Here's a post I've been meaning to do for a while, and since TAR36 just came to an end it's the perfect opportunity! After much consideration and rewatching, here are my rankings of Amazing Race finales from worst to best. The post would have been too long so I'm splitting it into two parts.
36th place: The Amazing Race 28
It’s not by a large margin, but my pick for season with the weakest finale would have to be the Social Media Edition, in my opinion one of the weakest seasons in general. I don’t even mind the casting gimmick that much, I just think the season is pretty boring and unmemorable. (Not to mention it is extremely light on travel elements, even by modern TAR standards.) The final leg is no exception. There is a little bit of intrigue at the start with Tyler & Korey struggling with the heights task and falling out of contention, but after that virtually nothing of interest happens for the rest of the episode. Dana & Matt (a relatively uninteresting team) secure a significant lead fairly early on and easily cruise to the finish line through a series of dull tasks, including one of the show’s weakest final memory challenges. All of these bottom finales are kind of interchangeable, but this is probably the one I’m least inspired to ever rewatch.
35th place: The Amazing Race 32
This finale suffers a lot of the same issues as TAR28, but at least this one has a lively Mardi Gras aesthetic in a unique location. On paper this could have been an interesting leg but unfortunately it just played out badly, with one team getting taxi-screwed right from the beginning and another securing a massive lead from a luck-based challenge. Similar to Dana & Matt, Will & James easily trivialize every obstacle after the first Roadblock creating an unsatisfying ending to a mostly unsatisfying season. While luck is an integral and inherent part of The Amazing Race, I do have to question the decision to include a luck-based task in the final leg; it almost never produces satisfying results. TARAUS1’s finale is by far the worst example of this, and it’s lucky I’m only ranking the U.S. seasons…
34th place: The Amazing Race 24
Whenever I see people discuss bad Amazing Race finales this one always seems to come up first, and I think its reputation is deserved. But it’s funny because it seems like the producers poured half of the season’s budget into this leg (David Copperfield, task at the Mirage, helicopter skydive) and everybody ended up hating it anyway. It’s just a poorly designed leg that feels very superficial— Flashy but having very little substance. (Perhaps the producers were attempting to satirize Las Vegas itself? Only kidding…) Surprisingly easy tasks for a supposed all-star season and while skydiving directly into the finish line was a new idea, I personally really disliked it; we all knew the race was over the moment Connor & Dave read the clue for the Roadblock. I think if the leg had a proper final challenge like a memory task beforehand this would have been a lot easier to forgive though.
33rd place: The Amazing Race 36
I don’t think there’s recency bias in calling this most recent finale one of the weakest. I’ve watched the leg twice now and both times I thought to myself “Nothing really happened in this episode.” Let’s start with the good first: It’s a self-drive leg, which gave us one of the episode’s few memorable moments in the form of Juan & Shane driving to the wrong state. Meanwhile, Philadelphia was a great and long overdue final destination and I enjoyed seeing historic sites like the Betsy Ross House and the steps of the PMoA. But these facts alone cannot carry this lackluster episode which was both predictable and filled with forgettable tasks. Much like TAR32, instead of a final memory challenge we got a final puzzle, and once again it’s hard to assess how tough this task really was because the leading team managed to start and finish it before any of the others even arrived. It’s an episode that’s devoid of substance.
32nd place: The Amazing Race 16
A problem with this leg and many of the others in this section of the ranking is that they just don’t feel like final legs. It’s difficult to pinpoint exactly what these legs are lacking but there is a je ne sais quoi that makes a thrilling final episode and these legs just don’t have it. There are a couple of things here I like such as the riddle at the beginning and the VR task is kind of neat, but overall this is just an extremely bland finale. It also concludes with a laughably easy final memory challenge, definitely my pick for worst in the series. This would have been okay in one of the very early seasons where the focus was entirely on travel instead of tasks, but TAR16 is decidedly not one of those seasons. How did we go from TAR12’s epic logic puzzle and TAR13’s field of Clue Boxes to “can you remember what order the teams were eliminated?” We do get Carol and Brandy malding at the finish line which I find very funny, but other than it’s a subpar ending to a subpar season.
31st place: The Amazing Race 10
It makes me sad that I have to rank this finale so low because on paper, it does a lot of things I like. I’ll tell you right now that I prefer the original finale format that includes a stopover location and teams booking their own flights compared to the TAR12+ approach of equalizing all of the teams and spending the finale in a single city. It probably wouldn’t work in the modern day and I know many people like the new format better anyway, but different strokes for different folks I guess. The element of travel has always been my favorite part of the show and I love the sense of grandeur of featuring multiple flights in the same leg. It really makes the finale feel like an epic last hurrah. Most seasons choose a non-contiguous U.S. locale for the stopover city but TAR10 is one of only two seasons to use this as an opportunity to add another country to the route, in this case France. The leg also begins with a visit to the awe-inspiring Sagrada Familia in Barcelona. That’s all really neat but unfortunately this leg is just a bore, there’s no way around it. I think the biggest issue here is like TAR16, this just doesn’t feel like a final leg, it feels like a mostly dull Paris leg that could have happened in episode 2. This season also has a pretty bland final 3 that certainly isn’t doing the episode any favors. The last challenge of the season is a very boring, low-stakes Detour before everyone ends up on the same flight to NYC where just two route markers are waiting before the finish line. In most old school seasons this final sequence of clues is extremely exciting and stressful to watch but for whatever reason it just doesn’t deliver here at all. There is a little bit of airport drama which is nice, but overall it’s just not a satisfying ending to the season.
30th place: The Amazing Race 22
This leg begins with a ferry and train ride to London for an Additional Route Information (ARI) at an English pub. It gives the start of the episode a somewhat old school feel which I appreciate, even though it was basically pointless since teams had to travel together on a pre-booked flight back to the U.S. Anyway, D.C. is a super awesome finale location and we visit some pretty historic sites in this episode like the Lincoln Memorial and George Washington’s home. There’s also a Switchback to the Family Edition which was unexpected but another detail I found strangely charming. But overall, it’s just a boring episode with a dull final 3 taking on mostly dull tasks, including another anticlimactic final memory challenge. The highlight of the episode is obviously the “picture with Barack Obama” fake-out along with Max’s cringey confessionals about being too much of a Republican to meet Obama, but aside from that there’s just not much going on in this finale.
29th place: The Amazing Race 17
It’s always a shame when an otherwise great season has a dull finale, but TAR17 is a textbook example of this phenomenon. For starters it’s just a very short leg— No extra route markers and only 3 tasks, the first being a linear fear of heights challenge and the third being a memory challenge that’s not easy, but definitely not one of the series’ hardest either. Still, this game show-themed challenge deserves credit for being one of the series’ most creative final memory challenges, and of course I love the Bob Eubanks cameo. We also get a satisfying result in Nat & Kat becoming the first F/F team to win the race, but overall it’s a finale that really feels like it’s missing something.
28th place: The Amazing Race 23
Another leg that just feels oddly dull for being a finale episode. I wouldn’t say there’s anything inherently bad about this leg, but there’s not much that jumps out about it either. That kind of sums up TAR23 as a whole, doesn’t it? Juneau was a pretty cool and unexpected final city, and to this day it’s the only time we’ve seen Alaska in HD on The Amazing Race. The bush plane Roadblock was very good— challenging and creative. Not a lot to say about the middle of the episode; we get scenic helicopter rides, kayaking, ice climbing— basically exactly what you’d expect from an Amazing Race leg set in Alaska. The totem pole currency memory challenge was an interesting idea but I think the teams got through it too easily for it to make a lasting impact. The season ends with a Jason & Amy win, who seem like good people but let’s be honest here, they’re probably the most forgettable winning team in the series; I wouldn’t exactly call it a satisfying ending.
27th place: The Amazing Race 15
This is certainly better than TAR24’s Last Vegas leg but it’s still nothing special. We of course can’t talk about TAR15’s finale without talking about pokergate. I think it’s pretty common knowledge at this point that Brian & Ericka allegedly finished the final counting challenge before Meghan & Cheyne but were mistakenly ruled against by the task judge, likely costing them the win. Your mileage is going to vary on how much this scandal dampens your enjoyment of the episode, but I’d be lying if I said finding this out for the first time didn’t significantly sour my opinion on the leg. It makes it a hard one to rank because I can’t think of any other finale where my overall feelings were affected so much by what is essentially behind-the-scenes information. Aside from that, the tasks are mostly just okay, with the Cirque du Soleil one being my favorite. There are a few other charming little additions to the leg like the Elvis impersonator and the Wayne Newton cameo that also give it a boost.
26th place: The Amazing Race 11
This is one of my favorite seasons of all time so it really pains me to have to rank this so low, but as TAR17 demonstrated, a great season is not guaranteed to have a great final leg. This is the last season to use the original finale format and unfortunately, it goes out on a bit of a whimper. Hawaii is once again chosen as the stopover location and the episode starts off with some really fun airport drama as Charla and Mirna discover during a layover that the other teams are on a faster flight and have to do some last minute scrambling to switch flights. Now listen, any episode that features both Dustin & Kandice and Charla & Mirna is guaranteed to be at least mildly entertaining, but I can’t sit here and pretend the Hawaii portion of the episode is all that great. After a few quick tasks all of the teams end up on the same flight to final destination San Francisco. Unlike TAR10, we actually do get a final challenge, but unfortunately it ends in anticlimax. On paper this “how well do you know your partner?” task sounds like it could have been great but it’s just way too simple and there’s also a bizarre rule where if you can’t finish within 10 minutes you are just given the next clue for free, making the whole thing feel very low stakes. (Check out TARAUS2 for a much better execution of this challenge!) And yeah, the outcome of this leg is also disappointing. I’m sure very few of us were rooting for Eric & Danielle to come out on top, but at a certain point we as fans just have to accept that The Amazing Race is obviously cursed and there is some supernatural force causing the least interesting team in the final 3 to win 90% of seasons.
25th place: The Amazing Race 25
Unfortunately I have to begin by talking about the surprise non-elimination on Leg 11, which is one of my least favorite twists the show has ever done. It really felt like the producers thought a cheap shock was more important than the integrity of the race. Leg 11 was also branded as a “No-Rest Leg” so the last place finishers didn’t even have to complete a Speed Bump. Even worse, Leg 10 was a Non-Elimination too so the entire Philippines portion of this season was inevitably pointless. This would all be a lot easier to stomach if it didn’t really affect the outcome of the season, but just our luck, Amy & Maya end up winning. This makes the finale an awkward viewing experience for me because I love Amy & Maya; I was rooting for them the whole season, and yet I can’t say I’m happy that they won. (If you’re familiar with Survivor, to me this is TAR’s version of the Heroes vs Healers vs Hustlers finale.) As part of the twist this leg also features a midpoint elimination which I really hate. Still, the episode has a fair bit going for it. This is the first season in the series to feature self-driving in the final destination city which is awesome, and the final memory challenge is very tough; I will say, I think the editors dropped the ball in finding an engaging way to present the challenge and properly conveying its difficulty. Overall a mixed leg that would definitely rank much higher without the twist.
