#(p.s. tumblr put line breaks in a couple of weird places and my attempts for fix them have failed

[anditvanisheslikemist]

A's partner, B, has had an awful cold for a couple of days, and after pushing through a workday that was even more miserable than the one before, they've decided that they're done. As soon as they collapse on the couch at the end of the day, they email their boss to say not to expect them in the morning: A sick day is definitely in order. With that done, it's like a weight has been lifted off their shoulders. B puts on their comfiest pajamas and warmest fuzzy robe and curls up on the couch with A, a mug of their favorite tea, and a box of extra-soft tissues. After dozing through a movie, they turn off their alarm and all notifications and settle in for an early bedtime. A joins them after a quick shower, even though it's hours earlier than A normally goes to sleep. By morning, it's clear why: B wakes to A sitting on the edge of the bed muffling shuddering sneezes into handfuls of tissues, looking exhausted and cold even with the covers pulled over their shoulders. "Oh, love," B sighs. "I'm so sorry." "It's okay," A shrugs, so congested it's almost hard to understand. "It was going to happen eventually." "Are you sure you want to go in?" B asks, their voice still tired and hoarse. "I'm sorry to say from experience that it's about to get a whole lot worse." "As much as I would love to spend the day in bed with you, I have some things I need to get done. And besides, if it is going to get worse, I might as well save my sick days for then." They kiss B's warm forehead, and gather up the supplies they'll need for the day, and head out the door.

Their nose starts running badly before they're even five minutes into their commute. There's a much larger bag than they usually bring to work on the seat next to them, hiding a 200-count box of tissues, a Thermos of tea, a bag of cough drops, another dose of the cold medicine they'd taken before they left, and an extra sweater. They've dressed more warmly than normal, but their office is always so cold. At the last minute, they'd thought to throw in a plastic grocery bag for trash as well. There's a tiny wastepaper basket under their desk, but with the number of tissues they're undoubtedly going to use, it could very well be overflowing by mid-morning. A's coworkers are nice enough, but it's definitely a quietly-go-about-your-business type of place. Only the most senior employees have private offices; it's cubicles for everyone else. At least the company never drank the open-office layout kool-aid. Thank god. Especially in the morning, though, it's as quiet as a library. If A's ears weren't so stuffed up, they know they'd be able to hear the clacking of keyboards and the quiet sound of coffee mugs being refilled, placed on the desk, sipped from, and placed back down again. A sighs heavily and sets out their supplies while everyone is still at the getting-coffee stage, when the rustle of plastic and cardboard and foil from all of their supplies won't be quite so obtrusive. They even unwrap several cough drops and set them carefully on a tissue on their desk to avoid the bane of theater-goers everywhere. The only thing working in their favor is that the cold seems to be sparing them from the need to cough, at least more than an occasional clearing of the throat. It's been the same for B, as well, so A thinks their luck will probably hold with that. The thing about it being well and truly a headcold, though, is the endlessly running nose and the ever-present need to... eh... TSHHiew! A tries to keep it quiet and contained, caught tightly in a tissue from the box they'd brought from home, but they're left sniffling in its wake as a chorus of soft "bless you!"s floats in from all sides. EH-ktchu! tgSHHHiew! The blessings are a little more like exclamations this time. A murmurs their thanks, blushing madly, and blows their nose as quietly but thoroughly as they can. Okay. That's done, then. No more outbursts, and they will get through the day with their relatively anonymity intact. A tries to do their work; tries, in fact, to get ahead, as they've already resigned themself to calling out tomorrow, and, if B's experience is any indication, possibly the next day as well. They just have to get through today. A's nose seems to have decided that if it won't be afforded the satisfaction of sneezing, it will have to rid itself of cold by the only means left to it. A gives up quickly on trying to blow their nose: besides the problem of trying to stay quiet, it is simply impossible to keep pace. Instead, they go about their work with one hand pressed to their face, letting their nose run freely into the ball of tissues nested there. When the dreaded prickling sensation returns, a quiet blow is sometimes enough to tame it; if not, A exhales as fully as possible and hold their breath there, fighting the urge for a gasping, sneeze-inducing inhale with all their might. It leaves them twice as congested as before, head bleary and weighted down, but it usually does the trick. A few messy stifles do escape, but they sound close enough to a cough or a noseblow (or some combination of the two) that they don't draw any blessings. A still blushes furiously, knowing their officemates have most certainly heard them now. Getting up to use the restroom always feels a little like being on display in an office like theirs. At least whoever built the place did sound-proof the bathrooms (A has heard horror stories from friends who work elsewhere), but they're multi-stalled, shared with the other company on the floor, and it's rare to find yourself in one alone. When the first round (or three) of tea has made a bathroom trip

