth rarely ever saw the people that had departed from the church, but rumors creeped that they met at an old abandoned building deep in the woods, performing all sorts of different acts and rituals that would purify themselves and destroy all evils. Nevertheless, Smallmouth was out of work and picked up shifts bartending at a small town dive. His soft fortitude was no match for the booze and drugs and women that would pass through there and soon he was out the door. That landed him mooching off of his parents, draining their sanity and eventually draining himself on their Christmas tree. The last strike.
So there he was all night, waiting up for uncle Chuck. He was two days clean of everything except caffeine and nicotine, a major improvement. He felt a boost of hope and confidence the first morning after a sober nights sleep. He found the mornings to be the best parts of the day. At least he had coffee and cigarettes to get him out of bed. That would wear off quickly and the rest of the day was filled with trying to find distractions until the sun set about 5pm. Then he would watch a movie or two with Chuck. Last night he had been able to call it early and go to sleep at 7pm shortly after Chuck started sawing logs in front of True Grit (the original John Wayne version of course). Tonight he saw 7pm struggle and churn into 8…….8:13……..8:48……9:05……9:29………..9:31………9:52……..9:58……….10:11…….10:12 (oh cmon)……10:27…….10:56…….and finally 11:08. It was like the clock was a 35 year old four cylinder engine oiled with crunchy peanut butter. Now, crunch time sat in the cold air as Smallmouth finished his cigarette and stewed over his decision. He really didn’t feel like going down to the barn and getting Chuck, even though it was only a couple miles. In the infancy of his sobriety he found the smallest of choices and activities to seem dire and at the very least upsettingly out of his way. Surely Chuck can get himself home on his own, right?
“No. Who knows if someone’s Aunt Rebecca or grandmother or son is out there on the road tonight” he thought.
As much as he had tried to screw up his life, Smallmouth usually knew what the right decision would be, even if he so often refused to listen. It was there ever so clearly on this New Year’s Eve, wailing in the back row of his mind like a misbehaved child during a church sermon. Smallmouth left the porch and went inside to grab his keys.
He walked out to his truck, got in, cranked it, let it sit down to one rpm, and started down the gravel driveway, which led to the gravel county road that Chuck and his few and far between neighbors lived on. He got to the mailbox and suddenly shot his attention up the road, where headlights revealed themselves out of the deep dark. It was rare to see any cars this far down Chuck’s road. In fact, there were no other houses to the right of Chuck’s cabin, spare for a couple of empty ones that were condemned but were attached to a lot of forest property.
Smallmouth squinted his eyes as a large black Dodge Ram 3500 came barreling by with a livestock trailer. Even inside his own truck he could hear a terrible noise coming from that trailer. He recognized it instantly as a pig squeal.
“The hell?” He whispered as the truck and trailer tore down the road, going around a nearby corner and out of sight. He couldn’t guess what on earth that could be about at this hour, and especially since nobody lived down there anyway. He shrugged it off though, and turned left out of the driveway, headed for drunk Uncle Chuck down at the ranch.
Ten minutes and a couple of snowy country miles later Smallmouth found himself through the metal gate of the ranch and up to the main barn, where a couple of smiling ranch hands had Chuck held up between them just outside one of two closed garage doors. A lamppost nearby cast a glow of debauchery on all of their faces, especially Chuck’s. Smallmouth got out and walked up to them smiling and shaking his head.
“Well well well…” he said with a slight laugh.
“Your Uncle put on one hell of a clinic tonight ‘Mouth” one of the hands said.
“I…..I….I don’t know what they’re tawlkin bout son” Chuck slang out before a high pitched giggle.
“I got another couple rounds in me I thinks!”
Smallmouth laughed.
“Yeah I ain’t so sure about that uncle! Let’s get on home now and let these fellas get on too.”
“Y’alright alright” Chuck said as Smallmouth took him from his buddies arms into one of his own and led him to the passenger seat of his truck.
“Happy New Years boys!!! Let’s do it all again okay?” He hollered to his waving buddies as they drove back away from the barn and through the metal gate toward home.
“You have a good time Uncle?”
“Oh…ohhh…I reckon I showed those boys how to do it” Another childish giggle.
A light snow shower seasoned the cold air as the truck rolled down the gravel country road. In the yellow headlights it made a pleasant white noise for the eyes. Chuck put his hands up staggered and vertically, fingers together and outstretched, pointing out in front of the truck down the road like he was aiming up for a rifle shot. He closed one eye.
“Straight as an arrow ole son. You’re good at this.”
“I ain’t drunk pops” Smallmouth chuckled.
“Sure ya are. Everybody’s drunk son. Even people that ain’t drink. Ticket is to get drunk on good stuff” Chuck’s face calmed from a goofy grin as he kept his eyes out front into the slow swirling tube of visible night.
“You sound like you’re drunk on some pretty damn good stuff” Smallmouth retorted as they shared a look and a good laugh.
“Suppose’n you ain’t wrong. Gotta work on that just like you are. Proud o’ you for a couple days clean man. We’ll get right. We’ll get right. All I meant was that man is born to get drunk on somethin’ or other. What I mean is God. Man is born to get drunk on his God.” Chuck said as Smallmouth shot him a raised eyebrow look of confusion.
“Once God gets ya drunk then you’re home free ol’ son. That distillery is never ending eternal forever. That land flows with whiskey and honey.” They both shared another laugh.
“Okay okay I think I somewhat understand now Uncle.”
They rode in a few seconds of comfortable silence before Chuck put his hands up in an aim position down the road again.
“You know…man….man….man has a GOVERNOR…..you know that right?”
“A what? A governor?”
“That’s right a GOVERNOR…that’s right…a little bitty device in his brain that keeps him on the road…keeps him from turning right off into the dark. You ever hear that little voice that tells you you can turn off into the ditch…into oncomin’ traffic? Tells you you can shoot your buddy instead of the deer? That you can jump off the top of the building and onto the pavement when you’re up there enjoying the view?”
“I…uh…I don’t know…I mean maybe? Pretty sure those are intrusive thoughts and they’re normal.”
“Well whatever they are that’s what the governor is for. Keeps ya straight. Keeps ya from harmin nothin.”
“Alright man, alright.”
They pulled back into Chuck’s driveway and parked. Smallmouth helped his uncle out of the truck and up into the cabin, snow starting to color the roof and pile against the side of the house near the door. Arms locked Smallmouth propped open the screen door, opened the inner door, and led Chuck through the kitchen and to his bedroom. Chuck layed down on his camo comforter with a deep, long exhale.
“Ahhhh yes……yes” he whispered with a smile.
“I love ya son…I’m glad you’re heeeeere. Let’s get better….your mom needs it…..stay in the Lord’s light son…don’t let them devils get ya….let’s get better….lets….” He was off into the distant deep ether almost immediately, and his mouth hung open.
“Goodnight uncle…love ya too.” Smallmouth patted the bed twice before walking over and closing the bedroom door behind him.
He went and sat at the kitchen table. He regretted his behavior earlier in the night. How it pained him to have to stay up a little later to go help out his uncle.
“Cmon…” he whispered.
He agreed with Chuck. He was here to get better. To do better. Maybe Chuck was right. If he couldn’t get drunk off booze, it was time to pick something else to drink. Better things. Maybe even God? Smallmouth hadn’t paid much mind to God since his church job fell through. God surely hadn’t been there for him these last few years when he was at his lowest. Or was He there the whole time? Had Smallmouth just ignored Him? These things floated heavily in his mind and soon he realized he had been staring at the front door for several minutes. Had he even blinked? Then something else came to mind.
“Wait hold up”
That truck and trailer from earlier. What WAS that? He meant to bring it up to the ranch hands. They would’ve seen it come barreling down the road right by their front gate. Oh he wished he had brought that up to them. Oh well. It’s probably nothing. Smallmouth looked at the clock. 12:12.
“Happy New Year old boy.” He said to himself.
He sat for a moment in the warm kitchen light, his eyes not leaving the front door. Well, he’s up this late already, why not go run down and check on the abandoned properties?
No…no…it can wait. It’s probably nothing. Right?
Wrong. There’s that wailing kid in the back pew of his mind again. Come on kid can’t you just be quiet and listen to the sermon? No, no it can’t. It must be heard. Always. He knew he had to go check it out.
“Ughhhh FINE!” Smallmouth got up and grabbed his truck keys, patted to make sure his cigarettes were still there, and was out the door again.
The snow shower had ended. As he pulled up to the edge of the drive, he stalled for a moment and peaked out as far to the right as he could down the dark road. Nothing. It wasn’t very far to the end of that road, where two out of service mailboxes should’ve stood in a small cul-de-sac if it weren’t for teenagers beating them to splinters. Can’t really blame them either. Smallmouth considered his plan. Whether or not that truck belonged to the landowner down there, he shouldn’t feel like he needs to sneak around. He is merely a concerned neighbor after all. He began down the road and around that same corner the stranger disappeared earlier.
After a couple of slow, curious minutes Smallmouth could see the evidence of a great big fire in the near distance, beyond where the road ended. Through the bare trees and against the snow it cast orange and red that could surely be seen a mile in every direction, that is, if there were anyone there to see it.
Slightly intimidated, Smallmouth decided to turn off his headlights and let the fire guide him as he slowed up to 5mph and gently crackled his last few yards of gravel up to the remnants of the nearest mailbox post. It seemed the fire was on the land of the farther property, whose mailbox posthole was about 30 feet from where he came to a stop and parked his truck. Smallmouth turned it off and quietly got out into the cold. He crouched down as he walked over to the farther driveway, getting down on one knee to give it a stealthy closer look.
The abandoned property boasted a busted up trailer that sat pitifully about 500 feet from the mailbox memorial. Beyond that was a good ten acres of field that ended at the forest edge, which marked the beginning of thousands of acres of wildlife refuge. As Smallmouth peered on, it was obvious that the fire was way out in that field, blocked by the old trailer, which wore the hot light and columns of smoke on it like a devilish crown. Given the cover, Smallmouth crept over to the trailer and started easing around the right side.
Rounding the corner he noticed a propane tank that would be perfect for hiding behind and getting the best look he could at the mysterious activity. He got down on his belly and crawled his way over to the tank, before sitting up and peeking slowly over the top and out into the field.
Way down there, a couple acres away from the tree line, was a huge fire, made up of about fifty wooden pallets. It raged and lit up the whole field like it was just the beginning of sunset. Somewhat near the fire was the black Dodge Ram 3500 and trailer. Smallmouth could see a group of people dressed in all red, as if covered in bloody bedsheets from head to toe, circled around a crude cage, seemingly fastened together by pieces of metal fencing. They stood still as the pines, and twice as silent. Smallmouth, in a rare moment of curious courage, decided he had to get closer. He got back on his stomach and began to crawl through the cold, knee high grass.
Using the fire light as his North Star he crawled and crawled, feeling his hands, clothes, and beard get wet with snow. He didn’t care. Something was up that wasn’t normal, wasn’t right. He could feel it in his cold gut. When he thought he was close enough without giving himself away he planted his palms and ever so slowly raised his torso up into a weak push up to try and see out. He was glad he didn’t go any further. He may have been too close already.
He was close enough to read the name of the truck and count the holes in the livestock trailer. There were seven strangers in red sheets all around the makeshift cage, all holding long spears. One of the figures had a crown of black thorns on his head. They all had two eyeholes and one hole for the mouth. They didn’t move a muscle for the longest time, before the Crowned One forcibly touched the end of his spear to the ground.
“Now is the time, Brother and Farmer Abraham…there is no more for us in waiting.”
Smallmouth had just noticed the passenger window to the black Dodge was down, and he could hear the driver door open and soon saw a normal looking older man in a ball cap at the back of the trailer. He was holding a leash of some sort. He opened up the trailer and whistled into the dark of it. After a couple of loud, heavy thuds a gigantic, and I mean GIGANTIC Yorkshire pig came slowly shrugging out of the trailer. It was light pink in color but filthy, and gave wet sounding oinks as it came to the man’s hands expecting food. The thing must’ve weighed 1500 pounds, and at least ten feet long. It actually had to lower its head to reach the man’s hands, its ears coming up to the man’s chest. Smallmouth couldn’t believe his eyes. The man reached in his pocket and revealed a handful of some type of feed, which he tossed on the ground at the pig. It started right in as the man fixed a collar on the pigs girthy neck, then attaching a leash. The pig gave a slight squeal.
“Good girl, good girl…cmon now” the man called Farmer Abraham sweetly coaxed the animal. He gave his end of the leash a tug and the monstrous swine reluctantly left its food and followed the man over close to the Crowned One. The fire raged and raged nearby, throwing crazy shadows all over the place.
“What have you brought us, Brother and Farmer Abraham?”
“Yeah, uh, this is Old Azazel, she’s been in my family for years, man.”
The Crowned One dropped his spear and knelt down to the jowls of the hog, the dark holes of his eyes meeting those of the animal. The other red cloaked figures remained statuesque around the cage.
“Ah, yes, Old Azazel, hello. You are to be of great importance in the history of the Earth tonight, old friend.”
The Crowned One got back up to address Brother and Father Abraham, who seemed obviously put off, yet submissive.
“And is this Old Azazel a natural specimen? Is it fed only of the earth and the filths therein?”
“Yessir, I’d reckon so.”
“This is necessary for a proper sacrifice, Brother and Farmer Abraham. You may only bring your best, your cleanest, your most dear to the alter of the Almighty.”
“I understand.”
“May I take her now?”
The farmer gave his end of the leash to the black gloved left hand of the Crowned One. The Crowned one stood with it for almost a full minute in total stillness and silence. The only noise Smallmouth could hear was the sloppy smacks and oinks from Old Azazel. The farmer anxiously waited, wringing his hands expecting the next move from the Crowned One.
“Turn away, Brother and Farmer Abraham. Turn away from us and toward the fire now.” The Crowned One finally spoke.
“Phew, alright. We’re still good on our deal? Do you still promise to make my little girl better? Like you said?” The farmer asked, with some hopeful desperation.
“Turn now.”
“Well okay” the farmer turned his back to the Crowned One and toward the fire.
“I can assure you with all of the knowledge in my mind and in my heart, you will never see your daughter sick again in this lifetime, Brother and Father Abraham. You may find peace and solace in this truth.”
The farmer nodded in relief as he looked upon the fire. Smallmouth, taking it all in with great confusion, could see a smile on the farmers fire lit face, and turned back to the Crowned One just in time to see him reach under his red garment and pull out a pistol and shoot a round into the back of the farmers head, blowing his cap off, which frisbeed down near his shaking, crumpled body. Old Azazel threw a fit immediately, screaming and trying her best to flee. The Crowned One held the immense beast with one hand, and with seemingly little effort. The other red clothed figures finally made noise, laughing deep and heartily around the cage. The Crowned One, keeping Old Azazel close, walked over to the doubled over farmer, putting two more bullets into his head, essentially hollowing it out into a carnal mess. The farmers shaking mercifully stopped.
Smallmouth had to slam his forearm up to his mouth to muffle the scream that would’ve come out and blown his cover. His eyes were flown wide open and his arms were shivering.
The Crowned One put the pistol back under his red cloak and led the great pig, still squealing as high pitched and piercing as the human ear can withstand, over to the mouth of the cage, which was opened by the nearest red clothed stranger. Old Azazel flew in to the cage, having been unleashed by The Crowned One. It struggled around the cage, which was no bigger than 15x15 feet, giving it no room to get comfortable. It circled the inner perimeter, showing impressive speed for such a large animal. It squealed and squealed. The sound stung Smallmouths ears, and he covered them with his hands. He was still out of sight in the tall grass. The Red People around the cage laughed at the hogs entrapment. The Crowned One raised a hand to signal silence. The Red People were still and quiet again.
“Now, my brothers, the sacrificial gift is in our possession. Tonight…is a HOLY NIGHT.” The Crowned One raised his voice as if getting to the climax of a fire and brimstone sermon.
“TONIGHT…WE WILL DESTROY WHAT WAS ONCE CAST OUT BUT NEVER VANQUISHED!! WE WILL RID THE EARTH OF A GREAT ARMY!! AN ARMY OF HELL THAT HAS FAR TOO LONG ROAMED AND SICKENED OUR LANDS AND KILLED OUR LOVES!! TONIGHT…WE WILL DESTROY THE DESTROYERS…THE LEGION OF SATANS SOLDIERS BORN JUST AFTER THE GARDEN OF EDEN FELL…”
The Crowned One fell to his knees, his arms up and stretched toward the frozen sky. A mighty wind began blowing at Smallmouths back. He had to lower his head as it roared over him. After a moment it calmed and he was able to lift up again to see. Winds from all corners of the field met at the cage, swirling over it in a great snowy funnel that led up to the clouds. Old Azazel screamed and screamed from the cage.
“I SEE YOU VILLIANS!! I HEAR YOU HOSTS OF HELL!! I KNOW YOU LIVE IN THESE TREES!! I KNOW YOU COWER WITHIN THE SOUND OF MY VOICE!! SHOW YOURSELF!! TAKE THE BODY OF THIS ANIMAL THAT I HAVE SET BEFORE YOU!! TAKE IT NOW!! TAKE IT NOW AND FACE ME!! TAKE IT NOW!! TAKE IT NOW!! TAKE I-“
The Crowned One’s vocal cord shredding performance was cut short by a single burst of black lightning that shot down from the middle of the snowy funnel cloud that surrounded the cage. The Crowned One and all the Red People were thrown several feet back from the blast. Thunder immediately exploded across the field. Smallmouth buried his face as the force and sound raced over him. Ears ringing, he kept his face down for a few seconds. He squinted back up to the strike zone.
The strange black lightning had blown the cage completely apart. Two of The Red People had been hit with the metal fencing. One laid motionless. The other gargled in pain as he put a hand to the pole that was sticking out of his sternum, having penetrated all the way through. His legs buckled and he fell forward, the end of the pole hitting the ground first and propping him up for a moment, before his body slowly slid down to the ground around the metal. He went silent. The other four Red People, yelling in surprise, gathered themselves, looking to the charred hole in the ground where Old Azazel should be, right in the center where the cage used to stand. The Crowned One got to his feet and picked up his spear.
“My brothers, gather your arms…” the Crowned One whispered, breathing heavily under his red cloak.
“The work is not over…”
The four remaining Red People grabbed their spears and slowly walked over to the burnt, smoking hole, holding an attack pose over it until further instructions were given.
“Are you with us, you age old tormentors?” This was the first time Smallmouth could hear fear in the tired voice of the Crowned One.
“Are you with us now? Are you ready to die, you infernal bastards? Are you ready to-“
The Crowned One was interrupted by a booming noise from the hole that tore Smallmouths wits to shreds. It was similar to the cry of Old Azazel, but much deeper and ten times louder and angrier. It was as if a freight train was blaring its horn and slamming its brakes at the same time.
“NOW MY BROTHERS!! STRIKE THE BEAST OF HELL WITH YOUR SPEARS! NOW!!!”
The Red People all threw their weapons down into the smoking hole. The hellish noise from within stopped in an instant. The Red People crowded closer to the edge of the hole, waiting for the smoke to clear. The Crowned One walked over to them, putting his black gloved hand on the shoulder of the nearest man.
“Oh, Brothers. Oh my dear, dear Brothers. Your acts tonight have rid the earth of a Great and Powerful Evil…”
Before he could continue, a fully enraged and re-inspired bellow thrust itself up and out of the hole like a serrated blade. Much, much louder and angrier than before. The Red People were taken aback in terror. Suddenly, from within the hole, a large head emerged and gaped a huge, disgusting maw up at the crowd. The head was burned black and its eyes were half boiled white and without pupils. It shrieked out that most terrible noise as if it didn’t need oxygen.
“There’s no way” Smallmouth heard himself say under his breath.
All in one motion, the beast leaped out of the hole, and turned to face its attackers. It was Old Azazel, except swollen with burnt mass. It appeared to have grown a half a size at least. Three spears stuck out of its sizzling, charcoal colored back. It snapped its gigantic jaws at the Red People, who shuddered in horror. The Crowned One spoke:
“DO NOT RELENT BROTHERS!! ATTACK!! ATTACK THE BRUTE!!”
He pulled his pistol back out of his cloak and fired the remaining three rounds on the new and horrible black burnt Old Azazel. The beast’s cloudy boiled egg eyes shot open along with its unnaturally stretched jaws. It took the three bullets as if they were tennis balls. At the speed of a charging grizzly and with multiple times the power Old Azazel raged over to The Crowned One and dove onto him mouth first, putting both front hooves on his chest as he was knocked down. The Crowned One cried out in a shockingly high pitched wail, like a man being electrocuted. The Beast bit right into the soft of his belly, and began to shake him around like an Orca trying to separate a seal from its pelt.
“OH GOD!!!! AHHHHHH GOD OHHHHH!!! HELP ME!!!! NOOOO!!!! OH GOD HELP ME!!!! MAMA!!!! OHHHH!!! MAMA!!!!!”
The beast ate and ate and shook and shook and tore and broke and destroyed while the Crowned One lost more and more of his body, all while crying out to the sky at the top of his punctured lungs. The other Red People sprinted to the black Dodge Ram, opened its doors and piled inside. Smallmouth heard it crank up and it began to speedily turn around and race away from the fire and back toward the road. The beast unhooked from the Crowned One and let out another ghastly roar of victory before biting into his neck, ending his screaming forever. The beast then left his half devoured body and began a tremendous and terrible charge after the truck, which was greatly slowed down by the trailer. Smallmouth put his face down as the beast passed him by only about 10 feet on its way to the truck, which had just made it back to the road and was using every RPM possible to get away from the demon charged killing machine on its heels. Smallmouth turned around to watch both parties disappear down the road, the echoes of that great and evil blasting noise stabbing his ears again. He remained on his stomach in the tall, snowy grass for another two minutes as he normalized his breath and tried to make any sense of what he just witnessed.
Eventually he slowly rose up and looked to make sure that terrible thing was indeed out of the area. No signs of life or death from up at the road. The danger was at least a couple miles away by now. Smallmouth then turned back toward the fire and to the dominated body of the Crowned One. He carefully walked up closer and closer. To his amazement he heard wheezy noises coming from the emptied out torso of the man, a scattering of insides and flesh and blood strewn all around him. Troubled, rattling breaths escaped from under the red clothed head, whose crown of thorns had flown off in the attack. Most of the red cloak had been ripped to shreds, and all that remained covered were his shoulders and above. The cloth slowly ebbed and flowed with breath. Smallmouth could not believe this man was still alive. His entire digestive system was eviscerated and his ribs were exposed. Smallmouth knelt down beside him and lifted his cloak over his head to let him at least breathe his last in the open air.
Smallmouth let out a gasp. This man had a face that Smallmouth knew very well. He recognized him immediately from the old church he worked at. The clean shaven face. The short, silver hair. The sharp nose. This was a man that had joined his church two weeks before the schism. He never spoke in church but it was rumored he would meet at the homes of different members and try to sway them to his strange ideas. He was the one rumored to have led the radical faction somewhere in the middle of the woods. To Smallmouth, it was all starting to make more sense.
“I know you,” Smallmouth said softly, “I know who you are. You tore a church in half didn’t you? You’re the crazy guy that split up my ole church! What the hell have you done?”
The man struggled to breathe and tried his best to spit up a couple of words. His neck had deep lacerations that flowed with escaping life.
“I…I…I…uhh…I only…I only…I only did what I believed…” he whispered before a wet, stifled breath.
“What did you do?!!!” Smallmouth grew angry, and his voice followed suit. This man had ruined his job and now he had unleashed something horrifying on his neighborhood. He had tampered with things that man has no business tampering with.
“I…I…I have…have…I have failed, Smallmouth Bassett” the man croaked. Smallmouth couldn’t believe he had bothered to remember his name.
“I have failed. I have failed. God help you all…” with that the man’s face fell and he let out one last slow exhale before all was still.
Smallmouth got back on his feet and looked away from the dead man and toward the fire, which towered and raged in the reflection of his eyes.
“Oh no…oh no…oh no” he said in between terrified breaths.
Then another though hit him like a wrecking ball.
“Uncle Chuck…”

