Criss Cross Chair With Wheels

They called us The Middleview Four. Initially, it was just me and the mayor's son, Noah Prestley. We were the first two members. In the second grade, the two of us hated each other. He pulled my hair during naptime, and I scribbled on his drawings when he wasn't looking. When a dastardly crime hit our class, a milk thief, we reluctantly threw aside our differences and came together to catch the evil doer. Spoiler alert, it was Jessica S. After a nap time stakeout when we were supposed to be asleep, Noah and I caught her red handed– literally. Jessica's palms were still stained crimson from arts and crafts. Her plan was fool proof: Wait until we were all sleeping, and then drink all of our milk. Noah and I were hailed heroes. Well, no. We actually got in trouble for not sleeping, but our teacher did quietly thank us for catching Jessica before her evil crimes could continue. After the milk incident, Noah Prestley didn't seem that bad anymore. I didn't have any friends. Instead of playing with the other kids, I spent the entirety of recess examining the dirt on the playground for unusual footprints. Jessica S had been sternly reprimanded for stealing milk, but I had a feeling there were still criminals out there– and I would be the one to find and catch them. Mr Steven’s, the janitor, looked suspicious before lunch. I saw him crouched behind a dumpster with his head down. I thought he was pooping, until I saw the small bag in his hands. Hiding behind a wall, I watched him open it up and stare at it for a while, before another teacher yelled his name. I ran away before he could catch me, but I was sure the janitor had run across the playground. Studying the dirt in front of me, I was sure the footprint belonged to Mr Stevens. I had already checked his shoes. Mr Miller, our teacher, asked me to collect everyone's workbooks from the faculty room. I couldn't resist. After an incident involving a faculty member trailing in animal poop from outside, all students and teachers had to take off their outdoor shoes and wear indoor ones. The janitor’s outdoor shoes were neatly placed under his desk. Before I could hesitate, I checked the bottom of them, memorising their pattern. Swirls and C’s. Stabbing at the footprints in the dirt, I idly traced the exact same swirly pattern. “What are you doing, weirdo?” Noah Prestley knelt next to me, his curious eyes following my fingers that were digging into the dirt. I wanted to trace the footprints with my fingers. Mom told me to keep my dress clean, but it was already filthy, my cheeks smeared with dirt. I didn't look up from my clue. Noah was a good sidekick, admittedly. But he did eat all the snacks during our stake out– and he got distracted easily. We were almost caught when he freaked out over a moth. “Investigating crime,” I said, grabbing a stick and tracing the shoe pattern for the hundredth time. The footprint was too blurry, I could barely see any swirls. Noah sighed, snatching the stick off of me. “You're doing it wrong,” he grumbled. Before I could speak, the boy jumped up, prodding the dirt with the stick. “You need to look at the patterns on the shoe, and then see if they match.” “Whose shoe?” I said, coughing over my panicked tone. He was onto me. “That's what I've been doing!” The boy’s lip curled into a smile. He was the mayor's son, so I was careful around him. Even when we worked together to catch the milk thief, I kept my distance. He folded his arms, giggling. “The janitor’s shoe. I saw you spying on him while he was eating white powder.” I stepped back. “I wasn't spying.” Noah followed me, mocking my backing away. Another step, and he was standing on my shoes. “You were too. I saw you hiding behind the wall before recess. You were spying on the janitor.” Urgh. I stuck out my tongue. Boy cooties. Leaning away from him, I pulled a face. “No I didn't, and you can't prove it.” “Yes I caaaaan,” he sang. “I can also prove that you were playing with the janitor’s shoes during class time.” I dropped the stick, stepping on it. “You wouldn't.” He danced back, laughing. “I would!” Noah patted his jeans pocket where a phone was nestled inside. He was the only kid allowed a phone in class, due to him getting special treatment for being the mayor's son. The boy had two incriminating videos that would get me in trouble— maybe in even more trouble than the milk thief. The first one was a clear shot of me playing with the janitor’s shoes in the teachers lounge, and the second exposed me in perfect detail, on my tiptoes trying to peer behind the wall. Immediately, I tried to grab the phone off of him, but Noah Prestley had an ulterior motive. “I want to help you,” he said, pocketing his phone. When I could only frown at him in confusion, he lowered himself into the dirt. “Old Man Critter is hiding something,” he murmured, tracing the dirt with his fingers. Noah lifted his head, peering at me through dark brown curls hanging in his eyes. His smile was mischievous– definitely not the type I was used to. The mayor's son was more interesting than I thought. “So, let's find out what it is.” “Old Man Critter?” I questioned. Noah shrugged. “He looks like a cockroach.” The mystery white powder was cocaine. Obviously. However, to two seven year olds, this so-called white powder was a mind controlling substance, or maybe even something that could end the world. After all, per Noah’s detective skills, he saw the woman in public, and she was acting a little strange. Noah and I uncovered our janitor's evil plan, after stalking him for weeks, writing our findings in crayon, and staking out his house when we were supposed to be playing in the park. I became a regular visitor to the Prestley household, and Noah’s father wasn't as bad as I thought. He gave me cookies when I stayed over. Look, we were seven years old, so our findings weren't exactly concrete. But we still managed to uncover the clues leading to catching the janitor. There was a strange woman who met up with him outside the school gates at lunchtime. After some digging, we concluded she was buying the white powder from him. We managed to get a picture. Noah told the principal, presenting the evidence, and the janitor was fired for the possession of foreign substances. Noah and I were also reprimanded (again) for sticking our noses into business which wasn't ours. The adults tried to tell us the white powder was not bad, and was in fact candy. My parents were called, and Noah’s father did not look happy to be there, sending Noah scary death-glares across the principal's desk. My mother stood up and apologised for my behavior, blaming my imagination on the cartoons I was watching. In front of my Mom, I brought up the argument that a teacher wouldn't be selling candy to a woman. I received the look in return, but I didn't back down. She shook her head stubbornly, refusing to believe we were onto something, gently grabbing my hand and pulling me into my seat. I was threatened with zero dessert for a week, and no cartoons, which did shut me up eventually. There was no way I was missing Saturday morning Adventure Time. The adults seemed to have won this silent battle, and the principal began a speech which was basically, Children tend to have vivid imaginations, but will grow out of it… That was until a bored looking Noah jumped out of his chair and grabbed the seized baggie of white powder, ripping it open, his mouth curling into a grin. “Well, if it's candy, I can eat it, right?” Following a loud cacophony of, “No!” from the adults who really thought a seven year old was about to down half a pound of cocaine, and my mother almost fainting, our disgruntled parents finally agreed to take our claims seriously. The principal searched the janitor’s locker, and sure enough, he pulled out multiple bags of white powder. Old Man Critter had an audience of kids and faculty when he was being led away. Noah and I stood at the front. I remember him twisting around, teeth clenched in a manic snarl, saliva dripping down his chin. “I'll get you! You little brats! I'll fucking find you!” That was the day we found our third member. I opened my mouth to shout back at him, but my mother was quick to shut me up. May Lee, who was standing between me and Noah, nudged me, and then elbowed him hard enough to get a hiss out of the boy. May was half Korean, a tiny girl with orange pigtails who knocked Johnny Summer’s out during reading time for poking her in the face. May scared me. She scared Noah too, judging from the fearful look he shot me. I had a vague memory of her pigtails hitting me in the face during recess, and were somehow sharp enough to bruise my eye. May’s gaze trailed our school janitor being violently dragged outside. “Do you two even know how to catch bad guys?” “Yes.” Noah mumbled under his breath. “Obviously.” He let out another hiss when she hit him again. “Ow!” Noah shoved her back. “Your elbows are pointy!” “Well, you're not very good,” May teased, “I can help you catch bad guys.” He snorted. “Oh, yeah? What makes you think you can help us?” May proved herself a few weeks later when we were on our second official case. Who stole Mrs Johnson’s award winning carrots? I turned eight years old on the day May officially became part of our gang. We were supposed to be celebrating my birthday in the park, but of course we had work to do. Mrs Johnson’s award-winning carrots were still missing, and we were determined to find them. After tracking down the missing vegetables to a seedy house at the end of my block, Noah had stupidly decided to check out the inside for himself, leaving me alone with zero help. This was the first time I felt genuine fear striking through me, the first time I wanted to run and crawl under my bed. The carrot thief was in fact the crazy old woman who screamed at cheese in the store– the one Mom told me to stay away from. Using my dad’s ancient binoculars and my mediocre lip reading skills, I watched the crazy lady hold Noah hostage in her kitchen, armed with an old World War 2 grenade she swore she would detonate. It's not like I could follow him, I was in danger of getting caught too. Hiding behind the wall in front of her house, I had a perfect view of her kitchen window, and my friend awkwardly sitting at her table eating cookies. Had he switched sides!? my attention flicked to the chocolate cookie in my friend’s hand, my hands growing clammy around the binoculars. Could those cookies be forcing Noah to join the side of evil? When Noah pointed toward the window, right at me, I ducked, slamming my hand over my mouth, stifling a cry. I was so close to proving my Mom right, that I was putting myself in danger with this investigative hobby, and calling for her help, when no other than May Lee stepped out of the crazy old woman's house, hand in hand with an embarrassed looking Noah. Immediately, I hugged him. Then I hit him. “Why did you sell me out, stupid head?!” I yelled. “What did she do to you?” The boy blinked at me through thick brown hair. “She gave me a cookie.” “What? But it could be controlling you!” Noah pushed me away when I tried to check his ears for mind control devices. “Stop hitting me, I was telling her I had a friend waiting for me outside,” he grumbled. The boy refused to look at his rescuer, hiding under his hood. “She wanted the carrots to feed her bunny.” A proud looking May held up the stolen carrots with a grin. “I snuck in the back window.” she shoved Noah with a giggle, “Sorry, what did you say about not needing me, Mr Know It All?” Noah groaned, his gaze glued to the ground. Noah Prestley was stubborn. “She was like a thousand years old and was feeding her bunny when you attacked her. She didn't even tie me up, and besides,” he stuck out his tongue. “I didn't even need rescuing. She made me cookies and I got to hold Sir Shrooms.” “Sir Shrooms?” Noah giggled. “Her bunny.” May folded her arms. “Say thank you, dumb butt.” “I already said thank you!” Noah’s cheeks were burning bright. “You need to clean your ears!” “No you didn't, I would have heard you.” “Thank you.” Noah muttered under his breath. The girl snickered. “What did you say, Noah?” “I said thank you!” The boy ducked his head and I couldn't resist a giggle. He still refused to acknowledge being rescued by a girl. “You're still stupid.” Despite Noah making it clear he did not want another member joining our secret gang, we welcomed May into our group with our ritual, which was a chocolate cupcake and pushing her into the town lake. (I did the same to Noah, and the tradition kind of stuck). May wasn't just valuable to us for her fighting skills. She could talk her way out of a situation too. Noah and I got stuck in the principal's private bathroom investigating a small case of a stolen phone from a classmate. Our prime suspect was the principal himself, who had been the last person with it. I was convinced he'd stuffed the phone in his bathroom trash, after accidentally breaking it. We found numbers for phone repairs on his laptop. Noah and I were searching the trash when he came back from lunch early. If May wasn't there to interrogate him on his favorite video games, we would have been caught. That year, we were rewarded a special Junior police award at the Christmas parade for solving the mystery behind the disappearing holiday decorations (a teenage girl, who wanted to ruin Christmas for everyone). I still remember Mom’s scowl in the crowd. She really did not like my obsession with finding and bringing Middleview criminals to justice. Starting fourth grade, we became a trio of wannabe detectives, and even earned a name for ourselves. The Middleview Three. Mom tried to keep me inside, but by the age of ten, we were getting tip offs from the sheriff's daughter. We found missing cats, tracked down stolen vegetables, and even found a baby. When our names started to appear in the local gazette, Mom grounded me for two weeks, and Noah’s father threatened to send him to private school. May’s mother was strangely supportive, often providing snacks for stake outs, and when Noah cut his knee chasing a run-away dog, stitching him back up, and not telling our parents. We were on our fifth or sixth case when a new kid joined our class halfway through the year. I wasn't concentrating, already planning out our stakeout in my notebook. It was our first serious case. All of the third grade had gotten food poisoning the previous day, and I was already suspicious of the new lunch lady. I swore she spat in my lunch, and May came down with the stomach flu after eating slimy looking hamburger helper. The new kid didn't get my attention until he ignored our teacher’s prompt to tell us three interesting facts about