inevitable, A stuffs a pocket full of tissues, tucks one more into their palm, and braces themself for the walk. They keep their eyes down as they pass by their colleagues, who all seem to do a double-take at how raw A's nose is; how their color seems unhealthily pale. Of course (of course!) the bathroom is already occupied, and they try to restrain their sniffling while they're taking care of the primary issue at hand. They do get a moment of reprieve, though, when the last person walks out just as A waves their hand in front of the sensor to dispense a paper towel. With an unexpected surge of adrenaline-- now or never!-- A dives into the paper towel and blows their nose hard, already waving at the sensor with their elbow for the next rough paper towel, and then repeats the process twice more before the door starts to open again. It's not enough, but it's so much better, and they sigh with relief as they wash their hands extra well. They can't say that they can breathe through their nose, exactly, but they walk with their head high on the way back to their desk, unworried that their nose will betray them. For the forty-five seconds that trip takes, anyway. Their nose starts running ferociously within a minute of sitting back down. They're starting to shiver, too. Extricating the sweater from their bag takes both hands and requires looking down, a particularly dangerous proposition right now, and A has to stop twice to frantically catch their dripping nose with their bare hand. They huddle into the sweater, willing the warmth to build, and check the time. It's just barely late morning, so many impossibly long hours to go. They very nearly start to cry. And that's what does it, really. They've accomplished nothing they set out to-- certainly in regard to work, but even the occasional stifled sneezes are getting harder to contain. They're shivering and their head is stuffed and spinning and their nose is raw and tears are threatening behind their eyes and they just cannot do this any more. They gather up their things as quickly and quietly as they can, and turn off their computer, and try to walk for the exit as if they're just stepping out for a quick break. This time luck is on their side, and no one asks where they're going or why. They'll send an email before they start the drive home; their boss doesn't require approval for such things, "just let me know what your plan is or what you need," and A has never appreciated it more. A practically collapses into their car. Their parking spot is far from the entrance, which has left them exhausted from the walk but also means there's no one in sight. Part of them wants to just give into the tears, but no, they can keep themself together for just a little bit more time. They put their phone in its mount on the dash, hit "video call" on B's name, and curl up as best they can in the seat. "Hey," B says as they get their phone into their line of sight. B's moved from bed to the couch, still in a nest of their warmest, fluffiest comforter. Their nose is an irritated shade of red and their complexion is washed out, but they look well-rested and relaxed. At least until they catch sight of A. "Oh, love, you look like you feel awful. Please tell me you're coming home?" A nods miserably, blinking against the resurgence of tears. "I just need to--" they sniff, and sniff again, and press a tissue to their nose-- "to email my boss, and then I figured I should..." they're blinking against a threatening sneeze, now, and they smother a messy, stifled hngxxt! into the tissue in their palm. "Should see if you need anything," they finish, consonants even more battered than before. B looks confused as A tries their best to clean up the mess they've made. A is grateful that they'd packed the extra trash bag; their usual method of putting gum wrappers and the like in the cup holder and clearing it out when they stop for gas definitely would not cut it this time. "Like from the store?" B asks. "A, just come home, this is what delivery apps are for." In truth, A's brain had