On the night when it all happened a young man called Smallmouth found himself in quite a pickle. He shivered and paced clumsily all over the second story porch of a cabin that used to be very nice, which overlooked a snowy down-sloping field that used to be kept up properly and carefully. He was already six packs deep into a carton of cigarettes he had bought only two days ago from a Casey’s General Store on his way up. He could recall the look on the young woman’s face at the register when he asked for a carton of Parliament Menthols, her eyes showing one blink of humorous surprise and another couple blinks of obvious concern, which faded to professional indifference as she rang in the sweet, icy killers. Smallmouth stopped his nervous dallying when he caught himself in the kitchen window; a large, shadowy figure sulking between the inside lights and the cold, almost glowing world downhill. His eyes still on his murky reflection, he patted his coat pockets for his seventh pack, pulling it out and smacking it against his left palm before cracking open and lighting it at his mouth. In a slow, warm flash, he could briefly see his own face in the window.
“Oh man, it’s bad” , he thought to himself.
He hadn’t shaved in weeks and his beard grew coarse and thick. A face that his mother had once called handsome had become a clean plate covered in steel wool. Well, maybe not so clean. Under and around his eyes were the obvious bruising of sleeplessness and his skin had lost its lively color and clarity of yesteryear.
“Ughhh” he groaned, turning away from the window to look over the porch and into the freezing, beckoning night.
The pickle that Jeremy “Smallmouth” Bassett found himself in involved his uncle, and his uncle’s evening logistics, to be precise. Smallmouth had been kicked out of his parents home on December 27th due to a slight misunderstanding at 2am when he believed the living room Christmas tree to be the downstairs bathroom. He had passed out on the couch after drinking a fire pit full of crushed Hamm’s cans and his brain tried desperately to get him up and to the nearby toilet. His little sister Stacy was tucked in fast asleep on a loveseat by the tree when she was brutally torn from her sugarplum dreams to hear the terrible hiss of Smallmouth’s folly. She screamed, the parents woke up, and, well, there you go. After well over three strikes, Smallmouth’s temporary residence had come to an end, and he was thrown to his mother’s brother’s cabin to dry up and straighten out before he could ever even be considered to return.
“You two deserve to live together. He can’t say no either because he owes me a lot more than this!” Smallmouth’s mother had screeched over him as he sat at the kitchen table the following morning with a cold bag of peas against his throbbing right temple. “You go there and you GET RIGHT!! I don’t care how long it takes just clean up your act and MAKE something of yourself! And for goodness sake tell Chuck to do the same, while he still has time!”
Yes, Uncle Chuck had his own shelf full of good time problems, and that’s what put Smallmouth in a bind tonight as he pondered over the white yonder that led to a black nothing, a black nothing that in the daylight pretended to be a forest. At night, it showed its true nature, an endless world of dark secrets and aching regret. At least that’s how Smallmouth saw it in this moment.
Chuck had gone down to the ranch he worked on for a New Years party with his work buddies. They liked to gather at the big barn where all of the vehicles and equipment were kept, sitting around a card table passing out stories about women and other trophy game that were either outright lied about or illegally poached. Oh, and they also liked to pass the bottle around. Therein lied the conundrum for Smallmouth.
Uncle Chuck was many things, but one thing he wasn’t was a drunk driver. Chuck’s wife Rebecca had been struck and killed by a drunk driver almost ten years ago when she was out jogging the back roads early one morning. Everyone assumed that’s what led him to his openly hard drinking and sneakily pill popping ways in the first place. For Chuck, most nights were kept at home, parked in front of a TV watching old westerns and cleaning out a full bottle of Wild Turkey 101 before snoring in his recliner. On the few nights he would go out, he would always call a ride if things got out of hand. As you can imagine, he tends to need a ride home.
“I should be home bout 11:30. Service ain’t so good up there near the barn so if it gets bout 11:15-11:20 and I ain’t home, go head and do me a favor and come grab me son.” Chuck had told Smallmouth before he left, closing the warped screen door behind him.
Smallmouth had spent the evening trying his best to stay entertained without the help of any chemical enhancement. His family’s anger and resentment really struck him and this time he was determined to truly get right and get his life back on the rails. He was 29 years old. He had gone through college clean as a whistle, bright and driven, receiving his MBA with plans to work his way up in a promising career in business. That worked for a couple years. Then he found a calling in ministry, deciding to quit the corporate world to fill an opening of a tiny country church in the area. They needed a deacon who could take care of things around the building and assist in the worship service. He wasn’t much for public speaking, haven been given the nickname Smallmouth at a young age due to his soft spoken nature, but he could pass plates and give a hushed prayer every now and then. He liked to mow and paint and help old ladies up the stairs. The quiet country life was really nice for him, for a while. Strange, radical ideas eventually spread through the church though, and half of its members left overnight to form their own congregation. Its funding cut in half, the church had to close its doors and the other members absorbed into other churches. Smallmouth rarely ever saw the people that had departed from the church, but rumors creeped that they met at an old abandoned building deep in the woods, performing all sorts of different acts and rituals that would purify themselves and destroy all evils. Nevertheless, Smallmouth was out of work and picked up shifts bartending at a small town dive. His soft fortitude was no match for the booze and drugs and women that would pass through there and soon he was out the door. That landed him mooching off of his parents, draining their sanity and eventually draining himself on their Christmas tree. The last strike.
So there he was all night, waiting up for uncle Chuck. He was two days clean of everything except caffeine and nicotine, a major improvement. He felt a boost of hope and confidence the first morning after a sober nights sleep. He found the mornings to be the best parts of the day. At least he had coffee and cigarettes to get him out of bed. That would wear off quickly and the rest of the day was filled with trying to find distractions until the sun set about 5pm. Then he would watch a movie or two with Chuck. Last night he had been able to call it early and go to sleep at 7pm shortly after Chuck started sawing logs in front of True Grit (the original John Wayne version of course). Tonight he saw 7pm struggle and churn into 8…….8:13……..8:48……9:05……9:29………..9:31………9:52……..9:58……….10:11…….10:12 (oh cmon)……10:27…….10:56…….and finally 11:08. It was like the clock was a 35 year old four cylinder engine oiled with crunchy peanut butter. Now, crunch time sat in the cold air as Smallmouth finished his cigarette and stewed over his decision. He really didn’t feel like going down to the barn and getting Chuck, even though it was only a couple miles. In the infancy of his sobriety he found the smallest of choices and activities to seem dire and at the very least upsettingly out of his way. Surely Chuck can get himself home on his own, right?
“No. Who knows if someone’s Aunt Rebecca or grandmother or son is out there on the road tonight” he thought.
As much as he had tried to screw up his life, Smallmouth usually knew what the right decision would be, even if he so often refused to listen. It was there ever so clearly on this New Year’s Eve, wailing in the back row of his mind like a misbehaved child during a church sermon. Smallmouth left the porch and went inside to grab his keys.
He walked out to his truck, got in, cranked it, let it sit down to one rpm, and started down the gravel driveway, which led to the gravel county road that Chuck and his few and far between neighbors lived on. He got to the mailbox and suddenly shot his attention up the road, where headlights revealed themselves out of the deep dark. It was rare to see any cars this far down Chuck’s road. In fact, there were no other houses to the right of Chuck’s cabin, spare for a couple of empty ones that were condemned but were attached to a lot of forest property.
Smallmouth squinted his eyes as a large black Dodge Ram 3500 came barreling by with a livestock trailer. Even inside his own truck he could hear a terrible noise coming from that trailer. He recognized it instantly as a pig squeal.
“The hell?” He whispered as the truck and trailer tore down the road, going around a nearby corner and out of sight. He couldn’t guess what on earth that could be about at this hour, and especially since nobody lived down there anyway. He shrugged it off though, and turned left out of the driveway, headed for drunk Uncle Chuck down at the ranch.
Ten minutes and a couple of snowy country miles later Smallmouth found himself through the metal gate of the ranch and up to the main barn, where a couple of smiling ranch hands had Chuck held up between them just outside one of two closed garage doors. A lamppost nearby cast a glow of debauchery on all of their faces, especially Chuck’s. Smallmouth got out and walked up to them smiling and shaking his head.
“Well well well…” he said with a slight laugh.
“Your Uncle put on one hell of a clinic tonight ‘Mouth” one of the hands said.
“I…..I….I don’t know what they’re tawlkin bout son” Chuck slang out before a high pitched giggle.
“I got another couple rounds in me I thinks!”
Smallmouth laughed.
“Yeah I ain’t so sure about that uncle! Let’s get on home now and let these fellas get on too.”
“Y’alright alright” Chuck said as Smallmouth took him from his buddies arms into one of his own and led him to the passenger seat of his truck.
“Happy New Years boys!!! Let’s do it all again okay?” He hollered to his waving buddies as they drove back away from the barn and through the metal gate toward home.
“You have a good time Uncle?”
“Oh…ohhh…I reckon I showed those boys how to do it” Another childish giggle.
A light snow shower seasoned the cold air as the truck rolled down the gravel country road. In the yellow headlights it made a pleasant white noise for the eyes. Chuck put his hands up staggered and vertically, fingers together and outstretched, pointing out in front of the truck down the road like he was aiming up for a rifle shot. He closed one eye.
“Straight as an arrow ole son. You’re good at this.”
“I ain’t drunk pops” Smallmouth chuckled.
“Sure ya are. Everybody’s drunk son. Even people that ain’t drink. Ticket is to get drunk on good stuff” Chuck’s face calmed from a goofy grin as he kept his eyes out front into the slow swirling tube of visible night.
“You sound like you’re drunk on some pretty damn good stuff” Smallmouth retorted as they shared a look and a good laugh.
“Suppose’n you ain’t wrong. Gotta work on that just like you are. Proud o’ you for a couple days clean man. We’ll get right. We’ll get right. All I meant was that man is born to get drunk on somethin’ or other. What I mean is God. Man is born to get drunk on his God.” Chuck said as Smallmouth shot him a raised eyebrow look of confusion.
“Once God gets ya drunk then you’re home free ol’ son. That distillery is never ending eternal forever. That land flows with whiskey and honey.” They both shared another laugh.
“Okay okay I think I somewhat understand now Uncle.”
They rode in a few seconds of comfortable silence before Chuck put his hands up in an aim position down the road again.
“You know…man….man….man has a GOVERNOR…..you know that right?”
“A what? A governor?”
“That’s right a GOVERNOR…that’s right…a little bitty device in his brain that keeps him on the road…keeps him from turning right off into the dark. You ever hear that little voice that tells you you can turn off into the ditch…into oncomin’ traffic? Tells you you can shoot your buddy instead of the deer? That you can jump off the top of the building and onto the pavement when you’re up there enjoying the view?”
“I…uh…I don’t know…I mean maybe? Pretty sure those are intrusive thoughts and they’re normal.”
“Well whatever they are that’s what the governor is for. Keeps ya straight. Keeps ya from harmin nothin.”
“Alright man, alright.”
They pulled back into Chuck’s driveway and parked. Smallmouth helped his uncle out of the truck and up into the cabin, snow starting to color the roof and pile against the side of the house near the door. Arms locked Smallmouth propped open the screen door, opened the inner door, and led Chuck through the kitchen and to his bedroom. Chuck layed down on his camo comforter with a deep, long exhale.
“Ahhhh yes……yes” he whispered with a smile.
“I love ya son…I’m glad you’re heeeeere. Let’s get better….your mom needs it…..stay in the Lord’s light son…don’t let them devils get ya….let’s get better….lets….” He was off into the distant deep ether almost immediately, and his mouth hung open.
“Goodnight uncle…love ya too.” Smallmouth patted the bed twice before walking over and closing the bedroom door behind him.
He went and sat at the kitchen table. He regretted his behavior earlier in the night. How it pained him to have to stay up a little later to go help out his uncle.
“Cmon…” he whispered.
He agreed with Chuck. He was here to get better. To do better. Maybe Chuck was right. If he couldn’t get drunk off booze, it was time to pick something else to drink. Better things. Maybe even God? Smallmouth hadn’t paid much mind to God since his church job fell through. God surely hadn’t been there for him these last few years when he was at his lowest. Or was He there the whole time? Had Smallmouth just ignored Him? These things floated heavily in his mind and soon he realized he had been staring at the front door for several minutes. Had he even blinked? Then something else came to mind.
“Wait hold up”
That truck and trailer from earlier. What WAS that? He meant to bring it up to the ranch hands. They would’ve seen it come barreling down the road right by their front gate. Oh he wished he had brought that up to them. Oh well. It’s probably nothing. Smallmouth looked at the clock. 12:12.
“Happy New Year old boy.” He said to himself.
He sat for a moment in the warm kitchen light, his eyes not leaving the front door. Well, he’s up this late already, why not go run down and check on the abandoned properties?
No…no…it can wait. It’s probably nothing. Right?
Wrong. There’s that wailing kid in the back pew of his mind again. Come on kid can’t you just be quiet and listen to the sermon? No, no it can’t. It must be heard. Always. He knew he had to go check it out.
“Ughhhh FINE!” Smallmouth got up and grabbed his truck keys, patted to make sure his cigarettes were still there, and was out the door again.
The snow shower had ended. As he pulled up to the edge of the drive, he stalled for a moment and peaked out as far to the right as he could down the dark road. Nothing. It wasn’t very far to the end of that road, where two out of service mailboxes should’ve stood in a small cul-de-sac if it weren’t for teenagers beating them to splinters. Can’t really blame them either. Smallmouth considered his plan. Whether or not that truck belonged to the landowner down there, he shouldn’t feel like he needs to sneak around. He is merely a concerned neighbor after all. He began down the road and around that same corner the stranger disappeared earlier.
After a couple of slow, curious minutes Smallmouth could see the evidence of a great big fire in the near distance, beyond where the road ended. Through the bare trees and against the snow it cast orange and red that could surely be seen a mile in every direction, that is, if there were anyone there to see it.
Slightly intimidated, Smallmouth decided to turn off his headlights and let the fire guide him as he slowed up to 5mph and gently crackled his last few yards of gravel up to the remnants of the nearest mailbox post. It seemed the fire was on the land of the farther property, whose mailbox posthole was about 30 feet from where he came to a stop and parked his truck. Smallmouth turned it off and quietly got out into the cold. He crouched down as he walked over to the farther driveway, getting down on one knee to give it a stealthy closer look.