himself, and proudly introduced himself as the fourth member of the Middleview Four. Noah, who was sitting behind me, kicked my seat, and May threw her workbook at me. They had a habit of resorting to violence when I was daydreaming. Lifting my head, I blinked at a private school kid standing in front of the class with far too much confidence, a grin stretched across his mouth. Rich, judging by his actual school uniform and the tinge of a British accent. The kid had dark blonde hair and freckles. “My name is Aris Caine,” he announced loudly, “And I want to join The Middleview Four.” “Middleview Three.” Noah corrected with a scoff, when fifteen pairs of eyes turned to us. I turned in my chair to shoot him a warning look. His death glare was typical. “We don't need anyone else,” he said through a pencil lodged between his teeth. The Mayor’s son had grown fiercely protective of our little gang. I could already sense his irritation that some random kid was trying to join us. Our confused teacher ushered the new kid to a seat, but he kept talking. “I was the smartest student in my old school,” Aris folded his arms. “I want to help you with your current case.” the boy cocked his head when I feigned a confused expression. “The food poisoning case?” He nodded at my notebook. “I'm not stupid, I know you're already working on it.” Aris strolled over to Noah’s desk and pulled out the boy’s notes from under his workbooks. Noah had been studying the footage we salvaged from the faculty lounge. “You're looking at the wrong piece of footage,” he announced. “If you let me join, I'll lead you to the culprit.” he stabbed at Noah’s notes. “Not bad. But you're missing something.” Noah leaned back on his chair. “Like what, new kid?” Aris knew he had an audience of intrigued eyes. I think that thrilled him. “You've been searching in the place most likely to have clues,” he murmured, “Which is the scene of the crime.” Aris was right. We were going crazy trying to find anything incriminating in the cafeteria– but all we had found was old custard and a scary amount of recycled pasta. Aris prodded at Noah’s notes again. “Why not look in the place least likely to hold a clue? You might be surprised.” Something in Noah’s expression lit up, his eyes widening. “The teachers lounge,” he said, just as the thought crossed my mind, May audibly gasping. “Mr Caine,” Mrs Jacobs was red faced. She had already seized several of our phones, and some earphones Noah had been using to listen to a potential culprit on a missing cat case. “Please take your seat and stop talking about things that do not concern children.” She put way too much emphasis on the latter word. I felt like telling her we were ten years old, not six. But that counted as talking back– and my Mom would be informed. So, I kept my mouth shut. Noah, however, suffered from the doesn't think before he speaks disease. “Well, maybe if the cops actually did their jobs,” he spoke up, “a group of children wouldn't have to help them.” “Mr Prestley–” “You know I'm right, Mrs Jacobs,” he said, with that innocent and yet mocking tone. “We put our old janitor in jail when we were in the second grade,” he laughed, and the rest of the class joined in. “It's not our fault the sheriff is totally incompetitant at his job.” The laughs grew louder, but this time the class were laughing at him, not with him. Mrs Jacobs pursed her lips, her hands going to her hips. “I believe the word you are trying to say is incompetent, which makes sense because you are failing at basic English. Perhaps if you focus on actual school work and not your juvenile Scooby Doo fantasies, you might be able to speak basic words.” the teacher’s eyes were far too bright to be mocking a ten year old. Twisting around in my chair, Noah’s gaze was burning into his desk. The teacher’s attention turned to Aris, who was frowning at Noah. Not with sympathy or pity. No, he was disappointed that a member of the famous Middleview Three, who were known to go against adults, had backed down to a teacher with no snarky remark. “Aris Caine.” Mrs Jacobs raised her voice. “Sit down.” Aris slumped into his seat and pretended to zip his lips, before leaning over my desk and dropping a memory drive into my pencil case. “Here is the real footage,” he murmured, shooting Noah a grin. “Thank me later.” “We’re not going to thank you, because we don't know you,” Noah spat back. However, the footage the new kid provided was just what we needed, the puzzle piece that put everything together. We were right. The new lunch lady had rushed into the office before lunch time, grabbed a vial of something from her bag, and disappeared back through the door. We had been too busy studying the camera footage from the kitchen, to realise our clue was in fact inside the teachers lounge. When the four of us stepped into our principals office, he regarded us with a scowl. I wasn't a stranger to his office. I had even picked my own seat, the fluffy beanbag near the door. The Middleview Three were in his office every week. Usually for breaking into classrooms and the time Noah tried to jump into the vent because he saw it on TV. Principal Maine was drinking something that definitely wasn't coffee or water. His desk was an avalanche of paper, and I swore I could already see steam coming out of his ears. “You three.” The man leaned forward, raising his brow at Aris, who looked way too comfortable at a school he had just joined. “And you've dragged the new kid into your antics! I can't say I'm surprised when I've been on the phone with four separate reporters who want details on this Middleview Three garbage.” Noah’s eyes lit up. “Wait, really? What did you tell them?” Principal Maine’s eyebrows twitched. “I told them the truth,” he leaned back in his chair. This guy had some serious stress-lines. “You are three stubborn children with zero respect for authority, who have broken multiple rules and are very close to acquiring criminal records before reaching the age of eleven. Which, might I say, is a first! The youngest person in this town to get a criminal record was Ellie Daley, back in the 80’s. She was thirteen years old.” “We haven't broken any rules,” May said, “We’ve been catching bad people.” The man’s lip curled. “We have a full force of officers whose jobs are to find bad people,” he said. “Middleview does not need the protection of three children who are barely old enough to know right from wrong,” his eyes found Noah. He was always the punching bag for our teachers, and I never understood why. Like there was this on-going joke between the adults to point fun at him. “Or left from right for that matter! Mr Prestley has demonstrated that several times. Which is why you are in school, why you three should be learning, instead of playing Sherlock Holmes.” He shook his head. “Get on with it. Why are you here this time?” I hated our principal’s condescending tone. He was angry. But I didn't think he'd be this angry. “Go on!” he urged us. “What did you solve this time?” Principal Maine inclined his head. “Let me guess,” he said. “You've found the Zodiac killer. Well, that's quite the achievement.” Noah opened his mouth to speak, and the man’s expression darkened. “Choose your next words very carefully, Mr Prestley. Your father may be able to cover up your detective games but I will happily lose my job over suspending you from this school.” Noah’s eyes widened. “But that's not–” “One more word.” Maine said, emphasising his threat by picking up his phone, like he was about to make important phone calls. My mom did that too when I refused to shower, or didn't eat my broccoli. “Do not test me.” The new kid surprised us by stepping forward, the flash drive clutched in his fist. “It wasn't them, Principal Maine, it was me.” he placed the evidence on the desk. Aris was a good actor. He was playing the innocent kid pretty well, I almost believed him. Until he winked at us. “I went to the Middleview– I mean, to these three because I didn't want to come and see you alone because I'm scared she'll poison me too.” Aris dramatised a sob, and in the corner of my eye, Noah’s eyes rolled to the back of his head. May, however, was entranced, her eyes wide. The performance was award worthy. The shaking hands, the slight stutter in his words that was subtle enough to be noticeable– but not enough to be faking it. Aris Caine was already our fourth member, and all of us knew it. Principal Maine took the flash drive, a frown creasing his expression. He inserted it into his laptop, and just from studying his expression as he watched the footage, widening eyes and slightly parted lips that were definitely stifling bad words— I knew we had him. Aris made sure to give a commentary, which wasn't necessary, but I did enjoy the look on our principal’s shell-shocked face. “That's the new lunch lady,” Aris pointed out. He started to lean over to prod the screen, but seeing the visible veins pulsing in our principal's forehead, the three of us dragged him back. Aris stumbled, and we tightened our grip. I was already smiling, and even Noah was trying to hide a grin. This kid was definitely a member of the Middleview Three. “I haven't met her. But as you can see, she is putting something into the third grader’s food.” “Poison,” May nodded. “Or, according to the police report–” Maine went deathly pale. “Salmon Ella.” Noah finished with a smirk. The man didn't react. But he did shut his laptop and excuse himself, immediately calling the cops. I was grounded again after the food poisoning case. Worse still, I got sick for two weeks and was bedridden, so I missed out on two cases involving stolen birthday decorations. Noah was insistent that the new kid was not joining us. I received a multitude of texts cramming up my Mom’s notifications. She ended up muting him. Hes NOT joynjng I don't cre now smart he is I don't like him and Im teknicly the first member May is being stoopid we can talk when your better get well soon OK??? Two weeks later, I stepped into class, and Noah had taken the seat next to Aris, the two of them enveloped in the mountain of pokémon cars on Aris’s desk. May was trying to play, but apparently she needed Pokémon cards to join. When I questioned them, Noah looked up with a grin. “Aris is cool now!” His announcement stapled our fourth member. Entering teenagehood made me realise Middleview was not a good town–and its people had masks. Even the ones I thought I knew. At twelve years old, we hunted down a child killer, a sadistic man who turned his victims into angels. It didn't take us long to realise the people we put away as little kids wanted revenge. And in their heads we were old enough to receive proper punishment. Mom told me we would regret our so-called fame as the town's junior detectives, and I thought she was wrong. I had spent my childhood chasing bad guys, so I was sure I could catch the real bad ones too. I was fourteen when we ran into our first real criminal who specifically wanted us. Danny Budge was the reason why Noah started going to therapy at fourteen, and why Aris refused to go near the edge of town. May had taken time off to go see her family abroad, and I was put under house arrest. Seven year old Maisie Eaton had disappeared from her yard, and after searching for her for two nights, alongside the police who had learned to tolerate us working with them, we found her tied up inside an old barn. Sitting cross legged on a pile of hay, was Maisie. Awake. I could see her eyes were wide. But she wasn't moving or struggling, it didn't make sense to me. “Wait,” I nudged May. “She's not moving.” Aris rushed forward to untie the little girl, only to trip on a wire, which was connected to a Final Destination style contraption. Aris lifted his head, pointing above him. One more step, and he would have sent a sharpened spear directly through the little girl’s head. “Fuck!” Aris hissed, already freaking out. He was frozen. “What do I do?!” “Stay calm,” Noah said from my side, the rest of us hiding behind an old car. The mayor's son had become our unofficial leader. Ever since hitting puberty, he was now our brawn alongside May. Noah jumped forward, watching for trip wires. “I'll save the kid. May! You help Aris.” before I could get a word in, he was dragging me to my feet. “Marin, you're with me.” I nodded, stumbling in the dark, keeping my flashlight beam on the ground. “You know what this means, don't you?” Noah said in heavy breaths, his fingers wrapped around my arm. “Maisie was innocent. There was no motive. She was just a distraction.” Noah let out a hiss. “Or even a lure.” I did. But I didn't want to say it out loud, because then my Mom would be right, and I was admitting that there were multiple people trying to kill us. Luckily, we saved Maisie. Her kidnapper, Danny Budge turned himself in with no word or explanation. Later, we would find out he was related to our elementary school janitor. The little girl was taken back to her mother, and the four of us stayed behind, peering up at the murder contraption specifically made to butcher us. Aris nudged me, and I almost jumped out of my skin. “You should probably keep this… quiet,” he said in a breath, his gaze glued to the long rope expertly tied to the ceiling. “From your mother,” May added softly. She squeezed my hand. “Your Mom will kill us before they do.” “We’re going to fucking die,” Noah said in a sing-song. “And I'm not even sixteen.” He was right. One year later, our most gruesome and horrific case hit us like a wave of ice water, and I admitted we were just four kids completely out of our depth. Three townspeople had been found murdered in piles of bloody string. The photos from the scene made me sick, and I was still recovering from our old janitor’s measly attempt at punishing us for ruining his life. We were stupidly blindsided by the string murders, and thought we were following a clue. The next thing I knew, I was tied up back to back with Aris in my old janitor’s basement while he caressed my cheek with a knife. “Am I supposed to be here?” Aris whispered, struggling in his restraints. “Did he just call me Noah?” I knocked my head against his. “Don't tell him that! Idiot. What if he kills you?” Funnily enough, Aris was right. Old Man Critter had mistaken Aris for Noah. The two of them were sandy blonde and reddish brown, one built like a brick wall while the other more wiry. However, to an old man with debilitating sight, I guess I could see it. Maybe if I squinted. So, after an hour or two of empty threats and knife play, Noah and May came to our rescue, tailed by the police, and… my mother. I think I would have rather been tied up with Old Man Critter than face her wrath. I was supposed to be at the