24th place: The Amazing Race 26
This season uses the exact same twist from TAR25 but it’s a little better this time because it’s no longer unprecedented (but still bad) and more importantly, the team that gets saved on Leg 11 does not win, they get taken out at the midpoint elimination. Like the entire season, most of the intrigue of this episode is driven by Hayley & Blair. Their downfall in this leg is sad to watch but it’s electric television. The first major mistake occurs at the second Roadblock when Hayley incorrectly identifies what she thinks are race flags sending their team astray. As they inevitably fail to find the next clue, they become increasingly agitated with each other and then get into another argument about whether or not Hayley should go back and try again. I really enjoy all of this content, but aside from that the tasks in this episode aren’t that interesting. The final memory challenge is also mediocre, incorporating selfies the teams were forced to take throughout the race, and once again, the season culminates in a forgettable team winning.
23rd place: The Amazing Race 19
Now we’re starting to get into legs that I actually think are fairly decent episodes, they just happened to be outclassed by a lot of finales that are even better. TAR19’s takes place in a unique final city, Atlanta, and there are a number of things I enjoy about the episode. We get one of the most notable finale disaster performances of all time as Marcus continuously fails to land the plane at the flight simulation Roadblock. The leg contains a fair amount of cryptic clues like the riddle teams have to solve to find Turner Field as well as Margeret Mitchell’s former residence being called “The Dump.” The latter leads to another comical mishap as Jeremy & Sandy get led to a random department store that is coincidentally also named The Dump and waste a bunch of time aimlessly wandering through lanes of furniture. But due to these costly mistakes plaguing the other teams, there’s not a lot of suspense as Ernie & Cindy steadily work their way to the finish line. Like TAR17 there are only 3 real tasks in this leg, and the final memory challenge is a letdown. Overall this episode has fun moments but there are many other finales that have more to offer.
22nd place: The Amazing Race 18
This one takes place in Florida, and unlike most modern finales it actually covers a fair bit of distance as teams begin in Miami and end up over 2 hours away in Pigeon Key. The episode just isn’t that exciting though. It begins with two Roadblocks which are both fairly forgettable, and rather than a final memory challenge we get an attention-to-detail task in which teams have to decorate a trailer according to an example. I actually think this is a pretty entertaining task and this part of the episode is actually quite exciting as all the teams are neck and neck. The teams are also getting battered by wind during this task which makes it much better. Still, I feel like this episode would rank much higher if there was just one more task after this, ideally a final memory challenge. There is a bit of ARI in the middle of the leg which I appreciate, for example walking across the ocean to get to Horseshoe Island is pretty cool. All things considered, I think this is a fair spot for TAR18.
21st place: The Amazing Race 35
The Amazing Race’s first season with 90 minute episodes has a pretty decent final episode. Like other recent finales it’s a self-drive leg which gives it major bonus points right from the get-go, and it also twists the usual finale format by implementing a Scramble. I actually thought the Scramble worked pretty well here, allowing teams to tackle the episode’s three middle tasks in whichever order they wanted, allowing for some strategic decision-making. In addition to the self-driving there are a total of 5 different tasks in this leg which is a very nice amount. Still, this is kind of a middling finale for me because I don’t feel like anything that memorable happens during it. The tasks range from pretty good to just okay, with the final memory challenge being particularly forgettable. Overall it’s a well-designed leg that for whatever reason lacks the level of excitement I expect out of a finale.
20th place: The Amazing Race 29
TAR29’s final leg is a pretty good ending to an even better season. Similar to TAR35, there are a lot of things I like about this episode but I do feel that for whatever reason it’s just missing its flair. It starts off with a task at the racetrack in Joliet which drags on for a while and does nothing for me, but then teams have to visit a whole bunch of different locations in Chicago which I really enjoy. First they have to find a clue at the subway cleverly hidden with an employee instead of a traditional clue box, and then they have to solve some riddles to locate three sites containing clues that reveal a fourth location when combined. When they finally arrive, they’re met with even more Route Info sending them to a place to buy hotdogs which they must bring to a final location, Wrigley Field. The whole middle portion of this episode feels kind of old school in the sense that there are no real tasks, it’s just a bunch of navigation and problem solving. Really good stuff in my opinion. The final memory challenge at Wrigley Field is pretty neat too, probably one of the most impressive in terms of scope and location, although it’s not really that exciting either. That’s mostly because Brooke & Scott secure such a big lead that they basically finish the entire challenge before either of the other teams even show up. Not the leg’s fault, just the way things played out. I definitely think with a more interesting final 3 and a closer competition this could have gone down as one of the great Amazing Race finales.
19th place: The Amazing Race 8
The Family Edition comes to a solid close with a leg that primarily takes place in Toronto before taking a boat down the Niagara River into Upstate New York for a nail-biter of a final Roadblock. The leg is a bit short though, in fact only about 30 minutes in episode time; it’s the second half of a Superleg so it makes sense in the context of the season, but when comparing it to other standalone finale episodes this is a minor knock against it. The Detour is fairly average and doesn’t really give “final leg” at all, but everything afterward is great. The ride across the river is a super fun scene with waves splashing everywhere making for a high energy segment that perfectly builds up to the final challenge: Completing a jigsaw puzzle of North America, putting a nice thematic bow on the season. The Linz family winning was a predictable and not that exciting result but overall, this was a pretty enjoyable finale episode for the season.
I'll try to get the second half up sometime next week. Let me know what you think about these first 18 finales and where they are placed! I welcome strong opinions.

When I was a lil fry, I grew up with my parents having fish tanks but never really had my own and always wanted one like the giant 175 gallon tank my dad built. Once I finally got my own house about... ten years ago?? I started this hobby with a 10 gallon tank, put all different kinds of fish from Bala sharks to crawdads and Mubana cichlids....horrible combo I know....and learned fast what not to put together. So I expanded my love for fish and added a 55 gallon tank....it still didnt work for all the fishies and learned I need to keep certain kinds with others.... Also that hang over baskets weren't enough for 55s but big canister filters were the best find of my life. My love for fish encouraged me to expand. I bought two more 55 gallon tanks aaaaand it still wasn't enough. After countless hours of fish tank cleanings, learning cichlids needed more room, I wanted bigger!! A 75 gallon tank it was!!! Along with all the other tanks I was slowly building a collection. At one point my garage had a wall to wall of 55 gallon fish tanks. At the end it had a horseshoe pattern of tanks where you could sit down and be surrounded by fish.
By now I had so many tanks, but not what I really wanted...a 125 gallon. I spent days and nights scouring through facebook marketplace and craigslist hoping to find an affordable huge fish tank... Yes you guessed it!! I found a 125 in town and grabbed it as soon as I could. Yes it was used but so were most of my fish tanks. This gigantic tank was a huge eye opener on what I could build and become. I created a beautiful little community of tetras, plattys and mollys. Learned how much they mass produce and how to use breeding baskets. Next thing I know its been 3 years into the hobby and something super unexpected happened!! My Dad gave me the 175 gallon fish tank he built when I was a kid!! I immediately found a few friends to volunteer to help load this behemoth on the trailer and get it to my home. We Finally got it home however it was in rough shape from sitting in the old house for 2 years..... I had to teach myself how to reseal fish tanks, rebuild the tank stand and refurbish wood to look new. Two weeks later and alot of elbow grease we turned this 20 year old tank into a brand new looking 175 gallon tank....we even found a singing bass to go where the old one used to be.
Few years later I had grown a small reputation as the fish guy and accumulated 20+ fish tanks from 10 to 175 gallon tanks. Thanks to building that reputation people had started to give me fish tank after fish tank with fish after fish. I needed somewhere to put them and in order to do that I needed to build a shelf or rack of shelves. Our local lumber yard business always drops off giant pallets that can hold lots of weight. With a little bit of cutting, hauling away and building, we made a giant fish tank stand. Its made to hold from top to bottom, six 10 gallons, six 10 gallon, five 20 gallons and five 20 gallons. All made to hold rescued/donated fish and running off 10+ donated bubblers; a crazy air line system I jimmy rigged. next thing I know I'm getting calls or messages left and right to come rescue fish from people who can no longer care for the fish. those tanks were filled with fish faster than I expected, some even being potential monster fish I thought would fit in 175....they wouldn't.
I had to expand even more..... I ended up moving all of the fish tanks into my spare bedroom and officially becoming the fish room!! Doing this gave me a whole garage to work with and let me tell you, I put it to work immediately!!! I found a 10ft x 7ft x 28in kids above ground pool(1000 gallons) that me and a few volunteers set up into the garage and filled with water!! I used a few of those YouTube Videos on how to build your own canister filtration and we went to work. Built a 55gallon drum canister filter that does 10,000 gallons per hour keeping the pool crystal clear with gravel, filter pads and clarifying pads. Before I could even get the pool fully up n running, people were already donating monsters!! At one point I had redtails, arowanna, pacu, iridescent shark, shovelnose catfish n more all in this 1000gallon pool!! Sadly over time the pool rotted and started getting pinhole leaks throughout the pool. I needed to find a way to fix this...I tried to line the pool with flex seal and the seam. However I was impatient, due to the monsters freaking out in 55 gallon totes with bubblers that weren't big enough. I filled the pool up to early and the flex seal never cured in time....causing us to lose most of our monsters....Good news though! I was donated 1000 gallon stock pool to house the remainder monsters.
7 years into this hobby it had really turned more into a career. I got so busy that I started going out of town to Lake Havasu, Laughlin and even Vegas! Eventually I needed to find a way to pay for all these fish besides working an every day job. One day I just couldn't do it anymore.... I left my job and committed to fish tank cleaning professionally!! It has slowly picked up and started to pay for the expenses of my fish and get the bills paid. I am still cleaning tanks to this day and rescuing fish. I can't do this alone and I need your help finding all these rescues new homes. I hope to one day turn this to a non-profit and build a facility for all these fish. Tank you for spending the time reading this.

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Hopefully if all goes well I will be allowed to get a travel trailer off face book and live in it until I have enough money to get a mortgage on some land.
Until I get land I will be in a trailer, what things do I need to know? Is craigslist a good place to get one? What about ebay? Are there retail places to get one?
It will be just me, no other people and no animals other than maybe some fish.
What would be a good price range? I'm thinking that 5 thousand is a good price, it's over twice what my car was. What kind of models should I avoid? I don't want one that slides out on the sides, I don't trust them, they make me nervous.
Would I need insurance?
What do y'all recommend?