The abandoned property boasted a busted up trailer that sat pitifully about 500 feet from the mailbox memorial. Beyond that was a good ten acres of field that ended at the forest edge, which marked the beginning of thousands of acres of wildlife refuge. As Smallmouth peered on, it was obvious that the fire was way out in that field, blocked by the old trailer, which wore the hot light and columns of smoke on it like a devilish crown. Given the cover, Smallmouth crept over to the trailer and started easing around the right side.
Rounding the corner he noticed a propane tank that would be perfect for hiding behind and getting the best look he could at the mysterious activity. He got down on his belly and crawled his way over to the tank, before sitting up and peeking slowly over the top and out into the field.
Way down there, a couple acres away from the tree line, was a huge fire, made up of about fifty wooden pallets. It raged and lit up the whole field like it was just the beginning of sunset. Somewhat near the fire was the black Dodge Ram 3500 and trailer. Smallmouth could see a group of people dressed in all red, as if covered in bloody bedsheets from head to toe, circled around a crude cage, seemingly fastened together by pieces of metal fencing. They stood still as the pines, and twice as silent. Smallmouth, in a rare moment of curious courage, decided he had to get closer. He got back on his stomach and began to crawl through the cold, knee high grass.
Using the fire light as his North Star he crawled and crawled, feeling his hands, clothes, and beard get wet with snow. He didn’t care. Something was up that wasn’t normal, wasn’t right. He could feel it in his cold gut. When he thought he was close enough without giving himself away he planted his palms and ever so slowly raised his torso up into a weak push up to try and see out. He was glad he didn’t go any further. He may have been too close already.
He was close enough to read the name of the truck and count the holes in the livestock trailer. There were seven strangers in red sheets all around the makeshift cage, all holding long spears. One of the figures had a crown of black thorns on his head. They all had two eyeholes and one hole for the mouth. They didn’t move a muscle for the longest time, before the Crowned One forcibly touched the end of his spear to the ground.
“Now is the time, Brother and Farmer Abraham…there is no more for us in waiting.”
Smallmouth had just noticed the passenger window to the black Dodge was down, and he could hear the driver door open and soon saw a normal looking older man in a ball cap at the back of the trailer. He was holding a leash of some sort. He opened up the trailer and whistled into the dark of it. After a couple of loud, heavy thuds a gigantic, and I mean GIGANTIC Yorkshire pig came slowly shrugging out of the trailer. It was light pink in color but filthy, and gave wet sounding oinks as it came to the man’s hands expecting food. The thing must’ve weighed 1500 pounds, and at least ten feet long. It actually had to lower its head to reach the man’s hands, its ears coming up to the man’s chest. Smallmouth couldn’t believe his eyes. The man reached in his pocket and revealed a handful of some type of feed, which he tossed on the ground at the pig. It started right in as the man fixed a collar on the pigs girthy neck, then attaching a leash. The pig gave a slight squeal.
“Good girl, good girl…cmon now” the man called Farmer Abraham sweetly coaxed the animal. He gave his end of the leash a tug and the monstrous swine reluctantly left its food and followed the man over close to the Crowned One. The fire raged and raged nearby, throwing crazy shadows all over the place.
“What have you brought us, Brother and Farmer Abraham?”
“Yeah, uh, this is Old Azazel, she’s been in my family for years, man.”
The Crowned One dropped his spear and knelt down to the jowls of the hog, the dark holes of his eyes meeting those of the animal. The other red cloaked figures remained statuesque around the cage.
“Ah, yes, Old Azazel, hello. You are to be of great importance in the history of the Earth tonight, old friend.”
The Crowned One got back up to address Brother and Father Abraham, who seemed obviously put off, yet submissive.
“And is this Old Azazel a natural specimen? Is it fed only of the earth and the filths therein?”
“Yessir, I’d reckon so.”
“This is necessary for a proper sacrifice, Brother and Farmer Abraham. You may only bring your best, your cleanest, your most dear to the alter of the Almighty.”
“I understand.”
“May I take her now?”
The farmer gave his end of the leash to the black gloved left hand of the Crowned One. The Crowned one stood with it for almost a full minute in total stillness and silence. The only noise Smallmouth could hear was the sloppy smacks and oinks from Old Azazel. The farmer anxiously waited, wringing his hands expecting the next move from the Crowned One.
“Turn away, Brother and Farmer Abraham. Turn away from us and toward the fire now.” The Crowned One finally spoke.
“Phew, alright. We’re still good on our deal? Do you still promise to make my little girl better? Like you said?” The farmer asked, with some hopeful desperation.
“Turn now.”
“Well okay” the farmer turned his back to the Crowned One and toward the fire.
“I can assure you with all of the knowledge in my mind and in my heart, you will never see your daughter sick again in this lifetime, Brother and Father Abraham. You may find peace and solace in this truth.”
The farmer nodded in relief as he looked upon the fire. Smallmouth, taking it all in with great confusion, could see a smile on the farmers fire lit face, and turned back to the Crowned One just in time to see him reach under his red garment and pull out a pistol and shoot a round into the back of the farmers head, blowing his cap off, which frisbeed down near his shaking, crumpled body. Old Azazel threw a fit immediately, screaming and trying her best to flee. The Crowned One held the immense beast with one hand, and with seemingly little effort. The other red clothed figures finally made noise, laughing deep and heartily around the cage. The Crowned One, keeping Old Azazel close, walked over to the doubled over farmer, putting two more bullets into his head, essentially hollowing it out into a carnal mess. The farmers shaking mercifully stopped.
Smallmouth had to slam his forearm up to his mouth to muffle the scream that would’ve come out and blown his cover. His eyes were flown wide open and his arms were shivering.
The Crowned One put the pistol back under his red cloak and led the great pig, still squealing as high pitched and piercing as the human ear can withstand, over to the mouth of the cage, which was opened by the nearest red clothed stranger. Old Azazel flew in to the cage, having been unleashed by The Crowned One. It struggled around the cage, which was no bigger than 15x15 feet, giving it no room to get comfortable. It circled the inner perimeter, showing impressive speed for such a large animal. It squealed and squealed. The sound stung Smallmouths ears, and he covered them with his hands. He was still out of sight in the tall grass. The Red People around the cage laughed at the hogs entrapment. The Crowned One raised a hand to signal silence. The Red People were still and quiet again.
“Now, my brothers, the sacrificial gift is in our possession. Tonight…is a HOLY NIGHT.” The Crowned One raised his voice as if getting to the climax of a fire and brimstone sermon.
“TONIGHT…WE WILL DESTROY WHAT WAS ONCE CAST OUT BUT NEVER VANQUISHED!! WE WILL RID THE EARTH OF A GREAT ARMY!! AN ARMY OF HELL THAT HAS FAR TOO LONG ROAMED AND SICKENED OUR LANDS AND KILLED OUR LOVES!! TONIGHT…WE WILL DESTROY THE DESTROYERS…THE LEGION OF SATANS SOLDIERS BORN JUST AFTER THE GARDEN OF EDEN FELL…”
The Crowned One fell to his knees, his arms up and stretched toward the frozen sky. A mighty wind began blowing at Smallmouths back. He had to lower his head as it roared over him. After a moment it calmed and he was able to lift up again to see. Winds from all corners of the field met at the cage, swirling over it in a great snowy funnel that led up to the clouds. Old Azazel screamed and screamed from the cage.
“I SEE YOU VILLIANS!! I HEAR YOU HOSTS OF HELL!! I KNOW YOU LIVE IN THESE TREES!! I KNOW YOU COWER WITHIN THE SOUND OF MY VOICE!! SHOW YOURSELF!! TAKE THE BODY OF THIS ANIMAL THAT I HAVE SET BEFORE YOU!! TAKE IT NOW!! TAKE IT NOW AND FACE ME!! TAKE IT NOW!! TAKE IT NOW!! TAKE I-“
The Crowned One’s vocal cord shredding performance was cut short by a single burst of black lightning that shot down from the middle of the snowy funnel cloud that surrounded the cage. The Crowned One and all the Red People were thrown several feet back from the blast. Thunder immediately exploded across the field. Smallmouth buried his face as the force and sound raced over him. Ears ringing, he kept his face down for a few seconds. He squinted back up to the strike zone.
The strange black lightning had blown the cage completely apart. Two of The Red People had been hit with the metal fencing. One laid motionless. The other gargled in pain as he put a hand to the pole that was sticking out of his sternum, having penetrated all the way through. His legs buckled and he fell forward, the end of the pole hitting the ground first and propping him up for a moment, before his body slowly slid down to the ground around the metal. He went silent. The other four Red People, yelling in surprise, gathered themselves, looking to the charred hole in the ground where Old Azazel should be, right in the center where the cage used to stand. The Crowned One got to his feet and picked up his spear.
“My brothers, gather your arms…” the Crowned One whispered, breathing heavily under his red cloak.
“The work is not over…”
The four remaining Red People grabbed their spears and slowly walked over to the burnt, smoking hole, holding an attack pose over it until further instructions were given.
“Are you with us, you age old tormentors?” This was the first time Smallmouth could hear fear in the tired voice of the Crowned One.
“Are you with us now? Are you ready to die, you infernal bastards? Are you ready to-“
The Crowned One was interrupted by a booming noise from the hole that tore Smallmouths wits to shreds. It was similar to the cry of Old Azazel, but much deeper and ten times louder and angrier. It was as if a freight train was blaring its horn and slamming its brakes at the same time.
“NOW MY BROTHERS!! STRIKE THE BEAST OF HELL WITH YOUR SPEARS! NOW!!!”
The Red People all threw their weapons down into the smoking hole. The hellish noise from within stopped in an instant. The Red People crowded closer to the edge of the hole, waiting for the smoke to clear. The Crowned One walked over to them, putting his black gloved hand on the shoulder of the nearest man.
“Oh, Brothers. Oh my dear, dear Brothers. Your acts tonight have rid the earth of a Great and Powerful Evil…”
Before he could continue, a fully enraged and re-inspired bellow thrust itself up and out of the hole like a serrated blade. Much, much louder and angrier than before. The Red People were taken aback in terror. Suddenly, from within the hole, a large head emerged and gaped a huge, disgusting maw up at the crowd. The head was burned black and its eyes were half boiled white and without pupils. It shrieked out that most terrible noise as if it didn’t need oxygen.
“There’s no way” Smallmouth heard himself say under his breath.
All in one motion, the beast leaped out of the hole, and turned to face its attackers. It was Old Azazel, except swollen with burnt mass. It appeared to have grown a half a size at least. Three spears stuck out of its sizzling, charcoal colored back. It snapped its gigantic jaws at the Red People, who shuddered in horror. The Crowned One spoke:
“DO NOT RELENT BROTHERS!! ATTACK!! ATTACK THE BRUTE!!”
He pulled his pistol back out of his cloak and fired the remaining three rounds on the new and horrible black burnt Old Azazel. The beast’s cloudy boiled egg eyes shot open along with its unnaturally stretched jaws. It took the three bullets as if they were tennis balls. At the speed of a charging grizzly and with multiple times the power Old Azazel raged over to The Crowned One and dove onto him mouth first, putting both front hooves on his chest as he was knocked down. The Crowned One cried out in a shockingly high pitched wail, like a man being electrocuted. The Beast bit right into the soft of his belly, and began to shake him around like an Orca trying to separate a seal from its pelt.
“OH GOD!!!! AHHHHHH GOD OHHHHH!!! HELP ME!!!! NOOOO!!!! OH GOD HELP ME!!!! MAMA!!!! OHHHH!!! MAMA!!!!!”
The beast ate and ate and shook and shook and tore and broke and destroyed while the Crowned One lost more and more of his body, all while crying out to the sky at the top of his punctured lungs. The other Red People sprinted to the black Dodge Ram, opened its doors and piled inside. Smallmouth heard it crank up and it began to speedily turn around and race away from the fire and back toward the road. The beast unhooked from the Crowned One and let out another ghastly roar of victory before biting into his neck, ending his screaming forever. The beast then left his half devoured body and began a tremendous and terrible charge after the truck, which was greatly slowed down by the trailer. Smallmouth put his face down as the beast passed him by only about 10 feet on its way to the truck, which had just made it back to the road and was using every RPM possible to get away from the demon charged killing machine on its heels. Smallmouth turned around to watch both parties disappear down the road, the echoes of that great and evil blasting noise stabbing his ears again. He remained on his stomach in the tall, snowy grass for another two minutes as he normalized his breath and tried to make any sense of what he just witnessed.
Eventually he slowly rose up and looked to make sure that terrible thing was indeed out of the area. No signs of life or death from up at the road. The danger was at least a couple miles away by now. Smallmouth then turned back toward the fire and to the dominated body of the Crowned One. He carefully walked up closer and closer. To his amazement he heard wheezy noises coming from the emptied out torso of the man, a scattering of insides and flesh and blood strewn all around him. Troubled, rattling breaths escaped from under the red clothed head, whose crown of thorns had flown off in the attack. Most of the red cloak had been ripped to shreds, and all that remained covered were his shoulders and above. The cloth slowly ebbed and flowed with breath. Smallmouth could not believe this man was still alive. His entire digestive system was eviscerated and his ribs were exposed. Smallmouth knelt down beside him and lifted his cloak over his head to let him at least breathe his last in the open air.
Smallmouth let out a gasp. This man had a face that Smallmouth knew very well. He recognized him immediately from the old church he worked at. The clean shaven face. The short, silver hair. The sharp nose. This was a man that had joined his church two weeks before the schism. He never spoke in church but it was rumored he would meet at the homes of different members and try to sway them to his strange ideas. He was the one rumored to have led the radical faction somewhere in the middle of the woods. To Smallmouth, it was all starting to make more sense.
“I know you,” Smallmouth said softly, “I know who you are. You tore a church in half didn’t you? You’re the crazy guy that split up my ole church! What the hell have you done?”
The man struggled to breathe and tried his best to spit up a couple of words. His neck had deep lacerations that flowed with escaping life.
“I…I…I…uhh…I only…I only…I only did what I believed…” he whispered before a wet, stifled breath.
“What did you do?!!!” Smallmouth grew angry, and his voice followed suit. This man had ruined his job and now he had unleashed something horrifying on his neighborhood. He had tampered with things that man has no business tampering with.
“I…I…I have…have…I have failed, Smallmouth Bassett” the man croaked. Smallmouth couldn’t believe he had bothered to remember his name.
“I have failed. I have failed. God help you all…” with that the man’s face fell and he let out one last slow exhale before all was still.
Smallmouth got back on his feet and looked away from the dead man and toward the fire, which towered and raged in the reflection of his eyes.
“Oh no…oh no…oh no” he said in between terrified breaths.
Then another though hit him like a wrecking ball.
“Uncle Chuck…”