library studying. I shot Noah a death glare, and he offered a pitiful, almost puppy-like frown: Sorry! he mouthed. She made us tell her!. Fast forward to when the others really needed me to investigate the string murders, and I was stuck inside. Mom had gone as far as taping up my windows to make sure I didn't sneak out. I think me being kind of kidnapped, but not really by Old Man Critter, really set her into panic mode. I did tell her that he didn't hurt us at all, and just wanted to scare us. But Mom was past angry. She was impossible to talk to. May texted me halfway into a horror movie I was forcing myself to watch that another body had been found. Turning on the local news, she was right. This time it was a kid. May told me to get my ass out of the house. I knew where Mom hid the door keys, so at midnight when I knew she was sleeping, I snuck out and rode my bike to the rendezvous we had agreed to meet. May was already there, a flashlight in her mouth, fingers wrapped around her handlebars. “The boys?” I whispered, joining her. “They're already there,” she said through a mouthful of flashlight. “Let's go!” Aris was 99.9% sure we would find a clue inside the old string factory, so that's where we headed. Noah and Aris were already waiting outside, armed with flashlights. The two of them were quieter than normal. They didn't greet me or tease my absence from the gang. “Okay, so here's what we're going to do,” Noah announced. His voice swam in and out of my mind when I tipped my head back, drinking in the foreboding building in front of us. A shiver crept its way down my spine, and suddenly I felt sick to my stomach, like something had come apart in my mind. I stumbled back, but something pulled me forwards, my mouth filling with phantom bugs skittering on my tongue. I really didn't want to go in there… I could sense my body was moving, but I wasn't the one in control. Looking up, there was something there at the corner of my eye. It was above me and around me, everywhere, sliced in between everything. But I couldn't look. I couldn't look. I wasn't allowed to look. “Marin?” Noah twisted around to me, and his face caught in the dull light of the moon. “Hey, are you coming?” Blinking rapidly, I nodded, despite seeing it with Noah too. I couldn't look. I wasn't allowed. “Dude, are you good?” My vision was blurring, and a scream was clawing its way up my throat. I took a step back, my eyes following his every movement. “Noah.” I didn't realise his name was slipping from my lips, a rooted fear I didn't understand setting my body into fight or flight. Why… I choked back tears. Why do you look… like that? I held out my own hands, hot tears filling my eyes. I looked up into the sky, at criss-crosses that didn't make sense. “Yeah, I'm coming!” my mouth moved for me, and I joined the others, pushing open the large wooden door. I didn't remember anything past the old wooden door we pushed through. Going back to that memory over and over again, all I remembered was pushing the door. I was found three hours later, inconsolable, screaming on the side of the road, my fingers entangled with…string. It was everywhere. Mom said I blocked out a lot, but I strictly remember blood slicked string covering me, damp in my hands and tangled in my hair. There was no sign of the others. Mom put me into the back of her car, and I slept for a while. My mother drove us far away from Middleview. I asked about my friends, but Mom told me they weren't real, that Middleview was a fantasy I had dreamed up as a child. She told me I was in a traumatising incident as a child, and mixed up reality and fiction. Cartoons and my own life. But they were real. No amount of private therapists spewing the same shit could erase my whole life. I was strictly told that I had a head injury, that I imagined The Middleview Four like my own personal fantasy. I didn't start believing it until I grew into an adult and was prescribed some pretty strong meds, so I began to wonder if they were in fact delusions. Mom’s job was a mystery I couldn't solve, even as a twenty three year old. So, I followed her one night, hopping into my car when she left our driveway. Her job was behind a ten foot wall surrounded by barriers. Security guards were checking a car in, so I took my chance, and slipped through on-foot. What I saw behind the barrier was Middleview. The town I thought I hallucinated. I was immediately blinded by flood lights illuminating the diner from my childhood. Middleview. I took a shaky step forward, my stomach twisting. It was a TV set. No, more of a stage. Inside, bathed in the pretty colours I remembered from my childhood, were my friends sitting in our usual booth, frozen at fifteen years old. The Middleview Four, minus me, were exactly the same as when I left them. They were even wearing the same clothes. May. Her orange pigtails bobbed along with her head. Aris was hunched over like usual, picking at his fries and dipping them in his shake. Except how could I take any of this seriously when they were surrounded by cameras? Noah slammed his hands down on the table with a triumphant grin. “We are so close to cracking this case!” I noticed his lips weren't moving with his voice. I started toward them slowly, even when the truth dangled above me, below me, everywhere. I stepped over it, blew it out of my face, reaching shaky hands forward to pull them aside. Aris laughed, and something moved above him. “We were kidnapped last week. We are not close. You're just painfully optimistic.” May nudged him, giggling. “Let him have this. He thinks he's our leader.” Noah punched the air, and there it was again. Movement. “I am our leader!” Closer. I found myself inches away from my best friend, and my blood ran so cold, so painful, poison in my veins. Noah stood up, and I could see the reality of him in front of me. The reality of want I wasn't allowed to see. His head wobbled slightly when he smiled, mouth opening and closing in jerking motions. If I looked closer, his lips had been split apart to perfectly replicate a smile. I forced myself to take all of him in. All of Aris, and May. The back of Noah had been hollowed out, a startling red cavern where his spine was supposed to be, where flesh and bone was supposed to be. Now, I just saw… strings. Looking closer, I could finally see them. Strings tangled around his arms, his legs, puppeteering his every move as he danced from string to string. I grabbed Noah’s hand, and it was ice cold, slimy flesh that was long dead. He didn't move, but his eyes somehow found me. Noah’s expression flickered with recognition, before his strings were tugged violently, and he screamed, his eyes going wide, lips twisting. “Marin?” His artificial eyes blinked, and he slowly moved his head. “You… left… us.” Noah’s lips curled, a deep throated whine escaping his throat. “You… left us!” He twisted around, his lip wobbling. “Why?!” his frightened eyes flicked from me to his own hands. All those inside jokes our teachers had, I thought dizzily. Was this what it was for? Was Noah Prestley nothing but comedic relief? “Why… am I… cold?” Noah mumbled. “Cut!” someone yelled. I staggered back, words tangled in my throat. Noah opened his mouth, but he was pulled back, this time violently, his strings above jerking, tangling together. “Allison!” a man shouted from behind me. “Why is your daughter on the stage? Get her out of here!” I was paralysed, still staring at the hollowed out puppet who had been my best friend, when my mother’s arms wrapped around me so tight, I lost the ability to breathe. I was still staring at the strings cross crossed above me, Noah’s strings pulling him back. Aris’s strings forcing him to laugh. May’s strings bobbing her head in a nodding gesture. “Marin,” Mom whispered into my back. “You cannot be here.” “They're here,” was all I managed to whisper. Her sobs shook against me. I didn't realise my mother was crying until I felt her tears wet on my shoulder. The words were entangled on my tongue, but just like the string above me, they were knotted and contorted. They were here. All this time they were here, and you made me think I was crazy?! What did you do to them? What did you DO? “No, sweetie. No, they're not.” Mom’s voice was breaking, her grip tightening around me. The world was spinning and I was barely aware of myself kicking and screaming while my Mom struggled to shout over me. “I was going to expose them to the world,” she hissed out, dragging me away from Noah– away from his jerking, puppet-like mouth. I couldn't comprehend that he existed as that, as a conscious thing that had been carved of its insides. “You were the property of an evil and very powerful little girl who owns this town and everyone in it,” my Mom spat in my ear. “They made me keep my mouth shut, so I begged them to save one of you. Just one. I had to cut one of you down before I went crazy.” I was still screaming when she calmly dragged me to my car, slipping a shot into the flesh of my neck. I remember the rain pounding against the window, my mother’s pale face shining with tears, her stifled sobs into the wheel. “And I chose you.” I woke up the next morning with what was supposed to be a wiped memory. But I wasn't lucky enough to forget. I am terrified of her finding out I remember her exact words from the car-ride home. I'm scared she (or her work) will make me forget them for real. Mom told me that I once had strings too. Strings that cut through me, cruelly entangling around me, suffocating my mind and controlling my every move. Strings that would soon pierce through me and turn me into a little girl’s doll. But she saved me, cutting me down, when I was still human. And now I guess I am a real girl. submitted by /u/Trash_Tia to r/scarystories [link] [comments]

https://preview.redd.it/adafwzviw22h1.png?width=3508&format=png&auto=webp&s=0018873a4bf76dda7a47eeb620ff371ad66f904a The baby had been unexpected. Melissa had never expected that such a short affair would yield a child, but as she stood alone in the cramped bathroom, nervous anticipation fluttering behind her ribs, the result on the pregnancy test was undeniable. Positive. Her first reaction was shock, followed immediately by despair. A large, sinking hole in her stomach that swallowed up any possible joy she might have otherwise felt about carrying a child in her womb. A child? She couldn’t raise a child, not by herself. In her small, squalid apartment and job as a grocery store clerk, she didn’t have the means to bring up a baby. It wasn’t the right environment for a newborn. All the dust in the air, the dripping tap in the kitchen, the fettering cobwebs that she hadn’t found the time to brush away. This wasn’t something she’d be able to handle alone. But the thought of getting rid of it instead… In a panicked daze, Melissa reached for her phone. Her fingers fumbled as she dialled his number. The baby’s father, Albert. They had met by chance one night, under a beautiful, twinkling sky that stirred her desires more favourably than normal. Melissa wasn’t one to engage in such affairs normally, but that night, she had. Almost as if swayed by the romantic glow of the moon itself. She thought she would be safe. Protected. But against the odds, her body had chosen to carry a child instead. Something she could have never expected. It was only the sudden morning nausea and feeling that something was different that prompted her to visit the pharmacy and purchase a pregnancy test. She thought she was just being silly. Letting her mind get carried away with things. But that hadn’t been the case at all. As soon as she heard Albert’s voice on the other end of the phone—quiet and short, in an impatient sort of way—she hesitated. Did she really expect him to care? She must have meant nothing to him; a minor attraction that had already fizzled away like an ember in the night. Why would he care about a child born from an accident? She almost hung up without speaking. “Hello?” Albert said again. She could hear the frown in his voice. “A-Albert?” she finally said, her voice low, tenuous. One hand rested on her stomach—still flat, hiding the days-old foetus that had already started growing within her. “It’s Melissa.” His tone changed immediately, becoming gentler. “Melissa? I was wondering why the number was unrecognised. I only gave you mine, didn’t I?” “There’s something I need to tell you.” The line went quiet, only a flutter of anticipated breath. Melissa wondered if he already knew. Would he hang up the moment the words slipped out, block her number so that she could never contact him again? She braced herself. “I’m… pregnant.” The silence stretched for another beat, followed by a short gasp of realization. “Pregnant?” he echoed. He sounded breathless. “That’s… that’s wonderful news.” Melissa released the breath she’d been holding, strands of honey-coloured hair falling across her face. “It… is?” “Of course it is,” Albert said with a cheery laugh. “I was rather hoping this might be the case.” Melissa clutched the phone tighter, her eyes widened as she stared down at her feet. His reaction was not what she’d been expecting. Was he really so pleased? “You… you were?” “Indeed.” Melissa covered her mouth with her hand, shaking her head. “B-but… I can’t…” “If it’s money you’re worried about, there’s no need,” Albert assured her. “In fact, I have the perfect proposal.” A faint frown tugged at Melissa’s brows. Something about how words sounded rehearsed somehow, as if he really had been anticipating this news. “You will leave your home and come live with me, in Duskvale. I will provide everything. I’m sure you’ll settle here quite nicely. You and our child.” Melissa swallowed, starting to feel dizzy. “L-live with you?” she repeated, leaning heavily against the cold bathroom tiles. Maybe she should sit down. All of this news was almost too much for her to grasp. “Yes. Would that be a problem?” “I… I suppose not,” Melissa said. Albert was a sweet and charming man, and their short affair had left her feeling far from regretful. But weren’t things moving a little too quickly? She didn’t know anything about Duskvale, the town he was from. And it almost felt like he’d had all of this planned from the start. But that was impossible. “Perfect,” Albert continued, unaware of Melissa’s lingering uncertainty. “Then I’ll make arrangements at one. This child will have a… bright future ahead of it, I’m sure.” He hung up, and a heavy silence fell across Melissa’s shoulders. Move to Duskvale, live with Albert? Was this really the best choice? But as she gazed around her small, cramped bathroom and the dim hallway beyond, maybe this was her chance for a new start. Albert was a kind man, and she knew he had