Maybe it's just me, but I rather enjoy just chilling and living in game worlds after credits roll. I saw blacksmithing in the release trailer. Being we're the son of a blacksmith I'd love to see more on that. Getting jobs for nails and horseshoes, then as you level up starting some daggers onto swords. I'm not sure how in depth the smithing will be, but later game or after I'd love to live as a blacksmith in the world they build. From the start picking a blade profile, guard type, pommel, wood for the handle. Maybe even at higher levels working some folds and damascus steel? Not sure on years, but some quick googling said it was speculated around 1500, and the first being set in early 1400, maybe? I know historical accuracy is a big deal so maybe not if someone knows more. But comissioning more ornate swords for nobles to blasting out a bunch of more simple designs for the military. I think would be a cool way to have some ways to be able to keep you invested, make some money, as well as building a smithing business and relations with other merchants and towns folk. I just want to chill and tend to a farm and forge in this world. Maybe I'm alone, but I think it'd be a cool way to keep invested long after credits roll. I know it's not a blacksmith sim game, but how they did alchemy and grindstones in the first I feel like it would fit well.

Anybody have suggestions or know of one for sale? Must have a title. Looking for ideally 7X14 with a ramp, but willing to work around the size a bit. I have tried craigslist and facebook marketplace, but nobody ever has a title on those. Edit: Horse trailers are not the same thing lol, sorry for the confusion.

https://bozeman.craigslist.org/zip/d/twin-bridges-trailer-house/7742861826.html

Welcome back to the Fallowveil trailer park, where the crack addicts have all seen aliens, the Witch is the glue holding the community together, and it’s been a whole six years since our last meth lab explosion. I never met you, but rest in peace Jones. I’m Mason, and I’ll be your janitor guide to the weirdness.
So I’ve talked about Jennifer, my paranormally sexy, but terrifying neighbor who lives with a married couple, strips under the name “Red Jenny,” and possibly eats people’s souls. She’s just the tip of the iceberg here in this town. I could go on and on about my neighbors. I have to do an entry on Trista the nocturnal hippy (maybe) vampire at some point. I have a feeling she’ll get a kick out of it. We’re actually pretty friendly, since we're both night shift workers. Frankly, she’s a bit too on-the-nose though. Pale girl, windows all blocked during daytime, only out at night, weirdly strong for such a skinny little person, drinks a mysterious fluid from a hip flask that she refuses to share, I mean… she’s either a vampire or a weird healthnut hippy and she dresses like she’s both. We’ll get to her eventually.
For now, let’s talk about the old “Schroeder Slaughterhouse.” The place has been a center piece of the town since it was created. It brought jobs to workers and brought lucrative meat processing trades into town, elevating it to more than just another ‘corn town.’ It’s also got horror stories going all the way back to its construction. Some say it’s been cursed by the devil himself.
I want to talk about this one because Trista talked me into going to one of Petunia’s barbecues last weekend. Not sure why she’s suddenly friendlier with me, but I’m not complaining. She couldn’t come with me of course, being a (probably) vampire and all. But hey, depression only gets worse in isolation. I should ask her out some time. Being a vampire might be fun…
So anyway, I went to Petunia’s cookout. Petunia herself looked up and actually cried out loud and power walked up to me to give me a hug. “Ahhh! I’m so glad to see you outside Mason! The neighborhood misses you!” I'm ninety percent sure that was a lie, but whatever. It’s comforting. I returned the older woman’s hug.
“Thanks Petunia. Couldn’t stay away from your cooking forever.” That got a few chuckles. To my surprise, a lot of my neighbors came up to shake hands with me. I was confused until one of them, a guy named Fred, who lives next door to me, leaned in to say “sorry about that friend of yours that died.”
So that’s what’s happening. Everybody heard about psycho Moe and how he’d dragged me to a strip club where he planned to go on a killing spree. Now they’re playing nice. That’s probably the only reason Trista’s being nice to you too. These people don’t really care about you. You’re worthless.
‘You know what, brain? You’re a real bummer. Now shut up while I try to be social.’ I shot back at my own conscience.
I finally worked out how to respond to Fred after a few seconds of awkward silence that made us both uncomfortable. “He wasn’t really a friend. Just a roommate once. The guy was messed up.”
Fred nodded sympathetically, rubbing at his mustache “Well sure. But that’s a heck of a… situation?” He replied.
“Yeah. I guess it is…” I tried to look thoughtful so nobody could see me rolling my eyes. “But hey! I think Red Jenny took care of it.”
Fred’s eyes widened at that. “No shit? Did he get… did he get a private dance?”
We were both interrupted by a silky smooth voice with a southern twang. “Glad to see you’re okay Mason. Try not to bring any psychopaths to my place of business, alright? It’s got plenty. Our poor bouncer had to headlock that guy.” She said all of this without even glancing towards us. Just sort of talking at the air as she sauntered by. She was glorious as ever, somehow making comfortable sweats look like a sexy bold fashion statement. Jennifer. Red Jenny. I hushed up as she stepped past us, and as she did, she cast a glance my way… and she winked.
Fred and I sat there partly struck dumb for a moment. That woman hardly spoke to anyone.
“Bouncer my ass.” Fred whispered to me. “That chick’s some kind of monster, I’m telling you. What did you see? She offered him a private dance didn't she?”
A few weeks ago I would have jumped at the opportunity to tell Fred everything I could about what I saw, but for whatever reason, I was less enthusiastic at the moment. “Yeah, she did, but I’m not really sure what happened. I was kinda stupified by the guns. She probably got a bouncer to help her, I really don’t know.”
“Never get a private dance from Red Jenny. Some say that’s a warning from wives, but the rest of us know it’s a warning from above. Something ain’t natural at that place.”
“I dunno Fred. But she works hard. I don’t want to badmouth her. Even if it was true, the guy she got was a wannabe killer. So she saved people.”
“Yeah, but how!?”
“I dunno man.”
Fred seemed to figure out I didn’t want to talk anymore about it by then. “Sorry, man. Must have been scary, either way. But hey! We all know you were asking around about Fallowveil’s spooky stories! Guess what!? A bunch of people who used to work at the old slaughterhouse are here! They’re all swapping stories by the grill! You should go listen!”
That piqued my interest. I used my phone to record as much as I could. I think I remember the rest. Now that I’ve looked at all my notes and stuff, I think I can provide a decent history of Fallowveil’s Schroeder Slaughterhouse. At least according to some of the people who worked there, as well as some who’ve lived here longer than me.
Most of the history came from a man named Willard Graves. He’s notorious for being really nasty when he’s drunk, and being one of the oldest people living in the trailer park at the age of 68. When I arrived at the bonfire where the group of workers had gathered, they were all swapping stories.
“I once felt a presence in the women’s restroom!” Said Polly Bucharest. “I was a floor manager in 2007. I was sitting in the stall there doing my business, nobody came in or out, but suddenly I just felt it. I got real freaked out. Like… goosebumps and everything. And feeling that way sucks in the bathroom. So I tried to hurry up and kicked open the stall so I could run to the sink… and the ‘shadow man’ was just standing in the corner. I saw him out of the corner of my eye. He was just there, standing. When I turned to look, he was gone!”
“I saw that thing too! The shadow man!” Said Peter Swanson. “Damn thing was standing up in the corner, on the catwalk out in the main floor. Same thing. I was working, one of the cows didn’t go down right away, and I was leaning down to stun it again, then I felt real uneasy all of a sudden. Real scared. Finally I noticed the shadow up there!”
“That happened to me in the break room!” Said Juan Esposito. “I was eating lunch when I felt it. Then there was a shadow of a man, I think, in the corner of the room.”
“It was more of a shadowy blob on the wall for me,” said Polly.
“Any of you guys see the weird bird?” Asked Carlos Sanders. “I saw it once. End of my shift, back in 09. Me and a few of the boys saw it. You were there Juan! You remember?”
“I remember. I’m not really sure though, Carlos. That one might have been a vulture.”
“We see vultures round here all the time! That wasn’t a vulture! No clue what it was. Just some big flying shadowy thing that appeared at sundown and flew off after a while.”
“Lots of people said they saw a strange bird. That’s part of why some people think it’s cursed” claimed Jane Lopez. “I never worked there, but my husband used to tell stories. Some people say it’s an omen. If you see the bird over the slaughterhouse, something bad might be about to happen.”
“I remember the stories, Mama.” Said her son, Martin. “I worked the floor for three years. I never saw a creepy bird. I wonder if Papa was just telling stories again?”
“Maybe, mijo. But lots of people tell stories about that place.”
“How about the one cow that Mr. Kurt takes, like… once a week? Anybody know what’s up with that?” That was Juan again.
“No! And none of us can figure out where the cow goes either! It’s creepy!” Poly replied.
That’s when Willard loudly cleared his throat. Willard was a tough looking old bastard. Usually sporting a frumpy tank top, a grumpy face, and a bottle of something in one hand. “Y’all didn’t work there as long as I did,” he grumbled in his raspy old voice. He kept his head and eyes lowered, like some old cowboy trying to be dramatic. “Y’all know who that shadow even is? I know the ‘sh’tory!”
We were all interrupted by a shout from a very angry Petunia, who was a few yards away manning the grill. “DAMN IT Willard! What did I say!? One beer! One!”
“I only had one! I ‘sh’wear!”
“You’re slurring! If I catch you sneaking any more drinks I’m not giving you any ribs or any cookies!”
Willard’s tough old man act crumbled as he went wide eyed at the mention of cookies. “Alright, alright, I’m sorry Petty…”
“PETUNIA!!”
“Petunia! I won’t have anything else to drink!”
“Damn right! Last thing we need is you making an ass of yourself again!”
Willard sighed as we all hushed a few guffaws. “Anyway,” he said after an awkward pause. That shadow? Any of you know who it is?”
“One of the dead owners?” Said someone.
“One of the dead workers?” Said someone else.
“Nah, nah. It was the FIRST owner. The ghost of Heinrich Schroeder. The builder and owner of Schroeder Slaughterhouse!”
“How do you know?”
“I mean… I don’t, but that’s the oldest story I know about the place. Don’t any of you younguns know about the history there?”
“I don’t. Please tell the story!” I called from outside the circle of former Meat Processing workers, causing some of them to glance awkwardly at me.
“Well alright then!” Willard said with a grin that had less than a full set of teeth. “The place was built way back, right after the Civil War ended, when a bunch of immigrants from Germany started migrating to Nebraska, mostly to Omaha. But one feller…”
“Why did Germans come to Nebraska?” Asked a kid who’s name I didn’t know.
“What? I dunno. They just did. Hush. So this guy saw our little town of Fallowveil and its lush fields. He was in the sausage business before, but figured he could set himself up a slaughterhouse to process cows raised locally. Old Fallowveil was superstitious though. They were always wary of outsiders.”
“Why?” The kid asked.
