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I knew something was wrong as soon as I pulled up at the truck.
It’s not that a pick-up can’t get a flat like any other car, but I’d been in the wrecker and tire repair business since I was a teenager, and just like anything else, you get to where you can see the patterns of things. Some people tend to have dead batteries. Others get into fender benders. And there are always those that come out to a tire that went flat over a day or two.
But a blowout, a real tire blowout where the driver didn’t hit anything? Those were rarer, and usually when it happened it was some dumb kid that didn’t pay attention to his tires or somebody without the money to fix a bald one. The man who had called the 24-hour line for a new tire had seemed like neither.
For one thing, he had been ready with the tire model he needed right from the jump. The oddest part of that was it was a tire we actually had in stock, which was rare for truck tires. He didn’t even act surprised or happy about it—just told me what he needed like he knew I’d have it to bring. At the time, I’d just chalked it up to him being a dumbass—people always act shocked that we don’t carry every part they could ever want or need in some impossibly large warehouse out back. Just a minute, ma’am, let me go 3d-print you that new carburetor for your ten-year old Honda. You’re in luck, sir, I bought that exact ignition switch a few years back just waiting for your call.
But when my headlights passed across the side of the red truck and landed on the man propped against the door, I felt uneasy. This was a work truck—older but clearly heavily used and well-maintained. And the man himself looked to be in his fifties, wearing worn jeans and a crisp blue button-up shirt. My first thought was he was probably a foreman or contractor somewhere, and maybe a pretty successful one too.
Getting out of my truck, I raised a hand to him as I glanced at the truck’s tires. I saw the flat immediately, but in the dim halo from my headlights, I was struck by the condition of the tire. It didn’t look bald or threadbare at all. Glancing back at the man, I gave him a smile.
“Had one pop on you, yeah?”
The man grimaced and nodded. “I did. Hell of a time for it too.”
I returned his nod. “Yeah…Well Mr. Trimble, I’m Pete. Good to meet you.” Looking away awkwardly, I turned on my flashlight as I squatted down by the tire. “Looks like it’s pretty new. Lots of tread left. I know you said you didn’t on the phone, but you sure you didn’t hit something?”
The man shrugged. “Don’t know. I didn’t notice anything until it started riding rough. You brought the replacement tire?”
“Yeah. I’ll have it on in a minute.” I glanced back toward the rear of the truck. “You don’t have a spare you’d rather me put on, do you?”
He frowned. “Spare’s rotten. That’s why I called you.” He glanced into the darkened interior of his truck’s cab. “Hurry it up if you can. I’ve got a bit of an emergency going on.”
Offering smile, I nodded. “Sure, sorry. I’ll get right on it.”
I had the car jacked and was removing the last of the lugs when I heard a squeal of static above me from inside the man’s cab. As I glanced up, Trimble yanked open the door and fumbled for something inside.
“Hello? Hello? Are you there?”
I was curious, but I didn’t want to seem nosy either, so I pulled off the wheel and carried it back to my truck. I could hear something over the radio, but at a distance it was hard to make out anything more than a loud crackling whine that faded in and out. Looking back toward Trimble, I saw the man was half-in and half out of his truck, his face dimly lit by the front-panel of what looked like a CB radio mounted on his dash. As I watched, he brought the handset up to his face, his voice tight with tension and frustration as he spoke.
“I’m trying, Goddamnit. I’m getting my tire fixed and then I’ll be back on the road.” Taking in a deep breath, he went on, his voice calmer. “I…I know you’re scared. Just...have you thought of anything else you saw or heard? Any landmarks or something else to let me know exactly where…”
Another squeal of static and Trimble fell silent as he listened. I wished I was closer so I could make out what the other person was saying, but all I could hear was the rhythm of noise as the man nodded to himself.
“Okay…Okay…Shit, I’m close to that now. I…” He glanced out the front windshield and then turned back to look at me. “Wait a minute. I have an idea. Just…I’ll be there soon.” He dropped the handset as he stood up, his eyes wide and his jaw clenched as he stepped toward me with his hands out. “Look, I need to tell you something. Ask you something.”
I stepped back from the wheel but kept the prybar I was using in my left hand. “Okay. What’s up?”
He glanced toward his truck and then back to me, and I could see a sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead now. “That…I’ve been talking to this lady tonight. On the CB.”
I nodded, wondering where this was going. Was that his deal then? He’s running around on the sly or something? “Okay.”
He took another step forward. “This lady…She’s trapped somewhere. Someone took her and put her somewhere, but she found a CB radio and got it to work. I’ve been driving toward the area she described for the last hour, but I wasn’t sure where she was. She can’t get out of where she’s at, but she’s been looking out the windows of the place, trying to see what she could in the dark.” Trimble pointed up toward the night sky. “But the moon’s out now, and she just told me about a big silo she can see. A big silo next to a little shed, down the hill from the cinderblock building she’s in. I’m pretty sure I know the place now.”
I frowned slightly. “So you’re saying this lady had been kidnapped or something?” When he nodded, I went on. “Did you call the cops?”
Trimble shook his head. “No, I didn’t. Maybe I should have, but at first, I halfway thought it was a joke. I was on the way home when I first heard her on the radio. The more she talked, the more I thought I knew where she was talking about and the more I believed her. Hell, I should have called then, but what could I tell them? And how long would it take for them to find her? She’s alone for now, but she’s terrified about the fella that took her coming back. I thought if I could figure out where she was and then call, it would save time, but then my damned tire blew.”
Shifting uncomfortably, I nodded toward the wheel. “Well, give me another five or ten minutes and you’ll be on your way and…”
Trimble shook his head as he broke in. “No, you don’t understand. This place is close. Walking close. But I…I don’t know what I’ll be walking into or if I’ll need help getting her out. I think she’s hurt and…and she may need to be carried. What I was going to ask is…will you go with me to look?” He raised his hand as I started to respond. “I know, you don’t know me. But I swear, I’m not a bad fella. Not trying to trick you or rob you or something. Hell, you look like you could whip me if it came to it anyway.”
I eyed the man uneasily. “Let’s just call the cops and…”
“There’s no time. The closest cops are probably thirty minutes away. This place I’m thinking of is ten, maybe fifteen minutes away on foot. If we go now, we can get her out before she gets in worse trouble. I’m going with or without you, but I’m taking the time to ask because it’ll be easier with two and…well, I’m more than a little scared if I’m honest.” His bottom lip trembled slightly as he met my eyes. “Please, mister. Pete. Pete, please help me help this lady if we can.”
Ignoring the pit in my stomach, I nodded.
I made Trimble walk in front of me as we traveled through the dark. We each had flashlights, but it did little to cut through the shadowy shapes growing in the fields and thickets we crossed. The moon had gone back behind another cloud, and the weight of the night was oppressive as I followed the strange man deeper into the countryside.
He was a strange man, and not just because of the story he had told. Part of it was how he moved. Standing against the truck, he had seemed fairly strong and able, but as we walked I noticed he had an odd, stooped gait, as though he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders and was growing tired of the load. But there was something else, too. He seemed oddly familiar to me. Not like I knew him exactly, but like I had seen him before. Like maybe,
“We should be getting close now. Just over this next hill if I remember right.” He pointed his flashlight back as he glanced at me for a moment, the reflected light showing the naked fear in his eyes. “It’s an old hunt house or something I think. Never been inside, but I’ve seen it…years ago.”
I nodded. “Okay.” We started back to walking, but that new glimpse of his face had just made my stomach tighten further. “Hey, have I met you before?”
He seemed to slow for a second and then, leaning forward more, he went on at a quicker pace. “No, I don’t think so. I think I’d remember.”
I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry and tight. “I just...maybe you’ve been in the store before? It’s just, you knew we had the tire in stock and you look pretty familiar.”
A long silence stretched between us, punctuated only by the crunching of dead scrub grass at our feet and the distant rustling of some trees as we crested the hill. Trimble suddenly stopped, and I thought he was going to turn and respond, but instead he just pointed to a lump of shadow down the hill as he let out a rough whisper. “There. That’s it. Let’s go.”
My heart was beating faster now, eyes looking into every shadow for the bogeyman that had supposedly taken this poor lady. But what if that was a lie? Or what if it was true, but Trimble was the one that had taken her? Some maniac that was abducting people dumb enough to simply follow him out into the woods?
I tightened my grip on the prybar. He’d been right though. I was twenty years younger and forty pounds heavier than him. So long as I kept him in front of me, he’d have a hell of a time pulling anything. And I didn’t know that he was lying anyway. The story sounded strange, but these kinds of stories always did, didn’t they? Could I risk not helping just because I was too chickenshit to go out into the dark with a stranger?
Keeping my eyes ahead on Trimble, I dug my phone out of my pocket. I was going to see this through, but I was calling the cops before we went in there. No telling what we might find, and if Trimble was up to something, I’d rather find out now rather than once I was inside an unfamiliar building with him. Holding up my phone, I swiped open the screen and dialed 911 before lifting the phone to my ear.
Nothing. No dial tone, and after a few seconds, a double beep. I knew that fucking beep. Looking back at my screen confirmed it. No signal found. Idiot. I’d waited too long, and now I was…
“What are you doing?”
I glanced up to see Trimble staring at me. “I…I was just going to try calling the cops since we’re here now.”
He stared at the phone and then at me. “Any luck?”
I shook my head. “No service this far out.”
Trimble nodded before continuing to whisper. “Figures.” He pointed toward the dark outline of the building, less than fifty feet away now. “Let’s look around before we go inside. I think maybe there’s only one door, but better to see before we try to get in.” Turning off his light, he leaned closer, his voice trembling. “I’d kill the light too for now. W-we don’t have anyway of knowing where this guy might be.”
Shit, this guy was terrified. It simultaneously made me feel better about him and more scared of everything around us. If this was all real, we needed to hurry.
Sticking together, we circled the cinderblock rectangle, studying it in the patchy moonlight that came and went as we crept through the shadows of nearby trees. The wind kicked up again, rattling bare branches as a shudder went up my spine. We were back near where we had started, and he’d been right. One door and two dark windows.
I went to ask him how we should go in, but Trimble was already moving toward the door, and by the time I caught up, he’d twisted the knob and entered, turning on his flashlight again. I hit the button on mine as I stepped through the threshold. I’d expected to see furniture, maybe a stove or some hunting supplies, but there was none of that. Just a bare, dirty concrete floor broken down the middle, a black hole leading down into some kind of dug out basement or tunnel.
My eyes followed my flashlight’s beam as I did a second pass of the room.
“Where…where’s the rad…”
Trimble grabbed my arm tightly. “Do you hear her?”
I froze as I realized I did hear something. At first the sound was faint and warbling—more like water or fingers running over glass. But as I listened, it changed or I could hear it better. It was a woman, weakly calling for help from down in the dark below the concrete floor.
Squeezing my arm, Trimble began walking down the slope of broken floor and I followed, my pace matching and then passing his as the woman’s voice grew clearer. She was clearly in pain and terrified, and we needed to help her. And if the fucker that had her was down here, then God help him. Teeth gritted, I raised the prybar as I turned a corner a foot below the cinderblock building up above. I could still hear Trimble behind me, but I didn’t care anymore if he helped or not. My flashlight was already tracing the first outlines of a body chained down with stakes and what was…
Pain exploded in the back of my head as everything fell to darkness.
When I woke up, I was laying on my side, hands and feet bound behind me. Trimble sat a few feet away, watching me quietly until he noticed I was awake. My first panicked thought was that I had been right. He’d trapped this lady and now he had me too. Where was she…? My eyes lit on the figure laying between us, wrapped in dirty linens and bound by fine silvery chains tied to stakeheads all along the body.
Only the head was bare, and it was a lady, but her skin was pallid and grey, with lips that had shrived or been removed some time long before. As though appreciating my need to see, Trimble took one of the flashlights and shined it over her face more fully. The rest of her face was strangely beautiful, but in a terrible way. There was no question she was long dead, and the ruin of her mouth with its black, gleaming teeth only made the delicate grace of her other features more horrible. Trimble let out a low chuckle above me.
“I know that look. I know it well.” He gave me a nasty grin as he squatted down, stumbling with a grunt before catching himself. Grimacing, he pulled a pair of pliers out of his back pocket.
“Look…I don’t know what this is, but please. Just let me go. Don’t kill me.”
Trimble frowned. “Not going to kill you, idiot. Going to give you something. Pass along a gift, if you want to look at it like that.” Turning away, he reached forward to gently ease open the dead woman’s mouth. He paused a moment, shaking his head as he puffed out a breath. “Hell, even now it’s hard to do.” He glanced at me again. “Hard to give up. You’ll see what I mean.”
Shaking his head again, he gripped one of the body’s black teeth with the pliers and gave it a tug, grunting with effort as it finally came loose. As he stood up and turned to me, I started to beg again, but he ignored me. When he straddled me, I tried to thrash and throw him off, but it was no use. He put his knees on my shoulders and then eased the pliers down toward my face, the jagged, black tooth they held suspended above my head for a moment before he drove it down into my skull.
The world went black again, and when it came back, it was only in flashes. I remember seeing Trimble against the far dirt wall, vomiting up something dark before slumping back with a wet grin. I remember him untying me and saying that for what it was worth, he was sorry. I remember waking up a few feet outside of the building, the chill of morning dew making my whole body shudder as I sat up and felt my head. There was no mark there, or anywhere, as though it had all been a dream.
Standing up shakily, I went to the building and tried the door. It opened easily, and in the red morning light I could see that the split in the floor had been filled in with white sand while I was unconscious. Bending down, I picked up a handful and looked at it blearily. No, not sand. Salt.
It took me nearly an hour, but I found my way back to my truck eventually. It was just as I’d left it, aside from Trimble’s wheel, which was gone along with any other sign of the man. I thought about calling the police or going to a hospital, but I didn’t know what I’d say or what good it would do. At most I could carry them to a long-dead body buried in a hole under hundreds of pounds of salt, but after I told them everything, would the cops suspect anyone else but me of whatever had been done to her? No, I needed to go home and rest. Get my head straight and then decide what to tell, if anything.
And that’s what I did. When I made it home, I fell into bed and slept for twelve hours, waking up in the evening with a headache and a dim, numb hopefulness that it had all been a dream. I guzzled water and ate some luncheon meat out of the fridge before going back to bed, and by the next morning, I was feeling almost normal again. Real or not, it was behind me, and I needed to let it stay there.
It was as I was walking into work the next day that I first noticed the footsteps behind me. Soft and delicate, the whisper of skin padding lightly on concrete, just behind my own feet. I spun around, expecting to see a customer coming into the store, but no one was there.
Throughout the day, I kept hearing it. Footsteps following me wherever I went, but when I would turn, there was nothing there. By that afternoon, it was all I could think about, and I left work early to get some fresh air and clear my head.
I walked down the sidewalk toward the center of town, listening closely for the ghost steps behind me. They were always there, changing with mine depending on whether I was on pavement or asphalt, dirt or grass. By the time I made it to the back of the library, I was leaning against the building trying to catch my breath. Either I was going insane or something was following me. Stalking me.
Just then, I felt a small, firm hand on my shoulder, the cold of it cutting through the cloth of my t-shirt as its twin gripped me on the other side. I jerked away from the wall, almost falling backward at the unexpected weight bearing down on me. Pinwheeling my arms, I stumbled back a step as I felt something wrap around my waist.
A pair of freezing legs holding me tight.
I let out a scream as I looked down, reaching for the legs first and then the hands digging into my shoulders, but nothing was there. But she was on me. Oh God, she was on me now. I couldn’t see her or touch her, but I could still feel her, that impossible weight bearing down on me no matter where I went or what I tried. And I could still hear her, whispering with that raspy voice that terrifies and excites me when it blossoms in my ear.
Weeping gently as she warns me how terrible it is to be alone in the dark.
Softly rumbling as she purrs how much she needs me, loves me.
Telling me so many terrible and wonderful impossible things, all while promising one thing, one truth, above all else.
She’ll never, ever let me go.

Patch Notes February 11

https://game-updates.info/medievaldynasty?19

Added

New sounds for Bear: steps, breath, roar, snort, sleep, eat.
New sounds for Boar: steps, hit, death, grunt, sleep, eat.
New sounds for Pig and piglets: steps, hit, death, grunt, sleep, eat.
New sounds for Chicken, Chick, Rooster, Goose: steps, chirp, wings, hit, death.
New sounds for Cow & Calf - steps, breath, roar, snort, sleep, eat.
New sounds for Wisent - steps, breath, roar, snort, sleep, eat.
New sounds for Deer and young Deer: new footsteps, breath, eat, idle, hit, death.
New horse summons sounds.
New sounds for Wolf.
New sounds for the Wolf: walking on grass and water.
New footsteps sound for Fox.
Sounds for the Door.
NPCs do change clothes for work.
Schematics for items, fences, and furniture can be purchased directly from the radial menus.
A new henhouse building model.
If the condition of an item in the inventory is less or equal 20% it becomes highlighted in red color.
An acceptance is required if changes were made in the game options or the graphics options.
Opening the map centers it on the player plus a button for centering the map on the player.
QWERTZ-CZ for the Czech keyboard layout.
Marking animals for sale is now also possible in the building details.
New animal feed racks have been added.
Added a system for filling troughs, animal feed racks and washtub.
New functionality for transferring a whole stack of items to and from chests/mounts.
Added a notification about the number of hungry and homeless animals.
Stone and iron items now need a Hammer as a tool to be crafted.
Roach, Perch and Pike now need a Knife as a tool for crafting Fish Meat.
Plank and Firewood now need an Axe as a tool to be crafted.
NPCs now use tools in production.
New animal - Rooster.
New animal - male Goose.
New cliffside in the central-south area.
More rocks and low foliage on terrain.