been so fuzzy all morning that they'd forgotten that there was such a thing. "Oh." The itch is building again, no matter how much A tries to fight it. B is looking at them again like they're trying to figure out what exactly A is doing, until A exhales hard and pinches a breathless sneeze into no more than a squelched sort of sound. B's expression softens into fond exasperation. "Don't try to fight it, A." A looks up through streaming eyes and pitches forward again with the force of another stifled sneeze. There's something about still being on company property, even with no one else anywhere nearby, that's telling their exhausted, slightly feverish brain that the stay quiet, don't let anyone see or hear you order still applies. "It's okay," B says gently as A shakes through yet another stifled sneeze. "Blow your nose." B doesn't always takes the reins like this, but it's a side of them that comes out when A is stressed or sleep-deprived or sick. A is grateful every time. It's so comforting to give over control to someone who knows them, and loves them, so well. A nods, and does their best through the mess of congestion, with B murmuring, "Good, that's good," through the phone. A's eyes are tearing again, breath starting to catch, but their body is fighting itself hard. "No, love, don't hold your breath. Let it in, come on." A's chest stutters, caught between yes, let it happen and no, hold it back, and a weird little half-sneeze escapes: hng... chh! heh... A shakes their head, cold-induced tears escaping from the corners of their eyes. "Deep breath," B encourages. "It's okay, there's no one around, just let it out." One deep breath, letting B's words take hold, and that tips them over the edge. eh... NGXXCHT! A doesn't mean to stifle, but their nose is so blocked they can't really do anything else. "Another deep breath," B is saying, and A tries their best to follow B's instruction while simultaneously mopping up their nose and grabbing for another handful of tissues. ih... ih-NGXX! CHXXT! A manages to blow their nose before the next sneeze takes hold, and there, the worst of the congestion seems to be out of the way, clearly the path for-- eh... TSCHHH! ih-KTCCHU! Desperately trying to find the tissues on the seat next to them with their eyes shut against the force of it all, and B is encouraging them all the while, "That's it, just sneeze, get all that cold out of your head, love, it's okay," and A doesn't quite find the tissues in time to catch a heavily spraying set of kTSHIEWW! eht-SCHUU! ih... ih-hih... KSHHIEW! They're breathless in the wake of all that, head light and spinning, and at some point they're really going to need to disinfect their car. In the meantime, though, the torment they've been feeling in their sinuses all morning has finally started to ease. A blows their nose half a dozen more times, and wipes off the dashboard and phone as best as they can, and clears their throat with their hand pressed to their chest. "Is that better, love?" B asks, and it's so warm and... proud of them, A thinks. A nods and blows their nose one more time. "Come home," B, says, snuggling a little deeper into their blankets. "Don't worry about anything, we'll take care of it all when you get here. Are you okay to drive?" A nods again, and fastens their seatbelt, and puts the car into gear. The trip home feels short, nose still dripping but so much clearer than before. B stays on the phone with them until they pull in at home, and then meets them at the door and pulls them into a warm hug. Walks them to their bedroom, the bathroom, everything they need to get ready for bed, even though it's not even noon. A picks the couch as their place to land, and finds that B has already set up the coffee table with everything they could need right within reach. "Do you need anything else?" B asks once they're settled. All of the necessary emails and delivery orders are completed, and their phones are quiet and placed just out of reach. B rubs A's back with one hand, and the other keeps a light grip on a soft cotton

handkerchief. B's breath quickens, and they raise the handkerchief to their face to catch a satisfying-sounding eh-TCHuu! B hums a little in the wake of it, and A decides to do their best to follow B's approach: not fighting it, just giving into whatever their body decides it needs. "No," A says, letting themself sink down further into their shared blankets, into B's embrace. B kisses their forehead and gently wipes away the wetness from A's nose with the handkerchief still held safely in their hand. B seems to be on the upswing now, fully relaxed and maybe even enjoying the break from the world their cold allows. A lets their eyes close. "Just you."

[inordinant]

True Story

Hey @sixpenceee

My name's Nick, I'm 23 and I'm from Southwest Florida, Naples/Fort Myers area. I grew up out on a farm until I was about 8 or 9 and then we moved into town. My dad was in mortgages and firmly believed (and still does) in the power of real estate as an investment. 

Consequently, we were constantly buying old houses, refurbishing them while we lived in them and then flipping them for a profit.. only to reinvest the entire sum plus MORE debt into yet another "flip". Follow this to its logical conclusion and we eventually were living in a huge house way bigger than we needed!

We moved into the house in 2007. The owners were really old rich folk (they founded Piggly Wiggly food stores) and they actually built the house themselves, modeled after a French governor's mansion they saw whilst on vacation in Europe. They literally bought the floor plans from him and duplicated the house. (Flat roof and all, and here in rainy Florida that caused a whole host of issues, not the point of this story though.) It was built around 1950 in the far back of the development and the driveway was over a halfmile long. There were no streetlights leading up to the house, just a single cottage light by the mailbox. The house is all one story and was built out to the nines. Huge covered patio, marble floors, chandeliers in every room, wooden pillars throughout, fluer de lis crown moulding, the works. 

We lived there for about 2 years until the economy was completely collapsed and we couldn't afford the payments anymore. At this time the house fell into foreclosure and we purchased another house which we moved into. The house then sat vacant for about 2 1/2 years with a few instances of break-ins. The bank was never able to furnish the note to prosecute my parents foreclosure, thereby stalling the process. My parents saw this as an opportunity to live rent-free for awhile and we sold our nice, new, appropriately sized house to move back into the unnecessarily larger (the place was 8500 square feet and we used maybe 1/3 of it) home now riddled with mold, insects and the like. 