“They just was. Everyone was after the war ended. Things changing fast, bunch of black folks are citizens and building themselves North Mainstreet, and Fallowveil’s weird. We all know that. Always has been.” Nobody could disagree there. “So. Since they were wary? They didn’t want to let Shroeder build. Supposedly you can find old documents with the town's rejection letters to Shroeder hidden away in the office of the old building. He tried for months. Then, with no explanation at all, they suddenly sold him an unused parcel of land. Nobody knows why, and that’s where a lot of folks think the devil’s curse began. They say Shroeder made some kind of deal with a demon to get them to sell the land to him. They’re the ones that made him follow their rules. Everyone remember the rules?”
“Hell, I had to follow those rules,” said Polly. “Most were pretty standard health and safety measures, but some were downright bizarre. 1. No loud noises in the back of the building. 2. One cow will be selected by the owner for personal reasons and won’t be slaughtered with the others. 3. Keep the blood drains clean at all times, but no specialized detergents. 4. Never agitate the animals. 5. Manure will be transported offsite. 6. Anyone caught past the fence line of the old building will be fired immediately…. There’s a bunch more that are all basically fcc regulations, only these days there’s extra.”
“It’s worth it!” Juan piped in. “The work we do there now got us awards! We make some of the best meat in the country! Pay is good too. No offense, friends, but we’re thinking of moving into a house, soon!”
Petunia cried out. “Ahhh Juan! That’s so wonderful! You’ll have places for your baby!” A bunch of others offered Juan their congratulations. There were also expressions of sadness. Thanks to Petunia? This neighborhood is really tight knit.
“We’ll miss you!”
“When do you leave?”
So on and so on. Juan’s a nice guy. I never got to know him, and I kinda wish I had now.
“Good to hear that place is finally shaping up!” Willard said with a small smile. “Maybe the curse on the place is lifting! Back when I worked there, safety and cleanliness were shit. All them extra rules about keeping the place clean, and the cows cared for, they weren’t there back then. Just the weird shit about noise in the back, staying away from the old building, and one cow being taken away every couple of shipments.”
“Can I ask a question?” I asked as Willard trailed off, lost in thought.
“Did you ever work in the place, new guy?” Asked Juan.
“No. I’m just curious about Fallowveil’s spooky stories. Lived here for a while, and heard em, but now I’m asking around. Also, how am I still the ‘new guy?’ I’ve lived here three years!”
“You stopped coming outside after three months!” Petunia called to me.
“Whatcha want to ask?” Willard wondered.
“Well, why is the old building even still there? The place where you all work is the building in the front, right? New building with state of the art equipment? Why keep the dilapidated old building from the 1860s? Anybody know?”
“Ah. That’s an interesting question. I’d guess nobody here knows that answer, right?” Willard replied. There were nods all around. “Nobody alive today worked in that building. Hell, it was fenced off and boarded up when I was a kid. Nobody really knows why it’s still standing. We all have our guesses. Some think it might have something to do with the devil’s curse. Some say the owners hope to cash in on its historic value. Not sure how. The place is a wreck. So it just sits back there.”
“And they’ll fire anyone who gets curious,” Polly added.
“Exactly. That’s one of the rules. Stay away from the old building. But anyway. Let me get back to the story. The old building, that’s the slaughterhouse built by Heinrich Shroeder. He ran the place for about twenty years. Lot of the newly freed black folks would work there. Nothing too nefarious went on back then, but all the same, everyone felt uneasy working there. Just like now, workers swore they saw ghosts. Place gained a reputation for being haunted. That only got worse over the years. Then came the ‘incident.’ I don’t remember the exact year. But at some point some kind of fire broke out in the slaughterhouse. It was after hours so there were no workers there at the time, but there was a herd of cows waiting there overnight. The fire only affected the inside of the building, but it still spooked the cows. They stampeded out of the pen and the next morning the town had cows everywhere. When the people searched the slaughterhouse, they found that not much of the equipment was damaged at all. Somehow some small section of the floor had lit up. And in the middle of it? They found the charred bones of Heinrich Shroeder.”
“What? How?” I asked skeptically. “You know how hot a fire has to be to melt off everything but bone? I don’t. But I know it’s pretty hot.”
“Oh I know. That’s part of the mystery. Nobody knows what happened. It was like some little explosion of heat just burned everything in this one spot on the floor, including Shroeder. The whole thing is unsolved. A mystery. Maybe it was arson. Maybe it was some sort of accident. Who knows? Anyone who works there could tell you though. That place is cursed. Our theory was, Heinrich went back on whatever deal he made to get the land, and the devil came to collect. Either way, the whole town was in shock. Shroeder’s family buried him at Kugler Mill Cemetery, then sold the place and moved to Omaha to be closer to family.”
“Who bought it next?” Asked the kid that kept asking questions.
“Local man named Jefferson. He moved to Nebraska from the south after the war. Man was a slave owner who had a lot of trouble turning a profit after the war.”
“Also a horrible racist!” Petunia added from the grill. “You left that part out one time.”
“I did not! I didn’t think I had to say it! I said he owned slaves! Of course he’s racist!” Willard shot back.
“Just messing with you, you old cowpoke.” We all stopped to chuckle.
“ANYWAY. Jefferson was no great boss. Lot of stories about cruelty to workers and animals if the stories I once heard are true. He kept the name “Schroeder Slaughterhouse to keep some locals from realizing it was him. That’s how he hired a bunch of black folks. There were lots of accidents. Almost everyone who worked there left missing a limb, like me.” Willard held up his hand, and I noticed for the first time that he was missing two fingers on his right hand. “They were still using old band saws. Only took one wrong move” he added thoughtfully. “So Jefferson took over, but he kept all the weird old rules. Nobody knows why. But the place wasn’t a great place to be. Another fire broke out, this one was the Jeffersons son getting drunk on the floor and lighting a lantern. Three workers died there. There were other injuries, and shitty safety standards. One other stampede occurred, which was caused by the equipment falling apart cuz they never bothered with maintenance. You get the idea. All the while, everyone kept hearing tales about the ghosts. They eventually got the idea that the “rules” had something to do with the ghosts. People swore when they were louder in certain parts of the building, they were more likely to feel uneasy. We all know that story.”
“The Shadow” several people said in unison.
Willard nodded. “People thought it was the ghost of Shroeder. Made the rumors about a curse seem more real. The Jeffersons ignored their employees' discomfort for years. Then in the in 30s, another tragedy struck. The owner, Edgar Jefferson, personally came to oversee the installation of a brand new state of the art meat grinder to produce ground beef for local businesses. He was standing nearby, even though the construction crew told him to move away. He was bragging to news outlets and investors about his new machine, and how he wasn’t affected by the depression at all, and then, out of nowhere, a small earthquake hit. The meat grinder came loose from its crane and landed right on top of Edgar. He died immediately. Right in front of the terrified crowd.”
“No way.” Said someone from the crowd.
“Y’all can look this one up if you want. Library is bound to have the old papers. I heard this story from my very first boss. He was just a kid at the time. Said his dad witnessed the whole thing. One second Edgar was boasting, next, he’d been turned into meat jelly.”
“Please don’t ruin the barbecue, Willard” called Petunia.
He just rolled his eyes at that. “To make matters worse, the Jefferson’s local estate mysteriously caught fire a few days later. Nobody could find a cause. Nobody died, thankfully. The remaining Jefferson’s were spooked after that. They sold the slaughterhouse as well as four different cattle farms in town, and moved out of the state.”
“Who was next?” Came the child.
Willard ignored him. “The next person to buy the land was an industrialist who wanted to stake a claim on small town businesses. Rick Manson. He owned a restaurant in California. He bought up the cattle farms and built a new state of the art slaughter house right next to the old one. He was held up by world war 2, but when that ended, he got the place up and running. Nobody knows why he didn’t just tear the old building down and build on top of it. He was the first owner to leave it be. Supposedly, things started out decent under Manson. He brought lots of decent paying jobs raising cows and working in the slaughterhouse, and he kept the rules and added more for safety. Ran it like that for a good thirty years. That’s about when I started working there. Late seventies, early eighties. I can say without any doubt, that any good things people said about Rick Manson? They were lies. The man was a tyrant of a boss, at a time when we actually knew what hard work was.” I felt everyone else groan with me when Willard said that. “The guy used the cheapest equipment he could find and barely ever did maintenance. He also kept hiring immigrants to work the floor. The injury rates were incredibly high, and whatever workarounds higher ups thought they could get away with, they did. A lot of that was on the farms. The local farms were soon forced to use growth hormones, cheap corn feed, and other shady tactics to fatten the cows up faster. They made every effort to turn the small town of Fallowveil into a bigger meat processing plant. We all suffered for it. People died working in that place. Even more people lost fingers. And nobody ever held Manson accountable. Let me remind you, the place was still unbelievably haunted. The shadow was seen by everyone. People started seeing the weird bird too. Everyone was also pretty sure the owners were doing some kind of satanic rituals in the old building at night. There were stories about lights and weird sounds. The story me and my fellow workers believed was that the one cow that got selected and separated every now and then? They were sacrificing it in the old building.”
That proved a bit too much for me. “Wait… hang on. The place is already a slaughterhouse. Cows die there daily. What’s so special about this one cow? Do others not count?”
“Oh how am I supposed to know? You wanted to know what the stories were right? That’s all we got, nobody actually knows what’s going on in there. All we got are guesses. All we know is that someone always showed up, maybe once a week, and picked out a cow, and lead it away. We’re busy workers so no, none of us ever really saw where it ended up. We’re pretty sure it wasn’t put back on a truck. There’s no hidden field that we know of where they’re keeping them. So where the hell do these cows go?”
“I mean… I don’t know. Do they still do that?” I asked.
Juan answered me. “Yes. I’ve seen it happen. Mr. Kurt is the man who picks the cow. Once a week he picks a cow and leads it away from the others. Usually toward the back. Whenever we ask him where the cow went, he would just say ‘that’s private.’”
“Who the hell is Mr. Kurt?” Willard asked.
“He’s basically the general manager. He’s there everyday.”
“What about the new owner? ‘Antoora’ or however you say that?”
“Antuara. We don’t know. Nobody but Mr. Kurt has met him. It’s really strange. Kurt just says Antuara is a bit of a recluse.”
“Wouldn’t the FDA want to know what was happening with these cows?” I wondered.
“All the paperwork is done. The FDA has been here multiple times. They know one cow gets taken, and… they’ve signed off on everything. So I guess it’s nothing illegal.” Juan concluded with a shrug. “It’s really weird.”
“Huh. That place is just a giant old mystery. Does it ever end? You all know what happened to Mr. Manson?”
“Didn’t he die in a fire?” Asked Polly.
“Not just him. My last boss was the one that noticed this. But right before Mr. ‘Antoora’ bought the place ten years ago, it got bought up by a bunch of corporate goons. They wanted to compete with places like Tyson meats. They bought it after Manson's car was found exploded… with him in it, of course. That’s three different owners who were hit by fires, and two that were killed by fires. But that’s not all. Polly? You worked as floor manager while those corpo guys ran the place right? You remember why they ended up selling?”