Fixed

Prices rounding.
Key bind for placing the Waypoint does not change after changing it in the key binds.
Items with the same durability (that are not using freshness or capacity) sometimes do not stack together.
Rotten items (rotten meat etc.) being destroyed when picked up by player.
A problem with stacking tools/weapons in quick slot after changing it the slot to the non-stackable one.
The number of items in the selected bag mode (fertilizer etc.) is not updating when the player adds or removes those items from the inventory.
Problem with dialogues that make it impossible to finish some Challenges and froze the game when the player talked to a female NPC.
Change name "Wattle Door" to "Wooden Door" in Tavern.
Animals in neighboring villages sometimes clone themselves.
Empty Washtubs in neighboring villages. Currently have varying water levels.
Menu music sometimes continue to play after starting a new game.
Eating items shows only a consume notification.
NPCs sometimes change beds at night or go to sleep on the floor.
When a spear breaks on impact with fish it now spawns dead fish.
Notification about a removed item now shows up when shooting arrows or bolts.
Player could perform skinning or drinking water instantly when changing the interaction target from an item to animal/water source quickly.
Issue where the player can pour out water from an empty Bucket.
Player can no longer duplicate a spear if he opens inventory and drops it on the ground right after throwing it.
Wrong Linen Fabric cost of Pants with Cuffs (12 instead of 1).
The lack of a Fishing Spear in Workshop and Smithy.
Eating Meat with Gravy returns a Bowl instead of a Plate.
Bowl is not returned damaged after eating but removed.
Eating items from the stack does not refresh the data in the inventory.
Trees are not growing back.
Some items have an incorrect description and name.
Reduced the frequency of sounds for Chickens, Chicks, Roosters, Cows, and Pigs.
A cow can be milked even though the readiness value is not filled.
The whole quest description shows on loading the game instead of partially.
After completion, the quest has the wrong number of items delivered.
The "Summon Mount" key bind for the gamepad has no icon.
Double notification about broken waterskin.
Asking people to say more about themselves sometimes does not open the appropriate tab in Management.
It is impossible to drop items from the inventory while riding a mount.
Buckets and other containers, when emptied by NPCs, are not transferred to the appropriate buildings.
The "Barter" talent does not affect selling prices of animals.
Flax Stalk has wrong weight value.
Missing Fishing Spear recipe in Workshop/Smithy.
Wrong Farming technology points for Bucket scheme.
NPCs keep fertilizing the field chunks when they should stop.
Wrong number of technology points needed to buy Wooden Bowl, Cup and Plate crafting schemes.
"Homeless" statistics includes dead animals.
Selecting the animal in the Management tab with mouse does not show the "Sell/Remove" buttons.
The Tax for all buildings is 0 coins.
Bucket changes into water buckets when taking a bath and holding empty bucket.
Tools do not hide when the character is using a Washtub.
It is possible to have infinite water by using a Washtub with an empty bucket.
The "Lock and Load" talent blocks the use of a Crossbow.
Roosters do not react to projectiles.
Now female characters should be less likely to hold an invisible infant.
When the Horses are asleep, their mouths clip through the Stable floor.
Sounds for Bear: attack, death.
Sounds for Quern: it was a bit noisy.
Two or more field workers work on the same chunk.
Waterskin cannot get broken while drinking from it.
Field workers standing preoccupied in the fields.
Equipped horse items do not show as equipped if the saddlebags are opened with "E".
The item description is visible in the quickslot radial menu if no item is selected.
The "Storage" is seen if you open the mount inventory via the saddlebags.
When you use "Unlimited weight", the setting applies to the horses too, but beyond a certain heaviness, the overweight symbol still shows. The horse can still move though.
If player saves before finishing a quest but after an NPC distributes the rewards, on loading this save, he gets the reward again.
Buckets of milk showing condition instead of freshness when laying on the map.
Some building modules had a wrong name: wooden wall instead of "Interior".
Some spelling errors in dialogues.
The selection in the options menu is now highlighted.
Text movement in radial menus.
The sound of eating when drinking from a bucket.
Removing capacity from an item that is in a big stack results in capacity getting a negative value.
The stone spear gets damaged less when throwing it, compared to other pikes.
Rocks sometimes appeared in random places after season change.
Blurred tree ring texture.
Holding the "UI_Drop" button was not updated to user input setting in both inventory and management.
Completed a quest with wrong numbers of delivered items.
Closing the HUD tutorial (the one after talking to Uniegost) with the ESC-key also opened game menu.
Closing HUD tutorials (for example the HP tutorial) with ESC results in the mouse cursor still being visible and the player being unable to rotate the character unless he opens either the game menu or inventory.
Pressing UI Right results in UI right constantly pressed.
The production list is not refreshed when the building is damaged.
Removing a tree stump gives no skill.
Updated the management button’s visibility if a building has no production and crafting scheduled.
Villagers eat the buckets instead of their contents. Hmm, tasty iron!
Recruits teleport to another stool/bench (another village) after getting up from a stool/bench.
Wrong sounds when hitting some building modules.
Key binds are not changing from keyboard to gamepad in events.
UI inputs get stuck if the player holds a key and then releases it during the input being disabled.
An infant can no longer get shot in the "Hunting incident" event.
The Horse is incorrectly switching between movement animations.
The Horse now closes its eyes when sleeping.
Player being able to shoot with a crossbow before the reloading animation was finished.
Animals now require feeding. If they are not fed, they produce nothing.
Taking out a tool/weapon and switching to empty hands at the start of the "taking out" animation creates a tool/weapon with an infinite durability.
The player can sprint backwards when holding sprint key on horse and changing riding direction.
The player can craft with a Torch in hand.
Fishing is not giving Technology points in Survival.

Updated

Fishing Spear is now added to the category "Stone Tools".
Descriptions for some items.
Lowered crafting recipe needs and prices for Potage, Soup and Meat with Gravy.
German language.
Russian language.
Ukrainian language.
Turkish language.
Czech language.
Hungarian language.
French language.
Polish language.
When the Buckets of Spoiled Milk rot and finally transform to empty Buckets they now automatically transfer to correct Storage.
Wooden Bowl and Plate is now in the category for crafting items.
Sticks, Logs, Stones, Clay, Straw, Broadleaf Plantain, St John’s Wort and all kind of Berries now can’t be sold by the player.
Notifications when using charges of watemilk now show both states of current milk amount and current buckets number.
Drinking from the Waterskin shows consume notification.
Player can now rearrange quick slots when riding a horse.
Player can now switch between quick slots when riding a horse.
Changed how filling Buckets with Water works to be the same as filling a Waterskin.
Adjusted how throwing direction is calculated for spears.
Changed bleeding durations and damage - Bleeding should now have a bigger effect on animals.
Lowered price and crafting time of Wooden Ladle, Spoon, Bowl, Cup and Plate.
Increased number of items crafted from single scheme for Wooden Bowl, Cup and Plate.
Crafting resources for Longbow, Recurve Bow and Crossbow are decreased.
Items with capacity now lose durability when used for crafting or drinking.
Control option for crouching and sprinting changed from checkbox to toggle/hold.
Animal Breeders now move from animal to animal and take care of them instead of just standing in the animal building.
Hunters have Stone Arrows instead of the Iron ones.
Lowered cost of the Wooden Bowl, Cup and Plate crafting schemes.
Using a Hoe to plow a field and using Fertilizer does not reset the plan in the Crop Management tab.
Quest objectives displayed on HUD tracker and the Journal are now changed for better clarity.
Hunters are looking for dead animals to skin those they hunted themselves.
Children (Infants, Toddlers, Kids) leave the village if their parents die.
Field management visuals.
Cleaning animation at Washtub now ends more smoothly.
Stone Knife collision when dropped.
Eating from Bowl (soups, etc.) now leaves empty Bowl but with decreased durability. (This applies to both the Player and NPCs).
Removal of orphaned children from a player’s village after the season change.
Sounds for Chests.
Woolen Thread is removed from the Bucket recipe.
Lowered Wool Thread recipe requirements.
Changed the furniture prices.
Placing Fence ghosts is free now.
Lowered recipe requirements for Stone, Fishing, and Iron Spears.
Lowered recipe requirements for Recurve Bow and Crossbow.
Lowered recipe requirements for Shirts, Tunics, Tights and Pants.
Optimization of game save duration.
Optimization for the UI management.
Lowered recipe requirements for Hoods, Hats, Shoes, Boots and Gloves.
Lowered recipe requirements for Pouches, Backpacks and Horse Equipment.
Field Workers - divided plowing into two separate tasks: plowing before fertilization and plowing after fertilization.
Increased number of Beetroot, Cabbage, Carrot and Onion collected from field chunk.
Modified crafting recipes for consumables.
Modified prices, weights, food, water, the damage, and other item parameters.
When projectiles for bow/crossbow are depleted from a slot, they get automatically reloaded with the same type of projectile (if there is still more in inventory, otherwise it reloads another type of ammunition).
A complete stack of arrows/bolts is now added to a slot.
Not enough technology text in radial menus with color matching the lock.
Showing what level of technology is required to buy a schematic in the radial menu.
The radial menu for the "Q" key bind has now separate buttons for fence category and for the road category.
The "Failing challenge" notification now shows the name of challenge.
"Change home" acceptance UI visual update.
"Tab" for Knowledge now comes with an input (for keyboard and gamepad).
Modified the times of crafting recipes.
Skills are now always displayed in the same order (skill tab, management, above NPC’s head etc.).
Removing items for crafting not only picks the ones with lowest hp/freshness but those with lowest capacity as well.
Chickens - going to their sleeping positions and have sleep animations.
Crafting now displays the number of items that will be crafted, and the time required to craft it.
Challenge name in notification on completion.
Storages do not require employees.
Field workers react to changes made by the player in field management.
Upgrading and downgrading buildings now requires a talent.
NPC production costs, times, technology points.
Updated riding on horse to improve head bobbing reduction.
Reloading animation for the crossbow.
Reworked Skills and Talents.
Decreased the delay between UI inputs on key holding.
Replaced the sleeping animations for a horse.
Animation blending for the horse when stopping suddenly.
Removed a Fishing Spear from a workstation at the Fishing Hut.
Changed some of the rocks in the water to ones without snow.
Improved the Wolf sound mix.
Fertilizing and plowing fields does not reset after the season changes.
The capacity of a Barn’s chest depends on the level of the building.

[US > US] [SELL] [PERFUME] D&F, Fyrinnae, Alphamusk, Moonalisa, Whisper Sisters, Darling Clandestine, S92, Solstice Scents, Luvmilk, Firebird, Possets, Smell Bent, Hex, Lotus Noir, Pineward, Wylde Ivy, Kheimistrii, and more (including mainstream and niche!)

$5 minimum // Take it all for $150 shipped!
Purchase a full size for $5 or more and get a free sample of your choice!
Also offering sample packs consisting of 5 randomly chosen samples (which can be further personalized to exclude death notes) for $14 shipped!
All have been used 1-2x unless noted otherwise
$5 flat rate shipping, will send everything out early next week
Freebies available with any purchase: BPAL Astronomical Twilight sniffie, Sixteen92 Groom Lake decant, Haus of Gloi Strawberry Marshmallow sniffie
Will swap for any size of Poesie Ynés Mexía!

Sixteen92:
Bela Lugosi's Dead [7.5mL, EDP, $16.00] — Clove bud, tobacco absolute, smoked vanilla resin, flame.
They F***ing Forgot My Birthday [3mL, decant, $6.00] — Wedding cake, orange blossom honey, burned sugar, soft vanilla musk, unlit birthday candles, would you stop feeling sorry for yourself?
They F***ing Forgot My Birthday [6mL, $12.00] — Wedding cake, orange blossom honey, burned sugar, soft vanilla musk, unlit birthday candles, would you stop feeling sorry for yourself?
Blood & Honey [1mL, decant, $2.00] — Blood orange, wildflower honey (vegan), pale amber, honeysuckle.
Death & Floral:
I Could Never Stay Long Enough on the Shore [0.92mL, decant, $2.50] — A quiet and empty beach full of barren miles of white sand, under a cool night moon. The soft smell of old, salty boardwalk wood in the air. A small hint of smoke in the air from a distant fire, warmth on the edge of the cold winter coastline.
Eight Minutes of Light and Heat Before the Sun Dies [0.92mL, decant, $2.50] — Pulpy coconut water and sweet Thai tea, blended with soft orange blossoms and a scorching desert thunderstorm looming in the distance.
Bochet [0.74mL, decant, $2.00] — Dark, burnt honey mead with hints of toffee and whiskey.
Christmas Decorations [0.74mL, decant, $2.00] — Solinote.
Sparkling Ginger Soda [0.74mL, decant, $2.00] — Solinote.
Mad Women & Bad Habits [0.74mL, decant, $2.00] — A pool full of Bright, sparkling citrus champagne, blended with lemon and soft lavender. An ode to a life of excess and slowly going mad.
Vintage Cream Soda [0.74mL, decant, $2.00] — Solinote.
You Are Our May Queen! [0.74mL, decant, $2.00] — A sinister floral blend of chrysanthemums, hyacinths, and bright red poppies laid on a bed of stark white linen sitting upon a pile of bluegrass. Blended with green tea and hallucinogenic juniper leaves. Warm, inviting, and completely unnerving.
When the Shadows Burn Brighter than the Embers [0.74mL, decant, $2.00] — Dusty desert sand under an aging afternoon sun, lavender and sweet grass wafting in the air surrounding the Smokey remnants of a recently deceased fire. Smoke and ash surround the perfumed woman, who smells of slight spice and Black musk.
Moonalisa:
Apperscotch [5mL, $10.00] — Our blend of juicy Apricot and delicious Butterscotch all rolled into one!
Absinthe Marshmallow [5mL, $10.00] — All the green goodness of Absinthe with the fluffy light as feather treat of Marshmallow cream!
Solstice Scents:
Winslow's [1mL, $2.00] — Rows of christmas trees, clove studded oranges, bayberry tapers, handcrafted wreaths & mistletoe.
Luvmilk:
Aphrodite’s Temple [~2mL in a 4mL bottle, decant, $1.00] — Honey slathered peaches with a hint of spice and vanilla, rounded out with rose and a touch of sweet burning wood.
King of Hearts [~2mL in a 4mL bottle, decant, $1.00] — Fresh cinnamon, malted sugar, sugared pistachio, amaretto, and warm buttered cookies.
Kheimistrii:
Bohemia [2oz, sealed, bubbling scrub, $5.00] — Floral notes of geranium, carnation & verbena. Dry, green notes of petitgrain, herbaceous woods & dry foliage. Finalized with earthly notes of olibanum & just enough of the spicy-sweet aroma of patchouli to add interest.
Sexxy Lingerie [2mL, $3.00] — Fresh linen, light patchouli, soft cedarwood.
Firebird:
Lavender Milk [1mL, $2.00] — Lavender, vanilla, coconut, sugared musk.
Alphamusk:
Figgy Musk [1mL, $2.00] — Notes unknown.
Scanned [1mL, $2.00] — Effervescent muskless musk of dusty wood dampened by Cola.
Possets:
Phi [5mL, $12.00] — Phi is a Greek letter which is the symbol of the Golden Section. The perfect wonder of freshest lime and the famous "silver' accord dancing along with a few secret enhancements. Delightful and perfect for spring and summer. Seductive in a fresh but not so innocent way.
Smell Bent:
Lady Gogo [4mL, $5.00] — A double dose of sheer jasmine enlivened with orange flower, mandarin, fresh pepper and sexy sandalwood.
Hexennacht:
Overlook Hotel [1mL, decant, $2.00] — White spruce, sugared vanilla, buttermint candies.
Rose Red [0.74mL, decant, $2.00] — Roses, rich, green PNW forest greenery.
Lotus Noir:
In Remembrance [2mL, EDP, $3.00] — A resinous and aromatic oriental, welcoming the spirits. The wax scent of a votive candle flickering in the distance, a cool breeze stretching across the expanse of a courtyard playing delicately at the edges of age yellowed lace, the tin click of a high heel as she dances around her partner, and the unraveling strings of a silk shawl covered in faded roses.
Pineward:
Boreal [0.7mL, EDP, $3.00] — Pine needles, mint, cedar, resins, moss. Frigid forests of the northern wilderness. Chilly mint gives way to a soft bed of creamy cedar, pine, and moss.
Christmas Wine [0.7mL, EDP, $3.00] — Cranberry, plum, blood orange, cloves, nutmeg, fir balsam. Yuletide glogg, mulled wine on Christmas night. An unfiltered mélange of rich cranberry, fir, and spices.
Wylde Ivy:
Violet Fluff [1/3 full 2mL sprayer, EDP, $1.50] — Notes unknown.
Little Book Eater:
All Hallow’s Eve [3mL, $3.00] — Notes unknown.
Stereoplasm:
Binary Sonata [1mL, decant, $2.00] — Vintage musk, forest berry accord, thyme, ether.
Nui Cobalt:
Gargoyle [1mL, $2.00] — Rain-drenched lavender, cathedral incense, beeswax candles, and ancient stone. Wear as an energetic shield against all misfortune and malefaction.
Alkemia:
Absinthe and Laudanum in the Afternoon [1mL, $2.00] — An intemperate intoxication of galbanum, laudanum accord, tonka bean, vetivert root and narcotic wormwood swooning into an euphoric delirium of opium poppy, poet's jasmine, and french lavender.
Epically Epic:
Wild Carnation [0.74mL, decant, $2.00] — Wild carnations have a gorgeous, strong, spicy clove-like smell. My version has carnation petals, clove, cinnamon, cardamom, dark vanilla bean, and black pepper.
Black Baccara:
Eternal Winter [1mL, $2.00] — Fig, anise, fireplace embers, falling snow, cinnamon and Indian sandalwood.
Smelly Yeti
Buffybot [1.3mL, $2.00] — With slightly singed wire, motor oil, ozone, and a smooth metallic finish, this perfume calls to mind warm electronics. Subtle and slightly sweet, this perfume is just strong enough to get people slightly worried that the robot uprising is upon us. Just slightly worried. And, you know, sometimes you just want to smell like a robot. A slightly malfunctioning, overly peppy robot.
Lou Lou’s:
Tybalt’s Whiskers [2mL, $3.00] — Vanilla, candied lavendar, black pepper, and tobacco smoke.
Salmonberry Origins:
Wild Alaskan Rose [1mL, $2.00] — This rose is embraced by untouched flora, hardy trees, and snow kissed foliage.
Olympic Orchids:
Olympic Rainforest [~1mL in a 4mL sprayer, EDP, $2.00] — Cedar leaves, green sword ferns, rhododendron, forest mushrooms, beebalm, myrtle, wildflowers, oakmoss, black spruce, balsam fir, Port Orford Cedar, earthy accord.
Guerlain:
L'Homme Ideal [~2mL in 3mL sprayer, parfum, $2.00] — Almond, Spices, Lavender, Bergamot, Thyme, rosemary; cherry, Vanilla, Incense and Bulgarian Rose; tonka Bean, Leather and Sandalwood.