money. If he was willing to care for her—just until she had her child and figured something else out—then wouldn’t she be a fool to squander such an opportunity? If anything, she would do it for the baby. To give it the best start in life she possibly could. A few weeks later, Melissa packed up her life and relocated to the small, mysterious town of Duskvale. Despite the almost gloomy atmosphere that seemed to pervade the town—from the dark, shingled buildings and the tall, curious-looking crypt in the middle of the cemetery—the people that lived there were more than friendly. Melissa was almost taken aback by how well they received her, treating her not as a stranger, but as an old friend. Albert’s house was a grand, old-fashioned manor, with dark stone bricks choked with ivy, but there was also a sprawling, well-maintained garden and a beautiful terrace. As she dropped off her bags at the entryway and swept through the rooms—most of them laying untouched and unused in the absence of a family—she thought this would be the perfect place to raise a child. For the moment, it felt too quiet, too empty, but soon it would be filled with joy and laughter once the baby was born. The first few months of Melissa’s pregnancy passed smoothly. Her bump grew, becoming more and more visible beneath the loose, flowery clothing she wore, and the news of the child she carried was well-received by the townsfolk. Almost everyone seemed excited about her pregnancy, congratulating her and eagerly anticipating when the child would be due. They seemed to show a particular interest in the gender of the child, though Melissa herself had yet to find out. Living in Duskvale with Albert was like a dream for her. Albert cared for her every need, entertained her every whim. She was free to relax and potter, and often spent her time walking around town and visiting the lake behind his house. She would spend hours sitting on the small wooden bench and watching fish swim through the crystal-clear water, birds landing amongst the reeds and pecking at the bugs on the surface. Sometimes she brought crumbs and seeds with her and tried to coax the sparrows and finches closer, but they always kept their distance. The neighbours were extremely welcoming too, often bringing her fresh bread and baked treats, urging her to keep up her strength and stamina for the labour that awaited her. One thing she did notice about the town, which struck her as odd, was the people that lived there. There was a disproportionate number of men and boys compared to the women. She wasn’t sure she’d ever even seen a female child walking amongst the group of schoolchildren that often passed by the front of the house. Perhaps the school was an all-boys institution, but even the local parks seemed devoid of any young girls whenever she walked by. The women that she spoke to seemed to have come from out of town too, relocating here to live with their husbands. Not a single woman was actually born in Duskvale. While Melissa thought it strange, she tried not to think too deeply about it. Perhaps it was simply a coincidence that boys were born more often than girls around here. Or perhaps there weren’t enough opportunities here for women, and most of them left town as soon as they were old enough. She never thought to enquire about it, worried people might find her questions strange and disturb the pleasant, peaceful life she was building for herself there. After all, everyone was so nice to her. Why would she want to ruin it just because of some minor concerns about the gender disparity? The women seemed happy with their lives in Duskvale, after all. There was no need for any concern. So she pushed aside her worries and continued counting down the days until her due date, watching as her belly slowly grew larger and larger to accommodate the growing foetus inside. One evening, Albert came home from work and wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his hands on her bump. “I think it’s finally time to find out the gender,” he told her, his eyes twinkling. Melissa was thrilled to finally know if she was having a baby girl or boy, and a few days later, Albert had arranged for an appointment with the local obstetrician, Dr. Edwards. He was a stout man, with a wiry grey moustache and busy eyebrows, but he was kind enough, even if he did have an odd air about him. Albert stayed by her side while blood was drawn from her arm, and she was prepared for an ultrasound. Although she was excited, Melissa couldn’t quell the faint flicker of apprehension in her stomach at Albert’s unusually grave expression. The gender of the child seemed to be of importance to him, though Melissa knew she would be happy no matter what sex her baby turned out to be. The gel that was applied to her stomach was cold and unpleasant, but she focused on the warmth of Albert’s hand gripping hers as Dr. Edwards moved the probe over her belly. She felt the baby kick a little in response to the pressure, and her heart fluttered. The doctor’s face was unreadable as he stared at the monitor displaying the results of the ultrasound. Melissa allowed her gaze to follow his, her chest warming at the image of her unborn baby on the screen. Even in shades of grey and white, it looked so perfect. The child she was carrying in her own womb. Albert’s face was calm, though Melissa saw the faint strain at his lips. Was he just as excited as her? Or was he nervous? They hadn’t discussed the gender before, but if Albert had a preference, she didn’t want it to cause any contention between them if it turned out the baby wasn’t what he was hoping for. Finally, Dr. Edwards put down the probe and turned to face them. His voice was light, his expression unchanged. “It’s a girl,” he said simply. Melissa choked out a cry of happiness, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. She was carrying a baby girl. She turned to Albert. Something unreadable flickered across his face, but it was already gone before she could decipher it. “A girl,” he said, smiling down at her. “How lovely.” “Isn’t it?” Melissa agreed, squeezing Albert’s hand even tighter, unable to suppress her joy. “I can’t wait to meet her already.” Dr. Edwards cleared his throat as he began mopping up the excess gel on Melissa’s stomach. He wore a slight frown. “I assume you’ll be opting for a natural birth, yes?” Melissa glanced at him, her smile fading as she blinked. “What do you mean?” Albert shuffled beside her, silent. “Some women prefer to go down the route of a caesarean section,” he explained nonchalantly. “But in this case, I would highly recommend avoiding that if possible. Natural births are… always best.” He turned away, his shoes squeaking against the shiny linoleum floor. “Oh, I see,” Melissa muttered. “Well, if that’s what you recommend, I suppose I’ll listen to your advice. I hadn’t given it much thought really.” The doctor exchanged a brief, almost unnoticeable glance with Albert. He cleared his throat again. “Your due date is in less than a month, yes? Make sure you get plenty of rest and prepare yourself for the labour.” He took off his latex gloves and tossed them into the bin, signalling the appointment was over. Melissa nodded, still mulling over his words. “O-okay, I will. Thank you for your help, doctor.” Albert helped her off the medical examination table, cupping her elbow with his hand to steady her as she wobbled on her feet. The smell of the gel and Dr. Edwards’ strange remarks were making her feel a little disorientated, and she was relieved when they left his office and stepped out into the fresh air. “A girl,” she finally said, smiling up at Albert. “Yes,” he said. “A girl.” The news that Melissa was expecting a girl spread through town fairly quickly, threading through whispers and gossip. The reactions she received were varied. Most of the men seemed pleased for her, but some of the folk—the older, quieter ones who normally stayed out of the way—shared expressions of sympathy that Melissa didn’t quite understand. She found it odd, but not enough to question. People were allowed to have their own opinions, after all. Even if others weren’t pleased, she was ecstatic to welcome a baby girl into the world. Left alone at home while Albert worked, she often found herself gazing out of the upstairs windows, daydreaming about her little girl growing up on these grounds, running through the grass with pigtails and a toothy grin and feeding the fish in the pond. She had never planned on becoming a mother, but now that it had come to be, she couldn’t imagine anything else. Until she remembered the disconcerting lack of young girls in town, and a strange, unsettling sort of dread would spread through her as she found herself wondering why. Did it have something to do with everyone’s interest in the child’s gender? But for the most part, the people around here seemed normal. And Albert hadn’t expressed any concerns that it was a girl. If there was anything to worry about, he would surely tell her. So Melissa went on daydreaming as the days passed, bringing her closer and closer to her due date. And then finally, early one morning towards the end of the month, the first contraction hit her. She awoke to pain tightening in her stomach, and a startling realization of what was happening. Frantically switching on the bedside lamp, she shook Albert awake, grimacing as she tried to get the words out. “I think… the baby’s coming.” He drove her immediately to Dr. Edwards’ surgery, who was already waiting to deliver the baby. Pushed into a wheelchair, she was taken to an empty surgery room and helped into a medical gown by two smiling midwives. The contractions grew more frequent and painful, and she gritted her teeth as she coaxed herself through each one. The bed she was laying on was hard, and the strip of fluorescent lights above her were too bright, making her eyes water, and the constant beep of the heartrate monitor beside her was making her head spin. How was she supposed to give birth like this? She could hardly keep her mind straight. One of the midwives came in with a large needle, still smiling. The sight of it made Melissa clench up in fear. “This might sting a bit,” she said. Melissa hissed through her teeth as the needle went into her spine, crying out in pain, subconsciously reaching for Albert. But he was no longer there. Her eyes skipped around the room, empty except for the midwife. Where had he gone? Was he not going to stay with her through the birth? The door opened and Dr. Edwards walked in, donning a plastic apron and gloves. Even behind the surgical mask he wore, Melissa could tell he was smiling. “It’s time,” was all he said. The birth was difficult and laborious. Melissa’s vision blurred with sweat and tears as she did everything she could to push at Dr. Edwards’ command. “Yes, yes, natural is always best,” he muttered. Melissa, with a groan, asked him what he meant by that. He stared at her like it was a silly question. “Because sometimes it happens so fast that there’s a risk of it falling back inside the open incision. That makes things… tricky, for all involved. Wouldn’t you agree?” Melissa still didn’t know what he meant, but another contraction hit her hard, and she struggled through the pain with a cry, her hair plastered to her skull and her cheeks damp and sticky with tears. Finally, with one final push, she felt the baby slide out. The silence that followed was deafening. Wasn’t the baby supposed to cry? Dr. Edwards picked up the baby and wrapped it in a white towel. She knew in her heart that something wasn’t right. “Quick,” the doctor said, his voice urgent and his expression grim as he thrust the baby towards her. “Look attentively. Burn her image into your memory. It’ll be the only chance you get.” Melissa didn’t know what he meant. Only chance? What was he talking about? Why wasn’t her baby crying? What was wrong with her? She gazed at the bundle in his arms. The perfect round face and button-sized nose. The mottled pink skin, covered in blood and pieces of glistening placenta. The closed eyes. The baby wasn’t moving. It sat still and silent in his arms, like a doll. Her heart ached. Her whole body began to tremble. Surely not… But as she looked closer, she thought she saw the baby’s chest moving. Just a little. With a soft cry, Melissa reached forward, her fingers barely brushing the air around her baby’s cheek. And then she turned to ash. Without warning, the baby in Dr. Edwards’ arms crumbled away, skin and flesh completely disintegrating, until there was nothing but a pile of dust cradled in the middle of his palm. Melissa began to scream. The midwife returned with another needle. This one went into her arm, injecting a strong sedative into her bloodstream as Melissa’s screams echoed throughout the entire surgery. They didn’t stop until she lost consciousness completely, and the delivery room finally went silent once more. The room was dark when Melissa woke up. Still groggy from the sedative, she could hardly remember if she’d already given birth. Subconsciously, she felt for her bump. Her stomach was flatter than before. “M-my… my baby…” she groaned weakly. “Hush now.” A figure emerged from the shadows beside her, and a lamp switched on, spreading a meagre glow across the room, leaving shadows hovering around the edges. Albert stood beside her. He reached out and gently touched her forehead, his hands cool against her warm skin. In the distance, she heard the rapid beep of a monitor, the squeaking wheels of a gurney being pushed down a corridor, the muffled sound of voices. But inside her room, everything was quiet. She turned her head to look at Albert, her eyes sore and heavy. Her body felt strange, like it wasn’t her own. “My baby… where is she?” Albert dragged a chair over to the side of her bed and sat down with a heavy sigh. “She’s gone.” Melissa started crying, tears spilling rapidly down her cheeks. “W-what do you mean by gone? Where’s my baby?” Albert looked away, his gaze tracing shadows along the walls. “It’s this town. It’s cursed,” he said, his voice low, barely above a whisper. Melissa’s heart dropped into her stomach. She knew she never should have come here. She knew she should have listened to those warnings at the back of her mind—why were there no girls here? But she’d trusted Albert wouldn’t bring her here if there was danger involved. And now he was telling her the town was cursed? “I don’t… understand,” she cried, her hands reaching for her stomach again. She felt broken. Like a part of her was missing. “I just want my baby. Can you bring her back? Please… give me back my baby.” “Melissa, listen to me,” Albert urged, but she was still crying and rubbing at her