“I was never told, actually. You and the boys had your stories, but I always figured it was our numbers. We weren’t doing as well. People weren’t going to local butchershops. I know there was one death…”
“It was another fire. And from what I hear it was ruled as an arson! To this day it hasn’t been solved. There were three deaths like that. And a meat packing plant in another state burned down. Not all of those were ruled as arson, but it’s a hell of a coincidence, wouldn’t y’all agree?” Willard said with a grin as he searched everyone’s faces. He had everyone enraptured by his mystery.
“It’s like the place really is cursed. Whoever owns Shroeder slaughterhouse… catches fire?” Said someone.
“Sure seems that way.”
“But Antuara is different. All the equipment is new, and he trained all of us extensively. We take breaks. We’re required to take breaks. And we clean everything. Then there’s the farms he bought. They don’t use any growth hormones or cheap feed. Hell, Mitchel Farm has enrichment toys for them. If the place was cursed, I have to hope it’s lifted now.” Juan spoke with conviction.
“But you still see the shadow and the bird, right? And nobody knows what happens to the one cow?” Willard said simply.
“Yes. That is true. Mr. Kurt has said he’ll look into the things that are causing our discomfort. But what can anyone do about a ghost?”
“Like I said. That place is cursed by the devil. Years of cruel practice, spilled blood, and bad deals. The owners get burned, the workers suffer, but it just keeps churning out meat. And of course, it’s here in the town of Fallowveil, where witches roam free…”
“As do old assholes” added Petunia
“The woods have a monster, the Hotel is in the damn Twilight Zone, and everyone’s seen something unnatural. The place is still cursed, mark my words. Unless they tear that old building down, it’ll probably stay cursed.” With that, Willard concluded his story. He raised a bottle of beer to his lips, but before he could drink, Petunia appeared and swatted the bottle right out of his hand.
“What the hell did I tell you Willard. No more god damn beer!”
“Sorry Petunia.”
The rest of the day was nice. I ate food, hung out with neighbors, played some horseshoes, drank some beer. It was great. The circle of meat packing workers had a few more tales, mostly about the Shadow showing up to scare people, or a weird thing someone saw around the old building.
I wasn’t sure what to think, really. I’ve never actually been to the place. I know that working in a slaughterhouse sounds like a really depressing, dangerous, and messy job that I never ever want. That’s for sure. I had no idea missing limbs were so common.
I looked up some of the stuff Willard said. It seems he wasn’t embellishing much. There really were owners who died in fires and one who got squashed by his own equipment. I can see where belief in a curse comes from. Interestingly, Juan was right too. Fallowveil has received awards for its high quality beef in recent years. The stuff is so good that some of the food network shows have started showing up to do segments and visit local restaurants. Mostly Nerd Burger. Nerd Burger is incredible. The Spicy² burger is hands down, the best burger in the universe and nobody will tell me otherwise. I didn’t even realize it contracted with Antuara meats, but there you go.
I shared all of this with Trista later that night, and as a result, we went on adventure together. I wonder if it was a date? She wore her regular clothes. Try to imagine a sixties Hippy who got a makeover from a goth. She wore a sarong around her waist that would dance around her legs, with the breeze. It was black as pitch, with a few flowery designs sewn in. She also wore a black hand made tank top, black knee high boots, and her stoner beanie hat that read “total witch.” Seriously. How else can I describe that other than Hippy/goth or Hippy/vampire. She’s weird, and she’s really skinny, but damn it… she’s really pretty. And a lot of fun to hang out with. She might have supplied us with something to smoke that may or may not be legal in this state so I’ll say no more there.
But anyway, we were chatting after sundown, and I told her all about the stories of the Slaughterhouse. “Ugh. That place. Look at me. I’m a hippy. I can’t call myself a vegan, but I still morally oppose the meat industry.”
“Why can’t you call yourself a vegan?”
“I… have a specialized diet.”
“What’s that mean?”
“None of your business, jerk!” She socked my shoulder playfully, which made my whole arm go numb.
“Ow! You are like 140 pounds, max. How are you so damn strong?”
“Maybe you’re just weak. So the slaughterhouse is cursed? Wanna go see it?”
“I… like… Right now?”
“Sure! You don’t work for another hour, right? The hotel can manage without me if I’m late by a few minutes. Come on! I hear you’re more likely to see weird things if you go at night!”
How could I say no? So I drove us to Antuara Meats, formerly known as the Schroeder Slaughterhouse, and got a look at it for the first time in my life. The main building is pretty unremarkable. Just a factory type building next to a big field. We pulled into the parking lot and got as close to the fence as we could, so we could see what we really wanted. The old building.
“Christ. Why is it still standing? Place looks like it should be condemned.” Trista said as we got out and peered through the fencing.
“Yup. Boarded up windows, overgrown ivy everywhere, everything one needs to make a nice creepy atmosphere.”
“How romantic!” She quipped. I’m glad she couldn’t see the confused blushing I did after that. “It definitely smells like blood and rot around here.”
“It does? All I smell is… I’m guessing that’s cow poop?”
“No. It’s metallic. Smells like old blood.”
“You are such a vampire.”
“Har har.”
“Seriously, I don’t smell blood. I can’t see much. It’s too dark.”
“Not much to see. Though I think I see the cow.”
“The cow? What cow? And no way in hell can you see out here. There’s clouds out!”
“Eat your vegetables Mason. It’s good for your night vision.”
“Vampire says what?”
“Nope.”
“So you see a cow? A live cow? Where? Maybe I have a night vision app or something. I dug my phone out of my pocket.
“Yeah, there’s a cow standing out behind the old building. Maybe a hundred yards.”
“I don’t care how good your night vision is, how could you see that far?”
“Will you give it a rest? Not my fault my eyes adjust better than yours.”
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to be an ass…”
“It’s okay Mason, I’m mostly messing with you. There is a cow there though.”
I held up my phone and zoomed as far as I could with the night vision on. She was right. A loan cow stood in an open field behind the slaughterhouse. There were no fences back there, so I wondered if it had gotten loose and just wandered its way to the spot. “Huh. You’re right. There’s totally a cow there. It’s not on the property either.”
“So… you found the missing cow. But I gotta ask. You doing okay? That shit with the Red Nights club was crazy. Anyone would be messed up after that.”
That annoyed me. I’m not sure why. “You think I’m messed up?”
“Well, yeah, that’s why I hang out with you. We’re both messed up. But like… this is seriously messed up. Not fun messed up.”
“Is that the only reason we came out here? Did Petunia put you up to this?” I turned toward her.
“Yes. But no. Petunia is worried about you. And so am I. You’re one of the few regular friends I’ve got. And someone almost shot you.” I saw genuine concern in her violet eyes. She stood there, twiddling nervously with her hands, only partly illuminated by the nearby streetlights, making her pale complexion shine. A strange gust of wind kicked up and blew her wavey Raven black hair prettily across her face.
Oh fuck. You’re getting feels. Stop that. You’re just lonely, and she just feels bad. I wrestled with my thoughts for a moment before replying. “I’m sorry. Maybe I’m just burying it. I’m okay. At least I think I am. Maybe I'm still processing.”
“Uh. Hold that thought, Mason. The cow is gone.”
“What?” I looked back and held up my phone. There was no cow in the field anymore. “Where? How? There’s nowhere for it to go!?”
“I didn’t see anything. It was there a minute ago, now it’s just gone. Wow. That’s creepy. This place really is cursed.”
“Could it have fallen in a hole or something?”
We actually spent a few minutes searching for a trace of the bovine, but we didn’t find anything. There’s no way the thing ran off in just a minute. So what the hell happened to it? It just vanished. Both of us felt a little unsafe after we reached that conclusion. So we headed home and then went off to our respective jobs. Now here I am. A fully grown cow disappeared before my eyes at a haunted slaughterhouse, and somehow I’m still more concerned with whether or not I should ask Trista out or just enjoy her friendship. But that shit is my business.
I did a bit more reading about the slaughterhouse. police have been called to the place over the years, and they found nothing. There’s even been people that signed papers and got to enter the building legally. There was even a ghost hunter once. They didn’t really find anything interesting either. There’s something weird about that place though. No doubt about it. It’s brought tragedy, creepy stories, and delicious hamburger to our town for generations. Given how delicious locally raised beef is? I'm cool with the place doing whatever it’s doing.
The Ridiculously Sexy Neighbor
The Haunted Slaughterhouse
The Weird Nocturnal Hippy Chick

Let’s get the obvious out of the way.
Being a PI sucks. It’s not what you think. It’s pretty much harassing women. Men hire PIs to go harass their wives and girlfriends and once in a blue moon you get asked to find a missing dog, or to harass a man instead. But that’s it, really. Sometimes I’m looking for hard evidence of infidelity, but a lot of the time my clients just want to rattle the soon-to-be-ex. To make them paranoid and jittery and less reliable in a courtroom, or less likely to pay attention to small print agreements that stiff them out of the holiday home. So that’s my job. I’m a pawn and it is almost always on behalf of the kind of men who think women reading a book in public are secretly looking for male attention.
I don’t have an office. I did for a short while. But things are tough, as I’m sure many of you know, and PI work isn’t exactly lucrative. I don’t know why I’m still doing this job, except to say I’m my own boss, and it’s not easy out there. I went into this with vastly different expectations. If anyone wants to hire someone who was convicted of insurance fraud while training to be a police officer, let me know. Otherwise I’m on my own, following people in cars and sleeping in dingy motels. So when this new job came along, a craigslist ad looking for a guy to stalk them, I just figured it was a fetish thing. I got a nephew who went to art school and makes big bucks painting cartoon characters doing fucked up stuff. He ain’t painting the Sistine Chapel, but he pays the bills and looks after his family. I figure if that work is good enough for him, it’s good enough for me.
So I met the woman who posted the ad and was surprised at how normal she looked. It was in a public place, a park with a nice bench. And even though it was starting to rain a little we didn’t let it bother either of us. We sat there, two tape recorders running, and hashed it out. She said she liked me. If she hadn’t she wouldn’t have gotten out of her car. That was flattering coming from her. Good looking woman. Professional. I didn’t know at the time but I’d quickly figure out she was a forensic accountant.