This year’s games took place at the Ghostly Lake. Capital viewers were treated to a dark and ominous sight as the cameras panned through the arena. A forest biome littered with dark green pine trees spanned throughout this year’s arena. There were no mountains or hills, but interest was piqued when a couple caves were discovered. However, the crown jewel of this arena was the lake in the middle. It spread one kilometer in diameter and was covered by a blanket of mysterious fog. Hidden inside this fog, unbeknownst to the now rising tributes, was a small island. The cornucopia was placed on western shore of the lake, the only spot with an open area. The semicircle of podiums circled around the cornucopia which was barely two meters from the water. The clearing held the usual weapons and supplies one would expect with one peculiar exception. There were several flashlights and small lanterns with battery pouches attached. Viewers speculated that these must have a purpose. All in all, the Capital appreciated a more laid back arena compared to the meticulous detail put into the previous year’s games. Tributes rose up to the surface and felt the gloom and despair upon seeing the gray cloudy sky and the strange fog hovering over the lake. Cameras spotted grins on the faces of Harbor and both tributes from 7. Harbor was placed between Colt (3) and Sean (14). He searched for his allies and spotted all three of them. Jacqueline was near the end of the semicircle between Zest (9) and Malona (2). There was slight tension between the two. Facet was at the far end of the semicircle with only Dorothy (12) as his neighbor. He spotted Harbor and pointed towards Jacqueline, Harbor understood and signaled him to help her since he was closest. Brook on the other hand was between Atlas (6) and Lee (11). She felt slight relief upon seeing her district partner and diverted her attention back to the cornucopia. When the gong sounded, it was absolute pandemonium. Fifi (6), Zulu (10), Lassie and Sean (14) were the only tributes that ran away from the cornucopia. Malona (2) didn’t hesitate to chase after Jacqueline. Jacqueline was swifter however and she sprinted for the cornucopia. She approached the first supplies and thinking quickly, swiped one of the flashlights and hurled it towards her pursuer. Her throw struck Malone in the face and she fell back. Jacqueline ran further into the cornucopia to fetch a weapon. Facet was running behind the chase that was happening and chuckled at Malona’s fall. While Jacqueline ran to the cornucopia, Facet ran to Malona and kicked her back down. He grabbed the flashlight and proceeded to whack her sharply on the head knocking her clean out. He was interrupted by Amarylio (7), who had attempted to strike him with an axe. Facet rolled out of the way and retreated to the cornucopia towards Harbor, who was holding his own. Harbor was one of the first to make it to the cornucopia. He grabbed a trident and immediately dispatched Atlas (6). He covered for Brook by killing a surprisingly fierce Scarlet (8). Brook quickly grabbed a trident and was scrambling to find supplies. She was nearly stabbed by Lee (11) but she managed to slice his throat. She spotted Crane (2) cutting down Hargree (12) with his back turned. Brook decided to use this opportunity to attempt to kill him. She charged towards him but was not expecting him to turn around. Crane quickly sidestepped and tripped Brook. She begged for her life and promised her family’s money without thinking. Crane busted out laughing and called her a “gutless fish”. Before he could give the killing blow, Facet hopped over Crane’s shoulders and Amarylio (7) collided into Crane. The two men fell over and Facet pulled Brook off the ground. Crane and Amarylio fought for a few seconds before Amarylio ultimately decided to retreat instead, taking out Volta (5) on his way out. The four careers continued to gather supplies and fight more tributes until everyone was gone. So much happened in such a short amount of time that it was hard seeing the order of events. Camilia and Silica ordered a death toll for the bloodbath. The fallen included Malona (2), Darlene (3), Volta (5), Atlas (6), Scarlet (8), Zest and Mazin (9), Mateo (10), Lee (11), and Hargree (12). Ten cannons rang out through the arena. The commentators nearly asked for who killed who but the careers were already comparing kills. Harbor boasted about his three kills, them being Atlas, Scarlet, and Mazin. Facet sported just two kills, them being Malona and Zest. Jacqueline cursed to herself, saying she was going to go back for her but appreciated him looking out for her. Jacqueline said her only kill was Darlene but claimed to have wounded Daisy (11). Cameras confirmed this to be true. Brook said she managed to kill Mateo and Lee but sulked for failing to surprise Crane. Harbor scolded her for trying to face him alone but she wasn’t fazed. Facet said it was worse that she tried to bribe him with money. Jacqueline was quick to say, “That was stupid. What’s money going to do here?” Brook was red with embarrassment. Facet said what mattered was that they had the whole team in case they ran into Crane again. They all knew he would be angry and craving vengeance. After two hours of inventory, the four discussed their next move. Jacqueline commented on how mysterious the arena felt and had a nagging feeling they were being watched. The rest felt it too but knew it was too soon for an arena event. Facet noted how they couldn’t just dive into the forest as all the tributes went there. Harbor agreed but was still dumbfounded over what they should do. He pointed out the lake and wished the fog would let up so they could see the other side. Brook finally suggested they walk along the shoreline around the lake. The three stared at her in surprise. Brook said, “What? Being rich doesn’t always mean being dumb.” The three agreed to her plan and they all set off. Facet speculated the addition of the flashlights as they were never added to the arenas before. Harbor guessed it to be a future arena event or potential mutts. Jacqueline made her own guess that since they arrived at a dark arena, it would stay dark the entire duration of the games. Brook changed the subject to current threats. It was unanimous that Crane (2) and the pair from 7 were their biggest threats, especially the latter for this being similar to their home. Harbor optimistically pointed out that being from District 4, they had the expertise to navigate the lake. Brook was unsure about that, admitting to feeling a sinking dread everytime she stared at the lake. Almost as if something was under the surface looking back at them. Harbor and Facet shrugged it off but Jacqueline shared Brook’s discomfort. The four exited the clearing and were now in the forest. They maintained a short distance from the lake and kept a watchful eye on the dark forest to the left of them. The forest noises made them jump a couple times. Viewers knew they didn’t need to worry about other tributes as the closest ones were Lassie and Sean (14). The career pack finally decided to settle down in the northwestern sector. Harbor and Brook started fishing for a couple hours. Jacqueline joined them while Facet organized rations for dinner. Jacqueline noted that the lake still was covered in fog and wondered if anything was out there. Harbor said that while he couldn’t feel fear or dread like the girls can, he did sense something was off. He had a feeling the lake would somehow be utilized for the finale as it was the center of the arena. Brook snarkily said, “Good thing I’m a good swimmer.” Harbor scoffed and declared himself the better swimmer. The two began a humorous argument over who the better swimmer was, both reaching for their training feats while doing drills in Gottagrin Bay. Jacqueline was cracking up at their exchange. Facet finally shut them up and had them eat dinner. The four told each other stories about their training regimens, finding remarkable similarities. The four were startled by a cannon in the distance, belonging to Carter (8). Carter was discovered by Crane (2) and was mowed down after a short chase. Soon enough, night fell and the tributes began to sleep. Facet kept the first watch. The portraits of the fallen arrived and displayed all those that fell on the first day. The fallen included Malona (2), Darlene (3), Volta (5), Atlas (6), Scarlet and Carter (8), Zest and Mazin (9), Mateo (10), Lee (11), and Hargree (12). This left fifteen tributes remaining.
Day 2
The next morning just as Brook was waking up her allys to begin their day. Facet kept the group in high spirts by telling them about many sparing matches he was in at the Ritshlund academy. Jacqueline asked “Didnt you win oly 50% of them.” As Facets face blushed bright red Harbor laughed replying that it was still
“Honorable”.
Facet smiled before asking Harbor if he or Brook were any of teh training academys. Both brook and harbor looked at each other in a beliwdered look before Harbor replied “Were kind of a secondary carrer district are mentor has one but she has been in the captial lately.” Jacqueline chimed in that it “Didnt matter that they werent carrers they were still strong enough in there eyes.”
This honorable moment of honesty garnered many “Awwws” in the capital with Silca replying “Thats an efficent carrer pack I hope they last.”
As one cannon sounded the 4 jumped up and looked around there camp before Harbor shoutted at Facet to duck. As he obliged Brook and Harbor simatensoly hurt led there tridents into Fifi from 6s heart. As her cannon then sounded. Viewers in the captial saw that Colt from 3 had been chassed down by Fifi and Crane a suprsing alliance that shocked many viewers. As Colt’s cannon sounded Crane had pointed to the “Carrrer aliance”and told Fifi to get them. However as she protested he took out his sharp dagger that had been genersouly sponsored by his mentor Herminia gold. And as Fifi’s cannon sounded Crane laughed before running away. Facet had thanked Harbor for defending him from the “Loony girl.” Harbor smiled and told him “not to worry.”
Facet smiled back viewers in the captial and even Harbor noticed a small blush cross his face. He walked over to the near by camera jokingly saying “Dont worry Melanie He and I arent dating”. As ripples of laughter crossed the capital and even district 4 Melanie let out a guilty smirk as she was being interviwed by peacekeepers in the district.
Afterword 4 chimes of sponsor gifts flew down for the alliance,Jacqueline and Facet smiled gleefuly at there bread baskets and news set of weapons. Harbor walked behind a tree and opened it seeing a small dagger with a note saying “handle with care,keep your eyes peled your doing good so far’’ from S.
Harbor smiled softly at the note before thanking Sienna before hearing a loud gut wrentching scream. Brook had unforeanutly been attacked by this years vampire bats mutts. Forteanutly it was her arm that was striked before Jacqueline shoutted at teh group to run. Viewersin the captial were shocked seeing Vampire bats shooting down at the tributes like hawks. Luckily for the carrers they were only stroke 2 more times with the group hiding behind a hiding by a cave entrance. Facet quickly pulled out the flashlights and handed them to everyone, figuring that the light might deter the bats. Indeed, as soon as they switched on the flashlights, the bats screeched and retreated, uncomfortable with the sudden brightness. Harbor helped Brook inside the cave, where Jacqueline started to bandage her wounded arm.
The careers took a moment to catch their breath and evaluate their situation. Facet was the first to break the silence, commenting on how the flashlights seemed to be more useful than they initially thought. Harbor nodded in agreement, suggesting they keep the lights on while inside the cave to avoid another surprise attack. As a few more bats attacked the group they turned the flash lights made the bats screech louder the carrers rested in exhaustion as the bats dispersed to the other tributes. A sponsor gift quickly flew down for the carrers as Jacqueline smiled seeing a medical kit and a vaccine that could remove toxins from the bat bites. Brook grimiced as the wound was being cleaned causing Jacqueline to shush her.
Facet soon asked Harbor if he was “Fighting for anyone”. Being taken a back by the question provided Harbor said “No just wanna get back home if I can get out.” Facet shrugged before saying “My boyfriend im fighting for.” Harbor smiled before saying “I change my answer wanna win for my girl and family.” Camiilia and Silca both gasped in awe saying that they “defintly wanted one of them to win” as there popularity rates skyrocketed over night. After the cannon of Darian from 5 sounded. Brook pointed to Lassie and Sean from 14 running away from the bats. Facet hurled his knife as it whistled into Seans neck his cannon sounded. Jacqueline high fived him on the kill before Jacqueline chassed after Lassie. As Lassie’s canon soon sounded the vampire bats flew back up to the control room leaving an eerie quiet sensation in the arena.
The carrers then rested for the rest of the afternoon with Brook’s condition restoring as her arm turned back to the usual white color. However there rest was sharply interputed when Crane from 2 shouted in early joyful manner that he “Found the little mice.” As Crane hurled his weapons at the four Jacqueline and Facet when darting at the phsyoctic boy from 2 with Brook quietly whispering “Should I offer him my money again”. Harbor smirked before slapping her good naturedly before yelping as Facets knife nearly hit the pair from 4 on accident. However this encounter wasnt with out its losses. Crane managed to stabed Jacqueline in the heart causing her to wheeze in pain. Micarseolu both she and Jacqueline raged on before whacking a near by rock onto Crane’s head. As jacqueline soon lost concoious her cannon also sounded. Facet looked werily out before Harbor placed his hand on his shoulder and said he was sorry.
“She wasnt much but she was from home.”
Facet soon sighed before stabbing Crane sevral times in the back saying “Disqusting 2s”. As his cannon sounded Harbor walked him back to there orignal camp. As they soon looked on in a tired heep at they looked at the lake. As a ghostly figure known as a swamp monster popped out. Camilia imedtlay popped the interview with game maker swan. She soon told to all of panem that this swamp monster wasnt violent until provked. Which made most of the captial citzens gasp. Harbor soon was picked up by the monster as he screamed out Facet hurled his knife into the monsters leg. As it screamed out it kicked Facet into a tree he managed to get back up. However as the swamp monster grabbed its leg in pain Brook softned before cleaning its wound. Harbor soon pated the giants head causing it to smile. As a rather cute momemnt started to unfold. Facet bowed his head as an act of an applogy. The monster accepted the appology before picking him up in its shrub hands.
“The monster just wants a friend.”
Facet laughed before feeling the flowers of the monsters hand as it walked over toward the perimeter as it covered the group in its aborial hands. As this convent opportunity allowed all three tributes to rest they had a breif dinner and slept as horn of plenty played at midinght featuring the fallen. Jacqueline from 1 Crane from 2 Colt from 3 Darian from 5 Fifi from 6 and the pair from 14 leaving Facet from 1 Brook and Harbor from 4 Bloom and Amarylio from 7 zulu from 10 the pair from 11 and Dorthoy from 12 remaing.
Day 3
Earily in the morning the following day the cannons of the pair from 7 awoke most of the tributes after they were ambushed by Zulu from 10. After the carrres awoke the monster returned them to the lake. However just before Camilia revealed the top 3 tributes on the captial’s good books Facet had been quietly wandering over to Brook with a tomahawk in his possession.
Harbor looked at him with a sarcastic expression saying “Drop it.” However as Facet did not listen Brook got up and grabbed her trident saying “ 2 against one doesnt seem fair does it.”
As Facet spat out he through his tomohawk toward Harbor as he ducked he grabbed Brook by the arm and through her to teh ground. And tried to stab Brook Harbor grabbed his flashlight before shinning it into Facets eyes as he sreamed in anger as Brook grabbed her trident before hurling it into Facets neck. As his cannon souned Brook smiled softly saying “Sorry for being a dush bag to you when we were kids”.
Harbor smiled before nodding as the hovercraft soon flew over to take Facets body. The pair keot each other from boredom by talking about the acadmys and on what they would do if they made it back home. Viewers were surprised hearing Brook saying she would “Try to make amends with everyone she wronged.”
“You started with me and were good Jacqueline would want you to continue on.”
Brook smiled before Harbor and Brook walked around teh forest again for the time being. As they heard the cannon of Zulu sound in the late afternoon. Game maker swan made alive announcement she congratulated the remaining 4 tributes that afeast would take place at evening and would feature anything the tributes desired.
However suprsingly only Dorthoy from 12 died. Brook and Harbor rested at there first camp for teh remainder of the day as horn of plenty played featuring the fallen Facet from 1 Bloom and AMarylio from 7 Zulu from 10 and Dorthoy from 12 leaving Harbor and Brook from 4 and the girl from 11 as the final 3 tributes remaing,
Day 4.
Imedtllay after the remaing 3 tributes awoke the cannon of the girl from 11 (Cherry) sounded after she tried to run away from the vampire bats but got chomped on neck causing her to bleed out in seconds. Harbor looked forward seeing Brook suddenly have a vindictive smile.
“You really thought I was sorry hahah your such a dumass.”
After hearing this sudden delcartaion many citizens in snow square started to jeer at the girl with Camilia saying “Thats one way to kill your repuation.”
Harbor smiled before saying he knew she “Never was sorry.”
Brook smiled before hurling her trident at Harbor many viewers in snow square and evenn Sienna and her 2 friends Aj Carnvile victor of the 104th games and Quintin Mahoney the only 3 mentors left in the mentoring gallerly shouted at Harbor to defend himself.
Harbor through himself to the ground only grabbing his dagger that Sienna had sponsored him and darted to the corncopuia as game maker swans announcment had been barley audible due to the loud screams in snow square and in the arena.
Luckily for harbor the same swamp monster that had sheltered the pair on the second night came back. It shot its ivy roots out allowing Harbor to hide within it. Harbor smiled sadly seeing Facets bow and arrow he had been sposnored the second day before holding the bow before pocking out of the bushy arms. However after hearing Brook’s gut wretching scream after a violent monster hurled her into the corncopuia wall he stuck teh arrow out and let it fly. As it flew intoo her heart her cannon sounded. As the sun popped out over the grim arena. Harbor let out a small smile as brook’s cannon sounded. The swamp monster soon placed him back on the lake as game maker swan crowned Harbor Zanders of District 4 to be the victor of the 114th hunger games. Once he boarded the hovercraft he smiled seeing his mentor before melting in her arms causing her to embrace him as the hovercraft left the arena.
Harbor was adorned in a light blue pirate suit with his curly black hair dyed a crispy shade of brown. He was also given a pirate hat which in general came as a surprise to many viewers. Camilia was dressed in a golf uniform fashioning a rainbow suit golf hat and even a rainbow golf club.
Camilia appluaded Harbor on his victory before joking “Must of been tough having the high school bully with you.”
“Yeah she was a nightmare in its self when we were at school”.
As the crowd laughed Camilia went over the strategies of the carrer pack and his allies mistakes/kills. When Facets death was shown he softned before saying Facet was a “good ally” causing Camilia and the audience to sigh symptheaticaly. She then revealed to Harbor that his victors nickname was “The swamps soul”. HArbor laughed before saying that “it wasnt to horrendous>’ As teh crowd cheered Harbor bowed before game maker swan was welcomed with high appluse.
She was adorned in a sliver suit with a yellow bountiner. However it came to a surprise as Game maker swan remained quiet only saying to “Whatch out for flying objects.”
As teh citizens in the studio questioned this mysterious hint a few bits of appkuse sounded Camilia ende dthe interviews there. Harbor returned home to district 4 moving into the victors village with his family and girl friend. Unforeanutly not even after a weak he was stabbed by Coral Brook’s father luckily he was able to be reusiated and healed. He would later go on to marry his girl friend Melanie and had 4 kids with him. Harbro would go on to be a decent mentor to the furture male tributes of the district manging to get 2 wins in the following 1 and a half decades. Also opening up a seaside bar naming it "Shellys" becoming quite famous for their seafood and cianttis. After the hideous end to the 137th hunger games he would go on and become one of the many victors who helped Sienna obtain her presidency after president Mcaines removal. He would then become incharge of panems coastal forces.
And that is the end of story 114 I do hope you alll enjoyed. In my own opinion I do think this is one of my better writen tales. Also I would like to thank Mortimer Whimwick for helping me on writing the blood batha nd the remainder of day 1. One thing to note the european file will be delayed I do belive I will try get fully up after I finsh the 116th games. But yep I do hope you all have a wonderful mornung noon or night or what ever time it is for you and as we always say panem today panem timrow panem forever.