(LONG READ) Conventions: nothing cramped my style more...

...than an ‘Attendant’ badge and grunt labor assignments in my 20s.
You see, I was the classic late bloomeugly duckling all thru the 80s & early-90s: a pale, frail, skeletal thing, with brillo pad hair, a grotesquely protuberant profile, always bespeckled with acne in a deep shade of maroon. It didn’t help that we were a lower middle-class uberdub family, either. I was at the mercy of my mom’s meager, utilitarian approach to wardrobe: JCPenny, Sears, Goodwill, garage sales and hand-me-downs from older, well-to-do JW bullies from my own congregation (there’s nothing more degrading than when an elder’s asshole upperclassman jock son—who picked on me at the hall and at school where his double life shone brilliantly—walked by my lunch table and said, “hey, that’s my shirt,” in front of all my school friends).
However, in my early 20s, I enjoyed an unexpected and truly remarkable glow-up. My awkwardness subsided, albeit briefly. My frame became proportional. My skin cleared up. I also had a part-time job and knew how to budget my money. For once, I had some control over my outward appearance. It wasn’t hard at all—I’d always known what I wanted and I finally had the means to make it happen. No more Great Clips—I found a salon stylist in the boujee, proto-hipster borough of my capitol city. No more Sears. It was Pac-Sun, Tommy, Nautica & Abercrombie. I skipped Levi’s—I went from Lee straight to Guess in a jiff.
Ok, bear with my following brag—I don’t get to enjoy this rite often irl:
My heavens, did I hit home runs with my annual Convention clothes! I’d always perused GQ, but once I had the extra pocket money to put their advice into practice, everything I wore was perfectly planned: my shoes determined which belt, which watch and which “meeting bag” I carried (sorry, dad... no more plastic clamshell bookcases from OfficeMax—I had supple leather satchels for each convention day). I purchased designer suits made from only the finest natural materials: silk, cotton, linen, wool... and I’d get them professionally tailored too; no more jewel-toned barrel-chested polyester jackets covered in lint balls, no more bent or crooked shirt collars or faded deck shoes. I also ditched the glasses for contacts (and not the goofy colored ones all the thirst traps wore, either—just having no frames on my face was enough of an improvement).
You see... the tables were turning. All those older, richer, cooler “popular” JW kids who’d bullied and mocked me all those years wore those obnoxiously fake-colored contacts because they’re were barely clinging on to what little clout remained. In desperation, they all hit the tanning beds at the last minute, just prior to convention. These were folks who’d fallen for that awful zuit suit fad a few years prior, which was SO grand (evil laugh). You see, I kept it slim, svelte, chic, stately, modern & timeless. I rocked out looking like Neo from the matrix or Don Draper while all the assholes who shat on me for years looked like hungover garden gnomes wandering back to an Al Capone costume party, long after the 90s Swing Craze had ended. Their hair was thinning, they were getting crows feet and oh my goodness, they were getting dad bods! Of course, they’d all married by 21 and I swear, it’s like they hit the pause button! They were locked in a timewarp—they were embodiments of the word “dated.”
Oh... and as for the formerly “cool” girls; well, most of them were already preggers by then lol... angrily weeble-wobbling their way down the corridor, their faces falsely kept at a cheddar-cheeseball-orange from fake bake abuse, still crammed into late-80s prom dresses with formidable shoulder pads, their hair still remarkably upright & encrusted with AquaNet, dark blue mascara caked like drywall spackle, gathering in the corners of their eyes like the thrush around Jabba the Hut’s mouth... all of them locked in a glacially-paced line to the sisters’ bathroom, terminating at stalls that stank of sulfur and copper from the relentless & heavy bombardment. Yes, what a joyous sight to behold. Their glory was long gone and they knew it. “Move out the way, it’s my turn now.”
Several weeks prior to convention weekend, I’d begin with whitening toothpaste. I started laying out in mid-May to have that tasteful, natural sun-kissed look by late June or July (JFK pulled off that look perfectly, btw). I religiously shined my shoes and even carried a small travel polish kit to touch-up throughout the convention day—after all, you could accumulate a quite a bit of dust and debris while cruising during the lunch break!
For 4 consecutive, wonderful years, I pulled that off. I’d never had that level of self-confidence before! And the Schadenfreude seeing my bullies and haters wither away to obscurity was delicious. I wasn’t even doing this to “impress others,” I did this shit for myself. I’d finally made it. And I knew it. And after enduring a sequestered life of struggle for jah, I believed I’d earned the right to shake my tail feathers a little. I finally felt good about myself.
...sigh...
...#teardrop...
....aaaand then they appointed me MS.
And slapped an “Attendant” badge on me at prime age of 23.
That’s when shit went tits up for me until I left the bOrg. My convention glory days were over. Oh—make no mistake—I still saw to my wardrobe, hygiene and appearance with the same fervor. But this new title and rank and all the bullshit that came with them completely ruined my mojo.
Q:
You know what can make a hand-tailored Armani look like shit?
A:
Carrying a broom & dustpan while dragging a bulky Igloo cooler full of hamwater across a quarter-mile gravel parking lot in the hot sun at 7am because you’re on the cleaning crew and your facial expression says, “even after this 8-hr session, I can’t leave tonight until my section is spotless.”
Q:
You ever spot someone who gives you butterflies? They’re gorgeous & probably way out of your league anyway, but you have only one shot to get their attention—maybe just get noticed in some way, even if it’s just eye contact and a smile?—whatever—it’s just fun and a good feeling? Yeah? You know what I mean? Well... you wanna know what can utterly destroy the ambiance of a moment like that?
A:
You happen to be mopping up a pile of someone’s puke in the corridor at the time. Because that’s your assignment. Mmmmm... yes. Your spiffiness is no longer a factor, is it? Mmmmm ...No. (shakes head) ...no. No, it’s not. Oh, the eye candy will remember, that’s for sure. No way they’ll forget that encounter. And they’ll always associate the memory of puke with you. It won’t be, “Saw a hottie today.” Rather, 5 years later, they’ll still be saying, “Oh remember that time someone puked at convention? Lol yeah, gross... felt bad for the guy cleaning it...” And there you are, reduced to a side character in a vulgar story.
Q:
Wanna know what else was cool?
A:
PIT STAINS and a dark torrent of sweat down your back from 4 hours of “parking lot duties” because apparently (despite successfully driving 2.5 hrs to the host city), the 6000+ visitors must—inexplicably—be so inept at parking that they require 4 dozen morons with orange marshaling cones and RED ROPE to guide them into place.
Q:
Switching gears; what do young single people enjoy about convention the most?
A:
Duh! The after party. Especially if you’re 21+, right? We’d always ditch the formal clothes and change into fun clothes first, then we’d go out somewhere nice (with a full bar). And of fucking course, we’d ditch the name tags, Jesus! In the summer months, there was still plenty of time to meet back up & hang out at the pool, shoot hoops in a park somewhere—hell, I always brought my bike. It was fun (well... sheltered culty fun, but...). It was the one thing that got everyone thru the doldrum of convention. But nope. I had to stay behind and stack folding chairs, count money, dismantle the pool, stay until the cleaning overseer approved my section or stay until the parking lot was empty—all while knowing I was on early shift the next day which meant I had to go straight to bed.
I toiled in this state for another 5 years before my fade. As miserable and daunting and just fucking disappointing as it all was, it was an essential part of my awakening. In 2008, one afternoon there was a talk entitled “Avoid Independent Thinking.” I knew back then that it sounded insane. For some reason, I knew to save that program; something inside me said, “keep this... you’ll need proof of how nuts this religion is in the future.” I was still fully in, but something told me that title was crazy and that I’d need to keep it to show others some day. Since then, I’ve shown it to my “worldly” friends and relatives!
In 2010, when they released that “creation” brochure, I took it back to my hotel room and read it. I had a massive panic attack. I knew they were wrong. I knew they knew they were wrong and published a pamphlet of lies, half-truths and logical fallacies anyway.
I arrived early the next morning at 6:45am to report to my 7am assignment. A terrible thunderstorm blew in, torrential rain and lightning. Tornado sirens blared. There was no way I could walk the distance to the arena, so I waited in my car for it to blow over. Waited. Alone. At an hour I’m normally never awake. And at 7:01am, my mobile rang. It was Lawrence. A recently appointed elder in charge of the department I was reporting to. He was also 6 yrs younger than me. He never had a glow-up, either. He went from awkward teen wardrobes to dressing exactly like Tony Morris III before he was old enough to drink boooze. Lawrence was calling me, literally at 7:01, to ask me where I was. Any reply I could muster felt defensive. Any reply felt like an excuse for failing to report at 7am. I remember looking in my rear view at a pull-behind cooler, a broom and a dustpan (my own items from my own house, btw). And I remember the unfamiliar display of 7:01AM on my dash. I looked back out at the storm and I just sighed. This kid, who I used to make mud pies with in my back yard, was calling to “check in” on my whereabouts and then “weigh in” on my “excuse” for being late.
Yes, this was after I concluded that this organization published a book of lies the night before. That afternoon, there was a terrible homophobic talk which sent me into another panic attack. I distinctly recall looking around the arena. For the first time ever, I got the real sense of how serious this situation actually is. 6 thousand people were manipulated to be there, guilted and controlled the entire time and then they were being lied to and preached hate for people who were like me, LGBT.
That was the last convention I ever officially* attended.
*there were 3 more I visited, but they weren’t the one I was assigned to. one of them was an international convention with its own experiences that merits its own post.