Anyway, we got talking. She never gave me her motivation, but I would later come to understand her as an amateur narcissist. She was new at loving herself. She was smart, accomplished, and actually rather beautiful provided you didn’t spend a great deal of time agonising over things like symmetry or eyebrows, and instead paid attention to how a smile reaches the eyes, or how laughter sounds when it catches someone by surprise. But she grew up dirt poor and spent her teen years unable to visit the dentist, or access a gym, or even just eat home cooked food that wasn’t microwaved. Plump frame, blotchy skin, hair she kept short with a pair of scissors because her and her mother relied on the shampoo and soap they stole from the motel where they shared cleaning shifts. When she fumbled awkward questions at some of the better looking boys in her class, she rarely met with success. That’s not to say she was an outcast, either. She had a social life. It’s just poor kids have to grow up early. Prom’s a luxury. Eating isn’t. If you know, you know. Otherwise you might be surprised by just how fucking tough it can be for some kids in this country. Anyway, she got out of that hole, fought tooth and nail, got an education, a good job, and by the time she finished her victory lap and took stock of her life she was thirty-five years old and a thousand miles from the trailer she was raised in.
And she looked good. The woman in the mirror was a stranger that she wanted to get to know. I think hiring me was an act of self-love. I think if she could have, she would have sat in a car and watched herself get a cup of coffee, spying closely at the professional looking woman doing a little half-run half-skip to get out of the rain. The way she stood in line rocking back and forth on her heels to the music in her airpods thinking no one’d notice. She wanted to admire herself, but unable to time travel or clone herself, she instead resorted to hiring me as a kind of proxy.
I had my own boundaries, of course. They covered anything that was gonna get me in trouble. The gist of the contract, after a nice week spent meeting after work and talking, was that I was to follow her as often as I could and just… observe her. Photos. Videos. Secret recordings. Occasionally a little bit more. Nothing physical. For example, one time I inventoried her handbag after she left it in a taxi by accident. I’m not a photographer, but something about all those knick knacks laid out on a motel bed snapped with a black and white polaroid, it looked good. Like something you’d see in a fancy gallery. Avant garde my nephew would say. She loved it. Paid me a bonus for it and everything.
Anyway, this carried on like this for about six months. They were… interesting times. Tailing her across train stations, racing across open parking lots to install a tracker on her car, standing on a bridge and dropping an air tag in her bag as she walked past. It was a little bit like being a spy. She even paid for me to buy high end equipment. Crazy stuff. One camera, I could sit on my balcony and read the texts on her phone from a block away. Occasionally there were days where I couldn’t or wouldn’t keep up the required intensity. Stalking requires a lot of cardio. When that happened, when I didn’t feel like following her into a crowded place, or sprinting half-way around town following her car, I’d do research. I’d investigate who this woman had once been. I created fake Facebook profiles and tracked down old school friends, spoke to former teachers, lovers, all of that. The whole job was a matter of mapping her out, like she was a country, you know? And a country isn’t just hills and rivers and borders. Countries have history.
She was happy with my initiative. The text she sent me when I showed her the research folder was a glowing commendation. First one I’d had in a long time. It was nice, someone telling me good job. She had a real way of making me feel like a kid getting a gold star. I didn’t realise at the time, but I was putty in her hands. Head over heels, bless my stupid heart. Of course I didn’t know what I was getting into, but I’d had just enough time to grow over confident. I made the mistake of thinking that I wasn’t gonna find anything in her past that’d give me trouble sleeping.
Boy did I get that one fucking wrong.
Her mother. That’s where things took an odd turn. Now I knew from news reports the mother died in their trailer while her daughter was off staying at some boyfriend’s place for a few days. Natural causes, it read. I wanted to know a little more about what natural causes they were. Figured if there was a congenital thing, it seemed like maybe I ought to know. You’d think the way the trailer park owner reacted to me asking about it, I’d tried asking the Russian government for proof of a democratic election. Thin reedy little woman who gave me hell the moment I mentioned a name. What do you wanna know that for? Who’s asking? Who’s paying you? Why you wanna dig this shit up?
Oh she ripped me to pieces. I put it down to the natural sprinkling of crazies in the standard population and took a different tact. Started calling up the older folks in the park. Residents. Every single one of them put the phone down on me the second I mentioned her name.
Well, all of them except one.
Some people wanna talk and this old bastard was one of them. He had a lot to say about everything from the president to social media and I let him ramble on before starting to press my point. Told him at the start I was a historian looking into the local area, that made it so it wasn’t too suspicious when I began asking about this and that. Slowly making my way to the death of a fifty-three year old woman a couple trailers down from him some years ago.
Again, soon as I mentioned her name, there was a change in the air, even over the phone. For a second I thought this old guy was gonna hang up just like the others. Could hear him smacking his dry lips as he mulled it over.
“Francine didn’t deserve what happened to her,” he said after a while. “She wasn’t a good woman. Didn’t treat her daughter too good neither. But didn’t deserve what happened. Maybe if they’d found her earlier, some of those fellas in white coats could’ve got more evidence, put that little wretch of hers away. But from what I understand, weren’t much left of her at all.”
Then he hung up, leaving me with a whole lot of questions.
This frustrated me. I had, until now, had a fair bit of luck at this new profession of mine. They say be careful what you get good at. Sad truth was, I was getting good at stalking and this was my first real roadblock. I remembered the way I felt when she told me good job and it bothered me I couldn’t really say much about this critical part of her life. That and, well, maybe I still got a chip on my shoulder about being a failed policeman. If you give me a problem, I can sometimes drive myself crazy looking for a fix.
So I hopped in my car and drove to the trailer park, damn near on the other side of the country. Don’t know I was hoping to find. No way the trailer was still there, and it wasn’t. But what I found odd was the lot hadn’t been replaced. There was a hole in the ground, about the right size, and nothing else. Just an empty spot where the trailer had once stood. And the trailers on either side weren’t occupied either. I could tell by politely and legally looking through the windows. Most of them were cleared out, but a few weren’t. They still had plates and other knick knacks left hanging around, like the owners had left without bothering to pack.
“You shouldn’t hang around there, mister.”
The girl who appeared stood a good twenty feet away, shouting over the wind so as to be heard.
“Smell can make you awful sick.”
I wrinkled my nose, aware of the odour she was talking about. Had been since I approached the empty lot. A faint musty smell that made me think of an exotic pet shop.
“What do you mean?”
“Smell makes you sick,” she said like it was self-explanatory. “Woman who died there left behind an awful stench. Made the neighbours sick. And the neighbour’s neighbours, and so on for a couple trailers in a row. No one likes to live there now. Still can’t. Had a couple move in a year or two back and they got sick too. Daddy says it’s a bad one. Not even rats go near that hole.”
The smell wasn’t pretty, but this trailer park looked like the kinda place where hubcaps went missing regularly. Figured they would’ve been used to bad smells. What made this one so special?
I looked over at the girl.
“Where is your dad?”
Few minutes later and I was stood outside a trailer waiting pensively. The little girl had disappeared inside to fetch her father and since then I’d been sat listening to the quietest trailer park in the whole world. Crickets and silence. Traffic on a distant highway. Place was dying, that much was clear.
When the father finally did make an appearance, he said nothing for the first few minutes. Lit a cigarette, offered me one. I refused on account of having quit some time back.
After a while he spoke up.
“I’d invite you in but if you been hanging around that old lot, not sure I want you inside my home. No offence.”
“None taken,” I replied.
“Sally says you’re a historian.”
The man wasn’t terribly old. Mid-thirties, at a guess, but he looked me up and down like I was a teenager caught throwing eggs at his house.
“What’re you really?”
“PI,” I replied.
“Ha now that makes sense. Some relative looking for answers? Heard the Hendersons had a sister with money.”
“That’s exactly it,” I lied. “She didn’t buy the official story.”
“Nor should she,” he replied. “Henderson was fit as a fiddle day he moved in. Weren’t no justice in what happened to those who got sick. And poor Francine… They say she died of natural causes. Man even back then I knew it was shit and I was just a lil kid. The smell alone. Think it’s bad now but at the time, before they came in with a crane to lift the trailer up whole and move it to the dump. Shit it was something awful. There was talk of moving the whole park. Course no one gave enough of a shit about us to go ahead and actually do it.”
“What did she die of?”
“Don’t know. Only thing I am sure of is that that girl of Francine’s lied. Said her mother was live and well when she left before the weekend and they was all on good terms, but that was bullshit. We heard ‘em fighting for weeks before, for one. And of course the body, state that was in, ain’t no way it’d been rotting for just a few days.”
He offered me another cigarette. I refused. He lit it up instead. Second one in what felt like just a few minutes. Made me itchy just to see. I wanted to say something, anything to get a little bit more. But I’d told a big lie pretending to be there on someone else’s behalf, and didn’t want to catch myself out, so I just sat and listened to the quiet buzz of his little patio light.
After the second cigarette was done he reached into his back pocket and took out an old photo.
“I hope you find justice for Henderson and the rest of them,” he said. “Only real bit of proof I ever had something fishy went on.”
He handed me the picture. Wasn’t easy to see what I was looking at. Pile of old leaves, maybe. Mulch. I squinted at it for a few good seconds but couldn’t make heads or tails of it.
“What…?”
“Took that the day they arrived to get rid of the trailer. Had to stand on my friend’s shoulders just to reach.”
“What is it?” I asked, my skin starting to crawl as I picked out details. Whatever I was looking at, it was slumped on a sofa with floral wallpaper in the background. It was about the size of a man, but riddled with holes and cavities the size of golf balls. In my whole life, I’d never seen something that looked like that.
“Why that’s Francine,” he said. “Or at least what was left of her.”
He let me keep the photo. At a guess, that was the only interesting thing that’d ever happened to that man and he’d been waiting to share it with someone. All I had to do was give him an excuse. He seemed to take some pleasure in passing it on. Certainly found my reaction to it amusing. I must’ve gone pale as I grappled with thoughts of what had happened to make a body go bad like that. Back in the hotel, under a good light, I checked that picture again and again. Something about it made me deeply uncomfortable. Knowing a woman was under all that… all those holes and crevices must’ve been made in her flesh. And what’d happened to her skin that’d turned it such a funny texture? Looked furry, like the kinda thing that grows on top of a long-forgotten cup of coffee.
A part of me considered asking my client about this, but I knew that wasn’t the way to go. First, she probably wouldn’t tell me good job if I had to ask. She hired me to do a certain thing and that didn’t involve politely requesting information right from the source. Second, well… I’d read the police reports, what was publicly available, anyway. And she’d made it clear she’d left on the friday and came home on the Monday and…
Well what if that guy was right? Did she really leave her mother alive and well? I mean, people kill. Not just psychos. People like you and me. We do it every day and sometimes we even pull it off. Only half of US murders get solved. That’s a fact. If anyone could be in the right half of that equation, it’d be her. She was smart as hell, my client. Even at seventeen she would’ve been a clever one. Clever enough that she might easily have been able to cover her tracks. Gone over to some boyfriend, twisted his arm into giving her an alibi. Sure, I could see that.
I just needed to figure out what the fuck was going on with that crime scene in the trailer. Thankfully I got some friends still on the force, one of which I even have a bit of leverage on. At first he couldn’t find much on the actual mother, but then I asked him to see if he could take the photo I had, show it around, and see if anyone had seen something like it before. That proved a lot more fruitful. Few days later he came back with a strange one, but straight away I saw the connection.