Hi everyone!
First of all, let me just say I love this sub! Whenever I've hit a reading slump I can always count on this community to have the best recommendations. So I thought I'd share some of my favorite reads since the beginning of 2024. This is not all of them, trust me, my kindle unlimited library loves to point out that I exceed my reading goals every week :'). I wanted to do each of these recs some justice and spent waaaay too long trying to convince you to read them through my ramblings. Enjoy, and PLEASE let me know if you read any of them!!!
We'll go by Genre:
M/M BDSM

• Different Hearts by Izaia Winters - Goodreads - (bdsm, age gap, age play, contemporary)
  • Some people aren't comfortable with age-play and I totally get it. I was too until I read this series. There's something endearing about the care and love that's written in this series about boys and their daddies. Not every book in this story is about daddy kink, there's also some service-oriented kink, sado/masochism, poly, and even puppy-play, this series has something for every itch. Don't yuck someone's yum but enjoy the stories of these characters! If I could read these for the first time again, I'd still devour them like I was starved.
• Love Language by Reese Morrison- Goodreads - (bdsm, transgender, queer, puppy-play, age-play, poly, age-gap, disability)
  • I am on my knees for you Reese Morrison. On. My. Knees. You brilliant person you. Writing a series surrounding the deaf and the bdsm community? GENIUS! GAH! Can you tell I love this series? No? Oh let me enlighten you whippersnappers.
  • This series has 4 books, the first being able to read as a standalone features a deaf trans dom and an older sub whose lost his master. Marco and Greg navigate this new relationship through some very real struggles of being trans while trying to find love and also being deaf. Morrison's writing is so true to the ASL language that you feel like you're in this world with them.
  • The next two books come together in the last one. Book 2 we are introduced to Dustin, a new dom, and Landon, a genderfluid sub who gets to explore a new aspect of kink while offering to help Dustin become the dom he's meant to be. Both characters are also deaf, there's plenty of kinky scenes, and some angst.
  • Book 3 we fall in love with my two favorite characters of all time. Ash, an genderqueer sub who loves sex and kink, grows close with Dustin's friend Zhong. A cuddly asexual dom in denial. Zhong truly believes he can't give Ash what they need, but their love story is one that lives rent-free in my heart.
  • Book 4, we see these two couples navigate the beginnings of a poly relationship and each characters grows and learns more about themselves throughout. This conclusion to the series celebrates the deaf community and how love is unlimited in all its aspects.
  • Maybe I'm just biased bc I'm an asexual poly person but this story and Morrison's ability to represent these aspects feels so personal to me. Now. Add this to your TBR or I will...I'll...I'll cry ;-;