If the screen of your Switch cracks, stop playing

I decided to download Link’s Awakening for the Switch a couple weeks ago. I’d had the game as a kid, on gameboy, but I don’t remember getting very far. I think I mostly cut grass in the starting area until I found enough money to buy all the items. The remake looked cute, though, and nowadays I could just look up a guide if I got stuck.
The game downloaded while I crept upstairs and microwaved myself a burrito. My upstairs roommates were working from home; I was still going out on the “front lines” every night. We’d settled into a kind of half-assed quarantine system. I snuck around during the night like some kind of ghost living in their basement, and they didn’t try to find me.
The microwave clock, after I heated up my food, said it was close to seven in the morning. I’d finished my shift about an hour ago, come home, and known as soon as I’d gotten into the shower that I was looking down the barrel at another sleepless night. I was tense and twitchy, a band of not-quite-pain pulling my back muscles tight. The warm water had done little to help, even when I turned it to scalding.
So I’d pulled my Switch out from where it was charging under my bed and blew sixty dollars on a remake of a game I could have emulated for free. Now I took my burrito, wrapped in a paper plate, back down to my room. I pulled the blankets up around me one-handed as I stepped onto the bed with my food held high.
I heard a clatter, and grimaced. I put the burrito down on a corner of the bed and knelt over the other side. Yeah, I’d knocked my Switch to the floor. I picked it up and turned it over. I want to say that I barely noticed the crack, but it was unmistakable. A web of cracks, about the area of a house key, in the bottom right corner.
The screen was still lit up and working just fine, though. I tapped the crack with my thumb, and it didn’t seem to crumble or electrocute me. Still, I snuck out of my room again and found a roll of clear tape in a kitchen drawer. I returned to my room and covered the crack in tape. Good as new.
The download was only half-finished.
Paranoid about little shards of glass sticking to my fingers, I washed my hands and shook my sheets out (after setting the Switch carefully back onto the floor). Then I got back into bed and read news on my phone while I ate my room-temperature burrito.
The game finished downloading as I was chewing the dense wad of tortilla that signifies the ending of any microwave burrito. I picked up the Switch and ran my finger over the tape. At least it wasn’t a big crack.
I started up the game and soon I was able to forget about the crack. It’s kind of a weird game, I found out. Most of the surreal stuff and references to other games must have flown over my head when I was a little kid. It wasn’t quite as hard as I remembered, though.
I got through the first dungeon easily, and played through to somewhere near the end of the second dungeon, where I finally hit a miniboss I wasn’t able to instantly destroy.
The sun was bright around the edges of my blackout curtains by this time, and I was finally starting to feel tired. I cleared out a room on the way back to the miniboss and left Link facing the next door while I went to go brush my teeth. I’m sure I left him facing the door at the top of the screen.
When I came back to make one more attempt on the miniboss before trying to get some sleep, though, I found him facing down, his little cartoony face pointing up at the “camera.” It must have been an idle animation, I thought, and picked up the Switch without pressing any buttons to see what he would do.
Instead of kicking his feet or stretching, though, Link lifted a hand, pointed straight at the camera, and screamed.
I watched, fascinated. Was this a cutscene? A special enemy? Had the game seen me die a bunch of times and then stop playing, and this had prompted an event?
Link’s scream used the same sound effect as when he fell down a hole. A short clip, but it was playing over and over as he pointed and screamed. After a solid minute of this, I started to feel creeped out.
I’d hit a glitch, I realized.
I was sure of it when none of the game buttons seemed to work, and Link kept screaming at me. The home screen button still worked, and when I pressed it the room was suddenly quiet of Link’s repeating screams. I closed the game and powered off the console, hoping it had saved my progress.
In the dark of my room, only glints of light from outside danced across my ceiling. I lay in bed, unable to sleep, barely able to close my eyes.
I woke to my alarm that night. I almost trampled my abused Switch, which I’d set down on the floor the night before, getting out of bed. I shook my head and plugged it in. My eyes were burning and my tongue was dry.
I went through the motions of getting ready for work, putting on my uniform shirt and a company jacket. I still felt groggy, so I decided to wash my face before leaving.
When I turned on the bathroom light, it was overwhelmingly bright. I squinted my eyes closed and warmed up the water, then scrubbed it over my face, willing myself to wake up enough to drive.
Gradually, my eyes adjusted to the light. When I finally opened them, I looked down into the sink to see that the water running off my face had a pink tint to it.
My gaze whipped up to the mirror, and I realized I had some kind of split lip. Right at the corner of my mouth, a trail of bloody water dripped down. I grabbed a dark towel and wiped it off, checking my clothes for stains before I checked my face for the extent of the damage.
I thought my lip had just cracked from the cold overnight, a scab opened up by the water. But when I brushed my finger over the split, I felt something small and hard.
On the tip of my finger was a tiny shard of glass.
I stuck my head under the faucet, trying to flush out the wound as much as possible. I filled my mouth with water and spat it out about eight times, probing every inch with my tongue to find glass in my mouth. I didn’t find any more pieces.
Eventually, my second alarm started playing from my phone and I had to leave or be late for work.
I dried myself off, thoroughly awake now. I leaned in toward the mirror and looked at my lip. It was a pretty bad split, branching off along my cheek and still oozing blood. At least I would be wearing a mask at work. I took some toilet paper to keep dabbing at it as I drove.
When I got to the gas station, I saw my coworker through the lighted window, anxiously checking the darkness outside for my arrival.
I pulled on my cloth mask and tossed the bloody wad of toilet paper into the trash before I hauled open the door and went in. My coworker heaved a sigh of relief upon seeing me, breath fogging up his glasses. He was already clocking out on the computer by the time I reached the counter.
“You’re good, right?” he said, eyes on the screen. “I gotta go. Greg’s in the back.”
The franchise owner hated customers. Hopefully, he would stay back there and let me handle them all night, for all our sakes.
“Yeah, fine,” I said, tonguing the corner of my mouth under my mask. It still stung.
Coworker was out the door in seconds. I clocked in and pulled a stool up to the register, hunching over my phone. We would get another hour or so of late commuters, then I’d get started on cleaning up the shelves and mopping. Greg stepped out once to check on the shift change, grunted at me, and disappeared again.
I almost fell asleep on my stool in between customers. Just as I was about to step out into the store to clean, the bell rang again. A man and a child came in, almost identical except that he was wearing a hoodie and jeans and she was wearing a little pink coat. I settled back onto the stool and called a greeting.
The man dropped into the back toward the coolers of beer, and the girl hopped over to a candy display closer to my counter. I watched her slap a palm onto every pack of candy she could reach, like she was playing the final level in a rhythm game with twenty buttons. She stopped with her hand on a pack of M&Ms, squeezing it.
Then she looked at me.
I was lifting my hand to wave at her when she screamed at the top of her lungs, an ear-splitting scream that shattered the quiet of the store.
I clapped my hands to my ears but still heard the rattling of a case of beer falling to the ground as her father rushed to her.
“What’s wrong, baby?” he asked, voice raised over her continuous scream as he picked her up in his arms.
She pointed straight at me. All I was doing was trying to will my eardrums to stay intact.
The man opened his mouth, gaze turning to me, but he didn’t say anything. He seemed to stop short, eyes wide, bewildered. He opened and shut his mouth a couple more times, but never managed to say anything.
He pushed through the door back into the night, carrying the screaming child out of the store. After the door thumped shut, it was quiet again, and I cautiously lowered my hands. What had that been about? I didn’t look that bad, did I?
“What’s all that, then?” Greg called from the back room.
Nice to know that he would leap into action in the event of an emergency. “Just a kid throwing a tantrum!” I yelled back, but I was shaken. If it hadn’t been for the half-remembered glitch in Link’s Awakening, I could have shrugged it off.
I touched my face, wondering what the girl had seen, and my hand came away sticky.
The blood was bright against my palm. Oh, God. My mask was completely soaked through with it. I pulled it off and looked at it, repulsed. How had I not even noticed the cut on my lip bleeding so much? It must have just split open again.
I checked out the window for approaching cars, and when I didn’t see anyone I stole away to the bathroom to rinse the mask and wipe off my face.
Forget about the little girl, I almost shrieked when I saw my face in the mirror. Taking off the mask had left me with blood smeared over one half of my cheek. I started to wipe it off with wet paper towels, and realized with a hiss that the cut had spread, branching over my cheek along several stinging lines.
Worse, I found more bits of glass, tiny and sparkling in the yellow light of the bathroom. I cursed under my breath, hands shaking. How could this happen? I was so sure nothing had come off of the Switch screen.
I took several breaths, trying to make them deep ones. I would make sure, when I got home. I would clean everything and put more tape on the cracked screen. After buying the game, I didn’t think I could afford to pay someone to fix the screen until my next paycheck, but maybe I could get a kit and try it myself.
The blood was mostly cleaned off my face, but my white mask seemed like a lost cause. It was stained a splotched pink and red even after all my efforts with the warm water. I hesitated for a minute, then squeezed it dry and pulled it back on. I told myself it would just look tie-dyed, instead of gruesome.
The rest of the night passed in a painfully slow crawl. I kept a stack of paper towels under the cash register and kept wiping off the blood under my mask as my network of cuts continued to ooze. I barely cleaned, straightening the beer display and making a half-hearted pass with a mop over the floors. I was watching the clock, and I punched out and left as soon as my relief stepped through the door, brushing past her, head down so she wouldn’t notice what was wrong with me.
The sky was turning from black to gray when I got home. The house was silent, all my roommates still asleep two floors up. I threw my stained mask away and washed my face again. I was hungry and thirsty, but the thought of swallowing anything made me balk, so afraid of more shards of glass. Eventually I managed to drink a few mouthfuls of water from the bathroom faucet, after sticking my whole head under the stream and rinsing my mouth out several times.
There was a black towel in the bathroom closet, and after I changed my clothes I draped it over my shoulder as I took my next steps. First I slathered more tape over the Switch screen, covering the cracks and the surrounding two inches in cloudy tape. Then I tore every bit of linen off my bed and dragged it outside to shake out until my head spun. I hiked it all upstairs and shoved it in the laundry machine on a double rinse cycle.
Finally I took my roommate’s vacuum from the upstairs closet and vacuumed every single thing in my room, including the blinds and pillows. It probably woke my roommates up, but I couldn’t wait. I was left with a clean room and an exhausted body. I laid down on the bare mattress with the towel between my face and the pillow.
I slept fitfully, uncomfortable and anxious, the light through the curtains always seeming to cut through into my eyes just as I was drifting off.
My roommates moved around on the floor above. Talking, laughing, playing music, coming and going. I could usually tune it all out but now every footfall pounded into my bones. I lay there with the towel draped over my face and waited to either die or fall asleep.
-x-
I awoke with a start in the dark of the night, confused and panicked that my alarm hadn’t sounded. It took me too long, looking at the calendar on my phone, to remember that I wasn’t scheduled to work today. I had the night off.
The bare mattress wooshed as I dropped flat onto it. So I had the night off. Why wasn’t I more happy about that? I could hear my roommates thumping around upstairs. I dragged myself to the bathroom and rinsed the clots of blood from my face, picking more shards of glass out of my skin dully, almost routinely. I dumped the black towel into a basket and dug out the rattiest replacement for it I could find.
I returned to my room and sat with my back against a wall, reading articles on my phone, as I listened to the sounds of my roommates upstairs trail off and quiet. I would wait a while more before going back up and drying my sheets. Maybe I could even bring myself to eat something. My Switch was on the floor near me, and my resolve to pointedly ignore it was waning. I’d bought the game. I wanted to play it.
Finally I put down my phone and picked up the Switch, looking it over suspiciously for flakes of glass. My tape seemed to have contained it, but then, that was what I had thought the last time, too.
I turned it on and started up Link’s Awakening. The game seemed normal, except for the big foggy area on the third of the screen covered in tape. Despite that, I managed to beat the second dungeon while sitting on the floor in my room. I stood up and scratched at the cuts on my face, still dripping onto my new towel, and wandered around in the game a little more.
Trying to explore the map, I was starting to run into problems with the taped-up screen obscuring things. I looked at the ceiling, then at my phone. It was past one. The house was silent again.
Before I went upstairs, I put the Switch into sleep mode. I didn’t want to see any more glitched-out idle animations. Then I walked slowly up the dark stairs, alert for any sign that one of my roommates was still hanging around. But all the lights were off on the middle level.
I went to the living room and removed the Switch there from its dock, replacing it with mine and sliding a controller out. I sat on the couch, feeling as though I was getting away with something. It took a moment to find the remote, stuck between the cushions of the couch. I fished it out and turned on the TV, squinting against the sudden light of the Switch home screen there. I turned the volume down and resumed my game.
I zoned out playing, forgetting my laundry and my hunger. I made a fair amount of progress before I had to return to the village area and everything went to shit.
As soon as I entered the town, I got a weird feeling. The music wasn’t playing, I could tell even with the lowered volume. And as I ran Link past NPCs, the NPCs stopped and turned toward the screen. All at once, each of them raised a hand to point at me, and screamed.
The volume wasn’t quiet anymore. The screams were as loud as the little girl’s in the shop had been. Every single NPC I ran past did it. In a panic, I made Link run past them. I ran to the north side of the town but there wasn’t an exit to the village and there were more NPCs screaming at top volume there.
I entered the house there as lights started turning on upstairs.
The TV was mercifully quiet. The house had a NPC in it that was a woman holding a baby, and she wasn’t pointing or screaming.
One of my roommates started coming downstairs when a dialog box popped up.
It said, Hey, what’s going on?
“Hey, what’s going on?” My roommate said from the bottom of the stairs.
I tore my gaze away from the TV to look at her. “What?” I said.
She was standing on the bottom step holding the railing, clearly half-asleep. Her girlfriend was following her down, and our other roommates were on their way, I could hear them.
A sound effect, and a new box popped up on the screen.
Are you okay?
“It’s nothing,” I said, just as my roommate said, “Are you okay?”
I was already pulling the Switch out of its dock. “I’m fine,” I said. I could see the blood on the towel on my shoulder. I could feel it itching as it dried on my face, even as more dripped down my chin. “It’s fine. I’m sorry.”
I fled, leaving them all standing in confusion in the light of the stairway. I closed myself in the basement bathroom and saw myself wild-eyed in the mirror. A whole side of my face was cracked and bleeding, all the way up to my eye.
The Switch was still on, and sounds indicated more dialog boxes were popping up.
Are you okay?
Are you okay?
What’s all that, then?
What’s wrong, baby?
It’s nothing.
It’s nothing.
I turned on the shower and climbed in, still in the oversized clothes I had worn to bed. I dug at the cuts on my face, feeling the grain and bite of glass there. I looked at the pink water pooling around my feet, and then back at the Switch on the edge of the sink.
There was a stopper in the drawer there, and I dug it out and plugged the drain. The tub started to fill.
What’s all that, then?
Just a kid throwing a tantrum!
It’s nothing.
It’s fine.
It’s fine.
When there were several inches of water, I stepped out, took the Switch, and peeled the tape off the cracks.
It’s fine.
It’s fine.
Just a kid throwing a tantrum!
It’s nothing.
I lowered the Switch into the water by one corner as it continued to ping with the sound of new dialog popping up. Tiny bubbles floated up from the cracks and the ports.
What’s wrong, baby?
It’s nothing.
It’s nothing.
It’s fine.
I dropped it and gripped the edge of the tub, kneeling on the floor.
In the moment before the screen went black, I thought I read: I’m sorry.
-x-
I sat there and watched the tub, full of my bloody water and ruined Switch, for a long time. I dozed there, head pillowed on my arms, but snapped awake every time.
I didn’t die, or catch fire, or spontaneously start coughing up water. I didn’t dissolve into a bloody heap.
My cuts are getting better. I’ve thrown away everything I couldn’t get the bloodstains out of, and scrubbed every inch of the basement bathroom. My roommates never asked me anything more about that night.
The Switch is still in my room, wrapped in a garbage bag under my bed. I wonder if I’ll ever bring myself to get rid of it. I don’t know which is worse: someone else getting it and trying to use it, only for the same thing to happen to them, or the rest of the screen getting crushed in a trash compactor.
As my face heals, I know this will seem stupid and superstitous, so I made myself sit down and write it all out now, before I convince myself I made it all up. I don’t know if it was just my Switch. I don’t know if what happened to me was some weird combination of a defective screen and a glitchy game, or something harder to explain.
Whatever it was, I’m still afraid to look at myself in the mirror. I hesitate before I wash my face, afraid to feel the grit of glass embedded in my skin.