stomach, barely paying attention to his words. “Centuries ago, this town was plagued by witches. Horrible, wicked witches who used to burn male children as sacrifices for their twisted rituals.” Melissa groaned quietly, her eyes growing unfocused as she looked around the room, searching for her lost child. Albert continued speaking, doubtful she was even listening. “The witches were executed for their crimes, but the women who live in Duskvale continue to pay the price for their sins. Every time a child is born in this town, one of two outcomes can happen. Male babies are spared, and live as normal. But when a girl is born, very soon after birth, they turn completely to ash. That’s what happened to your child. These days, the only descendants that remain from the town’s first settlers are male. Any female children born from their blood turn to ash.” Melissa’s expression twisted, and she sobbed quietly in her hospital bed. “My… baby.” “I know it’s difficult to believe,” Albert continued with a sigh, resting his chin on his hands, “but we’ve all seen it happen. Babies turning to ash within moments of being born, with no apparent cause. Why should we doubt what the stories say when such things really do happen?” His gaze trailed hesitantly towards Melissa, but her eyes were elsewhere. The sheets around her neck were already soaked with tears. “That’s not all,” he went on. “Our town is governed by what we call the ‘Patriarchy’. Only a few men in each generation are selected to be part of the elite group. Sadly, I was not one of the chosen ones. As the stories get lost, it’s becoming progressively difficult to find reliable and trustworthy members amongst the newer generations. Or, at least, that’s what I’ve heard,” he added with an air of bitterness. Melissa’s expression remained blank. Her cries had fallen quiet now, only silent tears dripping down her cheeks. Albert might have thought she’d fallen asleep, but her eyes were still open, staring dully at the ceiling. He doubted she was absorbing much of what he was saying, but he hoped she understood enough that she wouldn’t resent him for keeping such secrets from her. “This is just the way it had to be. I hope you can forgive me. But as a descendant of the Duskvale lineage, I had no choice. This is the only way we can break the curse.” Melissa finally stirred. She murmured something in a soft, intelligible whisper, before sinking deeper into the covers and closing her eyes. She might have said ‘my baby’. She might have said something else. Her voice was too quiet, too weak, to properly enunciate her words. Albert stood from her bedside with another sigh. “You get some rest,” he said, gently touching her forehead again. She leaned away from his touch, turning over so that she was no longer facing him. “I’ll come back shortly. There’s something I must do first.” Receiving no further response, Albert slipped out of her hospital room and closed the door quietly behind him. He took a moment to compose himself, fixing his expression into his usual calm, collected smile, then went in search of Dr. Edwards. The doctor was in his office further down the corridor, poring over some documents on his desk. He looked up when Albert stood in the doorway and knocked. “Ah, I take it you’re here for the ashes?” He plucked his reading glasses off his nose and stood up. “That’s right.” Dr. Edwards reached for a small ceramic pot sitting on the table passed him and pressed it into Albert’s hands. “Here you go. I’ll keep an eye on Melissa while you’re gone. She’s in safe hands.” Albert made a noncommittal murmur, tucking the ceramic pot into his arm as he left Dr. Edwards’ office and walked out of the surgery. It was already late in the evening, and the setting sun had painted the sky red, dusting the rooftops with a deep amber glow. He walked through town on foot, the breeze tugging at the edges of his dark hair as he kept his gaze on the rising spire of the building in the middle of the cemetery. He had told Melissa initially that it was a crypt for some of the town’s forebears, but in reality, it was much more than that. It was a temple. He clasped the pot of ashes firmly in his hand as he walked towards it, the sun gradually sinking behind the rooftops and bruising the edges of the sky with dusk. The people he passed on the street cast looks of understanding and sympathy when they noticed the pot in his hand. Some of them had gone through this ritual already themselves, and knew the conflicting emotions that accompanied such a duty. It was almost fully dark by the time he reached the temple. It was the town’s most sacred place, and he paused at the doorway to take a deep breath, steadying his body and mind, before finally stepping inside. It smelled exactly like one would expect for an old building. Mildewy and stale, like the air inside had not been exposed to sunlight in a long while. It was dark too, the wide chamber lit only by a handful of flame-bearing torches that sent shadows dancing around Albert’s feet. His footsteps echoed on the stone floor as he walked towards the large stone basin in the middle of the temple. His breaths barely stirred the cold, untouched air. He paused at the circular construction and held the pot aloft. A mountain of ashes lay before him. In the darkness, it looked like a puddle of the darkest ink. According to the stories, and common belief passed down through the generations, the curse that had been placed on Duskvale would only cease to exist once enough ashes had been collected to pay off the debts of the past. As was customary, Albert held the pot of his child’s ashes and apologised for using Melissa for the needs of his people. Although it was cruel on the women to use them in this way, they were needed as vessels to carry the children that would either prolong their generation, or erase the sins of the past. If she had brought to term a baby boy, things would have ended up much differently. He would have raised it with Melissa as his son, passing on his blood to the next generation. But since it was a girl she had given birth to, this was the way it had to be. The way the curse demanded it to be. “Every man has to fulfil his obligation to preserve the lineage,” Albert spoke aloud, before tipping the pot into the basin and watching the baby’s ashes trickle into the shadows. It was the dead of night when seven men approached the temple. Their bodies were clothed in dark, ritualistic robes, and they walked through the cemetery guided by nothing but the pale sickle of the moon. One by one, they stepped across the threshold of the temple, their sandalled feet barely making a whisper on the stone floor. They walked past the circular basin of ashes in the middle of the chamber, towards the plain stone wall on the other side. Clustered around it, one of the men—the elder—reached for one of the grey stones. Perfectly blending into the rest of the dark, mottled wall, the brick would have looked unassuming to anyone else. But as his fingers touched the rough surface, it drew inwards with a soft click. With a low rumble, the entire wall began to shift, stones pulling away in a jagged jigsaw and rotating round until the wall was replaced by a deep alcove, in which sat a large statue carved from the same dark stone as the basin behind them. The statue portrayed a god-like deity, with an eyeless face and gaping mouth, and five hands criss-crossing over its chest. A sea of stone tentacles cocooned the bottom half of the bust, obscuring its lower body. With the eyeless statue gazing down at them, the seven men returned to the basin of ashes in the middle of the room, where they held their hands out in offering. The elder began to speak, his voice low in reverence. He bowed his head, the hood of his robe casting shadows across his old, wrinkled face. “We present these ashes, taken from many brief lives, and offer them to you, O’ Mighty One, in exchange for your favour.” Silence threaded through the temple, unbroken by even a single breath. Even the flames from the torches seemed to fall still, no longer flickering in the draught seeping through the stone walls. Then the elder reached into his robes and withdrew a pile of crumpled papers. On each sheaf of parchment was the name of a man and a number, handwritten in glossy black ink that almost looked red in the torchlight. The soft crinkle of papers interrupted the silence as he took the first one from the pile and placed it down carefully onto the pile of ashes within the basin. Around him in a circle, the other men began to chant, their voices unifying in a low, dissonant hum that spread through the shadows of the temple and curled against the dark, tapered ceiling above them. As their voices rose and fell, the pile of ashes began to move, as if something was clawing its way out from beneath them. A hand appeared. Pale fingers reached up through the ashes, prodding the air as if searching for something to grasp onto. An arm followed shortly, followed by a crown of dark hair. Gradually, the figure managed to drag itself out of the ashes. A man, naked and dazed, stared at the circle of robed men around him. One of them stepped forward to offer a hand, helping the man climb out of the basin and step out onto the cold stone floor. Ushering the naked man to the side, the elder plucked another piece of paper from the pile and placed it on top of the basin once again. There were less ashes than before. Once again, the pile began to tremble and shift, sliding against the stone rim as another figure emerged from within. Another man, older this time, with a creased forehead and greying hair. The number on his paper read 58. One by one, the robed elder placed the pieces of paper onto the pile of ashes, with each name and number corresponding to the age and identity of one of the men rising out of the basin. With each man that was summoned, the ashes inside the basin slowly diminished. The price that had to be paid for their rebirth. The cost changed with each one, depending on how many times they had been brought back before. Eventually, the naked men outnumbered those dressed in robes, ranging from old to young, all standing around in silent confusion and innate reverence for the mysterious stone deity watching them from the shadows. With all of the papers submitted, the Patriarchy was now complete once more. Even the founder, who had died for the first time centuries ago, had been reborn again from the ashes of those innocent lives. Contrary to common belief, the curse that had been cast upon Duskvale all those years ago had in fact been his doing. After spending years dabbling in the dark arts, it was his actions that had created this basin of ashes; the receptacle from which he would arise again and again, forever immortal, so long as the flesh of innocents continued to be offered upon the deity that now gazed down upon them. “We have returned to mortal flesh once more,” the Patriarch spoke, spreading his arms wide as the torchlight glinted off his naked body. “Now, let us embrace this glorious night against our new skin.” Following their reborn leader, the members of the Patriarchy crossed the chamber towards the temple doors, the eyeless statue watching them through the shadows. As the Patriarch reached for the ornate golden handle, the large wooden doors shuddered but did not open. He tried again, a scowl furrowing between his brows. “What is the meaning of this?” he snapped. The elder hurriedly stepped forward in confusion, his head bowed. “What is it, master?” “The door will not open.” The elder reached for the door himself, pushing and pulling on the handle, but the Patriarch was right. It remained tightly shut, as though it had been locked from the outside. “How could this be?” he muttered, glancing around. His gaze picked over the confused faces behind him, and that’s when he finally noticed. Only six robed men remained, including himself. One of them must have slipped out unnoticed while they had been preoccupied by the ritual. Did that mean they had a traitor amongst them? But what reason would he have for leaving and locking them inside the temple? “What’s going on?” the Patriarch demanded, the impatience in his voice echoing through the chamber. The elder’s expression twisted into a grimace. “I… don’t know.” Outside the temple, the traitor of the Patriarchy stood amongst the assembled townsfolk. Both men and women were present, standing in a semicircle around the locked temple. The key dangled from the traitor’s hand. He had already informed the people of the truth; that the ashes of the innocent were in fact an offering to bring back the deceased members of the original Patriarchy, including the Patriarch himself. It was not a curse brought upon them by the sins of witches, but in fact a tragic fate born from one man’s selfish desire to dabble in the dark arts. And now that the people of Duskvale knew the truth, they had arrived at the temple for retribution. One they would wreak with their own hands. Amongst the crowd was Melissa. Still mourning the recent loss of her baby, her despair had twisted into pure, unfettered anger once she had found out the truth. It was not some unforgiving curse of the past that had stolen away her child, but the Patriarchy themselves. In her hand, she held a carton of gasoline. Many others in the crowd had similar receptacles of liquid, while others carried burning torches that blazed bright beneath the midnight sky. “There will be no more coming back from the dead, you bastards,” one of the women screamed as she began splashing gasoline up the temple walls, watching it soak into the dark stone. With rallying cries, the rest of the crowd followed her demonstration, dousing the entire temple in the oily, flammable liquid. The pungent, acrid smell of the gasoline filled the air, making Melissa’s eyes water as she emptied out her carton and tossed it aside, stepping back. Once every inch of the stone was covered, those bearing torches stepped forward and tossed the burning flames onto the temple. The fire caught immediately, lapping up the fuel as it consumed the temple in vicious, ravenous flames. The dark stone began to crack as the fire seeped inside, filling the air with low, creaking groans and splintering rock, followed by the unearthly screams of the men trapped inside. The town residents stepped back, their faces grim in the firelight as they watched the flames ravage the temple and all that remained within. Melissa’s heart wrenched at the sound of the agonising screams, mixed with what almost sounded like the eerie, distant cries of a baby. She held her hands against her chest, watching solemnly as the structure began to collapse, thick chunks of stone breaking