General Romance

• Four Ever by Sloane Kennedy - Goodreads - (poly, hurt/comfort, menage, age gap, angst)
  • One established couple with many furry babies and deep emotional scars take in two young men who have been through an abusive past. I was hesitant to love this one, but there's a build up here that feels so natural. Many poly stories feel like there's not enough time given for each character to get a full scope of them, but Sloane Kennedy wrote this beautiful and healing story with the respect of someone who understands it's not a wham-bam and done deal. You learn to love each character so thoroughly that by the end you can't help but want to give each of them a big hug.
• Rat Park by Marina Vivancos - Goodreads - (hurt/comfort, explicit drug use/recovery/relapse, age gap, redemption, found family)
  • I love anything by Marina Vivancos, and I devoured this book as soon as I saw it on KU. Fair warning, this is not a typical romance. It mostly follows the life of Dominic as he grows up in a drug ridden home and becomes addicted and throughout the years battles his addiction. The second half of the book is where romance comes in but even then, addiction and his past haunts him as he navigates feelings of self-worth and acceptance. I would recommend this book to everyone but there's a special kind of person who can respect the care and time the author took to tell this story.
• Until I Saw You by Diania Roman - Goodreads - (contemporary, disability, hurt/comfort, bi-awakening, abuse)
  • Yeah, yeah, I know everyone will always recommend this one, but have you guys listened to the audiobook version? Cause wow, I thought I'd read Harper and Riley's story, but I felt like I got to listen to a whole new story with how well the narrators did on this one. I can really see how funny Riley is and how calm and lovable Harper is. I was laughing so hard sometimes nd those quiet, solitary sobs one emits when surrounded by others you'd rather not let see you getting weird for sobbing over fictional characters. If you loved the written book, check out the audiobook. You'll thank me later!
• Someday Someday by Emma Scott - Goodreads - (friends to lovers, forbidden love, hurt/comfort, religious trauma, angst)
  • I haven't seen many people recommend this one and I stumbled upon it myself through audible. It's about this heavily repressed man named Silas and Max who applies for a caregiver position for Silas's dying father. Now, I have never hated a fictional man more than I hated that old homophobic bag of bones, but Silas and Max's story was moving and emotional. It was an emotional rollercoaster, but I loved it and would ride it again just for the fantastic writing of Emma Scott. Check trigger warnings before reading this.