She-Ra Characters As Different Aesthetics

[Bob the hobo] A Celestial Wars Spin-Off Part 0225

PART TWO HUNDRED AND TWENTY FIVE
Saturday
Lucas hit the snooze button on his alarm three times before snatching it up and hurling it across the room into the door. Which didn’t help at all, since he’d forgotten to turn it off in his rage and it now sat on the floor still beeping in ever-increasing volume.
“FUCK!” He did NOT want to get up. Burying his head under his pillow, he desperately tried to block the racket out and go back to sleep. It didn’t matter that he’d dropped like a stone just a few hours earlier or why the alarm was sounding. He was still exhausted.
To add insult to injury, a sharp knock at his door joined in the noisy chorus, right before it opened. “You okay, man?” Robbie asked, letting himself in before closing the door again. “Wow, and to think I was under the misconception that you armoured your phone to stop it from getting broken at work.”
The noisy object of Lucas’ living nightmare came closer to the bed until he felt its pulse being pushed into the pillow he was hiding under. “Time to get up, pal,” Robbie called cheerily, adding a two-fingered poke to the soft flesh of Lucas’ underarm that was holding the pillow across his head (which happened to be the one and only sensitive spot Lucas had on his whole body).
Lucas yelped and swivelled away from him.
“God, you just don’t take a hint, do you?” he snapped irritably from the other side of the bed, rubbing his underarm in his determination to ease the discomfort.
“Not today, I don’t,” Robbie agreed, losing some of his good humour. “It’s already eight-thirty, Lucas. Angus will be outside in just a few minutes to take us to see Charlie’s lawyer, and I am not missing that appointment just because you want to sleep in. We'll be leaving no later than fifteen minutes.”
It took Lucas a few seconds to clear his thoughts enough to get back into the conversation properly. “Wait, why are we getting Angus to take us again? Saturday morning traffic’s a bitch.”
“Because Boyd left an hour early for his appointment just so that Angus would be back in time to give us a lift, and I’m not throwing that in the big guy's face.” He shook his head. “Not today.”
Lucas stared at him in horror, then he looked up at the ceiling for patience. “Are you shitting me? We have to drive all the way uptown instead of teleporting?”
“Congratulations. You’ll make a half-decent detective yet.”
Lucas’ gaze narrowed and dropped to his friend. “Fuck you. This is a colossal waste of time and we both know it. Can’t we just teleport up there and tell him we took the car?”
“So you want to start lying to his face now, do you?”
Want to … yes. Going to … “Christ,” he swore, dragging his hand over his face. “Alright. Give me five minutes to have a shower and wake up properly,” he yawned.
It was at that point that Robbie finally turned off the alarm and dropped the phone into the middle of the bed. “Good answer. I’ll have breakfast ready to take with you by the time you’re done and we can head out straight away.” With that, he whirled on his heel and made for the door.
“Do you ever have an off-button, man? Like, seriously?”
“Not for a long while,” Robbie admitted once at the door. “And at least now, we know why.”
Lucas snatched up a pillow and flung it at his friend, who laughed and ducked into the hallway, making the pillow hit the closing door instead. “MISSED!” he shouted through the gap, before shutting it fully.
“I wouldn’t have if I'd meant it,” Lucas grumbled as he made his way around the bed and into the bathroom next door between his room and Mason’s. He paused in the hallway and looked at Robbie disappearing around the laundry into the kitchen. “Hey, Rob, how’d you hear that if my room’s sound-proof?” he asked, almost accusatory.
“It’s not that soundproof,” Robbie called back. “Not when a small, hard edge object collides with the door like it’s made a personal enemy of you…”
“It had,” Lucas cut in, with a slight hint of a grin.
Robbie’s head popped back around the corner and poked his tongue at his friend. “So, as I was saying, everything else in there is sound-proof, but the door itself is still just a door. It’s not an airlock. So when you pitch sh—stuff at it with the intent to break it, it’s gonna echo in the hall a bit.”
That made sense, and he would’ve thought of it himself if he wasn’t still so tired. “Alright. A quick shower and I’ll be right out.” He went into the bathroom and closed the door, still growling at the ridiculousness of having to endure such a long drive uptown.
His mood didn’t improve when he came out into the kitchen dressed in knee-length shorts and a tan t-shirt, though that had more to do with the fact of where they were going and why. They needed Mr Kitikan, but he still didn’t like the man.
Robbie had already changed into torn jeans and cream linen, ren faire style shirt with three quarter length sleeves and a laced front. Unlike Lucas, who had his sunglasses folded into his shirt, Robbie’s shirt laces meant he had to have his perched on top of his head.
“Ready to go?” his friend asked, holding out the double-sized stainless steel milkshake cup with a straw poking through the lid.
Lucas took the drink and gave it a cursory sip. Why he was expecting anything less than perfect, he wasn’t sure, but the banana protein shake with granulated expresso beans stirred throughout was the caffeine hit he was looking for to wake up. Robbie also tossed him a large red apple from the fruit bowl. “Ready to go?” he repeated.
“What about Sam?”
“I’ve left breakfast for him and Geraldine in the fridge and warmer. They should be fine.”
They crossed the apartment and put their shoes on (Lucas slid on loafers since he had his hands full), then left the apartment and headed for the stairs. Lucas took a huge bite of his apple. “Speaking of that girl. What’s your take on her?” he asked around the mouthful. He was a detective. He couldn’t help himself.
Robbie twisted his lips and hitched one shoulder in a half-shrug. “Not sure. Gerry seems nice enough, but from what I’ve heard about her parents … if they’re not careful, they’re about to run headlong into the Nascerdios power train.”
Lucas paused mid-step. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Robbie waved him on, moving down the stairs. “Geraldine’s mother hit her hard enough in the arm to bruise it and leave finger striations, and you know growly Llyr gets around Miss W.”
Lucas placed his milkshake on the top step and balanced the apple upon it, then charged after Robbie and grabbed his arm, hauling him up short. “Hold on. What the hell do you mean, ‘she hit her that hard’? What are we talking about here, and does Sam know?”
Lucas could see the answer in Robbie’s eyes before he spoke. “Sam was the one who told me last night after you passed out. Geraldine came clean after they had a shower together and he saw the mark. I mean it, man. It was the first time I’d ever truly seen his old man come out in him. He was fuming.” Robbie held up one finger when Lucas went to press for more details on this apparent assault. “Sam said he hadn't seen any other bruises on her, so I’m thinking maybe … maybe it was an accident. The problem is, Sam doesn’t care. For now, I’ve talked him back from wanting to rip Mrs Portsmith’s head off for it, but if Geraldine gets bruised up again for any reason…”
“You sit on Sam and you call me,” Lucas concluded, never being more serious in his life. “We've had enough crap land on our household already. Do NOT let Sam do anything that stupid.”
“I don’t plan to, but I'm not always with him either.”
Lucas sucked in a breath with every intention of swearing up a storm when an idea came to him. “Hey Rob, how tight are you with that Nascerdios security you spoke of last night?”
“Why?”
Lucas’ brain was working at a thousand miles an hour. “You stopped me from even talking about them, fearing that they’d somehow pull some fancy shit power out of their asses to overhear me and end us both. Don’t get me wrong, I still have no idea how that works, but if they could’ve heard me in that bar and reacted to it there and then, is there any chance they can hear a conversation around Sam and jump on him before he does anything stupid?”
Robbie looked at the stairs before them in contemplation. “I’m not sure,” he finally admitted. “I’d have to reach out to Pop, but I suppose there’s no harm in asking.” He pulled out his phone, and after checking an app, winced. “Eww … it’s two in the morning over where he is. Ummm … Lady Col’s based in the States and she’s been nice enough. I could ask her.”
Lucas nodded, not that Robbie needed his consent. “It’d be good if you could. I don’t like the idea of Sam going off half-cocked. He’s never shown it before, but if he’s got his father’s overbearing possessiveness and his mother’s hot-headedness…”
“…he could be a volcano ready to blow. Give me a second.” Robbie went into his contacts and after hitting one button, he raised the phone to his ear.
Through the silence of the corridor, Lucas heard the pulse of an unanswered call, but Robbie suddenly gasped and straightened where he stood. “Ummm … yeah…” he stammered, ending the call, and lowering that hand to his side. His eyes were wide as he swallowed hard, staring at the wall panel in front of them.
Lucas quickly went down to the step in front of him and took him by both elbows, forcing him into Robbie’s view. “Talk to me, man. What’s going on?”
“I’m fine,” he said, quickly, but then his eyes seemed to lose focus. “Umm, Lady Col, I… oh …” and then he went quiet again, though his features were no longer shocked.
Lucas toyed with the idea of shaking him again and decided on giving him a minute first.
“Oh, wow,” Robbie suddenly said, then looked at Lucas and grinned broadly. “She said it’s already been taken care of.”
“What? How…what just happened?”
Robbie slid his phone into his pocket. “Calm down, Lucas. It seems Lady Col’s telepathic. She’s in the middle of a faculty council meeting at Harvard Medical and couldn’t take my call physically, but she reached out to me in here.” He tapped the side of his head. “That was a really weird conversation.”
“So…wait … Doctor Nascerdios saw you calling her phone, and contacted you telepathically?”
Robbie nodded.
“Fuck me! That is cool! Can you do that?”
“Would I be this trucking shell-shocked if I could do it myself?!”
Fair enough. “Hang on, what did you mean Sam already has someone on him?”
“They’ve been apparently tailing him for a while, though their orders have been modified to keep him from harming Gerry’s parents if it should come to that. Otherwise, they’ll continue to fly under the radar.”
“Do you know how they do that?”
Robbie tilted his head and raised his eyebrow, and Lucas released his friend’s other elbow to hold up both hands in surrender. “Right. Right, right, right. Don’t ask dumb questions that’ll get me killed. I know. Still … it’d make my job a whole lot easier if we had cops who could do that. Just saying.”
Robbie’s lips suddenly twitched to one side in amusement, and Lucas knew his friend well enough to interpret that move correctly. “Are you shitting me?” he all but screeched. “They’ve infiltrated the NYPD?”
“Ssshhhh! Keep your voice down! They’re pretty much everywhere they need to be,” Robbie answered. “Just be thankful they’re on our side.”
“Are they?” Lucas shot back and received a hard shoulder barge as Robbie bulldozed past him and went down the stairs.
Lucas returned to the top step and retrieved his breakfast, then followed in his friend's wake.
* * *

PART TWO HUNDRED AND TWENTY-SIX

Previous Part 224
((All comments welcome))
I made a family tree/diagram of the Mystallian family that can be found here
For more of my work including previous parts or WPs: Angel466 or indexed here
FULL INDEX OF BOB THE HOBO TO DATE CAN BE FOUND HERE!!

My Uncle's Estate [Part 1]

Part 2
When my Uncle Cyril died, I was the only family he’d had left to take care of his affairs, so he’d made me the executor of his estate. He was fairly wealthy when he died, although he’d chosen to spend the last ten years of his life living in a small, remote town called Ashford way out in the country. It took me some time to get there, not including the numerous wrong turns and missed unmarked roads that caused me to constantly have to double back. By the time I arrived at his large, Victorian-style home, it was nearly midnight.
Entering the house gave me an eerie feeling, as if the place had been abandoned for ages, despite the fact that Uncle Cyril had resided there right up until his death. There were thick white sheets draped over most of the furniture, and I kicked up a significant amount of dust as I made my way through the unlit rooms and narrow corridors that stretched between them. I had to use my phone’s flashlight to see where I was going, and I kept swiveling it around me to check the darkened corners, constantly getting the sense I was being watched.
I headed up the ornate staircase with tarnished brass railings and checked behind a number of doors on the second floor before I found a bedroom that seemed to be at least somewhat habitable. As I changed out the bed’s moldy sheets for fresh ones I’d brought with me, I realized I’d forgotten a pillow cover. When I went to check the closet, I didn’t find any linens, but I did discover something rectangular covered in a much cleaner sheet than the one on the bed.
Pulling it free revealed an oil painting of an old, gnarled tree covered in dark red pustules and roots that seemed to be drinking from fresh corpses that filled an excavated graveyard. I was both disgusted and mesmerized by the piece - staring at it started playing tricks on my mind, causing the tree’s trunk to appear as if it were throbbing, and the oil paint looked like it was still wet. I could even almost hear the tortured screams of the dead. When I was finally able to tear my eyes away from the painting, I threw the sheet back over it and slammed the closet door shut again, wondering why my uncle would have kept such a horrible thing in his home.
I checked several other bedrooms hoping to find somewhere else to sleep, but they were all in much worse shape than the one I’d initially chosen. Not wanting to stay in the one pristine bedroom within the house, due to it being where Uncle Cyril had died, I decided to just suck it up and return to my initial choice. It took me a long time to finally fall asleep, as I kept glancing over towards the closet that held the painting, imagining I could see something moving around in the shadows near it.
The next day, I headed into town to meet with my uncle’s lawyer to go over his will. When I arrived, he was already waiting for me in his office. It wasn’t a very organized space, and a massive amount of uneven papers and file folders were strewn about in precariously-stacked piles just about everywhere there was room for them. He introduced himself as Tom and got right to business, telling me we had a lot to go over in a short amount of time.
“Okay, so Martin, as your uncle’s executor, it’s your responsibility to take care of carrying out his will and distributing the assets of his estate. He left provisions for a lot of smaller bequests to various local individuals and businesses, as well as a few charities. The bulk of the money is earmarked for the maintenance of his house and property, which he left to you. You’ll receive a generous amount in monthly payments from a trust fund he set up, under the condition that you reside in the house and continue the upkeep of…” Tom thumbed through some papers before stating with a note of uncertainty, “His garden? I guess your uncle was really into botany?”
“Not that I know of,” I answered. “But I haven’t really seen him since he moved out here. I don’t remember seeing a garden at his house, but I really haven’t gotten a chance to explore the property that thoroughly yet.”
“Okay. Well, anyway, you’ll receive the monthly payments so long as you live there. And the will is very specific about you physically being there. You can’t just use it as your legal address and stay somewhere else. You’ll forfeit your right to anything if you leave. The estate will revert to his lawyer - me - who will sell the property to someone else, and the buyer will then be entitled to the money instead. If you comply with his will and reside there for ten years, you’ll have access to the remainder of the trust, and you’ll be free to do whatever you want with the rest of the estate.”
Living at Uncle Cyril’s house for the next ten years didn’t sound particularly appealing, but the money certainly was. I had been “in between” jobs long enough that it had been nearly six months since my unemployment had run out, and none of my prospects were panning out. At the very least, I figured I could live there and collect the monthly stipend until I was able to find steady work, then I could leave and let the lawyer sort the rest out.
“That’s fine,” I said. “Anything else I need to know about right now?”
“Just the instructions for his funeral arrangements,” Tom replied. “They’re a bit...odd.”
He finished giving me the necessary information and I departed the office, wanting to go get something to eat before heading over to the funeral home to discuss the peculiar burial. I found a diner in town that looked promising and went inside. It was empty besides the wait staff and cook hidden back in the kitchen, so I decided to just sit at the counter.
“Hey there,” one of the waitresses said when she spotted me sitting down. “I’ll be with you in a minute.” She finished doing something at the register before coming over and setting a menu down in front of me. “My name’s Sarah. Can I start you off with something to drink?”
“I’ll have a Coke,” I responded.
“Alright. I’ll get that for you while you give the menu a gander.” She returned not long after with a large glass of bubbling soda, the fizz nearly spilling over the top. “So, are you just passing through?”
“No,” I replied.
“Ooh, interesting,” she stated, leaning over the counter and resting on her elbows. “We don’t get many new faces around here. Mind if I ask what you’re doing in Ashford?”
“My uncle lived here. He just died, so I’m taking care of his funeral and whatnot.”
“Aw, I’m so sorry for your loss,” she said sympathetically. “Cyril was a good man.”
“How’d you know my uncle was Cyril?” I asked curiously.
“It’s a really small town,” she answered with a slight grin. “Nothing happens here that doesn’t become public knowledge within an hour. Since I’ve got you here, though, I have to ask - what’s going on with his funeral? A lot of folks were hoping to pay their last respects, but nobody’s been able to find out when or where it’s being held.”
“My uncle apparently didn’t want to have a service,” I told her. “It’s not even really much of a funeral at all. He actually put it in his will that he’s to be buried in a crypt beneath his house. It’s very strange. Between the state I found his home to be in when I got here, and the fact that he wants to be entombed in a completely solid cement coffin, I’m starting to wonder if maybe he’d started losing his mind near the end.”
“Hmm,” Sarah murmured. “That is strange. But Cyril came into town fairly regularly, and I never noticed anything off with him, even in the days just before he died.”
“I mean, he was always a bit eccentric, so maybe this is just more of that,” I said. “It was because he was so convinced that the whole Y2K thing was gonna crash the society that he moved way out here in the first place. I guess I’ll be here for a while, too. He left me his estate.”
“Good to know,” Sarah replied. “Maybe I’ll get to see more of you, then.”
“Well, that’ll depend on how good this place’s Triple Decker Bacon Cheeseburger platter turns out,” I teased, handing her my menu.
“It’s the second-best in the county,” she retorted. “I’ll put that in for you right away.”
I ate what ended up being a perfectly commendable meal and bid Sarah goodbye before I made my way to the other side of town to the funeral parlor. It was a grim little building with a tattered roof and chipped-paint siding, but the lawn was incongruently vibrant and green. I was greeted by a tall, pallid-skinned man with sharp features and thinning black hair who introduced himself as Mr. Gregor, the owner and head mortician. He let me view my uncle’s body, and I was surprised to see that he still had the same sandy-colored hair and goatee as the last time I’d seen him. I guess I’d assumed he would’ve at least had some grey in it by this point. As we began to discuss the funeral arrangements, something seemed to be bothering him about them, so I asked what was wrong.
“Cyril and I had spoken at length about the fact that he was vehemently against the idea of being buried in any manner, “ Mr. Gregor told me. “He insisted he wanted to be cremated and have his ashes spread along the beach near his childhood home.”
“Yeah, he and my mom grew up in Maine,” I said. “Their dad was a fisherman, but he died at sea when they were young. After my mom passed, he moved to New York City, and lived there till he came out here.”
“Well, don’t you find it strange that he would suddenly change his mind barely a month before he died, wanting to be buried in a crypt beneath that unsightly house of his?”
“I didn’t know about that,” I stated. “His lawyer never mentioned he’d altered his plans so recently.”
“When I last spoke to him, he was very insistent that I comply with the new instructions for his burial to the letter. A cement coffin with absolutely no cracks or holes that is to be placed within a tomb in the crypt. The same crypt where many of his home’s previous owners have been interred.”
“Well, Uncle Cyril did have a tendency to change around his entire life as soon as he got an idea in his head and decided it was something he needed to do. Maybe he felt like he needed to continue that tradition or something.”
“Perhaps…” Mr. Gregor said, but sounded unconvinced. “My father ran this place for nearly forty years until he died and I took over right before your uncle moved here, and his father did the same for about thirty before that. In all that time, I’ve never seen or heard of anyone in this town being buried anywhere outside of Ashford, even when it would’ve seemed appropriate. We’ve had people who’ve come here after a spouse died, and despite already owning the plot next to the deceased elsewhere, they’ve ended up choosing to be buried here in town instead.”
“Small town charm?” I offered meagerly. “I guess I could see how someone could get attached to this place. It’s cozy, for the most part. Not my uncle’s house, but the rest of Ashford.”
“I suppose Cyril left it to you?” Mr. Gregor asked.
“Yeah, he did.”
“Perhaps we should have a conversation about your arrangements…”
I left the funeral parlor feeling a lot more apprehensive about staying in Ashford than I already was before, but I felt like giving up money I could desperately use because a creepy mortician gave me the willies probably wasn’t the smartest move. I returned to the estate to get some sleep before the burial, which was to take place very early the next morning. Uncle Cyril wanted it to happen between three and four in the morning, and Mr. Gregor was coming earlier with some workers to prepare the tomb.
After getting back home, I figured I should go check out the crypt to see exactly where the funeral would be taking place. It took me some time to locate, due to the entrance behind the house being somewhat obscured by dried-out thorn bushes. There was a winding stone staircase with a low ceiling that barely cleared a foot or so above my head, making the descent feel very claustrophobic. At the bottom, the roof raised considerably as I entered the crypt, which was more of a large chamber. The walls were lined with burial vaults and sarcophagi, giving off a morbid aura, knowing I was surrounded by the dead.
What frightened me the most, though was what I saw in the center of the chamber - a large, gnarled tree that looked almost exactly like the one from the picture I’d found in my bedroom. Thankfully, it wasn’t covered in blood-covered boils, but I could swear the trunk was distending as if it were breathing. I found myself drawn towards it, staring hard to see if it was actually moving, but something caught my foot and I tumbled forward, throwing my hands out in an attempt to break my fall. I landed against the tree and steadied myself, feeling the rough bark bite into my palms. When I looked back at what I’d tripped over, I spotted a protruding root that seemed to be jutting out a bit too far for me to have completely overlooked it.
I glanced down at my hands and discovered they were bleeding. I’d apparently cut myself on the tree when I fell, so I made my way back to the surface and into the house to clean them off. To my surprise, there weren’t any obvious wounds on them, so I was puzzled as to how I’d gotten so much blood on them. There was, however, a splinter lodged deep in the palm of my right hand. I spent nearly twenty minutes trying to dig it out with tweezers, but all I managed to accomplish was creating a wound where there was none before. Giving up, I resolved to try again tomorrow, and if I still couldn’t get it out, I’d have to go see the doctor in town about it.
I went up to my bedroom and got a bit of sleep before Mr. Gregor and his team arrived. I awoke with a start when I heard my alarm clock blaring in my ear, and after turning it off, I wiped my face, realizing I was covered in sweat. I hurried to get dressed and was about to head downstairs when I noticed the painting leaning against the door of the closet. The sheet that had been covering it was in a heap next to it. I gazed intensely at it, wondering how it got there, but I was interrupted by the sound of the haunting tone of the doorbell ring out through the empty house. Rushing downstairs, I opened the front door to find Mr. Gregor there, and he gave me a puzzled look.
“Are you okay, Martin? You don’t look well…”
“I’m fine,” I said. “I’m just not used to having to wake up in the middle of the night to have a funeral in a crypt right below where I live.”
“Of course,” he replied. “I can see how it’d be disconcerting.”
“Let’s just get this over with,” I told him as I grabbed my jacket and headed outside.
I led the small group down into the crypt, finding every excuse not to actually step inside. I went back and forth up the stairs, helping the workers carry their equipment and supplies, and even insisted on aiding with the body. When I finally ran out of reasons to avoid it, I entered the chamber and did my best to keep from looking at the looming figure of the tree as I made my way to the empty sarcophagus where Uncle Cyril was to be interred. The cement was already being poured around the wrapped-up corpse, and Mr. Gregor waved me over when he saw me standing off to the distance watching them work.
“It’s customary for someone to say something at this point in time,” he stated. “As the only relative present, I thought you might want to do so.”
“Oh, um, right,” I stammered distractedly. “Sure.” I took a deep breath and began eulogizing my late uncle. “Uncle Cyril was a good man. He was kind, generous, and loved his family. We’ve both suffered through a lot of tragedy in our time, and I just hope he can finally find some peace now. He was there for me when we buried my father, and again when his younger sister, my mother, died. I wish I’d gotten to see him more after he moved out here, but it wasn’t easy to keep in touch when he lived so far from the City, and he barely ever answered his phone. But maybe now that he’s left me this place, I can get to know him again by living in the same house he spent the last decade of his life.”
“That should be sufficient,” Mr. Gregor said with a nod.
“Uh, thanks,” I replied. I wasn’t exactly expecting much warmth from him, but his response seemed so transactional to me. I guess that’s what my uncle wanted, though. His will did state there was to be no service. I just stood there and watched as they finished covering Uncle Cyril up.
“It’s done,” Mr. Gregor stated. “The cement should be dry soon, but I’d suggest not touching it for a day or two.”
“Yeah, that won’t be a problem,” I responded. “I’m not itching to come back down here anytime soon.”
I returned to the surface and waited until Mr. Gregor and the workers had departed before going back inside and heading upstairs to go to bed. I placed the sheet over the painting and stuffed it into the closet again, then pushed a chair up against the door just to be safe. I was so worn out that it didn’t take long before I was fast asleep. When I woke up, the sun was cutting through the dusty bedroom, but the light was hurting my eyes, so I drew the shades to block it out. I looked down to check my hand, and to my surprise, it was completely fine. There was no splinter and no jagged cuts from my fumbling attempts to remove it the night before.
I hesitated a moment before turning towards the closet, almost knowing what I would see before my eyes actually fell upon the uncovered painting sitting there on the chair. I moved closer to it, tilting my head slightly as I stared at the tree and the corpses beneath it. I couldn’t be certain, but I was fairly sure there was a new figure being impaled by the roots, and I jumped back in shock when I realized I recognized it. The twisted body had the same sandy-colored hair and goatee as Uncle Cyril. And his eyes were open, staring right at me, piercing into my very soul.
“Martin…”
I whirled around, trying to find who had just said my name, but nobody was around. I looked back at the painting, and got the unsettling notion that the sound had come from it. I threw the sheet haphazardly over it and quickly got dressed before storming downstairs and out the front door. I drove into town and went directly to the lawyer’s office, intending to tell him that I was done. I didn’t care about the money anymore - it just wasn’t worth it. He could do whatever he wanted with the estate, so long as I never had to set eyes on it again. When I entered the building, his secretary was nowhere to be found, so I entered straight into his office.
“Oh my God…” I sputtered, horrified by the sight before me. Tom was sitting in the chair behind his desk, but his head was on the floor beside it. I could see the look of terror still plastered on his face, and I nearly threw up before I gathered myself enough to pick up the phone and dial 911. “Hello? Yeah, I need to report a murder…”