Needless to say the 2 acre yard was now completely overgrown, vines and ivy latticed the exterior of the once-exquisitely manicured mansion and it had fallen into severe disrepair. Now it looked like a straight up haunted house. Couple that with the fact that we couldn't afford repairs or landscaping at the time (outside of what I could do with a push mower) and the fact that there were all sorts of weird noises throughout the house at all hours, it was creepy AF. 

So one morning at about dawn I wake up with a start. It sounds like a car horn and an extremely loud dog bark exploding behind my irises simultaneously, and I rocket away from slumber. (Later I learned this is called Exploding Head Syndrome) I look at my phone, about 6:10am. The full-wall window behind my bed is completely fogged over, with an ethereal mist illuminated only by the first peeking rays of the sun unfurling into the rose bushes. I try to shake it off, but I have this feeling of cold and impending danger. The hairs on the back of my neck are standing on end and adrenaline was hammering through my veins. I could feel my blood thicken and the frantic grip of panic attempt to set in. 

My logical mind chimes in, "calm down, it was only a dream! You're awake now, everything is fine!" However, this fantastical assertion was repelled by every figment of my intuition, my emotional side monumentally insisting that this danger was real, it was here and it was coming for me. 

I decide to vacate my bed and put on a pot of coffee, all hopes of returning to sleep having vanished with my peace of mind. I half-heartedly pulled on a shirt to accompany my pajama pants and opened the pocket door that led away from my bedroom. The door opens into an extended hallway, on one side the walk-in pantry and on the other side is the laundry room. The laundry room is also lined in windows and the dim grey morning light spills out from underneath the door frame, only barely illuminating the hallway from the floor and creating a myriad of shadows. 

I step into the dark tunnel slowly and with a growing feeling of dread. The cold feeling within me has sunken deeper, from a superficial chill to a deep freeze that I feel into my bones. Every step brings me closer to the end of the hallway, with a matching pocket door that slides open into the butlers pantry that leads into the kitchen. As I cross the floor, my heart beat leaps to a hundred miles an hour as I hear a huge crash from the pantry. Terrified, I spin on my heels to look behind me for the apparition that caused this when I realize it was the broom falling over. I had actually knocked it over as I passed, tracing my hand along the wall absent-mindedly, though in my state of mind it hadn't even registered. 

Cursing myself for being so jumpy and paranoid, I turn back to the door to the kitchen, most of my feeling of dread washing away in the relief of being scared by a broom, my mind rationally registering that I was being ridiculous. Refocused on my morning brew, I slid open the pocket door to the kitchen to a sight that both amazed and terrified me. 

As the last person to go to sleep the night before (Tumblr has that effect on me), I remembered leaving the kitchen as usual. Slightly disarrayed, dishes near the sink but everything else had been normal. 

The scene that now lay before me was a caustically different one. Keep in mind that just like everything in this house, the kitchen was enormous. There were dozens of cabinets both above and below the countertop and dozens of drawers along both sides of the kitchen and within the island. 

To my puzzlement, every single cabinet and every single drawer was open. Not in a way that suggested we had been robbed, no, this was much more disturbing. Every single one was open to an exact right angle. The drawers were all pulled open to the exact same length. The cabinet doors were not touching, as they would had they been open carelessly. 

This was very meticulous. This was purposeful. This was meant to send a message. They're here. They may be friendly, they may not be.. but either way there is a presence here. 

I thought, "NOPE", forsook the coffee and walked back into my room. I paced around my room for a minute and once I wasn't in the room anymore I decided I was being silly. I was sure someone else must have done this as a prank, or maybe it had something to do with the air pressure or mercury retrograde or who knows what else. I resolved, cabinets or no cabinets, drawers or no drawers, to walk back into the kitchen. 

When I got there, all of the cabinets and drawers were closed again. 

I hadn't shut the doors leading down the hallway to my room and if someone had walked in and shut them all I would definitely have heard them from where I had been. 

As I took in this scene, for some reason, it struck me as oddly funny. That an earthbound spirit would spend it's time doing this made me laugh, and as a giggle burst forth from me I felt the cold despair that had been emanating from and into me lift away. That's when I knew our house was haunted. I tried telling a few people but after I didn't get anybody to believe me I stopped. 

We ended up moving out of the house a few months later once the foreclosure finally went through, and I didn't have any experiences immediately after that or since. 

I figured this would be a good way to get my story heard, so I hoped you enjoy this submission!

This story is completely true and I give @sixpenceee permission to repost it. 

Yours,  Nick 

P.S. Please message me if you decide to publish my story! 😁