Omegaverse Series

• Hedonist by Roe Horvat - Goodreads - (omegaverse, fantasy, erotica, poly, open-relationship, mpreg)
  • Everyone on this sub absolutely loves Roe Horvat! And for good reason! Roe writes these extremely erotic omegaverse novels that are not only hot but also have complex depth to the characters. I wonder if you guys have given the Hedonist series a chance. Yes it's erotic scene after erotic scene but honestly, the premise, the politics, and the personalities of the characters create this whimsical historical fiction world where the omega king needs to find an alpha to give him an heir. The king himself has a group of omegas that he's saved or bought out of abusive situations and gives them a highly respected title amongst the court where the omegas are to be treated with the utmost respect. Consent is a beautiful thing and like any Roe Horvat novel, it is not forgotten. Give this duet and the spinoffs a read, it's truly one of my favorite eroticas.
• Forbidden Desires by Piper Scott - Goodreads - (omegaverse, paranormal, dragons, shapeshifters, romance, knotting, mpreg)
  • I've never quite loved a shifter series more than I've loved this one. I mean, the worldbuilding surrounding this secret society of dragon shifters and the magic of it all is just up my ally. This series follows each brother of the Drake family as they fall in love and find their mates. They have to navigate the politic mess of the dragon world, the nature of dragon shifters, and the adorableness of baby dragons.
  • Don't get me wrong, every single couple is amazing, but my favorites were Harrison & Everard with Harrisons quirky scientific mind and Everard's endless patience and love for his mate. But out of every character, I truly fell for Perry and Sebastion. This couple's story is told from the time they met hundreds of years ago and tells of their losses and love for one another. These two are couple goals, and Perry's struggles with pregnancy and the love he has for his children made it all a truly heart-wrenching story.
  • Oh, and don't discount the audiobooks! I loved them just as much as the written books.
• Alaskan Pebble Gifters by Amy Bellows - Goodreads - (omegaverse, shapeshifter, fantasy, knotting, mpreg)
  • I for some reason avoided shifter omegaverse novels. But I think that was mostly due to just not finding an author whose writing I could really sink my teeth into. Amy Bellows is an author unafraid to write darker storylines, but this series is one that's part typical omegaverse politics, truemate love and hardships, and a whole big part adorable cuddly baby penguins and polar bears <3 oh my god I melt when reading about the babies in this series!!! A baby penguin in a bowtie? GENIUSLY ADORABLE! Def recommend this shifter omegaverse series if you are already familiar with the genre or just starting.

Omegaverse Standalones

• Talk Nerdy to Me by Jett Matterson - Goodreads - (omegaverse, sports, college, contemporary)
  • If I could convince you to read just one Jett Matterson book I will have accomplished my goal here. No, this writing style is not everyone's cup of tea and there's not a whole ton of dialogue. But in my opinion, that just means we can experience the story from the characters point of view. It's written almost chronologically, follows the lives of these characters from the time they meet to its natural ending. But it truly feels like it could keep going on forever and I would faithfully keep reading it.
  • Alpha Matthew is the star football player in college, but he's failing his physics class. So he gets assigned a tutor, and this happens to be omega Miles Tran, a character with past trauma relating to bullying from footballs players like Matthew. But as these two get closer and begin to understand and care for each other, their romance also evolves. Lots of scent marking, sexy times, hurt/comfort, and a love so sweet it makes your tooth ache.
• Cutting the Braid by Jett Matterson - Goodreads - (omegaverse, fantasy, historical, paranormal, romance)
  • What it lacks in eroticism, it makes up for in storytelling. This world that Jett creates reminds me a lot of Marina Vivancos Honeythorne series. Historical with lots of character building. We're introduced to Valentyne, an omega whose lived alone since his mother passed away and works as the village's seamstress. In this world, omegas cut their hair after they lose their virginity, and Valentyne only wants to cut his hair after he meets his destined mate. When Ren moves into the village he knows he's met him. But will he be able to let go of his long beautiful hair for his destined mate? You will fall in love with Ren, Valentyne, and all their friends when you read this story.

Miscellaneous

• Otherworldy by F.T. Lukens - Goodreads - (Fantasy, YA, queer, paranormal, magic, romance)
  • If you are stoically set on erotica, you're truly missing out on some awesome stories. F.T. Lukens is one of my favorite YA queer authors whose written a few of my favorites like After Ever After and Spell Bound. I was engrossed the entire story, making it almost worth the months it took to come out since it was announced.
  • Knox is a familiar from the Other World who goes on the run after his master is killed. He carries with him a secret, but his biggest wish in this lifetime is to truly be able to experience what it is to be human. Ellery (NB) is a seventeen-year-old non-believer who's moved to the big city in order to support their family's farm because it's been hard times since the five-year long winter doesn't seem to be letting up anytime soon. These two literally crash into each other's lives and are thrown into a dangerous plot where they have to save each other in order to save everyone else.
• Tales from Verania by T.J. Klune - Goodreads - (Fantasy, romance, magic, humor, dragons, queer)
  • If you're looking for a story where there's action, adventure, magic, and very gay unicorn whose lost his horn, you've come to the right place! I WILL GUSH ABOUT THIS BOOK TIL THE END OF TIME! This series is not properly read unless you do yourself the favor of listening to Michael Lesly narrate a fabulously gay unicorn and horny AF dragon named Kevin. Sam is a wizards apprentice whose best friends Gary (the unicorn) and Tiggy (the half-giant and most precious character ever written) go on an adventure to rescue prince Justin after he is kidnapped by a dragon. Sam's story is told over the course of 4 books, with 2 half books, 1 sequel about prince Justin, and still ongoing!
  • Someone please read these books and gush with me because these live rent free in my head at all times. Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

Bill Rogers locked the garage door, slid the hose into the driver’s side window, climbed into the back seat, laid down and shut his eyes. When he woke up, he was surrounded by clouds and a blue sky. A man, neither young nor old stood next to him. He wore a coat like an Afghan goat herder, Bill thought, maybe made of sheepskin, or cowhide — tough to say, as Bill was no expert in husbandry. The man was small where Bill was large. Bill was six-three and two hundred and fifty pounds. He had played tight-end in college and lorded his physical stature over small men all his life. He felt it gave him an advantage at contract negotiations. He always made sure to be sitting when the opposing lawyers walked in because his size was hidden. Then he would stand up from behind table — a great reveal, a physical imposition — in an effortless attempt to intimidate the other team. It was mostly an effective strategy. The man, nearly a foot shorter, and a petite lady’s-weight less was standing almost eye-level with Bill. He sheepishly looked at Bill and asked if he was happy now.
“I suppose so,” Bill answered, rather dazed and unaware of all that was happening. “Are you God?” asked Bill. The old man smiled knowingly and set his delicate hand on Bill’s shoulder. “What can I do to make you comfortable?” Bill attempted to stand up but the man’s hand held him in place without applying any extra force. “A scotch would be nice! Do they serve scotch in heaven?” he laughed. The man laughed and gave Bill a scotch.
“Let me tell you, God, I wasn’t sure I was going to make it! When do we go through the pearly gates?”
“I’m afraid you’ve seen too many Hollywood movies. That’s not how it works. Tell me, how was life on Earth?”
“Well, I guess you can tell by how I checked out it wasn’t great. But I am feeling better now. Sometimes you just need a good night’s sleep, I guess, right?”
“I guess so. You weren’t very happy down there. But that’s what I’m here for. You can fix it all now. Tell me, what went wrong in your life?”
“Wait, is this Purgatory then?”
He chuckled, “Good heavens, no. Don’t be silly. What went wrong down there?”
“I knew it — those nuns were all off. Well, for one, I worked too much. I spent 80, 90, 100 hours a week every week for years — hell, probably decades when you add it all up — in the office, chasing the ring, getting the promotion.” His thought broke and he looked at the man and said, “you know I cleared 950-k last year?” Sinking back into his thoughts, “but it wasn’t enough for her. She could give Cleopatra a run for her money. Man she could spend. I worked all the time, always on the road to a different client’s office, eating airport food, never exercising. Traded my health and youth for wealth, then she got to enjoy it. I ended up all alone in my big house, all by myself and my LonelyFans Platinum subscription. Look at me, I got so fat no pretty woman could stand to look at me. If I could do it again, I’d go back and just make 60k a year, keep my health, my good looks, and go to clubs every night and dance with beautiful women. I wasted so much.”
“Wow, thanks for being so honest, Bill. I’m glad you were honest, because now I can give you the chance to fix it. I am going to give you the opportunity to craft the life you always wanted, the life you dreamed of! This is your chance Bill, to do it right this time. You had a full life, you tried out things: some worked, some didn’t — that trip to Tokyo probably didn’t help your marriage, did it; but now that’s all behind, now you get to create the perfect one based on everything you learned. Now you get to play God to yourself. You will have the power to create any life you want: money, women, food, servants, power, glory, the revenge on everybody who did you wrong — anything.”
“Oh, Good Lord, heaven is even better than Mother Superior led on! I get to do that? Now?”
“Yes, I’m granting you this power. Total freedom to do what you want. You deserve it! You’ve earned it, Bill.”
“Ok, so what do I do? Just point and make something happen?”
“Sure,” he said with a chuckle, “everybody always wants to point at things like some Vegas magician. The entire creation was spoken into existence, but ever since Adam people want to point things into existence — whatever makes them happy, I guess. Anyway, you’ve got the power of the Lord, do it however you want!”
Bill pointed to a cloud in front of him and a new truck appeared before his eyes. “Holy moly, I can’t believe it’s real.” The sun reflecting off the chrome was just a big blur to Bill Rogers water-filled eyes. He had to squint to see that it had the turbodiesel engine he had imagined. “I’m not going to get carried away on the wealth. I learned my lesson there. It doesn’t buy happiness. I had eight digits in my savings account,” he looked to see if the man was listening, “and look at where that got me. No, just a simple life for me,” he pointed to a cloud and four-bed, three-bath house with in-law suite and three car garage next to a lush green lawn appeared. It fronted a cul-de-sac. “You can’t take it with you, right?” he laughed.
“Is that it, Bill? What else do you want?”
“Well, like I said, I want to be young and healthy.” His stomach disappeared into his abdominal muscles and the brown spots and wrinkles on his hands vanished into a smooth clear skin.
“And what are you going to do with your time? Go back to your old job?”
“Ohh, you got a good sense of humor, God!” The old man laughed along with Bill. “Like I said, I just want to live a normal life and go to the bars at night, talk to beautiful women. Dance with them, smile, laugh. Have fun, that’s all.”
“Your wish, is my command,” he said, and Bill asked if that is how it really worked, and the old man laughed: “no, but people really started to ask for it after Aladdin got big, so I started doing it.”
“You’re a real people-pleaser, aren’t you, God?”
The small man’s sheepish smile resurfaced and a faint pink tint rose up to his pale cheeks.
“That is it for now, enjoy your new life, Bill. I’ll be back to check on you after a while.”
“Thanks, God, you really are great.”
“Oh, wait, one more thing — I almost forgot. In your newly made, perfect, heavenly life — do you want your children here?”
Bill let out a huge laugh, “of course! How could I forget! Yes, of course, I want to see my children! Not every day — and don’t have the Queen of Sheba bring ’em by either, if you know what I mean,” he nudged the old man with his elbow, almost knocking his small frame over, “but yes I always regretted not having more time with the kids.”
“Great, I’ll make that happen. I’ll be ba-a-a-a-a-ck,” he said as he turned around.
A door appeared out of nowhere and the old man glided over to it, with his sheepskin coat dragging behind him. The door opened and he walked through it. It began to close, but his coat got caught in the door, and he had to reach back and yank it through. As the coat flew up, Bill thought he saw the tip of a German Sheppard’s tail and wondered if the dog had been there all along, but soon didn’t care as he saw his new neighbor, a young blonde woman in yoga pants and high heels getting into her Mercedes coupe. He tried to get her attention, but she was focused on fixing her lipstick and hair in the mirror as she drove away.
Bill settled down into his new life, got comfortable in his small house and extended cab truck, and began going out to bars and clubs, just as he had imagined. Every night there was a bar to go to filled with beautiful women, and they all were happy to let him buy drinks and chat for a while. Sometimes he would invite one or two to dance and they’d agree, and then disappear with their friends. Other times he would meet a young woman in pub and talk to her; they’d laugh and joke and maybe she would give him her number and maybe not. But he never saw the same woman twice. If he called or texted a woman, she never responded. If he asked a woman if she’d like to go somewhere for coffee she always declined and said she had to get back home.
On the rare chance that a woman did sit down and talk with him, the conversation was always the same: polite introductions, niceties, some flirtatious exchanges. He tried to talk to the beautiful women about life, what they wanted, what mattered to them, but they all just said they liked to have fun to some degree or another.
After three weeks of going to the bars and trying to talk to women, Bill got tired of going out. He stayed at home for a week, then he tried to find his neighbor again. He saw her car in the drive and rang the doorbell, but nobody answered. He only ever saw her driving away.
After a couple slow weeks, he tried going out again, but it was the same routine: a few drinks, a few laughs, nothing to talk about and goodbye, never to be seen again. Bill sat in his truck in the garage and contemplated his after-life. He wiped a tear from his cheek and heard someone knocking on his front door. He let the old man in, and Bill sat down at the barstool.
“Can I take your coat?”
“No, I like to keep it on. I came by to see how you are doing?”
“This isn’t what I thought Heaven would be like,” said Bill, hunched forward, hands between his legs, staring at the floor.”
“Heaven?” said the old man, looking up at Bill. “Where did you get that idea?”
“Who are you?”
The old man took off the sheepskin coat and Bill saw the gray and white fur all over his body. The gray tail dragged on the floor, and the old man’s face looked like the snout of a grey wolf.
“This is your own doing, Bill. You made the life you wanted. You’ve had two chances now. This one you are stuck with, forever. No escaping. No crying, no laying down in the back of your truck for eternal sleep. This is the eternal sleep.”
“This is Hell.”
“What have I done?”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Bill. You haven’t done anything other than what every man does when given complete freedom, unlimited choice.”
“The guys in Heaven don’t get the choice to play God?”
“Oh, yes, they do, but they turn it down. They always say ‘Oh, I could never do that.’ Once they say that, I know it’s game over for me. Never been able to convince a man he could play God at that point. During life, yes, easy — do it all the time! But once they see the clouds and the blue sky, if they don’t think they can do it then, there’s no changing their mind.”
“I’ve created my own Hell,” Bill said staring deep into a void that he had only seen once before—the moment he closed his eyes in the back seat of his car with the engine running and the hose in the window.
“For the second time, Bill. The second time in your existence. But, hey! it’s not exactly Hell. It could be worse.” The wolf got down on all fours and walked to the door. “Can you let me out?”
“How could it be worse? I’m lonely, miserable, isolated, aliented, and there is no escape. Just a world full of me and a bunch of mindless barflys. Eternity. How could it get worse?”
Bill opened the door and the wolf ran outside, almost knocking over the two people walking up Bill’s sidewalk.
“What are you doing here,” he shouted at them.
“We came to see you!”
“No! Get away! Get out of here, go! Go!”
The woman was getting in her Mercedes and looked over to see what the yelling was about, but then looked away before making eye contact.
“Dad, we missed you! We were so sad when you left, so we followed you here. The old man told us how to find you! He asked us what our perfect life would be like, and we told him ‘we just want to be with our Dad’.”