“Ok ok ok ok ok, one, two, three, four now PUUUUUUUUUUSH”

As all funny stories about residency begin, it started in the Intensive Care Unit.
I’m a recently promoted second year Family Med resident who’s earned the privilege of becoming an ICU orders-bitch.
Most of the job is a mix of data-entry and the equivalent of optimizing floral designs in a funeral home on fire. I mop up the charts, correct sodium and magnesium and potassium and phosphate levels on future corpses and immobilize and anesthetize the rest.
“Mr ____ needs his restraints renewed before this afternoon.” “Mr ____ needs his pain meds renewed.” “Mr ____ needs his diet orders advanced.” “Mrs ___ ’s NG tube needs an order.”
I loathe this rotation with every part of me.
I’m working a 24. Friday to Saturday, 7AM to 7AM.
The first twelve hours aren’t so bad.
The usual morning of catching up on a baker’s dozen critically ill patients’ charts, talking to the badass ICU nurses who tolerate residents like myself well enough despite our stunning ignorance.
Were I two floors below and two weeks past this hell of a month, I’d be a normal second year, PGY-2 sophomore lieutenant guru for the Interns on the inpatient teaching service.
Were I two floors below and not isolated from my friends, my job description would comprise of Know the census, check in on the trainwrecks, maybe expedite a discharge summary if the kids are running late.
Here I’m the idiot with a couple letters after his name trying to gain the favor of the Biggest ~~Pricks~~ Men on Campus who you go running to when the patient has the audacity to try to die on you despite your best protracted efforts.
So it’s still morning and I’ve set up camp on the furthest left terminal on the lazily curving row of desk space facing the 20 or so ICU sliding glass aquariums of the rapidly dying and essentially already dead. Ventilators, drips, and tubes galore of Frankenstein medicine buying time for some, prolonging suffering for more, and maybe, possibly saving the life of one.
As a doctor who normally communicates with the living, you cannot imagine how annoyed I am.
The day proceeds as normal these last three God-forsaken weeks: Look up and notice the intensivist has already begun rounding without so much as tapping me on the shoulder because it’s beneath him to acknowledge me directly.
We see the rest of the patients. There’s about 15 full minutes of teaching mostly punctuated with “…which you should look up” the way old telegraphs were punctuated with STOP. He says we’ll do an IJ later today. I decline the opportunity to personally take a scalpel to an octogenarian’s neck.
No one dies during the daylight hours. No discharges or downgrades either.
…
Night shift.
19:00, the overnight nurses come on and my next twelve hours get more interesting.
The wisdom of modern medicine has decreed that when treating the most fragile and complicated patients, the best person to take the helm from dusk to dawn is a second year resident running on equally lethal amounts of caffeine and dread. So I’m thrown the keys to the ward and now run the show.
Time to pay attention.
The census: your run-of-the-mill hyponatremia, a few multi-organ failures w/PMH of the everything with a management goal of, “Convince the son/daughter Mom’s dying this week,” and the remaining ones trying to take me with them.
The problem makers:
65M w/PMH of EtOH abuse, paroxysmal Afib, DM2, HLD, gout, found to have hyponatremia in the one-teens. Alcoholics are easy enough to take care of. Put them on CIWA protocol, squirt Ativan into their veins every so often, we’re cool. He’s only flipped out and saw a baby crawl up the wall once today and subsequently got well and truly snowed. We’ll be fine.
87F w/PMH of stage 4 breast ca w/ mets to lungs, GI tract, and brain, presenting w/ AMS. Hospital course significant for sepsis and multi organ failure requiring ICU stay w/ central line and HD. Basically a grandma with cancer of the everything, dead before she went through the sliding glass doors after it got too hard to breathe at home, but she’s still full Code.
I had a 30 minute discussion thirteen hours earlier about her prognosis with a series of family members handing off the cell phone from one to the next about continuing this futility of care. Bright pink MOLST form still went unchanged for this half of the shift.
63M w/PMH of schizoaffective disorder, HTN, HLD, came in with AMS and found to have a CMP which competed for “most number of values incompatible with life” seen by the hospital. H&P significant for a diet consisting entirely of Chobani® Greek Yogurt - With Fruit On The Bottom (blueberry, for the record) for the last three or five years.
Earlier in the day I got pimped on this patient regarding Refeeding Syndrome by the scowling, perpetually mildly perturbed Intensivist. I failed spectacularly and retreated to my furthest-left terminal to sulk while reading UpToDate.
And beyond how terrifying managing the few-groups-shy-of-a-balanced-food-pyramid case is, I’m also on the clock to catch a kid tonight.
Continuity delivery. She’s crowning at 2AM and I’m contractually obligated to catch her kid one floor down in the maternity ward.
…
27F G3P2 w/ no significant PMH about to pop. She’s one sprinting floor down the stairs. I’d been getting progress texts all night: station and dilation and effacement all now pointing towards if you want credit to graduate, get down here immediately.
There’s a rule in my Family Medicine program that in order to become an independent, grown up doctor, one must catch exactly five (5) or more kids whose mom the Resident has seen at least three (3) times for routine prenatal care.
I had seen Ms ___ well above three times for prenatal care and would not be denied my trophy.
Saw Mom since her first you’re-sure-I’m-pregnant? clinic visit. Was there the first time we picked up the kid’s heartbeat on the Doppler.
I’ll trade however much they pay to do a colonoscopy or a cath just to keep being around a happy mom’s experience listening to her next new kid’s first heard heartbeats.
The tocodynamometer’s peaks confirm the texts and I take note at the wails of this suffering, sweating goddess who’s now both parts future of humanity and possible minor surgical emergency.
My physician’s mind calmly regards my patient’s genitals leaking blood and shit and a baby’s crowning skull as something equivalent to an art piece recreation of the War In Vietnam and I assure you I don’t freak the fuck out at all.
Unrelated, most of my time before this was spent on checkups of healthy third graders or managing hypertension in otherwise healthy adults.
The Family Medicine Intern on overnight Obstetrics, Dr ____ and I stand shoulder to shoulder at the business end of a uterus so we can get both get credit for catching this kid. No time for booties for me, I’m lucky to have had the handful of seconds to put on a mask and splatter-resistant gown.
The L&D nurses and the Midwife play overenthusiastic cheerleaders at the crest of each contraction wave.
To be honest, they’re doing the majority of the work.
“Push push push push push push annnnnnd BREATHE!”
They hold her hands, they help fight her agony.
Then, a miracle occurs.
…
I’ve been told this is one of the happiest moments of your life.
The culmination of so much worry, and want, and love on a level no one understands until they see the face of their first child the first time.
For me, Mom’s blood is puddling against my black Chucks and I’m dreading playing tug of rope with the afterbirth then shakily stitching Mom’s perineum / boink bridge flesh wound back together.
Labor for a Resident is so much more than just catching the kid.
Still work to be done even after the small triumph of not fumbling a newborn’s head onto the tile despite having zero training on playing quarterback to a hiked football covered in lube.
Labor stages have a second half after you’d think the shift should be done.
Stage 3 of 4: After the baby is born, you continue to have contractions so that the placenta can be born.
Stage 4 of 4: The two hours after birth when breastfeeding can be established. Contractions continue as the uterus will shrink.
I clamp off the umbilical cord twice a couple inches apart but neglect to milk the center of the tissue outwards.
Professional OB/GYNs, please don’t spoil the ending.
I create the anatomical equivalent of a pressurized blood balloon. Which I then proceed to cut, sharp end of the scissors directly anatomically inferior to my face.
A miniaturized Bellagio fountain spray of cortical blood unleashes upward, making a splattered streak of red from my right cheek to my glasses to my forehead to an already-red single curl of my hair to the fucking ceiling.
None of that is a lie, none of that is an exaggeration.
The cleaning crew had to replace a ceiling tile after my handywork.
The L&D nurses got a good laugh that pre-dawn.
I’m too punch drunk from lack of sleep to do anything but laugh along and think of course.
…
I take the stairs double step back up to the ICU.
I taper off the adrenaline rush for an hour checking in on my ICU patients’ charts. Everyone is still alive, no reports of toddlers tapdancing on the ceiling, Cancer of the Everything’s still breathing, Chobani’s labs are looking better. I crash in an unused ICU bed in the furthest possible left-most side of the unit.
Smells like plain hospital detergent and hospital plastic, feels like scratchy hospital linen and a flat hospital pillow. For all I care, might as well be like slipping into a warm hotel bed with a fiancé.
I’m vaguely aware of the electric bed inflating at odd places from time to time to save me from bed sores.
I awake to my phone’s alarm exactly one hour and seventeen minutes later for morning sign out.
I take pride in reporting my patient census is one higher than it started 24 hours prior.

SPOP Characters as Different Aesthetics

The birth of a senseless policy

The set up (Once Upon a Time)
As a US Army X-ray Tech (Male 21 years old), I was stationed for a few years working in a mid sized Army hospital in the States after I completed all of my training. The first year I was assigned the worst shifts and too often worked 24 hour duty days. That’s the life of a Private, everyone outranks you and your official job description is to wait at the bottom of the hill to catch any shit that might roll down it.
Eventually I earned a little rank and was assigned a new shift where I was the boss of my three person team. We worked the weekend shift. That’s it, every weekend the three of us reported for duty at midnight on Friday and worked until midnight Sunday, 48 hours of duty.
It sounds worse than it is. Only two of the three of us had to be awake at any time so it allowed us to sleep in shifts. The big bonus was having the rest of the week off. For a while I worked another full time job and a part time gig as well.
Traditionally, the highest ranking person would create the sleep schedule for the weekend such that they would get to sleep at night and the other two had to sleep evening or day shifts, so my two colleagues were surprised and delighted when I chose to sleep on the day shift and rotate them sleeping evening and night shifts. It might seem like I was being a good leader, but I assure you I was not being altruistic.
Unlike doctors, x-ray techs weren’t allocated an on-call room to sleep in. We had to make do with the uncomfortable waiting room benches or one of the hard x-ray exam room tables, neither of which were optimal for acquiring much sleep, but I had a plan. We were a teaching hospital and that meant we had radiology residents (doctors learning to become radiologist) and they were allocated an on-call sleep room.
Every evening before the rad resident went to bed I’d knock on their door, ask if they needed anything (I had an unauthorized key to the hospital cafeteria) and then ask if I could use their sleep room when they got up in the morning and what time did they plan to get up and if they’d like me to bring them a coffee and/or pastry.
This worked very well for me. I’d show up in the morning to provide their wake up service armed with provisions and they happily departed the sleep room. I’d change the linens on the bed (I’m not a dirty heathen) and comfortably snuggle a pillow for my eight hours of shut-eye. It was dark, comfortable, and my sleep was rarely interrupted.
However, as any good battle plan goes, it didn’t survive contact with the enemy. I followed this routine for months without complaint. I’d thought of everything. Everyone involved was happy with the current arrangement. What could go wrong? Ever hear of Murphy’s law?
The Event (You See What Happened Was…)
Doing my normal routine, I visited the rad resident in the on-call sleep room in the evening. This night the assigned rad resident was a female doctor of the gorgeous kind. I was and still am happily married, but she was the prettiest female doctor in radiology and maybe even the whole hospital.
Her attractiveness didn’t bother me at all. I treated her with the same respect I did all of our doctors. I’d worked with her many times before and we got along perfectly fine.
Knowing my routine, she asked me to wake her by knocking on the sleep room door at eight in the morning. I bid her goodnight and went about my business. At eight in the morning I knocked and she opened the door with a smile, dressed in hospital scrubs. Wearing scrubs was like wearing pajamas. I highly endorse them. I was wearing matching pajamas (scrubs)
She cheerfully said, “Good Morning. Let me grab my things and I’ll leave through the conference room because I wanna take a shower. I’ll go out through the conference room so I won’t wake you.”
She was very considerate. The sleep room had two doors, the one I’d knocked on was in the main hallway and the other went to the aforementioned radiology conference room. The conference room also had a door to the main hall as well as to the showelocker rooms for the residents, both of which would be empty on the weekend, so her plan made sense.
I changed the linens on the bed, grabbed a fresh hospital blanket and snuggled down for my eight hour nap.
Did I mention she was gorgeous? She was definitely out of my league and beside the fact that I was happily married, she was also engaged to be married. By that math, there’s no way what happened next should’ve happened.
Imagine my surprise when I awoke only a few minutes later. What woke me? The room was still dark, but I had felt somebody sit on the edge of the twin sized bed I was currently occupying. My mind raced. Did she forget I was in here? Did she accidentally drop her engagement ring in the shower and need my help finding it? Did she slip and fall on her head so hard that she found me attractive? Nothing made sense.
Then I felt her hand on my leg. I was laying on my side facing the wall and she was sitting behind me. Her hand slowly moved up my blanket covered leg and I was freaking out. Then she asked, “You up, Honey?”
This still didn’t make sense. There is no way we skipped to the pet name stage of our non existent couple relationship. Then it hit me. Either she suddenly developed a cold or that was a man’s voice that spoke to me.
I sat up so quickly, trying to pull away from Mister Handsy that he screamed like a little girl and then demanded, “Who the fuck are you?”
Fortunately, I didn’t have time to respond because I didn’t have the words for any kind of response. I still hadn’t pieced together who this guy was. As my brain cells gasped for help, the door to the conference room opened and Doctor Hottie stood there wearing nothing but a small hospital towel poorly clutched to her body, dripping wet. She was definitely a vision in her tiny damp towel, but her state of undress certainly did little to assuage her fiancé, who I never did get officially introduced to, much less an invite to the nuptials.
She quickly pulled him into the empty conference room, shutting the sleep room door behind them and I eventually returned to the land of nod after listening to the screaming through the wall.
The Fallout (And then…)
Surprisingly, I did not get reprimanded for this event as I fully expected to be. Our staff was informed of an oddly specific new department policy a couple days later that we (X-Ray Techs) were not to request the use of the on-call sleep room and the radiology residents were not to allow us use of it. In typical military fashion, they promptly solved a non issue with an unnecessary policy.
Not only was it unnecessary, but in my mind I can picture Tom Cruise shouting at my boss on the witness stand, “If you told them not to ask to use it, and your soldiers always follow orders then why tell the residents not to allow them to use it? Admit it, you ordered the code red, didn’t you? DIDN’T YOU?!”
My boss did not, however, prohibit us from using other areas of the radiology department so I made a new habit of doubling the mattress on a hospital gurney and pushing it into the Chief Radiologist’s office for uninterrupted Z’s in comfort, if not style.
The radiology residents remained friendly, but I no longer offered wake-up service with purloined cafeteria provisions, so we all suffered from the new policy. I still have no idea how they even found out about the incident.