I’ll spare the details. Old man was found in a tub, all sorts of fucked up, in some old apartment building. It had since been condemned on account of the body which is fairly weird since bodies don’t usually cause that much fuss, but less weird when you realise that said body was in such a bad state it made three people sick and caused long-lasting structural damage. Whatever happened to this guy, it ate through the tub he’d been lying in and seeped into the floors and walls below. Turned plasterboard to shit and apparently even caused some trouble for the sturdier elements like steel and concrete. I don’t know how that works exactly, but that’s what the file said and going by the photos, I didn’t feel like anyone was lying.
As for the pictures? What can I say? Made my fucking skin crawl. No blurry little polaroid snapped by a kid. These were professional crime scene pictures that showed something in a bathtub that didn’t register as human until my eyes went looking for details. He looked like a hairy paper-wasp’s nest, only there were fingers and nipples and other little things that made it clear it had been built using a person as the framework. No face though. Just a head like a pile of used paper plates. Looking at those photos made me learn a new word just to describe how I felt. Trypophobia.
Wasn’t just the one guy either. Building was linked to the disappearance of the ground floor tenant. Some computer geek. I didn’t worry about him too much. But what did catch my eye was there was only one woman living in the whole place. Second floor apartment. The registered name was… somewhat familiar. Close enough to a certain someone’s that it raised the hairs on my neck. Police at the scene managed to get a photo of her and sure enough, there she was. My client going by a different name. Clearly something fishy was going on or else why the pseudonym? I figured it possible she’d maybe offed her own mother. Parents and spouses make the most common victims. But what connection was there to that second corpse, and what about the missing guy?
It was like a horror movie was following her around and she was just blissfully unaware. Condemned buildings and festering trailers made for a far cry from the professional accountant who enjoyed oat milk lattes and used sweetener instead of sugar to spare her teeth. But there was no denying she was the connection. There was photographic proof she’d lived in that building. If I wanted to get ahead of this, to really understand what was going on, I had to figure out what had happened to those bodies. I’d pretty much exhausted my favours with the police and truth was they didn’t know any more than I did. But it turned out the building was still standing. Condemned, but they hadn’t demolished it, partly because no one wanted to take responsibility, but I reckon it might have had something to do with the biohazard warnings slapped on every single window and door.
Good thing I’d brought a gas mask. I waited for sunset, geared up, and entered through the unlocked door. First thing that hit me as the door swung open was the smell. Similar to the trailer park but full pelt and hot as hell. Made me think of lizards and poorly kept terrariums. Strong enough to make my eyes water even through the mask. One thing was clear as I took a look around the hallway - the building was diseased. Not just rundown or decrepit like the usual urban decay. This was something else. Looked like the inside of a clogged pipe. You know how limescale fills it up? It was a bit like that. This oily rust coloured fluid had seeped down the walls and left them glistening and soft. Ropey stalactites of the stuff hung down from the ceiling like old party banners, and I edged around them afraid of what might happen if one touched me.
Best guess was that stuff was digesting the place. Anything soft or organic was going or gone. Old umbrella frames were left standing in one corner, the fabric burnt or dissolved away. The carpet was reduced to just a few patches no bigger than my hand. And a bunch of old cardboard boxes piled up under the stairs had turned squat and half-liquid, almost flowing down and around each other. The worst came when I took a look in the back room. More of a broom closet, I guess. Wouldn't have gone in but something caught my eye. A well-worn shoe that wasn’t covered in that oily shit. Sign of recent activity. That and the way the door was ajar just raised my suspicions, so I took a look.
Even now the timeline eludes me, but someone, a vagrant most likely given the way they were dressed, died a nasty death in there. Chemical burns come to mind. They were balled up in one corner, eyeless, looking up at me as I pushed the door open to take a closer look. Pink flesh threaded with red blood vessels, yellow bones poking through here and there. From the looks of things they’d been trying to work the door open. You could see a history of their escape attempts left by bleeding hands. Rust coloured finger streaks ran all along the door’s edges, special attention paid to the hinges. And he’d broken the only window and tried hauling himself up there only to realise it was barred from the other side. The jagged glass that still clung to the frame was covered in old blood. His palms must have looked like grated cheese. Eventually he’d given up and lain down in that shit and the thought of it made my chest feel heavy and tight. I’d only been in the building a few minutes and that shit was already eating through my shoes. I could hear the thick rubber soles sizzle and pop with each step. But that guy had been forced to sit down in an inch deep puddle of the stuff, likely because exhaustion had left him no choice but to tough it out. So how long had he tried staying up right?
Hours? Days? Weeks?
Him getting stuck in there had to be deliberate. I was sure of it. A feeling in my gut. Someone had locked the door behind him and left him to die slowly. God only knows why, but did that mean they were still hanging around and waiting for a chance to get to me? Looking around, I sure didn’t feel safe or alone. The shadows seemed too deep and the steady drip drip drip of that rancid oil oozing out of every surface was too monotonous. Someone or something lived in that filth and chances were they’d been responsible for that poor vagrant’s agonising death.
That meant getting out of that shithole was a priority, so I made for the stairs and started the climb. If there were any answers in that place, it’d be in the apartment where that old man died. The crime scene tape was still hanging off the door frame when I found it, and the TV and sofa, or what remained of them, stood in the same place as in the photos. Back in the day the old man had been a hoarder and I was surprised crime scene hadn’t cleared all his shit out. It was all still there, only what had once been a chest high maze of papers and magazines was now just a kind of hardened pulp, almost like magma dried mid-flow. Whole fucking place was covered in the stuff like a coral reef, growing up the walls and even patches of the ceiling. Looked a hell of a lot like a wasp’s nest, and it looked to be the source of that oily looking fluid. You could see it sweating out of every crease and fold in that strange hive. It was almost hypnotic to look at. Glistening amber beads oozing out of papery sheets that flowed like rock striata. There was a gentle, barely perceptible rhythm. Hypnotic.
I don’t know why but I reached out and ran the tip of my finger as gently as I could along the surface. It felt like the underside of a mushroom. All those papery gills. Gossamer thin. Soft and inviting. I wore no gloves and the brief moment of contact had deposited a single bead of that strange syrup on my fingertip. It caused a tingling sensation that was not entirely unpleasant. Even the blood that trickled down my knuckle felt warm and wet, like testing a hot bath with your hand. I liked it. I liked it and I wanted more.
I went to reach out and push my arm into the nest when a hand burst out of the nest and gripped my wrist. I was so surprised I didn’t even make a noise, but instead wordlessly fell back as the hand pushed me away from the nest. A very nearly skinless forearm followed and soon after a face emerged from the papery nest like a grime covered nightmare. Black eyes and a lipless mouth. It was a man that could have passed for a corpse, like a half-digested piece of meat. Terrified, I struggled to my feet and realised that this person had broken damn near every bone in my wrist with that single grip.
“Your meat smells raw,” he growled before heaving himself out of the nest in a disgusting parody of childbirth.
My sanity flickered and the next thing I knew I was on the ground floor with bleeding eyes and both hands frantically pulling at the door handle. My mind returned in pieces. I blinked red tears away but didn’t stop trying to open the door. I felt it, that urgent need to leave, like a suffocating man feels the need to breathe. But I’d fucked up bad. I’d sniffed out the closet and saw the trap laid there, but hadn’t seen the larger one set for me. There was only one way in and out of that building and I hadn’t jammed the door open! Now it was shut and nothing I did could get it open. With more time maybe I could’ve pried the jamb or even kicked it down, but my heart was racing and my vision blurring. I wanted out of that place. A hot primal need to get the hell out. The air was too hot. My mask too stifling. Sweat condensed on the inner plastic and made it damn near impossible to see. And the pain in my wrist was a throbbing explosion that made sensible thought impossible. I’d realised early on into my little foray that I was underprepared, but the scale of what that meant eluded me until I was there wrestling with thoughts of exposure and contagion and disease, fumbling at a greasy doorknob with a broken hand while suppressing thoughts of what might be crawling up my leg or back or neck. Panic threatened to consume me. The world and all the normality it represented was right fucking there. I could hear it. The distant hum of traffic. The amber glow of streetlights that lit up the biohazard posters. Not thirty minutes ago I’d been there. Safe and far away from this waking nightmare.
I was being reduced to a prey animal. Even in the moment I could sense it happening to me. Being made into something lesser, but it was like my actions were no longer my own. When I finally gave up on the front door, I turned around and saw the shadows way back at the hallway begin to shift as something descended the stairwell. There was no other way out. No door. No window. Just me, a long corridor, and a nightmare coming right at me.
Something inside me gave up. I don’t know how to describe it. I’m still not sure if it was that building and that strange fluid that seemed to warp my own thoughts, or maybe there’s just too much one person can go through. But I could practically hear the thin membrane of my sanity tear as I fell backwards into the door and slid down onto my ass, breathlessly awaiting my terrible fate. I almost contemplated turning off my light but by then it was too late. I could see him coming towards me. He was legless. Nothing from the waist down except blackened viscera trailing up the stairs behind him. He pulled himself towards hand over hand with hungry eyes. Before I knew it he was on top of me, one hand gripping my mouth with a salty palm, the other stroking my hair.
And then in an instant his demeanour changed. He pulled back with a terrified cry and scrambled away like I’d just stuck him with a blade.
“No no no no no,” he muttered. “No no you should have said you should have said I didn’t know I thought you were another one I didn’t know I thought you were here for me I didn’t know you were hers.”
He cowered away, pedalling on both hands backwards while keeping his eyes fixed on me.
“Tell her I did not know you were hers I could not smell until I was close very close if I hurt you I am sorry tell her I am sorry I did not mean to hurt you it is just I do not get to eat often and am always hungry.”
With a rapid gesture he threw the key for the door at me. It skittered across the floor and fell just short of my feet.
“Tell her I did not know.”
“W-w-w-what are you?” I stammered.
He looked at me curiously, stopping his retreat only briefly to gauge my expression.
“She likes to be seen but I looked without asking and I got what I deserve.”
“Who are you talking about?” I asked.
He very nearly laughed, but with such deformities it was mostly a drooling guffaw.
“You know!” he gasped. “Don’t be stupid. You’re in love with her. Just like me. But different. You got permission. I didn’t. But she was good. She left me an old nest to live in. And I have permission to eat anything I kill or trap myself. Hard now that people know to stay away but sometimes I get lucky.”
His eyes flicked to the closet with sickening hunger.
“What has this got to do with her?” I asked.
“What colour are her eyes?” he replied, almost manic with excitement. “Answer. Answer. Tell me. Tell me. What colour are her eyes?”
“G–”
I stopped. The word felt wrong in my mouth.
“Bl–
“Bro–”
“No no,” he chittered. “None of those.”