away and smashing against the ground, scattering across the graveyard. The sky was almost completely covered by thick columns of black smoke, blotting out the moon and the stars and filling the night with bright amber flames instead. Melissa thought she saw dark, blackened figures sprawled amongst the ruins, but it was too difficult to see between the smoke. A hush fell across the crowd as the screams from within the temple finally fell quiet. In front of them, the structure continued to smoulder and burn, more and more pieces of stone tumbling out of the smoke and filling the ground with burning debris. As the temple completely collapsed, I finally felt the night air upon my skin, hot and sulfuric. For there, amongst the debris, carbonised corpses and smoke, I rose from the ashes of a long slumber. I crawled out of the ruins of the temple, towering over the highest rooftops of Duskvale. Just like my statue, my eyeless face gazed down at the shocked residents below. The fire licked at my coiling tentacles, creeping around my body as if seeking to devour me too, but it could not. With a sweep of my five hands, I dampened the fire until it extinguished completely, opening my maw into a large, grimacing yawn. For centuries I had been slumbering beneath the temple, feeding on the ashes offered to me by those wrinkled old men in robes. Feeding on their earthly desires and the debris of innocence. Fulfilling my part of the favour. I had not expected to see the temple—or the Patriarchy—fall under the hands of the commonfolk, but I was intrigued to see what this change might bring about. Far below me, the residents of Duskvale gazed back with reverence and fear, cowering like pathetic ants. None of them had been expecting to see me in the flesh, risen from the ruins of the temple. Not even the traitor of the Patriarchs had ever lain eyes upon my true form; only that paltry stone statue that had been built in my honour, yet failed to capture even a fraction of my true size and power. “If you wish to change the way things are,” I began to speak, my voice rumbling across Duskvale like a rising tide, “propose to me a new deal.” A collective shudder passed through the crowd. Most could not even look at me, bowing their heads in both respect and fear. Silence spread between them. Perhaps my hopes for them had been too high after all. But then, a figure stepped forward, detaching slowly from the crowd to stand before me. A woman. The one known as Melissa. Her fear had been swallowed up by loss and determination. A desire for change born from the tragedy she had suffered. The baby she had lost. “I have a proposal,” she spoke, trying to hide the quiver in her voice. “Then speak, mortal. What is your wish? A role reversal? To reduce males to ash upon their birth instead?” The woman, Melissa, shook her head. Her clenched fists hung by her side. “Such vengeance is too soft on those who have wronged us,” she said. I could taste the anger in her words, as acrid as the smoke in the air. Fury swept through her blood like a burning fire. I listened with a smile to that which she proposed. The price for the new ritual was now two lives instead of one. The father’s life, right after insemination. And the baby’s life, upon birth. The gender of the child was insignificant. The women no longer needed progeny. Instead, the child would be born mummified, rejuvenating the body from which it was delivered. And thus, the Vampiric Widows of Duskvale, would live forevermore. submitted by /u/scare_in_a_box to r/Dreading [link] [comments]

First / Previous / Next / Tumblr Captain Hassan cleared his throat. “Hey, so… before we make this last jump, what are we gonna do about the whole ‘covert operation on a planet full of people who can read some of our minds’ thing?” Sonja grinned. This was her moment. “Catch.” She pushed a small device his way, and it floated along until he snatched it out of the air. “Is this a translator earpiece?” He raised an eyebrow. “Just put it—actually, no, wait, you’re mostly resistant anyways. Aktet, can you… hold on…” She rooted around in her bag and pulled out an earpiece fitted for a Jikaal’s anatomy, then reached across Dominick to hand it to him. “Try this on.” He looked at the device like she’d handed him a live bomb, but nonetheless obliged and activated it. “Um, what is it supposed to be doing?” Uuliska gasped. “How did you do that? Sonja, what is that?” “I’m so glad you asked, Uuliska! Dominick, can you hand out the rest of the earpieces?” He sighed. The man wasn’t happy when she cajoled him in advance into being her, as he saw it, ‘magician’s assistant’. But he nonetheless complied, distributing one to everyone but Uuliska. “Thanks! I would’ve made one for you too, Uuliska, bu, uh…. you’ll understand more once I explain. Anyways, I was thinking about the telepathy thing too, so I took upon myself to… acquire some translators and tweak a few things. I call it ‘Samware.’” “Sonja. No. You CANNOT name it after my brother,” her partner objected. Clearly, he was in one of his moods. No matter. “But he was my muse! It was his epilepsy that got me thinking about electrical activity in the brain in the first place!” She pouted as the other agent cradled his head in his hands, despondent, then wiped the frown off of her face. “Right, so I was doing some light reading on—“ “You were the one who broke into storage the other night?” Commander Liu didn’t even look mad. Just deeply, deeply exhausted. “I’ll be taking questions at the end of the presentation,” Sonja replied, ignoring the way the other woman’s dark circles grew even darker. “As I was saying, I was researching Istiil telepathy, and I figured, since it works because of electrical impulses and stuff, why not create interference outside of the brain to stop anyone from peeking inside?” She swapped out her own earpiece for a modified one and switched it on. “I wasn’t one hundred percent sure it was gonna work, but based on Uuliska’s reaction right now, it seems like it did, so, yay!” She clasped her hands together excitedly. Commander Liu joined Dominick’s chorus of sighing, Omar, Eza and Aktet shared worried glances, K’resshk looked furious that he’d been outsmarted by an enterprising young human woman, and Uuliska… “Was I not given one on account of concerns regarding the device’s safety for Istiil?” She had a flat affect on account of growing up showing her emotions telepathically (or at least that was Sonja’s hypothesis), but she’d taken on some human inflection over the past few months, and she almost sounded… disappointed? “That, and I figured it’d mess with you being able to sense infected people,” Sonja explained. “It’ll be a little suspicious for K’resshk and Aktet to not be ‘readable’ given their species, but I was planning to pass it off as a side effect of living with humans. That might be a little harder when it comes to you.” “Right. That makes sense.” She nodded demurely, her colors muted. The deck was silent. All eyes were on the agent. This is the part where you’re supposed to clap, she said in her head, because even she knew that saying that out loud might’ve been a step too far. “Alright, well, I don’t plan on being the first human on an alien planet while sleep deprived, so I suggest we call it a night,” said the commander drily before pulling herself along towards their living quarters. The others hesitated, then followed along. Why… why didn’t she yell at me? ___ “Don’t you think it’s backwards, assigning rooms based on gender and species?” Helen snorted. “There were no room assignments, Krishnan. You willingly followed me in here under the assumption that there were.” She threw her belongings into the bolted down locker on her side of the cramped, two-person room—uncommon for military vehicles, but this model was more multipurpose, equipped with just enough weaponry to defend itself and just enough living space to set civilian passengers (scientists, diplomats and the like) at ease. “Oh.” She heard the agent unpack behind her. “Hey, um, I wanted to ask you…” “Why I haven’t yelled at you for breaking and entering yet?” It hadn’t been difficult to notice the way the younger woman was practically cowering away from her since she gave that little presentation. “There’s a couple of reasons. One, I know I can’t stop you. Hassan taught me that lesson years ago. Two, I can’t deny that you get shit done. You don’t have to give me the speech you have prepared about how working ‘with the system’ would have taken too long and put us at risk of getting our minds invaded by aliens.” She dusted her hands off and caught a stray water droplet with her sleeve; she must not have fully dried her hair after utilizing the zero-g shower unit (which made use of a vacuum to keep the water flowing the way it was meant to). “And three, given all of that, it’s easier to just tell you how to break the rules without getting caught.” “Wh—“ “Which is to say, not everything needs to be an elaborate scheme. The only reason anyone realized something was up was because you decided to craft a fake identity to go alongside your fraudulent key card, and the janitor was wondering who the hell you were. Next time, just tell them your name, and if they ask why you’re poking around, show your badge and say it’s for an assignment,” Helen suggested. “No one wants to have the UNIA breathing down their neck.” Agent Krishnan stood there, dumbfounded. “Oh no. You’re… you’re cool,” she said, horror dawning on her face at this realization. “…Do you play the guitar?” Now it was Helen’s turn to stand there dumbfounded. “Why do you people keep asking me that?” ___ THUNK! “Should we have split up to keep an eye on the—“ THUD! “—the aliens?” Dominick looked at the thin wall between his and the captain’s quarters, and Aktet and K’resshk’s with alarm. Omar shrugged off the jacket of his uniform. “Maybe. Aktet’s been standing up for himself recently, though. I’m sure he’ll be fine.” “…And K’resshk?” “The Jikaal’s smart enough not to—“ BANG! “—get into a fight with him. Probably. I’m sure the noises are unrelated.” He zipped himself into his bunk, which was positioned atop a lofted frame. Probably much nicer than what he’d had during his tour, Dominick realized. In his uniform? “Do you not have, uh…” He gestured towards the basketball shorts and old t-shirt he was wearing, and then it clicked. “Jesus, ignore me. I forgot you’re on duty right now. Goes to show how much I’ve tried to block out everything about the academy.” Omar laughed. “I still can’t get over the fact you went to a military academy. You’re so…” “Mild-mannered? Civilian?” He paused to choke down the enzyme medication he was finishing his course of. He hated how slimy it was. “Wasn’t my thing, but I came from a military family. I can’t thank the UNIA enough for getting me out of there.” “How did they manage that, anyways? I thought you were forced to enlist after graduating,” the captain asked. Oh, boy. “That’s… technically classified. But they really wanted me for a particular, uh, long-term assignment,” he explained. Omar raised an eyebrow. “Keeping an eye on Sonja?” “…Yeah.” ___ “If you call me ‘boy’ one more time,” Aktet growled, “I will not hesitate to flay you alive with my claws, pour rocket fuel in your wounds, set them on fire with a flamethrower, light one of those disgusting ‘cigarettes’ in the blaze, and smoke it while I watch you die.” He made sure K’resshk was quivering in fear before kicking off against the wall he’d slammed him into at the end of their… scuffle. Thank the Queen-Mother I have experience acting out choreographed fights using flying cables, he thought to himself. Zero-gravity combat was tedious. K’resshk scurried to his bunk using all four limbs and his tail and zipped himself into his sleeping bag. “W-well then. I’ll take that into consideration,” he stuttered. “I assure you I meant no offense. Force of habit.” He laughed shakily. The other man sneered at him as he, too, secured himself for the ‘night.’ “Oh, I’m sure. Sleep tight, sir.” He rolled over. …Did I go too far? He listened to the other man take shallow, panicked breaths from across the room. No. No, I went just far enough. ___ “Uuliska. We can’t both fit in the sleeping bag.” She pouted. “Are you certain? I can compress myself quite a bit; maybe if I just…“ Eza sighed. “I barely fit in it to begin with. Good night, Liska.” She reached a considerable distance away from her bunk with one of her four arms to turn the lights off. The princess curled up in her own bed. She knew she shouldn’t have taken it personally, but she was a nervous mess. The stress of not only returning home after so long, but returning to a revolution? Surely she couldn’t be faulted for a little moodiness, given the circumstances! It seems as though moody is all I am these days, she thought miserably. Ever since she’d switched sides, it felt as though a massive weight had been lifted from her shoulders—the weight of playing the composed mediator, the regal princess, the face of her and Eza’s relationship—and now that she’d tasted life without that weight, she couldn’t bring herself to bear it once again. Sometimes she wished she could go back to before any of this ever happened. Back to when she was competent. I’ll get there, she told herself, hoping the intensifying glow of her skin wasn’t disturbing her girlfriend. I’ll find out who I am underneath all of these masks. She wasn’t certain she believed it, but she had to. For Eza, for the others, and most importantly, for herself. She drifted into an uneasy, dreamless sleep. ___ Omar was entering the orbit of Lilax I when a thought occurred to him. “Hey, Krishnan,” he began. “Are these earpieces gonna stop Kama from pulling Jedi mind tricks on us?” “Hmm. Good question.” She was quiet for a few moments, presumably contemplating his inquiry. “Hey, Uuliska, can you do me a favor and try and explode me with your mind?” The telepath made a surprised noise. “Why would I do that? I don’t want to kill you! Can I not just try and speak in your mind like I did with the commander?” “Oh, yeah, I guess that works too,” the agent replied casually. “Fire away!” The captain set the ship to autopilot and instructed it to circle the planet, then spun around in his seat. He wanted to watch this. Uuliska lit up like a freshly cracked glow stick and stared intently at her target, then gasped and sat back in her chair as if repelled by an invisible force, her luminescence rippling. “Yes,” she said quietly. “That… will most definitely stop his ‘Jedi mind tricks,’ whatever that means.” Omar gave her two thumbs up and swiveled back around. “Initializing landing sequence. Commander Liu, can you—“ “On it.” She tapped the microphone and turned on the comms system. “This is the U.N.S. Whitson on a diplomatic mission, requesting permission to land. “Permission granted,” replied a voice that, untranslated, sounded not unlike a human trying to speak while gargling water. “Welcome to Lilax I.” He rolled his shoulders and began their descent. They’d gone back and forth on whether to touch down on royal territory or rebel-occupied grounds, but ultimately went with the former—Kama had assured them it wouldn’t be perceived as a slight. A few minutes later, he skillfully drifted onto the runway, having deployed the corvette’s wheels moments prior. It was then that it struck him that the four humans—himself, Helen, and the agents—were about to be the first of their kind of step foot on an alien planet. So he jumped out of his seat and beat them all to the door to be the actual first, eliciting a glare from the commander that he paid no mind to as he ducked through the hatch and leapt down onto the tarmac. He took a deep breath in as the rest of the crew landed beside him and nearly choked on it. It was like breathing gelatin. “Ooh, feels like home,” said Sonja. “My lips always get chapped when we’re in Geneva. I probably don’t even need my lip balm here!” “Remind me to never vacation in whatever soupy climate you grew up in,” he muttered, taking in their surroundings. It was a 21st century retrofuturistic dreamscape—clear blue skies were touched by towering glass skyscrapers, many of which extended into calm, teal waters which were criss-crossed by translucent walkways and tunnels and dotted with alien lily pads, like some kind of Frutiger Aero version of Venice. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Omar looked back down to see an Istiil in an extravagant (and revealing) dress, followed by a dozen or so more plainly dressed members of her species. “Hello, Uuliska.” She glided past the captain to greet her… daughter? Protégé? And they exchanged some sort of telepathic greeting, their colors briefly syncing up. “Queen Liiala. Thank you for meeting us here.” Commander Liu strode to the front of the group fearlessly, taking control of the situation with naught but a few stomps of her combat boots. Typical Helen Liu badassery. “Of course,” she replied, looking a little taken aback at the commander’s brazen attitude. “Allow me to show you to your accommodations.” The eight of them trailed behind the queen, and at some point the captain stopped listening to her tour guide spiel and started people watching. It was unnerving, how the passerby showed almost no expressions or body language, presumably communicating instead via their coloration. He also saw a fair number of cloaked Istiil, reminding him of the time he and Dominick donned a similar disguise in the bazaar right before meeting Kama. “…and speaking of, I’ve never met a Sszerian or a Jikaal with telepathic resistance. Is this a side effect of residing with humans?” Omar tuned back in as the queen asked the million-dollar question. “That’s our current hypothesis, yes.” K’resshk was a surprisingly competent liar, he realized—not on account of acting skills or charm, but because of how damn demeaning he sounded every time he opened his snout. The woman frowned. “How unfortunate. I find that being open to our gift makes for more productive conversation.” Uuliska gave a slight nod to Helen and Omar as if to say ‘she bought it,’ but how in the world she could intuit that and not give up their secret was beyond him. A few paces later, they came to a halt in front of an open body of water, the same tranquil shade as the rest of the lagoon that constituted the planet’s capital. The queen smiled softly and inclined her head towards a glass passageway that dipped below the surface like one of those nifty aquarium tunnels. Agent Krishnan pointed excitedly at different bioluminescent fauna and flora that were visible around them on their way to the submerged palace, but the captain noticed that Lombardi wasn’t listening. He seemed… lost in thought? No. He seems scared. “Dominick? Are you okay?” His partner furrowed her brows at him. “Yeah, sorry. What were you saying?” He gave her a tired smile, and gave one to the queen, too, when she glanced back at them curiously. …Something wasn’t right. Lombardi wasn’t one to spook easily. Once the other agent was again distracted by the spectacle, the captain watched him discreetly pull out his phone and type a message. He felt his pocket vibrate. A direct message from the younger man—he mustn’t have wanted to draw attention. ”Don’t remove your translator for any reason. Will explain later.” …What the hell? First / Previous / Next / Tumblr submitted by /u/CodEnvironmental4274 to r/HFY [link] [comments]

Hi, anyone here a gamer? I’m having major trouble trying to find the perfect chair for me. I, much like I’m sure most you, have issues sitting properly. My son does as well (this kind of adds into my choice as he uses my space a lot lol) he sits on the foot rest of my chair atm uses the seat as a table. Anywho, I sit in a thousand different ways, name a weird way to sit, I sit it, I promise lol. Currently my chair is a Downix gaming chair with a pull out foot rest. I’ve realized it’s not enough and it’s conforming. I don’t have enough space to sit how I love to comfortably especially for long gaming sessions. So I’m looking for a good chair, that’s comfortable, maybe big and I can sit in it in all the crazy ways. I’ve been checking out the ADHD chairs that swivel and they seem close to perfect but the issue is that there’s no arm rests, I have loved me some emotional support armrests 😭. I’m afraid of making the plunge to get this kinda chair only to be upset there’s no arm rests and hate it. But everything else is perfect. My question is, if you have this chair and game is it good for long sessions? If you love armrests and still took the plunge with this do you miss your arm rests? And if you come across this post and have a chair recommendation please share it. I’ll take a look at it. submitted by /u/beakerr86 to r/adhdwomen [link] [comments]

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From time to time, you may learn things on the road. The radio may whisper secrets you wish you never heard. You may see the face of your deceased mother beckoning you from a storefront that wasn’t there the last time. We recommend not thinking about these things. Distract yourself. Listen to music. Talk with co-workers. If you start thinking, you may never stop. -Employee Handbook: Section 12.A _______________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 Over the next few weeks, Autumn and I chatted nearly every day. How did I do this when she had no radio to talk to me with, you ask? “Hey Randall, don’t get worried if I go silent for a few days. My handheld just broke.” “You better be joking. That thing costs a literal fortune. Management will fillet me alive.” “Fairly sure the phrase is ‘flay me alive.’” “Wait. Brendon. How is it broken if you’re talking to me right now?” “‘K, bye!” “Brendon? Brendon!” I left the transmitter with Autumn before I headed out. When I returned from my haul, Randall and dispatch were pretty ticked about me losing my second radio in a month (they really do cost a fortune), but what were they going to do? Fire me? Sometimes Autumn and I would talk about serious things―irrational fears, wishes, dangers we’d encountered on the road, things we’d shouted at our parents but wished we could take back―but most days we talked about silly, little nothings. Music, TV, stupid things we did in high school. “No way,” I told her. “I refuse to believe you spiked your teacher’s iced tea.” “Nicest she’s ever been to us.” “But that’s illegal. Like hardcore illegal.” “First off, I was sixteen, so lay off. Second, with how much vodka we put it in, she absolutely would have figured out what we’d done. She was just looking for an excuse to drink at school.” And another time: “So what does happen if I let my breath out in a tunnel?” I asked. “Your breath in a tunnel?” “You told me to hold my breath in tunnels. I assumed some terrible thing would happen otherwise.” She burst out laughing. “Oh gosh. I forgot about that. I was just messing with you. How long has it been now? Over a month? You’re still doing that?” It was nice having someone my own age to talk to. I really was friends with the other drivers, but let’s be real; most of them had kids and a mortgage. It wasn’t like I was going to swap BFF bracelets with any of them any time soon (not that Autumn and I did that. Ick. Just saying though). But for the first time in months, there was somebody to talk to just for the sake of talking. I wasn’t trying to ‘fit in.’ I wasn’t trying to prove I was mature enough to slide in with the real adult crowd―again, let’s be real; I wasn’t. But that was the point. I was in my early twenties. Why should I have to be mature? Why should I have to review every sentence in my head before I spoke it? With Autumn I could simply talk. “What has you so peachy?” Tiff asked me a few weeks into our conversations. “Hmm? Nothing. What do you mean?” “Usually, you look like somebody with weights around their ankles. No offense. Recently, though… How to put it? It’s like they’ve been replaced with helium balloons.” There were, of course, downsides. Autumn preferred we stay on low traffic channels where the others weren’t likely to hear us. “Why?” I asked once. “Not one of them ever tried to help me. I’ve failed at so many things in my life. I figure I can at least succeed at holding a grudge.” I didn’t push. Who she forgave was her prerogative, but it was moments like that made me somber, forced me to admit she couldn’t totally trust me either. I still hadn't told her the truth about her lane-locking. What good would it do? What good would it do any of them? Except of course, it really might have done them good. Chris, for example. He could quit now before the road claimed him. Everybody could quit, get normal jobs, accept normal salaries. abandon Route 333 forever, let the impossibilities pile up in the real world. In reality, it was everybody else the knowledge wouldn't be good for. If Chris quit, somebody else would lane-lock―or worse. Randall had shared with me gruesome stories of things that happened when people didn’t comply with the road’s wishes. My drowning experience in the shower was mild. Nobody would remove impossibilities. The darkness at dispatch would escape into the real world. For weeks, I deliberated what to do. That’s the one thing the road gives you: thinking time. Hours and hours of it. Sometimes I would go entire days without turning on an audio book, gut churning as I drove. As a child, things were so easy to label. Wrong or right. Bad or good. Immoral or moral. It was all so much more nuanced now. Who did my loyalty belong to? Did I trust my co-workers to make the right choice and keep driving like I had? Did I still owe them the truth even if they wouldn’t? What number was an acceptable amount to sacrifice to protect the world as a whole, and why did it have to be my responsibility to decide that? Because you assaulted Randall with a boxcutter. That’s why. On top of that, I was trying to get everybody out. Couldn’t I just wait to spill the secrets until there was a solution? Autumn and I were waiting until my broken ribs healed to put our plan into action―then again, they were basically healed. If I was honest, we were stalling out of fear. Was I allowed to wait? Was it my responsibility to act immediately and recklessly? What if there really was no solution? What should I do? But that’s the funny thing about decisions; if you wait long enough, eventually they make themselves. Weeks later, when Chris’ voice finally rang out on the general channel, I was hardly even surprised. His news was the kiss of raindrops after a day of dark clouds: inevitable. “It happened,” he said. “I lane-locked.” _______________________________________________________________________________________________________________ The rest of us arrived over the next few hours. Our schedules had overlapped that day. We’d planned a game of poker that would never happen now. One by one, we maneuvered our rigs onto the shoulder of the redwood section and got out. The vibe teetered somewhere between a tailgate party and a funeral. Vikram and Deidree were speaking with Chris just outside the cab of his rig. Estela (haven’t talked much about her before, whoops) walked with me as I approached. “How bad is it?” I asked. “He got lucky. We’re close to dispatch.” It was true. For me, this was a thirty minute drive at most. “Lane-lock distances are different for everybody,” she continued. “He’ll have to measure over a few days to get a more accurate idea, but we’re probably sitting at twelve to fourteen months.” Something tight in my stomach loosened. “A year? That’s not so bad.” “Not as bad, no. It’s still a year.” “Yeah, but like his life isn’t over. He can still make it out.” Estela slowed down. Her dark eyebrows creased. We were still out of earshot of the others. “Tone this down. You seem almost cheerful about this all.” In a way, she was right. I’d already known this was coming, so for me, this was the best possible solution. Chris could still escape. My silence hadn't totally ruined his life. Even so. “You’re right. I’ll be more sensitive―to be fair, Chris doesn’t look too distressed.” Estela snorted. “Don’t encourage them.” “Encourage them?” But we were close enough now to hear what the three others were talking about. “I should be the one to do it,” Vikram insisted. “The road is longest for me. An extra hour is not much.” “It’s an hour closer to lane-locking,” Deidree said, patting Chris’ shoulder. “I don’t plan to stay as long as you. Another year or two, and I’ll have saved enough for my girls to go to school.” “It is not chivalrous for me to let you.” “Chivalry my―” “Neither of you are doing anything,” Chris said. “It won’t work. We tried this with Tiff.” “Sorry, do what?” I asked. All three looked up at me. Estela was the one who answered. “These tontos are going to put Chris in the trailer and try driving him to headquarters for an hour. It won’t work. I’m certainly not volunteering to try. It will permanently add an extra driving hour to whoever tries. Cargo rules don’t apply to humans.” “We have to try,” Deidree insisted. “I have to try,” Vikram corrected. They continued to argue, more and more heatedly. This was partly my fault. If I’d just been honest with Chris, he could have avoided this entirely, and now he would spend a year of his life trapped on Route 333. I knew what I had to do. I took a resigned breath. “I’ll do it.” They stopped arguing and stared at me. “Stay out of this,” Vikram