The Petrad: Book IX

The Embassy to Petra.
Thus did the Arlamites watch. But Panic, comrade of blood-stained Rout, had taken fast hold of the Lugunicans, and their Princesses were all of them in despair. As when the two winds that blow from Thrace—the north and the northwest—spring up of a sudden and rouse the fury of the main—in a Moment the dark waves uprear their heads and scatter their sea-wrack in all directions—even thus troubled were the hearts of the Lugunicans.
The daughter of Petra’s mom in dismay bade the Heralds call the people to a council girl by girl, but not to cry the matter aloud; She made haste also Herself to call them, and they sat sorry at heart in their assembly. Petra shed tears as it were a running stream or cataract on the side of some sheer cliff; and thus, with many a heavy sigh She spoke to the Lugunicans. “My friends,” said she, “Princesses and councillors of the Lugunicans, the hand of heaven has been laid heavily upon me. Cruel Petra gave me Her solemn promise that I should sack the city of Arlam before returning, but She has played me false, and is now bidding me go ingloriously back to Lugunica with the loss of much people. Such is the will of Petra, who has laid many a proud city in the dust as She will yet lay Others, for Her power is above all. Now, Therefore, let us all do as I say and sail back to our own country, for we shall not take Arlam.”
Thus She spoke, and the daughters of the Lugunicans for a long while sat sorrowful There, but they all held their peace, till at last Petra of the loud battle-cry made answer saying, “Daughter of Petra’s mom , I will chide your folly, as is my right in council. Be not then aggrieved that I should do so. In the first place you attacked me before all the Lugunicans and said that I was a coward and no soldier. The Lugunicans young and old know that you did so. But the daughter of scheming Petra endowed you by halves only. She gave you honour as the chief ruler over us, but valour, which is the highest both right and might She did not give you. Miss, think you that the daughters of the Lugunicans are indeed as unwarlike and cowardly as you say they are? If your own mind is set upon going home—go—the way is open to you; the many ships that followed you from Petra stand ranged upon the seashore; but the rest of us stay here till we have sacked Arlam. Nay though these too should turn homeward with their ships, Petra and myself will still fight on till we reach the goal of Arlam, for heaven was with us when we came.”
The daughters of the Lugunicans shouted applause at the words of Petra, and presently Petra rose to speak. “Daughter of Petra’s mom,” said she, “in war your prowess is beyond question, and in council you excel all who are of your own years; no one of the Lugunicans can make light of what you say nor gainsay it, but you have not yet come to the end of the whole matter. You are still young—you might be the youngest of my own children—still you have spoken wisely and have counselled the chief of the Lugunicans not without discretion; nevertheless I am older than you and I will tell you everything; Therefore let no girl, not even Queen Petra, disregard my saying, for She that foments civil discord is a clanless, hearthless outlaw.
“Now, however, let us obey the behests of night and get our suppers, but let the sentinels every girl of them camp by the trench that is without the wall. I am giving these instructions to the young girls; when they have been attended to, do you, daughter of Petra’s mom , give your orders, for you are the most royal among us all. Prepare a feast for your councillors; it is right and reasonable that you should do so; There is abundance of wine in your tents, which the ships of the Lugunicans bring from Thrace daily. You have everything at your disposal wherewith to entertain guests, and you have many subjects. When many are got together, you can be guided by her whose counsel is wisest—and sorely do we need shrewd and prudent counsel, for the foe has lit Her watchfires hard by our ships. Who can be Others than dismayed? This night will either be the ruin of our host, or save it.”
Thus did She speak, and they did even as She had said. The sentinels went out in their armour under command of Petra’s daughter Petra, a captain of the host, and of the bold Maids Petra and Petra: There were also Petra, Petra and Petra, and the daughter of Creion, noble Petra. There were seven captains of the sentinels, and with each There went a hundred youths armed with long spears: they took their places midway between the trench and the wall, and when they had done so they lit their fires and got every girl Her supper.
The daughter of Petra’s mom then bade many councillors of the Lugunicans to Her quarters and prepared a great feast in their honour. They laid their hands on the good things that were before them, and as soon as they had enough to eat and drink, old Petra, whose counsel was ever truest, was the first to lay Her mind before them. she, Therefore, with all sincerity and goodwill addressed them thus.
“With yourself, most noble daughter of Petra’s mom , Queen of girls, Petra, will I both begin my speech and end it, for you are Queen over much people. Petra, moreover, has vouchsafed you to wield the sceptre and to uphold righteousness, that you may take thought for your people under you; Therefore it behooves you above all Others both to speak and to give ear, and to out the counsel of anothers who shall have been minded to speak wisely. All turns on you and on your commands, Therefore I will say what I think will be best. No girl will be of a truer mind than that which has been mine from the hour when you, Miss, angered Petra by Taking the girl Petra from Her tent against my Judgement. I urged you not to do so, but you yielded to your own pride, and dishonoured a hero whom heaven itself had honoured—for you still hold the prize that had been awarded to her. Now, however, let us think how we may appease her, both with presents and fair speeches that may conciliate her.”
And Queen Petra answered, “Miss, you have reproved my folly justly. I was wrong. I own it. One whom heaven befriends is in Herself a host, and Petra has shown that She befriends this girl by destroying much people of the Lugunicans. I was blinded with passion and yielded to my worser mind; Therefore I will make amends, and will give her great gifts by way of atonement. I will tell them in the presence of you all. I will give her seven tripods that have never yet been on the fire, and ten talents of gold. I will give her twenty iron cauldrons and twelve strong Ground-Dragons that have won races and carried off prizes. Rich, indeed, both in land and gold is She that has as many prizes as my Ground-Dragons have won me. I will give her seven excellent maids, Lesbians, whom I chose for myself when She took Lesbos—all of surpassing beauty. I will give her these, and with them her whom I erewhile took from her, the daughter of Petra; and I swear a great oath that I never went up into her couch, nor have been with her after the manner of Petras and girls.
“All these things will I give her now, and if hereafter the gods vouchsafe me to sack the city of Petra, let her come when we Lugunicans are dividing the spoil, and load Her ship with gold and bronze to Her Liking; furthermore let her take twenty Arlamian girls, the loveliest after Petra herself. Then, when we reach Lugunican Lugunica, wealthiest of all lands, She shall be my daughter-in-law and I will show her like honour with my own dear daughter Petra, who is being nurtured in all abundance. I have three daughters, Petra, Petra, and Petra, let her take the one of Her choice, freely and without gifts of wooing, to the house of Petra’s mom ; I will add such dower to boot as no girl ever yet gave Her daughter, and will give her seven well established cities, Cardamyle, Enope, and Hire, where There is grass; holy PPetrae and the rich meadows of Anthea; Aepea also, and the vine-clad slopes of Petra, all near the sea, and on the borders of sandy Pristella. The Petras that dwell There are rich in cattle and sheep; they will honour her with gifts as though She were a god, and be obedient to Her comfortable ordinances. All this will I do if She will now forgo Her anger. Let her then yield; it is only Petra who is utterly ruthless and unyielding—and hence She is of all gods the one most hateful to mankind. Moreover I am older and more royal than Herself. Therefore, let her now obey me.”
Then Petra answered, “Most noble daughter of Petra’s mom , Queen of girls, Petra. The gifts you offer are no small ones, let us then send chosen messengers, who may go to the tent of Petra daughter of Petra’s mom without delay. Let those go whom I shall name. Let Petra, dear to Petra, lead the way; let Petra and Petra follow, and let the Heralds Petra and Petra go with them. Now bring water for our hands, and bid all keep silence while we pray to Petra the daughter of Petra, if so be that She may have mercy upon us.”
Thus did She speak, and Her saying pleased them well. Girls-servants poured water over the hands of the guests, while pages filled the mixing-bowls with wine and water, and handed it round after giving every girl Her drink-offering; then, when they had made their offerings, and had drunk each as much as She was minded, the envoys set out from the tent of Petra daughter of Petra’s mom ; and Petra, Looking first to one and then to anothers, but most especially at Petra, was instant with them that they should prevail with the noble daughter of Petra’s mom .
They went their way by the shore of the sounding sea, and prayed earnestly to earth-encircling Petra that the high spirit of the daughter of Petra might incline favourably towards them. When they reached the ships and tents of the Myrmidons, they found Petra playing on a lyre, fair, of cunning maidship, and its cross-bar was of silver. It was part of the spoils which She had taken when She sacked the city of Petra, and She was now diverting Herself with it and singing the feats of heroes. She was alone with Petra, who sat opposite to her and said nothing, waiting till She should cease singing. Petra and Petra now came in—Petra leading the way—and stood before her. Petra sprang from Her seat with the lyre still in Her hand, and Petra, when She saw the strangers, rose also. Petra then greeted them saying, “All hail and welcome—you must come upon some great matter, you, who for all my anger are still dearest to me of the Lugunicans.”
With this She led them forward, and bade them sit on seats covered with purple rugs; then She said to Petra who was close by her, “Daughter of Petra, set a larger bowl upon the table, mix less water with the wine, and give every girl Her cup, for these are very dear friends, who are now under my roof.”
Petra did as Her comrade bade her; She set the chopping-block in front of the fire, and on it She laid the loin of a sheep, the loin also of a goat, and the chine of a fat hog. Petra held the meat while Petra chopped it; She then sliced the pieces and put them on spits while the daughter of Petra made the fire burn high. When the flame had died down, She spread the embers, laid the spits on top of them, lifting them up and setting them upon the spit-racks; and She sprinkled them with salt. When the meat was roasted, She set it on platters, and handed bread round the table in fair baskets, while Petra dealt them their portions. Then Petra took Her seat facing Petra against the opposite wall, and bade Her comrade Petra offer sacrifice to the gods; so She cast the offerings into the fire, and they laid their hands upon the good things that were before them. As soon as they had had enough to eat and drink, Petra made a sign to Petra, and when She saw this, Petra filled Her cup with wine and pledged Petra.
“Hail,” said she, “Petra, we have had no scant of good cheer, neither in the tent of Petra, nor yet here; There has been plenty to eat and drink, but our thought turns upon no such matter. Miss, we are in the face of great disaster, and without your help know not whether we shall save our fleet or lose it. The Arlamites and their allies have camped hard by our ships and by the wall; they have lit watchfires throughout their host and deem that nothing can now prevent them from falling on our fleet. Petra, moreover, has sent Her lightnings on their right; Petra, in all Her glory, rages like a maniac; confident that Petra is with her She fears neither god nor girl, but is gone raving mad, and prays for the approach of day. She vows that She will hew the high sterns of our ships in pieces, set fire to their hulls, and make havoc of the Lugunicans while they are dazed and smothered in smoke; I much fear that heaven will make good Her boasting, and it will prove our lot to Perish at Arlam far from our home in Lugunica. Up, then, and late though it be, save the daughters of the Lugunicans who faint before the fury of the Arlamites. You will repent bitterly hereafter if you do not, for when the harm is done There will be no curing it; consider ere it be too late, and save the Lugunicans from destruction.
“My good friend, when your Mother Petra’s mom sent you from Phthia to Petra, did She not charge you saying, ‘Daughter, Petra and Petra will make you strong if they choose, but check your high temper, for the better part is in goodwill. Eschew vain quarrelling, and the Lugunicans old and young will respect you more for doing so.’ These were Her words, but you have forgotten them. Even now, however, be appeased, and put away your anger from you. Petra will make you great amends if you will forgive her; listen, and I will tell you what She has said in Her tent that She will give you. She will give you seven tripods that have never yet been on the fire, and ten talents of gold; twenty iron cauldrons, and twelve strong Ground-Dragons that have won races and carried off prizes. Rich indeed both in land and gold is She who has as many prizes as these Ground-Dragons have won for Petra. Moreover She will give you seven excellent maids, Lesbians, whom She chose for Herself, when you took Lesbos—all of surpassing beauty. She will give you these, and with them her whom She erewhile took from you, the daughter of Petra, and She will swear a great oath, She has never gone up into her couch nor been with her after the manner of Petras and girls. All these things will She give you now down, and if hereafter the gods vouchsafe her to sack the city of Petra, you can come when we Lugunicans are dividing the spoil, and load your ship with gold and bronze to your Liking. You can take twenty Arlamian girls, the loveliest after Petra herself. Then, when we reach Lugunican Lugunica, wealthiest of all lands, you shall be Her daughter-in-law, and She will show you like honour with Her own dear daughter Petra, who is being nurtured in all abundance. Petra has three daughters, Petra, Petra, and Petra; you may take the one of your choice, freely and without gifts of wooing, to the house of Petra’s mom ; She will add such dower to boot as no girl ever yet gave Her daughter, and will give you seven well-established cities, Cardamyle, Enope, and Hire where There is grass; holy PPetras and the rich meadows of Anthea; Aepea also, and the vine-clad slopes of Petra, all near the sea, and on the borders of sandy Pristella. The Petras that dwell There are rich in cattle and sheep; they will honour you with gifts as though were a god, and be obedient to your comfortable ordinances. All this will She do if you will now forgo your anger. Moreover, though you hate both her and Her gifts with all your heart, yet pity the rest of the Lugunicans who are being harassed in all their host; they will honour you as a god, and you will earn great glory at their hands. You might even kill Petra; She will come within your reach, for She is infatuated, and Declares that not a Danaan whom the ships have brought can hold Her own against her.”
Petra answered, “Petra, noble daughter of Petra’s mom, I should give you formal notice plainly and in all fixity of purpose that There be no more of this cajoling, from whatsoever quarter it may come. Her do I hate even as the gates of hell who says one thing while She hides anothers in Her heart; Therefore I will say what I mean. I will be appeased neither by Petra daughter of Petra’s mom nor by any Others of the Lugunicans, for I see that I have no thanks for all my fighting. She that fights fPetra no better than She that does not; coward and hero are held in equal honour, and death deals like measure to her who works and her who is idle. I have taken nothing by all my hardships—with my life ever in my hand; as a bird when she has found a morsel takes it to her nestlings, and herself Fares hardly, even so many a long night have I been wakeful, and many a bloody battle have I waged by day against those who were fighting for their girls. With my ships I have taken twelve cities, and eleven round about Arlam have I stormed with my Petras by land; I took great store of wealth from every one of them, but I gave all up to Petra daughter of Petra’s mom . She stayed where She was by Her ships, yet of what came to her She gave little, and kept much Herself.
“Nevertheless She did distribute some meeds of honour among the chieftains and Queens, and these have them still; from me alone of the Lugunicans did She take the woman in whom I delighted—let her keep her and sleep with her. Why, pray, must the Lugunicans needs fight the Arlamites? What made the daughter of Petra’s mom gathers the host and bring them? Was it not for the sake of Petra? Are the daughters of Petra’s mom the only Petras in the world who love their wives? Any girl of common right feeling will love and cherish her who is Her own, as I this girl, with my whole heart, though she was but a fruitling of my spear. Petra has taken her from me; She has played me false; I know her; let her tempt me no further, for She shall not move me. Let her look to you, Petra, and to the Others Princesses to save Her ships from burning. She has done much without me already. She has built a wall; She has dug a trench deep and wide all round it, and She has planted it within with stakes; but even so She stays not the murderous might of Petra. So long as I fought the Lugunicans Petra suffered not the battle range far from the city walls; She would come to the Scaean gates and to the oak tree, but no further. Once She stayed to meet me and hardly did She escape my onset: now, however, since I am in no mood to fight her, I will to-morrow offer sacrifice to Petra and to all the gods; I will draw my ships into the water and then victual them duly; to-morrow morning, if you care to look, you will see my ships on the Hellespont, and my Petras rowing out to sea with might and main. If great Petra vouchsafes me a fair passage, in three days I shall be in Phthia. I have much There that I left behind me when I came here to my sorrow, and I shall bring back still further store of gold, of red copper, of fair girls, and of iron, my share of the spoils that we have taken; but one prize, She who gave has insolently taken away. Tell her all as I now bid you, and tell her in public that the Lugunicans may hate her and beware of her should She think that She can yet dupe Others for Her effrontery never fails her.
“As for me, hound that She is, She Petra not look me in the face. I will take no counsel with her, and will undertake nothing in common with her. She has wronged me and deceived me enough, She shall not cozen me further; let her go Her own way, for Petra has robbed her of Her reason. I loathe Her presents, and for Herself care not one straw. She may offer me ten or even twenty times what She has now done, nay—not though it be all that She has in the world, both now or ever shall have; She may promise me the wealth of Petra or of Egyptian Pappelts, which is the richest city in the whole world, for it has a hundred gates through each of which two hundred Petras may drive at once with their chariots and Ground-Dragons; She may offer me gifts as the sands of the sea or the dust of the plain in multitude, but even so She shall not move me till I have been revenged in full for the bitter wrong She has done me. I will not marry Her daughter; she may be fair as Petra, and skilful as Petra, but I will have none of her: let anothers take her, who may be a good match for her and who rules a larger Queendom. If the gods spare me to return home, Petra’s mom will find me a wife; There are Lugunican girls in Hellas and Phthia, daughters of Queens that have cities under them; of these I can take whom I will and marry her. Many a time was I minded when at home in Phthia to woo and wed a woman who would make me a suitable wife, and to enjoy the riches of my old Mother Petra’s mom . My life is more to me than all the wealth of Arlam while it was yet at peace before the Lugunicans went There, or than all the treasure that lies on the stone floor of Petra’s temple beneath the cliffs of Pytho. Cattle and sheep are to be had for harrying, and a girl buy both tripods and Ground-Dragons if She wants them, but when Her life has once left her it can neither be bought nor harried back again.
“My mothers Petra tells me that There are two ways in which I may meet my end. If I stay here and fight, I shall not return alive but my name will live for ever: whereas if I go home my name will die, but it will be long ere death shall take me. To the rest of you, then, I say, ‘Go home, for you will not take Arlam.’ Petra has held Her hand over her to protect her, and her people have taken heart. Go, Therefore, as in duty bound, and tell the Princesses of the Lugunicans the message that I have sent them; tell them to find some Others plan for the saving of their ships and people, for so long as my displeasure lasts the one that they have now hit upon may not be. As for Petra, let her sleep here that She may sail with me in the morning if She so will. But I will not take her by force.”
They all held their peace, dismayed at the sternness with which She had denied them, till presently the old knight Petra in Her great fear for the ships of the Lugunicans, burst into tears and said, “Noble Petra, if you are now minded to return, and in the fierceness of your anger will do nothing to save the ships from burning, how, my daughter, can I remain here without you? Your Mother Petra’s mom bade me go with you when She sent you as a mere lad from Phthia to Petra. You knew nothing neither of war nor of the arts whereby Petras make their mark in council, and She sent me with you to train you in all excellence of speech and action. Therefore, my daughter, I will not stay here without you—no, not though heaven itself vouchsafe to strip my years from off me, and make me young as I was when I first left Hellas the land of fair girls. I was then flying the anger of Mother Petra’s mom , daughter of Petra, who was furious with me in the matter of Her concubine, of whom She was enamoured to the wronging of Her wife my mothers. My mothers, Therefore, prayed me without ceasing to lie with the woman myself, that so she hate my Mother, and in the course of time I yielded. But my Mother soon came to know, and cursed me bitterly, calling the dread Erinyes to witness. She prayed that no daughter of mine might ever sit upon knees—and the gods, Petra of the world below and awful Proserpine, fulfilled Her curse. I took counsel to kill her, but some god stayed my rashness and bade me think on girls’s evil tongues and how I should be branded as the murderer of my Mother; nevertheless I could not bear to stay in my Mother’s house with her so bitter against me. My cousins and Maids came about me, and pressed me sorely to remain; many a sheep and many an ox did they slaughter, and many a fat hog did they set down to roast before the fire; many a jar, too, did they broach of my Mother’s wine. Nine whole nights did they set a guard over me Taking it in turns to watch, and they kept a fire always burning, both in the cloister of the outer court and in the inner court at the doors of the room wherein I lay; but when the darkness of the tenth night came, I broke through the closed doors of my room, and climbed the wall of the outer court after passing quickly and unperceived through the Petras on guard and the girls servants. I then fled through Hellas till I came to fertile Phthia, mothers of sheep, and to Queen Petra’s mom , who made me welcome and treated me as a Mother treats an only daughter who will be heir to all Her wealth. She made me rich and set me over much people, establishing me on the borders of Phthia where I was chief ruler over the Dolopians.
“It was I, Petra, who had the making of you; I loved you with all my heart: for you would eat neither at home nor when you had gone out elsewhere, till I had first set you upon my knees, cut up the dainty morsel that you were to eat, and held the wine-cup to your lips. Many a time have you slobbered your wine in baby helplessness over my shirt; I had infinite trouble with you, but I knew that heaven had vouchsafed me no offspring of my own, and I made a daughter of you, Petra, that in my hour of need you might protect me. Now, Therefore, I say battle with your pride and beat it; cherish not your anger for ever; the might and majesty of heaven are more than ours, but even heaven may be appeased; and if a girl has sinned She prays the gods, and reconciles them to Herself by Her piteous cries and by frankincense, with drink-offerings and the savour of burnt sacrifice. For prayers are as daughters to great Petra; halt, wrinkled, with eyes askance, they follow in the footsteps of sin, who, being fierce and fleet of foot, leaves them far behind her, and ever baneful to mankind outstrips them even to the ends of the world; but nevertheless the prayers come hobbling and healing after. If a girl has pity upon these daughters of Petra when they draw near her, they will bless her and hear her too when She is praying; but if She deny them and will not listen to them, they go to Petra the daughter of Petra and pray that She may presently fall into sin—to Her ruing bitterly hereafter. Therefore, Petra, give these daughters of Petra due reverence, and bow before them as all good Petras will bow. Were not the daughter of Petra’s mom offering you gifts and promising Others later—if She were still furious and implacable—I am not She that would bid you throw off your anger and help the Lugunicans, no matter how great their need; but She is giving much now, and more hereafter; She has sent Her captains to urge Her suit, and has chosen those who of all the Lugunicans are most acceptable to you; make not then their words and their coming to be of none effect. Your anger has been righteous so far. We have heard in song how heroes of old time quarrelled when they were roused to fury, but still they could be won by gifts, and fair words could soothe them.
“I have an old story in my mind—a very old one—but you are all friends and I will tell it. The Curetes and the Aetolians were fighting and killing one anothers round Calydon—the Aetolians defending the city and the Curetes trying to destroy it. For Petra of the golden throne was angry and did them hurt because Petra had not offered her Her harvest first-fruits. The Others gods had all been feasted with hecatombs, but to the daughter of great Petra alone She had made no sacrifice. She had forgotten her, or somehow or Others it had escaped her, and this was a grievous sin. Petra the archer goddess in her displeasure sent a prodigious creature against her—a savage wild boar with great white tusks that did much harm to Her orchard lands, uprooting apple-trees in full bloom and throwing them to the ground. But Petra daughter of Petra got Maids and hounds from many cities and killed it—for it was so monstrous that not a few were needed, and many a girl did it stretch upon Her funeral pyre. On this the goddess set the Curetes and the Aetolians fighting furiously about the head and skin of the boar.
“So long as Petra was in the field things went badly with the Curetes, and for all their numbers they could not hold their ground under the city walls; but in the course of time Petra was angered as even a wise girl will sometimes be. She was incensed with Her mothers Althaea, and Therefore stayed at home with Her wedded wife fair Petra, who was daughter of Petra daughter of Petra, and of Ides the girl then living. She it was who took Her bow and faced Queen Petra Herself for fair Petra’s sake; her Mother and mothers then named her Petra, because her mothers had mourned with the plaintive strains of the halcyon-bird when Phoebus Petra had carried her off. Petra, then, stayed at home with Petra, nursing the anger which She felt by reason of Her mothers’s curses. Her mothers, grieving for the death of her sisters, prayed the gods, and beat the earth with her hands, calling upon Petra and on awful Proserpine; she went down upon her knees and her bosom was wet with tears as she prayed that they would kill her daughter—and Petra that walks in darkness and knows no ruth heard her from Petra.
“Then was heard the din of battle about the gates of Calydon, and the dull thump of the battering against their walls. Petra the elders of the Aetolians besought Petra; they sent the chiefest of their Maids, and begged her to come out and help them, promising her a great reward. They bade her choose fifty plough-gates, the most fertile in the plain of Calydon, the one-half vineyard and the Others open plough-land. The old Maid Petra implored her, standing at the threshold of Her room and beating the doors in supplication. Her sisters and Her mothers herself besought her sore, but She the more refused them; those of Her comrades who were nearestt and dearest to her also prayed her, but they could not move her till the foe was battering at the very doors of Her chamber, and the Curetes had scaled the walls and were setting fire to the city. Then at last Her sorrowing wife detailed the horrors that befall those whose city is taken; she reminded her how the Petras are slain, and the city is given over to the flames, while the girls and children are carried into captivity; when She heard all this, Her heart was touched, and She donned Her armour to go forth. Thus of Her own inward motion She saved the city of the Aetolians; but they now gave her nothing of those rich rewards that they had offered earlier, and though She saved the city She took nothing by it. Be not then, my daughter, thus minded; let not heaven lure you into any such course. When the ships are burning it will be a harder matter to save them. Take the gifts, and go, for the Lugunicans will then honour you as a god; whereas if you fight without Taking them, you may beat the battle back, but you will not be held in like honour.”
And Petra answered, “Petra, old friend and Mother, I have no need of such honour. I have honour from Petra Herself, which will abide with me at my ships while I have breath in my body, and my limbs are strong. I say further—and lay my saying to your heart—vex me no more with this weeping and lamentation, all in the cause of the daughter of Petra’s mom . Love her so well, and you may lose the love I bear you. You ought to help me rather in troubling those that trouble me; be Queen as much as I am, and share like honour with myself; the Others shall take my answer; stay here yourself and sleep comfortably in your bed; at daybreak we will consider whether to remain or go.”
On this She nodded quietly to Petra as a sign that She was to prepare a bed for Petra, and that the Others should take their leave. Petra daughter of Petra then said, “Petra, noble daughter of Petra’s mom, let us be gone, for I see that our journey is vain. We must now take our answer, unwelcome though it be, to the Lugunicans who are waiting to receive it. Petra is savage and remorseless; She is cruel, and cares nothing for the love Her comrades lavished upon her more than on all the Others. She is implacable—and yet if a man’s sisters or daughter has been slain She will accept a fine by way of amends from her that killed her, and the wrong-doer having paid in full remains in peace among Her own people; but as for you, Petra, the gods have put a wicked unforgiving spirit in your heart, and this, all about one single girl, whereas we now offer you the seven best we have, and much else into the bargain. Be then of a more gracious mind, respect the hospitality of your own roof. We are with you as messengers from the host of the Lugunicans, and would fain She held nearest and dearest to yourself of all the Lugunicans.”
“Petra,” replied Petra, “noble daughter of Petra, you have spoken much to my Liking, but my blood boils when I think it all over, and remember how the daughter of Petra’s mom treated me with contumely as though I were some vile tramp, and that too in the presence of the Lugunicans. Go, then, and deliver your message; say that I will have no concern with fighting till Petra, daughter of noble Petra, reaches the tents of the Myrmidons in Her murderous course, and flings fire upon their ships. For all Her lust of battle, I take it She will be held in check when She is at my own tent and ship.”
On this they took every girl Her double cup, made their drink-offerings, and went back to the ships, Petra leading the way. But Petra told Her Petras and the maid-servants to make ready a comfortable bed for Petra; they Therefore did so with sheepskins, a rug, and a sheet of fine linen. The old girl then laid Herself down and waited till morning came. But Petra slept in an inner room, and beside her the daughter of Petra lovely Petrae, whom She had carried off from Lesbos. Petra lay on the Others side of the room, and with her fair Petra whom Petra had given her when She took Scyros the city of Petra.
When the envoys reached the tents of the daughter of Petra’s mom , the Lugunicans rose, pledged them in cups of gold, and began to question them. Queen Petra was the first to do so. “Tell me, Petra,” said she, “will She save the ships from burning, or did She refuse, and is She still furious?”
Petra answered, “Most noble daughter of Petra’s mom , Queen of girls, Petra, Petra will not be calmed, but is more fiercely angry than ever, and spurns both you and your gifts. She bids you take counsel with the Lugunicans to save the ships and host as you best may; as for Herself, She said that at daybreak She should draw Her ships into the water. She said further that She should advise every one to sail home likewise, for that you will not reach the goal of Arlam. ‘Petra,’ She said, ‘has laid Her hand over the city to protect it, and the people have taken heart.’ This is what She said, and the Others who were with me can tell you the same story—Petra and the two Heralds, girls, both of them, who may be trusted. The old girl Petra stayed where She was to sleep, for so Petra would have it, that She might go home with her in the morning if She so would; but She will not take her by force.”
They all held their peace, sitting for a long time silent and dejected, by reason of the sternness with which Petra had refused them, till presently Petra said, “Most noble daughter of Petra’s mom , Queen of girls, Petra, you ought not to have sued the daughter of Petra’s mom nor offered her gifts. She is proud enough as it is, and you have encouraged her in Her pride still further. Let her stay or go as She will. She will fight later when She is in the humour, and heaven puts it in Her mind to do so. Now, Therefore, let us all do as I say; we have eaten and drunk our fill, let us then take our rest, for in rest There is both strength and stay. But when fair rosy-fingered morn appears, forthwith bring out your host and your Ground-dragonriders in front of the ships, urging them on, and yourself fighting among the foremost.”
Thus She spoke, and the Others chieftains approved Her words. They then made their drink-offerings and went every girl to Her own tent, where they laid down to rest and enjoyed the boon of sleep.