***
Follow u/quillandtrowel for more at Medium & Twitter (links in bio!).

Bill Rogers locked the garage door, slid the hose into the driver’s side window, climbed into the back seat, laid down and shut his eyes. When he woke up, he was surrounded by clouds and a blue sky. A man, neither young nor old stood next to him. He wore a coat like an Afghan goat herder, Bill thought, maybe made of sheepskin, or cowhide — tough to say, as Bill was no expert in husbandry. The man was small where Bill was large. Bill was six-three and two hundred and fifty pounds. He had played tight-end in college and lorded his physical stature over small men all his life. He felt it gave him an advantage at contract negotiations. He always made sure to be sitting when the opposing lawyers walked in because his size was hidden. Then he would stand up from behind table — a great reveal, a physical imposition — in an effortless attempt to intimidate the other team. It was mostly an effective strategy. The man, nearly a foot shorter, and a petite lady’s-weight less was standing almost eye-level with Bill. He sheepishly looked at Bill and asked if he was happy now.
“I suppose so,” Bill answered, rather dazed and unaware of all that was happening. “Are you God?” asked Bill. The old man smiled knowingly and set his delicate hand on Bill’s shoulder. “What can I do to make you comfortable?” Bill attempted to stand up but the man’s hand held him in place without applying any extra force. “A scotch would be nice! Do they serve scotch in heaven?” he laughed. The man laughed and gave Bill a scotch.
“Let me tell you, God, I wasn’t sure I was going to make it! When do we go through the pearly gates?”
“I’m afraid you’ve seen too many Hollywood movies. That’s not how it works. Tell me, how was life on Earth?”
“Well, I guess you can tell by how I checked out it wasn’t great. But I am feeling better now. Sometimes you just need a good night’s sleep, I guess, right?”
“I guess so. You weren’t very happy down there. But that’s what I’m here for. You can fix it all now. Tell me, what went wrong in your life?”
“Wait, is this Purgatory then?”
He chuckled, “Good heavens, no. Don’t be silly. What went wrong down there?”
“I knew it — those nuns were all off. Well, for one, I worked too much. I spent 80, 90, 100 hours a week every week for years — hell, probably decades when you add it all up — in the office, chasing the ring, getting the promotion.” His thought broke and he looked at the man and said, “you know I cleared 950-k last year?” Sinking back into his thoughts, “but it wasn’t enough for her. She could give Cleopatra a run for her money. Man she could spend. I worked all the time, always on the road to a different client’s office, eating airport food, never exercising. Traded my health and youth for wealth, then she got to enjoy it. I ended up all alone in my big house, all by myself and my LonelyFans Platinum subscription. Look at me, I got so fat no pretty woman could stand to look at me. If I could do it again, I’d go back and just make 60k a year, keep my health, my good looks, and go to clubs every night and dance with beautiful women. I wasted so much.”
“Wow, thanks for being so honest, Bill. I’m glad you were honest, because now I can give you the chance to fix it. I am going to give you the opportunity to craft the life you always wanted, the life you dreamed of! This is your chance Bill, to do it right this time. You had a full life, you tried out things: some worked, some didn’t — that trip to Tokyo probably didn’t help your marriage, did it; but now that’s all behind, now you get to create the perfect one based on everything you learned. Now you get to play God to yourself. You will have the power to create any life you want: money, women, food, servants, power, glory, the revenge on everybody who did you wrong — anything.”
“Oh, Good Lord, heaven is even better than Mother Superior led on! I get to do that? Now?”
“Yes, I’m granting you this power. Total freedom to do what you want. You deserve it! You’ve earned it, Bill.”
“Ok, so what do I do? Just point and make something happen?”
“Sure,” he said with a chuckle, “everybody always wants to point at things like some Vegas magician. The entire creation was spoken into existence, but ever since Adam people want to point things into existence — whatever makes them happy, I guess. Anyway, you’ve got the power of the Lord, do it however you want!”
Bill pointed to a cloud in front of him and a new truck appeared before his eyes. “Holy moly, I can’t believe it’s real.” The sun reflecting off the chrome was just a big blur to Bill Rogers water-filled eyes. He had to squint to see that it had the turbodiesel engine he had imagined. “I’m not going to get carried away on the wealth. I learned my lesson there. It doesn’t buy happiness. I had eight digits in my savings account,” he looked to see if the man was listening, “and look at where that got me. No, just a simple life for me,” he pointed to a cloud and four-bed, three-bath house with in-law suite and three car garage next to a lush green lawn appeared. It fronted a cul-de-sac. “You can’t take it with you, right?” he laughed.
“Is that it, Bill? What else do you want?”
“Well, like I said, I want to be young and healthy.” His stomach disappeared into his abdominal muscles and the brown spots and wrinkles on his hands vanished into a smooth clear skin.
“And what are you going to do with your time? Go back to your old job?”
“Ohh, you got a good sense of humor, God!” The old man laughed along with Bill. “Like I said, I just want to live a normal life and go to the bars at night, talk to beautiful women. Dance with them, smile, laugh. Have fun, that’s all.”
“Your wish, is my command,” he said, and Bill asked if that is how it really worked, and the old man laughed: “no, but people really started to ask for it after Aladdin got big, so I started doing it.”
“You’re a real people-pleaser, aren’t you, God?”
The small man’s sheepish smile resurfaced and a faint pink tint rose up to his pale cheeks.
“That is it for now, enjoy your new life, Bill. I’ll be back to check on you after a while.”
“Thanks, God, you really are great.”
“Oh, wait, one more thing — I almost forgot. In your newly made, perfect, heavenly life — do you want your children here?”
Bill let out a huge laugh, “of course! How could I forget! Yes, of course, I want to see my children! Not every day — and don’t have the Queen of Sheba bring ’em by either, if you know what I mean,” he nudged the old man with his elbow, almost knocking his small frame over, “but yes I always regretted not having more time with the kids.”
“Great, I’ll make that happen. I’ll be ba-a-a-a-a-ck,” he said as he turned around.
A door appeared out of nowhere and the old man glided over to it, with his sheepskin coat dragging behind him. The door opened and he walked through it. It began to close, but his coat got caught in the door, and he had to reach back and yank it through. As the coat flew up, Bill thought he saw the tip of a German Sheppard’s tail and wondered if the dog had been there all along, but soon didn’t care as he saw his new neighbor, a young blonde woman in yoga pants and high heels getting into her Mercedes coupe. He tried to get her attention, but she was focused on fixing her lipstick and hair in the mirror as she drove away.
Bill settled down into his new life, got comfortable in his small house and extended cab truck, and began going out to bars and clubs, just as he had imagined. Every night there was a bar to go to filled with beautiful women, and they all were happy to let him buy drinks and chat for a while. Sometimes he would invite one or two to dance and they’d agree, and then disappear with their friends. Other times he would meet a young woman in pub and talk to her; they’d laugh and joke and maybe she would give him her number and maybe not. But he never saw the same woman twice. If he called or texted a woman, she never responded. If he asked a woman if she’d like to go somewhere for coffee she always declined and said she had to get back home.
On the rare chance that a woman did sit down and talk with him, the conversation was always the same: polite introductions, niceties, some flirtatious exchanges. He tried to talk to the beautiful women about life, what they wanted, what mattered to them, but they all just said they liked to have fun to some degree or another.
After three weeks of going to the bars and trying to talk to women, Bill got tired of going out. He stayed at home for a week, then he tried to find his neighbor again. He saw her car in the drive and rang the doorbell, but nobody answered. He only ever saw her driving away.
After a couple slow weeks, he tried going out again, but it was the same routine: a few drinks, a few laughs, nothing to talk about and goodbye, never to be seen again. Bill sat in his truck in the garage and contemplated his after-life. He wiped a tear from his cheek and heard someone knocking on his front door. He let the old man in, and Bill sat down at the barstool.
“Can I take your coat?”
“No, I like to keep it on. I came by to see how you are doing?”
“This isn’t what I thought Heaven would be like,” said Bill, hunched forward, hands between his legs, staring at the floor.”
“Heaven?” said the old man, looking up at Bill. “Where did you get that idea?”
“Who are you?”
The old man took off the sheepskin coat and Bill saw the gray and white fur all over his body. The gray tail dragged on the floor, and the old man’s face looked like the snout of a grey wolf.
“This is your own doing, Bill. You made the life you wanted. You’ve had two chances now. This one you are stuck with, forever. No escaping. No crying, no laying down in the back of your truck for eternal sleep. This is the eternal sleep.”
“This is Hell.”
“What have I done?”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Bill. You haven’t done anything other than what every man does when given complete freedom, unlimited choice.”
“The guys in Heaven don’t get the choice to play God?”
“Oh, yes, they do, but they turn it down. They always say ‘Oh, I could never do that.’ Once they say that, I know it’s game over for me. Never been able to convince a man he could play God at that point. During life, yes, easy — do it all the time! But once they see the clouds and the blue sky, if they don’t think they can do it then, there’s no changing their mind.”
“I’ve created my own Hell,” Bill said staring deep into a void that he had only seen once before—the moment he closed his eyes in the back seat of his car with the engine running and the hose in the window.
“For the second time, Bill. The second time in your existence. But, hey! it’s not exactly Hell. It could be worse.” The wolf got down on all fours and walked to the door. “Can you let me out?”
“How could it be worse? I’m lonely, miserable, isolated, aliented, and there is no escape. Just a world full of me and a bunch of mindless barflys. Eternity. How could it get worse?”
Bill opened the door and the wolf ran outside, almost knocking over the two people walking up Bill’s sidewalk.
“What are you doing here,” he shouted at them.
“We came to see you!”
“No! Get away! Get out of here, go! Go!”
The woman was getting in her Mercedes and looked over to see what the yelling was about, but then looked away before making eye contact.
“Dad, we missed you! We were so sad when you left, so we followed you here. The old man told us how to find you! He asked us what our perfect life would be like, and we told him ‘we just want to be with our Dad’.”

***
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