Seemingly excited but afraid, he raced forward momentarily and gripped my lapels with twisted glee.
“Compound,” he hissed with such forbidden pleasure. “Her eyes are compound. She’s jealous of us, you know?
“Jealous we get to love her.”
And then he disappeared into the darkness and something inside me gave way entirely and I passed out.
I don’t know much of what came after, exactly. I was found a few hours later in my car, idling at a traffic light. I’d made some effort at getting away on my own but didn’t get very far. No surprise here but I got sick as a dog going in that place. A deep chest infection. The kind that scares everyone at least once in their life. Only fair given how fucking stupid I was. But forgive me, I hadn’t anticipated nightmares beyond human comprehension. I challenge anybody to think that fucking far ahead. You think junkies. You think flies. Squatters. But that guy… that man slipping out of the nest and barrelling towards me on two hands. My mind going sizzle pop along with the soles on my boots. In real life, shit like that always sneaks up on you.
So I paid the price. Six months. Jesus. Six long months. I got every fever you can think of. Sepsis. Kidney failure. Liver failure. Month after month drowning in my own fluids, coughing up shit that made the nurses gag and leave. I asked the doctor what the long term effects will be and he winced before reading a list of things that didn’t leave much hope for a happy retirement. And if it was hard on my body, it was even worse on my mind. Those fever dreams… doctors say what I remember in that building, that was all just part of the sickness. Say I spent a good three days in a coma and strange dreams are the norm. Which I might accept if it weren’t the fucking skin graft still healing on my right hand. No one can explain that.
My client visited. Just the once. There are universally sad moments in life and one of them is realising someone you have a lot of affection for doesn’t have it back. They have some. Just not the same amount. It was always one way though, wasn’t it? I saw her every single day but if I was doing my job right, she only saw me once a month for our meetings. Our arrangement ended not long after, so I hope anyway. She left like it was nothing but me… ah Jesus it felt like someone excavated my heart right out. Even after what she told me why she was there, even after what I did, I could barely stand up straight I was so heartbroken. There were times after that I wished the sickness would just take me. Maybe that defeatism is why it got so bad. Who knows?
She came to me looking for a recommendation, of all things. She wasn’t cold. Far from it. But there was a sense of disappointment as she sat beside me and eyed me up.
“I liked the initiative,” she said after a while. “But the results leave me unimpressed.”
“What the fuck happened in that place?” I asked, and even though I could barely hear my own voice, she seemed like she heard every word. For a moment, the way she contemplated it, I thought I was gonna get a straight answer.
“You know my mother said men don’t see ugly women. They know they exist but they just poof them right outta their mind. Like a magic trick. She said we worked better being a little plain. Good enough to take home for a night. Any more and we’d start to leave problems everywhere we go. That guy was a problem. She was trying to warn me about the dangers of attention but silly me, I went and got addicted. I hoped with you there might be a degree of… separation. Infatuation on a contractual basis.”
She took a deep breath like she’d had a long hard day.
“I don’t know. Maybe Mom was right. It’s ridiculous, I suppose. The fly shouldn’t admire the spider. It either sees it and fears it, or doesn’t know what’s coming until it’s too late. I think Mom was telling me to go for the latter. It’s no fun being invisible though. You spent all that time looking at me. Following me. What did you see?”
I looked at her until my eyes watered and something throbbed in my skull.
“I don’t know,” I tried to lie.
“Be honest.”
She looked right at me and something in the air changed. I don’t know what. Hot. Jesus it was hot. Like looking at the sun. I remember the heart rate monitor going nuts and then… then I remember gossamer wings and serrated chitin. A tick on the inside of your cheek. A leech on your tongue. A horsehair worm that won’t leave the skin. And then an instant later my eyes refocused and there was just a normal woman in front of me.
“Someone I could have loved,” I answered, unable to stop the words spilling like vomit. “Someone who I thought deserved love.”
“See,” she said. “Who wouldn’t like your version better?”
I was crying again. Heart racing. World like butter, going soft at the edges. Whatever she did, it was like undergoing brain surgery in real time.
“I’d like a recommendation,” she said after another minute or two of silence. “I’d like to see myself. I look in the mirror and I don’t see what you do. I’d like an artist to paint me. A version of me, at least. It won’t be easy on them. All this time you’ve probably looked directly at me for no more than five, ten minutes in total. Just didn’t realise it. Always the back of my head or my hair obscuring just so. That won’t do. I want a portrait. I want to know what you see.”
“What will you do to them?”
“I won’t do anything. Not intentionally. But if you ask someone to paint the sun, expect them to go blind. Whoever paints me will be painting the sun in their living room. Going blind is the least of their problems. Now, fess up. You know someone. You mentioned them once in passing. A cousin, maybe. An artist in need of cash. I’m sure of it.”
“Why would I tell you anything?”
“Because you love me,” she said. “And because despite everything you will get better and you will come back to me. Year or two, I think. You are adamant I have no hold on you, and you will think that for a long time. And this period of freedom, you’ll enjoy it only by my good grace and mercy. You did a good job. Better than any before. I’ve read your notes and reports over and over and seen details of myself I didn’t even know were there. It’s a thing of beauty, what you did. And one day soon you’ll come back to me with some excuse for why you want the contract to continue.”
I tried to spit the word never but managed, at best, a weak shake of the head. Something that put a most peculiar smile on her face.
“It doesn’t work like that. It’d be like trying to brute force your way through Alzheimer’s. You’ll be back. Even now you’re mine. All mine. I’m just being gentle. And you’re going to give me the name and number of this artist because even though you know I could no more love you than a spider loves the fly, you are desperate to please me. Because when I broke the man in that apartment building. When I tore him in two and told him that he would live for as long as I desired, writhing without air for years and years, drowning in sickly fluids and trapped helplessly in a hive he is determined to maintain even though I wouldn't be caught dead going back there. He was grateful. And, with time, you’ll be grateful too.”
She put the pen in my hand. She smiled, mouthed the word good boy, and God help me…
I gave her my nephew’s number.

I have a 200sq ft tiny home. It's a lofted barn with room for two beds in the loft. Not on a trailer.
I'm looking to sell it in the Pacific Northwest area. Does anyone know of any resources? Craigslist? Forums?

Leaving from Indiana, and plan on hitting Grand Canyon, Page AZ, Zion, Yellowstone, Devils Tower, Mt Rushmore, and Badlands..
Like to add Capitol Reef NP, Arches NP, Monument Valley, Jeep tour in Moab, and maybe Bryce... but Google maps isn't being cooperative in what is drivable with a 2WD truck towing a trailer.
I have spent multiple days attempting to plan out the trip, and with stuff getting booked out months in advance, I need a solid route, and google maps is being a bit vague about routes through Capitol Reef, Arches, and Monument Valley areas.
Currently HARD set in stone dates are Zion for Angels Landing (already have passes) July 18th before 9am and YellowStone July 20-23rd. Both of them can NOT be moved, due to lottery system, or all spots sold out.
ALL camping will be in a converted utility trailer, that has zero setup or take down time.
Once I hit the "West" I can be on 70 or 40, was hoping to stop in Flagstaff to visit a highschool friend, but that is skippable, since I'm not 100% sure he will even make the time.
Plans so far: (July)

• 12th Hit the road (leaving from Indiana) Stopping in St Louis for arch and BBQ, 3 day drive to Grand Canyon total.. I can leave 1-2 days sooner, to add on other NP's on the way out.
• 15-17 Grand Canyon (2 hour drive to Page)
• 17th Page AZ for Antelope Canyon 3PM, HorseShoe bend, and Glen Canyon Dam (3 hour drive to Zion)
• 18th before 9AM-Noon Zion - Angles Landing (can NOT be moved)
• 18-20th 8 hour drive from Zion to Yellowstone, any recommendations here
• 20th Drive through Tetons NP in the morning
• 20-23rd YellowStone (can NOT be moved)
• 23 Devils Tower
• 23/24 Mt Rushmore
• 24 Badlands
• 24/25 Drive back to Indiana

Where do I add in the other parks, and what is a reasonable time to allow for each park (not already on the schedule), what ones are just drive through and what ones have stops worth stopping for.... ANYTHING you can think that I missed, that should be added on to the trip? Any GREAT hikes that are not too hard or long? (we are way out of our league with Angles Landing, but it's a once in a lifetime hike)
Would LOVE to add 1-2 natural hot springs to soak in for an hour, during that long drive. 4,500 miles or more.

Hi there! My husband and I are making the big cross-country move from Boston. I recently accepted a job in SF (about 2 blocks from Rincon park) and will be commuting to FiDi 3 days a week. He's at a remote-flexible company, but also plans to commute to his office in FiDi a few times a week. We're getting a small Uhaul trailer and driving to SF during the week of 4th of July, and are currently exploring our living options. We're deciding between: 1. Geting an airbnb for July/August while we search for an apartment. The downside is that airbnbs in the neighborhoods we'd like are expensive, and we'd have to get a small storage unit for the stuff we'll be u-hauling across the country, so we'd basically be moving twice. His brother is also getting married in July, so we'll need to fly back to Boston again for a long weekend, and paying for the airbnb for those extra few days feels wasteful. 2. Finding a sublet on Craigslist for July-Sept (most are 3-month minimums) while we search. This feels a little risky because I don't have any real options on the table yet (everything on Craigslist is for immediate move-in). But it's much more affordable than Airbnb, and we could potentially find a 2bd and store our stuff in the 2nd bedroom. The question is whether we’ll actually be able to find one. 3. Just say f*** it and rent an apartment sight unseen. Based on commute distance, we're mainly looking at Russian Hill, Nob Hill, maybe North Beach? neighborhoods. We'd like to spend less than $4500 ideally for a 2 bedroom, washedryer in unit. I definitely would love somewhere I can walk to coffee/restaurants etc. This option would be great, so we can avoid the double move and just start our life together!
What would you do? Appreciate any and all recommendations!

I got my CDL in 2013. 11 years in the game baby!!!! I driven dump trucks; vacuum trucks, straight trucks. And 53'ft trailetractor otr for most of my driving career. I also have endorsements in doubles/tripples, hazmat, tanker. And in process of getting my twic card.
The problem is finding a local job that pays my worth, or close to it. I'll compromise and will stoop a little lower. BUT South Texas McAllen local driving jobs ain't paying worth a S***. And the other issue online platforms such as; Indeed, Zip Recruiter, Craigslist jobs, Pulse, Lanefinder app.
*Insert sarcasm - It just so happens that all the good paying local jobs, are conveniently receiving well over one thousand applications per job post. Just overly saturated in my opinion, my application turns into a needle is a haystack. The job gets filled, or I never get a response because the position has been filled.
Anybody know, who, what, where, and how? To get a local jobs besides knocking on door to door. Any leeds or feedback on this pressing issue??🤔