snapped. “Really, Brendon.” Deidree cussed me out. Eventually, we only settled the matter when Estela suggested the two of them, “draw straws.” Since none of us actually knew what drawing straws meant in today’s day and culture, they settled it over a heated game of Rock, Paper, Scissors. Vikram lost. A minute later, Deidree was shepherding Chris into the back of her truck (she’d already picked up an empty freight trailer from dispatch) and climbing into the front seat. We all settled back to watch. It wouldn’t work. We all knew it wouldn’t. Humans are crazy that way. We gamble and smoke and scroll through social media. We can know something is pointless; we can even discuss in a group how something is pointless; then we recline in our lawn chairs and watch one another do those pointless things anyway. Admittedly, it was fascinating to watch. From the start of the hour to the end of the hour, the truck barely made it ten meters. The entire time, however, it was clearly driving. The motor was humming. The wheels were spinning. It would flash in and out of existence, sometimes for a heartbeat. Sometimes for seconds at a time. Minutes would often pass between glimpses. Deidree and the truck were passing in and out of pockets of space. From now on, these pockets were simply part of Deidree’s road―an unnecessary part, seeing how the attempt didn’t work. Of course, it didn’t work. At the end of the hour, Vikram, Estela, and I walked thirty or so feet to the parked semi. It wasn't like they could come to us, possibly not even see us. The whole logic of it made me grateful I never had to take another math class. Deidree climbed out and shrugged. “Had to try.” She unrolled the back of the trailer. Soft weeping was audible. Chris swore. “Give me a minute. I don’t want you to see me like this.” I was fully prepared to do just that, but Deidree climbed in, slumped down next to him, and wrapped her arm around his shoulder. “Any emotion is a fine one.” “Who’s going to pay my bills?” Chris said. “There’s my mortgage and―and electricity. I was so close to retiring. Who’s going to take care of my fish!” “We’ll make sure your bills get paid,” Deidree said. “You told me you keep your passwords in a book, right? “And Chris, your fish died last month,” Vikram offered helpfully. “I was going to get new ones!” He sniffed and rubbed at his eyes. “My daughter has her first kid next month. I won’t be there.” “I will,” Deidree said. “I’ll make sure they know you wish you could be too.” We all waited in silence, letting him cry it out. It was uncomfortable―Chris had always struck me as the type of hardened man who barely even teared up at funerals―but in a way, I think it helped. Us being there. “Thank you all,” he said eventually. Our cue to go. He had a drive ahead of him, after all. Only later, back at dispatch, before I turned in my keys, did I radio Autumn. “Enough waiting. It’s time.” _______________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Never pick up a hitchhiker. Absolutely never. Not under any circumstance. Really, never. But if you do, here are some tips. You’ll find them at gas stations. They know we hang out there frequently. Try on and off ramps too and the edges of town. Sometimes, you’ll find them in the middle of nowhere, holding out a thumb in a cloud of sand, but it’s rare. Not worth the time. Target individuals. No mothers with strollers. No homeless people and their dogs. Hitchhikers are strong. One is already a risk, but two at once are a bloodbath. Aim for the disabled ones. Heartless? A bit. Yes. But again, they’re powerful, even the elderly and young. An amputated arm, however, is always an amputated arm. They can’t kill you with a limb that doesn’t exist. In the end, I chose a heavily pregnant woman at the far reaches of town. It was the closest thing to ‘bodily impaired’ I could find on such short notice, and she was most definitely alone. “Don’t want to be a nuisance dearie.” Her voice was the flavor of honey. She kneaded her side with a hand. “But could I bother you for a ride?” I smiled. “‘Course.” Like Myra, she acted normal at first. She chatted about her children―fictional, I assumed―and how hard it was to give up smoking after getting pregnant each time. I uh huh-ed and *oh really-*ed at all the correct parts. “Such a good listener.” The woman patted my arm. The hitchhiker could have been one of my mom’s friends. Maybe it was. Maybe all the hitchhikers took on faces we’d once seen to put us at ease. Either way, it wouldn’t work. I knew what they were now. I’d been to their home beyond Route 333 and been tricked by them twice now. I played along. I let the pregnant hitchhiker think I believed it, that my guard was down, and that I feared nothing. I let it relax, sink back into the chair, rest its eyes. It was only when I was sure the creature suspected nothing that I finally eased the truck to a complete stop. “What’s wrong?” the hitchhiker asked. “Um, engine light.” “I don’t see―” “Now!” The next series of events happened in quick succession. Autumn rocketed out from the blanket she’d been hiding under. The hitchhiker snarled and lurched forward, but too late. Autumn was already throwing the metal chain above the seat and over the hitchhiker like we’d practiced a dozen times. It landed between the thing's protruding belly and breasts. I slammed myself against it, and Autumn yanked the chain tight. There was the click of a lock. Then a second one. I scrambled away from the hitchhiker before it could seize me. “Trickery! Deceit―” “Yeah, yeah, we’ve been over this.” I gulped to hold my heart from beating out through my throat. “For con artists, your kind are awfully easy to trick, you know that?” The woman struggled and writhed, but the chain held. That had been our bet. We didn’t know exactly how strong these creatures were, but Autumn seemed confident the chain could hold at least one or two thousand pounds of pressure. How had she known this, you ask? Apparently, she’d started training as a crane operator years ago (“Perks to quitting a lot,” she’d informed me). We waited as the hitchhiker flailed and screeched. Eventually the struggles slowed, then stopped entirely. The woman glared at us and panted. “Release me,” it said. “Oh? Why didn’t you just tell us?” Autumn asked from my sleeper. “Brendon, she says she wants to be let go.” “Silly us.” The thing jerked towards Autumn, nails transformed into talons. It couldn’t reach far enough. “We have questions,” I said. “Firstly, why do cargo rules apply to you and not humans?” “Is this how you deal with all your problems?” it asked. “Assault and torture.” “Until something proves more effective, yeah probably―hang on, do you know what happened with Randall? How did you find out?” “My kind knows many things.” “Well, you didn’t know I was under that blanket,” Autumn said. “Look, this doesn't need to be hard. We aren’t even trying to hurt you. All we need is a few answers, then we’ll let you loose to terrorize the next trucker that passes by.” The thing lunged for my radio and twisted the dial. “Nice try,” I said. “I pulled the fuse to that thing days ago.” “You will regret this!” “Likely. You don’t have to though. Just answer the question. Why don’t cargo rules apply to humans? Why just you?” The hitchhiker yanked at the chain and strained upwards. When they held, it snarled and relaxed. “They don’t apply to us, foolish stone-dwellers.” “But you can drive with us without slowing us. I drove Myra―the first hitchhiker I picked up―nearly all the way off of the road. How’s that possible?” “We aren’t trapped, not in the way you are.” She directed this at Autumn. “We have never been marked by the stones, nor have we been transported as cargo. We may move freely.” “Lies. Why would you ask us for rides if you could just walk to the exit yourself?” “Do you desire to walk a thousand miles on foot?” Okay, fair point. “And you’d just let us go after the lift?” Autumn pushed. “Somehow, I doubt that.” The creature's lips curled back. Its hair flaked from its scalp, less and less human by the minute. The pregnant bulge remained. “We do not desire to eat you, if that is what you ask.” “That’s not what we ask,” she said. “We already know that. What do you do with us?” “My kind―we struggle with boundaries. We may not cross them without permission. It is why we request transport, rather than force it. To enter the stone’s domain, it demands specific conditions. A specific trade. To leave, it demands other conditions.” “So you trade us?” I asked. “You trade us to leave.” “Except this isn’t helping us,” Autumn said. “What we really need to understand is cargo rules. Why don’t they apply to humans?” The hitchhiker smiled. Even as it strained at its constraints, it laughed. “Release me, and perhaps I will divulge this truth, though you will wish it otherwise.” “Stop fighting already,” I said. “You’re not escaping unless we let you go. Nobody’s helping you. You’re alone.” “I’m not alone.” Autumn and I glanced at each other. Was it lying? It had to be. These things may have rules about thresholds, but they’d already proven they could lie. Maybe this entire conversation had been false. What did it mean it wasn't alone? Our silent conversation was cut short when the hitchhiker let out a shriek. Before it had screamed, but this one was of a different variety. It wasn't the cry of restraint, rather the cry of pain. Agony. “What the―” “Look!” Autumn pointed. The hitchhiker had lifted her shirt, revealing a stomach criss-crossed with stretch marks. The thing inside―before I’d assumed it was merely theater. A fake child to sprinkle sympathy onto the hitchhiker's plight. I’d been wrong. There was something in her stomach. Something trying to get out. Beneath the skin, the thing floundered and twisted. It pushed and kicked. The hitchhiker screwed its eyes and wailed. A rip appeared in the skin. A talon rose out of the split. “Brendon, what do we do!” “Uh…” The tear widened. Droplets of rot-scented, black ichor slid off the bulging stomach. *“*Not the seats again,” I said. Another noise apart from the hitchhiker's screeching. It was quiet at first, gurgled and muffled. As the stomach opened, and two sets of claws emerged, it grew louder: giggling. Pools dripped down my seat and puddled onto the floor. Something black and slimy slid from the gaping hole. It tittered hysterically and turned a beady set of very-much-not-human eyes on Autumn and me. “Brendon!” It sprang. As much as I wish I could relate how it sprang ‘out the window’ or ‘at the steering wheel’, or even that I managed to hit it out of the air―that just isn’t what happened. Instead the slimy thing jumped directly at my face. My mouth, acting quicker than my hands, opened in surprise. The thing gripped both sides of my head and lodged its version of a head between my teeth. Why this was its first reaction? No idea. To be fair, it was a newborn. Its reasoning abilities were likely not the most developed. Putrid, spoiled, rotten milk filled my mouth. I gagged and scrambled at the slimy thing. It clung tightly. Wildly, I considered biting down but was smart enough to control that impulse. It scratched at the sides of my head. Make it stop! Get it out! The slimy creature jerked free. Autumn had seized it by its neck. She slammed down the sleeper cab window and dangled the thing outside. It giggled and lacerated her arms, but she only clutched tighter. “Drive!” she screamed. “What?” “Just do it!” I did. We picked up speed. “Answer our question, or I drop,” she said. The hitchhiker scrambled at her chains. Without her bulging stomach, she really might have a chance at escaping. “Mine! Give it back.” “This is a bit extreme,” I told Autumn. “It’s just a baby.” “It’s very much not a baby. Answer or I let go!” We tore through the desert. Sagebrush and signposts whipped past. “How do cargo rules work?” she asked. “How can we use them to get lane-locked humans out?” “I refuse!” the hitchhiker shrieked, even as its eyes dilated in fear. The newborn’s giggling heightened. A wide, demented split opened across its face. A grin, I realized. It was full on guffawing now. “Uh oh,” it said. At this point, the entire situation was so ridiculous, I’d basically checked out. Autumn seemed to have things under control at any rate. I pressed on the gas. “What?” she demanded. “Do you know? Why can’t humans be cargo?” “Uh oh. Uh oh.” “Tell me!” “Stone-dwellers are too willing. Cargo must be unwilling.” “Cargo only counts as cargo, because we’re transporting it forcefully? That’s it? If we transport humans by force, unwillingly, they won’t count as lane-locked?” The thing giggled as if in confirmation. “And now you know. Uh oh.” “It answered you,” the hitchhiker begged. “Give it back!” “Okay, okay.” Autumn moved to pull the thing back inside. It bit her. On instinct, her fingers flew open. “Um. Whoops.” The hitchhiker bellowed in pure agony and tore one last time at the chain. It shattered, metal pieces shooting every direction. The new mother flung open the door then threw herself out into the road. In the rearview we watched as two shapes tumbled across the pavement. Autumn and I were silent. I coughed. “Okay. Well. That was…” “I hated that.” “Yep.” _______________________________________________________________________________________________________________ We drove another five minutes before finally rolling to a stop. The whole drive, Autumn stayed silent. “We were right,” I said. “The hitchhikers did know the secret.” “And so do I.” “This is great. That’s why it’s never worked to get humans out before. It doesn’t matter if they’re in the trailer. They’ve always gone willingly.” Whereas impossibilities are forced. Even the crying thing must have been physically restrained onto the road. “All we have to do is force people like Tiff to go with us. We can trick them. As long as they don’t know how it works, they won’t want to try again. This is great. This is…” My excitement faded. Autumn. She was crying. I registered what she’d just said. “I know,” she said again. “I know.” The others, Chris and Tiff and all of them, they wouldn't want to try escaping. They’d tried before and it hadn't worked, which meant they wouldn’t be willing. We could fool them. Force them. They knew it wouldn’t work, which would be the thing that made it do just that. Autumn knew. No matter what we tried, even if I tied her up and physically carried her, she would still understand what was happening. Some part of her would still be willing. She held her hand to her mouth and cried silently. We’d done it. We’d finally figured out the secret of lane-locking. The others could leave. Autumn couldn’t. Keep reading submitted by /u/Yobro1001 to r/nosleep [link] [comments]