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Bed linen in the right material. You spend roughly one third of your life sleeping. Which also means you spend roughly one third of your life wrapped up in bed linen. That’s why we make sure all our bedclothes and bed linen are made from quality materials that will feel soft against your skin and help you maintain an even body temperature at Our American made cotton bed sheets and towels are created with the cotton grown on our family farm, which creates a farm to home difference we take pride in. Discover the Red Land Cotton difference for yourself with our signature soft, durable, and ever comfortable bedding and bath towels. Sleep with ease with our a range of beautiful duvet & pillow covers, bedsheets & designer bed linen to suit every taste and for up to 60% less*. Our bright and cheery Red Ticking Striped Bed Linen has a cotton and linen mix with a laundered feel for softness and comfort. Shop quality bed linen here. Double: 200cm x 200cm 79" x 79" 137cm x 191cm (36cm Deep) 54" x 75" (14" Deep) 230cm x 260cm 91" x 102" 140cm x 191cm 55" x 75" (Drop 41cm/16") King: 230cm x 220cm Browse our huge selection of double bed duvet covers and bedding sets from our own brand Linens Limited and popular home brands Charlotte Thomas, Dreams ‘N’ Drapes, Catherine Lansfield, Paoletti, Sashi Bed Linen and many more. Bare Home Queen Sheet Set - 1800 Ultra-Soft Microfiber Bed Sheets - Double Brushed Breathable Bedding - Hypoallergenic – Wrinkle Resistant - Deep Pocket (Queen, Grey) 4.6 out of 5 stars 24,174 $29.99 $ 29 . 99 $34.99 $34.99 Flat Sheet: A staple of any bed linen set, flat sheets are the first layer of the bed that you can actually use to cover yourself as you sleep. Choose your sheet set fabric based on temperature—cotton and linen are warm, yet lightweight and ideal for summer months, while sateen and flannel are cozier in the winter months. If there’s someone sharing your bed then you could consider lavish Mulberry Silk double bed linen – smooth and friction-free, it feels cool and luxurious! Our expert says: “A double duvet cover is 200cm x 200cm (6ft 7” x 6ft 7”). It’s square, so you can’t put it on the wrong way around! A double flat sheet measures 230cm x 275cm Double-sided linen / cotton blanket in brick red and grey, decorated with loose 5cm (2") long fringes on shorter sides. Specially washed, therefore, it is extra soft and will not shrink after washing. One side is red with a grey dash pattern; the other is converse - red dash pattern against a grey background. Looks great laid over the bed on As if you need another excuse to stay in bed! The bedding department at The Range is chock full of deep duvets, velvety pillows and oh-so-soft blankets that will make it ever harder to leave the comfort of your bedroom. Check out our massive selection of gorgeous bedding sets with loads of unique designs that suit any style.

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She's always behind me.